IX. “THE CONVALESCENCE OF FRANCE”…

IX. “THE CONVALESCENCE OF FRANCE”

Confused as was the long period of the last years of Charles VII, it may nevertheless be thus summarily defined--the convalescence of France. France recovered and England fell ill.--MICHELET.[b]

The sorceress, the she-devil, was burned; the charm was doubtless broken, the spell removed; there was nothing now to prevent the English from conquering the kingdom of France. Nevertheless, before they should recover the power in fact they deemed it right to have the power in law on their side--to legitimise the young Henry VI by having him crowned. The coronation to which Charles VII had been led by an agent of the devil being, by that means itself, null and void, they wished to have for their little prince a coronation perfectly orthodox and irreprehensible.

[Sidenote: [1431-1432 A.D.]]

The ceremony took place the 17th of December, 1431; not at Rheims, which the English no longer held, but at Paris. An English prelate, Beaufort, the cardinal-bishop of Winchester, officiated, to the great discontent of the bishop of Paris; for assistants there were English lords, not a single French prince. There was no liberation of prisoners, no reduction of taxes, no largesse to the people. “A bourgeois marrying off his daughter,” says the Bourgeois de Paris,[i] “would have done better.”[c] The child king was found to have little intelligence or grace, and the day after Christmas he was taken from Paris to Rouen, and thence to England.[d]

Paris was far from prosperous under foreign domination. Public officials were ill paid. The university was no longer recruited, except from the English and Burgundian provinces. It lost its pupils; it lost still more when, a month after his arrival, Bedford established schools of civil and canon law at Caen, in the midst of the English provinces. Charles responded by creating, in his turn, a university at Poitiers, and by according new privileges to the schools of Angers.[e]

It was now that period when the feeble bond that still united the duke of Burgundy to the English began to give way. His sister, Bedford’s wife, died in November, 1432. The duke of Burgundy had never had much reason to like the English, nor had he more to fear them. Their war in France was becoming ridiculous.[b]

The marshal De Boussac, as the result of a conspiracy, was almost able to seize Rouen. His advance guard was already in the castle when his bands began to quarrel over the division of the booty, and the English drove them off. Dunois was more successful at Chartres; he had an understanding with a preacher of renown. The latter announced that he would preach every day in a certain church; the entire English garrison assisted devoutly at the sermon while the French took the town. The English, from whom so important a place had been taken, were not even able to capture a hamlet. A certain French captain, John Foucauld by name, was stationed at Lagny and greatly harassed the neighbourhood of Paris. The duke of Bedford and the earl of Warwick went to besiege the place. They soon made a breach in the wall, but when they saw the besieged bravely awaiting them, they returned to Paris, where they arrived on Easter eve, “apparently to confess,” says the Bourgeois de Paris,[i] maliciously, in his journal. Meanwhile several soldiers of fortune in the service of the king of France had seized St. Valéry, Gerberoy, St. Denis, and other places (1432).[c]

The Parisians, delighted at this retreat of Bedford from Lagny, made themselves no less merry on the subject of his second marriage. At fifty years of age he wedded a girl of seventeen, “sprightly, fair, and gracious,” a daughter of the count of Saint-Pol, one of the duke of Burgundy’s vassals, and that abruptly and furtively without saying a word to his brother-in-law. The duke would not have consented to the match. The Saint-Pols, raised by him for the purpose of guarding his frontier, were beginning to play that double game which was to be their ruin; they were giving the English a footing in the dominions of the duke of Burgundy.

Beaufort saw more clearly that if the alliance with Burgundy were broken off, the war would change its aspect; that it would become far more costly, and that the church would infallibly have to bear the expense. A beginning had been made with the church of France, from which it was sought to wrest all the pious donations it had received for sixty years. In this state of anxiety, he exerted himself strongly for peace, and had it arranged that a conference should take place between Bedford and Philip the Good. He succeeded in making the two dukes advance towards each other as far as St. Omer. But this was all; once in the town, neither of them would take the first step. Though Bedford ought to have seen clearly that France was lost for the English if he did not bring back the duke of Burgundy to their party, he remained peremptory on the point of etiquette; as the king’s representative, he awaited the visit of the king’s vassal, who never moved. The rupture was definitive.

France, on the contrary, was gradually becoming reunited, a result brought about chiefly by the efforts of the house of Anjou. The old queen, Yolande of Anjou, the king’s mother-in-law, brought him back the Bretons; and in concert with the constable Richemont, the duke of Brittany’s brother, she dismissed the favourite, La Trémouille.[48]

It was more difficult to allure the duke of Burgundy, who was supporting the pretender Vaudemont, in Lorraine, against René of Anjou, Yolande’s son.[49] That prince, who has remained in the memory of the Angevins and Provençals by the name of “the good king René,” possessed all the amiable qualities of old chivalric France; and with them, too, its imprudence and levity. He suffered himself to be beaten and taken prisoner at Bulgnéville, by the Burgundians (July, 1431). The duke of Burgundy restored him to liberty, under security.[b]

Philip the Good might well have congratulated himself on a victory which clipped the wings of the royalists in Lorraine, but he made no use of it, and now showed himself disposed for pacific measures. In September, 1431, at the very moment that the royalist captains were preparing to invade Charolais and Burgundy, he signed at Chinon a two years’ truce with Charles VII for his frontiers of Réthelois, Picardy, Burgundy, and Charolais.[e] The English had no good reason for their complaints of Philip’s loyalty in this; if he had concluded a separate truce for his own states, he did not treat for peace on their behalf or without them. The English ambassadors were called to take part in all negotiations; but it was very evident, at the conferences of Auxerre (July, 1432) and those held in the village of Simport (now Seineport) in March, 1433, that while peace was now almost an easy matter between Charles VII and Philip on account of the great concessions to which the king resigned himself, it was next to impossible between Charles VII and Henry VI.[f]

The princes were becoming friends, and there was nothing to hinder the people from doing likewise, if they had the will. Paris, governed by Cauchon and other bishops, tried to get rid of them and expel the English. Normandy, even, that little French England, at last grew weary of a war of which it was made to bear the whole burden. A vast rising took place, in 1434, among the rural population of Lower Normandy; the leader was a peasant named Quatrepieds; but there were knights also engaged in the affair, which was not a mere Jacquerie. The English could not fail soon to lose the province.

THE TREATY OF ARRAS (1435 A.D.)

[Sidenote: [1435 A.D.]]

They seemed themselves to look on their prospects as desperate. Bedford abandoned Paris. The poor town, smitten by turns with famine and pestilence, was too hideous an abode. The duke of Burgundy, nevertheless, ventured to visit it with his wife and son, on his way to the great assembly at Arras, where the terms of a treaty of peace were to be arranged. The Parisians welcomed him, and implored his aid, as though he had been an angel from God. The assembly in question was one of all Christendom, including ambassadors from the council, the pope, the emperor, the sovereigns of Castile, Aragon, Navarre, Naples, Milan, Sicily, Cyprus, Poland, and Denmark. All the French princes, and all those of the Low Countries, attended in person or by deputy; so did the University of Paris, and a number of good towns. All these personages being assembled, England herself arrived, in the person of the cardinal-bishop of Winchester. The conferences opened August 5th, 1435, in the chapel of St. Waast.

The first question to be considered was the possibility of an accommodation between Charles VII and Henry VI. But how was it to be effected? Each of them claimed the crown. Charles VII offered Aquitaine, and even Normandy, which was still in the hands of the English. The latter required that each party should retain what it then had, with the exception of mutual exchanges for the purpose of rendering the possessions of each more compact.

Nothing could be made of the English, and they were allowed to depart from Arras. Everyone turned towards the duke of Burgundy, beseeching him to have pity on the realm and on Christendom, which suffered so much from these long wars. But he could not make up his mind; his conscience and his knightly honour were engaged, he said; he had given his signature; besides, was he not bound to take vengeance for his father’s murder? The pope’s legates told him he might make light of such scruples, for they had power to release him from his oaths. But this did not yet satisfy him. Ecclesiastical law not seeming sufficient, recourse was had to civil law, and a fine case was drawn up, in which, to leave the minds of the jurisconsults the more free, the parties were designated by the names of Darius and Ahasuerus. The English and the French doctors gave such opinions as might have been expected of them respectively; but those of Bologna, whom the legates brought forward, declared, in conformity with the French lawyers, that Charles VI had no power to conclude the Treaty of Troyes.

[Sidenote: [1435-1436 A.D.]]

The duke of Burgundy allowed the suppliants to argue and implore. But, in reality, the desired change had already taken place in him; he was weary of the English. The Flemings, who had so often forced their counts to remain united with England, were becoming hostile to that nation; they suffered from the forays of the garrison of Calais, and were maltreated when they went to that great wool market. England was then becoming a rival and enemy of Flanders; had she been friendly to that country, her friendship would henceforth have availed little. The duke of Burgundy had gained the barrier of the Somme, through the English alliance, and rounded and completed his Burgundy; but their alliance could no longer guarantee him the possession of his new acquisitions. Divided as they were, it was with difficulty they could defend themselves. Bedford alone could maintain some sort of balance between Winchester and Gloucester; but he died, at Rouen in September, 1435, and his decease was a further alleviation to the conscience of the duke of Burgundy. Thenceforth the treaties concluded with Bedford, as regent of France, appeared to him less sacred; such was the strictly literal mode of viewing things in the Middle Ages; he deemed himself bound during the lifetime of him to whom he had given his signature.

The duke of Burgundy’s two brothers-in-law, the duke de Bourbon and the constable De Richemont, contributed not a little to fix his wavering purposes. They plied him so hard that he vouchsafed at last to yield to their entreaties and grant mercy. The Treaty of Arras cannot be characterised by any other phrase. The king asked pardon of the duke for the murder of John the Fearless, and the duke did not pay him homage; thereby he became himself king, as it were. He retained for himself and his heirs all he had acquired: on the one side Péronne and all the fortresses on the Somme, on the other Auxerre and Mâcon.

The explanations and reparations for the death of Duke John were very humiliating. The king was to say, or have it said, that at that time he was very young, had as yet little knowledge, and had not been sufficiently advised to see duly into the matter, but that at present he was about to use all diligence in searching out the guilty parties. He was to found a chapel in the church at Montereau, and a convent for twelve Carthusians; and to erect, moreover, on the bridge where the act had been perpetrated, a stone cross, which was to be kept in repair at the king’s expense. The ceremony of forgiveness took place in the church of St. Waast. The dean of Paris, Jean Tudert, threw himself at the feet of Duke Philip, and cried him mercy, on the king’s part, for the murder of John the Fearless. The duke appeared moved, raised and embraced him, and told him there should never be war between King Charles and himself. The duke de Bourbon and the constable then swore a peace, as did the French and Burgundian ambassadors and lords.

[Sidenote: [1436-1438 A.D.]]

But the reconciliation would not have been complete if the duke of Burgundy had not concluded a definitive arrangement with the brother-in-law of Charles VII, René of Anjou. René, not having been able to adhere to the terms of the first treaty, had preferred returning to prison. Philip the Good released him and gave him back part of his ransom money, in consideration of the marriage of his niece, Mary de Bourbon, with René’s son. Thus were the houses of Burgundy, Bourbon, and Anjou united with each other and with the king. That of Brittany still vacillated; the duke did not declare himself; he found great profit in the war; it was said that thirty thousand Normans had taken refuge in Brittany. But whether the duke was English or French, his brother Richemont was constable of France: the Bretons followed him cheerfully; the Breton bands were the main force of Charles VII, and were called the bons corps.

THE FRENCH RETURN TO PARIS (1436-1437 A.D.)

This self-reconciliation of France drove the English distracted; their wrath blinded them, and they plunged as it were wilfully into their ill fortune. The duke of Burgundy wished to keep some terms with them, and offered them his mediation; but they rejected it, and plundered and killed the Flemish merchants in London. Flanders becoming incensed in its turn, the duke seized the opportunity to lead the communes to the siege of Calais.[b] For this he collected a large army in 1436, the Flemings, especially the Ghenters, answering his call to the number of forty thousand, and promising not merely to second his enterprise, but to accomplish it themselves. They found the task, however, so much beyond their power, that they grew disheartened, accused the Burgundians of betraying them, and marched off leaving the duke to extricate himself with his other forces as best he could.[g]

The Burgundian party turned round like the duke; those of Paris, of the halles even, the Burgundian quarter par excellence, called in the king’s forces and his constable, and installed them in the town. The English, who had still fifteen hundred men-at-arms there, and at first made a show of resisting, shut themselves pitiably in the Bastille, and then, apprehensive of famine, obtained leave to embark and descend the river to Rouen. The people, who had been harshly governed by three bishops on behalf of the English, pursued them with hootings, and shouted, “Fox! fox!” after the bishop of Thérouanne, the chancellor of the English. The Parisians were loath to let them off so cheaply, for they calculated that the ransom of so many rich nobles would bring in at least 200,000 livres; but it would have been necessary to besiege the Bastille, and the constable himself was at his shifts, money failing him. The king had only 1,000 livres to give him for the purpose of retaking Paris (1436).[b]

At length, in November, 1437, Charles made his solemn entrance into his capital, from which he had been an exile nearly twenty years. The constable rode on the monarch’s right hand, the count de Vendôme on his left, and the royal cavalcade was met at the Porte St. Denis by “the seven virtues and the seven mortal sins, well clad, mounted upon various beasts.” Charles had previously reunited the parliament of Poitiers to that of Paris, and the new judges and councillors returned to take their seats, and thus restore Paris to the rank of judicial capital of the languedoïl.[g]

THE PRAGMATIC SANCTION (1438 A.D.)

In that vast and multitudinous wretchedness, amid so many ruins, two things were still standing--the nobility and the church. The nobility had served the king against the English, gratuitously served a beggared king; it had consumed much of its own wealth, at the same time that it devoured the people’s substance, and it looked for compensation. The church, on its part, represented itself as very poor and afflicted; but there was this notable difference, that its poverty consisted in the suspension of its revenues--in general the capital remained. The king, indebted to the nobility, could discharge his obligations only at the church’s expense, either by forcing it to pay for him, which seemed difficult and dangerous, or rather by gently and indirectly, for the sake ostensibly of the ecclesiastical liberties, re-establishing the elections in which the lords had the paramount influence, and thus enabling them to dispose of benefices. These were often bestowed by the pope on the partisans of England; Charles VII had no inducement to respect his claims. He adopted in his pragmatique of Bourges (July 7th, 1438) the decrees of the council of Bâle, which re-established elections, and recognised the rights of the noble patrons of churches to present to benefices. These patrons, descendants of the pious founders or protectors, regarded the churches as portions severed from their fiefs, and desired nothing better than to protect them still, that is to say, to put their own men into them, by causing them to be elected by the monks or canons.

What delighted France in its then extreme poverty was that the pragmatique would stop the outgoing of money from the kingdom. The absence of gold was acutely felt. Under Charles VII it was really necessary as an instrument of war and a means of rapid action. The bankers were turning their speculations in that direction; previously occupied with the exchange of Rome and the transmission of the ecclesiastic tithes, they were about to draw on the English that bill of exchange which was paid with Normandy.

One thing, however, was to be feared, namely, that a church so completely closed against papal influence might become not national but purely seigniorial. It was not the king or the state that would inherit what the pope lost, but the lords and the nobles. At a period when organisation was still so feeble, it was not very practicable to act with effect from a distance; now at every election the lord was on the spot to present or recommend, and the chapters obsequiously elected his nominee; the king was very far away. It was a question whether the nobility were worthy of being intrusted with the chief active part in the affairs of the church--whether the lords on whom really devolved the choice of pastors and the responsibility for the salvation of souls were themselves the pure souls whom the Holy Spirit would enlighten in so delicate a matter.

THE ATROCIOUS CRIMES OF THE BARONS

[Sidenote: [1435-1440 A.D.]]

In his fief the baron of the twelfth century, haughty and stern as he might be, had yet a rule of conduct which, though unwritten, seemed but the more inviolable. This rule was “usage,” custom. In his most violent proceedings he saw himself accosted by his men, who said respectfully to him: “Messire, it is not the ‘usage’ of the good people here.” The fear of God and respect for usage, those two bridles of the feudal times, were broken in the fifteenth century. The lord was no longer a resident on his estate, and knew neither his people nor their customs. If he returns, it is with soldiers to raise money abruptly; he falls on the country occasionally like storm and hail, everyone hides at his approach, and the whole district is seized with a panic.

This lord, though bearing his father’s seigniorial name, was not the more a lord for all that; he was commonly a rough captain, a barbarian, scarcely a Christian. Often he was a leader of houspilleurs, tondeurs, or écorcheurs, like the bastard de Bourbon, the bastard of Vaurus, a Chabannes, or a La Hire. Écorcheurs (flayers) was their right name: ruining the ruined, taking away the shirt from him who had been left with nothing but a shirt to cover him; and if nothing remained but the skin, then stripping off the skin.

It would be a mistake to suppose that it was only the captains of the écorcheurs, the bastards, the lords without lordship, that were so ferocious. The grandees and the princes had acquired a strange appetite for blood in these hideous wars. What shall we say when we see John of Ligny, of the house of Luxemburg, exercising his nephew, the count of Saint-Pol, a boy of fifteen, in massacring fugitives?

They treated their relations just as they did their enemies; in fact, as regarded safety, the enemy was better off than the relation. It would seem as though there were no fathers, no brothers in those days. The count d’Harcourt keeps his father a prisoner all his life; the countess de Foix poisons her sister, the sire de Giac his wife; the duke of Brittany starves his brother to death, and that publicly--the horror-stricken passer-by heard his piteous voice imploring a morsel of bread for charity. One evening, on the 10th of January, Count Adolphus of Gelderland drags his old father out of bed, marches him five leagues on foot through the snow without hose, and throws him into a subterraneous dungeon (1440). The son, indeed, might have said in his own behalf that parricide was matter of usage in the family. But we find it likewise in most of the great houses of the time, in all those of the Low Countries, in those of Bar, Verdun, Armagnac, etc.

Gilles de Retz

[Sidenote: [1426-1440 A.D.]]

People were well inured to these things, but one such that came to light stupefied all men with wonder and horror. The duke of Brittany being at Nantes, the bishop, who was his cousin and his chancellor, was emboldened by his presence to proceed against a great lord of the neighbourhood, regarded with singular awe, a Retz of the house of Laval, which was itself a branch of the Montforts, of the lineage of the dukes of Brittany. Such was the terror inspired by that name that it had silenced every tongue for fourteen years.

The accusation was a strange one. An old woman called La Meffraie used to travel about the country and the heaths, and make up to the children who kept cattle or begged. Caressing and cajoling them, but all the while keeping her face half covered with a piece of black gauze, she used to entice them to the château of the sire de Retz, and they were never seen again. This Gilles de Retz was a very great lord, rich both in patrimony and by his marriage into the house of Thouars, besides which he had inherited the wealth of his maternal grandfather, John de Craon, lord of La Suze, Chantocé, and Ingrande.

There was found in the tower of Chantocé a tunful of calcined children’s bones, the remains, it was calculated, of some forty victims. Similar discoveries were made in the château de la Suze, and in every other place where he had made his abode. Murder accompanied him wherever he went. The number of children slaughtered by this beast of extermination is estimated at 140. How slaughtered, and why? In the answer to this question lay something more horrible than death itself. They were offerings to the devil. He invoked the fiends Barron, Orient, Beelzebub, Satan, and Belial, praying them to grant him “gold, knowledge, and power.”[50]

He was condemned to the flames and placed at the stake, but not burned. Out of deference for his powerful family and the nobility in general, he was strangled before the flames reached him. The body was not reduced to ashes. “Damsels of high condition,” says Jean Chartier,[h] went to the meadows of Nantes, where the execution had taken place, raised the body with their noble hands, and, with the aid of some nuns, gave it very honourable burial in the Carmelite church (1440).

