ISABELLE DE LORRAINE--“THE PRIDE OF LORRAINE”
I.
Child-marriage was a distinguishing mark of the Renaissance, but
its fashion in the Sovereign States of France was very much more
commendable than its prototype in Italy. In the Italian republics it
became a holocaust of immature maidens, condemned to untimely death
through the perverted passions of worn-out men of middle age. In
France the girl brides were mated with boy husbands, but cohabitation
was regulated by the watch and will of guardians. In both countries,
doubtless, the marriage contract was essentially a commercial
undertaking, but in France it marked the attainment of political and
dynastic aims. Sovereign families rarely allied their offspring out of
the ruling class. At the same time the danger of conjugal union between
individuals nearly related was immeasurably increased. Indeed, such
relationships were those most zealously cultivated by ambitious and
exclusive rulers. The marriage of René d’Anjou and Isabelle de Lorraine
was a striking and typical instance of this precocious marital custom.
[Illustration: ISABELLE DE LORRAINE
From a Miniature by King René, in “Le Livre des Heures”
_To face page 94_]
Isabelle, “the Pride of Lorraine,”--as she was acclaimed by her
devoted subjects at the time of her betrothal,--was born at the Castle
of Nancy, March 20, 1410. Her parents were Charles II., Duke of
Lorraine, and his consort, Margaret of Bavaria. Charles himself was the
eldest son of Jehan, Duke and Count of Lorraine, and Sophie, Princess
of Würtemberg. Born in 1364, at Toul,--a free city of the German Empire
and an ecclesiastical sovereign see,--Charles succeeded his father in
1392. Originally a fief of the Holy Roman Empire, Lorraine was erected
a kingdom by the Emperor Lothair, who styled himself “King and Baron of
Lothairland.” The first Prince to bear the ducal title was Adelebert,
in 979, and that style descended unbroken through 500 years.
The Duchess Margaret was the second daughter of the Emperor Robert
III., Duke and Baron of Bavaria. She married Charles II. in 1393. To
them were born eight children, but, alas! Louis and Rodolphe died in
infancy, Charles and Ferri before their majority, and Robert in 1419,
unmarried, at twenty-two. Of their three daughters, Isabelle was
the eldest. Marie became the wife of Enguerrand de Coucy, Baron of
Champagne and Lord of Soissons, a lineal descendant of the founder,
in the thirteenth century, of the famous Château de Coucy, the most
complete feudal fortress ever built, whose proud motto may still be
seen on the donjon wall:
“Roi je ne suis
Prince ni Comte aussi:
Je suis le Sire de Coucy.”
This union was childless. Catherine, the third daughter, in 1426
married James, Marquis of Baden, Count Palatine of the Rhine and
Elector. She renounced all claims to Lorraine. Their only child was a
daughter.
At the time of their marriage, Charles II. of Lorraine and Margaret
of Bavaria were a model couple upon the principles of dissimilarity
and contrast. The Duke, a soldier born, had made good his degree of
knighthood ten years before, when, a mere stripling, he won his spurs
fighting daringly by the side of his cousin, Philippe “le Hardi,”
Duke of Burgundy. With him he went on a punitive expedition against
the pirates of the Barbary coast. At Rosebach, and especially at the
tremendous battle of Azincourt, he did prodigies of valour. In Flanders
and in Germany his ensign led on victorious troops. Charles’s last
military achievement was the rout of the Emperor Wenceslas under the
very walls of Nancy. No warrior loved fighting more than the Duke of
Lorraine. Slightly to alter the text, he was one of those war-lords
whom Shakespeare, in his “seven ages of man,” says “sought reputation
at the cannon’s mouth.” He yearned for the applause of gallant knights,
both friends and foes; he yielded himself amorously to the smiles and
embraces of the fair sex, and he revelled in the praise and adulation
of poets and minstrels. His mailed fist was ever toying with his trusty
sword and grappling the chafing-reins of his charger; his mailed foot
was ever ready for the stirrup and to trample upon the head of a fallen
foe.
At the same time he was a gay and polished courtier, one of the most
accomplished Princes in Europe. Fond of literature and poetry, he
studied daily his Latin copy of the “Commentaries of Julius Cæsar” and
similar treatises. He had besides a taste for music, and was no mean
exponent of the lute and guitar, and a friend of troubadours.
On the other hand, the gentle, lovable Duchess was born for the
cloister and for the worship of the Mass. Her bare feet were ever
moving in penitential pilgrimages and religious processions, and her
shapely hands were ever joined in prayer or divided in charity. Her
passion was the submissive rule of Christ, her will the conquest of
herself.
Daring and devotion thus harnessed together rocked the family cradle,
and insured for their offspring the best of two worlds. Such a union
was bound to be productive of genius and corrective of faults of
heredity. What a bitter disappointment, then, it must have been for
both the Duke and the Duchess when one after another their beauteous
babes and adolescent sons dropped like blighted rosebuds from their
young love’s rosebush prematurely into the cold, dark grave, leaving
only the aroma of their sweet young lives to soothe their sorrowing
parents!
Isabelle was the fairest daughter of the three. She inherited the force
of character of her father and the pious disposition of her mother, and
to these precious traits she joined a spirit of intelligence much in
advance of her years as a growing girl. In short, she was remarkable
“_pour ses qualités de l’esprit et du cœur_,” a description difficult
to render into good English; perhaps we may say she had her father’s
will and her mother’s love.
Many were the suitors for her hand, some for the pure love of beauty,
grace, and spirit, but most with a view to the Duke-consortship in the
future of rich Lorraine. The “Pride of Lorraine,” indeed, served as
an ever-reinforced magnet. She became remarkable for her loveliness
of person, her animation of manner, and her distinguished carriage.
The natural sweetness of her voice lent a gracious persuasiveness to
her eloquence, which in later life proved invaluable in the recruiting
of adherents to her husband’s cause. High-souled and condescending,
she brought her enemies to her feet, only to raise them her warmest
friends. Talented beyond the average of Princesses, she had also
the charm of winsome gaiety, and proved herself a worthy spouse
and companion for her gallant and clever consort René. Tall, slim,
fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a skin of satin softness, the “Pride of
Lorraine” won all hearts and turned many a head.
To Louis, Cardinal de Bar, was due the accomplishment of an idea
suggested by Queen Yolande with respect to the future of her second
son, René d’Anjou. He had for ever so long been considering what
steps he should take with respect to the succession to the duchy. He
of course, as an ecclesiastic, could have no legitimate offspring.
His brothers had died childless, and only one of his sisters had male
descendants, the grandsons of Violante de Bar, his own grand-nephews.
In His Eminence’s mind, too, was a project to reconstitute the
ancient kingdom of Lothair by merging Barrois and Lorraine proper.
Whilst Duke Charles II.’s young sons were living, the Cardinal looked
to one of them as his heir; and when they all drooped and died, he
reflected whether or not he should name Charles as his successor. At
this juncture his niece, the Queen of Sicily-Anjou, was busy looking
out for brides for her two elder sons, Louis and René. For the former
a Bretagne alliance was indicated; for the latter a union with
Lorraine--Burgundy for the time being out of the question--or Champagne
seemed desirable.
The Cardinal clinched the matter, and paid a visit to the Duke of
Lorraine in furtherance of his project, which was the very natural
and sensible one of marrying his nephew René with the Duke’s eldest
daughter Isabelle. Whether Charles had any inklings of the Cardinal’s
cogitations with relation to his own position with respect to Bar we
know not; but possibly he had, for he met the proposition with a direct
refusal. He read to his relative two clauses of a will he had recently
executed, which forbade his daughter Isabelle to marry a Prince of
French origin, and especially barred the House of Anjou. This latter
prohibition was inserted with reference to the rupture between Jean
“sans Peur,” the Duke of Burgundy, and Louis II., King of Sicily and
Duke of Anjou, which resulted from the part the former had played in
the assassination of the Duke of Orléans in 1407, and the consequent
repudiation of the betrothal of Catherine de Bourgogne and Louis
d’Anjou. Lorraine and Burgundy were in close alliance.
The Cardinal, however, was not to be diverted from the course he
had taken. He placed ten considerations before the Duke and his
advisers:--(1) The advisability of reuniting the two portions of
Lorraine; (2) Charles’s lack of male heirs; (3) his own incompetence in
the same direction; (4) his choice of his grand-nephew, René d’Anjou,
as his successor at Bar-le-Duc; (5) the attractive personality, mental
attainments, and high courage of the young Prince; (6) his descent from
a Barrois-Lorraine Princess, Violante, his sister; (7) the risks of the
application of the power of the Salic Law over his daughters; (8) the
equality of age of René and Isabelle; (9) the wish of the late King and
of the Queen of Sicily-Anjou for an alliance with Lorraine and a better
understanding politically; (10) the welfare of the peoples of the two
duchies and the love of the Lorrainers for their princely house.
