“Take comfort, dear one.”
“But, my Lord, what comfort is there for me, when one who gave me
happiness and thee, is in danger of his life, and for no wrongdoing,
neither?”
“Dear heart,” answered my Lord the Due, “I too love him, since he
brought thee to me, and what man can do, that will I for thy sake and
his.”
“If he be not saved, then will I sorrow always,” wept my Duchess.
My Lord Duc went forth, and though the King was only at times come to
his wits again, my Lord got from him a command that the Seigneur de la
Rivière should be sent overseas, and not slain.
This did but half content my mistress. When the King grew well again, my
Duchess plead with him so prettily, that as he loved right well to
pleasure her, he allowed the Seigneur de la Rivière to come home, and to
him restored all his castles and his wealth. Greatly my mistress
rejoiceth, and giveth thanks to both her Lord and the King.
Now the Seigneur, when once more in honour and in wealth he came to his
home, in token for his thanks for all she had wrought in his behalf,
brought to my mistress a coffer filled with rich gifts. The coffer was
in itself a marvel, since it was painted all over with little flying
boys, who bore in their hands flowers and wreaths. All the rest of it
was like unto gold, and it stood upon four feet cut in the shape of
great paws.
When the coffer was opened, there seemeth no end to the splendid things
my mistress brought forth,—tissues glistening like moonbeans, wrought
stuffs of many colours, and chains and jewels. Chiefest amongst the rich
treasures was a length of velvet from the great city called Genoa, the
mate to which was not in all the court. It was blue in colour, the which
my mistress ever loveth,—just the shade of the sky of a sunny day at
noon. Wrought all over it in threads of purest silver were flying doves.
My faith, it seemeth as if their long wings fairly moved!
“Oh,” cried my Duchess Eleonore, “never was such a lovely robe seen
before, and it cometh just in time, too, since the ball that Queen
Blanche giveth to the Queen’s maid on her marriage will be shortly.”
My Duchess had the velvet fashioned into a robe so splendid that all
marvelled. It fell from her shoulders and flowed three metres’ length
upon the floor, and the doves of silver fluttered and shone with every
step she taketh. Above her brow rose the tall hennin that Queen Isabeau
so loved to wear and to have the ladies of her court wear also, and from
this fell a veil of silver like unto the doves.
The night of the ball was at hand, and none looking on my stately
Duchess would deem that she had but fifteen years. So heavy was the
robe, and of such length, that as I walked behind I bore it for her.
The palace shone bravely with torches and flambeaux set in the wall, and
borne in the hands of many lackeys all about the rooms. Our King, the
Well-beloved, no longer ill, was full of pleasure at the masques which
had been planned for this ball. He was scarce older than was I, since he
was but nineteen years, and when he was not ill, ever loved to mingle in
all the sports going forward.
[Illustration: “NONE LOOKING ON MY STATELY DUCHESS WOULD DEEM THAT SHE
HAD BUT FIFTEEN YEARS.”—_Page 48._]
The dancing had come to an end. Quickly a space was cleared, and as I
stood behind my Lady, a loud voice crieth out,—
“The wild men, the wild men! Give the wild men room!”
Of a truth they were frightful to see,—five chained together, led by a
sixth who leaped along in front shouting, all of them being covered with
long shaggy hair after the manner of some strange beasts.
As the mummers passed, for they were but dressed to look like wild men,
I tweaked betwixt finger and thumb a bit of the fur, and lo, it was but
ravelled tow. Now I knew right well why the word had been passed that
none with lights should move about the room. With what wild shouts did
the mummers leap here and there amongst the guests! Some were affrighted
and ran screaming away. The leader of them all runneth up to my
mistress.
“Dost thou know me?” cried he.
Right firmly she held him by the hand.
“Not yet,” saith she, “but shall ere I let thee go.”
Then my blood froze with the horror of a scream I heard, then another
and another. In an instant mummers, guests, room, and all were in a
blaze. One of the company, to see the mummers better, had seized a torch
and held it near them. The tow sprang into flame, and the five men who
were tied together were instantly on fire and shrieking out. One only
loosed himself and ran and plunged into a tank for washing of the
silver, and which happened to be full of water.
