"'Mercy,' she cried, 'my lemman sweet!'--
(She fell down and 'gan to weep)--
'Forgive me that I have mis-said,
I will that ye be well assayed!
My false gods I will forsake,
And Christendom for thy love take.'
'On that covenant,' said Sir Bevis than,
'I will thee love, fair Josyan!'"[247]
[Sidenote: When attachments were formed.]
The occasions which kindled the flame of love in the heart of the knight
and the maiden of chivalry were various, and many of them well calculated
to give rise to romantic and enthusiastic attachments. Sometimes the
parties had been educated in the same castle, and passion insensibly
succeeded childish amusements. The masque and the ball were often the
theatre of love; but, above all other scenes, it spread its light over the
brilliant tournament. Performed in honour and in view of the ladies, it
was there that love exerted its mightiest power. She who gave the prize
bestowed almost universally her heart upon the brave and skilful
vanquisher, and many were the tears she shed, if she found that the
knight had been proving his puissance only to win the heart of some other
fair one. It often happened that the circumstances of life carried a young
cavalier to a baronial castle, where he found more peril in the daughter's
fair looks than in the frowning battlements of her father. At the feast
which welcomed the stranger, eyes mingled in love, and the suddenness of
passion was always considered as the strongest proof of its purity and
strength. The damsel might then avow her affection without any violation
of maidenly shame; for generous, confiding love, reading another's heart
in its own, dreaded no petty triumphs of vanity from confessing its
fondness. It often occurred that a knight, weary and wounded, was confided
to the ministrations of woman's tenderness; and Spenser, who had read the
history as well as the romance of chivalry, tells us,
"O foolish physick, and unfruitful pain,
That heals up one, and makes another wound."
[Sidenote: Societies of knights for defence of ladies.]
[Sidenote: Knights of the Lady in the Green Field.]
The rude state of society, which it was the noble object of chivalry to
soften, presented many occasions for the display of generous affections,
and love was the grateful return of protection. A cavalier called the
Knight of the Swan reinstated a lady in the possessions of which the Duke
of Saxony had deprived her. Indignant that the throne, and not chivalry,
should be regarded as the fountain of justice, knights sometimes formed
themselves into associations for the express object of defending the
rights of all ladies that required their aid. At one period (during the
reign of Charles VI.) of great violence in France, the ladies and
gentlewomen of the country laid before the king grievous complaints of
their sufferings from powerful lords, and lamented that gallantry was so
much degenerated, that no knights and squires had attempted to defend
them. They appealed, therefore, to the king, as the fountain of justice,
to afford them protection. This appeal roused the dormant chivalry of
France; and the valiant knight and marshal, Boucicaut[248], whose skill as
a jouster will be described anon, gathered round him twelve preux
chevaliers, and the fraternity avowed themselves champions of oppressed
dames and damsels. The gallantry of their object was proclaimed to the
world by the device on their shields of a fair lady in a green field, and
their letters of arms, circulated throughout France, promised that they
would assist all ladies and gentlewomen who were injured in their honours
or fortunes.[249]
[Sidenote: Custom in England.]
The same generous feeling warmed the hearts of the English chivalry. We
become acquainted with this feature of our ancient national character, not
in dry monkish chronicles, but in the living page of one of our earliest
and greatest poets. Chaucer makes all the persons of his dramatic tale
speak agreeably to their rank and station in the world; and he puts into
the mouth of his very perfect and gentle knight the following spirited
description of the gallant feelings of English nobles and gentles in the
time of Edward III.
"For every knight that loved chivalry,
And would his thanks have a passant name,
Hath prayed that he might be of that game,
And well was him that thereto chosen was!
For if there to-morrow such a case,
Ye knowen well that every lusty knight
That loveth _par amour_, and hath his might,
Were it in Engleland, or elsewhere,
They would, hir thanks, willen to be there.
_To fight for a lady, a! benedicite,
It were a lusty sight for to see!_"[250]
And thus it continued in every age of chivalric history. Noble knights of
prowess were ever perilling themselves in the cause of woman. So late as
the year 1425, when the title to certain territories in Hainault was
contested between the English Duke of Gloucester and John of Brabant on
behalf of the lady Jacquiline, those gallant cavaliers, the bastard of St.
