THE SERF'S QUARTER.
"As they sat in Englyshe wood,
Under the greenwode tree,
They thought they heard a woman wepe,
But her they mought not see."
ADAM BELL, ETC.
Leaving the warder lounging listlessly at his post, as in a
well-settled district and in "piping times of peace," with no feudal
enemies at hand, and no outlaws in the vicinity, none at least so
numerous as to render any guard necessary, except as a matter of
dignity and decorum, the two knights strolled down the sandy lane
toward the village, or quarter of the serfs; who were not admitted
generally to reside within the walls, partly as a precaution, lest, in
case of some national affray, they might so far outnumber the Norman
men-at-arms as to become dangerous, partly because they were not
deemed fitting associates for the meanest of the feudal servitors.
The two gentlemen in question were excellent specimens of the Norman
baron of the day, without, however, being heroes or geniuses, or in
any particular--except perhaps for good temper and the lack of
especial temptation toward evil--manifestly superior to others of
their class, caste, and period. Neither of them was in any respect a
tyrant, individually cruel, or intentionally an oppressor; but both
were, as every one of us is at this day, used to look at things as we
find them, through our own glasses, and to seek rather for what is the
custom, than for what is right, and therefore ought to be; for what it
suits us, and is permitted to us by law to do to others, than for what
we should desire others to do unto us.
Reckless of life themselves, brought up from their cradles to regard
pain as a thing below consideration, and death as a thing to be risked
daily, they were not like to pay much regard to the mere physical
sufferings of others, or to set human life at a value, such as to
render it worth the preserving, when great stakes were to be won or
lost on its hazard. Accustomed to set their own lives on the die, for
the most fantastic whim of honor, or at the first call of their feudal
suzerains, accustomed to see their Norman vassals fall under shield,
and deem such death honorable and joyous, at their own slightest
bidding, how should they have thought much of the life, far more of
the physical or mental sufferings, of the Saxon serf, whom they had
found, on their arrival in their newly-conquered England, a thing
debased below the value, in current coin, of an ox, a dog, or a
war-horse--a thing, the taking of whose life was compensated by a
trivial fine, and whom they naturally came to regard as a dull,
soulless, inanimate, stupid senseless animal, with the passions only,
but without the intellect of the man. Of the two barons, Sir Yvo de
Taillebois was the superior, both in intellect and culture; he was in
easy circumstances also, while his far younger friend, Sir Philip de
Morville, was embarrassed by the _res angusta domi_, and by the
importunity of relentless creditors, which often drives men to do, as
well as to suffer, extremes.
It was no hardness of nature or cruelty of disposition, therefore,
which led either of these noble men--for they were noble, not in birth
only, but in sentiment and soul, according to the notions of their
age, which were necessarily _their_ notions, and to the lights
vouchsafed to them--to speak concerning the Saxon serfs, and act
toward them, ever as if they were beasts of burden, worthy of care,
kindness, and some degree of physical consideration, rather than like
men, as themselves, endowed with hearts to feel and souls to
comprehend. Had they been other than they were, they had been
monsters; as it was, they were excellent men, as men went then, and go
now, fully up to the spirit of their own times, and to the strain of
morality and justice understood thereby, but not one whit above it.
Therefore, Sir Yvo de Taillebois, finding himself indebted for his
daughter's life to the hardihood and courage of the Saxon serf, whom
he regarded much as he would have done his charger or his hound,
desired, as a point of honor, rather than of gratitude, to secure to
the serf an indemnity from toil, punishment, or want, during the rest
of his life, just as he would have assigned a stall, with free rack
and manger, to the superannuated charger which had saved his own life
in battle; or given the run of kitchen, buttery, and hall, to the
hound which had run the foremost of his pack. The sensibilities of the
Saxon were as incomprehensible to him as those of the charger or the
staghound, and he thought no more of considering him in his social or
family relations, than the animals to which, in some sort, he likened
him.
