MARRIAGE OF THE BLACK PRINCE
It was natural that the king and people of England should at this time
feel anxious that the heir to the crown of the Plantagenets should
unite his fate with some princess worthy of sharing his rank: and, ere
this, several matches which seemed not unsuitable had been proposed.
In the fifth year of King Edward's reign a marriage had been talked
of between his son and a daughter of Philip of Valois; in the twelfth
year of King Edward's reign a marriage was proposed between his son
and a daughter of the Duke of Brabant, and in the nineteenth year
of King Edward's reign, a marriage was proposed between his son and
the daughter of the King of Portugal. But each of these matrimonial
schemes came to naught, and the heir of England, after leading the
van at Cressy, and winning the battle of Poictiers, still remained
without a wife to share his counsels or a son to cheer his hopes.
Nor did he evince any desire to form such an alliance as the nation,
which regarded him with so much pride, seemed to expect; for, from
boyhood, the Prince of Wales had cherished a romantic affection for his
fair cousin Joan, Countess of Kent; and, circumstances having proved
unpropitious to their union, he seemed to steel his heart against any
second attachment. But destiny is stronger than circumstances; and,
after years of melancholy reflection and vain regrets, the prince had,
at length, an opportunity of wedding the lady of his heart.
Joan, Countess of Kent, was a princess of the house of Plantagenet,
and one of the most comely and captivating women of whom England could
boast. Indeed, at an early age her beauty won for her the name of the
Fair Maid of Kent. She was daughter of Edmund, Earl of Kent, son of
the first King Edward, and, having been born about the time when her
father perished on the scaffold, during the domination of Queen Isabel
and Roger de Mortimer, she was, of course, a year or two older than the
hero whose heart she had so thoroughly captivated.
It is said that the course of true love never does run smooth, and of
this the prince and his fair kinswoman were doomed to experience the
truth. In fact, King Edward and Queen Philippa had other views for
their son, and the obstacles in the way of a marriage were such that
the prince despaired of overcoming them; and, while he, debarred from
indulging in the passions of the heart, gave his time and thoughts
to war and ambition, Joan, after waiting for a few years with the
vague hope of some change occurring to render their union possible,
bethought herself of making up for lost time, and so managed matters
that she became the object of contention between two men, each of whom
claimed her as wife. Of these, one was Sir Thomas Holand, a knight of
Lancaster; the other was William, Earl of Salisbury, son of that fair
countess in whose honour King Edward instituted the Order of the Garter.
Naturally the dispute was warm, and caused much scandal; for it
appeared that Joan, after being solemnly betrothed to Salisbury, had
given her hand to Holand, who, albeit of inferior rank, was a handsome
and accomplished chevalier, and when Holand went to the continent
Salisbury took possession of the bride. At length the pope was appealed
to; and his holiness having settled the dispute by pronouncing the
Countess of Kent to be wife of Holand, Salisbury indicated his
acquiescence in the decision by marrying another woman.
Affairs having reached this stage, no hope remained to the Prince of
Wales save to forget the past; and in this respect he, no doubt, did
in some degree succeed. Nevertheless, the romance was not at an end.
Soon after the battle of Poictiers, Holand went the way of all flesh,
and Joan Plantagenet, now thirty-two, but comely and captivating as in
girlhood, was free to give her hand to whom she pleased.
Of course such a woman was not likely to be without wooers, and it
speedily became known that one of the nobles attached to the prince's
service sought her in marriage. This noble was Roger, Lord de Ov. Nor,
in aspiring to the hand of her who had been sung of as the Fair Maid of
Kent, was he deemed guilty of presumption. Young, handsome, courteous
in hall and strong in battle, with a great name and broad baronies, he
was not the person whom the widow of a Holand was likely to reject on
the score of dignity. But it appeared that the widowed countess was
not to be so easily won; and the noble, finding that his suit did not
prosper, implored the prince to interfere in his behalf. The result was
not what might have been anticipated; for the lady rejected the advice
with a disdain which was almost too much for the prince's patience.
"Fair kinswoman," said he, "it seems to me that you scarce know your
own mind."
"My lord," replied the countess with much animation, "never did I know
my mind better: when I was under ward I was disposed of by others, but
now----"
"But now?" said the prince, whose imagination rapidly conducted him
back to the time when he himself was the most ardent of her admirers.
"Now," continued she, making a great effort to speak out, "I am
mistress of my own actions, and I cannot but call to mind that I am of
the royal blood of England. I cannot therefore cast myself away beneath
my rank; and I am fully resolved never to marry again, unless I can
marry a prince of virtue and quality."
Needless would it be to dwell on the scene that followed. Suffice
it to say that as the countess spoke the prince felt the old flame
rekindle in his heart, and when she concluded he was kneeling at her
feet.
But still the course of true love was not to run smooth. No sooner
did the prince set his heart on a union with his fair kinswoman than
formidable obstacles presented themselves. Both the Court and the
Church were decidedly hostile. The king and queen were more averse than
ever to their son wedding a woman whose reputation was not the better
for the wear; and the Church objected, not only on account of the
nearness of blood, but because the prince, by appearing as godfather
to the sons of the countess, had for ever precluded himself from
becoming her husband. Both obstacles, however, were overcome. After
some delay the king and queen gave a reluctant consent; and, after some
persuasion, the pope gave a dispensation and an absolution, to admit of
the marriage being celebrated.
It was in the royal chapel at Windsor that the ceremony took place; and
soon after the Prince and Princess of Wales departed for the castle of
Berkhamstead. For a time they kept their state at that royal manor; but
a Parliament being held in the winter to form establishments for the
king's son, objected to the prince's residing in England.
"We consider," said the Parliament, "that the Prince of Wales keeps a
grand and noble state, as he is well entitled to do, for he is valiant,
and powerful, and rich. But he has a great inheritance in Guienne,
where provisions and everything else abound, and we therefore deem that
he ought to reside in his duchy, which will furnish him with the means
of maintaining as grand an establishment as he likes."
On hearing that such an opinion had been expressed by the Parliament of
England, the Prince of Wales at once consented to repair to Guienne,
and immediately made preparations for the voyage. Before he and the
princess left Berkhamstead, the king and queen visited them at that
manor to say farewell; and it was on this occasion that Sir John
Froissart heard the prophecy which he has inserted in his chronicle of
the wars in England and France.
"A curious thing," says he, "happened on my first going to England,
which I have much thought on since. I was in the service of Queen
Philippa; and when she accompanied King Edward and the royal family
to take leave of the Prince and Princess of Wales at Berkhamstead, on
their departure for Guienne, I heard an old knight, in conversation
with some ladies, say--
"'We have a book called Brut, which, among other predictions, declares
that neither the Prince of Wales, nor any of King Edward's sons, will
be King of England, but that the descendants of the Duke of Lancaster
will reign.'"
But enough. Why should I forestal the day when England had to mourn
the death of her hero, or anticipate the evil times on which his
ill-starred son fell? At present all is hopeful and promising, and no
shadows cross the path of the royal pair as they depart to embark for
the land from which they are to return under circumstances so sad. Away
melancholy memories, and let me still think of him as he was when he
kept his state at the monastery of St. Andrew, ere he marched forth
to win that victory which set his name once more ringing throughout
Europe, and ruined his prospects to re-seat Don Pedro on the throne of
Castille.