The Maid and the Queen (7 page)

ISTORY IS COMMONLY
depicted as a tangled skein of cause and effect, design and fate, so interwoven as to make it impossible to isolate any one factor as key to the progression of human affairs. But this was not the case in France during the first two decades of the fifteenth century, where almost every disturbance in the political arena can be traced back to one fundamental determinant: the insanity of Charles VI. Here was a madness so pervasive, so destabilizing, that it afflicted not only a king but a kingdom.

Possibly the most poignant aspect of the whole predicament was the potential Charles VI exhibited at the start of his reign. He inherited his throne in 1380 when he was just eleven and his younger brother, Louis, later duke of Orléans, eight. The old king, Charles V, had managed to recover most of the territory lost to England during the first half of the Hundred Years War and so was able to leave his eldest son a relatively strong and peaceful kingdom. The specter of conquest by England, which had haunted France in the middle of the century, faded, and in the boy king’s youthful energy there was every hope for the future.

Charles VI was a charming scamp, high-spirited, fun-loving, and sociable. Christine de Pizan, who knew him, described Charles as a tall, well-built young man, attractive even with his prominent nose. (Both Charles and his younger brother Louis, duke of Orléans, inherited their father’s distinctive proboscis.) Unlike Charles V, who had been sickly, preferring books
and scholars to physical activity, Charles VI was an athlete who loved nothing better than a good joust, a trait that augured well for his ability to protect his kingdom in times of strife. His personality too differed markedly from Charles V’s in a manner that, in hindsight, betrayed his later affliction: the son was quixotic and impetuous where the father had been coldly calculating.

Because the new king was still so young, until he came of age France was ruled by his uncles, the dukes of Berry and Burgundy, acting as regents. Unfortunately, they used this transitional phase to seize as much money, power, and territory as was possible. During this period, for example, the duke of Berry stole the castle of Lusignan.

But while the duke of Berry was certainly avaricious, he was also timid. As a result, he was no match for his brother the duke of Burgundy, who displayed no such weakness. “The Duke of Burgundy,” declared the chronicler Jean Froissart, “was the greatest personage in France next to the King.” Known as Philip the Bold for his predatory policies, the duke of Burgundy busied himself during Charles VI’s minority with extending his influence to the north and east of France. He had earlier married the countess of Flanders, heir to one of the richest provinces in Europe, and so gained an interest not only in her domain but in Belgium and the Netherlands as well. Nearer to his home demesne of Burgundy in eastern France, he sought an alliance with his neighbor, the duke of Bavaria, with the intention of encircling France along its outer boundaries. As his power grew, he could then by degrees close in on his nephew’s territories.

Initially, Charles VI’s youth and inexperience allowed Philip the Bold to manipulate him easily. When in 1382 the citizens of Flanders rebelled, Philip advised Charles to lead an army to Ghent to put down the rebellion. Fourteen-year-old Charles thought this an excellent idea. His first introduction to warfare! A real battle! He and his uncles and a large force of men-at-arms all trooped north to Flanders, where the royal knights, with their chain mail, maces, and iron-tipped spears, made short work of the rebel force, made up as it was of ordinary townspeople whose only protection was iron hats. “The clattering on the helmets by the axes and leaden maces was so loud that nothing could be heard for the noise of them,” the chronicler Froissart noted. In the wake of this resounding victory most of the neighboring towns surrendered or paid Charles an exorbitant sum to go away.

Having reasserted his authority to the north, Philip the Bold then looked to use his nephew to help augment his power to the east. Here he was aided by the former king’s last request. As he lay dying, Charles V had called the dukes of Berry and Burgundy to him. “I feel I have not long to live. Seek out in Germany an alliance for my dear son, Charles, that our connection with that country may be strengthened hereby.” Again, fortune smiled upon Philip the Bold: the duke of Bavaria happened to have a daughter, Isabeau, two years younger than Charles VI and reputed to be quite pretty.

The only problem was that Isabeau’s father was against the marriage on the grounds that there was too great a difference in rank between his daughter and the king of France. The court of Bavaria, where Isabeau had been raised, was a quiet little backwater, comfortable but not ostentatious. The girl was unprepared to take on the responsibilities of a royal retinue, let alone navigate the complex political milieu associated with the most powerful kingdom in Europe. The duke preferred Isabeau to marry one of his own nobles and stay closer to home—a less brilliant alliance, certainly, but on the whole a more sensible one.

Her father’s reluctance did not at all deter the duke of Burgundy from pursuing the union, although it did force him to engage in a bit of subterfuge. He was aided by the duchess of Brabant, a relative of the duke of Bavaria, who recognized in Philip the Bold a possible military ally. The duchess prevailed upon Isabeau’s father to send the girl to her for a short visit, and then to another highly respectable relation, the duchess of Hai naut. As a treat for Isabeau, the two women intended to escort her to the fair at Amiens, and from there, on a more somber note, to make a pilgrimage to the nearby shrine of Saint Jean. Faced with so meritorious a request, the duke of Bavaria acceded to his cousin’s wishes. He even agreed to allow Isabeau’s portrait to be painted for the duchess.

Isabeau traveled to Brussels in the early summer of 1385. She was fourteen years old. She visited for three days with the duchess of Brabant before going on to see the duchess of Hainaut, with whom she stayed for three weeks. During this period, the duchess of Hainaut, an extremely worldly woman, took it upon herself to transform Isabeau, at least on the outside, from an awkward country girl into a vision of medieval beauty, elegance, and sophistication. Out went all of Isabeau’s dowdy Bavarian clothes and in came chic Parisian gowns, headdresses, and jewels worthy of a princess. For three weeks the girl was drilled in manners and comportment, including how to sit, stand, eat, walk, dance, and curtsy. Isabeau’s complete ignorance
of the French language meant that the duchess of Hainaut did not have to work on her accent or on witty repartee; she simply instructed her not to speak.

