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.
IRONICALLY, 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 p
rince 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.
“The first words the King said were, ‘Constable, how fares it with you?’ ‘Dear sire,’ he replied, ‘but so so, and very weak.’ ‘And who has put you in this state?’ ‘Pierre de Craon and his accomplices have traitorously, and without the smallest suspicion, attacked me.’ ‘Constable,’ said the King, ‘nothing shall ever be more severely punished than this crime…. They shall pay for it as if it were done to myself.’”
Charles ordered the assailant pursued, but Pierre had already fled the city. Eventually it was determined that he had sought refuge with the duke of Brittany, although the duke denied this. A furious Charles summoned an army and made preparations to attack Brittany and retrieve the criminal. He personally led his force out of Paris but made it only as far as Le Mans. There he became so ill that he was unable to sit upon his horse. “He had been the whole summer feeble in mind and body, scarcely eating or drinking anything, and almost daily attacked with fever, to which he was naturally inclined, and which was increased by any contradiction or fatigue,” observed Froissart. Even more worrying, the Monk of Saint-Denis reported that while at Le Mans, the king would sometimes talk nonsense and behave in a manner “unbecoming to royalty.” Despite his obvious weakness, at the end of three weeks, over the objections of his physicians, Charles insisted upon persevering, and once more mounted his horse to lead his forces to Brittany.
By this time it was August and very hot. Charles was in full armor. As the army left Le Mans, they passed a local leper colony where they picked up a deranged vagrant who shadowed the king for half an hour, shouting, “Go no further, great king, for you are to be quickly betrayed!” before being run off by the royal guard. The army continued on its way through first a forest and then out onto a dry stretch of flat land, at which point there was quite a bit of dust kicked up by all the horses, so the king and two pages rode a little ahead of the procession to escape the dirt. The pages were young, and one of them, struggling to keep awake in the heat, let fall the lance he was carrying. It clattered against the armor of the other page, startling the king.
At once, Charles brandished his sword and turned on the boys. “Advance, advance on these traitors!” he cried. The pages, terrified, spurred their horses to get away, but the king, hallucinating and believing himself to be under attack, continued to strike out at those around him, including his brother, the duke of Orléans, who somehow managed to elude him. Others were not so lucky, however. Charles killed five of his own men before his sword broke and he was wrestled from his horse by one of his knights.
The company immediately turned around and took him back to Le Mans, where he lay completely unresponsive for two days, staring blankly at his uncles and unable to speak when they came to visit. Only on the third day did Charles recover his senses and realize what he had done. He was sent south to recuperate. He did not return to Paris until October.
THIS WAS THE BEGINNING of Charles VI’s thirty-year struggle with what today doctors would likely diagnose as schizophrenia. During its most acute stages, which occurred annually and sometimes persisted for months at a time, Charles lost all sense of reality. He did not know who he was and denied being king. When he saw his own coat of arms, or those of the queen, he performed a bizarre little jig and then tried to efface them. He insisted that his name was George and that he had a different coat of arms altogether. During these episodes he was often uncontrollable, and would dash wildly through the castle, trying to find a way out, shrieking that his enemies were all around him. Eventually, his household had to block all the outside doorways so he did not run out into the street in this condition. During his most extreme bouts of madness Charles would refuse to bathe or change his apparel, often for as long as five months. He had to be tricked or frightened into removing his clothes, and when he did, his servants found his body covered in sores and smeared with his own excrement. Sometimes he threw his clothes into the fire. Sometimes he urinated on them. Often he made obscene gestures or babbled incoherently.
Charles VI suff ers his first psychotic episode, attacking his own men.
Although frequently he would recognize his household servants, he almost never knew his wife and children. The sight of Isabeau, in particular, upset him; he couldn’t bear to have her around him. According to the Monk of Saint-Denis, “when… she [Isabeau] approached to lavish attention on him, the king repulsed her, whispering to his people: ‘Who is this woman obstructing my view? Find out what she wants, and stop her from annoying and bothering me, if you can.’” Instead, to calm him, he was provided with a mistress who lived with him at his favorite Parisian domicile, the Hôtel Saint-Pol, and by whom he eventually had a child.
But then, sometimes after days, but more often after weeks or even months of raving, the hallucinations would disappear as abruptly as they had come. Charles would remember who and what he was and return to his wife and children. He would also once again resume rule. This was the great undoing of France. For although he appeared sane during these periods, the king was likely never really free of the disease, and his confusion and uncertainty, particularly about what had occurred in the kingdom during the intervals of his lunacy, made him highly susceptible to suggestion and the slightest persuasion. He became like one of those characters in a fairy tale who, stricken by Cupid’s arrow, or sprinkled with magic powder, or placed under a wizard’s spell, falls in love with the first person he sees upon waking. Eventually it became widely known among his relatives that whosoever succeeded at gaining entry into the king’s presence immediately upon his emergence from one of his cycles of madness could obtain pretty much anything he or she wanted out of him.
AS SOON AS IT BECAME CLEAR that Charles was mentally incapacitated, his uncles, especially the duke of Burgundy, moved quickly to once again take control of the kingdom. Unlike the period of the king’s minority, however, they were not openly named as regents. Because Charles was sometimes sane enough to govern, he was never removed from power, and his subjects continued to consider him to be the only legitimate ruler of France. Consequently, every policy that was implemented by his uncles or anyone else had to be done in the king’s name, whether the king was aware of the action or not. It could also be reversed by the king whenever he was rational enough to do so. Additionally, any commandment issued by the king, even if it conflicted openly with a prior commandment, was automatically accepted as law.
This confusing state of affairs was fur
ther exacerbated by the introduction of a new and powerful rival to the duke of Burgundy. The king’s younger brother, Louis, duke of Orléans, married and with a family of his own to protect, was now old enough to jealously guard his prerogative. Louis was ambitious not only for power but for wealth, and was determined that his holdings should be on a par with—or preferably exceed—those of his uncles. In 1401, he took advantage of the duke of Burgundy’s absence from Paris to cajole his brother the king into ceding to him two important properties that Philip the Bold coveted. Furious, the duke of Burgundy responded by raising an army and marching on Paris. Civil war was only averted at the last minute through arbitration undertaken by the queen, the king being at the time locked up, raving, in the Hôtel Saint-Pol.
This was Isabeau’s first real foray into politics, and from the result she evidently decided it was better to wield power than to be at the mercy of someone else’s army, because the next year, when the king emerged from his annual period of madness, she made sure that she was the first person he saw. Consequently, in 1402, Charles ruled that if there was ever a disagreement in the future between two of the royal peers and he himself wasn’t available, the queen was authorized to settle the dispute as she saw fit. She was also empowered, in the king’s absence, to conduct or intervene in any business associated with governing the realm. To help her with these new responsibilities, Isabeau was allowed to consult as many or as few of the royal princes or the members of the council as she felt she needed. By these edicts, then, was the queen essentially made ruler of France.
The Maid and the Queen Page 5
