fyxndl Hmvmitj pbmg 
 
 Presented to the Department of Romance 
 Languages 
 
 * BY 
 
 T. F. CRANE 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027291065 
 
THE TROUBADOURS 
 
LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET 
 
1 , \ Cra- 
 1 I1i.o>vio^., 
 
 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 i;heir ^obtjs atib their l^grks ; 
 
 Wim REMARKS ON THEIR INFLUENCE, 
 SOCIAL AND LITERARY, 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN RUTHERFORD. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SMITH,. ELDER, & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE. 
 
 1873- 
 
 (All rights reserved.) 
 
3 3^4 
 
 A- c^ist 
 
 
TO 
 
 J^xtltxuk ^recnto0ob, (Esq. 
 
 I INSCRIBE THIS MY FIRST BOOK, 
 
 WITH A PLEASURE THAT WOULD BE GREATER WERE I AI 
 
 LIBERTY TO ACKNOWLEDGE MY OBLIGATIONS 
 
 AND TO EXPRESS MY FEELINGS. 
 
 JOHN RUTHERFORD. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGK 
 
 I. The Land of Sonxj. i 
 
 II. PR0VEN5AL Poetry 23 
 
 III. Courts of Love 86 
 
 IV. Troubadours' Love in Theory' . ■ . . . no 
 V. The Cavalier Serv^nte; or, Love in Practice 146 
 
 VI. Wandering Troubadours* 197 
 
 VII. Rambaud Vaquieras 241 
 
 VIIT. Raymond , Miravals 263 
 
 IX. Peter Vidal* 278 
 
 X. A Knightly Group 298 
 
 ^^Ij) Influence of the Troubadours . j . . .333 
 
 * These chapters are reprinted from the "Cornhill Magazine." 
 
PRINCIPAL AUTHORITIES, 
 
 Among the Italians. — The Earlier Poets and their Com, 
 mentators, Bastaro, Tiraboschi, Crescembini, &c. 
 
 Among the French. — Nostradamus, Raynouard, Fau'riel, St, 
 Palaye, Roquefort, Paulmy, Le Grand d'Aussy, Vich and 
 Vaissette, Ruffi, Papon, Villeneuve, &c. 
 
PREFACE, 
 
 In writing the following pages it has been my purpose 
 to give a picture of the Troubadours during the twelfth 
 century — the period when we find them -in their prime. 
 Previous to the century named they are enveloped in 
 mist ; subsequent thereto they hurry rapidly to extinc- 
 tion. To hunt them through the one, and to trace 
 them, step by step, through the stages of the other, are 
 tasks which I have not attempted. 
 
 It will be seen that I give no minute references. 
 For this omission I have my reasons. I think that 
 the more usual custom has been carried to excess. In 
 these days of great libraries and literary facilities, and 
 when it is so easy for every one to go to original sources 
 for what he needs, minute references are of little value 
 to an honest student. My plan, I may add, is not 
 new ; it is as old as the troubadours, having been 
 recommended by Gancelm Faudet, and for very good 
 reason, in the following line : — 
 
 " Folg es neis qi diz toz sos vers.'' 
 
 As to the troubadours themselves, most of their remains 
 have been given to the world, by the French of the last 
 
X PREFACE 
 
 and the present centuries. But the Italians, who were 
 the first to study Provengal literature, did much to 
 lighten the labours of their successors in this study, by 
 pointing out where every important manuscript relating 
 thereto was to be found ; by drawing up grammars and 
 preparing vocabularies of the Provengal language ; and 
 by accumulating illustrations without number of the 
 poetry from whence their own was so largely derived; 
 
 JOHN RUTHERFORD. 
 
THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 THE LAND OF SONG 
 
 In the twelfth century the Langue d'Oc extended from 
 the Po to the Ebro, and from the Mediterranean to the 
 basins of the Loire and of the higher Rhone. The 
 principal dialects spoken over this stretch of country — 
 that is, the Fiedmontese, the Provengal, the Gascon, and 
 the Catalan — were mutually intelligible. They were 
 used indifferently by the troubadours, and often in the 
 same song. There exists a canzon by Rambaud of 
 Vaqujeras in which all four are employed, together 
 with a fifth — the French of the same date. 
 
 Politically, the country of the troubadours was divided 
 into six principal portions. On the eastern extremity 
 was Savoy, lying on both sides of the Alps. Next 
 came Provence, situated east of the Rhone. Contigu- 
 ous thereto, and skirting the Mediterranean, was the 
 county of Toulouse. Then followed Aquitaine with 
 its dependencies, extending northwards to the Loire 
 and eastwards to the Bay af Biscay. And in Spain 
 there were the kingdoms of Navarre and Aragon ; the 
 latter including the ancient county of Barcelona, ruled 
 by branches of the same family. 
 
 In 1152 Aquitaine passed to the Plantagenets by 
 the marriage of its heiress, Eleanor, to Henry II. of 
 England. The Counts of Toulouse had so often mixed 
 blood with the royal race of Aragon that they might 
 
2 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 fairly be accounted a branch thereof. As for Provence, 
 its atmosphere seemed fatal to reigning houses from first 
 to last. After transference to various native families in 
 dower, and after partitions and reunions perplexing to 
 follow, but remarkably prolific of pretensions to its 
 sovereignty, it became a possession of the house of 
 Aragon in the beginning of the twelfth century, by 
 the union of the Provencal heiress with the Pyrenean 
 sovereign. He left the county to a younger son, whose 
 successor dying without heirs, Provence reverted again 
 to the crown. This was in 1 1 66, and for thirty years 
 thereafter kingdom and county were ruled by the same 
 monarch. Then, in 1196, there was a final partition, 
 Aragon going to the elder brother and Provence to the 
 younger. This new race of counts died out in the 
 second generation, and, in 1245, its possessions were 
 transferred, partly by force and partly by marriage, to 
 the house of Capet, which had already gained Toulouse 
 in much the same way. Savoy, the sixth great division 
 of the Langue d'Oc, was ruled as a fief of the German 
 Empire by a family possessing more vitality and dis- 
 playing more consistent ability than any that has ever 
 reigned in Europe. 
 
 The French provinces of the Langue d'Oc owed 
 fealty to the king who ruled in Paris. But all through 
 the twelfth century this fealty was never more than 
 nominal. The Spanish kingdoms were independent; 
 and through his relations with Toulouse and Provencer 
 the King of Aragon exercised hardly less political and 
 much more social influence over the Land of Song 
 than the powerful Plantagenets. Holding from one or 
 other of the princes named, but chiefly from those of! 
 Aquitaine, were the counts of Foix and Narbonne, and 
 the powerful barons of the French frontier as thd 
 
THE LAND OF SONG 3 
 
 Dauphins of Auvergne, the Princes of Orange, the 
 Counts of la March and Rodez, the Tallyrands, 
 Turennes, etc. 
 
 Circumstances combined to render the Langue d'Oc 
 exceptionally prosperous at the period of which we 
 write. Eastwards the policy of Gregory VII., closely 
 adhered to by a succession of able popes, concentrated 
 the attention of the German emperors on Italy. In the 
 North the formidable opposition of the Norman princes 
 furnished the kings in Paris with ample occupation. 
 And their endless apprehensions of, and as endless wars 
 with the Moors, kept the monarchs of the Peninsula 
 always fronting to the West and the South. Thus the 
 I.axigued'Oc was long exempt ijpm theterrible devasta- 
 tions that always followed mediaeval wars of invasion. 
 And thus, too, the considerable number of municipali- 
 ties which had survived the inroads of the barbarians 
 and the overthrow of the Roman Empire, were enabled 
 to recover some portion of their former prosperity. 
 Indeed, in the twelfth century the cities of the Langue 
 d'Oc appear to have been more flourishing than their 
 Italian rivals. Their size may be inferred from the fact 
 that the numbers slaughtered in Beziers, a city of by no 
 means the first class, by the crusaders of de Montfort, 
 have been estimated as high as sixty thousand — a 
 number surpassing the population of London at the 
 same period — and not lower than fifteen thousand: — a 
 number greater than that tenanting York, then the 
 second city in England. These cities carried on 
 extensive manufactures ; the saddles and cloth of 
 Carcasson, the leather of Toulouse, and the soap, felt, 
 jewellery, and paper made of rags of Marseilles, were 
 widely renowned. Their commerce was not less exten- 
 sive. Marseilles, the Mediterranean port of the Langue) 
 
4 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 d'Oc, maintained a navy of its own and representatives 
 in all the important marts of the day. There was 
 hardly a city in the Levant in which its merchants had 
 not their quarters. It held and garrisoned important 
 strategic points along its own coast. And it made 
 treaties on its own account with various governments., 
 Beaucire, with its neighbour Tarascon, on both sides of 
 the Rhone, was the principal scene of south-western 
 exchange. Some of the principal devices of modern 
 finance, as banking and bills of exchange, were known 
 and employed by the Provengals before the Italians'. 
 The like may be said of the customs which form the 
 basis of all maritime legislation, which were adopted 
 from the Provengals and Catalans by the Genoese, 
 Sicilians, Venetians, etc., and copied by the northern 
 mariners, under the various titles of codes of Oleron, 
 Wisbey, etc. Indeed, at this date the seamen of the 
 I>ahgue d'Oc had no rivals on the waters. The greatest 
 name in the naval annals of the Middle Ages is that of 
 the Catalan admiral, Roger d'Loria, who is, perhaps, the 
 only seaman of any age deserving to be ranked with 
 Nelson. 
 
 In point of government, the Proven9al cities were 
 more favoured than any others of the day. They! 
 elected their own magistrates, and were ruled according 
 to well ascertained customs and strictly defined laws. 
 The authority of the sovereign prince within theid 
 bounds was very limited. He could exercise therein 
 none of those arbitrary rights which under the names 
 of Tolte, purveyance, etc., were so grievously felt every- 
 where else. The dues owing to him were rigidly fixed^ 
 and moderate in the extreme; and his judges were 
 restrained to the decision of causes, in whichthe State 
 had an interest. Then the Provengal cities had the 
 
THE LAND OF SONG S 
 
 right of admitting country-dwellers to citizenship, of 
 defending them against aggressive barons, and of 
 avenging their wrongs, sword in hand. Nor was this 
 right of defence and vengeance allowed to rust unused. 
 One of the Viscounts of Beziers, having allowed some 
 of his knights to outrage a citizen of the town from 
 whence he derived his title, was slain at the very foot of 
 the altar by the victim and some of his fellows. And 
 the people of Avignon having captured, in an ambuscade, 
 an enemy of their city — that same Prince of Orange of 
 whom some anecdotes are told elsewhere — they actually , 
 flayed him alive. • 
 
 In consequence of the power of the cities, the middle 
 classes of the Langue d'Oc enjoyed unusual privileges. 
 A merchant was accorded the same social rank as one 
 of the smaller barons, and allowed to receive the honour 
 of knighthood. Farther north, this honour was strictly 
 confined to men of noble birth. A count of Champagne 
 was sharply reproved by his sovereign for conferring it 
 on a routier. And any northern routier known to have 
 gained the dignity by fraud or favour, was liable to 
 have his gilded spurs hacked from his heels by the 
 executioner, or, in lack of that unpleasant official, by 
 the meanest servant in the princely household. The 
 privilege of knighthood was greatly valued by the 
 plebeians of the Langue d'Oc, and was one of those to 
 which they clung most tenaciously when French domi- 
 nation was employed in reducing the South to the 
 same feudal level as the rest of France. In an agree- 
 ment formed between the Capetian Count of Toulouse 
 and his subjects, in 125 1, it is stipulated that "the 
 honourable citizens who had been accustomed to live 
 as knights were still to enjoy their privileges." And in 
 a protest against princely encroachment, drawn up and 
 
6 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 signed, in 1298, by .the people of Beaucire, it is stated 
 that it was the usage and custom, from time imme- 
 morial, for the burgesses to receive the belt and other 
 marks of knighthood from the hands of nobles and 
 barons, and from those of archbishops and bishops, 
 without asking leave of any prince." The same custom, 
 it may be added, was not peculiar to Beaucire, but 
 common all over the South. 
 
 The cities being .thus free and favoured, it follows 
 that the country could not have been the scene of such 
 tyranny on one side, or of such slavery on the other, 
 as were to be witnessed elsewhere. Old French lawyers 
 admit that Provence was exceptionally abundant in free 
 men — an admission meaning very much when it drops 
 from such staunch partisans of feudal institutions as 
 were the said writers. The farmers were, to a great 
 extent, free and independent ; and to this a certain 
 custom, widely practised among the nobles, tended 
 much. It was usual for a dying baron to divide his 
 lands equally among his sons ; and in this way a 
 moderate estate might come to be frittered away among 
 ten or a dozen different holders, in the course of a feWs 
 generations. Of this the biographers of the troubadours 
 supply repeated instances. Guy of Uzes, his two 
 brothers, and his cousin were equal sharers in the small 
 remnant of the ancestral estate ; Raymond of Miravals* 
 found his possessions limited to a fourth of the landsi 
 whose name he bore ; arid these subdivisions had so 
 greatly reduced the possessions of the house of Marveil,t 
 that their last owner, the father of the troubadour 
 Arnaud, was compelled, by sheer poverty, to sell them. 
 The sale and purchase of lands, which the vicissitudes 
 
 * There are a dozen Miravals in Southern France ; the one here 
 mentioned lies in the department of the Aude. 
 ■f In the Dordogne. 
 
THE LAND OF SONG 7 
 
 in the lives of the troubadours show to have been 
 common, is another proof of the extraordinary degree 
 of liberty, for the period, that prevailed in the Langue 
 d'Oc. One consequence of this subdivision of lands 
 was the swelling of the ranks of the troubadours with 
 recruits of high birth and spirit as high, things which 
 had great effect on the bold character of Provenga! 
 song. Another and even more important consequence 
 was — that the smaller landowners were all allied to the 
 best families in the country, and must, therefore, have 
 been proportionably sturdy and self-asserting. A third 
 consequence was — in part that is — the system of gallantry 
 which characterised the country. The greater houses 
 would shrink from the diminution of consequence at- 
 tending these subdivisions, and take measures to pre 
 serve their estates undivided in the hands of the eldest 
 born. Thus the younger sons would be condemned to 
 the state in which the younger sons of noble Italian 
 houses were to be found only the other day — the statej 
 of the cavalier servente. 
 
