II.

King René’s grief at the untimely death of his devoted spouse completely unstrung the man and disabled the monarch. He gave himself away to tears and melancholy, from which even the embraces of his children failed to rouse him. His Ministers and courtiers viewed the desolation of their Sovereign with sincere and deep concern, for it threatened to unnerve him permanently for the arduous duties of his station. A consultation was held at Angers by the Barons and nobles of Anjou, Maine, Lorraine, Barrois, and Provence, with respect to their beloved Sovereign’s prostration, and a unanimous decision was reached—a second marriage with a young consort, comely, cultivated, and of good fame. A petition was presented to the King praying him to yield to the advice of his “right loyal lieges,” that he should look out for some noble and virtuous “pucelle qui fust à son gré.” They add: “We have found just such une très belle fille nommée Jehanne de Laval,—wise, well-conditioned, and of adult age,—and we know that she is ready to become the spouse of our very good lord.”

The sorrowful King took heart of grace, acceded to his subjects’ agreeable suggestion, and, knowing well himself all young Jehanne’s charms, despatched forthwith a gallant embassy to his old friend, Count Guy, demanding the hand of his beauteous daughter. Only one bar appeared to stop the course of true love,—for such René’s was for Jehanne,—the disparity of age: he was forty-seven, she twenty-two. This was soon dismissed, and “May” and “December” were betrothed in the August month of ripe red gold. Articles of marriage were signed at Angers on September 3, 1455—by Seigneur de Couldray, Captain of the Guard; Guy de Laval; Louis de Beauvau; the Counts of Vendôme and Tancarville; the Seigneur de Lohere; Raoul de Bosket; and Olivier de Feschal—whereby the bride’s dot was fixed at 40,000 écus d’or (circa £2,000). The marriage ceremony was celebrated at the abbey church of St. Nicholas d’Angers on September 16 by Cardinal de Foix, Archbishop of Arles, in the presence of Bishops and deputations from every part of King René’s dominions. The wedding ceremony was notable for the appearance of the bride’s young brother Pierre, a boy of eleven years of age, habited in full episcopal vestments. He was nominal Archbishop of Reims and Bishop of St. Brieux and St. Malo.

The citizens of Angers received their new Queen “en grant joye et lyesse,” but, notwithstanding the general satisfaction, the Court became grave and serious, and, to universal astonishment, there were neither tournaments for the nobles nor junketings for the poorer people. The heart of the King was still sore; he seemed disinclined for festivities, and sought solitude and devotional exercises; his spirit was acharné—sad within him. “Had he,” people asked, “renounced the pleasures he so loved for ever?” René found relief from the tension of his feelings in the composition of a moral allegory which he entitled “Le Mortefiement de Vaine Plaisance,” which he dedicated to his confessor, Jean Bernard, Bishop of Tours. It is by way of being a dialogue between a soul devoured by love divine and a heart full of earthly vanities. Other dramatis personæ are introduced at intervals: “Fear of God;” “Divine Justice;” “Faith,” “Hope,” and “Sovereign Love,” with “True Contrition.” Midway in the lengthy poem is a “similitude,” accompanied by a very beautiful drawing, showing a Queen,—perhaps Isabelle,—seated open-bosomed in a country waggon, bare-headed, her crown upon her knees. The two horses are tandem-harnessed, the wheeler bestridden by a rider with a thong in hand, the leader turning sharply round. Thus did René’s poetic imagination picture his loss and his woe. The dedication is most touching: “Considering that the course of life runs like a river, without stopping or running back, it is necessary to do good deeds to earn a sweet repose. I set myself to write this book for the love of the Redeemer, but, that my work may be useful for all, I tell in plain speech the conflict of the soul and heart.”

The royal couple left Angers immediately after their marriage, and spent the month’s honeymoon at the Castle of Launay les Saumur. Then they set off for Provence, and reached Arles early in November. This was the prelude to an entirely new course of life which King René had in his mind. For thirty years and more he had courted the smiles of Fortune in the arena of arms, and she had only given him frowns. His courage and his chivalry had met with scant success. Hopes disappointed and finances wasted, he was a wiser if a poorer man; but now the residue of his days and enterprises should be differently expended. Peace has its triumphs as well as war. Poets and writers, troubadours and musicians, artists and craftsmen, farmers and sportsmen, and peasants and fishermen, were peaceful folk; with such would he throw in his lot—a roi-patron, a roi-fainéant, would he be!

The journey to the south was, as usual, by river barge up the winding sylvan Loire to Roanne, and thence à portage to Valence, and on by water past Montelimart, Orange, and Avignon. The King, like other rulers in France, maintained a fleet of vessels for trade and pleasure upon the splendid waterways. It was, of course, a royal progress such as René and his father and brother, and Queen Yolande, his venerated mother, had often made, and very cordial were the greetings by the way. At Arles, where the King and Queen were rapturously received, they found awaiting them deputations from every considerable place in Provence, each bearing goodly offerings to their liege lord and lady. Arles presented 400 écus d’or in two enamelled gold flasks, and six chased cups of silver; Aix, two great bowls of silver embossed and jewelled, six silver cups, and three goblets of gold; Marseilles, 200 écus d’or, to be spent in buying fine wax, at the pleasure of the Queen,—a treasured possession,—and four silver cups; Avignon, twelve enamelled silver cups and two gold goblets; Tarascon, a great gold ewer and six small goblets—and so on. Formalities completed and Te Deum sung, René and Jehanne went off to Aix, there to settle and to arrange their household affairs. In recognition of this auspicious visit to Provence, the King created his consort Countess of Les Baux, with proprietary rights in that ancient stronghold.

