CHARLES THE BOLD

V

THE COUNT AND THE DAUPHIN

1456-1461

The picture of the Burgundian court rejoicing in happy unison over the advent of an heiress to carry on the Burgundian traditions, with the dauphin participating in the family joy, shows the tranquil side of the first months of the long visit. Before Mary's birth, however, an incident had occurred, betraying the fact that the dauphin and Charles VII. were not the only father and son between whom relations were strained, and that a moment had arrived when the attitude of the Count of Charolais to the duke was no longer characterised by unquestioning filial obedience.

Charles was on his way to Nuremberg to fulfil a mission with certain German princes when the dauphin alighted in Brabant, like "a bird of ill omen," as he designated himself on one occasion. The count did not return to Brussels until January 12, 1457. Thus he took no part in the hearty welcome accorded to the visitor. It is more than possible that the heir of Burgundy was not wholly pleased with the state of affairs placidly existing by mid-winter.

Instead of resuming the first position which he had enjoyed during his brief regency, or the honoured second that had been his after Philip came back, Charles was now relegated to a third place. Further, without having been consulted as to the policy, he found that he was forced into following his father's lead in treating a penniless refugee like an invited guest, whose visit was an honour and a joy. It is more than probable that Charles was already feeling somewhat hurt at the duke's warmth towards Louis when a serious breach occurred between father and son about another matter.

It chanced that a chamberlain's post fell vacant in his own household, and the count assumed that the appointment of a successor was something that lay wholly within his jurisdiction. When the duke interfered in a peremptory fashion and insisted that the appointment should be made at his instance, the son refused to accept his authority, especially as his father's nominee was Philip de Croy, one of a family already over-dominant in the Burgundian court. At least, that was Charles's opinion. Therefore, when he obeyed his father's commands to bring his ordonnance, or household list, to the duke's oratory, he unhesitatingly carried the document which contained the name of Antoine Raulin, Sire d'Émeries, in place of Philip de Croy.

The duke was very angry at this apparent contempt for his expressed wishes. Indignantly he threw the lists into the fire with the words, "Now look to your ordonnances for you will need new ones."

There was evidently a succession of violent scenes in which the duchess tried to stand between her husband and son. But Philip was beside himself with wrath and refused to listen to a word from her or from the dauphin, who also endeavoured to mediate.

Finally, the irate duke lost all control of himself, ordered a horse, and rode out alone into the forest of Soignies. When he became calmer it was dark and he found himself far from the beaten tracks, in the midst of underbrush through which he could not ride. He dismounted and wandered on foot for hours in the January night until smoke guided him to a charcoal burner, who conducted him to the more friendly shelter of a forester's hut. In the morning he made his way to Genappe.

Meantime, in the palace, consternation reigned. Search parties seeking their sovereign were out all night. No one, however, was in such a state of dismay as the dauphin, who declared that he would be counted at fault when family dissensions followed so soon on his arrival. Delighted he was, therefore, to act as mediator between father and son after the duke was in a sufficiently pacified state to listen to reason. Charles betook himself to Dendermonde for a time until the duke was ready to see him. His young wife made the most of her expectations to soften her father-in-law's resentment, and between her entreaties and those of the guest, proud to show his tact and his gratitude, the quarrel was at last smoothed over.

There was one marked difference between this family dispute and the breach between the French king and the dauphin. In the latter case no feeling was involved. In the former, the son was really deeply wounded by what he deemed lack of parental affection for his interests. At the same time he was shocked by the bitter words and was, for the moment, so filled with contrition that he was eager to make any concession agreeable to the duke. He dismissed two of his servants, suspected by his father of fomenting trouble between them, and he showed himself in general very willing to placate paternal displeasure.

Reconciliation between duke and duchess was more difficult. Isabella resented Philip's reproaches for her sympathy with Charles. She said she had stepped between the two men because she had feared lest the duke might injure his son in his wrath. This was in answer to the Marshal of Burgundy when he was telling her of Philip's displeasure. She concluded her dignified defence with an expression of her utter loneliness. Stranger in a strange land she had no one belonging to her but her son.

