managed to give the _dauphin_ a bias towards peace; and the _dauphin_ in
his turn worked upon the mind of the king, who was becoming more and more
feeble and accessible to the most opposite impressions.  It was in vain
that the most intimate friends of the Duke of Orleans tried to keep the
king steadfast in his wrath from night to morning.  One day, when he was
still in bed, one of them softly approaching and putting his hand under
the coverlet, said, plucking him by the foot, "My lord, are you asleep?"
"No, cousin," answered the king; "you are quite welcome; is there
anything new?"  "No, sir; only that your people report that if you would
assault Arras there would be good hope of effecting an entry."  "But if
my cousin of Burgundy listens to reason, and puts the town into my hands
without assault, we will make peace."  "What! sir; you would make peace
with this wicked, this disloyal man who so cruelly had your brother
slain?"  "But all was forgiven him with the consent of my nephew of
Orleans," said the king mournfully.  "Alas! sir, you will never see that
brother again."  "Let me be, cousin," said the king, impatiently; "I
shall see him again on the day of judgment."

Notwithstanding this stubborn way of working up the irreconcilable
enmities which caused divisions in the royal family, peace was decided
upon and concluded at Arras, on the 4th of September, 1414, on conditions
as vague as ever, which really put no end to the causes of civil war, but
permitted the king on the one hand and the Duke of Burgundy on the other,
to call themselves and to wear an appearance of being reconciled.  A
serious event which happened abroad at that time was heavily felt in
France, reawakened the spirit of nationality, and opened the eyes of all
parties a little to the necessity of suspending their own selfish
disagreements.  Henry IV., King of England, died on the 20th of March,
1413.  Having been chiefly occupied with the difficulties of his own
government at home, he, without renouncing the war with France, had not
prosecuted it vigorously, and had kept it in suspense or adjournment by a
repetition of truces.  Henry V., his son and successor, a young prince of
five and twenty, active, ambitious, able, and popular, gave, from the
very moment of his accession, signs of having bolder views, which were
not long coming to maturity, in respect of his relations with France.
The Duke of Burgundy had undoubtedly anticipated them, for, as soon as he
was cognizant of Henry IV.'s death, he made overtures in London for the
marriage of his daughter Catherine with the new King of England, and he
received at Bruges an English embassy on the subject.  When this was
known at Paris, the council of Charles VI. sent to the Duke of Burgundy
Sire de Dampierre and the Bishop of Evreux bearing letters to him from
the king "which forbade him, on pain of forfeiture and treason, to enter
into any treaty with the King of England, either for his daughter's
marriage or for any other cause."  But the views of Henry V. soared
higher than a marriage with a daughter of the Duke of Burgundy.  It was
to the hand of the King of France's daughter, herself also named
Catherine, that he made pretension, flattering himself that he would find
in this union aid in support of his pretences to the crown of France.
These pretences he put forward, hardly a year after his accession to the
throne, basing them, as Edward III. had done, on the alleged right of
Isabel of France, wife of Edward II., to succeed King John.  No reply was
vouchsafed from Paris to this demand.  Only the Princess Catherine, who
was but thirteen, was presented to the envoys of the King of England, and
she struck them as being tall and beautiful.  A month later, in August,
1414, Henry V. gave Charles VI. to understand that he would be content
with a strict execution of the treaty of Bretigny, with the addition of
Normandy, Anjou, and Maine, and the hand of the Princess Catherine with a
dowry of two million crowns.  The war between Charles VI. and John the
Fearless caused a suspension of all negotiations on this subject; but,
after the peace of Arras, in January, 1415, a new and solemn embassy from
England arrived at Paris, and the late proposals were again brought
forward.  The ambassadors had a magnificent reception; splendid presents
and entertainments were given them; but no answer was made to their
demands; they were only told that the King of France was about to send an
embassy to the King of England.  It did not set out before the 27th of
the following April; the Archbishop of Bourges, the most eloquent prelate
in the council, was its spokesman; and it had orders to offer the King of
England the hand of the Princess Catherine with a dowry of eight hundred
and forty thousand golden crowns, besides fifteen towns in Aquitaine and
the seneschalty of Limoges.  Henry V. rejected these offers, declaring
that, if he did not get Normandy and all the districts ceded by the
treaty of Bretigny, he would have recourse to war to recover a crown
which belonged to him.  To this arrogant language the Archbishop of
Bourges replied, "O king, what canst thou be thinking of that thou
wouldst fain thus oust the King of the French, our lord, the most noble
and excellent of Christian kings, from the throne of so powerful a
kingdom?  Thinkest thou that it is for fear of thee and of the English
that he hath made thee an offer of his daughter together with so great a
sum and a portion of his land?  Nay, verily; he was moved by pity and the
love of peace; he would not that the innocent blood should be spilt and
Christian people destroyed in the hurly-burly of battle.  He will invoke
the aid of God Almighty, of the blessed virgin Mary, and of all the
saints.  Then by his own arms and those of his loyal subjects, vassals,
and allies, thou wilt be driven from his kingdom, and, peradventure, meet
with death or capture."

