The position of woman among the northern races that overthrew the Roman power was wholly different from that which she held in the more ancient epoch, but even under the newer regime it was no enviable one. In many of the earlier Germanic systems, wives were bought by a definite payment of goods or of cattle. That this was a recognized practice is shown in the laws of Ethelbert, which state that if a man carry off a freeman’s wife, he must at his own expense procure another for the injured husband. Usually women had no rights of inheritance, though in some cases they could inherit when there were no male children, and in others they could transmit the right of inheritance to their male descendants. Sometimes they were allowed to inherit movable property of a certain sort, probably largely the result of their own handiwork. The evident idea of the Salic law was to allow woman a marriage portion only, and as soon as she was safely bestowed upon some neighbouring group of people, neither she nor her children had any further claim upon the parent group.

Great cruelty was evident in the treatment of female slaves. According to the laws of Athelstan, if one of these were convicted of theft, she should in punishment be burned alive by eighty other such slaves. A similar example of stern discipline is afforded by the ecclesiastical provision, occurring no less than three times, that, if a woman scourged her slave to death, she should do penance. It is little wonder that under these conditions the female slaves would sing in a rather forced manner, if at all, and the women themselves would hardly indulge in the gentle art of composing music.

The early Christian Church, too, afforded no encouragement for women to exert their musical abilities. When the earliest meetings occurred in the catacombs, the female members of the congregation took their part in singing the hymns, but, when organized choirs were formed, they were allowed no place. The singing-schools founded in Rome by the Popes Sylvester I. and Hilary, at the end of the fourth century, were devoted solely to the training of male voices. In describing the earlier music, St. John Chrysostom says: “The psalms which we sing unite all the voices in one, and the canticles arise harmoniously in unison. Young and old, rich and poor, women, men, slaves, and citizens, all of us have formed but one melody together.” But the custom of permitting women to join with men in the singing was abolished by the Synod of Antioch in the year 379.

In the music of the Celtic and Gaelic races, also, woman had no place. Their songs, like their lives, were martial in character. The harpists of Ireland and Wales, and the bagpipers of Scotland, were all men, and they made strict rules about the admission of new members to their guilds. Even among the early English minstrels, who devoted their powers to the milder art of love-songs and Christmas carols, no women are to be found. The wandering life of these bards and singers was too rude at first to admit of participation by the gentler sex, and it was only under more stable conditions of civilization that woman at last gained the opportunity of showing and developing her talents.

With the advent of chivalry, she found herself at once in a more exalted position. In this epoch, when cultivated minds began to devote their energies to other things besides fighting in war and carousing in peace, music found new and worthier subjects in nature and love and the beauty of woman. Under the new system she became the arbiter of all knightly disputes, the queen to whom all obedience was due. From this extreme worship arose the schools of the Minnesingers and the Troubadours, who paid her manifold homage in the shape of poetry and song.

According to the general statements of history, the Minnesingers began their career in the time of Frederick Barbarossa, of Germany. This would place their origin in the latter part of the twelfth century. Yet it is a strange fact that Heinrich of Veldig, usually accounted the pioneer in this new school of singing, utters a complaint about the loss of the good old times, and bewails the decay of the true greatness of the art to which he devoted himself. The original song in which he expresses this sentiment is still extant, and the particular stanza in question runs as follows:

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

That many of the early songs of the Minnesingers have been preserved is due to the forethought of Ruediger of Manesse, a public officer of Zurich in the fourteenth century. He made a thorough collection of all specimens of the style of the Minnesingers, and many subsequent works, such as that of Von Der Hagen, are based upon his researches.

The language ordinarily used by the Minnesingers was that of Suabia, which was that employed at the imperial and many lesser courts of Germany. They used it with a skill and delicacy which was generally far superior to the style of the Troubadours. In performing their works, they did not, like their western brethren, have recourse to hired accompanists, or Jongleurs, but supported the vocal part by playing on a small viol. The Jongleurs were essentially a French institution, and no class of musicians similar to them existed in Germany. The Minnesingers, like the Troubadours, were amateurs, and aimed to keep free from the taint of professionalism. Men of the highest rank were proud to belong to this order of musicians, and emperors, princes, and famous knights are found among them.

