In a Dark Wood Wandering

by Hella S. Haasse

  Mourning for the Dauphin increased Isabeau’s worries about her daughter; the eleven-year-old widow of England’s King was in Windsor Castle, surrounded by all the ceremony which her station required, but in actual fact Lancaster’s prisoner. Delegations from France were allowed to hold brief, formal conversations with her, but all attempts to negotiate her return to Paris and the restoration of her substantial dowry, were frustrated by Henry’s cold refusal to respond, which aroused uneasy suspicions. Even Burgundy believed that Lancaster was considering a marriage between his son and the little widow. But Isabeau had other plans, with which the Duke of Burgundy, on second thought, agreed; she wanted to find a husband for her daughter in Germany.

  Before summer came, Lancaster decided that keeping the dowry was not worth the loss of popular favor. No king of England had sought a French bride for himself or his kinsmen without penalty. Preparations were made for Madame Isabelle’s homeward journey. Meanwhile, Burgundy, with a great entourage, waited in state in Calais.

  The prospect of her daughter’s homecoming put an end to the depression from which Isabeau had suffered throughout the spring, when she had determined to do penance for the damage she had unwittingly done to French interests and to those who attempted to thwart her over the past years. During a summer storm lightning had struck Isabeau’s bedchamber; the violence of the blow, the sight of the bedcurtains in flames, had shocked her into a vow to alter her way of life. But when the storm had passed, and her bedchamber was repaired, the Queen came to see things in another light. She established a church and required weekly masses to be said for the soul of the dead Dauphin. And thus she considered she had done her duty.

  Her father, Duke Stefan of Bavaria, had resumed his visits to the French court. He expressed interest in the widow of the Sire de Coucy, who had fallen before Nicopolis. Their daughter was heiress to the barony of Coucy, an extensive and important territory located in Picardy on the borders of Flanders, Hainault and Brabant. It was anticipated that the young damsel would in time cede her proprietary rights in this land to her powerful stepfather of Bavaria. Not only would the domain of Coucy be a brilliant addition to the block of lands belonging to the House of Bavaria, but it was strategically important as a gateway to France. Burgundy, naturally, supported the marriage proposal; as did Isabeau, as did Berry, who occupied himself at Bicetre collecting exotic beasts. Only Bourbon hesitated; he was not convinced of the wisdom of the marriage. Orléans did not appear at the meetings held to discuss the marriage agreement; he surprised Isabeau and his fellow Regents by buying the barony of Coucy from the heiress. The King ratified by his signature the contract in which the daughter of the Sire de Coucy declared “that in the interest of the Kingdom, she could do no better than to transfer the domain of Coucy to Monseigneur the Duke of Orléans”. For the first time Louis tasted triumph; he had overtrumped Burgundy and the Bavarian princes. Their rage and disappointment made it obvious to him at the same time when he must make his next move.

  In the midst of Bavarian lands lay the Duchy of Luxembourg; it belonged to the Margrave of Moravia, a kinsman and ally of Wenceslaus. This territory, a wedge between Flanders, Hainault and Brabant, on the one hand, and the states subject to Ruprecht of Bavaria on the other, was strategically crucial. The Margrave of Moravia, who wished at any cost to safeguard his property from the hated Bavarians, suggested that Orléans place Luxembourg under his protection.

  The realization that his star was rising stimulated Louis to increase his political activity. While the Queen was absent, he managed to send his friend, Marshal Boucicaut, to Genoa as governor. Bou-cicaut, who understood and agreed with Louis in everything, performed his duties in an exemplary manner from the first day onward. He managed to maintain order on the other side of the Alps without endangering the peace with neighbor and ally.

  Once more Isabeau and Burgundy had bitter reason to bemoan the actions of the King’s brother. Each of them attempted, in his own fashion, to outwit him; the Queen, enraged because war against Gian Galeazzo was out of the question while Boucicaut was governor of Genoa, entered heart and soul into the intrigues of Emperor Ruprecht; Burgundy, meanwhile, struck elsewhere. Through artful political maneuvering, he brought the Duchy of Brittany within his sphere of influence.