Pol, and André de Humieres appeared at Hesden with silver rings on their
right arms, proclaiming the superior title of Jacquiline.[251]
These are a few of the historical facts, which shew that the ancient
romancers did not paint from their imagination when they described gallant
cavaliers wandering over the gloomy waste of feudal Europe, in order to
redress wrongs and injuries, to relieve widows, and defend the honor of
damsels. Sometimes a knight rode alone, and like the valorous Don Quixote
left it to his horse's discretion to go which way he pleased. In other
cases they went in parties of three or four in quest of adventures. That
they might surprise the enemy they sought for, they changed or disguised
their armorial distinctions. A year and a day was the general term for
enterprises of this nature; and at the conclusion they rendered to their
sovereign mistresses an account of their adventures, and ingenuously
confessed their faults and misfortunes.--But I find myself stepping into
the regions of romance, which are not the province of this work. I return
therefore, to the realities of chivalry, which are no less pleasing than
its fictions.
[Sidenote: Unchivalric to take women prisoners.]
The protection of widows and orphans, and all ladies of virtuous repute,
was indeed the serious duty ever present to the imagination of a preux
chevalier. The praiseworthy soldier was he who chose to fight for dames
and damsels in preference to contending in vain-glorious frays, and with
equal spirit it was thought that death was too slight a punishment for the
man who could offer scathe or dishonour to, or deceive or wrong a gentle
lady. From this generous consideration for woman proceeded the honorable
maxim in chivalry, of its not being just or courteous to take ladies in
war.[252] When a town was captured, the heralds of the conqueror
proclaimed his will, that no violence nor displeasure should be done to
any lady or gentlewoman. In the reign of Edward III. Caen fell into the
hands of the English, and Sir Thomas Holland preserved many ladies,
damsels, and nuns, from outrage worse than death. About the same time the
castle of Poys was taken by the English, and two noble knights (one was
the renowned Sir John Chandos) saved from violation two fair damsels,
daughters of the Lord of Poys. The ladies were conducted into the presence
of Edward, who, for his honor, made them good cheer, and caused them to be
carried in safety to a town friendly to their family.[253] And the
generous feelings of cavaliers for ladies were nobly requited. In the wars
of the Guelphs and the Ghibellines, the Emperor Conrad, as an offended
sovereign, had refused all terms of capitulation to the garrison of
Winnisberg; but as a courteous knight, he permitted the women to depart
with such of their precious effects as they themselves could transport.
The gates of the town were thrown open, and a long procession of matrons,
each bearing a husband, or a father, or brother, on her shoulders, passed
in safety through the applauding camp.[254]
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Morals of chivalric times.]
Some writers have severely censured the morals of the chivalric æra, and
according to them every species of licentiousness was practised by its
dames and damsels. This opinion is as erroneous as the one which it
superseded, that in the times we speak of every knight was brave, and
every woman was chaste; an assertion bearing more liberality than truth on
its face, considering that it refers to a period of seven or eight
centuries, and that the objects of the panegyric were the largest part of
the European world. For my part, I shall not, like the knight of La
Mancha, challenge to a _joust à l'outrance_ any discourteous cavalier who
has the audacity to declare that Queen Madasima was scandalously familiar
with a barber-surgeon; but I think that our imaginations do not altogether
deceive us in painting the days of chivalry as days of feminine virtue.
If we regard the times in reference only to their baronial and feudal
features, the view is deeply dyed with turpitude, and the romances, whence
the denunciations against the ladies of forepast ages have been drawn, are
not sparing in their pictures of licentiousness. But chivalry was the
golden thread that ran through the middle ages, the corrective of vice,
the personification of virtue. That it did not altogether succeed in
colouring with its brightness the surrounding gloom is sufficiently true,
and the times warranted the assertion of a character in Amadis de Gaul,
that our country yields, as others do, both good and bad. The romances
present us with instances of the profligacy of women, and so they also do
of the baseness of knights: but as no one will contend that chivalry did
not in general inspire its professors with sentiments of honour, so its
virtuous influence cannot in fairness be denied to the maidens of its age.