 Between the rivalry of the traders and the indepen- 
 dence of the farmers, the powers and pretensions of the 
 nobles of the Langue d'Oc could not but have been greatly 
 narrowed. The last possessed far fewer immunities, and 
 were, therefore, far less exclusive than elsewhere. And 
 as the power of the sovereign depends on the strength 
 of the body on which he relies for support — becoming 
 alike despotic wherever prevails either pure aristo- 
 cracy or pure democracy, and diminishing to nothing 
 wherever these antagonistic orders are equally balanced 
 — so the Counts of Provence, Toulouse, etc., were, 
 perhaps, the weakest, and, therefore, the mildest and 
 most conciliating of mediaeval rulers. They were un- 
 questionably the most beloved of their subjects, which 
 
8 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 is about the strongest proof of our assertion that could 
 be urged. 
 
 In consequence of the unusual liberty enjoyed by the 
 Langue d'Oc, it was the refuge of vast numbers of Jews 
 arid heretics. The former were accorded little less than 
 equality with their Christian fellow-subjects by the 
 princes of Aragon. They were allowed to possess lands, 
 and to hold civic and state offices. They were permitted 
 also to establish a college of their own at Montpellier, 
 for the study of medicine and of rabbinical learning. 
 When the Inquisition came in with the French crusaders, 
 these privileges were withdrawn ; but the university and 
 its study of medicine survived to be honoured, at a later 
 date, by the matriculation of Rabelais. The heretics were 
 exceedingly more numerous then the Jews. We do not 
 think that they ever formed a majority in the Langue 
 d'Oc ; but that they did form a powerful and an aggres- 
 sive minority — a sort of thing that invariably succeeds 
 in conquering the majority when left to itself — there can 
 be no .question. In its extreme phases, this heresy, like 
 every other enthusiasm, fostered immorality. But 
 systematic immorality is never the normal condition of 
 the labouring masses ; it is always confined to an idle 
 few. Among the masses of the Langue d'Oc, their 
 heretical enthusiasm had another, but still a usual effect 
 — developing an activity of body and mind exceedingly 
 favourable to industry and art. Thus the immigration 
 of Jew and heretic tended to augment the intelligence; 
 and the material prosperity of the Provengals. 
 
 The twelfth century was peculiarly the age of clerical 
 domination, and nowhere were the clergy more privi- 
 leged, tyraimic, or aggressive than in the Langue d'Oc. 
 Here the censures of the Church were inflicted with 
 additional seventy, the mob, for instance, being en- 
 
THE LAND OF SONG 9 
 
 couraged to apprise the excommunicated of his situa- 
 tion by hurling volleys of stone against his doors and 
 windows ; here penance was pushed to the extreme of 
 ascetic absurdity — processions of nudities, for example, 
 though not unknown elsewhere, being common in the 
 South ; here those singularities of anathema, the ex- 
 communication of rats, caterpillars, and other vermin 
 were of every day occurrence ; and here the higher 
 Churchmen were installed with the strangest ceremonies 
 and endowed with the most extraordinary privileges. 
 
 "When Monseigneur the Bishop of Cahors," writes 
 a local historian, " takes possession of his see, the 
 Viscount of Saissac, his principal vassal, ought to await 
 him at the gate of the town, with his head uncovered, 
 his right leg naked, and his right foot in a slipper. He 
 ought to take the bridle of monseigneur's mule and 
 lead him to the episcopal palace. While monseigneur 
 dines the viscount ought to wait upon him, his head 
 being still uncovered and his right leg naked ; and, 
 after dinner, the lord of Saissac is to t^ke the buffet, 
 which must be of vermeil, and, putting it on his mule, 
 go his way — both mule and buffet becoming his own, in 
 right of his service." In consequence of disputes con- 
 cerning the value of this buffet, it was fixed at three 
 thousand livres. This good bishop never said mass 
 without taking care to see that a sword and a pair of 
 gauntlets were placed beside the altar. This our 
 readers will imagine rather a daring custom ; but we 
 beg to assure them that it was mild in comparison with 
 customs observed elsewhere. For instance, the treasurer 
 of the Cathedral of Nevers, another Provencal ecclesi- 
 astic, claimed and asserted the right of mixing with the 
 choir booted and spurred, with his sword by his side and 
 his hawk on his wrist. It should be observed that in 
 
10 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 the good old times it was quite a common thing for 
 clergymen and laymen to carry hawks to church, and 
 that therein perches were fixed for the birds, the 
 bishop's having the place of honour on the side of the 
 dvangile, and the lay lord placing his on the less dignified 
 side of the ^pitre. 
 
 The Abbot of Figeac, another very high priest of the 
 Langue d'Oc, made his first entry into the town from 
 whence he took his title much as did the Bishop of 
 Cahors into the capital of his diocese, the lord of Mont- 
 brun, dressed as a harlequin, with the exception of one 
 naked leg, meeting him in the suburbs and leading his 
 mare to the abbey gate. And like ceremonies attended 
 the installation of numerous other southern pastors. 
 
 Of the extent to which the clergy of the Langue d'Oc 
 pushed their pretensions, the canons of Lyons furnijih 
 a fair sample. These clerks, all of noble birth, were 
 counts by right of their office, and refused to follow the 
 example of all other Catholics, by kneeling at the ele- 
 vation of the Host. They considered that a slight in- 
 clination of the head was a sufficient token of respect 
 from such lordly priests as themselves. 
 
 As might be expected, the possessors of such honours 
 and immunities were too often of despicable character. ; 
 Two of the highest rank — Raoul, Archbishop of Tours, 
 and Euseb^ Bishop of Angers — quarrelled and ex- 
 changed excommunications, having previously ex-' 
 changed foul epithets. Then Euseb6 concocted some 
 verses in very bad Latin, which he published far and 
 wide, and wherein he accused Raoul of committing 
 every possible crime, as well as a few which, we hope, 
 were and are utterly impossible. He wound up his 
 invective with about as filthy a comparison as ever dropt 
 from any pen — not excepting even that of one of the 
 
THE LAND OF SONG 1 1 
 
 irascible scholars of the Renaissance. The reporter of 
 the quarrel adds that Eusebe was quite a dove in temper ! 
 — meaning, doubtless, that he was rather above than 
 below the average of his order. And so perhaps he was, 
 if we are to accept the testimony of history concerning 
 the bishops south of the Loire. Probably no fairer 
 specimen of them could be selected than Godfrey, who 
 was Archbishop of Narbonne in the middle of the 
 eleventh century. It was he who presided in the Council 
 of Teluges, wherein the Truce of God was estg.blished 
 for the first time. The learned Benedictine authors of 
 the "Histoiredu Languedoc" state that the president 
 of this council was about the first to break its decrees ; 
 that during his whole episcopacy he was at feud with 
 the Count of Narbonne, and that in the pursuit of his 
 quarrel he never hesitated to resort to force, without 
 paying the smallest respect to times or seasons. In 1043 
 a' second council was held for the same purpose as the 
 former, this time at Narbonne, and here again Godfrey 
 presided. Making his appearance clad completely in 
 mail, he cast off his panoply, piece by piece, before the 
 assembly, declaring that he abandoned it for ever, and 
 pronouncing frightful curses against himself should he 
 ever resume it. " But faithless even to such promises," 
 write the Benedictines, " he girded on cuirass and sword 
 at the first provocation that he conceived to be given 
 him by the count." In 1054 Godfrey swore, for the 
 third time, to abandon arms and strictly observe the 
 Truce of God, and with just as little effect as before. 
 
 The monks and cur^s of the Langue d'Oc bore no 
 better character than their superiors. One of the 
 decrees of the Council of Aries (1261) informs us that it 
 was customary thereabouts for clergymen to decide a 
 dispute respecting a benefice by a free fight. The pro- 
 
12 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 ceedings of various local councils of this period show, 
 among numerous other curiosities of clerical life in 
 southern France, that every priest was expected to 
 entertain his brethren at the tavern on saying his first 
 mass ; that the habit of wearing weapons and using them 
 in brawls was common among clerks ; and that neither 
 the offenders nor their brethren of higher grade liked the 
 method of punishing such offences which had become 
 common with secular judges. A council held in 1 3 17 
 threatens to excommunicate all magistrates who shall 
 punish brawling priests by marching them on foot 
 through the streets and highways to their superiors, 
 with their weapons slung round their necks and a 
 trumpet sounding before them. Other common offences" 
 forbidden by Provengal councils were, on the part of 
 the inferior clergy, splitting masses into four or five 
 parts, and exacting the price of a whole mass for each 
 section, and, on the part of the more elevated clergy, 
 hearing mass iii bed or reading the breviary by proxy. 
 One of the consequences of all this irregularity is thus 
 described by Vich and Vaissette, quoting an early 
 chronicler : " So greatly were the priests decried that it 
 became customary with the laity to ejaculate, when 
 accused of something unusually mean or atrocious, ' Me 
 do such a thing ! Do you take me for a priest ! ' So 
 greatly, indeed, was' the clerical body hated that the 
 members thereof dared not show themselves in public 
 except under disguise, brushing their front hair over the 
 tonsure, etc., to escape observation." We have given 
 this much space to the clergy because, being moral 
 teachers and social models, their character will enable 
 us to form an idea of the character of their flocks. 
 
 Such devices as the Truce of God, whose origin we 
 have mentioned, are always suggested by necessity • 
 
THE LAND OF SONG 13 
 
 and nowhere were they more necessary than within the 
 limits of the Langue d'Oc, which included some of the 
 most turbulent districts of mediaeval Christendom. 
 Among its nobles war was a favourite, or, rather, the 
 favourite pastime. " No man is worth anything, " says 
 a high-born troubadour, Amanien des Escas, " who has 
 not exchanged blows with an enemy on the battle field." 
 Another chivalrous singer, Blacasset, dilates on foray, 
 siege, battle, and slaughter as a chief delight. The high- 
 hearted Savari de Mauleon thought warlike achievements 
 the surest recommendation to a female heart. The 
 strong-headed Bertrand von Born is still more emphatic 
 in his approval of war as the business of a gentlemanj; 
 Such men as these were, indeed, the exponents oif 
 popular opinion. Strife between the barons was ceasei- 
 less ; and regular warfare between the sovereign princes 
 almost as ceaseless. And the towns were fully as stormy\ 
 as the country, being generally engaged in struggles 
 with the neighbouring barons, or in factious contests 
 within their own walls, but most frequently the latter, 
 wherein they never failed to display the sanguinary 
 ferocity characteristic of their race in periods of excite- 1 
 ment. To these elements of discord was added another./ 
 Provence being a wealthy country, of whose manhood 
 manufactures and commerce absorbed a large proportion, 
 those who went to war therein on an extensive scale 
 were compelled to hire mercenaries. Thus the free 
 companies, who figured so conspicuously in Italian 
 history a hundred and fifty years later, were only too 
 well known between the Pyrenees and the Loire in the 
 twelfth century. It was not that they were then to be 
 seen there for the first time ; the wars of the Norman 
 dukes had introduced them to Poitou, Anjou, and 
 Aquitaine ages before. But never had their ravages 
 
i^ THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 been so grievously felt as during the wars waged bj 
 Henry II. of England and his rebellious sons, anc 
 especially after the close of this impious strife. Ther 
 vast numbers of these soldiers of fortune, instead of dis- 
 banding and returning home, kept together and fixed 
 ithemselves at will in the county of Toulouse, and among 
 ithe mountainous provinces stretching away through 
 central France towards the Loire. Here, as may be 
 fathered from a poem by Raymond of Miravals, they 
 rendered themselves particularlyobnoxious to the clergy, 
 whose lands they stripped and whose houses they 
 stormed and sacked by preference. Next to the clergy, 
 the city men were their principal victims. Some of their 
 doings are described by the Abbot of St. Genevieve, a 
 traveller of the day. He states that he was in continual 
 peril from their marauding parties ; that he saw nothing 
 along his route but ruined houses, towns destroyed by 
 fire, and slaughtered bodies ; that, in short, " the image 
 of death was never out of his sight." The mischief, as 
 usual, suggested the remedy. One Durand, a carpenter 
 of Auvergne, pretending a mission from heaven, estab- 
 lished an association among the people for the extermi- 
 nation of the brigands. The members called themselves 
 the Pacificators, and distinguished themselves by wear- 
 ing a white cap, and an image of the Virgin attached to 
 the breast. From the former they were termed White, 
 Hoods, or Capuciatse, by one or other of which names 
 they are best known to history. They bound them- 
 selves by oath to maintain peace, to hasten at the first 
 summons to oppose the enemies of peace, and to en- 
 counter them like men. In all other respects they con- 
 tinued to discharge their duties as useful members of 
 society. This association was formed in 1182, and met 
 with the greatest success. Nor was it managed unwisely,; 
 
THE LAND OF SONG, 15 
 
 The White Hoods purchased arms and were thoroughly 
 well drilled as soldiers before they took the field. This 
 they did in July, 1183, in countless masses. Near Chat- 
 eaudun they enveloped a body of freebooters, and slew 
 or captured every one. The priests, who had accom- 
 panied and to some extent directed the victors, claimed 
 and received the prisoners, among them being 1,500 
 women. It is asserted that the ecclesiastics tortured the 
 wretched freebooters and their paramours in the first 
 instance, and then burnt them before slow fires, without 
 sparing an individual of either sex ! It was urged in 
 excuse of this atrocious massacre, that the brigands had 
 burnt churches and monasteries, as well as other buildings, 
 and treated such priests, monks, and nuns as happened 
 to fall into their hands much more severely than their 
 other prisoners. The historian adds that previous to 
 this victory the clergy seldom ventured to notice the out- 
 rages of the licentious soldiery, and shrank from punish- 
 ing them with ecclesiastical penalties. The White Hoods 
 did not confine their efforts to the destruction of the 
 public enemy. The heretics managed to acquire the 
 supremacy in their councils, and the whole body — or a 
 large proportion thereof — proceeded to realize about 
 the most levelling ideas ever propounded. They de- 
 clared open war, not only with inequalities of rank, but 
 also with every inequality of architecture and of dress. 
 Churches, castles, and other buildings that presumed to 
 rise above the humble level of the cottage were doomed 
 to be razed ; and hats and head-dresses, robes, boot- 
 toes, sleeves, etc., of greater magnitude than those in use 
 among the labouring classes, were ordered to be duly 
 shorn of their superfluity. These sentences, too, were 
 strictly carried out, and something more — until the 
 princes of the Langue d'Oc joined their forces, and broke 
 
1 6 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 up the dangerous brotherhood, after a sanguinary con- 
 test. The free companies and their exterminators were 
 strikingly characteristic of the country and the era. 
 
