It is fortunate, therefore, that the scattered statements in his writings may be so pieced together as to afford a tolerably connected history of his life year after year. The personality of the man, independently of his adventures, may be arrived at by the same process. It will be found that Froissart, without meaning it, has pourtrayed himself in clear and well-defined outline. His forefathers were jurés of the little town of Beaumont, lying near the river Sambre, to the west of the forest of Ardennes. Early in the 14th century the castle and seigneurie of Beaumont fell into the hands of Jean, younger son of the count of Hainault. With this Jean, sire de Beaumont, lived a certain canon of Liège called Jean le Bel, who, fortunately, was not content simply to enjoy life. Instigated by his seigneur he set himself to write contemporary history, to tell “la pure veriteit de tout li fait entièrement al manire de chroniques.” With this view, he compiled two books of chronicles. And the chronicles of Jean le Bel were not the only literary monuments belonging to the castle of Beaumont. A hundred years before him Baldwin D’Avemes,the then seigneur, had caused to be written a book of chronicles or rather genealogies. It must therefore be remembered that when Froissart undertook his own chronicles, he was not conceiving a new idea, but only following along familiar lines.

Some 20 miles from Beaumont stood the prosperous city of Valenciennes, possessed in the 14th century of important privileges and a flourishing trade, second only to places like Bruges or Ghent in influence, population, and wealth. Beaumont, once her rival, now regarded Valenciennes as a place where the ambitious might seek for wealth or advancement, and among those who migrated thither was the father of Froissart. He appears from a single passage in his son’s verses to have been a painter of armorial bearings. There was, it may be noted, already what may be called a school of painters at Valenciennes. Among them were Jean and Colin de Valenciennes and André Beau-Neveu, of whom Froissart says that he had not his equal in any country.

The date generally adopted for his birth is 1337. In after years Froissart pleased himself by recalling in verse the scenes and pursuits of his childhood. These are presented in vague generalities. There is nothing to show that he was unlike any other boys, and, unfortunately, it did not occur to him that a photograph of a schoolboy’s life amid bourgeois surroundings would be to posterity quite as interesting as that faithful portraiture of courts and knights which he has drawn up in his Chronicle. As it is, we learn that he loved games of dexterity and skill rather than the sedentary amusements of chess and draughts, that he was beaten when he did not know his lessons, that with his companions he played at tournaments, and that he was always conscious—a statement which must be accepted with suspicion—that he was born

“Loer Dieu et servir le monde.”

In any case he was born in a place, as well as at a time, singularly adapted to fill the brain of an imaginative boy. Valenciennes, at the present day a dull town, was then a city extremely rich in romantic associations. Not far from its walls was the western fringe of the great forest of Ardennes, sacred to the memory of Pepin, Charlemagne, Roland, and Ogier. Along the banks of the Scheldt stood, one after the other, not then in ruinsj but bright with banners, thegleam of armour, and the liveries of the men at arms, castles whose seigneurs, now forgotten, were famous in their day for many a gallant feat of arms. The castle of Valenciennes itself was illustrious in the romance of Perceforest∙. there was born that most glorious and most luckless hero, Baldwin, first emperor of Constantinople. All the splendour of mediaeval life was to be seen in Froissart’s native city: on the walls of the Salle le Comte glittered—perhaps painted by his father—the arms and scutcheons beneath the banners and helmets of Luxembourg, Hainault, and Avesnes; the streets were crowded with knights and soldiers, priests, artisans, and merchants·; the churches were rich with stained glass, delicate tracery, and precious carving; there were libraries full of richly illuminated manuscripts on which the boy could gaze with delight; every year there was the/éteof the∕>wy d' Amour de Valenciennes, at which he would hear the verses of the competing poets; there were festivals, masques, mummeries, and moralities. And, whatever there might be elsewhere, in this happy city there was only the pomp, and not the misery, of war; the fields without were tilled, and the harvests reaped, in security; the workman within plied his craft unmolested for good wage. But the eyes of the boy were turned upon the castle and not upon the town; it was the splendour of the knights which dazzled him, insomuch that he regarded and continued ever afterwards to regard a prince gallant in the field, glittering of apparel, lavish of largesse, as almost a god.