The ancient family had become extinct in the comely person of Countess Alix, a helpless girl placed under the guardianship of her uncle, Robert de Beaufort, better known as “Le Fléau de Provence,” the leader of a band of ruffians designated “Les Tards-Venus.” Fair Alix died unmarried in 1426, and the county of Les Baux passed to Louis III. d’Anjou, King René’s brother. For Jehanne de Laval her loving spouse repaired and decorated the ruinous old castle. The pleasure-grounds were laid out by René, and the “Pavillon de la Royne Jehanne” erected, a true “Pavillon d’Amour,” wherein he and she could repose and utter sweet nothings to one another, and revive also some of the fascinating observances of the once famous “Court of Love” of Les Baux. Spirits of former Countess-Presidents of Chapters of the Troubadours flitted to and fro the “Chamber of the Rose.” The beauteous if fateful sisters, Étiennette and Douce, gracious spouses of two fierce rival Counts, Raymond des Baux and Berenger de Barcelona, but rivals in the poems and dances of the troubadours, away in the twelfth century, looked down, perhaps, from the eerie thrones in “Il Paradiso” upon the new Queen of Beauty. The girlish figure, too, of Cécile des Baux, “La Passe Rose,” the fairest beauty of them all, sought, a century later, the spiritual companionship of Alix, the last of the châtelaines, with her to observe the graceful figure of Queen Jehanne. Memories of lovely women and the romances of their lives appealed irresistibly to the royal troubadour; he could picture the gay crowds in the games of Love. Dark deeds, too—the clash of weapons and the stealthy poniard; the smothered cries from the oubliettes, and the defiant oaths of men in irons: these the imaginative poet-monarch could most easily re-create. A thought-moving memento of a vivid and lurid past was brought to light not so many years ago in a coffin discovered in the crypt of the ruined church of St. Catherine—it was a woman’s long soft golden hair cut off at the roots. To whom did this cabelladuro d’or belong? Some beauty done to death, perhaps, or peacefully fallen upon sleep in the dim, dim past? Or was it, as it may have been, the chevelure of that beautiful young Italian girl in the suite of Queen Jehanne, who married at Les Baux the Queen’s Seneschal, and died ere ever that day’s curfew sounded? The “Pavillon de la Royne Jehanne,” with its miniature dome and delicate frieze, supported on Ionic columns, still stands, but hidden away amid cornstalks and verdure, whilst, alas! nothing whatever remains of the Queen’s gardens, where courtier cavaliers flirted and toyed with her Maids of Honour. Jehanne loved Les Baux almost as much as she did her Laval barony of Beaufort, and René loved it, too, for her sake.

SAINT MADELEINE PREACHING BEFORE KING RENÉ AND QUEEN JEHANNE AT MARSEILLES

From a Painting by King René. Musée de Cluny, Paris

Early in the springtide which followed the settlement of the King and Queen in Provence, they sought the peaceful charms of the country-side, and made their way, accompanied by a very limited suite, to the neighbourhood of Tarascon. The stately castle, so lately René’s favourite abode, had little attraction for ruralizing royalty, so they packed themselves into a modest bastide, or farmstead, upon the kingly estate, Pertuis, not far from Cadenet, below Mont Lubéron. Its position was delightful, overlooking the turbulent river Durance, with its strewn verdure-grown rocks and boulders, and its banks lined by sedges, willows, and alders, hiding many a still pool of trout. There the royal couple wandered forth hand in hand, quite unattended, amid the growing vines and chestnut woods, conversing with all the country-folk they met, sharing with them their homely fare, and watching delightedly their rural games and dances. Many a time René, with Jehanne as his happy assessor, sat upon old saules, or willow stumps, under a spreading tree, to receive requests and discern disputes, dispensing royal justice with the simple hand of equity.

The life they led was an ideal one—a dream, an inspiring fantasy. The songs of birds, the brush of wings of butterflies, the thousand and one mysterious sounds of animated, sun-cheered Nature, and the scent of spring narcissi, with the glowing glories of anemones, seemed all to be in harmony with the fresh greenery of tree and crop, the gambols of young lambs, and the cooing of sweetheart doves. The King and Queen became for the nonce shepherd and shepherdess; Jehanne was nymph of the bosquets, René her impassioned Apollo, his heart’s wounds healed at last, his soul’s new hopes at bud. The Muse of Poetry dwelt also in that pleasant fairy-land, and her voice, rustling the zephyr-moved foliage, reached the poetic nature of the agrestical King, and out of his sympathetic brain came the impulse of the hand which penned one of the most delicate and affecting “Pastorals” that ever man produced.

