In several western European countries, including both England and France, the details of everyday fourteenth-century life were vividly captured in carvings on the wooden seats of church choirs. The images were fashioned beneath the ledges on the undersides of the seats known as misericords (right); sitting was discouraged during prayers or offices and the seats were tipped up, but as a misericordia—"act of mercy”—they had narrow shelves that gave some support to the weary worshiper. The choice of subject matter was usually left to the anonymous woodcarvers, who generally preferred secular to religious themes and often took the opportunity to display an irreverent wit in their art. The examples shown on these pages, from Worcester Cathedral in England, come from a sequence that illustrates seasonal activities associated with the twelve months of the year.
Reapers bind their sheaves with bands of wheat in August.
In October, a swineherd knocks acorns from a tree to fatten his hogs before the November slaughter.
A month later, to complete the pact, the wedding between the two royal houses was celebrated at Calais. The seven-year-old princess Isabelle, arrayed in emeralds and a scarlet velvet gown, was duly married to her English fiance by the archbishop of Canterbury. It was agreed that the consummation of the match should be postponed until the bride achieved the riper age of twelve.
Rhis fourteenth-century manuscript illustration commemorates a banquet held on january 6, 1378, by Charles V of France for the Holy Roman emperor, Charles IV of Bohemia. The French king sought to impress this powerful potential ally, and the festivities were lavish. After the meal, the 800 guests were entertained with a pantomime representing the capture of lerusalem during the First Crusade in 1099. The actor standing in the boat represents Peter the Hermit, who preached the Crusade; the crowned figure at the foot of the ladder depicts Richard the Lion-Hearted of England, who in fact led the Third Crusade in 1191.
To the wedding guests, it may have seemed that Venus, the goddess of love, had finally brought an end to the grisly reign of Mars, the god of war. But the new century would bring proof that their optimism was unfounded. The moist-eyed knights at Calais might have done better to save their tears: Within two decades, their sons would be at one another's throats again.
A few years after the wedding, the throne of England was usurped by Henry IV, who forced Richard II to abdicate, and France was in chaos. Charles VI, whose mental health had progressively deteriorated, now labored under the illusion that he was made of glass and spent his days in nervous near-seclusion, terrified that he might shatter. In the ensuing power vacuum, a bitter rivalry erupted between the dukes of Burgundy and Orleans, two of the most powerful peers of France. After the assassination of Orleans by agents of the duke of Burgundy in 1407, the conflict escalated into civil war. Both parties attempted to deal secretly with the English, who chose to fan the flames by giving covert support to each side.
English troops were once again marching into France as the new king of England, Henry V, confidently presented his demands. He asked for a return of all those parts of Aquitaine lost to his predecessors in the course of the war, as well as the territories held by his own French ancestors—Normandy, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, and Pon-thieu. In addition, he sought the hand of the mad king's daughter. If these desires were not fulfilled, he was prepared to invade.
Enjoying great popular support at home, Henry persuaded Parliament to grant him a massive subsidy for his campaign. He raised a sizable army and navy, shrugged off a newly discovered plot against his life, and set sail for France in 1415. His burning and pillaging of the war-weary regions of Normandy and Picardy were as brutal as anything perpetrated by his predecessors: War without fire, he often told his com-rades-in-arms, was like a sausage without mustard. By the time he met the French army at Agincourt, his men were tired, cold, and plagued by illness; nevertheless, he was able to spur them to a victory against the odds.
Within five years, Henry V, supported by the duke of Burgundy, had occupied Paris. Yet the tide would eventually turn. The French, weary of English oppression, gradually recovered their confidence. Their forces in the north were inspired by the patriotic fervor of Joan of Arc, a peasant girl who donned armor and joined the fray. But they were not dependent solely on the charisma of the Maid of Orleans. Their military skills improved, and the genius of a civilian gunsmith, Maitre jean Bureau, provided them with firepower far superior to that of their enemies. Armed with his gunpowder and formidable artillery, they succeeded in conquering even Gascony.
No peace treaty would be signed until 1492. Even then, the English would not officially abandon their claims to their former lands; indeed, the English kings continued to call themselves kings of France on official documents until 1815. But by the end of the fifteenth century, the relationship between France and England had altered forever, and this old feudal quarrel had ceased to be an issue worthy of all-out war. At the price of uncountable quantities of blood, the Hundred Years' War had forged in both kingdoms a new sense of national identity. -
World History
