Chapter X: Louis XI

Lessons to the Empress on the Origins of French Civilization, by Fustel de Coulanges (original translation)

Today, I would like to paint a picture for you of the reign of Louis XI. It was not a great reign, nor a beautiful one. But it was an important reign, and one that characterized the monarchy of the time.

First, we must dismiss the extreme and exaggerated opinions that people have of this figure. Some regard him as a deceiver and a scoundrel, while others admire him as a man of genius. He does not seem to me to deserve either so much hatred or so much admiration: on the one hand, he was not particularly elevated in mind or sentiment; on the other hand, he did not possess the profound immorality and absolute lack of conscience that are attributed to him. He did not belong to the elite of mankind, nor did he belong to the lowest and most odious of mankind. Louis XI was an average character, neither above nor below the average level of intelligence and conscience of his time. He possessed the qualities and faults of his time and situation.

His principal quality was that he was active and hardworking. And he had to be. The royalty that his predecessors bequeathed to him was an almost absolute power, which could do all, and did all. This gave the king a great responsibility and a great deal of work. The entire government rested on him; the social machine only worked because of the impetus that the king gave it. Reigning therefore became hard work, a heavy task, which required endless activity. Louis XI was exactly what he needed to be: the most active and industrious man in his kingdom. Tireless in body and mind, he knew no need for rest. He was constantly on the road, visiting his provinces, seeing everything with his own eyes. He did everything himself: all political and administrative dispatches and all instructions to his agents were written by him. When it came to waging war, he led his troops from the front. One of his officers, the Sire de Brézé, said: “The king’s horse carries his entire council with it.”

It is true that, in our human nature, every quality has its corresponding flaw. Louis XI was active and tireless, but he was also impatient and disorganized. His need for action led him to dabble in everything. A single object was not enough for him; he pursued several at once, as on the day when he wanted to win the friendship of the Duke of Burgundy and provoke a revolt among the subjects of that same Duke of Burgundy.

Louis XI was very brave, but despite his personal bravery, he did not like war. He knew that chance always plays too big a part, no matter what one does. In general, he had little confidence in physical strength; he was convinced that it is the mind that rules everything. It was, therefore, intellectual means that he trusted most readily. He was an intelligent man, even what one might call a man of wit. He was a smooth talker, insinuating in conversation, a man of taste, and an orator when necessary, even a very eloquent one.

For him, the ideal king was not (as it was for Saint Louis) the virtuous man, the man who obeys his conscience, the man who confuses politics with morality. The ideal king, for Louis XI, was the capable man. He cared little for what was right or just. Of religion and morality, he had hardly any; his favorite virtues were cunning and duplicity.

However, one should not think Louis XI was a man completely without scruples or conscience. It would not be difficult to find among the sovereigns of his time souls more perverse than his. Commynes, who knew them all, said that Louis XI was the one in whom he found the fewest vices. The Duke of Burgundy, Charles the Bold, who is sometimes portrayed as a chivalrous character, was more deceitful, more greedy, more cruel, and further beyond all morality than Louis XI. And if I could trace the history of the young Italian princes of that era, you would see that they left Louis XI far behind.

Consider that the 15th century was the worst period in human history, when the human conscience was at its most perverted. It was the time when Machiavelli wrote his code of politics, one which allowed rulers to do anything, even murder—anything except fail. It was a time when two rulers could only meet through a barrier, for fear that one might stab the other. It was a time when, in peace treaties between two rulers, each solemnly swore that he would not assassinate the other. Such was the generation of Louis XI.

Well! Louis XI was one of the least bad of his generation. In fact, his loyalty was admired on more than one occasion. One day, he held his enemy, Charles the Bold, in his hands. They held a meeting between their two armies, and contrary to custom, there were no barriers. They took each other by the arm as in the days when they were great friends. They walked together, and Charles, without thinking, suddenly found himself in the king’s camp. There was great commotion among his men; they thought he was lost, perhaps slaughtered, or at least in chains. Not at all: Louis XI let him go. Another time, an Italian, Campobasso, offered to assassinate the Duke of Burgundy. It was very tempting. Louis XI refused. Such traits seem to be the mark of a truly loyal soul in a time when assassination seemed to be permitted among princes.

In summary, Louis XI, judged according to our conscience, was a deceiver; judged according to the conscience of his time, he was almost an honest man. In any case, he was a very energetic, arduous, capable, persistent (without being obstinate), very adaptable, and very adroit ruler.

The monarchy, as he had inherited it from his father Charles VII, was already very powerful. Over several generations, the feudal lords, at least those in the provinces of the royal domain, had lost their rights of justice, legislative authority, taxation, and warfare, and the monarchy had taken over all of these. The monarchy had gained potency: it was the monarchy that governed the people, made the laws, and administered justice. Charles VII had recently given it two new sources of strength: regular taxation and a standing army. Thus, when Louis XI ascended the throne, he found the monarchy stronger than it had been since Charlemagne.

