‘But, in good truth, such thoughts were not in his heart; for the property of royal blood is to have such compassion and mercy that it cannot suffer any cruelty, murder or treason whatever; and of this blood my late lord of Orleans had a large share, for he was the son of a king and queen.
‘O, king Charles! if thou wert now alive, what wouldst thou say? What tears could appease thee? What would have hindered thee from doing justice for so base a murder? Alas! how hast thou loved, and to what honour hast thou diligently trained the tree that has brought forth the fruit which has put to death thy very dear son? Alas! king Charles, thou mayest now say with Jacob, ‘Fera pessima devoravit filium meum.’ The worst of beasts has devoured my son.
‘Our adversary has made a miserable return to thee, oh Charles! for all the great riches thou hast heaped on his father. This is the gratitude for the expedition to Flanders, wherein thou and thy kingdom were in such peril out of love to him. In truth, all the magnificent gifts thou madest the father are already forgotten. Sire, look down, and hear the lady of Orleans, crying in the words of the Psalmist, ‘Domine deduc me in justitia tua propter inimicos meos.’ Lord, lead me to thy judgment on account of mine enemies.
‘This concludes my second argument. My third is founded on pity, considering the desolate state of the supplicants, namely, the widowed lady of Orleans, in despair, with her innocent children, thy nephews, now become orphans, having no other father to look to but thee. It becomes thee, therefore, to incline thyself diligently to do them justice, as they have no other refuge but in thee, who art their lord and sovereign; and they are beside thy very near relations, as thou well knowest.
‘Let pity move thy breast; for as Saint James the apostle says, ‘Religio munda et immaculata est visitare pupillos et viduas in tribulatione eorum.’ To visit orphans and widows in their distress is the duty of a pure and undefiled religion. It is melancholy that so great a lady should suffer thus undeservedly; and she may be compared to her whom Valerius speaks of in the sixth book. A widow had a son who had been unjustly slain: she went to the emperor Octavian to demand justice, and said, ‘Sire, do me justice for the cruel death of my son.’ The emperor had already mounted his horse, to perform a long journey, but replied, ‘Woman, wait until I be returned, when I will do thee justice.’ The woman answered instantly, ‘Alas! my lord, thou knowest not if ever thou shalt return, and I wish not justice to be delayed.’ The emperor said, ‘Should I not return, my successor will see thee righted;’ but the widow replied, ‘Sire, thou knowest not if thy successor would wish to see me righted: he may, perhaps, have something to prevent it like to thee; and supposing that he should do me justice, what honour would it be to thee, or what merit canst thou claim for it from the gods? Thou art bound to do me justice: wherefore then seekest thou to throw the burden on others?’
‘The emperor, observing the firmness of the woman and the reasonableness of her arguments, dismounted, and, without more delay, did her ample justice. It was for this meritorious conduct, that when the emperor died, five years after, in the pagan faith, he was brought to life again by the prayers of St Gregory, then pope, and baptised, as the histories relate.
‘The example of this emperor, O king of France! thou oughtest to follow in regard to the disconsolate widow of the late duke of Orleans, who is now a supplicant to thee, and has formerly demanded, and now again demands justice, for the inhuman and barbarous murder of her lord and husband, who was thy brother. Delays, or reference to thy successors, will have no avail; for thou, as king, art singularly obliged to do this, considering the rank of the supplicants, the duchess of Orleans and her children.
‘This lady is like to the widow of whom St Jerome speaks, in his second book against Jovinian, wherein he relates, that the daughter of Cato, after the death of her husband, was in the deepest sorrow, uttering nothing but groans and lamentations. Her relations and neighbours asked her how long this grief was to last,—when she replied, that her life and her sorrow would end together. Such, without doubt, is the state of my lady the duchess,—for she can have no remedy for her loss but by means of the justice she is soliciting. In truth, she does not require any hostile measures,—for were that the case, she and her children, with their allies, are so much more powerful than the duke of Burgundy that they are well able to avenge themselves.
‘This act of justice thou canst not refuse, nor can the adverse party raise any objections to it, considering the persons who demand it. O, sovereign king! act in such wise that the words the Psalmist spoke of the Lord may be applied to thee: ‘Justus Dominus et justitias dilexit, æquitatem vidit vultus ejus.’ Our Lord is judgment, and loves justice: equity is the light of his countenance.—This concludes my third argument.
‘My fourth argument is founded partly on the act itself, which was so abominably cruel, the like was never seen; and all men of understanding must feel compassion for it. This, if duly considered, should incline thee the more to do justice, from the usages of the ancient kings, who, through compassion, bewailed even the death of an enemy: how much the more then does it become thee to bewail the death of thy brother, and to exert thy courage to punish the authors of it? Should it not be so, great disgrace will attach to thee and to many others.