Troubadour Tales 1

Troubadour Tales 1

Troubadour Tales

 

Author: Evaleen Stein

 

Contents

 

 

THE PAGE OF COUNT REYNAURD 1

 

THE LOST RUNE 27

 

COUNT HUGO’S SWORD 76

 

FELIX 132

 

 

 

 

Troubadour Tales

 

 

 

 

THE PAGE OF COUNT REYNAURD

 

HOW HE EARNED THE FAVOR OF KING RENÉ

AND WON A SILVER CUP FOR CLEVERNESS

IN THE LATIN TONGUE

 

 

“PIERROT! Pierrot! are thy saddle-bags well fastened? And how fare my

lutestrings? Have a care lest some of them snap with jogging over this

rough bit of road. And, Pierrot, next time we pass a fine periwinkle

thou hadst best jump down and pluck a fresh bunch for my Barbo’s ears.”

 

The speaker, Count Reynaurd of Poitiers, patted the fluffy black mane

of his horse Barbo, and loosened the great nosegay of blue flowers

tucked into his harness and nodding behind his ears. Barbo was gaily

decked out; long sprays of myrtle dangled from his saddle-bow, and a

wreath of periwinkle and violets hung round his neck; for the Count

Reynaurd was not only a noble lord, but also a famous troubadour. That

is to say, he spent his time riding from castle to castle, playing on

his lute or viol, and singing beautiful songs of his own making.

 

In the days when he lived, which was many hundred years ago, there

were numberless such poet-singers strolling over the sunny land of

France, and especially that part which lies to the south and is called

Provence. Many of the greatest of these kept little pages to wait

upon them and carry their musical instruments; and so it was that

Pierrot rode a little white palfrey by the side of Count Reynaurd, and

carried his lute, and gathered the periwinkle for the gay bouquets that

decorated Barbo’s ears.

 

It was May-time, and they were journeying through the lovely land of

Provence, which was quite enough to make any one happy, and the count

and Pierrot were fairly brimming over with good humor as they rode

along. They were bound for the old town of Aix, where in those days

stood the palace of the good King René, whom everybody loved.

 

Now, King René himself was a troubadour, although he could not wander

about over the country as did the others, but was obliged to stay in

Aix and govern his people. Yet he spent hours and hours every day

writing poetry and making up music for it; and he delighted above all

things to gather about him all who could finger a lutestring or sing a

merry song. There were always dozens of fine troubadours staying with

King René, and he was never weary of adding to their number, and of

seeking out the best in France; and so it chanced he had heard much of

the great skill of Pierrot’s master and also of another noble lord, the

Count William of Auvergne. The friends of each of these boasted that

none other in all France was worthy to be called the champion of the

troubadours. So René had sent messages to both, inviting them to come

and visit him, and to hold a contest of song, saying he would give a

beautiful collar of jewels to the one who sang the better.

 

In response to this invitation, the Count William was already in Aix,

having come the day before, after a long journey from his castle in

Auvergne. He was now resting, awaiting the Count Reynaurd, and pleasing

himself in thinking of the glory of winning the jeweled collar; for he

fully expected by and by to carry it off as his prize.

 

Meantime, Count Reynaurd and Pierrot trotted gaily along the road to

Aix. The almond-trees were in flower, and from one of them Pierrot had

broken a little switch covered with rosy blossoms, with which he now

and then tapped the flank of his little white palfrey, who would then

kick up her heels and frisk along at a rollicking pace. Pierrot’s own

legs looked lovely in party-colored hose, the right being a beautiful

pearl-gray and the left a delicate robin’s-egg blue; his doublet was of

pink silk embroidered in silver and slashed with white satin; and on

his head he wore a jaunty cap with a long feather. He was a handsome

little fellow, with bright eyes and dark curls, and as gay and lively

as the great black crickets that live in Provence.

 

His master, Count Reynaurd, looked very stately in a suit of

plum-colored velvet, with a collar of fine lace fastened with a golden

violet, which he often felt, so as to be sure he had not lost it and

that it was still tightly clasped. For the gold violet was a prize

that the count had just won in the town of Toulouse, whither, every

May-time, all the troubadours used to go and hold great contests,

called the Games of Flowers. At these games each one sang a song, and

the most skillful received prizes, a violet of gold and a rose of

silver being the most wished for.

