FOOTNOTES:

Furniture and Beds

The bedroom furniture is equally simple. The chamber of the baron and his wife is lit by three windows with arched tops pierced into the masonry, overlooking the castle court. There is a little table by the fireplace holding a board of chessmen and there are a few backless stools and long narrow benches. In the window places are comfortably upholstered "She and I" seats facing one another. Opposite the fireplace is a chair of state for the baron, with high carved back and arms, a wooden canopy of equally heavy carving, and a footstool covered with red silk. There are several ponderous wardrobes, and especially a number of very massive iron-bound chests containing valuable garments, jewels, and the like. Bureaus and chests of drawers hardly exist in this age, and ordinary chests take their place. Indeed, no bedroom is fitted properly unless it has a solid chest at the foot of the bed for the prompt reception of any guest's belongings. When a castle is taken the cry, "Break open the chests!" is equivalent to calling to the victors, "Scatter and pillage!"

A THIRTEENTH CENTURY BEDA THIRTEENTH CENTURY BEDReconstructed by Viollet-Le-Duc, from a manuscript in the Bibliothèque nationale.

A THIRTEENTH CENTURY BEDReconstructed by Viollet-Le-Duc, from a manuscript in the Bibliothèque nationale.

A THIRTEENTH CENTURY BED

Reconstructed by Viollet-Le-Duc, from a manuscript in the Bibliothèque nationale.

Near one of the windows in the wall there is also a large crucifix carved of dark wood, and beneath it on a shelf is a small silver box richly chased with figures of saints and angels. This is a reliquary containing a trophy brought from the Holy Land by a crusader—a cluster of hair of St. Philip the Apostle, likewise some ravelings of the robe of St. Anna, mother of the Virgin. Before these sacred objects the baron and baroness kneel on red-silk cushions and say their prayers morning and night.

But the central object of the chamber is the bed. To have a fine bed for the master and mistress is the ambition of every feudal household. It stands under a great canopy, with heavy curtains of blue taffeta. The bed itself, a great mass of feather mattresses and gorgeously embroidered coverlets, projects its intricately carved footboard far into the room. The whole structure is set upon a platform. When the baron and baroness have retired, their attendants will pull the thick curtains and practically inclose them in their own secluded bedroom. The curtains cut off air, but that is no disadvantage, because every physician tells you that night air is most unhealthful.

This nearly completes the furnishings of the chamber, save for various perches, wooden hooks, and racks set here and there for clothes and sometimes for the baroness's hunting hawks, and two bronze lamps swinging on chains, which give a very imperfect illumination. If more brilliance is needed (and if the great fireplace is not throwing out a glare) one can do as they do in the great hall for extra lighting—set resinous torches in metal holders along the walls. However, for ordinary purposesthe baron and baroness prefer the less odorous wax candles. In fact, a very tall wax candle stands near to the bed and is allowed to burn all night. This keeps away pixies and the Devil, and makes things generally more cheerful for Christians.

The other apartments of the castle are similarly furnished, although with less magnificence. Of course, in the barracks for the lower servitors and the men at arms each man is lucky if he has a large bag crammed with straw for a bed, a solid blanket, and a three-legged stool whereon to sit by day.

Thus have been inspected exterior, the stone, and the wooden aspects of St. Aliquis. The task is next to see the doings of the people who give to the unyielding fortress its significance and life.

FOOTNOTES:[4]See chap.xiv.[5]Often at dark turns in these towers the floor would be made of wooden scaffolding, easy to destroy; and the attacker would (if not wary) suddenly tumble to the cellar of the tower.[6]See ch.x.

[4]See chap.xiv.

[5]Often at dark turns in these towers the floor would be made of wooden scaffolding, easy to destroy; and the attacker would (if not wary) suddenly tumble to the cellar of the tower.

[6]See ch.x.

Whatever the sins of the men of the thirteenth century, they are not late risers. The lamps and candles are so poor that only rarely, when there is a great festival or imperative work to be performed, do persons remain about many hours after sunset. In winter the castle folks possibly spend nearly half of their entire time in bed; in summer, thanks to the long evenings, they would hardly get sufficient sleep save for a noon siesta.

