Maidens were taught that it was unseemly to turn their heads round
after the manner of a crane, and were exhorted rather to imitate the
beautiful and timid hare, which looks straight forward. If necessary
to look aside, they were told to move the head and body together,
that their deportment might appear dignified. Simplicity of dress was
likewise inculcated, except on festival occasions; and that respect
might be shown to religion as well as chivalry, they were commanded
to wear their richest apparel to church. Modesty was strongly urged.
Every bard had a story of the daughter of some knight, who displayed
her person so freely that her intended husband preferred her more
modest, though less beautiful, sister. The ferocious pride of feudal
power was softened by maxims of courtesy toward those of inferior rank.
A noble lady once took off her hood and made respectful obeisance to
a mechanic. One of her friends exclaimed, “Why, noble dame, you have
taken off your hood to a tailor!” “Yes,” she replied; “and I would
rather have doffed it to him, than a gentleman;” and those who heard
her answer, thought she had done right well.
All the domestic economy of the castle was arranged by the maiden
attendants, and they were early instructed in the mysteries of the
healing art. The wounds of husbands and lovers were in those days cured
by the fair hand of woman. Spenser says:
“Into the woods thenceforth in haste she went,
To seek for herbs that mote him remedy;
For she of herbs had great intendiment,
Taught of the nymph from whom her infancy
Her nourced had in true nobility.”
A knowledge of surgery was likewise a necessary feminine accomplishment.
“So prospered the sweet lass, her strength alone
Thrust deftly back the dislocated bone.”
Even as late as the days of queen Elizabeth, some of the ladies of her
court are praised for their skill in surgery.
When men rode forth to hunt or hawk, they were generally accompanied
by ladies, for whom a gentler species of falcons, called sparrow-hawks,
were trained. The birds were gallantly bedight with silver bells,
and it was the duty of every gallant knight to attend on his lady,
to let the falcon loose at the proper moment, to animate it by his
cries, to take from its talons the prey it seized, and then replace
it respectfully on her hand. John of Salisbury, who wrote in the
thirteenth century, says that women even excelled men in the knowledge
and practice of falconry. Julian Berners, prioress of a nunnery in
Sopewell, published, in 1481, a curious book full of directions
concerning heraldry and hawking; for which reason she was called
by cotemporaries “a Minerva in her studies, and a Diana in her
diversions.” Some old English engravings represent ladies followed
by dogs, running on foot, with hawks on their fists; and upon old
monuments it is common to see the image of a woman, with a hawk perched
near her, and a greyhound at her feet. Queen Elizabeth was fond both
of hunting and falconry, and had no objection to the unfeminine
amusement of bear-baiting. Even when she was sixty years old, Sir
Walter Raleigh, in allusion to her sylvan sports, compares her and her
maids of honor, in their stiff ruffs and fardingales, to the goddess
Diana and her graceful nymphs. Tournaments and masks continued to be
favorite amusements during the reign of the maiden queen, though the
last rays of chivalry’s declining sun were then sinking to rise no
more. Elizabeth, who had all the _petitesse_ of a vain woman united
with the cold caution of an artful man, always delivered the prizes
herself; for she could not endure that one younger and fairer should
personate the Queen of Love and Beauty. The gallantry of knighthood
still characterized her courtiers. When she dropped her glove at a
tournament, the earl of Cumberland picked it up, and was graciously
requested to retain it. With the true spirit of chivalry, he caused it
to be set in diamonds, and on festival occasions always wore it in his
high-crowned hat, which had at that period superseded the helmet.
One singular custom that prevailed in England in the old time deserves
to be recorded for its oddity. Sir Philip Somerville, in the reign of
Edward the Third, left the manor of Whichnour to the earl of Lancaster,
on condition that he should at all seasons of the year, except during
Lent, be ready to deliver a flitch of bacon to any man and woman, who
swore they had been married a year and a day without once repenting it;
and that if they were again single, they would choose each other again,
in preference to all the universe. The oath, taken in presence of
witnesses, was as follows: “I A wedded my wife B, and syth I had her in
my keepying and at my wylle, by a yeare and a daye after our marriage,
I would not have changed for none other, richer ne pourer, ne for none
other descended of gretter lynage, sleeping ne waking, at noo tyme.
