YOLANDA D’ARRAGONA--“A GOOD MOTHER AND A GREAT QUEEN.”
I.
The Queen was in labour, and shivering groups of robust citizens and
sturdy peasants were gathered in front of the royal castle of Zaragoza,
eagerly awaiting the signal of a happy deliverance. The fervent wish of
King Juan for a male heir was shared by his subjects, for his brother
Martino, next in succession, was in delicate health; moreover, he had
only one son, and he was a cripple. The succession to the throne was a
source of anxiety to all good Aragonese. To be sure, there was a baby
Princess already in the royal nursery, but whether her mother had been
a lawful wedded wife, or no more than a _barragana_ of the Sovereign,
few knew outside the charmed circle of the Court. In the opinion of the
men and women of the triple kingdom generally, this mattered little,
for natural children were looked upon as strengthening the family;
_hijos de ganancia_ they were called. The Salic Law, however, barred
the female heirs of the royal house, so little Juanita was of no
importance.
[Illustration: YOLANDA D’ARRAGONA
(KING RENÉ’S MOTHER)
From Coloured Glass Window, Le Mans Cathedral
_To face page 30_]
Within the courtyard, about the royal apartments, and all through
the precincts of the Presence, minstrels and poets thronged, as well as
Ministers and officials; Queen Yolanda was the Queen of Troubadours,
and the courtiers she loved best to have about her were merry maids
and men--graduates of the “_Gaya Ciencia_.” The livelong night they
had danced and postured, they had piped and sung. Each poet of the
hilarious company had in turn taken up his recitative, printed by
staccato notes, to be repeated in chorus and in step, until the
_fandangoes_ and _boleros_ of the South were turned into the boisterous
whirling _jotas_ of Aragon. The first dawn of day brought into play
lutes and harps, restrung, retuned cellos and hurdy-gurdies, and
_vihuelas de peñola_, guitars with metal wires and struck with strong
herons’ plumes, and so awoke the phlegmatic guardians of the castle.
Sweet and harmonious Provençal voices blended with soft notes of
melodious singers from Languedoc to the running accompaniment of the
weird Basque music of the mountaineers.
The Queen, upon her massive curtained bed of state, heard the refrains
and felt the vibration of the lilting measures, and smiled pleasantly
as she laid awake expectantly. At length the great tenor bell up in
the chapel turret gave out the hour of six. The last note seemed to
hang, and many a devout listener bent a reverent knee and bared his
head, whilst the women-folk uttered fervent _Aves_. One single stroke
of the metal clapper was followed, alas! immediately by another. “Two
for a Princess!” resounded from lusty throats, but there was a tone of
disappointment in the cry. The glaring morning sun, however, made no
mistake, impartial in his love of sex. Dancing upon the phosphorescent
ripples of the rolling Mediterranean, he shot golden beams within the
royal chamber, and crimson flushed the cheeks of the royal mother
and her child. It was the red-hot sun of Spain, and the day was red,
too--the feast of San Marco, April 25, 1380.
Christened within eight hours of birth--the custom in Aragon--and
“Yolanda” named, the little Princess’s advent was speeded right away
to distant Barrois, her mother’s home, by the Queen’s Chamberlain,
trusty Cavalier Hugues de Pulligny. He had been summoned at once to the
accouchement couch, and given to hold and identify the babe. With him
he took the Queen’s mothering scarf--the token of a happy birth--and
hied post-haste to lay it and his news at the feet of the anxious Duke
and Duchess at Bar-le-Duc. His reward was a patent of nobility and 500
good golden livres.
Yolanda, Queen-consort of Juan I., King of the triple kingdom of
Aragon, Catalonia, and Valencia--Violante de Bar--was the elder of
the two daughters of Robert I., Duke of Bar, and his wife, Marie of
France, daughter of King John II., “the Good.” Their Court was one of
the chief resorts of the Troubadours and Jongleurs, who looked to the
Duke’s famous mother, Princess Iolande of Flanders, as their queen and
patroness. Bar, or Barrois, first gained royal honours when the Emperor
Otto III., in 958, created his son and successor, Frederic, Count of
Bar and Prince of the Holy Roman Empire. The succession was handed
down for hundreds of years, and in 1321 Count Henry IV. married the
Flemish Princess. Her jewels and her trousseau were the talk of half a
century. Her gaiety, her erudition, and her skill in handicraft, were
remarkable; her Court the most splendid in Europe.
Bar was, so to speak, the golden hub of the great humming wheel of
Franco-Flemish arts and crafts. Bordered by Luxembourg, Lorraine,
Champagne, and Burgundy, the fountain-heads of rich and generous
vintages, she took toll of all, and the Barroisiens were the
healthiest, wealthiest, and the merriest folk in the French borderland.
The influence of the bewitching and accomplished Princess-Countess
Iolande was paramount, and she was ever adding to her fame by making
royal progresses throughout her husband’s domains. Wherever she went,
music and the fine arts, and every artistic cult and useful craft,
prospered amazingly. Borne in a great swaying chariot, drawn by four
strong white Flemish horses, the magnificence of her cortège led on
one occasion, if not on more, nearly to her undoing. Travelling in the
summer-time of the year 1361 to Clermont en Argonne, one of the ducal
castles, she was, when not very far away from storied Laon, beset by
an armed company of outlaws, who, however, treated her with charming
courtesy. They caused the Princess and her ladies to descend from their
equipage and step it with them as _vis-à-vis_ under the greenwood tree.
Then, not very gallantly, to be sure, they stripped their fair partners
of their ornaments and despoiled the princely treasure, causing the
Princess to sign a pardon for their onslaught. The adventure, however,
did not end here, for Iolande was a match for any man, and on the spot
she enrolled her highwaymen as recruits for Count Henry’s army!
The almost fairy Princess-Countess survived her consort many years,
and lived to see the county of Bar raised to a dukedom, and to dance
upon her knee a little namesake granddaughter, Violante de Bar. Nothing
gave her greater pleasure than the floral games of the troubadours, and
one of these _fêtes galants_ was enacted in 1363 at the Ducal Castle
of Val de Cassel, where Duchess Marie had just brought into the world
this very baby girl. The poets chose their laureate--one Eustache
Deschamps-Morel, and Princess Iolande crowned him with bays. The
_ballade_ he composed for those auspicious revels is still extant--_Du
Métier Profitable_--wherein he maintains that only two careers are open
to happy mortals.
“Ces deux ont partout l’avantage,
L’un en junglant, l’autre à corner.”
The sights and sounds, then, which first greeted the pretty child were
merry and tuneful. She was reared on troubadour fare, on troubadour
lore. Violante had three brothers, Édouard, Jehan, and Louis, and a
younger sister Bonne, married to Nicholas, Comte de Ligny, but alas!
buried with her first-born before the high-altar of St. Étienne at
Bar-le-Duc.
