CHAPTER XXIV.

THE TROUBADOURS AND MINNE-SINGERS.

We now come to an era in music, where the most cultivated minds gave their attention to the art; and where it is no longer confined to the narrow channels of ecclesiastical, and even heraldic and martial use, but finds a broader outlet in the subjects of Love, and Nature. The troubadours were gentlemen (often knights), who held themselves totally distinct from those musicians who wrote for pay. The rise of chivalry in the middle ages, elevated woman from an unjustly low position, to an absurdly high one. She was held to be the arbiter of Fate; the Queen to whom all service was due; and was almost religiously worshipped. From this exaggerated devotion arose the school of troubadour and minne-singer composition. When knights racked their brains, as to what new offering they could bring to their lady, it was but natural that they should find, in the combination of poetry and song, a series of never-ending tributes with which they could pay homage to their chosen one.

It is easy to imagine that once launched into this fertile field, they would not wholly confine themselves to Love, but that an occasional poem on Nature, or War, would attest their versatility so that even the puerile “Courts of Love,” of the chivalric age, brought a general onward impulse to art; it was not to be expected that the knights could step at once from a condition of rudeness, to a state of culture, and it is not surprising to see a vast exaggeration of politeness, where little had been before.

In the beautiful country of Provence (South France), this branch of art took its rise. The lyrical songs of the troubadours were written in the Provencal tongue, which soon became, for all South France the court language for amatory poetry. It was called also the _Langue d’oc_ (from the affirmative “_Oc_,” or “yes”), to distinguish it from the _Lingua di Si_ (Italian) and the _Langue d’öil_ (North France); the name afterwards was attached to another province of France. The Trouvères, were the poets and minstrels of North France, and wrote in the _langue d’öil_. They wrote chiefly epic poetry, (fables, tales and romances), while the lyrical school was left to their southern competitors.

The troubadours composed and sang their own songs, but did not play their own accompaniments; that branch of music was turned over to hired musicians, called _jongleurs_.

Celebrated troubadours had often several _jongleurs_ in their employ. Those who made music a means of gaining a livelihood, were classed much lower. All in fact who did not invent (“_Trobar_,” to find, or invent, whence comes the word trobador) their own songs, but sang or accompanied others, were called _jongleurs_, which was about as ordinary a trade as that of our perambulating “jugglers;” whose name is only a corruption of the more ancient calling.

The troubadours had a position which was even better than that of the bards of Wales or Ireland. They also made a livelihood of music, but in a far more genteel way than their humbler assistants, who were proscribed for so doing. The first thing the troubadour did, on practising his art was to seek out some person on whom to bestow his heart. This person was almost invariably a married lady. To her, he would then dedicate all his lays; he would (bestowing upon her, an assumed name), sing of her beauties, and entreat her favors; he would sneer at the charms of other dames, and sometimes satirize them.

The feelings of the husband during all this can “better be imagined than described.”

Yet often the dame, may have been totally indifferent to his ardor. We feel sure that at times this was the case, for husbands are known to have begged their wives to accept the troubadour’s flattery, and keep him on, with slight encouragement.

Meanwhile the singers went on from Court to Court, received as equals, by the highest; flattered and sought for by the most brilliant circles, and fairest ladies. Often they attached themselves to some particular prince, and gained his favor and enriched themselves by singing _sirventes_ (songs of service) in his honor, and in derision of his enemies.

The nobles and kings of that era, also took up the Troubadour’s lyre, at times. Richard I., Alfonso X., William IX. Count of Poitiers and others were famous for their efforts in this line, and they richly patronized such troubadours as sought them.