He would not, it is true, if asked as a philosophical truth, whether
the life of a Saxon serf and of an Andalusian charger were equivalent,
have replied in the affirmative; for he was, according to his lights,
a Christian, and knew that a Saxon had a soul to be saved; nor would
he have answered, that the colt of the high-bred mare, or the whelp of
the generous brach, stood exactly in the same relation as the child of
the serf to its human parent; but use had much deadened his
perceptions to the distinction; and the impassive and stolid
insensibility of the Saxon race, imbruted and degraded by ages of
serfdom, caused him to overlook the faint and rarely seen displays of
human sensibilities, which would have led him less to undervalue the
sense and sentiment of his helpless fellow-countrymen. As it was, he
would as soon have expected his favorite charger or best brood mare to
pine hopelessly, and grieve as one who could not be consoled, at being
liberated from spur and saddle, and turned out to graze at liberty
forever in a free and fertile pasture, while its colts should remain
in life-long bondage, as he would have supposed it possible for the
Saxon serf to be affected beyond consolation by the death, the
deportation, or the disasters of his family.
Nor, again, did he regard liberty or servitude in an abstract sense,
apart from ideas of incarceration, torture, or extreme privation, as
great and inherent right or wrong.
The serf owed him absolute service; the free laborer, or villeyn,
service, in some sort, less absolute; his vassals, man-service,
according to their degree, either in the field of daily labor, the
hunting-field, or the battle-field; he himself owed service to his
suzerain; his suzerain to the King. It was all service, and the
difference was but in the degree; and if the service of the serf was
degraded, it was a usual, a habitual degradation, to which, it might
be presumed, he was so well accustomed, that he felt it not more than
the charger his demipique, or the hawk his bells and jesses; and, for
the most part, he did not feel it more, nor regret it, nor know the
lack of liberty, save as connected with the absence of the fetters or
the lash.
And this, indeed, is the great real evil of slavery, wheresoever and
under whatsoever form it exists, that it is not more, but less,
hurtful to the slave than to the master, and that its ill effects are
in a much higher and more painful degree intellectual than physical;
that, while it degrades and lowers the inferiors almost to the level
of mere brutes, through the consciousness of degradation, the absence
of all hope to rise in the scale of manhood, and the lack of every
stimulus to ambition or exertion, it hardens the heart, and deadens
the sensibilities of the master, and renders him, through the strange
power of circumstance and custom, blind to the existence of wrongs,
sufferings, and sorrows, at the mere narration of which, under a
different phase of things, his blood would boil with indignation.
Such, then, was in some considerable degree, the state of mind,
arising from habit and acquaintance with the constitution of freedom
and slavery, intermingled every where in the then world, any thing to
the contrary of which they had never seen nor even heard of, in which
the two Norman lords took their way down the village street, if it
could be so called, being a mere sandy tract, passable only to
horsemen, or carts and vehicles of the very rudest construction,
unarmed, except with their heavy swords, and wholly unattended, on an
errand, as they intended, of liberality and mercy.
The quarter of the serfs of Sir Philip de Morville was, for the most
part, very superior to the miserable collection of huts, liker to
dog-houses than to any human habitation, which generally constituted
the dwellings of this forlorn and miserable race; for the knight was,
as it has been stated, an even-tempered and good-natured, though
common-place man; and being endowed with rather an uncommon regard for
order and taste for the picturesque, he consequently looked more than
usual to the comfort of his serfs, both in allotting them small plots
of garden-ground and orchards, and in bestowing on them building
materials of superior quality and appearance.
All the huts, therefore, rudely framed of oak beams, having the
interstices filled in with a cement of clay and ruddle, with thatched
roofs and wooden lattices instead of windows, were whole, and for the
most part weather-proof. Many of the inhabitants had made porches,
covered with natural wild runners, as the woodbine and sweet-brier;
all had made gardens in front, which they might cultivate in their
hours of leisure, when the day's task-work should be done, and which
displayed evidently enough, by their orderly or slovenly culture, the
character and disposition of their occupants.
