Part 8

The valour of the Herberts rivalled that of the romantic heroes of chivalry. Edward has proudly reverted to his great-great grandfather, Sir Richard Herbert of Colebrook, as an incomparable hero, who twice passed through a great army of northern men alone, with his pole-axe in his hand, and returned without any mortal hurt. The courage which had been formerly displayed in the battle-field was, as times degenerated, reserved for private wrongs, and the patriot sank into the duellist. At the close of his life, Edward recollected, with pleasure, that one of his brothers had carried with him to the grave the scars of twenty-four wounds, many of them the results of private brawls. Another brother was gentleman of the King's chamber, and the famous master of the revels; and he, too, had given several proofs of his courage in duels.

The infancy of Edward was so sickly that his friends did not think fit to teach him his alphabet till he was seven years old. He would have us believe, however, that he was wise though not early schooled; for when an infant he understood what was said by others, yet he forebore to speak, lest he should utter something that was imperfect or impertinent. When he began to talk, one of the first enquiries he made was how he had come into the world. He told his nurse, keeper, and others, that he found himself here indeed, but from what cause or beginning, or by what means, he could not imagine. The nurse stared, and other people wondered at this precocious wisdom; and when he reflected upon the matter in after life he was happy in the thought, that as he found himself in possession of this life, without knowing any thing of the pangs and throes his mother suffered, when doubtless they no less afflicted him than her, so he hoped that his soul would pass to a better life than this, without being sensible of the anguish his body would feel in death.[128]

He won the acquaintance of the learned languages, and other branches of juvenile literature, with great ease; and when at the age of twelve he was sent to Oxford, he tells us that he disputed at his first coming in logic, and made in Greek the exercises required in his college oftener than in Latin. He married at the age of fifteen, and then applied himself more vigorously than ever to study, particularly the continental languages: but to fence and to ride the great horse were his principal ambition, for such were the exercises in which the chivalry of his time were educated,--and he aspired to fame in every pursuit. From the same feeling of vanity that urged him to publish his deistical dogmas, he complacently says of himself that no man understood the use of his weapon better than himself, or had more dexterously availed himself thereof on all occasions.[129]

In the year 1600, he removed with his wife and mother from Montgomery-castle (the seat of his ancestors) to London, and, prompted by curiosity rather than ambition, he went to court; and as it was the manner of those times for all men to kneel down before the Queen, he was likewise upon his knees in the Presence Chamber, when she passed by to the chapel at Whitehall. As soon as she saw him, she stopped, and, swearing her usual oath, demanded, "Who is this?" Upon being made acquainted with his name and circumstances, the Queen looked attentively upon him, and again giving emphasis to her feelings by an oath, she said that it was a pity he was married so young, and thereupon gave him her hand twice to kiss, both times patting him on the cheek. He was made knight of the Bath by James I.; and with his usual vanity declares that his person was amazingly commended by the lords and ladies who attended the ceremony. The most handsome lady of the court pledged her honour for his, and then the strings of silk and gold were taken from his arm. These strings, as I have already mentioned, were worn by all the knights till they had achieved some high deed of arms, or till some lady of honour took them off, and fastened them on her sleeve, saying that she would answer her friend would prove a good knight. Like all other knights of the Bath he swore to do justice to the uttermost of his power, particularly to ladies and gentlewomen wronged in their honour, if they demanded assistance.

Soon after this circumstance, he was wearied both of literary and domestic pursuits, and he resolved to travel in foreign countries. His skill in fencing was now to be brought into play; for he tells us that in France, in his time, there was scarcely any man thought worthy regard who had not killed another in a duel.[130] He went to Paris, and was hospitably entertained at the neighbouring castle of Merlon, by Henry de Montmorenci, second son of the great Constable Anne de Montmorenci.

An occasion for exercising his fantastic chivalry soon presented itself. A French cavalier snatched a riband from the bonnet of a young lady, and fastened it to his own hat-band. He refused to return it, and the injured damsel asked the English knight to get it restored to her. He accordingly advanced to the Frenchman, courteously, with his hat in his hand, and desired him to restore the riband. Meeting only with a rude denial, he replied he would make him restore it by force. The Frenchman ran away; but finding himself closely pursued, he turned round to the young lady, and was about to restore her the top-knot, when Sir Edward seized his arm, and said to her, "It was I that gave it."--"Pardon me," quoth she, "it is he that gives it me." Sir Edward observed, "I will not contradict you; but if he presumes to say that I did not constrain him to give it, I will fight with him." No reply was made, and the French gentleman conducted the lady back to the castle. Sir Edward was very anxious for a duel, but none took place; and he was obliged to please his conscience with the reflection, that he had acted agreeably to the oath which he took when inaugurated a knight of the Bath.[131]

On three other occasions, he sported his chivalry in the cause of the ladies; but the stories of these affairs are poor and uninteresting after his most delectable behaviour in the Montmorenci garden.

