in Normandy, and who had signalized himself at Rouen by his fierce
opposition to long hair, was still anxious to work a reformation in this
matter. But his pertinacity was far from pleasing to the King, who had
finally made up his mind to wear ringlets. There were other disputes, of
a more serious nature, between them; so that when the Archbishop died,
the King was so glad to be rid of him, that he allowed the see to remain
vacant for five years. Still the cause had other advocates, and every
pulpit in the land resounded with anathemas against that disobedient and
long-haired generation. But all was of no avail. Stowe, in writing of
this period, asserts, on the authority of some more ancient chronicler,
"that men, forgetting their birth, transformed themselves, by the length
of their haires, into the semblance of woman kind;" and that when their
hair decayed from age, or other causes, "they knit about their heads
certain rolls and braidings of false hair." At last accident turned the
tide of fashion. A knight of the court, who was exceedingly proud of
his beauteous locks, dreamed one night that, as he lay in bed, the devil
sprang upon him, and endeavoured to choke him with his own hair. He
started in affright, and actually found that he had a great quantity of
hair in his mouth. Sorely stricken in conscience, and looking upon the
dream as a warning from Heaven, he set about the work of reformation,
and cut off his luxuriant tresses the same night. The story was soon
bruited abroad; of course it was made the most of by the clergy, and the
knight, being a man of influence and consideration, and the acknowledged
leader of the fashion, his example, aided by priestly exhortations, was
very generally imitated. Men appeared almost as decent as St. Wulstan
himself could have wished, the dream of a dandy having proved more
efficacious than the entreaties of a saint. But, as Stowe informs us,
"scarcely was one year past, when all that thought themselves courtiers
fell into the former vice, and contended with women in their long
haires." Henry, the King, appears to have been quite uninfluenced by the
dreams of others, for even his own would not induce him a second time
to undergo a cropping from priestly shears. It is said, that he was
much troubled at this time by disagreeable visions. Having offended
the church in this and other respects, he could get no sound refreshing
sleep, and used to imagine that he saw all the bishops, abbots, and
monks of every degree, standing around his bed-side, and threatening to
belabour him with their pastoral staves; which sight, we are told, so
frightened him, that he often started naked out of his bed, and attacked
the phantoms sword in hand. Grimbalde, his physician, who, like most of
his fraternity at that day, was an ecclesiastic, never hinted that his
dreams were the result of a bad digestion, but told him to shave his
head, be reconciled to the Church, and reform himself with alms and
prayer. But he would not take this good advice, and it was not until he
had been nearly drowned a year afterwards, in a violent storm at sea,
that he repented of his evil ways, cut his hair short, and paid proper
deference to the wishes of the clergy.
In France, the thunders of the Vatican with regard to long curly hair
were hardly more respected than in England. Louis VII. however, was
more obedient than his brother-king, and cropped himself as closely as
a monk, to the great sorrow of all the gallants of his court. His Queen,
the gay, haughty, and pleasure-seeking Eleanor of Guienne, never admired
him in this trim, and continually reproached him with imitating, not
only the headdress, but the asceticism of the monks. From this cause, a
coldness arose between them. The lady proving at last unfaithful to her
shaven and indifferent lord, they were divorced, and the Kings of France
lost the rich provinces of Guienne and Poitou, which were her dowry.
She soon after bestowed her hand and her possessions upon Henry Duke
of Normandy, afterwards Henry II of England, and thus gave the English
sovereigns that strong footing in France which was for so many centuries
the cause of such long and bloody wars between the nations.
When the Crusades had drawn all the smart young fellows into Palestine,
the clergy did not find it so difficult to convince the staid burghers
who remained in Europe, of the enormity of long hair. During the absence
of Richard Coeur de Lion, his English subjects not only cut their hair
close, but shaved their faces. William Fitzosbert, or Long-beard, the
great demagogue of that day, reintroduced among the people who claimed
to be of Saxon origin the fashion of long hair. He did this with the
view of making them as unlike as possible to the citizens and the
Normans. He wore his own beard hanging down to his waist, from whence
the name by which he is best known to posterity.
