1400-1409
Courage of the young Queen of England--Death of the
Dauphin--Birth of Catherine de France--Intrigues of Louis
d’Orléans, and quarrels at court--Return of the Queen of
England--Burgundians and Orléanists--Birth of Charles de
France--Dreadful storms--Death of Burgundy--Illness of Duc de
Berry--Conduct of Savoisy--Frère Jacques Legrand--The Princess
Marie’s choice--Accident in the forest--The King and the
Dauphin--Jean Sans-peur--King ill--Eclipse--Royal weddings--The
great winter--Murder of Louis d’Orléans.
“The marriage of King Richard with Isabelle was unadvised, and so I
declared when it was proposed,” said the Duke of Burgundy. “Since the
English have imprisoned King Richard, they will assuredly put him
to death, for they always hated him because he preferred peace to
war.”[192]
His words were not long in being fulfilled. No one can doubt that it
was by the order of Henry that Richard was secretly murdered, and thus
came to an end the project of uniting the Valois and Plantagenets and
closing by this alliance the Hundred Years’ War.
{1400}
The fate of Isabelle was of course what now occupied the royal family
of France. Her father sent ambassadors to see her and demanded that
she should immediately be sent back to France with all her dowry and
possessions. Henry IV., on the other hand, was most anxious that
she should marry his son, now Prince of Wales, who was, as he truly
remarked, of a much more suitable age for her than Richard had been.
But Isabelle would not hear of this plan. She had been extremely
fond of King Richard, whose visits to her at Windsor or wherever she
happened to be pursuing her studies under the care of her ladies had
been her greatest pleasure and holidays, and she doubtless looked
forward to the time when, free from every restraint, she would live
and reign always with the handsome, magnificent hero of romance who
treated her with affectionate kindness and unlimited indulgence. If, as
Sainte-Marthe and other French historians say, and as seems certain,
Isabelle was the eldest daughter of Charles VI. and was born in 1388,
she could not at this time have been more than twelve years old, but
she appears to have felt for King Richard the kind of romantic worship
that very young girls occasionally feel for a man much older than
themselves. At any rate, she took an extraordinarily prominent part in
a conspiracy to restore Richard, tore the badge of Lancaster from the
liveries of her household, issued a proclamation declaring that she did
not recognise Henry as king, went with the barons of Richard’s party to
Cirencester, and after his death vehemently refused to marry the Prince
of Wales, asking only to be sent back to France to her father and
mother; and a constant interchange of letters upon that subject went on
between the royal families of France and England during the whole of
this year.
{1401}
In January the Dauphin Charles, who had been gradually growing thinner
and weaker, faded away and died. His doctors could not find out what
was the matter nor do him any good. The King, who was just then in his
right mind, went to St. Denis to pray for him; the Dukes of Burgundy,
Bourbon, and Orléans went to Ste. Catherine and Notre Dame for the same
purpose, and prayers and processions went on everywhere, but he died on
the 11th of January in the middle of the night.[193]
The next brother, Louis, became Dauphin, and the youngest, Jean, then
two years old, was created Duc de Touraine. The duchy of Guyenne was
also added to the territory of the Dauphin.
The Queen’s father, Stephan of Bavaria, came to France this year and
remained some time. He was again a widower and Isabeau wanted to marry
him to the widow of the last Sire de Coucy who had great possessions,
but the princes objected to placing a Bavarian in a powerful position
close to Paris, so it had to be given up.
The King’s attacks got no better; he had six during 1399. Sometimes he
was childish, played, laughed, and ran about all over the hôtel St.
Paul or wherever he happened to be, so that they had to wall up a great
many of the entrances and places he could fall out of. At other times
he was raving and furious, so that it was dangerous to approach him,
and sometimes sad and melancholy. The Queen was not entirely separated
from him, because every now and then he got well and then they were
together and he gave his orders and often tried to put to rights the
mischief and wrong done in his absence, and recalled friends who had
been exiled or imprisoned. He had insisted on Juvenal des Ursins,
provost of Paris, being left with him and not molested, and it was
of no use for his enemies to try to prevent it. He would not listen
to them, but exclaimed angrily, “Where is my provost? I will have
my provost!” He was well for part of the summer of 1400, and was at
services of thanksgiving in consequence at St. Denis and Notre Dame,
but was soon after taken ill again and not well till Christmas. The
Princess Catherine was born October 27th, at St. Paul.
In spite of the King’s frequent attacks of madness, the Queen contrived
to amuse herself very well. From what one can gather from the records
of the times she seems to have been generally on good terms with him
when he was well, and not to have allowed the pleasures and diversions
of her life to be interfered with when he was ill. The court was still
disturbed and excited by the rivalry of the Duchesses of Burgundy and
Orléans, but Isabeau, who, if she had been a different sort of woman,
could and ought to have ruled them both, did nothing of the kind. She
hated the Duchess of Burgundy and was rather inclined to be jealous
of Valentine, but still on the whole seems to have got on well enough
with her notwithstanding her liaison with the Duc d’Orléans. Louis
and Isabeau were nearly always together; they made excursions and gave
balls and dinners and suppers at St. Paul, the hôtel Barbette, and
other places; they hunted and drove in the royal forests and their
proceedings created continual gossip and scandal in society and all
over Paris. Louis at the same time was carrying on a more than usually
scandalous intrigue[194] with the beautiful wife of the Sire de Canny,
which is noticeable because the result of it was the birth of the great
Dunois, the far-famed Bastard of Orléans, renowned in French song and
story.
The Queen and her children lived chiefly at the hôtel St. Paul, going
backwards and forwards between it and the Palais, spending two or three
weeks at one and then at the other, making excursions and visits to
other of the royal castles in the neighbourhood. The plague, or, as
they called it, “the mortality,” was still a good deal about, and there
are notices of men sent to find out if it was safe to go to different
places, as for instance, Jehan Charron was sent by the Queen to Crécy
with letters to the _receveur_ to ask if “the mortality” was there,
and another man on another occasion to ride all night somewhere to
make the same inquiry; and as Isabeau again sent two or three times in
April to different places it must have still been going on. She also
went to St. Ouen and borrowed a litter from the Abbot of Coulons.[195]
On May 31st she seems to have returned from some excursion, for she
dined and supped at the hôtel Barbette and went to St. Paul to sleep.
Isabeau and Louis, with their suites, would often go out to dine and
sup at one of these châteaux, especially as the days grew long and the
weather hot. Baignolet, or Bagnolet, near Romainville, with its wood of
elms and other trees, was another of the Queen’s country-places where
they sometimes went, returning to Paris at night. But the distress,
confusion, and poverty in the kingdom were increasing rapidly, and
the people murmured as the sounds of music and merriment were heard
from the windows of the hôtel Barbette or the cavalcades of Louis and
Isabeau, with their splendid dresses, trappings, and horses swept
through the streets or passed out of the gates of Paris.
They were both very fond of horses and rode well, and wherever she was
Isabeau had numbers of pet animals. Plenty of dogs, both large and
small, monkeys which played about in her rooms, an enormous aviary of
all sorts of birds, French and foreign, which sang and chattered all
about her palaces, for there were parrots amongst them as well as doves
and little birds. When she moved she took them with her, and was always
buying more or having them given to her.[196]
All her children were with her at this time except the Queen of
England, who was expected before long, and the little nun at
Poissy--that is to say, her two boys, her second daughter, Jeanne,
Duchesse de Bretagne, who still lived with her, and the little
Michelle and Catherine. There is an account of the offerings made
by the Queen and the four elder children at Circumcision, Epiphany,
Candlemas, Easter, and all the great festivals. The children all gave
the same.
Also of enormous quantities of sweetmeats and bonbons made “for the
Queen and _enfants de France_ (at the New Year); that is to say, for
_nos seigneurs_ the Dukes of Guyenne and Touraine, and _nos dames_ the
Duchesse de Bretagne et Michelle de France.” Dragées, coriander, _paste
du roy_, preparations of cinnamon, rose sugar, sugared nuts (perhaps
pralines), and various others in great quantities and several times;
sometimes twenty pounds, sometimes forty, and then, as one can well
imagine, medicines for the Dukes of Guyenne and Touraine.
Also frequently paper and bottles of ink for the Queen, and money paid
to the messengers who carried her letters on many occasions to the
King, the Duc and Duchesse d’Orléans, to various abbots, abbesses, and
different people.[197]
She also had some fools and dwarfs. One called _Grand Jehan le fol_
died some time before, and there is a bill for 12 lbs. of wax for
his funeral at St. Germain d’Auxerrois. These fools were both male
and female; she had one fool, her mother, and grandmother, besides a
Saracen woman some one had given her, of whom she afterwards made a
sister (_sœur converse_) in a convent.
