Part 2

Of a truth I scarce drew breath for the next ten days, since we were to go forth straightway, and there was hurly-burly to get us furnished forth. At the end of that time we set out towards Paris, my Lord Comte sending five hundred lances to safeguard my Lady, and the Duc de Berry sending as many more, with litters, chariots, jewels, and fine robes to meet us on our way. I have not speech to tell how fine we fared on that journey. At every halt great silken tents were spread, my Lord Duc had sent minstrels for to sing at my Lady’s pleasure, and there were litters hung with scarlet and gold to carry her when she was a-weary. There were women to wait on her, pages to run her bidding, and Jehan, chief of them all, always at hand, with a chain of bright gold about his neck, to show his new rank.

III

When we came nigh Paris, word came from my Lord Duc that we were to halt at the Abbey of St. Denis, whither the King and Queen and the Ducs de Berry and Burgundy, with my Lady’s father, were to come to welcome us.

When my Lady heard that her father was to come also, she turneth to me, who knew that she had not seen him since she was a small babe of three. “By my faith, Jehan,” quoth she, “I fear my own father more than the lord I am to marry, since he is the greater stranger of the two. Why think you he cometh?”

“Truth, I know not, my Lady,” say I; and it was not till later that it was known that this strange father, hearing of his daughter’s beauty and that she was to wed his friend the Duc de Berry, came forth from Paris with the King and Queen to look on her.

We lay that night at the Abbey, and before we went to rest heard mass in the cathedral itself. Never had I dreamed that so noble a building had been made by men’s hands. And this was but the beginning. Gold and silver statues stood on the great altar; great coloured stones the names of which I knew not, sparkled on the cups and dishes of gold that were used for the holy offices, while the books that the holy fathers held in their hands, as well as their robes and mitres, gave forth sparkles like unto a rainbow. After the mass they took my Lady to show her the treasures, and I, following behind, saw with these eyes, that had never thought to see such things, the great golden sword of King Charlemagne, and so many other wonders of gold and jewels that my mind could hold them not.

What made my blood to stir most amid all that world of rich and holy things, was a banner that hung high over the great altar. Torn it was, yet in its folds glowed the colour of flame; and one of the good fathers turning to me, who stood with mouth agape, I doubt not, asked,—

“Good lad, knowest thou what banner hangest there?”

“Nay, father,” answered I, “and how should I, since I am but newly come from the far-away castle of Orthez, which, as thou knowest, lies in the lonely marches to the west.”

“Look, son,” then spoke he, “at the greatest treasure of France. ’Tis the Oriflamme, that sacred banner which hath led her hosts so oft to victory.”

And as I looked on it, and knew how many brave knights had found death under its folds, my heart was fuller than ever before. For what is more noble than to give one’s life for one’s country? Even a poor page may do that, though he may never hope to fall under a banner which may be borne only by princes and nobles. That night I slept on a monk’s pallet, spread on the floor of the passage without my Lady’s door, yet were my dreams always of war and clashings of arms, and there floated ever through my visions that wonderous banner of flame-colour.

Next morn we were all astir with the dawn. ’Twas my task to see that my Lady’s litter had been made fresh and seemly, that the pages were all point device in their looks, so that we should not bear our part ill before the nobles coming from Paris to greet us.

About sunset they arrived. The King rode at the head of them all, with his two uncles on either hand, the Duc de Berry on the right and the Duc de Burgoyne on the left. Behind came the Queen and her ladies in an open car, and on either side rode the great lords, two by two, carrying their swords and shining in their armour of gold.

The Duc de Berry cometh forward and, taking my Lady by the hand, led her to the King, who kissed her on the brow, and then took her to the Queen. They were so handsome, these two, the Queen and my Lady, that all marvelled thereat. Queen Isabeau was of a fairness like unto milk and roses, while my Lady, who stood a full hand taller, was of a dark brownness, which looked but the darker beside the golden-haired Queen. Shortly the Queen turneth to a tall and dark noble who stood behind her, and saith she with a smile,—

“Well, Comte, hast thou naught to say?”

