Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/chivalryOOgautrich 
 
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 
 
\, { 
 
 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 t he rJoniy Q^] ^ 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 orig in, 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, 
 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 man ly an d 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, ' 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^rigorou s on th e 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. 
 
 
 
 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 com bat 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 : — 
 
 " 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, 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^l e twelfdi ce ntury 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, " 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." 
 
 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 bo dy 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 — 
 
 " ! 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 — '' 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 — ! 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, 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, 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, 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, 
 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, 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, 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, God, for our sister the Moon, and 
 for the stars which Thou hast placed in the heavens so clear and 
 bright. Praise to Thee, 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 " ! 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, 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, b ut 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 
 
 1 1 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 W^ "'' 
 
 tssmmmn 
 
 ■w^' 
 
 ill 
 
 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, 
 

 i 
 1 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 5 ?''«^ 
 
14DAV 
 
 TTC 
 
 prTT 
 
 14 DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 
 on the date to which renewed. 
 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 "RENEWALS "ONLY f lei. No. 
 
 SEP 3 
 
 ^96848 
 
 
 D- 
 
 &^ 
 
 ^ftft-0^-I99! 
 
 LD 21A-I0m-1,'68 
 (H7452sl0)476B 
 
 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
 Berkeley 
 
YC 29339 
 
 ^y-2L. 
 
 '(^-'^ .^.4)4181