The few men whom the lords met on their way, mostly driving up beasts
laden with fire-wood or forage to the cattle, for the day was not yet
far spent, nor the hours devoted to toil well-nigh passed, were hale,
strong, sturdy varlets, in good physical condition, strong-limbed, and
giving plentiful evidences in their appearance of ample coarse
subsistence; they were well-dressed, moreover, although in the
plainest and coarsest habiliments, made, for the most part, of the
tanned hides of beasts with the hair outward, or in some cases of
cheap buff leather, their feet protected by clumsy home-made sandals,
and their heads uncovered, save by the thick and matted elf-locks of
their unkempt and dingy hair.
They louted low as their lord passed them by, but no gleam of
recognition, much less any smile of respectful greeting, such as
passes between the honored superior and the valued servant, played
over their stolid and heavy countenance, begrimed for the most part
with filth, and half-covered with disordered beards and unshorn
mustaches.
Neither in form, motion, nor attire, did they show any symptom of
misusage; there were no scars, as of the stripes, the stocks, or the
fetters, on their bare arms and legs; they were in good physical
condition, well-fed, warmly-lodged, sufficiently-clad--perhaps in the
best possible condition for the endurance of continuous labor, and the
performance of works requiring strength and patience, rather than
agility or energetic exertion.
But so also were the mules, oxen, or horses, which they were employed
in driving, and which, in all these respects, were fully equal to
their drivers, while they had this manifest advantage over them, that
they were rubbed down and curry-combed, and cleaned, and showed their
hides glossy and sleek, and their manes free from scurf and burrs,
which is far more than could be stated of their human companions, who
looked for the most part as if their tanned and swart complexions were
as innocent of water as were their beards and elf-locks of brush or
currycomb.
In addition, however, to their grim and sordid aspect, and their
evident ignorance, or carelessness, of their base appearance, there
was a dull, sullen, dogged expression on all their faces--a look not
despairing, nor even sorrowful, but perfectly impassive, as if they
had nothing to hope for, or regret, or fear; the look of a caged bear,
wearied and fattened out of his fierceness, not tamed, civilized, or
controlled by any human teaching.
The stature and bearing, even of the freeborn and noble Saxon, in the
day when his fair isle of Albion was his own, and he trod the soil its
proud proprietor, had never been remarkable for its beauty, grace, or
dignity. He was, for the most part, short, thick-set, sturdy-limbed,
bull-necked, bullet-headed; a man framed more for hardihood,
endurance, obstinate resolve, indomitable patience to resist, than for
vivid energy, brilliant impulsive vigor, or ardor, whether
intellectual or physical; but these men, though they neither lounged
nor lagged behind, plodded along with a heavy, listless gait, their
frowning brows turned earthward, their dull gray eyes rolling beneath
their light lashes, meaningless and spiritless, and the same scowl on
every gloomy face.
The younger women, a few of whom were seen about the doors or gardens,
busied in churning butter, making cheese, or performing other duties
of the farm and dairy, were somewhat more neatly, and, in some few
cases, even tastefully attired. Some were of rare beauty, with a
profusion of auburn, light brown, or flaxen hair, bright rosy
complexions, large blue eyes, and voluptuous figures; and these bore
certainly a more cheerful aspect, as the nature of woman is more
hopeful than that of man, and a more gentle mood than their fellows;
yet there were no songs enlivening their moments of rest or
alleviating their hours of toil--no jests, no romping, as we are wont
to see among young girls of tender years, occupied in the lighter and
more feminine occupations of agricultural life.
Some one or two of these, indeed, smiled as they courtesied to their
lord, but the smile was wan and somewhat sickly, nor seemed to come
from the heart; it gave no pleasure, one would say, to her who
gave--no pleasure to him who received it.
The little children, however, who tumbled about in the dust, or built
mud-houses by the puddles in the road, were the saddest sight of all.
