University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.
GUENDOLEN'S BOWER.

High up in the gray square tower, which constituted the
keep of the castle of Waltheofstow, there was a suite of apartments,
the remains of which are discoverable to this day,
known as the Lady's Bower; which had, it is probable, from
the construction of the edifice, been set apart, not only as the
private chambers of the chatelaine and ladies of the family,
her casual guests and their attendants, but as what we should
now call the drawing-rooms, wherein the more social hours of
those rude days were passed, when the sexes intermingled,
whether for the enjoyment of domestic leisure, or for gayety
and pleasure.

The keep of Waltheofstow consisted, as did indeed all the
smaller fortalices of that date, when private dwellings, even of
the great and powerful, were constructed with a view to defense
above all beside, of one large massive building of an oblong square
form, with a solid circular buttress at each angle, which, above
the basement floor, was hollowed into a lozenge-shaped turret,

extending above the esplanade of the highest battlements,
and terminating at a giddy height in a crenellated and machicolated
lookout, affording a shelter to the sentries, and a flanking
defense to the corps de logis.

For its whole height, from the guard-room, which occupied
the whole ground-floor, to the battlements, one of these turrets
contained the great winding stone staircase of the castle, lighted
at the base by mere shot-holes and loops, but, as it rose
higher and higher above the danger of escalade, by mullioned
windows of increasing magnitude, until, at the very summit,
it was surmounted by a beautifully-wrought lanthorn of Gothic
stone-work. The other three, lighted in the same manner,
better and better as they ascended, formed each a series of
small pleasant rooms, opening upon the several stories, and for
the most part were fitted as the sleeping-rooms of the various
officers.

The whole floor, first above the guard-room, was divided
into the kitchen, butteries, and household offices; while the
next in order, being the third in elevation above the court-yard,
was reserved in one superb parallelogram of ninety feet
by sixty, well lighted by narrow lanceolated windows, and
adorned with armors of plate and mail, scutcheons rich with
heraldic bearings, antlers of deer and elk, horns of the bull,
yet surviving, of the great Caledonian forests, skulls of the
grizzly boars grinning with their ivory tusks, and banners dependent
from the lofty groinings of the arched roof, trophies
of many a glorious day. This was the knight's hall, the
grand banqueting-saloon of the keep; while of its three turrets,
one was the castle chapel, a second a smaller dining-hall,
and the last the private cabinet and armory of the castellan.

Above this, again, on the fourth plat, were bed-chambers of
state, the larger armory, and the dormitories of the warders,
esquires, pages, and seneschal, who alone dwelt within the
keep, the rest of the garrison occupying the various out-buildings
and towers upon the flanking walls and ramparts.

The fifth story, at least a hundred feet in air above the inner
court, and nearly thrice that elevation above the base of the
scarped mount on which the castle stood, contained the Lady's
bower; and its whole area of ninety feet by sixty was divided,
in the first instance, laterally by three partitions, into three
apartments, each sixty feet in length by thirty wide. Of
these, however, the first and last were subdivided equally in
two squares of thirty feet. The whole of the bower, thus, contained
a handsome ante-chamber, opening from the great staircase,
with a large room for the waiting-women to the right,
communicating with the turret chamber corresponding to the
stairway. Beyond the vestibule, by which access was had to
it, lay the grand ladies' hall, furnished with all the superabundance
of splendor and magnificence, and all the lack of real
convenience, which was the characteristic of the time; divans,
and deep settles, and ponderous arm-chairs covered with gold
and velvet; embroideries and emblazoned foot-cloths on the
floor; mirrors of polished steel, emulating Venetian crystals,
on the walls; mighty candelabra of silver gilt; tables of many
kinds, some made for the convenience of long-forgotten games,
some covered with cups and vessels of gold, silver, and richly-colored
glass, and one or two, smaller, and set away in quiet
nooks, with easy seats beside them, showing the feminine
character of the occupants, by a lute, a gittern, and two or
three other musical implements long since fallen into disuse;

pages of music written in the old musical notation of the age;
some splendidly-bound and illuminated missals and romances,
in priceless manuscript, each actually worth its weight in gold;
silks and embroideries; a working-stand, with a gorgeous surcoat
of arms half finished, the needle sticking in the superb
material where the fairy fingers had left it, when last called
from their gentle task; and great vases full of the finest flowers
of the season.