When Violante was in her seventeenth year, there came a royal
traveller, disguised as a troubadour of Languedoc, to the Court of Love
at Bar-le-Duc. His quest was for a bride. He was of ancient lineage;
his forbears came from Ria, in a southern upland valley of the Eastern
Pyrenees, and had ruled the land ’twixt barren mountain and wild
seacoast for no end of years--Juan I., King of Aragon, Catalonia, and
Valencia. He had just buried Mahaud d’Armagnac, the young mother of his
little daughter Juanita, and there was a gaping wound in his amorous
heart which yearned for healing. The royal Benedict looked for a Venus
with a dash of Diana and a measure of Minerva, and chroniclers say he
had drawn blank the Courts of Spain and Southern France. Moreover, they
tell a pretty tale of him which must now again be told.
After wanderings manifold, the royal knight-errant found himself
within the pageant-ground of Bar-le-Duc and at a “Court of Love.”
There he broke shield and lance at tilt, and Prince Cupid pierced
his heart. Mingling in the merry throng, King Juan found himself
partnered by the most beauteous damsel his eyes had ever seen. She
was the Princess Violante, daughter of the Duke. Before she realized
what her gay _vis-à-vis_ had said and done, he vanished. But upon her
maiden finger glittered a royal signet-ring. Back to Zaragoza sped
the gay troubadour, and in a trice a noble embassy was on its way to
the Barrois Court to claim the hand of the fascinating Princess and
to exchange the heavy ring of State for the lighter jewelled hoop of
espousal.
The entry of Queen Yolanda (Violante) into Zaragoza was a resplendent
function, and, despite their habitual taciturnity, the citizens hailed
the lovely consort of their King with heartiest acclamations. In her
train came minstrels and glee-maidens from Champagne and Burgundy, from
Provence and the Valley of the Rhine and Languedoc. Such merry folk
were unknown in phlegmatic Aragon. To be sure, they had their poets,
their dances and their songs, but they were the semi-serious pastimes
of the sturdy Basque mountaineers.
The _Académie des Jeux Floraux_ of Toulouse,--newly founded in 1323,
and better known there as the _Collège du Gaye Sçavoir_,--sent an
imposing company of minstrels to greet the new Queen of Aragon at
Narbonne--the city of romance and song--and to offer her a spectacular
serenade beneath the balconies of the Archiepiscopal Palace, where she
and her suite were accommodated. With them they bore golden flowers
and silver with which Royal Violante should crown the laureates, and
to Her Majesty they offered a great amaranth of gold, together with
the diploma of a _Mainteneuse_. Acclaimed “Queen of Troubadours,” her
motley train swept through the cities of the coast and crossed the
Spanish frontier. One and all offered her their true allegiance--to
live and dance and sing and die for Yolanda d’Arragona.
If the Aragonese were noted for stubbornness,--and of them was curtly
said: “The men of Aragon will drive nails in their heads rather than
use hammers,”--they have a sound reputation for chivalry. King Iago II.
established this characteristic in an edict in 1327. “We will,” ran the
royal rescript, “that every man, whether armed or not, who shall be in
company with a lady, pass safely and unmolested unless he be guilty of
murder.” Courting an _alegra señorita_, whether of Aragon, Catalonia,
or Valencia, was the duty of every lad, albeit the fair one jokingly
called it “_pelando la pava_” (plucking the turkey). The royal romance
was a charming example for all and sundry, and many an amorous French
troubadour had his wings cut by Prince Cupid and never went home again
at all, and many a glee-maiden, to boot, plucked a “turkey” of Aragon!
King Juan threw himself unreservedly into the arms of his merry
Minerva-Venus Queen: no doubt she “plucked” him thoroughly! A “Court of
Love” was established at Zaragoza. All day long they danced, and all
night through they sang, and at all times played their floral games,
whilst dour señors scowled and proud dueñas grimaced. The revels of the
“_Gaya Ciencia_” shocked their susceptibilities, until a crisis was
reached in 1340, when the King sent embassies to all the French Courts
to enlist the services of their best troubadours. A solemn session
of the Cortes, wherein resided the actual power of the State,--the
King was King only by their pleasure,--was called, “_Podemos mas
que vos_”--“We are quite as good as you, or even better”--that was
the moving spirit of Aragon. A resolution was passed demanding the
suppression of “the feast of folly,” as the gay doings at Court were
called, and the immediate expulsion of the foreign minstrels and their
hilarious company.
Here was a fix for the easy-going King,--dubbed by many
“_l’Indolente_,” the Indolent,--between the devil and the deep sea.
The Queen point-blank refused to say good-bye to her _devotés_, and
her wiles prevailed to retain many a merry lover at her Court, for the
stoutest will of man yields to the witchery of beauty in every rank of
life!
If Queen Yolanda was a “gay woman,” as historians have called
her,--and no class of men are anything like so mendacious,--she was not
the “fast” woman some of them have maliciously styled her. No, she was
a loving spouse and a devoted mother. Perhaps, could she have chosen,
she would have brought forth a boy; but, still, every mother loves her
child regardless of sex or other considerations. She addressed herself
zealously to the rearing of the little princess. No sour-visaged
_hidalgo_ and no censorious citizen was allowed the entrée to the
nursery. Minstrels rejoiced at the nativity, and minstrels shared
the rocking of the cradle. She was baptized at the old mosque-like
cathedral of Sa Zeo, or San Salvador,--where the Kings her forbears
were all anointed and crowned,--with the courtly ceremonial of Holy
Church, whilst outside the people sang their well-loved ditties. Quite
the favourite was “_Nocte Buena_”--
“La Vergin se fui’ in lavar
Sui manos blancas al rio;
El Sol sequedó parado,
La Mar perdio su ruido,” etc.
“To the rivulet the Virgin sped,
Her fair white hands to wash;
The wandering Sun stood still o’erhead,
The Sea cast up no splash,” etc.
and many, many other verses. Zaragoza was famous for the splendour
of her mystery plays, as many quaint entries in the archives of the
archdiocese prove: “Seven _sueldos_ for making up the heads of the ass
and the ox for the stable at Bethlehem; six _sueldos_ for wigs for the
prophets; ten _sueldos_ for gloves for the angels.”
The little Princess was not the only occupant of the royal nursery in
Zaragoza; King Juan’s child Juanita greeted her baby companion with
glee, but the Queen was not too well pleased that she should be allowed
to remain there. Indeed, an arrangement was come to whereby Mahaud’s
child was delivered over to a _governante_, and Princess Yolanda was
queen of all she saw. Very carefully her training was taken in hand,
with due respect to the peccadilloes of the Court; but her mother saw
to it that her environment should be youthful, bright, and intelligent.
Hardly before the child was out of leading-strings her future was under
serious consideration, for the King had no son nor the promise of one
by his consort, and Queen Yolanda determined to do all that lay in her
power to circumvent the obnoxious clauses of the Salic Law.
The Princess grew up handsome like her father and bewitching like her
mother. She was the pet of the palace and the pride of the people,
and everybody prophesied great things for her and Aragon. The most
important question was, naturally, betrothal and marriage. The King,
easy-going in everything, left this delicate matter to his ambitious,
clever Queen, and very soon half the crowns _in posse_ in Europe were
laid at her daughter’s feet.
