This aspect of Eleanor’s religious and charitable giving provides a good point of entry for a more nuanced consideration of her religious interests. The very fact of her choosing the Dominicans as her main religious point of contact is not insignificant. They were, of course, familiar to her from her childhood, but represented a somewhat unorthodox choice for a queen. Generally, the Dominicans at this time received support from male members of the royal family, with the female members being patrons of the Franciscans. So Eleanor’s patronage of the Dominicans was not a ‘given’, but represents a positive choice on her part; either in acknowledgement of her early education and training at their hands, or possibly reflecting her preference for their slightly more academic and less emotive approach to theology.
In concert with this piece of unorthodoxy, there is an absence of the other religious links which might be expected. Eleanor of Provence obviously had the advantage, denied to her daughter-in-law, of retreating to a convent in her old age; however, even as a young woman and throughout her years as queen, she was very embedded in the religious hierarchy of the English Church. Her brother, of course, became Archbishop of Canterbury, but she also corresponded with numerous bishops, including Edmund Rich of Canterbury, Richard Wych of Chichester, Nicholas Farnham of Durham and Robert Grosseteste of Lincoln. Letters survive from the latter in particular, seeking to advise her on how to use her queenly influence, and he supported her in her dispute with Henry III over the Flamstead appointment.
Nor was her reference to these bishops purely or even mainly on matters of business. Farnham, for example, was her moral guide and her doctor within her household until his elevation in 1241, and it seems likely that she continued to seek and to receive his moral guidance. She also sought spiritual and moral guidance from the celebrated Franciscan Adam Marsh – indeed, she appears to have positively bombarded him with letters, begging him to visit and provide guidance face to face, to which he occasionally had to return a plea of being too busy. She also kept a spiritual director within her household – William Batale, who was installed on Marsh’s recommendation. Howell has even traced the influence of a third spiritual coach, Thomas of Hales, who may or may not have been the queen’s chaplain for a few years, but who certainly specialised in providing moral guidance to aristocratic ladies via emotionally charged written works – the emotive appeal being very much the Franciscan style. Howell concludes that the fervour and lyricism of this style of piety was plainly very much to Eleanor of Provence’s taste.32
Similarly, Eleanor de Montfort was fond of the Franciscan approach, and also sought a considerable amount of guidance from Adam Marsh, who directed her religious reading, and advised her on her moral conduct, including on the proper submission, restraint and passivity which a wife should show to her husband and adjured her to mind her temper, which he considered she governed less well than she should. She, too, retained a spiritual adviser in her household.33
With Eleanor of Castile, however, a very different picture emerges. She had no spiritual friendships with bishops at all. Those bishops to whom she was close, she was close as a matter of business. Thus the bishops with whom we can trace an intimacy are Burnell (of course), whose promotion she and Edward sought assiduously, precisely because he was their principal man of business, and John de Kirkby of Ely, who assisted her first property acquisitions and became her most regular correspondent on property affairs. There is perhaps half an intimacy with Godfrey Giffard at Worcester, but this was thanks to his family links to the royal family – his mother assisted at the birth of Edward, his father was Edward’s tutor, and he had a niece among her ladies. Moreover, when Eleanor wrote to the Curia on his behalf in 1282, she spoke not of his spiritual qualities or advice, but of his advice in the business sense. The nearest one comes to spiritual advice flowing from a bishop to Eleanor is Pecham’s ‘Jerarchie’; but that is actually not advice, but effectively a scholarly précis, intended to assist private theological study. On occasion, Pecham may have (as can be seen above) sought to adjure Eleanor in respect of her behaviour, but this was not solicited advice. Nor, as we have seen, was it followed.
Her closest religious contact appears to have been Brother William of Hotham, a prominent Dominican and one of the foremost theologians of his day. Hotham is documented as being with the royal party in Wales in 1283, shortly before he clashed with Pecham on the fierce debate which had been underway for some years, and which was to simmer on until the Reformation, about the impact of Aristotelian thought on traditional Augustinian theology. This was a subject where the Parisian Dominicans, led by Thomas Aquinas and supported by Hotham, led the way. Given Eleanor’s education, her employment of a prominent Aristotelian thinker in Geoffrey de Aspale, and her intimacy with Hotham, it seems hugely likely that she followed this debate closely, and sided with the Dominicans – against Pecham.
There are therefore distinct signs that Eleanor effectively rejected the established model for a queen’s involvement in religion. Instead of building relationships with prominent bishops, she did so with the Dominican Order (which encouraged an intellectual approach to religion) generally, and particularly notably with their Oxford chapter, where some of their most distinguished and controversial theologians were based. Instead of relying upon moral and religious guidance from a spiritual director or adviser, Eleanor made her own study of theology and formed her own views. Both of these are, of course, entirely consistent with her upbringing under the Dominicans and the intellectual approach to religion which Alfonso X advocates in the Siete Partidas.