Let us not, as Spenser says, blame the whole sex for the fault of one.
"Fair ladies that to love captived are
And chaste desires do nourish in your mind,
Let not her fault your sweet affections mar;
Ne blot the bounty of all womankind,
'Mongst thousands good, one wanton dame to find:
Amongst the roses grow some wicked weeds:
For this was not to love, but lust, inclin'd;
For love doth always bring forth bounteous deeds,
And in each gentle heart desire of honour breeds."[255]
The romance writers were satirists, but they had more humour than
malignity. Every one of them introduces a magical test of feminine virtue,
a drinking cup, a mantle or a girdle. This is harmless; and their general
censure of women is without point; for they were for the most part men of
profligate habits, and judged the other sex by the standard of their own
vices.
"Safe her, I never any woman found
That chastity did for itself embrace
But were for other causes firm and sound;
Either for want of handsome time and place,
Or else for fear of shame and foul disgrace."[256]
This is the burthen of all their declamations against women; and Spenser
has shewn how little credit he gave to it, for he does not let it proceed
from the mouth of any of his preux chevaliers, but from a wretched
profligate, misnamed the squire of dames.[257]
However highly some enthusiastic minds may have coloured the manners of
the chivalric ages, still it is unquestionable that the love of the knight
was not the mere impulse of passion, but that the feeling was raised and
refined by respect. Now, as nature is ever true to herself, as certain
causes have had certain operations in all ages and in all countries, so
this purity of love must have been followed by a corresponding correctness
of morals. Women had every reason to retain and support the virtues of
their nature; for it was only in behalf of those of fair reputation and
honour, that the knight was compelled by his principles to draw his sword;
all others were without the pale of chivalry; and although many instances
can be found in the romances of feminine indiscretion, yet the princess in
the celebrated romance of Tirante the White accurately describes the
general feeling when she submits to lose all her claims on the noble
chevisance of knights, if she failed in observing a promise of marriage
which she had given to a gallant cavalier that loved her.
The knights, though courteous to the highest polish of refinement, were
rigid and inflexible censors; and in those days as well as in these, each
sex formed the character of the other.[258] The cavalier in travelling
would write on the door of a castle where a dame of tarnished reputation
resided, some sentence of infamy; and on the contrary, he would pause at
the door of a lady of pure honour and salute her courteously. Even on
solemn and public occasions distinctions were made between women in
matters of ceremony. If any lady of sullied fame took precedence of a dame
of bright virtue, a cavalier would advance and reverse the order, saying
to her who was displaced, "Lady, be not offended that this lady precedes
you, for although she is not so rich or well allied as you are, yet her
fame has never been impeached."[259] Here, therefore, chivalry vindicated
its purity, and showed itself as the moral guide of the world. Its
tendencies were beneficent; for Christianity was deeply infused into all
its institutions and principles, and it not only spread abroad order and
grace, but strung the tone of morals to actions of virtue.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Chivalric heroines.]
All ladies were not of the opinion of Amadis de Gaul, that their best
weapons were sighs and tears. What they admired they imitated; and a
high-spirited damsel would, in private, divest herself of her robe, gird
round her a belt, and drawing its sword from the scabbard, fight with the
air till she was wearied. The gallant youths of chivalry called a lady of
this martial temperament--le bel cavalier. Were we to meet in romances
with dames engaged in mortal combat, we should say that the writers had
not faithfully represented the manners of the times; but such facts are
recorded by sober chroniclers. Two ladies decided some fierce disputes by
the sword. Each summoned to her aid a band of cavaliers, and the stoutest
lances of Normandy felt no loss of dignity in being commanded by a woman.