In August the young Queen of England came home. Henry IV. had behaved
very badly to her and to her family, for it was not until after long
and tedious negotiations that he would send her at all, and when he did
he kept nearly all her jewels and the whole of her dowry. He went to
take leave of and console her and sent her to Calais with a brilliant
escort of nobles and ladies. Her father was just then in his right
senses, and delighted at her coming. He sent his uncle the Duke of
Burgundy to fetch her. The Duke met her halfway between Calais and
Boulogne, where a magnificent tent was pitched in which she took wine
and refreshments with her English ladies, who sobbed and cried as she
embraced them all, gave them presents, and took leave of them. She then
joined the Duke of Burgundy, who waited for her with an escort of six
hundred cavalry, and journeyed by Boulogne, Abbeville, then to Picardy,
and by St. Denis to Paris, where she was restored to her parents,
brothers, and sisters at the hôtel St. Paul. Charles and Isabeau
received her with joy and affection. The Queen took charge of her and
re-arranged her household, which she diminished in numbers but placed
ladies of higher rank about her.[198]
The Duc d’Orléans had raised a troop of fifteen hundred men to go to
the assistance of the Emperor Wenceslas, who had been dethroned by
his subjects; but although he was joined in Luxembourg by the Duc de
Gueldre, who was rash, hot-headed, and a great friend of his, the
expedition came to nothing, and they returned to Paris together, with
the Duc d’Orléans’s troop and five hundred men of the Duc de Gueldre.
They were soon joined by the Bretons who were friends of Clisson, by
some Scottish and Welsh companies in the French service, and by a
number of Normans and all the vassals of Orléans, ready to fight in his
quarrel against the party of Burgundy.
For the rivalry and hatred between the uncle and nephew and their
families had arrived at such a pitch that they seemed to be on the
verge of a civil war. Besides the question of the regency between
Philippe and Louis, and the mortal hatred between the Duchesses of
Orléans and Burgundy, it was whispered that a new cause of offence
had arisen. Louis d’Orléans had a private room--cabinet, study, or
drawing-room--the walls of which he had hung with the portraits of
women who he declared had been his mistresses. This room he generally
kept closed, but one day by chance, Jean, Comte de Nevers, eldest son
of the Duke of Burgundy, went into it and found his wife’s portrait
among the others. That this was nothing but an infamous boast on the
part of Louis, and that no blame whatever was attached to the Comtesse
de Nevers seems certain, that is to say, if the story be true at all.
At any rate it was reported and believed at court and related by French
historians, and has been given as a reason for the tragic climax to the
feud between Burgundy and Orléans. For Jean Sans-peur, as the Comte
de Nevers was nick-named, swore vengeance against his cousin for this
insult; and the Dukes of Orléans and Burgundy, each with his followers
and vassals, fortified themselves in their dwellings--Louis in his
hôtel near the porte St. Antoine, and the Burgundians in their hôtel
d’Artois[199]--while the citizens trembled at the thought of these
fierce and violent men in the midst of them longing to be at each
other’s throats and making no secret of their delight at the prospect
of sacking Paris. Seven or eight thousand men on each side were waiting
the signal to draw their swords; the King was just then mad, and the
Queen and Duc de Berry vainly tried to mediate between them. So matters
went on all through December, but at the beginning of January, 1402,
the Duc de Berry, who was then living at the hôtel de Nesle, managed
to get his brother and nephew to meet there. It was no easy matter,
as although they sat at the council together they refused to speak to
or salute one another, and each vehemently opposed whatever the other
proposed. However, he persuaded them at last to embrace, and ride
together through the streets to proclaim their reconciliation to the
people, and dismiss their soldiers, to the great relief of the court
and Parisians, and at the same time the King returned to his senses, so
there was a general thanksgiving at St. Denis, and for a time every one
breathed more freely.[200]
{1402}
In February Isabeau had another boy, and for the third time the King
and Queen chose the name of Charles for their son, who was made Comte
de Ponthieu and was afterwards Charles VII.
In May the Queen gave a great fête at the hôtel Barbette to the Duc de
Gueldre, at which Louis, Valentine, and several other seigneurs were
present.[201]
One would almost suppose that serious thunderstorms in those days
must have been more frequent than at present in the north of Europe,
for three of truly southern violence took place in May and June of
this year. The first, accompanied by a furious wind and a shower of
hailstones as big as a goose’s egg, destroyed the vines and other crops
for sixteen leagues; in the second the lightning struck the hôtel St.
Paul, penetrated into the Queen’s room, where that night she was not
sleeping,[202] and consumed the magnificent curtains of her bed. As a
thank-offering for her escape she sent offerings to several churches,
and to the monks of St. Denis a sum to say three masses a year for the
soul of the late Dauphin. The third storm, on the last day of June, did
more harm than either of the others; it tore up trees, unroofed houses,
and destroyed a great part of the halle du Lendit, near St. Denis, but
left the part untouched where the judges of the royal contributions
resided. The people, who were vexed and harassed by them, remarked that
the devil had spared his own abode. The great cross on the priory de
l’Estrée was struck down.
