Episode 27: Picking Bishops and Familial Fissures
When Philip the Good went to the Imperial Diet in Regensburg in 1454 it gave his son and heir, Charles, the count of Charolais, a chance to get some practice at ruling in his stead, giving subjects in the Burgundian Low Countries a glimpse into what the future of the dynasty might hold. When Philip returned he was obsessed with the idea of crusade, meaning both Charles and Isabella of Portugal remained involved in major political actions. However, as always, events in the Low Countries soon demanded Philip’s attention again, as he would execute plans to expand the Burgundian influence over the spiritual as well as temporal realms in his domains. He would force one of his many illegitimate children, David, onto the bishopric throne in Utrecht in 1455 and the year after that another Burgundian puppet into the same role in the ever-troublesome bishopric of Liege. As Philip was busy dealing with these various issues, however, a power struggle broke out within his inner circle that would see the Croy family begin making plans to take down Philip’s longtime right hand man, his chancellor Nicolas Rolin. To further complicate matters, in 1455 a bombshell would drop when the heir to the French throne, the dauphin Louis, would flee the issues he had with his own father, the King of France, and sensationally seek and receive exile at the Burgundian court. A generational shift was taking place and, faced with all these new contenders for his father’s honour and affection, Charles would feel threatened and the relationship between the Burgundian father and son would sour. By the time he was just 23 years old, the two men would no longer be on speaking terms and Charles would be removed from the political process altogether. The Burgundian dynasty, as strong as it looked from the outside, was looking very frail from within.
Charles the Bold
As we covered in the previous episode, Charles, Count of Charolais, was a headstrong and serious young man, fully committed to living up to the image he had been born unto; a great, if not the greatest, noble prince of Christendom. Like both his parents, he was intelligent, but most contemporary accounts suggest he took more after his mother, with whom he had spent most of his childhood. As regards his father, besides their high intellect, the two were otherwise pretty different from one another. Whereas Philip’s personality and charisma had allowed him to charm his way to ever more power, only resorting to aggression as a last resort and, in-so-doing, persistently generating an aura of beloved, princely benevolence; his son had an intensity and anger that revealed themselves all too easily and he would never manage to engender the same affection from his subjects. As Philip’s trip to Regensburg approached, preparations were made for Charles to take charge of affairs in his absence, however, there remained an official duty which Charles needed to attend to. He needed to remedy his status as a bachelor.
Philip and Isabella had a difference of opinion about who exactly Charles should marry. Isabella, remember, was part Lancastrian, a cadet branch of the English royal family. Around this time, the English king, Henry VI, was having two major problems; the onset of insanity and a failure to produce an heir. We should by now all fully realise that while it makes for entertaining stories hundreds of years later, having an insane king and no heir is not exactly the recipe for a strong and stable kingdom. A great council of English nobles convened and Richard, Duke of York, was appointed as Lord Protector of the realm. When Henry regained his faculties, he was upset by what seemed an usurpation of his power. What kicked off was the thirty-two year long Wars of the Roses.
Within this context, Isabella and Charles were aiming for a marriage alliance with Margaret, the Duke of York’s daughter. This would shore up their position within any upheavals that were due to come England’s way. Philip, however, was having absolutely none of it. Although the Treaty of Arras was now 20 years old, its stipulations still demanded that Charles marry a French princess. Doing otherwise would be an affront to the French king, and marrying an English princess would clearly be an offensive action. One of Philip’s many bastard sons had been trying to convince Charles that he had the right to choose his own marriage and may as well go for the English Margaret. When the Duke found out about this he summoned his two sons, gave them a good telling off and told Charles he’d be marrying a French princess, no matter what.