The Church never showed itself so great an enemy to the beard as to long
hair on the head. It generally allowed fashion to take its own course,
both with regard to the chin and the upper lip. This fashion varied
continually; for we find that, in little more than a century after the
time of Richard I, when beards were short, that they had again become
so long as to be mentioned in the famous epigram made by the Scots who
visited London in 1327, when David, son of Robert Bruce, was married to
Joan, the sister of King Edward. This epigram, which was stuck on the
church-door of St. Peter Stangate, ran as follows--
"Long beards heartlesse,
Painted hoods witlesse,
Gray coats gracelesse,
Make England thriftlesse."
When the Emperor Charles V. ascended the throne of Spain, he had no
beard. It was not to be expected that the obsequious parasites who
always surround a monarch, could presume to look more virile than their
master. Immediately all the courtiers appeared beardless, with the
exception of such few grave old men as had outgrown the influence of
fashion, and who had determined to die bearded as they had lived. Sober
people in general saw this revolution with sorrow and alarm, and thought
that every manly virtue would be banished with the beard. It became at
the time a common saying,--
"Desde que no hay barba, no hay mas alma."
We have no longer souls since we have lost our beards.
In France, also, the beard fell into disrepute after the death of Henry
IV, from the mere reason that his successor was too young to have
one. Some of the more immediate friends of the great Bearnais, and
his minister Sully among the rest, refused to part with their beards,
notwithstanding the jeers of the new generation.
Who does not remember the division of England into the two great parties
of Roundheads and Cavaliers? In those days, every species of vice and
iniquity was thought by the Puritans to lurk in the long curly tresses
of the Monarchists, while the latter imagined that their opponents were
as destitute of wit, of wisdom, and of virtue, as they were of hair. A
man's locks were the symbol of his creed, both in politics and religion.
The more abundant the hair, the more scant the faith; and the balder the
head, the more sincere the piety.
But among all the instances of the interference of governments with
men's hair, the most extraordinary, not only for its daring, but for its
success is that of Peter the Great, in 1705. By this time, fashion had
condemned the beard in every other country in Europe, and with a voice
more potent than Popes or Emperors, had banished it from civilized
society. But this only made the Russians cling more fondly to their
ancient ornament, as a mark to distinguish them from foreigners, whom
they hated. Peter, however resolved that they should be shaven. If he
had been a man deeply read in history, he might have hesitated before
he attempted so despotic an attack upon the time-hallowed customs
and prejudices of his countrymen; but he was not. He did not know
or consider the danger of the innovation; he only listened to the
promptings of his own indomitable will, and his fiat went forth, that
not only the army, but all ranks of citizens, from the nobles to the
serfs, should shave their beards. A certain time was given, that people
might get over the first throes of their repugnance, after which every
man who chose to retain his beard was to pay a tax of one hundred
roubles. The priests and the serfs were put on a lower footing, and
allowed to retain theirs upon payment of a copeck every time they passed
the gate of a city. Great discontent existed in consequence, but the
dreadful fate of the Strelitzes was too recent to be forgotten, and
thousands who had the will had not the courage to revolt. As is well
remarked by a writer in the "Encyclopedia Britannica," they thought it
wiser to cut off their beards than to run the risk of incensing a man
who would make no scruple in cutting off their heads. Wiser, too, than
the popes and bishops of a former age, he did not threaten them with
eternal damnation, but made them pay in hard cash the penalty of their
disobedience. For many years, a very considerable revenue was collected
from this source. The collectors gave in receipt for its payment a
small copper coin, struck expressly for the purpose, and called the
"borodovaia," or "the bearded." On one side it bore the figure of a
nose, mouth, and moustachios, with a long bushy beard, surmounted by
the words, "Deuyee Vyeatee," "money received;" the whole encircled by a
wreath, and stamped with the black eagle of Russia. On the reverse,
it bore the date of the year. Every man who chose to wear a beard was
obliged to produce this receipt on his entry into a town. Those who were
refractory, and refused to pay the tax, were thrown into prison.
Since that day, the rulers of modern Europe have endeavoured to
persuade, rather than to force, in all matters pertaining to fashion.
The Vatican troubles itself no more about beards or ringlets, and men
may become hairy as bears, if such is their fancy, without fear of
excommunication or deprivation of their political rights. Folly has
taken a new start, and cultivates the moustachio.