On returning to Paris the ambassadors, in presence of the king's council
and a numerous assembly of clergy, nobility, and people, gave an account
of their embassy and advised instant preparation for war without
listening to a single word of peace.  "They loudly declared," says the
monk of St. Denis, "that King Henry's letters, though they were
apparently full of moderation, had lurking at the bottom of them a great
deal of perfidy, and that this king, all the time that he was offering
peace and union in the most honeyed terms, was thinking only how he might
destroy the kingdom, and was levying troops in all quarters."  Henry V.,
indeed, in November, 1414, demanded of his Parliament a large subsidy,
which was at once voted without any precise mention of the use to be made
of it, and merely in the terms following: "For the defence of the realm
of England and the security of the seas."  At the commencement of the
following year, Henry resumed negotiations with France, renouncing his
claims to Normandy, Anjou, and Maine; but Charles VI. and his council
adhered to their former offers.  On the 16th of April, 1415, Henry
announced to a grand council of spiritual and temporal peers, assembled
at Westminster, his determination "of setting out in person to go and, by
God's grace, recover his heritage."  He appointed one of his brothers,
the Duke of Bedford, to be regent in his absence, and the peers,
ecclesiastical and laical, applauded his design, promising him their
sincere co-operation.  Thus France, under a poor mad king and amidst
civil dissensions of the most obstinate character, found the question
renewed for her of French versus English king-ship and national
independence versus foreign conquest.

On the 14th of August, 1415, an English fleet, having on board, together
with King Henry V., six thousand men-at-arms, twenty-four thousand
archers, powerful war-machines, and a multitude of artisans and "small
folk," came to land near Harfleur, not far from the mouth of the Seine.
It was the most formidable expedition that had ever issued from the ports
of England.  The English spent several days in effecting their landing
and setting up their siege-train around the walls of the city.  "It would
have been easy," says the monk of St. Denis, "to hinder their operations,
and the inhabitants of the town and neighborhood would have worked
thereat with zeal, if they had not counted that the nobility of the
district and the royal army commanded by the constable, Charles d'Albret,
would come to their aid."  No one came.  The burgesses and the small
garrison of Harfleur made a gallant defence; but, on the 22d of
September, not receiving from Vernon, where the king and the _dauphin_
were massing their troops, any other assistance than the advice to "take
courage and trust to the king's discretion," they capitulated; and Henry
V., after taking possession of the place, advanced into the country with
an army already much reduced by sickness, looking for a favorable point
at which to cross the Somme and push his invasion still farther.  It was
not until the 19th of October that he succeeded, at Bethencourt, near St.
Quentin.  Charles VI., who at that time had a lucid interval, after
holding at Rouen a council of war, at which it was resolved to give the
English battle, wished to repair with the _dauphin_, his son, to Bapaume,
where the French army had taken position; but his uncle, the Duke of
Berry, having still quite a lively recollection of the battle of
Poitiers, fought fifty-nine' years before, made opposition, saying,
"Better lose the battle than the king and the battle."  All the princes
of the royal blood and all the flower of the French nobility, except the
king and his three sons, and the Dukes of Berry, Brittany, and Burgundy,
joined the army.  The Dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, and the Constable
d'Albret, who was in command, sent to ask the King of England on what day
and at what place he would be pleased to give them battle.  "I do not
shut myself up in walled towns," replied Henry; "I shall be found at any
time and any where ready to fight, if any attempt be made to cut off my
march."  The French resolved to stop him between Agincourt and
Framecourt, a little north of St. Paul and Hesdin.  The encounter took
place on the 25th of October, 1415.  It was a monotonous and lamentable
repetition of the disasters of Crecy and Poitiers; disasters almost
inevitable, owing to the incapacity of the leaders and ever the same
defects on the part of the French nobility, defects which rendered their
valorous and generous qualities not only fruitless, but fatal.  Never had
that nobility been more numerous and more brilliant than in this
premeditated struggle.  On the eve of the battle, Marshal de Boucicaut
had armed five hundred new knights; the greater part passed the night on
horse-back, under arms, on ground soaked with rain; and men and horses
were already distressed in the morning, when the battle began.  It were
tedious to describe the faulty manoeuvres of the French army and their
deplorable consequences on that day.  Never was battle more stubborn or
defeat more complete and bloody.  Eight thousand men of family, amongst
whom were a hundred and twenty lords bearing their own banners, were left
on the field of battle.  The Duke of Brabant, the Count of Nevers, the
Duke of Bar, the Duke of Alencon, and the Constable d'Albret were killed.
The Duke of Orleans was dragged out wounded from under the dead.  When
Henry V., after having spent several hours on the field of battle,
retired to his quarters, he was told that the Duke of Orleans would
neither eat nor drink.  He went to see him.  "What fare, cousin?" said
he.  "Good, my lord."  "Why will you not eat or drink?" "I wish to fast."
"Cousin," said the king, gently, "make good cheer: if God has granted me
grace to gain the victory, I know it is not owing to my deserts; I
believe that God wished to punish the French; and, if all I have heard
is true, it is no wonder, for they say that never were seen disorder,
licentiousness, sins, and vices like what is going on in France just now.
Surely, God did well to be angry."  It appears that the King of England's
feeling was that also of many amongst the people of France.  "On
reflecting upon this cruel mishap," says the monk of St. Denis, "all the
inhabitants of the kingdom, men and women, said, 'In what evil days are
we come into this world that we should be witnesses of such confusion and
shame!'"  During the battle the eldest son of Duke John the Fearless, the
young Count of Charolais (at that time nineteen), who was afterwards
Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, was at the castle of Aire, where his
governors kept him by his father's orders and prevented him from joining
the king's army.  His servants were leaving him one after another to go
and defend the kingdom against the English.

[Illustration: Already distressed----57]

When he heard of the disaster at Agincourt he was seized with profound
despair at having failed in that patriotic duty; he would fain have
starved himself to death, and he spent three whole days in tears, none
being able to comfort him.  When, four years afterwards, he became Duke
of Burgundy, and during his whole life, he continued to testify his keen
regret at not having fought in that cruel battle, though it should have
cost him his life, and he often talked with his servants about that event
of grievous memory.  When his father, Duke John, received the news of the
disaster at Agincourt, he also exhibited great sorrow and irritation; he
had lost by it his two brothers, the Duke of Brabant and the Count of
Nevers; and he sent forthwith a herald to the King of England, who was
still at Calais, with orders to say, that in consequence of the death of
his brother, the Duke of Brabant, who was no vassal of France, and held
nothing in fief there, he, the Duke of Burgundy, did defy him mortally
(fire and sword) and sent him his gauntlet.  "I will not accept the
gauntlet of so noble and puissant a prince as the Duke of Burgundy," was
Henry V.'s soft answer; "I am of no account compared with him.  If I have
had the victory over the nobles of France, it is by God's grace.  The
death of the Duke of Brabant hath been an affliction to me; but I do
assure thee that neither I nor my people did cause his death.  Take back
to thy master his gauntlet; if he will be at Boulogne on the 15th of
January next, I will prove to him by the testimony of my prisoners and
two of my friends, that it was the French who accomplished his brother's
destruction."