The woman chosen to become Charles’ second wife was a cousin of his, named Isabel, the daughter of the Duke of Bourbon and his wife, who was Philip’s sister Agnes. Having made his decision, Philip sent off for papal dispensation and set into motion the negotiations for the marriage. Then, without warning, at 5am one morning Philip set off on his journey to the Imperial Diet in Regensburg, and radically cut the salary of everybody he left behind at court so that he could travel in style and they could languish on comparatively meagre daily stipends. Despite the disagreement between the two men, for the time that Philip was away in the German empire Charles was named “governor and lieutenant-general, in the absence of my most redoubted lord and father, of his lands and lordships in the Netherlands”. He went to base himself in the Hague, but soon had to return to Lille to deal with the whole marriage issue.
Despite how great or not great Charles was at playing prince, the most pressing issue remained making his marriage to the French princess official to placate any possible tensions between Burgundy and France. But things didn’t go very smoothly. Firstly, the negotiations between Philip and his brother-in-law, the Duke of Bourbon, stuttered as they were unable to agree on certain terms of the dowry, namely concerning the lordship of a place called Chateau-Chinon. Secondly, Isabella of Portugal’s continued desire for her son to marry an English princess meant that Philip had to ensure this did not happen. When he returned to Burgundy in the autumn of 1454, the matter was still not settled. The French king sent an ambassador to Philip to ask what was up, and to tell him that he would not return to France until the matter was finally settled. Philip, however, was one step ahead. He had himself already summoned one of his own men, called Philip Pot, and sent him to Lille where both his wife and heir currently were. Pot’s orders were to oversee the marriage post-haste, which he promptly did. Without the negotiations for the dowry having been settled on, or the two young participants knowing about it until the night before, Charles and Isabel were married on the 30th of October, 1454. Isabel’s father was forced to accept the terms of the dowry that he had disputed, and Philip took Chateau-Chinon.
Bishopric of Utrecht
So having dealt with this pressing issue, Philip could once again focus on his dream of a crusade. The logistics of organising one were immense and included Philip having to negotiate with the Pope, the emperor and the king of France, as well as all the other great and minor lords whose troops and resources he wanted to get involved. Philip once again found himself needing cash to fund his adventures, but this time decided that the way to do this was to levy a tax on the lands of the nobility in Burgundy. This request went down terribly with a bunch of those nobles, who believed themselves to be the absolute sovereigns of their own little areas and in meetings between them angry words were spoken, including some giving open praise to the knight who had murdered John the Fearless on the bridge at Montereau. One man in particular, Jean de Granson, lord of Pesmes, began agitating for outright rebellion against Philip. But Philip’s chancellor, Nicolas Rolin, was, as always, on top of things, quickly having Granson arrested for high treason, tried and at Philip’s order, quietly and secretly executed by being suffocated in between two mattresses.
After this, the nobility was forced into submission and agreed to pay the subsidy so long as it was only a one time deal and that Philip actually used the money to go on crusade. So, great problem solved; crisis averted. The lasting issue, however, was that many of the aristocracy, particularly the Croy family, who were very close to Philip, were left bitter that Granson, a noble just like them, had been killed for his role in the affair. They lay the blame for Granson’s death solely on Rolin, a commoner who had been raised into their ranks but didn’t really truly belong in their elite caste, and whose inflexibility and ruthlessness had led to the draconian death sentence. Nicolas Rolin had made very powerful enemies who would now be biding their time, waiting for the moment to take him down.
On the 5th of March, 1455, the French king Charles VII gave Philip permission to raise troops in France for the crusade. Just 19 days later, however, two prominent people died, which immediately changed Philip’s calculations and priorities. The first was the Pope, Nicolas V, meaning the central legitimising force for an Eastward-bound, Christian army was thrown into uncertainty while a new pope was elected. The second death was that of a bloke called Rudolf von Diepholz, the bishop of Utrecht.