Even upon this point governments will not let men alone. Religion as
yet has not meddled with it; but perhaps it will; and politics already
influence it considerably. Before the revolution of 1830, neither the
French nor Belgian citizens were remarkable for their moustachios;
but, after that event, there was hardly a shopkeeper either in Paris or
Brussels whose upper lip did not suddenly become hairy with real or mock
moustachios. During a temporary triumph gained by the Dutch soldiers
over the citizens of Louvain, in October 1830, it became a standing joke
against the patriots, that they shaved their faces clean immediately;
and the wits of the Dutch army asserted, that they had gathered
moustachios enough from the denuded lips of the Belgians to stuff
mattresses for all the sick and wounded in their hospital.
The last folly of this kind is still more recent. In the German
newspapers, of August 1838, appeared an ordonnance, signed by the King
of Bavaria, forbidding civilians, on any pretence whatever, to wear
moustachios, and commanding the police and other authorities to arrest,
and cause to be shaved, the offending parties. "Strange to say," adds
"Le Droit," the journal from which this account is taken, "moustachios
disappeared immediately, like leaves from the trees in autumn; everybody
made haste to obey the royal order, and not one person was arrested."
The King of Bavaria, a rhymester of some celebrity, has taken a good
many poetical licences in his time. His licence in this matter appears
neither poetical nor reasonable. It is to be hoped that he will not take
it into his royal head to make his subjects shave theirs; nothing but
that is wanting to complete their degradation.
DUELS AND ORDEALS
There was an ancient sage philosopher,
Who swore the world, as he could prove,
Was mad of fighting. * * *
Hudibras,
Most writers, in accounting for the origin of duelling, derive it from
the warlike habits of those barbarous nations who overran Europe in the
early centuries of the Christian era, and who knew no mode so effectual
for settling their differences as the point of the sword. In fact,
duelling, taken in its primitive and broadest sense, means nothing
more than combatting, and is the universal resort of all wild animals,
including man, to gain or defend their possessions, or avenge their
insults. Two dogs who tear each other for a bone, or two bantams
fighting on a dunghill for the love of some beautiful hen, or two fools
on Wimbledon Common, shooting at each other to satisfy the laws of
offended honour, stand on the same footing in this respect, and are,
each and all, mere duellists. As civilization advanced, the best
informed men naturally grew ashamed of such a mode of adjusting
disputes, and the promulgation of some sort of laws for obtaining
redress for injuries was the consequence. Still there were many cases
in which the allegations of an accuser could not be rebutted by any
positive proof on the part of the accused; and in all these, which must
have been exceedingly numerous in the early stages of European society,
the combat was resorted to. From its decision there was no appeal. God
was supposed to nerve the arm of the combatant whose cause was just, and
to grant him the victory over his opponent. As Montesquieu well remarks,
["Esprit des Loix," liv. xxviii. chap. xvii.] this belief was not
unnatural among a people just emerging from barbarism. Their manners
being wholly warlike, the man deficient in courage, the prime virtue
of his fellows, was not unreasonably suspected of other vices besides
cowardice, which is generally found to be co-existent with treachery.
He, therefore, who showed himself most valiant in the encounter,
was absolved by public opinion from any crime with which he might be
charged. As a necessary consequence, society would have been reduced to
its original elements, if the men of thought, as distinguished from the
men of action, had not devised some means for taming the unruly passions
of their fellows. With this view, governments commenced by restricting
within the narrowest possible limits the cases in which it was lawful
to prove or deny guilt by the single combat. By the law of Gondebaldus,
King of the Burgundians, passed in the year 501, the proof by combat was
allowed in all legal proceedings, in lieu of swearing. In the time of
Charlemagne, the Burgundian practice had spread over the empire of the
Francs, and not only the suitors for justice, but the witnesses, and
even the judges, were obliged to defend their cause, their evidence,
or their decision, at the point of the sword. Louis the Debonnaire, his
successor, endeavoured to remedy the growing evil, by permitting the
duel only in appeals of felony, in civil cases, or issue joined in a
writ of right, and in cases of the court of chivalry, or attacks upon
a man's knighthood. None were exempt from these trials, but women, the
sick and the maimed, and persons under fifteen or above sixty years of
age. Ecclesiastics were allowed to produce champions in their stead.
This practice, in the course of time, extended to all trials of civil
and criminal cases, which had to be decided by battle.