The Duke of Burgundy, as a matter of course, let his quarrel with the
King of England drop, and occupied himself for the future only in
recovering his power in France.  He set out on the march for Paris,
proclaiming everywhere that he was assembling his army solely for the
purpose of avenging the kingdom, chastising the English, and aiding the
king with his counsels and his forces.  The sentiment of nationality was
so strongly aroused that politicians most anxious about their own
personal interests, and about them alone, found themselves obliged to pay
homage to it.

Unfortunately, it was, so far as Duke John was concerned, only a
superficial and transitory homage.  There is no repentance so rarely seen
as that of selfishness in pride and power.  The four years which elapsed
between the battle of Agincourt and the death of John the Fearless were
filled with nothing but fresh and still more tragic explosions of hatred
and strife between the two factions of the Burgundians and Armagnacs,
taking and losing, re-taking and re-losing, alternately, their ascendency
with the king and in the government of France.  When, after the battle of
Agincourt, the Duke of Burgundy marched towards Paris, he heard almost
simultaneously that the king was issuing a prohibition against the entry
of his troops, and that his rival, the Count of Armagnac, had just
arrived and been put in possession of the military power, as constable,
and of the civil power, as superintendent-general of finance.  The duke
then returned to Burgundy, and lost no time in recommencing hostilities
against the king's government.  At one time he let his troops make war on
the king's and pillage the domains of the crown; at another he entered
into negotiations with the King of England, and showed a disposition to
admit his claims to such and such a province, and even perhaps to the
throne of France.  He did not accede to the positive alliance offered him
by Henry; but he employed the fear entertained of it by the king's
government as a weapon against his enemies.  The Count of Armagnac, on
his side, made the most relentless use of power against the Duke of
Burgundy and his partisans; he pursued them everywhere, especially in
Paris, with dexterous and pitiless hatred.  He abolished the whole
organization and the privileges of the Parisian butcherdom which had
shown so favorable a leaning towards Duke John; and the system he
established as a substitute was founded on excellent grounds appertaining
to the interests of the people and of good order in the heart of Paris;
but the violence of absolute power and of hatred robs the best measures
of the credit they would deserve if they were more disinterested and
dispassionate.  A lively reaction set in at Paris in favor of the
persecuted Burgundians; even outside of Paris several towns of
importance, Rheims, Chalons, Troyes, Auxerre, Amiens, and Rouen itself,
showed a favorable disposition towards the Duke of Burgundy, and made a
sort of alliance with him, promising to aid him "in reinstating the king
in his freedom and lordship, and the realm in its freedom and just
rights."  The Count of Armagnac was no more tender with the court than
with the populace of Paris.  He suspected, not without reason, that the
queen, Isabel of Bavaria, was in secret communication with and gave
information to Duke John.  Moreover, she was leading a scandalously
licentious life at Vincennes; and one of her favorites, Louis de
Bosredon, a nobleman of Auvergne and her steward, meeting the king one
day on the road, greeted the king cavalierly and hastily went his way.
Charles VI. was plainly offended.  The Count of Armagnac seized the
opportunity; and not only did he foment the king's ill-humor, but talked
to him of all the irregularities of which the queen was the centre, and
in which Louis de Bosredon was, he said, at that time her principal
accomplice.  Charles, in spite of the cloud upon his mind, could hardly
have been completely ignorant cf such facts; but it is not necessary to
be a king to experience extreme displeasure on learning that offensive
scandals are almost public, and on hearing the whole tale of them.  The
king, carried away by his anger, went straight to Vincennes, had a
violent scene with his wife, and caused Bosredon to be arrested,
imprisoned, and put to the question; and he, on his own confession it is
said, was thrown into the Seine, sewn up in a leathern sack, on which
were inscribed the words, "Let the king's justice run its course!"
Charles VI. and Armagnac did not stop there.  Queen Isabel was first of
all removed from the council and stripped of all authority, and then
banished to Tours, where commissioners were appointed to watch over her
conduct, and not to let her even write a letter without their seeing it.
But royal personages can easily elude such strictness.  A few months
after her banishment, whilst the despotism of Armagnac and the war
between the king and the Duke of Burgundy were still going on, Queen
Isabel managed to send to the duke, through one of her servants, her
golden seal, which John the Fearless well knew, with a message to the
effect that she would go with him if he would come to fetch her.  On the
night of November 1, 1417, the Duke of Burgundy hurriedly raised the
siege of Corbeil, advanced with a body of troops to a position within two
leagues from Tours, and sent the queen notice that he was awaiting her.
Isabel ordered her three custodians to go with her to mass at the Convent
of Marmoutier, outside the city.  Scarcely was she within the church when
a Burgundian captain, Hector de Saveuse, presented himself with sixty men
at the door.  "Look to your safety, madame," said her custodians to
Isabel; "here is a large company of Burgundians or English."  "Keep close
to me," replied the queen.  Hector de Saveuse at that moment entered and
saluted the queen on behalf of the Duke of Burgundy.  "Where is he?"
asked the queen.  "He will not be long coming."  Isabel ordered the
captain to arrest her three custodians; and two hours afterwards Duke
John arrived with his men-at-arms.  "My dearest cousin," said the queen
to him, "I ought to love you above every man in the realm; you have left
all at my bidding, and are come to deliver me from prison.  Be assured
that I will never fail you.  I quite see that you have always been
devoted to my lord, his family, the realm, and the common-weal."  The
duke carried the queen off to Chartres; and as soon as she was settled
there, on the 12th of November, 1417, she wrote to the good towns of the
kingdom,

