WIT AND WISDOM
OF THE
REV. SYDNEY SMITH:
BEING
SELECTIONS FROM HIS WRITINGS,
AND PASSAGES OF HIS
LETTERS AND TABLE TALK.
With Notes, and a Biographical Memoir,
BY EVERT A. DUYCKINCK.
A Portrait, after G. Stewart Newton,
AND AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER.
_In One Volume, 12mo, Cloth_, PRICE $1.25.
Advertisement.
The chief writings of the Rev. SYDNEY SMITH are included in the
original English editions in eight octavo volumes. These are his “Two
Volumes of Sermons,” 1809; the Collection of his “Works,” (embracing
articles from the Edinburgh Review, the Plymley Letters, and other
Papers) 4 vols., 1839-40; a posthumous volume, “Sermons preached at
St. Paul’s,” &c., 1846; “Elementary Sketches of Moral Philosophy,
delivered at the Royal Institution,” published in 1850. To these are to
be added, “Letters on American Debts,” 1843; “A Fragment on the Irish
Roman Catholic Church,” 1845; Letters on Railway Management and other
topics to the Morning Chronicle; Articles in the Edinburgh Review not
collected in his “Works”; numerous Sketches and Essays printed in the
“Memoirs,” by his daughter, Lady Holland; and the extensive series
of “Letters,” edited by Mrs. Austin. These have mainly furnished the
material of the present volume. In the preparation of the Table Talk,
Memoir, and Notes, many collateral sources have been drawn upon.
The most important of Sydney Smith’s Writings will here be found given
entire; while the selection generally presents the most characteristic
passages of his “Wit and Wisdom” from the whole. Numerous Miscellanies,
of much interest, are included which are not to be met with in any
previous collection of the author’s works.
Contents.
BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR, by the Editor.
ARTICLES FROM THE EDINBURGH REVIEW, (including the Papers on Female
Education, Professional Education, Notices of America, &c., &c.)
SKETCHES OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY, (including the Essays on the Conduct of
the Understanding; on Wit and Humor, &c., &c.)
THE PETER PLYMLEY LETTERS.
PASSAGES FROM SERMONS.
SPEECHES ON THE REFORM-BILL. THE BALLOT.
LETTERS ON AMERICAN DEBTS.
PASSAGES FROM LETTERS ON THE ECCLESIASTICAL COMMISSION.
A FRAGMENT ON THE IRISH ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH.
LETTERS ON RAILWAY MANAGEMENT.
CHARACTER OF SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH AND OF FRANCIS HORNER.
PRACTICAL ESSAYS, &c.
PASSAGES FROM LETTERS.
TABLE TALK. PERSONAL, &c., &c.
DR. DORAN’S WORKS.
Table Traits, with Something on them. By DR. DORAN, Author of “Habits
and Men,” &c., &c. 12mo., cloth. Price $1 25. Half calf, or mor. ex.,
$2 25.
BILL OF FARE.
The Legend of Amphitryon--A Prologue.
Diet and Digestion.--Water--Breakfast,
Corn, Bread, &c.--Tea--Coffee--Chocolate.
The Old Coffee House.--The French Cafés.
The Ancient Cook and his Art.
The Modern Cook and his Science.
Pen and Ink Sketches of Careme.
Dinner Traits.--The Materials for Dining.
A Light Dinner for Two.--Sauces.
The Parasite.
Table Traits of Utopia and the Golden Age.
Table Traits of England in the Early Times.
Table Traits of the Last Century.
Wine and Water.
The Birth of the Vine, and what has come of it.
The Making and Marring of Wine.
Imperial Drinkers, and Incidents in Germany.--An
Incident of Travel.
A few odd Glasses of Wine. [Egyptian]
The Tables of the Ancient and Modern
The Diet of the Saints of Old.
The Bridal and Banquet of Ferques.
The Support of Modern Saints.
The Cæsars at Table.
Their Majesties at Meat.
English Kings at their Tables.
Strange Banquets--The Castellan Von Coucy.
Authors and their Dietetics.
The Liquor-loving Laureates.
Supper.
Nearly every page contains something amusing, and you may shut the
book in the middle, and open it again after a twelvemonth’s interval,
without at all compromising its power of affording enjoyment.--_The
London Times._
Habits and Men, with Remnants of Record touching the Makers of both.
By DR. DORAN, author of “Table Traits,” &c., &c. 12mo., cloth, $1.
Half calf, or mor. extra, $2 00.
CONTENTS.
Between You and Me.
Man Manners, and a Story with a Moral to it.
Adonis at Home and Abroad--Pt. I.--Pt. II.
Remnants of Stage Dresses.
Three Acts and an Epilogue.
The Tiring-Bowers of Queens “La Mode
in her Birth-place.”
Hats, Wigs and their Wearers.
Beards and their Bearers.--Swords.
Gloves, B--s, and Buttons.--Stockings.
“Masks and Faces.”
Puppets for Grown Gentlemen.
Touching Tailors.
The Tailors Measured by the Poets.
Sir John Hawkwood, the Heroic Tailor.
Why did the Tailors choose St. William for
their Patron?
George Dörfling, the Martial Tailor.
Admiral Hobson, the Naval Tailor.
John Stow, the Antiquarian Tailor.
John Speed, the Antiquarian Tailor.
