To the noble troubadour Bertran de Born, a congenial comrade of Richard
the Lion Hearted, is attributed a little song which seems re-echoed in
many a castle.
Peace delights me not!
War--be thou my lot!
Law--I do not know
Save a right good blow!
[Sidenote: Nobles Delight in War]
Even a seigneur who nods pious assent to all that the monks and priests
affirm in praise of peace wishes in his heart that it were not sinful
to pray for brisk fighting. To be a good warrior, to be able to take
and give hard blows, to enjoy the delights of victory over doughty
adversaries, and finally to die a warrior's death on "the field of
honor," not a "cow's death" in one's bed--that is the ambition of
nearly every noble worthy of his gentility.
Bertran de Born has again expressed this brutal joy in still greater
detail:
I prize no meat or drink beside
The cry, "On! On!" from throats that crack:
The neighs when frightened steeds run wide,
A riderless and frantic pack,
And set the forest ringing:--
The calls, "Help! Help!"--the warriors laid
Beside the moat with brows that fade
To grass and stubble clinging:--
And then the bodies past all aid
Still pierced with broken spear or blade....
Come barons, haste ye, bringing
Your vassals for the daring raid;--
_Risk all--and let the game be played!_
Clearly other and supposedly more peaceful ages will find in the Feudal
Epoch a very bloody world.
There is at least this extenuation. Even in France the winters are
cold, the days short, the nights long. Castles at best are chilly,
musty barracks. Many people are living in a small space and are
constantly jostling one another. Thanks to sheer ennui, many a baron
becomes capricious and tyrannical. Even in summertime, hunts, hawking,
jongleurs' lays, and tournaments grow stale. Often the average cavalier
is in a receptive mood for war just because he is grievously bored.
[Illustration: COSTUME OF A NOBLEMAN (THIRTEENTH CENTURY)]
The countenances of the older warriors around St. Aliquis; the great
scars on cheek, chin, and forehead; the mutilated noses and ears--tell
how strenuous have been most of their lives. The scars are badges
of honor. Aimery is nigh regretful that there are no slashes on his
youthful countenance, although Sire Eustace, his mentor, grimly assures
him "this trouble will pass with time." Aimery is now nineteen. His
brother gave him a careful training, as becoming the cadet of a great
house, and then arranged that he be "nourished"--that is, taken into
the family and educated as squire--by a powerful count. Unfortunately,
just as Aimery was about to demand knighthood of his lord, the latter
suddenly died. He therefore returned to St. Aliquis and waited some
months impatiently, until Conon could give him an adubbement worthy of
the St. Aliquis name.
From earliest youth Aimery has had success in arms held before him as
the one thing worth living for. True, he has been taught to be pious.
He understands it is well that God has created priests and monks, who
may by their ceremonies and prayers enable the good warriors to enter
into paradise. But the squire has never had the slightest desire to
become a cleric himself. He thanks his divine patroness, St. Génevieve,
that Conon has not treated him as so many younger brothers are treated,
and forced him into the Church. What is it to become a lazy rich canon,
or even a splendid lord bishop, beside experiencing even the modest
joys of a common sire with a small castle, a fast horse, good hawks,
and a few stout retainers? Aimery has learned to attend mass devoutly
and to accept implicitly the teachings of the priests, but his moral
training is almost entirely based on "courtesy," a very secular code
indeed. Hence he acts on the advice given him while very young: "Honor
all churchmen, but look well to your money."
Another well-remembered warning is never to put trust in villeins. He
cannot, indeed, refuse to deal with them. He must treat them ordinarily
with decency, but never trust them as real friends. The ignoble are
habitually deceitful. They cannot understand a cavalier's "honor."
They are capable of all kinds of base villainies. A sage man will have
comradeship only with his nobly born peers, and pride is no fault in a
baron when dealing with inferiors.
[Illustration: GOTHIC WRITING
From a thirteenth-century chart.]
[Sidenote: Literary Education of Young Nobles]
Although he is to be a warrior, Aimery has been given a certain
training in the science of letters. It is true that many seigneurs
cannot read a word on the parchments which their scriveners interpret,
draw up, or seal for them,[56] but this is really very inconvenient.
