We left a page or two ago, Margaret of Flanders duchess dowager of Burgundy, widowed and childless. She was still young, and if not quite handsome, any short-coming in that respect was made up by the provinces that were to fall to her from her father the Count Louis; and there came suitors a-plenty to offer consolation to her bereaved heart. Distinguished among these consolers were first, Edmund Langley fifth son of Edward III.; second, Philip of Valois the new duke of Burgundy. Edmund seemed to have the lead. He found a good ally in his mother Philippa who was herself half Valois as we have seen; but her heart was English: she hated her French cousins, and now put forth all her energy to win away from them this rich prize. She pleaded so well with count Louis that he consented to give his daughter to Edmund. But there was another woman who had something to say, namely Margaret of France the lady I had the honor of introducing to you a few moments ago. She was the mother of count Louis and grandmother of the young widow who was named after her. She was thoroughly French and hated her English cousins as cordially as Philippa hated her French ones; and she declared that not if she could prevent it, should her granddaughter marry that Plantagenet, that Cockney. She and her son held a stormy interview. Louis was long recalcitrant; but she finally used an argument to which he listened. She was in her own right countess of Artois and of La Franche Comté, and she threatened to cede those provinces to the crown, so that neither he nor his should ever possess one rood of them. Now Louis was in the prime of life and hoped to survive his mother, and to enjoy Artois and La Franche Comté with the rest of his princely inheritance, and there was nothing to do but to yield. He took back his word to Edmund, and gave it to Philip. But there was still another personage to consult. Edmund, Philip and Margaret were all related and not very remotely: they were all three great-great-grand children of Philip III. Canon law forbade the marriage of relations up to the seventh degree; and as nobody knew very well where the seventh degree was, the Church had simplified matters by declaring it to mean any relationship that could be traced. A papal dispensation was therefore necessary; and the case was referred to Urban V. who sat upon the throne of Avignon: it was for him to say in favor of which aspirant he would suspend the canon.
Some of you may think they ought have asked Margaret herself which of her admirers she loved best. The chronicles intimate that like a devout widow she was ready to take thankfully whatever husband the Holy Father should choose for her. Urban V. was a Frenchman, and it did not take him long to decide in favor of the French suitor; and in June 1369, Philip-the-bold and Margaret of Flanders were married at Ghent.
That no kind heart may be troubled about Edmund Langley, I will add that that unsuccessful swain went and manfully offered himself to a pretty Spanish girl, natural daughter of Peter-the-cruel; and a descendant of that loving pair sits at this moment on the throne of England.
Philip and Margaret had got as far as Bruges on their wedding tour when they were out of money, and it seems their credit was so poor that they could borrow none without security; so they had to pawn all their jewels to defray their way back to Paris.[6]
The bride and groom after a short stay at Paris, refitted the castle of Rouvre the birthplace and residence of Margaret’s first husband, the last of the Robertines. Behold then dame Margaret once more mistress of Rouvre, wedded to a second Philip, and a second time duchess of Burgundy. She could now solve the problem; and in pursuance of that worthy end, two years after her marriage, she brought forth a son. It was a wondrous infant: nothing short of the pope himself would do for its godfather; so that Gregory XI. successor of Urban, stood by proxy at the font, and called the boy’s name John; and as he grew up in the fear of neither God nor man, he become known as John-the-fearless.
John-the-good’s badness was ended; and his son Charles V. called the Wise, reigned. He was as unlike his foolish and fighting sire as possible. He was probably brave like the rest of his race, though he disclaimed any such virtue, and ran away at Poictiers; but he was passed master in the school of diplomacy.
The Plantagenets had inherited, as we have said, nearly one-third of France; and they coveted the rest. This covetousness was backed up by the English people who were ignorant enough not to see that they were fighting to degrade the crown of England to a mere apanage of the crown of France.
So long as the reign of the incapable John lasted, Edward III. had had his own way; but the prudence and adroitness of Charles, worked a change. Seconded by his brother Philip and by his constable Du Guesclin, he took without a battle, town after town, castle after castle, till Edward declared that the most formidable of his enemies was the one who did not fight. This new style of warfare was illustrated by the capture of La Rochelle. The castle was held by an English garrison, and to hold the castle was to hold the town. One day the chief magistrate asked the English commander to dinner. While at table, a forged despatch was brought to the Englishman. It was an order to march his garrison into the public square for a review. He had taken wine enough to be confident of his luck, so he obeyed the order. The townsmen who were watching for their chance, seized the castle and the garrison shut out of their stronghold and outnumbered, surrendered.
As a rule the Plantagenets waged these wars with a ferocity which contributed to their failure. But they were not Englishmen; and it is strange that English historians should accept their misdeeds as one element of national glory. Green says they were “English to the core.” Well, there was not one whole drop of insular blood in their veins: there was, to be sure, a fraction of a drop coming from Matilda daughter of the Malcolm of Macbeth and grandmother of the first Plantagenet king; and that was all. They were French Spaniards, and their pedigree was even more enriched with Moorish blood than with English.[7]
But there were some honorable exceptions to their usual behavior. The duke of Gloucester youngest son of Edward III. was besieging Troyes. A French knight named Micaille sent a challenge to any English knight to fight with him for the love of his sweetheart. These by-fights were often to settle precedence of beauty between respective sweethearts. A knight no sooner fell in love than he went swaggering about daring every other knight in love or out, to fight; and these combats were often mortal. An Englishman named Fitzwalter accepted the challenge. The lists were held in the English camp. Gloucester who was so learned on the subject of these duels that he wrote a treatise on them which still exists, laid down the rule that the lance should be addressed either to the shield or the helmet and not elsewhere. The Englishman’s horse was unruly and disturbed his aim, so that he took his adversary in the thigh, and inflicted an ugly wound. The duke pronounced the blow a foul one, and adjudged the victory to the Frenchman who had splintered his lance duly and truly against the buckler of his opponent. English surgeons dressed his wound, and English soldiers carried him back with honor to the French garrison.