It was not a mere fit of delirious fever; it was the beginning of a

radical mental derangement, sometimes in abeyance, or at least for some
time alleviated, but bursting out again without appreciable reason, and
aggravated at every fresh explosion.  Charles VI. had always had a taste
for masquerading.  When in 1389 the young queen, Isabel of Bavaria, came
to Paris to be married, the king, on the morning of her entry, said to
his chamberlain, Sire de Savoisy, "Prithee, take a good horse, and I will
mount behind thee; and we will dress so as not to be known and go to see
my wife cone in."  Savoisy did not like it, but the king insisted; and so
they went in this guise through the crowd, and got many a blow from the
officers' staves when they attempted to approach too near the procession.
In 1393, a year after his first outbreak of madness, the king, during an
entertainment at court, conceived the idea of disguising as savages
himself and five of his courtiers.  They had been sewn up in a linen skin
which defined their whole bodies; and this skin had been covered with a
resinous pitch, so as to hold sticking upon it a covering of tow, which
made them appear hairy from head to foot.  Thus disguised these savages
went dancing into the ball-room; one of those present took up a lighted
torch and went up to them; and in a moment several of them were in
flames.  It was impossible to get off the fantastic dresses clinging to
their bodies.  "Save the king!" shouted one of the poor masquers; but it
was not known which was the king.  The Duchess de Berry, his aunt,
recognized him, caught hold of him, and wrapped him in her robe, saying,
"Do not move; you see your companions are burning."  And thus he was
saved amidst the terror of all present.  When he was conscious of his mad
state, he was horrified; he asked pardon for the injury he had done,
confessed and received the communion.  Later, when he perceived his
malady returning, he would allude to it with tears in his eyes, ask to
have his hunting-knife taken away, and say to those about him, "If any of
you, by I know not what witchcraft, be guilty of my sufferings, I adjure
him, in the name of Jesus Christ, to torment me no more, and to put an
end to me forthwith without making me linger so."  He conceived a horror
of Queen Isabel, and, without recognizing her, would say when he saw her,
"What woman is this?  What does she want?  Will she never cease her
importunities?  Save me from her persecution!"  At first great care was
taken of him.  They sent for a skilful doctor from Laon, named William de
Harsely, who put him on a regimen from which, for some time, good effects
were experienced.  But the doctor was uncomfortable at court; he
preferred going back to his little place at Laon, where he soon
afterwards died; and eleven years later, in 1405, nobody took any more
trouble about the king.  He was fed like a dog, and allowed to fall
ravenously upon his food.  For five whole months he had not a change of
clothes.  At last some shame was felt for this neglect, and an attempt
was made to repair it.  It took a dozen men to overcome the madman's
resistance.  He was washed, shaved, and dressed in fresh clothes.  He
became more composed, and began once more to recognize certain persons,
amongst others, the former provost of Paris, Juvenal des Ursins, whose
visit appeared to give him pleasure, and to whom he said, without well
knowing why, "Juvenal, let us not waste our time."  On his good days he
was sometimes brought in to sit at certain councils at which there was a
discussion about the diminution of taxes and relief of the people, and he
showed symptoms, at intervals, of taking an interest in them.  A fair
young Burgundian, Odette de Champdivers, was the only one amongst his
many favorites who was at all successful in soothing him during his
violent fits.  It was Duke John the Fearless, who had placed her near the
king, that she might promote his own influence, and she took advantage of
it to further her own fortunes, which, however, did not hinder her from
afterwards passing into the service of Charles VII. against the house of
Burgundy.

[Illustration: Charles VI. and Odette----71]

For thirty years, from 1392 to 1422, the crown remained on the head of
this poor madman, whilst France was a victim to the bloody quarrels of
the royal house, to national dismemberment, to licentiousness in morals,
to civil anarchy, and to foreign conquest.

When, for the first time, in the forest of Le Mans, the Dukes of Berry
and Burgundy saw their nephew in this condition, their first feeling was
one of sorrow and disquietude.  The Duke of Burgundy especially, who was
accessible to generous and sympathetic emotions, cried out with tears, as
he embraced the king, "My lord and nephew, comfort me with just one
word!"  But the desires and the hopes of selfish ambition reappeared
before long more prominently than these honest effusions of feeling.
"All!" said the Duke of Berry, "De Clisson, La Mviere, Noviant, and
Vilaine have been haughty and harsh towards me; the time has come when
I shall pay them out in the same coin from the same mint."  The
guardianship of the king was withdrawn from his councillors, and
transferred to four chamberlains chosen by his uncles.  The two dukes,
however, did not immediately lay hands on the government of the kingdom;
the constable De Clisson and the late councillors of Charles V. remained
in charge of it for some time longer; they had given enduring proofs of
capacity and fidelity to the king's service; and the two dukes did not
at first openly attack them, but labored strenuously, nevertheless, to
destroy them.  The Duke of Burgundy one day said to Sire de Noviant,
"I have been overtaken by a very pressing business, for which I require
forthwith thirty thousand crowns; let me have them out of my lord's
treasury; I will restore them at another time."  Noviant answered
respectfully that the council must be spoken to about it.  "I wish none
to know of it," said the duke.  Noviant persisted.  "You will not do me
this favor?" rejoined the duke; "you shall rue it before long."  It was
against the constable that the wrath of the princes was chiefly directed.
He was the most powerful and the richest.  One day he went, with a single
squire behind him, to the Duke of Burgundy's house; and, "My lord," said
he, "many knights and squires are persecuting me to get the money which
is owing to them.  I know not where to find it.  The chancellor and the
treasurer refer me to you.  Since it is you and the Duke of Berry who
govern, may it please you to give me an answer."  "Clisson," said the
duke, "you have no occasion to trouble yourself about the state of the
kingdom; it will manage very well without your services.  Whence, pray,
have you been able to amass so much money?  My lord, my brother of Berry
and myself have not so much between us three.  Away from my presence, and
let me see you no more!  If I had not a respect for myself, I would have
your other eye put out."  Clisson went out, mounted his horse, returned
to his house, set his affairs in order, and departed, with two
attendants, to his strong castle of Montlhery.  The two dukes were very
sorry that they had not put him under arrest on the spot.  The rupture
came to a climax.  Of the king's four other councillors one escaped in
time; two were seized and thrown into prison; the fourth, Bureau de la
Riviere was at his castle of Auneau, near Chartres, honored and beloved
by all his neighbors.  Everybody urged him to save himself.  "If I were
to fly or hide myself," said he, "I should acknowledge myself guilty of
crimes from which I feel myself free.  Here, as elsewhere, I am at the
will of God; He gave me all I have, and He can take it away whensoever He
pleases.  I served King Charles of blessed memory, and also the king, his
son; and they recompensed me handsomely for my services.  I will abide
the judgment of the parliament of Paris touching what I have done
according to my king's commands as to the affairs of the realm."  He was
told that the people sent to look for him were hard by, and was asked,
"Shall we open to them?"  "Why not?" was his reply.  He himself went to
meet them, and received them with a courtesy which they returned.  He was
then removed to Paris, where he was shut up with his colleagues in the
Louvre.

