Medieval London (Vol. 1&2). Walter Besant

      THE DUKE OF BEDFORD

      The stormy career of Jacqueline de Brabant, his first wife, belongs to the history of her time rather than that of London. Yet because her misfortunes first awakened the voice of the women of London her life may be briefly noted in this place. She was the only daughter and the heiress of William, Count of Hainault and of Margaret of Burgundy his wife. No one, to outward seeming, could be more strongly protected or in safer hands than this girl. She was married at five years of age to John, second son of Charles VI. of France, the young prince being like herself, a child. On the death of the Dauphin John took the title of the Dauphin du Viennois. He was killed by poison immediately upon arriving in France. Jacqueline was thus a widow at sixteen. They married her immediately to John, Duke of Brabant, her cousin german, by dispensation of the Pope. The Duke was an imbecile, with whom his wife refused to continue. In 1420 she left him and came to England. Here Duke Humphrey proposed to consider the marriage null and void. On the death of Henry V. a bull was obtained to that effect from the anti-Pope Benedict XIII., and she and Gloucester were married. Gloucester then demanded of the Duke of Brabant the restitution of his wife’s estates. On his refusal he entered the country with 5000 English troops prepared to encounter the allied forces of Brabant and Burgundy. But the latter withdrawing, Gloucester returned to England leaving Jacqueline in Mons. She was taken prisoner, conducted to Holland, escaped in the disguise of a soldier, and, then being reduced to great straits and receiving no succour from Gloucester, who could probably get none, she concluded peace with the Duke of Burgundy, her cousin. The Duke of Brabant was now dead. In the treaty of peace she acknowledged that she was not the lawful wife of Gloucester; she named the Duke of Burgundy her heir; and she engaged not to marry again without the Duke’s permission.

      It was before this treaty, which separated Jacqueline entirely from English sympathies, that the women of London, for the first time in history, made their appearance in public. Filled with sympathy for the misfortunes of this unhappy heiress, thus driven out of her estates, a prisoner, a wanderer, deserted by her cousin and her husband, they presented themselves before Parliament in the year 1427 and laid before the Commons at Westminster assembled, a petition or letter complaining of the Duke’s behaviour towards his wife. In the following year the citizens themselves begged the consideration of Parliament for the abandonment of the Duchess. This would lead us to believe that in the distracted condition of the State the Duke of Gloucester simply could not get succour for his wife. It would be interesting to know how the women were got to act together, whether by meeting at Paul’s Cross and by female oratory, or, which is much more likely, by house-to-house visitation. Nothing, however, came of their interference.

      Jacqueline very soon grew tired of her engagement not to marry without her cousin’s leave. She married a knight of Flanders named François de Borcelen, whom the Duke of Burgundy promptly imprisoned. Jacqueline bought his liberty by the surrender of all her estates, receiving only out of all her princely possessions a modest annuity. Meantime, the Duke of Gloucester was already married to Eleanor, daughter of Lord Cobham.

      In the year 1441 Gloucester’s second marriage was brought to a miserable end. The Duchess was accused, it is said by the wicked wiles of Cardinal Beaufort, but it is quite possible that his wiles were not in this case exercised at all. Eleanor may have been, probably was, ambitious for her husband and for herself. Henry was by this time nineteen years of age and unmarried. The physical weakness of the lad was certainly known to his uncles and the Court circle. Perhaps he would never be able to marry. Perhaps he would die. In the latter event, which was by no means improbable, the Duke of Gloucester would succeed, the Duke of Bedford now being dead, and then Eleanor would be Queen. Of magic and witchcraft there was at this time plenty, as there is still, and always has been; that is to say, plenty to be had for those who could afford to pay for it. The Duchess learned where there was a wise woman, she paid her money, and she inquired and learned what she wanted, viz. how to get rid of a person whose end was ardently desired. Nothing was easier; one had only to make with fitting incantations and magical formulæ, an image in wax of the person whose death was desired, and then, simply by sticking pins into the image, or by holding it before the fire, to make it, and at the same time her enemy, waste away. There is nothing at all incredible in supposing that a woman in the fifteenth century, strongly tempted by ambition, conscious that her husband was watching every day with expectation the health of the feeble king, would follow such a course. The persons charged with being the Duchess’s accomplices were four—namely, Master Thomas Southwell, a Canon of St. Stephen’s, Westminster; Master John Hume, Chaplain of the Duchess; Master Roger Bolingbroke—his name is also written Bulbroke—and Wyche, “a man,” says Fabyan, “expert in negromancy”; and a woman named Margery Jourdemayne, surnamed the witch of Eye in Suffolk, obviously a wise woman of the time with some reputation for sorcery. The accused persons seem to have been brought before the Lords in Council, who also interrogated the Duchess. They are all said to have confessed. The four confederates were tried at the Guildhall. Was the offence, then, committed in the City of London? The three men were sentenced to be hanged, drawn, and quartered; the witch was sentenced to be burned. As regards the latter, poor old Margery, the sentence was duly carried out, for she was “brent” in Smithfield. The Canon of St. Stephen’s died in his cell the day before that appointed for his execution; John Hume, the chaplain, was pardoned and went about his business; the unfortunate “negromancer” alone, Roger Bolingbroke, paid the penalty of his crime. First he stood in pillory at Paul’s Cross, with all his instruments, the wizard’s tools and weapons hanging around him in the presence of the shuddering crowd; next he was drawn to Tyburn and there hanged, with the usual accompaniments. He protested his innocence to the last.

      As for the Duchess she first took sanctuary at Westminster; then, for some reason unknown, she left sanctuary and fled to the “Castle” of Lesnes. Is this Lesnes Abbey near Woolwich? There she was arrested and examined by the Lords in Council. It is said that she confessed. The complete silence and inactivity of her husband, who does not appear to have moved a step in the matter, seems to show that he was convinced of her guilt, and that he was anxious not to appear involved in an odious crime which, if Henry were to die, would imperil his succession, or at least, blacken his name, and strengthen his enemies. Eleanor was ordered by the Council to do public penance. And here follows one of the most picturesque incidents in the whole history of Mediæval London. Accompanied by her women, the Duchess was taken on Monday, 13th November, from Westminster (from which we gather that she was lodged in the Palace), in a barge to the Temple Stairs. There her maids took off her shoes and stockings and her rich gown, wrapped her in a white sheet, took off her hood, tied a white handkerchief over her head, and placed in her hand a wax taper weighing two pounds. In this dismal guise, while trumpets went before, and men-at-arms marched before her and behind her,—one hopes she was allowed the attendance of her maids,—this great lady, the wife of the Regent or Protector,