About A. D. 800-1300.
There is no great character with whom Feudalism is especially
identified. It was an institution of the Middle Ages, which grew
out of the miseries and robberies that succeeded the fall of the
Roman Empire.
Before I present the mutual relation between a lord and his vassal,
I would call your attention to political anarchies ending in
political degradation; to an unformed state of society; to semi-
barbarism, with its characteristic vices of plunder, rapine,
oppression, and injustice; to wild and violent passions, unchecked
by law; to the absence of central power; to the reign of hard and
martial nobles; to the miseries of the people, ground down,
ignorant, and brutal; to rude agricultural life; to petty wars; to
general ignorance, which kept society in darkness and gloom for a
thousand years,--all growing out of the eclipse of the old
civilization, so that the European nations began a new existence,
and toiled in sorrow and fear, with few ameliorations: an iron age,
yet an age which was not unfavorable for the development of new
virtues and heroic qualities, under the influence of which society
emerged from barbarism, with a new foundation for national
greatness, and a new material for Christianity and art and
literature and science to work upon.
Such was the state of society during the existence of feudal
institutions,--a period of about five hundred years,--dating from
the dismemberment of Charlemagne's empire to the fifteenth century.
The era of its greatest power was from the Norman conquest of
England to the reign of Edward III. But there was a long and
gloomy period before Feudalism ripened into an institution,--from
the dissolution of the Roman Empire to the eighth and ninth
centuries. I would assign this period as the darkest and the
dreariest in the history of Europe since the Roman conquests, for
this reason, that civilization perished without any one to
chronicle the changes, or to take notice of the extinction.
From Charlemagne there had been, with the exception of brief
intervals, the birth of new ideas and interests, the growth of a
new civilization. Before his day there was a progressive decline.
Art, literature, science, alike faded away. There were no grand
monuments erected, the voice of the poet was unheard in the
universal wretchedness, the monks completed the destruction which
the barbarians began. Why were libraries burned or destroyed? Why
was classic literature utterly neglected? Why did no great
scholars arise even in the Church? The new races looked in vain
for benefactors. Even the souvenirs of the old Empire were lost.
Nearly all the records of ancient greatness perished. The old
cities were levelled to the ground. Nothing was built but
monasteries, and these were as gloomy as feudal castles at a later
date. The churches were heavy and mournful. Good men hid
themselves, trying to escape from the miserable world, and sang
monotonous chants of death and the grave. Agriculture was at the
lowest state, and hunting, piracy, and robbery were resorted to as
a means of precarious existence. There was no commerce. The roads
were invested with vagabonds and robbers. It was the era of
universal pillage and destruction; nothing held sacred. Universal
desolation filled the souls of men with despair. What state of
society could be worse than that of England under the early Saxon
kings? There were no dominant races and no central power. The
countries of Europe relapsed into a sullen barbarism. I see no
bright spot anywhere, not even in Italy, which was at this time the
most overrun and the most mercilessly plundered of all the
provinces of the fallen Empire. The old capital of the world was
nearly depopulated. Nothing was spared of ancient art on which the
barbarians could lay their hands, and nothing was valued.
This was the period of what writers call ALLODIAL tenure, in
distinction from feudal. The allodialist owned indeed his lands,
but they were subject to incessant depredations from wandering
tribes of barbarians and from robbers. There was no encouragement
to till the soil. There was no incentive to industry of any kind.
During a reign of universal lawlessness, what man would work except
for a scanty and precarious support? His cattle might be driven
away, his crops seized, his house plundered. It is hard to realize
that our remote ancestors were mere barbarians, who by the force of
numbers overran the world. They seem to have had but one class of
virtues,--contempt of death, and the willing sacrifice of their
lives in battle. The allodialist, however, was not a barbaric
warrior or chieftain, but the despoiled owner of lands that his
ancestors had once cultivated in peace and prosperity. He was the
degenerate descendant of Celtic and Roman citizens, the victim of
barbaric spoliations. His lands may have passed into the hands of
the Gothic conquerors; but the Gothic or Burgundian or Frankish
possessor of innumerable acres, once tilled by peaceful citizens,
remained an allodial proprietor. Even he had no protection and no
safety; for any new excursion of less fortunate barbarians would
desolate his possessions and decimate his laborers. The small
proprietor was especially subject to pillage and murder.
In the universal despair from this reign of anarchy and
lawlessness, when there was no security to property and no redress
of evils, the allodialist parted with his lands to some powerful
chieftain, and obtained promise of protection. He even resigned
the privilege of freedom to save his wretched life. He became a
serf,--a semi-bondman, chained to the soil, but protected from
outrage. Nothing but inconceivable miseries, which have not been
painted by historians, can account for the almost simultaneous
change in the ownership of land in all European countries. We can
conceive of nothing but blank despair among the people who
attempted to cultivate land. And there must have been the grossest
ignorance and the lowest degradation when men were willing to
submit to the curtailment of personal freedom and the loss of their
lands, in order to find protectors.
