Information concerning it from this period is scanty, probably little of interest is connected with its later history, beyond the calendar of prisoners who have been lodged within its precincts, of which we have no record, and were it otherwise, we should be reluctant to consult its pages for materials to enhance the attractions of our “Rambles.”
It is to the history of the period prior to its appropriation as a prison, that we must look for a picture of the life once animating its halls and banquet
chambers, and from the general outlines of feudal society and government, a tolerably faithful portrait of it may be drawn.
The age of feudalism has been extolled with enthusiasm only equal to that which has deprecated it beyond measure; it has even been proposed as a model for future ages by the cotemporary voice to that which has pronounced it as exclusively a time of immorality, despotism, and superstition; between the two extremes, a wide field of truth lies open to be explored.
“It was a time,” as Guizot says, “when religion was the principle and end of all institutions, while military functions were the forms and means of action.”
All social movements partook of this twofold character, as questions of commerce and industry were decidedly subordinate.
The land was divided between the military barons possessed of regal authority and governing as kings in their petty kingdoms—the church, also proprietors of large estates, and the cities, then only beginning to rise from their abject nullity into an importance that has gone on increasing until commerce has become the sovereign of the world—Mammon its god. The individualism of barbarism was sunk in the centralisation to which this system gave birth; and from the social arrangements connected with it,
sprung up that spirit of chivalry that was so marked a characteristic of the times, than which nothing more fully exemplified the singular combination of military and religious fervour. Isolated from all communion with general society, a castle was at once a city and a family in itself, youths were apprenticed, as it were, to learn the usages of knighthood, and in the capacity of pages, from earliest boyhood, were initiated into the forms and courtesies of chivalrous and military exercises. In this task women bore their part, the youths being ever treated as sons of the lord or knight under whose tutelage they had been placed; from this they became promoted to the rank of esquires, and perfected in the arts of tilting, riding, hunting, and hawking, frequently of music, and in case of war were qualified to follow the banner of their instructors. The rank or military renown of a baron helped to swell the list of esquires and pages in his retinue; hence many castles were complete colleges of chivalry. The close association of years in such familiar relationship cut off from all other social communion, engendered strong attachments, and fraternities, superseding often the ties of common relationship, sprung up.
The imposing ceremony that accompanied the distinction of knighthood was the finishing touch to this education. The candidate, after several lonely nights of prayer and watching in some church or
chapel, during which period he received the sacraments of religion, was finally arrayed in full splendour, conducted in grand procession to a church with the sword of knighthood suspended by a scarf; the weapon was blessed by an officiating priest, and the oaths administered which bound him to defend the church and clergy, be the champion of virtuous women, especially the widow or orphan, and to be gentle ever to the weak. Warriors then of high degree, or ladies, then buckled on the spurs, clothed him in suits of armour, and the prince or noble from whom he received the knighthood, finally advanced, and giving the accolade, which consisted of three gentle strokes with the flat of the sword, exclaimed, “In the name of God, St. Michael, and St. George, I make thee a knight; be hardy, brave, and royal.” From this date he might aspire to the highest offices and distinctions.