"We, Isabel, by the grace of God Queen of France, having, by reason of my
lord the king's seclusion, the government and administration of this
realm, by irrevocable grant made to us by the said my lord the king and
his council, are come to Chartres in company with our cousin, the Duke of
Burgundy, in order to advise and ordain whatsoever is necessary to
preserve and recover the supremacy of my lord the king, on advice taken
of the prud'hommes, vassals, and subjects."

She at the same time ordered that Master Philip de Morvilliers,
heretofore councillor of the Duke of Burgundy, should go to Amiens,
accompanied by several clerics of note and by a registrar, and that there
should be held there, by the queen's authority, for the bailiwicks of
Amiens, Vermandois, Tournai, and the countship of Ponthieu, a sovereign
court of justice, in the place of that which there was at Paris.  Thus,
and by such a series of acts of violence and of falsehoods, the Duke of
Burgundy, all the while making war on the king, surrounded himself with
hollow forms of royal and legal government.

Whilst civil war was thus penetrating to the very core of the kingship,
foreign war was making its way again into the kingdom.  Henry V., after
the battle of Agincourt, had returned to London, and had left his army to
repose and reorganize after its sufferings and its losses.  It was not
until eighteen months afterwards, on the 1st of August, 1417, that he
landed at Touques, not far from Honfleur, with fresh troops, and resumed
his campaign in France.  Between 1417 and 1419 he successively laid siege
to nearly all the towns of importance in Normandy, to Caen, Bayeux,
Falaise, Evreux, Coutances, Laigle, St. Lo, Cherbourg, &c., &c.  Some
he occupied after a short resistance, others were sold to him by their
governors; but when, in the month of July, 1418, he undertook the siege
of Rouen, he encountered there a long and serious struggle.  Rouen had at
that time, it is said, a population of one hundred and fifty thousand
souls, which was animated by ardent patriotism.  The Rouennese, on the
approach of the English, had repaired their gates, their ramparts, and
their moats; had demanded re-enforcements from the King of France and the
Duke of Burgundy; and had ordered every person incapable of bearing arms
or procuring provisions for ten months, to leave the city.  Twelve
thousand old men, women, and children were thus expelled, and died either
round the place or whilst roving in misery over the neighboring country;
"poor women gave birth unassisted beneath the walls, and good
compassionate people in the town drew up the new-born in baskets to have
them baptized, and afterwards lowered them down to their mothers to die
together."  Fifteen thousand men of city-militia, four thousand regular
soldiers, three hundred spearmen and as many archers from Paris, and it
is not quite known how many men-at-arms sent by the Duke of Burgundy,
defended Rouen for more than five months amidst all the usual sufferings
of strictly-besieged cities.  "As early as the beginning of October,"
says Monstrelet, "they were forced to eat horses, dogs, cats, and other
things not fit for human beings;" but they nevertheless made frequent
sorties, "rushing furiously upon the enemy, to whom they caused many a
heavy loss."  Four gentlemen and four burgesses succeeded in escaping and
going to Beauvais, to tell the king and his council about the deplorable
condition of their city.  The council replied that the king was not in a
condition to raise the siege, but that Rouen would be relieved "within"
on the fourth day after Christmas.  It was now the middle of December.
The Rouennese resigned themselves to waiting a fortnight longer; but,
when that period was over, they found nothing arrive but a message from
the Duke of Burgundy recommending them "to treat for their preservation
with the King of England as best they could."  They asked to capitulate.
Henry V. demanded that "all the men of the town should place themselves
at his disposal."  "When the commonalty of Rouen heard this answer, they
all cried out that it were better to die all together sword in hand
against their enemies than place themselves at the disposal of yonder
king, and they were for shoring up with planks a loosened layer of the
wall inside the city, and, having armed themselves and joined all of them
together, men, women, and children, for setting fire to the city,
throwing down the said layer of wall into the moats, and getting them
gone by night whither it might please God to direct them."  Henry V. was
unwilling to confront such heroic despair; and on the 13th of January,
1419, he granted the Rouennese a capitulation, from which seven persons
only were excepted, Robert Delivet, the archbishop's vicar-general, who
from the top of the ramparts had excommunicated the foreign conqueror;
D'Houdetot, baillie of the city; John Segneult, the mayor; Alan
Blanchard, the captain of the militia-crossbowmen, and three other
burgesses.  The last-named, the hero of the siege, was the only one who
paid for his heroism with his life; the baillie, the mayor, and the vicar
bought themselves off.  On the 19th of January, at midday, the English,
king and army, made their solemn entry into the city.  It was two hundred
and fifteen years since Philip Augustus had won Rouen by conquest from
John Lackland, King of England; and happily his successors were not to be
condemned to deplore the loss of it very long.