Charles asked time to consider these points, but meanwhile he summoned
the Estates, and laid before them a proposition concerning the
succession to Lorraine at his death. He named his eldest daughter as
Hereditary Duchess, and proposed that her consort should bear the
title, and with her exercise the prerogatives, of Duke of Lorraine. A
concordat was agreed to whereby the Estates were pledged to support the
Duchess Isabelle, and to carry out Charles’s wishes.
Queen Yolande had seconded her uncle’s negotiations in a very womanly
and sensible way. She communicated directly with good Duchess Margaret.
She pointed out to her the mutual advantages of the marriage of the two
children, and declared that such a union would heal the breach between
the eastern and the western Sovereigns of France. Margaret, loving
peace and holy things, was easily persuaded to reason with her husband;
she submitted absolutely to the overpowering personality of the Queen.
With Charles, Yolande had a stiffer fight, but she gathered up her
strength, and in the end, lusty warrior that he was, he yielded up his
defence to the tactful diplomacy of the good mother of Anjou. Woman’s
wit once more, as it generally does, triumphed over man’s obstinacy.
Charles agreed to receive the young Prince, and judge for himself
of his prepositions and qualifications. The result was beyond the
Cardinal’s expectation, for the Duke declared himself charmed with
the boy. He was, he said, ready to rescind the prohibitory clauses of
his will, but he made it a condition that he should have the personal
and unrestricted guardianship of the boy until he reached the age of
fifteen. He desired René to proceed at once to Angers to obtain Queen
Yolande’s consent to the matrimonial contract between himself and
Princess Isabelle. Everything went merrily, like the marriage-bells
which soon enough pealed forth all over Lorraine, Barrois, and Anjou,
at the auspicious nuptials. The final arrangements were completed, and
René and Isabelle were betrothed at the Castle of St. Mihiel, and on
October 20, 1420, married at the Cathedral of Nancy by the Bishop of
Toul, Henri de Ville, Duke Charles’s cousin. Immediately before the
wedding, Cardinal-Duke Louis caused a herald to proclaim publicly, in
the market-place of Nancy, René d’Anjou, Comte de Guise, Hereditary
Duke of Bar, with the _ad interim_ title of Marquis of Pont-à-Mousson.
The record of the marriage is thus entered in “_Les Chroniques de
Lorraine_”: “_Les nopces furent faictes en grant triomphe, et la
dicte fille menée à Bar moult honorablement. Le Cardinal fust moult
joyeulx._”[A] The contract had been signed on March 20, 1420, by
the Duke and the Cardinal at the Château de Tourg, near Toul, Queen
Yolande’s signature being provided by her proxy. She granted to her son
the right to quarter the arms of Bar and Lorraine with those of Anjou
and Guise.
[A] “The nuptials were celebrated with great ceremony, and
the said Princess was conducted to Bar very honourably. The
Cardinal was full of joy.”
On November 10 formal proclamation was made in every important town
in Lorraine, to the effect that Duke Charles II. constituted his
eldest daughter, now Duchess of Barrois and Countess of Guise, heiress
to the duchy of Lorraine, and confirmed to her, and to her issue by
René d’Anjou and Bar, full rights of succession and government. The
proclamation named Queen Yolande of Sicily-Anjou, Louis, Cardinal de
Bar, and the Duke himself, Charles’s guardians during the minority of
the young couple.
“René,” wrote a chronicler, “is well-grown, well-bred, and
well-looking. He is greatly admired by all the fair sex, and loves them
in return. He will make a good husband, and has the making of a great
Sovereign.” The bride’s praises were sung by poets and minstrels the
length and breadth of Lorraine and Bar.
Among the earliest to congratulate the young people and their parents
was the redoubtable Duke of Burgundy! He sent a special embassy to
Nancy with this striking message: “_Tous estoient si joyeulx de veoir
la fervente et cordiale amour qui estoit entre ces deulx jeuns gens,
que je me trouve capable des sentiments les plus amiables pour tous
mes cousins royales. Je salue mes bons frères les Souverains Ducs
de Lorraine et Barrois avec Madame la Duchesse Marguerite, et sans
autre choses la bonne Rogne de Cecile, son épous le Roy Louis, pour
jamais._”[A]
[A] “Everybody was delighted to behold the fervent and cordial
love which exists between the two young people, whilst I found
myself filled with the most amiable sentiments for all my
royal cousins. I salute my good brothers the Sovereign Dukes
of Lorraine and Barrois, and also the Duchess Margaret, and
equally the good Queen of Sicily and her consort King Louis.”
This was as a jewel in the hair of Queen Yolande, and as nectar in the
cup of Cardinal Louis. Their plans had succeeded splendidly.
Shortly after his marriage, René returned to Bar-le-Duc with his
child-bride, and they were received in royal state by the Cardinal,
who had renovated and decorated the castle specially in their honour
and for their use. The town of Ligny was causing trouble in Barrois by
refusing to pay the accustomed tribute. The Prince de Ligny claimed
that portion of the duchy of Bar as his, by the marriage contract of
his wife, the Cardinal’s sister. He attacked the Castle of Pierrepoint
and the town of Briey, whose garrison he caused to be put to the
sword. The Cardinal took arms, and, accompanied by René and companies
of Lorraine soldiers from Longwy, defeated his relative and took him
prisoner. The young Prince received the rebel’s sword and personally
conducted him to Nancy, where, after two years’ confinement in the
fortress, he signed an act of renunciation of his pretensions in
Barrois.
René, only twelve years old, the following year accompanied Charles II.
of Lorraine to the siege of Toul,--for many years a turbulent element
in his dominions,--where there was a hot dispute concerning certain
laws and customs oppositive to the claims of the crown of Lorraine.
Toul was captured, and mulcted in an annual tribute of a thousand
livres.
Directly the proclamation of Isabelle of Lorraine with René as the
sharer of her throne was made, Antoine de Vaudémont, Duke Charles’s
eldest nephew, entered a protest and claimed the succession. He based
his action upon the three conditions--(1) The Salic Law ruled the
succession of Lorraine; (2) the male line had not been broken since
the creation of the duchy; and (3) the realm had never gone out of the
family. Charles scouted all these positions, affirmed his own sovereign
right to name his successor, and refused to alter the terms of the
proclamation so far as regarded the succession of his daughter and Duke
René.
All the church-bells in Barrois and Lorraine were again set
jingling joyously when, in the ducal castle of Toul, on the morning
of January 17, 1437, a young mother,--very young indeed, barely
seventeen,--brought forth her first-born--a beauteous boy, the
image, as the midwives said, of the boy-father, not yet nineteen.
Church-bells, too, rang merrily all over Anjou and Provence when the
glad tidings reached their borders that a male heir was born to the
honours of Sicily-Anjou-Provence. Perhaps René and Isabelle were too
young to realize what it all meant for France at large, but Queen
Yolande understood well enough its tenor, and with her congratulations
she greeted her first son’s grandchild with the title of “Prince of
Gerona,” linking him ostentatiously with her hereditary rights in
Aragon. Duke Charles, too, and Duchess Margaret were the happiest of
grandparents, and baby Jean was created Comte de Nancy as future Duke.
Charles’s death was somewhat sudden and quite unexpected. Strong man
that he was, King Death seemed to be a power not immediately to be
feared. René was not at Nancy when the death-knell sounded, but news
swiftly reached him, and he returned at once to the capital. Duchess
Margaret,--despite her lamentations and her natural dislike to public
appearance,--attired herself in full Court dress, the crown she rarely
wore upon her head, and all the officials of the Court, the Government,
and city, in her retinue, and hastened to the gate to welcome the
new Duke of Lorraine. Before her carriage rode a number of lords and
knights, who dismounted on the approach of René, and, saluting him
deferentially, greeted him as “_Vous estoit le nostre duc!_” The cry
was taken up by all the gallant company, whilst René, having dismounted
at the portal of St. George, took the sacred missal offered by the Dean
into his hands, and swore then and there to respect and safeguard the
ancient liberties of the State and city.
One of the quaintest of quaint observances followed, a custom peculiar
to Lorraine. After receiving the ecclesiastical blessing, the new
Duke remounted his horse, and into his hand was placed the ancient
altar cross called “Polluyon.” He rode slowly through the city to St.
Nicholas Gate, where he again dismounted, and gave his charger into the
care of one of the canons, who took his place in the saddle and rode
out of sight. This strange custom had been observed at all the public
recognitions of new Dukes of Lorraine ever since its inception by Duke
Raoul, in 1339. The Duke then returned on foot to St. George’s, bearing
still the jewelled cross. At the entrance the Bishop stood ready to
administer the customary oaths and to accord the Papal benediction.
This ceremony also was unique. The Bishop told him to face the assembly
of his subjects at the four points of the compass, and to repeat at
each the formula: “I take this oath before God and you willingly, and
look to God for assistance, and to you for service.”
Then conducted to the castle in great circumstance, amid the vociferous
plaudits of the populace,--“_Noël! Noël!_” they cried,--the Duke knelt
and kissed the hand of Duchess Isabelle, who was waiting there, and
presented her to the delirious citizens. “_Vive le nostre Duc! Vive
la nostre Duchesse!_” rang through the city, and, caught up by the
sculptured pinnacles and turrets of the cathedral, mingled harmoniously
with the musical cadences of the bells, and so was wafted over all that
fair and smiling land.