Their trial before parliament was prosecuted eagerly, especially in the
case of the absent De Clisson, whom a royal decree banished from the
kingdom "as a false and wicked traitor to the crown, and condemned him to
'pay a hundred thousand marks of silver, and to forfeit forever the
office of constable.'"  It is impossible in the present day to estimate
how much legal justice there was in this decree; but, in any case, it was
certainly extreme severity to so noble and valiant a warrior who had done
so much for the safety and honor of France.  The Dukes of Burgundy and
Berry and many barons of the realm signed the decree; but the king's
brother, the Duke of Orleans, refused to have any part in it.  Against
the other councillors of the king the prosecution was continued, with
fits and starts of determination, but in general with slowness and
uncertainty.  Under the influence of the Dukes of Burgundy and Berry, the
parliament showed an inclination towards severity; but Bureau de la
Riviere had warm friends, and amongst others, the young and beautiful
Duchess of Berry, to whose marriage he had greatly contributed, and John
Juvenal des Ursins, provost of the tradesmen of Paris, one of the men
towards whom the king and the populace felt the highest esteem and
confidence.  The king, favorably inclined towards the accused by his own
bias and the influence of the Duke of Orleans, presented a demand to
parliament to have the papers of the procedure brought to him. Parliament
hesitated and postponed a reply; the procedure followed its course; and
at the end of some months further the king ordered it to be stopped, and
Sires de la Riviere and Neviant to be set at liberty and to have their
real property restored to them, at the same time that they lost their
personal property and were commanded to remain forever at fifteen
leagues' distance, at least, from the court.  This was moral equity, if
not legal justice.  The accused had been able and faithful servants of
their king and country.  Their imprisonment had lasted more than a year.
The Dukes of Burgundy and Berry remained in possession of power.

They exercised it for ten years, from 1392 to 1402, without any great
dispute between themselves--the Duke of Burgundy's influence being
predominant--or with the king, who, save certain lucid intervals, took
merely a nominal part in the government.  During this period no event of
importance disturbed France internally.  In 1393 the King of England,
Richard II., son of the Black Prince, sought in marriage the daughter of
Charles VI., Isabel of France, only eight years old.  In both courts and
in both countries there was a desire for peace.  An embassy came in state
to demand the hand of the princess.  The ambassadors were presented, and
the Earl of Northampton, marshal of England, putting one knee to the
ground before her, said, "Madame, please God you shall be our sovereign
lady and Queen of England."  The young girl, well tutored, answered, "If
it please God and my lord and father that I should be Queen of England, I
would be willingly, for I have certainly been told that I should then be
a great lady."  The contract was signed on the 9th of March, 1396, with a
promise that, when the princess had accomplished her twelfth year, she
should be free to assent to or refuse the union; and ten days after the
marriage, the king's uncles and the English ambassadors mutually signed a
truce, which promised--but quite in vain--to last for eight and twenty
years.

About the same time Sigismund, King of Hungary, threatened with an
invasion of his kingdom by the great Turkish Sultan Bajazet I., nicknamed
Lightning (El Derfr), because of his rapid conquests, invoked the aid of
the Christian kings of the West, and especially of the King of France.
Thereupon there was a fresh outbreak of those crusades so often renewed
since the end of the thirteenth century.  All the knighthood of France
arose for the defence of a Christian king.  John, Count of Nevers, eldest
son of the Duke of Burgundy, scarcely eighteen years of age, said to his
comrades, "If it pleased my two lords, my lord the king and my lord and
father, I would willingly head this army and this venture, for I have a
desire to make myself known."  The Duke of Burgundy consented, and, in
person, conducted his son to St. Denis, but without intending to make him
a knight as yet.  "He shall receive the accolade," said he, "as a knight
of Jesus Christ, at the first battle against the infidels."  In April,
1396, an army of new crusaders left France and traversed Germany
uproariously, everywhere displaying its valiant ardor, presumptuous
recklessness, and chivalrous irregularity.  Some months elapsed without
any news; but, at the beginning of December, there were seen arriving in
France some poor creatures, half naked, dying of hunger, cold, and
weariness, and giving deplorable accounts of the destruction of the
French army.  The people would not believe them: "They ought to be thrown
into the water," they said, "these scoundrels who propagate such lies."
But, on the 23th of December, there arrived at Paris James de Helly, a
knight of Artois, who, booted and spurred, strode into the hostel of
St. Paul, threw himself on his knees before the king in the midst of the
princes, and reported that he had come straight from Turkey; that on the
28th of the preceding September the Christian army had been destroyed at
the battle of Nicopolis; that most of the lords had been either slain in
battle or afterwards massacred by the sultan's order; and that the Count
of Nevers had sent him to the king and to his father the duke, to get
negotiations entered into for his release.  There was no exaggeration
about the knight's story.  The battle had been terrible, the slaughter
awful.  For the latter, the French, who were for a moment victorious, had
set a cruel example with their prisoners; and Bajazet had surpassed them
in cool ferocity.  After the first explosion of the father's and the
people's grief, the ransom of the prisoners became the topic.  It was a
large sum, and rather difficult to raise; and, whilst it was being sought
for, James de Helly returned to report as much to Bajazet, and to place
himself once more in his power.  "Thou art welcome," said the sultan;
"thou hast loyally kept thy word; I give thee thy liberty; thou canst go
whither thou wiliest."

