Women of England

by Bartlett Burleigh James

To all who shall this story find

They owe them all to womankind."

The limits of the manor formed the horizon of its women; the men frequently had to make long journeys in the pursuit of their larger concerns, and were often in foreign lands serving as soldiers or crusaders. But the lack of variety in the lives of the women was more than compensated for by the opportunities which were furnished them by quiet and seclusion for the improvement of their minds and the cultivation of those finer qualities of character which are the basis of the refinement and good manners of the cultivated English women of the present day. It is not too much to say of the Middle Ages that without the peculiar circumstances of manorial living, the culture, confidence, self-containment, and initiative of the English woman would not have become as they are—her predominant characteristics. So effectual, indeed, were the conditions of the times for seclusion, and so greatly were its privileges appreciated, that it could be said of many a fine lady, as was asserted of Lady Joan Berkeley, that she never "humored herselfe with the vaine delightes of London and other cities," and never travelled ten miles from her husband's houses in Somerset and Gloucester.

The life of the manors was not, however, a round of tireless industry. The ruddy-cheeked, simple-minded English women of the better class were possessed of a redundant vitality and a fund of joyousness and humor which sought and found expression in a variety of healthful outdoor recreations, as well as indoor amusements. The pleasing art of letter writing had come to hold a position of interest in polite circles; for although the women may not have been skilled with the quill, their letters were nevertheless natural, simple, and sincere, and they were fairly proficient in the art of reading. Their religious duties occupied a part of each day, as did their visitation of the homes of the dependants on the estate; for it was the lady of the manor who was looked to by the poor for herbal medicines and such delicacies as were supplied to the sick. Great ladies sometimes recognized their duties to the poor not only by giving individual doles, but by founding almshouses. Nearly every lady of distinction felt it incumbent upon her to do something for the relief of suffering and distress. It is especially pleasing to know that it was the women whose sensibilities were thus touched, and who were first influenced by the idea of social responsibility for the less fortunate classes of society. The records of the times abound with instances of benevolence in institutional forms. When it was impracticable for her to be her own almoner, the lady employed for the office a monk or a priest, and so associated her charities with the Church, by the teachings of which her impulses were trained. The saints' days were customarily observed by especial and important contributions for the poor.

Were it not for the manors, the Middle Ages would lack almost altogether poetry and literature other than that of the monkish chroniclers. Literature and poetry in this period were chiefly centred around the women of the nobility. It was probably due to the fondness of Henry I. for letters that a literary taste was excited among his queens. The earliest specimens existing of vernacular poetry are some verses addressed to Henry's second spouse, Adeliza. Feminine taste and royal patronage combined to free poetry from the pollution of the minstrel and his circle of vulgar auditors, to cause it to be cultivated by studious men and women, whose tastes had become refined by the study of the Latin classics, and who were themselves emulous of gaining a literary reputation by the cultivation of the art of serious composition.

Vernacular poetry, having the sanction and esteem of the higher circles of life, came to be generally appreciated; and the mind, which is naturally responsive to matters of good taste, was willing to throw aside the incubus of low stories, dependent for their interest upon prurient situations, and to rise to the acceptance of literature whose interest centred around persons and situations that made their appeal by reason of worthiness or dignity. The patronage of letters by the nobility led many, especially ecclesiastics, to develop their talents in that direction. Wace, a canon of Bayeux and a prolific rhymester, expressly states that his works were composed for the "rich gentry who had rents and money." Even the stormy reign of Stephen seems to have been no impediment to the cultivation of the literary taste which had its beginning in the court of Henry I. and in the patronage of his queens. The vernacular histories were either written or rendered into the popular tongue, and in this way became the intellectual property of the female world; they were not infrequently inspired by the wish of some lady—a wish which became the law of the lay or clerical writer.

The story of Eleanor of Aquitaine, the unhappy queen of Henry II., who in her later life frequently signed herself "queen by the wrath of God," illustrates a phase of domestic infelicity which was not without many parallels. It also serves to show that, with the perfervid sentiment of chivalrous devotion to women, it was easy enough to forget the higher demands of faithfulness in the real relations of life. This queen herself was not blameless, and to an extent must be regarded as suffering the penalties of her own indiscretions. The story is almost too familiar to need reciting. She discovered that, although ostensibly Henry's wife, the position was really filled by one with whom the king had previously contracted marriage. The family of Rosamond Clifford was as respectable as and scarcely less illustrious than her own. During a sojourn at Woodstock, the jealous eye of the queen had observed the king following a silk thread through the labyrinth of trees, by which means she came to knew of her rival. The meeting of the two women can better be imagined than described: the queen poured out a torrent of reproaches and invectives, ending by offering to Rosamond the cup of poison or a dagger, and did not leave the place until the victim of her jealousy was no more.

But the tragic death of Rosamond did not serve to enlist for the queen the affections of her consort, nor did it tend to promote her domestic peace. Never was a family so torn by dissension and sin; her children were arrayed against their father and one another, and all were opposed to herself. Her husband added to her many troubles the further shame of installing in her place the wife of his son. Seeking release from a situation past all endurance, she eloped from a castle in Aquitaine, intending to find an asylum in the dominions of King Louis of France, her former husband. She was captured by Henry's myrmidons and thrown into prison, there to remain sixteen years until liberated by her renowned son, Richard Cœur de Lion. The sufferings of her life tempered her spirit and brought her into reliance upon religion for her comfort and strength.

Another example of the high courage and decision of purpose which the life of Eleanor of Aquitaine furnished in its later history is found at a subsequent period in another Eleanor, the daughter of Edward II. This patient, suffering wife, roused to indignant resistance of an unpardonable indignity, exhibited the spirit of an undaunted character. She had been married, at the tender age of fifteen, to the stern Reynald II., Earl of Gueldres and Zutphen. When the large dower she brought her husband had been spent by him, he sought pretext for a divorce from one with whom he could feel no sympathy; but for this her blameless life furnished no excuse. Although the countess was constantly surrounded by spies and her every act and word reported to her lord, she moved with stately dignity in the atmosphere of intrigue and deceit. In default of any other plea, her husband represented to the pope that she was afflicted with leprosy. Arrayed solely in a tunic, and enveloping herself in a capacious mantle, she made her way with majestic mien into the council room of the palace, where the perfidious lord was in consultation with his assembled nobles about the details of the sinister purpose which he was seeking to effect. With the words, "I am come, my beloved lord, to seek a diligent examination respecting the corporeal taint imputed to me," she threw aside the mantle, disclosing the healthy texture of her skin, while a wave of emotion passed over her, and her eyes suffused with tears. "These," she continued, "are my children and yours; do they too share in the blemish of their mother? But it may come to pass that the people of Gueldres may yet mourn our separation, when they behold the failure of our line." Husband and nobles alike were profoundly affected by so sublime an appeal, and the royal pair were reconciled; but the male line of Reynald failed in his son, and the crown passed to the female branch, as though the almost predictive words of the noble English woman were destined to be fulfilled.

Yet another daughter of fair France became the queen of a Plantagenet. Richard II., the last Plantagenet, from the date of his accession, was involved in constant struggles, first with his Parliament, and then with Henry of Lancaster. His first queen, Anne of Bohemia, died in 1394. Richard's thoughts were thereupon directed to the necessity of choosing a second consort. He would consider only Isabelle of Valois, daughter of Charles VI., who was less than nine years old. The marriage was solemnized by proxy, and arrangements were made for the king to repair to Calais and receive his child-bride at the hand of Charles VI. The preliminaries having been completed, the ceremony is thus recorded by Froissart: