old_) is always kept in view. In
the rarest cases it consists in an ideal satisfaction, except perhaps if
the lady is of a very high rank and birth. Generally, however, it is
real sensuality. The descent of morality can be gauged from the fact
that it was not unusual for a lady to permit her lover to pass a night
in her arms, upon the condition that he might not touch her impurely
without her express consent. Perhaps a bare sword was placed between the
two lovers as a guard of good behavior. Hartmann von der Aue defends the
practice in _Iwein_: "If any one declare it a wonder that Iwein lay so
near a strange maiden without indulging in love, he knows not that a
strong man can abstain from anything he chooses to abstain." In fact,
the custom of a common couch became well-nigh a national German
institution, as it was called "_Beilager upon truth and faith._" Among
German peasants of certain sections says Weinhold this Beilager
continues to this very day; but it is considered as a real betrothal.
There is a small literature in existence on the "nights of proof"
(_Probenachte_) of German maidens.

Yet in general the heads of families were not so accommodating regarding
the young female members of their household. We learn of a class of
"watchers" or spies (_Merker_) whose mission it was to watch over the
honor of the maidens. A whole crop of poetry, the so-called watch songs,
sprang up, dealing with the subject. The business of the clandestine
lover is to escape from the snares and the watchfulness of those spies.

The following example of a watch song, of a high literary and poetic
value, is typical:

"I heard before the dawn of day
The watchman loud proclaim:
'If any knightly lover stay
In secret with his dame,
Take heed, the sun will soon appear;
Then fly, ye knights, your ladies dear,
Fly ere the daylight dawn.

"'Brightly gleams the firmament,
In silvery splendor gay;
Rejoicing that the night is spent,
The lark salutes the day;
Then fly, ye lovers, and be gone!
Take leave before the night is done,
And jealous eyes appear.'

"That watchman's call did wound my heart,
And banish my delight;
Alas, the envious sun will part
Our loves, my lady bright
On me she looked with downcast eyes,
Despairing at my mournful cry,
'We tarry here too long.'