I haven’t had anything by the König vom Odenwald out in a while, so being stuck at home sick gave me the opportunity to revisit the translation and finish it up for posting. This is a very interesting poem:
XIII Of Household Goods My songs and my poems Have all come to nought Before, I had in mind only Joy and lovemaking But householding has converted me And taught me truly That I must leave behind love I have entered another live That is certainly true: My beard grows and my hair is turning grey I am getting quite old But not (too old) for a householder Now I think of salt And I fret over lard (smalz). And pots and casks You will find few with me. Of buckets and pitchers I do not have enough. Vats and ladles I need not pay dues on (i.e. I have too few). Both bowls and spoons You will rarely hear clattering Around my hearth I feel this lack acutely. Spit and griddle I have long done without Stone(ware) pots (Havenstein) and poker I have none to show Kettlehook and firedogs Have left me. Pepper mill and stone mortar I have none anywhere. Bellows, trivet and iron grater, I have to beg for those. Vinegar crock and saltcellar - I need to recollect what that even is. Benches, chairs, seats, Harps (rotten, harpfen) and fiddles You hear little of from me. I do without these things. Of earthen pots and pitchers Washbowl and ewer Small pitchers, small pots (kruoselin) and glasses You see few in my house Because they have all fled it. Neither table nor trestle1 Do I have anywhere. From good towels and tablecloths, I am quite safe. If I could make blankets and bedsheets By myself I would make enough of them And put the ell Over linen cloth. But my shirt and breeches Are torn everywhere I am often shamed for that. Mattresses, pillows and beds, If I had many of them That would make a fine bedroom. Though I never gained any worldly good From any friend (female form: fründinne) I will be silent about this. But first I will tell you my sorrow And tell you another thing Of the great suffering That has entered my home: I tell you that the sheep Do not rob me of my sleep Neither goats nor cows Require my effort Ducks, chickens, or geese Don’t cause me trouble Neither piglets nor young pigs Squeal in my home. That is why under my roof You rarely see meat hanging. Chickpeas and peas, however much I struggled, I could not acquire For I had nothing to buy them with. Oats, spelt, groats, Would be very useful to me If I had them in my house. Nothing will remain in it. That I had figs, almonds, or rice That would be quite unknown to me. (Even) Chard and cabbage Have fled from my home. Parsley and leeks, The cuckoo has cried over (i.e. have grown prematurely) So now I have none. Thus it is with me: Root vegetables and onions I have no plenty of. And nobody can ask me For dried pears or for lentils. Fruit from the garden I can expect little I have already lost it The worms have eaten it. The good food of the Künig (i.e. that this poet usually writes about) Is quite unknown to me Though I would like to enjoy it I am ruled by poverty. It is also quite rare That my cat lies by the fire. Where my fire should be Lies my dog who is called Grin (‘barker’) My cat is called Zise (‘siskin’) My kitchen boy Wise (‘clever’) My horse is called Kern (‘breadgrain’) It does not like to fight. If I am called on to go to battle It does not like to go there at all. My kitchen maid is called Metze (referring to a woman of low status and moral standing) She always fusses with a rag And has a very old skin (i.e. is old). She would rather take care of porridge flour Than take care of beans Because she wants to spare her teeth. She has less than the chaff Two cats and two mice Could not live on it Unless they were very economical indeed. It is to my dishonour I must furrow my brow greatly When guests come to my home It is no good to me. Though I would like to feed them well If poverty let go of me. Fish, meat, bread, and wine, I must mourn all of them. I am always worn down by worry As soon as day begins in my house I feel great sorrow. It is the same in heaven: If you bring something with you, you fare better For there is neither this nor that (i.e. nothing) there. Whatever is suited for household goods, Flees from my house soon. You should also know certainly: It is smoky in my house As though two men were forging a pickaxe This can well displease me And I am sad about it. The clothes on the stand (gericke) Sadly are very thin My joy and all my pleasure Are in the hands of a beloved maiden What I mourned sorrowfully She can give me if she wants to So that I may live joyfully. She soon gives me possessions Soon gives me tender hope Of love and of desire Open and concealed. The more she gives this to me The more I think of her Because a joyful hope guides me That I may expect good (material) things (from her). With her looks, she can Liberate and unbind me. What good does it do me to always complain? I will tell you a different story now: Nothing but the powerful faith in my beloved nourishes me Without it, I would surely die. Oh Lord God, protect me And guard me in this sinful life Until I pass into another But love that makes a man die Is good for nothing. Here ends the tale of household goods Of which a rich man has enough. It truly ends here, May God send us better gear Than the poor man had in his life Who is described above So that we improve so much That we need not have complained Whether man nor woman nor child. Now fill the cups and let us drink! And let the lame stumble along (i.e. walk at all) And the blind see. To this end, may the poem help me. Amen.
