1392-1398
Tyranny of Duchess of Burgundy--Birth of Marie de
France--Duchesse de Berry saves La Rivière--Doctor
Hassely--King recovers--The masquerade--Dreadful fire--King
ill--The sorcerers--King recovers--Dr. Fréron--King ill
again--Accusations against Louis and Valentine--Birth of Louis
de France--Betrothal of Isabelle de France to Richard II. of
England--Their marriage--Disastrous crusade--Marriage of Jeanne
de France to Duc de Bretagne--Marie de France takes the veil.
The consternation of everybody and the confusion into which the kingdom
fell can scarcely be imagined. The King was taken to Creil where he
slowly improved, but was by no means fit to have anything to do with
affairs; indeed for some time he only had partially lucid intervals,
and was altogether much weakened.
The Queen was on the eve of her confinement, so the news of what had
happened was obliged to be kept from her, in fact it was forbidden to
be told her on pain of death.[143] The Duke of Burgundy seized the
government,[144] to which he had no right, the Duc de Berry being his
elder brother, and the Duc d’Orléans the nearest in blood to the King.
But, as Sismondi remarks, the Duke of Burgundy was the least incapable
of the three, and the people, who hated them all, made no opposition.
{1392}
The Duchess of Burgundy established herself with the Queen on pretence
of taking care of her, and remained there, dictating, meddling, and
taking precedence of every one. A daughter was born to the Queen very
soon afterwards, and as an offering for the restoration of the King,
Isabeau, when she heard of the calamity, named the child Marie and
dedicated her to religion.[145]
Meanwhile the court was in a ferment. The King’s uncles, directly they
got the power into their own hands, began to persecute those of the
party opposed to them.[146] The Duchess of Burgundy, furious against
Clisson for causing the King to go to war with the Duc de Bretagne,
who was her cousin and great friend, incited her husband against him.
Clisson fled from the country, so did several others, including the
Seigneur de Noviant who had incurred the enmity of the Duke of Burgundy
by refusing to give him thirty thousand crowns out of the treasury
without the King’s knowledge.[147] He and Bureau de la Rivière, who
had been a most intimate friend of Charles V., were caught, thrown
into the Bastille, and condemned to death. But, fortunately for the
latter, the little Duchesse de Berry, whose marriage he had arranged,
and whom he had himself fetched from the castle of Gaston de Foix, had
ever since that time been exceedingly fond of him. When she heard that
he was arrested and in danger of his life, with the Duke and Duchess of
Burgundy resolved on his destruction, the Queen absolutely indifferent,
and the King powerless to help him, she resolved to save him herself.
She was then about fifteen years old, and she hurried to the Duc de
Berry, threw herself on her knees before him crying and declaring that
La Rivière was falsely accused, that no one dared speak for him but
herself, that he had made her marriage, for which she was much obliged
to him, that the duke ought to feel the same, that it would be the
deepest ingratitude to desert him to whom they owed their happiness,
and that if he were put to death she would never be happy again, but
would spend every day “_en tristesse et douleur_.”[148] The Duke,
who adored her, comforted her and promised that his life should be
spared. He went to the King who, though not recovered, was in a state
sufficiently rational to be made to understand and give a command, and
got from him the order for his pardon, in which the Seigneur de Noviant
shared. They were exiled, but later on the Duchesse de Berry, of whom
the King was very fond, got all their castles restored to them.[149]
The Duke and Duchess of Burgundy were furious, but they could do
nothing.