All through the tumult and cries there stood my Duchess mid the flying
brands, which I fought as best I might with cap and hands.
“Come away,” I cried, “oh, mistress, come.”
“Nay, help me to save him, Jehan,” was what she whispered back.
Her fair veil shrivelled with the heat, the flying slivers blistered her
arms and neck. Cries of “The King, the King, save the King,” grew loud
and louder. Queen Isabeau fainted, yet my brave Duchess stood there till
every flying spark had been stamped out, holding gathered about her the
heavy velvet robe. When at last the fire was all subdued, she threw
aside the blue robe that had been so fair, and there under its scorched
folds, in his monstrous suit of tow, knelt the King, safe and unharmed.
“Hasten, Sire,” cried she, “the Queen waiteth you. Throw over you
Jehan’s cloak lest some wanton spark fly near you.”
The King hurried away, and then think not but that I hastened to get my
mistress home. And oh, my Lord’s pride in my Lady!
And oh, the King’s words when he came next morn to thank her, kneeling
on one knee to kiss her hand!
The sky-blue robe, say you? What became of that?
My mistress packed it away in the coffer that had brought it from Genoa,
with her own hands, and from that time my Lord taketh for his pennon one
of sky-blue ground with a silver dove set in its midst.
[Illustration]
THE PRINCESS WINS
_1417_
I
In my own youthful days, when turning over the leaves of storybooks, I
used to pause at those tales which began “Once upon a time.” I always
had a feeling that there was something of the fairy-tale about stories
which began in this fashion, and I should like so to begin this day.
For truly the story I am about to tell you is but one incident in the
life of a girl whose whole career was so full of ups and downs—alas,
most often downs,—that it reads, even in the solemn old Dutch documents,
like the most fanciful tale of the imagination.
When she died at thirty-seven, it seems as if our Jacqueline had dared
everything and lost,—lost kingdom, home, and friends. Yet even in a life
so full of disaster there were some bright spots, and in this story you
will hear how once at least our Princess wins.
She was born, our heroine, at her father’s palace at The Hague on St.
James’ Day, 1401. The little girl was baptised Jacoba, in honour of the
holy day of her birth, Jacobus being the Latin form of the name James.
Gradually Jacoba was changed into the French form of Jacqueline, though
in the strange old documents of the times her name is written as Jacob,
or Jacque, or sometimes Madam Jake, and often as Jaque de Bavière.
Jacqueline was born a princess, and when she was three years old, had
the title given her of “Daughter of Holland,” as she was the sole heir
and successor of her father, William the Sixth, Count of Holland, who on
the death of his father had succeeded him as Count of Zealand and
Hainault.
In the Middle Ages, when might made right, possessions were held in many
cases by him who had the strongest arm, who could muster the greatest
number of followers and had the most powerful connections. Marriage with
princes who had great possessions of land or would inherit them was one
of the ways by which sovereigns of small states strengthened their
positions, and this was one reason why mere babies were given in
marriage by their parents. You see, the parents could not go to war
against each other when it was arranged that their children were to be
married when they grew up!
Little Jacqueline was no exception to the rule, and before she was quite
five years old was formally betrothed to John, Duke of Tourraine, second
son of Charles the Sixth of France, called the “Well-beloved.”
The betrothal of Jacqueline to her bridegroom of nine years old took
place in the old French town of Compiègne, where both the French and
Dutch courts were present. The fine old palace with its great number of
rooms was elegantly furnished for the occasion, and the little
Jacqueline had in her company Staes, Jan, and Hans, her drummer, piper,
and trumpeter! Now these were very important personages in those
times,—they amused the company when there was nothing else to be done,
they had their duties among the soldiers; and in some of the old papers
which are still preserved, and which show the expenses of this betrothal
down to the last groot, it is duly set down that Staes, Jan, and Hans
are each to have six French crowns to cover their travelling expenses.
This would be equal to about nine dollars of our money.
Neither of the fathers of the two children was present at the betrothal,
for King Charles had one of his attacks of insanity, and Count William
had been bitten by a dog, and was not able to be there, either.
