CHAPTER XXII
FEUDALISM AND KNIGHTHOOD
Feudal and Christian Origin of Knightly Virtue; the Order of the Temple; Godfrey of Bouillon; St. Louis; Froissart's Chronicles
The world is evil! the clergy corrupt, the laity depraved!
none denounces them! Awake! arise! be mindful! Such
ceaseless cry rises more shrilly in times of reform and
progress. It was the cry of the preacher in the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries, when preaching was reviving with the
general advance of life.
Satire and pious invective struck at all classes: kings,
counts and knights, merchants, tradesmen, artisans, even
villain-serfs, came under its lash. And properly, since every class is touched with universal human vices, besides those which are more peculiar to its special way of life.
All men fall below the standards of the time; and each class fails with respect to its own ideals. The special shortcomings are most apparent with those classes whose ideals
are most definitely formulated.
Among the laity the gap between the ideal and the
actual may best be observed in the warrior class whose
ideals accorded with the feudal situation and tended to
express themselves in chivalry. Not that knights and ladies
were better or worse than other mediaeval men and women.
But literature contains clearer statements of their ideals.
The knightly virtues range before us as distinctly as the
monastic; and harsh is the contrast between the character
they outline and the feudal actuality of cruelty and greed
and lust. Feudalism itself presents everywhere a state of
contrast between its principles of mutual fidelity and
protection, and its actuality of oppression, revolt, and
private war.
The feudal system was a sprawling conglomerate fact.
The actual usages of chivalry (the term is loose and must
be allowed gradually to define itself) were one expression of
it, and varied with the period and country. But chivalry
had its home also in the imagination, and its most interesting
media are legend and romantic fiction. Still, much that
was romantic in it sprang from the aggregate of law,
custom, and sentiment, which held feudal society together.
Chivalry was the fine flower of honour growing from this
soil, embosomed in an abundant leafage of imagination.
The feudal system was founded on relations and
sentiments arising from a state of turbulence where every
man needed the protection of a lord: it could not fail to
foster sentiments of fealty. The fief itself, the feudal unit
of land held on condition of homage and service, symbolized
the principle of mutual troth between lord and vassal. The
land was part of mother earth; the troth, the elemental
personal tie, existed from of yore. In this instance it came
from the German forests. But the feudal system of land
tenure also stretched its roots back into the rural institutions
of the disintegrating Roman Empire. In the fifth century,
for example, when what was left of the imperial rule could
no longer enforce order, and provincial governments were
decaying with the decay of the central power from which they drew their life, men had to look about them for
protection. It became customary for men to hand over land
and liberty to some near lord, and enter into a relationship
akin to serfage in return for protection. Thus the Gallo-Roman population were becoming accustomed to personal dependence even while the Merovingians were establishing their kingdom.
On their side the Franks and other Teutons had inherited
the institution of the comitatus, which bound the young
warrior to his chief. They were familiar with exacting
modes of personal retainership, which merged the follower's
freedom in his lord's will. If during the reigns of Pepin
and his prodigious son the development of local dominion
and dependence was held in some abeyance, on the death of
Charlemagne it would proceed apace. All the factors which
tend to make institutions out of abuses and the infractions
of earlier custom, sprang at once into activity in the renewed
confusion. Everything served to increase the lesser man's
need of defence, weld his dependence on his lord, and
augment the latter's power. Moreover, long before
Charlemagne's time, not only for protection in this life, but for the
sake of their souls, men had been granting their lands to
monasteries and receiving back the use thereof—such
usufruct being known as a beneficium. This custom lent the
force of its example and manifest utility to the relations
between lay lords and tenants. And finally one notes the
frequent grant to monasteries and individuals of immunity
from governmental visitation, a grant preventing the king's
officers from entering lands in order to exercise the king's
justice, or exact fines and requisitions.
From out of such conditions the feudal system gradually
took form. Its central feature was the tenure of a fief by a
vassal from his lord on condition of rendering faithful
military and other not ignoble service. As the tenth century
passed, fiefs tended to become hereditary. So long as the
vassal fulfilled his duty to his lord, the rights of the lord
over the land were nominal; more substantial was the
mutual obligation—on the part of the lord to protect his vassal against the violence of others, and on the vassal's part
to make good the homage pledged by him when he knelt
and placed his hands within his lord's hands and vowed
himself his lord's man for the fief he held. His duty was to
aid his lord against enemies, yield him counsel and assistance in the judgment of causes, and pay money to ransom
him from captivity, knight his eldest son, or portion his
daughter. The ramifications of these feudal tenures and
obligations extended, with all manner of complications, from
king and duke down to such as held the meagre fief that
barely kept man and war-horse from degrading labour. All
these made up the feudal class whose members might expect
to become knights on reaching manhood.
Neither this system of land tenure, nor the sentiments
and relations sustaining it, drew their origin from Christianity.
But the Church was mighty in its influence over the secular
relationships of those who came under its spiritual guidance.
Feudal troth was to become Christianized. The old regard
for war-chief and war-comrade was to be broadened through
the Faith's solicitude for all believers; then it was raised
above the human sphere to fealty toward God and His
Church; and thereupon it was gentled through Christian
meekness and mercy.
This Christianized spirit of fealty, broadening to
courtesy and pity, was to take visible form in a universal
Order into which members of the feudal class were admitted
when their valour had been proved, and into which brave
deeds might bring even a low-born man. Gradually, as the
Order's regula, a code of knighthood's honour was developed,
valid in its fundamentals throughout western Christendom;
but varying details and changing fancies from time to time
intruded, just as subsequent phases of monastic development
were grafted on the common Benedictine rule.
Investing a young warrior with the arms of manhood
has always in fighting communities been the normal
ceremony of the youth's coming of age and his recognition
as a member of the clan. The binding on of the young
Teuton's sword in the assembly of his people was an
historical antecedent of the making of a knight. In all the
lands of western Europe—France, Germany, Anglo-Saxon England, Lombard Italy, and Visigothic Spain—this
ceremony appears to have remained a simple one through
the ninth and tenth centuries. As for the eleventh, one
may note the following passages: William of Malmesbury
(d. 1142 cir.) speaks of William of Normandy receiving the
insignia of knighthood (militiae insignia) from the King
of France as soon as his years permitted. Henry of
Huntington (d. 1155) says that this same William the
Conqueror, in the nineteenth year of his reign, invested his
younger son Henry with the arms of manhood (virilibus induit armis); while another chronicler says that Prince
Henry: "sumpsit arma in Pentecostem"—a festival at which
it was customary to make knights. And again, Ordericus
Vitalis says of the armour-bearer of Duke William that after
five years' service he was by that same duke regularly
invested with his arms and made a knight (decenter est armis adornatus et miles effectus).
These short references do not indicate the nature of
the ceremony. But one notes the use of the Latin words
miles and militia as meaning knight and knighthood. Like
so many other classical words, miles took various meanings
in the Middle Ages. But it came commonly to signify
knight, chevalier, or ritter. And whatever other meanings
militia and militare retained or acquired, they signified
knighthood and the performance of its duties. Frequently
they suggested the relationship of vassal to a lord: and in
this sense miles meant one who held a fief under the
obligation to do knightly service in return.
But how did this word miles (which in classical Latin
meant a soldier and sometimes specifically a foot-soldier as
contrasted with an eques) come to mean a knight? It was
first applied to the warriors of the various Teutonic peoples,
who for the most part fought on foot. But the wars with
the Saracens in the eighth century appear to have made
clear the need of a large and efficient corps of horse. From
the time of Charles Martel the warrior class began to fight regularly on horseback; and thus, apparently, the term
miles began to signify primarily one of these tried and well-armed riders. Such were the very ones who would
regularly be invested with their arms on reaching manhood.
Many of them had inherited the sentiments of fealty to a
chief, and probably were vassals of some lord from whom
they had received lands to be held on military tenure.
They were not all noble (an utterly loose term with
reference to these early confused centuries) nor were they
necessarily free (another inappropriate term with respect to
these incipiently mediaeval social conditions). But their
mainly military duties would naturally develop into a
retainer's relationship of fealty.
