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PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT,
FROM HER TOMB IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY
(THE FIRST OF THE ROYAL TOMBS WHICH IS AN ACTUAL PORTRAIT)
So far Froissart, recording events which happened some ten years before his birth, from the mouths of the actors themselves; writing lovingly, in his extreme old age, of his first and noblest patroness, and proudly as a Dane might write thirty years hence of the princess who had come from his own home to win all hearts in England.[175] From other chroniclers, and from dry official documents, we may throw interesting sidelights on these more living memorials. One such document, however, is as living as a page from Froissart himself, in spite of—or shall we say, because of?—its essentially business character and the legal caution of phrase in which the writer has wrapped up his direct personal impressions. The official register of the ill-fated Bishop Stapledon, of Exeter, so soon to expiate at the hands of a London mob his loyal ministerial service to Edward II., is in the main like other episcopal registers—a record of ordinations, institutions, dispensations, lawsuits, and more or less unsuccessful attempts to reduce his clergy to canonical discipline.[176] But it contains, under the date of 1319 (p. 169), an entry which has, so far as I know, been strangely overlooked hitherto by historians. The Latin title runs, “Inspection and Description of the Daughter of the Count of Hainault, Philippa by name.” To this a later hand, probably that of the succeeding bishop, has added: “She was Queen of England, Wife to Edward III.” The document itself, which is in Norman-French, runs as follows: “The lady whom we saw has not uncomely hair, betwixt blue-black and brown. Her head is clean-shaped; her forehead high and broad, and standing somewhat forward. Her face narrows between the eyes, and the lower part of her face still more narrow and slender than the forehead. Her eyes are blackish-brown and deep. Her nose is fairly smooth and even, save that it is somewhat broad at the tip and also flattened, yet it is no snub-nose. Her nostrils are also broad, her mouth fairly wide. Her lips somewhat full, and especially the lower lip. Her teeth which have fallen and grown again are white enough, but the rest are not so white. The lower teeth project a little beyond the upper; yet this is but little seen. Her ears and chin are comely enough. Her neck, shoulders, and all her body and lower limbs are reasonably well shapen; all her limbs are well set and unmaimed; and nought is amiss so far as a man may see. Moreover, she is brown of skin all over, and much like her father; and in all things she is pleasant enough, as it seems to us. And the damsel will be of the age of nine years on St. John’s day next to come, as her mother saith. She is neither too tall nor too short for such an age; she is of fair carriage, and well taught in all that becometh her rank, and highly esteemed and well beloved of her father and mother and of all her meinie, in so far as we could inquire and learn the truth.” Cannot we here see, through the bishop’s dry and measured phrases, a figure scarcely less living and attractive than Froissart shows us?
But the register corrects the historian just where we should expect to find him at fault. “The noble and worthy lady my mistress” would scarcely have told Froissart how much State policy there had been in the marriage, true love-match as it had been in spite of all. The old bishop, before whose face she had trembled, and laughed again behind his back with her sisters; his invidious comparisons between her first and second teeth; his business-like collection of backstairs gossip, which some more confidential maid-of-honour must surely have whispered to her mistress—of all this the noble lady naturally breathed no syllable to her devoted clerk. But, apart from the official record in the secret archives of Exeter diocese, a vague memory of it all was kept alive in men’s minds by that most efficacious of historical preservatives—a broad jest. The rhyming chronicler Hardyng, whose life overlapped Froissart’s and Chaucer’s by several years, records a good deal of Court gossip, especially about Edward III.’s family. He writes[177]—
Later on again, after enumerating the titles and virtues of the sons that were born of this union, Hardyng continues—
| “So high and large they were of all stature, The least of them was of [his] person able To have foughten with any creature Single battaile in actës merciable; The bishop’s wit me thinketh commendable, So well could choose the princess that them bore, For by practice he knew it, or by lore.” |
We need find no difficulty in reconciling Froissart with these other documents; Edward’s was a love-match, but, like all Royal love-matches, subject to possible considerations of State. The first negotiations for a papal dispensation carefully avoid exact specification; the request is simply for leave to marry “one of the daughters” of Hainault; only two months before the actual marriage does the final document bear Philippa’s name.