Yet, there were serious difficulties. The monarchy faced two types of opposition: feudal opposition, and bourgeois opposition.

Feudalism, weakened as it was, was not yet dead. Many houses had fallen or submitted; only a few remained, but they were the most powerful. To name only the main ones: there was the House of Brittany, which owned this beautiful peninsula as an independent state (which at that time had nothing French about it); the House of Anjou, which held Anjou, Maine, and, at the other end, Provence; the House of Bourbon, with Auvergne, Bourbonnais, Forez, etc.; and above all the House of Burgundy, which dominated from the Saône to the Ems. And I am not even mentioning the second-tier houses, Saint-Pol, Alençon, Armagnac, etc. This entire class wanted, in accordance with the principles and customs of previous centuries, to maintain, on the one hand, its independence from the king and, on the other, its sovereignty over its own subjects. To these ends, it naturally positioned itself as an enemy of the monarchy. Note that if we transport ourselves back to that era and judge according to the ideas of the time, these feudal lords believed themselves to be perfectly within their rights. They were defending their ancient rights and regarded the monarchy as a kind of revolutionary power that was attacking them.

The other opposition came from the bourgeoisie. The bourgeoisie was dissatisfied with the monarchy, but for different reasons. It did not criticize its principles: on the contrary, far from blaming it for overthrowing the feudal system, it had applauded this achievement and helped bring it about. But the bourgeoisie would have liked the monarchy, once victorious and in control, to have been less absolute—for example, to have levied fewer taxes, and above all, to have established representative institutions alongside it. This is a point of history that I have not had time to discuss, however curious it may be. I can only say one thing about it: from the day the people of France sought to break away from the feudal system and become subjects of the king, they nevertheless wanted certain liberal institutions to be established. They wanted a very strong monarchy, but with the nation represented alongside it by assemblies of the Estates General.

It is remarkable that France, even at that time, desired institutions quite similar to those we have today. Who can calculate how much progress would have been made if these institutions of monarchy and liberty had been established at that time and had functioned consistently? France made this effort for 150 years, from Philip the Fair to Louis XI. I cannot say all the reasons that prevented these institutions from being established: everyone was at fault, kings and peoples alike. Be that as it may, Charles VII was the first to free himself from national representation: he established taxation and the army despite the Estates General, and without them. Louis XI intended to continue along this path, and this was what provoked the opposition and hostility of the bourgeoisie. The bourgeoisie was joined by the clergy, who were then the most ardent in demanding liberal institutions, while being strongly royalist, and in lamenting the Estates General.¹

Thus Louis XI faced two forms of opposition: feudal opposition, in the name of old principles; and popular or national opposition, in the name of representative ideals. However, only one of the two parties rose up in revolt: the feudal party. In 1465, the great lords, heads of the houses I listed earlier, formed by contract a coalition, a league, and raised troops. But this was no longer a time when feudalism alone could stand up to the monarchy. The lords felt that, in order to succeed, they needed the support of the bourgeoisie. This support did not seem to be lacking, since the bourgeoisie was discontented and hostile. So they called their league the League of the Public Weal, which meant that they were acting not in their own personal and feudal interests, but in the interests of the entire nation, and they published a manifesto in which they declared that they only wanted to remedy the disorder, reduce taxes, and above all restore the institution of the Estates General.

Note that the French nobility was trying to do what the English nobility had done on several occasions. Several times in England, the lords had appealed to the bourgeoisie and the clergy, and the union of these three classes had forced the monarchy to establish representative institutions. In 1465, one might have wondered whether the same would happen in France. It is clear that if the bourgeoisie and clergy had responded to the lords’ call and the classes had united, the monarchy would have inevitably been defeated.

But in France, the classes could not unite. Undoubtedly, the bourgeoisie was dissatisfied with Louis XI, but that was not a sufficient reason for it to join the great lords in their struggle. Deep down, they much preferred the monarchy to feudalism: they only criticized the monarchy for a few abuses of power, whereas they criticized feudalism in principle, and all its institutions. They therefore refused to make common cause with the lords.

Then something strange happened. For several weeks, while the king, at the head of his army, fought hard against the feudal armies, the bourgeoisie in Paris and all the other cities deliberated whether to support one side or the other. They deliberated with great calm, for the practice of holding conferences at that time had instilled a habit of calm and order, and moreover it was the upper bourgeoisie, not the lower classes, who dominated the cities, even Paris. They deliberated for several weeks and finally decided to remain loyal to the king, but to petition him for reforms. They sent their request to the king, who did promise reforms, particularly the convening of the Estates General.

As soon as the lords saw which side the bourgeoisie was taking, they recognized the impossibility of fighting against the king, and negotiated with Louis XI on advantageous terms. Thus the League of the Public Weal was defeated and dissolved, because the bourgeoisie refused to join it.