  Louis was in a grim mood, chiefly because of Burgundy’s successful countermove. The King, more gravely ill than ever, was unapproachable; he seemed, in fact, scarcely human. Almost every day Isabeau received envoys from Germany; Louis was aware of this, although the Queen attempted to behave as though nothing unusual were happening. The Dukes of Berry and Bourbon remained aloof, wishing to see which way the cat would jump. In the Council all was confusion and discontent; it was impossible to steer a steady course with so many conflicting opinions. Louis d’Orléans craved an oudet for his feelings of hatred for Lancaster and Burgundy; he challenged his former brother-in-arms to a duel. It occurred to him to do this after he had seen his niece, the little Isabelle, move pale and mournful through the halls of Saint-Pol, still accorded the dignity and respect of a queen. She had carried back from England an attitude of injured majesty which seemed almost ludicrous in so young a child, but the grief in her bright round eyes was real. She had loved King Richard deeply; he had always been kind to her.

  “And he loved me too,” said the child, sobbing. “He lifted me in the air when he took leave of me before he went to Ireland, and he must have kissed me forty times.” When Madame Isabelle said this, her tears would not stop flowing.

  Louis felt deep compassion for the unthroned Queen, the child who had become a widow before she became a woman. It would be extremely difficult to arrange so brilliant a marriage for her again. Before long she would, perhaps, be forced to set aside the high rank which she now bore so self-consciously. She sat surrounded by princesses and duchesses, arrayed in the state robes of her dowry, in furnished apartments set aside for Her Majesty, the Dowager-Queen of England. But all the ceremony, all the homage and pomp, could bring no color to her small, stiff face. Upset and angry, Louis felt it was his duty to do what the French court apparently considered unnecessary; he flung himself forward as his niece’s champion and challenged Lancaster to single combat.

  The Englishman replied dryly that he found the proposal ridiculous; he had no inclination to fight with one who was his inferior in rank.

  In fact, things were not going smoothly for England’s new monarch; he discovered all too quickly that one cannot learn to rule in a few days. With Burgundy’s help he managed to achieve an extension of the peace treaty with France. He was so distracted by internal affairs that he had no time even to think about attacking French soil. Louis, believing that France should not be cheated of the chance to strike at England while it was weakened by dissension, played his trump card against Burgundy. In the summer of 1402 he set out with a great entourage for Coucy, which was favorably located near the border, and entered into negotiations with representatives of the Margrave of Moravia for the purchase of Luxembourg. The agreement was reached without difficulty. For the sum of 100,000 ducats Moravia sold the Duchy to Orléans. Louis went almost immediately to his new domain where he approached the lords of the region and bound them to him in the traditional way with gifts and grants. Thus a dangerous rift was opened in the Bavarian sphere of influence by Louis d’Orléans; in case of war he could rely now on an army of vassals and their followers. Both Orléans and Burgundy had adopted highly provocative stances; neither could move now without mortally wounding his adversary or being mortally wounded himself.

  One afternoon in May, 1403, Isabeau, on returning from a stroll in the gardens of Saint-Pol, accompanied by her entourage, heard with surprise that the Duke of Orléans had requested an audience with her; he had been waiting for a considerable time in the anteroom. Relations between the Queen and her brother-in-law had grown extremely chilly over the past few years; they spoke to each other only on state occasions and maintained the illusion of mutual courtesy only for the sake of appearan
ces. Isabeau was involved with Burgundy’s policies; she was on the side of Burgundy and Bavaria, and she did not trust Orléans. During the past few months she had begun to show her disapproval by openly avoiding him.

  Isabeau set out for her favorite room; it was a chamber hung with flowered tapestries next to the reception hall. She knew that the King had held audience that morning with Louis d’Orléans and a great number of clergy. Charles was somewhat better at the moment; for a short time he could once again busy himself with affairs of state.