Barbarism had returned, only without what was good in it, simplicity and faith. Feudalism had come back, but without its traits of devotedness and fidelity, and its chivalry. These ghosts of buried feudalism appeared like damned souls bringing unknown crimes to earth from their infernal abode. It mattered not that the English withdrew; France still continued the work of self-extermination. The provinces of the north were becoming a desert; the waste heaths were spreading. In the centre, Beauce was becoming overrun with briers and thickets; two armies sought and could hardly find each other there. The towns in which the whole population of the rural districts sought refuge, absorbed that miserable multitude, and yet remained not the less desolate. A vast number of houses were empty, says the Bourgeois de Paris,[i] and many a door was closed to open no more. The poor took from those houses whatever they could for firing. Paris was burning Paris. We may judge of the other towns from this one, the most populous of all, the town in which the government had held its seat, and where resided those great corporations, the university and the parliament. Famine and wretchedness had made it a focus of disgusting contagious maladies, the nature of which was not very accurately discriminated, but which were called at random the plague. Charles VII had a glimpse of that hideous thing which was still called Paris, was struck with horror, and hurried away. The English did not try to return thither. The two parties withdrew as if by a common understanding. The wolves alone were voluntary visitors, entering at evening in search of carrion; for as they no longer found food in the fields, they were rabid with hunger, and attacked men. The contemporary historian, who no doubt exaggerates, alleges that in September, 1438, they devoured fourteen persons between Montmartre and the Porte St. Antoine.

These terrible miseries are expressed, very feebly indeed, in the Complaint of the poor Commonalty and the poor Labourers. It is a medley of lamentations and threats; the starving wretches warn the church, the king, the burghers and merchants, and, above all, the lords, that “the fire is very near their hôtels.” They call the king to their aid. But what could Charles VII do--that king of Bourges, that weak and mean-looking personage,[51] how could they expect him to impose respect and obedience on so many audacious men? With what forces was he to put down the écorcheurs of the rural districts, and the terrible petty kings of châteaux? They were his own captains;[52] it was with them and through them he was waging war against the English.

CHARLES BEGINS THE WORK OF REFORM (1439 A.D.)

On the 2nd of November, 1439, Charles VII ordained in the states of Orleans, and at their request: that henceforth the king alone shall nominate the captains; that the lords, as well as the royal captains, shall be responsible for the acts of their men; and that both alike must answer before the king’s functionaries, that is to say, that henceforth war shall be subjected to the control of justice. The barons shall no longer take anything beyond their seigniorial rights, under pretext of war. War becomes the king’s affair, and he undertakes, in consideration of 1,200,000 livres a year granted him by the states, to maintain fifteen hundred lances with six men to each. By and by we shall see him back this cavalry with a newly created infantry of the communes. Contraveners shall obtain no grace; should the king pardon, his servants should take no heed thereof. The ordinance subjoined a more direct and more efficacious threat: the spoils of the contraveners shall belong to whoever shall take them. This was a tremendous clause; it armed the peasant, and sounded, as it were, the tocsin in the village.

What partially explains the boldness of the measure is that the self-styled royal captains, the pillagers and écorcheurs, had recently damaged their own strength. They had attempted an expedition to Bâle with the hopes of extorting ransom-money from the council, but instead of this they were themselves very roughly handled on their march by the peasants of Alsace; and then, seeing the Swiss ready to receive them, they returned with their tails between their legs. The king, who had taken Montereau, valiantly leading the assault in person (1437), took Meaux with his artillery (1439); then feeling himself in strength, he listened to the complaints made against the soldiery, and lent a gracious ear to the lamentations of his good subjects. Acts of justice were done with rapid despatch; the constable De Richemont, willingly exchanging his functions for those of provost-martial, hanged and drowned all along his route. His brother, the duke of Brittany, did not delay to strike that great blow, the sentencing and burning of Marshal de Retz. This first instance of justice done upon a lord was effected only in God’s name, and with the aid of the church; but it was, nevertheless, a warning to the nobility that their impunity was at an end.[b]

The most important effect of the memorable meeting of the states-general of 1439 was to render further meetings of that body unnecessary. In effect, the king was given the exclusive right to raise troops and to levy taxes. This virtually amounted to the creation of a permanent army, and, by implications, to the imposition of a perpetual tax. So at least the king interpreted it. From then on the king, having no need of the authorisation of the estates for the imposition of taxes, took good pains to dispense with its services. In point of fact it assembled but once more during the remaining period of his reign.[p]

Who were the intrepid advisers that urged the king upon this course of proceeding? Who were the servants that could have prompted him to these reforms, and procured for him the name given by contemporaries: Charles “the well served”?

Along with the princes in the council of Charles VII, the count of Maine, the cadet of Brittany, and the bastard of Orleans, there were also petty nobles, the brave Saintrailles, and those wise and politic men, the Brézés, nobles, but men who were nothing without the king. We find in it two burghers, Jacques Cœur, the money-changer, and the master of the artillery, Jean Bureau, both very humble roturier names. Bureau was a man of the robe, a master of the accounts. He threw down his pen, and by this remarkable transformation exemplified the truth that an able mind can apply itself to anything. Henry IV reformed the finances through a man of the sword; Charles VII waged war through a financier. Bureau was the first who made an able and scientific use of artillery.

War needs money, and Jacques Cœur contrived to supply it. Whence came he? We are sorry to know so little of his early career. All we know is that in 1432 we find him engaged in commerce in Beirut in Syria; sometime afterwards we see him at Bourges in the capacity of money-changer to the king. This great trader had always one foot in the East, and one in France. Here, he made his son archbishop of Bourges; yonder, he married his nieces or other female relations to the masters of his galleys. On the one hand he was continuing his Egyptian traffic; on the other he was speculating on the maintenance of armies and the conquest of Normandy.

Such were the able and humbly-born councillors of Charles VII. If it be asked who brought them about him, and what was the influence that made him yield to their advice, it will be found, if we are not mistaken, that it was a woman, his mother-in-law, Yolande of Anjou. We see her in possession of power from the beginning of this reign; it was she who caused the Maid to be received with favour; and it was with her on one occasion that the duke of Alençon arranged the preparations for a campaign. This influence, balanced by that of the favourite, seems to have been without a rival from the moment the old queen had given her son-in-law a mistress whom he loved for twenty years (1431-1450). This was Agnes Sorel.

AGNES SOREL; THE PRAGUERIE (1440 A.D.)

[Sidenote: [1440 A.D.]]

Agnes la Sorelle or Surelle--she assumed for arms a gold sureau (elder tree)--was the daughter of a gownsman, Jean Soreau, but she was noble by the mother’s side. She was born in honest Touraine. The naïveté of Agnes was early transplanted into a land of craft and policy, Lorraine. She was brought up with Isabella of Lorraine, with whom René of Anjou espoused that duchy. Isabella, the wife of a prisoner, waited on the king to beseech his aid, bringing her children with her and also her good friend from childhood, the demoiselle Agnes. The king’s mother-in-law, Yolande of Anjou, who stood also in the same relation to Isabella, was, like her, a woman of masculine mind; and they both agreed to attach Charles VII forever to the interests of the house of Anjou-Lorraine. The gentle creature was given him for his mistress, to the great satisfaction of the queen, who wished at any cost to remove La Trémouille and the other favourites.

Everyone knows the little story how Agnes said one day to the king that, when very young, she had been informed by an astrologer that she was to be loved by one of the most valiant kings in the world: she had thought that this was Charles, but she now saw clearly it was the king of England, who took so many fine towns from him in defiance of his beard; therefore to the king of England she would go. Stung by these words, the king burst into tears, “and quitting his hunting and his gardens, he took the bit in his teeth,” and to such purpose, that he drove the English out of the kingdom.

The pretty verses by Francis I[53] prove that this tradition was of earlier date than Brantôme.[l] Be this as it may, we have an equivalent testimony in favour of Agnes from a hostile pen, that of the nearly contemporary Burgundian chronicler, Olivier de la Marche.[m] “Certest Agnes was one of the most beautiful women I ever saw, and did in her quality much good to the realm.” And again: “She took pleasure in bringing under the king’s notice young soldiers and gentle companions, by whom the king was afterwards well served.”

Charles VII thought wisdom charming when preached by such lips; old Yolande in all probability spoke through Agnes, and no doubt she had the principal part in all that was done. More politic than scrupulous, she had welcomed with equal readiness the two girls that came to her so à propos from Lorraine, Joan of Arc and Agnes, the saint and the mistress, who both in their several ways were of service to the king and the realm.

This council of women, parvenus, and roturiers, it must be confessed, did not command much reverence, or greatly tend to set off to advantage the unroyal figure of Charles VII. To sit as judge of the realm on the throne of St. Louis, and be like him the guardian of God’s Peace, he ought apparently to have surrounded himself with people of a different sort. The league of the three ladies, the dowager queen, the queen, and the mistress, was not edifying in anybody’s eyes. What was Richemont? An executioner. Jacques Cœur? A trader in Saracen lands. A Jean Bureau, a limb of the law, “an inkhorn,” had made himself a captain, was riding all over the kingdom with his cannon, and not a fortress could stand before him; was not that a shame for the men of the sword? The foxes had become lions. Thenceforth the knights were to account to the knights at law--the most noble lords and the high justiciars were to tremble before the underlings of justice!

So much was this the tone of feeling prevalent among the nobles, not excepting those who were most immediately in contact with Charles VII, that even Dunois quitted the council after the famous ordinance. “The cool and tempered lord,” as Chartier[h] calls him, repented of having served his king too well. This bastard of Orleans had begun his fortunes by defending the town of Orleans, his brother’s appanage, in which service he had very adroitly employed the heroic simplicity of the Maid. After having grown great through the king, he wished to grow great against the king. The misfortune was that his brother the duke was still in England; but the ancient enemy of the house of Orleans, the duke of Burgundy (converted no doubt by Dunois), was labouring to get that future chief of the malcontents out of the hands of the English.

The duke of Alençon threw himself headlong into the affair; the Bourbons and the Vendômes lent their hands to it. The ex-favourite, La Trémouille, whom Richemont had removed, readily engaged in it. The most eager of all were the leaders of the écorcheurs, the bastard de Bourbon, Chabannes, and Le Sanglier (“the wild boar”). In truth, the matter was one that most nearly concerned them; the lords had their honours and jurisdictional prerogatives to contend for; but as for them, they had their necks to save; the gallows stared them in the face.

Nothing was now wanting but a leader. As the duke of Orleans could not be had, the malcontents took the dauphin, a mere child in point of age, but it was thought that a name would be sufficient. The supposed child, who was already Louis XI, had made his first efforts in arms, as he made his last, against the very party of the lords that chose him for their chief. At fourteen years of age he had been commissioned to pacify the marches of Brittany and Poitou. His first capture had been that of one of Marshal de Retz’s lieutenants; such a commencement did not promise the grandees a very trusty friend. Friend or not, he accepted their offers. This dauphin of France resembled Charles VII in no respect, but took rather after his grandmother, who was sprung from the houses of Bar and Aragon.

The king was keeping his Easter at Poitiers, and was at dinner, when word was brought him that St. Maixent had been seized by the duke of Alençon and the sire de la Roche; whereupon Richemont said to him in Breton fashion, “Remember King Richard II, who shut himself up in a fortress and got taken.” The king thought the hint a good one, mounted his horse, and galloped with four hundred lances to St. Maixent. The burghers had been fighting four-and-twenty hours for their king, when he came to their relief. De la Roche’s men were decapitated or drowned, according to Richemont’s custom, but Alençon’s were let go. The small fortresses of Poitou did not hold out; Richemont carried them one by one. Dunois then began to reflect, and he calculated too that the first who should leave the rest would be allowed good terms. He came, was well received, and congratulated himself on the course he had adopted, when he saw the king stronger than he had supposed, with 4,800 cavaliers, and 2,000 archers at his back, without having been obliged to weaken the garrisons in the marches of Normandy.

More than one of Dunois’ party thought as he did. Many an écorcheur of the south took the king’s pay, and fought against the écorcheurs of the north. Charles VII drove back the duke de Bourbon upon the Bourbonnais, securing the good will of the towns and châteaux by prohibiting all pillage. He assembled the states of Auvergne, and got them to declare loudly that the rebels were hostile to the king, only because he protected the poorer classes against the plunderers. The princes, abandoned by their followers, and obtaining no support from the duke of Burgundy, came in and made their submission; first Alençon, then the duke de Bourbon and the dauphin. As for La Trémouille and two others, the king would not receive them. The dauphin hesitated about accepting a pardon which was not extended to his friends, and said to the king, “I find then, my liege, that I must go back to them, for I have promised so.” The king replied coldly, “The gates are open for you, Louis, and if they are not wide enough, I will have sixteen or twenty fathoms of the wall pulled down for you.”

This war, so well conducted, was not less wisely terminated. The duke de Bourbon was deprived of his possessions in central France (Corbeil, Vincennes, etc.) and the dauphin was dismissed from court, and assigned an establishment on the frontier, in Dauphiné. Thus he was isolated, and allotted his separate portion; there was no getting rid of him, except by giving him a little royalty, in advance of his hereditary expectations.

This praguerie of France (it was so called after the name of the great Bohemian praguerie), although it was so quickly ended, nevertheless produced some disastrous results. The military reform was postponed. The English were emboldened to attack Harfleur, which they took and retained. They released the duke of Orleans at the request of the duke of Burgundy (1440). When the ancient enemy of his house thus exerted himself to take him out of captivity, the king could not decently refuse likewise to guarantee the ransom-money, and aid in the deliverance of the dangerous prisoner. He proceeded straight on his return to the duke of Burgundy, who threw the chain of the Golden Fleece[54] over his neck, and gave him his niece in marriage. Against whom was formed this close union of two enemies, if not against the king? He took the hint.

[Sidenote: [1440-1442 A.D.]]

First of all, he obtained from the states a tenth to be levied on all the clergy of the realm. He recalled Tannegui du Châtel, the mortal enemy of the house of Burgundy. Then concentrating all his forces towards the north, he proceeded along the frontier, doing justice upon the Burgundian, Lorrainian, and other captains, who were desolating the land. Among those who made their submission, there was a man of turbulence, the most audacious of plunderers; audacious both from the strength his birth gave him, and because he was the common agent of the duke de Bourbon and the duke of Burgundy; this was the bastard de Bourbon. He did not get off so cheaply as he had expected. The king handed him over, Bourbon as he was, to the provost, who put him on his trial just like any other robber; and after being well and duly found guilty, he was put in a sack, and thrown into the river.

Another lesson, not less instructive, was given. The young count of Saint-Pol, relying on the protection of the duke of Burgundy, dared to intercept some of the king’s cannon on the march, and carry them off; the king deprived him of two of his best fortresses; Saint-Pol hastened to the king and besought pardon, but he could obtain no favour, except by submitting to the decision of the parliament on the litigated question of the Ligny inheritance.

EFFECTIVE PROGRESS AGAINST ENGLAND (1441-1444 A.D.)

Meanwhile the English, all this time so near Paris, and so strongly established on the lower Seine, had advanced up the river and seized Pontoise. Lord Clifford, who had surprised that important and formidable post, kept possession of it in person. The inveterate obstinacy of the Cliffords acquired but too much notoriety in the wars of the Roses. Besides the English, there were in Pontoise numerous deserters, who knew they had no quarter to expect.

Invincible pertinacity of purpose was displayed on both sides. The duke of York, regent of France, now came to the aid of Clifford, whom he was afterwards to put to death in the civil wars. He brought with him an army from Normandy, revictualled the place, and offered battle (June); Talbot was with him. The king let the English pass, fell back, and returned. Talbot also returned, and again threw provisions into the town (July). The duke of York once more marched his army back, but could not yet bring on an engagement. He was allowed to roam over the ruined Île-de-France as much as he pleased, and waste his strength in those useless evolutions. When they had exhausted and harassed themselves, in four times revictualling Pontoise, Charles VII seriously resumed the siege; Jean Bureau battered the walls with admirable activity; two murderous assaults were made, that lasted five hours; first a church, that served as a redoubt, was carried, and then the place itself (September 16th, 1441). Thus men, who dared not meet the English in the plain, attacked and defeated them by storm.

The recapture of Pontoise was a deliverance for Paris, and for the whole country around; cultivation could thenceforth recommence, the means of subsistence were secured. Yet the Parisians evinced no gratitude to the king; they felt but their present miseries and the burden of the taxes; these were beginning to affect the brotherhoods even, and the churches, which were loud in their complaints. There was no want of willingness on the part of the princes to take advantage of these discontents. The duke of Burgundy, without himself appearing, assembled them in his own home at Nevers (March, 1442). The duke of Orleans, with whom he did as he pleased, since he had delivered him, presided for him over the meeting, which consisted of the dukes de Bourbon and d’Alençon, the counts d’Angoulême, d’Étampes, and de Dunois. The king frankly sent his chancellor to this conclave which was held against him, and notified to them that he would readily hear what they had to say.

[Sidenote: [1442-1443 A.D.]]

Their demand and alleged grievances very plainly showed what were their secret views. The princes, therefore, in their love for the public welfare, and for the good people of France, set forth before the king the necessity of making peace. They called for the repression of the brigands.

The king’s reply, which was sedulously made public, was overwhelming, and the more so as its tone was calm and moderate. He answers specially, respecting the taxes, that the aids had been consented to by the lords on whose property they had been levied; that as to the tallages, the king had “notified” them to the three estates, although in matters so urgent, when the enemy was in occupation of one portion of the kingdom, and was destroying the rest, he had a good right to levy tallages of his royal authority. “It is not necessary to that end,” he says, “to assemble the estates; it is but a burden for the poor people who have to pay the charges of those who attend. Many notable persons have requested that these convocations should cease.”

The king, leaving the malcontents to waste time in their meeting at Nevers, was then performing a grand and useful journey all through his kingdom, from Picardy to Gascony, everywhere establishing peace, especially in the marches, in Poitou, Saintonge, and the Limousin. Strengthened in the north by the recovery of Pontoise, he went to make head against the English in the south. The count d’Albret, being hard pressed by them, had promised to surrender if the king did not come on the 23rd of June to “keep his day,” and await them on the lande of Tartas. They liked the condition, not believing that he could arrive in time, much less that he would offer them battle. On the appointed day they saw the king of France and his army on the lande (June 21st, 1442). All these Gascons, who had imagined themselves far beyond the king’s reach in a world of their own, were beginning to feel that he was everywhere. They came and did homage, performed feudal service, and the king rendered justice to them.

He did this conspicuously in an important case the following year (March, 1443). The estates of Comminges supplicated Charles VII on behalf of the aged countess de Foix who had been imprisoned by her husband. He frightened the count de Foix, liberated the old countess, divided the usufruct of Comminges between the husband and wife, and adjudged the property to himself. This startling act of justice struck great awe into all those lords who had hitherto been so independent.

This was not all. In order to remain always among them as judge, the king gave them a royal parliament, which was to reside in Toulouse. This judicial royalty of the south was altogether free of the parliament of Paris; it judged in accordance with the law of the country, the written law, and was not dependent on anyone, but was self-elected. Until such time as this great body could establish order and justice in Languedoc, Charles VII authorised the poor to take justice into their own hands, and hunt down the brigands and vagrant soldiers.

He could not remain long absent from the north. Dieppe, which had been recovered by a fortunate and bold stroke, was in danger of being lost again. A great fleet and an army were every moment expected from England; it was urgently necessary to anticipate their arrival. The dauphin got permission to undertake this service along with Dunois; many Picard and Norman gentlemen also volunteered. The Bastille was taken. The duke of Somerset, the English commander, returned to Rouen to rest from his toils and take up his winter quarters.

[Sidenote: [1443-1444 A.D.]]

