la,. 3> so -< mi mi mi & ■^oxwrnn"^ ^oxmrni'^ ^mwrn^ ^/sa^M C3 CO 3D > r< 35 SO -< so J<1 > ex ^ME DNIVERi-Z/i 'Jr ^vWSANGElfj'^ >::. ^"At-lIBRARYa < O Or ^ ^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES clOSANCElfj> O ii_ aJK L :t:^=l==tt «.-SZ»z soar-ing to the sun, Till, e'en with rap - tare # l,(^)r-j j ;^33j--j— ^ * — J= -^s — lal - ter - ing, He sinks in glad ob - liv - 1 - &==F -1=^-^- zat-^'-J-wt W^^ -^- -1- - on: A - las 1 . . . How fain to seek were 1, The same ec - f -i H 3B=:it JC?jE±22 J f9 s-:SL ■ stat-ic fate of fire; Yea, of a truth 1 know not -I 1 n— r s:^^=S= s:r~z why my heart melts not with its de - sirej THE SINGER OF LOVE NOW the Castle of Ventadour, in Limousin, Provence, was a goodly place and a fair. Indeed it would be hard to fancy a more rarely perfect spot in which to be born and to come to manhood, and its poetic loveli- ness spurred the inspiration, as it filled the daily life, of the boy Bernart. The hamlet of Moustier Ventadour may still be seen. A league and a half east of Egletons it is, and the ruins of the Castle are a quarter of a mile farther on. The ruins of Ventadour ! It is as sorrowful an image as that of faded roses or dead youth: alas, that even Ventadour should have known the destructive touch of time! But at the period of which I write, — the early half of the twelfth century, — it was a splendid pile set high upon a hill, in a country of wild and pictiiresque beauty. Crowding about the stone walls, every kind of tree possible to Proven^-al soil lifted its heavy leafage to the warm blue sky, and afforded nesting-space to the swallows and nightingales, the ring-doves and larks, that made that region melodious. 4 MAKERS OF SONG From his earliest childhood Bernart loved his lyri- cal brothers, the birds. But of all the feathered things that trilled and fluttered among the pines and larches and silver birches, the one whose song awakened the tendercst and most responsive chord in the boy's heart was the skylark. Upon this same joyous bird was written his most exquisite lyric, many years later, — the simple and graceful Lark Song known to every lover of the Proven9als. Imagine a garden where forget-me-nots and clover, roses and hemp, grew wildly and sweetly together. Fancy a fragrant luxuriance of blackthorn, ivy, ever- greens, lilacs, and locust-trees. Picture mossy rocks, and great tangles of wild-flowers and blackberry- vines; — and you may guess, albeit dimly, — the enchantment of Ventadour. Under a great chestnut- tree stood a stone crucifix, — hundreds of years old, even then ! And back of the Castle was the big deli- cious garden. It was walled by parapets that crowned sharp precipices and made the garden entirely inac- cessible from without. Shadowed by a tall blue-green pine-tree was the pa- vilion, or summer-house, — where my lady might sit at her embroidery-frames, or, dreaming idly, watch the misty distance from her lofty garden-space. Every- where creeping vines abounded, overgrowing every- thing, — ^the pavilion, the parapets, and the walls of the Castle. Everywhere flowers starred the green. THE SINGER OF LOVE 6 and the hosts of rapturous birds sang and darted unendingly beneath the sun-gilded clouds. In Ventadour, about the year 1125, was bom he whom the world hails as Bernart de Ventadorn. A mystery shadows the birth of 3'oung Bernart de Ventadorn. Even in his lifetime there were few who knew, or at least avowed, the truth. There are those who say that he was an unacknowledged member of the Ventadorn family, — the patrons whose name he bore. These same persons declare that it was this fact which made Ebles III. Vicomte de Ventadorn so friendly in his favours to the bo}^ Others state that his mother was a serving-wench who gathered brushwood to feed the great bake- ovens of the Castle, and his father one of the lower servants, who marched as a common archer, when the Vicomte's men were called to arms. However this may have been, it seems a matter of small import to-day. The greatness of Bernart — sur- named de Ventadorn, after his benefactor Ebles III., Vicomte de \ cntadorn, — could not be made nor marred by a mere accident of birth. Let us not trouble our minds with the antecedents of this most wonderful boy. It is enough that he was the favourite of Ebles III., and that through his kindness the boy was educated as befitted a gentleman of that period. The Vicomte loved music, luckily, and Bernart's rare gift of song was fostered and developed until he be- 6 MAKERS OF SONG came known throughout Provence as Bernart le Chanteur (Bernart the Singer). And he was most grateful, and loved Ebles well ; and, as he grew pro- ficient in the lyric art, he sang to him by the hour, charming the Vicomte's ears with the melody of his golden voice. The Vicomte Ebles, we gather, was a fine and gen- erous knight, of rare breadth and vigour of mind, and graced with a heart that was clean alike of deception and distrust. In people and things the quality which pleased him best was energy. This trait was curiously and quaintly expressed by the Prior of Vigeois, who said of him: ''Usque ad senectam carmina alacritatis dilexit (He loved, even to his old age, the songs of alacrity ) ." Certain chroniclers tell us that our Bernart, brought up in the accepted theory of his inferiority in birth, suffered keenly from a sense of humiliation, and grieved because he belonged to his gorgeous environ- ment by privilege rather than right. According to the conception of the boy's character based upon his life and songs, it is difficult to believe this. If he permitted himself any sentiments of sad- ness on account of his obscure origin, assuredly they were transient. Bernart was a son of the south, and his griefs and annoyances, if poignant, were fleeting. He loved romance and beauty and joy as he loved THE SINGER OF LOVE 7 the air he breathed, and the mellow Proven9al sun be- neath which he grew to manhood. With the pallid ecstasies and sentimental woes affected by lesser Trou- veres he would have nothing to do. He had no patience with false melancholy, though his sensitive and poetic heart could know the depths of genuine suffering. His deepest fault was his headlong and unreasoning impetuosity. What he wished he would have gone down to Hades to claim ! No one was ever born with the love of life so keenly inherent ; no one ever throbbed more vitally and re- sponsively to the appeals of sentiment, poetry, and passion. He was educated in a monastic school, but the religious life neither attracted nor interested him. He chafed within the austere walls, where the good monks taught him such meagre rudiments of knowledge as were accounted culture in those days. Only one thing did he really care to study, and that was music. Verse-making was as instinctive and spon- taneous with him as singing is to birds ; but the use of his own voice, and, above all, the correct manner of playing the instruments of the period, — these things seemed to him worth learning. He accordingly ap- plied himself to the study of minstrelsy. He learned to touch the harp, viellc, and lute with a master hand, and to sing like the skylark he adored. He learned to put down his eager dreams and rapturous fancies in notes as well as words, And the poems and melodies 8 MAKERS OF SONG which he made have lost neither fire nor beauty after nearly eight centuries. From boyhood he had but one theme for all his songs — love. He cared nothing for warfare, nor the church, nor politics, nor merry-making. Romance was his dream, his inspiration, and his compelling motive. And it is hardly too much to say that, among all those poets who, consciously or unconsciously, have followed in his footsteps, there is not one who has ever surpassed his standard in love lyrics. He sang of the tenderness and faith and fervour of all lovers ; the adoration of the Troubadour for the fair one who inspired his songs ; the devotion of the lady to the knight who fought for her ; the loves of goat- herds and shepherdesses ; the wooing of birds and flowers ; the mating of nature ; the passion of the ele- ments ; the eternal smile, sigh and sob of universal love. So is he well called the Singer of Love. Nowhere in the world was it easier to fashion love- songs than in Limousin. If the speech of Picardy was silver, the speech of Provence was of molten gold. If the Chatelain de Coucy, whom we shall meet later, sang of the white blossomed spring, Bernart de Venta- dorn was not only the celebrator, but the incarnation, of the rich Southern summer. Even in winter his tem- perament and fancy created a poetical summer. While the land was frozen and snow-encrusted he wrote one of his most delicious songs : THE SINGER OF LOVE 9 '"So filled with happiness am I Earth wears another face ; Rich flowers of many a brilliant dye For me the frost displace ; When rains descend and tempests fly My joy but gains in grace. They only help my song rise high My glory mount apace ; For in my loving heart So sweetly joy doth start, Meseems the flowers make ice depart. To verdure snow gives place!" When Bernart was about twenty-three, and in the first flush of his genius as of his youth, the Vicomte Eblcs took to wife the radiant Vicomtesse de Limoges. As a girl, the name of Margarida de Turenne was known far and wide as being significant of all beauty. As the young wife of Aimar IV., of Limoges, Marga- rida was considered even more marvellously lovely. When the Vicomte de Limoges died and left her a youthful and charming widow, she wasted no undue time in regrets. Mock mourning was unpleasant to her lightly emotional nature, and she had not loved her husband so well as to have difficulty in finding consola- tion. Within a year of his death she married Ebles de Ventadorn. She was many years younger than he, and as fascinating as she was weak and frivolous. To Ventadour she came like a gorgeous flower, a re- 'Translation by Justin H. Smith. 10 MAKERS OF SONG splendid jewel, or rare and many-hued bird. And one and all bowed down before her brilliant, vanquish- ing beauty, and adored the tips of her embroidered shoes. First and greatest among her conquests was the young Troubadour of her husband's court, Bernart the Singer. In Margarida he found the ideal of all his songs and all his dreams. He had sung of love, — here was Love personified of which to sing. He worshipped beauty, — where could a man find beauty such as this.? He adored romance, — here was Romance come to earth in the guise of a lovely woman. Margarida was not only beautiful, she had wit of a valueless, sparkling order, and, as her nature was easily stirred and superficially poetic, it is small wonder that she captivated the young minstrel. He made songs for her by day and night, songs that were iridescent with sentiments and visions, and charming with whimsical fancies, — songs that caused the Vicomte Ebles to applaud with frank de- light, and that moved the heart of the lady with grati- fied vanity and pleasurable excitement. Her beauty, we are told, was of the sort to strike men dumb. To Bernart, however, it gave a new and more melodious utterance. He called her "Bel Vezer (Fair-To-See)." So was she mentioned in his songs, and so did he call her softly in speaking to his own heart. THE SINGER OF LOVE 11 '"It is no wonder if I sing A better song than all the rest, — " he wrote one day: "For Love is mightier in my breast. My life a fitter offering ; For heart and body. Mind and sense, Are given to Love, and all my might ; Nor can I turn to left or right The rein toward Love is drawn so tense!" It was in the same song that he made jesting pro- test against his lad3^'s hard heart : "You're neither bear nor lion — quite. To kill me, if I cease defence?" Bernart, says Fauriel, possessed "a fine ear, a sweet voice, a Hvely and dehcate imagination." And one liistorian declares that he had the three quahfications for winning affection which are so exphcitly stated by Blondel the Minstrel : "Sincere love, generosity, and a courtly speech." We also learn from many sources that he was of goodly presence, though not tall, and that he was graced with dark, penetrating and very beautiful eyes, a charming smile and a magnetic personality. He dressed with the extreme care and the eye to the artistic which was affected by the great Troubadours of the day, and had notably good man- ■Translated by Justin H. Smith. 12 MAKERS OF SONG ners, even in that ceremonious period. Whatever he attempted he did v/ell : he rode superbly, and acquitted himself witli grace and skill in passages of arms. Nevertheless, while possessing ample courage and manliness, and being an acknowledged favourite among his fellows, he was, as he admitted frankly, happiest at a lady's feet! It is not hard to picture Bernart and Margarida together golden hour by golden hour ; the Troubadour playing upon his harp and singing his wonderful love- songs, as the heavy breath of crowding roses surged in through the open casement, and the warm Provencal winds caressed the hair and face of the Vicomtesse. It was a beautiful dream to Bernart; and perhaps Margarida herself, in all her gay and wilful life, had never known such high and genuine feeling. But the idyll was brief, as were most things in Provence. Pain and joy, love and death, reached their bloom swiftly, there in the South ; and nothing endured longer than the roses. One day, under that big pine-tree that shadowed the garden of Ventadour, Bernart sank on his knee at Margarida's feet, and began to sing. He was in- spired as never before, and his melody was as exquisite as it was new-born and fresh. So touched she was, so stirred, so moved, so impressed by the loveliness of the strain, that she bent above him as he knelt at her feet, and kissed him without a word. THE SINGER OF LOVE 13 Whether or not the Vicomte Ebles saw the kiss, or whether some pr3^ing servitor told him of it, is not re- corded. But in some manner he knew of it, and, shocked out of his honourable and generous confi- dence, he decided to put an end to the musical and poetical romance going on in Ventadour. He led his Vicomtesse to her apartments in the don- jon tower, left her there with her women, and locked her in securely. "Then," says an ancient chronicler, "he made himself a stranger to Bernart." That he did not banish him from the Court is proof of his gen- erous nature and the love he bore the young Trouba- dour. Bernart was profoundly miserable. His benefactor's attitude was so bitter a reproach to his thought- less, ronlantic nature, that he could hardly endure to remain longer at Ventadour. But he was convinced that his beautiful lady was grieving for his songs, and so remained to write her countless poetical effusions, which he sent her by a secret messenger, and even sang to her softly in the shadow of the donjon tower. But Margarida never even looked from her window to thank him. Finally the secret messenger brought him a message : "The Lady Margarida desired that he should de- part and go away from all that region, and come not back to it any more." This curt and unsympathetic response to his song- 14 MAKERS OF SONG making opened Bcrnart's eyes at last, and he saw that the Vicomtesse had simply cared for him and his songs while thev entertained and did not inconvenience her. Moreover, rumours reached him that Margarida had been much more interested in the Sieur de Beaucaire, a distinguished noble who had visited the Castle, than in him. In a mood of keen, if transient, unhappiness, the young Troubadour said good-bye to Ventadour, his lord, and his boyhood, and went away. He took his harp and his jongleurs, — the men who sang his songs when he was out of humour, — and lived the life of a wanderer for a time. This is part of the song which he made out of his departure : '"In vain at Ventadour full many a friend Will seek me, for ray lady doth refuse me. And thither small my wish my way to wend, If ever thus despitefully she use me. On me she frowninj^ly her brow doth bend. For why ? My love to her hath ne'er an end ; But of no other crime she can accuse me." This song has an artificial ring except for two lines, wherein he seems to refer to his happiness in Venta- dour: "... I send unto Provence ^reat love and joy, And greater joy than ever tongue expresseth. ..." 'Translation by Ida Farnell. THE SINGER OF LOVE 15 So ends the first part of the story of Bemart de Ventadorn, — the part through which "Bel Vezer" smiled, frowned and coquetted. The tale was set down by the Trouvere Hugh (or "Uc") de Saint Circ, who says: ". . . And this that I, Hugh of Saint Circ, have written of him, did the Viscount Ebles, of Ventadour, relate to me; son of the Viscountess that Sir Bemart loved." Margarida and her husband never were reconciled. She had small power of affection, either for him or for their small son, the "Viscount Ebles," referred to by Saint Circ. She was tired of her husband, and he was bitterly disappointed in her, and a separation was soon obtained. Margarida married Guilhelm IV., Count of Angouleme, without the slightest delay, and continued to be known as one of the most beautiful women of her day. Her loveliness added lustre to four ancient names : Turenne, Limoges, Ventadorn and Angouleme. As one writer says, in all simplicity: "She must have been very attractive !" Ebles, whose nature was too deep to permit of con- solation, and who had now lost not only his wife, but Bernart, whom he loved as a brother, left Ventadour forever. He, like Bernart, could no longer bear the sad and sweet memories connected with the place, and he travelled far and wide, striving to forget. But while Bemart was comforted speedily by his two gods, 16 MAKERS OF SONG Song and Love, the Vicomte failed to find f orgetfulness or consolation. So he journeyed to Monte Cassino, in Italy, became a monk in an austere Order, and never was heard of any more. For three years Bernart wandered about, growing older, but, it is to be feared, hardly wiser. At the end of that time he found himself in that enchanting, bril- liant and dangerous place, the Court of Normandy. Says Rowbotham, the historian, "Normandy was an ever-open asylum to the unfortunate in love and the fortunate in war." When Bernart arrived at Court his second patron had just brought home his bride. This time both patron and bride were of exalted station, — no petty count and countess but a future king and a divorced queen! Henry of Anjou, later Henry II., of Eng- land, was at that time Duke of Normandy, and reigned over all the province. His son was one day to be known by all the world as Coeur de Lion, but at the time of which I speak, Henry was himself a mere boy in years, younger as a matter of fact than our Ber- nart. Yet he was not too young to be wayward and obstinate and overbearing ; and so it happened that of all the royal women of the world he chose Queen Elea- nor for his wife ! Born Duchess of Aquitaine, she had been for a brief restless season Queen of France, and con- sort of "the priestly king," Louis VII. She had THE SINGER OF LOVE 17 despised Louis and had married young Prince Henry because, as she asserted, "she wanted a man, not a monk, for a husband !" She it was who had gone with the Crusaders into Palestine, making coats of mail the fashion for great ladies. And she it was who presided at the fantastic Courts of Love of the day. She kept herself steadily before the public gaze, — not from van- ity, like Bel Vezer, but from a love of power and of adventure. She was as imposing as Margarida was appealing and charming, and of the two it is admitted that the Queen was the more beautiful. In March she bade farewell to her royal "Monk," and imme- diately married Henry Plantagenet. He brought her home to Normandy, his bride and Princess, soon to be his Queen ; and great were the festivities in honour of that bridal. Eleanor flung herself heart and soul into the spirit of gaiety. She was glad to be free from Louis, for, while she did not love Henry overmuch, she loved him better than the French King. And her passion for power thrilled her with triumph in that it would be but for a brief season, after all, that she would not wear a crown. To Bernart, still moodily though fitfully mourning his lost Bel Vezer, came the vision of this magnificent young Duchess, like the sun between clouds. When he saw her, the last lingering flames of his foolish and infatuated sentiment for Margarida paled before the 18 MAKERS OF SONG clear light of a genuine admiration. He appointed himself Knight and Troubadour to Her Highness with- out delay, and set himself to compose a fresh and more brilliant order of songs for her superior judgment. Margarida had been lovely as a gay flower; this woman had the beauty of the moon and stars ; or so he thought. Margarida had possessed charm; Eleanor had the magnetism of a deep and rare personality. The Vicomtesse had had a gracious wit; the Duchess had an intellect of unusual strength and keenness. Bel Vezer had carried with her an atmosphere of artificial romance and perfumed sentiment ; this woman, who had been and would again be a Queen, seemed forever surrounded by a grandeur of emotion which had in it pride and wildness, dignity and abandon. Margari- da's spirit was as small as her dainty frame ; Eleanor, body and soul, was large, strong and beautiful. Says the Prior of Vigeois: "The Duchess of Nor- mandy was illustrious and much admired, and well versed in matters of fame and honour, and knew how to award praise." She had too much discernment not to appreciate Bernart's gifts, and readily permitted him to sing her praises before the world. So it came about that Bernart took far more pains with his songs than ever he had in the old days. Bel Vezer had only recognised the sweet and entertaining quality of his work. The Princess Eleanor had a fine knowledge of music and letters, and her brain as well as her heart re- THE SINGER OF LOVE 19 sponded to her Troubadour's songs. It is to Eleanor, therefore, that we owe Bernart's loveliest lyrics. To her was written that chanson in which he managed to breathe the spirit of the skylarks that had soared and sung above the gardens of Ventadour through his golden boyhood, — which we call the Lark Song : '"When I behold on eager wing The skylark soaring to the sun Till, e'en with rapture faltering, He sinks in glad oblivion, Alas, how fain to seek were I The same ecstatic fate of fire ! Yea, of a truth I know not why My heart melts not with its desire ! . . . " The Court of Love over which the Duchess Eleanor presided was a strange institution, one of the strang- est facts of mediaeval times. An "amorous legislature" was established, and there were thirty-two Laws of Love, which were carefully observed and strictly en- forced! Most of these laws were the outcome of judgment delivered in various cases before the Courts of Love. A number of ladies of Normandy, presided over by Eleanor, sat in judgment and heard the pleas and de- fences of all the lovers of the country-side. They settled sentimental quarrels, brought persons together, and parted those who were unsuitcd to one another. Some of the cases strike modern minds as being particu- 'Translation by Harriet W. Preston. 