The scene is laid in the meadows of the royal country house, where shepherds and shepherdesses and toilers in the soil,—vigorous and fair,—are giving themselves away to the joys of pastoral revels. Chancing that way is a pilgrim, newly come from recording his vows at the shrine of Nôtre Dame de Larghet. Looking ahead, the penitent beholds the entrancing vision, and, whilst he brushes away the assiduous attentions of a big bumble-bee, he is conscious of voices murmuring close at hand. It is but the love-chat of a lovelorn lad and lass, seated by a dripping fountain of the rivulet. Behind them is the stump of a great forest king with no more than one lean branch to show its life. The youth vanishes mysteriously, but the girl beckons caressingly to the wandering pilgrim, and she invites him with dulcet voice:

“Regnault, vien environ

De la souche; et nous asseon,

Cy toy et moy!”

“Regnault, come thee near

This tree; have no fear,

Only thee and me!”

The shy wanderer approaches diffidently, and then the maiden opens her little luncheon basket, which hangs from her shoulders by blue silken ribbons, and eats a portion of a roll; to him she offers the remainder. The fascination of the moment overrides all scruples, and Regnault, as she has called him, kneels at his enchantress’s feet, strokes her hands and arms, and protests his love. The damsel is willy-nilly, and naïvely cries: “All fall in love, and all fall out; and so may you, fair sir, for aught I know!” Carried away by the vehemence of his passion, Regnault tries to seize the girl and press his hot lips upon hers, so coral pink; but she evades him, slips from his grasp, and, presto! she has vanished. All dazy-wazy Regnault rises, holds out his hands beseechingly, and then, folding them upon his breast, with bowed head he seeks once more the mountain shrine, and before our sweet Lady of Consolation pours out his heart and his soul. Compline still finds him saying his Aves, and Night covers him with her restful shroud; his last words are addressed to his meadow nymph:

“T’ameray très parfaictment,

Du bon du Cuer si loyaument,

Que ne te fauldray nullement

Jusques à mort.”

“I love thee perfectly,

From bottom of my heart;

I will never fail thee

Till death us two shall part.”

This very beautiful poem the royal lover entitled “Regnault et Jehanneton,” or “Les Amours du Bergier et de la Bergeronne,”—a play, of course, upon his own name and Queen Jehanne’s. At the end of the manuscript René drew a very pretty design—side by side two shields of arms, his and Jehanne’s, united by a royal crown; his supporter, on the left, une souche,—the stump of a forest tree,—with one flourishing foliaged branch bearing a censer of burning incense; her supporter, on the right, a chestnut-tree in full flower, and on a branch two royal paroquets—lovebirds!

In 1457 the poet-King put forth an allegory of chivalry which he called “La Conqueste de Doulce Mercy par le Cuer d’Amour espris.” The conceit of the story is just a simple knight,—youthful, vigorous, and a true lover of women,—setting forth for the devotion he holds for his mistress to endure perilous adventures. René himself is, of course, the hero of the poem, the intrepid soldier of Naples, the heroic prisoner of Bulgneville.

The opening of the poem reveals “le Bon Roy” one night wakeful, and suffering heartache—“Mortie dormant en resverie.” It appeared to him that his heart left his breast, and that “Vif Désire” whispered gently:

“Si, Doulce Mercy,

Desires de povoir avoir,

Il fault que tu faces devoir

Par la force d’armes l’acquerir.”

“If, True Chivalry,

Thou wouldst have power,

Then thy metal try

And by arms acquire.”

“Vif Désire” then armed “Cuer” with a blade of steel, keen and bright, a helmet stamped with amorous thoughts bearing the crest of hope, three blooms of “N’oubliez mye.” Then led gently forth, he meets “Franc Vouloir,” tall and strong, and fully armed for all emergencies; and putting spurs to his charger, he goes off at a gallop with his companions. Over hill and dale they dash, until they come in view of a lovely damsel—

“plaiesante et blonde

Et de tous biens la plus parfaict du monde.”

After passing through a weird forest, they emerge upon a smiling valley, where they behold a sumptuous palace. On approaching, they see a very splendid column of jasper, and after dismounting they read the inscription carved thereon:

“A vous, tous Cuers gentilz et gracieux,

Qui conquérir voulez pour valori mieulx

Du Dieu d’Amour et de vos Dames aussi

Doulce grace et eureuse mercy.

N’ayez en vous changement de pensée

Pour delaissier vos premières amours,

Soiez loyaux sans varier tousjours,

Pitie pur vous ne sera par lasée.”

Whilst pondering over this epithet, a very beautiful woman approaches them, splendidly attired in royal robes, and seizes hold of the reins of “Franc Vouloir’s” steed. “Cuer” at once turns to her, and, kneeling, kisses her hand and asks her name. “Douce Éspérance,” she replies, “and I greet you, worthy gentlemen, and desire to set you on your way.” Directed by this gracious lady, they reach the shores of a great lake or sea, and, moored by the water’s edge, they espy a little sailing vessel, and in it two lovely maidens—“Fiance” and “Actente”—about whom “Douce Éspérance” had spoken. Leaving their mounts to wander free, the travellers board the frail craft, and, presto! they are at the glorious temple of the Isle of Love. The day passes dillydally; they all sup together, and the sweet, soft shadows hide their repose. Other characters are “Bel Accueil,” “Franchise,” “Piété,” “Faux Semblant,” and “Largesse”; and the allegory ends, as all should do, in the complete victory of Cupid.

