“Then there is the allegation that Monseigneur d’Orléans attempted by night to steal the gold which is stowed away in a tower of this palace. It is true that he suddenly removed 100,000 gold francs — but he had good reason to do that. Monseigneur d’Orléans had repeatedly sought money to pay the salaries and provide necessities for the troops who must guard our coasts. His opponent, Monseigneur of Burgundy, had refused persistendy in the Council to supply the necessary funds. Because the army had a right to prompt payment, Monseigneur d’Orléans was forced, against his will, to take what was not willingly given.
“Members of the opposition,” concluded de Sérizy, after a brief pause, turning to the place where Burgundy’s lawyers sat, “members of the opposition, take into account the displeasure, even the calamity, which the people of France will have to endure because the soldiers in the service of Burgundy — who pays poorly — roam plundering through the regions between Paris and Flanders.
“Princes, nobles, consider what has happened here. Burgundy has taken a path which can lead only to destruction, a road of treachery and cunning. Men and women of the city, old and young, rich and poor, consider that peace and calm have ended. Between the royal kinsmen glitters the naked sword, and that means war and suffering for you. Prelates, consider that a man has been murdered; that he did his utmost, in spite of everything, to serve the welfare of Church and State. That is why Madame d’Orléans has come here, together with her son, imploring you to give her justice. Remember what Solomon the Wise said in the Book of Proverbs: ‘He who deals righteously shall find life and true glory.’ ”
With these words the Abbé de Sérizy concluded his oration. He had, like Maitre Petit, spoken for four hours without interruption. Maitre Cousinot, advocate in Parlement, arose now, amid a great tumult from that part of the hall where the people stood packed together; he declared that on the strength of the preceding evidence he had come to believe that the Duke of Burgundy deserved only the most stringent punishment. Bailiffs removed troublemakers from the public area and loudly demanded silence. After that, Cousinot read Valentine’s demands.
The Council now withdrew and under the supervision of the Queen, began to deliberate on the reply to be given to Orléans’ party. Isabeau, highly displeased by de Serizy allusion to her good relations with Orléans and by the way in which the Abbé had depicted Orléans’ policies as beneficial — as if to place her own actions in an unfavorable light — declared tardy that she deemed the allegations of Burgundy as well as those of Orléans to be immoderate; she advised the Council to involve itself as little as possible in this dispute between two princely families — in time the hatred on both sides would pass away. Meanwhile, further deliberation could be promised and care taken to see that Paris was fully armed and fortified.
After returning to the hall, the Dauphin in his shrill, childish voice communicated the decision of the Council to the widow of Orléans and her son.
“We are grievously offended by the conduct of Monseigneur of Burgundy,” said the heir to the throne in a tone which belied his words. “And we promise you that we shall do whatever is possible to reach the fairest solution.”
Valentine and Charles had to remain content with this meaningless response. At first, Charles was inclined to believe that their demands would be granted and that all dispute and discord would come to an end. He said this to his mother, when they sat together that night in the Hotel de Béhaigne, but Valentine only smiled contemptuously.,
“Put that idea out of your head, son. Our petition is denied. We may find it pretty that the court and the Council exhibit some dissatisfaction with Burgundy. Further than that they will not go. We must help ourselves.”
For the first time in his life, Charles dared to speak out openly against his mother.
“What precisely do you want then?” he burst out. He saw Isabelle, in a corner of the room, look up wide-eyed from her embroidery frame. “Can’t we rest satisfied with the fact that Burgundy admits committing murder? We hear constantly from everyone that he has no intention of confessing to feelings of guilt or of begging forgiveness. If those in authority do not pursue him, what must we do then? Surely you cannot intend to wage war by yourself? We don’t need to interfere with Burgundy; I don’t think he intends to get in our way. We have done what we could. If the King doesn’t punish Burgundy, it is not our fault. We cannot put France through the agony of a civil war. You yourself heard what the Abbe de Serizy said.”
“Coward.” Valentine rose from her seat; she was trembling with rage. “Is your distaste for organization and command so great that you would leave your father’s death unavenged? Do you find it so easy to bear your disgrace that you prefer to sit for years beside your father’s murderer in the Council and let yourself be bullied by him? Does the honor of your House mean so little to you? Are you too lazy, boy, to take up the sword for the sake of your father’s good name?”
“Mother, you distort everything; I haven’t said that,” muttered the young man. All the color had drained from his face. Tears of rage sprang into his eyes. The Duchess of Orléans made a small, eloquent gesture of contempt. She understood suddenly why the hatred of her father, Gian Galeazzo, had been so dangerous; he too had possessed the ability to gather together all the strength, all the passion that was in him to destroy his enemies. Was this youth, her son, really already tainted by the hereditary character weaknesses of the House of Valois: irresolution, a love of ease? Alas, Louis too had had those weaknesses — she had forgotten it too quickly.
“Do you wish to sacrifice the whole Kingdom?” asked Charles vehemently, trying to detain her as she walked toward the door which led to her bedchamber. “Are you prepared to go that far just to see Burgundy humiliated?”
“Yes, I am ready to go that far,” said Valentine proudly, ignoring Charles’ outstretched hand. “France will be completely destroyed if Burgundy exercises his power. Do you know the proverb of the gentle surgeon, son? Let us rather cauterize the wound. No, do not contradict me any more. You will admit later that I am right — perhaps when it is too late.”
The following morning Valentine ordered everything put in readiness for the journey back to Blois. Without bidding goodbye to the royal family, the Council or those who had assisted her in the matter of the lawsuit, she left Paris with Isabelle and Charles. During the journey she sat huddled in a corner of her carriage, shivering with fever; she had to be carried to bed at once. The physician who was hastily summoned found her condition alarming.
Valentine lay gravely ill at Blois. Considering the nature of her illness, there could be no doubt about the outcome after the first day; the store of will-power from which she had nourished herself since her husband’s death was exhausted. For ten long months she had strained her strength to its limits, forcing body and mind to a feverish activity, demanding too much of her constitution. So long as she had hope that her wishes would be fulfilled, so long as she could believe that action would be taken against Burgundy, she had managed to stay on her feet, but she was no match for the bitter disappointment of recent weeks. The blow was the more telling because she had thought her goal was so close. Now each foothold had slipped away from her: the Dukes, the Council faltering from fear, the Queen displeased anew, her own son unwilling to fight for his rights.
Silent, with closed eyes, Valentine lay, day after day, on her bed between the black curtains, the black hangings. She was no longer concerned with those who lived in and near the castle; she hardly heard them speak to her. Charles, on whose shoulders the whole responsibility rested now that his mother no longer concerned herself about anything, had not revoked the orders given by her in the spring; he had in fact toyed repeatedly with the thought of disbanding the troops and sending the vassals home, but he was restrained by the fear of aggravating his mother’s condition; and he feared also the opposition and displeasure of the captains and especially of de Mornay, who shared Valentine’s views.