A WEDDING IN CYPRUS
May 12th, 2012
On May 12, 1191, Richard and Berengaria were married at
Limassol in Cyprus. I’ve mentioned
before that Berengaria has four unique distinctions—she was the only Queen of
England to be married and then crowned in Cyprus, the only royal bride to spend
her honeymoon in a war zone, and the only English queen who never set foot on
English soil; John did issue her several safe-conducts during her long
widowhood, but there is no evidence that she ever used them. I recently realized that she has another
distinction, a very sad one—she is the only medieval English queen who did not
provide her husband with an heir.
William Rufus did not even bother to get married, Richard II’s Anne was
still young enough when she died to have harbored hopes, Richard III’s Anne became
terminally ill soon after their son’s death, and once we leave the Plantagenet
dynasty for those ubiquitous Tudors, their fertility track record was a sad
one. But only Berengaria had to struggle
with history’s cruel judgment of being a “barren” queen, and it is likely she also
blamed herself, although Richard was certainly at fault, too, given how little
time he spent with her upon his release from his German captivity and the
criticism he got from the Bishop of Lincoln for his flagrant adulteries. Berengaria
is one of the least-known of the English queens and has not been treated very
kindly by historians, many of whom assumed that she must have been dull and
boring and not lively enough to hold her husband’s attention. This is obviously unfair and lets Richard
off the hook for the part he played in the deterioration of their
marriage. Lastly, I think she has the
most beautiful name of any English queen—not the clunky Berengaria, but her real
Spanish name, Berenguela.
A little
while ago, I’d promised to quote from the contemporary chronicles from time to
time. So here is what they had to say
about Richard and Berengaria.
From the Itinerarium, translated by Helen Nicholson: “While they were each making arrangements
to begin the journey, messengers came running to inform King Richard that his
mother Queen Eleanor was hurrying after him.
She had traveled a great distance, but was now very close, and had
brought with her a noble young woman, daughter of the King of Navarre. Her name was Berengaria and she was the
king’s intended wife. Attracted by her
graceful manner and high birth, he had desired her very much for a long
time—since he was first count of Poitou.
So her father the king of Navarre had entrusted her to King Richard’s
mother so that she could take her to King Richard and he could take her as his
wife before he set off on his planned journey across the sea. Everyone was delighted at their
arrival.”
The Itinerarium describes the wedding as follows: “On the following day, a Sunday, on the
Feast of St Pancras, Richard and Berengaria were married at Limassol. The young woman was very wise and of good
character. She was there crowned queen. The Archbishop of Bordeaux was present at the
ceremony, as was the bishop of Evreux and the bishop of Bayonne, and many other
magnates and nobles. The king was merry
and full of delight, pleasant and agreeable to everyone.”
These passages are from Ambroise’s The History of the Holy
War, translated by Marianne Ailes.
“He (Richard) then made his way beyond the straits, straight
to Reggio whence news had been sent to him that his mother had arrived there bringing
to the king his beloved. She was a wise
maiden, a fine lady, both noble and beautiful, with no falseness or treachery
in her. Her name was Berengaria; the
King of Navarre was her father. He had
given her to the mother of King Richard who had made great efforts to bring her
that far. Then she was called queen and
the king loved her greatly. Since the
time when he was count of Poitiers she had been his heart’s desire.”
Ambroise describes the wedding: “The next morning the young woman was married
and crowned at Limassol. She was
beautiful, with a bright countenance, the wisest woman, indeed, that one could
hope to find anywhere. There was the
king in great glory, rejoicing in his victory and in his marriage to the woman
to whom he had pledged his troth.”
What is
immediately striking about these accounts is that both chroniclers were under
the impression that Richard was quite smitten with his bride. I find that very sweet, but I tend to be a
bit skeptical, in part because royal marriages were not love matches and
because I personally don’t think Richard had a romantic bone in his body. But it is interesting to see what Richard’s
contemporaries thought of his relationship with his bride.
For a more
cynical view, I give you Richard of Devizes, who was not present for these
events, here describing Richard’s departure from Sicily. “The fleet of Richard, king of the English, put
out to sea, and proceeded in this order.
In the forefront went three ships only, in one of which was the queen of
Sicily and the young damsel of Navarre, probably still a virgin.” Richard and Berengaria were plight-trothed and
in the MA, that was often considered as binding as the marriage ceremony
itself, so the chronicler thinks Richard may have jumped the gun, so to
speak. Not very gallant of him to
speculate about that, of course, but he was always a bit snarky. Listen to what he said about Eleanor, “Queen
Eleanor, a matchless woman, beautiful and chaste, powerful and modest, meek and
eloquent, which is rarely wont to be met with in a woman, who was advanced in
years enough to have had two husbands and two sons crowned kings, still
indefatigable for every undertaking, whose power was the admiration of her
age…”
So far so good, right? (Although this must surely be the one and
only time that anyone described Eleanor as “meek.”) But then he cannot resist making a snide
allusion to the scandal in Antioch, more than forty years in the past. “Many knew what I wish what none of us had
known. This same queen, in the time of
her former husband, went to Jerusalem.