She was certainly present at the baptism of her grandchild, but shortly afterwards she retired to a convent of the Grey Sisters, founded by herself, and rarely returned to the world or took part in its ceremonies during the remainder of her life.

The quarrel, too, left its scar upon Charles. It is not probable that he had much personal liking for the guest upon whom his father heaped courtesies and solicitous care. On one occasion, when the two young men were hunting they were separated by chance. When Charles returned alone to the palace, the duke was full of reproaches at his son's careless desertion of the guest in his charge. Again the court was organised into search parties and there was no rest until the dauphin was discovered some leagues from Brussels. Here, also, it is an easy presumption that the Count of Charolais was a trifle sulky over his father's preoccupation in regard to the prince.

The transient character of the dauphin's sojourn in his cousin's domains soon changed. In the summer of 1457, when news came that Dauphiné had submitted to Charles VII., when the successive embassies despatched by Philip to the king had all proved fruitless in their conciliatory efforts, Philip proceeded to make more permanent arrangements for the fugitive's comfort.

"Now, Monseigneur, since the king has been pleased to deprive you of Dauphiné ... you are to-day lord and prince without land. But, nevertheless, you shall not be without a country, for all that I have is yours and I place it within your hand without reserving aught except my life and that of my wife. Pray take heart. If God does not abandon me I will never abandon you."

The duke made good his words by giving his guest the estate of Genappe, of which Louis took possession at the end of July. Then as a further step to make things pleasant for the exile, Philip sent for Charlotte of Savoy who had remained under her father's care ever since the formal marriage in 1451. She was now eighteen.

It was an agreeable spot, this estate at Genappe. Louis's favourite amusement of the chase was easy of access. "The court is at present at Louvain," wrote a courtier on July 1st, "and Monseigneur the Dauphin likes it very much, for there is good hunting and falconry and a great number of rabbits within and without the city." With killing of every kind at his service, what greater solace could a homeless prince expect?

From Louvain to Genappe is no great distance, and the sum of 1200 livres, furnished by Philip for the dauphin's journey to his new abode, seemed a large provision. The pension then settled on him was 36,000 livres, and when the dauphiness arrived 1000 livres a month were provided for her private purse.

Pleasant was existence in this château. There was no dearth of company to throng around the prince in exile, and the dauphin allowed no prejudice of mere likes and dislikes, no consideration of duty towards his host to hamper him in making useful friends. A word here and a word there, aptly thrown in at a time when Philip's anger had exasperated, when Charles had failed to conciliate, were very potent in intimating to many a Burgundian servant that there might come a time when a new king across the border might better appreciate their real value than their present or future sovereign.

Hunting was a favourite amusement, but the dauphin did not confine his invitations to sportsmen. The easy accessibility of the little court attracted men of science and of letters as well as others capable of making the time pass agreeably. When there was nothing else on foot, it is said that the company amused themselves by telling stories, each in turn, and out of their tales grew the collection of the Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles, named in imitation of Boccaccio's Cento Novelle.

The first printed edition of this collection was issued in Paris, in 1486, by Antoine Verard, who thus admonishes the gentle reader: "Note that whenever Monseigneur is referred to, Monseigneur the Dauphin must be understood, who has since succeeded to the crown and is King Louis. Then he was in the land of the Duke of Burgundy." Another editor asserts that Monseigneur is evidently the Duke of Burgundy and not Louis, and later authorities decide that Anthony de la Sale wrote the whole collection in imitation of Boccaccio, and that the names of the narrators were as imaginative or rather as editorial as the rest of the volume.

If this be true, it maybe inferred that the author would have given an appearance of verisimilitude to his fiction by mentioning the actual habitués of the dauphin's court. The name of the Count of Charolais does not appear at all. The duke tells three or more stories according to the interpretation given to Monseigneur. With three exceptions the tales are very coarse, nor does their wit atone for their licentiousness. Possibly Charles held himself aloof from the kind of talk they suggest. All reports make him rigid in standards of morality not observed by his fellows. That he had little to do with the court is certain, whatever his reason.