Thus Feudalism arose in the ninth and tenth centuries from the
absolute wreck of property and hopes. It was virtually the
surrender of land for the promise of protection. It was the great
necessity of that anarchical age. Like all institutions, it grew
out of the needs of the times. Yet its universal acceptance seems
to prove that the change was beneficial. Feudalism, especially in
its early ages, is not to be judged by the institutions of our
times, any more than is the enormous growth of spiritual power
which took place when this social and political revolution was
going on. Wars and devastations and untold calamities and brutal
forces were the natural sequence of barbaric invasions, and of the
progressive fall of the old civilization, continued from generation
to generation for a period of two or three hundred years, with
scarcely any interruption. You get no relief from such a
dispensation of Divine Providence, unless you can solve the
question why the Roman Empire was permitted to be swept away. If
it must be destroyed, from the prevalence of the same vices which
have uniformly undermined all empires,--utter and unspeakable
rottenness and depravity,--in spite of Christianity, whether
nominal or real; if eternal justice must bear sway on this earth,
bringing its fearful retributions for the abuse of privileges and
general wickedness,--then we accept the natural effects of that
violence which consummated the ruin. The natural consequences of
two hundred years of pillage and warfare and destruction of ancient
institutions were, and could have been nothing other than,
miseries, misrule, sufferings, poverty, insecurity, and despair. A
universal conflagration must destroy everything that past ages had
valued. As a relief from what was felt to be intolerable, and by
men who were brutal, ignorant, superstitious, and degraded, all
from the effect of the necessary evils which war creates, a sort of
semi-slavery was felt to be preferable, as the price of dependence
and protection.
Dependence and protection are the elemental principles of
Feudalism. These were the hard necessities which the age demanded.
And for three hundred years, it cannot be doubted, the relation
between master and serf was beneficial. It resulted in a more
peaceful state of society,--not free from great evils, but still a
healthful change from the disorders of the preceding epoch. The
peasant could cultivate his land comparatively free from
molestation. He was still poor. Sometimes he was exposed to heavy
exactions. He was bound to give a portion of the profits of his
land to his lordly proprietor; and he was bound to render services
in war. But, as he was not bound to serve over forty days, he was
not led on distant expeditions; he was not carried far from home.
He was not exposed to the ambition of military leaders. His
warlike services seem to be confined to the protection of his
master's castle and family, or to the assault of some neighboring
castle. He was simply made to participate in baronial quarrels;
and as these quarrels were frequent, his life was not altogether
peaceful.
But war on a large scale was impossible in the feudal age. The
military glory of the Roman conquerors was unknown, and also that
of modern European monarchs. The peasant was bound to serve under
the banner of a military chieftain only for a short time: then he
returned to his farm. His great military weapon was the bow,--the
weapon of semi-barbarians. The spear, the sword, the battle-axe
were the weapons of the baronial family,--the weapons of knights,
who fought on horseback, cased in defensive armor. The peasant
fought on foot; and as the tactics of ancient warfare were
inapplicable, and those of modern warfare unknown, the strength of
armies was in cavalry and not in the infantry, as in modern times.
But armies were not large from the ninth to the twelfth century,--
not until the Crusades arose. Nor were they subject to a rigid
discipline. They were simply an armed rabble. They were more like
militia than regular forces; they fostered military virtues,
without the demoralization of standing armies. In the feudal age
there were no standing armies. Even at so late a period as the
time of Queen Elizabeth that sovereign had to depend on the militia
for the defence of the realm against the Spaniards. Standing
armies are the invention of great military monarchs or a great
military State. The bow and arrow were used equally to shoot men
and shoot deer; but they rarely penetrated the armor of knights, or
their force was broken by the heavy shield: they took effect only
on the undefended bodies of the peasantry. Hence there was a great
disproportion of the slain in battle between peasants and their
mounted masters. War, even when confined to a small sphere, has
its terrors. The sufferers were the common people, whose lives
were not held of much account. History largely confines itself to
battles. Hence we are apt to lose sight of the uneventful life of
the people in quiet times.
But the barons were not always fighting. In the intervals of war
the peasant enjoyed the rude pleasures of his home. He grew up
with strong attachments, having no desire to migrate or travel.
Gradually the sentiment of loyalty was born,--loyalty to his master
and to his country. His life was rough, but earnest. He had great
simplicity of character. He became honest, industrious, and
frugal. He was contented with but few pleasures,--rural fetes and
village holidays. He had no luxuries and no craving for them.