But the mothers had seen to it that nothing was lacking to make the
ceremony a handsome one. The Dutch expense account tells of new clothes
for everybody connected with Jacqueline, even those who had to stay at
home having wedding garments and fine new hat-bands.
When the betrothal ceremonies were over, the young bridegroom was handed
over to Jacqueline’s mother, and the two children were taken home to
Holland to be brought up together.
From time to time they had presents sent to them from their subjects,
which seem more like taxes than free gifts, and which were duly set down
in the archives. For instance, there were fish and wine for John, and
there were many ells of “very fine cloth of silk” for Madam Jake. They
had a special dispensation sent them, too, so that they could eat meat
on fast-days; and this dispensation was extended also to the
napkin-bearer, the cook, and ten other servants who had to taste the
dishes beforehand.
You see, our Jacqueline lived in the days when people were sometimes
poisoned by their enemies, so that royalty had “tasters,” who ate of
every dish before it was placed on the table for their Majesties to eat,
and if the tasters did not suffer, why then it was deemed safe for their
masters to eat.
Notwithstanding all these things, the children passed many happy years
studying French, English, and Latin, and in hunting, hawking, riding on
horseback, playing tennis and ball, and, best of all, in skating on the
long winding canals. Perhaps they skated the “Dutch Roll,” and Hans,
Staes, and Jan went along too, to make things merry with the fife,
trumpet, and drum. These were their pleasures. It was a more solemn
matter when they had to learn how to rule their kingdoms and subjects,
for the little bridegroom stood next but one to the great throne of
France, and Jacqueline was heir to her father’s kingdom.
They were married in 1415, when Jacqueline was fourteen years old.
Two years later, her young husband, who, by the death of his elder
brother, had become Dauphin and heir to the throne of France, died. The
poor lad breathed his last at Compiègne, in the very palace where he had
been betrothed, whether by poison or from getting overheated at tennis,
none can say, but at any rate while he was away from his wife and from
his family.
As if this was not enough, just two months later, Count William, the
kind and loving father of Jacqueline, died also. The poor girl, without
father or husband to protect her or her possessions, turned to her
Fatherland to pronounce her sovereign of Zealand and Hainault.
But there were others who had their eyes and minds fixed on the sturdy
little kingdom, and, truth to tell, they were the last persons one would
suspect of such ideas, since they were Jacqueline’s own kinsfolk. But so
it was; and in order to strengthen her position, and to allow her
subjects to know and love her and to pay her their vows of fealty,
Jacqueline, as was the custom in those times, started on a “progress,”
or tour through her various cities.
These royal progresses were very splendid affairs, we can hardly imagine
them now, and on this occasion Jacqueline’s mother bore her company, and
there were many of her most powerful nobles as well.
On June 12, 1417, when the cavalcade rode into Mons, the whole city was
gay to welcome the young girl who came thither to take her vows of
sovereignty. How prettily the city, old even then, must have looked!
From the windows fluttered banners of bright-coloured cloth, many of
them worked with patterns of gold and silver! So large were some of
these banners that they stretched from window to window across the
street. Many were the arches wreathed with flowers and branches under
which Jacqueline passed, and streamers waved everywhere.
Leaning from the casements were ladies richly dressed and holding chains
of flowers; and children were here, there, and everywhere, come to see
their little Princess, who was scarce more than a child herself.
Many great lords there were as well, having come forth from their
castles on the wooded hills of Hainault, followed by their retainers and
serfs, the former clad in suits of bright armour and riding on
horseback, while the latter ran on foot beside the men-at-arms, and bore
on their collars the names of their masters, and their doublets were of
leather, and many times their feet were bare.
Jacqueline on a milk-white palfrey, with her mother at her left hand,
rode at the head of them all. There are a few quaint old pictures which
show her to have been slender and tall, brown-haired, and without the
high cheek bones which are so usual in her countrywomen. On this
occasion her appearance was royal indeed. She wore a gown of cloth of
gold, which glittered in the warm June sunshine. Her coif, or headdress,
was bound by many a chain of gold and jewels, suitable to her rank as
Dauphine of France and Daughter of Holland.
She had not advanced far within the city before a deputation of young
girls, all dressed in white, stood forth to meet her.