The King went on much the same, being tolerably well for a few weeks,
and then ill for several weeks more. The Duc d’Orléans had persuaded
him to appoint him regent, and to give him absolute power over all
the Langue d’Oïl, or northern part of France. Some time after he had
an attack of madness, and Orléans, directly he had the government in
his hands, levied enormous taxes, forced loans from everybody, seized
provisions both of lay and ecclesiastics, and published a decree for
another heavy and universal tax throughout the kingdom, to which he
attached the signatures of his uncles of Burgundy and Berry, both
of whom at once publicly denied them, saying that the secretary of
their nephew was a forger. There was a general commotion; Louis was
declared unfit to govern, and even the Queen and Duchesse d’Orléans
saw that this sort of thing could not possibly go on. So directly the
King was better a council was called, in which the Queen, the Duchesse
d’Orléans, all the princes of the blood, the Constable, Chancellor,
the chief minister, and some of the nobles took part. By them it was
settled that in case of the King’s death the chief authority should be
in the hands of the Queen until the majority of her son. Meanwhile the
Queen was president of the Council. The direction of affairs was taken
away from the Duc d’Orléans, and the Duke of Burgundy regained his
power next time the King was ill.
It had been promised by the King and Queen that the late Dauphin should
marry the eldest daughter of the Comte de Nevers, and she was now
betrothed to the Dauphin Louis, commonly called Duc d’Aquitaine,[203]
and it was further arranged that the Princess Michelle should be
married to Philippe, eldest son of the Comte de Nevers, but that she
should be left to be brought up by the Queen her mother. The marriage
of the Dauphin and Marguérite of Burgundy was celebrated with great
pomp at Paris in the cathedral of Notre Dame in August 1404. There had
been some talk of marrying Jean, the second son of the King, to another
daughter of the Comte de Nevers, but this idea was given up and he was
betrothed to Jacqueline, only child of Guillaume, Comte de Hainault,
and Marguérite de Bourgogne, a great heiress.
{1404}
Not long afterwards the Duke of Burgundy was taken ill on a journey
from Arras, where he had left the Duchess, to Brussels, in order to
visit his aunt, the Duchesse de Brabant. The roads were very bad, and
though pioneers were sent on before his litter to smooth and mend
them, he could not go on much further, but stopped at an inn called
the “Stag,” and sent for his three sons, Jean, Antoine, and Philippe.
He expressed repentance for his oppressions, exhorted his sons to fear
God, to be good brothers to each other, loyal subjects to the King,
and to live at peace with the rest of the royal family, after which he
arranged his affairs and died.
So extravagant had he been that, in spite of his immense possessions,
it was doubtful whether he had left enough money to pay his debts, for
which reason the Duchess of Burgundy formally renounced _communauté de
biens_, laying her girdle, purse and keys upon his coffin, according
to the custom. She died very soon after.[204]
At the same time the Duc de Berry was very ill, and when he recovered
and found the Duke of Burgundy was dead he was deeply grieved. While
the former was ill and the King mad, the Duc d’Orléans, at the head
of an armed band, broke into the Palais one night and carried away
nearly all the money to be found there. The Hundred Years’ War had
begun again, and there were constant fights going on, towns and castles
attacked and taken, seaports and villages surprised and sacked by
warships. The new Duke of Burgundy was much worse than the old one,
and had not, of course, the same authority in the council or royal
family. The Duc d’Orléans, though he hated his uncle, was obliged to
have a certain respect for him as a sort of representative of his
father,[205] and the King, in spite of putting a stop every now and
then to his tyrannical proceedings, looked up to him with an amount of
consideration which neither he nor his brother entertained for Jean
Sans-peur, who was as ambitious and extravagant as his father, without
his great qualities, and was harder, more unscrupulous, more cruel,
and more crafty. The chief princes of the blood who ruled in council
were now the Queen, the Duc de Berry (the last surviving son of King
Jean), Louis le Bon, Duc de Bourbon, Louis II., King of Sicily (son
of the late Duc d’Anjou, and a much better man than his father),
Charles III., King of Navarre (also an excellent character), and Jean
Sans-peur, Duke of Burgundy, besides, of course, the Duc d’Orléans.
But unfortunately the two most influential were the Dukes of Burgundy
and Orléans, the latter being always supported by the Queen and her
brother, Ludwig of Bavaria.