The ninth century passes into the tenth, the tenth into
the eleventh, the eleventh into the twelfth. Classes and
orders of society become more distinct. The old warrior
groups have become lords and vassals, and compose the
feudal class whose members upon maturity are formally girt
with the arms of manhood, and thereupon become knights.
The ceremony of their investiture has been gradually made
more impressive; it has also been imbued with religious
sentiment and elaborated with religious rite. It now
constitutes the initiation to a universally recognized fighting
Order which has its knightly code of honour, if not its
knightly duties. In a word, along with the clearer
determination of its membership, and the elaboration of the
ceremonies of entry or "adoubement," knighthood has
become a distinct conception and has attained existence as an Order. And an Order it remains, into which one is
admitted, but into which no one is born, though he be
hereditary king or duke or count. Moreover, although the
candidates normally would be of the feudal class, the Order
is not closed against knightly merit in whomsoever found.
Of course there was no written regula or charter, except of
certain special Orders. Yet there was no uncertainty as to
who was or was not a knight.
A knight could be "made" or "dubbed" at any time,
for example, on the field of battle or before the fight. But
certain festivals of the Church, Christmas, Easter, and
Pentecost, came to be regarded as peculiarly appropriate for
the ceremony. Any knight, but no unknighted person
however high his rank, could "dub" another knight. This appears to have been the universal rule, and yet it suffered infringements. For example, at a late period a king might claim the right to confirm the bestowal of knighthood, which
in fact commonly was bestowed by a great lord or sovereign
prince. On its negative side, the general rule may be said
to have been infringed when Church dignitaries, no longer
content with blessing the arms of the young warrior, usurped
the secular privilege of investing him with them and dubbing
him a knight.
The ceremony itself probably originated in the girding
on of the sword. As these warriors in time changed to
mounted riders with elaborate arms and armour, it became
more of an affair to invest them fully with their equipment.
There would be the putting on of helm and coat of mail,
and there would be the binding on of spurs; and at some
time it became customary for the youth to prepare himself
by a bath. But girding on the sword was still the important
point, although perhaps the somewhat enigmatical blow,
given by him who conferred the dignity, and not to be
returned (non repercutiendus), became the finish to the
ceremony. That blow existed (we find it in the Chansons de geste) in the twelfth century as a thwack with the fist on
the young man's bare neck; then in course of years it
refined itself into a gentle sword-tap on the mailed shoulder.
At an early period the Church sought to sanctify the
ceremony through religious rites; for it could not remain
unconcerned with the consecration of the warriors of
Christendom, whose services were needed and whose souls
were to be saved. What time so apt for inculcating
obedience and other Christian virtues as this solemn hour
when the young warrior's nature was stirred with the pride
and hopes of knighthood? And the young knight needed
the Church's blessing. Heathen peoples sought in every
enterprise the protection of their gods, usually obtained
through priestly magic. And when converted to the faith
of Christ, should they not call on Him who was mightier
than Odin? Should not His power be invoked to shield the
Christian knight? Will not the sword which the priest has
blessed and has laid upon Christ's miracle-working altar,
more surely guard the wearer's life? Better still if there be
blessed relics in its hilt. The dying Roland speaks to his
great sword:
"O Durendel cum ies bele et seintisme!"
"O Durendel how art thou fair and holy! In thy hilt
what store of relics: tooth of St. Peter, blood of St. Basil,
hairs of my lord St. Denis, cloth worn by the Holy Mary."
These relics made the "holiness" of that sword, not in the
way of sentiment, but through their magic power. And we
shall not be thinking in mediaeval categories if we lose sight
of the magic-religious effect of the priest's blessing on the
novice's sword: it is a protection for the future knight.
Doubtless the religious features of the "adoubement"
revert to various epochs. The ancient watch-nights
preceding Easter and Pentecost, followed at daybreak by the
baptism of white-robed catechumens, may have been the
original of the novice's night vigil over his arms laid by the altar. His bath had become a symbol of purification from
sin. He heard Mass in the early morning, and then came
the blessing of the sword, the benedictio ensis, of which the
oldest extant formula is found in a Roman manuscript of
the early eleventh century: "Exaudi, quaeso, Domine, preces
nostras, et hunc ensem quo hic famulus N. se circumcingi
desiderat, majestatis tuae dextera benedicere dignare."
Through the Middle Ages the fashions of feudalism did
not remain unchanged; likewise its quintessential spirit.
chivalry, was modified, and one may say, between the ninth
and the fourteenth centuries, passed from barbarism to
preciosity. Nevertheless the main ideals of chivalry endured,
springing as they did from the fundamental and but
slowly-changing conditions of feudal society. Since that society
was constantly at war, the first virtue of the knight was
valour. Next, since life and property hung on mutual aid
and troth, and a larger safety was ensured if one lord could
rely upon his neighbour's word, the virtues of truth-speaking
and troth-keeping took their places in the chivalric ideal.
Another useful quality, and means of winning men, was
generosity (largesse.) When coin is scarce, and stipulations
for fixed pay unusual, he who serves looks for liberality,
which, in accordance with feudal conditions, made the third
of the chief knightly virtues.
Valour, troth, largesse, had no necessary connection with Christianity. It was otherwise with certain of the
remaining qualities of a knight. According to Christian
teaching, pride was the deadliest of sins. So haughtiness,
boasting, and vain-glory were to be held vices by the
Christian knight. He should show a humble demeanour,
save toward the mortal enemies of God; and far from
boasting, he should rather depreciate himself and his
exploits, though never lowering the standard of his purpose
to achieve. Humility entered knighthood's ideal from
Christianity; and so perhaps did courtesy, its kin, a virtue
which was not among the earliest to enter knighthood's ideal,
and yet reached universal recognition.
Christianity also meant active charity, beneficence, and
love of neighbour. These are virtues hard to import into a
state of war. Fighting means harm-doing to an enemy;
and only indirectly makes for some one's good. Let there
be some vindication of good in the fighting of a Christian
knight: he shall be quick to right the wrong, succour
distress, and quickest to bear help where no reward can
come. Since knighthood's ideals took form in crusading
times, the slaughter of the Paynim became the supreme act
of knightly warfare.
If such elements of the knightly ideal were of Christian
origin, others still were even more closely part of mediaeval
Christianity. First of these was faith, orthodox faith,
heresy-uprooting, infidel-destroying, fides in the full Church
sense. Without faith's sacramental credentials—baptism,
participation in the mass—no one could be a knight: and
heresy degrades the recreant even before the scullion's
cleaver hacks off his spurs.
From faith knighthood advances to obedience to the
Church, a vow expressly made by every knight on taking
the Cross, and also incorporated in the Constitutions of the
crusading Orders of Templars and Hospitallers. But does
the knight pass on from obedience to chastity? This virtue
might or might not enter knighthood's ideal. It scarcely
could exist with courtly or chivalric love; a and, in fact, knights commonly were either lovers or married men—or
both. Yet even in the Arthurian literature there is the
monkish Galahad, and many a sinful knight becomes a
hermit in the end; and among real and living knights, the
Templars and Hospitallers were vowed to celibacy. In
these crusading orders the orbits of knighthood and
monasticism cross; and it will not be altogether a digression
to review the foundation and constitution of one of them.
The Order of the Temple was founded in the year 1118
by Hugh of Payns (Champagne) and other French knights;
who placed their hands within those of the Patriarch of
Jerusalem, and vowed to devote themselves to the protection
of pilgrims in the Holy Land. Probably they also bestowed
their lands for the support of the nascent Order. Ten
years afterwards Hugh passed through France and England,
winning new recruits and appearing at the Council of
Troyes. With the authority of that Council and of Pope
Honorius II. the Regula pauperum commilitonum Christi Templique Salomonici was promulgated. St. Bernard, to whom
it is ascribed, was in large part its inspiration and its author.
It still exists in some seventy-two chapters; but one cannot
distinguish between those belonging to the original document
of 1128 and those added somewhat later.