The Seigneur de Coucy had a celebrated doctor, a certain Guillaume
de Hassely,[150] who at his recommendation was called in to the King,
and so skilful was his treatment that Charles gradually improved,
slept, ate, and drank as usual, went out hunting and hawking, and
at last asked for the Queen and Dauphin, who were brought to him at
Creil, where he received them with delight and affection. He was
horrified to find he had killed and wounded several of his followers
in his paroxysm. After a little he was allowed to see his brother and
uncles, to whom Dr. Hassely said, “Thank God I restore you the King in
good health; but he must not be irritated, worried, or troubled with
state affairs. His head is not strong yet, but it will get stronger;
meanwhile amusements and distractions are better for him than councils
and work.” The Queen and Princes were anxious to keep Dr. Hassely at
court, but he was an old man and could not bear the fatigue of that
life. He retired to Laon, covered with honours and rewards, and died
soon afterwards.[151]
The King’s uncles were very glad to persuade him that he was not well
enough to do anything but amuse himself and had better leave the
government in their hands. Charles inquired for various friends of
his, and was told that they were traitors and in prison. He ordered
them to be at once set free and their property restored, but had not
strength and clearness of understanding to go more into the matter,
and they were safer away from Paris. He sent after Clisson and tried
to get him to return; but the Constable knew well enough that if the
King had another attack he would fall into the hands of the Duke of
Burgundy again, so he stayed away, keeping in communication with the
Duc d’Orléans and his party, who were called “_Marmousets_” by the
friends of the Dukes of Burgundy and Berry. Charles did not think
about business at all; but only amused himself; and Isabeau, careless,
apathetic, indifferent to everything but dress, luxury, pleasure, and
amassing riches, for some time submitted to the domineering influence
of the Duchess of Burgundy, which was vehemently resisted by the Duke
and Duchess d’Orléans. Louis claimed the regency during the King’s
incapacity to govern, and Valentine was indignant at the presumption
of the Duchess of Burgundy in taking precedence over her, the wife of
the King’s only brother and, as she imprudently remarked, possibly the
future Queen of France.
The King was declared to be well again the following winter; he and the
Queen came back and took up their abode at St. Paul, and the Court was
once more in a whirl of gaiety.
There are various records of purchases made by Isabeau about this time;
amongst others a gold goblet in the form of a rose, her favourite
flower; pearls to ornament the collar of the Queen’s squirrel, a
_chaise à pignier_ or chair to have her hair dressed in, having a low
back. Most chairs of that time had very high backs; they were made low
for that purpose. Also some shoes for the Queen’s fool and her mother.
And soon after it is stated that the Queen not having obtained money
enough for divers things necessary and desired by her, would in future
have her own “_argentier_” for herself and her children, by order of
the King.
{1393}
It was January, 1393. The King, delighted to be well again and eager
to catch at any new prospect of amusement, was told by one of the
gentlemen of his household named De Gensay, of a disguise he had
planned whereby people were made to look like naked savages or wild men
covered with long hair like that of wild beasts, which Paradin remarks
was “_chose plaisante à veoir_.” These costumes were made of linen
covered all over with tow, very long and combed out to look like hair
from head to foot. They fitted tightly to the figure, and were stuck
on “_fort proprement_,” as Paradin again remarks. De Gensay proposed
that the masquerade should take place at the wedding festivities of one
of the Queen’s ladies, who was a countrywoman and great favourite of
hers. Now this lady had been married before, and at that time in France
extreme licence was permitted at the re-marriage of a widow.[152]
Speeches, songs, dances, and general behaviour were alike improper to a
degree that, even in those days, would not have been allowed on other
occasions. The ball was to take place at a large house which belonged
to Queen Blanche de Navarre. It stood at the corner of the rue de la
Reine Blanche, and was called hôtel de la Reine Blanche.[153] When
the King saw this preposterous disguise he was so delighted that he
insisted on being one of the six who were to wear it, the others being
the Comte de Joüy, the écuyer d’honneur de Gensay, the bastard De Foix,
and the sons of the Comte de Valentinois and Seigneur de Nantoillet.
They all begged the King to give orders that at the ball at which they
were to appear no light of any kind should be allowed to approach
them on account of the inflammable nature of these absurd costumes.