Then he came forward, and taking the hand of my Lady in his, looketh her long in the face. At last he looks less stern, and then he saith,

“If thou hadst looked like thy mother, child, thou and I hadst not met to-day. But I see well thou art my own child, and carry in thy brow and eyes the colour of a true daughter of Auvergne.”

One needed only to look at them as they stood side by side, to see that they were of one race. He, like the King, kisseth my Lady on the brow, and then he turneth to the Duc de Berry, and placing in his hand the little one of my Lady, he saith,—

“One may not wonder longer at your choice, my Lord Duc.”

This night, like the last one, we lay in the Abbey, but there was feasting and gaiety, at least as much as seemed good in a holy house. Then next day we took our way to Paris, my Lady riding in the car with the Queen and her ladies, and I looked on her with marvel to see how one who had scarce seen aught but a squire’s lady and the wenches about the castle, and those who had taught us, could bear herself so bravely, as if all her life she had known aught but courts.

Then after a brief space cometh the marriage at Paris, where King Charles himself giveth the bride away. For five days there were masques and feastings, balls and jousts, in which even the King takes a part. Many of these balls were at the Palace of St. Pol, where lived the King and Queen; some there were at the Hôtel de la Reine Blanche, where dwelt the Queen of Navarre, and there were others yet at the Hôtel de Nesle which the Duc de Berry gave to my mistress, the Duchess Eleonore, for her wedding gift.

Methought we had been merry at Orthez, but at Paris it was like a minstrel’s tale!

Who can wonder that my mistress was happy? She sang and danced, my Lord Duc adored her, everybody loved her for her sweet and gentle ways, and there were none about the palace but that she knew and cared for.

“Jehan,” she saith to me one day, “art thou happy here?”

“Yea, mistress, since this great city is to be my home.”

“Dost thou never think of those days when we trained the dogs at Orthez?”

“Faith an’ I do, mistress, though it is but seldom, and I love the brave doings here. Besides, where thou goest, there must Jehan follow.”

The days slipped away and were none too long. I fed the pet squirrel with its collar of fair pearls which the King had given to my mistress, and the monkey too, and the flying birds, for my mistress loved ever to have antic creatures about her. At the hunts I ride close at hand, and as at Orthez, where my mistress the Duchess goeth, there goeth Jehan. Once when we chased the deer at Val-la-Reine, the stag, a-weary and dazed, took refuge in a barn. Our King, the Well-beloved, crieth out,—

“Spare him, spare him,” for the huntsmen ran into the barn to cut the poor beast’s throat. Then saith the King from his kind heart,—

“Never shall this deer be hunted more. His life shall be his own from this day forth.”

Saying which, he pulled from his saddle-cloth a splendid fleur-de-lys, and turned to some of his men for a chain with which to hang it on the creature’s neck. None had one; so my Duchess took from her own neck a chain of gold, and it was hanged about the deer’s neck to show that it was the King’s, and none might do it ill.

Each day there was some new sport, and I had scant time to do aught but follow my mistress. As one morn she stood playing with the monkey, a beast that had no regard for my fingers, but was ever pleased to be petted by my Duchess, my Lady’s eyes roved to the beds of gay posies that bloomed without on the terrace. They put to shame the ones we tended in the old days by the castle wall, but my Duchess cried,—

“There is not a posy here as bright as the poppies that grew at Orthez, nor one so white as the gillyflowers. ’Twas a pretty garden, and I loved it well. Yet I cannot say but what I love these too.”

She stepped out on the terrace, and called back over her shoulder,—

“See that the cup of gold that the monkey broke be mended.” I loved not this task, since it seemed a shame to me that so grievous a beast should have his food from so fair a cup, while many of his betters had none.

Soon after my mistress was wedded to my Lord Duc, the great fair of St. Denis was set out in the meadow, “Pré aux Clercs.” Thither went we with the King, Queen, and all the court. Such marvels as were spread out there for sale! Jewels and stuffs wrought with gold and gems; pictures and holy books painted in colours and with gold; carvings made from wood, and from the great white teeth of strange beasts which they saith live in the sea; cups of gold shaped like unto lilies and roses; swords and spears, battle-axes and shields, armour and horse-trappings, till one knew not which way to turn.

