Filled it was with imagery,
Every window by and by;”—
the poetry of which is of as poor a quality as was probably the glass in the oriel. We must not forget to add, that there was as much sewing as romping, and an abundance of both among the young princesses (of whom there was a noisy abundance too) in the “Maiden’s Hall” at Westminster Palace; and that Eleanor is immortalized as the only sovereign who bequeathed “a legacy to William, her tailor.”
When she died, Edward made solemn oath of sempiternal grief, and in a week or two, took to flirting. Ultimately he espoused Marguerite of France; and the match was so happy a one that the two consorts bore their respective arms in one scutcheon, in testimony of their entente cordiale. Those particular gentlemen, the heralds, were in a sort of delirium tremens at this innovation; but they were almost as little cared for then as now. Marguerite and Edward were a worthy couple. Edward, indeed, slaughtered all the inhabitants of Berwick for calling him “Longshanks;” but nobody thought the worse of him for that. As for Marguerite, she is distinguished for her taste,—her double taste, in dressing becomingly, and paying regularly. She never omitted acquitting a debt at proper time, but once; and this so alarmed John of Cheam, her creditor and goldsmith, that out of fear that the fashion of long credit was coming in again, he besought the king, “for God’s sake, and the soul of his father, King Henry, to order payment.” The prayer was heeded; and I may further notice, as creditable to Marguerite especially, that she willingly consented to be Queen without a coronation, as the then present poverty of the finances offered an obstacle to the ceremony.
Isabelle of France, the consort of Edward II., was a lady of another quality. Her outfit, when it was displayed in London, perfectly astounded the beholders. The Queen of Fairyland could have had nothing more splendid; and mortal wives could not have been more usefully endowed. The ladies of households, as they talked the matter over at their own chimneys, expatiated on the hundreds of yards of linen for the bath, and the six dozen French nightcaps. These were pronounced “loves;” and every unmarried daughter, whose heart wore the figure of a bachelor knight, determined that when another night arrived, her head should wear nothing less than a “coiffe de nuit à la Reine.”
Philippa of Hainault, Queen of Edward III., ranks among the reasonable as well as the glorious ladies. She was simple in her dress and gentle to the maids who decked her. While she dressed not beneath her dignity, she was mindful that a plain dignity suited best a Queen whose crown had been pawned, for the same reason that less noble persons pawn their spoons. In her later days, she fell into dropsy and a loose style of covering it.
Richard II. pledged half his own jewels to pay for his bride and bridal,—the former was Anne of Bohemia. This lady was not only a member of the Order of the Garter, but she was attended by ladies who were also associates of that noble company,—pleasanter associates there could not have been; and I wish that the fashion were still observed, and that I could enumerate some of my fair friends on the roll; and then we might ride double to the festival, for
“This riding double was no crime
In the great King Edward’s time.
No brave man thought himself disgraced