Samuel Pepys, the Official Tailor.
Richard Ryan, the Theatrical Tailor.
Paul Whitehead, the Poet Tailor.
Mems. of “Merchant Tailors.”
Chapters on Beaux.
The Beaux of the Olden Time.
Beau Fielding--Beau Nash.
The Prince de Ligne--Beau Brummel.
Doctors Ready Dressed--Odd Fashions.
This is one of the most amusing and erudite books of the day, abounding
in anecdote and queer stories of the dress of different ages, of
kings and queens, poets, statesmen, tailors, &c. The sketches of the
“tiring-bowers” of queens, of Paul Whitehead, the poet tailor; of
Beau Nash, and Beau Fielding, are rich in lore, and are produced in
sparkling style.--_Boston Courier._
The Lives of the Queens of England of the House of Hanover. By DR.
DORAN. 2 vols., 12mo., cloth, $2. Half calf, or mor. extra, $4 00.
CONTENTS.
Sophia Dorothea, Wife of George I.
Caroline Wilhelmina Dorothea, Wife of George II.
Charlotte, Wife of George III.
Caroline of Brunswick, Wife of George IV.
Dr. Doran has availed himself of the ample material scattered
through personal memoirs, pamphlets, periodicals, and other fugitive
literature of the time, with the thoroughness, quick eye for humor, and
appreciation of the picturesque, which characterize his other amusing
works.
KNIGHTS AND THEIR DAYS.
KNIGHTS
AND THEIR DAYS
BY DR. DORAN
AUTHOR OF “LIVES OF THE QUEENS OF ENGLAND OF THE HOUSE OF HANOVER,”
“TABLE TRAITS,” “HABITS AND MEN,” ETC.
“Oh, ’tis a brave profession, and rewards
All loss we meet, with double weight of glory.”
SHIRLEY (_The Gentleman of Venice._)
[Illustration]
REDFIELD
34 BEEKMAN STREET, NEW YORK
1856
TO
PHILIPPE WATIER, ESQ.
IN MEMORY OF MERRY NIGHTS AND DAYS NEAR METZ AND THE
MOSELLE,
THIS LITTLE VOLUME
Is inscribed
BY HIS VERY SINCERE FRIEND,
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
A FRAGMENTARY PROLOGUE PAGE 9
THE TRAINING OF PAGES 30
KNIGHTS AT HOME 36
LOVE IN CHEVALIERS, AND CHEVALIERS IN LOVE 51
DUELLING, DEATH, AND BURIAL 65
THE KNIGHTS WHO “GREW TIRED OF IT” 78
FEMALE KNIGHTS AND JEANNE DARC 104
THE CHAMPIONS OF CHRISTENDOM 113
SIR GUY OF WARWICK, AND WHAT BEFELL HIM 133
GARTERIANA 148
FOREIGN KNIGHTS OF THE GARTER 170
THE POOR KNIGHTS OF WINDSOR, AND THEIR DOINGS 184
THE KNIGHTS OF THE SAINTE AMPOULE 194
THE ORDER OF THE HOLY GHOST 200
JACQUES DE LELAING 208
THE FORTUNES OF A KNIGHTLY FAMILY 228
THE RECORD OF RAMBOUILLET 263
SIR JOHN FALSTAFF 276
STAGE KNIGHTS 295
STAGE LADIES, AND THE ROMANCE OF HISTORY 312
THE KINGS OF ENGLAND AS KNIGHTS; FROM THE NORMANS TO THE
STUARTS 329
“THE INSTITUTION OF A GENTLEMAN” 351
THE KINGS OF ENGLAND AS KNIGHTS; THE STUARTS 358
THE SPANISH MATCH 364
THE KINGS OF ENGLAND AS KNIGHTS; FROM STUART TO BRUNSWICK 375
RECIPIENTS OF KNIGHTHOOD 388
RICHARD CARR, PAGE, AND GUY FAUX, ESQUIRE 410
ULRICH VON HUTTEN 420
SHAM KNIGHTS 439
PIECES OF ARMOR 455
THE
KNIGHTS AND THEIR DAYS.
A FRAGMENTARY PROLOGUE.
“La bravoure est une qualité innée, on ne se la donne pas.”
NAPOLEON I.
Dr. Lingard, when adverting to the sons of Henry II., and their
knightly practices, remarks that although chivalry was considered the
school of honor and probity, there was not overmuch of those or of any
other virtues to be found among the members of the chivalrous orders.
He names the vices that were more common, as he thinks, and probably
with some justice. Hallam, on the other hand, looks on the institution
of chivalry as the best school of moral discipline in the Middle Ages:
and as the great and influential source of human improvement. “It
preserved,” he says, “an exquisite sense of honor, which in its results
worked as great effects as either of the powerful spirits of liberty
and religion, which have given a predominant impulse to the moral
sentiments and energies of mankind.”
The custom of receiving arms at the age of manhood is supposed, by
the same author, to have been established among the nations that
overthrew the Roman Empire; and he cites the familiar passage from
Tacitus, descriptive of this custom among the Germans. At first, little
but bodily strength seems to have been required on the part of the
candidate. The qualifications and the forms of investiture changed or
improved with the times.
