II.
After the disastrous battle of Bulgneville, Duchess Isabelle of Lorraine set off to Vienne in Dauphiné, a province which ever remained faithful to the royal house of France, where the Court of Charles VII. was established, to claim his aid for her captive husband languishing at Bracon. In her train went her fairest Maid of Honour, Agnes Sorel, just twenty years of age; she was Mistress of the Robes to the Duchess. She made an immediate impression upon the jejune King, who urged Isabelle to allow her to be transferred to the suite of his consort—perhaps by way of quid pro quo. Queen Marie added her entreaties to the monarch’s suit. She had failed completely to rouse her husband; perhaps she thought Agnes would be more successful. The Duchess would not hear of the arrangement, and the beauteous Maid of Honour was anything but eager to be the creature of so unattractive a master.
Happier days, however, dawned both for King René and for King Charles, and jousts, pageants, and mystery-plays, were in full fling everywhere. At Angers, in particular, everything was gay and merry for the welcome of King René to his ancestral home,—after his duress at Tour de Bar,—and of Queen Isabelle. Agnes Sorel was still attached to her royal mistress, and, although unmarried, she numbered her lovers by the score.
Agnes Sorel, or Soreau, was born at Fromenteau, on the verge of the forest of Fontainebleau, on May 17, 1409. Her father was the Sieur Jehan Soreau, and her mother Catherine de Maignelais, who were quiet country people and occupied in agricultural pursuits. She had a younger sister, Jehanne, to whom she was devoted, and mothered her when Dame Catherine died. Her uncle, Raoul de Maignelais, followed the profession of arms, and made himself a name as a dauntless warrior in the service of King Charles VI. He had an only daughter, Antoinette, born 1420, who, her mother dying when she was very young, was confided to the care of her aunt, Catherine Soreau, and was brought up by her with her own little daughters. Nothing is positively known about Agnes’s girlhood, but in 1423 the two cousins entered the service of Isabelle, the Duchess of Bar-Lorraine. Bar-le-Duc, ever since the advent of the famous Countess Iolande, had been remarkable for the number of lovely damsels and comely youths from all parts of France attached to the “Court of Love,” under the patronage and maintenance of the Dukes and Duchesses. The young Duchess appears to have taken a particular fancy to fair Agnes, due no doubt to the girl’s physical beauty and mental brilliance. Few maidens at that merry Court excelled her in good looks, grace of figure, and distinction of deportment. Bourdigne, the Court chronicler, says “she was the most lovely girl in France.” She sang divinely,—a natural gift,—and danced bewitchingly, and gave promise of a splendid career. She was welcomed at Chinon with delight both by the King and Queen.
Perhaps one reason why Agnes’s presence was so grateful to the taciturn and indolent monarch was that she dressed so superbly, and yet so tastefully. The Queen and her ladies were subject to strict Court sartorial conventions, but the Demoiselle de Fromenteau knew no such restrictions. One day “la Belle des Belles,” as everybody called her, appeared as “Cleopatra,” another as “Diana,” and a third as “Venus,” and so on. Her costumes were of the richest and the thinnest. Her abundant beautiful brown hair, too, she dressed not only for the hennin à la mode,—bunched over the ears or gathered into a chignon,—but à la calotte galonnée: frizzed out, or en simple résille—in a net, or à tours, thrown round and round her head in massive coils. Agnes was short of stature, but she made up for this by wearing Venetian zilve, or high pattens, beautifully embroidered with silk and pearls. Her decollétage was never vulgar or immodest, like that of the King’s mother, but her well-formed bust was covered lightly by white lace or thinnest gauze. A string of pearls usually embraced her well-shaped throat. One article of clothing was peculiarly her own invention. Whilst the ladies of the Court, and even Queen Marie herself, wore serge chemises, hers were of fine Flemish linen. Very many of her tasteful fancies were taken up by the ladies about her, and Queen Marie herself followed suit by discarding the daily use of the hennin and the stiff and heavy fur borders of her kirtle. She, too, had hair as fair as that of Agnes, and she was privately quite as proud of it as was her Dame d’Honneur, for so “la Belle des Belles” had become.