Louis did not confine himself to the estate assigned him. There were various court visits to the Flemish towns where he was afforded excellent opportunities for seeing the wealth of the burghers and their status in the world of commerce.

Ghent was very anxious to have the duke bring his guest within her gates and give her an opportunity of displaying her regret for the past unpleasantness. "In his goodness," Philip at last yielded to their entreaties to make them a visit himself, but he decided not to take the prince or the count with him. He was either afraid for their safety or else he did not care to bring a future French king into relation with citizens who might find it convenient to remember his suzerainty in order to ignore the wishes of their sovereign duke.

Eastertide, 1458, was finally appointed for this state visit of reconciliation. The duke took the precaution to send scouts ahead to ascertain that the late rebels were sincere in their contrition, and that there was no danger of anarchist agitations. The report was brought back that all was calm and that joyful preparations were making to show appreciation of Philip's kindness.

On April 22d, the duke slept at l'Écluse, and on the 23d he was gaily escorted into the city by knights and gentlemen summoned from Holland, Hainaut, and Flanders, "but neither clerks nor priests were in his train." As a further assurance to him of their peaceful intention, the citizens actually lifted the city gates off their hinges so as to leave open exits.

Once within the walls, the duke found the whole community, who had shown intelligent and sturdy determination not to endure arbitrary tyranny, ready to weave themselves into a frenzy of biblical and classical parable whose one purpose was to prove how evil had been their ways. A pompous procession sang Te Deum as the duke rode in, and the first "mystery" that met his eyes within the gates was a wonderful representation of Abraham sacrificing Isaac, while the legend "All that the Lord commanded we will do," was meant not to refer to the Hebrew's fidelity to Jehovah, but to the Ghenters' perfect submission to Philip. A young girl stood ready to greet him with the words of Solomon, "I have found one my soul loves."

Farther on there were various emblems all designed to compare Philip now to Cæsar, now to Pompey, now to Nebuchadnezzar. The most humiliating spectacle was that of a man dressed in a lion's skin, thus personifying the Lion of Flanders, leading Philip's horse by the bridle. "Vive Bourgogne is now our cry," was symbolised in every vehicle which the rhetoricians could invent.

Not altogether explicable is this extreme self-abnegation. Civic prosperity must have returned in four years or there would have been no money for the outlay. Apparently, Philip's countenance was worth more to them than their pride.

The birth and death of two children at Genappe gave the duke new reasons for showering ostentatious favours on his guest, and furnished the dauphin with suitable occasion for addressing his own father, who answered him in kind.

The following is one of the fair-phrased epistles:

     The King to the Dauphin, 1459.

"VERY DEAR AND MUCH LOVED SON:

"We have received the letters that you wrote us making mention that on July 27 our dear and much loved daughter, the dauphiness, was delivered of a fine boy, for which we have been and are very joyous, and it seems to me that the more God our Creator grants you favour, by so much the more you ought to praise and thank Him and refrain from angering Him, and in all things fulfil His commandments.

"Given at Compiègne, Aug.7th.    
"CHARLES."    

During these five years, Charles was more or less aloof from the courts of his father and of their guest. He spent part of the time in Holland and part at Le Quesnoy with his young wife. The Count of St. Pol was one of his intimate friends, and a friend who managed to make many insinuations about the duke's treatment of his son and infatuation about the Croys whom Charles hated with increasing fervency.

There is a story that Charles went from Le Quesnoy to his father's court to demand a formal audience from the duke in order to lodge his protest against the Croys. Evidently relations were strained when such a degree of ceremony was needed between father and son.