That winter, whilst Somerset was enjoying his victorious repose, the dauphin Louis was rapidly traversing the whole kingdom, to ruin and destroy the best friend of the English. The count d’Armagnac, dissatisfied by the way in which Comminges had been disposed of without giving him a share, had attempted to seize the whole country. He reckoned on the English, and particularly on the duke of Gloucester, who in fact wanted to marry Henry VI to a daughter of the count. The dauphin set out in winter, made his way over snows and swollen rivers, and found the game in its lair, everything that bore the name of Armagnac shut up in one place. Gloucester and the war party, though they had encouraged Armagnac, were unable to defend him. They had enough to do to defend themselves in England against the bishops, and the partisans of peace, Winchester and Suffolk, who had gained the upper hand.[b] Painful as it was to their pride they were obliged at conferences held at Arras, in 1444, to beg for a truce and the hand of a French princess, Margaret of Anjou, for their young king Henry VI, placing also a new enemy at their gates through the marriage of the dauphin Louis with Margaret of Scotland, daughter of James I.

EXPEDITION TO SWITZERLAND AND LORRAINE

Charles VII only granted that truce in order the better to complete the work of reform begun in 1439.[c] But there was a third people very embarrassing during the truce, the war-folk namely. What could be done was to induce them to go and rob elsewhere, to quit ruined France for thriving Germany, and make a pilgrimage to the council of Bâle, to the rich and saintly towns of the Rhine, and the fat ecclesiastical principalities.

[Sidenote: [1444-1445 A.D.]]

Just then the king received two applications for aid, the one from the emperor Frederick III against the Swiss, the other from René, duke of Lorraine, against the cities of the empire. The king was equally favourable to both proposals, and generously promised aid for and against the Germans.[b]

Switzerland had founded and consolidated its independence of Austria and the empire in three battles--Morgarten, Sempach, and Näfels--in which a handful of peasants had heroically vanquished great feudal armies. The French nobility was always ready for positive warfare, but that of Germany showed itself more circumspect and the Austrian provinces were reduced to setting, by means of wretched intrigue, the Swiss cantons one against the other, and then if possible to intervene. This time Frederick III reckoned to make the Armagnacs of Charles VII intervene for him.

The Battle of Sankt Jakob (1444 A.D.)

Charles hastened to set in motion, in as orderly a fashion as possible, an army of 14,000 French and 8,000 English, Scotch, Brabanters, Spaniards, and Italians. The commander-in-chief was the former leader of the praguerie--the dauphin Louis. This terrible band turned the Jura in fairly good order, and entered Switzerland by crossing the little river Birse. The Swiss, who were then besieging Zurich, were able to send only 2,000 men to meet the enemy. These brave fellows had expected only to skirmish and knew not with what force they had to deal. A messenger had come from Bâle to warn them of the numbers of the French, but they had killed him; and in the brutal pride their former successes had inspired, they threw themselves head-foremost on the first corps they met (1444). Their bravoura did not save them. After making a desperate resistance in a hospital and behind the dilapidated walls of a garden, their position was forced and they perished, every one. The dauphin had such respect for the brave men that fought so well that he went no further and made a treaty of alliance with the Swiss. As for the écorcheurs, they found nothing to take away from these poor mountaineers and many turned towards Alsace and Swabia.[c]

The dauphin’s return, and the report of the check the Swiss had suffered, considerably advanced the affairs of Lorraine. The towns which sheltered themselves under the name of the empire saw that, if the emperor and the German nobility had called in the French to the heart of the German countries, to save Zurich, they would not come and fight the French on the marches of France. Toul and Verdun acknowledged the king as protector.

Metz alone resisted. That great and aspiring town had others dependent on it, and was encompassed by from twenty-four to thirty forts. Épinal, however, had from the beginning seized the opportunity to emancipate itself, and had put itself into the king’s hands. The forts having afterwards surrendered, the Metz men made up their mind to negotiate. They represented to the king that “they were not of his realm or lordship, but that, in his wars with the duke of Burgundy and others, they had always received and comforted his men.” Thereupon, by order of the king, Master Jean Rabateau, president of the parliament, propounded many arguments to the contrary. The grand question of the limits of France and the empire could not be settled thus incidentally, and during a truce to the English war. The matter remained undecided. The king contented himself with drawing on the finances of the wealthy town of Metz.[b]

MILITARY AND FINANCIAL REFORMS (1443-1448 A.D.)

[Sidenote: [1443-1448 A.D.]]

These two expeditions had disembarrassed the king of the most riotous among his adventurers, and broken in the rest to an elementary discipline; it was at last possible to put into execution the ordinance of Orleans. In 1445, the army was consolidated into fifteen companies of one hundred lances; to each lance six paid men were reckoned--a man-at-arms and his esquire, three archers and a coutillier, all mounted. By these were the cities garrisoned, the largest having only from twenty to thirty lances; in this way the inhabitants remained stronger than the soldiers, and in a position to check any disorder. The demand for positions in the army was so great that numerous old stagers followed the companies about that they might be ready to snap up the first vacancy. All the others were obliged to retire immediately to their homes without disturbing the peace, under penalty of being given up to justice as vagabonds. Such was the progress of order that they obeyed and at the end of the fifteen days nothing more was heard of them; as for those who had enlisted, they submitted to a rigorous discipline. Charles VII had thus at his disposition a picked troop of nine thousand horse.

By another ordinance, that of April 28th, 1448, the king secured to France an advantage which she had hitherto furnished to foreigners--to the Genoese, at need--but had never herself possessed: a regular and permanent infantry. Each of the sixteen thousand parishes of the kingdom was obliged to furnish the king “a good comrade,” said the ordinance, “who has seen service.” He had to furnish at his own expense his brigandine, a light coat of armour of iron plates joined together; a short coat, light helmet, dagger, sword, crossbow, and quiver of arrows. He was obliged to drill on all feast days, and be ready to serve the king at any time he should be called upon to do so; he received in payment four francs a month when in service and exemption from all taxes and subsidies, excepting the aide and the gabelle.

The free archer did not become at once a model soldier; military genius was not developed in a day in a nation so long without arms. But while Villon depicts for us one of those archers dropping on his knees before a scarecrow, taking it for a gendarme, entreating pardon, and beginning to feel extremely ill, satiric poetry is not history; a century later, in 1554, the same archers, incorporated in the provincial legions of Francis I, gained against the first army in the world--the Castilian veterans--a battle that had been once lost by the men-at-arms; still another century, and in 1643, changing their quivers for guns, they had developed into the foot-soldiers that fought at Rocroi.

All these reforms were subordinate to that of the finances, set in motion in 1443 by Jacques Cœur. To establish a reciprocal control by the regulators of finances over one another; to oblige individual receivers to account to the receiver-general and the latter in his turn to the chamber of accounts; to force the king’s officers--the ministers of finance, the master of the horse, the treasurer of wars, and the commander of artillery--to render monthly accounts to the king in person--these were excellent and admirable reforms, thanks to which Charles VII found himself in a position to create in France an institution that the most powerful of his predecessors had been unable to establish--a military force dependent only on the king, and protecting him, instead of leaving him at the mercy of the barons’ evil humours, as had heretofore been the case. Since Charles V, the ordinary indirect taxes, such as that on salt, on merchandise, and on liquors, had been permanent. Since Charles VI, the land tax (the taille), for payment of the soldiers, had become permanent--that is, it continued to be levied without the vote of the estates. But the king gave guarantee for the proper administration of financial justice by declaring sovereign the cour des aides, which alone had the right to interpret ordinances pertaining to the taxes and was the last resort of all civil and criminal processes growing out of the administration of the finances.

Though it was not yet possible, in the fifteenth century, to reduce all France to one uniform law, she was at least beginning to emerge from the arbitrary customs of a justice exercised, above all in the north of France, according to unwritten laws. Charles VII thought--and the thought is an honour to him--that it was essential that all the laws of a kingdom should be written and “agreed upon by the lawyers of each country,” and examined and authorised by the supreme court and by the parliament, so that it would not be possible to deviate from the text thus officially inscribed. To him was due this innovation.

THE CLOSE OF THE HUNDRED YEARS’ WAR

[Sidenote: [1448-1450 A.D.]]

Having accomplished these reforms, Charles found himself sufficiently strong to finish with the English. A certain Francis de Surienne, an Aragonese adventurer in the service of the English, wishing to garrison one of the Norman villages possessed by the English, found himself repulsed on all sides. The soldiers, having received from Henry VI neither pay, provisions, nor munitions, were unwilling to share with this foreigner their already insufficient resources. The Aragonese, finding the doors of the allies closed to him, provided for the needs of his company after the fashion of the greater number of the military leaders: during the season of peace he fell upon Fougères, a rich city of Brittany, and gave it over to his men to plunder in lieu of their arrears of pay.

Immediately the king of France and the duke of Brittany demanded of the English governor of Normandy reparation and an indemnity of 1,600,000 crowns damages. They demanded an impossibility. The indemnity not arriving, the French set out to collect it for themselves at Pont-de-l’Arche, Gerberoy, Verneuil. Dunois entered the province with an efficient army which the Burgundians and Bretons joined voluntarily. Pont-Audemer, Lisieux, Mantes, Vernon, Évreux, Louviers, St. Lô, Coutances, and Valognes were taken or surrendered by the inhabitants without striking a blow.

England was then beginning her Wars of the Roses, which during thirty years were to cover her with blood and ruins. The parliament, not as yet daring to take action against the king, fastened upon his minister, the duke of Suffolk, and troubled itself little about Normandy, since the reverses there were new and potent arguments against the accused. The governor, Somerset, instead of concentrating his forces, divided them into twenty garrisons, and sent ambassadors to open negotiations; but, knowing no better how to make treaties than how to make war, he forgot to invest them with authority. Order, proficiency--all that had hitherto contributed to their success was now on the side of the French: to the French Victory went over. On October 18th, 1449, they appeared beneath the walls of Rouen.

In a moment all the inhabitants of Rouen were armed, but armed against the English, who took refuge in the citadel. Somerset was there, and the veteran Talbot, and numerous lords, officers, and soldiers; but it must be remembered that it would have been impossible to resist at once both the population and the French army. There was talk of a treaty, but on what conditions!--that, in addition to Rouen, Caudebec, Villequier, Lillebonne, Tancarville, Harfleur,--that is to say all the lower course of the Seine,--should be delivered up to the king of France; and that a hostage should be furnished in the person of the famous Talbot himself--the English Achilles.

The governor of Honfleur refused to recognise this capitulation. The city was taken in the middle of winter (December, 1449); Harfleur met the same fate. The English, pushed to extremities, sent a knight of great renown, Thomas Kyriell, with 6,000 men. It was a last effort. Landing at Cherbourg, Kyriell sought to join the duke of Somerset at Bayeux, by way of the shore; the French followed, and on April 15th, 1450, near the village of Formigny, the constables of Richemont from one side, the count of Clermont from the other, vigorously attacked him. Kyriell’s soldiers fought bravely, but were defeated and left 4,000 on the field. This insignificant number sufficed to blot out from the minds of the French the 30,000 dead at Crécy, the 12,000 captive at Poitiers and at Agincourt. Vire, Bayeux, Avranches, Caen, Domfront, and Falaise fell into the hands of Charles.

[Sidenote: [1450-1453 A.D.]]

The numerous garrison of Cherbourg counted upon having nothing to fear, thanks to its own strength and above all to the neighbourhood of the sea. From this side it was taken. The French cannoneers established seven batteries in the sea itself; when the tide rose they left their cannon well anchored on the beach and protected by oiled skins; when the tide fell they returned to them. It was the English who, first of all, had turned against the French, at Crécy and Agincourt, this terrible arm of the artillery; the latter now manipulated it better than themselves. Cherbourg capitulated, and in a year the whole of Normandy was taken. Also the French army presented a novel spectacle: disciplined and obedient, it now lived on its pay and not by plunder.

A month later, Dunois, Saintrailles, Chabannes, and the brothers Jean and Gaspard Bureau, who directed so advantageously the French artillery, marched with 20,000 men against Guienne. Bourg-sur-Gironde, Blaye, Castillon, Libourne, St. Émilion, offshoots from Bordeaux, which the English had loaded with privileges as they had that city, were easily taken. The inhabitants of Bordeaux, so well disposed to the England who bought their wines, attempted a sortie, fled upon catching sight of the enemy, and entered like the others into negotiations. The French granted nearly all that was asked of them. This was the 5th of June, 1451; the surrender was delayed until the 23rd. On that day, the herald of the city having cried with a loud voice for succour from the English for the people of Bordeaux, and no one replying, the gates were opened to the French.

However mild the conquerors were, the great town soon regretted that English domination so far removed as to be scarcely felt. Now it had to pay taxes and furnish soldiers, the harbour was deserted, the shops were encumbered with unsold tuns. If an English army had appeared, no matter how weak, Bordeaux would have thrown herself into its arms. Such an army now appeared.

The government of Henry VI, or, to speak more correctly, of Margaret of Anjou, had need of a great success abroad in order to establish itself at home. Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury, now eighty years of age, was charged with bringing Guienne again under the English rule. The first steps were easy. The inhabitants of Bordeaux themselves introduced the English into their town, September 22nd, 1452; almost the whole province followed their example, and the king of France had to recommence his conquest. With the spring of 1453 his troops were marching into Guienne; on the 14th of July they laid siege to Castillon.[c]

The Battle of Castillon (July 17th, 1453)

The royal army, the greater part of which, including the artillery under the Bureau brothers, was concentrated in the camp, nearly two thousand feet long by one thousand wide, occupied also an abbey, which was later on the priory of St. Florent, and which overlooked Castillon; on the plain of Mount Horable, near to the village of Capitourlans, were the Bretons of Count d’Étampes, to the number of 240 lances under the command of the knights of Hunaudaye and Montauban. The night of the 16th of July was passed in fortifying the camp, which was surrounded by deep trenches and defended by powerful artillery. Talbot on the morning of the 17th attacked the abbeys, defended by eight hundred free archers under the command of Jacques Rouhault and Pierre de Beauvau. The archers, terrified by the impetuosity of the English, who shouted the war-cry of their old leader, abandoned the abbey and retreated in the direction of the entrenched camp, followed by the enemy. On hearing of the approach of Talbot, Jacques de Chabannes left the camp and advanced at the head of two hundred lances. Aided by Rouhault and Beauvau, he protected the retreat of the archers. A very brief engagement took place; one hundred men were killed on either side. Rouhault, thrown from his horse, owed his safety only to the devotion of his archers, to whom he had sworn that he would live and die with them. Chabannes, surrounded at one moment, was delivered by his men.

Finally it was possible to effect the retreat. Talbot rallied his men and regained the abbey. There, seizing the provisions abandoned by the French, he broke open the casks and distributed wine to his soldiers; it was still early in the day; the earl of Shrewsbury (Talbot) had mass performed by his chaplain. The holy sacrament was about to be celebrated, when news was brought that the French were abandoning their enclosure and fleeing. “Never,” he exclaimed, “will I hear mass till I shall, to-day, have overthrown the band of Frenchmen which is before me”; and he gave orders to advance. The English advanced uttering their war-cry, “Talbot, Talbot, St. George!” Mounted on a little nag, the old captain was dressed in a simple red velvet cassock. Vain attempts were made to stop him, he was told that it was a false rumour, and that it would be better to await quietly the onset of the enemy; he answered his standard-bearer, who gave him this advice, by insults, and drove him away, it was said, by a sword-cut across the face. On arriving at the palisade Talbot began to shout, “On foot, on foot, all!” His men-at-arms, supported by the archers, who arrived gradually and fell into rank, were received by a formidable discharge; three hundred catapults, howitzers, culverins, and ribaudequins, the firing of which was directed by the famous gunner Giribault, threw their projectiles, which slew a large number of victims. The English hesitated. Talbot brought them back, and formed them in testudo; sheltered behind their bucklers they attacked the entrenchments. Talbot succeeded in planting the banner of St. George on the summit of the trench. A terrible conflict took place; for more than an hour they fought hand to hand.

Suddenly, from the neighbouring heights, the sires de Montauban and de la Hunaudaye descended with their Bretons, and took the enemy in the rear; this movement decided the issue of the combat. The English stopped to face this fresh body of troops. The terrible tempest of the artillery did not cease to rain down on them. Seizing the opportunity, the French dashed from the camp, some on foot, some on horse, and charged with fury. Talbot, though wounded, held out. A blow from a culverin struck him on the leg and threw him under his horse. The French archers surrounded him and pierced him with their arrows. His son, who had vainly endeavoured to persuade him to flee, died at his side, trying to protect him. The English, seeing the fall of their chief, fled in disorder. Some wished to regain their vessels or to cross the Dordogne at the ford of Rozan; the others took the road to St. Émilion. A body of about two thousand men under the leadership of the Gascon nobles fell back in good order on Castillon and succeeded in penetrating into the town. The French, tired, worn out, breathless, renounced the pursuit of the enemy; only the count de Penthièvre, with his troops, gave chase to the fugitives in the direction of St. Émilion. The English army was overwhelmed; thirty knights and four thousand soldiers perished; in the heat of the action they were killed without mercy. It is said that even in our day bones are found in the plain which was the scene of this sanguinary struggle. On the French side the loss was considerable; some of their leaders, Admiral de Bueil, Jacques de Chabannes, Pierre de Beauvau, were wounded, but not seriously. In spite of the reinforcements brought by the Gascon nobles, Castillon could not oppose a long resistance; the town capitulated July 20th. From there the army marched immediately against St. Émilion and Libourne, which opened their gates.[n]

Cadillac and Blanquefort followed suit. The royal army closed in around Bordeaux. The free archers overran the country; the ships loaned by La Rochelle and Brittany blocked the mouth of the Gironde. Bordeaux, threatened with famine, sent deputies to Charles VII. In their presence Jean Bureau made it a point to say to the king: “Sire, I have been reconnoitring for proper positions for our batteries; if such is your pleasure, I promise you on my life that in a few days I shall have demolished the town.” The envoys understood that this time they must accept what conditions the king would make. He stripped Bordeaux of her privileges, exacted a contribution of 100,000 crowns and ordered the banishment of twenty guilty citizens with the confiscation of their wealth; finally the construction of two citadels to guarantee the fidelity of the town in the future. The sire de l’Esparre, who had called in the English, promising a rising of all the nobility of the province, lost his head. On the 19th of October, 1453, Charles VII entered Bordeaux in triumph--the Hundred Years’ War was over. The English held nothing in France except Calais and two small neighbouring towns.[c]

Thus after a century’s struggle was decided the impossibility of English monarchs holding France, under whatever pretensions or rights. The French had outgrown those times when the sovereignty over them could be transmitted to foreigners, or divided with them by the mere laws of feudal heritage or proprietorial descent. All that the ablest kings and bravest warriors of England could do was to hold their ground upon the continent. Any lack of talent, suspension of vigilance, or remissness of energy on their part restored military superiority to the French upon their own soil, and insured with this their independence.

It was fortunate for both countries that such a decision had taken place, and that it should be final. The circumstances as well as the result of the war now rendered it so. The re-conquest of all the French provinces by Charles was not, like that of Philip Augustus or Philip the Fair, the work of trickery or deceit. It had been achieved in fair and stand-up fight, and, what was more remarkable, with forces on either side almost balanced in number. The French were not more numerous than the English at Formigny; and Talbot, when he fell at Castillon, led a greater army than that which defeated him. It was the French free archers, too, and peasant soldiers, who fought more than the knights on that field. Experience had taught the mistake of attempting to ride down the hardy sons of the soil by mounted gentry. English and French met on these last fields equal in courage and in strength. But as the French soldiers were now more carefully selected, disciplined, and organised, they were victorious over those of England, distracted as it was by civil war, sending forth armies as distracted as its government.[g]

THE LAST YEARS OF CHARLES VII

[Sidenote: [1451-1456 A.D.]]

