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However, chivalry, which was supposedly a code or spirit of the knights of Europe, is difficult in itself to identify clearly as either an objective social reality or merely an aristocratic fiction. Sometimes it appears to be a formal procedure, involving the ladies and lords of Europe in the moral straitjacket of a codified respect for Truth, Justice and the protection of Innocence. On other occasions, it appears to be the dictums of a Church anxious to subjugate warrior horsemen to its more civilized ways. Frequently, any softening or codification appears to be completely absent from the lives of rich men and women bent on survival, on pleasure and on the pursuit of power.
The often spoken of but rarely manifested concept chivalry is therefore a chameleon or a chimera, never quite concrete, nor ever totally abstract. This may be partly because the idea of Chivalry grew coincidentally and interdependently with the cult of the Virgin. This latter form of veneration of Woman had been present for many centuries in Christian society, but from the twelfth century on it became almost hysterical in its frequency and strength.
Power's conclusion was that
"The cult of the Virgin and the cult of chivalry grew together, and both rose conspicuously to the surface from some time in the twelfth to the end of the thirteenth centuries...Both were perhaps signs of a reaction - this time a romantic reaction - against the sombre realities of an earlier and cruder age."1
We can sense something of this cult's passionate love of the Virgin in Hildegard of Bingen's hymn to Mary:
O pulcherrima
et dulcissimo...
...o mater omnis gaudii
All over Europe, traces still remain of the great pilgrimage routes, milestones on the journey to adore the Virgin. She was made manifest in stone and glass in places such as Chartres, and in the lives of the people through the celebration of feast days in her honour, in the naming of flowers for her, in her countless shrines, in blazing manuscript illustrations, and in the azure frescoes on church walls. The Virgin Mother stands at the head of Medieval society, often seeming to supplant God Himself.
Yet at the same time as she adorned the highest pinnacles of sacred worship as the undefiled essence of Woman, the Virgin became virtually indistinguishable from the purest forms of chivalric idealisation of fleshly Woman:
She whom in all the world I most want
and most love, in heart and faith,
joyfully and willingly hears my words,
heeds and retains my prayers,
writes Bernart de Ventadorn. He addresses his lady - she could just as easily be the Virgin Mother.
The cult of the Lady at the head of earthly Chivalry is thus the counterpart of the cult of the Virgin as the real head of the Church.
And this love of the Virgin and the Lady came to inspire much of the most enduring literature of the Middle Ages, writings and music centred around newly luxurious noble courts where Women stood at the focus:
"...there emerged a new style of life in an outburst of art, learning and literature. The outburst signalled the birth of a polite society. It was a refined and somewhat idle society, one requiring leisure to cultivate finer feelings, intellectual subtleties and polished manners.2
Thus, it may be that along with a revival of architecture, cuisine, manners and medicine accompanying the Crusades came an unprecedented interest in the valuing of the Virgin Mother and noble ladies in particular, and perhaps of women in general. This is, however, difficult to establish with any great certainty.
It is clear that flourishing of worship of the Virgin-Lady is absent from records of the First Crusade. Knights of the eleventh century and earlier appear to have had no special veneration for women as a group, especially the women of enemies. And their grandsons also displayed little enough respect for the feelings and rights of women. Any improvement in Woman's status was sectional and occasional, and did not achieve any great strength until the late twelfth century at the earliest. And peasant women of any century could expect little mercy from the lords.
Their betters might be treated with a degree of respect only if it suited their men's interests. Thus, Baldwin I was merely typical in his abuse and misuse of women: he had no hesitancy in sacrificing his wife or any other woman if it served his political or military interests. He seems to have paid little heed to the death of his first wife in Syria. And he married his second wife, Arda, purely to further his political and military interests, not to mention the huge dowry. He divorced her when it became apparent that she would not produce an heir - despite her loyalty to him throughout their marriage.
There are rumours about Arda's infidelities during their life together early in the twelfth century, including the suggestion of dalliance with some Moslem pirates during her journey from Syria to her new home in Jerusalem! Such behaviour was tolerated in a man - in a woman it was considered inexcusable. Nevertheless, it was Arda who ruled the kingdom after Baldwin was captured by the Moslems, and it was she who raised his ransom.
Baldwin's tribute to her years of companionship was to accuse her of adultery, divorce her, and confine her to the convent of St Anne in Jerusalem.
Baldwin enjoyed a vigorous bachelorhood for some time, until he was made aware of his financial embarrassment. He solved the problem through marriage to the most eligible widow of the time, Adelaide of Salona, relict of Roger of Sicily. She had been ruling in the name of her son Roger II when Baldwin proposed. The Queen accepted readily, apparently glad of the new role of Queen of Jerusalem. Part of her pre-nuptial contract was an agreement that Roger should become the successor to Baldwin's throne.
Adelaide arrived at her new home amidst splendour reminiscent of the journey of an earlier Queen of the Nile. Her bed aboard her galley was a carpet of golden thread: her ship parted the billows with a prow plated with silver and gold.
Her vessel was escorted by equally splendid triremes, leading seven argosies crammed
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