René, although but two-and-twenty, gave immediate evidence of
wisdom beyond his years. His power to grasp and handle complex affairs
of State, and his discrimination in matters of moment, proved the
excellence of his grand-uncle’s training. His personal appearance
was all in his favour, and his graceful, well-set-up figure, his
open countenance, his majestic manner,--ever ready to bend to
circumstances,--gained general admiration and confidence. His gracious,
patient, and conciliatory bearing was remarkable. His modesty and
absolute lack of presumption attracted the best men of all parties.
His readiness to appoint a Council of State, with unusual freedom of
deliberation and action, was only, perhaps, what might have been looked
for from the son of the founder of the free Parliament of Provence in
1415. The new Duke set on foot movements for the amelioration of the
condition of the poor, for the improvement of education, and for the
rectification of the morals of the Court and city. One of his earliest
edicts was for the suppression of blasphemy; a first charge was
punishable by the judge in the ordinary way, a second involved a heavy
fine, a third obtained correction in the public pillory, and a fourth
offence was purged only by the splitting of the tongue and rigorous
imprisonment.
[Illustration: RENÉ D’ANJOU
(_Circa 1440_)
Painted by himself “Le Livre des Heures”
_To face page 106_]
In all these, and many similar acts of sapient policy, Duchess Isabelle
bore her part in counsel and example; her conduct was beyond all
praise. The next move was a progress through every part of the two
duchies. At each considerable town the royal cortège halted first
of all that the Duke and Duchess might make their devotions in the
principal church, and endow Masses and ecclesiastical grants. Then,
assembling the officials and chief citizens, they inquired into
the hardships of the people and encouraged local institutions, at
each place leaving largesse for distribution. In strong places with
garrisons, the Duke interested himself in redressing injuries and
inequalities among the veterans. He offered to pay all the losses of
officers in the wars; he allowed eighteen sols for each horse killed
in battle or on march; he bestowed on each soldier a surcoat and steel
helmet with his royal cognizance, and created many knights. Meanwhile
Duchess Isabelle endeared herself to the women-folk by consoling
words of sympathy and gracious doles of charity. Widows and orphans
she took under her personal patronage, and no worthy claimant for her
benevolence lacked favour and assistance.
Thus René and Isabelle won, not only golden opinions, but the
sincerest affection of their subjects, rich and poor. But a climax
was put to the noble works of the kindly Sovereigns, and never came
truer the saying; “Providence ever destroys the good that men do.” An
evil genius appeared upon the peaceful scene when Antoine de Vaudémont
refused to pay allegiance to the new Duke and Duchess. The moment of
his declaration of hostility was as unfortunate as it was cruel. At
the public baptism of Prince Jean, the Duke’s eldest son, who had
been privately baptized at his birth, in 1426-27, the Count entered
the Cathedral of Nancy in full armour, and objected to the Duke of
Calabria,--the title of the young boy,--being received by the Church as
heir to the throne of Lorraine.
The Duke immediately summoned him to appear before the Council of
State, and also before a meeting of principal citizens, and there
repeat his protest. By both assembles his pretensions were scouted
unanimously. Sieur Jehan d’Haussonville, the Mayor, addressed the
Count, and said: “Your uncle has left daughters; the eldest, Isabelle,
is Duchess of Lorraine. I salute you. You may go.” Vaudémont left Nancy
in a violent rage, crying out as he passed through the gateway of St.
George: “I shall be Duke of Lorraine all the same, and soon, and then
will I reckon with you dogs!” He posted off to Dijon, and there took
counsel with the Duke of Burgundy.
The body of Charles II. had scarcely been consigned to its monumental
tomb in the choir of St. Georges de Port at Nancy, when the Comte de
Vaudémont revealed himself in his true colours. After his protest
against the edict of the Duke which named Duke René of Barrois, the
consort of the heiress to the throne, as his successor to the title
of Duke of Lorraine, he had remained skulking in his castle, where he
welcomed as many malcontents and disturbers of the peace as accepted
his pretensions to the crown. The coronation of Duchess Isabelle was
the signal for Vaudémont’s attempt to vindicate his claim. He had
hardly a sympathizer at Court, for Charles had caused all the principal
nobles and citizens to swear allegiance to his daughter and her husband
before he died. The Count appeared suddenly before Nancy, and demanded
the keys and the custody of the Duchess. Duke René was away besieging
Metz, but he at once posted off to Nancy, and assisted with men-at-arms
by Charles VII., and aided by the generalship of Barbazan, he defeated
Vaudémont in eight battles great and small.
Vaudémont rallied his forces from Burgundy under Antoine de
Toulongeon, Duke Philippe’s favourite general, and enlisted foreign
mercenaries from Flanders and Germany. René had at his back all the
armed men of Lorraine and Bar, and contingents from Anjou and Provence.
James, Marquis of Baden, and Louis of Bavaria, joined him with
squadrons of cavalry, and his army numbered nearly 20,000 men. Perhaps
he was over-confident of his strength, his right, and his intrepidity;
and having a very much more numerous following, he advanced upon his
enemy disregarding sundry cautions and wise counsels. The two armies
met upon the plain of Bulgneville, near Neufchâteau, on July 2.
Vaudémont played a waiting game; besides, he had in reserve heavier
artillery than his royal foeman. Early in the encounter Barbazan
fell mortally wounded, and then René himself received a wound which
incapacitated him for a time. The fall of their leaders demoralized the
Lorraine army, and Vaudémont, seeing his advantage, made a dash with a
column of heavy cavalry. René was smitten to the ground and surrounded.
He refused to surrender until an officer of sufficient rank should be
allowed to receive his sword. Then Toulongeon galloped up, and the
Duke, covered with blood and dust, was lead away to the Burgundian camp.
Taken the same evening to the Château de Talant, near Dijon, the royal
prisoner was treated with the deference due to his rank, but, alas! he
had fallen into the hands of the enemy of his house--the hated Duke of
Burgundy. That evening the curfew sounded not in Nancy, but the gates
were shut and barred, and two weeping women, powerless in their woe,
never sought their couches in the castle. Mother and daughter, Margaret
and Isabelle, were nigh death themselves. No tidings could they gain
of the whereabouts or of the condition of the man they loved. Duchess
Isabelle cried out: “Alas! I do not know whether my husband is dead or
alive or wounded, nor where they have taken him.” None had a consoling
answer, for all Nancy was in mourning. Two thousand good men and true
lay dead upon the stricken field, and three thousand more shared the
imprisonment of their Duke. The wounded in hundreds crawled into city,
village, and mansion; not a house in Lorraine but was flooded with
women’s tears and men’s blood that desperate day and night. At last
splashed and bedraggled heralds brought news of the Duke’s captivity,
and that his wounds were not serious: “_M’sieur le Duc, madame, estoit
en bon santé; les Bourguignons l’avoient pris: il se trouv at Dijon
demain_.”
Thus assured of her husband’s safety, Isabelle brushed away her
tears and roused herself to action. Promptly she called together the
Council of State, where she presided in person, and eloquently demanded
that strong measures should at once be taken to carry on the war
against Vaudémont and Philippe de Bourgogne, raise sufficient funds
to make good losses, and secure the liberty of the Duke. The Council
responded nobly and patriotically to the call of their Duchess; as the
“_Chroniques de Lorraine_” has it: “They had pity upon her, for she
had borne four sturdy children as comely as you might wish to see.”
“_Elle fust allegrée!_” was the universal testimony to Isabelle’s worth
as a wife and mother. Duchess Margaret, too, perhaps for the first
time in her life of devotion, raised her voice, and called for the
temporal sword to be reground to avenge the disaster. She accompanied
her daughter, both mounted, to Vézelise, which Isabelle had appointed
as the rendezvous of the new army, and personally enrolled companies
and squadrons, fastening to each man’s helm a thistle--the cognizance
of Lorraine. Then she addressed a protest to the victor of Bulgneville,
in which she warned him not to approach Nancy, but to regard herself
as his implacable foe until he should deliver up the Duke. Étienne
Pasquier, the chronicler, sums up in ten words the courageous character
of Duchess Isabelle. “Within the body of a woman,” he says, “the
Duchess carries the heart of a man.” After warning Vaudémont, she
concluded with him a truce of three months, during which period she
went in person to Charles VII., who was then in Dauphiné, and implored
his intervention and assistance. In her train was a young Maid of
Honour, Agnes Sorel, whose beauty and _naïveté_ rightly affected that
unstable monarch; it was an introduction which ripened later on into
something more intimate than mere admiration.
Duchess Margaret also greatly bestirred herself. Hearing that her
uncle, the Duke of Savoy, and her brother-in-law, the Duke of Berry,
were at Lyons awaiting the coming of King Charles, she posted off
there, taking with her as advisers the Bishops of Toul and Metz.
In company with the King of France was no less a person than Queen
Yolande, his mother-in-law--
“Aussi vient en icelle ville,
Accompaignée de demoiselles,
La noble Royne de Cecile.”