About this time the services of the wise counsellor we have already mentioned--the great merchant and shipper, Jacques Cœur--were lost to the state. After the conviction of Jean de Xaincoings, receiver-general of the realm, for embezzlement in 1451, Jacques Cœur was accused of malversation in his office of treasurer of the crown. He was said to have heaped up incredible riches; and on some occasions he made a display of his wealth which in a great measure compensated for the evil proceedings, if such they were, by which he gained it. He furnished funds for fleets and armies out of his private stores, when they could not otherwise be had; and continued his sage advices to the king, inculcating economy and repose. Charles was still indolent and self-indulgent when no great national effort was to be made. He allowed the prosecution of his faithful servitor, accepted the sentence of death which was passed upon him, and only started up to the kindness and generosity of his character when he remembered his services, and granted him his life (1453). The rest of the treasurer’s story is very strange. Jacques Cœur escaped from prison and found refuge at Rome, was appointed admiral of the Italian fleets against the Saracens, trafficked in goods and money while sweeping the infidels from the sea, and died in the island of Chios, 1456, richer and more honoured than he had ever been in Paris. The king must have seen, when it was too late, that he had banished a financier whose advice on public affairs was cheaply paid for by the acquisition of private riches.[j]

Quarrels with Burgundy and with the Dauphin

[Sidenote: [1451-1453 A.D.]]

The expulsion of the English from the continent, where they no longer held any town save Calais, left the king of France in the presence of his powerful rival, the duke of Burgundy, who reigned over dominions no less vast, and after a manner quite as independent.

After the English had been driven from Normandy, Philip of Burgundy began to feel the hostility of Charles and of his court. Whenever his subjects, especially of towns, had cause of complaint against him, they appealed to the king of France and his parliament as suzerain. Ghent would not submit to the gabelle (or salt tax) imposed by Philip, and the people appealed to the king of France, who pretended that the gabelle peculiarly belonged to the suzerain, and a French embassy soon arrived to arbitrate between the duke and the Ghenters. The duke altogether set aside the demand of gabelle, but insisted merely on the fact of the chiefs of trades and the demagogues having usurped the entire power in Ghent, even the administration and the election of magistrates. The French envoys took completely the duke’s view of the difference, and gave an award, obliging the people of Ghent to admit the ducal bailiffs to a share of authority, to pay a large fine, give up the rallying emblem of the white chaperon, and desist from holding the meetings of the united trades.

In the following year, 1452, the French court returned to the charge and sent fresh ambassadors, not approving of the facility with which their predecessors had abandoned and condemned the democracy of Ghent. But at that time occurred the descent of Talbot on the Garonne, and the attention and efforts of Charles were necessarily turned in that direction. Duke Philip saw his opportunity. He must crush the rebellious towns ere Charles succeeded in expelling the English from Guienne. He raised a large army, brought it to Ghent, and captured several small places round it, cruelly hanging every prisoner. Treachery is reported to have been employed to induce the citizens to come forth to battle on the open plain. But 40,000 armed inhabitants of the Flemish capital, so often victorious in the field, scarcely needed any incentives to march to the relief of their towns and garrisons. Duke Philip was engaged in the siege of Gavre, from which the commander escaped to Ghent, craving succour, if the fortress was to be saved. The citizens accordingly mustered to the number of 30,000 and marched to attack the Burgundians. The encounter took place on the 23rd of July, 1453; it began by the cannon on both sides. The Ghenters were most of them slain, 20,000 being left on the field; and the duke, on beholding the heaps of slaughtered men, felt, for the first time, that these were his subjects, the sources of his wealth and the sinews of his strength.

In the same year Muhammed II carried Constantinople by assault, and extinguished the Greek empire in the East. The catastrophe, alarming to Italy and Germany, might well have aroused the king of France. Charles VII was not the hero of a crusade; the sphere of his activity and ambition did not extend so far. Yet, when the duke of Burgundy, in a solemn festivity at Lille, made a public vow to lead his armies against the Turks, when all his noblesse became associated in the same vow, and when the pope and emperor joined in the enterprise, Charles was mortified; nor was his jealousy diminished when Philip, after this vow, set forth in person to visit the Swiss and the Germans, in order to negotiate alliances and aid in his great design.

However wisely the councillors of King Charles had conducted his military operations, and his negotiations with England and with Burgundy, the spirit of their domestic administration was narrow in the extreme. The princes of the blood, however cautious and apparently submissive, looked with jealousy and anger upon those upstarts of the king’s court who so completely eclipsed and set them aside.

The king and his council, therefore, looked upon the duke of Burgundy’s proposed crusade as merely a scheme for enhancing his importance, and placing himself at the head of the princes of Europe and of a formidable army, and they resolved to attack and crush those of his subjects whom he supposed to be associates and fellow-conspirators with Duke Philip. The principal of these was his son Louis, who lived independently, but not tranquilly, in Dauphiné, now warring, now intriguing with the duke of Savoy, and omitting no opportunity of gaining followers and procuring money.

[Sidenote: [1453-1457 A.D.]]

The first of the dauphin’s friends whom the court attacked was the count d’Armagnac, who afforded every pretext for Charles’ interference. He was living in incest, excommunicated by the pope, and guilty of many crimes. Unable to resist Charles’ lieutenants, Armagnac was soon reduced, his seventeen castles were taken, and he was driven across the Pyrenees. The court then resolved to make an example of the duke of Alençon. The prince was noted for his gallantry and independent spirit, which had won the admiration of Joan of Arc. He had been foremost as a partisan against the English, yet was an object of suspicion to Charles. Dunois was sent to arrest and bring him to the king’s presence, who accused him of conspiring to receive the English into his fortresses. According to some he made an indignant answer to the king; according to others he confessed his treason, and gave information of the designs of his confederates.

By what was elicited from the duke of Alençon, the king’s suspicion and anger were increased against his son Louis, whom he resolved to leave no longer in possession of the revenues and government of Dauphiné, at least unless he submitted. In April, 1456, the king signified his intention of resuming the government of that province. The dauphin would not put himself in the power of the council, the members of which he believed capable of any crime. Nor would Charles receive his son into favour, except upon his complete submission. The march of an army, led by his declared enemy, Dammartin, alarmed Louis. He at first thought of resistance, but none of the nobles of Dauphiné or of his court would support him in resistance to his father. With a few followers Louis abruptly quitted Dauphiné, as Dammartin advanced into it, and hastened to St. Claude, in Franche-Comté. From thence he informed the king that he was determined to take part in his uncle the duke of Burgundy’s crusade against the Turks. He at the same time informed that potentate of his arrival. An answer of welcome speedily came, and Louis proceeded to Brussels. Here the duke embraced him so cordially and so long, as scarcely, so Chastelain[k] relates, to let his feet touch the earth. The dauphin was all in all for a few days; but a quarrel arising between the duke and his son, the latter was brought by his mother to Louis, who undertook to intercede for him, and remonstrate with his sire. This at once interrupted friendship and harmony. The duke saw in the dauphin one who might take his son’s part against him. Louis thus found it necessary to retire to the château of Gennape, near Brussels, where he lived on a monthly pension of 2,500 livres allowed him by the duke (1456-1457).

Death of Charles VII; the Influence of His Reign

[Sidenote: [1457-1461 A.D.]]

This was the very result which Charles most dreaded, and which he most carefully should have avoided. But his council feared the reconciliation between father and son: and some of them meditated setting Louis aside altogether, and prolonging their own power by proclaiming his brother Charles, then but a boy. The king would not entertain a project necessarily so fatal to his family and his kingdom. As to Charles, his inward distrust became at last a malady, and almost an insanity. Yet his suspicions were not without grounds; for as his health and strength visibly declined, especially after the breaking of a boil in the mouth, the members of his court--even those who had been the bitterest enemies of the dauphin--addressed letters to that prince containing information as to the state of things, and assurances of their own attachment. Even the king’s new mistress, the dame de Villequier,[55] was amongst those who hastened to seek security in the worship of the rising sun.

The desertion of his own ministers did not escape Charles, who reasoned that those who were so eager to abandon him in his decline might, without scruple, hasten his death. The dauphin is said to have caused some of the letters addressed to him to be placed within reach and view of the king. Charles’ terror was equal to his disgust. A captain told him that his physicians had been suborned to administer poison; one was instantly sent to prison, whilst the others fled. In his alarm, Charles refrained from taking sustenance altogether; and when the cause of his consequently weak state was discovered, and it was sought to administer food, his stomach refused to retain it. Thus did one of the most successful and triumphant among monarchs expire of mistrust--of hunger and inanition. Death levels all distinctions: Charles, the restorer of the French monarchy, died the death of a beggar (July 22nd, 1461).

The character of Charles VII is perplexing to the historian; it affords subject of surprise that such great aims, which must have been wisely conceived and steadily pursued, should have been attained by a personage in many respects so weak. We are thus obliged to separate the private habits of the prince from the public life of the monarch. In the one Charles was indolent, self-indulgent, inconstant, and immoral; in the other, active, adventurous, persevering, and patriotic. He first introduced the important novelty of a royal council. Such, indeed, had existed under his predecessor, but it was an assemblage of magnates, not of ministers, the orators and inferior members being the followers or exponents of their chiefs’ opinions. Charles VII did nothing without consulting his council. This, perhaps, is the most remarkable characteristic of his rule. And it stands in strong contrast with the habits of his son and successor, who ruled altogether from his own judgment, and who with far greater talents and capacity committed the greatest blunders, and fell far short in all his aims, which his sire contrived to avoid or to accomplish, by merely mistrusting his own omniscience and not disdaining the counsels of others.

The upper classes, their ideas, their spirit, and privileges, were no doubt undergoing in this century a great and remarkable change. This was the gradual metamorphosis from the feudal baron and knight into the courtly seigneur and the modern gentleman. As their numbers greatly increased it became impossible for all to preserve the superiority in power and wealth which the ancient holders of fiefs had possessed. The younger brothers of the gentry were obliged to seek for public service and live upon pensions or pay, in military or other capacity. But they carefully preserved themselves from losing caste, by insisting that they alone should fill these numerous offices. Thus the originally restricted class of the nobility in France was spread into the wider caste of the gentilhomme, the power and pretensions of the whole being undiminished.[g]

Most important of all, however, was the steady growth in power of the crown. We have seen that Charles VII practically dispensed with the aid of the states-general after 1439, and that in so doing he virtually established a standing army and a permanent tax.[a] In reality the taxes were already permanent, or nearly so, but they had been considered as extra revenue; now they became usual. Charles VII in suppressing the vote of the assembly followed the example of Charles V under identical circumstances, and thus rid himself of an obligation which was often only a useless formality, and often a hindrance and restraint.[e]

A more fatal consequence of this usurpation on the part of the crown was that the nobility and clergy, remaining exempt from the tax on land which was only levied on the property of the roturiers, ended by taking no interest in the question. They abandoned the great principles supported at the estates of 1355 and 1356, to wit, that no tax could be levied save with the assent of the estates, and that the three orders should be subjected to the same taxes. Liberty established itself in England because the prelates, nobles, and towns remained closely united in their resistance to the encroachments of royalty, all accepting the same burdens and vindicating the same guarantees. In France the nobility and clergy deserted the common cause, handed over the third estate to the arbitrary authority of the crown, and sold the public liberties for a pecuniary advantage. From that moment it was an admitted formula that the clergy paid with their prayers, the nobility with their swords, the people with their money. The third estate, betrayed by the privileged orders, approached the king, applauded all the attacks made by the crown on the rights of the nobles and clergy, and energetically aided it to consummate the ruin of their power, until the moment that it found itself alone, face to face with the crown, and overthrew it. The defection of the clergy and the nobility was the first cause of the establishment of absolute power and of the Revolution which was accomplished 350 years later.[p]

But little enough did Charles VII or his contemporaries concern themselves with such remote consequences of their deeds as are here ominously suggested; and, not to be ourselves blinded to the true historical relations of the times we are treating, let us seek again the atmosphere of the fifteenth century, and in leaving Charles VII take a parting glance at him through the eyes of a contemporary writer, whose quaint phrasing and peculiar smack of piety will remind us that our stage setting is still of the Middle Ages. That the phrases of the courtier are somewhat more flattering than strict justice demands need neither surprise nor concern us. “Charles VII,” says Henry Baude,[o] “was loved as much by his subjects as by foreign nations, who came often to him for advice in settling their disputes, and this because of the great justice that he observed. He was feared by the good and by the wicked: by the good, who were afraid to do evil lest it should come to his knowledge; by the wicked who were afraid of his justice. He was obeyed by his vassals and subjects, and well served by old, wise, and well-tutored servants, who knew his disposition to be such that he wished each to have his own. He died in old age [in reality he was but fifty-nine]; and after his death was in great solemnity, weeping, and lamentation honourably buried, and with great regret by men of all estates, in the church of St. Denis in France, with his ancestors. May God in his holy grace receive his soul into Paradise. Amen.”

FOOTNOTES

[48] [The fall of La Trémouille was due to a conspiracy aroused by his lethargy, through which the English in 1432 were able to regain Montargis and take several important towns. “M. de la Trémouille,” says De Brantôme;[l] “was so happy as to prove a faithful and worthy servant to three kings. He was an excellent and worthy captain, and for this reason he had the honour and happiness to be known as ‘the knight without fear and without reproach.’ Splendid title indeed for him who can keep it, and wear it to the end of his life!”]

[49] [Vaudemont was the nephew and René the son-in-law of Duke Charles I who had just died. René was appointed heir by Charles’ will, but Vaudemont persisted in his pretensions, alleging Lorraine to be a masculine fief.]

[50] [Just how much of truth there is in this tale of Gilles de Retz, it would be difficult to determine. The motive alleged for the crimes smacks of the familiar witchcraft stories. A perversion of a type well known to psychiatrists might offer a more plausible explanation, supposing the facts to be assured.]

[51] [Henri Baude[o] has a different conception of the personality of the king. He says: “Charles was a man of handsome figure, tall, and of good temperament; of sanguine complexion; humble, gentle, gracious, and of pleasant temper, liberal and not prodigal. He was solitary, living soberly, loving joyously, frank, decorous, and humane. He loved ladies in all honesty, and held all women in honour. His amusements were chess and shooting with the crossbow, and he rose early. The day after he entered a town and the day before he left it he went to the principal church. His oath was ‘St. George! St. George!’ He took only two meals a day. He spoke and drank little. He had a courteous gravity, tempered familiarity, and effective diligence. His word was the word of a prince and kept as law. He thought continually of the affairs of his kingdom and the relief of his people. He heard three masses a day, that is to say, the high mass with music and two low masses, and said his prayers every day without fail. At meals he was alone at table, and few persons in his room; and his doctor was always there, and honest people and valets who spoke of gay subjects or told old stories in which he took delight.

“Naught cared he for false wisdom. At the yearly feasts, a bishop or abbot was seated at the head of his table, he in the centre, and at the end of the table one of the nobles of royal blood. When the table was spread there was none so great that did not leave the room, and all was so well arranged that none presumed to remain. He loved all virtuous people; was true and certain in promise and in all his acts. When he knew a man of virtue he took him. He had in his house and in his service the children of the princes, great nobles, and barons of his kingdom. He had around him, his chamberlains and others, the most handsome persons of the kingdom.”]

[52] Many of these captains of écorcheurs have left lasting traces in the memory of the people. The Gascon La Hire has given his name to the knave of hearts. The Englishman, Matthew Gough, whom the chroniclers call Mathago, has remained, we believe, as a puppet and bugbear for children in certain provinces. The history of Gilles de Retz, greatly softened down, has furnished matter for a tale: he is the original of Blue Beard.

[53]

More honour, gentle Agnes, thou hast won, For that thy voice our France recoverèd, Than could be achieved by cloister-prisoned nun, Or holiest beadsman to the desert fled.

[54] [The order of the Golden Fleece was instituted at Bruges in 1429, by the duke of Burgundy, Philip the Good, in honour of one of his mistresses, Marie de Cumbrugge, whose red tresses had been the object of many pleasantries. On the extinction of the Burgundian house the grand-mastership passed to the Habsburgs.]

[55] [Agnes Sorel had died of dysentery on the 9th of February, 1450. The dame de Beauté, as she was called, had her enemies, the dauphin among them, and rumours that she had been poisoned were not long in spreading through the court. These were made use of later in many infamous machinations, even against Jacques Cœur.]

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X. THE REIGN OF LOUIS XI: THE TRIUMPH OF THE CROWN

Louis XI, that king more adroit than the most adroit courtier; that old fox furnished with lion’s claws; powerful and shrewd, served secretly as in the light, constantly sheltered by his guards as by a shield, and accompanied by his executioners as with a sword.--VICTOR HUGO.

[Sidenote: [1461-1483 A.D.]]

During fifteen years, the dauphin, afterwards Louis XI, had maintained a struggle against his father, which had commenced on account of Agnes Sorel and had been continued by mutual distrust. Throughout this struggle the dauphin had shown a most indomitable pride and the utmost tenacity, and in all this delicate and false situation he affected to act as the prince and as the prince who would one day be king. If he rebelled against the king it was against the king only, and not against the crown. Such at least is the attitude revealed by the tone of his letters.

As soon as he succeeded to the throne, he hastened to leave his little court of Gennape and return to France. He asked the duke of Burgundy to lend him an escort of four thousand soldiers in case he should meet with opposition from his father’s councillors who might wish to impose their own conditions on him. However, on arriving at Avesnes, the nobility thronged around him to swear allegiance, and, finding his escort unnecessary, he sent it back to the duke. He repaired at once to Rheims to be crowned and at that place the throng became greater. This adulation, which always follows when a new prince succeeds one but little loved, made Louis believe that he would be popular. Perhaps his absence, his exile, which had been interpreted as a protest or a disgrace, had contributed to this apparent popularity. It was, at least, very ephemeral.

Louis XI was thirty-eight years old when he ascended the throne, with his experience of governing and his virtues and vices equally matured by his exile. Like his father, he loved power and did not wish to share it. A contemporary, Chastelain,[b] called him “the universal spider,” because he never ceased weaving a web of which he was the centre, and the threads of which extended everywhere. Not only did he wish to decide everything himself, but he was loath to accept any advice, and the least opposition would make him obstinate. Like his father, also, he was observant, discreet, suspicious, esteeming men but little, rewarding them richly when he had need of their services and forgetting them the day after. He had in this respect the three faults that Chastelain[b] attributes to Charles VII--fickleness, diffidence, and envy. On the other hand he had a wonderful discernment in seeing the use that each person could be to him. Those who served him must serve him absolutely. Independence to him seemed conspiracy. Comines[c] says that he did not like to have serve him “the great ones who could surpass him.” He preferred to choose for his agents men of humble birth whom he took from the lowest of his household, knowing them to be more easy to control and capable of a more blind devotion. Reared in the school of Charles VII, he resembled him very much, in spite of the aversion he had shown toward him. He continued his reign and his policy. He employed the same means to maintain, or to extend the results already attained. If he had any advantage over him, it was the knowledge, which he had acquired by personal experience, of the opposition he would be obliged to combat.

At the same time, to these hereditary traits he joined others. He was distinguished by a feverish activity, a perpetual restlessness, an irresistible taste for intriguing. He would complicate affairs on all sides, then meet the difficulties and make light of them. Chastelain[b] describes him as “scheming new thoughts day and night.” His government was very secret. He sought the shadowy ways, which makes it difficult for one to follow the thread of his diplomacy, the details of which necessarily escape us. He was educated, like most of the princes of his day. He was possessed of great keenness and vivacity--almost too much, as he very often allowed himself to be carried away by it. He had been surrounded, at Gennape, by a small court, vivacious and refined. He had a certain loftiness in his views, notwithstanding all that the historians have said of his littleness and his superstition. In his relations with the pope he showed a sense of nobility and justice. But these sentiments and qualities, which keep him from being regarded altogether as a bad man, had but little influence on his political conduct. His passion to rule, and to carry on secret intrigues, was so strong that it destroyed all scruples, if he had any. He knew no rule save his own will, no goal but success. He had no respect for established things, but followed the necessity of the moment. He sought to attach men to himself only by corruption, believing that the more corrupt they were the more useful they would prove; he was prodigal with money to gain tools in France and traitors in the neighbouring states. In fact the celebrated portrait of The Prince, for which he served as one of the models employed by Macchiavelli,[d] gives a just idea of the personal government, arbitrary and mysterious, which existed in the sixteenth century and which most fortunately is no longer possible, at least under the same conditions.

