KING AND QUEEN
"Then came there a King; knighthood him led;
Might of the Commons made him to reign."
"Piers Plowman," B., Prol. 112
We have traced the main course of the poet's life, followed him at work
and at play, and considered his immediate environment. Let us now try to
roam more at large through the England of his day, and note the more
salient features of that society, high and low, from which he drew his
characters.
In this age, Chaucer could scarcely have had a better introduction to
Court life than that which fell to his lot. The King whom he served, when
we have made all possible deductions, was still the most imposing
sovereign of the time. Adam Murimuth, a contemporary chronicler not often
given to rhetoric, has drawn Edward III.'s portrait with no more
exaggeration than we must take for granted in a contemporary, and with
such brilliancy that his more picturesque successor, Walsingham, has
transferred the paragraph almost bodily into his own pages. "This King
Edward," writes Adam, "was of infinite goodness, and glorious among all
the great ones of the world, being entitled The Glorious par excellence,
for that by virtue of grace from heaven he outshone in excellence all his
predecessors, renowned and noble as they were. He was so great-hearted
that he never blenched or changed the fashion of his countenance at any
ill-hap or trouble soever that came upon him; a renowned and fortunate
warrior, who triumphed gloriously in battles by sea and land; clement and
benign, familiar and gentle even to all men, both strangers and his own
subjects or dependents; devoted to God, for he held God's Church and His
ministers in the greatest reverence. In temporal matters he was not too
unyielding, prudent and discreet in counsel, affable and gentle in
courtesy of speech, composed and measured in gesture and manners, pitiful
to the afflicted, and profuse in largesse. In times of wealth he was not
immoderate; his love of building was great and discriminating; he bore
losses with moderation; devoted to hawking, he spent much pains on that
art. His body was comely, and his face like the face of a god, wherefrom
so marvellous grace shone forth that whosoever openly considered his
countenance, or dreamed thereof by night, conceived a sure and certain
hope of pleasant solace and good-fortune that day. He ruled his realm
strictly even to his old age; he was liberal in giving and lavish in
spending; for he was excellent in all honour of manners, so that to live
under him was to reign; since his fame was so spread abroad among
barbarous nations that, extolling his honour, they averred that no land
under the sun had ever produced a King so noble, so generous, or so
fortunate; and that, after his death, none such would perchance ever be
raised up for future times. Yet he controlled not, even in old age, the
dissolute lusts of the flesh; and, as is believed, this intemperance
shortened his life." Hereupon follows a painfully involved sentence in
which the chronicler draws a moral from Edward's brilliant youth, the full
midday of his manhood, and the degradation of his declining years.[169]
If the praise of Edward's clemency seems overdrawn to those who remember
the story of the citizens of Calais, we must bear in mind that the
chronicler compares him here with other sovereigns of the time--with his
rival Philippe de Valois, who was scarcely dissuaded from executing Sir
Walter de Mauny in cold blood, despite his safe conduct from the Dauphin;
with Gaston de Foix, who with a penknife in his hand struck at his only
son and killed him; with Richard II., who smote the Earl of Arundel in the
face during the Queen's funeral, and "polluted Westminster Abbey with his
blood"; with Charles the Bad of Navarre, and Pedro the Cruel of Spain.
What even the cleric Murimuth saw, and what Chaucer and his friend
Hoccleve saw still more intimately, was the Haroun al-Raschid who went
about "in simple array alone" to hear what his people said of him; the
"mighty victor, mighty lord" of Sluys, Crecy and Calais; the King who in
war would freely hazard his own person, "raging like a wild boar, and
crying 'Ha Saint Edward! Ha Saint George!'"[170] and who in peace would
lead the revels at Windsor, clad in white and silver, and embroidered with
his motto--
Hay, hay, the white swan!
By Goddes soul I am thy man!