“There also came to the same town, accompanied by
Maids of Honour, the noble Queen of Sicily.”
as we read in the “_Heures de Charles VII._”
René was not kept long at Talant, but transferred to the fortress of
Bracon, near Salines. His imprisonment varied in severity; at times
he was treated roughly, half starved and unclothed, with no resources
or intercourse with friends outside. Then he was served with dignity
befitting his rank, and granted facilities for the better occupation
of his time. But what a staggering blow was his misfortune to all his
dreams and aims of honour, glory, and sovereignty!
Lorraine was in a terrible state, and so was Barrois; men knew
not what to do nor whom to trust. Overrun with soldiers of fortune
and the riff-raff of foreign camp-followers, security for person
and for property was no more. Vaudémont made, however, no use of
his victory--at least, so far as pressing his claims to the duchy.
Everywhere his cause was unpopular; indeed, he found himself in the
very unusual and humiliating position of a victor denied the fruits of
his victory. He disbanded his army and retired from Lorraine, and took
up his abode with his ally, Philippe of Burgundy, and there awaited
developments. René found means to communicate with his desolated wife,
and forwarded instructions to the Estates of Lorraine and Barrois to
acknowledge and serve Duchess Isabelle as Lieutenant-General during
his captivity. She entered upon her responsible duties with the utmost
fortitude and courage. All historians testify to her indefatigable zeal
and administrative ability.
Whilst the two Duchesses were doing all they could to effect the Duke’s
release and maintain the rights of Lorraine and Barrois, René himself
made a direct appeal to Philippe of Burgundy, and on March 1, 1432,
he proposed certain terms to his royal gaoler. They were as follows:
(1) The acceptance by the Duke of Burgundy of Duke René’s two young
sons, Jean and Louis, as hostages for their father; (2) the cession of
the castles of Clermont en Argonne, Châtille, Bourmont, and Charmes;
and (3) the payment of the Burgundian troops in full for all arrears.
Philippe accepted these hard conditions, and added to their harshness
by fixing a ransom of 20,000 _saluts d’or_. At the same time thirty
nobles of Lorraine and Barrois offered themselves in lieu of the two
young Princes.
This contract Philippe submitted to the Comte de Vaudémont for his
approval, which he gave after much consideration, but required the
insertion of a clause to the effect that his son Ferri should be
betrothed to Yolande, Duke René’s eldest daughter, then not quite three
years old, and that she should receive a dowry of 18,000 _florins de
Rhin_ for the purchase of an estate in Lorraine, and he added very
cunningly a proviso that residuary rights to the duchy should be
settled upon the issue of the marriage. This was with grim vengeance
the hoisting both of the Duke and the Count upon their own petards.
Such an extraordinary arrangement was, perhaps, never before contrived
by the craft of man.
At Nancy in the Queen’s apartments there was sorrow keen. Isabelle’s
heart was stabbed to the core. Could she part with her dear children?
That was the question she had to answer. The other clauses of René’s
charter of freedom were serious enough, to be sure, but none of them
weighed upon a mother’s heart as did this. As she looked out upon the
pleasaunce whence came echoes of childish laughter, her will failed
her. No, there they were, Jean and Louis, lovely boys of six and four,
too tender much to leave her fostering care, too young to face the
rigours of captivity. And yet her dearly loved husband, René, could not
be left in durance vile; his liberty was of the first importance, and
no sacrifice would be too great to bring him home to her again. What
should she do? First of all she knelt in prayer to God, and implored
the aid of St. Mary and the saints. St. George was for Lorraine. Then
she hied her to the boudoir of her mother, Duchess Margaret, and fell
upon her bosom, sobbing violently, the woman with the courage of a man!
Those tears, however, washed away her momentary want of resolution, and
when she had laid bare her troubles before her sympathetic parent, the
answer to her prayers came through the same devoted channel.
“Isabelle, my child,” the old Duchess said, “dry your tears, and thank
God in any case, for this trouble will pass. St. Mary, the Mother of
Jesus, feels for you, the mother of her boys. She inspires me, too, and
I am ready to take the dear children myself to Dijon or wherever our
René may be, and to remain with them till Philippe of Burgundy plays
the man and the Christian and releases them, and then our René shall
fold thee to his heart ere many suns have set.”
This pious and heroic resolution of the good-living Duchess-Dowager
was, perhaps, no more than Isabelle expected. She, of course, could
not take her hand off the helm of State, but her mother was a _persona
grata_ at the Burgundian Court; at least, she had been so when she
came as a bride to Nancy many years before. The long and the short of
the matter was that Duke René was released from his prison on March 1,
1432. He gave his parole to return there within a twelvemonth if the
conditions of his freedom were not complied with.
By a curious concatenation of circumstances the arrival of Duchess
Margaret and her two little grandsons at Dijon synchronized with that
of the Duke of Burgundy. He had been away in Flanders and in the
English camp on political business, and had postponed the bestowal of
rewards and honours upon his adherents at Bulgneville. Now he called
a Chapter of the “Order of the Toison d’Or” at Bracon, of all places
in the duchy, apparently forgetful of the fact that his royal prisoner
was there. The fortress possessed two towers; in one of these René was
confined,--henceforward known as _La Tour de Bar_. There were three
floors; on the topmost were the Duke’s two chambers, below certain
Lorraine prisoners of distinction were accommodated, and the guard
occupied the ground-floor. The other tower contained the regalia and
the archives of the Order. A very pleasant story is told of a meeting
of the two Dukes at Tour de Bar, and it delightfully illustrates the
French proverb, “_Noblesse oblige_.” On the day of the Chapter the Duke
of Burgundy, passing the portal of René’s tower, cast up his eyes, and
beheld his prisoner looking out of a window. He tossed up his bare hand
in token of recognition, and sent an officer up to René’s chamber with
a request that he would permit him to enter and hold converse there.
Such a demand appealed, of course, instantly to the chivalrous instinct
of the Duke of Lorraine and Bar, and the two Sovereigns clasped each
other’s hand in silence. Philippe’s heart failed him at the greeting
of his captive, and he shed tears. Whilst the Princes were so engaged,
a noble of the Court of Dijon approached his liege and delivered him a
despatch, the perusal of which greatly affected him. It was, indeed,
the intimation that Duchess Margaret of Lorraine was in attendance with
René’s two young boys at the palace in Dijon, awaiting Duke Philippe’s
pleasure. He communicated the intelligence to Duke René, who covered
his face with his hands and sank to his seat in a conflict of emotions.
Duke Philippe, laying his hand on his prisoner’s shoulder, said: “_La
parole du Duc du Bar est plus forte que les ôtages!_” Then he added:
“Pray, Monseigneur, consider the portals of the Tour de Bar open to
your orders. Let us go together and greet the good Duchess Margaret.
You and she and your children shall be set forth this day to Nancy.
May the good God cheer your way!” This was magnanimity incarnate--a
choice trait of the days of _la vraie chivalrie_! To describe the joy
of René as he once more caressed his sons and kissed the hand of his
mother-in-law, and to set forth the rejoicings at Nancy, and, indeed,
all along that joyous march from Dijon, with the blessedness of reunion
between Isabelle and her spouse, would tax the pen of any ready writer.
René was free, and Philippe had attained his apogee. Joy-bells rang,
voices cheered, and Lorraine and Barrois gave themselves over to
unbridled festivity; whilst the Duke and Duchess and their two brave
boys made a royal progress, whereon they were nearly torn to pieces
by their enthusiastic subjects. René and Isabelle once more visited
every town, and personally thanked all and sundry for their loyalty and
affection.
But business is business even in royal circles, and the Estates of
Lorraine and Bar were assembled by the Sovereigns to consider and
fulfil the terms of René’s charter of liberty. The crux was the amount
of the money ransom, and how to raise it. Both duchies were stripped
bare of resources, prolonged wars had impoverished the nobles, and
had brought upon all classes great privations. In Anjou and Provence
much the same conditions existed, and Queen Yolande had as much as she
could do to make all ends meet. King Charles VII. was a fugitive or
little better, he had no money, and the Duke of Brittany had his own
responsibilities and cares. The only wealthy member of the Sicily-Anjou
family was the Queen of Naples, and she was financing King Louis III.
and his conflict with the King of Aragon. Nevertheless something had
to be done, and René and Isabelle together put their pride into their
pocket and made approaches to their unlovely relative. Queen Yolande
and Duchess Margaret also backed up the appeal.
René embarked at Marseilles directly Queen Giovanna’s reply reached
him, for she demanded that his request for assistance should be made in
person at Aversa. It was not a very pleasant prospect that presented
itself to the Duke of Bar-Lorraine. The ill-fame of the Queen of Naples
had by no means been lessened by her attempted liaison with his elder
brother, King Louis. Nevertheless, René was prepared to pay a high
price for the 20,000 _saluts d’or_, but Isabelle had no fear for his
honour. The mission was a failure. The Queen’s price was impossible;
and although René remained in dalliance upon her, and played the part
of a complete courtier, so far as was possible for him to do, she
dismissed her relative with a sneer and a refusal.
