The sageness of knights
Nothing appears incredible in romances after reading these tales of a very faithful historian; but we should wrong chivalry were we to suppose that this wild, this phrenetic, courage was its chief character. Perhaps it was in general the quality of young soldiers only; for discretion was certainly a part of cavaleresque valour. That a knight was sage is frequently said to his honour. Not, indeed, that his skill ever degenerated into the subtlety of stratagem, for bold and open[143] battle was always preferred to the refinements of artifice, and he would have debased his order if he had profited by any mischance happening to his foe. But in the choice of ground, in the disposition of his squires and men-at-arms, he exerted his best skill, for to be adventurous was only one part of valour. The soldier in chivalry was also imaginative, a word constantly used by our old authors to show a mind full of resources, and to express military abilities.[144]
Their humanities of war.
There was not so much ruthlessness in his heroism as distinguished those ages of the ancient world which fancy and poetry have sometimes painted as chivalrous. The prostrate and suppliant foe seldom sued for mercy in vain from the true knight. It was a maxim, that a warrior without pity was without worship.[145] Even the pride of knighthood often softened the fierce and rugged face of war, for inferior people were spared, because they were unworthy of the lance. A knight trained to warlike exercises cared little for a battle unless he could prove his skilful bearing; and what honour could he gain from slaying rude and unarmed peasantry? The simple peasant was often spared from motives of prudence. Richard Brembrow, an English knight, was ravaging Brittany, in the year 1350, but was reproached for his conduct by Beaumanoir, a partisan of the house of Blois, who was astonished that a valiant cavalier should make war, not only on men bearing arms, but on labourers and others. “In all wars guided by chivalric principles,” continued the knight of Brittany, “true soldiers never injure the tillers of the ground; for if they were to do so, the world would be destroyed by famine.”[146] More generous feelings, however, sometimes had their influence. The stern Du Guesclin, when on his death-bed, desired his old companions in arms to remember that “neither the clergy, nor women, nor children, nor poor people, were their enemies;” and the charge came with peculiar propriety from him, for his past life could furnish no instance of needless severity.
To show the reverse of such mildness was the unhappy fate of the Black Prince, who, by his massacre of three thousand people at Limoges[147], tarnished the lustre of all his former glories. The narrative of this affair which Froissart has left us, shews that such barbarities were not so frequent in chivalric times as modern hatred of aristocratical power has represented. We may learn from our historian that the massacre at Limoges proceeded from the unhappy disposition to cruelty which at that time clouded the mind of the Prince of Wales, and not from the general principles of chivalry; for he tells us, that the knights prepared themselves to do evil, to slay men, women, and children, because they were so commanded; and he whose heart leaped for joy in describing a manly conflict, where banners and standards waved in the wind, with horses barded, and knights and squires richly armed, yet sighs over the massacre of Limoges, and says it was “great pity” to see the slaughter.[148] It was only when cities that belonged to the enemies of the church were taken, that the sword of the victorious Christian was embrued in blood to the very hilt; for pagans, Saracens, Jews, and heretics were not considered within the pale of the humane courtesies of chivalry.
Frequent pauses were made in the single encounters of knighthood, for generousness was thought an essential part of bravery, and the soldier would rather vanquish by his skill than by any accidental advantage. A giant of the first enormity requested of his antagonist, Sir Guy of Warwick, a momentary respite for the purpose of slaking his thirst in a neighbouring stream. The noble knight assented to this request, and the giant, perfectly recovered from his fatigue, renewed the combat with fresh vigour. Sir Guy, in his turn, was oppressed by heat and fatigue, and requested a similar favour; but the uncourteous giant refused.[149] In a battle between the celebrated Roland and a Saracen knight, named Sir Otuel, a stroke of the former’s sword cut into the brain of his antagonist’s horse. The paladin of Charlemagne, with true chivalric courtesy, reined in his steed, and rested on his arms till Sir Otuel had disengaged himself from the equipments of his horse. The Saracen rallied him for want of skill in missing his gigantic frame; but on the renewal of the battle Otuel was guilty of a similar awkwardness, and conscious that his raillery might now be retorted with double force, he imitated the knightly courtesy of Roland, and waited till his foe was completely free from his fallen steed.[150] The preliminaries of a battle between the famous Oliver and a Saracen cavalier, hight Sir Ferumbras, was still more courteous, for the Christian knight assisted his foe to lace his helmet, and before they encountered, the combatants politely bowed to each other.[151]
Veracious chroniclers confirm the stories of romance writers. In a battle of honour between the English and French, when it was thought contrary to chivalry for either party to be more numerous than the other, the knights contended for several hours with intervals of repose. When any two of them had fought so long as to be fatigued, they fairly and easily departed, and sat themselves down by the side of a stream, and took off their helmets. On being refreshed they donned their armour, and returned to the fight.[152]
Ransoming
Reason of courtesies in battles.
We commonly refer to the principles of honour in chivalry to account for the interesting fact, that a victorious knight permitted his prisoner to go to his own country or town, in order to fetch his ransom; and we know that his word of honour was considered a sufficient pledge for his return at the appointed season. The true reason of this general practice of chivalry may be learnt from a passage in Froissart. After describing a battle between the English and French in the year 1344, he says, that the English dealt like good companions with their prisoners; and suffered many to depart on their oaths and promises to return again at a certain day to Bergerac or to Bourdeaux.[153] The Scots were equally courteous to the English after the truly chivalric battle of Otterbourn. They set them to their ransom, and every man said to his prisoner, “Sir, go and unarm yourself, and take your ease;” and so made their prisoners as good cheer as if they had been brethren, without doing them any injury.[154] A short while after the battle Sir Matthew Redman yielded himself prisoner to Sir James Lindsay, rescue or no rescue, so that he dealt with him like a good companion.[155] It was, therefore, because all the knights of Europe were united in one universal bond of brotherhood, that one knight showed courtesy to another. It was the principle of fraternity which the Christian religion inculcates, that created all the kindly consideration in war which distinguished chivalry; and base and barbarous, as we may chuse to call our ancestors, I know not whether the principles of Christian friendship were not as well understood in their days as in our own age of boasted light and improvement. There is truth as well as beauty in Froissart’s observation, that “nobleness and gentleness ought to be aided by nobles and gentles.” Not only were prisoners released on their parole of honour, but their ransom was never set so high that they could not pay it at their ease, and still maintain their degree.[156]
Curious pride of knighthood.
Prisoners.