Terms of ransom were concluded; and the sum total was paid through the
hands of Bartholomew Pellegrini, a Genoese trader.  Before the Count of
Nevers and his comrades set out, Bajazet sent for them.  "John," said he
to the count through an interpreter, "I know that thou art a great lord
in thy country, and the son of a great lord.  Thou art young.  It may be
that thou art abashed and grieved at what hath befallen thee in thy first
essay of knighthood, and that, to retrieve thine honor, thou wilt collect
a powerful army against me.  I might, ere I release thee, bind thee by
oath not to take arms against me, neither thyself nor thy people.  But
no; I will not exact this oath either from them or from thee.  When thou
hast returned yonder, take up arms if it please thee, and come and attack
me.  Thou wilt find me ever ready to receive thee in the open field, thee
and thy men-at-arms.  And what I say to thee, I say for the sake of all
the Christians thou mayest purpose to bring.  I fear them not; I was born
to fight them, and to conquer the world."  Everywhere and at all times
human pride, with its blind arrogance, is the same.  Bajazet saw no
glimpse of that future when his empire would be decaying, and held
together only by the interested protection of Christian powers.  After
paying dearly for their errors and their disasters, Count John of Nevers
and his comrades in captivity re-entered France in February, 1398, and
their expedition to Hungary was but one of the last vain ventures of
chivalry in the great struggle that commenced in the seventh century
between Islamry and Christendom.

While this tragic incident was taking place in Eastern Europe, the court
of the mad king was falling a victim to rivalries, intrigues, and
scandals which, towards the close of this reign, were to be the curse and
the shame of France.  There had grown up between Queen Isabel of Bavaria
and Louis, Duke of Orleans, brother of the king, an intimacy which,
throughout the city and amongst all honorable people, shocked even the
least strait-laced.  It was undoubtedly through the queen's influence
that Charles VI., in 1402, suddenly decided upon putting into the hands
of the Duke of Orleans the entire government of the realm and the right
of representing him in everything during the attacks of his malady.  The
Duke of Burgundy wrote at once about it to the parliament of Paris,
saying, "Take counsel and pains that the interests of the king and his
dominion be not governed as they now are, for, in good truth, it is a
pity and a grief to hear what is told me about it."  The accusation was
not grounded solely upon the personal ill-temper of the Duke of Burgundy.
His nephew, the Duke of Orleans, was elegant, affable, volatile,
good-natured; he had for his partisans at court all those who shared his
worse than frivolous tastes and habits; and his political judgment was no
better than his habits.  No sooner was he invested with power than he
abused it strangely; he levied upon the clergy as well as the people an
enormous talliage, and the use he made of the money increased still
further the wrath of the public.  An Augustine monk, named James Legrand,
already celebrated for his writings, had the hardihood to preach even
before the court against abuses of power and licentiousness of morals.
The king rose up from his own place, and went and sat down right opposite
the preacher.  "Yes, sir," continued the monk, "the king your father,
during his reign, did likewise lay taxes upon the people, but with the
produce of them he built fortresses for the defence of the kingdom, he
hurled back the enemy and took possession of their towns, and he effected
a saving of treasure which made him the most powerful amongst the kings
of the West.  But now, there is nothing of this kind done; the height of
nobility in the present day is to frequent bagnios, to live in
debauchery, to wear rich dresses with pretty fringes and big cuffs.
This, O queen," he added, "is what is said to the shame of the court;
and, if you will not believe me, put on the dress of some poor woman and
walk about the city, and you will hear it talked of by plenty of people."
In spite of his malady and his affection for his brother, Charles VI.,
either from pure feebleness or because he was struck by those truths so
boldly proclaimed, yielded to the counsels of certain wise men who
represented to him "that it was neither a reasonable nor an honorable
thing to intrust the government of the realm to a prince whose youth
needed rather to be governed than to govern."  He withdrew the direction
of affairs from the Duke of Orleans and restored it to the Duke of
Burgundy, who took it again and held it with a strong grasp, and did
not suffer his nephew Louis to meddle in anything.  But from that time
forward open distrust and hatred were established between the two princes
and their families.  In the very midst of this court-crisis Duke Philip
the Bold fell ill and died within a few days, on the 27th of April, 1404.
He was a prince valiant and able, ambitious, imperious, eager in the
pursuit of his own personal interests, careful in humoring those whom he
aspired to rule, and disposed to do them good service in whatever was not
opposed to his own ends.  He deserved and possessed the confidence and
affection not only of his father, King John, but also of his brother,
Charles V., a good judge of wisdom and fidelity.  He founded that great
house of Burgundy which was for more than a century to eclipse and often
to deplorably compromise France; but Philip the Bold loved France
sincerely, and always gave her the chief place in his policy.  His
private life was regular and staid, amidst the scandalous licentiousness
of his court.  He was of those who leave behind them unfeigned regret and
an honored memory, without having inspired their contemporaries with any
lively sympathy.