Measured by our modern scale of pleasures he led a very inglorious,
unambitious, and rude life.
Contentment is one of the mysteries of existence. We should
naturally think that excitement and pleasure and knowledge would
make people happy, since they stimulate the intellectual powers;
but on the contrary they seem to produce unrest and cravings which
are never satisfied. And we should naturally think that a life of
isolation, especially with no mental resources,--a hard rural
existence, with but few comforts and no luxuries,--would make
people discontented. Yet it does not seem to be so in fact, as
illustrated by the apparent contentment of people doomed to hard
labor in the most retired and dreary retreats. We wonder at their
placitude, as we travel in remote and obscure sections of the
country. A poor farmer, whose house is scarcely better than a
hovel, surrounded with chickens and pigs, and with only a small
garden,--unadorned and lonely and repulsive,--has no cravings which
make the life of the favored rich sometimes unendurable. The
poorer he is, and therefore the more miserable as we should think,
the more contented he seems to be; while a fashionable woman or
ennuied man, both accustomed to the luxuries and follies of city
life, with all its refinements and gratification of intellectual
and social pleasures, will sometimes pine in a suburban home, with
all the gilded glories of rich furniture, books, beautiful gardens,
greenhouses, luxurious living, horses, carriages, and everything
that wealth can furnish.
So that civilization would seem often a bitter mockery, showing
that intellectual life only stimulates the cravings of the
soul, but does not satisfy them. And when people are poor
but cultivated, the unhappiness seems to be still greater;
demonstrating that cultivated intellect alone opens to the mind the
existence of evils which are intensified by the difficulty of their
removal, and on which the mind dwells with feelings kindred to
despair. I have sometimes doubted whether an obscure farmer's
daughter is any happier with her piano, and her piles of cheaply
illustrated literature and translations of French novels, and her
smatterings of science learned in normal schools, since she has
learned too often to despise her father and mother and brother, and
her uneducated rural beau, and all her surroundings, with poverty
and unrest and aspiration for society eating out her soul. The
happiness produced merely by intellectual pleasures and social
frivolities is very small at the best, compared with that produced
by the virtues of the heart and the affections kindled by deeds of
devotion, or the duties which take the mind from itself.
Intellectual pleasures give only a brief satisfaction, unless
directed to a practical end, like the earnest imparting of
knowledge in educational pursuits, or the pursuit of art for itself
alone,--to create, and not to devour, as the epicure eats his
dinner. Where is the happiness of devouring books with no attempt
to profit by them, except in the temporary pleasure of satisfying
an appetite? So even the highest means of happiness may become a
savor of death unto death when perverted or unimproved. Never
should we stimulate the intellect merely to feed upon itself.
Unless intellectual culture is directed to what is useful,
especially to the necessities or improvement of others, it is a
delusion and a snare. Better far to be ignorant, but industrious
and useful in any calling however humble, than to cram the mind
with knowledge that leads to no good practical result. The buxom
maiden of rural life, in former days absorbed in the duties of
home, with no knowledge except that gained in a district school in
the winter, with all her genial humanities in the society of equals
no more aspiring than herself, is to me a far more interesting
person than the pale-faced, languid, discontented, envious girl who
has just returned from a school beyond her father's means, even if
she can play upon an instrument, and has worn herself thin in
exhausting studies under the stimulus of ambitious competition, or
the harangues of a pedant who thinks what he calls "education" to
be the end of life,--an education which reveals her own
insignificance, or leads her to strive for an unattainable
position.
I am forced to make these remarks to show that the Mediaeval
peasant was not necessarily miserable because he was ignorant, or
isolated, or poor. In so doing I may excite the wrath of some who
think a little knowledge is not a dangerous thing, and may appear
to be throwing cold water on one of the noblest endeavors of modern
times. But I do not sneer at education. I only seek to show that
it will not make people happy, unless it is directed into useful
channels; and that even ignorance may be bliss when it is folly to
be wise. A benevolent Providence tempers all conditions to the
necessities of the times. The peasantry of Europe became earnest
and stalwart warriors and farmers, even under the grinding
despotism of feudal masters. With their beer and brown bread, and
a fowl in the pot on a Sunday, they grew up to be hardy, bold,
strong, healthy, and industrious. They furnished a material on
which Christianity and a future civilization could work. They
became patriotic, religious, and kind-hearted. They learned to
bear their evils in patience. They were more cheerful than the
laboring classes of our day, with their partial education,--
although we may console ourselves with the reflection that these
are passing through the fermenting processes of a transition from a
lower to a higher grade of living. Look at the picture of them
which art has handed down: their faces are ruddy, genial,
sympathetic, although coarse and vulgar and boorish. And they
learned to accept the inequalities of life without repining
insolence. They were humble, and felt that there were actually
some people in the world superior to themselves. I do not paint
their condition as desirable or interesting by our standard, but as
endurable. They were doubtless very ignorant; but would knowledge
have made them any happier? Knowledge is for those who can climb
by it to positions of honor and usefulness, not for those who
cannot rise above the condition in which they were born,--not for
those who will be snubbed and humiliated and put down by arrogant
wealth and birth. Better be unconscious of suffering, than
conscious of wrongs which cannot be redressed.