Once out of danger, Louis XI failed to keep his promises: he did not convene the Estates General, and made few reforms. But he did adopt a policy favorable to the bourgeoisie, and won them over, especially in Paris. He formed a council composed almost entirely of bourgeois and magistrates, and governed, admittedly in an absolute manner, but in a manner consistent with the interests and ideas of this class. From that moment until the end of his reign in 1483, Louis XI always had the bourgeoisie on his side.

This was why he emerged victorious from his struggle against feudalism. The feudalists, led by Charles the Bold, renewed the war several times, but the bourgeoisie always supported the monarchy. This is what happened, for example, in 1468. The king, who had ceded Normandy to a member of the feudal league—his own brother—by treaty, took it back. He convened a sort of representative assembly (the only one he ever convened), a simulacrum of the Estates General. He consulted it on the question of whether he should take back Normandy. Note that it had already been taken back. The assembly, where representatives of the bourgeoisie were in the majority, agreed with the king and promised to support him against the lords. Soon after, every time Charles the Bold attacked the king, the cities closed their gates to him and resisted him. This happened in Beauvais, Rouen, and Dieppe. Once the feudal class no longer had the cities on its side, it was powerless, which explains why Louis XI emerged victorious from all these struggles. This great tamer of feudalism only subdued it with the help and support of the bourgeoisie.

Let us now examine the results of this reign. Look at a map. When Louis XI came to power, France really only comprised what was known as the royal domain, i.e. the following provinces: Île-de-France, Normandy, Champagne, Touraine, Orléanais, Berry, Poitou, Guyenne, Languedoc, and Dauphiné. This was already a large area, but it was only half, at most, of present-day France. Beyond these there remained, to the west, Brittany, Anjou, and Maine; to the north, Picardy, Artois, and Flanders; to the east, Burgundy, Franche-Comté, and Lorraine; to the south, Provence, Roussillon, and the domain of Armagnac; and finally, in the center, Auvergne, Marche, and Bourbonnais. These provinces were administratively united with France, but only by weak feudal ties, and were almost independent.

To fully grasp the situation, I will mentally transport myself to the middle of that era, making myself a contemporary of Louis XI. I am unaware of the events that will follow; I do not know the future fate of these provinces and of France. I look at the map of France at that time, and observe, on the one hand, the royal domain, and on the other, the free provinces that surround it, and I ask myself: what will become of France? One of two things will happen: either the royal domain will eventually encompass these provinces, or these provinces will become completely independent: soon they will be France, or they will be foreign territory. Of these two alternatives, which will come to pass? I, a contemporary of Louis XI, try to guess based on calculations of probability.

First, I note that each of these fiefdoms is considerable and has sufficient strength to defend itself. Second, the populations of these fiefdoms are as attached to their independence as their lords; they do not want to become French. Thus, we will soon see Arras fiercely resist Louis XI in order to avoid being reunited with France. The spirit that animates Arras is also found in Burgundy, Provence, and even more so in Brittany. Finally, I note that all these provinces border foreign countries, that they can easily receive aid from them, and that this aid will not be lacking, because it is in the interest of foreign countries that France not expand.

For all these reasons, it seems to me that the provinces will soon be foreign states within France. Brittany will form a small state protected by England, much like Portugal today. Roussillon, a Spanish region, will unite with Spain. Provence, an Italian country, will join Italy. Burgundy, Franche-Comté, Lorraine (which Charles the Bold has just conquered), Belgium, Holland, Flanders, and Artois will form a sovereign state in northeast France. I hear that Charles the Bold wants to change his title from duke to king; I hear that he is petitioning the German emperor to obtain the investiture of all these possessions as king. It will be a state, a kingdom larger than France, which will forever limit its development.

These are the predictions I can make around 1470. However, precisely the opposite happened. And it was during the reign of Louis XI that this question of France’s future was resolved. His reign was, so to speak, the turning point that decided whether France would be a state of 15 million inhabitants or 40 million; a middling state or a great state.

I am well aware that, although the problem was resolved in a way that benefited the country, this should not be attributed solely to the wisdom of Louis XI; a series of fortuitous and unforeseen events also played a significant role. It so happened that Charles the Bold was defeated by the Swiss, then killed in battle against the Lorrainians. It also happened that he left no son, and that his daughter was not yet married. The result of all this was that his inheritance was left almost vacant. Part of his provinces, by virtue of the law of appanages, had to be returned to the crown. Louis XI was thus able to acquire, without too much difficulty and despite several mistakes, Picardy, Artois, Burgundy and Franche-Comté. He had lost Guyenne, but the death of his brother restored it to him. Then the family of the Dukes of Anjou died out, and Louis XI inherited the beautiful provinces of Anjou, Maine, and Provence. It is clear that death worked in his favor and served him well. The plots of the Dukes of Alençon, Armagnac, and Saint-Pol, and the rulings of Parliament condemning them, allowed Louis XI to confiscate their large and rich estates. In all this, Louis XI certainly had more luck than merit, but this kind of luck rarely happens to anyone but wise politicians, and especially to rulers who are always alert and always ready. Louis XI’s skill and, above all, his perseverance paved the way for these strokes of good fortune and allowed him to take advantage of them.

