Coeur's grandson (in part perhaps by Jean Bourdichon, the artist of the
superb Book of Hours of Anne de Bretagne now in the Bibliothèque
Nationale, or at least by some pupil or follower of his), there are
three miniatures that seem of special interest in connection with
Agnes Sorel. One is a representation of the Virgin of the
Annunciation, and another that of the Madonna with the Holy Child. In
both these the features of the Virgin Mother appear to faintly echo
those of Agnes as we know her, as the crowned and ermined queen in the
picture at Antwerp. Still more interesting is the third miniature,
giving a view--here used as a setting for the _Procession to
Calvary_--of the front of Jacques Coeur's stately dwelling at Bourges.
Here doubtless many a time Agnes and the king were entertained. Hither
Jacques returned from sundry journeys to the East, laden with
treasures to beautify his surroundings. Hence he fled, the victim of
success. Over the principal entrance is a canopied recess, once
sheltering an equestrian statue destroyed during the Revolution. This
now empty space once held a statue of King Charles the Seventh, armed
cap-à-pie on a galloping caparisoned charger, as he may be seen
represented on medals of the period. It is not a little significant of
this thankless monarch that he here seems to be turning his back on
the house of his faithful servant and supporter, and to be riding
away. Other details worthy of mention in this Book of Hours are the
realistic background to the picture of the _Visit of the Magi_, with
its snow-covered village church, houses, and fields; the Italian
drug-pot in the Magdalen's hands in the scene of the Crucifixion,
showing the intimate intercourse with Italy; and the Mater Dolorosa
seated _alone_ at the foot of the Cross,--a tragic note taken from the
_Mystery of the Passion_.
There is only one unanimous opinion concerning Agnes Sorel, and that
is as to her beauty. For the rest, it would seem as if prejudice and
flattery held the scales. The mean is difficult to discover, and
perhaps it is only possible to get somewhere near it by studying
results--the remarkable change, as already noticed, in Charles's life
and conduct whilst under her influence.
In the face of conflicting records it is no easy matter to determine
when Agnes Sorel first became the king's mistress. In 1435, when the
Treaty of Arras was concluded between Charles and the Duke of
Burgundy, Cardinal de Sainte-Croix (afterwards Pope Pius the Second)
was Papal legate at the French Court, and aided in the negotiations.
He tells in his memoirs that the relation between Charles and Agnes
was known publicly at the time, and that the king could do nothing
without her, even having her at his side at the royal councils. The
trustworthiness of this statement has, however, been so questioned,
that it seems safer to endeavour to arrive at the truth from other
sources, although, if the statement can be relied on, it seems to
follow, almost as a matter of course, that Agnes must have been born
earlier than 1422. It is an admitted fact that between 1433 and 1438
the manner of Charles's life entirely changed. In the year 1433 the
infamous and once all-powerful favourite, La Tremoille, who had been
the king's evil genius for six years, and was largely responsible for
the king's treatment of his wife, Marie of Anjou, was dismissed at the
instance of the politic Yolande. Yet even so, the king often relapsed
into indolence and apparent indifference to his kingly duties, and it
was not till after 1438, when he summoned a national Council at
Bourges, that Charles showed himself to be a new man. It is also not
long after this that we read of favours granted by the king to
Agnes's relations. From that time, Charles ceased to spend his time in
dreamland, as it were, in the sweet Touraine country, and engaged
himself in affairs of State, listening to and accepting wise counsels,
favouring the restoration of schools and universities--which, in the
uncertain state of the country, had almost ceased to exist--and
encouraging the final efforts to expel the national enemy, even at
times personally joining in the fight. If we see in this, in a measure
at all events, the guiding spirit of Agnes, the secret of her
influence is not very difficult to discover. Apart from her beauty,
which, with Charles, would be a potent factor, Agnes had a woman's
insight and skill in her relation with him, ever holding up to him the
glory and obligations of kingship, at the same time herself entering,
with all the vitality of her extraordinary nature, into his favourite
pastimes. We know that in one or other of her many residences near
Chinon or Loches, she and the king often spent the evening playing
piquet or chess (the latter being his favourite game), and then, on
the morrow, rode forth together to the chase. So the days were passed