20 MAKERS OF SONG larlj amusing. One lady brought against her lover the complaint that he was careless as to dress, dis- hevelled as to hair, and melancholy as to conversation. The court decided against her, giving as a judgment the unanimous statement that being in love always affected men thus ! Out of the decrees of the Court were built up the Thirty-two Laws of Love. The laws are of the order of this sample: "Every action of a lover must terminate with the thought of the loved one." And this: "Nothing prevents one lady being loved by two gentle- men, or one gentleman by two ladies. . . .!" Certainly it was fitting that an era so given over to the god Eros should have produced the greatest of all Singers of Love. The Princess was but little older than her Trouba- dour, and their companionship was very perfect. Both rarely gifted, they understood each other, and were ex- cellent friends, all romance apart. In those days, as we all know, every great lady had her minstrel, and Eleanor was glad to have as a Trouvere so great a master as Bernart de Ventadorn. "Azimar" and "Conort" were the two names by which Eleanor is called in Bernart's songs. The reason for this is unknown save to their two ghosts wherever they may be. THE SINGER OF LOVE 21 However, that brilliant period at the Norman Court was but a short one. The year after his marriage Henry succeeded to the throne of Eng- land. He sailed away to claim his kingdom, and, either by way of compliment or irony, took Ber- nart with him ! The Troubadour, however, did not stay long. The first ship available carried him back to Normandy and Eleanor. But she by this time was more interested in her coming coronation than in min- strelsy, and Bernart found himself of less importance at Court than heretofore. At Christmas King Henry returned for his Queen. The Court was broken up, the ladies of the Tribunal of Love settled down in their neighbouring castles, the royal effects were packed, and the royal couple went their ways to rule over their new kingdom. Bernart was left behind. A whisper there was of his being summoned later, but days, months, and years passed without a message from England. Their new duties filled the minds of the King and Queen, and if Eleanor sometimes gave a thought to the Troubadour Henry certainly did not. One day Bernart sent the Queen a letter. In it he said: "Across the sea before the coming winter will I come from Normandy to England ; for I am both a Norman and an Englishman now." But he received no answer from his lady. Nevertheless, when, after four years of waiting, 22 MAKERS OF SONG Bernart presented himself at the English Court, he was most graciously received, and was installed as Poet Laureate. But though his adoration for the Queen had prompted Bernart to declare that he was now English since she had become so, he found the British Court a strange, sad place, and hungered for other and warmer lands. Moreover, the old sym- pathy and understanding between himself and Eleanor seemed to have failed and faded. So he bade his patrons a respectful and rather sorrowful farewell, and with his harp under his arm sailed away from Eng- land. Once more he became a wanderer. Wishing ex- perience in warfare perhaps, he took service under Raymond V., called "The Good Count of Toulouse," perhaps because other Counts of Toulouse have been so peculiarly wicked. At the Count's Castle he met many of t^^e most brilliant men of his day : Pierre Vi- dal, that graceful jester in rhyme; Pierre Rogier, the courtly scholar; Folquet of Marseilles, the melan- choly and fanciful dreamer; the hot-blooded and de- bonnair Raimon de Miraval, and many others. Bernart distinguished himself in the play of wits and in the use of arms, but as ever it was not war nor laughter, but love which formed the burden of his songs. He grew to know Ermengarde de Narbonne, she to whom Pierre Rogier's finished and scholarly THE SINGER OF LOVE poems were addressed. She was a noble and intellec- tual lady, though utterly lacking in beauty, and a power in the cultivated world. Indeed she was the New Woman of the day. Bernart liked and admired her, and wrote for her several songs. There were, too, many other women to whom he devoted himself, poetically speaking. But Bernart no longer gave his devotion with his songs. That was over. His heart had first been charmed by Margarida de Venta- dorn. All the real love of his life had been given to Queen Eleanor. Therein was comprised the romance of Bernart the Singer. He made charming love songs afterward, it is true ; but he no longer poured his life-blood into his stanzas, — no longer wrote his music in time to the throbs of his heart. He lived chiefly with his golden memories, and their light served to inspire him in more glowing fashion than any enchantments of newer loves. For many years he sang, under radiant suns and mist-veiled moons, mingling his rhymes with brooks and forest whispers, and his music with the songs of larks and nightingales. For many years he drank life as though it were wine of a rare vintage, — eagerly yet lingcr- ingly. He drank each moment to the dregs, complain- ing of no bitterness when he reached them, and front- ing the morrow with the warm sweet cheer with which he treasured the past. For many years he voiced the 24 MAKERS OF SONG varied aspects and phases of romance in verse and melody, uplifting the lyric strain of love above the change of seasons and the clamour of wars. And suddenly — he was old, and began to feel the chill of twilight creeping over the warm human sunshine of his life. Whereupon he smiled, and put away his harp. And he travelled back to Provence, and knocked on the postern-door of the Monastery of Dalon. They took him in, the good wise monks of that quiet Cistercian Abbey, and he put on the robe of the Order, and mur- mured Aves among the solemn shadows. As a boy he had hated the monastic restrictions and seclusion ; in his old age he found the life and the atmosphere most restful and comforting. Moreover, between Matins and Vespers there were a thousand moments wherein one could remember one's rose-red youth, and in one's secret soul make love- songs, — never to be sung ! And finally, one summer day, smiling softly over his crowding dreams, he slipped away into some Ghost World where he could sing with the golden, forgotten voice of his youth. But alas ! This earth knows him no longer. Not even in Provence, where the skylarks sing out their souls against the sun, may one find him, — Bernart le Chanteur, the Singer of Love. IN PRAISE OF THE LADY OF FAYEL NIGHTINGALE SONG When .... the mag - ic niglit-in - - gale, 3— '^-^*-^^^^:3p= -Jtt L ^=f=r. -t^-r ~i^^ -0 •- =P= Siuss a - bove the sum - mer slieeu, When., the m^rn^^. Shine witU -^— t— t dew a 5*" 3 mid tlu; green, ^=t^ i- should m^E^^0^ -»— *- :^=t^ sing my ten - der tale Of the bright love I have seen, ;fc zimz ip=C: :«^^^^£?^F^*E^Er ■M^i — 1^— r I -^- Bui my heart and lips do fail,.... I.... bave i^^^^* :±=:±=: dreamed too P Z5t=ac high.. I 3?^e -3- -r- weenl — l^i 1 — =ft=Sz -zt= Heights of song, Oh! dare 1 scale. In. the ser^vice of... my Queen II IN PRAISE OF THE LADY OF FAYEL t$ "Songs of leaves and budding flowers. Dewy wood and shining plain. Are but songs of idle hours. If Love claim not each refrain. He who seeks a tender strain, Yet from her sweet praise abstain, Gaineth not the Springtime's dowers, Sighs with but a phantom pain." Thus in the old-world days, in the fragrant lute- haunted twilight of the twelfth century, sang one Reg- nault de Coucy, Chatelain of the splendid old Castle that bears his ancient and honoured name to this day. It stands there, in sweet, romantic Picardy,not far from Laon and from Noyon, its superb walls crumbling, its spacious rooms bare and deserted, and glowers for- biddingly across its moat at impertinent travellers. Magnificent in its ruin, it has no part in the world of to-day, but talks dumbly of feudal centuries that are dead. There is a village there, too, that bears the name of the Castle. Were they vassals, — they who lived there in the days of Regnault, the Chatelain? 28 MAKERS OF SONG Those were days the record whereof is so faintly, delicately writ upon historic pages that the reader must perforce turn away with dimmed and bewildered eyes, — able to grasp but little concerning what these strangely pranked and panoplied people actually did, but breathing deeply the indefinable, vaporous per- fume of their mysteriously charming lines. In poring over the old books something steals out across the pages, — the echo of a Troubadour's lute, or the scent of the red rose the Lady of Fayel wore in her gold hair, — a tapestry-like colouring, a mailed shimmer, a melody, quaint and sad, such as might have ac- companied some weary jongleur from Court to Court. Doubtless they did not only live pictures and music, those mediaeval folk, but certain it is that it is only the pictures and music that have come down to us. The vision and the dream remain, fresh and wonderful ; — the rest has slipped away into the kindly obscurity of the dead years. We read that Regnault de Coucy was a valorous and accomplished knight, having a pretty skill with the sword and lance in a tourney. And whether we will or no, we see the glittering lists with the armoured war- riors and eager dames, and our ears catch the clan- gour of good steel soundly struck. And when we read the verses of the courtly Chatelain (those verses which dear Dr. Burney says are "some PRAISE OF THE LADY OF FAYEL 29 of the most elegant and afflicting songs in the French language" !) — and when we hum over to ourselves the odd, sweet melodies to which they were set — what then ? We see the Troubadour's handsome face bent above his lute, and the fair, proud head of his Lady sunk upon tliat wonderful white hand of which he has written so tenderly, — her gracious spirit given up to the dreams evoked by his music. "Nay !" writes the Chatelain de Coucy. "Never shall mine e3'es be satisfied with gazing upon her sweet and tender face, her white hands, her long and slender fingers of which the very sight lights the fires of adora- tion, . . . the blonde brightness of her hair. The variously beautiful things that shine separately and fitly in other women are all united in her to ren- der her completely perfect." Somewhere between 1160 and 1180 Regnault de Coucy was bom. The old historians are of many minds as to the exact dates both of his birth and his death, but a compromise between disagreeing author- ities suggests, approximately, 1170 for his birth, and 1200 for his death. This, according to compara- tively authentic records, would necessitate his having become Chatelain de Coucy at the tender age of six- teen, — 1186, — but this is possible. He is said to have taken part in the Third Crusade, which was in 1189- 91, but the Abbe de la Rue insists that he did not reach Palestine until 1197. It is certain that he was 30 MAKERS OF SONG killed about the time that the thirteenth century was born. Of necessity the chronicles of that remote day are something vague and contradictory, so let us waive more complete exactitude, contenting ourselves with noting the life — too brief, — and the songs, — too few, — of that most courtly and gifted young Trouba- dour, Regnault de Coucy. The house of Coucy was an ancient and noble one. The Sire Raoul, Regnault's uncle, — has a prominent place in twelfth century history, and there are those who insist that he too was a Troubadour, if not, indeed, the author of the famous Coucy chansons themselves ! And other branches of the family were worthy of note. A certain young cousin of Regnault's, Raoul de Malvoisin, won renown as a Troubadour, and is spoken of with honour in many books that make no mention of our Chatelain. The Coucy house had long been a power in the Kingdom. Not so very many years before. King Louis the Fat had taken sides with one of Regnault's ancestors against a kinsman, and the traditions of the family were of high nobility. So we see that our young hero grew up in an atmosphere of greatness. It was almost a foregone conclusion that he should do something of note in the world. He was a feudal lord, King Philippe Auguste's faithful servant, and Castellan of a great castle. In early youth he was taught, in addition to the usual complement of courtly and knightly accomplishments, the gentle art PRAISE OF THE LADY OF FAYEL 31 of the Troubadours. He had his own jongleurs and glecmen to sing his melodies, and, moreover, possessed a personal aptitude for singing and for instrumental music, playing with ease and grace upon the various instruments popular in the Courts of that day- Just what those instruments were it is difficult to say, but there are in existence old English manuscripts in which certain professional minstrels enumerate the instruments upon which they can play. Here is a list of a few of those mentioned : The lute, the violin, the pipe, the syrinx, the trumpet, the trumpet-marine, the harp, the vielle, the bagpipe, the gigue, the gittern, the symphony, the psaltery, the organistrum, the taber, the rote, the flageolet, the sack-but, the rebeck, the re- gal, and the set of bells. One picturesque jongleur writes : "I can play the shawlm, the timbrel, the cym- bales, the Spanish penola that is struck with a quill, the organistrum that a wheel turns around, the wait so delightful, the rebeck so enchanting, the little gigue that chirps up high, and the great big hornlike thunder !" There was also an instrument called the chrotta, but no one seems to have the slightest idea what it was like. I decline to believe that Regnault ever played the chrotta, or, indeed, most of the other strange things just mentioned. They were reserved for professionals, while the high-born Troubadours contented themselves with the poetic lute, vielle and harp. You must know, 32 MAKERS OF SONG by the bye, that a jongleur, or paid musician, held a most unenviable position in those days. Quoth a gay lady of her attendant knight, on some brocade-carpeted, rose-scented terrace: "Which would you rather be, — a jongleur or a robber?" To which he, splendid in satin and shining mail, re- plied merrily : "A robber !" And they laughed together, while the poor jongleur who had given rise to the jest, sat before them, labour- ing painstakingly to give them pleasure, with the aid of his gigue, or his set of bells, or perhaps, — who knows ? — his mysterious chrotta ! Not only was Regnault de Coucy a great Trouba- dour, — one as it chanced beloved of the gods and gifted with Apollo's own gift of song, but he was a courtly knight, a radiantly handsome gallant, and an iron-armed lance-bearer in the lists. He was also eternally gay and eternally generous, although, in spite of the grandeur of his name, he had but little wealth. Perhaps the brave Sire Raoul had already squandered it, or perhaps Regnault himself was one of those with whom money likes not to abide too long ; certain it is that he was forever out of pocket,- — but forever kindly, forever brave, and forever bursting into song as irrepressible and as spontaneous as that of a wood-bird. In an old English poem they call him the "Knight of Courtesy," and all the historians have a word of tribute. But there is one gracious old PRAISE OF THE LADY OF FAYEL 33 romancer whose pen seems to have been dipped in pure love for and comprehension of the Chatelain. This de- liglitful poet has signed no name to his tale of the Troubadour and his Lady, explaining in quaintest French, that his identity would be of no interest to the world at large, onW to the "gracious and amiable lady" for whom he has worked. "I shall be well recom- pensed," he writes, "if she accept my homage. I con- secrate mj'self to her service, for she makes all my felicity, and I shall maintain myself in joy to serve her so long as I may be alive." To this charming unknown, who wrote in the thir- teenth century, we owe the only coherent, if idealised, account of the Chatelain's devotion to the Lady of Fayel, and to him, too, this brief but sufficient tribute to our hero's good qualities: "He was handsome, lovable and gallant, and he was full of wit. He had not great wealth, but for honour, courage, and a ready skill with arms, not Gawain nor Launcelot could surpass him." The Castle where Regnault de Coucy lived was noticeably splendid even in those days of impressive feudal piles. It was perfectly constructed for war- fare and defence, being accessible from but one side. Its fortress was most imposing, its moat was deep and broad, its walls were lofty, and its donjons all that donjons should be. Four great towers rose sharp against the blue sky of Picardy, and guarded the cen- U MAKERS OF SONG tral donjon keep, whicli was two hundred and ten feet high, and one hundred feet in diameter. The Castle covered ten thousand square yards, and its walls were thirty-four inches thick. This rough description gives a vague idea of our Regnault's home. Here he passed the lengthy and gloomy win- ter months, practising feats of strength and exer- cise in weapons, and, accompanied by his atten- tive jongleurs, composing his delicate songs. Here, among the dim shadows, shut in by the winter cold and the great walls of his lonely Castle, his fugitive rose and silver fancies came to him in frailest but most exquisite shape, — elusive melo- dies and wonderful rhymes, to be moulded together in fitting form, against the coming of the headlong spring. This was in Northern France, where the spring came later but more thrillingly than in lan- gorous Provence. When the river Aisne tumbled with a sharper cadence, and the first flowers speared the melting and softening earth, the quicksilver of the season would run through the veins of the young Castellan. Then he called his men-at-arms and musicians, and, with head uplifted to catch the full tang and savour of the new time, and pulses bounding even as last year's leaves bounded beneath the riotious wind, he rode abroad, singing the songs of his making. "For the springtime," cried aloud the Chatelain de PRAISE OF THE LADY OF FAYEL 55 Coucy, — "and the month of May, — and the violet, — and the nightingale, — all invite me to sing !" From castle to castle rode the Knight-Tjoubadours in spring. Everywhere they were greeted with an eager welcome, for their art was dearly prized. Everywhere there were festivities to do them honour, for almost all were noble by rank and birth. And when they wished to pay a particularly marked com- pliment in return, they would push their jongleurs aside, and, taking lute or harp, would sing their own songs for the pleasure of the lord or lady they were visiting. As we know, it was the custom for every Trouba- dour to single out some great lady for his special allegiance. To her all his songs were addressed, and her colours were carried by him in every tourney he chanced to enter. But for many years Regnault sang only to an imaginary Queen of Hearts, — a lady sketched in mist and moonbeams, but fairer, he vowed, than ever mortal woman could be. Then, during one of his early spring flights, he saw, — suddenly and briefly as one sees a star between fast-moving clouds, — a face. It was a fair and delicate face with smiling lips, but with the pride of sadness in the deep blue eyes, — a face framed in a mist of sun-coloured hair. From that moment his dream-lady was gone, — or rather his dream-lady had become real, and, with loy- alty and good cheer, as became a brave knight and 36 MAKERS OF SONG true, he hcnceforlli sung the praise of the Lady of Fay el. Her iiauio was Gabrielle, and she was a daughter of the fine old family of De Vergy. As a very young girl she had married the grim Chevalier Aubert de Fayel, a neighbour of Regnault's. She lived there, year by year, in the Castle of Fayel, a quiet, sweet lady, most lovable and gentle, — a faithful wife, and a sedately merry companion ; — a little staid, probably, in all her moods, as though fearing to dare too careless a joy, a little sad always, as though weighted down by too many dreams and fancies. It is said that she was so lovely that all eyes softened on beholding her. One old poet declares that her "virtue, gentleness, chastity, amiability, and beauty made her beloved of all men." As to this beauty of hers, it is naturally from Coucy himself that we have the most individual and vivid de- scriptions of her. ". . . Her face is charming, the face of a young girl, . . . her mouth is fresh as a flower. Her arms are beautiful, her throat fair and stately, — her figure is supreme grace. . . . Her wonderful blue e3^es are clear and sparkling, yet my Lady is all pride. ... In her cheeks bloom, day by day, sweet roses and lilies. . . ." In that beautiful and poetic letter into which the old romancer put a distilled essence of all of Coucy's loveliest songs we find: PRAISE OF THE LADY OF FAYEL 37 "Your heart, most sweet lady, is like the purest gold without flaw. . . . You are a diamond, — a sap- phire, — a red rose. . . . You are all that is beautiful and good. . . . You lead man to glory, and you are to him a fountain of divinest pity. Dear and beautiful lady, most charming and most noble of women, you have all my heart and my service." Having seen Gabrielle de Fayel, Coucy most natu- rally presented himself at her Castle before the spring grew old. The same old romancer-historian describes the first meeting in flowery terms. We gather that the Lady of Fa}' el stood among her women, dressed in a rose-red gown — "neither too gay in colour, nor yet too pale," I — with a band of gold upon her fair hair, and that she bowed with grace and gravity. The Chatelain bent, low before her, then, lifting his head, he cried in ringing tones the wonderful old salutation: "Dieu vous donne le bonjour! (God give you happi- ness!)" Near her perhaps stood the Demoiselle Isabelle, a cousin of Gabrielle's, and hor chief lady-in-waiting. A fair maid and a loyal was Isabelle, who loved her kins- woman and lady with her whole heart, and comforted her much in the days of sorrow and anxiety which were to come. And surely, on that spring day, the brave esquire Gobert stood not far away. He was in Au- bert de Fayel's service, but loved his