This was King René’s Anjou tournament, famous, with those in Lorraine and Provence, as the most brilliant ever seen in France. The “Lists” in the Anjou tournament were held in turn at Angers, Chinon, and Saumur, and it was at the latter gathering of chivalry, in 1446, that every knight and squire, every dame and damsel, turned in amazement as they beheld “a very young girl of most graceful shape and bearing, covered with a thin veil, and wearing silken garments sparkling with precious stones, riding most easily up to the tribune of honour.” The colours of her habit were blue and white—blue, as tender as her eyes; white, fair as her skin. The reins and crupper of her palfrey were decked with ribbons, blue and white, and he bore nodding feathers upon his head-piece. At each side walked her brothers Guy and Pierre, decked, too, in Laval colours, the most good-looking and best dressed of all the pages, holding the horse’s snaffle. By way of suite there rode behind Jehanne de Laval,—for such was the beauteous maiden’s name,—four maids of honour, each one a comely feature of a picture pageant. Amid exclamations of admiration and most pleasant greetings, the charming cavalcade described the circuit of the festival ground, and then its “Queen” leaped lightly to her feet, and, advancing to the royal stand, made curtsies to the Queens of Sicily and France, and to Charles and René, their royal consorts.
Young knights and old came flocking round the “Fairy Queen,” and she, naïve and winsome, cast furtive glances here and there, until her bonnie blue eyes fastened themselves upon the young Count of Nevers, and he delightedly stepped forth to cavalier her to her seat amid the throng of beauty and fair fame upon the ladies’ seats of honour. He was still a parti in spite of his rejection as suitor for the hand of Princess Margaret, and his handsome looks and gallant bearing stood him in good stead where amorous maidens forgathered. King René,—ever susceptible to female charms, both of mind and body,—did not behold the fair Demoiselle de Laval unmoved; he had a tender spot in his great loving heart for any attractive damsel; what healthy-minded man has not? He could not know that that pretty, clever hand, which so skilfully managed her curvetting cob, would one day take his in hers for better, and not for worse!
The coming of young Jehanne de Laval to the tournament at Saumur provided the sensation of the day’s exploits. The highest honour, which the assembled knights before the encounters in the “Lists” began could confer, was hers by universal acclamation. She was to be the lady bearer of the champion’s crest, and, as “Queen of Queens,” to affix the coveted guerdon of victory upon the helm of the most successful knight. This election was preceded by a characteristic observance, true to the pure spirit of chivalry. Each knight had to kneel before an altar for the blessing of his weapons, and for the mental registration of his suffrage for the “Queen.” She was “the lady of his thought.” So, certainly, the beauteous apparition of the young daughter of Guy de Laval caused many a misgiving in the hearts of gallant men. The “Lady” each had chosen none divulged by name, but, all the same, Cupid had done so to the ears of curious friends and foes. The wholesale desertion of their chosen divinities might very well account for hard looks and frowns from emulous maidens:—all we know, is not gold that glitters!
The precious gage d’amour et de guerre, the champion’s crest, took the form of a small gold crown, heavily jewelled, from which sprang, retained by wires of gold, three pure white curled feathers of the crested heron. It was awarded to the knight whose bearing in the “Lists” had been the most gallant, and whose victories over adversaries had been most effective, and who had thereby gained the unanimous votes of the tournament judges. Other prizes there were of scarcely less distinction: the first, a golden lance in miniature, to the knight who administered the most brilliant blow and in the shortest time; the second, a rich ruby valued at 1,000 écus d’or,—for mounting in his helm,—for the breaker of the most lances; and the third, a pure diamond of a similar value, for him who lasted out the longest before being vanquished by his opponent’s lance.
The “Bringing in the Champion’s Crest” was a remarkably pretty ceremony. The “Queen of Beauty,” attended by two maids of honour, all clad in full state robes, with towering hennins, and wearing superb jewels and ornaments, were escorted to a chamber of preparation, within the castle, immediately before the closing banquet of the tournament. There a procession was marshalled; pages of the contestant knights, arrayed in their proper colours and wearing ermine mantles, danced gaily before the “Queen of Beauty,” and knelt as she advanced, bearing the flashing crest upon an embroidered scarf. Pursuivants, heralds, and kings-of-arms, swelled the glittering progress with tabards, wands, and crowns. Masters of the ceremony were in attendance on the “Queen.” All moved with grace and dignity to the banqueting-hall, which they traversed up to the royal daïs, accompanied by attendants bearing great flaring torches and waxen candles. Everybody rose at the entry of the procession, and the Prince of highest rank handed the “Queen” to her special seat, whence she might receive the homage of the knightly company, and bestow upon the champion the crest she bore. Strident music and the blare of brazen horns filled the great hall, and the high-pitched roof re-echoed the plaudits of the company.
