All the church-bells in Barrois and Lorraine were again set jingling joyously when, in the ducal castle of Toul, on the morning of January 17, 1437, a young mother,—very young indeed, barely seventeen,—brought forth her first-born—a beauteous boy, the image, as the midwives said, of the boy-father, not yet nineteen. Church-bells, too, rang merrily all over Anjou and Provence when the glad tidings reached their borders that a male heir was born to the honours of Sicily-Anjou-Provence. Perhaps René and Isabelle were too young to realize what it all meant for France at large, but Queen Yolande understood well enough its tenor, and with her congratulations she greeted her first son’s grandchild with the title of “Prince of Gerona,” linking him ostentatiously with her hereditary rights in Aragon. Duke Charles, too, and Duchess Margaret were the happiest of grandparents, and baby Jean was created Comte de Nancy as future Duke.
Charles’s death was somewhat sudden and quite unexpected. Strong man that he was, King Death seemed to be a power not immediately to be feared. René was not at Nancy when the death-knell sounded, but news swiftly reached him, and he returned at once to the capital. Duchess Margaret,—despite her lamentations and her natural dislike to public appearance,—attired herself in full Court dress, the crown she rarely wore upon her head, and all the officials of the Court, the Government, and city, in her retinue, and hastened to the gate to welcome the new Duke of Lorraine. Before her carriage rode a number of lords and knights, who dismounted on the approach of René, and, saluting him deferentially, greeted him as “Vous estoit le nostre duc!” The cry was taken up by all the gallant company, whilst René, having dismounted at the portal of St. George, took the sacred missal offered by the Dean into his hands, and swore then and there to respect and safeguard the ancient liberties of the State and city.
One of the quaintest of quaint observances followed, a custom peculiar to Lorraine. After receiving the ecclesiastical blessing, the new Duke remounted his horse, and into his hand was placed the ancient altar cross called “Polluyon.” He rode slowly through the city to St. Nicholas Gate, where he again dismounted, and gave his charger into the care of one of the canons, who took his place in the saddle and rode out of sight. This strange custom had been observed at all the public recognitions of new Dukes of Lorraine ever since its inception by Duke Raoul, in 1339. The Duke then returned on foot to St. George’s, bearing still the jewelled cross. At the entrance the Bishop stood ready to administer the customary oaths and to accord the Papal benediction. This ceremony also was unique. The Bishop told him to face the assembly of his subjects at the four points of the compass, and to repeat at each the formula: “I take this oath before God and you willingly, and look to God for assistance, and to you for service.”
Then conducted to the castle in great circumstance, amid the vociferous plaudits of the populace,—“Noël! Noël!” they cried,—the Duke knelt and kissed the hand of Duchess Isabelle, who was waiting there, and presented her to the delirious citizens. “Vive le nostre Duc! Vive la nostre Duchesse!” rang through the city, and, caught up by the sculptured pinnacles and turrets of the cathedral, mingled harmoniously with the musical cadences of the bells, and so was wafted over all that fair and smiling land.
René, although but two-and-twenty, gave immediate evidence of wisdom beyond his years. His power to grasp and handle complex affairs of State, and his discrimination in matters of moment, proved the excellence of his grand-uncle’s training. His personal appearance was all in his favour, and his graceful, well-set-up figure, his open countenance, his majestic manner,—ever ready to bend to circumstances,—gained general admiration and confidence. His gracious, patient, and conciliatory bearing was remarkable. His modesty and absolute lack of presumption attracted the best men of all parties. His readiness to appoint a Council of State, with unusual freedom of deliberation and action, was only, perhaps, what might have been looked for from the son of the founder of the free Parliament of Provence in 1415. The new Duke set on foot movements for the amelioration of the condition of the poor, for the improvement of education, and for the rectification of the morals of the Court and city. One of his earliest edicts was for the suppression of blasphemy; a first charge was punishable by the judge in the ordinary way, a second involved a heavy fine, a third obtained correction in the public pillory, and a fourth offence was purged only by the splitting of the tongue and rigorous imprisonment.
RENÉ D’ANJOU
(Circa 1440)