Wise, reigned. He was as unlike his foolish and fighting sire as
possible. He was probably brave like the rest of his race, though he
disclaimed any such virtue, and ran away at Poictiers; but he was
passed master in the school of diplomacy.
The Plantagenets had inherited, as we have said, nearly one-third of
France; and they coveted the rest. This covetousness was backed up by
the English people who were ignorant enough not to see that they were
fighting to degrade the crown of England to a mere apanage of the crown
of France.
So long as the reign of the incapable John lasted, Edward III.
had had his own way; but the prudence and adroitness of Charles,
worked a change. Seconded by his brother Philip and by his constable
Du Guesclin, he took without a battle, town after town, castle
after castle, till Edward declared that the most formidable of his
enemies was the one who did not fight. This new style of warfare was
illustrated by the capture of La Rochelle. The castle was held by an
English garrison, and to hold the castle was to hold the town. One day
the chief magistrate asked the English commander to dinner. While at
table, a forged despatch was brought to the Englishman. It was an order
to march his garrison into the public square for a review. He had taken
wine enough to be confident of his luck, so he obeyed the order. The
townsmen who were watching for their chance, seized the castle and the
garrison shut out of their stronghold and outnumbered, surrendered.
As a rule the Plantagenets waged these wars with a ferocity which
contributed to their failure. But they were not Englishmen; and it
is strange that English historians should accept their misdeeds as
one element of national glory. Green says they were “English to the
core.” Well, there was not one whole drop of insular blood in their
veins: there was, to be sure, a fraction of a drop coming from Matilda
daughter of the Malcolm of Macbeth and grandmother of the first
Plantagenet king; and that was all. They were French Spaniards, and
their pedigree was even more enriched with Moorish blood than with
English.[7]
But there were some honorable exceptions to their usual behavior. The
duke of Gloucester youngest son of Edward III. was besieging Troyes. A
French knight named Micaille sent a challenge to any English knight
to fight with him for the love of his sweetheart. These by-fights were
often to settle precedence of beauty between respective sweethearts.
A knight no sooner fell in love than he went swaggering about daring
every other knight in love or out, to fight; and these combats were
often mortal. An Englishman named Fitzwalter accepted the challenge.
The lists were held in the English camp. Gloucester who was so learned
on the subject of these duels that he wrote a treatise on them which
still exists, laid down the rule that the lance should be addressed
either to the shield or the helmet and not elsewhere. The Englishman’s
horse was unruly and disturbed his aim, so that he took his adversary
in the thigh, and inflicted an ugly wound. The duke pronounced the
blow a foul one, and adjudged the victory to the Frenchman who had
splintered his lance duly and truly against the buckler of his
opponent. English surgeons dressed his wound, and English soldiers
carried him back with honor to the French garrison.
Charles V. married Jane of Bourbon a princess of that youngest branch
of the Capetiens which finally came to the throne. His nobles had made
an earnest effort to have him instead of his brother Philip, marry
Margaret of Flanders. Had he done so, Flanders, Artois and La Franche
Comté would have fallen early to the French crown; and the history of
the Valois dukes might have been as uninteresting as that of their
predecessors the Robertines.
It shows of how little account the Bourbons were at that time, that
the king’s marriage was looked upon as a sort of misalliance; and the
duke of Bourbon Queen Jane’s brother was not admitted to a share in the
government because his estates were not considered ample enough.
Charles-the-wise died after a reign of sixteen years during which
he had found a remedy for all the misrule of his father except the
alienation of Burgundy: that was beyond cure; but as Philip was always
true to his brother and to France, it was not yet that the evil was
apparent.
Charles was succeeded by his son Charles VI. who was but eleven
years old; and duke Philip became regent. Philip’s two brothers were
nominally joined with him in the regency; but they were unworthy
scions of royalty, the one intent only on filling his pockets, the
other on filling his belly; so that in effect the whole power rested
with Philip. The duke of Bourbon the young king’s uncle again sought
a share in the government, and was again denied. Such at the close of
the fourteenth century, were the ancestors of Louis XIV. haughtiest of
monarchs.