Charles accordingly sent a proclamation ordering all lights, torches,
and flambeaux to retire behind and far from six savage men who were to
enter the saloon where the ladies were. Unfortunately the Duc d’Orléans
had not been told of the intended masquerade, of which indeed no one
knew but those who were to take part in it, those who dressed them, and
the Queen. The Duc d’Orléans arrived at the ball after the proclamation
about the lights, and just then the six savages entered the room all
fastened together with cords except the King, who led them. The novelty
of this ridiculous spectacle was so successful that everybody crowded
round to see them and try to find out who they were, and in their
excitement forgot all about the order respecting the lights. The King
left his companions fastened together, and, passing before the Queen,
went up to the young Duchesse de Berry and began to make love to her
(_luy faisant infinies caresses_). She caught hold of his hand, saying
that she would not let him go until she knew who he was. Just at that
moment the Duc d’Orléans, also desiring to find out who the mummers
were, snatched a torch from one of his pages and held it down close to
them so as to see better--the dry tow caught fire, in a moment they
were all in flames and being fastened together, they could neither
escape nor could any one help them. The Duchesse de Berry, when she
saw the whole place on fire, threw her long robe round the King and so
saved him. The Queen, seeing the flames, hearing the dreadful cries and
tumult, and knowing that the King was one of the six, fell fainting
with terror. The young De Nantoillet managed to unfasten himself from
the others, and happening to remember a tank or cistern of water in one
of the rooms of service close by, used for washing the plate, rushed
into that room, threw himself into the tank, and was saved; of the
rest, De Gensay (the inventor of the mummery) and Charles de Poitiers,
son of the Comte de Valentinois, were burnt to death on the spot, and
the other two only survived their injuries for two days. There was a
general cry of “Save the King!” but the Duchesse de Berry, hastily
exclaiming, “Go and change your clothes at once, the Queen is in terror
about you,” had hurried him out of the ballroom. Isabeau was carried
fainting to her room, where Charles, having pulled off the fatal
disguise, hastened to reassure her. Every one was accusing and blaming
the Duc d’Orléans, who, nearly beside himself with horror and remorse,
and crying out that he had done it and it was all his fault, fled
out of the ballroom and rushed up to the apartments of the King and
Queen.[154]
The Dukes of Burgundy and Berry had left the ball before the arrival
of the mummers, finding it rather late, and had returned to their
own hôtels. They knew nothing about what had happened until the next
morning, when there was a great outcry all over Paris, and the report
reached their ears that there had been a great fire after they had left
the ball and that the King had been burnt to death with the others.
Even after they had ascertained the truth the people would not believe
it, but insisted on seeing the King for themselves, and it was not
until he had gone in public procession with his brother and uncles to
Notre Dame to give thanks for his safety, that they were pacified; and
when they found out in what an idiotic way the King’s life had nearly
been sacrificed they broke into denunciations of the goings on at court
and threats against the princes of the blood. Some people even declared
that Louis d’Orléans had done it on purpose, hoping to destroy the King
and thus have the chance of succeeding himself if the Dauphin, who was
delicate, did not live to grow up; which, by the by, would certainly
have come to pass, for he died before he was ten years old. But there
is not the slightest proof or even probability of the truth of this
accusation. With all his faults Louis was not capable of so monstrous a
crime as this, even supposing he had not been, as he always appears to
have been, on affectionate terms with his brother.
The catastrophe excited the greatest horror in the minds of everybody
except the tenants and people belonging to the Comte de Joüy, who was
so outrageously tyrannical and cruel that they were all delighted when
they heard that they were so unexpectedly delivered from him.
The late calamity seems to have had a sobering effect upon the court,
and for a little while after this shock things went on more quietly.