In a general sense, chivalry, according to Hallam, may be referred
to the age of Charlemagne, when the Caballarii, or horsemen, became
the distinctive appellation of those feudal tenants and allodial
proprietors who were bound to serve on horseback. When these were
equipped and formally appointed to their martial duties, they were,
in point of fact, knights, with so far more incentives to distinction
than modern soldiers, that each man depended on himself, and not on the
general body. Except in certain cases, the individual has now but few
chances of distinction; and knighthood, in its solitary aspect, may be
said to have been blown up by gunpowder.
As examples of the true knightly spirit in ancient times, Mr. Hallam
cites Achilles, who had a supreme indifference for the question of
what side he fought upon, had a strong affection for a friend, and
looked at death calmly. I think Mr. Hallam over-rates the bully Greek
considerably. His instance of the Cid Ruy Diaz, as a perfect specimen
of what the modern knight ought to have been, is less to be gainsaid.
In old times, as in later days, there were knights who acquired the
appellation by favor rather than service; or by a compelled rather than
a voluntary service. The old landholders, the Caballarii, or Milites,
as they came to be called, were landholders who followed their lord
to the field, by feudal obligation: paying their rent, or part of it,
by such service. The voluntary knights were those “younger brothers,”
perhaps, who sought to amend their indifferent fortunes by joining the
banner of some lord. These were not legally knights, but they might
win the honor by their prowess; and thus in arms, dress, and title,
the younger brother became the equal of the wealthy landholders. He
became even their superior, in one sense, for as Mr. Hallam adds:--“The
territorial knights became by degrees ashamed of assuming a title which
the others had won by merit, till they themselves could challenge it by
real desert.”
The connection of knighthood with feudal tenure was much loosened, if
it did not altogether disappear, by the Crusades. There the knights
were chiefly volunteers who served for pay: all feudal service there
was out of the question. Its connection with religion was, on the
other hand, much increased, particularly among the Norman knights
who had not hitherto, like the Anglo-Saxons, looked upon chivalric
investiture as necessarily a religious ceremony. The crusaders made
religious professors, at least, of all knights, and never was one
of these present at the reading of the gospel, without holding the
point of his sword toward the book, in testimony of his desire to
uphold what it taught by force of arms. From this time the passage
into knighthood was a solemn ceremony; the candidate was belted,
white-robed, and absolved after due confession, when his sword was
blessed, and Heaven was supposed to be its director. With the love of
God was combined love for the ladies. What was implied was that the
knight should display courtesy, gallantry, and readiness to defend,
wherever those services were required by defenceless women. Where such
was bounden duty--but many knights did not so understand it--there was
an increase of refinement in society; and probably there is nothing
overcharged in the old ballad which tells us of a feast at Perceforest,
where eight hundred knights sat at a feast, each of them with a lady
at his side, eating off the same plate; the then fashionable sign of
a refined friendship, mingled with a spirit of gallantry. That the
husbands occasionally looked with uneasiness upon this arrangement,
is illustrated in the unreasonably jealous husband in the romance of
“Lancelot du Lac;” but, as the lady tells him, he had little right to
cavil at all, for it was an age since any knight had eaten with her off
the same plate.
Among the Romans the word _virtue_ implied both virtue and valor--as if
bravery in a man were the same thing as virtue in a woman. It certainly
did not signify among Roman knights that a brave man was necessarily
virtuous. In more recent times the word gallantry has been made also
to take a double meaning, implying not only courage in man, but his
courtesy toward woman. Both in ancient and modern times, however, the
words, or their meanings, have been much abused. At a more recent
period, perhaps, gallantry was never better illustrated than when in
an encounter by hostile squadrons near Cherbourg, the adverse factions
stood still, on a knight, wearing the colors of his mistress, advancing
from the ranks of one party, and challenging to single combat the
cavalier in the opposite ranks who was the most deeply in love with
his mistress. There was no lack of adversaries, and the amorous knights
fell on one another with a fury little akin to love.
A knight thus slain for his love was duly honored by his lady and
contemporaries. Thus we read in the history of Gyron le Courtois, that
the chivalric king so named, with his royal cousin Melyadus, a knight,
by way of equerry, and a maiden, went together in search of the body
of a chevalier who had fallen _pour les beaux yeux_ of that very lady.
They found the body picturesquely disposed in a pool of blood, the
unconscious hand still grasping the hilt of the sword that had been
drawn in honor of the maiden. “Ah, beauteous friend!” exclaims the
lady, “how dearly hast thou paid for my love! The good and the joy we
have shared have only brought thee death. Beauteous friend, courteous
and wise, valiant, heroic, good knight in every guise, since thou has
lost thy youth for me in this manner, in this strait, and in this
agony, as it clearly appears, what else remains for me to suffer for
thy sake, unless that I should keep you company? Friend, friend, thy
beauty has departed for the love of me, thy flesh lies here bloody.