Such was the aspect of the room, beheld by the declining
rays of the sun, which had already sunk so low that his
stray beams, instead of falling downward through the gorgeous
hues of the tinted-windows, streamed upward into that lofty
place, playing on the richly-carved and gilded ceilings, catching
here on a mirror, there on a vase of gold or silver, and
sending hundreds of burning specks of light dancing through
the motley haze of gold and purple, which formed the atmosphere
of that almost royal bower.

From this rich withdrawing-room, strangely out of place in
appearance, though not so in reality, in the old gray Norman
fortress, among the din of arms and flash of harness, opened
two bed-rooms, equal in costliness of decoration to the saloon
without, each having its massive four-post bedstead in a recess,
accessible by three or four broad steps, as if it were a throne of
honor, each with its mirror and toilet, its appurtenances for
the bath, its easy couches, and its chair of state; its prie dieu
and kneeling-hassock, in a niche, with a perfumed lamp burning
before a rudely-painted picture of the Madonna, each having
communication with a pretty turret-chamber, fitted with couch
and reading-desk, and opening on a bartizan or balcony, which,
though they were intended in times of war or danger for posts

of vantage to the defense, whence to shower missiles or pour
seething pitch or oil on the heads of assailants, were filled in
the pleasant days of peace with shrubs and flowers, planted in
large tubs and troughs, waving green and joyous, and filling
the air with sweet smells two hundred feet above their dewy
birth-place.

It may be added, that so thick and massive were the walls
at this almost inaccessible height, that galleries had been, as it
were, scooped out of them, offering easy communication from
one room to another, and even private staircases from story to
story, with secret closets large enough for the accommodation
of a favorite page or waiting-damsel, where nothing of the
sort would be expected, or could indeed exist, within a modern
dwelling.

Thus, the inconveniences of such an abode, all except the
height to which it was necessary for the female inmates to
climb, were more imaginary than real; and it was perfectly
easy, and indeed usual, for the ladies of such a castle to
pass to and fro from the rooms of their husbands, fathers, or
brothers, and even from the knights' hall to their own bower,
without meeting any of the retainers of the place, except
what may be called the peaceful and familiar servants of the
household.

Through the thick-vaulted roofs of stone, which rendered
every story of the keep a separate fortress, no sound of arms,
of revelry or riot, could ascend to the region of the ladies;
and if their comforts were inferior to those of our modern
beauties, their magnificence, their splendor of costume, of
equipage, of followings, their power at home, and their influence
abroad, where they shone as “Queens of Love and Beauty,”

were held the arbiters of fame and dispensers of honor,
where their smiles were held sufficient guerdon for all wildest
feats of bravery, their tears expiable by blood only, their importance
in the outer world of arms, of romance, of empire,
were at the least as far superior; and it may be doubted,
whether some, even the most spoiled of our modern fair ones,
would not sigh to exchange, with the dames and demoiselles
of the twelfth century, their own soft empire of the ball-room
for the right to hold Courts of Love, as absolute unquestioned
sovereigns, to preside at tilt and tournament, and send the
noblest and the most superb of champions into mortal combat,
or yet more desperate adventure, by the mere promise of
a sleeve, a kerchief, or a glove.