The survey of eligible lads of royal birth was far and wide, but,
with the tactful instinct of a ruling native, Queen Yolanda made a
very happy choice. At Toulouse, three years before the birth of her
little daughter, had been born a royal Prince, the eldest son of her
uncle Louis of France, her mother’s brother, titular King of Naples,
Sicily, and Jerusalem, Duke of Anjou, and Count of Provence. The boy’s
mother was Countess Marie de Châtillon, the wealthy heiress of the
ducal line of Blois-Bretagne. He was the husband-to-be of Princess
Yolanda d’Arragona, Louis d’Anjou. King Juan cordially approved the
selection of the young Prince: French royal marriages were popular in
Aragon. An imposing embassy was despatched at once to Angers, with an
invitation for the boy to visit the Court of Zaragoza under the charge
of his aunt, Queen Yolanda. The King and Queen made the most they could
of their interesting little visitor. With a view to contingencies,
Louis was introduced at the session of the Cortes, and the King gave
splendid entertainments to the _ricoshombres_ and other members of the
Estates in honour of his future son-in-law, the royal fiancé of the
_soi-disante_ heiress to the throne.
This notable visit came to an abrupt and unexpected end upon receipt
of the news of the sudden death of King-Duke Louis at the Castle of
Bisclin, in La Pouille, on September 20, 1389. His young son, now Louis
II., was called home at once. Met at the Languedoc frontier by a kingly
escort, the young Sovereign passed on to Arles, and thence to Avignon,
where, on October 25, 1389, he was solemnly crowned in the basilica of
Nôtre Dame des Dons by Pope Clement VII. A stately progress was made to
the Court of Charles VI. in Paris, and the youthful King was presented
to imperious Queen Isabeau,--his aunt by marriage,--the proud daughter
of Stephen II., Duke of Bavaria, and Princess Thadée Visconti of Milan.
The chief object of this visit was the formal betrothal of the young
King and the Princess Yolanda d’Arragona--a ceremony deemed too
important for celebration either at Angers or at Aix, in the King’s
domains. A notable function, in the grand metropolitan cathedral of
Nôtre Dame, was held on, of all days the most suitable, the Feast of
the Three Holy Kings, January 6, 1390, whereat assisted all the Princes
and Princesses of the House of France, with Prince Ferdinand of Castile
and Aragon as proxy for the bride-Princess, and an imposing embassy
from King Juan and Queen Yolanda.
[Illustration: SOLEMN ENTRY OF A QUEEN INTO THE CAPITAL OF HER SPOUSE,
FIFTEENTH CENTURY
See Froissart’s Chronicles and “L’Album Historique de France”
_To face page 40_]
Back to Angers went, with his mother, Queen-Duchess Marie, the youthful
bridegroom-elect, to be safeguarded and trained for his brilliant
career. Everybody in Anjou and Provence loved their Duchess. She had
won all hearts. Those were prosperous, happy days--the days of the
gracious Regent’s kindly government.
Early in 1393 King Juan met with a serious accident whilst hunting in
the mountains around Tacca, the ancient capital of Aragon. He was, by
the way, a famous huntsman, and had gained by his keenness in pursuit
of game the title of “_El Cazador_”--“The Sportsman.” Mauled by a wolf
he had wounded in the chase, he never recovered from the loss of blood
and the poison of those unclean fangs. Feeling his end approaching,
and anxious about the future of his darling child, he proposed to
Queen Marie and the Anjou-Provence Court of Regency that the nuptials
of Louis and Yolanda should be celebrated without delay. This he did
because he had determined to evade the restrictions of the Salic Law
by proclaiming Louis and Yolanda heir and heiress together of Aragon,
Catalonia, and Valencia.
Queen Yolanda most heartily seconded her consort’s project,--indeed,
she it was who had first suggested that line of action,--and when,
on May 15, the King breathed his last in the castle of his fathers
in Zaragoza, she claimed the succession for her son-in-law and
daughter. On the day following the King’s death she took the young
Princess,--barely thirteen years of age,--accompanied by the whole
Court and a crowd of sympathetic citizens, into the basilica of Sa Zeo,
and placed her upon the magnificent and historic silver throne of the
Kings of Aragon. Bending her knees before her, she kissed the child’s
hand in homage to her sovereignty, and caused heralds to proclaim her
“_Yolanda Reina d’Arragona_.” It was a bold step, but quite in accord
with the ruling instinct of the royal house; moreover, it commanded the
suffrages of very many members of the Cortes.
The Estates of the three realms met in plenary session, and before
the deliberations were opened the little “Queen” was presented by her
mother, who demanded a unanimous vote in favour of Louis and Yolanda.
There were, however, other claimants for the crown, and the Cortes
decided to offer it to Dom Martino, the late King’s only surviving
brother, a next heir-male of the blood, whose consort was Queen Maria
of Sicily. The new King treated his widowed sister-in-law and his
little niece with the utmost consideration. He prevailed upon Queen
Yolanda to retain the royal apartments at the castle, for he did not
propose to reside there. He only stayed at Zaragoza for his coronation,
and returned at once to Palermo.
The whole energy of the widowed Queen was now devoted to the education
of her only child. Her widowhood weighed lightly upon her; her buoyant,
happy nature soon shook off her grief and mourning. She was now
perfectly free to cultivate her tastes. If the “little Queen” was not
to be Queen of Aragon, she should succeed herself as “Queen of Hearts
and Troubadours.” Accordingly she moved her residence to Barcelona,
the sunny and the gay, and there at once set up a “Court of Love.”
Catalonia was times out of mind the rival of Provence in romance and
minstrelsy; her marts had quite as many merry troubadours as serious
merchants. The _corridas de toros_--bullfights--of Barcelona were the
most brilliant in Spain, whilst the people were as independent and as
unconventional as they were cultured and industrious. The two Queens
very soon became expert _aficionadas_ of the royal sport.
Queen Yolanda never for a moment lost sight of the future of her
daughter, and preparations for her marriage to Louis d’Anjou occupied
very much of her busy, merry, useful life. Queens’ trousseaux were
something more than nine days’ wonders; besides, the ambition of
the mother-Queen knew no bounds to her daughter’s horizon. She
must go forth at least as richly clothed and dowered as any of her
predecessors. Goldsmiths, glass-blowers, cabinet-makers, saddlers,
silk-weavers, and potters,--none more accomplished and famous in
Europe than the artificers of Barcelona and Valencia,--were set to
work to fill the immense walnut marriage-chests of the bride-to-be.
Her jewels were superb,--no richer gold was known than the red gold of
Aragon,--the royal gems were unique, of Moorish origin, uncut. Years
passed quickly along, and Princess Yolanda kept her eighteenth birthday
with her mother in Barcelona. She was on the threshold of a new life.
II.