But in June the King had a relapse, and this time he was worse, or at
any rate the aggravated symptoms lasted longer. He did not recognise
the Queen, and when she came near and spoke to him affectionately
would ask who she was and even seemed to take a dislike to her, and
told those surrounding him to take her away for he did not know what
she wanted. He declared that he was not King, that his name was not
Charles but George, that his arms were a lion pierced with a spear
and not the _fleur-de-lis_, the very sight of which threw him into
a rage, and which he would try to efface or tear out of tapestries,
plate, or anything upon which they were. He declared he was not married
and had no children, and the only person he knew was the Duchesse
d’Orléans whom he insisted on seeing every day, and called “_ma sœur
bien-aimée_.” People began, as usual, to talk about sorcery. Some
said it was to witchcraft that Valentine owed her influence, others
declared that the King’s illness came from his having been bewitched.
Dr. Hassely was dead, and the Queen insisted on sending for a sorcerer
to try and cure him. The sorcerer or wizard was, as the monk of St.
Denis says, “coarse, brutal, and vulgar.” He had a magic book, which
he said God had given to Adam, and by which he professed to be able
to control the stars, so that if any planet had a malign influence on
the King he could cause another to appear to counteract it. All the
clergy, doctors, and professors were very angry and the sorcerer did
no good; some said it was folly, others, that it was sin; there was
a great outcry and he was got rid of. Then a learned doctor called
Fréron was called in, under whom Charles began to get better. All over
the kingdom they had litanies, prayers, and processions followed by
crowds of barefooted people; priests in splendid robes going from one
church to another. The King said he would go too, and after persisting
several times, he went to St. Denis with a great _cortège_ of nobles,
heard mass, where he behaved very well, “_d’une manière décente et
sans commettre aucune extravagance_.”[155] After dinner he went away,
leaving the Bishop of Senlis to make a _neuvaine_ for him. The Queen
ordered them at many churches. In January, 1394, he was well again.
Early in the same month the Princess Michelle was born.
{1394}
In honour of her the King changed into “Porte Ste. Michelle” the name
of the “Porte de l’Enfer” so called on account of the haunted convent
of the Chartreux of Vauvert just outside it, with its weird tales of
moving lights, unearthly sounds, and phantoms, spoken of in the former
volume treating of the Valois Queens.
The Hundred Years’ War with England still dragged on, and brigands
again began to infest the country, and great distress prevailed; to
the alleviation of which Charles now turned his attention for a short
time. For Dr. Fréron, either finding that the treatment ordered by his
predecessor had been carried much too far, or else because he thought
quiet, and rational occupation with the affairs of the State would do
the King more good than the ceaseless, reckless, dissipation,[156]
which was the original cause of his illness, ordered him a tranquil
life, occupation for his mind, rest, and various other changes which
certainly appeared to succeed; for the King was quite restored under
his care, and as well as he had been before his first seizure. No one
could now say that he was not capable of giving proper orders, nor
dispute the validity of those he gave, as the Duke of Burgundy had done
when the King had granted some permissions to hunt in the royal forests.
Charles went several pilgrimages and, his own sufferings having
made him more compassionate to others, he recalled fugitives chased
away by the tyranny of his uncles, exempted them from taxation for
six years, and, abolishing the games of chance in the villages, he
established practice in shooting with the bow and crossbow, in order
that the peasants should be able to help defend the country which now
was obliged to hire mercenaries to oppose the English archers. The
people were delighted at this, and already, says M. Sismondi, becoming
so skilful that the nobles in alarm took the first opportunity of
putting a stop to the archery and re-opening the gambling houses. The
remembrance of the Jacquerie was naturally in the minds of the French
gentlemen as was that of their tyranny in the hearts of the people.
That unfortunate class hatred between the upper and lower ranks which,
as was remarked in our former volume, had caused the disgrace and
downfall of France, was still growing and establishing itself as time
passed on, while other nations were slowly becoming stronger and more
closely united to their own countrymen as they advanced in civilisation.
{1395}
The King went on very well until about the middle of the summer of
1395, by which time he had grown very tired of the restraints imposed
on him by Dr. Fréron, the trouble of attending to serious affairs, and
the comparative dulness of his court. Also it is probable that the
symptoms of the terrible malady so long kept at bay by the skill of the
great doctor were making themselves felt and deprived him of the little
self-control and sense he had ever had. At any rate he dismissed Dr.
Fréron, who retired with his property to Cambrai,[157] and when he had
gone the frenzy returned and Charles was again mad.
It had been a bad summer, with violent winds, doing much damage.
Misfortunes and troubles seemed to be gathering again over France. The
deepest disappointment was felt by high and low at the relapse of the
King, confusion and misgovernment began again, the air was full of evil
rumours and terrors as it had been in the years before the battles of
Crécy and Poitiers. It was reported that in Languedoc had been seen a
great star, followed by five little ones which seemed to attack it for
about the space of half an hour, while voices and dreadful cries were
heard in the heavens; and there appeared the gigantic form of a man who
shone like copper, transfixed the great star with a spear and vanished.
In Guyenne unearthly voices were heard in the air, accompanied by the
clang of armour and the tramp of combatants.[158]
The court was rent by the quarrels of the Queen and Duchesse d’Orléans
with the Duchess of Burgundy, whom neither of them could bear, and
whose interference Isabeau was now roused up to resist. In fact,
the arrogance and encroachments of the Burgundian party had become
alike intolerable and alarming. The state of the King from this time
grew gradually worse. He was not always mad, but his attacks grew
more frequent, lasted longer, and took different forms on different
occasions. Sometimes even in the middle of them he would have lucid
intervals in which his commands were absolutely obeyed. After a period
of sanity and health, he could tell by the symptoms when the attack was
coming on again, and would desire that all arms, knives, &c., should
be taken out of his reach, and sometimes that he should be forcibly
restrained lest he should hurt any one. He begged every one he knew, if
they had bewitched him, as some said, to have pity upon him and reverse
the spell. The whole state of things was heartbreaking, and when he
was mad he did not know the Queen, it was not safe for her to go near
him, he struck at her and ran after her so that she fled in terror.
Sometimes he knew every one except the Queen and her children, but one
person he always knew, and that was the Duchesse d’Orléans.
He was always calling for her. She would go to him without the least
fear and sit with him for hours. Her voice seemed to have a strange
fascination for him, and he would do anything she wished. There is
not the slightest idea that between Charles and Valentine there was
ever any such love as between Louis and Isabeau, but they had always
been fond of each other as brother and sister. The populace, however,
chose to attribute her influence to magic; they said she came from
Lombardy, where it was practised to a great extent; that her father
himself was a magician, and that it was from no devotional reasons
that the Duc d’Orléans went so often to the Céléstins, but to see one
of the brotherhood, a certain Philippe de Mezière, looked upon with
suspicion on account of his studies, who had been a great friend of the
late King. Louis d’Orléans would sit up half the night talking with
him about books, music, or metaphysical subjects. He was a strange
mixture of the most opposite qualities and vices, and he added to the
inconsistencies of his character that of being extremely devotional.
In all intellectual tastes he and Valentine suited each other very
well; as to Isabeau, she knew nothing about such matters. There is a
record of an historical manuscript which the Duke of Burgundy gave
her, probably with the hope of inducing her to take more interest in
literary subjects, but it was of no use.[159]
The injurious reports concerning Louis and Valentine were diligently
circulated by the Burgundian party. She was said, and by many
believed, to have bewitched the King. The monk of St. Denis remarks,
“_Pour moi, je mis loin de partager l’opinion vulgaire au sujet des
sortilèges, opinion repandue par les sots, les nécromanciers, et les
gens superstitieux; les médecins et les théologiens s’accordent à dire
que les maléfices n’ont aucune puissance, et que la maladie du roi
provenait des excés de sa jeunesse._”[160]
Things, however, came to a climax at last when Valentine was accused
of attempting to poison the Dauphin in order to open the way to the
throne for her husband and children. The story was that one day when
the children of the King and the Duc d’Orléans were playing together
in the apartments of Valentine some one had thrown an apple amongst
them close to the Dauphin, who was about to pick it up, but that one of
the children of the Duc d’Orléans got it, bit a piece out, was taken
ill, and died in a few days, the apple being poisoned. The only thing
that is certainly true about this story is that a little son of Louis
and Valentine did die about this time; but whether he ate an apple
shortly before his death, whether it was thrown among the children
when at play, or whether there was any reason for attributing his
death to such a cause does not seem to have been shown. It does not
appear that there was a shadow of probability about it, but that it was
nothing more than a spiteful calumny got up by the Burgundian party and
believed by the fierce and credulous Parisian mob. However, there was
a great outcry: the Dauphin was not allowed to go to the apartments of
the Duchesse d’Orléans, and the Duc d’Orléans and his friends thought
Valentine would be safer out of Paris for the present. Therefore she
left that city with her children in great pomp for Blois, where she
remained for a time till the storm blew over.