“Hail, Daughter of Holland, welcome to Mons,” the leader of them said,
and stepping forward, hung her chaplet of flowers on Jacqueline’s arm.
One by one each young girl followed in turn, and Jacqueline, turning
with smiling face to her mother, said,—
“Our good city of Mons shows its loyalty in pleasing fashion, Madame. If
all our other cities bear themselves like this, we care not for our
uncle of Burgundy, who seeks to take our inheritance from us, nor for
the Egmonts nor Arkels, nor any who are enemies of our house.”
“In truth all seemeth fair, my daughter. Our good burghers always
respond to our need, though our nobles sometimes think too highly of
their power.”
“Our loyal burghers! In truth they are our best friends. Yet remember
how many nobles ride with us this day, and have sworn to urge our cause
as though it were their own.”
They rode slowly forward, the little Princess pleased and happy at the
homage of her subjects, bowing and smiling. At last the church of St.
Waltrude was reached. Here Jacqueline dismounted, and entering the dim
old building, walked slowly up the central aisle till she reached the
high altar. Here she knelt, kissed the holy relics, and swore to
preserve “all usages and privileges of the city, to protect the church,
to uphold the right, to dispel the wrong.”
Then, seated on a lofty throne that had been set up beside the altar,
she received the homage of her subjects, and their vows of loyalty to
her and to her cause.
After the solemn ceremonies at the church were over, the royal party had
a banquet given in their honour by the burghers of the city, who had
arranged many festivities to give them pleasure.
Can you not see our Princess with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes
standing at the table’s head? Her soft brown hair is tightly bound to
her head and covered with a cap wrought of threads of gold strung with
pearls. Embroidery of threads of gold and coloured silks in which the
Dutch excelled, enrich her gown, which is of the heaviest silk that even
Flanders can produce. Long chains of pearls, which were sold by weight,
hang about her neck, and fur of minever binds and edges the cuts and
slashes in her great sleeves and on the body of her gown.
Besides the banquet, there was planned a tournament, a favourite
occasion for showing knightly deeds, and it was to be held on a grassy
mead just without the walls of the city, on the day following the paying
of homage, and entry into the city.
Thither early in the morning trooped the inhabitants of the town. Among
the first to go were groups of apprentices, dressed in the uniforms of
their guilds or trade societies. These trudged on foot, glad enough of a
holiday. Mingling among them were serfs or bondsmen, easily to be told
by their metal collars. Some carried burdens for their masters who
should arrive later in the day, while some merely swung a cudgel, and
hurried on as if conscious of their lowly position.
As the day wore on, the road was dusty with the men-at-arms, knights,
nobles, and their attendants, with substantial burghers with their
apprentices, and with groups of maidens from the town, eager to see the
gay company, and looking pretty enough themselves in their close-fitting
white caps and scarlet kirtles.
Only occasionally, walking sedately by her father’s side, shrouded in a
long cloak to keep her clothes fresh from the dust, came some
tradesman’s daughter, her neck encircled with strings of coral beads,
and her gold earrings, handed down through many generations, a trifle
longer than those of the serving maidens, and the inevitable cap edged
with lace, or of finest plaited muslin, while theirs, though snowy
white, were of coarse material.
Now and again amid the crowd swung covered litters, bearing either the
wife of some dignitary, or some high official who preferred this manner
of travelling to going on horse or mule back.
At an hour past noon, out from the palace yard rode a troop of men on
horseback, bright in a livery of orange and black. Their business it was
to clear the road of any such as cumbered it, so that the passage to the
field should be kept free, since the Princess Jacqueline would ride
thither on her palfrey, to show herself to her subjects, who had
prepared the tournament in her behalf.
As the cavalcade issued from the palace yard, there came first twoscore
knights riding two abreast, each in a full suit of armour which sparkled
like silver in the sun, each carrying his shield and a pennon of bright
silk. Then came the members of the council of Mons, in rich robes of
velvet, furred and wrought, and showing on their breasts the heavy gold
chains of their office. They were men who showed on their faces
intelligence and a sense of the importance of their office, slow to
smile and grave, but true as steel to what they deemed the right, and
loyal subjects when once won to their sovereign.
Next came Jacqueline with her mother beside her, both riding on splendid
horses, whose caparison was as rich as cloth and gold could make it.
Right royally shone our Princess, robed in a gown of damask which showed
in the pattern tulips of many shades, the flower of all others most dear
to the Dutch heart, the which were made richer yet by stitchery of
brilliant silks. Around the neck and long sleeves, which reached almost
to her feet, were bands of ermine fur, and beneath the flowing cap, made
truly in the very shape of those worn by the peasant maidens, her hair
was bound with many a string of pearl.
Behind her came those who were to take part in the tournament; and never
had Mons, staid old city, seen a sight of such splendour. Forty knights
came ahead at a stately pace, each mounted on a noble steed in trappings
of velvet, for the steeds of the fallen knights became the prizes of the
victors, and it was a matter of pride to have both horse and harness
worthy to be a prize. After the knights rode forty ladies, chosen for
their beauty, all richly dressed in colours of the gayest hues, mounted
on palfreys, each one riding alone, and leading by a silver chain a
knight completely armed for tilting, astride a splendid horse, which
also wore armour, and a plume of feathers.
Minstrels and trumpeters followed along, blowing on their instruments;
and then came the people, shouting and cheering, and hurrying along so
as not to miss any of the sport at the field.
It was a lovely sight that met their eyes when the mead was reached. The
grassy sward was dotted with gay and constantly changing groups, bright
awnings and banners were stretched to keep off the sun from spectators
and combatants, and almost encircling the tilting ground were fine
trees, beneath whose shade many horses were tethered, while their
attendants lounged on the grass. So busy were all with the scene before
them, that none noted the cloud rising dark above the horizon, and he
who called attention to it would have been but deemed a churl for his
pains.
In the little enclosure set apart for the Princess and her immediate
attendants, the hangings were of equal splendour with the rest of the
arrangements. It was hung with gay strips of cloth, and with chains of
flowers, and it was placed midway between the lists, so that the tilting
could be seen to the best advantage.
All was ready; the heralds rode forth, each with his silver trumpet at
his lips prepared to announce the opening of the fray, when a long
rolling peal of thunder startled alike the spectators in the stands as
well as those who stood upon the greensward pressing eagerly forward to
see the first shock of the encounter.
The first peal was followed by another and another. The wind whirled
across the wide meadow and tore into shreds the awnings which had been
stretched against the sun. Rain descended in floods, and before
Jacqueline and her party could take shelter in the rude stalls that had
been built below the galleries, and in which the horses were stabled,
they were pelted with hailstones so large, and which came with such
force, that one of them left on Jacqueline’s cheek a cruel bruise.
Even centuries later, and in our own country, women and girls were
burned as witches, and when our Daughter of Holland lived, many things
which would seem quite natural to us were called “omens,” and were
supposed to foretell either good or ill.
This hail-storm was judged a bad omen for poor Jacqueline. So strong a
hold did it take on the superstitious people that while many important
transactions and details of history are lost, a full account of this
storm has been left in various Dutch documents, with fabulous tales as
to the size of the hailstones, and that they killed cattle and ruined
crops. Thus sadly ended for Princess Jacqueline the day that had opened
so fair. Right bravely did she bear the hurried ride back into the city.
With her mother she withdrew into their apartments as soon as they
reached Mons, and was seen no more that night.
Indeed so wrought upon was Jacqueline by the great storm and the
misfortune attending it, that, as soon as they were alone, she exclaimed
to her mother,—
“Let us away as soon as our train can be made ready.”
“Nay, dear child, that would but incense our good people of Mons, who
did their best to pleasure and to honour you.”
“But, mother, that is all past, and see the grievous bruise upon my
cheek. It ill becomes the face of a princess.”
“That it does, my dearest, but it is but just to remember that, cruel
though it be, unguents and laving it with soft water will heal it, and
by the morrow thy cheek will show no stain. Neither must thou forget
that for this bruise none of thy subjects should be blamed.”
To this the little Princess made no reply, yet could not her mother
induce her to remain longer in the city; and shortly after sunrise the
next morning, the cavalcade took their way from the city of Mons,
Jacqueline travelling in a litter, since she chose not to show herself
again in that ill-omened place.