Remember that although there were temporal rulers in control of most regions, all those counts and dukes, the biggest ecclesiastical domains were also dominant political entities, controlled by powerful prince-bishops. In the low countries there were two powerful bishoprics, Utrecht and Liege, whose spiritual domains overlapped into Philip’s territories but which he had not yet managed to get fully under his control. The territory controlled by the Prince-Bishop of Utrecht included the Nedersticht and Oversticht, but the See of Utrecht - that is, those lands inhabited by people whose overall spiritual guidance was the Bishop of Utrecht’s responsibility - extended into Holland, Friesland and Guelders. Philip, as we have already seen, didn’t exactly like people being in positions of power unless they had been placed there by himself personally. He also had a hankering for these territories which had evaded his grasp so far and couldn’t give up this opportunity to finally incorporate these areas into his control.
Way back in the 1420s, when Philip was fighting his cousin Jacqueline for control of Hainault, Holland and Zeeland, a popular uprising in Utrecht had seen Rudolf von Diepholz raised to the episcopal throne and in 1427, with this popular support, he had declared his loyalty to Jacqueline. Following Philip’s victory over Jacqueline, in 1430 he came to terms with Rudolf and recognised him as the Prince Bishop of Utrecht, while Rudolf recognised Philip as the legitimate master of Holland. In 1451 Rudolf had made his own drastic move for expanded power, trying to take over the bishopric of Munster, which neighboured the Sees of Utrecht and Cologne. The town of Munster violently rejected him and when he died, in 1455, it left a vacuum for power that piqued the interest of all the nearby rulers. From this point, Philip’s crusading aspirations became overshadowed by his love of garnering as much land, power and influence for himself. The bishop of Cologne and the Duke of Guelders put forward Stephen of Bavaria as a candidate, the Duke of Cleves wanted his fifteen year old nephew and Philip the Good wanted one of his bastard sons, David, to be ‘elected’. The canons of Utrecht, being the clerical body that actually held the rights to electing a new prince-bishop, settled on someone completely different: Gijsbrecht van Brederode. He was a fairly popular ducal official and member of a very old, established and noble local family. Although the Brederodes were well affixed to the layered system of clientele loyalty that Philip had fostered - Gijsbrecht’s brother was even a Golden Fleecer - they were too powerful locally and even could lay claim to rule of Holland if they stretched their imaginations enough. Philip, for this reason, rebuked this appointment. Disregarding his feelings, the Estates of Utrecht recognised Gijsbrecht in his new role in September, 1455 anyway. Philip became very upset. Fortunately for Philip, however, as we have seen he was amongst the most powerful people in Christendom. Years earlier he had successfully gotten David into position as the bishop of Therouanne and now the new pope, Calixtus III, kindly did Philip’s bidding and appointed his bastard son to the position of Prince Bishop of Utrecht, regardless of what the canons of Utrecht wanted. The Duke of Cleves, abandoned his candidate and stepped in line with Philip, but there was still contention from Gijsbrecht van Brederode and those who supported him. Philip decided to shift his whole court to the Hague and figure out what to do about troublesome Utrecht.
Bishopric of Liège
At around the same time, it became evident that Utrecht was not the only bishopric in the Low Countries that Philip had his eyes on. It was also time to finally bring Liège into the fold. Liege had proven troublesome to anyone trying to wield power over it. The estates there had strong traditions of autonomy from their bishop; but their rebellion had also been violently suppressed by Philip’s father almost five decades previously. Following that turmoil, after John of Bavaria had abandoned his position of Bishop-elect of Liege to go and lay claim to Holland, a guy called John of Heinsberg became the prince-bishop, and generally managed to keep Burgundian encroachment at bay whilst keeping his subjects distracted from their tendency towards full-blown revolt. In 1430, however, Heinsberg was forced into a corner of having to declare war on Philip, and this had resulted in Burgundian force being brought down on Liege and harsh peace terms enforced. Now, in 1455, Philip finally pulled some levers, somehow pressured Heinsberg into resigning and got the pope to elevate Philip’s eighteen year old nephew, Louis of Bourbon, to the episcopal seat.
