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CHIVALRY

Dd^

Of THl

l^ UNIVERSITY

ALLEGOIIICAL REPKESENTATION OF CHIVALRY.

[Frontispiece.

CHIVALRY

BY

LEON GAUTIER

Translated by HENRY FRITH

WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTR^

c^ THE 'r
UNIVEE8ITY

LONDON ^^^i-IFORN^^

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND bUJNb, i.iMiTED

BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL

GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK

1891

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J^^^l

Gr

LONDON :
BRADBURY, AONEW, & CO. LIMD., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

DEDICATION.

I dedicate this ivork to the memory of Miguel Cervantes
Saavedra who laughed at Chivalry in his hooks and was a true
" Chevalier " in his life, I dedicate it to the greatest of Spanish
authors and to one of the most valiant soldiers of Spain — the
author of " Don Quixote " — the wounded Knight of Lepanto !

%

PREFACE.

Our first intention was to give this volume the more expanded
title of " Chivalry, according to the Epic Poems," hut we have
heen compelled to consult so many other authorities that we feel
obliged to adopt a more general and shorter title.

The Epic Poems (Chansons de Geste) do not the less remain as
the principal and the best of all our sources of information ; for in
them (in our own opinion) we find the truest pictures of Chivalry
itself, and the most exact representations of the days of Chivalry.
The authors of these popular poems, whose sincerity is unquestion-
able, only depicted what they actually witnessed. No other writers
have so minutely described the costumes, armour, habitations,
furniture, the private lives and the manners of the Feudal nobility.
Good judges are not easily deceived. There is perhaps not a page
of the admirable Glossary of Ducange, or of the Memoirs of Saint
Palaye, which does not bear witness to the truthfulness of our
songs. Nor does Jules Quicherat hold them in less esteem ; he
declares in round terms that " their heroes are creations modelled
on Feudal seignors." Viollet le Due quotes them as frequently

PREFACE.

as Ducange. They complete the Annals and the Chronicles, filling
in lapses, and adding force to the cases recorded. It is, besides, very
easy to assure one's self that the poets spoke the same language as
our historians. This can he substantiated by reading alternately
such a Chronicle as that of Lambert d'Ardre and a poem like Ogier,

It will appear to many good souls that our enterprise is rather a
rash one, if we reflect how many volumes have been inspired by
Chivalry. But we have chosen to produce our book on a new plan,
and this view may commend it to competent judges. We have
devoted a large portion of the volume to the private life of the
period : and have enshrined it in a chronological frame which is
not very elastic. We have seldom gone farther back than the time
of Philip Augustus, and rarely go lower than his death. Within
these limits, as has been truly said, lies the golden epoch of the
Middle Ages — and to it we have confined ourselves. The chief
fault of works which have preceded this is, in our opinion, the long
period included in them, and they do not sufficiently draw the dis-
tinction between the Chivalry of the twelfth and of the thirteenth
centuries. We hope we have avoided this confusion.

The result of many years of application, this volume has been
from all points of view the object of conscientious preparation.
The writer has above all things striven to be perfectly impartial,
and would be the very last person to deliberately lay on colour too
thickly or to embellish his models. His confessed aim is to bring
out the glories of old France, to compel afi'ection by making her
known ; and, as Guizot says, " to bring her back to the memory,
and into the intelligence, of her generations."

But we conceived another idea, which may appear more daring
still : this was to enlarge the mind, to check the mercantile spirit
which abases, and the egotism which is killing it : to convey to it
some of the enthusiasm for the Beautiful, which is menaced ; and
for the Truth, which seems to us to be dying out.

There is more than one kind of Chivalry, and lance thrusts are
not everything ! In default of the sword we have the pen : failing
the pen, speech : and in default of speech, honour, in our lives !

The Author of Chivalry will esteem himself happy if he has
created some "knights."

Li:oN Gautiek.

CONTENTS.

PAGB

Dedication v

Preface vii

CHAPTER

I. — The Origin of Chivalry 1

II.— The Code of Chivalry.— The First Three Command-
ments 24

III.— The Code of Chivalry. — The Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth

Commandments . 45

IV.— The Code op Chivalry.— The Last Four Command-
ments. Growth and Decadence of the Chivalrous
Ideal 61

H V. — The Infancy of the future Knight 86

/Vl. — The Youth of the Baron 153

N/

VII.— The Entrance into Chivalry.— Theory and History . 213

VIII.— The Entrance into Chivalry.— The Practice at the

END OF THE TWELTH CeNTURY 260

IX.— The Espousals of the Knight. — Theory and History . 281

X. — The Espousals op the Knight. — Before Marriage . 300

XL— The Espousals op the Knight. — A Twelfth Century

Marriage 320

XII. — The Domestic Life op the Knight. — A Day in the ^
Life of a Baron at the End of the Twelfth
Century. Four o'Clock a.m. Eleven o'Clock a.m., ^
Outside the Castle , 346

XIII. — The Domestic Life of the Knight. — A Day in the Life
OF A Baron at the End of the Twelfth Century
(continued). Six o'Clock a.m 393

X CONTENTS. \

CHAPTER PAGE

XIV. — The Domestic Life of the Knight. — A Day in the Life

OF A Baron at the End of the Twelfth Century '

{continued). Before Dinner. The Morning . . . 402 ■

'>X.Y. — The Domestic Life of the Knight. — A Day in the Life j

of a Baron at the End of the Twelfth Century ■

(continued). Midday : The Dinner 426 '

-^ XVI. — The Domestic Life of the Knight. — A Day in the Life

OP a Baron at the End of the Twelfth Century j

(continued). After Dinner 445

XVII. — The Military Life op the Knight. — Before the War . 456 i

XVIII. — The Military Life op the Knight. War. A Six

Months' Campaign 471 ^

XIX.— The Death op the Knight 489 I

XX.— Conclusion 497 ^

The Kni"ht.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAOB

Allegorical Representation of Chivalrt .... Frontispiece.

The Church and Chivalry 3

Charlemagne Stopping the Sun ! 17

The Crusaders' First Sight of Jerusalem 25

The Death of Orri, King of Bavaria, made Prisoner by the

Saracens 37

The First King of France Crowned by Angels 47 •

The Death of Eoland 51

Eenaud de Montauban and his Brother at the Feet of Charlemagne . 63

Renier and his Wife Erembourc substituted their Own Child

FOR their Master's Infant 64

The Mother of Godfrey de Bouillon 87

"A very young Man is lying stiff, perfectly white, his hands

crossed" • 120 \

An Episode in the Youth of Roland 155

" Let us go out. Come now." — " No, I tell you " . . , . 195

Galien Created a Knight by the Dead Hand of Roland . . . . 215

" Remember Me, and be Valiant, Aimeri ! " 240

Admission according to the Liturgical Mode 261

Watching the Armour 265

King Yon of Gascony informs his sister Clarissa that he wishes her to

marry Renaud de Montauban 283

Aude Dies of Grief upon learning the Death of Roland, her Betrothed . 301

"I WILL not Rise till you have Forgiven my Mother" . . 307

Betrothal of Roland and Aude . . . . . . . 311

The Bridal Pair coming from Church 321

GiRARD DE ROUSILLON AND HIS WiFE IN RETIREMENT . . . . 337

xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. \

PAGE I

CriBARD Exhorted by his Wife while E,eceiving the Messenger '

OP Charlemagne 342 |

"Eosanninde at the Window 347 \

Eenaud, a Workman at Cologne 372 '■

WiLLLAJi op Orange Eeturning prom Aliscans 375^^

The Morning Prayer 395 \

Arrival of Guests at the Castle 403 i

The Mother Recognises her Sons in the Castle .... 407

Domestic Life in the Middle Ages 411 J

The Lavatory 427

Ogier's Revenge 429 j

Oberon the Dwarf and Huon of Bordeaux 431 j

The Restoration op the Children op Amile 432

Round the Fire 446 ;

Thierry Accusing Ganelon 448 '

The Punishment of Ganelon 449

The Great Duel between Thierry and Pinabel . . . . 450

Charlemagne before Narbonne 451 ^

Count William hastens to the King 453 j

Entry of the Pope, escorted by Charlemagne 455 i

Going to the Crusade 457 \

The MeMe 473 I

Before the Battle — The Mass 481 j

The Benediction at Aspremont 482

The Rescue op the Oriplame 483,^

After the Battle. — "The Barons are carefully Laid Out." . 485 '\

Tending the Wounded on the Field 487 1

Angels carrying the Souls of Brave Knights up to Heaven . . . 491 |

Renaud de Montauban Rises prom his Bier 492 \

The Dying Baron Requests a Song from his Daughters . . 494 ;

^t. Louis in Prison 498 i

i

CHIVALRY.

CHAPTER I.

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY.

Chivaley is not one of those official institutions which make
their appearance suddenly in history, promulgated by a Pope and
decreed by a Sovereign.

Religious as it might have been, it had nothing in its origin that
reminded one of the foundation of a religious order. One may in
fiict declare, that every single monastic order has been conceived in
the mind of an individual. The grand Benedictine order arose out
of the intelligence of Saint Benedict, and the Franciscan order from
the heart of Saint Francis. There is no parallel to this in the case
of chivalry, and it would be useless to search for the place of its
birth or for the name of its founder. What a great archaeologist
of our day has said of the Romance Architecture is scientifically
applicable to the birth of chivalry. It was born everywhere at
once, and has been everywhere at the same time the natural effect
of the same aspirations and the same needs. There was a moment
when the Christians in the East experienced the necessity of shelter-
ing themselves at prayers in churches built of stone which could
not be burned ; and then, to use the graceful terms of Kaoul Glaber,
the Christian soil was everywhere covered vdth. the white robes of
new churches.

Hence the Romance architecture. There was another moment
when people everywhere felt the necessity of tempering the ardour
of old German blood, and of giving to their ill-regulated passions
an ideal. Hence chivalry !

'/

CHIVALRY.

Chivalry, as we shall presently show, arose from a German
custom which has been idealized by the Church.
J It is less an institution than an ideal.

Many volumes have been written upon this noble subject, and a
few words will be sufficient to define clearly chivalry and the knight.
^ r " Chivalry is the Christian form of the military profession : tEe]
LJvnight is the Christian soldier." — '

II.

One has hardly arrived at this conclusion when a great problem
arises quickly in our minds. "Did the Church sanction war ? "
We know of no more important question, nor one more intimately
connected with our subject.

The Church's theory is well known : in three words — She hates
war' ! Vainly have certain sophists endeavoured to tone down the
grand words of the Saviour, " They who take the sword shall perish
with the sword." After much hesitation and the inevitable search-
ings out, the true thought of the Church was magnificently formu-
lated by Saint Augustine when he said :

" He who can think of war and can support it without great
sorrow, is truly dead to human feelings ; " and when he laid down
the grand principle — this fertilizing principle, " It is necessary to
submit to war — ^but to wish for peace."

Another axiom, again, is that of which the Fathers of the Council
of Kiersy, in 858, threw at the heads of the feudal system, then in
its wild youth. " We ought," they said, " to war against our vices,
and make peace with our brethren." So, from axiom to axiom we
pass on to the celebrated proclamation which Leo X. made to the
Lateran Council in 1514 : " Nothing is more pernicious, nothing is
nore disastrous to the Christian Kepublic than the inhuman rage
for war."

The Church hated war, but it was forced, alas ! to acknowledge
Its existence in the New World as in the Old, and we are led to'
give a philosophical explanation of it, which we must here make
known with rigorous impartiality and in no apologetic tone. War,
then, presents to the eyes of the Church the triple character of
being at once a righteous punishment, a useful expiation, a Provi-

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY.

dential preparation. As soon as a nation ceases to be manly and
self-sacrificing, as soon as it enters into its era of decadence, and
becomes capable of rendering other nations effeminate ; or again
when in the midst of its prosperity and splendour it becomes
tyrannical ; oppresses the human conscience, and threatens the
free destiny of the truth on the earth — God makes use of another
people to chastise this corrupt, haughty, and dangerous nation.

The Church and Chivalry.

These are the righteous punishments of which we speak : these are
the redoubtable executions of Divine Justice. But nevertheless
they do not explain all wars, and it is beyond doubt that there are
many instances in history in which they have assisted in the down-
fall of nations both pure and noble, which deserved well of God and
the Truth : it happens that these faithful nations are unfortunately
conquered and on the point of succumbing beneath the efforts of a
people who are far inferior. The Catholic philosophy of war is not
embarrassed by this view. *' These nations," says she, " are pun-
ished for themselves or for others," and this noble doctrine is easily

B 2

CHIVALRY.

applicable to individuals, and to the last of the soldiers who take
part in the struggle. War is, in fact, a great means of expiation.
'' Cruel separations : a home quitted in tears ; a family which no
longer thinks of the absent ones ; many physical ills ; hunger,
thirst, fatigue, and mortal wounds from which one dies by inches
on the field of battle : death at length : death alone a hundred
leagues from one's home and friends : death unconsoled : " the
soldier who wishes to make expiation for himself or for others has
only to choose, amid so many sufferings, that which he can effica-
ciously olfer to Heaven, and it is by such means that he merits so
well the noble title of expiator which we need not comment on any
further. As for war considered as the terrestrial preparation for
the kingdom of God, we must refer to Bossuet and show, with him,
how empires fall one upon another to form a foundation whereon
to build the Church. But after Bossuet we must be silent.

Such is the " Catholic theory of war and of the soldier." It was
necessary to examine it plainly in the first pages of a volume
dedicated to chivalry. We shall have no occasion to return to it.

III.

The Church tolerates war, but it only authorises righteous war.
''It is righteous war," says Saint Augustine, *' when one proposes
to punish a violation of law : when it has become necessary to
chastise a people who refuse to repair a wrong, or who refuse to
restore property unjustly acquired." We may add, with Kaban
Maur, the odious and alas too frequent cases of invasion, which it
is always legitimate to resist. Vincent de Beauvais, the greatest
encyclopaedist of the middle ages, develops the doctrine in the reign
of Saint Louis, at the time when all France was listening to the
" chansons de geste," from which we have borrowed the chief ele-
ments of our work. " There are," he says, '' three conditions
under which a war may be just and lawful : the authority of the
prince who commands the war — a just cause, and lastly a lawful
intention." But let us barken to the illustrious thirteenth century
compiler when he adds — " By just cause we mean one in which we
do not march against our brothers save when they have deserved
chastisement for some infraction of duty : and the lawful intention

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY.

consists in making war to avoid evil, and to advance well being."
As for unjust war the great Bishop of Hipponus long since charac-
terized it in a single sentence, but one which is immortal : '* It is
brigandage on a large scale." That feudal wars deserved this
definition we shall have occasion, and be obliged, to maintain more
than once. Compelled to tolerate the war which it abhorred, the
Church organized against it, throughout all history, a whole series
of grand and often successfully opposed obstacles. The " Peace "
and the *' Truce of God " are perhaps the most widely known :
Chivalry is the most beautiful. Nevertheless the Church after all
was unable to achieve its generous purpose, and was constrained in
practice not only to permit war but even to encourage it ! She did
not descend to this save in two cases easy to determine : when it
became a question of subduing and crushing out advancing bar-
barism and triumphant evil, and when it was necessary in the limits
of duty that the Catholics should conform to the injunctions of the
civil authority. Si^ch, since the earliest times, has been the con-
duct of the Church vis-a-vis with war. We can easily adduce proofs
of this.

That the Church authorized her children to serve in the armies
of the Roman Emperor : that military service was permitted to the
first Christians, no oiie can doubt who has read the beautiful Dis-
sertation of the Bollandists. The light has come.

It is important nevertheless to distinguish here between the
epoch of persecution and the centuries which followed the peace of
the Church.

During the period of persecution the doctors and martyrs were
not unanimous upon the question of military service. Grand and
noble spirits had misgivings on the subject. Origen, whose teach-
ing is not always certain, declares in set terms that military service
is incompatible with the Christian profession. Lactantius is not
less precise in proclaiming that there exists no objection to the
divine decree — *' Thou shalt not kill." Man is a sacred being, and
it is always a crime to kill him. But the great enemy to the ser-
vice was the fiery, the incomparable Tertullian ; and I do not think
he ever wrote more eloquently than when declaiming against the
profession of arms. " So," he says, " you would permit people to
live while practising the profession of a soldier, when the Saviour

^^

CHIVALRY.

declared that *he that takes the sword shall perish by the sword.'
He to whom such means are forbidden, the son of peace, would be
i doing the work of battle. He to whom it is forbidden to revenge
his own injuries would inflict upon others fetters, imprisonment,
torture, death." The appeal is long, and it must be allowed that
it touches the sublime. But, with orators, one must be on one's
guard; and the greater part of Tertullian's reasonings will not
stand the test of rigorous philosophic examination. Let us confess
at once that they are less arguments than images.

Notwithstanding all this, such an appeal found a loud echo in
the breasts of youthful Christendom, and the Tertullian doctrine
found defenders who stood by it to the death. A certain number of
martyrs preferred death to military service ; the most illustrious of
these was Saint Maximilian, who, in the year 295, at Thevestis in
Numidia, refused to serve the emperor to whom he was bound as
the son of a veteran soldier. " I am a Christian," he cried, " and
I cannot do this evil." Saint Theogenes at Cyzie made the same
resistance, and it was in vain that the tribune pointed out to him
all the other soldiers, saying, " They also are Christians." Others
who had accepted service renounced it under circumstances which
demanded from them idolatrous practices. But these are only the
exceptions ; and one may truthfully affirm that there was a consi-
derable number of Christians in the legions. Tertullian himself
admits as much : *i We are but of yesterday, and lo ! we fill your
castella and your castraJ" Besides, nothing was more able than
the Roman policy. With a view to retain their good soldiers the
emperors took care not to impose anything upon Christians that
would trouble their consciences. The military oath itself was
deprived of all that might give umbrage to the spirit of their faith,
and they were only obliged to swear 'per salutem imperatormn, per
caput imperatoris, per pietatem et victoriam imperatorum. In fact
it was only in the year 298 that the mask of Roman policy was
permitted to fall, and that Galerius attempted to snatch away the
souls of the Christian soldiers from the Church. Up to that time
they had not been seriously alarmed : each one had said that in
serving the empire he was serving God and the Church ; '* for I
am fighting against the barbarians and opening the way to the
truth." And the great majority of the doctors and the fathers en-

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY.

couraged them in this view. The douhts which seized upon some
scrupulous minds only arose, as we have said, from the idolatrous
practices to which the soldiers of the pagan emperors could he sub-
jected. These douhts had no more excuse for existence when
peace had been made with the Church, aufl the rJoniyQ^] ^f Arlea in
^14 — a council which was attended hy all the Western bishops —
separated from the communion those who refused or abandoned
military service. ^_Ihe_cause was understood, and military service
finally permitted.

The idea of the legitimacy of certain wars and the glorification
of the Christian soldier, the idea which had aroused the soul of a
Tertullian and that of an Origen, made very decided progress in the
Western world between the fourth and the tenth centuries, during
which period it was full of invasions, barbarity, and mortal struggles
between religions and races. Certainly it was permitted to the
Apostolic fathers to dream of a new land where the peace of the
Gospel flourished, where the sword had been sheathed, where the
violence of the soldier had been replaced by the gentleness of the
priest. But these admu-able theories must in some degree give
way before stern facts, and it came to pass that the Church, without
ceasing to detest war, tolerated the thought of it, and even went
farther than that. Saint Augustine, the lofty genius who had the
misfortune to live in terrible times, and to be the contemporary of
Vandals, was one of the first teachers to formulate, so to speak, the
Christian theories concerning war and warriors. ** What is there
to be condemned in war ? Is it the death of men who must die
sooner or later ? Such a reproach should be in the mouths of
cowards, and not in use amongst truly religious men ! No, no !
what is blamable in it is the desire to hurt other men : the cruel
love of vengeance : it is this implacable spirit, this enemy of peace,
this savagery of revolt, this passion for domination and for empire !
It is certain that crimes shall be punished, and this is precisely
why according to God's ordinance, or by legitimate authority, good

people are sometimes compelled to undertake wars." „-— -

" If every war were to be condemned," says the great theologian
in another passage, ''the Gospel would have said as much. It
would have said to the soldier, ' Throw down your arms— give up
your profession.' But the Lord did not say that : He contented

CHIVALRY.

himself with recommending them to exercise moderation and
justice."

Elsewhere the voice of the eloquent apologist is heard with more
vigour. " Let those who pretend that the teaching of Christ is
contrary to the interests of the common weal, let them give the
state an army composed of soldiers modelled upon those of the
Gospel ; they are a fine race indeed, those true and faithful warriors,
who, amid a thousand dangers, and hy the aid of Heaven, triumph
over enemies reputed invincible, and bring peace to the empire.
When they are victors, these champions of a just cause, I say it is
right to congratulate them upon their victory, and the most
desirable peace that succeeds it : I say that in this we must see a
gift of God."

Such is the language of Saint Augustine, who detested war, and
the Middle Ages have hardly done anything but repeat it, or
stammer over it. For it is the destiny of great thinkers to impose
upon many centuries the domination of their doctrines and the echo
of 'their words.

During the centuries which separated those two giants of the
Christian ages, St. Augustine and St. Thomas, one is witness of
acts which may appear strange to an impartiaK observer. The
Church, in its canons issued by its councils, continued to manifest
at intervals its profound horror of war, while in the writings of its
teachers it encourages soldiers w^ho are really Christians. Nothing
is more logical nor more consistent than this, and no one has ever
known how better to reconcile the interests of the absolute and
those of the relative. " War is bad: but since it is inevitable, one
must justify those who make war honestly, and simply for the
advancement of the right." In the fifth century St. Maximus, of
Turin, did not hesitate to break away from his former hesitancy,
and declare that there was nothing blamable in military service,
A deacon who was an ornament to the Church at Carthage in the
sixth century, Fulgentius Ferrandus, permits himself to lay down
this rule for a Christian general: "Love the Commonwealth as
thyself, and let thy life be as a mirror in which thy soldiers can
see their duty clearly." St. Gregory the Great, who died at the
commencement of the seventh century, addressed one of his
beautiful epistles to the soldiers at Naples, and told them their prin-

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY,

cipal virtue should be obedience. It was to the most military and
the most manly nation of its age — to the Franks — that St. Leo IV.
addressed in the ninth century, this most manly and military
language directed against the enemies of the Christian faith :
'* Have no fear : think of your fathers. Whatever the number of
their enemies, those warriors were always victorious." And the
Pope added, "To him who dies in such a battle God will open the J
gates of Heaven." Does not one seem to hear in advance a couplet
of Roland ? Some years later, in 8G5, the Bulgarians consulted
St. Nicholas I. on the disputed question, "Is it lawful to make
war during Lent ? " And the sovereign pontiff replied in words
which might serve as the motto of our book, "War is always
devilish in its origin, and we should always abstain from it ; but if '
we cannot. &void it, if we must wage it in self-defence, in defence of
our country and of our laws, no doubt we may make preparations
for it, eveiTln^Lent.**^^ Pierre Damien is scarcely less decided in
his language ; for about the time when an unknown poet was
dedicating our most ancient epic poem to the memory of the
glorious disaster of Roncevaux, he branded with infamy all refugees
and deserters. At the Lateran council in 1139, the Church, which
still detests war and endeavours to mitigate it, forbade the too
murderous use of the bow and the arbalast in all battle between
Christians; but she cannot kill war itself, and so endeavours
in every way to impart to the combatants a high and proper
spirit.

"In the eyes of a soldier," says Hildebert, "it is not death /y
which is terrible, but dishonour ! " Observe that the Christian '
theory of war becomes more precise from day to day, and calculate,
if you can, the progress it has made since the Council of x\rles.
The features of chivalry are becoming more distinct. The outline
has become a drawing with accentuated lines, and this will in time
become a richly coloured picture. In fact, the day is breaking in
which we shall see suddenly founded those grand orders, at once
reUgious and military. And to whom do they go for advice re-
garding the management of the most celebrated of these orders ?
To a monk, to a cenobite, to a saint who has left his name upon
the age in which he livedj^_St^^rnardj__The great Cistercian,
the W^hite Friar, at once set to work and wrote his famous letter

CHIVALRY.

to the Knights of the Temple, which may pass for the most daring
contribution to the subject :

" They can fight the battles of the Lord, and can be of a surety
the soldiers of Christ. Let them kill the enemy or die : they need
have no fear ! To submit to die for Christ or to cause His enemies
to submit to death, is nought but glory, it is no crime ! Besides,
iLis not without a reason that the soldier of Christ carries a sword :
it is for the chastisement of _the wicked, and for the glory of the
good. If it bring death to the malefactor, the soldier is not a
homicide, but — excuse the word — a mahcide ! And we must
recognise in him the avenger who is in the service of Christ, and
the liberator of the Christian people."

One can scarcely go beyond this, and Joseph de Maistre himself
does not appear more audacious if we compare him to the preacher
of the first crusade. But John of Salisbury, about the same time,
condenses this doctrine into a typical sentence which has often been
repeated — sometimes exaggerated : " The military profession, as
praiseworthy as it is necessary, was instituted by God himself."
This is the end of our journey across the centuries : and we may
believe that John of Salisbury has overshot the mark. *' Instituted ''
may seem to be too strong a term, and war is after all only an evil ;
an evil which the Church is forced to tolerate, and which God
ordains shall swell the triumph of the Good.

If one wishes to reduce it to the proportions which Saint
Augustine gave it, such a doctrine is a truly wise one : for, as a
matter of fact, from the termination of the persecution to the epoch
of the Crusades, the Church has never believed in its right to cry
" halt" to war. During those iron ages she was not able to, and
she did not, condemn any but intestine struggles and private wars.
Could she — ought she — to have prevented Clovis from founding, by
his heroic struggles against the Alemanni and the Goths, that
grand Frankish unity which was to be so favourable to the great
Christian unity ? Could she — ought she — to have detained Charles
Martel when he was hurrying to Poitiers to preserve not only
France, but all the Christian ' Western world from the Eastern
barbarian ? Could she — ought she — to have strangled the ardour
of Pepin, who so energetically prepared all his son's wars; and
should she have stopped him on the road to Italy, whither he was

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY.

proceeding to give to the throne of St. Peter the temporal support
of which it had need ? Could she — ought she — to have hound
down the two powerful arms of Charlemagne, who with one hand
hurled back the Mussulmans across the Ebro, and with the other
strangled German paganism ? Could she — ought she — in face of
the incessant menaces of Islam, advocate the insensate doctrine of
those Albigenses, who declared that they would consider as homicides
all preachers of the Crusade against the Saracens ?

I appeal to the most determined advocates of peace, and I beg
them to reply honestly to these questions. Is it not true that
without all the wars favoured by the Church, we would be to-day
Mussulmans, pagans, barbarians *? Is it not true that, without
them, France would not even have had the liberty to gain its
existence ?

Not being able to prevent war, the Church has christianised the
soldier. And so we are logically led to elucidate the origin of this
chivalry, which on a former page we have termed "a German custom
idealised by the Church." ^

IV.

There is a sentence of Tacitus which here comes to the front
and which illustrious scholars have brought out before us ; this is
the celebrated passage from the Gerniania which refers to a German
rite in which we really find all the military elements of our future
chivalry. The scene took place beneath the shade of an old forest.
The barbarous tribe is assembled, and one feels that a solemn
ceremony is in preparation. Into the midst of the assembly
advances a very young man, whom you can picture to yourself with
sea-green eyes and long fair hair and perhaps some tattooing. A
chief of the tribe is present, who without delay places gravely in
the hands of the young man a framea and a buckler. Failing a
sovereign ruler, it is the father of the youth — who presently will be
a man — it is his father or some relative who undertakes this
delivery of weapons. " Such is the * virile robe ' of these people,"
as Tacitus well puts it :— " such is the first honour of their youth.
Till then the young man was only one in a family ; he becomes by ;
this rite a member of the Republic. Ante hoc dom/is pars videtur : »

\y

12 CHIVALRY.

mox rei puhlica. This sword and buckler he will never abandon,
for the Germans in all their acts, whether public or private, are
always armed. So, the ceremony finished, the assembly separates,,
and the tribe reckons a miles — a warrior — the more. That is.
all ! "

The solemn handing of arms to the young German — such is the
first germ of chivalry which Christianity was one day to animate
into life. ** Vestigium vetus creandi equites seu militesJ' It is-
with reason that Sainte-Palaye comments in the very same way
upon the text of the Germania, and that a scholar of our own
days exclaims with more than scientific exactness — " The true
origin of miles is this bestowal of arms which amongst the Germans-
marks the entry into civil life."

No other origin will support the scrutiny of the critic, and he
will not find anyone now to support the theory of Koman origin
with Pere Honore de Sainte-Marie, or that of the Arabian origin
with M. de Beaumont. There only remains to explain in this place
the term knight (chevalier) but it is well known to be derived from
caballus which, primarily, signifies a beast of burthen — or pack-
horse; — and has ended by signifying a war-horse. The knight,
also, has always preserved the name of miles ia the Latin tongue
of the middle ages, in which chivalry is always called militia.
Nothing can be clearer than this.

We do not intend to go farther, however, without replying to
two objections, which are not without weight, and which we do not
wish to leave behind us unanswered.

In a certain number of Latin books of the middle ages we find^
to describe chivalry, an expression which the *' Eomanists " oppose
triumphantly to us, and of which the Romish origin cannot seriously
be doubted. When it is intended to signify that a knight has been
created, it is stated that the individual has been girt with the
cingulum militare. Here we find ourselves in full Roman parlancey
and the word signified certain terms which described admission
into military service, the release from this service, and the degra-
dation of the legionary. When St. Martin left the militia, his.

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY. 13

action was qualified as solutio cingulif and at all those who act like
him the insulting expression militanbus zonis discincti is cast.
The girdle which sustains the sword of the Roman officer (cingulmn
— zona — or rather, cinctoriiim) as also of the baldric, from halteus,
passed over the shoulder, and was intended to support the weapon
of the common soldier. " You perceive quite well," say our
^idversaries, " that we have to do with a Roman costume." Two
very simple observations will, perhaps, suffice to get to the bottom
of such a specious argument : — The former is that the Germans
in early times wore, in imitation of the Romans, " a wide belt
ornamented with bosses of metal," a baldric, by which their
swords were suspended on the left side ; and the second is that the
chroniclers of old days, who wrote in Latin and affected the classic
style, very naturally adopted the word cinguluvi in all its accepta-
tions, and made use of this Latin paraphrasis — cingido militari
decorare — to express this solemn adoption of the sword : this
evidently German custom was always one of the principal rites of
the collation of chivalry. There is then nothing more in it than
a somewhat vague reminiscence of a Roman custom with a very
natural conjunction of terms which has always been the habit of
literary people. To sum up — the word is Roman, but the thing
itself is German. Between the militia of the Romans and the
^jhivalry of the middle ages there is really nothing in common
but the military profession considered generally. The official
iidmittauce of the Roman soldier to an army hierarchically
organised, in no way resembled the admission of a new knight into
a sort of military college, and the ''pink of society." As we read
further the singularly primitive and barbarous ritual of the service
of knightly reception in the twelfth century, one is persuaded that
the words exhale a German odour, and have nothing Roman about
them. But here is another argument, and one which would
appear decisive. The Roman legionary could not, as a rule, with-
draw from the service; he could not avoid the baldric. The
youthful knight of the middle ages, on the contrary, was always
free to arm himself or not as he pleased, just as other cavaliers are
ixt liberty to leave or join their ranks. The principal characteristic
of the knightly service, and one which separates it most decidedly
from the Roman militia, was its freedom of action.

14 CHIVALRY,

VI.

/ One very specious objection is made as regards feudalism
which some clear -minded people obstinately, confound with
chivalry. This was, I remember, the favourite theory of M. de
Montalembert, and he took a delight in explaining it to us on
his death-bed.

•Now there are, as everyone is aware, two kinds of feudalism,
which the old feudalists put down very clearly in two words now
out of date — " fiefs of dignity ' and *' fiefs simple."

About the middle of the ninth century, the dukes and counts,
who were functionaries of the empire similar to our prefets, made
themselves independent of the central power; and declared that
people owed the same allegiance to them as they did to the emperor
or the kings. Fancy the 'prefets of 1884 breaking away from all
allegiance and relations with ministers, and saying, '' 'Tis to us the
taxes shall be paid ; in our names shall justice be done ; to us you
owe military service ! " Such, however, were the acts of the '* fiefs
of dignity ; " and we may at once allow that they had nothing in
common with chivalry.

The " fiefs simple," then, remained.

In the Merovingian period we find a certain number of small
proprietors, called vassi^ commending themselves to other men
more powerful and more rich, who were called seniores. To his
senior who made him a present of land the vassiis owed assistance
and fidelity. It is true that as early as the reign of Charlemagne
he followed him to war, but it must be noted that it was to the
emperor, to the central power, that he actually rendered military
service. There was nothing very particular in this, but the time
was approaching when things would be altered. Towards the
middle of the ninth century we find a large number of men falling
** on their knees" before other men! What are they about?
They are " recommending " themselves still, but in plainer terms,
** Protect us and we will be your men ; " and they added, *' It is to
you and to you only that we intend in future to render military
service ; but in exchange you must protect the land we possess —
defend what you will in time concede to us ; and defend us our-
selves." These people on their knees were "vassals" at the /

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY. 15

of their " lords : " and the fiefvfdi^ generally only a grant of land
conceded in exchange for military service.

Feudalism of this nature has nothing in common with chivalry.

If we consider chivalry in fact as a kind of privileged hody into
which men were received on certain conditions, and with a certain
ritual which we shall soon investigate, it is important to ohserve
that every vassal is not necessarily a cavalier. There were vassals ' ]

who, with the object of averting the cost of initiation or for other
reasons, remained damoiseauXj or pages, all their lives. The j

majority, of course, did nothing of tne kind ; but all could do so, j

and a great many did.

On the other hand we see conferred the dignity of chivalry upon '

insignificant people who had never held fiefs and who owed to no
one any fealty and to whom no one owed any.

We cannot repeat too often that it was not the cavalier (or 1

knight), it was the vassal who owed military service or ost to the 1

seigneur or lord; and the service in curte or court: it was the \ I
vassal, not the knight, who owed " assistance" and "counsel"; it 1 \
was the vassal, not the knight, who owed to the *' lord " relief, (
" aid," homage ! \

'f Dne word more : the feudal system soon became hereditary. ;

' Chivalry^ on the contrary, has never been hereditary, and a special "^ '
rite has always been necessary to create a knight. In default of all /

other arguments this would be sufficient. ~" ' \

•t7'

But if, instead of regarding chivalry as an institution, we
consider it as an ideal, the doubt is not really more admissible. It
is here that in the eyes of a philosophic historian chivalry is clearly
distinct from feudalism. If the Western world in the ninth century
had not been feudalised, chivalry would nevertheless have come
into existence ; and, notwithstanding everytViing, it would have
come to light in Christendom ; for chivalry is, as we have already
said, nothing more than the Christianised form of military service,
the armed force in the service of the unarmed Truth ; and it
was inevitable that at some time or other it must have sprung,
living and fully armed, from the brain of the Church, as Minerva
did from the brain of Jupiter.

Feudalism, on the contrary, is not of Christian origin at all. It
is a particular form of government, and—oTTociety, which has

i6 CHIVALRY.

scarcely been less rigorous for the Church than other forms of
society and government. Feudalism has disputed with the Church
over and over again, while chivalry has protected her a hundred
times. Feudalism is force — chivalry is the break.

Let us look at Godfrey de Bouillon. The fact that he owed
homage to any suzerain ; the fact that he exacted service from such
and such vassals, are questions which concern feudal rights, and
have nothing to do with chivalry. But if I contemplate him in
battle beneath the walls of Jerusalem ; if I am a spectator of his
entry into the Holy City ; if I see him ardent, brave ; powerful
and pure ; valiant and gentle ; humble and proud, refusing to wear
the golden crown in the Holy City where Jesus wore the crown of
thorns, I am not then anxious — I am not curious — to learn from
whom he holds his fief, or to know the names of his vassals ; and I
exclaim, " There is the knight ! " And how many knights, what
chivalrous virtues have existed in the Christian world since
feudalism has ceased. to exist !

vn.

To sum up. The adoption of arms in the German fashion
^" ' remains the true origin of chivalry ; and the Franks have handed
down this custom to us — a custom perpetuated to a comparatively
modern period. This simple, almost rude rite so decidedly
marked the line of civil life in the code of manners of people of
German origin, that under the Carlovingians we still find numerous
traces of it. In 791 Louis, eldest son of Charlemagne, was only
thirteen years old, and yet he had worn the crown of Aquitaine for
three years upon his *'baby brow." The king of the Franks felt
that it was time to bestow upon this child the military consecration
which would more quickly assure him of the respect of his people.
He summoned him to Ingelheim, then to Ratisbon, and solemnly
girded him with the sword which "makes men." He did not
trouble himself about the framea or the buckler — the sword
occupied the first place. It will retain it for a long time.

In 838 at Kiersy we have a similar scene. This time it is old
Louis who, full of sadness and nigh to death, bestows upon his son
Charles, whom he loved so well, the "virile arms " — that is to say,

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY.

17

the sword. Then immediately afterwards he put upon his hrow the
crown of " Neustria." Charles was fifteen years old.

These examples are not numerous but their importance is
decisive, and they carry us to the time when the Church came to
intervene positively in the education of the German miles. The
time was rough, and it is not easy to picture a more distracted
period than that in the ninth and tenth centuries. The great idea

Charlemagne stopping the Sun

of the Koman Empire no longer, in the minds of the people,
coincided with the idea of the Frankish kingdom, but rather
inclined, so to speak, to the side of Germany, where it tended to fix
itself. Countries were on the way to be formed, and people were
asking to which country they could best belong. Independent
kingdoms were founded which had no precedents, and were not
destined to have a long life. The Saracens were for the last time
harassing the Southern French coasts, but it was not so with the
Norman pirates, for they did not cease for a single year to ravage
the littoral which is now represented by our Picardy and Normandy

CHIVALRY.

coasts, until the day it became necessary to cede the greater part of
the coast to them. People were fighting everywhere more or less
— family against family — man to man. No road was safe, the
churches were burned, there was universal terror, and everyone
sought protection. The king had no longer strength to resist any-
one, and the counts made themselves kings. The sun of the realm
was set, and one had to look to the stars for light. As soon as the*
people perceived a strong man-at-arms, resolute, defiant, well
established in his wooden keep, well fortified within 'Ehe lines of his
hedge, behind his palisade of dead branches, or within his barriers
of planks; well posted on his hill, against his rock, or on his
hillock, and dominating all the surrounding country, as soon as
they saw this each said to him, *' I am your man ; " and all these
weak ones grouped themselves around the strong one, who next
day proceeded to wage war with his neighbours. Thence super-
vened a terrible series of private wars. Everyone was fighting, or
thinking of fighting.

In addition to this, the still green memory of the grand figure of
Charlemagne and the old empire, and I can't tell what imperial
splendours, were still felt in the air of great cities : all hearts
throbbed at the mere thought of the Saracens and the Holy
Sepulchre : the crusade gathered strength of preparation far in
advance, in the rage and indignation of all the Christian race : all
eyes were turned towards Jerusalem, and in the midst of so many
disbandments and so much darkness, the unity of the Church
survived fallen majesty ! What a time !

It was then, it was in that terrible hour — the decisive epoch in
our history — that the Church undertook the education of the
Christian soldier ; and it was at that time by a resolute step she
found the feudal baron in his rude wooden citadel, and proposed to
him an ideal.

This ideal was chivalry !

vin.

Chivalr^^ may be considered as an eighth sacrament, and this is
perhaps the name that suits it best, which describes it most
accurately. It is the sacrament, it is the baptism of the warrior.

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY. 19

B^t we must also regard it as a corporation, like a college, of
which every member is a responsible individual.

It is true that this last idea is not of very ancient date, that it
has taken a long time to shape itself, and has only at a compara-
tively late period reached its normal development. But, at any
rate, amongst the formulas which were customary in the reception
of a knight, there was one which from this point of view is very
significant, "I receive thee willingly into our college." A curious
confraternity, too, one of which all the members were every day ex-
posed to do battle, to fight with, and to massacre each other, as a
matter of course.

Yet it was necessary, in order to kill each other in this fashion,
that these adversaries should entertain a real esteem one for the
other, and consider themselves as equals. The very poorest, the
most humble of the knights was the equal of a knightly-king — of an
emperor.

They had all been baptised in the same way — with the same
baptism.

f

IX.

That chivalry may be considered a great military confraternity as
well as an eighth sacrament will be conceded after a careful perusal
of the text. But, before familiarising themselves with these ideas,
the rough spirits of the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries had to
learn the principles of them. The chivalrous ideal was not con-
ceived *' all of a piece," and certainly it did not triumph without
sustained eifort ; so it was by degrees, and very slowly, that the
Church succeeded in inoculating the almost animal intelligence and
the untrained minds of our ancestors with so many virtues.
Nothing is improvised — such is the law of history. Whoever
cannot see it is blind. This same Church which we have to thank
for the best elements of our chivalry has scarcely put down slavery
in eight or nine hundred years. It cannot, as a matter of fact,
march with a more rapid step.

It is the fashion of the day to fancy that everything comes of its
own accord. Contemporary reformers persuade themselves that a
decree or a vote is sufficient to efface the work of twenty centuries :

c 2

20 CHIVALRY.

to create a new army, a new legislation, a new phase of society, all
of a sudden. We all know what comes of such efforts : the past
does not die and the innovations crumble to pieces. Then the
reformers dash themselves against the' obstacle. Not being able to
effect reforms by legal process, they call force to their aid.
Nothing comes of it, and everything falls to pieces. Time must be
taken into consideration !

In the hands of the Church which wished to mould him into
\ a Christian knight, the feudal baron was a very intractable
individual. No one could be more brutal or more barbarous than
he. Our more ancient ballads — those which are founded on the
traditions of the ninth and tenth centuries — supply us with a
portrait which does not appear exaggerated. I know nothing in
this sense more terrible than '^ Raoul de Camhrai," and the hero
of this old poem would pass for a type of a half-civilized savage.
This Kaoul was a species of Sioux or Ked-Skin, who only wanted
tattoo and feathers in his hair to be complete. Even a Eed-Skin
is a believer, or superstitious, to some extent, while Raoul defied
the Deity Himself. The savage respects his mother as a rule ;
but Raoul laughed at his mother who cursed him. Behold him as
he invaded the Yermandois contrary to all the rights of legitimate
heirs. He pillaged, burned, and slew in all directions : he was
everywhere pitiless, cruel, horrible. But at Origni he appears in all
his ferocity. ''You will erect my tent in the church, you will
make my bed before the altar, and put my hawks on the golden
crucifix." Now that church belonged to a convent. What did
that signify to him ? He burned the convent, he burned the
church, he burned the nuns ! Amongst them was the mother of
his most faithful servitor, Bernier — his most devoted companion
and friend — almost his brother ! but he burned her with the others.
Then, when the flames were still burning, he sat himself down, on
a fast day, to feast amid the scenes of his sanguinary exploits;
defying God and man, his hands steeped in blood, his face lifted to
heaven. That was the kind of soldier, the savage of the tenth
^ century, whom the Church had to educate !

Unfortunately this Raoul de Cambrai is not an unique speci-
men; he was not the only one who had uttered this ferocious
speech : " I shall not be happy until I see your heart cut out of

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY. 21

your body." Aubri de Bourguignon was not less cruel, and took
no trouble to curb his passions. Had he the right to massacre ?
He knew nothing about that, but meanwhile he continued to kill.
" Bah ! " he would say, " it is always an enemy the less." On one
occasion he slew his four cousins. He was as sensual as cruel.
His thick-skinned savagery did not appear to feel either shame or
remorse ; he was strong and had a weighty hand — that was suffi-
cient. O^ier was scarcely any better, but notwithstanding all the
glory attaching to his name, I know nothing more saddening than
the final episode of the rude poem attributed to Raimbert of Paris.
The son of Ogier, Baudouinet, had been slain by the son of Charle-
magne, who called himself Chariot ! Ogier did nothing but breathe
vengeance, and would not agree to assist Christendom against the
Saracen invaders unless the unfortunate Chariot was delivered to
him. He wanted to kill him, he determined to kill him, and he
rejoiced over it in anticipation. In vain did Chariot humble
himself before this brute, and endeavour to pacify him by the
sincerity of his repentance ; in vain the old emperor himself
prayed most earnestly to God ; in vain the venerable Naimes, the
Nestor of our ballads, offered to serve Ogier all the rest of his life,
and begged the Dane "not to forget the Saviour who was born of
the Virgin at Bethlehem." All their devotion and prayers were
unavailing. Ogier, pitiless, placed one of his heavy hands upon
the youthful head, and with the other drew his sword, his terrible
sword " Courtain." Nothing less than the inteiTention of an angel
from heaven could have put an end to this terrible scene in which
all the savagery of the German forests was displayed.

The majority of these early heroes had no other shibboleth than,
" I am going to separate the head from the trunk ! " It was their
war-cry. But if you desire something more frightful still, some-
thing more " primitive," you have only to open the " Loherains "
at hazard, and read a few stanzas of that raging ballad of " derring
do," and you will almost fancy you are perusing one of those pages
in which Livingstone describes in such indignant terms the
manners of some tribe in Central Africa. Read this : " Begue
struck Isore upon his black helmet through the golden circlet,
cutting him to the chine ; then he plunged into the body his sword
Flamberge with the golden hilt; took the heart out with both

22 CHIVALRY.

hands, and threw it, still warm, at the head of William, saying,
* There is your cousin's heart, you can salt and roast it.'" Here
words fail us; it would be too tame to say with Goedecke, " These
heroes act like the forces of nature, in the manner of the hurricane
which knows not pity." We must use more indignant terms than
these, for we are truly amid cannibals. Once again we say, there
was the warrior, there was the savage whom the Church had to
elevate and educate !

Such is the point of departure of this wonderful progress in
which we have the pleasure to assist : such are the refractory
elements out of which chivalry and the knight have been
V fashioned.

The point of departure is Kaoul of Cambrai burning Origni.

The point of arrival is Girard of Koussillon falling one day at the

J feet of an old priest and expiating his former pride by twenty-two

years of penitence. These two episodes embrace many centuries

between them.

A very interesting study might be made of the gradual trans-
formation from the " Eedskin " to the knight ; it might be shown
how, and at what period of history, each of the virtues of chivalry
penetrated victoriously into the undisciplined souls of these brutal
warriors who were our ancestors : it might be determined at what
moment the Church became strong enough to impose upon our
knights the great duties of defending it, and of loving one
another.

This victory was attained in a certain number of cases un-
doubtedly towards the end of the eleventh century : and the knight
appears to us perfected, finished, radiant, in the most ancient
edition of " the Chanson of Roland," which we consider was pro-
duced between 1066 and 1095, a.d.

It is scarcely necessary to observe that chivalry was no longer
in course of establishment when Pope Urban II. threw with a
powerful hand the whole of the Christian West upon the East
where the Tomb of Christ was in possession of the Infidel.

In legendary lore the embodiment of chivalry is Roland : in
history it is Godfrey de Bouillon. There are no more worthy
names than these.

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY, 23

X.

" Ordena qiiesto amove " exclaims the Kedeemer in one of the
most beautiful canticles attributed to Saint Francis d'Assisi, and it
is to Saint Francis himself that he addresses the astonishing words
— ** Moderate your love." The Church said the same to the
barbarous warriors of the ninth century. ** Moderate your
courage," she said. They did moderate it, and their savagery by
degrees became their prowess. We use the word designedly, and
we may quote in relation to the subject these excellent proverbs.
"In the result one recognises the workman, in prowess the
knight ;" and, "No knight without prowess." All other virtues
follow hand in hand as the angels crowned with roses give their
hands to the Elect in the "Paradise" of Fra Angelico. First
loyalty, then largesse j then moderation, and finally that perfecti
ofcivilised chivalry which we call courtesy. Honour crowns them'
all. " Dcatli ratlu r than dishouour : " the whole code of chivalry
is contained in these four words, which, by the gi-ace of God, have
become a commonplace term with us. It is the grand saying of
Hue le Maine, brother of the King of France, before Antioch :
" Who does not prefer death to dishonour has no right in
seignorie." And throughout the middle ages this motto was
preserved.

No matter in what sequence the Church bestowed these virtues
upon the warrior, she gave him a definite aim and object — a precise
law.

The law was the Decalogue, the Ten Commandments of chivalry,
which we purpose to illustrate.

The object was to enlarge the Kingdom of God on earth.

When our knights attended mass one might have seen them,
before the reading of the second lesson, draw their swords and hold
them unsheathed in their hands until the reading of the
lesson was finished. This defiant attitude seemed to imply their
readiness to defend the Gospel. "If the Word is to be defended,
we are ready."

This is the whole spirit of chivalry.

CHAPTER II.

THE CODE OF CHIVALRY.— THE FIRST THREE COMMANDMENTS.

Sainte Palaye, in his *' Memoirs of Ancient Chivalry," observes
that " the laws of chivalry might have been adopted by the wisest
legislators and by the most virtuous philosophers of all nations, and
of all epochs." We can only take exception to this for its slight
flavour of the eighteenth century.. It is in other respects perfectly
correct.

This highly praised code has unfortunately never been formu-
lated with sufficient clearness, and it is too true that the pure gold
of ancient chivalry was very quickly alloyed. In the twelfth
century — one is too apt to forget the date — the romance of the
Bound Table spread amongst us the taste for a less wild but also a
less manly chivalry. The elegancies of love in them occupied the
place formerly reserved for the brutality of war : and the spirit of
adventure in them extinguished the spirit of the crusades. One
will never know how much harm this cycle of jthe-iiHound Table "
inflicted on us. It civilised us no doubt ; lout efi'eminated us. It
took away from us our old aim, which was the tomb of Christ
gained by blood and battle. Por the austerities of the Supernatural
it substituted the tinsel of the Marvellous. It is to this dangerous
but charming literature that we owe the theatrical, the boastful,
rash chivalry which proved so fatal during the Thirty Years War.
It was against it and not against our old Epopoeia that Cervantes
pointed his pencil, and we must confess that some complaints of the
great satirist were not without foundation. Thanks to this regret-
table encroachment we now entertain a false idea of the true chivalry,
which we confuse with a certain delicate and sometimes an ex-
cessive gallantry. The time has arrived to protest against such
an error.

THE FIRST THREE COMMANDMENTS.

25

The chivalry, of which we are about to examine the code, is that
of the eleventh and twelfth centuries — that of the crusades, that of
our national epopoeia. It will appear rude and barbarous to some
people, but in truth it is strong and healthy, and has formed for us
the powerful race whose glory has filled the world. Despite the
invasion of the Breton Romances the twelfth century remains, as
Jules Quicherat has said, the great century of the middle ages ;

The Crusaders' first si<'ht of Jerusalem.

and it is to the most vigorous works of that period that we are
indebted for the best elements of our work in these pages.

We may reduce the ancient code of chivalry into ten '* Command-
ments," and we wish to express them here in a popular form so
that they may be the more easily understood. It was in such a
form that it pleased the Creator to set forth the Decalogue on Sinai,
so as to engrave it in all its meanings in all hearts.

The following are the Ten Commandments of the code of
chivalry —

26 CHIVALRY.

I. Thou shalt believe all that the Church teaches, and shalt
observe all its directions.

II. Thou shalt defend the Church.
in. Thou shalt respect all weaknesses, and shalt constitute

thyself the defender of them.
IV. Thou shalt love the country in the which thou wast bom.
V. Thou shalt not recoil before thine enemy.
VI. Thou shalt make war against the Infidel without cessation,
and without mercy.

VII. Thou shalt perform scrupulously thy feudal duties, if they be
not contrary to the laws of God.

Vin. Thou shalt never lie, and shalt remain faithful to thy
pledged word.

IX. Thou shalt be generous, and give largesse to everyone.
X. Thou shalt be everywhere and always the champion
of the Eight and the Good against Injustice and
Evil.

n.

The first commandment of this almost unknown code is the most
important and the most sacred of all. No one could become a knight
without first becoming a Christian, without having been baptized.
That was a sine qua non, ofiicially requisite and necessary.* This
act of faith was, in the eyes of our forefathers, the absolute
equivalent of genuineness ; it was the certain km. The thought of
God then filled and animated all, and it was as the breath of their
nostrils in those believing centuries. The Deity was present with
them even physically, and at every breath they drew they believed
they could feel His presence as behind a curtain.

This idea of the Deity had nothing vague about it, and it was
accentuated by the afiirmation of the divinity of Christ. " He
loved us so much that he gave us his name, and we are called

* * * Sainte ordene de Clievalrie seroit en vous mal emploie, se n'avez batesme en
foi." "L'ordene de Chevalrie, Lausanne, 1259."

THE FIRST THREE COMMANDMENTS. 27

Christians." Before the celebrated battle of Aliscans, which was
destined to be so disastrous for the whole race of Christians, young
Vivien, who was so soon to perish, addressed his knights in a short
speech. *' These pagans," he said, " only believe in Antichrist, and
all their gods are wretched and miserable things ! But we our-
selves believe in the King of Paradise who died and rose again."
Then he added, raising his eyes to Heaven, " Think of our souls, 0
God, and reunite them on high. As for our bodies, do as Thou
wilt with them."

Then he rushed — what do I say — they all rushed to meet death :
a martyrdom ! The faith of these rude warriors, that faith which
was so precise, had nothing namby-pamby in it : nothing dilettante
or effeminate. We have not to do with the little sugar-plums of
certain contemporary devotion — but with a good and frank wild-
honey. It is a grosser but a loyal Catholicism. One is not aston-
ished to find that -these knights were rigorously logical. They knew
too much to stand upon the sterile heights of theory : they knew
that they ought to practise their faith. " Listen to my song,"
said one of our latter-day poets to his auditors. " You will learn
how to suffer here below to accomplish the law of God ; that law
which all honest men obey. * Essanplir la hi Deu.' " It is all
contained in that.

The spirit of atheism was not fitted, as we may see, to enter into
the mind of the feudal baron who was being transformed more and
more into the Christian knight : and we meet with few instances of
atheism in all our epic poetry. That ferocious Raoul of Cambrai —
a kind of savage who was only a Christian outwardly — had moments
of fierce atheism. In the primitive poem which is dedicated to him,
and in which we find in full the tradition of the tenth century, there
is one very solemn moment described : it was when liaoul in battle
found himself face to face with Emaut Count of Douai, whose
nephew he had just slain, and whose two sons he had formerly killed,
or caused to be killed. To this duel, in which Ernaut represented
Right, and Eaoul Force, the poet does not hesitate to devote many
pages. The poor Count of Douai was not in form to struggle long
against such an opponent, and so he fled across the fields, his hand
cut off, losing blood fast, and more than half dead. All his pride
had deserted him, he felt himself lost, and begged for mercy in

28 CHIVALRY.

touching accents, which Chenier in after times put in the mouth of
his young captive : " Jeunes horn sui, ne vuel encor morir.'' *' I am
still a young man, and have no wish to die yet ! " He added, that
if spared, he would become a monk and leave his territory to his
conqueror.

But nothing could soften Eaoul, and the name of God threw him
into a paroxysm of rage.

*' I deny God," he exclaimed ; " I deny His existence."

" Since that he so," replied Ernaut, "I consider you no better
than a mad dog. The earth and grass themselves will come to my
assistance, and so will the God of glory, if He will have mercy on
me ! "

It is Kaoul, however, now, and not Ernaut who is about to die,
and in that supreme moment the Count of Cambrai suddenly
recovered his childhood's faith.

" Glorious Father — universal Judge — and you, sweet Queen of
Heaven, come to my aid."

These were his last words, and it is evident that he was only a
pretended atheist.

A thorough atheist was Gaumadras in " Garin cle Mont-
glane : " we may look upon him as a type of the lost soul. If the
name of the Deity were pronounced in his presence, he inconti-
nently went into convulsions. In his struggle against Garin he
had demons for his allies, with whom he contracted a feudal pact.
He belonged to them entirely, and he gloried in this possession.
When the hour of his death arrived, he made up his mind to die a
rebel, in Satan, as he had lived. No one killed him : he killed
himself. Moreover, he chose a theatrical, nay, a spectacular
death ! He embarked with his relatives in a vessel which he
steered in the direction of a rock. The fated bark was dragged to
destruction. The unfortunate passengers perceived their danger,
and, overcome by terror, called upon the Deity to succour them.

" No, no," cried Gaumadras, ''you must invoke the devil." So
this man, possessed, killed them. Then he make the sign of the
cross backwards, and standing upright in the vessel which was
about to be wrecked, his face turned defiantly to Heaven, and
implacable, horrible, heard unmoved the crash with which tho
vessel dashed against the rock, and was broken up.

THE FIRST THREE COMMANDMENTS. 29

'' Run ; come hither, you demons; I am your man; I am yours ;
I am ! "

Here the waves closed his blaspheming mouth and he died. He
was the most brutal and most cynical atheist of all our epic
literature. But he was not the only one !

Yet we need not attach too much importance to a few sacrilegious
sallies of some of our heroes, to whom we may apply the beautiful
words of Lamartine : — '* These are exclamations which escape the
lips, but after which the soul rushes very quickly, before God has
heard them."

When Froumondin understood that his enemy was laying hands
on his fiefs, he said, " Well, though I were already in Paradise
with the angels, I would rather descend into hell than abandon my
territory thus." That is, after all, only a foolish remark, an oath
long drawn out, and cannot be compared to the Satanic rebellious-
ness of the traitor Herchambaut, whom the author of Doon de
Maience has painted in such lurid colours. This prototype of
Gaumadras denied the Deity again and again, and spit against
Heaven.

"Yes, I deny you," he exclaimed. " I deny you and all your
benefits. Neither you nor your belongings shall I ever care
for."

This is another degree of atheism which bears little resemblance
to the former, and appears a thousand times more detestable. But
there is a lower depth still, and atheism in our poems finishes by
condensing itself into a kind of secret society and of remarkable
institution. The famous "Words and deeds of traitors" becomes
the atheistic record; and Hardre, in "Amis and Amiles," clearly
exposes the tenets of the sect. "Never think of serving God,"
said he to his god-son Alori, " and never tell the truth. If you
meet an honest man dishonour him. Burn towns, villages, and
houses ; overthrow the altars, and break the crucifixes." We are
only too well accustomed to such language, but who would have
expected to find such an explosion of Nihilism in the twelfth
century ?

But such exceptions only prove the rule, and the greater number
of our heroes believed devoutly in the personality of the Creator.
The knights were more than once called " Men of God." "It is

30 CHIVALRY,

for God that you support so many misfortunes. Yes, you are
really men of God, and your reward is in Paradise." * So said at
Aliscans the youthful Vivien whose death was so soon to be as
glorious as that of Oliver or Koland. In the " Song of Antioch "
— in that poem which is as good as a chronicle — our barons are
called '* lA Jhesii chevalier,'' and the old troubadour completes his
definition by adding, " Cil qui Damedieu servent de loial cuer
entierJ" f In every circumstance of their lives, amid all their joys
and troubles, when in the great halls of their castles they petted
their children and listened to the jongleurs singing ; or when in
the midst of the meleey stained with blood up to their horses'
breast-plates, everywhere, in all circumstances, they lifted up their
hearts to the God who created " the Heaven and the dew, who
created worlds and established laws, who caused all the good things
of the earth to flourish, who formed us in his own image : who is
ever true, born of a Virgin, and permitted himself to be crucified
for us, who has redeemed us all, and in whose name, lastly, are
made and created all the knights of Christendom."

Never, no never has any race on earth been more profoundly
imbued with the idea of the Deity.

Our knights did not remain content with the mere belief in God :
they considered it their duty to abandon themselves wholly to Him
and not to limit their trust in Him. This faith (or trust) was an
integral portion of the Code of Chivalry. " Qui en Dieu a fiance il
ne doit estre mas'* ("He who has faith in God shall not be
confounded,") says the author of " Jerusalem ; " and so in other
passages. One day some Greek fire was thrown into the camp of
the Christians, and some of the proudest barons lost their heads.

"Decidedly," said they, "we cannot fight against such an
enemy as this ; " and they wept !

But the Bishop of Mautran renewed their courage. " It is
God," said he, " who permits these trials : but be assured that, on
the day He has appointed, you will be in Jerusalem."

These simple words served to re-animate the drooping courage of
our crusaders : their souls grew strong again, and their faces were
lifted up once more.

* '^Amis et Amiles." + " Covenans Fivien.''

THE FIRST THREE COMMANDMENTS. 31

Judas Maccabeus even found himself one day with only one
hundred men opposed by twenty thousand foes : his faith never
flinched — and Heaven assisted him — ^^ fiance a que Dex li aidera "
(Auberon). But it was not only on the field of battle that the
knight thus yielded to the will of Providence.

" You are as poor as proud," said Charlemagne to Almeri of
Narbonne.

" Nothing can be more true," replied the page ; " but is there not
a God in Heaven ? "

To some who were jestingly remarking upon his poverty, Aiol
replied with the same proud utterance —

" If I am poor, God has sufficient ! " and in this speech he but
echoes the reply of his father, Elias, who as he bestowed upon him
fourpence on the day of his leaving home, added to that poor gift
the noble words — " When those are expended, God is in Heaven."

Nevertheless I prefer the simple yet profound expression of
Fromondin in " Garin de Loherain.'' Guillaume de Monclin was,
as tutor, putting his nephew Fromondin through a strict course of
chivalry. " If you follow my counsels," said he, " you will rise to
a high position ; " and the youth contented himself by replying,
" Everything is in the hands of God."

It is not surprising that such soldiers knew how to pray, and that '
they were religiously compelled to prayer by the code which they
had freely accepted. Moreover it was a practice common to heroes
of all human epopees, and one may say that the epopee excluded
atheism. One cannot figure thq epic poems without gods or the
Deity. In every clime, in every time, true epic characters raised
their eyes to Heaven and waited the assistance from it which would
give the victory to their insufficiency, to their failing forces. Our
French heroes never were wanting in this respect, and their prayers
were no less natural nor less noble than those of the heroes of
antiquity, Greek or Latin. The best prayer, says a poet of the
middle ages, is that which " the heart puts into the mouth," such
ought to have been, such indeed were, the prayers of our knights.
It would not have been reasonable to demand from them the
fervour of mystic prayer. Facts, not reasonings, most forcibly
struck these ignorant and simple natures : we shall presently see
that their form of prayer everywhere presents this characteristic.

32 CHIVALRY.

They delighted to recall the miracles of the Old and New
Testaments, and particularly delighted in those miracles which
appealed most to their somewhat gross and material imaginations :
such, for instance, as the narrative of Jonah in the whale's helly ;
the miracle of the children singing in the midst of the burning fiery
furnace, unharmed ; Daniel in the den of the lions, which licked
his feet in the dark ; the raising of Lazarus ; above all, the saving
of Peter on the lake, by our Saviour, who led him victoriously to
Eome and placed him on the throne of the world.

After the enumeration of these Biblical facts which — and this is
noteworthy — correspond exactly with the paintings in the cata-
combs, and with the sculptures of the first Christian sarcophagi ;
after this military summary of the Old and New Testaments, our
heroes considered it always necessary to affirm distinctlyjheir faith
in all these miracles, ;S'i com c'est voirs, et nos hien le creons.

The miracles were ' ' plain to them, and they entirely believed in
them," and they considered themselves authorised to pass to the
special object of their prayer. But here they were brief — a few
words were sufficient ; and thus, in these curious orisons, the
preface occupies more space than the book.

When it happened that they had committed some crime or some
fault of which they earnestly repented, the knights would suddenly
bethink themselves of the consolitory face of Mary Magdalen, who
throughout the middle ages was the most popular type of penitence
blessed by God. And we can, as it were, hear all the sinners
crying out to Heaven, '* Thou who hast fully pardoned Mary
Magdalen have mercy on us." The best of them believed them-
selves always guilty, and invoked this image of the Magdalen in
the time of danger or in the hour of death. The best knight of all,
Godfrey de Bouillon, who has the good fortune to be as great_in^
histoxy as in legend, was the first to recall this Gospel reminiscence
when, beneath the walls of Antioch, dangerously wounded, hlecies
eV foie et eV pomorif and in fear of death, he said —

" Glorious Lord and Father, who by thy word caused Lazarus to
arise from the dead : Mary Magdalen, the beautiful one, came nigh
to thee in the house of Simon, and there. Lord, wept so copiously
all the tears of her heart that she washed Thy feet with those
tears, and then, with good intent, anointed them with spikenard.

THE FIRST THREE COMMANDMENTS. 33

She did wisely, and was fully recompensed, for she received from
Thee pardon of all her sins. If this is true, Lord, and if it is
true that we believe it, preserve my body from prison and from
death."

Thus prayed, thus ought to pray, the knight.

We have not yet spoken of the adoration of the Virgin, but in
reality she animates, she enlightens all our old romances, and the
name of Mary is in them repeated as many times as is that of her
Son.

This devotion has not in our truly epic poems the graceful
character which it presents in the works of the thirteenth century.

It is all manly and of a military character. It was in after years
that the charming legend was^conceTved^^^^aT^omewhat far-fetched
and puerile one — of the Virgin taking the place of a knight at a 1
tourney, and other tales of an equally frivolous character, and
which cannot add to the majesty of the Mother of our Lord.
Here, as elsewhere, our poets of the eleventh and twelfth centuries
are more simple and more pious. With these primitive writers, j
we gain in nobleness what we lose in grace, and there is nothing in
the devout recitals of Gautier de Coincy which can be compared
with the following scene in the *^ Chanson d'Antioche :*' "The
whole French army fell upon their knees to implore God to show
them the true way to Jerusalem ; " or with that other episode, in a /
poem of the same period, in which we read that when the crusaders /
perceived the Holy City for the first time, they suddenly burst into
tears. One verse of manly and dignified nature, is worth the
whole of a puny and insipid poem.

The knight was trained to observe other religious laws as well
as the practice of prayer. He was bound to share in the sacra-
mental lives of other Christians, but with certain privileges which
appear strange, and of which it is difficult to fix the origin with
exactness.

One may say that the daily attendance at Mass was, if not a
duty, at least a habit of all the barons, and it does not appear that
in this respect they made any difference between Sundays and
week-days. Every morning, and often before daylight while all the
other inmates of the castle were asleep, the knight arose, and
generally fasting, proceeded to hear Mass with his chaplain. If

34 CHIVALRY.

we turn to the King of France, we find the same devotion, and the "'
awakening was not less early : the rite was only the more solemn, |
and a hishop took the place of the chaplain. On fete days the Pope '
officiated — the Pope, whose sovereign magistracy our old poets did j
not altogether comprehend, and whom they transformed quite !
voluntarily into an almoner of the moneys of the emperor.

Writers have frequently described the grandeur of military \
Masses, and more than one artist has been happily inspired by i
them. But what are we to say concerning those services of the \
twelfth century — those Masses sung in front of a Christian army on j
the morning of the day of battle, at daybreak, in the midst of some j
extensive plain, amid the terrible uproar of an army of Saracens who |
were pressing on with shouts and cries of victory ? What can we 1
say to those mail-clad soldiers who prostrated themselves before an \
improvised altar, and in silence offered their lives to Him who had '
died on the Cross ? A rite as austere — but more singular — had to .|
precede, and always did precede, the judicial encounter or duel : ^
both champions were legally compelled to hear Mass before]
meeting in deadly combat. They approached the altar, knelt down'
and received the sacrament. One of the two was actually the^
guilty one they were seeking, and of the two communicants — I
horrible thing ! — one only could be pure and innocent. |

This duel, besides, was a brutal custom, a gross, superstitious,
y observance, against which at one time the voice of Agobard, and ■
those of many other priests were uplifted. What matter? Those;
barbarians pretended to sanctify their barbarisms, and mixed up
w I the Deity with the interest of their anger : a strange mixture of j
savagery and faith, which the Church was compelled to tolerate, ]
and on which she could only confer a more elevated character. It;
is needless to add that this duel came to us from the Germans, and \
we may perceive once again, that that violent race has decidedly cut i
out too much work for the Church.

Confession also was demanded from the knights equally as from]
the lowest of the serfs. Besides, those knights reckoned amongst;
them some grand and simple souls to whom a rigorous avowal of
their faults would not cost any great effort. They confessed
themselves before performing any solemn act of their lives, and!
most particularly before going to battle. "Let each one of youj

THE FIRST THREE COMMANDMENTS. 35

confess himself, and let no one hide a single sin. Then let us rush
into the struggle, and let each one kill a pagan.

Peter the Hermit also did not think it out of place to relate to
the Crusaders, that Saint Andrew had appeared to him in daytime,
to recommend them to be really confessed. They always confessed
before the judiciary duel. Before undertaking a long journey they
also confessed themselves. When Begue crossed France to see his
brother Garin whom he loved so dearly, once again he did not fail
to halt at Grandmont to confess his sins to a hermit there. This
confession was the great pre-occupation of the knights when about
to die.

Eichard, the son of Aymon, was at the foot of the gibbet, the
rope around his neck, and the emperor insisted that this young
baron should be put to death in the same way as a common male-
factor. To be sure, Richard had no fear, and so much was evident;
but in the supreme agony of imminent death he never ceased to
repeat, ** I wish to confess," and he only became composed when
Bishop Daniel had heard his confession.

It will be understood that I am not speaking in this place of the
phenomenon of conversion — of the thunderclaps on the road to
Damascus — which cast our worst knights at the feet of the priest.
" You have greatly offended God, but if you wish it you may still
continue His friend." " Oh, I wish it very much."

Such was the dialogue one reads in more than one passage in our
" Chansons de gcste," and which will be heard, I think, until the
end of this sad world. Nevertheless, even the best knights some-
times postponed the sacrament ; and such delays even in the present
day are only too easy to verify. But on the eve of battle, reddened
with blood, pierced by lances in twenty places, and feeling as if
their souls were escaping from their bodies, the barons would
repent themselves of forgetfulness, and search eagerly around for a
priest. If they could not find one, they went, if able, in search of
their nearest relative, and drawing him aside, made their con-
fession to him. Failing an ecclesiastic, a friend, a companion in-
arms, was sufficient.

By the voice of its most influential doctors, the Church has at
least not disapproved of this practice, and Peter Lombard, in his
" Book of Sentences," which has been the theological manual, and,

D 2

36 CHIVALRY.

so to speak, the great "classic " of the Middle Ages, does not hesitate i

to affirm that one ought to confess first to God, to the priest after- !

wards, and, failing a priest, to a relative or a friend ; proximo vel \

socio, he says. 1

Both history and tradition agree in presenting us with such |

confessions to laymen, a custom which obtained to a late date. ;
Bayard, when dying, confessed humbly to the keeper of his inn,

"in default of a priest." And nothing is more noble, nothing is ,

more touching, than this historical scene — unless it be the legend i

which we read in the beginning of our " Aliscans,^^ and in which j

the youthful Vivien plays the principal part. On the eve of that ^

famous battle " ou la dolor fu grant," this hero of fifteen years old, ;

made, ere he died, a supreme and affecting attempt to confess to j
his uncle, the old Count Guillaume, and confided to him in a low

tone his sins. "I retreated one day before the infidels," said he. ;

But he could not remember any more offences ! |

This confession was not the only sacrament in vogue amongst ■

the knights which presents some obscurity to us, and we feel the !

same when considering the curious symbolical communion " with [
the three blades of grass and the three leaves of the tree," of which
we could easily quote twenty examples culled from our best and
most ancient poems. All our barons did not precisely resemble

Count William, who took care to furnish himself with a consecrated \

wafer when he fought with the Saracens at Aliscans, where the :

greater number of men, as we read, contented themselves with j

leaves or blades of grass. j

But how far back amid the ages can we trace this curious symbol,

and what is its origin ? Those are questions which we are unable '.

to answer, notwithstanding all our research. Other people, per- |

chance, may be more successful than we. |

Amongst the obligations which belonged to this first command- '<

ment of chivalry, is another, the last, "to die in the faith and for :

the faith." It is not our purpose here to set forth the death of our i

barons, and to point out how their death partook of martyrdom ; but j

we must conclude that such an end was regarded by them as a duty. !

" Chevalier en ce monde-ci

Ne peuvent vivre sans souci I

lis doivent le peuple defendre, i

£t leur sane pour la foi espandre." j

«•

THE DEATH OF ORRI, KING OF BAVARIA, MADE PRISONER BY THE SARACENS. [p. 3/

THE FIRST THREE COMMANDMENTS, yj

They must notice the word. It was thus in obedience to the call
of duty that Eoland died on the summit of the cliff at Roncesvalles,
resting on Durandal : his victorious gaze turned from Spain —
surrounded by angels.

In obedience to the voice of duty, King Orri, in the " Auberi le
Bourfjoing^'' died as Regulus died, a thousand times more gloriously
than the hero of antiquity, exclaiming in his terrible agony, " God
forbid that I should betray my king and my God ! "

It was in obedience to the voice of duty solely, that in another of
our poems (one little known) the aged Ameri of Narbonne, who
had lived a hundred years, spotless and fearless, stood boldly up
before the Moslem and refused to acknowledge Mahomet. They
beat the aged man with briars and rods, they cut into his living
flesh, they prepared the wood-pile to burn him, and the Narbonnais
could hear the crackling of the flames which were so soon to devour
him. Nothing daunted him ; and perceiving on the ramparts his
wife, Ermengart, who was a weeping spectator of this horrible
punishment, he cried to her —

" Let me die ; but for the love of God, the son of Saint Mary, do
not surrender the town. *

But why quote these instances in preference to so many others ?
It was only in obedience to the call of duty that the legendary
heroes of our poems died ; and in the same manner died the
historical heroes of the crusades. For in these cases, as every-
where historical, fact is as strange as or stranger than fiction.

Such is the first commandment of chivalry, and those who practised
it on earth are recompensed in Heaven by the possession of the
absolute glory — la ghrie asolue—^&nd. by the perfume of the holy
flowers of Paradise.

m.

The^cond commandment details the first, and the Christian
soldier was compelled to have always before him these words, which
were to serve with him for the battle-cry, '* Defend the Church ! "
We abstain from quoting too often here the little thirteenth
century poem, entitled ** UOrdene de Chevalrie," which we con-
sider as a document drawn too late, far-fetched and subtilised.

38 CHIVALRY.

Our old poems are better and prove more. Nevertheless the author
of the ^'Ordene^* possesses in part the merit of condensing success-
fully all the doctrine scattered throughout our old poems, and it is
from this point of view that we must estimate the two verses — so
characteristic as they are addressed to the knights themselves : —

** Tout votre sane derez espandre
Pour la sainte Eglise deffendre. " *

This is as concise as an article of the Creed.

It is convenient to distinguish in this place two currents.

The author of the '^Ordene" is a cleric who speaks and writes
clerically, and he represents a whole family of theologians, who
must not be confounded with our old national poets, who were
much more military, much less pious.

Would you know the true thoughts of the Church ? Open the
official book where it is carefully formulated — open the "Ponti-
ficaV^ and read : —

" Keceive this sword in the name of the Father, the Son and the
Holy Ghost ; use it for your own defence, for that of the holy
Church of God, and for the confusion of the enemies of the Cross
of Christ. Go : and remember that the Saints did not conquer
kingdoms by the sword but by faith."

To sum up in a few words, chivalry has never been, is not,, and
never will be anything but armed force in the service of the
unarmed truth : and I am not aw^are that anyone has ever given a
higher or more exact definition of it. /

^he knight in any case, however he might regard it, was bound
to hold himself in armed readiness at the gate of the yet threatened
palace whence the Papacy delivered the truth to men : he was
bound to hold himself in readiness, sword in hand, behind the
throne of the Sovereign Pontiffs, whose independence was necessary
to the world. He was bound to be at the door of our council
chambers mounting guard — if I may use such a common-place ex-
pression— to secure the liberty of those Assemblies in which the
greatest, the most momentous, and the most serious questions were
discussed. It was he, again, who was looked for as the protector
of the thousands of temples of the true God, of those baptismal

* All your blood should be poured out in defence of the Holy Church.

THE FIRST THREE COMMANDMENTS. 39

fonts from which emanate generations of Christians, of the altars
where is renewed the immortal sacrifice which serves them at once
for expiation and example, and of the pulpit from which all errors
are denounced, all vices attacked, from which the greatest truths
are proclaimed, and whence all virtues are inculcated.

It was he — it was once more he — who was born protector of all
religious orders, and who was bound to say " Evangelise, teach,
baptize, convert, expiate ; I am present to defend you : go on.'*
Thanks to him the Benedictine could freely clear so much waste
land, instruct so many ignorant people, undertake so many distant
missions with so many powerful volumes. Thanks to him the
Dominican possesses the freedom of speech and the Franciscan the
liberty of poverty. Works of charity, too, owe to him something of
their utility and beauty : they increased under his care, and that
is why the hospitals receive everywhere thousands of sick, the
infirmaries thousands of lepers, the monasteries thousands of
hungry people. Wherever the Church was, there the knight also
was to be found to accompany and to protect this holy mother, uhi
Ecclesia uhi miles.

It is not necessary to pause and seek in our epic poetry for a
doctrine so elevated and so profound as this, but in place of these
ideas which remain too often mere theories, we meet therein with a
popular and outspoken notion of the duties of the knight with
regard to the Church.

*'In all his acts," says the author of the Entry into Spaing "the
knight is bound to propose to himself a double aim — the safety of
his own soul, and the honour of the Church of which he is the
guardian." To maintain Christianity : this is a sentence often
repeated in our old poems, and it well expresses the idea. When
the young pages left the paternal roof the last word of their
mothers was to exhort them to this high duty. Serve Jesus Christ
and holy Church. But this is not the end of the matter. Here is
the sum of it : in the eyes of all our epic poets Christian humanity
was an immense crowd of feeble people for whom it was necessary
to pray and fight. Above this multitude who had the right to
prayer and protection were two chosen families, two aristocracies,
two distinct and powerful groups. The one was composed of the
clergy, whom Providence had created for prayer ; the other the

40 CHIVALRY.

knights, whom God had made to protect those who prayed, and
those for whom they interceded. Such is the theory which the
Archbishop of Rheims promulgates in set terms in the opening
pages of" Garin cle Loheraw ^'^ and we cannot do better than quote
it. He says,

"We are clerics, and our duty is to serve God while we pray for
our friends. But as for you knights, do not forget that God has
called you to be the rampart of the Church." It was this same
sentiment which inspired those quaint designs in the past centuries
representing a priest, a soldier, and a labourer, who were clasping
hands and saying, " I pray for France, I defend her, and I support
her." * Has any one found aught better ?

IV.

The Church is here below a weakness, but it is not the only one,
and the knight's mission was to defend all weaknesses. Now not-
withstanding the charming satire of Cervantes, it is a mission
which one^jnust highly esteem, it is an ideal which we must
admire, and we are persuaded that some pages, such as "UOrdene
de Chevalerie " do more honour and have been more useful to
humanity, than that Don Quixote of which some enthusiastic
admirers exaggerate both the philosophic value and the moral force.
However this may be, the knight was bound to defend in this
world all that was defenceless, and particularly the priests and
-monks ''who serve God;" the women and children, widows and
orphans. The origin of these precepts is not doubtful: it is
entirely Christian, and there is in it no mixture of Roman, Celtid,
or German elements. It is pure and without alloy.

This commandment, which resembles an article of faith, was not
always so easy in pratjtice. But commonly enough it was the
devotion to the priesthood which sometimes cost our knights the
most difficult and cruel efforts. It is quite certain that between the
soldier and the priest there has always been a singular modus

* This is a parallel to the " Five Alls " formerly on old inn signs in England : *' I
pray for all, I tight for all, I work for all," &c. — Trans.

^^

THE FIRST THREE COMMANDMENTS, 41

Vivendi. In time of war they love and esteem each other, holding
hand to hand, but in time of peace they are visibly antagonistic.
The cruelties of the soldier disgust the priest, the placidity of the
priest irritates the soldier. Our old songs are filled with references
to this unlooked for antagonism, and we shall see elsewhere in
what savage form the author of '' Garin le Loherain " has painted
this hatred which the baron entertained for the churchman. The
secular clergy, whom the metrical romances of the Trouveres have
so ridiculed, come scarcely within the scope of our epic poetry — it
is to the monks that they address themselves. These monks in
their eyes are too rich and too fat. They laugh at them with gross
ante-Rabelaisian laughter ; they quiz them, they rally them, and
nothing resembles the vulgar pleasantry of the Marriage llenouart
and of the Marriage Guillaiime so much as certain gross caricatures
cf our own day. It is more than Galilean.

Notwithstanding all this, the precept is there and it must be
obeyed. Thou shalt honour the clergy. One may chafe at the
bridle, but one ends by submitting to it. When King Charles
espoused the charming woman who had been destined for Gerard
de Roussillon and whom Gerard loved, the Count got very angry
and was on the point of hurling a fierce defiance at Charles : but
respect for the clergy restrained him. That monster whom people
call Raoul of Cambrai took it into his head one day to destroy the
convent of Origni, and as a matter of fact he did so, and burned the
nuns with it. But this was a really exceptional, unprecedented
crime, which the records of the Middle Ages have preserved as an
unparalleled scandal. The knights of Raoul's force were the very
first to be horrified at such horrible sacrilege. " We are not
tyrants who fall upon holy bodies," they said, and the firm friend
of the Count of Cambrai, Gueri le Sor, a man of savage and violent
temperament, did not hesitate to hurl at his chief the most san-
guinary reproaches.

" You go a great deal too far," he said, " and if God hate you,
you have only yourself to thank for it. Par les franjs homes est cil
lius Jionores; ne doit pas estre li cor sains vergondez^ *

We know the rest, and how Origni was burned. The nuns came

* By Frenchmen is this place respected. It must not be defamed.

42 CHIVALRY,

#-

out calmly from their convent, psalter in hand and chanting in \
composed tones the monastic office. They begged Kaoul to con- ,
sider that all the country would suffer with them. Vain were \
their efforts and their prayers, they were soon seized and |
devoured by the flames. A poet of our own time, M. Coppee, j
has related in flowing verse a similar legend to which he has given i
a much happier ending. His *'Liseron'' recalls our ^^ Raoul of\
CamhraV*

No condition of life before the advent of the Saviour was more ,
sad than that of widows, and the Jews themselves regarded widow-
hood as a reproach. The primitive Church enlarged hitherto:
narrow ideas, and widows were considered by her as the " Altar of!
the Lord." They occupied almost the very first place in the]
hierarchy of the poor as detailed by Christ, and they eventually
formed on order of their own. St. Chrysostom did not shrink from >
declaring that '' without them the plenitude of the Church would]
not have attained its entire perfection." j

As regards orphans, the Church was equally concerned with'
them. She gave them occupations, brought them up, married!
them, and finally opened wide for them the gates of Orphano-
tropJiia. All these Christian traditions were absorbed into chivalry ,>
and no two things bear more resemblance to one another than do ;
the precepts of the Apostolic Constitutions, and the most beautiful i
pages of our old romances. But here again we must be careful to '
guard against exaggeration. In face of a society so gross, and so:
armed as was feudal society, it was not expedient to proceed after J
the manner of the primitive Church. Instead of saying to our j
barons, "You must defend the widow and the orphan," it wasj
necessary to begin by saying, " You shall do them no wrong ; " ^
then a little later, " You shall not permit any one to do them ;
harm." That was the order which was followed or encouraged byj
• the Church.

In the ^'Chanson d' A sjjr emont, ^ ' '^aimes, is considered as thei
type of the all- accomplished knight, and of him were written these ;
beautiful words — " Tel conseiller 71' orent onques le Franc,'' Such
an adviser the Frank never had. Naimes was the object of this i
eulogy by the poet by which all knights might have profited.]
" He never betrayed confidence, he never deserted a good and true!

THE FIRST THREE COMMANDMENTS. 43

man ; nor the starving widow and little child," or in the old
French —

" II ne donna conseil petit ne grant

Par coi preudome deseritd faissant

Les veves fames ne li petit enfant. "

Animated by the same spirit, and feeling the approach of death,
Charlemagne charged his son not to deprive orphans of their fiefs,
nor widows of their little remaining money. But the son was,
alas ! too quickly unmindful of his father's injunctions, and in the
" Charroi de Nlmes " we have him cynically suggesting to Count
William to bestow upon him the fiefs of such and such a baron who
was about to die. But Count William was not one of those
persons who listen patiently to such propositions as these. He
revolted at the idea, and was very much enraged. He bounded
up—

" And their widows, and their orphans," he cried — " what will
become of them ? "

The king grew pale, and trembled beneath the contempt of
William, when he exclaimed —

"If anyone injures those little ones or their land, here is my
sword that shall cut off the head of any such traitor or robber."
So said this true knight.

And no one dared to face that vengeful sword, nor him who
bore it.*

So far we have only been concerned with negative precepts — we
will now soar to higher summits.

In the ^'Entree en Espagne'' it is clearly laid doTVTi that the
knight is bound before all things to assist and succour the widow
and the orphan. It was not a certain category of wretched ones
nor a certain class of human weakness that the knight was bound
to defend ; it was, all the weak, all the poor, all the little ones,
who had a prescriptive right to his protection. Charlemagne, on
his death-bed, bade his son humiliate himself before the poor.
" Before them be of no reputation. Give them help and counsel."
The " Orclene de Chevalerie,'' which we quote here for the last
time, is naturally much more precise and more fully expressed.

" The duty of the knight is to constitute himself the guardian,

* Charroi de Klmes, v. 312, 322, 366—376.

44 CHIVALRY.

the protector, of the poor, so that the rich shall never injure them.''
And the poet adds, " The duty of the knight is to sustain the weak
so that the strong shall never oppress them." Whenever he per-
ceives a poor man or a stranger, " every gentleman, every knightj
is hound to accompany him, so that no one molest him or strike
him, for he is poor who has a haughty courage."

" Que quant on voit un povre home estraingier,
Tuit gentil home ti doient acointer. ;

Aius qu'on le dole ne ferir ne tochier ■

Car telz est povers qui a coraigo tier." — Girars de Viane. '

So wrote one of our poets who most deserves the epithet oi
haughty, so little sought for in these days; and the author oi
*' Girars de Viane " has only crystallized in a few lines a correct
and universal precept.

Besides, the Church had anticipated him. In the most ancieni
mass-hook, in which one can read the prayers composed for the
benediction of a knight used in a ceremonial in the opening years
of the eleventh century, the Christian soldier is invited " to be the
living protection of all weaknesses ; " and in the thirteenth century,
at the consecration of a knight in the basilica of Saint Peter's, the
Arch-Priest said solemnly to him —

"Be thou the defender and the bold champion of the Church,
the widow, and the orphan ! "

And we have the pleasure to find to-day in the " Roman
Pontifical " the expression of the same doctrine, which the pagan
world never knew, and which will stand as an eternal honour to the
Christian race.

Here, as everywhere, the thought of the Church is more elevated
than that of our military epic poetry.

We venture to express the hope that no one will be surprised at it.

CHAPTEE III.'

THE CODE OF CHIVALRY.— THE FOURTH, FIFTH, AND SIXTH
COMMANDMENTS.

I.

" Thou shalt love the country in which thou wast born.'* It is
not surely in this dogmatic form that our old poets promulgated the
noble precept to the ears and to the hearts of their popular auditory.
They were better inspired, and have put on their pages Frenchmen
who loved France !

France beloved eight hundred years ago ! That is a fact which
astonishes some minds now-a-days, and nine Frenchmen out of ten,
in fact, persuade themselves that their France has only been beloved
a hundred years. We remember having read a certain " Speech "
delivered at a distribution of prizes countenanced by the Directory,
in which we find word for word this candid paradox —

" Dear children, you have only had a country during the last five
or six years ! "

If we may believe the defenders of this naive system, there was
in France, before 1789, neither government, unity nor industry ;
art, intelligence, nor life ! Before the Fourteenth of July, which is
the exact date of the birth of France, nothing existed ! since then,
everything ! *

We are the only nation in the whole world which thus despises
its past, and takes a real pleasure in dating itself only from yester-
day. Our powerful neighbours, the Germans and the English,
persist in tracing their origins as far back as possible, and love
them with ardent aifection. Those are traditional nations, and
possess in their traditions the best elements of their unity, and

* This is contrary to M. Eenan, who has protested against such a .system in one of
his later speeches at the French Academy, when he spoke of France built up at the
price of a thousand years of heroism and patience, by the bravery of some, by the
intelligence of others, by the sufferings of all.

46 CHIVALRY.

their strength. Nevertheless they are very far from possessing
annals at all comparable to our history, and no country ever
deserved to be loved so greatly as does ours !

But we do not mean to say that this love can be arrived at at a
bound.

The ancient Celtic country, formerly so much loved, ended,
thanks to the violence and the skilfulness of Eoman politics, by
being fused with the Empire itself, and we have every authority for
believing that in the Fifth Century of our era the cult of the Gaul
included few of the faithful. On the other hand, we cannot call by
the beautiful name of "love of country" the coarse attachment
which the mighty and powerful Frankish warrior — this semi-savage
with long hair in German forests, felt for his nomad tribe or his
clan. One day, however, this tribe set out on the march, attracted
by the West as the iron is to the magnet, and reached the territory
which was one day ceded to it by Provus. They bestowed on this
territory the name— the cherished name — of Francia^ which was
given successively to all the countries inhabited by the Frankish
Confederation : but it was not yet a true country. At length these
wanderers halted and installed themselves as victors in the grand
country which is bound to preserve their name — Salians on one
side, Eipuarians on the other.

Each tribe at first retained its independence and its code of laws,
but these are now innumerable fragments and endless tatters.
New kingdoms were created and even made — by chance, by the
force of circumstances, and by the fancy of the Merovingian Princes,
who desired to have an extensive kingdom in the North, and some
sunny cities in the South. Thus there is still the great division in
Austrasia and in Neustria which has nothing factitious about it,
and represents two civilizations, two tendencies, and so to speak
two different races. Who can find the *Move of country" in all
this scattering of badly-disposed forces without a common aim, or
unity ? Wait a little !

The Carlovingians appeared above the horizon and hastened the
blessed hour in which we should possess a " native country." To
tell the truth they were Teutons (Goths), those Carlovingians, but
Goths also had the appreciation of unity, and knew how to sacrifice
their German ideas to the Latin idea of which the Church was in

THE FOURTH COMMANDMENT,

47

their eyes the best incarnation and the last refuge. They bowed
themselves before her and set themselves bravely to work to rebuild
the old Eoman Empire. It appears at first sight that nothing
could be more antagonistic to this love of country, of which we are
seeking, not without some pain, to determine the sources, but
this " country" and this " love " were decidedly impossible amid
all the Merovingian string-pulling, and it was necessary — most

The first King of France cruwncu u) Angels.

necessary — that a powerful unity should be newly founded in our
Western world. This unity no doubt was not of long duration, but
it gave to modern nations the power and the time to recognise
themselves.

The century in which Charlemagne died is the same that wit-
nessed the clear separation of the Germans, Italians, and French.
The Duchy of France became with us the nucleus of a country ;
but this glorious name was extended with the progress — the slow
but sure progress — of the first Capets. They were French, and
that dynasty was truly national. So it became national to call all

48 CHIVALRY.

the dominions of the King of France, France ; and this territory,
thank Heaven, has continually increased ! One cannot help loving it.

To the somewhat insecure monarchs of the tenth and eleventh
centuries succeeded the kings on horsehack, the kings militant of the
twelfth century, of whom Louis VI. is the first and not the least noble
specimen. But there is no need to come so far down to have the
pleasure of saluting the " native country " definitively constituted
and dearly loved. In the *' Chanson de Roland^' — which was com-
posed between the years 1066 and 1095, the country beloved of the
nephew of Charlemagne "is our Northern France with its natural
boundaries on the east and having all Southern France for its
tributary." The country which Roland loved is then the country
which we love ; and the France for which he died, is the same
France for which our soldiers died in 1884. The country — there
is the '* Patrie." She has taken centuries to build up, to form
herself; but in the beating of our hearts we feel that she lives, and
that she is beloved !

Such is the nation which our poets have celebrated ; such is the
country which the code of chivalry commands our heroes to cherish
to the death ; such is the country they have loved !

And there is no necessity to confuse with this great love the
slighter attachment which we feel for the town or the village in
which we were born. Nothing is more natural, more human, more
laudable than this feeling of the second order, and it is not unusual
to meet with the expression of it in our epics of the Middle Ages.
When the bishop of Mautran offered successively the kingdom of
Jerusalem to all the commanders of the First Ci:usade, they in turn
declined the ofi'er. And what reasons did they allege for refusing
so distinguished a crown ? Amongst so many illustrious barons
Godfrey was truly humble ; the others were simply fatigued, and
desirous to return to their castles, to their native lands.

*' Would to God and St. Simon that I were no>v at Arras in my
dear home, and that I could put the arms of my son Baudouin
around my neck."

Thus spoke Robert le Frison, and the others thought so.

The last wish of these iron-clad knights was often for their little
native place. When Aleaume in Raoul de Camhrai is mortally
wounded by Gueri le Sor, he exclaims, sobbing —

THE FOURTH COMMANDMENT.

49

" Sainte Marie ! I shall never see Saint-Quentin or Nesle
again."

This native land, besides, seemed to them more beautiful than
any other, and the Count of Flanders gave vent to this feeling very
plainly as he contemplated the arid solitudes which surrounded
Jerusalem. He said —

"I am astonished to think that Jesus Christ, the son of Mary,
could have lived in such a desert as this ! Ah, I far prefer the big
castle of my district of Arras."

Evidently the good knight regretted the fact that the Saviour
had not been born in Arras. Human nature again, but narrow-
minded in its application. It was not the native country, it was
the homestead.

It was the whole country which our knights were bound to love :
the true France which extends '* from Seint Michiel del* Peril as
far as Seinz, and from Besan9on to the port of Guitsand.* " The
France which "lies extended to the sun from Saint Michel on the
Sea to Germaise f on the Rhine," and from '* Huiscent on the Sea
to Saint Gille." This is the noble and extensive country which our
poets unceasingly praise to the detriment of the Lombards (that is
to say, the Italians), and the Tiois (that is to say, the Germans),
so as to mark the exact boundaries of our nationality and to divide
it clearly from the two great countries with which it might possibly
be confounded. It is this incomparable territory — '* the finest in
the world " — which is as beautiful to the eye as acceptable to the
heart. This is the charming country "which abounds in woods,
in rivers, in meadows, in virgins and beautiful women, in good
wines and in brave knights." This is the splendidly endowed
country in which people are so open-handed. France is a country
in which one surely finds "honour and loyalty and all good things; "
and besides, "in no country is there a greater or a truer people."
This is indeed the native land of proud hearts. " This people is
prouder than leopard or lion." It is a people who during many
centuries has had the incontestable honour to be united with the
Christian race itself in all the Mussulman world where the word

* S. Michiel del' Peril is St. Michael's Mount. Seinz is Cologne (Xanten).
Guitsand is Wissant (Pas de Calais}.
+ Germaise is Worms.

50 CHIVALRY.

" Frank " is the glorious synonym of Christian, and to such an
extent that it is not the Latin East hut the French East that one
should speak of. It is the soil blessed of God from which such a
fine race has emanated. We must not confound France with
mediocre peoples *' where they take care of hunting-birds and where
every knight has his female companion." No, the memory of the
true Cross is there cherished for ever and that of the Holy Sepulchre.
Spain struggles for its existence against the African enemies of her
faith ; Italy is bled by hostile factions ; Germany is French in her
court, her nobles, her tribunals, her books ; under the vain title of
the Holy Empire, Germany is an encampment of barbarians ; but
France, ever since the eleventh and twelfth centuries, has been
really a nation.

The love of this country which is at length conscious of itself,
lights up all the pages of our old poems. Listen again : — " When
Providence founded one hundred kingdoms the best was fair France,
and the first king whom God sent there was crowned by the hands
of His angels. Since the time of Charlemagne all nations have
sprung up from France — Bavaria, Germany, Burgundy, Lorraine,
Tuscany, Poitou, Gascony, to the borders of Spain. But the King
who wears the gold crown of France upon his brow must be a
warrior, and be able to lead an army of one hundred thousand men,
even to the ports of Spain. If he is not thus capable then
France is dishonoured and we make a mistake in crowning him."

These ideas are repeated almost word for word at the commence-
ment of another of our poems, as follows : —

" The chief of all crowns is that of France, and the first king of
France was crowned by angels singing, ' Thou shalt be,' saith God,
' My representative on earth, where thou shalt cause Law and
Justice to triumph.' "

Our forefathers spoke of their country with great pride. These
verses, no doubt, excited tumultuous applause every time a Jongleuv
chanted them, and they chanted them pretty often. They were a
kind of national anthem which only required a popular and catching
tune. The Marseillaise is not more beautiful.

Such accents are significant, such poetry eloquent. But in fact
we are a concrete race, and it became necessary one day to crystallise,
as it were, the French native land into a man. This living

^

THE DEATH OF EOLAND.

[p. 61. 1

THE FOURTH COMMANDMENT. 51

epitome of " Patrie " was Roland. Roland without any exaggera- \l
tion was France made man. Nothing could happen to Roland''
which did not at the same time happen to France. When he made
ready for the combat a wave of hope thrilled France ; if he were
victorious France shook with joy ; if he were vanquished France
mourned and wept. At the very time when the disastrous engage-
ment at Roncesvalles was about to commence, there occurred in
France phenomena analogous to those which actually happened
throughout the whole world at the crucifixion of the Man-God.
The poet, who certainly was a profound Christian, has not hesitated
to imagine, or rather to state, for he believes in the prodigy, all
that concatenation of supernatural presages. " In France," he
says, "there was a terrible tempest, an earthquake from Saint
Michel del' Peril to Xanten ; from Besangon to AVissant. At
midday the earth was shrouded in darkness." Might not we
believe that he was referring to the phenomena of Calvary ? No,
no ; do not be deceived. It was the great grief for the demise of
Roland. " C^esi li granz doels jj/ir la mort dc Rollant ! "

That illustrious personage thought of nothing but the emperor
and France. Every time he wielded his great sword he would ask
himself, " What would they say in France ? " and the honour of his
family engaged his mind less than the honour of his country. If he
refused so obstinately to sound the horn to call his uncle to his
assistance, if he committed that admirable imprudence from which
Oliver sought in vain to dissuade him, it was entirely because of his
native land. " God forbid," he cried on two occasions, ** that
France should be abased because of me. God, His saints, and
angels forbid that fair France should lose her honour on my
account ! " Then he launched into the midst of the battle — a lost
man!

During the continuance of this ** Waterloo," the one word, con-
tinually in his mouth, was " France." When the Christian barons
were all slain a touching sentence uprose to his lips. ** Land of
France," he exclaimed, ^^ mult estez didz pais'' (What a sweat land
thou art) !

At length the hour of his own death approached. He died as he
had lived — a Frenchman, and beaming with pride exclaimed,
" There shall never again be in France such another as Roland."

E 2

52 CHIVALRY.

Then when he felt darkness falling upon his eyes announcing the
inevitable approach of death, one of his last looks was for France.*
'' Fit dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos.^^

No nation can, even in the latest age of ours, offer such a type, a
more glorious ideal of the love of country ; but Koland is not the
only one who has been burned in this purifying fire. All the
French of our " Chansons " are so many Charlemagnes and Rolands.
They are represented as a chosen nation, and a special race. The
author of our Roland enumerates somewhere the different corps of
the Christian army, in the same way as Homer catalogued the ships
of the Grecian fleet. In the ost of Charles, three echelles — three
army corps — out of ten were composed of Frenchmen ; but we must
peruse the description which the old Trouvere has given us.

"The tenth echelle,'' said he, ''is composed of the barons of
France ; there are one hundred thousand of them, of our best cap-
tains. They are of stout frame and haughty demeanour, their
heads all white, and their beards grizzled. They mount on horse-
back and demand battle ! ' Montjoie, Montjoie,' they cry.
Charlemagne is with them." And wishing to paint them in a
single verse, which one may easily remember, the poet adds —

"These are those Frenchmen who conquer Kingdoms,"

Roland was proud of his Frenchmen, and halted to inspect them,
"Not one of you," he exclaimed, "would fail even to the death,"
and full of admiration for the men of the " great land," the nephew
of Charles cried out, "Frenchmen are good, they fight like gallant
soldiers." ""

The other " Chansons du Geste " present our countrymen in an
equally good aspect. Everywhere they bear witness to their, often
desperate, courage ; and their somewhat lengthy speeches preserve
their cheerfulness, which is rather noisy. The national character
has not changed. Our poets, in order to depict our heroes, used a
term which describes them accurately, " Gay Knights." Beneath
their helmets we perceive fine features, ready to smile, full of
pleasant raillery. They joke and exchange some pleasantry even
over the bodies of their dying enemy. They move forward to battle
grand, superb, terrible in aspect, always wearing that mocking

* De pluseura choses a remembrer lui prist, de dulce France ("Roland," 2375, 81),

THE FOURTH COMMANDMENT. 53

smile, and that proud appearance. Their advance to the field was
the same at Koncesvalles as at Waterloo. Even the Saracens
themselves, like the English in after years, could not help admiring
them. " Of a surety, whoever could be constituted like these
Frenchmen, whoever could resemble them and possess their stability,
would live all the longer." The terms are strong and the poet puts
them in the mouth of a pagan.

They are so attached to this beautiful land of France, that they
are unable to leave it. With what delight do they return thither,
and how regretful they are when they are forced to leave it.
" Sweet mother," said Bertha to her mother, when they were about
to part for a long while, " I feel as if I were being cut to the heart
with a knife." "Daughter," replied the mother, **be happy and
joyous, you are going into France."

Aye d 'Avignon, when a prisoner amongst the Saracens, begged
Garnier her husband not to recognize her. " I was born in
France ; speak to me only of France, speak only to me of my
country, and give me some news of my sweet native land."

Strangers, pagans, experienced the same regret. The ambassa-
dor of the Saracens, Balan, when he was quitting Charles' Court
turned round many times to look at the French people once again.
He regretted Charles, "his rich baronage," and the Frenchmen
"' who were so fine." The regret of William of Orange is still more
touching. " Towards rich France he turned, and the breeze from
France blew in his face. He opened his dress so as to permit the
breeze to play upon him more fully. Facing the wind he kneeled
down and cried, ' 0 sweet wind that blows from France ! There
are all those whom I love. I commit thee to the care of God, for I
have no hope of ever seeing thee again.' Then from his beautiful
eyes tears rained down. They trickled down his face in streams."

It is the same sentiment so well expressed by the Troubadour .in
the verses which we ourselves have so frequently quoted when far
away from France. " When the soft wind blows from the
direction of my native land I fancy I can perceive the fragrance of
Paradise."

It is not then surprising that France should be so dearly loved ;
and such a country well merits such a love !

France is like a queen seated on a throne at the base of which

54 CHIVALRY.

two oceans unite. Beneath a sky of a delightful and charming
equability it displays the beauty of its fine rivers, the fertility of its
immense plains, the majesty of its Alps, of its Cevennes and its
Pyrenees. It contains every tree, every vine, every fruit. A fine
people in truth : youthful and vivacious ; and one is tempted to en-
quire how they can ever grow old ; possessing an intelligence which
nothing can cloud, a devotion which nothing can upset, in the will
an energy which is too easily extinguished, but which is still more
readily re-illumined. Talking well and fond of speaking for a long
time, listening with less willingness and not troubling itself witl
much temporising, it astonishes the world by- the disinterestedness
of its sacrifices, the rapidity of its resolves, and the fervour of its
enterprises. It possesses a sprightly courage and a[coura^^us spirit,
but of all things it possesses dash {elan,) which is the loremosi^:^
all military qualities. Providence has gifted it with so many noble
qualities that this blessing has borne fruit. He has committed to
the French nation the mission to preserve in all extraordinary
attacks — the destinies of Truth on the earth.

It was France that under Clovis put its foot on Arianism and
crushed it : it w^as France that by the hands of Charles MarteL
drove for ever from our borders the danger of Mussulman invasion :
it was France that by Charlemagne delivered Europe and
Christianity from the formidable outburst of German barbarism : it
was France that by Godfrey de Bouillon, by Saint Louis, and by
means of the Crusades, gave to the Eastern Christians a security
which the East threatened. This is the reason why the Popes of
the Middle Ages never feared to praise loudly France above all other
nations : this is why the old Pope Gregory IX., — a contemporary
with our latest epic poets — -had no scruples in exclaiming in magni-
ficent language — thus —

" The Son of God to whose orders the whole world is subservient,
and whom the battalions of the Celestial army obey, has established
here below, as a sign of Divine puissance, a certain number of king-
doms, diverse in inhabitants and language. And as in past days
the tribe of Judah received a special blessing from on high amongst
the sons of the patriarch Jacob, so the kingdom of France is above
all others endowed by the hand of God himself with special grace
and privileges."

THE FIFTH COMMANDMENT. 55

Our poets have spoken of France in similar terms, and the com-
mencement of the ** Coiironnement Lovys " is as worthy of notice as
the Bull of Gregory the Ninth.

n.

The authors of our old poems are not less eloquent or decided
when they concern themselves with the Fifth Commandment of the
Code which refers to the valour of the knight, and it is scarcely
necessary to enumerate thje various virtues which the Code imposes
upon all knights.

Amon^^t the old degenerate Gauls, amongst the Koman legion-
aries scientifically trained to victory, in the case of the young
Frankish warrior who possessed the courage and instincts of the
savage, and finally in the Christian race which already reckons so
many millions of martyrs, there are undoubted traditions of courage.
These four streams have formed the river of which we speak ; but
it is necessary to state here as elsewhere, that the German and
Christian elements have been the most powerful and the most
fruitful. Chivalrous courage is only one spirit composed
of these two strains of courage — it is made of these two
"mettles." For the rest, the Code of Chivalry is more clear
upon this than any of the other Commandments. Like
Nehemiah, like that knight of the old land who wrotC;
"My peers have no fears, and never fly," our knights were most
afraid of being considered cowards. This was their great fear.
" Miens vauroit estrc mors, que couars apeUs,^' was their motto
which they continually kept repeating ; and added with a certain
touch of terror, " qiCnn seal couart feroit un ost descouragier'* — a
single coward was sufficient to discourage an army !

Again. When they plunged into the thick of the fight they
would turn to their companions and exclaim in bold accents, " We
will slay all, or all be slain ! " They were most desirous to meet
their foes hand to hand, to feel him at the point of their swords.
There have been some magnificent passages devoted to this subject
which the poets of our time have happily popularized. *' Cursed
be the first who bent a bow. He was a coward and did not dare to

56 CHIVALRY.

come to close quarters." Javelins and arrows appeared to our
knights the arms of villains, and this prejudice, which at j&rst did
honour to French valour, ended by being fatal to it. We re-
member the theatrical disdain which our knights entertained at
Cressy for the Genoese bowmen, and the result. It was an excess
of heroic virtue, and it is too true that the fourteenth century is,
in too many instances, only an exaggerated copy of the twelfth,
which, when all is said, remains the great century of the Middle
Ages.

We said just now that there were in knightly courage two prin-
cipal elements or factors, the Germanic and the Christian : they
were not always sufficiently developed. Our knights too often
loved .fighting for its own sake, and not for the cause which they
had espoused. The old barbarrc"Teaven of the German forest was
still working beneath the coat of mail. In their eyes the spectacle
of gory sword or armour was a charming sight ; a fine lance-thrust
transported them to the seventhheaven of delight. *' I enjoy such
a thrust more than eating and~drrnking," exclaimed, very naturally,
one of the ferocious heroes of *' Raoul de CamhraV This naive
admiration is very apparent in our oldest epic poems, and in
" Roland" in particular. In the midst of the terrible battle, when
it was a question w^hether victory would declare for Islam or the
Cross, when a handful of Christians were holding their own against
thousands of Moslems, on that immense plain covered with the
dying, our Frenchmen, more than half dead, still found time to
criticise and admire good strokes of lance or sword. A fencing-
master of the nineteenth century could not appreciate more calmly
a pretty *^pass."

It was art, but art of a brutal kind, which Christianity had some
difficulty in realising. It was practised nevertheless, and the
Crusades had from this point of view an influence which has perhaps
been scarcely appreciated. Feudalism had not de-germanised the
courage of our ancestors, and had not deprived it of any of its old
roughness. The Crusades interjected into it the idea of God, and
transformed it ; compare these two " Chansons " with one another,
*' Raoul de Camhrai'^ and. ^* Antioch.'' The barbarous German
rages in the former, which is an echo of the tenth century ; the
Church triumphs in the latter, which is a narrative of the

THE FIFTH COMMANDMENT. 57

Crusades, written in a measure after the dictation of the Crusaders
themselves. Feudalism and the Crusades are the thesis and anti-
thesis.

** Fight, God is with you." Such, in a few words, was the
whole formula of Christian courage ; and the following old verse
of the twelfth century, only in another form, expresses the famous
saying of the most knightly of all knights : I mean Joan of Arc.
** The men at arms will fight, and God will give the Victory."

There is in fact no more correct embodiment of the fifth article
of our Decalogue than that.

To this law, all the heroes of our history and legend have been
gloriously faithful ; and it seems that those two groups of knights —
the real and the imaginary — rival each other in moral greatness
and magnificent bravery. The personages pictured in *' Aliscans,"
do not cede anything to those described in *' Antioch ; " nor those
of " Jerusalem " to those in " Roland." Legend is in this case, as
in so many other cases, only the condensation and the quintessence
of history.

Under the walls of Antioch — where were performed so many
heroic deeds, gi-ander even than those of the heroes of Greece and
Rome — it was that this law was obeyed by that squire Gontier
d'Aire, who entered one day, quite alone, into the beleaguered town,
and so deserves to take foremost rank amongst knights. During a
siege as memorable as that of Troy, this law was obeyed by the
admirable Renaut Porquet, who, a prisoner of the Saracens, advised
his Christian companions not to exchange him against a pagan.
To this law, Foucart the orphan subscribed, when he would not
permit his lord, the Count of Flanders, to mount the scaling-ladder
before him — that perilous ladder which should have enabled the
barons to ascend to the ramparts of Antioch — but who, after saying
simply, " If I die, no one will lament me," oflfered himself as a
victim, threw his hlason behind his back, seized the ladder with
both hands, ofiered a long prayer to God, hurried forward, and left
only the second place to such heroes as Bohemond and Tancred.

Under the sacred walls of Jerusalem, where all the Christian
West met, Thomas de Marne again obeyed this law. He caused
himself to be thrown into the town through the air, by means of
thirty lances of the knights. '* So long as the world lasts, this

58 CHIVALRY.

exploit will be related," said the author of the " Chanson of Jeru-
salem." I am sure I hope so, and a thousand other exploits still,
which I cannot relate here, which will redound to the eternal
honour of the French and of the Christian race. A second " De
Viris " might be composed for our children. The other is less
beautiful.