 The morals of Christendom between the tenth century 
 and the twelfth, though somewhat less depraved than 
 during the darker ages, were still exceedingly relaxed — 
 to a degree, indeed, hardly now conceivable. Pope 
 Gregory VII., speaking of France, in a letter dated 
 September loth, 1074, says that " Law is forgotten and 
 justice trampled under foot. There is no kind of 
 infamy or cruelty, no act however vile or intolerable, 
 that is not perpetrated with impunity." Then he 
 denounces the private wars and the calamities springing 
 therefrom, that devastate the country. He complains 
 that crimes are committed for sheer pastime ; he gives 
 it as his deliberate opinion that the laws of God and 
 man are equally despised, and he closes by denouncing the 
 existing generation as composed of men "sacrilegious, 
 incestuous, and perjured, who are ready to betray one 
 another for the smallest trifle." Gregory's complaints 
 are repeated, with small variation, by numerous com- 
 petent authorities in succeeding ages. Nor would it be 
 difficult to show that these writers were only too abun- 
 dantly justified by events. The best proof of the 
 general demoralization of those ages consists in the 
 matter-of-course and open way in which' certain vices, 
 were indulged. Then and long afterwards the epithet 
 "bastard" was applied and accepted as a distinctive 
 appellation, which conveyed no sort of reproach or dis- 
 honour. It meets one at every turn in mediaeval history 
 as designating some of the most distinguished men of 
 their respective epochs. Even the greatest of English 
 monarchs since Alfred, William the Conqueror, did not 
 hesitate to sign himself thus. Another most striking 
 
THE LAND OF SONG ^ 17 
 
 illustration of the state of manners and morals in the 
 time of the troubadours is contained in the awful 
 confession which the satellit-es of the Pope placed in the 
 mouth of the wife of the JEmperor Henry IV. True or 
 false, it is equally valuable for our purpose, since the 
 able men who dictated it would be careful to place 
 nothing therein which was not. at least, probable. Quite 
 as characteristic of the middle ages was a shameless 
 remedy, commonly prescribed by the physicians of the 
 good old times, and seldom rejected by the patients. 
 Indeed we can call to mind but three instances of such 
 rejection. A French king, a follower of the ruthless 
 Charles of Anjou, and an Italian scholar of high promise 
 refused, in turn, and at long intervals, to purchase life at 
 the cost of a mortal sin.* Perhaps the most extraordi- 
 nary illustration of mediaeval manners was a certain 
 scandalous body which was attached to the French 
 Court, and which accompanied it whithersoever it went. 
 Each member of this body we find qualified by Labbe 
 (I. 209) as " meritricem regiam." Similar bodies were 
 attached to other Courts, or provision was made in lieu 
 thereof, somewhat like that expressed in an old English 
 cOpyhold tenure, wherein it is specified that William 
 Hoppeshor, of Roehampton, held certain lands on con- 
 dition that "custodiet sex demisellas, silicet -meritrices 
 in usum domini regis." The Langue d'Oc was immoral 
 like the rest of Europe, but it was not brutally so. 
 Thanks, in a great measure, to the troubadours, its vice 
 was refined. It has been said that vice is never so 
 dangerous as when it takes the form of elegance, and a 
 greater mistake could not be put into language. The 
 progress of society is just this. In its primitive state, 
 
 * The elder Disraeli and Roscoe mention two of those examples. 
 The third will be found in Fazello : " Storia de Sioilia." D^g. X., 
 Lib. ix., cap. ii. 
 
 C 
 
i8 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 as the writings of all travellers inform us, depravity is 
 the rule — depravity open, shameless, and brutal. As 
 refinement progresses, vice loses, one by one, its primi-. 
 tive characteristics. First it ceases to be brutal, then it 
 parts with its shamelessness, and finally it shrinks from 
 sight. In the last stage it ceases to be distinctive of 
 the age. Thus social elegance is unvariably the precur- 
 sor of social purity. And in this way Provence, with 
 its refined forms of vice, prepared the way for refine- 
 ment without the vice. 
 
 One pecuharity of the age of the troubadours must 
 not be forgotten. It was a time when scepticism in 
 matters of faith was widely prevalent. The singular 
 doctrine that a thing might be true theologically and 
 false philosophically was then taught in public, and 
 many able men who were devout believers in revelation 
 as theologians were earnest atheists and unmitigated; 
 scoffers at received dogmas in their character of philo- 
 sophers. It was unfortunate for their era. For though! 
 the teacher of scepticism is hardly ever a vicious man, 
 since the strength of mind which enables him to despise 
 current opinion enables him also, for the most part, to 
 rise superior to sensual indulgence, the contrary is true 
 of his disciples. The master adopts certain opinions 
 because he thinks them true ; the pupils accept them 
 because they find them agreeable. Those ages of vice, 
 being crowded with people whose faith was more than 
 doubtful, were certainly rendered none the less vicious 
 thereby, since nearly all the so-called freethinkers 
 were so at second-hand and under the conviction of 
 appetite rather than of argument. 
 
 In many respects, the civilization of the Provencals 
 was far in advance of their contemporaries of Western 
 Europe, Among them originated that singular religious 
 
THE LAND OF SONG 19 
 
 fraternity called the Bridge-builders, a body which 
 jdid so much, by its labours and its example, towards! 
 improving the highways of the middle ages. Amon^ 
 them too the Freemasons found ample occupation. They 
 were bountiful to the full extent of their means. Theiij 
 towns contained foundling hospitals well supported and 
 as well regulated, that of Marseilles being turned into 
 an admirable nursery for seamen. They had bedlams, 
 hospitals, and asylums in abundance for all charitable 
 purposes. They had especially a society conducted by 
 self-denying and devoted people of both sexes, for the 
 release of such Christians as were captives among the 
 Turks. 
 
 The higher classes of the Langue d'Oc feasted 
 luxuriously and dressed splendidly ; and all above the 
 lowest rank prided themselves upon their superior 
 polish. They studied banquet-giving, dressing, and 
 deportment as arts, and, as will be seen in a future 
 chapter, drew up rules of etiquette not very unlike those 
 current among ourselves. 
 
 The Provencals were especially renowned as lovers of 
 poetry. Their poets were not to be counted. Besides 
 the multitudes of professional and amateur troubadours, 
 who were always in motion, every town, every convent, 
 every hamlet, even every petty castle, had its laureate. 
 The family poets, as we may term these last, found 
 ample occupation. They had to write metrical histories 
 of the families to which they were attached. They were 
 required to be always ready to satirise the adversaries 
 of their master, and to uphold in song the superior 
 beauty and accomplishments of the ladies of his house- 
 hold. They arranged entertainments, acted as masters 
 of the ceremonies, and decided all disputed points of 
 taste and politesse, like so many oracles. They were 
 
20 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 expected to greet every wedding with an epithalamium 
 and to lament every death with an appropriate elegy. 
 They had to make ballads on every local event of note, 
 whether ludicrous or serious ; and it was a portion of 
 their duty to aid the chaplain, the equerry, the master- 
 at-arms, and the huntsman in educating the baronial 
 youth, they being considered to possess at least as much 
 knowledge of books, horses, weapons, dogs, and hawks 
 as all their rivals put together. Further, they were ex- 
 pected to be competent instructors of those desirous of 
 evoking harmony from all sorts of instruments, the big 
 drum and the bagpipe included, and to possess the still 
 rarer faculty of transferring their own poetic skill to any 
 brain, however uncongenial. Finally, they were to be 
 endowed with perfect patience and good temper, since, 
 in the absence of the fool, the poet was the invariable 
 subject whereupon the practical jokers, with which every 
 Provencal castle was well stocked, preferred to exercise 
 their laughter-raising abilities. 
 
 We cannot more suitably close our remarks on the 
 Land of Song than by borrowing a passage from a his- 
 torian thoroughly acquainted with the country and the 
 period of the troubadours, Augustus Thierry. " The 
 epoch when the King of England, becoming Duke of 
 Aquitaine, obtained influence in the affairs of the south ' 
 of Gaul was, for its inhabitants, the commencement of a 
 new era of decline and misfortunes. Being thencefor- 
 ward placed between two rival powers equally ambitious, 
 they attached themselves sometimes to one, sometimes 
 to the other, as circumstances directed ; and were by each 
 alternately supported, deserted, betrayed, and sold. 
 From the twelfth century, the men of the south were 
 never so well satisfied as when the kings of France and 
 England vfrere quarrelling. ' When,' said they, in theif 
 
THE LA ND OF SONG 21 
 
 national songs, ' will the truce be at an end between 
 the Sterlings and the Tournois ? ' Their eyes were in- 
 cessantly turned towards the north : ' What,' they asked ' 
 of each other, ' are the two kings about ? ' They hated 
 the foreigners ; yet a turbulent agitation and an inordinate 
 love of novelty and movement, constantly impelled them 
 to court their alliance. Meanwhile they were disturbed 
 internally by domestic quarrels, and by petty rivalries 
 between man and man, town and town, or between one , 
 •province and another. They were passionately fond of) 
 war, not from any sordid love of gain, nor yet from a 
 noble impulse of patriotism, but because combats were 
 romantic and poetical, for the sake of the turmoil and 
 the apparatus, and the passions of a field of battle; they 
 loved to see arms gleaming in the sun, and to hear horses 
 neighing in the wind. One word from a fair lady made 
 them fly to the crusade under the banner of the Popel 
 for whom they cared little, and risk their lives againstl 
 the Saracens, the people of all others with whom they' 
 had the greatest sympathy in point of sentiment, and to 
 whom they bore the strongest moral resemblance. To 
 this levity of character they united the graces of ima- 
 gination and genius, a taste for the arts, and for all 
 refined enjoyments ; they moreover possessed industry 
 and wealth. Nature had bestowed on them every gift 
 with the exception of political prudence, and that spirit 
 of union so desirable in peoples springing from the same 
 race and tenanting the same country. Their enemies 
 combined to injure them ; but they themselves never 
 understood 'the principle of Idvc as compatriots, or the 
 system of mutual defence and of making a common cause. 
 They paid a severe penalty for this dereliction of right 
 feeling, by the loss of their independence, of their riches, 
 and of those cultivated talents which they once inherited. 
 
2» THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Their language — the second Roman language — nearly 
 as polished as the Latin, from whence it was immediately 
 derived, has given place, in their own mouths, to a 
 foreign idioin whose accentuation is repugnant to them ; 
 while their natural and ve;iacular idiom, which was that 
 of their ancient liberty and glory, the language of the 
 genuine poetry of the middle ages, has become the 
 patois of the day-labourers and the maid-servants. Un- 
 availing is all regret at ■ this day expressed for these 
 irrevocable changes : they are the ruins which Time has • 
 made, but which he will never repair." 
 
PROVENgAL POETRY 
 
 Provencal Poetry was chiefly lyric ; and its forms 
 assumed, in most cases, a regularity absolutely servile. 
 This is particularly to be observed in the longer com- 
 positions. In the Canzon — a name applied to poetry of 
 the most opposite kinds, since it included the moral as 
 well as the amorous — ^the rhymes and pauses adopted in 
 the first stanza had to be observed right through to the 
 end, that, is through six, twelve, or eighteen stanzas. 
 The canzon always closed with a few lines in which the 
 poet apostrophised his composition, and commissioned it 
 to explain his sentiments to his mistress, his friends, or 
 the world at large. This peculiarity was termed the 
 Commiato, and, with many of the rules laid down for the T 13 
 structure of the piece to which it belonged, it was 
 adopted by the Italians. In the S erven t e, which in- S i;t 
 eluded the satirical effusions of the troubadour, more 
 freedom was permitted ; but therein the poet generally 
 elected to hamper himself as in the canzon. Any length 
 of line, from three to thirteen syllables, might be used. 
 The stanza varied, too, iri the number of lines ; though 
 the sestine, or that in which the lines were six — said to 
 have been the invention of Arnaud Daniel — became 
 ultimately the favourite. As to the rhyme, any form 
 might be adopted : sometimes the alternate lines 
 rhymed ; sometimes the first line rhymed with the fourth, 
 
24 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 and the second with the third ; and sometimes the first line 
 rhymed with the fourth, the second with the fifth, and 
 the third with the sixth ; and. not unfrequently the hnes 
 rhymed at the commencement, or in the middle, pre- 
 cisely as at the end. 
 
 Hardly one of the shorter kinds of poetry for which 
 we have names was unpractised by the Provengals., 
 With them originated the sonnet. In its earliest form it 
 was a short poem of uncertain length, and derived its 
 title from the fact that it was sung to the sound of an 
 instrument. The very name still in use was employed 
 by the troubadours. Elias Carel writes : — 
 
 Pos cai la fuella del garrir 
 Farai me gai sonet, 
 
 When there are leaves in the garden, 
 Will I make me a joyous sonnet. 
 
 And Peyre d'Auvergne uses the same word : — 
 
 Ab joi quern dimora, 
 Vueill un sonet faire. 
 
 When I dwell with joy, 
 I desirfe to make a sonnet. 
 
 Nostradamus gives an example — corrupted, of course, 
 like most of his citations — of a sonnet of fourteen lines, 
 in which the order of rhyme is exactly that adopted by 
 Petrarch, and which was certainly composed not later 
 than 1320. It is, therefore, probable that the Provengals 
 not only invented the sonnet, but fixed it in its present 
 form. 
 
 The Ballad js also a Provengal invention^ and was so 
 called because it was sung during the dance. More 
 curious was the Frottola, a composition in which the 
 Italians were accustomed to string together proverbs 
 and familiar sayings, without any connection save that 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 25 
 
 formed by rhyme and metre. Petrarch gives a speci- 
 men of frottole in his twenty-second canzon : and the 
 barber Burchiello — following an example set by Sachetti, 
 the novelist — carried this kind of composition to its 
 extreme in his exquisitely nonsensical verses. The 
 Proven5als did not go quite so far as their imitators. In 
 their frottole they made some attempt at sense and 
 sequence of idea, as, for instance, Amanieu des Escas, 
 from one of whose pieces we extract the following sen- 
 tences : " I must speak my affection, or you cannot know 
 it : The sleeper is unaware of being kissed. You may 
 know that I love, but not how excessively I have realised 
 the proverb ' he that would warm himself will burn : ' 
 You will find many lovers richer and handsomer than 
 myself, but don't forget the proverb ' all is not gold that 
 glistens.' You see me dying without stirring to save 
 my life ; thus you verify the old saying ' good service is 
 always badly paid.' When I am in my grave you will 
 regret your cruelty; 'after death comes repentance.'" 
 Probably the frottola was invented by the improvis- 
 atores, of whom there were many among the trouba- 
 dours. 
 