This turned out to be a disastrous appointment. Louis was not rulership material, but rather self-indulgent, pusillanimous and bereft of the skills needed to hold sway over such an autonomously minded people as the Liegois. The people of Liege outright rejected Louis and, within a year, had once more gone into rebellion against a prince-bishop who they had not chosen for themselves. Philip, stationed in the Hague, was compelled to raise banners and have troops from his other domains sent to go and bring Liege to heel once more. Although open war was averted, the rebelling Liegois people pulled another trick out of their sleeve, and went to ask the French king for protection against this Burgundian incursion. As we know, Charles VII and Philip the Good were like two old lions, circling each other on the geopolitical stage. Charles happily received the entreaties of the people of Liege and the bishopric became another vulnerable theatre where he and Philip could take out their passive-aggression against each other. The status of Liege would remain in flux between these power bases - Philip, Louis of Bourbon, Charles VII and the people of Liege - for another decade.
Map by David Cenzer
David become Prince Bishop Dave
In July 1456 Philip focused on the situation in Utrecht. Gijsbert van Brederode and the people of Utrecht had remained implacable against the Duke and the papal approval he had received for his bastard son David to be made prince-bishop. Philip decided that enough was enough, and set about raising troops in order to solve the stalemate. In late July he based himself in Ijsselstein, just south-west of Utrecht and on the border with Holland. There, Philip celebrated his 60th birthday. He was having a long innings, indeed. As his army was gathering, and becoming set on an assault against Utrecht, Gijsbert van Brederode made a calculated and life-preserving decision to submit before any real conflict took place. Philip received him in Ijsselstein on August 2, where they negotiated terms. Gijsbrecht’s offer was to resign the bishopric of Utrecht, in exchange for a yearly income from the lands of the Sticht, compensation of 50,000 gold lions - a new currency recently minted in Scotland - and high-ranking positions both on the ducal council of Holland and in the Church of St Donatian’s in Bruges. Philip, showing once again that he was usually willing to show mercy in the interest of stability, accepted these terms and could now officially sit his son David on the throne in Utrecht. Prince-bishop Dave.
To do this, Philip and his assembled forces made a triumphant entry into the town for the ceremony at the great cathedral in Utrecht, the Dom. The civic militia of Holland, ducal knights and heralds all led the procession that made its way in front of yet another subdued population who from now on could consider themselves within the Burgundian realms. The last two to pass by were Charles, heir apparent, and Philip the Good, the Grand Duke of the West. As you will recall, however, from an earlier episodes, Overachieving Overijsselers, the Utrecht spiritual domains of the Sticht were not a continuously connected territory. The Nedersticht, in which the town of Utrecht sat, was bordered to the north by a chunk of Guelders running west towards the Zuiderzee. On the other side of that lay the Oversticht. Although the people of Utrecht had submitted to Philip, many people in the Oversticht had different ideas. They had not yet been faced with the prospect of a Burgundian army, and refused to accept David as their new ruler. So, after a week’s stay in Utrecht, Philip sent his army to go and lay siege to one of the Oversticht’s most important towns, Deventer.
The siege of Deventer was not the most glorious Burgundian exploit ever undertaken. Chastellaine describes the shame of honourable knights standing knee-deep in mud, while Monstrelet tells us that when the Burgundian army arrived outside Deventer’s walls:
“Those of the town sallied out against him; and a smart skirmish ensued, in which many were killed on both sides. In the end, they (the Deventers) were repulsed and driven back into the town; and, on the fourth day, a strong bulwark they had erected in front of the gate was so much battered with cannon that those within, foreseeing it must be taken, set it on fire, and burned it during the night. The siege, however, lasted until the end of September, when the townsmen sent offers to the duke to obey the bishop, as the other towns within his diocese had done.”