If it was a fine show in daytime, my certes, what a sight it was at night! Every stall was ablaze with torches, and there were crowds of strange peoples of divers colours and from far-away lands, with soldiers and singers on every hand.

My mistress had never seen before such a sight, no more than I; and she chose many a rich and curious toy, and my Lord Duc smiled, and gave her all her heart’s desire.

Yet think not that my Lady had ever gauds and merry doings in her mind. Being but young, she loved these well, as what young maid does not? But her heart was ever loyal to her friends, as presently I shall set forth.

IV

It befell, after we had dwelt three years in Paris, and my Duchess was just turned of fifteen, that there was tumult at the court. King Charles the Well-beloved, whose fits of madness caused so much havoc (owing to the mischief wrought by his uncles when he was too ill of mind and body to rule himself) was again out of his mind.

The Seigneur de la Rivière, whom my Duchess had ever loved since he had arranged her marriage and fetched her to Paris to my Lord the Duc de Berry, was, by the order of the Duc de Burgundy, seized and held to die. His friends, lest they too should suffer for’t, feared to help him. The King, as hath been said, was ill; the Queen cared not what happened so long as she was not irked. But my Duchess clenched her little hand and saith,—

“He shall not die!”

Just how to serve him she knew not; so she cometh to her Lord, the Duc de Berry, and cast herself on her knees before him.

“Oh, dear my lord,” cried she, sobbing, “this man who hath done no wrong, and whom we know and love, must die, since none but I durst speak for him.”

The Duc, who loved her well, raised her and saith,—

“Take comfort, dear one.”

“But, my Lord, what comfort is there for me, when one who gave me happiness and thee, is in danger of his life, and for no wrongdoing, neither?”

“Dear heart,” answered my Lord the Due, “I too love him, since he brought thee to me, and what man can do, that will I for thy sake and his.”

“If he be not saved, then will I sorrow always,” wept my Duchess.

My Lord Duc went forth, and though the King was only at times come to his wits again, my Lord got from him a command that the Seigneur de la Rivière should be sent overseas, and not slain.

This did but half content my mistress. When the King grew well again, my Duchess plead with him so prettily, that as he loved right well to pleasure her, he allowed the Seigneur de la Rivière to come home, and to him restored all his castles and his wealth. Greatly my mistress rejoiceth, and giveth thanks to both her Lord and the King.

Now the Seigneur, when once more in honour and in wealth he came to his home, in token for his thanks for all she had wrought in his behalf, brought to my mistress a coffer filled with rich gifts. The coffer was in itself a marvel, since it was painted all over with little flying boys, who bore in their hands flowers and wreaths. All the rest of it was like unto gold, and it stood upon four feet cut in the shape of great paws.

When the coffer was opened, there seemeth no end to the splendid things my mistress brought forth,—tissues glistening like moonbeans, wrought stuffs of many colours, and chains and jewels. Chiefest amongst the rich treasures was a length of velvet from the great city called Genoa, the mate to which was not in all the court. It was blue in colour, the which my mistress ever loveth,—just the shade of the sky of a sunny day at noon. Wrought all over it in threads of purest silver were flying doves. My faith, it seemeth as if their long wings fairly moved!

“Oh,” cried my Duchess Eleonore, “never was such a lovely robe seen before, and it cometh just in time, too, since the ball that Queen Blanche giveth to the Queen’s maid on her marriage will be shortly.”

My Duchess had the velvet fashioned into a robe so splendid that all marvelled. It fell from her shoulders and flowed three metres’ length upon the floor, and the doves of silver fluttered and shone with every step she taketh. Above her brow rose the tall hennin that Queen Isabeau so loved to wear and to have the ladies of her court wear also, and from this fell a veil of silver like unto the doves.

The night of the ball was at hand, and none looking on my stately Duchess would deem that she had but fifteen years. So heavy was the robe, and of such length, that as I walked behind I bore it for her.