The year that Louis XI., by his greed and treachery, drove his noble uncle, “le Bon Roy René,” out of Anjou was one of trial and embarrassment for the King of Sicily. At first his feelings, outraged by the infamous behaviour of the son of his best-loved sister, Queen Marie, got the better of his equanimity, and he gave way to indignant protests; but when a man is in his sixties he learns to put up with base affronts. René learned by sad experience to measure hypocrites by their professions, but to leave their castigation to posterity. He accepted philosophically, adverse circumstances as they arose and not only checked the expression of his own sentiments, but discouraged reprisals on the part of his impatient and indignant subjects. With this same restraint the poet-King put forth a sententious drama, which he entitled “L’Abuzé en Court”; we may translate it, perhaps, “The Victim of Circumstances.” Its theme may be gauged as follows: Within the shady portal of an ancient church,—the pavement strewn with the persons of the blind and crippled seeking alms,—a pious wayfarer beheld an oldish man whose silken though shabby attire spoke of better days. His doublet was torn and his long poniard broken, his light brown hair streaked with silver strands, and his pouch poorly furnished. The wayfarer speaks kindly to the victim of Providence:

“Mon gentil homme, Dieu vous garde,

Et vous doint ce que déseriez.

Pardonnez moi, je vous en prie,

Et me dictez par courtousie

De vostre vie le renom

Que vous estez et vostre nom.”

“My good fellow, God protect you,

And grant you all that now you desire.

Forgive me fully, now I pray you,

And tell me something of your despair.

By your courtesy I would your name,

And your life’s story and deeds of fame.”

L’Abuzé politely replies:

“Sire! pourquoi le demandez

C’est raison que je vous le dye.

J’ay nom sans que riens en mesdye

Le pouvre homme abuzé en court.”

Then he goes on to tell his story—the story of his life’s adversity, a biograph of René’s. In happy days, now past, he had his amours and his ambitions, his military exploits and his acts of peace. Much of his time he had spent unselfishly caring for others, whose weal depleted his purse and embarrassed his affairs until he was forced to settle with his creditors. The narrative is worked out in dialogue by the concourse of many speakers—among them a great lady, “La Court”—Providence, and two demoiselles of pity—“Abuz”—Wantoncy, and “Folcuideo”—Mockery.

The mise en scène varies as the tension, and the vicissitudes of human life are presented under every aspect. The poem is a “morality,” as that term was erstwhile understood.

The end of the whole matter is summed up characteristically as follows:

“J’ay pascience!

Et pour vostre paine et salaire

Y-a-t-il aulcun que y pense?

Pour à voz loyers satisfaire

Que avez vous?

J’ay pascience!”

“Patience is mine!

For your ailing and for your health,

Is there anything for which you pine

Openly to gain, or by your stealth,

What would you?

Patience is mine!”

René and Jehanne went to Provence in 1473 in the guise of fugitives. The Angevines deplored excessively this exile; they loved both King and Queen, and Louis and all his works they hated cordially. René saw no other course to follow. He was heavily cast down by family afflictions. Jean, his noble eldest son, was dead; dead, too, were Charles d’Anjou, his brother, and Nicholas, his dear grandson, and Ferri de Vaudémont. He sought peace and consolation, and Provence and the Provençaux offered both most loyally.

The story of Louis’s perfidy may be shortly told. In 1474 René proclaimed Charles de Maine, his nephew, his heir to Anjou-Provence, regardless of the French King’s presumptions. Louis summoned his uncle to Paris to answer before the Parliament. Something of a compromise was come to, for Louis said he should be content for Charles to be proclaimed Duke and Count, but after him he or his heirs would annex both duchy and county to France.

It had always been the policy of Sovereigns to encourage knight-errantry and tournaments, for the competitors who assembled became lieges of the lord. The names and performances of candidates were inscribed on parchment rolls with gold and enamels; these were read out aloud by tabarded heralds. The champions were escorted in pageants to be decorated by the Queen or Lady President of the “Lists”—a graduation, so to speak, in a world-wide University of chivalry. In 1453 Duke Philippe of Burgundy instituted a very singular festival, “The Pageant of the Pheasant,” in which knights were made to swear for Church and fame. The oath ran as follows: “I N. swear before God, my Creator, in the first place; the ever-glorious Mary, His mother; and, lastly, before these ladies of the tournament and the Pheasant, to be a true and Christian knight.” The Pheasant was the emblem of fecundity, the mascot of would-be brides and mothers!

Troubadours and “Courts of Love” were complements of warlike deeds on stricken field or in tilting-joust. The Provençal seigneurs and their ladies lived in lonely castles, with nothing on earth to do. Provence was the cradle of the troubadours. Every troubadour had to choose the lady of his passion; she might return it or not, as she chose. It was Guillaume de Poitou, a very famous troubadour, who gave the maxim: “If you propose a game of love, I am not too foolish to refuse, but I shall choose the side that is the best.” All this appealed to King René, and his bent fell in distinctly with that of the famous troubadours of the past. His poetic and sentimental nature found reflective expression in the old “Magali,” of the popular melodies of Provence:

“O Magali ma tant amado,

Mete la tête au fenestroun,

Esecuto un pan aguesto subado

De Tambourine, de Viouloun

Esplein estello paramount,

L’Auro os tournado

Mailes estello paliran

Quand te verraut.”

This was the spirit of the life to which King René introduced his young and beauteous consort—a romantic existence which appealed forcibly to the sweet instincts of the royal bride. Her response was the joy of René’s heart; if denied the fruit of sexual love, he and she were productive of the issue of kindred souls. They lived for one another in an elysium of bliss, chaste and unalloyed, with no qualms of conscience and no aftermath of reproach.

René’s love of Jehanne became a passion; her freshness and animation and the evenness of her disposition were to him like so many springs of invigorating water, whence, quaffing, he ever rose to new activities. She became the inspirer of his poetry, the spur in his official duties, and the pivot of his benevolence. He was never tired of extolling her virtues in prose and verse, nor of painting her in miniature and in large. It was said that he always carried about with him wherever he went her portrait, which he himself painted upon a small oval piece of walnut wood let into a locket frame of chiselled gold and enamel. More than this, his most treasured trophy of the “Lists”—the lance with which he unseated Charles VII. at the nuptial tournament for Queen Marguerite d’Anjou—contained an orifice wherein he inserted another likeness of “la bonne Jehanne.” In the inventory of his garderobe at Angers Castle we read: “Item, Ung bois de lance creux, ou il y a dedans un rollet de parchemin, auquel c’est dedans la portraicture de la Royne de Sicile.”[A]

[A] “Item, A hollow lance pole wherein there is a roll of parchment upon which is a portrait of the Queen of Sicily.”

The Comptes de Roi René, filling very many folios, wherein are noted household, State, and private expenses and other correlative matters, were stored in the Chambre des Comptes which René caused to be built at Angers Castle. A suite of apartments facing the river was used for the transaction of business matters and for the deposit of valuable documents. Here, too, was the King’s council-chamber, whilst in the gardens stretching in front along the river-side were cages and caves, wherein were kept many lions and strange beasts the collection of which became a royal hobby. Beyond the spacious buildings at the centre of the gardens was a pavilion which René used as a study and a sanctum, wherein he spent much of his leisure time dreaming, reading, and writing. Here he kept a register of artists and artisans, noting their several qualifications, their works, and their honorariums and salaries. He had a sort of school of architect-surveyors who, under his personal direction, prepared plans and projections of all the works, public and private, in which he was interested—markets, bridges, fountains, cottages, etc.

A work at Angers in which he took the greatest interest, and on which he lavished large sums of money, was the erection and decoration of a chapel within the Cathedral of St. Maurice, which he dedicated to the ever-blessed memory of St. Bernardin, his cherished friend and confessor.

Giovanni della Porta was born at Massa di Carrara at the close of 1384. He took the cord and cowl of St. Francis d’Assisi, and was sent with other brethren of the Order to evangelize the people of Marseilles. He became attached to the household of King Louis II., René’s father, and thus an intimacy sprang up between the two. He accompanied René on all his expeditions to Italy, and remained in priestly attendance upon him when at home. The good man died of fever at Aquila in Calabria in 1449, and René, ever grateful to his mentor and spiritual father, in 1450 prevailed upon Pope Nicholas V. to order his canonization. Certain miracles said to have been wrought at his tomb in Southern Italy, and weird happenings as his body was translated to Anjou, convinced the Curia of his sanctity. His memorial chapel at Angers was a sumptuous erection, and in its adornment the King took an active part, painting the glass windows and the altar and its reredos. Before the resting-place of the dead saint’s corpse René directed a funeral chamber to be made, wherein he subsequently ordered by his will that his heart should be deposited. This was an action truly characteristic of “le bon Roy.” He had so often unburdened himself to the saint, and from him had obtained not only absolution, but direction, that their two hearts beat in accord in life, and in death they were also joined.

Not only did the heart of René rest near St. Bernardin, but the hearts also,—each in its golden casket,—of Jehanne and the valiant and chivalrous Jean de Calabria, René’s eldest son.