KING RENÉ AND HIS COURT
From a Miniature by King René in his “Breviary.” Musée de l’Arsenal. Paris
To face page 194
A pretty story is told of “la Belle des Belles” with respect to the melancholy moods of King Charles. One day Charles was more than usually depressed, and, try how she would, Queen Marie could not cheer him; so she sent for Agnes, who at once ran to her mistress, and, then entering the King’s presence, knelt at his feet and fondled his knees. “Sire,” she said, “when I was a very little girl a soothsayer told my mother that I should be the plaything of a King who would be the most valiant in Europe. I thought that your Majesty was such an one, but I find that I am mistaken. Perhaps I ought to have sought the Court of Henry rather than that of Charles!” The King frowned, but the bantering words had struck home, and he raised himself and Agnes, and, kissing her affectionately, replied: “No, my sweet, you have no need to seek Henry. I am your valiant King!”
Agnes held Charles under a spell. She was his “Queen of Hearts”; he denied her nothing, her will was his. Her influence was complete, and if the poor neglected Queen had thrown upon her frail shoulders the heavy weight of sovereignty, it was fond Agnes’s fair hair that wore the light crown of gaiety. Her tact and unselfishness were remarkable; every domestic squabble and every State imbroglio were quietly and swiftly settled when she joined the fray. Charles could not do enough for his sweetheart. Besides costly presents of jewellery and clothes, he bestowed upon her the county of Penthièvre, the lordships of Roquecesière, Issoudon, and Vernon, with the Castle of Breauté and its great woods of pine-trees.
Agnes had by Charles four daughters; the youngest died in infancy, but the rest grew up, like their mother, famed for good looks and attractive manners, and were legitimatized and married well. Catherine de France, the eldest, wedded, in 1464, Jacques de Brézé, Comte de Maulevrier, and became the accomplished châtelaine of his splendid castle near Saumur. Alas for the joys of married life! the Count, himself unfaithful and intolerant, grew suspicious of his wife’s conduct,—she had attracted the attention of King René, among others,—accused her of adultery, and stabbed her as she was sallying forth one dark November day, 1477, bent upon an errand of charity. Their son, Louis de Brézé became the husband of the celebrated Diane de Poitiers, in 1515, before her liaison with King Henry II. Marguerite de France married, in 1458, Seigneur Olivier de Coëtivi, and died in 1473; and Jeanne de France became the wife of Antoine de Benil, Comte de Sancerre, and received from the King, her father, a dot of 40,000 écus d’or.
These three daughters were born and educated as Princesses of the Royal House, in conformity with the existent code of morals. Queen Marie not only made no demur at their status, but, acting upon the advice of good Queen Yolande, her mother, treated them in every respect as she did her own offspring. When Agnes’s second daughter was married, the Queen stood by her and gave her rich wedding presents. Certainly she was not subjected to the indignity of sharing hearth and home with her husband’s mistress. Dame Agnes Sorel resided at her own Castle de Breauté-sur-Marne, and there she bore him her family. The castle was a bijou residence,—a great favourite of Charles,—and Agnes made it a habitation of beauty, adorned not alone by her own gracious presence, but by the attendance of a brilliant Court, quite outrivalling that of the modest Queen, and filled her rooms and galleries with the countless beautiful and costly gifts of her former devoted mistress, Duchess Isabelle.
Agnes’s ascendancy over Charles VII. was purely erotic. She exercised no influence whatever upon the affairs of state, or, indeed, upon anything but what ministered to his personal pleasure and amusement. However, she was useful, and indeed invaluable, on more than one occasion of danger and suspicion. Unreservedly devoted to her paramour, she was sensitive of any dereliction of duty and of any appearance of intrigue. To her was solely due the detection of the conspiracy of 1449, which, fomented by the Dauphin, threatened the life of the King.
