# A Cyclopaedia of Female Biography/Joanna, Countess of Hainault and Flanders

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JOANNA,
Countess of Hainault and Flanders. Baldwin, Count of Flanders, born in 1171, was one of the heroes of the fourth crusade, when he set out on which, he left two young daughters, Joan and Margaret—the former destined to be his heiress and successor. Their mother, Mary di Sciampagna, died at Acre, in making a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. During the absence of Baldwin, Flanders was governed by the guardian and cousin of the infants, Philip of Namur.
Joan, from early girlhood, manifested an imperious will and ardent desire for sway. Profiting by a rumour of the death of her father, which began to be spread abroad, she seized the reins of government, and caused herself, in 1209, to be declared Countess of Hainault and Flanders. Two years after this she formed a marriage, which, judging from its results, must have arisen on her side from motives of policy, unmingled with affection. The husband she selected was Ferdinand, son of Sancho, King of Portugal. Uncertain in disposition, unskilful in conduct, and weak in design, Ferdinand attempted various expeditions, and performed all with ill-success. He began by forming an alliance with Philip Augustus; then owing to some frivolous pique we find him deserting to the English, just at the time of the famous battle of Bouvines. Covered with wounds, he fell into the hands of the French, and was conveyed a prisoner to Paris, where he remained fifteen years in captivity. Joan appears to have considered him well disposed of, as she maintained an amicable relation with Philip Augustus, and afterwards with Louis the Eighth. These kings were her friends, supporters, and trusty allies. No doubt they consulted her wishes in retaining the unhappy Ferdinand in the Louvre, while they granted her the honours and privileges of a sovereign per se, among which was the holding an unsheathed sword before them. She seems to have governed with vigour and judgment. Her political treaties were made with a sagacity rare at that period. She had none of the tenderness of an amiable woman, but was gifted with the shrewd sense and hardness of a statesman. Circumstances soon arose before which a less stout heart would have quailed, and a more sensitive conscience refused to act.
In 1225, a broken-down, grey-headed, feeble old man made his appearance in Lisle, and declared himself to be Baldwin, the father of the countess, returned to resume his sovereignty! Joan boldly asserted that he was an impostor, and denied him admission to the palace; but his piteous tale, his venerable appearance, and the natural bias of the populace to side with the oppressed, gained him numerous partizans. Joan's residence was surrounded by a tumultuous mob, and she hastily fled to Peronne, and put herself under the protection of her trusty friend King Louis, who summoned the soi-disant Baldwin to appear before his tribunal, when as suzerain he would pronounce between the contending parties. He decided that the old man was an impostor, and as such, ordered him out of the kingdom, though he respected the safe-conduct under which he had presented himself, and had him carried safely beyond the frontiers. The countess being reinstated in her domains, showed ​by her cruelty that she did not despise the claims of the wretched veteran. She sent persons to seize him, and when under her jurisdiction, after submitting his aged limbs to the torture, she caused him to be decapitated. Kneeling on the scaffold, with one hand on the crucifix, and his head on the block, he repeated that he was the true and real Baldwin, Count of Flanders. At a neighbouring window appeared a pale visage, with closed teeth and contracted muscles—it was Joan—who took a fearful satisfaction in seeing with her own eyes the fulfilment of her dire will!
After this scene of blood, the countess governed Flanders peacefully and prosperously for sixteen years. The justice of St. Louis when he ascended the throne of France opened the prison-doors of Ferdinand; but the privations, and sufferings, and solitude of years, had weakened his moral and physical economy—he was prematurely old—and did not live to enjoy his freedom, so long wished for. The widow then espoused Thomas of Savoy. The day after this marriage, mounted in a stately car with her husband, she went in procession through the city of Lisle; but when she arrived at the place where her father had been executed, it is said that a bloody phantom rose before her—the head but half attached to the bust—and uttered the most frightful menaces. Who shall pronounce whether this apparition was the effect of a guilty conscience, stimulated by the accusations of the populace, or a nervous disorder, the beginning of Divine vengeance! At all events, from that day Joan led a life of agony and terror, always haunted by the fatal spectre. Consulting holy churchmen, she was advised to build a monastery on the very spot where the phantom rose. Joan not only did this, but also erected a hospital and two convents; and that her repentance might prove still more efficacious, assumed herself the habit of a nun, and died in the cloister in the year 1241. Her death-bed was surrounded by the holy sisterhood, who lavished every comfort of religion upon her; she grasped convulsively the crucifix, and her last words were, in accents of despair, "Will God forgive me?"