John the Fearless, Count of Nevers, his son and successor in the dukedom
of Burgundy, was not slow to prove that there was reason to regret his
father.  His expedition to Hungary, for all its bad leadership and bad
fortune, had created esteem for his courage and for his firmness under
reverses, but little confidence in his direction of public affairs.  He
was a man of violence, unscrupulous and indiscreet, full of jealousy and
hatred, and capable of any deed and any risk for the gratification of his
passions or his fancies.  At his accession he made some popular moves; he
appeared disposed to prosecute vigorously the war against England, which
was going on sluggishly; he testified a certain spirit of conciliation by
going to pay a visit to his cousin, the Duke of Orleans, lying ill at his
castle of Beaute, near Vincennes; when the Duke of Orleans was well
again, the two princes took the communion together, and dined together at
their uncle's, the Duke of Berry's; and the Duke of Orleans invited the
new Duke of Burgundy to dine with him the next Sunday.  The Parisians
took pleasure in observing these little matters, and in hoping for the
re-establishment of harmony in the royal family.  They were soon to be
cruelly undeceived.

On the 23d of November, 1407, the Duke of Orleans had dined at Queen
Isabel's.  He was returning about eight in the evening along Vieille Rue
du Temple, singing and playing with his glove, and attended by only two
squires riding one horse, and by four or five varlets on foot, carrying
torches.  It was a gloomy night; not a soul in the streets.  When the
duke was about a hundred paces from the queen's hostel, eighteen or
twenty armed men, who had lain in ambush behind a house called Image de
Notre-Dame, dashed suddenly out; the squires' horse took fright and ran
away with them; and the assassins rushed upon the duke, shouting, "Death!
death!"  "What is all this?" said he; "I am the Duke of Orleans."  "Just
what we want," was the answer; and they hurled him down from his mule.
He struggled to his knees; but the fellows struck at him heavily with axe
and sword.  A young man in his train made an effort to defend him, and
was immediately cut down; and another, grievously wounded, had but just
time to escape into a neighboring shop.  A poor cobbler's wife opened her
window, and, seeing the work of assassination, shrieked, "Murder!
murder!"  "Hold your tongue, you strumpet!" cried some one from the
street.  Others shot arrows at the windows where lookers-on might be.  A
tall man, wearing a red cap which came down over his eyes, said in a loud
voice, "Out with all lights, and away!" The assassins fled at the top of
their speed, shouting, "Fire! fire!" throwing behind them foot-trippers,
and by menaces causing all the lights to be put out which were being
lighted here and there in the shops.

[Illustration: Murder of the Duke of Orleans----38]

The duke was quite dead.  One of his squires, returning to the spot,
found his body stretched on the road, and mutilated all over.  He was
carried to the neighboring church of Blancs-Manteaux, whither all the
royal family came to render the last sad offices.  The Duke of Burgundy
appeared no less afflicted than the rest.  "Never," said he, "was a more
wicked and traitorous murder committed in this realm."  The provost of
Paris, Sire de Tignouville, set on foot an active search after the
perpetrators.  He was summoned before the council of princes, and the
Duke of Berry asked him if he had discovered anything.  "I believe," said
the provost, "that if I had leave to enter all the hostels of the king's
servants, and even of the princes, I could get on the track of the
authors or accomplices of the crime."  He was authorized to enter
wherever it seemed good to him.  He went away to set himself to work.
The Duke of Burgundy, looking troubled and growing pale, "Cousin," said
the King of Naples, Louis d'Anjou, who was present at the council, "can
you know aught about it?  You must tell us."  The Duke of Burgundy took
him, together with his uncle, the Duke of Berry, aside, and told them
that it was he himself who, tempted of the devil, had given orders for
this murder.  "O God!" cried the Duke of Berry, "then I lose both my
nephews!"  The Duke of Burgundy went out in great confusion, and the
council separated.  Research brought about the discovery that the crime
had been for a long while in preparation, and that a Norman nobleman,
Raoul d'Auquetonville, late receiver-general of finance, having been
deprived of his post by the Duke of Orleans for malversation, had been
the instrument.  The council of princes met the next day at the Hotel de
Nesle.  The Duke of Burgundy, who had recovered all his audacity, came to
take his seat there.  Word was sent to him not to enter the room.  Duke
John persisted; but the Duke of Berry went to the door and said to him,
"Nephew, give up the notion of entering the council; you would not be
seen there with pleasure."  "I give up willingly," answered Duke John;
"and that none may be accused of putting to death the Duke of Orleans, I
declare that it was I, and none other, who caused the doing of what has
been done."  Thereupon he turned his horse's head, returned forthwith to
the Hotel d'Artois, and, taking only six men with him, he galloped
without a halt, except to change horses, to the frontier of Flanders.
The Duke of Bourbon complained bitterly at the council that an immediate
arrest had not been ordered.  The Admiral de Brabant, and a hundred of
the Duke of Orleans' knights, set out in pursuit, but were unable to come
up in time.  Neither Raoul d'Anquetonville nor any other of the assassins
was caught.  The magistrates, as well as the public, were seized with
stupor in view of so great a crime and so great a criminal.