This law was obeyed in the domain of legend, by all the heroes
of a hundred fights whose names were throughout all the Middle
Ages a loving lesson of highmindedness, honour, and courage.
The Code of Chivalry which we are endeavouring to make clear, is
not, like other codes, a dry and barren text, and our fathers as a
commentary upon it recounted the examples of great knights.
Instead of telling the young squires to be valiant— they rather
said. Look at Ogier, and think of Koland. The mural paintings —
somewhat gross perhaps — which covered the walls of chateaux and
the open spaces of the enormous chimneys, the dull-toned tapestry,
the brilliant mirrors, the quaint sculpture on the portals, all told
of these models of chivalry, and the gaze of youth could not fail to
dwell on them. They had Guillaume Fierebrace resisting unaided
a hundred thousand Saracens in the plains of Aliscans. They had
Ogier, withstanding the whole Empire in his dungeon at Castelfort :
there was Vivien, — the child Vivien — panting and half dead, tying
his entrails around his body and rushing again to meet death in
the melee : they had the good knight Guron who in the *' Taking
of Pampeluna " successfully accomplished the most dangerous of
all errands to the pagan King Marsilus and perished in a
treacherous ambuscade, after an unequal and sublime struggle
where his life would not have lasted a moment save for his high
courage : there was Roland, the most glorious and popular of all
these valiant warriors — Roland, who died, ''extending his gauntlet
to God," upon that rock of Roncesvalles, which literally dominates
all the Middle Ages. There were, in fine, all our epic knights
who vied with each other in repeating this grand sentence from one
of our oldest poems —

" See, death approaches ! But, as becomes brave men, let us
die fighting ! "

/^•V-

-S

THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 59

in.

From the Fifth to the Sixth Commandment is, we opine, a very-
easy transition, for the real employment of chivalrous courage, the
only legitimate object and use of it in the estimation of our
ancestors, was to fight against the Saracens. A murderous war,
an endless duel. Some of our epic poems, it is true, are almost
entirely animated by feudal rage ; but these, no matter what
people may say, are neither the most ancient, the most beautiful,
nor the truest. To prefer " liaoid de Cambrai " to the " Chanson
de Roland "is to give proofs of an intelligence which does not
possess sufficiently either the " Christian " or the " French sense."
Hatred for the Pagan animates most of our old poems ; they '
exhale the air of the Crusades by which they were vivified.

No doubt we find many classic images of a more noble style in
the letters of the Popes, wherein the crusaders are compared to
" antique athletes," but our old poems express the same idea in
more heroic and more popular words. Do we wish to sum up in
one line the whole life of Charlemagne we immediately find it
in eight words — " Pas lui fitrent pdien en maint leu encombres " —
(The Pagan was in many places checked by him). Do you wish to
have as brief a record of all the exploits of that historic liberator of
our France, of that William whom we have too long forgotten ?
" It was he," they say, " who so severely punished both pagans and
slaves." There you have said everything, and you cannot have a
finer funeral oration.

Quotations are useless, and all our romances, to tell the truth,
are only the recitals of this grand and formidable struggle. All
that was not Christian became Saracen in our ancestors' eyes.
Clovis himself was considered by them as a converted Mussulman,
and it was at the head of our army of Crusaders that Charlemagne
delivered Jerusalem. Each one of our epopoeia concludes with the
capture of an infidel town, and the three culminating points in our
epic poetry are Aliscans, Roncesvalles, Jerusalem, two defeats and
one victory, in which we were opposed by the Saracens. " They
fought the Turks right willingly, and often baptised themselves in
their blood." These two lines give us a very good idea of our
Imights, and resemble them more than all their other portraits.

6o CHIVALRY.

This hatred of the Pagan was carried to the verge of madness, to
spasmodic rage against them. ** If we were in Paradise," said the
rough soldiers of the twelfth century, " we would come down to
fight the Saracens." The companions of Godfrey de Bouillon in
the first flush of enthusiasm, which extinguished itself later,
uttered a cry of rage which has not been surpassed in vigour —

" Were the walls of Jerusalem of steel," they said, " were they
of steel, we would tear them with our teeth."

Many are scandalized by the exhibition of so much anger, but
these people speak at their ease, and our fathers were better able
than we to estimate the danger with which Islam threatened
Christianity. We must not forget that the Mussulmans in the
seventh century penetrated even to Poitiers, and that at Toulouse,
in 793, they constituted themselves masters of all the south of
France. In the ninth century they still infested our boundaries,
and menaced our national independence. Two races, two religions,
were there in presence of each other. It was necessary that Islam
should retire, and the Crusade was only a process of driving back
the invasion.

We also know that this scourge of Chivalry has delivered the
world by protecting it against the ascendency of Mahomet. We
have seen — we can see to what depths the Mussulman races can
descend, and the rapidity with which they lose all moral sense, all
honour of existence, all social vitality. Without chivalry, the
West, vanquished by fatalism and sensuality, might to-day have
been as decomposed and as rotten as the East !

Thanks to those of its commandments which appear the less
modern, the Code of Chivalry has freed and preserved us. It
would be perhaps only fair to preserve its memory in return.

CHAPTER IV.

THE CODE OF CHIVALRY.— THE LAST FOUR COMMANDMENTS.—
THE GROWTH AND DECADENCE OF THE CHIVALROUS IDEAL.

TpE strict performance of all feudal duties, and fidelity of the
vassal to his lord, are the obligations of the Seventh Command-
ment of Chivalry. The vassal vms bound to obey his lord in every
particular, so long as the latter demanded of him nothing pre-
judicial, nothing contrary to the Faith, the Church, and the poor.
"As soon as one holds fiefs or land of a baron, one is bound to
come to his assistance on every occasion; provided that he does not
attempt to destroy the churches, nor to harm poor people ; for no
one is bound to wage war against God."

Thus spoke the author of one of our old chansons (** Girars de
Viane''), so at that time it appears people did not dare to war
against holy things.

We have in a previous chapter recorded our protest against this
doctrine, so strange and so widely disseminated, which confounds
feudalism with chivalry. We have more strongly still protested
against the creed of certain fanatics, who, instead of accepting
feudalism as a necessity of history, designate it now as the most
perfect of all forms of government. One of these enthusiasts said
to us one day —

"Evil be to those who attack these two institutions — so
evidently providential — feudalism and slavery."

One really cannot argue with such folly : it is sufficient to show
one's contempt for it. But it is important that we should not go
too far, and we may state that feudalism, so disastrous to the
Church and to the Good, was really inevitable in the midst of the
terrible troubles of the ninth century. No union was possible :
the central power lost its head and abdicated; a thousand

62 CHIVALRY.

ambitions surged on at the same time ; Norman vessels entered
southern rivers ; the last waves of Saracen invasion alarmed the
people of the southern maritime regions ; the old German blood
raged again, and barbarism threatened to descend like a pall upon
the astonished world.

It was then, as we have said, that the weak entertained the very
natural idea of seeking the protection of the strong ; and, rallying
round them, cried, *' Defend us, defend us ! "

Such was feudalism. There was nothing divine or perfect about
it : it was merely a phenomenon that took place from force of
•circumstances, necessary and, in the good sense of the term, fatal ;
inevitable.

It is also easy to understand that the great did not accord their
protection to the weak for nothing ; and it was necessary that the
latter should put themselves in the hands of the former.

** We will serve you, we will be your adherents, we will follow
you to battle, we will be faithful to you — faithful to the death."
From this compact arose the incomparable strength of the feudal
bond. It was gratitude extended to the condition of social law.
What do I say ? It was the gratitude which entered into all the
manners and customs of a whole race — of all the world. A brutal
and gross species of gratitude, I am ready to admit, but both
sincere and lively also. Without it and God it would have been
all over with us.

This devotion of the vassal to his lord was blind and insensate.
No matter what the baron's will may have been, the vassal always
responded by the words which have now become a formula : — As
you please, so let it be. Kead and read again the barbarous
ultra-feudal poem, *^ Raoul de Camhrai^'' of which we have
already spoken. When this hero of this '* Epic of Savages," when
Raoul proceeded to burn the convent of Origni, his vassal Bernier,
whose mother was an inmate of that very convent, consented to
follow him, even to the committal of this crime.

*'My lord Raoul," said he, "is a greater traitor than Judas —
but he is my lord. I would not fail him for the world."

This is terrible, but there is more behind.

The crime was consummated. Origni was burned : the nuns, a
hundred poor women, perished in the flames, and Bernier's mother

THE LAST FOUR COMMANDMENTS.

63

was not spared. She lay there lifeless, with her psalter still
burning on her bosom. Her son perceived her : what grief, what
rage possessed him ! But Bernier is Raoul's vassal, and it is with
a certain fear and respect that he seeks for his mother's murderer.
Raoul, who had never repented of anything he had done, treated
Bernier as a slave, and struck him a terrible blow on the head.
The blood flowed in streams over his face, already wet with tears.

Ilenaud de Alontauban and his brother at the feet of Charlemagne.

but he, never rising from the position of a true vassal, calmly
endured this supreme injury, and contented himself with asking for
his weapons.

'* De ceste cort partirai sans congie,'^ says the narrative. He
did not strike the wretch, Eaoul ; he did not render insult for
insult, and blow for blow ; he went away — simply ; that was all.
This was the type of vassal in the heroic age of feudalism ; and the
terrible romance of ^' Raoul de Cambrai " is founded — and we must
not forget this — on the historical facts of the tenth century.
There is no need, I think, to go farther than that.

64 CHIVALRY.

The bonds of feudalism were stronger than family ties : the lord
was greater than a father, and a vassal was more than a son. Do
we require another proof, really tragical and perhaps more horrible
than that crime at Origni ?

A traitor of the name of Fromont one day murdered his lord and
master, Girart de Blaines, and in his mad rage would have slain
every member of the family of which he had slain the chief.
There only remained, alas ! a child, a little lad of a few months
old, and this only child of Girart had been confided to the care of
a devoted vassal named Renier, whose wife was called Erembourc.
The traitor ordered these good people to bring to him Girart' s
child, the little Jourdain whom he wished to kill. After lengthy
and moving remonstrances, which we shall have opportunity to
relate elsewhere, they refused, and ended by giving up their own
child, which they palmed off as the son of their seigneur, to the
assassin. Yes ! they sacrificed their very flesh and blood, and
were sufi'ering spectators of the agony of the child. They weep,
they faint, they die ; but after all they are vassals, and those people
believed that they were accomplishing a duty in saving the little
son of their lord at such a price. It was hard !

The Code of Chivalry tempered this rudeness, but was also care-
ful not to whittle it down too fine. The Church itself understood
what would have become of these young and wild people if, in the
excess of a false sensibility, they had undermined the fidelity of
the vassal, if they had destroyed that barrier, if they had ameliorated
the rudeness of those customs.

She was satisfied by giving to the duties of the sovereign lord the
same relief as the vassal, and by throwing into their somewhat
savage relations the spirit of toleration, and the spirit of sacrifice.
" Dear son," said Odilon on his death-bed to his nephew Girart de
Roussillon, whom he wished to reconcile with Charles : " Always
practise caution and common-sense : love your lord, and be faithful
to him."

This caution did not interfere with the devotion of the individual.
William — that perpetual liberator of the kings of France — William
was at church ; he was being married. They had reached that
interesting part of the ceremony when the bridegroom places the
ring upon the finger of the bride, when suddenly a messenger

KEMKll AKD UlhUlFK lillJi.MliOUKC hUBS'J ITUTED THEIR OWN CHILD FOR THEIR MASTERS

INFANT. [P- 64.

THE LAST FOUR COMMANDMENTS. 65

entered in a great hurry, and very much alarmed, bringing bad
news of the emperor.

*' My lord Louis in danger ! " exclaimed William, and — quitting
his place at the altar, the priest, and his pale-faced bride on whom
he would not look, and whom he would never see again, leaving the
happiness of which he would not think — he went away. His heart
was broken, he was in deep grief ; but he went. If Victor Hugo
had versified this episode he would have made it a beautiful pendan t
to his Aymerillot.

There was the same heroism in the case of that Fouqueret whom
the father of Aubri le Bourguignon had formerly brought up and
made a knight of. Aubri was the mortal enemy of this vassal,
whose nephews he had killed, and whose daughter he had intended
to dishonour. But the Burgundian, as it happened, was defeated
and forced to succumb. He was disarmed, dismounted, lost.

Yet immediately the loud voice of vassaldom made itself audible
in the heart of Fouqueret : the memories of his infancy came back
to him ; he recalled the kind seigneur who had brought him up,
and without hesitation he said to Aubri —

" Hold ! take my horse and my sword : begone ! " and he fled.

Didier did the same for Charlemagne in the midst of the great
battle under the walls of Pampeluna, and many other vassals did
likewise. It is true, nevertheless, that there were occasions in
which this noble sentiment seemed to be extinguished in the hearts
of our best knights. Yes, certain barons revolted brutally against
their lords, and raised their hands against those who had nourished
them.

But these were only moments of mental aberration and blindness.
These revolts were not thorough, and sooner or later the rebels
collapsed at the feet of their lords, bathed in tears and imploring
mercy. The four sons of Aymon, the sons of Garin, Boon of
Mayence and Gaidon, fell thus at the feet of Charlemagne ; as the
sons and grandsons of Aimeri of Narbonne fell later at the feet of
the too easy-going and weak Louis. One day they saw (it is in
'' Renaus de Montaiiban'') four thonsand. seven hundred knights
proceed, with bowed heads, naked feet, and clothed only in their
shirts, towards the tent of the redoubtable emperor against whom
they had rebelled.

66 CHIVALRY.

They scarcely perceived the king's majesty, when they feU.upon
their knees, and, weeping, swore never to be false again : that was
the crime of crimes, which could only be compared to apostasy.
Upon the walls of all the halls in all our castles of the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries one might have written this threatening verse
from one of our old chansons —

"Qui BOISE son Seigneur bien a Dieu relenqui."

If anyone committed such a crime he never could sufficiently re-
pent. But this repentance was not sufficient for the unknown
framers of the Code of Chivalry, and they showed themselves more
severe. A penalty was instituted against vassals who had failed in
their duty, and it was severely insisted on. That Bernier, in
*' Raoul de Camhrai/^ of whom we have already spoken, had many
reasons for revenge against him who had burned his mother in the
flames of Origni, and who had cruelly maltreated him, what matter !
The bond of vassaldom was not broken, it could not be, and there
was Bernier in tears, offering to expiate so great a crime as the
spirit of revolt, by undertaking a pilgrimage beyond the seas !

Why did Kenaud de Montauban leave his wife and children one
day and make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem ? Why did he make
his way towards Cologne, concealing his glory, his rank, and his
naime ? Why did he clothe himself in the humble garments of the
least of his companion masons ? Why ? Because he had formerly
rebelled against his lord, and the expiation seemed to him then a
thousand times too lenient.

Such a law needs must have such a penalty.

n.

Another Commandment for the knightly ones, and one which
the ancients were little acquainted with, is, '* Beware of falsehood ;
have a horror of lying." "Do not lie,'' is one of the cSfiSilTohs of
chivalry which remains fixed and living amongst modern^ peoples.
There is no necessity to quote a number of texts, and so we witl:
only mention two, one of which is taken from one of our oldest
yrj^nsons and the other from one of the most recent. These are,

1<

THE LAST FOUR COMMANDMENTS. 67

as it w§re, the two poles upon which revolved all the poetry of the
middle ages.

"Fins cuers ne puet mentir,'' says the author of " Raoul de
Camhraif'* who wrote in the thirteenth century with the spirit and
traditions of the tenth. We have the same injunction in the
"Entree en Esjmg^ie," which is a work of the period of our epic
decadence. When Koland undertook the fahled journey into Persia
which is described in the second part of this curious poem, when
he was called on to induct Samson, the son of the Pagan king, into
a regular course of chivalry, he gave him a great deal of advice of a
very valuable character, and notably the following counsel —

'* Friend," said Pioland to his pupil, " Gart-toi de mentir. Car
ce est line tache qui moult fait repentir ! "

AVe have seen in the foregoing pages that one of the most
beautiful eulogies which has ever been addressed to noble France is
this, " This is the most truthful of all nations : " that is to say,
the most sincere. So writes the author of ** Berte ans (jrans pies,'*
and it is as well to add that this Homeric epithet, a " sincere
heart," is one of those bestowed on knights in the old chanson of
*' Griatz de llossillhOy' and in many others. If we wished also to
go back to the true origin of the most justly praised of our modern
sentiments, one would easily perceive that " respect for one's word "
can be traced back to the epoch of chivalry. Respect for feudal
engagements has carried in its train respect for all other engage-
ments. Not to tell lies, and to keep to one's word, are, to this j
day, the two chief traits in the character of a gentleman.

It mattered little whether the word of honour had been passed
under the form of an oath upon the open Testament or before the
golden caskets which contained the relics of the saints, or whether
the promise had been made simply by the knight extending his un-
gloved hand, or whether the engagement was unaccompanied by any
rite at all. The parole was in itself sufficient.

When Count William returned from that great disaster at
Aliscans where Christianity was vanquished with him ; when he
re-entered half dead and in tears into the beautiful palace of
Orange, which had formerly embraced within its walls so much
prosperity and such great glory ; when, out of breath, and without
taking time to dress his wounds, the heroic Guibornc, his wife,

r 2

68 CHIVALRY.

turned him away to Paris, where he wished to ohtain the assistance
of the emperor against the Saracens, the poor countess, at the
moment when she hade adieu to her hushand, felt all her courage
fail, and for a moment she hecame a very woman.

'* Ah," she said, "you will see other women, yonder, more
heautiful and younger than I. You will forget me."

Then William, to comfort her, swore to leave his hair and beard
untrimmed until he came hack to her again, and that he would
never touch any other lips but hers in all his wanderings. He
went away, and kept his word.

But what need is there of accumulating evidence ? One word
will suffice to indicate the estimation in which our fathers held
Sincerity, the name of which is synonymous with Honour.
Amongst all the titles with which the troubadours associated the
name of God, the most in use was, *' The God who never
lies."

This formula is more significant than all our texts, and more
eloquent than all our commentaries.

m.

The Code of Chivalry cannot be assimilated to the Decalogue in
the Old Testament consecrated by the New Law, popularised by
the Church, a truly divine and universal covenant for all centuries,
and adapted to all nations. The rules for the use of knights are
necessarily of a more restricted and of a more special character
than the sacred Commandments. We will give a striking example.
*' Thou shalt not bear false witness," says the sacred text.
" Thou shalt keep thy word," adds the commentator of the Middle
Ages. The difference is easily perceived.

It is just the same as regards the precepts and evangelical
counsel, and it is not worth while to pause and find them word for
word in the decalogue of chivalry. It is certain (and here again we
wish to take a decisive illustration) that chastity is more than once
advised in our old poems to Christian soldiers. Elias of Saint^
Gilles expressly enjoined this virtue on his son, and the jaithor"of
the " Ordene de Chevalerie,'' of that almost mystic work, is as

THE LAST FOUR COMMANDMENTS. 69

steiii_aiLd^rigorous on the subject as a preacher, and advises the
knights ioJieep themselves pure. This is as it should he, and we
have nothing but admiration for those who repulsed energetically
any temptations, whether from Saracens or Christians.

So_wUh^arit;jj_which^i^L_fche essence of Christianity, and which
must not be confounded with liberality, which is the essence of
chivalry. This liberality eml)odics the Ninth Commandment of
the legislation which we are attempting to set forth ; and, to tell
the truth, charity holds but a small position in it.

Sometimes, nevertheless, these heavy mail-clad warriors, living
amid the licence of camps, had really fine accesses of charity. The
admirable Godfrey, the prototype of all knights, who exercised a
notable influence upon the historical development of the chivalrous
ideal, this leader of the first crusade was a true " brother of
charity," and occupied himself continually in visiting the poor in
his army.

Judas Maccabeus again, in the romance of *' Aiiheron" is
celebrated for being as povres gens largcs et visit ens. Huon de
Bordeaux at Torment in a manner acted as a deacon of the
Primitive Church. La poire gent servoit a lor mangier. It is
recorded of our heroes, that, in times of great danger they did not
scruple to register vows, as sailors do in the midst of a great
storm ; and one of these vows was to found a hospital, an alms-
house, wherein all the poor could be accommodated. Such traits
deserve a place in the history of Christian charity. And we may
remark, in passing, that it is a shame that no one has ever written
such a history.

All our barons were not so constituted as to understand this
grand law of evangelic charity : their brutal nature put it aside,
and the old selfishness resumed its sway in their savage natures.
I cannot refrain from relating here the terrible lesson which was
taught them, as told in one of our old poems, as follows : —

The Saracen king, Marsilus, was a prisoner of the great emperor.
*' Be converted, or die," they said to him, and they ofi'ered him the
abominable choice between baptism or death ; an alternative which
we have denounced more than once, and which disfigures all our
old romances.

The pagan king did not hesitate for a moment ; he refused to be

70 CHIVALRY.

converted to the law of Christ. He had his reasons, and would not
be baptized : he would rather die !

Then he said to Charlemagne, "Who are those fat personages,
clothed in furs, who are seated at your table ? "

" The bishops and abbots," replied the emperor.

"And those poor thin individuals, clothed in black or grey
habits ? "

" They are the mendicant friars who pray for us."

" And those beyond, seated on the ground, to whom the scraps
of your banquet are sent ? "

" They are the poor people."

" Ah ! " exclaimed the king, " and so that is the way in which
you treat your poor, irreverently, and to the dishonour of Him
whose faith you profess ! Well, no : I shall certainly not be
baptized — I prefer death."

Such is the legend, which has something alarming in it, and
which makes one shudder like the scene of the poor in Moliere's
^^ Don Juan^ Before it had passed into our songs, a great
Catholic reformer made use of it to arouse the souls of his con-
temporaries and to bring home to them the evangelical view of it.
We may quote it after the text of Pierre Damien.*
^ The virtue — the true chivalrous virtue — is liberality, and, to use
theproper word, layyessc. This beautiful term " largessP^ ia
French as well as Christian, and it expresses a good deal in our
language. Would you sum up the praise of a Imight in "two
words"? T^^y^say of him that he is courteous and wise, and
larges pour donner. There is also in " Corneille " a line which
equals this dissyllable in beauty —

'* A liennor fere doit chascims estre larges."

^

One of the most striking examples of largesse is presented to us
in this grand scene which an unknown poet has depicted at the
commencement of the " Chanson cVAspremont.'* Naimes, who
had nobly undertaken to speak to Charlemagne, firmly said to him —

"Do not be stingy in your expenditure, even though not a

* This history of the poor is related (1) by Saint Peter Daraien, who gives the
honour to Wittikind ; (2) in the ** Chronicle of Turpin," where it is attributed to
Agolant; (3) in the poem of ^'Aiise'isde Cartilage;" (4)iuthe ^'Aiise'isde Charlemagne.'*

THE LAST FOUR COMMANDMENTS. 71

farthing may remain in your coffers. Give my property first, and

distribute it chiefly amongst the poor knights, so that their wives

may benefit by it. The old counsellor did not fail to point his

moral, and exclaim —

" Tant en donez as grans et as munus
Que tuit s'en aillent de joie revestu."

And the poet adds —

** Tiels i vint fix de povre vavasor
Qui au partir resemblera comtor."

In fifty, in a hundred of our romances we find the same appeals,
warm and impressive, to all poor knights. " Come, and you will
be rich." They came, and were enriched.

" Let all poor knights approach," said Charles, on another
occasion in this same romance oi *' Aspremont ; '' and there were
distributed to them chargers and palfreys, furs and stuffs, sparrow-
hawks, falcons, gold and silver. "Let all those who have neither
land nor tenure, go seek Fouchier, my relative, and he will enrich
the poorest amongst them."

Thus spoke Don Fouque, a messenger from Girart de Koussillon,
at the time when the great struggle was proceeding between him-
self and the emperor.

But there may be in this last suggestion some little cunning and
diplomacy, and we prefer to stop before the spectacle of the hero of
the first crusade, before the noble Baudouin, who, ere he departed
for the Holy Land, had listened piously to his mother's advice —

" Give freely ! " and he did give so freely and to such an extent
that he was one day obliged to go and request a loan from Tancred.

There is really nothing to be added to this trait, if it be not the
beautiful verse of Girart de Roussilloiiy which does honour to the
heart of a woman, but in which policy holds, perhaps, too great a
place. The queen, says the poet, is very liberal and generous.
" Give ! aye, even to her towers and battlements ! " It is a
remarkable sentence, almost unparalleled in feudal times, " Her
very towers and battlements."

As for the largesse which the heroes of our old poems are
reputed to have bestowed upon singers and popular musicians, it is
unnecessary to speak of it in this place, and it was not the true
generosity. The minstrels of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries

72 CHIVALRY.

0

were in reality thorough comedians. If they celebrated the legen-
dary liberality of ancient knights, it was with the view to obtain
from living knights actual gifts. *' The heroes of our chansons are
generous and liberal. The least that you can do is to be aaliberal.
Give ! " And they gave accordingly !

"But such presents cannot rank either as works of charity, or as
true largesse, and the Code of Chivalry has nothing in common
with it. Let us pass on.

IV.

We must confess that the Tenth Commandment of chivalry has
not been clearly formulated by our poets, and that we owe it to the
Church as a matter of fact. *' To combat all evil, to defend ^U.
good,". would not have come naturally to the minds -of-ihase.
"^scendants of Germans who had not been affected by the water of
their baptism.

It would be quite possible to show, by a series of texts scientifi-
cally chosen and wisely graduated, that this philosophical and
definitive formula only introduced itself by slow degrees into the
current of our ancestors' ideas. They did not reach such an
astonishing height at abound, and some of these apophthegms — like
certain poems, the ''Dies Ira'' for example — had to submit to a
long incubation of four or five centuries.

In our old songs the maxim, " Combat all evil, defend all that is
good," presents itself principally, curiously enough, in a negative
form. When the author of *' Gaydon " sets himself to put forth
the infernal Contra Code of Chivalry, he does not hesitate to put
this abominable advice in the mouth of one of his traitors —

" Le Mai hauciez, et le Bien abatez."
Elevate Evil and abase Good.

Nevertheless humanity could not be satisfied with these negative
counsels ; it had need of clear decisions, and it is the Church which
has furnished them to mankind. The liturgy here rises on golden
wings, and we rise with it to the highest summits. When
W^illiam Durand collected, in the thirteenth century, the elements

THE LAST FOUR COMMANDMENTS. Ji

of that pontifical to which his name is attached, he took care
to choose for the ** Benedictio novi militis " this magnificent
prayer : —

" 0 God, Thou hast only permitted the use of the sword to curb
the malice of the wicked and to defend the right. Grant, there-
fore, that Thy new knight may never use his sword to injure, un-
justly, anyone, whoever he may be ; but that he may use it always
in defence of all that is just and right ! "

*' Omnia cum gladio suo justa et recta defendat."

There exists a text still more characteristic, still more beautiful,
which belongs also to the same epoch in which William Durand
lived. When a new knight was dubbed at Rome in the splendid
basilica of St. Peter, which was the centre of the Christian World,
a sword was very solemnly handed to the warrior, " So that he
might energetically exercise justice, and that he might overturn the
triumphant edifice of iniquity, * iit vim cequitatis exercerct, et molem
iniqiiitatis dcstrueret.' "

And again, farther on : " Remember, 0 knight, that you are to
act as the defender of Order and as the avenger of Injustice.
* Ulciscaris injustay coujirmes bene disposita.' " And the conclu-
sion addressed to him in a grave voice, was, "It is on this con-
dition, living here below as a copy of Christ, that you will reign
eternally above with your Divine Model."

That is the language they held at Rome, in the most august
sanctuary in the world. Imagine, if you can, anything more
elevated.

In any case, there it was ; and the grand formula was defini-
tively found.

The poet of this century who had perhaps the most Catholic
temperament, and who perhaps most misconceived his real vocation
— Victor Hugo — has spoken of chivalry in terms scarcely less
magnificent. In one of the most beautiful verses which the nine-
teenth century has ever produced, he defines the Christian knight
such as the code of chivalry conceived him ; such as the Church
wished him to be : —

"He listened always if one cried to him for help."

There are ten words which one may engrave upon one's memory.

74 CHIVALRY,

There was even a time in the twelfth century when the Church
attempted to form a corps of knights, simply for the purpose of
maintaining peace in Christendom and to prevent the scandal of
private wars. These gendarmes of God were called Paciarii,
peacemakers; and perhaps a warrior had never a more heautiful
name bestowed on him. However, the institution did not succeed ;
but we trust our readers will not esteem the value of institutions
and ideas only by the single success which they have achieved.
One success is not everything, and proud souls will not be
contented with it.

Such is the Code of Chivalry, and one should not be astonished
that anyone tried to oppose to it a Satanic Counter Code.

He who has been so well named the "Ape of Providence"
succeeded without very much trouble in apeing chivalry. Nothing
is more difficult to reach than the sublime — nothing is easier than
to parody it.

This Contra Code finds more than once, in our chansons de gcste,
its brutal and perhaps exaggerated expression. It is to the race of
the Mayen9ais, to that race of traitors, that the honour of this
astounding legislation belongs.

" Thou shalt never be loyal to anyone ; thou shalt never keep
thy word to thy lord and master; thou shalt betray and sell
honest men ; thou shalt uphold evil and abase the good ; thou
shalt ravish the poor and disinherit the orphan ; despoil widows ;
dishonour the Church ; thou shalt lie without shame ; and violato
thine oaths."

This terrible and horrible advice is accompanied in the poem of
" Gay don'' by a kind of infernal liturgy, in which is parodied the
sacrament of penitence and holy absolution.

There is the same brutality in ** Renaus de Montaiihan,'' and in
this instance it is Duke Aymon himself who gives the most
incredible and horrible advice to his son, but he only directs it
against the priests and the monks, whom he recommends should be
roasted.

'' Their flesh is really exquisite," he said jokingly ; ''let some be
cooked and eaten."

The pagan tutor of the infidel Renouart was, at any rate, only
acting up to his principles when he said to his pupil : —

GROWTH AND DECADENCE. 75

*'Do not believe in anything. If you meet a good man, beat
him. Do wrong, commit sin everywhere and anywhere."

We have ah*eady mentioned the fearful nihilism which is
displayed in a celebrated page of " Amis and Amiles,'' thus : —

" Eefuse all service towards Heaven ; make war upon all good
people ; burn towns, villages, houses ; overturn the altars and the
crucifixes. This is the true road of honour."

Thus spoke Hardre, who represents quite a line of renegades
and liars. Herchembaud, in " Boon de Maience,'' holds the same
language. With the joy of a condemned soul, he promised himself
to burn all the churches, to destroy all the convents, to massacre
all the monks, to throw down all the crucifixes, and to break in
pieces all the images of the saints.

There is in this horror, the undoubted phenomenon of "posses-
sion," but the most terrible of all the texts is still, as we have
seen, that of ** GaydonJ' It is the most complete and the most
Satanic of all.

The decadence of chivalry — and when one is speaking of human
institutions, sooner or later this word must be used — perhaps set
in sooner than historians can believe. We need not attach too
much importance to the grumblings of certain poets, who complain
of their time with an evidently exaggerated bitterness, and we do
not care for our own part to take literally the testimony of the
unknown author of "La Vie de Saint Alexis y'' who exclaims — '
about the middle of the eleventh century — that everything is
degenerate and all is lost ! Thus —

" In olden times the world was good. Justice and love were
springs of action in it. People then had faith, which has dis-
appeared from amongst us. The world is entirely changed. The
world has lost its healthy colour. It is pale — it has grown old. It
is growing worse, and will soon cease altogether."

The poet exaggerates in a veiy singular manner the evil which he
perceives around him, and one might aver that, far from bordering
upon old age, chivalry was then almost in the very zenith of its

76 CHIVALRY.

glory. T^le twelfdi century was its apogee, and it was not tmtil 4ke
thirteenth that it manifeste3~the IBrsfsymptoms of decay.

"Li mans est moult avanty" exclaims the author of " Godfrey de
Bouillon,'' and he adds sadly, " Tos li Mens est fines.''

He was more correct in speaking thus than was the author of
** Saint Alexis " in his complainings, for the decadence of chivah-y
actually commenced in his time. And it is not unreasonable to
enquire into the causes of its decay.
f " The Komance of the Round Table," which in the opinion of
prepossessed or thoughtless critics appears so profoundly chivalrous,
may be considered one of the works which hastened the downfall of
chivalry. We are aware that by this seeming paradox we shall
probably scandalize some of our readers, who look upon these
adventurous cavaliers as veritable knights. What does it matter ?
Avienne que puet. The heroes of our chansons de r/este are really
the authorized representatives and types of the society of their
time, and not those fine adventure-seeking individuals who have
been so brilliantly sketched by the pencil of Cretien de Troyes.

It is true, however, that this charming and delicate spirit did not
give, in his works, an accurate idea of his century and generation.
We do not say that he embellished all he touched, but only that he
enlivened it. Notwithstanding all that one could say about it, this
School introduced the old Gaelic spirit into a poetry which had
/ibeen till then chiefly Christian or German. Our epic poems are
of German origin, and the *' Table Round" is of Celtic, origin.
Sensual and light, witty and delicate, descriptive and charming,
these pleasing romances are never masculine, and become too often
eff'eminate and effeminating, They sing always, or almost always,
the same theme. By lovely pasturages clothed with beautiful
flowers, the air full of birds, a young knight proceeds in search
of the unknown, and through a series of adventures whose oilly
fault is that they resemble one another somewhat too closely..

We find insolent defiances, magnificent duels, enchanted castles,
tender love- scenes, mysterious talismans. The marvellous mingles
with the supernatural, magicians with saints, fairies with angels.
The whole is written in a style essentially French, and it must be
confessed in clear, polished and chastened language — perfect !

But we must not forget, as we said just now, that this poetry, so

GROWTH AND DECADENCE. 77

greatly attractive, began as early as the twelfth century to be the
mode universally; and let us not forget that it was at the
same period that the ^'Perceval de Gallois'' and ^^AliscanSy*
^'Cleomades" and the **Couronnement Looys" were written. The
two schools have coexisted for many centuries : both camps have
enjoyed the favour of the public. But in such a struggle, it was
all too easy to decide to which of them the victory would eventually
incline. The ladies decided it, and no doubt the greater number
of them wept over the perusal of *'Erec'' or **Enid" more than
over that of the "Covenant Vivien^" or "Ttaoid de Camhraiy

When the grand century of the Middle Ages had closed, when
the blatant thirteenth century commenced, the sentimental had
already gained the advantage over our old classic chansons; and
the new school, the romantic set of the '* Table Kound,"
triumphed ! Unfortunately, they also triumphed in their man-
ners ; and they were the knights of the Round Table, who, with
the Valois, seated themselves upon the throne of France.

In this way temerity replaced true courage ; so good, polite,
manners replaced heroic rudeness ; so foolish generosity replaced
the charitable austerity of the early chivalry. It was the love of
the unforeseen even in the military art : the rage for adventure —
even in politics. We know whither this strategy and these
theatrical politics led us, and that Joan of Arc and Providence were
required to drag us out of the consequences.

The other causes of the decadence of the spirit of chivalry are
more difficult to determine. There is one of them which has not,
perhaps, been sufficiently brought to light, and this is — will it
be believed? — the excessive development of certain orders of
chivalry !

This statement requires some explanation.

We must confess that we arc enthusiastic, passionate, admirers
of these grand military orders which were formed at the commence-
ment of the twelfth century. There have never been their like in
the world, and it was only given to Christianity to display to us
such a spectacle. To give to one single soul the double ideal of
the soldier and the monk, to impose upon him this double charge,
to fix in one these two conditions and in one only these two duties,
to cause to spring from the earth I cannot tell how many thousands

78 CHIVALRY.

of men who voluntarily accepted this burthen and who were not
crushed by it — that is a problem which one might have been
pardoned for thinking insoluble. We have not sufficiently con-
sidered it. We have not pictured to ourselves with sufficient
vividness the Templars and the Hospitallers in the midst of one of
those great battles in the Holy Land, in which the fate of the
world was in the balance.

No : painters have not sufficiently pourtrayed them in the arid
plains of Asia forming an incomparable squadron in the midst of
the battle. One might talk for ever and yet not say too much
about the charge of the Cuirassiers at Reichshoffen ; but how
many times did the Hospitaller knights and the Templars charge
in similar fashion ? Those soldier-monks, in truth, invented a
new idea of courage. Unfortunately they were not always fighting,
and peace troubled some of them. They became too rich, and their
riches lowered them in the eyes of men and before Heaven. We
do not intend to adopt all the calumnies which have been circulated
concerning the Templars, but it is difficult not to admit that many
of these accusations had some foundation. The Hospitallers, at
any rate, have given no ground for such attacks. They, thank
Heaven, remained undefiled, if not poor ; and were an honour to
that chivalry which others had compromised and emasculated.

But when all is said, that which best became chivalry, the spice
which preserv'ed it the most surely, was poverty !

Love of riches had not only attacked the chivalrous orders, but
in a very short space of time all knights caught the infection.
Sensuality and enjoyment had penetrated into their castles.
" Scarcely had they received the knightly baldric before they
commenced to break the Commandments and to pillage the poor.
When it became necessary to go to war, their sumpter-horses were
laden with wine and not with weapons : with leathern bottles
instead of swords, with spits instead of lances. One might have
fancied in truth that they were going out to dinner and not to
fight. It is true their shields were beautifully gilt, but they were
kept in a virgin and unused condition. Chivalrous combats were
represented upon their bucklers and their saddles, certainly ; but
that was all ! "

Now who is it who writes thus ? It is not, as one might fancy,

GROWTH AND DECADENCE, 79

an author of the fifteenth century — it is a writer of the twelfth ; \,^
and the great satirist, somewhat excessive and unjust in his state-
ments, the Christian Juvenal whom we have just quoted, was none
other than Peter of Blois. ^

A hundred other -s^-itnesses might he cited in support of these
indignant words. But if there is some exaggeration in them, we
are compelled to confess that there is a considerable substratum of
truth also.

These abuses — which wealth engendered, which more than one
poet had already stigmatised — attracted, in the fourteenth century,
the attention of an important individual, a person whose name
occupies a worthy place in literature and history. Philip of
Mezieres, chancellor of Cj^prus under Peter of Lusignan, was a
true knight, who one day conceived the idea of reforming chivalry.
Now the way he found most feasible in accomplishing his object, in
arriving at such a difficult and complex reform, was to found a new
Order of chivalry himself, to which he gave the high-sounding title
of '* The Chivalry of the Passion of Christ."

The decadence of chivalry is attested, alas ! by the very
character of the reforms by which this well-meaning Utopian
attempted to oppose it. The good knight complains of the great \
advances of sensuality, and permits and advises the marriage of |
all knights. He complains of the accursed riches which the
Hospitallers themselves were putting to a bad use, and forbade
them in his Institutions ; but nevertheless the luxurious habits
of his time had an influence upon his mind, and he permitted
his knights to wear the most extravagant costumes, and the
dignitaries of his Order to adopt the most high-sounding titles.
There was something mystical in all this conception, and some-
thing theatrical in all this agency. It is hardly necessary to add
that the " Chivalry of the Passion " was only a beautiful dream
originating in a generous mind. Notwithstanding the adherence of
some brilliant personages, the Order never attained to more than a
theoretical organization, and had only a fictitious foundation. The
idea of the deliverance of the Holy Sepulchre from the Infidel was
hardly the object of the fifteenth century chivalry ; for the struggle
between France and England then was engaging the most courageous
warriors and the most practised swords. Decay hurried on apace !

8o CHIVALRY.

v/

'\ This was not the only cause of such a fatal falling away. The
portals of chivalry had heen opened to too many unworthy
candidates. It had been made vulgar ! In consequence of having
become so cheap the grand title of "knight" was degraded.
Eustace Deschamps, in his fine straightforward way, states the
scandal boldly and ^' lashes " it with his tongue. He says —

* ' Picture to yourself the fact that the degree of knighthood is
about to be conferred now upon babies of eight and ten years
old."

Well might this excellent man exclaim in another place —

" Disorders always go on gathering strength, and even incom-
parable knights like Du Guesclin and Bayard cannot arrest the
fatal course of the institution towards ruin." Chivalry was destined
to disappear.

It is very important that one should make oneself acquainted
with the true character of such a downfall. France and England
in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries still boasted many high-
bred knights. They exchanged the most superb defiances, the most
audacious challenges, and proceeded from one country to another
to run each other through the body proudly. The Beaumanoirs
who drank their blood, abounded. It was a question who would en-
gage himself in the most incredible pranks ; who would commit the
most daring folly ! They tell us afterwards of the beautiful
passages of arms, the grand feats performed, and the inimitable
Eroissart is the most charming of all these narrators, who make
their readers as chivalrous as themselves.

But we must tell everything : amongst these knights in beau-
tiful armour there was a band of adventurers who never observed,
and who could not understand, certain commandments of the
ancient chivalry. The laxity of luxury had everywhere replaced the
rigorous enactments of the old manliness, and even warriors them-
selves loved their ease too much. The religious sentiment was not
the dominant one in their minds, in which the idea of a crusade
now never entered. They had not sufficient respect for the weak-
ness of the Church nor for other failings. They no longer felt
themselves the champions of the good and the enemies of evil.
Their sense of justice had become warped, as had love for their
great native land. One was of Armagnac, one was of Burgundy :

GROWTH AND DECADENCE. 8i

no one considered that he was a Frenchman ! They submitted to
compromising alliances, they were compelled to extend their hands
to those beneath them.

Again, what they termed " the license of camps " had grown
very much worse ; and we know in what condition Joan of Arc
found the army of the king. Blasphemy and ribaldry in every
quarter. The noble girl swept away those pests, but the effect of
her action was not long-lived. She was the person to re-establish
chivalry, which in her found the purity of its now effaced type ; but
she died too soon, and had not sufficient imitators.

There were, after her time, many chivalrous souls, and thank
Heaven there are still some amongst us ; but the old institution is
no longer with us. The events which we have had the misfortune
to witness do not give us any ground to hope that chivalry, extinct
and dead, will rise again to-morrow to light and life.

In St. Louis's time caricature and parody (they were low-class
forces — but forces nevertheless) had already commenced the work of
destruction. We are in possession of an abominable little poem of
the thirteenth century, which is nothing but a scatological pamphlet
directed against chivalry. This ignoble "^2t€%ier," the author of
which is the basest of men, is not the only attack which one may
dis-inter from amid the literature of that period. There has
always been in French society an unworthy corner in which chivalry
has continually been the object of ridicule and raillery in very bad
taste. Some editors have done themselves the pleasure to publish
and to analyse these coarse effusions, but it seems to us enough
merely to direct the reader's attention to them. If one wishes to ^
draw up a really complete list it would be necessary to include the
fabliaux — the '' Eenart'' and the *' Rose,'' which constitute the!
most anti- chivalrous — I had nearly written the most Voltairain —
works that I am acquainted with. The thread is easy enough to ^
follow from the twelfth century down to the author of **Don
Quixote," which I do not confound with its infamous pre-
decessors,— to Cervantes, whose work has been fatal, but whose
mind was elevated.

However that may be, parody and the parodists were themselves
a cause of decay. They weakened morals ; Gallic-like, they
popularised little bourgeois sentiments, narrow-minded satirical

82 CHIVALRY.

sentiments ; they inoculated manly souls with contempt for such ;
great things as one performs disinterestedly. This disdain is a i
sure element of decay, and we may regard it as an announce- •
ment of death. It killed us ! i

Against the knights who, here and there, showed themselves un- \
worthy and degenerate, was put in practice the terrible apparatus of j
degradation. Modern historians of chivalry have not failed to •
describe in detail all the rites of this solemn punishment, and we !
have presented to us a scene which is well calculated to excite the \
imagination of the most matter-of-fact, and to make the most timid i
heart swell. \

The knight judicially condemned to submit to this shame was ,
first conducted to a scaffold, where they broke or trod under foot all 1
his weapons. He saw his shield, with device effaced, turned upside i
down and trailed in the mud. Priests, after reciting the prayers !
for the vigil of the dead, pronounced over his head the psalm, j
** Deus laudem meam,'' which contains terrible maledictions against :
traitors. The Herald of Arms who carried out this sentence took •
from the hands of the Pursuivant of Arms a basin full of dirty j
water, and threw it all over the head of the recreant knight in i
order to wash away the sacred character which had been conferred j
upon him by the accolade. The guilty one, degraded in this way, ■.
was subsequently thrown upon a hurdle, or upon a stretcher, j
covered with a mortuary cloak, and finally carried to the church, j
wdiere they repeated the same prayers and the same ceremonies as j
for the dead. ;

This was really terrible even if somewhat theatrical, and it is easy '|
to see that this complicated ritual contained only a very few ancient ■
elements. In the twelfth century the ceremonial of degradation
was infinitely more simple. The spurs were hacked off close to j
the heels of the guilty knight. Nothing could be more summary )
or more significant. Such a person was publicly denounced as 'i
unworthy to ride on horseback, and consequently quite unworthy ■
to be a knight. The more ancient and chivalrous the less ^
theatrical is it. It is so in many other institutions in the
histories of all nations and especially in our own. |

That such a penalty may have prevented a certain number of |
treasons and forfeitures we willingly admit, but one cannot expect ]

I

GROWTH AND DECADENCE.

it to preserve all the whole body of chivalry from that de-
cadence from which no institution of human establishment can
escape.

Notwithstanding inevitable weaknesses and accidents, the Deca-
logue of Chivalry has none the less been regnant in some millions
of souls which it has made pure and great. These Ten Command-
ments have been the rules and the reins of youthful generations,
who without them would have been wild and undisciplined. This
legislation, in fact — which, to tell the truth, is only one of the
chapters of the great Catholic Code — has raised the moral level of
humanity.

Besides, chivalry is not yet quite dead. No doubt, the ritual of
chivalry, the solemn reception, the order itself, and the ancient
oaths, no longer exist. No doubt, amongst these grand command-
ments there are many which are Imown only to the erudite, and
which the world is unacquainted with. The Catholic Faith is no
longer the essence of modern chivalry : the Church is no longer
seated on the throne around which the old knights stand with their
drawn swords : Islam is no longer the hereditary enemy : we have
another which threatens us nearer home : widows and orphans
have need rather of the tongues of advocates than of the iron
weapons of the knights : there are no more duties towards liege-
lords to be fulfilled : and wo even do not want any kind of superior
at all : largesse is now confounded with charity ; and the
becoming hatred of evil-doing is no longer our chief, our best,
passion !

But whatever we may do, there still remains to us, in the
marrow, a certain leaven of chivalry which preserves us from death.
The French nation, Heaven be thanked, still loves the soil of
France, and (not to say more of our country) there are still in the
world an immense number of fine souls — strong and upright souls
— who hate all that is small and mean, who know and who practise
all the delicate promptings of honour, and who prefer death to an
unworthy action, or to a lie !

That is what we owe to chivalry, that is what it has bequeathed
to us. On the day when these last vestiges of such a grand past
are effaced from our souls — we shall cease to exist !

G 2

CHIVALRY.

VI. I

In the eyes of our ancestors in the twelfth and thirteenth |
centuries the Code of Chivalry was bound to have a more than |
earthly sanction. And it is of this that we would now speak. ^

The aim and object of every knight was — according to our old \
poems — *'Rest in Heaven : " conquerre lit en paradis. Those rude
warriors who had assembled together by so many different ways, •
submitted to all climatic conditions, slept night after night on the !
hard ground, and passed days without unlacing their hauberks i
or taking off their helmets : that was the simple idea which they '
had of eternal happiness, " Rest in a good bed ! "

This is not very metaphysical, nor very elevated, but it is true. |
** He' who dies will have his bed prepared with the Innocents," said ;
the Bishop of Puy in his magnificent oration under the walls of ,
Antioch, and it was his peroration. :l

" In the chief Paradise your places are already taken," exclaimed
Turpin on the field of Roncesvalles, where some of the most noble
blood in the world was shed. |

Again, celestial reward was elsewhere presented in the form of a ■
beautiful garden in which reposed the soldiers who had died in the ;
service of the Lord ; and such is the sense attaching to the term j
*'holy flowers" which so often crops up in the ^'Chanson de '
Roland,'*

The better-known image of the crown presented itself equally to •;
the minds of our forefathers. " Those who die here below will «
wear a crown of flowers on high," and there is a verse in the j
Charroi de Nimes, which in ten syllables sums up all the life of the i
Christian knight — J

T ant fist en terre qu'es ciex est coronez. I

If one has ever learnt how to die it is amongst the Christian
races. The ancients too often in the hour of death preferred some- I
thing theatrical or eccentric, and no one, on the contrary, dies more ]
naturally than " The men of the Supernatural." That is, before |
all, true of the Christian soldier, who knows how to fall out easily, I
without disturbance. Roland himself did not die like a bully ; and •<
his last gesture was the familiar action of a vassal who, in evidence '
of submission, extends his glove to his liege-lord.

GROWTH AND DECADENCE. 85

*' I can hear the angels singing overhead," exclaimed Vivien ;
and he adds with much simplicity — " If I could only see my uncle
William once again ; and receive the Body of my Lord ! "

We could tell of many *' incomparable deaths " besides, but it is
necessary to give here a more general type, a more middle-class, a
more commonplace one, so to speak. Listen then, and hear how
the knight who all his lifelhad been faithful in his observance of
the Code of Chivalry, whose Commandments we have discussed,
ended his life.

Kenaud de Tor, the baron, has dismounted from his steed. He
is smitten through the body by four darts, and when he perceives
that he must die, what sadness, what anger possesses him !

For the last time he unsheaths his sword, and passes his arm
through his shield. Everyone he meets dies ! But his wounds
bleed too abundantly. He can no longer support himself, and he
falls to the ground. Then he addresses himself to Heaven —
" Glorious Father, who wast and ever wilt be, take pity on my soul,
for my body is lost." Then he turns in the direction of France,
and bows to it five hundred times.

The poet then relates how the dying knight administered to
himself the symbolic communion. " Then the soul fled, while the
body lay extended on the earth. Te Deum laudamus sang the
angels who carried him to Heaven." It was a common death, and
the least knight died in that way. But what are we to say of the
last words of Vivien, Roland, and Renaud ?

Such an end is the enviable termination of chivalry, and it is by
no means an unusual thing for the Church to hold up for our imi-
tation the deaths of the most illustrious priests and the bravest
knights. Each of our great epic cycles has for its centre a hero
who became a saint. Formerly people spoke of Saint Roland,
Saint Ogier, Saint Renaud, so it seems that these great knights
have passed at once from our epic poems into our martyrology.

Such is the supreme consecration of the Decalogue of Chivalry :
such is its eternal coronation.

-^ \

S

CHAPTER y.

THE INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT.

The old castle was never more animated nor more lively than on i
a certain evening when the hirth of the son and heir was heing i
awaited. j

The master of the house, the expectant father, had no idea '
whatever concerning a daughter. A daughter indeed ! What did j
he want with a daughter ? The warrior wanted a boy who would \
himself be a warrior in his tr.rn ; who would learn to hunt the wild j
hoar, to go hawking, to hold a fief, to defend his liege-lord, and |
some day to go beyond the seas to deliver the Holy Sepulchre and •
redeem the soul of his father. ■

And the father exclaimed joyfully, " It is a son ! " ';

You know the fine verse of Victor Hugo, in his ^' lievenant ; '^ \
" It is the cry of all our knights, and even of their wives."* '

Do you see those gentlemen yonder running towards Fromont ? ;

" God save you, sir, in the name of your son who was born the i
day before yesterday, and is so little. Tell me what name we shall |
bestow on him." •;

**He will be called Fromondin," said Fromont, "because he will '
succeed to the kingdom after me." Then he called all his barons j
and said to them, *'Be glad and rejoice ; he is born, the liege-lord .1
of whom you will hold your lands ; he is born who will give you i
the richest furs, the vair and the grey, splendid armour and price-
less horses. ,

And the old Fromont added proudly, " In fifteen years my son ;
will be a knight ! " I

This little quotation from " Garin de Loherain,'' may serve as <

* " Par lefoi que xous doi, uns danioseux est nez.^' \

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT.

87

an illustratiou, aucl on every occasion there was the same joy and
happiness displayed.

The cradle is prepared, and it is of graceful form, for even to the
most commonplace objects our ancestors knew how to impart some
artistic and pleasing appearance.

The newly-born child, the future knight, is first bathed before a
beautiful fire, which has been lighted for him in a wide-mouthed

Tlic ^luthvji ui Godfrey de Bouillon.

chimney ; and this bath recalls to his father that other bath which
the youthful noble must take by ritual, in some countries, on the
day before he is dubbed knight. Then the child is well scrubbed
dry in fine linen or " bouquerant." He is quickly clothed in a little
fur-lined silken robe, and a little ermine pelisse, like his father's
and mother's, and above all a charming little cloak.

When the beautiful Alais, ''with the fair skin," gave birth to
Raoul de Cambrai, she was in such a hurry to make him a
Christian that she sent two barons off on horseback to the Bishop
of Beauvais, her cousin, carrying the child with them. How

88 • CHIVALRY.

delighted the bishop was to see the child, and did he not make
haste to baptise him !

Rejoicing everywhere. Knights and sergeants, all are full of
merriment. The Heir is born !

The hour of birth in the Middle Ages was regarded as the most
blessed of all. ^^ Uore fut henoite/' and it was one of the
anniversaries which was most joyously celebrated. ' On such a day
kings held " open court," as they did at Easter and Whitsuntide.
There was *' Halleluia in the air."

But all this while the infant is in his cradle, and according to a
strange legend, the origin of which is hidden in the darkness of
ages, he is listening to music, the incomparable music which the
stars give forth as they traverse the heavens. Yes, that which
the most learned scientists cannot hear, the children hear distinctly,
and are wrapped in contemplation — charmed. "What a delightful
fable it is which gives to innocence in its immaturity greater
privileges than to science in its prime.

At any rate our ancestors were not hard to please, and willingly
accepted the grimaces of the newly-born infant for the almost
intelligent smile. All mothers are equally self-deceptive in our
own day — and fathers, too, sometimes. The incvpe parve j)uer risu
cognoscere matrem is repeated in many of our romauces. In
*' Auheron,'' Brunhault '' was hardly born ere he began to smile."
That is a smile which scarcely lives, but which we all know quite
well!

The child was covered with kisses and caresses : we need not say
there was no lack of prayers.

But all birthdays were not so happy, and there are some recorded
in our epic songs remarkable for their sorrowfulness. The finest,
the best of our knights, Roland, was born in a forest near Imola,
wherein his mother was on the verge of dying of hunger and misery.
Yet this mother was Charlemagne's own sister, who had fled with
the seneschal Milon, and had retreated as far as Italy before the
wrath of the great emperor. Picture to yourself this forest full of
robbers and wild beasts, fancy this child born in the open air, the
poor knight already half mad; and the new-born babe who, the
young rascal, would not let himself be put in swaddling clothes like
any other child of the period.

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 89

The story of the Duchess Parise is still more touching, but we
need not enter into any details here. For particulars we may refer
our readers to *' Parise la Duchesse,'" wherein the melancholy but
interesting tale is told. The lady, daughter of Garnier of Nanteuil,
a wife of Raymond de Saint- Gilles, was unjustly accused of having
poisoned her husband's brother. She was, under the circumstances,
exiled, though condemned to death. The remainder of the narra-
tive may be sought in the old romances. The chivalry of the old
baron Clarembaut is remarkable.

But whether the child came into the world in sorrow or in joy,
the first idea of its mother was the baptismal rite. In those days
there were none of the vain delays which now arise. Then the
infant was hurried to the font — " Quick— quick to the font ! ''

n.

A graceful poet of the period, writing of this quite Christian
mode of hastening the baptism of the infant, has indited a strophe
which is not according to our taste but is according to the spirit of
the Middle Ages. *' The guardian angel, full of zeal, must be, I
think, inclined to take the child upon his wings, in order that he
may be all the more quickly baptised."

In our older Western provinces, the parents themselves refused
to embrace their children before they had been christened.

The Baptismal Day possessed, in the minds of our forefathers,
an importance to which nothing can at the present time be fitly
compared. When Parise recognized her son Huguet, who had
been taken from her the very day he was born, it was to the
baptismal ceremony that she referred when, panting for breath, she
put to him those questions on which his life depended — " Who
was your father ? Where were you born ? "

When, in the horrible battle of Aliscans, Guillaume and his
nephew Vivien, who did not recognise each other, were on the
point of coming to blows, Vivien, recalling the scene of his baptism,
begged his unknown adversary to reveal his names and titles.

" I conjure you in the name of Christianity, by the Baptism and

90 CHIVALRY.

by the Chrism which you have received, tell me your name — tell
me who you are ! "

The old baron, overcome by the inemory of the past, replied —

" My name is Guillaume," and then the adversaries fell into
each other's arms and embraced with tears.

The essential rites of Baptism have not been materially modified
since the early days of the Church. They deserve to be better
known, for they abound in deep and original beauties of com-
position, such as our Litany so frequently presents. But we do
not sufficiently care for our origin to wish to know more of it.

Immediately persecution had ceased, Baptism by affusion was
combined with Baptism by immersion. But, without entering
into simple details here, we will content ourselves by observing
that, in all the course of the Middle Ages in the East, Baptism by
immersion never ceased to be practised. Thus it is said —

"Bas-reliefs, illuminated manuscripts, stained-glass windows,
are unanimous in putting before us catechumens baptised in this
way."

The testimony of our poetry is not less clear on this point, nor
less eloquent : there is never any question of any other baptism.

In two words, one dips the converted and the newly born into
the same basin. This basin or " cuve " was sometimes a kind of
oblong trough, but it was more often a kind of cylinder supported
by four pillars or columns. Those at Vermont and Montdidier
give us a very good idea of all the rest.* It is necessary to see
them to appreciate them, and to understand fully the old passages
of the poems. Nothing is clear without the illustration of it.

After this the infant was carried to the neighbouring church —
for every parish possessed one of these fonts. Nothing more joyous
and happy than these processions can be conceived.

The ladies, laughing, went before ; the knights, clothed in new
attire, followed after, two by two ; then came the child, beautifully
clad in cloth of gold or in saracenic silk, in the arms of a matron
or of a young girl. The baptismal rites then commenced. The

* The font at Vermont (Aisne) is a round, deep ba.sin, set in square, carved stone-
work, and supported by four columns at the corners : the columns restiug upon
carved boars' heads cut in a slab. The whole is massive, and well sculj^tured. (See
*•' Eistoirc dc Bnpiime.'") — Tiians.

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 9^

child was carried up to the church door, where the procession
halted. The priest put the question —

" What do you come to demand from the Church of the Lord ? '*

He then hlew upon the child's face three times, marked him on
the forehead and the hreast with the sign of the Cross, placed his
hands upon him, put salt on his lips, and pronounced the solemn
exorcism. The demon was then put to flight.

This is only the prologue of the drama. The real rite now
begins.

" Open your ears," says the priest, touching the ears of the
new-born babe. ** Do you renounce the devil and all his works ? "

" Yes, yes," reply his sponsors.

Then the future defender of the faith, the future knight, is
anointed between the shoulders with a certain unction to prepare
him for the great struggle. Then the celebrant puts off the violet
vestment, which signifies penitence, and clothes himself in the dress
which signifies purity, joy, light, and blessedness.

" Do you believe in God, in his Sou, and in the Church ? " he
asks.

*' Yes," reply the sponsors.

" Do you wish to be baptised ? "

''Yes."

Then he plunges the child three times into the font ; and at this
point the Church addresses the most tender and pressing recom-
mendations to its ministers. It says —

" Take you great care that in thus dipping the children you do
them no harm."

After this nothing now remains to be done save to administer to
the little Christian the complementary rites of Baptism : the
anointing and so on. He is then reclothed in his white robe, in
his hand is placed the taper which is the image of eternal glory
and splendour. Then the blessing — " Now depart in peace : and
may the Lord be with you " — is pronounced, and the ceremony
comes to a conclusion.

But how few Christians in the present day are cognisant of the
profound beauty of this ceremonial, and the incomparable benefits
of these rites. They are a ** dead letter."

Our forefathers of the eleventh and twelfth centuries possessed

92 CHIVALRY.

this sense which is lacking in us. But, on the whole, everything
took place in their days as in our time, with but few exceptions.
The child was plunged quite naked into the baptismal font, as the
saying still is, — "As naked as when you were baptised," but we
can readily perceive that the hard usage of the olden times has
been softened and toned down : and in the " Brun cle la
Montaigne,'' which is a work of the decadence period, the author
even then speaks of clothing at the performance of the rite — " Very
soft garments" — in which the infant Brun is raised from the
sacramental water. They do not dare to wash off the holy oil
with which the child has been anointed on the forehead, and so a
kind of bonnet has been invented for the occasion, which in
Germany is called the chrisen-cap, — Kres menhuot, and in France
the cJiremeau.

The white robe of the ancient catechumens is still in use with us,
and there are families whose members are confirmed and attend
their first Communion in the same baptismal robe — enlarged and
altered.

The godfathers and godmothers of our future knight deserve
more attention. There are a goodly number of them sometimes,
and the " Chanson de Roland " speaks, in very high terms and very
decidedly, of those French women of high lineage who were given
him for godmothers by Queen Braminonde, when they conducted
the beautiful captive tolihe baptistry of Aix.

"When the giant Fierabas received baptism "there w-as no lack
of sponsors," remarked the unknown troubadour who has dedicated
to him the strange poem which they sang at Landit.

It would appear that this became a luxury as well as another
custom, and in Germany they even went as far as a dozen sponsors
— male and female, godfathers and godmothers. The Church
ought to put a stop to such a practice, and oppose a fashion which
was too little in conformity with the spirit of such a custom. It
professes to give us at the first a new father and a new mother :
but a dozen are too many. However, reforms are not adopted
suddenly, and there are in discipline itself variations that may be
easily understood.

Christian society seemed to hesitate at a certain period of its
history between the principle of the Unity which seemed to be

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 93

so completely justified by reason ; and the symbolism — the
excessive symbolism — of the dogma of the Trinity. It seemed to
oscillate between the Unity and the Trinity.

The greater number of the councils of the thirteenth and four-
teenth centuries permitted two godfathers and one godmother for a
boy, two godmothers and one godfather for a daughter. This
number, three, became almost universal in the fifteenth century,
and w^as the fashion up to the time of the Council of Trent. How
were these three persons to hold the little child at the font at the
same time ?

Nothing was easier of course ! One would hold him by the
middle, and the other two by the feet. That was the idea ! Never-
theless, the thought, the old idea, of the Church was very clearly
expressed at Metz in 888, again at Nimes in 1284, at Benevent
in 1331, in the solemn statute of the Church of Bourges in 1368,
" Let there be only one sponsor ; " so in the statutes of Treguier
in 1457, and in the decisive formula of the Council of Trent.

With its customary wisdom, this (Ecumenical Council decided
that the infant baptised should have but one sponsor thenceforth ;
or, at most, a man and a woman — luuini or unam! This last
arrangement is decidedly the best, for the child needs, in fact, the
tenderness and care of a godmother as well as the manlier care of
a godfather.

In a great number of our chansons unity triumphs. Raoul de
Cambrai had only one sponsor, and he was the Bishop of Beauvais ;
the sole sponsor of Amis and Amiles, those two inseparables, was
no less a personage than the Apostolic successor, the Pope Isore.
The celebrated Remir, son of Gontelme, took " out of the water'*
the child Jourdain de Blaives, son of Girart, and no one assisted
him in that holy function. Remark the expressions, "Took him
out of the water — took him out of the font." This is significant
as well as full of imagery.

From a very ancient period sponsors were called in Latin,
levantes. They were, in fact, the individuals who raised gently, in
their almost paternal arms, the childi*en from the font, and
presented them to the priest so that he might anoint the infants on
the head. The word " raise " (take out, " Leie?' ") has come to be
synonymous with ''baptise."

94 CHIVALRY.

Notwithstanding some texts of German origin, it is quite certain
that in France the sponsors were the people who most frequently-
bestowed the names upon those they " lifted up." Quotations from
our songs bear witness to the fact that it was the province of the
sponsor to choose the name of his godson, and that this name
was generally his own. Garin le Loherain enjoyed one evening
the hospitality of William de Monclin, and on that very night
a baby-boy was born to the house of Monclin. So Garin had " to
hold it in baptism," and the Lorrainer did not fail to give the
infant the name of Garin.

But no doubt, in those days as well as in our own times,
arrangements were made with sponsors, who occasionally waived
their strict claims and rights. One thing, however, seems clear,
viz., that godparents had then, as in our day, to offer valuable
presents to their godchildren. In the case we have just mentioned,
Garin bestowed one of the markets of the town of Metz, which
could not be valued at less than a hundred livres per annum, upon
his godchild.

Again, the Pope (Isore) gave to Amis and Amiles ^* gold and
silver and silk." He was one of those sponsors who '* stretched a
point " and promised to his godchildren a town, a county, or (but
this seems almost too grand) all their feudal succession. The
godmothers, more modest, contented themselves with the prepara-
tion of a trousseau more or less rich, scarlet cloaks, pelisses and
stockings. These were the kind of presents made by the ladies.

Let us now resume our account of the ceremony.

By this time the procession has come out of the church, and it
is evident that every individual composing it is very happy and
joyous. At the castle the mother is counting the minutes, and is
almost overcome with delight when she hears the sound of the
footsteps of the approaching concourse, the clear tones of the
women, the trampling of the horses, and the clatter of the riders'
arms. Then the narrow winding staircase resounds with acclaim,
and the ladies hurry into the chatelaine's room — but she has eyes
and ears for no one but the child.

" Where is he ? Let me see him ! " she exclaims. " And
when she saw him," says the chronicle, " her delight was so great
that her heart jumped in its strong pulsations." Then came the

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 95

important question, *' What name have you given him ? Oh, how
pretty ! Was the water not cold in the font ? "

After this, nothing but kissing and petting and chatter.
** Heaven be praised ! " said the mother at last, and at length
everyone retired.

The most pleasing account of a christening, of all those which
we find in our old poems, is in Macaire. The young mother is no
less a personage than the Queen of France : the child is no less an
individual than the son of Charlemagne, the heir to the immense
empire of his father. But on this occasion you must not expect
anything of a cheerful nature — nor any ceremonial. It is on
foreign soil, in the small house of a Hungarian tradesman that
the unfortunate Blanchefleur — daughter of a king — wife of a king,
and mother of a future king, brought into the world her first child
— a child so impatiently looked for — and bathed him with her
tears.

The empress had been accused of a terrible crime : the whole
race of traitors, the whole house of Mayence had leagued them-
selves against her innocent self : the emperor believed the accusers
and condemned the accused. Had he sentenced her to death, her
execution would have entailed the decease of the heir to the throne,
so she was quickly banished from France. Nevertheless the
malignity of the traitors was not appeased ; for the good knight
Aubri, who had been instructed to accompany the queen, was one
day set upon unawares and treacherously slain !

The unfortunate lady was thus left alone and unattended in the
midst of a forest, where she would certainly have perished of
hunger and grief, had not a woodcutter, a vilaiti, — a man of no
descent, but one who possessed the heart of a true knight — come
to her assistance.

This man — one of the few plebeians whom our poets have
immortalised — was named Varocher. He left all — his country, his
house, his family — to serve as guide and protector to this lady, to
the unfortunate queen. With her he crossed France, Provence,
and Lombardy, Venice — the sea : and it was he too who kept
guard at the door of her humble apartment, while Blanchefleur
caressed and fondled her new-born babe !

Now nothing could be more extraordinary than the physiognomy

96 CHIVALRY.

of this man, of this faithful guardian whom the queen attempted j

to pass ofif as her husband. He was tall, strong, square- i
shouldered, large-limbed, with an immensely large head and dis-
hevelled hair. He brandished an enormous knotty club, a kind of
rustic mace, which he never willingly laid aside, night or day.

In fact he was about as strange a man as it was possible to meet -i

with. The poet of the thirteenth century has well described this i
original figure, this sort of Quasimodo with a tender heart, and who

was only a *' vilain " by birth. \

Under the protection of this rough-looking champion, the queen !

remained for eight days in her own apartments, as was customary ;

at that period ; and then the question arose as to the baptism of i

the child. So the host of the lady — the owner of the cottage, the |

good Primerain — came and carried the infant to a neighbouring i

monastery. |

Varocher was present, carrying his big stick, for he would not j

leave his young protegey and walked gravely in the rear of the little I

procession. The King of Hungary happened to pass by. |

" "Whose pretty child is this ? " he inquired. ]

Primerain told him of the unknown lady in his lodgings, and, |

while he was telling his tale, all the barons were laughing \

loudly at Varocher, who was not in the least put out by their \
merriment.

Someone then raised the child's cloak to obtain a better view of '
him.

" Eh ! What is this ? " exclaimed the king. ** He has a white I

cross on the right shoulder. By this sign Providence witnesses to :
children of royal lineage — of princely race. This infant must be
the son of a king, and," he added, " I intend to be present at his

christening." (

When they had reached the church, the king summoned the i
priest, and said to him —

** Baptise this child in a manner befitting the son of an j
emperor."

The king dismounted from his steed, and a magnificent j

procession was arranged. They all entered the church, and the '
abbe made ready the holy oil : then he turned to the king, and
said —

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. gj

"What will you have him called? What name shall I give
him ? "

" Call him Louis, after me," said the king.

So the ceremony proceeded, and was completed before the eyes
of Varocher, who was delighted, and more particularly pleased
when a purse full of gold-pieces was presented to him.

The poet naively adds that the young mother was taken greater
care of by her hosts when they found she had money to pay well
for her entertainment. After a while she revealed her true history
to the king, who then learned that he was the sponsor of a son of
Charlemagne.

It is not necessary to relate any more of the story here. Our
readers who wish to follow it will find it in Macaire, pp. 112 — 131.
But we may, with reference to Varocher, mention a custom of a
truly Christian character, thus :

Eich and aristocratic people frequently chose the sponsors of
their children from the poor and lowly, "so as to remind them-
selves that the poor were really their brethren." This custom
remained in vogue till a comparatively late period. Buffon, for
instance, had for godfather a poor man of Montbard, and his god-
mother was a beggar-woman. The same principle had been
followed in the cases of Montaigne and Montesquieu. Such god-
children did honour to the rags of their god-parents !

There was hardly ever a christening without a great feast, as in
our day ; but we have few details recorded of this banquet, which
was of a more or less solemn character, and does not appear to
have possessed any features to distinguish it from any other feast.

The infant, meanwhile, was sleeping in his cradle, and our
poets have not had sufficient imagination to place the angels
around the sleeping child. Alas, alas, man is ice as regards the
truth, and as fire as regarding falsehood. The Romances of the
Round Table possessed the unfortunate tendency to domesticate
amongst us little fables, and to put aside the angels for the fairies.

We have elsewhere pointed out that a great number of our epic
poems are pervaded by these dangerous and useless fictions. The
same kind of stuff passes current for true tales of the fairies, and
there it is found even to the terminology which Perrault has made
so common. Such, for instance, is the curious romance of

93 CHIVALRY. * \

Auheron, in which we are spectators, as it were, of the marriage — j
quite unexpected — of Julius Caesar with the fairy Morgue. Two
children, twins, are the offspring of this singular union : these are :
the dwarf, Auheron, and, who can credit it ? Saint George ! ]

It is related that, on the very day of their hirth, three fairies j
descended close hy the cradle in which the innocent children were !
sleeping, took them in their arms, caressed them, replaced them in j
the cradle, and, without waiting, bestowed their gifts and predic- •
tions upon them. ^

" Thou shalt be King of Monmur," said the first to Auheron. i
*' Yes, but thou shalt never be more than three feet high," said the
second, who preferred the other child, and who represents here our ^
fairy Carabosse. " No doubt it must be so," added the third fairy, ;
who could not set aside the fatal decree, but who attempted at least :
to mitigate its effects. "No doubt, but with the exception of the :
coming Saviour of the World, thou shalt be the most beautiful one I
in the whole earth."

So saying she kissed him gently on the lips, and placed him ;
again in his mother's bed. The scene was not wanting in graceful-
ness, but nothing can compare with the grace of truth. ■

One of the most curious circumstances is, that the fairies of our !
romances are most frequently such good Christians. One of them j
tells Georges that he will be sanctified in Paradise ; and another by j
the cradle of Garin de Montglane speaks in almost mystic language j
to the newly-born babe : — j

" Thou hast been born in poverty, dear child, but was not Jesus I
born in a stable '? " j

These were fairies who must certainly have been baptised, and ]
each of them could say with Auheron, " Our Lord calls me to. i
Paradise on high, and my seat is prepared for me at his right I
hand." What a curious instance of truth and error have we here ! 1

We do not wish to drop into the sentimentalism which people '
so justly condemn in Jean-Jacques ; but we are compelled to ;
chronicle the fact, and not without some regret, that the mothers of .;
our knights did not nurse their children themselves, and that the •
custom of hiring strange nurses was very common. The author of ,
the "Romance of the Seven Sages" does not dare to go so far as i
to criticise a fashion so little conformable to the laws of Nature, I

i

i

i

i

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 99

but he complains in round terms of the laxity displayed in the
selection of a nurse. He says : —

"In former times when people were more sensible, and it was
customary for the son of a king to be nursed by the wife of a duke,
the duke's child by a countess, and the child of a vassal iyavasseur)
by a tradesman's wife, and so on."

*'Can anyone be astonished after that," exclaims our satirist,
** that the race of our time is degenerating, when one sees the
child of a low-born woman nursing the son of an admiral ! " And
this moralist adds, with a touch of philosophy, " You always bear
traces of the nature of her who nurses you."

In those days children were not satisfied with one nurse ; they
had three or four if the infants were of noble birth. Quite a
following ! This was the vocation which one of the most pleasing
heroines of the old romances selected — that Parise of whom we
have already spoken when she was hunted from her castle and
deprived of her child.

" I have lost the infant which Providence sent to me," she cried,
"and I no longer care for the light of Heaven" — she no longer
wished to live. So she offered her services to the Count of
Cologne, and was well fitted for the position, as the chronicle puts
it, in different terms. " Thus it came to pass," says the poet,
" that we behold a noble lady becoming a nurse." He would have
been almost as astonished to see her, in other times, nursing her
own child !

Beside all these duchesses and chatelaines who so easily dis-
embarrassed themselves of their prime duties, it gives us real
pleasure to note one who was a true mother. Such an one was the
mother of Godfrey de Bouillon, the Countess Ida. She would not
permit the attendance of any stranger in such a capacity, for she
held that any such bringing up would have been "unnatural.'*
The expression is a happy one, but the astonishment which such a
simple decision gave rise to only proves, too clearly, that the case
was an exceptional one. Such a mother deserved to have a son
who was the bravest of Imights.

Then came the day of thanksgiving, which was quite a festal
occasion. The knights attended in full dress, and one might
almost have imagined it was a marriage ceremony, everyone was

H 2

loo CHIVALRY.

delighted and happy. Congratulations were showered upon the
mother and child, and everyone paid court to the infant in his
nurse's arms. The minstrels sang their most charming ditties.
There w^as a splendid repast, and boisterous festivity reigned, from
which the lady, already fatigued by the ceremony, retired early —
as much display and exertion had wearied her.

ni.

Until he was seven years old the infant knight was usually con-
fided to the care of the women, and his nurses never left him. In
all the rudeness of the feudal age, the baron, sometimes of a rather
brutal disposition, had neither taste nor inclination for infantile
graces, and our old poets seem to think there was little appreciation
of them in his mind. Until the last century, till the commence-
ment of our own, there still remained something of this ancient
severity of manner.

In the time of Philip Augustus, it maybe remembered, the youthful
noble was not admitted before the age of seven years to the honour
of sitting down at his father's table ; and, even as we write these
lines, there are some families in which children are only permitted
to come in after dinner. All this education was rough, and a
preacher of the thirteenth century summed up the spirit of the
time in a few words when he said, that the body of the children
ought to be " strictly treated" — Dure nutriendi quoad corpus.

To tell the truth, no advice can be more wise, and it ought not
to have been otherwise as regards the young men who were called
upon in after life to pursue the vocations of hunters and soldiers.
What would have become of them if they had been brought up in
the delicate and coddling manner of our youths — what would those
lads have become who were destined to fight the battle of life
during the whole term of their existence, and to take their recrea-
tion in the intervals of fighting in pursuing the wild boar for ten
hours at a stretch in the immense trackless forests of this country ?
And so we must expect to find in the writing of the poets descrip-
tions of the infancy of the children to which we are but little
accustomed.

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE: .&NTGiJT/r -^ io\

But one of our epic poets, who wrote at the end of the twelfth
century, upon the borders of the Langue d'Oc and the Langue
d'Oil, the author of Daurel et Beton, nevertheless, lingers upon the
portrait of a very young child. He says : —

*' At three years old Betounet had a charming countenance, fair
hair, eyes like those of a hawk after moulting time, the mouth
fresh as a rose in summer, and skin as white as snow."

But there was a speedy limit to this gentleness, and we have
done with the portrait. At four years old he carried oflf the em-
broidered gloves of the good king who had brought him up, and
brought them playfully to the queen, who embraced him. At five
he played draughts and at dice, spoke gracefully, and above all rode
gracefully. Oh ! the horse was the great attraction for this tiny
feudal child, and so the friendship between the animal and the lad
was cemented at a very early age.

It is certain that the little men of that period were by no means
indifferent to the games which are practised with such gusto by our
own children. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries they played
at marbles, walked on stilts, played battledore and shuttlecock,
ball, bowls, trap-ball, merry-go-rounds, and see- saw. The lads
played all these and other games as they do to this day, and those
who preferred the chances of hazard used to practise " odd and
even." They amused themselves in building little houses as young
Parisians do in the sand at Trouville or Villers. The joys of
Guignol ! yes, even these were not unknown in those primitive days,
and the lads of the period (that age is pitiless) willingly harnessed
mice to the toy carriages in which their sisters' dolls were seated.

But these are mere details and count but little, no more than the
enjoyment of the cold bath and the flower or strawberry gathering
in the woods. There were only two phases of child-life. In the
house there were backgammon, dice, and chess — the everlasting
chess which children learned to play at a very early age, and which
still held a place as it were in the life of the knight. Then in the
open air, exercise on horseback — always on horseback. As soon as
the little limbs could accommodate themselves to the animal, the
child was hoisted up on one of the great spirited horses, which our
forefathers so delighted in. The child was not slow in finding his
seat, and listening gravely to the instructions which were given

ID2 \ : :< A.^'^J ^. CHIVALRY.

him ; striking his tiny heels against the yielding flanks of the
animal he bestrode, and then galloping boldly away ! And this
before he was seven years of age !

To substitute for the son of his liege lord his own flesh and
blood, in place of some poor innocent traitorously done to death,
vras — according to the testimony of the poets of the middle ages —
an act of heroism of which few of the vassals would care to under-
take the responsibility. Supposing a mother capable of such a
sacrifice, it would appear almost impossible and far-fetched. But
that is precisely what the good vassal Kemir and his wife
Erembourc did when they substituted their own child for the son
of Girart de Blaives, for the little Jourdain, for whom they sacri-
ficed their own infant, as already related.

We only refer to this incident again — which an unknown
trouvere had placed on record in ^^ Jourdain de Baivies,'' so that we
may reproduce the portrait — or rather the sketch — of a child of
noble birth before the age of seven years. The poor mother set
out to deliver up her own child to those who would kill him. The
child smiled at them, " for he knew nothing of treachery," nor of
traitors ; and his mother laments that she shall never see him
playing at the quintain or other games, prisoners' -base and ecuy
struggling with pages and lads of his own age — " I shall see them
engaged in mimic warfare but not him, and my heart will bleed
again ! "

We are too apt to attribute to modern times certain fictions,
instructive and manly fictions, certain happy types which we
suppose, not without some temerity and presumption, to have
been unknown to our distant ancestors. Thus, for instance, we
give credit to Daniel Defoe as having been the first of the Crusoes.
There is not a book more human, or more absolutely vivid in its
reality, than Kobinson Crusoe. A man, one man by himself,
struggling against Nature, against all the forces of Nature, and
overcoming them by his own sheer industry and confidence in
Providence, without any other assistance whatever ! An indi-
vidual doing the work of Adam and primitive humanity over
again, and performing it without Eve and without Abel : it is
beautiful, it is grand ; and is, perhaps, the best to put before our
children.

t

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 103

Well, the middle ages had also its Kobinson Crusoe — who told
his adventures to the children, to the youthful barons of ten years
old. We must not be surprised to find that it is impressed with
the feudal character, and only very distantly resembles the romance
of Defoe. Each century has its own way of regarding things, and
lending them their own colouring.

In the opening of this Robinson Crusoe tale of the thirteenth
century, it was necessary to have the history of a traitor, just as a
shipwreck is absolutely necessary in all the Robinsons — family or
otherwise — of modern days.

Now, we find that the old Count Guy de Maience used to live in
a castle on the bank of the Rhine, low down — near the mouth of
the river, not very far from the " salt sea."

This gentleman was an indefatigable sportsman, and a mighty
hunter ; in the whole course of his existence he had had only two
desires — but they were grand passions — fighting, and the chase !
These were his hobbies. It came to pass one day while he was
hunting the deer in the profound depths of the forest, he was very
considerably astonished to see the animal suddenly take refuge
within the little court-yard which enclosed a hermitage ; and to see
the hermit fall at his feet, soliciting respite for the poor deer which
claimed his protection.

"No, no; no quarter," exclaimed the implacable hunter, launch-
ing the heavy spear he carried at the unfortunate animal. But,
somehow or other, the ill-aimed dart missed the deer and pierced
the hermit to the heart ! The angels descended to receive his soul,
and he died !

Nothing could exceed the grief of the involuntary murderer, who
exclaimed in his remorse —

"I make a vow! I vow to take the place of the holy man
whom I have just slain, and to remain in this hermitage all the
days of my life ! "

Up to this time we have not encountered the traitor ; here he
comes now ! Attention !

The traitor is the seneschal of the old count, who was thought
by everyone to be dead. As a matter of fact, seneschals have not
altogether a good time of it in our old poems. But this particular
seneschal surpassed all other seneschals in treachery, and proposed

I04 CHIVALRY.

to possess himself at one fell swoop of the widow and of the
territory of his late liege lord.

But the lady resisted his proposals ; so he beat her cruelly and
would have slain her on the spot had not a beautiful little boy of
seven years old, the eldest of Guy's three sons, named Doolin,
interfered. This youthful partisan heroically came to the aid of
his mother, and threw himself with all the energy of a young lion
upon the miserable wretch who had dared to strike the widow of his
late liege lord. Doolin is henceforth the hero of the poem :
Doolin will turn out to be the Kobinson Crusoe whom we are
expecting.

Now, in order to rid himself of the three children, the most
treacherous of seneschals made a dastardly attempt to drown them,
but only succeeded in the case of the youngest, and the other two
lads were launched into the open sea in a miserable little cockle-
shell of a boat by themselves. They floated away ; away out to
sea, and were lost to view. Lost ! No ! . . .

Doolin never despaired. But his brother, alas ! had not
strength sufficient to endure the terrible trial. He was only five
years of age, poor little fellow. So pretty too, and with such
beautiful bright eyes, as keen as those of a falcon. Hunger
assailed him ; he could not endure it : he grew paler and paler,
and at length his beautiful eyes closed and he rendered up his soul.
Then Doolin was left all by himself.

A child of seven years of age afloat on the open sea in a small
boat ! Picture it ! Just as his little brother had expired in
Doolin's arms, his kisses on his lips, the sun set, and night came
on ! And what a night it was ! Doolin could see nothing, and he
was famishing. He fainted, and lay motionless in the boat for
many hours; but at length the sun, which, says the poet,
" Providence caused so beautifully to rise," reappeared in the sky,
and Hope once more animated the breast of the now re- awakened
Doolin.

There ! There ! Yonder is a black speck. "What can it be ?
It is land ! But alas it is seven leagues away, and yet he must
reach it. Now the child is so terribly weak that he cannot even
raise his hand to his head — a fdnc pent ses bras vers sa teste
lever! Moreover, a storm was rising, and in a short time it burst

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 105

in terrible fury over the ocean. The enormous waves tossed the
tiny boat up and down like a shuttlecock ; the wind howled and
roared ; the rain and hail fell in torrents, and thunder crashed
over all.

In this fearful strait the child commended himself to the mercy
of Heaven. But how hungry he was ! He was constrained to
catch a few hailstones in the palms of his hands, and to suck them,
to allay his terrible thirst. There were fortunately some branches
of trees now floating on the waves — he ate them — what do I say ?
— he hro2i'sed on the leaves. Mercifully the storm passed away,
the sun shone out warmly again, and the breeze impelled the little
boat towards the distant shore. The bark grounded on the beach,
and not one moment too soon !

What land was this ? What country was this on which the boat
had grounded so fortunately, and on which the wind had cast our
little navigator ? It was covered with an immense forest, in which
trees abounded with wild apples and nuts, upon which our little
hero regaled himself and appeased his hunger thereby. But this
forest was very extensive, very lonely, and very dark, and Doolin
was tempted to regret his own bed. Then there were wolves
besides !

" Bah," he said to himself; " if they come I will plunge my
knife in their stomachs ! "

Nevertheless he felt constrained to seek for a resting-place where
he could sleep. An old and magnificent oak-tree suddenly came
under his observation, hollowed out by time in most comfortable
fashion. Here was a bed ready made ! It was more, it was a
hiding-place, and our Robinson soon concealed himself therein.

At the time these events occurred our poet would have us
believe that lions and tigers frequented the country at the mouth
of the Rhine. This is a fact in natural history which I confess I
have not ascertained, nor can I altogether unreservedly endorse the
science of the narrator, who also believes in a species of tiger —
absolutely unknown to modern zoologists — a tiger with prickles, a
porcupiny tiger. However this may be, it is stated that the lad
witnessed from his hiding-place in the tree a terrific combat be-
tween a lion and a tiger of this porcupiny species.

That these two animals killed each other goes without saying,

io6 CHIVALRY.

and then a leopard arose, but he did not dare attack the desolate
child. Fancy a leopard in the neighbourhood of the Zuyder Zee !
This is all that is necessary to complete the picture. But let us
proceed. .

The sun rose brightly, and the weather cleared up. The birds
sang merrily ; the wild boars and the deer rushed around him in
the depths of the forest, and the wolves howled ; but Providence,
with a mercifully guiding hand, led the courageous child — who had
never lost his presence of mind — through the greatest perils, armed
only with his knife, and singing hymns.

This wood was the very one (as our readers doubtless have already
guessed) in which Doolin's father was living in the hermitage.
The time was approaching — as was to be expected — when the
father and son would meet again and recognize each other — but not
yet. This is double Robinson Crusoism, but it is not less instruc-
tive, nor less touching than is the original.

A sudden change of fortune, very happily introduced by the
author of our romance, comes in to complicate, in a very curious
manner, the situation of the old man and the child.

It seems that the father, the hermit, momentarily oblivious of
the vow he had made, had thought of abandoning his solitary life,
and returning again to his place and habit as a knight. He burned
to regain his wife and his inheritance from the arch-traitor who had
possessed himself of his property. This idea was only a vague one,
and had no fixed tenure in his mind — had nothing precise in it at
all ; yet one cannot even in thought violate a solemn vow with
impunity, and Providence punished the aged count. An angel
descended from heaven, and deprived him of his eyesight. Thence-
forth he was blind !

And now begins the most interesting part of our story. It
seems to us that the episode is novel, original, and possesses suffi-
cient power in itself to inspire a strong romancist, another Daniel
Defoe. Here we have a child of seven or eight years of age destined
to live in a desert place with a blind old man, his father, whom he
loves, whom he nourishes, whom he guides in his walks — a con-
ception which is not inferior to Crusoe. The poet of the thirteenth
century was not of a calibre to develop such a happy inspiration,
but his characteristics are very natural and very charming.

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 107

We follow him in the story for many years, day by day, in-
terested in the life of this gallant youth, who makes clothes from
the skins of wild beasts, who goes hunting every morning, and
brings game home every evening to the blind man, who himself
prepares all the meals of the family, salts his food with the sea-
salt, and makes mats of the bark of the trees. But one cau under-
stand that such a childhood cannot last long, and Doolin's came to
an end at last.

One day in the forest they heard the tramp of a horse and the
clatter of the armour of his rider. This person was an envoy from
the wicked seneschal, the traitor, from him who had incarcerated,
and who wished to put to death, Doolin's mother.

The young man threw himself upon the wretch and killed him
with a blow of a club. Then in a rapt condition of mind, he con-
templated for the first time in his life — what he had never hitherto
seen — a gilded shield, a glittering helmet, a coat made of little
steel rings, and above all a sword — a steel sword ! At the sight
of this weapon all his true nature awoke, his heart bounded. How
could he learn to bear those arms ? He had never learnt to use
them, he did not know how to wear them ! . . .

But Nature taught him, and Providence directed him. In default
of knowledge, he possessed instinct, and in a few minutes he was
able to leap upon the back of the steed, helmet on head, sword in
hand. Then he galloped to and fro in triumph. The blind man
heard him, and cried —

" What is that ? Who is there on horseback ? "

He came forward as the rider halted, and feeling his way with
his hands, came upon his son !

" Oh, Heaven," he prayed, *' grant that I may see him, let me
behold my son ! "

Then a miracle was performed ! The old count's vision was
mercifully restored, and he gazed upon his son. Could he have
looked upon a more beautiful sight !

Doolin, however, had no wish to remain in the. forest. He had
his patrimony to regain, his mother to avenge, and also to punish
the traitor. He leaves his father in the hermitage, and so the
story closes.

I am convinced that such a narrative as this must have interested

io8 CHIVALRY.

the youthful barons in former days as much as Defoe has amused
our generations of boys, and that it was of a nature to arouse
chivalrous and manly feelings in the mind of the young baron
whose portrait we are attempting to sketch. All these Robinson
Crusoe tales form men !

IV.

At seven years of age the education of the noble child com-
menced. We intend to let our readers be present at the teaching.
* The religious instruction was so far good that it did not then
constitute a special course. The fatal separatism which consists
in isolating the faith from all other knowledge did not exist, and
nothing was more healthily and wisely Christian than the means
by which the mind of the future knight was developed. The priests
were intimately acquainted with the life of the chateau ; they were
present on all occasions of mourning or of festivity. Their failings,
which people saw very clearly, did not deprive them of the respect
they had won. It seems as if people sometimes felt the point of
the words of the old knights ; " Honour all clerics, and speak to
them politely," they would say to their sons, "but leave them as
little as possible of your wealth."

This, however, is nothing but an innocent epigram, and has no
poison in it. In the paternal counsels piety bursts out— " Hear
mass every day, and make no noise in the convent."

There may well have been at the bottom of the hearts of some
old veterans an unconscious contempt for these men of peace who
were prevented from fighting : something akin to the disdain enter-
tained by the soldiers of Napoleon for pekins. Let us go further;
there existed outside a small lay school, and Hervis of Metz ex-
claimed one day with all the fury of the sectarian — " They ought
to become soldiers, all these fat monks ; all these canons, priests,
and abbes. Ah, if the king would only give them to me ! "

We must take this tendency into consideration, no doubt, but
that is not the true character of the religious education of the
twelfth century. The idea, the spirit of the Crusades dominates
and penetrates everywhere and everything. In the castles the

INFAACY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 109

children and young people are told with enthusiasm of the grand
expedition of Peter the Hermit, fighting so bravely with an axe ;
and the recital which appeals so directly and forcibly to the
youthful auditory is the episode of the famous nineteenth battalion
— of that battalion of priests which was perceived beneath the walls
of Jerusalem at the great attack.

" They were all clothed in white, with a red cross on the breast,
unarmed, each one carrying a consecrated wafer, all intoning the
litany and blessing the "army with one voice.'* Ah ! such action as
this caused one to forget all the failings of the clergy, and this was
also the catechism of the child of the Feudal age. It had its
value.

At a very early stage of life children were taught prayer, and
they prayed. When the poor little Doolin was lost in the forest,
he concealed himself in an oak tree, made the sign of the cross
very calmly, and said his orisons which they had taught him. And
who had taught them to him ? It is scarcely necessary to say,
his mother. But all around him were in the habit of praying.

Moral instruction came also from the lips of all those who
surrounded the youthful baron, and he assimilated them, with the
injunctions as to politeness, deportment, and manners. A single
word embodies all this elevated teaching — a word which is one of
the most beautiful in our language, which means the same as
chivalry and honour — we refer to Courtesy !

It is then a lesson in courtesy which the professor is about to
give us, and this lesson is inculcated on the youthful baron by the
united voices of his father and his mother. One may readily
imagine he hears the two semi-choruses of the Greek Tragedy.

"It is with God, my child, that we must begin," the mother
would say. "In the most momentous hours of your life, God will
never desert you if you put your trust in him. Recall the
beautiful story of Aiol. His father, Elie, was banished from
France, disinherited, absolutely in poverty, and an invalid for
forty years. He lived in a wretched kind of cabin with his wife
Avisse, and his horse Marchegai. The roof was so low that the
knight's lance could not stand upright within it, and was placed
outside (how sad !) exposed to rain and wind.

" The day at length arrived when Elie had to send his son into

no CHIVALRY.

France to reconquer his * marches,' and he could only give him a
bent lance, an old shield, rusty armour, and four pence — yes, only
four pence. But he addressed to him these noble words, which
you should always bear in mind :—^Fiex quant ice us fauront,
Dieus est es cieus.' And the child on his part would reply, ' Si
vos n\ive\s avoir, Dieus a asses.' " *

**It would not be sufficient for you," the father would say, " to
have confidence in God, if you have not justice on your side ; but
be assured, my son, that if you fight for God and for the right, you
will conquer ! "

"Above all things," continued the mother, "be humble. Had
you a hundred horses in your stables, and all the wealth of the
world ; were you the Constable of France, nothing would go well
with you if pride effected a lodgment in your soul. The proud
man loses in a day what it has caused him seven years to gain."

" Be liberal, give largely; then give again, and still give. The
more you give away, my son, the richer you will be. Whoever is
avaricious is not a gentleman, and it is really sad to see princes
living in such a dishonourable vice. They sully the title of
royalty !

" Remember it is not enough to relieve the poor, the widow and
the orphan ; you must go further and embrace in all its widest
scope the word largesse. The vilains in their proverb say that it is
one's true interest to be liberal : Ne fa pas fols cil qui dona
premiers. But it is not a question of interest which ought to
guide you, and you are not a vilain. In the poem which a trouba-
dour was singing to us yesterday, there was a verse which I
retained in my memory to be my motto : —

* En vos trcsors mar remanra dernier. '

To portionless knights, to disinherited good men and true, dis-
tribute your wealth, rich furs, the vair and the grey — all ! Do not
consider ; do not make promises — give ! "

" As your father has spoken of knights, I will add that there is
another tribute you should pay them, and that is respect ! When-

* These words were repeated almost exactly hj the young Ameri when he pro-
posed to the emperor to capture Narbonne — "You are as poor as proud," said
Charlemagne. " Poor ! " he replied. " Is not God in Heaven above all ? "

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. iii

ever you see a good and true man, rise up in his presence and put
yourself at once at his service. When you are on the road, salute
everyone. In your words as in all your actions be always
courteous, for civility costs little. Above all things do not jest
and banter with the poor, and be humble in your dealings both
with small and great. When you are a man's guest show yourself
of a smiling countenance and joyful mien. Cultivate the art of not
hearing and seeing everything, and persuade yourself that they
mean to behave kindly towards you.

"I need scarcely exhort you, my son, to avoid with horror
that particular vice they call drunkenness. Eat well, but do not
drink too much wine — 'on the lees.' As for play, it is, alas, the
source of many disputes ; and that famous chess, of which they
boasted so much, has cost the lives of many knights, as you are
aware. It was because of a check * that ' Galien slew the traitor
Tibert ; it was on account of a game of chess that the youthful
Landri, in * Doon de la Roches smote the traitor Tomile.

*' But traitors were not the only people to suffer from this
terrible game. The charming Bandouinet, the nephew of Ogier
the Dane, succumbed beneath the blows of the son of Charlemagne,
who was armed with a chess-board ; and in the same manner died
the nephew of the great emperor, the poor Bertolais, smitten down
by Eenaud de Montauban. Those who did not lose their lives in
this accursed game often lost their money at it, and even their
horses. Beware of chess !

*' But, my son, you must beware of some people more than
the game of chess — and they are the vilains. You must never
have any intercourse with them, but be particularly cautious not to
make them your counsellors and friends. Never confide to them a
secret, nor give them any function, nor permit them to approach
you. Ah, we are spectators now of sad sights which disgust me
greatly. And never think of conferring on a villein the holy order
of chivalry. I tell you, the Sacrament was not intended for him.
I tell you that it would be a scandal, and, what is more, a danger !
Such people, naturally, have not nobleness of heart ; they are not
noble, save on the surface, and they are capable of any felony.

" Girat of Koussillon was sufficiently attached to the son of a
villein to make him his seneschal and his counsellor, and even

CHIVALRY.

bestowed on him a rich farm and good land. He was well
punished for it, for it was this wretch, the same Richier, who
delivered Roussillon to his most deadly enemies. No, no, a
villein, — whatever you may make him — will remain a villein still,
and his brain is so dense that no good will ever enter into it. In
brief, a gentleman should only live with gentlemen who are his
peers, and it is only in such intercourse that one finds good.

'* A true baron should not compromise himself, he ought not to
associate with a man who is not a baron like himself; and I cannct
admit — yes, I will even go so far as that — I cannot admit that a
valet should seat himself at table with his master. A little pride
is not unbecoming a knight, and that is a lesson, my son, which
you will do well to meditate upon.

" There is, nevertheless, something which you may learn from
the villeins. These are the proverbs which they use incessantly,
and which our poets quote so fully to our bachelors (knights).
They contain a course of knowledge which the old men themselves
may turn to profitable account. You are very young still, my son,
but already very anxious to have adventures and to quit the
maternal nest. Well, then, remember this proverb —

* The bird that wishes to fly before it can sustain itself falls to the ground.'

** Young people talk too much. Remember that a

* W ise silence is better than foolish talking. '

"Young people love danger. Tell yourself that some prudence
is right and necessary ; and that

* He who would warm himself bums himself sometimes.'

** Beware of traitors and of those dangerous companions whom
your father has just indicated to your attention and to your con-
tempt. Do not blindly rush into the lion's mouth, or — to quote
our villeins again —

' Do not imitate the lamb that plays with the wolf.'

" Beware even of your neighbours themselves, as the proverb

says —

* He who has a bad neighbour often has a bad morning ; '

and persuade yourself that there are traitors everywhere. From

r

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT 113

treason no one can guard himself. Do not permit yourself to
accept fine promises from the first comer. It is better to have one
thing in hand of your own than four in the bush : and do not
attach too much importance to the recognition of those who call
themselves your best friends, for —

* Once a man is dead and buried he is forgotten.'

" If ever you become poor, remember that all the flatterers will
very quickly turn their backs upon you, and it is well known that
* The poor man is in bad odour ; '

and poverty is the more detestable as it changes the heart of
man and makes him do very much mischief Q^ui fait faire viaint
VIC chef).

" After Providence, depend on no one but yourself, and do not
forget that ' who stag hunts, stag finds.' But be sure remember
that you come of a good stock, and as the villeins say in one of
their picturesque proverbs —

* The son of a cat ought to catch mice. '

** Imitate your father in all things, and you will do well."

"Your mother, my child, has correctly quoted the familiar say-
ings which are in vogue amongst young people. But it is with the
prouder words which have sprung forth from the hearts of our
poets, and which will one day attain to the dignity of proverbs,
that I would have you to do. These are more worthy of you and
constitute the code of honour.

'* * Death rather than dishonour,' was the cry which Roland
uttered in the valley of Roncesvalles before the great battle with
the infidel ; it is the cry of every Christian baron, and will be yours
too, my son, on every solemn occasion of your life. They told you
the other day that ' the heart of a man is worth all the gold in the
country,' and that ^fns cucrs nc pent mentir.' Weigh all these in
your memory, and so act upon them that people may say of you as
they said of Ogier —

* Molt f II preudom; si ot le eiier entier.'

It is the most beautiful funeral oration that any true knight
could desire."

114 CHIVALRY.

" Since they have held up Ogier to you as a model, remember,
my son, that the knight has models in Heaven, and so lift your
eyes on high. The Prince of the Celestial Chivalry is Saint
Michael : he is the conqueror in the great and invisible battle in
which were vanquished those vassals of God who one day revolted
against the Sovereign Lord. I hope, my son, that you and I will
soon go together, and perform the pilgrimage of * Saint Michel de
Peril de la Mer,' for the archangel is the great patron, not only of
chivalry, but of the whole of France.

'* In imitation of such a champion the very angels and saints
have not disdained to be made knights, and to fight in mortal
forms amid the ranks of the Christian army. At the commence-
ment of the celebrated battle of Aspremont, in which Roland re-
vealed himself and gained the sword Durendal, three mysterious
knights were suddenly perceived descending in light from the
mountain, seated upon great white horses : these knights were
Saint George, Saint Domininus and Saint Maurice, who had
quitted the ' flowers of Paradise ' with the express object of couch-
ing a lance and striking a blow for our knights below.

"But why go back so far? You are aware, my son, of the
incomparable expedition which ended in the capture of the Holy
City of Jerusalem. There were^aints and angels everywhere. It
was as if a flight of falcons were hovering over our army, and had
then cast themselves in terrible attack upon the infidels. On one
day there were thirty thousand amongst us plus hlans que flors de
pres. There, there, my son, are your models, and I often permit
myself to hope that you will become another Saint George — another
Saint Maurice. Let me retain this hope."

*' Your mother has high aspirations, and she is welcome to them.
I am more moderate, and propose to you only human models.
Still, do not let me go too far in the impetuosity of my wishes.
Certainly, it would not be displeasing to me to see you resemble
Roland, who knew bow to meet death in a manner which no mere
mortal man ever did (save One) ; to that Roland who expired on
the mountain, where he could overlook Spain and the infidels,
holding his own against one hundred thousand men, preserving his
sword, having time to repeat his med culpa, and gaining the victory
just before his death. I prefer to him, perhaps, Oliver, who is less

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT, 115

sublime and more practical ; but that is an opinion which I would
not wish to defend too far.

" I also delight in the rough Guillaume — * aufier bras ' — whose
sword many times freed the Christian race, and who died a monk
at Gellone : or the youthful Vivien, who fell in the field of battle at
Aliscans when the angels came down to carry his soul to Heaven.
Or again, Renaud de Montauban, who to expiate his sins consented
to conceal his glorious name and to become a bricklayer's labourer
at Cologne.

" For some time we have heard of the Nine. Nine heroic
examples or models, which should represent to our eyes all that
has ever been the most valiant and generous in the enterprises of
the greatest captains. Joshua was for a long time the arm and
the sword of Moses : David distinguished himself both as a soldier
and as a knight, as well as a penitent and a prophet. It was
Judas Maccabeus who delivered his countrymen.

" These form the first group of the nine heroes, the first and not
the least grand.

''Hector, Alexander and Caesar compose the second, which
sums up Troy, Greece and Rome. But I would prefer to direct
your attention to the third group, in which shines out the glory
of Arthur of Britain, Charlemagne of France, and Godfrey of
Bouillon.

*' I do not wish to hide from you the opinion that I prefer
Godfrey of Bouillon to any of the other eight heroes, and that he
is the hero upon whom I should wish to model myself and you
after me. I consider that he resembles Roland as much as Oliver,
with, I cannot tell how much, more piety and sanctity. He was as
gentle as he was brave, and this man, of whom all the Crusaders
could say as they saw him pass by — * There is duke Godfrey,
who has the heart of a lion ' — that warrior was as gentle as a
lamb.

"I am of opinion that no one like him knew the great mystery
of the Crusade, and he ceased not for one moment throughout that
war of unparalleled duration to distinguish himself by a singular
moderation, which, however, never permitted anyone to question
his courage. His companions could perceive that he was always
thinking of Christ even in the very thick of the battle, and the

I 2

ii6 CHIVALRY.

idea of the Cross was ever present in his calm and tranquil mind.

Two sayings of his, two sayings only, paint the character of the >
man. He pronounced the first at the Gate of David during the
final assault on Jerusalem. He said, *Do not fear death — seek

it ! ' It was to his brothers — remark, to his brothers — that he \

addressed this grand exhortation. You know the other utterance, ;
which will be repeated to the end of time by all true knights.

***God forbid,' said the newly-made King of Jerusalem, *God i

forbid that I should wear a crown of gold where He wore a crown :
of thorns.'

"He remained during the rest of his life grave and pensive,

thinking always of his Master. \

** No one ever saw such a crusader as he. But perhaps I am ]

putting before you too elevated an example, and I think it would be '
better to propose to you a more accessible model.

" In fact I would not desire a better model than the cousin of |

Girart de Roussillon, who was called Fouque, and whose exploits '

the troubadour sang to us the other day, thus — '

" * Fonque was heroic, courteous, frank, good, and a facile

speaker. He was a most skilful hunter in the forest, the wood or ;

the marsh ; he knew chess, backgammon and dice. His house was :

never closed to anyone. He gave as he was asked. Good or bad, \

everyone had a share in it, and he was never slow to bestow J

largesse. He was supremely pious, for, although he was of the ^
world, he never was in a court where was proposed or accomplished

a single act of injustice, without being profoundly moved if he i

could not prevent the execution of it. He detested war, and loved ■

peace : when he had his helmet laced, his shield around his neck, \

his sword by his side, then he was proud, furious, impulsive, ^i

superb, merciless, pitiless ; and when pressed by a crowd of armed !

nien, then he showed himself the firmest and most brave. They ,

could iiot make him budge an inch, and there was not one man on j

earth who would cope with him. He always loved brave knights, ;

and honoured the poor as well as the rich. Everyone, powerful or \

weak, found in him their support.' Decidedly, my son, he is your i
model."

"Yes!" repeated his mother. "There is your model. Now,
my dear child, go and rest, after this long lesson. If you only

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 117

retain a sentence of it, let it be this, in which all your father's
teaching and mine is summed up : —

* Do your duty come what may.'

" The rest matters little. Kiss me, my child."

Headers may perhaps be surprised that, while on the subject of
the religious education of our youthful baron, we have not yet
spoken of that festival of Christian infancy which, in the eyes of
our sceptical generation, has retained all its touching majesty, and
marks so happily the entrance of the child into the busier days of a
later youth. The rite of Confirmation does not appear in those
somewhat rough times to have been celebrated with the same
tender solemnity, or with the same display as in these our days.

Our ^^ Chansons de geste"" somehow are silent concerning this
festival, which is calculated to bring tears to the eyes of the most
hardened : one can find only a single reference which leads us
directly to this grand ceremony. It is true, that this episode is
incomparable, and ought to be placed beside — quite on a level with
— the death of Roland.

This occasion was the first communion of Vivien, on the evening
of the battle of Aliscans.

We must picture to ourselves, here, an extensive field of battle,
upon which two nations — what do I say? two races — aj^ rushing
one against the other furiously, and occupied for two frours in
endeavouring to exterminate each other. The French, the Chi-i
tians — these two names were gloriously synonymous — the "men of
God " are beaten, and Islam is conqueror !

Almost interminable piles of knights and dead horses indicate
the places in which have taken place the thousands of duels of
which a battle in those days consisted. All the French, with the
exception of fifteen, have bitten the dust, and the infidels still
number one hundred thousand !

Everywhere around arise the cries of the dying and the wounded,
the whinnying of riderless horses, and the joyous cries of the

ii8 CHIVALRY.

victors. . And yonder, not far off, in a beautiful green valley
beside a spring — in a beautiful spot in which the cries of the
combat are but faintly heard — a very young man, almost a youth,
is lying stiff, perfectly white, his hands crossed. One would have
pronounced him dead, if his clasped hands did not now and then
beat his chest, and if his eyes had not occasionally been turned
upwards to the heavens, and if one had not heard him murmur the
word '' God."

This youth is the nephew of William of Orange — it is Vivien
who is dying !

William himself is yonder in the midst of the fourteen survivors
of the Christian army, whom he overtops in his great height. He
is there seated upon his horse ^'Baucent'' and is thinking of his
nephew whom he loves as a son.

" Where is he ? Where is Vivien ? " he cries.

Then he adventures across the battle-field in search of him
living or dead. *' Where is he ? Where is Vivien ? "

Providence has pity upon William, and conducts him to the
corner of the secluded valley in which Vivien is dying ; and there
is the Count of Orange, in the presence of the young man with the
blanched face, who scarcely moves and hardly breathes.

Suddenly an idea occurs to this grim warrior, who is himself
covered with blood, for he has fought since morning like a furious
lion :

"He will die without having partaken of his first communion."
Then he exclaims, " 0 why did I not arrive sooner? " The good
William actually has the sacred elements in his possession, and he
regrets that he cannot place the wafer piously upon his nephew's
lips. But alas those lips are cold and dead !

Suddenly the young man stirs : it is an almost imperceptible
movement. Life, as the old poet says, returned to him for an
instant, and "leaped into his breast." William, then, possessed
by one idea, speaks to him very gently —

" Do not you wish to eat the consecrated bread ? " he says.

"I have never tasted it," replied the dying man, "but as you
ixre there I feel as if God had sent it to me."

Then in that little grass-grown valley, beneath the great tree
near the spring, an indescribable scene took place. William

A \T;RY young man is lying stiff, rERFKCTLY WHITE, HIS HA^DS CROSSED.

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 121

became grave as he assumed the priestly office, and said to his
nephew —

" You must confess to me, because I am your nearest relative,
and because there is no priest here."

*'I am quite willing," replied the youthful Vivien in a weak
voice, *' but you will have to support my head against your chest.
I hunger, yes, I hunger for that bread. Hasten, for I die, I
die ! "

Then he makes his confession, but can remember only one fault.

"I made a vow that I would never retreat one step before the
Infidel, and to-day I have failed to keep my oath ! "

The supreme moment has arrived. William takes the wafer and
places it between the parted lips of Vivien. There are thousands
of angels present to witness the sight and to bear that soul to
Heaven. Vivien's countenance ligMs-up'once again, but Death
descends from his head to his heart. He falls back with a sigh ;
he is dead ! Gone from this world to Paradise, to never-ending
happiness, to complete the day of his first communion.

VI.

Such was the instruction which the youthful baron of the Twelfth
Century received every day, and on which he modelled himself;
such was the religious and moral education of the future knight.
But he was still ignorant of the first elements of human scientific
knowledge, and here we find ourselves in the presence of a grave
problem.

Did the youthful noble of the Twelfth Century know how to
read and write ? Was not his ignorance, on the contrary, some-
thing astounding, and did he not even go so far as to derive some
glory from it ?

The almost general opinion is in favour of this state of ignorance,
and it is unquestionable that a certain number of knights did not
know their letters. There was once actually a Grand Chamberlain
of France, who, in the reign of Saint Louis, was obliged to confess
as much. This is related of Jean de Nanteuil, who subscribed to
the will of Jeanne, Countess of Toulouse and Poitiers : — *' Ego

122 CHIVALRY.

Petrus canonicus de Eoscha, de mandata domini Johannis de
Nantolio qui rogatus huic interfuit testamento et sigillum suum
apposuit, testamento huic subscripsi pro eo, cum ipse non haheret
noticiam litter arum,"

But I may be permitted to remark that the majority of the heroes
of our old poems did not in this respect resemble the unfortunate
Jean de Nanteuil. If I open that terrible epic of the Lorrains, in
which one finds recorded a very rude and barbarous social state, I
perceive that Hervis and Garin knew how to read in Eomansche and
in Latin, to write and to engross.

