chivalry, and graceful bearing at jousts and tournaments; and Louis
the Twelfth, of France, made use of these traits in his character
to effect his own political purposes. Being deserted by most of his
allies, he was anxious to renew the old bond of friendship between
France and Scotland; but this was rendered difficult by the fact that
England and Scotland were at peace, and by the marriage of James with
the sister of Henry the Eighth. This being the posture of political
affairs, Louis induced his beautiful wife, Anne of Bretagne, to choose
the king of Scotland for her knight and champion. An ambassador was
sent to Edinburgh, to present letters from the French queen, wherein
she assumed the style of a high-born damsel in distress, assured James
that she had suffered much blame in defence of his honor, called him
her chosen knight, and besought him for her sake to advance but three
steps into the territory of England, with his warlike banners floating
on the breeze. A present of fourteen thousand crowns, with a glove
and a turquois ring from her own hand, accompanied the message. The
chivalric feelings of James would not permit him to refuse a lady’s
request, especially when that lady was a beauty and a queen. The order
was obeyed; and the hostilities thus commenced terminated in the defeat
at Flodden field, so disastrous to Scotland.
But the good produced by chivalry, in softening the character of
those rude ages, was no doubt greater than the evils arising from its
occasional excesses. A knight was bound to grant safe conduct through
his territories to those that requested it, even when they came to
deprive him of his possessions. When Matilda landed near Arundel,
to contend for the throne of England, Stephen gave her honorable
escort to the castle of his brother, the earl of Gloucester. It was
not considered honorable and courteous to take ladies in war. When a
town was captured, the heralds were wont to proclaim that it was the
conqueror’s will no violence, or disrespect, should be offered to any
gentlewoman. When Caen fell into the hands of the English, in the reign
of Edward the Third, Sir Thomas Holland protected many ladies, damsels,
and nuns from outrage; and when the castle of Poys was taken, the
English knights escorted the daughters of lord Poys to the presence of
Edward, who gave them a cordial welcome, and ordered them to be safely
conducted to a town friendly to their family.
In the wars of the Guelphs and the Ghibbelines, the emperor Conrad
refused all terms of capitulation to the garrison of Winnisberg; but,
like a true knight, he granted the request of the women to pass out
in safety, with such of their most precious effects as they could
themselves carry. When the gates were opened, a long procession of
matrons and maidens appeared, each bearing a husband, son, father, or
brother, on her shoulders. As they passed through the enemy’s lines,
all respectfully made way for them, while the whole camp rang with
shouts of applause.
The sentiment of courtesy was carried so far, that when the Normans and
English took the castle of Du Gueslin, they were indignantly reproved,
because they had transgressed the license of war, by disturbing the
ladies of the castle while they were asleep.
In those turbulent times, no wonder that courage was the quality most
dear to a woman’s heart, and chivalry the idol of her imagination.
Ladies endeavored to stifle the first emotions of love, and proudly
answered their humble suitors, that they must expect no favor until
they had gained sufficient renown by their military exploits. “I should
have loved him better dead than alive,” exclaimed a noble damsel, when
she heard that her chosen knight had survived his honor; and another,
being reproached for loving an ugly man, replied, “He is so valiant I
have never observed his face.”
In some cases, these romantic feelings overcame even the stern
distinctions of feudal pride. A squire of low degree often aspired to
the hand of a princess, and not unfrequently gained it, by the ardor
of his passion and the desperate valor of his achievements. A young
candidate for chivalry said to a high-born beauty, “How can I hope to
find a damsel of noble birth, who will return the affection of a knight
ungraced by rank, with only his good sword to rely upon?” “And why
should you not find her?” replied the lady. “Are you not gently born?
Are you not a handsome youth? Have you not eyes to gaze on her, ears
to hear her, feet to move at her will, body and heart to accomplish
loyally all her commands? Possessing these qualities, you cannot doubt
to adventure yourself in the service of a lady, however exalted her
rank.”