The love-songs of the Minnesingers, as already intimated, were less fiery than those of the Troubadours. While the Provencal minstrel allowed his homage to his chosen lady to proceed to extreme lengths, his German brother paid a less excessive but far purer tribute to the object of his affections. Very often, too, the German poets rose to a still higher level, and sang praises of the ideal qualities of womanhood in general. Thus the singers of Germany caused far less domestic discord than those of France.

That there was still some unlicensed gallantry, however, can be seen from the type of music known as “Wacht-Lieder,” or watch-songs. In these the amorous knight is represented as pleading with the watchman of the castle for admission to his lady-love. Sometimes the song took the form of a warning from the watchman, telling that daylight was near and the knight must depart.

Besides giving the world a host of shorter songs, the period of the Minnesingers brought forth some really great poets who were successful in the larger forms. The author, or authors, of the famous “Nibelungenlied” are unknown; but the work remains to us as the greatest epic of Germany. Foremost in point of fame stands Wolfram von Eschenbach, author of the familiar “Parzifal.” In depicting his characters, he strikes a note of idealistic beauty. Another great poet was Gottfried of Strasburg, almost as famous as Wolfram, and in some respects his opposite. His characters are endowed with life and vigour, and eager to seize the pleasures of earth while they last. His best work was “Tristan and Isolde.”

The legend of Tannhaeuser, which has crystallized and been handed down to us in story, has an undoubted basis of fact. The existence of the cave of Venus, in the Thuringian hill of Hoerselburg, may be taken as not proven; but there certainly was a tournament of song at the castle of the Wartburg, and many famous knights probably took part in it. Whether Tannhaeuser himself was real is an open question; but there can be no doubt about Walther von der Vogelweide, who was one of Germany’s greatest masters in the shorter forms.

Examples of still another style in the work of the Minnesingers are almost surely a direct imitation of the work of the Trouvères of Northern France. These examples consist of more or less lengthy fables, or sometimes tales with a pleasing moral attached. Many stories of Roman history are found among these, and many of the proverbs which we use without thinking of their authorship date from this time. Among the latter are, “Set not the wolf to guard the sheep,” “Never borrow trouble,”

“The king must die,
And so must I,”

and many other such gems of wisdom.

In all this the women had some share, if they did not play so important part as their sisters in France. Their position as hostesses, or as the objects of poetical tribute, enabled them to comment and criticize, and, if they did little actual composing, they were allowed to take a prominent part in the performance of music. We find in the old books of rules and codes of education that the woman of rank and position was possessed of many accomplishments, if not exactly those that are expected to-day. One of these codes, or Essenhamens, as they were called, gives the four chief duties of women, and, making allowance for the change in civilization, they correspond fairly well with those already quoted from the present German Empress. The cooking and sewing remain the same, but, instead of amusing the children, the women were expected to care for children of a larger growth, by obtaining a knowledge of surgery. The chatelaine was supposed to take full charge of her lord if he returned wounded from tourney or battle. Instead of church matters, the final accomplishment was the secular game of chess.

Another work of the time gives rules of behaviour for women, inculcating a submissive demeanour that is hardly practised to-day. The usual modesty of deportment was prescribed; women were always to direct their glances discreetly downward, and in the case of a stranger were to speak only when addressed. If a room were full of women, and a man should suddenly enter, the rules of decorum compelled them to rise immediately, and remain standing until he should seat himself.

The extent of knightly devotion to women in the age of chivalry can hardly be exaggerated. The work of Ulrich von Lichtenstein, for instance, in his “Frauendienst,” is full of the most absurd performances, which any sensible lady would have been justified in repudiating. The Troubadours indulged in even greater vagaries, and one Pierre Vidal, in love with a certain Louve de Penautier, whose first name meant “she-wolf,” adopted the name of Loup, and actually assumed a wolf skin as his garment. To prove his sincerity even more, he insisted upon being completely wrapped in this hide and hunted by hounds and horsemen. After the dogs had caught him, he would not allow them to be pulled off, but insisted upon enduring their attacks for the glory of his lady-love. When nearly dead, he was rescued and taken to her castle, where he recovered health if not mental balance.

