Inasmuch as from time immemorial a wedding has seemed primarily a
matter of clothes, what better place than this wherein to consider the
costumes of the good folk of St. Aliquis? Assuredly, the Scripture
warns us, "Take no thought saying ... 'Wherewithal shall we be
clothed?'" but that admonition (so Adela tells the abbot) was doubtless
intended only for the Holy Apostles, not for a Christian woman who must
make a fair showing for her husband in the face of Heaven knows how
many critical baronesses and countesses.
Already Western folk have made that great change in their general style
of costume which is to last for many generations later. The Greeks and
Romans _wrapped on_ their garments; all of them were forms of slightly
elaborated shawls, fastened with fibulæ or buckles, but devoid of
buttons. Even as late as Frankish times the garments of Charlemagne's
contemporaries seemed fairly loose, after the antique model. But with
the Feudal Age has come elaborately made clothing which must be _put
on_ and securely fastened. We have reached the epoch of the shirt, the
stocking, and even of objects later to be styled "trousers." Perhaps
the life constantly spent in the saddle requires this; also, the
demand for garments easily worn under the hauberks, the great coats of
mail.[24] The great transition has been made. The men of St. Aliquis
wear garments strange enough to another epoch, but without those
sartorial differences which will separate the twentieth century from
the age of Nero.
[Sidenote: Materials for Clothing]
Another thing to observe is that nearly all garments are still made of
wool, save, indeed, the leathern leggings and gauntlets of the hunters,
and crude garments of skins for the peasants. Cotton and silk, if not
quite unknown, have been rare, with linen not very common. The woolen
fabrics have usually been coarse, home spun literally, made up in the
castles or farmhouses. Such garments are warm and durable, but they are
prone to collect dirt, hard to wash, and very irritating to the skin.
Probably it is the general use of woolen clothing, along with the fact
that much of the population possesses no other raiment than what it is
wearing incessantly every day, which accounts for the number of skin
diseases, from leprosy downward, which are direfully prevalent. Matters
are improving, however. More flax is being spun up into fine linen.
People of quality change their clothes pretty often. Cotton and silk
are coming from the Levant at prices that permit the ordinarily rich
to command them. Wash day is even developing into a fixed institution
around most castles. All this makes for health and comfort. Still, the
great majority of all garments are woolen; and, Holy saints! how the
fleas jump out of a villein's doublets whenever you beat their wearer!
Conon normally dons the following peace-time garments. First, his
squire helps him into underdrawers of fine white linen; next come
long hose which can be of various fabrics or colors. Upon a gala day
he will proclaim himself to be a rich baron by wearing silk hose;
otherwise they are of fine wool. Good taste forbids stockings of
brilliant color, they should be black, brown, or, at most, black with
red stripes. After that comes the chemise, a shirt of white linen, but
_sans_ cuffs or collar.
[Illustration: A KING IN THE TWELFTH CENTURY WEARING PELISSON
Restored by Viollet-Le-Duc, from a manuscript of the Bibliothèque
nationale.]
The baron is now ready for his regular outer garments. He will put on
his pelisson. This is a long fur-edged garment, very warm and pleasant
in winter when the castle is a barnlike place. In summer it is often
hot, and as substitute one wears the _cotte_ without fur and made of
very thin stuff. Over the pelisson is thrown the bliaut, a tunic,
fairly loose, which is pulled on over the head like a shirt. The best
bliauts are of silk, but for common use one wears fustian or, perhaps,
even cotton. Finally, if the baron is going abroad, he will swing his
mantle over his shoulders. It is a semicircular cape, with a fur lining
even in summer, and very likely ornamented by many silk tassels.
The shoemakers are already masters of their art. Anybody can buy
well-cobbled leather shoes or high boots, but if a nobleman wishes to
dress in state he will wear cloth shoes, and display his wealth by
having them plated with gold and embroidered with jewels; for good
taste here permits elaborate ornaments.
[Sidenote: Women's Garments]
Conon's most variable garment is his headdress. In the house, or on
state occasions, he wears a chaplet of flowers, or even a thin gold
wreath of floreated design; outdoors he is likely to appear as do
meaner men, in a cloth bonnet--a kind of Phrygian cap of bright color.
If, however, the weather is bad, he will probably pull on a _chaperon_.
This is a combination cap and cape which is drawn on over the head, and
which sticks up or is pulled back in a kind of peak, at the same time
covering cheeks and shoulders, while the face shows through a long slit
cut in the upper part.
[Illustration: WREATH MADE OF METAL FLOWERS SEWED ON BRAID
Thirteenth century (church of St. Thibaut; Côte-d'Or).]
These are the orthodox male garments, while the female dress is much
the same, albeit with certain simplifications here and elaborations
elsewhere. Adela's maids ordinarily put upon her a long linen chemise,
preferably white, which descends to her knees. Over that comes the
pelisson, again with the fur edging. It can be made of some very fine
wool or silk, and falls over the chemise clear to her feet. Above this
again is the bliaut, sometimes worn rather loosely, but more often
close fitting and showing off the figure. The baroness's maids lace it
tightly and take pains adjusting the long trailing sleeves. It is held
in place by a girdle of woven cords, preferably of silk. The bliaut,
of course, can be of very fine material, and ornamented with gold
embroideries and pearl beadwork. Finally there is the mantle, a loose
trailing cloak, often cut as a long semicircular cape and made, on gala
occasions, of the richest stuffs available.
Plenty of elegant fabrics can be had by the wealthy. You can bring
back from the Champagne fairs figured silk, woven with silver and
gold thread; also very heavy silks woven with large threads of white,
green or red. This is the fair _samite_ whereof the poets delight
to sing. But perhaps more useful is the thin, airy, shimmery sendal
silks, useful both for delightful summer garments and for making those
brilliant banners which noble ladies give to the knights of their
choice. Naturally, too, there are plenty of Oriental silks, with
strange Egyptian and Persian figures. For humbler wear (if homespun
is not desired) you can buy all kinds of of honest woolens; Flemish
and Picard, Champagne products, or those from Languedoc. They come
in serges and rough goods, as excellent as anyone could ask. Linen
is available bleached to a dazzling whiteness for those who have the
price; but cotton cloth is still costly, although the mercers often
spread out to the ladies "silk at a marvelously low price" which is
really naught but cotton, woven up, perhaps, in Sicily.
However, the finest samite and sendal cannot take the place of suitable
furs. _Wearing furs is practically a sign of nobility_, like wearing a
sword or carrying a hawk. Many a petty noble will cling to his frayed
tippet of black lambskin, even in the hottest weather, merely to
proclaim that he is not a villein. Fox- and wolf-skins and civet are,
of course, common, but your high noble seeks something better. He will
line his pelisson and other garments with red or white marten, black
sable, with the gray of the beautiful northern squirrel, and especially
(if his purse can compass it) with ermine, the precious fur of the
white weasel. The choicest furs probably come from those dim countries
called "Russia." You cannot make a noble friend a much more acceptable
present than a fine ermine skin; and many a baron has pledged lands to
the Jews merely to satisfy his wife's taste for miniver, a superior
form of marten. In fact, there is more extravagance over furs than over
jewelry, or even over falcons!
[Sidenote: Luxurious Fashions]
Fashions in dress do not change around St. Aliquis so rapidly as in
other ages, yet there are constant innovations. For example, the
surcoat is coming in. Originally it was a longish woman's garment,
but recently a fine knight riding down from Rheims wore one cleverly
adapted to masculine necessities. It was a close, sleeveless jacket
cut short at the hips and made with big armholes for easy movement.
Conon must have one very soon. Inevitably too, at the king's court all
kinds of new fashions, luxuries and ornamentations are to be observed.
Women cover themselves with gold embroidery, wear gold buttons, and
gold girdles set alternately with agates and sapphires. They protect
their hands with chamois-skin gloves, and swing a silken alms purse
from silver chains at their belts. Fine cavaliers load themselves with
a dozen buckles set with sardonyx, and pieces of enamel, and even wear
small emeralds in the embroidery on their mantles. Pointed shoes are
coming much into style, with the use of colored thongs to bind them to
the feet.
[Illustration: FELT SHOE
Thirteenth century (various monuments).]
Yet the St. Aliquis simplicity is hardly undermined. Except on fête
days the seigneur is not much better clad than the upper servitors,
and Adela never ceases to warn her sister-in-law against extravagance
of dress. "Consider always your husband's rank and fortune, but never
disgrace them by seeming to devote too much study to your costume or by
constantly plunging into new fashions. Before leaving your room be sure
your appearance is neat, and see especially to it that the collar of
your gown is well adjusted and is not put on crooked."[25]
The dress of the humbler folk is of the above nature, of course
simplified, and of more sober hue. Blue is the color of the baronial
house and nearly all its lord's followers wear bliauts of that color.
This is their livery, because twice per year there is a distribution
(a _livraison_) of garments to all whom Conon undertakes to clothe and
feed.
[Illustration: WINTER COSTUME IN THE TWELFTH CENTURY
From a manuscript in the Bibliothèque nationale (Viollet-Le-Duc).]
Noble folk thus display their rank by wearing furs. They also show
it by their headdresses. When the baron wishes to put on dignity he
assumes a velvet bonnet in place of the ordinary cloth one. On formal
occasions, however, this bonnet will be embroidered with gold thread
and become his "cap of presence." Sometimes these caps are elaborated
and made with a flattened square top. These are the _mortiers_, and in
generations later great lawyers and doctors will wear the mortar-board
as a professional badge long after the high barons have absolutely
discarded the fashion.
As for the head covering of women, the thirteenth century is as yet
rather innocent of those towering constructions of peaks and veils
common in the succeeding age. Even noblewomen are usually content (as
we have seen) with the long braids of their hair intertwined often
with ribbons. If the sun is hot or the weather bad they will wear thin
veils or solid woolen hoods, according to the seasons; and on gala days
they will don either floral chaplets or genuine crowns of gold and
pearls, according to the wealth of their fathers or husbands.
[Illustration: HEADDRESS OF A MAN
Popular in the thirteenth century (tomb of Saint-Denis).]
[Sidenote: Hair Dressing and Beards]
Conon's appearance differs from that of his grandsire's in one
important particular. Until rather recently gentlemen had their hair
cut short in front, although rather long behind, and wore beards, often
divided into a great many little tufts which they might even wind with
gold thread. By 1200, however, noblemen were usually smooth shaven,
although the hair was allowed to grow to some length and sometimes was
arranged in little curls. Thus ended a long struggle, for the Church
has for generations disapproved of lengthy beards; many a bishop has
warned that "they are the sign of the children of Belial," and the
great Pope Gregory VII uttered a regular anathema against them. The
reign of the barber is renewed, and the St. Aliquis tonsor twice or
thrice per week scrapes over the chins of all the knightly males in
the castle. For the servitors and villeins, however, there is no such
luxury. All the humbler folk wear beards of great bushiness, as well as
unsanitariness; and their hair is cut so seldom that often it can be
almost braided like the women's.
Every person of consequence wears a ring. Its signet device is often
equivalent to a personal signature. All a man's friends know his ring
and will give credence to messengers who produce the same. Women give
rings to their lovers, as well, of course, as receiving rings in
return. It is believed that many rings have charmed virtues. Conon's
signet has been in the family at least since the First Crusade. It has
a green Egyptian turquoise cut with a serpent, and is called "The Luck
of St. Aliquis." The servitors profess confidence that so long as the
baron keeps this ring the castle cannot be taken; and François has
already had his head filled with such stories as that of the father
who on his deathbed gave his son a ring, "the virtue of which was
that whosoever should wear it should have the love of all men"; or
the tale of Princess Rigmel, who gave to her lover a ring so potent
that "whoever bore it upon him could not perish; he need not fear to
die in fire or water, nor on the battlefield nor in the mêlées of the
tournament."
[Illustration: COSTUME OF A NOBLEWOMAN
Thirteenth century; restored by Viollet-Le-Duc, from various monuments.]
Such are the ordinary articles of costume and adornment. One need not
dwell on the buckles and brooches, the golden pins and the jewel-set
necklets which Adela treasures in her coffers. They come from Oriental,
Byzantine, or Venetian workshops. Some are very beautiful, but fine
jewelry, generally speaking, has changed comparatively little from age
to age.
[Sidenote: Cosmetics and False Hair]
The baroness is not above certain frivolities of toilet herself, but
Alienor's approaching marriage has given her fair opportunity to
admonish the younger lady on the sins of false adornments. Indeed,
these iniquities are thundered against nearly every Sunday at the
churches, because the shrewd preachers know that all the men in the
congregation will grin approval the fiercer the invectives become.
Women are regularly accused "of turning their bodies out of their
natural form" by means of laces and stays, of dyeing their hair, of
painting their faces. It is affirmed that David was first impelled
to desire Bathsheba because she combed her long hair at a window
too openly, and all her sore troubles came justly upon her "for the
overgreat attention which she sinfully gave to the ornamenting of her
head."
Then, in another sermon, there is approvingly repeated the sarcastic
story by the monk Guyot of Provins, that the saints have brought suit
at the Assize of God against the race of women because the latter
have used so much color for their faces there is none left wherewith
to paint the holy images in the churches! The noble ladies are told
that when they smear on vermilion, saffron, or quicksilver, or apply
poultices of mashed beans and mare's milk to improve their complexions,
they are adding centuries to their durance in purgatory, if not taking
chances of eternal damnation.
[Illustration: COIFFURE OF A WOMAN
Thirteenth century (cathedral of Rheims).]
Lastly, there is the iniquity of false hair--as if the good God
did not know the proper amount of herbage to grow from each female
head! Once there was a holy man who could heal the sick. A young
noblewoman suffered from grievous headaches. The miracle worker took
one glance at her towering headpiece. "First," said he, "remove that
scaffolding which surmounts your head. Then will I pray for you with
great confidence." The sacrifice was too great, and she refused; yet
erelong her anguish became unendurable and the holy man was recalled.
He compelled her to cast away all her false hair and colored bands and
swear never to resume them. Immediately then he began to pray--and,
behold! her headache departed.
These sermons and Adela's sisterly warnings produce as much result as
such admonitions can. Alienor will go through life, now dreading for
her comeliness and now for her soul, but never quite imperiling either.
Yet she is surely less frivolous than the family rivals, the Foretvert
dames--who (tasteless creatures!) could adorn a whole cathedral of
saints' images with their paint pots.
There are sometimes seen around St. Aliquis certain obnoxious people
who are compelled to wear conspicuous garments in order that others may
be warned and thus avoid physical or moral contamination. If you meet
a man with a gray coat and a scarlet hat, pass at a distance--he is a
leper. If he has a big circle of saffron cloth sewed on his breast,
look to your money--he is a Jew. If he has a cross sewed on each side
of his breast, say a prayer--he is a released heretic. Finally, if
you go to Pontdebois and come upon sundry unveiled females in scarlet
dresses, accost them not if you are a decent man--they are women of the
town.
At last we have seen the general nature of the garments which are to
make gay Alienor's wedding. It is time for the wedding itself.
Marriage, in noble families often does not mean the union of two souls,
but of two fiefs. The average baron marries to extend his seigneury
and to rear up sons to defend it. A wife represents an estate and a
castle. Not many young men marry before they have been knighted. After
that they are glad to enter into holy wedlock, for the normal way an
aspiring young cavalier whose father is living can gain independence
is through his wife's dowry, unless his father allows him a share of
the barony.
[Sidenote: Ages for Marriage]
Since young men are not often knighted until late in their teens or
even beyond twenty, weddings on their side seldom take place early.
Girls, however, become marriageable sooner. South Country troubadours
assert that love can begin to claim a girl when she is thirteen; she
is then eligible for marriage. If she has not "given her heart" by the
time she is twenty-one there is no hope for her, save in a nunnery; and
old maids find no recognized place in society whether in castle, city,
or peasant hut.[26]
[Illustration: A ROYAL MARRIAGE IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY
From a manuscript preserved in the British Museum (Green).]
Of course, couples can marry younger than that. Not many years earlier
Count Baldwin VI of Hainault was wedded to Countess Marie of Champagne.
The bride was only twelve, the bridegroom only fourteen. Boys and girls
are thus sometimes merely "so many pieces on a chessboard," to suit the
ambitions of guardians.
If a noblewoman's husband dies she need not expect to be a widow very
long, for a man is required to manage her fief. It was one of the
greatest proofs of Conon's mother's strong character and ability that
when his father died she prevented Baron Garnier from forcing her into
nuptials with one of his boon companions--a roistering daredevil who,
as guardian of her children, would have ruined them, body and soul.
Also, if an heiress's husband does not prove suitable to the prevailing
powers, strange things can happen. In 1190, when the crown of Jerusalem
became vacant, Isabella (the new queen) was forcibly separated from her
husband, the Seigneur Onfroy, by the barons of the Crusaders' realm,
and was given to a more powerful noble, Conrad of Montferrat. Twice the
poor queen's husbands died, and twice her barons forced new spouses
upon her. The wishes of Isabella herself, who sincerely cared for
Onfroy, were in nowise consulted.
In all the romances you can find stories of marriages consummated with
amazing haste. There is, _e.g._, the tale of the old Baron Aimeri, who
wished to find his son an heiress. The lad, unaware of what was to
happen, was summoned into the presence of a duke, his father's friend.
"Young sir," said the duke, "you are of high lineage. I am going to
give you my pretty daughter." The boy stood silent while the pucelle
was brought in. "Belle," said her father, "I have given you a husband."
"Blessed be God!" she replied promptly. The next to come in was a
bishop. The ceremony was immediately over; the young people were mated
for life, seemingly before either could get his or her breath. Here, at
least, the lad was as much the helpless tool of his elders as was the
maid.
A story in the "Lorraine" romance makes the proceedings hardly less
precipitate. The Count of Flanders is resolved to give his bereaved
sister to his valiant friend, Fromont. She had never seen this hero,
but has heard much about him. Suddenly her brother takes her by the
hand, saying, "My beautiful and dear sister, let us converse a little
apart." Then he announces "to-morrow, you shall have a husband." The
lady protests that she has been a widow only a month and has an infant
son. "You will do this, however, my sister," insists the count. "He
whom I give you is far richer than your first husband." Then he says
much in praise of Fromont, whereupon the lady responds, "Sire brother,
I will do according to your desires." Thereupon, runs the story,
"They did not wait a day, they did not wait an hour. On the spot they
proceeded to the church. Clerics and priests were notified. There they
were blessed and married."
[Sidenote: Church Control of Marriages]
This is a strange state of things, but, fortunately, the Church comes
partly to the rescue. It demands first that the maiden shall be at
least fifteen years old (a point sometimes waived), that she shall not
be too closely related to the man, and that she shall give her "free
consent" (another matter not always investigated). The question of the
"forbidden degrees" is, however, a bar to many projected alliances. The
Church endeavored formerly to forbid the marriage of cousins up to the
seventh degree, but that rule had proved unworkable, since god-parents
were reckoned the same as relatives. The Lateran Council of 1215 has
therefore ordained invalid marriages between cousins through the
_fourth_ degree; and the saints know that this rule makes complications
enough, considering how the great families are interrelated! Of course,
the regulations are wise, otherwise heiresses would always be given in
an outrageous manner to near kinsmen. On the other hand, the forbidden
degrees are sometimes a little trenched upon to give the contracting
parties an excuse for repudiating each other in case they get tired
of their bargain--although here again is a practice which the Church
treats with just anger.[27]
The Church does not formally permit divorce, but it cannot thwart many
of the currents of the age. Nobles frequently repudiate their wives for
trivial reasons--mere ill health, for instance; and often the women
take the initiative. There are worldly bishops who will give their help
toward an annulment on grounds of "lack of inward consent." Again, if
a very desirable marriage with a cousin comes in question, often a
"dispensation" can be obtained from the same complaisant authorities.
It is easy to become cynical if you study how easily the "holy bonds of
matrimony" can be put on and off by the powerful, although sometimes a
great pope like Innocent III will teach even a mighty king a lesson,
as Philip Augustus learned when he tried to repudiate poor Ingeborg of
Denmark.
If a maiden has a father, a competent brother, or an uncle she is
lucky. Otherwise, the bestowal of her hand belongs to her suzerain.
This right to bestow heiresses or the widows of vassals on faithful
retainers is one of the most precious privileges of a great seigneur.
Many a knight is kept loyal by the hope that presently his lord will
say: "One of my barons is dead without sons. I will give you his
fiefs and his daughter"; or, "Take the widow of the late Sire X....
You may have the land along with the lady." Under feudal usage it is
well-nigh impossible to deprive an heiress of her estates directly,
but her marriage practically gives her husband the ownership of the
property. No wonder the Duke of Quelqueparte is anxious to see whether
the sickly Count of Greve is about to die and leave only a daughter,
so that he can secure the desirable allegiance of the Baron of St.
Saturnin, who has been a widower now these six months, yet has remained
still "uncomforted" just in hope of this particular happening.
[Sidenote: Scandalous Relationships]
What wonder if under these conditions strange romances occur; if the
lady gives "her love and kiss" to some young knight, not her husband;
if South Country troubadours assert that "married couples cannot truly
love;" and if barons sometimes bring irregular consorts straight into
their castles, while perhaps winking at their wives' uncanny doings?
All this is true. Yet, as stated before, not everything is bad. Girls
are taught not to expect too much of their spouses. They usually accept
the situation as they accept stormy or sunny weather. Besides, if some
fathers or guardians are scandalously careless in disposing of their
charges, many fathers and brothers are full of honest affection and
accept the duty of marrying off their daughters or sisters as a solemn
responsibility; and if they are wise custodians the results are usually
happy. There is no need of pitying Alienor too much because she has not
the right to elope.
Conon has negotiated a most satisfactory marriage. He will give his
sister to Sire Olivier, the eldest son of the Count of Perseigne. The
Perseignes are a great Burgundian family with many castles, and counts
think themselves a little higher in the social scale than do barons,
but St. Aliquis is also a powerful fief, and its alliance will be
useful to Perseigne when he has his expected war with the Vidame of
Dijon. Conon will give the young couple his outlying Burgundian castle
(not of great value to himself) and the alliance will enable him to
talk roundly to his uncivil neighbors. A most excellent match; another
sign that St. Aliquis has an extremely sage seigneur!
Alienor is now nearly seventeen and has been thinking about a wedding
since before she was fifteen. Her nurses have long since reviewed all
the eligible cavaliers for her. Her great dread has been lest she have
to wed some old and very stupid man--as befell her cousin Mabila, who
had been sent away tearful and pouting to Picardy, the bride of a
three-times widower. Who can measure her relief when Conon declared he
would not give her to old St. Saturnin? It was all very well for the
jongleurs to sing, "An old man who loves a young maiden is not merely
old, but a fool!" The thing has happened so often!
Her ideal is to have a "damoiseau (squire or young knight) just with
his first beard"--one who is brave, valiant, and is, of course,
courteous and handsome. She had once hoped that Conon would give a
great tourney and award her to the conqueror; but this desire faded
when she learned that the victor in the last tourney was ugly and
brutal. She has been on very brotherly terms with William, Conon's
first squire, but William is still too young, and it is not always
honorable for a squire to push intrigues in the house of his lord.
Thus she is in a very open state of mind when her brother says to her
one day: "Fair sister, I have arranged your marriage with Olivier of
Perseigne. He is a gallant cavalier. Any maiden might rejoice to have
him. Consider well what I say because (here he adds a phrase which he
hopes will not be taken too literally) I would not have you wed him
against your wish."
If Alienor has anything against Olivier, if her antipathy were violent
and based on reason, Conon, as a genuinely affectionate brother, might
give it weight; but in fact, though she has met Olivier only a few
times at a tourney, at the Christmas fête at the Duke of Quelqueparte's
court, and once when he stopped at the castle, she has not the least
objection. He has certainly large blue eyes, blond hair, a large nose,
and a merry laugh. He is reported to be kind to his servants, generous
to a fault, and not overgiven to drinking or brawling. At the tourney
he broke three lances fairly against a more experienced knight. His
family is excellent and her brother's desires are obvious. She will not
have to live too far from St. Aliquis. What more could be said? After a
few hours of decent reflection she informs Adela that she will comply
with Conon's wishes. After that the castle takes on a joyous activity.
[Sidenote: Betrothal Ceremonies]
Before the wedding had come the betrothal. It was a solemn ceremony,
blessed by the Church. Sire Olivier visited the castle with a great
following of relatives and met the shy and blushing Alienor. In the
chapel, after suitable prayers by Father Grégoire, the pair had
awkwardly enough exchanged their promises! "I will take you for my
wife." "And I for my husband." After this there would have been great
scandal had either side turned back. The Church affirms energetically,
however, that betrothal is _not_ marriage. Otherwise the affianced
pair might have considered themselves somewhat wedded on trial, only
to repudiate their obligations later. Also, not merely the young
couple, but their parents or guardians, had to be present and add their
consent; and, of course, all the pledges were sworn to over the holiest
relics available.
Olivier, during all this happy time, has lodged at the castle of a
friendly vassal of St. Aliquis, and he rides over frequently to visit
his betrothed. He is excellently bred and knows everything expected of
a prospective bridegroom of good family. The alliance has been largely
negotiated by his parents, but he has been consulted, understands
that Alienor is witty and beautiful, and he is wholly aware of the
worldly advantages of being Conon's brother-in-law. At meals he and his
beloved are allowed to sit together and above all to eat out of the
same porringer, when he delicately leaves to his intended all the best
morsels. He consults a competent jongleur, and with his aid produces
suitable verses praising his fiancée's beauty. He gives her a gold ring
with both his own name and hers engraved thereon. In return, besides
a sleeve and a stocking to hang on his lances (gifts which she has
already sent in mere friendship to other cavaliers), she bestows a lock
of her hair set around a gold ring; likewise a larger lock which he
may twine around his helmet. The happy pair are permitted to take long
walks together, and to promenade up and down the garden, with Olivier
holding his lady in the politest manner by one finger--the accepted
method of showing intimacy.[28]
We have said that Conon is resolved to knight his brother at the same
time he gives his sister in marriage. This involves holding a tourney
and many other proceedings really unnecessary for a wedding; but, of
course, it will attract a much greater number of guests and advertise
the prosperity of the baron of St. Aliquis to all northwestern France.
The knighting and tourney will come after the bridal, however, and it
is easier to explain the two things separately. We omit the gathering
of the wedding guests--the coming of distant counts, barons, and sires;
the erection around St. Aliquis of a real village of brilliant tents
and pavilions; the ceremonious greetings; the frenzied efforts of the
castle folk to make all ready; the inevitable despair, not once, but
many times, of Adela, who directs everything. At last it is the morning
of _the_ day, in midsummer. No rain and, blessed be St. Martin, not
too much heat. Alienor is surrounded by a dozen women, old and young,
arraying her for her wedding.
[Sidenote: Dressing the Bride]
There is no regular bridal costume. Alienor does not dress much
differently from what she does on Easter or at some other major
festival. Her two great braids of hair are weighted down over her
breasts with an extra intertwining with gold thread. Her chemise is
of very fine saffron-tinted linen. Her pelisson is completely fringed
with magnificent ermine, the gift of the Countess of Perseigne, and
the garment itself is made of two cloths sewed together, the inner of
fine wool, the outer of beautiful bendal of reddish violet. The whole
is laced tightly until Alienor can hardly breathe. Above this garment
floats the elegant bliaut, of green silk with long sleeves, many
folds, and a long train. There is more silk embroidery and elaborate
flouncing. Fairest of all is the girdle, made of many pieces of gold
and each set with a good-luck stone--agate to guard against fever,
sardonyx to protect against malaria, and many similar. In the clasp
are great sapphires which Baron Garnier originally "acquired" from
a town merchant shortly before he hanged him. Finally, there is the
mantle--again of silk intricately embroidered and dyed with a royal
purple.
Alienor's pointed shoes are of vermilion leather from Cordova, with
still more of gold-thread embroidery. While one female minister is
clasping these, her chief pucelle is putting on a small saffron-colored
veil, circular, and held down by a golden circlet--a genuine crown;
beautifully engraved and set with emeralds. Inevitably the whole
process of dressing is prolonged. Alienor is too excited to feel hot
or pinched, but her attendants find her very exacting. They bless the
Virgin, however, that she is not as some noble brides, who fly into a
passion if every hair in their eyebrows is not separately adjusted.
Meantime, in a secluded part of the castle, the groom has been
wrestling with a similar problem, assisted by his two squires, although
requiring less of time and agony. His legs are covered with fine
brown silk stockings from Bruges; but it is effeminate to wear a silk
shirt--one of fine white linen will answer. His pelisson is like his
bride's, although less tightly laced--of cloth and silk, trimmed with
rich fur; and the outer color is pale red, inevitably with much gold
embroidery around the neck and sleeves. His bliaut does not come below
his knees, but it is of blue sendal silk; his mantle is also edged
with fur and of the same color as his pelisson. Simple as it is, it
must hang exactly right. Everybody will ask, "Did the groom wear his
mantle like a great baron?" The squires take a long time adjusting it.
Olivier's shoes are of very fine leather. On his crisply curled hair
they set a golden chaplet set with flashing gems--very much like that
worn by his bride.
Hardly are the happy twain ready before the wedding procession forms
in the bailey. So large a company could never crowd into the castle
chapel. It will go across the bridge over the Claire to the parish
church by the village--a Gothic structure sufficiently pretentious to
suit the occasion. The Perseignes reckon a bishop among their cousins,
and he is on hand to officiate.
[Sidenote: Marriage Procession and Ceremony]
So the procession forms. Ahead go a whole platoon of jongleurs puffing
their cheeks for their flutes, twanging their harps, or rasping
their viols. The Feudal Age delights in music, and does not mind if
sometimes melody is exchanged merely for a joyous noise. Alienor comes
next. She is on a black mule with extra long ears and a finely curried
shining coat. His harness is of gold and his trappings of scarlet
samite. She has been swung into the saddle by her eldest brother
("Alas! that her father, who should do this, is dead!" murmur all the
women), and he as her guardian leads the mule. Olivier rides a tall
white palfrey with a saddle of blue leather. His mother, Adela, and all
the St. Aliquis and Perseignes female relatives follow on other mules,
led by gayly dressed squires. Then come all the noble guests, the Duke
of Quelqueparte at their head. No wonder there is no work being done in
all the villages for miles around, and that all the villeins are lining
the road, doffing caps, and cheering as the dazzling cortége sweeps
past.
The details at the church we pass over. Among other features to be
noted is the fact that the bride is swung down from her mule upon a
great truss of straw, that the bishop meets them at the sacred portal,
and that outside the actual building Olivier and Alienor exchange those
vows which form the essential part of the marriage ceremony. After that
Conon's chief provost recites in loud voice all the estates, horses,
fine garments, and servitors which the bride brings as her dowry. This
customary publication may avert bitter disputes later. Next the happy
pair scatter newly coined silver deniers among the swarm of ill-favored
mendicants permitted to elbow and scramble among the more pretentious
guests.
Finally, the church is thrown open. The great nave opens mysterious and
dark, but galaxies of candles are burning and the lofty stained-glass
windows gleam like jewels. Olivier and Alienor occupy seats of honor in
the choir, while the bishop says the very solemn mass of the Trinity
and pronounces a special blessing over them. "Let this woman," intones
the prelate, "be amiable as Rachel, wise as Rebecca, faithful as Sarah.
Let her be sober through truth, venerable through modesty, and wise
through the teaching of Heaven."
So at last the mass ends. The "Agnus Dei" is chanted. The bridegroom
advances to the altar and receives from the bishop the kiss of peace.
Then he turns, and right at the foot of the great crucifix embraces his
wife and transmits the kiss to her. This act completes the ceremony.
Away the whole company go from the church. They have been condemned to
silence for nearly two hours, and are glad now to chatter like magpies.
When back at St. Aliquis they find the great hall has been swept,
garnished, and decorated as never before. The walls of the hall are
hung with the pictured tapestries or beautiful pieces of red and green
silk. Your feet crush fresh roses and lilies scattered on the floor.
Alienor almost bursts with delight at the number of high-born cavaliers
and dames who press up to kiss and congratulate. All the remainder
of her life she will match weddings with her friends: "I had so many
counts and barons at my marriage." "But I had so many!"
All these guests, however, expect to receive presents--bliauts,
mantles, goblets, and other things, each suitable to the recipient.
It is well that Conon has saved many livres in his strong box. The
presenting of the gifts by the host is quite a ceremony; each article
has to be accompanied by a well-turned speech. By the time this
reception to the bride and groom is over the trumpets sound furiously.
They tell that the feast is ready in the fragrant garden under the
trees. There is a fine tent of blue silk for the bridal party and the
more exalted guests. All the others must sit on long tables open to
the glad sunshine.
[Sidenote: The Marriage Feast]
What Messire Conon's guests have to eat and drink is so serious a topic
that we must tell thereof separately. We speak here merely concerning
the festivities of the wedding. Olivier and Alienor are served by two
barons as squires of state. The groom drinks from a great goblet, then
sends it to his wife, who ceremoniously finishes the draught. In the
bridal tent there is a reasonable amount of decorum, but elsewhere
(Blessed martyrs!) what noise and tumult! All the villeins appear to
be there, and burghers have even wandered up from Pontdebois. It will
never do to have men say, "The bride was charming, but her brother
stinted his hospitality." Enough food and drink is gorged and guzzled
to stave off a famine next winter. The jongleurs keep quiet during the
first part of the feast; later they earn their dinner by singing of the
loves of Jourdain and Orabel or of Berte, who was the faithful wife of
Girard of Roussillon through all of her lord's adversity. At many of
the tables the jesting and horseplay become unspeakably ribald. After
the wine circulates two petty nobles quarrel; one strikes the other
with a drinking cup, but the sergeants pull them apart before they can
whip out swords.
After three hours of this some guests are sleeping stertorously under
the trees; but those nobles who have kept their wits go to another
large tent, and, despite their heavy meal, dance with vigor. The bride
and groom are expected to dance together, and everybody is prepared
to admire the beauty of one and the grace and strength of the other.
As evening advances a priest appears. He solemnly blesses the nuptial
couch strewn with roses, while the new couple piously kneel. The couch
is then "censed" like an altar, and the women guests join in the
bizarre usages of "putting the bride to bed."
The morning after the marriage the newly wedded pair attend mass in the
castle chapel. Here they are expected to make privately all kinds of
vows of good conduct, and Alienor especially promises always to obey
her husband, and call him dutifully "mon sire" and "mon baron."
The festivities will last two weeks longer, and conclude with the
dubbing of knights and the tournament, whereof more presently. After
that Olivier and his wife will depart for their Burgundian castle
without anything like a honeymoon to strange parts....
So they celebrate the wedding at St. Aliquis. Very far is it from being
a love match of a later day; yet there is a decent hope of happiness
for the two most deeply interested. A new spirit in the relations of
men and women has been creeping into the world since Greek and Roman
days, and if this spirit too often manifests itself in illicit romances
it is something if romantic love can exist at all, and if, also, in
many an instance (as the jongleurs already like to tell us), their
story can run that "thus the twain were wedded, and forevermore lived
together happily."
It was as early as about 1160 that the South Country troubador, Bernart
de Ventadoun, sang about the great motive which was coming to add
beauty to the world:
"For indeed I know
Of no more subtle passion under heaven
Than is the maiden passion for a maid;
Not only to keep down the base within a man,
But teach high thought and amiable words,
And courtliness and the desire of fame
And love of truth, and all that makes a man!"
FOOTNOTES:
[24] Of course, the northern climate and the fact that the Germanic
tribes wore many garments of skins and leather were contributing
factors.
[25] From a mediæval _Treatise of Instructions to a Young Lady_.
[26] Troubadour and romance love stories were thus likely to revolve
around very young and flighty people. If they survived this critical
period of youth they were likely to be staid and sober enough the rest
of their lives.
[27] How serious the problem of the "forbidden degrees" could be is
shown by the case of the pious Louis VII of France, who put away
his wife, the great heiress Eleanor of Aquitaine, because he was
the fifth in descent from Hugh Capet, who had married a sister of
the great-great-grandfather of Eleanor. Of course, the marriage had
actually proved uncongenial before this point was raised.
[28] Friends would seldom walk arm in arm. Two persons of the same
sex or of different sexes would walk familiarly hand in hand, or, if
especially friendly, one leading the other by a single finger.