{1396}
Her father, the Duke of Milan, was furious when he heard of these
accusations against his daughter and himself, for he was also said
to have bewitched the King, to have asked the French ambassador how
he was, and on being told “well,” to have exclaimed, “You tell me a
diabolic thing, and one that is impossible.[161] The King cannot be
well”--clearly pointing either to sorcery or secret poisoning. He
offered to send a champion to fight to the death any man who accused
his daughter, and threatened to invade France.
In January, 1396, the Queen gave birth to a son, who was named Louis,
and in February the King recovered his senses. It had been arranged
that the little Princess Isabella, eldest daughter of Charles and
Isabeau, should be married to Richard II., King of England, instead
of to the son of the Duc de Bretagne, to whom she had at first been
betrothed. Richard was thirty years old and a widower, but it was
felt that the splendour and advantages of such an alliance as this,
not only for the Princess, but still more for France, were not to be
lost. The English ambassadors, therefore, when in 1395 they came to
Paris, where the King was at that time living at the Louvre, and the
Queen and her children at the hôtel St. Paul, were received with great
honour and favour, and having paid their respects to the Queen, they
turned to the Princess Isabelle. The Marshal of England knelt before
her saying, “_Madame, s’il plaît à Dieu, vous serez notre dame et Reine
d’Angleterre._” To which the pretty, graceful child, who was only about
seven years old, replied, “_Sire s’il plaît à Dieu et à monseigneur mon
père, je le serai volontiers; car on m’a bien dit que je serais une
grande dame._” Then giving him her hand she raised him and led him to
her mother.[162]
{1397}
The ambassadors were enchanted with the little princess, who was the
especial darling of her parents and the whole Court. All the daughters
of Charles and Isabeau seem to have been remarkable for good looks and
charm, and very superior to their sons. The second one, Jeanne, was
promised to the son of the Duc de Bretagne instead, and the marriage of
Isabelle took place in October, 1397.
Magnificent preparations were of course made beforehand for the
wedding of the eldest daughter of the Valois with the great enemy
of her country, by which it was hoped to close the Hundred Years’
War and restore prosperity to France. The King sent for the most
skilful jewellers and ordered for her a profusion of rings, bracelets,
necklaces, chains, and all kinds of jewels of great price, cloth of
gold and other costly stuffs, covered chariots, saddles and bridles
covered with gold and silver. He was fortunately quite well, and sane
just then, so that he was able to attend his daughter’s wedding. He
went with the Queen, princes, and court to meet the King of England
between Calais and Ardres, where the French and English camps were
pitched near each other, the French one containing a hundred and twenty
tents surrounded by a palisade, and in front a large tent like a great
hall, more magnificent than the rest, over which floated the lilies of
France.
The English camp contained the same number of tents, but the one
that stood in front of it, with the standard bearing the leopards of
England, was like a vast round tower.
The most stringent regulations were proclaimed in both camps to avoid
the slightest danger of any disputes arising to endanger the harmony of
the meeting on which hung the peace and welfare of two kingdoms.
