Twenty Centuries of Paris

by Mabell S. C. Smith

A part of the English army drew dangerously close to Paris—so near that the watchmen on the towers caught the gleam of their camp-fires, and refugees brought news of burning and slaughter no farther away than Saint Denis. The city was saved from attack only because Edward was besieging Calais. It cost England a year’s fighting to capture this Channel key to France, but she held it for two hundred years, a threat to French power and a grief to French hearts.

Destructive as was the new ammunition its work could not approach the loss occasioned by the “Black Death,” the plague which swept across Europe with such might that it even put an end to war.

In 1350 Philip VI died. His body was carried to Notre Dame where it lay in state before being taken to Saint Denis. There it was buried “on the left side of the great altar, his bowels were interred at the Jacobins at Paris, and his heart at the convent of the Carthusians at Bourgfontaines in Valois.”

A month later Philip’s son, John (1350-1364) was crowned at Rheims. By way of signalizing his accession he conferred knighthood on many young men, and for a week Paris was gay with continual feasting. Perhaps it was because so many people thronged the palace at this time, perhaps it was because of the encroachments of the courts, that John did not always occupy the royal apartments on the Cité but lived for some time at the Hôtel de Nesle which Philip the Fair had bought for the crown.

During the next five years John showed himself entirely lacking in the discretion and calmness which the uncertainties of the time demanded. He was influenced by favorites and he was constantly quarreling with his son-in-law, Charles the Bad, king of Navarre, who had caused the murder of a man whom John esteemed and who was incessantly playing fast and loose now with England, now with France. It was to consider certain charges against this undesirable connection that John held the first known lit de justice. The “bed of justice” received its name from the king’s seat, a couch raised on a dais, both covered with handsome stuffs sown with the fleur-de-lis. The king’s appearance was in harmony with his desire to accent his regal state for he wore his robes of ceremony and his crown.

With an exhausted treasury threatening the people with taxes, with the plague devastating the country, and with war imminent, it is small wonder that France was in a discouraged state. John tried to hearten his subjects by establishing subsidies and by giving festivals. By these means he won his nickname of “the Good,” but they were the cause of such impoverishment that when the English war broke out again he found himself in embarrassment for lack of money. Twice he summoned the States General, but his preparations were seriously hindered. His judgment as a general was no better than as a ruler. Inflated by some trifling successes he scorned the Black Prince’s proposals of peace and then allowed himself to be beaten ignominiously by a force much smaller than his own in one of the world’s great battles, that of Poitiers.

John’s personal courage was magnificent. Although several divisions of his army were withdrawn, including those headed by his three older sons, he fought valiantly in a hand-to-hand fight that waxed ever brisker as his opponents saw that they were dealing with some man of prominence. His fourteen-year-old son, Philip, stayed at his father’s side helping him by constant cries of warning. As a reward for his fidelity John afterwards gave him the province of Burgundy, a gift which proved to be a sore mistake for the happiness of France.

After the battle of Poitiers a burgher of Paris vowed a candle as long as the city to Notre Dame de Paris. It was to burn always. When the city grew so large as to make such a mass of wax impracticable the offering was changed (1605) to a silver lamp, and it may be seen now before the graceful figure which stands at the south side of the entrance to the choir of the cathedral.

John was gently treated in England and his presence was something of a social event. When he was held at a ransom and was returned to France while two of his sons, the dukes of Anjou and of Berri, were sent across the Channel to serve as hostages for the payment of the ransom, the king’s departure was a matter of regret. His welcome in France was equally warm.

“Wherever he passed the reception he experienced was most honorable and magnificent,” says Froissart. “At Amiens, he stayed until Christmas was over, and then set out for Paris, where he was solemnly and reverently met by the clergy and others, and conducted by them to his palace; a most sumptuous banquet was prepared, and great rejoicings were made; but, whatever I may say upon the subject, I never can tell how warmly the King of France was received on return to his kingdom, by all sorts of people. They made him rich gifts and presents, and the prelates and barons of the realm feasted and entertained him as became his condition.”