He has received much praise for his ability. He hastened the progress of the unity, and the ruin of the great feudal houses. The crown acquired important provinces during his reign and he greatly augmented the power of France. These results are incontestable, but at the same time we must remember it was not he alone who brought them about; that these results had been preparing for a long time; that the twenty years of Charles VII had done much; that Louis XI had, in the beginning, compromised by his imprudence the conquests of the preceding reign and that his principal merit was to profit, in an incontestable manner, by favourable circumstances. If he has been regarded as a great statesman, it is because, meeting with reverses in the commencement of his reign, he in the end triumphed over his enemies who were less calculating and less prudent than himself. For it is the final success that sways the judgment of posterity, and even the judgment of contemporaries, as is shown by Philip de Comines,[c] that observer so profound, that spirit so penetrating and so cold.[e]

RELATIONS WITH THE CHURCH

After his coronation Louis looked around the land he was now about to “bring into order,” and was alarmed at the condition of the national church. A national church it really deserved to be called; for, while confessing the superiority of Rome in antiquity and rank, it rested firmly on the decision of the Council of Bâle, and acknowledged a power superior to the holy see. It defended, also, freedom of election to vacant benefices, and refused the annates, or first year’s income of bishoprics and incumbencies, to the exchequer of the pope. Louis saw that the first advance against the citadel of civil liberty was a return to the obedience of Rome. He gave up at once all the franchises and exemptions wrung with such difficulty by the church of France. He placed it again, bound hand and foot, under the heel of the successors of St. Peter, and even gave advantages to the ecclesiastical ruler which he had never held before. In return for this, the faithful son of the church was sure of the pontiff’s support. Though he oppressed his subjects, deceived his friends, and murdered his enemies by treachery, he had shown a most religious regard for the interest of the papacy, and was honoured with the title, which his successors have retained, of “the most Christian king.” The least Christian monarch of his time, being elevated by popish gratitude to this lofty position, it was only left for the adulation of the courtiers to bestow upon him the title of “majesty,” which great word had not yet been applied to the person of the sovereigns of Europe; but Louis XI set the example of claiming the highest sounding and least deserved epithets, and cheated and grovelled through a long reign of trickery and meanness as his Majesty the Most Christian King. When the church was again governed by a foreign master, whom it was easy for the king to win over to his side, the next important step in the progress of his design was to render the people powerless. For this purpose he did away with the free-archers of the previous reign. No village was allowed its butts and shooting-grounds. The parish was relieved of the expense of finding an “archer good” for the interior defence of the country, and the spirit of emulation in warlike sports was discouraged. But the land was not to be left unprotected. So in addition to his Scottish allies, he took into his pay large bodies of Swiss mercenaries, whose valour had struck him with such admiration at the battle of Sankt Jakob near Bâle.

He now more than doubled the taxes; and as, although saving and grasping from personal disposition, he was liberal and even generous from policy, he derived great support from the absence of a home-force of his own subjects, and the devoted adhesion of penniless mountaineers from the two poorest and most courageous populations in Christendom. We will only insert a word of surprise here with regard to the Swiss, that a people who are honoured throughout the world for the defence of their liberties at home, should be the scorn and shame of all generous minds by furnishing their strength and valour for the maintenance of the worst tyrannies abroad.

THE WAR OF THE PUBLIC WEAL

[Sidenote: [1465 A.D.]]

The nobility saw the object of the king, and took arms to prevent the extinction of their order, and the diminution of their individual power. A cry is never wanting when people are determined to quarrel, and as the feudal chiefs could not, with any decency, state openly the reasons of their opposition, they placed it upon the two grounds of the sacrifice of French ecclesiastical liberty by the abrogation of the Pragmatic Sanction, and the intolerable weight of taxation which the new king had imposed. This, therefore, was called “the war of the public weal.” Princes and feudatories, and all who had a lingering regard for the grand old days of license and free quarters, took up the patriotic cause. Charles of France, the king’s brother, was the nominal chief, but the real head of this league was Charles the Bold [properly Le Téméraire or the Rash], at this time called count of Charolais, eldest son of the good Philip, duke of Burgundy. In the list besides him were read the names of Saint-Pol, Brittany, Lorraine, Alençon, Bourbon, Armagnac, and Dunois. In short, the two parties were perfectly aware of each other’s intentions, and met face to face. If the league succeeded, Louis’ life would have been short, and a regency was openly promised. If Louis was successful, farewell to the great nobility, its independent power and hereditary magnificence; it must sink into an ornament of the court, or be exterminated altogether. It was the life of one or the other which lay upon the scales; and though the swords were sharpest, and the cause apparently the freest on the side of the great vassals, the cunning, the policy, the perseverance were all on the side of the king. Suddenly the oppressors of the towns, and the harsh masters of country populations, affected a deep interest in the common weal. With haughty condescension they assumed the championship of the overburdened commons, and kept them at the same time from coming “between the wind and their nobility,” as if contact with them would have stained their coats of arms. But Louis, dressed in very undignified apparel, looking like a small shopkeeper, and affecting no airs of grandeur or superiority, entered into familiar talk with any well-to-do citizen he encountered, joked with him about his family, poked him under the ribs to give emphasis to his innuendoes, and strolled off to have a merry conversation with somebody else. Nobody could believe that so free-spoken a gentleman cared less for the common people than the prince of Charolais, who would have put a townsman to death if he stood in his way; and in a short time the people liked better to pay their taxes to a man who put them at their ease, than to owe their deliverance to a set of champions who despised them in their hearts and insulted them in their manners.

The Battle of Montlhéry and the Treaty of Conflans

Louis saw his advantage, and tried to gain his object by a battle with the confederates at Montlhéry, where neither party was decidedly victorious.[f]

An account of this battle is given by Monstrelet.[q] His description, however, is criticised by his continuator,[p] who professes to draw on other authorities and whose brief account may be quoted. The later chronicler says: “At this battle which was fought on Tuesday the 6th day of July, in the year 1465, the king of France, coming with all haste from beyond Orleans to Paris, halted at early morn at Châtres, under Montlhéry, and that having taken scarcely any refreshment, and without waiting for his escort, which was, for its number, the handsomest body of cavalry ever raised in France, he so valiantly attacked the army of the count de Charolais and his Burgundians that he put to the rout the van division. Many of them were slain, and numbers taken prisoners. News of this was speedily carried to Paris, whence issued forth upward of thirty thousand persons, part of whom were well mounted. They fell in with parties of Burgundians who were flying, and made them prisoners; they defeated also those from the villages of Vanvres, Issi, Sevres, St. Cloud, Arcueil, Surennes, and others.

“At this recounter, great booty was gained from the Burgundians, so that their loss was estimated at two hundred thousand crowns of gold. After the van had been thus thrown into confusion, the king, not satisfied with this success, but desirous to put an end to the war, without taking any refreshments or repose, attacked the main body of the enemy with his guards and about four hundred lances: but the Burgundians had then rallied, and advanced their artillery, under the command of the count de Saint-Pol, who did on that day the greatest service to the count de Charolais. The king was hard pressed in his turn, insomuch that at times he was in the utmost personal danger, for he had but few with him, was without artillery, and was always foremost in the heat of the battle; and considering how few his numbers were, he maintained the fight valiantly and with great prowess. It was the common report of the time, that if he had had five hundred more archers on foot, he would have reduced the Burgundians to such a state, that nothing more would have been heard of them in war for some time.

“The count de Charolais, on this day, lost his whole guard,--and the king also lost the greater part of his. The count was twice made prisoner by the noble Geoffroy de Saint Belin and Gilbert de Grassy, but was rescued each time. Towards evening the Scots carried off the king, that he might take some refreshments; for he was tired and exhausted, having fought the whole of the day without eating or drinking, and led him away quietly and without noise, to the castle of Montlhéry. Several of the king’s army not having seen him thus led off the field, and missing him, thought he was either slain or taken, and took to flight. For this reason, the count du Maine, the lord admiral De Montaulban, the lord de la Barde, and other captains, with seven or eight hundred lances, abandoned the king in this state, and fled, without having struck a blow during the whole of the day. Hence it is notorious, that if all the royal army who were present at this battle had behaved as courageously as their king, they would have gained a lasting victory over the Burgundians; for the greater part of them were defeated, and put to flight. Many indeed were killed on the king’s side, as well as on that of the enemy; for after the battle was ended, there were found dead on the field three thousand six hundred, whose souls may God receive!

“The king of France came to Paris, the 18th day of July, after the battle of Montlhéry, and supped that night at the hôtel of his lieutenant-general, Sir Charles de Melun,--where, according to the account of Robert Gaguin, a large company of great lords, damsels, and citizens’ wives supped with him, to whom he related all that had happened at Montlhéry. During the recital, he made use of such doleful expressions that the whole company wept and groaned at his melancholy account. He concluded by saying, that if it pleased God, he would soon return to attack his enemies, and either die or obtain vengeance on them, in the preservation of his rights. He, however, acted differently, having been better advised; but it must be observed, that some of his warriors behaved in a most cowardly manner,--for had they all fought with as much courage as the king, he would have gained a complete victory over his enemies.”[p]

Continuing, the chronicler gives an extended account of the events of the ensuing months, during which the allies approached Paris and besieged the city. “The king,” he says, “finding that he had many enemies within his realm, considered on the means of procuring additional men-at-arms to those he had,--and it was calculated how many he could raise within Paris; for this purpose, it was ordered that an enrolment should be made of all capable of bearing arms, so that every tenth man might be selected to serve the king. This, however, did not take place,--for such numbers of men-at-arms now joined the king that there was no need of such a measure. The king was very much distressed to get money for the pay of these troops, and great sums were wanted; for those towns which had been assigned for the payment of a certain number of men-at-arms, being now in the possession of the rebellious princes, paid no taxes whatever to the crown, for they would not permit any to be collected in those districts.

“On the 3rd of August, the king, having a singular desire to afford some comfort to the inhabitants of his good town of Paris, lowered the duties on all wines sold by retail within that town, from a fourth to an eighth; and ordained that all privileged persons should fully and freely exercise their privileges as they had done during the reign of his late father, the good Charles VII, whose soul may God pardon! He also ordered that every tax paid in the town, but those on provision, included in the six-revenue farms, which had been disposed of in the gross, should be abolished, namely, the duties on wood-yards, on the sales of cattle, on cloth sold by wholesale, on sea-fish and others; which was proclaimed that same day they were taken off, by sound of trumpets, in all the squares of the town, in the presence of Sir Denis Hesselin, the receiver of the taxes within the said town. On this being made public, the populace shouted for joy, sang carols in the streets, and at night made large bonfires.” Such deeds as this illustrate the diplomacy of a king who, whatever else he may have been, was assuredly a consummate politician. Meantime, as practical aids to defence, fires were lighted and a strict watch kept in Paris, and chains were fastened across the principal streets.

The guard kept about Paris was evidently not very strict, for the king was able to go and come at will. There were occasional sallies, but these amounted to nothing more than skirmishes. On the second of September, after several parleys, commissioners were at length named by the king and the confederates to settle their differences. There were numerous meetings which came to no very definite issue, but meantime the statecraft of the king was preparing the way for the final issues.[a]

[Sidenote: [1465-1467 A.D.]]

A truce was proclaimed in the two camps on October 1st; from that day until the 30th, when the articles of peace were registered by the parliament and published, the king continued to show an almost boundless friendship and confidence in his attitude toward the princes and especially toward the count of Charolais. He furnished their camp with supplies, he received their soldiers at Paris, he was present without guards at their military reviews, abandoning himself to their care; finally he acceded to their demands, conditions which seemed to make him wholly dependent upon them.[56] Thirty-six commissioners were appointed by him to reform all the abuses in the kingdom, of which the princes had complained; the past was to be forgotten; no one could blame anyone else for what he had done during the war, and all the confiscations proclaimed by the tribunals were revoked. In exchange for Berri the king gave his brother the duchy of Normandy, with the homage of the duchies of Brittany and Alençon, as a hereditary title in the male line. To the count of Charolais he restored the cities on the Somme which he had so recently bought back, reserving for himself only the right to buy them back again, not from him but from his heirs, for the sum of 200,000 gold crowns. He gave over to him, moreover, as a perpetual possession, Boulogne, Guines, Roye, Péronne, and Montdidier. To the duke of Calabria, regent of Lorraine, Mouzon, Ste. Menehould, Neufchâteau, he gave 100,000 crowns in cash and the pay of five hundred lances for a month.

To the duke of Brittany he granted the royal prerogative, which had been a subject of dispute between them, also a part of the aids; he ceded to him Étampes and Montfort and gave presents to his mistress, the same dame de Villequier who had formerly been mistress of Charles VII. To the duke de Bourbon he gave several seigniories in Auvergne, 100,000 crowns in cash, and the pay of three hundred lances; to the duke de Nemours, the government of Paris and of the Île-de-France, together with a pension and the pay of two hundred lances; to the count d’Armagnac, the castellanies of Rouergue, which he had lost, a pension, and the pay of a hundred lances; to the count de Dunois, the restitution of his domain, a pension, and a company of gendarmes; to the sire d’Albret, various seigniories on his frontier. He gave back to the sire de Lohéac the office of marshal with two hundred lances; he made Tannegui du Châtel master of the horse; De Beuil was made admiral; the count of Saint-Pol constable. Finally he pardoned Antoine de Chabannes, count of Dammartin, gave back all his estates, and granted him a company of a hundred lances. Such were the principal clauses of the Treaty of Conflans, which was the most humiliating that rebel subjects ever extorted from a crown, and also the most degrading for the character of the allied princes, because they concluded a war which they had undertaken under the pretext of the public good, by sharing the spoils of the people as well as those of the king.[g]

POLITICAL INTRIGUES

Louis now commenced one of the games which must have given him as much enjoyment as if he had been playing a game of chess. How to move a castle to resist a knight, or a number of pawns to surround a bishop, how to keep Normandy in order by stirring up the enmity of Brittany, how to paralyse the motions of the young duke of Burgundy--for in 1467 Charolais succeeded his father[57]--by inciting insurrections among the men of Liège--these were the problems worked out in the solitude of his own thoughts; for he boasted that he formed all his plans without the aid of others. The marshal De Brézé said, accordingly, that the horse the king rode was a much stronger animal than it looked, for it carried the whole council on its back. The results of the deliberations of this unanimous assemblage were soon visible in the vengeance which fell on the heads of the late confederacy. Charles of France, when all the others were getting lofty offices and rewards, had been presented with the dukedom of Normandy. The people of Rouen, who had at first taken part against the crown, received the first prince of the blood with acclamations, as a champion of their cause; and the king determined to show them they had chosen the wrong side. He raised an army, and hurried down to Caen; bought and bullied the duke of Brittany, whom he found in that town, out of his friendship with Charles; and then fell upon the capital of the duchy, as if it had been in open rebellion. His right-hand man on this, as on similar occasions, was the famous Tristan l’Hermite, the executioner. Tristan’s hands were soon full, for the king, with a vigorous impartiality which showed he was not a bigot to either side, cut off the heads of the aristocracy who had helped the princes, and threw hundreds of the commonalty, who had grumbled at his taxes, into the Seine.

[Sidenote: [1467-1468 A.D.]]

The church, which he had bought over by the sacrifice of the Pragmatic Sanction, and still kept in awe by threatening to restore it--as he had engaged to do by the treaty with the leaguers--was next to be taught that, however much he prized its friendship as a politician, its loftiest officers were the mere creatures of his breath. The system he pursued of excluding the higher orders from civil employments had been introduced into ecclesiastical affairs. Wherever the sharp eye of Louis detected a fitting instrument for his purpose in the person of a penniless adventurer, or townsman of the lowest rank, he was very soon invested with the necessary authority, and perverted justice in the character of president of a court, or vilified religion in the office of a bishop. The son of a small tradesman of the name of La Balue had early shown such amazing want of principle, combined with quickness of talent and audacious self-reliance, that he gained the notice of the king, then his confidence, then his friendship. The pope made great efforts to win over this ornament of the faith, who was now bishop of Évreux, and promised him the cardinal’s hat if he persuaded his master to enregister the suppression of the Pragmatic Sanction in the rolls of parliament; and in foolish reliance on the promises of La Balue, sent him the blushing sign of his dignity before the service was performed. La Balue relaxed in his endeavours, as his wages were already received, and gained additional favour with the king for ceasing to trouble him on the subject. The favour continued for a long time, but at last, when Louis, in reliance on his powers of persuasion, and the counsels of his friends, trusted himself again within the power of Charles of Burgundy, and hoped to win him over as he had done in the former interview which destroyed the league of the Public Weal, the advice given by the cardinal was found to lead to very dangerous results.[f]

THE STRUGGLE WITH CHARLES THE BOLD

This visit of Louis to the redoubtable Charles was one of the most famous incidents of his reign. Louis went with meagre attendance to Péronne, and placed himself entirely within the power of Charles. He of course had a safe conduct, but considering the morals of the time, this by no means insured him a safe return. His anomalous act has been variously criticised. On its face it seems foolhardy; yet rightly considered it speaks for the keen intelligence and practical political sagacity of the king quite as much as for his personal courage. The truth seems to be that Louis at this time felt that he could not trust his officers. Dammartin, his right-hand man, was, as we have seen, a soldier who had been in the employ of Louis’ father, and therefore at that earlier period had been in antagonism with Louis himself. His exact attitude of mind could not be known to the king, and the loyalty of various other officers was more than questionable. And to win battles loyal soldiers are absolutely necessary. On the other hand, in the field of diplomacy the king, acting as his own emissary, could feel sure of his results, in proportion as he felt confidence in his own powers. And he had every reason to trust his own sagacity. He knew himself more than a match for Charles in matters of intrigue, and in thus putting his antagonist upon his honour, and appearing to trust him, he doubtless felt that he paved the way most advantageously for his future movements. The visit did not turn out triumphantly, as we shall see, but its ill success was perhaps largely due to an incident beyond the king’s control. We may best gain an idea of the incidents of this famous visit through the narrative of the celebrated chronicler Comines, who at this time was in the employ of Burgundy and who afterwards became still more famous as the minister to Louis himself. Comines,[c] as Sismondi[g] says, considered history as a lesson in politics, not as a catalogue of events; but here he confines himself chiefly to the narrative, letting the story point its own moral.[a]

Comines describes the Visit to Péronne (1468 A.D.)

[Sidenote: [1468 A.D.]]

It was agreed [says Comines] that the king should come to Péronne. Thither he came, without any guard, more than the passport and parole of the duke of Burgundy; only he desired that the duke’s archers, under the command of the lord des Quedes (who was then in the duke’s service), might meet and conduct him; and so it was done, very few of his own train coming along with him. However, his majesty was attended by several persons of great quality and distinction, and among the rest by the duke de Bourbon, the cardinal his brother, and the count of Saint-Pol, constable of France, who had no hand in this interview, but was highly displeased at it; for he was now grown haughty, and disdained to pay that respect to the duke which he had formerly done; for which cause there was no love between them. Besides these, there came the cardinal Balue, the governor of Roussillon, and several others. When the king came near, the duke went out (very well attended) to meet him, conducted him into the town, and lodged him at the receiver’s, who had a fine house not far from the castle; for the lodgings in the castle were but small, and no way convenient.

War between two great princes is easily begun, but very hard to be composed, by reason of the accidents and consequences which often follow; for many secret practices are used, and orders given out on both sides to make the greatest efforts possible against the enemy, which cannot be easily countermanded as evidently appears by these two princes, whose interview was so suddenly determined that, neither having time to notify it to their ministers in remote parts, they went on performing the commands which their respective masters had given them before. The duke of Burgundy had sent for his army out of Burgundy, in which at that time there was abundance of the nobility; and among the rest the count of Bresse, the bishop of Geneva, and the count of Romont, all three brothers of the house of Savoy (for between the Savoyards and Burgundians there was always a firm amity), and some Germans, who were borderers upon both their territories. And you must know that the king had formerly imprisoned the count of Bresse, upon the account of two gentlemen whom he had put to death in Savoy, so that there was no right understanding between him and the king.