First of all, this is a satirical inversion of the tropes of courtly love. Instead of dedicating himself selflessly to the pursuit of an idealised noblewoman, the author openly declares his material interest: He wants a rich female patron, a woman he can woo in the hope of generous gifts. It is hard to know how common this kind of arrangement was, but it certainly cannot have been unknown if it gets such literary treatment.
The topic of the poem, too, is interesting. Rhyming lists of household goods, usually describing an idealised urban home, are common in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century, but they are very much a product of cities, produced and consumed by burghers, not nobles. That this poem could be written in a courtly context in the fourteenth century suggests the genre was already familiar enough to subvert.
What the author describes here is, of course, a very genteel kind of poverty. He has a change of clothes and a rack to hang them, a house, servants, furniture, and even a horse. No peassant living in such circumstances would be accounted poor, but by the lights of the class the work is addressed at, this was abject destitution. Typically, the later household poems are aspirational, describing a comfortable level of material wealth that most people could never hope to achieve. The things that the author here laments missing are very much what they lovingly describe. This is an excerpt from a poem by Hans Folz of Nuremberg dating to about 1500 (quoted after Bach: The Kitchen, Food and Cooking in Reformation Germany, 2016):
“…Everyone must consider that to have a quiet marriage, he must have what is needful of household equipment. Chairs and benches for the living room, remember this well, tables, tablecloths, towels and handwashing pitcher, washbasin, sideboard, beer glasses, köpf (smooth and round) and kraüs (knobbed), to drink from, that is well found. Pitchers and bottles, a cooler, bowl stands, dishwashing brush and dishrag, candleholders, snuffer and extinguisher, spoons and saltcellar, an Engster glass and Kuttrolf bottle with a funnel for it. […]
When you then go into the kitchen, this kind of equipment is very fitting: Pots, pitchers, kettles and pans, trivet and spit you must also have, bellows and griddle are also common, a baking pan and oven pipe. […] a pitcher of vinegar, pure and clear, mortar, pestle, fire fork, chopping board and chopping knife. A skimmer, seething pan and poker to push together the embers, a broom must be in a corner, a panczer fleck (piece of mail) with which you scrub away the dirt. Stirring spoons and a saltcellar, serving bowls and plates large and small, chopping board and scraper must not be missing. Firestriker and sulfur quickly make a fire with some dry wood to go along.
[…]
As I go into the wine cellar, wine, beer, sauerkraut, apple puree, according to whether one is rich or poor, pay good heed and strive well that you do not lack these things. A basket of eggs must also be to hand,a basket for bread, one for cheese, a hanger for pots, root vegetables as one is accustomed, good electuaries, and you must also have in your care all manner of spices.
[…]
What else we find in the chest [in the master bedroom] of gingerbread, electuaries and confits and things that one enjoys eating, and silver tableware, unless I am wrong, stands alongside them freely.
[…]
In the pantry you must have bread, salt, cheese and lard above all, fish, meat, peas, lentils and beans, rice, millet, barley, too, oats for porridge and wheaten flour, lime, chives, garlic and onions, chickens, ducks, geese and pigeons, bacon and radish so that one may have the best when it is custom.”
I know of no similar piece from the fourteenth century, but this is clearly what the König is mocking here.
Der König vom Odenwald (literally king of the Odenwald, a mountain chain in southern Germany) is an otherwise unknown poet whose work is tentatively dated to the 1340s. His title may refer to a senior rank among musicians or entertainers, a Spielmannskönig, but that is speculative. Many of his poems are humorous and deal with aspects of everyday life which makes them valuable sources to us today.
The identity of this poet has been subject to much speculation. He is clearly associated with the episcopal court at Würzburg and likely specifically with Michael de Leone (c. 1300-1355), a lawyer and scholar. Most of his work is known only through the Hausbuch of the same Michael de Leone, a collection of verse and practical prose that also includes the first known instance of the Buoch von guoter Spise, a recipe collection. This and the evident relish with which he describes food have led scholars to consider him a professional cook and the author of the Buoch von Guoter Spise, but that is unlikely. Going by the content of his poetry, the author is clearly familiar with the lives of the lower nobility and even his image of poverty is genteel. This need not mean he belonged to this class, but he clearly moved in these circles to some degree. Michael de Leone, a secular cleric and canon on the Würzburg chapter, was of that class and may have been a patron of the poet. Reinhardt Olt whose edition I am basing my translation on assumes that the author was a fellow canon, Johann II von Erbach.