Further, and again consistently, what we can see of Eleanor’s private devotions reinforces the impression of an independent and intellectual approach to religion. In 1278, she was given a dispensation to permit her to have a portable altar for her chapel. This altar and the two coffers full of furnishings which it required seem to have been a slightly comic theme in the royal court’s peregrinations: some part or other of the furnishings was often missing, with the coffer having been left behind, or there having been no suitable cart to carry it. Then, as we have seen above, Eleanor had primers and books of hours, redolent of private devotions, and commissioned at least one psalter for her son. On the same theme and following the approach of the Dominicans, who are widely attributed with early fostering of the rosary, there are records of purchases of jet and coral beads for her own use. Finally her commemorations involved requirements, specifically stipulated by her, for prayer repetitions both by the clergy and by the objects of charitable donations in her memory.34
One point which Parsons has remarked upon is that, despite her considerable donations, Eleanor gained at the time practically no reputation as a charitable giver and her interests in this regard largely escaped the contemporaneous chroniclers and the historians who relied on them prior to his groundbreaking work. This is likely because of a noticeable difference in her approach to that of the noble lady patron paradigm, where ladies associated themselves personally with the donations. Thus Eleanor of Provence, like earlier queens, partnered her intercessory work with a broad range of charitable donations (including patronage of up-and-coming churchmen), and was seen as being a very charitable woman. However, Eleanor of Castile, while giving more, did so predominantly to the very poor and not directly but through chaplains and almoners. She otherwise gave almost entirely to purely religious causes. Again, this anomaly is consistent with the Dominican intellectual piety which she appears to have practised.
Parsons slightly shies away from the conclusion that Eleanor’s approach to religious practice and to charitable donation was a deliberate one, and therefore an assertion of individuality. But it should be borne in mind that Eleanor was not likely to be unaware of the fact that her approach to this field of interest could, if she wished, be used to ‘spin’ her reputation and indeed to present herself in a conventionally pious light, broadening her appeal outside her own circle. The better view, therefore, is that, particularly when taken in conjunction with her unorthodox appr
oach to the related subject of intercession, this approach was indeed deliberate. Eleanor had been raised to adopt a rigorous and intellectual approach to religion. She appears to have wished to be true to this, and she also appears to have seen no need to gild the lily to please anyone.35
Eleanor the queen was, therefore, not merely an intelligent and able woman, but a woman of many interests, which she pursued with considerable enthusiasm and determination. Her extensive reading ensured that she had much to contribute to discussions in many directions – be the conversation literary, historical, military or theological – and her sense of humour seems to have ensured that she wore her considerable scholarship lightly. She presents herself to us as a woman with a vibrant zest for life. Her vitality is reflected in her passion for hunting and even more so in her obviously notorious fondness for delicious food, which even had local poor women bringing fine items (or on one occasion ‘a large loaf’) for the queen’s enjoyment. This last vignette also echoes the earlier evidence of her wardrobe accounts. Eleanor might have had a terrible temper when roused, but she seems to have exercised it on those who were in positions of power. To those who occupied a more humble position, she was a kindly and approachable queen; a real woman, not a figure of unimaginable glamour.
12
The Queen’s Family
The next question to ask is, who was Eleanor’s family? To whom did she look for support and affection in the busy and pressured years of her queenship? The answer is more complex than might be imagined.
The starting point for any consideration of Eleanor’s family must be the most important constituent of it to her – her husband. The more time one spends looking at the life of Eleanor, the more apparent it becomes that she and Edward were genuinely incredibly close, and not really happy out of each other’s company. Marc Morris concludes, and I entirely agree, that their shared tastes for horses, hunting, chivalry, romance and chess had provided a good base for a happy marriage. More than this, though, it is fairly clear that they shared a sense of humour – each was plainly ready to laugh and to find fun in amusing pictures and little wordplays and both also enjoyed the kind of boisterous fun which marked the coronation. Beyond these shared interests and tendencies, however, one can see in the household records the hallmarks of active respect, consideration and kindness which promote a happy marriage.
So repeatedly each can be seen paying attention to the interests of the other, and doing their best to help. Each helped the other financially – Eleanor gifting Edward with 1,000 marks when he and everyone else was out of cash following the Gascon expedition, and Edward helping with purchase monies and funds for improvements for her properties. For Eleanor, Edward was the centre of the world, and she identified herself completely with his interests – as she had been raised to do. Everything gave way to his interests and she would uproot herself from her work for years at a time to be with him in Wales and in Gascony, as well as on Crusade. Although Eleanor had her own office and power base of very able employees, there was no ‘Team Queen’ operating in opposition to ‘Team King’ as there had been under Eleanor of Provence and Henry III. Eleanor and her staff were parts of Edward’s team, and never sought to be perceived otherwise. But it was far from being a one-way street. Having charged Eleanor with a role in property management, Edward was supportive of Eleanor’s very active interest in this role to the extent of inconveniencing himself in repeated dislocations.