 The manufacture of macaronic verses, if not exactly 
 practised by the singers of the Langue d'Oc, was, at 
 least, suggested by them. Rambaud of Vaquieras com- 
 posed a canzon, using the Proven5al dialect in the first 
 stanza, the Tuscan in the second, the French in the 
 third, the Gasgon in the fourth, the Catalan in the fifth, 
 and all five in the sixth, wherein he gave a line to each. 
 His example was followed by a multitude of Italians, 
 and by Dante among the rest. The latter has left a 
 canzon in which the lines are alternately Latin, Proven- 
 gal, and Tuscan, each in turn receiving precedence as 
 the song goes on. Out of this mixture of languages the 
 
26 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 successors of Dante contrived the kind of verse that is 
 now known as macaronic. 
 
 The method of trifling in verse termed the acrostic 
 was not unknown to the troubadours. Nostradamus 
 has preserved one by Ricard of Barbesieux, of which 
 the final letters compose the name of the author's mis- 
 tress, Anna. This acrostic is too characteristic of the 
 high flown style and exaggerated sentiment of Proven5al 
 lovers to be omitted. The reader must affix an A to 
 the first and fourth lines ; otherwise the paraphrase is 
 literal. 
 
 The day that on my heart was imprinted your name 
 
 Was the day of my destruction, 
 
 Of my ruin and perdition, 
 
 Of my subjection to slavery, sorrow, and shame ! 
 
 The Provencals had a better excuse for wasting their 
 time in the composition of such absurdities than most: 
 of those who have imitated them since. One of the first 
 laws of gallantry was thus laid down by Bernard of 
 Veuladour : — 
 
 Should ever lying, prying spy 
 
 Me tempt to name my fair, 
 A lover of discretion, I 
 
 Know how to shun the snare. 
 
 My secret I may yield to those 
 
 Who can assist my suit ; 
 When others press me to disclose 
 
 Thereon I must be mute. 
 
 Of what my dame deserves from me. 
 
 This shall I constant hold. 
 From her must nothing hidden be ; 
 
 Of her be nothing told. 
 
 Being thus bound to secresy, with respect to the world 
 at large, and yet naturally anxioufe that there should be 
 no mistake concerning the identity of the subject of his, 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 27 
 
 verses, it is clear that the troubadour was obliged to 
 resort occasionally to some such device as the acrostic. 
 The Italians, who were seldom pressed by the same 
 necessity, adopted the device. But even among them 
 the trifling was not altogether in vain. As Redi 
 remarks, there are manuscripts in existence concerning 
 whose authors we should have known nothing, had they 
 not been careful to preserve their names in acrostics 
 placed at the end of their writings. 
 
 Other contrivances were used by the Provengals for 
 the same purpose as the acrostic. As ingenious as any 
 was that attributed to Guillem Adhemar. He was the 
 inventor of a Game of Whisper, whereby lovers could 
 communicate their feelings without exciting the suspicion 
 of the bystanders. There were some of the troubadours 
 who hit on the plan of wrapping a declaration of love in 
 an enigma. Thus did Cadenet : — 
 
 Three letters of the ABC, 
 If thou wilt learn, enough will be ; 
 These letters are A M T, l 
 
 And mean — all I can say to thee. 
 
 That is "Amo, Marguerita, Te " — Marguerite, I love thee. 
 The story of the Cadenet is too illustrative of the age 
 and country to be omitted. He was the son of the Lord 
 of Cadenet, on the banks of the Durance. While he 
 was yet a child, his father took part with the Count of 
 Forcalquier, then at war with the Counts of Provence 
 and Toulouse. The two counts conquered ; and of the 
 vanquished party, the Lord of Cadenet was one of those 
 who suffered most severely. His castle was stormed, 
 sacked, and burnt, and himself and the garrison 
 slaughtered. His son was rescued from the terrible 
 scene by a pitying knight, Guillem de Lauter, who 
 brought him up as his own. The youth developed great 
 
28 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 ability and personal beauty as he grew to manhood. 
 " He was good, handsome, and courteous," writes the 
 Provencal biographer, " and applied himself to compose 
 cobboles and serventes. Then, abandoning his pror 
 tector, he went from Court to Court as a troubadoui; 
 and, in order to avoid recognition, he adopted the name . 
 Baguas or boy. For a long time he wandered through 
 many disasters ; returning at length to Provence, and 
 being no more remembered of any, he resumed the 
 name of Cadenet, and began to make excellent songs;- , 
 Raymond des Lignieres of Nice, who was the first to 
 recognize his merits, equipped him well, and procured 
 him much honour." So far, the story of Cadenet affords 
 ample scope for fancy. We would like to know why he 
 quitted his protector, and wherefore he changed his 
 name — nor would we have taken it amiss had some of 
 the mediaeval gossips made us acquainted with a few 
 particulars of the "disasters" in which his poetical 
 noviiiate was spent. Nostradamus, who dismisses the 
 youth of Cadenet in a line, discourses of his after-life 
 as follows : — " He loved Marguerite de Ries, for whom; 
 he composed many fine songs. But she made no account 
 of him or of his songs, nor esteemed them a bit, as one 
 who had no inclination to be loved by a learned man. 
 Then he quitted her and went to the Marchioness of 
 Montferrat, with whom he remained a considerable" 
 space. But singing still of his Marguerite and of the 
 love for her that ever possessed him was the cause that 
 compelled him, at length, to part from the Marchioness, 
 but not until he had received from the latter many gift| 
 including arms and horses, clothing and money, and even 
 servants. Returning to Provence, he determined to 
 make every effort to soften the obdurate heart of 
 Marglierite. Here he was patronised by Blancasset and 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 29 
 
 by Raymond, Lord of Agoult and Sault. And here 
 after much poetizing, he fell in love with Blancassetta, 
 the sister of Blancasset — a lady who was no less beauti- 
 ful than virtuous. In praise and honour of her, he com- 
 posed divers tolerable canzons. But some evil tongues, 
 envious of his credit and advantages, spoke against 
 him and against the honour of the lady. And this was 
 the reason why he wrote a little book against the Gale- 
 adours, or tnaligners, who speak and detract falsely and 
 grossly against the honour of people of worth. This 
 tract contained songs, with the music, dedicated to the 
 said Blancassetta ; and in the conclusion or commiato, he 
 thanked the scandalmongers for the honour they had 
 done him, in belying him with their false chatter, since 
 with their lies they had greatly aided to extend his 
 fame and push his fortunes. With all this, he found it 
 necessary to withdraw his affections from the lady. And 
 at Aix he fell in love with a nun, not yet professed, called 
 Agnes of Marseilles, who belonged to a noble Provn9cal 
 family. But seeing himself deceived and despised by 
 her, he departed, and entered among the Templars of 
 St. Giles, with whom he remained a long time.. And in 
 the passage that they made beyond the sea, went he 
 with the others, being as much esteemed and praised 
 for deeds of arms as for poetry. There he sang highly 
 in praise of the Virgin Mary, and made a fine confession 
 of faith.* There too he ended his life, with many other 
 cavaliers, in a battle that was fought with the Saracens 
 in 1280." Here we must drop the story of Cadenet for 
 a moment, to remark that the date just given is no more 
 to be trusted than any of the dates of Nostradamus. 
 With a century removed, it would be much nearer the 
 truth. The battle of Tiberias, in which the Templars 
 * In rhyme be it understood. 
 
30 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 fought so valiantly and suffered so severely, was lost by 
 the Christians, July, 1186. Of Nostradamus himself it 
 is but right to state that he writes always in good faith. 
 We find him, so far as we have tested him, following his 
 authorities scrupulously, neither exaggerating nor sup. 
 pressing, nor studying effect in any way. Indeed, the 
 conclusion of his story of Cadenet proves his thorough 
 honesty as a biographer. Thus he continues : — " The 
 monk of the Golden Isle says that the poet was named 
 Elias, and did not die in battle ; but that when he came 
 back from the wars, he married the nun, and had a son 
 named Robert. Uc of San Caesar is of another opinion, 
 affirming that the Elias and Robert mentioned by him 
 of the Golden Isle, lived in the time of Giovanna I., Queen 
 of Naples and Countess of Provence, who rewarded them 
 for services done to the crowij^^vith the fiefs of Cadenet 
 and other places. He add-s^' that the poet of whom we 
 speak flourished in the time of Raymond Berenger, last 
 of that name, and of Cfiarles of Anjou." Besides the 
 variations of this story noticed by Nostradamus, there 
 is still another, which states that Cadenet died in an 
 hospital. In truth, implicit trust is to be placed on none 
 of the stories told of the troubadours. There are few of 
 them which are not as varying and contradictory as that 
 of Cadenet. The reason is that these stories being as 
 much a portion of the entertainment of the troubadour, 
 and as popular as the best of his songs, he found his 
 advantage in giving them an attractive form. It may 
 be presumed then that he was not always as scrupu- 
 lously faithful to his authorities as Nostradamus, that 
 in fact he was very liable to amplify and to suppress,- 
 and that he did not scruple at times to join the more 
 striking adventures of several troubadours in one story. 
 There were no general consultations among the rhap- 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 31 
 
 sodists as to the version to be adopted in any one 
 instance. Each troubadour, therefore, stored his repertory- 
 according to the best of his judgment ; and thus there 
 came to be so many variations in each tradition. But 
 whether they be true or false, or a mixture of truth and 
 falsehood, these stories are equally valuable. No story- 
 teller would attribute other than probable adventures to 
 his hero. His narrative, as a whole, might not be de- 
 scriptive of the adventures of any one personage, but 
 each of its parts was pretty sure to be founded on a 
 real event. Thus whatever we may think of the stories 
 told of the troubadours as biographies, we may rely 
 upon them as presenting us with fair pictures of life and 
 manner. 
 
 As we cannot always believe the biographies of the 
 Provengal poets, so we cannot be quite certain that ariy 
 of them was the author of the better pieces attributed to 
 him. Where there were several of the same name, as in 
 the case of the three Vidals, the two Von Borns, and 
 others, the most celebrated member of the group was 
 credited with the better productions of his namesakes. 
 One troubadour, also, was in the habit of singing the 
 songs of another, and not unseldom of claiming them as 
 his own ; nor was it an easy thing to decide between 
 the false claim and the true one. To prevent such 
 plagiarism the wiser poets adopted the plan once resorted 
 to by Virgil, of suppressing a portion of every piece that 
 they composed until there was no longer any danger of 
 seeing it appropriated. To this plan, and the mischief it 
 was intended to counteract, Gaucelin Faudit alludes 
 when he remarks in one of his canzons, " He is a fool 
 who sings all his verses." Then the various districts 
 of the Langue d'Oc were exceedingly jealous of the 
 renown of their respective poets, and never omitted an 
 
32 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 opportunity of adding leaves to their laurels by ascribing 
 to them any popular poem whose origin appeared at all 
 doubtful. All these causes have produced so much un- 
 certainty respecting authorship among the troubadours 
 that even such a celebrity as Arnaud Daniel has not 
 escaped it. The composition from which Petrarch took 
 a line of his seventeenth canzon is claimed for Guil- 
 hem Boyer, as well as for the " Grand Master of Love." 
 It is the same, however, with the early literature of 
 every country. Therein the greater names devour the 
 smaller ones. Thus, Dante, de Loris, James I. of Scot- 
 land, Raleigh, etc., are credited with many of the writings 
 of other people. 
 
 Besides the shorter pieces of Provengal poetry already 
 mentioned, there were others to which the general title 
 Cobbole, was appHed. Some were songs of the class 
 termed by the Itahans madrigal ; others were of the 
 character of the epigram. Any poem, indeed, which 
 was short, or irregular in its structure, came under this 
 designation. A great master of the art of building 
 cobboles was Arnaud of Marveil, the "men famoso 
 Arnaldo" of Petrarch. He was the son of a knight 
 whose poverty compelled him to sell his land. The 
 youth began life as clerk to a notary ; but having re- 
 ceived a tolerably good education — for the period— and 
 possessing poetic abilities, coupled with an irrepressible 
 liking for strolling, he became a troubadour, and went 
 through a severe apprenticeship. " Wandering the wide 
 world over along with other poets," writes Nostradamus, 
 " he learnt from them to become a poet himself." His 
 adventures as a vagabond differed in nothing from those 
 related of similar personages in our chapter on Wan- 
 dering Troubadours. After traversing many countries 
 he attached himself to the Viscount of Beziers and made 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 33 
 
 the viscountess the theme of his songs. But happening 
 to be afflicted with a disease unusual among gentlemen 
 of his profession — "excessive modesty," he shrank at 
 first from putting his name to his, lyrics, and even 
 allowed others to claim whatever merit attached to them. 
 Finding at length that they were well received, especially 
 by the viscountess, he ventured to announce himself 
 the author. Whether the pretenders attempted to dis- 
 pute his right or not is a matter of which we have been 
 left in ignorance ; perhaps they did, for such things have 
 happened at other times and in other places. Be that, 
 however, as it may, the poet of Marveil was recognized 
 as the owner of the lyrics in question, and well. rewarded 
 — with horses, clothes, and money, as well as with full 
 permission to hymn the praises of the viscountess to 
 any extent. This she considered doing him sufficient 
 honour. Not so thought the poet. This whilom clerk 
 and remarkably modest vagabond actually aspired to 
 become the cavalier servente of the dame, who was the 
 daughter of a sovereign prince, Raymond, Count of 
 Toulouse ! She, as it happened, was already provided 
 with a suitable gallant, Alfcnse, King of Aragon ; and 
 the result of Arnaud's presumption was his expulsion 
 from Beziers. He retired to Montpellier, where he sub- 
 sided, though somewhat slowly, into one of the most 
 thorough-going moralists of the age, dying eventually 
 in a monastery. After leaving Beziers he composed the 
 following cobbole : — 
 
 Mistaken sage ! no longer say 
 
 We view but through the eye ; 
 My lady, who is far away, 
 
 I see as she were nigh. 
 As vividly her beauties shine ; 
 As much they move this heart of mine. 
 
34 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Us two may tyrant force divide, 
 
 And thrust us far apart ; 
 But though they rend her from my side. 
 
 They cannot from my heart. 
 Ye towers that her I love contain, 
 When shall I visit you again ? 
 
 Of her's how gladly would I see, 
 
 The meerest, meanest clpwn ! 
 More welcome would he be to me 
 
 Than one that wore a crown ! 
 With her into a desert driven, 
 I'd thank my fate, and call it heaven. 
 
