Truly charity flourished in France, becoming almost a new chivalry. Certain men of the world became self-constituted alms-collectors for a convent or nunnery, under the name of its “spiritual friends.” It cannot be said that France owed anything in this regard to the example of Italy. The Italians enjoyed large incomes, much larger than the average Frenchman of ancient and sometimes crippled fortune; but their expenses were heavier; they had to give fêtes and buy pictures and villas. Without wishing to exaggerate the significance of an anecdote, it is curious enough to compare with the excellent practices of the French Court a characteristic action on the part of Julius II. In the course of the expedition against Bologna, the Pope was told that one of the old court servants had just lost his only mule. “What did it die of?” was the Pope’s curt response. “Of the bad water of Perugia.” “Send the stud-master to me.” Everyone believed that he was sent for to replace the defunct mule, but Julius simply said: “Take care they drink nothing but boiled water.” Many great charitable schemes were in operation in Italy, where refinement and compassion were highly developed; but the wealthy people of Italy had no great love for anonymous almsgiving. This was due, no doubt, to the fact that poverty bears itself more light-heartedly under an azure sky. In France, where, unhappily, the stars could not fill hungry mouths, the old traditions, in spite of the seductions of luxury, were nobly preserved by the women. Anne of France and Anne of Brittany both received the nickname of “Mother of Maidens,” in allusion to the dowerless girls they befriended. Anne of France, who has sometimes been taxed with avarice, contrived to dispense her benefactions quietly, as cleverly as others trumpeted theirs. At her expense intelligent children of the lower classes were kept at their studies until they had taken their degree; orphans learnt needlework or some trade; widows, cripples, beggars, poor folk too proud to beg, the broken-hearted, saw unexpected manna fall from heaven; deserving people were encouraged, sustained, uplifted, “cherished and nourished” by an unseen providence.[62] How beautiful, how rare is the art of giving! In our day we see organised innumerable charitable schemes, “collections” without number, harvests of good works. But how many people give for love of giving? Margaret of France, too, like a true princess, was generous, and loved to do good by stealth. In her anxiety not to appear to curry favour with the people, she refused—in the blunt phraseology of one of her biographers—to act “like a mountebank capering on a platform.” “She was wont to say that kings and princes are not masters and lords of the poor, but only their ministers.”