Let no one here misunderstand and pervert me. I am not exalting
the ignorance and brutality of the feudal ages. I am not decrying
the superior advantages of our modern times. I only state that
ignorance and brutality were the necessary sequences of the wars
and disorders of a preceding epoch, but that this very ignorance
and brutality were accompanied by virtues which partially
ameliorated the evils of the day; that in the despair of slavery
were the hopes of future happiness; that religion took a deep hold
of the human mind, even though blended with puerile and degrading
superstitions; that Christianity, taking hold of the hearts of a
suffering people, taught lessons which enabled them to bear their
hardships with resignation; that cheerfulness was not extinguished;
and that so many virtues were generated by the combined influence
of suffering and Christianity, that even with ignorance human
nature shone with greater lustre than among those by whom knowledge
is perverted. It was not until the evil and injustice of Feudalism
were exposed by political writers, and were meditated upon by the
people who had arisen by education and knowledge, that they became
unendurable; and then the people shook off the yoke. But how
impossible would have been a French Revolution in the thirteenth
century! What readers would a Rousseau have found among the people
in the time of Louis VII.? If knowledge breaks fetters when the
people are strong enough to shake them off, ignorance enables them
to bear those fetters when emancipation is impossible.
The great empire of Charlemagne was divided at his death (in A. D.
814) among his three sons,--one of whom had France, another Italy,
and the third Germany. In forty-five years afterwards we find
seven kingdoms, instead of three,--France, Navarre, Provence,
Burgundy, Lorraine, Germany, and Italy. In a few years more there
were twenty-nine hereditary fiefs. And as early as the tenth
century France itself was split up into fifty-five independent
sovereignties; and these small sovereignties were again divided
into dukedoms and baronies. All these dukes and barons, however,
acknowledged the King of France as their liege lord; yet he was not
richer or more powerful than some of the dukes who swore fealty to
him. The Duke of Burgundy at one time had larger territories and
more power than the King of France himself. So that the central
authority of kings was merely nominal; their power extended
scarcely beyond the lands they individually controlled. And all
the countries of Europe were equally ruled by petty kings. The
kings of England seem to have centralized around their thrones more
power than other European monarchs until the time of the Crusades,
when they were checked, not so much by nobles as by Act of
Parliament.
Now all Europe was virtually divided among these petty sovereigns,
called dukes, earls, counts, and barons. Each one was virtually
independent. He coined money, administered justice, and preserved
order. He ruled by hereditary right, and his estate descended to
his oldest son. His revenues were derived by the extorted
contributions of those who cultivated his lands, and by certain
perquisites, among which were the privilege of wardship, and the
profits of an estate during the minority of its possessor, and
reliefs, or fines paid on the alienation of a vassal's feud; and
the lord could bestow a female ward in marriage on whomever he
pleased, and on her refusal take possession of her estate.
These lordly proprietors of great estates,--or nobles,--so powerful
and independent, lived in castles. These strongholds were
necessary in such turbulent times. They were large or small,
according to the wealth or rank of the nobles who occupied them,
but of no architectural beauty. They were fortresses, generally
built on hills, or cragged rocks, or in inaccessible marshes, or on
islands in rivers,--anywhere where defence was easiest. The nobles
did not think of beautiful situations, or fruitful meadows, so much
as of the safety and independence of the feudal family. They
therefore lived in great isolation, travelling but little, and only
at short distances (it was the higher clergy only who travelled).
Though born to rank and power, they were yet rude, rough,
unpolished. They were warriors. They fought on horseback, covered
with defensive armor. They were greedy and quarrelsome, and hence
were engaged in perpetual strife,--in the assault on castles and
devastation of lands. These castles were generally gloomy, heavy,
and uncomfortable, yet were very numerous in the eleventh and
twelfth centuries. They were occupied by the feudal family,
perhaps the chaplain, strangers of rank, bards, minstrels, and
servants, who lived on the best the country afforded, but without
the luxuries of our times. They lived better than the monks, as
they had no vows to restrain them. But in their dreary castles the
rooms were necessarily small, dark, and damp, except the banqueting
hall. They were poorly lighted, there being no glass in the narrow
windows, nor chimneys, nor carpets, nor mirrors, nor luxurious
furniture, nor crockery, nor glassware, nor stoves, nor the
refinements of cookery. The few roads of the country were
travelled only by horsemen, or people on foot. There were no
carriages, only a few heavy lumbering wagons. Tea and coffee were
unknown, as also tropical fruits and some of our best vegetables.