This regula with its amendments and additions was
translated from Latin into Old French (par excellence the
tongue of the Crusades), and became apparently the earliest
form of the Regle dou Temple, upon which was grafted a
mass of ordinances (retrais et establissemens). Apparently
the whole of the extant Latin regula was prior to everything
contained in the French regle; and accordingly we shall
simply regard the Latin as containing the earliest regulations
of the Temple, and the French as exhibiting the modifications
of tone and interest which came in the course of
years.
The hand of St. Bernard ensured the dominance of the
monastic temper in the original regula; and Hugo, the first Master of the Temple, could not have been the Saint's close
friend without sharing his enthusiasms. So the prologue
opens with a true monastic note:
"Our word is directed primarily to all who despise their own
wills, and with purity of mind desire to serve under the supreme
and veritable King; and with minds intent choose the noble
warfare of obedience, and persevere therein. We therefore exhort
you who until now have embraced secular knighthood (miliciam secularem) where Christ was not the cause, and whom God in His
mercy has chosen out of the mass of perdition for the defence of
the holy Church, to hasten to associate yourselves perpetually."
This phraseology would suit the constitution of a sheer
monastic order. And the first chapter exhorts these venerabiles fratres who renounce their own wills and serve the King (Christ)
with horses and arms, zealously to observe all the religious
services regularly prescribed for monks. The regula
contains the usual monastic commands. For example, obedience
to the Master of the Order is enjoined sine mora as if
God were commanding, which recalls the language of St.
Benedict. Clothes are regulated, and diet; habitual silence
is recommended; the brethren are not to go alone, nor at
their own will, but as directed by the Master, so as to
imitate Him who said, I came not to do mine own will, but
His who sent me. Again, chests with locks are forbidden
the brothers, except under special permission; nor may any
brother, without like permission, receive letters from parents
or friends; and then they should be read in the Master's
presence. Let the brethren shun idle speech, and above all
let no brother talk with another of military exploits, "follies
rather," achieved by him while "in the world," or of his
doings with miserable women. Let no brother hunt with
hawks; such mundane delectations do not befit the religious,
who should be rather hearing God's precepts, and at prayer,
or confessing their sins with tears. Yet the lion may always
be hunted; for he goes seeking whom he may devour.
The religio professed by the Templars is called, in the
Latin rule, religio militaris, which the French translates "religion de chevalerie," not incorrectly, but with somewhat
different flavour.
"This new genus religionis, as we believe, by divine providence
began with you in the Holy Land, a religio in which you mingle
chivalry (milicia). Thus this armed religion may advance
through chivalry, and smite the enemy without incurring sin.
Rightfully then we decree that you shall be called knights of the
Temple (milites Templi) and may hold houses, lands and men,
and possess serfs and justly rule them."
The pomp of the last sentence seems to remove from
the tone of the earlier chapters, and suggests a later date.
Another, possibly late, chapter (66) permits the knights to
receive tithes, since they have abandoned their riches for
spontaneae paupertati. Still another accords to married
men a qualified admission to the brotherhood, but they may
not wear the white robe and mantle (55). The next
forbids the admission of sorores; and the last chapter of all
(72) warns against the sight of women, and forbids the
brethren to kiss one, be she widow, virgin, mother, sister or
friend.
Thus the Latin regula formulates an order of
monasticism with only the modifications imperatively
demanded by the exigencies of holy warfare. The French
regle elaborates the military organization and enhances the
chivalric element. This begins to appear in the portions
which are a translation (usually quite close) of the Latin
rule. But even that translation makes changes, for example,
omitting the period of probation required in the Latin text,
before admitting a brother to the Order. A striking
change was made by the later French ordinances in the
interrogations and proceedings for admission. The Latin
formula begins in Cistercian phrase:
"Vis abrenunciare seculo?
"Volo.
"Vis profiteri obedientiam secundum canonicam institutionem et secundum preceptum domini papae?
"Volo.
"Vis assumere tibi conversationem (the monastic mode and change of life) fratrum nostrorum?
"Volo."
And so forth.
The substance of these and other questions was retained
in the far longer French formula, which exacted specific
promises of compliance with all the Order's ordinances.
But far removed from the original are such questions as the
following: "Biau dous amis" (the ordinary phrase of the
chivalric romance) have you, or has any one for you, made
any promise to any one in return for his aid in procuring
your admission, which would be simony? "Estes vos
chevalier et fis de chevalier?"
Is the candidate a knight, and son of knight and lady, and
are his "peres … de lignage de chevaliers"? This means
chivalry and gentle blood; and if the candidate answers in
the negative, he cannot be admitted as a knight of the
Temple, although he may be as "sergent," or in some other
character. Most noble and courtly is the phrasing of these
statutes. Their frequent "Beaus seignors freres" is the
address proper for knights rather than monks.
Usually wherever the translation of the Latin regula
ends, the Regle dou Temple passes on to provisions meeting
the requirements of a military, rather than a monastic order.
We enter upon such in the chapters governing the powers
and privileges of the (Grand) Master, of the Seneschal, of
the Marshal, of the "Comandeor de la terre de Jerusalem."
Many sections have to do with military discipline, with the
ordering of the knights and their followers on the march and
in the battle; they forbid the knights to joust or leave the
squadron without orders. Horses, armour, and accoutrements are regulated, and, in short, full provision is made for
everything conducing to make the army efficient in war.
There is also a long list of faults and crimes for which a
knight may be disciplined or expelled; the latter shall be his punishment if he flee before the Saracens and forsake
his standard in battle.
The history of the Templars, significantly epitomized in
the amendments to their regula, shows the necessary as well
as inevitable secularization of a military monastic order; an
order which for the purposes of this chapter may be placed
among the chief historical examples of chivalry. For in
this chapter we are not straying through the pleasant mazes
of romantic literature, but are keeping close to history, with
the intention of drawing from it illustrations of chivalry's
ideals. We shall not, however, enter further upon the story
of the Order of the Temple, with its valorous and rapacious
achievements and most tragic end; but will rather look to
the careers of historic individuals for the illumination of our
theme.
Reaching form and consciousness in the eleventh and
twelfth centuries, chivalry became part of the crusading ardour
of those times. All true knights were or might be
Crusaders; and of a truth there was no purer incarnation
of the crusading spirit than Godfrey of Bouillon, that figure
of veritable if somewhat slender historicity, upon whom in
time chronicler and trouvère alike were to fasten as the
true hero of the enterprise that won Jerusalem. And so he
was. Not that Godfrey was commander of the host. He
was not even its most energetic or most capable leader.
Boemund of Tarentum and Raymond of Toulouse were his
superiors in power and military energy. But neither
Boemund, nor Tancred, nor Raymond, nor any other of those
princes of Christendom, was what Godfrey appears to us, the
type and symbol of the perfect, single-hearted, crusading
knight, fighting solely for the Faith, with Christian devotion
and humility, and, like them all, with more than Christian
wrath. The First Crusade (1096-1099) was stamped with
hatred and slaughter: on the dreadful march, at the more
dreadful siege and final sack of Antioch, and finally when
the holy sepulchre's defilement was washed out in Saracen
blood. And there was no slaughterer more eager than
Godfrey.
The cruelty and religious fervour of the Crusade are rendered in the words of Raymond of Agiles, one of the
clergy in the train of Count Raymond of Toulouse, and an
eye-witness of the capture of Jerusalem. After days of
despairing struggle to effect a breach, success came as by
the mercy of God:
"Among the first to enter was Tancred and the Duke of
Lothringia (Godfrey), who on that day shed quantities of blood
almost beyond belief. After them, the host mounted the walls, and
now the Saracens suffered. Yet although the city was all but in
the hands of the Franks, the Saracens resisted the party of Count
Raymond as if they were never going to be taken. But when our
men had mastered the walls of the city and the towers, then
wonderful things were to be seen. Numbers of the Saracens were
beheaded—which was the easiest for them; others were shot with
arrows, or forced to jump from the towers; others were slowly
tortured and were burned in flames. In the streets and open
places of the town were seen piles of heads and hands and feet.
One rode about everywhere amid the corpses of men and horses.