in work and simple outdoor pleasures, Agnes taking no recognised
public part in the king's life, but devoting herself heart and soul to
the task she had in hand. But besides these relaxations of peace,
there was also the reality of war; for the war still lingered on,
though feebly. The English had lost their ally, the Duke of Burgundy,
as well as Bedford, the able Regent, and there was no fit man to take
the latter's place. Paris opened her gates to Charles in 1436, and in
the following year Charles, after having reigned for fourteen years,
made his first State entry into the capital of his kingdom, mounted on
a white charger, the sign of sovereignty. In 1444 a treaty was
concluded at Tours with the English, and, to make the compact doubly
sure, Margaret of Anjou, a niece of the king, was married to Henry the
Sixth of England. For about a month the Court and its princely
visitors gave themselves up to fêtes and pageants, and it was during
this time of rejoicing that the position of Agnes was officially
recognised. She was made lady-in-waiting to the queen, and took a
prominent part throughout the festival. Charles gave her the royal
castle of Beauté, on the Marne, near the Bois de Vincennes, "le plus
bel chastel et joly et le mieux assis qui fust en l'Isle de France,"
desiring, as was said, that she should be "Dame de Beauté de nom comme
de fait." From the time of her public recognition she appeared with
the king at all the brilliant festivities celebrated in honour of
treaties and marriages. She also sat in the royal council, a position
which, as a king's mistress, she was the first to occupy, though we
know that Henri II. took no step without first conferring with Diane
de Poitiers, and that Madame de Maintenon sat in Louis the
Fourteenth's privy council.
The change which came over France after the Treaty of Tours was
marvellous, alike in its extent and its rapidity. Commerce was again
resumed between the two nations; men and women once again ventured
without the city walls, to breathe, as it were, the fresh air of
liberty; and those who had been called upon to fight, returned to
their work in the fields or the towns. We cannot better voice the
feeling of the people than by borrowing the song of a poet of the day:
Le temps a laissé son manteau
De vent, de froidure et de pluie,
Et s'est vêtu de broderie,
De soleil rayant, clair et beau;
Il n'y a beste ne oiseau
Qu'en son jargon ne chante ou crie:
Le temps a laissé son manteau.
Now that Agnes had assumed a definite rôle at Court, she lived
principally at Loches, where the king assigned to her "son quartier de
maison" within the castle, and also gave her a residence without the
walls. Here she shone like a radiant star; for although the king did
not have much personal influence on the movement in art and letters,
his Court was the meeting-place of many distinguished and intellectual
men. Among them we find the name of Alain Chartier, the poet, and
sometime secretary to the king, and one of the ambassadors who went to
Edinburgh to ask the hand of the little Margaret of Scotland for the
Dauphin. We remember him now chiefly in connection with the charming
story told of this girl-wife of the Dauphin Louis. Betrothed to Louis
when she was a child of three, and sent to France to be brought up at
the Court, she was married at twelve to this boy of thirteen, who
could not possibly appreciate her simple, sweet nature which endeared
her to all others. One day as she was passing with her ladies through
a room in the castle, she saw Alain Chartier lying on a bench asleep.
She approached quietly, and kissed him, much to the surprise of her
attendants that she should "kiss so ugly a man." And she made answer:
"I did not kiss the man, but the precious mouth whence so many
beautiful and fair words have issued." Poor little poetess!
Fortunately her life was a short one. She died when she was just
twenty-one, with these words on her lips: "Fi de la vie de ce monde,
ne m'en parlez plus." The scientific historian of to-day is inclined
to dismiss this story as a pleasing though rather foolish romance. But
even so, Alain Chartier may be remembered as a poet and philosopher,
as well as a brave and wise patriot during some of France's darkest
hours--a worthy contemporary of Agnes Sorel and Joan of Arc. Fearing
neither the nobles nor the people, he blames the former for their love
of luxury and personal indulgence, and exhorts both to think of the
public good, and to aid in their country's defence, instead of
allowing themselves to be engrossed with their private affairs. Then,
whilst acknowledging that as he has not the strength to bear arms, it
is only with his pen and his speech that he can serve his country, he
reminds them that it was the historian's pen and the orator's
harangue, just as much as the warrior's lance, that made the glory of
the Romans.
