1420, Poverty, p. 155

Within a week of their arrival the price of corn and flour went up so that a setier of wheat by Paris measure in the Paris Halles cost thirty francs of the money then current, good flour thirty-two francs, and other grain correspondingly according to its kind. There was no bread under 24d. p. a loaf, made with the bran, and the heaviest weighed no more than about twenty ounces. Poor people and poor priests did very badly in those days because they were only paid 2s. p. for a mass and poor people ate no bread, nothing but cabbages and turnips and such dishes, without any bread or salt. Bread got so dear before Christmas came that a four-blanc loaf cost eight blancs and even then no one could buy any without going to the baker's before daybreak and standing pints and quarts to the bakers and their assistants. There was no wine then, either, at anything under 12d. a quart, but still you were lucky if you could get it, since by eight o'clock there was such a crowd at the bakers' doors as one could never have believed without seeing it. Poor creatures! trying to get bread for their poor husbands away in the fields or for their children dying of hunger at home - neither for their money nor for all their crowding could they get any after that time; then you would hear sad wailing and weeping all over Paris, sad lamentations and little children crying 'I am dying of hunger!' In the year 1420 you might see all over Paris here ten there twenty or thirty children, boys and girls, dying of hunger and of cold on the rubbish heaps. No one could be so hard of heart as not to be greatly distressed, hearing them at night crying 'Oh, I am dying of hunger'; yet the poor householders could do nothing to help them - no one had any bread, corn, firewood, or charcoal.

1422, Death of Charles VI, pp. 180-183

His people and his servants were there; they mourned and lamented their loss, and so especially did the common people of Paris, calling out as he was carried through the streets, 'Ah, dear prince, we shall never see you again, we shall never have another so good! Accursed death! We shall never have peace now that you have left us. You go to your rest; we are left in all suffering and sorrow! The way we are going we shall soon be as wretched as the children of Israel when they were led away captive into Babylon.' Such were the things the people said, with sad sighs and groans and lamentations.

How his body was borne to Notre Dame in Paris:

There were as many bishops there as there were abbots; four of whom wore the white mitre; one was the new Bishop of Paris (he had sung his first mass in Paris as bishop at All Saints). He waited for the King's body at the entrance to St. Pol to give it holy water as it was borne out. All the others went in; that is, all the mendicant orders, the University in state, all the colleges, the whole Parlement, the Châtelet, and the general public. The body was then brought out of St. Pol and when everyone was assembled the King's servants began to lament as is said above.

How it was carried to Notre Dame and to St. Denis and buried:

It was borne in just the same way that Our Lord's body is borne at the feast of Corpus Christi, with a gold canopy above it carried on four or six poles. His servants bore it on their shoulders, at least thirty of them, for it was very heavy, it is said. It was a good six feet tall, lying on its back in a bed, the face, or the likeness of the face, uncovered, wearing a gold crown and holding in one hand a royal sceptre and in the other a kind of hand giving a blessing with two fingers; these were gilded and so long that they reached the crown. The mendicants went in front, the University next, then the churches of Paris, then Notre Dame of Paris, and next the Palais - these sang, but not the others. All the people in the streets and at the windows sobbed and cried as if every one of them were watching his own heart's darling die. Indeed, their lamentations were very like those of the prophet Jeremiah who, when Jerusalem was destroyed, cried aloud outside the city, Quomodo sedet sola civitas plena populo. There were seven crosiers present, to wit: the new Bishop of Paris, the Bishops of Beauvais and of Thérouanne, the abbots of St. Denis, of St.-Germain-des-Prés, of St. Magloire, of St. Crépin and St. Crépinien. The priests and clergy were all in one column, the lords of the Palais such as the Provost, the Chancellor, and so on, in the other. In front were two hundred and fifty torches carried by the poor servants, all dressed in black and weeping bitterly; just ahead of these were eighteen funeral bell-men. There were also thirty-four crosses of religious orders, and others who went before him sounding their bells. Thus his body was borne along and after it came the Duke of Bedford, brother of the late King of England, all alone, the only mourner; there was not one French prince there. Thus he was taken that Monday to Notre Dame, where two hundred and fifty torches burned. There vigils were said and next day very early his mass; then he was carried in the same manner to St. Denis and after the service was buried beside his father and his mother. More than eighteen thousand people, great and small, went there from Paris. A donation of eight doubles was made to everyone. These were then worth twopence tournois each; no larger coins nor any smaller ones were then current, except gold. Dinner was also given to all comers. He was buried on the Wednesday. After he was laid in the earth and covered over and after the Bishop of Paris, who had said the mass, and his deacon, the abbot of St. Denis, and his subdeacon, the abbot of St. Crépin, had said the Commendation for the dead, a herald shouted loudly that everyone should pray for his soul and that God might save and keep Duke Henry of Lancaster, King of France and of England. As this was being proclaimed, all the dead King's servants turned their maces, staves, and swords upside down, as men who no longer held office. On the way back the Duke of Bedford had the King of France's sword carried in front of him, as Regent, at which the people murmured very much, but had to endure it for the time being. On the very day, Martinmas in winter, and at the very hour that he had entered Paris after his anointing he was taken to he buried at St. Denis in the forty-third year of his reign, at Martinmas in winter. Some old men said that they had seen his father coming back from his consecration; he came in royal state, that is, dressed in rich scarlet cloth, in robes and furred hood, as is proper to in kingly state; in like manner he was taken to be buried at St. Denis. This king too, it was said, had been similarly dressed at his consecration, wearing blue shoes starred over with golden fleur-de-lis and a mantle of scarlet cloth of gold lined with ermine, for all to behold - but he was more nobly accompanied at his consecration than at his funeral. His father had as noble or nobler company at his burial as at his consecration, for dukes and counts carried him to his grave, and not foreign ones either, all wearing the arms of France; there were more prelates there, more knights and squires of renown, than this good king had of any kind of people, of any rank, in his last days.