And if the said B were sole and I sole, I would take her to be my wife
before all the wymen of the worlde, of what condytions so-ever they may
be, good or evyl, as help me God and his seyntys, and this flesh and
all fleshes.”
It is remarkable that during the middle ages, when profound homage
was paid to women, as to things divine, a life closely secluded from
their society was deemed the surest road to heaven. The eucharist was
considered too holy to be touched by female fingers, and they were
required to put a white linen glove upon the hand when they received
it. The emperor Honorius banished Jovinian because he maintained that a
man who lived with a wife might be saved, provided he obeyed the laws
of piety and virtue; and Edward the Confessor was sainted for dying
unmarried. Celibacy was expressly enjoined upon the clergy, and both
priests and deacons were degraded from office for disobedience to this
edict. In France it was carried to such an extent, that the barons
had power to make slaves of any children of the married clergy. St.
Dunstan, so famous for his abhorrence of women, introduced celibacy of
clergy into England, and, with the consent of king Edgar, exhorted the
married priests to put away their wives, under the penalty of being
degraded from office, and deprived of their livings. From the ungallant
character of St. Dunstan arose a superstitious custom, of which some
traces remain in Great Britain even to the present day. It was deemed
that if a bridal couple drank from St. Dunstan’s well, on the day
of their marriage, the first one who tasted the water would govern
the other for life. A bridegroom, who was very desirous to have the
authority in his own hands, repaired to the well as soon as his wedding
day dawned; and after the marriage ceremony was over, he boasted to
his bride that he had drank of the water sooner than she could possibly
have done. “Ah, my friend,” replied she, laughing, “you have not
circumvented a woman’s wit; for I brought some of the water from the
well, in a vial, the night before.”
When knights formed themselves into religious orders, to fight in
defence of the holy sepulchre, they were required to take a vow of
perpetual chastity, poverty, and obedience. A Knight Templar was
forbidden to kiss maid, wife, or widow, not even excepting his mother
and his sisters; and was not permitted to adorn his helmet with
tokens either of nobility or love. But the principles of these pious
knights yielded to the slightest pressure of circumstances. Men of
large fortune paid little attention to their vow of poverty; connubial
fidelity was substituted for perpetual celibacy; and even in this
improved form, the history of the crusades gives us small reason to
suppose that the promise was considered binding.
Such a project as that of the crusades naturally took powerful hold
of the imaginations of women educated amid the splendid pageants of
war and religion, and accustomed to the continual combination of
things in their nature so discordant. Many accompanied their lovers
and husbands to the Holy Land, and, after performing the most romantic
exploits, died beside them on the field of battle. Whole squadrons of
women sometimes took arms in defence of the holy cross. Those that
accompanied the emperor Conrad were remarkable for the splendor of
their military dresses. Their leader was called “the golden-footed
dame.”
The ardor with which chivalry was embraced by all the principal nations
of Europe, and the powerful hold it still retains on the imagination,
notwithstanding the detestable pride and tyranny of those gallant
nobles, is to be attributed to the sacred principles on which the
institution was originally founded; viz. the chaste union of the sexes,
and the forgetfulness of self in the effort to do good to others. But
chivalry gradually degenerated from its original purity, and became
a ridiculous mania for renown. Knighthood was no longer the reward
of high-minded virtue, but was bestowed on any man who had wealth or
power to obtain it for his own selfish purposes. The profligacy of the
troubadours was open and flagrant; the crusaders, who made a pilgrimage
to the holy sepulchre in expiation of their sins, fearfully added to
the list on their way; poor knights, who had no money to pay their
retainers, made no scruple of obtaining it by robbery and violence,
and wandered about in quest of adventures, letting out their swords to
richer brethren; women departed from the modesty which had procured
them homage, and bestowed their smiles so indiscriminately that they
lost their value. Yet, as the affectation of any thing is always more
excessive than the reality, the exploits of the knights during the
rapid decline of chivalry were more outrageously fantastical than
they had ever been. It was common for a cavalier to post himself in
some very public place, and fight every gentleman who passed, unless
he instantly acknowledged that the lady of his affections was the
handsomest and most virtuous lady in the world; and if, as often
happened, he was met by one as mad as himself, who insisted upon
maintaining the superior charms of _his_ dulcinea, a deadly combat
ensued. At the beginning of the fourteenth century, a society of ladies
and gentlemen was formed at Poictou, called the Penitents of Love. In
order to show that love could effect the strangest metamorphoses, they
covered themselves with furred mantles, and sat before large fires, in
the heat of summer, while in winter they wore the slightest possible
covering. Thus chivalry became an absurd and disgusting mockery, and
was finally laughed out of the world by the witty Cervantes. But
though the form became grotesque, and died in a state of frenzy, the
important use performed by the spirit of true chivalry ought not to be
forgotten. It stood in the place of laws, when laws could not have been
enforced, and it raised woman to a moral rank in society, unknown to
the most refined nations of antiquity--a rank she can never entirely
lose, and from which her present comparative freedom is derived. It
taught Francis the First, that most chivalrous of all monarchs, to lay
the foundation of a beautiful social system by introducing the wives
and daughters of his nobles at court, where none but bearded men had
previously been seen. “A court without ladies,” said he, “is a year
without a spring, or a spring without roses.”