News of René’s failure reached Nancy before his own arrival, and
resourceful Duchess Isabelle immediately set to work upon an
alternative plan for securing the liberty of her consort. The city
of Basel was then preparing to receive the Fathers of the Ecumenical
Council of the Roman Church, and with them the citizens were required
to welcome the Emperor of Germany, under whose protection they were.
Sigismund was the son of Marie de France, sister of Louis I. of
Sicily-Anjou. Moreover, he had married the Princess Elizabeth of
Bavaria, a sister of Duchess Margaret.
[Illustration: A ROYAL PATRONESS AND WOMEN-WORKERS IN WOOL
From a Miniature, MS. Fifteenth Century, “Des Clercs et Nobles Femmes.”
British Museum]
[Illustration: A ROYAL PATRONESS OF HANDICRAFTS
From a Miniature, MS. Fifteenth Century, “Des Clercs et Nobles Femmes.”
British Museum]
Isabelle despatched a notable embassy to greet her uncle the
Emperor, and at the same time to crave his sympathy and help. A very
favourable reply came quickly back to Nancy, and with the returning
Lorraine envoys travelled two Chamberlains of the Imperial Court, sent
by the Emperor to escort René to Basel. Sigismund furthermore cited
the Comte de Vaudémont to appear before him and state his case. A
most patient hearing was granted by His Majesty to the arguments of
the victorious Count, but on April 24 Sigismund ascended the imperial
throne in the Cathedral of Basel, and there solemnly gave his judgment.
He decreed that René was lawful Duke of Lorraine, that he should not be
required to return to prison, and that further grace should be allowed
for the payment of the ransom.
With scant reverence for the sacred edifice, and with much discourtesy
to the Emperor and the dignitaries who sat with him as assessors,--the
Papal Legate and the Patriarch of Constantinople,--Vaudémont
indignantly refused to accept the imperial ruling, and demanded the
immediate payment of the 20,000 _saluts d’or_ or the prompt return of
Duke René to Bracon. Duchess Isabelle, who had courageously accompanied
her husband, fell upon her knees before their stern, irreconcilable
enemy, and pleaded with him to extend knightly magnanimity towards
his prisoner. No! Vaudémont would have the duchy or René’s money or
his person. René, gently raising his loving spouse, led her from the
scene, and then, tenderly embracing her, he returned to where he had
left Vaudémont scowling. “See,” said he, “here I am: take me at once
to Dijon.” Before leaving the Imperial Court the Emperor beckoned
to him, and, directing him to kneel, formally invested him with the
temporalities of the duchy of Lorraine, and upon Isabelle he bestowed
with the Papal benediction the honour of the “Golden Rose.”
Torn from the bosom of his family once more, René bore his misfortune
like a man, and Isabelle rose superior to her trouble. Their noble
bearing gained further the respect and good-will of all the Sovereigns
and peoples of Europe, whilst the spleen and meanness of Vaudémont
rendered him odious everywhere. René submitted obediently to the
newly-imposed discipline. He beguiled his time by adorning the walls
and windows of his chamber with sketches and paintings. What a thousand
pities it is that none of those treasures have been preserved! Alas!
France has suffered more than any other land from the suicidal
tendencies of her people. Over and over again national passion has
swept away works of art and historical memorials. King René’s frescoes
have, with the fortress of Bracon, wholly disappeared. Music, too,
and poetry, formed for him consolations. He composed _ballades_, he
sang songs, sacred and profane. He played the viol and zither, and so
whiled away some of the tedium of his captivity. “_Les Chroniques de
Lorraine_,” note that “_il a sçu la musique, et marier la voix aulx
doulx accents d’un luth, gémissant sous ses doigts_.”[A]
[A] “He knew music, and how to modulate his voice to the notes
of a lute, striking it with his fingers.”
At Bracon was the Duke of Burgundy’s splendid library, to which René
was freely admitted. There he studied painstakingly classical works in
Greek, Latin, and Hebrew.
Cut off as he was entirely from intercourse with his family, friends,
and subjects, at times he gave way to melancholy, and regarded himself
as unjustly treated by Providence. He craved to behold his children,
and this longing was assuaged by the chivalrous consideration of the
Duke of Burgundy, who permitted the little Princes Jean and Louis to
visit their unhappy father in his prison.
II.
The years 1434 and 1435 were full of tragic happenings for René and
Isabelle. Death claimed three important personages near of kin.
All Lorraine mourned the saintly Duchess Margaret. She died in her
devoted daughter’s arms during the feast of Pentecost, and they
buried her beside her consort, Charles II., in the ducal tomb at
St. George-by-the-Gate. Her quiet influence had been all for good,
both upon her children’s account and upon the morals of the Court
and nation. She could, as we have seen, act the heroine as well as
the devotee. Isabelle missed her mother’s goodly counsels more than
she could express in words. René’s greatest loss was undoubtedly his
brother, Louis III., King of Sicily-Anjou and Naples. This bereavement
wholly changed the position and prospects of the Bar-Lorraine ducal
family; for Louis dying without surviving issue, all his honours,
titles, and dominions, were inherited by his next brother, René.
This event, and what it meant for René, were the climax of his
career. The proclamation of the new King was a tragedy and a travesty
combined. The pathos of his position was emphatic. The news stunned
him--powerless and wellnigh nerveless, hopeless and wellnigh demented.
He had not regained his equanimity, when the mockery of his fate was
borne still more cruelly upon him in the intelligence that reached
him on February 2, 1435, in the Tour de Bar, of the demise of Queen
Giovanna II., whose will named him her successor as King of Naples.
Louis died of fever at Cosenza, the capital of Calabria, on November
15, 1434, lamented by his enemies as well as by his friends. His
devoted mother was not with him. She was broken-hearted at the news
which reached her at Angers. Alas that so gallant a soldier-King
should be cut off so suddenly and so prematurely in the first bloom
of his manhood! Cast down with grief unspeakable and mute, his
girl-wife--still a bride--Marguerite, consoled his last hours. No child
had come to bless their union, and the palpitating passion of the
honeymoon was naturally cooling. The stress, too, of martial movements
separated all too soon and too frequently the bridal couple. Still,
Queen Marguerite ministered tenderly to her sick spouse, and her
love burst forth in undiminished fervency as she realized that death
would so cruelly part them. Very nobly and unselfishly, Louis in his
will,--very strangely, made exactly to the day a year before,--required
all honour to be paid to his widow, for his sake as well as for her
own, and left her the bulk of his private property--alas! greatly
diminished by the expenses of his military campaigns. Moreover, he
expressly directed that she should be free to go where she would,--if
not to Anjou, then to her home again in Savoy,--and he besought her,
“for the love she bore him, not to pine away in sadness, but to choose
some good man and marry him, for the relief of nature and for the love
of God.”
Marguerite buried Louis with the burial of a King, and built a
monument to his memory in the cathedral, and she directed that the
sword of Lancelot, the British knight whom Louis had unhorsed at tilt
and slain, should be suspended over the royal burying-place. Then she
speeded back to her father’s Court, not adventuring herself at Naples,
where Queen Giovanna lay a-dying. Good and true wife that she was, she
kept her sorrow silently and unaffectedly for twelve long years, and
then she married another Louis--Louis IV., Duke of Bavaria. Short was
again this second union, for after another two years’ widowhood she
married, for a third time, Ulric VII., Count of Würtemberg, in 1452.
At Stuttgart, after so many tragic changes, Queen-Duchess-Countess
Marguerite settled down, and lived seventeen years in peace and
happiness, drawing her last breath upon the very day of November, the
15th, which had witnessed the marriage vows of Louis III. and herself
just thirty-six years before.
Duchess Isabelle de Lorraine, now Queen of Sicily-Anjou and Naples,
with her accustomed promptitude, despatched a messenger to the King
in prison, announcing her instant departure for Naples. She sapiently
understood that her presence in Italy was essential if the crown
of Naples was to rest securely upon her husband’s head. She would
receive the allegiance of the Neapolitans in his name, and administer
the government as his Lieutenant-General. On November 28 she left
Nancy with her second son, Louis, Marquis of Pont-à-Mousson, and
travelled post-haste into Provence. Again her presence kindled the
most enthusiastic expressions of commiseration for the lot of the
King and Count, and of devotion to his person and to herself. Men and
money poured in upon her. She welcomed all, and accepted gratefully
everybody’s contribution.
From Marseilles the Queen and her following sailed to Genoa, where the
Doge and the nobles gave her a right royal reception, and volunteered
help and amity. Thence to Milan the intrepid traveller took her way,
where she gained over the Duke, and he made René’s cause his own. In
Rome, Pope Eugenius IV. blessed her and her son, and conjured all the
Italian States to lend their aid. Her arrival at Naples was so entirely
unexpected by the Alfonsists that they were not only checkmated in
their attempt on King René’s inheritance, but were thrown into a panic,
from which they were unable to rally.