gentle lady bet- 'i79r.i ,>Mi.i 38 MAKERS OF SONG ter than his grim lord, and, later, gave his whole alle- giance to the Chatelain because he sang the praises of Gabrielle, and brought pleasure into her life. Coucy himself, according to the custom of the time, must have been magnificent in the full armour and rich cloak that became his rank. His horse, too, — surely the beast gleamed with golden trappings ! For, be it known, in those days, whatever the size of his purse, a high-born Troubadour must ride almost as finely caparisoned as a king. I think that it was among the first days of their new friendship that Regnault composed his little master- piece, his "Quaint li louseignolz," — which will live always among the gems of pure lyric song, despite its quaint and medieval character : "When the magic nightingale Sings above the summer sheen, When the rose and Uly pale Shine with dew amid the green, — I should sing my fervent tale Of the bright love I have seen, But mine eyes and lips do fail, — I have dreamed too high, I ween ! Heights of song, — ah ! dare I scale In the service of my Queen ? •*Maddest tellers of a tale Are my wilful eyes, I ween ! I may strive without avail To disguise the lovers' mien. Ah ! so often have they seen PRAISE OF THE LADY OF FAYEL 39 You before whom sunsets pale That the heights I dared not scale They have leaped with love, my queen ! Eyes, with moon-struck folly wild. You are pardoned : for — she smiled ! " The Chevalier Aubert de Fayel was a silent, taciturn man, just and brave in his own way, and not too narrow in mind, — but his heart lacked freedom and generosity, and he had forgotten, if he had ever known, the ro- mance and buo3'ancy of youth. From the beginning the admiration which perforce he gave the young Trouba- dour was of a grudging nature. He could not under- stand the pure and idealistic adoration which Reg- nault felt for Gabrielle, nor the gracious friendship which she granted him, and his gentle songs irritated the wingless soul which could neither fly to their poetic heights, nor fathom their delicate sweetness. When Regnault sang among the dewy garden- spaces of Fayel, at twilight, and the Lady listened, her heart moved to all manner of soft and gracious fancies ; when Isabelle, too, dreamed, and the other women for- got to chatter ; when Gobert stood spellbound, and the birds ceased singing to listen, — the Chevalier moved apart, plunged in gloom. He hated the man whom the gods had so lovingly dowered, and he was growing more and more jealous of his poetic devotion to Ga- brielle. The Chatelain had a thousand quaint conceits and whimsical ways, and his delight was to bring a smile 40 MAKERS OF SONG into his Lady's deep eyes. Sometimes he played out miniature dramas, pretending that he was a condemned prisoner, and praying her to soften his sentence. At such times he sang quickly improvised and lightly wayward songs, as graceful as they were quaint, and she listened with a happy pride in his skill, and a pleas- ure in his gentle merriment. "Ah, sweet it is to me to breathe the savour Of these, the dear new days that waft the spring — " sang the Chatelain softly, as he touched his lute among the garden shadows : "The woods and fields with faint bright mists a-waver. The fresh, green grass with rose-pink garnishing ! But I, alas ! with all the season's favour Still kneel before my lady proud and fair, Whose word sweet death or sweeter life may bring. And join my hands in broken, yearning prayer. Give life — give death ! I pray. — Yet still I sing : Since both in life and death song makes man braver ! " He only visited Fayel occasionally. He had his own gloomy Castle to heed, his own men-at-arms and village-folk to care for, and plenty of tourneys in which to defend the honour of the house of Coucy, and to bear the colours of the Lady Gabrielle. Of his visits to his Lady during the year we know little, but certain it is that no spring ever blossomed without finding him at her Castle gate, or without hearing new songs in her honour. For until he died she was the PRAISE OF THE LADY OF FAYEL 41 star of whose brightness he sang without ceasing, with all the tender sadness and rapturous pain of the born poet. But the Chevalier de Fayel, as time passed, grew more and more bitter in his dislike of the Troubadour. And at last his wife came to grieve because of this, and found no more joy in the companionship of her young Knight. So Regnault determined suddenly to disappear from Picardy, and to continue his worship of his Lady under distant skies. In those days when Knights made a great success or a great failure of life they took the cross and went to fight the Saracens in Palestine. Regnault was poorer than ever, and by this time even his marvellous spirits were growing weary. There was nothing to keep him in France, as his homage was a source of sorrow to his beloved Lady, so, together with his uncle, the Sire Raoul, and his young cousin, Raoul de Mal- voisin, he took service under Richard Coeur de Lion, during, probably, the Third Crusade. lie paid a farewell visit to Gabriellc, and promised her his eternal devotion and service. And she was filled with sadness at the thought of parting from her poet. She said that he must wear her colours in Palestine, and he assured her that he would always do so. Had he not borne them with honour in many a great tourney in France? But this was a different occasion, and, dissatisfied with the simple scarf he 42 MAKERS OF SONG treasured, she took a dagger and cut off great shining lengths of her own golden hair. This she braided into a bright net, and ornamented it with great pearls of price, and she gave it to him with a prayer for his safety, and her own sweet, fleeting, half-sorrowful smile for his adoring memory. Coucy fastened the golden net to his helmet, and never again went into battle without its shimmering glory for a plume. With a gay word of courage and good cheer, he took leave of his Lady, and rode gallantly away from Fayel, from Picardy, and from France forever. A poet of the Middle Ages once wrote a poem on Gabrielle's thoughts of Coucy during the Wars of the Cross. The following is an excerpt from it: "And when the soft winds, ever faintly sighing, Steal inward from that far and desolate place Where he may now be fighting, even dying. Unto that side I turn my eager face. And then it seems, my fancy fired o'ermuch, On my grey cloak I feel his passing touch. Lord God ! when with the cross they cry, 'Make way ! ' Succour one pilgrim in that bitter fight, — He for whose soul and life I purely pray : God — from the Saracens protect my Knight!" Coucy dreamed much of Gabrielle during his travels and battles, and cherished a secret hope that stories of his brave deeds might drift back to Picardy, and in time reach her ears. The old chroniclers make much PRAISE OF THE LADY OF FAYEL 43 of his exploits, and in their apparent pride in him, and delight in his prowess, have piled fancy upon fact. Among other achievements they mention, in all serious- ness, his battle with a fierce and dangerous dragon, and his easy conquest of that demoniac beast ! But putting all legendary embellishment aside, it is certain that Regnault de Coucy acquitted himself superbly during the wars in the Holy Land. He was well-loved by King Richard, and fought beside him in many of his most violent battles. It was at Acre, — that memorable and historic carnage-time, — that all three kinsmen were killed by the Saracens : the old Sire Raoul, young Malvoisin, and our Chatelain Regnault. A poisoned arrow pierced his side, and Gobert, — who had left the Chevalier de Fayel to follow his for- tunes, and loved him better than all the world, — was forced to tell him that there was no hope for life. The Chatelain lay under the hot Eastern sun, and thought for a space, and then he called to him once more his faithful attendants, Gobert and also Hideux, the hum- blest of his servants, but not the least devoted, — and gave them his dying commands. He bade them, — when he should be dead, take out his heart and place it, together with the net of golden hair, in a jewelled casket. That casket, he declared, they must carry back to France and place in the hands of the Lady of Fayel. 44 MAKERS OF SONG The old historians avow that he wrote a letter to go with it, in which he said: "Lady, I send you my heart, for it is yours, and belongs to you by right. And, Lady, it is my joy to have you know that I die as I have lived, your man, your servant, and your Knight." When he had finished his directions the Chatelain whispered brokenly : "Gobert, — carry — my — fare- wells — to— my — Lady — ," and closed his eyes. The hot blue sky of Palestine burned splendidly on, and all around were the dead and dying Crusaders who had carried the Cross in the Siege of Acre. Gobert and Hideux, faithful to the least wish of their dead master, carried out his instructions to the letter. Regnar.lt was buried in the Holy Land, but his heart was carried home to Picardy, resting in the jewelled casket with the net that was made of Gabrielle's yellow hair. Meanwhile the Chevalier de Fayel grew ever more and more morose and suspicious. His wife's frank sadness over the dangers to which the Troubadour was exposed enraged him, and that most gentle lady led a bitter life during the years of the Third Crusade. Nevertheless, she was always loyal and courageous, and tried to please her lord in all things. Then came Gobert with worn and anxious face, moving secretly about the Castle garden, waiting for an opportunity to enter and present himself before the PRAISE OF THE LADY OF FAYEL 46 Lady. He carried a jewelled casket, and with as much tenderness as though it were his own heart that lay within it. The Chevalier de Fayel saw him, recognised the esquire who had left his service to enter that of the hated Troubadour, and stopped him. Gobert did his best to avert the Chevalier's suspicions, but was finally forced to give him the casket, and confess his errand. In a fury over this last appeal to his wife's sym- pathies on the part of the dead Chatelain, Aubert de- termined upon a hideous punishment for her interest in the minstrel. He gave the casket to his cook, bid- ding him serve the heart that night at supper. The dish was placed before Gabrielle, who, suspect- ing nothing, tasted it. Whereupon the Chevalier, un- able to contain himself longer, cried out, with horrible triumph, that it was the heart of Regnault de Coucy. When she understood the full ghastly truth, Ga- brielle, with a quiet solemnity that friglitened her hus- band, vowed that never again should food pass her lips. She was helped to her apartments by her women, and never left them again, for she kept her vow and slowly starved herself to death. She was so dearly loved that her women were in de- spair, and after a space even the Chevalier came to her side to beg her to live, and to earnestly pray her for- giveness. This last she granted freely, saying that death was 46 MAKERS OF SONG too close to permit resentment, but no power could sway her from her determination. She lay, becoming ever paler, with the mystery of a new life growing in the sparkling blue eyes of which Regnault had written so adoringly. And at last, with one of her Troubadour's songs haunting her failing memory, and perhaps the night- ingale he had loved so well singing his broken heart out, among the dew-wet flowers of her garden, the Lady of Fayel died. She was widely mourned, and it is stated that Aubert, the grim Chevalier, never smiled again in the few years that he survived her. The fate of Isabelle, of Gobert, and of Hideux we know not. It is certain that their time of mourning ended only with their lives. So lived and died that brave and gallant Knight, Regnault, Chatelain de Coucy, and his high-born Lady, Gabrielle de Fayel. It is many years since they wandered among the spring flowers, heard the passionate nightingale, and dreamed day-dreams together, — many years since Regnault sang and Gabrielle listened, — many years since he fell asleep in Palestine and she in Picardy. But some memory of them remains, sweet and fragrant as meadows in May-time, or hedgerows under the moon. It is not only in the tomes and records that the Chate- lain lives still, — it is in all the fresh growing things that come again each spring. At that season, so PRAISE OF THE LADY OF FAYEL 47 beloved by him, his gentle and fearless ghost walks abroad, among the white pear-blossoms and silvering aspens, and sings again some chanson that came to him in that old-world time in Picardy : "The wild, sweet nightingale forever singing Both day and night, outpouring his sad heart. Sings to my soul, strange solace softly bringing, Till I, too, yearn to voice the wild- wood art. So must I do, since every joy or smart Doth pleasure her when turned to music ringing ! Bearing my lance, or my light lute new stringing, I ask but to be of her life a part." THE DREAMERS AN AIR BY WALTHER VON DER VOGELWEIDE Stollen. f -^ gi -w^^ ^^ ^^ , _ I I I! i=t=^=S=^^ t 1=^ ^^^ ' ■ J J^=^^7^ r. rJ gi— g = P ,^■= 2^1 "g- f ( ^ <^ a ^ ^ es ^j A^gesang. e g " ^ j -_j g? - ^ ^ >pn '^ S- ^ Ill THE DREAMERS THEY did not live and laugh like the singers of the South; they only dreamed, and touched their harp- strings gently, and sang grave, soft songs. And all their songs were in honour of pale, remote, lily-like women, and a love that was scarcely more than a graceful ghost of human passion. The grey-blue sky that topped the hills was not quieter nor more free from the fever-heats of this imperfect life than their music. For these were the Dreamers, — the Minnesinger of Germany. It was their pride that they had purified themselves from all earthly desires or emotions, and that their hearts were clean alike of the bewilderments of error, and the turbulence of those world-calls that vi^ere prone to devastate soul and body if one should hearken to them. Not that they were monkish ascetics, nor un- manly cowards afraid of themselves and life, nor yet fanatics who mortified the flesh. They could tilt a lance with the hottest-headed Proven9al or Spaniard who ever flung down a glove ; and, dawning upon dawning, the woods echoed with the blast of their hunt- 62 MAKERS OF SONG ing-horns. Nay, they were no weaklings, these Minnesinger : only Dreamers. A great struggle had been taking place in Ger- many between Paganism and Christianity, between the old material deities and the new spiritual God. Pagan- ism, and evil, and yielding to the temptations of the earth, had all become bracketed together in the public mind. The Church stood for purity and honour and clean living, a romance that could be impersonal, and a chivalry that was far from gallantry. With the triumph of Christianity the revulsion of feeling in honest people's hearts caused a svidden convulsive ex- aggeration of idealism ; all material elements were re- garded with suspicion, and chivalry, knightliness, honour and love came to mean bloodless shadows from which the very life had been drained away. Such ex- tremes are inevitable in all great movements for prog- ress, and, following close upon the sensuous, warm-hued Paganism which had so nearly demoralised the coun- try, the wave of reformation was bound to bring upon it an idealism as extravagant as the materialism which had been conquered. Upon this wave floated the bark of Song, — a new and etherialised song, belonging in- trinsically to the time and the spirit thereof; and the bark was manned by the Minnesinger. The new cult demanded something better than honest humanity, something as Avhite as the snow, and as pure as the stars. Which seems a strange and sad desire, since THE DREAMERS 53 man is made neither of chilled vapour nor starshine, but of red blood, and firm fibres, and swift pulses. But the Dreamers knew not that in their dreaming they were forgetting how to live. And if you believe all this to be but a fanciful way of telling old tales, go you to the books that hold the verses and the melodies of the Minnesinger. You will find there many graceful lines and vague sweet airs, all threaded and crossed by cobwebs and shadows and trails of mist. For they were fashioned from visions and phantasies, and their makers were the Dreamers of Dreams. Walther von der Vogelweide wrote a song on "Love" one day. Never was poet or songster yet who could keep away from the Universal Theme for long. We have seen how the South treated it. Mark you now, the way of the Dreamer: '"Love is neither man nor woman. Soul it hath not, nor yet body. And no earthly sign nor token ; Though the tongue of man hath named it. Never mortal eye hath seen it. Yet without it can no creature Win Heaven's pitying grace and favour ; Nor where Love is will there linger Aught of fraud or baseness ever. To the traitor, the false-hearted. Love hath come not, coraeth never." The following poem by Heinrich von Morungen is 'Translation by Rev. Sir F. A. Gore Ousely. 54 MAKERS OF SONG one of the simplest and loveliest of the Dream Songs ; as well as one of the most typical : '"Faithful ever my heart's true emotion. Yet Love's reward to me was pain and sorrow. Ever since my childhood have I worshipped Thine image fair, in true love still adoring. My heart's enshrined in bitter anguish. Yet never cry from me has reached you ; My heart's deep emotion have I stifled, And every shadow of my sorrow hidden. * * * * » Blessed had I been, how far more blessed, Had I but Heavenward turned my devotion !" Among the Minnesinger was one who found a mo- ment sufficiently warmed by the sunshine of summer to write a really delicious song on a girl's tryst with her lover. It closes in a manner quite out of the usual Dreamer-style : '"With foot hurrying and heart beating. Swift I hastened to the meeting. Found my lover waiting there ; My true love was there before me, And he clasped me and bent o'er me. Till I thrilled with joy and fear. Did my lover kiss, you said ? Tra-lira-la ! Nay, — why are my lips so red?" We do not even know the name of this Dreamer, and cannot help feeling that he was a most inharmo- 'Translation by Rev. Sir F. A. Gore Ousely. THE DREAMERS 55 nious element among the pale exaltations of his fellow singers. Richard Wagner, that lo3^al German, has made for us, in his "Tannhiiuser," a most wonderful tonal and poetic picture of the Minnesinger. Even he, with his warm humanity and splendid wealth of artistic emotion, made no attempt to vitalise nor solidify the aerial charm of the Dreamers. To Walther von dcr Vogelweide, Wolfram von Eschenbach and the rest, Wagner gave music as sweet, as pure and as unreal as mountain mists. As living men who breathed, suf- fered, and loved we can hardly picture them; but as Dreamers, — ah, they dreamed most marvellously ! The names of the best known Minnesinger are: Frederick the Red (1152), Spenogel (1150), Hein- rich von Beldeke (llSi), Ulrich von Lichenstein (1275),Hartmann von Ane, Dietmar von Aest, Kiircn- burger, Nithart von Reunthal, Gottfried von Strass- bourg, Konried von Wiirzburg, Friedebrandt, Rein- mar Hagenau, Reinmar der Zweiter, Heinrich von Morungen, Walther von der Vogelweide, and Wolfram von Eschenbach. The Minnesinger were less often of noble birth than the Troubadours of the South. Serfs as well as lords had been swept into tlie great idealistic movement, religion and feudalism had joined hands, and the long-neglected Folk-song in its sublimated form drew all its exponents to a common lyrical level. 56 MAKERS OF SONG The exercise of their art carried the Minnesinger into court-life, whatever their birth, and their position was always an honourable one, for music was still the chief intellectual interest of the nobles. But many of the Minnesinger were men whose only claim to recognition was that they were singers of songs. There were three forms of Minnesanger: the Lied (Song), Lerch (Lay) and Dichtespruch (Proverb). The Minnelied was a composition of three parts, the first two being called the Stollen (Stanzas) or Aufge- sang (Opening Song). These were exactly alike, metrically and melodically. The third part was called the Ahgesang (After-song), and had no visible nor audible connection with the first Stollen. It bears a very faint and remote resemblance to our Refrain. The Minnelerch was usually a careful development or adaptation of a well-known air, — sometimes a church chant, and occasionally some very ancient dance-melody. The character of the Minnelerch seems a bit mysterious and obscure, as a matter of fact, and appears to have changed its colour and form with every variable wind of the Dreamers' fancies. The Dichtespruch, or Proverb, was a fairly clear form of composition, albeit not particularly interest- ing. Its melody was definite and complete as a rule, and not divided into separate parts like the Lied and Lerch. It was repeated in its entirety for each stanza, or Strophe, of the song, and if the composer had sub- THi:. DREAMERS 57 sequent poems to set to music, he went on using the melody of his old Spruch, — which was a fine and sim- ple exhibition of musical economy ! The character of the Spruch was usually intensely idealistic and deli- cately austere. Spervogel's ^^Frauenschone (Wo- man's Loveliness)" is a particularly charming Dichte- sprucli, both as to words and music : "Comes a woman, pure of heart, in humble dress. Gowned in simple rloth, yet decked in loveliness, — Flowers seem swaying in her grace. Sunshine streams from out her face ! And, as she passe«, all the modest grace of May-time bearing, What eye would seek the woman bold, fine stuffs and jewels wearing?" The air, which cannot be given entire, as it is rather a long one, begins in this way : ;^r~r~r~,"~rf r r^'^ ^p=f=.?