Francis I: The Knight King and the French Renaissance (1515–1547) · RENAISSANCE
The first war between Francis I and Charles V (1521–1526) ended in the French defeat at Pavia (1525) and the king’s captivity in Madrid, marking a turning point in the Franco-Habsburg rivalry.
The rivalry born of the imperial election of 1519 could not long remain without military consequences: between France and Charles V’s Empire, there was no shortage of friction — the Milanese, Burgundy, Navarre — and the failure of the Anglo-French rapprochement sealed at the Field of the Cloth of Gold, followed as early as 1521 by the Treaty of Bruges uniting England and Spain against France, made war all but inevitable. Francis I entered the conflict backed by Venice and, at first, by Pope Leo X, as well as by several German princes; Charles V, for his part, relied on Henry VIII’s England, on the papacy — which eventually turned against France — and on the Swiss cantons.
Hostilities opened in 1521 on several fronts at once. In the north, Robert III de La Marck launched an offensive on the Meuse; in the south, an army led by André de Foix attempted, unsuccessfully, to reconquer the kingdom of Navarre on behalf of Henry II of Navarre; in the Ardennes, Bayard, besieged at Mézières, resisted without surrendering despite the shelling and the assaults of the imperial forces of Franz von Sickingen and Philip I of Nassau. On the Italian front, where the stake was the defence of the Milanese, command fell to Odet de Foix, Viscount of Lautrec, against the imperial troops of Prospero Colonna and Francesco II Sforza. But on 27 April 1522, at the Battle of Bicocca, near Milan, fifteen thousand French troops were crushed by eighteen thousand imperials; the province, already worn down by Lautrec’s oppressive administration, rose up in revolt, and the French army had to withdraw, losing the Milanese.
The following year brought a still harsher blow: in 1523, Charles III de Bourbon, Constable of France and one of the kingdom’s greatest lords, at odds since his widowhood in 1521 with the machinations of Francis I and Louise of Savoy over the inheritance of the Bourbonnais, felt too poorly rewarded to remain loyal. He entered Charles V’s service, who made him his lieutenant general — a defection that delayed the French counter-offensive on Milan and deprived the king of an experienced commander, even as it dealt a considerable moral blow. In 1524, Guillaume Gouffier de Bonnivet took command of the army charged with reconquering Milan; he clashed with Bourbon, was wounded, and had to retreat as far as the Sesia, where, on 30 April 1524, Charles de Lannoy’s imperial army inflicted a fresh defeat on the French. Bonnivet, wounded, had entrusted his rearguard to Bayard: the old knight met his death that same day, clearing the way for an imperial invasion via the Lyon road, which Bourbon had advocated. Charles V chose instead to attack through Provence: the siege he laid to Marseille in the summer of 1524 nonetheless failed, the city’s defences holding firm.
Taking advantage of this imperial failure before Marseille, Francis I seized the initiative and personally led his army across the Alps, arriving as early as 28 October 1524 before the walls of Pavia, defended by Antonio de Leyva and soon reinforced by the Viceroy of Naples, Charles de Lannoy. The king committed twenty-eight thousand men, including six thousand Swiss mercenaries, against twenty-three thousand imperials, among them twelve thousand German landsknechts — but, poorly advised by Bonnivet and against the counsel of Louis de La Trémoille, he forced the engagement on 24 February 1525. French artillery, badly placed, had to cease fire to avoid hitting its own ranks, and the army could not withstand the imperial counterattack. Bonnivet, La Palice and La Trémoille were killed; the king himself, wounded in the face and the leg, kept fighting until the situation became untenable. Around noon, he surrendered his sword to the knight Charles de Lannoy — the third French sovereign, after John II the Good, to be captured on a battlefield — and it is from this moment that tradition retains the phrase that would become proverbial: “All is lost, save honour.” On the French side, between eight and ten thousand were killed and all the artillery lost; on the imperial side, between fifteen hundred and two thousand. Francis I was first held in the fortress of Pizzighettone.
From Pavia, the captive king was led by stages to Spain — Genoa, Barcelona, Valencia, then Madrid, from June 1525 — in a journey of several months during which, despite his captivity, he inspired curiosity and a measure of popular respect wherever he went. In Madrid, he was confined in a tower of the Alcázar overlooking the Manzanares: correct treatment but constant surveillance, visits strictly limited. It was there that a now-famous episode unfolded: Eleanor of Habsburg, Charles V’s sister, often climbed the tower’s stairs to gaze, sometimes for hours, upon this captive king with whom she fell in love, going so far as to write to Louise of Savoy assuring her that, if she could, she would free her son herself. Francis I, for his part, sought to ease his solitude through a steady correspondence with his mistress, the Countess of Châteaubriant, while his wounds healed slowly and his morale, tested by isolation and recurring health troubles, remained very low.
