When we came nigh Paris, word came from my Lord Duc that we were to halt
at the Abbey of St. Denis, whither the King and Queen and the Ducs de
Berry and Burgundy, with my Lady’s father, were to come to welcome us.
When my Lady heard that her father was to come also, she turneth to me,
who knew that she had not seen him since she was a small babe of three.
“By my faith, Jehan,” quoth she, “I fear my own father more than the
lord I am to marry, since he is the greater stranger of the two. Why
think you he cometh?”
“Truth, I know not, my Lady,” say I; and it was not till later that it
was known that this strange father, hearing of his daughter’s beauty and
that she was to wed his friend the Duc de Berry, came forth from Paris
with the King and Queen to look on her.
We lay that night at the Abbey, and before we went to rest heard mass in
the cathedral itself. Never had I dreamed that so noble a building had
been made by men’s hands. And this was but the beginning. Gold and
silver statues stood on the great altar; great coloured stones the names
of which I knew not, sparkled on the cups and dishes of gold that were
used for the holy offices, while the books that the holy fathers held in
their hands, as well as their robes and mitres, gave forth sparkles like
unto a rainbow. After the mass they took my Lady to show her the
treasures, and I, following behind, saw with these eyes, that had never
thought to see such things, the great golden sword of King Charlemagne,
and so many other wonders of gold and jewels that my mind could hold
them not.
What made my blood to stir most amid all that world of rich and holy
things, was a banner that hung high over the great altar. Torn it was,
yet in its folds glowed the colour of flame; and one of the good fathers
turning to me, who stood with mouth agape, I doubt not, asked,—
“Good lad, knowest thou what banner hangest there?”
“Nay, father,” answered I, “and how should I, since I am but newly come
from the far-away castle of Orthez, which, as thou knowest, lies in the
lonely marches to the west.”
“Look, son,” then spoke he, “at the greatest treasure of France. ’Tis
the Oriflamme, that sacred banner which hath led her hosts so oft to
victory.”
And as I looked on it, and knew how many brave knights had found death
under its folds, my heart was fuller than ever before. For what is more
noble than to give one’s life for one’s country? Even a poor page may do
that, though he may never hope to fall under a banner which may be borne
only by princes and nobles. That night I slept on a monk’s pallet,
spread on the floor of the passage without my Lady’s door, yet were my
dreams always of war and clashings of arms, and there floated ever
through my visions that wonderous banner of flame-colour.
Next morn we were all astir with the dawn. ’Twas my task to see that my
Lady’s litter had been made fresh and seemly, that the pages were all
point device in their looks, so that we should not bear our part ill
before the nobles coming from Paris to greet us.
About sunset they arrived. The King rode at the head of them all, with
his two uncles on either hand, the Duc de Berry on the right and the Duc
de Burgoyne on the left. Behind came the Queen and her ladies in an open
car, and on either side rode the great lords, two by two, carrying their
swords and shining in their armour of gold.
The Duc de Berry cometh forward and, taking my Lady by the hand, led her
to the King, who kissed her on the brow, and then took her to the Queen.
They were so handsome, these two, the Queen and my Lady, that all
marvelled thereat. Queen Isabeau was of a fairness like unto milk and
roses, while my Lady, who stood a full hand taller, was of a dark
brownness, which looked but the darker beside the golden-haired Queen.
Shortly the Queen turneth to a tall and dark noble who stood behind her,
and saith she with a smile,—
“Well, Comte, hast thou naught to say?”
Then he came forward, and taking the hand of my Lady in his, looketh her
long in the face. At last he looks less stern, and then he saith,
“If thou hadst looked like thy mother, child, thou and I hadst not met
to-day. But I see well thou art my own child, and carry in thy brow and
eyes the colour of a true daughter of Auvergne.”
One needed only to look at them as they stood side by side, to see that
they were of one race. He, like the King, kisseth my Lady on the brow,
and then he turneth to the Duc de Berry, and placing in his hand the
little one of my Lady, he saith,—
“One may not wonder longer at your choice, my Lord Duc.”
This night, like the last one, we lay in the Abbey, but there was
feasting and gaiety, at least as much as seemed good in a holy house.
Then next day we took our way to Paris, my Lady riding in the car with
the Queen and her ladies, and I looked on her with marvel to see how one
who had scarce seen aught but a squire’s lady and the wenches about the
castle, and those who had taught us, could bear herself so bravely, as
if all her life she had known aught but courts.
Then after a brief space cometh the marriage at Paris, where King
Charles himself giveth the bride away. For five days there were masques
and feastings, balls and jousts, in which even the King takes a part.
Many of these balls were at the Palace of St. Pol, where lived the King
and Queen; some there were at the Hôtel de la Reine Blanche, where dwelt
the Queen of Navarre, and there were others yet at the Hôtel de Nesle
which the Duc de Berry gave to my mistress, the Duchess Eleonore, for
her wedding gift.
Methought we had been merry at Orthez, but at Paris it was like a
minstrel’s tale!
Who can wonder that my mistress was happy? She sang and danced, my Lord
Duc adored her, everybody loved her for her sweet and gentle ways, and
there were none about the palace but that she knew and cared for.
“Jehan,” she saith to me one day, “art thou happy here?”
“Yea, mistress, since this great city is to be my home.”
“Dost thou never think of those days when we trained the dogs at
Orthez?”
“Faith an’ I do, mistress, though it is but seldom, and I love the brave
doings here. Besides, where thou goest, there must Jehan follow.”
The days slipped away and were none too long. I fed the pet squirrel
with its collar of fair pearls which the King had given to my mistress,
and the monkey too, and the flying birds, for my mistress loved ever to
have antic creatures about her. At the hunts I ride close at hand, and
as at Orthez, where my mistress the Duchess goeth, there goeth Jehan.
Once when we chased the deer at Val-la-Reine, the stag, a-weary and
dazed, took refuge in a barn. Our King, the Well-beloved, crieth out,—
“Spare him, spare him,” for the huntsmen ran into the barn to cut the
poor beast’s throat. Then saith the King from his kind heart,—
“Never shall this deer be hunted more. His life shall be his own from
this day forth.”
Saying which, he pulled from his saddle-cloth a splendid fleur-de-lys,
and turned to some of his men for a chain with which to hang it on the
creature’s neck. None had one; so my Duchess took from her own neck a
chain of gold, and it was hanged about the deer’s neck to show that it
was the King’s, and none might do it ill.
Each day there was some new sport, and I had scant time to do aught but
follow my mistress. As one morn she stood playing with the monkey, a
beast that had no regard for my fingers, but was ever pleased to be
petted by my Duchess, my Lady’s eyes roved to the beds of gay posies
that bloomed without on the terrace. They put to shame the ones we
tended in the old days by the castle wall, but my Duchess cried,—
“There is not a posy here as bright as the poppies that grew at Orthez,
nor one so white as the gillyflowers. ’Twas a pretty garden, and I loved
it well. Yet I cannot say but what I love these too.”