=r=^e^c.z Comesa woman pure of heart, In hum-bie dress The two greatest Minnesinger, without question, were Walthcr von der Vogclweidc and Wolfram von Eschenbach, — both so familiar to the musical world through Wagner. May de Rudder, who writes with so much sympathy and understanding of the period of the Minnegesdnge, gives the following description of the great minstrel Vogelwcide as portrayed in an old Heidelberg manu- script : *'His head gently drooping, and supported on his 58 MAKERS OF SONG left hand, his right hand holding the viol used for ac- companiments, his face framed in his short beard, and in the long curling hair that falls upon his shoulders ; with eyes that perpetually dream: so does he appear before us, greeting us with the sweetest and frankest expression, — the most fascinating of all Minnesinger and the greatest lyric poet before Goethe : Walther von der Vogelweide. . . ." He was born in the manor of the Vogelweide, near Waidebruck, in Tyrol. The date of his birth is not known, but it was between the middle and the end of the twelfth century. His family was an old and noble one, but exceedingly poor, and unable to live in a man- ner suitable to their rank. The boy Walther spent most of his youth out of doors, wandering in the woods, and listening to the birds. His love for them has be- come proverbial, and has served innumerable poets for a theme. He was known to declare in after years that his lyric gift had been learned from the birds in the forest near the Vogelweide Castle. He had a great longing to study the art of making Minnegesange, — to learn the "Singen und Sagen" (as it was called) that constituted musical cultivation at that time. And when he was not quite twent}^ years old he journeyed to Vienna and began his education under the great master, Reinmar, known as Reinmar der Alte (the Elder), and termed by one enthusiast, "The nightin- gale of Haguenau." THE DREAMERS 59 Walther loved his master dearly, and, on Reinmar's death, wrote : "I am afflicted to know that thine elo- quent speech and thy most sweet song have so quickly left my life, and that I shall sec thee not again upon the earth. Most willingly would I go with thee ; for I have no will to sine; lonsrer here. . . ." Frederick, Duke of Austria, who had been the patron of Reinmar, befriended Walther after the older master's death, but was killed in Palestine in 1198, and the young singer was left to his own resources. He became interested in political and religious ques- tions, making patriotic Lieder and Dichtesprilche, and quite neglecting the gentler branches of his art. "The German race surpasses all others," he asserted, aggressively, in one Proverb : "The men are aU noble, The women are all beautiful as the angels ; Come to our country and you wiU find happiness. May I dwell here long!" This was Walther's most strenuous period. He soon slipped into the graceful "chivalric verses" of the day, and wrote exquisite poems on woods and streams and choiring birds. In 1202 he went to the Wartburg near Eisenach, and was graciously received by Hermann, Landgraf of Thuringia. Hermann was deeply interested in all art and culture, and made his Court a meeting-ground for the most famous Minne- 60 MAKERS OF SONG singer of his time. There Walther met fellow-poets, and further perfected his own art. Wolfram von Eschenbach made a deep impression upon him, and the two Minnesinger became and remained close friends. Walther von der Vogelweide lived a gentle, peaceful, and kindly life, but at heart he was deeply melancholy, as all true Dreamers are apt to be. He it was who wrote : "He who seeks happiness here below loses it all." And that intensely pessimistic poem : "On the surface the world is beautiful, — white, green, and red ; At the bottom it is black, — sombre even as death." After a long sojourn among men, and the fashion- ing of many songs, he died in the Monastery of Wiirz- burg in 1230. They say that before he died he begged the monks to cover the stone above his grave with crumbs each day, that his beloved birds might never be hungi'y. Longfellow has written a poem in which he tells of the Abbot's failure to comply with the request, from mo- tives of frugality. On the tomb where Walther von der Vogelweide lies is this inscription: "Der du die Vogel so gut, O, Walther, zu Weiden, Verstandest ! " THE DREAMERS 61 Gottfried von Strassbourg, in his preface to "Tris- tan," has a word of tribute to pay to " ... Vogelweide, He ! How clearly, across the meadows, His vibrant tones resound ! So marvellous was his song, — So delicate his voice, — So varied and beautiful his music!" Wolfram von Eschenbach (sometimes called Eschel- bach) was born in Switzerland, a little later than Walther von der Vogelweide. His master in song was Friedebrandt, — a musician less well known than many of the jMinnesinger, but a man of ability notwith- standing. Wolfram's musical gifts were much less marked than Walther's, but he was a great poet. After travelling all over Germany he finally, in 1200, made Hermann's Court his permanent head- quarters. There he sang, and dreamed, and passed long tranquil years. There arc records of a famous contest between Wol- fram and a certain great singer, Klingsohr. The Landgraf had offered a prize to the winner, and it was believed that Wolfram would easily gain it. He sang a number of really beautiful religious and idealistic songs, but Klingsohr, who seems to have been less of a Dreamer than his rival, far surpassed him in romantic lyrics. The Landgraf was obliged, albeit regretfully, to give the prize to Klingsohr. 62 MAKERS OF SONG Wolfram excelled in poetry which demanded an exalted spiritual vein of inspiration. His noblest work — that, indeed, through which he has a fixed and unapproachable place in artistic history, — was the epic poem "Parzifal." "Not only," says Fetis, "was he one of the great song-writers of his day, but, by virtue of the wealth of his imagination, the high character of his ideas, and the expression and elegance of his style, he is recog- nised as one of the genuine Epic Poets." He was made Chevalier, — as a tribute to his achieve- ments, — and spent much of the latter part of his life in travel. His ver3'^ last days were passed in the Swiss castle where his ancestors had lived and died. All who knew Wolfram von Eschenbach had a word for his sweet and lovable personality, the charm of which was not affected by a certain exaggerated so- briety and dreaminess. It is hard to say which of these two was the most typical Dreamer, — Walther von der Vogelweide, or Wolfram von Eschenbach. Both lived in a mystic, cloud-shadowed world, where music flowed in faintest and most elusive harp-tones, and a radiance of other worlds stole in through walls of glowing mist. The sadness, the beauty, the mystery of things touched them both profoundly, — but of bitter and unreasoning human suffering it is doubtful if they understood very much. For they were Dreamers ; — not sorely tried and THE DREAMERS 63 wofully striving men, whose tragic glor}^ it was to laugh over their own defeats, and struggle on the more stoutly for the laughter, — but merely Dreamers. "Alas ! where have vanished all my years?" asked Walther von der Vogelweidc, in one of his songs : "Has all my life, then, been but a dream ? . . • " THE MONK OF READING ABBEY THE READING ROTA K isz: W^ ^ g= IltZCSZ c J ._ a— Su - mer is i - cu - men in, Lhu - de # "T^^ i=2t: i Sing Cue - cu. Grow-eth sed, and blow - eth med, And ^ISS f :2s= -^-v- -«'—- 1^ springth the w - de Nu, Sing Cue - cu, Aw - e ^^^ =2St m blet - eth af - ter Tomb, Lhouth af - ter Cal - ve cu, Bull - oc stert - eth. Buck - e vert ■ eth, mu - rie -^=S izSi sing Cue - cu, Cue ■ cu. Cue - eu, We) song es thy Cue - cu; Nu swik thu nav - er nu. IV THE MONK OF READING ABBEY THE Monk's name was John of Fornsete, but beyond this the modern world knows little of his personality and private life. To us he is, first and foremost, the man who wrote "Sumcr is icumen in," the earliest piece of harmonic music, and one of the loveliest of all melodies, — somewhere about the year 1226. So little indeed is known authentically about John of Fornsete that we may let our imaginations have a free rein concerning him, and, whatever we may determine as to his life or his individuality, no man shall rise up and call us inaccurate nor misinformed. The date of his birth is very uncertain and proble- matical, — but it could hardly have been later than 1190. Even this would make him but thirty-six when he wrote his Canon, and the monastic records show that at that time he was already a man of learn- ing and achievements. The truth concerning his antecedents will probably be forever wrapped in equal mystery. A few writers insist upon calling him John Farnsct, — an error for which it is difficult to account 66 MAKERS OF SONC in the light of the many existing records and authori- ties,- — but it is conclusivelji proved that his correct title was John of Fornsete. The little word "of" is our only clue as to his station or circumstances, and though that might mean several different things, we will assume the most probable explanation of its pres- ence. "Of Fornsete," might mean that he was born in some lonely hamlet of Berkshire named Fornsete, or that he grew up under the protection of some great feudal lord, some Earl of Fornsete, of an extinct nobility, whose serfs and vassals went by his name. Reasoning thus from a purely hypothetical basis, we may include the former under the latter supposition, and fancy our hero as coming from the feudal village Fornsete, where a great lord held sway, levied taxes, and, perhaps, in a sporadically generous mood, singled out some one of the more gifted of his young serfs to be educated. In England, as in France, the Bene- dictine and Augustine monasteries were the only schools, and so it happened that the boy John was sent to the Abbey of Reading. One cannot help having an idea that he was not a typical monk, — for we know that he had a sympathetic ear for melodies that over-reached the ascetic limits of the Church music of the day, and that he had a whole- some love of the brown earth and all the fresh green- ness of out-of-door England. It is probable that he THE MONK OF READING ABBEY 69 was a very normal English bo3sand it is not improbable that his novitiate was a long and much broken one. Perhaps he — like a certain French youth of whom you will hear later, — broke the rules occasionally, and ran away. I think he must have known what it was to dance on the grass with some clear-eyed village girl, to the sound of the bagpipes and lusty country voices ; and it is certain that he rambled in the woods at dawn- ing time, when the world was wet with dew and green with spring. But however this may have been, in time he pulled his cowl closer over his eyes, and turned his back on the good, gay world forever. Originally Reading, or Reding, meant the home of the descendants of Red, — a man's name. Some "prehistoric Briton," we must suppose, founded the little Berkshire town, and so it became permanently known by his name. It lies twenty-nine miles south- west of London, on the river Kennet, just before it enters the Thames. Reading was the headquarters of the Danes at the time of their famous inroad on Wes- sex in the year 871, and the scene of certain of their subsequent defeats. It was burned by them in 1006, and taken by the Earl of Essex, under a Parliamentary decision in 164'3. So it is clear that Reading has played its part in history, and it seems a pity that it should be chiefly celebrated to-day for its manufac- tories, and for the fine hunting possibilities of its sur- rounding country ! But there are certain wonderful 70 MAKERS OF SONG old ruins to be seen there still, — the ruins of the great Benedictine JNIonastery, Reading Abbey, the home of John of Fornsete. In the monasteries of those mediaeval times were cen- tred all the embryo beginnings of learning. The seeds of art, music and literature were sown and cher- ished within the cloister walls, and the "Men of God" held in their hands the first feeble shoots of all that we now term culture and education. While the Church has never been swift to welcome the progress that comes with the changing of old orders, she has unwaveringly protected such institu- tions as were tested and proven worthy of her support. She has never encouraged the step forward, but she has alM^ays prevented the step backward. So, a re- straining but a sustaining power, she has been almost the greatest of all factors in the development of the most liberal and unconventional forms of art. A knowledge of the science of counterpoint, — the mathematics, rhetoric, and even spelling of music, — was confined entirely to the religious orders. Only the Folk-song, — fresh, spontaneous but usually ephemeral, — existed outside monastic boundaries. All the endur- ing elements of music were fostered and preserved by the learned brothers, of whom John of Fornsete was one. These faithful, scholarly, patient men of Reading Abbey ! One's heart goes out to them as one studies THE MONK OF READING ABBEY 71 the narrowness of their Hves, the sternness of their dis- ciphnc, the finigality of their comforts. Yet they seem to have been genial souls for the most part, de- spite much fasting, more silence, and so little sleep that one becomes sympathetically drowsy in thinking of them! "Let ]\Ionks praise God seven times a day," — was the unvarj'ing rule and command of all the Orders. This meant no perfunctory devotions, slipped in be- tween worldl}^ duties, but definite and rather lengthy services, performed with care and reverence, and al- ways promptly upon the prescribed moment. The first service was "at cock-crowing." The second was Matins (or Mattins, as the old books have it) — at six o'clock in the morning, the third at nine, the fourth at noon, the fifth at three, the sixth, — Vespers, — at six, and the last at seven, when the Completory was sung, and the monks were permitted to think of slumber. They counted time somewhat differently, by the bye, — six in the morning being "First hour," and six at night "Twelfth hour." The hours of the night, being spent in sleep, were not counted at all. There are, however, records that show that "early prayer unto God in the Highest" began at two in the morning. For special seasons and occasions there were all-night vigils to be observed, so, though the monks went to bed soon after sundown, they were never permitted in all their religious lives one full night's sleep, 72 MAKERS OF SONG They always fasted on Wednesdays and Fridays until three in the afternoon, and in Lent no mouthful of food was permitted to pass their lips until after six each night. An exception to the rules of fasting was made from Easter until Whitsuntide, when they were moderately well fed. Truly there was wisdom in the old monastic rule : "Let the Cellarer be a discreet man, to give all their meat in due season !" Discretion would indeed seem to be an essential qualification for the holder of this office. The meagre allowances of food doled out by the "discreet" Cellarer were taken "in company but without speech." Indeed silence was one of the most all-pervading requirements of the monasteries, — both as a gurantec of decorum and as an inspiration to devout meditation. Sometimes, to be sure, some merry brother would whisper a joke or a funny tale, and the grim Refec- tory would thrill with repressed laughter. Some- times the rule making it unseemly that the Prior or Abbot sit alone at meat, gave opportunities for a gay interchange of worldly amenities between the Reverend Father and some favoured one of the Brethren. And sometimes the quietly shadowed old monastery gardens heard the stories of dead days, softly told by the monks who paced there during recreation hours. But for the most part the monastic world was a dumb one, — a lake of stillness, landlocked from the beating waves of the big world-sea outside. There THE MONK OF READING ABBEY 73 among the dark blue shadows, the incense clouds, as faintly mauve as twilight mists, and the cold, grave measures of the church chants, the Men of God lived out their lives. There they worked silently upon the wonderful missal-pages one day to be treasured as relics of ancient art, or set down blue and crimson notes laboriously, immortalising some quaint old psalm- tune, — or merely prayed, in dingy robes growing ever dingier about the knees from over-much kneeling on the rough stones of the chapel. Now the early Britons, report and common belief to the contrary, were intensely musical. One mediaeval Avriter declares: "There lived good singers in Eng- land, and they sang sweetly ; such as Masters Johannes Filius Dei, Maklevit of Winchester, and Blakesmit at the Court of Henry II." Frederic Louis Ritter, after quoting the above, adds that John of Fornsete be- longed to the same epoch and category. So we see that he was a famous musician in a land which boasted many excellent exponents of music, and in a day when it held a rarely higli place in the appreciation of the public. The British people sang witli the spontaneity and instinct of birds, as the Welsh people, — those insistent remnants of the old race, — do to-day. And, curiously enough, they always sang in harmony. Instead of singing their folk-songs as single and simple melodies, they made rounds, catches and chorals out of them. 74 MAKERS OF SONG They struck the chords by ear of course, not knowl- edge, and loved the gracious combinations of notes. Even the children tried to sing contrapuntally — and sometimes succeeded, too ! Giraldus Cambrensis, — or Gerald Barry, — the fa- mous Archbishop, — made an elaborate Latin record of this custom of the British people, to this effect: "The Britons do not sing their tunes in unison like the inhabitants of other countries, but in different parts. So that when a company of singers meets to sing, as is usual in this country, as many different parts are heard as there are singers, who all finally unite in consonance and organic melody, under the softness of B flat." Just what the learned Archbishop meant by "the softness of B flat" the author (with many regrets for the admission ) frankly does not know ! "In the northern parts of Britain," he continues, ", . . the people there inhabiting make use of a kind of symphonic harmony in singing. This they do not so much by art as by a habit which long practice has rendered almost natural ; and this method of singing is become so prevalent amongst these people that hardly any melody is accustomed to be uttered simply or otherwise than variously, or in this twofold manner. ..." Where this instinct for correct harmony was born so naturally in the hearts, as well as on the lips, of the THE MONK OF READING ABBEY 75 people, it is not strange that we should find the first recorded piece of polyphonic or harmonic music in all history. Scattered folk-songs we have from other lands ; — plaintive airs from Picardy and Provence, melodies gay, amorous and mournful, — sad and merry echoes from the heart-music of many lands ; but, so far as recorded notation may testify, the Cradle of Har- mony seems to have been England. "Sumer is icumen in" bears the test of modern fineness of ear. Its harmonies are full and round, never stiff, and rarely even archaic. A song of to- day, simply harmonised without elaboration or tonal decoration, would be a brilliant achievement, if it reached the point of musical excellence attained by this quaint old English Canon. Even the consecutive fifths, — bugbears of benighted Harmony-students, — arc used here with the splendid frankness of a modern master who wishes to show his superiority to the terrors of all such musical hobgoblins. But the fact of the harmonic value of the "Reading Rota," as it is called, is too well established to require reiteration. The real purpose of this fragmentary commentary is to record a plea for its recognition as a great step in the growth of melody, — a monument in the history of Song. "Sumer is icumen in" is most definitely and dis- tinctly lyric. Its singing and singable quality is much more patent to the casual hearer than its bar- 76 MAKERS OF SONG monic or contrapuntal ingenuity. It is first and fore- most a song, — and a delicious one. Moreover, as we have seen that the early English folk sang all their songs in Canon-form, it has a doubly emphasised right to be accepted as one of the great representative or typical songs of the Middle Ages. And the man who either composed it, or merely wrote it down, deserves to be called a Maker of Song, — even though we have no more of his recorded work to substantiate the title. Ritter says that "the melody of the Rota is in the form of a ballad, and is pleasing and easily flowing." Emil Naumann declares : "The character of the melody is sweet and pastoral, and well adapted to the words." W. S. Rockstro, after speaking of the naive and de- lightful old folk-songs, says : "We believe the melody of the Rota to be an inspiration of this kind, — a Folk- Song, pur et simple. . . ." Indeed most of the learned men who have commemorated the importance of the Rota as a harmonic record, wax enthusiastic over its melody. And Mr. Rockstro makes the fol- lowing charming suggestion as to its possible origin : ". . . What more probable, then, than that a light-hearted young Postulant should troll it forth on some bright May morning, during the hour of recre- ation.'' That a second voice should chime in a little later ? That the effect of the Canon should be noticed, admired, and experimented upon, until the Brethren THE MONK OF READING ABBEY 77 found that four of them could sing the tune, one after the other, in very pleasant harmony? . . ." The music is written in queer square notes of red and black upon blue lines, and the entire piece of work is done with the care and skill which we should expect from a learned Ecclesiastic of John of Fornsete's high place in the monastic chronicles/ In the beautiful old manuscript there is, directly following the "Six Men's Song" (as a Canon like "Sumer" was called) a quaint Antiphon in praise of Thomas a Becket. Of course they turned the Rota into a piece of church music, — the good monks ! Nothing so rio- tously secular as a brazen song of summertide could be recognised or recorded in the Monastery without its due appendage of religious phrases. The old English words are as follows : "Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu. Groweth sed, and bloweth raed. And springth the wde nu, Sing cuccu. Awe bleteth after lorab, Lhouth after calve cu ; Bulluc sterteth, Bucke verteth, Murie sing cuccu, Cuccu, cuccu, Wei songes tha cuccu ; Ne swik thu naver nu." 'A fac-siraile of the original manuscript can be seen in Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians, Vol. IV. (new edition). The 78 MAKERS OF SONG Or translated into modern phraseology : "Summer is come in. Loud sing cuckoo. Groweth seed, and bloweth mead. And springeth the woodland now. Sing, Cuckoo. The ewe bleateth for her lamb, For her calf loweth the cow ; The bullock starteth. The buck averteth, Merry sing. Cuckoo. Cuckoo, Cuckoo. Well sung is thy Cuckoo, Cease thou never now!' i»» Under these delightful old lines the good monks of Reading have written in with painstaking care the following devout Latin stanzas : "Perspice christicola Quae dignatio Coelius agricola Probitus vitio. Filio non parceus Exposuit mortis exitio Qui captivos Semivivos A supplicio Vitae donat Et secum coronat In coeli soUo." Canon, complete in all its parts, and reproduced in modern notation, can be seen in the musical histories of Naumann, Barney, and others. THE MONK OF READING ABBEY 79 There are appended, also, some Latin directions as to the correct singing of the Canon. Somehow the churchly Latin has an odd effect when set to the buoy- ant air of that sweet old Round. Will some inquisi- tive reader please hum over to the melody a line or two of the Latin text.