The Neapolitans of every grade and class welcomed their new Queen and
her five great galleys, filled with the flower of Provence, Milan,
and Genoa, with every manifestation of joy and loyalty. Her charms of
person transported them, her intrepidity roused them, and her gracious
words delighted them. The old love of Naples for the House of Anjou
returned, and every adherent of the Spanish King was cast out. Queen
Isabelle had very soon more serious work in hand than graciously
acknowledging the salutations of the enthusiastic citizens. King
Alfonso was at the gates of Naples with a strong force on land and
sea. She in person assumed command of the loyal troops in the capital,
appointed trusty commanders, and placed Naples in a good state of
defence. Besieged rigorously by the Spanish army, the Queen directed
sorties which were perfectly successful, and the enemy retreated to a
more respectful distance. In one of these affrays, Dom Pedro, brother
of the King of Aragon, was slain, and Queen Isabelle, with a spirit of
chivalry worthy of a noble knight and a magnanimous Sovereign, offered
his dead body royal sepulchral rites in the cathedral.
During Queen Isabelle’s absence from Lorraine, King René named their
eldest son, Jean, now Duke of Calabria,--the traditional title of the
heir to the throne of Naples,--as his Lieutenant-General in Barrois and
Lorraine, child though he was, not yet ten years old. Nominally he was
placed under the tutelage and guardianship of Queen Yolande, who made
a progress to Nancy to assist in carrying out her son’s command, and
to look after the two little “orphaned” girls, Yolande and Marguerite,
her granddaughters. Most prudently she abstained, as might have been
expected from her high-toned character, from interfering in any affairs
of State in these two eastern duchies of her son’s dominions. Four high
officials she selected to direct the policy of the palace and safeguard
the crown, all men of proven probity and loyal disinterestedness, and
to them she, by René’s wish, delegated the actual charge of the young
Duke: Jehan de Fenestranger, Grand Marshal; Gerard de Harancourt,
Seneschal; Jacques de Harancourt, Bailli or Mayor of Nancy; and
Philippe de Lenoncourt, tutor to the young Princes.
Queen Yolande having seen all these matters settled, and having named
Anne, Countess of Vaudémont, _governante_ of the two young Princesses,
she took her departure to Provence and Marseilles, there to await the
course of events in Naples. The appointment of a Vaudémont must have
struck most people as extraordinary. The Countess was mother of the
implacable Count Antoine, and it was due to Queen Yolande’s remarkable
foresightedness that she was chosen. She saw the perils ahead caused by
the number and dispersion of the dominions of the crowns unfortunate
King René had not yet put upon his head. It appeared to her that Naples
and Sicily would be the chief appanage, and require the presence of the
Sovereign almost continuously. Anjou and Provence might fall to the
government of René’s second son, and then Bar and Lorraine would go to
his daughters, perhaps upon their marriage. Vaudémont would never relax
his efforts to gain Lorraine. Might not a matrimonial alliance between
a son of his and a granddaughter of her own, thought the Queen, solve
amicably and profitably a very vexed question?
All the while that Queen Isabelle was holding Naples for her consort
and keeping Alfonso of Aragon in check, nothing was neglected which
might hasten the release of the royal captive. With commendable
astuteness Isabelle made overtures to her namesake Isabelle, Duchess of
Burgundy, and her efforts were seconded on the spot by Queen Yolande.
Isabelle of Portugal was in disposition and tastes very much like
the late lamented Duchess of Lorraine--much affected by religion, by
charity, by pity. The separation of the King of Sicily-Anjou and Naples
from his family, and the sorrows of his Queen, appealed to her womanly
sympathy. She talked long and well to Duke Philippe, and at last
succeeded in gaining his signature to a decree of pardon and an order
of release for the distinguished captive. Under her persuasion the
amount of the ransom was halved, and René’s liberty was unlimited.
King René of Sicily-Anjou and Naples was set free from durance vile at
Bracon on November 25, 1436. No doubt this achievement was greatly due
to the urgent pressure of all the Sovereigns of France, headed by King
Charles VII.; indeed, the Duke of Burgundy had hardly any choice in the
matter, for Arthur de Richemont, brother of the Duke of Brittany and
Constable of France, who was the bearer of the united royal protest,
gave him plainly to understand that the retention of René at Bracon
would mean the immediate invasion and devastation of the duchy.
René went off at once to Nancy and Bar-le-Duc, there to be welcomed by
his subjects and to thank personally his many warm friends and helpers.
After embracing his children, he hurried on to Angers, where Queen
Yolande greeted him tenderly and made him rest and refresh himself.
She had been busy, as was her wont, in more matrimonial adventures,
and now she broached the subject of the betrothal of the young Duke of
Calabria, her eldest grandson. The bride she had chosen for him, with
Queen Isabelle’s approval, was the Princess Marie, a daughter of the
Duke of Bourbon, a little motherless girl who had been under her care
for some time. She was a granddaughter of King John II. the Good, and
niece and ward of the Duke of Burgundy, who dowered her with 50,000
_écus d’or_.
There was, however, not much time for King René to waste in
festivities. He set off to thank King Charles, the Duke of Brittany,
and all the other friendly Princes who had so greatly aided his
deliverance. Then he hastened by water,--the usual method of quick
transit,--down to his favourite Provence, where the transports of
delight with which he was welcomed surpassed all former demonstrations.
He wanted men and money,--and Provence was never backward in
contributions for her Count,--for his next move was to be to Naples, to
embrace his noble Queen and relieve her of her heavy responsibilities.
The usual course was taken by the royal galley. Genoa was the
rendezvous, as of old. The Genoese gave their visitor a splendid
reception. His romantic career had greatly affected them, and now that
they beheld his gracious person their delight knew no bounds. Never had
a royal visitor such an ovation in Liguria. The famous Tommaso Fregoso,
the Doge, lodged him in the Ducal Palace, the streets were wreathed in
spring greenery, and all the maids and matrons of the proud city combed
out their rich brown, lustrous locks of hair, jauntily fixed their
white lace veils with jewelled pins, and put on their best attire and
massive chains of gold. At the entrance of the Piazza di San Lorenzo
one hundred of the fairest of the fair scattered flowers before King
René’s white steed of state, and six of the prettiest and the noblest
were dedicated to his personal wish and disposition. This indeed was
a Scriptural and a patriarchal custom, but always duly observed in
decorous and sensuous Genoa. But again pleasure had to give way to
business, and King René had the satisfaction of sailing out of that
famous harbour followed by a goodly flotilla of fighting ships well
found.
René was received at Naples tumultuously as lawful King and Sovereign.
Mounted on a great black charger, crowned and habited in cloth of
gold and covered with the royal mantle of state of crimson velvet
and ermine, the sword of St. Januarius in his hand, he rode through
people, flowers, banners, and huzzahs, right into the nave of the
cathedral; there Queen Isabelle received her consort exultingly, and
with him knelt lowly for the benediction of the Mass. That day marked
an amazing contrast in the fortunes of two men--King René, the prisoner
of Bracon, seated upon the ancient throne of Naples, and King Alfonso,
the conqueror of Aragon, pacing uneasily his prison chamber at Milan!
The reunion of the royal couple was a happy thing indeed, so often
parted had they been and so sadly. Isabelle had acted the part of a
good woman and a faithful spouse despite splenetic insinuations to the
contrary. Her position had been most trying in anxious times, and among
ill-disposed aspirants for her favour. She knew intuitively who to
trust of those that expressed themselves most devoted to her service,
and no one ever was more zealously preoccupied with the interest of her
friends than she. Now came the time to award honours to the faithful
and the true, and King René deputed his Queen to bestow the royal
favours. The first to profit by the new dispensation was, naturally,
the widowed Queen Margaret, who after the burial of her consort, King
Louis III., had sought refuge in Naples, under the sheltering wing of
her royal sister-in-law. Still resplendent in her beauty and possessed
of every youthful grace, the young Queen was the object of deep
solicitude and affection.
The condition of the Two Sicilies was parlous; almost every commune
was divided against itself on the subject of the succession to the
throne, and almost daily were recorded deeds of cruelty and aggression,
pointing to the outbreak of serious hostilities all over the dual
kingdom. The blue and white ensign of Anjou and the red and yellow
banner of Aragon were reared, not in friendly contest, but in deadly
feud. Under these circumstances René judged it expedient for the Queen
and their little son Louis to go back to France, and Queen Margaret
refused to be separated from her sympathetic sister-in-law. It was
a pang to both again so soon to part, but rulers of States are not
like ordinary mortals; for public duties must take precedence of
private interests. Isabelle’s brief rule at Naples had done wonders
in the way of conciliation, and Étienne Pasquier did not exaggerate
her virtues when he wrote: “_Cette vraye Amazone, que dans un corps
de femme portoit un cœur d’homme, fist tant d’actes généraux pendant
la prisonment de son mari, que ceste pièce este enchassée en lettres
d’or dedans les annales de Lorraine_.” All Naples shed tears at their
beloved Queen’s departure. Margaret they hardly knew, but the last
Queen they had known, Giovanna, was hated quite as thoroughly as
Isabelle was adored.