The moon, he says, rules the first four years of life; Mercury the next ten; Venus follows. He was fourteen when the last goddess appeared to him in person, as he tells us, after the manner of his time, and informed him that he was to love a lady, “belle, jone, et gente.” Awaiting this happy event, he began to consider how best to earn his livelihood. They first placed him in some commercial position—impossible now to say of what kind—which he simply calls “la marchandise.” This undoubtedly means some kind of buying and selling, not a handicraft at all. He very soon abandoned merchandise—“car vaut mieux science qu’ argens ”—and resolved on becoming a learned clerk. He then naturally began to make verses, like every other learned clerk. Quite as naturally, and still in the character of a learned clerk, he fulfilled the prophecy of Venus, and fell in love. He found one day a demoiselle reading a book of romances. He did not know who she was, but stealing gently towards her, he asked her what book she was reading, lt was the romance of Cleomades. He remarks the singular beauty of her blue eyes and fair hair, while she reads a page or two, and then—one would almost suspect a reminiscence ,of Dante—

“Adont laissâmes nous le lire.”

He was thus provided with that essential for soldier, knight, or poet, a mistress,—one for whom he could write verses. She was rich and he was poor; she was nobly born and he obscure; it was long before she would accept the devotion, even of the conventional kind which Froissart offered her, and which would in no way interfere with the practical business of her life. And in this hopeless way, the passion of the young poet remaining the same, and the coldness of the lady being unaltered, the course of this passion ran on for some time. Nor was it .until the day of Froissart’s departure from his native town that she gave him an interview and spoke kindly to him, even promising, with tears in her eyes, that “Doulce Pensée” would assure him that she would have no joyous day until she should see him again.

He was eighteen years of age; he had learned all that he wanted to learn; he possessed the mechanical art of verse; he had read the slender stock of classical literature accessible; he longed to see the world. He must already have acquired some distinction, because, on setting out for the court of England, he was able to take with him letters of recommendation from the king of Bohemia and the count of Hainault to Queen Philippa, niece of the latter. He was well received by the queen, always ready to welcome her own countrymen; he wrote ballades and virelays for her and her ladies. But after a year he began to pine for another sight of “la très douce, simple, et quoie,” whom he loved loyally. Good Queen Philippa, perceiving his altered looks and guessing the cause, made him confess that he was in love and longed to see his mistress. She gave him his congé on the condition that he was to return. It is clear that the young clerk had already learned to ingratiate himself with princes.

The conclusion of his single love adventure is simply and unaffectedly told in his Trettie de l , Espinette Amoureuse. It was a passion conducted on the well-known lines of conventional love; the pair exchanged violets and roses, the lady-accepted ballads; Froissart became either openly or in secret her recognized lover, a mere title of honour, which conferred distinction on her who bestowed it, as well as upon him who received it. But the progress of the amour was rudely interrupted by the arts of “Malebouche,” or Calumny. The story, whatever it was, that Malebouche whispered in the ear of the lady, led to a complete rupture. The damoi-selle not only scornfully refused to speak to her lover or acknowledge him, but even seized him by the hair and pulled out a handful. Nor would she ever be reconciled to him again. Years afterwards, when Froissart writes the story of his one love passage, he shows that he still takes delight in the remembrance of her, loves to draw her portrait, and lingers with fondness over the thought of what she once was to him.