The lady Eloisa and the lady Isabella rode through their respective ranks
with the address of experienced leaders, and their contest, like that of
nations, was only terminated by burning and plundering each other's
states. In the crusades, parties of fair and noble women accompanied the
chivalry of Europe to the Holy Land, charming the seas 'to give them
gentle pass,' and binding up the wounds of husbands and brothers after a
well foughten field with the bold Mussulman. Sometimes they wielded the
flaming brand themselves, and the second crusade in particular was
distinguished by a troop of ladies harnessed in armour of price, and
mounted on goodly steeds. A lady often wore a sword even in times of
peace, and every great landed proprietress sat _gladio cincta_ among the
justices at sessions and assizes.[260] In England, particularly, was this
martial spirit recognised, for in the time of Edward the first a lady held
a manor by sarjeanty to conduct the vanguard of the king's army as often
as he should march into Wales with one; and on its return it was her duty
to array the rear-guard.[261]
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Queen Philippa.]
The victory of the English over the Scots at Neville Cross is mainly
attributable to the spirited demeanour of Philippa, wife of Edward the
third. At her father's court in Hainault, she had witnessed war in its
splendid image, the tournament; and now, in a perilous moment, when the
king her husband was far away, and the fate of England was in her hands,
she showed that she was not unworthy of her race or her alliance. She rode
among the battles or divisions of her host, exhorting them to perform
their _devoir_, to defend the honour of her lord the king of England, and
in the name of God she implored every man to bear a good heart and
courage, promising them that she would reward them better than if her lord
the king were personally in the field. She then quitted the ranks,
recommending her soldiers to the protection of God, and of St. George,
that special defender of the realm of England. This exhortation of the
queen nerved the hearts of the English yeomen, and they shot their arrows
so fiercely and so wholly together, that the Scottish battle-axe failed
of its wonted might.[262]
[Sidenote: The countess of March.]
For the heroism of women, the page of Scottish history furnishes a
remarkable instance. In the beginning of the year 1338, William de
Montague, Earl of Salisbury, by command of the Earl of Arundel, the leader
of the army of Edward III., laid siege to the castle of Dunbar, the chief
post which the Scots possessed on the eastern coast of their country. The
castle stood upon a reef of rocks which were almost girdled by the sea,
and such parts of it as could be attacked were fortified with great skill.
The Earl of March, its lord, was absent when Salisbury commenced the
siege, but the defence lacked not his presence. His wife was there, and
while to the vulgar spirits of the time, she was known, from the unwonted
darkness of her eyes and hair, as Black Agnes, the chivalric sons of
Scotland joyfully beheld a leader in the person of the high-spirited
daughter of the illustrious Thomas Ranulph, Earl of Moray. The Countess
of March performed all the duties of a skilful and vigilant commander. She
animated her little band by her exhortations and munificence; she roused
the brave into heroism, and shamed the timid into courage by the firmness
of her bearing. When the warlike engines of the besiegers hurled stones
against the battlements, she, as in scorn, ordered one of her female
attendants to wipe off the dust with a handkerchief, and when the Earl of
Salisbury commanded the enormous machine called the sow, to be advanced to
the foot of the walls, she scoffingly cried out, 'Beware, Montague, thy
sow is about to farrow,' and instantly by her command a huge fragment of
rock was discharged from the battlements, and it dashed the engine to
pieces. Many of the men who were about it were killed, and those who
crawled from the ruin on their hands and knees were deridingly called by
the Scots, Montague's pigs. Foiled in his attempts, he endeavoured to gain
the castle by treachery: he bribed the person who had the care of the
gates to leave them open; but the man, faithful to his duty as well as to
his pecuniary interest, disclosed the whole transaction to the Countess.
Salisbury himself headed the party who were to enter; finding the gates
open, he was advancing, when John Copeland, one of his attendants, hastily
passing before him, the portcullis was let down, and Copeland, mistaken
for his lord, remained a prisoner. The Countess, who from a high tower was
observing the event, cried out to Salisbury with her wonted humour,
'Farewell, Montague; I intended that you should have supped with us, and
assisted in defending this fortress against the English.'
The English turned the siege into a blockade, but still without success.
The gallantry of the Countess was supported by some favourable
circumstances, and finally, in June, the Earl of Salisbury consented to a
cessation of hostilities, and he abandoned the place.[263]
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Tale of Jane of Mountfort.]