For many years Sir Edward lived in the court or the camp, in France or England, seldom visiting his wife in Montgomeryshire, and more frequently busied in private brawls (but his challenges never ripened into duels) than engaged in philosophical meditation.

In the year 1614, while he was in the service of the Prince of Orange, a trumpeter came from the hostile (the Spanish) army to his with a challenge,--that if any cavalier would fight a single combat for the sake of his mistress, a Spanish knight would meet him. The Prince allowed Sir Edward to accept the challenge. Accordingly a trumpeter was sent to the Spanish army with the answer, that if the challenger were a knight without reproach, Sir Edward Herbert would answer him with such weapons as they should agree upon. But before this herald could deliver his charge, another Spanish trumpeter reached the camp of the Prince of Orange, declaring that the challenge had been given without the consent of the Marquis of Spinola (the commander), who would not permit it. This appeared strange to the Prince and Sir Edward; and on their thinking that the Spaniards might object to the duel taking place in the camp of the challenged, as it was originally proposed, Sir Edward resolved to go to the enemy, and give him his choice of place. He accordingly went; but Spinola would not suffer the duel to be fought. A noble entertainment greeted the Englishman, the Marquis condescending to present to his guest the best of the meat which his carver offered to himself. He expressed no anger that the challenges had been given; for he politely asked his guest of what disease Sir Francis Vere had died. Sir Edward told him, because he had nothing to do. Spinola replied, in allusion to the idleness of the campaign, "And it is enough to kill a General;" and thus impliedly excused any impatient sallies of his young soldiers.

Sir Henry Wotton, the ambassador of the King of England, having mediated a peace between the Prince of Orange and the Spaniards, our knight proceeded on his travels through Germany and Italy. He complimented a nun upon her singing, while all the other Englishmen present were delighted into silence: but he was always ready to speak as well as to fight for the honour of the knighthood of the Bath. "Die whensoever you will," said he to the young lady, "you need change neither voice nor face to be an angel!" These words, he assures us, were fatal, for she died shortly afterwards.

He went to Florence, and was more pleased with a nail, which was at one end iron and the other gold, than by all the glories of painting and sculpture with which the Etrurian Athens was then fresh and redolent. He sojourned for some time at Rome, but hastily left the city when the Pope was about to bless him. This refusal of an old man's benediction proceeded from the vanity of his character. Though perfectly indifferent to Christianity, when he entered Rome he ostentatiously said to the master of the English college, that he came not to the city to study controversies, but to view its antiquities; and if, without scandal to the religion in which he had been born and educated, he might take this liberty, he would gladly spend some time there. A decorous submission to the usages of Rome would not have gained him the world's talk; and, therefore, he hastily quitted the Consistory when the blessing was about to be given, knowing that such a bold act of contempt on the religion of the place would be bruited every where.

The remainder of his adventures on the Continent is not worthy of record. He returned to England; and, in 1616, he was sent to France as the English ambassador. Previously to his setting off, he engaged to fight a duel, though the day fixed for the circumstance was Sunday; but when he arrived at Paris on a Saturday night, he refused to accept an invitation of the Spanish ambassador for an interview the next morning, because Sunday was a day, which, as he alleged, he wholly gave to devotion. The spirit of duelling was far more powerful in his mind than the love of conformity to religious decencies; but it cost him nothing; indeed, it only aggrandised his importance to decline the visit of the Spanish ambassador on a Sunday. He remained some time in France, maintaining the honour of his country on all occasions; particularly with reference to the mighty question, whether his coachman, or that of the Spanish ambassador, should take precedence.

Sir Edward was instructed by his court to mediate between Louis XIII. and his Protestant subjects; but, instead of conducting the affair with coolness and political sagacity, he quarrelled with Luines, the minister of the French king. Complaints of his conduct were sent to England, and he was recalled. The death of the offended statesman happened soon afterwards, and Herbert was again dispatched to France.

The next remarkable event in his life was the publication of his book "_De Veritate_," whose object it was to show the all-sufficiency of natural religion. But he, who denied the necessity of a revelation to the human race, of matters concerning their eternal salvation, fancied that Heaven expressly revealed to him its will that his book should be published. Such are the inconsistencies of infidelity!

"A godless regent trembling at a star!"

His amusing auto-biography ends with an account of a noise from heaven, when he prayed for a sign of the Divine will, whether or not he should print his book.

Not many other circumstances of his life are on record. He was raised to the Irish peerage in 1625, and, afterwards, was created an English baron, by the title of Lord Herbert of Cherbury, in Shropshire. He published another Latin work, in support of the cause of infidelity, and then gave to the world his History of the Reign of Henry VIII.; a book which has been always characterised, by writers who have never read a line of it, as a master-piece of historic biography; and if gross partiality for his hero, profound ignorance of human nature, imperfect acquaintance with his subject, and a pedantic style, constitute the excellence of memoir-writing, Lord Herbert is an author of the first class.

Though he had been raised to the peerage by the Stuarts, yet in the days of Charles I. we find him on the side of the parliament. Montgomery-castle was demolished by the King's troops, and the parliament made him a pecuniary compensation. He removed to London, died in 1648, and was buried in St. Giles's.

[Sidenote: His character.]

[Sidenote: His inferiority to the knights of yore.]

Such was Lord Herbert of Cherbury. His life may be placed in opposition to, rather than in harmony with, the heroes of early chivalric times. He had their courage, it is true, but he had none of their dignity and nobleness, none of their manly grace; and there was a fantastic trifling in his conduct, which their elevated natures would have scorned. He was no Christian knight: the superstition of the Chandos's and Mannys, gross as it was, is not so offensive to the moral sense as the craft and subtlety of Lord Cherbury's intellect, which refined Christianity into deism. We can admire the heroes of the days of Edward III., placing their swords' points on the Gospels, and vowing to defend the truth to the utterance; but how absurd was the fanaticism, and contemptible the vanity, of him who expected that Heaven would declare its will that he should deliver to the world the vain chimeras of his imagination!

[Sidenote: Decline of chivalric education.]

The history of English chivalry is now fast drawing to a close. We may mark the state of the system of chivalric education in the castles of the nobility. Every great lord, as his ancestors had been, was still attended by several of the inferior nobility and gentry, and such service was not accounted dishonourable. The boys were, as of old, called pages, though perhaps the age for this title somewhat stepped beyond the ancient limit.

But this was not the only change in that class of the chivalry of England. In former days pages had been the attendants of the great in the amusements of the chace and the baronial hall; and had sometimes shared, with the squire, the more perilous duties of the battle-plain. In the course of time, as the frame of society became more settled, the arts of peace smoothed the stern fierceness of chivalry, and the page was the honorary servant of the lord or his lady, in the proud ceremonial of nobility, and never mixed in war. He continued to be a person of gentle birth, and his dress was splendid; circumstances extremely favourable to that singular state of manners which permitted a woman, without any loss of her good name, to follow him she admired in the disguise of a gentle page, and gradually to win his affections by the deep devotion of her love. Poetry may have adorned such instances of passion, for the subject is full of interest and pathos; but the poets in the best days of English verse so frequently copied from the world around them, that we cannot but believe they drew also in this instance from nature. This form of manners was romantic; but it certainly was not chivalric: for in pure days of chivalry the knights, and not the damsels, were the wooers.--But every thing was changed or degraded.

The general state of the page in the last days of chivalry may be collected from one of the dramas of Ben Jonson, where Lovel, a complete gentleman, a soldier, and a scholar, is desirous to take as his page the son of Lord Frampul, who was disguised as the host of the Light Heart Inn at Barnet:

"_Lov._ A fine child! You will not part with him, mine host? "_Host._ Who told you I would not. "_Lov._ I but ask you. "_Host._ And I answer, To whom? for what? "_Lov._ To me, to be my page. "_Host._ I know no mischief yet the child hath done, To deserve such a destiny. "_Lov._ Why? "_Host._ * * * * * * Trust me I had rather Take a fair halter, wash my hands, and hang him Myself, make a clean riddance of him, than---- "_Lov._ What? "_Host._ Than damn him to that desperate course of life. "_Lov._ Call you that desperate, which by a line Of institution, from our ancestors, Hath been derived down to us, and received In a succession, for the noblest way Of breeding up our youth, in letters, arms, Fair mien, discourses, civil exercise, And all the blazon of a gentleman? Where can he learn to vault, to ride, to fence, To move his body gracefuller, to speak His language purer, or to tune his mind Or manners, more to the harmony of nature, Than in these nurseries of nobility? "_Host._ Ay that was when the nursery's self was noble. And only virtue made it, not the market, That titles were not vented at the drum, Or common outcry, goodness gave the greatness, And greatness worship: every house became An academy of honour, and those parts We see departed, in the practice now, Quite from the institution."[132]

Something must be abated from this censure, for the speaker was a disappointed man, and therefore querulous. But whatever might have been the education of the page, the character itself was lost in the political convulsions in the time of Charles I. So many of the old institutions of England were then destroyed, that we need not be surprised that the one should not escape, which had long survived its purpose and occasion. At the restoration of the monarchy the ancient court-ceremonial was revived, and therefore the page was a royal officer: but he is scarcely ever mentioned in the subsequent private history of the country; and his duties at the court were altogether personal though gentilitial, and had no reference at all to military affairs.

The military features of chivalry had been rudely marred in the wars between the houses of York and Lancaster, and by the days of James I. not a lineament remained. The graceful sports of chivalry had been sustained by the bold and vigorous Henry VIII., and romance could not but be pleasing to a maiden queen. With Prince Henry the tournament died. Mightier questions than those which knighthood could resolve were before the world; and there was nothing in the bearing of the friends of Charles I., misnamed Cavaliers, to which the character of chivalric can be applied.

[Sidenote: Important change in knighthood by parliament of Charles I.]

The reign of Charles I. is, however, in one respect a memorable epoch in the history of English knighthood. By the ancient constitution, as we saw in the last chapter, the King had the power of compelling his vassals to be knighted. In all ages, however, whether of the high power, or the decline of chivalry, many persons, considering the duties and charges of the honour, had been wont to commute it by a fine; and this custom had often whetted the avarice of monarchs. Elizabeth was the last of our sovereigns who enriched her exchequer by receiving these commutations. Charles I. endeavoured to augment his revenue by similar means; but the spirit of the age was hostile to his claim; and, certainly, as the military system had changed, it was absurd and unjust that the burden should survive the benefit of the ancient system. The people triumphed, and Charles conceded a prerogative which was only known as a means of public oppression. By a statute passed in the sixteenth year of his reign (cap. 20.) the right of compelling men to receive knighthood was abolished.

[Sidenote: Application of chivalric honours to men of civil station.]

One branch of English chivalry, namely, knighthood as connected with property, knighthood as the external symbol of feudalism, was thus put an end to. But knighthood still continued as an honourable distinction. In this, the most interesting part of the subject, a great change had taken place: but it is impossible to mark the exact time of its occurring. We only know that even in the time of the Lancastrian princes knights could not, of their own free will, add new members to the order of chivalry, and that link of honourable equality, which used to bind all men of gentle birth in one state, was broken. The whole power of creating knights was usurped by the crown. The first step, which apparently led to this usurpation, was made even in the purest age of chivalry, the reign of our Edward III.: for at that time civil merit was rewarded by chivalric distinctions. The judges of the courts of law were dignified with knighthood.[133]

In the subsequent reigns of the Lancastrian princes, it seems to have been regarded as a well established custom, that men who deserved highly of the commonwealth should be honoured with some title above the state of a simple gentleman. Chivalry, as the great fountain of honour, was again resorted to, and the title of esquire was drawn forth. It was then applied to sheriffs of counties, serjeants-at-law, and other men of station; and afterwards courtesy added it to the names of the eldest sons of peers, of knights, and many others. The honour, like the rest of the chivalric honours, was personal, not hereditary, and in strictness could be enjoyed only by virtue of creation, or as a dignity appurtenant to an office. The mode of creation was copied from the investiture of a knight. The person who was to be admitted into the squirehood of the country knelt before his sovereign, who, placing a silver collar of scollop shells mixed with esses round his neck, cried, "Arise, Sir Esquire, and may God make thee a good man."[134]

[Sidenote: Knights made in the field.]

This right of conferring chivalric honours upon persons of civil station was exercised by the sovereigns only, and it furnished the pretence of their assuming the right of judging upon what occasions it should be conferred on men whose profession was war. The custom of creating knights in the field of battle by the general in command prevailed in England so late as the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Robert, the second son of Sir Henry Sidney, and brother of the famous Sir Philip, was knighted by Leicester, for his chivalric deportment at the battle of Zutphen. Essex, while commanding in Spain and Ireland, distributed chivalric honours with such profusion, that the Queen, who was always jealous of her power, made his conduct, on this subject, the matter of one of the articles of accusation against him.

[Sidenote: Carpet knights.]

Knighthood, when conferred in the field, was ever held as a very honourable distinction. When men, who were undistinguished by valour[135], were raised to chivalric rank, they were called Carpet Knights, as we are taught by the old ceremonials; and society always used the expression contemptuously, as we learn from our dramatists, who are as good witnesses for the customs of their times as romancers had been for those of earlier days. "He is knight, dubbed with unhacked rapier, and on carpet consideration," is the character which Sir Toby Belch gives of his friend Sir Andrew Aguecheek. In a passage of surpassing beauty Fletcher has described the characters of the chivalric and the carpet knight.

"Oh the brave dames Of warlike Genoa! They had eyes to see The inward man, and only from his worth, Courage, and conquests, the blind archer knew To head his shafts, or light his quenched torch; They were proof against him else! No carpet knight That spent his youth in groves or pleasant bowers, Or stretching on a couch his lazy limbs, Sung to his lute such soft and pleasing notes As Ovid nor Anacreon ever knew, Could work on them, nor once bewitch'd their sense; Though he came so perfum'd, as he had robb'd Sabea or Arabia of their wealth, And stor'd it in one suit."[136]