 The first stanza alludes to a matter much disputed 
 among the troubadours — the origin of love. The 
 theory most generally accepted is thus laid down by 
 Girand Borneil : — 
 
 Tarn cum los oills el cor ama parvenza 
 
 Car li oill son del cor drogoman 
 
 E ill oill van vezer, 
 
 Lo cal cor plaz retener. 
 
 E can ben son acordan, 
 
 E ferm tuit trei d' un semblan, 
 
 Adoncas pren verai amors nascenza. 
 
 Da so qe li oill fan al cor agradar, 
 
 Qasthers non pot naisser ni comenzhar, 
 
 Mais per lo grat delstreis nais e comenzha. 
 
 Per la grat e pel coman 
 
 Dels treis e per los plazer, 
 
 Nais amor q'en bon esper, 
 
 Vasos amies confortan, 
 
 Perqe tuit li fin aman 
 
 Sachan c'amors es fin benevolenzha, 
 
 Qi nais del cors e del oills ses doptar. 
 
 Qel oill la fan florir el cor granar, 
 
 Amors qes fruits de lor vera semenzha. 
 
 So through the eyes love attains the heart, 
 
 Because of the heart are the eyes the Turkmans (scouts),. 
 
 And the eyes gb to reconnoitre, 
 
 This that it shall please the heart to retain. 
 
 And when they are well agreed. 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 35 
 
 And firm all three (the two eyes and the heart) in the same resolve 
 
 True love then takes birth, 
 
 From this that the eyes make agreeable to the heart ; 
 
 And wanting this, it can neither be born, nor have commencement. 
 
 By the grace and by the command 
 
 Of the three, and by their pleasure 
 
 Is born love, that with good hope 
 
 Goes his friends comforting ; 
 
 Because all accomplished lovers 
 
 Know that love is perfect benevolence. 
 
 That it is born of the heart and of the eyes, is without doubt ; 
 
 And the eyes cause to flower and the heart to fructify 
 
 Love, that is the fruit of their very seed. 
 
 Guilhem of Figueras writes in like manner : " Love 
 has no power save that which it derives from the eyes. 
 Love never does us any wrong whereof we have cause to 
 grieve ; it has power over nobody except by their own 
 consent. True love has in itself neither strength, nor 
 good, nor evil, if the eyes do not communicate it. It 
 cannot oppose what pleases the heart and the eyes ; it 
 is born of the heart, whereof the eyes are the messengers." 
 But the story of Rudel, and the similar story of Andr6 
 of France, furnished the .bolder and more independent 
 spirits with an excuse for differing from Giraud of Bor- 
 neil, who, it appears, was the Johnson of Provence.* A 
 number of troubadours argued from these stories that 
 the eyes were not absolutely necessary to excite love in 
 the heart. From Borneil's theory sprang many ideas 
 common to the troubadours, notably one used, amOng 
 others, by Arnaud of Marveil himself : " My heart is a 
 mirror in which I can always delight me by contem- 
 plating the charms of my mistress." And such ever 
 recurring phrases as "sweet smiles," "gentle looks," 
 " excellent beauty," etc., sprang from the same source^ 
 Besides these stereotyped expressions there were a 
 
 * Borneil was quite as dictatorial and as moral as Boswell's hero. 
 
36 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 number of conceits which every singer was expected to 
 use. He was bound to represent himself as a captive 
 during the period of probationary love-making, and to 
 declare that death would be the certain result of pro- 
 tracted severity on the part of his mistress. If he were 
 in disgrace, it was his winter, and then his poetic glance 
 met nothing but snow, ice, bare boughs, dark clouds, and 
 dismal scenes. If he were happy, then he had reached 
 his springtide, and was sure to be surrounded by merry 
 birds and flowers full of bloom. While Bernard of 
 Ventadour sued without response, he complained that 
 though there was a round of seasons for others he was 
 always condemned to live in polar weather. But when 
 his mistress relented, Bernard declared that spring, with 
 all its delights, had arrived — although, in reality, it was 
 mid-winter. Reversing the simile, the troubadours in- 
 variably argued that their mistresses should relent in 
 spring. Thus Rambaud of Vaquieras entreats his lady- 
 love to send him a loving message and token on May 
 Eve, lest the festive morrow should find him incapable 
 of sharing in its joys. The troubadours, indeed, dwelt 
 upon spring and its delights to — shall we write — a dis- 
 gusting extent. "The flowers that I gather," sings 
 'Arnaud Daniel, "shall have love for their fruit and joy 
 for their seed, and their perfume shall surpass that divine 
 odour which the month of May scatters over the fields." 
 "I cannot delay my song,"exclaims Guilhem of Adhemar, 
 "the summer returns, the fields are laden with grain, 
 and the orchards filled with fruit, for the mistress I 
 worship assures me of her love." Vidal, too, adopts the 
 same strain when he cries, " I revive with the spring, 
 which reanimates all nature, and pours into my soul the 
 soft effusions of love." 
 
 Every mistress exercised the influence of the sun, 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 37 
 
 moon, and polar star over her lover, and included his 
 heaven in her person, as expressed in the following, 
 lines : — 
 
 Thou art the sun, whose radiant beam 
 
 Nurtures the seeds of song, 
 The moon that rolls the noble stream 
 
 Of thought my soul along. 
 
 The sky to which my hopes are borne, 
 
 The star that guides the while — 
 'Tis winter, dear, till thou return. 
 
 And darkness till thou smile. 
 
 .She was always painted as .a^jnadeL of .perfection 
 bod.ilji,_in£Jitalj and sentimental. Thus sings Huges of 
 St. Cyr, of Clara of Anduse, whom he really addressed, 
 though his song carried the name of the Countess of 
 Provence — according to a custom which we shall explain 
 elsewhere : — 
 
 Honour and wisdom all her deeds dictate ; 
 
 Her manners — perfect dignity and grace ; 
 Her heart — ^within it sweetness rules in state ; 
 
 Her words are witching ; beautiful her face. 
 
 She was credited with the most extraordinary powers. 
 Speaking of Ermengarde of Narbonne, Peyre Rogiers 
 asserted that " intimacy with her could not fail to polish 
 the rudest and most uncultivated minds." And Peyre 
 Vidal, going much further, but still confining himself 
 strictly within the well beaten track, boldly stated that 
 his mistress proving favourable, would be " certain to 
 preserve him in perpetual youth and vigour, keeping 
 him always fresh and tender as the new-blown flower on 
 the green branch." To the troubadour, the rose was 
 always suggestive of his lady's bloom, and the nightin- 
 gale of her voice. In absence, the wind that blew from 
 her residence was always hailed with delight, as by Ber- 
 nard of Venladour, and Vidal, paraphrases of whose 
 
38 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 ideas on this item will be found elsewhere. It was also 
 a common thing to be awed into silence by her presence, 
 and to debate within one's self whether it were better to 
 die of love concealed, or of fear and shame in revealing 
 it. There was one curious simile more used than any 
 other. In it the singer compared himself to the ox 
 chasing the hare ; nor was the idea destitute of 
 ingenuity. It was very expressive of the blind fortune 
 that presided over such affairs. In such a chase success 
 could not be claimed as a merit, nor failure regarded as 
 shameful. There were multitudes of other hackneyed 
 thoughts. Indeed, not a few poems were composed of 
 such things from beginning to end, as the following; by 
 Guilhem of Cabestaing : — 
 
 Gay is the strain that love dictates ; 
 Oh, thou whose smile my soul elates, 
 May I be reft and cursed of love, 
 Unfaithful should I ever prove. 
 
 If heaven be gained by love and prayer. 
 Then I at once should enter there ; 
 I pray — oh, hear ! I love — behold ! 
 Be just then and your arms unfold. 
 
 As common were the following ideas, flung together 
 by Aymerie of Beauvoir : — 
 
 Since I received that far too harsh reply. 
 Which my respectful tale of love drew down : 
 
 I dare not face again that queenly eye, 
 Nor meet that brow contracted to a frown. 
 
 Ah, how I pine my mistress to behold 1 
 
 I'm dying thus compelled to stand aloof ! 
 Oh, that her charms were cast in gentler mould ! 
 
 Or that my heart was formed of sterner stuff ! 
 
 Who knows it death to look upon the sun, 
 The wretch must needs his days to darkness give ; 
 
 And therefore I that beauteous face must shun, 
 I could not look on it in wrath and — live ! 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 
 
 39 
 
 And fully as common were the thoughts which Arnaud 
 Daniel expressed in this way : — 
 
 I've sinned 'gainst my dame, but, confessing with grief, 
 I pardon deserve like the penitent thief ; 
 Oh, could I but soften this mistress of mine ! 
 I'd love her far better than priest loves his shrine. 
 
 I'd e'en be content — were I sure to possess 
 When Time, the alchemist, has silvered each tress — 
 So strong is the passion that o'er me holds sway — 
 To wait and to hope through the tedious delay. 
 
 Another common theme of the songs of the trouba- 
 dours was the body of scandalmongers. They were 
 ne\er weary of denouncing them, like Clara of Anduse, 
 as those " envious and evil-tongued people who are the 
 enemies of all peace and joy." 
 
 It must not be supposed that originality was at a dis- 
 count among the poets of the Langue d'Oc. A good 
 many of them thought, with Peyre d'Auvergne, that' 
 " no £ong was ever good that resembled another." The 
 commonplaces that we have mentioned, or some of them, 
 could not be dispensed with in a regular canzon ; but 
 ideas figured beside them that were perfectly, and often 
 painfuJy, ridiculous in their novelty. Thus Calvo, 
 speaking of the death of a lady, declares that " without 
 her Paradise would have been ill furnished ' with 
 Courtesy." And thus Rambaud of Vaquieras compared 
 his feelings, when surveying his charming mistress, to 
 the swelling pride and vanity of the peacock when 
 flaunting his gaudy tail ! Even surpassing these ab- 
 surdities are the string of conceits with which Ricard of 
 Barbesieux attempted on one occasion to conciliate an 
 offended mistress. An account of the circumstances 
 under which this most singular of canzons was composed 
 will be found in our chapter on the Cavalier Servente. 
 
40 THE TROUBADOUR?, 
 
 As when he tumbles on the ground all prone th' elephant lies, 
 Until his kindred gather round and rouse him by their cries ; 
 It was my fate to lie of late, all helpless in despair, 
 Until these lovers true I heard, for me preferring prayer. 
 
 Ah, had I not obtained their aid, and thus regained your grace/ 
 I'm sure that death, the tyrant grim, must soon have closed tie 
 
 case ! 
 My love is not of bearish kind, nor subject to such laws, 
 It cannot fatten, you away, by sucking ideal paws. 
 
 Yet wanting your nutritious smile, had death to me arrived, 
 'Tis my belief that, phcenix-like, I would have soon revived ; 
 And, bursting the sepulchral stone, me rendered to my queea, 
 To win her grace and see the face for two long years unseen. 
 
 Go, canzon, find the fairest dame on earth, and to her say 
 That 'neath her feet my faithful heart I at discretion lay ; 
 As when exhausted in the chase, turns round the hunted deei 
 And casts himself, in hope of ruth, beneath the hunter's speaf. 
 
 As curious in its way is the cobbole which the 
 chivalrous Savari de Mauleon addressed to his /nis- 
 tress : — 
 
 Sung in song and told in story 
 
 Are your triumphs and your glory ; 
 
 How before you rivals fly, 
 
 How around you lovers die ! 
 
 If you thus resistless be, 
 
 You are just the foe for me ! 
 
 Furbish up your arms anew — 
 Weave your wiles. 
 Whet your smiles. 
 
 Marshal all your charms like lances, 
 Light the Greek fire of your glances — 
 
 Spite of all, I'll conquer you. 
 
 How ? why just as lady bright 
 
 Should be vanquished by good knight 
 
 Who in serving best does war her — 
 
 Conquering her by conquering for her. 
 
 Here am I, with fearless hand — 
 Lances hfted, casques on head, 
 Coursers bridled, banners spread- 
 Prompt to ride at your command ! 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 41 
 
 Say what castle shall I win ? 
 
 It, be sure, 
 
 I'll secure. 
 And your heart, as well, within. 
 
 ■ This affectation of originality, however, had. its uses. 
 There were seasons when it even urged them into some- 
 thing like common sense, as when Bernard of Ventadour 
 manufactured the following madrigal : — 
 
 You say the moon is all aglow, 
 
 The nightingale a singing — 
 I'd rather watch the red wine flow. 
 
 And hear the goblets ringing. 
 
 You say 'tis sweet to hear the gale 
 Creep sighing through the willows — 
 
 I'd rather hear a merry tale, 
 'Mid a group of jolly fellows ! 
 
 You say 'tis sweet the stars to view 
 
 Upon the waters gleaming— 
 I'd rather see, 'twixt me and you 
 
 And the post, my supper steaming. 
 
 The troubadours carried antithesis to thejitmost^^such 
 terms as " free slavery.'^^^Ifiant darkness," " boundless 
 prison," "hopeful fear," "fearful hope," etc., were repeated 
 by them at every turn, They were also fexceedingly 
 _^ren \<^ ptin and play upon words approaching thereto. 
 Thus Borneil, who was lesslCadtcted to this kind of thing 
 than most of the brotherhood, terminates a canzon : 
 
 Canzos, vai dire en Blacas en Prohenza 
 Qel fai valor valer, e prez prezar ; 
 Com lui lauzan non pot sobre lauzar, 
 Tan es valenz e fina sa valensa. 
 
 Canzon, go say to Don Blacas in Provence, 
 That he makes value to be valued and price to be prized. 
 Since men in praising him cannot over praise him, 
 So worthy is he, and so excellent is his worthiness. 
 
42 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 A far better specimen of these players upon words 
 was the troubadour Ogier. Nearly the whole of his 
 pieces consist of such sentences as these, " I shall serve 
 to disserve, while serving the corrupted corrupters who 
 surround princes with base counsels, counselling them 
 to dishonour honour." Blancasset, a much superior] 
 poet, was in the habit of using similar contemptible 
 phrases. For instance, he advises his mistress, the 
 Countess Beatrice : — 
 
 Qe sap valer 
 Sa vallence plus valen de valor, 
 E sa honzanza plus honzada de honor. 
 
 That she should know how to value 
 Her valuableness that was more valuable than value, 
 And her honourableness that was more honourable 
 than honour. 
 