But the most interesting of all the heroines of chivalry was Jane Countess
of Mountfort, who, as Froissart says, had the courage of a man and the
heart of a lion. She was a worthy descendant of those German women whom
Tacitus describes as mixing with the warriors, administering refreshment,
and exhorting them to valour. About the year 1341, the right to the duchy
of Bretagne was disputed between the Earl of Mountfort and Charles of
Blois. The question turned on certain points of inheritance which the
earl dreaded the court of Paris would decide in favor of his rival, who
was a relation of the French king. He, therefore, sought another alliance,
and repairing to England, he performed homage for the duchy to Edward
III.[264] His next steps were directed to Paris, but his journeys were not
so secretly taken as he expected; for on presenting himself before King
Philip he was charged with having acknowleged the sovereignty of the
English monarch. The earl pretended that his journey to England had only
related to his private affairs, but the king did not credit his story, and
in distrust of his purposes he ordered him to remain in Paris. Mountfort,
equally suspicious of his sovereign's honor, effected his escape from the
city in the guise of a merchant. He went to Brittany, and took his station
in the castle of Nantes. The decision of the court at Paris was adverse to
his claims; and the successful candidate, Charles of Blois, levied an
army, and pursued his former rival, who was taken in his retreat, conveyed
to Paris, and lodged in the Louvre.
To those who did not know the noble spirit of his countess the cause of
the Mountfort family seemed hopeless. She was at Rennes when he was taken
prisoner, and although she had great sorrow in her heart, yet she
valiantly recomforted her friends and soldiers, and showing them her
little son John, she said, 'Sirs, be not too sore abashed of the earl my
lord, whom you have lost, (he was but a man): behold my little child, who
shall be by the grace of God his restorer, and he shall advance you all,
and I have riches enough: you shall not lack; and I trust that I shall
prosper in such wise that you shall be all recomforted.'[265] All her
friends and soldiers vowed to die in her service; and she then went to her
other fortresses and towns, replenishing them with warlike stores and
provisions, and exhibiting her little son to the people, in order to rouse
the allegiance of the friends of her family. She stationed herself in
Hennebon, a town seated near the shores of Brittany.[266]
In the following summer Charles of Blois was aided by the whole puissance
of France in his attempt to make himself complete master of Brittany; but
so able were the dispositions of the countess, that, instead of sweeping
over the whole country as they expected, they were detained before Rennes,
and it was not till after much labour that they won it. The countess, in
the mean while, had sent one of her knights, Sir Amery of Clysson, into
England, desiring royal succour, on condition that the Earl of Mountfort's
son and heir should marry a daughter of the king, who was to be adorned
with the highly splendid title, the Duchess of Brittany. Edward III.,
always anxious to strengthen his power in France, accepted the alliance,
and ordered one of his noblest knights of prowess, Sir Walter Manny, to
join the valiant countess with three thousand archers. Charles of Blois,
after the capture of Rennes, was counselled to lay siege to Hennebon; but
before he reached that town Jane de Mountfort was apprised of his purpose,
and she commanded the watch-bell to be sounded, and every man to be
armed, and standing at his post. When Sir Charles and the Frenchmen came
near the town, they pitched their tents; but many of their gay and
valorous spirits went skirmishing to the barriers. Some of the cavaliers
of Hennebon did not suffer them to brandish their swords in the air; and
it was only the shades of night that separated those preluders of battle.
The next day the Frenchmen spent in council, and it was resolved that a
general assault should be made on the barriers. Accordingly, on the third
morning they fiercely pressed to the outward works of the town, and
continued the assault till noon, when they retired with diminished forces.