One glorious autumn morning in the good year 1399,--“good” because
“the next before a brand-new century,” as said the gossips of the
time,--a gallant cavalcade deployed down the battlemented approach to
the grim old castle of Angers. At its head, mounted upon a prancing
white Anjou charger, rode as comely a young knight as ever hoisted
pennoned lance to stirrup-lock. He was dressed in semi-armour,--the
armour of the “Lists.” His errand was not warlike, for knotted in his
harness were Cupid’s love-ribbons: he was a royal bridegroom-elect
speeding off to bring gaily home from distant Aragon his fair
betrothed. He had been knighted ten years before by his uncle, Charles
VI., at his coronation in Nôtre Dame in Paris, at which solemnity he
had,--a slim lad of twelve,--held proudly the stirrup of the Sovereign.
Louis II. d’Anjou, born at the Castle of Toulouse on October 7, 1377,
succeeded his father, Louis I., in 1389, and, like him, bore many
titles of sovereignty: King of Naples, Sicily, and Jerusalem; Duke of
Anjou, Calabria, Touraine, and Pouille; Grand Peer of France; Prince
of Capua; Count of Provence, Maine, Forcalquier, and Piemont; Lord of
Montpellier; and Governor of Languedoc and Guienne. His grandfather
was the brave but unfortunate King John “the Good” of France; his
grandmother, the beautiful but sorrowful Queen Bonne of Luxembourg and
Bohemia.
The boy-King carrouselled through the lumbering gates of Angers
that brilliant October morning between two trusty knights of his
household,--loyal lieges of their late King now devoted to the service
of the son. As valiant in deeds of war as discreet in affairs of State
were Raymond d’Agout and Jehan de Morien. All three bore the proud
cognizance of Sicily-Anjou,--the golden flying eagle,--and their silken
bannerets were sewn with the white lilies of the royal house of France.
A goodly retinue of mounted men followed the young King, guarding the
person and the costly bridal gifts which accompanied the royal lover’s
cortège.
Queen-Duchess Marie, his mother, had kept as Regent unweariedly her
long ten years’ watch, not only over the business of the State, but
also over the passions and the actions of her lusty, well-grown son.
Many a maid,--royal, noble, and simple,--had attracted the comely
youth’s regard, and had flushed her face and his. Women and girls of
his time were, as an appreciative chronicler has noted, “_franches,
désintéressés, capable d’amours, épidémentés, elles restent naïve très
longtemps, parceque les vices étrangères n’ont point pénetrés dans les
familles_.”[A] Louis had responded affectionately and loyally to his
mother’s solicitude; he was famed as the St. Sebastian of his time,
whose chastity and good report had no sharp shaft of scandal pierced.
[A] “Natural, open-hearted, amorous, and accessible, they are
always unspoiled because odious foreign manners have never
marred their home.”
The royal cavalcade pranced its way warily over the wide-rolling
plains and across the gently cresting hill-country of Central France,
making for the Spanish frontier. The whole of that smiling land was
ravaged by foreign foes and overrun by native ne’er-do-wells, but,
happily, no thrilling adventures have been recorded of that lengthy
progress. Near upon the eve of St. Luke, King Louis II. and his
suite were cordially welcomed in his royal castle of Montpellier,
which the two mother-Queens, Marie and Yolanda, had indicated as the
trysting-place. There the royal Court was established, whilst d’Agout
and de Morien were despatched, with a lordly following, to Perpignan
and across the frontier of Aragon to greet, at the Castle of Gerona,
the two Yolandas--who were already on their way from Barcelona--and
thence escort them to their Sovereign’s presence.
The young “Queen” was quite as anxious to meet her affianced husband
as he was to embrace her, and no undue delay hindered the resumption
of the queenly progress. It was a notable cortège, for Queen Yolanda,
holding as she did tenaciously that her daughter was, at least, titular
Queen of Aragon, Catalonia, and Valencia, travelled in extravagant
royal state. Besides the great chariot, with its tapestries and
furniture of richest Hispano-Moorish origin, were others almost as
sumptuous for the lords and ladies of the suite. All these had their
guards of honour--trusty veterans of King Juan’s time, and devoted to
their “Queen.” Great tumbrils, laden with costly products of Zaragoza,
Barcelona, and Valencia,--the royal trousseau and magnificent offerings
for King Louis and his widowed mother,--accompanied by well-mounted
cavalry, rolled heavily along the ancient Roman road to France.
The whole of Languedoc agreed to pay honour to the royal travellers,
and they revelled in the floral games and _fêtes galants_ offered by
every town and castle by the way. From Toulouse, the birthplace of the
bridegroom-elect, came quite appropriately a phalanx of _maintaineurs_
to Montpellier to recite and sing poems and melodies of the “_Gaya
Ciencia_.” The green rolling hills of Languedoc gave back in sweetly
echoing refrains the tuneful music of the shell-sown shores of the
rolling sea, the sun-kissed Mediterranean: all sang the “Loves of Louis
and Yolanda.”
There is a quaint and suggestive story anent the meeting of the
august young couple which calls to mind the adventures of King Juan
at the Court of Bar-le-Duc. The young King had timely warning of the
approach of his royal bride-elect, and, hastily donning the guise of
a simple knight, he mingled in the throng of enthusiastic citizens,
unrecognized, at the entrance of the town. Both Queens leaned
forward in their chariot to acknowledge the loyal greetings; and the
bride,--arrayed in golden tissue of Zaragoza, and wearing Anjou lilies
in her hair,--smiled and laughed and clapped her hands in ecstasy, the
animation adding immensely to her charms of face and figure. King Louis
was enraptured, and, falling head over ears in love, approached the
royal carriage; and kneeling on his _berretta_, he seized the youthful
Queen’s white, shapely hand, and implanted thereupon one ardent kiss.
The impact sent the hot blood coursing through his veins, and it was
as much as his esquire could do to drag his master back and hurry him
to the palace in time to change his costume and receive his royal
guests with courtly etiquette. The young Queen was conscious of this
outburst of love; she, too, coloured, and tried in vain to penetrate
the disguise of her impassioned lover. The mother-Queen instinctively
guessed who he was, and quietly remarked: “You will meet your gallant
knight again, and soon--and no mistake.”
Montpellier was all too small to accommodate such a numerous and such
a distinguished company, so King Louis gave his royal visitors barely
time to recover from the fatigues of the long coach-ride out of Spain
when he hurried on the royal train to Arles, in Provence. Queen-Duchess
Marie was already waiting at the great Archiepiscopal Palace to give
the royal visitors a cordial greeting. After having waved her son adieu
from the boudoir-balcony of the Castle of Angers, she, too, set out for
the south. She had chosen Arles for the royal nuptials, as being the
capital of the third great kingdom of Europe and the most considerable
city in her son’s dominions.
No better choice could have been made from a psychological point of
view, for have not the Arlésiennes been noted for all time for their
perfect figures,--Venus di Milo was one of them,--their graceful
carriage, and surpassingly good looks? They, with their menfolk,
animated and merry, have always eaten well and well drunk. The
delicious pink St. Peray is a more generous wine than all the vintages
of Champagne. Physical charms and _fin bouquets_ were ever incentives
to love and pleasure, and Mars of Aragon yielded up his arms to Venus
of Arles. _Arles--la belle Grecque aux yeux Sarrazines!_ Perhaps the
becoming, close-fitting black velvet _chapelles_, or bonnets, and the
diaphanous white gauze veils, did much to express _la grâce fière aux
femmes_!