The gifts with which a successful song was rewarded, were of course influenced by the liberality of the giver. Horses, richly caparisoned, elegant vestments, and money, are mentioned in this connection.[267] Meanwhile the troubadours occasionally display the utmost contempt for their assistants, the before mentioned _jongleurs_, and reproach nobles, in some verses, with receiving such persons (who play at village fairs, dance on the tight rope, and exhibit performing monkeys), into their castles. Yet not all of the poets shared in this feeling, for Boccaccio tells us that Dante loved to associate with the musicians who set his _canzone_ to music. In the thirteenth century, Guirant Riquier (called the “last of the troubadours”) complains to the king of Castile, Alfonso X., of the decadence of the troubadour’s art, and attributes it to the indiscriminate mixing of troubadours and jongleurs, in popular estimation. He says—“You know that all men live in classes differing and distinguished from each other. Therefore it seems to me that such a distinction of names ought also to be made amongst the joglars; for it is unjust that the best of them should not be distinguished by name as well as they are by deed. It is unfair that an ignorant man of small learning, who knows a little how to play some instrument, and strums it in public places, for whatever people will give him, or one who sings low ditties to low people about the streets and taverns, and takes alms without shame from the first comer,—that all these should indiscriminately go by the name of joglars ... for joglaria was invented by wise men to give joy to good people by their skill in playing on instruments.... After that came the troubadours to record valiant deeds, and to praise the good, and encourage them in their noble endeavor.... But in our days, and for some time past, a set of people without sense and wisdom have undertaken to sing and compose stanzas and play on instruments,”[268] etc.

The poor troubadour desired the king to classify them, and to title the best. The king’s answer is extant, wherein he endeavored to do so, but as the real essence and life had departed from the whole institution, it was unavailing.

The troubadours often had poetical combats, when they would indulge in a verse-battle about some “Law of Love,” and the judges were selected from the fairest and wittiest of the noble dames. These were called the “Courts of Love.”

The muse of some of them seems to have taken a most curious turn, for there are still in existence some “_Essenhamens_,” or books of etiquette for young ladies, which emanated from these lyrical pens, which are of the quaintest description. We reproduce a quotation from one, written by “Amanieus des Escas, called God of Love.”[269]

In this treatise we are supplied with a minute account of the accomplishments expected from a well educated young lady, and of the bad habits most prejudicial to her character. The poet is supposed to be addressing a noble damsel living at the court of some great baron, as a sort of ‘lady help’ to his wife; this being a not unusual, and undoubtedly a most efficient method of polite education in Provence. The young lady has accosted Amanieus on a lonely walk, asking for his advice in matters fashionable. This the poet at first refuses to tender, alleging that “you (the damsel) have ten times as much sense as I, and that is the truth!” But after his modest scruples are once overcome, he launches forth into a flood of good counsel. He systematically begins with enforcing the good old doctrine of ‘early to rise,’ touches delicately on the mysteries of the toilet, such as lacing, washing of arms, hands, and head, which, he sententiously adds, ought to go before the first mentioned process, and, after briefly referring to the especial care required by teeth and nails, he leaves the dressing room for the church, where a quiet undemonstrative attitude is recommended; the illicit use of the eyes and tongue being mentioned amongst the temptations peculiarly to be avoided.

Directions of similar minuteness assist the young lady at the dinner table; the cases in which it would be good taste, and those in which it would be the reverse, to invite persons to a share of the dishes within her reach are specified; and the rules as to carving, washing one’s hands before and after dinner, and similar matters, leave nothing to be desired. ‘Always temper your wine with water, so that it cannot do you harm,’ is another maxim of undeniable wisdom.

After dinner follows the time of polite conversation in the sala (drawing room), the arbour, or on the battlements of the castle; and now the teachings of Amanieus become more and more animated, and are enlivened occasionally by practical illustrations of great interest. “And if at this season,” he says “a gentleman takes you aside, and wishes to talk of courtship to you, do not show a strange or sullen behavior, but defend yourself with pleasant repartees. And if his talk annoys you; and makes you uneasy, I advise you to ask him questions, for instance:—‘Which ladies do you think are more handsome, those of Gascony or of England, and which are more courteous, and faithful, and good? And if he says those of Gascony, answer without hesitation; Sir, by your leave, English ladies are more courteous than those of any other country. But if he prefers those of England, tell him Gascon ladies are much better behaved, and thus carry on the discussion, and call your companions to you to decide the questions.’”

We also give two extracts from the poems of that famous troubadour, Bertrand De Born. He was a poet far more given to martial songs, than to the lyrical muse. His enemies dreaded his pen as much as his sword. He describes his belligerent qualities without any exaggeration, for he was literally never contented except when at war with some of his neighbors. One of his poems (addressed to a lady) begins smoothly enough, but before he is half done, he breaks into an abrupt praise of fighting.

