Chapter XI: Part III: Mediæval Ages (5)

The following day as he was nearing the mouth of the river, a foreign vessel came sailing up under a full spread of canvas. He saw from a distance that the sailors, having nothing particular to do, sat in a group and were engaged in pleasant conversation. As he came alongside the vessel he heard a man remark to the others, “Somehow I feel quite certain that our king will lose the bet. Don’t you fellows know that this country possesses an astrologer who is infallible in his calculations? He is reputed to possess the combined sight of a thousand _devas_. To such a one the single seed, lying hidden within this gourd we now convey with us, will not prove an obstacle of any serious difficulty. You may therefore rest assured that he will find it out in a very short time.”

When the man heard these words he felt very glad and blessed his good luck for having freed him once again from a dangerous situation. Instead, therefore, of continuing his journey, he swung his boat round and made for home, happy in the possession of his freshly acquired knowledge. On his arrival he related everything to his wife who shed tears of joy on hearing the good news.

Early next day, hearing that the king was about to grant an audience to the foreign Envoys, the royal astrologer went to the palace. The courtiers were very glad to see him turn up, for so great was their confidence in him that they felt that their country was quite safe and that the chances were in favour of their acquiring a new kingdom. When the king entered the Hall of Audience he invited the astrologer to sit on his right while the others sat in front of him with their faces almost touching the floor. Then the real proceedings began.

First of all presents were exchanged and complimentary speeches were delivered on both sides. When these ceremonies were over the Chief Envoy addressed the king in the following terms, “Oh Mighty Monarch! The real object of our journey to your most beautiful country has already formed the subject of correspondence between your Majesty and my king. I will not therefore tire you by its recital all over again. My master commands me to show you this gourd and to ask you to say how many seeds exactly it contains. If what you say be correct his kingdom passes into your possession, but on the other hand should you be wrong your kingdom becomes the property of my master.”

Hearing these words the king smiled and turning to the astrologer near him, said, “My dear _saya_, it is unnecessary for me to tell you what you have got to do. Consult your stars and tell us how many seeds the fruit contains. You already know how generous I have been to you in the past. And now at this crisis, if you are able to assist me in winning a kingdom, my reward to you shall be such as to make you rejoice for all the remaining days of your life.” “Your Majesty,” replied the astrologer, “everything I have, including my life, belongs to you. By your will I am able to live, and by your will I must also die. In the present case my calculations point to one answer only, and therefore I have no hesitation in saying that this gourd contains one seed only.”

Accustomed to seeing gourds with thousands of seeds, the king turned pale when he heard the astrologer’s answer. But still having complete faith in him, with effort he restrained himself from further questioning him. The gourd was then placed upon a gold plate and was cut open in the presence of all those present. To the astonishment of everybody there was but a single seed as was said by the astrologer. The foreign Envoy congratulated the king on having won his bet and on the possession of so valuable a servant. He then returned home with a heavy heart bearing the news of his sovereign’s ruin and his country’s misfortune.

As to the astrologer his fame spread far and wide. All sorts of honours and rewards were heaped upon him. He was even granted the unique privilege of entering or leaving any part of the palace at all hours, just as his own inclinations directed him. Yet in spite of all these things he was not happy. He knew he was an imposter who stood in imminent danger of being found out. He was more than satisfied with the reputation he had made and the riches he had acquired. He did not desire any more of these things. His greatest ambition now was to find a graceful way of escape from his false position.

So he thus spoke to his wife one day, “My dear wife, so far I have had most wonderful luck. It has enabled me to escape two great dangers with honour to myself. But how long will this luck stand by me? Something tells me that I shall be found out on the third occasion. What I propose to do next is this. Listen carefully so that you may carry out my instructions without a hitch. Tomorrow while I am at the palace with the king you must set fire to our house. Being of thatch and bamboo it will not take long to be consumed. You must then come running to the palace to inform me about it and at the same time you must keep on repeating these words, ‘the Astrological Tables are gone.’ I will then do the rest.”

On the following day while the king was holding a grand Durbar in the Hall of Audience, a great commotion was heard outside the gates. On enquiry the king was informed that the astrologer’s wife had come to inform her husband that their house was burnt down and that everything of value, including the most precious astrological tables by which her husband made his wonderful predictions, had been consumed by the fire. Hearing these words the astrologer pretended to be terribly affected. He struck his forehead with the palm of his hand and for a long time he remained silent and motionless with grief. Then turning to the king he said, “May it please your Majesty I am now utterly ruined. For had it been my riches alone that perished in the fire I should not have minded so much. They could have been easily replaced. But now since these precious tables are gone it is impossible to procure a similar set from anywhere else. I hope I have served your Majesty faithfully and to your satisfaction in the past; but I grieve to say that I shall not be in a position to give you the same service in the future. I beseech you therefore to release me from the present responsible position, for I shall no longer be useful to you. But in recognition of my past humble services if your Majesty, in your great goodness of heart, can see fit to grant me a small pension for the rest of my life I shall have cause to consider myself exceptionally favoured.”