It was indeed a gorgeous function at which the royal couple were
united in the bonds of matrimony, that morrow of All Saints, 1399. The
ancient basilica of St. Trophimus was one vast nave, no choir,--that
the royal brothers Louis and René built a generation later,--but it was
too circumscribed for the marriage ritual; consequently, under a gold
and crimson awning, slung on ships’ masts beyond the deeply recessed
chief portal, with its weird sculptures, the clergy took up their
station to await the bridal pageant. The Cardinal-Archbishop, Nicholas
de Brancas, joined the two young hands in wedlock, and Cardinal Adreano
Savernelli, the Papal Legate, gave the blessing of Peter, whilst the
two mother-Queens looked on approvingly.
The royal bride,--in white, of course,--had an over-kirtle, or train,
of gemmed silver tissue--a thing of wonderment and beauty worn by her
royal mother, and her mother, Marie de France, before her, and coming
from the Greco-Flemish trousseau of the famous Countess Iolande. Her
abundant brown-black hair was plaited in two thick ropes, with pearls
and silver lace reaching far below the jewelled golden cincture that
encompassed her well-formed bust. Upon her thinly covered bosom reposed
the kingly medallion of her father, King Juan, with its massive golden
chain of Estate, the emblem of her sovereign rank. Upon her finger she
wore the simple ruby ring of betrothal, now to be exchanged for the
plain golden hoop of marriage.
“Yolande is one of the most lovely creatures anybody could imagine.”
So wrote grim old Juvenal des Ursins, the chatty chronicler of Courts.
She brought to her royal spouse a rich dowry--much of the private
wealth of her father and many art treasures, among them great lustred
dishes and vases of Hispano-Moorish potters’ work, with the royal arms
and cipher thereon. Four baronies, too, passed to the Sicily-Anjou
crown: Lunel in Languedoc--famed for vintages of sweet muscatel
wines--Berre, Martignes, and Istres, all bordering the salt Étang de
Berre, in Provence, each a Venice in miniature, and rich in salt,
salt-dues, and works. The royal bride’s splendid marriage-chests were
packed full of costly products of King Juan’s kingdoms: table services
in gold from Zaragoza and finely-cut gems; delicate glass _arruxiados_,
or scent-sprinklers, and crystal tazzas from Barcelona--more famous
than Murano; great brazen vessels from Valencia and richly-woven
textiles.
The same veracious historian has painted a picture in words of the
youthful Yolande. “Tall,” he says, “slim, erect, well proportioned in
her frame, her features of a Spanish cast, dark lustrous hair, the
Queen-Duchess has an intrepid heart and an elevated spirit, which
give animation and distinction to her charming personality. She is
remarkable for decision, and commands obedience by her authoritative
manner.”
The Court did not tarry long at Arles, for, in spite of the beauty
of the women and the gallantry of the men and its other notable
attractions, it was, after all, somewhat of a dull, unhealthy place. A
move was accordingly made,--before, indeed, the festivities were quite
exhausted,--to the comfortable and roomy _manoir_ of Tarascon, a very
favourite country residence of all the Provence Princes. The gardens
were famous, and laid out in the Italian manner, and the extensive
park and fresh-water lakes were well stocked with game and fish. The
_fêtes galants_ of Louis XV. and “La Pompadour” here had their model.
The bridal couple, with their guests and retainers,--often as not in
the guise of shepherds and shepherdesses,--thus kept there state for
three merry months, until the warmer spring weather hurried them off to
Angers, in the north.
[Illustration: FAVOURITE RECREATIONS
1. A DIGNIFIED MUSIC PARTY.
2. HAND-BALL AND CHESS
Both from Miniatures in MS., Fourteenth Century, “Valeur Maxime”
British Museum
_To face page 50_]
The pretty legend of St. Martha of Bethany appealed to the young
Queen-Duchess. In the crypt of the principal church of Tarascon is
the tomb of the saint, and on the walls is her story sculptured. Once
upon a time a deadly dragon,--called by the fearful country-folk
“Tarasque,”--dwelt in a hollow cave by the Rhone shore, and fed on
human flesh. News of the devastation wrought by the monster reached
the ears of Lazarus and his sisters at Marseilles, and St. Martha took
upon herself to subdue the beast. With nothing in her hand but a piece
of the true Cross of Christ and her silken girdle of many ells in
length, she sought out the deadly dragon in his lair. Casting around
his loathsome body her light cincture, she enabled her companions
to slay him. The girdle of St. Martha became the mascot of all the
Tarasconnais, and everybody wore a goodly belt or bodice _à la Marthe_.
Such a girdle, in cloth of gold and tasselled, was offered to the young
bride by the loyal townsfolk.
The state entry of the Sovereigns into Angers,--the major capital of
the King-Duke’s dominions,--was just such another pageant as that
which greeted Queen Isabeau of Bavaria in Paris in the summer of 1385.
From ancient days Angers had been a place of note--the Andegavi of
Gallo-Roman times, a _municipium_ and a _castrum_ combined. In the
Carlovingian era the Counts--then Dukes--of the Angevines,--founders of
the great Capet family,--and their vigorous consorts nursed stalwart
sons, who were the superiors of their neighbour rulers in Frankland.
From Geoffrey Plantagenet, titular King of Jerusalem, sprang our
English Kings. Louis IX.,--St. Louis of blessed memory,--bestowed the
duchy of Anjou upon his brother John with the title of King of the Two
Sicilies; hence came the sovereign titles of Louis II. and Yolande.
The Castle of Angers in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries was
one of the most imposing in France. Flanked by eighteen great donjon
towers, shaped like dice-boxes, it had the aspect of a prison rather
than of a palace. The royal apartments were between two great bastions,
_Le Tour du Moulin_ and _Le Tour du Diable_. The drawbridge spanned the
deep, wide moat to the esplanade called _Le Pont du Monde_; beneath
were dark dungeons and odious oubliettes. To honour their King and
Queen, the castle household hung great swaying lengths of scarlet
“noble cloth,”--newly purchased from the Florentine merchants of the
“_Calimala_,”--to cover up the black slate-stone courses of the masonry
of _Le Diable_, whilst they concealed the rough masonry of _Le Moulin_
by strips of gorgeous yellow canvas of Cholet d’Anjou. These were the
heraldic colours of Aragon. All the gloomy slate-fronted houses of the
city,--“Black Angers” it was called,--were decorated similarly, and
gay Flemish carpets and showy skins of beasts were flaunted from the
windows. The citizens kept holiday with bunches of greenery and early
spring flowers in their hands to cast at their new liege Lady.
