Conon, we have said, has lived in great harmony with his baroness.
Well he might. A short time ago a visiting cavalier, who had learned
to string words after the South Country troubadour fashion, saw fit
to praise Adela after this manner: "She has fair blond locks and a
forehead whiter than the lilies. Her laughing eyes change color with
her mood. Her nose is straight and firm. Her fresh face outvies the
white and vermilion of the flowers. Her mouth is small and her teeth
are white like snow on the wild rose. White are her fair hands, and
the fingers are both smooth and slender." Also the baron is very proud
of his sister, for whom he is planning a worthy marriage. A Breton
jongleur, who found St. Aliquis's hospitality grateful, sang thus of
Alienor: "Passing slim is the lady, sweet of bodice and slender of
girdle. Her throat is whiter than snow on branch, and her eyes are like
flowers set in the healthful pallor of her face. She has a witching
mouth, a dainty nose, and an open brow. Her eyebrows are brown, and her
golden hair is parted in two soft waves upon her forehead."[20]
[Sidenote: Types of Beautiful Women]
Both of these laudators exaggerate. Neither Adela nor Alienor has a
monopoly of good looks; yet a life of eager exercise in the open has
given them both a complexion which many a town-pent rival might envy.
Their positions in the castle, as at once the gracious hostesses to
equals and the unquestioned mistresses over hundreds of dependents,
bestow on them dignity and "noble" assurance. Each lady rejoices in
the good fortune of being blond, a first prerequisite to beauty--for
in all the romances there is hardly one brunette maiden who comes in
for praise. Their hair falls down the length of their arms, to the
owners' great satisfaction, and is worn in two long braids, entwined
with ribbons, or on gala days with gold thread, resting in front over
their shoulders. Adela, at least, has long since become complaisant
to all kinds of flatteries, though Alienor is still thrilled when a
jongleur or sentimental knight assures her that she has "lips small
as an infant's," "cheeks the color of peach bloom," "teeth of perfect
regularity," "breath sweet as the censer swung above a church altar,"
and that "her beauty suddenly illuminates the whole castle." Both of
the ladies are tall and slender, again the ideal type of femininity;
and they have unconcealed pity for the poor Viscountess of Foretvert,
who is short, plump, and afflicted with dark hair.
[Illustration: COIFFURE OF A NOBLEWOMAN
Twelfth century (cathedral of Chartres).]
Alienor's mother is dead, but her sister-in-law is enough older to
take her place somewhat and give much well-meant advice, which the
younger damsel must take meekly. Adela often admonishes thus: "My fair
sister, be courteous and meek, for nothing else so secures the favor
of God and of mortals. Be friendly to small and great. I have seen a
great duchess bow ceremoniously to an ironmonger. One of her followers
was astonished. 'I prefer' replied she, 'to have been guilty of too
great courtesy toward that man, than guilty of the least incivility
toward a knight.' Also one must shun foreign fashions at festivals and
tourneys, lest one become foolishly conspicuous; and above all beware
of lofty headgear, lest you resemble stags who must lower their heads
on entering a wood, and in order that you may not by your loud fashions
make everyone stare at you as if you were a wild beast."
Recently, too, Adela has been giving sisterly advice on how to walk
becomingly: "Look straight before you, with your eyelids low and fixed,
gazing forward at the ground six fathoms ahead, not changing your look
from one place to another, nor laughing, nor stopping to chatter with
anybody upon the highway."
Conon, too, has beset poor Alienor, with all the superiority of
an elder brother. He has commended the instructions of a certain
_trouvère_ (North French minstrel) to a young noblewoman. She must not
talk too much; especially she must not boast of the attentions paid by
young knights. When going to church she must not "trot or run," but
salute "debonairely" all persons she meets. She must not let men caress
her with their hands or kiss her upon the mouth. They might misconstrue
such familiarities. She must not go around with part of her body
uncovered, undress in the presence of men, nor accept presents from any
man not a kinsman nor her accepted lover.
[Sidenote: Good Manners for Noblewomen]
The _trouvère_ instructor also goes on to warn his fair pupils against
scolding in public, against overeating, and against getting drunk,
"whence much mischief might arise." Unless she is ugly or deformed,
she should not cover her face coquettishly. "A lady who is pale faced
or has not a good smell ought to breakfast early in the morning! for
good wine gives a very good color, and she who eats and drinks well can
heighten her complexion." To avoid bad breath eat aniseed and fennel
for breakfast. Keep your hands clean and cut your nails so as not to
retain dirt. When you are sharing the same dish at table with some one
else (as is the custom) do not pick out all the best bits for yourself;
and beware of swallowing too large or too hot a morsel of food. Also,
wipe your mouth frequently, but on your napkin, and particularly not
upon the tablecloth. Also, do not spill from your mouth or grease
your hands too much. Young ladies also should keep from telling
lies.--Alienor wishes the impertinent _trouvère_ in purgatory.
But following Conon and Adela, Father Grégoire, the chaplain, and then
even holy Brother Matthew, the prior of the abbey, takes her in hand.
She must avoid sin by never letting her mantle trail disgracefully,
lest she seem like a fox whose glory is in his tail. Her maids must
avoid repeating gossip. She must never travel without proper retinue,
lest she be caught in compromising situations. She must attend mass
regularly and not be satisfied "merely with hearing low mass and
hurrying two or three times through the Lord's Prayer and then going
off to indulge herself with sweetmeats." Alienor should also avoid all
games of chance, including backgammon (advice, indeed, at which Conon
laughs) and not to waste too much time even at chess, nor to take
indecent pleasure in the low songs and antics of the jongleurs. No
wonder the poor girl vows she will perversely do these very things at
first opportunity![21]
Alienor tells herself, however, that she is fortunate she is not
troubled by worse things than hortatory friends. Champions of "equality
of sexes" from a later age can become horrified over the legal status
of women in the feudal centuries. Females can never bear arms; they
must remain perpetually as minors before the law. Even a great heiress
will be under severe pressure to take a husband who will perform the
military duties of her fief as soon as possible. If a baron dies,
leaving only a young daughter, the suzerain can complain that he has
been injured in one of his most important rights--his claim to armed
service from the fief holder. Where now is the vassal to follow his
banner? Perhaps a decent suzerain will wait until the heiress is
twelve. Then he will "give" her to some battleworthy follower. She will
not have any real choice, even if the bridegroom is old, ugly, and
brutal.
On the other hand, many a fatherless girl becomes terribly anxious to
be married. Only married women have a fixed status in feudal society.
Only a husband can keep an heiress's lands from shameless plunder.
There is the familiar story of a young noblewoman who went straight
before the king and said: "My father has been dead two months. I demand
of you a husband." She never dreamed of suggesting any particular
husband. _That_ was the suzerain's business; but to leave her in
unprotected celibacy was an outrage which no lord had a right to
inflict upon an orphan.
[Sidenote: Position of Women in Castles]
Legally and morally, husbands have the right to treat their wives
harshly if the latter provoke them. Every girl around St. Aliquis
knows the story of the silly wife who often contradicted her husband
in public, and how, after he had vainly remonstrated, "one day raised
his fist, knocked her down, and kicked her in the face while she was
prostrate, and so broke her nose." The story conveys the plain lesson
that she was directly to blame, "for it is only right that words of
authority should belong to her lord, and the wife's duty requires that
she should listen in peace and obedience." It is, indeed, repeated as
something rather exceptional that Adela has recently boasted to certain
relatives: "My husband since our marriage has never once laid hands on
me." Not that all castellans are brutal--but after all, men will be
men, lose their tempers, and treat their wives accordingly. Everybody
knows the scene from an epic poem where a certain king is angered at
a tactless remark by his queen, and therefore "shows his anger in his
face, and strikes her in the nose so hard that he draws four drops of
blood, at which the lady meekly says 'Many thanks. When it pleases you,
you may do it again!'" Such submissiveness is the best way to disarm a
husband's anger.
Conon has been mildly ridiculed among his fellow knights because
he takes counsel with his wife. Minstrels like to make fun of such
cavaliers and to commend the baron who told his officious spouse:
"Woman, go within and eat and drink with your maids. Busy yourself
dyeing silks. Such is _your_ business. _Mine_ it is to strike with the
sword of steel!"[22] Of course, many knights do worse things than to
tell their wives not to meddle, and, if not obeyed, occasionally knock
them down. It has been told how Baron Garnier imprisoned his unhappy
consort. This was harsh, but not exceptional. Philip Augustus, the
reigning king, kept his unlucky bride, Ingebord of Denmark, long years
in captivity, notwithstanding the menaces of the Church; holding her
tight in the gloomy Tower of Éstampes, where she complained she had
not enough either to eat or to wear. Many nobles sometimes imitate
their lord. Thus over in Burgundy, Gautier of Salins recently threw
his wife into prison, whence, however, she contrived to escape to her
parents. In any case, when, for the sake of her fiefs, a girl of twelve
to eighteen is wedded to a husband of forty or fifty, all kinds of
unhappy things can happen. The devil can fill the poor damsel's mind
with love for a handsome squire. Her lord may neglect her scandalously
until suddenly he finds himself required to avenge "his honor" by some
deed of startling cruelty. Such things make the kind saints weep. Not
without reason does Conon make discreet inquiries concerning a certain
widower knight who has sought Alienor's hand: "Does he horsewhip his
servants save for good cause? Did he leave his last wife to mope about
the hall while he spent his months riotously at the king's court?"
Nevertheless the chatelaines and baronesses of these parts are not
always meek doves at the mercy of their husbands. Are they not sprung
themselves from a domineering stock? Are they not reared around a
castle, which is a great barrack, and where the talk is ever of feuds
and forays, horses, lances, and armor? Many a noble lady can answer
her husband's fist with a rousing box on the ear, and, if he is not
a courageous man, make him quail and surrender before her passions.
Her habits are likely to seem very masculine. If she can quarrel like
a virago, she can also prove a she-wolf in times of danger. A knight
will ride away to the wars, leaving his castle under the command of his
wife and feel certain that it will be defended to the inner donjon. The
rough men at arms will obey her orders as implicitly as her husband's.
In short, the feudal noblewoman is, as might be expected, a compound
of mortal weaknesses and excellencies, but all of these qualities are
somewhat naïve and elemental.
In any case the castle women cannot complain of being shut up in a
harem. They have perfect freedom to meet strange men. If we accept the
epic poems, when noble maidens believe a visiting knight to be very
handsome they do not hesitate to tell him so to his face. In many love
stories the first advances come from the lady, and not infrequently
these advances are rather coldly received by the knight. Your average
mail-clad cavalier is a man of strong passions, but he is often more
interested in war and the chase than in fair maidens. He is seldom a
philanderer.
[Sidenote: Grossness of Castle Life]
If we visited the castles around St. Aliquis and listened to typical
jongleurs' tales, we should gather abundant material for monkish
preachments. Noble ladies are said to make few difficulties about
inviting male visitors to their chambers to sit on their beds while
they are still within the same--or entering the room of a male guest
and sitting on _his_ bed while conversing very familiarly. Women often
meet strangers in scandalously insufficient garments. Ladies also
talk with the uttermost freedom to men, quite as openly as young men
will talk on ticklish matters among themselves. Many a story, jesting
question, or "gab" which is utterly coarse, not to say worse, will be
exchanged in mixed company. Young women are seldom well chaperoned. In
place of the duenna there is the "waiting woman," herself apt to have
her own lover and ready to help her mistress push matters with hers.
If there is a sensual intrigue, all criticism ceases if there is, at
the end, a formal marriage; but many romances (according to the current
stories) in no wise end in marriages. A wedding is by no means the
standard climax even to a happy love affair.
The monks, of course, are scandalized at less harmful things than
these. They assert that the fair sex, besides being sinful coquettes,
are spendthrifts, ruining their husbands by their own extravagance.
Women as a sex are inordinately fond of false hair, rouging, and other
forms of giving a lie to the faces which God has vouchsafed. As for
controlling them, Brother Guyot, of Provins, wrote in despair thus:
"The wisest are astray when they wish to judge or correct a woman. She
has never found her master, and who can flatter himself that he knows
her? When her eyes weep her heart laughs. There are men who teach
astronomy, necromancy, geometry, law, medicine, and music; but I have
never known a person who was not a fool to take _woman_ for a subject
of study."
All the above seems true. Yet when due allowances are made, the number
of noblewomen who lead happy, honorable lives is great; and if many
barons are unkind to their wives, many others reckon them as their
greatest treasures. If reasonable care has been taken not to force the
mating of obviously uncongenial couples, a decent respect is likely
to result, even after a marriage arranged wholly by outsiders. If,
in many of the epics, sundry fair ladies seem unprudish, very many
others are superlatively faithful, devoted to their husbands, foes to
all evil thoughts and seducers, and know how to draw the line very
sharply between those familiar attentions which courtesy demands and
those where real sinfulness begins. Even a baron who will curse his
wife roundly and switch her shoulders treats her also as his _juré_,
the holder of his pledge, to whom he can trust his honor and leave the
command of his castle when he rides to war.
[Sidenote: Accomplishments of Castle Women]
"A great deal depends upon the woman herself," Adela assures Alienor.
Husbands and wives are shut up together in a castle often for weary
months, and a clever wife can easily make herself indispensable to
her husband, and then rule the whole barony. In short, in treatment
of women, as in all things else, the Feudal Age is a jumble of
contradictions. You can find the worst and the best. "A good woman
suffices to illuminate a kingdom," a poet declares; while even a crusty
monk writes that "we ought to love, serve, and honor woman, for out
of her we all come." And what, in one sense, is the intense worship
of the Virgin but a sign that woman is extraordinarily venerated and
very powerful? "God, thou son of St. Mary"--is that not a standing
invocation among the knights?
As for the pursuits of the women, there is little about the castle
to which they cannot devote themselves. Sometimes they have even to
replace the men on armed expeditions. Adela is grateful that she
has not had to imitate the great Countess Blanche of Champagne, who
(while guardian of her young son) has recently, in 1218, conducted an
invading army into Lorraine and burned Nancy, and then again, near
Château-Villein, has led her knights in person and won a real pitched
battle. Adela, however, understands all the technic of defending the
castle in a siege, she can help her husband about the entire peace-time
economy of the seigneury, check up the provosts's accounts, sift out
the complaints of the peasants, arrange the alms to the poor, and, best
of all, knows how to manage the local bishop and abbot, with a mingling
of piety, harmless coquetry, and firmness--a great asset for the weal
of the barony.
Her greatest task, however, is to direct the perpetual weaving,
knitting, embroidering, and sewing of the castle women. Even if some of
the finer cloth is imported, nearly all the garments must be made up
in St. Aliquis; and the ladies must set their maids as good an example
with their needles as the baron must furnish to his men with his sword.
The chambers of the _palais_, and even the garden in summer, seem
given over to incessant cutting and sewing; and many a time can you
watch the fair Alienor, like the girl in the romance, "seated in her
brother's chambers, working a stole and 'amise' in silk and gold, right
skillfully; and she made it with care, and many a little cross and many
a little star she sets therein, singing all the while the 'Song of the
Cloth'"--a gentle, lilting air suitable for the movements of her white
hands and her needle.
It was when so engaged that her brother, coming in early from the
hounds, vowed he would not spare the dowry to get her a gallant
husband; and that night he cast five deniers to the jongleur who
praised her to her face before the applauding hall:
She is the rose, the lily, too,
The sweetest violet, and through
Her noble beauty, stately mien,
I think her now the finest queen
Which mortal eyes have ever seen.
Simple, yet coy, her eyes flash joy:
God give her life without annoy
And every bliss whereof I ween!
[Sidenote: Customs at Births and Baptisms]
Of course, the prime centers of Adela's life are the rearing of her
children and the management of her servants. When little François and
Anseau were being born, the castle bell, and that, too, of the village
church, were all the time rung furiously to induce the saints to ease
their mother's labor. Sensible Father Grégoire had to interpose his
ghostly authority to check the midwife from at once plunging the
feet of the newly born into icy water to toughen them to the cold, or
rubbing their cheeks with a gold piece to make them rich. Of course,
Conon was delighted each time they told him, "A sturdy son!" On
François' advent he called all his vassals to a feast. "Be joyous!" he
proclaimed. "There is born the seigneur from whom you will hold your
lands. He will give you rich furs, white and gray, beautiful arms, and
horses of price. Yes, in twenty years my son will be dubbed a knight!"
[Illustration: CRADLE
Thirteenth-century manuscript in the Cambridge Library (Green).]
The young St. Aliquis barons were rocked in beautifully carved cradles.
They were bathed before a great fire and wrapped, not merely in the
usual long baby clothes, but in little robes of silk and furs, even of
precious ermine, to proclaim their noble rank. They were, of course,
baptized at first opportunity, because unbaptized children had very
dubious chances in the next world. Adela had been unable to go to the
ceremony for either, but there had been a great gathering of relatives
and vassals; for a christening is the formal acknowledgment of the
child's legitimacy and settles many claims to inheritance. A child
must have three godparents, two of its own sex and one of the other.
At the font, one of these holds the babe round the body, and each of
the others grasps a leg. Then the priest dips the child completely in
the water. "Bare as a babe at baptism," runs the saying. Of course, the
higher the rank of the godparents, the luckier the infant. François is
proud already because the Duke of Quelqueparte calls him "godson," and
Anseau because he is styled the same by the high Countess of Blois.
Up to seven the young boys were left to the care of their mother. Adela
nursed her own sons, although wet nurses were the rule in many noble
families; but at least three maids were constantly in attendance on
each young sprig of St. Aliquis. Neither François nor Anseau is spared
the wholesome diet of many blows. Monkish preachers are always warning
against sparing the rod and spoiling the child, and every father and
mother heeds this particular admonition. Truth to tell, conditions
round a castle often tend to make boys little demons of rascality.
All the hall has laughed at the epic "Daurel and Beton," in which a
child at four was clever enough to steal his guardian's gloves, and
at five to play chess and dice and to ride a tall horse. But François
and Anseau are growing up reasonably honest, thanks to frequent dermal
pain. They have enjoyed a great variety of toys, most of them of types
as old as the Pyramids and which will be a delight in succeeding
centuries. There are dolls with hempen wigs, carved wooden soldiers
with helms and hauberks, windmills, all kinds of animals made of baked
clay, wooden horses, and, of course, an armory of wooden weapons.
The scores of children swarming the bailey are at their disposal as
playfellows, with the sons of the higher officers preferred. There are
innumerable games of the tag variety, but already François is learning
to marshal his playmates in military companies. What greater delight
than to defend some tower against their father's old foe, Foretvert?
It will be lucky if they do not filch real arbalists and shoot deadly
bolts at one another.
[Sidenote: Education of Young Noblewomen]
François is now being taken in hand by his father and taught many
things needful for a baron's son to know before he is sent away to be
"nourished" by some friendly seigneur. He has no sisters, but his aunt
Alienor is just emerging from the usual education of a girl of family.
If there had been a local nunnery she might have been sent to the
convent school. As it was, Conon took in the daughter of a petty noble,
a kind of sister under minor vows, who was half teacher, half attendant.
This good soul has given Alienor rather more of bookish learning than
François will probably obtain. The young lady has learned to read and
write Romain (North French) and at least to read Latin. The result is
that she devours every romance manuscript which she can borrow or can
persuade her brother to buy. She has been taught arithmetic fairly
well; she has learned the names of the chief stars and constellations
and the legend about the "Way of St. Jacques" (the Milky Way). She
has picked up a knowledge of healing herbs and is not afraid of the
sight of blood, nor does she flinch when binding up a wound. Warfare
and tourneys require that young girls should become expert nurses and
even make shift to set shattered bones. Of course, she can ride, and
at hawking or hunting upon her dear roan Marchegai can keep up with
the best; and, like every fortunate maiden in France, her lips are
perpetually light with songs--pious or secular, from quaint little
chants in honor of the Virgin to the merry
Easter time in April
Sings each small bird gentle,
"_Zo fricandés, zo, zo!_--
_Zo fricandés, zo!_"
Assuredly, Father Grégoire and the monks have not neglected her
religious education. She has learned many prayers, besides the Credo,
Ave, and Paternoster, which every Christian child must memorize
as soon as possible. Her brother one Easter gave her a finely
illustrated psalter, and she has most of the chants by heart. By
constant attendance at mass she knows practically the entire service
and understands its symbolism. She has plenty of quaint little
superstitions, but no degrading ones. At bedtime she repeats a prayer
which is popular with all the girls of France: "I implore thee again,
Virgin Mary, mayest thou, with all the saints and the elect of God,
keep close to me and council me, and further all my prayers and
desires: and be with me in all my sorrows and necessities, in all that
I am called upon to do, to say, or to think; on all days, at all hours,
through all the moments of my life."
Her dolls, of course, have been much finer, and have been retained much
longer, than those of François. In her chamber her pet falcon is seldom
lacking from his perch--a fact which does not add to cleanliness.
She has also a caged magpie which she is laboriously teaching to
talk. At the last fair she longed vainly for a rare Eastern parrot,
but has consoled herself with a very small lap dog presented by a
friendly vassal. Cats abound in the bailey, but they are not pets for
noblewomen. There is something plebeian about them. Ill-famed old
crones always possess black cats, which possibly partake of the devil.
The Church, however, does not support this last belief, because in most
nunneries the sisters are forbidden to keep any animals except cats,
which evidently belong less to this world than dogs, the companions of
secular warriors.
There is one thing which Alienor really loves even better than riding
and hawking--_a long, hard dance_. The mania young people have for
dancing is sinful. The Church vainly tries to restrain it. Preferably,
Alienor would dance with a handsome knight or squire, yet if these
lack, the most indifferent music and company will suffice. The truth is
that her robust, vigorous body demands a violent outlet. It is vain for
the graver Adela to tell her of the count who allowed so much dancing
in his castle that finally at a _bal_ on Christmas Day so many joined
the revel and all danced so violently that the floor of his great hall
suddenly collapsed. The whole company were flung to the cellar, and the
foolish count's own daughter was the first body to be taken out.
At the time of the great Church festivals, of course, comes the delight
of the mystery plays, and Alienor herself has participated therein,
once as an angel and once also as Queen Esther at the Easter play
arranged at Pontdebois by the cathedral clergy. She has hopes now that
next Easter she can be Herodias's daughter--which is surely the best
part open to women, except that of the Holy Virgin herself.
[Sidenote: Castle Servants]
While Adela is, on her part, graciously assisting her family, she is
also more explicitly directing her servants. She need not reckon the
lack of domestic help among her troubles; hundreds of young men and
women from the peasants are only too glad to enter service in return
for a straw pallet, a suit of clothes yearly, and a seat in the great
hall after the regular diners have risen. Money wages need hardly be
considered, although everybody expects a few obols at Christmas and
Easter. The importance of a baron is partly indicated by the number of
his dependents wearing his insignia, "eating his bread," and attending
him and his lady everywhere. Conon is hardly less vain than his peers.
The result is that St. Aliquis has twice as many servitors as are
really required. The courtyards swarm with busy idlers, although there
is a certain organization and hierarchy of service, and all but the
least responsible lads and damsels enjoy the honor of having at least
_one_ inferior whom they can afflict with cuffings and snappish orders.
Adela commands some twenty young women. One or two of these are
_pucelles_, daughters of petty nobles and entitled to a certain
consideration, even as are the baron's squires. They dress their
mistress and Alienor, accompany them, and discreetly share their
pleasures. The others, strong-limbed Aiglentine, Jeanette, Martine, and
their sisters, by their loose, sleeveless aprons betray peasant origin.
They have been carefully selected by the baroness from thrice as many
candidates. She has taken pains to learn whether they come of honest
parents, are greedy or inclined to drink, are respectful, and whether
they are accustomed merely to answer on receiving an order, "It shall
be done pretty soon."[23]
[Sidenote: Duties of Servants]
These maids are trained to clean the apartments; next to wipe down all
the stools and benches; next to feed the "chamber animals"--dogs and
cage birds. After that the mistress must assign to them their task of
weaving, cutting, sewing, etc. They are fed plentifully, "but only on
one meat, and have only one kind of drink, nourishing but not heady,
whether wine or otherwise." They must also eat promptly, "not reposing
on their meal, or halting or leaning on their elbows," and "they must
rise as soon as they begin to talk and lounge about." After supper they
must go immediately to bed, unless with the remainder of the castle
they sit up for a jongleur.
So passes the routine of many days until at last the prospect dawns
of an event which will tax the full administrative capacities of
the baroness, and which sets Adela and Aimery each in a different
kind of a flutter. Conon is about to give his sister in marriage and
immediately after that to knight his brother. There will be a festival
which will carry the name of St. Aliquis all over northern France.
FOOTNOTES:
[20] These quotations are from Arnaut de Maruelh and Marie de France,
respectively.
[21] All the above advice to noblewomen is from contemporary etiquette
books or clerical writers. The trouvère quoted is Robert of Blois, a
writer of the thirteenth century.
[22] Students of the _Odyssey_ will recall a similar command which
Telemachus addressed to his mother, Penelope. Homeric society and
feudal society had many viewpoints in common.
[23] The directions about engaging servants given in mediæval handbooks
on domestic economy contain much practical common sense for any age.