None but the immediate escorts were to be armed; it was forbidden to
throw stones, pick quarrels, or play any game that could lead to them,
and the conferences went on amicably for several days, being disturbed
only by a violent storm which tore up many tents in the French camp,
tearing the silk lining of them to shreds, while only four of the
English tents suffered. Torrents of rain fell, and superstitious
fears were entertained that some calamity was about to happen. “But,”
says the worthy chronicler of St. Denis, “on learning the result of
the conference, they rather thought the enemy of the repose of mankind
who dwells among the shades of darkness had thus given vent to his
fury because he had not been able to throw any obstacle in the way of
peace.”[163]
The young Queen, who had been married by proxy to Richard in Paris, set
off for St. Denis with great pomp, where she performed her devotions
according to the ancient custom, and then continued her journey.
[Illustration: NEVERS.]
The King of England had been dining with the King of France, waited
upon by the Dukes of Burgundy, Berry, and Bourbon, both monarchs having
been much entertained by the amusing conversation of the last-mentioned
prince, when the sound of trumpets and other music announced the
approach of the young Queen of England, who entered the camp with a
procession of surpassing magnificence, wearing royal robes covered
with _fleurs-de-lis_, a gentleman of her train carrying a crown of
gold before her carriage. The Duchesses of Lancaster and Gloucester
came forward to pay their homage, and the Dukes of Burgundy, Berry,
and Orléans advanced, and one of them taking her in his arms carried
her to her father, who led her by the hand to the King of England,
saying, “_Mon fils, voici ma fille que je vous avais promise, je vous
la laisse, en vous priant de l’aimer désormais comme votre femme._”
Richard II. was a most imposing personage. To the stately bearing of
the Plantagenets he united the far-famed beauty of his mother, the Fair
Maid of Kent. As the little Queen bent before him he raised her up and
kissed her, after which he took his leave.[164] She was placed in a
splendid litter in which she was to proceed to her husband’s town of
Calais, accompanied by the Duchesses of Lancaster, York, Gloucester,
and other great English ladies, with the Dame de Coucy, who was to go
with her to England. She began to cry and sob at parting from her
father and uncles; Charles VI., who was extremely fond of her, cried
too, and the Dukes also shed tears.[165] The King and Queen were
married again at the Church of St. Nicolas at Calais, and the day after
that embarked for England. Before going on board ship, finding that her
French attendants were to be dismissed, the poor little thing began to
cry again, and begged King Richard to let them go with her, to which he
at once consented, so they accompanied her to England.[166]
An expedition had been for some time in preparation to assist
Sigismond, King of Hungary, against the Turks under Bajazet, who had
invaded Europe and threatened to push on to Rome and feed his horse
upon the high altar of St. Peter. The troop consisted of a thousand
men, amongst whom were many young cavaliers of the noblest houses
in France, led by Jean, Comte de Nevers, eldest son of the Duke of
Burgundy, then about twenty-two years old. The troop was splendidly
equipped, Philippe of Burgundy having by means of heavy taxes on his
vassals collected a great sum of money with which, had he spent it
rationally, he could have put an army into the field. The troop had
set forth in March, and the luxury and extravagance of the French
nobles astonished their Hungarian and German allies. Their tents
were of green satin, their banners and the trappings of their horses
were covered with gold and silver, their armour, dresses, and plate
were magnificent. They marched across Germany and joined their allies
at Buda-Pesth. The army then marched along the banks of the Danube,
upon which great barges accompanied them loaded with choice wines and
delicacies for the French.[167]
But evil rumours began to be afloat after some time regarding the
expedition, and the chroniclers of the time relate various supernatural
occurrences which filled with terror the superstitious minds of the
people. The garrisons of various fortresses in Guyenne were awakened
in the night by the clash of arms. Fearing a surprise, they seized
their weapons, and beheld a battle fought in the air by phantoms in
the forms of cavaliers in armour, which filled them with dread. They
sent messengers to inform the King, the court, and the university of