1423, Daily Life/Games, pp. 184-185

The tenth day after Meulan fell, at the conjunction of the month of January, the twelfth day, came the severest frost anyone could remember. It froze so terribly that in less than three days vinegar and verjuice were frozen solid in the cellars and storerooms, and icicles hung from the cellar roofs. Within four days the Seine, which was high, was completely frozen, and so were the wells; this bitter frost lasted seventeen whole days. What is more, there had been as heavy a fall of snow a day or two before this frost began as anyone had seen for thirty years, so that what with the snow and this very sharp frost the cold was so piercing that no one did any work, nothing but playing football, hockey, fives, and other games to keep warm. It was an extraordinarily hard frost; there was still ice lying in courtyards, streets, and near fountains almost until Lady Day in March. Cocks and hens had their combs frozen right up to their heads.

1423, Anti-Feminism, p. 188

In the last week of July the Bishop of Paris decreed that no woman should be present in the choir of the church during the divine office, that no bigamist¹ or untonsured man should touch the relics or anything holy or consecrated, nor should serve the priest at the altar, but it did not last.

1423, Criminals, p. 192

There was at this time in the castle of Ivry-la-Chaussée a strong band of thieves who called themselves Armagnacs or confederates. Nothing came amiss to them that was not too hot or too heavy and what is worse they killed, burned, raped women and girls, and hanged men if they did not pay the ransoms they demanded. No merchandise could get safely past there.

1423-4, Daily Life, pp. 192-193

Everyone was astonished at the continual rain that went on so long and at the mildness of the weather. From St. Rémi to St. Thomas the Apostle it was so warm that yellow violets were as common as they sometimes are in March. There was no frost and everyone said that winter was over. But God, who ordains whilst we are planning, began a frost at St. Thomas's tide; it froze harder and harder and lasted right on until Candlemas. During this frost there was such an abundance of cabbages in Paris that you could buy a cartload for twelve blancs and enough for four or six people for one noiret, which was only worth about a poitevine. Peas and beans were 2s. p. the bushel. There was plenty of excellent fruit at Christmas and after; a quarter of russet or of Capendu apples cost fourpence or less.

At this period all the people who had houses were giving them up because the rents were so burdensome. None of the landlords would abate anything of the rents and preferred to lose everything rather than be generous to their tenants, so untrustful were they. Through this lack of trust you would have found more than twentyfour thousand houses in Paris in good repair, perfectly sound and solid, standing empty without a soul living in them.

1424, Entertainment, pp. 200-201

On Lady Day in September the Regent arrived in Paris. The city was decorated everywhere he was to go, and the streets decorated and cleaned. The Parisians went out all dressed in red to meet him. He arrived about five o'clock in the afternoon and some of Paris's processions went out into the country to meet him as far as the other side of La-Chappelle-St-Denis. When they met, they sang loudly Te Deum laudamus and other praises to God. Thus he came in to Paris with a numerous escort of processions and of townspeople. Wherever he passed by, everyone shouted 'Noel!' When he came to the corner of the Rue aux Lombards there was an acrobat there performing as cleverly as anyone had ever seen. In front of the Châtelet there was a very fine Mystery of the Old and New Testaments done by the children of Paris. They did it without speaking or moving, as if they had been statues against a wall. When he had looked at the Mystery for a long time, he went on to Notre Dame, where he was received as if he had been God. The processions which had not gone out into the country and the canons of Notre Dame welcomed him there with the greatest honour, singing all the hymns and praises that they could; the organ played, the trumpets sounded and all the bells were rung. In short, more honour was never done at a Roman triumph than was done that day to him and his wife. (She always accompanied him wherever he went.)

1424, Widowhood, p. 203

The Queen of France never stirred a step from Paris. It was as if she were a foreigner; she lived shut up all the time in the Hotel de St. Pol where the noble King Charles VI had passed from this world - her good husband, whom God absolve - and remained quietly at home as a widow ought to do.

1425, Entertainment/Games, p. 206

On St. Lupus and St. Giles's day, which was Saturday, 1st September 1425 some members of the parish suggested putting on another entertainment, which they did, and this was it: they got a good long pole about six toises² long, stuck it into the ground, and at the very top they put a basket in which were a fat goose and six blancs. Then they greased the pole very thoroughly and announced that whoever could scramble up it unassisted and get the goose should have it, together with the pole, the basket, and the six blancs. But no one, however well he climbed, could reach it. In the evening, however, a boy who had got higher than anyone else was given the goose, but not the six blancs or the basket or the pole. This was opposite Quincampoix, in the Rue aux Oues.

¹ A remarried widower, or the husband of a widow.
² A toise was about six feet long.