Friend, friend, we were both nourished together. I knew not what love
was when I gave my heart to love thee,” &c., &c., &c. “Young friend,”
continues the lady, “thou wert my joy and my consolation: for to see
thee and to speak to thee alone were sufficient to inspire joy, &c.,
&c., &c. Friend, what I behold slays me, I feel that death is within my
heart.” The lady then took up the bloody sword, and requested Melyadus
to look after the honorable interment of the knight on that spot, and
that he would see her own body deposited by her “friend’s” side, in the
same grave. Melyadus expressed great astonishment at the latter part
of the request, but as the lady insisted that her hour was at hand, he
promised to fulfil all her wishes. Meanwhile the maiden knelt by the
side of the dead knight, held his sword to her lips, and gently died
upon his breast. Gyron said it was the wofullest sight that eye had
ever beheld; but all courteous as Gyron was, and he was so to such a
remarkable degree that he derived a surname from his courtesy, I say
that in spite of his sympathy and gallantry, he appears to have had a
quick eye toward making such profit as authors could make in those
days, from ready writing upon subjects of interest. Before another word
was said touching the interment of the two lovers, Gyron intimated
that he would write a ballad upon them that should have a universal
circulation, and be sung in all lands where there were gentle hearts
and sweet voices. Gyron performed what he promised, and the ballad
of “Absdlon and Cesala,” serves to show what very rough rhymes the
courteous poet could employ to illustrate a romantic incident. Let it
be added that, however the knights may sometimes have failed in their
truth, this was very rarely the case with the ladies. When Jordano
Bruno was received in his exile by Sir Philip Sidney, he requited the
hospitality by dedicating a poem to the latter. In this dedication, he
says: “With one solitary exception, all misfortunes that flesh is heir
to have been visited on me. I have tasted every kind of calamity but
one, that of finding false a woman’s love.”
It was not every knight that could make such an exception. Certainly
not that pearl of knights, King Arthur himself. What a wife had that
knight in the person of Guinever? Nay, he is said to have had three
wives of that name, and that all of them were as faithless as ladies
well _could_ be. Some assert that the described deeds of these three
are in fact but the evil-doings of one. However this may be, I may
observe summarily here what I have said in reference to Guinever in
another place. With regard to this triple-lady, the very small virtue
of one third of the whole will not salubriously leaven the entire
lump. If romance be true, and there is more about the history of
Guinever than any other lady--she was a delicious, audacious, winning,
seductive, irresistible, and heartless hussy; and a shameless! and
a barefaced! Only read “Sir Lancelot du Lac!” Yes, it can not be
doubted but that in the voluminous romances of the old day, there was
a sprinkling of historical facts. Now, if a thousandth part of what is
recorded of this heart-bewitching Guinever be true, she must have been
such a lady as we can not now conceive of. True daughter of her mother
Venus, when a son of Mars was not at hand, she could stoop to Mulciber.
If the king was not at home, she could listen to a knight. If both
were away, esquire or page might speak boldly without fear of being
unheeded; and if all were absent, in the chase, or at the fray, there
was always a good-looking groom in the saddle-room with whom Guinever
could converse, without holding that so to do was anything derogatory.
I know no more merry reading than that same ton-weight of romance which
goes by the name of “Sir Lancelot du Lac.” But it is not of that sort
which Mrs. Chapone would recommend to young ladies, or that Dr. Cumming
would read aloud in the Duke of Argyll’s drawing-room. It is a book,
however, which a grave man a little tired of his gravity, may look
into between serious studies and solemn pursuits--a book for a lone
winter evening by a library-fire, with wine and walnuts at hand; or for
an old-fashioned summer’s evening, in a bower through whose foliage
the sun pours his _adieu_, as gorgeously red as the Burgundy in your
flask. Of a truth, a man must be “in a concatenation accordingly,” ere
he may venture to address himself to the chronicle which tells of the
“bamboches,” “fredaines,” and “bombances,” of Guinever the Frail, and
of Lancelot du Lac.
We confess to having more regard for Arthur than for his triple-wife
Guinever. As I have had occasion to say in other pages, “I do not like
to give up Arthur!” I love the name, the hero, and his romantic deeds.
I deem lightly of his light o’love bearing. Think of his provocation
both ways! Whatever the privilege of chivalry may have been, it was the
practice of too many knights to be faithless. They vowed fidelity, but
they were a promise-breaking, word-despising crew. On this point I am
more inclined to agree with Dr. Lingard than with Mr. Hallam. Honor was
ever on their lips, but not always in their hearts, and it was little
respected by them, when found in the possession of their neighbor’s
wives. How does Scott consider them in this respect, when in describing
a triad of knights, he says,
“There were two who loved their neighbor’s wives,
And one who loved his own.”
Yet how is it that knights are so invariably mentioned with long-winded
laudation by Romish writers--always excepting Lingard--when they desire
to illustrate the devoted spirit of olden times? Is it that the knights
were truthful, devout, chaste, God-fearing? not a jot! Is it because
the cavaliers cared but for one thing, in the sense of having fear but
for one thing, and _that_ the devil? To escape from being finally
triumphed over by the Father of Evil, they paid largely, reverenced
outwardly, confessed unreservedly, and were absolved plenarily. That
is the reason why chivalry was patted on the back by Rome. At the
same time we must not condemn a system, the principles of which were
calculated to work such extensive ameliorations in society as chivalry.
Christianity itself might be condemned were we to judge of it by the
shortcomings of its followers.