 And yet the same writer could break forth, on occa- 
 sion, into such vigorous sentiment as the following, of 
 which, however, it will be observed that the commence- 
 ment is composed of commonplaces of an order already 
 noticed : — 
 
 Pleases me the pleasant time of Easter, that brings the leaves 
 and the flowers — pleases me when I hear the babble of the birds, 
 when they make their warblings re-echo through the bushes — 
 pleases me when I see pavilions raised securely in the meadows — 
 pleases me to the heart when I see cavaliers armed and mounted 
 in the listed field — pleases me when I see the foragers make the 
 people fly before them with their goods — pleases me when I see 
 goodly men-at-arms around me. And I have great joy when I see 
 strong castles besieged — when I behold the engines casting stones 
 and the slings hurling missiles— when I behold the capture and sack 
 of places enclosed with walls and ditches and wgll defended by 
 palisaded outworks. Pleases me when one lord goes to invade 
 another, armed, mounted, and fearless — when he knows how to 
 lead and encourage his valiant vassals, so that all are eager to 
 follow him into the thick of the fight — for no baron is at all prized 
 until he has given and taken blows. Pleases me when I mark axes 
 and swords cut and shatter shield and glittering helm at the begin- 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 43 
 
 ning of the fray — when I see many vassals rushing together — when 
 I see horses, some dead and some wounded — when I see intent on 
 battle every man of valour, fearing not to peril either head or limb, 
 since it is better to die than live vanquished. I say truly unto you 
 that more than eating, drinking, and sleeping, do I relish the sound 
 of the strokes dealt by both parties, and the sight of men and 
 horses tumbling in the grassj when I hear cries of "Help! Help !" — 
 when I see them drop their shields in the ditches, and their gaunt- 
 lets on the sward — when 1 see the dead lie marked with lance 
 thrust in the ribs. 
 
 Perhaps the most annoying of all the peculiairities of 
 Provencal poetry was the obscurity 'which, rnany .pflgts 
 deliberately affected and justified, like Gavaudim. "Let 
 none blame me," wrote this troubadour, " for selecting 
 a cloudy style of writing, or, at least, let them reserve 
 their censure until they are capable of sifting the wheat 
 that lies therein from the chaff." Ignaure, another of those 
 lovers of obscurity, excused his predilection by asserting 
 that he preferred the praise of the discriminating few to 
 that of the purblind multitude. In justice to Giraud of 
 Borneil, some portion of whose extravagances we have 
 quoted, it is but fair to state that he set his face most 
 decidedly against these utterers of mystic phrases, main- 
 taining that simplicity and -clearness were the first 
 essentials of poetry. Borneil, however, was but one 
 against many ; and besides, the schoolmen, whom the 
 troubadours imitated in many' points, set them a 
 tempting example in the matter of obscurity. The body 
 of the learned in the middle ages — or the inner circle of 
 that body — seems to us to have formed a secret society, 
 whose purpose was to keep as much knowledge as 
 possible confined to itself, after the manner of the 
 Druids, or of the Egyptian and Chaldean sages. When 
 compelled to put the more occult portions of their 
 scientific acquirements into a permanent form, they , 
 adopted one perfectly unintelligible to the vulgar. Some 
 
44 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 wrapped up their more valuable secrets in parables; 
 others threw them into the shape of pictures or illumin- 
 ations ; and others again adopted the device of Roger 
 Bacon, who, giving the name of an important ingredient 
 of gunpowder in an anagram, rendered the whole 
 receipt for the composition of the substance a 
 complete mystery to the uninitiated. Our reading 
 shows us that much more was known to the few, six or 
 seven hundred years ago, than modern savants arfi 
 inclined to think. Strange and startling glimpses of 
 this knowledge flicker over the pages of the poets and 
 romancists of the middle ages. Selecting but two ex- 
 amples from many, we may remark that no one could 
 have written that passage in the " Inferno" of Dante 
 (canto xxxiv., lines 70-84) descriptive of the transit of 
 Virgil and his follower through the centre of the earth, 
 who was not well acquainted with the leading principles of 
 the theory of gravitation, as elaborated by Newton. Nor 
 could anyone have evolved from the depths of his in- 
 ternal consciousness a passage so singularly anticipative 
 of the discovery of America as that contained in stanzas 
 228-230 of the twenty-fifth canto of the " Morgante 
 Maggiore" — precisely the canto in which it is said that 
 the author, Pulci.was aided by the erudite Marsilio Ficino. 
 Prominent among the singularities of Provengal 
 literature stands what is called the Tenzon. This was 
 a dispute in which two or more poets took part.^ In all 
 probability the tenzon was originally conducted extem- 
 poraneously. A number of poets, male and female, 
 would collect — in summer under a tree with a beautiful 
 prospect open before them, and in winter round the 
 cheerful hearth — where a subject would be given out for 
 each to deal with in turn. The sort of verse to be em- 
 ployed was first determined, and then the disputants, 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 45 
 
 one after another, were required to concentrate their 
 arguments, each into a single stanza ; and when all had 
 taken part in the contest the president would give the 
 decision. In later times the tenzon became more 
 elaborate. Instead of contending in the way just men- 
 tioned, several troubadours would select a subject and 
 fix the form of metre. Then the one who was to open 
 the contest would compose his stanza at leisure and 
 transmit it to the next. So the tenzon would pass round, 
 augmenting as it went, and passing weeks, perhaps 
 months, in the circuit. When all the disputants had 
 said their say, the composition would be submitted to a 
 competent judge or judges, a poet of admitted eminence, 
 or one of the Courts of Love ; and the decision was 
 usually summed up and added to the tenzon in a stanza 
 of similar structure to the others. The subjects were as 
 various as the minds that suggested them, the majority 
 being nice questions of gallantry. In_alX casesthe dis- 
 putes— b©fe-a-4»a£ked — resem,blance to^those then so 
 common in th e univer gitjes. Among the questions 
 handled by the tenzon were the following : 'lis it better 
 to Jove an inexpe-rienced-young beauty, or onewhaJias 
 reached heiurime_and gained the fullest experience .' 
 Is it better to be loved and die immediately afterwards, 
 or to enjoy long life without passing beyond hope ? 
 There are two married men ; one has a wife who is 
 handsome but disagreeable, and the other a wife that is 
 amiable but ugly. Both are jealous, which of the two 
 is the greater fool .'' Which would you prefer ; an en- 
 chanted mantle which would enable you to win the love 
 of every lady, or an enchanted lance which would enable 
 you to vanquish every cavalier } Twenty gentlemen 
 have lost their way in a storm and are ready to perish ; 
 their shouts for aid are heard by two knights who are 
 
46 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 hastening to meet their mistresses ; one turns aside to 
 aid the distressed, while the other continues his route,— 
 which of the two does the better ? ' There were also 
 tenzons in which the poets disputed on the excellence of 
 their respective countries. A tenzon, rendered remark- 
 able by the odd way in which one of the disputants 
 contradicted his arguments by his conduct, was held 
 between Guilhem de la Tor and Sordel. " There is a 
 lover," said the former, " who has a cherished mistress ; 
 he sees her expire before his face ; should he die with 
 her or survive her ? " Sordel replied that " when death 
 divided a loving couple, it was better for the one that 
 had been so bereaved to follow the other to the tomb, 
 than to remain on earth in agony and despair." To this 
 la Tor responded that " the dead could gain nothing by 
 the sacrifice of the living ; and that it could not be right 
 to do that from which no good, but much evil, would 
 result." As will be seen in our notice of Guilhem de la 
 Tor, in our chapter on the Wandering Troubadours, 
 precisely the event which he supposed in the opening 
 of the tenzon befell himself, and then he acted quite 
 according to the views which he condemned in Sordel. 
 
 Tenzons on subjects such as those just m&ntioned 
 were mere exercises of wit. Others were neither more 
 nor less than not very elegant scolding matches. Of 
 these a good specimen is given in another chapter. 
 We subjoin a second, in which the disputants were 
 Rambaud of Vaquieras and the Marquis of Malespina. 
 
 Marquis. 
 They tell me, oh, my Rambaud ! and I really think it true. 
 That your mistress has resumed her wit, and quite discarded you, 
 Despising, as she ought to do, your canzons and yourself, 
 And fully meaning never more to yield you love or pelf. 
 The case is hard for such a bard ; but you may shun such shame 
 By mending note ; or if you can't, by choosing lowlier dame. 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 47 
 
 Rambaxjd. 
 Yes, it is true, as told to you, a false one is my fair, 
 You ought to wed her, on my word ! — you'd make a pretty pair ! 
 Unscrupulous are you as she, greedy and treach'rous both. 
 Still ready, when your interest calls, to break or word or oath. 
 Nay worse than that, my noble peer, do not the Lombards say 
 That purses, like a common thief, you took on the highway ? 
 
 Marquis. 
 And if I took a purse or two, what's that to you, my friend ? 
 I took them boldly, like a man, and had the heart to spend ; 
 So would I now, if there were need, nor ever shroud my head. 
 Rather than trudge afoot and beg, as you have done, for bread. 
 For begging, or for sordidness, there's none that can me blame. 
 Come, if you can, put hand on heart, and say the very same ! 
 
 Rambaud. 
 Yes, Marquis, I admit that you are quite a worthy lad. 
 To cutting purse and breaking oath some virtues more you add. 
 Your tongue is quick when one's away, and slow when one's in sight . 
 Your spur is sluggish in the charge and eager in the flight. 
 I know not from what ancestor your nature you inherit, 
 You're always first in evil deeds and last in works of merit. 
 
 , Marquis. 
 Why did you drop the jongleur's harp, the knightly lance to rear ? 
 It was a folly ; but a fool, you know, you always were. 
 That was a jolly life to lead, brimful of freak and fun ; 
 But now you must live somberly and into perils run. 
 Tho' I must say who on the field have kept you well in sight, 
 That any day you'd run away, rather than stand and fight. 
 
 The following tenzon between Mary of Ventadour, a 
 lady highly renowned among the troubadours, and Guy 
 of Uzes, is in a different strain. 
 
 Mary. 
 My dear Guy of Uzes, that silent your muse is 
 
 Like many, your friends, I deplore ; 
 Come now, for my sake, the lute again take 
 
 And touch as you touched it of yore. 
 I give you a task — 'tis a question I ask, 
 
 None better than you can disclose. 
 Should one I wo'n't mention show her knight such attention. 
 
 As he to her usually shows 'i 
 
48 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Guy. 
 Though sworn to be mute, and no more to touch lute, 
 
 Your entreaty I cannot refuse. 
 'Twixt lovers should be purest equality. 
 
 And as they are used they should use. 
 
 Mary. 
 Yet the lady should rule, and the knight, dutiful, 
 
 Her every command should obey ; 
 To submit is his place, and be grateful for grace. 
 
 And not as a monarch to sway. 
 
 Guy. 
 When hearts Love entwines, think not he designs 
 
 That one of them despot should be. 
 When lovers concede to their ladies the lead, 
 
 'Tis only in mere courtesy. 
 
 The foregoing could hardly be more vapid. And yet 
 there is reason to think that it is more Hke the average 
 tenzon than almost any other that has been preserved. 
 It is not without its value either, since it furnishes 
 evidence confirmatory of a story which we tell else- 
 where. Of a higher character is the tenzon between 
 Sordel and Montan. 
 
 SORDEL. 
 I marvel that a prince's hand can contradict his tongue, 
 And that his words shall all be right, while all his deeds are wrong. 
 To noble promises should deeds as noble still accord. 
 Or men may stigmatise who speaks with one short, ugly word. 
 
 Montan. 
 I marvel not, too much it costs generous to be and just, 
 For princely praise to swell the speech of those who princes trust ; 
 Yet would the folly me amaze in any but a prince, 
 That thinks a handsome falsehood may good service recompense. 
 
 Sordel. 
 I would, my Montan, that to all this maxim we could teach, 
 Never to promise aught but that which lies within their reach— 
 Who ready shows to promise all, that man his honour slights ; 
 And lies should be accounted shame in princes as in knights. 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 49 
 
 Our next specimen turns on a question of gallantry, 
 the disputants being Giraud of Borneil and Guilhem de 
 Mur. 
 
 Say which his lady to delight 
 
 Should most exertion use ; 
 The happy lover, or the wight 
 Who yet uncertain sues ? 
 
 " The last," cries Will, « 's the truer tale 
 Of every thing we see ; 
 Still sweetest sings the nightingale 
 While lonely on the tree. 
 
 " But when a mate his nest contains 
 His song is less refined ; 
 Then breathes he naught but careless strains, 
 And so vnth human kind." 
 
 Said Borneil, " I deny it, boy, 
 
 And thus my case I prove ; 
 Possession cannot worth destroy, 
 
 Reward ne'er lessens love. 
 
 " As for your nightingales, have they 
 Nor sentiment, nor thought. 
 To teach them, yonder on the spray 
 To bear them as they ought, 
 
 " If there be men of mood like these. 
 No kin with them I claim ; 
 I know that most I wish to please, 
 When kindest is my dame." 
 
 One other specimen and we shall have done with the 
 tenzon. That beau ideal of Provengal knighthood, 
 Savari de Mauleon, in company with two other gentle- 
 men, happened to make a call on Guillemette de 
 Benavias, a dame who was evidently an arrant flirt. It 
 seems that all three gentlemen made love to her at the 
 same time, and that she actually succeeded in sending 
 them all away equally satisfied, each being fully per- 
 
so THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 suaded that he, and he only, was the accepted suitor. 
 During the interview one of the knights sat before her 
 and one on each side. And at its close she rephed to 
 their respective entreaties by squeezing the toe of one, 
 and pressing the hand of another, while she bestowed a 
 bewitching glance on the third. When he got home 
 Savari de Mauleon summoned two renowned trouba- 
 dours, Gauceln Faudit and Hughes of Bacalaria, the 
 latter being a gentleman who was never known to have 
 • wandered, to assist him in deciding which of the three 
 favours deserved the preference. Gauceln Faudit pre- 
 ferred the tender glance. A grasp of hand, he argued, 
 was a matter of courtesy, and the touch of the foot 
 might be an accident; but there could be no mistake 
 about a look of sweetness; that certainly must come 
 from the heart. Hughes of Bacalaria agreed with 
 Gauceln as to the pressure of feet, but differed with him 
 as to the look, ladies being adepts in distributing such 
 things when they really mean nothing by them. He 
 considered that when a lady removed her glove in order 
 to grasp the hand of her suitor it was a certain proof of 
 affection. Savari derided the arguments of both, pro- 
 nouncing a panegyric on tender looks, which we need 
 not repeat. The story seems to us a diluted version of 
 another told by Burton in the " Anatomic of Melan- 
 cholic," running somewhat as follows : — 
 
 Three students spiced the ruby stream 
 
 With argument divine. 
 And what but woman e'er was theme 
 
 Of vigorous youth and wme? 
 
 Oh, name the form that chiefly glads, 
 
 And draws the deepest sigh; 
 Cried Hal, "A brimming bumper, lads ! 
 