The galley bearing back to Marseilles those whom he most loved
had hardly passed beyond the horizon of the Bay of Naples when René
took action. On September 22 an Anjou herald appeared in the camp
of King Alfonso, and threw down King René’s bloodstained glove as a
challenge, first to a personal encounter between the two Kings, and
then to a combat _à l’outrance_ between the two armies. On the part
of Alfonso, who was on his way from his Milan prison, the challenge
was accepted by his chief of the staff, who indicated the locality for
the trials of chivalry and force,--the level country between Nola and
Arienzo, at the foot of Vesuvius. Single combat was denied by Alfonso,
and then René attacked his rival with all the forces at his command.
Numerically again, as at the stricken field of Bulgneville, the
Angevine army was much the stronger, for under René’s banner marched
the Milan-Genoese contingent, with Francesco Sforza, Duke of Milan, at
its head. René’s fleet, too, was at anchor in the bay, commanded by
the intrepid Admiral Jehan de Beaufort, to act in conjunction with the
land forces of his King. The Spanish army was better disciplined and
better furnished with artillery, and King René once more had to bow
to circumstances, and to look in vain for Fortune’s smile. His forces
were cut in two and slaughtered right and left, and he himself wounded
and all but captured, for he was not a leader to skulk behind his men:
he led the van, and was ever in the thick of the fight. His appeal,
“_Anjou-Cecile! Amor Chevaliers!_” was of no avail. He was beaten, and
fled with only two knights, and shut himself in Castel Nuovo. A truce
was signed, and the King of Naples went off to report his defeat at
Rome, Florence, and Genoa.
[Illustration: 1. “EMBARKMENT OF ‘CUER’ FOR THE ‘ISLAND OF LOVE’”
2. “‘CUER’ READING THE INSCRIPTION ON THE ENCHANTED FOUNTAIN”
From “La Conqueste de Doulce Mercy.” Written and illuminated by King
René. National Library, Paris
_To face page 130_]
Pope Eugenius IV. and the Emperor Joannes Paleologos, who were both
at Florence, received the royal fugitive ardently, blessed him, and
awarded him and his heirs, disregarding the victory of King Alfonso,
the right to govern the Two Sicilies in perpetuity. The Medici and
other Florentines of mark and wealth offered subsidies for the recovery
of the Neapolitan throne, and at Genoa and Milan men and supplies
were to be had for the asking; but René had had his fill of war, and
bloodshed was now to him abhorrent. “Too much blood,” he remarked,
“has been shed already. We will rest awhile, and ask God to pardon our
sins.” René returned to Marseilles in 1442 a sadder and a wiser man.
There he met once more his Queen, to rejoice his stricken heart; but
that heart, and hers too, tenderly bled again and again, for not only
did the melancholy news of his good mother’s death in Anjou shatter
him, but Isabelle and he had the terrible grief of parting with their
dearly-loved second son, the Marquis of Pont-à-Mousson. Prince Louis,
so promising, so handsome, and so loyal, they buried sadly: he was his
mother’s favourite child, the companion of her triumphs and her trials.
King René was called from his grief over the tomb of his young son to
Tours by Charles of France. To the French Court had come Ambassadors,
with the Earl of Suffolk at their head, to treat for peace between the
two conflicting kingdoms. The French King, with his usual lassitude,
deputed to King René the conduct of the deliberations, which ended
honourably for all parties concerned, in the guarantee of two years’
cessation of hostilities, with the acknowledgment of in _statu
quo_. Nearer home, however, matters were not so stable; the state
of the allied duchies was deplorable. So insecure were the roads in
Lorraine,--infested by wandering bands of discontented peasantry and
ill-affected townspeople,--that travelling was attended with the utmost
danger. The higher the dignity of a wayfarer, the greater the eagerness
to attack and pilfer. Queen Isabelle was herself the victim of a
dastardly outrage. Journeying forth soon after her dear son Louis’s
death, to pray at his grave at Pont-à-Mousson, her cortège was attacked
by a party of marauders from Metz. They compelled her to leave her
litter, with its cloth of gold curtains and luxurious cushions, and
subjected her to rough treatment in spite of her protestations.
“You villains!” she cried, “you know perfectly who I am. How dare
you offer this gross insult to your Sovereign! Begone, and let me
pass. You shall richly pay for your temerity.” Jeers and offensive
remarks greeted this haughty command. They cared nothing for Isabelle
nor her consort; indeed, they were unrighteous allies of the Count of
Vaudémont. The Duchess was stripped of her jewellery, her _coffrets_
were rifled, and her servants beaten, and then the miscreants made off.
The Queen hastily returned to Nancy, and laid the matter before the
Council, demanding satisfaction. “Unless you, my lords,” she said, “at
once make a strong representation to the Governor of Metz, I will set
off to Anjou, and bring the King back to recompense the miscreants.”
All the chivalry of France was shocked at this amazing outrage, and
King Charles, with Arthur de Richemont and a strong force, hurried
into Lorraine from Dauphiné, determined to make an example of the
gross behaviour of the Messins. The city barricaded her gates, sounded
the tocsin, and prepared to resist, if might be, the united forces
of France. The besieged held out for six months, flinging taunt on
taunt against the King and Queen. At last it fell, and the price the
rebels had to pay was onerous, besides the forfeiture of all their
charters and privileges. A general amnesty was granted on February
27, 1445, in Barrois as well as in Lorraine. The Messins signalized
their deliverance by offering to their liege Lord complete allegiance,
together with 25,000 _écus d’or_ enclosed in a splendid gold and
enamelled vase.
René now for the first time in his thirty years of public service and
command found himself in the possession of that rare blessing, Peace,
and he prepared to celebrate it adequately. Isabelle, too, was only too
thankful for the respite; her sorrows and anxieties had wellnigh broken
her courageous heart. After she parted with her husband in the Bay of
Naples, she landed at Marseilles, and made all haste to Angers, too
late, indeed, to soothe the last moments of her noble mother-in-law,
but drawn there by the tranquillity of Anjou. There she gave herself
to the education of her two young daughters, to whom she was happily
reunited--Marguerite just thirteen, and Yolande a year younger. René
again joined his spouse, whom he loved so fondly, and in whose honour
he had adopted a new royal motto and cipher, “_Ardent Désir_,” below a
burning brasier. They gave themselves up to religious exercises, and
led a calm and retired life--precious to them both after the alarums of
the past. The world was still very young for them both--René no more
than thirty-seven, and Isabelle two years his junior.
The most delightful ingredient in their full cup of joy was the
home-coming of their son and heir, Prince Jean, Duke of Calabria and
Lieutenant-General of Barrois-Lorraine. During eleven strenuous years
he and his devoted parents had rarely met. He had zealously, after
their brave example, addressed himself to his public duties, and had
won golden opinions from the loyal subjects of the throne. He was
nearing his majority, and with him came his young wife Marie, whose
marriage had been but lately accomplished. They were stepping bravely
together along the marital way, which their grandparents and their
parents had traversed, unscathed by scandal and beloved by all.
Great festivities were organized at Angers, Tarascon, and Nancy,
to celebrate the general peace, and in particular the betrothal of
Princess Marguerite d’Anjou. A magnificent tournament was held between
Razilly and Chinon in the summer of 1446, which attracted all the most
famous knights in France and beyond the frontiers and an immense crowd
of spectators. One there was, and she one of the fairest of the fair,
came riding beside her father, one of King René’s dearest friends,
Count Guy de Laval; and the King for the first time set eyes upon
lovely Jehanne, who was destined to mingle her destiny with his right
on to his dying day. René caused “_Le Châtel de Joyeuse Garde_” to be
built of wood richly adorned with paintings, tapestries, and garlands,
and for forty days jousts and floral games engaged the attention of the
gallant and beauteous company. A very singular and popular custom was
inaugurated at the King’s suggestion. Four knights of proved probity
crossed their lances in the roadway beyond the Castle of Chinon.
Cavaliers, accompanied by their ladies fair, were made to fight their
way through and carry safe their sweethearts. A faint heart lost his
lady, a knight unhorsed his horse, and a victorious competitor his
sash of knighthood, which was immediately tied to the crupper of his
fair one’s palfrey. The King himself took his place in the “Lists” in
black armour; his mantle was of black velvet sewn with silver lilies
of Anjou, and his well-trained charger was black also. Queen Isabelle
and her ladies occupied a flower-decked tribune, and with her was poor
young Queen Marguerite and her son’s child-wife, Marie. They were the
Queens of the Tournament, but the damosel Jehanne de Laval was “Queen
of Beauty,” scarce thirteen years old.
Alas! a deadly “bolt shot out of the blue.” The Duchess of Calabria
had but just risen from childbed; she was not strong enough to bear the
excitement and the toil of such tumultuous gaiety, and upon the last
day of the tournament she fainted in the royal tribune, and breathed
out her brief life before she could be borne to couch. Thus into
life’s sweetest joys comes sadly too often the relentless bitterness
of sorrow. Faces which only a few short hours before were wreathed in
smiles were furrowed with the ravages of grief ere the curfew sounded.