But these were small matters! Let us go to Solomon's temple,
where they were wont to chant their rites and solemnities. What
had been done there? If we speak the truth we exceed belief:
let this suffice. In the temple and porch of Solomon one rode in
blood up to the knees and even to the horses' bridles by the just
and marvellous Judgment of God, in order that the same place
which so long had endured their blasphemies against Him should
receive their blood."
So the Crusaders wrought; and what joy did they feel!
Raymond continues:
"When the city was taken it was worth the whole long labour
to witness the devotion of the pilgrims to the sepulchre of the
Lord, how they clapped their hands, exulted, and sang a new song
unto the Lord. For their hearts presented to God, victor and
triumphant, vows of praise which they were unable to explain. A
new day, new joy and exultation, new and perpetual gladness, the
consummation of toil and devotion drew forth from all new words,
new songs. This day, I say, glorious in every age to come, turned
all our griefs and toils into joy and exultation."
So new songs of gladness burst from the hearts of the
soldiers of the Cross. In a few days the princes made an
election, and offered the kingdom to Count Raymond: he declined. Then Godfrey was made king; though he would
not be crowned, nor would he ever wear a crown where his
Lord had worn a crown of thorns. As a servant of Christ
and of His Church he fought and ruled some short months
till his death. His fame has grown because his heart was
pure, and because, among the knights, he represented most
perfectly the religious impulse of this crusade which fought
its way through blood, until it poured out its new song of
joy over the blood-drenched city. He errs who thinks to
find the source and power of the First Crusade elsewhere
than in the flaming zeal of feudal Christianity. There was
doubtless much divergence of motive, secular and religious;
but over-mastering and unifying all was the passion to wrest
the sepulchre of Christ from paynim defilement, and thus
win salvation for the Crusader. Greed went with the host,
but it did not inspire the enterprise.
Doubtless the stories of returning knights awakened a
spirit of romantic adventure, which stirred in later crusading
generations. It was not so in the eleventh century when
the First Crusade was gathering. The romantic imagination
was then scarcely quickened; adventure was still
inarticulate, and the literature of adventure for the venture's
sake was yet to be created. So the First Crusade, with its
motive of religious zeal, is in some degree distinguishable
from those which followed when knighthood was in different
flower. If not the Crusades themselves, at least the
Chansons of the trouvères who sang of them, follow a change
corresponding with the changing taste of chivalry: they
begin with serious matters, and are occupied with the great
enterprise; then they become adventurous in theme,
romantic, till at last even romantic love is infelicitously
grafted upon the religious rage that won Jerusalem.
This process of change may be traced in the growth of
the legends of the First Crusade and Godfrey of Bouillon.
Something was added to his career even by the Latin
Chronicles of fifty years later. But his most venturesome
development is to be found in those French Chansons de geste which have been made into the "Cycle" of the First
Crusade. Two of these, the Chansons of Antioche and
Jerusalem, were originally composed by a contemporary, if not a participant in the expedition. They were refashioned
perhaps seventy-five or a hundred years later, in the reign
of Philip Augustus, by another trouvère, who still kept their
old tone and substance. They remained poetic narratives of
the holy war. In them the knights are fierce and bloody,
cruel and sometimes greedy; but their whole emprise makes
onward to the end in view, the winning of the holy
city. These poems are epic and not romantic: they may
even be called historical. The character of Godfrey is
developed with legendary or epic propriety, through a
heightening of his historic qualities. He equals or excels
the other barons in fierce valour, and yet a touch of courtesy
tempers his wrath. In Christian meekness and in modesty
he surpasses all, and he refuses the throne of Jerusalem
until he has been commanded from on high. At that he
accepts the kingdom as a sacred charge in defence of which
he is to die.
It is otherwise with a number of other chansons
composed in the latter part of the twelfth and through
the thirteenth century. Some of them (the Chanson des chétifs, for example) had probably to do with the First
Crusade. Others, like the various poems which tell of the
Chevalier au Cygne, were inaptly forced into connection with
the family of Godfrey. They have become adventurous,
and are studded with irrelevant marvels, rather than assisted
to their denouements by serious supernatural intervention.
Monsters appear, and incongruous romantic episodes;
Godfrey's ancestor has become the Swan-knight, and he
himself duplicates the exploits previously ascribed to that
half-fairy person. Knightly manners, from brutal have
become courteous. Women throng these poems, and the
romantic love of women enters, although not in the finished
guise in which it plays so dominant a rôle in the Arthurian
Cycle. Such themes, unknown to the earlier crusading
chansons, would have fitted ill with a martial theme driving
on through war and carnage (not through "adventures")
to the holy end in view.
The Crusades open with the form of Godfrey of Bouillon.
A century and a half elapses and they deaden to a close
beneath the futile radiance of a saintlike and perfect
knightly personality. St Louis of France is as clear a
figure as any in the Middle Ages. From all sides his life is
known. We see him as a painstaking sovereign meting out
even justice, and maintaining his royal rights against feudal
turbulence and also against ecclesiastical encroachment.
During his reign the monarchy of France continues to
advance in power and repute. And yet there was no jot of
worldly wisdom, and scant consideration of a realm sorely
needing its ruler, in the Quixotic religious devotion which
drew him twice across the sea on crusades unparalleled
in their foolishness. For the world was growing wiser
politically; and what was glorious feudal enthusiasm in the
year 1099, was deliberate disregard of experience in the
years 1248 and 1270.
Yet who would have had St. Louis wiser in his
generation? The loss to France was mankind's gain, from
the example of saintly king and perfect knight, kept bright
in the narratives of men equal to the task. Louis was
happy in his biographers. Two among them knew him
intimately and in ways affording special opportunities to
observe the sides of his character congenial to their respective
tempers. One was his confessor for twenty years, the
Dominican Geoffrey of Beaulieu; the other was the Sire
de Joinville. Geoffrey's Vita records Louis' devotions;
Joinville's Histoire notes the king's piety; but the qualities
which it illuminates are those of a French gentleman and
knight and grand seigneur, like Joinville himself.
The book of the Dominican is not picturesque. It
opens with an edifying comparison between King Josiah
and King Louis. Then it praises the king's mother, Queen
Blanche of pious memory. As for Louis, the confessor has
been unable to discover that he ever committed a mortal
sin: he sought faithful and wise counsellors; he was careful
and gracious in speech, never using an oath or any
scurrilous expression. In earlier years, when under the necessity of taking oath, he would say, "In nomine mei";
but afterwards, hearing that some religious man had objected
to this, he restricted his asseverations to the "est, est" and
"non, non" of the Gospel.
From the time he first crossed the sea, he wore no
scarlet raiment, but clothed himself in sober garments.
And as such were of less value to give to the poor than
those which he had formerly worn, he added sixty pounds a
year to his almsgiving; for he did not wish the poor to
suffer because of his humble dress. Geoffrey gives the long
tale of his charities to the poor and to the mendicant
Orders. On the Sabbaths it was the king's secret custom
to wash the feet of three beggars, dry them, and kiss them
humbly. He commanded in his will that no stately
monument should be erected over his grave. He treated his
confessors with great respect, and, while confessing, if
perchance a window was to be closed or opened, he quickly
rose and shut or opened it, and would not hear of his
confessor doing it. In Advent season and Lent he
abstained from marital intercourse. Some years before his
death, if he had had his will, he would have resigned his
kingdom to his son, and entered the Order of the
Franciscans or Dominicans. He brought up his children most
religiously, and wished some of them to take the vows.
He confessed every Friday and also between times, if
something occurred to him; and if he thought of anything
in the night, he would send for his confessor and confess
before matins. After confession he always took his
discipline from his confessor, whom he furnished with a
scourge of five little braided iron chains, attached to an
ivory handle. This he would afterwards put back into a
little case, which he carried hanging to his belt, but out
of sight. Such little cases he sometimes presented to
his children or friends in secret, that they might have a convenient instrument of discipline. He wore haircloth next
his flesh in the holy seasons, a habit distressing to his tender
skin, until his confessor persuaded him to abandon this
form of penance as ill comporting with his station. He
replaced it by increasing his charities. His fasts were
regular and frequent, till he lessened them upon prudent
advice; for he was not strong. He would have liked to
hear all the canonical hours chanted; and twice a day he
heard Mass, and daily the Office for the Dead. Sometimes,
soon after midnight, he would rise to hear matins, and then
would take a quiet time for prayer by his bed. Likewise
he loved to hear sermons. On returning over the sea,
when the ships suffered a long delay, he had preaching
three times a week, with the sermon specially adapted to
the sailors, a class of men who rarely hear the Word of God.
He prevailed on many of them to confess, and declared
himself ready at any time to put his hand to a rope, if
necessary, so that a sailor while confessing might not be
called away by any exigency of the sea.
While beyond the sea, this good king, hearing that a
Saracen Sultan had collected the books of their philosophy
at his own expense for his subjects' use, determined not
to be outdone whenever he should return to Paris, a purpose
which he amply carried out, diligently and generously
supplying money for copying and renewing the writings of
the Doctors. At enormous expense he obtained the
Saviour's crown of thorns and a good part of the true cross,
from the emperor at Constantinople, with many other
precious relics; all of which the king barefooted helped to
carry in holy procession when they were received by the
clergy of Paris.
The king was very careful in the distribution of
ecclesiastical patronage, always seeing to it that the
candidate was not already enjoying another benefice. His
heart exulted when it came to him to bestow a benefice
upon some especially holy man. He was most zealous in
the suppression of swearing and blasphemy, and with the
advice of the papal legate then in France issued an edict,
providing that the lips of those guilty of this sin should be
seared with hot irons; and when certain ones murmured, he declared that he would willingly suffer his own lips to be
branded if that would purge his realm of this vice.
Such were the acts and qualities of Louis which
impressed his Dominican confessor. They were the
qualities of a saint, and would have brought their possessor to
a monastery, had not his royal station held him in the
world. The Dominican could not know the knightly nature
of his royal penitent, and still less reflect it in his Latin of
the confessional. For this there was needed the pen of a
great gentleman, whose nature enabled him to picture his
lord in a book of such high breeding that it were hard to find
its fellow. This book is stately with the Sire de Joinville's
consciousness of his position and blood, and stately through
the respect he bore his lord—a book with which no one
would take a liberty. Yet it is simple in thought and
phrase, as written by one who lived through what he tells,
and closely knew and dearly loved the king. From it one
learns that he who was a saint in his confessor's eyes was
also a monarch from his soul out to his royal manners and
occasional royal insistence upon acts which others thought
unwise. We also learn to know him as a knightly, hapless
soldier of the Cross, who would not waver from his word
plighted even to an infidel.
That St. Louis was a veritable knight is the first thing
one learns from Joinville. The first part of my book, says
that gentleman, tells how the king conducted his life after
the way of God and the Church, and to the profit of his
realm; the second tells of his "granz chevaleries et de ses
granz faiz d'armes." "The first deed (faiz) whereby 'il mist
son cors en avanture de mort' was at our arrival before
Damietta, where his council was of the opinion, as I have
understood, that he ought to remain in his ship until he saw
what his knights (sa chevalerie) should do, who made a
landing. The reason why they so counselled him was that
if he disembarked, and his people should be killed and he
with them, the whole affair was lost; while if he remained
in his ship he could in his own person renew the attempt to
conquer Egypt. And he would credit no one, but leaped
into the sea, all armed, his shield hanging from his neck, his
lance in hand, and was one of the first upon the beach."
This is from Joinville's Introduction. He recommences formally:
"In the name of God the all powerful, I, John, Sire of Joinville,
Seneschal of Champagne, cause to be written the life of our sainted
king Louis, as I saw and heard of it for the space of six years
while I was in his company on the pilgrimage beyond the sea, and
since we returned. And before I tell you his great deeds and
prowess (chevalerie), I will recount what I saw and heard of his
holy words and good precepts, so that they may be found one after
the other for the improvement of those who hear.
"This holy man loved God with all his heart, and imitated His
works: which was evident in this, that as God died for the love
which He bore His people, so he (Louis) put his body in peril
several times for the love which he bore his people. The great
love which he had for his people appeared in what he said to his
eldest son, Louis, when very sick at Fontainebleau: 'Fair son,' said
he, 'I beg thee to make thyself loved by the people of thy kingdom;
for indeed I should prefer that a Scot from Scotland came and
ruled the people of the kingdom well and faithfully, rather than
that thou shouldst rule them ill in the sight of all.'"
Joinville continues relating the virtues of the king, and recording his conversations with himself:
"He called me once and said, 'Seneschal, what is God?' And I said to him, 'Sire, it is a being so good that there can be no better.'
"'Now I ask you,' said he, 'which would you choose, to be a
leper, or to have committed a mortal sin?' And I who never lied
to him replied that I had rather have committed thirty than be a
leper. Afterwards he called me apart and made me sit at his feet and
said: 'Why did you say that to me yesterday?' And I told him
that I would say it again. And he: 'You speak like a thoughtless
trifler; for you should know there is no leprosy so ugly as to be in
mortal sin, because the soul in mortal sin is like the devil. This is
why there can be no leprosy so ugly. And then, of a truth, when
a man dies, he is cured of the leprosy of the body; but when the
man who has committed a mortal sin dies, he does not know, nor
is it certain, that he has so repented while living, that God has
pardoned him; this is why he should have great fear that this
leprosy will last as long as God shall be in paradise. So I pray
you earnestly that you will train your heart, for the love of God and
of me, to wish rather for leprosy or any other bodily evil, rather than
that mortal sin should come into your soul.' He asked me whether
I washed the feet of the poor on Holy Tuesday. 'Sire,' said I,
'quel malheur! I will not wash those villains' feet.' 'Truly that was ill said,' said he; 'for you should not hold in contempt what
God did for our instruction. So I pray you, for the love of
God first, and for the love of me, to accustom yourself to wash
them.'"
Joinville was some years younger than his king, who
loved him well and wished to help him. The king also
esteemed Master Robert de Sorbon for the high respect as
a preudom in which he was held, and had him eat at his
table. One day Master Robert was seated next to Joinville.
"'Seneschal,' said the king, smiling, 'tell me the reasons why a
man of wisdom and valour (preudom, prud'homme) is accounted
better than a fool.' Then began the argument between me and
Master Robert; and when we had disputed for a time, the king
rendered his decision, saying: 'Master Robert, I should like to
have the name of preudom, so be it that I was one, and all the rest
I would leave to you; for preudom is such a grand and good thing
that it fills the mouth just to pronounce it.'"
Master Robert plays a not altogether happy part in
another scene, varicoloured and delightful:
"The holy king was at Corbeil one Pentecost, and twenty-four
knights with him. The king went down after dinner into the
courtyard back of the chapel, and was talking at the entrance with
the Count of Brittany, the father of the present duke, whom God
preserve. Master Robert de Sorbon came to seek me there, and
took me by the cloak, and led me to the king, and all the other
gentlemen came after us. Then I asked Master Robert: 'Master
Robert, what would you?' And he said to me: 'If the king
should sit down here, and you should seat yourself above him, I ask
you whether you would not be to blame?' And I said, Yes.
"And he said to me: 'Yet you lay yourself open to blame, since
you are more nobly clad than the king: for you wear squirrel's fur
and cloth of green, which the king does not.'
"And I said to him: 'Master Robert, saving your grace, I do
nothing worthy of blame when I wear squirrel's fur and cloth of
green; for it is the clothing which my father and mother left me.
But you do what is to blame; for you are the son of a vilain and
vilaine, and have abandoned the clothes of your father and your
mother, and are clad in richer cloth than the king.' And then I
took the lappet of his surcoat and that of the king's, and said to
him: 'See whether I do not speak truly.' And the king set himself to defend Master Robert with all his might."
"Afterwards Messire the king called to him Monseigneur
Philippe his son, the father of the present king, and the king
Thibaut (of Navarre), and laid his hand on the earth and said:
'Sit close to me, so that they may not hear.'
"'Ah Sire,' say they, 'we dare not sit so close to you.'
"And he said to me, 'Seneschal, sit down here.' And so I
did, so close that our clothes touched. And he made them sit
down by me, and said to them: 'You have done ill, you who are
my sons, who have not obeyed at once all that I bade you: and
see to it that this does not happen with you again.' And they
promised. And then he said to me, that he had called us in order
to confess to me that he was in the wrong in defending Master
Robert against me. 'But,' said he, 'I saw him so dumbfounded
that there was good need I should defend him. And do none of
you attach any importance to all I said defending Master Robert;
for, as the seneschal said to him, you ought to dress well and
becomingly, so that your wives may love you better, and your
people hold you in higher esteem. For the sage says that one
should appear in such clothes and arms that the wise of this world
may not say you have done too much, nor the young people say
you have done too little.'"
The hopelessly worthy parvenu was quite outside this charmed
circle of blood and manners.
Another story of Joinville opens our eyes to Louis'
views on Jews and infidels. The king was telling him of a
grand argument between Jews and Christian clergy which
was to have been held at Cluny. And a certain
poverty-stricken knight was there, who obtained leave to speak the
first word; and he asked the head Jew whether he believed
that Mary was the mother of God and still a virgin. And
the Jew answered that he did not believe it at all. The
knight replied that in that case the Jew had acted like a
fool to enter her monastery, and should pay for it; and with
that he knocked him down with his staff, and all the other
Jews ran off. When the abbot reproached him for his
folly, he replied that the abbot's folly was greater in having
the argument at all. "So I tell you," said the king on
finishing his story, "that only a skilled clerk should dispute
with misbelievers; but a layman, when he hears any one
speak ill of the Christian law, should defend that law with
nothing but his sword, which he should plunge into the
defamer's belly, to the hilt if possible."
Well known is the hapless outcome of St. Louis'
Crusades: the first one leading to defeat and captivity in
Egypt, the second ending in the king's death by disease at
Tunis. Yet in what he sought to do in his Lord's cause, St.
Louis was a true knight and soldier of the Cross. The
spirit was willing; but the flesh accomplished little. Let us
take from Joinville's story of that first crusade a wonderfully
illustrative chapter, giving the confused scenes occurring
after the capture of Damietta, when the French king and his
feudal host had advanced southerly through the Delta, along
the eastern branch of the Nile. Joinville was making a
reconnaissance with his own knights, when they came
suddenly upon a large body of Saracens. The Christians
were hard pressed; here and there a knight falls in the
melée, among them
"Monseigneur Hugues de Trichatel, the lord of Conflans, who
carried my banner. I and my knights spurred to deliver
Monseigneur Raoul de Wanou, who was thrown to the ground.
As I was making my way back, the Turks struck at me with their
lances; my horse fell on his knees under the blows, and I went
over his head. I recovered myself as I might, shield on neck and
sword in hand; and Monseigneur Erard de Siverey (whom God
absolve!), who was of my people, came to my aid, and said that we
had better retreat to a ruined house, and there wait for the king
who was approaching."
One notes the high-born courtesy with which the Sire
de Joinville speaks of the gentlemen who had the honour of
serving him. The fight goes on.
"Monseigneur Erard de Siverey was struck by a sword-blow in
his face, so that his nose hung down over his lips. And then I was
minded of Monseigneur Saint Jacques, whom I thus invoked:
'Beau Sire Saint Jacques help and succour me in this need.'
"When I had made my prayer, Monseigneur Erard de Siverey said to me: 'Sire, if you think that neither I nor my heirs would suffer reproof, I would go for aid to the Count of Anjou, whom I see over there in the fields.' And I said to him: 'Messire Erard, I think you would do yourself great honour, if you now went for aid to save our lives; for your own is in jeopardy.' And indeed I spoke truly, for he died of that wound. He asked the advice of all our knights who were there, and all approved as I had approved. And when he heard that, he requested me to let him have his horse, which I was holding by the bridle with the rest. And so I
did."
The knightliness of this scene is perfect, with its liege
fealty and its carefulness as to the point of honour, its
carefulness also that the vassal knight shall fail in no duty to
his lord whereby the descent of his fief may be jeopardized.
Monseigneur Erard (whom God absolve, we say with
Joinville!) is very careful to have his lord's assent and the
approval of his fellows, before he will leave his lord in peril,
and undergo still greater risk to bring him succour.
Well, the Count of Anjou brought such aid as created a
diversion, and the Saracens turned to the new foe. But
now the king arrives on the scene:
"There where I was on foot with my knights, wounded as
already said, comes the king with his whole array, and a great
sound of trumpets and drums. And he halted on the road on the
dyke. Never saw I one so bravely armed: for he showed above
all his people from his shoulders up, a gilded casque upon his head
and a German sword in his hand."
Then the king's good knights charge into the battle,
and fine feats of arms are done. The fighting is fierce and
general. At length the king is counselled to bear back
along the river, keeping close to it on his right hand, so as
to reunite with the Duke of Burgundy who had been left to
guard the camp. The knights are recalled from the melée,
and with a great noise of trumpets and drums, and Saracen
horns, the army is set in motion.
"And now up comes the constable, Messire Imbert de
Beaujeu, and tells the king that the Count of Artois, his brother,
was defending himself in a house in Mansourah, and needed aid.
And the king said to him: 'Constable go before and I will follow
you.' And I said to the constable that I would be his knight, at
which he thanked me greatly."
Again one feels the feudal chivalry. Now the affair
becomes rather distraught. They set out to succour the
Count of Artois, but are checked, and it is rumoured that
the king is taken; and in fact six Saracens had rushed
upon him and seized his horse by the bridle; but he had
freed himself with such great strokes that all his people took courage. Yet the host is driven back upon the river, and is
in desperate straits. Joinville and his knights defend a
bridge over a tributary, which helps to check the Saracen
advance, and affords an uncertain means of safety to
the French. But there is no cessation of the Saracen
attack with bows and spears. The knights seemed full of
arrows. Joinville saved his life with an arrow-proof Saracen
vest, "so that I was wounded by their arrows only in five
places"! One of Joinville's own stout burgesses, bearing
his lord's banner on a lance, helped in the charges upon the
enemy. In the melée up speaks the good Count of
Soissons, whose cousin Joinville had married. "He joked
with me and said: 'Seneschal, let us whoop after this
canaille; for by God's coif (his favourite oath) we shall be
talking, you and I, about this day in the chambers of the
ladies.'"
At last, the arbalests were brought out from the camp,
and the Saracens drew off—fled, says the Sire de Joinville.
And the king was there, and
"I took off his casque, and gave him my iron cap, so that he might
get some air. And then comes brother Henry de Ronnay, Prevost
of the Hospital, to the king when he had passed the river, and kisses
his mailed hand. And the king asked him whether he had news of
the Count of Artois, his brother; and he said that he had indeed
news of him, for he was sure that his brother the Count of Artois
was in Paradise. 'Ha! sire,' said the Prevost, 'be of good cheer;
for no such honour ever came to a king of France as is come to you.
For to fight your enemies you have crossed a river by swimming,
have discomfited your enemies and driven them from the field,
and taken their engines and tents, where you will sleep this night.'
And the king replied that God be adored for all that He gave; and
then the great tears fell from his eyes."
One need not follow on to the ill ending of the campaign,
when king and knights all had to yield themselves prisoners,
in most uncertain captivity. The Saracen Emirs conspired
and slew their Sultan; the prisoners' lives hung on a thread;
and when the terms were arranging for the delivery and
ransom of the king, his own scruples nearly proved fatal.
For the Emirs, after they had made their oath, wished the
king to swear, and put his seal to a parchment,
"that if he the king did not hold to his agreements, might he
be as shamed as the Christian who denied God and His Mother,
and was cut off from the company of the twelve Companions
(apostles) and of all the saints, male and female. To this the king
consented. The last point of the oath was this: That if the king
did not keep his agreements, might he be as shamed as the Christian
who denied God and His law, and in contempt of God spat on the
Cross and trod on it. When the king heard that, he said, please
God, he would not make that oath."
Then the trouble began, and the Emirs tortured the
venerable patriarch of Jerusalem till he besought the king to
swear. How the oath was arranged I do not know, says
Joinville, but finally the Emirs professed themselves satisfied.
And after that, when the ransom was paid, the Saracens by
a mistake accepted a sum ten thousand livres short, and
Louis, in spite of the protest of his counsellors, refused to
permit advantage to be taken and insisted on full payment.
Many years afterwards, when Louis was dead and
canonized, a dream came to his faithful Joinville who was
then an old man.
"It seemed to me in my dream that I saw the king in front of
my chapel at Joinville; and he was, so he seemed to me, wonderfully happy and glad at heart; and I also was glad at heart, because
I saw him in my chateau. And I said to him: 'Sire, when you
go hence, I will prepare lodging for you at my house in my village
of Chevillon.' And he replied, smiling, and said to me: 'Sire de
Joinville, by the troth I owe you, I do not wish so soon to go from
here.' When I awoke I bethought me; and it seemed to me that
it would please God and the king that I should provide a lodging
for him in my chapel. So I have placed an altar in honour of God
and of him there, where there shall be always chanting in his
honour. And I have established a fund in perpetuity to do this."
Godfrey of Bouillon and St. Louis of France show
knighthood as inspired by serious and religious motives.
We pass on a hundred years after St. Louis, to a famous
Chronicle concerning men whose knightly lives exhibit no such
religious, and possibly no such serious, purpose, so far at least
as they are set forth by this delightful chronicler. His
name of course is Sir John Froissart, and his chief work
goes under the name of The Chronicles of England, France, Spain, and the adjoining Countries. It covers the period from the reign of Edward II. to the coronation of Henry IV.
of England. Have we not all known his book as one to
delight youth and age?
Let us, however, open it seriously, and first of all notice
the Preface, with its initial sentence giving the note of the
entire work: "That the grans merveilles and the biau fait d'armes achieved in the great wars between England and
France, and the neighbouring realms may be worthily
recorded, and known in the present and in the time to
come, I purpose to order and put the same in prose,
according to the true information which I have obtained
from valiant knights, squires, and marshals at arms, who are
and rightly should be the investigators and reporters of such
matters."
"Marvels" and "deeds of arms"—soon he will use
the equivalent phrase belles aventures. With delicious
garrulity, but never wavering from his point of view, the
good Sir John repeats and enlarges as he enters on his work
in which "to encourage all valorous hearts, and to show them
honourable examples" he proposes to "point out and speak
of each adventure from the nativity of the noble King
Edward (III.) of England, who so potently reigned, and who
was engaged in so many battles and perilous adventures and
other feats of arms and great prowess, from the year of
grace 1326, when he was crowned in England."
Of course Froissart says that the occasion of these wars
was King Edward's enterprise to recover his inheritance of
France, which the twelve peers and barons of that realm
had awarded to Lord Philip of Valois, from whom it had
passed on to his son, King Charles. This enterprise was
the woof whereon should hang an hundred years of knightly
and romantic feats of arms, which incidentally wrought
desolation to the fair realm of France. Yet the full opening
of these matters was not yet; and Froissart begins with the
story of the troubles brought on Queen Isabella and the nobles of England through the overbearing insolence of Sir
Hugh Spencer, the favourite of her husband Edward II.
The Queen left England secretly, to seek aid at Paris
from her brother King Charles, that she might regain her
rights against the upstart and her own weak estranged
husband. King Charles received her graciously, as a great
lord should receive a great dame; and richly provided for
her and her young son Edward. Then he took counsel of
the "great lords and barons of his kingdom"; and their
advice was that he should permit her to enlist assistance in
his realm, and yet himself appear ignorant of the matter.
Of this, Sir Hugh hears, and his gold is busy with these
counsellors; so that the Court becomes a cold place for the
self-exiled queen. On she fares in her distress, and, as
advised, seeks the aid of the great Earl of Hainault, then at
Valenciennes. But before the queen can reach that city, the
earl's young brother, Sir John, Lord of Beaumont, rides
to meet her, ardent to succour a great lady in distress,
"being at that time very young, and panting for glory like a
knight-errant" In the evening he reached the house of Sir
Eustace d'Ambreticourt, where the queen was lodged. She
made her lamentable complaint, at which Sir John was
affected even to tears, and said, "Lady, see here your knight,
who will not fail to die for you, though every one else
should desert you; therefore will I do everything in my
power to conduct you and your son, and to restore you
to your rank in England, by the grace of God, and the
assistance of your friends in those parts; and I, and all
those whom I can influence, will risk our lives on the
adventure for your sake."
Is not this a chivalric beginning? And so the Chronicle
goes on. King Edward III. is crowned, marries the Lady
Philippa, daughter of the Earl of Hainault, and afterwards
sends his defiance to Philip, King of France, for not yielding
up to him his rightful inheritance, and this after the same
King Edward had, as Duke of Aquitaine, done homage to
King Philip for that great duchy.
So the challenge of King Edward, and of sundry other
lords, was delivered to the King of France; and thereupon
the first bold raid is made by the knightliest figure of the first generation of the war, Sir Walter Manny, a young
Hainaulter who had remained in the train of Queen
Philippa. The war is carried on by incursions and deeds of
derring-do, the larger armies of the kings of England and
France circumspectly refraining from battle, which might
have checked the martial jollity of the affair. It is all
beautifully pointless and adventurous, and carried out in the
spirit of a knighthood that loves fighting and seeks honour
and adventure, while steadying itself with a hope of plunder
and reward. There are likewise ladies to be succoured and
defended.
One of these was the lion-hearted Countess of Montfort,
who with her husband had become possessed of the
disputed dukedom of Brittany. The Earl of Montfort did
homage to the King of England; the rival claimant, Charles
of Blois, sought the aid of France. He came with an army,
and Montfort was taken and died in prison; the duchess
was left to carry on the war. She was at last shut up and
besieged in Hennebon on the coast; the burghers were
falling away, the knights discouraged; emissaries from Lord
Charles were working among them. His ally, Lord Lewis
of Spain, and Sir Hervé de Leon were the leaders of the
besiegers. Sir Hervé had an uncle, a bishop, Sir Guy de
Leon, who was on the side of the Countess of Montfort.
The nephew won the uncle over in a conference without the
walls; and the latter assumed the task of persuading the
Lords of Brittany who were with the countess to abandon
the apparently hopeless struggle. Re-entering the town,
the bishop was eloquent against the countess's cause, and
promised free pardon to the lords if they would give up the
town. Now listen to Froissart, how he tells the story:
"The countess had strong suspicions of what was going forward, and begged of the lords of Brittany, for the love of God, that they would not doubt but she should receive succours before three days were over. But the bishop spoke so eloquently, and made use of such good arguments, that these lords were in much suspense all that night. On the morrow he continued the subject, and succeeded so far as to gain them over, or very nearly so, to his opinion; insomuch that Sir Hervé de Leon had advanced close to the town to take possession of it, with their free consent, when the countess looking out from a window of the castle toward the sea, cried out most joyfully, 'I see the succours I have so long expected
and wished for coming.' She repeated this twice; and the town's
people ran to the ramparts and to the windows of the castle, and
saw a numerous fleet of great and small vessels, well trimmed,
making all the sail they could toward Hennebon. They rightly
imagined it must be the fleet from England, so long detained at
sea by tempests and contrary winds.
"When the governor of Guingamp, Sir Yves de Tresiquidi,
Sir Galeran de Landreman, and the other knights, perceived this
succour coming to them, they told the bishop that he might break
up his conference, for they were not now inclined to follow his
advice. The bishop, Sir Guy de Leon, replied, 'My lords, then
our company shall separate; for I will go to him who seems to me
to have the clearest right.' Upon which he sent his defiance to
the lady, and to all her party, and left the town to inform Sir Hervé
de Leon how matters stood. Sir Hervé was much vexed at it, and
immediately ordered the largest machine that was with the army to
be placed as near the castle as possible, strictly commanding that
it should never cease working day nor night. He then presented
his uncle to the Lord Lewis of Spain, and to the Lord Charles of
Blois, who both received him most courteously. The countess, in
the meantime, prepared and hung with tapestry halls and chambers
to lodge handsomely the lords and barons of England, whom she
saw coming, and sent out a noble company to meet them. When
they were landed, she went herself to give them welcome, respectfully thanking each knight and squire, and led them into the town
and castle that they might have convenient lodging: on the morrow,
she gave them a magnificent entertainment. All that night, and
the following day, the large machine never ceased from casting
stones into the town.
"After the entertainment, Sir Walter Manny, who was captain
of the English, inquired of the countess the state of the town and
the enemy's army. Upon looking out of the window, he said, he
had a great inclination to destroy that large machine which was
placed so near, and much annoyed them, if any would help him. Sir
Yves de Tresiquidi replied, that he would not fail him in this his
first expedition; as did also the lord of Landreman. They went to
arm themselves, and then sallied quietly out of one of the gates,
taking with them three hundred archers, who shot so well, that those
who guarded the machine fled, and the men at arms, who followed
the archers, falling upon them, slew the greater part, and broke down
and cut in pieces this large machine. They then dashed in among
the tents and huts, set fire to them, and killed and wounded many
of their enemies before the army was in motion. After this they
made a handsome retreat. When the enemy were mounted and
armed they galloped after them like madmen.
"Sir Walter Manny, seeing this, exclaimed, 'May I never be
embraced by my mistress and dear friend, if I enter castle or
fortress before I have unhorsed one of these gallopers.' He then
turned round, and pointed his spear toward the enemy, as did
the two brothers of Lande-Halle, le Haze de Brabant, Sir Yves de
Tresiquidi, Sir Galeran de Landreman, and many others, and
spitted the first coursers. Many legs were made to kick the air.
Some of their own party were also unhorsed. The conflict became
very serious, for reinforcements were perpetually coming from the
camp; and the English were obliged to retreat towards the castle,
which they did in good order until they came to the castle ditch;
there the knights made a stand, until all their men were safely
returned. Many brilliant actions, captures, and rescues might have
been seen. Those of the town who had not been of the party to
destroy the large machine now issued forth, and, ranging themselves
upon the banks of the ditch, made such good use of their bows,
that they forced the enemy to withdraw, killing many men and
horses. The chiefs of the army, perceiving they had the worst of
it, and that they were losing men to no purpose, sounded a retreat,
and made their men retire to the camp. As soon as they were
gone, the townsmen re-entered, and went each to his quarters.
The Countess of Montfort came down from the castle to meet
them, and with a most cheerful countenance, kissed Sir Walter
Manny, and all his companions, one after the other like a noble
and valiant dame."
In this manner the genial chronicler goes on through his
long delightful ramble. After a while the chief combatants
close. Cressy is fought and Poictiers. The Black Prince,
that extremest bit of knightly royalty, fills the page. The
place of Sir Walter Manny is taken by the larger figure of
Sir John Chandos, and, on the other side, the usually
unfortunate but unconquerable Bertrand du Guesclin. Froissart
is at his best when he tells of the great expedition of the
Black Prince to restore the cruel Don Pedro of Castille to
the throne from which he had been expelled by that
picturesque bastard brother Henry, who had a poorer title
but a better right, by virtue of being fit to rule.
This whole expedition was—as we see it in Froissart—neither
politics nor war, but chivalry. What interest had
England, or Edward III., or the Prince of Wales in Don
Pedro? None. He was a cruel tyrant, rightfully expelled.
The Prince of Wales would set him back upon his throne in
the interest of royal legitimacy, and because there offered a brilliant opportunity for fame and plunder: the Black Prince
thought less of the latter than the Free Companies enlisted
under his banner, and less than his own rapacious knights.
So in three divisions, headed by the most famous
knights and in a way generalled by Sir John Chandos, the
host passes through the kingdom of Navarre, and crosses the
Pyrenees. Then begin a series of exploits. Sir Thomas
Felton and a company set out just to dare and beard the
Castillian army, and after entrancing feats of knight-errantry,
are all captured or slain. Much is the prince annoyed at this;
but bears on, gladdened with the thought, often expressed,
that the bastard Henry is a bold and hardy knight, and is
advancing to give battle.
And true it was. One of Henry's counsellors explains
to him how easy it is to hem in the Black Prince in the
defiles, and starve him into a disastrous retreat. Perish the
thought! "By the soul of my father," answers King
Henry, "I have such a desire to see this prince, and to try
my strength with him, that we will never part without a
battle."
So the unnecessary and resultless battle of Navaretta
took place. Don Pedro, the cruel rightful king, was knighted,
with others, by the Prince of Wales before the fight. The
tried unflinching chivalry of England and Aquitaine conquered, although one division of King Henry's host had du
Guesclin at its head. That knight was captured;
somehow his star had a way of sinking before the steadier fortune
of Sir John Chandos, who was here du Guesclin's captor for a
second time. King Henry, after valiant fighting, escaped.
Don Pedro was re-set upon his throne; and played false
with the Black Prince and his army, in the matter of pay.
The whole expedition turned back across the Pyrenees.
And not so long after, Henry bestirred himself, and the
tardily freed du Guesclin hurried again to aid him. This
time there was no Black Prince and Sir John Chandos; and
Don Pedro was conquered and slain, and Henry was at last
firm upon his throne.
Could anything have been more chivalric, more objectless,
and more absolutely lacking in result? It is a beautiful
story; every one should refresh his childhood's memory of it by reading Froissart's delightful pages. And then let him
also read at least the subsequent story of the death of Sir
John Chandos in a knightly brush at arms; he, the really
wise and great leader, perishes through his personal rash
knighthood! It is a fine tale of the ending of an old and
mighty knight, the very flower of chivalry, as he was called.
So matters fare on through these Chronicles. All is
charming and interesting and picturesque; charming also
for the knights: great fame is won and fat ransoms paid
to recoup knightly fortunes. Now and then—all too
frequently, alas! and the only pity of it all!—some brave
knight has the mishap to lose his life! That is to say, the
only pity of it from the point of view of good Sir John.
But we can see further horrors in this picture of chivalry's
actualities: we see King Edward pillage, devastate, destroy
France; we see the awful outcome of the general ruin in
the rising of the vile, unhappy peasants, the Jacquerie; then
in the indiscriminate slaughter and pillaging by the Free
Companies, no longer well employed by royalties; and
then we see the cruel treachery of many an incident
wrought out by such a flower of chivalry even as du
Guesclin. Indeed all the horrors of ceaseless interminable
war are everywhere, and no more dreadful horror through
the whole story than the bloody sack of Limoges commanded
by that perfect knight, the Black Prince, himself stricken
with disease, and carried in a litter through the breach of
the walls into the town, and there reposing, assuaging his
cruel soul, while his men run hither and thither "slaying
men, women and children according to their orders."
But when King Edward was old, and the Prince of
Wales dying with disease, the French and their partisans
gathered heart, and pressed back the English party with
successful captures and reprisals. Du Guesclin was made
Constable of France; and there remained no English leader
who was his match. From this second period onwards, the
wars and slaughters and pillagings become more embittered,
more horrid and less relieved. The tone of everything
is brutalized, and the good chronicler himself frequently
animadverts on the wanton destruction wrought, and the frightful ruin. All is not as in the opening of the story,
which was so fascinating, so knightly and almost as purely
adventurous as the Arthurian romances—only that there
was less love of ladies and a disturbing dearth of forests
perilous, and enchanted castles. It was then that the reader
had ever and anon to remind himself that Froissart is not
romance or legend, but a contemporary chronicle; and that
in spite of heightened colours and expanded (if not invented)
dialogues, his narrative does not belong to the imaginative
or fictitious side of chivalry, but to its actualities.
Froissart's pictures of the depravity and devastation
caused by the wars of England and France, disclose the
unhappy actuality in which chivalry might move and have
its being. And the knights were part of the cruelty,
treachery, and lust. One may remark besides in Froissart
a certain shallowness, a certain emptying, of the spirit of
chivalry. One phase of this lay in the expansion of form
and ceremony, while life was departing;—as, for example,
in the hypertrophe of heraldry, and in the pageantry of the
later tournaments, where such care was taken to prevent
injury to the combatants. A subtler phase of chivalry's
emptying lay in its preciosity and in the excessive growth
of fantasy and utter romance—of which enough will be said
in the next chapter.
Uncharted Knowledge
Wisdom From Previous Realities
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