 I drink the melting eye." 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 51 
 
 " But what are eyes when slumbers close ? " 
 
 Cried Will. " My toast shall be 
 A charm that fades not in repose, 
 
 The peachy cheek for me ! " 
 
 " Away ! " says Rob ; " with failing light 
 
 These charms ye must resign ; 
 As dear, my friends, to touch as sight, 
 
 The juicy lip be mine ! " 
 
 'Twas argued vainly o'er and o'er ; 
 
 At length, to stay the strife. 
 They fixed to lay the case before 
 
 Old Logic's buxom wife. 
 
 And she, whose award we shall not attempt to para- 
 phrase, decided the question against all the disputants. 
 
 The tenzon, it will be noticed, could be rendered the 
 mediiim of inflicting censure. Satire, however, had its 
 own peculiar form of poetry, resembling the canzon in, 
 all respects except the commiato, and bearing the name 
 servente. The servente might be levelled at an indi- 
 vidual; and it might be published in reprehension of 
 general shortcomings. It might assume any of the 
 various tones of scorn, irony, denunciation, or regret ; 
 it might bear as hard on sins of omission as on sins of 
 commission; and it might, and indeed, often did, take 
 the form of a song of triumph, like the servente which 
 Cadenet addressed to the people whose evil speaking 
 compjslled him to part with the lady Blancassetta. A 
 vigorous specimen of this kind of servente, by Guilhem 
 Adhemar, was hurled at a group who did him a good 
 deal of injury. 
 
 What, though ye did my ruin plot, 
 
 Ye scoundrels, ye have ta'en 
 Nothing from me whose loss is not 
 
 A real, solid gain. 
 
52 
 
 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Ye thought to cause destruction's flood 
 
 Above my head to roll, 
 And ye have brought me only good ! 
 
 I thank ye from my soul ! 
 
 I served in chains, as one who rows, 
 
 A slave — a wretched one ! 
 Had ye been friends, instead of foes, 
 
 I must have been undone. 
 
 Another year those toils among. 
 
 Had sunk me to the grave ; 
 So in your haste to do me wrong. 
 
 Blind fools ! ye did but save. 
 
 Meaning to hurl me down to die, 
 
 Ye thrust me up to fame ; 
 'Twas done in hatred, therefore I 
 
 Contemn ye all the same. 
 
 When I avenge me, peddling band. 
 
 Be it your pain to know ; 
 Your persecution nursed the hand. 
 
 And nerved to deal the blow. 
 
 A servente by Folquet de Lunel was of far wider 
 range ; it struck at " all sorts and conditions of men." 
 
 In the name of Him, the glorious One, the merciful and strong, 
 
 "Who in His likeness made us men, do I compose this song ; 
 
 Therein it is my firm resolve to honour all the good. 
 
 And them to vex who Him neglect that shed for them His blood. 
 
 No longer are the mighty ones intent to serve the Lord. 
 
 In former days there still were some to draw for Him the sword j 
 
 But, for the Holy Sepulchre not one of them now cares, 
 
 And the dog Turk is left thereby to breathe unholy prayers. 
 
 By excommunicating much your proud priest upwards mounts ; 
 The emperors unjust to kings ; the kings unjust to counts ; 
 The counts pillage the barons, the knights the barons spoil; 
 And these, in turn, pounce down upon the tillers of the soil. 
 The farmers to the folk beneath the like injustice deal. 
 And from the wages of their hinds a portion always steal. 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 53 
 
 The leeches, knowing not their trade, instead of curing, slay ; 
 Yet still the rogues know how to make the weeping kindred pay. 
 The merchant and the artisan are rogues and liars sure ; 
 But the monarch of all liars is the wandering troubadour ! 
 The wife and husband vie in sin — to say who 's worst I can't ; 
 For every mistress that he keeps she'll find you a gallant. 
 
 The innkeeper does you receive as though you were a god ; 
 
 The hostess smiles, the servants watch your every beck and nod ; 
 
 You let them share the food you bring, your game, your bread, your 
 
 wine, 
 And, in return, they sell bad hay and corn just fit for swine ; 
 Their fodder's bad, their measure's worse, and then, to diddle the 
 
 stranger. 
 The cunning innkeeper bores holes in the bottom of the manger. 
 Your horse gets but a sorry feed, for half the corn runs through. 
 To feed the pigs, that fatten without, while the innkeeper laughs at you. 
 His beds are hard — his sheets — oh fie ! and then does he not swear 
 When you of overcharge complain, or grumble at his fare ! 
 
 Ye heretics, ye usurers, ye faithless to all trust, 
 Ye infidels, and ye who pay only because ye must, 
 Ye ferrymen and toll-takers, who pocket half the dues, 
 Ye bailiffs, who to rob the poor your office chiefly use, 
 Against each one I raise my voice and bid him mend his way — 
 On pain of going to a place whose name I need not say. 
 Myself have sinned, as well as ye, but ere that I am sent hence, 
 I hope that God will give me time to make a good repentance ; 
 The devil's nets o'erspread the world and underlie the cloisters — 
 And wherefore not, since they entered heaven, and angels dredged 
 like oysters? 
 
 May God have mercy on us all, subdue each royal mind, 
 And guide the Pope, who ought to be the father of mankind. 
 From' war and strife to clear the lands into his charge committed — 
 For if he do'n't, I'm much afraid, on a certain fork he'll be spitted ! 
 There are open wounds in Sicily that I'm sure he ought to close, 
 They're the grief of all good Christian men, and the joy of our 
 pagan foes. 
 
 This servente in the name of God I opened, and intend 
 That in the same most Holy Name it shall, as fitting, end. 
 I'll send it to the Count of Rodez to mend therein, if he lists ; 
 Whatever may erroneous be — no better judge exists. 
 
54 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 And if with him it favour find, when he has read it o'er, 
 Let it be written in his book, along with so many more. 
 Now of this song of mortal men I'd have ye know furthermore, 
 I made it in the year of Christ twelve hundred and eighty-four; 
 And Lunel was the very place where did this song indite I, 
 Who, for exactly forty years, have offended the Almighty. 
 
 One can conceive the popularity of such a chant 
 among the masses. It would seem that the writer owed 
 a particular grudge to the innkeepers of his day, since 
 he honours them with a longer notice than any other 
 order of men. For his prolixity in this instance, how- 
 ever, we can easily forgive him, in consideration of the 
 lively sketch of inn-life in the thirteenth century with 
 which he furnishes us. Of its correctness there can be 
 no doubt, for, as a troubadour he must have had oppor- 
 tunities without number of scrutinizing the tricks ex- 
 ercised in hostelries. There is hardly a line in the 
 homely satite of Folquet of Lunel which has not its 
 value. Not the least interesting passage is that in 
 which he gives us a glimpse of public opinion in Pro- 
 vence on the political state of Sicily. To the war then 
 raging in that quarter, the Provencals had to contribute 
 heavily, and with them, therefore, it would be unpopular. 
 Another interesting passage is the one in which the poet 
 refers to the Count of Rodez, not only as correcting the 
 compositions of strollers like himself, but as copying 
 them into a book. Were that volume now in existence, 
 it would be invaluable. 
 
 Another very curious servente is one by the Monk of 
 Montaudun, of which we paraphrase a portion, somewhat 
 softened, however. In the original it is the Deity who is 
 made to suggest the compromise between the litigants. 
 
 I am a saint of good repute, by mortals called St. Julian; 
 Being wanted much on earth, I go not oft to lands cerulean, 
 Yet once of late I made a call which you may term a high call ; 
 I went to heaven to have a chat along with good St. Michael, 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 5S 
 
 But soon the saint was called away, which closed our conversation, 
 
 To judge between some dames and monks engaged in disputation. 
 
 Paint was the subject of their strife, the rock on which they split ; 
 
 Each party wanted to monopolise the use of it . 
 
 The monks declared, with many tears, that they were ruined quite, 
 
 For not an ounce of it was left to keep their pictures bright : 
 
 The ladies laid it on so thick, as you well understand, 
 
 That the compounders could not quite keep pace with the demand. 
 
 And so, unless the former were restrained by stringent law. 
 
 Each shrine, they sware, would quickly cease admirers to draw. 
 
 Then stepped an ancient beauty forth, and thus to Mike descanted : 
 
 " Our sex was painted long before their pictures were invented. 
 
 As for myself, how can it hurt or clergyman or saint. 
 
 If the crows-feet beneath mine eyes I cover o'er with paint ? 
 
 In keeping up my beauteous looks I cannot see a crime ; 
 
 In spite of them I'll still repair the ravages of time." 
 
 St. Michael scratched his pate awhile, then, looking very wise. 
 
 Said : " Dames and monks, let me suggest, I pray, a, compromise, 
 
 The soul as well as body, Dames, requires paint and padding ; 
 
 You should not wholly spend your years in love-making and gadding, 
 
 And you, my monks, be less severe, nor bend the bow to breaking, 
 
 All dames should have a mod'rate time allotted them for raking, 
 
 Then let them paint till forty-five— — " 
 
 At this the dames looked glum. 
 " Or fifty," cried the saint, in haste. "Agree, my monks, now, come ! " 
 " No," said the monks, " that cannot be ; the time is far too long ! 
 But, though we feel within our souls that compromise is wrong. 
 Yet, in our deep respect for you, our scruples we will drop. 
 And let the dames, till thirty-five, frequent the painter's shop, 
 But only on condition that thereafter they shall cease 
 To daub, and let us monks enjoy our privilege in peace." 
 Before the ladies could rejoin, two other saints appeared, 
 Peter and Lawrence, by the dames no less than mopks revered. 
 They reasoned with the parties, and so well employed their wit, 
 That they persuaded them at length the difference to split. 
 The monks agreed to yield five years ; the ladies condescended 
 •To take and up to forty paint, and thus the trial ended ; 
 But not the quarrel, for, with much regret, I'm bound to mention. 
 That to the compact that day formed the dames paid no attention. 
 
 The author of the foregoing choice servente, the Monk 
 of Montaudun, was one of the many musical ecclesiastics 
 
56 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 employed by the Church to sing against the heretics 
 of the Langue d'Oc. There remains a long piece by 
 Izarn, another of this body, from which may be gleaned 
 some curious particulars respecting the doctrines and 
 practices then attributed to the Vaudois. They were 
 said to believe that the demon was the maker of the 
 human body ; that matter was eternal ; that there was 
 no resurrection of the body that had sinned and died on 
 earth, but that the blessed soul received a new one in 
 heaven ; that after death the sinful soul was doomed to 
 do penance under the form of various animals, at the 
 conclusion of which penance it was allowed to resume 
 its humanity, and therein win salvation ; that the doc- 
 trine of transubstantiation was erroneous ; that marriage 
 was unlawful ; and that preachers possessed the powers 
 of blotting out sins and of conferring the Holy Spirit 
 Izarn laments that these heretics allowed peasants to 
 come fresh from their various avocations to administer 
 the most sacred rites. He describes them as meeting in 
 the woods and thickets; as forming a miscellaneous 
 group of nobles and peasants with the usual predomi- 
 nance of females, and he pictures the ladies Erauda, Ber- 
 nauda, and Garsenda as sitting weaving or spinning amid 
 humbler dames similarly occupied, while the preacher 
 discourses. He mentions their "bishops" as living 
 in wealth and ease ; as possessing much raiment, many 
 luxuries, and numerous friends ready to provide them 
 with whatever they desired ; as feeding on the choicest 
 viands, including pastry and distilled waters ; as being 
 the custodians of much valuable property ; and he con- 
 trasts the joyous lives" of such men with the hardships 
 to which the preaching friars are exposed ; representing 
 the latter as wandering about under all weathers, poorly 
 fed, and scantily clothed, while the latter are making 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 57 
 
 merry with the sisters and the brethren, and hinting, the 
 while, that these pleasures .are not innocent, since he 
 makes these "bishops" exult in the power they enjoy of 
 absolving every sin, however heinous, whether perpe- 
 trated by themselves or by other people. The clerical 
 poet also describes these heretics as being well organized, 
 and directed by a consistory whose decrees were ably 
 conceived and strictly obeyed. He mentions, besides, 
 that they had hiding places and strongholds among the 
 mountains, to be used in cases of emergency. 
 
 The heretics, no less than the clergy, had their poets, 
 who did them good service. From them, indeed, the 
 Church appears to have learnt that song might be em- 
 , ployed with advantage as a controversial weapon. Ber- 
 trand df Marseilles, whose story is told in another 
 place, has left a terrible diatribe against the clergy of 
 his day. " False and wicked priests ! Treacherous, 
 swearing, lying, stealing, ambitious, debauchees ! Your 
 disorders fill the whole world with confusion. What 
 revenues were possessed by St. Peter .-' What fortunes 
 or estates \ Did he ever utter an excommunication .'' 
 Was any land ever laid under interdict by him .■' No : 
 he was always just, always held the balance equally ; 
 but ye allow it to be weighed down by gold. You 
 inflict your interdicts and your excommunications, and 
 withdraw them for a price! Not that I condemn all 
 clergymen ; some, I admit, are worthy. Nor do I make 
 this exception out of fear or favour. I would have all 
 do their duty : I would have them reconcile kings and 
 restore peace to Christendom ; I would have them de- 
 vote their gorgeous robes and their precious vessels and 
 their worldly splendour to the service of the Lord." 
 One would think that nothing stronger could be spoken 
 on the subject, until the still fiercer invective of Guilhem 
 
58 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 of Figueras had met his eye. " Rome, that sink of 
 corruption ; I know that I shall be blamed for speaking 
 against it ; but I cannot hold my peace. It does not 
 amaze, me that the whole world is enveloped in sin, for 
 I know how carefully, how earnestly, how incessantly, 
 how widely you have sown the seeds of war and corrup- 
 tion. Blinded as you are, you shear your flock even 
 to the skin ! With the Holy Spirit to aid, I will stop 
 your mouth! Rome, more perfidious than all the Greeks; 
 blind leader of the blind, disregarding the rules laid 
 down by Heaven, you sell absolution for money; you 
 load your shoulders with a burden that will sink you 
 down to the pit ! It was your infamous sordidness and 
 your incorrigible folly that caused the loss of Damietta! 
 Your principles are abominable ; your habits are treache- 
 rous. God confound you, Rome ! " So the poet goes 
 on enumerating the crimes of the Papacy, and mixing 
 up his 'accusations with fearful imprecations. He re- 
 minds his hearers of the crusade against the Albigenses, 
 and its disastrous results ; of the wrongs done to the 
 Counts of Toulouse and Provence, of. the miseries in- 
 flicted on their subjects, and of the enormities perpetrated 
 by bishops, cardinals, and others holding high places in 
 the Church establishment, pausing now and then to 
 comfort himself with such convictions as — that the 
 power of Rome was declining, and its reign nearly over ; 
 or to utter such exclamations as" May all the fiends 
 hurry you off to hell ! " 
 
 The most contradictory stories are told of this 
 Guilhem of Figueras. By some he is represented as a 
 high born cavalier of great and varied accomplishments, 
 an aristocrat by inclination as well as descent, who was 
 much prized by his order. Others' again state that he 
 was a tailor, and the son of a tailor of Toulouse, who 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 59 
 
 was no less the foe of the nobles than of the priests, and 
 who spent his time exclusively among the common 
 people. Was this discrepancy in the story the result of 
 malicious libel ? Or were the Vaudois in the habit of 
 giving the same name to a succession of partisan poets ? 
 At times there were troubadours who attempted to 
 steer a middle course, opposing the heretics with Izarn, 
 and satirising the vices of the orthodox clergy with 
 Guilhem of Figueras. A fair specimen of this class 
 was Raoul of Gassion, whose whole story indeed is so 
 illustrative of life among the poets that we feel bound 
 to transcribe it as told by Nostradamus. 
 