The king was very sad to hear of his favourite’s misfortune. And as there was nothing else to be said or done in the matter he ordered a beautiful building to be erected on the site of the house that was burnt down. Next he filled it with a large retinue of servants and other equipments such as horses, carriages and so forth. Then the whole thing was made over to the astrologer with the command that for the rest of his life he was to draw from the Royal Treasury no less a sum than ten thousand gold mohurs a month.

As may be imagined the lucky astrologer was more than satisfied with the arrangements and inwardly congratulated himself upon his good fortune which once more enabled him to escape from a dangerous situation. Thus some men are born great, some achieve greatness; but there are also others who have greatness forced upon them, and it is to this third and last class that our hero the pretentious astrologer belongs.

In the Middle Ages, popular sculpture and painting were but the translation of popular literature, and nothing was more common to represent, in pictures and carvings, than individual men under the forms of the animals who displayed similar characters or similar propensities. Cunning, treachery, and intrigue were the prevailing vices of the middle ages, and they were those also of the fox, who hence became a favourite character in satire. The victory of craft over force always provoked mirth. The fabulists, or, we should perhaps rather say, the satirists, soon began to extend their canvas and enlarge their picture, and, instead of single examples of fraud or injustice, they introduced a variety of characters, not only foxes, but wolves, and sheep, and bears, with birds also, as the eagle, the cock, and the crow, and mixed them up together in long narratives, which thus formed general satires on the vices of contemporary society. In this manner originated the celebrated romance of “Reynard the Fox,” which in various forms, from the twelfth century to the eighteenth, has enjoyed a popularity which was granted probably to no other book. The plot of this remarkable satire turns chiefly on the long struggle between the brute force of Isengrin the Wolf, possessed only with a small amount of intelligence, which is easily deceived--under which character is presented the powerful feudal baron--and the craftiness of Reynard the Fox, who represents the intelligent portion of society, which had to hold its ground by its wits, and these were continually abused to evil purposes. Reynard is swayed by a constant impulse to deceive and victimise everybody, whether friends or enemies, but especially his uncle Isengrin. It was somewhat the relationship between the ecclesiastical and baronial aristocracy. Reynard was educated in the schools, and intended for the clerical order; and at different times he is represented as acting under the disguise of a priest, of a monk, of a pilgrim, or even of a prelate of the church. Though frequently reduced to the greatest straits by the power of Isengrin, Reynard has generally the better of it in the end: he robs and defrauds Isengrin continually, outrages his wife, who is half in alliance with him, and draws him into all sorts of dangers and sufferings, for which the latter never succeeds in obtaining justice. The old sculptors and artists appear to have preferred exhibiting Reynard in his ecclesiastical disguises, and in these he appears often in the ornamentation of mediæval architectural sculpture, in wood-carvings, in the illuminations of manuscripts, and in other objects of art. The popular feeling against the clergy was strong in the middle ages, and no caricature was received with more favour than those which exposed the immorality or dishonesty of a monk or a priest. A sculpture in the church of Christchurch, in Hampshire, represents Reynard in the pulpit preaching; behind, or rather perhaps beside him, a diminutive cock stands upon a stool--in modern times we should be inclined to say he was acting as clerk. Reynard’s costume consists merely of the ecclesiastical hood or cowl. Such subjects are frequently found on the carved seats, or misereres, in the stalls of the old cathedrals and collegiate churches. The painted glass of the great window of the north cross-aisle of St. Martin’s church in Leicester, which was destroyed in the last century, represented the fox, in the character of an ecclesiastic, preaching to a congregation of geese.

Reynard’s mediæval celebrity dates certainly from a rather early period. Montfaucon has given an alphabet of ornamental initial letters, formed chiefly of figures of men and animals, from a manuscript which he ascribes to the ninth century, among which is one representing a fox walking upon his hind legs, and carrying two small cocks, suspended at the ends of a cross staff. It is hardly necessary to say that this group forms the letter T. Long before this, the Frankish historian Fredegarius, who wrote about the middle of the seventh century, introduces a fable in which the fox figures at the court of the lion. The same fable is repeated by a monkish writer of Bavaria, named Fromond who flourished in the tenth century, and by another named Aimoinus, who lived about the year 1,000. At length, in the twelfth century, Guibert de Nogent, who died about the year 1124, and who has left us his autobiography (_de Vita Sua_), relates an anecdote in that work, in explanation of which he tells us that the wolf was then popularly designated by the name of Isengrin; and in the fables of Odo, as we have already seen, this name is commonly given to the wolf, Reynard to the fox, Teburg to the cat, and so on with the others. This only shows that in the fables of the twelfth century the various animals were known by these names, but it does not prove that what we know as the romance of Reynard existed. Jacob Grimm argued from the derivation and forms of these names, that the fables themselves, and the romance, originated with the Teutonic peoples, and were indigenous to them; but his reasons seem more specious than conclusive, and Paulin Paris holds that the romance of Reynard was native of France, and that it was partly founded upon old Latin legends perhaps poems. Its character is altogether feudal, and it is strictly a picture of society, in France primarily, and secondly in England and the other nations of feudalism, in the twelfth century. The earliest form in which this romance is known is in the French poem--or rather poems, for it consists of several branches or continuations--and is supposed to date from about the middle of the twelfth century. It soon became so popular, that it appeared in different forms in all the languages of Western Europe, except in England, where there appears to have existed no edition of the romance of Reynard the Fox until Caxton printed his prose English version of the story. From that time it became, if possible, more popular in England than elsewhere, and that popularity had hardly diminished down to the commencement of the present century.

