"O wonderful and memorable crime of this king of the French [declares a contemporaneous Liege sympathiser.][8] Scarcely anything so bad can be found in ancient annals or in modern history. What could be more stupid or more perfidious, or a better instance of infamy than for a king who had incited a people to arms against the Burgundians to act thus for the sake of his own safety? Not once but many times had he pledged them his faith, offering them defence and assistance against the same Burgundians. And now when they are overwhelmed and confounded by this Burgundian duke, this king actually co-operates with their foe, to their damage, wears that foe's insignia and dares to hide himself behind those emblems, and assist to destroy those to whom he himself had furnished aid and subsidies with pledges of good faith! I am ashamed to commit this to writing, and to hand it down to posterity, knowing that it will seem incredible to many. But it is so notorious throughout France and is confirmed by so many adequate witnesses who have seen and heard these things that no room is left for doubt of their veracity except to one desiring to ignore the truth."[9]
November 2d is the date of Louis's departure. It needs no stretch of the imagination to believe the words of his little Swiss page, Diesbach, when he says that on reaching French soil Louis dismounted and kissed the ground in a paroxysm of joy that he was his own man again.[10] Devoutly, too, he gave thanks to God for helping him in his need. Still this joy was concealed under euphemistic phrases in his correspondence. On November 5th, he wrote again to the Duke of Milan from Beaumont:
"We went in person with the duke against the Liegeois, on account of their rebellion and offence, and the city being reduced by force to the power of the duke, we have left him in some part of Liege as we were anxious to return to our kingdom of France."
In January, 1469, Guillaume Toustain, the brother of the faithful secretary Aloysius Toustain, who had written several of Louis's letters from Liege, goes to Pavia to finish his studies, and Louis writes to the Duke of Milan asking him to assure his protégé a pleasant reception in the university.
The ratification of the treaty took place duly at Paris on Saturday, November 19th, and the king also sternly forbade the circulation of any "paintings, rondels, ballads, songs, or defamatory pamphlets" about Charles.[11] The same informant tells us that loquacious birds were put under a ban.
"And on the same day in behalf of the king, and by virtue of his commission addressed to a young man of Paris named Henry Perdriel, all the magpies, jays, and chouettes, caged or otherwise, were taken in charge, and a record was made of all the places where the said birds were taken and also all that they knew how to say, like larron, paillart, etc., va hors, va! Perrette donnes moi à boire, and various other phrases that they had been taught."
Abbé le Grand thinks that "Perrette" was meant for Peronne instead of a mistress of Louis of that name. But this conjecture seems the only basis for the very deep-rooted tradition that Peronne was a word Louis could not bear to have uttered.
"In the way of justice there is nothing going on here, [wrote one Anthony de Loisey from Liege to the president of Burgundy], except every day they hang and draw such Liegeois as are found or have been taken prisoners and have no money to ransom themselves. The city is well plundered, nothing remains but rubbish. For example I have not been able to find a sheet of paper fit for writing to you, but with all my pains could get nothing but some leaves from an old book." [12]
Charles decided that nothing should be left standing except churches and ecclesiastical buildings. On November 9th, before the final fires were lit, he departed from the wretched town and went down the left bank of the Meuse to an abbey on the river, where he paused for the night. Four leagues distant from the city was this place, and from it were plainly visible the flames of the burning buildings on that grim St. Hubert's Day—a day when Liege had been wont to give vent to merriment.
"From all the dangers that had encompassed him, Charles escaped with his life, simply because his hour had not yet struck, and because he was God's chosen instrument to punish the sinning city," is the verdict of one chronicler who does not spare his fellow-Liegeois for their follies while he profoundly pities their fate.[13]