But game of all kinds was plenty and cheap; so also were wine and
beer, and beef and mutton, and pork and poultry. The feudal family
was illiterate, and read but few books. The chief pleasures were
those of the chase,--hunting and hawking,--and intemperate feasts.
What we call "society" was impossible, although the barons may have
exchanged visits with each other. They rarely visited cities,
which at that time were small and uninteresting. The lordly
proprietor of ten thousand acres may have been jolly, frank, and
convivial, but he was still rough, and had little to say on matters
of great interests. Circumscribed he was of necessity, ignorant
and prejudiced. Conscious of power, however, he was proud and
insolent to inferiors. He was merely a physical man,--ruddy,
healthy, strong indeed, but without refinement, or knowledge, or
social graces. His castle was a fort and not a palace; and here he
lived with boisterous or sullen companions, as rough and ignorant
as himself. His wife and daughters were more interesting, but
without those attainments which grace and adorn society. They
made tapestries and embroideries, and rode horseback, and danced
well, and were virtuous; but were primitive, uneducated, and
supercilious. Their beauty was of the ruddy sort,--physical, but
genial. They were very fond of ornaments and gay dresses; and so
were their lords on festive occasions, for semi-barbarism delights
in what is showy and glittering,--purple, and feathers, and
trinkets.
Feudalism was intensely aristocratic. A line was drawn between the
noble and ignoble classes almost as broad as that which separates
liberty from slavery. It was next to impossible for a peasant, or
artisan, or even a merchant to pass that line. The exclusiveness
of the noble class was intolerable. It held in scorn any
profession but arms; neither riches nor learning was of any
account. It gloried in the pride of birth, and nourished a haughty
scorn of plebeian prosperity. It was not until cities and arts and
commerce arose that the arrogance of the baron was rebuked, or his
iron power broken. Haughty though ignorant, he had no pity or
compassion for the poor and miserable. His peasantry were doomed
to perpetual insults. Their corn-fields were trodden down by the
baronial hunters; they were compelled even to grind their corn in
the landlord's mill, and bake their bread in his oven. They had no
redress of injuries, and were scorned as well as insulted. What
knight would arm himself for them; what gentle lady wept at their
sorrows? The feeling of personal consequence was entirely confined
to the feudal family. The poorest knight took precedence over the
richest merchant. Pride of birth was carried to romantic
extravagance, so that marriages seldom took place between different
classes. A beautiful peasant girl could never rise above her
drudgeries; and she never dreamed of rising, for the members of the
baronial family were looked up to as superior beings. A caste grew
up as rigid and exclusive as that of India. The noble and ignoble
classes were not connected by any ties; there was nothing in common
between them. Even the glory of successful warfare shed no
radiance on a peasant's hut. He fought for his master, and not for
himself, and scarcely for his country. He belonged to his master
as completely as if he could be bought and sold. Christianity
teaches the idea of a universal brotherhood; Feudalism suppressed
or extinguished it. Peasants had no rights, only duties,--and
duties to hard and unsympathetic masters. Can we wonder that a
relation so unequal should have been detested by the people when
they began to think? Can we wonder it should have created French
Revolutions? When we remember how the people toiled for a mail-
clad warrior, how they fought for his interests, how they died for
his renown, how they were curtailed in their few pleasures, how
they were not permitted even to shoot a pheasant or hare in their
own grounds, we are amazed that such signal injustice should ever
have been endured. It is impossible that this injustice should not
have been felt; and no man ever became reconciled to injustice,
unless reduced to the condition of a brute. Religious tyranny may
be borne, for the priest invokes a supreme authority which all feel
to be universally binding. But all tyranny over the body--the
utter extinction of liberty--is hateful even to the most degraded
Hottentot.
Why, then, was such an unjust and unequal relation permitted to
exist so long? What good did it accomplish? What were its
extenuating features? Why was it commended by historians as a good
institution for the times?
It created a hardy agricultural class, inured them to the dangers
and the toils of war, bound them by local attachments, and fostered
a patriotic spirit. It developed the virtues of obedience, and
submission to evils. It created a love of home and household
duties. It was favorable to female virtue. It created the stout
yeomanry who could be relied upon in danger. It made law and order
possible. It defended the people from robbers. It laid a
foundation for warlike prowess. It was favorable to growth of
population, for war did not sweep off the people so much as those
dire plagues and pestilences which were common in the Middle Ages.