The martial spirit of women was fostered by the honorary titles
bestowed on them, and the part they were expected to take in the
splendid pageants of the day. The wife of a knight was often called
equitissa, or militissa, or chevalière; and a high-spirited maiden
was called _le bel cavalier_. In France, women who ruled over fiefs
could confer knighthood, and had a right to make war, decide judicial
questions, and coin money. At the solemn and imposing ceremony of a
knight’s inauguration, fair ladies attended upon him, and delivered him
the various pieces of his armor. His coat of mail was usually crossed
by a scarf, which his lady-love had embroidered in the seclusion of
her own apartment. The crest of the helmet was often adorned with
ringlets of fair hair, a garland of flowers, or a lady’s glove, which
was sometimes set in pearls. But the great scene of beauty’s triumph
was in the gorgeous pageant of the tournament. On these occasions women
had sovereign power. If any complaint was made against a knight, they
adjudged his cause without appeal. They generally deputed their power
to some cavalier, who was called the Knight of Honor. He bore at the
end of his lance a ribbon, a glove, or some other token of woman’s
favor, and the fiercest warriors obeyed the orders sanctioned by these
simple emblems. The dames and damsels sometimes offered a diamond,
a ruby, a sapphire, a silver helmet, or richly embossed shield, as
the reward of him who should prove himself the bravest in this mimic
war. The laws of chivalry required that a polite preference should
always be given to foreigners; hence when a martial game was held at
Smithfield, during the reign of Richard the Second, the queen proposed
a golden crown to the best jouster, if he were a stranger, but if an
English knight, a rich bracelet was to be his reward. “On the morning
of the day appointed for this merry tournament, there issued out of the
Tower of London, first threescore coursers apparelled for the lists,
and on every one a squire of honor, riding a soft pace. Then appeared
threescore ladies of honor, mounted on fair palfreys, each lady leading
by a chain of silver a knight sheathed in jousting harness. The fair
and gallant troop, with the sound of clarions, trumpets, and other
minstrelsy, rode along the streets of London, the fronts of the housing
shining with martial glory in the rich banners and tapestries, which
hung from the windows.”
The ladies who attended these splendid festivals often wore girdles
ornamented with gold and silver, in imitation of military belts, and
playfully wielded short light swords, embossed with emblems of love
and war. The ladies and high-born spectators were arranged round the
lists in galleries highly adorned. The knights were known by the
heraldic emblems on their shields and banners, and their names were
publicly announced by the heralds. No one was allowed to tourney, who
had blasphemed God, offended the ladies, or assailed his adversary
without warning. Each knight was accompanied by squires, to furnish
him with arms, adjust his armor, and bring encouraging messages from
his lady-love. If the shock of spears tore from a warrior’s helmet
the emblem of affection which the hand of some fair damsel had placed
there, she often took a ribbon from her own person, and sent it to
him with a courteous message. As the combat proceeded, the air was
rent with the names of ladies; for each knight invoked his mistress to
assist him, as if she were endowed with supernatural power to guide and
strengthen him.
The older warriors, who stood gazing on the exciting scene, called out,
“On, valiant knights! Beautiful eyes behold your deeds!” And when the
minstrels greeted some bold achievement with loud strains of music, the
spectators shouted, “_Loyauté aux dames!_”
When the combats were ended, the heralds presented to the ladies those
knights who had borne themselves most bravely. One, who was elected by
her companions, was called the Queen of Beauty and Love. Before her the
warriors knelt down, and received the prizes awarded to their valor.
Sometimes the victorious knights were allowed to choose the fair hand
from which they received their reward. The Queen of Beauty and Love
presented the prize, thanked him for the skill in arms which he had
that day displayed, and wished him success in love; the gallant knight
bowed low and replied, “My victory was entirely owing to the favor of
my mistress, which I wore in my helmet.”
When the heavy armor was laid aside, the cavaliers entered the
banqueting hall, and, amid the flourish of trumpets, seated themselves
under silken banners, with their favorite falcons perched above their
heads. The guests were placed two by two, every knight with a lady by
his side. To eat from the same trencher, or plate, was considered a
strong proof of affection. In the Romance of Perceforest it is said,
“there were eight hundred knights all seated at table, and yet there
was not one who had not a dame or damsel at his plate.” An invitation
to a feast, from a lady to her chosen knight, is thus described:
“----the attendant dwarf she sends;
Before the knight the dwarf respectful bends;
Kind greeting bears as to his lady’s guest,
And prays his presence to adorn her feast,
The knight delays not; on a couch designed
With gay magnificence the fair reclined;
High o’er her head, on silver columns raised,
With broidering gems her proud pavilion blazed.