In this army there were likewise one Monsieur du Lau (who had been a favourite of the king’s, but upon some disgust had been kept afterwards a prisoner by him a long time, till at length he made his escape and fled into Burgundy), the lord d’Urfé, since master of the horse to the king of France, and the lord Poncet de Rivière; all which company arrived before Péronne as the king came into the town. Bresse and the last three entered the town with St. Andrew’s cross upon their clothes (supposing they should have been in time enough to have paid their respects to the duke of Burgundy, and to have attended him when he went out to receive the king), but they came a little too late; however, they went directly to the duke’s chamber to pay their duty, and in the name of the rest, the count of Bresse humbly besought his highness that himself and his three companies might have his protection (notwithstanding the king was in the town), according to the promise he was pleased to make them in Burgundy; and at the same time assured him they were at his service, when and against whomsoever he might command them. The duke returned them thanks, and promised them protection. The rest of this army, under the command of the marshal of Burgundy, encamped by the duke’s orders in the fields. The marshal had no more affection for the king than the above-mentioned gentlemen had; for the king had given him the government of Épinal in Lorraine, and taken it from him afterwards to give it to John, duke of Calabria. The king had notice presently of all these persons being in the town, and of the habits in which they arrived, which put him into a great consternation; so that he sent to the duke of Burgundy to desire he might be lodged in the castle, for he knew those gentlemen were his mortal enemies; the duke was extremely glad to hear it, appointed him his own lodgings, and sent to him to bid him fear nothing.

But the king at his coming to Péronne had quite forgot his sending of two ambassadors to Liège to stir them up to a rebellion against the duke,[58] and they had managed the affair with such diligence that they had got together such a considerable number, that the Liègeois went privately to Tongres (where the bishop of Liège and the lord of Humbercourt were quartered with more than two thousand men) with a design to surprise them. The bishop, the lord of Humbercourt, and some of the bishop’s servants were taken, but the rest fled and left whatever they had behind them, as despairing to defend themselves. After which action the Liègeois marched back again to Liège, which is not far from Tongres; and the lord of Humbercourt made an agreement for his ransom with one Monsieur William de Ville, called by the French Le Sauvage, a knight, who, suspecting the Liègeois would kill him in their fury, suffered the lord of Humbercourt to escape, but was slain himself not long after. The people were exceedingly overjoyed at the taking of their bishop. There were also taken with him that day several canons of the church, whom the people equally hated, and killed five or six of them for their first repast; among the rest there was one Monsieur Robert, an intimate friend of the bishop’s, and a person I have often seen attending him armed at all points, for in Germany this is the custom of the prelates. They slew this Robert in the bishop’s presence, cut him into small pieces, and in sport threw them at one another’s heads. Before they had marched seven or eight leagues, which was their full journey, they killed about sixteen canons and other persons, the majority of whom were the bishop’s servants; but they released some of the Burgundians, for they had been privately informed that some overtures of peace had already been made, and they were forced to pretend that what they had done was only against their bishop, whom they brought prisoner along with them into their city. Those who fled (as I said before) gave the alarm to the whole country, and it was not long before the duke had the news of it.

It was said by some that all of them were put to the sword; others affirmed the contrary (for in things of that nature, one messenger seldom comes alone); but there were some who had seen the habits of the canons who were slain, and supposing the bishop and the lord of Humbercourt had been of the number, they positively averred that all that had not escaped were killed, and that they had seen the king’s ambassadors among the Liègeois, and they mentioned their very names. All this being related to the duke, he gave credit to it immediately; and falling into a violent passion against the king, he charged him with a design of deluding him by coming thither; ordered the gates both of the town and castle to be suddenly shut up, and gave out, by way of pretence, that it was done for the discovery of a certain casket which was lost, and in which there were money and jewels to a very considerable value. When the king saw himself shut up in the castle, and guards posted at the gates, and especially when he found himself lodged near a certain tower, in which a count of Vermandois had caused his predecessor, one of the kings of France, to be put to death,[59] he was in great apprehension. I was at that time waiting upon the duke of Burgundy in the quality of chamberlain, and (when I pleased) I lay in his chamber, as was the custom of that family. When he saw the gates were shut, he ordered the room to be cleared, and told us who remained that the king was come thither to circumvent him; that he himself had never approved of the interview, but had complied purely to gratify the king; then he gave us a relation of the passages at Liège, how the king had behaved himself by his ambassadors, and that all his forces were killed. He was much incensed, and threatened his majesty exceedingly; and I am of opinion that if he had then had such persons about him as would have fomented his passion, and encouraged him to any violence upon the king’s person, he would certainly have done it, or at least committed him to the tower. None was present at the speaking of these words but myself and two grooms of his chamber, one of whom was called Charles de Visen, born at Dijon, a man of honour, and highly esteemed by his master. We did not exasperate, but soothed his temper as much as possibly we could. Some time after he used the same expressions to other people; and the news being carried about the town, it came at last to the king’s ear, who was in great consternation; and indeed so was everybody else, foreseeing a great deal of mischief, and reflecting on the variety of things which were to be managed for the reconciling of a difference between two such puissant princes, and the errors of which both of them were guilty in not giving timely notice to their ministers employed in their remote affairs, which must of necessity produce some extraordinary and surprising result.

The king thought himself (as I said before) a prisoner in the castle of Péronne, as he had good reason to do; for all the gates were shut and guarded by such as were deputed to that office, and continued so for two or three days; during which time the duke of Burgundy saw not the king, neither would he suffer but very few of his majesty’s servants to be admitted into the castle, and those only by the wicket; yet none of them was forbidden, but of the duke’s none was permitted to speak with the king, or come into his chamber, at least such as had any authority with their master. The first day there was great murmuring and consternation all over the town. The second, the duke’s passion began to cool a little, and a council was called, which sate the greater part of that day and night too. The king made private applications to all such as he thought qualified to relieve him, making them large promises, and ordering 15,000 crowns to be distributed among them; but the agent who was employed in this affair acquitted himself very ill, and kept a good part of the money for his own use, as the king was informed afterwards. The king was very fearful of those who had been formerly in his service, who, as I said before, were in the Burgundian army, and had openly declared themselves for his brother, the duke of Normandy.

The duke of Burgundy’s council were strangely divided in their opinions; the greatest part advised that the passport which the duke had given the king should be kept, provided his majesty consented to sign the peace as it was drawn up in writing. Some would have him prisoner as he was, without further ceremony. Others were for sending with all speed to the duke of Normandy, and forcing the king to make such a peace as should be for the advantage of all the princes of France. Those who proposed this advised that the king should be restrained, and a strong guard set upon him, because a great prince is never, without great caution, to be set at liberty after so notorious an affront. This opinion was so near prevailing, that I saw a person booted and ready to depart, having already several packets directed to the duke of Normandy in Brittany, and he waited only for the duke’s letters; and yet this advice was not followed. At last the king caused overtures to be made, and offered the duke de Bourbon, the cardinal his brother, the constable of France, and several others, as hostages, upon condition that, after the peace was concluded, he might return to Compiègne, and that then he would either cause the Liègeois to make sufficient reparation for the injury they had done, or declare war against them. Those whom the king had proposed for his hostages proffered themselves very earnestly, at least in public; I know not whether they said as much in private; I expect they did not: and, if I may speak my thoughts, I believe that the king would have left them there, and that he would never have returned.

The third night after this had happened, the duke of Burgundy did not pull off his clothes, but only threw himself twice or thrice upon the bed, and then got up again and walked about, as his custom was when anything vexed him. I lay that night in his chamber, and walked several turns with him. The next morning he was in a greater passion than ever, threatening exceedingly, and ready to put some great thing in execution; but, at last, he recollected himself, and it came to this result: that if the king would swear to the peace, and accompany him to Liège, and assist him to revenge the injuries which they had done him and the bishop of Liège, his kinsman, he would be contented. Having resolved on this, he went immediately to the king’s chamber, to acquaint him with his resolutions himself. The king had some friend or other who had given him notice of it before, and who had assured him that his person would be in no manner of danger, provided he would consent to those points; but that, if he refused, he would run himself into so great danger that nothing in the world could be greater.

When the duke came into his presence, his voice trembled by the violence of his passion, so inclinable was he to be angry again.[60] However, he made a low reverence with his body, but his gesture and words were sharp, demanding of the king if he would sign the peace as it was agreed and written, and swear to it when he had done. The king replied he would; and, indeed, there was nothing added to what had been granted in the treaty at Paris, which was to the advantage of the dukes of Burgundy or Normandy, but very much to his own; for it was agreed that the lord Charles of France should renounce the duchy of Normandy, and have Champagne and Brie, and some other places adjacent, as an equivalent. Then the duke asked him if he would go along with him to Liège, to revenge the treachery they had practised by his instigation, and by means of that interview. Then he put him in mind of the nearness of blood between the king and the bishop of Liège, who was of the house of Bourbon. The king answered that, when the peace was sworn, which he desired exceedingly, he would go with him to Liège, and carry with him as many or as few forces as he pleased. The duke was extremely pleased at his answer, and the articles being immediately produced and read, and the true cross which St. Charlemagne was wont to use, called “the cross of victory,” taken out of the king’s casket, the peace was sworn, to the great joy and satisfaction of all people; and all the bells in the town were rung. The duke of Burgundy immediately despatched a courier with the news of this conclusion of peace into Brittany, and with it he sent a duplicate of the articles, that they might see he had not deserted them, nor disengaged himself from their alliance; and, indeed, Duke Charles, the king’s brother, had a good bargain, in respect of what he had made for himself in the late treaty in Brittany, by which there was nothing left him but a bare pension, as you have heard before. Afterwards the king did me the honour to tell me that I had done him some service in that pacification.[c]

The Storming of Liège

The next day the two princes left together, Charles with his army, Louis with his modest following, increased by three hundred soldiers whom he had sent for from France. They arrived before Liège the 27th of October. Since Duke Charles’ last victories the city had neither ramparts nor moats; nothing seemed easier than to enter; but the besieged could not believe that King Louis was a sincere ally of the duke of Burgundy. They made a sortie, crying: “Long live the king! Long live France!” Their surprise was great when they saw Louis advance in person, the cross of St. André of Burgundy on his hat, and heard him exclaim: “Long live Burgundy!” Among the French themselves who were about the king, some were shocked; they could not be resigned to so little pride and to so much effrontery in the deceit. Louis himself paid no attention to their humour and kept repeating: “When pride prances in front, shame and disaster follow close at hand.”

The surprise of the people of Liège was turned into indignation. They resisted more energetically and for a longer time than had been expected; confident of their strength, the besiegers guarded themselves badly; the besieged increased the number of their sorties. One night Charles was informed that his people had just been attacked in a suburb they occupied and were fleeing. He mounted his horse, gave orders not to awaken the king, betook himself alone to the scene of combat, re-established order, and returned to tell Louis what had happened, the latter appearing very much pleased over the affair. At another time the night was dark and rainy: towards midnight a general attack awakened the whole Burgundian camp; the duke was soon afoot; an instant later the king arrived; the disorder was great. “The people of Liège came out on that side,” said some. “No, it was by this gate,” said others; nothing was certain, no order was given. Charles was impetuous and brave, but became easily alarmed. His followers were not a little worried not to see him put on a more cheerful countenance before the king. Louis on the other hand was cool and calm, firm in giving his orders, and prompt to take authority wherever he might be. “Take what people you have,” he said to the constable Saint-Pol who accompanied him, “and go in this direction; if they are to come upon us, they will pass on that side.” It was discovered afterwards that it had been a false alarm.

Two days later the situation was more serious; the inhabitants of a canton bordering the city, and called Franchemont, decided to make a desperate attempt and to fall unexpectedly upon the very quarter in which the two princes were lodged. One evening, at ten o’clock, six hundred men went out through one of the breaches in the wall, all of them men of stout heart and well armed. The duke’s house was the first to be attacked; twelve archers alone kept watch below and were playing at dice. Charles was in bed; Comines quickly helped him on with his helmet and cuirass; they went down the stairs; the archers were with difficulty preventing an entrance through the door; reinforcements arrived; the danger disappeared. The lodging of King Louis had also been attacked; but at the first sound the Scotch archers had hastened to the scene, had surrounded their master, and repulsed the attack, without troubling themselves to see whether their arrows killed the people of Liège or the Burgundians who had come to help. Almost all the braves of Franchemont perished in the enterprise they had undertaken. The duke and his chief leaders held a council the next day; the duke wanted to make an attack. The king was not present at this council; when informed as to what had been decided upon in it, he was not in favour of an assault. “You see,” he said, “the courage of this people; you know how much slaughter and uncertainty there is in a fight among the streets of a city; you will lose in it many useful men. Wait two or three days; the people of Liège will without doubt come to terms.” Almost all the Burgundian chiefs shared the king’s opinion. The duke became angry. “He wants to save the people of Liège,” he said; “what peril is there in an assault? There is no wall; they cannot put one single piece of artillery into action; I shall certainly not give up making an attack. If the king is afraid, let him go to Namur.” The insult shocked even the Burgundians. Louis was informed of it and said nothing. The next day, October 30th, 1468, the order for the assault was given; the duke marched at the head of his troops; the king came up. “Stay behind,” said Charles to him, “do not needlessly expose yourself to peril; I will have you informed when it is time.” “My brother,” returned Louis, “do you march in advance; you are the most fortunate prince alive; I follow you,” and he continued to march with him.

The assault was useless; discouragement had taken hold of the people of Liège; the bravest of them had perished. It was a Sunday; the people who were left were not expecting an attack. “The cloth was laid in every house; all were preparing to sit down to dinner.” The Burgundians advanced through deserted streets; Louis marched quietly, surrounded by his men and crying, “Long live Burgundy!” The duke came back to join him and together they went to thank God in the cathedral of St. Lambert. It was the only church preserved from the fury and pillaging of the Burgundians; at noon there was nothing more left to take, either in the houses or churches. Louis heaped Charles with congratulations and compliments. The duke was charmed and mollified. The next day as they were conversing together: “My brother,” said the king to the duke, “if you have any further need of my assistance, do not spare me; but if you have nothing further for me to do, it is fitting that I return to Paris in order to proclaim in my court of parliament the arrangement we have agreed upon; otherwise it runs the risk of becoming invalid; you know that that is the custom of France. Next summer we must meet again: you will come to your duchy of Burgundy; I shall go to visit you, and we will pass a month together joyously in making good cheer.” Charles answered nothing, sent for the treaty which they had concluded shortly before at Péronne, and gave the king his choice of confirming or abandoning it, excusing himself in veiled terms for having thus forced him and led him about. The king appeared to be satisfied with the treaty, and the 2nd of November, 1468, the second day after the capture of Liège, he left for France. The duke accompanied him half a league out from the city. As they were on the point of taking leave of each other, the king said to him: “If perchance my brother Charles, who is in Brittany, is not pleased with the partition I have made him, out of love for you, what do you want me to do?” “If he does not want to take it,” answered the duke, “do you take measures to satisfy him; I will leave the matter to you two.” Louis asked for nothing more; he returned home free and confident in his own powers, “after having passed the three hardest weeks of his life.”[i]

The Return of Louis to France

To appreciate the import of the promises which Charles had exacted from the king, it must be recalled that Champagne and Brie, which Louis promised to transfer to his brother, were geographically so situated as to separate--or unite--the duchy of Burgundy and the northern possessions of Charles the Bold. Hence Charles’ interest in having this territory controlled by his friend, the king’s brother, rather than by his enemy, the king. Quite as obviously, Louis’ interests were opposed to such an arrangement, and of course he had no intention of fulfilling his agreement. But he wished to avoid fulfilment in the most diplomatic manner possible. This he accomplished by persuading his weak-minded brother to take the territory of Guienne instead of that specified in the compact with Charles. Thus Louis’ brother was separated by all France from the duke of Burgundy instead of being his nearest neighbour; and Champagne continued a barrier, not a bridge, between the Burgundian possessions. So in the end the diplomacy of Louis stood him in good stead, notwithstanding his momentary discomfiture.[a]

Louis’ bearing was far from proud when he recrossed the frontier. He had received two great checks from the Burgundian power; in 1465 a check of power, in 1468 a check of honour. Had it been only a question of honour Louis might have easily consoled himself; but, aside from honour, his reputation as an able ruler came into question. It was that which made him ill from shame. He knew his contemporaries. The treason to and the sacrifice of Liège troubled him less than his blunder at Péronne. It was not so much indignation as mockery that he dreaded. Paris received from him an order to neither speak, write, paint, or sing anything of the detested name of “Monseigneur de Bourgoyne,” and an order was sent out that all birds, magpies, crows, starlings, who were making the streets resound with allusions to the king’s discomfiture at Péronne, should be delivered to a commissioner of the king.[j] At least so runs the story.

When Louis arrived in Paris strange discoveries awaited him. He intercepted letters from his favourite the cardinal. He found that his friend and gossip was the friend and gossip also of the duke of Burgundy, the adviser of all that had happened at Péronne, especially of his forced presence at the siege, the degrading clauses of the final treaty, and the general harshness of his treatment. He found at the same time that the cardinal was in correspondence with his brother Charles, late leader of the league, who was still in resistance to his authority; and, in short, that he was betrayed in every point. The king was offended at the perjury of his subject, but the man was a thousand times more angry at the error in his judgment. The son of the tailor, in the red stockings, had outwitted the son of St. Louis with the crown on his head. La Balue, though prince of the church and bishop of a diocese, was imprisoned in an iron cage, about eight feet square, and kept like a wild beast in his den for eleven years in the castle of Loches. All that can be said in extenuation of this pitiless proceeding was that the man was the disgrace of his order and his country, and that the instrument of his torture (as the natural justice of mankind is so prone to make out in other instances) was of his own invention.

There were some institutions, as well as individuals, which it was now Louis’ purpose to get within his power. Edward III of England, reposing upon the laurels of Crécy, had founded the order of the Garter in 1349. John of France, in rapid imitation, as we have already seen, founded the order of the Star. Philip of Burgundy had founded the order of the Golden Fleece in 1429, and the principles of all these lordly confederations were derived from the ideas of chivalry which the romances had spread among the people. They were to be brotherhoods of noble knights, bound together by the bonds of mutual honour; they were to succour the weak, bridle the strong, and pay honour, as they fantastically expressed it, by purity of life and courage of conduct, to God and their ladies. But the Garter was a foreign badge; the Golden Fleece was a symbol of his subject and liegeman; the Star had fallen into disrepute from its promiscuous distribution among the favourites of the crown; and Louis XI determined on instituting an order of chivalry himself.

It was to be select in its membership, limited in its number, generous in its professions, and he fondly hoped the Garter and Fleece would soon sink into insignificance compared to the order of St. Michael. The first brethren were named from the highest families in France; the remaining great feudatories, who had preserved some relics of their hereditary independence, were fixed upon to wear this mark of the suzerain’s friendship. But when they came to read the oaths of admission, they found that the order of St. Michael was in reality a bond of stronger obligation than the feudal laws had ever enjoined. It was a solemn association for the prevention of disobedience to the sovereign. The members were to swear submission in all things to the chief of the order; they were to enter into no agreements with each other, or anyone else, without the king’s consent; they were to submit to such punishment, in case of breach of the rules, as the order might appoint; and, in short, the brotherhood of noble knights sank, in the degrading treatment of its founder, into a confederation of spies. Armed with this new weapon, the king tried its effect on the duke of Brittany, who was discontented with many things that had occurred. If he accepted, he would be bound by the statutes; if he refused, it would be an insult to the dignity of the king. The duke temporised, and consulted the duke of Burgundy. The fiery Charles saw through the design, and swore to defend his neighbour in case of a quarrel with the crown. Louis, nothing daunted, sent the collar of the order to Burgundy himself. Burgundy refused it, and Louis’ object was gained. He discovered who was bold or strong enough to stand out against him, and the war began. Not openly--it was not yet time to make it a matter of national honour--but the angry subject and hostile king were perfectly aware of each other’s designs.

Edward IV of England aids Charles the Bold

[Sidenote: [1469-1470 A.D.]]