It was preferable to the disorders and conflagrations and
depredations of preceding times. The poor man was oppressed, but
he was safe so long as his lord could protect him. It was a hard
discipline, but a discipline which was healthy; it preserved the
seed if it did not bear the fruits of civilization. The peasantry
became honest, earnest, sincere. They were made susceptible of
religious impressions. They became attached to all the
institutions of the Church; the parish church was their retreat,
their consolation, and their joy. The priest held sway over the
soul and the knight over the body, but the flame of piety burned
steadily and warmly.
When the need of such an institution as Feudalism no longer
existed, then it was broken up. Its blessings were not
commensurate with its evils; but the evils were less than those
which previously existed. This is, I grant, but faint praise. But
the progress of society could not be rapid amid such universal
ignorance: it is slow in the best of times. I do not call that
state of society progressive where moral and spiritual truths are
forgotten or disregarded in the triumphs of a brilliant material
life. There was no progress of society from the Antonines to
Theodosius, but a steady decline. But there was a progress,
however slow, from Charlemagne to Philip Augustus. But for
Feudalism and ecclesiastical institutions the European races might
not have emerged from anarchy, or might have been subjected to a
new and withering imperialism. Say what we will of the grinding
despotism of Feudalism,--and we cannot be too severe on any form of
despotism,--yet the rude barbarian became a citizen in process of
time, with education and political rights.
Society made the same sort of advance, in the gloomy epoch we are
reviewing, that the slaves in our Southern States made from the time
they were imported from Africa, with their degrading fetichism and
unexampled ignorance, to the time of their emancipation. How marked
the progress of the Southern slaves during the two hundred years of
their bondage! No degraded race ever made so marked a progress as
they did in the same period, even under all the withering influences
of slavery. Probably their moral and spiritual progress was greater
than it will be in the next two hundred years, exposed to all the
dangers of modern materialism, which saps the life of nations in the
midst of the most brilliant triumphs of art. We are now on the road
to a marvellous intellectual enlightenment, unprecedented and full
of encouragement. But with this we face dangers also, such as
undermined the old Roman world and all the ancient civilizations. If
I could fix my eye on a single State or Nation in the whole history
of our humanity that has escaped these dangers, that has not
retrograded in those virtues on which the strength of man is based,
after a certain point has been reached in civilization, I would not
hazard this remark. Society escaped these evils in that
agricultural period which saw the rise and fall of Feudalism, and
made a slow but notable advance. That is a fact which cannot be
gainsaid, and this is impressive. It shows that society, in a moral
point of view, thrives better under hard restraints than when
exposed to the dangers of an irreligious, material civilization.
Nor is Feudalism to be condemned as being altogether dark and
uninteresting. It had redeeming features in the life of the
baronial family. Under its influence arose the institution of
chivalry; and though the virtues of chivalry may be poetic, and
exaggerated, there can be no doubt that it was a civilizing
institution, and partially redeemed the Middle Ages. It gave rise
to beautiful sentiments; it blazed in new virtues, rarely seen in
the old civilizations. They were peculiar to the age and to
Europe, were fostered by the Church, and took a coloring from
Christianity itself. Chivalry bound together the martial barons of
Europe by the ties of a fraternity of knights. Those armed and
mailed warriors fought on horseback, and chivalry takes its name
from the French cheval, meaning a horse. The knights learned
gradually to treat each other with peculiar courtesy. They became
generous in battle or in misfortune, for they all alike belonged to
the noble class, and felt a common bond in the pride of birth. It
was not the memory of illustrious ancestors which created this
aristocratic distinction, as among Roman patricians, but the fact
that the knights were a superior order. Yet among themselves
distinctions vanished. There was no higher distinction than that
of a gentleman. The poorest knight was welcome at any castle or at
any festivity, at the tournament or in the chase. Generally,
gallantry and unblemished reputation were the conditions of social
rank among the knights themselves. They were expected to excel in
courage, in courtesy, in generosity, in truthfulness, in loyalty.
The great patrimony of the knight was his horse, his armor, and his
valor. He was bound to succor the defenceless. He was required to
abstain from all mean pursuits. If his trade were war, he would
divest war of its cruelties. His word was seldom broken, and his
promises were held sacred. If pride of rank was generated in this
fraternity of gentlemen, so also was scorn of lies and baseness.
If there was no brotherhood of man, there was the brotherhood of
equals. The most beautiful friendships arose from common dangers
and common duties. A stranger knight was treated with the greatest
kindness and hospitality. If chivalry condemned anything, it was
selfishness and treachery and hypocrisy. All the old romances and
chronicles record the frankness and magnanimity of knights. More
was thought of moral than of intellectual excellence. Nobody was
ashamed to be thought religious. The mailed warrior said his
orisons every day and never neglected Mass. Even in war, prisoners
were released on their parole of honor, and their ransom was rarely
exorbitant. The institution tended to soften manners as well as to
develop the virtues of the heart. Under its influence the rude
baron was transformed into a courteous gentleman.