We find the same knowledge claimed for the son of Parise, la
Duchesse ; for the three children of Gui de Mayence ; for the
young Aiol ; for the sons of Count Witasse de Boulogne ; and (it is
unnecessary to say so) for the son of Pepin, for the great Charles.
We could easily multiply instances and make quotations which
would prove to demonstration the accuracy of our conclusions, and
place the question beyond a doubt.

I do not refer to the proofs which many learned men have
extracted from our romances of adventure, or from our didactic
poems of the Thirteenth Century ; but I would just bring to the
knowledge of the reader, and put before him, the charming picture
which the author of Dolopathos has limned.

" There, seated on the ground before their master, were the
children of many a haughty baron, attentive to their instructor's
words. And every pupil had his book in his hand ! So he taught
them ! "

Now I am not altogether sorry to be able to make you spectators
of a writing lesson, with or without blows with a ferule, as the case
may be. The children first learn to write on wax tablets with a
stylus, and care is taken to prevent them from spoiling the good
parchment, which is expensive. When they have made a sufficient
number of " pothooks and hangers," which are in turn effaced from
the wax ; when they have arrived at a certain pitch of perfection as
scribes ; — they are then — but only then — entrusted with some
sheets of parchment, which is scarcely of the first quality. It is
necessary to be economical.

Regarding the ignorance of our barons, it behoves us to be cir-
cumspect in our statements, so as not to fall into any excess of

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 123

criticism. People will never make us believe that, in an age when
every little village boasted its school (a fact which is indisputable,
and which has been proved in certain provinces), the feudal youths
were destined to be less instructed than their inferiors. On the
contrary, it is certain that the nobly-born youth often had a private
tutor in the paternal castle who was always with him. Such an
one was the tutor of Doolin de Mayence ; such, likewise, was the
pedagogue mentioned by the author of the Romance of the Seven
Sages J '^ who had to attend his pupil everywhere ; who accompanied
him to school, who (interesting detail, this) prevented him from
eating too much; who taught him polite language and good
manners ; and who did not even quit him when he dressed, and
when he retired to bed.

Again, it often happened that in good families and in well-
managed households, the worthy task of education was ingeniously
divided between the father, the mother, and the tutor. In this
manner did Aiol learn from his father military prowess, and
particularly the art of riding ; for to these grandsons of Germans
one certainly could not apply the words of Tacitus, addressed to
their ancestors of the farther Rhine : In pedite rohur ; and we
have already seen that the baron was almost one with his horse.
Aiol's mother instructed him in the courses of the stars ; and
taught him the reason for the waxing and waning of the moon.
This branch of instruction, I admit, was unusual on a mother's
part ; but such knowledge was very necessary to those who later
in life would be compelled to pass many days and nights in
the open air, like the shepherds, who were also somewhat of
astronomers.

Finally a hermit instructed the youth in " the art of reading and
copying Latin and Romansch." That was an education which,
notwithstanding all objections, would appear to have been pretty
complete. Some barons of the Nineteenth Century are, perhaps,
less enlightened than the sons of Elie de Saint Gilles.

We see these knights, whom it pleases some people to regard as
"paragons" of ignorance, in their tents in the interval between
two battles reading to each other, and seriously discussing military
matters, literature, and law. Philippe de Navarre has bequeathed
to us, in this regard, a little picture which is worth studying, and

124 CHIVALRY,

might have inspired Meissonier. There are in it no dullards j
ignorant of their letters, but men of talent who have received some i
fundamental instruction, and who have improved upon it. It is i
true that they are neither gluttons nor pedants ; and it is equally :
beyond question that they are less instructed than our officers of |
the present day. But, when all is said, they are still of the same I
race. I

I am quite aware what the enemies of the Middle Ages will say, !
and what quotations they will bring forward to oppose me. It is !
too true, in fact, that a .certain number of our ancient poets are of 1
the same mind, for we read — !

"A ruler, a king, receives a letter : he breaks the seal himself, j
but hands it to some one else to read." |

Let us add, by the way, that it was quite usual for the chaplain i
to open and read publicly the notes addressed to his lord and I
master. Well, at any rate, I opine that this argument is not
irrefutable, and that rulers and kings sometimes did cause their ,
letters to be read for them because they were written in I
Latin. But I do not, however, wish to give a too rigorous ;
character to my conclusions ; so I will content myself with stating \
that if a certain number of young men then remained in their
pristine ignorance, the greater number of youths in our best \
provinces were sufficiently well educated to be able to read a i
romance, to write a letter, and even (but this was rare) to under- ■
stand more than one language. \

This last sentence may, perhaps, cause some astonishment ; but
our old poems favour such an hypothesis, although one which we
must not push too far. ,

The Due de Nevers, in Gaufreiji boasts of Imowing *' French, |
German, Lombardic, Spanish, Poitevin, and Norman." Baudouin, |
in the Saisnes, passes himself off as a Persian because he :
knows a little " Tiois ! " Mirabel, in Aiol, is still more learned; j
for this surprising lady speaks no less than fourteen " Latins," :
amongst which figure Greek, Armenian, Saracenic, and Bur- |
gundian.

Furthermore, there were professors of languages, who, like the '
interpreters, bore the name of Latimiers. The celebrated text of
Arunetto Latini, and many others of the same order, have often

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 125

been quoted, which have insph-ed a poet of our own day to write
this fine, bold verse : —

" Every man has two countries — his own, and then France."

We recall also this verse of BeHe, which possesses a high
historical value, and which one can never quote too often : —

" It was then the custom in all the * Tiois ' country, in all
Germany, for all the nobility, the counts, and the marquises, to
have Frenchmen in their train to teach theu* sons and their
daughters the French language."

0 beautiful language, which was then spoken all along the
Mediterranean border, and which was the almost universal tongue !

Of all other sciences the young baron was taught only the
rudiments. In his conversation with the clergy he gleaned here
and there some information, but it must be confessed that it was
but a taste. Many errors (worse than ignorance), and many
prejudices were absorbed. All this tended to form the singular
love for the " Encyclopaedia," which is the noble character of all
the period of the Middle Ages. The mixture was strange, I admit;
but it is perfectly certain that it was real.

VII.

The young baron scarcely knew by hearsay the admirable
classification of the Sciences which the Twelfth Century had
formulated with so much lucidity, and to which the encyclopaedic
genius of the Middle Ages had added a new element with the gifts
of antiquity. The youth had heard, vaguely referred to by the
domestic chaplain, of the Seven Arts, with which he desired no
more intimate acquaintance : of the Quacbivium, which embraced
arithmetic, music, geometry, and astronomy ; of the Trivium,
which included grammar, dialectics, and rhetoric. But he had no
idea that the boasted Qiiadrivium and Trivium were far from
representing all the science of his time, and only were part of a
very much greater whole, and a much more imposing array of
subjects.

He was quite ignorant, for instance, that the term Philosophy

126 CHIVALRY.

then indicated the totality of human knowledge ; that Philosophy
was divided into theory, practice, logic, and mechanics; that Tlieoiy
was sub-divided into theology, physics, and mathematics ; and that
it was this third sub-division which constituted the Qiiadrivium.

He was equally unaware that Practice included morals, economy,
and politics ; that Logic w^as equivalent to the Trivium ; and that
one was bound to include in Mechanics the principal industries of
the period — which were the making of cloth and armour — by the
side of navigation, agriculture, medicine, the theatre, and (oh,
happiness !) the chase. This last fact — must I confess it ? — had
most weight with the feudal youth — it was the only part he
understood.

The chase w^as part of the great sum of human knowledge ; the
chase was becoming a science. " There it is," he exclaimed ;
*' what a fortunate discovery — and how true it is ! "

That the future knight ignored this Encyclopaedia, destined for
the clergy, I can understand, and can excuse him for so doing ;
but it is unfortunate that he did not content himself wdth this
ignorance, natural as it was, and avoid forging twenty false notions.
First of all, as a matter of course, he confounded Astronomy with
Astrology. If you want to know the future — do you wish to know-
in advance who will be the victor in a duel ? — learn Astronomy.

Nothing is more simple ; but our ignoramus goes farther, and
plunges into "Necromancy" — that is to say, into Magic, in the
degraded list of the Seven Liberal Arts. ** It is by means of this
incomparable Art (!) that one may discover all thefts ; understand
the language of all animals ; that one may journey through twenty
countries in a single day ; that one may escape from all prisons ;
and in an instant level with the ground the most celebrated
fortresses and the most impregnable castles." But it is the Art of
the Evil One, and so it must be avoided.

However, these superstitions are few, and without any real
weight.

It happens, perhaps, one day that our youthful baron is
engaged turning over the leaves of a beautiful large volume entitled
The Mirror of the World. One of the plates in it remains im-
pressed upon his memory, and a much longer time than all the
others : it is a picture in which the whole plan of the universe

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 127

is set forth. The idea has its origin in a false interpretation of
Scriptural texts ; but it is not lacking in force or beauty, and the
youthful reader has been greatly struck with it. Let us glance
at it.

See, there are seven concentric circles, enlarging into the infinite.
The centre is the world, and in the centre of our earth is fire.
The earth is surrounded and enveloped in air ; the air by ether ;
the ether by the firmament; the firmament by the aqueous
heavens ; the aqueous heavens by the immaterial Heaven ; that,
which is the abode of the blessed, is surrounded by the Heaven
of Heavens — in which resides eternally the Creator, Who thus
embraces the entire universe, and all created beings in a living,
eternal, infinite circumference. It is a grand conception.

vni.

It is no doubt a good deal to know the general conformation of
the Universe, but one feels happy when one returns to Earth and
stays there. Our youthful baron is not of age to remain very long
amid the grand syntheses of science, and all those circles are apt
to tire him. He prefers to study one of those immense maps — one
of those strange Mappe-mondes which give us such an exact and
picturesque idea of the geography of the Twelfth and Thirteenth
centuries.

Our student cannot take his eyes off it, and he makes his tutor
show him the way by which the Crusaders journej-ed. He will
not see, he does not want to see, anything else. Then, in thought,
he follows the Christian army, he halts with it at Constantinople,
he crosses Asia Minor, arrives at Antioch, and exclaims ** Jeru-
salem, Jerusalem ! "

Although they had some vague notions of the rotundity of the
globe, the simple-minded geographers of the Feudal epoch, have
only left us flat maps : but how interesting these are ! In them
our planet is represented in a round or oval form, and in the latter
case its greatest extent is from north to south. It is completely
surrounded by the ''Ocean Sea" as by an immense ribbon. In
this sea, which recalls to us the ancients' " Ocean River," our

128 CHIVALRY.

primitive draughtsmen have delineated fish which are as large as
the islands ; vessels which, according to the law of proportion, are
several leagues in length, and islands drawn in all shapes.

These islands our forefathers made a fourth part of the globe.
There are Great Britain, Ireland, the Fortunate Isles, and many
others besides, which are in some cases fabulous. And everywhere,
fish in shoals ! As for the great oval or circle, it is cut into
several continents by the Mediterranean and other branches of the
Ocean. All the upper portion of the map is occupied by Asia ;
Europe and Africa share the lower portion ; the former to the right,
the latter to the left. It is symmetrical.

Then, leaving the side of the Islands — read what says an old
poet : —

" II sont trois terres que je sai bien ngpier
L'une a nom Aise et Erope sa per ;
La tierce Aufrique plus n'en poons trover —
Ices trois tei;e3 so partirent par mer
Qui totes terres fait partir et sevrer. "

Thus wrote one of our old poets,* of whose work our young pupil

has retained some rudimentary knowledge. [

At the top of the map there is a square indicated, which re-
presents the terrestrial Paradise. An enormous Adam and an
immense Eve are standing upright near a Serpent which is coiled

around the fatal tree. There is the point of departure indicated \

for those who wish to travel ... on a map. " I will start from |

Paradise," says the youth, " and hope to return thither some daj^" \

He makes believe to go to the end of the world, but where are those |

ends of the world to which our poets gave such curious names, \

designations now so obscure ? :

Where is now the famous " Arbre qui fent ? " f Where are the «

" Bornes d'Artus? " I Where is the ** Mer betee? " § The lad '
does not know, and he very much wants to know. J

* Aspremont ; Guessard edition, p. 4, v. 10-15. i

t The " Arbre qui fent " has been stated to be the Arbre sec (or dried tree) so \

celebrated in the Middle Ages, and which figures on the maps of the 12th Century. |

It is placed to the south of the Indus, near the Paradise from which the Angel drove !

Adam. Marco Polo puts it at the "end of Persia towards Tremontania, in the ]

Kingdom of Tonocane." He describes it as like a plane-tree standing alone on an

extensive plain. ]

:J: The Bornes d'Artus are synonymous with the Pillars of Hercules {Romania^ xi.). ,

§ A sea mentioned by Plato as absorbed or engulfed in the ocean (Gautier de Metz). j

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 129

The terrestrial Paradise still exists, and the Tree of Life still
puts forth its divine branches; but nobody can enter into it,
because of a wall of fire, which ascends even up to Heaven to pre-
serve it from the observation of mankind. All around there are
only sandy deserts extending as far as the Caspian Sea, endless
sandy wastes, on which the foot of men would not dare to enter.
To the north lies Asia Minor up to the borders of the Black Sea.
To the south extends China, and more particularly India — *' India
the lost," * which shelters no less than forty-four different
religions. If we cross the Ganges we find ourselves in Parthia.

At the southern extremity of our map, the Persian Gulf opens
with the celebrated island of Taprobane, where the verdure is
immortal, and which enjoys the privilege of having two summers,
and alas ! two winters also. Arabia is not far off, dominated by
the enormous mass of Sinai.

To the north is Aracusiu, Mespotamia, and Nineveh ; then,
inclining to the west, the river Orontes, the first shores of the
Mediterranean, Phoenicia, Mount Libanus, and finally Judea, with
the city of Jerusalem, upon which our young baron had fixed his
eyes.

** It was thither," he says, " that Peter the Hermit led all the
Christian Knights, and all the cowardly ones only remained behind
at home. There my grandfather rushed to the assault ; there he
slew twenty Turks ; there he died ! "

The youth is so moved by these grand and holy memories, that
he does not take the trouble to listen to the singular lessons which
his tutor is attempting to teach him regarding the countries and
the inhabitants of Asia ; thus : —

" It was Qaeen Asia who bestowed her name upon this portion
of the world, and how many kingdoms thus owe their names to one
of their rulers : Persia to Persus, Bithynia to Bithynus, and many
others besides. At the foot of the Caspian hills lived the race of
Gog and Magog, who fed on human flesh. In India pepper is
naturally white, but becomes black under the influence of fires which
are lighted underneath to scare away serpents.

" In Albania the men are born with white hair. The mares of

* "II vous vansist miex estre en Ynde la perdue." ^]/c cC Avignon.

I30 CHIVALRY.

Cappadocia are fecundated by the wind. Ephesus was founded by ■
the Amazons," and so forth. But all the while the pupil remains 1
inattentive and murmurs between his teeth, *' Jerusalem, Jeru- :
salem ! " He is only aroused from his reverie by the pronunciation ;
of the word "Mecca." \

" That is the key of the Pagan's Empire," they tell him. i

"Well," he replies, "we will get there as well as to their j
Babylon. Ah, when shall I be a knight ! " i

""VMien you are a knight," replies the clerical tutor, "you will !
have to fight with people who bear little resemblance to our j
countrymen, and who are of terrible aspect."

Thereupon he proceeds to speak to him concerning the j
" Canelians," who are the Canaanites, and of the Achoparts who !
come from Africa, where one can see the descendants of the ancient j
Ethiopians. The troubadours have already told him of twenty j
tribes still more wonderful. He has, in Roland, become acquainted
with the country of the pagan Churnuble, where the sun never i
shines, where the corn will not grow, where all the stones are black,
where there is no rain nor dew, and which is justly designated as ;
the dwelling-place of demons. '

Again, in the same poem, he has met with the men of Occiant- !
in-the-Desert, whose skins are harder than iron, and who go into '
battle without armour. In the country of Arcaisia, the Sagittaries
and Neros live with Lucifer, another district where corn will not
grow. The Canelians, whom we mentioned just now, the Gaufi'res |
and the Bougres eat dead bodies in a state of decomposition^ and, j
what is still more horrible, their chins and teeth are united with
their chests ! j

The tribe Bocident is better off, although the people live on ;
spices, and do not know wheat; but they bathe in the river of;
youth, and get on very well. The men of Bucion have horns like i
sheep. Those of Buridania bay like mastifts ; the Espes have \
lion's claws on their feet and hands, and when they roar the earth j
quakes for three leagues round. As for countries without sun or \
moon, we need not take any notice of them, they are too common |
and trivial for consideration. |

All these marvels do not scandalise the youth one bit. He
believes them freely ; and one must say in his defence that the 1

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 131

clergy themselves accorded perfect faith to many other geogra-
phical fahles. The " teratology," or " science of monsters," plays,
alas ! only a too important part in the Encyclopaedia of the Middle
Ages, and the true country of monsters is Asia.

Our pupil does not know much about it. More correct, however,
as regards Europe and Africa, he gives them almost their normal
situations ; however we need not exaggerate this " almost." But
he still lends himself to incredible mistakes and regrettable errors.
He fancies that, south of Africa, the ocean boils like hot water ; he
pictures Spain, Italy, and Greece, like three great, nearly square,
tongues protruding into the Mediterranean, which is parallel to the
Red Sea. Just opposite Italy is Egypt. Spain has no depth
southwards ; beyond the Ebro he knows nothing, and our poets,
equally ignorant, crammed into the limited northern zone of Spain
all the celebrated towns of which they had heard — as Cordova,
Toledo, and Seville.

Three cities, moreover, appear to the youth the wonders of the
world — Paris, Constantinople, and Rome ; and descriptions of them
abound in all our songs. Rome is the grandest, and all solemn
oaths are sworn '* by the apostle who perished on the Pre
Noiron." *

But Constantinople is more magnificent, more cheerful, more
beautiful, and the surroundings are charming.

" There are beautiful walks planted with pines and laurels ;
there the roses are always in bloom ; twenty thousand knights are
seated there, clothed in white silk, and bearing falcons on their
wrists ; three thousand virgins are there arrayed in robes
embroidered with gold, and illuminating the country with their
beauty."

But all this is nothing in comparison to the city itself, and one
of your most ancient poets has described Constantinople —

** Such as the popular imagination, inflamed by the reports of
travellers, may conceive. In the palace, all the furniture is of
gold; the walls are covered with paintings representing aU the
beasts of the earth, all the birds of the heaven ; and accounts,
which now appear fantastic, almost understate the magnificence

The Pre Noiron was the Garden of Nero where Christian Martyrs were burned.

K 2

132 CHIVALRY.

which is really presented to the eyes of the astonished Franks in
the Imperial palace of Byzantium." *

These are the luminous points of Europe, but nothing in the
eyes of the Feudal baron is worth the two places valued by us —
Jerusalem, where the tomb of the Saviour is, and the Castle in
which his wife and children live. Many knights know no more
geography than this, and this knowledge is perhaps as good as the
other which I have detailed.

IX. I

One day when our young aspirant of Chivalry was going into the I
town adjacent to his father's castle, he had the pleasure to witness j
a grand /fc'^e. His delight knew no bounds. The king was making '
a solemn entry into the town. All the streets were garlanded with
flowers; all the houses were draped with painted canvas. The
aspect of the town was joyous and imposing. ,

Three wide thoroughfares led to the Cathedral, and I do not j
know what originally minded artist had conceived the ingenious}
idea of painting the roofs of the houses in the first street withj
representations of events in sacred history ; on those of the second i<
street, all the annals of Pagan nations ; on those of the third, allj
the history of France.

Nevertheless, from these pictures our pupil learnt his hJstory. J

From the sacred historical representations he learned nearly!
as much as a little peasant lad of our own days can learn from the ]
Introduction to his Catechism. He passed rapidly before the first J
painting, in which the unsophisticated brush of the artist had '
represented the creation of the world by the Creator, Who was and i
is for all time ; Who sees everything from his throne on high ; '
Who makes the birds fly, causes the grass to grow, the flowers to -
flourish ; and who with his own hands fashioned and formed man i
and woman. t !

Paradise detained the youthful spectator longer, and he was |

* Gaston, Paris ; Pilgrimage to Jci-usalem.

•)■ Ogier : "Kenans de M on tauban." j

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 133

particularly struck by the first of the dramas of which our Earth
was the theatre. He examined with much curiosity that Adam
and Eve by whom the world was peopled [do)xt li mont est peuples
— Fierabras), and with grief saw them both succumb to the deceit-
ful machinations of Satan {Vengien dii Satcnas felon) . In vain did
his tutor point out that Satan did not enjoy one single hour of
Heaven, whereas Adam was happy there for seven hours ; * this
legend did not console the youth.

It mattered little to him that the first man had thirty sons and
thirty daughters, and that " he had been buried at Calvary "
{Honore cVAuteuv) ; what really struck and aff'ected him deeply,
was the fact that, since that unhappy day, all the descendants of
Adam are doomed to pain and suffering {en paimie et en frichon).
There was the fact that Cain killed Abel in the desert of Abilant.
There was the Deluge, which engulfed humanity while the Ark
floated on the waters !

It is not without some surprise that our scholar learned that
** All free men are descended from Shem, the serfs from Ham, and
the knights from Japhet." So he could at anyrate congratulate
himself upon a good genealogy. The picture of the Tower of Babel
did not appeal sufficiently to his feelings, but rather amused him
too much ; and there did not appear to him anything remarkable
in the fact of the terrified men suddenly breaking into speech in
ninety and nine diff'erent languages, and no longer understanding
each other in the least — when one asked for a stone the other
understood him to want cement {Qui dermandoit le jnerre chins
e nten doi t ch im ent).\

On the other hand the pupil could not regard without real grief,
" the baron Abraham about to sacrifice his son, whom the Angel of
the Lord took in his arms and carried up to Heaven amongst the
Innocents."! Beyond these he was only pleased with great battles
and great miracles. He followed with interest Joshua, the Judges,
and the Kings, when they valiantly pursued and put to flight all
the horrible Canaanitish people by whom they were surrounded.
" Why was I not there ? " he cried, quivering with excitement.

* Honore irAuteur : " De Imagine Mundi."
t Bastars de Bullion.
X Amis et Amiles.

134 CHIVALRY.

But there were three miracles which included for him the whole
history of the Old Testament ; these three miracles, which in the
Middle Ages enjoyed so great popularity — an incomparable popu-
larity, which extends back even to the epoch of the Catacombs —
were —

(1.) Daniel in the Lions' Den.

(2.) Jonah in the Whale's belly.

(3.) The Three Children in the Fiery Furnace.

Thence, in one bound, our young pupil hurried to the time of
the Saviour, casting a longing look, as he passed, at Judas Macca-
beus, who had so many claims to enter into the corps cVelite which
was called — or was to be called — the Nine Champions (" Les neuf
preux"). But we find the student contemplating the Star of
Bethlehem and the Holy Child born of a pure Virgin. He was
acquainted with the life of the Saviour better than with the
incidents in the life of his own father ; but in it there were also
certain occurrences which had more attraction for him and which
he liked better than others, and which dwelt more vividly in his
memory.

Merely mentioning in this connection the Marriage Feast at
Cana, which always pleased him (and in which he transformed the
host of the Evangelist, the Architriclinus into Saint Architriclinus),
the chief incidents which appealed to him were the Raising of
Lazarus ; the repentance of Mary Magdalene, who washed His
feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair ; and the
miraculous conversion of that Longin who was blind. He could
read and relate the incidents of the Passion, weeping copiously over
them ; the terrible Crucifixion inflicted by Marcus and Jonatas.*
the crown of thorns, and the interment in the tomb (which the
hatred race of Saracens had so long held in possession, to the
shame of the Christian Race) ; the " descent into hell," the resur-
rection the third day and the ascent into the Heavens, where are
no iniquitous judges, nor wicked barons ; no cowards nor traitors.

Such is the Scripture History studied by the young Feudal
Baron. He knows neither much less nor much more ; and, to tell

* These two names were chosen to represent the two nations that were responsible
or our Saviour's death : Marcus referring to the Romans, and Jonatas to the
Jews.

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 135

the truth, mingles with it many ridiculous legends borrowed from
apocryphal gospels, and I know not what puerile and silly super-
stitions. But, when all has been said, we have shown the exact
extent of his knowledge; for we have been careful to search
principally the volumes of the " Chansons de geste," the old
poetry, which lay upon his father's table, which was popular, and
which formed an Encyclopaedia within his reach.

The painted and stained-glass windows, work of the clergy, had
a more erudite tone about them, and were not always clear to the
youthful noble. The tapestries and the pictures held a middle
place between the epic poems and the stained windows ; and it is
upon them that we would fix the attention of our readers.

X.

Of profane history our youthful baron is almost entirely ignorant,
and he has some difficulty in understanding the pictures which
decorate the squares and streets of his native town. Three
episodes, three names, sum up in his mind the whole history of
humanity before the Christian Era, outside the true people's of
Scripture — Troy, Alexander, Caesar.

The rest is night ; the rest is nothing.

The history of Troy seems to him scarcely more than a chivalrous
episode, and he pictures the Greeks and Trojans simply as knights,
like knights of his o^vn time, helmeted, arrayed in armour, lance in
hand. No idea of local colour has ever entered his head, and the
fair Helen, in his imagination, resembles a young cMtelaine of a
neighbouring castle. The same long, fair tresses, the same high
colour, the same coquettish manner and appearance, of which the
youth, fortunately for himself, does not take any particular notice.

To speak frankly, he prefers Hector to Achilles, and, for my
part, I congratulate him on his choice ; that taste for the
vanquished is a Christian trait, and I should not be surprised one
day to see him admit Hector, instead of his conqueror, amongst the
" Nine Champions." The sympathy which our future knight
professes for the Trojans is so much the more surprising, inasmuch
as he quite seriously considers France as a sort of colony of " Troy

[36 CHIVALRY

the Great," and that strange legend is in circulation in his 1
neighbourhood. ;

But the glamour of old Homeric fictions, although distorted by \
twenty unintelligent copyists, is sufficient to captivate him for a \
long while. Achilles, the Warrior ; the beautiful Helen, ** q\d \
tant Jist a j^risier,^' whom Paris ^' emhla a Menelaiis,'" and whom j
^^ Menelaus conquist puis a VacieVy'' ^' Quant chil de Troie furent j
terit essillie ; " old Priam with *^la harhe cheniie;^' and the ten j
years' siege, during which 870,000 Greeks and 680,000 Trojans I
were slain, — all these descriptions carry the imagination of our ^
young pupil into dreamland and to the ideal. j

On the day upon which the warriors showed to young Alexander \
the pictures in his tent which represented the taking of Troy : " It -^
is thus," said the son of Philip, "that I will treat the kingdom of \
Persia." Our youthful warrior is less ambitious, and when the |
same history of the fall of Ilion is presented to him, he contents \
himself with sajdng to himself, "I would rather resemble Hector." I

More popular still is the history of Alexander, which only J
reached the readers of the Twelfth Century with all the legendary i
embellishment of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, overlaid with ridiculous \
fictions and ornament in very bad taste. This history of
Alexander would almost appear to have been a veritable magnet to
which were successively attracted by the simple force of circum-
stances, all the myths, superstitions, and fables of antiquity. Not
Caesar himself— no, not even Caesar — has been a magnet so power-
ful ! and he has not given such a stimulus to the oriental
imagination.

Even had this marvellous history not been represented on
popular tapestries and in the street decorations we have mentioned,
our youth would certainly have become acquainted with it from
other sources. However, he had learnt it ; he knew by heart this
marvellous legend, and could repeat it throughout. He knew
all about the youthful days of Alexander, and how he conquered
Bucifal : —

* ' Monet fu lies Alixandres quant il vit le ceval
Qui vers lui s'umelie et ne li fit nul mal. " j

Our Feudal Youth often compared the education which Aristotle of
Athens gave the young prince with that which he himself received

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 137

in France. He saw the son of Philip triumph over a Grecian
prince, whom he called Nicholas ; saw him create twelve peers, all
like Charlemagne ; saw him invest Athens ; accept proudly the
defiance of King Darius; initiate the great war hy the famous
advance through the defiles of Cilicia to Issus ; saw him lay siege
to Tyre ; defeat the Persians in the great battle of Pylos ; punish
mercifully the miserable wretches who " Daire lor signor lige ont
mort en traison ; " saw him descend to the bottom of the sea in
" un moult riche tonncl qui f 11 cle voirre hlanc ; " sail to India under
the guidance of king Porus, who had been his mortal enemy, and
reach with him the famous pillars of Hercules ; saw how he
escaped from the Sirens, and from twenty other enchantments not
less dangerous, and not less astonishing ; how he took the
miraculous bath which all knights take at the fountain which
springs from the Eiver of Paradise ; saw him stop before the
prophetic trees, interrogate them concerning his destiny, and learn
from them that he would die in one year and one month ; saw him
resume the war, and march, after many successive victories, to
Babylon; saw him bring into subjection the country of the
Amazons, where there were only women, and whose Queen, Amabel,
came to do homage at the head of a thousand virgins — '^ laissant
dehors la crine qui pent hloic.''' Our pupil beheld all this, and
then saw the hero die, poisoned by the felon Antipater, lamented
by the entire world, and having but one regret, that he had not
time to conquer France — the head of the world — arid Paris, which
it had created its capital.

So lived, so died, Alexander ; and it was in this form that our
pupil loved to relate the marvellous history, which, for him, was
more amusing, more varied, and much more sparkling and interest-
ing than any fairy tales.

We must state, or rather repeat, that Caesar, more modern, and
throughout less legendary than the son of Philip, did not stand out
so clearly in the Middle Ages as did Alexander. He did not
appear to our ancestors with the same halo, with the same star
in his forehead. They were reduced, to do him honour, to
translate the Pharsales into verse, and these verses were very
mediocre.

Our young baron himself was really too intelligent to accept as

138 CHIVALRY.

correct the bungling statements of the wicked author of Auheron,
who stupidly makes Julius Caesar the happy son of Brunehant, the
happy husband of the Fairy Morgue, the happy father of the illus-
trious dwarf, who was the friend of Huon of Bordeaux. Although
represented on the tapestries, these fables irritated him, and two
ideas perturbed his mind — that Caesar had been one day master of
the world, and that his murderers — a strange thing — had been the
ancestors of Ganelon. How could he reconcile these ideas with
each other ? He knew nothing of the facts himself, and we must
here respect the candour of his ignorance.

France ! Here is France, and the heart of our future knight beats
more quickly in spite of himself, when he finds himself before the
popular pictures which are devoted to the history of his country.
Greece and Kome have disappeared. France, that he loves, re-
mains. Do not question this love, profound and sincere ; do not
demand the form which it had assumed in 1789 — that would be
neither scientific nor reasonable. He loved a France which was
composed of fifty of our Departments, which had thirty others —
those in the south — as tributaries. The limits were rather vague,
but the aJBfection was precise enough. With it he held a thousand
curious errors, which have met with a strange fortune in the world.
Where could have arisen the idea that our race was descended from
the Trojans ? And to whom do we owe the first conception of such
a strange idea ? From Fredegaire, past the author of Gesta regiumy
past Paul Diacre, Aimoin, Sigebert de Gembloux, and Vincent de
Beauvais, it was accepted by the clergy, and has scarcely made way
amongst the ignorant, nobles or others.

Besides, the legend is of the most childish description, and takes
liberties with history which cause one to smile. The good Philip
Mouskes, following twenty other writers, tells the tale with an art-
lessness which loses none of its effect. He says : —

"When the Trojans had been obliged to fly from their burning
city some of the fugitives took refuge in Pannonia, which is now-a-
days known as Hungary, where they built a city which they called
Sicamber."

So much for Sicamber ; but it is also a very curious circumstance
that we are suddenly transported to the epoch of Valentinian the
First. This emperor, threatened by the Alains, threw himself into

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 139

the arms of the Trojans, and forgave them their tribute for a period
of ten years.

The Sicambrians came to his assistance, but there was no neces-
sity after these ten years to claim any tribute whateyer from them.
They determined to be independent, and in this laudable endeavour
conquered the whole of Gaul. Upon that died Antenor — who, we
should have thought, had died long before — and it is a fortunate
circumstance that we are enabled to find a son of Priam, Marco-
mirus, who was the first King of " Gaille." His son was Phara-
mond, and the rest is plain enough. What history ! And how
beautiful is truth !

These Trojan " origines " were not very popular, and the youth-
ful baron only became acquainted with them through the statements
of his clerical tutors or through some jongleur more learned than
his fellows. The great incursions of the Barbarians, left on his
mind a deeper impression ; he knew that there had been a very
solemn hour in our history — one terrible hour when the Vandres
nearly nipped France in the bud. Now the Vandres, in his esti-
mation, were not only the Vandals of the year 406, but also all the
German and Finnish tribes. He did not distinguish them very
clearly from the Saracens, and attributed the honour of their defeat
to a Charles Martel, whom he was inclined to mix up with Charle-
magne : and so on.

Of the illustrious Clovis, to whom we are indebted for the first
real attempt to solidify our national unity — of that grand soldier
and politician he scarcely knew the name.

" He was," he used to say, " a Saracen, who for twenty-six years
persecuted the Christians, hanging or quartering them. But God
loved him so much that he caused him to be baptised at Saint
Denis, and since then, he has been more than ever valiant and cele-
brated in poetry."

Such was the whole history of the first King of France who
became a Christian.

From Clovis our scholar makes one leap down to Charlemagne,
and for him the whole history of France is centred in the " monarch
with the florid beard." The son of Pepin is followed in imagination
from his cradle to his grave, with an attention begotten of admira-
tion and afi'ection. He contemplates, with an almost educated

I40 CHIVALRY,

enthusiasm, the series of paintings which the popular artists had
devoted to him.

A medallion first showed him the youthful Charles in pagan
Spain, where he had taken refuge under the name of Mainet, in
order to escape the traitors who had usurped his father's throne.
The future emperor soon ascertains from what stock he has sprung,
and offers to a beautiful Saracen maiden, the lovely Galien, the
charming first-fruits of his coming glory.

A second picture represents him in Rome, into which he has
triumphantly reconducted the Pope with the powerful aid of the
Dane Ogier ; a third painting introduces us to the battle-field of
Aspremont in Southern Italy, from which Charlemagne drove and
dispersed the invading Arabs, and where he was witness of the first
exploits of his nephew Roland. The three following scenes repre-
sent the grand struggles of the King of France against his revolted
vassals — against Girard de Yiane whom our painter has unfortu-
nately confused with Girard de Roussillon, against Ogier the Dane,
and against the four sons of Aymon.

Then again we perceive the great emperor in Jerusalem, where he
is represented kissing the Holy Sepulchre and bathing it with his
tears ; and at Constantinople, whence he carries home the relics of
the Passion. Afterwards the whole of the incidents of the war in
Spain are unfolded to the eyes of our typical pupil, as to our own,
in a series of original illustrations strongly accentuated, which
terminate with the gigantic figure of Roland, dying hard by the
corpses of eleven other peers on a hill from which Spain can be
seen.

There remains for us now only to view in our mind's eyes, or
with our bodily vision, the horrible, the interminable war of
Charles against the Saxons and their King Guitechin : but the
closing years of such a splendid life have not, alas ! the victorious
character of the former decades. Charles, ere he died, sadly placed
the golden crown on the head of a weak and unstable successor,
who was surrounded by traitors and succumbed to their machi-
nations.

Nevertheless Providence did not permit such crime to triumph,
and sent to Louis the illustrious liberator of Christianity and
France called William, " au fier bras," or William of Orange : a

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 141

hero comparable to Charles himself, who, after having punished the
traitors and raised up the throne of the new emperor, was beaten by
the Pagan hordes at Aliscans, and finally triumphed over the
accursed race in a subsequent engagement fought on the
same field, the memory of which has filled the Middle Ages with
its glories.

After Aliscans, our future knight knows nothing of our history.
He loses himself amongst all our Charleses and Louises, and
arrives without transition at the council at which the Frst Crusade
was preached by the " Apostle of Rome." The leap is prodigious,
but the youth has no doubt it is all right.

There ! we are now acquainted with all his knowledge. It must,
however, be stated in conclusion that this is the maximum of the
instruction given or absorbed, and all the youthful nobles were not
so conversant with all the subjects of which we have attributed a
knowledge to our typical pupil.

We do not wish to exaggerate in anything.

XI.

The education and training of the body were, in fact, held most
in esteem by these military-minded and rude generations, and it
would be wrong to exaggerate the importance of these practices.

From the age of seven to fifteen, the youth was particularly in-
structed in fencing and hunting, and we need here only refer to horse-
manship, of which even before that age the child had mastered the
rudiments. About this time he began to live familiarly, I had almost
written fraternally, with his horse, and did nothing without his
companionship.

Fenciug, however, cost the youthful aspirant more trouble, and
was sometimes quite a business. If good fencing-masters could
not be procured in the country, the youth was sent away to the
residence of some more accomplished knight.

*' Remember," his friends would say, " that some day you will
be too happy to possess such science and skill, and your
enemies, (for you will have enemies,) will know something about
it."

142 CHIVALRY.

There were as many kinds of fencing as there were arms : fenc-
ing with the sword, lance-practice, and single stick. It was to this
last-mentioned exercise that Auhrey the Burgundian was one day
/Challenged, and which he accepted with very great repugnance.
\ Fencing was generally the chief amusement, the favourite pastime
< of young people : while the elders played gravely at backgammon or
/ chess, more probably the bachelors after dinner would amuse
( themselves in fencing or in leaping in the field. Do we not
remember the delightful description given by the author of
Roland ?

'* Under a pine-tree near a briar is a massive gold chair. In it is
seated the king who holds sweet France. His form is handsome as
his features. Fifteen thousand knights of fair France are seated
around him on the greensward. The oldest are playing chess, the
youths are fencing."

It is not difficult to reproduce this scene which took place in a
meadow one lovely day before the entire court, ere the arrival of the
infidel messengers. But it must be added that the sight was not
always so pleasing, and nothing could be more dangerous than these
encounters at times, nothing more fatal than these factitious duels
in their results. The young men were hot-blooded and very
quickly quarrelled : these quarrels led to jealousies and blows. After
amusing themselves they killed each other !

One of the principal peripetia of the wild romance of Raoul de
Camhrai, is just the death of the two sons of Hernaut de Douai,
who were killed on Easter Sunday after a fencing-bout. What evil •
resulted from this murder, against which the poet does not suffi-
ciently inveigh ! What blood was shed ! What crimes com-
mitted !

The chase presented less danger with greater attractions. He
cannot know the society of the middle ages who is not acquainted
with the passionate pleasure which our ancestors had for the chase.
After war it was their passion, their life. Those castles of the
Twelfth Century, notwithstanding the pleasing aspect which
ingenious painters have bestowed on them, those great heavy
chateaux were gloomy dwelling-places, and their inhabitants, when-
ever they could, sought the open air. Covered with forests which
the lieges were in no hurry to clear, and in which great wild boars

-ui

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT 143

and magnificent stags roamed freely, — France was specially suited
to the sporting tastes of our barons : but as a result of this, the
chase became a veritable science, very complicated, and a very
serious business for which a long apprenticeship was absolutely
necessary. It was a business which the youthful noble learnt
between his seventh and fourteenth years, and we will glance at the
working of it.

The youths, as we have just said, commenced to learn the
elements of the chase at the age of seven, and for their instruction
bows and arrows of a size and strength suitable to such young
hunters were made. There were instructors, professors of the
chase. The course of study naturally divided itself into two parts,
Venery on the one part and Falconry on the other/ The latter
formed quite a science of itself, very extensive in its ramifica-
tions, very abstruse : and the four principal lessons in which may
be said to have borne these significant titles —

(1.) How to fly the birds.

(2.) How to feed the birds.

(3.) How to call the birds.

(4.) How to hold the birds.

It will therefore be understood that a considerable time would
elapse before the pupil would be able to really profit by the lessons
of his master, and ere he could exclaim proudly with the youthful
Huon de Bordeaux —

" I know how to mew the hawks, I can hunt the wild boar and
«tag : I know how to wind the horn when I have slain the animal,
I know how to give the quarry to the hounds."

That is what one may term a good education, and we may say so
in all seriousness. For we must not judge the manners of the
Twelfth Century by our own, and there is no worse historian than
he who compares and refers everything to the circumstances of the
epoch in which he is living.

Let us rather transport ourselves in imagination into one of
those old forests which existed in the neighbourhood of the
chateaux : in such woods as this our young noble passed two-
thirds of his life, like a rough well-made fellow who breathes the
fresh air simply and solely like a countryman, but is not idyllic.
"What he sees, what he seeks in the depths of the forests are not

144 CHIVALRY.

the streams or the flowers, but the track of the wild boar or the .
stag in the damp ground or in the light grass. He is a realist, |
but a true one. These will be the occupations and passions of his |
whole life, with the addition of war for which the chase is merely
an apprenticeship. What was Ganelon's reproach to Eoland, to
the greatest of our legendary knights ? It was for passing a whole
day in the pursuit of a hare or a brace of plover ! And when one ;
of our ancient poets wished to eulogise the greatest of our historic •
knights — Godfrey de Bouillon, of whom no one can speak without
feeling his heart beat the faster, *' He would fight the infidel rather
than possess pure gold and silver money, rather than amuse
himself hunting or in flying the hawks." What, rather than fly \
the falcons ? This is saying a great deal in a few words ! !

So, as we have stated, the youthful baron was accustomed to live '
in the woods, in the midst of the forest occupied by the game he
was learning to know and to hunt. On his return to the castle he j
would proceed to visit his harriers, or the hawks in his father's '
mews, ^' Faucons sur perche avez, et vair et gris.'^ Those who had ;
such as these were counted rich. To possess '* birds of chase" S
and furs was to be considered a millionnaire many times over. If
one wished to make a handsome present — notably to a lady — one
sent a falcon. Nothing could be more polite. Children had their
own dogs and falcons, and attached a high value to them. Many
charming episodes in our Chansons set forth in brilliant colours ■;
this " savage passion" of the youthful " noble," that love for the i
hound or for the hawk, stronger than any other love : for the t
young ladies were only relegated to the second rank : longo <:'.
jwoximo intervallo / m

Vivien was the son of Garni d'Anseiine : the grandson of
Amieri de Narbonne, and the nephew of the great William of
Orano^e. But the poor Vivien, alas ! was as a child handed over
and delivered to the Saracens in order to preserve his father's life,
and the King Gormond, a Danish pirate, one day took possession
of him, and sold him for a hundred marks to the wife of a
merchant named Godfrey. This woman passed him off" as her son,
and att(3mpted to give him a good education to fit him for a
tradesman and a merchant.

But the old blood was in his veins — the old blood was there —

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT 145

the vocation was there, and the son, the grandson, the nephew of
chivah'ous heroes, Vivien, had only the tastes and appetites of the
knight. The merchant said to him —

** I am ahout to teach you how to buy and sell ! "

"■ No," replied the youth, who was eight years old. "I do not
want anything but a horse, two hounds, and a hawk ! "

He was so very anxious to possess them, and so determined,
that on one occasion, when intrusted by the merchant with some
negotiation in business, one fine morning he exchanged one
hundred bales of merchandise for the much desired hounds and
hawk. We need scarcely ask whether he was not beaten, but the
blows could effect nothing, and with a simplicity worthy of a better
cause, the child said to his patron who had beaten him —

*' I assure you, my father, that these harriers are excellent
animals ! " That was the feudal youth all over !

The youthful Hervis of Metz bore a striking resemblance to
Vivien, and they vainly endeavoured to make him a merchant.
His blood revolted at it, his nobility revealed itself to him. His
employers conceived the unfortunate idea of sending Hervis to
the fair of Provins, and there he purchased for three thousand
marks (paid on the nail, if you please), a charger, a falcon, and a
harrier. They were expensive. Ah, how the barons of the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries laughed as they listened to these
recitals of incidents which were so entirely in conformity with
their most cherished habits and tastes !

This was the comic side of the question ; but the love of the
3^ouths for the chase and for the animals they used to hunt, gave
rise to narratives otherwise dramatic. The great duel between
Oliver and Roland, that never-to-be-forgotten encounter under the
walls of Vienna, which has had the honour to tempt the pen of
Victor Hugo to a description — do you know what the cause of that
celebrated duel was ? A hawk ! It happened as follows : —

One morning Roland came forth from the French camp, falcon
on wrist, and perceived a mallard flying over Vienna. The young
knight unhooded, and let fly his hawk, killed two mallards and two
ducks, but by chance he lost his hawk in an orchard. Oliver
hurried thither and called the bird to him, which, being well
trained, came down and perched upon his left arm.

J46 CHIVALRY.

Boland had seen the whole afi'air and got into a terrible rage. 1

" Who are you ? " he shouted to Oliver. ;

" I am called Oliver de Gennes," he replied, ** and I am the son ;
of Count Eenier. My uncle is Girard the Proud, whom Charles !
banished from Vienna by great treachery and treason. And whom \
do you call yourself? " 1

" My friend," replied the other, *' they call me Roland, and I am
the nephew of Charles, the mighty Emperor. I will cause your
uncle Girard to be hanged. Meanwhile I will trouble you for my j
hawk." \

The young men then proceeded to vilify and to threaten each other. <
The scene was of the most primitive order, and one must be very ;
blind not to perceive the plain analogies between this poetry and j
Homer's. \

All youths of the period of which we are speaking were fond of ^
the chase, but there were many of them who preferred falconry and ,
others venery. The former " went in " for birds ; the latter for !
hounds. These different pursuits gave rise to interminable ;
discussions in those peaceful intervals of leisure which the barons j
sometimes enjoyed in their castles, where life was not without '
monotony and where ennui was not always absent. Thus — ^

" Can anyone," a lover of falconry would say — " Can anyone \
imagine anything more beautiful than a properly dressed falcon ? \
It is even a delightful pleasure to take it from its nest when young.
It is true that such an undertaking is not without danger, and i^
that one must climb the trees to catch the young hawks, in j
pursuit of which many a brave man has broken his neck. |
But how delightful it is when the birds are captured and when we '
begin to educate them in their demure^ when we sew the pupils, \
when we trim and point the claws, when we attach the jesses and a
the bells to their feet. And how delightful is the noise of their |
campanelle. I prefer the jingle of their bells to the most beautiful ^
songs of the troubadours. • j

**But I must say I would rather have the hawks in their wild 1
state, and their * setting up ' is the most picturesque and most
lively. One can imagine nothing more droll than the sack, the ]
maileolet in which the bird is enclosed in order to * doctor its eyes ' j
or to trim its claws. And what sight more pleasing than to see it |

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 147

sit on its perch or on a scdxle on which the hawks hold themselves
so upright and motionless.

" Still the joy which exceeds in joyfulness all mundane delights,
is when on some fine September morning under a blue sky, and in
the fresh air, the cavalcade quits the chateau, the ladies riding
alongside their knights, the huntsmen and their wives carrying on
their leather gloves the beautiful hawks, monteniers of four mues ;
and all this little army of horsemen and horsewomen hurrying
gaily forward in pursuit of the crane, the heron, the mallard, and
the lapwing.

" The pages and the youths are not in the first flight. They let
fly and cast ofif their hawks at the first game they can perceive : the
bird darts off, makes her point, darts down upon her quarry, plunges
her talons in its flesh, and couches on her prey until the arrival of
the hunter, who takes the bird up and replaces her on his wrist.

" Such enjoyment as this is far superior to all your great hounds
and their endless baying and barking, and your ignorant huntsmen
with absurd and ill -justified pretentions. Venery is but a habit :
Falconry is an art."

These are the arguments of the falconer, and before inditing the
reply of the huntsman, we will give our young readers some few
particulars concerning the training of the hawks for the chase.
Considerable skill and science were necessary in this training of
the birds — now almost a lost art. We will now proceed to give our
readers an idea of an elementary course of the falconry of the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries. There is an excellent and
celebrated treatise, De arte Venandi of the Emperor Frederic the
Second, in which the details are very clearly given, and to which
we are partly indebted for our explanation, only putting the in-
formation in a more simple style.

I. — THE VARIOUS SPECIES OF BIRDS FOR HAWKING.

These are the Gerfalcon, the Sacre, the Pilgrim (pelerin) or
passager, the Gentil and the Lanier.

{a) The Gerfalcon is of all the superior and of the best flight ; it
also is the best proportioned. Its plumage is grey or white,
but the white variety is the most valuable and sought after.

L 2

148 CHIVALRY,

(h) The Sacre has a rounded head, the beak shorter, the neck
more delicate, the feathers longer, the claws shorter than
the Gerfalcon.

(c) The Pelerin or passager ought to have the cere (or skin of

the beak) and the feet, of a greenish hue.

(d) The Gentil falcon is only a variety of the Pelerin ; it has a

smaller head : the feet are also smaller, and the colouring
less brilliant.

(e) The Lanier is inferior to the Gentil, and has a more slender

neck, the body long and fleshy, the feet blue, short and

thick.
Every species of hawk emigrates every year in order to pursue
the migratory birds upon which it preys. The Pelerins are taken
in October, and the Gentil falcons in the months of June and
September.

A falcon taken from its nest in the wild state is called a ramage
falcon : those taken from the nest very young, are termed mais
hawks. The merlins, goshawks, sparrow hawks and gerfalcons are
termed wrist-birds {oiseaux de poing).

We now pass on to the —

II. — NIAIS FALCON, AND ITS EDUCATION.

It is by no means an easy task to capture the young falcons in
the nest, which is situated at the top of a high tree, or on the i
summit of a rock. As soon as the young birds have been captured it ]
is necessary to protect them with the greatest care from cold, rain and ^
hail. For this purpose the master of the hawks, places them in a;j
demure which ought to be elevated in the air, and in these "cotes,"';']
furnished with a pan in which the young falcons can have their'
bath. It is not necessary that the demure should be placed very !
near a wood, which might prove too attractive to the young falcons. !

1

III. — CONCERNING THE MUE. (tHE CAGE.) ■

The young hawks, when taken from the nest and carried away '
from the parent-birds, undergo the confinement of the mue with 1
great difficulty. The birds are cleaned and purified and placed in

iM

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT. 149

the mue about the middle of April — say St. George's Day, — and
the mue is of two kinds, '* on the stone," or at " liberty," " 8ur la
jpierre, soit en liherte.'' The mue sur la pierre is carried out in a
room far removed from all disturbance, and in this apartment the
falconer sleeps ; he takes the bird out, and is very careful with it.

The mue en liberte, is managed without the assistance of the
falconer, and is a much less costly plan. There are no really good
falcons except those which have passed through the ordeal of the
mue, the falcons and the gos-hawks, muiers. The best are those
'* de quAirtre mues."

IV. — CONCERNING THE FEEDING OF HAWKS.

When a falcon is taken from the nest, it is necessary to avoid
choosing specimens of those birds which live on fish. In feeding
the falcons, in default of the flesh of birds, that of quadrupeds is
used, preference being always given to wild over domesticated
animals. The flesh, which should be a portion of a not too young,
nor yet an old bird, or other animal, should be given to the hawks
bare, and stripped of all the nerves and tendons still warm, or
artificially warmed. It should be cut up upon a wooden table.

If flesh cannot be procured, fresh or re-made cheese should be
substituted for it — stale cheese never ; or, failing cheese, hens'
eggs beaten up and cooked in milk.

V. THE TAMING OF THE HAWK.

To tame a bird of prey is to train him, and there are two methods
of doing this, according to whether the bird is a riiais or a ramage
falcon. If the former, it is deprived of its liberty as soon as it is
old enough to fly. In its demure only one opening is left unclosed;
this is a small door called the treillette orjaiole, and it is only after
four days that, at night time, the falconer proceeds to the opera-
tions of the cilieiire and the rebouchage which we refer to again
farther on.

If the falcon is a wild bird it is enclosed in a maillolet, that Is to
say a kind of small sack of linen, which fits very tightly, and from
which only the head and the extremity of the tail of the bird
protrude. It is in this maillolet or shroud, that the ramage under-

ISO CHIVALRY.

goes all the operations of the cilieure and the rehouchage, while the I
riiais submits to them in the demure.

The first important operation of the taming business is really the
cilieilrej which consists in sewing the eye-balls of the falcon to seel :
it. Then comes the rehouchagey which consists in clipping the •
tird's claws. After that the jesses are put on. That is to say, ,
straps, which ought to be placed sufficiently loose around the feet,
to do no harm to the bird. At the other extremity of a jess, which
is very thin, are two meshes of a hauberk, or two rings fastened '.
together, called tournet which unite the jess to the tether. j

This tether ties the falcon to his perch. Outside these fetters is j
fixed on the foot of the falcon, a little above the jess a little silver |
bell, called a note or campanelle which serves to recall the bird when j
it strays away. To rest the falcon it is placed on the high perch or (
on the sedile. The high perch is elevated above the ground, about ]
on a level with the eyes of a man of ordinary height. The sedile ]
is a cone of wood supported by an iron stem, which is fastened into ■
the ground. To the iron rod is fixed a wooden or iron ring which
holds the tether.

The falconer unseels the hawk by degrees and with the very ,
greatest precautions, so as to accustom his charge by degrees to |
the light. The falconer accustoms himself to carry the bird on I
foot or on horseback. The upper portion of the arm (in some ■<
countries only the right arm is permitted to be used for this ]
purpose) should be held down parallel with the body, with which, I
however, it should not be in contact ; the forearm is held at a right '^'
angle. i

Care must be taken not to hold the hawk too near the face, as
the bird will be alarmed, and it ought to be held with its chest to j
the wind. No falconer is any use if he become intoxicated |
frequently, as his hand will shake, and he will not carry the falcons
properly. The hawks are taken out in the morning, in preference \
when a light rain is falling, and, with a view to excite them, they i
are given what are termed the tiroirs — one consisting of some ]
morsels of fresh meat, the other of a bone or muscle covered with i
feathers. ,

After this the hawk is trained to obey the voice of the falconer, j
his whistle, and even his gestures. To accustom it to throw itself

■1

INFANCY OF THE FUTURE KNIGHT 151

upon its prey, living, the lure is employed. This lure consists of
the image of a bird made in red cloth, fitted with the wings of a
partridge or the skin of a hare.

This lure is attached to a lasso of a greater or less length, which
the falconer twirls around him with considerable rapidity. The
training or taming of which we have been speaking, is carried on
without chapel (sans chapel) ^ but there is another method which
the Emperor Frederic boasts of having imported from the East,
and of which he perfected the mechanism. This is the adeho-
nairisscment avec chapel (hood).

The chapel of the falcon is of supple leather, and takes the form
of the bird's head, which it closely envelopes as far as the neck,
only leaving the beak and nostrils free. The bird is not inducted
into the chapel until the other operations and attachments have
been performed — the trimming of the claws, &c. The chapel
ought to be put on in a dark room with very great precautions
The strap of the chapel passes between the wing and the tail, and
is held by the falconer between his third and fourth fingers.

These are the general principles of the art of falconry. The rest
of the management will depend upon the dexterity and tact of the
individual falconer, and the manner in which he trains the birds to
strike their quarry and to return to him. The study is by no
means an easy one, but it will repay the time and patience expended
on it if hawking should ever be revived.

We will now resume our defence of hunting as set forth by its
votary, who has taken our youthful baron as umpire between the
two enthusiasts for venery and falconry.

" One may easily perceive," replies the lover of the chase, " that
you have not been accustomed to associate with intelligent animals
like my hounds and harriers. The education of one good blood-
hound, I can tell you, requires as much care as do all your falcons,
and at least the beast is fond of you, and reciprocates your caresses.
Do you tell me of your going out hunting, indeed ? The really
animated and delightful scene is on a huntmg morning when we go
forth to chase the stag or the wild boar. There is the pack baying
round you with the beaters, and the attendants with the relays.
The favourite hound is encouraged by name, * Eh, Brochart, hie
away, lad.' Then the hounds are uncoupled and set upon the

152 CHIVALRY.

scent of the game. On, on ! Then the hunt plunges into the
wood, and reposes there in the middle of the day in the leafy-
glades heneath the overhanging trees.

" Then after a while the baying of the hounds again arises, th^y
are again on the scent, they bark, they bay, they have reached the
boar, they attack him ! The enormous beast defends himself
stoutly and fiercely : he places himself against a tree and rolls over
and disembowels ten of the boar-hounds. Blood flows, not only
that of the dogs : the boar's blood ensanguines the sward, and the
noble blood of the huntsman mingles with it. The hounds
redouble their cries and their efforts to avenge their master. The
animal is at length overcome ; pierced with twenty spears he is
nailed to the ground ; dead !

" There ! That is much more exciting than your petty pursuits
of lapwings and partridges, your herons and your cranes. This
chase resembles war much more than your hawking, and is much
more enjoyable ! And, for my part, I only hope that after my
death people will say of me as they said of that great hunter,
Begon de Belin — ' Gentis lions fu, moult Vamoient si chien.^ "

Such were the opinions of the falconer and the huntsman ; such
were the controversies which our future knight heard every day,
and in which he was compelled to take an active part. Sometimes
they even put him in the demure^ so as to compel him to decide
once for all whether he preferred Venery or Falconry. When his
mother was present the youth preferred Falconry, because his
mother did not disdain to hunt with the hawks, and he was pleased
with it. But at the bottom of his heart he was still of the same
opinion as his father, and preferred hunting with the hounds.

Almost every morning he calls Brocharty and sets off to hunt.
On wet days he plays chess, and works hard at the game so as to
become a proficient. By these means he completes his education.

Chess, moreover, is a serious game ; and frivolous people prefer
dice. But our youth is not frivolous, and often asks his father
" When shall I be out of leading strings ? "

Alas, these periods of youth are just the same as all others, and
finish too soon !

CHAPTER VI.

THE YOUTH OF THE BARON.
I.

All that could be learnt in the paternal castle the youth has
learnt. He is now, we will suppose, twelve years old. Already, he
is envious of those who go to seek honour in foreign lands (qui
voiit querre honor en estranc/e contree). He feels himself cooped
up at home, and becomes very restless and weary. This is the
time for him to throw himself into the full tide of the feudal
world-current, far from his own people, in the houses of strangers
— the time for him to learn manliness and the rough side of
life.

But before becoming knights themselves the youthful nobles
were attached to other knights. The lads quitted the paternal
mansion or castle, and went far afield, often for many, many years
to follow a course of Chivalry at the chateau of a master more
severe and more illustrious than their own parents. This new
teacher of the future knight was very often some powerful baron ;
it might be the ** seigneur suzerain," it was sometimes the king
himself.

Monarchs did not consider this education as a charge, but as a
privilege to which they attached great value. There are certain of
our romances which are exclusively anti-feudal, and which attribute
to the emperor alone the power of conferring the honours of
Chivalry : these are historic texts in which one may read how the
prince claimed as a right this education of the youthful nobles in
his palace.

It is at any rate certain that royal personages by these means
affirmed their supremacy over all other seigneurs, created devoted
partisans, and formed the nucleus of an excellent army. We
need scarcely add that these youths embellished and animated

154 CHIVALRY.

the courts at which they resided, " De leur beaute le palais
resplendit.'' *

This custom was not confined to France. Schultz quotes
German texts in support of the same conclusion : Sainte-Palaye
says the same, and also as regards France in particular. The same
custom obtained in Spain, '' In regali curia nutrirenter."

As for the great barons they made a point in this as in other
affairs, of imitating, and following the lead of, the king ; and
attracted to themselves the sons of the knights — their retainers.
So each one had around him a school of Chivalry.

This education of the future knights was called nursing them
(nourrir). "There goes one of my * nurselings' (un de mes
nourris) ! " the baron would say, as he pointed out one of the
youths who was domiciled in his chateau. This was the technical
term. It was very significant.!

The more celebrated a baron was, the greater number of " nurse-
lings " he- had under his charge. When the author of " Eaoul de
Cambrai " wished to pass a eulogism upon his hero, he remarked
that from Cambrai as far as Ponthieu there was not a baron who
had not confided to his charge his son or his nourri, his cousin or
his nephew. I It is true that sometimes the vassals hesitated to
send away their children from them, and in " Jourdain de Blaives "
the traitor Fromont is obliged to display very great firmness when
he desires Renier to leave him the youthful Jourdain in order that
he may prepare him in his course of Chivalry.

But the emperor on such occasions did not hesitate to give the
most peremptory orders concerning the youths. Thus when
Charles sent a mandate one day to Aimeri de Narbonne to cause to
be sent to him his four elder sons at once, without delay, he said —

" They shall serve me six years. Then I will make them
knights, and I will bestow upon them good fiefs."

No one thought of disputing the command ; the young men were
immediately despatched to the Court.

* *' Nunius vero pater ejus fere ab omnibus castellse militibus domicellus filios
petit nutriendos. " — Rodrigo de Toledo.

+ The lads were in fact " nourished " at the residences of the kings or the barons
who educated them.

t " Or n'a baron de ci que en Ponti — Ne li envoit son fil ou son nourri ; Ou son
neveu on son germain cousin." — Raoul de Cambrai, b. 1, p, 21.

YOUTH OF THE BARON.

155

There is no doubt that the education and the **nourriture" of so
many young people plunged the barons and the king into very
great expenditure ; but they indemnified themselves by demanding
from these youths real service near their persons. At a very early
age they appointed them " squires," and we shall see later on that
such an appointment was very far from being a sinecure. Then
the patrons always considered it a fortunate thing to possess a

An episode in the youth of i

numerous following, and paid for it. Now, this assemblage of
youths was the exercising of a kind of patronage. It was the
military and feudal patronage.

The period which we are endeavouring to present to our readers
in many points of view was really very primitive and unsophis-
ticated. Between the nurselings and those who brought them up
there was very soon a distinct line drawn, and nothing was
permitted to break through it. The youthful noble owed to his
instructor a deep and unswerving devotion, and his respect for him
invested it with a filial character. The master was really a second

J 56 CHIVALRY.

father. When Roland in the Entree de Spagne received from his
uncle the most sanguinary insult to which any knight could
submit, when the emperor struck him a blow with his gauntlet in
the face : the knight, insulted, bounded up under the affront,
blushed and trembled with rage ; he rushed upon the king and was
about to strike him : but suddenly he checked himself, his arm fell
powerless to his side.

Now what was the cause of this sudden checking of his passion ;
simply because he remembered that Charles had brought him up
when a young lad !

Later on, at Roncesvalles, when the same Roland was on the
point of rendering up his soul to the angels who were waiting to
receive it, one of his latest thoughts — perhaps the most touching
of all — was still for the instructor of his youth.

" He lies there beneath the pine tree, brave Count Roland,
He recalls to his memory many things —
He remembers all the nations he has conquered,
He dwells upon fair France and the men of his race.
And upon Charlemagne, his lord, who had brought him up."

But there is again another poem in which the " nourriture "
system occupies even a more important place, and this is Raoul de
Camhrai, that " Song of Cannibalism," that epopceia in which
blood flows in great streams, " bank full."

In this poem there are two personages of the first rank, who
attract and retain the reader's observation. These are, on the one
side, the gross and cruel Raoul, who, as we have already seen, set
fire to the convent of Origni, and committed twenty other crimes as
heinous ; on the other side, we have the good vassal Bernier who
had in former days been raised to the rank of knight by Raoul.

Now amongst the nuns of Origni, Raoul had burned Bernier' s
mother. He had done more ; he had insulted his vassal twenty
times, and finished by striking him a violent blow on the head.
You may be astonished to read that Bernier made no reply to these
insults by other insults, to these blows by other blows, and
contented himself by quietly quitting the service of such a brutal
master !

Why ? you may ask, why did he display such mansuetude ?
Because he had been " nourished " by him. This is the sentiment

I

turn

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 157

which animates the whole poem, and the expression of it may be
termed even redundant. It is true that at the termination of the
Chanson, the " nurseling," the former nouri'i, slays his liege lord in
single combat, but only in self-defence en larmoient sur son elme.

Then how bitterly he repented ! "I was mad to kill him ! He
nourished me and made me a knight ! " Full of remorse, which
continued to increase and not to diminish as time went on, Bernier
determined to make honourable amends by undertaking a difficult
and distant pilgrimage ; he died by the dagger of the assassin,
without having been able to forgive himself for having been
compelled to kill Kaoul, " who had nourished him."

In this episode one feels that many centuries of our history live
and move. Is it not so ? Many kindred circumstances and
incidents might be quoted. But the above will suffice to illustrate
the depth of the feudal respect and regard with which those who
had been brought up by knights and barons regarded their former
patrons and masters in Chivalry.

i

II.

Whether brought up in the court of some prince, or in the castle
of some lord, or whether the youthful noble received his education
in Chivalry at the paternal mansion, he was known by various
names, in the various grades to which he attained, and it is
necessary that we should acquaint our readers with the significance
of these. He was first known as a page or damoiseau. But it is
expedient, to clear the ground, that we should inquire whether the
term ** Bachelor " has the same signification, and if it, Like the
preceding terms, means an " aspirant for Chivalry."

It is certain that originally this word was somewhat ambiguous,
as it is referred to a small rural proprietor, and later on, in the age
of feudalism, meant the possessor or owner of a very small domicile
or holding. The haccalarius was a poor but a free and ennobled'*
individual. Briefly, he was a country gentleman, but one possess- '~
ing only a prcediam, and who in response to the ban enrolled
himself alone, without any vassals, in the army of the king, or in
the ost 'the contingent) of some lord.

158 CHIVALRY.

The term, during the period of the Middle Ages, retained its
primitive signification and implied, as often as not, a somewhat
inferior condition, and in any case one verging upon poverty.
This is its original meaning, one very happily embodied in the
following quotation from the Couronnernent Looys —

' ' Bacheler estes, de tere avez mestier. "

and from it the second meaning is naturally derived.*

[In Spain, we may add, the term haccalarius sometimes signified
a person of low character and referred to the rustic who was by no^::|
means noble. Everywhere and always the hachelors are repre- ^
sented as inferior to the counts, viscounts, barons, and even to the -
chdtelains or owners of castles. They are in particular opposed to
the militcs vexilla ferentes of Mathew Paris, to the gamlentes
insignibus vexilli of Rigord ; to the bannerets in fact who possessed
plu7'a et majora prcsdia; and to whom they are plainly inferior.
In an account dated 1340 a.d. we find the sum of thirty sous jiaid
to a banneret, while only fifteen sous — or just half the sum — was
paid to a " chevalier-bachelier." Bachelors were considered as a
second-rate, and even as a third-rate kind of knights — Militcs
secundi ct tertii ordinis, like the minores milites or milites medice
nohilitatis. By some system of ridiculous derivation it has been
stated that *' bachelor " means bas-chevalier.]

By an extension of the sense, easy enough to understand, the
same word was one day employed to indicate the youthful noble, who
being unmarried,! and (his parents being still alive) possessing no
fief, was compelled to surrender himself without a vassal to the ost
of the feudal baron or of the reigning monarch.

We must note here that it was not the idea of iDoverty so much
as youth that w^as in question, and that is how the term bachelor'
came to be synonymous with youthfulness. When in after years .
the notion of " chevalier-banneret " (knight-banneret) became more
clearly defined, and in a manner more official, the bachelor was
placed in contradistinction to the banneret; this opposition is

* The Baccalaria was a kind of rural dignity— ^cc^w rustici species. There were
Bacheleries of five or six manses. The proprietors, or possessors, of the baocalariai
were called Baccalarii.

f They were called varlets d marier.

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 159

clearly shown in the writings of the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries — Messire Fouque, chevalier-banneret — Messire Jehan
Luce, chevaHer-bachelier, &c., &c. The squires came naturally in
the third place.

The knight-banneret was a knight w^ho had already acquired his
fiefs by inheritance or by marriage, and who proudly went forth to
join the army of the king or of the baron with a number of vassals
or retainers serving under his banner.* But still the idea of youth
is implied, and a very excellent definition is given in Foidqiies de
Candle^

*' Joenes hom estes et encor bacheler ; "

and elsewhere —

** Bachelers fut et de joene jovent."+

This delightful youthfulness was, moreover, the military element
upon which princes counted most in really difficult and trying cir-
cumstances. Did the pagan hordes threaten Christianity, did they
menance Rome or France, it was to the bachelors that the appeal
for assistance was addressed ! Having neither wives nor children
the bachelors feared death least, and were not so dearly attached to
existence {Qi n'orent nifemme ni enfanis). They formed a separate
corps d.armee. They composed the " young guard."

In the great battle of Aspremont, Ogier comported himself
splendidly at the head of a body of two thousand bachelors, and in
that decisive battle against the Emir, in which Charlemagne
avenged the disaster of Roncesvalles, and the death of his nephew
Roland, the first line — the first corps d'armee — w^as composed of
fifteen thousand bachelors of France — '^ de nos meilhcurs vaillanz.'"
In the midst of these picked troops, and to encourage them to noble
deeds, Rabel and Guinemant were conspicuous, the one with the
sword, the other with the horn of Roland. Such relics could not
have been confided to a braver and more devoted guard of honour.

[The second coi-ps d'armee was also composed of fifteen thousand
bachelors of the same race, and in the tenth cchclle (or line) came
the old knights, the barons of France. The distinction is very
marked.]

* A bachelor could " by age " become a banneret.

t Bachelor in other old poems is used as synonymous with youth. See Eaoul dc
CamhraL &c.

i6o CHIVALRY.

In the wars of the feudal period it was still to the bachelors that
the appeal was always addressed. "When the Emperor bestowed
upon Gibouin the fief of Cambrai, Gueri le Sor set forth against
him and hurled at him a brutal defiance — calling upon him as a
** recreant bachelor." When there was any adventure to be under-
taken, any rash enterprise to be entered upon, some more than
ordinary risk to be run, the bachelors, the youths, were called for.
They had nothing to lose and everything to gain — Forward !

So we need only now inquire whether or not the bachelor was a
knight? And in this question consists the most important problem
which we propose to ourselves to solve.

Notwithstanding the authority of illustrious and learned men who
have defined the bachelor as "a young gentleman who aspired to be
a knight," and who held a position between the knight and the
squire, I am of opinion that, with reference to our poems of
Chivalry of the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries, the
bachelor must be regarded as a knight. A knight without fortune,
without fief, a very youthful knight it is true, but still a knight.

Indeed the question need not have been put, and need not be dis-
cussed. It is settled by a hundred texts from our ancient poetry
which leave it in no manner of doubt. When William Fierebrace
returned from hunting he was accompanied by forty bachelors " who
were all newly-dubbed knights " {chevaliers cle novel adobe). So
says the author of The Charroi de Nimes, and the author of Parise
is not less clear when he brings upon the scene a bachelor named
Beuvon who had been recently created a knight.

In the poem Renaus de Montauban the same individuals are
mentioned within the limits of a few verses as knights and bachelors,
and from the context one can perceive very clearly that the two
words have exactly the same signification and value. Aiol is de-
scribed as having been for a long while a knight when he is spoken
of as a bachelor. The bachelors in the Chanson de Roland fight
with lance and sword, that is to say, with the same weapons as the
old knights fought, and were nowhere placed in the second rank.
It is thus in every instance, and the few texts which we could quote
in favour of the opposite opinion only serve to bear testimony in
favour of the youthfulness of the bachelors.

But, instead of multiplying such proofs, I prefer to relate a

YOUTH OF THE BARON. i6i

touching episode which I have borrowed from one of our most truly
primitive poems, one of those which should have prevented Cervantes
from WTiting his Don Quixote as he has written it.

The circumstances referred to are these. It was once more
William who was in question, and on his return from the hunting
party to which we have already referred. He came back surrounded
by the sons of princes and counts chasez: the hounds bayed behind
him, the falcons were seated upon the wrists of the satisfied hunts-
men, and they thus made their noisy entry into Paris by the Petit
Pont.

But William's nephew stopped him and put an end to all this
enjoyment.

"You arrive very opportunely, good uncle,*' said he, "for the
emperor has just made distributions among his barons of fiefs,
towns and castles."

" And what has he given me ? " inquired William.

*' Nothing," was the reply. "He has forgotten you, fair uncle,
and me with you ! "

A flush of rage mounted to the features of William. He trembled
with anger, and his glance was terrible to see.

" I will go," he said, " and have some conversation with your
emperor ! "

He mounted the steps which led to the presence-chamber, and
the loud echo of his footsteps^was heard in the palace, as formidable
as those of the Commandatore in Don Juan.

" 'Tis I," he exclaimed, "'tis I ; " and he made as if to insult the
poor emperor, who was trembling like a leaf.

We shall have an opportunity to depict elsewhere this historical
event, but, nevertheless, it is necessary to note here the words of
William, the utterance of that knight who had already rendered
himself celebrated by so many exploits, and who was no longer a
young man.

The son of Charlemagne said to him hesitatingly that, one day in
after times, on the occasion of certain deaths which were supposed
to be imminent, he would be presented with some extensive fief.

" Great Heaven ! " replied the Count, " what a long period of
waiting we poor portionless bachelors are obliged to submit to. I
have not even the means to feed my horse ! "

i62 CHIVALRY.

And a little later he repeated the same idea in different words —

** Great Heavens ! What a time they keep waiting a bachelor
who is of my years ! "

There is certainly in this speech an ironical meaning not difficult
to seize : but the sense of the word bachelor ought to be no longer
in doubt at all. The speech of William is worthy of a treatise to
itself : it quite confirms our system.

Briefly, it is not correct to 'regard the bachelor as merely an
aspirant for Chivalry like a page or a youth {enfant). The ground
is now cleared.

in. !

The term youth {enfant) always and invariably denoted the ;
young man who had not as yet been inducted to the Order of i
Chivalry. The enfances of a hero, refers to the space of time — j
more or less long — which preceded his elevation to the knightly i
dignity, and the poems which are entitled Les Enfances Ogier, Les 3
Knfances Garni, Les Enfances Vivien are devoted to singing the |
praises of youths who had not yet become knights ; from the time '^_
of their birth until the day on which they receive the accolade, and !
the sword. '

It would be easy to prove to demonstration the exactness of this -^
interpretation. In the beautiful and antique chanson attributed to \
Raimbert de Paris, Ogier is called e7?/ani up to the very moment >
of his being dubbed knight. In Girars de Viane and in "all other|
romances we find the same exactness and the same justice in terms. |

The period at which the infancy of a knight terminated is some- .
times represented by our poets as that at which he becomes a j
"new man," so to speak. In this light Aubri, the Burgundian, |
appears to us ; in all his period of infancy he was a brutal, cynical, |
cruel personage, loving strife and bloodshed, and delighting in
administering punishment unjustly.

But scarcely has he become a knight, when lo ! he is trans-
figured ! and the poet is careful to tell us that : —

t.i

Sa legerie est tout remainsuo
Qui il avoit en s'enfance tenue

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 163

that, in fact, he has corrected himself in manners and morals. It
is hardly necessary to add that these conversions were not of long
duration.

The authors of our old poems have not been the only persons
who have adopted this meaning of the term — the Law has conse-
crated it. In the celebrated Observances da royaume d'Aragon
there is a chapter entitled " Of the condition of the infant.'^ He
receives the name of enfangon, and his condition, regulated by the
law, is I'enfanQonnat (infancy). It was established as a principle that
every knight could make an ** infant'* a knight, and the Feudal
hierarchy was, in Aragon, composed of three degrees ; at the top
of the ladder the Richomhres, at the bottom the Enfaiigons, in the
middle the Knights. Nothing can be clearer than this, and we see
once more that our poets display as much precision as lawyers.

Damoiseau has the same significance as Enfant, but with some
shades of difference which we must notice. The word domnicellus
is only the diminutive of dominus, and the damoiseau was always
the son of a more or less powerful baron.

In some countries the title was reserved exclusively for the sons
of sovereign lords — kings ; — the term signifying " little lord " or
seigneuret. In Beam the aristocracy was divided into three prin-
cipal groups, the Barons, the Cavers and the Domengers. The
two latter deserve notice. They were knights.

But, as we shall see further on, one was not created a knight
without being put to very considerable expense. In France and
elsewhere all damoiseaux could not afford such sums as were
deemed necessary, and they remained damoiseaux for a long while
— or perhaps all their lives.

A synonym for damoiseau is Valet. The term valet means
" little vassal " just as damoiseau means " little lord." It was
applied to the youthful noble who had not yet been admitted into
the Order of Chivalry, and who was being prepared to enter it. It
is certain, however, that the word valet has never been like
damoiseau reserved for the sons of kings, and its destiny has
always been somewhat less elevated, but in any case during the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries it never was used in an inferior or
despicable sense.

"When well-born knights considered themselves honoured in

M 2

1 64 CHIVALRY.

being called vassals, gentlemen who had not yet taken rank in
Chivalry did not blush to be called, or to call themselves vassalets ! "
In truth, it was not until a very much later period that the term
was derogatory or humiliating, and we may assign the fourteenth
century as the period in which the decadence of the term first
set in.

The word ** page " has been more fortunate, and has achieved a
contraiy destiny. It was first used to designate a man of a low
position, and almost a "cook's assistant,"* but subsequently
attained the signification of a beautiful and almost etherial being
of whom the librettists of our operas have made such wondrous
use. The avowal is painful, and I am really sorry to displace this
personage who plays such a prominent part in our lyric dramas ;
but it must be confessed that before the time of the Valois one
never thought of inflicting the name of page upon a damoiseau,
upon an eiifant, or upon a valet. In proportion as the valet
descended, the page rose ! He has had his revenge !

On this question we may quote Fanchet. " The word page, till
the time of Charles VI. and Charles YII. seems never to have been ^
bestowed on any but low-class persons such as * garqons de j)i^d * — j
(messenger lads)." t

Up to the present we have only had to do with the terms {enfant,
damoiseau, or valet) which indicate the youthful noble as a platonic J
candidate for Chivalry. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, ^
one word — a single word — " Ecuyer" (Squire) implied certain j
functions.

The Squire was the " enfant," the valet, the damoiseau, called \
upon to perform certain duties personal to the lord who appointed |
him. The duties had something of a domestic character. (We j
read of this little change of position first in Guillaume Guiart.) \

The Squire is the enfant, the vassal, the damoiseau, employed ;
(occupe).

We must now speak of these occupations, which were many, |
varied, and tiresome. So let us glance at the Squire for a
moment. 2

* These were pages of the kitchens and pages of the stables (grooms' assistants),
«ee Biicange, " Pagius."

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 165

IV.

The meaning of the word is not exactly happy or clear, and at
any rate there was some doubt about it in the eleventh century.
In the Chanson de Roland the squires cut a sorry figure beside the
*' gargons " of the army, and it would appear that the squires were
regarded as the villeins or serfs who were charged with the lowest
duties. When Charlemagne in tears made his first painful excur-
sion over the battle-field of Koncesvalles on which reposed the dead
bodies of so many heroes, he gave the most strict orders to Gebouin
and to Otho, to Thibaut of Keims, and to Count Milon, to protect
them.

" You shall guard this field, these valleys, and these mountains.
Let the dead remain as they have fallen. But be careful that
the lions and other wild animals do not molest them, any more
than the squires and the lads (garcons) ! " He likened the squires
to the wild beasts of prey, and to the scum of the army !

Decidedly, they were then people of very little account.

Certain quotations from writings of the period — the end of the
eleventh and the beginning of the twelfth centuries, principally
Norman and English records — assist us to trace the transformation
of the original meaning, and appear to bring us into the society of
young noblemen, who, under the formerly despised title, are attached
to the persons of the knights. But there are still many points to
be cleared up.

It was about the meeting-time of the eleventh and twelfth cen-
turies, that, by degrees, was regulated the position of the young
noble, charged, during his apprenticeship to Chivalry, with certain
functions in the households of kings and barons. It was about
that time that the noble squire, armiger, scutifer^ scutariuSy saw
his duties defined and regulated.

As soon as the damoiseau arrived at the castle or mansion where
he was to be brought up, he was made a squire. There was no
delay in the transaction.

" Leave me your son," says {in Jourdain de Blaives) the traitor
Fremont to the good Renier. ** Leave me your son. I will arm
him and clothe him until he can sit securely on his horse, and
carry lance and sword.'*

i66 CHIVALRY.

Without an instant's hesitation, the lad was transformed into a
squire, and nothing could he wiser than this immediate induction
into the duties of his position. How long did this apprenticeship
last ? This is not an easy question to answer precisely hy the
light of extracts and texts. Five or seven years, rarely more, and
often less.

As the squire was generally duhhed a knight between the fifteenth
jind one-and- twentieth years of his age, it is easy enough to arrive
at the age of the squires, bearing in mind, that physical weakness
scarcely ever permitted the lads to undertake the duties of squires
before they were twelve years old. This extreme youthfulness was
well fixed, so that the valets or lads should not find their condi-
tions of servitude too rigorous. It would seem that it was
desirable to accentuate their inferiority vis a vis with the knights
in everything.

Thus, in public acts, their names did not appear till after the
superscriptions of the militia.

They had no right to touch a sword. A sword is a holy weapon,
and in the pommel are the bones of the saints ; the sword is a
reliquary !

Then the lance again, in the first severity of the military code,
was interdicted to the squire, who was obliged to console himself by
fighting with a javelin or a pole.

Even the helmet and the hauberk were forbidden to these youths,
and it was with bare heads and without coats of mail that they en-
countered the enemy. But these hardships were subsequently
modified, until the spurs only remained to accentuate the difference
between the knight and the aspirant for knighthood.

It is scarcely necessary to add the poet's verses — •

"Que ne se doit uu cscuier
Armer encontre un chevalier."

These lines from Flore et BlanchefloTy are of a conciseness and
clearness that leave nothing to be desired. In other words, the
squire had no right as against the knight in the duello, nor in gage
of battle. He was not his equal — his peer.

The reader will at once comprehend how such a state of inferi-
ority might often have depressed our youthful nobles, and in those

•-Jrk'

f. ^

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 167

days there was a saying in circulation, " Squires are envious."
But they were able to console themselves in repeating another
proverb, *' The good squire makes a good knight. So wait and
hope."

At a period in which all children were but imperfectly educated,
one must not expect that our young squires were versed in all the
delicacies and sweets of life. They were not spoiled, and there is
a verse in " Garin " which describes them exactly, and which
might then have passed for an axiom. " Li escuier se painent de
servir."

Poor lads ! They certainly did not eat their white bread first,
and that is true literally : for they had to contrast the white bread
of the chateau and the convent, with the squire's bread, panis
armigeroriim, in which the rye and barley occupied the most space.
But at their time of life, one hardly takes notice of the whiteness of
the bread, but cheerfully eats it with avidity as it is.

The most pleasant time for the squires was not the period passed
wearily and slowly in the castles, but on the morn of battle ; and
their first duties, those from which they derived their title, con-
h sisted in carrying their master's shield, and also in arming and dis-
arming him. We may picture these fine young men before the
battle, trotting in front of their lords, seated on their enormous
rojicins, and wearing round their necks, suspended by the gingas of
Eastern stuff", those long large shields of twelfth century pattern which
covered a man on horseback entirely. But they were not entrusted
with the shield alone ; they carried all the arms of the knight, and had
to keep them in good condition ; bright, polished and free from rust.

A battle in the eleventh or twelfth centuries was generally
nothing more than a series of duels. There was no strategy in those
days. The opposing armies arrayed themselves in lines — some-
thing like the array at Solferino, only of greater depth. Behind
each knight was his squire, and this arrangement caused an
erudite gentleman of the last century to remark that the squires
formed a second line of battle (" Sainte Palaye," Memoirs).
Nevertheless, I am of opinion that this regularity of formation
scarcely existed, save in theory, and that there was more disorder
than arrangement.

But it is an established fact, that while the melee was at its

i68 CHIVALRY.

height, the squires held the horses of the harons, the destrier of the
knight in their destre (right hand). For instance, we read :

" Messire Gauvains fut armez
Et si fist a deux escuriers
Mener en destre deus destriers. "

The word destrier answers to a type of had Latin dextrarius — dextra,
right hand. The vassals leaped forward on a ronchin and held the
destrier en destre. At jousts and tourneys the same custom ob-
tained, and to the squires were consigned the horses of the knight's
slain foes, horses being then a source of income, and valuable
property.

In battle the squires led the chargers to their masters as soon as
the foe came in sight. Then the engagement began. Each knight
selected his adversary and charged him with his lance. If the lance
was broken the fight was continued with the sword. The good
squire did not fight at all, and was the anxious witness of many
combats. With his eyes fixed upon his master he followed
anxiously the varying fortunes of the duel, handing to his liege-
lord fresh weapons which he had in reserve ; he was also charged
with the duty of guarding prisoners.

Of course, this attitude of armed inactivity could not last long ;
before the day was over the squires themselves sometimes had en-
gagements on their own account. Under such circumstances, and
on these occasions, which were frequently repeated, they manifested
knightly attributes, and such an one who went as a damoiseau to
the field of battle, quitted it a knight, sword in hand, and proud in
bearing.

But they could not be always fighting, and the chateau was
sought in peace ; and in such periods of rest, the duties of the
squire were very modest and unassuming. Perhaps some reader
may remember the beautiful verse of Victor Hugo in his first
" Legend of the Centuries," in which the Cid is the hero, and which
are entitled " Bivar." An Arab Sheik came to visit the Cid Cam-
peador, and found him prosaically employed in grooming his horse,
rubbing him down, and washing him, and " doing what was the
squire's duty to do." The great poet has here touched the true
note, and this was exactly the squire's duty. It could not have
been better described.

YOUTH 01^ THE BARON. 169

Immediately he had risen in the morning the squire's duty called
him to the stables, where he was destined to pass several hours
every day, curry-comb and brush in hand : first attending to his
master's horses and then to his own. The squire was obliged to be
very particular as regards the shoeing. It was always his duty to
break in the young horses, and he had to get accustomed to this
rough and dangerous exercise. Then he had to watch for his
master's waking, for upon the squire devolved the responsibility of
getting him up and dressing him. If a stranger or a guest arrived
at the castle it was the squire's duty to attend him, to relieve him
of his arms, to look after his horse, and conduct the new arrival to
his chamber, to undress him, to dress him, and to entertain him.

The horn is sounded ! It is the dinner hour, the horn winds a
" water " call, and the guests wash their hands before seating them-
selves at the table. But who has supplied the water ? who has set
out the table, who stands there behind the chair of each dame or
baron, silent, attentive, assiduous ? who hands the bread, who
carves the viands, who pours out the wine ? The squires ; always
the squires, and they congratulate themselves upon being as quick
and clever at all these occupations as the most expert of the atten-
dants. If their lord and master leave his home to travel, they
guard his coffers, which are full of money and jewels. If he pro-
ceed to a tourney, they are delighted to accompany him, and to
perform for him the same offices as in war, calling out his name,
collecting the horses which he has won, and looking after the
** spare armour." At hunting-parties we find the same zeal, and
the same delight in these duties.

The knight is always the " double " of his squire ; they are, so
to speak, inseparable. On the return from the chase, the tourney,
or the battle field, the damoiseaiix, the meschinSy the squires also
receive the baron at the castle gate, and bring him wine.

** The Count Raoul has asked for wine. Fourteen varlets run
to fetch it, all arrayed in ermine ; amongst them is a page, born
at Saint Quintin, son of Hubert Count Palatine. He has seized a
cup of fine gold, full of ferments and wine, and he kneels before the
Palatine Eaoul." The Count, who is in an angry mood, seizes the
cup from the hand of the squire, and utters a cry of hatred directed
against his mortal enemies.

I70 CHIVALRY.

" Listen to me, ye hardy French knights, dj this pure wine
which you see here, hy the sword which is hy my side, and hy the
holy saints, evil, evil, hefall the sons of Hubert." *

Such violence as this fortunately did not often sadden and
disturb the halls of our castles, and the damoiseaux had not often
to be witnesses of such scenes.

Well, it is nightfall again, but the day of our squires has by no
means ended. They have still to disrobe their master, whose bed
they had to make after he had got up that morning ; at any rate,
their duties are then over ? No, for a last glance has to be directed
over the stables, and "rounds " have to be made during the night
over all parts of the castle. After such a day's work as this they
deserve to sleep !

All damoiseaux did not perform the duties of squires, and many ;
certainly did not perform them thoroughly. Nothing in the i
Middle Ages was very rigorous, and there were numerous exceptions '
which are mentioned. One fact is certain, the "infants" were in
the hands of their master, and he was free to employ them near J
his person as he pleased. Thus it came to pass that the varlets \
had sometimes to carry messages for the Barons. This fact \
deserves some little notice. !.

Occasionally a damoiseau was directed to write the letter himself, 4
the bref, which he had to carry, but the writing of the epistle was
usually the act of the clerics. No letter was ever despatched J
without being sealed ; but while the finishing touch is being put to
the toilet (so to speak) of the message, we must not forget the :
messenger. i

Those hissings and noises which we hear from the direction of \
the steps are the sounds of preparation of the horse, the animal \

1
*• Qui est legier pour courre et legier pour aler. " )

The directions are particular. Above all things they say to the i

* Baoul de CambraL m^.

tmv.

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 171

messenger, "Arm yourself, and arm yourself well, for a courier
ought never to be without means of defence."

Then he sets off: where does he carry the letters with which he
is charged ? There in that little box or small barrel hung by a
strap around his neck, he also carries with him the necessary
provisions, bread, cheese, wine ; but he has no sleeping-place, save
under the canopy of Heaven, unless he can find a bed in the house
of some friend.

Would you behold him on his passage ? He sings a merry song,
and has not forgotten to carry with him his hawk, wherewith to
enliven the journey. But, notwithstanding, the way seems long,
and he hastens to reach his destination. As soon as he is in the
presence of the individual to whom he has been sent, he addresses
the person gracefully, and bows respectfully, often giving him a
verbal resume of the letter. His address is polite and pious, some-
what after the following fashion : —

"May the God who has created the world and the sea, and
placed the fishes in it — may that great God give you strength
against your enemies. Here is the letter I have brought you."
Then he hands the letter to the individual to whom it is addressed ;
he breaks the seal and reads it. We know the rest : there is no
need to add more, and we may add for the benefit of sympathetic
souls, that the messenger is well paid for his trouble. He was
even paid twice over ; by the sender and by the recipient of the
letter. Clothing, horses or money; there were few fine things
which were not offered to him — and he accepted them.

But neither fatigue nor presents could prevent our squire from
thinking of the day on which he would become a knight. His
great consolation was that the grade of squire was the last degree
to pass before he arrived at that of knight so greatly desired ! He
kept this fact continually in mind, and counted the days until his
aim should be attained.

Let us count them with him, and profit by this delay, to give a
physical and moral portrait of the youthful candidate for Chivalry.

172 CHIVALRY.

VI. *

With some rare exceptions the heauty of our damoiseaux was of ;

the blonde order. All our heroes were fair men. .

The ideal of mothers, which was that of all wives, was a fine ]

boy, quick and active, with regular features. This accomplished '

young man ought to have golden hair, and even hair of *' more than \

golden hue," as some poets insist. This beautiful hair ought to be <

curly, and curled with the curling-tongs, too ; no other style could j

be permitted. But to the eyes the greatest importance was ^

attached, and there were no eyes beautiful but those of vair colour j

(an heraldic term), " the eyes of a falcon." Even if large, or even j

somewhat ** goggle " eyes with a proud look in them, they did not |

displease. The carnation is white and red, a " carnation of J

blonde," and our poets who praised the golden hair praised, above ;

all attributes, a " skin whiter than silver or crystal." A nose j
straight and thin, a laughing mouth, and I don't know what

species of down to represent a beard. These points constituted the \

personal features of the youth and fresh face. j

As regards the body, the principal desiderata with our poets, and j

the great physical qualities "which they were never tired of praising, ]

were wide chests and shoulders, with otherwise a slender form and j

figure. The chest heart-shaped was almost a sine qua noUy and I

this, in the ideas of our grandfathers, was the supreme and perfect \

beauty. Thus, — I

Par espaulesfus Us^ graislespar la ceinture — I

that is, "broad shoulders and slender waist," is a verse which occurs |
with variations many hundred times in the old " Chansons de gcsteJ" {
The remaining attributes of the squire or damoiseau are of little \
interest, but it was desirable he should possess — and in those days :
people were fond of the young valet with — nervous arms and large !
fists, white hands, and well-trimmed nails ; nor did they disdain
well-turned limbs, " long enough to mount a horse," nor, par- ;
ticularly, well-shaped and arched feet, **pieds hien voltis.'* In ]
two words, they desired in a young man the happy combination of 1
elegance and strength. It would appear that, after all, our grand- j
mothers had not such bad taste.

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 173

Strength, it must be admitted, was held in greater esteem than
good looks, and this preference is not astonishing when we consider
the rude manners and uncultivated tastes of the period. The effe-
minate type of page was the outcome of an epoch of decadence, and
would have had no charm for the burly barons of the twelfth century.

How was Charlemagne, that august ruler of the Christian race,
that Agamemnon of the French epic poetry, represented ? As a
giant seven or eight feet high, who could easily bend three or four
horseshoes, and who could lift, without much difficulty, in his
hands a fullv-armed kni<]^ht ! These are the kind of feats which
are now performed by the Hercules of the village fair ; but our fore-
fathers did not laugh at them, they admired them ! They did not
stop to consider that force was brutal, — it was forces and they
bowed down before it.

However, these strong men have rarely much intelligence, these
Hercules are generally devoid of mind, — their powerful brutality
usually is sufficient for their vulgar admirers. There never has
existed a being more gross, more stupid, and more brutal than the
illustrious Renoart, that friend of William of Orange. Not one
single ray of intelligence illuminated his gross visage, and he never
did anything which was not either silly or cruel. But he was a
giant, a giant of extraordinary strength, who flourished an immense
mace, a tinel with which he, like a butcher in a slaughter-house,
ceased not to beat out the brains of Arabs or Frenchmen. One
day he, with one stroke of this plaything, smashed the skull of a
monk of Brioude who would not exchange garments with him.

Our forefathers considered this very amusing, and laughed at it
till tears rolled down their cheeks. Such a primitive-minded
people, such an infant nation, were really in need of enormous
material force to fight against their enemies, and it was not
desirable to have too bad an opinion of those habits which very
properly shock our delicacy. We now prefer more refined
specimens; our forefathers liked them before all things robust and
strong — " iron-breakers."

For instance, they were hugely delighted, and greatly amused,
always, by a recital of the exploits of the infancy of Roland, such
as are related by a bard but too little known. That most illus-
trious of our knights (Roland) was of enormous size even when he

174 CHIVALRY.

was born. Never before and never since bad or bas sucb a big j
strong cbild been seen. His arms and legs were tbose of a giant ! \
His anger as a cbild was already terrible ! Tbe swaddling-clotbes ]
were regarded by bim as a restraint and an injury. He would not j
permit bimself to be swatbed, and tbumped bis motber furiously, '
struggling in ber arms, wbicb were too feeble to restrain bim. \
Our forefatbers uttered exclamations of admiration and astonisb- ]
ment at tbis, but it is not necessary to regard tbem as more gross ;
tban tbey actually were, and tbey only admired material force. Those ]
old Christians bad a very elevated notion of tbe human soul, and bad \
an idea that if it would be really great it ought to endure here below \
much grief as the true complement of its existence in the world. \

Young Roland, before attaining to celebrity, travelled over tbis j
good and necessary path of misery and adversity. His father I
Milon and bis mother Bertha bad been banned by the great ^
emperor ; they had to fly from the anger of tbe son of Pepin. So
they went away half-clothed, and without food, across country, and
through towns in Italy. Bertha, who was the sister of the King of i
France, pressed young Roland to ber bosom : Milon turned wood-
cutter, so as to be able to support the nephew of Charles. Nothing j
could be more painful and distressing than such a beginning, and no ]
one could have foreseen how Charles eventually was destined to find his j
sister's son, and how he would be reconciled with Roland's mother. \

An expedition undertaken by the French to the Holy City, which !
it was necessary to snatch from the Saracens, a military promenade j
by the emperor into Italy was the means whereby everything was j
arranged. It happened that Charlemagne was, with his whole !
army, proceeding to the town of Sutri, the very place in which I
Roland and his unhappy parents were living. There was a great \
disturbance in the little town, which was not accustomed to such |
excitements, a great noise and tumult of armed men. The j
emperor, installed in his palace, was very generous and open- ;
handed, giving liberally to all who asked bis assistance.

However, there came a visitor whom no one expected. This was i
a youth, fair, " with the eyes of a lion, the sea-dragon, or the
falcon." His beauty was something quite out of the common, and
*' launched rays around him." He was as bold as good-looking, j
and at tbe head of thirty young fellows of his own age penetrated ;

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 175

into the palace as into a conquered city. What he sought under
the gaze of all was not the golden throne on which the emperor was
seated, nor the tapestries on which were embroidered the exploits
of the old knights, nor the Oriental stuffs which were extended
between the pillars, nor the flowers which thickly overspread the
ground. No, no ; he sought something very material indeed, —
the tables ! On them was displayed an exquisite repast ; he began
to eat ! Nothing interests and amuses people who have no appetite
more than to assist other people to satisfy their appetite. You
may remember the beautiful verses of Victor Hugo —

'* Nous mangions notre pain de si bon appetit

Que les fenimes riaient quaud nous passions prfes d'elles."

Charlemagne and his courtiers behaved as these ladies did : they
laughed heartily as they watched the quickness of the fair child
with the blue eyes. They were more astonished to see him carry
away a portion of the banquet which he had kept in reserve.

*'This is for my father and mother," he said, gravely; and he
forthwith carried the viands from the royal table to his parents ;
his mother being the daughter of one king and the sister of
another. The inevitable discovery was made. This wonderful
child of Sutri was Roland ; and Charlemagne, overcome by his
gracefulness, ended " by extending his arms to his sister." Grace-
fulness alone would not have sufficed to obtain such a victory :
material, brutal force had been the useful means. The King of
France, moreover, did not make peaceful overtures to Roland's
mother : he attempted to stab her. But Roland seized him so
violently by the hand that the blood gushed from beneath his nails.
This argument admitted of no reply. But Charles, delighted at
being vanquished by a mere lad, so charming and so strong,
exclaimed, as he gazed enthusiastically upon the youth —

" He will be the falcon of Christianity ! "

Then all ended happily : reconciliation came with tears and in a
Hallelujah of Concord. Roland, however, who was less impressed
than anyone present, looked on, tapping the table and demanding
(0 ! Nature) some more to eat !

However original this episode may be, it must be confessed that
in it grace was too much sacrificed to force, and elegance to gross-

176 CHIVALRY.

ness. There is in it not exactly the *' infant " type of our
romances ; but there is in it none the less the infant complete.
For my own part I prefer the Holand of llenans de Montauban, and
the delightful coolness with which he entered the court of Charle-
magne. On a certain day a great noise was heard in the precincts
of the palace ; quite a " bombardment " of youthful feet. A valet
was seen to descend the staircase, followed by thirty damoiseaux
" de gente faucony Not one of them boasted a beard ; but what a
refined appearance, and what good clothes they wore ! Their young
chief wore an ermine cloak upon his shoulders, he wore heuses —
African boots — and (although he was not yet a knight) golden spurs.

He was well made, upright, and had the head and features of a
true baron. We can only compare his gaze to that of a leopard or
a lion. With determined steps he ascended the staircase of the
palace and came into the presence of the emperor.

"In the name of Him who was crucified, I salute you," he said
to Charles.

And the king replied immediately —

"In the name of Him who ransomed us, I salute you. Who
are you, and whence do you come ? What is your name ? "

" Sire," replied the valet, " they call me Roland, and I am the
son of your sister with the fair face."

Charles listened to him, raised his head, took the " infant " by
the sleeve of his far cloak, and, kissing him four times on the
mouth and chin, replied :

" Fair nephew, we will make a knight of you ! "

*******

We will now quit these scenes, which are both primitive and
charming, and come to the moral aspect of the damoiseau, whose
outward appearance we are now acquainted with, and whose moral
aspect remains to be considered.

The first quality which was desirable, and was exacted from a
candidate for Chivalry, was "to have the vocation." This term is
rather ambiguous in a study of Middle Age literature; but we
must excuse it and take it as it stands. When the valet was
brought up in the paternal castle or in the palace of another baron,
such a " vocation " was only natural. Everything contributed to
entertain and to excite the- youth. There were the interminable

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 177

chaunts of the troubadours after the long dinners, and the reading
of the roughly illuminated old romances. There were the historical
events embroidered upon the tapestries in the castles, or painted on
the large chimneys. The nobleman devoted to the chase and war kept
our fZ(7??io?s^a?6 continually in practice. In fact, he lived amid surround-
ings which only admitted of his becoming a Churchman or a knight,
and we find him most frequently preferring the helmet to the tonsure.

But there were '* vocations " which had a less favourable con-
junction. Some '* infant," nobly born of unknown parents, was
thrown by circumstances into the family of some common persons
who regarded him as common as themselves and brought him up
as a tradesman. A Montmorency educated by a grocer ! Ah,
it was beautiful to see the development of the chivalrous vocation
in the youth. The young noble from his earliest days detests
business, money, petty calculations and economies, and all the
tricks of the trade. The meanness of it annoys him, he reddens
with shame, his heart beats, and he proclaims himself a knight.

Our poets were fond of bringing forward this phase of the
character which developed itself in ** trade " surroundings. I can
imagine that the stout barons laughed heartily when the troubadours
thus sneered at the merchants in their presence. The nobles always
were pleased to laugh at the tradesman and at commerce, and
our bards were sure to succeed in the castle when they " made fun "
of the shop.

On the other hand, I am persuaded that stones would have been
thrown at the ill-advised singer who would have sung in the
open street, the Enfances Vivien or Hervis de Metz ! and before an
audience of tradespeople.

You shall judge for yourselves.

Vivien was the son of that Garin d'Anseiine who on the field of
Roncesvalles and not far from the inanimate body of Roland had
been made prisoner by the infidels. Vivien was the nephew of
Guillaume an fier bras — Vivien is the Roland of the poem of
Aimeri de Narbonne.

"When scarcely seven years old he fell into the hands of Norman
pirates, who hastened to put to sea. He was a lovely child, '* who
had fair hair, curly too, and eyes like a falcon, his skin as white as a
flower in summer." There he is, poor little fellow, in the midst of

N

178 CHIVALRY.

the horses and mules. A female merchant happens to perceive him
and huys him. This lady had always wished to have children ol
her own. *' It is seven years since my husband went away. I wil]
say he is our son and he will believe me."

As a matter of fact this is exactly what happened, and the good
merchant Godefroy is very willing to believe what his wife tellh
him. Even he displays for his son the most tender and touchinfj
affection. It is a good thing to have a son ; it is right and it is
wise to plan out a future for this long-expected heir. " He shall
be a merchant," said the worthy man, and he at once began tc
instruct him in the business.

" I am about to teach you how to buy cloth, corn, pepper, and
cummin, and above all how to sell them," said he.

At these words Yivien blushed and all the blood of the race ol

Aimeri boiled within his breast. A merchant ! He ! He tht

grandson — the son and the nephew of so many heroes. He whc

would have been born a knight, if any one could be born a knight.

Thenceforth began a struggle between the merchant and this

singular apprentice, an incessant struggle, the issue of which it is

not difficult to perceive. It was the ancient, the immortal dispute

'twixt sword and counter, between the villein and the nobleman,

between the real and the ideal. |

" I will teach you weights and measures." \

" No, no," replied the lad, ** I would rather fight." ^

" I will instruct you in money-changing." .j

" Oh, what a delight to exchange some good lance-thrusts ! " '\

" I will shew you the best fairs and best markets." j

" Oh, were I only in the saddle, had I but a good horse, hounds,^

and falcons."

" I will purchase some good cloth for your clothes, and strong^
boots which will last you a long time." \

" The infidels, the infidels ! where are they ? There ! Kill
them ! Take their silver, it is there ! " j

Such is the dialogue which was heard day by day in the housd
of honest Godefroy. Those possessed of quick ears may still hear;
something to the same effect in these days, for the human soul
changeth not.

But the time arrived for Vivien to replace w^ords by deeds. To|

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 179

him was confided one day the sum of one hundred francs to make
his first purchases : he was launched into business. What im-
prudence ! The gold burned the fingers of the future knight.

** Will you sell me that good steed for one hundred francs ? "
said he to a squire who passed him on the road.

The squire relinquished to him his steed on the spot and
pocketed the hundred francs, but our hero found that the good
horse was, alas ! only a wretched hack, and our youthful merchant
had been impudently robbed. Then succeeded the reproaches, the
anger, the fury of Godefroy, who heaped reproaches on Vivien's
head. But our hero was very calm and pleasant notwithstanding
his discomfiture, and gravely asked for the news of the war at
Constantinople !

It was evident that these two minds were destined never to
understand one another. One never thought of anything but of
the picking up of little profits, and of leading his petty circumscribed
tradesman's life in peace and quietness. The other dreamt of
nothing but horses, the chase, and the battle.

"Do you know," said the lad one day to his master, "what I
would do with all your money if I possessed it ? I would build
a big castle w^ith a hall in which we could sit all day and play
chess or draughts."

The unfortunate merchant could by no means understand this
singular idea, and shook his head with a discouraging smile.
Nevertheless he still tried — he committed the fault of making a
last attempt, and sent his son to a fair at Tresai.

This time a regular disaster supervened. Vivien, who had
nothing of the merchant in him, sold three hundred vaivs for sixty
francs (and now-a-days we must reflect a little to properly estimate
the enormity of the crime), and got rid of his merchandise in order
to purchase hawks and hounds.

"Wretch!" exclaimed Godefroy, "you have squandered my
fortune — it is all lost ! "

" You will have some trouble, father, to find better dogs than
these for quail."

He was quite happy under the circumstance, and vainly endeavoured
to cheer up the inconsolable Godefroy. The question was decided.
He must make Vivien a knight, and what a knight he became !

N 2

i8dJ chivalry.

The inclination or " vocation " of the youthful Hervis de Metz \
was exactly similar to that of Vivien, and one might almost he j
excused for believing that the action of the one was copied by the '
other. However, there are in the adventures of Hervis certain \
incidents which may be considered original so far as he was con-
cerned. This chief of the terrible geste of the Lorrains had a semi-
vulgar origin. His mother was nobly born, but his father was only |
a tradesman. Provost of Metz in the place of the absent duke he 1
was, but only a tradesman for all that.

There is a pretty saying of a Father of the Church which applies '
very happily to our young damoiseau of Metz. Filii matrizant ; \
*tis their mothers whom the sons resemble. But this resemblance j
did not prevent the youthful Hervis from committing a hundred \
follies, but they at least were not stamped by vulgarity. His j
parents entrusted him with four thousand marks to attend the fair •'
of Provins, and his only idea was to play the grandee with the i
money so laboriously amassed by his father. •

In his course of enjoyment the young man expended one^
thousand marks in entertaining the tradesmen of Provins, who ;
were perfectly astonished and delighted with such banquets. The '\
first day he invited eighty of them to dinner, the second day he
entertained one hundred and sixty, the third day two hundred and
forty, the fourth day three hundred and eighty, and what dinners «
they were ! Game of every description, cranes, mallards, jantes, \
partridges, &c. As he rose from table each guest was presented ^
with an immense taper, a tortil of wax. No one is more liberal;|
than your true baron.

The following year the entertainments were repeated at the fair-j
of Lagny, but he did not this time bring back a horse, a falcon and'fj
three hounds as he had done from Provins. No. On this latter ;
occasion he returned triumphantly to Metz (will it be credited ?) j
accompanied by a beautiful young girl, who had fallen into the \
hands of some squires and scoundrels, from whom our hero had :
purchased her, money down, for the sum of fifteen thousand marks. \

" Ah," exclaims an old poet, " what a splendid bargain he made j
when he purchased the beautiful Beatrix in this fashion. This ;
lady was in after years the mother of Garin le Loherain and of the j
Duke of Begue of the castle of Belin." mi

'a

YOUTH OF THE BARON. i8i

Beatrix was indeed worthy to be the bride of Hervis : she wore
on her forehead the double crown of purity and regal nobility.
Daughter of the King of Tyre she was a true Christian, and not-
withstanding her adventures had been able to declare proudly to
Hervis — her fitness to be his wife ; for he never should lower him-
self in taking her to wife, she declared, if she were not pure.

" De vostre pris n'abaisserez por mi."

All things considered, we may perceive that the " infant " had no
reason to complain of the temerity with which he had pursued the
irresistible demands of his " vocation."

Another " vocation *' not less imperious, and which manifested
itself under very strange circumstances, is that of Betonnet, son of
Bcuves d'Hanstonne. To save the son of his liege lord, whom a
traitor was about to put to death, a poor fellow, a jongleur ^ carried
heroism to such an extreme as to substitute his son for the son of
his master ; and had the unutterable grief to see the child killed
before his eyes ! The same act of self-sacrifice was performed by
the good knight Renier, in order to save the youthful Jourdain de
Blaives, and this incomparable devotion is, as has been said, " one
of the common bonds of Feudal literature."

A literature which has such bonds is perhaps not unworthy of
the esteem of good judges. However that may be, the jongleur
called himself Daurel, and the child whom he had saved at the
price of his own flesh and blood was named Beton. Daurel took
care of the child, and was as a mother to him ; he kept watch to
see whether this son of a baron, brought up as the son of a singer,
would not some day give tokens of chivalrous tastes.

These signs the good Daurel, as a jongleur distrusts, and as a
vassal hopes for. The situation is really dramatic and interesting.
The little Beton, however, did not keep his protector waiting long
for the symptoms which he both feared and desired. As soon as
he had attained the age of seven, he cared for nothing but horses
and arms, but it was desirable to put him to some decisive proof,
and that proof was typical. It was as follows : —

One day they presented him with a hundred marks of silver —
" If he takes them he is the son of a singer," they said.

Need we relate that Betonnet refused them with superb disdain,

i82 CHIVALRY

and with the gesture of Hippocrates rejecting the presents of Arta-
xerxes ? At nine years of age he went ofif to the chase by himself,
followed by dogs, and with his falcon on his wrist. At eleven he
was a past master in fencing, and gave many proofs of it.

Nevertheless all these accomplishments did not satisfy the
jongleur, and the vocation of the son of Beuves still seemed to him
uncertain. He pressed his argument home.

"Fair son," said he, "take thy weapons, and thy courser and
let us fight — let us fight together."

The youth resisted the invitation : he did not wish to contend
against him whom he believed to be his father.

The other insisted and commanded. The fight began and was
not of long duration. The happy Daurel was unhorsed by the
youthful baron, who ran weeping to pick him up, and to take him
by the hand. The goodi jongleur could contain himself no longer ;
delighted at his defeat he revealed to the son of Beuves his origin
and the secret of his birth. Over what obstacles will not a vocation
— a true vocation — triumph ?

