The Conte Rosso’s widow, Bonne de Berry, left Savoy in 1395 and married her cousin-german, Bernard VII., Count of Armagnac, who became head of the Orléans faction when his daughter Bonne married the young Duke Charles, and was murdered in a frightful manner by the Burgundians at Paris in 1418. Her first husband poisoned, her second murdered, Bonne de Berry amply expiated her strong ambition and ended her days at Rhodez in the practice of the most heroic piety. She left in Savoy, besides her son Amédée VIII., two daughters, one of whom married Louis, the last prince of Achaia, at whose death in 1418 Piedmont was united to Savoy. This princess, named Bonne, like her mother and grandmother, left one of the most curious legacies on record—a bequest for a daily Mass of Requiem in the chapel of the princes of Achaia, in the church of the Franciscans at Pignerol, for twelve thousand years! She evidently thought the end of the world very remote, and had great confidence in the stability of human affairs and the scrupulous fidelity of her heirs.

One of the chapels at Hautecombe was founded by the Count de Romont, a natural son of the Conte Rosso. He went to the Holy Wars, and was a captive seven years among the Saracens. The shield on his statue is sown with crescents, and here and there on the border of his garments is the Arabic word Alahac—God is just—recalling his exploits in the East. Twenty-eight princes and princesses of the house of Savoy have been buried at Hautecombe, but the place lost its prestige when Turin became the capital. In 1793 the monks were driven out, and the lands sold as part of the national domains. The republican commissioners went down into the vaults, opened the tombs, and carried off all the precious objects they could find; among others the ducal crown from the tomb of Duke Philibert in the caveau of the Chapelle des Princes. The ancient resting-place of sovereigns was turned into a fabrique de faience, and the buildings had partly fallen to ruin when they were redeemed by Charles Felix, King of Sardinia, in 1824, from his own private means. He began the restoration of the church, and peopled the abbey again with Cistercians. And here he was buried, at his own request, in May, 1831. His wife, Marie Christine, completed the work and found a grave here in her turn.

Amédée VIII., the son of Bonne de Berry and the Red Count, was not buried at Hautecombe, but at Ripaille, on the southern shore of Lake Leman. Few travellers visit this place, though it is one of the most interesting excursions to be made from Geneva. It stands on a point of land projecting into the lake just beyond Thonon, but seems so low and hidden from the water that it might be taken for a mere grange and its dependencies in the midst of orchards and woods. A pleasant walk from Thonon brings you to a grove of linden-trees that shade a monastic-looking establishment with pepper-box turrets and long corridors leading to monk-like cells. Connected with it is a church of the Renaissance, with pillars of gray marble in front, and above is the cross of Savoy serving as a support to the tiara and keys of the Papacy! Here was buried the first duke of Savoy, the last of the anti-popes, the “bizarre Amédée,” as Voltaire calls him; “the Solomon of his age,” as he is styled by others.

Ripaille seems to have been a place of great antiquity, for Roman inscriptions and remains have been found here, as well as ornaments of the time of the Merovingians, but it was only a maison de plaisance in the time of Amédée VI., who left it to Bonne de Bourbon. Amédée VII. made it a hunting-lodge and here died. It was Amédée VIII. who gave it a world-wide celebrity, and by his life here unwittingly added a new expression to the French language. He married Mary of Burgundy and had nine children. He united Savoy and Piedmont, over which he ruled forty years. He entertained the Emperor Sigismund with such splendid hospitality on his way to Italy that he elevated him to the rank of duke. This was in 1416. After the death of his wife, but still while in the height of his influence and prosperity, he suddenly retired from the world to Ripaille, taking with him six noblemen who had participated in the most important transactions of his reign. He rebuilt the old manor-house, surrounded it with moats, and flanked it with seven seigneurial towers, with a suite of apartments connected with each, communicating with each other by a long corridor. The tower next the lake was loftier than the others, and connected with a square edifice of villa-like pretensions reserved for his own use. The others were for the six lords who accompanied him. To the east was a park planted with oaks in the form of a star, still to be seen, venerable and broad-spreading. This park was surrounded by a wall and laid out with alleys and winding paths. Amédée and his companions did not retire here to become monks, nor did he at first give up the reins of government, as some have declared. But he laid here the foundation of the order of chivalry known as the Knights of St. Maurice—a semi religious establishment in his day, under the direction of the canons of St. Augustine. Its members assumed a particular costume, consisting of a gray habit and cowl, and a gold cross suspended from the neck. They divided their time between religious exercises and affairs of the state. They constituted, in fact, a permanent senate to manage the government, for which they fitted themselves by meditation and prayer. And Amédée wished his successors to have recourse to the Knights of St. Maurice on all important occasions. They were always to be seven in number, and recruited from the highest class. Here the duke married his son, gave judgment in certain cases, and showed by numerous acts that, though he had appointed his son lieutenant-general, he had by no means abdicated.