Herself a paragon in every part,
Seemed sovereign beauty decked with comeliest art.
With a sweet smile of condescending pride,
She seats the courteous Gawaine by her side,
Scans with assiduous glance each rising wish,
Feeds from her food the partner of her dish.”
The minstrels tuned their harps to the praise of beauty and valor, and
after the tables were removed, each knight chose his partner for the
dance by kissing her hand. This custom was introduced into England from
Italy, or Spain, and still retaining the language of the country whence
it came, was called _basciomani_.
The peacock was much honored in the days of chivalry. The knights
associated them with all their ideas of renown, and swore by the
peacocks, as well as by the ladies, to perform their boldest
enterprises. The vow of the peacock was sometimes made at a festival
prepared for the occasion. Between the courses of the repast, a troop
of ladies brought in the splendid bird, on a golden or silver dish,
roasted, but covered with its feathers. In order to do this, it was
skinned very carefully previous to being cooked, and was then served up
in its plumage, with the brilliant tail feathers spread out; but some
preferred to have it covered with leaf gold. Just before it was brought
into the banqueting hall, they crammed the beak with wool, which being
dipped in inflammable matter and set on fire, made the peacock appear
to breathe forth flames.
The hall was adorned with mimic forests, and with images of men,
animals, &c., expressive of the object for which the vow was to be
taken. If it had relation to wars in defence of religion, a matron, in
mourning garments, entered the room, and repeated a long complaint in
verse, concerning the wrongs she suffered under the infidel yoke, and
the tardiness of European knights in coming to her rescue. Some knights
then advanced with measured tread, to the sound of minstrelsy, and
presented to the lord of the castle the two ladies bearing the noble
bird in a glittering dish. The ladies besought his protection, and he
swore by God, the virgin Mary, the ladies, and the peacock, that he
would make war upon the infidels. Every knight in the hall drew his
sword and repeated the vow. The dish was then placed on the table,
and the peacock carved in such a manner that every guest might taste
a morsel. A lady, dressed in white, came in to thank the assembly,
presenting twelve maidens, wearing emblematical dresses to represent
Faith, Charity, Justice, Reason, Prudence, Temperance, Strength,
Generosity, Mercy, Diligence, Hope and Courage. These damsels trooped
round the hall amid the cheers of the company, and so the repast
concluded.
“When they had dined, as I you say,
Lords and ladies went to play;
Some to tables, and some to chess,
With other games more and less.”
The passion for chess was universal at that period, when the favorite
forms of recreation were a pantomime of war. The songs of the
minstrels, or troubadours, were another source of delightful amusement;
and deeds of valor, with maxims how to win a lady’s favor, were the
perpetual theme. To play upon the harp, and be able to sing his love
in verse, were considered as necessary qualifications to the knight
of chivalry, as the knowledge of wielding his sword, or managing his
good steed. Kings, princes, and knights, renowned for their military
exploits, became professors of the “gaye science,” as it was called,
and sung to the harp their own verses in praise of the beauty they
adored. William, count of Poitou, the count de Foix, the dauphin of
Auvergne, a prince of Orange, Thibault, count of Provence and king of
Navarre, a king of Sicily, two kings of Arragon, and Richard the First
of England, prided themselves upon their skill in minstrelsy. The
younger sons and brothers of noble families very generally devoted
themselves to this honorable profession, from which they derived both
pleasure and profit. They wandered about from court to court, and
from castle to castle, singing the praises of knights and ladies, who
rewarded them with smiles, and thanks, rich dresses, horses, armor, and
gold.
Bertrand de Born, a celebrated troubadour in the time of Henry the
Second, says: “The first laws of honor are to make war; to tilt
at Advent and Easter; and to enrich women with the spoils of the
conquered.” Such sentiments were not remarkable at a period when he was
considered the most honorable man, who had burned the greatest number
of castles, and pillaged his neighbor’s estates most successfully.