More noble than any of these was the tribute paid to women by the Minnesinger Henry of Meissen. Declining to single out any one fair Muse, he sang of womankind as a whole, and never ceased to praise their purity, their gentleness, and their nobility. Through his life he was honoured by them with the title of “Frauenlob” (praise of women), and at his death they marched in the funeral procession, and each threw a flower into his grave, making it overflow with blossoms.

The royal house of Suabia did its best to encourage the art of the Minnesingers, allowing them a liberty of criticism that would ordinarily be undreamed of in court life. It is in an epoch little later than this that we find a singer expressing one of his objections to royalty in the following verse:

“King Rudolf is a worthy king,
All praise to him be brought;
He likes to hear the masters play and sing,
But after that he gives them naught.”

The rise of the Troubadours is due wholly to Oriental influences. There may have been some native poetry among the pastoral races of the sunny land of Provence, where the guild flourished, but not a single line of it remains to us. Moreover, it is certain that the Eastern minstrels left their impress in Spain, and that the Crusaders brought back from the Orient, among many other novelties, the custom of encouraging minstrelsy. The Arabian bards sang chiefly of love, as they well might in a land where female loveliness received such excessive worship. At the Saracenic courts, the bards were ever ready to win gratitude, and even more substantial rewards, by praising the latest favourite at the expense of former beauties. Provence, with its dazzling sun and glowing climate, possessed a striking resemblance to the Eastern countries, and among its inhabitants were many who could boast an Oriental ancestry. No less than five times did Saracen émirs lead their hosts into the country, endeavouring to overcome it not only by force of arms, but by the more peaceful and more certain method of introducing their own industries and customs. Provence itself was a land of peace and repose, and could better encourage gentler arts than the warlike nations of Northern Spain. We may find the Troubadours definitely established there in the early part of the twelfth century.

The language of their songs is the beautiful “Langue d’oc,” so called from the use of the word “oc” to mean yes, and thus distinguished from the “Langue d’oil” of Northern France and the “Lingua di si” of Italy. The “Langue d’oc” was spoken in the entire southern part of France, and has given its name to a province of the present. So when the nobles of Provence, in the lordly retirement of their ancestral castles, sought an entertainment suited to their refined and sympathetic natures, they were soon imitated by the greater part of the nation.

The songs of the Troubadours were in many cases taken directly from Eastern models. In early Arabian times it was customary for two shepherds to converse in music by intoning responsive phrases on their flutes; and it soon became customary for two minstrels to sing in like manner. In the early songs of the Bible, too, are many verses whose second half answers the first, and, in fact, the Hebrew words for “answer” and “sing” are said to be identical. Among the Troubadours, this species of musical dialogue took the form of the tenson, or contention. The use of answering couplets in solo songs is another point of resemblance. Another favourite Arabian form was the casida, or stanza constructed with only one rhyme, and the rich and melodious Provencal tongue lent itself excellently to poems of this structure. So successful were the Troubadours in using it that sometimes their compositions were over a hundred lines in length. The short but brilliant Arabian lyrics, called “Maouchah,” or embroidery, were well imitated by dainty and sparkling lyrics of the Troubadours. The Oriental mourning song became the Planh, or dirge. The evening tribute of the Arabian minstrels to their chosen loves became the serenade, while the Troubadours went still further in this vein by originating the aubade, or morning song. Among the other forms used, the verse was merely a set of couplets, the chanson was divided into several stanzas, while the sonnet was much freer in form than at present. When more than two singers took part in a tenson, it became a tournament. The sirvente was a song of war or politics, sometimes satirical, sometimes in praise of the exploits of a generous patron. The sixtine contained six stanzas of six lines each, with the rhymes holding over from one stanza to the next, and occurring in a different order in each stanza. The rhymes in the sirvente differed from what we consider correct by consisting always of a repetition of the same word. The discord was a sort of free fantasia, sometimes in several dialects. The pastorelle was of pastoral character, usually consisting of short lines and containing a dialogue.

