Chapter XI: The Education of a Feudal Nobleman.
To the noble troubadour Bertran de Born, a congenial comrade of Richard the Lion Hearted, is attributed a little song which seems re-echoed in many a castle.
Peace delights me not!
War—be thou my lot!
Law—I do not know
Save a right good blow!
Nobles Delight in War
Even a seigneur who nods pious assent to all that the monks and priests affirm in praise of peace wishes in his heart that it were not sinful to pray for brisk fighting. To be a good warrior, to be able to take and give hard blows, to enjoy the delights of victory over doughty adversaries, and finally to die a warrior's death on "the field of honor," not a "cow's death" in one's bed—that is the ambition of nearly every noble worthy of his gentility.
Bertran de Born has again expressed this brutal joy in still greater detail:
I prize no meat or drink beside
The cry, "On! On!" from throats that crack:
The neighs when frightened steeds run wide,
A riderless and frantic pack,
And set the forest ringing:—
The calls, "Help! Help!"—the warriors laid
Beside the moat with brows that fade
To grass and stubble clinging:—