We will now turn to find ourselves in the presence of a
damoiseau who is placed amid the ordinary surroundings of Feudal
life, who we know is noble, and only waiting the time when he shall
become a knight. But even he is not spared some tests, and it is
in fact very necessary to know if he has a heart and soul truly
chivalrous.

That these proofs or tests were brutal, no one who knows the
savage races of those iron centuries will be astonished to hear.

Our type will be Aimeri de Narbonne, the same of whom Victor
Hugo has sung.

It is the birthday of the *' baron," St. John the Baptist, the 24th
June. Duke Girard is in his castle in Vienna, and feeling rather
wearied, no doubt ; for there is no hunting, nor tournament, nor
battle to amuse him. He places at one of the windows a very
" rich falcon " and permits it to gaze through the glass far and
wide over the plain.

Staring at the passers-by is a never-failing occupation for those
who have nothing to do, and it is not without its charms. Sud-
denly, between two hillocks in the midst of a deep valley, Girard
perceived a troop of young people, well arrayed, who came prancing

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 183

along on Spanish mules, and ere long debouched beneath the walls
of the chateau near the steps.

They were all well mounted ; their saddles were embroidered,
and their reins studded with golden buttons. Their chief was as
young as any of them, and as good looking. He leaped from his
mule, and lightly ascended the stair-way to the hall, carrying on
his wrist a falcon whiter than the poplar or the willow leaf.

At his very appearance Girard was thrilled ; his blood ran cold,
and he muttered as his countenance changed, *' How greatly he
resembles our family ! "

The Duke of Vienna, once possessed of this doubt, was anxious
to see what the new-comer was made of, and he proposed to put
him to the proof.

" Do not take any notice of him," said he to his attendants, " do
not announce him, nor speak to him."

At this strange silence and chilling reception, Aimeri began to
get angry, and his temper rose.

"Is it thus that you receive your guests ? " he cried. " Know
then that there are inns in the town, and that I have still fifteen
golden livres ; " and he added —

*' You have all the appearance of gloutons losengiers, and I will
be avenged upon you."

Thereupon Girard burst out laughing, and when he had re-
covered his gravity, he said to his nephew —

" Are you not 21. jongleur ? Keep to your business."

Then, turning to the steward of the castle, he continued —

*' There is a lad who does not even know how to carry a falcon.
Take his bird from him, and put it on the perch."

This speech made Aimeri more angry than ever. He only
perceived that he was being treated very " cavalierly," and that his
talent as a falconer was being called in question."

" Most certainly," said he to Girard, " I must return to my
father, for my uncle is not here."

''If you are o. jongleur,'' replied the other, who wished to carry
the test as far as possible, " this is just the time to sing us a little
song. See, yonder is my ermine cloak. That shall be your recom-
pense. Go on."

This time the young fellow could not contain himself ; he took

i84 CHIVALRY.

his hawk, and, using it as a weapon, struck Girard a blow full in the \
face. Blood flowed from the poor count's visage, and in pretended
anger he cried to his attendants, " Seize him, seize him. Hang j
him." j

Sixteen squires and vassals threw themselves upon him, and \
seemed quite ready to give him a bad time of it. Pale and trem- '
bling Aimeri kept them aloof with his haughty gaze, and said — '

" I am the son of Don Hernant the baron. I am the nephew of
Girard. Back! Stand back ! "

Girard heard him, ran to him, and clasped him in his arms, kiss-
ing him at the same time on the mouth and chin. ,

"Ah," he exclaimed, " you are indeed one of the family, and you \
have the heart of a baron ! '*

The proof had been established. The test was completed by those
tears and kisses.* ■

Other proofs were those which events themselves imposed upon
barons and kings. The Feudal system gave openings only too I
readily to wars and private hatreds, to competition for lands and ]
rights, and the Feudal '* minor " was only too often exposed to real :
and grave dangers. It was sometimes found necessary to put him j
in safety under the protection of some powerful personage, and it j
was necessary for him to wait until the aggrieved one became
a knight to regain his rights. It was a long and weary waiting. j

Besides, all the damoiseaux had in this an example which they j
did not fail to reflect upon ; incomparable knight, the records of |
whose youthful days were chanted in all the castles of Christian ]
Europe, who could complain of having to endure a rough and rude ;
existence in his youth, when that of Charlemagne himself — that of
Charles " whose grandeur has penetrated his name" — had been j
neglected, solitary, painful ? j

Ah, they consoled themselves easily under all their troubles ^
when they remembered the formidable obstacles which the great j
soul of the son of Pepin had overcome. Scarcely had his father '
died ere he became acquainted with grief. His father had been '
poisoned by two bastards who were equally desirous to get rid of .;
the legitimate son, and there was little Charles in the power of those i

* See Giars de Fiane, pp. 43, 46.

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 185

two traitors, whose names history has preserved to us — Hendri and
Eainfroi. Unfortunately the child was not tall enough to fight
with his brothers, and he had no other defence save his pride.

On one occasion his friends snatched him from the wretches who
wished to do away with him, and found him a safe asylum with his
own sister in the duchy of Angers. But the traitors, by duplicity
and rase managed to lay their hands again upon their victim, and
proposed to make an end very quickly of the little king, the young
lion, who so decidedly interfered with their ambitious views. It
was easy enough to kill him outright, or to poison him was easy
enough, but by so doing they perceived that their vengeance would
be incomplete, for they wished to humiliate the true heir to the
crown of France before their bastardy.

" You shall go with us," they said, " and wait on us at
table."

Then all Charles's blood mounted to his face : he seized a roast
peacock and threw it with all his force at Rainfroi's head. Then
seizing a spit he brandished it as bravely as he subsequently
wielded his sword. He thrust it at the bastard, who raged furiously,
and attempted to cut his assailant's throat on the spot. The whole
palace was in an uproar, the repast was interrupted ; cries of rage
were mingled with shouts of victory and the clash of arms.

The youthful Charles, still very proud of his first exploit, but
too weak to resist long, was literally carried away by the partisans
of the legitimate sovereign, who departed at a gallop and placed him
in a fortress at some distance from Reims. But Reims was in the
vicinity of the bastards, and they were very powerful. So, in dire
necessity, the youth was hurried away to a safer place of refuge.

It is a hard thing to say, but Christianity could not offer this
refuge to him who was destined to wear the principal and the most
beautiful of all Christian crowns ; and it was amongst the Infidels
that the youth of their future implacable enemy was destined to be
passed.

They crossed the Pyrenees in haste, and arrived at Toledo, at
the palace of the Saracen King Galafre. It was in such a place that
Charles was obliged to hide as a criminal ; where, alas, he was con-
strained to dissemble as regarded his birth and to conceal his name.
He was no lono:er Charles but "■ Mainet." A few devoted friends

1 86 CHIVALRY.

watched over him in secret, and their principal trouble consisted
in preventing this son of a lion from revealing himself as a lion
prematurely.

This royal " infant " was eating his heart out ! he thought of
nothing but battles, and irritated his followers by his restlessness —
angry as he was at being restrained by them. They were reserving
him for the throne of France, they made him understand that and
told him so repeatedly, but he was then too young to care for
politics, and could not comprehend why they counselled prudence so
continually.

It happened that the Pagan king who had received him so kindly,
the good Galafre, was himself at war with his neighbours, and the
son of Pepin desired nothing better than to show off his skill with the
lance, and prove his knowledge of arms at the expense of his host's
enemies.

At length the day arrived — and it had been long waited for —
when " Mainet " like a young wild animal made his escape notwith-
standing the vigilance of his keepers, and came into the midst of a
battle in which his youthful courage had full scope. He fought, he
overthrew, he slew his enemies. But it was the Emir Bruyant
whom he wished to attack, for he was the mortal enemy of Galafre.
" Mainet " found him, rushed upon him and attacked him. The
great duel then began but did not last long ; and when the dust
cleared off the spectators perceived a corpse, beheaded, horrible, and
standing by it a damoiseau like to David, holding the bleeding head
of his adversary.

This damoiseau was " Mainet " and the head was that of Bruyant
the Emir.

However, the " enfances " and exploits of the son of Pepin were
by no means ended; but the smiles of a young damsel soon came
to console the conquerer for this his first exploit, and for many
others of which the recital would be too long. The lady who thus
appeared to console our hero was the amiable daughter of Galafre :
we behold the smiling face and charming figure of Galienne who
was so soon to become the wife of " Mainet," or to speak correctly,
of Charlemagne.

One of the most severe tests to which one could put the young
damoiseaux was to deprive them of their fortune, and say to them,

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 187

" We will give you nothing. Depart and seek your fortune else-
where."

We know the advantages, the really enormous advantages, which
the Feudal system assured to the eldest son, and it is not astonishing
that the cadets desirous of a better lot, had sometimes a thirst — a
noble thirst— for adventure, when they did not enter the Church,
(of which they often made very mediocre ministers) . They devoted
themselves to rash enterprises in distant lands. The heroic poems
which they had heard sung every day in their father's chateau
were still calculated to develope such ideas in their youthful heads.

They saw only damoiseaiix despoiled of their inheritance, going
forth to conquer kingdoms at the point of the lance. The spec-
tators of this prowess, always so interesting to the disinherited ones,
were poor people whose merit alone led them to fortune.

"When I first came to Paris I wore sahotSf'' is not a saying of
yesterday, and Aimeri de Narhonne repeated it, as it stands, to his
children whom he disinherited ; ** when I went to Vienna I had
nothing," he added.

In all courts, and about the person of princes, there were a great
number of ** younger sons," portionless lads — valets who looked to
every point of the compass in search of distinction and glory . . .
and the rest.

** Jouvencel somes, acroisons nostre pris
Et querons los en estrange pais."

No doubt they were acquainted with all the dangers of the
adventures they sought, but they repeated to themselves the fine
chivalrous proverb,

** Car ne puet estre ce est chose pass^e
Honnours par armes sans perill conquestee."

And in strength of this, they departed.

Another ideal which our youthful nobles presented to themselves
and which our poets also offered voluntarily for their acceptance
was a grand marriage which would give them fortune as well as
glory. I know nothing from this point of view more improbable
and more delightful than the Department des Enfances Aimeri,
Ah ! there is a poem which was sufficient to delight the damoi-
seaiix and to make them dream for many a long day. Listen —

CHIVALRY.

Aimeri is poor, and he only possesses Narbonne, which he wishes j
to leave, not to his eldest son (mark you), but to the youngest of ■
his seven sons. There was nothing absolutely contrary to Feudal ■
custom in this, as he could make his will as he pleased ; but one \
thing is certain, that the decision of **the old man of Narbonne " !
was not of a nature calculated to please the other six young '
gentlemen who saw themselves put aside, and forced to hold their '
tongues, for they knew their father was headstrong and even j
brutal. \

But they were speedily consoled, and you will now be able to see \
how a Feudal baron used to establish his sons in life. Aimeri sent i
one day for his eldest son, whose name was Bernard, and said to '.
him in terrible accents — !

"You make a great mistake in your fancy that you will ever get
anything from Narbonne ! By the faith which I owe to St. Peter ,
in Kome, you shall not have the value even of an apple ! " \

The lad gazed at his father in astonishment, and the latter
continued :

" Take a hundred knights with you and go straight to Brubant. \
There is a duke there — a very proud individual — who has the most •
beautiful daughter in the world. Go and demand her hand in ;
marriage ! Begone ! "

Without appearing in the least taken aback, Bernard simply s
replied : '* Since you wish it, father, I also wish it." I

Then turning to his knights, he cried : " To horse ! " and in a^
few minutes they were in the saddle. The wife of Aimeri, *|
Bernard's mother, took only time to embrace her son, and to make ]
him a present of three purses filled with gold and silver. A hurried j
adieu was then said, the riders set spurs to their steeds, which j
started at a gallop. They soon lost sight of the borders of]
Narbonne, hills, valleys and mountains were traversed and crossed. ,
Where is the city of Brubant? I confess I cannot tell, and I
rather think that the poet of the twelfth century was equally ■
ignorant of its locality. j

But at length, wherever it was, they came in full view of it, and t
it presented a grand and beautiful appearance in the eyes of the j
Narbonnais. It was lighted up by the sun and splendid to behold, j

" Oh ! " exclaimed Bernard, " what a beautiful city ! " w

I

i

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 189

He did not pause long in admiration, but bravely entered the
town at the head of his hundred knights. He did not dismount
until he had reached the palace gates beneath the olive trees. He
then got off his horse and mounted, leisurely, the wide stone steps
which led up to the great hall. There sat the duke in the midst
of all his barons, just as if this singular visitor had been expected.

"Fair and brave sir," said Bernard to the duke in a clear and
steady voice, "the Count Aimeri demands that you give to me your
beautiful daughter in marriage."

The duke consented on the spot, and the young lady arrived just
at the right moment to give her consent also to this most unexpected
marriage.

" My daughter, beautiful and wise, I have given you a husband."

"Blessed be God ! Tell me his name, good sir."

" He is the rich Bernard of Narbonne, my daughter."

" I accept him willingly, sir."

Then the bishop was sent for in haste, and Bernard with his
blessing was soon affianced to the young lady. Next day the
solemn ceremony took place, and there was a grand banquet in the
vaulted hall. The match was made, Bernard was married — well
married — and the poet adds naively: " Of this son of Aimeri I
have nothing more to say, neither of his wife — Heaven bless her ! "
Let us pass on.

This scene wliich I have just related as described in the old poem
— this same scene is almost exactly reproduced two or three times,
and what we have just related of Bernard might, with the omission
or alteration of a few words, be applicable to Garin and to Hernaut.
Nothing is more lifeHke or more popular, more truly epic, than
these almost literal transcriptions. Thus we see Garin, driven
by his father from Narbonne, directing his steps to the toTsu of
Anseiine which he delivers from the Saracens, and then marries
the daughter of Duke Naimes, Eustache the Fair.

Again we see Hernaut the Ked, also driven from home by Aimeri,
far from his beloved Narbonne, saving at the lance's point the town
of Girone, which was besieged by the Infidels, and behold him
quickly wedded to the beautiful Beatrix.

The destiny of Beuves was not so commonplace, for he is asked
in marriage ! The King Gascogne the Great was about to die and

I90 CHIVALRY.

had only one child, a daughter, Helissent the Beautiful. According
to the strictest canons of the Feudal law the orphan girl sought
King Charles and asked him to provide her with a husband.

"My father is dead," she said, "I come to you to find me a
husband."

The king, without hesitation, took her by the hand, and, calling
Beuves, said: —

** Take this damsel to wife."

"A thousand thanks, sire," replied Beuves.

The bishop was immediately summoned, and the young people
were married on the spot. The transaction could not have been
more quickly accomplished.

Thus it happened that four sons of Aimeri obtained for them-
selves fortunes by wealthy marriages : in this manner they acquired
the duchies of Brubant, Anseiine, Girone, and Commarcis. And
these duchies were equal to kingdoms.

It is true that Arnier and Guillaume, their brothers, were not so
quickly made happy : but four damoiseaux well married, four out
of six, was not so bad, and was enough to satisfy the most exigent
listeners to romances in the castles of the twelfth century. We
will not be more exacting.

However, the tests to which our damoiseaux were exposed may
come to an end, and we need only henceforth discuss their virtues
— and their failings !

VII.

The damoiseau was courageous — that was a matter of course.
His greatest desire from the age of ten years was to follow in the
train of great knights clothed in armour who went to war on their
superb chargers, lances in rest. These departures — when he could
not follow them — put him in a rage, and the knights would laugh
heartily at the indignation of the ''infant" who was obliged to
remain at home with his mother and her women.

" This is the manner in which I am dishonoured," said the
young valet, gravely, " and I shall be looked upon as base and
worthless ! "

I

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 191

These were the very words of the young Guibert, the seventh
child of Aimeri de Narbonne, when he was a spectator of the
departure of his brothers who were going to seek their fortunes.
It was in vain that his father promised him, and actually reserved
for him alone, all the town and the whole duchy of Narbonne ; no,
nothing would console him.

In this poem of the Narbonnais it was not only the " infant "
who possessed precocious courage. Vivien, the admirable Vivien,
of whom we have so often spoken, had a brother fifteen years old,
whom they were going to leave within the shelter of the walls of
Orange at the time when the great and decisive battle of Aliscans
was about to be fought.

"You are too young, and too small," said the benevolent
Guillaume to the infant Guichardet, " to go to this battle against the
Infidels. You are not capable of beholding the scene of a battle-
field covered with dead bodies. Kemain with your aunt Guibourc.
Later on we will see about making you a knight."

Guichardet wept, Guichardet remained ; but he had ideas of his
own which he put rapidly into execution. He made his way to the
stable and took a horse "strong and swift," saddled it, and
went off unarmed. In vain Guibourc, " the countess with the
proud face," sent one hundred knights in pursuit of him. The
youth returned of his own accord by a round-about road, and begged
his aunt to dub him knight.

It is unusual, as we have seen elsewhere, for the order of
knighthood to be conferred by a woman, but in this instance
nothing could be more natural. Guibourc laced the helmet upon
the youthful head, inducted him into his hauberk, girded him with
his sword. It is related that scarcely had the young man been
knighted than he set off at full speed to encounter the Infidels.
But his many emotions mastered him, and he was in tears.

The youthful Lorrainers did not yield to the youthful Nar-
bonnais. They had the same blood in their veins. When the
very youthful Hernaudin heard of the death of his father Begon,
he exclaimed —

" 0 ! if I had but my little armour that I might assist my uncle
Garin against his enemies ! "

Garin was present and happened to hear him : he was delighted

192 CHIVALRY.

with this little outburst of anger. He clasped the child in his armsj
and cried — j

" You are too bold, fair nephew, but you greatly resemble my|
poor brother, the rich Duke — Heaven rest his soul." The scene,
was charming. j

The king's reciters of the poems did not display any lessl
address than did those of other periods, and put before the
nobles no less worthy models. Charles alone did not suffice for
them, for these poets one day conceived the idea of re-celebrating,
his father Pepin, and of rhyming certain episodes of his history or i
legends which had formerly been recounted in fit terms by the
monk Saint- Gall.

To those who joked about his small stature King Pepin gave
proofs of his great courage. He was present at a combat of J
animals, which was then one of the diversions which was most
acceptable to the somewhat brutal tastes of the German race.
Suddenly they saw him throw himself between a lion and a bull
which were fighting in a most terrible fashion. At one stroke — at
a single blow — he cut off the lion's head, and looked in a defiant
manner at those who had expected a few more blows to be struck \
in effecting his purpose. '

"David was a little man, yet he slew Goliath. Alexander was
short, but several of his captains had less strength and less courage *
than he." |

Thus speaks the writer of the annals, and he is forced to confess |
that the poet had embellished his verse in some degree, or dis- I
figured this little bit of more or less apocryphal history. We read j
in the chanson of a lion which escaped from its cage and frightened \
Charles Martel himself. Pepin, who was still quite a young man, '
seized a boar-spear, and walking deliberately up to the animal, |
pierced him in the stomach, and nailed him to the earth. Charles |
embraced the youthful victor, and his mother gave way to tears, j
This was a commencement which foreshadowed him as a great ,
king; there was one example the more for our damoiseaux.

But it was young Boland — ** Kolandin " — who, in this same era, j
that of Charlemagne — was, above all, the perfect type of courage ; ;
the ideal of the noble " infant." Everyone wished to resemble |
him, even in his bad points : everyone copied him a little. \

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 193

The mind of a damoiseau in the eleventh and twelfth centuries
was composed, like Koland's, of a number of elements, the presence
of which might be easily determined ; but of which it is very
difficult to appreciate exactly the true proportions. There was
much barbarism and roughness : some little levity, and a great deal
of courage.

Picture to yourselves the departure for the army during the heroic
years of the Middle Ages ; a departure for the Holy Land, for the
Crusades. The clashing of arms, the whinnying of horses, the
tearful farewells, the long posse of knights winding, more pensive
than cheerful, along the highways, followed by their squires carrying
their arms. Here and there a troubadour, who sang warlike songs
like those of Conon of Bethune or of Thibaut of Champagne.

Such was the army of the Emperor Charles when he set out for
Italy, to wage that terrible war against the pagan, King Agolant ;
a war which was destined to culminate in Calabria by the celebrated
battle of Aspromonte. Now, one day this grand army passed
through Laon, beneath the walls of the castle, and the noise made
by the troops arrested the attention of some youths who were shut
up in the palace to prevent them from proceeding to the holy war.

As may be assumed, these lads were in a great rage, and occu-
pied themselves night and day with projects for escape. But when
they heard the horns and trumpets, and the neighing of the horses;
when through the narrow windows, which resembled loopholes,
they perceived the squires seeking for quarters for their masters,
when they ascertained that this was the army of Charlemagne, and
that they might never have another opportunity to join it, they
could contain themselves no longer, and made up their minds to
try a strange stratagem.

There were five of these sons of barons, but the most determined
of all was Roland. This eaglet had been put into the cage, but if
he had to break the bars he would not remain there.

Unfortunately at the castle of Laon there was a porter to whom
the custody of these youths had been specially confided, and who
did not seem to understand their pleasantry. Roland at first
attempted to bribe him, and tried other means to win him from his
allegiance.

" Let us go and play for a little while outside," he would say in

o

194 CHIVALRY.

a purposely measured voice. "Let us out for a while." He
coaxed him, called him gentleman, even gave him a title. "Doj
you know what we will do for you when we grow up ? We willj
make you a knight." i

But the man was not to be won over by these blandishments. I
"Knight!" he would say. "What a wretched calling his islj
One is sure to receive so many ugly blows. I would rather remain
here and sleep." Then in severe tones he would add — j

" Go back to your apartment and amuse yourself with your!
falcons. You shall not go out." i

Roland thereupon beat a retreat, but he did not despair of over-
coming the porter's resistance, and employed persuasion and force;

by turns. !

" We only want to see the knights pass by, good master porter :j
let us go out. Come now ! " j

" No, I tell you," was the replj-. j

"Ah, then you will not do what we want ? Here is what yoii|
deserve." •

Then they all fell upon the unfortunate man and beat hin^
soundly with sticks, leaving him for dead, stretched apparently|
lifeless upon the stones. After this they opened the gate andl
made their escape. j

The army of Charles had by this time departed. It had already^
proceeded some distance upon its way. The five youths were on':
foot and cut a sorry figure.

"Ah !" said * Rolandin,' "we ought to have horses, but sinced
we have none we must proceed on foot — or take them." \

At this time five good Bretons came by most opportunely. \

"Now is our time,'' cried the nephew of Charles, who as you;
perceive directed the enterprise. " Come on. Come on." ,

Then the five fiery young men fell upon the astonished Bretons, :
routed them, dismounted them, and leaped upon their horses, which
proved excellent cattle. But the despoiled Bretons complained toi
their King Salomon of this impudent band of young men, these^
unknown youthful brigands. ,

" Who are these * infants ? '" he cried. It was very important]
that he should know, and he sent one thousand men in pursuit of
them. This band surrounded the youths and closed in upon them,

"let us go out. come now."— "no, I TELL YOU.

o 2

YOUTH OF THE BARON. i()7

getting nearer and nearer, and watching the lads with some
curiosity.

** Ah, it is Koland ! " exclaimed a loud voice, with a loud laugh,
and the voice was that of the King of Bretagne, who had recognised
Charlemagne's nephew.

"It is Roland, it is Eoland," repeated all the other knights. As
for the five youths, they did not know whether to laugh or cry, but
eventually they gained their point. The beating of the porter and
the robbery of the Bretons were overlooked : the knights feasted
them, permitted them to join the grand army, and to take part
in the Crusade. Roland had triumphed !

All '* infants " had not the impudence of Roland. Some of them
at the age of twelve were already grave and steady, and regarded
hfe in its true light. I do not wish to close the few pages which I
have devoted to the virtues of our budding knights without having
traced, rapidly, a portrait of one of these damoiseaux of high
lineage and proud air who were devoted to duty and to duty alone.
I will call this portrait simply *' a son," and I regret very much
that Victor Hugo has never found a place for him in his magnifi-
cent gallery of his Legend of the Centuries. It is more beautiful
than Aymenllot.

" A son ! " We must first picture to ourselves the authority of
a father of the Feudal period. Although he lived with his family
every day and all day, he was rather feared than loved, and thus
embodied the old proverb, E lomjinquo auctontas. The children
began by trembling in the presence of their father, but sub-
sequently embraced him. All his sons fixed their regard upon him
with a view to resemble him, and were ready to take up the sword
in his defence. It was a kind of patriarchal life mingled with
military roughness, of which there is no need to exaggerate either
the beauty or the rudeness. The following tale is authentic and
will vouch for this, for it is more historical than many histories.
It came to pass at one time that the English people in London
were very much interested in a young Frenchman, about twelve
years old, who had recently arrived at Dover, and had resided in
London for some few days. Everyone was talking of this extra-
ordinary youth. He was very handsome, and none of his con-
temporaries could compare with him any more than a magpie can

198 CHIVALRY,

compare with a falcon. Who would not have admired him, he was,
so adroit with the bow, so clever in fencing ! But, above every- j
thing, so generous ! All day he would be giving away rich furs, !
horses, and falcons.

So one can imagine that it was easy enough to be clothed in!
London at that time free of expense. One had only to go to thel
young Frenchman's house, where a number of servants were ready!
and willing to distribute cloaks, pelisses and other garments to the^
applicants. All the poor people knew the way- to this blessed^
mansion. The King had taken the youthful valet into his service, i
and all the chatelaines in England united in a chorus in praise ofi^
his beauty and accomplishments. His mother, in France, prayed •
for him !

His name was Witasse. He was the son of the Count of-
Boulogne, and the brother of that Godfrey who was destined one day?
to refuse, so piously, to wear the golden crown in the Holy City of^
Jerusalem. "^

Now just at the very time when this damoiseau of Boulogne wasj
making such a sensation in the city of London, it happened that^
Eainaume, Count of Montreuil (a traitor), took possession of the|
territory of his lord, the Count of Boulogne, who was dangerously|
ill; and whilst his eldest son was in England he invaded the!
province at the head of a thousand knights, pillaged, burned, and|
committed sacrilege everywhere. The history of the Feudal period
is full of acts of violence of this nature, which should be spurned
and held in abhorrence by every honest man. '

However, in this instance, a courier mounted and rode in hotj
haste to the castle of the Count of Boulogne with the news. I

" Your territory — your whole territory is in flames ! " he cried.

The poor count listened in fear and trembling, but anger over- ■
came him and he essayed to rise from his sick bed to punish the ;
traitor, but alas ! he fell back, unable to get up. The countess tore \
her hair, and exclaimed : . I

" My son, my dear son, why are you not here ? " f

It was at once decided that a message should be despatched to ]
the young traveller ; and then the youth's mother became
comforted, took courage, and supported by her pride became
almost sublime.

YOUTH OF THE BARON, 199

"I myself," she exclaimed, "I myself will, in the absence of
our son, engage in raising an army. I will find the knights, and
trust our son will arrive in time."

Four days afterwards the Count's messenger arrived at Dover.
He mounted his horse and rode without once getting off the
animal's back until he entered London. He took his meals on
horseback, and only stopped three times to drink on the road. He
flew along the highways, and at length, almost as exhausted as his
poor horse, he was fortunate enough to enter the palace of the
King of England.

It happened curiously enough that the messenger arrived exactly
at meal- time. It was the dinner hour. A very youthful-looking
man was standing behind the king's chair. The youth had fair
hair and was holding a golden cup in his hand. This youth was
Witasse.

The messenger came in without any ceremony, took the lad
aside and in a few words delivered his message.

** Your father is ill, and a traitor has invaded his territory.
Come ! "

Without hesitating an instant the valet placed the golden cup in
the king's hand.

" I am not thirsty," said His Majesty in surprise : " and I did
not ask for wine."

** Take it," replied the damoiseau, brusquely. "If you do not it
will fall to the ground."

Then, without vouchsafing any further information, he quitted
the palace.

People who happened to be travelling between London and
Dover that day, gazed in stupefied astonishment at the youth and
his attendant who were riding madly along, their horses all covered
with foam and sweat. No halting, no pulling up. Quickly — more
quickly still. The riders scarcely took time to prostrate them-
selves before the altar in Canterbury Cathedral when they were
away again like the wind. '' Faster, faster," was the cry.

At length they came in sight of Dover.

" Who are those sailors ? "

" Boulogne fishermen."

*' Quick, a boat ! More quickly still ! Make haste ! "

1
200 CHIVALRY. \

They reached the shores of Boulogne, and then a terrible sight
met the eyes of the youthful traveller, who had come with such \
tremendous haste from London town. The whole province was in ^
flames.

" Vengeance, vengeance ! " he exclaimed. i

Witasse then mounted a horse and went forth to encounter the i
traitor who had thus devastated the Count's dominions. The j
young man proved victorious, killed his adversary, and then j
without a word returned to England. He had avenged his father. '

Some days afterwards, as mid-day was being recorded by the ,
convent bells, the King of England sat down to dine. He at once \
perceived a youth with fair hair and merry eyes, who tendered to ;
him his golden cup of wine. The valet was quite covered with
dust, and strange to relate was wearing spurs. ;

"Whence come you, Witasse ? " asked the king, who suspected j
his page had absented himself upon some adventure of an amorous '
nature. j

" I come from a certain place," replied the young man proudly, '
" a place whither none could have proceeded in my stead." i

Modestly he remained silent, and rather concealed the facts : he |
never mentioned his great filial devotion. The king was not made 1
acquainted with the circumstances till long afterwards, and was fulU
of admiration. 1

" We must make a knight of him at once," he cried., f

Next day Witasse, the model son, was no longer a damoiseauf **

YIII.

I

The damoiseau was nearly immaculate: he was considered an
example of virtue; but under penalty of being unjust we must
remark that the faults and vices of the youthful Feudal Barons did
not differ materially from those with which philosophers and poets
of all countries have reproached the youths of all nations. They
are common property — current coin.

The damoiseau was choleric, the blood quickly flew to his head.
When the wife of Charlemagne boasted before the young Aimeri,

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 201

of having made Girard de Vienne kiss her foot while under the
impression that it was the emperor's — when she had the bad taste
to tell to Girard's nephew this practical joke, which then was
tantamount to a deadly outrage, Aimeri felt very angry ; rage
gnawed in his heart, he seized a knife and threw it at the head of
the empress, who stooped suddenly and thus avoided the blow.

Aimeri was of course immediately seized and carried out, while
the furious youth cried, " Let us go, let us go," to his attendants.

But it was over a game of chess particularly that the damoiseaux
lost their tempers. Why did Chariot son of Charlemagne break
Beaudonniet's head with the chess-board ? Simply because Beau-
donniet, son of Ogier, had given him check-mate !

Again, Renaud de Montauban was scarcely a knight when, as the
result of a dispute at play, he buried the chess-board in the head
of Bertolais the nephew of the emperor.

Those chess-boards of the twelfth century were not the thin
wooden boards which a child may break, but massive ; their four
corners being so strong and pointed as to cut into bone and flesh,
and inflict mortal wounds. When the son of Olive and Doon de la
Roche, when the little Landri, was obliged to be present at the
second marriage of his father, he put himself into a furious passion,
and addressing the officiating prelate, exclaimed —

*' As for you I will slay you when I am a man."

Then turning to the bride he said, " I will be avenged," and
struck down with a chess-board some traitor who had ventured to
calumniate his mother. Nothing could calm this little passionate
soul — but it was at least furious in a good cause — on behalf of his
deserted mother.

The same sentiment and a similar expression of it, somewhat
legitimate and excusable, animated the ''infant" Gautier in that
romance of passion which is called Raoul de Camhrai.

" If I live long enough to have a helmet laced on my head, and
a sword in my hand, you will dearly pay for this, uncle Raoul."

But I cannot recall any act of violence comparable to that of
Renier and Girard, sons of Garin de Montglane, as it is related in
*'Girars de Viane;" violence — inexcusable, reckless, stupid violence
— by gross young Germans who were enraged.

They arrived one day at the court of the king, and were very

UNTVER8ITT

202 CHIVALRY.

scandalised in the first place because they were not accorded a
brdhant reception. They seated themselves at table and were
poorly served with a small loaf, and but little to drink.

Ihis treatment exasperated them, but they got into a towering
passion when the Seneschal refused them corn for their mules, and
when he had the audacity to strike one of them with his staff.
Renier raised his fist, struck the Seneschal in the face, broke his
nose, killed him, and then threw the body into the granary.

Terrified by this summary action, the attendants and squires fled
m all directions ; a universal panic ensued, and no one in the
whole court was calm or composed except the murderer and his
brother. They seemed to be actually delighted. That evening
they amused and enjoyed themselves in dancing, and so on.

But next day there was another tale to be told. They were
desirous to approach the king, who was in the chapel hearing the
Mass, but, as the young men were poorly clad, the usher repulsed
them, saying —

" These lads in grey coats really want to enter the palace, when
great barons dressed in furs and fine stuffs are obliged to remain at
the gate."

The usher would have been better advised to have held his
tongue, for he drew this sharp reproof from Renier, a speech
which has become famous —

** Don't you know, miserable creature that you are, that —

'* Le cuerS n'est mie ne on vair ne on gris
Mais qu'il est on ventre, la ou Deus Ta assis ! "

Thereupon these madman attacked the gate of the palace, that
august and almost sacred gate ; and Renier first with a kick — Renier
the gentle damoiseau — broke it in halves. In vain did the porter
attempt to resist this brute, this madman who had thrown aside all
semblance of humanity. The unfortunate man was struck down in
his turn, crushed to death beneath his gate, killed outright ; and
then the young men, feeling well satisfied with themselves, and
laughing at the incident, at length appeared before the emperor
who, in fear and trembling, hastened to create them knights !

The damoiseau was frivolous like all young people, but in France
his levity often took the form of child's-play — a somewhat Parisian

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 203

practical joking, and this is evidenced by the episode of Roland and
the porter of Laon. One cannot be a Frenchman "with impunity,"
and our race has always relished a good laugh. I do not mean to
say that our jokes of the twelfth century were always classic, but
they were sometimes quite comic — which was a very natural and
bright trait.

One of those which may most easily provoke a smile (it incited
our somewhat dense ancestors to laughter) is a hit at the story of
Floovant and his master. It is true that this fable is borrowed
from " Gcsta Dagoherti regis,'' and Dagobert himself has hitherto
had the honour of this schoolboy incident : but the poet of the
twelfth century, to whom we are indebted for a new edition of this
narrative, has so agreeably arranged and adapted it to his time, that
it may pass for an original tale.

This incident took place at the time when it was the fashion in
France to wear beards. Clerics and laymen were all equally
bearded, and the depth of dishonour consisted in being hairless.
If a robber were taken in the very act, " Let him be shaved," was
the sentence.

Now, no one in France had a more beautiful beard than the Duke
of Burgundy, named Senechal, whom King Clovis had appointed
tutor to his own son Floovant. We can just imagine what a
beautiful beard it was when it tempted a page to such a strange
proceeding — to such a cruel joke. When his master was asleep
the youth approached, and suddenly conceived the idea of cutting
off that lovely beard. And he did it with his "pen-knife," the
small knife with which he used to peel apples !

But we can picture the grief and rage of Senechal when he awoke
and found his chin denuded of hair.

" Your father shall be made acquainted with this — he shall cut
off your head and limbs for this."

In vain the youth pleaded and promised the victim thirty
chargers, fifteen castles, and equipments for three hundred
knights.

" No, no," replied the shorn one, "your father shall know all."

Thereupon he proceeded to the king, hiding the shaven and
dishonoured chin in his cloak, and uncovered his face when he
came into the presence of Clovis.

204 CHIVALRY.

" Look here," he said, " this is your son's doing."

The unfortunate Floovant did not escape with less than seven
years of exile. He paid dearly enough for his practical joke.

But it is not Floovant who, as we would say at present, held the
appointment as jester : it was not he but Hernaut de Girone, whom
they called Hernaut the Red. The brother of William of Orange
was a regular practical joker, the " farceur " of our chaiisons de
geste. It was his business, so to speak, to make people laugh.

When his father drove him away from home with his five
brothers to seek his fortune elsewhere, he started with them for
Paris. The way was long, and the journey abounded in adventures
of all kinds. They were all young and lovely damoiseaux who
had no thought of care. They very much resembled children of
all nations and of all times who will listen over and over again to
the same story, and laugh as heartily at the hundredth repetition
as at the first.

The chief and never-failing joke amongst the brothers of Hernaut
was to pretend that he was the King's Seneschal. They bestowed
this title on him and rendered him, in joke, all the honours which
were really due to that exalted personage. Guillaume invested
him with mock solemnity —

" Henceforth,*' said he, " be brave and proud, and administer
justice properly."

In this way they reached the gates of Paris, where the King was
holding his court. But unfortunately the city was full, crowded,
so that no lodging could be found for our travellers.

What was to be done ? Hernaut did not lose his presence of
mind, nor, like the Abbe of Cluny, complain of not finding shelter,
x^bbe of Cluny though he was.

" Do not alarm yourselves," said Hernaut gravely. '' You now
see the King's Seneschal before you in person ! Yes, the Seneschal
himself. You shall have a lodging. Come on."

It cost Hernaut nothing to make these promises, but he
wondered anxiously how he should perform them. He continued
to wander about Paris, and in a certain wide street he perceived a
very pleasing smell of cookery.

" Ho ! ho ! " he cried. " Who is feasting here ? "

Without more ado he entered the house and found a number of

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 205

" bachelors" seated at table. These joyous and convivial gentle-
men informed him that they composed the suite of the Duke of
Burgundy.

"What do I care," replied Hernaut. *' I am the King's
Seneschal, and am in want of these apartments. Get out ! "

As they resisted he attacked them, and finally remained master
of the situation. Then he installed the Abbe of Cluny in a
beautiful chamber hung with tapestry, and left him to chant
matins with his monks.

He now proceeded to find a lodging for the good King of Pavia,
Boniface, who was wandering about the streets seeking for an
hotel.

"I am the King's Seneschal," said Hernaut to him. "You
shall have a lodging immediately."

Thereupon he entered a palace which was ablaze with light —
grant Iwninaire par leanz esgarda.

"Who are you ? " he asked the owners of the magnificent
mansion.

He found they were the Pope's legate and two archbishops.
He turned them out and said to Boniface : "Go in, if you
please."

He had a similar adventure with some fat Germans whose
lodgings he desired.

He began by complimenting them on their personal appearance.
Like the fox he corumenced with flattery, but he did not hesitate to
have recourse to blows after a while. The Germans quitted their
lodging, and complained to the king of the outrage committed by
the strange, too grasping, and interfering Seneschal.

While the Germans were complaining to the King, Hernaut was
taking his ease in the house of which he had dispossessed them,
**'Let jongleurs come and sing before me," he said.

But this was the last of his escapades. Everything was
discovered, and the king's people were on the point of making
very short work of Hernaut and his brothers who defended him.
But fortunately the particulars of the aff'air came to the knowledge
of Charlemagne, who was delighted with the impudence of these
fine young fellows of Narbonne, and conferred knighthood upon
them. They well deserved it.

2o6 CHIVALRY.

There was besides another species of levity, and Gautier
d'Aupais had not the same character as Hernaut de Beaulande.
Nevertheless he is still a joker, and offers much resemblance
to our modern contemporary " giddy-pates."

His father was a gentleman in the neighbourhood of Beauvais
who would have been very pleased to have seen him succeed in tilt
and tourney : and sent him on a certain day to one of these costly
entertainments. The young man met with indifferent success, but
compensated himself by dining sumptuously at the inn, not having
a sou wherewith to pay his bill.

These were daily adventures. He played to reimburse himself,
and lost everything, even to his clothes. His father received him
with blows, and hit so hard that he tore the young man's
shirt.

Humiliated, furious, Gautier swore to quit his paternal mansion,
where his mother and sisters, good souls, in vain endeavoured to
detain him. He would have gone to the end of the world, I believe,
had not the smile of a young lady arrested him.

She was the daughter of a vavasseur (or under-vassal), and
Gautier was seized with a violent and honourable passion for her ;
and with a view to behold her every day, if only for an instant, he
accepted the humble post of watchman in her father's house.

The occupation is a trying one, and one may freeze up in the
ffaite ; but what can you expect ? one can see up there. The young
man was soon admitted to the service of the table ; and then, as he
could see more of the lady, he esteemed himself all the happier.
In order to approach more closely the lady he loved, he determined
to learn conscientiously the business of a jongleur , or singer. He
declaimed, he played his music, he sang ; and by these means
managed at length to penetrate to the bower of his lady-love.
There, terrified by his audacity, and feeling very shy, he fled ! I
may as well state that he became bolder as time went on, and that
this romance (it is always a romance) terminated in a marriage.
This old story has a flavour of novelty about it.

The damoisemi was sometimes both sensual and debauched, and, '
amongst the youthful nobles of the twelfth century, more than one
could be cited who bore some resemblance to Aubri the Burgundian,
the type of reckless vice and wild brutality. But at the same time

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 207

we must remark that, as a rule, the youthful nobles of the twelfth
century were well-behaved, at least so the old poems present them
to us, and we have no reason to question then* testimony. It has
been said, and with reason, that in a man's heart there is only
room for one great passion at a time. Our damoiseaux loved war
too well to love women. I am even incHned to beHeve that they
even preferred their hawks and hounds to the society of ladies.

In all our chansons de geste we find that the ladies make the
advances (but the records may be less trustworthy on this point),
and it would appear that the young "curled darlings" did not
always receive the damsels -VN-ith excessive politeness. They did
not yield until they were compelled. It is true the young ladies
were very aggressive indeed, and apparently shameless. We find
instances of this in Aiol, in Gaydon, in Gui de Nanteuil, in which
poems we have striking examples of want of propriety, and plain
speaking. The most ardent swains in our day could not use
plainer language ; the sexes seem reversed. The Saracens also seem
to speak in like manner with Christians, and the old poets, sublimely
ignorant of local colour, have painted French and Arabian women
with the same brush. For instance Salmandrine in Doon de la
Roche ; Malatrie in Beuves de Commarchis ; Esclarmonde in Huon
de Bordeaux ; Floripes in Fierabras ; and Rosemonde in Elie de
Saint-Gilles. These five female pagans have nothing to distinguish
them, in our minds, from Isodore in Aiiscis de Carthage, and the
daughter of Gueri le Sor in Raoul de Camhrai. Amongst them
all we find the same characteristics, the same efirontery. Esclar-
monde sighs to Huon ; nor is Rosemonde behindhand. They
indeed present themselves to the youthful nobles in such fashion
that the poor youths are compelled to consent. We need not
quote any references, of which there are many in the old poems.

But, it must be confessed that, we should look with considerable
suspicion on these statements of our poets, which cannot be ac-
cepted as exact or always serious. The troubadours of the period
were more ignorant of the ladies of their day — and especially of the
young ladies — than of any other portion of society ; and we must
reduce to their proper value these highly spiced and seasoned alle-
gations and statements. I maintain, notwithstanding this evidence,
that the young noble in those " iron days " was too much of a

2o8 CHIVALRY.

warrior and a hunter to have leisure for love-making. Such is the i
fact — such is the opinion to which we adhere — at the same time j
that we must confess that the Romances of the Round Table seem j
very greatly to countenance such a condition of things, making
flirtation fashionable, making brave souls effeminate, and changing i
the youthful warrior to a carpet-knight. i

We must not exaggerate anything, however, and the natural love ;
which is inspired in knight and gentlewoman will, we trust, never ;
cease to exist in, and to illumine, the earth. Our youthful barons ;
were not unaware of its existence either. One of our most primi- \
tive heroes, we read, recalls his first love with delight — '' 0 for the \
time when I was a youth," he exclaims. *' 0, that was a happy time.
Then I preferred a green cap to a hundred silver marl^s, and did I
great homage to beauteous dames ! "

But, as a matter of fact, we find that this affection amongst our |
f damoiseaux had something violent and brutal about it nevertheless.
Look at Roland beneath the walls of Vienna ; look at him just
when he was about to engage in that interminable duel with Oliver I
which has been so well described by the author of Girars de Viajie, and \
after him by the greatest poet of our own country. The scene was I
indeed a very animated one, and the ladies — all the ladies of the '
city — had assembled without the walls to be spectators of the \
terrible combat between Oliver and Roland. Amongst them was
one damsel whose beauty eclipsed all others ; long fair hair
crowned by a jewelled hat, eyes piercing as the falcon's, well- j
shaped feet and hands, rivalling the lily in whiteness, a complexion
fresh and brilliant, just tinged with a soft colour : this was Aude
— the beautiful Aude.

She was clad in that charming costume, which our old poets \
well knew, and over her shoulders was thrown a most becoming I
short cloak. She was charming, and illuminated the scene by her '
beauty. At the first glance Roland singled her out from all the
rest. And what did this hero, this nephew of a king do ? Did he ',
sigh in the fashion of a Knight of the Round Table ? By no ;
means. Roland rushed towards her, threw himself upon her. He j
was a barbarian, and only in that fashion did he understand love, i
He seized her and would have carried her off before the eyes of all j
those present, that charming damsel, the type in our epic poetry of |

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 209

all that was truly pure and innocent, but Aude called to her brother
for help : — " Oliver, my brother, Oliver ! " Oliver rushed upon
Roland and attacked him fiercely.

'* You are a duke, and I am a count," he exclaimed. "We can
fight on equal terms ; " and without further parley he delivered
some of those terrific blows, of which the secret has died with him.
Oliver, in whom fraternal affection and the sight of his sister's
danger had excited strong passion, felled Roland to the earth, and,
without pausing to see whether he picked himself up again, carried
off his sister, and bestowed her in safety within the walls of Vienna.
She was saved — but she loved Roland !

Notwithstanding the nature of this coarse love of his, I prefer it
to the more romantic and criminal affection that subsisted between
Huon and the beautiful Esclarmonde. There was a refinement of
sensuality about the latter which smacks of the nefarious influence
of the Round Table. Scarcely had the lovers met than a terrible
tempest arose and shattered the vessel in which they had sailed,
and which in consequence of their sin seemed accursed. They
were driven about for a long while, tossed upon the angry sea,
clutching a wretched plank, until they were at length cast upon a
desolate island.

"Ah," exclaimed Esclarmonde, " we have indeed fallen ! "

And her companion replied :

"Tristan died for love of the beautiful Iseult; let us die also,
you and I ! "

The youthful nobles of the twelfth century more nearly resembled
Roland than Huon, and, notwithstanding all reservations, I cannot
refrain from congratulating them warmly on their choice.

The damohcaii was not only passionate and sensual, he was also
proud, haughty, quick-tempered, and jealous. Such a character
was Chariot, such was the son of Charlemagne, whom the author
of " Ogkr Ic Danois,'" and more particularly the writer of ''Huon
de Bordeaux,'' have painted in such gloomy tones. His father
reproached him most bitterly for consorting with traitors and
making friends of them: '' Miex aimme ases les traitors .laniers
Que les preiidommes ; s'en ai le cuer irie I "

We perceive him one day killing the son of Ogier, and by this
act setting the torch to a train of a terrible war, and then leading

2IO CHIVALRY.

the sons of Duke Seguin of Bordeaux into an ambuscade, in which
he himself perished. Here is a souvenir of a really historical
personage, and our Chariot is none other than " Charles the
Infant,'* son of Charles the Bald, who died on 29th of September,
866, under similar circumstances. The historical personage and
the hero of the legend are about on a par, and when Reginon
accuses the former of " youthful levity " he uses an euphuism
which we cannot apply to either individual, but which can be
applied unquestionably to a certain number of the vaUU — the
youthful barons of the twelfth century.

There is no need to dwell longer upon such a scene, so let us
turn as a last example to the young noble of the time of Louis the
Seventh, or of Philip Augustus, the bold, strong, elegant and
courageous youth launched into the midst of some **epic battle "
and preserving in all his heroism, something humane and charming.
" Jouenes horn sui, ne vuel encor morir," was the cry of the youthful
Ernaut (as we have already perceived), as he fled before Raoul de
Cambrai. Who would expect to find in that most sanguinary of
our epic poems this cry so natural and so true, this very same
exclamation which Andre Chenier has put into the mouth of his
young captive — " I do not want to die yet ! *'

And now the time of probation is over, and we come — (0 !
happiness — 0 ! joy) to the period at which our damoiseau is told
he must prepare himself to receive knighthood — at last !

IX.

At what age were the youths admitted to the eighth sacrament ?
There is no doubt that there existed some connection between the
arrival at " majority," and the period at which one could be dubbed
knight. But the time when the youth attained his majority varied.

Amongst German tribes it varied. With the Salians it was twelve
years, with the Ripuarians fifteen. These different dates obtained
for a more or less lengthened period in the districts inhabited by
the descendants of those tribes, and a curious vein of study is here
opened to us. But of all the Germans it may be said as Theodoric
said of the Goths, "It is strength that regulates the attainment of

YOUTH OF THE BARON. 211

the majority. As soon as he was big enough to fight, the young
barbarian came of age."

However that may have been, thanks to the softening tone of
manners and under the visible influence of Roman Law, there has
arisen amongst us a more and more marked tendency to postpone
the arrival at majority, and to fix the date of coming of age at
twenty or twenty-one. This tendency had already obtained to a
certain extent in the twelfth century. In Glanville, in [the Tres
ancien Coutumier Normand, it is fixed at twenty-one. In the
thirteenth century the custom became still more accentuated. It
is true that in Beauvaisis the old German custom is adhered to,
and fifteen is stated as the period of coming of age ; but the
Coutume de France mentions twenty, while the second part of
Tres ancieti Coutumier Norinaiid, the Tres ancien Coutume d'Anjou,
nnd the Etablissements de Saint Louis are unanimous in putting
the period, thenceforth agreed upon, at twenty-one. In the twelfth
century the unanimity was still more striking, and it is best to
accept that age here. So twenty-one years was the time for coming
of age — not twenty-one years accomplished, but only entered upon.

Well, all these variations regarding the age of majority we find
repeated when the question of the proper time for dubbing the
aspirant a knight arose. So once again we find an evident
parallelism between these two questions. But on the plain of
Chivalry the German idea resisted longer, much longet, than on
the level of Majority.

In our chronicles as in our chansons de (jeste, which so accurately
reflect the Chivalresque life of the period, we find many opinions
regarding the age for becoming a knight ; and these are not easy
to reconcile. They prove to us that an aspirant might become a
knight at twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, seventeen , and nineteen.
If I had to give the average age I should say fifteen — the period of
arriving at majority amongst the Germans !

But it is necessary to take into consideration the same influences
which concurred in pushing back the age for the attainment of the
majority, and we must state that the tendency became more and
more marked to *' push back " the age for the bestowal of knight-
hood to twenty-one also. But this was no easy matter.

In the thirteenth century twenty-one was the fashionable age.

p 2

212

CHIVALRY.

If Arthur were dubbed knight at fifteen, it was for political reasons.
If Philip the Fair was in after years knighted at sixteen, it was for
similar reasons, for he was actually King of Navarre at the time.
On the other hand, the sons of Saint Louis and of Philip the Fair
were not armed until they were twenty years of age. "One cannot
attain one's majority, nor become a knight, until after one has
entered on his twenty-first year/' Such is the present rule, and
we can find very few exceptions to it in France ; but we are now
very far from German traditions, and even from the twelfth
century.

In brief, our damoiseau, the youth whom we have followed day
by day, is yet only fifteen and will be dubbed knight. It is quite
true ; his feathers are overlapping the nest ! Pennce nido majores.
He cannot hide his exultation, and he goes about the castle
singing, " A knight, a knight, I am to be dubbed a knight ! "

CHAPTER VII.

THE ADMISSION TO CHIVALRY.— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY.

I.

In our old poets we find many expressions to denote the entry or
admission to chivalry. One is girt with the sword or the baldric ;
one is made, armed, or dubbed knight. The last expression
appears to have been the most usual at the same time as it is the
most technical, but it, nevertheless, presents to us some little
difficulties. That it is derived from the Anglo-Saxon dubban,
that it signifies to strike, that it carries the allusion to the famous
" blow " which the investor bestows upon the shoulder of the
newly-made knight, I am ready to admit ; but, at the same time, I
must say that the meaning is in our language somewhat "pre-
historic," for, in the most ancient testimony in our national poetry,
we find the word dub is simply used in the sense of ''arming."

However, no matter what word was used to signify the admission
of the youthful aspirant into the ranks of chivalry, the prospect
was equally alluring to our youthful damoiseau, who anticipated it
with impatient enthusiasm. It was the all absorbing idea, his
sole thought. The squire asked himself when should he become a
knight ; and the wedded knight, some years married, would
murmur to his wife, '* When shall our children become knights ? "
The old baron, contemplating with lack-lustre eyes the youngest of
his children, would say, '' Look, behold, my sons. If Providence
will only spare me to see them knights, my heart, my old heart will
rejoice ! "

Chivalry was then the dream, the end, the regal honour. It has
been said, and truly, that our century had the " torment of the
infinite." This expression of Schlegel cannot be applied to the
Middle Ages because they possessed nothing peculiarly tormenting;

214 CHIVALRY.

but we can truly say that if our forefathers had not the " torment"
of chivah-y they had the passion for it.

Scholars have sometimes been wrong in attempting to reduce
truths to dry and uninteresting classifications, but their pro-
ceedings, even if far-fetched, must not be altogether despised.
Apropos of the admission to Chivalry, the chaplain of our future
knight proposed to himself a little treatise which he divided into
five chapters entitled Quis ? Quando ? Ubi ? Per quern ? Quomodo '!
He even endeavoured to condense these five questions into a single
hexameter verse, but nothing came of the attempt.

Nevertheless we shall follow the chaplain's lead, but for the sake
of clearness put our ideas in French (English). Who was eligible
to be armed a knight ? When will he receive the order of
Chivalry ? Where should he receive it ? By whom should it be
conferred ? What are the rites of this eighth sacrament which so
many thousands valued so highly ? These are the five questions
which we are about to answer in turn.

n.

Who was eligible for knighthood ? If we were to reply "Every-
body," we should not be far from the truth. No one could or can
say that Chivalry was a '' close " institution, or, if you prefer the
term, a caste. Only the infirm were excluded because they could
not cut a good figure in battle, and the whole of Chivalry is
summed up in the word '* fighting." The Church very wisely
excludes cripples from the'altar, where they would be ridiculed, and
the warriors of the Middle Ages also very wisely excluded them
from Chivalry, in which they would have been useless. Depravity
of mind, infamous manners, the disdain which attaches to certain
professions, or origin : all these moral infirmities were calculated
to close the doors of Chivalry against such base and dishonoured
persons. It is true that Richard Coeur de Lion was very anxious
to make Mercadier, the bandit chief, his companion-in-arms, a
knight, but he could not. It was simply impossible. As he was
unable to ennoble this brigand, he enriched him, which was a much
more feasible feat.

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY.

215

However, Chivalry was '* open."

Yes, it was open to the vilains, and our chansons, which we have
already quoted in this connection, supply us with more than one
famous instance which will be useful to put on record here. The
poor woodcutter, Varocher, who devoted himself so heroically to
the Queen of France, then so ignominiously calumniated and pro-
scribed, who for her sake abandoned his wife and children to become

U^mcii ^.iccinju vi ivi.i^iiL by the dead liuud of llukiud {an, u. -oij.

her guide and defender, who led her into Hungary, and protected
her infant child Louis, born in exile, as he had protected his
mother : this kind of labouring man, whose great shock head of
hair made all the passers-by laugh, this vilain of vilains one day
was dubbed knight by Charlemagne himself in person. Yes, an
emperor girded on his sword, a duke actually buckled his spurs,
and a queen invested him with the cirlaton reserved for the nobility.
She did more ; she exclaimed as she thus invested him, '* There is
not in the whole world a man more loyal ! " If you give to these
words their true significance you will understand that Chivalry was

2i6 CHIVALRY.

the royal recompense, and that the lowest of the vilains could
aspire to it.

The other peasant was Simon le Voyer, who so generously received
the'sweet and innocent wife of King Pepin, Bertha. This man of
humble birth was also admitted to the same dignity, to the same
honour. A mantle of cloth of gold was cast over his shoulders, the
king girt him with his sword, and the Duke Namus fastened his
spurs. Both his sons were created knights at the same time, and,
like him, received the king's embrace. Such an elevation surprised
no one, and the act was less unusual than one might suppose. Our
romances are full of complaints against those who introduced
peasants into the orders of chivalry. *' It is a very ill recompense
to a warrior to make the sons of vilains knights," remarks the
author of Girart de Eoussillon, and one almost feels that the cry is
wrung from the depths of his heart.

The fact is that the privilege was abused. Without taking into
consideration those provinces in which the tradespeople arrogated to
themselves the power of girding on the sword of knighthood, there
occurred a great scandal amongst the true knights when certain
jyarvenus bestowed on themselves the accolade just as in the present
day certain financiers decorate themselves. Take for instance the
case of that merchant who is mentioned in Doon de Maience. He had
never in all his life done anything but money-grubbing ; that was
his only merit, but he was knighted because of his wealth. ** Mis
pour son grant avoir Vot oufet adouher.'"

The verse is typical, and might with equal truth be applied to
knights of our own day. In fact, the bestowal of knighthood was a
very excellent means by which men were bent to one's will, and
became the creatures of the great. When the traitor Herchembaud
wished to get rid of the children of Gui de Maience, he sought first
to corrupt their tutor. " I w^ill make you a knight," he said.
This was likewise the promise which young Koland made to the
porter of the castle of Laon where he was restrained : but the porter,
who was a vulgar-minded man, did not think much of chivalry.
'* It is a trade," said he, *' in which one receives too many blows,"
and he rudely declined, as we have seen, the advances of the nephew
of Charlemagne. But it was different with the two serfs who so
heroically refused to desert poor Amis when he was smitten with

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 217

leprosy, for they joyfully permitted themselves to be dubbed
knights. As a last trait, knighthood was accessible to jongleurs,
and even to comedians ! This is saying a great deal in a very few
words.

But we must not go too far and generalise, for, however
numerous the cases may have been, they were, after all, only excep-
tions. The others composed the rule — well, not perhaps the rule,
but the custom — and it was contained in the following formula,
''Of damoiseaiw, of sons of knights, of young nobles, came the
stuff of which knights are made."

Amongst the candidates for knighthood were those who had to
endure the privations, and submit to the rude discipline of an
esquire ; but this was not an indispensable condition, and noble
birth generally was sufficient. It is true that the young noble was
not born a knight, but he belonged to a social class in which, at
proper age, all the male members were created knights. The man
of war made his son a warrior as soon as he was able to bear his
armour, and wield his sword. This was only natural, and was the
result of circumstances.

m.

At what time of life could he receive the " sacrament " of
Chivalry ? We need not here again enter upon this question, which
has already been elucidated. But were there not certain days
which were set apart for this solemn rite ? Yes, certainly ; and
our forefathers, who were religious men, chose the anniversaries of
the great church festivals. They were certain on those days of
having a numerous audience, and a crowd of spectators ! The
tradespeople and peasantry who thronged the churches, took intense
delight (after mass) in playing at the quintain, which generally
brought the feast to a conclusion. It may be allowed that the
grandees did not disdain the applause of the populace, and indeed,
may be said to have sought it rather too freely. We have
noticed in our old poems five days, fete days, which were more
especially devoted to the creation of knights. These were Christ-

2i8 CHIVALRY.

mas Day, Easter, Ascension Day, Whitsunday, and Saint John's
Day.

One only of these festivals falls in the winter, and it was the
least patronized, because the formalities of creation required open
air, springtime and festivity. To dub a knight in the winter, is
almost a contradiction in terms. Easter and Whitsuntide were evi-
dently the favourite fixtures : *' Jl Pasques en Avril que soes est li
fenSy'' and elsewhere — " Cefu a Pentecoste qu' est plusiers li es'tes.'"^
Do not speak of December for the celebration of that beautiful fete
— no, give me the months of April, May, and June. The budding
knights are then more in keeping with the blossoms of the trees.
Our forefathers did not very probably go into it quite so deeply as
all that, but they had a very vivid sense of the harmonies of which
they did not render exact account. They felt the influence of
spring without being able to explain it scientifically. Besides,
Easter is really the fete of fetes, the day of days. It was the first
day of the year, the acme of the Liturgical year, and all the tradi-
tions of the primitive church were then fresh and living in the
hearts of those rough Christians.

It has again not been sufficiently insisted on, that the nights at
Easter and Whitsuntide have been, from far Christian antiquity,
sanctified by the Vigils, of which the Liturgy still possesses the
traces, and in which all faithful people took an active part. Be-
tween the vigils of arms — the watching of the armour — of which
we shall shortly speak, and the beautiful religious vigils of Easter
and Pentacost there is a natural and glorious co-relation. I do not
wish to adventure into dangerous symbolism, but I can nevertheless
not forget that the Feast of Pentacost is the anniversary of the
foundation of that church to which all knights in former days de-
voted their swords and their lives, and involuntarily there come to-
my mind the different orders of the Holy Ghost which did honour
to the Church and to France. Still more than Easter Pentacost
was a well recognised solemn feast-day, and I am not surprised at
it. On that morning, at high mass, our young damoiseaux were
greatly moved while listening to a "sequence " usually composed
for the occasion, and which the clergy took pleasure in translating
for them. "In toil be our repose, and in burning hardships our
refreshment, and our delight." Our future soldiers relished this

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 219

versicle very much, and they were soon to be called to suifer but
toils and privations under the burning sun of Palestine. In labore
requies, in cestu temperies !

But the church festivals were not the only days on which our
newly-made knights were created. Advantage was taken very often
of those numerous private gatherings and fetes which peopled the
solitudes of the castle or the palace. On the occasion of a Vv^edding or
a baptism of royalties, many varlets were dubbed knights. The
creation of the son of a king as knight, was the opportunity for
dubbing many less distinguished individuals. It was a great com-
pliment to give to the son of a king an escort of twenty, fifty, or a
hundred newly- created cavaliers like himself. This was a delicate
attention, a luxury. But all these kinds of ceremonies appear to
us, if we may say so, too polite and civil. The function which we
prefer to all others is that which is carried out on the field of battle,
or in the* midst of the fight, without any such " apparatus " or pre-
paration, when the warrior is covered with blood and dust. Not-
withstanding the somewhat unpleasant character of such a ceremony,
of such an improvised consecration, there is something of an air of
triumph in the weird surroundings, something of hope and joy.

There is still one more festival. It happened when the Crusa-
ders were gallantly struggling beneath the walls of Antioch, when,
seeing the brilliant exploits of the Squire Gontier d'Aire, Godfrey
de Bouillon exclaimed : *' We will make him a knight as soon as
ever he pleases ! " But the damoiseau replied in the true Christian
spirit and refused the honour, the ofier of which must have been
to him a source of great joy. ** No," he replied, " no more dubbing
of knights; no more chevaliers until we have taken the Holy
Sepulchre ! " This refusal is not far removed from sublimity.

IV.

" Where was the knight armed ? "
' On the field of battle, first of all, in the hour of enthusiasm and
victory after some doughty deed. This grand old custom may be
placed very far back into antiquity, and our old poems give us
many striking instances of it. In this manner Danois was dubbed

220 CHIVALRY.

under the walls of Kome after having covered himself with glorv
in one of the greatest battles which established the destiny of the
Eternal City. Thus he was made a Knight after having snatched
from Pagan hands the oriflamme, the standard of France.

On another occasion it happened that Bertrand, son of Bernard
of Brabant, presented himself one day to his father in the heat of
battle and requested to be made a knight,

" What do you know about it ? You cannot even wield a
lance," replied his father, brutally, as he aimed a blow at the face
of his son, who thereupon dashed into the enemies' ranks and
sought a warrior's death. We can, then, imagine that any creation
of knights on the field of battle was unattended by any complicated
ceremonies, and that the ritual was of the simplest character. In
two minutes the whole business was completed.

Archbishop Turpin " made no bones about it ; " he rushed into
the battle exclaiming " Je suis evesques,'' or **me fez chevalier,''
But this was rather a summary proceeding, for a consecrator at
least was absolutely necessary to make a warrior a true knight,
and he could not thus take the matter into his own hands. From
the thirteenth to the sixteenth centuries the fashion of creating
knights on the field of battle only obtained in France, and in
all Christian Europe. It opened the door to abuses. Chivalry as
we have said ought to be the highest form of recompense, the most
noble and the most enviable of all rewards, and it was a great
pleasure to see the young men, pale and wounded, on the evening
of some well-fought day, receiving the paumee and fitting on their
gold spurs.

After the battle this was all very weU ; before the battle it was
unnecessary. Juan, King of Portugal, is greatly to be admired,
when before the Battle of Aljubarrota in 1385 he placed in the
van of his army the sixty warriors whom he had just created
knights, and thus dismissed them proudly :

"Beaux Seigneurs," he said, "I send you into the first shock of
the battle. Do all you can in honour, otherwise your gold spurs
may not sit very comfortably on you ! "

This is all very well, but if I rejoice over the four hundred and
sixty French knights who were created before the victory of
Rosebecque, I am not quite so proud of the five hundred who were

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 221

dubbed before the defeat at Agincourt. I am not often of
Brantome's opinion, and I may be too proud of it, but I am
compelled to admit his reasoning when he states his preference for
knighthood conferred after a battle.

Now I will close all I have to say about the creations "in battle"
with the relation of the interesting incident which recalls the
memory of one of the greatest knights in our national history — I
mean Du Guesclin, who has been found worthy of having our latest
chansons de geste devoted to him.

The scene took place long after the death of this rough but
celebrated captain, in 1423, on the evening of the battle of
Brossiniere. This was one of those rare — very rare — victories
which in some measure consoled France during the Hundred
Years' War, as the victory of Coulmiers did in 1870 : a little ray
of sunshine in the darkness of our day. The conqueror of 1423
called himself Count d'Aumale, and he was the king's cousin.

He ended the glorious day, as was his custom, in making
many knights on the field of battle. The youthful Andre de Laval
was of the number, and the commander girt him with Du Guesclin's
own sword, saying, " May Heaven make you as valiant as he who
once wore it ! "

If we were a nation of more traditions, if we had a more lively
regard for the ancient honour of France, we would guard jealously
the remembrance of those proud words. But we are as ignorant of
them as of the bond which united the great souls of Du Guesclin
and Joan of Arc ; for there are perhaps not ten Frenchmen at the
present day — no not ten — who are acquainted with the touching
incident of the deliverer of Orleans sending her ring which she
wore as a girl to the widow^ of Bertrand du Guesclin, who fifty years
before had worked so hard to deliver France. To have such a story
as this in their annals and not to know it !

Notwithstanding the poetic side of the creations which were
made on the field, warriors resigned themselves to enter into
Chivalry in a more prosaic fashion, for it was in times of peace
that most knights were dubbed. This function, like our first
communions, re-assembled the scattered family and united it
tenderly again. The ceremony took place in a church or castle,
according as the family of the postulant or the novice himself had

222 CHIVALRY,

elected the liturgic or the military ritual. The church chosen was
generally the nearest monastery, and it was an exceptional case in
which the knight was dubhed in the Sanctuary of Saint Catherine
or Saint Sepulchre afterwards.

But the lay rites it must be maintained remained for a long
time in vogue, and we are compelled to inquire what part of Jthe
castle was specially reserved for such an important and striking
ceremony ? Either the meadows or fields which surrounded the
castle, or the open space at the top of the steps leading to it. The
first rites of the creation did not require any great space, and that
in front of the castle was sufficient. From the picturesque point
of view simply, no better place could have been selected, and it
may be recommended to decorators and artists. At the top of
these steps everything assumed an air of grandeur, and a thousand
spectators could easily witness all the details of the ceremony.
When, however, the last acts of the military ritual had to be
accomplished, when the new knight had to vault into the saddle,
to gallop and strike at the quiiitain, neither the terrace nor the
step was sufficiently large. He was compelled to leave the castle,
he was followed by all his friends, and surrounded by the crowd
of spectators. The ceremony was concluded in the open on some
lovely spring day amid blossoms and flowers.

I need scarcely add that our damoiseau was ever ready to be
dubbed in the palace, and at the risk of sounding a sad note in this
joyous strain I must add that sometimes a warrior was made a
Imight on his death-bed. The ceremony was most touching,
and eminently calculated to inspire a work of art. But I decidedly
prefer the field of battle to all other places.

So we now know what were the conditions on which the College
of Chivalry could be entered, the time of year, and the ordinary
surroundings amid which the ceremony took place.

But who was the consecrator ? To whom belonged the privilege
of making knights ? It is necessary to ascertain this.

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 223

V.

I Every knight has the poiver to create knights. — This is the
principle which we must first lay down and which is predominant :
it was the ancient and primordial custom, the spirit, the life, the
very essence of the institution.

Chivalry was a society in which all members had a right to
introduce new members, and as many as they pleased. That is
the whole matter.

There is in the hand and in the sword of every knight a power
(I nearly wrote " a fluid," but I did not dare) which is really
capable of creating other knights. It was the most noble and the
most precious privilege of the miles. If it were not an abuse of so
sacred a term, I would say that he was a military priest. But
iifter all, Chivalry in this, as in other things, has been modelled on
the Church. A Christian is permitted to make Christians in some
^jircumstances, and the water of Baptism may in some instances
fall from any hand. So in like manner every knight could very
legitimately say to himself, **I can make others knights;" and
hold up his head proudly.

But of course it must be understood that in practice this was
not the case, and the right was not exercised by all knights.
The candidate who was very young and inexperienced, cast his eyes
round him and debated within himself who should be his sponsor.
Now, the first knight who presented himself to his mind was his
father. One need not be a profound student of human nature to
come to the conclusion that the youth would voluntarily select his
father for his sponsor. *' Between pater and patrinus and the
chaplain of our chateau," there is so little difference.

Therefore in our chansons de geste nothing is more usual than to
find instances of fathers creating their sons knights. Thus Hervis
of Metz was one day armed by his father Duke Peter. But I am
not acquainted with any more complete type, and any more charm-
ing instance of the dubbing of the knight than that scene in Aiol,
in which we behold the youthful hero of that charming poem, on
the point of starting from home for the Court of Louis, entreating
his father to grant him the arms of Chivalry. The poor mother is

224 CHIVALRY.

a spectator of the ceremony which presages for her a long absence
from her son.

" My son," she said, *' never forget your father who is ill."

*' My son," said his father, *' never forget your mother who will
soon be here all alone ! "

Then the old Elias girt him with the steel sword, the hrant
d'acier, and bestowed the colee on his son. Aiol could now leave
— he was a knight !

It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to add that when the father of
the damoiseau was not within reach, the young man had recourse
to his nearest relatives, and chose amongst them his sponsor.
The uncle is indicated, and it is marvellous to note in our epic
poems how paternal the uncle was. There is the admirable
William of Orange, one of those heroes — a rare occurrence in our
old poems — who had no children. But he was greatly attached to
all his nephews, and most of all he loved Vivien. He would never
yield to another the delight and pleasure he felt in conferring
knighthood, and there came a certain Easter-tide {que Von dit en
este) when William armed Vivien.

" I vow," said his nephew, " I vow, dear uncle, that I wdll never
retire one step before the Saracens ! "

Thus spoke the new knight with all the impetuosity and
imprudence of youth. Alas ! he adhered only too well to his
promise. He was slain at Aliscans.

There was another sponsor who was sometimes preferred by the
novices to both father and uncle, and he whom custom, morals, and
right favoured was their liege-lord. The liege-lord or a liege-lord.
The young nobles found it to their interest to place themselves
under the protection of some rich and powerful baron — it is some-
thing of the same kind of feeling which influences our parents at
our baptisms. Any Christian can no doubt hold a baby at the
font, but the family of the child, in a spirit of calculation not to be
condemned, choose in preference those whose means and position
are likely to advance the child's interests. Thus it happened that
our would-be knights demanded the colee from a count, a duke,
their suzerain, or, ascending rapidly the social ladder, from the
emperor or king.

Our old romances {chansons) sometimes enlighten us upon

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 225

certain points which history fails to illuminate. This is the case
as regards the conferring of knighthood hy sovereigns, concerning
which we are hy no means well informed, and of which the
compilers of history have not taken sufficient notice. "We are, for
our own part, convinced that emperors and kings have habitually
profited by the impulse which directed to them so many aspirants
for knighthood, very anxious to receive their swords from the hands
of such exalted personages, pleased at the idea of obtaining such
powerful protectors, and assured under such conditions of having a
successful career.

We are convinced that kings and emperors themselves begged
for the creation, or at least for the opportunity of confirming all
these new knights. It is equally certain that this attempt broke
down, and the older custom prevailed. Instead of making a leap
over their natural sponsors, the valeU more often continued to
request the colee from their fathers, and from their liege-lords
direct, from some powerful neighbouring baron, or from a simple
knight ; and the royal confirmation was very rarely sought. But all
this did not happen in a day, nor without many interesting changes
of fortune. Our old poems, fortunately, are not so silent on this
subject as are our histories.

We can all understand that the squires indulged the wish to
have their swords girt on by the king in a marble hall under the
eyes of a thousand barons clothed in silver mail, in the presence of
many hundreds of beautiful dames arrayed in silks and gold
embroidery, and the ceremonial was otherwise imposing, much
more so than if it had taken place in their father's castle. That
fathers shared their sons* sentiments in this matter, and had
voluntarily despatched them to the court, is a fact attested by at
least fifty of our chansons.

The ceremony was always carried out in the same fashion. The
old baron, looking round on his elder sons, would perceive one day
that they were strong enough and big enough to wield sword and
lance. Then the same words would rise to his lips —

** Go and request the emperor to knight you — to give you
lands."

So they departed, meeting with numerous adventures of all
kinds, and of which the recital forms the foundation of all

226 CHIVALRY.

romances, until one morning they reached Paris dusty and gleeful,
exhausted, perhaps, but delighted with their surroundings; and
forgetting all the fatigues of the journey, caused themselves to be
conducted to the palace where the king awaited them with open
arms.

In our old epic poems, which faithfully reflect the manners and
customs of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the solemn seasons
of Easter and Whitsuntide seldom passed without witnessing the
interesting ceremony of the creation of new knights ; and kings, in
order to attract to their courts the damoiseaux of all countries,
dispensed princely largesses. This was good policy, and one is at
a loss to know whether they were more generous or more
diplomatic.

In one of our chansons, which presents to us the greatest detail
of the family life of our ancestors, and which we have frequently
utilised for its exact and vivid representation of the manners of the
period, we find the recital of one of these functions — the creation
of knights by a king. Nothing can be more delightful than the
little-known pages of Godefroi de Bouillon. We are in spirit at
Boulogne, and the son of Count Witasse, who was also called
Witasse, was sent by his father to the English Court there to be
admitted into the Order of Chivalry. The youthful valet is incom-
parable to any other valet or meschin. He took in his train ten
other damoiseaux, twenty-six squires and sergents, four knights
and four valuable steeds, without mentioning an abundance of
money, fars, and birds of chase. Ah, that was a fine departure !
And the crossing was favourable. The young Boulonnais and his
train halted at Canterbury and Rochester. " Where is the king?"
he demanded. "In London." " Let us make for London then."
Witasse reached the city before sunset and established himself
within the shadow of Saint Paul's.

Scarcely had he arrived when he displayed his magnificence.
His rooms were illuminated brightly and gleamed across the street.
" Let all those who are hungry come and dine with me ; the table
is spread." The poor came in crowds, the officers and knights did
not hinder them, and very soon people began to gossip about this
young damoiseau of France who was more liberal and more regal
than the king himself.

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 227

** I am the son of the Count of Boulogne," said Witasse to the
king, one day as they came from mass together, " and I have come
hither to request of you my garnimens (investiture)."

Thereupon the king embraced him and feted him, and dubbed
him knight with *' most joyous luxury." His clothing was magni-
ficent, he had never appeared so handsome, and the poet naively
remarks, as he compares him with the other damoiseaux, that this
youth of " thirteen and a half years old " was to them in com-
parison as the gerfalcon to the magpie, as silver to lead, as the rose
to the nettle. The king himself girded Witasse with his sword,
and the bachelor, after a glorious run at the quintain, was nomi-
nated Seneschal of England "ere the day was over." My goodness!
what a quantity of furs and cloaks, what presents were distributed
that evening in the good city of London. The newly created knight
gave largesse to everyone, and would carry nothing back to
Boulogne. The troubadours sang; psalms resounded, and uni-
versal joy prevailed. This fete was long remembered.

Witasse's brother, whose name was Godfrey, was quietly
Imighted by his father at Boulogne. In fact such expensive
ceremonies could not be repeated often, and the eldest son was
frequently the only one who enjoyed the luxury of investiture. It
was rather expensive work being dubbed by a king.

It is very certain that kings themselves attached real value to
these creations, which tended to favour their encroachments, and to
increase their prestige. They would have preferred to multiply
them indefinitely and, at the same time, to have enunciated the
great principle, " Only the king can arm knights ! " On this
point, again, history comes off second best with the poets, who
supply the lapse advantageously. We may, as a matter of fact,
divide our chansons into two distinct groups — the Royal and the
Feudal. Nor is it in the anti-feudal romances that the pretensions
of our kings come out with such a force and audacity, and nothing is
more valuable from this point of view than a too little known
episode in the Chanson d' Aspremont.

At the opening of this poem, which belongs to the end of the
twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth century, we find
Charlemagne energetically protesting against any of his nobles
creating knights — so that none was rash enough to gird any knight;

Q 2

228 CHIVALRY.

and again " Charles prevented all those in his dominions from
making a single knight." *' Let the damoiseaux come to Court
when it shall be assembled. There each one shall receive a steed,
a sword, a good hauberk, a closed helmet, and a silken robe, and,
if he pleases, he shall be made a knight on the spot." Summary
penalties were proclaimed against those who would infringe upon
the king's privileges. They were liable to be exiled — proscribed !

The emperors and kings of our romances have gone even farther,
and Charlemagne in another version of this Aspremont which we
have quoted, gives vent to the almost revolutionary expression —
" Let anyone who pleases be a knight." He immediately put this
audacious theory into practice and, says the poet, he made knights
of all sorts and conditions of men. *' Those who were serfs have
left behind them their servitude." This is the very acme of
Caesarism, and it has never descended quite so far in reality. But
our chansons at least bring into the light an undoubted tendency
of the central power. It is as well to know it.

Hitherto we have spoken of only one " consecrator," but in time

several were required. This luxury arose, as may be anticipated,

only amongst sons of kings, dukes and counts, and not amongst

I the small fry. However, these sponsors divided the responsibility

land the business. One put on one spur, another the other, a third

f girded on the sword, a fourth bestowed the pawnee, while a fifth

j brought forth the fine steed on which the newly- dubbed knight was

to display his prowess.

These functions were, fortunately, not always so complicated, and
in lieu of five sponsors our well-born squires easily resigned them-
selves to having four, even three, or perhaps only two ! There was
a series of ceremonials with which we need not weary the reader,
but the whole was imposing and grand. All who took any part in
the rites performed their duty with becoming seriousness. The
spurs were gravely fastened, gravely was the sword buckled on, and
gravely was delivered the heavy blow upon the shoulder {the pawnee).
The ceremonial was religious, quiet, and imposing. It is impossible
to mention this military but touching ceremonial without recalling
the beautiful composition in which Simone Memmi has immortal-
ised the creation of Saint Martin. It is a scene from the Middle
Ages — nay, rather I shall say it is the entire cycle of the Middle

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 229

Ages, embodied, living, by the genius and the pencil of a great
artist.

We have hitherto only spoken of "lay" ceremonial, but in the
twelfth century at certain times and in certain countries, a clerical
element was imported into the admission to Chivalry. This may
astonish some of our contemporaries who believe in secularising
everything, but it must be stated that during the periods in which
St. Bernard and St. Louis flourished, souls were attracted by a
magnet of whose power we have but little knowledge. There were
dainoiseaiix who made the journey to Rome in order to be conse-
crated by " the Vicar of Christ." Many others cast themselves
down before bishops, and begged for Chivalric honours at their
hands. Examples are numerous, and the office of the Benedictio
novi militis came in to triumph over ancient prejudices. The
abbots who " illumined " a certain number of castles and strong-
holds made themselves remarkable, especially in England, for their
ardour in making new knights. The Church found it necessary to
extinguish this bright fire, and in a council held at Westminster,
formally prohibited these irregular creations. In Spain, they did
not incline in that direction, and this proud, rather too proud, race
one day arrived at the pitch of consecration ** by oneself! " Spanish
kings crowned themselves boldly with their own hands — they were
fond of this swagger — and Spanish knights girded themselves with
the armour of chivalry. These exhibitions of pride are marvellously
like ostentation, but they are not without some characteristics of
grandeur. In France, we were not so grand in our ideas, and many
a youthful noble, many a young prince, has thought himself happy
as long as he lived, if he had been knighted by a lady. Both
history and romance unite in presenting to us cases in which these
feminine creations have occurred, and in which truly philosophical
minds find a new proof of the elevation to which the Christian
Middle Age was enabled to raise the position of woman. Antiquity
afibrds no parallel. When the united voices of Peter the Hermit
and Urban II. called the Western barons to the Holy Land, we do
not find that wives and sisters sought to dissuade their husbands or
brothers.

The daughter of Philip the First, Cecile, wife of Tancred, wished
to confer with her own hands the honour of knighthood on several

230 CHIVALRY.

squires who were about to proceed to the Holy Land. There were
many other C^ciles ; and it is to he regretted that our historians
have not left us, as Orderic Vital did, the names of some of these
modest heroines. Our romances are here more prolix, and, if I
may say so, more historical. When the brother of Vivien, the
youthful Guichardet, escaped from the town of Orange to fly to the
assistance of his brother, who was so soon to perish at Aliscans, his
aunt Guibourc would not permit him to undertake such a perilous
enterprise until she had herself endowed him with knightly arms.
She inducted him into his hauberk ; she laced his helmet round his
youthful head ; she herself girded him with his sword. The lad
found that Guibourc was too dilatory : he cried with vexation, and
escaping once again, he proceeded, and met in full melee his uncle
William, who did not recognise him, and addressed him as " Brother
Knight" {Chevalier fr ere). "You do not recognise me," said the
young man. *' I am named Guichardet, and am your nephew.
Guibourc made me a knight, and I have come to release my brother
Vivien." Then William embraced him.

But in whatever poetic garb Guibourc may be arrayed, it would
be preferable to see chivalry conferred on a young man with a smile
or by younger hands. An aunt is all very well, but a betrothed is
better, and we are fortunately enabled to be spectators of another
scene which is more romantic. That great giant — rather foolish
and very brutal — named Eobastre was one day dubbed by the tiny
hands of Plaisance, and it was not a sword but a hatchet which she
fastened to his side. I must say, however, that as a picture in this
style I prefer the creation of Jourdain de Blaives by the beautiful
Oriabel, who was destined to be his wife. The young Valet was
making ready to encounter the terrible Sortin, and there was some
anxiety lest he should be vanquished in the unequal duel. Love
was active on his side — ** Will you swear to marry me if you come
off victorious?" said the lady. "Ah," replied Jourdain naively,
** I will swear it very willingly, and you make me feel happier than
if you had given me all Paris — hut I do not dare to say sol "

Then Oriabel, radiant, went away to the stable to fetch a splendid
horse for her fiance ^ and the investment began. The maiden her-
self buckled on his sword, but there was another rite at which she
hesitated a little. She did not dare to give him the colee, " I am

ADMISSION^ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 231

a woman," she said, " and it is not correct for me to strike a man."
" Yes, yes, strike, I pray you," cried Jourdain. Then she hesitated
no longer, but gave him the customary blow on the dear head
which was bent before her. "Be a knight," said she, "and may
God give you honour and courage." Then becoming all womanly
again, she continued, "If by any chance you would care for a kiss,
take one ! " He took three, and then leaped on his horse boldly.

We have another incident to chronicle — a terrible one — in
contrast to the last mentioned, a " consecrator " which no historian
has told of who appears only in the legend, viz., a dead
hand !

The story concerns the youthful son of Oliver, Galien, to whom
his mother one day disclosed the secret of his birth, and he then
heroically set forth to seek his father. Few poetic conceptions are
so strong, and none are more dramatic. After many adventures of
a more or less commonplace character which it is needless to
enumerate here, the young man to his great joy found his father
Oliver. But in what condition? On the field of Roncesvalles,
dying ! He had not five minutes more to live when his son at
length discovered him !

The illustrious friend of Koland had scarcely time to say these
few words to his son in almost inarticulate tones : " Love Charles
and beware of Ganelon ! " The young man lost little time in
barren regrets. He cast one look at his father's body and then
dashed into the midst of the Pagan ranks. What exploits he
performed ; what charges he made ! As evening fell the knights
perceived a young man covered with blood, descending the
mountain side. This was Galien, who had avenged his father.
The hero, however, was not yet a knight, and then they were
spectators of a great miracle. The inanimate corpse of Koland
was there under the eyes of the Emperor, full in Galien' s sight !

In the dead silence of the scene the right arm of the illustrious
friend of Oliver was raised slowly, and extended to Charles the
sword held by the blade. The king understood, and presented to
Galien this incomparable weapon ; then with a sudden inspiration
the king said : " You shall be made a knight." But such a hero
must not be conventionally dubbed, so the son of Pepin stooped
towards Roland, took the arm of the dead warrior and with this

232 CHIVALRY.

cold hand bestowed the colee on Galien. Never had it been so
administered before, and never since.

This is the only occasion even in romance in which a living
knight has been created by the hand of a dead chevalier.

VI.

We now know who were the candidates admitted to Chivalry.
We know also where, when, and by whom the new knights were
created, and we have replied to the four questions of our chaplain
which seemed to us at one time somewhat pedantic and indiscreet.
"Quis? Ubi? Quando? Per quern V There now remains the
fifth and last question, the most difficult of all, and one which it
will be necessary to consider in greater detail. How was a knight
created ? Quomodo ?

The majority of writers on Chivalry have on this topic fallen
into strange errors, and have unfortunately mixed up the various
epochs. They have read and re-read that charming little poem of
which we have already spoken more than once, V Or dene de
Chevaleriey which they regard as a classic manual, and of which
they have attempted a more or less faithful commentary. But as
a matter of fact these pleasing and facile verses do not give a
correct idea of the Chivalry of the eleventh and twelfth centuries.
The Ordene, which is a work of the time of Saint Louis, reveals, as
we have already stated, a very advanced condition of the subject — a
delicate civilization, poetic, refined. It is the same in the case of
the Benedictio novi militis which we found in the old Pontifical
writings. These are only works compiled after much seeking of
theories, and well ''boiled down " codifications. There is nothing
in them original, primitive, nor " native."

Just recall the simple and bald origin which we have been
compelled to assign to Chivalry; do not forget that it was the
giving of arms to the youthful German. An old soldier presented
a hatchet or a gun to a youthful recruit — this was the first and
most ancient of all Chivalric rites. There was no other element :
that was all !

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 233

To this primitive germ all the other elements were by degrees
united by the force of circumstances. This development is what
we are about to demonstrate.

To present a weapon to a youth who is going to fight is very
well, he could not do without it ; but since the commencement of
the eleventh century the nobles only fought on horseback, and all
" cavaliers," as the name indicates, were necessarily horsemen. So
it is quite natural to begin by putting the novice in a condition
proper for him to spur his steed and rush into the battle. From
/ this arose the investment of the spurs.

Spurs are very well too, but a battle was then only a series of
duels. Warriors fought hand to hand, and if a cavalier was not
clad in iron or steel he would be incontinently lost or maimed. So
before he girded on his sword he clothed himself in a fine shirt of
mail, and with a casque on his head with which he protected his
nose ; then he put on hauberk and helmet.

In order to feel more at his ease, and " fit," the youthful noble
would indulge in a bath first. But the bath had nothing symbolic
or ritualistic in it. It was not a symbol : it was merely for
health's sake.

There then was our young noble bathed, spurred, clothed and in
a coat of mail. The solemn moment has arrived. He is girded
I with his sword! This is the essence, and as theologians say,
the form of the sacrament of chivalry. The rest is merely
accessory.
i The colee itself — the heavy blow of the palm upon the nape of
the neck — was only adopted later, and was not necessary for the
validity of the sacrament. We could quote many instances in our
old poems in which the colee was not bestowed, and in which the
knight was dubbed only with the sword. At what period did the
blow with the palm of the hand come into vogue ? Whence did it
arise ? What was the real significance of it ? We will endeavour
to reply to all these questions by and by.

Whatever may have been the object of this savage " confirma-
tion," this paumee which the consecrator let fall on the neck of the
novice sometimes -with sufficient force to stun him, it is certain
that the brutality was accompanied by a little sermon or piece of
advice which had no Christian germ in it. " Be brave ! " Then

234 CHIVALRY.

the newly- made knight was requested to demonstrate his qualities i
of cavalier.

He took a run and leaped into the saddle — it was considered '
disgraceful to touch the stirrup — then he dashed away at a gallop, |
watched by hundreds of spectators who applauded him. But he ;
had still to prove his skill and strength, and to show that he was \
competent to meet his opponents in battle. There were for this j
purpose on the estaches, on posts, some " dummies " or effigies, i
and trophies of arms. It was necessary for the new knight to ;
overturn these without pausing in his career. Then there was the !
quintain which we shall have another opportunity to describe.
This joust terminated the ceremony. Then amidst acclamations j
and joyous cries the young knight dismounted, and went to seek ;
repose, or some other excitement. i

Such was the first mode of " dubbing a knight." It is all ;
material, Germanic, barbarous. The Church had no concern in it,
and did not even appear at it. The elements composing it are all
strictly military, and that is why we have chosen to delineate it as
the Military System.

But of course the Church could not remain long an indifferent j
spectator of such an important institution, and one which tended to j
rob it of its influence. It is no exaggeration to compare the [
Church during the Middle Ages to the sun which illuminates!
everything, and from which no living thing can definitively with-
draw itself. Little by little, without any violent transition, with- ,
out shock, and simply by the effort of social necessity, the creation
of knights (adouhement) y which did not cease to be a lay function, \
became Christianised. It must be confessed that the evolution did '
not succeed everywhere, and that the ancient mode subsisted side ■
by side with the new, but the transformation was important, and j
frequently definitive. Nothing was easier. Many families more
Christian than their neighbours began to think that these rites, i
which were certainly somewhat gross, did not ascribe to God a
part worthy of Him, and hastened to repair such a regrettable'
omission. The future knight hurried to place upon the altar of;
some monastery his arms, so that the association might give to ;
them an august and sacramental character. Other damoiseauxi
went farther, and implored the priests to bless their swords. It i

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 235

will be seen that the priest is not here in the character of the
€onsecrator or sponsor. He blessed the sword, but he did not invest
the knight ivith it /

But in spite of all a decisive step was taken and the advance did
not cease there. What was wanting at the entry into Chivalry was
a preparation proportioned to the majestic nature of the dedication
— ** an avenue," so to speak, and this the Church created. No-
body knew better than she how to make such preparation, and she
made it quite evident. It was not much trouble to the aspirants
for knighthood to hear on the morning of their admission the same
mass which they heard every other day, and which on that occasion
only would assume a character of more special solemnity. This
was something gained, but it was not sufficient. The Church
recalled those grand and solemn vigils which had been held in all
Christian churches during the bright nights of Easter and
Pentecost, and which terminated at dawn with the baptisms of
numbers of catechumens clothed in white dresses.

The ** Watching of the Armour " arose from these vigils. It is
nothing but an imitation — almost a copy of them. The knight
passed the whole night in a church waiting his second baptism,
aind this was the most Christian rite of a function into which
the odour of sanctity was penetrating deeper and deeper. To
** Christianize " the creation of the knight it was only requisite to
give a religious flavour to the little sermon, a very crude and
military address which accompanied the bestowal of the sword or of
the accolade. This was easy enough. Instead of saying " Be brave,"
one had to say ** Love God," and the change was accomplished !

Such was the second method of creation. A single epithet fits
it, and we willingly adopt it : it was the Christian Method !

The matter might have rested there, but the Church deemed it
necessary to proceed farther. In addition to the two former rituals
which, we must not forget, continued to coexist during the Middle
Ages, she formulated a third. This was one peculiar to herself, it
was all her own, it was completely and entirely Catholic ; but it
necessitated a sort of coiqy d'etat. The laity were by it relegated
to the second rank, and to sum up in a few words, the consecrator
of the new knight was not a layman but a priest. The bishop
stepped into the places of the knight, the father, the liege lord, the

236 CHIVALRY.

suzerain, or of the sovereign. It was the bishop who not only i
blessed but girded on the sword ; it was he who said ** Be thou i
knight ; " it was he who bestowed the accolade, greatly changed ]
now. It was no longer the heavy blow of the fist ; the gentle hand j
of the bishop could not deliver such buffets. The ecclesiastic did '
not strike, he touched. Some gentle taps with the flat of the ;
sword satisfied the pacific consecrator. So the mode of entry in j
Chivalry became unquestionably clerical. It was then no longer
the creation but the benediction of the new soldier. It is in the ;
missal and not in the epic poetry of the period that the new ritual
will be found. j

To sum up : the first method was essentially military ; the j
second was religious, but still of a lay character ; the third was !
Liturgical, and the title will cling to it. :

We have thus placed before our readers the "fatal" chain of'
ideas and of facts which, between the ninth and eleventh centuries, j
successively produced the three principal forms of admission to ;
Chivalry. We have nothing which we can substitute for the
examples, texts, and types. We are compelled to search our old |
poems and volumes for the scenes of action, so vivid and so warm, \
of these three methods, of which we, alas ! have written so coldly ! ;

VII.

The creation of knights according to the first or military mode is
that generally referred to in our most ancient histories or text-
books. The rite as therein described is simplicity itself, austere
and rough. It is the old German ''assumption of arms;" no
hand-buffet on the neck, no accolade. This coarseness was still
absent, and it is difficult to fix the exact time of its appearance.
It is probable that it dates some distance back, and is doubtless of
barbarian origin ; but, according to the text-books, there is nothing
certainly known about it before the twelfth century. When
WUliam the Conqueror, in the nineteenth year of his reign, wished
to make his son Henry a knight, one of his historians contents
himself with telling us in the simplest way that "he assumed

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 237

manly arms ! " This is the usual formula, and in it we perceive
a certain savour of far antiquity. This same William had formerly
received from the King of France the insignia of Chivalry. But
still there was no bufifet nor accolade. To be endowed with the
arms of Chivalry was still at that epoch a consecrated term, and it
is not unpoetic. In Germany the ritual was then the same as in
Normandy and England; and the kings themselves, when they
were created knights, were simply girt with the sword. Still no
accolade ! But why need we lose ourselves in this maze of detail ?
We have in our possession a page of a chronicle, a document almost
unique, and full of interest which one might say was borrowed,
almost copied, from a chanson de geste, and we are by no means
certain that the monk Marmoutier, who is the author of it, had not
before him some poetic effusion of which he sought to translate
the manly energy into classic Latin, though somewhat pedantic,
perhaps, and full of epithets. It treats of the "chivalry " of the
youthful Geoffrey Plantagenet, and of the arms which this son of
the Count of Anjou received from the hands of Henry, King of
England. This was in 1129. Listen !

Geoffrey was then fifteen years of age. He was well-looking,
and knew how to manage his steed ; but these were by no means the
highest of his many attributes. " Send me your son to Rouen ; I
will marry him to my daughter, and, as he is not yet a knight, I
will myself dub him at Whitsuntide." This was the message
which Count Foulques received one day from the King of England.
It was not difficult to obey such a command ; he obeyed.

Five barons were selected to accompany the young man, five
barons of renown : Hardouin de Saint-Mars, Jaquelin de Maille,
Robert de Semblengai, Jean de Clervaux, and Robert de Blois.
Twenty-five pages, of the same age as Geoffrey, rode behind him
with an imposing escort of knights. They hastened to depart, and
after a rapid progress reached Rouen. The King of England, " who
never rose to receive anyone," came to meet the young man, and
embraced him ; after a while he began to interrogate the youthful
baron, and to put him through a kind of examination. The.
historian assures us that the postulant came out " with flying
colours " from his examination. But we may be glad to hear that
it was extremely simple, and did not include arithmetic.

238 CHIVALRY,

Now evening has come ! Night — the night of Pentecost, on
which, in former times, so many new Christians were baptised — an
occasion as solemn as that of Easter. Next day, the very next
day, Geoffrey will be a belted knight.

In a private apartment the future knight is preparing for the
solemn rites. Custom has ordained that these shall be preceded by
a bath. Geoffrey and his twenty-five companions plunge into this
water, which has nothing symbolical for them. Then they clothe
him in a linen shirt, a robe of cloth of gold, silk small-clothes, and
shoes on which lions were embroidered in gold, and a purple body-
garment. The other pages are also clad in linen and purple
garments. Then the youthful procession file out, lithe, active,
superb, brilliant ! The young English prince walks in advance of
the rest, and one old chronicler does not hesitate to compare him to
the rose, and to the lily of the field.

The ceremony was to be performed in the open air, so the steeds
and arms had already been prepared and made ready for the young
cavaliers. The charger reserved for Geoffrey was a splendid
Spanish horse whose paces ''were as swift as the bird's flight.'*
This comparison is frequently found in our old poems, whence the
historian has probably borrowed it. The son of the Count of Anjou
is there the observed of all observers, but he stands motionless,
paying attention to all that is taking place. He is then inducted
into a hauberk of double plate, which can resist the thrust of
strongest lance, shoes of mail, his shield with its device of golden
lions is hung around his neck, and on his head is placed a hdmet,
set with precious stones, warranted to withstand the best tempered
swords. Finally, the long and tough lance of ash, tipped with
iron of Poitiers, and a sword from the king's own armoury — a
marvel of workmanship, a masterpiece of that Galant who is so
often mentioned in the Chansons.

The preparations are complete ; the young man is armed from
head to foot ; he is a knight. All he has to do is to mount his.
horse without the aid of stirrups, and to take part in the sham
fight which brings the fete to a conclusion, though the term con-
clusion is scarcely applicable, as the historian declares that the
festival lasted no less than seven days. On the eighth Geoffrey
was married !

ADMISSION-ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 239

Thus Jean, monk of Marmoutier ; and whatever may have been
borrowed jfrom our epic poetry, the record is worthy of our atten-
tion.

Notwithstanding the magnificence of the adornments, the splen-
dour of the costumes, the duration of the festival, this mode of
conferring knighthood had nothing complicated in its ceremonial.
It was essentially the old putting on of armour preceded by a bath,
and a solemn putting on of vesture. There was no accolade, no
sermon, not even the quintain. Do not forget that this was a royal
act which we have been considering, a ceremony in one of the most
considerable cities of France, the centre of one of the most civilised
provinces, in the twelfth century. By that we may judge of other
ceremonials of knighthood of the same period.

From this point of view, nothing can be less polished than the
oldest texts of our Chansons, which ring out the same sound as do
the historical records of the time. I venture to say that they are
even more truly historical — more truthful. Open Auberi le Bour-
going for example. Open this " barbarous poem ! " How did the
hero create Gauthier, to whom he owed his life ? He commanded
that he should be clad in the richest garments, and armed ; then
he presented him with a good steed. That was the whole cere-
monial, and the poet does not hesitate to say : *^ Sili donna Vordre
de chevalier.'^ There is nothing complicated about it ! In Ogier
we find the same simplicity, but the scenery is more imposing than
the drama. Charlemagne is before Kome, which he is endeavour-
ing to snatch from its pagan conquerors. Ogier, who is still very
youthful, has reddened the soil with the blood of many Saracens,
and excited the admiration of the army by his incomparable
bravery. The emperor, who had formerly entertained some doubts
concerning the youth, dismounts, and in the thick of the fight
girds him with his sword. The poem puts it shortly thus —

'* Lots desciendi li rois Kalles h. tant,
La bone esp^e a ^ainte Ogier an flaiic,
Chevaliers fu Ogiers d'or en avant ! "

Other poems are more full of detail, but more material. The
author of Garin le Loherain, when he relates how Aubri was made
knight, does not lose himself in the analysis of the rites ; he scarcely

240 CHIVALRY.

mentions the putting on of the armour, but he dwells with some
complaisance on the appearance of the strong and rough youth,
whose breadth of shoulder excited his admiration. So we may per-
ceive that the taste of the period was in favour of muscular force.
"Look at him," said Garin to his brother Bejon; "if he live,
what a baron he will make ! "

We cannot expect any more delicacy from the author of Raoul de
Camhrai. The Count of Cambrai, when he conferred knighthood
on Bernier, contented himself with arming him. Then Bernier
covered his sword with golden bands, seized his lance, the pennon
of which was fixed with five golden nails, and galloped his horse
round amid the admiring barons, who remarked to each other what
an excellent horseman he was.

It would be easy to multiply examples, but it is preferable to
condense them into one or two types. To that terrible old poem
again — to Garin de Loherain — we must go and borrow the most
significant and convincing proof. The two principal actors of this
strange scene were an elderly knight named Fromont and a very .
youthful page, his own son, named Fromondin — a striking and
charming contrast. At the appearance of the youth marching at
the head of twenty other valets, Bernard de Naisil rushed towards
him, kissed him, and calling Baudouin de Flandre, said: "Look
what a splendid nephew we have got. Suppose we go to and de-
mand from Fromont the poestis to make him a knight." " I am
quite willing," said the Fleming. "Come along!" They went, I
and were very uncourteously received. In vain did they represent \
to this brutal father that his son had already reached manly stature, !
that his chest was broad and his arms strong, and was capable of j
smashing the lances of all his enemies. "Look how strong, how j
handsome he is ! " " No, he is too young," replied the old man, j
who did not like anyone to think him old, and who hurled a superb I
defiance at the heads of Bernard and Baudouin. But at length he '
listened to reason, and so changed his mind that he wished the ;
ceremonial to take place in an hour ! i

The baths were immediately prepared and filled with water. |
Fromondin entered into the first and his companions into the others. ]
Outside, the neighing of the chargers were audible amid the voices;
of the squires who held the bridles of the palfreys. Amongst all;

"ke^ember me, axu be valiant, aimkri.

[/;. :i40,

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 241

these valuable animals was one which attracted the attention of all
present — it was Beaucent, old Fromont's steed. Young Fromondin
perceived it immediately he issued from his bath, and with a head-
long bound he leaped right on to the back of the animal from the
plain. Then caracolling he ran against Don Bernard de Naisil,
whom he nearly unhorsed. It was done for a joke ; the lad
screamed with laughter, and cried to his uncle : " Old gentleman,
I trust you will make yourself quite at home in my house." The
other did not smile, but he took occasion to read his nephew a
lecture. " I wish to do so," he said, " but on the condition that
you will attend to my behests ; and there are three things which I
would first mention — Learn how to use your spurs, to respect older
knights, and to give to the poor ! " The ceremony terminated with
this little discourse, and a Homeric feast in the open air. The
sword had not even been girded on with any ceremonial observ-
ance.

The ceremony attending the admission of Godfrey, son of
Eustace of Boulogne, to the knightly dignity, represents the last
and most brilliant phase of the creation without accolade. Godfrey
was dubbed knight by his father, and " never was king or admiral
so well armed." His clothing was of the best, his helmet was
blazing with precious stones, topazes, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds,
loadstones, and others. Then he was girt with the sword, the
same weapon with which he fought one of the most bitter enemies
of the Christians — Agolant. It is needless to add that it came
from the famous workshops of Galant, and only one weapon could
equal it — Koland's sword, Durendal. The large shield was hung
round Godfrey's neck, the device being two lion cubs, white ; and
the steed which was brought to him was covered with a white
diaspre which hung to the ground. Godfrey was a splendid
horseman, and looked superb with his stout spear, and his pennon
with three flying eagles.- " To the field ! " he cried, and galloped
thither followed by all those who came to be admitted with him,
by his father and all the other barons. Then, after the course,
the banquet, a splendid repast at which troubadours sang and
jongleurs recited, till at length, at daybreak, the festivities came
to an end.

242 CHIVALRY.

VIII. I

We cannot fix the date of the poem of Godefroi de Bouillon^
before a period anterior to the thirteenth century, but in certain!
districts of France for a long time before its issue the colee ori
"buffet" was in general use. I am convinced that it came to us^
French from the North, and that it was not customary in Francej
long previous to the eleventh century. In the chronicles and
poems of the twelfth century we find a large number of cases of this
form of *' creation," which, just as the former method, was toned!
down, rendered less gross, and more civilised and graceful byi
degrees. A historian of the twelfth century who is too littlft
known, Lambert d'Ardres, speaks of the alapa in every page of
his charming and interesting chronicle. We may almost say that
he discovered the definitive formula of this barbarous rite when;
we read the circumstances attending the creation of Arnoul thes
Second, the Count of Ardres and Guines. The narrative shows ua
in vivid terms the father of the young prince who bestowed on him
the " military buffet " or co/^<? " without the youth being able t(^
return it." Dedit ei militarem, non repercutienduSf alapam. {

The scene is laid at Guines at Whitsuntide in the year 1181, in!
full assembly of the numerous spectators who came to "con-i
secrate " the feasts and festivities of that blessed day ! But the'
historian vainly endeavours to elevate this rite to the level of a
sacrament. The words non repercutiendus cannot be deprived of
their material character, they too plainly characterise this brutal
fashion of entering into the ranks of chivalry. We might quote a|
dozen other instances, but we will transport our readers suddenly^
into the middle of the thirteenth century and call attention to the;
prevailing practice of German admission to chivalry in gentler
times. The author of the Grande Chronique helge says candidly thati
in order to avoid the heavy buffets of the new chivalry the majority!
of the knights of his time contented themselves with the colee, an J
the same chronicler relates also that William of Holland, who wa&i
chosen King of the Romans in 1247, received on his neck the terrible
blow which "created " knights. So between Lambert d'Ardres and;
the Belgian Chronicle numerous cases may be established. !

Our old poems are not less conclusive, and about the commence-!

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 243

ment of the thirteenth century the brutality of the fisticuff is

exemplified in a more picturesque and taking form. The first

appearance of Elias of Saint-Gilles is from this point of view a

masterpiece of description, rough but true. The father of Elias,

Julien de Saint-Gilles, had a perfectly white beard. He was a

proud baron, who had never been guilty of a dishonourable action,

or of treason ; who respected the monasteries, and caused refuges

and bridges to be built for the accommodation of poor travellers.

It was then a hundred years since he had been dubbed knight, and

he felt the necessity for repose and good living. So he summoned

his son before him, and in order to excite the young man's anger,

he reproached him with never having accomplished any exploit.

*' At your age," cried the old man, " I had already taken castles,

forts, and cities ! " The young man got into such a passion under

the lash of these words that the old man inquired satirically

whether Elias did not think the cloister or the cell his proper

vocation. This was too much. Elias determined to quit for ever the

place where he was forced to submit to such insults. " Hold your

tongue, you poor thing," cried his father. ** Do you imagine you

can leave here thus, without arms or escort? Why, they will

ridicule you on the road and say * Do you see that young man ? He

is the son of Julien with the Beard. His father has driven him

from home.' No, no, you shall not go thus ; I will dub you knight

here, this instant." Then turning to his attendants he said,

" Let a quintain be prepared, and let them carry my arms out.'*

The ceremony immediately commenced. The old knight girded

the sword upon his son : then clenchmg his hand the vigorous

centenarian dealt the youth a blow of his sledge-hammer fist which

made him reel again. The new knight felt his blood rush to his

face at such an indignity, and muttered no very complimentary

epithets. " Ah," he said, " if anyone else had treated me so !

But he is my father and it is my duty to submit." Then he

exerted himself to be calm outwardly, raised his head proudly,

leaped on horseback with a bound, and raced for the quintain,

carrying the apparatus away in a masterly fashion. " He will be a

brave knight ! " cried his father, who was delighted. But his

mother wept sore for the son who would shortly leave home ! This

scene is at once feudal and true to nature.

s 2

244 CHIVALRY.

The coVee consisted of two acts and an address ; to clench the
hand and bring it down heavily upon the neck of the postulant,
accompanied by a word or two, or a sentence of a strictly military
character, was the whole ceremony. ** Be a true knight, and valiant
against thine enemies ! " or, " Forget not to be faithful to thy liege
lord!" or more simple still, "Be valiant!" These two words
carry great weight, and say everything.

A type less exceptional than that of Saint- Gilles is here worthy
of place, and we will borrow it from the fine romance of Girars de
Viane, which the poet no doubt has resuscitated from a more
antique work. " In order to dub the * damoisel ' Aimeri a knight
they all proceeded to a rich meadow — Duke Girard with his
brothers. There the squire was arrayed in a fine hauberk, and
Girard girded on his proved sword. Then with his clenched hand
he smote him a heavy blow. ' Remember me, Aimeri, and be
valiant,' he cried. * Great thanks, sire,' the young man replied,
* I will be valiant if it please God that I live ! ' Then an Arab
steed was brought him, and he mounted immediately. Around
his neck a circular shield was suspended ; he grasped a trusty lance
and circled the flowery mead on horseback, while the spectators
said to one another : * Truly he is a good knight ! ' " *

This was the usual mode of procedure, and we need not quote
other instances in support of it. It is, however, important to state
that the colee, which in some places had not formed a part of the
old chivalric ritual, in time replaced all other rites — in some
instances a knight was created by the " accolade " only. This is
strange, but true. Then it came to pass that the heavy blow was
considered too rough a mode, and a more pacific and elegant method
replaced it. A buffet with the fist ! Fie ! It is barbarous ; rude !
A blow with the flat of a sabre is sufficiently military surely, and
much more graceful. The merciful Church, which had no love for
brutality, voluntarily adopted, if it did not invent, this mode, which
was not the last development. For the rude rough colee, after
being subverted by the more poetic blow of the sword on the
shoulder, became in time, by a certain play upon words, the
familiar "accolade," which was not too often either a kiss of
sincerity or of peace.

* Oirars de Fiane, ed. P. Tarbe.

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 245

However, we have now said all that is necessary concerning the
military mode of knighthood, so let us pass on to the religious
method.

IX.

The Religious mode of knighting was not discovered all at once,
nor arranged in a day, by some inventive genius, but it is by a
process of infiltration, if I may so speak, that Christianity
penetrated into the ancient ceremonial of Chivalry. A long period
elapsed before faith and piety were imbibed by our military-
mannered barons. It came nevertheless, but only by degrees.
The greatest innovation was the " Watching of the Armour," and
it was really hardly an innovation after all, because, independently
of the great vigils of Easter and Whitsuntide, our ancestors were
already conversant with *' watchings," as we ascertain from a
celebrated work in the first years of the twelfth century, in which
are sung the praises of the lives of saints and the exploits of
heroes.* The Watching of the Armour, then, is only an imitation,
or, as we should now call it, an " adaptation." It was customary
for knights to hear mass every day. In the placing of the arms upon
the altar one sees at once an intelligent copy of the old custom,
which dates back to antiquity, and consisted in placing thus on
the sacred stone the parchments containing promises, and such
solemn engagements.