The popularity of the story of Reynard caused it to be imitated in a variety of shapes, and this form of satire, in which animals acted the part of men, became altogether popular.

A direct imitation of “Reynard the Fox” is found in the early French romance of “Fauvel,” the hero of which is neither a fox nor an ass, but a horse. People of all ranks and classes repair to the court of Fauvel, the horse, and furnish abundant matter for satire on the moral, political, and religious hypocrisy which pervaded the whole frame of society. At length the hero resolves to marry, and, in a finely illuminated manuscript of this romance, preserved in the Imperial Library in Paris, this marriage furnishes the subject of a picture, which gives the only representation to be met with of one of the popular burlesque ceremonies which were so common in the middle ages.

Among other such ceremonies, it was customary with the populace, on the occasion of a man’s or woman’s second marriage, or an ill-sorted match, or on the espousals of people who were obnoxious to their neighbours, to assemble outside the house, and greet them with discordant music. This custom is said to have been practiced especially in France, and it was called a _charivari_. There is still a last remnant of it in our country in the music of marrow-bones and cleavers, with which the marriages of butchers are popularly celebrated; but the derivation of the French name appears not to be known. It occurs in old Latin documents, for it gave rise to such scandalous scenes of riot and licentiousness, that the Church did all it could, though in vain, to suppress it. The earliest mention of this custom, furnished in the _Glossarium_ of Ducange, is contained in the synodal statutes of the church of Avignon, passed in the year 1337, from which we learn that when such marriages occurred, people forced their way into the houses of the married couple, and carried away their goods, which they were obliged to pay a ransom for before they were returned, and the money thus raised was spent in getting up what is called in the statute relating to it a _Chalvaricum_. It appears from this statute, that the individuals who performed the _charivari_ accompanied the happy couple to the church, and returned with them to their residence, with coarse and indecent gestures and discordant music, and uttering scurrilous and indecent abuse, and that they ended with feasting. In the statutes of Meaux, in 1365, and in those of Hugh, bishop of Beziers, in 1368, the same practice is forbidden, under the name of _Charavallium_; and it is mentioned in a document of the year 1372, also quoted by Ducange, under that of _Carivarium_, as then existing at Nîmes. Again, in 1445, the Council of Tours made a decree, forbidding, under pain of excommunication, “the insolences, clamours, sounds, and other tumults practiced at second and third nuptials, called by the vulgar a _Charivarium_, on account of the many and grave evils arising out of them.” It will be observed that these early allusions to the charivari are found almost solely in documents coming from the Roman towns in the south of France, so that this practice was probably one of the many popular customs derived directly from the Romans. When Cotgrave’s “Dictionary” was published (that is, in 1632) the practice of the _charivari_ appears to have become more general in its existence, as well as its application; for he describes it as “a public defamation, or traducing of; a foule noise made, blacke santus rung, to the shame and disgrace of another; hence an infamous (or infaming) ballad sung, by an armed troupe, under the window of an old dotard, married the day before unto a young wanton, in mockerie of them both.” And, again, a _charivaris de poelles_ is explained as “the carting of an infamous person, graced with the harmonie of stinging kettles and frying-pan musicke.” The word is now generally used in the sense of a great tumult of discordant music, produced often by a number of persons playing different tunes on different instruments at the same time.

The sermons and satires against extravagance in costume began at an early period. The Anglo-Norman ladies, in the earlier part of the twelfth century, first brought in vogue in our island this extravagance in fashion, which quickly fell under the lash of satirist and caricaturist. It was first exhibited in the robes rather than in the head-dress. These Anglo-Norman ladies are understood to have first introduced stays, in order to give an artificial appearance of slenderness to their waists; but the greatest extravagance appeared in the forms of their sleeves. The robe, or gown, instead of being loose, as among the Anglo-Saxons, was laced close around the body, and the sleeves, which fitted the arm tightly till they reached the elbows, or sometimes nearly to the wrist, then suddenly became larger, and hung down to an extravagant length, often trailing on the ground, and sometimes shortened by means of a knot. The gown, also, was itself worn very long. The clergy preached against these extravagances in fashion, and at times, it is said, with effect; and they fell under the vigorous lash of the satirist. In a class of satires which became extremely popular in the twelfth century, and which produced in the thirteenth the immortal poem of Dante--the visions of purgatory and of hell--these contemporary extravagances in fashion are held up to public detestation, and are made the subject of severe punishment. They were looked upon as among the outward forms of pride. It arose, no doubt, from this taste--from the darker shade which spread over men’s minds in the twelfth century--that demons, instead of animals, were introduced to personify the evil-doers of the time. Such is the figure, seen in a very interesting manuscript in the British Museum (MS. Cotton. Nero, C iv.). The demon is here dressed in the fashionable gown with its long sleeves, of which one appears to have been usually much longer than the other. Both the gown and sleeve are shortened by means of knots, while the former is brought close round the waist by tight lacing. It is a picture of the use of stays made at the time of their first introduction.