Their animosity first broke out in the sides they chose in the great struggle then going on in England, called the Wars of the Roses. Edward of York, representing the direct line of Edward III, had taken arms against the feeble and dissolute Henry VI of the Lancastrian house. Margaret of Anjou had mingled in the fray, and embittered it. We know how fortune alternately swayed to the red and the white of the emblematic flowers. Warwick, who is known in English history as the “king-maker,” had just established Edward IV on the throne, and then failed, when he had quarrelled with the monarch he had set up, in restoring Henry. While preparing an expedition for this purpose in France, he had fitted out privateers, who enriched themselves equally on the English and Flemish traders, and then found refuge in the French harbours. Charles of Burgundy complained; Louis retorted with accusations of his having aided the new king of England in his attacks on the coasts of Normandy, and of having accepted the English order of the Garter, though he had refused his own St. Michael. He summoned the vassal to appear before his parliament in Paris, and the vassal threw the summoners into prison. Louis saw the game now in his hands. He had put his enemy legally in the wrong, and, moreover, he had all the counsellors, and favourites, and warriors, by whom Charles was surrounded, in his pay. We need not, however, waste much pity on the duke. He was nearly in the same situation with regard to the courtiers and officers of the king. When the armies lay face to face, and famine had almost placed the Burgundians in Louis’ hands, Charles sent a flag of truce with a statement and proofs of the infidelity of half the princes and feudatories who commanded the royal troops. Charles of France, now duke of Guienne, was at the head of the deceivers, and was anxious to gain Charles’ good-will, in hopes of obtaining the hand of his daughter and heiress, Mary of Burgundy. Battle, with traitors commanding both the armies, would have been madness, and Louis agreed to a truce. Bitterer thoughts than ever, about the pride and falsehood of the nobility, rankled in that ignoble heart. Another incident soon occurred that brought affairs to a crisis. One of his spies, being in the castle of the count de Foix, saw a mass of torn papers in a corner of his room, which had previously been occupied by a messenger of the duke of Burgundy. The man gathered up the fragments, saw a name or two that excited his attention, pasted them all together, and was enabled to present to the king a bond of firm alliance, and the signatures of enemies whom he might well have trembled to see united against him--Edward of England, triumphant at the battle of Barnet, where his enemy Warwick was slain, and now firmly established on the English throne; the duke of Burgundy, Nicholas of Lorraine, the duke of Brittany, and, above all, Charles of France, duke of Guienne. These were all to be on him at once, and, as one of the papers said, were to set so many greyhounds at his heels that he could not know where to fly for safety.

[Sidenote: [1470-1471 A.D.]]

Louis, however, was more of the fox than the hare. He doubled on his pursuers, and tempted the duke of Burgundy with the promise of restoring him some towns on the Somme, and letting him have his full revenge on his former favourite, the constable Saint-Pol, who had betrayed him to the king. Charles, on the other hand, was to let Louis do as he chose with the dukes of Brittany and Guienne.[f] The duke of Guienne, indeed, was not likely to be an annoyance much longer to his brother the king, for he was seized of a mortal malady, presumably consumption. He died May 24th, 1472, at Bordeaux. There was a rumour current that he had been poisoned along with his mistress the lady of Monsoreau, by the abbé of St. Jean d’Angély, at the instance of Louis himself. The story of a peach, cut with a poisoned knife and shared by the lovers, became famous. There were many suspicious circumstances, and very likely the king may have watched the progress of his brother’s illness “with ill-disguised hope” as Martin[j] suggests; but the fact that the duke had suspected no one during his long illness and had named Louis as his executor may perhaps justify us in giving the king the benefit of the doubt for the nonce. “Examples of fratricide are all too common in this sinister century,” says Martin; but he adds, half doubtingly, that “the best justification of the king appears to lie in the long illness of his brother. A man poisoned with fruit does not survive eight months.” In any case, the death of the duke removed one of the most important obstacles to Louis’ plans for the centralisation of power and the ultimate autocracy of the crown.[a]

[Sidenote: [1471-1474 A.D.]]

Now, then, there was to be war to the knife carried on by the crown against the nobility. Burgundy was bought off by promises and gifts; England was soothed by concessions. But within the boundaries of France itself, no limit was put to the vengeance and cruelty of the king. He arrested the duke of Alençon in full peace, and immured him in a dungeon in Paris. He sent an army into the territories of the count d’Armagnac, and a detachment of it burst into his house, and murdered him in his bed. They also forced his wife, who was pregnant, to drink a mixture which produced immediate death. His brother was thrown into the Bastille, and kept in a cave below the level of the Seine, so that the water penetrated the floor. The wretched prisoner lived for eleven years in this manner, without shoes or proper clothing; and when released at the end of that time, on the accession of Charles VIII, was found to have fallen into a state of fatuity. A short cessation in this career of murder and revenge was produced by a new combination against Louis’ life and crown. French honour and patriotism had now fallen so low that the princes and great vassals, in order to get revenge upon their oppressor, agreed to assign the crown of France to Edward IV of England. He was to be crowned at Rheims, and already he bestowed rewards upon his adherents as if he were in possession of the kingdom. The treaty united many contending factions, with but one object in common--the destruction of him whom all now knew to be their destroyer.

Gold and Diplomacy make Louis the Victor

Burgundy and Brittany and Saint-Pol forgot their animosities, and signed the bond. But Louis detected the plot. The old plans were tried, and succeeded. Promises scattered the confederates, and they became distrustful of each other. Edward had disembarked in France at the head of an English army. Louis sent for great bags of coined money from Paris, and signed several papers, with the names in blank, bestowing salaries and pensions for distribution among the English council. He disguised a common lackey as a herald, and sent him to an interview with the invader. The lackey was as clever and subservient as if he had been bred an ambassador, and won over the luxurious king. Louis flattered his ambition and bribed his avarice. He called him “king of England and France, and lord of Ireland,” contenting himself with the title of “king of the French.” He gave him 60,000 crowns on condition of withdrawing his forces at once, and promised him 50,000 crowns a year so long as they both lived. Edward was so captivated by the arts and liberality of Louis that he agreed to visit him at Paris. But Louis repented of the invitation he had given, and put him off, for fear he should grow too fond of that most fascinating of towns. “It is better,” he said, “the sea should be between us”; and to attain this object no expense was spared. Gifts were heaped upon the officers, and all the public-houses were made free to the retiring army. The English pocketed the money, and marched from pothouse to pothouse with the greatest satisfaction.

[Sidenote: [1474-1476 A.D.]]

At last it was reported to Louis that his invaders were safe home, and he resolved to make use of his victory. The fate of the constable Saint-Pol was sealed. Conscious of his approaching doom, he threw himself on the protection of his former friend, the duke of Burgundy. Charles hated him for his falsehood, but could not reject a suppliant. He told him to take shelter in St. Quentin. Louis, however, was at his heels with twenty thousand men. He fled, and Charles, rash in promise but infirm of purpose, forgot his chivalry, and surrendered him on the threat of hostilities against himself. He was tried for treason at Paris, and condemned to lose his head on the place de Grève. Thousands of the brave and noble have spilt their blood since that time in the great square which faces the Hôtel-de-Ville, and allows a last view of the towers of Notre Dame; but this is the first occasion in which a prince, a near ally of the throne,--for he had married a sister of the queen,--was exposed to the sword of the headsman for a crime against the crown. The supremacy of the king’s will was now so well established that there was no further use for secret assassination. A public execution struck more awe into the populace, and kept the nobility in more subjection, than a stab in the dark or a poisoned peach. Tristan l’Hermite, almost equally with Louis, was from henceforward the acknowledged governor of France. But as long as Charles the Bold preserved his independent attitude in Burgundy, the discontented had always a refuge from the justice of the king.

Last Deeds of Charles the Bold

Fortunately at this time the overweening Burgundian became engaged in controversy with the strong-armed highlanders of Switzerland. They had offended him, by refusing compensation for some injury they had done to one of his adherents. To be resisted by a set of republican shepherds was too much for the knightly pride of the most touchy prince in Christendom. A great army was raised, and poured down upon the town of Granson. The inhabitants were put to the sword or drowned in the Lake of Neuchâtel. All the cantons were irritated at the shameless deed, and rushed to rescue or revenge. Charles met them in a narrow defile at the head of his horsemen, who could not act on such unequal ground. The first rank fell back upon the second, the second carried confusion into the rear. The quick-footed Swiss still pressed on, and at last a complete panic seized the Burgundian host. Charles himself spurred out of the confusion, and galloped as far as his horse could go. Never had the eyes of the mountaineers rested on such wealth and splendour as met them in the tents of the discomfited army--silken curtains, golden vessels, barrels of money, and armour of the finest polish. A jewel was taken by a soldier from the private chest of the duke, sold to a priest for a florin, sold by him for five shillings, and is now considered the greatest ornament of the French crown, and one of the richest stones in Europe. Louis did not know how to proceed in these astonishing circumstances. He had signed a treaty to maintain the peace towards the duke, and yet could not resist showing his approbation of the Swiss. With the Swiss also he had signed a treaty, by which he was bound to give them aid in men and money whenever they were attacked. He compromised the two obligations by abstaining from assaulting the Burgundian, and from sending assistance to the Swiss. He could not fulfil both stipulations, and it was more economical to execute neither. He gave the mountaineers, however, unmistakable evidence of his sympathy in their cause; and when Charles, in the same year, came forth at the head of another powerful army, Louis encouraged the cantons to resist. The same thing as before occurred, with only the variation of place. Morat was a repetition of Granson. The slaughter of the defeated Burgundians was so great that, till the latter end of the eighteenth century, a vast monument was still to be seen upon the field of battle, built up of the bones of the slain, and called the Bone-Hill of Morat.

[Sidenote: [1476-1477 A.D.]]

The battle of Nancy followed in 1477, and raised the Swiss to the summit of military fame, besides weakening Burgundy so as to render it forever powerless against France. In the midst of winter, ill-provided, and doubtful of the issue themselves, the hosts of Burgundy moved on, and laid siege to the town of Nancy. Charles was no longer the impetuous warrior he had been. He was broken in spirit, and at times almost mad with disappointment and chagrin. He had even summoned to command his army an adventurer from Italy, of the name of Campobasso. Campobasso was, as might be expected, a correspondent of Louis, and had offered to place Charles in his hands.

But Louis played, of course, a double game with the deceiver and his dupe. To show how generous he was, he warned the duke of the insincerity of his general, feeling well assured that his advice would be attributed to dishonourable motives; and accordingly it was thought a weak invention of the enemy, and Campobasso was more trusted than before. Again the Swiss battalions, aided by the forces of René of Lorraine, began to appear. In the midst of a great storm, and in a hard frost, Charles resolved to attack them. Campobasso sent over an offer of his treachery to the gallant mountaineers; but they despised a traitor, and scorned the disgrace of having such an auxiliary. He therefore retired to the rear of the Burgundian line, to intercept the fugitives, and enrich himself with their ransom. There were few fugitives, however, to ransom; for, as the horses slipped upon the icy plain, the victory was easier than at either Granson or Morat. The earth was heaped with corpses, and among them, after a long search, was found the body of the fiery duke, fixed in the snow, and so disfigured that he was only recognised by a scar on his face and the length of his nails, which he had allowed to grow, as a sign of mourning, ever since his calamities began. Not deserving of a very favourable epithet, this harsh and arrogant potentate closed a life of violence with a death of defeat.

But now all men’s eyes were turned with earnest expectation to the first move in the great drama of intrigue and policy which his demise was certain to produce. His daughter had been the great card which he had held in his hands for many years. Lady of Hainault and Flanders, and all the Low Countries, she was a bait which none of the princes could resist.

MARY OF BURGUNDY

Charles had silenced enemies and gathered friends, by a mere hint of the bestowal of Mary’s hand. He had played it against the name of king, and promised it to the son of Frederick the emperor, if that successor of the Roman cæsars would consent to convert his ducal coronet into a royal crown. The treaties and arrangements, and all the preparations for the betrothal and the creation, would be amusing, if they did not show how low morality and honour had fallen in those days. The emperor said, “Let the young people marry, and I will name you king.” But the duke, who gave no credit, said, “Make me king, and I will give your son my daughter.” Neither would trust the other. The emperor hurried off by stealth from the place of meeting, when he found the duke had summoned an increase to his escort; and Charles, vowing vengeance, and fearful of ridicule, packed up the royal crown he had brought with him beside the sceptre and mantle, and took his way to his states with no higher rank than when he came. Other expectations had been equally disappointed, and now, in the year 1477, Mary was an orphan twenty years of age, handsome and well-informed, with a portion in her own right which would make any man she chose a sovereign prince, or double the grandeur of the greatest potentate. When Louis heard of the father’s death, his first thought was, of course, to secure the daughter’s succession. He knelt to all his saints in gratitude for the defeat of his rival, walked on a pilgrimage of grace to a church in Anjou, and vowed silver banisters to the tomb of St. Martin of Tours. Having purified his mind by these religious exercises, he sent a peremptory demand for the restoration of the two Burgundies to the crown, as they lapsed for want of male heirs.

Of this there could be no doubt with respect to the duchy, which had been conveyed by John to Philip the Bold; but the county of the same name was capable of feminine holding, and if Mary had been in a condition to assert her claims, might have refused obedience to the king. Mary, however, was lonely in the midst of all that wealth. She had no disinterested guardian to apply to, and made only a feeble protest when the parliament of Burgundy, purchased or intimidated, recognised its feudal obligation, and transferred its allegiance to the French crown. Holland, however, and Flanders, and Artois, and large territories in Germany, and the disputed cities on the Somme, belonged to her still. If she had given her hand to some gallant soldier who would have defended her states, she might have aroused the chivalrous feelings of all the gentlemen in Europe on her behalf. But this she did not try, knowing too well, perhaps, that chivalrous feelings were limited to books of fiction.

The encumbered heiress wrote in her despair to Louis himself. Louis was her godfather, and she had no other friend. She sent four trusty counsellors to lay her case before him. She begged his protection, and made a confidential request that he would conduct all his correspondence with her through no one but these trusted friends. “You want, of course, to know what I intend to do,” said Louis, when he had read the letter on the day of audience; and the four envoys bowed. “I will marry my godchild Mary to my son, the dauphin. I will rule her states in their joint names, till she is old enough to do homage. I will take possession of the male fief at once, and if anyone opposes my decisions, I have forces enough to make my will obeyed.” There was no circumlocution here, and the ambassadors were silent with surprise. The dauphin was a sickly boy of eight years old, and their young mistress, as we have seen, was in the flower of her age. The king, in return for the visit of the Burgundian envoys, sent an envoy of his own. His barber was a quick-witted, unprincipled adventurer, of the name of Oliver le Daim. He had come originally from Ghent, and was, of course, master of the Flemish tongue. This was the dignified emissary whom France despatched to the highest princess in Europe. He covered his original baseness with a pinchbeck title, and the barber took his northward way under the name of the count of Meulan. But the count of Meulan smelt dreadfully of the shop. He never could get the shaving-basin out of his countrymen’s sight; and at his first reception he behaved so unlike a royal ambassador that he was hissed by the audience, not without allusions to the propriety of throwing him out of the window. He was hustled downstairs, and was glad to slip out of his house and out of the town in the darkness of the night, and make his way back to his employer without having presented his letters of recall.

[Sidenote: [1477-1478 A.D.]]

Louis was delighted, for, while these things were going on at Ghent, he had succeeded with the messengers of poor Mary, and did not care if they had hanged the barber-ambassador on a lamp-post in the street. The trusty counsellors, won over by his address and protestations, surrendered Artois to his honourable keeping; and on their return were executed by the states of Flanders, in spite of the prayers and intercession of the princess. The accusation was not for having betrayed their mistress, but for having constituted themselves members of the council of Four, in whom Mary had told Louis she put all her confidence. She had told nobody else, and declared the innocence of her hapless friends. But Louis, with his usual generosity, had forwarded the letter in which his goddaughter made the fatal avowal, and the discovery was almost fatal to herself. The states were republican in tendency, and resolved to submit as little as possible to the governance of a woman. They tormented her with their advice and wearied her with their reclamations, till she fortunately escaped their further importunities by persuading them to consent to her marriage with Maximilian, the son of the emperor, the man to whom her father had resolved to give her in return for the title of king. Louis was quieted for a time by the fear of offending the emperor, but carried on more fiercely than ever his war against feudalism, as represented by the great nobility at home. Burgundy was gone--Artois was his own--Normandy had long been attached to the crown.

The duke of Brittany, uneasy at the rapid extirpation of his brethren, intrigued with England; but Louis intercepted the letters, convicted him by his own handwriting, and forced him to a treaty which rendered him utterly dependent. The duke had seen that a cloud was gathering from the increased religious fervour visible in the king. When a murder or a treachery was on hand, his activity in visiting shrines and vowing church ornaments became remarkable. People trembled when they saw the meanly dressed, slouch-gaited, sallow-faced old man travelling from altar to altar, and sticking his bonnet full of little images of saints, and pouring out flatteries and adulations to the statues of the Virgin. A tale of blood was sure to follow; and in 1478 the wildest expectations of Paris were surpassed by the horror of one of his executions. There had been no such cold-blooded monster since the days of Tiberius. The duke de Nemours was representative of the great house of Armagnac, and was married to a princess of Anjou, first cousin of the king. A headstrong, discontented, and ambitious man, he had joined in the league of the Public Weal, and in many of the intrigues against the monarch since that time. Louis had taken no notice till he could secure his revenge. But two years before this, he had got him in his power, and kept the unfortunate man in chains. He was now tried for treason and condemned and executed.[f] In after times it was related that the king had placed the children of the culprit beneath the scaffold, that a father’s blood might bathe their innocent heads. But this is only a fable of later invention that marks the reaction against the memory of Louis XI. “What is more certain and equally odious, however,” says Michelet,[o] “is that one of the judges who were to receive the goods of the condemned, feeling insecure of the heritage unless he had the natural heir in his power, demanded to be given custody of the eldest son of Nemours. The king had the barbarity to deliver up the child, who promptly disappeared.” Moreover, the king suspended from office three counsellors who had not favoured the death penalty.[j]

WAR WITH MAXIMILIAN

[Sidenote: [1478-1479 A.D.]]

Louis’ pilgrimages and prayers must have increased in frequency shortly after this, for a tremendous thought had come into his head, and it would require a vast amount of saintly aid to make it tolerable to his subjects. This was no less than the trial for felony and treason of the deceased duke of Burgundy. A court was called, the culprit was summoned, barristers were appointed to support the accusation; his whole life was inquired into, his faults pointed out, and malicious antiquarians ascended to the actions of his ancestors; and the murder of the duke of Orleans, in the reign of Charles VI, was urged as an aggravation of his crimes. After so much eloquence and such convincing proofs, the verdict could not be doubtful. The duke of Burgundy was sure to be found guilty of the crimes laid to his charge, and his estates forfeited to the crown. Maximilian, the husband of Mary, took the alarm. He begged his father the emperor to interfere. He was afraid that action would follow the judgment, and tried at least to delay the sentence. The diet of the states of Germany was about to meet, and might take up the cause of their chiefs. Louis therefore allowed the trial to expire, and had merely the satisfaction of showing that a grand vassal was not safe from his insults and vengeance even after death. Yet the daughter and son-in-law of the insulted potentate could not be expected to remain satisfied under so insolent a proceeding. Maximilian collected his forces, and declared war against the king of France.[f]

By uniting all his forces, Maximilian had assembled, at St. Omer, an army of about 27,400. On Sunday, the 25th of July, 1479, he reached Arques, waiting there three days, and on the Thursday following, the 29th of July, attacked and invested Thérouanne. The belief in his numerical superiority, the desire to retrieve his repulses in Burgundy, and perhaps also the absence of the king, whom he knew to be occupied in Dijon, decided him to take the initiative. Besides, he could only keep his army together for a limited period. This was certainly the moment to try his fortune.