Duke Philip led the young monarch to Rheims to be crowned. He was to
be knighted first, so the boy in obedience to the law of chivalry, sat
up all night in the cathedral, watching his arms, ready to meet face to
face the caitiff who should attempt to steal them. In the morning the
sword Joyeuse, sword of Charlemagne, was girded to his loins. His uncle
the duke of Anjou bestowed the accolade and pronounced him a belted
knight. The archbishop of Rheims poured on his head oil from the sacred
vase a dove had brought to Saint Rémi for the baptism of Clovis, and
pronounced him an anointed king.
The attention of Philip was soon called to the affairs of his
father-in-law Count Louis. Some years before, a brewer of Ghent named
Jacob Van Artevelde had headed a sedition and erected himself into
a sort of tribune of the people. Queen Philippa who was by birth a
Fleming and liked to meddle with Flemish business, was his patron. Like
a true politician she had deigned to stand godmother to the brewer’s
son, and to have him named Philip after herself. The father Jacob Van
Artevelde like his cotemporary Rienzi, was put to death by the populace
he had sought to befriend; and this son now a man grown, was residing
at Ghent a prosperous gentleman.
Philip Van Artevelde has been much apotheosised by English poets and
dramatists: sober history hardly bears out the deification. Under
a tranquil exterior he hid an eager and ruthless ambition which was
only waiting its opportunity; and that opportunity was at hand. The
inhabitants of Bruges had obtained from Count Louis permission to cut
a canal to the Scheldt so as to go to sea that way. The citizens of
Ghent remonstrated saying that themselves only had a right to go to sea
by the Scheldt. The remonstrance proving fruitless they fitted out a
band of ruffians who slew the men digging the canal. Count Louis sent a
messenger to Ghent demanding reparation: they killed the messenger.
Thus far the case was not beyond adjustment: there were more men
to dig canals; and the count had more messengers; but the Ghenters
incontinently went to a length which put them out of the pale of
forgiveness. Count Louis had just finished the beautiful castle of
Vandelhem. All the resources of architecture and of art had been
lavished upon it. It was his boast, his pride, his bawble. He confessed
that he prized it beyond all else on earth. The Ghenters broke into
Vandelhem and left it a ruin. War was inevitable.
The head mischief maker of Ghent was Peter Dubois called by the Dutch,
Vandenbosche. He recalled to Van Artevelde the noble career of his
father, and told him that the prestige of his name was all that was
needed for the success of the revolt. He found a willing listener, but
misled by the gentle manners of Van Artevelde, he expressed a fear that
he might not be equal to the rough work, and dwelt on the necessity
of showing no mercy to the Brugian faction. Van Artevelde assured him
that if blood was all there should flow enough of it; and the two
conspirators having come to an understanding, levied their troops.
Van Artevelde to get his hand in, cut the heads off of twelve burgesses
of Ghent who had taken part against his father, and applied the same
discipline to the syndic of the weavers who was in favor of law and
order. Count Louis not to be outdone in barbarity, took the town of
Grammont which favored the insurgents, and put to the sword men women
and children. The bishop of Liége and the duke of Brabant interfered,
and a conference was held. Two deputies of Ghent met two deputies
of the count; and preliminaries were adjusted. When the Ghentian
pacificators returned, Dubois and Van Artevelde met them at the
town-hall. How dare you treat for peace! cried Dubois, and he ran his
man through with his dagger, while Van Artevelde despatched the other.
The two chieftains now resolved on a master stroke, the capture of
Bruges. Count Louis hastened to intercept them. His force was superior
to theirs; but Van Artevelde made a stirring speech to his men showing
them that victory was their only chance even for life. He seized
a convent of monks and compelled them to confess the soldiers and
administer the communion, and thus prepare them to fight to the death.