Each can also be spotted in the records planning pleasant surprises for the other, and trying generally to make life more pleasant for their spouse. So in Gascony, Eleanor sent home to get Edward a particularly special hunting bird for his birthday, while on another occasion Edward, mindful of Eleanor’s book obsession and vibrant theological interests, commissioned a psalter and book of hours as a present for her. Facing a social engagement too far, Eleanor agreed to go by herself, and made arrangements for musicians to be hired to amuse Edward while she was discharging their social obligations. Meanwhile, Edward made sure that everywhere they went, gardeners and decorators went ahead so that Eleanor need not face the shabby lodgings which were her aversion.
One surprising thing which emerges from the record is that Edward was surprisingly sentimental – rather more so, it would appear, than Eleanor. So the records of his charitable oblations for 1283–4 show him giving extra alms on the occasion of their wedding anniversary and also in those nervous days in the run-up to Eleanor giving birth to Edward, as well as the expected celebratory donations on the birth and christening of a prince. When Eleanor was ill and he could not actually be with her, he sent thoughtful gifts of food, with which he hoped to tempt her appetite or recoup her strength. The public face of his mourning is well known, but in addition to the well-known gestures after Eleanor’s death of commissioning spectacular funeral monuments, he provided chantries at the place of her death and at Leeds Castle, where they had spent happy time together. He also took for himself the chess set with which they had played chess together.1
The next group to consider must be Eleanor’s children. It might be thought that, with such a large family, Eleanor would find all the ties she needed here; but, as will become apparent, this was far from being the case.
So far as the children are concerned, the shape which the family was to take can conveniently be tracked by rejoining Eleanor just after the coronation, because to celebrate the return there was to be yet another baby. Shortly after Edward and Eleanor made it back to Windsor Castle from their spring tour, Eleanor gave birth to Margaret (reportedly on 15 March 1275), who must have been conceived during the journey home.
Within a few months of Margaret’s birth, Eleanor was pregnant yet again – Berengaria, born 1 May 1276 at Kempton, must have been conceived in the summer of 1275 while Eleanor and Edward made their way northwards slowly towards a possible meeting with Llywelyn ap Gruffudd. And so the pattern continued: a daughter, born dead at Westminster in January 1278; another daughter, Mary, born at Woodstock in March 1279; another son who died young in 1280 or 1281; Elizabeth, born in Rhuddlan in August 1282; and finally Edward, famously born in Caernarfon in April 1284.2
There may even have been further pregnancies in Gascony in the years after 1286. That possibility is certainly suggested by the pattern of childbearing which one can see from this listing: there were sixteen months between Alphonso and Margaret, fourteen months between her and Berengaria, twenty months to the next anonymous daughter, fourteen months to Mary, eighteen months each for the anonymous boy and Elizabeth, and a further nineteen months to Edward. Thus, over this period Eleanor was bearing a child roughly every eighteen months or less. This is consistent with the pattern of births of the children born between 1265 and Margaret’s birth: between Joan (born January 1265) and John was eighteen months (during some of which Edward was imprisoned). Between John and Henry was twenty-one months and then a gap of just thirteen months to Eleanor, another eighteen months to the birth of the anonymous daughter in Sicily, and barely a year then to Joan of Acre in spring 1272. She herself was followed by Alphonso eighteen months later. So for the best part of twenty years Eleanor bore a child every thirteen to twenty months.3
The absolute number of children which Eleanor bore is perhaps not important – on any analysis, she bore between fourteen and eighteen children in about twenty years. This bold statistic illustrates more than one point. The first is that Edward and Eleanor had, and continued to have, a thriving marriage. This tally of children would be regarded as pretty remarkable even in the modern era, without prescribed saints’ day abstinences; in the context of those religious layoffs – and because of the story about the end of Lenten abstinence, and the dates of the children’s births, we know that Edward and Eleanor observed this taboo – it becomes pretty staggering. The bottom line is that the two of them were plainly as little separated as possible.
The second fact it tells is that Eleanor had a very hard life physically. Although recent research has tended to suggest that what is termed ‘great
grand multiparity’ is not necessarily an overall physical risk factor to the mother, no one can doubt that pregnancy is a physical strain on the body – and was probably still more so without modern supports and interventions in pregnancy and childbirth. Eleanor was more or less constantly pregnant, and combined this with a lifestyle which involved constant changes of residence in a period where, even for a queen, ensuring optimum nutrition would have been an impossibility. It may well be that the number of stillbirths which she endured can be in part ascribed to the physical effects of such a demanding lifestyle. However, despite this, she continued to participate fully in it, and to carry out both her role as queen and her job in managing her property empire. The evidence therefore establishes clearly that, at least until her latter years, she was a woman of fairly exceptional good health and physical robustness.4
Eleanor of Castile: The Shadow Queen Page 35
