{"id":12404,"date":"2012-12-12T09:49:43","date_gmt":"2012-12-12T09:49:43","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.badreputation.org.uk\/?p=12404"},"modified":"2013-06-03T13:21:22","modified_gmt":"2013-06-03T12:21:22","slug":"men-on-horses-c-is-for-chivalry-alphabet-b-sides-and-rarities","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/badreputation.org.uk\/2012\/12\/12\/men-on-horses-c-is-for-chivalry-alphabet-b-sides-and-rarities\/","title":{"rendered":"Men on Horses: C is for Chivalry (Alphabet b-sides and rarities)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Ed’s note:<\/strong> In the original Alphabet we did ‘C is for Crinoline’<\/a> – but here’s something we thought was topically worth coming back to.<\/p>\n

C<\/h6>\n

CHIVALRY<\/h2>\n

Chivalry is dead, but you’re still kinda cute.<\/p>\n

– Nelly Furtado, Promiscuous<\/strong> (2006)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Chivalry. Not one of feminism’s most pressing issues, but definitely one of its more genteel debates<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Do you, as an attractive female who also happens to be a feminist, deign to take the seat that dude offers you on the crowded tube or laugh hollowly and stick your head back in your neighbour’s armpit? Is chivalry OK?<\/p>\n

Personally, my view on this debate is always affected by the point that 99% of the men I’ve met who talk about chivalry with misty-eyed fervour are also the kind of Nice Guys who Really Aren’t Very Nice At All.<\/p>\n

But that’s not for here.<\/p>\n

What I am interested in is looking at its complex linguistic heritage.<\/p>\n

Horses<\/h2>\n

What’s that sound in the distance?<\/p>\n

Why, it’s the sound of clopping hooves – and chivalry<\/em>‘s etymological root come to join us. Neiiigh.<\/p>\n

\"Horse<\/a>

Animal instincts. Photo by Hodge.<\/p><\/div>\n

For though chivalry <\/strong><\/em>in English means (first definition ahoy!)\u00a0 ‘the code of behaviour demonstrated by a perfect knight<\/em>‘, were we French we’d replace ‘knight’ with ‘chevalier<\/em>‘, or ‘horseman’ – from the root word cheval<\/em> (= ‘horse’).<\/p>\n

The knight, or chevalier<\/em>, is <\/em>in origin a nobleman on horseback who goes around rescuing maidens and fighting dragons. He is chivalrous <\/em>in behaviour, displaying (the word’s second definition) ‘courage, honour, justice and readiness to help the weak’.<\/p>\n

Key examples can be found in the legends of King Arthur and his horsebacked Knights of the Round Table – in particular Sir Gawain and the so-good-he-couldn’t-be-gooder Sir Percival (who later becomes Wagner’s\u00a0Parsifal<\/strong>).<\/p>\n

The chivalrous are those on horseback.<\/p>\n

But it’s the secondary meaning of chivalry<\/em>\u00a0that we best recognise today:\u00a0‘courteous<\/em> behaviour, especially towards women’ (that is, giving up your seat on the tube, which Percival would totally have done if he didn’t travel everywhere by cheval<\/em>). <\/em><\/p>\n

Courtly-powered lovin’<\/h2>\n

Chivalry – and the courtesy\u00a0<\/em>that defines it – is also the base idea behind courtly<\/em> love<\/em>, which the devoted may remember we addressed separately in the Alphabet Glory Days<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\"Charles<\/a>

Charles I – Equestrian portrait by Anthony van Dyck<\/p><\/div>\n

This is what the knights are doing when they’re not out fighting –\u00a0 sighing for love among rose bushes, swooning at the touch of a ‘lily-white hand’<\/a> and definitely <\/em>giving up their seats for a woman on the medieval commute.<\/p>\n

And it was said to have been invented by a woman, Eleanor of Aquitaine.<\/p>\n

Before she married Henry II and brought her French customs over to England, Eleanor had a period presiding alone over a predominantly male grouping in Poitiers.It seems inventing an elaborate code of chaste devotion to a single lady – court<\/em>eous behaviour, if you will – was a good way for Eleanor to bring these bored and potentially restless knights into order – and, I assume, to block potential sexual aggression at the same time (cf. the court of Elizabeth I, which saw a resurgence of ‘courtly’ devotion to ‘Gloriana’, the ‘Virgin Queen<\/a>‘).<\/p>\n

Courtship<\/h2>\n

With these courtly roots, it’s appropriate that, during the English Civil War, the word\u00a0chevalier <\/em>should lend itself so enthusiastically to the Royalist cause in fighting for king (and court).<\/p>\n

In this context, the Cavaliers were enemies to the Roundheads and cousins to\u00a0chevaliers<\/em>\u00a0via the Latin source-word ‘cabellarius’ (also meaning ‘horseman’).<\/p>\n

The origin of this term is actually pre-war, in the grouping of courtly ‘cavaliers’ at the original Carolingian court (a bit like the courtly lovers at Poitiers).<\/p>\n

These included the ‘Cavalier poets<\/a>‘, a conglomerate of literary courtiers formed by the King himself, including Robert Herrick and Edmund Waller.<\/p>\n

The term in this usage is ambiguous, though. On the one hand, cavalier<\/em>\u00a0was often used in allusion to the King’s refined (indeed ‘knightly’) sensibilities, which, incidentally, included a famous love of horses – as\u00a0the many magnificent equestrian portraits of him attest.<\/p>\n

But, in a pejorative sense, the cavalier poets\u00a0<\/em>were so named because they were famously ‘roistering gallants’ and ‘libertines’. This is cavalier<\/em>‘s other meaning: ‘haughty, disdainful or supercilious’ or ‘offhand and unceremonious’ (a bit like wearing your hat at a ‘rakish’ angle<\/a>).<\/p>\n

So cavalier\u00a0<\/em>is almost a contraction in terms.<\/p>\n

The Don<\/h2>\n

This is the very ambiguity we find in Mozart’s great libertine opera,\u00a0Don Giovanni<\/strong>, written about 100 years later. The ‘Don’ is a nobleman and serial womaniser. He’s a standard-issue\u00a0rake<\/a>, in fact: we learn in the\u00a0Catalogue Song<\/a>\u00a0that he’s seduced 1,003 women in Spain alone.<\/p>\n

\"Sir<\/a>

Sir Charles Grandison<\/p><\/div>\n

He is throughout referred to in the Italian as a ‘cavalier’, understood (and, for us English-speakers, translated) according to context variously as ‘gentleman’ (nobleman on horseback) and ‘rake’ (careless womaniser) – as in the opera’s subtitle, ‘Il dissoluto<\/em> punito’ (‘the debauchee punished’).<\/p>\n

Thus, when Don Giovanni takes the pretty peasant girl Zerlina away from her finance, Masetto, to show her his castle (no, really), Don Giovanni ‘reassures’ the jealous Masetto by saying he needn’t worry – his fiancee is ‘in the hands of a cavalier<\/em>‘.Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Masetto is afraid of. “Let the cavaliere <\/em>make a\u00a0cavaliera<\/em> out of you!” he trumpets at the departing Zerlina – he knows what’s going down\u00a0(this<\/a>).<\/p>\n

Court to City<\/h2>\n

Back to English climes.<\/p>\n

At the beginning of the eighteenth century, Queen Anne halved the size of the English court and moved it out of central London.<\/p>\n

In so doing, she ultimately ended up transferring power from court to city – and courtesy <\/em>became <\/em>civility (from the Latin cives<\/em> (= the city)).<\/p>\n

\"The<\/a>

The White Knight accompanies Alice through the forest<\/p><\/div>\n

This is the age of opening doors, watching your language and standing up when a woman enters the room. Chivalry has gone domestic; men are civil <\/em>now in Britain. Only the hot-headed Italian Don Giovannis are still\u00a0cavaliers<\/em>.<\/p>\n

But when Samuel Richardson wanted to depict a perfect (but domestic) Englishman, he still made him an aristocratic knight (Sir<\/span> Charles Grandison<\/strong>).\u00a0Jane Austen did too: her paragon of virtue (himself based on Sir Charles), is pointedly named Mr Knightly<\/em> (Emma<\/strong>).By this point it’s faded away to a name rather than a title, but the gentleman still has a vestigial horse (if you will).<\/p>\n

White Knights<\/h2>\n

Strangely enough, the vestigial horse becomes more literal in the modern age, in the form of the ladies’ proverbial ‘ideal man’ – a chivalrous gentleman. Mr Right is also a ‘knight in shining armour’.<\/p>\n

He’s even a\u00a0\u00a0Lewis Carroll-esque ‘White Knight’, a noble rescuer (as in the song ‘My White Knight’ from Meredith Wilson’s The Music Man<\/strong><\/a>, where the knight in question will, her mother thinks, ‘save’ Marian the Librarian from Old Maidery).<\/p>\n

Remember when Grace first meets Leo – the Great Romance – in\u00a0Will and Grace<\/strong>? He’s on a horse in Central Park. That’s how you know he’s a Big Deal Romance.<\/p>\n

Never trust a man on horseback<\/h2>\n

And, to conclude very crudely, I suppose this is what happened to chivalry <\/em>.<\/p>\n

It became the polite behaviour of the \u00a0gentleman – enshrined in tradition and developed over a couple of hundred years to become our friend offering me a seat on the bustling 21st century commute <\/strong>and sitcom single girls dreaming of their ‘Mr Darcy’.<\/p>\n

But I still hear the sound of clopping hooves. The fantasy may be more Sir Gawain than Don Giovanni, but you know what they say – the apple never falls far from the lexical tree.<\/p>\n