These successes of the King of England were so many reverses and perils
for the Count of Armagnac.  He had in his hands Paris, the king, and the
_dauphin_; in the people's eyes the responsibility of government and of
events rested on his shoulders; and at one time he was doing nothing,
at another he was unsuccessful in what he did.  Whilst Henry V. was
becoming master of nearly all the towns of Normandy, the constable, with
the king in his army, was besieging Senlis; and he was obliged to raise
the siege.  The legates of Pope Martin V. had set about establishing
peace between the Burgundians and Armagnacs, as well as between France
and England; they had prepared, on the basis of the treaty of Arras, a
new treaty, with which a great part of the country, and even of the
burgesses of Paris, showed themselves well pleased; but the constable had
it rejected on the ground of its being adverse to the interests of the
king and of France; and his friend, the chancellor, Henry de Marle,
declared that, if the king were disposed to sign it, he would have to
seal it himself, for that, as for him, the chancellor, he certainly would
not seal it.  Bernard of Armagnac and his confidential friend, Tanneguy
Duchatel, a Breton nobleman, provost of Paris, were hard and haughty.
When a complaint was made to them of any violent procedure, they would
answer, "What business had you there?  If it were the Burgundians, you
would make no complaint."  The Parisian population was becoming every day
more Burgundian.  In the latter days of May.  1418, a plot was contrived
for opening to the Burgundians one of the gates of Paris.  Perrinet
Leclerc, son of a rich iron-merchant having influence in the quarter of
St. Germain des Pros, stole the keys from under the bolster of his
father's bed; a troop of Burgundian men-at-arms came in, and they were
immediately joined by a troop of Parisians.  They spread over the city,
shouting, "Our Lady of peace!  Hurrah for the king!  Hurrah for Burgundy!
Let all who wish for peace take arms and follow us!" The people swarmed
from the houses and followed them accordingly.  The Armagnacs were
surprised and seized with alarm.  Tanneguy Duchatel, a man of prompt and
resolute spirit, ran to the _dauphin_'s, wrapped him in his bed-clothes,
and carried him off to the Bastille, where he shut him up with several of
his partisans.  The Count of Armagnac, towards whose house the multitude
thronged, left by a back-door, and took refuge at a mason's, where he
believed himself secure.  In a few hours the Burgundians were masters of
Paris.  Their chief, the lord of Isle-Adam, had the doors of the hostel
of St. Paul broken in, and presented himself before the king.  "How fares
my cousin of Burgundy?" said Charles VI.; "I have not seen him for some
time."  That was all he said.  He was set on horseback and marched
through the streets.  He showed no astonishment at anything; he had all
but lost memory as well as reason, and no longer knew the difference
between Armagnac and Burgundian.  A devoted Burgundian, Sire Guy de Bar,
was named provost of Paris in the place of Tanneguy Duchatel.  The mason
with whom Bernard of Armagnac had taken refuge went and told the new
provost that the constable was concealed at his house.  Thither the
provost hurried, made the constable mount behind him, and carried him off
to prison at the Chatelet, at the same time making honorable exertions to
prevent massacre and plunder.

But factions do not so soon give up either their vengeance or their
hopes.  On the 11th of June, 1418, hardly twelve days after Paris had
fallen into the hands of the Burgundians, a body of sixteen hundred men
issued from the Bastille, and rushed into the street St. Antoine,
shouting, "Hurrah for the king, the _dauphin_, and the Count of Armagnac!"
They were Tanneguy Duchatel and some of the chiefs of the Armagnacs who
were attempting to regain Paris, where they had observed that the
Burgundians were not numerous.  Their attempt had no success, and merely
gave the Burgundians the opportunity and the signal for a massacre of
their enemies.  The little band of Tanneguy Duchatel was instantly
repulsed, hemmed in, and forced to re-enter the Bastille with a loss of
four hundred men.  Tanneguy saw that he could make no defence there; so
he hastily made his way out, taking the _dauphin_ with him to Melun.  The
massacre of the Armagnacs had already commenced on the previous evening:
they were harried in the hostelries and houses; they were cut down with
axes in the streets.  On the night between the 12th and 13th of June a
rumor spread about that there were bands of Armagnacs coming to deliver
their friends in prison.  "They are at the St. Germain gate," said some.
No, it is the St. Marceau gate," said others.  The mob assembled and made
a furious rush upon the prison-gates.  "The city and burgesses will have
no peace," was the general saying, "so long as there is one Armagnac
left!  Hurrah for peace!  Hurrah for the Duke of Burgundy!"  The provost
of Paris, the lord of Isle-Adam, and the principal Burgundian chieftains,
galloped up with a thousand horse, and strove to pacify these madmen,
numbering, it is said, some forty thousand.  They were received with a
stout of, "A plague of your justice and pity!  Accursed be he whosoever
shall have pity on these traitors of Armagnacs.  They are English; they
are hounds.  They had already made banners for the King of England, and
would fain have planted them upon the gates of the city.  They made us
work for nothing, and when we asked for our due they said, 'You rascals,
haven't ye a sou to buy a cord and go hang yourselves?  In the devil's
name speak no more of it; it will be no use, whatever you say.'"  The
provost of Paris durst not oppose such fury as this.  "Do what you
please," said he.  The mob ran to look for the constable Armagnac and the
chancellor de Marle in the Palace-tower, in which they had been shut up,
and they were at once torn to pieces amidst ferocious rejoicings.  All
the prisons were ransacked and emptied; the prisoners who attempted
resistance were smoked out; they were hurled down from the windows upon
pikes held up to catch them.  The massacre lasted from four o'clock in
the morning to eleven.  The common report was, that fifteen hundred
persons had perished in it; the account rendered to parliament made the
number eight hundred.  The servants of the Duke of Burgundy mentioned to
him no more than four hundred.