This superfluity of length in the different parts of the dress was a subject of complaint and satire at various and very distant periods, and contemporary illuminations of a perfectly serious character show that these complaints were not without foundation.

The professional entertainers of the Middle Ages performed in the streets and public places, or in the theatres, and especially at festivals, and they were often employed at private parties, to entertain the guests at a supper.

We trace the existence of this class of performers during the earlier period of the middle ages by the expressions of hostility towards them used from time to time by the ecclesiastical writers, and the denunciations of synods and councils. Nevertheless, it is evident from many allusions to them, that they found their way into the monastic houses, and were in great favour not only among the monks, but among the nuns also; that they were introduced into the religious festivals; and that they were tolerated even in the churches. It is probable that they long continued to be known in Italy and the countries near the centre of Roman influence, and where the Latin language was continued, by their old name of _mimus_. The Anglo-Saxon vocabularies interpret the Latin _mimus_ by _glig-mon_, a gleeman. In Anglo-Saxon, _glig_ or _gliu_ meant mirth and game of every description, and as the Anglo-Saxon teachers who compiled the vocabularies give, as synonyms of _mimus_, the words _scurra_, _jocifta_, and _pantomimus_, it is evident that all these were included in the character of the gleeman, and that the latter was quite identical with his Roman type. It was the Roman _mimus_ introduced into Saxon England. We have no traces of the existence of such a class of performers among the Teutonic race before they became acquainted with the civilisation of imperial Rome. We know from drawings in contemporary illuminated manuscripts that the performances of the gleeman did include music, singing, and dancing, and also the tricks of mountebanks and jugglers, such as throwing up and catching knives and balls, and performing with tamed bears, etc.

But even among the peoples who preserved the Latin language, the word _mimus_ was gradually exchanged for others employed to signify the same thing. The word _jocus_ had been used in the signification of a jest, playfulness, _jocari_ signified to jest, and _joculator_ was a word for a jester; but, in the debasement of the language, _jocus_ was taken in the signification of everything which created mirth. It became, in the course of time the French verb _jeu_, and the Italian _gioco_, or _giuoco_. People introduced a form of the verb _jocare_, which became the French _juer_, to play or perform. _Joculator_ was then used in the sense of _mimus_. In French the word became _jogléor_, or _jougléor_, and in its later form _jougleur_. I may remark that, in mediæval manuscripts, it is almost impossible to distinguish between the _u_ and the _n_, and that modern writers have misread this last word as _jongleur_, and thus introduced into the language a word which never existed, and which ought to be abandoned. In old English, as we see in Chaucer, the usual form was _jogelere_. The mediæval joculator, or jougleur, embraced all the attributes of the Roman _mimus_, and perhaps more. In the first place he was very often a poet himself, and composed the pieces which it was one of his duties to sing or recite. These were chiefly songs, or stories, the latter usually told in verse, and so many of them are preserved in manuscripts that they form a very numerous and important class of mediæval literature. The songs were commonly satirical and abusive, and they were made use of for purposes of general or personal vituperation. Out of them, indeed, grew the political songs of a later period. They carried about with them for exhibition tame bears, monkeys, and other animals, taught to perform the actions of men. As early as the thirteenth century, we find them including among their other accomplishments that of dancing upon the tight-rope. Finally, the jougleurs performed tricks of sleight of hand, and were often conjurers and magicians. As, in modern times, the jougleurs of the middle ages gradually passed away, sleight of hand appears to have become their principal accomplishment, and the name only was left in the modern word _juggler_. The jougleurs of the middle ages, like the mimi of antiquity, wandered about from place to place, and often from country to country, sometimes singly and at others in companies, exhibited their performances in the roads and streets, repaired to all great festivals, and were employed especially in the baronial hall, where, by their songs, stories, and other performances, they created mirth after dinner.

This class of society had become known by another name, the origin of which is not so easily explained. The primary meaning of the Latin word _minister_ was a servant, one who ministers to another, either in his wants or in his pleasures and amusements. It was applied particularly to the cupbearer. In low Latinity, a diminutive of this word was formed, _minestellus_, or _ministrellus_, a petty servant, or minister. When we first meet with this word, which is not at a very early date, it is used as perfectly synonymous with _joculator_, and, as the word is certainly of Latin derivation, it is clear that it was from it the middle ages derived the French word _menestrel_ (the modern _menetrier_), and the English _minstrel_. The mimi or jougleurs were perhaps considered as the petty ministers to the amusements of their lord, or of him who for the time employed them. Until the close of the middle ages, the minstrel and the jougleur were absolutely identical. Possibly the former may have been considered the more courtly of the two names. But in England, as the middle ages disappeared, and lost their influence on society sooner than in France, the word minstrel remained attached only to the musical part of the functions of the old mimus, while, as just observed, the juggler took the sleight of hand and the mountebank tricks. In modern French, except where employed technically by the antiquity, the word _menetrier_ means a fiddler.

