Harpsichords in History

The distinctive sound produced by a harpsichord has always held a certain fascination for me. A solo instrument that somewhat resembles a piano, it predated the latter. The earliest representation of a harpsichord is from this sculpture (left), a 15th century altarpiece.

Using the elements of the organ and psaltery (respectively, a keyboard, and metal strings held taut with tuning pins), the harpsichord gradually developed over time, with an increase in the size of the soundboard and keyboard.

The earliest extant harpsichord was made in Italy. During the 17th century, Flemish harpsichord builders added a second manual, a useful innovation to accommodate transposition (playing in another key) to accommodate a singer’s vocal range.

French makers expanded the two-manual instrument, and later, the English developed an instrument with brilliant treble and a more resonant bass, which contrasted with the more delicate sound of the French instrument, more like a woodwind sound.

With the invention of the piano, harpsichords fell out of favor, but the instrument became popular again during the twentieth century, and was frequently used in concerts to lend authenticity to music composed for the harpsichord.

During the 1950s, harpsichord kits came into vogue. Through the years, I’ve always wanted to get a kit and build one, but the task of assembling the kit sounded daunting. I’m hoping some day to own a harpsichord. I have CDs of harpsichord music, and the sound evokes an image of an 18th-century parlor, complete with an elaborately-dressed girl seated at the keyboard—wonderful background music for a Renaissance historical, don’t you think?

Katharine Ashe on Knights and Rogues

History's Lures

I am an author of historical romance. My debut Regency-era romance, SWEPT AWAY BY A KISS, features a scandalous beauty who finds herself imprisoned aboard a pirate ship with a dashing lord in disguise to fulfill a dangerous mission.

But, like my hero in SWEPT AWAY BY A KISS, I have two identities. Several times a week I don cap and gown (figuratively speaking) as a professor of medieval history.

These identities rarely mingle. My colleagues at the university don’t know I write romance, and most of my writer friends don’t much care that I’m a professor. But in my heart and soul they are inextricable. Because, like you, I simply adore history.

Allow me, if you will, to show you why.

In one 13th-century tale, a peasant’s wife prepares for a visit from her lover, the local chaplain. But, oh no! Home comes her oafish husband from work in the middle of the day. He feels wretched, so she nurses him, eventually exclaiming that he must be dying. Settling him in bed, she hurries off to fetch the chaplain to give her poor husband his Last Rites. The chaplain arrives and blesses the peasant (but being a man of at least some scruples, he forebears saying the actual prayer for the dying). Soon enough wife and chaplain convince the gullible husband he’s dead, and begin going at it in the straw nearby. The peasant hears noises, opens his eyes, sees the chaplain enjoying his wife, and shouts to the chaplain, “If I weren’t dead, you certainly would catch hell.” The chaplain assures him that if he weren’t dead he wouldn’t be there cuckolding him, and the peasant relapses into contented idiocy.

Then of course there are other sorts of stories of misbegotten lust. True stories.

Take the tale of Peter Abelard, the greatest scholar of the twelfth century who fell into a tangle of lust and love with the brilliant young woman he tutored. Theirs was a torrid affair, furtive between books and lessons, all in secret because Abelard could not marry; it would have ruined his career. Nevertheless, when Heloise became pregnant, he wed her. Discovering it, her guardian feared Abelard meant to hide her away in a convent, and hired a pair of thugs to visit the scholar. In the dark of night, they castrated him. Abelard and Heloise fled to monasteries, but her love never died, her passion remaining undimmed over the years for the man she could no longer have.

Not all medieval lust and love was bawdy or tragic, though. One story tells of a king who swore to his wife that if she bore a girl-child he would see it slain. Alas, the queen gave birth to a girl. So she dressed her daughter in boy’s clothes and raised her as a prince. Then came the day her father betrothed her to a princess. As youth are wont to do, they fell in love. Moved by their attachment, Cupid intervened. Lo and behold, with a kiss the girl-prince became a man.

But I mustn’t leave out a huge part of history’s lure to me: the heroes.

One vastly popular story tells of the knight Owein’s greatest adventure. Realizing he’s spent his warrior’s life sinning left and right, the valiant Owein seeks the entrance to Purgatory on earth. Finding it, he plunges in, taking only courage and unwavering faith with him. None of the fiery, vicious torments of the torture chambers can touch him, though. Confident, he walks out a stronger, more valiant knight for the purifying trials he has endured.

Finally, one of my favorites, a true story from a Muslim memoire. We all know of the Templars as mighty warriors. They fought for medieval Christendom like Green Berets today fight for America. And just as Green Berets, many Templars were men of great compassion and understanding too. During the crusades in a city occupied by Christian forces, one day a Muslim warrior entered a former mosque—converted to a church—to say his prayers. A French knight who’d just arrived in the East, full of the conceit of a foreigner, grabbed up the Muslim to throw him out. Five Templars drew swords and came to the Muslim’s defense. They claimed the house of prayer must be for all.

Why do I love history? For its laughter, its passion, its stories of love and pure, unadulterated lust for life. For how it shows us bravery, courage and compassion are human traits, not confined to one era or one culture. For all its marvelous lures.

Why do you love history?                                                                                                               

Katharine Ashe lives in the wonderfully warm Southeast with her husband, son, two dogs, and a garden she likes to call romantic rather than unkempt. A professor of European history, she has made her home in California, Italy, France, and the northern US. Booklist named Ashe one of the “New Stars of Historical Romance” and RT Book Reviews awarded her debut, Swept Away By A Kiss, a “TOP PICK!”, calling it “a page-turner and a keeper.” Please visit her at http://www.katharineashe.com/ , where she has a free Regency ghost novel for those of you who like a touch of haunting with your history.

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Thanks to everyone who went to Night Owl Romance and left a comment. I don't know how other authors choose a winner. Last time I did this my daughter drew a name. She isn't here for this one, so I wrote down the names, then shuffled the little papers. COLLEEN, you came up the winner. When I clicked on your name I couldn't find an email so I hope you read this post.
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