It is arguable that, in his aggression in the Sticht, Philip was truly stepping into a certain theatre of north-western European politics that he had been skirting around until then. Holland & Zeeland had been under his control for a long time. However, Utrecht, Friesland and Guelders, which interacted more directly with the northern German trade cities and bishoprics of Munster and Cologne, had avoided his direct attention. The Duke of Guelders, Arnold, had come to power at a young age, with the support of Philip, sealing the arrangement by marrying one of Philip’s nieces, Catherine of Cleves. They had five children, of whom four survived, one becoming the queen of Scotland and the eldest son of which, Adolf, becoming the heir apparent, as well as from this point, somebody whose adventures we will certainly come back to. The Duke of Guelders and the Duke of Burgundy had been on reasonable terms with one another. When the matter arose of who was to become the bishop of Utrecht, however, tensions developed as each looked at expanding their power bases in the northern Low Countries. As Philip’s army lay siege to Deventer, then, he was fairly open to an attack, should the Duke of Guelders so decide upon one.
The Unexpected Arrival of the Dauphin
In August 1456, as Philip was laying siege to Deventer, the dauphin fled from his father and sought refuge on Burgundian soil. Two high lords went to meet the dauphin and to escort him to Leuven. One was the Marshall of Burgundy and other was the Prince of Orange, also named Louis. Although he often showed himself fairly flippant in his loyalty between the French King, German Emperor and Burgundian Duke, Louis had fought for Burgundy during the Holland succession wars in the 1420s. When the dauphin Louis arrived at Leuven he sent word to Philip who, holding the tedious siege of Deventer, is said to have been completely taken aback. The negotiations with the town basically being a matter of crossing t’s and dotting i’s, he hastened them along and promptly disbanded his army and set off for Brussels. His thoughts must have ranged from concern at how absolutely furious the French king must be to wonder at the good fortune of having his frenemy-cousin’s greatest asset landing in his lap. This was, after all, his future liege lord, and one over whom he might be able to wield significant influence.
When Louis the dauphin arrived in Brussels, Philip had still not returned. Eleanor of Poitiers, a Burgundian writer who was a child at the time, later described it:
“...Louis, being dauphin, came to Brussels accompanied by about ten cavaliers and by the Marshal of Burgundy. At this time Duke Philip was at Utrecht in war and there was no one to receive the visitor but Madame the Duchess Isabella and Madame de Charolais, her daughter-in-law, pregnant...
"Monsieur the dauphin arrived at Brussels, where were the ladies, at eight o'clock in the evening, about St. Martin's Day. When the ladies heard that he was in the city they hastened down to the courtyard to await him. As soon as he saw them he dismounted and saluted Madame the Duchess and Mme. de Charolais and Mme. de Ravestein. All kneeled and then he kissed the other ladies of the court.”
Louis was given all the honour and prestige owing his royal self and, when Philip arrived at his side in Brabant, in January 1457, he promptly paid due homage, apparently kneeling for so long before the dauphin that he was told: “...‘pon my faith, good uncle, if you don’t get up I shall go away and leave you.”
Louis was granted an annual income by Philip and a castle at Genappe, near Brussels, from where he could hold his own court. Once that was settled, Philip could concentrate on mitigating the fury of the French monarch. He had already sent an ambassador to Charles VII, pleading that he had no part in the making of this stunning turn in events. According to Chastellaine the envoy:
“stayed at the French court… and I do not know what they discussed, but during that time news came that the king had garrisoned Compiègne, Lyons, and places where his lands touched the duke's territories. When the envoy returned to the duke, he published a manifesto ordering all who could bear arms to be in readiness.”
Philip essentially told Charles that he would not be giving his son back. This was a great gamble, given that Charles VII would continue to threaten and demand his compliance. Apparently, though, Charles - a very savvy political player - was bemused by the prospect of Philip harbouring his future powerful lord. One French writer, D'Escouchy, quotes him as having said that “Louis is fickle and changeable and I do not doubt that he will return here before long. I am not at all pleased with those who influence him" and, more famously, he is said to have remarked that “My cousin of Burgundy nourishes a fox who will eat his chickens”.