Conon is genuinely thankful he is not thus at the mercy of Father
Grégoire. Another reason for literacy is that delightful books of
romantic adventure are multiplying. The younger brother has, therefore,
been sent over to the school at the neighboring monastery, where
(along with a few other sons of noblemen) he has had enough of the
clerk's art switched into him to be able to read French with facility,
to pick out certain Latin phrases, and to form letters clumsily on
wax tablets--writing with a stylus something after the manner of the
ancients.[57]
Once possessed of this wonderful art of reading that Aimery had while
yet a lad, he could delve into the wonderful parchments of romances
which told him of the brave deeds done of old. Especially, he learned
all about the Trojan War, which was one long baronial feud between
North French cavaliers fighting for the fair Helen, imprisoned in a
strong castle. His sympathy was excited for Hector as the under dog. He
read of many exploits which had escaped the knowledge of Homer, but
which were well known to Romance trouvères. He reveled in scenes of
slaughter whereof the figures are very precise, it being clearly stated
that 870,000 Greeks and 680,000 Trojans perished in the siege of that
remarkable Trojan fortress.
[Illustration: A TEACHER HOLDING A FERULE IN HIS HAND
Restored by Viollet-Le-Duc from a thirteenth-century manuscript in the
Bibliothèque nationale.]
Almost equally interesting was the history of Alexander, based on the
version of the pseudo-Callisthenes. This was very unlike the accounts
which other ages consider authentic. The names of the battles with
Darius were altered, strange adventures with the Sirens crept into the
narrative, and finally Alexander (the tale ran) died sorely lamenting
that he could not conquer France and make Paris his capital.
The story of Cæsar is also available, but it seems less romantic,
although full of episodes of fairies and dwarfs.
For the history of France, Aimery has learned that the country was
originally settled by exiled Trojans; later the Romans came, and some
time later one meets the great Emperor Charlemagne, whose exploits
entwine themselves with Charles Martel's defeat of the Saracens.
Charlemagne, we gather, conducted a crusade to the Holy Land and took
Jerusalem, although later the Infidels regained it. Recent French
history remains very mixed in the young noble's mind until the great
Council of Clermont (1095), which launched the First Crusade. In
the century after that great episode, however, the events stand out
clearly, and of course he knows all the history of the local baronial
houses down to the story of the petty feud forty years ago between two
Burgundian counts.
But what is monk's or jongleur's lore compared with the true business
of a born cavalier? When he was only seven or eight, Aimery was fencing
with a blunted sword. From ten onward he took more regular fencing
lessons, first from Sire Eustace; then from a professional master, a
keen Gascon, hired by Conon. Equally early he had his horse, his hawks,
and his dogs; he was taught how to care for them entirely himself,
and was soon allowed to go on long rides alone into the dense forest
in order to develop his resourcefulness, sense of direction, and
woodcraft. Then, as he grew taller, his brother began to deliver long
lectures for his betterment, even as Adela had admonished Alienor.
[Sidenote: Maxims for Youthful Cavaliers]
One day Conon exhorted him in the style of the old Count Guy advising
his son Doon in the epic, "Doon of Mayence." "Ask questions of good
men whom you know, but never put trust in a stranger. Every day,
fair brother, hear the holy mass; and whenever you have money give
to the poor--for God will repay you double. Be liberal in gifts to
all, for a cavalier who is sparing will lose all in the end and die
in wretchedness; but wherever you can, give without promising to give
again. When you come to a strange house, cough very loudly, for there
may be something going on there which you ought not to see. When you
are in noble company, play backgammon; you will be the more prized on
that account. Never make a noise or jest in church; it is done only
by unbelievers. If you would shun trouble, avoid meddling and pretend
to no knowledge you do not possess. Do not treat your body servant as
your equal--that is, let him sit by you at table or take him to bed
with you; for the more honor you do a villein the more he will despise
you. After you are married by no means tell a secret to your wife;
for if you let her know it you will repent your act the first time
you vex her." And with this shrewd thrust at Adela the flow of wisdom
temporarily ceases.
Before he was fifteen Aimery had thus learned to read and write, to
ride and hawk, to play chess, checkers, and backgammon, to thrum a
harp and sing with clear voice, to shoot with the arbalist, and to
fence with considerable skill. He was also learning to handle a light
lance and a shield while on horseback. Then came his first great
adventure--his brother sent him to the gentle Count of Bernon to be
"nourished."
The higher the baron the greater his desire to have nobly born lads
placed in his castle as _nourris_, to serve as his squires and be
trained as cavaliers. Bernon had kept three squires simultaneously, as
did Conon himself. It is a friendly courtesy to send word to an old
comrade in arms (as these two seigneurs had been), saying: "You have a
fine son (or brother); send him to be 'nourished' in my castle. When he
is of ripe age I will give him furs and a charger and dub him knight."