Bertrand being out of favor with his beautiful mistress, the wife of
Talleyrand de Perigord, in consequence of slanderous stories she had
heard of him, defends himself in a song very characteristic of the
state of society. He wishes “that he may lose his favorite hawk in
her first flight; that a falcon may bear her off as she sits upon his
wrist, and tear her in his sight, if the sound of his lady’s voice be
not dearer to him than all the gifts of love from another. That he may
stumble with his shield about his neck; that his helmet may gall his
brow; that his bridle may be too long, his stirrups too short; that he
may be forced to ride a hard trotting horse, and find his groom drunk
when he arrives at the gate; that the dice may never more be favorable
to him at the gaming table; and that he may look on like a coward and
see his lady wooed and won by another, if there be a word of truth in
the accusations of his enemies.”
Some idea of the general ignorance of the times may be inferred from
the remark of the minstrel, Bernard de Ventadour, who, when he sang the
praises of the princess Eleanor, afterward mother of Richard the First,
adds, “She approves my writings, and she can read them too.”
The story of Geoffroi Rudel is a remarkable illustration of the fervid
and imaginative tone of sentiment that prevailed in those romantic
days. He was the favorite minstrel of prince Geoffroi Plantagenet, the
elder brother of Cœur de Lion. While he lived at the court of England,
admired and beloved by noble knights and lovely ladies, he listened
with delight to descriptions of a certain countess of Tripoli, whose
beauty, kindness, and virtue, were perpetually praised by the crusaders
that returned from Holy Land. Rudel fell deeply and passionately in
love with her fame. In one of his songs he says: “I adore an object I
have never seen. Yet I am convinced that among all the Saracen, Jewish,
and Christian beauties, none can be compared with her. Every night she
appears before me in enchanting dreams. The beauty I adore shall behold
me, for her sake, clad in a woollen garment, and with a pilgrim’s
staff.” The ardent troubadour actually sailed for Palestine. But he
became grievously ill during the voyage, and was nearly senseless
when the vessel reached the shores of Tripoli. The countess, being
informed of the circumstances of his arrival, hastened to meet him,
and offer all the consolation in her power. He fixed his eyes upon her
with a joyful expression, and expired. The countess caused him to be
magnificently buried among the Knights Templars, and erected a monument
of porphyry, with an Arabic inscription, commemorating his genius and
his love. She then retired to a cloister, and took the monastic vow.
The last song Rudel had addressed to her was transcribed in letters of
gold, and she wore it continually near her heart.
Richard de Barbesieu, having broken his vow of fidelity to a certain
princess, built a cabin of boughs in the depth of the forest, and swore
never to leave his solitude till the offended lady again took him
into favor. Being a favorite minstrel in hall and bower, the knights
and ladies sent him many entreaties to return; and finding their
solicitations were all in vain, they tried their utmost to appease the
anger of his lady-love. She at length relented so far as to promise
him pardon, whenever a hundred brave knights, and a hundred beautiful
dames, who had sworn eternal love to each other, should kneel before
her, and with clasped hands supplicate mercy for their minstrel. A
hundred brace of lovers performed the required ceremony, and the
troubadour was pardoned.
Still more extravagant was the conduct of Pierre Vidal, a half-crazed
poet, who followed Cœur de Lion to the crusade. Having been banished
from the presence of one lady for his presumptuous boldness, he chose
for the next object of his amorous effusions a lady by the name of
Louve de Penautier. In her honor he assumed the name of _Loup_, and
actually disguised himself as a wolf, in order to be hunted by a pack
of hounds. He was brought back shockingly mangled; and the lady and her
husband took care of his wounds, though they laughed at his folly.
The entire absence of jealousy in the husbands of that period is by
no means the least remarkable feature of the times. They seem to have
been proud of the protestations of love offered to their wives, and
liberally rewarded the favored troubadour with jewels and gold. Agnes,
countess of Foix, was beloved by a French minstrel, who became jealous
of her. She sent her own confessor to him to complain of the injustice
of his suspicions, and to swear that she was still faithful to him.