  While Isabeau awaited her brother-in-law’s arrival, she fanned herself impatiently with a handkerchief and sniffed repeatedly at a gold-filigree ball filled with sweet-smelling herbs. Presently the doors opened and the Duke of Orléans was announced. Louis entered the Queen’s room and bowed; although neither word nor gesture left anything to be desired, Isabeau detected under his courtly demeanor a cold self-assurance which made her very angry; it seemed to her that Louis must already have accomplished his purpose.

  “Well, my lord?” The Queen was cold and haughty in her turn. “To what do I owe this honor?”

  Louis ran his eyes over the rows of noble women. Margaretha of Burgundy stared past him, her face hard and grey as though it were hewn from stone; the Countess de Nevers smiled politely; her eyes were icy. Louis, who under other circumstances had seen those eyes gleam with a different emotion, raised his brows ironically. The other ladies of Isabeau’s suite kept their eyes fixed demurely on the floor.

  “Send your women away, Madame,” replied Louis. “What I must say to you is intended for your ears only.”

  The Queen wanted to deny his request curtly; she could see that Margaretha of Burgundy expected her to do so. But in that case she feared that Orléans would not speak, and she felt it was her duty to find out what he was up to. Therefore she commanded her women to withdraw; the Burgundy women, deeply offended, led the others from the chamber.

  “I have been with the King,” said Orléans, as soon as the door had closed behind the Queen’s retinue. “Perhaps Your Majesty does not know that he has once more recovered his health?”

  Isabeau looked up in surprise. “Naturally, I know it… ”

  “You have not visited the King for weeks,” said Louis, looking at her steadily, “although he sends you messages repeatedly. He has complained of it himself, Madame.”

  “But that is not true!” The Queen made a vehement gesture; the perfumed ball rolled to the floor. “I have been to see the King twice with the Dauphin. A day does not go by without my inquiry into the state of his health.”

  “Oh, yes, very good, Madame,” said Louis impatiently, “but you choose to misunderstand me. The King is your husband.”

  Isabeau’s face and plump neck turned deep scarlet; she lowered her eyes. It was extremely quiet in the room: birds could be heard in the park, and the shouts of nobles on the fives-courts.

  “I do not want to,” the Queen burst out harshly. “I cannot. Jesus, Maria. I do not want to any more.”

  Louis d’Orléans gazed at Isabeau’s broad fingers; she was wringing her hands with a strength that seemed to belie their softness.

  “What do you mean, Madame?” Louis asked gently; he was moved despite himself by her distress. She sat huddled together.

  “I have had ten children, Monseigneur,” she replied, struggling to suppress her anger and embarrassment. “Don’t you see that it is a miracle that I have been able to go on like that when the King has been almost continuously insane? I have brought seven children into the world since he went mad.” She fell silent. Louis picked up the perfumed golden ball and held it out to her.

  “I am afraid of the King,” Isabeau continued vehemently. “Everyone knows how he threatens me when he has an attack. He can change so that he is hardly recognizable; he has driven me from his rooms with blows and abuse. Must I endure all that forever? Is there no one who will have compassion for me—who will try to imagine what I go through?”

  In that silent room, that bower of bright embroidery, they sat and stared at each other. Louis d’Orléans had the sudden feeling that he had never met this woman before. She was fat and faded and no longer even resembled the fresh, robust princess whom he had greeted as his brother’s bride in Melun. But her desperation moved him more than all the memories of happier days. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps all Isabeau’s political maneuvering was simply an attempt to escape from the agonizing nightmare of her married life. He felt ashamed that he had never before considered her behavior in this light. And as an admirer of women, he quickly respected her for the dignity and pride with which she had borne her silent, secret despair. Involuntarily he relaxed his stiff demeanor; his tone became gentle, his eyes lost their coldness.

  He smiled at the Queen as he had smiled only at little Isabelle—with understanding and compassion. He so closely resembled the King as he had been fifteen years before that Isabeau’s heart began to ache in a queer way; she began to weep for her vanished happiness.