Gerard Ourré was commissioned to set forth the count's grievances, and he was in the midst of his carefully prepared statement when the duke interrupted him with the curt observation: "Have a care to say nothing but the truth and understand, it will be necessary to prove every assertion." The orator was discomfited, stammered on for a few moments, and then excused himself from completing his harangue. There were only a few nobles present and all were surprised at this embarrassment, as Gerard passed for a clever man. Then, seeing that his deputy was too much frightened to proceed, Charles took up the thread of his discourse. In a firm voice he continued the list of accusations against the Croys, only to be cut short in his turn. Peremptory was the duke in his command to his son to be silent and never again to refer to the subject. Then, turning to Croy, Philip added "see to it that my son is satisfied with you," and withdrew from the audience chamber.

Croy addressed Charles and endeavoured to be conciliatory. "When you have repaired the ill you have wrought I will remember the good you have done," was the count's only reply. He took leave of his father with an outward show of love and respect and returned to his wife at Le Quesnoy, escorted, indeed, by Croy out of the gates of Brussels, but with no better understanding between them.

St. Pol found good ground to work on. He inflamed the count's discontent and his distrust of the duke's favourite until Charles despatched him to Bourges on a confidential mission to ascertain what Charles VII. would do for the heir of Burgundy should he decide to take refuge in the French court.

At the first interview "I was not present," states the unknown reporter, but on succeeding occasions this man heard for himself that the king was ready to show hospitality to the Count of Charolais who "has no ill intentions against his father. All he wants to do is to separate him from the people who govern him badly."

The conferences were held in the lodgings of Odet d'Aydie. Among those present was Dammartin and the matter was discussed in its various aspects. Jehan Bureau and the anonymous witness were charged with drawing up a report of the discussion. When this was presented to the king it did not seem to him good. He doubted the good faith of the count's message. He had been assured that it was all a fiction especially designed by the Sieur de Burgundy.

Certain general promises were made in spite of this royal distrust, quite natural under the circumstances. If he decided to espouse the cause of Henry VI., the Count of Charolais should be given a command. It was evident that the count was by no means ready to go to all lengths, for St. Pol states in one of his conferences with the "late king" that Charles of Burgundy had assured him that for two realms such as his he would not do a deed of villainy.

Nothing came of this talk. It would have been a singular state of affairs had the heirs of France and Burgundy thus changed places in their fathers' courts. Spying and counterspying there were between the courts to a great extent and rumours in number. A certain Italian writes to the Duke of Milan as follows, on March 23, 1461, after he had been at Genappe and at Brussels:

"M. de Croy has given me clearly to understand that the reconciliation of the dauphin with the King of France would not be with the approval of the Duke of Burgundy. Nevertheless the prince laments that since he received the dauphin into his states, and treated him as his future sovereign, he has incurred the implacable hatred of the king added to his ancient grievances. On the other hand, the affairs of England, on whose issue depends war or peace for the duke, being still in suspense, it did not seem to him honest to make advances to the king at this moment.

"M. de Croy thinks that the dauphin does not seem to have carried into this affair the circumspection and reflection befitting a prince of his quality. He has maintained towards the duke the most complete silence on the affair of Genoa, and the proposition concerning Italy. Croy does not think there is anything in it, but if the thing were so it ought not to be secret. He does not believe that peace will be made between the dauphin and his father, and mentioned that his brother was on the embassy from duke to king, in order, I suppose, to probe the matter to the bottom.

"The dauphin it seems has been out of humour with the Duke of Burgundy on account of the luke-warmness shown for his interests by the ambassador sent by this prince to the Duke of Savoy.

"The silent agreement which reigns between the dauphin and Monsg. de Charolais is one of the causes which has chilled this great love between the dauphin and the duke which existed at the beginning.

"Moreover, the dauphin having spent largely, especially in almsgiving without considering his purse finds himself very hard pressed. He has only two thousand ducats a month from the Duke of Burgundy and that seems to force him into peace with the king. The duke expects nothing during the king's lifetime.

"Everything makes me want to wait here for the arrival of news from England. It is expected daily, good or bad the last play must be made. The duke fears a descent on Calais, and for this reason is going to a town called St. Omer. Under pretext of celebrating there the fête of the Toison d'Or he has ordered all his escort to be armed."