Perhaps to get healed of his sorrow, Froissart began those wanderings in which the best part of his life was to be consumed. He first visited Avignon, perhaps to ask for a benefice, perhaps as the bearer of a message from the bishop of Cambray to pope or cardinal. It was in the year 1360, and in the pontificate of Innocent VI. From the papal city he seems to have gone to Paris, perhaps charged with a diplomatic mission. In 1361 he returned to England after an absence of five years. He certainly interpreted his leave of absence in a liberal spirit, and it may have been with a view of averting the displeasure of his kind-hearted protector that he brought with him as a present a book of rhymed chronicles written by himself. He says that notwithstanding his youth, he took upon himself the task “à rimer et à dicter”— which can only mean to “turn into verse ”—an account of the wars of his own time, which he carried over to England in a book “tout compilé,”—complete to date,—and presented to his noble mistress Philippa of Hainault, who joyfully and gently received it of him. Such a rhymed chronicle was no new thing. One Colin had already turned the battle of Crécy into verse. The queen made young Froissart one of her secretaries, and he began to serve her with “beaux dittiés et traités amoureux.”

Froissart would probably have been content to go on living at ease in this congenial atmosphere of flattery, praise, and caresses, pouring out his virelays and chansons according to demand with facile monotony, but for the instigation of Queen Philippa, who seems to have suggested to him the propriety of travelling in order to get information for more rhymed chronicles. It was at her charges that Froissart made his first serious journey. He seems to have travelled a great part of the way alone, or accompanied only by his servants, for he was fain to beguile the journey by composing an imaginary conversation in verse between his horse and his hound. This may be found among his published poems, but it does not repay perusal. In Scotland he met with a favourable reception, not only from King David but from William of Douglas, and from the Earls of Fife, Mar, March, and others. The souvenirs of this journey are found scattered about in the chronicles. He was evidently much impressed with the Scotch; he speaks of the valour of the Douglas, the Campbell, the Ramsay, and the Graham; he describes the hospitality and rude life of the Highlanders; he admires the great castles of Stirling and Roxburgh, and the famous abbey of Melrose. His travels in Scotland lasted for six months. Returning southwards he rode along the whole course of the Roman wall, a thing alone sufficient to show that he possessed the true spirit of an archaeologist; he thought that Carlisle was Carlyon, and congratulated himself on having found King Arthur’s capital; he calls Westmoreland, where the common people still spoke the ancient British tongue, North Wales; he rode down the banks of the Severn, and returned to London by way of Oxford—“Γescole d’Asque-Suffort.”

In London Froissart entered into the service of King John of France as secretary, and grew daily more courtly, more in favour with princes and great ladies. He probably acquired at this period that art, in which he has probably never been surpassed, of making people tell him all they knew. No newspaper correspondent, no American interviewer, has ever equalled this mediaeval collector of intelligence. From Queen Philippa, who ccnfided to him the tender story of her youthful and lasting love for her great husband, down to the simplest knight—Froissart conversed with none beneath the rank of gentlemen—all united in telling this man what he wanted to know. He wanted to know everything: he liked the story of a battle from both sides and from many points of view; he wanted the details of every little cavalry skirmish, every capture of a castle, every gallant action and brave deed. And what was more remarkable he forgot nothing. “I had,” he says, “thanks to God, sense, memory, good remembrance of everything, and an intellect clear and keen to seize upon the acts which I could learn.” But as yet he had not begun to write in prose.

At the age of twenty-nine, in 1366, Froissart once more left England. This time he repaired first to Brussels, whither were gathered together a great concourse of minstrels from all parts, from the courts of the kings of Denmark, Navarre, and Aragon, from those of the dukes of Lancaster, Bavaria, and Brunswick. Hither came all who could “rimer et dieter.” "What distinction Froissart gained is not stated; but he received a gift of money as appears from the accounts, “uni Fritsardo, dictori, qui est cum regina Angliae, dicto die, vi. mottones.”

After this congress of versifiers, he made his way to Brittany, where he heard from eye-witnesses and knights who had actually fought there details of the battles of Cotsherel and Auray, the Great Day of the Thirty and the heroism of Jeanne de Montfort. Windsor Herald told him something about Auray, and a French knight, one Antoine de Beaujeu, gave him the details of Cocherel. From Brittany he went southwards to Nantes, La Rochelle, and Bordeaux, where he arrived a few days before the visit of Richard, afterwards second of that name. He accompanied the Black Prince to Dax, and hoped to go on with him into Spain, but was despatched to England on a mission. He next formed part of the expedition which escorted Lionel duke of Clarence to Milan, to marry the daughter of Galeazzo Visconti. Chaucer was also one of the prince’s suite. At the wedding banquet Petrarch was a guest sitting among the princes.

