The Seigneur de Coucy had a celebrated doctor, a certain Guillaume de Hassely,[150] who at his recommendation was called in to the King, and so skilful was his treatment that Charles gradually improved, slept, ate, and drank as usual, went out hunting and hawking, and at last asked for the Queen and Dauphin, who were brought to him at Creil, where he received them with delight and affection. He was horrified to find he had killed and wounded several of his followers in his paroxysm. After a little he was allowed to see his brother and uncles, to whom Dr. Hassely said, “Thank God I restore you the King in good health; but he must not be irritated, worried, or troubled with state affairs. His head is not strong yet, but it will get stronger; meanwhile amusements and distractions are better for him than councils and work.” The Queen and Princes were anxious to keep Dr. Hassely at court, but he was an old man and could not bear the fatigue of that life. He retired to Laon, covered with honours and rewards, and died soon afterwards.[151]
The King’s uncles were very glad to persuade him that he was not well enough to do anything but amuse himself and had better leave the government in their hands. Charles inquired for various friends of his, and was told that they were traitors and in prison. He ordered them to be at once set free and their property restored, but had not strength and clearness of understanding to go more into the matter, and they were safer away from Paris. He sent after Clisson and tried to get him to return; but the Constable knew well enough that if the King had another attack he would fall into the hands of the Duke of Burgundy again, so he stayed away, keeping in communication with the Duc d’Orléans and his party, who were called “Marmousets” by the friends of the Dukes of Burgundy and Berry. Charles did not think about business at all; but only amused himself; and Isabeau, careless, apathetic, indifferent to everything but dress, luxury, pleasure, and amassing riches, for some time submitted to the domineering influence of the Duchess of Burgundy, which was vehemently resisted by the Duke and Duchess d’Orléans. Louis claimed the regency during the King’s incapacity to govern, and Valentine was indignant at the presumption of the Duchess of Burgundy in taking precedence over her, the wife of the King’s only brother and, as she imprudently remarked, possibly the future Queen of France.
The King was declared to be well again the following winter; he and the Queen came back and took up their abode at St. Paul, and the Court was once more in a whirl of gaiety.
There are various records of purchases made by Isabeau about this time; amongst others a gold goblet in the form of a rose, her favourite flower; pearls to ornament the collar of the Queen’s squirrel, a chaise à pignier or chair to have her hair dressed in, having a low back. Most chairs of that time had very high backs; they were made low for that purpose. Also some shoes for the Queen’s fool and her mother. And soon after it is stated that the Queen not having obtained money enough for divers things necessary and desired by her, would in future have her own “argentier” for herself and her children, by order of the King.
{1393}
It was January, 1393. The King, delighted to be well again and eager to catch at any new prospect of amusement, was told by one of the gentlemen of his household named De Gensay, of a disguise he had planned whereby people were made to look like naked savages or wild men covered with long hair like that of wild beasts, which Paradin remarks was “chose plaisante à veoir.” These costumes were made of linen covered all over with tow, very long and combed out to look like hair from head to foot. They fitted tightly to the figure, and were stuck on “fort proprement,” as Paradin again remarks. De Gensay proposed that the masquerade should take place at the wedding festivities of one of the Queen’s ladies, who was a countrywoman and great favourite of hers. Now this lady had been married before, and at that time in France extreme licence was permitted at the re-marriage of a widow.[152] Speeches, songs, dances, and general behaviour were alike improper to a degree that, even in those days, would not have been allowed on other occasions. The ball was to take place at a large house which belonged to Queen Blanche de Navarre. It stood at the corner of the rue de la Reine Blanche, and was called hôtel de la Reine Blanche.[153] When the King saw this preposterous disguise he was so delighted that he insisted on being one of the six who were to wear it, the others being the Comte de Joüy, the écuyer d’honneur de Gensay, the bastard De Foix, and the sons of the Comte de Valentinois and Seigneur de Nantoillet.