But the distinguishing glory of chivalry was devotion to the female
sex. Respect for woman was born in the German forests before the
Roman empire fell. It was the best trait of the Germanic
barbarians; but under the institution of chivalry this natural
respect was ripened into admiration and gallantry. "Love of God
and the ladies" was enjoined as a single duty. The knight ever
came to the rescue of a woman in danger or distress, provided she
was a lady. Nothing is better attested than the chivalric devotion
to woman in a feudal castle. The name of a mistress of the heart
was never mentioned but in profound respect. Even pages were
required to choose objects of devotion, to whom they were to be
loyal unto death. Woman presided in the feudal castle, where she
exercised a proper, restraint. She bestowed the prize of valor at
tournaments and tilts. To insult a lady was a lasting disgrace,--
or to reveal her secrets. For the first time in history, woman
became the equal partner of her husband. She was his companion
often in the chase, gaily mounted on her steed. She always dined
with him, and was the presiding genius of the castle. She was made
regent of kingdoms, heir of crowns, and joint manager of great
estates. She had the supreme management of her household, and was
consulted in every matter of importance. What an insignificant
position woman filled at Athens compared with that in the feudal
castle! How different the estimate of woman among the Pagan poets
from that held by the Provencal poets! What a contrast to Juvenal
is Sordello! The lady of a baronial hall deemed it an insult to be
addressed in the language of gallantry, except in that vague and
poetic sense in which every knight selected some lady as the object
of his dutiful devotion. She disdained the attentions of the most
potent prince if his addresses were not honorable. Nor would she
bestow her love on one of whom she was not proud. She would not
marry a coward or a braggart, even if he were the owner of ten
thousand acres. The knight was encouraged to pay his address to
any lady if he was personally worthy of her love, for chivalry
created a high estimate of individual merit. The feudal lady
ignored all degrees of wealth within her own rank. She was as
tender and compassionate as she was heroic. She was treated as a
superior, rather than as an equal. There was a poetical admiration
among the whole circle of knights. A knight without an object of
devotion was as "a ship without a rudder, a horse without a bridle,
a sword without a hilt, a sky without a star." Even a Don Quixote
must have his Dulcinea, as well as horse and armor and squire.
Dante impersonates the spirit of the Middle Ages in his adoration
of Beatrice. The ancient poets coupled the praises of women with
the praises of wine. Woman, under the influence of chivalry,
became the star of worship, an object of idolatry. We read of few
divorces in the Middle Ages, or of separations, or desertions, or
even alienations; these things are a modern improvement, borrowed
from the customs of the Romans. The awe and devotion with which
the lover regarded his bride became regard and affection in the
husband. The matron maintained the rank which had been assigned to
her as a maiden. The gallant Warriors blended even the adoration
of our Lord with adoration of our Lady,--the deification of Christ
with the glorification of woman. Chivalry, encouraged by the
Church and always strongly allied with religious sentiments,
accepted for eternal veneration the transcendent loveliness of the
mother of our Lord; so that chivalric veneration for the sex
culminated in the reverence which belongs to the Queen of Heaven,--
virgo fidelis; regina angelorum. Woman assumed among kings and
barons the importance which she was supposed to have in the
celestial hierarchy. And besides the religious influence, the
poetic imagination of the time seized upon this pure and lovely
element, which passed into the songs, the tales, the talk, the
thought, and the aspirations of all the knightly order.
Whence, now, this veneration for woman which arose in the Middle
Ages,--a veneration, which all historians attest, such as never
existed in the ancient civilization?
It was undoubtedly based on the noble qualities and domestic
virtues which feudal life engendered. Women were heroines. Queen
Philippa in the absence of her husband stationed herself in the
Castle of Bamborough and defied the whole power of Douglas. The
first military dispatch ever written in the Middle Ages was
addressed to her; she even took David of Scotland a prisoner, when
he invaded England. These women of chivalry were ready to undergo
any fatigues to promote their husbands' interests. They were equal
to any personal sacrifices. Nothing could daunt their courage.
They could defend themselves in danger, showing an extraordinary
fertility of resources. They earned the devotion they called out.
What more calculated to win the admiration of feudal warriors than
this devotion and bravery on the part of wives and daughters! They
were helpmates in every sense. They superintended the details of
castles. They were always employed, and generally in what were
imperative duties. If they embroidered dresses or worked
tapestries, they also wove the cloth for their husband's coats, and
made his shirts and knit his stockings. If they trained hawks and
falcons, they fed the poultry and cultivated the flowers. They
understood the cares of the kitchen, and managed the servants.
But it was their moral virtues which excited the greatest esteem.