^* In doing so, I think he will be filled with a desire to chuckle, — even as many an irrev- erent and irrepressible young chorister chuckled, doubtless, when the monks sang the Canon at Mass, — and even as the good ]\Ionk John chuckled, albeit very softly, over its devout rendering. For the Rota had no place nor right in ecclesiastical music. So rigid were the rules controlling the re- ligious composition in those days, — rules built upon the noble but uncompromising work of the great Guido d'Arezzo, — that it was not permissible to write Church music outside of what was known as the Ecclesiastical Scale. All music which overstepped this strict and monotonous limit was considered inspired by the Devil, and was accounted written in II modo lascivo,- — the Wanton Key. And let it here be whispered: "Sumer is icumen in" was written in the Wanton Key ! The Wanton Key, wherein the evil player-folk sang, while their women danced and twirled about the market-place, and the ungodly went to gape and listen ! The Wanton Key, wherein the un- shriven vagabonds of the highroads carolled their drinking-catches, as they stopped for a flagon of mead 80 MAKERS OF SONG when the dusk chilled the air! The Wanton Key, wherein young men and maidens sang love songs in secret wood ways under the green and silver sickle- moon ! The Wanton Key, wherein mother-birds and mother-women trilled lullabies, when mating-time was over and the ^^oung had come. Moreover the "P^s," or ground-bass, of the Canon bears a suspicious resemblance, — as more than one musical savant has pointed out, — to the droning bag- pipe dearly beloved by the rustics of those days. Is it possible that our John of Fornsete, laughing in the shabby sleeve of his Order, wrote in that drone-bass to imitate the instrument so popular over all the coun- try side.? If so, one can picture the merry-eyed boys, sent to the Monastery for education and safe-keeping, nudging each other as they hummed and buzzed away at the long sustained Pes, and trying to catch the eye of the gentle, grave-faced, humorous Monk who was responsible for it ! What manner of man was he, this John of Forn- sete? It is a baffling query, which the curious mind puts to the unyielding past. He was a learned man, called a Descanter among his Brethren, and skilled in the setting down of notes, in tints that should out- last the centuries, and in combinations that should stir the pulses of unborn cycles of musicians. He was a man very young in heart, of a surety, since he could put the summer-call of all England and all the world THE MONK OF READING ABBEY 81 into a few square-shaped notes of red and black on bars of blue. And, perhaps, he was a man with a sense of humour — if he suffered the Brethx-en to sing in the Wanton Key, and imitate the village bagpipes at High Mass ! Berkshire was a wide-sweeping level country, and the flat, clean spaces stretched off* to the sky-line, — broken here and there by woodlands, and dappled with sun-flecks and cloud-shadows. The winds blew keen and cool from the wholesome north, and there was a freshness, a tang, and a grip in the free air, fit to breed sound hearts and rich blood and the fine fruition of a fine race. Yet in the Monastery it was as though a stone cup had been pressed, rim downward, upon the green earth ; and in the vacuum within dwelt the monks of Read- ing, — and John of Fornsete among them. I think he was given to dreaming a bit, — oftener than the other Brethren, oftener perhaps than were quite wise in the godly servant of a strict Order. Surely he had visions and memories, that came thronging and flutter- ing like butterflies through the chapel nave, with iridescent hues that blurred the brightness of the altar- lights, and a faint soft whirr of wings that, in tremu- lous music, dulled the sound even of his own sweet Canon. Surely there were twilights, when the Com- pletory was yet to sing, through the purple dusk, when life cried to him with elfin voices from beyond the 82 MAKERS OF SONG Monastery walls ; and chill white dawns, when, as he chanted the first service, he shivered yearningly, hear- ing, above the monotone of the Latin prayers, the com- fortable din of crowing cocks in neighbouring, alien hamlets. It is all there in his song, — the blithe and tender sym- pathy with quickening nature and the warming earth, with love, and longing, and the rapture of fulfilment. The bird's call and the heart's leap, — they are both to be found in that first and sweetest of English songs, that fragrant, opalescent fragment of a dream of the young Summer, dreamed over seven hundred years ago. Among the mists of the dead centuries he passes, John of Fornsete, — a cowled and habited figure, with averted eyes. We may not see his face, we may not know of his birth, nor of his death, — least of all of his cloistered life. We can only smile with him in spirit, as we sing the melody of his Rita softly to our own hearts, and, in the singing, smell the warm, dew-wet grass, and hear the cuckoo singing through the wak- ing woods. KING THIBAULT, THE TROUBADOUR THE SONG OF THE KING ;l^ 4 I I L As I rode ere dawn was wing - ing, c:^l 1 1 -^ r^ — \ r-i ^^— - — r — f— -^ — '—^—f—r- -* m si ^^ 1 ' ^ 'Twixt an or - chard and a grove, I a shepherd - p#g_^ ^=^ ._4 1 , , 1 J I J 1 -4) — r- r r r- E- r 1^ _* — « — «) — ess heard sin : ■ ing, And her song was all of love. f ^ =il==-«= e=aci -» — r- Thus he - gau the maid en's lay: "Love doth bind me ten - der - ly!" All my heart beat high and free,. ^ ^ m ff_«i_ 3= 5=t -* *- , i ■».: — I <—f 1 ^^^t""" i — And 1 cried, by hope made gay,... From my horse's i W -^=9Z itSit 38 ,- -JS.^—f^ 'a.Szac 5-3=1= back swift springing, "Fret- ty one, good -day to thee!" V KING THIBAULT, THE TROUBADOUR ONCE upon a time there lived a beautiful and bril- liant lady for whom the Troubadours of the Midi sang their songs, and to Avhom all men paid homage ; and she was called Blanche of Navarre. Her father was Sanclio the Strong, King of Navarre, and her hus- band was Thibault III., the great and good Count of Champagne and Brie. And she was the mother of that Thibault whom the world knows as the greatest of Troubadours. Now the Comte de Champagne, Thi- bault III., died soon after his son was born, and the bo}^ became, in his turn, Count of the great estates of Champagne and of Brie. And the Comtesse, his lady- mother, betook herself to the Court of King Philippe Auguste, and there dwelt for the years of her widow- hood. So it happened that our Thibault spent his childhood at the Frcncli Court, was educated there, and there while still a child met the woman whose in- fluence was later to colour his whole life. Philippe Auguste's son, the Dauphin Louis, was a brave and stalwart prince, and it was fitting that he 86 MAKERS OF SONG should wed a great lady, since he must some day rule over France. So from France went forth envoys in search of the Dauphin's bride and the future queen of France. And one day a great treaty was made be- tween the kingdoms of France and of Castille, and a state wedding was solemnised : between Louis, Dauphin of France, and the little Princess Blanche, of Castille. She was the daughter of King Alfonso the Good, and that Princess Eleanor of England, who is known as the "Damsel of Brittany," and at the time of her mar- riage she was a yellow-haired slender thing, but little more than thirteen years old. Now in due time the great Philippe Auguste joined the other kings of France, and the Dauphin became Louis VIII., and for his courage and his daring per- sonality they called him Louis the Lion, and so he is known in history. And when he was crowned King of France his child-wife was crowned Queen. And he brought her home to his French Court, and the people, seeing her child face and fair hair, loved her, and said: "Long live our young Queen, Blanche of Castille." Thibault IV. de Champagne was born in Troyes, France, in 1201, a year after the royal marriage. As has been said, his father died but a short time after- ward. When Blanche of Castille came to France, the Comtesse de Champagne was a widow, whose chief thought was for her baby ; to this absorbing interest KING THIBAULT 87 she added an almost motherly affection for the lonely little Queen, whose 3'outh and shyness made her a pathetic figure at the brilliant French Court. ]Many years younger than Blanche of Navarre, Comtesse de Champagne, she, nevertheless, became that lady's dear friend. As a matter of fact, they were dis- tant kinswomen, and of natures well accorded to one another. So the two Blanches, the gracious and beau- tiful Comtesse and the golden-haired young Queen, be- came inseparable. And it came to pass that during Thibault's babyhood. Queen Blanche's fair face was as familiar to him as his own mother's. The death of the Comtesse while he was still very young left him to the tender mercies of a world that was at the time very busy with large state affairs, among which a small boy had but little place or use. But the boy's brave and merry spirit and brilliant wit brought him safely, even triumphantly, through the brief, uneasy childhood of the French youth at that day, and at an early age he began to take part in the big political movements which were convulsing France, as well as to apply himself enthusiastically to the arts and sciences so far as they were then understood and developed. When Thibault was fourteen the Queen's eldest son was born, — he who was some day to be St. Louis, of high place in history. It seems to have been soon after this important event that Thibault left the Court 88 MAKERS OF SONG and went to his own possessions. As he grew older he found that the administration of these vast estates filled his time and thought. He was a feudal lord of great importance, and had a wide influence with the petty barons whose sporadic uprisings disquieted the country. Thibault's allegiance, unconditional and whole-hearted, belonged to the Crown, and he wor- shipped his mother's friend, the golden-haired Reine Blanche, as utterly as though she were not only his Queen but his patron saint. Nevertheless, he spent little time at Court during the latter years of his boy- hood, and occupied himself chiefly with his own aff^airs, - — the management of his lands and vassals, and the perfection of his education. His name grew to be a famous one in that early world of letters, sciences and arts, and he was well known then as he is well known to-day : as a great noble, a charming and courtly man, a brilliant student, and the greatest of the Trou- badours. None of these mediaeval minstrels ever put so fitly the varying notes of a man's life into robust yet graceful song. For manliness, — wholesome, vital, and of widely ranging interests, — was the pre- dominating attribute in the make-up of Thibault de Champagne. He was, says an old account, — a man of "un courage mouvant (a moving courage)." He was versatile, impulsive, brilliant, Inconstant, and pos- sessed to a degree of perfection the quality of personal charm. He was an enormous man, — so broad and tall KING THIBAULT 89 and strong that he was called "Le Gros" by some per- sons. "His figure, tall and well proportioned," says Fetis, "his courage, his address in the exercise of arms, his magnificence and his liberality, his taste for letters and his talent for poetry and music, rendered him an accomplished cavalier." People loved him wherever he went, and in spite of his changeable, impulsive nature, there was not in all his being one shadow that was dishonourable, cowardly or unkind. The mistakes he made were those of im- pulse. He loved the King, and, against his own wishes, rode with him in an attack upon one of the Counts of Toulouse, a kinsman of his own. But after the siege had continued for several days, and the miseries of war had grown more conspicuous than its glories, the young Count experienced a sudden revul- sion of feeling. He gathered together his men and rode away, — leaving his enemies to say what they chose about his courage ! Subsequently he persuaded Tou- louse to submit to France. This constant yielding to the spur of the moment won for him an unenviable reputation, though his friends found in all his vagaries no fault that they could not readily forgive. Thibault loved gaiety, and many were the great banquets which he gave in the Chateau de Brie, — ban- quets such as only a Troubadour and important feudal lord of that day could dream of giving. One of the 90 MAKERS OF SONG chroniclers of these mediaeval feasts gives us this amazing menu : a stag roasted whole, with hot pepper sauce ; wild boar with peppers and cloves ; peacocks, swans and chickens fried in lard; roast capons with clove sauce ; pies of deer, pigeon and pheasant. From the pheasant pies live birds escaped, and after a time falcons were loosed, and between courses the guests watched the incidental sport and laid wagers on vari- ous birds ! Then came eel-pies, cakes, tarts, dates, figs, pomegranates, and other sweets ; finally the spices : ginger, cloves, nutmeg and pepper. These were served as a course by themselves, and their purpose was to create an unendurable thirst. Throughout the meal wines of different sorts flowed ceaselessly, — wines mixed with perfumes, spices, honey, and great quan- tities of pepper. The latter flavouring was chiefly in favour, as it prolonged the excessive artificial thirst. At the end of the meal the table was cleared of all save the flagons, and the jongleurs were summoned to play and sing while the guests spent a few additional hours over their peppered wine. Truly, the old Romans would have had diflficulty in surpassing feasts such as these ! Yet in one old book we find, — surprising paradox ! — that the Troubadour's rule of life was as follows : "By eating well and sleeping softly a man may lead an easy life. But he who wishes to rise to emi- pence of worth, must needs subject himself to roughest KING THIBAULT 91 hardship. He must exert his utmost, here and there, must take away and give according to the exigency of the time and place !" It might be pleasant to feel that our Thibault was of the type who might have subscribed to the preced- ing exemplary sentiments, but alas ! it seems fairly certain that his was rather the life-loving soul which would have found delight in the Lucullan banquets re- cently described. As to dress, — a Troubadour was forced to dress richly, and be sure Thibault went with the times, in apparel as in manners and customs. According to the strange symbolic fashions of the day, red, yellow, green, purple, gold, silver and sky blue were under- stood, by an unwritten law, to denote a spirit of good cheer, courage and other pleasant qualities. A man who donned garments of brown, grey or any tint too subdued, confessed and proclaimed himself a coward, dullard and misanthrope ! Therefore we must pic- ture Thibault as clothed in rainbow fabrics. Indeed we have one significant and authentic description of him, as he sat at the King's table one day many years later, when he was something more than Thibault, Conite de Champagne. ". . . And next our Thibault, King of Navarre," says the ancient Navarrese his- torian. "He was very richly accoutred in a tunic and mantel of cloth of gold, a silver belt, and a hat of fine gold." 92 MAKERS OF SONG Ah, yes ! Thibault loved the goodly things of this life, Avhether represented by spices and perfumed wine, and roasted deer, or by a "hat of fine gold," — by the emotional loveliness of lute-music, or by the favour of the Throne. Not for him was the tender simplicity of Regnault in his lonely Castle, or the careless gaiety of the romantic Bernart, wandering about the earth, vagrant-like, and singing love-songs. And yet he had a brave and genial spirit, with fine poetic heights therein, and a heart fully fitted with the capacity to love most generously and nobly. The year in which Thibault became twenty-five was the real beginning of his life ; and a strange, exciting and rather terrible beginning it was. In the Novem- ber of that year, 1226, Louis the Lion died suddenly and mysteriously in TVIontpensier, Auvergne. And thereupon arose a great clamour of voices throughout the provinces of France, — murmuring, shouting, whispering, proclaiming, hinting one suspicion : that Thibault de Champagne, for love of Queen Blanche, had poisoned the King ! Thibault's knowledge of medicine, among other sciences, counted against him, and his intimacy at the French Court gave a seeming foundation for the evil minds in the kingdom. Moreover, the Queen was at the height of her wonderful beauty, and it is certain that Thibault had adored her, albeit humbly, from his babyhood. The coarse-grained nobles who disliked KING THIBAULT 93 Thibault and envied him his influence and power could hardly be expected to distinguish or differentiate, and altogether the 3'oung Count found himself in a most enraging position. No open accusations were made, either officially or to his face, but the air rang with the reiterated rumours until he felt as though he were inundated in a wave of gnats and tiny wasps. His mood of resentment was one which only needed a breath of wind to be turned against tliose whom he loved best. This breath of wind was not lacking. At this time there w^as a league of barons ranged against the Throne, the latter being now occupied by lilanchc, who was Regent during the minority of Louis IX. These barons and feudal lords were headed by Pierre de Drieux, Count of Brittany. He was a curious man, fierce and taciturn, — the sworn enemy of law and order, and possessed of a supreme hatred for the Church. The priests had given him the nick- name "Mauclerc" or "Bad Scholar," and so he was known everywhere. He and his league of conspirators against the Queen Regent longed to have the name of Thibault dc Champagne added to their lists. And, unknown to themselves, they had a powerful ally, very close to the Throne, — one who was as anxious as they that the young Count should be estranged from Louis and his mother. This was the Prince Philippe, — son of Philippe Auguste by Marie de Meran, and brother of the late King. He was a scoundrel of the 94 MAKERS OF SONG first water, and had won renown for his brutal treat- ment of his wife. This unfortunate lady, the daugh- ter of Count Renard of Boulogne, was kept shut up in prison, that her lord might do as he willed without incumbrance or interference. Philippe hated Thi- bault, — either because of his influence at Court, or for some private reason, — and was determined to harm him in some way. Young Louis IX. was to be crowned at Rheims, and Blanche sent out a royal command that all loyal lords of France should be present to acknowledge and pay homage to their new King. When Thibault, still smarting from the whispered accusations made against him, presented himself and his retinue at the gates of Rheims, the soldiers of the Commune met him with in- solence. And then, — unspeakable indignity and out- rage! — the city gates crashed loudly shut in his very face. The Count of Champagne and Brie was for- mally refused admittance to Rheims. This insult, of course, was by the order of Prince Philippe, and it was effectual. Thibault believed that the Queen had sub- jected him to the humiliation, and his rage now was beyond all bounds. His loyalty to the Crown had brought him only shame and suspicion, and he vowed to have no more to do with royalty. He rode straight to the Castle of Brie and sent out a messenger to seek Mauclerc. In another day he was a member of the League of Barons, — one of the revolutionists and KING THIBAULT 95 conspirators against Queen Blanche and the boy- king. Poor Thibault ! We may guess what his unhappi- ness must have been. The habit of thought of a Hfe- time overturned in a single day! It was quite in keeping with his nature that, in spite of a probable lack of enthusiasm in his own heart, he should remain savagely loyal to his new cause during revolt after re- volt, — and defeat after defeat! The Queen, as his- tory has shown, was one of the rare master minds of statesmanship. She managed the repeated insurrec- tions and conspiracies which disturbed her son's king- dom with wit, tact, and justice, and succeeded in win- ning countless concessions from the rebels. One of her great strokes of diplomacy was the arrangement of a marriage between her young son, Prince John, and Yolande, the daughter of Mauclerc himself ! By intellect, strength of character, graciousness and beauty, she controlled and conquered the hostile barons, and slowly made her strong, sweet influence felt and recognised by the last and least of her sub- jects. From afar Thibault felt her power and her charm, but he was not yet ready to swing back from the red light of rebelhon to the peaceful sunshine of royal favour. Suddenly in the middle of these stirring times, in 1234, his grandfather, old Sancho the Strong, died; and Thibault found himself King of Navarre. Per- 96 MAKERS OF SONG haps the new dignity and responsibihty sobered his defiant spirit. At all events it was almost imme- diately after this change in his estate that he consented to an interview with Blanche. The end was inevitable. Though well beyond forty, the Queen was as beautiful as she had ever been, for hers was a loveliness that grew and softened with years. And never had her fascina- tion been more potent. The little yellow-haired girl whom Thibault's mother had loved, the dignified gra- cious Queen whom he had adored from afar and de- lighted to serve throughout his boyhood, the devoted wife and mother who was justly renowned over the whole kingdom for her good and sweet qualities, — these different persons, while remaining faintly visible in the woman before him, seemed but as shadows. What he really saw, as he looked up at her, — for he had dropped on one knee at her feet, — was a new, brilliant, beautiful being, — with the wisdom and gentleness of maturity in her eyes, and hair as golden as the golden sun for her crown. "Then," says the very ancient French history, "he rose up and spoke to her, saying, 'By my faith, Madame, my heart and my body and all my lands are at your commands. Nor could you ask of me a thing that I would not do with good wull. Never, God please, against you or yours may I live !' " When Thibault left Blanche he knew in his own heart that not only did he stand ready to die for her as KING