But even Mr. Hallam is compelled at last, reluctantly, to confess
that the morals of chivalry were not pure. After all his praise of
the system, he looks at its literature, and with his eye resting on
the tales and romances written for the delight and instruction of
chivalric ladies and gentlemen, he remarks that the “violation of
marriage vows passes in them for an incontestable privilege of the
brave and the fair; and an accomplished knight seems to have enjoyed
as undoubted prerogatives, by general consent of opinion, as were
claimed by the brilliant courtiers of Louis XV.” There was an especial
reason for this, the courtiers of Louis XV. might be anything they
chose, provided that with gallantry they were loyal, courteous, and
munificent. Now loyalty, courtesy, and that prodigality which goes by
the name of munificence, were exactly the virtues that were deemed most
essential to chivalry. But these were construed by the old knights as
they were by the more modern courtiers. The first took advantages in
combat that would now be deemed disloyal by any but a Muscovite. The
second would cheat at cards in the gaming saloons of Versailles, while
they would run the men through who spoke lightly of their descent. So
with regard to courtesy, the knight was full of honeyed phrases to
his equals and superiors, but was as coarsely arrogant as Menschikoff
to an inferior. In the same way, Louis XIV., who would never pass one
of his own scullery-maids without raising his plumed beaver, could
address terms to the ladies of his court, which, but for the sacred
majesty which was supposed to environ his person, might have purchased
for him a severe castigation. Then consider the case of that “first
gentleman in Europe,” George, Prince of Wales: he really forfeited his
right to the throne by marrying a Catholic lady, Mrs. Fitzherbert, and
he freed himself unscrupulously from the scrape by uttering a lie.
And so again with munificence; the greater part of these knights and
courtiers were entirely thoughtless of the value of money. At the Field
of the Cloth of Gold, for instance, whole estates were mortgaged or
sold, in order that the owners might outshine all competitors in the
brilliancy and quality of their dress. This sort of extravagance makes
one man look glad and all his relatives rueful. The fact is that when
men thus erred, it was for want of observance of a Christian principle;
and if men neglect that observance, it is as little in the power of
chivalry as of masonry to mend him. There was “a perfect idea” of
chivalry, indeed, but if any knight ever realized it in his own person,
he was, simply, nearly a perfect Christian, and would have been still
nearer to perfection in the latter character if he had studied the few
simple rules of the system of religion rather than the stilted and
unsteady ones of romance. The study of the latter, at all events, did
not prevent, but in many instances caused a dissoluteness of manners,
a fondness for war rather than peace, and a wide distinction between
classes, making aristocrats of the few, and villains of the many.
Let me add here, as I have been speaking of the romance of “Lancelot
du Lac,” that I quite agree with Montluc, who after completing his
chronicle of the History of France, observed that it would be found
more profitable reading than either Lancelot or Amadis. La Noue
especially condemns the latter as corrupting the manners of the age.
Southey, again, observes that these chivalric romances acquired their
poison in France or in Italy. The Spanish and Portuguese romances he
describes as free from all taint. In the Amadis the very well-being
of the world is made to rest upon chivalry. “What would become of
the world,” it is asked in the twenty-second book of the Amadis, “if
God did not provide for the defence of the weak and helpless against
unjust usurpers? And how could provision be made, if good knights were
satisfied to do nothing else but sit in chamber with the ladies? What
would then the world become, but a vast community of brigands?”
Lamotte Levayer was of a different opinion. “Les armes,” he says, when
commenting upon chivalry and arms generally; “Les armes detruisent tous
les arts excepté ceux qui favorisent la gloire.” In Germany, too,
where chivalry was often turned to the oppression of the weak rather
than employed for their protection, the popular contempt and dread of
“knightly principles” were early illustrated in the proverb, “Er will
Ritter an mir werden,” He wants to play the knight over me. In which
proverb, knight stands for oppressor or insulter. In our own country
the order came to be little cared for, but on different grounds.
Dr. Nares in his “Heraldic Anomalies,” deplores the fact that mere
knighthood has fallen into contempt. He dates this from the period when
James I. placed baronets above knights. The hereditary title became a
thing to be coveted, but knights who were always held to be knights
bachelors, could not of course bequeath a title to child or children
who were not supposed in heraldry to exist. The Doctor quotes Sir
John Ferne, to show that Olibion, the son of Asteriel, of the line of
Japhet, was the first knight ever created. The personage in question
was sent forth to battle, after his sire had smitten him lightly nine
times with Japhet’s falchion, forged before the flood. There is little
doubt but that originally a knight was simply _Knecht_, servant of the
king. Dr. Nares says that the Thanes were so in the north, and that
these, although of gentle blood, exercised the offices even of cooks
and barbers to the royal person. But may not these offices have been
performed by the “unter Thans,” or deputies? I shall have occasion to
observe, subsequently, on the law which deprived a knight’s descendants
of his arms, if they turned merchants; but in Saxon times it is worthy
of observation, that if a merchant made three voyages in one of his own
ships, he was thenceforward the Thane’s right-worthy, or equal.
Among the Romans a blow on the ear gave the slave freedom. Did the blow
on the shoulder given to a knight make a free-servant of him? Something
of the sort seems to have been intended. The title was doubtless mainly
but not exclusively military. To dub, from the Saxon word _dubban_, was
either to gird or put on, “don,” or was to _strike_, and perhaps both
may be meant, for the knight was girt with spurs, as well as stricken,
or _geschlagen_ as the German term has it.
There was striking, too, at the unmaking of a knight. His heels were
then degraded of their spurs, the latter being beaten or chopped away.
“His heels deserved it,” says Bertram of the cowardly Parolles, “his
heels deserved it for usurping of his spurs so long.” The sword, too,
on such occasions, was broken.