The “Grand Prix” was gained neither by King René nor by King Charles. The former, indeed, caused a sensation by appearing in black tournament armour, his shield studded with silver spangles; his lance was black, and his charger caparisoned in a black housing, which trailed the ground. René was mourning still for his good mother, Queen Yolande, and for his second son of promise rare, Louis, Marquis of Pont-à-Mousson. The “Champion of Champions” was not the Count of Nevers,—perhaps to Jehanne’s regret,—but Louis de Beauvau; whilst the second prize fell to Robert de Florigny, and the third to Ferri de Vaudémont. These famous tournaments did not lack the assistance by illustration of painters; Jehannot le Flament,—better known nowadays as Jan van Eyck,—King René’s master at Bar-le-Duc, was in attendance on his royal pupil, and painted at least two considerable pictures of the pageants. Alas! those valuable paintings are lost to us.
Well, the “Lists” were over, and the world and his wife resumed their usual avocations, and Jehanne de Laval went home once more with her parents, to finish her education and to be provided with a husband. And now the chroniclers of such events as matrimony fail us. Very well we might have expected the announcement of the “Fairy Queen’s” betrothal immediately after that famous tournament. But no—and in vain we search for the reason. Jehanne was not espoused. Some have said that Count Guy, seeing King René’s unconcealed admiration for his captivating little daughter, and bearing to his beloved companion in peace and war well-worn confidence, conceived a romantic dream. Queen Isabelle was said to be very delicate. She might die young, and then Jehanne might be René’s solace and his love! Whether the King and the maiden met again and often we do not know. Very likely indeed they did, for Jehanne and Margaret d’Anjou were playmates, and Laval was not so very far from Angers. This is a dream, of course.
There is a touching story which connects Jehanne de Laval with another Margaret—Margaret of Scotland, the virtuous and accomplished spouse of Louis the Dauphin, and a great favourite with King Charles and Queen Marie. The unhappy Princess died of poison at Sarry-le-Château on August 16, 1445—poison administered, it was understood, by her unscrupulous husband. She was only twenty-three years of age, but had been Dauphiness for eight years—years of neglect and cruelty. Among the suite which gathered around the bonnie Scottish Princess were young girls, and of these one was Jehanne de Laval, of whom Margaret made a special pet, and shared with her her meals and leisure. Some candies were given to the children by the Princess, who rejected them as tasting bitter. Margaret, to allay their mistrust, ate a number, and she sickened and died. Her last words were: “A curse on life! Don’t trouble me about it.” This lamentable cry was drawn from her through the false aspersions on her honour raked up against her by her husband. Marriage was indeed a failure to Margaret of Scotland, for “there was no one she dreaded,” says de Commines, “like my lord the Dauphin.”
The next scene wherein Jehanne de Laval is recorded to have been a participant was the obsequies of Queen Isabelle of Sicily-Anjou and Naples. We may, however, be quite certain that she was not absent very far what time that excellent Princess was in Angers attending to the education of her family. They were all of near age to the daughter of Count Guy. Yolande d’Anjou was five years her senior, and Margaret no more than four. Be this as it may, King René, anyhow, was not very much in Anjou; his brain and hands were full of warlike things, and embarrassed by lack of means.
René d’Anjou, King and Duke, the preux chevalier of all the beautiful women in his dominions, did not fail to excite feelings of admiration and of a profounder passion in the pulsating hearts of the amorous women and girls of Genoa. There he was received with acclamations by warrior men, and with kisses by their wives and sweethearts. A foreign Prince, especially if he had gained renown in love and war, was always welcomed enthusiastically by the strong-blooded Ligurians. The customary characteristic offering of the city,—a maiden or two of high birth,—was at the King’s disposal. Their names, alas! have not been recorded, but René showed his appreciation of his host’s magnificent and patriarchal hospitality by despatching, on November 10, 1447, four splendid collars of beaten gold, with medallions of himself, to Tommaso Spinola, Giacomo Fiesco, Tommaso Fregoso, and Francesco Doria, fathers of his innamorate. The historians of Genoa all wrote sententiously of the royal visitor: “Every woman, even the poorest, put on a new guise,—pure white raiment,—in compliment to the Holy Maid’s lieutenant, and all wore ornaments of pure gold in token of their love for her, and for him their favour. Tournament, dance, and song, made the city a rare paradise of joy.” The daughters of Genoa,—true daughters of Eve,—ever evoked the encomiums of all, as the following quaint quintet, in perhaps dubious parlance, affirms: