the heroes of love-such as Paris, who conquered Helen; Ivain, who was the first to introduce the fashion of wearing fur round the borders of cloaks, as also girdles round the waist, and buckles to the spurs, and for having invented tassels. After having heard the adventures of these and many other heroes, the amorous knight is enjoined to pay great attention to his dress. The master recommends fine and white linen, robes of a proper length and of the same colour as the mantle, and which should be sufficiently wide, so as not to leave the chest bare, which would be contrary to the rules of propriety. Thence he passes on to the attention to be paid to the cleanliness of the body. The head is to be well and frequently washed, and the hair to be shortened a little, for it ought not to be too long, nor either the beard or mustachio, it being less offensive to wear all three too short than too long, a proper medium being the most advisable. As the eyes are the interpreters of the sentiments of the lover, and the hands are the ministers of the unceasing services which his love inspires, these ought to be kept cleaner than any other part of the body. These lessons are followed by instructions as to the precautions to be observed in the choice of esquires to serve the knight who is in love. He must at least have two that are courteous, civil, and 'well-spoken,' so as to be able to give a favourable opinion of the master, of whose messages they are the bearers. Then follow instructions relative to the management of a household, to the manner of receiving and doing honour to one's guests, of entertaining them, of making them comfortable, of forestalling all their wants, of providing 'good cheer' for them, and of serving them well at table, without ever beginning with one's self, which would be a great want of civility. Before you sit down to table,' he says, 'let the servants be well instructed as to what they have to do, so that they be not obliged to come and interrupt you, and whisper in your ear, which gives a look of a mean and sordid housekeeping. Let all the provisions be distributed in the morning to the knights and esquires, and let nothing be wanting that may be wished for, if you be anxious to preserve the reputation of an honourable lover, who never does anything but what is proper.

'If you visit the courts of princes, do your utmost to distinguish yourself by your magnificence. Keep open-house: do not have doorkeepers who drive away with hard blows esquires, pages, beggars, and jongleurs; but let all these abound in your house. Take good care not to be the first to arrive at court, leave it the last, and pay faithfully and liberally for everything you have taken on credit. Should you, however, be in want of money, and not disinclined to play, play at the great games,* which are noble games, and not at those games of hazard, which are only suited for avaricious and interested persons. Whoever takes dice in his hand, or throws them, degrades himself. Play, therefore, at the great games; and however much you lose, be never angered: do not move about like a man greatly agitated: do not wring your hands like one distracted. Whatever you hear said about you, let not your countenance shew any traces of emotion, for this would at once lower you in point of gallantry.' The lordly troubadour then proceeds to lay down rules for the proper equipment of the knight who wishes to please the ladies, for the caparison of his horse,

* Supposed to mean chess and draughts.

and the number of his retinue, for his conduct in combat, where of course the utmost intrepidity is essential; and this Lord Chesterfield of the middle ages ends by giving a bold account of the many heart-conquests he has made, following this up, however, with a prayer that he may not be considered indiscreet, as he has only mentioned the names of those ladies who had particularly wished that the favours they had bestowed upon him should be publicly proclaimed.

If the picture be deemed not sufficiently complete, we may turn to another of these old romance compositions, entitled 'Lay of the Bachelor of Arms.' Here we learn that the aspirant, as soon as he is admitted into the most noble order of knighthood, must prove himself exempt from every vice and frailty, and must unite in his person every virtue, every perfection, and above all things, he must honour the ladies. He must be gay, circumspect, brave, loyal, courteous, gentle, humble, and discreet, and watchful in every way not to sully his purity, and 'to be as neat within as without.' Devoting himself in every way to honour the new dignity which he has acquired, he must follow the profession of arms without sparing either his life or his fortune, and in the first tournament which occurs, he must strain every nerve to carry off the prize. If he be victor in the first tournament, he acquires a new grade, and is thenceforward styled Bachelor of Arms, and his exploits are bruited far and near by troubadours, knights, and ladies. If the bachelor wish 'to plume himself with plumes of high prowess,' he must seek combats, and fly idleness and avarice, which are incompatible with this noble quality; he must eschew that false glory which is not based upon numerous military exploits. He only is a bachelor of arms, who, having seized his shield, and placed himself in the ranks, impatiently awaits the commencement of the combat, in which his valour, his intrepidity, his skill, and his courtesy, must shine forth like bright stars. But it is not enough that he should be victor in the tournament—on returning to his castle he must prove himself as polite and as generous in his home as he has been brave and intrepid in combat. If he be a rich and mighty baron, he must share his riches with other knights less fortunate than himself, and let him not forget to empty his coffers and distribute his old clothes to the minstrels; for such is the profession of arms-great noise abroad and much joy at home.' The knight may be handsome and brave-if he join not generosity to valour, he will never be honoured with the glorious title of preudhomme.