The lords of France rallied their soldiers, and urged the assault anew;
but they that were within defended themselves right valiantly. The
countess herself, clad in mail, and mounted on a goodly courser, rode from
street to street, exhorting her people to defend their posts; and if in
the din of battle her woman's voice was sometimes drowned, nothing could
mar her cheering smiles, which lighted the flame of noble chevisance in
every gallant breast. She caused damsels and other women to cut short
their kirtels, and carry stones and pots full of lime to the walls, to be
cast upon the enemy. She then mounted a tower, and espied that the
Frenchman's camp was deserted. Her resolution was immediately taken: she
drew around her three hundred of her best knights, and, grasping a targe
and spear, and mounting again her good steed, she quitted the town by a
gate which the enemy had overlooked. At the head of her gallant troop she
made a short circuit, and then dashed into the Frenchmen's lodgings. When
the assailants, reverting their eyes, saw their tents on fire, and heard
cries of terror from a few boys and varlets in the camp, they quickly
returned to their lodgings to stop the conflagration. The countess and her
noble band could not cope with so vast a force, and her retreat to the
city being cut off, she took the road to the castle of Brest, where she
was received with great joy. For five days the good soldiers of Hennebon
wist not of the fate of their right valiant lady; but on the sixth morning
they saw her golden banners glittering in the rising sun, and a hill in
the distance crowned by a noble troop of five hundred lances, which her
beauty and her just cause had drawn to her side at Brest. With the gay
curvetting pace of gallant cavaliers progressing to a tournament, they
gallantly held on their way to the town, smiling defiance to the martial
front of the French, and entered Hennebon amidst the flourishes of their
own trumpets, and the exulting cries of the people.
But the siege was advanced by the French with such courage, and their
engines so dreadfully injured the walls, that the soldiers of Hennebon
were in time discomfited. All except the countess were anxious to yield
the town upon honourable terms; but she hoped for succour from Edward; and
while her knights and men-at-arms sullenly guarded the walls which fronted
the enemy, a solitary warder paced the ramparts that looked towards
England. One day the members of her council were on the point of
compelling her to submit, when, casting her eyes on the sea, whereon she
had so often gazed in vain, she saw a dark mass rising out of the horizon.
Her smile of fearful joy, before she discovered that it was the English
fleet, excited the attention of her friends. They all rushed to the
window, but her sight was the most piercing, for her heart was the most
deeply anxious, and she was the first to exclaim, "I see the succours of
England coming!" The joyful news quickly spread, the walls of Hennebon
were crowded with the townsfolk, and the English fleet entered the
harbour. When the soldiers landed, she went to them with great reverence,
and feasted them right hospitably. She lodged the knights and others in
the castle and in the town, where she dressed up halls and chambers for
them; and the next day she made them a great feast at dinner. The
exploits of Sir Walter Manny and his archers will be more appropriately
related in another place. The siege of Hennebon was raised, and it is not
unworthy of notice as a trait of manners, that on one occasion of valiancy
on the part of the English, the countess descended from the castle with a
glad cheer, and went and kissed Sir Walter Manny and his companions, one
after another, two or three times, like a valiant lady.[267]
After some time a truce was concluded between Sir Charles of Blois and the
Countess of Mountfort, their aiders and assisters; and the countess, on
the invitation of Edward III., took ship for England, accompanied by the
Earls of Richmond, Pembroke, Salisbury, Suffolk, Oxford, the barons
Stamford, Spenser, Bourchier, and divers other knights of England, and
their companies. When they were off Guernsey they were approached by Sir
Loyes of Spain and his fleet. At first the countess supposed it was with a
friendly purpose, for Sir Loyes, as the ally of Sir Charles of Blois, was
virtually bound by the treaty: but she was soon assured of his
unchivalric purpose. The mariners cried to the knights, "Sirs, arm
yourselves quickly, for these Genoese and Spaniards will soon attack you."
All in a moment the Englishmen sounded their trumpets, and reared their
standards with the great banner of St. George, and marshalled themselves
on the decks of the ships, the archers, as on land, being in front.
"Looking far forth into the ocean wide,
A goodly ship with banners bravely dight,
And flag in her top-gallant I espied,
Through the main sea making her merry flight;
Fair blew the wind into her bosom right,
And the heavens look'd lovely all the while,
That she did seem to dance as in delight,
And at her own felicity did smile."[268]
[Sidenote: A.D. 1345.]