{1405}
The brigands had reappeared all over the country and great distress
prevailed, large tracts of land went out of cultivation, travelling was
unsafe owing to the highwaymen who infested the roads, but the fêtes
at court grew more brilliant and licentious and the royal favourites
more insolent. Charles de Savoisy, who had long been a favourite of
the King, and was _grand-maître d’hôtel_ to the Queen, was one of the
most conspicuous. One of his pages, galloping down the streets as a
procession belonging to the university was going by, knocked down
some of the students, out of insolent bravado. The others surrounded
and gave him a blow. The page fled to the hôtel Savoisy and demanded
vengeance, whereupon the retainers of Savoisy attacked the procession
which was already entering the church of Ste. Catherine, striking
with sticks and swords those who were still outside, and firing off
cross-bows into the church, wounding several people and injuring the
sacred images, ornaments, and vestments of the priests. When first
Savoisy heard of it, he said his men had done quite right to maintain
the honour of his house; but finding that the University had laid a
complaint before the Queen and the Dukes of Burgundy and Orléans, he
was frightened and offered to give up the culprits to be hanged. The
University, however, proceeded with the case, the Duc d’Orléans took it
up, and just then the King came to his senses and was very angry. He
ordered Savoisy to be banished, his hôtel razed to the ground, and a
chapel built there at his expense instead. Savoisy was, after a time,
recalled and enriched again.[206]
Meanwhile Louis d’Orléans, Isabeau, and her brother were amassing an
enormous amount of treasure, which they kept in safe places distributed
about. A convoy drawn by six horses and loaded entirely with gold coin
was stopped near Metz, being on the way to Germany, sent by Isabeau.
The people learned from the drivers of it that several others[207]
of these convoys had safely reached their destination. But they did
not pay their tradesmen nor any of their debts. The servants of the
household of the King, Dauphin, and other royal children, could not
get their wages, so that thus it was nearly impossible to procure them
proper food, clothes, and attendance. An Augustine monk named Jacques
Legrand, preaching before the Queen on Ascension Day, harangued against
the dissolute habits of the court, where he declared that Venus reigned
and corruption was general. He said that drunkenness, debauchery, and
licentious dances went on all night, that the Queen had introduced the
excessive luxury and extravagance in dress which everywhere prevailed,
as she would hear if she went out in disguise. The Queen was very
angry and some of her ladies told the monk that they could not imagine
why he was not afraid to say such things, to which he replied that he
could still less understand why they dared to do them. He treated with
indifference the threats aimed at him, and when some of the courtiers
told the King that he had been speaking disrespectfully of the Queen
and her goings on, he said he was very glad of it, and that the monk
should preach to him in his oratory on Whitsunday. Charles listened
with much attention to his sermon on the excesses of the court and
society, and when it was over praised him for his fidelity and courage,
took him under his protection, and resolved to reform the state of
things he complained of. But he fell ill again in June and remained so
during half July, so nothing was done.[208]
There was a spell of very bad weather just then. The melting of snow in
the mountains of Haute Bourgogne caused a torrent to rush down from the
gorges carrying stones and rocks. It drowned many people, broke down
the walls of the great abbey of Cluny, and rushed in, driving the monks
up to the higher stories, where they remained till, in sixteen hours,
the flood went down, and they descended to dig out the dead bodies from
the ruins.[209]
The Queen and Duc d’Orléans had formed the project of attaching to
their party the Duc de Bar, cousin of the King, by marrying his son
to one of the daughters of France. As the only available one was the
Princess Marie, notwithstanding her vows and dedication of the child
at Poissy, Isabeau, accompanied by Louis, set out for that convent to
see her daughter and talk to her on the subject. She found, however,
that instead of a ready consent, which she doubtless expected, the
Princess Marie, then about twelve years old, absolutely refused to
leave the convent. The Queen talked for a long time to her daughter,
and the Duc d’Orléans added his persuasions, but it was no use, she
would not hear of it. She said to the Queen that she had placed her
there, she was dedicated to God, and she should stay there, adding,
“You have made a gift to God and you cannot recall it.”
The King was ill just then, but when he got better they persuaded
him to try his influence. He consented rather reluctantly, but said
she should do as she chose. He went to see her and asked whether she
would consent to leave the convent and marry (she had, of course, not
yet taken the irrevocable vows). But the child replied that she had
promised to be the bride of Christ, and would hold to her vow unless
her father could find her a better and more powerful bridegroom.[210]
The Queen and Duc d’Orléans, after their unsuccessful visit to the
young princess, went to hunt in the forest of St. Germain. There a
frightful storm came on. Isabeau, as usual, was terrified. Louis got
off his horse and took refuge in her carriage. The horses took fright
and ran away down to the river, into which they would certainly have
plunged had not a man caught hold of them and cut the traces, or
whatever were the straps that fastened them to the carriage. The
lightning struck the room where the Dauphin was in Paris, and killed
one of his favourite esquires. The Dauphin was dreadfully frightened
but not hurt. His attendants consoled him and had holy water thrown
about the room.[211] The people said that these floods and storms were
caused by the conduct of the Queen and Duc d’Orléans, who seem to have
been of the same opinion, for they were for a short time seized with
remorse and declared they would pay their debts. Louis even went so
far as to summon his creditors to his hôtel to receive their money,
but when they came he had changed his mind and would not pay them--at
least, only those who had come from a great distance.