The Mohammedan religion, which debases woman into a machine, and
regards love as a merely sensual passion, was introduced into the East
about the same time that chivalry arose in the West, to exalt women
into deities, and chasten passion with the purity of sentiment.
The military spirit induced by chivalry continued in full force through
the whole of its existence, and survived its origin. Philippa, wife of
Edward the Third, was the principal cause of the victory gained over
the Scots at Neville Cross. In the absence of her husband, she rode
among the troops, and exhorted them in the name of God to be of good
heart and courage, promising to reward them better than if her lord
the king were himself in the field. At the surrender of Calais, she
displayed a better quality than courage. Her incensed husband demanded
that six of the principal inhabitants should be put to death; and six
patriotic citizens voluntarily offered their lives to appease the
conqueror. When these heroic men knelt at his feet, to deliver the keys
of the city, the queen likewise knelt, and begged their lives as a boon
to her. Her tears prevailed; and the grateful inhabitants of Calais
exclaimed, “Edward conquers cities, but Philippa conquers hearts!”
Jane, countess of Mountfort, who lived at the same period, and was a
lineal descendant of the German women described by Tacitus, possessed
a large share of manly courage. While her husband was detained in
prison, she defended his right to the duchy of Bretagne against Charles
of Blois. She visited all the principal towns and fortresses, and
exhorted the troops to courage, in the name of herself and her infant
son. When besieged in the strong town of Hennebon, she herself rode
through the streets clad in mail, and mounted on a goodly steed;
and her cheering smiles stimulated valor, even when her voice was
drowned in the din of battle. Perceiving that the enemy’s camp was
deserted, she seized a spear, and, accompanied by three hundred of her
best knights, rode into the midst of it, and set the tents on fire.
Her return being cut off by the French troops, she took the road to
Brest, and for five days the good soldiers of Hennebon were ignorant
of her fate; but on the sixth, she returned, with her golden banners
glittering in the sun, and surrounded by five hundred lances, which
her beauty and bravery had drawn around her. Afterward, she went to
England, to solicit succor from Edward the Third. Returning with a
considerable fleet, she was met by an enemy; and it is recorded that
“the countess on that day was worth the bravest knight; she had the
heart of a lion, and, with a sharp glaive in her hand, she fought
fiercely.”
In 1338, the countess of March, called Black Agnes, from the color of
her eyes and hair, resisted with extraordinary bravery and success the
earl of Salisbury, who besieged her in the castle of Dunbar, during the
absence of her husband.
In Italy, the prince of Romagna intrusted the defence of Cesena to
his wife, Marzia, while he himself maintained a more important post.
The noble matron donned the casque and cuirass, which she never laid
aside, night or day; and when, in a moment of extreme peril, her father
entreated her to surrender, she replied, “My husband has given me a
duty to perform, and I must obey his command.” Though unable to obtain
the victory, her bravery and skill secured a very favorable treaty.
When Regner Lodbrog waged war against Fro, king of Sweden, a young
Norwegian girl, named Lagertha, greatly assisted him in his victory.
Regner became in love with her, and made her his wife; but he
soon after deserted her for another. Lagertha lived in the utmost
retirement, until she heard that her husband was deserted by his
friends, and placed in danger by rebellious subjects; then the generous
wife forgot her own injuries, hastened to his relief, and was again
victorious.