Queen Yolande waved her gloved hand,--a novelty in demure Angers,--in
friendly response to the plaudits of the throngs, and refused no kiss
of bearded mouth or cherry lips thereon as she rode on happily by the
side of her royal spouse. At St. Maurice,--the noble cathedral, with
its new and glorious coloured windows,--the royal cortège halted whilst
_Te Deum_ was sung, and the bridal pair were sprinkled with holy water
and censed. Another “Station” was made where the ascent to the castle
began, for there pious loyal folk had prepared the mystery-spectacles
of the “Resurrection of Christ” with “His Appearance to His Virgin
Mother.” The Saviour’s features, by a typical but strange conceit, were
those of the King-Duke, St. Mary’s those of the royal bride!
The banquetings and junketings were scenes of deep amazement to the new
Queen. In Aragon and Barcelona people ate and drank delicately,--their
menus were _à la Grecque_,--but in cold and phlegmatic Anjou great
hunks of beef and great mugs of sack,--quite _à la Romain_,--were _de
rigueur_. An old kitchen reporter of Angers records the daily fare at
the castle: “One whole ox, two calves, three sheep, three pigs, twelve
fowls.” The only artistic confection was “hippocras, seasoned with
cloves and cinnamon.” Pepper, ginger, rosemary, mint, and thyme, were
served as “delicacies.” Another harsh note on the fitness of things
which struck the royal bride as extraordinary was the loud laughter
indulged in by the gentlemen of the Court and their coarse jests; _le
rire français_ had nothing of the mellowed merriment of the “_Gaya
Ciencia_.”
Alas! the rejoicings and the feastings of the Angevines and their
guests were suddenly arrested, and the enthusiastic shouts of welcome
were drowned by harsh hammerings of armourers and raucous military
commands. The King-Duke was summoned to take his position among the
captains of France, in battle order, in face of the foreign foe,
and the Queen-Duchess, young and inexperienced as she was, assumed
the government of Angers and the care of the citizens. All France
was ravaged by the English, and State after State fell before their
onslaught. Yolande addressed herself to the strengthening of the
defences of the castle and the city. Imitating the tact and prudence of
Silvestro and Giovanni de’ Medici at Florence, she ordered the levying
of a poll-tax, rated upon the variations of land-tenure and the varying
incomes of the craftsmen: a tenth of all rateable property,--shrewdly
spread over three years, with a credit for immediate needs,--was
cordially yielded by the Angevines.
Probably this impost was made upon the advice of worthy councillors,
but, all the same, the manner in which the young _châtelaine_
Lieutenant-General in person superintended its operation was an
eloquent testimony to her force of character and her true patriotism.
She disposed of many personal belongings, and submitted to many acts
of self-denial, an example quickly followed by great and small. She
sent also to Zaragoza for master-armourers to refurbish old and temper
new weapons of various sorts. Some of these craftsmen she ordered to
give instruction to native workers; so very shortly her armoury was
efficient, not alone for home defence, but for the rearming of the
King’s forces in the field.
Not content with these warlike preparations, Queen Yolande gave time
and money for the distraction and amusement of her people in their time
of stress. Castle fêtes, town sports, and church mystery plays, were
bravely carried through. The Queen herself was everywhere--now mounted
for the chase, now tending sick folks, now at public prayers. Born
daughter of a grand race, and full of dignity, she had inherited her
mother’s happy disposition. She charmed everyone in town and country,
and endeared herself to her loving subjects by many a homely trait.
A pretty tale has been preserved about her whilst King Louis was
standing shoulder to shoulder with Charles VI. and his other peers
of France. One afternoon,--according to her wont when not hindered
by affairs of State or claims of charity,--she sallied forth to the
royal park of L’Vien, her dogs in leash. Let loose, they put up a
rabbit, which made directly for their royal mistress, and sought
refuge in the skirt of her green velvet hunting-kirtle. Reaching down
her hand, she fondled the little trembling creature, when, to her
immense surprise, she discovered upon its neck a faded ribbon, with a
medallion bearing an image of the Virgin. The incident occurred in a
woody dell within the ruins of a half-buried hermit’s cell. Yolande did
not for a moment hesitate in her interpretation of the incident. She
noted the date,--February 2, the Feast of the Purification,--and she
set to work to restore the holy house in honour of St. Mary. Upon the
portal, by her command, was sculptured the charming episode, with the
legend: “_Nôtre Dame de Sousterre, l’amie et la protectrice des âmes en
danger._”[A]
[A] “Our Lady of the Deep Cell, the friend and protectress of
souls in danger.”
The same year, 1401, found Louis d’Anjou and Yolande upon their way to
Paris, where she, as Queen of Jerusalem, Naples, Sicily, and Aragon,
made her state entry at the Court of Charles VI. and Isabeau. Doubtless
the young Queen was struck with Isabeau’s extraordinary freedom of
manner. Her own training, both at Zaragoza and Barcelona, in the
rigid conventions of a semi-Moorish Court, had taught her restraint
and aloofness. The dress of the French Queen astonished her, for in
Aragon and Catalonia physical charms were enhanced by semi-concealment,
whereas Isabeau exposed her painted arms, shoulders, and her breast,
right down to her cincture; whilst her low waist at the back was
pinched by a _cotte hardie_, so that the bust was enlarged to the
degree of distortion: _une taille de guêpe_--“wasp-like” indeed! The
etiquette of the Court of her father, as well as that of Anjou, kept
men out of the bedchambers of the fair, but Isabeau, _décolletée_ and
_en déshabillée_, was the centre of a crowd of flatterers and fawners
at her daily _se lever_. The dressing-room of Isabeau was the factory
of gossip and intrigue. Perhaps she gave utterance to the aphorism:
“Ostez le fard et le vice,
Vous luy ostez l’âme et le corps.”
“Take away fashion and vice,
And you expose both soul and body.”
On her side Queen Yolande caused a sensation among the French
courtiers. No one had ever seen such a wealth of gold and jewels as
that which adorned the winsome Spanish Queen. In spite of their great
dissimilarity in age, appearance, character, and manner, the two Queens
became fast friends, and Yolande was permitted to weld the intimacy
into a permanent relationship at the fortunate accouchement of Isabeau.
With admirable simplicity and charm she assumed the charge of the royal
infant, sponsored it, and gave it her own name added to Catherine. Born
to be the consort of Henry V. of England, the victor of Azincourt,
Catherine de Valois served as the gracious hostage and pledge of a
greatly-longed-for peace.
Queen Yolande was, however, approaching her own accouchement, and
Louis, judging that a fortified castle was not a desirable locality
for such an auspicious event, hurried his consort and her boudoir
entourage off to Toulouse, the gay capital of Languedoc--Toulouse of
the Troubadours. There, upon September 25, 1403, within the palace,
Yolande brought forth her first-born, her royal husband’s son and heir.
Louis the bonny boy was named by the Archbishop at the font of St.
Étienne’s Cathedral. Great was the joy over all the harvest-fields and
vineyards of Provence and Languedoc. Perhaps the good folk of Aix felt
themselves a little slighted. Why was not the happy birth planned for
their capital? they asked. Nevertheless, they sent a goodly tribute of
100,000 gold florins to the cradle of the little Prince, and saluted
him as “Vicomte d’Aix.”