The Queen’s public life—the scene before Calais, and her (somewhat doubtful) presence at the battle of Nevile’s Cross—belongs rather to the general history of England; of her private life, as of Chaucer’s, a great deal only flashes out here and there, meteor-wise, from account-books and similar business documents. We find, for instance, what gifts were given to the messengers who announced the births of her successive children to the King; and Beltz, in his “Memorials of the Garter,” has unearthed the name of the lady who nursed the Black Prince.[178] We find Edward building for his young consort the castle since called Queenborough, the master-mason on this occasion being John Gibbon, ancestor to the great historian. At another moment we see the Earl of Oxford, as Chamberlain, claiming for his perquisites after the coronation Philippa’s bed, shoes, and three silver basins; but Edward redeemed the bed for £1000.[179] This redemption is explained by divers entries in the Royal accounts; in 1335-6 the King owed John of Cologne £3000 for a bed made “against the confinement of the Lady Philippa ... of green velvet, embroidered in gold, with red sirens, bearing a shield with the arms of England and Hainault.” The infant on this occasion was the short-lived William of Hatfield, whose child-tomb may be seen in York Cathedral. Her carpets for a later confinement cost £900, but her bed only £1250. And so on to the latest entries of all—the carving of her tomb at Westminster; the wrought-iron hearse which the canons of St. Paul’s obligingly took from the tomb of Bishop Northbrooke and sold for that of the Queen at the price of £600;[180] lastly, the rich “mortuary” accruing to the Chapter of York Minster, who got for their perquisite the bed on which Philippa had breathed her last, and had its rich hangings cut up into “thirteen copes, six tunics and one chasuble.”[181]
But here let us turn back to Froissart, who, under the year 1369, turns suddenly aside from his chronicle of battles and sieges, to pay a heartfelt tribute to his first benefactress. “Now let us speak of the death of the gentlest queen, the most liberal and courteous of all who reigned in her time, my Lady Philippa of Hainault, queen of England and Ireland: God pardon her and all others! In these days ... there came to pass in England a thing common enough, but exceedingly pitiful this time for the king and her children and the whole land; for the good lady the Queen of England, who had done so much good in her lifetime and succoured so many knights, ladies, and damsels, and given and distributed so freely among all people, and who had ever loved so naturally those of her own native land of Hainault, lay grievously sick in the castle of Windsor; and her sickness lay so hard upon her that it waxed more and more grievous, and her last end drew near. When therefore this good lady and queen knew that she must die, she sent for the king her husband; and, when he was come into her presence, she drew her right hand from under the coverlet and put it into the right hand of the king, who was sore grieved in his heart; and thus spake the good lady: ‘My Lord, heaven be thanked that we have spent our days in peace and joy and prosperity; wherefore I pray that you will grant me three boons at this my departure.’ The King, weeping and sobbing, answered and said, ‘Ask, Lady, for they are granted.’ ‘My Lord, I pray for all sorts of good folk with whom in time past I have dealt for their merchandize, both on this and on that side of the sea, that ye will easily trust their word for that wherein I am bound to them, and pay full quittance for me. Next, that ye will keep and accomplish all ordinances which I have made, and all legacies which I have bequeathed, both to churches on either side of the sea where I have paid my devotions, and to the squires and damsels who have served me. Thirdly, my Lord, I pray that ye will choose no other sepulture than to lie by my side in the Abbey of Westminster, when God’s will shall be done on you.’ The King answered weeping, ‘Lady, I grant it you.’ Then made the Queen the sign of the true cross on him, and commended the King to God, and likewise the lord Thomas her youngest son, who was by her side; and then within a brief space she yielded up her ghost, which (as I firmly believe) the holy angels of paradise seized and carried with great joy to the glory of heaven; for never in her life did she nor thought she any thing whereby she might lose it.”