Nothing appears incredible in romances after reading these tales of a very faithful historian; but we should wrong chivalry were we to suppose that this wild, this phrenetic, courage was its chief character. Perhaps it was in general the quality of young soldiers only; for discretion was certainly a part of cavaleresque valour. That a knight was sage is frequently said to his honour. Not, indeed, that his skill ever degenerated into the subtlety of stratagem, for bold and open[143] battle was always preferred to the refinements of artifice, and he would have debased his order if he had profited by any mischance happening to his foe. But in the choice of ground, in the disposition of his squires and men-at-arms, he exerted his best skill, for to be adventurous was only one part of valour. The soldier in chivalry was also imaginative, a word constantly used by our old authors to show a mind full of resources, and to express military abilities.[144] * * * * * [Sidenote: Their humanities of war.] There was not so much ruthlessness in his heroism as distinguished those ages of the ancient world which fancy and poetry have sometimes painted as chivalrous. The prostrate and suppliant foe seldom sued for mercy in vain from the true knight. It was a maxim, that a warrior without pity was without worship.[145] Even the pride of knighthood often softened the fierce and rugged face of war, for inferior people were spared, because they were unworthy of the lance. A knight trained to warlike exercises cared little for a battle unless he could prove his skilful bearing; and what honour could he gain from slaying rude and unarmed peasantry? The simple peasant was often spared from motives of prudence. Richard Brembrow, an English knight, was ravaging Brittany, in the year 1350, but was reproached for his conduct by Beaumanoir, a partisan of the house of Blois, who was astonished that a valiant cavalier should make war, not only on men bearing arms, but on labourers and others. "In all wars guided by chivalric principles," continued the knight of Brittany, "true soldiers never injure the tillers of the ground; for if they were to do so, the world would be destroyed by famine."[146] More generous feelings, however, sometimes had their influence. The stern Du Guesclin, when on his death-bed, desired his old companions in arms to remember that "neither the clergy, nor women, nor children, nor poor people, were their enemies;" and the charge came with peculiar propriety from him, for his past life could furnish no instance of needless severity.