It was also quite natural that the idea and the name of God
should have been introduced into the lay-sermon which accom-
panied the bestowal of the coXce^ and that, after having said "Be
valiant," it should have come to pass that, by various transitions,
the formula ran one day — " Remember the passion and death
of Jesus ! " There then remained the benediction of the sword,
but the Church, the ever-blessing Church, had for a long time been
in the habit of blessing the dwelling, the nuptial chamber, the
first-fruits of the earth, the bread and eggs, and even more common
things in every-day use. To bestow a benediction on the lance or
sword which was used against the enemies of Christianity; to

* Vita gancti Willelmi.

246 CHIVALRY.

bless the helmet and the coat of mail which would render invul-
nerable the bodies of the friends of Holy Church, was the most
obvious of all duties. But here it became necessary to set up a
formal distinction between the second and third mode of knighting,
and it is not without reason that we have applied to the second
method the term religious^ and to the third liturgical. The
blessing of the sword and the blessing of the girdle are very diffe-
rent acts.

In the religious mode the priest contented himself with making
the sign of the cross on the sword ; in the liturgical method the
bishop is the consecrator. It is no layman, it is the bishop himself
who, with anointed hands, clasps the sword to the side of the
new-made knight, and says to him Accingere gladio tuo super femur
tuum, potentissime. Another feature serves to distinguish the two
methods which no one will have any excuse for confounding in
future ; the terms used in the creation by the religious method were
always the vulgar tongue of the country wherein the ceremony took
place ; the liturgical ceremonial was conducted in Latin !

The second method of conferring knighthood was that destined
to live. The military mode died because of its coarseness ; the
liturgical because it seemed too clerical in the worse ac-
ceptation of the term, and some perceived in its adoption an inter-
ference of the Church. This accusation, if unjust, was specious,
and knights more often preferred to create knights. A sincerely
Christian rite was sufficient for them, and they were tenacious re-
garding their character of consecrators. This rite, besides, had
undergone more than one change during the Middle Ages. We
are shown in UOrdene de Chevalerie the outlines of a compli-
cated symbolism, and the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries added
I know not what subtleties and refinements, which go to make up
the Modern Code of Chivalry. Our poets, dramatists and painters
are hardly acquainted with any other, and they dress it up in
variegated hues, but its origin is that we have attributed to it, and
it only remains for us to make clear its historical development to
our readers.

Our epic poetry, thank Heaven, is full of instances of the
religious method, but it is seldom that one can find a really com-
plete description which presents to us at the same time the five

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 247

acts of ceremonial — the watching of the armour, the solemn mass,
the deposition of the arms upon the altar, the benediction of the
sword, and the little sermon a la chretienne which accompanied the
bestowal of the paumee. One need not, however, worry about this,
for reall}' one or two of these formalities were sufiicient to give
scientifically to a " Chivalry " of the twelfth and thirteenth cen-
turies the religious character which distinguished it so clearly from
the military method. The eldest son of Witasse, Count of
Boulogne, watched all through the night which preceded his
admission into Chivalry. He undertook this vigil in the name of the
Virgin Mary, and did not leave the convent until after he had heard
matins. In the same way watched Hervis de Loherain, the
nephews of Aimeri de Narbonne, Gerart and Guielin, Guy, the son
of Anse'is of Carthage, and fifty others. As regards the mass
Girars de Vlane states that in his time it was the custom of the
newly-made knights (the custom, mind), to hear mass piously and
to pray to God before receiving their arms. Two cycles which are
often at variance, those of the king and of William, agree in nar-
rating the affecting episode of placing the arms upon the altar so
that the contact may sanctify them for ever after, and John of
Salisbury adds in his Latin, that this was a general custom to which
one felt compelled to attribute great antiquity. It is more particu-
larly in Latin chronicles that we find allusion made to the bene-
diction of the sword and the old " Pontificals " give us, side by
side with the Benedictio novi militia, of which we have already
spoken, the Benedictio ensis et armorum which gives the layman
the right to gird on the sword, and the bishop the privilege to
bless it.

There remains the sermon, and it passes through many phases.
First it is crude and short — " Be brave ! " but by degrees it
assumes more of a religious character and becomes as it were
" Christianised " — " May the true God give thee courage ! " Then
after a while — not without a struggle — it becomes entirely of a
pious character — " If I bestow upon thee this sword it is on the
condition that thou shalt be a champion of the Lord ! " There are
shades, we admit, but they are historical difi'erences which must be
appreciated.

So far we have noticed nothing symbolic, and, indeed, symbohsm

248 CHIVALRY.

did not make its appearance very soon. Thus before the thirteenth
century the ceremony of creation was religious : it was not
symbolic. But we have here the Ordene de Chevalerie, a little
learned, dogmatic poem, elevating and attractive, in which the
flower of symbolism is fully expanded : a somewhat artificial
flower, but not without its charm.

The Ordene is a work of art, a kind of scientific treatise whose
doctrines one cannot find in any of the epic chansons, or in any of
the more really popular poems.

The scene is laid in the Holy Land, and the text consists of
dialogue. The interlocutors are a Christian knight — a prisoner,
called Hue de Tabarie, and the other a powerful pagan prince — a
conqueror named Saladin. It appears that the conqueror is
attracted to his prisoner as iron is by a magnet. Now in the
Saracen's mind one single idea is dominant — he wants to be made
a knight. This is the subject of the poem.

" How are knights created ? " This is the anxious and sincere
question put by Saladin, and the reply of the Christian is haughty.
The first step towards becoming a knight is to become a Christian,
and in the Ordene Hue de Tabarie tells the Sultan plainly that the
Holy Order of Chivalry is not within his reach, for he continues :
" You are not of the true faith, and have not been baptised. To
create you a knight would be an act as foolish as to cover a dung-
heap with silk to prevent the foul odour from escaping ! " The
suggestion is not remarkable for politeness, but what does it
matter ? Saladin insists, commands ! The prisoner is constrained
to obey, and at this point begins the animated commentary upon
all the rites of the ceremonial. The bath is the first of these rites,
which are at the same time symbols. Says the consecrating
knight : " Even as the infant emerges without sin from the font
after baptism, so do you emerge from this bath spotless and with-
out blemish."

Here we already have reached a high level of comparison, and
weak indeed is the intelligence which cannot comprehend such
language ! The novice comes out of his bath transfigured and
radiant, and is placed on a couch. ** Win a resting-place in
Heaven ; such is the aim of Chivalry ! " Saladin, very attentive
and respectful, permits himself to be_ arrayed in the white

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 249

garments of the catechumens of the primitive Church. ''It is
necessary," continues the knight, "that those who desire to reach
Heaven should be pure in mind as in body." After this exhorta-
tion to chastity, the Christian envelopes his companion in a
vermilion robe and says : " Remember : you must not hesitate to
shed every drop of your blood in defence of Holy Church !" Then
the feet of the new-made knight are inducted into black shoes in
order to recall to his mind the earth from which he came, and to
which he must return, and to preserve him from a feeling of
pride.

After this the consecrator assumes a more solemn tone and
demeanor : the decisive moment is approaching. The dngulum^
the girdle, is fastened round the loins of the aspirant. This is a
white girdle, and once more recalls to the mind of the Christian
soldier, the defender of the Church, the importance of chastity. To
the dark shoes are attached the golden spurs, and the aspirant is
admonished to be in future as obedient to the spur of the Divine
Will as the charger is to the material spurs. Now it is time to
bestow upon the knight the weapon which is a distinctive sign of
knighthood — the two-edged sword. "With one side thou must
strike the rich who oppress the poor, with the other punish the
strong who persecute the weak ! " This is the true idea of
Chivalry ; it is, as we have already said, the armed Force in the
service of the unarmed Truth.

After a little more ceremonial the termination is reached. On
the head of the new knight is placed a white cap, which again
reminds him of the signiticance which attaches to it, and to the
necessity for possessing an unspotted soul — a mind protected by
innocence or re-cleansed by penitence. The ceremony should
then terminate with the buffet or colce, but Hue de Tabarie does
not dare to strike the pagan sovereign in that manner, so he
contents himself with preaching him a little sermon which
embodies all his former exhortations. He says : —

" There are four things which a knight should observe all his
life if he would preserve his honour untarnished. The first is —
'Never parley with traitors;' the second— ' Never lead astray
dame nor damsel, but on the contrary respect them and defend
them against all injury ; ' the third obligation is piously to observe

250 CHIVALRY.

all fast days and days of abstinence ; and finally, to hear mass every
day and to make an ofi'ering at the monastery."

Saladin, delighted, listened attentively, and evidenced himself
worthy of being a Christian by incontinently releasing his prisoner
who had addressed him in such noble and worthy language.

Such is the Or dene de Chevalriej which it is necessary to
consider here as a work in which individual fancy plays a certain
part. That which is most evident in this poem, which has a
distinctly Christian character, is its general spiritual tone ; but we
must not take all the refined symbolism literally, nor imagine that
this was universally understood and practised in all Catholic
countries.

However theoretical, however far-fetched it may appear, the
Ordene has had an influence on the development of the institution
of Chivalry. We may rather say that it is not the Ordene itself,
but the whole current of ideas, all the system, all the doctrines,
which the poem has been the means of expressing in a more or less
correct form, that have exerted such influence. Thanks to the
number of additional rites and pious excrescences the ceremony of
the admission to knighthood ended, in the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries, by becoming something very complex, and necessitated
many explanations by competent people. Austere fastings, long
nights passed in prayer with priest and sponsors in the holy gloom
of cathedral aisles; the Sacraments of Penitence and the Eucharist
eagerly sought, and partaken of by the candidate with every
appearance of piety and devotion ; baths which had really become
symbolic of purity, white robes which were worn in imitation of
the early neophytes, and finally the assistance rendered by sermons
in which all the articles of belief were reviewed, commented on, and
defended — all these constituted the prologue and preliminaries to
the grand drama of admission to Chivalry.

But they were only the introduction, the preface, and some may
consider that they formed a very long avenue to the palace of the
order. But at length the great day dawned. The aspirant
entered solemnly into the church, and advanced slowly to the
altar carrying his sword slanting-wise. He presented it to the
priest, who blessed it (liturgically) and suspended it thus conse-
crated around the neck of the young candidate. Some of the

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 251

future knights remained in the sacred edifice to complete the rites,
some preferred the open air, or the castle ; but in any case each
aspirant approached the consecrator and tendered him the sword.

"What is your reason for entering the order? Do you truly
desire the honour of the Faith and of Chivalry ? " The youthful
baron would reply more or less firmly, but in a fashion calculated
to satisfy his questioner, who would at length grant his request.
Then he would quickly re- assume his arms, and if there were any
fair ladies present they would assist him to don his armour. They
would first fasten the left spur, then the right, the hauberk and the
coat of mail, the cuirass (there were cuirasses then), the arm-
pieces and gauntlets. These accoutrements were heavy as well as
noisy, as may be judged from our museums. Then the aspirant
knelt, and awaited the final act which would constitute him a new
man — a knight ! The consecrator did not unduly prolong the
attitude : he delivered on the shoulder, or neck, three strokes with
the flat of the sword. Sometimes ancient usage countenanced the
hand which did not bestow the buffet, but touched the cheek of the
aspirant. Everything had been toned down. Then a voice
declared — '* In the name of God and St. Michael and St. George I
dub thee knight." The ceremony was then complete, the aspirant
had become a knight ! Nevertheless he had not his helmet yet,
but it was soon adjusted, his shield was quickly buckled on, and
his lance placed in his hand. Then " to horse ! " was the cry.
The knight sprang upon his fine steed; if he could only mount
without the assistance of the stirrups he was accounted perfect.
Seated in the saddle — he is superb ! and he " parades his new
dignity," executing many grand caracoles before the eyes of the
ladies, who admire him greatly. This is the ancient eslais^ some-
what humanised ; and the reader may discern from the foregoing
account the forms of the antique ceremonials which obtained in the
ritual of the fifteenth century. They fgre somewhat confused, but
there they are !

What a complication it is ! How one regrets the plain savage
rites of the time of Philip Augustus ! How one regrets the
" buftet " on the neck, the primitive buckling on of the heavy
sword, the old-time address, and all the simple, straightforward
ritual !

university)

252 CHIVALRY.

The Church, as early as the tenth or eleventh century, began to
find these rites too gross, and had endeavoured to give them a
decidedly liturgical character ; and this fact brings us naturally
to the consideration of the third and last method of creating the
knight, the true character of which is easy to determine. "It is
no longer a layman but a bishop who is the consecrator." Every-
thing takes place at the altar, and the service is in Latin.

The date which we assign to this method is sufficient to
scandalise some very erudite authorities, and makes it older by some
centuries than it is usually supposed to be.

What period, then, does the Benedictio novi militis actually date
from? On this question, as on many others, authorities are not
agreed. But we cannot leave the matter thus ; we must decide the
question, which is really an important one.

People usually, and too frequently, confound the benediction of
the new knight with the benediction of the armour, or the blessing
of the sword. These are rites essentially different, which in the
Pontificals have sometimes been separated, sometimes united.
The bishop blessed the lance, the sword, the vexillum, the hauberk,
the shield. So far so good, and this benediction was the proper
prologue to the consecration, the " crowning " of the knight. But
this consecration, we must remember, consisted primarily in the
girding on of the sword by the hands of the officiating bishop, and
in a modified form of colee which was accompanied by the words,
" Be thou knight ! "

The question being thus stated, we need not trouble ourselves
concerning the epoch at which we find the bishop blessing the
armour of the knight for the first time, but we must ascertain the
period at which a bishop consecrated — we may almost say created
— a knight.

In a small library in Rome, to which the initiated only can find
the way, at the Vallicellane, is preserved a MS. which many savants
have already called to testify for them. This is what they term an
Ordo RomanuSy or, to speak more plainly, a Ceremonial, a Ritual.
The writing bears all the characteristics of the Lombardian small-
type edition of the tenth century, or perhaps the first half of the

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 253

eleventh century. Mabillon, who knew it. attributed it to the time
of the Ottos, and is of opinion that it was actually written under
Otto the Third, between the years 983 and 1002 a.d. It is certain
that it bears the following distich, which is of great historical
interest, if not of great literary value : —

' * Gaudeat omnis homo quia regnat tertius Otto
Illius imperio gaudeat oranis homo."

A little higher up there occurs a supplication to the Mother of
God to look favourably upon the people of Rome, and to protect the
Ottos. The book destined to fix the Roman rites was probably
written at Rome, and, even if we admit that it is a copy and not an
original, we cannot possibly date it later than 1050 a.d.

Well, then, if we open this MS. at the first page we find our-
selves in the very midst of military devotion : this is the Benedictio
vexilli bellici ; and then immediately afterwards is the benediction
of the sword, including those magnificent prayers, the Exaudi and
Benedic, which still form a portion of the Roman Pontifical, and
they have, as we now see, a very ancient origin. There is nothing
special, so far, except the really ancient forms of these prayers.
Following the benediction of the sword the choir used to intone the
old Speciosus Format of which we shall also find the greater
portion in other Pontificals, and which marks the exact period at
which the girding on of the sword used to take place. The versicle
Accingere gladio tuo super femur is not less characteristic ; and also
the following prayer, or orison, ** 'Tis Thou, 0 God, Who hast
caused Thy servant to be girt with the sword."

It is evident that, at the time the Speciosus Forma was being
chanted, the soldier was not yet girded with the sword, but that he
was armed when the orison was commenced. But who had thus
armed him ? Whose hands had clasped his belt ? That is just
the information which the MS. does not afi"ord us, and we have to
seek it in another Ordo Romanus, evidently derived from this one,
which tells us that the Bishop officiated. " Deinde cingat eum
Episcopus, dicendo: accipe hunc gladium! " Though unable to cite
positive proof, I am convinced that the bishop most likely did gird
on the sword. But, after all, this is only conjecture, not certainty.
Beyond the text of the Vallicellane MS. we can quote nothing

254 CHIVALRY.

before the twelfth, nor even before the thirteenth century.
Martene, who has studied the subject more than anyone, declares
that he has " never discovered any trace of the Benedictio novi
militis in any of the ancient Pontificals." And the illustrious
Benedictine is not able to publish in his De antiquis Ecclesics
ritibus anything older than an extract from William Durand's
Pontifical, which only dates from the later half of the thirteenth
century.

It is in vain that people bring forward the authority of another
Ordo Romamts — a very full one (Ordo vulgatus) which was issued
in the sixteenth century. It is well known that it is only a rough
compilation, a " mosaic " of varied fragments. We may use it as a
reference to a later period, and it reproduces the principal features
of the Vallicellane MS., but as we are not aware of the exact
sources from whence it comes, one is always apt to question
its authority.

So there only remains to us the text of the Vallicellane, with
all its lights and shades ; and I think we may conclude that the
Benedictio novi militis was probably of Koman Pontifical origin,
and that from Eome it radiated over other countries. But I do not
think that it was introduced into France before the twelfth century.
It was not in common use until the time of Saint Louis.

XI.

In the actual state of the question the Benedictio novi militis is
represented by three classes of authorities. First comes the famous
Ordo Vulgatus, which has been published successively by Cassander
Hiltorp Ferrari and by the publishers of the Maxima Bihliotheca
Patrum. It is evidently derived from the text of the Vallicellane.
Secondly, there is the Pontifical of William Durand, which is con-
veyed almost in its entirety (its greatest honour) into the official
edition of the Roman Pontifical. Thirdly and lastly, there is the
valuable MS. 4748 in the Vatican, which goes no farther back than
the thirteenth century, but which is the most Roman of all, and
informs us categorically of the special rites performed in St. Peter's

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY 255

at the creation of new knights. It is by no means improbable
that some day or other new MSS. may be discovered, and we
ought to wish for them as we ought to wish for the diffusion of
a beautiful idea, or the reproduction of a fine work of art. After
this preface we have only to open the ancient Pontificals and give
them life.

Our readers must not be surprised if we give the foremost place
to the Pontifical of William Durand, and present it as the most
complete type of this magnificent rite — as that which is most com-
pletely " French."

The Pontifical Mass is celebrated in the newly-finished cathedral :
the bishop is present — the bishop who in the Middle Ages possesses
the authority and weight of a crowned king. The last echoes of
the concluding Alleluja are resounding through the chancel. At
that moment — it is well chosen — the prelate proceeds to the
benediction of the swords, which forms the first act of the liturgical
drama. To bless this piece of metal, which may perhaps be drawn
in the service of and to save the Truth, the bishop reads in solemn
tones some of the prayers, so unjustly decried, which are the glory
of the Catholic literature. "Bless this sword so that Thy servant
may in future be in opposition to the cruelty of heretics and pagans ;
the defender of the Church, and of widows, orphans, and all those
who fear God." Then the bishop adds, " Bless this sword, holy
Lord, all-powerful Father, eternal God, bless it in the name of the
coming of Jesus Christ, and by the descent of the Holy Ghost.
Grant that Thy servant, always possessing thy love as his armour,
may tread down his enemies, and victorious may be sheltered from
all harm."

It seems to us that the most illustrious philosophers and poets
of pagan antiquity would have admired such firm and noble language,
but that their ideal never attained such a high pitch. What might
not they have said while listening to the words which the bishop
borrowed from the Old Testament. " Blessed be the Lord my
God who teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight. My
castle and deliverer, my defender ! " Then, after a dualogue between
the bishop and the choir, the grave slow accents of the prelate are
beard once more in the prayer —

" Holy God, all-powerful Father, eternal Lord, who orders and

256 CHIVALRY.

disposes all things, Who, only in order that Justice may be upheld
here below, and that the fury of the wicked may be restrained,
hast, by a most salutary decree, permitted man to wield the
sword. For the protection of thy people Thou hast ordained
the institution of Chivalry. To a child, to David, Thou didst in
olden time give victory over Goliath. Thou tookest Judas
Maccabeus by the hand, and led him to triumph over all those
nations which had not called upon thy name. Behold now thy
servant, who has bent his neck beneath the military yoke, send him
from on high the strength and courage necessary for the defence of
Truth and Justice. Increase his faith, strengthen his hope, enlarge
his charity, give him Thy fear and love, humility and perseverance,
obedience and patience. Dispose him to all that is right, and
grant that with this sword he may strike none unjustly, but may
with it defend all that is just, all that is good."

Meantime the great sword was lying on the altar unsheathed.
At the close of the prayer the bishop seized it, all perfumed as it
was and consecrated by the almost Eucharistic contact, and placed
it in the right hand of the future knight.

"Receive it," he said, " in the name of the Father, the Son, and
the Holy Ghost." Then he sheathed the weapon and — this was
the solemn moment — girt it about the aspirant who was kneeling
before him, saying : "Be thou girded with this sword, 0 most
powerful." Then the knight brandished the sword, and flourished
it with pride and confidence, joyfully. Then he wiped it beneath
his left arm as if it were already besmeared with the blood of his
enemies, and returned it to the scabbard. Then the new knight
and the bishop exchanged the kiss of peace, and the latter said :
"Be thou a soldier — peaceful, courageous, faithful, devoted to
God." Here the " bufi'et," the alapa, was administered according
to the ancient ritual, yet the blow was not delivered with a brutal
fist, but with the fingers, which gently touched the cheek of the
cavalier. Then the bishop cried —

" Awake from dull sleep, and rise to the honour and the faith of
Christ ! "

If any other knights were present they attached the spurs to the
heels of the defender of Eternal Justice. The ceremony ended, in
the Pontifical of William Durand, with the solemn benediction of the

ADMISSION— ns THEORY AND HISTORY. 257

vexillum, and in the Koman Pontifical by this rubric, whicli is not
wanting in beauty — " His dictis novus miles vadit in pace,*'

In peace — and he a soldier !

Very different is the text of the Ordo Romanus, which occupies
the second, and would deserve the first, place because of the
antiquity of its origin, if we were better informed concerning each
of the elements which compose it. In it we find once more all the
text of the Vallicellane, but singularly augmented, dilated, em-
bellished. It is a long series of benedictions of arms, in the midst
of which the girding on of the sword, and the consecration of the
new knight, are introduced. The title is significant: ''Rite for
arming a defender of the Church or other knight." The ecclesiastical
idea is here more dominant still than in the Pontifical of Durand.
The liturgic function commences by the benediction of the vexillum
and the bishop first of all invokes the Deity, ** who is the true
strength of conquerors," so that the pennon may be in some
manner " surrounded by the name of God," and become a terror to
all enemies of the Christians. Then the lance has its turn, and
here the consecrating prelate does not forget to remind his hearers
of the spear which pierced the side of the crucified Saviour. In
the name of St. Michael, who is the chief of the Heavenly Chivalry,
in the name of all celestial virtues, God is implored to assist the
bearer of this blessed pennon ; and the names of Abraham and
David, who were formerly great conquerors, are invoked.

The benediction of the sword is much the same as that given in
the Pontifical of Durand, and we need not be surprised that it is so,
for that was the stock ritual, and less liable to be modified. The
future knight now kneels down, and on him descends the episcopal
blessing. The sacramental moment has arrived ; the bishop girds
the warrior, and says : " Take this sword with the blessing of God,
and mayest thou, by virtue of the Holy Spirit, repulse at the point
of this sword all your enemies, and those of Holy Church."
Then the choir strikes in, and chants the beautiful verses:
** Speciosus forma prce filiis hominum, Specie tua et pulchritudiney
et Propter Veritatem," which are taken from the forty- fourth
Psalm.

Then the prayers succeed, and so far the knight has not secured
any but his offensive armour. It is now time to think of the rest.

258 CHIVALRY.

and chiefly to bless the immense shield, which is a kind of barricade
behind which the warrior entrenches himself. The service then
puts him under the protection of the three illustrious knights,
called Saint Maurice, Saint Sebastian, and Saint George, and when
the shield is bestowed upon the knight the choir sings : *' Scuto
circumdahit te, Veritas Ejus,^^ taken from the nineteenth Psalm, and
the other, *' Thou shalt not fear the arrow^ that flieth by day." The
ceremony has by this time lasted a long while, and is almost at an
end; then the bishop, raising his eyes to Heaven, invokes the joys
of this world and the next upon the future knight.

To Kome, to the time-honoured basilica of Saint Peter, we are
carried to view the scene of our third and last instance, and we do
not represent the magnificent cathedral which all know at the
present time, but the old church which Michael Angelo demolished,
and which was built on the plan of our basilicas of the early
centuries, less vast, more lightly, perhaps as beautiful as the work
of the sixteenth century. The Ordo — MS. 4748 of the Vatican —
commences with this significant rubrical sentence : " How to create
a knight in the holy basilica of Saint Peter." In fact the cavalier
is here consecrated vice et auctoritate Apostolorum ; he is, so to
speak, armed by the apostles Pefcer and Paul, and the whole rite is
not only pontifical but liturgical. This form possesses an air of
grandeur, and the little address which accompanies the bestowal of
the sword is of a proud and stirring beauty, thus : —

** Take this sword, with it exercise justice, and cut down all in-
justice. Defend the Church of God and her faithful ones. With
it disperse the enemies of Christ. Kaise up what is earthly, and
what you have elevated, preserve. Put down injustice and
strengthen what is of good report. By these means, radiant and
proud in the triumph of the virtues, you will reach the Heavenly
kingdom, where, with Christ, whose type you are, you will reign
eternally ! "

We do not ever remember to have met language more elevating,
and it is fortunate that with it w^e are enabled to bring to a con-
clusion all that concerns the august rites attending the admission
to the Order of Chivalry. We have reached a high standpoint, let
us not fall away from it.

ADMISSION— ITS THEORY AND HISTORY. 259

XII.

The road we have traversed has been long, sometimes obscure, and
sometimes difficult, but it may prove to be one of those journeys of
which one may say hereafter : ** I am glad that I undertook it."
The halting-places also have been numerous, and it will be
necessary to inspect them once again.

A sword is given to a warrior ; such is the origin — the distant
origin of all the military ceremonial— such is the first act of the
Kitual of Chivalry. Later was joined to this a heavy blow with the
fist, which was inflicted on the neck of the youthful aspirant,
accompanied by the words : *' Be valiant."

Subsequently Christian feeling penetrated, little by little, this
primitive savagery, and we have had the pleasure to witness this
slow but fortunate emancipation. The youthful noble, moulded by
the Church and his mother's teaching, believed that he brought
down the blessing of Heaven on his sword, his lance, and hauberk,
if he deposited them upon the altar of some monastery. From that
to the blessing by the priest is not very far. The hearing of mass
was to him not a matter of business, and he would not have wished
to omit it. The religious vigils in which he took part with all his
family during the nights preceding the great festivals gave him
naturally the idea of preparation, by a special vigil, for the sacra-
ment of Chivalry. However irreligious, however brutal, however
much of a soldier the knight might have been who admitted
the aspirant, he could no longer content himself with, say, "Be a
valiant knight ; " he was constrained to say, he was compelled to
recognise the Christian spirit, and say to the novice : ** Be thou a
soldier of Jesus Christ."

Up to this period, however, the consecrator had been a layman,
but the time arrived when, by the force of circumstances and in
certain countries, the bishop consecrated the knights. Then the
ancient form of consecration became the Benedictio novi militis, and
the old barbarous rite was transformed into a chapter of the
PontiJicaL

This is our last halting-place at the end of a long journey.

s 2

CHAPTER VIIL

THE ADMISSION TO CHIVALRY.— THE PRACTICE AT THE END OF
THE TWELFTH CENTURY.

Honour doit querre li nouvious adouhez ("The newly-made knight
must seek honour"). This is the text upon which for many days
the youthful knight used to meditate. True, he pondered it after
a rough and ready fashion, but it received all the attention which
a youth of sixteen was capable of bestowing upon it. He has even
been known to ask his father the precise meaning of the word
"honneur," and the latter has replied that honour consisted in fighting
well (saying to himself, " Leave it to fate "), and with a little glory
into the bargain ! These are not the terms he employed : they are
in fact very modern, but this is the application of his little sermon.
Then the great day approached — the day of admission. For this
ceremony, on which his life depended, the young man was
obliged to choose either the Feast of Easter or Whitsuntide. " On
which was my father dubbed knight ? " " At Whitsuntide," is the
reply. Then he no longer hesitates. Later on, when Chivalry
became more refined, the aspirants prepared themselves by many days
of fasting ; but truth forces us to state that up to the twelfth century
our barons were less austere without being less religious, and they
contented themselves generally in observing the fasts imposed by
tradition and discipline.

Let us look now at the eve of Pentecost.

This vigil was almost as solemn amongst the youthful Christians
as was Easter. Numbers of catechumens were baptized ; and this
function was as extended and as beautiful as the Paschal feast.
The next day was the day on which the descent of the Holy Spirit
would be commemorated. The morrow was the day upon which from
the top of the Cathedral the priestff let fall a rain of roses on the

ADMISSION— PRACTICE OF TWELFTH CENTURY, 26:

faithful — a ceremony intended to represent the tongues of fire which
sat on the Apostles. An important day indeed !

On the Saturday the castle was the scene of much animation,
which was easily to be understood. The mother of the aspirant
has placed on some piece of furniture in the hall or in his chamber
the white shirt, the golden spurs, and the ermine robe with which
the young man is to be dressed. It is thus that in our own day

Admission according to the liturgical mode.

the family lay out the trousseau of the intended bride : and as a
matter of fact there are several points in common between the
ceremony of marriage and the ceremony of knighthood. If some
rich person had made the young man a present of some costly
stuffs, they were opened out, commented upon and admired. But what
is that noise which we hear at the gate ? No, it is not a '* noise "
— it is something more harmonious than mere noise, it is a small
band of musicians and jongleurs who have come to wish success to
the young knight of the morrow. They will not leave him any
more, they will attach themselves to his person, calculating in

262 CHIVALRY.

advance the liberal presents which he will make them. There they
are at any rate in the hall playing the viol and harp ; the gige and
the chifonie. No one has time to listen to their songs or music,
but they come all the same, and they have calculated correctly.
The poor people also do not forget to put in an appearance, and
receive largesse, and this is a practice in which they indulge for
several days. But the hours roll on and we see that night will soon
come. Let it hasten : it is time it came now.

The attention of the reader should now be directed to two very
different places — the church and the castle. The young baron
would have wished perhaps to have his arms blessed by a priest
according to a then novel form which was beginning to extend
itself, but in default of this benediction he would havS his good
sword consecrated in a definite and almost sacramental manner.
At this time his younger brother is carrying his arms to the altar
of a neighbouring convent. Yes, upon that altar God will descend,
and on it he will place the heavy sword which will one day cause
blood to flow. It will remain all night upon the altar.

At the chateau the scene is more commonplace. In the great
hall, whence the minstrels have been temporarily banished, suddenly
are deposited a dozen enormous pans or troughs filled with hot
water. These are for the baths, which are by ritual commanded
for the youthful baron and his companions who intend to be
admitted into Chivalry on the morrow.

The hour appointed for the bath was not always the same.
Some candidates took it before the Vigil of Arms, others on the
following morning. But no matter at what time it was taken, it
possessed the same significance and the same characteristics. It
was a curious medley of the poetic and the p^*actical, of the ideal
and the real, and we need not go out of our way to consider it from
either side. I am persuaded that in its origin it had nothing
symbolic about it, and that it may be looked upon merely as a
sanitary precaution. It is equally likely that the bath was some-
times accompanied with a kind of massage to which our ancestors
seemed to have attached considerable importance in more every-
day circumstances. But the symbolic was soon grafted on the
practical ; it was the usual course. As the youthful baron was in-
telligent and of an inquiring mind he quickly perceived the analogy

ADMISSION— PRACTICE OF TWELFTH CENTURY. 263

between the Bath and Baptism, between confirmation and the
paumee. The churchmen of the period assisted him further, and
at the end of the twelfth century this symbolism was definitively
constituted. But they renounced the rubbing process, which did
not easily lend itself to the symbolical side, and seemed somewhat
barbarous. " The bath," the youth would cry, " is designed to
efface all the blemishes of my past life, and I shall issue from it,
clean."

However, he plunges into it with delight mingled with some
gravity of thought. The youths did not chatter in the bath over
much ; laughing was prohibited, and thought was of an elevating
character. Around these rough baths hurried attendants carrying
the silken robes and costly furs — a continual bustle and movement
are apparent. When the young men emerge from the baths the
attendants throw over their shoulders the warm robes of vair or
minever, and the bright and glossy silk or samite. Some elderly
relatives and friends take advantage of the opportunity to present
the aspirants with complete costumes, and the youths emerge from
the bath-rooms glowing with health and good-looks. The dresses
are rich and beautiful. Now for the Church !

[At Rome in the thirteenth century the Bath had a more poetic
character. When a Roman knight was created at Saint Peter's it
was usual, juxta morem patrice^ to have a bath of rose-water. I
am uncertain whence this custom arose, but conclude that it is
Oriental. At any rate after the ceremony of the perfumed bath
our knight was placed naked on a bed, and obliged to rest for a
while. But I prefer the French custom.]

Night is falling on the old castle, and the nearest monastery is a
league away. Surrounded by youthful valets, who like himself
have been bathed, and who will on the morrow be made knights,
our damoiseau of France bids a rapid farewell to his mother, his
sisters and other relatives. This " farewell " had nothing painful
about it ; it was only a temporary parting after all, and they would
quickly meet again. This custom of watching the armour was a
very interesting and touching one, but I do not think that it came
into practice before the first half of the twelfth century. The
young squire's companions are the sons of his sponsors and his
peers. The road is traversed merrily but without any unseemly

264 CHIVALRY.

uproar. In the fading light, along those hedge-bordered roads,
amidst the songs of birds and the scents of flowers, the young men
speak of the various phases of the approaching ceremonial of the
morrow ; of the customs in vogue in other countries which they
compare with those of their own. The journey is not long, and
very soon they perceive in the gloaming the small chapel whose
facade is ornamented with symbolical figures of the four
Evangelists. Against the pier stands a large image of the Saviour
who teaches and blesses all men. They respectfully salute it.
Then the heavy door rolls back and the fine sturdy youths enter
joyously. They can see nothing but a luminosity which is
apparent at the other end in one of the chapels which open from
the choir. In this chapel the watch-night ceremony will be held,
and it is easy to perceive at the first glance to what Saint it is
dedicated, though the stained-glass windows and the mural
decorations tell us little in that light. But we can readily recog-
nise the Saint in the panoply of knighthood who is represented as
bestowing half his military cloak upon a beggar, the blessed Saint
Martin !

The youthful barons make no secret of their preference for the
Saint and for his chapel, but in their naive piety they do not forget
the Virgin Mary, and in her name the vigil is begun. The vigil
will be long and wearisome, for they are not permitted to sit down
for a single moment — standing upright or kneeling they must
remain for ten hours in prayer. These devotions are lengthy.
" Grant me honour and to my father life," is one petition. Notice
that they do not beseech honour for their parent — he in their eyes
is already the incarnation of honour, and it would prove them as
wanting in respect if they thought otherwise. Then they probably
permit thoughts to have the upper hand, and they picture the
mighty lance-thrusts they will deliver, and perhaps the individuals
to whom they will be dealt. They are not without some solace in
thinking of the great day when they will be fully equipped with
hauberk blue and helmet, surmounted with a rich sparkling
carbuncle ; when armed with heavy sword they will deal such
cutting blows ; of the coming war, of their brave deeds. They will
perhaps be preoccupied in mind, but we must give these young
people the benefit of extenuating circumstances. Then to escape

WATCHING THE AllMOUK.

ADMISSION^PRACTICE OF TWELFTH CENTURY. 267

from such mundane thoughts they turn again to prayer. At
length a pale light penetrates the sanctuary, which gradually in-
creases till the windows become transparent. 'Tis daybreak indeed.
Truly the night had begun to feel very long. At length the
welcome day has come.

Then the echo of footsteps is heard within the church ; the
priest is approaching to say mass. For a moment our young
aspirant may have entertained the idea that the bishop himself had
arrived, but the prelate is then occupied in pastoral visits, of which
he keeps an accurate record. He is twenty leagues away and the
roads are bad. So he cannot come, and he has appointed one of his
canons in his place. No matter who celebrates it this mass is
most solemnly conducted, and of very ancient origin. It is far
anterior to the Vigil of the Armour which the elders did not know,
and which even the father of our youthful knight regards as a
superfluity — or at least as an innovation. Later, our aspirant will
make confession and take the Sacrament — but we cannot exactly
state that in the twelfth century he did more than attend the
mass. He conducted himself with becoming gravity, and was
probably only disturbed in his devotion by the representation of
Saint Martin receiving knighthood as depicted on the glass window.
He received the benediction, and then with his companions seeks
the portals. It is six o'clock on a May morning : the air is fresh,
and the young men are fasting !

Their exit from the church is rather noisy, it is so long since
these young people have shouted or sung. They return to the castle
— moult maient grant hustin ; and we may confess that they are
worthy of pardon. Remember they had been previously silent for
ten hours, and they will be knights before the evening.

At the chateau the table is already laid, and our future knights
eat white bread and venison. They have need to recruit their
strength for the approaching ceremony and for the athletic games,
the cslais and the quintain. The day will be as rough as it will be
imposing, and they must prepare their muscles as well as their
minds.

Immediately after the repast the ceremonial begins.

The youthful aspirant then retires to his chamber, wherein his
mother has carefully laid out all the articles of dress he will require.

268 CHIVALRY,

These are chiefly white, such as the shirt and silk "trunks," the
** chausses " of the period. The shoes come from Montpellier,
the robe is of linen, and the cloak, which is very expensive, is of
almost indescribable richness. How well the youth looks in his
gay habiliments, what an air ! Ladies assist him to don the body
garment and cloak, and arrange its folds with practised hands.
No one knows so well how to put on the finishing touches to these
masculine draperies. The lad has never looked so well, and the
women smile as they feast their eyes on him. ** How like me he
is ! " said the father, and he recalls the day on which he was made a
knight. Such memories make him feel twenty years younger.

The youth leaves his room, traverses the hall and comes out
upon the steps, and the moment he appears in the full light of
morning a general cry of admiration ascends from the terraces for
the fresh-coloured youth, whose fair hair, proud mien and broad
shoulders are greatly pleasing. The relatives of his fifteen com-
panions in arms are present, and they simultaneously exclaim
" How handsome he is !" as they each think of their own candidate.
Suddenly the shrill trumpets sound, and officially announce the
opening of the ceremonial. An orchestra or band replies. This
band consists oi jongleurs who had arrived on the previous evening.
Their voices mingle with their instruments, as do the acclamations
of the spectators.

But it would require a more experienced pen and palette of more
varied colours to paint the spectacle. All those ladies with such
long fair hair, clothed in the richest and newest costumes ; those
mailed knights in blue, red, or green with orfray embroideries;
those fair and rosy children who cower beside their mothers ; the
jongleurs sombrely clad and carrying all kinds of curiously formed
instruments; those priests and monks so friendly with their
neighbours, and so intent upon a spectacle which has nothing
clerical about it ; and then the vast open space below the steps
wherein a most solemn scene is about to be enacted — a grave drama
to be presented. The joyful cries, the sound of trumpets, the
strains of the band, the dazzling toilettes, the enthusiastic cheers^
the stirring crowd, these fine strong youths who advance with slow
and stately steps towards the old knights who are about to assume
the positions of their consecrators and sponsors, the prevailing

ADMISSION— PRACTICE OF TWELFTH CENTURY. 269

ideas of the Church and of the Saviour which dominate all, and
tinge all those present with their influence — God and Feudality ;
War and Youth ; all elements commingle, intersperse, penetrate,
and end in completing and mingling in, an original and curious
harmony which has nothing false nor tame ahout it — hut which is
all energy, fire, military, manly, French ! Ah ! language fails one !

Then our youthful haron descends the steps and advances slowly
across the grass of the open space helow. Upon the field the
servitors have spread a carpet or some straw, for without this detail
there would be no creation of knights. All eyes are fixed upon
those few square feet which for the spectators are just then " all
the world," so to speak. An air of solemnity obtains. No more
cries of welcome, no more singing, no talking even. Everyone is
profoundly silent.

The aspirant is placed in the centre of the carpeted space. One
of his sponsors then approaches him — an elderly individual is this
godfather, wearing a white beard — a knight who in his day had
taken part in the expedition to the East undertaken by King Louis
le Jeune. He embraces the youth, and with somewhat trembling
hands puts on the steel leg -pieces on the sturdy limbs of the
** novice," and fastens his spurs — golden spurs — on his heels, saying
himself some such words as the following —

"I trust that he will conduct himself in such fashion that his
spurs may never be hacked oflf in shame and degradation." He
then retires with measured step.

Then from the ranks of the spectators advance the aspirant's two
uncles, who have arrived from the Holy Land, having escaped the
disasters at Tiberias. They carry, with a dignity which has some-
thing sacerdotal about it, the hauberk and the helmet of the new
knight — their nephew. The hauberk is white — a suit of mail
without plastron, worn over the other garments, falling to the
knees, and divided back and front. The skirt and sleeves are
ornamented with rough embroidery of iron or steel wire, but it is
usefully furnished with a hood which enwraps the chin, ears, skull,
and covers a portion of the forehead, thus leaving only the eyes,
nose and mouth exposed. The helmet is an iron casque very
pointed at the top and surmounted by some large stone such as a
ruby or carbuncle, and studded round and adown the jointures with

270 CHIVALRY.

smaller stones. A long strip of metal (like a pot-handle) descends
straight over the nose and protects it from injury. This appendage
is called the ** nasal."

The ahove is a description of the old style of helmet, and at that
period of which we are speaking another mode was coming into
fashion, which was more irksome and scarcely more becoming.
The helm is heavy and tiring to the wearer. The youthful face
disappears under such head-gear, all wearers appear to be the same
age. The hauberk is suspended like a shirt from the neck, the
helmet is attached to it by leathern laces, and it requires some
exercise of patience to fasten. But at length the task is finished,
and there is our youthful baron encased in iron. No features of
his face except his sprouting moustache and his bright eyes can be
distinguished.

If one may be permitted the avowal it must be confessed, that up
to this point our young knight has not been greatly impressed by
the chivalric rites. His sponsors have only bestowed upon him de-
fensive armour, and his youthful courage leads him to disdain such
protection. He wishes to encounter the pagan hand to hand un-
armoured. But it will be otherwise when he receives his weapons,
which he will, he hopes, some day imbue in Saracenic blood. He
is most anxious to obtain his sword of all things. Already, the
question had been discussed, and he had confessed that he could
not feel himself actually a knight " until the moment when his
hand grasps his sword for the first time." That was all-
sufiicient — the remainder of the rite counted for nothing in
comparison.

We may therefore pardon his emotion when he perceives his
father's liege-lord approaching him carrying the sword — the famous
sword ! The weapon so ardently desired and expected, which is
suspended from a rich baldric or shoulder-belt, is glinting in
the sunlight ! The youth turns red and pale by turns, and con-
gratulates himself that his face is so concealed by his hood of mail.
He trembles with conflicting emotions ; he closes his ayes ; and
then tries to recover his composure. When he again recovers him-
self, 0 happiness ! he feels the sword pendant on his left side, and
opening his eyes he perceives the noble who has girded him
with it.

ADMISSION— PRACTICE OF TWELFTH CENTURY. 271

" My dear lad," says this fine old warrior, "I could tell you that
this weapon was forged by the celebrated Galant to whom we owe
* Durendal,' and all the other renowned swords of which the
jongleurs have sung and spoken. I might add that it was formerly
tested upon the famous staircase of steel leading from the palace of
Charlemagne at Aix (though I have never seen it), and where even
Courtain, the famous sword of Ogier of Denmark, was notched. I
could tell you a long and painful story about it, and make you
believe that I have conquered with it a Saracen Emir in a splendid
adventure in a distant land. But I prefer to tell you the plain
truth. This good sword I forged myself, and have carried it for
years. One day it happened — at the gates of Jerusalem — on our
last pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre — that I was attacked by
twenty infidels who seized my arms, and put me in direst peril ;
when, suddenly, someone came up, snatched the weapon from the
Saracen, killed two of the party, and dispersed the remainder. I
was saved ! My deliverer was your father, as you know. Do as he
did, and you will do full well ! "

The young baron then regarded the sword with admiration and
kissed it reverently : the pommel, in the form of a cross, contained
some sacred relics — such as a few hairs of St. Bernard, whom our
knight's father knew, and a fragment of the cope of St. Thomas a
Becket, who was so treacherously murdered in Canterbury
Cathedral. It is true that more valuable relics existed, but none
more authentic nor more inspiring. The youth is proud of them —
and at length lifts his head.

No longer his liege-lord, but his father stands before him and
whispers, "Bend your head. I am about to give you the colee.''

Now the most brutal portion of the ceremony has been reached,
and the part which the youth's mother has dreaded. She prefers
the English ritual " sans j^r/itwc'e," without the blow of the fist, to
the French ritual, to which the jiauinee gives a distinctive character.
But she is obliged to bow to the inexorable will of the baron. She
is compelled to resign herself to the inevitable and wait the
issue.

The father of our new knight is rather coarse and very much
imbued with the rough usages of the olden time. It is, therefore,
not a gentle blow — an almost caressing movement — which he delivers

272 CHIVALRY.

on his son's neck, but a formidable blow of his right hand. He
puts all his force into it — he is still a powerful man — and the
youth reels beneath the blow. After a while he falls to the
ground.

"Ah," he exclaims, ** if my father had not been the striker ! "

His mother had, meantime, not dared to look, and her attendant
had to tell her when to turn her eyes again upon the youth. The
father himself, now throwing off his harshness, embraces his son,
who has become his equal, and says : — " Be thou brave and upright.
Remember that you spring from a race which should never be
false. Honour all knights ; be liberal to the poor ; love God ! and
may our Saviour, who was crucified himself, protect you from
all your enemies. Go ! "

The youth, in a firm voice, then replies : — " I thank you, 0
father, and may the Lord hear your prayer. May I serve him, and
may he love me." That is the whole dialogue, and it is long
enough. Then the young man says to himself: — " I would rather
receive the colee from the living arm of my father than, like Galien,
from the dead hand of Eoland."

During the centuries which followed the ceremony was not so
quickly disposed of. Before the actual consecration of the new
knight he was compelled to submit to an interrogatory — a regular
examination as to his duties and the aspects of Chivalry : even the
oath of fidelity was imposed, but it is easy to perceive that these
rites have not the antique flavour. They are evidently modern
additions. In the twelfth century the aspirant used to content
himself by mentally devoting himself to the service of the church,
and made some mental vow similar to that taken by the youthful
Vivien, as stated in one of our oldest poems : — " I swear never to
retreat one step before the Saracens ! " . The Church did not
approve the rashness of such a vow.

The fifteen companions of our young knight were knighted on
the same carpet as he had been dubbed, with the same rites and
the same solemnity. At this period of time the ceremony might
appear to us rather too long, but we should not judge our ancestors
by our present day ideas. I have never seen any complaint of the
length of those twelfth-century ceremonials. The more noble the
youthful knight the more aspirants armed with him. Such was

ADMISSION— PRACTICE OF TWELFTH CENTURY. 273

the rule, of which numerous examples exist. But to return to our
picture.

What is the cause of this sudden movement and commotion
amongst the spectators ? Why all this tumult, these cries ?
The crowd swings backwards and forwards and forms into line.
Why?

The loud whinneying of horses is audible. They come, and, in
truth, their presence is opportune. One can hardly be created a
chevalier without a horse ! These are fine chargers, splendid
animals ! The young squires who lead them will soon be, in their
turn, knights, and we may perceive amongst them the brother of
the newly-made knight, who appears as joyous as the elder one, and
ruddy with happiness.

The horse of our young knight is a present from his liege-lord.
The animal is young but of good breed. When it becomes
necessary to name him the youth hesitates a long time between
'' Veillantif " and ** Marchegai." But finally the former is chosen :
it was the name of Roland's horse, and the young baron loves
Roland. He has already ridden " Veillantif," as all present are
aware. As soon as the horse is presented, the youth scans him
with a glance. In vain does the splendid animal plunge, and rear,
and paw the ground or champ his foaming bit — all in vain his
efforts. He has found his master. Amongst the audience gossips
whisper and make inquiries of each other as to the young baron's
horsemanship, and as to how he will mount. But anxiety and
curiosity are quickly allayed. There is an unusual exclamation as
the young man, after patting the animal's neck, retires a pace or
two and then leaps into the saddle without touching the stirrup.
The delighted warriors exclaimed : " He did not use the stirrup,"
and fair ladies echo the praise throughout the assembly, so the
good news is carried through the crowd, " Sans etrier / "

The young baron, modest and calm, curbs Veillantif, who stands
motionless. The knight is awarding the arms, which are only
given to a mounted cavalier, the immense shield and the lance.
The former covers his body entirely ; the latter is eight feet in
length. On the shield are two lions or on a field azure ; and from
the lance tip flutters a red pennon with three tongues, the
extremities of which just touch the casque of the young knight.

274 CHIVALRY.

Nothing now is wanting ; he has only to prove to the crowd that he
is an accomplished cavalier. It is all very well to mount a horse^
but can he put him through his paces ? Let us see. Proceed.
Gallop.

The gallop was termed the eslais, and was one of the elements
most insisted on : the most official performance in the long ritual
of knighthood. The youth is quite contented. Giving his horse
the spur, he darts away like a tempest. Cheers are redoubled as
he circumscribes the course. He, pleased with the enthusiasm of
the spectators, caracoles and makes some people fear for the result
of his showy performance. Ladies shrink and tremble for the
youth ; the knights laugh at their fears and reassure them ; the
eslais is concluded.

But after the eslais comes the quintain. This is the last test to
which the new knight is subjected, the last pleasure, alas ! in such
an eventful day.

Our young friend is an accomplished cavalier, and has just
furnished proofs of it. But is he adroit ? Is he strong ? This
lance which he handles so cleverly, can he use it properly ? If an
infidel were to encounter him, could the knight lay his lance in
rest, aim properly, attack, strike, and overcome his enemy ? That
is just what everyone was anxious to know, and that is what the
tilting at the quintain will show. Now, to it !

For such play as the quintain a long space is absolutely
necessary. But there was a large meadow available in which the
inhabitants of the castle used to walk on Sundays. The fifteen
young knights also made their way thither in single file, singing at
the top of their voices, joyously and with light hearts, seated on
restless and fretting chargers. All the assemblage follows. The
meadow is covered with ladies and their cavaliers in striking dresses
and ermine robes, forming a charming *' mosaic" on the field,
whence arises a continual murmur of conversation. Clothed in
sombre garments the lower classes occupy the second rank and
take part in the fete. The spectacle is really charming. But
what is the quintain ?

The quintain (or quintaine) is a kind of large puppet or lay
figure, placed on the summit of a post, which was invariably made
up of the following elements : *' one, or many hauberks, one, or

ADMISSION— PRACTICE OF TWELFTH CENTURY. 275

several shields." The shields naturally were placed over the
hauberks. This very primitive puppet was supposed to be an
enemy, an infidel, a Saracen.

At a given signal the attendants raised the post, which had been
in readiness on the ground. It was then the custom for the
knight to charge, lance at rest, and strike the quintain as he
passed. Victory fell to the happy assailant who, with one blow,
pierced the shields through and through, and ripped up the
hauberks, and finally — this was the crowning achievement, snatched
the post itself from the ground, so that only a confused heap of
arms, armour, and the supports remained.

In order to increase the difficulties of the encounter, and to
impose a more severe task upon the knights, it often happened
that two posts, one beyond the other, were set up, both furnished
with shields, &c. But in exceptional cases even four or five
quintains were erected. This seems almost incredible, but we
have it on the authority of the text-books.*

Such was the game which enchanted our ancestors, in every
generation less refined than ourselves; this is the origin of our
contemporary tournaments or tilting matches. The antique
hauberk is now replaced by a head of cardboard or other material —
it matters little. It is the same exercise, and the knights of
Saumur in 1884 were, without being aware of the fact, only
imitators of the cavaliers of the twelfth century.

We regret that, to make ourselves more intelligible, we have
likened the quintain to a " game." It was more than that, it was
a test — what do I say ? it was the test, the supreme trial, on which
all chivalric life depended. Just think that all his life, so to
speak, the old baron had been putting to himself the question,
" Will my son be able to accomplish that feat ? " And then comes
the moment when, thanks to an exercise somewhat savage and
puerile, he, at length, sees the question answered. You can
imagine his anxiety. We must not after all imagine that the
horizon of the feudal existence was a very extended one. The
barons were soldiers first of all, and every chateau was a riding-
school.

* Two posts, vide Elie de St. Gillcs and Godefroi de Bouillon; four posts, Aiol ;
five posts, for the gigantic Benvart. — Aliscans.

T 2

276 CHIVALRY.

At the opening of one of our most curious chansons ^ we are
brought face to face with a scene which, in its intensely faithful,
feudal roughness, brings the importance of the quintain vividly
before us. The old Count Julien de Saint Gilles wished to test
the prowess of his son Elias, whom he intended to dub knight.
He is quite a baron of the old school is Julien, and when he
bestows upon him the buffet (paumee), he delivers a blow that would
fell an ox. But he is not satisfied with that : he awaits the
quintain with feverish anxiety, and says to his son —

*' Remember if you do not bring down the quintain I will
disinherit you. You may find another home, you shall not live in
mine : be off ! "

The youth obeys, curbing his feelings, and it is not without
difficulty that this Roderick submits to the coarseness of this Don
Diego. He charges violently, and at his first attempt — a master-
stroke nevertheless — he pierces the shields, rends the hauberks, and
splinters the posts. Then his father is delighted and almost raves
with joy. "I will give you my possessions," he cries, " they are
all yours ! " But the son has not forgotten the parental threats,
and he is proud in his turn. He replies —

" You speak foolishly ! I do not want your land. For no earthly
consideration would I remain at your chateau ! I go hence at
once ! " Thereupon he bade his father farewell and went forth to
seek his fortune.

Thus we may perceive a successful bout at the quintain was
sufficient to make a man's fortune in those days, just as a
successful book or an eloquent address in these modern times.
When Renaud de Montauban before Charlemagne pierced the
shield and broke the post, the Emperor could not restrain his
enthusiasm, and exclaimed — *' Thou shalt be the Seneschal of my
Empire." Prime minister ! Yes, for a successful attempt — a
tour deforce of which any circus-rider of our own days would be
capable ; and such a reward by no means astonished our ancestors.
But we must put ourselves in their place. War was their normal
condition and daily occupation. They most highly valued a brave
warrior, and in their eyes a brave knight was one who could most
easily kill his enemy. From such considerations as these the
fashion and importance of the quintain arose. Some prime

ADMISSION— PRACTICE OF TWELFTH CENTUR\ , 27^

ministers of other epochs attained power by means less worthy
perhaps than those lance-thrusts !

The quintain, also, only represented infidels, so it was the
visible symbol of felons and traitors. With what pleasure they
were struck down ! In one of the romances of the middle ages, the
old Guy (de Mayence) who lived for a long time hidden in a wood,
gave one day his armour to his son — Doolin — who was only fifteen
years old. It was a very rustic and incorrect creation. The father
had no lance to give his son. ** Take this pole," he cried. He had
not the proper framework of a quintain at hand, so he said — " You
see yonder tree, charge at it at full speed, so that I may see
whether you are really expert on horseback, a cheval pommele."
The youthful Doon did not need a second exhortation ; he spurred
his steed, struck the beech tree full at the first attempt and
splintered his lance. *' Good, very good," cried his father.
" Ah," replied the lad, who had already drawn his sword to defend
himself against an imaginary foe, " you need not be surprised,
father, I imagined that the tree was the traitor Herchenbaut, who
persecuted my mother and myself. That is the reason why I struck
it so well and truly." *

The youthful baron whose *' creation " we have been describing
had not met with traitors as Doon de Mayence had. He had only
the Saracens to contend against, and he pictured to himself a Turk
when he laid his lance in rest, and set spurs to his good steed
Veillantif. A silence had fallen on the field ; every man's gaze
was centred on the quintain, and the ladies' eyes upon the knight
(qidntajiier) : what would be the result ? You may anticipate it,
my reader. After the lapse of five minutes a blow resounds over
the field, then the clattering of armour is heard. A sudden rush
from all sides is made towards the spot, and the ladies can look
down upon a small heap of armour; they can distinguish two
shields pierced through, two hauberks in rags, and a broken post
lying amongst the " ruins." The pennon of the youth's lance is
missing ; it has been torn off in the assault, but the quintain is
down, and our new knight is unquestionably the victor.

They will feast him when he returns, reining his horse backwards.

* Doon de Maience.

278 CHIVALRY.

He salutes with his sword, dismounts and permits himself to be
welcomed and embraced by the ladies, assures his mother that he
is in no wise fatigued, drinks a goblet of wine which is handed to
him, and endeavours to be as modest as he can.

But do not imagine that it was all over yet. Men were of iron
in those days. Our young hero mounts again, for he must now
proceed to behourder with his friends, even with the squires and
pages. Behourder is sham fighting, and in this instance it is
represented by fencing, or sword-play, on horseback. The young
baron is the more disposed to undergo this new fatigue because
several of his associates have been unsuccessful at the quintain and
hope to retrieve their fallen fortunes at the sword-play. They
descend to the meadow and engage in pairs. Around each pair of
combatants a circle is formed, while cries and clapping of hands
resound in all directions as the adversaries charge, turn, wheel, and
attack each other, or splinter a lance against an opponent's shield.

A bright sun illuminates the scene of mimic battle, which after
a while threatens to assume proportions and features more serious
than originally contemplated, and the sonorous voice of our
youthful knight's father is heard putting an end to the engagement,
in which several combatants have received wounds. As says the
old poem oi Aliscans —

** Li cuens a fait le jeu laissier,
Qu'il lie se blecent as lances abaissier."

In this encounter also our young hero comes off victorious. An
enthusiastic jongleur declared; *' There is no one to equal him in
fifty cities ! The red shield suits him marvellously, and people
declare that he must have been born with it. If he live, what a
warrior he will be ! " Another rhymer quotes the following
couplets from Garin de Loherain —

* ' In Langres town the King is holding Court,
From every side the barons have arrived.
That day bold Garin was created knight
With Fromont, William, and Begon the Brave ;
And many more whose names I need not tell.
Grand is the f<!te, and worthily sustained
By all the new made knights in their degrees. .
The feast is o'er ! They quit the palace halls ;
And, mounting for the joust, they snatch their swords 1

ADMISSION.— PRACTICE OF TWELFTH CENTURY. 279

Begon is riding his good steed Baucent,
The which on him the King had just bestowed.
Begon is brave, he comes of lineage proud ;
And holding high his wide and gleaming shield,
Swoops on as straight as falcon unconfined,
While all the knights of France his prowess see ! "

Thus sang the troubadours, and they but echoed the feelings of the
whole assemblage.

Night is now approaching : the shadows fall upon the grass, and
people think it is time to return to the shelter of the castle.
There is another repast awaiting them and more music, another
and final distribution of presents — magnificent gifts to every one of
the guests. The jonrfleurs then pack up their instruments and
music, the guests take leave, and soon the castle, lately so
uproarious, becomes silent and deserted. The newly-made knight
takes leave of his mother, doffs his armour, and throwing himself
upon his bed, is soon asleep !

The old baron has retired to his chamber, though not to sleep.
He, as becomes a man of orderly habits, is counting the cost of the
day. Certainly the fete was most successful, and he calculates that
fit least a hundred knights and two hundred pages must have been
l)resent. But the expenses ; great Heaven — what expenses !
How well those legislators must have been inspired who decreed
that the lord of the castle should be reimbursed by, or should
receive aid from, his vassals " for the knighting of his eldest son."
There was no better plan. But three other subsidies of the same
nature are still due to him ! viz., " On the day on which he departed
to the Crusades." But he has returned long ago ! "On the day
when he was taken prisoner ; " but he had been three years in the
Holy Land ! and " On the day when his eldest daughter is
married/' But she is only seven years old ! The ceremony of
knighthood is decidedly expensive, and all the subsidies in the
world would not satisfy its cost !

Now he begins to admire and approve of the conduct of those
who remain squires all their lives, or who are content with a small
family gathering at the ceremony, or those who could imitate
Rigaud in Garin cle Loherairiy who turned with contempt from the
furred garments with which he was presented before he was girt
with his sword ! Ah, those were wise men indeed !

28o CHIVALRY,

The baron could not sleep until he had jotted down roughly the
various items of expense. The cost was enormous, and I will
content myself by merely transcribing the heads of the principal
disbursements.

Horses bestowed on knights — six brown, seven black, twa
sorrel.*

Falcons and hawks given to same cavaliers.

Dress and arms for my son.

Dresses and armour for his fifteen companions.

Dresses bestowed upon my wife and the ladies invited, furs, &Cr

Weapons and golden girdles, &c.

Dinner.

Presents to jongleurs.

Destruction of crops in the country by knights and attendants,
and moneys paid to servants.

Largesse and alms.

The sum total is so tremendous that I am compelled to withhold
it. The poor baron is literally " knocked all of a heap," and
endeavours to forget in sleep the terrible sum. He looks at the
heroic side of the question and goes to bed !

All this time our new knight is dreaming of his new chivalry.
So he has at last the right to carry a sword. He now can enter a
church in full armour ; he can wear '' the vair and the grey." He
can seat himself at table with other Imights, and have the pleasure
of seeing everyone rise up when he enters. What honours are
these ! But he has also his duties to perform. When will the
next war be ? So even as Goethe cried " Light, Light," our new
knight calls "Battle, Battle ! " Then he goes to sleep again. . . ,

* A black horse was then worth 12 livres, a brown 14 livres, and a sorrel 18 livreSr

CHAPTER IX.

THE ESPOUSALS OF THE KNIGHT.— THE MARRIAGE THEORETICALLY
AND HISTORICALLY CONSIDERED.

I.

It cannot be denied that Feudalism has not had a good influence
on marriage. This true statement is made with the object of
making clear the following pages, and we are compelled to put
it forward at once. We are very desirous not to take up an extreme
view either with the enthusiastic admirers nor amongst the
fanatical enemies of the Feudal system. It had very considerable
influence, as was inevitable, upon all the institutions of the period
which it dominated, and we need not worry ourselves more about
it than about specific gravity in the physical world.

Everything could be — everything was given in fief — titles,
functions, incomes, privileges, costumes, lands ! But after a while
the Feudal system assumed a decidedly military phase. What
most concerned the barons of that rude epoch was the possibility
of having vassals who would be actually fighting men who would
side with them and for them, helm on head and lance in hand.
That is the reason why about the twelfth century women were
considered incapable of holding a fief — that is why minors of noble
families found their position so unbearable during the first period
of the Feudal system. So long as he was too young to engage in
battle the youth could claim nothing, his liege-lord could confiscate
his possessions or claim his land. This was rather hard upon him,
no doubt, and ere long some alleviation was proposed. But that
was nevertheless the backbone of the system, and the jurists who
defined the fief were not wrong in describing it as a portion of land
which was held subject to military service. It was derived from
that, and that explains the whole matter.

282 CHIVALRY.

Now what were the consequences of such a doctrine as regarded
marriage ? They are easy enough to predicate, and had a fatal
effect upon the dignity, as well as upon the liberty, of the marriage
state.

A baron died, let us say, leaving his only daughter as heiress of his

I fief, a child of six years old, a minor. The suzerain hears this, and

I declares that he is being cheated out of one of the most important

i of his rights. What good is this girl to him, what can she do for

' him? If a war were to break out can she assist him, bring up

Tassals to his ranks, and throw herself into the thick of battle ?

No. You see that she is useless to the baron, and even detrimental.

Such a scandal must not be permitted to continue, and it is

vy absolutely necessary that the fiefs must be occupied and " worked."

The suzerain with a very bad grace consents to wait a few years,

but as soon as the girl is of a marriageable age — as soon as she is

twelve years old in fact — he demands that she shall choose a

husband or have one chosen for her, and the poor child cannot

refuse. 'Tis true that the baron would probably give her her choice

of three knights. But suppose they do not please her ? suppose

they are all ill-favoured or brutal ? suppose that she finally declines

them all ? It is of no consequence. " Choose ! " She chooses.

It must be admitted that the girl herself has an interest in
the possession of a husband as a defender, and in the strict in-
terpretation of her rights could compel the baron to give her a
choice of husbands. And again we must not picture the damsels of
the twelfth century as innocent and simple-minded as our young
ladies now, small, delicate, very youthful in mind and heart. The
young women of the heroic age were stout and vigorous in body and
mind, and I imagine that they did not think they were very much
to be pitied in being thus legally given in marriage. Nevertheless
"there was nothing of the Christian character, of individual freedom ;
and amongst these forced marriages there were many which turned
out fatally unhappy. This is what we protest against.

Our old poems are full of such instances, and our chansons de
geste are perhaps the best commentary on the Lihri Feudorum,
One day in front of the palace of Charlemagne in Paris the
attendants perce-ived a young girl approaching with great self-
possession. She proved to be Hellissent, daughter of Yon of

ESPOUSALS OF THE KNIGHT.

283

Gascony. She dismounted at the steps, ascended them at a bound,
and threw herself at the kmg's feet, saying, boldly :

** My father died two months ago, I request that you will appoint
some one to marry me."

A like instance is that of the beautiful Aiglentine who was to
become the wife of Guy of Nanteuil — the lovely Aiglentine, who
was " fairest of the fair and whiter than a siren ! " She made her

iving Yon of Uascony informs his sister Clarissa that he wishes her to marry Renaud
de Montauban (p. 294).

appearance in the same way at the court of the Emperor, not to be
a partaker in the enjoyments of his state, but to demand a husband !
Widows, who were sometimes placed in circumstances similar
to those in which minors found themselves, were no way backward
in demanding their rights, as we may learn from the history of the
Duchess of Burgundy in Girars de Viane.

" My husband has died, but what is the use of mourning ? It
is the dress since the time of Moses in which some, have died and
others have lived. Find me a husband then who is brave and

284 CHIVALRY.

valiant, for I am in want of some one to take care of my
land."

The king presented Girars de Yiane on the spot, and he,
" looking her over," and finding her to his liking, consented to take
care of it for her !

The privilege of giving their vassals in marriage is one of those
which kings in their capacity of " seigneur suzerains " exercised
with a great deal of pleasure. There was nothing more agreeable
to them than to take a pretty blushing maiden by the hand and
present her to some powerful baron whom the king wished to
conciliate. This was neither a lengthy nor a complicated treaty.
He bestowed on his ally at once a fief and a wife. In this manner
did Kaoul Trillefer become possessed of the fief of Cambrisin and
of Alais the Fair — the most beautiful woman of her time — by favour
of the King of France. Thus also did the Emperor Otho in the
midst of the assembly of his barons confer on Count Witasse of
Boulogne the hand of the beautiful Ydain, and all the territory of
Bouillon.

But sometimes it happened by happy accident that the selection
of the sovereign coincided with the lady's own choice. One day
the good Duke Milon, who was about to quit the world and retire
into a monastery, entered the chamber in which his two daughters
were seated, and thus addressed them :

" Go put on your most becoming costumes, and come to see the
knights whom I wish you to marry."

Now these young ladies had cast their afi'ections upon Garin de
Lorraine and his brother Begue respectively, but, woman-like, they
had not mentioned anything of this to their father. The elder one
(who was very diplomatic) even then contented herself with
the remark, " The barons for whom you destine us are perhaps false
knights or traitors."

''Not so," replied the good duke, who did not wish to leave his
children in any uncertainty, or to embarrass them, '' not so, these
gentlemen are named Garin and Begue."

The young ladies did not require any further inducement. They
immediately arrayed themselves in their best dresses and permitted
their long hair to float coquettishly down their backs. The king
welcomed them, and without any hesitation, gave Aelis to Garin

ESPOUSALS OF THE KNIGHT. 285

and the beautiful Beatris to Begue of Belin. The damsels
laughed and said :

" Sire, we are quite at your disposal ! " Young ladies of our time
have more reserve, but, perhaps, less frankness.

But matters did not always turn out so happily, and this giving
in marriage was not free from injustice. Kings were too ready to
give away fiefs and wives to barons who had served them well, and
it was all done in the most natural way in the world. The land
and the lady were disposed of together. This feature gives to the
opening of Charroi de Nimes such an astonishing flavour of
antiquity.

" One of these days," said the king to Count William, who
threatened him, ** one of these days, shortly, one of my barons will
die. I will give you the land and the widow if you will accept
them ! " Later on he actually sets forth all the vacant hereditaments.
" Take the possessions of the Marquis Beranger who is dying, and
take his wife into the bargain ! "

Then William completely lost his temper, and struck the T\Tetched
king dumb with his reply :

"You have a very short memory, sire," said he. "Don't you
recollect one day when in battle with the Saracens, that you were
unhorsed and in imminent peril of death ? One of your barons per-
ceived your danger ; he hastened to your assistance, cleared a space
around you with his sword as a wild boar keeps hounds at bay ;
then he dismounted, held the stirrup for you and helped you into
the saddle. He was the Marquis Beranger — the same knight
whose wife you are now offering to me ! He has a son who
is still young. I will slay the first man who lays his hand upon
the lad ! "

Thus spoke William, but all barons were not so noble-minded.
As we advance towards the thirteenth century such scandals
became less frequent, but the land and the lady are separated with
difficulty, and have but too often the same destiny. It was the
force of circumstances and of right. In any case one could not wed
without the king's consent. " A mollier la prendra se le Roi le
consent.''^ This verse of Gui de Nanteuil is extremely eloquent and
precise. But, nevertheless, it cannot be said that under such con-
ditions marriage was free or a really Christian rite.

286 CHIVALRY.

It is quite certain that the land counted for everything, and the
consent of the lady very little, but widows had to endure the most
under the feudal system. They were not included in the bargain
by those sovereigns who wished a fief to be occupied at once. They
had not time to weep, and had to re-marry again very quickly.
Scarcely a month had elapsed after Hellissent, a lady of Ponthieu,
had lost her husband when her brother Beaudouin of Flanders
came to her and proposed to her another husband. The fraternal
argument deserves to be cited. ** This one is richer than the last ! "
The widow made some semblance of resistance, but as soon as her
brother had mentioned the name of the new suitor, Fremont, " Sire,'*
said she, ** I will do your pleasure," Then without waiting a
moment her brother seized her hand and gave her to Fremont.
The wedding was celebrated immediately, and the poet adds that
there was great rejoicing at it. ^^ Asez i ont lejor gabe et ri. And
this bride was a widow of less than a month !

But this was by no means an isolated case. Charlemagne in a
very arbitrary manner re-married at one time all the widows of the
barons who had lost their lives in Spain. Begue de Belin died,
and his brother Garin was in tears. Nothing more natural,
nothing more touching than this expression of grief ; but then why
did not Garin respect the grief of his sister-in-law, and not seek to
console with the coarse statement that " Another knight will make
you his wife ! " Why, as we see in another place, should a widow
have been compelled to marry one of the murderers of her son ? I
am of opinion that our old poets were not very exact chroniclers,
and that they often exaggerated the conduct of their heroes and
maligned them. But, in any event, we are in these times a long
way from the Christian view of widowhood, and from the practice of
the Church, which only tolerates — for it cannot entirely approve —
the celebration of second marriages.

Other evils accompanied the feudal marriage, and I would refer
to the extremely rapid way in which it was solemnised. In fact, it
was hardly solemnised at all — it was hurried through at full speed.
To the instances previously quoted we may add that of the
departure of Aimeri's children. The old man wanted to get his
sons off his hands, and finding his best chances in marrying them
off quickly he said one day, " You are very foolish to count on my

ESPOUSALS OF THE KNIGHT. 287

property as inheritance. You won't have it." Then addressing
Garin, he continued : " You shall go to Bavaria, and you will say
to Duke Nicas that you have come to marry his daughter ; tell him
to give her to you with the city of Anseiine, its ports, and its
shore. It is true that the land is at present in possession of the
Saracens, but you have only to reconquer it."

Garin was delighted with the prospect, and he put himself at the
head of a thousand knights. He did not reckon how many days
the journey occupied, but it was a long time. At length they
reached Bavaria. The young baron perceived the chateau of
Naimes, rode up, and dismounting, presented himself to the old
duke in the great hall. Garin saluted him, and explained his
mission. ** Thou art of high degree," remarked the duke, "and I
will give thee my fair-faced daughter." He immediately summoned
the damsel, who had fair hair. ** Belle," he said, " I am going to
give you a husband." " God be praised ! " replied the innocent
damsel. The archbishop was summoned at once, and the young
people were married. Short and sweet !

No wonder such marriages were the causes of so many great
wars, and in this statement our poets are quite in accord with
history. Nothing in those days was more conducive to the shedding
of blood than all these competitions between wives and fiefs. The
King of Moriane, Therri, happened to be mortally wounded by a
bolt from a crossbow, by a quarrel which the Saracens launched
against him. He felt that he was dying, and could only reconcile
himself to his fate by the thought that he could leave his daughter
well protected by a powerful husband. On Garin, the Lorrainer,
he had set his mind, and he sent in search of him without delay.

" I will give you Blancheflor, with my domains and territory,"
he said.

Garin accepted the terms, on condition of receiving the consent
of King Pepin, and the young people plighted their troth.

" Now," said King Therri, when this ceremony had been per-
formed, " who can extract this bolt from my flesh ? " The attempt
was made, but when the quarrel was extracted he died. Garin
hastened to the emperor, who was at Langres, and requested his
sanction to the marriage with Blancheflor. But some one present
protested against such an union. " You forget, sire," said this

288 CHIVALRY.

personage, "that you have already promised me the first vacant fief ;
and to me — to me only, does Blancheflor belong." Who was the
speaker ? He was Fromont of Bordeaux, who was destined to
become the mortal enemy of the Lorrainers.

Garin at first contested his claim temperately and with courtesy,
but soon was carried away by his anger, and exploded in wrath.
He would have attacked his adversary if the emperor had not him-
self caught him by the cloak. Garin did not marry Blancheflor,
but in this episode was laid the train of a terrible war — that war of
savages, the recital of which is sufficient to fill every page of the
epic poems of the Lorrains. This is the reason why so many
knights were slain, so many chateaux destroyed, so many towns
sacked, so many children disinherited !

" Iluec commence li grano bonqflemeiis." *

While the Church was persuading the baron to regard his wife
as his equal before Heaven, Feudalism, so frequently in opposition
to the Church, was teaching him to despise his spouse. Knights
in those days had no regard for anything but fighting, and the
most beautiful woman did not please them half so much as a good
lance, or a fine horse. This trait is well brought out by the author
of Girbers de Metz in a really fine page. It is related that the
daughter of Anseis was seated one day at the casement as two
knights were riding by. The lady was well-formed, rosy of com-
plexion, her skin white as a lily. The two cavaliers who were
passing were Garin and his cousin Girbert.

" Look, Girbert," said his cousin. ** By Saint Mary, that is a
lovely woman ! "

Perhaps you will think that the other knight would have turned
round, and even glanced at the object of this encomium. But no ;
he only replied : " Ah ! but see what a fine beast my horse is ! "

Garin, nevertheless, persisted, and said : *' I have never seen
such a charming girl, with such a beautiful skin, and such glorious
black eyes." The other cavalier replied : " I have never seen any
charger to equal mine ! "

The dialogue is continued in this strain for some time ; there is

* Garin li LoJicrahis.

ESPOUSALS OF THE KNIGHT. 289

nothing forced in it ; it is an exact picture of the period. In the
minds of all warriors there always has been, at bottom, a sort
of disdain for woman — who consoles while she subdues them.
But the feeling existed, with innumerable railleries and disdainful
commentaries upon feminine occupations, and lightmindedness,
and dress.

*' It is silly to confide in a woman ! " say the poets with damn-
able iteration. " A woman's heart is a very flimsy article,"
exclaims one of those personages, who in our romances was
described as gifted with wisdom and good sense in no small
degree.* " Out of seven thousand women," says the author of
Amis et A miles, who bases his statement on the authority of
Solomon, " there may be, perhaps, three or four who are really
trustworthy, whom one can depend upon." The barons were
particular, above all things, in interdicting women from interfering
with their affairs, and never consulted their wives. " Cursed be /
the knight who seeks advice from his spouse, when he ought to be
in the tilt-yard ! " And again : " Those princes are badly inspired .
who seek counsel in women's apartments."

Then again we may perceive how they repulsed those who wished \
at any cost to interfere with what did not concern them. *' Go |
back to your painted and decorated apartments, go out of sight,
take your ease, drink, eat, work tapestry, wind silk. But bear in
mind that you must not interfere in anything else. Our business
is ours ; it is to fight ! Silence ! "

If they persisted, their lords and masters got very angry, their
savage nature came uppermost. They got red in the face, and
trembled with rage ; and sometimes, like the brutes they were,
dealt their wives a sounding buffet in the face. This hint was
generally sufficient, and the lady profited by the lesson, saying
humbly, " Thank you" to her lord, while some even pushed their
meekness to the extreme limit of adding, *' when it pleases you,
you may strike me again ! " This was perhaps going rather too
far along the road to heroism, and I am assured that most of our
present-day wives would stop on the way.

* Le Vavasser Gautier in Oaydon. *' Et cuer de fame resont mais si legier ; c'on
ne se puet en elles affier."

290 CHIVALRY.

It is a fact beyond question that Feudal legislation gave a much
more extensive power to the husband than our present legislation
does. The woman then had to make up her mind to it. She
could not, when married, go to court, or make any contract with-
out her husband's consent. He, and this is a serious matter, had
the right to beat her — yes, the right ! But there were only two
cases in which the legislature actually permitted this personal
punishment, viz., for adultery, or for presenting her lord with an
idiot child. It is true that the legislature tried to temper this
infliction, and we find, in the thirteenth century, the good Beau-
manoir, in his Coutumes du Beauvaisis, declaring that the husband
should only beat his wife reasonably ! " Keasonably " is delight-
ful ! But when a husband was angry, the temptation was rather
strong, the descent to anger steep, and sometimes the fist was
harder and quicker than he intended it to be.

II.

So much coarseness was fortunately tempered by natural feelings
and rights, but above all by the Church and the canonical law.
One can never obtain a true idea of the Middle Ages unless one
pictures the Church standing out clear and beautiful behind each
individual of this rude epoch, like the superb Muse which Ingres
has depicted as standing behind Cherubini. The Church was
there, indicating to the recalcitrant barons the good they ought to
do, and against which they were setting themselves. She had a
decided influence on marriage, and, in order to direct it the better,
she took the marriage- state under her special protection, and
referred all matrimonial questions, up to the close of the old
regime, to ecclesiastical tribunals. This was not a privilege, but
justice.

How old are you ? Have you parents or relatives ? Do you
give your consent freely to this marriage ? These were the three
questions which the Church put first to intending waves. jEtas,
remotio parcjitela consensus pei'sonarum, such were in fact, in

ESPOUSALS OF THE KNIGHT. 291

other words, the three conditions requisite for the vahdity of the
marriage. Nothing could be more prudent. ,

"A man cannot marry before he is full fifteen years old, a A
woman not before she is over twelve.'^ This prudent rule, this
formal decision of the Church was evaded by noble families.
Feudalism had truly terrible exigencies. In order that the same
baron might some day possess two fiefs instead of one, in order that
in certain cases he should bear two titles, to increase his surround-
ings and possessions, there were no sacrifices which they would not
offer, and they used most scandalously (to marry together babies of
five years old ! j The Church protested, but the laws of the Church
were good enough for the lower classes and villeins. The barons
let her protest, and went on marrying at any age they deemed
expedient. One of our poets complains in round terms of these
premature unions.

**Ah," he says, "everything is degenerating! Formerly the
man would not marry until he had passed thirty years of age and
the young lady was grown up. When the wedding-day arrived,
they felt so modest and shy that they fancied everyone was looking
at them. Faith and loyalty reigned supreme. But now-a-days
avarice and luxury are in the ascendant, and two children of twelve
years old are wedded ! Take care lest they have children ! " The
troubadours and jonfjleurs used to recite this warning from Aiol
before the members of families in which such scandals were
permitted, but although they looked down for a moment, they
began again next day. What they had refused to a priest they
would not grant to a poet !

The question of blood relationship gave rise to many dissensions.
Before the Lateran Council in 1215 it was forbidden to marry
within the seventh degree of consanguinity. The Council
interfered and permitted marriage up to the fourth degree. But
remember that connections and spiritual parents were made equal
in this respect to true relations — blood relations ! If you were a
god-parent, you thereby entered into relationship with your co-
sponsor, which prohibited marriage in like conditions as blood
degrees. But it is true that some people took advantage of this
severity of the Church to indulge themselves ; the rigorous
prohibition opened the door to abuses. After some years of wedded

u 2

292 CHIVALRY.

life a husband, tired of his wife, would suddenly discover that she
was his relative. Then, '' Quick, quick, let us dissolve a marriage
so sacrilegious, so abominable, so contrary to all laws, human and
divine ! "

They were separated, and the husband, this exemplary Christian,
threw himself into the arms of another woman ! So some people
gained their desire for change and novelty, which is the essence of
voluptuousness. This was a rehabilitation, a canonical and pious
restoration of the old divorce. Bishops and priests, alas ! were
found ready to countenance such infamy, instead of boldly pro-
claiming it and crushing it out. Notwithstanding appearances the
law was a good one, and can only be regarded as a deliberate
attempt on the part of the Church to inspire Christian generations
with profound respect for family ties, and a horror more profound
still for all that could by any possible means be construed into an
act of incest. To this law we owe our present healthy races,
whose blood is not enfeebled and vitiated by marriages of close
relations, which are now condemned alike by Science and by the
Church.

If our barons were six feet high, well set up, rich in complexion,
with large hands, and possessed of great muscular force, if they
were as handsome as strong, if their blood coursed purely through
their veins, and if their children resembled them, they owe all those
benefits to the church, which they loved to disparage, and against
which they 'rebelled with the watchword of revolt, the parrot
cry of —

** Maryde en aient li pre voire lisant
Et li clergie qui la loi vout gardant."

We are not the less disposed to pity the poor souls who '' loved
each other with a tender love," which the church pitilessly refused
to consecrate. The case of poor Kosamond is certainly touching,
for when she was on the point of wedding Elias of Saint-Gilles,
whom she loved devotedly, she found that such a marriage was out
of the question, because of the " spiritual " relationship which
existed between the pair. " You have held the same child at the
baptismal font; marriage is impossible!" The intending bride-
groom wept sore ; Kosamond fainted away, and (we must unfortu-

ESPOUSALS OF THE KNIGHT. 293

nately be unromantic enough to tell it) then demanded another
husband !

It was to the third condition of the three — the free consent of the
future spouses — that the church, and with reason, attached the
greatest importance. To be sure there was nothing so elevating
and sacramental as the benediction of the priest, but it is not the
form of the rite, it is the mutual consent of both parties which con-
stitutes it binding. They marry themselves, as it were, before the
priest. To this necessary consent we now add the benediction of
the church, as a useful and magnificent treasure in our hearts, but
it is not indispensable. Such is the Romish doctrine which was
accepted throughout the Middle Ages, and we find its application
in all our epic poetry.

The Feudal law determined that the young man should ask his
father's consent to his marriage, — a very useful precaution, and one
calculated to prevent awkward complications. The young damsel
could not marry without her parents' consent. So the Church,
which dislikes any underhand proceedings, decreed that banns
should be published in the service three several times, and com-
manded the engaged couple to make a solemn declaration before
the vicar and two witnesses.

But it is the " Yes " — it is always the '* Yes " of the pair which
is the binding condition of their union, without which their marriage
would be null and void. ** Wilt thou marry this fair lady?" is the
question put by the Abbe to Huidemer in our old poem of Beuves
d'Hanstonne. " Yes ! " he replied, " and I will bestow upon her all
Burgundy as a dowry." " And thou, maiden, who art now weeping,
wilt thou have this baron for thine husband?" "No!" she
answered, *' I will not wed with this traitor ! " So the marriage
did not take place.

Nevertheless, matters did not progress so lugubriously as a rule,
and nothing could exceed the solemnity with which the parties pro-
nounced the sacramental *' oil." Let us rather look at the case of
Aubri of Burgundy, and Queen Guibourc a la clere fachon.

''Lady," said the hermit, as he blessed them, "wilt thou have
this Burgundian for thy husband ? " " Yes, reverend sir, for he is
to me good and beautiful " {bel et hon). Then the holy man called
Aubri by his name, and said : " Wilt thou take Guibourc to wife,

294 CHIVALRY,

with the kingdom which pertains to her ? " ** Yes ! by Saint
Fagon," exclaimed Aubri, " I have been wishing for this occasion
for a long time." Then they were married !

This excellent doctrine of mutual consent has been most success-
ful in the Christian community, where it has happily counteracted
the grossness and rigour of the Feudal law. Fathers and mothers
consulted their daughters, their brothers and sisters, and evil befell
those who did not do so. *' My fair sister," said the King Boniface
to Hermengart, one day, "I have bestowed you on the best knight
in the world ! " But Hermengart was not a maiden to permit any
husband to be forced on her. " You must understand that I will
never have any other man than Aimeri for my husband." Then,
with some pardonable coquetry, she enumerated all the offers she
had already refused, the Doge of Venice, and Savari of Germany
amongst others.

We are better acquainted with the charming episode of King
Yon of Gascony when he announced to his sister, the beautiful
Clarissa, that she was to be married. The king entered the paved
hall, where he found his sister seated upon a silken cushion. She
had upon her knees a banner, which she was in the act of illuminating
(for she was educated) , and she said in her heart that Renaud should
be her husband.

"Fair sister," said the king, *'I have betrothed you."
The maiden listened, while she bowed her head over the banner,
and changed colour rapidly — a prey to harassing thoughts.

" For the love of Heaven, good brother, tell me to whom you
have apportioned me ? " she cried, at last.

" You have had great luck," replied the king. " I have betrothed
you to the most valiant of all knights who ever girded sword. His
name is Renaud, son of Aymon."

The maiden heard, and was comforted. "As you please," she
replied.

However, we must not misunderstand the situation. King Yon
only pretended to dispose of his sister in marriage while he really
followed her inclinations, and the princess only yielded so compla-
cently because her heart was in accord with her brother's expressed
wishes. The verse says plainly " Elle a dit a son ciier qu'a Renaut
ert doneeJ'^ She was consulted and was perfectly free to choose.

ESPOUSALS OF THE KNIGHT. 295

The rudest barons objected to take a lady against her will. This
Aimeri of whom we have spoken, who was in love with Hermingart,
made a very clear statement on this subject. The first time he
saw her he approached her, threw his cloak behind him and
embraced her. Then they walked together and talked long of love.

*' I have come an immense distance in search of you," said he.
*' But fear not to tell me all your thoughts : for all the gold in the
ten towns I would not take you against your will."

But on the other hand I am of opinion that Aimeri was pretty
sure of his ground.

The most beautiful episode relating to the freedom of the
marriage contract is presented to us in a poem of the decadence
in IJ Entree cVEsparfne. Shamefully treated by Charlemagne,
Roland had quitted Spain and had embarked for the East. He
arrived at the very time when the King of Persia was about to
marry his daughter to a neighbouring king, named Malquidant.
The princess was very lovely, and very young ; the intended bride-
groom was old and the maiden liked him not. But no one appealed
against this forced marriage : the courtiers approved it, and in the
midst of this servile silence Roland entered the council hall. He
made himself acquainted with all the circumstances of the case,
and then suddenly rising he exclaimed indignantly " Know ye why
I have come hither ? No one dares to say a word ; then I will
speak ! Since chance has conducted me hither, I declare that I am
ready to do battle in defence of this great truth, viz., that there is
nothing more contrary to the laws of God and of man than marry-
ing a man or woman against the will of either of them. I have
spoken ! " Longer speeches have often been made, but none more
to the point than this.

Such were the conditions of marriage which the Church had
wisely imposed. By way of clenching the subject as regards
consent of both parties, the following language may be quoted —

"Thou shalt not enter the temple on the day of thy marriage
until after thou hast expressed thy free consent in the presence of
witnesses, in a clear and intelligible voice, publicly." It was beneath
the porch that assent was given and the Qui pronounced. And
thus the charming young couple who entered the sacred edifice were
no longer only affianced, but actually married.

296 CHIVALRY,

m.

We have yet to consider the pecuniary aspect of the ceremony,
and this was no small affair, while the system of the dot obtained
in the countries where written law was recognised ; the douaire*
which is of German origin, was the practice in the countries which
observed the " law of custom." Douaire signifies the right
assured to a wife **to enjoy after the death of her husband a
portion of the goods which belonged to him when he married — on
his wedding day." In other words it is "a constitution of usufruct
to the benefit of the woman."

In our old songs in which the heroes are kings, counts, and
dukes, the dower included magnificent presents of fiefs, lands, and
towns, which even on the wedding day the husband gracefully
bestowed upon his bride. In this way Aimeri of Narbonne endowed
his wife Hermingart with the splendid gift he had promised her,
which included the Narbondais and the Beaulandais.

So Bernier said when speaking of the daughter of Gueri le Sor
whom he was about to marry, '* De Ribemont shall be my wife's
dower." No wonder that it was a question of dower and not of
dot, for it was in the midst of Germanic surroundings, and one
would have been thrice blind to have contested the barbaric laws of
the people.

All is finished and regulated : the law has done its work. But
there is something higher than the law — ideas and manners are of
a more elevated character. The ideas of marriage and its customs
are derived principally from the Church.

The woman, whom the law left in a condition of inferiority, and
who in our old poems is represented as ill-treated, seized by the
hair, beaten with the hand, and threatened with the stick or the
sword, the woman after all began, to be considered the equal of the
man — his peer. A sacred oath united her to her husband, and she
began to delight in reminding him that she was not only his peer j
but his companion, his " juree." The word indicates the progress I
accomplished, and our heroes then called their wives nothing but i
" sweet friend," " sweet dame," or " fair sister." Finally thisJ

* Dot is a portion ; douaire is a dowry.

ESPOUSALS OF THE KNIGHT. 297

idea obtained everywhere. Hierarchically placed below the level of
the man, the woman in all other respects was his equal.

It is true that animated by a salutary terror a certain number of
monastic scribes — chiefly in the twelfth century — compared woman
to the Evil One, and went so far as to argue the cause of her
intellectual and moral inferiority. This is an exception which we
feel bound in justice to notice, but it is not the dominant idea of
the periods we are studying. Woman as a wife was fenced in with
honour and respect : the good wife was everywhere extolled. *' A
good wife," says one of our old poets, *' is sufficient to enlighten a
kingdom," and a monk adds "we should love, serve, and honour
Woman, for we have all sprung from her."

As she lived all the winter in a chateau, the wife, by force of
circumstances, gained an influence over her husband, which the
couples of ancient Greece and Eome never attained, and never could
attain. There was an intimacy which was impossible in countries
wherein women are relegated to a separated part of the house.
There was no gynecium in our chateaux. People lived and moved
and had their being in a space a few yards square. The most
delicate soon ruled the more heavy minded. The wife ruled, or
rather, governed.

While our poets have rather decried the damsels, they often extol
the married woman. This is somewhat curious. They have
immortalised those incomparable types of the Feudal Christian
spouse, Berte, Guibourc, Ameline. But in the sky of the Middle
Ages there shines a star, even more radiant, which illuminated not
only a kingdom but the whole of Christendom.

The Holy Virgin. One of the terms most frequently applied to
the Deity by our old romancists is " God, the son of the Virgin."
All women, all wives, looked up to her and made her the pattern of
their lives. They all cried with Saint Bernard to her : *' Thou
art the way for the erring, the pardon for sinners, the life of the
world." The men, less mystic, thought themselves happy if they
possessed in the pommels of their swords some relic of the Holy
Virgin, and they dedicated to her honour the vigil preceding their
admission to knighthood. They did more honour to their wives by
thinking of her — the mother of God, whom they regarded with a
sacred love. In outraging a woman they outraged her prototype —

298 CHIVALRY.

her heavenly image, and the more brutal would think twice ere they
acted so.

Notwithstanding all this poetry, men's passions were not extin-
guished, and there were lapses from the hum-drum domesticity of
marriage : but they found the Church barring their passage. It
must, however, be confessed that she did not always prove the
stronger, and that there were even in the ranks of the clerical army
grave and regrettable defections. Up to the twelfth century we find
instances of divorce, but it is not correct to class dessoivrement with
divorce : they must not be confounded. The former is permitted
by the Church: only it is a separation which does not permit
either of the parties to contract another marriage.

In one of our oldest chansons we find an instance of this cruel
but rare separation, which may be quoted here. It was the case
of the unfortunate Count Amis, who was suddenly struck down
with leprosy as by lightning. His spouse, Lubias, was not one of
those good wives ; she had a horror of the disease, and petitioned
the bishop for a decree of separation which, legally, could not be
given until after a regular ecclesiastical inquiry. Two knights
carried the unhappy Amis into the presence of the prelate. The
lady pointed at the unfortunate man trembling with fever. She
was implacable ; the sick one had no defender.

'' Separate me from this invalid," she exclaimed. '' I will give
you thirty pounds of Paris sous, with my Arabian mule." The
bishop replied proudly: "Madam, you are the very last person
who should thus promulgate the malady from which your lord is
suffering." But the lady retorted angrily: *' Bishops are born
only to do my bidding. If you will not do as you are bidden, put
down your crozier ! "

Nevertheless, throughout the town public opinion was greatly
stirred : people grumbled about this miserable man, whose con-
dition disgusted everyone. They pitied, not him, but his wife.
"She is right," they said, "and is most unfortunately married.
In order to encourage this expression of opinion, Lubias skilfully
distributed largesse amongst the people — nobles and commons alike.
So the bishop, who ought to have resisted to the death, was com-
pelled to yield, and appeal fruitlessly to the other prelates. The
unfortunate leper did not wait for the consummation of the matter,

ESPOUSALS OF THE KNIGHT. 299

but himself applied for a judicial separation on condition that he
should be supplied with scraps from his wife's table. But he was
divorced, hunted from his own city ; conducted to a miserable hut
at the gates of the town, where no comforter, no friend but his son
Girard, a lad of seven years old, ever came to visit him.

Notwithstanding the perfidy of certain ladies of the Lubias tj^pe ;
notwithstanding the complacent culpability of some bishops, in
spite of all this, the great principle of the indissolubility of the
marriage tie has prevailed in all Christian communities.

CHAPTER X.

THE ESPOUSALS OF THE KNIGHT.— BEFORE MARRIAGE.

I.

In a neighbouring castle at Ferte-Henri lives a daughter of a
knight, destined to be one day a knight's wife and the mother of
knights. Let us call her Aelis.

Her life to the age of sixteen has presented no event worthy of record
save the occasion of the departure of her father for the Holy Land,
whence he never more returned. The girl was then six years old,
and her father had had — I know not wherefore — a presentiment that
he would never see his child again : a pretty little thing, and more
sensible than most others of her age. The poor baron could not
tear himself away, but he was obliged to go at last, and on the day
he left home he turned to his old liege-lord and to him confided
the child. " To you I confide my daughter Aelis. Advise her for
her good," They never saw him again.

It is not necessary to describe the succeeding years of childhood,
which were monotonous. Children at that period amused them-
selves very much as our young people do, playing at housekeeping,
or with dolls, particularly the latter, which they dressed and un-
dressed to their hearts' content. This occupation was ever new and
delightful as to-day and as it will be a thousand years hence, for
human nature does not alter so much as some people think. The
young girls of the twelfth century played rackets and battledore
just as our schoolgirls do, but they paid great attention to the
serious game of chess, and it was extremely amusing to see these
fair little things playing against their grandsires, and moving the
kings, castles, and pawns so deftly.

But chess was only a portion — a very small portion of the edu-
cation of those children, and our Aelis is expert in many other
sciences. She does not pride herself upon them too much.

MARRIAGE OF THE KNIGHT.

301

The daughters of the neighbouring knights are far from being so
learned, for at that period, nothing was more variable than the
^amount of instruction of noble ladies or of the baser-born either.
Some were perfectly ignorant, and others were almost *' blue-stock-
ings." We must not exaggerate anything, but take the medium
here as elsewhere — the ordinary routine education.*

Aiide dies of grief upon leaxning the death of Koland, her betrothed.

The very first things to be learned were prayers. The Church\
was very positive that the child should know the Pater ^ the Ave, I
and the Credo, and the Church was not to be disobeyed, nobody \
had yet suggested that ; but the child was not limited to these de-
votions. She had a Psalter and knew by heart many of the beau-
tiful chaunts which are considered the most natural expressions of I

* Mr. Ch. Jourdain, in liis Memoir of the Education of Ladies in the Middle Ages,
says that besides the " mother tongue," instruction included the recital of fables and
romances, singing, and the art of accompanying herself on the musical instruments
of the period — the harp or viols — a little astronomy, falconry, chess and "dice," and
sufficient knowledge of surgery to attend to a wounded knight.

302 CHIVALRY,

humanity in all ages. She heard mass every day, and a still more
unusual circumstance, understood it ! At the commencement of
the service she said the little prayer taught her hy the priest, and
at the elevation of the Host, she humbly obeyed the terms of the
rubric which directed her to *'put your head between your hands,
and lay bare all your wants to God as your heart suggests." She
never went to bed without saying that extremely popular form of
prayer to the Virgin for protection.

" Be near me to counsel and support me in all my prayers and
intercessions, in all my troubles and necessities, in all my thoughts,
words and deeds, every day and hour of my life."

In fact, she knew her religion with which she mingled some
superstitions of a very childish nature but harmless too. She con-
fessed and communicated with true sincerity ; she was pious ; she
knew and loved God, and that was by no means the least of the
elements of her little knowledge and belief.

r She was first sent to the nearest school with an alphabet sus-
I pended from her girdle, and little ivory tablets, so that she might
even learn to write poetry, but this arrangement had to be relin-
I quished because the school was too far off. Some little girls were
already at this time brought up by nuns in certain convents, but it
was considered preferable to have a governess at the chateau — an
instructress who would remain for five or six years. At thirteen
she had to pass an examination, if you please ! She could read and
\ write in Eomansh and Latin, could repeat or decipher her Psalter
or her " Hours," and she used to read to her more ignorant
brothers the romances which had lately been purchased from the
wandering minstrels. The last one she had thus read was entitled
Gxd de Boiurjogne, which they found so interesting that she had to
read it three times over. One morning, a manuscript called Tales
and Fables comes in, and this she will immediately commence if the
chaplain makes no great objection. He would have preferred the
Miracles of the Virgin himself. I will not go so far as to state
that our typical damsel is acquainted with Latin, but she knows a
few words of it, of which she can almost grasp the meaning. But
on the other hand, she is now a ready reckoner ; and on summer
nights, when the sky is studded with stars, she can indicate to her
mother and her aged grandfather, some of the constellations in the

MARRIAGE OF THE KNIGHT. 303

heavens. The " Chemin de Saint Jacques," or "Milky Way," is
very familiar to her, and on this subject she can recount many im-
possible and charming legends. Yet the love of the poetic has not
robbed her of her practical good sense; she is something of a
chemist, something of a surgeon and a doctor. The sight of a
wound does not alarm her, and she does not mind staining her little
hands with blood. She is acquainted with the properties of certain
unguents, and can bray in a mortar certain herbs which will heal
nearly all maladies. She has already in the last war given proof of
her skill, and has reset no less than three broken arms. But this little
ambulance-nurse is before all things lively, a laughing philosopher
— and she excels in singing, preferring it to any other occupation.
She sings by herself in the morning ; she sings after the grand
feasts which her mother gives — she sings always and everywhere.
Neither does she fear to warble the pastorals and love songs, not
knowing too niuch of what she sings, or knowing a little too much.
What says the old ditty :

'• Vierge, pucele honor6e,
Vierge mnnde et pure ;
Par voz est recoufortie
Humaine nature.
Par voz enluminee
Toute creature. " *

Such damsels were not those of the time of Philip Augustus, but
they were only apparently bold. Like the youthful damsels of
Paris, in the fourteenth century, " they naturally walked with
upright carriage, the head erect, the eyes cast down, not staring
right or left, nor did they stop to speak with anyone in the street."
At church their eyes were rivetted on their missals, or on the face
of the image of the Virgin ; but all this did not prevent them from
being vigorous, merry girls, nor from practising falconry, which
they pursued with consummate skill. They were clever horse-
women, and nothing could have been more delightful than to have
seen those pretty young girls on their palfreys, going hunting,
laughing frankly ; daring and charming, strong and amiable, some-
thing like young Englishwomen of our own time, but more free in
manner. This, in fact, was a course of instruction neither deep nor

* Recueil de Motets fran9ais des xii* et xiii* si^cles.

304 CHIVALRY.

complicated, but which was calculated to form fine healthy young
women — our great-grandmothers, if you please, respecting v/hom
it would be neither fair nor decent to say anything offensive.

Other occupations, more humble, and more of a homely character,
filled up and did honour to the lives of these young girls. The
damsel of that period could sew, spin, weave, and embroider. As
a seamstress she had no equal, and she used to make the clothing
and shirts for her brothers. No doubt she preferred to do silver or
golden embroidery, but to excuse this preference she might have
said of herself — as a heroine of one of her favourite romances did —
that she could sell her work, and keep all the family with the pro-
ceeds. But she did not wish to be put to the test. What pleased
her much less than embroidery was the care of the beds and the
I table services. Though she was no prude, and even may not have
1 known what prudery meant, she, nevertheless, did not like to receive
the guests, nor to disarm the knights who returned from the
tourney. She was fond of horses, and would pat them and amuse
herself watching them. She had no distaste for the stable, whither
she would often go to inquire if Marchegay was properly shod, or if
Passeavant had been well fed. There was plenty to do, and the
days of our young damsels were decidedly well filled up.

Amongst so much work there was need of some rest. First of
all the walk, the promenade to the woods and meadows, occasions
which our young ladies, like everybody else in all times, turned to
account by gathering flowers and making crowns and garlands of
them. Our girl-type did not know how to cultivate roses, nor did
she understand gardening. Her chaplet of violets sufficed for her,
with some singing and dancing. She may have been rather too
fond of the latter pleasure, and, with the view of tempering this
taste, her mother, who had been a great dancer in her time, would
relate some fearsome stories of which she would dream all night.
There was one particular tale, quite au'thentic, which made her
flesh creep, of a certain ball given by a certain count on Christmas
Day. He was on his way to the Crusades, and had the idea of
giving a ball in one of his castles on the journey, but, alas, the
dancing was so fast and furious the floor gave way suddenly. One
of the first bodies that the knight found was that of his son. At
this the damsel would shiver, but continue to dance all the same.

MARRIAGE OF THE KNIGHT. 305

— no doubt thinking herself and her associates too light to bring
down any floor. Moreover, she could sing while she danced, and
like an excellent coryphee, hummed the tunes which took the place
of orchestral music at these rondcs, with numerous figures in which
hobby horses took part. She laughed openly, and enjoyed herself
thoroughly, but the chaplain did not laugh ; he pretended that the
devil was of the party.

This poor man had many other troubles to fight against, and many
like tendencies to oppose, particularly, certain superstitions of pagan
origin, absolutely pagan, to which he found Aelis too much attached.
Had he not already warned her against the pernicious practice of draw-
ing lots, which was a very reprehensible practice. Her paternal uncle,
on his departure for the Holy Land, had formerly given her a bad
example on this point. He had opened at hazard with his eyes shut —
the great Bible in the neighbouring abbey, and he said to himself that
the first line on the top of the left-hand page would have for him all the
significance of an oracle, and would decide his destiny. They called
these searchings Sortes Sanctorum, or Ajwstolorum, terms explained
by the searchings made in the New as well as in the Old Testament.
The poor man lighted upon the following text in the book of Job : —

" Antequam dies ejus impleantur, peribit,"

consequently he felt greatly alarmed — an unjustifiable alarm — for
he was already nearly sixty years of age. But other sortes had been
invented still more ingenious, and less Christian if possible. Upon
a scrap of parchment were written fifty answers, which corresponded
to fifty silken threads of diff'erent colours that hung like a fringe
from the parchment. The girl blindfolded would touch one of these
threads and hurriedly read the response of the oracle, which was
generally of a "discouraging decisiveness," e.g. : "A great happiness
is on the point of coming to you," or " Take care, a storm to-day ;
but, have patience, fine weather will supervene to-morrow." " Why
do you wish to change your condition ? you have the honey, and you
wish the vinegar."

Our young damsel has already begun to ridicule these childish
things, for she is not silly, and she has given them up some months
ago, preferring now the songs of minstrels, their tales and lays, the
grand and heavy poems, and above all these the mysteries and plays.
She has been a spectator — open-mouthed and fascinated — of a true

3o6 CHIVALRY.

liturgic "mystery," which the priests acted at last Easter time in
the church of the neighbouring town ; but she, worldly-minded,
rather preferred the Play of Saint Nicholas and Adam, which had
nothing of a liturgical character. She revelled in the open air, and
preferred active life. Her horse, Regibet, was a companion, and
they passed long days together in the woods. She was devoted to
hawks and dogs, for she was a fearless huntress. Hawk on wrist
she was as classic as any sculptured Greek, and I often wonder why
our sculptors and painters still continue to represent Diana, when
they have models quite as charming in these feudal damsels of
N fifteen, with golden hair and blue eyes, innocent, happy, im-
passioned, saucy, charming !

We must paint their portraits somewhat more in detail, but
particularly that of our own girl-type Aelis.

II.

She is a blonde : of that you may be certain ; and perhaps in all
our romances you will not meet with a single brunette. The old
authors compare her long hair to fine gold, to honey-gold, to the
gold of cups, pure and delicate. This is not too flattering a
comparison either. Sometimes our heroine lets it hang over her
shoulders, naturally ; sometimes — though this mode was in her
time going out of fashion — she plaits her sunny locks and
intertwines them with threads of gold. The beautiful plaits thus
laced with gold fell thickly over her arms and bosom. She
resembles the statue of Saint Lucy which was at the door of the
cathedral — or to. speak more correctly the statue resembles her.
Her colour is that of the blonde. She is white and rose — ^^Desur
le hlanc est le vermeil assis ; " and poets too often employ the same
imagery in describing her. We must really excuse these poor
people, for similes were not so very abundant as one might imagine.
Thus they would declare that her pretty colour gave her all the
appearance of a rose in May in the morning when the sun was
shining. " She is as white as snow in February; the lily cannot
match the purity of her skin," and so on. The Homeric epithet
most often employed was that which we may truly apply to her.

"l WILL NOT RISE TILL YOU HAVE FOllGIVEN ,MT MOTHER.

[ V. 307.

MARRIAGE OF THE KNIGHT. 307

viz., Aelis of the fair countenance — ^'auclair visage,'* "A throat

like polished ivory"— another old simile — "sustained gracefully

regular and rounded features o'er-topped hy a white forehead as

clear and refulgent as crystal." The eyes, like those of the young

man whose portrait we have already sketched, are vair (blue),

always bright and laughing, shielded by delicately-pencilled brows :

'*no less beautiful (this is a strong statement) than those of the

mountain falcon." The mouth is small like that of a child; the

lips coloured like peach-blossoms, pink rather than red. As for

the teeth they are small, even and regular as if made by compass,

and planted in the gums. This regularity and evenness of the

teeth was regarded as a great beauty. Nor is it necessary to add

that her sweet breath has the odour of incense. I have nothing to

tell you of her nose, which is straight, and her chin, which is

dimpled. Our poets do not minutely describe the other charms of

her person, they seem to concentrate all their efforts on the

features of the face. Long white arms and hands and well-shaped

feet are all the other particulars. She is still slender, and hopes

to remain so always, for in those days they cared only for tall

figures, not greatly developed, low hips and narrow girths.

But I congratulate our old romancists on not going very deeply
into these details which, after all, only savour of excessive
realism. They prefer to compare our Aelis to '* an angel from
Heaven," and though it is rather an old comparison it is not
lacking in grace ; it will be used to the end of the world, and there
is no reason why it should not be. But the most general simile,
that they used most, was borrowed from the light. As soon as our
youthful Aelis entered a palace, or a hall in it, immediately " her
beauty illuminated it ! " After all this simple image is true, for
between beauty and light there is an evident and necessary co-
relationship. I only prefer to this the description in Girart de
EoKssillon, which is the most charming of all the portraits, and
applies exactly to our Aelis. **She possessed a beautiful and pure
body and a demeanor so dignified that the wisest of men remained
silent astounded by her beauty. The demeanor of her whose
portrait I am endeavouring to paint is to beauty what the soul
is to the body, what style is to speech." Aehs holds herself
upright, and rather proudly : she is very good style.

3o8 CHIVALRY,

Her mind is not so easy to pourtray as her body, and we are
compelled to confess that documentary evidence fails us here.
Nothing can be more exact than the testimony of our old poets,
and they may be implicitly credited on questions of amusement,
costume, architecture, furniture, the private life and customs of
the epochs in which they lived and the society with which they
mingled. We may even suppose them capable (and nothing can be
more true) of reproducing exactly the manners and the characteris-
tics of the knights whom they met, and of the military society in
which they moved. But we cannot so readily admit that they were
equally well acquainted with the manners and characteristics of the
ladies young or old. Even at this later period our writers live too
often away from family life and the domestic hearth, and so our
literature in this respect cannot be accepted as an exact reflection
of our society. They ignore all the treasures of humility, devotion,
and the high virtues which are hidden in all our houses. Our
dramas and our romances do not disclose these, and so we are,
alas ! judged by our neighbours on evidence which is not strictly
truthful, and our portraits which are not really likenesses. Now
we have possessed some such delineators ever since the develop-
ment of our intellectual life, and woe to those who are willing to
judge French Society after that depicted in Renart, the Fabliaux,
and the Roman de la Rose. Our epic poets were only clever,
some of whom were jongleurs, half comedians, half poets or
" publishers ! " I do not think any of them were capable of
drawing the portrait of a young damsel correctly.

The greater part of the young damsels of our chansons are repre-
sented by our poets as dreadful little monsters, such as we would
have had great difficulty in finding even in the tents of savages,
even in the woods in which these barbarians were encamped. Bold,
cynical, and only concerned to know that the eyes of the world were
fixed on them, and only obedient to their instincts. Their aggres-
siveness surpassed all imagination, as it was contrary to all likeness
or observation of human nature. I know that we cannot expect
from the youthful Christians of the twelfth century, the admirable
delicacy and the perfections of the contemporaries of Saint Frangois
de Sales, that they had little or no resemblance to Madame de
Sevigne and Madame de Grignan ; I am quite aware that to chisel

MARRIAGE OF THE KNIGHT. 309

out that incomparable statue, the French- Christian wife or woman,
to produce this result we must have the workmanship and polish
of many centuries. But I can by no means admit that after many
centuries of Christianity in the Christian country of France, so
many young girls have realised the type vulgarised by our rhymers.
As soon as they can produce historical instances, texts worthy of
credence, I will give in with all sadness and deference, for as soon
as I am face to face with a scientific fact I am convinced and sacrifice
my most cherished illusions on the spot. So I await these proofs
based not on exceptions, but on the generality of instances of women,
and till then I shall, as a critic, reject the suspected testimony of
our poets and romancists. These are caricatures, not portraits.

All our poets, however, have not been guilty of presenting types
so contrary to truth, and we shall quote one of these.

