You who seek the knightly order
Must begin your life anew;
Watch and pray you most devoutly,
Pride and wicked sin eschew;
Protect the Church, the child, the widow,
Strongly guard the people too;
Valour, loyalty and virtue
From a worthy knight are due.
—Eugene Deschamps, “The Knightly Code”
Although my European readers may well not have the same difficulty, many Americans tend to have a hard time distinguishing between (or even defining) royalty, nobility, aristocracy, gentry, patricians, and knights. Royalty refers to Sovereign Houses—families who have ruled supreme in various countries. In most countries, this has been a fairly straightforward affair. But in Germany and Italy, thanks to the vagaries of history, and despite a readily identifiable family of Emperors—the Habsburgs—there were a dizzying number of Kingdoms, Principalities, Grand Duchies, Duchies, and so on. In the days before World War I, when royals only married other royals (if they wished to retain their rights to the Crown for themselves or their children), these lesser houses were still ‘marriageable.’ This was not the case for scions of lesser noble houses.
The titled nobility—Princes, Dukes, Marquesses, Counts or Earls (an English title the feminine version of which, however, was still ‘Countess’), Viscounts, and Barons—were a varied lot in 1914. The exact precedence varied from place to place. Moreover, the British system was very different from the Continental, because it was set up, in a sense, to end the nobility. From Portugal to Russia, all members of a titled noble family inherited the title. But in the British Isles, it was only the oldest son. His brother and sister would be ‘Lord John Smith’ and ‘Lady Jane Smith’—hence the fictional Lord Peter Wimsey’s older brother being the equally fictional Duke of Denver. Their children in turn would be referred to as ‘The Honourable John Smith,’ as with P.G. Wodehouse’s creation, the Hon. Bertram Wilberforce Wooster.
British or Continental, however, there was a great distinction between noble families of mediaeval creation—noblesse de l’epee, in French usage—who had served the Sovereigns as warriors in the many wars of feudal times and in the Crusades, as opposed to the noblesse de la robe, who had emerged in the 17th century as civil servants attending the growth of the modern state, officers in the more modern military service, and latterly as captains of industry and commerce.
The untitled gentry of the countryside, and the patricians of various cities across Europe, were seen as part of the aristocracy alongside the titled nobility. The gentry were the manor lords of song and story, and their mediaeval ancestors were often knights; when these were driven off the battlefield by gunpowder, one sort of knighthood became an honour bestowed at the discretion of the King—often for a price. Many such gentry escaped paying the cost of such an honour, which led to the custom in English of calling such a landowner ‘squire’—in the Middle Ages, the title of a candidate for knighthood who had not yet received the accolade. The gentry, like the nobility, held family coats of arms—this was what made one a ‘gentleman.’ In time, the behaviour one hoped would go with such an exalted parentage came to be called ‘gentlemanly.’ The original class were called ‘Lords of the Manor’ in England and ‘Barons’ in Scotland; nevertheless, these titles did not admit them to the House of Lords in England or the Parliament in Scotland. The patricians, the urban equivalent of the gentry, were to be found in the great trading cities of Europe, where they were often members of either merchant or noble guilds. From that lofty spot, they looked down their noses at the titled nobility, who had their titles thanks to a Sovereign’s gift. The patricians prized their independence.
Knights came in many different varieties. Originally, knighthood could be bestowed by any other knight, a bishop, or a sovereign; but in time, the latter claimed to be the sole owner of that power. Nevertheless, the great independent orders of knighthood—the Templars, Hospitallers (later Malta), Teutonic Knights, etc.—retained their independence after the fall of Jerusalem, although the first of those suffered a terrible suppression. Then followed the knights of the royal orders, such as Britain’s Garter, France’s St. Esprit, and Burgundy/Austria/Spain’s Order of the Golden Fleece. There were also hereditary knighthoods granted, along with the British equivalent, the Baronets.
The nobility and knights were considered one class or estate in mediaeval society, with the churchmen being another, and commoners (depending on the country, often including the gentry and the patricians) being the third. In some places, the commons were divided, and there were four rather than three estates. But many were the pictures in the Middle Ages that depicted priest, knight, and peasant, each with a phrase indicating their respective position in the collective order: “I defend all” by the knight; “I bless all,” by the priest, and “I feed all,” by the peasant.
As the Middle Ages wore on, representatives of these estates took on ever more responsibility; if their Emperor or King needed extra money, they would be convoked and asked to fund whatever difficulty had arisen. In England, the abbots and bishops (‘Lords Spiritual’) and titled nobility (‘Lords Temporal’) were brought together in one House of Lords. The House of Commons arose from the joint gatherings of the representatives of the boroughs with landowners returned by their neighbours from the various counties—the ‘Knights of the Shire.’ These developments were paralleled across Europe, with nobility and knights sitting in what became Upper Houses throughout the Continent. Alongside the monarchs and the Church, the nobility became the great patrons of art, music, and dance, even as they pioneered hunting and dotted the countryside from Portugal and Ireland to Russia with their great houses and castles. But these arrangements would totter and fall.
The Protestant revolt ushered in a series of internecine struggles whose ferocity bred an indifference toward Christianity among many of the educated. The resulting ‘Enlightenment’ ushered in a horrific series of revolutions, whose cruel ferocity was dedicated especially toward the Church, the Monarchies, and the aristocracy. Even in countries relatively untouched by these conflicts, the 19th century shift in so many countries from agriculture to industry eroded—and, in many cases, destroyed—the basis of the nobility’s power. The two World Wars, the rise of the cult of equality, the fall of most of the European Monarchies, and the reluctance to grant hereditary titles (only the Kings of Spain and Belgium continue to do so, as did the Popes up to and including Benedict XVI) threatened the relevance and even the very existence of the nobility. In the communist countries and Austria (thanks to the ever-ridiculous Karl Renner), use of noble titles was made a crime. The head of the House of Habsburg was recently prosecuted for this by the Austrian courts. With a virtual end to accessions to their titled state, the nobility of Europe have become a closed caste and far more exclusive than they were in days of yore. A few have become part of the faceless elite which presently dominates government, media, and business. Quite a number struggle to maintain historic houses and properties which they have held on to or regained. There are across Europe, a large number of national and local nobility associations, many of which are part of the continent-wide umbrella group CILANE; these organise various social and educational events. Those who still have houses or land are often member of societies belonging to the European Landowners Association and the European Historic Houses Association, though there are, of course, many non-noble members of these groups. Many others retain only the name and title, often in the Americas or Australia, whence their fathers fled the calamities earlier mentioned.
Fighting absurd Austrian laws aside, what is the point of the European nobility to-day? This very question was posed by a devout and politically active young nobleman from an old and distinguished family. And I have given a good deal of thought to the question he asked of me, even though, not being noble myself, it is a daunting question. As with most things, we must begin with first principles. For the nobility, that must be chivalry: service to God, Church, Monarch, those less fortunate, and the weak. That service, paradoxically, also means exercising leadership—a leadership rooted in self-sacrifice.
Indeed, the world to-day is suffocating for lack of such leadership. Masters we have aplenty in Church and state; but not leaders who are willing, for the sake of their own souls and those of the people committed to their care, to sacrifice their own pleasures and profits. Obviously, one need not be an aristocrat to try to be such a leader; but it is far easier for those who have generations of such an ethos in their ancestry. Most of us are where we are by accident of birth, which is why one sees so many ‘dynasties’ in the entertainment industry and the media. Our inclinations and upbringing often point us in one direction or another. How much truer can this be for those whose fathers did great things for their fellow men?
Of course, decades of constant noble-bashing in education and media across the globe have left their mark, and many young noblemen are rather diffident toward acting as members of their state. Use of titles is ridiculed as snobbery or worse (unlike such things as the Academy Awards, or the mere acquisition of wealth). Indeed, boasting of a title is often evidence that the title is not authentic. But a thick skin is important to develop—not least because hatred of the nobility so often masks a hatred of all things elevated.
Many of the nobility carry on in quiet—and very often extremely local—areas of service, helping to conserve local heritage and the environment. Where this is the case, it is a precious patrimony, both for the nobleman and his neighbours. If one finds oneself heir to such efforts, they must be taken on gladly, as part of a life’s vocation. We non-nobles who know this must do our best to encourage them in what are often lonely and thankless tasks.
But what of the national and international scene, where their fathers once cut such figures in the Church, military, diplomatic corps, and government? To-day, coming from a noble family can often be a disadvantage. Here is where one must cultivate first all a renewed sense of personal mission, built upon the strong foundations of Faith, Chivalry, and sense of noblesse oblige that shaped their ancestors—as well as that thick skin and a desire to work with fellow members of the nobility. Being imbued with a deep and driving sense of purpose is essential if one is to avoid the malaise that to-day affects so many in those leadership positions.
For the rest of us, if any such leaders in those fields arise, we need to support them, as opposed to supporting the dreary folk who usually seek our votes, donations, or both. We must try to free ourselves of the anti-aristocratic prejudices we have been spoon-fed since childhood. Who will be more likely to give us better leadership at either the local or national levels: career politicians and bureaucrats for whom we are mere cows to be milked; or scions of families whose names are as much a part of the history of our town or country as the rocks and buildings? Surely this goes double for members of formerly ruling families.
The sad truth is that, just as many to-day’s nobility are not the men their fathers were, so also with we commoners. The clansmen who rose in the Jacobite rebellions, the peasants that fought the revolution in the Vendee and Tyrol, and the White Guards in Russia were all as much steeped in their religion and national traditions as the titled heroes who led them. But to-day, the vast majority of us are cut off to a great degree from those things; few of us even have a useful trade. If we want the aristocrats to live up to their best traditions, surely we must live up to ours. For the past two and a half centuries, demagogues have made ‘equality’ an almost religious dogma. But if we would have a true equality, let it be based not upon pulling down to the lowest level those remaining descendants of the nobility. Rather, let us show our own mettle by trying to live up to the knightly code that made their fathers noble in deed.