In the early days of his exile, the veneer of high honour and homage heaped on Louis by the Burgundian nobility would have been easy to maintain. Louis, however, did not quite fit the same image as his contemporary and cousin, Philip’s son Charles. He had been born when his father’s grasp on the French throne had been entirely tenuous, and their family had sought refuge amongst the dirt of loyal French commoners. He had not had a sense-of-self-princeliness projected onto him on a day to day level for his entire life, such as Charles had. Yet for years into his adulthood Louis had held his father’s wishes in contempt, and built a projection of himself as the inevitable grand monarch. Louis would spend years at the Burgundian court, as Ruth Putnam put it, posing:
“as the ruined poor relation, entirely free from pride at his high birth and delighted to repay hospitality by his general complaisance”.
In reality, however, he was basically waiting for his father to die and for his inheritance to come in. Richard Vaughn writes:
“While at Genappe, Louis never concealed his longing to inherit the crown of France; indeed his constant and hopeful enquiries of the astrologers, especially when his father was ill, concerning the exact hour of his probable death, caused some comment. Chastellain says that Louis was not only happy to hear of his father’s death—he had prayed for it.”
Philip, for his part, was more than happy to help foster those dreams, and keeping the future French king in his good books became a major focus. Some big things began happening in the family about 6 months after the dauphin’s arrival. Some were cause for celebration, while others became indicative of fractures that had developed between the Duke and his son, Charles. These were widened by the presence of the dauphin within the family’s dynamic of drama. Charles had not been present when the dauphin had made his flight and stunningly arrived in Brussels. He was on his way to Nuremberg on a mission for his father. When he returned, there was this other contender for his father’s affections and a second young prince who provided a different presence, with his own different interests, wielding influence amongst the power brokers of the low countries. It makes sense if Charles was annoyed. He was the golden prince; he had been given great responsibility and not failed in his conduct; and yet on the ladder of power that he returned to, he probably felt that he had been pushed back a rung. Other issues that arose would have only served to heighten his annoyance.
The forest flight after a father son fight.
We have earlier mentioned the Croy family, who were of old nobility, were bitter towards Nicolas Rolin and who, in the layered clientele system of Burgundian administration, had garnered a lot of power for themselves. Antoine de Croy, an OG Golden Fleecer alongside his brother, Jehan, held the post of Philip’s main chamberlain for most of his reign, and also acted as the governor of Luxembourg. In the overall scheme of all things Burgundian, his influence was only a couple of notches lower than that of Rolin. Charles disliked the de Croys, who were also competitors for his father’s affections and arguably his favourites. In 1456 the de Croys had used their power and influence at the court to seize land from an inheritance which he believed rightfully his. Rolin, perhaps sensing that Philip’s time was coming to an end due to his advancing age, had begun positioning himself and his family closer to Philip’s heir, Charles. When one of Charles’s household chamberlain posts became vacant, this became the scene upon which the Croy versus Rolin battle would unfold.
Charles decided, probably at Rolin’s urging, to name Rolin’s son, Antoine, to the position of third chamberlain. The de Croy brothers, however, saw this as an opportunity to take some revenge upon Rolin and got into Philip’s ear, complaining about Charles, about how he unfairly disliked them and about how the honour of such a position ought to go to a real noble. Philip quickly commanded Charles to give the position to Jehan de Croy’s son, also named Philip, instead. He would suffer no objection on the matter. A few days later, the Duke demanded that Charles bring his list of household members for him to inspect. When Charles appeared at the palace in Brussels, he found his father in the oratory. He gave Philip the list, which he read carefully, scanning for the name that would indicate his son’s obedience. When he realised that the de Croy name was not included, Philip was extremely upset. Remember, Philip expected only obedience from his son.
Quoting from Arsene Perier’s biography of Nicolas Rolin the conversation went as such: “My lord," said Charles, "please forgive me, but I could not do it. - The Duke replied, "How can I, will you disobey me? Won't you do what I want? “My lord, I will obey you, but I will not do this."
Philip threw the list into the fire, apparently telling his son: “Now look to your ordonnances for you will need new ones”.