One day the King, recovering suddenly from an attack of insanity, and
finding everything in a state of confusion and discomfort, began to
inquire the meaning of this condition of things. The Queen and the Duc
d’Orléans were away, so he questioned the governess of the Dauphin,
who told him that she really could not get proper clothes and scarcely
proper food for the Dauphin and his brothers and sisters, that the
Queen would not attend to the matter, and she did not know what to do.
Charles was exceedingly angry and grieved, for he was very fond of his
children, and he sent for the Dauphin and asked him if it were true.
The boy hesitated, but after a little persuasion told his father that
it was, only that his mother had by caresses and entreaties made him
promise not to tell his father. Charles then asked him how long it was
since he had been with his mother, to which he replied, about three
months. The King thanked the governess for her faithfulness, begged her
to take care of the children, gave her a gold cup he had been drinking
from to reward her services, promising to do more for her afterwards.
Then he called a council and sent for the Duke of Burgundy.[212]
The Queen and the Duc d’Orléans, when they heard he was coming, fled
to Melun and fortified themselves there; which was easy enough as it
was a very strong place on an island in the Seine. It had been the
headquarters of the party of Navarre, as it had belonged to Queen
Blanche in the reign of Jean and Charles V.[213]
In order to prevent the Dauphin from falling into the hands of the
Duke of Burgundy, they sent word to Ludwig of Bavaria, the Queen’s
brother, to bring not only him but the children of Burgundy also, to
the Queen’s country house at Pouilly, where they went to wait for them.
But the Parisians got to hear of it, and sent in haste to meet the Duke
of Burgundy and tell him to come as fast as he could, for the Queen
had sent for the Dauphin and they were afraid she was going to take
him to Germany. Jean Sans-peur, at the head of a strong body of armed
men, pushed on at full speed, but found when he got there that they
had already started. He rode after them and caught them up at about a
league and a half from Paris. They had been taken by boat to Vitry and
had slept at Villejuif. It was pouring with rain. The Duke of Bavaria
represented that the Queen had sent for the children and begged the
Duke of Burgundy, who had much the stronger party of the two, not to
prevent his obeying her orders. The Duke of Burgundy rode up to the
Dauphin’s litter, and, opening the _portière_, asked him if it were by
his own free will that he had left Paris. The Dauphin replied that he
would much rather go back there to his father; upon which the Duke of
Burgundy ordered him to return at once, and himself took hold of the
bridles of the horses and turned them back towards Paris. The Duke of
Bavaria accompanied him, and the Dauphin was soon lodged in the Louvre
while the Duke of Burgundy fortified himself in his hôtel d’Artois.
{1406}
The rest of the party returned to Pouilly, where they found Isabeau and
Louis just going to dinner. But on hearing what had happened they were
so alarmed that, without even waiting to dine, they fled to Melun and
took refuge there.[214]
There was now open war between the Queen and Duc d’Orléans and the
Burgundian party, and the royal family was divided and perplexed. The
King of Sicily and Duc de Bourbon tried to make peace and came to Melun
for that purpose, but it was no use; the Queen would not see them and
the Duc d’Orléans would not listen to them. He said the capture of the
Dauphin was an insult to the Queen and to himself. They went back in
despair, and begged the Duc de Berry to try. He also went to Melun,
but it was no use; the Queen would not go back to Paris.
She was at this time very angry with some of the members of her
household who had been spreading scandal about her. She dismissed
several of her maids-of-honour, among them one who had been her great
favourite, whom she often consulted, and who kept her seal. She put two
of the gentlemen of her household in prison and kept them there for
some time, in spite of the entreaties of their friends that they might
be brought to trial.[215]
However, a conference was held at Vincennes, peace was patched up, and
they all returned to Paris, where the Queen took up her abode again
with the King at St. Paul, the Duc d’Orléans at his hôtel near the
Bastille, the Duke of Burgundy occupied the hôtel d’Artois, the King of
Sicily the hôtel d’Anjou, and the Duc de Berry the hôtel de Nesle. Each
of these hôtels was a fortress, and all the streets around them were
defended with chains and wooden doors.
