The Chronique metrique
The Chronique metrique differs dramatically in form—rhymed couplets—and tone from the other chronicles I have considered so far. It is nonetheless an important persecution text, I suggest in what follows.
Covering the years 1300—1316, the chronicle was assembled by royal chancery clerks who were not at all reticent in their critique of courtly corruption.[49] It exists in a single sumptuous manuscript, franqais 146 of the Bibliotheque nationale de France, renowned for its luxury version of the Roman de Fauvel, a satire on courtly corruption featuring a vain and fatuous fallow-colored horse, whom Dame Fortune unreasonably puts in power. A group of political poems follows the satire, and Chronique metrique brings up the rear. As scholars have demonstrated, the manuscript’s “different parts resonate with one another, reinforcing and developing the meanings of each portion.. Th’[50] The assimilation to Reynard the Fox of Fauvel, whom the text shows making fools of his followers, seems to target Philip IV’s credulity regarding Marigny. The songs scattered throughout the narrative pick up on various themes presented in the text, and, in this context, the Chronique metrique functions as a historical anchor, pinning the Fauvel satire to Philip IV’s reign. Different from the Grandes chroniques, this chronicle does not promote the reputation of Philip the Fair but paints him as the tool of his counselors and chides him for his gullibility.[51]
Although the Chronique metrique appears only in this manuscript, Jean Dunbabin proposes that the chronicle also had a life independent of the Fauvel manuscript, circulating as the “equivalent of a popular news-sheet, combining information with comment designed to mould opinion.’[52] Its rhymed lines suggest that it was aimed at a wider audience than the sophisticated one envisioned for the Grandes Chroniques, and the fact that the Chronique metrique was composed contemporaneously with the Affaire de la Tour de Nesle makes it likely that the entries on the princesses corresponded to actual discussion, both mirroring and shaping reception of the event.
The chronicle describes a world in moral free fall: beginning with Pope Boniface VIII’s waging war against Colonna, the church has lost its way, the clergy indistinguishable from the laity. The result is complete disorder: “the beasts are left without a shepherd,” the members have no head. Philip IV provides little guidance, behaving like a fool, most explicitly regarding the war with Flanders and the Templars. With reference to the war with the Flemish, the chronicle complains that Philip is “sanz guile” for failing to notice that the region’s cities were full of traitors. “They are in towns and in cities;/ in your castles and in your citadels/ are traitors—it’s the truth....” (121, lines 1504-6).[53] The chronicle further asserts that the king’ people do not respect him, but think of him as an elephant, whose force is not feared one bit. He is a dupe, a pucele, a young girl, because he believes everything that his sergeants put in his ear (122, lines 1573— 79). Philip IV’s persecution of the Templars also plays a role in the narrative. The chronicler pays lip service to their evil ways, writing that they well merited their fate if what was said of them was true (157, lines 3475—77). But the chronicler raises a doubt, writing about the many people who claimed the Templars to be guilty that he does not know if they are lying (157, line 3478). Moreover, the description that the chronicler offers of the execution of Jacques de Molay and his two companions depicts them as nothing less than martyrs calmly accepting death (199, lines 5709—5776). De Molay proclaims that God will avenge their deaths (199, line 5728). The contrast between the Grand Master and the silly king could not be greater.
As for the story of the princesses and their knights, the chronicler believes that the accused were guilty. And yet, having been informed of the king’s naivete early on, the reader will necessarily doubt the veracity of this story, too, especially when the chronicler observes that many could not imagine how the affair between the Burgundian princesses and the brothers Aunay had been arranged.
I do not know by what means or how the two agreed between themselves, but people talked about it in many ways....
(202-203, lines 5910-13)
It was widely believed, he continues, that the lovers could only have managed their misdeeds with the help of enchantement, a point that accords with Guillaume of Nangis’s mention of the friar magician.
Some commonly said that they
arranged things through enchantment;
others said that they
managed without enchantment.
Believe which you like,
but not everything that you hear.... (203, lines 5913—5918)
As in other versions of the story, Jeanne of Burgundy proclaims her innocence, but, in this account, King Louis X himself inquires into the matter and has her released.
The chronicle casts still more doubt on the credibility of the adultery accusation when it recounts Philip IV’s regret shortly before his death:
For then the king had great sorrow
as well had should have,
when he learned that the Pope was dead
and the Queen of Navarre
taken like a whore
and locked up in prison
at Gaillard where she had been taken,
which had greatly disturbed the kingdom. (210, lines 6344—6351)
The barons then gather and march to the king with their complaints. Taking note of the curses cast upon him by the rebellious barons, the king declares that he has been deceived in counsel (218, lines 6770—6773). At the king’s death, the barons turn on Marigny, addressing him as Renard (222, lines 6987—6988) in a parallel to the Fauvel story.
The chronicler’s description of Marguerite’s final days cannot help but heighten the reader’s suspicion that Philip had been duped. Once again, the chronicler maintains the princesses’ culpability, but he simultaneously undercuts his position.[54] So far King Louis has been merciful (“piteux”) toward Marigny, he writes, but then a piece of news arrives that “changes the game.” Marguerite, taken ill, summons her confessor; following her vows of contrition, she has a letter sent to her husband, King Louis, which he is to read after her death.
Whatever she revealed in the letter, the narrator announces, finally undid (“desconfist”) Marginy and led to his execution (226, lines 7168—69). But the contents of Marguerite’s letter remain hidden because “the shame could be too great....” Thus the story was not recounted outside, “but hearts knew it, and it’s a wonder that they didn’t break from it.” (226, lines 7177—80). What cannot be amended, the chronicler concludes, should be remanded to God. Marigny is then arrested and later hanged for things that were for the most part apertes, but also for some which were couvertes (226, lines 7197—98).What heartbreaking news involving Marigny could Marguerite have possessed that would have brought great shame had it become publicly known? Brother of Philip IV, Charles Count of Valois, who was in the process of bringing Marigny down when Marguerite died, had already the previous November presided over an inquiry of Parlement that declared Jeanne innocent; her innocence therefore was no longer news by the time of Marguerite’s death.[55] Unlike some accounts that reproduce the charges against Marigny, the Chronique metrique does not blame him for Jeanne’s imprisonment, but his role would have been common knowledge. Although guilt for Jeanne’s arrest then might count as one of the apertes reasons for Marginy’s arrest, it cannot be one of the couvertes reasons.
But what if Marguerite somehow convinced her husband that Marigny had duped Philip the Fair into imprisoning the princesses and executing the brothers? The abrupt shift in Louis X’s initially merciful attitude toward Marigny supports the hypothesis.[56] The chronology is hazy, but, at a certain point, the new king gave up defense of his late father’s advisor and let the prosecution take its course. Had Louis X been presented with incriminating evidence? Furthermore, as the chronicle later reports, on his own deathbed just one year later, in June 1316, Louis X recognized his daughter Jeanne as his own child (236, line 7711).[57] A new reason to believe that Marguerite had been innocent of the charge of adultery might have prompted the king’s action.
Jean Dunbabin describes the universe of the Chronique metrique as filled with “relentless misery brought about by a failure to recognize natural law.” With men refusing to acknowledge divine order, “events rapidly slipped out of their control and disaster beckoned.”[58] By acting against the princesses, the king blindly attempted to restore the order that had slipped beyond his power to control. But, if the chronicler gives the reader plenty of room to doubt the princesses’ guilt, he toes the line in presenting the case as if it were settled. The text he presents can therefore be regarded as a persecution text.