One notable feature of his policy was his careful avoidance of foreign affairs. He did not intervene in the affairs of the German Empire; he refused to make conquests in Italy; he avoided wars with the English as much as he could. All his efforts were focused, all his energies directed toward a single goal: the expansion of the kingdom through the annexation of fiefdoms to the crown. This focus and perseverance led to the acquisition of eight provinces: Artois, Picardy, Burgundy, Franche-Comté, Anjou, Maine, Provence, and Roussillon. This is how the problem of French unity was resolved.

To get an accurate picture of the outcome of Louis XI’s reign, one need only compare the map at the time of his accession with that at the time of his death. At the time of his accession, France did not even extend as far north as the Somme, which belonged to the sovereign of the Netherlands; Paris was twenty leagues from the border. To the east, France did not possess Besançon, or even Dijon, or even Auxerre. It stretched out in a long, thin, emaciated strip from north to south. It had almost nothing beyond the Rhône; it barely touched the Pyrenees; it had almost nothing on the Mediterranean.

In this France, the enemy had access from all sides. If the invasion came from Spain, it entered through Roussillon, which was then a Spanish province. If it came from the east, it started from Auxerre, which is twenty-five leagues from Paris, or from Dijon, which is not much further. If it came from the north, the enemy would be at the gates of Paris within two days’ march. From the west, the English who wanted to invade often found support in Brittany. This France had no borders: no mountains, no river lines. There was no question of the Rhine, the Alps, or the Pyrenees. To the north, the Somme was then considered France’s natural barrier, but the Somme was in the hands of Charles the Bold. All the rivers that flowed towards Paris, and which were the strategic routes of the time, had their source in enemy territory. The Seine, in the first part of its course, belonged to a foreign power, the Duke of Burgundy; the same was true of the Oise, the Marne, and the Aube. All these rivers were open routes that led the enemy directly to the heart of the country, the capital.

Let us now look at the map of France at the end of the reign. In the north, it extends beyond the Somme; it stretches to the Lys River and touches the sources of the Scheldt; thus, not only does it have its great strategic barrier of the Somme, but beyond the Somme it also has a province as an outpost. To the east, it has taken Burgundy and Franche-Comté, and extends to the Doubs. To the south, thanks to the acquisition of Roussillon, it holds an important part of the Pyrenees line. The rivers that once belonged in part to foreign countries, the Somme, the Oise, the Marne, the Seine, and the Saône, have become French throughout their entire course. The capital is out of reach of any attack, and the natural routes leading to it are no longer open to the enemy. Even the Rhône became French on both banks, and the acquisition of Provence gave us access to the Alps and, at the same time, excellent ports on the Mediterranean.

It was from this time onwards that France formed a well-organized force, capable of both attack and defense. From that time on, we no longer saw anything like what had been seen twenty times during the Hundred Years’ War, with enemy armies entering France via Calais, Caen, or Bordeaux at will and crossing the entire country without encountering any resistance. France was no longer a country open to all, accessible from all sides, where the enemy could always find allies, and which, lacking unity and resilience, dissolved under the grip of foreign powers instead of fighting back. From the reign of Louis XI onwards, large-scale invasions became almost impossible in France. The enemy would try again under Francis I, Louis XIII, and Louis XIV, but without being able to reach the capital. You could even say that, from Louis XI onwards, the inhabitants of the center, the peasants on the banks of the Loire, never again saw the enemy cross their fields. The border provinces saw them almost every generation, but they became accustomed to repelling them.

This was the great achievement of Louis XI’s reign. One day, before the assembly he had convened (it was in Normandy, and he was consulting the country), he said: “I am but a passer-by on this earth, and I must not abuse my passage to cause such harm to the kingdom as to make it lose a province. “ Well, his passage not only caused no loss, but was useful to the kingdom.

Certainly, Louis XI had nothing about him that attracted affection or admiration. He was neither a great king nor a good king, but he was a useful king. His rule was harsh, sometimes cruel; I believe his contemporaries must have suffered as a result, but subsequent generations reaped the benefits. And, to return to the main subject at hand, it was during his reign, as you can see, that the monarchical regime, whose progress we have noted from century to century, definitively replaced the feudal regime, and that instead of the division and fragmentation which increasingly threatened our country, French unity was finally firmly established.

1. I.e. lamenting its decline/disappearance