Meanwhile, the King had another attack worse than ever. He was very
fierce, so that no one dared go near him, and refused to undress or
wash. This went on so long, and he got into such a dreadful state, that
the doctor said it must be stopped somehow. Ten or twelve men therefore
disguised themselves, wore armour under their clothes, and blackened
their faces. Then they rushed into the King’s room, “terrible to see,”
as the chronicler remarks. The King was so frightened that he let them
get close to him, and then they seized him, undressed and washed him,
and put clean clothes on him. He soon began to get better, but for
some time did not know any one but Juvenal des Ursins, who used to go
to see him, and whom he would recognise and talk to. Shortly after he
recovered his senses.[216]
On the 16th of June, 1406, there was a total eclipse of the sun
between six and seven in the morning. It lasted half an hour, “and,”
says the chronicler, “nothing whatever could one see, any more than
if it had been night and there had been no moon.” People crowded into
the churches, and every one thought the world was coming to an end.
“However, the thing passed off, and the astronomers assembled and
said that the thing was very strange and the sign of a great evil to
come.”[217]
Two more royal marriages took place. Isabelle, Queen of England, was
married to Charles, eldest son of the Duc d’Orléans, and her little
brother Jean, to Jacqueline, daughter of the Comte de Hainault and
niece of the Duke of Burgundy. Isabelle hated this marriage and cried
all the time, it was said at court, because she thereby lost the title
of Queen of England. Miss Strickland, in her life of that Queen,
observes that if she had been so anxious to keep the crown of England,
she could easily have done so by marrying King Henry V., and that her
grief was caused by her love for King Richard. But at any rate, it is
not difficult to understand that a girl of seventeen might well object
to be married to a boy of fifteen,[218] and her cousin, besides the
fact of his being a subject while she had been a queen. Miss Strickland
goes on to state that after a short time she became reconciled to this
marriage, Charles of Orléans being accomplished and precocious beyond
his years, and devoted to her, but it was cut short by her early death.
{1407}
After the weddings the Comtesse de Hainault wished to take the Duc de
Touraine back with her. The Queen objected, and a dispute arose, but as
it had been agreed in the contract that he should be under her care,
she got her way, took leave of the Queen (the King was then ill), and
returned to Hainault. The Count came to meet them with a brilliant
suite and received the young prince with great ceremony, and in every
place through which they passed was music and rejoicing. The children
had the household of sovereign princes, and the Count tried to educate
his son-in-law in the ways of the country, that he might live in
harmony with his future subjects. The King, when he recovered, made no
objection, but consented to the Count’s request that his son should be
brought up in Hainault.[219]
Never within the memory of any one alive had been seen such a winter as
that of 1407. The snow lay deep on the ground, wells were frozen to an
extraordinary depth, wine was frozen in the barrel and bread at the
bakers. Many people died of the cold, and it was known as “_le grand
hiver_.”[220] The frost lasted sixty-six days, beginning in November.
Louis d’Orléans had been ill on and off all the autumn, and had been
staying at Beauté for the benefit of the fresh air of the forest which
his father had so loved. Valentine and her children were still in the
country, and the King at the Louvre. Isabeau had for some time been
living in the hôtel Barbette, where she had given birth to her twelfth
and last child, who was christened Philippe and died soon after.
Isabeau was still weak, and had not recovered from her illness; she had
displayed extraordinary grief at the death of this baby, for whom it
was said she showed more affection than for any of her other children.
She was altogether low and depressed in spirits, and Louis came every
day to see and console her.
He was just then living at the hôtel de Nesle, not the great palace
opposite the Louvre, but the one afterwards called the hôtel de
Soissons, whence he and his daily rides to the hôtel Barbette were
known and watched by the men of Burgundy.
[Illustration: HOTEL BARBETTE.]
On Wednesday evening, November 23, 1407, Louis and Isabeau were having
supper and spending the evening together at the hôtel Barbette. Isabeau
was splendidly dressed in long robes and an enormous headdress with
horns, covered with jewels. It was only eight o’clock, but the night
was dark and all the shops in that quarter were closed. Suddenly a
messenger from the King was announced for the Duc d’Orléans, who said
that he desired at once to see the Duke, as he had an important matter
to speak to him about.