Among the more narrative forms are found the ballad, more especially favoured by the Trouvères, or minstrels of the “Langue d’oil” regions. It gave rise to the various metres used in the epics, and sometimes formed the basis of these longer works. In general, the Trouvères devoted themselves to fiction and story, while their southern brethren sang of love. The novel, used largely in the south, was a short poem containing some brilliant anecdote of gallantry, couched in neat phrase. The romance, or long narrative, was by reason of its size the most permanent of all the poetry of this age. Though written by both Troubadours and Trouvères, the latter were far superior in style and invention, and it is mostly their work which has survived. These romances were sometimes in prose, but more often in poetry of extremely smooth and flowing metre.

The romances grouped themselves in three principal cycles, first, the Carlovingian, including the stories of Charlemagne, of Roland and the twelve peers, of Fierabras, and so on; second, the Arthurian, dealing with the legends of the Round Table; and third, the Alexandrian, containing tales of antiquity, chiefly of Alexander the Great. In the first group, “Brut d’Angleterre” contains the mythical story of all the early English kings. It was adapted from lower Brittany by Robert Wace. A Saxon Trouvère continued this to his own time, imbuing his work with thorough hatred of the Normans. Walter Map, Archdeacon of Oxford under Henry II., wrote many Arthurian tales, while Chretien de Troyes wrote the greater part of “Sir Perceval de Galles” in Norman-French. “Floriant and Florete” is another Arthurian tale, while “Aucassin and Nicolette,” of unknown authorship, is a charming romance of love in Southern France and captivity among the Saracens.

The life of the Troubadour forms a pleasing picture in the book of mediaeval history. He was essentially a gentleman by birth, scorning to take pay for his songs, and often distributing the gifts he received among his servants. He had to maintain a large retinue, and give sumptuous entertainments, with the result that he often used up his entire patrimony. The usual course in such cases was a trip to Palestine with the Crusaders, and a gallant death in battle with the infidel. But before reaching that end, his career must have been decidedly pleasant. He would pass the winter in his castle, training himself in feats of arms and in musical composition. At the advent of spring, he would issue forth, followed by a train of Jongleurs singing his songs, and proceed through field and wood to the nearest castle. Here in the evening a great feast would be arranged, with the Jongleurs in a special minstrels’ gallery. Next day there would be music on the ramparts, or in fair weather brocade carpets would be spread in the meadows, and knights and ladies would listen to more songs. Here the Troubadour himself at times deigned to perform, thus affording his hearers an unusual privilege. Here, too, the women had a chance to show their own skill; for, if there were no woman Trouvères, there were plenty who were well able to hold their own in the shorter forms of the Troubadours.

That kings and princes did not disdain to become Troubadours is proved by the example of Richard of England and the Dauphin of Auvergne. But it is more unexpected to find a queen among their ranks, and that no less a queen than Eleanor, wife of Henry II. of England. Her grandfather, William of Poitou, was one of the earliest patrons of the art, and she inherited his tastes. Her career, like his, is one of boldness and adventure. When wife of Louis VII., before her marriage with Henry, she set an example to chivalry by going to the Crusades with that French king, and not in the capacity of wife, but rather as an Amazon warrior. She gathered around her a troupe of kindred spirits, and, equipped in the most graceful array that armourers and milliners could devise, started off at the head of her husband’s knights. Her campaign was conducted on principles of pleasure rather than of strategy. In Asia Minor, where she led the van during the march, she chose her route according to the beauty of the landscape rather than safety of position, and more than once brought the army into grave danger. She varied the monotony of the advance by several romantic love episodes, notably with a young emir in the train of the Sultan Noureddin. She conducted her career in much the same style as the light opera heroine of to-day, who pauses in the midst of the action to sing a song, pursue an amour, or bask in the favour of all beholders.

Chief among her admirers was Bernard de Ventadour, whose verse has received high praise from the poet Petrarch. Of humble birth, he won the interest of the viscount of the castle, who gave him a good education. In those days this training consisted in knowing how to be courteous and well behaved, and how to compose a song and sing it. Bernard, after exercising his growing powers on the beauties of spring, the fragrance of flowers, and the music of the nightingale, turned his attentions to the charms of the young viscountess, which he sung with such success that one day the object of his praises, in a fit of rapture, bestowed a kiss upon him. Enraptured by this, he sang his eulogies with still more boldness, until he roused the jealousy of the lord of the castle, who locked up his young spouse, and drove the Troubadour from the district. He took refuge at the court of Eleanor, for whom he conceived a second and more passionate adoration, and whom he followed to England. But Henry was either more indulgent or more indifferent, and no further quarrels came.

The atmosphere of refinement brought into the rude life of the castle by the Troubadours is more than offset by the domestic infelicity they caused. Each of these knight-errants of literature was supposed to choose a lady-love, and it made no difference if she were already married. Thus conjugal fidelity was at a very low ebb, while amorous intrigues were openly encouraged by what amounted to a definite system of civilization. To settle the many vexed questions arising from this state of affairs, the Courts of Love were formed, at which noble ladies decided all disputed points. Most famous of these courts was that of Queen Eleanor herself, while among the others were those of the ladies of Gascony, the Viscountess of Narbonne, the Countess of Champagne, and the Countess of Flanders. Disputes before these courts usually took the form of the tenson, or contention, already described.

Many are the legendary accounts of the laws upon which these courts based their decisions. There are fables of knights riding in magic forests and finding scrolls attached by golden chains to the necks of fiery dragons, or the feet of fleet birds. These laws, if not applicable in our present civilization, show in the most interesting fashion how the subject of love was regarded in the twelfth century. Among them are found the following startling statements:

“Marriage cannot be pleaded as an excuse for refusing to love.”

“A person who cannot keep a secret can never be a lover.”

“No one can really love two people at the same time,” says one rule; but another adds, “Nothing prevents one lady being loved by two gentlemen, or one gentleman by two ladies.”

Two years was the required period of mourning for a dead lover. But such constancy may not have been demanded in the case of the living, for, according to rule, “A new love-affair banishes the old one completely.”

Lovers in those days were expected to show the most definite symptoms of their malady; for, according to law, “Every lover is accustomed to grow pale at the sight of his lady-love;” “At the sudden and unexpected prospect of his lady-love, the heart of the true lover invariably palpitates;” and “A real lover is always the prey of anxiety and malaise.” Also, “A person who is the prey of love eats little and sleeps little.”

There are many maxims on the best way of keeping true love alive, and many more on the subject of jealousy. That the love of the Troubadours was none too permanent is indicated by the statement, “A moderate presumption is sufficient to justify one lover in entertaining grave suspicions of the other.”

Among the celebrated decisions is one given by the Countess of Champagne upon the question, “Can real love exist between married people?” Basing her decision on the fact that love implies a free granting of all favours, while marriage enforces constraint, the fair arbiter decided for the negative. Another decree, of wider application, was pronounced by Queen Eleanor. A lover, after entreating his lady’s favour in vain, sent her a number of costly presents, which she accepted with much delight. Yet even after this tribute to her charms, she remained obdurate, and would not grant him the slightest encouragement. He accordingly brought the case before the Court of Love, on the ground that the lady, by accepting his presents, had inspired him with false hopes. Eleanor gave the decision wholly in his favour, saying that the lady must refuse to receive any gifts sent as love-tokens, or must make compensation for them. The story does not tell whether the lady in question accepted the suitor or returned the gifts.

The absurdity to which these laws were carried is shown by another decision of Eleanor’s. A gentleman became deeply smitten with a lady who had given her love to another, but who would have been pleased to return his devotion if ever deprived of her first lover. Soon after, the original pair were married. The gentleman, citing the decision that real love cannot exist between married people, claimed that the lady was now free to reward his fidelity. The lady declared that she had not lost the love of her first suitor by marrying him, but Queen Eleanor upheld the decision cited, and ordered the lady to grant her new lover the favours he desired.

The Troubadours at times treated subjects far different from the usual short lyrics or long romances. Many of these minstrels performed the unusual task of setting the laws in poetic form. It is not unusual to find lawyers becoming good poets, but in this case the legal minstrels drew from the codes of their native land enough inspiration for long effusions. Moral and religious precepts, too, were often put in the form of lengthy poems. Of even greater interest to the student of old customs are the so-called “Essenhamens,” or collections of rules for behaviour for young ladies. In one of these, by Amanieus des Escas, called the god of love, the poet gives his counsel to a young lady in the train of some great countess. He meets her in one of her walks, whereupon she addresses him and asks for certain rules to guide her conduct. The poet, after apologetically insisting that she must know more about it, having ten times as much common sense as he has, overcomes his scruples, and proceeds to pour forth much undiluted wisdom.