Fuller justly says that “the plainer the coat is, the more ancient
and honorable.” He adds, that “two colors are necessary and most
highly honorable: three are very highly honorable; _four_ commendable;
_five_ excusable; more disgraceful.” He must have been a gastronomic
King-at-Arms, who so loaded a “coat” with fish, flesh, and fowl, that
an observer remarked, “it was well victualled enough to stand a siege.”
_Or_ is the richest coloring, but, as Fuller again says, “Herbs _vert_,
being natural, are better than _Or_.” He describes a “_Bend_ as the
best _ordinary_, being a belt athwart,” but a coat bruised with a bar
sinister is hardly a distinction to be proud of. If the heralds of
George the Second’s time looked upon that monarch as the son of Count
Königsmark, as Jacobite-minded heralds may have been malignant enough
to do, they no doubt mentally drew the degrading bar across the royal
arms, and tacitly denied the knighthood conferred by what they, in such
foolish case, would have deemed an illegitimate hand.
Alluding to reasons for some bearings, Fuller tells us that, “whereas
the Earls of Oxford anciently gave their ‘coats’ plain, quarterly
_gules_ and _or_, they took afterward in the first a _mullet_ or
_star-argent_, because the chief of the house had a falling-star, as it
was said, alighting on his shield as he was fighting in the Holy Land.”
It is to be observed that when treating of precedency, Fuller places
knights, or “soldiers” with seamen, civilians, and physicians, and
after saints, confessors, prelates, statesmen, and judges. Knights and
physicians he seems to have considered as equally terrible to life;
but in his order of placing he was led by no particular principle, for
among the lowest he places “learned writers,” and “benefactors to the
public.” He has, indeed, one principle, as may be seen, wherein he
says, “I place first princes, good manners obliging all other persons
to follow them, as religion obliges me to follow God’s example by a
royal recognition of that original precedency, which he has granted to
his vicegerents.”
The Romans are said to have established the earliest known order of
knighthood; and the members at one time wore rings, as a mark of
distinction, as in later times knights wore spurs. The knights of the
Holy Roman Empire were members of a modern order, whose sovereigns are
not, what they would have themselves considered, descendants of the
Cæsars. If we only knew what our own Round Table was, and where it
stood, we should be enabled to speak more decisively upon the question
of the chevaliers who sat around it. But it is undecided whether the
table was not really a house. At it, or in it, the knights met during
the season of Pentecost, but whether the assembly was collected at
Winchester or Windsor no one seems able to determine; and he would
impart no particularly valuable knowledge even if he could.
Knighthood was a sort of nobility worth having, for it testified to the
merit of the wearer. An inherited title should, indeed, compel him who
succeeds to it, to do nothing to disgrace it: but preserving the lustre
is not half so meritorious as creating it. _Knights bachelors_ were so
called because the distinction was conferred for some act of _personal_
courage, to reward for which the offspring of the knight could make no
claim. He was, in this respect, to them as though he had been never
married. The knight bachelor was a truly proud man. The word _knecht_
simply implied a servant, sworn to continue good service in honor of
the sovereign, and of God and St. George. “I remain your sworn servant”
is a form of epistolary valediction which crept into the letters of
other orders in later times. The manner of making was more theatrical
than at the present time; and we should now smile if we were to see, on
a lofty scaffold in St. Paul’s, a city gentleman seated in a chair of
silver adorned with green silk, undergoing exhortation from the bishop,
and carried up between two lords, to be dubbed under the sovereign’s
hand, a good knight, by the help of Heaven and his patron saint.
In old days belted earls could create knights. In modern times, the
only subject who is legally entitled to confer the honor of chivalry
is the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland; and some of his “subjects” consider
it the most terrible of his privileges. The attempt to dispute the
right arose, perhaps, from those who dreaded the exercise of it on
themselves. However this may be, it is certain that the _vexata
questio_ was finally set at rest in 1823, when the judges declared that
the power in question undoubtedly resided in the Lords Lieutenant,
since the Union, as it did in the viceroys who reigned vicariously
previous to that period. According to the etiquette of heraldry, the
distinctive appellation “Sir” should never be omitted even when the
knight is a noble of the first hereditary rank. “The Right Honorable
Sir Hugh Percy, Duke of Northumberland,” would have been the proper
heraldic defining of his grace when he became Knight of the Garter, for
it is a rule that “the greater dignity doth never drown the lesser, but
both stand together in one person.”
A knight never surrendered his sword but to a knight. “Are you knight
and gentleman?” asked Suffolk, when, four hundred years ago, he yielded
to Regnault: “I am a gentleman,” said Regnault, “but I am not yet a
knight.” Whereupon Suffolk bade him kneel, dubbed him knight, received
the accustomed oaths, and then gave up his old sword to the new
chevalier.
Clark considered that the order was degraded from its exclusively
military character, when membership was conferred upon gownsmen,
physician, burghers, and artists. He considered that civil merit, so
distinguished, was a loss of reputation to military knights. The logic
by which he arrives at such a conclusion is rather of the loosest. It
may be admitted, however, that the matter has been specially abused
in Germany. Monsieur About, that clever gentleman, who wrote “Tolla”
out of somebody else’s book, very pertinently remarks in his review of
the fine-art department of the Paris Exhibition, that the difference
between English and German artists is, that the former are well-paid,
but that very few of them are knights, while the latter are ill-paid
and consequently ill-clothed; but, for lack of clothes, have abundance
of ribands.