Some seigneurs will actually rise considerably before sunup, hear mass, mount their high turret, survey the landscape, then descend to order the washing horn to be blown. We hear, too, of ladies who rise at dusk, have chaplains chant matins while they are throwing on some clothes, then go to the regular chapel mass, next complete their toilet and take a walk in their garden, all before breakfast. There are, indeed, stories of noble folk sleeping even in summer right up to 6A.M., but these backslidings follow only a deplorable carouse. Conon and Adela are neither indefatigable risers, nor among the slothful. They are seldom found in bed at cock-crow, and the baron is already warning his young sons that "he who sleeps too long in the morning becomes thin and lazy." So at gray dawn William, Conon's first body squire, has yawned on his pallet by the chamber door, tugged on his own clothes, then hastened to thegreat bed to assist his master to dress. This is one of a good squire's prime duties, but he need not divest his lord of any nightgown. Nightdresses are no more used in the thirteenth century than are table forks. Conon has been sleeping between the sheets, with only the clothing of a newborn babe, although, curiously enough, he wraps around his head a kind of napkin, precursor of the later nightcap.

When the baron has donned a part of his clothes Gervais, the second squire, brings in a metal basin of water and a white towel. The age is one of great contradictions in matters of cleanliness. Baron Conon washes his face and hands carefully and frequently. He also takes complete baths pretty often, using large wooden tubs filled with hot perfumed water. Personally he seems an extraordinarily neat man, and so are all the higher-rank people. But the age has never heard of polluted wells and other breeding spots for malignant fevers. Flies are harmless annoyances. Numerous evil smells can hardly be prevented, any more than cold weather—the saints give us grace to bear them! In short, cleanliness stops with care of the person. Preventive sanitation is as unknown as are the lands which may lie across the storm-tossed Atlantic—"the Sea of Darkness."

There is an old rhyme which is supposed to give the right times for the routine of the day:

"Rise at five, dine at nine,Sup at five, to bed at nine,Is the way to live to be ninety and nine."

Sometimes dinner came later than nine, but never, if possible, much after ten. People have sometimes become distressed because the meal had to be postponed until noon. This was natural, for everybody is stirring at daybreak and for breakfast probably has had only a few morsels of breadwashed down with thin wine—a poor substitute even for the coffee and rolls of the later continental breakfast.

A Baron's Routine Business and Diversions

Having dressed and washed, the baron goes down to mass at the chapel. Attending daily mass is a duty for every really pious seigneur. One of Garnier's infamies had been his gross irregularity in this matter. If there had been no chapel in the bailey, the service could have been held in a vestibule to the hall of thepalais. After mass is over, Conon is ready for business or pleasures. It is a time of peace; and, truth to tell, the baron would really be not a little glad of the excitement, bustle, and strenuous preparation which come with the outbreak of war. The list of things he can do to divert himself in times of public quiet seems limited: He can hunt, fish, fence, joust, play chess, eat and drink, listen to the songs of the jongleurs, hold his court, walk in the meadows, talk with the ladies, warm himself, have himself cupped and bled, and watch the snow fall. This last amusement is hardly practicable in June. Being bled is not commonly reckoned a regular sport in other ages! Neither can he hold court—receive his vassals and dispense justice—save at intervals. The jongleurs ordinarily reserve themselves for the evenings. Conon's secret hankering for a war is, therefore, somewhat explicable.

If this is a fortunate day, however, the horn on the turret will blow, and then the gong at the bailey gate will reverberate. A visitor of noble rank has arrived. Nothing can ordinarily be more welcome in castle communities. Little isolated fractions of humanity as they are, with the remainder of the world seemingly at an extreme distance, the coming of a stranger means a chance to hear news of the king's court, of the doings of the Emperor Frederick II, of the chances of another crusade, of the latest fashions in armor, of the newest methodsof training hawks, nay, possibly of rumors of another brave war like that which culminated in the glorious battle of Bouvines. Unknightly, indeed, is the seigneur who does not offer profuse hospitality to a noble visitor; and any priest, monk, or law-abiding merchant will be given a decent, though less ceremonious, welcome. No wonder the inns everywhere are so bad, when the lords of so many castles grow actually angry if a traveler will not tarry perhaps for days.