But the Duke of Orleans left a widow who, in spite of his infidelities
and his irregularities, was passionately attached to him.  Valentine
Visconti, the Duke of Milan's daughter, whose dowry had gone to pay the
ransom of King John, was at Chateau-Thierry when she heard of her
husband's murder.  Hers was one of those natures, full of softness and at
the same time of fire, which grief does not overwhelm, and in which a
passion for vengeance is excited and fed by their despair.  She started
for Paris in the early part of December, 1407, during the roughest
winter, it was said, ever known for several centuries, taking with her
all her children.  The Duke of Berry, the Duke of Bourbon, the Count of
Clermont, and the constable went to meet her.  Herself and all her train
in deep mourning, she dismounted at the hostel of St. Paul, threw herself
on her knees before the king with the princes and council around him, and
demanded of him justice for her husband's cruel death.  The chancellor
promised justice in the name of the king, who added with his own lips,
"We regard the deed relating to our own brother as done to ourself."  The
compassion of all present was boundless, and so was their indignation;
but it was reported that the Duke of Burgundy was getting ready to return
to Paris, and with what following and for what purpose would he come?
Nothing was known on that point.  There was no force with which to make a
defence.  Nothing was done for the Duchess of Orleans; no prosecution
began.  As much vexed and irritated as disconsolate, she set out for
Blois with her children, being resolved to fortify herself there.
Charles had another relapse of his malady.  The people of Paris, who were
rather favorable than adverse to the Duke of Burgundy, laid the blame of
the king's new attack, and of the general alarm, upon the Duchess of
Orleans, who was off in flight.  John the Fearless actually re-entered
Paris on the 20th of February, 1408, with a thousand men-at-arms, amidst
popular acclamation, and cries of "Long live the Duke of Burgundy!"
Having taken up a strong position at the Hotel d'Artois, he sent a demand
to the king for a solemn audience, proclaiming his intention of setting
forth the motives for which he had caused the Duke of Orleans to be
slain.  The 8th of March was the day fixed.  Charles VI., being worse
than ever that day, was not present; the _dauphin_, Louis, Duke of
Guienne, a child of twelve years, surrounded by the princes, councillors,
a great number of lords, doctors of the university, burgesses of note,
and people of various conditions, took his father's place at this
assembly.  The Duke of Burgundy had intrusted a Norman Cordelier, Master
John Petit, with his justification.  The monk spoke for more than five
hours, reviewing sacred history, and the histories of Greece, Rome, and
Persia, and the precedents of Phineas, Absalom the son of David, Queen
Athaliah, and Julian the Apostate, to prove "that it is lawful, and not
only lawful, but honorable and meritorious, in any subject to slay or
cause to be slain a traitor and disloyal tyrant, especially when he is a
man of such mighty power that justice cannot well be done by the
sovereign."  This principle once laid down, John Petit proceeded to apply
it to the Duke of Burgundy, "causing to be slain that criminal tyrant,
the Duke of Orleans, who was meditating the damnable design of thrusting
aside the king and his children from their crown;" and he drew from it
the conclusion that "the Duke of Burgundy ought not to be at all blamed
or censured for what had happened in the person of the Duke of Orleans,
and that the king not only ought not to be displeased with him, but ought
to hold the said lord of Burgundy, as well as his deed, agreeable to him,
and authorized by necessity."  The defence thus concluded, letters were
actually put before the king, running thus: "It is our will and pleasure
that our cousin of Burgundy, his heirs and successors, be and abide at
peace with us and our successors, in respect of the aforesaid deed, and
all that hath followed thereon; and that by us, our said successors, our
people and officers, no hinderance, on account of that, may be offered
them, either now or in time to come."

Charles VI., weak in mind and will, even independently of his attacks,
signed these letters, and gave Duke John quite a kind reception, telling
him, however, that "he could cancel the penalty, but not the resentment
of everybody, and that it was for him to defend himself against perils
which were probably imminent."  The duke answered proudly that "so long
as he stood in the king's good graces, he did not fear any man living."