The liberty of speech, the liberty of manners, are the chief
characteristics of her whom we wish to delineate. She is by no
means ignorant. Chaste as she is, she has not that " fearing
innocence," that blushing reserve which characterises so many
young French girls of our day. To move about amid so many
dangers it was, perhaps, necessary that she should be acquainted
with them, but it must be confessed that she does not exercise
sufficient prudence in avoiding them. What would you have ? She
is curious and resembles those ladies at Vienna, who, when their
city was besieged, came without the walls to witness the combat
between Oliver and Koland. The duel — the battle — is so fascinat-
ing. Aude is there with her friends, in all the sparkle of her
brilUant youth, a hat studded with precious stones on her head, a
short mantle over her shoulders, and the pink flush on her cheeks.
You know that she was punished for her curiosity and that Roland
carried her away very roughly. Then she suddenly became more
*' ChristianHke," and cried out to the "King of Majesty " in a very
outraged, maidenly manner. It was rather late, no doubt, but the
cry was heard.

Our Aelis would not, perhaps, go so far as this, but she would
not be far behind. Like Aude she loves peril, and would adven-
ture it ; like Aude she knows how to defend herself even with her
hands and nails ! She not only knows how to deliver the rude
imumee on the faces of her assaulters, but her ingenuity and powers

310 CHIVALRY.

of trickery are of very high order. By no means a dreamer, nor a
''lamartinienne," she uses readily the right word which is some-
times not the " proper" one, and she can listen without blushing
to the light songs of the minstrels, even to some of their " fables ''
— if they are not of the most advanced type. Nevertheless her
mother one day " showed the door " to one of those gentry who
wanted to recite an episode in Aiol or the commencement of 0(jier
le Danois. *' Enough of this nonsense," she cried, as she turned
out the intruder.

But both mother and daughter had heard too much of it before, and
had they not been real Christians, such literature would have affected
them unwholesomely. Komances had not made Aelis a coquette ;
she is that by nature, and was, formerly, fond of ornaments, jewels,
and ornamented girdles. But she was cured of this serious defect
by two moralists, a minstrel — of the honest kind — and a poor
country priest. She had one day gone out in full dress, and was
strolling near the church in company with several of her friends
attired in equally grand style, when she met a minstrel who was
greatly preoccupied and who seemed in search of someone.

" Whom do you seek ? " she asked.

"A Christian woman," he replied, regarding the group of ladies
with a quizzical look.

The priest, looking at the lions and dragons on the splendid
girdle of our damsel, said — *' Those are the images of the beasts
which will devour you in hell ! "

Aelis understood and profited by the lesson, and at the time we
now meet her she has little to correct, save a taste for what her
companions termed gossip. Without being one of those people
who are always chattering and betraying secrets, she did not always
put a guard upon her lips, she speaks very fast and very often. But
we have enumerated all her faults and the list, fortunately, is ex-
hausted. She is also very charming and pleasant, and one could
not very well repress those rudenesses and little lapses of courtesy,
the angers and tempers to which the daughters of barons in those
days were only too prone. As regards idleness, she only knows its
name ; she is up at daybreak, and is not one of those who delight

to sing —

*' Li tans s'en vait — Et rien n'ai pait —
Li tans s'en vient — Et ne fais rien."

BKTJIOTHAL OF BOLAND AND AUDE,

0.311.

MARRIAGE OF THE KNIGHT. 311

We said just now that she was a gossip, but as a matter of fact
all her words are true and sensible. This precocious wisdom is
closely entwined in her with an engaging gracefulness which rather
gives a zest to it. " She is wise and courteous," is the general
verdict, aiid they may add, proud, and I do not class this pride as a
fault, for there is a proper and an improper pride. This haughti-
ness of hers tended to make her more masculine and courageous.
On one occasion, when returning home with her brother, the pair
were set upon by a band of footpads ; arming herself with a Danish
axe, she laid about her manfully ; hewed herself a passage in blood.
On another occasion, when her father was taken prisoner and she
could not help him personally, she soundly rated a squire — one of
her friends — who somewhat nervous was standing there open-
mouthed.

"Do you not see that my father, who has loved you and
nourished you so tenderly, is in peril of his life ? What are you
waiting for, fellow ? you are not like your brave relations : you will
be a coward all your life ! Hold your tongue. Be off ! "

The young man obeyed this stern command and rushed away.
He succeeded in rescuing his lord, or rather it was his brave
daughter who really rescued him. There were alarms every day,
and the virtue which most became young damsels at such times
was not precisely gentleness. One is compelled to defend one-
self, and to this explanation all the heroines of our songs seem to
invite Aelis. One day, she was asked which of those heroines
she would prefer to resemble. After requesting permission to reflect
for a while, she replied in a calm, measured tone :

" I would like to resemble the beautiful Aude, who died when
she learned the death of her Roland ; I would like to resemble her,
on condition that my Roland did not die. Again, I would like to
resemble Hermengart of Pavia, who chose her own husband ; to
Bertha, wife of Girard de Roussillon, who was such an excellent
seamstress ; but above all, a true Christian, so simple and so loyal;
and finally, I would like to resemble that Aelis in the poem of
Aliscans, whose name I bear, and who had the joy, the ineffable
joy, to save her mother's life, and the honour of her house." Then
turning to her mother she added, "Fortunately,! have nothing
like this to fear, and must be contented with a less heroic

312 CHIVALRY.

affection." Then she emhraced her mother — and there I finish my
portrait.

This Aelis, in the poem ofAliscans just referred to, and whom our
Aelis wishes to resemble, was a charming and enlightened figure in
the Middle Ages, and may be accepted as the true type of the feudal
maiden, softening by degrees the rudenesses of the Iron Age, calm-
ing the impetuosity of her father and brothers, taking the sword
from their hands ; charming and civilising them. It is this in-
fluence, the true influence of the woman, which it is necessary to
know and recognise before we can reach the preliminaries of the
marriage state.

William had been vanquished at Aliscans, of which he had the
misfortune to be the only survivor. Koncesvalles, compared
with this disaster, was only an affair of outposts. The Christians
were to be wiped out in favour of Mohamet.

Then, overcome with grief, the old hero, sad and defeated, mounted
his distressed steed ; and, without pausing to attend to his wounds,
all breathless as he was, took the road from Orange to Laon. It
was a long journey. At length, he came in sight of his destination.
There were the towers of King Louis' palace. The count breathed
again ; he dismounted to relate the circumstances connected with
the terrible defeat to an auditory, which would no doubt demand
ample vengeance. In this king, whom he himself had placed upon
the throne, whom he had delivered from all his enemies, he would
unquestionably find the support of which he — and more than he,
the Church — had need. This hope revived his sinking strength,
and he pictured to himself full and terrible reprisals. But what
does he hear ? Laughter and chuckling ? What are the passers-
by saying in undertones ? What ! are they pointing the finger of
scorn at him, William? Does he move their mirth? "What
accoutrements!" said one; "look at his beard," cried another.
" What a horse ! " giggled a third. Then came loud laughter.
Passing on, William dismounted at the palace gates, but no one
came to hold his steed, or to tie him up to the tree by yonder steps.
Everyone ran away and left him alone, while from a distance, they
criticised this half-naked warrior. They soon recognised him, how-
ever. " 'Tis William," they said. "William, it is William," was
the cry which echoed through the palace, but no one was moved by

MARRIAGE OF THE KNIGHT. 313

it. "Beaten! What does he want? To demand assistance!
To trouble us in our peaceful repose ! *' Those who fled most
speedily, those who mocked him most bitterly, were the very men
who owed to him their lands, their fiefs, even the very furs they
wore on their breasts ! In ,vain he cried to them in a troubled
voice, "I tell you the Christians have been beaten at Aliscans ; I
tell you Vivien is dead ; all the French have been slain ! " They
would not listen, they fled away and left him alone. Then
exhausted, in disgust, and deeply chagrined, this great captain,
this hero, felt all his pride, all his strength, abandon him. He
gave way, thought of his wife, who was still living, and of his
nephew who had perished, and burst into tears.

Still the King remained. But the King found the visit in-
opportune, to say the least of it. The Queen, who was William's
own sister, too readily imbibed the same feelings as her spouse
towards the new-comer, and when he entered the audience hall,
his clothing in rags, his poor worn mantle soiled and ragged, his
chemise blackened, and his head unkempt, she would not approach
him. She remained seated proudly on her throne ; had neither a
smile nor a word of welcome for the grand champion of Christianity,
for the unfortunate vanquished knight, her own brother ! This
was the day of her coronation, and William had chosen an un-
fortunate time in which to present himself. Truly he was a kill-
joy, and it was necessary to get rid of him as quickly as possible.

Then terrible in his anger and gloomy scorn arose William, and
throwing himself upon this ingrate he seized her by her fair hair,
dragged her to the floor, drew from its sheath his great sword, and
in another moment would have slain her with a single blow, when
suddenly at the door in the stream of light which poured into the
hall appeared a very young and beautiful damsel. She was the
Queen's daughter — William's niece. Beneath the alarmed and
awe-struck gaze of the spectators, who trembled with fear ; in the
midst of the terrified silence into which she flings a ray of hope, she
advanced towards the infuriated knight and knelt at his feet.
What could such a suppliant advance? William paused, taken
aback, not knowing what to do. At length the child spoke, and said :

" I will not rise until you have forgiven my mother."

The knight at this felt tears rise to his eyes : he kissed his

314 CHIVALRY.

niece, let his sword fall, and stammered his apologies. What
would you ? It is the old story. He weeps, he pardons, he is
pardoned. But the happiest of all was the youthful Aelis, and the
old poet with simple enthusiasm, which we can thoroughly appreciate,
exclaims :

" God, how delighted the lovely Aelis was ! "

But not more than we are.

Such was the influence of the young damsel : but now the
hour of her marriage is striking. Alas ! sometimes it struck too
soon.

III.

She whose history we are relating had a sensible mother, who
did not permit her daughter to marry too early. This early
marriage was by no means unusual at that period, and we frequently
find children married at twelve years of age. We know in what
scathing terms the author of Aiol speaks of this scandal. But it
is probable that this satirist has experienced the same fate as his
compeers and made few converts.

Our Aelis, who would not be permitted to marry before she was
sixteen, was then fifteen, and had thought of marriage for some
months. She had her likes and dislikes — quite rightly too. She
had an ideal of her own as other young ladies have, and said
nothing about it to her mother, who knew all. She more par-
ticularly disliked old men, and she took an oath never to marry
a greybeard like her cousin, and like many of her friends. One
morning a minstrel had sung to her a ballad, in which the heroine
had expressed just the same horror of aged suitors. " Love not
an old man with wrinkled face, do not permit your satin skin
to be scratched ; " and also, " Accept not his love nor his com-
panionship."

Aelis could not tiontain her satisfaction at hearing such senti-
ments which so coincided with her own, and at the concluding line :
'* An old man who weds a young damsel is a fool," she cried, " Oh
that is true," when a look from her mother reminded her that she
had been too demonstrative and too sincere.

MARRIAGE OF THE KNIGHT. 315

The husband she had in her mind was a young squire whose
cheek was soft with downy beard, who was brave, and a fine
swordsman. A very young man who had fought well and who
loved her tenderly. It goes without saying that he is good-looking,
courteous, and well-instructed. Shall I tell her day-dream, which
was perhaps not very likely to come to pass ? It was that a
splendid tournament should be given in her honour, and she would
wed the victor. But when she heard one day that the victor in a
•certain tournament had been an elderly knight, a coarse and brutish
warrior, she came to the conclusion that perhaps it would be better
to select a husband with greater care and discernment. At any rate
she thanked Heaven that she was not a women to take lands or
money into consideration. She had a soul above these. " There
is not one knight in the whole world whom I would choose for his
wealth," she said. " For I attach no importance to fortune, and
he is truly rich who has his heart's desire." And again she
declared, " Let him possess a good sword, and perform feats of
* derring-do ' for love, I hold him quit of all the rest. If he has
no land I have enough for two."

The first time that she spoke of him — she always would remember
it — ^was one Sunday after mass, and her mother first pronounced
his name, that dear name, in her presence. I will not go so far as
to declare that the damsel had not thought of him. She was at
the time employed in tapestry- work, like Clarisse in the Renaus de
Montauhan, and fortunately her head was bent over her task ; I
say *' fortunately " because it is certain that she blushed. ** Now,"
said her mother, " reflect whether this baron pleases you, for I
do not wish you to marry against your inclination. Take your
time."

Aelis did not require a long time to make up her mind, because
it had been already made up for several weeks, perhaps months,
on this very question. So a few days afterwards the mother confided
her daughter to the young baron's care with the solemn words, " I
confide her to you as Jesus confided his mother to Saint John ! "
They went out for their first walk together on Easter Sunday, at
the end of April. A sweet perfume filled the air, which was merry
with the songs of birds, and all people who saw the lovers pass
cried out in admiration of their beauty.

3i6 CHIVALRY.

I do not know any period more delightful in man's life than the
first days of betrothal, which have been well termed ** primavera
della vita." This is the time of endless hopes, and of facile
promises which voluntarily assume the sanctity of oaths. The
Church has never refused to bless these open and sincere betrothals,
but it has been obliged to put young people on their guard against
sudden and impulsive engagements. The simple dialogue "I will
take you to be my wife," — ** and I you for my husband," was very
near becoming a real peril, against which it was necessary that her
legislators should aiford some protection. In a moment of passion
one might say *'I take you " instead of saying "I will take you,"
and certain affianced couples would then consider themselves actually
married. So, at times, betrothal degenerated into a clandestine
marriage, from which the parties when they got tired of each other
could seek release on the ground of illegality. Fortunately the
Church was on the watch, and firmly forbade the employment of
the " present '* tense in the important sentence ; it authorised only
the *' future." To speak canonically, it forbade in the form of
betrothal the *' verba de prcesenti,'' which it reserved for the actual
marriage, and only permitted the ^^ verba defuturo.''

She went further than this, and surrounded the betrothal with a
** useful publicity," giving witnesses of the ceremony ; and the day
arrived when such vows were exchanged in the parish church of
one of the contracting parties. Such excellent rules were not the
outcome of a day, and we find very few instances of this in our old
poems. But we find frequently the ceremonial of the " pledge" —
the " plighting " of two young people — which must not be confused
with betrothal. On the table were gravely laid relics of saints, and
two men approached them — an old man and a young man. " I
swear," says the former, *'to give you my daughter in marriage."
" And I swear to take her for my wife," says the other. In some
cases only one takes the oath, but in no instance does the lady
seem to have been present at this ceremony.

Amongst all the accounts of betrothals which we meet with in
our old poems there is one which our young *' engaged couples "
preferred to all the others, and which they wished to write down at
the dictation of a minstrel.

In the great hall in Charlemagne's palace in Vienna, where the

MARRIAGE OF THE KNIGHT. 317

Emperor was holding his Court, suddenly there appeared a charm-
ing damsel, who remained standing modestly near the entrance.
She was the beautiful Aude, the daughter of Renier de Gennes, and
sister of the Oliver who, after having fought with Eoland that
ever-memorable duel, ended by falling into his foe's arms, and
crying out ^* I love you more than any man living " (" Jg vous aim
plus que Jiome qui soil ne "). He even added, " I bestow on you my
sister."

This was she, here was the lady of incomparable beauty.
Charles perceived her, and was immediately seized with the greatest
admiration for her. "I demand you for my nephew Roland," he
said, rising. Without waiting a moment he sent for his nephew
and bestowed upon him Aude a per et a moillier. He put the hand
of the blushing damsel into that of his nephew who blushed too.
The Archbishop was present, who affianced them before all the
company (" devant tons les a fait fiancer ") ; and they were settling
the marriage day, when suddenly there entered a messenger,
covered with dust, and greatly alarmed. '* The Saracens, the
Saracens," he cried. " They have invaded France ! " A general
murmur arose, " War ! War!" and still Roland held the hand of
Aude, recking not that he would go forth to die at Roncesvalles.

Our two lovers had no need of contract, oaths, or any ceremonial.
Their hearts were true and loving, that was sufficient. But one
morning the young damsel gave the youth a ring on which was
engraven the names of both ; this gage he hastened to place on his
finger. It was the true love pledge, the "gage d'amour par
excellence," and sometimes a pretty exchange of rings was made.
The ring, besides, was straightforward, legitimate, religious in its
significance, and should not be confounded with those other love
tokens which were illicit not to say immoral. No doubt they were
very beautiful, such as the blonde tresses which the lady of Fayel
gave to the Sire de Coucy, but we know quite well that she had no
right to give away such a treasure. Nor do I admire more those
pretty embroidered ribbons which some ladies sent their '* friends,"
on which they inscribed those afi*ectionate mottos which they had
much better have left unwritten — such as, '* Je sui druerie : Ne
me donnez mie : Ki nostre amur desevre: La mort puist receivre / "
Nor, again, can I countenance those ladies " sleeves," which our

3i8 CHIVALRY.

barons used to wear as a token of eternal love. They were true
sleeves, more or less pleated, of varied size according to the fashion
of the day. They were fastened to the shoulder or the arm, and
being very long they hung down sometimes to the knight's feet
and hampered him considerably. The ladies sent them clandes-
tinely to their knights, who occasionally wore them as pennons, and
were pleased to see them fluttering in the breeze. At tournaments
they wore these sleeves and were recognized by them ; they wore
their " colours." Fortunately evil sometimes falls into ridicule
here below, and the accumulated numbers of sleeves caused
merriment amongst spectators. There is a record in Godefroi de
Bouillon of many hundreds and thousands of knight-bacheliers
each wearing one day a lady's sleeve on his arm. This almost
constituted an uniform. But all these subtleties and refinements
were dangerous. By their aid illicit aff'ection was perpetuated in the
Middle Ages as Platonic love, and these symbols and puerilities
rendered it more dangerous and hateful. Courage was needed to
condemn these practices, that only made those smile whose approval
was not much held in esteem. The little gold ring of Aelis is more
poetic indeed than all the tresses of fair hair, and all the embroidered
sleeves. Nothing is beautiful but the good : it only is worthy of
admiration.

IV.

The betrothals of our young friends soon approached their
termination. He came every day to see her at the Ferte-Henri,
and she took care to don her richest dress, her ermine pelisse, and
on Sundays her most "fetching" sable cloak, over which her
beautiful fair hair hung down luxuriantly. One day he surprised
her and found her in more simple attire, but with a little blush she
resigned herself to the situation. She remarked very wisely :
" You will see me like this every day of my life," and she had no
wish to re-attire herself Surprises succeeded surprises, great
pleasures succeeded small ones. The young couple had dined
together more than once, and wished to sit close together. 0, joy !
They had both eaten from the same porringer, and it was interesting

MARRIAGE OF THE KNIGHT. 319

to see how he left her the choicest morsels as if unconsciously. I
really believe that in those days he really fasted, but such self-
denial did not last long. Our youthful knight did not die of
hunger.

The days pass rapidly away. Every morning new gifts come
in. The chaplain of Ferte-Henri says that this lavishness, this
sjionmlitia largitas was permitted, even recommended to lovers.
Amongst other presents the young baron sends to his lady-love the
" Saluts " in verse, which are very delightful, composed by himself
in collaboration with a minstrel !* The verses given below let us
see what a really loving heart can say, and what it might have
expressed with a little less rhetorical display.

The days pass away still more rapidly. Then a morning comes
when the mother of Aelis says to her daughter, with tears in her
eyes : — " In eight days more we shall be parted ! " Eight days
which are eight years for the damsel, and eight- minutes for her
mother.

Those invited from a distance are already on the way ; the
ladies' dresses are nearly completed ; the minstrels announce their
arrival ; the hall is hung with tapestry ; singing, weeping, and
prayer succeed each other

It is Saturday, the marriage day — the auspicious morning has
arrived !

Here is a specimen which requires no rendering into English ; —
** Flor (ii lis, rose espanie
Taillie pour esgarder,
Je vous aim sans tricherie :
Si n'en puis mon cuer oster."

Hero is another : —

C'est la rosete, c'est la flor,

La violete de dou9or.

Sa grant biaute, sa gi-ant valor,

M'i fet peuser et nuit et jor,

Et tint mon fin cuer en baudor.

Simplete et coie,

Blanchete et bloie,

Dieus vous doinst joie

Et grant honor."

CHAPTER XL

THE ESPOUSALS OF THE KNIGHT.— A TWELFTH CENTURY
MARRIAGE.

I.

There is not a cloud in the sky; the sun rises in a clear
blue atmosphere. The bells of the churches are announcing the
mass, and seem to ring more joyfully than usual. All is peaceful
and happy, no one except at Ferte-Henri seems disturbed.
Agitated or, at least, extremely busy, they are there. The bride is
being dressed ! The damsel is surrounded by ladies and servants,
all occupied in decking her for the ceremony. But at that time
there was no special costume for a wedding : the bride was merely
dressed in all her best. We may reasonably conclude that the
costume was perfectly new, but that is all. There was nothing
to distinguish this handsome toilette from that worn by Aelis at
Eastertide, or even on the Sunday last past. Our ancestors had
not yet invented the charming "colour" white as a costume for
brides.

The damsel was a long time plaiting her luxuriant golden hair
into two long plaits. Her maid Mahant handed her pretty ribbons
and lace of gold, which she dexterously entwined with her fair
locks. They called this crins galonez. Nearly all ladies supple-
mented their natural adornment with false hair, but Aelis was rich
enough to do without this addition. In about half-an-hour her
plaits are finished, and hang down her back in shining heavy tails.
She looks in the glass to see the effect, and is satisfied.

She has no need to whiten her complexion, nor to paint her face.
The statues of saints are thus adorned, but no Christian woman
should paint or powder her face. A poet of the twelfth century,
however, remarks that certain women of his time were powdered

A WEDDING-TWELFTH CENTURY.

321

with' saffron. But Aelis had no such adornments. She is just as
she emerged from her hath; her beauty is entirely and simply
owing to nature.

To any who complain of the duration of her toilette she quietly
replies that this is a special occasion and not as other days. "We
must not imagine for a moment that young people of that period
were accustomed to dress themselves so grandly every day in
costumes which the statues at Chartres reproduce so correctly.

The Bridal Fair coming from Church.

An archaeologist of our day justly observes that once bedizoned in
this sumptuous manner, a poor woman was compelled to stand
stiffly upright all day, like a statue, and she could hardly move her
fingers. This is all very well, but you may depend that the ladies
of the twelfth century were no fools, and only reserved such stiff-
ness for fete days, while on all other occasions their dresses were
easy and untrammelling. For a wedding it was different. If a
lady could not on that occasion adorn herself to the top of her bent,
when could she do so ?

322 CHIVALRY.

So the damsel's apartment — that chamber in which she had slept
for the last time, is shining with silk and satin. All her luxurious
dresses and habiliments are hung around : all the most beautiful
materials then known are fully represented.

There are the pailes, by which are understood the tissue of
embossed silk, gold and silver brocades, cloths woven with silk and
gold. Ladies who wore such expensive dresses were generally very
rich : chatelaines at least, almost of the rank of countess. There
were also those heavy robes of thick silk, *' six thread," white,
green or red " samite." This was less costly than the paile, but
more beautiful than and worth double the ccndal. The sheath of her
husband's sword is covered with samite, so is her only manuscript —
a life of St. Thomas the Martyr, in verse and very beautiful — which
she will carry with her to her new home.

Again we find the cendals or cendeSy* which are of reasonable
price. Some are striped, some plain ; those which have the best
effect are scarlet, and shine out amidst the other stuffs, extinguish-
ing their hues. With the cendal of this kind Aelis has fashioned
with her own hands the pennon which floats from her husband's
lance.

Besides these are ciclatons which resemble samite ; osterins or
purple-tinted silks, diaspres or embroidered silks from Persia,
pourpres, which are " shot " silks ; and stuffs from Mossoul, gold-
embroidered, of fabulous lightness, something like our China crepe,
and with which very pretty hliauts, (or body-garments) for ladies,
were made. The portion of the chamber occupied by these wares
looks like an Eastern bazaar, and radiates bands of colour.

However, we must not overlook the more simple materials of the
every-day toilette, for she will not dress in paile, diaspre and muslins
every day. So we find woollen stuffs made in the country: in
Flanders, Picardy, Champagne, Languedoc : good stout materials, as
honest as the men who made them. For winter wear, thicker
cloths, blue, brown, green, madder-colour ; for summer thinner
stuffs, serges, tarletans, druggets. These do not please the eye to
the same extent, but they are durable.

Then the linen, the strong and beautiful linen with which the

* The existence of velvet is not certain before the fourteenth century.

A WEDDING— TWELFTH CENTURY, 323

linings of the pelissons, the chemises, and the under-garments are
made. In the face of so many grand treasures, they have the
appearance of concealing themselves — like virtue.

With the furs we come hack to luxury again. The nohles
yielded to the vileins and country people the skins of lamb, hare,
fox and so on, and only used four furs for themselves — the vair,
the grey, the sable, and the ermine. The grey is the back- fur of
the northern squirrel : the vair is the belly covering of the same
animal, which is chequered with the grey. The ermine is spotted,
and great care was taken to fasten symmetrically on the beautiful
white fur the little black tails. There is no need to speak of the
marten, whose fur composes the richest sable mantles of earls and
kings ; but we remark with surprise that the beautiful white furs
are dyed, chiefly red. They were fond of red in those days.

If we pass all these materials again in review we pause to admire
the designs of the silks. They are geometrical, as if done with the
compass, or of the rose-window pattern : some have animals em-
broidered in gold on a bright ground, lions and birds affrontes,
some with quaint inscriptions which a certain priest pretends are
in Arabian character, but is not sure. These designs are relieved
by fringes, passementeries of gold, by orfrays which are themselves
ornamented with oriental designs. These trimmings are to be
seen everywhere except on the woollen stuffs.

But it is time for Aelis to make her selection from all these
riches. Time flies and only an hour remains before she must
proceed to church. She must hurry. The toilette is begun — a
great business.

n.

The chemise is of fine linen, white as '* the lily of the field," with
a light tinge of yellow which is not disagreeable. Its only luxury
consists in its pleats or folds, which have a charming, simple effect.
Aehs would not have any embroidery at the neck or cuffs : she re-
membered the words of a preacher the year before, who denounced
the luxury of female dress, exclaiming in a moment of eloquent
indignation, '* Some chemises cost more than a priest's surplice ! "

Y 2

324 CHIVALRY.

Aelis had determined that she would never lay herself open to
any such accusation, even on her wedding-day, and she kept her
word. Over her chemise, which falls to her ankles, she hastens to
put on the kind of dress which at that time formed the principal
element of ladies' costume as it did of manly habiliments — the
ermine pelisse, to wit the pelisson liermin. A very fine ermine fur
had been placed by the tailor within two layers of the material in
such a manner as to show only at the borders, sleeves, and collar
of the garment. One of the two materials is cloth, and it is next
the chemise, invisible. The outer one, which is visible, is of fine
silk, a cendal of price. Aelis had for a long time hesitated as to
what colour she would wear, but at length she decided upon a deep
red as the tint of her cendal. A narrow gold border ornamented
the ends of the sleeves, which are tight round the wrists, and also
the hem of the garment, which falls to the ankles. A pretty
trimming ornaments the edge and throat of the ''pelisse." This
vestment, which is straight and adjusted to the figure, has not, it
must be confessed, a light or graceful effect. It does not fine
down, but rather exaggerates the form ; and I imagine, for I have
no proofs for such temerity of opinion, that in the pelisson liermin
the fur trimming on the corsage, and even that on the skirt, should
have been dispensed with, so as to leave the fur only on the collar
and sleeves. In other words, the pelisson would become a dress.
Besides, Aelis had to wear her tunic, or hliaut, over it, an article
of apparel purposely invented to correct the imperfections of the
pelisson, and hiding it almost entirely. Here luxury ran riot, and
Aelis did not check it. Everything was admissible in this
garment, which was the Sunday vestment, the dress for the fete,
worn, perhaps, ten or twenty times a year. This beautiful tunic,
very light, was of green silk, embroidered with gold, falling almost
as low as the underskirt. The sleeves, very wide and very long,
almost trailed, on the ground, and permitted to be seen the tight
sleeves of the pelisson with their violet and gold trimmings. The
upper part of the hliaut is cut away a little at the neck, square, so
that the throat of the furred robe is visible. The skirt, which
fastens at the back, is in pleats. Between the corsage and the
skirt the seamstress has inserted a piece of light and elastic stuff,
not less fitting than the corsage itself, which very cleverly encloses

A WEDDING— TWELFTH CENTURY. 325

the hips and abdomen. This middle-piece was laced up the back
like the corsage, of which it formed the continuation, and it was
laced as tightly as possible, like the cuirasses of the present day.
The upper portion, round the neck and shoulders, is embellished
with gold lace, and the immense sleeves, also laced, are slashed and
curved.

But what chiefly appeals to the eyes is the girdle — the splendid
waist-belt, which is thrown negligently over the hips, and falls in
front as far as the hem of the hliaut. The goldsmith has been
employed upon it not less than two months in the chasing, not to
mention the fixing of the gems — the topazes, agates, carbuncles,
and sardonyx stones. Note that each of these has a special virtue,
one as a preservative from fever, another as a light at night,
rendering other light needless. Aelis is very pleased to exhibit it,
and regrets to be obliged to wear over it her cloak, which was then
the distinguishing mark of a nobly-born lady. But no matter, she
will manage to display, somehow or other, her hliaut, girdle, and
cloak. The last-mentioned she fastens gracefully on her shoulder
with an agate and jewelled clasp, and carries it even more grace-
fully over her left arm. The opening of the cloak is on the left
side, and the girdle, with nearly half of the charming body-garment
(hliaut) y is displayed. The cloak itself is rich, and falls in artistic
folds to the knee. It is of paile, purple of hue, and embroidered
around the borders. Aelis is quite content with the manner in
which it hangs, and we need no other eulogy.

All this time Aelis has been wearing bedroom slippers, but,
pretty as they are, these eschajnns would clash with her sumptuous
garb, and so her feet are now encased in small narrow shoes with
pointed toes of Cordova leather, embroidered with gold. Jewels,
absolute jewels in their way. On her head she adjusts a small
circular veil — it is so difficult to fix it properly, and upon this thin
and delicate material she consents that a diadem of gold, studded
with emeralds, may be placed. To this crown the damsel prefers
the diadems and chaplets of flowers which she used to wear at
Whitsuntide ; they cost so little, too ; they were very pretty, and
smelt so sweetly. The coronet is most beautiful, but the chaplet
was more joyous. But it is only waste of time to think more
about it. All is ready : the bridal toilette is finished.

326 CHIVALRY.

Aelis is not a coquette, but she understands the art of dressing
herself, and makes twenty observations to each of her servants
during the toilette as to the fit and set of her dress. She also
discovers a hair out of place in her eyebrow, and requests that it
may be put straight. Taking it altogether, she is by no means
dissatisfied with her little self, and smiles at her reflection in the
mirror in a very contented fashion.

** Well, my dear child, you are grandly dressed out ! " exclaims
her grandmother, who just then enters the room. " If you were
always so bedizened you could never stir a finger, and we would
have you seated in a chair like a statue for ever, watching other
people at work."

*' Do not fear, good mother. Eest easy : I confess I do feel a
little stiiF in this dress, and can scarcely bend myself; but you
may rest assured that I shall not wear it except on great occasions,
and when the Church ordains holidays. When it is worn out I
will give it to some poor monastery, to make into chasubles and
copes. This is my grand dress, but I have others for every-day
wear: a hliaxit in one piece, shorter than the robe, and fastened
with a simple cord; a whimple on my head, and shoes not even
embroidered. What do you say to that ! "

" I say that you are perfection, notwithstanding your diadem,
which dazzles my old eyes ; and I want to kiss you. Come ! let
us go."

m.

The toilet of a man did not occupy such a long time as that of a
young lady, even although he was not conceited. There is no
doubt that in the twelfth century there were numerous points of
resemblance between the attire of men and women. The chemise,
the pelisson, the cloak, and the chaplet present a striking affinity.
Nevertheless our youthful knight took only an hour to dress, while
the damsel, assisted by her mother and three servants was hardly
attired in four hours. It was the fault of those blond tresses, it
was the fault of the bliaut, whose complicated economy I have been
endeavouring to describe, the fault of the servants, who were so
slow, and of the mother, who was not satisfied with her child's ap-

A WEDDING— TWELFTH CENTURY. 327

pearance. But her husband will excuse Aelis that day. He is
quite ready and is scarce less gorgeous than she. His limbs are
cased in brown silk shoes which have come from Bruges. He has
not assumed the effeminacy of the silken chemise, he prefers a
white linen covering — a fine cainsil, which is at the same time light
and strong. His ermine pelisson is much the same as that worn
by Aelis every day, the fur being the lining between two materials,
the outer one of silk — a beautiful red paile embroidered with gold
with ermine on the upper part, round the collar, and " ospreys "
at the neck and sleeves. The hliaut is something like the garment
his spouse will wear on the morrow, a tunic shorter than the
jielisson of silk, and deep blue in colour. The sleeves are tight to
the wrist and wide at the arm-holes— ospreys, much larger than
those on the pelisson, decorate not only the sleeves but the hem of
the garment and the shoulder-piece, which opens vertically. The
hliaut is slashed (or (jironne) beneath the lace. The cloak, which
is semicircular, is of double furs and indicates great luxury ; one
is almost suffocated in it with its load of vair and grey ermine and
sable. The silk of this mantle is of the same quality as that of
the pelisson ; same grain and colour. On the front and at the
bottom of the cloak are four square pieces, very rich, which are
embroidered with gold and studded with precious stones ; these are
the tasseaux. A clasp elegantly fastens this splendid covering at
the right shoulder. The baron knows how^ to carry his cloak and
that is an art in itself. He knows how to dispose the folds to the
best advantage and how to throw it behind him. Being d man of
sense he refuses to wear the ordinary shoes of the day, which are
ridiculous. His shoes are pointed but reasonably, none of those
great turned up things like curving horns, which a depraved taste
has imposed on the knights of the period in certain provinces ; thin
soles and no heels. A chaplet adorns the curly head — a chaplet
which he has endeavoured to make like that worn by Aelis that is
encrusted with similar stones. So he is apparelled and ready for
the wedding.

Then he presents himself to his lady-love in all his splendour,
but more curious to inspect her costume than to exhibit his own,
he approaches her and asks with a smile — " Are you pleased with
me as I am ? " She replies only with one word — " Come ! "

328 CHIVALRY.

lY.

The church is at no great distance and the bells are perfectly-
audible, nevertheless our young couple will require a quarter of an
hour to reach the edifice which they have decided to do on horse-
back as is customary. No doubt, like many others who have
aspired to be grandees, they could have been wed in the castle
chapel, for they have a cousin — a bishop — who would gladly have
performed the rite for them. But they very wisely prefer to do as
their parents before them did. The procession is arranged at the
steps of the chateau.

In front is a group of minstrels — a perfect orchestra of viols,
flutes, harps and violins of shapes as curious as the musicians are
strange. The church ordains that the young people shall be mar-
ried fasting, but the minstrels are under no such restrictions and are
in good humour accordingly.

Aelis has for a long time reflected on the question *' Shall I go
to church on a palfrey or on a mule ? " She has decided in favour
of the mule, which is the mount usually adopted by the ladies of
the time. Besides it is a handsome mule, black, shining, sure-
footed, broad- backed, his ears always in movement. But his capa-
rison was very striking.

The samhue, or lady's saddle, was ornamented with gold and
ivory, the saddle-cloth was of scarlet samite, on the forehead blazed
a carbuncle, which served for a torch by night and which was said
to cure all maladies — but Aelis' s incredulous little pout when she
was told so, indicated her scepticism. The breast-piece was hung
with silver bells, thirty in number, and their tinkling was charming
to the ears, and the jongleurs were not best pleased.

Aelis's godfather lifts her into the saddle — to-morrow hei: hus-
band will perform that act — where she sits with pendant limbs,
very gracefully, patting her mule, who shakes his silver bells and
seems proud of the music. Grandfather, who is rather serious,
places himself at her right hand, for he is acting in the place of
her dead father — to conduct her to the church. But the bridegroom is
not far off; he is firmly seated on his palfrey, on an enamelled
saddle, proud and smiling. Near him is the mother of Aelis and
her mother, the former rather sad, the latter radiant, each on a fine

A WEDDING— TWELFTH CENTURY. 329

mule. Then, in pairs and threes, come the relatives and friends,
magnificently clad in costumes relatively similar to those already
described, wearing golden circlets. In a kind of car, painted with
flower designs, are seated many of the older guests who can recall
their own youthful days, and laugh somewhat dolefully at the
recollection.

On each side of the road is a long line of spectators, vassals, and
shop-keepers from the nearest town, who seem rather envious at
beholding so much magnificence, and regarding in a melancholy
manner the habiliments of their masters, become thoughtful. But
the moment of departure has arrived. The muscians strike up a
gladsome fanfare ; the silver bells of the mules' trappings mingle
with the strains, and the defile commences, winding amid the trees
alive with startled birds. Just as the cortege is obliged to pause at
the great gates a clear voice bursts forth in the song of love which
the bride most likes. This melody is replied to by another min-
strel, who also sings a hymn or motet, of which the bridegroom is the
author, which compels a smile and an affectionate word from the
object of his muse.

The church is at the summit of a hill, and the acclivity compels
our friends to dismount from their horses and mules, and here
again the grandfather of Aelis assists her to alight ^' en sa brace la
prent,'' and she comes lightly down upon the straw which covers
the road. A seductive perfume surrounds them ; the fifteen steps
which ascend to the church door have been strewn with roses and
gladioli. The procession walks on flowers. The neighbouring
houses are decorated with flags and draped with coloured stuffs ;
the musicians continue to play and conversation proceeds ; rich and
merry laughter is heard on all sides. Suddenly the hubbub ceases ;
the priest has appeared.

The actual marriage takes place beneath the porch, the ceremo-
nial within being only complementary and ornamental. Those at
the portal of the ancient edifice, beneath the shadow of the statues
of the Saviour and the Holy Saints, the afiianced man and maiden
give their free and solemn consent to the union, and the sacrament
consists in the ** yes " they respectively pronounce. Aelis laughs
not now ; she has turned pale. The knight is serious, the priest is
calm, and proceeds to recite slowly — very slowly — the conditions

330 CHIVALRY.

which the wisdom of the Church exacts from the married. *' There
are no canonical obstacles ? You are of the proper age ; you are
not relatives ; you are both Christians. Your parents consent ;
the publications have been made, and the banns proclaimed three
times in the parish church during service. No one opposes your
union. You have witnesses ; * some hundreds ' you say ? two per-
sons would have sufficed. We are at a period of the ecclesiastical
year when the Church permits the celebration of weddings. All
conditions are complied with, and it only remains for me to demand
from you solemnly your consent to the marriage. This is the
moment for you to reflect whether you have any great duties to
fulfil, and to think of Him who blessed all marriages in the world
by His presence at the marriage in Cana of Galilee. . . . Let us
pray ! "

In a powerful voice which was audible far and near, the priest
demands from the pair their sacramental consent, and then are
heard, less distinctly, two responses : —

** Yes ; I, Henry, take thee to wife."

" Yes ; I, Aelis, take thee for my husband."

The second reply is even more tremulous than the former, but in
no way devoid of firmness and decision. At this moment the
affianced pair clasp each the right hand in each other's, and gaze
at each other blushing. All eyes are centered upon them. They
are married.

We need not dwell long on these heights ; stern prosaic facts
compel us to descend quickly. At that period there were not the
fine distinctions between the civil and religious marriage that now
exist. The Church and the Church alone was concerned, and it
concerned itself with the temporal interests of the newly wedded
pair. If they lived in the " country of the dowry " in districts
where the dowry was customary, the priest gave them a lecture on
the solemnity of their contract. If the dot or marriage portion was
usual, then he recited in a loud and intelligible voice the various
elements of the portion.

But here again the Christian spirit comes forth. To sanctify
these endowments, the newly-married couple and their witnesses,
are exhorted to distribute moneys to the poor spectators. The
sight of this queenly lady throwing newly-coined money amongst

A WEDDING— TWELFTH CENTURY. 331

her retainers was a sight to be remembered. It had been told to
Aehs, that one day, when a miserly usurer had been married, a
stone statue above the porch had fallen upon him and killed him on
the spot ! She had no fear of such a fate, because she had no such
miserly thoughts, and her purse was already emptied.

The next rite is the surrender, the *' dation," of the bride by her
father and mother. The giving away to the husband. But alas, on
this occasion, the mother is alone, and she, recalling her husband,
is choked with sobs. All the spectators are bathed in tears. In
fact these French people of the thirteenth century were more sensi-
tive than we can quite credit, and on almost every occasion the
water of the heart mounted to the eyes. Aelis very pale, her eyes
fixed on the ground, did not attempt to stay her tears. But at
length her mother, by an heroic effort, controlled her weeping, and
advanced to the young baron to present to him her daughter. The
ungloved hands of the bride and groom clasped each other " For
ever on the faith of God and in my own, in sickness or in health, I
promise to shelter her." The doubtful words, in sickness or in
health, appear rather out of tune with the poetic surroundings :
nevertheless, they contain a deeper meaning than the rest, and
evidence a better knowledge of human nature. They indicate
clearly the ephemeral character of beauty, youth, and strength :
they are as good as a sermon.

When the priest came out of the church he carried between his
hands a book and resting on it a small circlet of silver which
glittered in the sunshine. He must consecrate this ring which
symbolised all the engagements which the married pair had
entered into. In certain dioceses holy water is sprinkled on it,
and in others the priest contents himself with a prayer — as
follows :

"May the Creator and Preserver of all men, may the Giver of
Grace and eternal Life cause his blessing to descend on this ring."
Then the husband took the ring and put it successively, with
tender respect, upon three fingers of the bride's right hand, saying
each time, *' In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy
Ghost." After this he placed it on one of the fingers of Aelis's left
hand, where it will remain until death, a pledge of faithfulness
and fidelity. This rite was so ** telling" that it appealed power-

332 CHIVALRY.

fully to concrete minds of the men of the twelfth century who
spoke ordinarily of espousing a ^^ dame cVaneV

It made no difference whether the material of which the ring
was composed was more or less rich, plain or studded with precious
stones or graven with the names of the Creator and the Saints, pos-
sessing virtues more or less powerful ; a simple silver circlet was as
efficacious as a regal ring. "With this ring I thee espouse, with
my body I thee honour, with my goods I thee endow." That is all
that the husband said when placing the ring on his wife's finger.
That was the contract.

In the district inhabited by our young friends, the people pre-
served a lively souvenir of the old law of the Salian Franks which
ordained that the future husband should offer symbolically the sou
and the denier to the family of his future wife. It was a purchase
— a regular buying — though in the twelfth century it is certain
that there was no such purchase per solidum et denarium; but
when the husband said the words, " With my goods I thee endow,"
he placed diffidently and delicately three small pieces of money —
three new deniers'^ — in it. Not being able to clasp in his arms his
lands and other possessions he performed the endowments
symbolically.

However, all this time we are standing in the porch. It now only
remains to pay the newly married pair a mark of respect of which
the new sacrament renders them worthy in the eyes of the Church.
It incenses them. Then only are the doors of the church thrown
wide open to receive them. They perceive suddenly the perspective
of the church — the painted windows, the altar. They advance
greatly moved and nervous, amid their friends and the spectators.
But when they reach the centre of the nave they prostrate them-
selves and remain in this position a considerable time beneath the
extended and benignant hand of the priest. *' The God of Abraham,
the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob cause to spring up in the
souls of these young people the seeds of life eternal." Then
addressing himself to the young couple, still prostrate, he says,
*'May God bless you, and Himself teach you to worship one
another in your bodies and in your souls." Then the pair rise and

* About J^ of a sou ; two metal discs united by a bar "Deniers pour epouser," on
one side ; and " tournois denier " on the other.

A WEDDING— TWELFTH CENTURY. 333

are conducted to the chancel (or choir), where mass is said — the mass
of the Trinity — the bride standing close to her husband on his right
hand.*

At the offertory, the newly-married couple make their offering
which is rich. After the Sanctus they again kneel down to receive
the great and solemn Benediction of the priest. Then four young
barons extend a 'pailc of purple hue above the heads of the bride and
bridegroom. This is unique and pretty, and it is hardly necessary
to say, that A\ith the old Eitualists this veil expressed the extreme
care and delicacy with which the married pair wished to conceal the
love which Heaven had blessed. I would rather it had assumed
the form of the antique veil, and that it had actually enveloped the
young couple.

However, the sublime blessing descends on the pair, and it is
almost textually the same which the Koman Church has inserted in
the (Ecumenical Books. " May the woman be as worthy as Kachel,
and as wise as Rebecca, as faithful as Sarah." Sit verecimdia gravis,
pudore venerahilis doctrinis coelestibus erudita. If these brilliant
examples ornament the ritual of some antique paganism, we cannot
have sufficient admiration for such elevated ideas, nor enthusiasm
enough for such a grand form.

The mass is over : the Agnus Dei is chaunted. A pretty scene
concludes the striking series which our grandees have ignored and
which I would wish them to learn. The bridegroom advances to
the altar and receives from the priest the kiss of peace. To whom
will he transmit it ? — it is needless to inquire — To his young wife
whom he embraces chastely in the middle of the sanctuary at the
foot of the cross !

Leaving the church, they find a compact and noisy crowd, the
musicians as before heading the procession. For nearly two hours
this assemblage of relatives and friends has been gathered together,
grave and silent. Some relief is necessary. The ladies begin to
chatter.

At the base of the hill the horses and mules are waiting. Ladies
and knights mount while they talk. Then the cavalcade starts
back to the chateau.

* Introductis illis in chorum ecclesise ad dexteram partem, et, statuta muliere ad
dexteram viri, incipiat missa de Sancta Trinitate.

334 CHIVALRY,

Many of our old poets have left vivid descriptions of this return
from the church. They have painted in glowing terms the
appearance of the road carpetted with green, the incense and the
perfumes which filled the air ; the groups of minstrels looking on or
singing in the procession of the married pair, and, further away,
the flowery meads and country all in festal array.

At a cross road there is quite a commotion. Quite a troop of
friends on horseback has come to meet and congratulate the bride
and bridegroom. They embrace each other cheerfully, and then
the two cavalcades unite and proceed leisurely in the direction of
the castle, where everything is ready to receive them. It is in the
great hall, the paved salle^ that the grand reception is held, and
for many days previous preparations have been made there with
this view. It has been whitewashed and painted anew, the w^alls
have been clothed in tapestry, and the river banks and gardens
have been scoured to supply wild flowers and roses. It is superb
even when empty and naked, but it has never appeared so resplen-
dent as now, with all these mural and floral decorations. A solemn
entry is necessary here. Wait a moment

The cortege has entered the courtyard, the minstrels pass aside,
and there the bride and bridegroom dismount. Two by two their
relatives and friends advance and mount the staircase. A beauti-
ful gleam of sunshine at this moment lights up all their costumes,
the silk and the gold, the fair hair of the multitude of ladies and
knights. It is a magnificent spectacle.

They do not dine in the hall, but in the neighbouring meadow in
tents. It was then the correct thing to invite grand personages to
weddings, a custom that still obtains, and it was a point of honour
to invite as many as possible. The more the prouder the host.
This custom even gave rise to rivalries, competitions, and jealousy.
" I have had so many earls at my wedding party ! " "I had quite
as many ! " The mistake was that, in imitation of royalty, these
personages considered it necessary to make presents to the guests ;
cloaks, garments, &c. Each of these gifts was accompanied with a
kind word and a smile, and it was seldom that the knight found a
moment to seek the room where his brother was awaiting him.
On this occasion they had to negotiate an exchange of fiefs and
submit the arrangement to Aelis. The exchange is made without

A WEDDING— TWELFTH CENTURY, 335

any difficulty or question. In order to confirm this act Aeiis kisses
her l^Fother-in-law, and her husband too.

Then the clear-toned clarions announce dinner. The tables are
loaded with gold plate. The most beautiful of the tents, which is
covered mth blue silk, is set apart for the newly-wedded pair, their
near relations, and the most important guests. Preceded by the
equerries, the immense concourse hurries towards the tents in
some little disorder. Everyone is anxious to learn where his or
her place is ; so they push, and cry out, and laugh as they go.
There is little quiet, save in the upper tent, where the bride is
seated beside her husband. Around the guests the seneschals
pass and repass, carrying roasted peacocks on golden dishes.
Behind the wedded pair, two knights — barons — stand gravely,
deeming themselves honoured in waiting upon them. The bride-
groom says to them, '' I am not able to bestow upon you two
chateaux^ as a hero of romance would, for the trouble you are
taking, seeing I have only two myself, but I would pray you to take
wine with my wife and me." The baron addressed bows, accepts
the golden jug, and fills the cups presented to him. The lady
with the fair countenance touches one with her lips as her husband
drinks deeply. They scarcely eat anything.

I am not disposed to detail the hundreds of dishes which are
served. They will be remembered long in the district, but the
memory of the wedding will remain particularly with those who
partook of the festivities. The lower class of spectators will not
say, " the wedded pair were charming," but " what a number of
dishes they had at dinner ! " The minstrels, grouped in a corner,
are somewhat more dignified and more deserving of attention.
During the repast, which was long, they contented themselves by
playing their most beautiful pieces. Some — but these were of the
lower order juggled and " walked on their heads." It was not
until the close of the repast that they sang and recited. Let me
relate what they chaunted.

The first performers sought to be realistic, and recounted the
love of Oriabel for Jourdain de Blaives, her husband. Jourdain
had to go away, and she did not wish to be separated from him.

" Let me go with you," she cried. " I Tsdll be your housekeeper
and economical. I will be your squire; yes, I will saddle your

336 CHIVALRY.

horses, and shoe them myself. When you mount I will hold your
stirrup, when you return, I will take off your spurs, and assist you
to disrohe ! Let me go with you ! I will lie beneath your stair-
case, glad to see you go in and out. I will be your servant, and
that will console me, for I love you dearly ! " Jourdain let himself
be persuaded, and they went forth together.

The second jongleur is more military. He relates the history of
that wonderful army corps of women who fought so valiantly under
the walls of Antioch and Jerusalem against the Infidels. '' See
them," said he> " going out to fill their wide sleeves with stones,
and to bend over the wounded, while their husbands followed them
with eyes suffused with tears. The poor wounded men turned to
them, crying for water, and the women comforted them in body and
soul. Their shoes were worn out, their feet were bleeding, their
hearts were heavy ; but they never despaired, and deserved equally
with their husbands the name of Crusaders and knights.

The third jongleur told of Berte who espoused Girard de
Rousillon as follows : '' The more Girard saw of her the more he
loved her. He had never seen anyone who equalled her wisdom
and good sense." The singer afterwards showed how the hero fell
upon evil days, and how his wife had to become a seamstress, and
he himself a charcoal burner. Beneath the dust and grime she
remained still beautiful, and young men would stop to look at her,
and agreed that if it were not for her position as the wife of a
charcoal burner, no lady would be more gentille. She spent two
and twenty years in this retirement, pure, good, resigned — a
Christian. At the end of this period, Girard could no longer
remain in seclusion, and went one day to see a tournament.
Girard, like everybody else, went to the jousts assisted by his wife
whom he held so dear. The lady beheld the vassals jousting, and
the sight of the games brought to her recollection the time when
her husband used to ride a joust. She felt so affected at last, that
the tears ran down her cheeks and fell upon Girard' s beard. The
count stood up, and said, " Lady, I perceive that you regret you
are not in France. Leave me, and go." " No," she replied.
"Please God, I will never quit your side alive. I would rather
pass through a fiery furnace than leave you." At this avowal the
count embraced her on the spot.

GIRARD DE ROUSILLON AND HIS WIFE IN RETIREMENT.

A WEDDING-TWELFTH CENTURY.

339

K truth must be told, beautiful as these songs were, they were
too lugubrious for a wedding-day. The audience had by this time
become grave. The ladies were weeping, some for Oriabel, some
for Berte. The men began to speak of war, apropos of Girard, and
became somewhat too demonstrative. It therefore became neces-
sary to throw some festivity into this unseasonable gravity. So a
reciter told the amusing story of Eenart, and how he put Ysengrin
into a well. A singer trolled out a lively ditty. Then love- songs
succeeded, of which the greater part were of a warm character.
Our ancestors did not object to calling a spade a spade, and the
ditties would be '* taboo" nowadays. But, nevertheless, they did
not wish their wives to resemble the wenches which these impure
pastorals pictured. These follies exasperate us, and, I have no
doubt, they irritated Aelis also.

At other tables in other tents there is more noise. Joking of a
very coarse kind here assumed all the strength which it lost in the
presence of Aelis. It raged rampant, and triumphed over all else.
Then, again, the guests drank heavily, and the wine gets into their
heads. These knights are soldiers, who are apt to become riotous
when in their cups. A terrible quarrel arose in one of the tents.
Two barons were at loggerheads. One of them snatched from the
other the golden cup which he wished to present to the bride ; the
other repossessed himself of it, and, furiously tipsy, dealt his
opponent a terrible blow on the forehead. The skin was cut, the
bone damaged, and blood flowed in streams. Each combatant had
friends, who defended their man, and they were divided into two
parties, who quickly encountered each other, and many a knight
rolled on the ground. Fortunately the young couple were ignorant
of all this. The dinner came to an end, and the wedded pair
strolled, side by side, through the meadows. This repast had not
lasted less than three hours.

Then the con-^dves divided into two groups, squires and bachelors
on one side, the ladies on the other. We can anticipate the
amusement they would seek. They organised jousts, and set up
the quintain in the field. Being sHghtly upset by the wine they
had imbibed the young men did not perform their parts so well as
usual, and the quintain was not upset at the first attempt. On the
other hand, the young gallants struck themselves very hard, and

z 2

340 CHIVALRY.

some will be lame for many months. But these were regarded as
accidents, and laughed at accordingly. They were still a .
"material " — almost a savage race, and we must take them as we
find them.

At some distance away there is dancing. The dances of those
days were not complicated : rondeSy singing rondes, in which the
ladies themselves sang. When they were out of breath the min-
strels took up the strain, and the knights joined in, some singing,
some playing instruments. There is a tent specially reserved for
dancing, but the lovely saraband would not be restrained within
such limits, and the couples came out under the trees. For a
moment everyone ceased, to watch Aelis dancing with her husband.

Subsequently they refreshed themselves with supper. Night is
drawing on now.

But who are these new-comers at the door of the hall, whom
everyone respectfully salutes ? A priest, accompanied by two
acolytes, one carrying a book, the other a censer. They enter the
hall, and are thence conducted to the bridal chamber, which is
strewn with roses and painted with floral decorations, and a rich
bed provided with a counterpane. The husband and wife were kneel-
ing down and very serious. The priest, now in his stole, made the
tour of the bed slowly repeating benedictions, making the sign of
the cross, and saying : " Bless this nuptial bed, 0 Lord, so that
Thy Christian children may repose in Thy peace, and wake in Thy
love." Then, after a pause, he continued : " May the hand of the
Lord be upon you, and may He cause his angels to descend from
Heaven and guard you during all the days of your lives."

Then he took the censer from the hands of the acolyte, and again
went round the apartment, using the incense after the manner in
which an angel incensed the wedding couch of Beatrix and the
Chevalier au Cygne.* The priest then advanced toward the door,
but paused on the threshold to say a few parting words to the
kneeling couple: "Peace, and the presence of the Lord be with
you." The baron then arose, and accompanied the churchman,
while, according to custom, the women put the bride to bed. They
then retired, and finally the husband and wife were left alone. . . .

* Li Angles a le lit de la chnmbre encensee. (Le Chevelier au Cygne.)

A WEDDING— TWELFTH CENTURY. 341

Next morning at daybreak they attended mass in the chapel.
Far from the noise and tumult and really alone, Aelis could at
length for an hour enjoy the luxury of introspection, and arrange,
prospectively, her future behaviour.

" I want, above all things, to be a prudent woman ('prude
fame '), for I remember the verses of the poem which was sung
yesterday : —

' La prude fame doit-on chiere tenir :
Et la mauvaise vergonder et honnir ! ' (Aspremont).

I want to deserve this praise bestowed on some heroine of romance.
* Wise in word and deed ; Humble to the great as well as to the
lowly.'

* Sage en fais et en dis.
Et humles fu as grans et as petis ' ( Auberon).

*' It is too much to hope that I shall surpass all other women, but
with God's help I will be wise, agreeable, simple-minded, gay.
I will not go so far as to wear a hair-shirt as the ancestress of
Godfrey de Bouillon did when she lost her husband, the Chevalier
au Cygne (I hope I shall not lose my husband) ; but I esteem it
highest of all the virtues to be cleanly and delicate in mind and
body. The woman ought to have a soul as pure and a body as
clean as the most delicate samite and the finest silk. I will love
no one but my husband, and I will permit myself to be hacked in
pieces ere I swerve from my faith and loyalty. Even if he love me
no longer, I will love him always. But it is by my respect that I
wish first to display my love. I will be humble, and as a servitor.
I will call him *my sire ' or * my baron,' or, as he knows a little
Latin, * domine.' It does not become a poor woman such as I am
to have the air of the countess Yde, who one day did not rise
before her husband — telling him that she was of superior lineage,
for * at her breast she held, under her cloak, a duke, an earl, a
king ! ' * But I will always stand before him, and willingly do his
bidding.

" Humility is only a part of my task, and I must shut out from
my heart all malice and pride. I am, unfortunately, like that

* Yde was the mother of Earl Eustace of Boulogne, Godfrey, Duke of "Bouillon,'*
and Baudouin, Eing of Jerusalem.

342 CHIVALRY.

Berthe who ' spoke like a preacher,' and ended by converting her
husband ; but then my husband is very different from that terrible
Girard, who had a passion for blood and who loved evil. I hope,
I am sure, he will spare me such anguish ; it nevertheless becomes
me to remember ^ DamedieUy' and at least to be in accord with him.
Not only with God should I be at peace, but with neighbours,
and relatives. It rests with me, I think, to prevent any quarrels,
and I will do my best to avoid them. I know that I could not find
courage to say to my husband as Beatrix did to Hervis de Metz :

* Rather than see your family irritated against you I will leave
you.' But without going so far one can do one's duty : I will
fulfil mine. I have heard lately of a new Crusade, and ought I to
be so weak as to retain him here, or should I have the courage to
bid him go ? ... No ; the struggle is ended in my heart, I will
not be one of those^ who fall at the feet of their lords and pray
them to stay at home. Rather will I say, as I restrain my tears,

* When the great war is over, when you have seen Jerusalem, when
you have kissed the Holy Sepulchre, you will then remember me,
and think of coming back again.' I have no need to tell him to be
brave, but I should wish him to fancy that I was looking at him in
the midst of the fight, and that he would do his best. He fights,
while I shall pray.

" But perhaps he will permit me to accompany him, and this
will be my greatest joy. What delight to be near him, to know
from hour to hour that he lives ; to nurse him should he be
wounded, and if he die, to die with him. It seems to me that I
am quite capable of emulating those women who followed Godfrey
of Boulogne to Antioch and Jerusalem. I think I am of their race.
I could assist the wounded and dying, encourage the knights, and
point out Heaven to them, even under the showers of the Infidel's
arrows. I could thus perform my part in the encounter. No
doubt many women have thus died, but what would that matter to
me if he were there ! Should he think fit to leave me at home in
our beautiful France, I will obey his orders, and defend his fief in
his absence. If his castle be attacked I will mount the walls, and
defend it with missiles and stones, as Gibourc defended Orange.
He sometimes tells me of that heroic woman who became a seam-
stress in order to assist her husband, and who, even in the midst of

HEARD EXHORTED BY HIS >VIFE WHILE RECEIVING THE MESSENGER OF CHARLEMAGNE. [^.342

A WEDDING— TWELFTH CENTURY. 343

her troubles, was always gay and sweet of disposition. I hope the
Son of St. Marie will give me strength and amiability for a like
sacrifice, should it be necessary. Besides, I can sew very well.
All the same, I hope that he will not be compelled to turn charcoal-
burner as Girard did. I prefer him as he is — no, I prefer nothing.
If only he love me the rest may be as it will ! "

Such were the reflections of Aelis during the mass (the first
after her marriage) until the elevation of the Host. After it she
resumed her train of thought. Perhaps she might have children —
sons. Yes, sons certainly. She would love them all with equal
aff'ection, but she would be strict and severe with them. Perhaps,
though, she might have to intercede in their favour with their
father, who would be still more severe. She would not hesitate to
despatch them to the Crusade ; but how delighted she would be at
their return ! If anyone outraged their father they would avenge

him. If they should be killed But this last idea aroused her

from her reverie, and she smiled at the thought that she was
picturing the deaths of children yet unborn ! Then glancing
towards the altar she perceived that the mass was over, and she
and her husband returned together by the long avenue to the
castle.

We would pause here at this spectacle of the two handsome
young people emerging from the chapel and united in spirit, hand
in hand, traversing the flowery meads. But we feel that we may
be accused of embellishing their portraits, and invented many
traits or described others falsely. A large number of French
people cannot bear to hear any praise of France before the period
of the serment of the Jeu da Paume, They wish it painted as
barbarous and unpleasant. They are delighted to persuade them-
selves with certain historians that our male ancestors were poor
wretches, and our lady grandmothers certainly not respectable.
The impudent author of the " Romance of the Rose " did not feel
ashamed to write that prudent women were as rare as the phoenix !
He says : —

" Preude femme, par Saint Denis,
II en est moins que de fenis ! "

344 CHIVALRY,

Look at the " classics " of the old French society — the Eose, the
Fables, the Kenart, and the thousand pastorals and chansonSy the
love- songs of which the monotonous impurity revolts and wearies
the most indulgent critics. There are some disgraceful pages in
these old romances, in which the writers describe French women.
Christians, of the twelfth century, in terms which they would not
paint the girls of Madagascar or the daughters of the Sioux
Indians.

Well, then we once more affirm that the poets had no idea of the
beauties of the mind, nor of the characters of those virtues which
shrink from displaying themselves. We affirm that this testimony
is unfounded and iniquitous. To these classics of our adversaries
we oppose our own, which disclose the exact portraiture of the
Middle Ages, as it really was with all its virtues and its vices.
These honest writers are historians like Villehardouin, Joinville,
and later the familiar treatise of the Chevalier de la Tour-Landry,
for the information of his daughters, and the excellent incomparable
" Menagier de Paris," the most delightful and the most exact of
all, in w^hich we find the invaluable advice given by the husband to
his young wife regarding the ruling of her household, and which
reveals to us the secrets of the domestic life during that period of
our history. " That is a work of the fourteenth century," you
will say. I am quite aware of it ! But will any historian maintain
that the fourteenth century was not, in comparison with the twelfth,
a period of corruption and decadence ?

Aelis, whose portrait I have sketched, was no doubt superior to
the majority of the women of her time, but there was a certain
number who resembled her and were worthy of her. Besides, it is
from our poems themselves that I have extracted all my colouring,
and in my picture there is nothing unwarranted or fanciful. At
that period I knew quite well many women were sensual and
guilty; many struggled against their passions and fell while
endeavouring to rise, or having risen fell again. But the poets
too frequently excited them to ill-deeds and then laughed
sardonically at their fall. The poets are really to blame.

But, after all, the women of the fourteenth century were
Christians, and if, in imitation of that Messire Geoffrey, of whom
the Chevalier de la Tour-Landry speaks, we proceed to mark with

A WEDDING— TWELFTH CENTURY,

345

chalk the doors of those who deserve to be blamed, I am per-
suaded that a great number of doors in houses, and even in castles
of the period, would not have deserved to have such an affront put
upon them.

All this while Aelis and her husband have been wending their
way to the chateau, where the fetes will continue for eight days.*

* Sometimes the festivities continued for fifteen days.

CHAPTER XII.

THE DOMESTIC LIFE OF THE KNIGHT— A DAY IN THE LIFE OF
A BARON AT THE END OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY.

I. — Four o'Clock a.m.

It is July, and four o'clock in the morning. The sun is trying
to penetrate the mist. Below, at some little distance, through the
rising mist, we can perceive the chateau of Plessis, which we shall
enter very soon. It is a confused mass of building, and only
appeals to the eye by reason of its magnitude. It is imposing but
vague.

Writers of poetry have always liked the morning, and that is a
feeling to which the contemporaries of Philip Augustus and Saint
Louis have always adhered. " There is the sun which God causes
to rise;" "there is the sun which disperses the dew!" The
spectacle has moved more than one of our knights, who have been
struck with the appearance of the sparkling dew upon the grass,
and "then they sigh." But they do not sigh long — it is not in
their nature : they rather prefer to enjoy themselves during life.
" Greeting — all hail — to the Summer, when the days are fine, and
long, and clear ! " Then the barons heard what the author of
Renart calls ** Chanticleer ! " To this cock-crowing they do not
apply a holy sentiment or anything symbolic as Christians at
present do, and which the Romish Church has preserved in her
liturgy. The people were " material " and gay. They would stop
to listen to the lark, or to examine a flower ; these were for them
the indications and the embodiment of the Springtime and of the
morning. But let us accompany them to one of the castles, which
we will describe. Larks and thrushes and flowers were no longer
the chief objects. They had no place there — the ideas of battle
were only acceptable to these warriors.

DOMESTIC LIFE— FOUR O CLOCK.

347

At the summit of the keep was a watchman who, considerahly
chilled by his nocturnal vigil, made up for it by saluting the rising
sun by sounding a horn or other musical instrument — the tabor or
chalimam. When the tourists of our days ascend the Rigi they
are awakened by the Alpine horn, but the scene is unpoetic and is
laid in a comfortable hotel. A very different effect was produced

Rosamunde at the "Window.

by the watch-horn of the feudal age. "Ah!" the baron would
say, " I am well guarded; the enemy cannot take me at dis-
advantage."

Again from all the neighbouring churches and chapels arose the
joyous pealing of bells, which rang for matins. At the elevation of
the first mass the bells again sounded, and the lords of the castles
never heard them without profound respect and a naive faith. But
these did not render the chatelains any more devotional. They
attended mass every morning, but when they quitted the sanctuary

348 CHIVALRY.

they inhaled the fresh air with great enjoyment, and exclaimed
what a lovely day it was ! To quote the old poet —

** Chevalerie quiferent torneor
Dame qui aime a plus fraische color ! "

This was the effect of spring-time.

To each hour of this day as spent by the baron we wish to attach
one or more examples extracted from our old poems so as to illus-
trate the true character of feudal life without any exaggeration of
tone or colouring. The brother of Garin de Loherain — Begne by
name — was once besieged by the Bordelais in his Castle of Belin,
and it came to pass one night that the besiegers, alarmed by the
approach of succour to the garrison, raised the siege and fled towards
Bordeaux. At the first dawn of day the watchman ascended the
keep, but no enemy was visible ; they had all disappeared. With
the familiarity then usual the watchman hurried down and burst
into his lord's chamber, where Begne and his wife, the beautiful
Beatrix, were reposing. The servitor shook his master rudely by
the shoulder and awoke him.

" What do you want, my good friend ? What is the news ? "

" My lord, they have raised the siege ! "

" Sound the horn, my friend, for my people to go forth."

At the very first notes the castle was all alive, and townspeople
as well as knights rushed to the defences. ** The assault," they
cried, " it is the assault ! "

Begne did not delay to undeceive them, but he thought that he
might as well pursue the enemy and quickly too. He laced his
small-clothes, and buckled on his spurs, and donned his armour, and
called upon his wife to gird him with his fine proved sword
Floherge. Beatrix was greatly moved at this, and prayed Heaven
to defend her husband from danger and from death. *' That is
well said," replied the duke. Then and only then he cast a
tender glance upon his wife who had but lately recovered her
strength after her accouchement. " Lady," said the baron with
trembling voice, "take good care of my child." So he hastened
away, and she remained in the castle.

Another scene which also occurred during the first hour of the
day. This relates to one of the Saracen princesses, who conceived

DOMESTIC LIFE— FOUR O'CLOCK. 349

such violent affection for a French knight, and who for this love
sacrificed her country, her family, her faith. Thus did Kosamunde
one day fall in love with Elias of Saint-Gilles ; but in the conver-
sion of this youthful pagan there was considerable impulsiveness
and sincerity. She would rise early and listen to the matin-songs
of the birds, and these carollers reminded her of her love for Elias
of Saint-Gilles. She apostrophised the trees and flowers, and the
corn, " which spring from the earth in love." Then she knelt
before the figure of the Virgin, and exclaimed : " The law of
Mahomet is a bad law — I renounce it ! " It is true she imposed
certain conditions on her acceptance of the Christian religion con-
cerning the protection by Heaven of her chosen love. But
Kosamunde at her window was a charming figure to contemplate ;
and by her presence she completed the beauty of the aspect of the
Spring morning.

We must not exaggerate, and so attribute to our knights a very
high intelligence, and a very profound love of nature. To put it
tersely, we must say that they only cared for spring and light, for
some few birds and flowers. This is about all that one can expect
from soldiers who never went into subtleties, nor plunged them-
selves into the profundities of symbolism. What they wanted was
*' go," elauy the upward soaring which carried to Heaven the souls
enamoured of Nature, of all Nature. Our barons were in this
respect far inferior to the incomparable poet of the twelfth century,
who traversed the roads of Italy declaiming this inspired canticle —
"Praise to Thee, 0 God, for all Thy creatures, and chiefly for our
brother the Sun, which gives us light and life, which is beautiful
shining in such splendour, and which bears witness unto Thee, O
God. Praise be unto Thee, 0 God, for our sister the Moon, and
for the stars which Thou hast placed in the heavens so clear and
bright. Praise to Thee, 0 God, for our mother the Earth, which
sustains and nourishes us, and brings forth fruit, flowers, the grass
and herbs." Thus Saint Francis d'Assisi, and you will perceive
how far he is beyond our chansons de geste or epic poems. I could
leap over several centuries and compare them with another writer
whom one would hardly dare to name in conjunction with Saint
Francis. Jean Jacques communicated to his own time and has
left to us a love of nature which is sometimes feverish and sickly.

350 CHIVALRY,

but which is frequently also delicate, profound and living. Read a
page of Lamartine, his pupil, and afterwards, if you care to, en-
deavour to wade through the formulas in which our poets of the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries have condensed their love — their
monotonous love for the month of May !

The forest which we must traverse to reach the castle of Plessis
in truth contains the spectacle which our barons loved best to con-
template— for there they hunted ! There you might have beheld
them in full career, shooting with unerring arrow their quarry.
When in the virgin forest, sometimes through a leafy glade, one
might get a peep at the massive keep of the castle on its rocky
foundation, and beneath the walls the silver ribbon of the river.
In the depths of the wood where no openings existed one had to
console oneself by listening to the call of the birds and the notes
of the songsters. In the mighty wood clothed with verdure the
heat was tempered by the shade, and there charcoal-burners plied
their trade. Yonder is the high road, the grand route where-
upon one may have seen the " little people" bent on business, and
the proud knights seeking adventure. The latter carry flowers in
their hands and sing as they ride on. Nature is fresh — this race
is gay.

The last traces of the morning mists have now disappeared, and
at length we can contemplate the chateau in all the majesty of its
surroundings.

The first portion which claims attention is the keep — the donjon
— which is perched on the hill upon an artificial eminence. What
a height it is ! How massive, too ! We should estimate it a
hundred feet high. The general appearance is heavy and ungrace-
ful ; but the eye has not leisure to examine details : the synthesis
of the fortress, the knight's estimate of it, is what we must seize.

Now what strikes us most in the general disposition of the castle
is its separation into two clearly distinct courts. One of these is
smaller than the other, but how much more important! It
contains many dwelling-places and a chapel, but above all, the
keep, with its moat or ditch — for it has a fosse all to itself — and
with the stout wall which clothes it, as it were, in a body-garment
of stone. The other haille, which was sometimes many acres
in extent, presents the aspect and the animation of a small- sized

DOMESTIC LIFE-FOUR O'CLOCK, 351

town. A church dominates it and turns our thoughts to Heaven ;
a stream runs through it and makes it lively. But look well once
more, look at the two courts and remember their simple plan : that
is the whole chateau !

These two courts are separated by a crenelated wall, in which
are a postern and a door. We will knock at it very soon.

Both courts are surrounded by walls and turrets, which are
generally flat on the inner and rounded on the outer face. Those
of the upper court, near the keep, are stronger than those below,
for the keep, as we shall see presently, is the ultimate aim of
besiegers, and its defence must be carefully undertaken and con-
sidered.

In front of the walls which compose the general enceinte of the
castle runs a road or pathway, in which in time of siege the
*' rounds " are made by night and day : this is termed the lists.

In front of the lists a row of heavy stakes forms a wall of wood,
like a second wall of defence. It is certainly low, and less solid
than the masonry *' curtains ; " but nevertheless it is an obstacle
to be reckoned with. This palisade is termed in Latin murale
barrurriy and in French les harres — the barrier. Between the
walls of stone and the palisade, the lists form quite a promenade.

At the foot of the palisade the greater part of the castle is
defended by a moat, which is designed to render the operation of
undermining impossible. Our castle of Plessis is thus fortified
and defended. But how can we gain admittance to this vast
fortress ? Well, do you perceive yonder two turrets — twin towers,
between which runs a well-protected and defended passage ? This
gives access on one side to the surrounding country, and to the
lower court on the other by a strong door. In front of it is the
deep, wide moat.

But, however deep and wide it may be, I fancy that our typical
baron would not sleep very tranquilly if the outer entrance of his
castle were not better defended. Over the moat is thrown a draw-
bridge, which can be raised and lowered by chains at pleasure.
But this is not all.

In front of the gate and the bridge, on the opposite bank of the
moat, is a square tower, not nearly so high as the others. This
advanced work is loop-holed, and is called the barbican, entrance to

352 CHIVALRY.

which is gained by a small concealed door on the right side. Na
important castle is without its barbican, and as early as the end
of the twelfth century these works were built of stone. First of
wood, but subsequently of stone.

At the base of the slope was the river, which completed the de-
fences. It was navigable, and heavy barges ascended it, whence
the cries of the sailors were frequently audible. The surrounding
country was featureless, and the river animated it.

So much for the castle !

II. — Eleven a.m. — Outside the Castle.

Now let us come out of the castle for a while, and inquire when
it was built ? How ? By whom ? Does it resemble those which
preceded it ? For how long a period have castles existed ? Who
invented, and who brought to perfection this mode of defence ? It
is so much the more important to examine these questions as our
knights lived in such castles as this, and that Chivalry itself was,
so to speak, nursed there. We cannot thoroughly understand
Chivalry if we are not acquainted with the fortress, its walls and its
towers, within which it lived and breathed.

Let us now spring back over many centuries and boldly return
to the Roman epoch. In fact, let us transport ourselves to the end
of the third or the commencement of the fourth century.

The extensive Empire is still majestic, but there is something
menacing it in the air, and around it are pressing new races who are
demanding their share of the sun. Rome till that time had with-
stood these incursions of races. On her frontiers, at the openings
of the wide valleys, at the fords of great rivers, successive emperors
had constructed enormous permanent camps which two legions held
or could hold. These places were called Castra stativa, and for a
long while they sufficed for the defence of the old Roman Empire.
They could easily be reconstructed in the square form, their
prcetorium, their roads which intersected each other at right angles,
their via principalis, their via quintana, their forum. The day
came, however, in which even such an ingenious system was found

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 353

insufficient. No matter how well the passage was guarded the bar-
barians forced it, and some other means of defence became
necessary.

The Romans retired, but very slowly. While they thus fell back in
the interior of Gaul, they cast their eyes around right and left, every-
where. At the entrances of defiles, at the fords of rivers, on the
heights which lay near their road, and which they judged favourable
for the protection of Eoman territory, and equally when there were
no heights, their engineers piled up mounds which were defended
by a ditch and a rampart. That was all : there were no complicated
works. To these earthen ramparts, which were of varied forms
and proportions, were added some fortified posts and, perhaps, a look-
out tower. Such were the original castles.

As they did not cost much to construct they were built in all
directions. In the fourth century there was a great number of them
in Gaul, which was being overrun more and more. In the fifth
century the country simply bristled with them.

Nevertheless, the Barbarians continued to advance. They had no
castles and did not understand the mode of fortification, or of en-
campment. True savages as they were, they camped in low places,
in meadow-land, or in pastures where their horses were in clover.
If it be true, as some allege, that we owe some of our civilisation
to them, the castle certainly is not one of those elements — it is
decidedly of Roman origin.

The more they advanced the more castles were erected, and one
could follow the tract of the invaders by the clue of castles which
had been constructed to meet their approaches. First, these
castella were erected on the frontiers, then in the more central
provinces, then in the very heart of the country and, in fact, every-
where. The peoples of the Middle Ages were considerably surprised
at the sight of so many ruins, and attributed the castles to the
Saracens or to Caisar.

Those small defences could avail nothing against the fierce
German attacks. Pebbles opposed to a torrent ! The torrent
flowed on and the Gaul became Burgundian, Goth or Frank. The
Franks — we will speak only of the Merovingian Gaul — had no
opinion of these castella, which did not impede their march. The
fortifications of the towns surprised them more, and they did not

354 CHIVALRY,

disdain to repair them ; but the earth-mounds only aroused their
contempt. The Gallo-Komans, however, did not so disdain them,
and they sought to preserve themselves from the fury of the con-
querors by utilising the old castella as refuges. Fortunat has left
to us a description of one of these castles of the sixth century, a not
very precise description of the enceinte {which, enclosed, the crest and
sometimes the slope of the hill) with its palisades, its ditch, its
thirty towers dominated by a lofty tower or keep of many floors, of
which the ground floor was used as an oratory, while the platform
was reserved for the catapult and other machines. Making
allowance for all exaggeration it is certain that the fortress
described by Fortunat is more complete than the Eoman castella.
One may even believe that it had an influence on the feudal castle
of the future, for all the Gallo-Koman castles had disappeared in
the sixth century. That was an epoch of relative security from
more than one point of view.

The first Carlovingians were Teutons who were fired with
ambition to imitate the Komans, and in everything. The force of
circumstances demanded it, and they adopted the old system pure
and simple, which consisted in defending the frontiers of the Empire
only. Two tribes, restless and dangerous neighbours, disturbed
Charlemagne more than all the others. These were the Gascons
and the Saxons. He constructed once more the castra stativa,
really fortified barracks ; some along the Oder to keep the Saxons
in check, and along the Garonne to hold back the Gascons. But
this was the last outcome of the old-world strategy. Events preci-
pitated themselves to a conclusion, the idea of authority faded
away, the notion of centralization was wiped out ; the power
declined into the hands of numerous petty sovereigns.

Then we meet the Feudal System, and the Castle was born.

Those Dukes and Earls who created themselves kings — those
men-at-arms who protected the weak and timorous, those lords
(since we must call them so) were violent, wild, pushing, and
all the more jealous of their rights as they rested on a pre-
carious footing. They were menaced by their neighbours, whom
they also menaced. Everyone was fighting, or about to fight,
somebody else. So it came to pass that one day iron armour was
invented to defend the person of the soldier, and then a defence for

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 355

the family and retainers in war time was initiated — so there arose
those castles of the ninth century which so suddenly sprang up in
all directions. This is one of the most curious events which
History presents to us.

The barons, having inspected the locality, would in most cases
choose the very same spots which had been selected four centuries
previously when the Romans were struggling against the Barbarians.
Nothing could be more natural and legitimate than such a
selection. The Romans had generally made a very excellent
choice, and it was only a proof of intelligence to follow their lead.
Besides, the baron was enabled in many cases to utilize the ruins
of the old defences, and the wise man should take all the advantages
he can obtain. In short, the castle was begun.

Thus we are compelled to put aside all the ideas handed down
to us respecting the grand architects and designers of these castles
which ill-informed romance-writers would present to us, and which
still find place in the minds of ill-informed readers. We must not
expect anything so graceful or so imposing. The first castles were
built of mud and wood — not of stone.

The first operation in connection with the defences of this
simple building was the elevation of the mound or motte. This
high accumulation of earth served as the basis of the celebrated
" casfcle." Upon it was erected a great square wooden house as lofty
as possible — three or four storeys high — with underground chamber
practically in the thickness of mound, where a well is generally
found. These wells were dug in anticipation of long and trying
sieges. With a supply of water the occupants were invulnerable —
without water they were lost.

We must now remember that this wooden house was erected on
the mound of earth. Picture it ; it was the germ of all the castles
of the Middle Ages : the abiding place of the baron, the dominus,
the domino, the donjon.

But wood burns. How was this primitive donjon to be protected
from fire ? By means equally primitive. Upon the platform were
extended the skins of animals recently flayed. An expedient
worthy of savages !

But were not there some outward defences around the donjon as
in the case of the ancient castellumy some advanced works, some

A A 2

356 CHIVALRY.

exterior fortifications? Yes, indeed, and these defences would
increase in proportion to the wealth of the baron. Some poorer
lords could do little in this way beyond a thick- set hedge or a
palisade. Such ''castles " were known as "laHaye," "lePlessis,"
just as others were called *'la Motte ! " But we find superior
castles to these, for some barons went so far as to construct an
enceinte or enclosure of fine stout planks, with wooden towers at
regular distances apart. These more solid refuges were termed in
bad IjSitm Jlrmitates, in good French fertes.

The door of the donjon — for it is very necessary to ascertain the
mode of entry — was at the elevation of the first floor just above the
summit of the " mound." If anyone wished to come out he let
down a ladder, which was easily drawn up again if the enemy
appeared. The exterior enclosure was also furnished with a door
which originally had no special defence and might pass for a
postern. That was all.*

We can now picture to ourselves the manner in which one
of these castles would be attacked at the end of the ninth
century. The assailants would climb to the assault, cross the
first ditch, scale the palisades, but then would find themselves
confronted by a huge wooden edifice placed on the summit of an
artificial hill, surrounded by a second ditch, with no means of
access, as the drawbridge had been pulled up or the planks
removed. In those primitive castles the enclosures counted for
little : the donjon for everything. It was the inviolable asylum,
the unassailable refuge, the last and supreme resource.

Let us now use the magician's wand and see by what means a
" castle " of the ninth century was transformed into a chateau of
the twelfth century.

The great point is that stone superseded timber f

The square wooden donjon is transformed into a stone keep,
which was at first square but subsequently assumed other forms.

* A very interesting description of the old " castle " is given by Jean de Colmieu,
about 1130 A.D. He mentions the mound raised with earth carried to the spot, a
deep ditch was then dng around this mound, a })alisade like a wall was constructed
with towers of wood at intervals. In the midst was a " citadel," whence a view was
obtainable iu all directions, admission to which was only gained by a bridge over the
deep moat, and by ascending the hill.

DOMESTIC LIFE- ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 357

The enclosure of planks has become a wall, crenulated, loopholed,
and encircled by a road.

The wooden towers are changed into stone towers, flat on the
inside, rounded exteriorly, let into the walls, and supplied with
similar means of resistance.

The ancient ricketty bridge or ladder has given place to a flight
of marble steps which lead easily to the courtyard of the donjon.
The true door is at the exterior of the castle, like the doors of old
Roman towTis, less elegant, and stronger, placed between two towers
supporting a crenulated bastion, and including both portcullis and
drawbridge which can be lowered or raised.

Again, instead of one fortified court-yard there are two — the
donjon court with its stone wall, which protects the great tower and
the exterior haille or open space, which is occupied by the
inhabitants who, in fact, are numerous, and constitute a regular
village.*

The magician's wand has performed wonders. No two buildings
can (outwardly) less resemble each other than the castles of the
ninth and twelfth centuries ; but, nevertheless, they are .composed
of the same elements — they are virtually the same edifice. We
wish we could have depicted them more vividly, and, w^ith the facile
pencil of Quicherat, transfer the successive changes from his sketch-
ing-board to our pages. But who can do this in a sufficiently
realistic style ?

Our baron thought a long time about rebuilding his castle, and
did not make up his mind for five or six years. It is at the confluence
of two rivers in a somewhat wild spot upon a rocky eminence which
the people call a mountain. The two rivers which flow into each other
are of diff'erent hue, one being as white as the Garonne, the other
as deep blue as the Rhone. They are both — and a great advantage
— full offish. The architect of the castle is a clever man whom
the baron has sent for to the neighbouring town — a layman, but full
of "clerical " ideas. f He sets about the work resolutely after having
made a careful survey and drawn plans which he has submitted

* Travellers by the Stelvio route to or from Nauderr. will notice an excellent
specimen of a fortified place in the small town of Glurns, on the Adige.

+ M. VioUet le Due mentions the twelfth century (?) as the period of tlie."laicisa-
tion of art " — the transfer of art from the monasteries.

358 CHIVALRY.

to the baron. For three days the man of war discussed with the
man of design these drawings. The parties agreed, and the
labourers were set to work. That was a fine workshop ! ten stone-
cutters, twenty-five masons, and in all one hundred and sixty
labourers. They were paid " by the piece " not ** by the day." It
was no easy task to build the castle, and on more than one occasion
the master-mason had a tiff with the baron. But all's well that
ends well.

This is a fine sight this workshop, this building of the castle
which tends more and more towards the high-class form. No more
of the simplicity of the Koman period, no more of the o'pus spicatum
or reticulatum of the Barbarian epoch, no more bricks : the
*' middle style " is merging into the grand. As in former days, the
two revetments of the walls are filled in with solid matter. The
master-mason has his eyes everywhere, and causes the walls to be
strengthened with iron bands when necessary. One day it was re- .
marked that the Flemish towns, even Ypres itself, were only
defended by hedges. He had shrugged his shoulders and exclaimed,
'* How behind the age are these Flemings ! "

It must be confessed that the building cost a large sum. Very
fortunately stone had not to be carried a long distance, as the
quarries were near, and carriage was therefore saved. The serfs
who attended to these conveyances were not paid certainly, but they
did not suit in other respects ; and free labour was not abundant.
In the ninth century there was no need of free labour to build the
castle : the mansionarii sufficed. But by dint of money earned
there, worthy folk were enabled to free themselves from their
heaviest burdens. In the eleventh century the " working-man "
was born, replacing the serf He was employed in castle-building
after terms had been made with him. He is no longer of the dregs
of the population : he is a member of a corporation and holds up his
head *' like a Christian 1 "

People all round about are discussing the building of the castle and
watch its progress with interest : all classes, even priests and monks,
are present, and most of all admiring the activity of the architect
with his rules and measures. This little man whose name is Simon
seems to be everywhere at once, giving his orders and withdrawing
them, raging against the bad workman, praising the industrious,

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN a CLOCK. 359

vaulting over stones, leaping, running, shouting. In order to ex-
cavate the ditches, he had to cut away a portion of the adjacent
wood, and it was pitiful to see the timher felled — such fine trees
fall beneath the axe. The people of the country were indignant
at this course, which seemed to them criminal and almost as wicked
as killing human beings. Fortunately the finest and shadiest oaks
were preserved.

Though the weather was hot and the men were rudely treated by
their employers, they perspired and bore it all gaily enough, laugh-
ing and chattering loudly. I do not maintain that their anecdotes
were always in the best taste, but they served to lighten the
labour.

The building of the castle occupied three years. At the end of
that time a cry of admiration went up throughout the district. The
donjon upon the summit of the rock shone forth " like a flower in
summer: " the moats were filled with clear water which sparkled
in the sunlight ; the wood was shady and full of flowers ; the
meadows extended in the distance. Here and there some smoke was
already rising from the roofs of houses ; the towers and crenulated
walls formed a white girdle around the courtyards. Hidden within
the keep, the chapel tended to elevate the soul from the somewhat
material and brutal world around, and seemed to say " Eemember
thy Creator." Everyone — tradesmen, servants, clergy, and other
spectators — declared with a profound air and with many sagacious
nods that " no one living could ever take possession of such a
castle ! "

But as we have no intention of taking it, let us pass on and
visit it.

We once knew a traveller who, with the view to obtain a correct
idea concerning a town, always circumambulated it carefully. This
is a good plan, and we will adopt it. Let us make the tour of our
new castle.

The advanced work, which protects the grand entrance, is not, at
this time, in general use in France, but our architect Simon is a
master and keeps himself alive to all improvements. So he has
built a barbican, for so the small wooden bastille is called. Very
soon it will be built of stone, but at present wood is considered

36o CHIVALRY.

sufficient. The barbican is of quadrangular form in this instance,
but there are rounded specimens which are even more common
perhaps. With planks three small ** curtains" have been con-
structed and two small turrets. These works are of less elevation
than those of the main castle, but they conceal the entrance, which
the architect has ably succeeded in hiding. But then it is on the
left side. When the enemy shall have arrived they will lose some
time in seeking the entrance, which will, later on, be furnished
with a drawbridge. For the rest, every provision has been made
here to resist a possible, and by no means improbable, siege. An
enormous barrier is thrown across the road — a barricade. While
the enemy is spending his efforts in breaking through it, the
garrison will have time to come to the rescue. Should the
barbican be taken they will retire into the castle over the great
drawbridge. After this point has been passed the besiegers will
have to cope with an enormous and massive iron-bound gate — after
that the portcullis, and after that another door. They will then
find themselves in a courtyard full of every possible pitfall, snare,
and danger to them. If after overcoming this resistance they
manage by a supreme effort to gain and pass another door which is
also furnished with a drawbridge and portcullis, they will find
themselves confronted by the donjon ! This is defended by the
garrison, well victualled, impregnable ; and there the occupants
calmly await the end of the attack.

Now, having glanced once more at the w^ooden barbican, let us
follow the winding course of the moat, above which we set the
squared planks, firmly fixed together, that form the murale
barrum: the barriers. This first defence is to the castle walls
what the barbican is to the entrance (the "port"). It does not
look nice, this palisade; and it prevents our seeing the lists as well
as the basis of the curtains and towers. The moat at any rate is
pleasant enough : it is fifteen or twenty fathoms wide, furnished
with boats, and abounds in fish. Fortunately the barrier has been
broken down for some considerable distance, and we can look in
and see the road, called the lists, and the walls.

The lists are plainly visible, and we perceive a guard making his
rounds. The wall is also visible, and as we have watched its
development for months we know of what materials it is con-

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 361

structed. As in the time of the Romans it is made up of two
surfaces filled in with ''rubble-stone." The piece of the wall
which is contained between two towers from the ground to the
battlement is called a curtain. In a church it is a good thing to
study a bay ; in a castle, a curtain. Let us do so.

It was in 1180 a.d. that in the north of France builders began to
slope the bases of their towers, and subsequently of walls. This
sloping gives solidity to the fortification, but it has not the same
charm as the small square stones of the Roman period with its
pretty mixture of red bricks. It is cold and naked in comparison,
and we see nothing on it but a few lizards basking in the sun ; it
is absolutely monotonous and sad. But its height redeems it from
the commonplace, and it is moreover crenulated.

If there is one error more difficult to eradicate than another it is
the antiquity of crenulation. People, particularly those who live in
the charming country of the Comic Opera, think that crenulation is
of the middle ages — but it can be proved that it existed in Roman
and Gallo-Roman defences, and is a notable element in their
construction. Again people are continually confusing the merlon
with the creneau. In a system of crenulation the creneau is the
opening, the merlon is the solid portion. The creneau is placed
between two merlons, and a pretty face might sometimes be placed
there too, though generally the stern visage of a man-at-arms was
the only one visible.

The merlon, then, is the portion of the parapet between two
embrasures, and it was devised for the protection of the defenders,
and consequently it is six feet high or thereabouts. In Roman
architecture it was very small, but later it was properly enlarged.
The ancient merlon was finished off by a projecting tablet, but in
the middle ages the projection was suppressed and the parapet
covered with lead. The usual terms employed to describe the
crenulation are ''embrasured" and "battlemented."

We cannot speak of this subject without recalling the touch-
ing and interesting history of Ogier the Dane. The Emperor
Charlemagne — indeed the whole empire laid siege to this hero in
his castle of Castlefort, but he did not despair, and resisted bravely.
One by one he saw his brave companions die ; he saw Guielin
yield up his spirit as he prayed, Guielin's brother Benoit, Ogier s

362 CHIVALRY.

own squire — fell another day before the lance of the terrible
Baimbaut de Frison : the brave Dane remained alone, but in spite
of all he resisted : he resolved to hold out ! He ground his corn,
warmed his oven, made his bread ; he was his own cook, servitor,
squire and cup-bearer. He laid the table ; when the meal was
ready he ate it alone ; sadly he thought of Guielin, of Benoit and
of all his other late companions. Then he would go to the stables
and talk to his horse Broiefort, the only living creature within
reach. He lifted his feet and shod him, and then cried *' Here,
Broiefort, here are plenty of corn and good fodder — eat ! "

But all this while the siege continued, and it was most necessary
that the emperor should not become aware of the terrible extremity
to which the castellan had been reduced. Then Ogier conceived
an idea which he presently put into execution. He formed
" dummys " out of wooden blocks : the hairs from the mane and
tail of Broiefort served for moustaches ; on each block-head he
stuck a helmet ; clothed his puppets with shining hauberks, and
armed them with enormous shields (bucklers), and gave them axes.
There was his garrison ! Then he took up these " dummys" and
placed them on the battlements : they had a marvellous effect.
How was it possible that Ogier had still so many companions \
whence come those men-at-arms ? Charlemagne was surprised —
furious. He called his archers and said: " Shoot me those devils
yonder !" The archers took aim, and shot truly. Ogier's men-at-
arms were struck, were pierced through, but they never budged an
inch !

Then the emperor took a supreme resolution. He armed him-
self, and advanced as closely as possible to the walls of Castlefort,
and made a long speech to Ogier's friends.

** It is I," he cried, *' I the king of the great realm of France, to
whom belong Gascony, Bretagne, Anjou, the Maine and Romain.
Now remember, and remember well, that if you do not deliver up
to me Ogier, alive or dead, I will burn every one of you ! "

The speech was fine, but, somehow, the defenders of Castelfort
were in no degree moved by it. The poet who describes the
incident seems to have had his doubts of the intelligence of his
readers, for he adds, " How could they reply ? they were only
wood ! "

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 363

But we have already mentioned the real men-at-arms, and the
beautiful women who appeared at the embrasures. These people
were not suspended in space, as may be supposed ; they trod on
solid platforms, which were also of Roman origin. We must not
forget that, with their two facings and interior rubble, the walls
were very thick, and the merlons small; thus there remained a
considerable space in the thickness of the wall, on which the
defenders stood, or could walk comfortably : these were called the
alveirs. In Renaud de Montauban we read of the hero going up
to the alveirs to hold converse with his brothers ; but, of course,
the primary use of the platform was to put all the members of the
garrison in contact with each other, in communication, and they
permitted the archers to stand behind the parapets to take aim or
prepare their arbalists. When an enemy came in sight, the cry
throughout the castle was, " aux alveirs,'' (to the ramparts).
" Garrison the ramparts ! "

By what means were the arrows launched from the arbalists ?
Through the loopholes in the merlon. The archers on the
ramparts defended the curtains with arrows from the long and the
cross-bows. The ramparts were then no longer used as a
promenade.

These ramparts or " round roads " have often been the scenes of
terrible battles, of which painters rather than poets have realised
the horrors. The castle has been forced, the besiegers are within,
full of ferocity, and we find them chasing the defenders around the
ramparts. From time to time pursuer or pursued may make a
false step, and fall down from the platform several feet above the
roof. He is incontinently slain. Sometimes a dull heavy thud is
heard; a soldier has fallen outwards to the earth in a pool of
blood. These combats are epic.

That this " round way " — this platform, was absolutely necessary
no one can doubt ; but it at times served the assailants, as well as
the defenders of the place. Suppose, for instance, that the enemy
had penetrated into the castle, and had gained possession of the
ramparts. They were then masters of the situation. Our
ancestors had provided against this emergency ; at intervals small
drawbridges had been placed which could be raised at will : so,
when the attacking party expected to find footing, they only found

364 CHIVALRY.

space, and fell into a snare. Many other plans were devised and
carried out by the defenders or their architects. The rampart
platform was continued into a tower, through a door up con-
veniently disposed steps, and then the enemy was kept at bay for a
long time, and the besieged had time to rally their spirits, and
prepare for farther resistance.

The rampart, however, was greatly exposed, not only to the
shafts of the assailants, but to the weather. Many men have been
frozen to death on the battlements, and they remained unsheltered
until a very simple contrivance was invented — simply a pent-
house of timber, which extended from beyond the wall over the
rampart, forming a kind of gallery or galleries within and without
the parapet. Loopholes were pierced, and slopes provided whence
heavy stones or other missiles could be discharged upon the
besiegers. This wooden construction still retains its name
"hourds," or hoarding.

These hoardings were only erected at first when a siege was
feared, or in time of war ; but, after a while, they became
permanent, as it was found easier to let them remain than to re-
construct them. But then the beams which had been pushed out
from the battlements to support the hoarding, gave the architects
another idea. They renewed the supports in stone ; along the top
in front was the crenulation, all the system of merlons and creneaux,
and loopholes on the corbels. These projecting galleries were
called machicolations. They hardly appeared before the end of
the thirteenth century, and were not covered in until a later
date. They need not be described more in detail; they were
actually the wooden hoarding or shelter turned to stone-work,
through the apertures in which missiles were discharged on the
enemy.

The monograph on our *' curtain " is finished, and we will now
explore one of the towers, one of the thirteen on the exterior of the
castle. The crenulation system is applied equally to them, as well
as the other means of defence already noticed.

These towers were sometimes square, but another shape, viz.,
rounded outside and plane within, was generally preferable.
Interiorly they were divided into several storeys, which, after the
monastic architecture, were vaulted in stone. The vaulting was

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 365

sustained by arches abutting on a common key, compared by
Quicherat to the framework of an umbrella. The staircases were
contrived in the thickness of the walls. The art of the engineers
consisted in concealing these as much as possible, and to render the
ascent difficult by sudden interruptions. These fearful openings
did not exist for the garrison who contrived the staircase, but the
unfortunate besiegers were sometimes compelled to retrace their
steps, or in the darkness they sometimes fell through the holes and
were dashed to pieces below. The Romans, who had adopted the
tower, did not devise these ingenious traps; but they knew the
value of moveable planks, which were taken away on the first
appearance of the enemy. On the other hand, we cannot credit
them with the idea of the wonderful loopholes of our towers of the
Middle Ages. Outside only a chink is perceived, but within it is
quite another matter ; the loophole is wide, and well suited for the
protection of the archer, who is well placed to see and shoot from
any point he pleases. This is a masterpiece of design.

Let us continue our progress, though we shall not encounter any
novelty. Nothing is more like one tower than another tower, and
curtain is similar to curtain. Were it not for some eschangaites
intended for posts of observation which break agreeably the regularity
of the lines, the promenade would be monotonous. It is better for us
to go to a little distance, and admire the building as a whole. The
effect produced is very good, and can be realised by a visit to Coucy
and contemplating the magnificent castle of Angers which is far too
little known and admired.

But here we are before the gate of our castle. This is the time
to paint it.

At the first glance we recognise the origin of the architecture.
The entrance to a grand castle of the twelfth century is de-
rived from the gate of a Roman city of the third and fourth
centuries.

Nevertheless, there are departures from the resemblance. The
plan is almost the same : the features have nothing in common.
There are two races, two civilisations which have not the
same character, and do not comprehend life in the same way.

The Roman gate is a triumphal arch flanked by two towers. It
is light and luminous, it testifies to safety more or less real of a

366 CHIVALRY.

great people who do not believe themselves invulnerable, but esti-
mate themselves invincible.

The Feudal gateway between two tall towers is made in a small
archway beneath a fortified position in a narrow alley. There is no
triumphal arch here, it is a corridor. Everything is therein dis-
posed in anticipation of an attack which may be delivered this
evening, to-morrow, any time ! We have to do with people who
are continually on the alert, waging war unceasingly, who do not
believe in any safety except behind stone walls with the smallest
possible openings therein. Ah, if we could only pass that door !

Well, however plain and ugly this twelfth century gate may
appear, it nevertheless attests a considerable advance. It has pro-
portions, style, and a beauty of its own, and in no other direction
have the architects of the Middle Ages brought their art to such
perfection ; but we could not say as much for the architects of the
first Feudal period, if these people are worthy of the name of archi-
tects. Just look once more at the heavy donjon of wood perched
on the mound with its door on the first floor. How on earth were
people to descend from it ; we must surmise that the inhabitants
of these towers did sometimes want to breathe fresh air, and to
hunt in the woods. From the threshold of their only door beyond
the moat, on a slope more or less inclined, they built, upon piles and
wedges, a wide swinging bridge which, as we said before, looked more
like the ladder leading to a mill. This i^ons lignens was solid and was
sufficiently firm to bear the passage of horses, but its most valuable
quality was its mobility. From his position on high the watchman
signalled the approach of the enemy : in the twinkling of an eye
the tower was isolated by raising this famous bridge. If it were
but a false alarm the bridge was replaced, but if the enemy really
advanced, they found to their disappointment a wide ditch and an in-
accessible tower beyond it. Granted that the tower was only wood,
the bridge of wood was invaluable.

To this bridge, more or less improved upon, our poets gave the
name of plancJier. When the employment of such primitive means
was abandoned, when our castles were defended by more scientific
bridges, the name was preserved in the first staircases, the steps of
which were of wood, which led from the grand hall to the interior
of the keep. It is the pons lignens of the ancients reduced to its

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN O'CLOCK, ibj

smallest proportions, but still itself, and we are unable to review the
beautiful improvements of the twelfth century without recalling their
humble origin.

The i^ons lignens was at a certain period replaced by the steps
at the base of the donjon, but it was much more urgent to replace
it by a proper bridge of a strategic character. Over the wide moat
was flung a stone bridge, but the builders took care to leave a gap
in it which could be crossed by a moveable plank. At the first
intimation of danger the plank was raised, and the enemy was
"left out in the cold." This was certainly an improvement upon
the mill-ladder system, but it was still only the infancy of art, and
it became necessary to find something else. After the inevitable
experiments which our poets hardly notice people came to, or
rather reverted to, the drawbridge which had been known to and
practised by the Komans. The more we consider the question, the
more we shall become convinced that there was no other way, and
the drawbridge became very naturally a feature of the fortifications
of the Middle Ages.

If we may be permitted to go into dry details of technicalities,
we may remark that the drawbridge of the Romans was a moveable
bridge which sprung from the very threshold of the gate, and feli
into its place on the opposite side of the moat in place of a fixed
bridge. It was moved by means of pulleys " mounted on axles
fitted into the wall." The architects of the twelfth and thirteenth
centuries did not generally employ a system so complicated, but
simply used the bascule (or counterpoise) bridge.* Long grooves
were made on both sides in the masonry over the entrance —
through these vertical grooves heavy beams were thrust and main-
tained in equilibrium. From the extremities of these arms outside
the gate hung two stout chains and to these the moveable bridge
was fastened : this apparatus is essentially our drawbridge or
tor tie is. If you desired to raise the bridge you had to hang on to
and pull the chain in the archway of the gate inside. Each beam
had a chain attached to it which was looped on a ring and hung on

* There is a difference of opinion between Viollet le Due and Quicherat on this
point. The former says the drawbridge was not in use until the beginning of tlie
fourteenth century when the bascule went out. The latter maintains that it was de-
viated from in the thirteenth century, and the bascule adopted.

368 CHIVALRY.

the side wall. A good pull was sufficient to raise the bridge, the
beams working in the high grooves on each side. When the chains
were loosed again the bridge fell into its place.

This is the kind of bridge which is always referred to in our old
poenis, and described clearly enough by the writers. In some of
our romances, and not the most ancient either, pulleys are men-
tioned but rarely. I am convinced that levis and torneis express the
same kind of moveable bridge. It was called levis or drawbridge
because of its mechanism : and torneis because of the curve it
described. The two words do not cancel each other : on the con-
trary, one is the complement of the other.

At the side of the principal gate there was frequently a postern
for the convenience of the garrison. This postis had also its
drawbridge, a very light construction which one chain was sufficient
to raise, as one beam controlled it. A woman could raise and
lower it.

Now let us suppose that instead of being welcome guests at
this castle we came as enemies, and began to lay siege to it. We
have, let us say, carried the barbican and burned the advanced
works ; we have ventured upon the stone bridge and find ourselves
halting before the gap in it — for the drawbridge is up.

But we need not pursue the hypothesis. Let us fancy that there
are spies in the building — a very common feature — and that one
of these traitors has lowered the bridge. We rush in headlong.
But all is not yet gained, the defence of the besieged is only
beginning. They have executed justice on the traitor who had
betrayed the bridge ; and we find ourselves engaged in the vaulted
passage between the two towers under the central work. Who
can estimate the torrents of blood which must have flowed in those
corridors in the combats of the Middle Ages, or the thousands of
knights who bit the dust ! Never mind, we must push on. The
first obstacle that meets us is the barricaded door. Some vigorous
strokes of the axes will clear away the barrier and the iron-bound
folding-doors, and then, perspiring, bleeding, and dusty, we press
on further along the fatal corridor. We imagine that the way
should be more free and open. Not so. A rattle of chains is heard
and another door falls down in our faces ! It is not like the former
one — it is a kind of grating, composed of iron bars running in a

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN Q CLOCK. 369

frame vertically in grooves. In ordinary times this portcullis is
retained up in the roof of the vaulted passage, in a special place
called the portcullis-room ; it is moved by windlass and pulleys.
This formidable '* gridiron " falls down before the astounded
besiegers. Yet it is not a new invention. The honour of it
belongs to the Eomans, but it plays a more important part in the
castle than in the Koman city.

As in the case of the door we must hew our way through the
portcullis, and then we encounter another door and another port-
cullis. So many attacks on these obstacles occupy many hours,
and the slaughter is terrible.

You fancy now that you are acquainted with the gate of the
castle with its two flanking towers, its central bastion, its vaulted
gallery, its moveable bridge, it postern-gate, its inner door and
portcullis. But you cannot in the confusion of the battle grasp all
the details. For instance, you did not perceive beneath the gallery
the small door and its stairway which leads to the platform of the
central bastion. You did not remark the window over the gate
which lights the work, and to which under the name of breteche
will one day be applied the " hoarding " already mentioned. You
did not remark that plate of copper on which a hammer strikes
such a resounding blow, in lieu of a bell of our own time and of
the old " knockers " to be seen in ancient churches. Finally, when
a conqueror, you have penetrated into the courtyard, you did not
notice the singular effect produced by the architectural ensemble
of the gateway as seen from within. Without, the towers give it a
rugged outline ; within, the towers are flat and everything is
rectilineal. There are no useless ornamentations here, the
architecture has no need of it. It possesses a severe and
practical beauty ; everything serves some purpose, and nothing is

ugly-

The guardianship of the gate is confided to an important person-
age, one already ridiculed — the porter to wit. He has a lodging
in the central work over the gate or in one of the towers — apart-
ments even at that time known as the " lodge," into which he
ascended by a staircase. His duties were many and important, and
it will be interesting to pass them in review.

His prime duty was to raise and lower the drawbridge; and

370 CHIVALRY.

nothing could be more important, when war with all its surprises
and tricks was rampant, and spies and traitors to be encountered.
The porter's ** pass- word " was very simple. ''Let no one come
in ! " Nevertheless at every hour of the day or ui^^ht someone
would hail the porter from without. Sometimes it was the baron
himself who was returning from some joust, or the sentries who
had completed their rounds, or perhaps guests seeking admission.
** Hi, porter, let us in ! " In those castles which were famished
with copper basins or plates a continual din was lieard like church
bells ringing, and the porter had to rush out of his lodge to
answer. But whither did he run ? At times he hurried up and
looked through the embrasures over the gateway, at others he spied
from the turret placed between the large towers, but in either case
if the bridge was down he would go to his small wicket or opening
in the gate and question the new arrival through it. "Who are
you?" "Whence come you?" And if the reply is not satis-
factory, he shuts the slide again, and calls out " you cannot enter."
At times the new-comer begs him to wait, or to run into the hall
and acquaint the baron of the presence of the visitor ; or the cham-
berlain may give admission. " Must I open the gate ? " he asks ;
he never fails to ask this question, it is imperative, and if permission
is granted, he raises the bridge first, opens the great gate or the
postern, removes the bar, and bows more or less obsequiously,
according to the rank and importance of the new arrival. In some
castles the porter acted as watchman and usher, and he was
required in cases of attack to manipulate the complicated
machinery of the portcullis. He was a busy man.

That the porter had his failings it is impossible to deny. He
was lazy, indolent, and basked in the sun like a lizard. We may
without calumniating him, state that he was a coward, very fond of
his ease. We have already seen how the porter of Laon castle
received Eoland's suggestion to create him a knight. " I am not
fond of fighting," he said. But the porter had two faults which
overshadowed all the rest — he was extremely insolyiit and very
corruptible. He began by being impudent, and finished by being
venal : a very instructive instance of these ruling traits we cull
from an episode of Moniage Guillaume. Bernard du Fosse wished
to enter Paris, but the porter resolutely refused him admittance.

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 371

"If you will open the gate I will give you six sous!" This
removed the obstacle, and Bernard entered.

The porter to whom Renaud de Montauban offered one night a
gold ring, finally resigned himself to the gift, weighed it in his
palm, and when he perceived that it was heavy felt greatly pleased.
I cannot, I regret to say, mention all the insolent porters ; they
are too numerous.

There might be written, under the title of " Legends of the
Gate," some long stories of heroic tendency. One is forced to
choose amid so many gems, but the following little known tale is
from Renans de Montauban, in which the hero of the fine po3m,
after a severe retrospective examination of all his past life, takes
the resolution to quit " the world," and devote himself to Heaven.
The dominant grief is that he has slain a whole troop of men in his
time.

"Par moi sont mort mil homme, dent fai le cuer dolent,^' he
cries.

War, which formerly seemed to him so grand and beautiful, in
such radiant colours, now appears either brutal or criminal, and he
only thinks of saving his soul, he wants no more,

' ' Se puis m*ame salver, plus ne demant noient. "

The time too is well chosen for such an eminently Christian
resolution. Renaud has made his fortune, he is overweighted with
happiness ; his children have vanquished the traitors who had
opposed them and were in possession of their fiefs ; his brothers
lived in peace amid the glories of former exploits. All was well :
Renaud wanted no more here below save to live amid his friends
and relatives and do penance. He resolutely proceeded to carry
out his plan.

In the middle of the night when all was silent in the castle he
rose, dressed in beggar's clothes, and with naked feet silently
descended the stairs. The porter awakened was very much
surprised to see his lord and master at such an hour and in such a
costume.

" I shall go and call your sons and brothers," he said.

** Do so ; but only tell them to pray for me, and that I send
them greeting."

B B 2

372 CHIVALRY.

" What more shall I say ? "

" As my last advice, my latest wish, I leave them these words.
* Let them seek to do good ! '"

** And whither goest thou in this condition ? "

*' I go to save my soul, and to live a holy life."

On that the porter permitted him to pass out, and the great
Kenaud, the conqueror, the hero who had held Charlemagne in
check, and delivered Saint Sepulchre, fled like a thief across the
fields, wrapped in his capote, with his eyes fixed on the ground,
not daring to look behind him. He ran away seeing safety far
away from his home which contained all that was dear to him on
earth.

But soon the day dawned, and Kenaud' s sons awoke and went to
chapel. On ordinary occasions Kenaud preceded them thither and
heard matins with them. But on that morming they did not see
their father, and they began accordingly to feel uneasy. " Kenaud,
where is Kenaud ? " They searched for him in all directions, they
ran to his chamber, the bed was empty ! the baron's armour, his
sword, lance, and accoutrements were all there, and his horse was
in the stable.