Louis the Dauphin, come to man's estate, and self-seeking and
treacherous, was no friend to Agnes, who had incurred his hatred by
her fearless disclosure to the king from time to time of conspiracies
against his person, in which Louis was the prime mover. After repeated
reconciliations, the king in despair finally banished him to his
domain of Dauphiné. The traitor, quitting the royal presence for what
he deemed exile, swore to be avenged on those who had driven him
forth, and if some of the records of the time speak truly, four years
later his opportunity came, and he kept his oath.
The last scene of Agnes's life was pathetically interesting. Her end
came almost suddenly. The king, listening to advice, had resolved to
continue the war in Normandy,[42] and, at the instigation of Agnes, if
we may believe the words of a courtly writer of the time, had himself
gone to the front. Rouen was taken, and Charles entered in triumph.
The streets were decked with flowers and branches, and the houses hung
with rich draperies, and everywhere the leopards and quarterings of
England had been replaced by the fleur-de-lis. Charles, preceded by a
gorgeous procession of archers, each company arrayed in the livery of
its lord, and carrying his special banner, followed, under a canopy,
on a horse caparisoned to the ground with blue cloth sprinkled with
fleurs-de-lis of gold, surrounded by princes and the principal
captains and officers of the Crown. With his wonted observance of
religious duty, slowly he made his way to the cathedral through the
shouting multitude, and to the sound of many fiddles and the fanfare
of trumpets. There he descended, kissed the relics as he knelt beneath
the great portal, and then entered its hushed and solemn dimness to
return thanks. But scarce had the air ceased to ring with the plaudits
of the people, when the report of a plot against the king, devised by
the Dauphin, is said to have come to the ears of Agnes, and she
hastened to the king at Jumièges, whither he had retired for a short
rest during the unusual and inclement winter. Here, stricken by a
mysterious sickness, by some thought to be typhoid fever, by others
attributed to poison administered at the instigation of Louis, she
died in February 1450, in her manor of Mesnil, near the Abbey of
Jumièges. The king was with her to the end, and could only be induced
to withdraw when her lifeless form sank back in his arms. So died this
wonderful and fascinating woman who had lived and laboured for her
country through perhaps the most critical period of its history.
[42] Lavisse, _Hist. de France_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 229, footnote.
It is impossible to entirely ignore what has been written to Agnes's
personal discredit, though much of it may well be looked upon as
exaggeration, and open to suspicion. That the king was not her only
lover may be true, but in the absence of satisfactory documentary
evidence of this, perhaps the various intrigues attributed to her may,
for the most part at least, be regarded as the creations of scandal.
Still, bearing in mind the condition of France at the time of her
accession to power, the extent of the influence she admittedly
exercised in the councils of the king, and the great change which came
over the royal fortunes and the fortunes of the country during the
years of her ascendancy, it is scarcely possible to refuse to her some
right to share in the recognition so lavishly bestowed upon the other
great woman of that time--Joan of Arc. The one may be said to have
been the complement of the other. Both were necessary to the needs of
the day, and the glory of successful accomplishment should be shared
between them.
A NOTE ON MEDIÆVAL GARDENS
MEDIÆVAL GARDENS[43]
[43] The quotations from the _Roman de la Rose_ are taken
from Mr. F. S. Ellis's translation, published by Messrs. J.
M. Dent & Co. in the "Temple Classics."
No one can study French mediæval lore, or Gothic cathedral, or Book of
Hours, without realising how great a love of Nature prevailed in the
late Middle Ages. The poems tell of spring, "the season of delight,"
of gardens which suffice "for loss of Paradise," and of birds "with
soft melodious chant." In the dim stillness of the cathedral, Nature
is expressed in infinite variety. Foliage grows in the hollows of the
mouldings, and sometimes, as at Chartres, even the shafts, as they
tower into the gloom, end in half-opened leaves, suggestive of spring,
of hope, and of aspiration. Many a sunny façade shows us scenes of
rural life--sowing, reaping, vine-dressing, and so forth--fashioned as
a calendar in stone, and many a peasant must have rejoiced as he saw
himself and his occupation thus represented in effigy. Fortunately for
the poor toiler, the Church not only taught that "to labour is to
worship," but further honoured work by thus representing it at the
very entrance to the sanctuary, so making it, as it were, the "open
sesame" to higher things.