THIBAULT 97 his Queen, but that he loved her as his lady. Thi- bault was no longer a boy, but a man thirty-five years old. Further, he was now a King, — albeit a petty one, — and so he permitted himself to love her. Never- theless, he knew that his love must be quite without hope. Says the historian : "He often held in remem- brance the sweet regard of the Queen and her beau- tiful face. His heart was filled with much fervent tenderness and love ; but when he recalled how high a lady she was, of how great a name, and of how good a life and an upright, — he could not hope ; but remained in loving thoughts and great sadness. . . ." So melancholy and miserable and lovesick did he finally become that he went to a gathering of Wise Men of the day, — seers whose life it was to peer into the soul's mysteries and provide advice for the sickest brains. And they recommended an extensive study of the arts, which he had been wont to love as a boy. ". . . And for that profound thought aids melancholy, to him it was declared by certain Wise ]\Ien that he should study the art of sweet songs and the fine sounds of instruments. And so did he." Naturally, he sang chiefly of Blanche, or for her, — as all Troubadours have sung of and for their ladies since time began. He rang the changes on her fair- ness; he dcscril)cd her in every metaphor and figure which his fertile imagination could suggest. He said 98 MAKERS OF SONG that she "made all his deepest sighs," and of her name he cried: "H6 ! Blanche ! Name brilliant and silvery!" Sometimes he grew whimsical, likened her to a snow- white deer, plunging courageously through the thick- ets, and sighed that if he might but capture that mar- vellous deer — "Who then so glad, so joyous, as Thibault?" He sang of her wonderful golden hair with the adoration of a sun-worshipper ; and all the while, as we read his outpourings, we find a completeness of humility, tenderness and respect which appears vastly to his credit when we consider the manners and morals of his time. "I love whom I may never dare implore," he writes. "And mine eyes are not brave enough to lift themselves unto her. She whom I love is of a great rank . and her beauty hath rendered me presumptuous." He worried greatly over the remaining delinquents in the League of Barons. "The White Deer stands among wolves," — he said, in one of his poems. "How to be certain that they will not rend her?" By this time his enemies were at work again spread- ing slanderous stories, and reviving in the public mind the old doubts as to Louis VIII.'s mode of death. Hugues de la Fierte wrote a Servante (political song), KING THIBAULT 99 which was repeated all over France. Parts of this are too malevolent to be of interest, but the passage most extensively quoted ran something as follows: "Count Thibault is more apt at medicine than at chivalry! . . . Well is France defended, my lords and barons, now that a woman rules over her, — and such a woman as you know ! He and she, side by side, governing the country together! He had no need to get a crown for himself, since already he is crowned otherwise !" . . . But now neither Thibault nor the Queen cared for the slanders of their enemies. Thibault was much at Court, and much with his lady and Queen, — whose fine mind and rare charm attracted him even more than her beauty. Though he had taken up the study of song as a cure for love he had no sooner acquired proficiency in the art than he hastened to his Queen's feet to sing his love-songs to her ! '"Love is endowed with all-surpassing might," sang Thibault, tlic Troubndour, — "And good or ill bestows in wanton jest. To me too long he portions only spite. And reason bids me drive him from my breast. But heart like mine ne'er yet was made of clay. And Love ! Love ! Love ! it cries with ne'er a stay; No other reason from it can you wrest; — So I sliall love, and naught can say me nay!" •Translation by Henry Carrington, Dean of Booking. 100 MAKERS OF SONG In a more despondent and less defiant mood he wrote : "'I thought I'd vanquished mighty love. But find myself deceived ; For every hour, alas ! I prove The conquest unachieved. By day I seek for ease in vain, Or call on sleep by night; — Sighs, tears, complaints, increase my pain, Nor does a hope, — ye powers ! — remain That she will e'er my love requite!" Whether or not the royal widow ever did "requite the love" of the man who had been born a year after her own marriage, no one will ever know unless those two picturesque and delightful ghosts should come back and vouchsafe the information. But she was most gracious, consulted him often in state affairs, and permitted him the intimacy of a close and trusted friend, — thereby showing the breadth and under- standing of her rare nature. Reformed traitors are seldom accepted with so much magnanimity ; but in this case the attitude was a wise one. Several times during trivial battles the royal troops were in danger of defeat, and in each case Thibault's forces, arriving at a timely hour, saved the day. So he grew more and more a ruling factor in the French Government, and the League of Barons almost de- spaired of ever winning him back to their rebellious ranks. 'Translation by Dr. Charles Burney. KING THIBAULT 101 Meanwhile Blanche's long regency came to an end, and the young King, St. Louis, took her place, nomi- nalh'. She was still the ruling power, however, and when Louis went to Palestine, in 12-18, she regained full control. Thibault went with his young King, and was in the great Gay a defeat. When he returned to France there were several fresh complications to meet. Before the marriage between Prince John and Yolande de Bretagne could be solemnised the Prince died. Yo- landc's father, ]Mauclcrc, had now no incentive to keep on friendly terms with the King and the Queen jNlother, and he was working harder than ever, though with more subtlety and diplomacy, to overthrow the Throne. To win Thibault away, he offered him Yolande's hand. She was a fair maid, it is said, and had a great name, and a marriage of convenience being quite a matter of course in those days, Thibault agreed. (Indeed there are historians who insist that our hero's exalted devo- tion to Blanche did not prevent him from marrying three times altogether!) Perhaps he had found the Queen less gracious and more preoccupied on his re- turn from Palestine, and realised the incontrovertible truth, — that she was a stateswoman first, and a gentle lady afterward. In fact it is possible that she may have grown tired of his rather exacting adoration ; — and it required but little, as we have seen, to pique our wilful King, Count and Troubadour, Thibault of Navarre ! 102 MAKERS OF SONG The day was set for his marriage with Yolande de Bretagne. Suddenly a letter arrived from the King. Even one less familiar with the royal methods than Thibault could not have failed to see that it had been dictated by Blanche. The letter begged him to break off his ap- proaching marriage, — "for the love of those dear to him in France." Thibault bade farewell to Yolande, and departed for the French Court. It is hard not to feel sorry for Yolande. Her youth seemed to be spent in preparations for bridals that never occurred. From the foregoing incident it may be inferred that La Reine Blanche was something of what we might term to-day, in vulgar parlance, a "dog in the manger." She did not wish to wed the King of Navarre herself, but she would not dream of permit- ting him to wed Yolande de Bretagne. Though nearly all of Thibault's songs were written for Blanche, they were not all written about her. The most famous of all his chansons, — perhaps one of the most famous songs of its kind ever written, has but the most slight and frivolous connection with love. It is the great "Chanson du Roy," or "Song of the King," and is written on the typical "pastourelle" model of the Troubadours. In simplicity and spontaneity. KING THIBAULT 103 both of words and music, it probably reaches the high- water mark of medijeval minstrelsy. It beccins in this fashion: -to' "As I rode ere dawn was winging, 'Twixt an orchard and a grove, I a shepherdess heard singing. And her song was all of love. Thus began the maiden's lay: ' Love doth bind me tenderly ! ' All ray heart beat high and free. And I cried, by hope made gay. From my horse's back swift springing, ' Pretty one, good day to thee!' " The song continues to portray the flirtation be- tween the King and the pretty shepherdess. Finally he becomes impertinent, and she calls for her shepherd lover, Perrin. Perrin arrives, quite ready to thrash the royal lover, who hastily mounts his palfrey and rides away. The shepherdess calls after his flying figure tauntingly : "Cavaliers should never be so bold!" There is a certain genial sarcasm in the original which it is almost impossible to translate. The music is too well known and well loved to need comment. Thibault's last years passed less eventfully than his early ones. He studied a little, sang a little, rode, feasted and made merry a little, and spent a due por- tion of his time with his beloved lady, Queen Blanche. 104 MAKERS OF SONG As both grew older, the Troubadour's ardent songs gave place to occasional religious outbursts, as be- came a good Catholic King. He wrote hymns to the Blessed Virgin instead of love-songs to Blanche of Castille, and was happier in discussing with her the broad questions of the day than in pouring forth a ceaseless tide of passionate protestations. With her head crowned with silver instead of gold, and looking more than ever a Reine Blanche, — a white queen, — the great and clever lady who had ruled France and inspired a genius, slipped softly and easily down the slanting roadway of years. When she was sixty-five, and before extreme old age had claimed or chained her indomitable personality, she died. Her death was in December, when the snow lay on the land. In the white time of the year La Reine Blanche was laid in state among the Kings and Queens of France. A little OA'er a year later Thibault followed her. Surely it was happiest for him. He would never have loved the sunset-time, and would have had small pa- tience with the world when the lustiness of youth, the splendour of romance, and the savour of action had left it. He had been essentially a part of the world, — a part of its joys and its miseries, its excitements, dis- appointments, and great deeds. And to have grown old, with only memory to give him back the lost, robust delights of his young manhood, the absorbing game of conspiracies and thrones, and the inspiring influence KING THIBAULT 105 of his royal Lady, — this indeed would have been a lot most pitiful and out of harmony with his song of Hfe. But the big dumb Fate whom we are wont to revile has an ear for chords and discords. And so it happened that when the cup was barely drained, the lute hardly out of tune, the flowers just withered, and the Queen but a year dead, — he closed his eyes upon a smiling sky and went to sleep. And the chronicler of old said of him, with a rare tenderness : "He made the most beautiful songs, and the most delectable and melodious, that ever were made for singing, or fash- ioned for instruments by any man." The histories have much to say of the King of Navarre. But for us he is something much better than a mere king : he is Thibault, the Troubadour. THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS ROBIN M'AIME ^^4=^ I I I Rob - in. loves me, loves but me; rcz: =^J= i: --^=^ -J— ^- — ' H Rob - In's asked me if his love I'll tru - ly f ^-Ul-j^ -m^9z 1?=^- 1 r * ^ be. Rob - in's bought me daint - y things In i *— s= I i r^S: lov - er's fash - ion, Sung me ma - ny ten - der ^ = T— 1 T- f -» >*- i±3±= -^ 1 ^ songs to. .. prove his faith - ful pas - - sion. i =-t=BZ =;^=:r :i=^ Rob- in.. loves me, loves but me; Rob - in's i ]=F=t I 1 .^— >-H=- ±z±=±: f It g= -* — "s* :^ -^ ^- — I- asked me if his love I'll tru - ly be I VI THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS HE himself denied the suitabiHty of his nickname "Li Bochu" or "Le Bossu," but his biographers insist that, if not actually a hunchback, he was at least some- what malformed. To be sure "Bossu" was a title often applied to minstrels of the Middle Ages ; never- theless it is safe to assume that Adam de la Halle was physically one of Nature's mistakes. Mentally, he was all that could be desired. He said, in writing of himself, after his own odd fashion of speaking in the third person : "Personal beauty nor grace had he not. But he had beauty of wit And knew most gracefully all manners of song." Gifted, sneering, poetical, sparkling little Bossu! You were out of place in the century which gave you birth. To-day we should hail you as a wit and rever- ence you as a master. Your caustic and sometimes audacious jests would be swallowed with avidity, and your deformity would add piquancy to your personal- ity, instead of opening the mouths of your contem' poraries for the issue of sneers and derision. 110 MAKERS OF SONG A poet, a dramatist, a wit, a composer, a singer, a mocker, a reformer, a libertine, a gallant, a revolu- tionist, a lover, a student, even, sporadically, a reli- gieux, how could the thirteenth century be expected to understand him? Adam de la Halle was bom in 1240, according to the best authorities. Coussemaker, indeed, insists that the date was nearer 1220, but the consensus of opinion in- clines to 1240, so let us accept the latter date with- out further debate. Of his mother we know nothing, but his father's per- sonality seems fairly accurately preserved in history. Maitre Henri de la Halle was a well-to-do burgher of the town of Arras, capital of Artois in Picardy. In- deed he was a man of decided importance and held a social position rather unusual among the bourgeoisie. He was a burgher with definite aspirations and de- sires — one of which was that his son Adam should have every opportunity to distinguish himself and take a prominent place in the great world. He had a suffi- ciency of material goods and he cheerfully invested them in the education and bringing up of this delicate, brilliant and perverse boy. Arras was a peculiarly vicious town, even in a day when laxity was the rule of life. The government and the people were continually at odds, and the air was hot with malice and fetid with scandal and immorality. THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS 111 In later years, Adam, on the eve of departure, wrote as follows of his home and birthplace : *"Arras, Arras! Town full of strife; — With calumnies and hatred rife; You were a noble town of yore; Your fame, 'tis said, they will restore; But unless God your manners mend I see not who'll effect this end. Gambling is all that you pursue. So — fifty thousand times adieu!" But although the day was to come when he could write thus scathingly of the delinquencies of Arras, he was part and parcel of them in his boyhood. "He was received," says one historian, "by the richest and most noble Seigneurs of Arras. They opened to him both house and purse, and admired him at their tables." It is evident that Adam must have been remarkably brilliant and witty even in his extreme youth, for cer- tainly they could not have admired his poor bent form, and the record of the homage paid him by these great men of his town is testimony to his marvellous and precociously developed mentality. Throughout his youth Adam plunged deeply and constantly into dissipation, and it is to this fact, doubt- less, that we owe his subsequent bitter and brilliant de- nunciations of vice. He had gauged the depth or the shallowness of this mad life of j^leasure to which Arras 'Translation by Henry Carrington, Dean of Bocking. 112 MAKERS OF SONG was given up, and could, therefore, excoriate it as an outsider could never have done. There was no banquet but young Adam de la Halle was present, — no great gambling bout but his purse was upon the table. Where wine was drunk, quips ex- changed, women wooed or fortunes lost, — Adam was always to be seen. He could not fight duels nor ride hunting, but when a brain could serve he was never missing. In the wildest scenes of revelry that made Arras notorious his twisted shoulders, pallid face and blazing eyes formed the most dominant note of the pic- ture. His swift biting speech threaded the coarse jests of his companions like a whip of steel. It was said that the magnetism of his vivid eyes and the spell of his wonderful voice could woo a woman's heart away from the handsomest giant that ever wore a sword or sat a horse. Maitre Henri began to grow disturbed. That his son should have due experience in the great world was one thing, but that he should be supreme Master of the Revels in a town renowned for its lawlessness was quite another, and most alarming to a parental soul. So he began to speak seriously to Adam, — began to speak of art, letters, and music, and the mental train- ing which might be obtained at the great monasteries, — began to speak of the future which was as strong as it was remorseless. He reminded the young man that, while youth was brief, life was sometimes known to THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS 113 last a good while, and it was as well to look ahead and prepare one's self against the day when riotous living should have lost its first savour, and pleasure came to a man along less strenuous lines. Change was the guiding motive-power of Le Bossu's life, so, as he was becoming weary of gambling and drinking, and had an insatiable love of novelty, he agreed to go to the Monastery of Vauxcellcs, near Cambrai, and to cultivate his sparkling and erratic in- tellect in the sobering atmosphere of the cloister. He had but one regret in leaving Arras. He should be separated from Marie. For Adam was almost on the verge of falling in love, — as much in love, that is, as one of his temperament could be. Neither Marie's surname nor her antecedents are on record. We only know from an old chronicle that she was "a beautiful person, richer in charms than in worldly advantages or fortune." She is spoken of by more than one historian as "La jolie demoiselle Marie," and Adam has enu- merated her mental, spiritual and personal attrac- tions in many poems both sentimental and satirical. Being poor in "worldly advantages and fortune," Marie did not please Maitre Henri, and the course of true love bade fair to run rather roughly for the lovers, — if so they can be termed. It is more than probable that, up to the time of Adam's departure for Vauxcellcs, he had paid but tentative and cursory tribute of attention to Marie. Doubtless, however, he 114 MAKERS OF SONG had succeeded in fascinating her with his wit and his personality, as he fascinated all women, in spite of being the Hunchback of Arras. At about this time an unusual humility seems to have taken possession of Adam. Apparently he felt ashamed of the unquiet and unseemly life he had led since childhood, and recognised in the daring and ma- licious witticisms which his companions had praised so highly the elements of ill breeding, and an inherent lack of delicacy of thought. In the "Farewell to Arras," — a stanza from which was quoted a few pages back, — he says: *". . . Rude and empty was my mind. Discourteous, base and unrefined. . My tender friend, mucli-loved and dear, I feel and show but little cheer. Deeply on your account I grieve, Whom I am forced behind to leave. You will be treasurer of my heart. Although my body must depart. Learning and science to attain, And be more worth, — so you shall gain!" Alas ! Adam was forever turning over new leaves, — but some of his new leaves were more discreditable than the old. Good or bad, however, he never kept to them long. He left Arras filled with a deep distaste for the town and his erstwhile boon companions, and a pleas- ^Translation by Dean Carrington. THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS 115 antly depressed affection for Marie. Doubtless his intention was to remain in the Monastery long enough to complete his education, then return to Arras, wed Marie, and settle down into a self-respecting burgher with a taste for versifying. He was, however, to pass through several phases before even approaching the beatific monotony which he contemplated so hope- fully. In the first place the monks made him warmly wel- come in Vauxcelles. His fine mind and rare aptitude in all manner of studies delighted them, and the most learned of the Brethren gave him of the best their brains could yield, filling his impressionable soul with that knowledge-thirst which strengthens with appease- ment. Then his quick and appreciative imagination began to see and seize the picturesque elements of his monastic life. His interest in his work gave place to the intuitive response of the poet and dramatist to fine theatrical effects. He took what the old book calls "The large course of study, composed of the Seven Arts," but it soon became an incidental feature of ex- istence; the religious side of his life attracted him much more profoundly. The beauty of the cloistered days appealed to the artist within him, and so wholly did he lose the memory of the warmer and sweeter world outside that he be- came a clerk in the Monastery, and finally entered upon the novitiate preparatory to taking Holy Orders. 