** Kenaud ! Where is Kenaud ? "

Then the porter came and informed them of what had passed
during the night. ** You will never see him again," said he, " and
listen now to what he bade me tell you." Then he delivered the
baron's message, exhorting them to love one another. The young
men wept and bemoaned themselves, and after a while they
mounted their horses and, proceeding to the sanctuary, beat at the
gate until eventide. In vain !

Yet while they were thus seeking him whom they regretted so
dearly, a man of giant stature, all in rags, was hiding' himself in
the thick forest, eating wild fruits and debating in his ow^n mind
in what monastery and in what form of religion he could expiate in a
worthy manner his sinful life. This man was Kenaud, who had
rushed away in a hurry to save his soul, and scarcely paused until
he reached Cologne, where he died, a poor w^orkman, a worker in
the service of God — one of the masons of Saint Peter's.

However Christianlike such an individual may be, he did not
reach to the elevation of the dramatic scene which, ever memorable

RENAUD, A WORKMAN AT COLOGNE.

ly. 372.

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN a CLOCK. 373

in history, occurred at the gate of the town of Orange. It was on
that celebrated day upon which William gave battle to the infidels
at Aliscans, a battle on which hung the fate of the Christian world.
That evening it had to be decided whether Jesus Christ or
Mohammet should be master of the earth. In Orange and around
the town all was quiet. One might search in vain for a soldier in
the fields or in the town. Everyone was fighting. A death-like
silence reigned around, and few, if any, felt the solemnity of the
hour. Our modern engagements — our artillery duels especially —
are noisy, but in the ^liddle Ages even the grandest melees were
comparatively noiseless. There was another kind of fear that was
keenly felt that day at Orange, some leagues from the battle-field.

There were only two men left in the town — a porter and a priest,
the porter to look after the drawbridge, and the priest for the care
of souls. In the great hall of the castle, and in every chamber
along the walls, everywhere, were mute and anxious women, the
wives of those who were engaged in the cruel strife at Aliscans.
The children, who comprehended nothing of the trouble, climbed
upon their mothers' knees and laughed. But the women did not
respond to their childish gaiety; they were all mournful and
anxious. How will the battle end ? Will our side be victorious ?
Will our husbands, and brothers, and soldiers return ?

Gibourc is amongst these ladies, more manly than they, and
thinking more of her William than they all think about their
fathers, brothers, and husbands. From without no sound comes
save now and then a distant echo from the field of battle.
Heavens, what a waiting !

Suddenly the porter enters the hall, and looking round in
afi'right upon the assemblage of women, he exclaims —

*' There is a man at the portal who desires admittance ! "

"Who is he?"

** He pretends that he is William," is the reply.

A shudder pervades the assemblage, and thrills Gibourc. She
hurries up, restless, incredulous, defiant, and presents herself
outside on the small turret between the two great gate towers.
On the opposite side of the moat is a knight of commanding form
seated motionless on his horse, and curiously enough he is
accoutred in Arab fashion, wearing infidel's weapons.

374 CHIVALRY

He is a Pagan, thought Gibourc, and we must close our gates
against him. "Ho, Infidel," she cried, 'Hhou dost not enter
here!" But the horseman replied in quiet tones, sadly: **I am
William ! " He had not time to tell ^her how, in order to escape
irom the Saracens, he had assumed the Saracen dress, and how
this trick had saved him from massacre.

"I am William," he repeated, as great tears rolled down his
cheeks. His arms were red with blood, his eyes swollen with
sorrow. ** Twenty thousand Turks are in chase of me. Open,
open the gate for me."

In fact at this moment the thundering tramp of many horsemen
became audible; but Gibourc was by no means satisfied of the
knight's identity.

" Your tones resemble William's, but many people's voices sound
like his," she said.

The Count heard her, and for all reply unlaced his helmet and
revealed his face, which was covered with blood.

" Look at me," he cried. " It is I, indeed ! "

She leaned forward, shivering; she at length recognized him,
but at that moment loud cries of distress became audible. These
emanated from the Christian prisoners, whom their Saracen victors
were driving before them like a miserable herd. The unfortunate
victims were loaded with chains, and were being beaten and terribly
illtreated by their captors. At this fearful spectacle the blood
rushed to Gibourc's face, and she cried to the new-comer —

** W^hat, do you pretend to be W^illiam, the proud baron who
has covered himself with fame and glory, and you support the sight
of such a spectacle as that ? No, no, you are not William. He
would never, were he living, have permitted Christians to be
treated in such an infamous way ! You are not William ! No, not
William at all ! "

At this the valiant baron could have excused himself by
explaining how he had fought for sixteen hours and had already
lost much blood ; but silently he closed his helmet, grasped his
spear, and heroically dashed down upon the Saracens in a fierce
and unexpected manner. One against a hundred he assailed them,
put them to flight, and released the Christian captives. Then he
returned to the castle and cried : '' Now am I William ? "

William of orange hetuhning fkom aliscans.

[p. 37^.

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN O CLOCK. 375

The gates were opened and the unfortunate count was permitted
to enter his own town. It was about time. Gibourc, who should
have credited him, doubted still ! What astonished, even stupified
her, was the fact of his returning vanquished. She was so accus-
tomed to a brilliant victory that she could hardly credit the
circumstances. Certainly he would not have been displeased if she
had played nurse and bestowed all the care in her power upon the
beaten warrior. His fifteen wounds, his body hacked and bleeding,
the heavy tears which fell from his surcharged eyes, might have
touched the hardest heart with pity. But no ; she held back, she
stood aloof, the idea of his defeat absorbed all other feelings.
"No," she murmured, "it is not possible that you can be
William, for if you were you would have returned the victor."

This is truly a feminine argument, and is not far from being
sublime in its magnificent illogicality. At length she asked him a
question or two.

" Where are all the French ? "

"Dead!" "And the barons?" "Dead!" "Where are
your nephews ? '* " All dead ! " " Where is Vivien whom I love
so dearly?" "Dead!" And thus amid his tears and sobs he
could but murmur, "Dead, dead, dead; they were all slain at
Aliscans ! "

Then Gibourc drew herself up to her full height, and, as if
inspired ; almost fiercely she said, as she restrained her natural
grief, " There must 'be no reposing here ! God and the chivalry
of France must be revenged ! Go ! Begone, and solicit in Paris
the help of the emperor ! "

She did not consider his wounds, the blood with which he, her
William, was covered, in his sixteen hours' fighting. " Go, go ! "
she cried.

" Cannot I despatch a messenger instead ? " he pleaded.

" No. Go yourself," w^as the reply.

" But, if so, I leave you quite alone."

" I quite understand that, and alone will I sustain the siege
against the Turks. I will mount the ramparts, and will slay
them from above. Go ! "

The husband and wife then fell into each other's arms, but it
was only at the very last moment, when William was about to

376 CHIVALRY.

repass the gate which had heen so tardily opened to admit him, as
he was about to leave his home on his long journey across France,
then only did Gibourc become, for a moment, a woman again, and
she whispered, as her eyes were fixed tenderly on his, ** You will
see many more beautiful women than I am yonder, and you will
forget me." He, with the splendid austerity of the Feudal baron,
dominated and transfigured by Christianity, replied, " No, no,
lady. I swear to you that my lips shall touch no other mouth but
thine ! "

The " water from his heart" rushed to his eyes, he clasped
Gibourc in his arms, covered her face with kisses, and steeling his
heart while she clung to him, crying, " Do not forget this unhappy
woman," he heroically mounted his horse, bent down to bestow
upon her one last kiss, set spurs to his steed, and rode away weep-
ing. May Heaven and the Virgin guide and protect him !

The *' Legends of the Gate " would furnish matter for many
other narrations, but we need not say more ; so let us proceed, and
enter the courtyard of our castle. "We first enter the exterior
haille in the outer enceinte^ and it is very large. There is quite a
little village there under the shade of the walls. In the centre is a
church, whose steeple ascends high in air, and round it stand
groups of houses, from which smoke ascends, and in which the
anciently designated mansionarii are at work. Here during the
day the sound of agricultural toil is mingled with the clang of iron
or wood working, forges, carpenter's shops, mills, millers singing
as they transport the sacks of corn and flour, donkeys braying,
dogs barking, men shouting, labourers working.

For several years serfdom has been abolished, but the lot of the
labourer is not a happy one. *' A colourless life " as the poet says.
You may perceive them coming out to hoe the fields beyond the
walls. Near the mill is a primitive bakehouse, from which issues
the smell of new bread. In front of the church a pretty fountain
plays into a basin, where woman do their washing, and gossip ; and
not far off is a fish-pond, a great resource in times of siege.

Near the great gate is a charnel-house, established during the
last war, and Christians who pass it cross themselves devoutly. At
the first alarm all the inhabitants of this little world rush into the

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN a CLOCK. 377

upper court and into the donjon itself, so as to be quite safe. We
will do the same, though there is no danger now, and enter boldly
the interior court, which is divided from the exterior enceinte by a
crenulated wall and a fortified gate. Still another portcullis. Let
us pass it. But we are greatly deceived ! We had expected to
find the keep close to us, and the door near at hand. Nothing of
the kind. Buildings are scattered in all directions, outhouses of
all kinds. The stable ; the mareschaucie of the baron, which in some
castles is relegated to the outer court, is here inside. Against the
walls are the storehouses and cellars. Further on is a bear-pit
with a couple of bears, and very near it is the falconry, where,
carefully tended, are the hawks, waiting for the baron who visits
them twice a day, but more particularly expecting some nice hot
meat, or some dainty living prey.

It must be confessed that there is nothing majestic or graceful
about these buildings. There are two, of which we have not
spoken, which dominate the rest ; one is the chapel, with its
single nave, and bell-less ; the kitchen, however, first claims our
attention, and it almost resembles a small church. Picture to
yourself a great bell surmounted by a chimney. It is rather
curious than ugly. In large monasteries, where there are many
hundreds of mouths to feed, the number of hearths and chimneys
are multiplied ; for instance, there are five shafts at Marmontier,
six at Vendome, and a greater number at Fontevrault. But in our
castle the central shaft is sufficient, and in the kitchen, which is
well-built and well-ventilated, a sheep can be cooked whole, or an
ox may be roasted. The baron does not condescend to come here
and give his orders, to see that the service is properly carried on,
or to reprimand the keux.

The kitchen has only one fault, it is very far from the dining-
hall ; and so the servants are obliged to carry the roast peacocks
and other viands across the court and up the steps before reaching
the board. Some barons sought to obviate this inconvenience by
building the kitchen below the keep ; but the old system generally
was maintained, and it is the better, after all.

In the palace, magnificent buildings extend between the chapel
and the keep, but in the simple castle there is only the donjon.

Now in a castle the donjon is all in all ; the rest is nothing.

37^ CHIVALRY.

All that we have hitherto seen and examined are bagatelles in
comparison, of no value whatever. But the donjon is still, in the
twelfth as in the ninth century, the last refuge, the last resource of
the Feudal baron driven into his lair. This word is not too strong ;
the donjon often was a den as much as, or more than, a house.
Sometimes a cave in which the ** wild beast " used to defend himself.
The hunters had to cross the moat, pass the bridge, break down the
door, carry the walls and towers of the two enceintes, occupy the
courts, burn the houses, the church, the chapel, and even the
kitchen. Still the donjon remained, huge, inaccessible, under-
ground ! It possesses all means of dominating the besiegers, and
its strength is in its height. Long ere this the donjon has been
made of stone ; the wooden structures have been destroyed ; those
towers of the ninth century, with their wooden platforms covered
with skins, are nothing !

Some poets declare that the donjons were constructed of marble,
but they exaggerate, the tors marherines were simply tors perrines,
stone towers. The material is the same as that of the walls and
fortifications. But it is to the height and bulk of the donjon that
we will principally call attention, and the reader, in order to under-
stand these things, should picture to himself an immense mass, a
high tower, perched on a hillock, or on a rock, overlooking, not
only the fortifications of the castle, but all the surrounding country
for miles.

The keep of Beaugency was 132 feet high and 72 in width ;
Loches, which is perhaps the most beautiful donjon in France, is
only 100 feet high, but is 67 feet in its widest measurement ;
Chateau-sur-Epte, 18 metres in height, is 11 metres wide. I do
not intend to jump into the thirteenth century and speak about the
giant donjon of Coucy, that remarkable keep, 64 metres (about 200
feet) high and 31 metres (some 100 feet) in width (not circum-
ference. Our own particular donjon is only 60 feet high and 38
feet in diameter; its walls are 6 feet thick. The architect who
built it had some notions of his own, and did not give it the same
square form as the others. It is certain that this form is that
which the twelfth century more particularly delighted in. There
was no need for excess, but the brains of architects must have been
exercised considerably in the time of Louis VII. and Philip

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN a CLOCK. 379

Augustus. At that period they attempted, as at Etampes, the
quatre-feuilles design ; the octagon as at Provins, the donjon there
being flanked with towers, and surmounted by a sloping, pointed
roof. At Gisors a polygonal tower was grafted on a square
donjon.

The square form is seldom very pure : the donjons are more
often rectangular, with large counter-forts and with turrets at the
angles. But our own architect did not care for all these expedients
and compromises, but going ahead of all his contemporaries he
resolutely as at Chateaudun adopted the circular form which was
to be the chief characteristic of the military architecture of the
thirteenth century. So the formula is square donjon in the twelfth,
round donjon in the thirteenth century. This rule is absolute, and
we must insist upon it somewhat.

The beautiful new tower is there before our eyes, surrounded
by the wall which is called the "chemise" of the donjon, below
which is a deep ditch. It contains three floors above ground, but
underground there are two more. These difl'erent storeys are
connected by a staircase which is contrived in the thickness of
the wall.

On each floor are one or two vaulted chambers with beautiful
arched windows; delightful from without, these artistic bays are
somewhat gloomy within. In consequence of the thickness of the
walls these windows open at the extremity of a kind of corridor
about eight or ten feet long, and are sometimes so lofty that a
staircase is needed to gain access to them.

In the palace the great hall — the most important apartment of
the princely mansion — occupies the whole of the first floor of the
vast rectangular building which is independent of the donjon : but
in the' ordinary castle the hall modestly occupies the first floor of
the keep itself. Here the vassals pay homage, the troubadours
recite, the musicians play : games of chess are also played here, and
here dinner is served. If the baron and his wife do not sleep in
it they occupy a chamber on the second floor, their children and
guests are lodged on the third floor. In the basement are other
guest-chambers, badly lighted, but convenient for invalids. De-
scending some twenty or thirty steps farther, with a candle, we shall
find an iron door of very lugubrious aspect. If we turn the heavy

38o CHIVALRY.

key we shall find ourselves in a badly-lighted, loopholed chamber
with earthen floor only ; this is the prison (the dungeon) .

Poets delight in giving descriptions of these places — descriptions
which make one's hair stand on end ! They delight in strewing
the earthy floor with snakes and toads, thorns and briers which tear
the clothes and the flesh of the unhappy prisoners. Those were
barbarous times if our chansons are to be credited. The barons
of those days seem to have blindfolded their prisoners as if there
was too much light in the prison : they tied their hands behind
their backs, placed them in the pillory or put iron collars on their
necks, and loaded them with chains. They tortured them in
every conceivable way, permitted the rain-water to accumulate in
the dungeon until the poor victim was half drowned, and threw
them only a crust, or some dried meat, to sustain their miserable
existence. They were guarded by a warder who seldom permitted
himself to pity them, or to accept a bribe. We referred just now to
the legends of the gate, but what are we to say of the legends of
the prison ! They are no less heroic or touching. Let us see.

I am no admirer of the sensual and silly romance of Fierabras,
and it makes one angry to think that its foolish, even disgusting,
verses were chanted in honour of the relics of the Passion during
the celebrated fair of Lendit at Saint Denis in France. But there
is a picturesque scene in which Floripas, the beautiful pagan
woman, is described as descending into the deep dungeon in which
the French prisoners were incarcerated. To reach them it was
necessary to kill the warder : she killed him, and the unhappy
wretch fell heavily to the ground. Then she lighted a taper and
hiding her head behind a pillar conversed with the prisoners re-
garding their escape. For a painter here is a splendid efl'ect of
light and shade.

Ogier is perhaps less poetic when sketched in his dungeon in the
prison at Keims, he has terrible combats " with rats and tortoises."
At length people believed him dead, and menaced by the Saracen
Brehier they cried " 0 ! if Ogier were only living now ! If he
were only amongst us." Then all the squires went about, even to
the tent of the emperor, crying, " Ogier, Ogier, Ogier ! " He had
previously condemned the knight, and he released him. Ogier
conquered Brehier, killed him, and saved France.

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 381

But after all to Remir and his wife Erembourc must be
attributed the most heroic endurance of all the prisoners in our
national epics. A traitor, Fremont by name, tried to compel
these faithful vassals to deliver up to him the youthful son of
their liege-lord, Girard de Blaives, who had died. The pair firmly
refused to do so, so the traitor flung the husband into prison on a
bed of thorns, where his wife was soon compelled to join him.

*' Now will you render me the child ? Give him up and you
shall be free."

But they refused, so he devised a horrible torture. He gave
orders that the husband only should receive food, and that the wife
should be starved to death before his eyes. Nevertheless, their
souls never wavered, and Erembourc assumed an attitude worthy
even of the mother of the Maccabees. "For Heaven's sake," she
cried to her husband, " do not betray the son of your lord."

When Fremont found that he could not prevail he let them lie
in prison for a year. Then, believing that they would think better
of his proposal after such an experience, and that at any rate they
would be greatly weakened, he sent squires to beat them if
recalcitrant. Remir, however, was still strong enough to kill three
of his assailants, but this final efi'ort exhausted his energies.

"Suppose we make a truce?" he said. "Let us agree with
Fremont. Then Erembourc was angry, and said : " What do
you say ? What are you thinking of ? You are mad ! You are
forgetting God ! If you commit such a crime as that all
Christians, young and old, will point at you saying : * There goes
the man who, for fear of death, betrayed his liege-lord. Look at
him ! ' "

Then in a solemn tone she continued —

" The day of judgment will surely come ; do not forget it! On
that day all traitors, all traitors, will be condemned ; for, on high,
remember riches and fine raiment count for nothing, and happy
will he be who enters Paradise ! "

Subsequently this heroic woman — heroic beyond humanity —
proposed to her husband that they should deliver up their own
child instead of the son of their lord. We can find nothing more
noble than this sacrifice and devotion of Erembourc

The prison is underground, but it is not the only subterranean

382 CHIVALRY.

place mentioned in our poems. Even to this day, when tourists
visit an old castle, the cicerone hardly ever fails to point out ** that
people do say that there used to be an underground passage here,
which communicated with the open country, only we cannot
discover the entrance ! " Here we may recall the celebrated
remark of Bossuet, "that every error is only an abuse of the
truth." It is quite certain that these subterranean passages exist,
or did exist. Viollet le Due has proved their existence at Arques,
which is a building dating from the eleventh century, and at Coucy,
which is of the thirteenth. "At Coucy the foundations of the
castle are traversed by numerous and vast subterranean passages,
which appear to have been arranged systematically in order to
provide for communication between all points of the defence,
interiorly and exteriorly. Tradition says that one of these con-
cealed passages leads to the Abbey of Primontre."

Note the word " tradition." The popular imagination clings
to the subterranean passage. We find it everywhere — in the
Tuileries, which the people invaded, beneath the churches which
they desecrated, and they have made it the scene of crimes as
abominable as mysterious. Our poets on this point share the preju-
dices of the populace ; they have used and abused the underground
galleries. In them they find the denouement which they have long
been seeking. Shut up in some castle with some lovely fair-haired
princess, besieged, blockaded, lost, apparently, our hero suddenly
discovers the door leading to an underground passage, and thereby
escapes. He marries the princess — and there the romance ends !

These hoves of our poems are supposed to be very ancient : they
are said to be a thousand years old, and are attributed to the Arabs.
Here the scientific research of the Middle Ages is again shown to
be very small. Any monument, the origin of which could not be
traced, was then attributed to the Saracens or to Julius Caesar.
At Orange there is one of these subterranean passages which
extends as far as the Rhone ; at Castlefort there is another very
much of the same character which serves as the communication
between the castle and the town. At Montauban there exists a
*' hove " which leads from the donjon far into the fields. This last
gallery has a history, and is w^orth exploring and explanation.

The sons of Aymon had been for a very long while besieged

DOMESTIC LIFE-ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 383

in their stronghold. The assailants, not being able to force an
entrance to the castle, determined to starve out the garrison, and
famine would then overcome the obstinate resistance of Eenaud
and his brothers. There was no more meat, no more wine, the
bread was made only of vetches and lentils. The children grew
pale and wan, and the seniors began to think of killing the famous
charger Bayard ! This seems almost incredible, does it not ? But
they only bled him, and for fifteen days they existed on the blood of
the noble steed. After that time the horse was merely a mass of
skin and bone. The majority of the besieged were dead, the
charnel-house at the castle gate was full of bodies. Renaud's wife
could see her two children dying in her arms, and she cried, " I
will eat my hands, for my heart fails me ! " Death, and what a
death ! stared them in the face.

In this extremity Providence came to their assistance, and sent
to them an aged man, bent nearly double, who showed Renaud the
entrance to the secret passage which would lead him and his
companions to the borders of the wood of Serpente. The good
duke uttered a cry of joy, and began his retreat, putting Bayard
foremost into the cavern, he thought of his steed first, then his
wife, his children, and his brothers. They lighted tapers, and this
illumination of the thick darkness put some spirit into the poor
people, who had thought all was lost. Suddenly Renaud halted,
and said :

" We have forgotten the traitor, my brother-in-law. King Yon,
who is in the prison yonder."

''Let him stay there," replied the duchess, who was the
prisoner's own sister, and by no means sentimental.

" No, no," exclaimed Renaud. " Whatever his misdeeds
towards us, I am none the less his vassal, and, so long as I live, I
will not consent to let him die in such a manner ! "

With that he retraced his steps, descended into the prison, and
released the captive King Yon, who was in dire extremity. He
pushed him before him along the passage, and rejoined his wife
and brothers, who declared that such a good man as Renaud never
lived. Some time afterwards a ray of light broke into the passage ;
it was the daylight, and they managed to get out in the early
morning. They were saved !

384 CHIVALRY.

Now, as they have emerged in safety, we may come out also, and
return once more to our donjon, for the last time. We have made
ourselves acquainted with it all except the summit.

On this platform the architect has built the watch-tower, which
commands an extensive view. This stone sentry-box dates from
the twelfth century, and was called the eschangaite or gaite, and the
builder derived it from the donjon of Provins. Other architects
have disposed the esckangaites in other fashions in other situations.
They have built them out, along a " curtain," so as to facilitate
surveillance from the flanks, and give them the form of elegant
turrets, sometimes square, sometimes rounded, jutting out from
the main towers, and overlooking the highest points. In important
fortresses a special watch-tower was erected, as at Carcassonne for
instance. But, wherever the watch-tower was, the duty of watchman
was heavy, and one of the greatest hardships which castellans could
impose on their retainers.

On the corporation seal of Rochester we shall find the represen-
tation of a watchman blowing the horn, for by that means he had
to announce daybreak and curfew. When people went out hunting
and when they returned, he also blew the horn. They were very
fair musicians, and it was pleasant to hear them morning and even-
ing. But this is the poetical side of the business, the utility was
somewhat different in kind — thus :

To signal the approach of the enemy as far as he could possibly
see, was one duty, and that was a great deal. A good watchman
was bound to have a quick ear and good eye. But what did it
matter ? Notwithstanding all precautions, the shutting out of air,
the provision of warmth, the watch-towers very quickly " took it
out " of the unfortunate men who had to remain on duty on winter
nights, and it was considered a signal mark of devotion towards a
damsel if a knight like Gautier d'Aupais " watched for love."

There is nothing particular on the summit of the tower except the
banner of the baron which floats proudly in all winds and dominates
every other pennon. When the baron is obliged to capitulate he
ascends to the tower, and with tears in his eyes snatches the flag
from the staff and casts the banner into the ditch. But the plat-
form of the donjon serves another purpose ; people are hanged
there. Yes, when Ogier, at Castlefort, inflicted punishment upon

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 385

the traitors, he hanged them first, and then he swung them on gibbets,
BO that people could behold the bodies swinging to and fro in the
air from a considerable distance.

The banner, however, always floated on high, a bright banner
pleasant to behold, which, in a measure, consoled us for the sight
of the pendant corpses. But this banner is not the golden eagle, for
it appertains chiefly to the 'palace.

Few historians have drawn the proper distinction between the
castle and the palace, and to VioUet le Due the honour of confirm-
ing this distinction is due. He has put them in the proper light.
The most modest of knights may have a donjon, the most humble
of seigneurs may possess a castle, but the palace is the Royal, the
sovereign residence. " 7i is the place in which the sovereign
administers justice y' and all rulers possess in the capitals of their
kingdoms a palace, " the essential part of which is always the great
hall" This distinction cannot be better expressed than by our
eminent archaeologist. The difference is immense. The castle is
above all things military, it is a lair, a refuge. If luxury finds its
way thither, it is very slowly, and, besides, wrongly. But the
palace is the open symbol of power and authority. Before
Feudalism was born, kings and emperors only possessed palaces.
Dukes and earls of the ninth century robbed them of this and
many other privileges, and these impudent usurpers claimed the
right to have their palace and their carriage. A robbery sanctioned
by time, but robbery all the same !

The Suzerainity is confused with the Sovereignty, the authority
with ownership. Justice which ought to be rendered in the name
of the king is improperly rendered in the name of these ancient
functionaries of royalty — of those dukes and earls who, under
Charles the Bold and his . successors, illegitimately usurped the
central power and put themselves in its place. Now the palace is
first the "Palace of Justice," and it behoves us to understand the
significance of these words. There is a palace, where was formerly
a moll presided over by a Merovingian or Carlovingian court,
surrounded by his rachinbourgs or his scabins. Everywhere else
it is a castle.

Such is the true, the real definition of the palace^ and, by this,
we can interpret the term principal which is so frequently united

c c

386 CHIVALRY.

with the word palace. The palais principal of our songs or poems,
in the palatium principis. But the sense has lost something of its
strictness and has undergone inevitable deviations and extensions.
Every marquis wishes to have pages; every petty prince wants
ambassadors : so in time it came to pass that simple castellans
wished to give themselves the luxury, in their inner courts, of the
beautiful rectangular hall which is the characteristic of the palace.
On the other hand, and more frequently still, the suzerains felt that
their palaces required to be fortified, and they furnished them with
the keep which characterises the castle. These applications caused
considerable confusion, but the primary idea is none the less certain,
and must be retained.

Nevertheless, it is necessary to cite one or two examples, and
we will select, if you please, the palace of Wartburg in Germany,
and the beautiful palace of Troyes in France which ceased in 1220 to
be the abode of counts, and it is at present writing non-existent.
We can picture it as a rectangular building, attached to the church
of St. Stephen, which served it as a chapel, with a square tower
which served as treasury and donjon, bounded by a garden on the
south, and by an open square on the north side, and including above
the ground floor a whole line of chambers which flanked one of the
sides of the great hall, and looked upon an arm of the Seine. But
these are mere details, for the most attractive part of the palace
was the great hall itself with its beautiful staircase. It seems as if
the palace had been built for the hall. It was not less than twenty-
four metres wide, and fifty- two in length : about seventy-five feet by
one hundred and sixty feet.

At Poitiers the palace, which displays all the characteristics of
the twelfth century architecture, is also in the form of a parallelo-
gram, and has three vaulted floors.

At WaTtburg palace there are only two stories, but there is also a
kind of gallery on the ground floor like that described by the author
of Girart de Koussillon. ** When you enter Koussillon there is a
staircase and a gallery all round, of which the pillars, the columns,
and even the joists are studded with sardonyxes ! " I do not think
that any one would have invented this characteristic. It is a
striking comparison.

If we would picture a great hall we must carry our thoughts back

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN a CLOCK. 387

to the beautiful hospital halls of the twelfth and thirteenth
centuries. The hall was generally a rectangular space divided
into two or three parts lengthwise by one or two ranges of
pillars, at once bold and elegant. The hall was vaulted like a
church, with a flat, gilt and frescoed ceiling. But we need not
discuss it further here ; we shall have occasion to return to it.

The roof is of slate or enamelled tiles, surmounted with a crest
of lead, and, symbolical of jurisdiction and power, the grand golden
eagle sparkles in the sunbeams.

The flight of steps is common to both palace and castle, and we
must examine the exterior stairway which gives access to the great
hall of the palace, and to the hall of the castle.

The origin of the stairway is well known : it is a transference
into stone or marble of the primitive wooden bridge, of the
moveable gangway which was sufficient for the castellan of the
ninth and tenth centuries, and led him from his donjon, over the
court and the walls, to the open country. The flight of steps
retained the title of plank, (plancher) for a long time ; the first
planchers were virtually wooden staircases (or gangways).

The word itself signified merely a block of stone at first ; in this
sense the word ** perron ,'' is used in Roland and in other poems.
This single or double or triple flight of steps was furnished with
balustrades and shaded by trees, pines, olive-trees, and twining
vines. Its proportions also varied considerably. At the palace of
Troyes it was very wide, at Wartburg it is narrow, but whatever its
dimensions, it served many purposes which it will not be out of
place to detail. Whoever is not acquainted with them cannot
comprehend the Feudal life. It concentrates itself on the steps.

On the ^^ perron'' the lord of the castle sometimes administered
justice, and its fine platform was then regarded as a continuation of
the great hall which was at once the symbol and the home of
seigneurial justice. It was no unusual thing to hold on the steps
one of those courts, in which the vassals were solemnly judged by
their peers ; but in summer the baron was pleased to seat himself
on the top of the steps, and arrange any little disputes which may
have arisen amongst the inmates of the castle. These steps have
even been the scene of more severe and important decisions than
these, and one day an officer having maladministered justice to a

c c 2

388 CHIVALRY.

vilein, the baron from the top of the perron admonished him
severely, deprived him of his charge, and expelled him from his
fief. The man died of shame.

From these steps solemn addresses were frequently delivered.
The clergy would carry thither the golden reliquary from the
neighbouring monastery, the beautiful shrine which in miniature
represented the chapel of the castle, in which was enclosed one of
the fingers of the apostle and patron of the whole county. One
day when our knight was starting on a lengthy pilgrimage, he
convoked his vassals, and made them swear that they would be
faithful to his wife and children during his absence. That great
day is still remembered at the time we are supposed to visit the
castle, and the appearance of the golden shrine illuminated by the
brilliant sunlight, at the moment when the priest was administer-
ing the oath, is an incident not to be forgotten. None of the
vassals broke their pledge.

Within the shadow of this monumental flight of steps new
knights were created, and when the words " Be brave " were
pronounced the horn was sounded from the summit of the steps to
call the men-at-arms, and to assemble the body of defending
troops. On the same place in times of war the enemy's envoys
who came to treat with the baron were disarmed, and here the
baron himself delivered to his own messengers, or perchance to his
son, his final directions, pacific or warlike, as the case might be.

But the fiight of steps not only served for these judicial, clerical,
or military uses, it had another object which was less official. The
baron would seat himself there on the fine summer evenings and
enjoy the fresh air with his family under the great elm tree, which
formed a verdant tent overhead. There he received his guests and
embraced them on their arrival and departure. What laughter,
what kisses, what tears were there ! There were witnessed the
sadness of leave-taking, and the gladness of meeting again. At the
bottom of this fine marble staircase were the squires and officers
appointed to receive the guests. They hastened to meet them,
assisted them to alight from their palfreys, took their steeds to the
stables, if the visitors intended to remain, but merely tethered them
to iron rings if it was only a short visit. Flesh is weak, and the
attendants were not perfect men, they usually attached themselves

DOMESTIC LIFE—ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 389

to the best dressed of the new comers. You remember when
William of Orange came to beg the Emperor to have pity on
Christendom and France, how he was received because he arrived
unkempt and in torn vestments. They fled from him as from a
leper and ridiculed him. So he remained alone, abandoned by all
at the bottom of the steps, he the liberator of the Church, the prop
of the Empire, the King-maker ; William himself.

Our typical knight is aware of this incident and has had it
engraved on the exterior face of the steps. It is somewhat coarsely
executed, but quite understandable, and the baron shows it to all
his guests. The intention is very praiseworthy, but the baron
is somewhat mistaken if he imagines that he has inflicted a
mortal blow on human ingratitude !

But however great may be the beauty of the architecture,
" superior to all that the architect has produced in the Middle
Ages," we are compelled to admit that a sojourn in the castle was
not free from weariness. I am aware that the great hall had
been sumptuous, and that, as we shall see later on, the other
apartments have been well arranged, decorated with paintings, &c.
But these thick walls — eight to ten feet thick, these windows made
in the anticipation of a siege, which admitted a very small amount
of light, the prospect of "curtain " and turrets — all these elements
of a life, principally military, were not calculated to impose rest upon
our barons, to please their wives or to amuse their children. They
quite understood it too, and without the castle, beyond the fortifica-
tions, under the castle walls, they planted pleasure gardens wherein
they breathed the fresh air and listened to music. This was the
orchard.

That orchards were so planted we have abundant evidence in our
chansons de geste. According to local circumstances they were
planted near the donjon, sometimes near the barbican or bastion.
We must not imagine that these were gardens in the modern sense
of the word, but simply enclosures filled with fruit trees and a few
flowers and shrubs. Birds came there gladly, and there the baron
learnt to distinguish between the difl'erent songsters. They called
them ors and ahresses {arhoritas). All around, save where the
castle stood, were fields and meadows, and the planted garden.

The descent from the castle to the garden was through a false

390 CHIVALRY.

postern. By this passed out the mother of the four sons of Aymon
when she bade adieu to her children who had been abandoned by
their father in a cowardly manner. By the same means did
Kosamond, the beautiful, descend to succour Elias of Saint-Gilles
wounded, insensible, half dead: and the poet adds that through
this same gate that "young pagan" went out in May to gather
flowers with her daughters.

In such a monotonous existence the orchard occupied a consider-
able space : but not always for amusement. In summer time
councils were held there instead of in the great hall. The chanson
of lioland opens with two admirable scenes both of which are laid
in the orchard. There one day did Marsile decide to send
messengers to Charles : under those fine trees did the emperor
receive the ten ambassadors of the last pagan king of Spain.
This picture is imposing. Fifteen thousand Frenchmen in satin
tunics are stretched upon the white carpet. The king is seated on
a massive gold throne, from which he overlooks all the barons with a
gravity almost priestly : then suddenly the ten infidels enter the
garden and make their way slowly through the crowd; they are
mounted on white mules the bridles of which are of gold and the
saddles of silver. They carry olive-branches in their hands. Eastern
fashion, as a token of peace. It is a scene worthy of Virgil.

But the orchard recalls to us other incidents — touching or sad ;
and, since before entering the castle it is best to be well acquainted
with its surroundings, we will pause for a few moments to consider
these original and charming scenes.

It was in the orchard that the prologue of the popular drama
Macaire was played. This drama is now known as the " Dog of
Montargis." It happened some days after Easter, at a feast of the
good baron Requier in the full spring-time. The pure and beautiful
young Queen of France, whose character was as spotless as her
name, Blanchefleur, was in the garden with her ladies, and a
minstrel was chanting a song to them. Suddenly comes the traitor
— a kind of Don Juan of the period, who desires at any risk to
triumph over such innocence. " There is no one," whispers this
Macaire " so beautiful as thou art. But how unlucky you are in
having such a husband ! "

He continued to make love to her, to flatter and to tempt her ;

DOMESTIC LIFE— ELEVEN OCLOCK. 391

Blanchefleur began to think that the baron only thus addressed her
to try her powers of resistance, but she soon understood his real
drift, and replied in indignant and scathing terms. ** Rather than
harbour a single thought against the king, I would be cut in pieces
or burned alive. My lord shall know all, and will punish you as
you deserve. Begone from my presence ! "

The wretch hurried away, but that same day he formed the reso-
lution to ruin the queen.

It was also in an orchard that one of the early adventures of that
savage hero, Aubri le Bourguignon, occurred. It was at the court
of King Orri that Queen Gibourc took a fancy to him ; she and her
daughter quarrelled about him. The two sons of Orri made up
their minds to revenge their father's dishonour, and prepared an
ambush for Aubri ; they proposed to cudgel him first as an appeti-
ser. At the first blow, one of them deluged Aubri in blood, but
he, seizing the cudgel, drove it into his adversary's brain with
terrific force ; then the giant stretched Congre, that was the name
of Orri's son, dead on the sward. The brother fled panic-stricken,
but Aubri followed him and cleft him to the breast-bone with his
sword. Gasselin, Aubri' s nephew, was the only witness of this
butchery, and in vain endeavoured to calm the giant's rage. The
sward of the orchard was steeped in gore.

It was in the orchard that Jourdain de Blaives, one morning,
called to mind the death of Girard, his father, who had been assas-
sinated by the traitor Fromont, and made a resolution to avenge
him. In another meadow, Gilbert, a prisoner of the Saracens at
Orange, found William there, recounted to him all the w^onders of
that incomparable city, and gave the ** terrible count" the idea of
taking possession of it. It was in an orchard that the Count Amis,
who had been separated from his wife for seven years, suddenly
took it into his head to go and see her again. *' Amis heard the
noise and the cries of the birds. They reminded him of his native
place, of his wife and infant son ; and he wept tenderly."

Before entering the castle, we had only to see the orchard, and
we have now done so. We have only now to knock on the loud-
resounding copper-plate at the baron's door. Let us, however, take
one last glance around on the donjon and its two courts ; on the
walls and the towers, on the lists and the palisades, on the gate-

392 CHIVALRY.

way and the bridge. For the last time let us grasp the whole of
this picture, and engrave it on our memory.

Such as it is, the castle is the object of a great love ! All our
knights resemble, more or less, the great Joinville, who, when
starting for the Crusade, had not courage to take a last look at the
dear walls within which so many happy years had been passed !
(** t/e ne voz onques retourner mes yex vers Joinville por ce que le cuer
ne me attendrisist du biau chastel queje lessoiel ")

The eldest of the sons of Aymon, had the same tender feelings
when he quitted the paternal dwelling; he wept : " Quant Renaus
8^ en parti, de piti^ aplore,'* In the Holy Land these men thought
of the great donjon at home, and their eyes filled with tears. To
all the leaders of the first Crusade the beautiful crown of Jerusalem
was ofi'ered in vain : everyone thought of his castle, and refused the
kingly dignity. The beloved castle ! It was to them almost a sen-
tient thing, an animated object, they spoke to it and commended it
to Heaven ! ** Casteaus, je te comant a De ! " So said Ogier, and
Renaud de Montauban is not a whit less tender. " Chastiaus,''
said he, ^^vos soies honores.''

What grief there was when the knight felt he would never see it
more ! What joy when he did return ! When the sons of Aymon
attenuated by hunger, pale with misery and in evil case, made up
their minds to seek a resting-place near their mother in the castle
of Dordone, they arrived at length, after a long journey, within
sight of the dearly-loved donjon and towers ! Then their hearts
gave way : they recalled all the ills through which they had passed,
all the troubles which they had endured ; then in pity and in sorrow
they fell fainting to the ground !

Now let us enter the castle.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE DOMESTIC LIFE OF THE KNIGHT.— A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A
BARON AT END OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY {continued).

Six o'clock a.m.

The first gleam of dawn is peeping through the shutters of the
room in which the knight is sleeping.

Our haron is an early riser, and without flattery we might apply
to him the praise bestowed on Charlemagne by a musician of the
thirteenth century. "D<? main lever estort acoustunies.'* There
was a curious proverb circulated about early rising : " He who
sleeps long in the morning grows thin and lazy." Thin ! We
have changed that !

The Seneschal in Courts, the Chamberlain in baronial halls,
awakens the ruler — his master. This he accomplishes by beating
the pillow on which the sleeper's head reposes. This, and in
assisting the baron to dress is his daily duty. It is almost needless
to remark that many barons preferred to dress themselves, and to
dispense with the services of the chamberlain. They got out of bed,
and went at once to the window, opened it, and let in the daylight :
then they put on their shoes and dress. This is the usual routine.

The appearance of the room must be sketched. The bed claims
our first attention : it is low and wide, the head against the wall ;
it is shaded by curtains, which run on iron rods. It is rather too
luxurious, generally, vnth its embroidered silk pillows, its ermine
counterpane, its three or four feather-beds, its sheets of linen or
silk, which the sleeper may tuck round him so as to have some
trailing on the stone floor. This floor no doubt is very cold for
naked feet, but skins and furs have been laid on it — fox-furs, and
such like. Such carpets are more pleasing to the occupant, as
they remind him of his exploits in the field and in the forest.
Besides, he does not want his well-laid and enamelled bricks, with
their quaint designs altogether hidden : he is very proud of his

394 CHIVALRY.

tiled floor as he is of his pictures, in red and yellow ochre, touched
up with dark hlue and black, which cover the walls of the vast
room, &c., and represent all the birds of the air, and all the fishes
of the sea. *' It is quite a Noah's ark," he will say, smiling.

There was little or no gold in the twelfth century, but the metal
had its revenge in the following cycle. There are seats along the
walls of the chamber, curtains on moveable screens in front of the
windows ; near the bed a great candlestick, in which a big wax
candle burns all the night. There are other objects, such as rails
on which the articles of clothing or accoutrements are hung, and
an image of his patron saint completes our cavalier's decorations.
A lighted taper illumines the features of a Saint Peter, who
invites to repentance and faith ! while a gigantic figure of Saint
Christopher is painted at the right hand side of the bolted door.
The knight is pleased when this painting meets his waking eyes,
as he knows that " when one sees the image of Saint Christopher
in the morning no ill shall befall him during the day. So I am
eafe for another day ! "

Most of us are aware that during the greater part of the Middle
Ages people went naked into bed. This is attested by our
chroniclers, our songs and our miniatures. We shall not be
surprised to learn that our barons began to put on their clothing
in bed, and this was not from laziness but for modesty's sake.

We have not said anything about their ablutions, nevertheless
washing was not such a small thing nor so indifferent to them as
one might suppose. It has pleased a great historian (Michelet) to
pronounce a judgment in a few words, " not a bath in a thousand
years ! " But passion is always a bad counsellor, and it has in-
spired that writer with wrong notions altogether. As a matter of
fact our ancestors were very fond of water ; they were passionately
fond of bathing, and in fact used baths more than we do. Hardly
had the baron inducted himself into his shirt and his shoes than
his pages entered, carrying fresh water in a metal basin and a fine
white towel. Before and after each meal there was more washing, and
we may affirm that both knight and townsman of the twelfth century
washed their hands five and six times a day. This was something.

As regards the bath it was more than a custom — it was a
passion. Mind, I am not now speaking of the bath which was one
of the sacramental rites of Chivalry, and which the newly-dubbed

DOMESTIC LIFE—SIX O'CLOCK A.M.

395

knight remembered all his life. No, I am merely referring to the
ordinary daily life, not to the symbolism of Chivalry. In the
donjons were underground chambers which in a few minutes could
be transformed into bath-rooms ; but we must not expect anything
refined or luxurious there. The baths were only tubs or troughs,
but the *' bath " itself, the bathing, was refined. It was re-
plenished, and " aromatised," all sorts of herbs and scents were

The Morning Prayer.

introduced. These elegant dips were taken under all conceivable
circumstances, and when there were no extenuating circumstances
at all— merely for the pleasure of it. After ilhiess a bath was
used, and after a journey: for journeys in those days were both
long and laborious, and in a bath one first found rest.

When the unfortunate mother of the four sons of Aymon met
her children emaciated with hunger, and shivering in misery, she
said, ''I will go and prepare the bath; the first thing for you is
the bath ; " and she made it ready in her own room. I am most
surprised about the after-dinner bath which is so frequently
mentioned in our old poems, and I leave to physiologists and

396 CHIVALRY.

physicians the question of its healthiness or harmfulness. But as
the reader will perceive, the bath was in use everywhere. Women
took it as well as men, and the most solemn were those baths on
the eve of, and on the morning after marriage. They even went so
far as to indulge in the wicked luxury of bathing in company with
their husbands, with the chaplets of wedding flowers on their
heads. This was a dangerous and evil innovation, and tended to
revive the detestable abuses which had formerly furnished the
church with so many weapons against the practices of the Eomans.
But it seems that the later imitations were yet far from such
excesses, and that they had the sense to stop in time.

But however that may be, our baron takes a safe middle course :
he neither abuses the bath nor uses it too sparingly. He does not
wish to be classed with the individual of whom Aye d'Avignon de-
clared *' He has not bathed for a year," and still less does he desire
to be compared with the page mentioned in Garin de Loherain —
" He was unshaven, with a face black as coal, and the only water
with which he was acquainted fell from Heaven." This very gross
caricature was drawn purposely to excite the indignation and ridi-
cule of the majority of the castellans. They did laugh heartily, and
bathed all the more assiduously.

We have already described the toilette of our baron, but let us
not leave him now : Let us witness the most significant and the
most noble act of the day — of his life ! Scarcely has he performed
his ablutions when he prays. The attitude and posture of prayer
was not then the same as at present. We kneel down — our ances-
tors prostrated themselves. This was the adoration of the Eastern
peoples, the grand character of profound humility, the entire and
voluntary surrender and abrogation of self. Our liturgy still retains
traces of it. The knights of the twelfth century, in their most
simple devotions, lay down on the ground with outstretched arms,
their heads to the East. It is true that they were then beginning
to exercise a semi- adoration, and adopting a very humble kneeling
position. This was the transition to the ordinary kneeling which
has come into vogue, and remains in our daily practice. But the
proudest barons of the time of Louis VII., or even of Philip
Augustus, kings, emperors, &c., prostrated themselves and wor-
shipped with their hands extended towards the East : ^^lor manis
vers Oriant.**

DOMESTIC LIFE—SIX O'CLOCK A.M. 397

The magnificent attitude of prayer of the early Christians, the
attitude of orantes praying standing, their arms extended to Heaven
— this traditional posture was still adopted in the twelfth century,
and in these circumstances the prayer was necessarily shorter,
without heing less fervent or less solemn. Again, we find in our
old poems examples of the present attitude, the man on his knees
with bent head and clasped hands. All these positions are equally
sculptural, equally beautiful, and recall the grand sentence which
states that " a man is never so great as when he is upon his knees." *

But after all, when praying, the attitude is only a secondary con-
sideration. How did our knights pray ? That is the real question,
and one not easily to be solved. I am convinced for my part, that
there were two styles, one which I will call the " clerical " the other
the secular, or, if I may say so, " laical." These were equally
Christian methods, but not of the same fashion. The clerical
prayers were theological, exact, often mystic. The " lay " prayers
consisted chiefly of a string of facts — historical or legendary, which
were culled from the Bible or Apocrypha, and amalgamated without
arrangement or order. *'If it be true that I believe all these
miracles grant me, 0 Lord, the grace for which I pray " they would
say. The clerical prayers have been preserved to us in French or
Latin, in those Books of Hours of which millions of copies have cir-
culated from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century. The ** lay'*
prayers have been preserved in our epic poetry. A certain number
of our knights prayed like the heroes of these poems, others prayed
like the clergy — that's all.

So our baron plunges into prayer, and he is one of those, if you
please, who are not inspired with the science of their chaplains,
but by the memories of childhood, the familiar teaching of their
mothers, and the poems which they have heard. There is nothing
of the philosopher in the orison in which he endeavours to sum up
all the religious history of the race. He begins by saluting the
Glorious Father who created the world, and fashioned Adam of
clay, with his spouse Eve. Then he recounts after his own
fashion, the drama of the Fall, and how our first parents were
thrown into the pit of Baratron with the fiends Berzebu and Nero.
He pauses a moment on the murder of Abel, who's blood *' reddens

* The word ** grand " in tlie original, meaning (equally) *' great " or " tall," gives
the sentence greater force.

/ V-^' 6^ THE ^

398 CHIVALRY.

the waning moon " to this day, and contemplates for a longer
period the face of ** Baron Abraham," whose son was raised up to
Heaven " amongst the Innocents," at the moment when he was
about to be sacrificed by his father !

" 'Tis thou," cries the knight to his Greater, *' who didst de-
liver Jonah from the whale which had swallowed him. Thou
who didst save the King of Nineveh, with the city and all its in-
habitants. Thou didst deliver Daniel the Prophet from the den of
lions, and didst preserve the " three children " in the fiery furnace,
and didst defend Susannah against the false witnesses." Then our
baron made a leap from the Old into the New Testament, and
stopped piously at the manger at Bethlehem. He rapidly reviewed
the visit of the Angel and the birth of the Saviour ; of the ox which
bowed so gently and profoundly before the Christ- child ; of the
three kings, the wise men, who came from the East ; and of the
woman without hands who came to the assistance of the Virgin in
the stable, and who by a miracle immediately became possessed of
beautiful hands. " It is thou, Lord, who raised Saint Lazarus, and
established Saint Peter as sovereign in the gardens of Nero."

Then, as the baron has committed some gross sins — not to men-
tion small ones — he never forgets to name in his prayers the
Magdalen who is the patron of all true penitents. "She approached
Thee softly, unobserved, and in default of any other water bathed
Thy feet with her tears." Then he passes on to commemorate the
Passion, which is the corner-stone of his faith, and follows the
incidents from the entry into Jerusalem " in great humility," ta
Golgotha. A personage to whom the Evangelists accord only an un-
important part, the Centurion, Longinus, now becomes the subject
of a stupendous miracle which occurs in most of our epic prayers.
"When the centurion struck Thee with his lance he became blind,
but the blood, flowing adown the lance-pole, reached his eyes and
straightway he saw again."

After this little remains to be added. The knight speaks briefly
of the resurrection and of the breaking of the Gates of Hell
" whence He will deliver all His friends. Thou didst ascend into
Heaven, but Thou shalt appear at the Judgment. Then shall
princes and dukes tremble like leaves. In that the father shall be
no more than the child, nor the priest more than the acolyte,
neither the archbishop greater than the lad." Having thus

DOMESTIC LIFE—SIX O'CLOCK A.M.

399

finished the theoretic exposition of his creed, our baron begins to
think of himself. " I cast myself on Thy bounty and protection,"
and then he adds with a certain satisfaction which might easily
become pride — *'I confide also in the heart which Thou hast given
me, in my good sword, and in my swift steed." He closes rapidly
with the following — " If what I have said be true ; if it be true, O
Lord, that I believe it loyally and faithfully, hear those prayers
which are oifered up for me by our Lady in Paradise ! All glory
to Thee, Father ; my arm and my heart I consecrate to Thee."

We have condensed into a couple of pages more than one hun-
dred prayers of our epic poems. It must be added that these
** epic orisons " are very brief — shorter than our precis, and that our
barons generally only took a single theme — the Nativity or the
Passion : the Fall of Man, or the incident of the Magdalen. From
this point of view it would be easy to draw up a classification
which would be very curious and truly scientific.

Such were the lay prayers, but the " clerical " devotions which
were recited after dictation by a priest, or read from the missal — -
were of a much more elevated character. There was less of super-
stition and more of theology in them ; less fact, more doctrine ; less
legend, more learning. But we must not confound the somewhat
simple prayers of our poems with the beautiful Pa^er- noster in verse
(12th century), nor with the Obsessio, which from the thirteenth to
the sixteenth is met with in the hundreds of " Books of Hours."
No, the two currents flowed side by side. The knights could choose
either style of prayer, but it was not given to anyone to mingle them.

When his devotions were finished, the knight, whose feelings of
piety were not satisfied by his orisons, proceeded to attend mass.
He went every morning without distinction, and recalled his father's
injunctions in this respect, to hear mass daily in the morning.
Most frequently he went to the nearest monastery, but even at that
time many castles possessed chapels of their own. This chapel
was in the upper court ; it was small and low beneath the donjon.
In the eleventh century it was erected against the wall of the great
tower, or rather it was situated, as at Falaise and at Loches, in one
of the buildings — one of those towers which formed the ante-
chambers of certain donjons.

This arrangement possessed the great advantage that the baron
was not compelled to go out of doors. But in the twelfth century

400 CHIVALRY.

these humble chapels were not approved of; the barons wished for
churches in miniature, not rooms appropriated to devotion, to
which they gave a character of great simplicity. Seldom were there
any ornaments or luxury as in the chapel of the Castle of Montargis.
Such a simple chapel our typical baron enters hand in hand with
one of his guests. On fete days he went, in greater state, to the
neighbouring monastery-church preceded by minstrels.

The castle mass seems to have been chanted generally, but we
must not suppose that the church possessed a choir and choristers.
The chaplain chanted the Gloria, the Preface, and the Pater ;
no more on ordinary occasions. I do not believe that the baron
made a daily offering at his own chapel. These offerings in money or
in kind, which are so frequently mentioned in our songs, were
made in the parish churches, the convents, and' " pilgrimages,"
Sundays and fete days, or on certain solemn occasions. It is like-
wise an error to represent the knight and his spouse holding some
beautiful Books of Hours, " ornamented with costly miniatures.'*
In the twelfth century, and at the beginning of the thirteenth,
these "prayerbooks" were very uncommon in the hands of the
laity ; and besides, the few and narrow windows of the chapels gave
too little light for reading ; so the barons listened to mass, their
eyes fixed on the altar, with only their hearts' enthusiasm to carry
them through the service.

Sometimes it seems that the daily mass was followed by a
sermon, but this was only in the monasteries. One of these
very sermons gave rise to an adventure which is very well described
by one of the troubadours. It refers to the wild Aubri the Bur-
gundian, who wedded the widow of King Oui, Gibourc. It seems
that one morning, awakening very early, the baron missed from his
bed his wife ! He was in a fury and madly jealous, and in this
latter characteristic he resembled all other •'* Don Juans," he could
not bear any interference. He raged and swore that women were
at the bottom of all mischief; but these more or less philosophical
reflections did not suffice. He dressed hurriedly and went out by
the banks of the river. It was a lovely morning, the birds were
singing and all was joyous. The miserable Aubri recalled his
youthful days, his boyish loves, and the time when he laid his
lance at rest for beautiful dames, and when he preferred a pretty
green hat or a new girdle to a hundred marks of good French

DOMESTIC LIFE—SIX O'CLOCK A.M. 401

silver. The blood coursed hotly through his veins, and he spoke out
like an idiot to the fishes which swam in the stream, and to the birds
which flew around him. He compared their lot with his own,
their loves and that of his wife Gibourc, who was, no doubt, favour-
ing a new lover — '* the wicked, abandoned woman ! " As he gave
vent to these expressions of rage he quite forgot that he was
leaning against a tree on the brink of the river ; the branch snapped
and precipitated him into the water. He scrambled out as well as
he could, grumbling.

Meantime his wife, who with two attendants had been to early-
mass, was quietly returning home. She reached the sleeping-
chamber. No Aubri ! A new scene of jealousy began immediately.
" He has gone off to amuse himself with another ! I will seek him
out." She rose, re-dressed in haste and in anger, went out of doors,
and the first person she encountered was the wretched Burgundian,
dripping wet, but still in a terrible rage. Each abused the other
roundly for a while, but an explanation quickly ensued.

" I only went to mass," said the lady, " and I did not think you
would miss me. The preacher was excellent, and discoursed
concerning Saint Lawrence, who permitted himself to be grilled for
the faith. I waited for the sermon, and this is the cause of all our
mischances. You can inquire the truth from the priests at the
monastery ! " This explanation was sufficient for the baron : he
smiled, and embraced his wife. "Which," says the poet, "is the
best thing to do under such circumstances." We do not wish to
contradict him.

Now the mass is over, and our knight has come from the chapel,
and has returned to his chamber. But he has been up an hour
and is hungry. People in those days ate a good deal. Three
meals were necessary to our baron. In the morning after mass, in
the middle of the day, and before bed-time. The principal meal
was the midday dinner, a heavy repast consisting of many dishes,
lasting more than an hour — more than two hours sometimes.
The little breakfast was not grand but cheerful, and it was fully
enjoyed. A proverb says, that to eat in the morning is a sign of
good health. The baron could fully endorse the saying without
any effort, and mthout claiming any merit. Let us wish him a
good appetite !

CHAPTER XIV,

THE DOMESTIC LIFE OF THE KNIGHT.— A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A
BARON AT THE END OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY {continued).

Before Dinner — The Morning.

Notwithstanding the occupations with which people tried to
render it endurable, life in a castle in the twelfth century was
extremely monotonous, and terrible ennui fell on the knights.
The thick walls, the narrow windows, the military solitude of the
fortress, became wearisome and trying. The wet, cold wintry days
seemed interminable to the ladies and children. But they kept up
their spirits, and resolutely battled with weariness. The race was
vivacious and cheerful.

The fifteen amusements of the knight in time of peace are less
known than the fifteen joys of marriage by Antoine de la Salle.
But they deserve at least as much publicity, and, besides, they
have nothing in them tending to raillery and paradox. These
diversions were : —

To go to all tournaments at any cost ; to hunt, to fish, and walk
about in the orchard ; these were at least the amusements which
attracted the knight from home. But there were others which did
not compel his absence. He sat warming himself in the chimney-
corner in winter, or, to get the air, in his orchard in summer. He
opened his house to all wandering minstrels, heard all their songs,
and formed an orchestra. He gave or took lessons in fencing, and
enjoyed the luxury of the combats of wild animals — contests dear
to all primitive peoples — fights of wild boars and bears of a
sanguinary character. He would play twenty games of chess,
interspersed with tables and dice. But particularly our baron
enjoyed his food, of which he ate heartily, and quickly disposed of
his store of wine. These were the amusements of the baron who

DOMESTIC LIFE— BEFORE DINNER.

403

was forced to remain indoors. They were not particularly refined,
as you will perceive, but they were better than flirting with the
maids. We cannot help admiring the manner in which the baron
regarded as an amusement the obligation of holding his feudal
court, and the habit he had adopted of entertaining as many guests
as possible. The fifteenth and last relaxation consisted in looking

Arrival of Quests at the Castle.

out of window at the passers-by ! That was a delight which never
palled.

It was particularly in th-e forenoon, before the midday meal, that
the chatelain found it so difficult to amuse himself, and so these
" fifteen joys " found their place in that portion of the day. One
of our old poets does not scruple to make an addition to these
pleasures, an addition which tends to his credit : *' The greater
number of our barons did good, voluntarily, by distributing alms —
doing the work of Jesus Christ." This pleasure — for it is one —
outweighs all the rest. Let us depict faithfully the appearance

D D 2

404 CHIVALRY,

and the incidents of the castle-life during the time from 8 a.m. till
noon.

Firstly, the poor people who are in the habit of coming every
morning to the castle as well as to the neighbouring abbey, are
relieved by the wife of the baron herself, who is anxious to merit the
splendid eulogy bestowed upon the mother of Godfrey de Bouillon :
^^ Ele revesti povre, et autex recovri,'" The chief patient of the
baroness is an elderly woman, bent nearly double. The poor
creature's lot is a very hard one, for she has little food and a very
wretched home. Nevertheless, no sooner does she receive a small
coin from some good man than she purchases tapers to burn in
honour of God and Our Lady. But the baroness has many other
clients, and she supplies them liberally. Upon her purse she has
embroidered the beautiful line of a poet of the period : *' The more
I give away the richer I become ! "

Then, perhaps, after this will arrive some long-expected guests,
who are joyfully welcomed. Scarcely have they crossed the bridge
when reverence is done them ; hardly have they dismounted when they
are kissed on mouth and chin, for kissing was common with both
sexes in those days. If the dignity or the age of the new arrivals
demanded more respect, then the people were satisfied with, kissing
their feet and spurs. After all these embraces, the company
approached the steps, talking. Then the travellers were conducted
to the vaulted chambers where their beds had been prepared. If
there were more guests than beds, some others were fixed up in the
dining-room. The new arrivals were assisted to undress and to
disarm, they were clothed in new dresses and cloaks of splendid
quality, their nether limbs being encased in silk stockings, and
their feet in fashionable shoes. If the guests were fatigued they
had baths prepared for them. Their horses were led to the stables,
and were as well attended to as their masters ; they had no lack of
corn, and were even shod — in fact, the castle and stable were equally
full. The hospitality was prodigal in its generosity. On certain
feast days our barons would throw all the gates open and admit the
hungry and the poor, who were all entertained and assisted liberally.
Hermits and pilgrims were especially welcomed. " Come in, good
people, come in ! Do you require clothing or food ? My seneschal
shall serve you, or rather wait, I will serve you myself, *for the love
of God who will judge the world ! '" In some such way as this did

DOMESTIC LIFE— BEFORE DINNER. 405

the mother of the four sons of Aymon receive her children, whom she
had not seen for many years, and whom she took for pilgrims at first.
But when she at length recognized them, what joy it was !

All mornings at the castle were not so cheerful, though, and, if
a hattle was proceeding within reasonable distance of the chateau, it
frequently happened that a wounded or, perchance, a dying man was
carried thither. Sometimes the owner of the castle was himself
struck down, and esteemed himself happy if he died in the arms of
his household. Everything meanwhile is done to alleviate his con-
dition, the doctor is summoned, unguents, bandages, splints, are
prepared, and the external plaister is applied. Some vegetable
potions or sedatives complete the primitive treatment, and, if he is
to take some beverage, they force open his teeth with a dagger.
The women are told to depart, and the patient is encouraged by
assurances that he will recover by-and-by — he will be all right soon
— just as doctors tell us in the present day, and, as in the present
day, sometimes a man recovered. We can instance a very pleasing
case in which Girard de Roussillon, after he had been wounded by
Charles, was forced to alight at Avignon, under the care of a monk
doctor. The room is darkened, silence reigns, no one dares to
speak. The light is excluded, the curtains drawn, and Girard,
lying on his bed of pain, only thinks of the time when he shall be
able to resume the combat. *' Let everyone prepare for battle,"
he cries. This in a few words is the character of the Middle
Ages.

It is before the mid- day meal that the baron and his wife have
most opportunity to regulate the housekeeping and the arrange-
ments of their large establishment, quite a little world in itself.
Every castle represented the palace in miniature. There were the
same officers and servitors^ charged with the same duties, called by
the same titles. This will be clearly seen by the following quota-
tions from two most learned students of the Middle Ages :

"In the castle," says Lacurne de Saint-Palaye, '* are offices Hke
those at the King's court." " Every baron," says Quicherat, ** had
his court." And he adds, ** Even if his donjon was only built of
wood, the owner lodged and kept there a numerous company of
servants, vassals, and domestics."

Feudal France, no doubt, included many of these second-class
castles, many thousands of these fire-sides, more or less luminous,

4o6 CHIVALRY.

of which royalty extinguished or modified the light. Nevertheless we
must not be general, the historian must be precise and truthful.
Let us suppose, then, that the knight assembles all his household
two or three hours before dinner, and passes them in review before
him. There they are in line, the "retainers of the castle,'* as they
are called.

The most important of all is the seneschal. He is above all.
Nothing is more interesting than the history of the seneschal of
our kings ; we may recollect that in Latin he was called daplfer, a
modest and significant name. Ah ! here is a functionary, or rather
a function, that has made a way in the world. He was first,
amongst the Romans, a simple table attendant, perhaps a slave,
lately freed. He rose higher in the scale, and was charged with
the service of the royal table. Now the Merovingians were in the
habit of eating much, and dining in a numerous company. No
doubt their rich prcedia, their fat villce, furnished them with pro-
visions necessary for such a state of things, but it was equally
desirable that an able man should administer their resources, and
act as Comptroller of the Civil list. This personage was the mayor
of the palace, and under him the happy dapifer, who in the nature
of things succeeded to his office. Then the feudal system was in-
troduced ; land was everything, and the administration of the land
equally important. The former intendant, the seneschal, became
the factotum of the king. Over all the kingdom he maintained
the sovereignty, administered justice in the king's name, and
assembled the Ban, and lower Ban-royal. He was, in fact, a
viceroy, of whom even the king was afraid ; so much so that the
office was suppressed in 1191, and thenceforth no more mention
was made of this other '' mayor of the palace," whose authority
had at one time alarmed the Capets, then not firmly established.

The seneschals of the barons were less formidable, but they had
grown up in office in the same manner, and had the same authority
respectively. Sometimes the baron confided his pennon to his
seneschal, and their duties got mixed with those of the standard
bearer, but even so they had precedence of all the intendants, and
that was apparent at dinner, the service of which they had to direct
and control. Beneath the master- seneschal came in order the
various functionaries of the castle, longo proximi intervallo. The
marshal was charged with the stable duties, transport and tents.

':^

^^

iJ.

THE MOTHER RECOGNISES HER SONS IN THE CASTLE.

4o8 CHIVALRY.

The chamberlain, or ancient treasurer, was often merged in the
chamberlain of the interior ; he had charge of the furniture, the
supervision of the hall and apartments ; there was the butler, or
''bottler," whose duties were connected with the vaults and cellars,
and a degree lower the " dispenser," who purchased provisions and
set out the table. After them came the maitrequeux and the
sorqueux — the cooks — who had the control of the kitchen. Still
a lower grade were the Serjeants and boys, who filled the inferior
parts, then the hound-tenders, &c., and the watchman.

But we must not overlook the important personages who often
assumed grand airs, the porters and the ushers. The former kept the
exterior gates, and the others the interior doors of the castle. It is
true that their duties were not always the most agreeable, that
they sometimes had to put up with personal chastisement, as in
the case of the unfortunate wretch who endeavoured to interfere
with the terrible Ogier, who ** broke his bones." But they were
nevertheless servants of the baron, and must be mentioned if one
wishes to know the practice of the middle ages.

Around the lady of the castle were assembled all the chamber
women, Aiglentine, Jeahnette, and twenty others. They were clad
very simply — at least they were in the twelfth century, had no
cloaks, nor sleeves hanging down low, but aprons, long and narrow,
of embroidered cloth. Coquetry and luxury did not reign in this
department until later. These ladies must not be confounded with
the damsels (pucelles), who dressed the ladies and went with them
everywhere. These ladies-in-waiting or maids of honour bore the
same relation to the lady as the pages to the knight ; they were
supposed to be of noble birth ; their service was voluntary and
transitory ; they married early. These two classes must be kept
totally distinct.

Amongst all the members of the baron's household there reigned
the most complete and charming familiarity, tempered with fear
and respect. The servitors spoke to their master with a liberty
which required no rebuke. From this point of view I know
nothing more striking, nothing more beautiful than the terms of
the remonstrance addressed by the Seneschal of Raoul de Cambrai
to his brutal master after he had destroyed the convent of Origni,
and burned the nuns alive. The wretch did not appear to have
any remorse for his acts, and he seated himself at table delighted

DOMESTIC LIFE— BEFORE DINNER. 409

•with the prospect of the dinner which he expected to enjoy. Now
this of all days was Good Friday, the most solemn fast- day.

"Bring me roast peacocks," he cried, "swans, au poivre, and
venison in plenty ! "

Then the Seneschal, utterly scandalised, holdly cried out, " What
are you thinking of ? Is it thus that you deny Christianity and
your baptism *? This is Good Friday, a day on which all sinners
worship. Miserable wretches that we are ; we have sinned deeply,
terribly ; we have burned the nuns, and violated the convent. We
shall never be reconciled to God ! His pity cannot excuse our
cruelty."

The retainers were blindly devoted to their masters. They
never argued with him, they loved him. We are all aware what
a high place the family servant occupies in Christian families, and
we have only to recall our own youthful days to be reminded of
those old servants who were so excellent, grumbling occasionally
of course, but so proud, and willing to stand by us to the death.
There is much simplicity mingled with the savagery of the feudal
domestic. When the youthful son of Pepin — he who was subse-
quently Charles the Great — when this child was menaced and
compelled to fly, and conceal his identity, even his name, he had
one friend who braved fortune and did not despair, followed him
like a faithful dog, protected him, defended him, and procured him
food. If Charles quitted France, David would also go ; if Charles
went to Spain, David also went. If he begged a refuge amongst
the infidels, David would even abase himself to that extent, with a
view of saving his young master. Over the lion's cub he watched
with the tenderness of the lioness : he prevented the young eaglet
from roaming too far from the nest ; but how he was surprised when
he perceived the youth growing up a hero and a knight in defiance
of all his care. Charles's first escapade rather troubled poor David ;
but they did not estrange the old man's love, and he was very
proud of the exploits which he only wished had been postponed*
David is the type of the feudal retainer.

Even the serfs were capable of devotion which is rare in the
present day. Is not the history of those two slaves whom Amis
purchased a touching narrative ? They did not recoil from the
leprosy which was eating away their master. His wife actually
turned him out of his castle, when his slaves took him in their

4IO CHIVALRY.

^rms, and constituted themselves his guardians and guides. We
read of the three men crossing the whole extent of France, and
arriving at the shrine of St. Giles ; then at Rome. The slaves
there interceded for their master whom Providence had struck
down so terribly, and he could not help feeling better when he
beheld such devotion.

But I perceive that amongst the retainers of the baron I have
.omitted those who in some castles ministered directly to the plea-
sure of the master. The minstrel or Jongleur, Amongst all the
xlomestics he was not perhaps the easiest to control, but he was by
no means the last one to devote himself to his employer. We
need only turn to Daniel, who substituted his own child for his
master's when the traitor had decided on the death of the heir.
Daniel witnessed the sacrifice of his own son, whose head was
dashed against a pillar. What cruelty, what bloodthirstiness !
But he only murmured *' My son is dead, but my master's son is
ftlive ! " This is of course only a romance, but we must not forget
that it was read in every castle, and that the poets usually took
their characters from life. Poor Daniel !

After the domestics we should describe the family of the baron ;
but one of our old poets had done this a hundred times better than
we can attempt to do. Here is the picture. " One day Begue was
in his castle of Belin ; to him his wife, the beautiful Beatrix, came
in. The duke kissed her warmly on her lips and cheek. The duchess
raised her smiling face and meek. Around the hall the children
^ame and went, and laughed and chattered to their heart's content."

The feudal father was a king, but one who governed his own
kingdom with a gentle hand which one would scarcely have
expected from a giant cased in steel. It is with a sympathetic
tenderness that he looks around on his family, and reads the old
poem about Doon to his children — of whom he had twelve, sons,
like our typical knight ; and it was somewhat difficult to bring up
euch a large family, but the more there are the more he loves them.
Victor Hugo has said that the lion-hearted are fathers. We may
ftpply this saying to our knights, who were tender as brave. When
they set off for the far-distant Jerusalem they desired to see their
children at the last, and cried with the afflicted Amis : ** Show me
my son Girard once again."

If their lords are away the ladies weep when they think of them :

DOMESTIC LIFE IN THE MIDDLE AGES.

412 CHIVALRY.

hold, here is a message from him ! The woman, it must be con-
fessed, takes it to heart more than the man ; between her husband
and her sons she has always been a mediator and intercessor. She
would beg money for them when their father was angry, something
in this way : '' Pity, in the name of all the saints. He is our heir.
If we ever go to war with our neighbours, will not he sustain for
our sakes all the fighting and battles ? " The husband always
ended by pardoning the transgressor, for he respected and honoured
his wife, his equal, whom he loved. No doubt he often has terrible
fits of anger, but he never forgets his marriage. She is still
beautiful, and her good looks quite illuminate the palace. One day
the baron met his minstrel, and ordered him to compose a verse
upon the baroness's portrait. *'Ah," replied the minstrel, "you
might well have asked for two." *' Let us have them, then."
*' Here they are." " I am all attention ! "

*' La Dame est bele et sage ; plaisans, et simple et gaie.
Nule a son tans ; n'est mieudre, blonde, brune, ne bale. "

*' I prefer the former," said the baron, " and I will keep it. You
can have the other; it may do for another time."

Around this fine couple the children formed joyous groups. The
daughters were the honour and the joy of their mother, whom, with
the exception of the eldest who was married, they had never
quitted. Even now when the married daughter hears her mother
mentioned her heart bounds with joy. The girls, however, are
somewhat nervous in the presence of their father. When he
returned from hunting they would kiss him respectfully, even
submissively, "foot and heel." They never addressed him save in
somewhat trembling tones, and one of them being one day rather
disrespectful in speech, he exclaimed : "By the duty I owe my
mother, that is not the way to address your father ! " There was
at that time a popular proverb which inculcated perfect obedience
to one's father: {^^ An Men, au mat, doit-on son pere aimer.'') In
those days they did not argue about the parental authority — they
submitted to it. Only the youngest members of families exercised
then as now their privileges; they laughed and chattered, and
consoled their parents too at times. The elder girls would work,
sew, make clothing, embroider, &c. A great dog in the circle
would complete the scene. On him, on this typical occasion, is

DOMESTIC LIFE-^BEFORE DINNER. 413

bestowed the name of the traitor who was compelled to encounter
the dog, which had belonged to a good knight whom the ruffian
had killed — he is called Macaire.

You will, perhaps, now understand why they loved the old castle,
which shielded so many affectionate hearts — somewhat rough,
perhaps, but sincere and faithful. You will now understand why
the poor Huon of Bordeaux regretted his mother, "the beautiful,"
from whom he was about to part in search of so many and such
perilous adventures, and why this parting should have made him so
sad. You will now understand why the Crusaders cast so many
and longing glances towards that beautiful France where they had
left their wives and children. But I do not wish to get sentimental
with them, nor, above all, to exaggerate the facts. Feudal life in
no particulars resembled the little idyllic shepherd life of Florian
or of Bernis. Those big boys were choleric, rebellious, sanguinary ;
the daughters were passionate, and possessed tastes which required
the refinements of Christianity to temper them ; the fathers carried
severity even to bloodshed and crime ; the castle in some instances
was still but the encampment of the barbarian ; and the blood of the
Christian knight still was mingled with the taint of savagery.

In one scene of the twelfth century, in a Homeric episode, we
should like to condense the true picture of those times, so hard to
convey in description. Let us transport ourselves to the town of
Narbonne, at that period a great fortified city. Like all towns,
Narbonne was built around a great tower or castle concentrated in
a heavy donjon. Let us go there. The palace is of marble ; the
chapel adjoins it. It is morning, mass is just finished, and we
perceive a procession of twenty-four knights, clad in silk and furs,
slowly defiling from the portal. One old baron is in front : he
marches with firm tread. He is their lord, Duke Aimeri. His
wife, the beautiful Hermengart, is close by with her seven sons.
What a sight ! But listen to these strong tones.

"Dame Hermengart," says Aimeri, "look at your sons, look
well at them. Ah, if I could only see them knighted ere I die ! "

Aimeri was destined to be quickly satisfied. A messenger is
perceived approaching in a cloud of dust. " Whence come you ? "
"Charles has sent me!" "And what wills the emperor?"
" He desires you to send him four of your sons that he may knight
them ! "

414 CHIVALRY.

This was excellent news : the baron was delighted, but he had
not counted on his son William, on that indomitable nature, which
was at times even savage. This youthful hero suddenly turned to
his brothers, and exclaimed :

" You ought to have been knights long ago ! "Wretches that
you are, how is it that you have not yet warred against the
Saracens ? How is it that you have not already retaken from them
twenty castles and towns ? As for me, I do not wish to go to the
emperor yonder. Demean myself to the duties of a page or squire \
Nonsense ! I take care of the dresses and arms of barons ! I make
their beds ! No, no. But I will take with me a thousand knights,
and I will exterminate the Saracens. I will go ! "

The eldest brother, Bernard, remonstrated in vain against such
presumption. William insulted him : *' If you were three hundred
it is I only whom you would obey. I only ! " The brothers got
angry, and bit their lips, " champed their bits," but they submitted
to the yoke of William, who was not their eldest brother either.
Nevertheless, it all ended in their starting for the court of the
emperor, who was the magnet of attraction to all true knights.
They left Hermengart with her youngest sons and her five
daughters, and one hundred knights in Narbonne. A very small
force to resist the Infidel, who came down on the devoted city, on
which he had set his mind. Poor little Guibelin, the youngest of
Aimeri's sons, said to his big brother William as he was going
away : " Brother, if only in my shirt and hose I will go with you —
if I may ! " But his appeal was useless. The lad stayed with hi?
mother, and the whole strength of Islam fell upon Narbonne !

Well, this scene is true ; it is in no way exaggerated ; and as it
occurred between the hours of eight and mid-day we will leave
with our readers as a remembrance — as a living type of those very
busy hours which extend from dawn to dinner-time.

We must not picture to ourselves a castle of the twelfth century
in the pleasing and luxurious guise of the modern chateau, nor even
of one of your contemporary houses. A great hall in which the
inhabitants ate and sang and played games : one or two bed-
chambers on each floor ; some smaller rooms : in one of which the
armour of the knight and his followers was kept ; the other a
work-room in which tailors and dressmakers worked, and in which

DOMESTIC LIFE— BEFORE DINNER. 41$

the linen and the clothes were kept in perfumes and spices. No
antechambers, no boudoirs, no studies ; according to the wealth of
the castle the chambers are more or less grand. They are all alike
save that the apartment of the baron and his wife is more highly
decorated and better furnished than the others. Let us enter.

The room appears to be generally vaulted, and such is the usual
character of circular chambers. Nothing has been easier than the
application of the ogive window system to civil and military
architecture, scarcely recognised and little used by the Romans^
but which, remember, was adopted and brought to perfection by the
architects of the twelfth century. It was easy to arrange and
multiply the ramifications of this admirable arch, and to make it
include round, rectangular, or square spaces. The system is
marvellously simple, and lends itself to every kind of combination.
If the baron is not sufficiently wealthy to have a vaulted ceiling he-
contents himself with the under surface of the floor above, a wooden
covering supported by heavy beams. But architects are clever
fellows, and they took advantage of these great beams to apply some
charming decorations. They painted them like the mouldings of
the arch in red and yellow, with leafage and black decoration which
gave them lightness. Later — in the thirteenth century — they
adopted more vivid tones, and even employed gilding. Nothing can
be prettier.

To possess a ** painted chamber" was the acme of desire, and
the advocates of the polychrome architecture easily found ad-
herents and arguments in their favour amongst our forefathers.
They would willingly have painted inside and out in subdued and
tempered colour. In this too the twelfth century is "the great
century of the Middle Ages," and it certainly can claim the most
correct intelligence in architectural painting. It would appear that
all the artists of that strong period had the same disdain for gold
as a great architect of our times has expressed in picturesque and
stirring terms. ** Gold is a flavouring, not a meat." What we
say of gold we can as legitimately say of all other bright colours,
and particularly of the vivid blues which are its necessaiy ac-
companiment. Just look at the artist who is at work as we enter
the castle chamber. He says he is " only a humble assistant,"
and seeks only to preserve his master's work, instead of obliterating
it. " He only leavesjme the mouldings of the arch, so that I may

4i6 CHIVALRY.

bring them out. But on the other hand all the walls are mine,
and they constitute a fine domain. I am contented with them."

Our painter — look at him — first executes his pictures on a
surface of fresh mortar. He begins by tracing in red ochre, mixed
with pure water, the forms of his characters ; then he puts in the
"local colour" which is destined to form the mezzo-tinto, but he
puts it in in successive layers, and mixing with lime, to the re-
quired tone : afterwards he models the salient parts, adding more
lime as he reaches the later coats; then he redraws with the
reddish-brown mixed with black, the contours, the folds, the creases,
and the interior features of the forms and draperies. He must be
quick — very quick; he must not permit the first coats to dry.
Great practice and speed are necessary, and the operation is some-
what complicated.

There is another system which the Gallo -Roman artists at one
time practised, but which the twelfth century has not abandoned,
which is the only one applicable to the painting of sculptured stone
capitals, and polychrome statues. The painting is not traced on
mortar but on a layer of *' stone-colour " of white or yellowish-
white. The red ochre and the black serve as well in either, but
the artist only permits himself to use reddish-browns or blacks
which he relieves by some yellow or green or white. These are
the general characteristics of the paintings of the Louis VII.
period. No staring colours — no vivid reds, blues, and no gold.
With a few pots of red and yellow ochre, a little black, white or
dark blue, the painter produced all his most stirring scenes in
fresco ; and in this way our chamber was decorated. Look and
decide for yourself.

But gold was not banished for long, and even then painters were
unconsciously preparing for its approaching triumph. So much
colour was thrown into the windows that our poor decorative artists
were forced to harmonize their pictures with these brilliant designs.
Thenceforward was the fatal mastery of blue and gold. The castle
of Coucy is still very simply decorated, very soberly painted : but
the Sainte-Chapelle not far off is brilliant in vivid colouring, the
reds and blues and gold which have been so abused, and which are
so astonishing. We prefer our twelfth century tones of the room.

This chamber, like most others of its period, is chiefly painted
with floral decorations; conventionally treated, not copied from

DOMESTIC LIFE— BEFORE DINNER. 417

nature ; the acanthus and scroll, the origin of which is really
ancient, hut which are alas ! degenerated and corrupted. In the
rooms on other floors the decoration is limited to the painting of
the jointures and the dressings.

Our knight however is ambitious, and he seeks something better
than mere ornament. ** What shall I paint? A Christ crucified
between the old and new dispensations? The Last Judgment?
A Saint Peter or Saint Martin ? "

" No, no ; " replies the baron, " I want something of a more
military character, something which will recall my profession.
Ah, I have it ! Paint me a tourney." '* Very well," replies the
artist ; and he sets to work. He rapidly draws the outline of two
knights on a white ground ; all the forms and draperies are put in
with the same tint of brown. Then he lightens it up ; the colours
employed are red and yellow ochres, the brown more or less deep
with different shades of green, even the rose violet and blue.
Between each juxta-imposed colour is a brown streak. The pro-
jections are indicated in white. There is no perspective of any
kind. The " hieroglyphic " style is still in vogue. If a palace is
required, we have a frontal supported on two small pillars. A tree
is a stick surmounted with five leaves. The figures are stiff", the
ensemble is cold. In fact the work is done conventionally,
traditionally; Byzantine. Very architectural but not sufficiently
natural. The thirteenth century altered all that, and was inspired
by nature. Villard de Honnecourt, the great architect of the period
of Saint Louis, went so far as to reduce to geometrical figures, all
the forms, attitudes and movements of the human body. Then the
ancient Byzantine figures began to live and move. There comes a
Giotto yonder and Art itself, the grand Art, makes rapid strides.

Sculpture has a small place in the castle, and then it is only
ornamental. The capitals of the pillars of artificial foliage, the
antique Corinthian combination disfigured, mingled with monsters,
but still imposing and noble. Sculpture as an art is essentially
French, and it never hesitated to free itself from foreign trammels.
In the twelfth century this freedom took place, and then the last
bonds of Byzantinism were broken.

This is not the place to inquire if the victors over the antique
traditions were monks or laymen. Suffice it to say that in my

41 8 CHIVALRY.

mind the artistic clericalism of the twelfth and the lay artist of the
thirteenth century are exaggerated. I agree that there were before a.d.
1100 five principal schools of sculpture : the Rhenish, the Toulouse,
the Limosian, the Provencal, and the Cluny Schools : and this
last named, I am of opinion, is the most original, the most "natural"
and that which possessed the best possibilities for the future.
But knowledge is not yet complete ; the history of the sculpture of
France has yet to be written ; and I imagine tliat there is less
subtlety than propriety in this grouping all the sculpture- schools
into eight distinct classes. The Provence school is as Byzantine
as Gallo-Roman ; the Toulouse with its flourish and its outrageous
animals is only Byzantine ; Cluny submits neither to the influence
of the Gallo-Roman nor the Byzantine ; it clings to the Greco-
Roman, but with so much force and vigour in imitation that it
will eventually become original. On the schools of Saintonge and
Poitou the Norman and Saxon influence is exercised. The
Venetians who imported so many objects of art to us from Constan-
tinople, Damascus, and Asia Minor, have influenced by these
means, the Limosian school ; that of Auvergne remains undecided
between neighbouring schools : that of Berry is divided beC^^een
the traditions of the Byzantine, and the memories of Gallo-Roman
art. But the eighth school to which the future really belongs is
ours, that of the royal domain, the Isle of France, or rather of
France itself. It is eclectic and intelligently so. It mingles and
combines all the elements — Gallo-Roman, Byzantine, Norman : it
has a freer style and bolder aims than the provincial schools ; it
has also a more delicate sense of proportion and of the *' ladder of
ornamentation." Viollet le Due affirms that at the end of the
twelfth century this " happy school " had become a lay institution.
That is no matter, but all this classification seems too obscure
and fine-drawn. I prefer the statement of our old master Jules
Quicherat, who contends that the Rommisch ornamentation is only
the deformed Roman ornamentation. Up to the thirteenth century
ornamentation was derived universally from antique artificial
foliage ; and since then it has been copied from nature, as on the
capitals in the palace of the Doges of Venice, which reproduce in
** living stone " the vegetation of the country.

As for the statuaries of France whom we must not confuse with
he ornamental sculptors, they stand apart, having cut the cords

DOMESTIC LIFE— BEFORE DINNER. 419

which united them with the ill-understood traditions of ancient art.
Not to Oriental, but to French workmen do we owe the sculptures
of Vezelay, Autun, and Moissac. All is Western. More than a
century before the painters these bold artists felt their way in the
imitation of Nature ; imitation still incomplete and awkward, but
synthetic and forcible and intelligent. The statues of Chartres
had, in 1140, more life and animation than (even the Italian)
pictures of the fourteenth century. Thus is united the long
chain of sculptors which commences with the pious artists of
Chartres, and is continued to the present day by the Guillaumes,
the Mercies and the Paul Dubois — pending successors. It is truly
our national art !

But our baron of the twelfth century knew nothing of all this ;
it was enough for him to admire the pretty capitals of his columns.
Let us admire them with him, and halt before one which represents
iE sop's fable of the wolf and the crane.

Then let us make a little tour round his room. Two halting-
places may be indicated, the chimney and the bed. Let us go from
the bed to the chimney, and from the chimney to the bed again by
different routes ; the journey is not long.

The chimney is enormous, and has nothing in common with our
poor fire-places at which three people can hardly seat themselves.
The old chimney is placed between two windows, so that the baron
can warm himself and gaze out of window at the same time. If
he is curious and chilly he can experience a double pleasure ; and
is it not delightful to watch the snow falling while we warm our
feet. A mantel of arched design, finely carved, is supported by two
colonettes or small pillars. But the most striking part of our
chimney is its cowl or hood, of conical shape, that looks like a
cylindrical tube, and stands out from the wall ; it is terminated by
a chimney-pot. It lends itself to painting, and, as a matter of fact,
it is decorated with floral designs, like those on the walls of the
room, perhaps a scene from " The Table Round."

In this chimney, whose proportions were always increasing from
the twelfth century to the end of the Middle Ages, were burned
whole trunks of trees. Wood was not then wanting in France,
which has been so criminally de-forested. Timber was not spared,
and the fire was lighted with *' flint and steel." There were no fire-

E E 2

420 CHIVALRY.

irons save a bar with which the logs were raoved, but strong and-
irons were then necessary. They were very tall, and surmounted
by small chafing-dishes. The bellows had also its use, and we now
know what appertained to the twelfth century fire-place. Wicker
screens protected the baron's face from the excessive heat, and at
either side of the chimney were stone brackets on which a. candle
was placed, fixed by an iron-pointed tip. The room was, in truth,
badly lighted.

But these hearths, plain and almost barbarous, were cheerful and
charming. There people sat, laughing loudly, hospitably treated,
good and pious. I may venture to say that there was made and
moulded the grand French race. Remember that by the chimney
everyone met, all the representatives of that youthful society en-
countered each other in process of formation. There was much
roughness, superstition, and ignorance, but faith, good- will, and
bright honest spirits. I am aware that the pleasantry was not
always in the best taste, but it was so frank, and so soon retracted.
The women were present, spinning. The servitors were not excluded
from the general familiarity. Guests were present and well-placed,
describing their troubles, small and great. They pushed against
each other, rubbed shoulders, and told tales, even sang songs, not
so loudly as to awake the children who were asleep near their
parents' bed, quite at the other end of the room. One would relate
the fable of Eeynard and the grapes, or a miracle of Saint Anselm,
and so on, or chant the ballad of Doette and Doon.

In this manner they amused themselves, and never felt bored,
around the chimney. Let us proceed.

In our course from the chimney to the bed we shall meet nothing
but furniture, chairs and benches of all shapes. But people did
not require to use them so much as we do now, for they sat on the
ground voluntarily. Even ladies would carry cushions to church
to temper the severity of the cold pavement, and with the same in-
tention the floor of our chamber is covered with a thick carpet, and
rich cushions, new cloth of gold and silk. The knights, in proper
fashion, seated themselves on the flags or bricks. This custom
obtained for a long while, notwithstanding its primitive and
Oriental character, and we find confirmation of this in the poems
of the thirteenth century. But it could not continue in vogue with
a manly and civilized race. No doubt it was a pretty sight to see

DOMESTIC LIFE— BEFORE DINNER. 421

the knights and dames in brilliant costumes reclining about the
floor on brilliant-hued stuffs from Eastern looms. But it was only
pretty to look at. Our baron prefers benches, solid and commodious
eeats, moveable and placed by the walls, covered with quilts and
cushions. Other benches, called *' forms," are furnished with
backs, and divided like " stalls." They are solid, immoveable, and
their workmanship is concealed beneath coverings of wool or
feathers, beneath double and quilted rugs.

These seats must have been uncomfortable and hard, but our
ancestors managed to soften the asperities. Every baron did not
indulge in the luxury of a faldesteuily but, in a large number of
castles, there were, in metal or gilded wood, some seat which more
or less resembled a throne, and was reserved for the head of the
family. A footstool was added to support the dangling legs. The
fieats themselves were covered with tapestry or cushions. When
dependents spoke to their masters, and when they had permission
to seat themselves, the servants took a footstool and seated them-
eelves on a level lower than their superiors. The footstool was a
sign of inferiority, and of dependence. For familiar and family
conversation, between husband and wife, engaged couples, friends,
they eschewed the footstools and chairs, and sat on the beds, which
were very low.

The bed is on a large plan ; it is immense. Placed opposite the
spacious chimney it seems so much larger, inasmuch as it is sur-
rounded by curtains, hung crossways : a small room in the end of
ft large one. Our fathers liked to sleep with their heads very high,
almost in a sitting posture. As the bed was upright, the person in
it could easily see the fire, and watch it across the room as it
crackled in its expiring efforts. Married couples always occupied
the same bed, the idea of separation never entered their heads, so
the bed was an object of considerable attention; it was the cherished
piece of furniture, and was at once an object of art and comfort.
They assured the comfort by suspending the bed on cords, which
were similar to our straps, and so they formed what was termed a
*'cordeis" bed. These were multiplied into feather beds, and so
by degrees our ancestors produced quite sudorific effects by the
manipulation of materials and arrangements. The luxury of these
was excessive ; the bed-posts were gilt, and the minstrels hyper-
bolically declared that they were of gold, for as a rule you may read

422 CHIVALRY,

gilded for ** gold " in the old romances. The bedstead was carved,
gilt, inlaid with ivory, or ornamented with precious stones or glass-
work. During the day a rich quilt was cast over the cloth of gold
or linen, and permitted the golden tassels of the feather beds to be
seen, with the pillows, which cost fifty marlis. This quilt was itself
of silk or cloth of gold, or ermine, or marten fur, fringed with gold.
Superb and brilliant in the extreme.

I am not quite prepared to give my adhesion to the "musical
bed," which is mentioned in one of the old romances. If touched
this bed would give forth most musical notes, with which no musician
and no bird could vie. The author oiElie de Saint-Gilles attributes
this marvel to necromancy and magic. We have musical boxes, but
I do not know that the Middle Ages could have applied the principle
to the bed.

The bed recalls more noble and tender memories. On the
occasion of the knight's marriage the priest blessed it, as we have
already seen, and repeated Latin prayers. His wife was there
then, grave and silent. How well thay remember it ! A minstrel
one evening recounted how an angel appeared to the grandmother
of Godefroi de Bouillon on her wedding-night, who piously
scattered incense on the nuptial couch. Near the bed is the
cradle with the great object of the parents' love laughing and
crowing in it.

But unfortunately many sad memories cling to the bed of our
knight, for in it his father breathed his last. The baron was then
very, very young : his father had been wounded in battle. They
had somehow transported him home, where he lived for three days.

" I wish," said he, *' that you would bury me in the costume of
the White Friars ; I wish to die a monk." They complied with
his request ; he was robed as a Cisterciati, and nothing more com-
forting can be imagined than this soldier attired as a monk. He
first confessed and got absolution ; then he bade good-bye to his
little Anseis, who was present, but he understood nothing of what
was passing.

" Ah," exclaimed the knight, '' if only I had lived, what a knight
I would have made of you ! "

He thought of his horse Fleuri, of which he was very fond, for
it had carried him through many a battle. He paused a long time
thinking of his wife, the charming Clarissa, with " the beautiful

DOMESTIC LIFE— BEFORE DINNER. 423

and gentle soul." " You will see me no more, sweetheart : may
God guide you ! " Then he fainted ; but when he revived he only
thought of God and the Virgin. "If anyone have any cause of
complaint against me I beg his pardon in the name of God."
Then he cried — "Protect me, O Lord, protect me from the felon
enemy ! " These were his last words ; his eyes closed, and with a
gentle sigh he ceased to breathe.

They watched him all night. The neighbours came from castles
near at hand and seated themselves on the carpet round the death-
bed. The censers were arranged ; there were numerous candles.
Next day the knight was buried, but all who attended his funeral
were full of hope for his soul. " Let us not mourn," said one
old knight, " our friend died absolved and with the sacrament."
Then all the rest exclaimed — "His soul has gone; may God
receive it and console him ! "

So you will perceive that a bed may awaken sad memories and
austere thoughts.

The remainder of our little tour will not present so piquant nor
so vivid an interest. Here is the immense wardrobe painted
vermilion, with white, black and red ornaments, and studded with
gems. If you open this piece of furniture you will find belts,
armour, clothing, and what not besides. Farther on is a trunk or
chest, low, heavy, imposing, well fastened with three locks, enclos-
ing the goblets and vessels. Prettier, far, are those small coffers
of figured and gilt leather. They came from Constantinople.
What do they contain? The lady's jewels and the baron's
ornaments. Nothing else ? Do not we perceive some long fair
tresses carefully wrapped up ? When our knight went to Germany
he was engaged to the lady who is now his wife. She cut off some
locks of her beautiful hair, and there they are. But what is this,
a pulpit? That is the " scriptional," the writing-table, and here
are the waxen tablets which are used every day by the knight and
his dame.

" But," says the chaplain, " turn your eyes from these profane
things and look at this shrine, in ivory, of the Virgin, which can be
opened and closed at pleasure. The interior represents the
Crucifixion, the Resurrection and the Ascension of our Lord.
Now look at this little reliquary ; take it in your hands and kiss it.

424 CHIVALRY.

Our baron wore it during his last campaign, and he found the
benefit of it. It is, so to speak, the guardian of the room, and of
all the castle. Just think what it encloses ! a portion of St.
Martin's cloak ; a tooth of St. Peter, and some hairs of
Monseigneur Saint Denis ! These are the three patron saints of
our land : St. Martin, the defender of the race of Clovis ; St. Peter
of Charlemagne, and St. Denis of Hugues named Capet. So ofi'er
a prayer," continues our chaplain, " to one of these soldiers of
God, and kiss once more these glorious relics ! "

Our journey is over. It only remains for us to take a compre-
hensive glance round the room. The general effect is harmonious.
We have mentioned the sober colouring of the vaulting, and the
fine enamelled brick flooring which is rather inclined to scale off.
One is almost afraid to walk upon such a delicate and fragile
enamel. These beautiful bricks are all very well for places where
there is little traffic, and our baron has made up his mind to replace
them by strong stone flooring of white slabs incrusted with black
mastic, such as he has already adopted in the great hall, and to
cover them with a thick eastern carpet.

These carpets are made in France, and they lead us to speak of
the hangings with which our ancestors covered their walls. This
was their little luxury, and they, as a rule, only enjoyed it on feast
days ; but during the year they had so many feast-days. They had
solemnities of the Church, weddings, baptisms, churchings, &c.
On the mornings of these days, or on the previous evening, the
servants would go in with ladders, and drape the walls from top to
floor, with beautiful cloth of silk and gold ; in fact the whole of the
interior was curtained. At the present day we can have no idea of
such magnificence. Scarcely had the visitor ascended the steps
when he entered the great hall, which was fully decorated, as were
all the other apartments. He walked on silk and between silken
walls — and such silk ! Pailes, which as we have seen, is the superb
embroidered material ; the samite, the brocade called ciglaton and
the taffetas known as cendal. Some of these materials were the
same colour, others of different shades. All came from the Orient
or from Sicily. It was all splendid, magnificent, surprising !

Again, on these feast-days, the rooms were prettily decorated
with leaves and flowers ; roses, lilies, jonquils, herbs, gladioli, &c.,
in poetic and picturesque plenty. Picture the genial, joyous, beau-

DOMESTIC LIFE^BEFORE DINNER.

425

tiful French people filling these rooms, laughing, chatting, happy !
This is not an everyday instance I admit, but it is sufficiently well
authenticated, and is a reasonable description. Proofs abound.

This chamber which we are about to leave is beloved by our
baron more than all the rest of his castle. It conceals in truth,
noble existences and rare virtues which are mingled, I do not know
how, with the brutality and savagery of a primitive race. Never-
theless, honour is present ; its portal is never open to cowardice or
treason. One day in the castle of a neighbour, some traitors had
assembled in the bed-chamber, plotting the murder of an infant.
Then a great miracle happened. The chamber, which had been till
then perfectly white, suddenly turned black as coal !

Our knight is somewhat sceptical, and does not very easily credit
such legends. Nevertheless, when such tales are related, he does
not laugh ; he thinks he will tell them to his children very gravely.
For it is above all things necessary that they should detest treason
and love honour and truth.

CHAPTER XV.

THE DOMESTIC LIFE OF THE KNIGHT.— A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A
BARON AT THE END OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY {continued).

Mid -DAY — Dinner.

It is the dinner-hour ; twelve o'clock. From the basement of
the donjon resounds the sound of a horn ; sometimes many horns
or trumpets are blown. If there are no musicians present, the
summons is made vivci voce^ a less effective and certainly a less
poetic means of announcing the meal. But at any rate, it served its
purpose. " To table, to table," is the cry. We have long super-
seded the horn by the clock, and cannot imagine the delight with
which our forefathers heard the call to dinner, especially when a
keen morning had induced a keen appetite.

But the horn of the Middle Ages had a more precise meaning.
It not only conveyed the summons to dinner — it also gave the signal
for washing the hands — a prosaic but necessary function. This is
what is indicated in many poems as *' Sounding the water," " Come
and wash ! " (the " watering horn," in fact). Everyone of high and
low degree demanded water before dinner, and they came from all
sides ; from their rooms, from the orchard, to wash their hands.

All this merry company met on the steps, and prepared to enter
the hall, seeking the lavatory. This washing of hands was an in-
dispensable business for those people whose fingers played the part
of forks. If one did not wash, one was considered in a very bad
way. No doubt when the unfortunate Elias of Saint Giles, who had
eaten nothing for three days on one occasion, met with some robbers
whose dinner he ate, he did not pause to wash his hands ; but then
it was excusable.

The lavatory was placed at the entrance of the great hall of the
castle, and so arranged that at small jets of water the guests could
wash two or three at a time. In some French provinces this custom

DOMESTIC LIFE— THE DINNER.

427

still obtains ; the fountains are still to be seen, though I will not
venture to say that they are relics of the twelfth century. "We may
conjecture that these old fountains were of metal, marble, or terra-
cotta, furnished with taps &c. ; but this is only hypothetical.

Well, the guests press merrily forward to wash, but then arises
the terrible question of precedence, this question which has given
rise to so many disputes, even to so many wars. This had been

The Lavatory.

foreseen and provided against. The highest of the guests were first
admitted to the lavatory ; clerics had precedence of laymen, both
according to rank. This ceremony was regulated, and almost
official. But outside of these lines of etiquette many very pleasant
meetings took place. On one such occasion did Jourdain de Blaives
meet Oriabel to whom tenderly he tendered the towel.

The custom of washing hands was not less esteemed amongst the
lower classes than amongst the nobles, but the rich " gentlemen "
soon found out that the method lacked dignity and was somewhat
inconvenient. In the twelfth century it became necessary to devise
some other mode, and it was discovered without much difficulty.

428 CHIVALRY.

Near each guest at table, the pages respectfully placed basins of
metal, more or less rich, in which the members of the company
dipped or washed their hands. The host was first served, then the
lords and ladies highest in rank, and so on. One basin for two
persons was the general allowance. So the ancient washing foun-
tain was forgotten, and those who are most conversant with the
*' local colour " now only represent the basin presented gracefully to
the baron by a handsome youth, who is poetically termed a page,
but who was scientifically known as a damoiseau or " sergeant."
The lavatory was more patriarchal.

As soon as the guests had completed their ablutions they re-
turned towards the hall, where a very striking spectacle met their
gaze. A succession of marvels on every side, from entrance to the
opposite extremity.

There were, as we have already explained, two kinds of halls.
Some square or round, forming an integral part of the donjon, of
which they occupied the chief floor ; the others, rectangular, con-
stituted the ground floor — often the only floor, those dependences of
the donjon which extended into the upper court. Of these, the
former was not the more beautiful. It was neither so spacious, so
commodious, nor so healthy; one might even declare that it was
somewhat oppressive and heavy in character. Only a small number
of guests could be seated under the eight arched vaults. There was
a want of light. In winter this stone hall was too cold ; in summer
it was too close. These are the objections, and they are justified ;
but then we must remember that most of our old-time barons could
not afford the luxury of another hall nor yet build fine extra-mural
rooms at the foot of the donjon. The existence of the large rect-
angular hall always indicated considerable wealth and rank, and
everyone could not play the duke. Nevertheless, the poor round or
square hall of our old castles, was really capable of enclosing great
beauty. It only wanted finer proportions.

But in the early years of the thirteenth century, there arose an
architect who at once gave the hall the extent and beauty required.
This change was made at Coucy, and the donjon there, is unques-
tionably the most beautiful construction of the Middle Ages. But
nothing is more remarkable than the famous hall on the second
floor which is capable of containing a thousand men, and is not less
than thirty metres in diameter. Beneath the twelve arches of this

DOMESTIC LIFE— THE DINNER.

429

vaulted chamber, which spring from a central key-stone like an eye,
at more than nine feet above the floor is a dodecagonal gallery, a
regular triforium, around which hundreds of knights can circulate.
I can quite understand the admiration of Viollet le Due for this
audacious work of which an ancient Greek architect would have been
proud. And what dinners could have been laid in this splendid
hall — what guests micfht be received there !

Ogier's Revenge.

The exterior halls were of no military value. They were used as
halls of justice, and a place of reception and doing homage. The
great halls of the hospitals of the twelfth century, mostly resemble
these dependences ; and this comparison is in no same derogatory,
for the hospitals were regular palaces in which the poor were treated
like kings. Whether the hall sheltered the sick or the sound, the
plan was the same. It was generally a long parallelogram divided
into three parts by two rows of semi-circular arches supported on
cylindrical columns. The light was admitted by plain semi-circular
windows. Of this style is the splendid hall of Angers hospital, and
on a less degree its dependences — such is the hall which we are now
about to enter in the castle.

430 CHIVALRY.

The proportions of these halls varied, and we shall he mistaken if
we imagine them all like that of Troyes, 160 feet in length and 60
feet wide. Our castellans were more modest in their aspirations.

They were not all princely harons. But even if the hall were not
large, and only divided by a single row of pillars, it is still imposing,
vast, beautiful. It is built of hewn stone, specially selected and well
dressed, for it was never dishonoured by material or workmanship of
inferior kinds. Our poets, who were fond of giving therein to their
imagination, do not fail to assert that these halls were built of
marble. They do not exactly tell a falsehood, but they ex-
aggerate.

It would be difficult to describe the materials of the walls, be-
cause they are nearly always concealed by hangings and tapestry ;
for the hall is as well curtained as the upper chambers. Mosaic
work was rarely employed save in pavement, and our castles, not-
withstanding some spurious testimony, do not pretend to present to
us the rich and curious appearance of St. Mark's at Venice.
Artists, on the other hand, had full scope ; but there was no scruple
in covering their pictures on feast days and gala days, with rich and
gaily- coloured hangings. Besides, the original military decorations
used by all warlike people were pressed into the service. Along the
walls were suspended swords, lances, shields, and other arms.
What grand exploits did not these recall ! What struggles, what
grief! With yonder lance our baron's brother killed a Saracen
Emir ten years ago ; with yonder horn the valiant Amaury en-
deavoured to rally his companions to the assistance of the unfor-
tunate Gui de Lusignan, who had been taken prisoner. With that
sword he had to preserve and protect the holy wood of the true
cross, around which were assembled the last remaining battalions
of the Christian host, which the Bishop of Acre, wounded and
bleeding, handed with trembling arms to the Bishop of Lydda.
But all in vain ; the true cross fell into the hands of the infidel.
The fortunate Amaury was present after the battle, when Saladin
delivered the French barons to his knights to be slain one by one
by their captors. Amaury beheld the head of his best friend roll
at his feet ; but the pagan at whose mercy he stood, had a generous
heart, and would not stoop to the office of executioner. Amaury
was permitted to live.

The arms and curtains, however, do not satisfy our baron. He

DOMESTIC LIFE— THE DINNER.

431

must have tapestries, and we must explain the true significance of
this term, which were of not the high- class warps. We here
protest against an error common to many historians. As a matter
of fact, we had none of the high-class tapestry before the close of
the thirteenth century, for it is only in 1302 that we find it first
mentioned. The Orientals imported in the twelfth and thirteenth
centuries velvet carpets, carpets of price, and this manufacture of

Uberon the dwait and Huon of Bordeaux.

Saracen carpets was very skilfully imitated by the French weavers.
But these are a long way apart from our high-warp tapestry. The
products of the national tapestry-workers, or nostres, were only
woollen stuffs, and we may so assume them.*

Like the Bayeux tapestry, which dates from the eleventh century,
and certain church tapestries, which are attributed to the two
following centuries, the tapestry which adorns the hall of our
baron is only needle-work, embroidery on linen or cloth, and not

* Besides the Saracenic tapestry-workers there existed as early as the time of Philip
Augustus an industry of Tapisseur Nostres — or native tapestry-workers. The haute-
tisseurs or high-warp weavers did not appear until 1302.

432 CHIVALRY.

woven at all. One of our poems confirms this statement as regards
the needle-work.

Between the pretty flowered borders of roses and lilies what
histories may not be read ? On two sides of the rectangle may be
seen the "history of Ogier, who is at the point of killing the son
of Charlemagne, notwithstanding the protests of the French barons,
when his arm is arrested by an angel," and *'the tale of the dwarf
Oberon, before whom Huon of Bordeaux is flying in terror with
his thirteen companions."

But all the remainder of the tapestry is devoted to the touching
legend of Amis and Amile, those two incomparable friends whose
devotion to each other delighted the Middle Ages as Pylades and
Orestes had charmed the Greeks. Some inscriptions in capital
letters gave the explanation of each piece, but the guests needed
not these descriptions to understand the pictures. They had
learnt them from infancy. The first tableau represented the
baptism of the two friends who resembled one another so closely
that no one could distinguish them apart. This was certainly a
miracle ! However, poor Amis became a leper, and was turned
out of doors by his wife; when his youngest son, Girard, alone
remained with him. Now, an angel appears to him and says :
" You will never recover until your friend consents to wash you in
the blood of his children! You cannot live unless they die ! "
His friend slew them, and this is the subject of the third picture.
The leprosy departs at the first contact of the blood-stained
Amiles. But God, who did not accept Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac,
did accept and recompense the faith of Amiles by restoring to him
his children, who were given back to their grief- stricken mother.

Then the heavens become once more overcast. The friends on
their way home from a pilgrimage to Rome are met by the terrible
Ogier, that ferocious enemy of Charlemagne, who, out of spite
against the emperor, slew them in a most cowardly manner. They
were buried in two tombs at a considerable distance apart, but lo
and behold ! the two bodies began to approach each other and
placed themselves side by side ! The Greeks did not think of this !
This tableau, at the same time lugubrious and vivid, forms the
fourth of the series of tapestry pictures.

With his double embellishment of curtains of Eastern silk and
historical tapestries our hall is sufficiently charming, but it is also,

TIIL uL^lullxnuS OF THE CHILDUKN' OF AMILK.

[v. 432.

DOMESTIC LIFE— THE DINNER. 433

like the sleeping-rooms, strewn with flowers and leaves ; we perceive
the odour of mint, and we walk on blossoms of gladioli and roses.
Our knight is not yet contented with such pretty accessories, he
wishes to realise a desire which his wife has long entertained.
Hitherto he has been satisfied with white window-glass, but now
he wishes to rival the neighbouring monastic church, and wants
stained glass, blue and red and green. His casements represent
St. Peter with two enormous keys ; St. Stephen crowned with
stones, indicative of his martyrdom ; St. John holding in his hand
a chalice, from which issues a small serpent, the imagery of the
poison with which the high priest of Diana would have killed him.
Those three windows project beautiful coloured rays into the hall ;
but there is still a fourth dedicated to St. Martin, and the
decorator has requested permission to continue his work during
dinner. He is now at work on his subject — the bestowal of his
cloak by the saint on a poor beggar-man.

We are now acquainted with the whole of the hall. Let us look
at the table.

Since the sixth century, since the triumph of the Barbarians, the
ancient triclinium has died out. The Romans reclined at their
meals ; the conquerors sat.

They were, however, great eaters, and remained at table for a
long while in the company of many friends. In these points they
were like our feudal ancestors. But the castles unfortunately
could only accommodate fixed tables of certain dimensions. Their
halls served for many uses, and so moveable tables became
necessary. The Romans had quite enough, or too much space ;
our ancestors had not sufficient.

On the evening preceding, or on the morning of the great dinner,
the sergeants or valets carried into the salle the trestles on which
the long boards were extended covered with fine cloths. There
were several tables ; though at times they were juxta-posed so as to
form apparently a single board. At times round or oval, sometimes
rectangular according to the shape of the hall. The upright rims
were only seen on the fixed tables, for moveable tables were only
set up on grand days ; in some castles, the master's table was left
day after day.

In spring-time, when the flowers bloomed, in fine weather, the

F F

434 CHIVALRY.

inhabitants of the castle dined in the open air, when the tables
were of course *' moveable," and the author of Garin de Loherain,
indicates two hundred tables (!) laid out. The aged Fromont w^as
radiant in the midst of the guests.

*' This is the time to have your son made a knight," said Bernard
de Naisil to him ; "you should rest a little," he added.

*' I rest ! " exclaimed the old man. "I challenge you to the
tourney to-morrow ! "

" All his friends wish it," insisted the other.

" Well, be it so," replied the knight, who was not very energetic
after his meal — a not uncommon fact, and after his little explosion
of anger. So the young man was called and knighted, as elsewhere
described, bathed and dressed ; he came out on horseback and
rode up and down. Afterwards he assumed his place at the board
with a hearty appetite. Never has there been another such hasty
knighthood.

