My two eldest sisters, Isabelle and Jeanne, had pleased her because they had made advantageous marriages—and that was, of course, the fate intended for us all. Jeanne had married the powerful Duke of Brittany when she was about six, and had been sent to him to be brought up away from the licentious Court of France as a worthy little Breton. Isabelle had made an even more brilliant match; she had been sent to England to marry King Richard, and although only eight years old had become Queen of England.

So it was only when we were needed to forge some alliance that we were important to our mother. For the most part we could be left in obscurity, looked after by servants who were fond enough of us to stay and care for us, even though they were not always paid for their services.

She was very beautiful, our mother. And she had more than beauty. Her skin was very white, her large dark eyes luminous, her dark hair abundant and curly; and she had perpetual vitality. Much as I hated and feared her, I was aware of her allure which, as I grew older, I realized lay in an insatiable sensuality. It drew men to her even though they knew it could destroy them. She was like a siren singing on the rocks calling sailors to their destruction. They knew it and yet they could not resist, for she was irresistible, even to the most austere.

As soon as my father had seen her he had become desperately enamored of her and determined to marry her, which was just what those about him wanted, for she had been brought from Bavaria for that purpose. She had been fourteen years old at the time. He was about seventeen.

My poor father! My heart still overflows with pity for him. When we grew to know him, during his lucid periods, we all loved him. We used to be very distressed when we heard him, shouting that he was made of glass and would break into a thousand pieces.

Writing of it now, it seems incredible that members of the Royal House of Valois, the family of the reigning King, the Dauphin of France and his sisters and brothers could be living in conditions such as those prevailing in garrets in the back streets of Paris. But it was true—the only difference being that we were living in apartments which had been grand once if they were now shabby…and were probably more drafty than any attic in the slums.

My father had been at a disadvantage from the beginning, for he had been only twelve years old when he came to the throne. His father, known as Charles the Wise for obvious reasons, had always feared that his son might inherit the crown before he was of an age to govern.

Regencies brought trouble, said Charles the Wise. It meant that two or three ambitious men would be jostling for power—more concerned with doing good to themselves than to the country. He lowered the age of majority to fourteen, thinking he might live long enough to see his son reach that age.

My grandfather, though a wise man, was not a healthy one. When he was a very young man, his cousin, known as Charles the Bad, had attempted to poison him, and although the attempt had failed, the King had never fully regained his health, though with Joan of Bourbon he did have nine children, only three of whom survived infancy. Joan was the one who suffered from insanity.

Alas, Charles the Wise, as he had feared, died before his son, my father, reached his majority; and of course he was right when he said that regencies caused trouble.

My father was immediately taken in hand by his three uncles, the Dukes of Anjou, Berry and Burgundy. There was one other uncle who joined with them—his mother’s brother, the Duke of Bourbon. They were all ambitious men and for a short time they governed in a manner calculated to bring most profit to themselves.

Those counselors whom Charles the Wise had gathered together to assist him in the government of the country were immediately dismissed. That was the beginning of the trouble, because the uncles—always short of money—revived old taxes like the fouage and the gabelle—the hearth and salt taxes—which had always been unpopular; and the inevitable riots followed.

My father had greatly admired his father and had wanted to be like him. He loved his country, but by this time he was married to Isabeau and was coming more and more under her spell. She laughed at his seriousness, teased him and told him he should be more like his brother, Louis of Orléans. She wanted gaiety, extravagant parties, balls and masques at which she could appear in elaborate and sensational gowns. In this she was aided and urged to great extravagance by my father’s brother, Louis of Orléans, who was very handsome, dashing, witty, fascinating…and ambitious. He must have summed up the situation. My father wanted to be a good king, to follow his father’s methods…but alas, even more he wanted to please his wife.

Knowing my father and mother, I could well imagine the scenes between them: how she cajoled him; how he tried to resist; how she, with Louis of Orléans at her elbow, laughed at the serious young king; how she tempted him and how he succumbed.

There was constant trouble: perpetual strife with England, that old enemy; rivalry between the ducal uncles and Isabeau, with Louis of Orléans urging him to greater extravagant folly.

But my father earnestly wanted to do what was right and he knew that he was not acting as he should. There were riots throughout the country over the high taxation; affairs were going badly. He knew he must take drastic action, so he dismissed his uncles and recalled those counselors whom his father had chosen to help him govern the country.

The most important of these was Oliver de Clisson, whom he made his Constable.

Alas, Isabeau continued to charm him to such an extent that he still allowed lavish entertainments, in which he joined, to take place.

I do believe that he could have been a great king if my mother had not been there to lure him away from his duty.

It was not to be expected that the uncles would allow themselves to be lightly pushed aside. There was constant intriguing, and one night, when Oliver de Clisson was returning home from a banquet given by the King at the Hôtel de St.-Paul, he was set upon and badly wounded.

When news of this was brought to my father, he was just about to retire to bed. He was very disturbed and wanted to know where de Clisson was, and when he was told that he had been carried to a baker’s shop close to the spot where he had been struck down, the King immediately dressed and demanded to be taken to him.

De Clisson had revived a little when he reached him.

All this happened before I was born, of course, but I heard several accounts of it afterward.

“My dear Constable,” he was reputed to have said. “This is monstrous. How do you feel?”

“In a sorry state, Sire,” replied de Clisson.

“Did you see your would-be assassins?”

“Yes, my lord. I saw them clearly. It was Pierre de Craon and his men.”

Pierre de Craon was the cousin of Jean, Duke of Brittany. This was treachery and my father was very angry.

“He shall not go unpunished,” he promised.

He was fiercely determined that Pierre de Craon should be brought to justice; and it was really this incident which triggered off his first descent into insanity, for it was during his campaign against Brittany that he had his first attack.

I heard several versions of what followed for the incident was referred to again and again, particularly when my father’s condition was discussed, as it was continually through the years that followed.

My father summoned his uncles to join him in the task of bringing Pierre de Craon to justice. The would-be assassin had taken refuge with his uncle of Brittany, who would not give him up. There was some belief that the uncles may have been involved in the attempt to kill de Clisson, but this was never proved. However, they did try to dissuade my father from setting out to attack Brittany and capture de Craon, but my father would not be deterred.

The weather was particularly hot even for August when the King with his army set out for Brittany.

I could picture it clearly, for the scene had been described to me so many times. My father wore a costume of black velvet; on his head was a cap of the same material, but of scarlet, ornamented with a chaplet of pearls which my mother had given him before his departure, that he might keep her in his thoughts. He rode apart from the rest because the ground was so sandy and the hoofs of the horses sent up clouds of dust. Ahead of him rode Burgundy, with Berry, Orléans and Bourbon.

As they came to the forest of Le Mans, a strange figure dashed out from among the trees. He was tall though bent and his head and feet were bare. He was in a smock which had once been white and was then stained and ragged. He caught the bridle of my father’s horse and clung to it.

“Go no farther!” he shouted. “You are betrayed.”

Burgundy, Berry and Orléans rushed back to the King. They seized the man, who rolled his eyes wildly and kept shouting: “The King must turn back! Danger! Danger. He is betrayed!”

Burgundy said: “The fellow’s mad.”

“What shall we do with him?” asked Berry.

“Let him go. He’s clearly crazy and harmless. Be off, fellow, and keep out of our path.”

The man stood still staring at them for some seconds. Then he went off muttering.

My father was clearly very shaken by the encounter. I sometimes wonder whether he was reminded of his own mother. It might well be that he had seen her in her moods of madness.

The madman would not leave them entirely; he moved among the trees, following the cavalcade, and every now and then they would hear his shouting: “Let the King beware! He is betrayed! Go back, King, before it is too late!”

They had emerged from the forest and were on a sandy plain where there was no shelter. The sun beat down on them and the heat was intense. One of the pages, drowsy in the sun doubtless, dropped his lance, and as it clattered to the ground, the King’s horse started forward.

The King shouted: “Ride on! Destruction to the traitors!” And brandishing his sword he began to attack those about him. Two of the men fell wounded to the ground.

The Duke of Burgundy immediately gave orders to seize the King, who was in a state of great excitement, galloping backward and forward and slashing out on both sides with his sword. Finally his chamberlain managed to restrain him. Others helped and he was laid gently on the ground. He recognized no one when they spoke to him.

They bound him up, lest the frenzy overtake him again; and so they took him back to the town of Le Mans.

The incident put an end to the proposed war on Brittany; and it was the beginning of my father’s attacks of madness.

No one thought of it as such at the time. The heat had been intense and it was believed that he had been overcome by a fever which had made him delirious. Most people had seen men and women in such a state before. Moreover, he quickly recovered and was normal for about a year. The uncles at any rate were pleased to see the termination of a campaign for which they had had no enthusiasm.

A year passed. My father was still besottedly in love with my mother and she was leading him farther into the wildest extravagances. He spent a great deal of time thinking how to please her, and this resulted in balls, masques and lavish entertainments, all of which were not good for the treasury.

Then came that fatal occasion which was to show that the King’s behavior in the forest of Le Mans was no isolated incident.

To surprise and amuse my mother, he secretly planned, with five of his most frivolous courtiers, to arrive at the ball disguised as savages who had come from some distant land. Isabeau was always amused when he appeared in some strange disguise and the company pretended not to recognize him—although of course they all did. He would declare himself overwhelmed by Isabeau’s beauty, flirt with her outrageously…and the finale was that he was the King after all. It was an old trick of which everyone was aware, but it was always greeted with rapturous applause.

They went to a great deal of trouble to make their costumes. They were sewn up in linen to which tow was stuck with a sort of resin glue so that the effect was that of hairy apes. Apparently they looked quite realistic, and when they entered the ballroom there were shrieks of mock terror as they pranced around and around, in and out of the company.

Unfortunately one of the courtiers picked up a torch and came too close to the masquerading group. In a few seconds, several of them were alight. The resinous substance which had been used to stick on the tow burst into a great blaze, and the hairy savages were, in a matter of seconds, engulfed in flames. Frantically they tried to tear off their inflammable costumes, but in vain.