Let none speak more thereof; I also know well. Be silent.”
This same monk is the only one to
cast aspersions on Berengaria’s appearance.
He described her as “a maid more accomplished than beautiful,” though
this is sometimes translated as “more prudent than pretty.” Richard of Devizes never saw Berengaria,
though. William of Newburgh, a very
reliable contemporary chronicler, called her “a virgin of famous beauty and
prudence,” although he never saw her, either.
I find it interesting that historians have usually chosen to quote
Richard of Devizes’s unfavorable assessment of Berengaria’s looks over that of
Ambroise, who actually did see her, possibly because they think royal brides
were described as beautiful as a matter of course. But why, then, do they accept at face value
the praise given to other queens and princesses? I think their willingness to see Berengaria
as plain ties in with the tendency to blame her for the failure of her
marriage. But since both Ambroise and
the author of the Itinerarium believed that Richard had desired Berengaria long
before he wed her, it is unlikely that she was plain, for medievals were as
superficial as we are today and expected their heroes to be handsome and
dashing and their heroines fair and chaste.
Okay, we’ve done away with the chaste requirement. J
To show that medieval chroniclers
were not like today’s press agents for Hollywood stars, I thought I’d conclude
with some descriptions of historical figures that were far from
flattering.
Katalina of Lancaster,
daughter of John of Gaunt and Constanza of Castile, wife of Enrique III of
Castile (1372-1418)
“The queen was tall of body and very fat. She was pink and white in her
complexion and fair. In her figure and movements she seemed as much like a man
as a woman… she was not very well ordered in her body and had a serious affliction
of palsy which did not leave her tongue properly loose or her body movements
free.”
From the Generaciones y semblanzas of Perez y de Guzman
Guifred Pilosus, Count of
Barcelona (died 897)
“…[H]e was hairy in places not normally so in men…”
From the Gesta comitum barcinonensium
Frederick II, Holy Roman
Emperor, son of Heinrich von Hohenstaufen and Constance de Hauteville.
“The Emperor was covered with red
hair, was bald and myopic. Had he been a slave, he would not have fetched 200
dirhams at market.”
From the Muntazam by Sibt Ibn al-Jawzi
Kálmán, King of Hungary, son
of Géza I and Sophie of Looz, father of István II (1170-1116)
“…shrewd and learned… hairy, shaggy, squinting, hunchbacked, lame, and
stuttering.”
From the Chronicon Pictum Vindobonense
Amaury I, King of Jerusalem,
son of Fulk and Melisende of Jerusalem, husband of Agnes of Edessa and Maria
Komnene, father of Baldwin IV and Isabella (1136-1174)
“He was a man endowed with worldly experience, very shrewd and circumspect
in his deeds. He had a slight impediment of the tongue, not so much that could
be considered a defect, but so that he had no elegance in spontaneous, flowing
speech… His body was of pleasing stature, as if it had been measured
proportionally so that he was taller than the average, but smaller than the
very tall… His face was attractive… His eyes were bright, and somewhat
protruding; his nose, like his brother’s, aquiline; his hair yellow, and
slightly receding; his beard covered his cheeks and chin with pleasing
fullness. However, he had an uncontrollable laugh, which made him shake all
over… He was fat beyond measure, in such a way that he had breasts like a
woman, hanging down to his belt…”
From the Historia rerum in partibus transmarinis gestarum of William of
Tyre (c.1130-1185)
The description of King Amaury of
Jerusalem comes from Deeds Beyond the Sea by the man considered one of the
greatest medieval historians, William, Archbishop of Tyre. He also gives us a fascinating glimpse of
William de Montferrat, older brother of Conrad de Montferrat, who was wed to
Sybilla, Queen of Jerusalem, later the wife of Guy de Lusignan. He describes William as handsome and bold and
intelligent, but then adds that he was inclined to drink too much and when he
did, he was very quick to anger. Such a
pity he died in 1186, for I’d have loved to have read what he would have said
about the English-French feuding during the Third Crusade!
Well, it is time to return to the
dungeons of Trifels Castle, where the most dangerous enemies of the Holy Roman
Empire were imprisoned and where Coeur de Lion spent a few very uncomfortable
weeks in April of 1193. Once I can
spring Richard from Trifels, I will surface again.
May 12, 2012