For a long time before his final illness the death of Charles VII. was anticipated. When it came it was a dolorous end. At Genappe, the dauphin had been making his preparations for the wished-for event in many ways, all in exact opposition to his father's policy. In Italy and in Spain he sided with the opponents of Charles VII. In England, his sympathies were all for the House of York because his father was favourable to Henry of Lancaster and Margaret of Anjou. He learned with satisfaction of the success of Edward IV., and was more than willing to see him invade France. With certain princes of Germany he entertained relations shrouded in mystery, while his father's own agents disclosed secrets to him from time to time.

In his exile he kept reminding official bodies at Paris that he was heir to the throne. As dauphin he claimed the right to give orders to the parlement at Grenoble. There is no actual proof that he had a hand in the conspiracies which troubled the last year of his father's reign, but it is certain that he managed to win to himself a party within the royal circle.

Certain councillors, fearful of their own fate, did not hesitate to suggest that Louis should be disinherited and his brother Charles put in his stead, but this Charles VII. would not accept. He kept hoping for Louis's submission. The latter, however, had no idea of this. He was sure that his father would not live to grow old. A trouble in his leg threatened to be cancerous. In July, there was a growth in his mouth. He died July 22nd, convinced that his son had poisoned him.

After July 17th constant bulletins from the king's bedside came to Louis. Genappe was too far and the anxious son moved to Avesnes in order to receive his messages more speedily. Our chronicler Chastellain begins his story of Louis's accession as follows:

"Since I am not English but French, I who am neither Spanish nor Italian but French, I have written of two Frenchmen, the one king, the other duke. I have written of their works and their quarrels and of the favour and glories which God has given them in their time.

"Kings die, reigns vanish but virtue alone and meritorious works serve man on his bier and gain him eternal glory. O you Frenchmen, see the cause and the end in my labours!"

The guest who had displayed so much humility and thankfulness when he arrived, who had deprecated honours to his high birth and desired to offer all the courtesies, departed from the residence so generously given him for five years in a very cavalier manner.

"Now the king left the duke's territories without having taken leave nor said adieu to the Countess of Charolais, although he was in her neighbourhood, and he left behind him the queen, his wife. The said queen had neither hackneys nor vehicles with which to follow her husband. Therefore, the king ordered her to borrow the hackneys of the countess and chariots, too. Heartily did the countess accede to this request in spite of the fact that the thing seemed to her rather strange that a noble king, and one who had received so much honour and service from the House of Burgundy and had promised to recognise it when the hour came, should thus depart thence without saying a word. However, in spite of all, the countess would gladly have given the queen the hackneys as a gift if they had been asked, and she sent them to her by one of her equerries named Corneille de la Barre, together with chariots and waggons. And thus the queen left the country just as her husband had done without saying a word either to the duke or the countess, and Corneille went with her on foot to bring back the hackneys when the queen had arrived at the place of her desire."

Philip had difficulty in persuading his quondam guest to show outward respect to his father's memory. The duke clad himself and his suite in deep mourning before setting out to join Louis at Avesnes, whither representatives from the University of Paris and from all parts of the realm had flocked to greet their new sovereign.

It was a great concourse that marched from Avesnes as escort to the uncrowned king. Philip was magnificent in his appointments as he entered Rheims, and behind him came his son,

"the Count of Charolais who, equally with his noble company of knights and squires, attracted hearts and eyes in admiration of his rich array wherein cloth of gold and jewelry, velvet and embroidery were lavishly displayed. And the count had ten pages and twenty-six archers, and this whole company numbered three hundred horse."

This was a Thursday after dinner. Louis had waited at St. Thierry. On the actual day of the coronation, preliminaries absorbed so much time that the long cavalcade did not enter Rheims until seven o'clock. The king passed his night in a very pious and prayerful manner, taking no repose until 5 A.M. While his suite were occupied at their toilets he slipped off alone to church.