And in this gallant trim the English fleet bore down upon the superior
force of their ungenerous foe. The arrows of the one side, and the
cross-bows of the other, did murderous execution; and when the lords,
knights, and squires came together, the battle was so dreadful that it
furnished matter of song to the minstrels of England and France for years
afterwards. The countess 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. They contended till it became so dark that one could scarcely
know another. The fleets then separated, the men remaining in their
harness, intending to renew the battle next morning. But at midnight a
tempest arose so horrible that every one thought the end of the world was
approaching; and those very cavaliers who, a few hours before, had
gallantly courted death, would now have abandoned their chivalry and their
cause, if a safe landing could have been effected.[269] The battle was not
renewed the next day; the English fleet sailed to Brittany; the troops
landed near Vannes, which they immediately besieged, the countess being
always foremost in the press. Soon afterwards Edward III. went to France,
in the contest for whose throne the affairs of Brittany were lost, and the
noble Countess of Mountfort disappeared from the scene[270], while her
husband escaped from prison only to die of a fever at Hennebon.[271]
[Sidenote: And of Marzia.]
A few years after this beautiful display of the chivalric character of
woman in France, the gloom of war in Italy was illuminated by a noble
trait of female heroism. Marzia, a lady of the family of the Ubaldini, so
celebrated for its virtue and noble gestes, was the wife of Francesco
d'Ordelaffi, lord of Forli, the only prince in Romagna who maintained his
independence against the tyranny of the papal power. Knowing her firmness
and spirit, he entrusted the defence of the town of Cesena to his wife,
while he himself maintained the more important position of Forli. In the
beginning of the year 1357, Marzia tore herself from her husband, and,
throwing aside the gorgeous robe of peaceful power, donned the casque and
the cuirass. She stationed herself in Cesena with two hundred soldiers,
equipped like knights, and the same number of ordinary troops. She was
accompanied also by her son and daughter, and that sage counsellor of the
Ordelaffi family, Sgariglino de Pétragudula. An army ten times more
numerous than all the defenders of Cesena soon beleaguered the place. At
the end of April some of the terrified burgesses opened the gates of the
lower part of the town to the enemy; but in that moment of peril Marzia
remembered that her husband had declared that, unless the pope would treat
with him on honourable terms, he would sustain a siege in every one of his
castles, and when he had lost them he would defend the walls of Forli, and
then its streets, its squares, his palace, and the last tower of his
palace, rather than give his consent to surrender that which was his own.
Marzia retreated into the upper part of the town with such of the soldiers
and citizens who continued faithful to her. She now discovered that
Sgariglino had been a traitor. Justice then had her due, and the head of
him whom no feelings of honour or gallantry could preserve in the path of
virtue was rolled from the battlements among the besieging army. Marzia
relied entirely on her own wisdom and courage; she took on herself all the
duties of governor and captain, and, wearing her cuirass both by night and
day, she braved all those hardships which, in former moments of happiness
and ease, she would have thought herself incapable of supporting. But the
besiegers smiled with indifference at her courage, for their miners were
slowly and surely effecting her ruin. She was compelled to retreat to the
citadel with four hundred soldiers and citizens, who vowed to be faithful
to death. The miners persevered, and at length the citadel almost hung in
air. The father of Marzia at that moment reached Cesena, and his passage
had been facilitated by the legate. He entreated his heroic daughter to
surrender, as bravery had accomplished its utmost, and still the besiegers
were gradually prevailing. Her reply was simple and firm,--that her
husband had given her a duty to perform, and that she must obey, without
forming any opinion on the nature of his command. Her heroism was not
supported by the people, for they unanimously declared the folly of
further resistance. Compelled, then, to surrender, she herself opened the
negociations; and so skilfully did she act, so much dreaded was the
despair to which she might be tempted, that she obtained from the legate a
treaty, whereby it was agreed that all the soldiers who had bravely
supported her might return home with their arms and equipments. On the
21st of June she opened the gate of the citadel: she disdained to ask any
favour for herself; and the legate, untouched by any chivalric sympathy
for female heroism, cast her and her children into prison.[272]
[Sidenote: Chivalric titles of ladies.]
The honorary titles of ladies in days of chivalry favoured this martial
spirit in women. The wife of a knight was often called equitissa or
militissa, or chevaliére. In France, too, ladies, as ruling over fiefs,
having the right of war, judicature, and coining money, could confer the
honour of knighthood. But in general the feudal law opposed the chivalry
of women, for a woman alone could not hold a fief, it not being supposed
that she could head her vassals or accompany her liege lord into the
field. The instances, therefore, that are scattered over the middle ages
of the brave gestes of women sprang from the spirit of chivalry and not
from any other principle of society. They were always praised, and
joyfully remembered; and when the direction of war was entirely usurped by
men, the world reverted with a melancholy pleasure to the chivalry of
womankind.