Negotiations meanwhile proceeded between Madrid and Paris, where Louise of Savoy, now regent, and Chancellor Antoine Duprat sought to secure the king’s release. Charles V set his conditions: renunciation of all Italian claims, cession of Burgundy, Francis’s marriage to Eleanor, payment of a considerable ransom, surrender of the king’s sons as hostages. Francis I at first refused these overly harsh terms, tried to soften them, played for time hoping for relief — but the ordeal of captivity eventually wore down his resistance.
Signed on 14 January 1526, the Treaty of Madrid imposed extremely harsh conditions on France. Territorially, Francis I renounced his claims to Italy, Flanders and Artois, ceded Burgundy to Charles V, and restored all territories conquered since 1521. Personally, he undertook to marry Eleanor of Habsburg and handed over his two eldest sons, Francis and Henry, as hostages, against a ransom of two million gold écus. Politically, a perpetual alliance was supposed to unite France and the Empire, with Francis I even pledging his support to Charles V against the Turks.
The solemn signing ceremony was nonetheless a forced one, and the news was received in France with indignation: the parlement refused to register the cession of Burgundy, Louise of Savoy was already seeking legal loopholes, and while the people supported their king, they massively rejected the treaty’s terms.
On 17 March 1526, Francis I was finally released, exchanged for his two sons, the Dauphin Francis and Henry, the future Henry II — an exchange accompanied by oaths and guarantees, and followed by a triumphant return to French soil. During his captivity, the king had vowed, should he regain his freedom, to undertake a pilgrimage to Notre-Dame du Puy-en-Velay and the Basilica of Saint-Sernin in Toulouse; he would honour this promise in 1533, greeted with rejoicing in numerous provincial towns. On his return, the king was celebrated as a hero whose courage was extolled — even if, behind the scenes, the kingdom emerged from the ordeal weakened and heavily indebted.
Francis I did not delay in going back on his word. He argued that a treaty signed under duress was null in law, that Burgundy could not be ceded without the consent of its estates — who, on 8 June 1526, solemnly declared their wish to remain French — and that the interest of the kingdom outweighed a commitment extorted from him: this was the medieval argument of “excessive injury.” On 22 May 1526, he convened the Estates-General at Cognac and there sealed the League of Cognac, an alliance formed with England, the pope and several Italian principalities — Milan, Venice, Florence — with the explicit aim of breaking Habsburg hegemony in Europe. The repudiation of the Treaty of Madrid henceforth made a new war inevitable.
This seventh Italian War reached its most dramatic episode on 6 May 1527: the Constable of Bourbon, now in Charles V’s service, was killed leading the assault on Rome, and his troops, as if to avenge his death, gave the city over to a sack of unprecedented violence. The two sides then clashed across Italy in a succession of successes and setbacks, neither managing to gain a decisive advantage — until, once again, diplomacy took over from the armies: Margaret of Austria, Charles V’s aunt and regent of the Low Countries, and Louise of Savoy, Francis I’s mother, undertook the negotiations that led, on 3 August 1529, to the Peace of Cambrai — remembered in history as the Peace of the Ladies.
The new treaty repeated certain clauses of the Madrid agreement — Francis I’s marriage to Eleanor of Habsburg, a ransom of two million gold écus, nearly seven tonnes of gold — but differed from it on one crucial point: France recovered Burgundy, renouncing only Artois, Flanders and its Italian claims. The king’s sons were freed as soon as the ransom was paid, and Francis I married Eleanor the following year, in 1530. For France, this was a genuine diplomatic success — Burgundy was saved, the princes came home, the European balance was preserved — while Charles V, for his part, had to resign himself to dealing with a France that remained, despite the defeat at Pavia, a power of the first rank. The rivalry between the two sovereigns, however, was in no way resolved: the Peace of the Ladies merely established, for a few years, a balance as precarious as it was provisional.
With hindsight, the defeat of 1525 is explained by a cluster of causes rather than a single stroke of bad luck: a persistent underestimation of imperial power, the dispersal of French forces across several fronts at once, the loss, with Bourbon’s betrayal, of a commander of the first order, recurring logistical problems in Italy, and, at Pavia itself, badly placed artillery and questionable tactical choices. But the ordeal, however harsh, did not break Francis I: his personal prestige, dented by his capture, survived thanks to the image of courage he had managed to preserve even in defeat, and the king, forced to abandon his most excessive Italian ambitions, redirected part of his energy towards the cultural development of his kingdom — a turn whose full scope would become clear in the years that followed. For France, the episode left drained finances and a state strengthened in its centralisation; for Europe as a whole, it confirmed Habsburg hegemony without, however, erasing France from the map of great powers — already preparing the conflicts to come.
Next zoom: Royal patronage and the development of the French Renaissance (1528–1547).