In the meantime, Charles VI, now sixteen and very interested in girls, was shown Isabeau’s portrait, along with those of the duchesses of Lorraine (another territory the duke of Burgundy was interested in) and of Austria, and asked whom he preferred to marry. Apparently her rivals for the king’s affection did not represent much competition in the looks department, as Charles immediately chose Isabeau. Upon being told that she and her relatives would attend the fair at Amiens, he arranged to be present at the same time and then sent two of his closest knights to the duchesses of Hainaut and Brabant to arrange an interview.

The rendezvous was held on a Friday in the presence of a large audience. It took the duchesses of Brabant and Hainaut most of the day to get Isabeau ready, but finally she arrived at the king’s apartments dressed and accessorized as splendidly as art and money could achieve. Charles, who had spent a long, fraught, teenaged male night thinking about her portrait, was in that state of anticipation that lent itself mightily to the success of the enterprise. Isabeau made her way gracefully through the crowd of courtiers before coming to stand (silently) before the king. Charles was completely smitten. Later that evening, as he was preparing for bed, he instructed his emissaries, “Tell my uncle, the Duke of Burgundy, to make haste and conclude the affair.” So eager was Charles for the wedding night that he refused to wait to be married at Arras, as his uncle desired, and instead had a beautiful gold crown delivered to Isabeau on the spot. The two were married three days later at the local cathedral in Amiens without benefit of a nuptial contract or a dowry, an unheard-of omission for a royal alliance.

And so a provincial girl of fourteen, who likely could not read or write, and who had never been exposed to the workings of a large government, let alone the intrigues and shifting political currents of possibly the most sophisticated and cosmopolitan court in Europe, became queen of France. Nor did Isabeau have the benefit, as had Yolande of Aragon, of an experienced older woman who could act as a mentor or guide through the labyrinth of customs and relationships that constituted her new realm’s entrenched power structure. Charles’s mother was dead, and soon after the wedding the duchesses of Brabant and Hainaut abandoned her for their own courts, well satisfied with their efforts. At least some of the blame for the trouble to come
may be laid at the feet of these two cynical women, who taught the new queen of France how to arrange her hair but not to rule.

In the beginning, though, as Isabeau was not called on to do much more than buy expensive clothes, look regal, and have fun, her inexperience did not work against her. The marriage was a happy one. Isabeau’s temperament suited that of her new husband; both loved banquets, dancing, and late nights filled with company and wine; they were also united in their love of fine clothes and elaborate, opulent, and frequently raucous entertainments. For her coronation, Charles arranged a three-day extravaganza in Saint-Denis, complete with fountains that spouted honeyed spiced wine, a large choir of children dressed as angels, and a highly theatrical street performance that boasted costumed actors reenacting the battle of the crusaders against King Saladin.

Charles too reacted well to the marriage, and matured greatly in the years immediately following his wedding. By 1388, when he was still only nineteen, he was able to dismiss the regency government administered by his uncles. This was a very popular move, as there had been a disastrous (and expensive) military campaign against England subsequent to the initial victory in Flanders for which his uncles the dukes of Berry and Burgundy were universally blamed. At the urging of Charles’s younger brother, Louis, a very precocious sixteen-year-old, the king sent his disgruntled uncles graciously but firmly back to their own provinces “with many thanks for the trouble and toil they had had with him and the realm.” Charles immediately surrounded himself with his father’s former counselors, all experienced and prudent men who governed, if not wisely, at least with moderation, and for the next four years there was peace in France.

And then came the summer of 1392.

I
RONICALLY,
the year had begun advantageously for Charles; in retrospect, it may well have marked the high point of his reign. He was in full control of his government, he was beloved by his people, and on February 6 he had fulfilled perhaps the most important task of a monarchy when the queen finally gave birth to a son who survived infancy. “The bells were ringing and in order to announce to all of France the new and joyous event that had taken place in the city, couriers were dispatched in all directions, charged in the name of the king to spread the happy news of the birth of the prince
throughout the kingdom,” the Monk of Saint-Denis recorded in the official chronicle.

By this time Charles was twenty-three and monitored the administration of his government “with much diligence.” Diligence often required traveling long distances under unsanitary conditions, and in March when he went to Amiens on a diplomatic mission, he and several other members of his retinue fell ill with what seems to have been typhoid fever. Charles was so sick that he had to be taken by litter south to Beauvais, where it took him nearly two months to recuperate. He was not back in Paris until the very end of May.

Soon after his return, while he was still in a weakened state, a disquieting episode occurred in the capital. His chamberlain, Pierre de Craon, had recently been removed from his post, which Pierre attributed to a heated exchange with the constable of France, a man very high in the king’s favor. Nursing his grudge, Pierre and several of his men ambushed the constable on his way home from dinner with the king on the evening of June 13. They tried to kill him but succeeded only in wounding him. Charles was in the act of undressing for bed when he was informed (mistakenly) that his constable had been murdered; so upset was he that he did not bother to change but threw on only a cloak and went himself to investigate. He discovered the injured man in a nearby baker’s shop, where he had been carried after the attack. The constable had sustained many wounds and was covered in blood. Charles had known this man since childhood; the constable had watched over him faithfully since he first ascended to the throne. The sight of his longtime protector and father figure in so pitiable a state upset the king deeply.