The jougleurs, or minstrels, formed a very numerous and important, though a low and despised, class of mediæval society. The dulness of every-day life in a feudal castle or mansion required something more than ordinary excitement in the way of amusement, and the old family bard, who continually repeated to the Teutonic chief the praises of himself and his ancestors, was soon felt to be a wearisome companion. The mediæval knights and their ladies wanted to laugh, and to make them laugh sufficiently it required that the jokes, or tales, or comic performances, should be broad, coarse, and racy, with a good spicing of violence and of the wonderful. Hence the jougleur was always welcome to the feudal mansion, and he seldom went away dissatisfied. But the subject of the present chapter is rather the literature of the jougleur than his personal history, and, having traced his origin to the Roman mimus, we will now proceed to one class of his performances.

It has been stated that the mimus and the jougleurs told stories. Of those of the former, unfortunately, none are preserved, except, perhaps, in a few anecdotes scattered in the pages of such writers as Apuleius and Lucian, and we are obliged to guess at their character, but of the stories of the jougleurs a considerable number has been preserved. It becomes an interesting question how far these stories have been derived from the mimi, handed down traditionally from mimus to jougleur, how far they are native in our race, or how far they were derived at a later date from other sources. And in considering this question, we must not forget that the mediæval jougleurs were not the only representatives of the mimi, for among the Arabs of the East also there had originated from them, modified under different circumstances, a very important class of minstrels and story-tellers, and with these the jougleurs of the west were brought into communication at the commencement of the crusades. There can be no doubt that a very large number of the stories of the jougleurs were borrowed from the East, for the evidence is furnished by the stories themselves; and there can be little doubt also that the jougleurs improved themselves, and underwent some modification, by their intercourse with Eastern performers of the same class.

The people of the middle ages, who took their word _fable_ from the Latin _fabula_, which they appear to have understood as a mere term for any short narration, included under it the stories told by the mimi and jougleurs; but, in the fondness of the middle ages for diminutives, by which they intended to express familiarity and attachment, applied to them more particularly the Latin _fabella_, which in the old French became _fablel_, or, more usually, _fabliau_. The fabliaux of the jougleurs form a most important class of the comic literature of the middle ages. They must have been wonderfully numerous, for a very large quantity of them still remain, and these are only the small portion of what once existed, which have escaped perishing like the others by the accident of being written in manuscripts which have had the fortune to survive; while manuscripts containing others have no doubt perished, and it is probable that many were only preserved orally, and never written down at all. The recital of these fabliaux appears to have been the favourite employment of the jougleurs, and they became so popular that the mediæval preachers turned them into short stories in Latin prose, and made use of them as illustrations in their sermons. Many collections of these short Latin stories are found in manuscripts which had served as note-books to the preachers, and out of them was originally compiled that celebrated mediæval book called the “Gesta Romanorum.”

The _Trouvères_, or poets, who wrote the Fabliaux flourished chiefly from the close of the twelfth century to the earlier part of the fourteenth. They all composed in French, which was a language then common to England and France, but some of their compositions bear internal evidence of having been composed in England. No objection appears to have been entertained to the recital of these licentious stories before the ladies of the castle or of the domestic circle, and their general popularity was so great, that the more pious clergy seem to have thought necessary to find something to take their place in the post-prandial society of the monastery, and especially of the nunnery; and religious stories were written in the same form and metre as the fabliaux. Some of these have been published under the title of _Contes Devots_, and, from their general dulness, it may be doubted if they answered their purpose of furnishing amusement so well as the others.

Troubadour was the Provençal name for the _Trouvères_, and in the twelfth century these poets flourished so luxuriantly that their influence is still felt in the poetic sentiment of today.

Yet they were in no sense humorous writers, unless their satire on the foibles and follies of the times may be so construed. They were Boudoir poets and their airs and graces were romantic rather than mirthful.

Much of their production was of the languishing, sighing order, but the Fabliaux, of a ruder narrative type were also popular.

These Fabliaux, now usually given out in expurgated editions, were extremely plain spoken, and, as so often occurred, were adopted and adapted by the monks for the real or pretended furtherance of their religious teachings.

The Troubadours did much for lyric art by their conscientious attention to form, but the humor of their productions is almost a negligible quantity. Their songs were invariably sung, and usually to the accompaniment of the blue-ribboned guitar, but oftenest the burden was of sorrowful intent.

And it was, perhaps, owing to the want of a humorous sense, that the Troubadours could carry on their lackadaisical and lovesick careers.

Yet there were some of the Troubadours’ songs which showed a departure from the usual romantic wailings and a few are here given.

Doubtless the very free translation adds to their humor, but the motive is clear.

Rambaud d’Orange thus declares his policy in treatment to the fair sex.

I.

My boy, if you’d wish to make constant your Venus,
Attend to the plan I disclose.
Her first naughty word you must meet with a menace,
Her next--drop your fist on her nose.
When she’s bad, be you worse,
When she scolds, do you curse,
When she scratches, just treat her to blows.

II.

Defame and lampoon her, be rude and uncivil,
Then you’ll vanquish the haughtiest dame.
Be proud and presumptuous, deceive like the ----
And aught that you wish you may claim.
All the beautiful slight,
To the plain be polite,
That’s the way the proud hussies to tame.

Bernard de Ventadour is thus unromantic.

You say the moon is all aglow,
The nightingale a-singing.
I’d rather watch the red wine flow
And hear the goblets ringing.