Three days after this strange audience and this declaration, Queen
Isabel, but lately on terms of the closest intimacy with the Duke of
Orleans, who had been murdered on his way home after dining with her, was
filled with alarm, and set off suddenly for Melun, taking with her her
son Louis, the _dauphin_, and accompanied by nearly all the princes, who,
however, returned before long to Paris, being troubled by the displeasure
the Duke of Burgundy testified at their departure.  For more than four
months, Duke John the Fearless remained absolute master of Paris,
disposing of all posts, giving them to his own creatures, and putting
himself on good terms with the university and the principal burgesses.
A serious revolt amongst the Liigese called for his presence in Flanders.
The first troops he had sent against them had been repulsed; and he felt
the necessity of going thither in person.  But two months after his
departure from Paris, on the 26th of August, 1408, Queen Isabel returned
thither from Melun, with the _dauphin_ Louis, who for the first time rode
on horseback, and with three thousand men-at-arms.  She set up her
establishment at the Louvre.  The Parisians shouted "Noel," as she passed
along; and the Duke of Berry, the Duke of Bourbon, the Duke of Brittany,
the constable, and all the great officers of the crown rallied round her.
Two days afterwards, on the 28th of August, the Duchess of Orleans
arrived there from Blois, in a black litter drawn by four horses
caparisoned in black, and followed by a large number of mourning
carriages.  On the 5th of September, a state assembly was held at the
Louvre.  All the royal family, the princes and great officers of the
crown, the presidents of the parliament, fifteen archbishops or bishops,
the provost of Paris, the provost of tradesmen, and a hundred burgesses
of note attended it.  Thereupon Master Juvenal des Ursins, king's
advocate, announced the intention of Charles VI. in his illness to confer
the government upon the queen, set forth the reasons for it, called to
mind the able regency of Queen Blanche, mother of St. Louis, and produced
royal letters, sealed with the great seal.  Immediately the Duchess of
Orleans came forward, knelt at the _dauphin_'s feet, demanding justice
for the death of her husband, and begged that she might have a day
appointed her for refuting the calumnies with which it had been sought to
blacken his memory.  The _dauphin_ promised a speedy reply.  On the 11th
of September, accordingly, a new meeting of princes, lords, prelates,
parliament, the university, and burgesses was held in the great hall of
the Louvre.  The Duchess of Orleans, the Duke her son, their chancellor,
and the principal officers of her household were introduced, and leave
was given them to proceed with the justification of the late Duke of
Orleans.  It had been prepared beforehand; the duchess placed the
manuscript before the council, as pledging herself unreservedly to all it
contained, and Master Serisy, Abbot of St. Fiacre, a monk of the order of
St. Benedict, read the document out publicly.  It was a long and learned
defence, in which the imputations made by the cordelier, John Petit,
against the late Duke of Orleans, were effectually and in some parts
eloquently refuted.  After the justification, Master Cousinot, advocate
of the Duchess of Orleans, presented in person his demands against the
Duke of Burgundy.  They claimed that he should be bound to come, "without
belt or chaperon," and disavow solemnly and publicly, on his knees before
the royal family, and also on the very spot where the crime was
committed, the murder of the Duke of Orleans.  After several other acts
of reparation which were imposed upon him, he was to be sent into exile
for twenty years beyond the seas, and on his return to remain at twenty
leagues' distance, at least, from the king and the royal family.  After
reacting these demands, which were more legitimate than practicable, the
young _dauphin_, well instructed as to what he had to say, addressed the
Duchess of Orleans and her children in these terms: "We and all the
princes of the blood royal here present, after having heard the
justification of our uncle, the Duke of Orleans, have no doubt left
touching the honor of his memory, and do hold him to be completely
cleared of all that hath been said contrary to his reputation.  As to the
further demands you make, they shall be suitably provided for in course
of justice."  At this answer the assembly broke up.

It had just been reported that the Duke of Burgundy had completely beaten
and reduced to submission the insurgent Liegese, and that he was
preparing to return to Paris with his army.  Great was the consternation
amongst the council of the queen and princes.  They feared above
everything to see the king and the _dauphin_ in the Duke of Burgundy's
power; and it was decided to quit Paris, which had always testified a
favorable disposition towards Duke John.  Charles VI. was the first to
depart, on the 3d of November, 1408.  The queen, the _dauphin_, and the
princes followed him two days afterwards, and at Gien they all took boat
on the Loire to go to Tours.  The Duke of Burgundy on his arrival at
Paris, on the 28th of November, found not a soul belonging to the royal
family or the court; and he felt a moment's embarrassment.  Even his
audacity and lack of scruple did not go to the extent of doing without
the king altogether, or even of dispensing with having him for a tool;
and he had seen too much of the Parisian populace not to know how
precarious and fickle was its favor.  He determined to negotiate with the
king's party, and for that purpose he sent his brother-in-law the Count
of Hainault, to Tours, with a brilliant train of unarmed attendants,
bidden to make themselves agreeable, and not to fight.

A recent event had probably much to do with his decision.  His most
indomitable foe, she to whom the king and his councillors had lately
granted a portion of the vengeance she was seeking to take on him,
Valentine of Milan, Duchess of Orleans, died on the 4th of December,
1408, at Blois, far from satisfied with the moral reparation she had
obtained in her enemy's absence, and clearly foreseeing that against the
Duke of Burgundy, flushed with victory and present in person, she would
obtain nothing of what she had asked.  For spirits of the best mettle,
and especially for a woman's heart, impotent passion is a heavy burden to
bear; and Valentine Visconti, beautiful, amiable, and unhappy even in her
best days through the fault of the husband she loved, sank under this
trial.  At the close of her life she had taken for device, "Nought have I
more; more hold I nought" (Bien ne m 'est plus; plus ne m 'est rien);
and so fully was that her habitual feeling that she had the words
inscribed upon the black tapestry of her chamber.  In her last hours she
had by her side her three sons and her daughter, but there was another
still whom she remembered.  She sent for a child, six years of age, John,
a natural son of her husband by Marietta d'Enghien, wife of Sire de
Cany-Dunois.  "This one," said she, "was filched from me; yet there is
not a child so well cut out as he to avenge his father's death."
Twenty-five years later John was the famous Bastard of Orleans, Count
Dunois, Charles VII.'s lieutenant-general, and Joan of Arc's comrade in
the work of saving the French kingship and France.

[Illustration: Death of Valentine de Milan----45]

The Duke of Burgundy's negotiations at Tours were not fruitless.  The
result was, that on the 9th of March, 1409, a treaty was concluded and an
interview effected at Chartres between the duke on one side and on the
other the king, the queen, the _dauphin_, all the royal family, the
councillors of the crown, the young Duke of Orleans, his brother, and a
hundred knights of their house, all met together to hear the king declare
that he pardoned the Duke of Burgundy.  The duke prayed "my lord of
Orleans and my lords his brothers to banish from their hearts all hatred
and vengeance;" and the princes of Orleans "assented to what the king
commanded them, and forgave their cousin the Duke of Burgundy everything
entirely."  On the way back from Chartres the Duke of Burgundy's fool
kept playing with a church-paten (called "peace"), and thrusting it under
his cloak, saying, "See, this is a cloak of peace;" and, "Many folks,"
says Juvenal des Ursins, "considered this fool pretty wise."  The Duke of
Burgundy had good reason, however, for seeking this outward
reconciliation; it put an end to a position too extended not to become
pretty soon untenable; the peace was a cause of great joy at Paris; the
king was not long coming back; and two hundred thousand persons, says the
chronicle, went out to meet him, shouting, "Noel!" The Duke of Burgundy
had gone out to receive him; and the queen and the princes arrived two
days after-wards.  It was not known at the time, though it was perhaps
the most serious result of the negotiation, that a secret understanding
had been established between John the Fearless and Isabel of Bavaria.
The queen, as false as she was dissolute, had seen that the duke might be
of service to her on occasion if she served him in her turn, and they had
added the falsehood of their undivulged arrangement to that of the
general reconciliation.