 

So Count Reynaurd was very proud and happy thinking how finely the

violet would serve to clasp the collar of jewels he expected to win

from King René, and he smiled pleasantly when Pierrot called out to him:

 

“See, my Lord! are not those the high towers of Aix?”

 

Count Reynaurd looked ahead, and, sure enough, far in the distance rose

the city of Aix. They set their horses a-galloping, and in a little

while found themselves riding through its quaint, crooked streets, till

they reached the great square where stood the king’s palace. This was a

very beautiful one, strangely built, with two ancient round towers and

a wide porch with many pillars; all about it was a lovely garden full

of orange and acacia trees, and sweet roses and jasmines clambered over

everything.

 

Count Reynaurd and Pierrot dismounted at the palace gate, and were

led into the great hall where sat King René, wearing a blue robe

embroidered in bright flowers. He was an old man, and his hair and

long beard were quite white, but he was gay and happy-hearted as

Pierrot himself. When he saw the Count Reynaurd enter the hall, he

arose from his throne and came down and embraced and kissed him, and

patted Pierrot kindly. For René was not like most kings, who are very

particular to have everybody about them as stiff and uncomfortable as

possible.

 

Then presently the Count William, who had been walking in the garden,

hearing of the arrival of Reynaurd, came hurrying in, his own little

page Henri following close upon his heels. He greeted Count Reynaurd

very cordially, for he had often met him at the games of Toulouse, and

the little pages Henri and Pierrot soon became the best of friends also.

 

As the day was now drawing to a close, the good old king invited them

all into the banquet hall, where were already gathered numbers of

troubadours, and minnesingers who were the troubadours of Germany.

Some were eating and drinking; some were telling stories or making

up poetry; while still others were playing on all sorts of musical

instruments, and were altogether having the jolliest kind of time.

 

Reynaurd and Pierrot were very hungry after their long ride, and so

were glad to sit down at one of the long tables while the king’s

seneschals brought in roasted boar’s-head and venison pasties, and

large baskets of the fine white bread of Provence and of brown

marchpanes, which were nice little old-time French cookies full of

raisins and covered with nuts and poppy-seeds.

 

Pierrot waited upon his master very prettily, and then feasted upon

dainties to his heart’s content, all the while listening with delight

to the gay songs of the troubadours and minnesingers. By and by his

curly head began to nod, and he fell asleep while still munching a

marchpane, and slept so soundly that he had to be shaken when it was

time to go upstairs, where a little cot was spread for him close to the

great canopied bed of the Count Reynaurd.

 

So the days passed merrily on. But when, time after time, King René

fixed a day for the contest between the Counts Reynaurd and William,

they would plead that they were not ready; for they had grown so lazy

and pampered by the life they led in the palace that they dawdled away

their time in idle pleasure.

 

At last the king grew impatient, and declared that he would shut them

up, each in his own room, where they must stay for ten days composing

their songs; and he commanded that then they should appear before him,

and be judged and rewarded according to their skill.

 

So Count William and Count Reynaurd were escorted up the palace

stairway to their chamber doors, and each agreed, upon his knightly

honor, which was a very solemn vow indeed, that he would not set foot

beyond his threshold until the day appointed by the good king; and it

became the duty of Pierrot and Henri to bring food and wait upon their

noble masters.

 

But these two masters fared differently in their song-making. In

the apartments of Henri’s lord, things went far from smoothly; for,

although Count William was really a very accomplished troubadour,

yet when he found himself shut up and obliged to make a song, not a

word could he write. Indeed, poets declare that this is often the way

with them; most beautiful verses will suddenly pop into their heads,

sometimes in the middle of the night, so that they have to jump up in

the dark to get pencil and paper to write them down before they forget;

while, many times, if they have paper and pen ready, so contrary are

their wits that very likely they can not write a word! And so it was with the Count William.