The tournament ended in a “Triumph of the Black Buffaloes.” Happily,
perhaps, the child died too, and both sweet bodies were consigned
to one flower-decked grave in the chapel garden of the Castle of
Saumur,--“_la gentille et la bien assise_,”--a paradise of fragrant
trees and pleasant prospects.
Dire news, too, reached Angers from Provence. A winter of unparalleled
inclemency was followed by a famine and a pest, which decimated people
and domestic animals, and wrought havoc with the crops. René and
Isabelle took boat once more for their southern province, and their
“_le bon roy_,” as he was now called affectionately by his subjects,
laid himself out to alleviate his people’s sufferings. Taxes were
remitted, the poor fed and clothed, and farms restocked. “_La bonté_,”
he said, “_est la première grandeur des roys_.” People noted the King’s
grey hair--hair “white less by time than white through trouble,” as
chroniclers have written. Trouble makes all the world akin: the King
and Queen bore their people’s, and they humbly shared their rulers’
griefs.
The clouds cleared off that sunny land, and birds once more sang in
the meadows, and men and maids were gay. Then it was Tarascon’s turn
to celebrate the virtues of the Count and Countess of Provence. A
Provençal tournament was a celebration _ne plus ultra_, and René made
that of 1448 famous and unique by his institution of the knightly
“_Ordre du Croissant_.” To be sure, it was established at Angers, whose
warrior-patron, St. Maurice, was honoured as guardian and exemplar of
chivalry, and in whose cathedral church the banners of the knights
were hung. The King himself drew up the statutes of the Order. With
characteristic and chivalrous modesty, he named, not himself First
Master, but chose Guy de Laval for that honourable post. Conditions
of membership were dictated by religion, courtesy, and charity, in
harmony; only knights of goodly birth and unblemished reputation were
eligible. They were enjoined to hear Mass daily and to recite the
daily “Hours.” Fraternal love was to be exemplified in all dealings
with their fellow-men at large. An impious oath or an indecent jest
was never to pass their lips. Women and children were in a special
sense committed to their care. The poor and ailing were to engage their
best offices. Debts of every sort and gambling under every guise were
absolutely forbidden. With respect to the fair sex, the code of rules
had in golden letters the following order: “_De ne mesdire des femmes
de quelques estats quelles soient pour chose qui doibue d’advenir_.”
The knights first impanelled, having taken their oaths of obedience and
accepted service, departed from Anjou, and made their rendezvous at the
King’s Castle of Tarascon on August 11. René himself again entered the
“Lists,” but champion honours were carried off by his son-in-law, Ferri
de Vaudémont, and Louis de Beauvais; and the Queen-Countess Isabelle
placed floral crowns upon their brows, a golden ring upon their right
hands, and received a kiss of homage upon her still smooth and comely
cheek.
Nancy was the scene of the most magnificent gaieties Lorraine had
ever beheld. The espousals of the Princess Marguerite and King Henry
VI. were solemnized in the ancient Gothic church of St. Martin at
Pont-à-Mousson by Louis d’Harcourt, Bishop of Toul. The King was
represented by the gallant Earl of Suffolk, one of the most famous
Knights in Europe. The ecclesiastical ceremony was rendered all the
more auspicious by the joint nuptials of the Princess Yolande and
Count Ferri de Vaudémont. All France,--Sovereigns, ladies, nobles,
citizens,--thronged around the King and Queen; their congratulations
were, however, restrained until the actualities of the Vaudémont
marriage were revealed. To marry a dear child to the son of a man’s
worst enemy appeared quixotic at the least, and few called to mind that
strange clause in René’s charter of release from Bracon. The King was,
as Duke Philippe of Burgundy had styled him, a man of his word; and
if proof were wanted, then the appointment of the young bridegroom’s
mother, the Countess, as _governante_ of René’s daughters furnished it.
Besides this, the presence of the Count himself at the marriage of his
son exhibited not only the reconciliation of the two rivals for the
throne of Lorraine, but emphasized the innate chivalry of both. To be
sure, Antoine de Vaudémont was in ill-health, his fighting days were
over, and he was searching for comfort and absolution before he faced
his end; and, in truth, that end was nearer than he thought, for he
died six months after he had given his blessing to Ferri and Yolande.
A pretty and characteristic story is told of the loves of Ferri and
Yolande. King René was wishful that his daughter and future son-in-law
should attain more mature age before the consummation of Count
Antoine’s wishes concerning them. The young knight, “who was,” wrote
Martial, “regarded among men and youths much as Helen of Troy was
among her companions,”--a very handsome fellow,--chafed at delay, and,
emboldened by the vows of his fiancée, one dark, windy night he with
two trusty comrades broke into her boudoir, where she, ready for the
signal, awaited her lover. Romeo carried his Juliet away to Clermont
in Argonne, and held her till her father consented to their marriage.
This story is contained in an old manuscript, the handiwork of Louis de
Grasse, the Sire of Mas.
Splendid fêtes covering eight full days followed the Church ceremonies.
The “Lists” were held in the Grande Place of Nancy, in the presence
of the right worshipful company, headed by Kings Charles and René and
Queens Isabelle, Marie, and Margaret. Quaintly Martial d’Auvergne wrote
in “_Les Vigiles de Charles VII._”:
“Les Roynes de France, Sécille,
La Fiancée et la Dauphine,
Et d’autres dames, belles filles,
Si en firent devoir condigne.”
“The Queens of France and Sicily,
The Bride and the Dauphine,
And many other dames of honour,
Compelled the homage of the men.”
All the _châtelaines_ forsook their _manoirs_ and took the
field-marital in force. Mars had come in strength, Venus would join
the fray, and victory was never doubtful. If comely, gallant, doughty
knights fell not in deathly conflict in those “Lists” of love, their
hearts were captured by fair vanquishers all the same.
“En gagea sans retour
Son cœur et sa liberté,”
describes those battle-fields of Cupid’s warfare!
The pageantry of the tournament over, the panoply of the encampment
claimed the knightly company of Nancy, and a mighty cavalcade--ladies,
too, in litter and on palfrey--ambled off serenely to the great
wide plains of Champagne, where René and Charles reviewed at
Châlons-sur-Marne the united armies of all the crowns. It was a sight
which stirred all the best blood in France, and spoke to her Sovereigns
and her statesmen of a new age, when the artifices of war should give
place to the arts of peace. Alas! when human things appear to promise
peace and joy, there ever comes over the scene the pall of Providence.
War again broke out between France and England, but now the French held
their own and more; and King René, revived in military ardour, led the
victorious vanguard, and crowned his bays of triumph by new palms of
peace.
Sad news came to him, however, when in Normandy, from his ancestral
Angers. His devoted and dearly loved Queen, Isabelle, was laid low
with illness. Stalking fever had crossed the castle moat and fixed its
baneful touch upon the royal _châtelaine_. Do what she would,--and
her will to the end was vigorous enough,--she could not shake off the
deadly visitant. She felt that her end was approaching unrelentlessly,
and with admirable piety the noble, high-toned Queen controlled her
pains, and patiently prepared herself to face her last foe with
courageous resignation. Her children were gathered by her bedside--Jean
and Yolande in person, Marguerite in spirit, and perhaps Louis, too,
from his tomb at Pont-à-Mousson. Quietly and prayerfully on February
28, 1453, she passed away to join her babes in Paradise, and “Black
Angers” was plunged in deepest mourning.
The death of a great Queen deeply affects men and women everywhere.
Isabelle’s name, like that of “good Queen Yolande,” had become a
household word in Europe far and wide. Everywhere tokens of bereavement
were displayed, and King René, the royal widower, hastening home
too late to close his fond wife’s eyes in death, wrote in his
tablets: “Since the life of my dear, dear wife has been cut off by
death, my heart has lost its love, for she was the mainspring of my
consolations.” In every one of his “_Livres des Heures_,” and in other
books and places, the artist in the Sovereign painted and drew the
features and the figure of his Queen.
Their married life,--chequered as it had been,--had been as happy as
could be. Devoted to one another with a rare force of faithfulness
which knew no flaw, René and Isabelle were examples for their
generation. No stone has ever been cast at either of them. Nine
children were born to them: four, Charles, René, Anne, and Isabelle,
died in infancy; Nicholas, their third son, was a twin with Yolande,
born in 1428; he had the title of Duke of Bar, but died before his
majority. Good Queen Isabelle was buried in the Cathedral of Angers,
where nearly forty years later René’s bones were laid beside her ashes,
to mingle in the common decay till the last trump shall sound to wake
the dead.
There cannot be a better summing up of her gifts, her graces and her
virtues than in the words of the sententious life’s motto she herself
composed, and wrote in golden letters upon parchment, and gave to each
of her dear children:
“Si l’Amour fault, la Foy n’est plus chérie;
Si Foy périt, l’Amour s’en va périe;
Pour ce, les ay en devise liez
Amour et Foy.”
“If Love fails, Faith becomes more precious;
If Faith perishes, Love dies too;
Whence Love and Faith together are my device.”