But falsehood does not extinguish the facts it attempts to disguise.  The
hostility between the houses of Orleans and Burgundy could not fail to
survive the treaty of Chartres, and cause search to be made for a man to
head the struggle so soon as it could be recommenced.  The hour and the
man were not long waited for.  In the very year of the treaty, Charles of
Orleans, eldest son of the murdered duke and Valentine of Milan, lost his
wife, Isabel of France, daughter of Charles VI.; and as early as the
following year (1410) the princes, his uncles, made him marry Bonne
d'Armagnac, daughter of Count Bernard d'Armagnac, one of the most
powerful, the most able, and the most ambitious lords of Southern France.
Forthwith, in concert with the Duke of Berry, the Duke of Brittany, and
several other lords, Count Bernard put himself at the head of the Orleans
party, and prepared to proceed against the Duke of Burgundy in the cause
of dominion combined with vengeance.  From 1410 to 1415 France was a prey
to civil war between the Armagnacs and Burgundians, and to their
alternate successes and reverses brought about by the unscrupulous
employment of the most odious and desperate means.  The Burgundians had
generally the advantage in the struggle, for Paris was chiefly the centre
of it, and their influence was predominant there.  Their principal allies
there were the butchers, the boldest and most ambitious corporation in
the city.  For a long time the butcher-trade of Paris had been in the
hands of a score of families the number had been repeatedly reduced, and
at the opening of the fifteenth century, three families, the Legoix, the
St. Yons, and the Thiberts, had exercised absolute mastery in the market
district, which in turn exercised mastery over nearly the whole city.
"One Caboche, a flayer of beasts in the shambles of Hotel-Dieu, and
Master John de Troyes, a surgeon with a talent for speaking, were their
most active associates.  Their company consisted of 'prentice-butchers,
medical students, skinners, tailors, and every kind of lewd fellows.
When anybody caused their displeasure they said, 'Here's an Armagnac,'
and despatched him on the spot, and plundered his house, or dragged him
off to prison to pay dear for his release.  The rich burgesses lived in
fear and peril.  More than three hundred of them went off to Melun with
the provost of tradesmen, who could no longer answer for the tranquillity
of the city."  The Armagnacs, in spite of their general inferiority,
sometimes got the upper hand, and did not then behave with much more
discretion than the others.  They committed the mistake of asking aid
from the King of England, "promising him the immediate surrender of all
the cities, castles, and bailiwicks they still possessed in Guienne and
Poitou."  Their correspondence fell into the hands of the Burgundians,
and the Duke of Burgundy showed the king himself a letter stating that
"the Duke of Berry, the Duke of Orleans, and the Duke of Bourbon had
lately conspired together at Bourges for the destruction of the king, the
kingdom, and the good city of Paris."  "Ah!" cried the poor king with
tears, "we quite see their wickedness, and we do conjure you, who are of
our own blood, to aid and advise us against them."  The duke and his
partisans, kneeling on one knee, promised the king all the assistance
possible with their persons and their property.  The civil war was
passionately carried on.  The Burgundians went and besieged Bourges.  The
siege continued a long while without success.  Some of the besiegers grew
weary of it.  Negotiations were opened with the besieged.  An interview
took place before the walls between the Duke of Berry and the Duke of
Burgundy.  "Nephew," said the former, "I have acted ill, and you still
worse.  It is for us to try and maintain the kingdom in peace and
prosperity."  "I will be no obstacle, uncle," answered Duke John.  Peace
was made.  It was stipulated that the Duke of Berry and the Armagnac
lords should give up all alliance with the English, and all confederacy
against the Duke of Burgundy, who, on his side, should give up any that
he might have formed against them.  An engagement was entered into
mutually to render aid, service, and obedience to the king against his
foe of England, as they were bound by right and reason to do; and lastly
a promise was made to observe the articles of the peace of Chartres, and
to swear them over again.  There was a special prohibition against using,
for the future, the words Armagnacs and Burgundians, or any other term
reflecting upon either party.  The pacification was solemnly celebrated
at Auxerre, on the 22d of August, 1412; and on the 29th of September
following, the _dauphin_ once more entered Paris, with the Duke of
Burgundy at his side.  The king, queen, and Duke of Berry arrived a few
days afterwards.  The people gave a hearty reception to them, even to the
Armagnacs, well known as such, in their train; but the butchers and the
men of their faction murmured loudly, and treated the peace as treason.
Outside, it was little more than nominal; the Count of Armagnac remained
under arms and the Duke of Orleans held aloof from Paris.  A violent
ferment again began there.  The butchers continued to hold the mastery.
The Duke of Burgundy, all the while finding them very much in the way,
did not cease to pay court to them, Many of his knights were highly
displeased at seeing themselves mixed up with such fellows.  The honest
burgesses began to be less frightened at the threats and more angry at
the excesses of the butchers.  The advocate-general, Juvenal des Ursins,
had several times called without being received at the Hotel d'Artois,
but one night the Duke of Burgundy sent for him, and asked him what he
thought of the position.  "My lord," said the magistrate, "do not persist
in always maintaining that you did well to have the Duke of Orleans
slain; enough mischief has come of it to make you agree that you were
wrong.  It is not to your honor to let yourself be guided by flayers of
beasts and a lot of lewd fellows.  I can guarantee that a hundred
burgesses of Paris, of the highest character, would undertake to attend
you everywhere, and do whatever you should bid them, and even lend you
money if you wanted it."  The duke listened patiently, but answered that
he had done no wrong in the case of the Duke of Orleans, and would never
confess that he had.  "As to the fellows of whom you speak," said he,
"I know my own business."  Juvenal returned home without much belief in
the duke's firmness.  He himself, full of courage as he was, durst not
yet declare himself openly.  The thought of all this occupied his mind
incessantly, sleeping and waking.  One night, when he had fallen asleep
towards morning, it seemed to him that a voice kept saying, _Surgite cum
sederitis, qui manducatis panem doloris_ (Rise up from your sitting, ye
who eat the bread of sorrow).  When he awoke, his wife, a good and pious
woman, said to him, "My dear, this morning I heard some one saying to
you, or you pronouncing in a dream, some words that I have often read in
my Hours;" and she repeated them to him.  "My dear," answered Juvenal,
"we have eleven children, and consequently great cause to pray God to
grant us peace; let us hope in Him, and He will help us."  He often saw
the Duke of Berry.  "Well, Juvenal," the old prince would say to him,
"shall this last forever?  Shall we be forever under the sway of these
lewd fellows?"  "My lord," Juvenal would answer, "hope we in God; yet a
little while and we shall see them confounded and destroyed."

