these activities which he loved. Now here was a chance. He had so much admired the paintings in the chapel that he would like to paint on glass himself. Glass was found for him and paints provided and in a short time René was passing the days of his captivity in a very pleasant fashion.
Time flew. He had completed a portrait of the late Duke John of Burgundy, who had been known as the Fearless; and so pleased was he with it that he did another of the Duke’s son, the present Duke Philip.
He then painted miniatures of other members of the family and looked forward to each day when he could continue with his work.
When he heard that the Duke of Burgundy had announced his intention of visiting Dijon he scarcely heard the news; he was so intent on getting the right texture for the hair of the subject of one of his paintings.
Duke Philip arrived and expecting to find an abject René of Anjou begging for his release was surprised to find the captive intent on his work.
The Duke looked at the painting. ‘Why it is beautiful,’ he said. ‘I had no idea you were an artist.’
‘Oh,’ said René modestly, ‘it passes the time.’
He talked of the way he mixed his paints and the subjects who pleased him most.
‘You seem to have found an agreeable way in which to spend your captivity,’ said the Duke.
‘An artist,’ explained René, ‘can never truly become the captive of anything but his own imagination.’
‘So an artist can be content wherever he is.’
‘While engaged in the act of creation most certainly.’
‘It seems to me you do not find all this in the least irksome.’
‘At times, yes. I should like to be with my family. My children are growing up, you know, and it is always a joy to see them changing. But while I paint my work engrosses me. It is so with artists.’
The Duke was amazed. There could not be a man less like himself. It was not that the Duke was not a highly cultured man. He was. He loved beautiful things, but first and foremost he was the Duke of Burgundy and his main object in life was to uphold his power and increase it.
But he was greatly impressed by René’s work and when he saw the pictures which his prisoner had painted of Duke John and himself he declared that they were very fine indeed and should be placed in the window of the chapel.
‘You embarrass me,’ he said. I do not care to hold an artist such as you captive.’
‘There is an easy remedy for that,’ said René with a smile. ‘Let me go free.’
‘Now you know that is not possible. There are conventions to be observed in matters like this. If I freed you without conditions I should have every prisoner I take claiming to be an artist.’
‘That is a matter, my lord Duke, which could be put to the test.’
‘The appreciation of great art is an individual matter. I should be told that my prisoner was a great artist but of a different school from that which I admired. You see my difficulties.’
‘I do, my lord.’
‘On the other hand,’ said the Duke, ‘I would discuss terms with you. You were captured in battle. The dispute over Lorraine has to be settled. Who has the prior claim—you as husband of Isabelle or Antoine de Vaudémont! Are we to enforce the Salic Law or not? I can see an easy settlement to that dispute.’
‘I should be glad to know it.’
‘You have a daughter, have you not?’
‘Two. Yolande and Margaret.’
‘It is of the elder I would speak.’
‘That is Yolande.’
‘My dear man, Antoine has a son, young Ferri. Why should not these two be betrothed? In time Antoine’s son and your daughter would inherit Lorraine. Would you agree to that? I ask you this, but at the same time I must remind you that you will remain a prisoner until you do.’
‘It seems a fair enough solution,’ said René.
‘Then that will settle the main dispute. But naturally there must be a ransom. Certain castles shall we say?’
‘Which?’ asked René.
‘Clermont, Chatille, Bourmont and
Time flew. He had completed a portrait of the late Duke John of Burgundy, who had been known as the Fearless; and so pleased was he with it that he did another of the Duke’s son, the present Duke Philip.
He then painted miniatures of other members of the family and looked forward to each day when he could continue with his work.
When he heard that the Duke of Burgundy had announced his intention of visiting Dijon he scarcely heard the news; he was so intent on getting the right texture for the hair of the subject of one of his paintings.
Duke Philip arrived and expecting to find an abject René of Anjou begging for his release was surprised to find the captive intent on his work.
The Duke looked at the painting. ‘Why it is beautiful,’ he said. ‘I had no idea you were an artist.’
‘Oh,’ said René modestly, ‘it passes the time.’
He talked of the way he mixed his paints and the subjects who pleased him most.
‘You seem to have found an agreeable way in which to spend your captivity,’ said the Duke.
‘An artist,’ explained René, ‘can never truly become the captive of anything but his own imagination.’
‘So an artist can be content wherever he is.’
‘While engaged in the act of creation most certainly.’
‘It seems to me you do not find all this in the least irksome.’
‘At times, yes. I should like to be with my family. My children are growing up, you know, and it is always a joy to see them changing. But while I paint my work engrosses me. It is so with artists.’
The Duke was amazed. There could not be a man less like himself. It was not that the Duke was not a highly cultured man. He was. He loved beautiful things, but first and foremost he was the Duke of Burgundy and his main object in life was to uphold his power and increase it.
But he was greatly impressed by René’s work and when he saw the pictures which his prisoner had painted of Duke John and himself he declared that they were very fine indeed and should be placed in the window of the chapel.
‘You embarrass me,’ he said. I do not care to hold an artist such as you captive.’
‘There is an easy remedy for that,’ said René with a smile. ‘Let me go free.’
‘Now you know that is not possible. There are conventions to be observed in matters like this. If I freed you without conditions I should have every prisoner I take claiming to be an artist.’
‘That is a matter, my lord Duke, which could be put to the test.’
‘The appreciation of great art is an individual matter. I should be told that my prisoner was a great artist but of a different school from that which I admired. You see my difficulties.’
‘I do, my lord.’
‘On the other hand,’ said the Duke, ‘I would discuss terms with you. You were captured in battle. The dispute over Lorraine has to be settled. Who has the prior claim—you as husband of Isabelle or Antoine de Vaudémont! Are we to enforce the Salic Law or not? I can see an easy settlement to that dispute.’
‘I should be glad to know it.’
‘You have a daughter, have you not?’
‘Two. Yolande and Margaret.’
‘It is of the elder I would speak.’
‘That is Yolande.’
‘My dear man, Antoine has a son, young Ferri. Why should not these two be betrothed? In time Antoine’s son and your daughter would inherit Lorraine. Would you agree to that? I ask you this, but at the same time I must remind you that you will remain a prisoner until you do.’
‘It seems a fair enough solution,’ said René.
‘Then that will settle the main dispute. But naturally there must be a ransom. Certain castles shall we say?’
‘Which?’ asked René.
‘Clermont, Chatille, Bourmont and
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