If Edward and his sons were renowned for their uniform success in battle,
it was not because they had feared to look defeat in the face. Every one
knows how much was risked and all but lost at Crecy and Poitiers; the
great sea-fight of "Les Espagnols sur Mer" is less known. Froissart excels
himself in this story.[171] We see Edward sailing out gaily, in spite of
the superior numbers of the Spaniards, and bidding his minstrels pipe the
brand-new air which Sir John Chandos had brought back from Germany, while
Chandos himself sang the words. Then, when the enemy came sailing down
upon him with their great embattled ships, the King bade his steersman
tilt straight at the first Spanish vessel, in spite of the disparity of
weight. The English boat cracked under the shock; her seams opened; and,
by the time that Edward had captured the next ship, his own was beginning
to sink. The Black Prince had even a narrower escape; it became evident
that his ship would go down before he could board the enemy; only the
timely arrival of the Earl of Derby saved him; the deck sank almost under
his feet as he climbed the sides of the Spaniard; "and all the enemy were
put overboard without taking any to mercy." The Queen prayed all day at
some abbey--probably Battle--in anguish of heart for the news which came
from time to time through watchers on the far-off Downs. Although Edward
and his sons took horse at once upon their landing, not until two o'clock
in the morning did they find her, apparently in her own castle at
Pevensey: "so the lords and ladies passed that night in great revel,
speaking of war and of love."
Arms and love were equally commemorated in a foundation which was one of
the glories of Edward's reign--the Round Tower of Windsor. Dying chivalry,
like other moribund institutions, broke out now and then into fantastic
revivals of the past. Edward resolved to hold a Round Table at his palace,
and to build a great tower for the purpose. Warrants were sent out to
impress the unhappy labourers throughout six counties; for a short time as
many as 722 men were employed on the work, and the whole Round Tower was
built in ten months of the year 1344.[172] Froissart connects this,
probably too closely, with the Order of the Garter, which seems not to
have been actually founded until 1349, when every household in the country
was saddened by the Great Pestilence. We have here one of the typical
contrasts of those times; both sides of the shield are seen in those
memories of love and war which cling round the Round Tower of Windsor.
Lavish profusion side by side with dirt and squalor; the minstrels clad in
rich cloths taken from the Spaniards; bright eyes and careless merriment
at the Royal board, while the hawks scream down from their perches, and
noble hounds fight for bones among the rushes; silken trains, stiff with
gold, trailing over the nameless defilements of the floor; a King and his
sons, more stately and warlike than any other Royal family; but their
crowns are in pawn with foreign merchants, and they themselves have been
obliged to leave four earls behind as hostages to their Flemish
creditors.[173] Royalty has always its _memento mori_, no doubt, but not
always under the same forms.
[Illustration: THE PEACOCK FEAST
(From the sepulchral brass of Robert Braunche, twice Mayor of Lynn, who
died in 1364. Braunche had the honour of entertaining Edward III., here
distinguished by his crown on the extreme left of the guests. Observe the
attitude of the attendant squire on the extreme right.)]
If Chaucer the poet was fortunate in his Royal master, still more
fortunate was Philippa Chaucer in her namesake, "the good Queen." The
wooing of Edward and Philippa of Hainault is painted lovingly by
Froissart, who was the lady's compatriot and a clerk in her service. In
1326 Queen Isabella of England, who had broken more or less definitely
with her husband, was staying with her eldest boy at her brother's Court
in Paris. But the King of France had no wish to encourage open rebellion;
and Isabella avoided extradition only by fleeing to her cousin, the Count
of Hainault, at Valenciennes. "In those days had Count William four
daughters, Margaret, Philippa, Joan, and Isabel; among whom young Edward
devoted himself most, and inclined with eyes of love to Philippa rather
than to the rest; and the maiden knew him better and kept closer company
with him than any of her sisters. So have I since heard from the mouth of
the good Lady herself, who was Queen of England, and in whose court and
service I dwelt." It was agreed, in reward for the count's hospitality,
that Edward should marry one of the girls; and when Isabella went home to
conquer England in her son's name, the main body of her army consisted of
Hainaulters, and most of the prepaid dowry of the future bride was
consumed by the expenses of the expedition. Then, in 1327, when the
wretched Edward II. had bitterly expiated his follies and crimes in the
dungeon of Berkeley, and the "she-wolf of France" already ruled England in
her son's name, she went through the form of asking whether he would marry
one of the young countesses. "And when they asked him, he began to laugh,
and said, 'Yes, I am better pleased to marry there than elsewhere; and
rather to Philippa, for she and I accorded excellently well together; and
she wept, I know well, when I took leave of her at my departure.'" All
that was needed now was a papal dispensation; for the parties were second
cousins. This was, of course, a mere matter of form--or, rather, of money.