The year 1404 had seasons of peculiar sorrow for the Angevine
Court, followed, happily, by joyous days. On May 19 the King-Duke’s
brother, Charles, Duke of Maine and Count of Guise, died suddenly at
Angers,--the “Black Death” they called his malady,--amid universal
regret. He had been content to play a subordinate rôle in the affairs
of State--a man more addicted to scholarly pursuits than political
activities. He had, however, proved himself the son of a good mother
and the stay of his young sister-in-law from Aragon during her spouse’s
absence from his own dominions. The Duke left one only child--a
boy--who succeeded him as Charles II. of Maine. Queen-Duchess Marie
felt her dear son’s untimely death acutely, and, notwithstanding the
loving care of her devoted daughter-in-law, she never recovered from
the prostration of her grief. Within a fortnight of the obsequies of
her son, the feet of those who had so sorrowfully borne his body forth
to burial were treading the same mournful path, tenderly bearing her
own funeral casket.
Ever since her happy marriage to Louis I. in 1360, Marie de
Châtillon-Blois had borne nobly her part as the worthy helpmeet of her
spouse and the devoted mother of his children. For ten years after his
death her gentle presence and wise counsels had directed the affairs of
the House of Sicily-Anjou, and smoothed away all difficulties from the
path of her son. She left immense wealth, which, added to the goodly
fortune of Louis I., made her son the richest Sovereign in all France.
It was said at the time that she was worth “more than twenty-two
millions of livres.” “In spite of reputed avarice and hoarding,“ said
a not too friendly historian, ”she was a sapient ruler, moderate and
firm, and she left Anjou the better for a good example.” “_Sachiez_,”
wrote Bourdigne of her, “_que c’estoit une dame de goût faiet, et
de moult grant ponchas, car point ne dormoit en poursuivant ses
besoignes_.”
These dark clouds hung heavily over Louis II. and Yolande, but the
cause of their passing was a signal of enthusiastic joy. On October 14
a little baby-girl was born. Mary, the “Mother of Sorrows,” heard the
prayer of the stricken Royal Family, and sent a new Mary to fill the
place of the lamented Duchess; for the child was named Marie simply,
and was offered to St. Mary for her own.
Troubles, however, were gathering thickly all over the devoted land
of France. The enemy in the gate, ever victorious, plundered and
pauperized every State in turn, so that the country was “like a sheep
bleating helplessly before her shearers.” Tax-gatherers and oppressors
of mankind beggared the poor and feeble, and spoiled the rich and
brave. “_Sà de l’argent? Sà de l’argent?_”--“Where’s your money?”--was
the desolating cry which the rough _cailloux_ of the village _pavé_
tossed through the draughty doorways of peasant cottages, and the
smooth courtyards echoed through the mullioned windows of seigneurs’
castles. The gatherings, in spite of rape and rapine, fell far short
of the requirements of these times of stress, and a general appeal was
made to Queens and _châtelaines_ to exercise their charms in staying
the hands of ravishers. The famous answer of Queen Isabeau was that,
alas! of Queen Yolande, though more sympathetically expressed: “_Je
suis une povre voix criant dans ce royaume, désireuse de paix et du
bien de tous!_”[A]
[A] “I am a poor voice crying helplessly in this wretched
kingdom, seeking only peace and the good of all.”
This aptly expressed the weary sense of disaster which saw that fateful
year expire, but for the King and Queen of Sicily-Anjou-Provence a
gleam of the brightness of Epiphany fell athwart their marital couch.
Yolande was for the third time a mother, and her child was a boy. Born
on January 6, 1408, in a crenellated tower of the castle gateway of
Angers, his mother had to bear the anxiety and the vigil all alone, for
Louis II. was in Italy fighting for his own.
As before the birth of the Princess Marie devotions had been addressed
to the Mother of God and to the saints for a favourable carriage,
now, in view of the troubles of the land, special petitions were
addressed to the most popular saint of Anjou, St. Renatus, that the
new deliverance might presage a new birth of hope for France, and that
the holy one,--the patron of child-bearing mothers who sought male
heirs,--might supplicate at the throne of heaven for a baby-boy.
Baptized in the Cathedral of St. Maurice eight days after birth, the
little Prince had for sponsors no foreign potentates, but men of
good renown and substance in Anjou: Pierre, Abbé de St. Aubin; Jean,
Seigneur de l’Aigle; Guillaume, Chevalier des Roches; and Mathilde,
Abbée de Nôtre Dame d’Angers. The Queen by proxy named her child
“René--_reconnaissance à Messire St. Renatus_.”
The Queen folded her little infant to her breast, but after weaning him
she gave him over to the care of a faithful nurse, one Théophaine la
Magine of Saumur, who came to love him, and he her, most tenderly.
Among the _documens historiques_ of Anjou are _Les Comptes de Roi
René_--notices of public works carried out in various parts of the
royal-ducal dominions. Many of these enterprises were undertaken at the
direct instance of Queen Yolande, and they throw a strong light upon
her character as a loyal spouse and sapient ruler. For example, on July
26, 1408, a _marché_, or contract, was made between the Queen’s Council
and one Julien Guillot, a master-builder, for reslating the roof of the
living apartments and the towers of the Castle of Angers, and also of
various public buildings in the city, and the manor-houses of Diex-Aye
and de la Roche au Due, at an upset price of fifty-five _livres
tournois_ (standard gold coins), “to be paid when the work is complete,
with twenty more as deposit.”
[Illustration: A MYSTERY OR MIRACLE PLAY, FIFTEENTH CENTURY
From “L’Album Historique de France”
_To face page 60_]
Again, under date October 25, 1410, another _marché_ was signed,
whereby “Jean Dueceux and Jean Butort, master-carpenters of Angers,
agree to strengthen the woodwork of the castle chapel and replace
worn-out corbels. All to be finished against the Feast of the Magdalen,
at a total cost of two hundred _livres tournois_, according to the
order of Queen Yolande and her Council.” King Louis had in 1403
assigned a benefaction of twenty-five gold livres to the ancient chapel
of St. John Baptist, to be paid yearly for ever, as a thank-offering
for the birth of Princess Marie.
These _documens_ are full of such notices, and they also record
events of festive interest. One such incident had a most ludicrous
dénouement: “On the twenty-seventh of June, 1409, Messire Yovunet
Coyrant, Superintendent of the Castle of Angers, paid a visit of
inspection, and he complained that on Sunday, June 23rd of this month,
being within the said castle, where a merry company was occupied with
games and drolleries before Queen Yolande and the Court, he stood for
a time to watch the fun. Quite unknown to him, the tails of his new
long coat, which had cost him ten solz [half a livre], were cut off
by some miscreant or other, whereby he became an object of derision!
For this insult he claimed satisfaction, and named as his go-betweens
Guye Buyneart and Jehan Guoynie.” Whether these practical jokers were
inspired by the Queen we know not, but this trifling record shows that
she was not entirely absorbed by the heavy responsibilities of her rank
as Lieutenant-General of her consort, but found time to indulge in some
of the gaieties which had been the joy of her mother and herself in
Aragon, and which had graced her own nuptials and entry into Anjou and
Provence.