It was not before the 14th of July that he, with Queen Isabel, came back
to the city; and he came with a sincere design, if not of punishing the
cut-throats, at least of putting a stop to all massacre and pillage; but
there is nothing more difficult than to suppress the consequences of a
mischief of which you dare not attack the cause.  One Bertrand, head of
one of the companies of butchers, had been elected captain of St. Denis
because he had saved the abbey from the rapacity of a noble Burgundian
chieftain, Hector de Saveuse.  The lord, to avenge himself, had the
butcher assassinated.  The burgesses went to the duke to demand that the
assassin should be punished; and the duke, who durst neither assent nor
refuse, could only partially cloak his weakness by imputing the crime to
some disorderly youngsters whom he enabled to get away.  On the 20th of
August an angry mob collected in front of the Chatelet, shouting out that
nobody would bring the Armagnacs to justice, and that they were every day
being set at liberty on payment of money.  The great and little Chatelet
were stormed, and the prisoners massacred.  The mob would have liked to
serve the Bastille the same; but the duke told the rioters that he would
give the prisoners up to them if they would engage to conduct them to the
Chatelet without doing them any harm, and, to win them over, he grasped
the hand of their head man, who was no other than Capeluche, the city
executioner.  Scarcely had they arrived at the court-yard of the little
Chatelet when the prisoners were massacred there without any regard for
the promise made to the duke.  He sent for the most distinguished
burgesses, and consulted them as to what could be done to check such
excesses; but they confined themselves to joining him in deploring them.
He sent for the savages once more, and said to them, "You would do far
better to go and lay siege to Montlhery, to drive off the king's enemies,
who have come ravaging everything up to the St. Jacques gate, and
preventing the harvest from being got in."  "Readily," they answered,
"only give us leaders."  He gave them leaders, who led six thousand of
them to Montlhery.  As soon as they were gone Duke John had Capeluche and
two of his chief accomplices brought to trial, and Capeluche was beheaded
in the market-place by his own apprentice.  But the gentry sent to the
siege of Montlhery did not take the place; they accused their leaders of
having betrayed them, and returned to be a scourge to the neighborhood of
Paris, everywhere saying that the Duke of Burgundy was the most
irresolute man in the kingdom, and that if there were no nobles the war
would be ended in a couple of months.  Duke John set about negotiating
with the _dauphin_ and getting him back to Paris.  The _dauphin_ replied
that he was quite ready to obey and serve his mother as a good son
should, but that it would be more than he could stomach to go back to a
city where so many crimes and so much tyranny had but lately been
practised.  Terms of reconciliation were drawn up and signed on the 16th
of September, 1418, at St. Maur, by the queen, the Duke of Burgundy, and
the pope's legates; but the _dauphin_ refused to ratify them.  The
unpunished and long-continued massacres in Paris had redoubled his
distrust towards the Duke of Burgundy; he had, moreover, just assumed the
title of regent of the kingdom; and he had established at Poitiers a
parliament, of which Juvenal des Ursins was a member.  He had promised
the young Count of Armagnac to exact justice for his father's cruel
death; and the old friends of the house of Orleans remained faithful to
their enmities.  The Duke of Burgundy had at one time to fight, and at
another to negotiate with the _dauphin_ and the King of England, both at
once, and always without success.  The _dauphin_ and his council, though
showing a little more discretion, were going on in the same alternative
and unsatisfactory condition.  Clearly neither France and England nor the
factions in France had yet exhausted their passions or their powers; and
the day of summary vengeance was nearer than that of real reconciliation.

Nevertheless, complicated, disturbed and persistently resultless
situations always end by becoming irksome to those who are entangled in
them, and by inspiring a desire for extrication.  The King of England, in
spite of his successes and his pride, determined upon sending the Earl of
Warwick to Provins, where the king and the Duke of Burgundy still were: a
truce was concluded between the English and the Burgundians, and it was
arranged that on the 30th of May, 1419, the two kings should meet between
Mantes and Melun, and hold a conference for the purpose of trying to
arrive at a peace.  A few days before the time, Duke John set out from
Provins with the king, Queen Isabel, and Princess Catherine, and repaired
first of all to Pontoise, and then to the place fixed for the interview,
on the borders of the Seine, near Meulan, where two pavilions had been
prepared, one for the King of France and the other for the King of
England.  Charles VI., being ill, remained at Pontoise.  Queen Isabel,
Princess Catherine, and the Duke of Burgundy arrived at the appointed
spot.  Henry V. was already there; he went to meet the queen, saluted
her, took her hand, and embraced her and Madame Catherine as well; Duke
John slightly bent his knee to the king, who raised him up and embraced
him likewise.  This solemn interview was succeeded by several others to
which Princess Catherine did not come.  The queen requested the King of
England to state exactly what he proposed; and he demanded the execution
of the treaty of Bretigny, the cession of Normandy, and the absolute
sovereignty, without any bond of vassalage, of whatever should be ceded
by the treaty.  A short discussion ensued upon some secondary questions.
There appeared to be no distant probability of an understanding.  The
English believed that they saw an inclination on the Duke of Burgundy's
part not to hasten to a conclusion, and to obtain better conditions from
King Henry by making him apprehensive of a reconciliation with the
_dauphin_.  Henry proposed to him, for the purpose of ending everything,
a conference between themselves alone; and it took place on the 3d of
June.  "Cousin," said the king to the duke, "we wish you to know that we
will have your king's daughter, and all that we have demanded with her;
else we will thrust him out of his kingdom, and you too."  "Sir,"
answered the duke, "you speak according to your pleasure; but before
thrusting my lord and myself from the kingdom you will have what will
tire you, we make no doubt, and you will have enough to do to keep
yourself in your own island."  Between two princes so proud there was
little probability of an understanding; and they parted with no other
result than mutual displeasure.