It was really not until Saturday afternoon, the 7th of August, that the principal action took place. Des Querdes, with six hundred picked men, tried to surround the Flemish on his right. The Flemish men-at-arms hastened to defend the spot attacked. Soon the whole of the cavalry was engaged, and the struggle became serious. But the Flemish, separated from their infantry, were forced to give in and began to flee towards Aire, Thérouanne, and St. Omer. The French thought they had won the battle. Encouraged by this success Des Querdes hotly pursued the fugitives, urged on by the hope of capturing rich prizes. “Philip de Raverstein,” says the chronicle, “was wearing a mantle of cloth of gold, so that, mistaking him for Duke Maximilian himself, they pursued him to the gates of Aire, but paid dearly for their mistake.”

The battle was far from being over, as Des Querdes imagined. Very few men-at-arms remained to support the French infantry, and Maximilian’s hope revived. He redoubled his efforts, aided by the Flemish soldiers and German crossbows. The French archers, already seeing that all exertions to break the enemy’s lines were fruitless, began to slacken their efforts and their discouragement was obvious. Just then, the lord de St. André arrived with the garrison from Thérouanne. He could still, in this critical moment, hope for victory. But instead of making for the thick of the combat the new arrivals threw themselves upon the enemy’s baggage and provisions, counting upon a rich spoil. The lords of Romont and Nassau, seeing the archers busy pillaging, fell upon them. In this tumult they threw them into disorder. Then Maximilian, whilst his cavalry was escaping, himself caused confusion in the ranks of the French by pursuing them with the small number of knights which he could still command, and remained master of the battle-field. But he was thus obliged to raise the siege of Thérouanne, and could only continue the campaign two months later.

Louis XI was much upset when he heard of this defeat. Perhaps he regretted the absence of his experienced and proven chief, who had defended his frontier so well. Comines,[c] who was then returning from his mission in Italy, has preserved for us the portrait of the king: “I thought the king our master grown older and beginning to break up. However, he conducts his affairs with great common sense. I was with him when he received the news of the battle. He was very downcast, for he is not accustomed to defeat; it even seemed as if everything always happened to suit his pleasure. His common sense helped him in this hour of trouble. At first, he feared that his advantages had been lost; but when he knew the truth, he was patient and decided to act so that such things should not be undertaken without his knowledge again.”

As soon as Louis XI was aware of how the men-at-arms, thinking only of making many prisoners, had lost a battle all but won, he ordered that all the prisoners and spoil should be collected, sold at auction, and the money equally divided amongst them all. This was returning to the times of Achilles, to the natural equality of the Homeric ages--an equality too often forgotten in barbarous centuries. Forbidding prisoners to be ransomed on the battle-field was already a great step gained; but again, the chiefs, sure under this system of having prisoners at a cheap rate after the battle, thought less of making any during the combat.

[Sidenote: [1479-1483 A.D.]]

But the archduke, in his turn, had to endure some annoyances. The naval campaign had been disastrous for him. Through the care and perseverance of William de Casenove, known as the vice-admiral Coulon, France was in possession of her first real fleet. For several years past, vessels were being unceasingly constructed, their forms perfected, and their size and strength increased. From henceforth, great battles could be waged upon the sea, even against the strongest. Herring fishing had, for a long time, been one of the principal resources of wealth, and a precious means of existence to the northern nations. The French admiral, taking advantage of the fact that the fishermen of Zealand and Holland were bringing into port the fruit of their labours, went to meet them, attacked them boldly, and brought nearly their entire fleet into the Norman ports. In vain did the Dutch equip other vessels to serve as escorts to the fishing boats. Coulon attacked and dispersed them and brought back more prisoners. Thus the archduke and his followers were cut off at one and the same time both from the cereals of Prussia and from the fish they depended upon.[k]

The defeat of Guinegate humbled the hopes of Louis. The war was no longer prosecuted with vigour. Even the death of Mary of Burgundy, which soon after took place, afforded him no opportunity of adding to his usurpations. A treaty, called the Treaty of Arras, was concluded between him and Maximilian, in December, 1482. Its stipulations were that the dauphin Charles should espouse Margaret of Austria, Maximilian’s daughter; and that France should acquire, as her dowry, the county of Artois, and that of Burgundy (or Franche-Comté), with other territories; those possessions reverting to Austria in case no heirs came of the marriage. Independently of these cessions, Louis acquired the duchy or province proper of Burgundy, as well as that of Picardy, as his share of the spoils of Charles the Bold. About the same time, on the death of the good king René, he inherited Provence and Anjou. René II of Lorraine made some efforts to establish a claim, but in vain. Good fortune never crowned political craft more completely than in the instance of Louis XI. That monarch had now brought all his favourite schemes to their completion: his nobles were humbled; his great rival was destroyed.[l]

LAST YEARS AND DEATH OF LOUIS

In 1480 Louis XI had a first attack of apoplexy at the château de Montils-les-Tours, called Le Plessis because it had a fortress with many enclosures. Other attacks followed this one and warned him that his end was approaching. He undertook in 1482 the pilgrimage of St. Claude, but the progress of his malady obliged him to retire to Plessis, which he never left. Here he lingered for eighteen months, seen by no one, having in attendance only a small number of officers and servants, and seeking vainly to quiet by religious devotions his customary restlessness. His illness, while subduing his physical forces, only served to increase the activity of his spirit. The more he felt his power waning the more he wished to make others feel it and he became more tyrannical in proportion to his weakness.

Meanwhile he lived in this seclusion in perpetual suspicion of everyone--not only the princes of the family, but even of the most obscure members of the household, though they had been chosen most carefully. His castle was a prison, well guarded, where he was bound, following the expression of Comines, by strange chains and enclosures, in fear of conspirators. Jealous of his power up to the last hour, “he had himself arrayed in rich vestments, such as had never been the custom before.” His isolation was such that he rarely saw even the dauphin, who was brought up far from him, in the château d’Amboise. Little by little his state of weakness effaced the king and left only the man. During this period he returned to himself, and perhaps to new thoughts; for he wished the relief of his people and a peace of six months at least. This was, also, the time of his terrors and superstitions, which have been so much exaggerated, for he retained his clearness of mind and gave proof of it even in the last days of his life. At times the king awoke in him, and made those around him feel that he was master; and he was more jealous than ever of his authority, suffering no one under any circumstances to question it.

He overwhelmed the church with donations in order to obtain acquittal of his offences, just as the ancient Merovingian kings thought to expiate their crimes on their death-beds at a similar price. He surrounded himself with priests whose prayers he desired; he brought from Calabria the famous Francis of Paula (Paola), founder of the order of Minims, for which order he had built a monastery at Plessis. His doctor, Jacques Cottier, took a scandalous part in these liberal actions. He seemed to ask of heaven not so much the salvation of the soul as the prolongation of life. Many hold that this long agony, these physical and moral sufferings, were an expiation. Comines sees in it “a punishment which God had sent upon him in this world that he might suffer less in the next, and that those who succeeded him might have more pity on the people and punish them less than he had.” He died the 30th of August, 1483, in his sixty-first year.

The opinions expressed by contemporaries on this king, whose character was so remarkable and strange, were various, but of uniform severity. Comines, whose opinion might be subject to question, as he was his minister, his confidant, and almost his accomplice, has praised but little his prodigious activity, his genius for intriguing, and his singular aptitude for the carrying on of dark schemes in all directions. John de Troyes, although recognising that the power of the country had been strengthened, the kingdom brought more into unity, and new provinces acquired, blames most strongly the means employed, the dilapidation of the finances, the ruin of the people, the excess of arbitrariness, and the injury to the morals of the public. If public opinion was mute during this reign, it does not follow that it was favourable to the king. Of course the evidence that has been preserved is too slight to be able to make a positive assertion, but the theatre and popular verse of the period show the fault-finding spirit that existed.

In truth, Louis XI left the kingdom overwhelmed with burdens, the people unhappy, the prisons full, and discontent everywhere. He is reproached with always having had a large army and never having carried on a brilliant war; with not having respected the liberty of the church; with having ceaselessly violated justice; with having preferably employed corrupt agents who were justly detested; with having acted without definite plans; with being humble in misfortune and insolent in success, commencing enterprises which were never finished. He, however, knew so well how to be master; to bring the will of others into subjection to his own; to inspire in the world, and especially in those who approached him, the sentiments of obedience, fear, and almost admiration for his political genius; in fact, he had so well filled the position of king and of prince that, even after his death and when a strong reaction had set in against his reign, a certain terror continued to be attached to his name. It would seem that no one dared oppose him; Comines himself, who has drawn his portrait with such a master hand, has in this respect a singular discretion.[e]

Guizot, after quoting Comines[c] and Duclos,[m] adds: “I am more exacting than Comines and Duclos; I cannot consent to apply to Louis XI the words “liberal,” “virtuous,” “good”; he had neither greatness of soul, uprightness of character, nor kindness of heart; he was neither a great king nor a good king; but I hold to the last word of Duclos, ‘He was a king.’”[i]

“He was a king.” That verdict, at least, no one will dispute; and for a concluding estimate of the character of his kingship, we perhaps cannot do better than to quote the judicious words of Martin:

MARTIN’S ESTIMATE OF LOUIS XI

[Sidenote: [1461-1483 A.D.]]

Utility was Louis’ sole rule; he never comprehended what power there is in justice. In everything he preferred, sometimes to his own disadvantage, the crooked line to the straight line, stratagem to force, suavity to courage, although when necessary he had the stubborn courage of an indomitable will. He was the incarnate reaction against the Middle Ages, against its morals and its ideality as well as its errors, against its liberties as well as its anarchy. The very devoutness of Louis, the only inconsistency in a character which would otherwise have been incredible, had no more of the grand, austere fanaticism of earlier days; it was a materialistic fetichism that went back beyond the Middle Ages to the time when the barbarian kings gave the saints of heaven half the credit for their enterprises and their aims. Except for this weakness Louis XI was the most illustrious disciple of that policy of which the contemporary Italian despots gave the example and the theory of which Macchiavelli was later to set forth and give his name to. The usurper of the duchy of Milan, the famous Francesco Sforza, had been Louis XI’s master and model. Italian education invaded France earlier in politics than in fine arts.

There was one essential distinction between Louis and his masters. He was like them in his means, but different in his end. These tyrants on the other side of the Alps had only a personal, or at best a family end, while Louis pursued a common end. He was the head of a real political society, the head of a nation. On this point, and on this alone, he had a conscience. He had a strong instinct for the future and wished to leave behind a work that would endure after him. This bad man was not a bad Frenchman.

His reign, so troublous, so oppressive, so unhappy for the people, had accomplished wonderful things for the unity of the French nation. It gave to France, Picardy from the sources of the Oise to Burgundy, Provence, Anjou, Maine, Barrois, and Roussillon; and at least a provisional title to Artois and Franche-Comté. It upheld the power of France to the Pyrenees on the west, to the Jura on the east, and to the maritime Alps, and it powerfully advanced the important work of establishing natural frontiers. It had subordinated the power of great and petty lords alike and had placed under the control of the crown a great military force. It had favoured the development of the middle classes and of the industrial and commercial forces of the country. But if the growth of national power under him was immense, if social progress was in certain respects incontestable, it is equally certain that despotism made a like progress. The instruments of autocracy were fortified and perfected by him, and under him the religion of force and of strategy, “the religion of success” as Michelet terms it, everywhere dethroned the religion of duty and of right; nor is it possible to stifle morality everywhere in the political world without profoundly altering the ethics of private life. The aurora of a brilliant intellectual dawn was now appearing above the horizon; active minds turn eagerly towards the new light; but France was not in a healthy moral condition to receive the new lessons of the Renaissance.[j]

LOUIS’ INFLUENCE ON CIVILISATION

It must not be overlooked, however, that Louis had a powerful influence upon his time in other directions than that of mere statecraft. His mind was ever receptive to any novelty that did not contradict his authority. He favoured literature and science; in particular the healing art made progress under the valetudinarian king. In surgery there was at least one great conquest; the operation of lithotomy was performed for the first time under the authorisation of the king, upon a condemned criminal, who recovered and was granted his life. Louis also came to some extent under the influence of the learned Greeks, who after the overthrow of Constantinople, in 1453, scattered over western Europe. Several of these were received at the French court. The king took a certain interest also in the famous discussion between the nominalists and the realists which so long distracted the philosophical world. Acting, it is supposed, under the advice of his confessor, Louis in 1474 took the part of the nominalists and prohibited the works of Ockam, Buridan, and other realists; though three years later the prohibition was removed. Louis showed himself equally receptive in regard to the new art of printing. As early as 1469 three exponents of the wonderful new method of book-making appeared in Paris in answer to the summons of William Fichet, rector of the university, and began their work with the royal sanction. Before the close of Louis’ reign many books had been printed in Paris as well as in several of the other large cities of France. The chronicles of St. Denis were published in 1476, together with numerous other religious and classical works. A translation of the Bible appeared in 1477. From this time books multiplied so rapidly that the contemporary poets assure us with hyperbolic enthusiasm that more books are produced from day to day than formerly could be written in an entire year.[a][j]

The catholicity of interest which enabled Louis thus in the midst of his political activities to become to so considerable an extent a patron of the sciences and arts, furnishes conclusive evidence of the fulness of his mental equipment. It remains to call attention to an even more important contribution made by Louis to the amenities of civilisation. This was in the matter of the establishment of government posts. Here he was an innovator not merely for France but for the modern world; and there have been those enthusiasts who would claim for this feat a place among the three greatest achievements of the fifteenth century--the other two being the invention of printing and the discovery of America. Whatever may be thought of this estimate, there is no question that the creation of the postal service was a most important innovation, and it seems equally little in question that Louis XI was the innovator.[a][n]

Establishment of Posts in France

Certain ancient writers have attributed Louis’ motives in creating the posts to his paternal solicitude. They say “Louis XI, being anxious about the illness of the dauphin, from whom he was separated, established the posts in order to be informed at almost every moment of the hope or fear which his condition inspired.” This is most improbable, given Louis XI’s character, but it can readily be admitted that his spirit of dissimulation might easily have prompted him to invent and circulate a fable of this kind, in order to distract attention from the end which he really had in view. His restless life, his disputes with his greater vassals, particularly with the duke of Burgundy, his continual intrigues with the principal courts of Europe, at which he had secret agents, suffice to explain the interest he had in establishing posts, by means of which he could satisfy at once his suspicious mind and his ambitious schemes. In character Louis XI’s institution resembles the ancient posts, especially the Roman (cursus publicus). Louis’ only object was to facilitate the exercise of his royal power and to strengthen his authority at the time when the league of the Public Weal was about to be founded with the object of dismembering his kingdom. Therefore it was greatly to his interest to be rapidly informed of all the unforeseen events which might arise. Is it necessary to add that it never entered into the thoughts of Louis XI to institute a public service in his kingdom by which private individuals might profit in any way?

The exact date when the posts began to be placed along the high-roads is not known. According to Nicholas de la Mare even the name of the first postmaster-general is not given; but, says he, as Louis XI’s intention was to confide this office to a person of credit, intelligent and capable, it was probably given to the grand equerry of France, whose functions had much more in common with the new charge; the grand equerry had, it is true, the king’s messengers already under his orders. The same author says, in another passage, that the king’s messengers became so numerous that it was found necessary to create a controller of king’s messengers (edict of October, 1479). In the absence of proofs to the contrary, we believe that it was Robert Paon who, in October, 1479, received the double charge of postmaster-general of foot runners and of controller of king’s messengers, and was thus invested with supreme authority over the growing institution.

The runners or king’s messengers were, properly speaking, cabinet messengers, by which denomination they were afterwards known. They followed the court and had to be always in readiness to carry the king’s despatches. They already existed previous to the decree of 1464, and it is to be supposed that the towns or villages that they passed on their route were bound to provide them with relays of horses. This we understand from the statute of St. Louis, of December 13th, 1254, which we have already quoted, and from a statute of Philip V, surnamed the Tall, of February 11th, 1318, which gives the royal couriers the qualification of king’s messengers (chevaucheurs). The edict of 1464 officially sanctioned the existence of the couriers or messengers and made them into a regular and definite body. Their number, fixed at first at 230, had at the death of Louis XI risen to 234. But it is very probable that this number comprised the officers who kept horses for the service of the king, or maîtres coureurs, that is to say king’s messengers who went by the name of chevaucheurs.

The maîtres coureurs were established at distances of four leagues along the high-roads, keeping four or five horses of light build and suited to go at a gallop; they received, besides their wages, a fee for each horse which they supplied to people holding a passport from the king with the seal of the postmaster-general. They were also, as we have said, qualified as king’s messengers, because they were not only charged with keeping horses, but also with carrying letters and parcels of the king, the governors, the lord-lieutenants of the provinces, and other superior officers. It is not probable, however, that the maîtres coureurs actually carried the king’s despatches from post to post, as it is certain that the court despatches were conveyed by special messengers or coureurs de cabinet.

Later on the king’s messengers lost the title of chevaucheurs, which placed them in a relatively inferior position to the coureurs de cabinet, but what they lost in dignity they gained in profits. At first the new institution profited only the king, his commissioners in the provinces, or personages accredited to foreign courts. Even the terms of the edict, which defined the attributes of the postmaster-general, have from the outset given a political character to this high post.

The postal organisation created by Louis XI comprised two distinct postal systems--a system of relays, embracing the most important towns and served by the king’s messengers on horseback; a secondary postal system, branching off at certain points from the former and including secondary localities. The latter system was covered by messengers “sworn and received in the court of parliament.”

This organisation is justly considered as having been the starting point of the modern post, but the state did not as yet look upon itself as being the servant of the public. Private letters continued to be transported almost exclusively by university messengers. But these, even in the time of Louis XI, were in competition with the royal messengers already in existence at that time, as is testified by the numerous inquiries and proceedings relating to disputes of this nature mentioned in the voluminous collection of manuscripts known as the de Toisy, which is in the Bibliothèque Nationale. These disputes were prolonged in the sequel with a vivacity which increased as the interests engaged became more considerable by reason of the incessant progress of circulation and correspondence.[n]

FOOTNOTES

[56] [In reality, Louis only sanctioned what was already lost. He acceded to conditions as they were, awaiting his time to overthrow them. The peace was a part of his political game. Needless to say he had no scruples as to the carrying out of any terms of the treaty that could advantageously be avoided.]

[57] [Enguerrand de Monstrelet[q] ends his famous chronicle with an account of the death of the duke of Burgundy. He says: “On the 12th day of June, in the year 1467, the noble duke Philip of Burgundy was seized with a grievous malady, which continued unabated until Monday, the 15th, when he rendered his soul to God, between nine and ten o’clock at night. When he perceived, on the preceding day, that he was growing worse, he sent for his son, the count de Charolais, then at Ghent, who hastened to him with all speed; and on his arrival, about mid-day of the Monday, at the duke’s palace in Bruges, he went instantly to the chamber where the duke lay sick in bed, but found him speechless. He cast himself on his knees at the bedside, and, with many tears, begged his blessing, and that, if he had ever done anything to offend him, he would pardon him. The confessor, who stood at the bedside, admonished the duke, if he could not speak at least to show some sign of his good will. At this admonition, the good duke kindly opened his eyes, took his son’s hand, and squeezed it tenderly, as a sign of his pardon and his blessing. The count, like an affectionate child, never quitted the duke’s bed until he had given up the ghost. May God, out of his mercy, receive his soul, pardon his transgressions, and admit him into Paradise!”]

[58] [Legeay,[k] in his Histoire de Louis XI, son siècle, ses exploits, etc., defends Louis against the charge of having incited the Liègeois to revolt, in opposition to most of the other French historians.]

[59] [King Charles the Simple. He died in prison at Péronne in 929.]

[60] [“As soon as the king saw the duke enter his chamber, he could not conceal his fear, and said to the duke, ‘My brother, am I not safe in your house and in your country?’ And the duke answered, ‘Yes, sire; and so safe that if I saw an arrow coming towards you, I would put myself in front to shield you.’ And the king said to him, ‘I thank you for your good will, and will go whither I have promised you; but I pray you that peace may be from this time sworn between us.’”--OLIVIER DE LA MARCHE.[h]]

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