From Milan Froissart, accepting gratefully a coite hardie with 20 florins of gold, set out upon his travels in Italy. At Bologna, then in decadence, he met Peter king of Cyprus, from whose follower and minister, Eustache de Conflans, he learned many interesting particulars of the king’s exploits. He accompanied Peter as far as Venice, where he left him after receiving a gift of 40 ducats. With them and his cotte hardie, still lined we may hope with the 20 florins, Froissart betook himself to Rome. The city was then at its lowest point: the churches were roofless; there was no pope; there were no pilgrims; there was no splendour; and yet, says Froissart sadly,

“Ce furent jadis en Rome, Li plus ρreu et li plus sage homme Car par sens tons les arts passèrent.

It was at Rome that he learned the death of his friend King Peter of Cyprus, and, worse still, an irreparable loss to him, that of the good Queen Philippa, of whom he writes, in grateful remembrance—

“Propices li soit Diex à l’âme! J’en suis bien tenus de pryer Et ses larghesces escuyer, Car elle me fist et créa.” Philippa dead, Froissart looked around for a new patron. Then he hastened back to his own country and presented himself, with a new book in French, to the duchess of Brabant, from whom he received the sum of 16 francs, given in the accounts as paid uni Frissardo dictatori. The use of the word uni does not imply any meanness of position, but is simply an equivalent to the modern French sieur. Froissart may also have found a patron in Yolande de Bar, grandmother of King René of Anjou. In any case he received a substantial gift from some one in the shape of the benefice of Lestines, a village some three or four miles from the town of Binche. Also, in addition to his cure, he got placed upon the duke of Brabant’s pension list, and was entitled to a yearly grant of grain and wine, with some small sum in money.

It is clear, from Froissart’s own account of himself, that he was by no means 3 man who would at the age of four or five and thirty be contented to sit down at ease to discharge the duties of parish priest, to say mass, to bury the dea l, to marry the villagers, and to baptize the young. In these days, and in that country, it does not seem that other duties were expected. Preaching was not required, godliness of life, piety, good works, and the graces of a modern ecclesiastic were not looked for. Therefore, when Froissart complains to himself that the taverns of Lestines got 500 francs of his money, we need not at once set him down as cither a bad priest, or exceptionally given to drink. The people of the place were greatly addicted to wine; the taverniers de Lestines proverbially sold good wine; the Flemings were proverbially of a joyous disposition—

“Ceux de Hainaut chantent à pleines gorges.”

Froissart, the parish priest of courtly manners, no doubt drank with the rest, and listened if they sang his own, not the coarse country songs. Mostly he preferred the society of Gerard d’Obies, provost of Binche, and the little circle of knights within that town. Or, for it was not incumbent on him to be always in residence, he repaired to the court of Coudenberg, and became “moult frère et accointé” with the duke of Brabant. And then came Gui de Blois, one of King John’s hostages in London in the old days. He had been fighting in Prussia with the Teutonic knights, and now, a little tired of war, proposed to settle down for a time in his castle of Beaumont. This prince was a member of the great house of Chatillon. He was count of Blois, of Soissons, and of Chimay. He had now, about the year 1374, an excellent reputation as a good captain. In him Froissart, who hastened to resume acquaintance, found a new patron. More than that, it was this sire de Beaumont, in emulation of his grandfather, the patron of Jean le Bel, who advised Froissart seriously to take in hand the history of his own time. Froissart was then in his thirty-sixth year. For twenty years he had been rhyming, for eighteen he had been making verses for queens and ladies. Yet during all this time he had been accumulating in his retentive brain the materials for his future work.

He began by editing so to speak, that is, by rewriting with additions...