You say ’tis sweet to hear the gale
Creep sighing through the willows.
I’d rather hear a merry tale
’Mid a group of jolly fellows.

You say ’tis sweet the stars to view
Upon the waters gleaming.
I’d rather see (’twixt me and you
And the post) my supper steaming.

While the Monk of Montaudon, an incorrigible satirist, thus descants on the ladies.

I am a saint of good repute, by mortals called St. Julian;
Being wanted much on earth I go not oft to realms cerulean.
Yet once of late I made a call, which you may term a high call--
I went aloft to have a chat along with good St. Michael.
But soon the saint was called away, which closed our conversation,
To judge between some dames and monks engaged in disputation.
_Paint_ was the subject of their strife, the rock on which they
split;
Each party wanted to monopolise the use of it.
The monks declared, with many tears, that they were ruined quite,
For not an ounce of it was left to keep their pictures bright.
The ladies laid it on so thick, as you can understand,
That the compounders could not quite keep pace with their demand.
And so, unless the former were restrained by stringent law,
Each shrine they swore would quickly cease its worshippers to draw.

Then stepped an ancient beauty forth, and thus to Mike descanted:
“Our sex was painted long before paint was for pictures wanted;
As for myself, how can it hurt a clergyman or saint,
If the crows’-feet beneath my eyes I cover up with paint?
In keeping up my beauteous looks I cannot see a crime;
In spite of them I’ll still repair the ravages of time.”

St. Michael scratched his pate awhile, then, looking very wise,
Said: “Dames and monks, let me suggest, I pray, a compromise.
The soul as well as body, dames, requires both paint and padding.
You should not wholly spend your years in love-making and gadding.
And you, my monks, be less severe, nor bend the bow to breaking;
All dames should have a moderate time allowed to them for raking.
Then let them paint till forty-five”--at this the dames looked
glum--
“Or fifty,” cried the saint in haste. “Agree, my monks, now come.”

“No,” said the monks, “that cannot be, the time is far too long;
But, though we feel within our souls the compromise is wrong,
Yet, in our deep respect for you, our scruples we will drop,
And let the dames, till thirty-five, frequent the painter’s shop;
But only on condition that thereafter they shall cease
To daub, and let us monks enjoy our privilege in peace.”

Before the ladies could rejoin, two other saints appeared--
Peter and Lawrence--by the dames no less than monks revered.
They reasoned with the parties, and so well employed their wit,
That they persuaded them at length the difference to split.
The monks agreed to yield five years; the ladies condescended
Up to their fortieth year to paint, and there the trial ended.

And the same merry Monk of Montaudon voices his sentiments thus:

I like those sports the world calls folly,
Banquets that know no melancholy;
I love a girl whose talk is jolly,
Not silent like a painted dolly.

A rich man of my love is winner,
His foe I feel must be a sinner;
And I adore, or I’d be thinner,
A fine fat salmon-trout for dinner.

I hold among my chief of blisses,
Basking beside a stream with misses;
Love sunshine, flowers; but O than this is
A joy more deep--I _do_ like kisses.

I hate a husband who’s uxorious;
A grocer’s son, whose dress is glorious;
Hate men in drink who get uproarious
And maids whose conduct is censorious.

I hate young folks who are precocious,
Hate parsons with a beard ferocious;
Of wine too much can no one broach us;
But too much water is atrocious!

The Court of Love, a gay and whimsical institution, doubtless originated in the contests of the Troubadours, when the poets recited for a prize the particular style of an ode called the _Tenson_.

Though a fascinating subject, we may not dwell on it further than to quote the thirty-one articles of the Code of Love, this being the most available bit of humor.

1. Marriage is no legitimate excuse against love.
2. Whoever cannot conceal cannot love.
3. No one must have two lovers at the same time.
4. Love must always be increasing or diminishing.
5. Favours unwillingly granted have no charm.
6. No male must love until of full age.
7. Whoever of two lovers survives the other must observe a
widowhood of two years.
8. None should be deprived of love except they lose their reason.
9. None can love except when compelled by the stress of love.
10. Love is an exile from the homes of avarice.
11. She who is scrupulous of the marriage tie should not love.
12. A true lover desires no embraces save those of his lady-love.
13. Love divulged rarely lasts.
14. Easy winning makes love contemptible; difficulty renders it
dear.
15. Every lover grows pale at the sight of his lady-love.
16. The heart of a lover trembles at the sudden sight of his
lady-love.
17. A new love makes an old one depart.
18. Probity alone makes a man worthy to be loved.
19. If love diminishes it soon fails, and rarely recovers its
strength.
20. The lover is always timid.
21. From true jealousy love always increases.
22. When suspicion is aroused about a lover, jealousy and love
increase.
23. Filled with thoughts of love, the lover eats and drinks less
[than usual].
24. Every act of a lover is determined by thoughts of the beloved.
25. A true lover thinks naught happy save what would please his
beloved.
26. Love can deny nothing to love.
27. A lover cannot be satiated with the charms of the beloved.
28. A slight prejudice makes a lover think ill of the beloved.
29. He is not wont to love who is oppressed by too great abundance
of pleasure.
30. A true lover is always without intermission filled with the
image of his lady-love.
31. Nothing hinders one woman being loved by two men, or one man by
two women.