Some days before, on the 14th of May, 1419, a truce of three months had
been concluded between the _dauphin_ and the Duke of Burgundy, and was to
lead to a conference also between these two princes.  It did not commence
before the 8th of July.  During this interval, Duke John had submitted
for the mature deliberation of his council the question whether it were
better to grant the English demands, or become reconciled to the
_dauphin_.  Amongst his official councillors opinions were divided; but,
in his privacy, the lady of Giac, "whom he loved and trusted mightily,"
and Philip Jossequin, who had at first been his chamber attendant, and
afterwards custodian of his jewels and of his privy seal, strongly urged
him to make peace with the _dauphin_; and the pope's fresh legate, the
Bishop of Laon, added his exhortations to these home influences.  There
had been fitted up at a league's distance from Melun, on the embankment
of the ponds of Vert, a summer-house of branches and leaves, hung with
drapery and silken stuffs; and there the first interview between the two
princes took place.  The _dauphin_ left in displeasure; he had found the
Duke of Burgundy haughty and headstrong.  Already the old servants of the
late Duke of Orleans, impelled by their thirst for vengeance, were saying
out loud that the matter should be decided by arms, when the lady of Giac
went after the _dauphin_, who from infancy had also been very much
attached to her, and she, going backwards and forwards between the two
princes, was so affectionate and persuasive with both that she prevailed
upon them to meet again, and to sincerely wish for an understanding.  The
next day but one they returned to the place of meeting, attended, each of
them, by a large body of men-at-arms.  They advanced towards one another
with ten men only, and dismounted.  The Duke of Burgundy went on bended
knee.  The _dauphin_ took him by the hand, embraced him, and would have
raised him up.  "No, my lord," said the duke; "I know how I ought to
address you."  The _dauphin_ assured him that he forgave every offence,
if indeed he had received any, and added, "Cousin, if in the proposed
treaty between us there be aught which is not to your liking, we desire
that you amend it, and henceforth we will desire all you shall desire;
make no doubt of it."  They conversed for some time with every appearance
of cordiality; and then the treaty was signed.  It was really a treaty of
reconciliation, in which, without dwelling upon "the suspicions and
imaginings which have been engendered in the hearts of ourselves and many
of our officers, and have hindered us from acting with concord in the
great matters of my lord the king and his kingdom, and resisting the
damnable attempts of his and our old enemies," the two princes made
mutual promises, each in language suitable to their rank and connection,
"to love one another, support one another, and serve one another
mutually, as good and loyal relatives, and bade all their servants, if
they saw any hinderance thereto, to give them notice thereof, according
to their bounden duty."  The treaty was signed by all the men of note
belonging to the houses of both princes; and the crowd which surrounded
them shouted "Noel!" and invoked curses on whosoever should be minded
henceforth to take up arms again in this damnable quarrel.  When the
_dauphin_ went away, the duke insisted upon holding his stirrup, and they
parted with every demonstration of amity.  The _dauphin_ returned to
Touraine, and the duke to Pontoise, to be near the king, who, by letters
of July 19, confirmed the treaty, enjoined general forgetfulness of the
past, and ordained that "all war should cease, save against the English."

There was universal and sincere joy.  The peace fulfilled the
requirements at the same time of the public welfare and of national
feeling; it was the only means of re-establishing order at home, and
driving from the kingdom the foreigner who aspired to conquer it.  Only
the friends of the Duke of Orleans, and of the Count of Armagnac, one
assassinated twelve years before, and the other massacred but lately,
remained sad and angry at not having yet been able to obtain either
justice or vengeance; but they maintained reserve and silence.  They were
not long in once more finding for mistrust and murmuring grounds or
pretexts which a portion of the public showed a disposition to take up.
The Duke of Burgundy had made haste to publish his ratification of the
treaty of reconciliation; the _dauphin_ had let his wait.  The Parisians
were astounded not to see either the _dauphin_ or the Duke of Burgundy
coming back within their walls, and at being, as it were, forgotten and
deserted amidst the universal making-up.  They complained that no armed
force was being collected to oppose the English, and that there was an
appearance of flying before them, leaving open to them Paris, in which at
this time there was no captain of renown.  They were still more troubled
when, on the 29th of July, they saw the arrival at the St. Denis gate of
a multitude of disconsolate fugitives, some wounded, and others dropping
from hunger, thirst, and fatigue.  When they were asked who they were,
and what was the reason of their desperate condition, "We are from
Pontoise," they said; "the English took the town this morning; they
killed or wounded all before them; happy he whosoever could escape from
their hands; never were Saracens so cruel to Christians as yonder folk
are."  It was a real fact.  The King of England, disquieted at the
reconciliation between the Duke of Burgundy and the _dauphin_, and at the
ill success of his own proposals at the conference of the 30th of May
preceding, had vigorously resumed the war, in order to give both the
reunited French factions a taste of his resolution and power.  He had
suddenly attacked and carried Pontoise, where the command was in the
hands of the lord of Isle-Adam, one of the most valiant Burgundian
officers.  Isle-Adam, surprised and lacking sufficient force, had made a
feeble resistance.  There was no sign of an active union on the part of
the two French factions for the purpose of giving the English battle.
Duke John, who had fallen back upon Troyes, sent order upon order for his
vassals from Burgundy, but they did not come up.  Public alarm and
distrust were day by day becoming stronger.  Duke John, it was said, was
still keeping up secret communications with the seditious in Paris and
with the King of England; why did he not act with more energy against
this latter, the common enemy?  The two princes in their conference of
July 9, near Melun, had promised to meet again; a fresh interview
appeared necessary in order to give efficacy to their reconciliation.
Duke John was very pressing for the _dauphin_ to go to Troyes, where the
king and queen happened to be. The _dauphin_ on his side was earnestly
solicited by the most considerable burgesses of Paris to get this
interview over in order to insure the execution of the treaty of peace
which had been sworn to with the Duke of Burgundy.  The _dauphin_ showed
a disposition to listen to these entreaties.  He advanced as far as
Montereau in order to be ready to meet Duke John as soon as a place of
meeting should be fixed.