The palace shone bravely with torches and flambeaux set in the wall, and borne in the hands of many lackeys all about the rooms. Our King, the Well-beloved, no longer ill, was full of pleasure at the masques which had been planned for this ball. He was scarce older than was I, since he was but nineteen years, and when he was not ill, ever loved to mingle in all the sports going forward.

The dancing had come to an end. Quickly a space was cleared, and as I stood behind my Lady, a loud voice crieth out,—

“The wild men, the wild men! Give the wild men room!”

Of a truth they were frightful to see,—five chained together, led by a sixth who leaped along in front shouting, all of them being covered with long shaggy hair after the manner of some strange beasts.

As the mummers passed, for they were but dressed to look like wild men, I tweaked betwixt finger and thumb a bit of the fur, and lo, it was but ravelled tow. Now I knew right well why the word had been passed that none with lights should move about the room. With what wild shouts did the mummers leap here and there amongst the guests! Some were affrighted and ran screaming away. The leader of them all runneth up to my mistress.

“Dost thou know me?” cried he.

Right firmly she held him by the hand.

“Not yet,” saith she, “but shall ere I let thee go.”

Then my blood froze with the horror of a scream I heard, then another and another. In an instant mummers, guests, room, and all were in a blaze. One of the company, to see the mummers better, had seized a torch and held it near them. The tow sprang into flame, and the five men who were tied together were instantly on fire and shrieking out. One only loosed himself and ran and plunged into a tank for washing of the silver, and which happened to be full of water.

All through the tumult and cries there stood my Duchess mid the flying brands, which I fought as best I might with cap and hands.

“Come away,” I cried, “oh, mistress, come.”

“Nay, help me to save him, Jehan,” was what she whispered back.

Her fair veil shrivelled with the heat, the flying slivers blistered her arms and neck. Cries of “The King, the King, save the King,” grew loud and louder. Queen Isabeau fainted, yet my brave Duchess stood there till every flying spark had been stamped out, holding gathered about her the heavy velvet robe. When at last the fire was all subdued, she threw aside the blue robe that had been so fair, and there under its scorched folds, in his monstrous suit of tow, knelt the King, safe and unharmed.

“Hasten, Sire,” cried she, “the Queen waiteth you. Throw over you Jehan’s cloak lest some wanton spark fly near you.”

The King hurried away, and then think not but that I hastened to get my mistress home. And oh, my Lord’s pride in my Lady!

And oh, the King’s words when he came next morn to thank her, kneeling on one knee to kiss her hand!

The sky-blue robe, say you? What became of that?

My mistress packed it away in the coffer that had brought it from Genoa, with her own hands, and from that time my Lord taketh for his pennon one of sky-blue ground with a silver dove set in its midst.

THE PRINCESS WINS _1417_

I

In my own youthful days, when turning over the leaves of storybooks, I used to pause at those tales which began “Once upon a time.” I always had a feeling that there was something of the fairy-tale about stories which began in this fashion, and I should like so to begin this day.

For truly the story I am about to tell you is but one incident in the life of a girl whose whole career was so full of ups and downs—alas, most often downs,—that it reads, even in the solemn old Dutch documents, like the most fanciful tale of the imagination.

When she died at thirty-seven, it seems as if our Jacqueline had dared everything and lost,—lost kingdom, home, and friends. Yet even in a life so full of disaster there were some bright spots, and in this story you will hear how once at least our Princess wins.

She was born, our heroine, at her father’s palace at The Hague on St. James’ Day, 1401. The little girl was baptised Jacoba, in honour of the holy day of her birth, Jacobus being the Latin form of the name James. Gradually Jacoba was changed into the French form of Jacqueline, though in the strange old documents of the times her name is written as Jacob, or Jacque, or sometimes Madam Jake, and often as Jaque de Bavière.

Jacqueline was born a princess, and when she was three years old, had the title given her of “Daughter of Holland,” as she was the sole heir and successor of her father, William the Sixth, Count of Holland, who on the death of his father had succeeded him as Count of Zealand and Hainault.