Towards the end of the year Philippa was married by proxy at Valenciennes;
and on December 23 she arrived in London, where there were "great
rejoicings and noble show of lords, earls, barons, knights, highborn
ladies and noble damsels, with rich display of dress and jewels, with
jousts too and tourneys for the ladies' love, with dancing and carolling,
and with great and rich feasts day by day; and these rejoicings endured
for the space of 3 weeks." Edward was at York, resting after his first
Scottish campaign; so "the young queen and her meinie journeyed northwards
until they came to York, where she was received with great solemnity. And
all the lords of England who were in the city came forth in fair array to
meet her, and with them the young king, mounted on an excellently-paced
hackney, magnificently clad and arrayed; and he took her by the hand, and
then embraced and kissed her; and so riding side by side, with great
plenty of minstrels and honours, they entered the city and came to the
Queen's lodgings.... So there the young King Edward wedded Philippa of
Hainault in the cathedral church of St. William [_sic_].... And the king
was seventeen years of age, and the young queen was on the point of
fourteen years.... Thus came the said queen Philippa to England at so
happy a time that the whole kingdom might well rejoice thereat, and did
indeed rejoice; for since the days of queen Guinevere, who was wife to
King Arthur and queen of England (which men called Great Britain in those
days), so good a queen never came to that land, nor any who had so much
honour, or such fair offspring; for in her time, by King Edward her
spouse, she had seven sons and five daughters. And, so long as she lived,
the realm of England enjoyed grace, prosperity, honour, and all good
fortune; nor was there ever enduring famine or dearth in the land while
she reigned there.... Tall and straight she was; wise, gladsome, humble,
devout, free-handed, and courteous; and in her time she was richly adorned
with all noble virtues, and well beloved of God and men."[174]
[Illustration: PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT, FROM HER TOMB IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY
(THE FIRST OF THE ROYAL TOMBS WHICH IS AN ACTUAL PORTRAIT)]
So far Froissart, recording events which happened some ten years before
his birth, from the mouths of the actors themselves; writing lovingly, in
his extreme old age, of his first and noblest patroness, and proudly as a
Dane might write thirty years hence of the princess who had come from his
own home to win all hearts in England.[175] From other chroniclers, and
from dry official documents, we may throw interesting sidelights on these
more living memorials. One such document, however, is as living as a page
from Froissart himself, in spite of--or shall we say, because of?--its
essentially business character and the legal caution of phrase in which
the writer has wrapped up his direct personal impressions. The official
register of the ill-fated Bishop Stapledon, of Exeter, so soon to expiate
at the hands of a London mob his loyal ministerial service to Edward
II., is in the main like other episcopal registers--a record of
ordinations, institutions, dispensations, lawsuits, and more or less
unsuccessful attempts to reduce his clergy to canonical discipline.[176]
But it contains, under the date of 1319 (p. 169), an entry which has, so
far as I know, been strangely overlooked hitherto by historians. The Latin
title runs, "Inspection and Description of the Daughter of the Count of
Hainault, Philippa by name." To this a later hand, probably that of the
succeeding bishop, has added: "She was Queen of England, Wife to Edward
III." The document itself, which is in Norman-French, runs as follows:
"The lady whom we saw has not uncomely hair, betwixt blue-black and brown.
Her head is clean-shaped; her forehead high and broad, and standing
somewhat forward. Her face narrows between the eyes, and the lower part of
her face still more narrow and slender than the forehead. Her eyes are
blackish-brown and deep. Her nose is fairly smooth and even, save that it
is somewhat broad at the tip and also flattened, yet it is no snub-nose.