Dr. Nares himself is of something of the opinion of Clark, and he
ridicules the idea of a chivalric and martial title being given to
brewers, silversmiths, attorneys, apothecaries, upholsterers, hosiers,
tailors. &c. He asserts that knighthood should belong only to military
members: but of these no inconsiderable number would have to be
unknighted, or would have to wait an indefinite time for the honor were
the old rule strictly observed, whereby no man was entitled to the
rank and degree of knighthood, who had not actually been in battle and
captured a prisoner with his own hands. With respect to the obligation
on knights to defend and maintain all ladies, gentlewomen, widows,
and orphans; the one class of men may be said to be just as likely to
fulfil this obligation, as the other class.
France, Italy, and Germany, long had their forensic knights, certain
titles at the bar giving equal privileges; and the obligations above
alluded to were supposed to be observed by these knights--who found
esquires in their clerks, in the forensic war which they were for ever
waging in defence of right. Unhappily these forensic chevaliers so
often fought in defence of wrong and called it right, that the actual
duty was indiscriminately performed or neglected.
It has often been said of “orders” that they are indelible. However
this may be with the clergy, it is especially the case with knights.
To whatever title a knight might attain, duke, earl, or baron, he
never ceased to be a knight. In proof too that the latter title was
considered one of augmentation, is cited the case of Louis XI., who, at
his coronation, was knighted by Philip, Duke of Burgundy. “If Louis,”
says an eminent writer (thus cited by Dr. Nares), “had been made duke,
marquis, or earl, it would have detracted from him, all those titles
being in himself.”
The crown, when it stood in need of the chivalrous arms of its knights,
called for the required feudal service, not from its earls as such, but
from its barons. To every earldom was annexed a barony, whereby their
feudal service with its several dependent duties was alone ascertained.
“That is,” says Berington, in his Henry II., “the tenure of barony and
not of earldom constituted the legal vassal of the crown. Each earl
was at the same time a baron, as were the bishops and some abbots and
priors of orders.”
Some of these barons were the founders of parish churches, but the
terms on which priest and patron occasionally lived may be seen in
the law, whereby patrons or feudatarii killing the rector, vicar,
or clerk of their church, or mutilating him, were condemned to lose
their rights; and their posterity, to the fourth generation, was made
incapable of benefice or prelacy in religious houses. The knightly
patron was bound to be of the same religious opinions, of course, as
his priest, or his soul had little chance of being prayed for. In later
times we have had instances of patrons determining the opinions of the
minister. Thus as a parallel, or rather in contrast with measures as
they stood between Sir Knight and Sir Priest, may be taken a passage
inserted in the old deeds of the Baptist chapel at Oulney. In this deed
the managers or trustees injoined that “no person shall ever be chosen
pastor of this church, who shall differ in his religious sentiments
from the Rev. John Gibbs of Newcastle.” It is rather a leap to pass
thus from the baronial knights to the Baptist chapels, but the matter
has to do with my subject at both extremities. Before leaving it I will
notice the intimation proudly made on the tombstone in Bunhill Fields
Cemetery, of Dame Mary Page, relict of Sir George Page. The lady died
more than a century and a quarter ago, and although the stone bears
no record of any virtue save that she was patient and fearless under
suffering, it takes care to inform all passers-by, that this knight’s
lady, “in sixty-seven months was tapped sixty-six times, and had taken
away two hundred and forty gallons of water, without ever repining at
her case, or ever fearing its operation.” I prefer the mementoes of
knight’s ladies in olden times which recorded their deeds rather than
their diseases, and which told of them, as White said of Queen Mary,
that their “knees were hard with kneeling.”
I will add one more incident, before changing the topic, having
reference as it has to knights, maladies, and baptism. In 1660, Sir
John Floyer was the most celebrated knight-physician of his day. He
chiefly tilted against the disuse of baptismal immersion. He did not
treat the subject theologically, but in a sanitary point of view. He
prophesied that England would return to the practice as soon as people
were convinced that cold baths were safe and useful. He denounced
the first innovators who departed from immersion, as the destroyers
of the health of their children and of posterity. Degeneracy of
race, he said, had followed, hereditary diseases increased, and men
were mere carpet-knights unable to perform such lusty deeds as their
duly-immersed forefathers.
There are few volumes which so admirably illustrate what knights
_should_ be, and what they sometimes were _not_, as De Joinville’s
Chronicle of the Crusades of St. Louis--that St. Louis, who was himself
the patron-saint of an order, the cross of which was at first conferred
on princes, and at last on perruquiers. The faithful chronicler rather
profanely, indeed, compares the royal knight with God himself. “As
God died for his people, so did St. Louis often peril his life, and
incurred the greatest dangers, for the people of his kingdom.” After
all, this simile is as lame as it is profane. The truth, nevertheless,
as it concerns St. Louis, is creditable to the illustrious king, saint,
and chevalier. “In his conversation he was remarkably chaste, for I
never heard him, at any time, utter an indecent word, nor make use
of the devil’s name; which, however, now is very commonly uttered by
every one, but which I firmly believe, is so far from being agreeable
to God, that it is highly displeasing to him.” The King St. Louis,
mixed water with his wine, and tried to force his knights to follow his
example, adding, that “it was a beastly thing for an honorable man to
make himself drunk.” This was a wise maxim, and one naturally held by
a son, whose mother had often declared to him, that “she would rather
he was in his grave, than that he should commit a mortal sin.” And yet
wise as his mother, and wise as her son was, the one could not give
wise religious instructors to the latter, nor the latter perceive where
their instruction was illogical. That it _was_ so, may be discerned in
the praise given by De Joinville, to the fact, that the knightly king
in his dying moments “called upon God and his saints, and _especially_
upon St. James, and St. Genevieve, _as his intercessors_.”
