The entry of Queen Yolanda (Violante) into Zaragoza was a resplendent function, and, despite their habitual taciturnity, the citizens hailed the lovely consort of their King with heartiest acclamations. In her train came minstrels and glee-maidens from Champagne and Burgundy, from Provence and the Valley of the Rhine and Languedoc. Such merry folk were unknown in phlegmatic Aragon. To be sure, they had their poets, their dances and their songs, but they were the semi-serious pastimes of the sturdy Basque mountaineers.
The Académie des Jeux Floraux of Toulouse,—newly founded in 1323, and better known there as the Collège du Gaye Sçavoir,—sent an imposing company of minstrels to greet the new Queen of Aragon at Narbonne—the city of romance and song—and to offer her a spectacular serenade beneath the balconies of the Archiepiscopal Palace, where she and her suite were accommodated. With them they bore golden flowers and silver with which Royal Violante should crown the laureates, and to Her Majesty they offered a great amaranth of gold, together with the diploma of a Mainteneuse. Acclaimed “Queen of Troubadours,” her motley train swept through the cities of the coast and crossed the Spanish frontier. One and all offered her their true allegiance—to live and dance and sing and die for Yolanda d’Arragona.
If the Aragonese were noted for stubbornness,—and of them was curtly said: “The men of Aragon will drive nails in their heads rather than use hammers,”—they have a sound reputation for chivalry. King Iago II. established this characteristic in an edict in 1327. “We will,” ran the royal rescript, “that every man, whether armed or not, who shall be in company with a lady, pass safely and unmolested unless he be guilty of murder.” Courting an alegra señorita, whether of Aragon, Catalonia, or Valencia, was the duty of every lad, albeit the fair one jokingly called it “pelando la pava” (plucking the turkey). The royal romance was a charming example for all and sundry, and many an amorous French troubadour had his wings cut by Prince Cupid and never went home again at all, and many a glee-maiden, to boot, plucked a “turkey” of Aragon!
King Juan threw himself unreservedly into the arms of his merry Minerva-Venus Queen: no doubt she “plucked” him thoroughly! A “Court of Love” was established at Zaragoza. All day long they danced, and all night through they sang, and at all times played their floral games, whilst dour señors scowled and proud dueñas grimaced. The revels of the “Gaya Ciencia” shocked their susceptibilities, until a crisis was reached in 1340, when the King sent embassies to all the French Courts to enlist the services of their best troubadours. A solemn session of the Cortes, wherein resided the actual power of the State,—the King was King only by their pleasure,—was called, “Podemos mas que vos”—“We are quite as good as you, or even better”—that was the moving spirit of Aragon. A resolution was passed demanding the suppression of “the feast of folly,” as the gay doings at Court were called, and the immediate expulsion of the foreign minstrels and their hilarious company.
Here was a fix for the easy-going King,—dubbed by many “l’Indolente,” the Indolent,—between the devil and the deep sea. The Queen point-blank refused to say good-bye to her devotés, and her wiles prevailed to retain many a merry lover at her Court, for the stoutest will of man yields to the witchery of beauty in every rank of life!
If Queen Yolanda was a “gay woman,” as historians have called her,—and no class of men are anything like so mendacious,—she was not the “fast” woman some of them have maliciously styled her. No, she was a loving spouse and a devoted mother. Perhaps, could she have chosen, she would have brought forth a boy; but, still, every mother loves her child regardless of sex or other considerations. She addressed herself zealously to the rearing of the little princess. No sour-visaged hidalgo and no censorious citizen was allowed the entrée to the nursery. Minstrels rejoiced at the nativity, and minstrels shared the rocking of the cradle. She was baptized at the old mosque-like cathedral of Sa Zeo, or San Salvador,—where the Kings her forbears were all anointed and crowned,—with the courtly ceremonial of Holy Church, whilst outside the people sang their well-loved ditties. Quite the favourite was “Nocte Buena”—
“La Vergin se fui’ in lavar
Sui manos blancas al rio;
El Sol sequedó parado,
La Mar perdio su ruido,” etc.