Duke John hesitated, from irresolution even more than from distrust.  It
was a serious matter for him to commit himself more and more, by his own
proper motion, against the King of England and his old allies amongst the
populace of Paris.  Why should he be required to go in person to seek the
_dauphin_?  It was far simpler, he said, for Charles to come to the king
his father.  Tanneguy Duchatel went to Troyes to tell the duke that the
_dauphin_ had come to meet him as far as Montereau, and, with the help of
the lady of Giae, persuaded on his side, to Bray-sur-Seine, two leagues
from Montereau.  When the two princes had drawn thus near, their agents
proposed that the interview should take place on the very bridge of
Montereau, with the precautions and according to the forms decided on.
In the duke's household many of his most devoted servants were opposed
to this interview; the place, they said, had been chosen by and would be
under the ordering of the _dauphin_'s people, of the old servants of the
Duke of Orleans and the Count of Armagnac.  At the same time four
successive messages came from Paris urging the duke to make the plunge;
and at last he took his resolution.  "It is my duty," said he, "to risk
my person in order to get at so great a blessing as peace.  Whatever
happens, my wish is peace.  If they kill me, I shall die a martyr.  Peace
being made, I will take the men of my lord the _dauphin_ to go and fight
the English.  He has some good men of war and some sagacious captains.
Tanneguy and Barbazan are valiant knights.  Then we shall see which is
the better man, Jack (Hannotin) of Flanders or Henry of Lancaster."  He
set out for Bray on the 10th of September, 1419, and arrived about two
o'clock before Montereau.  Tanneguy Duchatel came and met him there.
"Well," said the duke, "on your assurance we are come to see my lord the
_dauphin_, supposing that he is quite willing to keep the peace between
himself and us, as we also will keep it, all ready to serve him according
to his wishes."  "My most dread lord," answered Tanneguy, "have ye no
fear; my lord is well pleased with you, and desires henceforth to govern
himself according to your counsels.  You have about him good friends who
serve you well."  It was agreed that the _dauphin_ and the duke should,
each from his own side, go upon the bridge of Montereau, each with ten
men-at-arms, of whom they should previously forward a list.  The
_dauphin_'s people had caused to be constructed at the two ends of the
bridge strong barriers closed by a gate; about the centre of the bridge
was a sort of lodge made of planks, the entrance to which was, on either
side, through a pretty narrow passage; within the lodge there was no
barrier in the middle to separate the two parties.  Whilst Duke John and
his confidants, in concert with the _dauphin_'s people, were regulating
these material arrangements, a chamber-attendant ran in quite scared,
shouting out, "My lord, look to yourself; without a doubt you will be
betrayed."  The duke turned towards Tanneguy, and said, "We trust
ourselves to your word; in God's holy name, are you quite sure of what
you have told us?  For you would do ill to betray us."  "My most dread
lord," answered Tanneguy, "I would rather be dead than commit treason
against you or any other: have ye no fear; I certify you that my lord
meaneth you no evil."  "Very well, we will go then, trusting in God and
you," re-joined the duke; and he set out walking to the bridge.  On
arriving at the barrier on the castle side he found there to receive him
Sire de Beauveau and Tanneguy Duchatel.  "Come to my lord," said they;
"he is awaiting you."  "Gentlemen," said the duke, "you see how I come;"
and he showed them that he and his people had only their swords; then
clapping Tanneguy on the shoulder, he said, "Here is he in whom I trust,"
and advanced towards the _dauphin_, who remained standing, on the town
side, at the end of the lodge constructed in the middle of the bridge.
On arriving at the prince's presence Duke John took off his velvet cap
and bent his knee to the ground.  "My lord," said he, "after God, my duty
is to obey and serve you; I offer to apply thereto and employ therein my
body, my friends, my allies, and well-wishers.  Say I well?" he added,
fixing his eyes on the _dauphin_.  "Fair cousin," answered the prince,
"you say so well that none could say better; rise and be covered."
Conversation thereupon ensued between the two princes.  The _dauphin_
complained of the duke's delay in coming to see him: "For eighteen days,"
he said, "you have made us await your coming in this place of Montereau,
this place a prey to epidemic and mortality, at the risk of and probably
with an eye to our personal danger."  The duke, surprised and troubled,
resumed his haughty and exacting tone: "We can neither do nor advise
aught," said he, "save in your father's presence; you must come thither."
"I shall go when I think proper," said Charles, "and not at your will and
pleasure; it is well known that whatever we do, we two together, the king
will be content therewith."  Then he reproached the duke with his
inertness against the English, with the capture of Pontoise, and with his
alliances amongst the promoters of civil war.  The conversation was
becoming more and more acrid and biting.  "In so doing," added the
_dauphin_, "you were wanting to your duty."  "My lord," replied the duke,
"I did only what it was my duty to do."  "Yes, you were wanting,"
repeated Charles.  "No," replied the duke.  It was probably at these
words that, the lookers-on also waxing wroth, Tanneguy Duchatel told the
duke that the time had come for expiating the murder of the Duke of
Orleans, which none of them had forgotten, and raised his battle-axe to
strike the duke.  Sire de Navailles, who happened to be at his master's
side, arrested the weapon; but, on the other hand, the Viscount of
Narbonne raised his over Navailles, saying, "Whoever stirs is a dead
man."  At this moment, it is said, the mob which was thronging before the
barriers at the end of the bridge heard cries of "Alarm! slay, slay."
Tanneguy had struck and felled the duke; several others ran their swords
into him; and he expired.  The _dauphin_ had withdrawn from the scene and
gone back into the town.  After his departure his partisans forced the
barrier, charged the dumbfounded Burgundians, sent them flying along the
road to Bray, and returning on to the bridge would have cast the body of
Duke John, after stripping it, into the river; but the minister of
Montereau withstood them, and had it carried to a mill near the bridge.
"Next day he was put in a pauper's shell, with nothing on but his shirt