They won the obstinate battle which followed and took Bruges. The
count fled through the town, the enemy at his heels. He dodged down an
obscure street and into an obscure lodging where a woman a true Brugian
who hated the Ghenters, put him to bed in the garret with her children
till the pursuit was over.
The count appealed for aid to his son-in-law duke Philip. The latter
gentleman was not well pleased to see his wife’s patrimony wasted
by brewers of beer, so he levied an army in France and marched into
Flanders. The king who was now fourteen and whose blood was on fire at
the sound of a trumpet, insisted on accompanying the expedition. They
met the insurgents at Rosebeke near Ypres. Van Artevelde and Dubois
flushed with their previous success, were confident of victory. Van
Artevelde himself issued the order that no quarter be given. Slay every
Frenchman, cried he, except the young king! Bring him to Ghent and we
will teach him to speak Flemish.
But they had left out of their reckoning one factor which perhaps
oftener than any other determines the fate of battle. Duke Philip
though himself a good captain, was prudent enough not to trust to his
own soldiership when better was at hand. He had put his army under the
command of Oliver de Clisson constable of France, the worthy successor
of Du Guesclin. The stubborn courage of the Netherlanders was of no
avail against the skill with which De Clisson directed his legions; and
at the close of a bloody day the men of Ghent were routed.
At night-fall as the king, the duke, the count and the constable were
walking over the field of battle, picking their way among the slain,
a dying soldier raised his arm and pointed to a heap of dead bodies
close by. They dragged aside alternate Frenchman and Fleming till they
came to all that remained of Philip Van Artevelde. He had died like
a soldier where the fight was the hottest. Dubois escaped wounded to
England.
Charles-the-wise when dying had counselled his brother of Burgundy
to marry the young king to a German princess in order to strengthen
alliance with the Empire. Stephen duke of Bavaria had a daughter
named Isabella; and the duchess Margaret together with her friend and
gossip the duchess of Brabant resolved to make the match. Isabella
was fourteen. She was handsome enough, but she was an uncouth tomboy
and dressed in a style that was anything but French. The duchess of
Brabant took her in hand, and by much discipline of her own seconded by
a French dancing-master and a French dressmaker, succeeded in breaking
this romping Rhinelander into some semblance of polite behavior. She
was presented to the king who was now seventeen. She knelt at his
feet with perfect grace: he raised her up and made a common-place
remark, and she said just the right thing in reply. She had been made
to rehearse the whole scene beforehand, in the king’s absence. He was
charmed with her beauty and her manners, and he fell in love with her
and married her. She turned out to be a veritable Messalina and did
what she could to add to the misfortunes of France.
Another notable marriage a year later, that is in 1387, was that of the
king’s brother Louis duke of Orleans with his cousin Valentina daughter
of Galeazzo Visconti lord of Milan. The Visconti were rich, and a
million of florins went to the dowry of Valentina. This marriage too
brought disaster a century later when the great-grandson of Louis and
Valentina, in attempting to recover the patrimony of the Visconti, was
led captive to Madrid.
The constable De Clisson, the victor of Rosebeke, had a bitter enemy
in John de Montfort duke of Brittany. One night in Paris, De Clisson
returning from an entertainment given by Louis and Valentina, was
suddenly attacked and knocked senseless into the doorway of a baker’s
shop. The baker dragged him in and sent for a surgeon. The king
himself who was fond of the constable, came to see him. The blow was
not fatal; and De Clisson had recognised his assailant. It was a well
known myrmidon of the duke of Brittany. The king vowed vengeance. His
uncle of Burgundy tried to pacify him and to persuade him to leave the
matter to him; but the king was not to be pacified; and duke Philip was
obliged to follow him into Brittany with an armed force.
It was the first week in August, and the heat was intense. The king in
order to suffer less from the dust, was riding separate from the rest.