It is unclear what exactly happened next, with accounts varying in extremity, from saying that Philip ranted and raved at Charles, to going so far as to claim that Philip literally drew his sword on his son and chased him through the palace. Whatever the case may be, he was so angered, report both Olivier de la Marche and Chastellaine, that the Duchess Isabella and the dauphin Louis desperately sought to protect Charles and to mediate on his behalf. Apparently there was great fear for her son’s life, but also for the well-being of Charles’ young wife Isabel, who was heavily pregnant. She quickly hurried them away from his father’s insurmountable rage. Nobody could calm the Duke in his fury. As night descended his rage remained implacable and, without making any arrangements with anyone else except to send word to the de Croy brothers to meet him at Hal, he clambered on a horse and rode out into the fields around Brussels. This was winter, in a swamp. It was cold, misty and the rain was falling down. As he rode into the forest of Soignes it seems that his mind may have been as foggy a temper as the landscape around him.
So this was a pretty dramatic fracture in the relationship between the Burgundian father and son. The parallel nature of paternal problems between them and the royal French father-son has not been lost on historians ever since, though Charles was not at fear of being imprisoned. Instead he went and sat around in Dendermonde for a while, waiting for Isabella and the Dauphin to calm him down. Eventually, the two men reconciled, with Charles agreeing to sack some of his servants, including Antoine Rolin, who Philip believed were “driving forces” in the disagreement. But the gap between them remained, Philip becoming aloof of Charles, whilst still continuing to lavish the dauphin with respect and confidence, as well as the Croys. Isabella of Portugal also withdrew from the Brussels court and, apparently, from her husband’s affections as well, although some reports insist that it was he who shunned her, blaming her for his son’s disobedience.
She would spend the remainder of her years living, pretty much constantly, in a convent, taking more interest in Spanish and Portuguese affairs than those of her adopted lands. Philip, then, had lost one of his most reliable members of court; a woman who had stepped into the mire of low country politics and navigated the swamp with aplomb and loyalty. She would not be the only long-standing advisor that he would lose during these years. Nicolas Rolin also found himself on the outside after this affair. Rolin’s enemies took this moment of weakness to go after him, accusing him of all sorts of financial irregularities and corrupt practices. Although these accusations were no doubt true, Rolin was hardly unique in doing so. As we saw in the last episode almost everybody in the Burgundian system was pocketing cash. It was more a case of kicking the bloke while he was down. Rolin retained the title of Chancellor, but was no longer the main power broken in the Burgundian administration, losing his position as head of the Duke’s council to a man of the de Croy’s choosing, Guillame Fillastre, who would also become the second chancellor of the Order of the Golden Fleece.
In the midst of all this, Charles and his wife, Isabel, became parents in February, 1457, to a daughter named Mary of Burgundy. Her birth signifies the beginning of a life which will be intertwined with that of the History of the Netherlands, as her eventual marriage to Maximillian of Habsburg will see the beginning of a new dynasty in control in the Low Countries. The dauphin was even named as Mary’s godfather, indicating the level to which he was being adopted into the Burgundian familial sphere and the extent to which Charles was trying desperately to respect his father’s wishes. Nonetheless, the estrangement between the father and son continued, with Charles withdrawing back to Holland, where he concentrated on solidifying the clientele basis he had built there and worrying about what his father would do next.
Sources
The Promised Lands by Wim Blockmans and Walter Prevenier
A Brief History of the Netherlands by Paul F. State
A Concise History of the Netherlands by James C. Kennedy
Magnanimous Dukes and Rising States by Robert Stein
Charles the Bold: Last Duke of Burgundy 1433-1477 by Ruth Putnam
Philip the Good (Apogee of burgundy) by Richard Vaughan
Charles the Bold, the Last Duke of Burgundy by Ruth Putnam
Nicolas Rolin by Arséne Perier
Chronique des ducs de Bourgogne by Georges Chastellaine
The Chronicles of Monstrelet