In Books of Hours and illuminated MSS., before the complete border of
flowers, birds, and small grotesques was developed, we find ornamental
flourishes, like the growth of ivy and hawthorn, splendidly free in
design, and painted with evident joy even in the minutest bud or
tendril. Everywhere may this love of Nature striving for expression be
seen. But we must turn to the poems and romances if we would fully
realise it in all its simplicity and truth, since it is in these alone
that we get at the actual mediæval feeling unalloyed with all that we
ourselves have, perhaps unwittingly, read into it.
[Illustration: _Photo. Macbeth._
BOOK OF HOURS.
French, 14th Century, Brit. Mus.
_To face page 176._]
"All hearts are uplifted and made glad in the time of April and May,
when once again the meadows and the pastures become green." So says
one of the old romancers. And this joy in returning spring seems to
have pervaded mediæval thought and expression. Little is this to be
wondered at when we call to mind the long dreary winters spent in cold
and ill-lit castles, or in dark, draughty houses and hovels. Before
glass, long regarded as a luxury, came into general use in dwellings,
the only protection from rain and cold consisted in wooden shutters,
or movable frames with horn slabs (necessarily small), or varnished
parchment. In truth, the only warm, bright place was the chimney
corner, and here, as near as might be to the blazing logs, the
long days of winter were spent in chess-playing, broidery,
lute-playing, and love-making, the monotony of this only occasionally
broken by the arrival of some wandering minstrel who sang of war and
love, or of some packman laden with sundry wares prized of womankind.
But in winter such wayfarers were rare, and life was, perforce, one of
boredom and discomfort. Thus there was exceeding joy when "woods and
thickets donned their rich green mantling of resplendent sheen."
[Illustration: _Photo. Macbeth._
HARL. MS. 4425, BRIT. MUS.
_To face page 177._]
It is generally of springtime in a garden--a garden of green glades
and alleys, fruit-trees and flowers, such as was very dear to the
mediæval soul--of which we read. The _Roman de la Rose_ opens with a
description of a garden, hemmed round with castle wall--a pleasaunce
within a fortress--and planted with trees "from out the land of
Saracens," and many others, to wit, the pine, the beech (loved of
squirrels), the graceful birch, the shimmering aspen, the hazel, the
oak, and many flowers withal--roses and violets and periwinkle, golden
king-cups, and pink-rimmed daisies. The poet describes with careful
detail the design of the garden:
The garden was nigh broad as wide,
And every angle duly squared;
how the trees were planted:
Such skilful art
Had planned the trees that each apart
Six fathoms stood, yet like a net
The interlacing branches met;
and how "channelled brooks" flowed from clear fountains through "thymy
herbage and gay flowers."
The debt which the mediæval world owed to the East is shown both in
the fruits and the spices which are described as growing in the
garden, and in the pastimes said to have been enjoyed in its cool
shade. We read of pomegranates, nutmegs, almonds, dates, figs,
liquorice, aniseed, cinnamon, and zedoary, an Eastern plant used as a
stimulant. When the poet would tell of dance and song, he goes by
A shaded pathway, where my feet,
Bruised mint and fennel savouring sweet,
to a secluded lawn. Here he sees one whose name is "Gladness":
Gently swaying, rose and fell
Her supple form, the while her feet
Kept measured time with perfect beat:
* * * * *
While minstrels sang, the tambourine
Kept with the flute due time I ween.
* * * * *
Then saw I cunning jugglers play,
And girls cast tambourines away
Aloft in air, then gaily trip
Beneath them, and on finger-tip
Catch them again.
In every garden there was a fountain or sheet of water with a small
channelled way carrying the water to the castle and through the
women's apartment. Sometimes these waterways were made use of by the
lover as a means of communication with his beloved, as we read in the
romance of _Tristan and Isolde_, where Tristan, to apprise his
mistress that he is at their trysting-place in the garden, drops into
the water small pieces of bark and twigs, which are quickly carried to
the chamber where Isolde is waiting and watching. And one eventide a
perilous encounter befalls. Tristan has been banished the Court, for
evil tongues have whispered in King Mark's ear of his love for Isolde,
and have further whispered of secret meetings in the garden, beside
the fountain. Now near the fountain is a pine-tree, into which King
Mark resolves to climb, and perchance to discover the meeting of the
lovers. As daylight fades, Tristan scales the wall, and hastens to
throw into the water the little signals for his lady. But as he stoops
over the pool he sees, reflected in its clear surface, the image of
the king, with bow ready bent. Can he stop the floating twigs as they
are hurried along on their mission? No. The water carries them away
out of sight, and Isolde must come. She comes, but Tristan does not go
to meet her as was his wont, but remains standing by the water. She
wonders at her lover's seeming unconcern, but as she approaches him,
suddenly, in the bright moonlight, she, too, sees in the water the
reflection of the king, and the lovers are saved.