Louis rose, took his leave, and went out. Mounting his mule,[221] he
rode carelessly along, swinging his embroidered glove and humming
a song as he went. He was only accompanied by two esquires, both
riding the same horse, a young German page or esquire, and four or
five _varlets_ carrying torches. As they passed a dark corner by a
wall close to the house of the Maréchal d’Evreux the horse of the two
esquires seems to have been aware of the presence of some men concealed
in the darkness, snorted violently, and ran away. The assassins rushed
out and assailed the Duke, who, thinking it was a mistake, exclaimed,
“I am the Duc d’Orléans,” to which, however, the reply was, “It is you
we want.” The two esquires looked round, expecting he was following
them, and seeing the struggle, managed to stop their horse, and
returned. Louis d’Orléans lay dead on the ground, covered with wounds;
his German page, who had defended him to the last, died as they came
up, muttering, “_Mon maître_.” The assassins rode off at full speed,
laughing and strewing _chaussetrapes_, or calthrops, behind them, and
setting fire to a house to divert attention from their flight. In a
moment cries of alarm resounded on all sides; the street was full of
torches; some of the followers of the Duke rushed back to the hôtel
Barbette to tell the Queen, who heard the tumult with terror and did
not know what was happening.
Félibien says that the murderers came out of a house called Notre
Dame, because over the door was an image of our Lady, and that it was
opposite that of the Maréchal de Rieux. This house they had hired for
the purpose, and had been hidden in it for a fortnight. They were
eighteen in number. The wife of a shoemaker said that she opened her
window, and looking out into the street, she saw the Duke and his
little group of attendants come out of the hôtel Barbette; then the
attack of the murderers, the short fight, the fall of the Duke, his
page, and another of his followers; and that after all was over a tall
man wrapped in a cloak, with a red hood drawn over his face, came
out of a house opposite, which had lately been bought by the Duke of
Burgundy, and pushing with his foot the body of Orléans, said, “_Il est
mort, éteignez tous et allons nous en._” She shouted, “_Murder! Fire!_”
out of the window, but they turned with threatening words and ordered
her to be silent. The Maréchal de Rieux, a friend and partisan of
Louis d’Orléans, hearing the clamour and cries, came out of his hôtel
with a torch, and to his horror found him lying dead, with his German
page also dead and another of his followers dying; the rest had fled.
The body of Louis was carried to the nearest church, and then to that
of the Céléstins, and laid in the _chapelle d’Orléans_, which he had
founded.[222]
Isabeau, wild with fear, ordered her litter at once, got into it, and
was carried to the hôtel St. Paul, where she took refuge with the
King, taking up her abode in the room adjoining his; while the news
spread through Paris, and the nobles, hastily arming, flocked to St.
Paul to guard the King, all the gates of Paris were closed but two,
which were strictly guarded and count kept of all who passed out or in.
The King, filled with grief and anger, sent for the provost of Paris
and ordered him to find out the assassins, and there was a general
wonder who was the instigator of this crime. Suspicions fell upon the
Sieur de Canny, who had cause enough to hate Louis d’Orléans, but it
appeared that he had not been in or near Paris at the time; and on the
25th the provost of Paris presented himself at the hôtel St. Paul where
the princes were assembled, as a council was about to be held, and came
into the apartment where they were all waiting for the time for it to
begin. The King of Sicily and the Dukes of Burgundy, Berry, and Bourbon
were present, besides other princes of the blood.[223]
The Duke of Burgundy was standing by a window talking to the King of
Sicily when the provost of Paris appeared and said that he believed he
could find out the author of the crime if he might have permission to
search the hôtels of all the princes.[224] It appeared that a scullion
who had acted as spy for the murderers had been seen to escape and
enter the hôtel d’Artois, or Burgundy.
All the princes at once gave leave for their palaces to be searched
except the Duke of Burgundy, who hesitated and changed colour, and the
King of Sicily asked him if he knew anything of the affair. Taking
him and the Duc de Berry aside, he confessed his guilt. “_C’est moi
qui ai fait le coup et ne sais comme il s’est fait, il faut que le
diable m’ait tenté et surpris._” The princes looked at each other
in consternation. “_Dieu!_” exclaimed the Duc de Berry, “_je perds
aujourd’hui mes deux neveux!_”
Next day, when he presented himself to attend the council at the hôtel
de Nesle, the Duc de Berry stopped him, saying he had better not go in,
as it would please no one to see him there; he had better go back to
his hôtel. The Duke of Burgundy left the palace, the Comte de Saint-Pol
refusing to accompany him, got fresh horses, and fled to the nearest
fortress belonging to him, cutting the Pont Saint Maxence behind him to
stop pursuit. The Duc de Bourbon indignantly asked the Duc de Berry,
“Why did you let him go?” He grieved sincerely for his nephew, and
never again would sit at a council, or enter a room, or go to any place
where the Duke of Burgundy was.