From his verses we learn to approve of the well-known system of early rising and early retiring, with many minor points about washing, dressing, caring for the teeth and nails, and other mysteries of the toilet. Then follow rules for behaviour in church, with directions to preserve a quiet demeanour, and avoid improper use of the eyes or the tongue. From the church the writer conducts his pupil to the dinner-table, reciting many important details in carving, passing the dishes properly, and performing the correct ablutions. He closes this episode with the excellent advice that no harm can come from tempering wine with water. After this comes the conversation in the drawing-room, and many naïve methods of raising interesting discussions are suggested.

Less highly gifted than the Troubadours were the Jongleurs, who composed their retinue. These musical jacks-of-all-trades began as accompanists, singing the songs of their master at the castles he visited. But soon they grew numerous and independent, and occupied a station varying from that of our public entertainers to that of the humblest street musician. Nothing came amiss to them, singing, playing all instruments, dancing, imitating the calls of animals and birds, and even the juggling that has derived its name from them. In the wandering life that they led, they were often forced to take their wives and children along, and thus women grew accustomed to take some part in the performances.

The glee-maidens were essentially an English institution, and no doubt they were more sure of courtesy and protection in that country than on the Continent. They were by far the most romantic figures of the minstrel world. Often they would wander about the country alone and unguarded, braving or avoiding the dangers of the road. Sometimes their only escort was a pet dog or a goat. They arrayed themselves in small garments of bright colours, often adorned with silver, while on their feet were leather buskins. They were at home in the courtyards of castles and monasteries no less than in the midst of villages and towns, and, mounting on some slight knoll, they would entertain gentles and commoners with voice and violin. They are often introduced into the romances of early England, and many famous glee-maidens are found on the pages of history. One of the most celebrated was Adeline, who lived in the time of William the Conqueror, and was successful enough to be rewarded by him with an estate.

In the reign of Henry III. we find one really great figure among the glee-maidens, Marie de France. She was the Jongleuse of William Longsword, son of Henry II. and Fair Rosamond, and he certainly deserves the gratitude of the literary world for discovering and fostering her wonderful talent. Born probably in Brittany, her life and works identified her with the English. She was familiar with the Breton tongue, and also with Latin. Her first production was a set of lays in French verse, that met with instant popularity throughout England. The courts of the nobles reechoed with her praises, and ladies as well as knights were never weary of listening to her songs. Twelve of them are now in the British Museum, among them a beautiful one dealing with King Arthur and the Round Table. These works are of rare charm, no less for their pleasing style and depth of feeling than for their simplicity of expression and clearness of narrative. Her second effort was a poetical rendering of many of AEsop’s fables, done either as a favour or a tribute of love for her protector. This was followed by a translation of the Purgatory of St. Patrick in Ireland, taken from the Latin.

Few of the glee-maidens were so richly gifted or so highly placed as Marie. Most of them travelled about, either alone or in the company of glee-men, and were content with more ordinary compositions. At times they were accompanied by dancing bears, who went through their figures with the maidens, while the glee-men played, and tripped a fantastic toe, if not exactly a light one.

The existence of the Jongleurs gradually undermined that of the Troubadours, as the former grew more and more proficient. In the thirteenth century we find Guirant Riquier, often called the last of the Troubadours, requesting King Alfonso X. of Castile to make a definite classification of Jongleurs, and title the best, thus preventing the indiscriminate mixing of high and low musicians in the public mind. The king made some effort to do so, but met with little success, for the whole institution was gradually decaying. A more tragic fate awaited the Troubadours of Provence, the home of the art. Espousing the cause of the Albigenses, they used their wit with such telling effect that they brought down upon themselves the deadly hatred of the Papists; and in the short but bloody war that followed, they were almost wholly exterminated in the cruel slaughter caused by the forces of religious intolerance. Don Pedro of Aragon, who came to aid his brother Troubadours, met with defeat and death, and after his loss the victors started on a career of cruelty, torture, and indiscriminate murder. The castles of the minstrel knights, once the home of beauty and song, were razed to the ground, and the Troubadours were blotted from the page of history.