Avilda, daughter of the king of Gothland, scoured the seas with a
powerful fleet; and king Sigar, who found she was not to be won in the
usual manner, gained her heart by fitting out a fleet, and engaging in
a furious battle with her for two days without intermission.
Marguérite of France, wife of St. Louis, while besieged by the Turks
in Damietta, during the captivity of the king her husband, gave birth
to a son, whom she named Tristan, in commemoration of her misfortunes.
In this helpless situation, hearing that the crusaders were about to
capitulate with the enemy she summoned the knights to her apartment,
and the words she uttered stirred their spirits like the tones of a
trumpet. Her address has been immortalized in such beautiful verse, by
Mrs. Hemans, that I cannot forbear quoting some of the stanzas:
“The honor of the lily
Is in your hands to keep,
And the Banner of the Cross, for Him
Who died on Calvary’s steep:
And the city which for Christian prayer
Hath heard the holy bell--
And is it _these_ your hearts would yield
To the goodless Infidel?
“Then bring me here a breastplate,
And a helm, before ye fly,
And I will gird my woman’s form,
And on the ramparts die!
And the boy whom I have borne for woe,
But never for disgrace,
Shall go within mine arms to death
Meet for his royal race.
“Look on him as he slumbers
In the shadow of the Lance!
_Then_ go, and with the Cross forsake
The princely Babe of France!
But tell your homes ye left _one_ heart
To perish undefiled;
A woman and a queen, to guard
Her honor and her child!”
No wonder such an appeal met with a thrilling response:
“We are thy warriors, lady!
True to the Cross and thee!
The spirit of thy kindling words
On every sword shall be!
Rest, with thy fair child on thy breast,
Rest, we will guard thee well
St. Dennis for the Lily-flower,
And the Christian citadel!”
Joan of Arc, born of humble parentage, but strong in military courage,
and the enthusiasm of prophecy, appeared among the discouraged troops
of France, mounted on a milk-white steed, with snowy plumes nodding
over her helmet, and in the name of God urged them on to victory.
Battle after battle was gained by the consecrated maiden; and history
weeps to record that she at last fell a victim to the cruelty of the
English and the base ingratitude of the French.
Margaret of Anjou twice delivered her husband from prison and placed
him on the English throne; nor did she yield to an overpowering torrent
of misfortunes, till she had decided twelve battles in person.
During the reign of Anne of Austria, the French women often appeared
at the head of political factions, wearing scarfs that designated the
party to which they belonged. Swords and harps, violins and cuirasses,
were seen together in the same saloon. There was a regiment created
under the name of _Mademoiselle_; and when Monsieur wrote to the ladies
who attended his daughter to Orleans, the letter was directed as
follows: “_A Mesdames, les Comtesses Maréchales de camp, dans l’ armée
de ma fille, contre le Mazarin_.” The gift of a bracelet, or glove, was
as much valued by the courteous gentlemen of France, as it had been
by the knights of chivalry. M. de Chatillon wore the garter of his
beautiful mistress on his arm; and when the Duc de Bellegarde went to
take command of the army, he besought the queen to honor him so far as
to touch the hilt of his sword. The Duc de la Rochefoucault says of
Madam de Longueville:
“_Pour meriter son cœur, pour plaire à ses beaux yeux,
J’ai fait la guerre aux Roix; je l’ aurois fait aux Dieux._”
During the reign of James the Second, a singular instance of female
heroism occurred in Scotland. Sir John Cochrane being condemned to be
hung for joining in Argyle’s rebellion, his daughter twice disguised
herself and robbed the mail that brought his death-warrant. In the mean
time his pardon was obtained from the king.
A spirit of superstitious devotion manifested itself in those times
to an extent quite as remarkable as the military enthusiasm. No guest
was so welcome in bower and hall as the pilgrim returned from the Holy
Land, with many a tale to tell of victories gained by Knights of the
Holy Cross over the worthless infidel. The troubadours, after a youth
spent in love and minstrelsy, almost invariably retired to the silence
of the cloister. Noble and beautiful ladies, upon the slightest disgust
with life, or remorse of conscience, took the vow that separated them
forever from the world, and pledged them to perpetual chastity and
poverty. When this vow was taken, all jewels and rich garments were
laid aside, and the head shorn of its beautiful ornament of hair. The
building in which they secluded themselves was guarded by massive
walls, and iron-grated windows. The rich and the noble seldom died
without leaving something to endow a convent. At last, they became
powerful instruments of oppression; for if a nobleman had numerous
daughters, and wished, in the pride of his heart, to centre his wealth
upon one only, he could compel all the others to take the veil; if they
were not sufficiently beautiful to aid his ambitious views, or dared to
form an attachment contrary to his wishes the same fate awaited them.