King René and Queen Jehanne were pious folk indeed. At Marseilles, at Tarascon, and at Aix itself, they assisted humbly at Church festivals, processions, and pilgrimages. The lives and loves of the humble home at Bethany in Palestine, transhipped to the reverent shores of tuneful Provence, kindled the affection and the reverence of one and all. The feasts of “Les Maries,” St. Marthe de Tarasque, and of St. Maximin, good Lazarus’s disciple, were honoured by enthusiastic annual devotions. No one tired of hearing of those saintly lives, and no sacrifice was too great to show the heart’s devotion. King René and his consort’s offerings took the form of costly reliquaries in gold, enamels, and jewels, depositories upon high-altars for holy relics. The royal couple assisted at the translation of St. Martha’s relics to Tarascon, May 10, 1458. In 1461 from Aix went a splendid casket to the collegiate church of St. George at Nancy, in pious memory of that redoubtable warrior and of the gentle Isabelle de Lorraine. It was intended for the encasement of a thigh-bone of the Knight of Cappadocia. The King and Queen in 1473 presented another precious reliquary to the Church of St. Nicholas du Port at Angers, and with it they bestowed upon the clergy the unique gift of an arm and a hand of the saint. Twelve leagues from Aix is the curious little town of St. Maximin, where, in the thirteenth-century church,—built by Charles II. of Naples and Provence, ancestor of Queen Giovanna II.,—are preserved the sacred bones of St. Mary Magdalen. The skull, it is said, has still a small fragment of flesh adhering where Christ touched her forehead. Here, too, the kingly couple bestowed a golden reliquary for the saint’s right arm and founded a perpetual Mass. This sad saint of Christ, the repentant one, ever had great influence with René and his royal consort. Not content with listening to her sweet voice,—perhaps an imagination, after all,—in the streets of Marseilles (as the King himself has depicted), in a beauteous retreat near Angers he fixed a sweet shrine, La Baumette, or Bausome, near Reculée, where he founded a hermitage, “La Madeleine de St. Baumette.” This was partly in honour of “St. Baume,” as the Magdalen, the patroness of Provence was familiarly called. In the chapel the King painted a picture of St. Bernardin hearing confession—perhaps his own.

If René had lost the crown of Naples, another crown was shortly laid at his feet. In 1469 the Grand Council of Barcelona rejected Juan II. as King of Catalonia. He was brother of Alfonso V., René’s rival and conqueror in Naples, but unpopular and blind, and somewhat unready. His wife, the courageous Queen Blanche of Navarre, had taken his place in line of battle, and was enthusiastically beloved by the Catalonians; she died, unhappily, in 1468, of a cancer or of poison, so it was rumoured, and with her died the love of Juan’s subjects. The vacant throne was offered with one accord to King René of Sicily-Anjou, the son of the beloved and venerated Princess Yolanda,—who had been brought up at Barcelona,—the only child of old King Juan I. René, in accepting the graceful tribute to his dear mother’s claim and person, placed his son Jean de Calabria in the hands of the Catalonians, and begged them,—his own age being far advanced, and his son in his prime and a famous warrior,—to proclaim him in his stead. Jean was acclaimed generally, and hastened to Barcelona to assume his crown, being backed by Louis XI. with a money subsidy and a strong force of men. The landing of the new King was a scene of uproarious rejoicing. His princely qualities appealed to them, and his grandmother had been their own Princess. People struggled to embrace his knees as he rode to the castle; they kissed the harness of his charger, and ladies tossed valuable rings and jewellery with their flowers and their kisses sweet.

“THE BURNING BUSH”

A Triptych at Aix Cathedral. Portraits of King René and Queen Jehanne.

Alas for the joys of nations and of individuals! when things are rosiest, and all tend to good and peace and prosperity, there swoops down the insatiable mower with his scythe, to garner what men can least well spare. King Juan III. of Catalonia and Calabria had not been installed in the kingdom of his grandmother more than one short year, when he fell ill of plague or poison,—the two fellest foes to Sovereigns then,—and died at Barcelona on December 13, 1470. He had fought for his father’s cause and his own right nobly in Italy, defeating Ferdinand d’Aragon, Alfonso’s son, at Sarno in 1460, but, beaten at Troia, he fled to Ischia.

The Castle of Beaufort was built upon a lofty rock rising above the Loire, overlooking the whole of that fertile and lovely valley; from its battlements both Angers and Saumur were visible. King René purchased it and its estate in 1469 for 30,000 gold crowns, and assigned it as part of Queen Jehanne’s fortune. After the King’s death and burial, and when she had taken a sad and affectionate farewell of her devoted people in Provence, the royal widow settled down in this attractive residence, and there spent the residue of her life. The Comptes contain many items for building materials, decoration, and furniture, showing King René’s anxiety to make his dear wife’s bijou residence a very real pleasaunce for her.

René indeed was a master-builder, not merely in the way of a hobby, but practically and in many places. He studied the works of Leon Battista Alberti and other famous architects, and entertained and employed numbers of Italian sculptors. Pietro da Milano was one of these; he was engaged principally in Barrois, and there added the duties of director of revels to his other artistic occupations. Marble busts of René and Jehanne, of Queen Margaret of England and her unhappy son Edward, Prince of Wales, of Ferri de Vaudémont and Yolande, with their young son René, and many others, found expression under Pietro’s skilful chisel. In the “Farce des Pastoureaux,” acted at the Palace of Bar-le-Duc in August, 1463, King René provided costly dresses for his clever little namesake grandson, then twelve years old, and for the rest of the juvenile cast; these were made by Noel Bontault, after Pietro da Milano’s designs. The King and his Court were then in residence at the Castle of Louppy, which he had repaired along with the castles of Clermont en Argonne, de Koeurs, and Bonconville, and where he received and comforted his miserable daughter, the heroic consort of Henry VI. Queen Jehanne’s ministrations to the forlorn Queen were tenderly rendered and gratefully received. She is credited with the characteristically graceful acts of reclothing the fugitive, and according to Queen Margaret precedence and homage. King René’s handiwork in all these enterprises was varied and extensive. He painted the windows, he carved the escutcheons of arms, and he fashioned the hinges and locks of the doors. The Comptes prove by very many entries his royal excellence as a craftsman as well as an artist. Scarcely a church in Barrois, Lorraine, Anjou, and Provence, but bore evidence of the kingly artistry. Perhaps his two specialities were glass working and decorating, and wool and silk weaving and embroidery.