In the following, he warns Williams of Gordon, against Richard of Poitou, and hurls invective at the latter.

“I love you well,” Bertrand says, “but my enemies want to make a fool and a dupe of you, and the time seems long to them before they see you in their ranks.” “To Perigeux, close to the wall, so that I can throw my battle axe over it, I will come well armed, and riding on my horse, Bayard; and if I find the glutton of Poitou[270] he shall know the cut of my sword. A mixture of brain and splinters of iron he shall wear on his brow.”

Here follows a frank avowal of his delight in war.

“All day long,” he says, “I fight, and am at work, to make a thrust at them and defend myself, for they are laying waste my land, and burning my crops; they pull up my trees by the roots, and mix my corn with the straw. Cowards and brave men are my enemies. I constantly disunite and sow hatred among the barons, and then remould and join them together again, and try to give them brave hearts and strong; but I am a fool for my trouble, for they are made of base metal.”

We cannot better take leave of the troubadours than by giving two additional specimens of the writing of Bertrand de Born.

The first is an ingenious poem. He has quarreled with his lady, and as a means of reconciliation he borrows from all the famous beauties of his time, their special charm, and gives them all to his love. The second song will explain itself.[271]

Domna, puois de mi no us cal, E partit m’aretz de vos, &c.

Lady, since thou hast driven me forth, Since thou, unkind, hast banished me, (Though cause of such neglect be none,) Where shall I turn from thee? Ne’er can I see Such joy as I have seen before, If, as I fear, I find no more Another fair, from thee removed, I’ll sigh to think I e’er was loved.

And since my eager search were vain, One lovely as thyself to find; A heart so matchlessly endow’d, Or manner so refined, So gay, so kind, So courteous, gentle, debonair,— I’ll rove, and catch from every fair Some winning grace and form a whole, So glad (till thou return) my soul.

The roses of thy glowing cheek, Fair Sembelis, I’ll steal from thee; That lovely smiling look I’ll take, Yet rich thou shalt be, In whom we see All that can deck a lady bright, And your enchanting converse, light, Fair Ellis, will I borrow too, That she in wit may shine like you.

And from the noble Chales, I Will beg that neck of ivory white, And her fair hands of loveliest form I’ll take; and speeding, light, My onward flight Earnest at Roca Choart’s gate, Fair Agnes I will supplicate To grant her locks, more bright than those Which Tristan loved on Iseult’s brows.

And Audiartz, though on me thou frown, All that thou hast of courtesy I’ll have,—thy look, thy gentle mien, And all the unchanged constancy That dwells with thee. And Miels de Ben, on thee I’ll wait For thy light shape so delicate, That in thy fairy form of grace My lady’s image I may trace

The beauty of those snow-white teeth From thee, famed Faidit, I’ll extort, The welcome, affable and kind, To all the numbers that resort Unto her court. And Bels Miraills shall crown the whole, With all her sparkling flow of soul; Those mental charms that round her play, For ever wise, yet ever gay.

Be in play lo douz temps de paseor Que fais fuelhas e flors venir; E play mi quant aug la baudor Dels auzels que fan retentir Lor chan per lo boscatge; E plai me quan rey sus els pratz Tendas e parallos fermetz; Quan rey per campanhas rengatz Cavalliers ab carals armatz.

The beautiful spring delights me well, When flowers and leaves are growing; And it pleases my heart to hear the swell Of the birds’ sweet choruses flowing In the echoing wood And I love to see, all scatter’d around, Pavillions, tents, on martial ground; And my spirit finds it good To see, on the level plains beyond, Gay knights and steeds comparison’d.

It pleases me, when the lances bold Set men and armies flying; And it pleases me, too, to hear around The voice of the soldiers crying; And joy is mine When the castles strong, totter and crack; And I see the foemen join, On the moated floor all compass’d round With the palisade and guarded mound.

Lances and swords, and stained helms, And shields dismantled and broken, On the verge of the bloody battle scene, The field of wrath betoken; And the vassals are there, And there fly the steeds of the dying and dead; And where the mingled strife is spread, The noblest warriors care Is to cleave the foeman’s limbs and head,— The conqueror less of the living than dead.

I tell you that nothing my soul can cheer, Or banqueting or reposing, Like the onset cry of “charge them” rung From each side as in battle closing, Where the horses neigh, And the call to “aid” is echoing loud; And there on the earth the lowly and proud In the foes together lie; And yonder is piled the mangled heap Of the brave that scaled the trench’s steep.

Barons! your castles in safety place, Your cities and villages too, Before ye haste to the battle scene, And, Papiol! quickly go, And tell the lord of “Oc and No,” That peace already too long hath been.

The Trouvères, were, as before intimated, the poet-musicians of North France. They wrote in a much more matter-of-fact manner than the troubadours, and wrote in the _Langue d’öil_, while the latter wrote in the _Langue d’oc_; two tongues as dissimilar as French and Italian, or English and Dutch.

There existed lady troubadours and trouvères; the works of some of them are extant, and do not in any way compare unfavorably with those of the other sex. Of course there are several solitary cases where the Norman poet would write a love song, and the Provencal a fable, but the general tendency was as above indicated.

Contemporary with the troubadours and trouvères, there arose in Germany, a similar order of singers, whose productions have been preserved, even more copiously than those of the southrons.

The minne-singers began their career in Germany, under the glorious reign of Barbarossa, (Frederic I.) in the last half of the twelfth century. The first name which we meet with is Henry of Veldig, yet it is a singular fact that he, the first of a new order of singers, begins by complaining of the decadence of the true minne-lied (love-song.) The word minne-singer means simply love-singer, i. e.—singer of love-songs. We give here, a verse of this early love-song, and have endeavored to give a translation, preserving the original metre (as nearly literal as possible) below it.

“Do man der rehten minne pflag Da pflag man ouch der ehren; Nu mag man naht und tag Die bösen sitte leren: Swer dis nu siht, und jens do sach, O we! was der nu clagen mag Tugende wend sich nu verkehren.”

“When true love had its proper sway, Then honour too, was nourished But now by night and day All evil ways are cherished, Who knows the past and present way, Oh Woe! how well complain he may Since every virtue now has perished.”

Almost all the lays of the minne-singers were written in the Swabian dialect which was then the court language of Germany. As a rule, their grace and elegance of diction was superior to that of the troubadours. They did not, like the latter, hire accompanists, or jongleurs, but played their own accompaniments on a viol. As in the South, emperors, princes, and knights, were proud to be known as minne-singers.

There exists a little epigram (ascribed to Frederic II.,) which we are tempted to reproduce, as it gives an insight to the qualities which were esteemed at that time.

“I like a cavalier Frances,[272] And a Catalonian dame; The courtesy of the Genoese And Castilian dignity The Provence songs,[273] my ears to please, And the dance of the Trevisan; The graceful form of the Arragoneze And the pearl of the Julian;[274] An English face and hands to see, And a page of Tuscany.”[275]

The love songs of the Germans were not so fiery as those of Provence; while the adoration of the troubadour for his love went all lengths, the German knight rendered to his own a much quieter, (and chaster) species of homage. There were not such criminal passions (often ending in murder at the hands of the outraged husband) as in France. In epic poems this school was very successful, and that stateliest of German poems, “The _Nibelungen-lied_,” dates from about this time, although its author is not known.

The preservation of many of the songs of the Minne-singers is due to Rudiger of Manesse, a senator of Zurich (fourteenth century). To those who are desirous of seeing the main part of his collection we cannot do better than to recommend the excellent work of F. von der Hagen, (“_Minne-sänger_,” _Manessische Sammlung_), in which all the gems of this early growth of mediæval poetry are given. One peculiar species of their songs were called “_Wacht-lieder_” (Watch-songs), and represent the pleading of the knight, with the watchman of the castle, for admittance to his love; or the warning of the watchman to the lover in the castle, to avoid discovery by leaving while it was yet dark. We present the reader with a specimen (author unknown).

Vor tags ich hort, in liebes port, wohl diese wort, Von wächters mund erklingen; Ist jeman ji, vorborgen hie, derachte wie, Er mog hindannen sprengen, &c.

I heard before the dawn of day The watchman loud proclaim;— “If any knightly lover stay In secret with his dame, Take heed the sun will soon appear; Then fly, ye knights, your ladies dear, Fly ere the day-light dawn.

“Brightly gleams the firmament, In silvery splendor gay, Rejoicing that the night is spent, The lark salutes the day: Then fly, ye lovers, and begone! Take leave before the night is done, And jealous eyes appear.”

That watchman’s call did wound my heart, And banished my delight; “Alas, the envious sun will part Our loves, my lady bright.” On me she looked with downcast eye, Despairing at my mournful cry, “We tarry here too long.”

Straight to the wicket did she speed; “Good watchman spare thy joke! Warn not my love, till o’er the mead The morning sun has broke: Too short, alas! the time, since here I tarried with my leman dear, In love and converse sweet.”

“Lady, be warn’d! on roof and mead The dew-drops glitter gay, Then quickly bid thy leman speed, Nor linger till the day; For by the twilight did I mark Wolves hyeing to their covert dark, And stags to covert fly.”

Now by the rising sun I view’d In tears my lady’s face; She gave me many a token good, And many a soft embrace, Our parting bitterly we mourn’d; The hearts which erst with rapture burn’d, Were cold with woe and care.

A ring, with glittering ruby red, Gave me that lady sheen, And with me from the castle sped Along the meadow green; And whilst I saw my leman bright, She waved on high her ’kerchief white; “Courage! To arms!” she cried.

In the raging fight each pennon white Reminds me of her love; In the field of blood, with mournful mood I see her ’kerchief move; Through foes I hew where’er I view Her ruby ring, and blithely sing, “Lady, I fight for thee.”

But the glory of the minne-singers was but short; the emperors of the house of Swabia, had fostered the art, by allowing an unheard-of liberty of speech and thought; with the downfall of that house (1256 A. D.) the church regained a continually-increasing ascendancy, and this liberty was again fettered. Song and poetry, especially of an amatory or frivolous (?) character were condemned, and the place of the pleasant school of minne-singer poetry was usurped by paraphrases of the Scriptures, hymns or legends, written either in very weak German or bad Latin; the school of German poetry took a very long retrograde step. Before leaving the minne-singers, a word must be said of their fables and tales; in these we find many modern ideas in a quaint and ancient dress, proverbs abound, and many tales of Roman History. “Don’t set the wolf to guard the Sheep,” “Never borrow trouble,”

“The king must die, And so must I,”

and many other sage thoughts.

The tales are sometimes very prettily told. We have thought it worth while to translate one, which we believe, has not yet been seen in an English dress.

As far as possible we have adhered to the abruptness and quaintness of the original.

“At one time there was a king, who had but one son, who was very dear to him; the son demanded leave of absence from his father, and said that he wished to see the world, and wished to make friends. Then the king spoke ‘that pleases me well; but see that you do not have your labor in vain.’ The son was made ready for his journey, and remained seven years away; after that he returned to his home and his father, which pleased the father very much, and he said,—‘Dear son: how many friends hast thou earned in these three years? Then the son answered ‘only three; the first I love better than myself; the second as much as myself; and the third, not as well as myself.’ The father said ‘It is well to have friends, and it is well to try them; I counsel you to kill a hog, and put it in a sack, and go in the night to your friends and say, you met an old enemy on the street and killed him, and are afraid that if the dead body should be found on you, it would cost you your life, and beg him that he should, in such extremity, help you, and that he will allow you to bury the body in his house, that it may not be found on you; so you shall find out if you have good friends.’

This advice pleased the son well, so he went back again to the city where he knew he should find his friends; and killed one night, a hog, and did as his father had advised him to, and came to the friend whom he loved better than himself. When this one had heard his story, he said:—‘you killed him yourself, so suffer for it yourself; if it were found by me it would cost me my life; but because we are good friends and comrades, when you are caught, and when they are about to bill you, I will go to you, and will console you, and will buy many ells of cloth for you, wherein they may wind you and bury you; because you loved me more than yourself.’ When he heard this, he answered nothing but went to the other friend whom he loved as much as himself, and knocked at his door with the same tale as he had told to the first; this one said:—‘Dear one! do you suppose I am such a simpleton that I want to die for you? If it is found here then I must die; but if they kill you, then I will comfort you, because that we are friends, and will do it the best I can, since we must all die.’ When he heard this, he parted from him, and came to the third friend whom he did not love as well as himself. This one asked what was in the sack, which he came with. He said:—‘I can not say well, but I need help in this day; yet know that it has been my fate to kill a man, and I carry his body on my back, and if it is caught by me, then I must die, therefore I call on you for counsel; This one spoke;—‘Give me here the body, and let me carry it myself, for I will even die for you,’ and when he opened the sack he found that only a dead hog lay therein. After that the son went home and told the whole story to his father.”[276]

The end is of rather startling abruptness; we should have liked to have heard of the rewards and punishment, _a la_ modern novel.

One song took its rise at this time which is even to-day a popular one, the world over. We refer to the music of the song now known as, “We won’t go Home till morning,” or “For he’s a jolly good fellow;” and known in France as “Malbrook s’en va-t-en Guerre.” This was a favorite air at the time of the crusades, and the crusaders often made it resound before Jerusalem.

The Arabs first knew the melody and have retained it to this day. The Arab fellahs will listen apathetically to the whole repertoire of a European orchestra; but the moment that the above tune is played, the whole aspect changes, and instead of a lifeless audience, the performers have the most enthusiastic of listeners.[277] In the course of descent from the Crusaders and ancient musicians, the tune has become a little quicker but is not changed in any material respect.

Some time after the decline of Minne-singing, an attempt was made to revive its glories, by musical competitions, somewhat similar in style; but the essence of the real “Minne” was gone; it was no longer the knight singing to his love, or telling in unaffected verse, the beauties of Nature. Instead of this, there was a competition of burgers and tradespeople, affecting a passion foreign to their nature, and caring far more for a stilted style of verse, than for the subject of it. Such were the Meister-singers;[278] Nuremburg was their chief seat, and like all the tradesmen of that age, they made their Guild a very close one. No one could be admitted as a Master, unless he invented a new style of rhyme. Almost all the members came from the lower classes, and the result of such tyros endeavoring to strike out paths which would have been difficult even to genius, can be imagined.

Hans Sachs (a Nuremberg shoe-maker) and a couple of others, were probably all that sang with real poetic feeling.

Their songs were also accompanied with music. There was a severe set of rules regulating the poetical and musical contests; and the Guild spread over all Germany; the last vestige of it did not disappear until as recently as 1839.

But while this stultified mode of music was going on in Nuremberg, a truer musical plant was growing beside it: at this time the Volks-lied (folk song) took its rise in Germany.

The first form of the volks-lied was religious, and it was of a simplicity which adapted it to the wants of the people. The pedantry of the Meister-singers had an excellent effect upon this class of composition, for it added counterpoint and harmony (even if driven to excess) to a class of music which was able to bear it.

Another order of music was that connected with the miracle plays, where scriptural events were represented upon the stage, with music. Much of this music was taken bodily from the ecclesiastical chants of the period.

With the commencement of the reformation, the music of Germany was lifted to a very elevated sphere, in being applied to the stately chorals which came into general use, through the efforts of Luther, who himself composed some of them. Luther had a most musical nature, which left its imprint upon his whole epoch.

It is related of him, that he spent the largest part of the night before he appeared to define his doctrines before the Diet of Worms, playing on his lute, in order to give composure and firmness to his thoughts.

He ranked music next to theology, and said:—“I am not ashamed to acknowledge, that next to divinity there is no study which I prize so highly as that of music.”

With the reformation, the epoch of modern music may be said to begin. Of course there was both crudity and pedantry in the art, but the Meister-singers, although they yet existed centuries later, had ceased to exert an influence.

There are but few curious facts, which are not generally known, from that age, to our own. Yet we think a brief sketch of the growth of some branches of our music, will not be uninteresting to the general reader, even if the facts have lost the relish of novelty.