Nor was Juvenal mistaken.  The opposition to the yoke of the Burgundians
was daily becoming more and more earnest and general.  The butchers
attempted to stein the current; but the carpenters took sides against
them, saying, "We will see which are the stronger in Paris, the hewers of
wood or the fellers of oxen."  The parliament, the exchequer-chamber, and
the Hotel-de-Ville demanded peace; and the shouts of Peace! peace!
resounded in the streets.  A great crowd of people assembled on the
Greve; and thither the butchers came with their company of about twelve
hundred persons, it is said.  They began to speak against peace, but
could not get a hearing.  "Let those who are for it go to the right,"
shouted a voice, "and those who are against it to the left!" But the
adversaries of peace durst not risk this test.  The Duke of Burgundy
could not help seeing that he was declining rapidly; he was no longer
summoned to the king's council; a watch was kept upon his house; and he
determined to go away.  On the 23d of August, 1413, without a word said,
even to his household, he went away to the wood of Vincennes, prevailing
on the king to go hawking with him.  There was a suspicion that the duke
meant to carry off the king.  Juvenal des Ursins, with a company of armed
burgesses, hurried off to Vincennes, and going straight to the king,
said, "Sir, come away to Paris; it is too hot to be out."  The king
turned to go back to the city.  The Duke of Burgundy was angry, saying
that the king was going a-hawking.  "You would take him too far,"
rejoined Juvenal; "your people are in travelling dress, and you have
your trumpeters with you."

[Illustration: John the Fearless----51]

The duke took leave of the king, said business required his presence in
Flanders, and went off as fast as he could.

When it was known that he had gone, there was a feeling of regret and
disquietude amongst the sensible and sober burgesses at Paris.  What they
wanted was peace; and in order to have it the adherence of the Duke of
Burgundy was indispensable.  Whilst he was present, there might be hope
of winning him or forcing him over to it; but, whilst he was absent,
headstrong as he was known to be, a renewal of war was the most probable
contingency.  And this result appeared certain when it was seen how the
princes hostile to the Duke of Burgundy, above all, Duke Charles of
Orleans, the Count of Armagnac and their partisans hastened back to
Paris, and resumed their ascendency with the king and in his council.
The _dauphin_, Louis Duke of Aquitaine, united himself by the ties of
close friendship with the Duke of Orleans, and prevailed upon him to give
up the mourning he had worn since his father's murder; the two princes
appeared everywhere dressed alike; the scarf of Armagnac re-placed that
of Burgundy; the feelings of the populace changed as the fashion of the
court; and when children sang in the streets the song but lately in
vogue, "Burgundy's duke, God give thee joy!" they were struck and hurled
to the ground.  Facts were before long in accordance with appearances.
After a few pretences of arrangement the Duke of Burgundy took up arms
and marched on Paris.  Charles VI., on his side, annulled, in the
presence of Parliament, all acts adverse to the Duke of Orleans and his
adherents; and the king, the queen, and the _dauphin_ bound themselves by
oath not to treat with the duke of Burgundy until they had destroyed his
power.  At the end of March, 1414, the king's army was set in motion;
Compiegne, Soissons, and Bapaume, which held out for the Duke of
Burgundy, were successively taken by assault or surrendered; the royal
troops treated the people as vanquished rebels; and the four great
communes of Flanders sent a deputation to the king to make protestations
of their respect and an attempt to arrange matters between their lord and
his suzerain.  Animosity was still too lively and too recent in the
king's camp to admit of satisfaction with a victory as yet incomplete.
On the 28th of July began the siege of Arras; but after five weeks the
besiegers had made no impression; an epidemic came upon them; the Duke of
Bavaria and the constable, Charles d'Albret, were attacked by it;
weariness set in on both sides; the Duke of Burgundy' himself began to be
anxious about his position; and he sent the Duke of Brabant, his brother,
and the Countess of Hainault, his sister, to the king and the _dauphin_,
with more submissive words than he had hitherto deigned to utter.  The
Countess of Hainault, pleading the ties of family and royal interests,