Of course the world took it up. There were two reports. Some said the duke had given himself up to mortification and penance with a view to the Papacy. Others declared he and his followers led a life of debauchery. The expression faire ripaille[[159]] is said to be derived from the unfavorable reports spread abroad respecting their manner of life. But it was not used in his time, nor, indeed, till the seventeenth century. These imputations are not derived from any writer of the day, unless we except Monstrelet, who in his Chronicles thus speaks of the duke’s life at Ripaille: “He and his followers are served, not with roots and water from the fountain, but with the best wine and best meats that can be found.” This is by no means a proof of sensuality, and, as the knights were under no vow to live on roots and pure water like the hermits of Thebaïd, there was no reason why they should not select the best meats and use the purest wine at their repasts. What would have been a simple, abstemious life for a prince and his courtiers might seem luxurious to the peasantry around, who perhaps gave rise to such reports. But Monstrelet, who had been made governor of Cambrai by the duke of Burgundy—a prince exceedingly hostile to Amédée—would be likely to take an unfavorable view of the life at Ripaille. This is why Guichenon considers his chronicle untrustworthy in everything relating to the history of Savoy. And he was too far distant to have a personal knowledge of what was occurring there. Oliver de la Marche, who also belonged to the court of Burgundy, is not so unfavorable to Amédée. He says “he governed so wisely in the time of French divisions that Savoy was the richest, safest, and most productive of any country around.” Two other writers are more explicit as to the duke’s manner of life. Raphael Volaterra, speaking of the election of Amédée as pope under the title of Felix V. by the Council of Bâle, says he was “chosen on account of the fame of his mortifications.” Jean Gobelin, the duke’s secretary, declares he led a very austere life. Onofrio Panvini, an Augustinian monk, says his life was “angelic.” The Père Daniel, a conscientious historian, after examining the case, says it is certain he led an innocent life here, without any scandal. And Æneas Sylvius, secretary of the Council of Bâle, eminent as a writer, and who became pope under the name of Pius II., visited Amédée at Ripaille and bears this testimony: “The one who had more votes than the rest was the most excellent Amadeus, Duke of Savoy, dean of the Knights of St. Maurice in the diocese of Geneva. The electors, considering that he was leading the life of a celibate, and that his conduct was that of a religious, thought him worthy of governing the church,” and, after eulogizing the duke at some length, adds that “he only wore what garments were necessary to protect him from the cold, and only ate enough to keep him from dying of hunger.” When the members of the Council of Bâle wished to set up a pope of the Gallican race in opposition to Eugenius IV., it is evident that they would only choose, after serious consideration, a person of irreproachable life. In fact, they did make the most minute inquiries, which led to the explicit statement that the duke, though not in orders, had “always been regular in his habits, assiduous at the offices of the church, and exact in saying his breviary.”[[160]] It was Voltaire who made the calumny popular. The calumnies concerning Amédée have been caught up and perpetuated by a school always glad to find an ecclesiastical dignitary, even if an anti-pope, suspected of excesses, and have led some grave historians like Duclos to state that the duke and his followers led a voluptuous life at Ripaille.

Amédée certainly should not be excused for yielding to the solicitations of the Council of Bâle and usurping the tiara. Père Monod says he resisted for a while and shed torrents of tears, dwelling on the difficulty of the oaths to be taken, and even pleading the cause of his competitor, Eugenius; but the members made him believe it would be for the welfare of the church, and he yielded. A deputation from the council came to Ripaille to offer him the tiara, and he was enthroned with great pomp in his church December 17, 1439, on which occasion he abdicated the government in favor of his son Louis, drew up his will, and gave the Knights of St. Maurice a new dean, or prior, chosen from their number. But he atoned for his weakness a few years after by the voluntary resignation of his usurped office, and retired a second time to Ripaille, as cardinal of the title of St. Sabina, legate of the Holy See, and administrator of the dioceses of Lausanne and Geneva, thus restoring peace and unity to the Catholic Church. After spending two years in retirement he died, and was buried in his church at Ripaille. The eventful life of a prince who by turns had been count, duke, anti-pope, cardinal, and bishop, who was married, a widower, and a cenobite, is not without a certain dramatic interest that needs not the shading of calumny.

A grandson of Amédée VIII., Louis II., the dethroned king of Cyprus, came also to Ripaille to die. He married Charlotte de Lusignan, heiress of the king of Cyprus, and she and Louis were crowned as king and queen of Cyprus, Jerusalem, and Armenia—high-sounding titles that soon became a mere name, for they were forced to fly before James, a natural son of the late king, who had married Catherine Cornaro of Venice, and was aided by the soldan of Egypt. Queen Charlotte made a solemn donation of Cyprus to her nephew Charles, and died a guest of Pope Sixtus IV. at Rome in 1487, the last of the illustrious house of Lusignan, which had ruled over Cyprus for three hundred years.

In 1536 Ripaille was devastated by the Bernese—that is, the abbey. They respected the château. The tomb of Amédée VIII. was broken to pieces, and his remains at a later day were taken to Turin. In 1575 Ripaille was restored to the order of St. Maurice, which Gregory XIII. united to that of St. Lazare three years later. When St. Francis de Sales was Bishop of Geneva he placed Carthusians at Ripaille. Now it belongs to a private gentleman.

A TRUE LOVER.

At her heart’s door he knocked and cried,