Suddenly he wheeled his horse and crying out Death to the traitors!
charged upon the nearest of his followers. They all scattered till one
of them, a tall trooper, pounced on him from behind and pinioned him.
He was stark mad; and during the rest of his long and calamitous reign
his reason returned only at intervals.
The king’s malady arrested the expedition against De Montfort; and De
Clisson who recovered from his wound, was left to be his own avenger.
He was not slack about it; and if he was not so powerful as his
adversary, he was the better soldier, so between them both they stirred
up a civil war of such dimensions, that the duke of Burgundy who was
again regent was obliged to interfere. Dame Margaret his duchess was
related to the Montforts, so as he valued peace at his own fire-side he
thought best to proceed with caution. He sent to his cousin of Brittany
a few puncheons of the finest Burgundy wine, and followed himself with
a retenue of archers and men-at-arms. De Montfort relished the wine
more than he did the visitors: the latter looked suspiciously like an
armament, and he promised to keep the peace.
The rest reads like romance and yet is history. De Clisson received
from the duke of Brittany, from the man who had plotted his
assassination, a message offering reconciliation, and inviting him to
a personal interview. The constable was not to be caught with chaff.
He answered that he would come provided the duke’s eldest son was put
in his hands as a hostage. To his astonishment the boy, the heir of
the Montforts, was sent to him. The meeting took place, and John de
Montfort and Oliver de Clisson were friends ever after; and years later
when the duke went to Paris to marry this boy to the king’s daughter,
he left de Clisson in charge of his domains and his household.
These were the days of the _Great Schism_, the days of two rival popes
Urban VI. and Clement VII. and the division of Christendom into two
factions, the Urbanists and the Clementists. (See Captivity of Babylon.)
The king had displayed some excellent and even brilliant qualities;
and his sudden insanity drew forth expressions of sympathy from all
parts of Europe. As to its cause opinions differed. The clergy of
England and Flanders who were Urbanists, preached that it was because
the king upheld the schismatic pope of Avignon; the clergy of France
and Spain who were Clementists, that it was because the king had not
invaded Italy and deposed the schismatic pope of Rome. The laity were
convinced that the king was bewitched, and they even pointed out the
wicked persons who had done it. Among these was the duchess Valentina
whom the king regarded with brotherly affection. The evidence against
her was that she was an Italian: were not all the Italians sorcerers
and necromancers? Hermits and other holy men far and near were summoned
to exorcise the king and cast the devil out of him. One cross-grained
philosopher, half ecclesiastic half physician, with a scepticism that
did not belong to the fourteenth century, maintained that Charles
was neither bewitched nor bedevilled; that the schism had nothing to
do with it; that the clergy were a pack of fools and the people brute
beasts; that it was simply a case of mental breaking-down from over
excitement and dissipation. The Church had received such rough handling
from Philip-the-fair, that it dared not interfere; and this sciolist
was left to flaunt his unbelief in the faces of the devout.
The duke of Burgundy’s oldest son John, god-son of the pope, was now
twenty-five. He was small of stature but well knit and vigorous and
a good soldier. Burning for glory he led a detachment of French and
Flemings to the aid of the king of Hungary against the Turk Bajazet.
They were successful in a skirmish and took some prisoners. To these
they offered the choice either to turn Christians or to be slain. A
French monk was sent who exhorted them long and earnestly; but they did
not understand French, and consequently gave no evidence of conviction
and conversion: they were put to death accordingly. The battle of
Nicopolis followed, where the Christians were totally defeated. John
and some of his comrades were brought before Bajazet who reminded them
of their cruelty to their own prisoners, and ordered the heads to be
struck off of all except John and one or two others for whose ransom he
expected large sums. Legend says that a soothsayer warned Bajazet not
to kill John of Burgundy; that that Frankish prince was destined to be
more fatal to his brother misbelievers than all the Turks in Asia Minor.