They all begged the King to give orders that at the ball at which they were to appear no light of any kind should be allowed to approach them on account of the inflammable nature of these absurd costumes. Charles accordingly sent a proclamation ordering all lights, torches, and flambeaux to retire behind and far from six savage men who were to enter the saloon where the ladies were. Unfortunately the Duc d’Orléans had not been told of the intended masquerade, of which indeed no one knew but those who were to take part in it, those who dressed them, and the Queen. The Duc d’Orléans arrived at the ball after the proclamation about the lights, and just then the six savages entered the room all fastened together with cords except the King, who led them. The novelty of this ridiculous spectacle was so successful that everybody crowded round to see them and try to find out who they were, and in their excitement forgot all about the order respecting the lights. The King left his companions fastened together, and, passing before the Queen, went up to the young Duchesse de Berry and began to make love to her (luy faisant infinies caresses). She caught hold of his hand, saying that she would not let him go until she knew who he was. Just at that moment the Duc d’Orléans, also desiring to find out who the mummers were, snatched a torch from one of his pages and held it down close to them so as to see better—the dry tow caught fire, in a moment they were all in flames and being fastened together, they could neither escape nor could any one help them. The Duchesse de Berry, when she saw the whole place on fire, threw her long robe round the King and so saved him. The Queen, seeing the flames, hearing the dreadful cries and tumult, and knowing that the King was one of the six, fell fainting with terror. The young De Nantoillet managed to unfasten himself from the others, and happening to remember a tank or cistern of water in one of the rooms of service close by, used for washing the plate, rushed into that room, threw himself into the tank, and was saved; of the rest, De Gensay (the inventor of the mummery) and Charles de Poitiers, son of the Comte de Valentinois, were burnt to death on the spot, and the other two only survived their injuries for two days. There was a general cry of “Save the King!” but the Duchesse de Berry, hastily exclaiming, “Go and change your clothes at once, the Queen is in terror about you,” had hurried him out of the ballroom. Isabeau was carried fainting to her room, where Charles, having pulled off the fatal disguise, hastened to reassure her. Every one was accusing and blaming the Duc d’Orléans, who, nearly beside himself with horror and remorse, and crying out that he had done it and it was all his fault, fled out of the ballroom and rushed up to the apartments of the King and Queen.[154]
The Dukes of Burgundy and Berry had left the ball before the arrival of the mummers, finding it rather late, and had returned to their own hôtels. They knew nothing about what had happened until the next morning, when there was a great outcry all over Paris, and the report reached their ears that there had been a great fire after they had left the ball and that the King had been burnt to death with the others. Even after they had ascertained the truth the people would not believe it, but insisted on seeing the King for themselves, and it was not until he had gone in public procession with his brother and uncles to Notre Dame to give thanks for his safety, that they were pacified; and when they found out in what an idiotic way the King’s life had nearly been sacrificed they broke into denunciations of the goings on at court and threats against the princes of the blood. Some people even declared that Louis d’Orléans had done it on purpose, hoping to destroy the King and thus have the chance of succeeding himself if the Dauphin, who was delicate, did not live to grow up; which, by the by, would certainly have come to pass, for he died before he was ten years old. But there is not the slightest proof or even probability of the truth of this accusation. With all his faults Louis was not capable of so monstrous a crime as this, even supposing he had not been, as he always appears to have been, on affectionate terms with his brother.
The catastrophe excited the greatest horror in the minds of everybody except the tenants and people belonging to the Comte de Joüy, who was so outrageously tyrannical and cruel that they were all delighted when they heard that they were so unexpectedly delivered from him.
The late calamity seems to have had a sobering effect upon the court, and for a little while after this shock things went on more quietly. But in June the King had a relapse, and this time he was worse, or at any rate the aggravated symptoms lasted longer. He did not recognise the Queen, and when she came near and spoke to him affectionately would ask who she was and even seemed to take a dislike to her, and told those surrounding him to take her away for he did not know what she wanted. He declared that he was not King, that his name was not Charles but George, that his arms were a lion pierced with a spear and not the fleur-de-lis, the very sight of which threw him into a rage, and which he would try to efface or tear out of tapestries, plate, or anything upon which they were. He declared he was not married and had no children, and the only person he knew was the Duchesse d’Orléans whom he insisted on seeing every day, and called “ma sœur bien-aimée.” People began, as usual, to talk about sorcery. Some said it was to witchcraft that Valentine owed her influence, others declared that the King’s illness came from his having been bewitched. Dr. Hassely was dead, and the Queen insisted on sending for a sorcerer to try and cure him. The sorcerer or wizard was, as the monk of St. Denis says, “coarse, brutal, and vulgar.” He had a magic book, which he said God had given to Adam, and by which he professed to be able to control the stars, so that if any planet had a malign influence on the King he could cause another to appear to counteract it. All the clergy, doctors, and professors were very angry and the sorcerer did no good; some said it was folly, others, that it was sin; there was a great outcry and he was got rid of. Then a learned doctor called Fréron was called in, under whom Charles began to get better. All over the kingdom they had litanies, prayers, and processions followed by crowds of barefooted people; priests in splendid robes going from one church to another. The King said he would go too, and after persisting several times, he went to St. Denis with a great cortège of nobles, heard mass, where he behaved very well, “d’une manière décente et sans commettre aucune extravagance.”[155] After dinner he went away, leaving the Bishop of Senlis to make a neuvaine for him. The Queen ordered them at many churches. In January, 1394, he was well again. Early in the same month the Princess Michelle was born.