In the Middle Ages, when might made right, possessions were held in many cases by him who had the strongest arm, who could muster the greatest number of followers and had the most powerful connections. Marriage with princes who had great possessions of land or would inherit them was one of the ways by which sovereigns of small states strengthened their positions, and this was one reason why mere babies were given in marriage by their parents. You see, the parents could not go to war against each other when it was arranged that their children were to be married when they grew up!

Little Jacqueline was no exception to the rule, and before she was quite five years old was formally betrothed to John, Duke of Tourraine, second son of Charles the Sixth of France, called the “Well-beloved.”

The betrothal of Jacqueline to her bridegroom of nine years old took place in the old French town of Compiègne, where both the French and Dutch courts were present. The fine old palace with its great number of rooms was elegantly furnished for the occasion, and the little Jacqueline had in her company Staes, Jan, and Hans, her drummer, piper, and trumpeter! Now these were very important personages in those times,—they amused the company when there was nothing else to be done, they had their duties among the soldiers; and in some of the old papers which are still preserved, and which show the expenses of this betrothal down to the last groot, it is duly set down that Staes, Jan, and Hans are each to have six French crowns to cover their travelling expenses. This would be equal to about nine dollars of our money.

Neither of the fathers of the two children was present at the betrothal, for King Charles had one of his attacks of insanity, and Count William had been bitten by a dog, and was not able to be there, either.

But the mothers had seen to it that nothing was lacking to make the ceremony a handsome one. The Dutch expense account tells of new clothes for everybody connected with Jacqueline, even those who had to stay at home having wedding garments and fine new hat-bands.

When the betrothal ceremonies were over, the young bridegroom was handed over to Jacqueline’s mother, and the two children were taken home to Holland to be brought up together.

From time to time they had presents sent to them from their subjects, which seem more like taxes than free gifts, and which were duly set down in the archives. For instance, there were fish and wine for John, and there were many ells of “very fine cloth of silk” for Madam Jake. They had a special dispensation sent them, too, so that they could eat meat on fast-days; and this dispensation was extended also to the napkin-bearer, the cook, and ten other servants who had to taste the dishes beforehand.

You see, our Jacqueline lived in the days when people were sometimes poisoned by their enemies, so that royalty had “tasters,” who ate of every dish before it was placed on the table for their Majesties to eat, and if the tasters did not suffer, why then it was deemed safe for their masters to eat.

Notwithstanding all these things, the children passed many happy years studying French, English, and Latin, and in hunting, hawking, riding on horseback, playing tennis and ball, and, best of all, in skating on the long winding canals. Perhaps they skated the “Dutch Roll,” and Hans, Staes, and Jan went along too, to make things merry with the fife, trumpet, and drum. These were their pleasures. It was a more solemn matter when they had to learn how to rule their kingdoms and subjects, for the little bridegroom stood next but one to the great throne of France, and Jacqueline was heir to her father’s kingdom.

They were married in 1415, when Jacqueline was fourteen years old.

Two years later, her young husband, who, by the death of his elder brother, had become Dauphin and heir to the throne of France, died. The poor lad breathed his last at Compiègne, in the very palace where he had been betrothed, whether by poison or from getting overheated at tennis, none can say, but at any rate while he was away from his wife and from his family.

As if this was not enough, just two months later, Count William, the kind and loving father of Jacqueline, died also. The poor girl, without father or husband to protect her or her possessions, turned to her Fatherland to pronounce her sovereign of Zealand and Hainault.

But there were others who had their eyes and minds fixed on the sturdy little kingdom, and, truth to tell, they were the last persons one would suspect of such ideas, since they were Jacqueline’s own kinsfolk. But so it was; and in order to strengthen her position, and to allow her subjects to know and love her and to pay her their vows of fealty, Jacqueline, as was the custom in those times, started on a “progress,” or tour through her various cities.

These royal progresses were very splendid affairs, we can hardly imagine them now, and on this occasion Jacqueline’s mother bore her company, and there were many of her most powerful nobles as well.