A pine-tree is so often mentioned as a special feature in a mediæval
garden that one is led to think that its use may either have been a
survival from the days of Tree Worship, seeing that the tree was
sacred to Adonis, Attis, and Osiris[44] (all, perhaps, varying forms
of one and the same divinity), or have been suggested by some northern
Saga. It makes its appearance in the _Chanson de Roland_, which has
come down to us in a thirteenth-century form, incorporating the
earlier Epic of _Roland_, probably composed towards the end of the
eleventh century. In this we find mention of it when Charlemagne,
after he is said to have taken Cordova, retires to a garden with
Roland and Oliver and his barons, the elder ones amusing themselves
with chess and tric-trac, and the younger ones with fencing, the king
meanwhile looking on, seated under a pine-tree. Later in the day tents
are set up, in which they pass the night, and in the early morning
Charlemagne, after hearing mass, again sits under the pine-tree to
take counsel of his barons.
[44] J. G. Frazer, _Adonis, Attis, Osiris_, 1906.
In the _Roman de la Rose_, the fateful fountain of Narcissus is
described as being beneath a pine-tree, which is represented as being
taller and fairer than any that mortal eye had seen since the glorious
pine of Charlemagne's time, showing that here at least the poet is
making use of tradition.
[Illustration: _Photo. Brückmann._
FLEMISH MASTER.
Fifteenth Century. Stephenson Clarke Collection.
_To face page 181._]
But to make our way into a mediæval garden, and see all that grows
therein, we must needs get within the precincts of the castle, for
inside its fortified enclosure the castle, like a small village, was
self-contained. And this was no easy matter, if we may judge from
the vivid description to be found in _Huon de Bordeaux_, a poem
concerning a Bordelais lord of the ninth century. After sundry
adventures, Huon sets out on a journey to Babylon, and seeks an
audience with the Emir. He tells of his arrival at what he describes
as the castle, and how, after long parley with the porter, the
drawbridge is let down and the great gate opened, and he finds himself
in an arched way, with a series of portcullises showing their teeth
overhead. After further parley, and further opening of gates, he
enters a large courtyard, and goes thence into the garden, which is
planted with every kind of tree, aromatic herb, and sweet-scented
flower. In the garden is a fountain with its little channelled way,
supplied with water from the Earthly Paradise. This description may
seem a little fantastic, but it is only the poet's way of telling us
what we might ourselves experience if we would go in imagination to
some thirteenth- or fourteenth-century castle, and seek to gain
admittance.
Sometimes the garden was within the castle fortifications. It was then
necessarily circumscribed, and would, more or less, be laid out with
formal pathways and stone-curbed borders, also with trees cut in
various devices (a reminder of Rome's once far-reaching influence),
and a tunnel or pergola of vines or sweet-scented creepers running the
length of the wall to form a covered walk for shelter against sunshine
or shower. But where the garden was without the fortifications, but
yet within the castle enclosure, as was always the arrangement if
possible, opportunity was afforded for wooded dell and flowery slope,
as well as for the orchard with its special patch for herb-growing.
The herb-plot was one of the most important items in a mediæval
garden; for here were grown not only herbs and roots for healing, but
also sweet-scented mint and thyme for mingling with the rushes strewn
on the floors. Sometimes the rushes themselves were fragrant, and
such, lemon-scented when crushed, may even to-day be found in the
neighbourhood of Oxford, probably growing in the very place which at
one time supplied many a college hall with its carpet of fresh green.
[Illustration: _Bodician._
MS. ROMANCE OF ALEXANDER.
Fourteenth Century.
_To face page 183._]