One of the most admirable works of the King and Queen,—for Jehanne was not only the amanuensis of her husband, but his inspirer also,—was the conception and the elaboration of the procession of the “Fête Dieu” and “Les Jeux de la Tarasque.” This pageant originated in the mind of René when, as a youth, he witnessed with emotion in 1427, at Bar-le-Duc, “La Mystère de la Passion,” under the direction of Conrad Bayer, Bishop of Metz. Thirty years of war and travel did not banish the impression the young Christian warrior gained, and from time to time in Anjou and elsewhere he composed rondeaux, ballades, and chansons, in a masque or mystery which he called “Le Roy Avenir.” In 1474 the King and Queen assisted at Aix at the first rendition of “Les Jeux de la Fête Dieu.” This was preceded by “La Procession du Sacré”—the Procession of the Sacred Host. All the clergy, nobles, troubadours, pretty women, and gallant knights, of Provence assisted, and all the trade corporations took part. Everybody in the procession carried upon the tip of a white wand a piece of pain béni. Each section of the cortège was a moving spectacle or pageant. The first section, by acclamation, exhibited “Lon Grand Juée deis Diables”—the Grand Play of the Devils. The devils were black and red and green, and every youth’s ambition was to figure as a Prince of Darkness; indeed, in later times a young fellow based his claim to be a devil on the fact that his father and all his ancestors had been devils, so “c’est pourquoi ne le serrais je pas!”

To “the Devils” succeeded “the Magi,” “the Innocents of Bethlehem,” “the Apostles,” “the Queen of Sheba and Solomon,” and other tableaux movants from Scriptural sources. Most amusing were “The Play of the Jews,” represented by human cats—a reference to the features characteristic of the race; “Les Chevaux fringants,” hobby-horses played by four-and-twenty children, dressed as knights of the “Lists”; a masque of morris-dancers. The two last spectacles were lugubrious: “The Company of Lepers” and “The March of Death.”

The revels filled five whole days in and out of church, through and through the streets and squares, and out into the open pleasure-grounds. Prizes were awarded, honours bestowed, and profits made, and everybody was the better for the prodigality of “le bon Roy” and the graciousness of “la bonne Royne.”

René had been in early life remarkable for his simple tastes and abstemiousness in food and drink, and Queen Isabelle was equally careful in personal matters. Their lives were passed in strenuous times when self-denial required great sacrifices of individual indulgences. Isabelle was a soldier’s wife, Jehanne the consort of a statesman when life’s battle had given way to the ease of peace. Both were attractive women, few their superiors, but Isabelle’s hand was upon the hilt of the sword and the snaffle of the charger. Jehanne’s held the mirror of fashion and the goblet of pleasure. After René and Jehanne had arranged their domestic settlement in Provence, at once their Court became noted for its magnificent hospitality. René employed the first master-cook of the day, Maestro Guillaume Real, as his Master of the Household. People nicknamed him “Courçon,” as marshal of the courses of a banquet, rather than “Soupçon,” the secret of each! The royal repasts were arranged as spectacles; at the cross high table were placed the hosts and guests of honour, and at tables down the hall other guests were accommodated. The walls were hung with silver and crystal sconces full of torches or tapers, and the trophies of war and the chase belonging to the house were there displayed. The covers and the service were as rich and costly as could be. Gold, enamels, crystals, rare faience, and other art treasures, were used with lavish taste.

Each course was proclaimed heraldically by blasts of horns and motets from the music gallery. The high table was served by knights and men of rank, who bore the splendid bowls and dishes upon napery of cloth of gold. The richer viands were enclosed in golden caskets, and the keys offered to the guests, who in turn unlocked them and took or refused their contents. Some of the confections have not their parallel to-day. One table, for example, was made to represent a stag-hunt, another a village revel, one a castle with a moat of rare vintage, another an abbey church with bells pealing and hidden children singing. Small animals and birds, and actually growing trees and flowers, were used. The roast and the dessert were the pièces de résistance; each was carried up the hall in gay procession with much ceremonious bowing, and guarded by archers of the guard in gorgeous liveries. At the sight of any very splendid and appealing course the whole lordly company were wont to burst out into song—a well-known and lengthy chanson; it was called “Le Sauve-garde de ma Vie.”

Over the anticlimax of the feast the kindly chroniclers usually draw a discreet veil, for warriors in the field were vanquished in the hall, and beauties beloved in the boudoir were forgotten in the debauch. We may suppose rightfully, however, that the hospitalities of René and Jehanne never caused a flush of shame or a prick of scorn. They aimed at and happily succeeded in proving that “il n’y pas au monde de royauté comparable au bonheur d’être aimé d’elle,” as the King prettily termed it.