116 MAKERS OF SONG It is much more than possible, however, that Adam at no single moment intended to become a monk. Probably his subtle, secret and analytical brain ac- cepted — even created — this new situation from his usual motive of enthusiastic but well-balanced curios- ity. Doubtless he began his novitiate with the knowl- edge that it would mean for him some new and valuable experiences and impressions. He was a dramatist preeminently, and as such had rare appreciation of the laws of contrast. So behold him, kneeling piously in Vauxcelles, mur- muring prayers in his beautiful voice, gazing upward with his marvellous eyes, and perhaps registering an impression now and then on the tablets of his sly and clever brain. Picture, likewise, the amiable and sym- pathetic monks, glancing with compassionate eyes to- ward the deformed shoulders under the dull-coloured habit of the neoph3'te. For a time this new phase of life delighted him. He out-religioned the most religious of the Brethren, flung into his Aves and Misereres an enthusiasm new to the unimaginative monks, and took an artistic joy in silver dawns and crimson sunsets as filtered through monastic gratings. When the chill of the stones cut in- to his knees he knew the delight of the super-sensitive sensualist ; he sniffed the incense with the appreciation of the intellectual poet. All this sounds paradoxical, — but throughout his days it was the will and pleasure THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS 117 of Le Bossu to live paradoxes. With his soul he re- membered the world ; with his keenly strung nerves he responded to the appeal of the cloister. But soon he had exhausted the possibilities of Vaux- celles. He had lived his life there with ardour and completeness, absorbed the atmosphere of the Church, and penetrated the somewhat unvaried individualities of the monks. He was tired of it. Sin and Virtue, the World and Religion, had alike cloyed. He must have something new to inspire him now, thrill his blood, and beckon his adventurous spirit. But what ? The answer sprang into his brain together with the question: Romance! The witch and priest- ess, elf and gypsy, — the queen of the big round world, and the enchantress of the hearts of men ! Romance should be his goddess henceforward he vowed, and he turned a critical and frigid eye upon the shadow- crowded corridor and the silent courtyard. Yester- day he had found the one mysterious and the other peaceful — to-day they both were uninteresting. His elusive sentiment for Marie was now taken out of his elastic and retentive inner-consciousness, and elaborated upon with the skill of the mechanic. A bit added here and there, and behold ! Adam found him- self successfully luxuriating in a splendid passion for "La jolie demoiselle" in Arras. He discovered quite suddenly that life was an empty and worthless affair without love, and decided almost as suddenly that he 118 MAKERS OF SONG must see Marie at once, and protest to her the extraor- dinary and deathless ardour of his devotion. His vows ? Adam placed his vows at scarcely higher value than do his historians. The monastic Bond.'^ It only remained to be broken. Doubtless he worked him- self up to an affectation of emotion very satisfactory to himself, during some solemn Vesper service. Or do we wrong him ? Was there indeed some fugitive spark of the ineffable flame called Love kindling slowly in his cold heart? It may be. And for the good of his soul, — now jesting ironically somewhere in the Place of Departed Spirits, — we will hope that, for a brief space at least, Adam le Bossu sang the Love Song of the World. Once determined upon his course nothing could pre- vail against him. The monkish habit was discarded; the garments in which he came to Vauxcelles were hastily donned by the light of the moon, pallidly re- flected on the wall of his cell. In the hush of mid- night, two hours before the first service, he stole down the still corridor. Perhaps a Brother stirred in his tired sleep, and murmured, "Who passes?" but some scampering rat or shivering whisper of wind answered the question, and the Hunchback crept on: past the entrance to the Chapel, for which in his new mood he had a laugh probably instead of a genuflexion ; past the Refectory, with a retrospective grimace for the coarse and meagre fare which had so often been doled THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS 119 out to him by the Cellarer ; out by the great door and across the courtyard. . . . The trees stirred faintly, like a lisping of many hushed voices ; the wind touched his face with a wordless welcome that brought a thrill. A minute later he was out on the highroad. The sleeping Monastery was behind him, a great exultation was in his heart, and his face was turned toward Arras. Now, just at this time Arras was in a sad state, had Adam but known it. A wild confusion reigned there, made up of dissension and discontent, tyranny and in- subordination, — a chaotic condition in which the Mayor and the citizens, the priests and the students alike were involved. Pamphlets were written bristling with invective against the government, influential citizens were banished under suspicion of complicity with these verbal revolutionists, and the air teemed with discord. When Adam returned to his native town he found these conditions in existence, and his welcome but a wintry one, — cold, stormy and depressing. His father was not only amazed by his son's summary de- parture from Vauxcelles, but he was greatly exercised over the constant anxieties of every-day life. Every- day life in Arras just then was far from monotonous, and Maitre Henri was growing too old to enjoy the smoke even of a bloodless battle. Adam sought out Marie with dispatch, and told his 120 MAKERS OF SONG tale. He played his new role with his old skill and ardour. He convinced "La jolie demoiselle" that she was essential to his happiness, if not to his actual life ! He made love with his brain, voice, eyes and soul. Of course Marie was conquered, and consented to become his wife. This fact assured and her promise given, Adam, excited even beyond his usual high pitch, began to interest himself in the political conditions of his home. For the first time an opportunity offered itself for tak- ing part in public affairs. He began to write pamph- lets himself, — brilliant, daring pieces of work, the fore- runners of some modern editorials. Neither God nor man escaped the searing red-hot points of his intellect- ual weapons. He reviled the Pope no less than he at- tacked the Government of Arras. And, not content with the introduction of human personages for the bet- ter dramatic development of his tirades, he called the figure of the Almighty into his pages to point by Divine concurrence the theories which he himself had evolved. The result of all this was that he and his father were forced to fly from Arras to Douai, to escape be- ing made public examples by the outraged and irate Mayor and his governing officials. Adam decided to give up politics temporarily, hav- ing immensely enjoyed his first flight among them, nevertheless. He wrote to Marie, — calling her "Bele THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS 121 tres douche amie chere (Beautiful, dear and very sweet love)" — and being in a genial humour, did his best to pacify and cheer poor Maitre Henri, who was as ill- tempered just then as his son was amiable. They remained away but a short time. The storm was soon lulled, and by the time they ventured back Arras was no worse and no better than usual. Promptly after this return Adam and Marie were mar- ried. For a space Adam revelled in a dream of the con- sistency and hue of a sunset cloud. He lived in love, and looked on life through a shining web that was woven half of sunshine, half of Marie's bright hair. He saw the world reflected in her eyes, and her voice drowned for him the clamour of the tongues of men. He found the beating of her heart more inspiring than shouts of revelry, the sight of her tender face more wonderful than incense-clouded altars, the touch of her hand or lips more thrilling than the ebb and flow of revolutions. Marie must have been a rarely sweet and fascinat- ing woman, for she held her erratic husband for sev- eral years, — much longer than any one could reason- ably have believed possible. Children came to them, and their life seemed tranquil and complete. Suddenly, one day, Adam le Bossu walked out of his house and never came back. Love and Marriage, like Dissipation, Religion and 122 MAKERS OF SONG Politics, had palled upon him. He had gone to Paris to devote himself to music and literature ! At this time his brain was acutely active, and he composed song after song, satire after satire, and drama after drama, with never-flagging inspiration. He wrote of himself in the third person, and intro- duced fanciful characters (like his famous "Fee Maglore," the evil genius) to typify the good and bad elements in his life. But despite these whimsical- ities all his work of this period was frankly, — too frankly, — autobiographical. In the treatise on Marriage, which appears in the guise of a dialogue in his "Play of Adam," he told the story of his love for INIarie, holding it up to ridicule as only he had the skill and wit to do, exposing her to the jests of the public, and himself to the horror and disgust of posterity. There are passages in this clever but unpardonable bit of work which rend our sympathies into a tattered web that is inadequate to cover the physical and moral malformations of the Hunchback of Arras. Yet he could write charmingl}-, tenderl\'. We feel our kindly feelings being bought back grudgingly by the simplicity and grace of such lines as these: "Thanks, Love, for all the sorrows soft and sweet, That, mastering my heart, you wake in me, For her, — the best and the most beautifxil A man could ever love or ever serve Without deserving her. . . ." THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS 123 To the lady of his heart (whoever she was at the time ) he sings : "Ah! I could never bring to you The gracious, fair and gentle things That you have caused to come to me; For I' have loved, — yea ! — and desired, . . ." He wrote dehghtful music, too ; not only, — states one writer, — composing some of the most delicious chansons of medizeval times, but anticipating the spon- taneous character of latter-day lyrics, and sowing the seeds both of Vaudeville and Opera Comique. Such brilliant work did he do that the Count of Artois (Robert II., nephew of St. Louis) installed him as his Court Composer and Singer. It was a great position, and Adam made great use of it. He was soon as efficient a courtier as he was a Master of Music and of Literature, and, with his slender bent frame sumptuously dressed, he was a conspicuous figure at all the great festivals and entertainments of the Artois Court. From this time until his death Adam dc la Halle worked unceasingly. He was one who, while seldom living deeply, always lived vividly. His loves, if brief, were ardent ; his work, if superficial, was brilliant. He was a bad friend and a worse lover, but he had the gift of magnetism which held both friendship and affection long after he had ceased to wish for it. Through all the changes of Iiis life, his dramatic 124. MAKERS OF SONG sense was paramount.' He turned his poems and his political essays into miniature plays, and he lived even more theatrically than he wrote. But he possessed the ability and the will to work ; dowered with almost all faults, human and otherwise, he yet lacked one — laziness. He never shirked, seldom rested, and burned up the fuel of his insufficient bodily strength in forty- six glittering years. In 1282, by command of Philippe the Bold, the Comte d'Artois went with the Due d'Alcn^on to Naples, to aid the Due d'Anjou in avenging the Vepres Siciliennes. Most of the Court of Artois went too, and, of course, Adam le Bossu. In the two Sicilies the Court was bored, for there was much time to wile away and not enough fighting to be really ex- citing. So Adam set himself the task of amusing and entertaining these gay beings, one of whom he now accounted himself. And so it came about that he wrote his masterpiece, the drama "Robin et Marion." It was modelled on the theme of the ancient pas- torale, but bears to it the relation which the finished orchestral suite has to its opening motif. "Robin" is a delightful achievement, even judging it apart from the day in which it was written. Of many medifeval works it is possible to say : "How wonderful — for the Middle Ages!" But to be able to say: "How won- derful ! When was it written ?" is the only test and the only tribute. "Robin et Marion" is a great work THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS 1S5 to-day, even as it was a great work in 1282. It is as ageless as romance, and as cosmopolitan as comedy. Its dialogue reads almost as naturally as the scenes in a modern play, yet its old-world flavour is delicately and surel}^ maintained throughout. Its lyrics are graceful, its melodies spontaneous, its dramatic action sufficiently swift to excuse the slender plot, and its humour as genuine as it is subtle. The opening of the play discovers the pretty shepherdess, Marion or INIarotc, singing softly to her- self the song, "Robin M'aime," of which the following is rather too free an adaptation to be called a transla- tion: "Robin loves me, loves but me; Robin's asked me if his love I'll truly be. Robin's bought me dainty things in lover's fashion, Sung me many tender songs to prove his faithful passion. True lovers we! H^, Robin! If thou lovest me. For love's sake come to me ! Uol)in loves me, loves but me, — Robin's asked me if his love I'll truly be!" A Chevalier a})pears upon the scene, riding a fine palfrey, and recalling to our minds Thibault's "Chan- son du Roy !" '^J'hc dialogue runs as follows : "C'hfuvilier: Shciilicrdcss, God give you good-day. "Marion: God keep you, my Lord. "Chev.: P'or love's sake, sweet maid, tell me for whom do you sing with such good-will: 126 MAKERS OF SONG "'Hb, Robin! If thou lovest me, For love's sake, come to me!' "Mar.: Fair sir, it is simply told: I love Robinet and he me. . . . Lord, suffer me to know what manner of beast you carry on your hand. "Chev.: A falcon. "Mar.: Will it eat bread? "Chev. : No, only good flesh. "Mar.: That beast! Truly? "Chev. : Careful ! It would not mind proving it. . . . Tell me, sweet shepherdess, have you ever loved a cavalier? "Mar. : Fair sir, before you came, I knew not what cavaliers might be. Of all the men on earth I have only loved Robin. He comes night and morning, by long custom; he brings me cheese and milk, — and even now I carry next my heart a big piece of bread which he brought me to-day. "Chev.: Say, then, sweet shepherdess, — would you come with me, mount my fair palfrey and ride away with me from the wood and the valley? "Mar.: My Lord, mount your horse. He is not for me. . . . Your name? "Chev.: Aubert. "Mar.: My Lord Aubert, you waste your time. I shall love none but Robinet. "Chev.: None, Shepherdess? "Mar. : None, by my faith ! "Chev. : I a cavalier, and you a shepherdess ! — Must I en- treat you? "Mar.: I shall never love you. Shepherdess am I, in good truth, but I have a lover who is handsome, good, merry and brave. What more could you offer? "Chev.: Shepherdess, God give you joy." He rides away, Marion singing "Tirili, tirila" after him, varying it with snatches from "Robin M'aime." THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS 127 Later on in the play the Chevalier appears once more at a village gathering. He seeks a quarrel with Robin, knocks him down, and makes violent love to Marion, hoping that her lover's defeat will have shaken her loyalty-. She, however, is more than ever violently opposed to his wooing, and he finally departs after a very good comedy scene. Marion flies to Robin's arms, scolding him furiously for his cowardice, but evidently loving him too well to even transiently re- gret the Chevalier. The climax of the little play is the dance "La Tresque," which is led by Robin and Marion, and in which all the villagers join. La Tresque or ""La Danse de Robin," as it has come to be called, is a dance without end. One may dance it forever, or at least as long as one has breath or strength. So a great many years ago they made a proverb, — which is still common in Artois and Flanders : "Ch'est sans fin Com' r danse Robin, (It is without an end Like Robin's dance)." An old English account of the play (written 1632) describes it as being "a merrie and extcmporall song, or fashion of singing, whereto one is ever adding some- what, or may at pleasure add what he list." Evi- dently Adam left much to the judgment of his singers, — which after all showed his intelligence. From that 128 MAKERS OF SONG broad "ad libitum" was born a freshness and spon- taneity whicli was quite essential both to the musical and dramatic success of the work. "Robin ct Marion" was Adam's climax in life. In it he laid the corner-stone of a future music-drama, besides rounding out and developing the embryo song of the Middle Ages. After "Robin" he wrote very little. When he was forty-six he died in Naples, and was buried with immense pomp, and all the honours of the great, by his patron, Robert d'Artois. What became of his father, the excellent Maitre Henri, or his wife, "la jolie Marie," and her children, we know not. Jehan Mados, a jongleur and the son of Adam's sister, speaks adoringly of "Maistre Adam li Bochu." But for that matter they all adored him, even while they distrusted his heart and feared his brain. Those who had least cause to love him cher- ished a secret worship for him through every compli- cation. We may be certain that Marie inculcated in the hearts of her babies a loving reverence for their gifted father,- — while he, doubtless, was whispering suave and witty speeches in the ears of Court ladies. Ah, Adam de la Halle, — Adam le Bossu ! What was your secret .? Your ability might have won their admiration, and your achievements their respect ; — but what won their love.^* Was there indeed some masked and muffled tenderness about you that the few had power to recognise.'' Or did Marie's love spring, THE HUNCHBACK OF ARRAS 129 full grown, irrational and divine, from an over-faith- ful soul? No man shall ever answer the riddle; yet all men, even after these many years, can feel your spell and bow to it, — Adam le Bossu, Hunchback of Arras. WITH THE CASTANETS OLD SPANISH AIR m -^^j^^^ ::=n=:azt riaaa^a^^b m 3*= -^ — ^- -1— I — ^ t=lzz a!^ -• ^ tlztn— r- qeid =15= =£5^^t^»^^^ 1K- iSrtSi =P=!1- VII WITH THE CASTANETS SONG is not the product of cultivation but of in- spiration, and the elements which make for lyrical excellence are such spontaneous qualities as may be noted in the street ballads of a nation oftener than in the works of her masters. So, in every land, the cor- ner-stone of vocal melody has been laid by the Folk- Song. Not only has this peculiar branch of music a charm and freshness quite its own, but it is not seldom a gold-mine of real value, showing us a freedom of melody and an elasticity of development which it has taken the various schools of composition many hun- dreds of years to achieve. The folk-songs of the most ancient days have the infectious quality of the best class of inoucrn popular music. In an age when Har- mony was still an unexplored country, and learned Descanters and students were framing laborious airs as a mason builds an important and imposing structure of well-measured stone blocks, — the g^'psies and the ballad-mongers, the jongleurs and the careless coun- try-folk were creating the Melody of the Future — the Folk-Song. 134. MAKERS OF SONG Song would seem to be one of the most universally instinctive ways of expressing joy or sorrow that the world knows or has ever known. From the beginning of time, men and women have sung, — without knowl- edge or teaching, and guided only by their hearts. And the songs that they have sung have been good songs, and such as no composer has ever learned how to copy, though many have tried. For Song, as dis- tinct from Music in general, is emotional, — pui'ely, utterly, supremely elemental. It is, in its inherent essentials, as primitive as passion or self-preservation. And therefore it is universal, simple, and not to be counterfeited. The serenades and love-songs of the world were born from the ardour of lovers, grew to fullness of be- ing in the warmth of languorous da3\s and the magic of silver nights, — and died on the lips of the beloved. The lullabies grew in the hearts of mothers, with the growth of the new life, and found their crown of honour when they were crooned, in tremulous proud murmurs, above the mystery of drowsy baby eyes. The dirges were first the broken laments of mourners, — swelling, in time, to a wailing protest, and celebrating the unvarying tragedy of loss, — the inconsolable ache in the souls of those who had been forgotten by the grim, shadowy Visitor. Such things required no harmonic knowledge, nor yet any great genius in the art of making melodies. WITH THE CASTANETS 135 One had no need to be a musician ; it was only neces- sary to have lived. A few tears, a few kisses, a few heart-throbs, a few ripples of laughter ; a few sighs, and sobs, and solemn farewells, and love-whispers ; a few pauses full of pain or rapture ; the heavy tread of mourners bearing a white Mystery to Mother Earth ; the feverish hurry- ing steps of dancers, keeping time to their own restless pulses ; a prayer, broken by a blush or a hope, — a dream hushed by a memory. . . . And the Folk- Song was made. Among all the ancient folk-songs that sprang into vivid growth all over the speaking earth in the early ages, there probably was no national lyric music Avhich was so trul}^ great as that of Spain. George Ticknor declares that the jNIinnesinger and Troubadours were over-refined, and in their extreme precision of nota- tion and delicacy of musical art missed the fire and vitality necessary for really great songs. He insists that the Spanish Folk-Song of the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries reached points which neither Trouvere nor Minnesanger ever imagined. In no sense does he extol the Spanish Art-Form beyond that of other lands, but he says that the music of the people is more innately vigorous and spontaneous, — ". . . Embodying the excited poetical feeling that filled the whole nation during that period when the Moorish 136 MAKERS OF SONG power was gradually broken down by an enthusiasm that became at last irresistible." The bitter struggle between the Spanish and Moor- ish elements during the Oriental invasion and habita- tion is a subject which has been drained dry by his- torians, essayists, poets, and the makers of plays. It is unnecessary for us to dwell upon it here, since the matter concerns us only in so much as it may have influenced the songs of Castille and Galicia. Very slight was the Oriental colouring given to the national music of Spain, for the hostility between the two peo- ples was so strong as to repel the possibility of any inter-racial influence whatever. But the eff'ect of the Mohammedans' presence on Spanish soil was felt in the seething revolt and passion of the Spanish people and thus in their lyrics. The times were fiery and unquiet. One great national crisis followed another, and the impressionable hearts all over the country beat at top speed year after year. There seemed no cessation in the whirl of blood- shed, tyranny, struggle, rebellion, treachery and pain. And this turbulence and unrest, this danger and mad- ness eddied through the current of their music, creat- ing a wild, strange trick of melody, and a rhythm as uneven as waves driven upon the shore by storm winds. Yet through all the restless and even violent meas- ures ran the blood of Spain — which is warm blood, and sensuous, with a separate pulse for love, and another WITH THE CASTANETS 137 for