The duke when he heard of his son’s captivity, laid a tax on his
dominions and sent the required ransom to Bajazet who dismissed John
with the remark that whenever he chose to come again on the same
errand, he might count on the same welcome.
Good and pious churchmen all over Europe had tried in vain to put an
end to the strife between two rival pontiffs who missed no occasion to
curse each other in all those awful formulas provided for the heretical
and reprobate; and the secular powers had at last taken the matter up.
The king had had a long season of being rational; and the duke of
Burgundy thought it a favorable time for a conference between the king
and the emperor on the state of the schism. The duke as a Frenchman,
leaned toward the see of Avignon, but he kept it to himself because
Dame Margaret being a Fleming, was of the other persuasion. Rheims the
capital of Champagne was chosen as the place of meeting. It was a bad
choice as we shall see.
Wenceslas emperor of Germany was a reformer who believed in the high
hand and the out-stretched arm. On one occasion suspecting the fidelity
of his wife, he summoned her spiritual director, and commanded him to
divulge what he had heard from her lips at the confessional. The priest
refused. The emperor ordered him sewed up in a sack and thrown into
the Moldau; and the empress had to look for another confessor. But the
emperor had one failing: he was by spells convivial, and then he was
sometimes as delirious as the king of France himself.
It was in the autumn of 1397 that these two high consulting parties
arrived at Rheims. The emperor was followed by his landgraves, his
margraves, his burgraves and other grave gentlemen who talked German
together so gravely that you would have sworn they understood each
other. The king escorted by the duke of Burgundy, came with equal
splendor. Charles was beginning to show symptoms of returning wildness;
but that only made him all the more bent on the interview. Wenceslas
on his part, had so strengthened his mind with the delicious wines of
Champagne that he was ready to deal with a score of schisms.
They met, they conferred, they argued, they disputed, they quarrelled,
they shouted. They called each other schismatics, heretics, traitors,
liars, thieves, assassins, till their respective attendants were fain
to bear them bodily forth, the one raving drunk, the other raving crazy.
The imperial diet was so little satisfied with this reformer’s success
at the conference, that they passed upon him a sentence of deposition.
He appealed from the sentence; and it was agreed that the duke of
Burgundy and the French Council of State should arbitrate. Wenceslas
sent as his advocate John of Moravia the most learned doctor of laws
in Europe, who delivered before the duke and council a speech several
hours long in latin of which they understood not one word. The diet on
its side, sent Stephen of Bavaria the queen’s father who took with him
an adroit pettifogging lawyer who spoke French. It was natural that the
arbitrators should lean toward the pleadings they comprehended, and
they gave in their adherence to the action of the diet. Rupert, count
Palatine was elected emperor in the place of Wenceslas.
The evil genius of France at this time, was the king’s brother Louis of
Orleans the husband of Valentina. He was showy, accomplished and for a
nobleman learned, but he was unprincipled. While squandering money in
every extravagance he was in debt for the necessaries of life; and woe
to the tradesman who dared present his bill! One day his horses ran
away with him and nearly threw him into the Seine. In the imminent
peril he made a vow to the Virgin that he would pay his debts. He
called his creditors together, and after a touching address in which he
ascribed the glory of his rescue to the Queen of Heaven, he dismissed
them without their money.
His uncle of Burgundy had excluded him from the council of State; and
he put forth all his resources which were considerable, to embarrass
the public business. He protested against the approval of the diet,
and raised fifteen hundred soldiers and marched or pretended to march
to the aid of the fallen emperor. He threatened to go to deliver the
pope who was held in a sort of honorable captivity in his palace at
Avignon. During the absence of the duke in Flanders, Louis and his
compeer in evil, Queen Isabella, seized the reins of government and
filled Paris with their satellites. The duke came back with an armed
force and bloodshed was threatened; but the two dukes came to a truce
and appeared in the streets, riding side by side, to the relief of
well-disposed people.