  She is only a woman after all, Louis thought, gazing down on her bent head. By God, she is also lonely. Burgundy has taken advantage of her misery. It occurred to him that the cold pride which he had always disliked in Isabeau was only a mask behind which she concealed her feelings. Can she be guided? he asked himself. Could she possibly be amenable to reason? If she is on my side, then I have won the battle. Burgundy uses her, but apart from politicking he gives her nothing in return. Of course she is a woman—how could I have forgotten that? thought Louis, in mounting astonishment. She wants to be understood and not pitied. My lord uncle does not perceive things like that.

  “I understand your situation, Madame.” He spoke softly and warmly. “Please don’t think I am blind to the sacrifices that have been demanded of you. But the King is so fond of you when he is well, and we can only guess at the shame and remorse he must feel for the anguish he causes you. I know how painful it must be for you to speak about these things with me. The King has taken me into his confidence because I am his closest blood relative. And he knows that I put his welfare before anything else.” Isabeau looked at him doubtfully. “Perhaps we don’t agree about that, Madame,” he added quickly, still with a pleasant smile.

  The Queen dashed her tears away, upset that she had lost control of herself, although she was well aware that she had aroused Orléans’ sympathy.

  “The King has now two sons, Madame,” Louis went on, somewhat more coolly now that he saw she had regained her composure. “Neither is robust. If something should happen to the Dauphin or his brother—which God forbid—France would have no successor to the throne.”

  “I am amazed that it is you who lets himself be used as a go-between,” Isabeau said with irony. “In that case the throne would pass to your heirs, my lord.”

  Louis rose and bowed. “I am afraid that we do not understand each other,” he replied coldly. But the Queen entreated him to remain.

  Isabeau’s moods changed quickly. Her tears had left no trace; her grief had given way to the cautious calculation so basic to her nature. She began to weigh the possibility of a return to the friendly relationship of the past. Under the pervasive influence of Burgundy and his wife, court life had been reduced to empty ceremony. Isabeau sorely missed the imaginative exuberance of Louis’ fetes. She missed the careless delight, the surrender to intoxicated pleasure. In her desire for happiness she forgot that youth cannot return, that what is finished cannot be repeated. What weighed most strongly in Louis’ favor at the moment was the fact that he was unlikely to curtail in any way what she regarded as her rightful income. Burgundy, who seized every opportunity to push his expenses and debts off onto the public treasury, was always demanding greater frugality of Isabeau. Under the guise of concern for public monies, he dogged her footsteps, spying zealously on all her expenditures, no matter how petty. This niggling surveillance irritated her beyond measure, but she had to put up with it because she needed Burgundy.

  She considered, staring thoughtfully a
t her brother-in-law, how pleasant it would be if the person upon whom she relied for political guidance were also indulgent and forbearing toward her in other respects. She had often toyed with the idea of keeping Orléans close at hand; but she had done nothing about it because he did not seem sufficiendy important to her interests. But now he had shown that he was a match for Burgundy; in her eyes there was no greater proof of capability.

  “My lord,” said Isabeau, fixing her dark brown, somewhat adamant gaze upon Louis, “I shall try in my prayers to reflect upon what you have said to me today. God knows, I am a person of good will. But there is a limit to everything. Sometimes I feel as though the King were dead. I cannot feel love for the creature who has taken his place.”

  Louis d’Orléans took the hand which she held out to him and helped her to rise.

  “I have spoken to you only at the behest of my brother, the King,” he said most courteously, as though the subject were closed. “I understand your objections only too well, Madame. And now, if you will allow me, I shall call your women.”

  Isabeau’s smile held a trace of her former coquettishness; she almost forgot that she was no longer beautiful, that she was not really an innocent victim: it was not out of patience and timidity that she had accepted the King’s advances over the past ten years. Castles, treasures, great sums of money had been the price of her love.

  Orléans had known how to accomplish his ends with the King. The sale of valuables had not been enough to defray the enormous expenses he had incurred for the purchase of Coucy and Luxembourg. Since the possession of these two properties benefited the realm, it was obvious that the realm should help to pay for them. And Louis managed to convince his brother that an eye should be kept on England. Henry of Lancaster would undoubtedly resume the wars as soon as a good opportunity presented itself. Therefore it could only be wise policy to prepare now while circumstances in England guaranteed a postponement of hostilities.