"Where is the antique glory now become,
That whilome wont in women to appeare?
Where be the brave atchievements done by some?
Where be the battles, where the shield and spear,
And all the conquests which them high did rear,
That matter made for famous poets verse,
And boastful men so oft abasht to hear?
Be they all dead, and laid in doleful hearse?
Or do they all sleep, and shall again reverse?"[273]
Though 'meek-eyed women' were 'without fear,' yet this martial disposition
was never displayed at the sacrifice of the sex's milder qualities. The
same lady who placed a lance in rest was in her castle gentle and
courteous, dispensing hospitality, tending the sick, or reading romance in
hall and bower. Her heart was as tender as her's who was rocked in
pleasure's wanton lap. Spenser's picture of his martial maid, Britomart,
in love, represents the whole class of chivalric heroines:
"Thenceforth the feather in her lofty crest,
Ruffed of love, gan lowly to availe;
And her proud portance and her princely gest,
With which she erst triumphed, now did quail,
Sad, solemn, sour, and full of fancies frail,
She woxe yet wist she neither how, nor why;
She wist not, silly maid, what she did ail,
Yet wist she was not well at ease perdy,
Yet thought it was not love, but some melancholy."[274]
There were other points in the character of women in days of chivalry
hardly necessary to be noticed as not being peculiar to the times. The
artifices and sleights of some of them would beseem more refined ages. To
repress the presumption of lovers when circumstances did not favour an
avowal of passion, they would reprove the sighs and glances which they
pretended to see interchanged between the young squires and maidens of the
table; but the admirer of the dame sometimes mistook this demeanour for
the sign of a coquettish spirit, and left the lady to lament his
dulness.[275] The spirit of chivalry, which disposed the heart to all
noble feelings, was not universal in its influence, and we accordingly
read of ladies who were deformed by the mood of envy and detraction.
"Then was the lady of the house
A proud dame and malicious,
_Hokerfull, iche mis-segging_[276]
Squeamous and eke scorning."[277]
[Sidenote: Nobleness of the chivalric character.]
But the subject need not be pursued further; for it is woman, as formed by
chivalric principles, and not as uninfluenced by that noble spirit whose
lineaments it is my purpose to pourtray. That lofty consideration in which
she was held had, as we have seen, a remoter origin than the days of
chivalry, and to that elevation much of her moral dignity may be ascribed.
But chivalry saved her from being altogether oppressed into slavery and
degradation under the tyranny of feudalism. That odious system endeavoured
to bring under its sway even the very affections of the heart; for not
only no woman of rank and estate could marry without the consent of her
sovereign, but in some countries she was obliged to accept a husband at
his nomination, unless for a large pecuniary payment he restored her to
the privileges of her sex. By preserving woman in her noble state of moral
dignity, chivalry prevented the harsh exercise of feudal rights. A
sovereign who prided himself on his knighthood could never offend the
inclinations of one of that sex which by his principles he was bound to
protect and cherish. Chivalry hung out the heart-stirring hope that beauty
was the reward of bravery. A valiant, but landless knight was often hailed
by the whole martial fraternity of his country as worthy the hand of a
noble heiress, and the king could not in every case bestow her on some
minion of his court. Woman was sustained in her proud elevation by the
virtues which chivalry required of her; and man paid homage to her mind as
well as to her beauty. She was not the mere subject of pleasure, taken up
or thrown aside as passion or caprice suggested, but being the fountain of
honour, her image was always blended with the fairest visions of his
fancy, and the respectful consideration which she, therefore, met with,
showed she was not an unworthy awarder of fame. Fixed by the gallant
warriors of chivalry in a nobler station than that which had been assigned
to her by the polite nations of antiquity, all the graceful qualities of
her nature blossomed into beauty, and the chastening influence of feminine
gentleness and tenderness was, for the first time in his history,
experienced by man.