Her nostrils are also broad, her mouth fairly wide. Her lips somewhat
full, and especially the lower lip. Her teeth which have fallen and grown
again are white enough, but the rest are not so white. The lower teeth
project a little beyond the upper; yet this is but little seen. Her ears
and chin are comely enough. Her neck, shoulders, and all her body and
lower limbs are reasonably well shapen; all her limbs are well set and
unmaimed; and nought is amiss so far as a man may see. Moreover, she is
brown of skin all over, and much like her father; and in all things she is
pleasant enough, as it seems to us. And the damsel will be of the age of
nine years on St. John's day next to come, as her mother saith. She is
neither too tall nor too short for such an age; she is of fair carriage,
and well taught in all that becometh her rank, and highly esteemed and
well beloved of her father and mother and of all her meinie, in so far as
we could inquire and learn the truth." Cannot we here see, through the
bishop's dry and measured phrases, a figure scarcely less living and
attractive than Froissart shows us?
But the register corrects the historian just where we should expect to
find him at fault. "The noble and worthy lady my mistress" would scarcely
have told Froissart how much State policy there had been in the marriage,
true love-match as it had been in spite of all. The old bishop, before
whose face she had trembled, and laughed again behind his back with her
sisters; his invidious comparisons between her first and second teeth; his
business-like collection of backstairs gossip, which some more
confidential maid-of-honour must surely have whispered to her mistress--of
all this the noble lady naturally breathed no syllable to her devoted
clerk. But, apart from the official record in the secret archives of
Exeter diocese, a vague memory of it all was kept alive in men's minds by
that most efficacious of historical preservatives--a broad jest. The
rhyming chronicler Hardyng, whose life overlapped Froissart's and
Chaucer's by several years, records a good deal of Court gossip,
especially about Edward III.'s family. He writes[177]--
"He sent forth then to Hainault for a wife
A bishop and other lordes temporal,
Where, in chamber privy and secret
At discovered, dishevelled also in all,
As seeming was to estate virginal.
Among themselves our lords, for his prudence
Of the bishop asked counsel and sentence.
"Which daughter of the five should be the queen.
Who counselled thus, with sad avisement
'We will have her with good hippes, I mean,
For she will bear good sons, to mine intent.'
To which they all accorded by assent,
And chose Philippa that was full feminine,
As the bishop most wise did determine.
"But then among themselves they laughed fast ay;
The lords then said [that] the bishop couth
Full mickle skill of a woman alway, [was a good judge
That so could choose a lady that was uncouth; [unknown
And, for the merry words that came of his mouth,
They trowed he had right great experience
Of woman's rule and their convenience."
Later on again, after enumerating the titles and virtues of the sons that
were born of this union, Hardyng continues--
"So high and large they were of all stature,
The least of them was of [his] person able
To have foughten with any creature
Single battaile in actes merciable;
The bishop's wit me thinketh commendable,
So well could choose the princess that them bore,
For by practice he knew it, or by lore."
We need find no difficulty in reconciling Froissart with these other
documents; Edward's was a love-match, but, like all Royal love-matches,
subject to possible considerations of State. The first negotiations for a
papal dispensation carefully avoid exact specification; the request is
simply for leave to marry "one of the daughters" of Hainault; only two
months before the actual marriage does the final document bear Philippa's
name.
The Queen's public life--the scene before Calais, and her (somewhat
doubtful) presence at the battle of Nevile's Cross--belongs rather to the
general history of England; of her private life, as of Chaucer's, a great
deal only flashes out here and there, meteor-wise, from account-books and
similar business documents. We find, for instance, what gifts were given
to the messengers who announced the births of her successive children to
the King; and Beltz, in his "Memorials of the Garter," has unearthed the
name of the lady who nursed the Black Prince.[178] We find Edward building
for his young consort the castle since called Queenborough, the
master-mason on this occasion being John Gibbon, ancestor to the great
historian. At another moment we see the Earl of Oxford, as Chamberlain,
claiming for his perquisites after the coronation Philippa's bed, shoes,
and three silver basins; but Edward redeemed the bed for L1000.[179] This
redemption is explained by divers entries in the Royal accounts; in 1335-6
the King owed John of Cologne L3000 for a bed made "against the
confinement of the Lady Philippa ... of green velvet, embroidered in gold,
with red sirens, bearing a shield with the arms of England and Hainault."