It is interesting to learn from such good authority as De Joinville,
the manner in which the knights who followed St. Louis prepared
themselves for their crusading mission. “When I was ready to set out,
I sent for the Abbot of Cheminon, who was at that time considered as
the most discreet man of all the White Monks, to reconcile myself
with him. He gave me my scarf, and bound it on me, and likewise put
the pilgrim’s staff in my hand. Instantly after I quitted the castle
of Joinville, without even re-entering it until my return from beyond
sea. I made pilgrimages to all the holy places in the neighborhood,
such as Bliecourt, St. Urban, and others near to Joinville. I dared
never turn my eyes that way, for fear of feeling too great regret,
and lest my courage should fail on leaving my two fine children, and
my fair castle of Joinville, which I loved in my heart.” “One touch
of nature makes the whole world kin,” and here we have the touch the
poet speaks of. Down the Saône and subsequently down the Rhone, the
crusaders flock in ample vessels, but not large enough to contain
their steeds, which were led by grooms along the banks. When all had
re-embarked at Marseilles and were fairly out at sea, “the captain
made the priests and clerks mount to the castle of the ship, and
chant psalms in praise of God, that he might be pleased to grant us a
prosperous voyage.” While they were singing the _Veni Creator_ in full
chorus, the mariners set the sails “in the name of God,” and forthwith
a favorable breeze sprang up in answer to the appeal, and knights and
holy men were speedily careering over the billows of the open sea very
hopeful and exceedingly sick. “I must say here,” says De Joinville, who
was frequently so disturbed by the motion of the vessel, so little of a
knight, and so timid on the water as to require a couple of men to hold
him as he leant over the side in the helpless and unchivalrous attitude
of a cockney landsman on board a Boulogne steamer--“I must say,” he
exclaims--sick at the very reminiscence, “that he is a great fool who
shall put himself in such dangers, having wronged any one, or having
any mortal sins on his conscience; for when he goes to sleep in the
evening, he knows not if in the morning he may not find himself under
the sea.”
This was a pious reflection, and it was such as many a knight,
doubtless, made on board a vessel, on the castle of which priests and
clerks sang _Veni Creator_ and the mariners bent the sail “in the name
of God.” But whether the holy men did not act up to their profession,
or the secular knights cared not to profit by their example, certain it
is that in spite of the saintly services and formalities on board ship,
the chevaliers were no sooner on shore, than they fell into the very
worst of practices. De Joinville, speaking of them at Damietta, remarks
that the barons, knights, and others, who ought to have practised
self-denial and economy, were wasteful of their means, prodigal
of their supplies, and addicted to banquetings, and to the vices
which attend on over-luxuriant living. There was a general waste of
everything, health included. The example set by the knights was adopted
by the men-at-arms, and the debauchery which ensued was terrific.
The men were reduced to the level of beasts, and wo to the women or
girls who fell into their power when out marauding. It is singular to
find De Joinville remarking that the holy king was obliged “to wink
at the greatest liberties of his officers and men.” The picture of a
royal saint winking at lust, rapine, and murder, is not an agreeable
one. “The good king was told,” says the faithful chronicler, “that
at a stone’s throw round his own pavilion, were several tents whose
owners made profit by letting them out for infamous purposes.” These
tents and tabernacles of iniquity were kept by the king’s own personal
attendants, and yet the royal saint winked at them! The licentiousness
was astounding, the more so as it was practised by Christian knights,
who were abroad on a holy purpose, but who went with bloody hands,
unclean thoughts, and spiritual songs to rescue the Sepulchre of Christ
from the unworthy keeping of the infidel. Is it wonderful that the
enterprise was ultimately a failure?
De Joinville himself, albeit purer of life than many of his comrades,
was not above taking unmanly advantage of a foe. The rule of chivalry,
which directed that all should be fair in fight, was never regarded by
those chivalrous gentlemen when victory was to be obtained by violating
the law. Thus, of an affair on the plains before Babylon, we find the
literary swordsman complacently recording that he “perceived a sturdy
Saracen mounting his horse, which was held by one of his esquires by
the bridle, and _while he was putting his hand on his saddle to mount_,
I gave him,” says De Joinville, “such a thrust with my spear, which I
pushed as far as I was able, that he fell down dead.” This was a base
and cowardly action. There was more of the chivalrous in what followed:
“The esquire, seeing his lord dead, abandoned master and horse; but,
watching my motions, on my return struck me with his lance such a blow
between my shoulders as drove me on my horse’s neck, and held me there
so tightly that I could not draw my sword, which was girthed round
me. I was forced to draw another sword which was at the pommel of my
saddle, and it was high time; but when he saw I had my sword in my
hand, he withdrew his lance, which I had seized, and ran from me.”