Marie inspired the fervent love of her son, Louis the Dauphin, as she did, in truth, the devotion of all her children. When a stripling of fourteen, he championed his mother against his father’s mistress; and when Agnes made a disparaging remark affecting the Queen, the lad immediately boxed her ears, and warned her never to repeat the offence in his hearing! From that day Louis hated “la Belle des Belles,” and never tired of checking her assumptions. He even dared to protest personally before his father against the King’s neglect of the Queen and his partiality for her Lady of Honour. Charles on one occasion took his son’s strictures seriously to heart, sent for Marie, bewailed his infidelity, and craved her pardon. But the wanton monarch’s day of righteousness was short, for he very soon forgot his son’s vehemence, and went on fondling his favourite.
“La Belle des Belles” died in childbed on February 18, 1450. Her end was quite unexpected, for she had gone on a visit of pleasure to her cousin, Antoinette de Maignelais, the Baroness of Villerequier, at the Castle of Mesnil la Belle, near the far-famed Abbey of Jumièges in Normandy. Her husband, André de Villerequier, was Chamberlain to Charles VII., who presented her at her bridal, as a wedding gift, the three islands, Oléron, Marennes, and Auvert, at the mouth of the River Charente. Floral games and spectacles were engaging the attention of the merry party assembled at the castle, and Agnes Sorel was the gayest of the gay, but unfortunately, tripping upon the sash of her gown, she fell heavily to the ground. She was carried tenderly to her chamber, and at once her life was despaired of. She had barely time to make her confession, and then, calling to mind the example of St. Mary Magdalen, she called aloud to Heaven for pardon of her sins and for the prayers of those standing by. She heard Mass and received the Last Sacraments, and painfully passed away in her cousin’s arms. The distracted Baroness laid the dead head of the lovely Agnes gently upon the pillow, closed the eyes which had spell-bound King Charles and many more besides, and, weeping bitterly, exclaimed: “The good God has taken away my Agnes because He feared she would never lose her beauty.”
King Charles was not with his sweetheart in her death, but he grieved and rocked himself in woe. “Because she was what she was,” he sobbed, “for that I mourn.” He hastened to Jumièges, and with every mark of sincere affection he assisted in placing his Agnes in her coffin. Her heart he had enclosed in a costly gold vase, which he carried about with him wherever he went, and when he died it was deposited by his command beneath a black marble slab in front of the high-altar of Jumièges, with the simple epitaph: “Agnes Seurelle—Dame de Breauté.” Fair Agnes’s body, still comely in death, was ultimately translated by Charles to Loches, and interred in the basement of the King’s Apartments. Her tomb, surmounted by a statue, was erected by her royal lover. Upon a block marble bed reclines a white marble effigy of “la Belle des Belles,” evidently sculptured after life. The fascinating features with her sweet smile are beautifully chiselled, and the graceful figure lightly covered by a long chemise admirably exhibits her exquisitely-proportioned form.
Agnes, in a will she made a year before her death, directed that her body should rest at Jumièges, and she bequeathed 1,000 écus d’or (= £500) to the monastery for Masses for the rest of her soul. She had for years been a munificent benefactress to the clergy of the abbey. When Charles had joined his sweetheart in the Paradise of Love, the ungrateful monks were desirous of removing Agnes’s heart and its memorial tablet, on the score that she had led an immoral life; but Louis XI., in spite of his fierce hatred of his father’s mistress, reproved the religious, and warned them that, if they determined to cast out her remains, they must also divest themselves of the gifts and legacies of their patroness. “If you,” the new King said, “disturb her ashes, I shall expect you to hand over to me the gold écus.” Needless perhaps to say, the worldly-wise Canons kept the money and the heart.
The death of Agnes Sorel had a terrible effect upon the subsequent life of Charles the King. She and Queen Marie between them had managed to keep him free from amorous imbroglios, but now, with only his wife’s protestations to guard him, he gave way to immoderate indulgences, and he, to quote the French,—“enlardit sa vie de tenir males femmes en son hostel!”