The infant on this occasion was the short-lived William of Hatfield, whose
child-tomb may be seen in York Cathedral. Her carpets for a later
confinement cost L900, but her bed only L1250. And so on to the latest
entries of all--the carving of her tomb at Westminster; the wrought-iron
hearse which the canons of St. Paul's obligingly took from the tomb of
Bishop Northbrooke and sold for that of the Queen at the price of
L600;[180] lastly, the rich "mortuary" accruing to the Chapter of York
Minster, who got for their perquisite the bed on which Philippa had
breathed her last, and had its rich hangings cut up into "thirteen copes,
six tunics and one chasuble."[181]
But here let us turn back to Froissart, who, under the year 1369, turns
suddenly aside from his chronicle of battles and sieges, to pay a
heartfelt tribute to his first benefactress. "Now let us speak of the
death of the gentlest queen, the most liberal and courteous of all who
reigned in her time, my Lady Philippa of Hainault, queen of England and
Ireland: God pardon her and all others! In these days ... there came to
pass in England a thing common enough, but exceedingly pitiful this time
for the king and her children and the whole land; for the good lady the
Queen of England, who had done so much good in her lifetime and succoured
so many knights, ladies, and damsels, and given and distributed so freely
among all people, and who had ever loved so naturally those of her own
native land of Hainault, lay grievously sick in the castle of Windsor; and
her sickness lay so hard upon her that it waxed more and more grievous,
and her last end drew near. When therefore this good lady and queen knew
that she must die, she sent for the king her husband; and, when he was
come into her presence, she drew her right hand from under the coverlet
and put it into the right hand of the king, who was sore grieved in his
heart; and thus spake the good lady: 'My Lord, heaven be thanked that we
have spent our days in peace and joy and prosperity; wherefore I pray that
you will grant me three boons at this my departure.' The King, weeping and
sobbing, answered and said, 'Ask, Lady, for they are granted.' 'My Lord, I
pray for all sorts of good folk with whom in time past I have dealt for
their merchandize, both on this and on that side of the sea, that ye will
easily trust their word for that wherein I am bound to them, and pay full
quittance for me. Next, that ye will keep and accomplish all ordinances
which I have made, and all legacies which I have bequeathed, both to
churches on either side of the sea where I have paid my devotions, and to
the squires and damsels who have served me. Thirdly, my Lord, I pray that
ye will choose no other sepulture than to lie by my side in the Abbey of
Westminster, when God's will shall be done on you.' The King answered
weeping, 'Lady, I grant it you.' Then made the Queen the sign of the true
cross on him, and commended the King to God, and likewise the lord Thomas
her youngest son, who was by her side; and then within a brief space she
yielded up her ghost, which (as I firmly believe) the holy angels of
paradise seized and carried with great joy to the glory of heaven; for
never in her life did she nor thought she any thing whereby she might lose
it."
As the good Queen's beloved bed-hangings were dispersed in fragments among
the Canons of York, so her dying benedictions would seem to have been
scattered no less widely to the winds. One of the servants so tenderly
commended to the King's care was Chaucer's wife; but another was Alice
Perrers, whom Edward had already noted with favour, and who now took more
or less openly the dead Queen's place. Men aged rapidly in those days;
and, as Edward trod the descending slope of life, his manly will weakened
and left little but the animal behind. Philippa was scarcely cold in her
grave when Alice Perrers, decked in her mistress's jewels, was
masquerading at royal tournaments as the Lady of the Sun. Presently she
was sitting openly at the judge's side in the law courts; the King's shame
was the common talk of his subjects; and even the formal protests of
Parliament failed to separate her from the doting old King, from whom on
his death-bed she kept the clergy away until his speech was gone. Then,
having stolen the very rings from his fingers, she left him to a priest
who could only infer repentance from his groans and tears. Thomas of
Woodstock, the Queen's Benjamin, fared not much better. He became the
selfish and overbearing leader of the opposition to Richard II., and was
at last secretly murdered by order of the royal nephew whom he had bullied
more or less successfully for twenty years.