The clergy, whose dominion was an intellectual one, never approved of a
system of jurisprudence which tended so much to bring all things under
the rule of the strongest arm. From the first they set their faces
against duelling, and endeavoured, as far as the prejudices of their
age would allow them, to curb the warlike spirit, so alien from the
principles of religion. In the Council of Valentia, and afterwards
in the Council of Trent, they excommunicated all persons engaged in
duelling, and not only them, but even the assistants and spectators,
declaring the custom to be hellish and detestable, and introduced by the
Devil for the destruction both of body and soul. They added, also, that
princes who connived at duels, should be deprived of all temporal power,
jurisdiction, and dominion over the places where they had permitted them
to be fought. It will be seen hereafter that this clause only encouraged
the practice which it was intended to prevent.
But it was the blasphemous error of these early ages to expect that the
Almighty, whenever he was called upon, would work a miracle in favour of
a person unjustly accused. The priesthood, in condemning the duel, did
not condemn the principle on which it was founded. They still encouraged
the popular belief of Divine interference in all the disputes or
differences that might arise among nations or individuals. It was the
very same principle that regulated the ordeals, which, with all their
influence, they supported against the duel. By the former, the power of
deciding the guilt or innocence was vested wholly in their hands, while,
by the latter, they enjoyed no power or privilege at all. It is not to
be wondered at, that for this reason, if for no other, they should have
endeavoured to settle all differences by the peaceful mode. While that
prevailed, they were as they wished to be, the first party in the state;
but while the strong arm of individual prowess was allowed to be the
judge in all doubtful cases, their power and influence became secondary
to those of nobility.
Thus, it was not the mere hatred of bloodshed which induced them to
launch the thunderbolts excommunication against the combatants; it a
desire to retain the power, which, to do them justice, they were, in
those times, the persons best qualified to wield. The germs of knowledge
and civilization lay within the bounds of their order; for they were
the representatives of the intellectual, as the nobility were of the
physical power of man. To centralize this power in the Church, and
make it the judge of the last resort in all appeals, both in civil and
criminal cases, they instituted five modes of trial, the management
of which lay wholly in their hands. These were the oath upon the
Evangelists; the ordeal of the cross, and the fire ordeal, for persons
in the higher ranks; the water ordeal, for the humbler classes; and,
lastly, the Corsned, or bread and cheese ordeal, for members of their
own body.
The oath upon the Evangelists was taken in the following manner:
the accused who was received to this proof, says Paul Hay, Count du
Chastelet, in his Memoirs of Bertrand du Guesclin, swore upon a copy of
the New Testament, and on the relics of the holy martyrs, or on their
tombs, that he was innocent of the crime imputed to him. He was also
obliged to find twelve persons, of acknowledged probity, who should take
oath at the same time, that they believed him innocent. This mode
of trial led to very great abuses, especially in cases of disputed
inheritance, where the hardest swearer was certain of the victory. This
abuse was one of the principal causes which led to the preference given
to the trial by battle. It is not all surprising that a feudal baron, or
captain of the early ages, should have preferred the chances of a fair
fight with his opponent, to a mode by which firm perjury would always be
successful.
The trial by, or judgment of, the cross, which Charlemagne begged his
sons to have recourse to, in case of disputes arising between them, was
performed thus:--When a person accused of any crime had declared his
innocence upon oath, and appealed to the cross for its judgment in his
favour, he was brought into the church, before the altar. The priests
previously prepared two sticks exactly like one another, upon one of
which was carved a figure of the cross. They were both wrapped up with
great care and many ceremonies, in a quantity of fine wool, and laid
upon the altar, or on the relics of the saints. A solemn prayer was then
offered up to God, that he would be pleased to discover, by the judgment
of his holy cross, whether the accused person were innocent or guilty. A
priest then approached the altar, and took up one of the sticks, and the
assistants unswathed it reverently. If it was marked with the cross,
the accused person was innocent; if unmarked, he was guilty. It would be
unjust to assert, that the judgments thus delivered were, in all
cases, erroneous; and it would be absurd to believe that they were left
altogether to chance. Many true judgments were doubtless given, and, in
all probability, most conscientiously; for we cannot but believe that
the priests endeavoured beforehand to convince themselves by secret
inquiry and a strict examination of the circumstances, whether the
appellant were innocent or guilty, and that they took up the crossed
or uncrossed stick accordingly. Although, to all other observers, the
sticks, as enfolded in the wool, might appear exactly similar, those who
enwrapped them could, without any difficulty, distinguish the one from
the other.