On these rules--some nonsensical, many contradictory, and all abominable--the following decisions, among many others, were based.

The first is that of the Countess of Champagne already quoted, with its approval by Queen Eleanor. In its original verbiage it runs thus:

* * * * *

_Question._ Can true love exist between married persons?

_Judgment_, by the Countess of Champagne: “We say and establish, by the tenor of these presents, that love cannot extend its rights to married persons. In fact, lovers accord everything to each other mutually and gratuitously, without being constrained by motives of necessity; while married people are bound by the duty of mutually sacrificing their wills and refusing nothing the one to the other.

“Let this judgment, which we have given with extreme care, and after taking counsel of a large number of ladies, be to you a constant and irrefragable truth. Thus determined in the year 1174, the third day before the kalends of May.”

_Question._ Do the greater affection and livelier attachment exist between lovers or married people? [It having been already decided, let us remember, that married people could not love one another.]

_Judgment_, by Ermengarde, Viscountess of Narbonne: “The attachment of married people and the tender affection of lovers are sentiments of a nature and custom altogether different. There can consequently be no just comparison established between objects which have no resemblance or connection the one with the other.”

_Question._ A lady attached to a gentleman in an honorable love marries another. Has she the right to repel her former lover and refuse him his accustomed favours?

_Judgment_, by Ermengarde, Viscountess of Narbonne: “The supervenience of the marriage bond does not bar the right of the prior attachment, unless the lady utterly renounces love, and declares that she does so for ever.”

The _Gesta Romanorum_, one of the most important collections of moral tales, was put together during the thirteenth century by a learned Frenchman named Pierre Bercheure, who was a Benedictine Prior. He chose to lay the scenes of the stories in Rome, though this was not historically true. Gesta means merely acts or exploits, and many of the tales are descended from Oriental Folk Lore.

Not all students of ancient literature agree as to the authorship of the Gesta as it appears in its present form, but the consensus of opinion seems to point to the aforesaid Frenchman.

However, the collector’s name matters little; the work itself, while it harks back to the Fables of Æsop and Pilpay and to the _Talmud_, is of interest as a veritable storehouse of Mediæval stories.

Each of these has its religious application, but it is easy to think that the readers were oftener intrigued by the story than by the appended moral.

_OF SLOTH_

The emperor Pliny had three sons, to whom he was extremely indulgent. He wished to dispose of his kingdom, and calling the three into his presence, spoke thus--“The most slothful of you shall reign after my decease.” “Then,” answered the elder, “the kingdom must be mine; for I am so lazy, that sitting once by the fire, I burnt my legs, because I was too indolent to withdraw them.” The second son observed, “The kingdom should properly be mine, for if I had a rope round my neck, and held a sword in my hand, my idleness is such, that I should not put forth my hand to cut the rope.” “But I,” said the third son, “ought to be preferred to you both; for I outdo both in indolence. While I lay upon my bed, water dropped from above upon my eyes; and though, from the nature of the water, I was in danger of becoming blind, I neither could nor would turn my head ever so little to the right hand or to the left.” The emperor, hearing this, bequeathed the kingdom to him, thinking him the laziest of the three.

_Application_

My beloved, the king is the devil; and the three sons, different classes of corrupt men.

_OF THE GOOD, WHO ALONE WILL ENTER THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN_

There was a wise and rich king who possessed a beloved, but not a loving wife. She had three illegitimate sons who proved ungrateful and rebellious to their reputed parent. In due time she brought forth another son, whose legitimacy was undisputed; and after arriving at a good old age, he died, and was buried in the royal sepulchre of his fathers. But the death of the old king caused great strife amongst his surviving sons, about the right of succession. All of them advanced a claim, and none would relinquish it to the other; the three first, presuming upon their priority in birth, and the last upon his legitimacy. In this strait, they agreed to refer the absolute decision of their cause to a certain honourable soldier of the late king. When this person, therefore, heard their difference, he said, “Follow my advice, and it will greatly benefit you. Draw from its sepulchre the body of the deceased monarch; prepare, each of you, a bow and single shaft, and whosoever transfixes the heart of his father, shall obtain the kingdom.” The counsel was approved, the body was taken from its repository and bound naked to a tree. The arrow of the first son wounded the king’s right hand--on which, as if the contest were determined, they proclaimed him heir to the throne. But the second arrow went nearer, and entered the mouth; so that he too considered himself the undoubted lord of the kingdom. However, the third perforated the heart itself, and consequently imagined that his claim was fully decided, and his succession sure. It now came to the turn of the fourth and last son to shoot; but instead of fixing his shaft to the bow-string, and preparing for the trial, he broke forth into a lamentable cry, and with eyes swimming in tears, said, “Oh! my poor father; have I then lived to see you the victim of an impious contest? Thine own offspring lacerate thy unconscious clay?--Far, oh! far be it from me to strike thy venerated form, whether living or dead.” No sooner had he uttered these words, than the nobles of the realm, together with the whole people, unanimously elected him to the throne; and depriving the three barbarous wretches of their rank and wealth, expelled them for ever from the kingdom.