Let us go inside the castle again.

No matter how many tables had been laid, there was always one
higher than the others. This was the " master's table ; " the high
table for the supreme individual present, who was accompanied by
a few privileged persons, who contemplated the other, and palpably
inferior, guests. The high table was in evidence, and the cynosure
of all regards.

Small and great lords and vassals were seated on cushioned
benches, which varied in style at the different tables, the high table
having the best seats. In front of the high table was the high
dais, the " maistre dois," the others were of less consequence. This
** dois " was not a dais in the modern acceptance of the term, it was
not even a platform as some writers have supposed. It was a
, backed seat more or less raised — a seat higher, heavier, more orna-
mented and less mobile than any of the others. We cannot state
positively, that the maistre dois was partitioned off into stalls ; it
sometimes contained only two seats. Of the other benches some
had backs, some were mere " forms," the greater proportion were
ordinary seats, light and easy to move. The upper table dominated
all. The maistre dois dominated the high table itself, and one day
the terms became synonymous.

If we penetrate into the hall two hours before dinner, we shall
find twenty or thirty tables on trestles, each supplied with a bench

DOMESTIC LIFE— THE DINNER. 435

with or without a back, according to circumstances. At this time,
the prospect is somewhat meagre and poor. But wait until the
cloth is laid : until the " covers are laid." As soon .as the guests
arrive, the viands are uncovered. The covers had been retained till
then. This explanation will account for the modern phrase, which
is used in ignorance of its origin.

The tables were laid by the valets or pages, according to the rank
of the castellan. By non-nobles and by nobles to be exact. The
latter, the " dcmoiseaux," were youthful Imights, young men without
fortune, without fiefs, who were called bachelors ; and from these
aspirants to chivalry were nominated the squires and the " varlets.'*
The non-nobles were the dispensers, the butlers, and '* sergeants."
The last individuals were the only quality of servants in the families
of small knights and those who possessed no sovereignty. The two
groups of servitors were employed together, and in this instance the
demoiseaux directed the sergeants. The first thing was to lay the
cloths, a more delicate task than may perhaps be imagined. Then
the napkins were placed on the cloths ; these were called doMiers.
Then the various paraphernalia of the meal were laid ; each guest
having put by his side every necessary article. Let us see how it
was arranged.

Before each guest was placed a knife and spoon. These were
indispensable. The spoons were of gold and costly withal. The
chamberlain took care to count them when the meal was finished.
This w^as the wish of the baroness, and she had reason to enforce it,
I assure you. The knives deserve a passing word ; they were of
Poitevin steel with gilt handles. No forks were used before the end
of the thirteenth century. There were no serviettes ; they were in
the lavatory. If it is necessary to wipe your lips at table, you must
do it with the small corner of the cloth, but take care that you are
imobserved. You must dine with the most scrupulous propriety.

Each guest is also supplied with a loaf or cake of fine white flour
bread. No barley or rye-loaves. They are for the poor. This pro-
yision would ensure their not dying of hunger, but they would be
thirsty and continue thirsty until the end of the meal and after. So
a goblet or nef is placed before each one, and it will be frequently
emptied. Our host possesses a rich collection of cups of gold and
silver of splendid workmanship, which sparkle on the board like
suns. The porringers, no doubt, are not less useful, but they are

^ Of THE ^r

UNIVERSITY

436 CHIVALRY.

less elegant and less showy. One of them is put between two
guests, and they will have the pleasure of eating from the same
dish. We notice these with the vast expansive plates — and now we
have an idea what each guest is furnished with.

There remains to be mentioned the general table-decoration,
which we find somewhat tasteless, for the greatest artists of the
period did not see any necessity for it. On our table are placed,
in a somewhat irregular and confused manner, ewers of yellow
copper, great jugs of wine in lieu of bottles, cups with lids, and
cups without lids, goblets of metal and of wood, salt-cellars, and
sauce-boats. At dinner, dishes of gold and silver will be put on the
table supporting roast sw^ans and peacocks. At grand dinners, a
swan or a peacock is served for each two guests ! But this is ex-
treme luxury, and does not generally obtain.

This general pell-mell arrangement of plates and goblets, jug&
and porringers, was not disagreeable to the eye. The jugs were
designed in all kinds of forms, some very quaint — lions, birds and
other animals, men and monsters, all vigorous, " living " models.
As regards the cups and goblets, we must humbly confess that we
are not able to distinguish one from the other. The '* cup " wa»
a wider vessel than the goblet, had a higher stem, sometimes shaped
like a chalice and serving for two convives ; the term " nef," seems
to have been applied without distinction to both cups and goblets.
Amongst these vases, the one corresponded to the antique crater,
into which was dipped the cyathus which filled the pocula and
chalices^ the others resembled the latter vessels, and varied from
the open form of the chalice to the clumsier shape of the goblet ;
the former were of gold or silver, the latter in madre, more or less
ornamented or mounted. What is madre ? That is the mystery.
It is certain that the term signifies the root of certain woods, the
heart of certain species of trees ; it is equally impossible to deny
that one might have obtained madre goblets very cheaply, and this
cheapness can only be associated with the small cost of the material.
All the value lay in the mounting, but the madre was generally
spotted, veined, or rayed, and that has been given as the reason
w^hy certain stones marked in the same way — the onyx for example
— had the same name applied to them. This is rather a far-fetched
supposition, and rather too ingenious to be true. It is better to
stand, in the twelfth century, by the goblets of real wood, by the

DOMESTIC LIFE'-THE DINNER. 437 |

goblets of madre or of fust. To drink good wine out of good wood
is not a very great trial, after all.

So we may imagine that nothing could be more varied and
sparkling, or cheerful-looking than a dining-room of the twelfth
century before the arrival of the guests. On the tables the cups ^

glittered, and could be reckoned by hundreds in the mansions of I

kings and emperors. There were nefs which had a history of j

their own. It was pretended that the service of Charlemagne j

came from the treefsures of Constantino. The majority of those ;

beautiful vases recalled victories and exploits more or less legendary. !

When Naines, Ogier, Turpin, and Estous were received at the \

castle of Montauban, Maugis did not fail to give instructions to the i

effect that " Before Naines you must place the great cup which I
won at Rome, and which holds not less than a setier ; * before j

Turpin you shall put the cup of Geoffrey of Bordeaux ; before Ogier '

that of Didier; while Estous may have King Yon's cup." But
now the tables are laid and the covers put on. The chatter and
mutterings of the vassals cease for a while, the guests hurry in, |j

amid a babel of talking and laughter. /"

It was one thing to invite guests, but quite another matter to '' \
place them at table; the question of procedure was a difficult one. ^

In France there has been a code, a legislative order, for a long ^ j i}\
while, but theory and practice are very diverse ! - ■

The hierarchal order was most natural at a period when rulers \

were placed so regularly one above the other. The first place in
good houses was reserved for the ecclesiastic of the highest position
in the church, and the second place to the most elevated layman.
The host conducted them, respectfully, to the upper table where all A N
the other guests could see them. If he had not at his table a /
bishop or an abbe, a suzerain or baron, who was manifestly superior / !
in rank to him, the baron himself would occupy his upper seat, and / j

would place his wife on his right hand. Then all the other barons iiy ]

order of seniority would group themselves around him. The sene/ \

fichals and chamberlain no doubt presided over these arrangements, \

which otherwise might have had some unpleasant consequences. j

This hierarchal order, which is by itself somewhat dry and weari-

i

• An ancient measure which varied in diJSerent localities. It was a land measure, J

of about three acres, nominally ; and applied to the extent of the cup not its contents, '

we suppose. I

438 CHIVALRY.

some, was very luckily for the general amusement tempered by two
principles, or, if you prefer the term, by two pleasant and quite
"modern" customs. Between two barons a lady was placed, and
in this arrangement a nice contrast and continued gaiety were
assured. Then between two invited guests a place was reserved for
a son or daughter of the house, to whom were entrusted the honours
of the table. This was a good arrangement, and the fact that the
guests were compelled to associate in pairs enlivened the repast.
" To drink from the same jug, to eat from the same porringer " was
very "picturesque." A knight and a lady were frequently compelled
to eat their dinner in this way, and it gave rise to many acts of
politeness. It was a question who would leave the tit-bits to the
other — the partner. It is not too much to say that, notwithstanding
the realistic side of the question, and the "faces" made while eating,
more than one marriage has come from this partaking of meats.
This mode of arrangement was called, " Service a la Frangaise.'"

There were some castles to which only the aristocracy were
admitted to table. This is a pride of caste which I can understand,
but cannot admire. I prefer the arrangement which excluded
children under seven from these long and rather too lively meals.
The poor people were really first thought of by the diners as they
seated themselves. Above the high table was an inscription in
bold letters ; the verses were the composition of the baron's
chaplain, and the knight voluntarily translated them to his guests —

Cum sis in mensa, pniMO de paupere pensa;
Nam cum pascis eum, pascis, amice, Deum !

However, to suit ladies, he had painted underneath the two
following lines, the work of a certain Walter, prior of Vic-sur-
Aisne : —

** Cil qui por Dieu le suen depart ;
Tout tens en a la meillor part. "

As she reads this noble admonition the young lady who is seated
below at the second table calls the seneschal, and, demanding another
porringer, she places therein the wings of the peacock which had
been laid near her, and calling the servant, whispers to him : —

" My friend, carry this to the first poor man you see ; I would
willingly give him more. Hold ! hand him also this cup of wine
from my goblet, and tell him to pray for me."

DOMESTIC LIFE— THE DINNER. 439

By this time all the convives are seated, and they eat with good
appetite. This is the time to find out of what the banquet
consists.

The meal will he a long one, and the hill of fare is varied. We
know the length of those Norman dinners; these great repasts of
the Feudal period (and we are only speaking of them, not of the
"every-day" meal), resembled them greatly. "The dinner was
not short, it lasted as long as a winter day," says the poet. Eight
hours at table ! That is rather too much, and we think that our
poet exaggerated. But it is beyond question that dinners extended
to six, seven, or ten courses, to fifteen, or even to eighteen, and
these only meat and fish ; chiefly meats. Vegetables and fruit did
not count with such appetites as these, and this great and
substantial supply of food was necessary if the host wished to hear
his guests declare that *' they had never been seated at a better
table. Blessed be our host ! Excellent ! Excellent ! It must be
confessed that these rough fellows ate a great deal. The gigantic
Renoart devoured five pasties and five capons which he washed down
with several quarts of wine. We need not speak of Ogier who
disposed of a whole "quarter of beef," which Turpin sent him.
Putting these romances aside, we know for a fact that Guy of
Burgundy astonished the Saracens by the display of his appetite ;
they declared that he ate more than four* other cavaliers together.
" Well," he replied, " that proves that I am a good and * well-filled'
knight ; a man who eats so well will never be a coward ! "

This appetite never deserted the young knights even when in
love. During Doon's courtship of Nicole tte, he " never stopped
eating ; " nor did she, a child of eleven, neglect her food. When
Regaut had the misfortune to lose his uncle Begue he could not at
first touch anything. But the empress comforted him and begged
him to " try and eat a little. If you would only just taste some-
thing ! " she cried. He consented to oblige her, and tasted a light
repast which consisted of four loaves and a whole roasted peacock,
with a small cask of wine. He disposed of all this in a few minutes !
We can picture a dinner of fifteen courses. There was no soup
nor fish, nor any trifles, such as we designate hors d'oeuvres. Our
friends in the castle began with flesh — generally venison. It is
remarkable how seldom " butcher's meat" figures in their bills of

440 CHIVALRY.

fare. The sportsmen liked the produce of their sport, and they did
not draw any distinction between the fowls and game — our first
dish is venison — " Cerf de craisse au poivre chaut.'* It was quite
possible to cook the deer whole after having carefully scorched and
larded him. It was served in quarters at the various tables in
splendid dishes. The " sauce poivrade " was served hot in a
tureen, and poured over the food. '* Poivre chaid,'" or "pevree,"
of the period means only this hot pepper sauce. It was served
with all meats. Sometimes a few cloves were thrown in and then
it became " sauce giroflee,'' but the difference was very slight.
Butter was almost ignored, and oil was seldom used except for some
fritters. Pepper, pepper everywhere : from first to last spices —
always spices. This assisted the digestion, and made guests drink !
Long live the pepper !

The second course of meat was something substantial to satisfy
such capacious stomachs — viz., the shoulder of wild-boar, but at the
upper table was set on a rarer animal — namely, a quarter of bear
stuffed and roasted. The perfume of the spices is pleasant.
Everyone sniffs the savoury odour, and cries of admiration ascend
with the steam. By the time these viands are helped, as the
guests are not absolutely dying of hunger, conversation becomes
general. Old sportsmen like killing the game, but they also like
to tell how they killed it, and the poet puts it philosophically —
Asses i mentent li plusor / " To accuse them of lying to their
heart's content is pretty strong — let us say they embellished their
narratives. ¥ov instance —

*'Ah, that wild boar you are eating gave me some trouble, I can
tell you. I came across him near the Castle of Motte, five leagues
off, in the woods under a great pine tree by the lake. I saw that
he was resting near the water, so I cut myself a thick club, and
awaited his attack. The moment he perceived me he came rush-
ing towards me at full speed. I gave him a blow which threw him
on his haunches, then another on the head which blinded him, but
unfortunately my club was broken by this stroke and I had to use
my sword to finish him. I wanted to carry him home but I was
too exhausted. Ah, he was a fine fellow ! "
Again we listen and hear the tale of the bear.
*' This bear they are handing you," says the host, *' was a bold
fellow. I never saw a beast defend himself so well ! He killed

DOMESTIC LIFE— THE DINNER. 441

two of my hounds and stifled Pierre." Then follows an "inter-
minable " narrative which is interrupted by the arrival of the third
and fourth courses — the peacocks and the swans. These are the
favourite dishes. The birds are kept in great numbers, less for
ornament than for use.

Their appearance gives rise to many reminiscences of the Swan-
knight — whose mother had seven children at a birth, one a girl,
and six boys who were turned into swans — they were restored to
human shape all but one, who remained a lily-white bird and
guided his brothers to Jerusalem. The swan-knight was an an-
cestor of Godfrey de Bouillon — and various other narratives of
Charlemagne, Pepin and others, which more or less refer to the
eating of peacocks and swans, are related. These caused much
laughter ; one in particular, in which Maugis the magician per-
sonated a beggar, and induced Charlemagne to put the food into the
suppliant's mouth, caused great merriment.

Then follow all kinds of fowls — capons roasted and fried fowls
— these are the fifth and sixth courses ; the seventh and eighth
consist of water-fowl and small game — rabbits, hares, &c. — and
subsequently the waterfowl — herons, cranes, divers, mallards, &c.
The ninth course consists of pasties — venison, pheasant, pigeon
pies, plover pasties, and many others ; all kinds of game pies. But
a last pasty is placed before the master. He cuts the thin crust
and out flies a flock of small singing-birds which perch around the
hall. Immediately the doors open, and a number of falcons are
admitted which make short work of the unfortunate little birds.*

Fish comes next, and is not well received ; the tenth course
is not so successful as its predecessors — mullet, bream, shad,
barbel, salmon and trout are all disdained by our barons. But they
manage, nevertheless, to find a corner for an eel-pie. After this,
conversation waxes fast and furious. It is a regular Babel, and
repartees are exchanged with much gusto; these "jokes" were of an
ordinary kind, and scarcely interchangeable. " Of what land {terre)
are you ? " " Do you want to make j)ots ? " "I was asking where
you were born ! " "I have never been nes {nef-ewer) nor ship."
The play in each case being on the signification of a word which
has many meanings, as nef is " boat " or " ewer."

During these pleasant exchanges a dog, perhaps, will come in,

* No doubt the immortal "song of sixpence " is based on this Feudal habit.

442 CHIVALRY.

and while munching a bone his presence will recall the incident of
Macaire and the dog of Mondidier, which found his enemy at the
banquet. In the *' man and dog tight " which ensued, the
quadruped came off victorious — he had avenged his master whom
Macaire had assassinated. Sometimes the conversation gets noisy
and two knights get to dangerous words, but the host or the ruler
of the feast puts a stop to this, and the eleventh and twelfth courses
make their appearance.

These consist of confectionery and pastry of all kinds, but the
barons do not much afiect it. They are waiting for something
better. What? You will never guess, you delicate feeders of
to-day. You may suppose that fruit, or something equally
refreshing, will follow the viands, served with hot sauces and
spices ! No, by no means — no luscious cool fruits, but spices ;
hot, burning ginger, cloves, and such-like are eaten freely. Their
palates are on fire ! so they must drink — that is the idea. At that
time certain spiced drinks are also handed round, called laituaires.
They indeed thirst !

Now what do these barons drink ? Wine, and plenty of it.
They dislike water greatly. The cups, or goblets, are of immense
size, and it is customary to empty your cup during each course.
The wine is " heady " stuff. Some have received distinct directions
from their doctors to mix water with their wine. They have
begged to be permitted to drink the wine first and the water after.
But as soon as they have swallowed the wine they declare they are
thirsty no longer, and they refuse the water ! Well, suppose they
drink the pure vintage wine; but they do not, they make up
horrible mixtures. If they condescend to drink pure wine it is
only at the family table, at the humble daily repast. But their
grand feasts ! Fie ! To the pure juice of the grape they prefer
the pimentf the clarcy the bouglerastre, and hyssop. All these
beverages are only horrible drugs. The piment is a spiced and
perfumed wine, dare is a composition of wine and aromatic herbs
and honey, bouglerastre is only a kind of hydromel and wine
mixed ; hyssop, concerning which we have no details, is no doubt an
infusion of herbs. I pass by moret and other liquors of the same
class. In fact, in nearly all wines, honey or spices were dissolved
or mixed. Honey and pepper, pepper and honey ; they could not
get out of that groove. Nevertheless it is pleasing to know that

DOMESTIC LIFE— THE DINNER. 443

our ancestors left some small space for the old grand brands of
Beaune, Auxerre, Burgundy, Anjou, Cyprus, and Malvoisie. I
hope they did not ruin these fine wines by such sophistications as
we have named above.

The attendance was specially remarkable. Two armies of
servitors were employed. One set, youthful, proud of their youth
and good looks, splendidly clad in ermine and furs, sons of counts
and princes, squires and pages to-day but knights to-morrow !
The others, soberly clad, really servants, meschins, serfs. As the
knights form the first line in battle, and the squires the second, so
at table the pages form the first and the valets the second line.
There was perpetual hurrying to and fro between the hall and the
kitchen. The more guests the more waiters. When counts are at
table, knights bachelors only wait on them ; but if the king be
present he is served by counts, the emperor by kings. The
various grades are fixed in almost mathematical order, and our
chansons show that Charlemagne was waited on by three kings, one
to pour out the wine, one to hold the dish (or plate), and another to
present the goblet. This might serve as an inspiration for an artist.

Ail this time it is merry in the hall : the noise of hurrying feet,
the aspect of the table, now disordered, the laughing, chattering,
drinking crowd of guests, and the somewhat thoughtful smile of
the host, who is satisfied with the result, are something to be
remembered.

" The dinner is a success," mutters the host, but to whom is
the success owing ? To that stout man yonder ; who is moving
around the tables, ordering the attendants hither and thither in a
loud voice, who sends messages to the kitchen; who sees every-
thing, the viands, the wines ; who thinks of everything, and seems
to be everywhere at once. This person is the seneschal ! Every-
thing depends on him. The head cook is, so to speak, the letter of
the repast : the seneschal is the spirit of it. He is only too well
aware of it, and is too self-satisfied. Gross, important, superb !
He values himself highly, and our ancestors did not spare laughter
on this semi- comic personage. They caricatured him, and very
well too. You remember that Hernaut the Ked, son of William,
disguised himself as the seneschal and played his role marvellously.
He was even more gross, vain, and insolent than the true Simon Pure.

The duty of the seneschal is heavy, particularly when the dinner

CHIVALRY.

is long; he then becomes flurried and irritable, angry with his
inferiors, but even-tempered with others. The meal is approaching
its conclusion ; the noise is deafening, no one can hear either the
music or the singing which has been provided, for our ancestors
liked music at dinner, and prefer it to the gymnastic exercises on
the tight-rope, which proceed during dinner-time. Music is
preferable, and sometimes the guests themselves sing. These
exhibitions give rise to remarks more or less proper, which make
the elders smile and the young people blush. One youth
volunteers a song, but he can only sing in Latin, as he is
preparing for the Church. *' Go on, we will translate it." Then
he begins the famous song : —

** Meum est propositum in taberna mori."

** Let me die in a tavern with my dying lips steeped in wine ! "

Subsequently someone chants the remaining couplets : —

" Potatores siuguli sunt omnes benigni."

" All drinkers," he says, " are famous fellows ! " and so on to
the praise of good wine.

'* Vinum super omnia bonum diligamus."

Those who understand applaud loudly, and those who do not
applaud more loudly still.

Perhaps someone who is about to proceed to the Holy Land will
take up a lugubrious tone, but he will be out-voted by some manly
neighbour who provokes enthusiasm by describing the glory of the
expedition, and even of death under such circumstances. Some
ladies weep, others grow pale, a thrill of enthusiasm pervades the
company ; but then come jokes, and conversation, and pleasantries
to remove the sadness, and still enthusiasm for the present.

Music continues for an hour, and as the company has been at
table three hours, it is time to leave it. The master of the
house gives the signal ; the attendants, at a sign from the
seneschal, whip the cloths off. The dinner is at an end !

We have, in the foregoing pages, endeavoured to describe a real
banquet — a grand feast ; the ordinary daily dinner was a very
small affair, and there is no need to describe it. Small repasts
\ resemble happy peoples — they have no history. ~ ~^

CHAPTER XVI.

THE DOMESTIC LIFE OF THE KNIGHT— A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A
BARON AT THE END OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY {continued).

After Dinner.

The guests rise from table rather tumultuously, and go to wash
their hands once more. They then disperse through the rooms
and stroll into the open air. Groups — sometimes noisy ones — are
formed. The older people seat themselves, the more youthful make
up parties in the field for fencing, or games at the quintain, &c.

The lady of the castle is surrounded by male guests who pay her
many compliments, but not solely on account of her beauty do they
thus attend her. She is dispensing pretty gifts amongst them, and
these girdles, furs, and other presents, account for some of the at-
tention she is receiving. Perhaps just then, a hoarse growling is
heard — one of the baron's pet bears is half suffocating the other in
his embraces, and the knights shout with laughter as they crowd
around, and endeavour to separate the infuriated combatants.
Their cries and shouts attract all the guests save some few angry
ones, who are playing backgammon or chess, and who do not wish
to be disturbed, so intent are they on their games. They play for
high stakes, too — for money, or, as in one case, for a mule.

There are besides "parlour games." After "hide and seek"
comes " confession." The young men amuse themselves with a
game called "gabs," or a game of bragging. For instance, one will
say : " Give me three shields, I will climb a tree and knock them
together. By this noise I will kill all the game in the forest."

" I," says another, " will merely whistle in the direction of Paris,
and cause a terrific storm there — won't the citizens be frightened ! "

"I," cries a third, " will turn the river aside and inundate the
whole country — won't the people be alarmed ! "

But this nonsense does not last long, the young people are too
full of life, and by the time the lasses have finished their confes-

446

CHIVALRY.

sions the lads leave their '* gabs." What should follow but danc-
ing ? And they do dance. To stimulate themselves the pages and
squires take to wine again, as if they had difank none for days.
Then they set to dancing a " singing rondo^" in which the damsels
hold the men's hands, and you may depend on it they are not in a
hurry to let go, or to cease dancing.

Then the musicians, ten in number, with viols, psalteries and harps,

VA-

Bound the Fire.

play to the elders, who listen gravely; but the young people prefer to
dance. However, to all save the dancers, the greatest pleasure of the
evening is to hear the jongleur recite some epic poem in the great hall.
At weddings, as already remarked, three musicians (jongleurs),
were invited to recite. Now there is but one. 'Tis true he is the
best in the country, and in his life, as in his recitals, he differs very
greatly from the others. He is a Christian, and this explains every-
thing. He regards his vocation almost as a sacred mission ; he
cares only to recite the lives of the saints or the exploits of knights.
He likes these grand epics, and he loves the Church more, holding

DOMESTIC LIFE— AFTER DINNER. 447

in small esteem all the petty singers of impure ballads which had
already begun to pollute castles and towns. He called all such
^'lustrions," and treated them with silent contempt.

" What shall I sing for you this evening ? " he asks as he strikes
the first chord on his viol. The host reflects for a moment and
then replies, '' I have a suggestion to make ; instead of singing us
an entire song, which may to some appear too long, suppose you
chant to us some of the most beautiful passages from our old poems.
So shall we have the pleasure, in one hour, of going through all our
most heroic poems. It would be a perfect treat. Let us hear them."

Then the musician tunes his viol, and begins by imposing silence
on his auditory, which is somewhat noisy. *' Barons," he cries,
'* listen to me, and keep quiet ! " Then wishing to compensate his
auditors for so prolonged a silence as he requires, and for interrupt-
ing so many pleasant discussions, he announces his intention to sing
some verses in which those grand subjects Chivalry and Grief, are
worthily celebrated. " I commence my lord, with a song of vassal-
age— of high chivalry and of great toil."

** II commence, seignor, chanson de vasselage ;
De grant chivalrie et de fort ahaunage ! "

He has the frankness to confess that these recitations will last until
sunset perhaps ; an announcement which causes some dissatisfaction
amongst the younger members present, but he adds that he will be
perfectly ** historical " in his selections. It has all actually hap-
pened I and he does not hesitate to promise an eternity of happiness
to his hearers for their complaisance !

After a preface laudatory of the Deity and the Virgin, our jokkj-
leur commences his actual recital with Charlemagne. "I am not
going to tell you of the youth of Charlemagne," he says, " nor of
all the troubles which Heaven heaped upon him before he was
called to the throne of France. If anyone here complains of his
life let him think of the son of Pepin ! I question whether he ever
had one hour of real repose. Forced to reconquer his throne before
he actually could occupy it, he did not triumph over his enemies
except in the matter of the restoration of the Pope to Eome. * Ah,'
he said, * now will I repose me a little.' But almost immediately
he learnt that the Saracens were once again threatening Italy. He
at once set out against them, and pursued them as far as Aspre-
mont. He returned victorious, but then Ogier revolted; the sons

448

CHIVALRY.

of Aymon did likewise, so did John of Lanson. Charles quelled all
these rebellions, and when victorious, only thought how to deliver
Christendom from the Infidel. To bring a very perilous enterprise
to a right ending : to supply himself with the necessary strength
he proceeded, attended by a dozen peers, to kiss the tomb of the
Holy Sepulchre, and bring back to Constantinople the miraculous
relics of the Passion. At length Charles was ready. Saint James

Thierry accusing Ganelon.

appeared to him in his sleep, touched him on the shoulder, and
pointing to Spain, said — * Go ! '

" He went ; and at the end of seven years of campaigning he had
but one enemy, and one town before him — Saragossa. He had his
nephew Roland with him, and feared no defeat. But there was a
traitor in the camp ; Ganelon sold Roland to the Moors. I will not
now relate the circumstances nor the death of Roland amongst the
archangels, Raphael, Gabriel, and Michael. You have it often
times, and I am sure many of you know by heart the poem. But
I will tell you how Roland was avenged. There were two traitors,
and two punishments. Listen —

DOMESTIC LIFE— AFTER DINNER.

449

The Emperor caused his clarions to be sounded,

Then lie sent forward the baron with the grand army-

They found the track of the Infidel ' Marsile,'

And ardently pressed on in quick pursuit.

But Charles perceived that daylight would hitn fail,

And, kneeling in the grass, in meadow green,

He prayed, supplicating the great God

To cause the sun to stop and night to wait !

The angel, who was guardian to the king,

Gave order promptly, and he cried to him —

* Press on, Charles ; on, the daylight shall not fail ! '

For Charhmagne did God perform this wonder !

The sun in Heaven halts, immovable —

The pagan flies, the French press in pursuit."

The Punishment of Ganelon.

The traitor Ganelon remained to be dealt with, but his punish-
ment was not less severe than was the Pagans. Charles, on his
return to Aix, had him brought before him chained like a wild
beast. They bound him to a post, a prelude to his punishment.
Before the king's tribunal, where all stood in fear of the prisoner,
there arose an implacable accuser, Thierry. He stood up amongst
all those cowards and traitors, and, with a terrible gesture, pointed

to the accused, who had been brought in —

o o

450 CHIVALRY.

'• ' Ganelon is felon ! Roland has he slain,

I to death condemn him ! Let him hang ! .

Cast his carcase to the dogs for this, —

This is the punishment of ti-aitors !

Should any friend of his give me the lie,

With this good sword, which hangs upon my hip,

Am I prepared to meet him, and sustain

The words I speak ! ' * Well said,' replied the Franks."

It is sad to think that the most unrighteous causes can some-
times find defenders. Pinahel took up Ganelon's cause. Pinabel,
a baron brave and true ; tall and strong. He accepted the challenge,
confessed and received the sacrament. The great duel began;
Pinabel was vanquished, and the death of Ganelon was resolved
upon. The judges had no fear of the accused. The time had
come —

" Then four chargers were brought forth :
And to them tied the writhing traitor's limbs,
Wild were the steeds and foaming : at their heads
Stood four grooms, who led them to the field.
God ! what a death for Ganelon !
All his nerves were wrenched, his limbs
Torn by the horses from his trunk by force.
The life-blood reddened all the sward around.
He died a traitor's and a coward's death.
It is not just for traitors to boast treason ! "

When the minstrel had pronounced the last line "A'i tvdist altre,
nen est dreiz qiCil s'en vant,'' there was a death-like silence. Then
a child cried out against Ganelon. Women wept and barons
pondered. The singer requested permission to repose himself, and
permitted a cup of wine to be presented to him. Meanwhile the
audience resumed the conversation, and the jongleur could not
afterwards obtain a hearing for some time. No one seemed
inclined to ask for the next recitation, but everyone desired it.

The jongleur then transported his audience into a very different
sphere, and showed them Charles the Great before Eoncesvalles ;
tears are in his eyes as he murmurs the names of Ganelon and
Roland, Roland and Ganelon, and says aloud : " Four hundred
years after my death people shall still speak of my revenge ! "

The king, a hundred years old, was the only person in the army
who was really energetic. Behind him marched his knights, pant-
ing, pale, emaciated, worn out, and only wished for one thing —
bed! This march of the grand army across France, so well

THE UKEAT DUEL 13ETWEEN THlEllEY AND PINABEL. [f. 450.

DOMESTIC LIFE— AFTER DINNER.

451

described by our musician, might tempt a painter to depict it.
One day I actually shed tears while regarding Meissonier's "1814,"
but it seems to me that this poor, ragged army, with hanging heads
and fallen features, might well provoke pity.

Charles halted, and between the mountains he got a glimpse of a
beautiful city. ** It shall be mine ! " he said, and he began to
propose the conduct of the siege to his captains successively.

Charlemagne before Nar bonne.

They all being lazy and sleepy, declined ; and then the emperor,
worthily enraged, insulted them with scorn : —

" Seigneurs, barons, who have served me well,
I tell you now in faith to get you gone !
Return unto your native lands once more.
But, by the Heav'n above which never lies.
Whoever of you goes I will remain.
Begone then French, Burgimdians ;
Angevins and Flemish, get you hence !
Full thirty months, if need be, I rest here !
When you return to Orleans or France
And people ask * Where is the Emperor Charles ? '
By God, seigneurs, so then shall you reply —
' We left him to besiege Narbonne alone ! ' "

o o 2

452 CHIVALRY.

The reciter ceased to chant, and paused after striking a few
chords. As an elderly man who fancied he had a right to preach,
he then exclaimed, " Ah ! Charles was a hundred years old when
he spoke thus. Which of you would be as bold ? " Then, perceiv-
ing that his remark was very coldly received, he continued : —
"Barons, knights, listen to me ; Charlemagnes, alas ! are not often
to be found, more's the pity, for if we still had a Charles with us,
we should have a Eoland. It is certain that this son of Pepin had
no son worthy of him, and who, without William, without that
Ameri who took Narbonne, he would never have worn the crown of
gold which the angels placed on the brow of the first king of
France. But, unfortunately, gratitude is even more rare in the
palace of the king than in the castle of the vassal, and Louis soou
forgot his deliverer William. Even when rewarding his other
barons with states and fiefs, he forgot the very man to whom he
owed everything. He was out hunting at the time, but, when he
returned, he was justly incensed, and I will tell you of the grandest
exhibition of anger which history relates. Clerics would have us
believe that we should never remind one reproachfully of the benefits
which we may have conferred on him, but in truth this was too much
to expect in this instance ; the scandal demanded vengeance : —

** Count William returned from his hunting
With four arrows in his belt,
His bow in hand ; and met Bertrand who said,

* Our Emperor has bestowed on all his knights
Lands and fiefs, my uncle ; but on us
Nothing at all ; we are clean forgotten ! '

* Nephew, I will quick unto the King
And speak with him on this. '

Then Count William to the palace strode
And mounting up the marble steps in haate
With heavy tread upon the palace floor,
And not a baron heard but felt afraid.

" Then, white with anger, William presented himself before the
poor little, trembling, king, and reminded him of all the benefits
which he (William) had bestowed on him — of the battle under the
walls of Rome where he had saved the king's life, and of his services
at Pierrelatte. But he soon took higher flights to the supreme
service which the bold count had rendered to the weakling king.

** When Charlemagne desired to make you king,
The crown u.pon the altar was deposited.

DOMESTIC LIFE— AFTER DINNER.

453

Count Hernaut supported by his clan
Desired it, and wished to take it up.
But I saw him ; and, indignant, flung
My hand upon his neck, and threw him down
Upon the holy pavement of the church.
Advancing then the marble steps I scaled ;
Beneath the gaze of Pope and Patriarchs
I seized the crown to place it on your head.
Can you forget such service as was this
"When you apportion out your lands and fiefs !

Count William hastens to the King.

" But/' continued the reciter, **let us not dwell upon such a scene
of ingratitude. Let me then conclude — as it waxes late — with the
recital which will please and enliven you. Be silent pray. I am
going to speak to you of Ogier. The great Ogier. After the epic
of the king, after the epic of William, it would be unfair not to in-
clude the epic of Doon, of which Ogier is the glory. Listen, then,
gentlefolk, and think not that I sing for your rewards, but to
celebrate prowess and chivalry, the best in the world ! "

Then he recounted all the great deeds of Ogier during the siege
of Kome, and his double duel with the pagan, Caraheu, and with
Brunamont who had defied the Deity. Then our singer described

454 CHIVALRY.

in glowing terms the entry of the Pope into the Eternal City.
Behind him rode the emperor, and a young knight very tall, very
fiery, very handsome, who was Ogier of Denmark.

But as he was speaking of the Pope, and of the love which
Charles entertained for him, a voice cried, " Our King Philip does
not love Innocent ! "

"Well, at any rate," remarked the castellan, "he has been re-
conciled to him ; the Interdict has been removed, and Agnes has
retired to Poissy. Ingeburg has resigned."

This concluded the afternoon, which had been a long one. The
singer, very much applauded and feasted, received from the baron a
present of a Spanish mule, and a tunic of red paile. The epic
recitation thus came to an end. Darkness was setting in.

No matter how sumptuous had been the dinner, our barons had
supper before they went to bed, and even this supper did not put
an end to drinking, for they demanded wine when they were going
to bed. It was carried in with some solemnity and largely par-
taken of.

The chamber was lighted by a large taper which burned in a tall
candlestick as high as itself. Kings and grandees treated them-
selves to two torches or tapers. It was not much of a light after
all, but better than " carbuncles."

Around the baron were collected the squires and chamberlains
who disrobed him ; around his lady were her maidens, who, behind
a curtain, performed the same offices for her. Beneath the baron's
pillow are placed his shirt and breeches, then the pair go to bed
naked under an avalanche of bedclothes. On the pegs are hung
their garments for next day. The taper burned all night.

Frenchmen were accustomed to " gabble " when they retired for
the night, and when several slept in the same hall the laughter at
the ridiculous boastings and " seasoned " tales was loud and long
until sleep overpowered them.

During the winter evenings they did not go to bed until after
they had sat for a couple of hours round the fire. The narratives of
sportsmen then succeeded to the tales of pilgrims, who came to beg
a corner of the chimney. Hospitality was freely exercised, but to
none so freely as to pilgrims, who were received with open arms and
treated to the best. Refuges were established, and comfortable
quarters too, but nowhere were pilgrims, or " penitents," so well

DOMESTIC LIFE— AFTER DINNER.

455

treated as at the castles. They were assisted to change their gar-
ments, and not till they were comfortable and rested were they
questioned as to their journey, whether from Jerusalem, or Kome,
or from Saint Martin of Tours, or Cologne, or Compostella. —
" Come, tell us, and we will sit up an hour later with you."

Entry of the Pope, escorted by Charlemagne.

When the baron retired he had all the keys carried to his room,
and he inquired concerning the watchmen and the defences.
" Was the drawbridge up ? Were the watchmen at their posts ?"
The eschangaites sound their horns. The night is clear and moon-
light.

All is quiet. Sleep then falls upon the castle.

CHAPTEE XVII.

THE MILITARY LIFE OF THE KNIGHT.

I. Before the War.

"War, sport, and tournament; these three words describe the
whole existence of the baron, and the two latter should be regarded
as a kind of apprenticeship to real war. Every military nation
ought to possess " war schools " in some form or other. The
Feudal Middle Ages had two of these schools, and we will look at
them more closely.

The Tournament is the first of those institutions which was in
olden days destined to inculcate the military spirit and military
usage. Those who defend this terrible amusement do not forget
to make use of this argument against all those who assail it, and
even against the Church which has so absolutely condemned it !
"How do you imagine that our young knights can meet in any real
battle without such training?" they ask. *'No," they add, "in
order to throw oneself confidently into the melee one must have
seen the blood flow, the teeth give way, and have been unhorsed
many times. That is what one may term a school, and Sainte
Palaye, who was clear-sighted, was quite right in comparing our
tourneys to the Olympian Games.

I confess that this apology seems to me the only possible one,
and certain arguments, which are chiefly due to the author of the
Roman de Hem, appear simply ridiculous. He argues from a very
low standpoint, as concerning the means of existence of those who
cater for the tourneys ; and his reasons seem about on a par with
the argument that, if the Church did not exist, how would the
beadles live ? We need not take more account of those who
liken the tourney to the modern steeple-chase.

Those sanguinary exercises were of such importance, that in the
admirable poem recently discovered by Paul Meyer, which is dedi-
cated to William the Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, Eegent of

MILITARY LIFE— BEFORE THE WAR.

457

England, who died in 1219, a good quarter of the twenty thousand
verses are devoted to the tourney. A quarter ! That is just the
place they filled in the existence of the Feudal knight.

One would naturally wish to go hack to the origin of such an im-
portant institution, and here the most contradictory opinions have
been successively ventilated. The Germans may claim the origin,
but the famous text of Tacitus has no weight here. Between the

Going to the Crusade.

naked youths'wlio threw themselves into the melee, and the torneors
of the ^Middle Ages, there is no point of resemblance whatever.

Many chroniclers do not hesitate to state that GeoJBfrey de
Preuilly invented the tourney, but we shall see that there is no
need of any elaborate proofs to confute this statement, as Ducange
does when he maintains that tourneys existed before the supposed
inventor of them. A custom so universal and so complicated in
action did not spring one fine day from the brain of any single
individual, and spread over the world. Such things are not
invented.

The fact is, that the Tourney is a French institution. It was
born in France, and was imported into England and Germany, and

458 CHIVALRY.

it is with reason that these encounters have . been called conflictes
Gallici. But we think that with the aid of our old poems we can
carry the argument further than this.

We believe that the earliest tourneys were real battles, and to
borrow a childish term we may say that they were " battles for the
good." But this is not all. We are persuaded that in the early
tourneys — very terrible and very bloody as they were — was the
form of civil war : feudal, private war. The primitive tourney
then, is simply a battle like any other. The term tourney, you
must remember, was distinguished from the word joust, A tourney
was always a combat in troops ; a joust on the contrary was only
an isolated encounter of two individuals.

But from other points of view the tourney is only a battle like
another, and we must explain its various characteristics. The
primitive tourney, or cemhel — I was nearly writing the first style of
tourney — was a real battle preceded by a dej&ance, and was engaged
in upon a day and at a time which had been agreed upon by com-
mon consent. There was no strategy, no surprises. At the place
agreed upon the two armies in the presence of their commanders at
the first signal engaged each other. The tourney was a military
encounter, in which many thousands of men met at a given point
and slew each other.

Such is the tourney as we find it described and coloured in the
old romances. It is difficult to say that it is not a faithful
picture.

One thing is certain, that even in more civilized times the
tourney was still a general encounter — a melee. Tourneys were dis-
tinguished by a certain courtesy in fighting, but they were earnest,
bloody, and often mortal. At the once-famous tournaments of
Chauvenci, after many days of exercise, the knights voted them
"slow" and demanded a "tourney." Then the day and hour
were fixed and the meeting became the ancient cemhel without the
number of dead. But how about the wounded and the half-dead
combatants, and what bloodshed before so many ladies too !

If one reads carefully the gory pages of Garin and the milder
records of the Tournois de Chauvenci, the resemblance between
the " battles " will clearly be perceived. And yet more than a
century elapsed between the production of these works.

It is true, also, that tourneys were the origin of the battles to

MILITARY LIFE— BEFORE THE WAR. 459

decide which was the hest side — and during the Middle Ages duels
with this object were fought — always sanguinary and often deadly.
Torneamentum hostile, says Mathew Paris ; joustes mortelles, says
Froissart. Cannot we perceive here the trail of the ancient and
sanguinary tourney.

Even the most delicate and graceful encounters have been spoiled
and saddened by deaths, which did not surprise nor scandalise our
ancestors. Learned writers have enumerated these fights, and the
lamentable accidents. Such a tourney occurred in 1240, in which
sixty or eighty combatants were slain. This is rather too large a
number for simple amusement. In the most harmless tourneys at
Chauvenci there were none but cut and slashed faces and carriages
full of the wounded. So the ancient cembel still animated the
knights.

But it may be said that in these savage encounters of the Feudal
Age there were no spectators, and no ladies looked on them.
This is a mistaken idea if entertained, for the old romances
describe the maidens and damsels going out to see those barbarous
games. These cemhels were at once a butchery and a spectacle.

Now how did the primitive tourney assume the second style ?
Well, after all, no great change was necessary.

In the old tournament there were two opposing armies, and
these dwindled to two parties, two groups ; always two camps !
A defiance was given, but a defiance hedged in by politeness, by
formal and even gentle courtesies. The date and place were fixed
in advance, and the knights met but by invitation !

In the former great encounters each knight selected his adversary,
one worthy of him, and these battles were composed of several
elementary jousts. They gave way gradually to the new system,
and the personal element became stronger, which succeeded each
other for hours under the gaze of spectators who were interested —
or who, at any rate, did not permit themselves to appear bored.
But the melee was preserved, and it was specially known as the
" tourney.'*

In the antique cemhels sharpened weapons were used, as against
infidels. In the later engagements these were blunted as arms of
courtesy.

Ladies, being naturally curious always, determined to satisfy
their curiosity in a fashion worthy of themselves and of their

46o CHIVALRY.

cavaliers. Instead of letting them remain standing in the meadow or
by the walls, they constructed elegant pavilions of wood, which
they called eschaffaus, hourds, loges, or heffrois. In these they
displayed their pretty faces and magnificent attire. Perched in
these buildings they encouraged or commiserated the knights.
They tended rather to embitter than to soften the amenities of the
tourney, for these ladies liked to see the blood flow, and were more
coquette than humane.

The influence of poetry then made itself felt, and songs were
sung of the fray which were certainly not canticles. The gallantry
of Love Lyrics and Pastorals by degrees invaded the tribunes where
the ladies sat. To these songs, which occupied the evenings
between the jousts, succeeded dances and " cards." To fight all
day and dance at night was rather hard for the men, but the women
did not trouble themselves about that !

We are now far from the rude encounters of the early Feudal
period, but the grand ornamental tournaments of the fourteenth
century were the outcome of the old rough and sanguinary tourneys
in which the lists were strewn with the dead and dying.

It was owing to the advance of Christianity that this softening
influence occurred — a work of many centuries it is true, and a
slow advance of which one would have hastened the progress — an
insufficient work which one would gladly have perfected. That the
Church bravely struggled against this no person whose opinion is
of value will deny. Popes condemned the tourney as " accursed."
From Innocent II. to Clement V. we can trace a sequence of
anathemas and thunderbolts. The former condemned them and
forbade them because they cost men their lives, and the Fathers
in Council decided to refuse the rites of sepulture to those who
died from their wounds. They would not deprive them of
confession nor of the viaticum, but they would deny them
ecclesiastical burial. The Lateran Council emphasised this on the
4th April, 1139. Eugene III., in 1148, renewed the same
maledictions, and Alexander III. and Innocent III. and IV. followed
the same lead. But Nicholas III. in 1279 displayed more energy
than all on that date, memorable in the history of the Tourney.

The King of France, having been weak enough to permit what
he had previously condemned, the Pontiff called the cardinal,
Simon de Saint-Cecile, " over the coals " for not having prevented

MILITARY LIFE— BEFORE THE WAR, 461

such a scandal, and commanded them to excommunicate all those
who had taken part in those jousts. The poor king had been
already cruelly punished for his laxity ; his younger brother,
Robert of Clermont, had become absolutely imbecile from the
effects of a blow he had received in a tournament in that same
year, 1279, in honour of Charles, son of the King of Sicily. The
poor young man had come to be dubbed knight, and died an idiot
in 1318. What a lesson ! Clement V. long afterwards confirmed
his strictures in a solemn *'bull" in the sixteenth year of his
pontificate, when he declared that the tourney was fatal to the
Crusade, as in the former men, money, and horses, were uselessly
squandered ! We might pass by the money and the horses, but
the men ! the men ! All the noble blood of Christendom to be
shed for nothing !

To the denunciations of the Popes the learned doctors lent their
voices. Saint Bernard and Jacques de Vitry, Humbert de Romans,
and others took up their parables against the practice. Royalty
also chimed in. Philip Augustus made his sons swear never to
take part in a tourney. No one would be surprised at Saint Louis
detesting it, and Philip the Fair condemned the tourney many
times, and he was no coward. The Valois did not sufficiently
imitate him.

We need cite no more cases. The popes and the kings could do
nothing after all. The French nobles would not hear of any
interruption to the course which they regarded as a " school."
They continued to break each other's bones to show there was no
ill-feeling. Grave writers celebrated the cembels in verse, and even
dragged in the Virgin as an accessory.

In fine, tourneys have given rise to scandalous excesses, but
they have contributed to preserve a brave and manly tone.
Between those who have defended and those who have condemned
them so boldly and harshly, we may find a middle course worthy of
France and Christendom. This is the position we would fain
assume. Now, let us describe a " tourney."

The " invitations " have been sent out broadcast thirty leagues
round. " To the tourney ! " cry the messengers. " The Saturday
before Easter Day at Montigny." The news spreads everywhere —
to castle and house and manor. The emotion is universal. The

462 CHIVALRY,

ladies prepare their most becoming costumes, and deliberate
concerning new ones.

Defiances and challenges are exchanged from town to town, and
from castle to castle. Some affix a parchment to a tree on which is
written this : — " At the castle of Hayes there are seven knights who
are ready to encounter all comers ! " This is fixed upon a tree by
the roadside.

At Montigny the excitement is much greater — it is feverish.
The list of knights is made out in advance, and at least a hundred
workmen are engaged upon the barriers and galleries.

The Easter festival arrives. This year it falls on the 20tli
of April, when the verdure and flowers are blooming, and though
no one will travel on the Sunday, next day the jousters are all
on the way. People crowd to see them pass, some singly, some
in company. One, decked out with money borrowed from a Jew,
and behind him an earl escorted by fifty knights and as many
squires. The magnificence of their dress is somewhat tarnished by
the dust ; but wait till you see them next day.

There is a tremendous uproar at Montigny, and even more at
Villeneuve, where everyone seeks a lodging. Many houses are
improvised as hotels, and the guests are welcomed. But the
number of arrivals exceed all preparations, and tents are set up
around the little town. Nevertheless from every avenue new
arrivals debouch, each one singing his favourite song, as our
regiments play their own marches or " quicksteps." . . .

The departure will be less joyous.

On the first morning, at the earliest possible moment, everyone
goes out to inspect the lists. We need not represent them as
being more elegant than they actually were. Picture to yourself,
reader, strong wooden barriers enclosing an immense square or
oblong piece of ground. A second interior barrier, less high and
not so strong is separated from the former by a regular road or
path, along which the footmen, who have to go to the assistance of
discomfited tilters, take refuge. Here also are stationed the men-
at-arm-s, who have to prevent the crowd from entering the
enclosure. In this "lane " also favoured spectators are permitted
to move about. The others essay to see what is going on over the
pointed palings. The ladies are better provided for in tribunes,
resembling the "stands'* erected on modern racecourses. The

MILITARY LIFE— BEFORE THE WAR. 463

first places are reserved for the judges or referees, but the ladies
occupy all the remaining space, and their costumes are resplendent
with silks and precious stones ; their fair beauty, blue eyes, and
blonde tresses are fascinating, and it seems almost a pleasure to be
slain to win such smiles.

Now, ere the tournament commences, glance around and note
the multitude of tents which cover the fields ; see the banners
flaunting everywhere in the town, over houses in which eating,
drinking, and enjoyments of all kinds are in full swing. The lists
are as yet deserted. They resemble the bull-rings in Spain ; and
there will be plenty of blood flowing to-morrow.

Jhough the sun rises betimes at the end of April, the tilters are
up before him ; indeed, they have scarcely been in bed after the
night's festivities. Solemn individuals, heralds, go through the
streets and tents calling upon the jousters to prepare for the fray.
They are already preparing ; half clothed, they show themselves at
the entrances of the tents ; arms are looked to, horses neigh, song
of martial deeds are sung in chorus. Then every youthful knight
goes to mass, for they arc pious these bachelors, notwithstanding all
their love-songs and pastorals.

By the time they come from church the sun is already hot, the
tumult increases apace, the roads are crowded ; ladies mounted on
white mules are already threading their way to the pavilions. The
tilters stand aside, forming a lane for these magnificent dames who
parade their beauty before their anxious eyes. The jousters
arrive at the lists alone or in company with the ladies, who bestow
upon them gages to wear in their helmets. The knights sing
again. The minstrels have arrived, and begin to rival the barons
in melody. The trumpets sound clearly, and penetrate to every ear.
The jousts are about to commence !

But we must now introduce the heralds, who are the "living
rules " of all such entertainments. They are the guardians of order.
'No tournament would be possible without them.

Their calling is a strange one. They have risen from small
beginnings, but have managed to swell themselves into a very com-
fortable position, and to make money. At first they were simple
commissionaires ^ who announced the tournaments about to be held ;
"travellers " for the tourney, in fact. They were glad to announce
the names of the combatants too, and this was always their prin-

464 CHIVALRY,

cipal function, and gave them some importance. With the name of
each challenger they shouted his hattle-cry, and from that they hired
themselves to the jouster who paid them. They thus proffered
their services to all knights, and each one had his little circle of
** customers." These messengers, who for two months before the
tournament went about the country, were then heralds, and the men
who announced the names and titles of the combatants with so
many flourishes, were heralds ! Those comedians in short, who
pretended to be greatly moved, and who with tears in their voices
implored the ladies to bestow some reward or even their pity on the
knights, were always heralds. They were very busy people, very
important, very solemn, and very smiling ! They were paid well.
Kobes or steeds — nothing came amiss to them. The minstrels only
caused them any uneasiness, but our heralds bravely learned the
business of the minstrel, and actually gave their rivals cause to
fear.

There were heralds and heralds — grades just as amongst min-
strels. Some were mere charlatans, but others looked upon their
profession as a serious business, and thought themselves invested
with a certain authority. In consequence of having attended so
many tournaments they had the laws at their finger's ends, and
people consulted them and listened to their opinions. They then
altered and modified the laws and inscribed them on parchment, so
they became scribes. Majestic and cold in demeanour, they eventu-
ally were selected to accompany princes and ambassadors to foreign
courts, and believed that they actually represented the king their
master. Once accustomed to writing they never lost the habit, so
they became historians, and our literature of the eleventh century
owes to them some of its most distinguished features.

Nine o'clock! 'Tis the hour appointed for the *' tourney;" a
striking procession is seen approaching, heralds leading, minstrels
on the flanks. All the jousters are there riding in twos and threes,
the majority glancing upwards at the ladies in the " stands." The
march past continues for an hour, and the last in the procession are
still at Villeneuve when the advanced members have reached Mon-
tigny. Their entry is splendid, trumpets are braying, ladies sing-
ing, the sun illuminating all with his beams. The barons display
their horsemanship before the ladies in the galleries, who admire
their apparently simple evolutions, while some of these fair specta-

MILITARY LIFE— BEFORE THE WAR. 465

tors send sleeves to their gallants to make into pennons, and throw
them other love gages, such as gloves, rihbons, or necklaces, until
they have nothing left hut their dresses and their. hair. These in-
cidents show to what a pitch the tournament has been carried.
The men give their blood, and the women, more foolishly, their
hearts.

Now the latest jouster has arrived in the enclosure, and the
tournament is about to commence.

The jousters are all present awaiting their turns, weapons in hand,
but these weapons do not resemble those in use in real battle. They
are blunted and almost wooden-y, but such is the force with which
they are wielded that they inflict mortal blows. At any rate, they
wait impatiently the moment of combat ; but they may be com-
pelled to remain under arms till nightfall and not secure a challenge.
The test is rather severe.

Sometimes in ordinary tournaments, nearly two hundred jousters
will engage, and the sport will last several days. The same scene
is enacted over and over again — " two combatants will endeavour to
vanquish each other with heavy sticks ! " The game may appear
monotonous, but to our ancestors no one tourney resembled another.
There was a never-ending variety in the wounds and manner of
attack. Sometimes both combatants would be slain, sometimes one
only — or only one wounded ; and our great-grandmothers were never
bored by these sights.

Besides, all tournaments had not the same " style." At some,
three lances were shivered — neither more nor less ; at others, one
adversary must be unhorsed. But this was frequently the case, and
it really seems to us that if we describe one tournament we describe
all!

Night is closing on. People are beginning to fear that there will
be no more jousting, and that the combat will fail for want of comba-
tants. The heralds are rather nervous also, and cry out for
jousters ; but they think it is late, and that they will not be able to
see any longer. Suddenly two knights present themselves who
have been defying each other for a month past. They are Hervien
de Montigny and Jean de Dampierre. Each one has retained a herald
in his pay, and these men shout out the name of his baron until the
welkin rings. " Dampierre : to the knight Dampierre." "Mon-
tigny the chivalrous," repHes the other. They rival each other in

H H

466 CHIVALRY.

their acclamations. Both jousters are young, and both handsome.
One is clad in ruddy armour, the other habited after Lancelot, the
hero of the Table Round !

They are ready at length, and waiting in the centre of the
enclosure face to face on their sturdy steeds. At the same moment
they lower their enormous lances, and clasp their shields to their
chests. Then they spur their horses, stooping their heads, and
rush against each other. It is necessary neither to aim too high
nor too low, but as nearly as possible in the centre of the body.
Each one must calculate his blow with precision, so as not to strike
on one side nor in the empty air ; for the ladies would laugh at
them, and all would go badly with them.

In about ten minutes it is all over. One of the two has had his
teeth knocked out, the other has a broken arm. Both have fallen,
and their horses have run away. The heralds implore pity and
assistance from the ladies. If they dared they would approach,
but meanwhile they are content to send messages of sympathy and
affection, which are probably insincere. Then the esquires remove
the unfortunate jousters, who are half dead, but quite unconquered.
This is the last joust that day. The damsels declare that they will
dream of the combatants all night, and the heralds pretend that
they will talk of the encounter for ever ! The ladies now descend
from the galleries somewhat saddened, but the feeling of melancholy
wears off, and in an hour they are all dancing within, without
bestowing a thought upon the broken teeth of Hervien de Montigny,
or of the broken arm of Jean de Dampierre !

The first day's jousting is over, but it is succeeded by many
others, for a tournament occupies many days when some two
hundred combatants are engaged. We would be speedily bored by
such displays, but our ancestors liked them ; and then the evenings
were delightful, the nights were passed in singing and dancing,
and at times the jousting was even postponed for other enjoyments
for a day. It was a continual intoxication of pleasure.

But after many days of inoffensive engagements, and when scarce
twenty knights, more or less wounded, remained, the young
cavaliers demanded a tournament, and excited others to seek it. A
general tourney was now the cry, and met with no opposition. It
was fixed for next day — defiances were exchanged, man against man,
province against province, clan against clan. Germans against

MILITARY LIFE— BEFORE THE WAR, 467

Frenchmen, Burgundians against Hainaulters. Heralds went
hither and thither announcing the " grand tournament." On that
evening there was less dancing, but more play and conversation,
while the ladies laughed a little less too : there was something
serious afoot, and the bravest were thoughtful for the morrow.

The day breaks clear and fine upon the men who overnight were
so joyous, and who may in a few hours be no more. They attend
mass, the ladies likewise attending, and I fancy they require the
divine blessing as much as their male friends.

The lists are not, on this occasion, the place of meeting. It is
the open fields ; space is required for this little war. All the
country-side has assembled, and the vileins appear in force, but
terrified by the knights, who gallop amongst them laughing at their
fright. Now the combatants await the signal. It is given !

Picture to yourself, reader, two regiments of cavalry charging
each other. The shock is terrible. Every knight seeks out the
adversary he has challenged, and if he cannot find him, he attacks
somebody else. Disorder is rife, and so this engagement has been
called a meUe, If anyone is unhorsed he is trampled under foot.
The dust is the great plague of the jousters : it penetrates to their
eyes and nostrils, and those who are dying are more quickly
sufibcated by it. However, the fight becomes more and more
animated and furious, more indiscriminate. The combatants began
with a smile ; they continue angrily, blindly, and no longer recognize
each other. This is so far excusable, as they are fighting hand to
hand, and nothing is more likely to engender hot blood than those
brutal encounters : they fight as against Infidels !

Now the uproar grows greater, the dust thicker, and the com-
batants are veiled in an almost impenetrable veil. The squires
hasten to the assistance of their masters : the heralds, who do no
fighting, but have an eye to the perquisites of the cevibel, encourage
the combatants by voice and gesture : then, turning towards the
ladies' gallery, they call upon them for God's sake to stop the melee.
They may request as much as they please, but it is no easy task to
accomplish. Swords flash unceasingly, falling on neck and
shoulder ; night comes on, the battle continues. The knights no
longer know each other, but they continue to fight at random.
Darkness falls : the clashing of steel and armour continues ; the
cries of the wounded, the shouts of the victors, the neighing of horses

H H 2

468 CHIVALRY.

resound on all sides, mingled with the pleadings of the vanquished.
The day is done : the stars shine out. All is over : the combat is at
an end ! Then swords are sheathed, the two parties reform, friends
again mingle together, the ladies turn homewards, the heralds
chaunt the praises of those who have paid them, and think of taking
care of the wounded. There are about one hundred and fifty in sad
plight.

Such was a tourney of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and
it will be perceived that it bears little resemblance to those presented
on the stage in opera.

The barbarity of these encounters was not their greatest vice,
however. To brave death even so was something brave and noble.
It may be chivalry in a mistaken sense, but it was at least
chivalrous, and there was some heroism in it. But, unfortunately,
disinterestedness was not a great virtue of our knights, and tourna-
ments were, with a certain section of the barons, matters of
speculation. They took prisoners, and fixed heavy ransoms upon
them, and took a number of very valuable horses. The victor
took possession of the horse and arms of the vanquished, which the
latter had to purchase at a high price. Thus it became a com-
mercial transaction. In less than a year, two knights, by
associating together, might capture a hundred knights and steeds.
This was lucrative sport; and our horse-racing is preferable to
it, for there we do not find the abominable mixture of " business "
with prowess — the weight of the sword with the weight of the
purse !

Now the fete comes to an end. It has been very costly, and
many a baron has been ruined by it — he and his wife too. Her
costume and her husband's equipage cost many a broad acre ; but
perhaps the most ill-advised individual is the baron who has given
the entertainment. Of course I know that the expenses should
theoretically be shared amongst the j ousters ; but suppose they
forget to pay ! Then the dinners, and largesse, and the presents
which must be bestowed ! Ah, well might the critics say, " They
are useless and costly exhibitions ! "

But that evening they all put a good face on it. Time enough
to think of the expense to-morrow. The question now is, how to
bring the tournament to a worthy conclusion.

The assemblage returns to the castle by torchlight ; the wounded

MILITARY LIFE— BEFORE THE WAR, 469

are attended to : the ladies compliment them in a manner which
never cured or hurt anyone : the heralds sing their praises or make
them laugh. Those who are uninjured hasten to the baths, and
dinner will surely restore them fully. They will even be present
during the long evening afterwards, and play in drawing-room en-
tertainments or dramas. Those brave knights who have been
hacked and bruised all day are willing to listen to these trivial
comedies or play games ! Nothing can be braver.

The prize of the tourney is then proclaimed, but it was not so
valuable as in after epochs — in the fourteenth ai^d fifteenth cen-
turies. The victor received a falcon or a girdle ; or perhaps a
shield ornamented with precious stones and banded with gold.
These, ofifered by the hands of beautiful dames, were I admit worth
having; but the best prize of all was the hand of a lovely damsel —
and her territory !

The day after the grand tourney the guests separate. The
ladies mount their palfreys and ride away with sleeveless robes,
ere they can repair the damage they have voluntarily done to
their dress. There are sad partings and leave-takings. But at
length all are on the way : a knight rising in his stirrups trolls
out a love-ditty. The rest listen to the close, and do not spur
their steeds until the cadence of the last verse has died away. Then
adieu !

The " tourney " was a school of arms, of war ; but it was not the
only one : the chase has, perhaps, as useful an influence. There
were no such expenses, no such amorous enterprises, no such fooUsh
women to be reckoned with as at tournaments. Man warred with
the wild beast — so much the better.

There was hunting every day, and when the baron was not
thinking of battle you may be certain that he was thinking of stags
and wild boars. Every winter morning he donned his hunting
dress, his great boots, to which he attached big spurs ; if very cold
he put on a mantle of fur. His costume was simple : luxury was
only apparent in his ivory hunting-horn, very beautifully carved
and ornamented, suspended round his neck by a silken cord of some
bright hue. Large buck-skin gloves covered his hands, his bow
and arrows were carried by his beaters ; and his Danish axe, and his
hunting-knife by himself for close quarters. The hounds gam-

470 CHIVALRY.

boiled around him. He starts : the morning is delightful. He
enters the wood, and seeks the wild boar of whose presence therein
he has been informed. Never has such a monster been tracked,
and happy indeed will the baron be if he can present its head to his
wife. Come on ! Come on !

The hounds are put on the scent, and go baying through the
wood startling the birds. Where is the boar? At length the
peculiar cry of the hounds indicates the spot, and suddenly the
game is discovered. He is surrounded by the hounds, but he
exacts a severe penalty. The baron's favourites are slain and
wounded : their master will avenge his faithful dog. He pursues
the boar alone, only a few hounds accompanying him : he comes up
with the boar — one, two, three dogs roll helpless on the earth —
then the baron approaches, brandishing his boar-spear, and plunges
it full into the beast's chest. The blow is fatal : the blood flows
in torrents, and the hounds lick it up greedily. Then exhausted,
lolling out their tongues, they lie down beside the enormous brute
like dwarfs around a giant. The hunt is over.

We need not detail the incidents of the triumphal return, and
the delight and terror of all at the castle as they inspect the
fearful quarry, and touch its enormous paws and grinning mouth.
In such a manner our ancestors hunted — the chase was the great
passion of their lives, and no one will deny that it was a good
school for a military career.

Thanks to the tournament, thanks to the chase, the man-at-arms
was never taken by surprise nor deceived by misrepresentation. He
could always proudly declare that he was prepared for anything —
"I am ready."

So when a new Crusade was preached he had only to don his
hauberk, take leave of his wife and children, embrace the cross, and
mount his charger Passavant. He was ready.

Let us now watch him in his career.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE MILITARY LIFE OF THE KNIGHT.

n. — A Six Months' Campaign.

Retaeded by the political egotism of kings and emperors, the
Crusade is at length preached. It is decided upon : our knights
depart. What way will they travel ? Will they go direct to
Jerusalem ? Will they proceed to Constantinople, or will they
adopt a new plan of campaign and commence by clearing the
Infidels out of Egypt, and marching more safely into the Holy
Land ? No one can tell, and really nobody cares. Assume the
cross and go : that is all one thinks about. Vainly do the elder
ones recall to the too ardent spirits the dangers of the campaign,
and the trials which the former Crusaders underwent — the horrors,
and hunger, and thirst, when they had to drink the blood of the
slain! All these fine descriptions had no efiect. "Let us
only see Jerusalem," say the knights. " Let us only sing
our hynms before the sacred walls, and kiss the spots where Jesus
stood ! " Well may the modern writers and poHticians have
affirmed that the Crusades were only acts of faith. To cause the
law of God to triumph, and to gain Paradise, were the motives of
the barons of the twelfth century. This simple faith explains why,
putting aside all pettiness of human policy, these brave men
quitted their homes to undergo hunger and privation in a far-
distant land, to die miserably alone, with their expiring eyes
turned towards Jerusalem, calling on the name of Jesus. These
men believed in God, and died for him, hoping for a humble place
amid the saints and angels. Some may rail at such blind faith,
but it will compare favourably with the contemporary formula : —
*' Live in comfort, and trouble about nothing."

Then the knights loved fighting for its own sake. They
entered into a battle as into Heaven : the longest days seemed too

472 CHIVALRY.

short, if they only spilt their own blood, or someone's else ; as one
baron remarked : — " If I had one foot in Paradise, and the other
in my own castle, I would step out from Heaven to fight ! " Even
the glories of Paradise weighed little against the plumed helmet,
the cuirass, and the good sword, a broken head, or a man slain in
battle ! So they went forth to war, the cross upon their breast !

In ordinary wars there were solemn declarations and defiance.
This challenge in private wars assumed a strange form. The
challenger took two or three hairs from his fur robe, from his
ermine pelisse, and threw them proudly before the challenged.
But the messengers who more often bore the defiance, put it into
practical shape, and more eloquently. *' My master demands
satisfaction, and if you do not make amends for the wrong you
have done, I defy you honourably in his name." These ambassa-
dors did not want for insolence, and silence had to be imposed
upon them. The few hairs were better. It is seldom that the
embassy of peace succeeded ; but our admiration must not be with-
held from those brave feudal messengers who rode with the olive
branch, or pine branch, in hand, according to the country,
furnished with an order and a glove of defiance; but being
careful, when they had delivered their message, to hold their sword
by the blade in token of peace !

In the Crusades there was nothing of that kind. Those wars
had no beginning ; the defiance was unlimited, perennial.

Nevertheless, it was necessary to train into regular men-at-arms
those youthful " bachelors " who had amused themselves too long
with the cross of leaves. The king alone, or the ruler of the country,
had the right to proclaim the " ost " or assembly. So the ** small
people," the commons, were summoned by sound of bells ; but
the barons could not be so called out. They were assembled by
letter, and the messengers were constantly running about.

The moment the baron received his missive he was delighted,
and rushed to his armour closet. Many an engagement, many a
tournament had he fought : he had battled against the English,
and had campaigned along the Loire, in Normandy, Main, and
Touraine. But all these past joys are nothing in comparison to
the present : " I am about to proceed to Jerusalem ! " His wife
and children are pale in fear and anguish, but they do not dare to
dissuade him : they even essay to smile.

MILITARY LIFE— WAR.

473

The knight's arms are of somewhat ancient pattern, but if
anyone ridicule them, woe to the jester ! He proceeds to the
stable to caress his good steed, and to tell him whither he is
bound. ** Courage, my poor Passavant, we go together." Then
he inspects his accoutrements and trappings, and if he finds them
in good condition he praises his squires.

Our baron then calls for his chaplain, and makes him commit

The Melee.

his last wishes to writing. He bestows fifty livres on each of the
neighbouring abbeys, of which there are three ; he founds in each
one an annual mass to be said during his life, and a requiem after
his death. But he wishes to be buried in the chapel of his well-
loved Templars, as close to the altar as possible.

Though many others proceed to the Crusade leaving numerous
debts, or with heavy engagements and mortgages on their lands,
our baron will not leave a single creditor behind him. His
wife, who is a true Christian, loudly approves his action, and
feigns to be courageous in preparing for a parting which is killing
her. She would, on the morrow of their wedding-day^Jbaaza^jried to

UNIVERSITY

474 CHIVALRY.

^ _^^

him with her weak, brave voice : — ** If yon wish to go to the
Crusade, I would say, go ! " But this is not now her cry — it is
" Kemain ! " she would say to-day. However, she has faith in
God, though with choking tears she remembers that out of twenty
who depart scarce one will return. These farewells are usually for
ever ! Farewell : embraces which are prolonged, and which all
wish to be longer : eyes which can weep no more, so sadly have
they wept : mournful resignation, which is akin to despair : the
cries of women, with which are mingled the neighing of horses,
the champing of bits, the clang of arms : a last embrace, a last
kiss, a last look ; the last sound dies away in the distance : those
dear ones fear to turn round lest they should retrace their steps.
Speech dies on their lips : there is no vent for their thoughts !

It has been decided that the subjection of Egypt shall initiate
the Crusade, and to Damietta the Christian fleet proceeds. Our
Crusader had to embark at Aigues-Morte, and the scene at the port
was calculated to affect him powerfully. Thousands of glistening
points of light were scintillating in the harbour on the evening of
his arrival : these were the lanterns on the transports. But he
had to wait until the next day to become acquainted with the
appearance of that sea which he had never yet beheld. He was
pleased with the blue waves, but the ships disillusioned him
terribly. He had founded his expectations on the old romances :
had pictured vessels of ebony and silver : cabins filled with roses
and women, fitted] with ivory and silken hangings. These ships
which he sees are more numerous, but more vulgar ; but they are
well-planned, and suited to the demands of war. The idea which
the sailors had was that ships were to be floating fortresses, and
they should be armed in like manner. The "castles " established
on the ships were small wooden towers, squared and " embattled,"
generally three in number, one at each extremity, and the other on
the mast. At the time our Crusader embarks (the middle of the
thirteenth century) it is not scientifically certain that this system of
castles has been perfected, and all that can be affirmed is that the
summits have been crenated as the towers, or curtain, of a castle.
Those vessels were very curious : — crescent-shaped, with one mast,
or perhaps two masts, bearing flags, with their shields, their small
boat, and their barge ; a dozen anchors : their sails white, or em-
blazoned with a golden cross. On board the braying of trumpets is

MILITARY LIFE— WAR. 475

heard : the bare-headed sailors are seen rushing hither and thither,
their hair shaved from their foreheads, clad in two short-sleeved
garments. The prow of the ship is furnished with a dragon or other
image. Store-rooms are filled with wines and provisions : fodder,
arms, lances, and shields. They have even space for the fine
horses, though these were generally conveyed in specially-fitted
vessels. Such is the appearance of a ship of war in which our
Crusader may have embarked. An excellent and spacious cabin is
prepared for him and his friends. Some have been so foolish as to
bring their hawks and their hounds ! As if there were any other
game to hunt yonder save Infidels !

The voyage has been long owing to contrary winds, but at length
the sandy coast is reached. As they have embarked to the sound
of musical instruments, so do they disembark, and the fanfares of
trumpets make them forget the tedium of the voyage. They dis-
embark gladly, with a sense of relief, and run about on shore gaily.
Then they remember the steeds. Poor brutes ! They gladly rush
from their stalls and gallop over the sward. How dehghted they are :
neighing and bounding with joy. The first hour is charming !

The Crusaders are faithful to the rendezvous, they continue to
arrive daily from every port in Christendom. The chiefs of the
hosts — unfortunately there are several — are called upon to organise
the encampments which we will endeavour to describe.

The material for the camp has been brought in barges, and there
is no difi&culty in unloading them. Should volunteers fail, the
Crusaders have no difficulty in persuading the natives, by force or
by entreaty, to assist. The transport animals are "requisitioned,"
and, in default of these, the mules and horses of the army are laid
under contribution, and all the necessary materials for tents, &c.,
are carried up along the sand to the selected site; sinking at
every step, and bathed in perspiration, men and beasts of burden
proceed to the place where the engineer has roughly drawn the plan
of the encampment. In the centre are the tents of the chiefs, and
the chapel of the Deity, who is there installed as the true general
and guardian of the army. Around these are a series of concentric
squares, regularly arranged. Only the knights are considered in
these dispositions, the common people are lodged without, but,
nevertheless, the camp is vast and consists of two species of tents,

476 CHIVALRY.

pavilions and conical tents, with double or single spaces. The
latter are the more common, and extend from a central pole which
is often an article of luxurious and costly make ; it is called the
estace or colomhe. It is made of valuable woods, inlaid with gold
or ivory. All around it are fixed the tent-pegs for the cords, and
poets have written of silken cords and silver or coral pegs. But in
reality the ropes were of hemp, and the pegs of oak. The tent
itself was of cloth of a more or less impermeable kind, but luxury
also entered here, and we read of tents of staring silk materials,
gaudy in colour, and " frivolous." On the top was placed a ball of
gold, the chief's pavilion being surmounted by eagles. But the
banners are preferable to my mind, and have a fine effect. The
interior of the tent is more ornamental than is necessary, historical
tapestry representing scenes from the Old Testament are frequent
in the large tents. Simple knights are content with silk hangings.
The tent has its history : it is loved, and every incident connected
with it can be recalled and related : the long watches, the victories,
the battles : it is a poem !

There was something of the East in the Christian camp. Our
encampments are generally plain white erections, but those of the
Middle Ages were full of colour, and very picturesque. Silks of all
hues ; red, green, blue, or varied as a peacock's tail, the golden
balls glittering in sun-light : the flashing fluttering banners ! Then
the trumpets at daybreak and sunset lent a charm to the scene ;
the incessant movement of squires and grooms, the chaunts of the
knights. At night-fall all the colour dies out : the dark groups of
sentries march to their posts, and the watchmen exchange their calls
in the silence of the night ! Such is the scene in the Crusaders'
camp. We need not embellish it by details of the vermin which
swarmed around it — camp-followers and others, whom it is as
difficult to exclude from the camp as it was to cleanse the Temple
of money-changers and dealers.

Surrounded by a deep ditch, carefully guarded, the camp may
have appeared impregnable, as it was well provisioned. But one
has to reckon with the unforeseen, and sickness comes upon the
army in want of fresh water ; or perhaps the barges, laden with
stores, have been sunk. Then no one is infallible, and mistakes
are made ; the communications are not sufficiently kept up — a very
common fault in mediaeval armies — with the base nor with the

MILITARY LIFE— WAR. 477

supports. This is a fatal error which has cost many lives of hrave
men by the enemy, by fever or disease. Sometimes the camp is
quitted or struck, and the army marches blindly into the country :
the hosts meet a skilled enemy, well acquainted with the district, who
spies their weakness, and profits by their ignorance. The Christians
can only retreat. Where are their provisions and water ? In the
hand of the Infidel ! *' Let us go and seize them ! Forward ! "

The striking of such a camp is no light affair, but it is accom-
plished more rapidly than one might suppose. The cords are
detached, the pegs pulled up, the cloth falls against the tent-pole,
and is rolled up, placed on the mule and carried onward. The
favourite ruse of the enemy is to cut the tent-cords, and so the
sleeping warriors are enveloped in the folds of the tent ! Thank
Heaven, we are not within them.

Permit me now to sketch the army on the march. The host is
rarely silent, the music plays, the ensigns are displayed, and if the
king be present, the Oriflamme is at the head of the army.
Skirmishers and scouts are in advance reconnoitring. This is aU
very well so far as it goes, but the interminable baggage-train, the
mules laden with the tents, mth the knights' trunks, their money,
clothing, and so on; the long procession of camp-followers, the
heavy carriages containing women : picture all these plunging
across the Egyptian desert, and you have an ever-present source of
danger, which has menaced and destroyed many armies.

It is necessary to halt occasionally ; sometimes for days, perhaps.
The number of the sick is ever increasing. Dead bodies dot the
route, and we cannot realise the horror of such a death as these
have died. To fall in battle is noble, honourable, sudden ; but to
fall in the desert half buried in the sand, and to lie alone — all
alone — in the delirium of fever, with those terrible lucid intervals,
in which home scenes and loved faces appear — the well-beloved
Aelis, the little Clemence, or Pierre ! Horrible ! Our Crusader
nearly met such a death, but fortunately a camp-follower whose
life he had saved during the disembarkation, passed by and
rescued him. It is the story of the Good Samaritan over again ;
there is nothing novel in it, but it is none the less touching.

So many men are " falling out " that the commanders determine
to give battle now. But have they any clear plan — any decided
strategy ? We must explain this clearly.

478 CHIVALRY.

Generally in the eleventh and twelfth centuries there was no
special strategy in small or great battles. The army was divided
into battalions, or echelles, grouped as far as possible according to
nationalities, and so calculated to give rise to the rivalry in battle
which is always so desirable. An advance-guard, or attacking force,
was placed in front of the main body. Behind it there was a rear-
guard, a reserve in fact, which only came into action to check the
retreat or to ensure the victory.

In the country during the campaign, the fourriers, or scouts,
took the place of skirmishers. The same plan was adopted by the
opposing army, and the two bodies awaited the signal to commence
when they rushed upon each other, and many sanguinary duels
ensued. At last the two commanders, or kings perhaps, en-
countered each other, and with the fall of one of them the battle
was decided. The victors pursued the vanquished, who fled
scattered, or mayhap in endeavouring to cross a river were drowned
in numbers, or slain on the bank.

These were the ordinary " tactics," if we may apply the term to
such plain advance and retreat. But some of our heroes, as Girard
of Roussillon for instance, elaborated plans of campaign which they
secretly communicated to their generals. The means most usually
employed were ambuscades, which always succeeded and conse-
quently always seemed novel. It is hardly necessary to say that
the spy-system was also brought into use. But a good spy is not
easy to find. He must be skilful in disguise, and be acquainted
with many languages ; he must be a pilgrim at times, and play the
part of a dead man. He must be quick at organizing the pigeon-
despatch, and send for assistance for the army with notes about
a hundred birds' necks to obviate the risk of capture by the enemy's
falcons.

Feints and reconnaissances were also employed, but rarely. The
generals of the period were accustomed to employ machines which
they could use in sieges or in the field. Carpenters were attached
to the army to make these ; and besides many rwses were employed.
It was Godfrey who dressed his soldiers in different costumes, and
passed them ten times in review before the astonished Infidels.
Ogier made wooden soldiers and deceived Charles the Great.
William penetrated into Nimes in the disguise of a merchant,
having previously very cleverly enclosed his knights in barrels.

MILITARY LIFE— WAR. 479

Eoland was carried into the Castle of Lanson on a bier — but we
need not continue to cite examples. They were after all only
childish deceits.

The best tactics displayed by our ancestors were those by which
they employed certain classes of troops. It was not without some
heart-burning that the knights had to confess that the battle was
not delivered to the strong arm and the brave steed. They had to
give the bowmen a trial, and tiiey, somewhat unwillingly, had to
utilize the Commons, from whom these most useful assistants
were drawn. But only a certain proportion were admitted into the
ranks — seven hundred archers amid fifteen or twenty thousand
men-at-arms. The best archers were English, Brabantines, and
Oascons. They could shoot very rapidly, and rarely missed at two
hundred paces. The Norman archers decided the Battle of
Hastings by firing high and striking the Saxons through their
helmets and visors. Without knowing it, these archers made a
great change in the world.

The cross-bowmen rendered the same service with their bolts as
the long-bowmen did with their arrows. They were less mobile,
however, and were particularly charged to facilitate approaches.
The infantry, the foot soldiers properly so termed, had more
trouble in assuming a position for themselves. To hear of one
hundred thousand foot we must go back to the poems of the
fourteenth century ; but these " geldons " had long a high reputa-
tion in England, and the future was all their own. The commer-
cial militia were only " footmen," and occupied a very inferior
position in feudal camps, but they behaved very well, and the poets
seldom ridicule them. On the contrary, they are well spoken of.

These foot soldiers were compelled to render the greater service,
inasmuch as they could not be always counted upon to devote them-
selves with the military punctuality of knights. What was to be
done with men who only owed forty days' service ? This was the
case with all vassals who did " simple " homage, and they were
numerous. So, as early as the twelfth century, the *'soudoyers,"
or mercenaries, were favourites in all armies. They were, in general,
poor knights who took to a military career, and placed themselves
at the disposal of kings or powerful barons. France supplied the
world with them ! They were at first despised by the rich, but
they ended in pardoning their poverty. They could be depended on !

48o CHIVALRY.

But now our battle is about to commence ; and will not present
any novel conceptions. Manoeuvres did not prevail mucb before the
fourteenth century, though there are a few isolated cases.

The silence of the morning of the battle has been so well de-
scribed by the great poets, that we will not essay to follow them.
The silence is more solemn than lugubrious. Many thousands of
knights are ready to charge, waiting silently the word, spear in hand.
They await the order " Forward ! " They have been to chapel with
bare feet. They have emptied their alms-purses into the hands of
the priests, for there are many monks present who will have plenty
of occupation shortly. Every man has confessed, for each one
thinks he may be dead ere nightfall. There were some true con-
versions— such as that of the old knight of Carcassonne. The
"bachelors" renounce all their levity, and many repent in tears.
In the midst of the valley altars have been erected, and the priests
are chaunting mass. The holy men pass on, administering the Com-
munion as all the knights kneel down before them. The sun shines
upon the scene ; it illuminates all ; all rivalry and jealousy is put
away ; the kiss of peace is bestowed ; the vow is taken — " If I survive
I will never sin more ; " *' If I survive I will compose a fine song
upon the battle." In fact they promise, if they do not subsequently
perform, and they are signed with the Cross. Now to horse !

The call is sounded, the trumpets ring out. This is* the time to
speak to men who are about to die. *' Barons," says the oldest of
the priests, ** you are on the brink of the battle which you have so
desired. Kemember the ills you have endured, and which this will
put an end to. Your foes are numerous, but look up to Heaven,
and remember that God will send you legions of Angels as He has
done before. When you are in the battle, strike and spare not, till
you have penetrated your enemy's ranks. Kemember you are the
soldiers of God ! You have received absolution ; let your penitence
be shown in your striking down the Infidel. Go ! "

Then after a pause — he continued gravely : " If by chance there
be any amongst you who are afraid, let them depart. But remem-
ber, ere you go, that a place has been prepared for you in Heaven,
and that those who die will to-night be with the Angels ! Here is
a relic which should give a whole heart to anyone who by chance is
weak-spirited. It is a fragment of the spear which pierced the side
of Jesus — I pronounce my blessing upon you with it ! "

■KFuKE THE BATTLE.— TEE MASS.

482 CHIVALRY,

This holy benediction falls o'er all the army ! Thus it was at
the great battle of Aspremont, when all the barons in the army of
Charlemagne saluted the crucifix — a piece of the true cross — which
Archbishop Turpin suddenly displayed, luminous, and which darted
its rays into the middle of the melee. *' Fear not Death," he cried ;
'* but, for the honour of Him who suffered for you, seek it ! For-
ward ! "

Then the trumpets and horns sound the charge. More than once
during the battle the rally is blown. God grant that the retreat be
not sounded to-night ! The shock of the battle is terrible : the
enemy turns and charges in his turn !

The honour of '' first blow " is eagerly sought, and to our baron
falls the coveted distinction. No one refuses him the glory ; he is
so highly esteemed. He rides at the head of the advance-guard to
strike, slay, or overturn all in his way. He kills the Saracen who
first opposes him. The battle begins well for the Christians. The
advance-guard is soon engaged with the Infidel, and then the whole
of both armies mingle and fight like demons. Every man is drunk
with the lust of slaughter; a thirst for blood seizes on everyone — a
rage which, if it do not excuse, can account for so many atrocities.
Our poets are very. realistic and describe horrible scenes; heads
arms, limbs, shorn off; bodies disembowelled, and other terrible
scenes. The pennons are steeped in blood and flutter redly.
What brutality — what savagery — what rage and grief are here dis-
played !

No one expects war to be gentle, but in the Middle Ages it was
often positively atrocious. To the atrocities of the Pagans, Chris-
tians replied with others which they should have energetically con-
demned. When we think of the massacres perpetrated in Jerusalem
by the early crusaders our blood runs cold. Can we recall the fact
of the French converting the heads of their enemies into missiles at
Antioch without a shudder ; and I detest the horrible alternative
offered to the Saracens — " Baptism or decapitation ! " Twenty
years ago I raised my voice against these past infamies ; I do so
now, and shall continue to do so !

The melee continues with all the usual accompaniments of battle,
" the combatants resemble woodcutters in a forest," and some of
our imaginative poets have compared the battle itself to a wood " in
which all the flowers are points of steel." Wounded and dying turn

THE BENEDICTION AT ASPREMONT

[p. 482.

THE KESCUE OF THE ORIFL^VME.

[ro. 483.

MILITARY LIFE—WAR. 483

their eyes towards Jerusalem, while the fighting everywhere con-
tinues, and "this is a day when the hrave are recognised." Our
baron perched on a rock, silently contends with twenty or thirty of
the enemy. Each corps shouts its war-cry Montjoie for France ;
Home is shouted by the soldiers of the Empire ; Bourgoigne or
Avalon by the Burgundians ; Malo-Malo by the Bretons ; VaUe by
the Angevins ; Biez by the Gascons ; Dex Aie by the Normans ;
and St. Sepulchre by the true Crusaders. Each division has its
watchward and is proud of it. They died with these cries in their
mouths, and sometimes they could not utter the cry.

These battles continue for a long while and their episodes are
monotonous, but each has a rallying point — the flag — and this repre-
sents a grand idea, that of Keligion or Country. The King of
France — the king par excellence — was not present at this particular
battle because his oriflamme was not there — nor was the Dragon :
but the barons of France rallied round a pure white banner on which
was emblazoned the figure of St. George. The standard-bearer
having been wounded, and on the point of quitting hold of his
precious charge, our baron hurries towards him, snatches the
standard from his failing grasp even as Ogier from Alori, and
rescued it. This exploit terminated the battle. The Infidels, van-
quished on all sides, retreated and fled.

The Christians remained masters of the field, and lay there to
rest that night. The main body, however, pursued the flying
pagans, while the others guarded the camp. The latter are not
the most favoured, because the sight of the field is horrible and
revolting. The victory has been dearly purchased. The dead lie
thickly, the wounded are confided to the care of the priests and
monks. The men of peace have been spectators of the fight, but
now their turn has come, and they set about to succour and relieve
the wounded by the dying gleams of day. Litters and ambulances
are improvised : some ladies have accompanied their husbands, and
these go through the ranks assuaging thirst and assisting in
dressing the wounds, or consoling the sorrows of the men-at-arms.
In the centre of a little clump of trees the doctors have established
themselves. As soon as a wounded man is carried thither he is
tenderly disarmed and his hurts washed. White wine is also used
to cleanse his wounds, and then they are bandaged up, when
anointed with the unguents in vogue. That strange pharmacy

1 I 2

484 CHIVALRY.

wliicli only that very morning provoked the ridicule of the
" bachelors," is now the means of saving them, and many are laid
comfortably on the grass covered with a blanket and given sleeping
draughts which render them insensible to pain.

But much more lugubrious is the office of the squires and
grooms or their masters, who search torch in hand amid the dead
in the valley for their friends or patrons. They discover only too
many, and lay them out in a row on a small hill, where that
morning the rear guard of the Infidels had been posted. Alas I
there is no equality in the disposal of these dead. The mercenaries
and the common soldiers are thrown into a pit, while the barons-
and the grandees are carefully laid out apart.

Some horrible scenes are witnessed. A soldier recognises hi»
intimate friend, and stands regarding him with that mute ex-
pression of grief which is characteristic of soldiers of all countries
and of all times. The ancient custom of the funeral prayer, which
is consecrated to those who have fallen in battle, subsisted still at
the time to which our description applies. To the end of time will
be repeated the prayer which Charlemagne offered up for hi»
nephew Koland in the vale of Koncesvalles. "Friend Eoland,
brave man, lovely youth, may God rest thy soul in holy flowers m
Paradise, amongst the beautiful and glorified above."

But our field of battle is less illustrious if the hearts engaged
are no less Christian and the address none the less military*
Nevertheless, some abominable plunderers come across the field
even while the knight and his priest are exchanging noble, heartfelt
sentiments, and begin to pillage the dead ! This is ever the case.
These hycenas are always prowling round the field of battle. Two
days have elapsed, during which the sweets of victory are enjoyed
and tears for the dead are dried. A council of war is held, and the
chiefs of the army decide to march direct upon the nearest town
and at once besiege it. The march commences !

We have endeavoured to make our readers understand something
of the "mechanism" of a battle in the twelfth and thirteenth
centuries. We will now try to give an idea of the " mechanism "
of a siege ; but the wheels are complicated and the machinery
intricate.

To invest a town the moat was first filled up, and immense

AFTER THE BATTLE. — **THE BARONS ARE CAREFULLY LAID OUT."

486 CHIVALRY.

wooden erections, called heffroisy with ladders on wheels, were
employed to approach the walls. These were as high as the
battlements, and, unless burned by the besieged, permitted perhaps
a thousand men to concentrate on a given spot. The number of
men employed was always considerable, but art supplemented
force. By proper distribution of men, and by strategem, the
besiegers could strike terror into their enemies and give them
exaggerated ideas of their strength. The bridging of the ditch
was important, and for the purpose timber was used, and in well-
wooded districts this was not difficult. But when timber trees
were not available the besiegers broke up some of the ships, and
then transported the material with much labour to the scene of
action. But even under favourable conditions scarcely more than
a hundred feet of the immense ditch or moat could be filled up.
Yet this was sufficient to place the ladders in position, and then
the question as to the first person to ascend was mooted. The
unfortunate barons who made the attempt were certain to be slain
by the enemy, and hurled headlong from the moveable ladders
which had been wheeled up to the walls. Many brave men die ;
the balistas and catapults made no impression, the ladders are
broken ; the town seems to mock the assailants. The besieged
with advantage hurl stones, boiling lead and oil, and other
material on the besiegers, while clouds of arrows fly amongst those
farther off. The town must be reduced by famine ; but it is provi-
sioned for a year ! The besieged sally forth and prove themselves very
much alive, and by no means the emaciated people their enemies had
fancied them to be. The business must be concluded somehow.

If there is one person of more importance than another in the
army now it is the engineer. He knows more of carpentry than
the priests do of Latin, which is saying a good deal ; and he gives
himself airs in consequence, being, therefore, considered rather too
proud of his service. But he is a power in the camp, and he is con-
sulted as to what he is going to do. He will construct a heffroi — a
moveable tower which will bring the assailants, under shelter, close
up to the walls. Wood is found in about four days, and the im-
mense scaffolding on wheels, having five stages capable of holding
three hundred men-at-arms and fifty archers, is ready for action
soon after.

The platform at the summit is level with the battlements of the

TENDING THE WOUNDED ON THE FIELD.

488 CHIVALRY.

town and a kind of drawbridge, firmly fixed, and capable of sus-
taining fifty armed men, protrudes from the erection so as to reach
the walls. The sides of the wooden tower are coated with fresh
skins to obviate all danger of fire, and it is moved by ropes
and pulleys, and drawn by horses right up to the wall
where the ditch has been filled up by fascines, and boarded over.
The besieged regard with terror this slowly, surely approaching
machine, and attempt to check its approach with Greek fire. But
the assailants manage to extinguish this with wet earth, ink, and
vinegar, and though some lives are lost the tower is safe, and still
moves on assisted by levers, while the horses pull steadily. The
wheels revolve ! Now is the time for the supreme effort.

From the level of the platform the archers and cross-bowmen
discharge their missiles thickly, and so prevent the enemy from
setting fire to the tower on which so many hopes are fixed. The
machine still advances notwithstanding the rain of stones and
arrows which welcome it. Behind the machine ladders are fixed,
nnd its progress continues. To-morrow will be the crucial day. A
large reward is offered to whosoever is the first man over the wall
— the cry is raised "To the assault!" The "drawbridge" of
the machine is lowered with a rattle of chains, a crowd of knights
press on sword in hand ; the archers take their places on the top-
most staging, and the assault is delivered.

The besieged throng on the battlements, and a hand to hand
conflict ensues. There are horrible, fearful wounds given and re-
ceived. The fight becomes more and more fierce ; more knights
ascend to take the places of those slain or hurled into the ditch,
" To the assault ! " New shouts, new feuds — the town burns,
men are roasted to death. Archers shoot, machines deliver deadly
missiles. At length a tremendous shout goes up, and announces the
victory of the Christian assailants ; they are masters of the battle-
ments and by immense audacity plant their standard on the.Paynim
stronghold. This is always a triumphant action, and appeals to
the popular taste.

Our baron — whose career we have followed — is the knight who
has this time triumphed. He has planted the banner of God on
the walls of the Infidel. The Te Deum is heard in all directions.
The town is taken !

CHAPTER XIX.

THE DEATH OF THE KNIGHT.

The epic poems — our chansons de geste — German in their origin
are Christian in their object. They are more — they are the most
ancient popular poems which we can consult upon the doctrines of
the Christian religion ! No doubt they are not theological works,
and their authors were not clerics, but they are spontaneous in the
best sense of the word, and reveal to us exactly the lay belief during
the early centuries of the Middle Ages. What ideas our fathers
had of God, of man, and of the future life ? No one can answer
those questions so well as our old poets.

We know that they regarded God as a spirit and as the Creator
(Dex Vespirital, Dex li Creator), These two epithets place their
faith upon a far higher pedestal than that of Homer or Virgil.
There is a great gulf between the polytheism of the Iliad and the
simple faith of our knights !

It is the same as regards the future life. What did death leave
to our Homeric heroes ? A soul — a vain image — which, when life
quitted it, dissolved, as a dream. In the realms of Pluto it was
sometimes a soul, sometimes an image, but always without feeling.

But the Christian doctrine is altogether different as it is under-
stood by our epic poets. Created in the image of God, the man
was destined for Heaven, but the first man having sinned, all were
condemned to hell. Jesus delivered us from this fate, and all men
who do not die in mortal sin are saved and placed amidst " the
flowers of Paradise," but destruction awaits the rest. This is the
pith of the Treaty of Man in our theological epic.

It is true that we are here far from the splendid examples of
St. Anselm, St. Bernard, and St. Thomas Aquinas, contemporaries
of our poets, but it is only necessary to seek here for the popular
expression of a popular doctrine, and that is what renders the
testimony of our old poets so valuable. Nothing can replace it.

490 CHIVALRY.

The ideas of hell were very material, and took the form of some
vast gulf which was always ready to receive its victims. It was
supposed to he situated in the centre of the earth, and was so
represented in the, more than simple, maps. This hell was peopled
with demons, nor were the Mysteries less delicate in their repre-
sentations of the place of punishment. How terrified children
were by this ! There is no question of the eternity of the punish-
ment. We read that it is everlasting. ** Diable emportent Vanme
en enfer a tous dis ! " That is decisive !

Heaven was not understood by our poets as it is by theologians
and divines ; but it is also eternal in existence and in loveliness.
The Paradise of our knights had nothing sensual about it.
Certainly they did not speak of the blessed light, nor of the clear
view of God, which is the essence of eternal felicity ; but we find
angels bending over all those slain in battle, receiving their souls,
and bearing them away to share the glories of Paradise, while
demons snatch away the pagans. Our poets have not embellished
the idea of a future life ; but they did not falsify it nor degrade it,
and they accepted it willingly.

I am not surprised at the infrequent reference to Purgatory —
our poets went to the extremes; but I am astonished that the
doctrine of the resurrection of the body did not strike our simple
reciters. On the other hand the judgment, considered by itself,
dominates and alarms the whole Christian race. It has flourished
on this wholesome terror, and has been saved by it. The idea was
accepted by our poets, for we read that " if you (a certain king was
in question) act in that manner the Saints, the Martyrs, the
Apostles, and the Innocents will all rise up against you at the Day
of Judgment ! "

Such was the faith in which our baron lived, and in which he
was to die.

He had always hoped to have ended his days near Jerusalem, or
within the Holy City itself, his lips pressed to the tomb of Christ.
If they could only avenge the disgrace of Tiberias. If ! But no !
The news became more and more disheartening. "When he
embarked for Egypt he had thought to die there. His ideal was to
be slain by the Saracens, and he would rather have been roasted
alive than deny his Master. Ah, welcome death ! How often had
he prayed for it !

THE DEATH OF THE KNIGHT.

491

Our baron's prayers were but half granted. He was about to
die ; but of wounds received during the Crusade, alas ; prosaically,
slowly in his bed ! To be sure he has experienced the ineffable joy
of meeting his wife and children again, but he rather regretted the
East and an heroic ending. The day at length arrives when he
can no longer get up, so he lies, supported by pillows, thinking of
all that the minstrels had sung. The death of Roland is presented
to him in a new light ; he had never understood it so well before.

Angels carrying the souls of braye Knights up to Heaven.

He sees it all clearly now, and the grand simplicity of the death
delights him. The whole scene comes vividly before him — the
tears, the prayer, the gesture of submission to his sovereign ;
and the worthy baron is somewhat sui-prised that the angels
do not appear to him and take him in their arms ! He is
delirious !

But there is another death which he prefers to that of Eoland,
viz., that of Orri of Bavaria, which is less known, but no less
beautiful. Orri had been taken prisoner by the pagans in a sortie.
He had to choose between his faith and his love. " Render up to

492 CHIVALRY.

us the palace and the tower, and we will give you your king, Orri,"
^ried the infidels.

** Do not surrender ! " cried the king ; " I will die ! "
He calmly prepared for death ; it was a cruel martyrdom. He
was shot to death with arrows, hut he managed to kneel down and
utter a prayer to God to receive his soul, as his body was no longer
his own. And angels fluttered down to receive this pure spirit, as
they had received Roland's.

Those and many others visit him in his dreams. His bed is
surrounded by noble shades. Here are Vivien, Berard, Fierabras,
Ogier the Dane, whose later years were so well spent in works of
mercy and chivalrous deeds. But, above all, Renaud de Montauban
is there — he w^hose death causes our baron to weep. He possessed
the rare combination of tenderness with force. He had engaged,
almost unaided, with Charlemagne ; he had delivered the Holy
Sepulchre ; he covered himself with glory, and having repented of
the slaughter of so many men, he left home and became a workman
at Cologne. He was killed, but his body arose and led the funeral
procession, even to the place of sepulture. Truly our baron would
prefer to imitate Eenaud. Could he only quit his bed and travel,
unknown, to Notre Dame de Paris, which was then being built !

But our knight is not always thus — it would not be natural if he
were. He has his hours of tender thought, and moments of
military aspiration ! Sometimes he thinks of his charger, and
becomes quiet excited, declaring that he must rise and slay !
But those accustomed to invalids know how to regard these
outbreaks, which do not last long. He soon calms down and asks
pardon for his childishness. Every eight days he confesses. His
jnind is clear, his heart is brave ; he loves God ; he is ready !

One day his wounds re-opened, and everyone thought he would
die. But the leech declared that the good baron would live just
three months longer ! The knight never quailed at the sentence.

Nothing could equal the serenity of the patient. He displayed
all the self-possession of the Stoic, with the pride of the cult. " It
will be well," he said, one morning, "if I make my will ; let me
disembarrass myself of all earthly considerations at once, for it is
necessary that I look chiefly to my soul in future." He makes a
disposition of his property, with every regard to circumstances and
fairness. He provides for his unmarried daughter, and distributes

KENAUD DE MONTAIJBAN RISES FROM HIS BIER

[ V. 492.

THE DEATH OF THE KNIGHT. 493

his goods with ahsolute fairness. He is somewhat fatigued after
the will has been executed, but rallying, he requests his wife to
proceed to Faye for two " silken-cloths," which she brings with
her. These are of dark colour, and he destines them for his bier ;
if the day of his funeral should be wet he gives directions that they
should be protected by other coverings. He goes into all these sad
details without flinching, and as calmly as possible, while the
attendants and his faithful spouse can but weep.

" Where would you prefer to be buried ? " is the question which
his eldest son puts to him next day, in a broken voice, and with a
holy regard for his father — a sacred duty he considers it.

" I have loved the Templars so much that I would be laid in their
chapel, and in exchange I will bequeath to them one of my manors."

It is scarcely necessary to add that he wishes — as was then
usual — to be arrayed in monkish garments, and to die as a monk.
With such a dress he will, he thinks, the more surely enter Heaven.
But these last wishes and directions have greatly moved his
attendants. They all are in tears, and a solemn silence reigns.

During the next few days the malady makes fatal progress.
Death is drawing near, but the frame is so robust that it resists
the approach of dissolution as an oak-tree resists the storm.
Watchers, in parties of three, stand around. His son never quits
the bedside.

The thought of his will occupies him very much, for, fearing it
will not be perfectly in order, he has sent it to the bishop, and to
the abbey of his beloved Cistercians, whom he has named as his
executors. They attach their own seals to it, and return it. He
holds it for a long while, gazing at the impressions on the wax ;
then, calling his wife, he says ; " Embrace me now, for never more
wilt thou embrace me." He falls into her arms as she supports
him, and " they both weep," says the old poet : "IZ 'plora, et ele
plora.'' His daughter had to be conveyed away.

As the illness continues, the priest takes an opportunity to en-
quire whether the baron's conscience is at rest, if the knight is at
peace with all mankind, and if he has made restitution for any
wrongs he may have committed. But the baron does not approve
of this priestly interference, and, being of a hasty temperament,
lets some hasty words escape him as to the presumption of the
clerical visitor. But as the knight confesses every eighth day, no

494 CHIVALRY.

doubt he eased his conscience concerning this little outburst of
anger, which was his last. His daughters then visited him, and
were to him as '' rays of sunshine."

All the people who have waited on invalids know that some days
before death the patient enjoys a return of strength, which leads
him to think that his end is not so near as he had feared. This is
the case with our baron ; he feels much better, and actually says
that he feels inclined to sing ! " And, truly," he adds, " for three
years I have not felt this inclination." *' Well then, sing," say his
attendants, whose only desire is to please him. *' No," he replied,
** that were too ridiculous. Fetch my daughters hither, they shall
sing to me and comfort me."

The ladies come in, Mahent and Jeanne by name, and seat them-
selves beside the bed. ** Now, Mahent, do thou begin," he says.
She is by no means inclined to do so, but her father's wishes are
paramount, and, with sweet voice and simple tones, she sings the
couplet of a Chanson, *' Now it is your turn, Jeanne." The poor
girl essays to obey, but her voice fails her, and the dying man at
each false note gently chides her, and shows her how the song
should be sung. Nothing more natural, nothing more touching,
than this scene can be imagined ; but it requires a powerful voice
to do it justice, and our voice is, alas ! like that of Jeanne !

The evening before his death the baron calls to him his eldest son,
and says to him, **When I am buried you will be careful to be near
the bier, and to give to the poor some of my goods. You must clothe
fifty, and feed as many more." At length, feeling that his end is
approaching, he apportions his last gifts to the monasteries, and
particularly to those which had admitted him to their societas or
beneficuiUy who had allowed him to participate in their good works,
and in their prayers. He forgets nothing, and distributes the robes
to his knights which he usually dispenses at Whitsuntide. But
these latest efforts have visibly fatigued him. " Let him rest,"
they say. He sleeps; fever supervenes, delirium comes on.
" There," he cries, ** don't you see two men, two white men, one at
each side ! " To delirium succeeds pain, and the poor baron who
has that morning confessed, is seized by the agonies of death.
"Let the windows be opened; call his son, his wife, and all his
relatives." They come in : the baron is leaning on the breast of
his friend Jean. On his pale, yet darkening face, some rose-water

THE DYING BARON EEQUESTS A SONG FIIOM HIS L'AUGHTERS. [p. 494.

THE DEATH OF THE KNIGHT. 495

is sprinkled ; this reanimates him for the moment. But he feels
that the supreme moment is at hand. " I am dying, to God's care
I commit you," he murmurs. Then he falls into his son's arms.

" Quick, quick, bring the cross ! " The dying man sees it,
adores and, leaning on his son, receives absolution and plenary in-
dulgence in the name of the Pope. With a shudder his spirit
escapes from earth : the baron is no more. Let us pray that his
soul is with God —

Prion Dieu qu'en sa sainte gloire —

Le mete et en son Paradis !

Such are the incidents connected with the death of the knight
as related by eye-witnesses. Some have been of more elevated
piety — some have died in ardent faith ; but there are few barons
who did not die in the tenets of Christianity — soldiers of Christ.

The good knight is dead ! He has been laid out by the women.
The body is carefully opened by the leech in attendance ; the heart,
etc., are removed and conveyed, wrapped in thick stuffs (paile), to
the neighbouring convent-church where they will be piously pre-
served. The body is sewn up, washed with wine and spices, and
relaid upon the bed prepared for it. The body is then covered and
the hands are crossed upon the ample chest. Some hours elapse,
and then everyone enters to view the corpse and exclaim, " how
little changed it is!" — "it is almost lifelike!" What singular
consolations we devise for ourselves to compensate for the ravages
of death !

The bier is ready; the body is carefully enwrapped in satin
which is sewn on it and soon conceals the face. The remains are
again folded in buck-skin which is also sewn over them, and this
almost shapeless form is laid upon the bier. All the perfumes and
aromatic herbs which can be procured are brought into use — and in
these consist the only mode of embalming then known. The bier
remains open, but over it are laid the famous silken materials which
the baron had brought from the Holy Land, and which he had
always intended for the purpose.

In honour of the dead and of the Holy Cross one hundred or
two hundred candles are lighted around the bier. Twenty censers
are burning in the chamber, and upon the carpet with which the
marble floor has been covered are seated thirty or forty knights

496 CHIVALRY.

and servitors in tears. The brothers of the deceased and their
wives now arrive to look for the last time upon their relative. The
face- coverings are removed, and the spectators gaze long upon those
features on which natural decay has already set its decomposing
fingers. The widow begs the same favour ; but the trial is too
much for her, she faints away.

'The next day the body is carried to the church when the " Vigils
for the dead " are said in the presence of all the priests. Then
the ** death-watch " begins, and nothing is more striking than the
appearance of the church, all in shadow save the chapel in which
the bier rests in the blaze of many tapers. This is the same
chapel in which the deceased baron formerly undertook his
** armour- watch/* and is dedicated to Saint Martin. But when
day dawns it is not the cheerful Mass of the knightly "creation,"
but the solemn Kequiem which echoes from its walls !

From the church to the cemetery is not far ; the day is wet, and
the handsome pall is shrouded by the cloth which had been pre-
pared by the baron for such a contingency. Every tomb is of
stone and is shaded by a tree. The body is laid in the ground,
but it is hoped that a more worthy resting-place will soon be found
for it beneath the great altar. The baron had often witnessed the
desire of some of his contemporaries for magnificent tombs sculp-
tured in effigy, and laid out with the feet of the figure on a lion,
the head resting on a cushion, the hands joined ! But to this
truly Christian warrior a simple stone with a cross cut in the
centre would suffice ; yet the survivors might, without too great
flattery, inscribe upon his tomb the truly chivalric legend — '^Cefu
li mieudres qui sor destrier sist.*^ *

And while the dark clothed crowd quits the cemetery — while the
disconsolate widow is giving orders to burn all her finery, while the
poor body lies in the grave yonder — the soul of the good knight is
in the " Holy Paradise " with the saints in glory !

* Roughly " He was one of the best knights who ever crossed a horse."

CHAPTER XX.

CONCLUSION.

We have frequently had occasion to bring out the very consoling
truth that will serve as a conclusion to this work, which we have
compiled from the epic poems of the Middle Ages. This conclusion
is " Truth is superior to Fiction." Herein, as elsewhere, reality
is better than imagination !

The Charlemagne of history is superior to the Charles of legend ;
and so with the greater number of the heroes of our chansons de
geste. Those of our annals are of the highest " form."

Saint Louis in prison is a finer figure than William of Orange on
the field of Aliscans ; Du Guesclin, " for whose ransom all the
spinsters of France applied themselves to their distafis," is greater
than Renaud, the eldest of the sons of Aymon. Bayard is far
superior to Ogier the Dane. But what are we to say of Joan of
Arc ? As soon as that incomparable and charming figure appears
all the others are eclipsed : in such a brilliant light the rest do not
seem to shine.

We will go farther; even if we provoke the disdain of those
philosophers who delight in running down the human race, and in
despising mankind. It is not necessary to believe that Chivalry
belongs to any one epoch, or possesses any special character. The
institution is dead, but its spirit lives, and there are knights under
all the flags which have successively sheltered the honour of France
— no matter what their colour !

We may add, to prevent disappointment, that it is quite possible
for any one of the present day to become as chivalric as any knight
of old time, and if anyone will conform to the ten commandments of
the Code of Chivalry which we have enumerated, he will find this
feasible, and actually true.

No doubt Feudalism has disappeared for ever, and this is no

498

CHIVALRY.

longer a question of those duties which bound so strictly a vassal
to his liege-lord. But the Church is weak, and this "august weak-
ness " has more need than ever of an entire and living devotion.
The doctrines of Islam are certainly no longer our hereditary
opponents, hut there are others against which true Chivalry will
act more successfully than all the new pattern rifles, and the most
murderous cannon.

Society is differently constituted now ; it is no longer the same

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St. Louis in Prison.

as it was eight or nine years ago, but there is still " Country,"
more united and better defined than formerly, and which has a right
to count upon our intelligence as much as on our swords.

There is a numerous and influential " school," the members of
which pretend that well-being is the aim-all and end-all of re-
generated humanity. The sophists are under a gross misapprehen-
sion ! A nation which loves luxury first is a nation lost ! Such an
one will be pushed aside, and obliterated by the more manly and
vigorous race. It was — it is — Chivalry that saves nations ! It is
their very essence, and Chivalry disdains all those petty luxuries,

CONCLUSION. 499

and the ease of a nerveless life. It despises suffering: it is the old
command put in action, 'Esto Vir,

The last commandment of the ancient Code appears to us to be
more needed in the observance now. It is: "Do not lie!'' Be
truthful ! I understand by that the feeling of horror of all the
finessey white lies, and petty insincerities, which in so many shades
darken the vistas of our lives ! Of all things here below Chivalry
is most opposed to the " insinuation," to the shade of untruth !
Chivalry would have us meet the daily danger with the most
luminous frankness. We should never conceal our badge or banner.
If we believe in Christ, let us, like those early martyrs, cry out :
" I am a Christian ! " Let us, with open brow, and transparent
soul, learn, not only how to die for the truth, but learn also, what
is much more difficult, how to live in it !

THE END.

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & OO. LIMD., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIAKS,

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