This, says the troubadour, is the royal route which I will indicate to the bachelor who aspires to that distinguished appellation. It is not the road of rapine, nor of greediness, nor of indolence-it is one which leads from vigour to firmness, from firmness to boldness, from boldness to prowess, and from prowess to courtesy: it is thus the bachelor must proceed, and thence at last to largesse (liberality.) When, after having spent his youth in the profession of arms, he sees his hair turn gray, it is time that this turn in his age should cause a change in his mind. Let him, then, return to God all that he owes him; let him repair the follies of his youth, in order to merit the noble appellation of preudhomme; but I recommend him besides, if he desire to acquire this title of a perfect knight, to abandon the tournaments, to take the cross, to wend his way to the countries beyond the seas, there to give the last proofs of his valour in the service of God. It

would be wrong not to do for Him twice as much as for the world, let therefore the knight, in single combat or battle, pursue with his trenchant sword the enemies of Jesus Christ: at this price only can he obtain the supreme title of preudhomme. All are preudhommes who do well.

Another piece of Provençal poetry introduces us to the writer, the Lord Amanieu des Escâs, a troubadour who lived about the year 1200, as seated one winter evening after dinner by a blazing fire in his hall, carpeted with rushes, and surrounded by his esquires, with whom he is conversing on arms and love; 'for every one in his household, down to the meanest varlet, busied himself with love.' (Our readers must remember that in those days love was not only a sentiment but a service, subject to rules generally received as obligatory.) One of his young attendants, of more amorous disposition than the rest, draws nigh to ask from his master, known to be the lord of all others best versed in these matters, instruction on the subject of love. Having interchanged with the page some preliminary compliments and advice, the knight enters upon the subject demanded, and first of all enforces upon his auditors the importance of listening attentively to what is said, and of endeavouring to retain it, so that they may not be like those persons, who no sooner leave a house than they have forgotten all the tales they there heard recited, and all the clever things which have been said. He further advises them to fly bad company, and to be neither slanderers nor scoffers, nor yet deceivers, liars, and traitors. He recommends them, if they would please the ladies, and make themselves beloved by them, to prove themselves frank, generous, and brave, and to speak graciously and politely. He then instructs them as to how they ought to dress in accordance with their means. If they cannot have a pourpoint of good cloth, they must give additional attention to the cut, so that it be made suitable to the figure; at all events, their boots must always be in proper order, and their hair well attended to, and they must distinguish themselves by the neatness of their girdles, of their purse, and of their dagger. Clothes torn and worn out are recommended in preference to such as are ripped in the seams; because, he says, the latter denotes untidiness, which is a vice, the former only indicates poverty, which has never been considered as such. His instructions relative to love enjoin fidelity, loyalty, punctuality in attending to all the tastes and wishes of the beloved object, and care to please those whom she loves, in order that they may speak well of the suitor. Praise, he adds, more than anything else kindles love. It cannot be doubted that the heart of a cavalier often gives itself to a lady whom he has never seen, but whose good and amiable qualities he has heard lauded; in like manner love takes birth in the heart of ladies, for which reason an esquire or a knight cannot acquire too many virtues, in order that his fame may reach the ears of the lady of his love. The young aspirant is then enjoined, when once he has gained the good graces of the lady, to practise discretion more than any other virtue, under penalty of forfeiting not only her favour, but the esteem of all other ladies. If by any unlucky chance he should feel jealousy arising in his heart, and the lady, though her conduct give too much cause for suspicion, should nevertheless assure him that there is not the slightest shade of probability in what he has seen with his own eyes, he is advised to reply: 'Yes, madam, I firmly believe that you are right, and I am

wrong; I must have been dreaming, or have been deprived of my senses.' By this blind complacency he will regain her affections. In addition to the virtues already named, courage and skill in combat are of course mentioned as of essential importance.