Inconsequent delight. So, however fiery and wild the melody, it nevertheless carries its sub-current of languorous Southern passion. It is as though beneath the turbid, seething rush of wind-lashed waters one could catch glimpses of a great gorgeous sea-serpent painted in many glimmering hues, and moving slow, shining coils far below the tempest's reach. To Spain pre-eminently belongs the Dance Song. This wonderful type of folk-song combined music, poetry, motion, and sometimes pantomimic action as well. The latter are called "Danzas habladas," and are less popular than the simple Dance Song. There were, in the years of which we are writing, countless dances in Spain, — all seductive and beauti- ful, all accompanied by the intoxicating castanet-em- phasis, and "all," says Guevara, "invented by the Devil." There was the Zarabanda, named, we learn from Mariarea, "for La Zarabanda, a devil in wo- man's shape that lived in Seville." There was the Fan- dango, in which the castanet or crotola (a kind of Castanet) was peculiarly prominent; the Xacara, — a sort of drinking-song, with incidental dancing, recited, in what was called the Rogue's Dialect, and by that class of roysterers known also as the Xacaras ; the Rondena, the Malagucna, the Cachua, the Gitana, the Bolero, the Gambeta, the Caballero, the Alemana, the Zapateta, the Jota, the Bayle, and a dozen others. Some of these dances received their names from the 138 MAKERS OF SONG places where they originated, others from the favour- ites who danced them. But most characteristic of all was the Seguidilla, — that magical delirium of music and motion which shall typify Spain to the end of time as it has from the beginning. An old book by Zamacola describes the Seguidilla in this way : "So soon as two young people of the opposite sexes present themselves, standing face to face at a distance of about two varas" (that is, sixty-eight inches) "the ritornelo or prelude to the music begins ; then the Seguidilla is insinuated by the voice. . . . The guitar follows, playing a pasacalle" (popular street- song) "and at the fourth bar the Seguidilla begins to be sung. Then the dance breaks out with casta- nets or crotolas, running on for a space of nine bars, with which the first part concludes. The guitar con- tinues playing the pasacalle. ... At the close, the voice, the instruments and the castanets cease all at once, and, as if impromptu, the room remaining in silence, and the dancers standing immovable in various beautiful attitudes, which is what we call bien parado (well-stopped). ..." The words of the Dance Songs were sung in a sort of sing-song recitative, that occasionally broke into sudden melody. These words were called the Coplas, and there are many coplas which are both beautiful and witty. Most of the colour and character of the WITH THE CASTANETS 139 melodies was given by the dancers and the dance- music, — ahvays most rich and full of fire and poetry. Out in the woods the Homeless Folk loved the Dance Songs as well as did the gay people of Seville and Madrid. The country people sang and danced them at twilight, the villages swayed to their measures, the whole air of Spain quivered with the magical, wonder- ful infection of the Seguidilla. Then there was the Chacona (Chaconne) — a dance which was very popu- lar at one time, and was used as an accompaniment to some of the best known and best loved of the street ballads. Some authorities contend that its name is de- rived from the Basque word cJiocunu, — which means "pretty" or "charming." Othei ^ declare that it comes from Cieco, — the blind. This latter supposition is the more interesting for the following curious reason: The ballads and folk-songs of Spain, never having been written down, have been preserved in their entire and accurate form only by the blind beggars of the city streets. What fancy, chance or superstition originally was at the root of this immutable tradition we do not know, but it is oi.e of the accepted facts of musical history and of Spanish custom. And to this day, if om wishes to hear the old folk- songs sung in the form in which they were sung six hundred years ago, one must go to the blind beggars of Madrid and Seville. With the melodies and words entrusted to the mem- 140 MAKERS OF SONG ories of these sightless ones, and the dance-steps imi- tated by every child as soon as he or she could toddle, the national folk-music of Spain was preserved cen- tury after century. And no other music probably, save possibly that of the Magyar people, has altered so little with the development and changes of the years. But besides the Dance-Songs, there were two other characteristic manifestations of lyrical sentiment. One was the Patriotic Song, — usually eulogising "the Cid," the national hero, — and the other was the Ballad. And these also were preserved and guarded by the blind wanderers of the streets. Who shall dare attempt to do justice to the Ballads of Spain without a pen dipped in enchanted fluid.'' Never were folk-songs so simple, and never were any so delicious. They have a twist of easy colloquial humour very surprising when one considers their an- tiquity, and their romance is invariably of the pierc- ingly human quality so rare in Proven9al literature. They are direct in idea and in expression. Though the thought may be a delicate and subtle one there is never a waste of good words in an attempt to reproduce un- important gradations of meaning. And they are original, — definitely, poignantly, vitally original. Here, for instance, is the famous ballad "Fonte frida, Fonte frida." It represents some half -savage and be- reaved woman, violently repulsing the love that is secretly tempting her heart: WITH THE CASTANETS 141 ^"Cooling fountain, cooling fountain, Cooling fountain full of love. When the little birds all gather Thy refreshing power to prove, All except the widowed turtle Full of grief,— the turtle dove. "There the traitor nightingale All by chance once passed along, Uttering words of basest falsehood In his guilty treacherous song: "*If it please thee, gentle lady, I thy servant-love would be.' •Hence, — begone, ungracious traitor! Base deceiver, hence from me! " 'I nor rest upon green branches. Nor amid the meadow's flowers; The very wave my thirst that quenches Seek I where it turbid pours. " 'No wedded love my soul shall know, Lest children's hearts my heart should win. No pleasure would I seek for, — no! No consolation feel witliin. " 'So leave me sad, thou enemy. Thou foul and base deceiver — go! For I thy love will never be. Nor ever, — false one, — wed thee ; — no !' " And here is a charming dialogue between two ^Translation by George Ticknor. 142 MAKERS OF SONG lovers who have been separated through treachery, and are just beginning to find it out. In the original it is known as "Rosa fresca, Rosa fresca," and may have served as a model for the "Fonte frida" just quoted. The man begins : ^" 'Rose fresh and fair, Rose fresh and fair. That with love so bright doth glow, When within my arms I held tliee, I could never serve thee, no ! And now that I would gladly serve thee, , I can no more see thee, no !' "'The fault, my friend, the fault was thine, — Thy fault alone, and not mine, no ! A message came, the words you sent. Your servant brought it, well you know. And nought of love or loving bands But other words indeed it said: That you, my friend, in Leon's lands A noble dame had long since wed; — A lady fair as fair could be, Her children bright as flowers to see.' " 'Who told that tale, who spoke those words. No truth he spoke, my lady, no! For Castille's lands I never saw. Of Leon's moimtains nothing know, Save as a little child, I ween, Too young to know what love should mean.' " As has been said already, the chief hero of the mediaeval patriotic songs of Spain was tlie "Cid," and ^Translation by George Ticknor. WITH THE CASTANETS 143 since it was so we should pause for a brief moment to consider this curious and picturesque figure of an- cient days. Roderigo, or Ru}', Diez de Bivar was bom in Bivar, near Burgos, in 10-iO, and died in Valencia in 1099, after a sufficiently exciting career. He held sway over large numbers of vassals, both Christian and Mohammedan, and from them received the title "Mio Cid." The word is derived from the Seyyid of Arra- gon, which means "Master," and the phrase Mio Cid means literally Monseigneur, and is merely a pic- turesque way of indicating that he was an over-lord of power. He began to show a predilection for battle, murder, and sudden death while he was still very young, and at the outset of his career received great happiness from killing a foreign champion in a tour- ney. To follow the steps of his long and blood-stained life would require much space and a love for horrors ; suffice it to say that his prowess in repulsing the Moors and his many other valiant deeds won for him the title not only of "Cid," but of "El Campeador,"— which may mean either Challenger, or Champion, or both. In the war between Sancho and Alfonso, the sons of Fernando I., the Cid gave his allegiance to the former. When Sancho came to the throne, Roderigo defended and browbeat him in a loyal but characteristic manner. At the Siege of Zamora Sancho was stabbed in the back, and Alfonso was made King, faute de mieux, — 144. MAKERS OF SONG though his people were far from enthusiastic. When he was crowned, it was the Cid who made him swear 'publicly that he had had no hand in his brother's mur- der! The impHed suspicion hurt Alfonso in the eyes of his subjects, and he never forgave Roderigo. Nevertheless, he made for him a match which came close to being royal, — wedding him to Ximena, the brave and beautiful daughter of the Count of Oviedo. The semi-barbaric sentiment of the Middle Ages is voiced in one old ballad which makes Ximena ask the King to give her as wife to El Campeador because he has had the courage and the strength to kill her redoubtable father! Ximena is described by the old historians and romancers alike as being "fit, in body as in mind, to mate with El Campeador." High praise, for the Cid was a man whose robust mentality and great physical strength were far beyond the standards even of that period of universal superlatives. The Cid and Ximena were a model pair of lovers, inasmuch as their years of wedded life amid precarious days and imminently dangerous nights, seemed but to strengthen the firm- fibred cord which bound them in mutual love and understanding. After an exciting record the day came when the Cid could not go to battle with his men. He lay ill in Valencia, with the Moors outside the city gates. He sent his troops out to meet them, but the whole WITH THE CASTANETS 145 army was cut to pieces near the city walls. The Moors — the Almorabides they were, — spared but a crushed handful who stumbled back into Valencia to pant the news. When their master heard it he rose to his feet in his agony, and then fell, stark dead. Ximena held the city for a time, while the Cid lay dead, and his few remaining followers shivered and whimpered under her stern directions. But at last she determined to make no further attempt, and prepared to escape from the city. Then the little band, — all that was left of what had once been the army of the Challenger, — left Valencia, presenting a strange and terrible picture. For they led a great war-horse, and on him was sitting the body of El Campeador, Straight and stiff, in full armour, with his great sword Tinoz laid across the horse's neck before him. And the Moors, seeing this wonderful thing, cried out, "The dead hath come to life!" and fled wildly away in all directions. And the men passed on, leading the great war-horse with the dead body of their master. Pool, in his "Story of the Moors," successfully ex- plodes the romancers' theories concerning the Ideal and heroic qualities of the Cid. He pictures him as a plunderer and a blackguard, a lover of carnage and a despoiler of cities. But he admits the genuine if brutal generosity and courage of the man, and no one has ever denied his value as a picturesque historical figure. 146 MAKERS OF SONG One can readily understand how such a person and such a career should have appealed to the emotional natures of the Spanish people, and how dearly they must have rejoiced in its theatrical elements. For, beyond all else a love for things dramatic was a ruling power in the lives of these medieval Spaniards. Every one, whether he could or not, made plays, and even acted in them. One sheep-shearer became quite famous for his skill in dramatic effects, and a tailor in Madrid, who cut the long mantles for the Spanish gallants, also won a decided reputation as a dramatist. Lope de Vega, a playwright of old-world renown, wrote in his "Gran Sultana" : "There ne'er was a Spanish woman yet But she was born to dance!" He might have added that there never was and never would be a Spanish man or woman who was not born to act. It is in their blood, and comes only second to their love-making and their dare-devil bravery. Of many and strange sorts were the dra- matic concoctions of that day. There was one ghastly affair called the "Dance of Death," in which Death, as a festive skeleton, invited the world to his revels. Gay music accompanied this cheerful invention, mak- ing the effect, says the chronicler, "most impressive and dreadful." There was a certain merry prelate called Juan Ruiz, WITH THE CASTANETS 147 who lived and died in the first half of the fourteenth century. He was the Archpriest of Hita, near Guadalajara, and he wrote a rather lengthy dramatic effusion, purporting to be a devout work, but only too evidently the resume of a gay though somewhat disil- lusioned life. The theme was not new even then, — the eternal struggle between earthly and divine love, — and though he made for it a pious ending, "the work," — says the historian, "is a book of buen amor." It is chiefly interesting from the fact that lyrical music played a prominent part in its production. The chronicle says that the action and text were often in- terrupted by Cantigas, or songs ; notably "The Song of Scholars," and "The Song of the Blind." Juan Riafio in his "Notes on Ancient Spain," says that the Archpriest introduced, both by reference and indicated use, great numbers of mediaeval musical instruments as well. Even when they were not ostensibly acting, these children of Arragon and Castille managed to be theatrical. Whether a lover was touching the mediaeval equivalent for a guitar beneath his lady's window, — or a black-eyed girl was dancing in the mar- ket-place ; whether a man was stabbing another, or marching away in gay costume to the wars ; whether they were burning people at the stake or besieging the laboratory of such an innocent alchemist as Don Enrique, Marquis of Villena, — Spain always con- 148 MAKERS OF SONG trived to be spectacular and picturesque. Sun or moon, stars or the torches in the street, served for foot- lights. Give them a melody, — something to stir the soul and the pulses, — and a sympathetic audience, and they could win the heart from the coldest breast, and play a drama which thrilled and astounded themselves most of all. All that they did was artistic and effective. Even the watchmen going about the streets at night had such quaint and musical calls as the following: I g m— ' f^ 0^=-^=^ — m g: 1 1 ^ w^ . . 1 1 • ve Ma ■ rl - a, pu - ria - si - ma 1 " When in 1323, in Toulouse, on the Garonne, the City Magistrates decided to found a Music Guild, how did they go about it.^* Being keenly alive to the charm of humour they made a pretty comedy out of it, christened themselves : ^^Sohregayer Companhia dies Sept Trobadors de Tolosa (the Very Gay Company of the Seven Troubadours of Toulouse) !" They sent forth a letter to the world at large summoning all poets and singers to come to Toulouse on May-day in 1324, "there to contest with joy of heart for the prize of a golden violet," Raimon Vidal, the Trouvere, won the prize, with a Hymn to the Madonna, and, most appropriately, they made him a ^'Doctor of the Gay Saber" — whatever that may mean ! WITH THE CASTANETS 149 The episode was very Spanish ; — as Spanish as the following folk-song : ^"Her sister, Miguela, Once chid little Jane, And the words that she spoke Gave a great deal of pain: *"You went yesterday playing, A child like the rest. And now you come out More like other girls dressed. "'You take pleasure in sighs. In sad music delight, With the dawning you rise, And sit up half the night. "'When you take up your work You look vacant and stare. And gaze on your sampler But miss the stitch there. " 'You're in love, people say. Your actions all show it. New ways we shall have When mother shall know it! "'She'll nail up the windows And lock up the door; Leave to frolic and dance She will give us no more. ^Translation by George Ticknor. 150 MAKERS OF SONG "'Old aunt will be sent To take us to Mass, And stop all our talk With the girls as we pass. " 'And when we walk out She will bid the old shrew Keep a faithful account Of all our eyes do; " 'And mark who goes by, If I peep through the blind. And be sure and detect us In looking behind. " 'Thus for your idle follies Must I suffer too. And, though nothing I've done, Be punished like you!' "'Oh, Sister Miguela, Your chiding pray spare. That I've troubles you guess, But not what they are. •"Young Pedro it is, Old Juan's fair youth. But he's gone to the wars. And where is his truth? " 'I loved him sincerely, I loved all he said. But I fear he is fickle, I fear he is fled. WITH THE CASTANETS 151 " 'He is gone of free choice, Without summons or call. And 'tis foolish to love him Or like him at all!' " 'Nay, rather do thou To God pray above. Lest Pedro return, And again you should love,' "Said Miguela in jest. As she answered poor Jane, 'For when love has been bought At the cost of such pain, " 'What hope is there, sister. Unless the soul part. That the passion you cherish Should yield up your heart? •"Your years will increase. And so will your pain. And this you may learn From the proverb's old strain: •""If, when but a child. Love's power you own, Pray what will you do When you older are grown?"'" They really were a charming people. When one reads of their burning all Don Enrique's valuable books "because they related to Magic and unlawful Arts," one feels somewhat out of sympathy with their methods. The same is true of the chronicles of the 152 MAKERS OF SONG peculiar practices of the Inquisition, — in which the Troubadours suffered seriously. But gleams of light like the romance of Macias El Enamorado reconcile one to all or anything. If he had any other name no man knows it to-day ; — Macias the Lover he is called in Spanish history and Spanish literature. He is a very popular figure ; though all that he ever did, — so far as the records tell us, — was to sing. He sang steadily and ceaselessly and contentedly, celebrating the loveliness of his chosen lady. His master was the Marquis de Villena. The Marquis had not yet fallen in disrepute with the Church on account of suspected necromancy. And the lady whom Macias loved was of the princely house- hold. Of course Macias, being only an esquire, though a Galician gentleman, could not be permitted to wed the lady, but he went on singing to her in- defatigably. Meanwhile they married her to a Knight of Porcuna. But still Macias kept on singing about her, singing to her, singing at her. The Knight of Porcuna appealed to Don Enrique, who, in his turn, appealed to Macias. The Marquis remonstrated, threatened, commanded and requested. Macias bent a respectful knee before his master. But he went on singing. Finally, as the Knight of Porcuna was be- coming unbalanced from rage Don Enrique was forced to exercise his right as Grand Master of the Order of Calatrava, and put Macias in prison. But Macias WITH THE CASTANETS 153 kept on singing even in prison. To the bare walls of his donjon-cell he warbled his melodious praises of his lady all day long, — and part of the night. One day the Knight of Porcuna wandered along outside the prison window and peered in. Macias was sitting with a beatific smile upon his lips, singing a soft and very pretty love-song about the Knight of Porcuna's wife. He sang on and on in an ecstasy of emotion till the Knight could bear it no longer. So he threw a dart at him through the bars of the prison window, and killed him in the middle of a note. Such was the life and death of Macias the Lover, whose one fault seemed to be that he lacked temperance in song. That story is intensely Spanish, from first to last ! It is true that Macias was rather a wonderful figure in the annals of his time, inasmuch as he was loyal. Constancy was not a shining nor conspicuous virtue among the gallants of those fierce, gay, wonderful old days. Love came and went with the speed of the flying hours. In a land and a time when neither man nor woman could be certain of to-morrow, it was best to drink, eat, dance and love while it was possible. In those days every parting was apt to be the last, and it was well not to leave one's sword too far away at any time. Women laughed and danced the Seguidilla with men that they might never be permitted to sec again. Men drank deep and blundered boisterously through the Xacara, with the prospect of death or 154 MAKERS OF SONG torture on the morrow. There was the light echo of dance-music mingling with the clanking tramp of armed men. There were kisses snatched with bravado on the very threshold of the Tribunal of the Inquisi- tion. They lived fast in those days, and but a short time. And somehow into their Dance-Songs and their Ballads they managed to put the spirit of their race, — the reckless, lavish squandering of to-day, — the careless, laughing defiance of to-morrow ; the superstition, the humour, the artificiality, and the passionate tenderness of the people's soul. In the coplas which have been preserved we find a wonderful versatility and freshness of imagery and sentiment, but, as an example, there is one which is preeminently significant. It is very brief, and holds not a particularly admirable senti- ment, but it is essentially Spanish. And you must think of it as being recited by a laughing, dark-eyed youth of Seville, while his newest love laughs in return, and flashes her reckless sympathy in a glance. And you must fancy it punctuated by the stirring, mad- dening, irresistible, restless click of the castanets : "On Monday I fall in love. On Tuesday I say so. On Wednesday I declare my suit, On Thursday I win my sweetheart, On Friday I make her jealous, And on Saturday and Sunday— I hunt for a new love!" A MAKER OF SONGS AND SHOES ANCIENT MAY SONG lf