She, however, who now occupied alone the Lady's Bower
of Waltheofstow was none of your proud and court-hardened
ladies, who could look with no emotion beyond a blush of
gratified vanity on the blood of an admirer or a lover. Though
for her, young as she was, steeds had been spurred to the
shock, and her name shouted among the splintering of lances
and the crash of mortal conflict, she was still but a simple,
amiable, and joyous child, who knew more of the pleasant fields
and waving woodlands of her fair lake-country, than of the tilt-yard,
the court pageant, or the carousal, and who better loved to
see the heather-blossom and the blue-bell dance in the free air
of the breezy fells, than plumes and banners flaunt and flutter
to the blare of trumpets.

The only child of Sir Yvo de Taillebois, a knight and noble
of the unmixed Norman blood, a lineal descendant of one of
those hardy barons who, landing with Duke William on his
almost desperate emprise, had won “the bloody hand” at

Hastings, and gained rich lands in the northern counties
during the protracted struggle which ensued, the Lady Guendolen
had early lost her mother, a daughter of the noble
house of Morville, and not a very distant relative of the good
knight, Sir Philip, whose hospitality she was now partaking
with her father.

To a girl, for the most part, the loss of a mother, before
she has reached the years of discretion, is one never to be repaired,
more especially where the surviving parent is so much
occupied with duties, martial or civil, as to render his supervision
of her bringing-up impossible. It is true that, in the
age of which I write, the accomplishments possessed by the
most delicate and refined of ladies were few and slight, as
compared to those now so sedulously inculcated to our maidens,
so regularly abandoned by our matrons; and that, at a
period later by several centuries, he who has been styled, by
an elegant writer,[1] the last of the Norman barons, great Warwick
the Kingmaker, held it a boast that his daughters possessed
no arts, no knowledge, more than to spin and to be
chaste.

Yet even this small list of feminine attainments was far
beyond the teaching of the illiterate and warlike barons, who
knew nought of the pen, save when it winged the gray-goose
shaft from the trusty yew, and whose appropriate and ordinary
signatures were the impress of their sword-hilts on the parchments,
which they did not so much as pretend to read; and,
in truth, the Kingmaker's statement must either be regarded
as an exaggeration, or the standard of female accomplishment
had degenerated, as is not unlikely to have been actually the

case, during the cruel and devastating wars of the Roses,
which, how little soever they may have affected the moral,
political, or agricultural condition of the English people at
large, had unquestionably dealt a blow to the refinement, the
courtesy, the mental culture, and personal polish of the English
aristocracy, from which they began only to recover in the
reigns of the later Tudors.

But in the case of the fair Guendolen, neither did the loss
of her mother deprive her of the advantages of her birth, nor
would the incapacity of her father, had the occasion been
allowed him of superintending the culture of his child, have
done so; for he was—at that day rarer in England than was
a wolf, though literary culture had received some impulse
from the present monarch, and his yet more accomplished
father, Beauclerc—a man of intellectual ability, and not a
little cultivation.

He had been largely employed by both princes on the continent,
in diplomatic as well as military capacities; had visited
Provence, the court of poetry and minstrelsy, and the gai
science; had dwelt in the Norman courts of Italy, and even
in Rome herself, then the seat of all the rising schools
of literature, art, and science; and while acquiring, almost of
necessity, the tongues of southern Europe, had both softened
and enlarged his mind by not a few of their acquirements.
Of this advantage, however, it was only of late years, when
she was bursting into the fairest dawn of adolescence, that
she had been permitted to profit; for, between her fifth and
her fifteenth years, she had seen but little of her father, who,
constantly employed, either as a statesman at home, an embassador
abroad, or a conquering invader of the wild Welsh

marches, or the wilder and more barbarous shores of Ireland,
had rarely been permitted to call a day his own, much less to
devote himself to those home duties and pleasures for which
he was, beyond doubt, more than ordinarily qualified.

Yet, however unfortunate she might have been in this particular,
she had been as happy in other respects, and had been
brought up under circumstances which had produced no better
consequences on her head than on her heart, on the graces
of her mind and body, than on the formation of her feminine
and gentle character.