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. [Illustration: ACROBATS Reproductions by the English archæologist Strutt, from various fourteenth-century manuscripts in England.] [Sidenote: Depraved Mountebanks]