Hospitality to Guests

There are stories of knights who have deliberately caused the roads to be diverted to compel travelers to come close to their castles, where they can be politely waylaid and compelled to linger. Conon is not so absurd, but if to-day a guest of noble rank approaches the castle, all the ordinary routine ceases. At the outer gate the strangers are met by William, the first squire. If he reports that their chief is a baron, the visitors have the gates unbarred before them; they ride straight over both drawbridges to the inner court. Conon himself leads in the horse of his chief guest, and when the visiting nobleman dismounts he usually kisses him upon mouth and chin, although, if the strange knight is an elderly man, or of very exalted rank, he shows his respect by kissing only his shoulders. Adela and her maidens at once conduct the visitors to a chamber, where the best feather beds are piled high in their honor, and next skillfully take off their armor, bathe their feet,[7]and even assist them to don loose clean clothes—a kind of wrapper very pleasant for indoor wear. Meantime their horses are being stabled and given every attention.Only after the visitors are dressed, refreshed, bathed, and perhaps fed, will Conon courteously inquire for how long he is to enjoy their company and whether they are making St. Aliquis merely a stopping point or have come to him on business.

Non-noble guests do not receive such ceremony, unless they are high churchmen—bishops, abbots, and their direct subordinates—but even a poor villein, if he appears on a fit errand, is welcome to a solid meal and a bed on the rushes in one of the halls.[8]A jongleur is always received heartily and entertained with the best; the payment will be in songs and tricks after supper. On most feast days, furthermore, the gates of St. Aliquis will open wide. Conon's servitors will say to everyone, "If you are hungry, eat what you please!" There will be simply enormous gorging and guzzling at the baron's expense.

Yet if there are no outside guests the baron is far from being an idle man. Since he has been stirring at 4A.M.he is able to accomplish a great deal during the morning. All the stables must be inspected; directions are given about a brood mare; the noisy falcon house is surveyed; various stewards, bailiffs, and provosts come in with reports about the peasants, the baron's farms, and especially the contention with a neighboring seigneur's woodcutters about the right to take timber in a disputed forest land—a case calling for major diplomacy to avoid a brisk private war. Then, too, although this is not a court day, the baron as the dispenser of justice has to order two brawling peasants to be clapped in the stocks until sundown, and to direct that an ill-favored lad who had been caught in an honest villein's corn bin shall have his ears cropped off.

The castle is, in fact, an economic unit all by itself. If the baron is idle or preoccupied he leaves its management to deputies; but a good seigneur knows about everything. The estate has its own corn lands and pasture, its stacks of hay, its granaries and storehouses, its mills, cattle byres, slaughter houses, and salting sheds. Practically every scrap of food actually needed in the castle is grown locally. The innumerable women and varlets wear coarse woolen cloth made from wool raised, sheared, carded, spun and woven on the seigneury. The ordinary weapons and tools required in war are made at the smithy in the bailey. The result is that the castle people do very little buying and selling. Conon has a certain income in silver deniers, but, except for the important sums he is laying by for a tournament, his sister's marriage, perhaps a private war, and other like occasions, he spends it almost entirely on the finer articles of clothing, for superior weapons, for cookery spices, and for a few such luxuries as foreign wines. These can be bought from visiting packmen or by a visit to Pontdebois during the fair seasons.[9]St. Aliquis therefore presents what is to us a curious spectacle—a sizable community wherein many of its members seldom handle that thing called "money" from one month to another.[10]

Comradery and Organization of Castle Folk

Conon, on many mornings, is thus kept busy adjusting petty matters concerning the estate. The seigneur is the center, the disposing power for the whole seigneury, but he is not the despot. The castle is one huge family, and shares its joys and troubles together. The upper servitors hold their position by a kind of hereditary right.Guilbert, who presides over the smithy, is son of the smith before him. In similar case are the chief cook, the master huntsman, and many others. Even the dubious post of baronial executioner is transmitted by a kind of hereditary prerogative. For Conon to dismiss any of these subordinates save for very obvious reasons would be resented by all their fellows and produce a passive rebellion unwelcome to the most arbitrary seigneur. Even tyrannous Baron Garnier had to wait a suitable opportunity ere changing an unwelcome servitor. Every person has his own little sphere of influence and privilege. The successful baron respects all these "rights" and handles each inferior tactfully. The result is that there is a great deal of comradery and plain speaking. The baron and baroness must listen to flat contradictions every day.

"You are absolutely wrong, Messire," says Herbert, the cowherd, to-day, when Conon directs him to wean certain calves. "I shall execute no such order." And the baron (who would have fought a mortal duel with a fellow noble ere accepting such language) wisely acquiesces, with a laugh. Herbert is "his man" and as such has his own sphere of action, and, besides, Herbert and all his fellows will fight for their seigneur to the last drop of their blood, and obey all strictly military orders with touching fidelity.