Finally all was ready for the grand ceremony. Very magnificent were the duke's robes and ermine when, as chief among the peers, he escorted his late guest to be consecrated king, and very devout and simple was Louis. After the consecration, the king and his friends listened to an address from the Bishop of Tournay, in which he described in Latin the dauphin's sojourn in the Netherlands.

The Duke of Burgundy was the hero of the occasion. He felt that all future power was in his hands and that Louis XI. could never do enough to repay him for his wonderful hospitality. And for a time Louis was quite ready to foster this belief. When they entered Paris, the peer so far outshone the sovereign that there was general astonishment. Moreover, whatever the latter did have was a gift. The very plate used on the royal table was a ducal present.

Louis took great pains to preserve an attitude of grateful humility. When he met the parlement of Paris, he asked the duke's advice about its reformation. It was to Philip that all the petitioners flocked. But Louis was conscious, too, that there would be a morrow in Burgundy, and he took care to be friendly with the count even while he was flattering the duke. For this purpose he found Guillaume de Biche a very useful go-between. This was one of the retainers dismissed in 1457 by Charles at his father's request. He had then passed into Louis's service. This man quickly insinuated himself into the king's graces, was admitted to his chamber at all hours, and walked arm in arm with the returned exile through Paris.

The Burgundian exile had learned the mysteries of the city well in his four years' residence. Louis found him an amusing companion and skilfully managed to flatter the count by his favour towards the man whom he had liked.

For six weeks Philip remained in the capital and astonished the Parisians with the fêtes he offered. Equally astonished were they with their new monarch. Louis was thirty-eight and not attractive in person. His eyes were piercing but his visage was made plain by a disproportionate nose. His legs were thin and misshapen, his gait uncertain. He dressed very simply, wearing an old pilgrim's hat, ornamented by a leaden saint. As he rode into Abbeville in company with Philip, the simple folk who had never seen the king were greatly amazed at his appearance and said quite loud, "Benedicite! Is that a king of France, the greatest king in the world? All together his horse and dress are not worth twenty francs."

From the beginning of his reign, Louis XI never lived very long in any one place. He did not like the Louvre as a dwelling and had the palace of the Tournelles arranged for him. Touraine became by preference his residence, where he lived alternately at Amboise and in his new château at Plessis-lès-Tours. But his sojourns were always brief. He wanted to know everything, and he wandered everywhere to see France and to seek knowledge. His letters, his accounts, the chroniclers, the despatches of the Italian ambassador, show him on a perpetual journey.

He would set out at break of day with five or six intimates dressed in grey cloth like pilgrims; archers and baggage followed at a distance. He would forbid any one to follow him, and often ordered the gates of the city he had left to be closed, or a bridge to be broken behind him. Ambassadors ordered to see him without fail, sometimes had to cross France to obtain an interview, at least if their object was something in which he was not much interested. Then he would often grant them an audience in some miserable little peasant hut.

In the cities where he stopped he would lodge with a burgomaster or some functionary. To avoid harangues and receptions he would often arrive unannounced through a little alley. If forced to accept an entrée he stipulated that it should not be marked with magnificence. There never was a prince who so disliked ceremonies, balls, banquets, and tourneys. At his court young people were bored to death. He never ordered festivals except for some visitor; his pleasures were those of a simple private gentleman. He liked to dine out of his palace. Cagnola relates with surprise that he had seen the king dine after mass in a tavern on the market-place at Tours. He invited small nobles and bourgeois to dine with him. He was intimate, too, with bourgeois women, and indulged in gross pleasantries, speaking to and of women without reserve, sparing neither sister, mother, nor queen.

Yet it was a sombre court. "Farewell dames, citizens, demoiselles, feasts, dances, jousts, and tournaments; farewell fair and gracious maids, mundane pleasures, joys, and games," says Martial d'Auvergne. Pompous magnificence may have reminded Louis unpleasantly of his visit to Burgundy.