If a nun violated her vow of chastity, she suffered a penalty as severe
as that imposed on the vestal virgins; being placed in an opening of
the walls, which was afterwards bricked up, and thus left to perish
slowly with hunger. The priests, with some honorable exceptions, were
not remarkable for purity, and as the nature of their office gave them
free ingress to the nunneries, the results took place which might have
been expected from people bound by unnatural vows. The licentiousness
of the priesthood gradually made the holy orders a by-word and a
reproach, and prepared the way for the stern reformers of the sixteenth
century.
But the influence of convents was far from being all evil. Their gates
were ever open to the sick, the wounded, and the destitute; in the
most turbulent times, the sweet charities of life there found a kindly
nursery; and many a young mind was trained to virtue and learning,
under the fostering care of some worthy abbess.
As chivalry declined, men began to take pride in literature, instead of
leaving all “book learning to the meaner folk;” and women, of course,
assumed a corresponding character. The merits of Aristotle and Plato
divided the attention of the learned. The universities declared in
favor of Aristotle; but poets, lovers, and women, were enamored of the
ethereal Plato. Women preached in public, supported controversies,
published and defended theses, filled the chairs of philosophy and
law, harangued the popes in Latin, wrote Greek, and read Hebrew. Nuns
wrote poetry, women of rank became divines, and young girls publicly
exhorted Christian princes to take up arms for the recovery of the holy
sepulchre.
Hypatia, daughter of Theon of Alexandria, is said to have exceeded her
father in astronomy, and well understood other parts of philosophy.
She succeeded her father in the government of the Platonic school, and
filled with reputation a seat where many celebrated philosophers had
taught. The people regarded her as an oracle, and magistrates consulted
her in all important cases. No reproach was ever uttered against
the perfect purity of her manners. She was unembarrassed in large
assemblies of men, because their admiration was tempered with the most
scrupulous respect.
In the thirteenth century, a young lady of Bologna, who had great
beauty of person, pronounced a Latin funeral oration at the age of
twenty-three. At twenty-six she took the degree of doctor of laws,
and began publicly to expound the laws of Justinian. At thirty, she
was elevated to a professor’s chair, and taught the law to a crowd of
scholars from all nations.
Marguérite Clotilde de Surville, in the early part of the fifteenth
century, wrote poetry remarkable for its freshness and simplicity,
and for the tender affection toward her husband and child which
breathes on every page. After her husband’s death, she did better than
to enter a nunnery, according to the fashion of the times--she lived
unmarried, and devoted herself to the education of her son. When some
of her verses were repeated to Margaret of Scotland, the first wife of
Louis the Eleventh, she sent her a wreath of laurel, surmounted with
a bouquet of daisies, (in French called _marguérites_,) in which the
flowers were of gold, and the leaves silver. It bore this inscription:
“_Marguérite d’ Ecosse à Marguérite d’ Helicon_.”
Italy produced many learned and gifted women, among whom perhaps none
was more celebrated than Victoria Colonna, marchioness of Pescara. She
was passionately fond of poetry, and being early left to mourn the loss
of a husband dearly beloved, she spent the remainder of her life amid
the quiet pursuits of literature. Nearly all her sonnets bear allusion
to her husband. In one of these she says: “Since I was not permitted
to be the mother of sons, to inherit their father’s glory, I may at
least, by uniting my name with his in verse, become the mother of his
illustrious deeds and lofty fame.” Ariosto says that the marquis of
Pescara was more to be envied for the strains in which his gifted wife
elevated him above cotemporary heroes, than Achilles, whose warlike
deeds were sung by Homer.
In Spain, Isabella of Rosera converted Jews by her eloquent preaching,
and commented upon the learned Scotus before cardinals and archbishops.