these prodigies, which seemed to portend divers calamities. “For my
part,” remarks the monk of St. Denis, “I leave the secret of all these
supernatural events to Him who knows all and who commands the heavens,
the earth, and the sea.”[168]
But on Christmas night, 1396, when the King and all the court were
assembled in the hôtel St. Paul,[169] one Jacques de Helly entered
the hall in boots, spurs, and all the disorder of a hasty journey,
and throwing himself on his knees before the King, told him of the
disastrous defeat of the French by Bajazet and the massacre or
captivity of the whole troop. It appeared that the French, furious at
being obliged to raise the siege of Nicopolis, had murdered in cold
blood and in violation of their plighted word all their prisoners
who had surrendered on parole, and that Bajazet, enraged at their
treachery, had naturally retaliated, and having by overwhelming numbers
defeated them and killed four hundred, had taken prisoners the Comte
de Nevers and about three hundred others. He had ordered them all to
be beheaded except twenty-eight of the highest rank, for whom he could
exact enormous ransoms, and among whom of course was the Comte de
Nevers. It was to obtain these ransoms, that Jacques de Helly had been
sent. It then appeared that some unfortunate fugitives had already come
with the tidings, but had been shut up in the Châtelet to prevent the
news being disclosed, with threats of being drowned if they told it.
History certainly repeats itself.
However, no amount of lies would now avail to make the Parisians think
a defeat was a victory, besides which it was necessary again to wring
money from the people to pay the ransoms.
This misfortune had such an effect upon the King, that instead of
his being all right until the summer as before, an attack of madness
came on early in the spring, to cure which Marshal de Sancerre sent
from Languedoc two Augustine monks, who had the reputation of being
magicians. This was, of course, in direct opposition to the rules of
the Church, but the clergy did not exactly like to prevent their
endeavours; they contented themselves with murmuring that it would be
much better to burn them as wizards than to offer them rewards. In July
the King recovered his reason, for which the monks imprudently took the
credit, forgetting what would be likely to befall them should he have a
relapse.
The second daughter of Charles and Isabeau, the Princess Jeanne, was
married to the son of the Duc de Bretagne; and the third, the Princess
Marie, who had been dedicated from her infancy to the religious life,
was now received into the convent of Poissy.
[Illustration: THE PRIORESS OF POISSY.]
On the day of the Nativity of the Virgin, the King and Queen, with a
brilliant company, arrived at Poissy. There was a grand procession,
the Bishop of Bayeux bearing a splendid jewel presented by the King,
who with the Queen and a brilliant _cortège_ of nobles and ladies
formed part of the procession, the Sire d’Albret carrying in his arms
the Princess Marie, who wore a gold crown and long robe and mantle
of cloth of gold, and whom he placed before the chapter, where the
spiritual director of the convent addressed the novice, who, it must be
remembered, was not yet five years old, and explained to her the rules
of the order and the vow of poverty, chastity, and obedience, to which
the child “answered humbly that she submitted herself.” The Prioress,
who was a sister of the Duc de Bourbon, and had taken the veil at this
convent at about the age of the Princess Marie, then dressed her in the
habit of the order, after which she was conducted to the church by all
the nuns, singing hymns to the Holy Spirit. After mass she received
the episcopal benediction, and then there was a splendid banquet given
by the King. At the close of the proceedings a dispute arose between
the Prioress and the Abbot and monks of St. Denis respecting the crown
worn by the little princess which was of gold set with jewels of
great price, and which, with the robes, jewels, &c., worn by her, the
Prioress claimed according, as she said, to the usual custom, for the
convent. But it appeared that this crown belonged to the abbey of St.
Denis, and had been only lent for the occasion; therefore the monks
would by no means give it up. The King, being appealed to, declared the
crown had been borrowed by his orders, and settled the matter by paying
the convent 600 gold crowns to redeem it, and sending it back to St.
Denis.[170]
{1398}
The King and Queen arranged the household of the young princess,
appointing certain nuns to be her ladies, and then returned to Paris.