Again the mirthful pursuits of the Court and country were stayed by
the stringency of the times. Sedition spread its baneful influence all
over Provence and Languedoc what time King Louis was still far away
fighting in Italy. With courage, fraught with love and assurance, she
set off to the distant province, taking with her, not only an escort
of doughty war-lords, but also her own tender nurslings--Louis, Marie,
and René. With her children was also the young Princess Catherine,
daughter of Jean “sans Peur,” the Duke of Burgundy, whose betrothal
to her eldest son Louis was imminent. Through his children her appeal
would first be made to her husband’s disaffected subjects. Should
that fail, then she could don cuirass and casque and head her royal
troops to worst them. With little Vicomte d’Aix upon her saddle-lap,
she passed through village, town, and city, receiving enthusiastic
plaudits everywhere; she was “_Madame la Nostre Royne_!” The head of
the rebellion was scotched, and from Aix the intrepid Queen despatched
messengers to the King to tell of her success, and to say that she was
ready to embark at once to his assistance.
This heroic offer was made possible by the death of King Martin of
Aragon in 1410, who bequeathed to his niece the whole of his private
fortune. This event, however, added to the Queen’s anxieties, for
she was not the sort of woman to allow the royal succession to pass
for ever unchallenged. _La Justicia Mayor_ of the State of Aragon
assembled at the ancient royal castle of Alcañiz to receive the names
and to adjudicate the claims of candidates for the vacant throne.
Yolande, still styling herself “Queen of Aragon,” was represented by
Louis, Duke of Bourbon, and Antoine, Count of Vendôme. Her claim was
not immediately for herself, but for her son Louis. Two years were
spent in acrimonious deliberations, but the provisions of the Salic
Law penalized the female descent, and consequently the next male heir,
Prince Ferdinand of Castile, placed the crown of Aragon upon his head
as well as that of Castile. Queen Yolande had to be content with her
protest and her titular sovereignty.
Back at Angers in 1413, the Queen conceived a notable future for her
nine-years-old daughter, Marie. Of the six sons of Charles VI. of
France and Isabeau, only one survived, the fifth-born, Charles. The
imperious Bavarian Queen had little or none of Queen Yolande’s fondness
for her offspring; they were born, alas! put out to nurse, forgotten,
and neglected--so they died. Upon the little Prince--the cherished
jewel of his father--Queen Yolande fixed her motherly regard. He was
a year older than her Marie, and a piteous little object bereft of a
mother’s love and solicitude. Yolande’s warm heart yearned towards the
lonely child; she would mother him, she would train him, and then she
would marry him to Marie--this was the Queen’s dream.
With that promptitude which marked all her well-considered actions,
Queen Yolande set about the realization of her castle in the air. She
again packed up herself, her children, and her Court, and took up her
abode in the Château de Mehun-sur-Yèvre, near Bourges, a favourite
residence of the French Court. Among her little ones was a baby-girl,
no more than six months old--Yolande, her own name-child. She gave
as her reason for so strange a line of conduct her wish for greater
facilities in the education of her children. Charles VI. offered no
objection to the residence of such a worthy mother and heroine wife in
his own neighbourhood; indeed, he regarded her advent with considerable
pleasure and satisfaction. Yolande’s influence for good would outweigh
Isabeau’s for evil; besides, she would be a trusty counsellor.
Queen Yolande had not been very long established at Mehun before she
put in a plea on behalf of the poor little heir to the throne of
France. Charles was thankful, he was delighted, and at once gave into
her sole charge, untrammelled in any way, his dear little son, to share
the home care and the studies of his two young cousins, Louis and René
d’Anjou. Having obtained the charge of the little Count de Ponthieu,
Queen Yolande once more went home to Angers, by no means embarrassed
by the fact that she had assumed the training of two Kings, Louis and
Charles, with René a possible King of Aragon besides.
For two years Charles passed for Yolande’s son, the playmate and
boy-lover of her sweet Marie. All his inspirations and his examples he
took from her and them--at last a happy boy, with a hopeful future. The
Queen allowed that future no halting steps; Charles and Marie should
be betrothed, and Mary should be Queen of France! Yolande broached
the subject to King Charles, and at once gained his cordial consent,
but tactfully she left to him the furthering of the project. Upon
December 18, 1415, Charles of France and Marie of Sicily-Anjou were
privately affianced in the Royal Chapel of the Castle of Bourges.
France was in the throes of revolution and dissolution; the terrible
defeat at Azincourt, on October 24 that same year, had paralyzed the
military power of the French States, and was the ultimate cause of King
Charles’s insanity. For seven years he became a fugitive, not only
bereft of reason, but of all resources. Queen Isabeau did nothing to
relieve the tension, but maintained her irreconcilable position, and
continued her ill-living. The King’s only brother, the lamented Duke of
Orléans, had been assassinated eight years before, and there appeared
to be no one capable of steering the ship of State into a calm haven.
This was Queen Yolande’s opportunity, and she rose to its height
majestically. She was already guardian of the Dauphin, who after his
espousal returned with his child-bride to Angers. Now she assumed the
general direction of affairs, and became virtually Regent of France
and the arbiter of her destiny. She personally approached the English
King, and obtained from him favourable terms of peace, which assured
tranquillity and regeneration for France. She it was who proposed to
Henry his alliance with her young goddaughter, Catherine, the youngest
child of Charles VI. and Isabeau, then fourteen years of age. He was
twenty-eight, and the marriage was consummated five years later,
although Henry’s terms included the payment of the arrears of the
ransom of King John the “Good,” the prisoner of Poitiers, a sum of
2,000,000 crowns.
The Queen’s judgment and resourcefulness eminently merited the
grudging encomium of the wife of her husband’s fiercest rival, the
Duchess of Burgundy. “I am always glad,” she said, “when it is a good
woman who governs, for then all good men follow her!”
All this time,--a time fraught with infinite issues,--King Louis II.
of Sicily-Anjou was in Italy, meeting in his campaign with varied
fortune. He had all he could do to hold his own, but his presence at
the head of his army was essential to ultimate success. Three times
he entered Naples acclaimed as King, for Queen Giovanna II. had named
him so. Three times he fled discomfited after victory, which he failed
to follow up. He rarely returned to his French dominions, and really
he had no necessity so to do on the score of administration, for his
beloved and capable Lieutenant-General was perfectly able to keep
everything in order and uphold his authority. At last the King of
Sicily-Anjou and Naples returned to Angers a broken and an ailing man,
to spend what time Providence would still grant him with his devoted
noble wife.
Queen Yolande’s first great grief came to her in 1417, when her
faithful husband was taken from her. Happily for them both, they
were united at the deathbed--consoling and consoled. He was young to
die--barely forty years of age--but ripe enough for the greedy grasp
of Death. Louis II.’s fame was that of a “loyal Sovereign, a righteous
man, a true spouse, and an affectionate father.”