Indeed, the St. Aliquis people are somewhat like grown-up children. They are often angry, turbulent, obstinate, contentious, even exchanging cuffs and blows. The women are almost as passionate as the men. But tempers cool with equal rapidity. Two varlets who almost drew knives this morning will be communing like twin brothers this afternoon. Furthermore, despite much apparent friction, the three-hundred-odd peoplewho sleep behind the walls of St. Aliquis are fairly well organized. First of all the baron has his three squires, youths of friendly baronial families who are being "nourished" by Conon preparatory to knighthood and whose education will be described later.[11]They are, of course, "noble," and are looking forward to ruling their own castles. Noble, too, is Sire Eustace, the seneschal, the baron's old companion in arms, who carries the great gonfalon of St. Aliquis into battle, and who, in peace times, is chief factotum and superintendent of almost everything about the fief. The marshal who has charge of the stables is also "the son of a good house," and the chamberlain, who has oversight over all that interior economy which does not pertain to food, drink, and mealtimes, is an elderly, childless knight who became lamed in the service of the baron's father, and who really holds an honorable sinecure. There are, besides these, four other petty nobles, whose estates are so small that they find it pleasantest to live at St. Aliquis, ride in the baron's hunts, and command his men at arms.

The remainder of the castle servants are indeed non-noble; but there is nothing dishonorable in personal service, provided you serve a lord higher than yourself. Conon would feel complimented if, on a visit to Paris, he were asked to carry a great pasty and set it before the queen. The importance of a baron is somewhat gauged by the number of his squires and noble servitors. Many a poor sire has to put up with only one squire, and perhaps a seneschal. As for Conon and Adela, they have a cherished ambition that in their sons' day, at least, the St. Aliquis butler, cellarer, dispenser, and even the master falconer should be of gentle blood also; but thatwould be putting their household practically on an equality with the duke's.

Dinner, Supper and Nightfall

When dinnertime comes there will be a great rush for the hall, but the ceremonies of the table will be told later.[12]Of course, on common days one will not expect a banquet—only one or two plates of meat, some fish, a few vegetables, bread, and common wine, but all in abundance. Hunger seldom troubles St. Aliquis. If the weather is fine, very likely dinner and supper will be served in the garden, outside the barbican, under pleasant shade trees, close to the purling Rapide. There will be long tables covered with linen dyed with Montpellier scarlet. The honored guests will have cushioned benches; the remainder will sit on almost anything.[13]Supper may be either in the hall or in the garden, according to circumstances. It is a long time between dinner and supper, and appetites are again keen. After supper, if by the presence of jongleurs there are excuses for torches and music, the castle folk join in diversions or even in dancing, until a large silver cup is solemnly handed to the baron. He drinks deeply. All his guests are similarly served. Then he rises and the company goes to bed. If there are honored visitors, Conon will escort them to their chambers himself, and take another sup of wine with them ere parting for the night.

The seneschal meantime makes a careful round of the walls, to satisfy himself that the outer drawbridge is raised, the sentries posted, and that everything is safe. Then he will transmit the ponderous keys to be taken to the baron's room till dawn. The seigneur is undressedby his squires and reposes under an avalanche of feather beds thick enough to provide a vapor bath. Soon all the lights are extinguished throughout the whole black mass of the castle, save only the tall taper in the master's apartment. So the castle sleeps through the darkness, unbroken save for the occasional "All is well!" from the yawning sentry on the turret, until the thrushes and blackbirds begin their noise in the garden and in the trees by the rivers. Then again St. Aliquis resumes its daytime business.

FOOTNOTES:[7]Hospitality sometimes went to such a point that we are told the ladies of the castle assisted a visiting knight to take a complete bath—a service quite innocently rendered and accepted. Similar customs, of course, obtained among the Greeks of theIliadandOdyssey.[8]See ch.xvii.[9]See ch.xxii.[10]Even when sums of money are mentioned in connection with peasants' dues, etc., one may guess that often payments in kind are really in question.[11]See ch.xi.[12]See ch.vii.[13]Mediæval men did not use the floor to the extent of the Chinese and Japanese, but they were certainly often willing to dispense with seats even indoors, and to sit on their haunches upon the pavement or rushes, "Turk fashion."