Half-naked, sturdy-limbed, filthy little savages, utterly untaught and
untamed, scarcely capable of making themselves understood, even in
their own rude dialect; wild-eyed, and fierce or sullen-looking as it
might, subject to no control or correction, receiving no education, no
culture whatsoever--not so much even as the colt, which is broken at
least to the menage, or the hound-puppy, which is entered at the
quarry which he is to chase; ignorant of every moral or divine
truth--ignorant even that each one of them was the possessor of a
mortal body, far more of an immortal soul!
But not a thought of these things ever crossed the mind of the stately
and puissant Normans. No impression such as these, which must needs
now strike home to the soul of every chance beholder, had ever been
made on their imaginations, by the sight of things, which, seeing
every day, they had come to consider only as things which were
customary, and were, therefore, right and proper--not the exception
even to the rule, but the rule without exception.
So differently, indeed, did the circumstances above related strike Sir
Yvo de Taillebois, that he even complimented his friend on the general
comfort of his villenage, and the admirable condition of his people,
the air of capacity of his men, and the beauty of his women; nay! he
commented even upon the plump forms and brawny muscles of the young
savages, who fled diverse from before their footsteps, shrieking and
terrified at the lordly port and resounding strides of their masters,
as indicative of their future strength, and probable size and stature.
And Philip replied, laughing, "Ay! ay! they are a stout and burly set
of knaves and good workers on the main. The hinges of the stocks are
rusted hard for want of use, and the whipping-post has not heard the
crack of the boar's hide these two years or better; but then I work
them lightly and feed them roundly, and I find that they do me the
more work for it, and the better; besides, the food they consume is
all of their own producing, and I have no use for it. They raise me
twice as much now as I can expend, on this manor. Now I work my folk
but ten hours to the day, and give them meat, milk, and cheese, daily,
and have not flogged a man since Martinmas two twelvemonths; and I
have thrice the profit of them that my friend and neighbor, Reginald
Maltravers, has, though his thralls toil from matin to curfew, with
three lenten days to the week, and the thong ever sounding. It is bad
policy, I say, to over-do the work or under-do the feeding. Besides,
poor devils, they have not much fun in life, and if you fill their
bellies, you fill them with all the pleasure and contentment they are
capable of knowing. But, hold! here is Kenric's home--the best cabin
in the quarter, as the owner is the best man. Let us go in."
"And carry him a welcome cure for his aching bones," said Sir Yvo, as
they entered the little gate of a pretty garden, which stretched from
the door down to a reach of the winding stream, overshadowed by
several large and handsome willows. "By my faith! he must needs be a
good man," resumed the speaker--"why, it is as neat as a thane's
manor, and neater, too, than many I have seen."
But as he spoke, the shrill and doleful wail of women came from the
porch of the house. "Ah, well-a-day! ah, well-a-day! that I should
live to see it. Soul of my soul, Kenric, my first-born and my best
one--thou first borne in, almost a corpse; and then, my darling and
delight--my fair-haired Edgar's son dead of this doleful fever. Ah,
well-a-day! ah, well-a-day! Would God that I were dead also, most
miserable that I am, of women!"
And then the manly voice of Kenric replied, but faint for his wounds
and wavering for the loss of blood; "Wail not for me, mother," he
said; "wail not for me, for I am strong yet, and like to live this
many a day--until thy toils are ended, and then God do to me as seems
him good. But, above all, I say to thee, wail not for Adhemar the
white-haired. His weakness and his innocence are over, here on earth.
He has never known the collar or the gyves--has never felt how bitter
and how hard a thing it is to be the slave of the best earthly master!
His dream--his fever-dream of life is over; he is free from yoke and
chain; he has awoken out of human servitude, to be the slave of the
everlasting God, whose strictest slavery is perfect liberty and
perfect love."
But still the woman wailed--"Ah, well-a-day! ah, well-a-day! would God
that I were dead, most miserable of mothers that I am!"
And the Norman barons stood unseen and silent, smitten into dumbness
before the regal majesty of the slave's maternal sorrow, perhaps
awakened to some dim vision of the truth, which never had dawned on
them until that day, in the serf's quarter.