This was the last public appearance of Queen Jehanne. She retired to her Castle of Beaufort, and there she spent the residue of her life, eighteen long and solitary years—years never idle, never self-indulgent, years loyal to the fond memory of her spouse, years yearning for reunion. The day Jehanne entered her new home was St. Luke’s festival, 1481, the second summer of the year, when the last grapes hang ripened upon the vines, and the year’s vintage is gathered in. Perhaps the simile from Nature enforced itself upon the widowed Queen’s sympathetic mind. Her harvest was now that of the quiet eye; its growth had been when eye met eye—hers and René’s; now was approaching the winter of her life, when her work was to be finished and her rest full-garnered.
Jehanne chose as the companions of her widowhood three trusty servitors—René de Breslay, her Seneschal; Thibault de Cossé, her Master of the Household; and Bernard de Praneas, her Confessor. She spent her time in prayer and charity. She established hostels for poor people, for pilgrims and the sick; schools for children left orphans, and for those cast upon the world by miserable parents. Besides these pious works, the good Queen preserved her interest in such arts and crafts as she and René had encouraged in Provence. She studied once more books and sciences he had loved, she painted miniatures, composed madrigals and hymns, and sang and played as she had done for him, and her pen became that of the ready writer. She translated Guillaume de Guillerville’s tragedy, “The Pilgrimage of Human Life”; “The Soul separated from the Body,” a poem by Jehan Galoppez, a priest of Angers and her Private Secretary; and a moralization upon “The Certainty of Paradise.” All her works were, however, in prose, which, she said “conservez le sens et les images, mais déliverez moi du martelage et des grimaces de ce baragouin!”[A]
[A] “Preserve the sense and the shape, but protect me from forced metaphor and gibberish!”
Perhaps the action which most endeared the memory of the good Queen to the hearts and minds of the people about her was the extraordinary pains she took to alleviate taxation and to readjust tribute. When René took over the estate in 1471, he made vast reductions in the imposts on land and stock and crop. These were confirmed by Queen Jehanne ten years later, and further reductions were conceded. Her plea to herself was: “Now René is no more, I have no other rôle to play but to do as he would have wished me.” The Forest of Beaufort, where René and she had followed the chase in princely fashion, now no longer echoed the blast of hunting-horns and the cracks of hunting-whips, but with the gentle notes of the Angelus, and when the curfews rang out in neighbouring village and homestead, they carried with them the refrain, “Priez pour la bonne Jehanne.”
These soft nocturnes and sweet visions of ancient days still linger in Anjou. The memory of the Queen of Sicily, Jehanne, is cherished, and almost a proverb it has become, that all good things done in that rich province are due to the watchful spirit of the Queen. In this connection a very weird narrative may be told. In 1469 Guillaume de Harancourt, Bishop of Verdun, invented a cage of wood and iron for refractory criminals. One such was sent to Angers, which after Jehanne’s death became known as the “cage of the Queen of Sicily.” It was said that Jehanne had been put therein wearing wooden sabots. The why and wherefore of her incarceration was perfectly uncertain, but the sabots are to-day in Angers Museum; the cage has disappeared. Another version has it that King René had among his wild creatures at Reculée and elsewhere a very ferocious eagle which he could not tame, and so the bird was sent to Angers and placed in the Bishop’s wood and iron cage, and dubbed “La Reine”—“The Queen”! This bird of prey deserved the name; its appetite was prodigious. In Les Comptes, among other entries referring to “her Majesty,” is—“June 3, 1474, ‘La Reine’ has a whole sheep day by day.” This is quaint indeed, but characteristic of stories and storytellers!
Queen Jehanne died at the Castle of Beaufort, December 19, 1498,—as the chroniclers tell us,—“in the odour of sanctity and with all the consolations of Holy Church.”
The Queen’s will—a most lengthy document—contains many affecting and many quaint bequests. She first of all commends herself conventionally to the Almighty, and then goes on to indicate her desire to be laid not far from “Marie of blessed memory”—her consort’s grandmother, Marie de Blois-Châtillon—“before the altar where is laid my lord and consort,” and she warns all and sundry against laying any other bodies there. Her heart she bequeaths to the Chapel of St. Bernardin, within the Church of the Cordeliers at Angers, to be placed beside that of René. She directs that her body shall be covered with a pall of black silk, and that at her funeral six poor religious should attend habited in black, and each bearing a flaming torch. Her heart and René’s should repose upon a pall of cloth of gold embroidered in crimson, and bearing their joined shields of arms. Lights shall always burn in front of the tomb and the cardial reliquary. She instructs her brother and nephew, Seigneurs de la Roche and de Montafiland, to hand over to the Chapter of St. Maurice in Angers 200 livres tournois (circa £120) to pay for her burial cortège, and for Mass, absolutions, vespers, and bells. Particularly she notes her preference for flags of bougran—stuff (?)—over silken banners.
The day after her interment the Queen directs that with reverent ritual a crown shall be placed over her head like that she placed over René’s, upon their monument. Certain saintly relics which he and she had been the means of rescuing from sacrilege, and had deposited in the Church of St. Tugal de Laval, shall be displayed gratuitously to “such dames comtesses as may wish to become mothers.” Her “Breviary,” “Psalter,” “Hours,” and other books of devotion, she bequeaths to the Church of St. Tugal de Laval, for the use of daughters of her father’s house at their marriage or when residing in Laval. Two gold rings she particularly desires to be placed upon the relics of St. Nicholas d’Angers, within his reliquary: “one, my wedding-ring, which my very redoubtable lord and consort,—whom God absolve,—placed upon my finger at our nuptials, with a small heart of diamonds and enamelled with deep red roses.” The other ring had a large diamond mounted on a fleur-de-lis, and the band bore the enamelled arms of Anjou. Queen Jehanne did not forget her friends and attendants; for example, among very many legacies, she left 200 livres tournois each to three ladies: Jacqueline de Puy du Jour, Catherine Beaufilz, and “ma petite” Gindine de la Jaille, to provide them with trousseaux upon marriage.
The body of the Queen was reverently shrouded in a plain linen chemise, such as that with which she herself had assisted to cover King René’s corpse, and over it was placed his robe of state. Hers was the last lying in state of a Queen of Sicily, and every mark of homage and respect was rendered her remains by high and low. Peasants and citizens conspired together to show their grateful sense of her virtues and her benefactions, and the country road from Beaufort to Angers was lined with sympathetic crowds of mourners. Her passing was in the night time,—so consonant with her love of seclusion and simplicity,—and the whole country-side was ablaze with torches and bonfires. The Queen’s burial was at St. Maurice’s Cathedral, in the tomb of her consort; whilst her heart,—“so full of love and so tenderly beloved,”—in a golden casket exactly like that of the King, was placed next his in the Chapel of St. Bernardin. Upon a memorial tablet was inscribed the epitaph: “Here lies the Heart of the very high and puissant Princess, Jehanne de Laval, second wife of King René, and daughter of Guy, Count de Laval.”