[7]Hospitality sometimes went to such a point that we are told the ladies of the castle assisted a visiting knight to take a complete bath—a service quite innocently rendered and accepted. Similar customs, of course, obtained among the Greeks of theIliadandOdyssey.

[8]See ch.xvii.

[9]See ch.xxii.

[10]Even when sums of money are mentioned in connection with peasants' dues, etc., one may guess that often payments in kind are really in question.

[11]See ch.xi.

[12]See ch.vii.

[13]Mediæval men did not use the floor to the extent of the Chinese and Japanese, but they were certainly often willing to dispense with seats even indoors, and to sit on their haunches upon the pavement or rushes, "Turk fashion."

If Baron Conon has been fortunate enough to receive a noble guest, almost the first question is how to divert the stranger. The inevitable program will be to constrain the visitor to tarry at least long enough to cast hawks or to chase down a deer. If that is not possible, at least he will be courteously urged to attempt some game, and it will be most "ungentle" of him to refuse.

Indoor games are in great demand where bad weather often makes open sports impossible and where bookish diversions are limited. The baron frequently plays with his own family when there are no outside guests, and all the household are more or less expert. To understand them is part of a gentle education for both sexes. Indeed, there is no better way for a noble dame and a cavalier to begin a romance than to sit through a long afternoon studying one another's faces no less than the gaming table.

Some of these diversions are decidedly like those of a later age. For example, if all present are reasonably literate they can play "ragman's roll"! Burlesque verses—some suitable for men, some for women, and all often deplorably coarse—are written on slips of parchment wound in a roll. On each slip is a string with some sign showing for which sex it is intended. Everybody has to draw a roll, then open and read it aloud tothe mirthful company. The verses are supposed to show the character of the person drawing the same. Also, even grown-up folk are not above "run around" games which are later reserved for children. High barons play blind-man's buff; seigneurs and dames sometimes join in the undignified "hot cockles." A blindfolded player kneels with his face on the knee of another and with his hands held out behind him. Other players in turn strike him on the hand, and he tries to guess who has hit him. If he is correct, the person last striking takes his place. Of course, a large part of the sport is to deliver very shrewd blows. The fact that such a game can be in vogue shows again that even the high and mighty are often like hot-blooded children abounding in animal spirits.

These games Conon will not press upon his guests. He will urge on them backgammon, checkers, chess or, if they seem young and secular, perhaps dice. Backgammon is called "tables." It is a combination of dice playing plus the motion of pieces on a board which goes back to Roman times. The boards and methods of play are so like those of a later age that one need not comment thereon.

Backgammon is a popular diversion, but hardly more so than checkers (Anglice "draughts") known in France as "dames." Here also is a game that hardly changes essentially from age to age. The checkermen at St. Aliquis are square, not round. Otherwise, no explanation is needed.

Backgammon, Checkers and Dice

What men like Conon really enjoy, however, are games of dice. Nevertheless, since the Church has often censured these cubes of ivory, he and his baroness do not dare to use them too often; besides, they realize the havoc often wrought among the young by dice throwing, and wish to keep their own sons from temptation. Inparts of France there are laws reading: "Dice shall not be made in this dominion, and those using them shall be looked upon as suspicious characters."[14]All such enactments are usually dead letters, and a high justiciar can ordinarily punish merely the manufacture and use of loaded dice. Although church prelates rail vigorously, their complaints are not merely that games of chance are,ipso facto, sinful, but that the blasphemies constantly uttered by losing dice players form a means of populating hell.

Dice playing assuredly is extremely common. It is even impiously called "the game of God," because the regulation of chance belongs to Providence. Did not the Holy Apostles cast lots between Justus and Matthias to select a successor to the wicked Judas; and can good Christians question means acceptable to St. John and St. Peter? So gamesters will quiet their consciences. Vainly does King Philip Augustus command that any person swearing over dice in his royal presence, no matter how high his rank, shall be cast into the river. Dice are everywhere—in the travelers' and pilgrims' wallets and in almost every castle, hut, or town dwelling. Let any three or four men come together for an idle hour and fortunate it is if a set of dice does not appear to while away the time. The thirteenth century is innocent of cards; dice form the substitute.

The swearing is evil, but the gambling is worse. There are at least ten gambling games, some with three dice, some needing six. Adela has been warning François, her eldest son, concerning a recent instance of reckless playing. A young squire, whose father held lands of Conon, set forth to seek his fortune at the king's court.He halted at Pontdebois, where he met an older soldier of fortune at the tavern. The poor young man was induced "to try a few casts." Soon he had lost his travel money; next his horse; next his armor. In desperation he began pledging his ordinary vesture to the tavern keeper (who acted as a kind of pawnbroker). Ill luck still pursued, and he was reduced to his bare shirt[15]before a friend of his father's, chancing about the inn, recovered his necessary clothes between them and sent him home, utterly humiliated. Such calamities are constant. Dice are daily the ruin of countless nobles and villeins—but the accursed gaming continues. It is even rumored that in certain disorderly monasteries these tools of the devil often intrude further to demoralize the brethren.

THE GAME OF CHESSTHE GAME OF CHESSAn ivory plaque of the fourteenth century(Musée du Louvre).

THE GAME OF CHESSAn ivory plaque of the fourteenth century(Musée du Louvre).

THE GAME OF CHESS

An ivory plaque of the fourteenth century(Musée du Louvre).

Chess in Great Esteem

No such ill odor, however, attends that game in which Conon delights most. To play at chess is part of an aristocratic education. In a jongleur's romance we hear of a young prince who was brought up "first to know his letters," and then "to play at tables (backgammon), and at chess; and soon he learned these games so well that no man in this world could 'mate' him."François and Anseau, the baron's sons, make no such boasts, but both know the moves, and François takes great pride in having lately forced a visiting knight to a stalemate. Great seigneurs and kings carry chessboards around with them on campaigns and are said to amuse themselves with chess problems immediately before or after desperate battles. Plenty of other anecdotes tell of short-tempered nobles who lost self-control when checkmated, broke the chessboards over their opponents' heads, and ended the contest in a regular brawl.

This royal game has doubtless come from the Orient. Caliphs of the Infidels have long since boasted their skill in taking rooks and pawns, but in western lands about the first record comes from the time of Pope Alexander II (1061-73), to whom complaint was made that a bishop of Florence was "spending his evenings in the vanity of chess playing." The bishop's enemies alleged that this was forbidden by the canons prohibiting dice. But the bishop retorted that "dice and chess were entirely different things: the first sinful; the second a most honorable exercise for Christians." The Pope tactfully refrained from pressing the matter. Nevertheless, austere churchmen regarded the game as worldly, and impetuous religious reformers insisted on confounding it with games of chance. It was only in 1212 that a Council of Paris forbade French clerics to play chess, just as it (for about the thousandth time) forbade dice—despite which fact the Bishop of Pontdebois spent a whole afternoon over the chessboard the last time he visited the castle and could test his skill on the baron.

As for the nobility, no one thinks of refusing to play, although naturally it is the older knights who have the patience for long contests. According to theSong ofRoland, after Charlemagne's host had taken Cordova the Emperor and all his knights rested themselves in a shady garden. The more sedate leaders immediately played chess, although the younger champions selected the more exciting backgammon.

The chessmen are often made of whalebone and imported from Scandinavia. They are models of warriors. The kings have their swords drawn; the knights are on horseback; in place of castles we have "warders," a kind of infantrymen; the bishops hold their croziers; and the queens upbear drinking horns like the great ladies in a northern house. Conon, however, has a fine ivory set made in the East; and Oriental models differ from the Norse. The Infidels, of course, have no bishops; instead there is aphil—a carved elephant; and since Moslems despise women, instead of a queen there is aphrez, or counselor. Chessboards are usually made of inlaid woods, or even metals, and Conon has an elegant one with squares of silver and gilt, the gift of a count whose life he once saved in battle.

Needless to say, chess is a game in which the women can excel. Alienor is well able to defeat her brother, despite his boasting; and among the duties of the ladies of a castle is to teach the young squires who are being "nourished" by its lord how to say "check."

Chess is supposed to be a game of such worth and intricacy as not to need the stimulus of wagering. But, alas! such is the old Adam in mankind that scandalous gambling often goes on around a chessboard. At festivals when nobles assemble, if two distinguished players match their skill, there is soon an excited, if decently silent, crowd around their table. Soon one spectator after another in whispers places wagers to support a contestant; the players themselves begin tobet on their own skill. The final result may leave them almost as poverty-stricken as the dicers in the tavern, as well as compromising salvation by awful oaths.

A GAME OF BALL (STRUTT)A GAME OF BALL (STRUTT)

Young nobles also kill much time with out-of-door games resembling tennis and billiards. The tennis is played without rackets, by merely striking the ball with the open hand. The billiards require no tables, but are played on level ground with wooden balls struck with hooked sticks or mallets, somewhat resembling the hockey of another age. Here again reckless youths often wager and lose great sums. Lads and young maidens are fond, too, of guilles—a game resembling ninepins, although the pins are knocked down, not with balls, but with a stick thrown somewhat like a boomerang. Of course, they also enjoy tossing balls, and young ladies no less than their brothers practice often with the arbalist, shooting arrows with large heads for bringing down birds which take refuge in bushes when pursued by the hawks.

Hawking

But chess, dice and every other game indoors or outdoors pales before the pleasure of hawking or hunting. There is no peace-time sensation like the joy of feeling a fast horse whisk you over the verdant country, leaping fences, and crashing through thickets with some desperate quarry ahead. It is even a kind of substitute for the delights of war. If a visiting knight shows the least willingness, the baron will certainly urge him to tarry for a hunting party. It will then depend on the season,the desire of the guests, and reports from the kennels and mews and the forest whether the chase will be with hawks or with hounds.

Master huntsmen and falconers are always at swords' points. Their noble employers also lose their tempers in the arguments as to venery and falconry, but the truth is that both sports are carried on simultaneously at every castle. If fresh meat is needed, if most of the riders are men, if time is abundant, probably the order is "bring out the dogs." If only the sport is wanted, and the ladies can ride out merely for an afternoon, the call is for the hawks.

LADY WITH A FALCON ON HER WRISTLADY WITH A FALCON ON HER WRISTFrom a thirteenth-century seal (Archives nationales).

LADY WITH A FALCON ON HER WRISTFrom a thirteenth-century seal (Archives nationales).

LADY WITH A FALCON ON HER WRIST

From a thirteenth-century seal (Archives nationales).

Hunting hawks are everywhere. Last Sunday Adela and Alienor rode over to mass at the abbey church. The good brethren chanting the service were nowise disturbed when each of their high-born worshipers kept a great hooded hawk strapped to her wrist during the whole service.[16]It is well to take your hawks everywhere with you, especially when there are crowds of people, to accustom them to bustle and shouting; but we suspect another reason for always taking hawks about is that the carrying of a hunting bird on your wrist is a recognized method of saying, "I am of gentle blood and need not do any disagreeable work with my hands."

Complicated Art of Falconry

Falcons are counted "noble birds"; they rank higher in the social hierarchy of beasts than even eagles. If one cannot afford large hawks and falcons one can at least keep sparrow hawks; and "sparrow hawk" is the nickname for poor sires who only maintain birds large enough to kill partridges and quails. In short, the possession of a hawk ofsomekind is almost as necessary for a nobleman as wearing a sword, even with knights who can seldom go out hunting. However, it takes a rich noble like Conon to possess a regular falconry with special birds, each trained for attacking a certain kind of game—hares, kites, herons—with the expert attendants to care for them.

THE FALCON HUNTTHE FALCON HUNTThirteenth century; from a German manuscript in the Bibliothèque de Bruxelles.

THE FALCON HUNTThirteenth century; from a German manuscript in the Bibliothèque de Bruxelles.

THE FALCON HUNT

Thirteenth century; from a German manuscript in the Bibliothèque de Bruxelles.

Falconry has become a complicated art. Very possibly the good folk in St. Aliquis will have their bodies physicked or bled by physicians much less skillful in treating human ills than Conon's falconers are in treating birds. To climb high trees or crags and steal the young hawk out of the nest is itself no trifling undertaking.[17]Then the prizes must be raised to maturity, taught to obey whistles and calls, and to learn instantly to do the bidding of the master. In the baron's mews are morethan a score of birds; gerfalcons, saker hawks, lanners, merlins, and little sparrow hawks squawk, peck, and squabble along withhugegoshawks. The male birds are generally smaller than the female, and the latter are reserved for striking the swiftest game, such as herons. Some birds will return of their own accord to the hand of the master after taking game, but many, including all sparrow hawks, have to be enticed back by means of a lure of red cloth shaped like a bird. The falconer swings his lure by a string, and whistles, and, since the falcon is accustomed to find a bit of meat attached to the lure, he will fly down promptly and thus be secured.

Conon's head falconer is only a villein, but he is such an expert that recently the Count of Champagne offered a hundred Paris livres for him. This important personage is himself the son of a falconer, for the science runs in families. He is a man of shrewd knowledge and a real wizard at breaking in young birds, teaching them to strike dummies and decoys, to remain contented in their cages or hooded on their perches, and yet not lose their hunting spirit. He has precise methods of feeding—so much meat, preferably poultry, and so much of vegetables, preferably fresh fruit. He takes long counsel with Conon how a recalcitrant goshawk can be induced to sit quietly on the baron's fist. He also teaches young François to carry his little sparrow hawk so it will not be incommoded by any horse motion or be beaten upon unpleasantly by the wind, and how to adjust its hood.

Professional Jargon of Falconry

There are few more acceptable presents to a nobleman or, better still, to a lady, than a really fine bird. Abbots send five or six superior hawks to the king when craving protection for their monasteries. Foreign ambassadors present His Royal Grace with a pair of birds as the opening wedge to negotiations. The "reception ofhawks" is indeed a regular ceremony at the Paris court. Most of Conon's hawks have come from fellow cavaliers who craved his favor. The St. Aliquis gentry pride themselves on understanding all the professional jargon of falconry. Only peasant clowns would confess themselves ignorant thereof; yet even among nobles few speak it really well. The other day a pretentious knight dined at the castle. He put his gerfalcon on the perch provided in the hall for such use by the guests. But, thunder of heaven! how great seemed his foolishness when Conon courteously led the subject around to falconry! "He said: 'Thehandof the bird' instead of 'the talon'; 'thetalon' instead of 'the claw'; 'theclaw' instead of 'the nail.' It was most distressing to find such a man with a claim to courteous treatment!"

NOBLE HOLDING A FALCON IN EACH HANDNOBLE HOLDING A FALCON IN EACH HANDThirteenth century; restored by Viollet-Le-Duc, from a manuscript in the Bibliothèque de Bruxelles.

NOBLE HOLDING A FALCON IN EACH HANDThirteenth century; restored by Viollet-Le-Duc, from a manuscript in the Bibliothèque de Bruxelles.

NOBLE HOLDING A FALCON IN EACH HAND

Thirteenth century; restored by Viollet-Le-Duc, from a manuscript in the Bibliothèque de Bruxelles.

Of course, at some excesses in falconry Conon draws the line. He considers impious his neighbor the Viscount of Foretvert, who sprinkles his hawks with holy water prior to every hunt, and says a prayer over them adjuring, "You, O Eagles, by the True God, the Holy Virgin, and the holy prophets, to leave the field clear for our birds and not to molest them in their flight." The church has never authorized this, though the viscount's worldly chaplain certainly condones the practice.

Everything about falcons must be compatible withtheir nobility. The glove on which they are carried is embroidered with gold. The hood which keeps them blindfolded is likewise adorned with gold thread, pearls, and bright feathers. Every bird has attached to his legs two little bells engraved with his owner's name. High in the air they can be heard tinkling. If the bird is lost the peasants discovering it can return it to the owner—and woe to the villein who retains a falcon found in the forest! The local law provides that either he must pay a ruinous fine or let the falcon eat six ounces of flesh from his breast. As for stealing a hunting bird outright, there is hardly a speedier road to the gallows; it is what horse stealing some day will become in communities very far from France.

Assuredly it is an exhilarating sight to see the castle folk go hawking on a fine morning. The baron, baroness, and all their older relatives and guests, each with bird on gauntlet, are on tall horses; the squires and younger people have sparrow hawks to send against the smaller prey, but the leaders of the sport will wait until they can strike a swift duck or heron. Dogs will race along to flush the game. Horns are blowing, young voices laughing, all the horses prancing. Conon gives the word. Away they go—racing over fences, field and fallow, thicket and brook, until fate sends to view a heron. Then all the hawks are unhooded together; there are shouts, encouragement, merry wagers, and helloing as the birds soar in the chase. The heron may meet his fate far in the blue above. Then follow more racing and scurrying to recover the hawks. So onward, covering many miles of country, until, with blood tingling, all canter back to St. Aliquis in a determined mood for supper.

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