Of course, it was a high honor to be reared by a very great lord like
the Duke of Quelqueparte; but younger sons or brothers did not often
enjoy such good fortune. Petty nobles had to send their sons to the
manors of poor sires of their own rank, who could keep only one squire.
[Sidenote: Training of a Squire]
Once enrolled as squire to a count, Aimery soon learned that his master
was a kind of second father to him--rebuking and correcting him with
great bluntness, but assuming an equal responsibility for his training.
Hereafter, whatever happened, no ex-squire could fight against his
former master without sheer impiety. The Emperor Charlemagne once, in a
passion, smote the hero Roland in the face. Roland turned red. His fist
clenched--then he remembered how Charlemagne had "nourished" him. He
accepted an insult which to him no other mortal might proffer.
It is held that no father or brother can enforce sufficient discipline
over a growing lad, and that "it is proper he shall learn to obey
before he governs, otherwise he will not appreciate the nobility of his
rank when he becomes a knight." Aimery in the De Bernon castle surely
received his full share of discipline, not merely from the count, but
from the two older squires, who took pains at first to tyrannize over
him unmercifully, until they became knighted, and he gained two new
companions younger than himself, with whom he played the despot in turn.
In his master's service Aimery became expert in the use of arms. First
he was allowed to carry the count's great sword, lance, and shield,
and to learn how the older nobles could handle them. Next he was given
weapons and mail of his own, and began the tedious training of the tilt
yard, discovering that a large part of his happiness in life would
consist in being able to hold his lance steady while his horse was
charging, to strike the point fairly on a hostile shield until either
the tough lance snapped or his foe was flung from the saddle, and at
the same time to pinch his own saddle tightly with his knees while
with his own shield covering breast and head against a mortal blow.
Couch, charge, recover--couch, charge, recover--he must practice it a
thousand times.
Meantime he was attending the count as a constant companion. He rose
at gray dawn, went to the stables, and curried down his master's best
horse; then back to the castle to assist his superior to dress. He
waited on his lord and lady at table. He was responsible for receiving
noble guests, preparing their chambers and generally attending to their
comfort. On expeditions he led the count's great war charger when the
seigneur rode his less fiery palfrey; and he would pass his lord his
weapons as needed. At tournaments he stood at the edge of the lists,
ready to rush in and rescue the count from under the stamping horses
if he were dismounted. He was expected to fight only in emergencies,
when his master was in great danger; but Bernon was a gallant knight,
and repeatedly in hot forays Aimery had gained the chance to use his
weapons.
At the same time he was learning courtesy. He was intrusted with the
escort of the countess and her daughters. He entertained with games,
jests and songs noble dames visiting the castle. He learned all the
details of his master's affairs. The count was supposed to treat him
as a kind of younger self--intrust him with secrets, send him as
confidential messenger on delicate business, allow him to carry his
purse when he journeyed, and keep the keys to his coffers when at
home. After Aimery became first squire he was expected also to assist
the seneschal in a last round of the castle at night, to make sure
everything was locked and guarded; then he would sleep at the door of
the count's chamber. Beyond a doubt, since the count was an honorable
and capable man, Aimery received thereby a training of enormous value.
While still a lad he had large responsibilities thrust upon him, and
learned how to transmit commands and to handle difficult situations. He
was versed in all the ordinary occasions of a nobleman. When he became
a knight himself, he would be no tyro in all the stern problems of
feudal life.
[Illustration: MANEUVERING WITH A LANCE IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY
Restored by Viollet-Le-Duc, from a manuscript in the Bibliothèque
nationale.]
Thus Conon's brother came within four years to be an admirable
_damoiseau_ (little lord), an epithet decidedly more commendatory than
its partial equivalent "squire" (_ecuyer_, shield bearer).[58]
[Sidenote: Martial Exercises, the Quintain]
Of course, his military training had proceeded apace. Soon he was
allowed to tilt with his horse and lance at the _quintain_. This is a
manikin covered with a coat of mail and a shield, and set on a post.
The horseman dashes up against it at full gallop, and tries to drive
his lance through shield and armor. There are many variations for
making the sport harder. After Aimery could strike the _quintain_ with
precision he took his first tilt against an older squire. Never will
he forget the grinding shock of the hostile lance splintering upon his
shield; the almost irresistible force that seemed smiting him out of
the saddle; the dismay when he found his own lance glancing harmlessly
off the shield of his opponent, slanted at a cunning angle. But
practice makes perfect. When he finally returned to St. Aliquis his own
brother was almost unhorsed when they tried a friendly course by the
barbican.