For twenty-five years the simple delights of a useful domestic life were serenely enjoyed by the happy King and Queen. Their spirit of contentedness hallowed the homes of their people, and Provence became a paradise of peace. Certainly the want of children caused Jehanne many a pang, but the devotion of a good husband, one so accomplished, so unselfish, and so universally beloved, was a real compensation, and she had learned the lesson of mingled weal and woe. She found congenial occupation in furthering the good intentions of the King and in ministering to all in need around her. She had, nevertheless, quasi-maternal cares, for in the palace at Aix and in other royal residences were several children and young people of both sexes, besides the three acknowledged bastards by convention, who could lay claim to royal parentage. Some of these are mentioned in Les Comptes as receiving alimony and gifts from René. An entry on July 8, 1466, records the gift to Demoiselle Odille of a pelisse of marten fur. She was then somewhere about twenty years of age, but had charge of the King’s rings and jewellery under the eye of Sieur Guillaume de Remerville, the Treasurer of the Household. René had married her, in 1460, to Gaspare Spinola, a Genoese attendant in his train, who died in 1465, leaving his child-widow to the care of her father. Another child is also named, Hélène,—“la petite Hélène,” as René called her,—an attractive little creature, “singing like a lark and dancing like a gazelle,” who died on her fifteenth birthday, in the year 1469. The King liked to have her near him at meal-times, when he fondled her affectionately, “comme ma vraie fille.”

Besides these family cares, Queen Jehanne devoted much of her time to feminine industries. In the convents, in the workshops, in the fields, were poor girls and women needing assistance and encouragement. The example of “good Queen Yolande” was ever before her eyes, and she strove to make herself not only mistress of their hearts, but of their occupations. Spinning, weaving, embroidering, and generally all needlework, found her an accomplished executant. She, too, could use her brush and palette, in miniature and in large, and her chisel and mallet both in wood and stone, and she was a very excellent artificer in gold and silver work. Her benefactions were on the most liberal and most catholic scale; no good cause was overlooked, and when she came to make her will, paragraph after paragraph was taken up by bequests to charitable institutions and to cherished needy individuals. If less devout than her sister-in-law, Queen Marie, and less religiously exercised, Queen Jehanne was a model daughter of the Church, and none recognized this more completely than His Holiness the Pope, who bestowed upon her the precious decoration of the Golden Rose, “for virtue as a spouse and benevolence as a Queen.”

Approaching her jubilee,—an anxious period for many women,—the good Queen fell away in health, and appeared to be sickening for her end. Poison was hinted at, but in all probability she suffered, not from poison designedly administered, but from the poison of the atmosphere, laden time out of mind, in those low-lying lands near the mouths of the Rhine, with the seeds of disease—the dreaded plague and black-death.

Happily, Jehanne was able, through her robust constitution and abstemious way of life, to throw off the evil effects of her malady; but no sooner had she regained her accustomed vigour than a crushing sorrow came to her—the mortal illness of her cherished spouse, King René. His was a green old age, with his venerable but erect figure and his winning if somewhat melancholy expression. His blue eyes and gracious aspect drew forth confidence all round, and his gentle voice and genial manners excited true affection. Dressed almost with monkish severity in a great long coat of black silk or velvet, with a heavy collar and revers of brown squirrel fur, and wearing a girdle with a crucifix and beads, his long white hair was capped by a simple velvet berretta, and he displayed neither jewels nor decorations, only his Sovereign’s badge and chain of gold. He was a typical father of his people.

Struck down mysteriously one day at Mass in the Cathedral of Aix by a stalking epidemic,—he had not spared himself in visits of condolence to the stricken and bereaved,—in the springtide of 1480, the King was borne tenderly to the palace. No more tender nurse could there be than his devoted consort. She took her station at once at his bedside, and, laying her head upon his pillow, she cheered and solaced him as none other could; only did she rouse herself for needful ablutions, for food, and for the saying of the “Hours” in the oratory. With her was a little maiden, René’s grandchild Marguerite, thirteen years of age, Yolande de Vaudémont’s daughter, a great pet of Queen Jehanne. The child had the sweetest of sweet voices,—a quality very precious in the estimation of the King,—and she soothed his sufferings and refreshed his weaknesses by childish songs and minstrelsy, whilst she stroked his withered hands and in them placed her own.

At dawn of day, July 10, amid the rustling of the summer foliage outside the wide-open windows of the palace, came whisperings from the sick-room—soft, low, and sad: “Le bon Roy est mort!” It was gently told to the weeping Queen by the royal physicians, but her Ladies of Honour in the anteroom caught the ominous news besides. They stole outside the heavy arras and told the terrible secret to the valets and men-at-arms; then it flashed out through the galleries and across the courtyards, and stayed the janitors of the gates as they prepared to open them as usual for the new day’s life. “Le bon Roy est mort!” soon was echoed through the city streets, and tears and protestations of affection and tender souvenirs of regret found full utterance. “Le bon Roy is mort!” was like the knell of doom. No one could realize it or prophesy.