The St. Aliquis folk delight in music. It is very desirable for a cavalier to have a rich voice and know how to twang a harp. Aimery, soon to be Sire Aimery, can sing and play as well as many minstrels. Adela spent many hours at her viol and at a little portable organ before family cares took up her time. Five or six of the servitors hold their places mainly because they can play so excellently at those impromptu dances which Conon gives on every possible occasion.[33] You cannot linger long around the castle without hearing the lutes, the flutes, and the castanets, and in confining weather in winter the music keeps up almost the whole day long.
SMALL PORTABLE ORGAN OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY
From a manuscript in the Bibliothèque nationale.
However, variety is the spice of life. It is a red-letter day when a new jongleur or, better still, a troupe of jongleurs arrive. They will teach new music, new songs, new tricks to the regular denizens, and break up that desperate monotony which sometimes causes the barons to fret with a pent-up energy and to precipitate new wars merely to get relief. As for a great fête like the present, obviously a large corps of entertainers must be mobilized. The mere news through the region that messire proposed a marriage feast and a tourney has been enough to start many such itinerant gentry toward St. Aliquis. Sire Eustace was overwhelmed with offers of assistance and has had to chase away some of the would-be entertainers almost by force.
Varieties of Dances
Jongleurs are versatile people, and each of them has his specialty. Their name, "jongleur," like "charity," covers a multitude of sins. Some of them are merely expert players upon the viol, and supply music for dancers. The dances of noble folk are simple: often enough fair dames and cavaliers merely take hold of one another's hands and whirl themselves furiously in a circle, while the music goes faster and faster until the revelers cease and almost sink of exhaustion. Then there are variations when the cavaliers decorously drop from the ring and bow to their ladies; or the "dance of the chaplet," at the end of which each cavalier ceremoniously kisses his lady on the cheek—kissing between equals being quite proper if it is not on the lips. It takes rather more skill, as at present, when young Aimery dances an intricate galliard with the daughter of the Baron of Bovri. The two performers stand opposite to each other, advancing, bowing, and retiring, every step made to music; then at last the cavalier makes his bow to the lady, takes her by the hand, thanks her, and leads her to her seat. After that another noble couple dances the tourdion, a similar performance, but faster and with more violent action.
For all this competent musicians are indispensable. But a good jongleur is far more than a musician. He can dance himself, with intricate acrobatic figures impossible for the unprofessional; he can sing love songs, chant or recite romances; and, if he has companions, even present short farces and comedies. He is probably possessed also of series of tricks and sleight-of-hand accomplishments, which appeal more to the groundlings than do high-flown poetic recitals. If he can reach the summit of his profession he will be received at castles almost as the equal of the seigneur, and be able to retire rich, after having been showered with such gifts as palfreys, furs, jewels, mantles of red cloth, and, of course, with much money. Jongleurs recall with pride their fellow-minstrel Tallefer, who gallantly led the charge of the Normans at Hastings, trolling the Song of Roland as he tossed up his sword and caught it again in the very face of the English, and who fell in the battle only after making as much havoc among the foe as would a paladin.