So Aimery completed his education. If he has failed to learn humility,
humanity to villeins, and that high respect for women which treats them
not merely as creatures to be praised and courted, but as one's moral
and intellectual equals, he at least has learned a high standard of
honor in dealing with his fellow nobles. The confidences his master
has reposed in him have made it a fundamental conviction that it were
better to perish a dozen times than to betray a trust. He believes that
the word of a cavalier should be better than the oath of the ignoble.
As for courage, it were better to die like Ganelon, torn by wild
horses, than to show fear in the face of physical danger. He has been
trained also to cultivate the virtue of generosity to an almost ruinous
extent.
Free giving is one of the marks of a true nobleman. Largess is praised
by the minstrels almost as much as bravery. "He is not a true knight
who is too covetous." Therefore money is likely to flow like water
through Aimery's fingers all his life. The one redeeming fact will
be that, though he will be constantly _giving_, he will always be
as constantly _receiving_. Among the nobles there is an incessant
exchanging of gifts--horses, armor, furs, hawks, and even money.
All wealth really comes from the peasants, yet their lords dispose
carelessly of it even though they do not create it. Even the villeins,
however, will complain if their masters do not make the crowds scramble
often for coppers--never realizing that these same coppers represent
their own sweat and blood.
[Sidenote: Demanding Knighthood]
As already stated, Aimery's master had died (to his squire's sincere
grief) shortly before the latter could have said to him according to
the formula, "Fair Sire, I demand of you knighthood." The young man
has accordingly returned to St. Aliquis, and waited for some action
by his brother. Knighthood means for a noble youth the attainment of
his majority. It involves recognition as a complete member of that
aristocracy which was separated by a great gulf from the villeins.
Very rarely can the base-born hope for that ceremonial buffet which
admits them to the company of the gentle. If a peasant has exhibited
remarkable courage and intelligence, and above all has rendered some
extraordinary service to a duke or king, sometimes his villein blood
may be forgotten officially. But even if he is knighted, all his life
he can be treated as a social upstart, his dame despised and snubbed by
noblewomen, and his very grandchildren reminded of the taint of their
ancestor.
True, indeed, not all men of nobility can become knights. Knighthood
ordinarily implies having a minimum of landed property, and ability to
live in aristocratic idleness. Many poor nobles, and especially the
younger sons of poor nobles, remain bachelors, fretting upon their
starving properties, or serving some seigneur as mercenaries, and
hoping for a stroke of fortune so that they can demand knighthood. But
they are likely to die in their poverty, jealous of the rich sires, yet
utterly scornful of the peasants and thanking the saints they are above
touching a plow, mattock, or other vulgar means of livelihood.
On the other hand, there are many seigneurs who, although rich and
dubbed as knights, nevertheless give the lie to their honors by their
effeminacy and luxury. They are worse than the baron whom we saw as
a _trouvère_ and collector of minstrels' romances, and who even read
Latin books. The monkish preachers scold such weaklings and pretended
gallants. "To-day our warriors are reared in luxury. See them leave
for the campaign! Are their packs filled with iron, with lances, with
swords? Not so, but with leathern bottles filled with wine, with
cheeses, and spits for roasting. One would imagine that they were going
to a feast in the gardens and not to a battle. They carry splendidly
plated shields; but greatly they hope to bring them back undented."[59]
Such unworthy knights unquestionably can be found, but they have not
tainted the whole nobility. Your average cavalier has spent his entire
life training for combat; he dreams of lance thrusts and forays; and
the least of his sins is that he will shun deadly blows.
At last the great day for which Aimery has waited is at hand. To-morrow
Conon will dub him a knight.
FOOTNOTES:
[56] As late as about 1250 there was a "grand chamberlain of France"
who seems to have been absolutely illiterate.
[57] It is risky to generalize as to the extent of learning among the
average nobles. Some modern students would probably represent them as
being sometimes better lettered than were Conon and Aimery.
[58] The sharp distinction between the young attendants known as
"pages," and the older "squires," had hardly been worked out by A.D.
1220. Such young persons could also be called "varlets," but that name
might be given as well to non-noble servitors. When chivalry was at
its height the theory developed that a nobleman's son should spend his
first to his seventh year at home with his mother, his eighth to his
fifteenth in suitable training as a "page," and from that time till he
was one-and-twenty serving as a squire. This precise demarcation of
time was probably seldom adhered to. Many ambitious young nobles would
serve much less than seven years as a squire. On the other hand, many
petty nobles might remain squires all their lives, for lack of means to
maintain themselves as self-respecting knights.
[59] The words quoted are those of the Archdeacon Peter of Blois,
haranguing about A.D. 1180.