However great the influence of the troubadours over their contemporaries, it requires but little knowledge of human nature to make us feel assured that the lessons of self-denying virtue which they inculcated were less attended to than those more in consonance with the tastes and tendencies of their hearers. Indeed, though history attests, as we have seen, the beneficial effects of those institutions which their compositions contributed so greatly to develop, on the other side it bears still more striking evidence of the extent of folly to which many of the qualities commended by them were carried. At the follies committed in the name of love we have already glanced; but valour and magnificence had also their fanatics. Not content with the reputation to be obtained by military exploits performed in battle for their country, or for some other cause which they had espoused, occasions to measure their strength and skill with antagonists of high repute-but to whom they stood in no kind of inimical relation—were eagerly sought by knights of all degrees; and even kings and ruling princes would expose their lives in such aimless combats, and sometimes even disdain to avail themselves of the means of defence sanctioned by the customs of the times. Excessive magnificence was a prevalent fault, particularly among the great personages of the period, whose munificence very frequently originated in vanity and ambition, and as often degenerated into insensate prodigality. Kings gave away whole provinces; mighty barons held open-house, and placed a helmet above their gateways, as an invitation to those who passed by to come in and partake of their hospitality; and the knights who served them in their turn gave away their last penny to the first jongleur who presented himself. A remarkable instance of the meaningless prodigality of the times is related by the monk Geoffroi of Vigeois: Henry II. of England wishing in 1170 to celebrate by a magnificent tournament the reconciliation between the Count of Toulouse and the king of Aragon, who had been at war, named Beaucaire-a town distinguished by the splendid entertainments which the barons and knights of Provence gave there every year, and which is still renowned for its great annual fair-as the place of assembly. Neither the king of England nor the king of Aragon made their appearance on the occasion, but a great number of barons and nobles assembled, and, as was their wont, vied with each other in magnificence. Among other things, it is mentioned that Count Raymond of Toulouse presented to the Baron Raimond d'Agout 100,000 gold or silver pieces, which the latter immediately distributed among 10,000 knights: Bertrand Raimbaut, another nobleman there present, ordered a piece of ground in the vicinity to be ploughed up, and sowed in it 30,000 sols in copper farthings: Guillaume de Martel, whose retinue consisted of 300 knights, ordered all the viands prepared for them in his kitchen to be cooked over the flames of waxen candles: the Countess of Urgel sent a coronet of the value of 40,000 sols to be presented to Guillaume Mita, who, it was expected, would be proclaimed king of the minstrels and finally, Raimond de Vernous had thirty fine horse brought forward and burned

alive as a spectacle for the people; and this act of wanton cruelty and foolish prodigality was, by the poets of the times, lauded as a proof of noble liberality.

But though we have hitherto seen the troubadours in their levity only, there were not wanting among them noble characters and earnest minds who, sorrowing over the corruption of the times, attacked with fearless honesty and unsparing severity the depravity, cupidity, and selfishness which, then as now, and as at every other period of history, more or less disgraced the various classes of society. The poems consecrated to the chastisement of vice in all its forms were called Sirventes, and are very numerous. In some the grovelling vices of the citizens are attacked, in others the more brilliant but not less reprehensible faults of the nobles; and even the clergy and the monks, the servants of proud Rome, who for the second time had assumed the dominion of the world, were not spared by these unflinching spirits, whose poetry represents the liberty of the press of the middle ages.

The object of the political Sirventes was chiefly to chastise the promoters of the civil discords, which frequently distracted society; to blame the unjust or impolitic acts of the temporal rulers, as also of the court of Rome; and to criticise the undertakings of the great and wealthy baronsin a word, to repress everything that could tend to disturb public order and tranquillity. But among this class of poems there are also many warlike songs, in which the troubadours, laying aside their character of peacemakers, and mingling insults with exhortations, endeavour to revive national and personal animosities, and to rekindle long and bloody feuds. Sometimes, also, adopting the supposed interests of religion, they upbraid their contemporaries with want of zeal, and call upon them to take up the cross for the deliverance of Sion, and paint in glowing colours the pleasures of carnage and victory.

Among the poets distinguished for compositions of this description, is one in whom we learn to know the troubadours under a very different character from that in which they have hitherto appeared to us. Bertrand de Born, a baron of Perigord, the friend of the rebellious sons of Henry II. of England, and one of the most impetuous and violent of French noblemen, was of an unstable and audacious disposition, and brought to his poetical compositions the same temerity, impetuosity, and reckless passion, which characterised his actions; and to these qualities is owing the place assigned to him in the ranks of the most distinguished warriors and the first poets of the twelfth century. While his verses were exciting the worst passions of the courts of France, England, and Spain, sowing the seeds of discord among the kings, and calling forth hatred and mutual distrust among their vassals, his arms were turned against his neighbours, his warriors were sacking their castles and devastating their lands. During the frequent feuds in which his violence and his intrigues involved him, his poetical talent did him as good service as his intrepid valour, for his insolent sirventes, which bear the impress of his inflexible character as well as of his turbulent passions, provoked and humiliated his enemies, while they inspired new courage into his soldiers and allies. Bertrand was a bad brother, a rebellious subject, and a dangerous friend, for which reason the stern justice of Dante has assigned to him a place in the