_Application_

My beloved, that wise and rich king is the King of kings, and Lord of lords, who joined himself to our flesh, as to a beloved wife. But going after other gods, it forgot the love due to him in return, and brought forth by an illicit connection, three sons, viz., Pagans, Jews, and Heretics. The first wounded the right hand--that is, the doctrine of Christ by persecutions. The second, the mouth--when they gave Christ vinegar and gall to drink; and the third, wounded, and continue to wound the _heart_,--while they strive, by every sophistical objection, to deceive the faithful. The fourth son is any good Christian.

_OF THE INCARNATION OF OUR LORD_

A certain king was remarkable for three qualities. Firstly, he was braver than all men; secondly, he was wiser; and lastly, more beautiful. He lived a long time unmarried; and his counsellors would persuade him to take a wife. “My friends,” said he, “it is clear to you that I am rich and powerful enough; and therefore want not wealth. Go, then, through town and country, and seek me out a beautiful and wise virgin; and if ye can find such a one, however poor she may be, I will marry her.” The command was obeyed; they proceeded on their search, until at last they discovered a lady of royal extraction with the qualifications desired. But the king was not so easily satisfied, and determined to put her wisdom to the test. He sent to the lady by a herald a piece of linen cloth, three inches square; and bade her contrive to make for him a shirt exactly fitted to his body. “Then,” added he, “she shall be my wife.” The messenger, thus commissioned, departed on his errand, and respectfully presented the cloth, with the request of the king. “How can I comply with it,” exclaimed the lady, “when the cloth is but three inches square? It is impossible to make a shirt of that; but bring me a vessel in which I may work, and I promise to make the shirt long enough for the body.” The messenger returned with the reply of the virgin, and the king immediately sent a sumptuous vessel, by means of which she extended the cloth to the required size, and completed the shirt. Whereupon the wise king married her.

_Application_

My beloved, the king is God; the virgin, the mother of Christ; who was also the chosen vessel. By the messenger, is meant Gabriel. The cloth, is the Grace of God, which, by proper care and labour, is made sufficient for man’s salvation.

_OF THE DECEITS OF THE DEVIL_

There were once three friends, who agreed to make a pilgrimage together. It happened that their provisions fell short, and having but one loaf between them, they were nearly famished. “Should this loaf,” they said to each other, “be divided amongst us, there will not be enough for any one. Let us then take counsel together, and consider how the bread is to be disposed of.” “Suppose we sleep upon the way,” replied one of them; “and whosoever hath the most wonderful dream, shall possess the loaf.” The other two acquiesced, and settled themselves to sleep. But he who gave the advice, arose while they were sleeping, and eat up the bread, not leaving a single crumb for his companions. When he had finished he awoke them. “Get up quickly,” said he, “and tell us your dreams.” “My friends,” answered the first, “I have had a very marvellous vision. A golden ladder reached up to heaven, by which angels ascended and descended. They took my soul from my body, and conveyed it to that blessed place where I beheld the Holy Trinity; and where I experienced such an overflow of joy, as eye hath not seen, nor ear heard. This is my dream.” “And I,” said the second, “beheld the devils with iron instruments, by which they dragged my soul from the body, and plunging it into hell flames, most grievously tormented me; saying, ‘As long as God reigns in heaven this will be your portion.’” “Now then,” said the third, who had eaten the bread, “hear my dream. It appeared as if an angel came and addressed me in the following manner, ‘My friend, would you see what is become of your companions?’ I answered, ‘Yes, Lord. We have but one loaf between us, and I fear that they have run off with it.’ ‘You are mistaken,’ he rejoined, ‘it lies beside us: follow me.’ He immediately led me to the gate of heaven, and by his command I put in my head and saw you; and I thought that you were snatched up into heaven and sat upon a throne of gold, while rich wines and delicate meats stood around you. Then said the angel, ‘Your companion, you see, has an abundance of good things, and dwells in all pleasures. There he will remain for ever; for he has entered a celestial kingdom and cannot return. Come now where your other associate is placed.’ I followed, and he led me to hell-gates, where I beheld you in torment, as you just now said. Yet they furnished you, even there, with bread and wine in abundance. I expressed my sorrow at seeing you in misery, and you replied, ‘As long as God reigns in heaven here I must remain, for I have merited it. Do you then rise up quickly, and eat all the bread, since you will see neither me nor my companion again.’ I complied with your wishes; arose, and eat the bread.”

_Application_

My beloved, the Saracens and Jews; the rich and powerful; and finally, the perfect among men, are typified by the three companions. The bread, represents the kingdom of heaven.

_OF VIGILANCE IN OUR CALLING_

A thief went one night to the house of a rich man, and scaling the roof, peeped through a hole to examine if any part of the family were yet stirring. The master of the house, suspecting something, said secretly to his wife, “Ask me in a loud voice how I acquired the property I possess; and do not desist until I bid you.” The woman complied, and began to vociferate, “My dear husband, pray tell me, since you never were a merchant, how you obtained all the wealth which you have now collected.” “My love,” answered her husband, “do not ask such foolish questions.” But she persisted in her enquiries; and at length, as if overcome by her urgency, he said, “Keep what I am going to tell you a secret, and your curiosity shall be gratified.”

“Oh, trust me.”