They gloried in their unsullied names their characters were above
suspicion. Any violation of the marriage vow was almost unknown;
an unfaithful wife was infamous. The ordinary life of a castle was
that of isolation, which made women discreet, self-relying; and
free from entangling excitements. They had no great pleasures, and
but little society. They were absorbed with their duties, and
contented with their husbands' love. The feudal castle, however,
was not dull, although it was isolated, and afforded few novelties.
It was full of strangers, and minstrels, and bards, and pedlars,
and priests. Women could gratify their social wants without
seductive excitements. They led a life favorable to friendships,
which cannot thrive amid the distractions of cities. In cities few
have time to cultivate friendships, although they may not be
extinguished. In the baronial castle, however, they were necessary
to existence.
And here, where she was so well known, woman's worth was
recognized. Her caprices and frivolities were balanced by sterling
qualities,--as a nurse in sickness, as a devotee to duties, as a
friend in distress, ever sympathetic and kind. She was not
exacting, and required very little to amuse her. Of course, she
was not intellectual, since she read but few books and received
only the rudiments of education; but she was as learned as her
brothers, and quicker in her wits. She had the vivacity which a
healthy life secures. Nor was she beautiful, according to our
standard. She was a ruddy, cheerful, active, healthy woman,
accustomed to exercise in the open air,--to field-sports and
horseback journeys. Still less was she what we call fashionable,
for the word was not known; nor was she a woman of society, for, as
we have said, there was no society in a feudal castle. What we
call society was born in cities, where women reign by force of mind
and elegant courtesies and grace of manners,--where woman is an
ornament as well as a power, without drudgeries and almost without
cares, as at the courts of the Bourbon princes.
Yet I am not certain but that the foundation of courtly elegance
and dignity was laid in the baronial home, when woman began her
reign as the equal of her wedded lord, when she commanded reverence
for her courtesies and friendships, and when her society was valued
so highly by aristocratic knights. In the castle she became genial
and kind and sympathetic,--although haughty to inferiors and hard
on the peasantry. She was ever religious. Religious duties took
up no small part of her time. Christianity raised her more than
all other influences combined. You never read of an infidel woman
when chivalry flourished, any more than of a "strong-minded" woman.
The feudal woman never left her sphere, even amid the pleasures of
the chase or the tilt. Her gentle and domestic virtues remained
with her to the end, and were the most prized. Woman was
worshipped because she was a woman, not because she resembled a
man. Benevolence and compassion and simplicity were her cardinal
virtues. Though her sports were masculine, her character was
feminine. She yielded to man in matters of reason and intellect,
but he yielded to her in the virtues of the heart and the radiance
of the soul. She associated with man without seductive spectacles
or demoralizing excitements, and retained her influence by securing
his respect. In antiquity, there was no respect for the sex, even
when Aspasia enthralled Pericles by the fascinations of blended
intellect and beauty; but there was respect in the feudal ages,
when women were unlettered and unpolished. And this respect was
alike the basis of friendship and the key to power. It was not
elegance of manners, nor intellectual culture, nor physical beauty
which elevated the women of chivalry, but their courage, their
fidelity, their sympathy, their devotion to duty,--qualities which
no civilization ought to obscure, and for the loss of which no
refinements of life can make up.
Thus Chivalry,--the most interesting institution of the Middle
Ages, rejoicing in deeds of daring, guided by honor and renown,
executing enterprises almost extravagant, battling injustice and
wrong, binding together the souls of a great fraternity, scorning
lies, revering truth, devoted to the Church,--could not help
elevating the sex to which its proudest efforts were pledged, by
cherishing elevated conceptions of love, by offering all the
courtesies of friendship, by coming to the rescue of innocence, by
stimulating admiration of all that is heroic, and by asserting the
honor of the loved ones, even at the risk of life and limb. In the
dark ages of European society woman takes her place, for the first
time in the world, as the equal and friend of man, not by physical
beauty, not by graces of manner, not even by intellectual culture,
but by the solid virtues of the heart, brought to light by danger,
isolation, and practical duties, and by that influence which
radiated from the Cross. Divest chivalry of the religious element,
and you take away its glory and its fascination. The knight would
be only a hard-hearted warrior, oppressing the poor and miserable,
and only interesting from his deeds of valor. But Christianity
softened him and made him human, while it dignified the partner of
his toils, and gave birth to virtues which commanded reverence.
The soul of chivalry, closely examined, in its influence over men
or over women, after all, was that power which is and will be
through all the ages the hope and glory of our world.
Thus with all the miseries, cruelties, injustices, and hardships of
feudal life, there were some bright spots showing that Providence
never deserts the world, and that though progress may be slow in
the infancy of races, yet with the light of Christianity, even if
it be darkened, this progress is certain, and will be more and more
rapid as Christianity achieves its victories.