She required him to write and publish the history of their loves in
verse. Yet this princess was considered virtuous, both by her husband
and the world. One of the troubadours beseeches a priest to grant him
dispensation from vows of love to a lady whom he loved no longer; but
he does not seem to have considered absolution necessary during the
continuance of his attachment, although the object of it was the wife
of another. Those who know human nature will probably think it requires
a good deal of faith to believe that immaculate purity was universal.
The curious mixture of religion with love is another singular
characteristic of the middle ages. The knight wrote poems in honor
of the virgin Mary, which cannot easily be distinguished from those
addressed to the lady of his affections. The troubadours burned
tapers, and caused masses to be said for the success of their love; and
one of them assures us that he devoutly crossed himself with joy and
gratitude, every time he beheld his mistress. Peyre de Ruer devoted
himself to a noble Italian lady, who was extremely fond of magnificent
entertainments; and in order to find favor in her eyes he exhausted
all his resources in banquets and _joustes_ in her honor. The lady,
however, could not be persuaded to exercise her sovereign attribute
of mercy; and Ruer wandered about the country in the disguise of a
pilgrim. He arrived at a certain church during the holy week, and
asked permission to preach to the audience. This being granted, he
gracefully and earnestly recited one of his own love-songs; for, says
the chronicle, “he knew nothing better.” The congregation, supposing
it to be a pious invocation to the virgin Mary, or the saints, were
much affected; and when he held out his hat for the customary alms, it
was heaped with silver. The minstrel cast aside his pilgrim weeds and
in a splendid dress presented himself before his lady-love, with a new
song in her praise; and she, overcome with such a proof of constancy,
bestowed many caresses on the wandering troubadour.
In Spain, a certain company, called Disciplinarians, went through the
streets every Good Friday, with sugar-loaf caps, white gloves and
shoes, and sleeves tied with ribbons of such a color as their ladies
particularly admired. They carried whips of small cords, with bits
of glass fastened on the ends, and when they met a handsome woman,
they began to whip themselves with all violence, insomuch that the
blood spirted on her robes; for which honor she courteously thanked
them. When a lover arrived opposite the balcony of his mistress, he
scourged himself with redoubled fury, while she looked on with proud
complacency, and perhaps rewarded his sufferings with a gracious smile.
Ladies of rank entered the lists of poetry in competition with
troubadours of the other sex. Among these were the countess of
Champagne, countess of Provence, dame Castelossa, the comtesse de
Die, &c. The last-mentioned was beloved by the chevalier d’Adhèmar,
whose courage and magnanimity she celebrated in verses, which the
favored knight always carried in his bosom; and not unfrequently
he entertained a company by singing his lady’s songs in praise of
himself. He died of grief, in consequence of a false report of her
inconstancy. The young comtesse took the veil immediately, and died
the same year in the convent of St. Honoré. Her mother buried her with
her lover, and erected a superb monument to the memory of both. The
countess of Champagne was much celebrated for the manner in which she
presided at one of the Courts of Love. These courts were composed of
ladies summoned to meet together, for the purpose of discussing, in
the most formal and serious manner, “beautiful and subtle questions
of love.” They decided the precise amount of inconstancy which a lady
might forgive, without lowering her own dignity, provided her lover
made certain supplications, and performed certain penances; they took
it into solemn consideration whether a lover was justified, under
any circumstances, in expressing the slightest doubt of his lady’s
fidelity; they laid down definite rules, and ceremonials of behavior,
to be observed by those who wished to be beloved; and gravely discussed
the question whether sentiment, or sight, the heart, or the eyes,
contributed most powerfully to inspire affection.
A young maiden in those days was educated, like her brother, in the
castle of some knight or baron, her father’s friend; and her duties,
like his, were mostly those of personal attendance. She assisted in
dressing her lady, and sought by music and conversation to beguile
her lonely hours. Their learning, in general, was confined to recipes
for cooking, simple medicines, needle-work, the ceremonials of
chivalry, and the prayers of the church. Reading and writing were rare
attainments, both with men and women.