 Raoul, lord of the castle of Gassion, was an excellent poet, a great 
 orator, a famous historian, and a very valiant man at arms. On 
 account of his accomplishments and singular merits as a poet, he 
 was always welcome to the great, especially of the clerical order. 
 He wrote against the vices of the latter ; but still he strongly 
 maintained their party against the opinions of the Albigenses, and 
 of the Waldenses of Lyons, heretics whose doctrines were current 
 at this period. He associated with the dames and princesses, who 
 took pleasure in Provengal poetry. By them he was much favoured, 
 and from them he received in abundance arms, horses, garments, 
 and money— according to the usual custom. In every expedition 
 of war against the Waldenses, the Tuchins, or other enemies of 
 the Church, he was invariably the first in the affray. Therefore 
 he was greatly esteemed and prized of all. But being a ProvenQal, 
 it was very right that he should take the side of his sovereign 
 prince and lord, the Count of Provence.* To him then he with- 
 drew, and by him he was well received and esteemed and cherished. 
 This prince, having obtained from the greatest personages of his 
 Court full information of the capacity and skill of Raoul, com- 
 missioned him to reduce the rebels of the country who refused to 
 render, him homage or obedience. But though Raoul was exalted 
 to a rank so high, Fortune had no mind to let him escape without 
 some experience of her mutability ; therefore it happened that 
 while attending an assembly in the city of Montpellier, he fell so 
 
 * Nostradamus means that Raoul of Gassion, though a bitter persecutor 
 of the heretics, was still a patriot, and joined his natural chief when the 
 latter had to contend with De Montfort's crusaders. 
 
6o THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 deeply in love with a lady of the house of Montalban, called 
 Risgnda, that he was constrained thereby to falsify all his fine 
 and honourable doings. In praise of this lady he composed 
 various beautiful and learned canzons, and presented them to her. 
 But she, like a false deceiver, cheated him and laughed at him, 
 though this was quite contrary to her usual custom. For she was 
 handsome, prudent, meritorious, and well bred, and delighted 
 much in poetry. Meeting with a deception so incredible and ' 
 contrary to all his expectations, he became indignant thereat, and 
 soared to such a height of poetic fervour that he com.posed a song 
 in the form of a century (whatever that may be) all filled with the 
 ingratitude of his lady. Not being able to avenge himself of her in 
 any more honourable way, he abandoned the world,"became a 
 monk in a monastery of Avignon, the most austere that he could 
 find, without acquainting any of his relations pr friends with his 
 singular and suddenly conceived decision. These, seeing him no 
 longer in his accustomed haunts, made inquiries, and were much 
 astonished to hear that- not only had he taken the cowl, but that 
 he had no longer any wish to meet th'em. Th_e jiew5_of-tti*+hing 
 quickly reached the ears of the Bishop of Cuserano, papal legate 
 at Avignon, who marvelled much, and hastened at once to see this 
 holy hermit in his cell, where he was ,not to be spoken to except 
 with his face covered. But the legate, considering how turbulent 
 and calamitous were the times, could not refrain from demonstrating 
 to the new monk, that he could better serve the Pope and the 
 Church at such a period, by prosecuting his enterprises against 
 the enemies of both than he could possibly do by remaining in 
 his present obscurity. He added that had the Pope been apprised 
 of his purpose, he did not doubt but that he would have rewarded 
 him with a conspicuous post, or at least with a valuable living. 
 To all this the poet replied that neither the legate nor any body 
 else ought to be astonished at his calm and deliberate purpose, for 
 that St. Augustine himself had admonished him in a dream to 
 spend the remainder of his life under his rule. He added that in 
 all other things he was the humble servant of His Holiness. Now, 
 while the two were still in conversation, there came to the legate 
 a courier, bearing a letter, empowering him to take measures 
 for filling up an office at Perpignan left vacant by the death of its 
 last possessor. This the legate immediately offered to Raoul, who 
 accepted it with thanks . That same day, by the command and 
 with the dispensation of the legate, the poet quitted the convent 
 and went to take possession of his office, in which he was confirmed 
 by the Count of Provence, who was the patron of the benefice. 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 6i 
 
 Thither then he repaired, and ever afterwards, whether em- 
 ployed by the count or by the Church, he always did his duty. 
 Uc of San Caesare, speaking in his catalogue of this poet, says, 
 that he was one of the most remarkable men of his time ; of 
 beautiful face, calm and graceful ; a good poet in all languages 
 (meaning the principal dialects of the Langue d'Oc, as exemplified 
 in' a canzon by Rambaud of Vaquieras, to which we have already 
 alluded), but a better poet in the Provencal, and that he had expe- 
 rienced strange and various fortunes.. He died of the vexation and 
 grief produced in him by his hatred against a monk of Perpignan. 
 
 About as odd a close as such a career could have had. 
 , Among the more stinging satires^ oT the troubadours, 
 we need hardly say, were those in which they dealt with 
 one another. One of the most trenchant was aimed 
 at his principal contemporaries by Peyre d'Auvergne, 
 a troubadour who bore a striking resemblance in 
 body and mind, and in the qualities he lacked no less 
 than in those he possessed, to Malherbe. His pieces 
 show the same force and clearness, the same fastidious 
 care in word-buildingj the same precision of thought, 
 and the same lack of sensibility and fancy. He also 
 is one of the earliest of the troubadours of whom 
 we possess any notice. Born about 1125, he was 
 still alive in 1214 : there being extant one of his pieces 
 in which allusion is made to events occurring in the 
 year just mentioned. His works show that he was well 
 educated for the age, and had acquired a general know- 
 ledge of the principal Latin writers. Like so many of 
 his craft, he was a_ great wanderer, having traversed all 
 the~countrreF'between Normandy and Portugal. His 
 works show traces of his Spanish travel in the shape of 
 images that must have been borrowed from the Moors. 
 Nostradamus says, "While he remained in Provence, he 
 had such credit and power with the dames that after 
 having sung to them and recited all his songs, he received 
 in recompence a favour from the one amongst them 
 
62 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 who pleased him most, which favour he received many 
 times from the not less fair than worthy dame, -Clarette 
 de Baux, daughter of the Lord of Berre." It is said that 
 the minnesanger, Heinrich Von Meissien, better known as 
 JFrauenlobh, was borne to his grave by eight beauties, 
 who mingled their tears with wine and poured it over 
 his coffin. Whether the German poet or the Provengal 
 was the more favoured would form a neat subject for a 
 tenzon, if such a thing were in vogue among moderns. 
 II vecchio Pier d'Alvernia, as Petrarch terms him, in 
 allusion to his patriarchal length of life, wrote as vene- 
 mously of his brother poets as though he had been in 
 the habit of receiving " favours " from vipers, rather 
 than from charming women : — 
 
 There's Peter Rogers writes of love ; 'tis but a waste of paper. 
 Let the' cowl'd fool, resigning ]ute, take up a lighted taper, 
 And, marching with his brother monks, in chapel drone and pray ; 
 The world is weary of his song, or, rather, of his bray. 
 
 Old Borneil, with his dreary face and still more dreary rhyme. 
 Is Uke a sheet that's worn threadbare and all bestained by time. 
 Yet he pretends, the senseless owl ! for counts and lords to sing ! 
 His lays just suit the beldames that draw water from the spring. 
 
 There's Bernard of Ventadour loves a countess and a queen ! 
 It makes me laugh to think of what he is and what has been. 
 His spiritless, dough-thumping sire was even at that a sloven. 
 And his mamma — fine dame, ha ! ha ! chop'dwood to heat the oven ! 
 
 Hoarse Brival, with his nasal twang, should scream along the street, 
 " I'm all the way from Palestine and have no bread to eat !" 
 He is the scoff, the butt, the laugh alike of rich and poor. 
 A pilgrim he, sure, ought to be, and not a troubadour. 
 
 This anticipation of the " Dunciad," which continues in 
 the same coarse strain for many stanzas, must be pro- 
 nounced elegance itself when compared with the tirade 
 of the Monk of Montmayor,"^ a genius who richly 
 merited his title of " Scourge of the Poets," In the 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 63 
 
 application of epithets he surpasses Falstaff himself. 
 He is never at a loss for a term, and never runs himself 
 out of breath. He calls Rudel a vile mountaineer, 
 with a vulgar liking for raw onions ; Peyre of Vernigo, 
 a peasant clown of consummate coarseness and igno- 
 rance ; Elias of Bargiol, a fellow who wrote without 
 rhyme or reason ; Guilhem of Agoult, an accomplished 
 libertine ; Arnaud Daniel, a lover of obscurity ; Guil- 
 hem Adhemar, a bad soldier, a worse poet, and a 
 greater liar than Peyre Vidal himself; Folquet of 
 Marseilles, a merchant Avho, attempting to enrich him- 
 self by making a false oath, was discovered, tried, and 
 convicted of perjury ; Rambaud of Vaquieras,- a fool ; 
 Aubert of Pucibot, a hypocrite ; Guilhem of Cabestaing, 
 a stupid coward ; Pons of Capdueil, a plagiarist ; Lau- 
 franc Cicala, a stupid stutterer ; Giraud of Borneil, an 
 old drake quacking in the sunshine, and so forth. This 
 might be regarded as mere vituperation, were there not 
 evidence to show that the Monk of Montmayor merely 
 repeated what others had said before him, and that in 
 many instances the ugly terms he applies so liberally 
 were not quite undeserved. We know from other 
 sources that Arnaud Daniel really was obscure ; that 
 Rambaud of Vaquieras bore the unenviable reputa- 
 tion of a fool ; and that Guilhem Adhemar really had 
 failed as a soldier. We may fairly surmise, then, that 
 the conduct of Guilhem of Agoult was not quite in 
 harmony with the exalted sentiments expressed in his 
 sonnets, and that Folquet of Marseilles really had been 
 involved in some unpleasant transaction which gave some 
 colour to the piece of scandal adopted by the satirist. 
 
 The servente makers and publishers were allowed a 
 good deal of licence, or it may be presumed that none 
 of them would have been willing to accept, much less 
 
64 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 exult in, such a title as the " Flagellator of Tyrants," 
 like Guilhem of Figueras. Still this licence had a 
 limit, as not a few of them found to their cost, by for- 
 feiting life or limb to the vengeance of some of their 
 victims. Thus the first Marchebrus was murdered by 
 some gentleman whom he had gibbeted in his ser- 
 ventes ; Ricard of Noves, a bitter foe of Papal power, 
 was subjected to a punishment theretofore reserved for 
 clerks guilty of a certain crime, and thrown into a well; 
 and Boniface of Castellane, a warrior and a patriot, but 
 still more dreaded by the French lord's of Provence as 
 a poet, lost his head on the scaffold, on account of the 
 rebellious tendency of his lyrics. Some of these satirists, 
 however, knew well how to apply the salve of a well 
 timed eulogium to the wound inflicted by a servente, 
 when this wound threatened to extend to their own 
 persons. Such a one was Bertrand d'Alamon, " lord of 
 the place so called, and a man very worthy of honour. 
 He was learned, a good Provengal, poetic, fertile of 
 fancy, and fluent of tongue and pen. His sweet and 
 modest conversation and his vein of poetry rendered 
 him generally agreeable. He made many fine pieces, 
 and was enamoured of Fanetta of Romanini, a lady 
 who . held open court of love in her castle, and who 
 was also the aunt of Petrarch's Laura. In praise of 
 Fanetta he wrote many excellent rhymes ; nor did he 
 ever interrupt his songs of love, unless to write satiri- 
 cally and to speak scandalously of princes, not sparing 
 even his own sovereign, Charles II., king of Naples and 
 Count of Provence. On this account the king deprived 
 him of a right that his ancestors had enjoyed for ages, 
 in the passage of salt by the bridge of Pertus over the 
 river Durance." The Alamons were the owners of the 
 bridge, and levied a heavy toll on the salt, which was 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 65 
 
 monopoly. The loss was a heavy orte to the poet, and, 
 while smarting therefrom, " he made a servente, in which 
 he complained that there passed no more salt through 
 his gates," and indulged in several very small witticisms 
 and quaint conceits by way of introduction. In the 
 body of the servente he contrived to range over all the 
 more important political events of the day, and thus found 
 occasion for flattering the house of Anjou and striking 
 very hard at its foes. " On account of this servente, 
 which was presented to Charles at the suggestion of 
 his son Robert, his right over the salt was restored to 
 Bertrand. Also Robert, who was a lover of Proven9al 
 poetry, seeing that this servente was full of singularity 
 and grace, took the author into his service, inscribed his 
 name on the roll of the gentlemen of his Court, and 
 made much use of him in Provence. Besides this, he 
 enriched him with valuable gifts and made him 
 seneschal of Provence and custodian of the rights, 
 as tolls, etc., that the king, his father, possessed over 
 the market-place of Rognes."* 
 
 The servente was the recognized medium of satire, 
 but every other species of poetry could be bent to the 
 same purpose. There is an instance in which Sordel, 
 displaying as much perverse ingenuity as the worthy 
 who turned that model tome, " The Whole Duty of 
 Man," into a libel on the whole parish,t contrived that 
 the most lachrymose of all ditties, the elegy, should 
 utter the most venomous of diatribes. 
 
 And ask ye why my sighs ascend, , \ ' 
 
 And why my tears are shed ? 
 
 The gen'rous lord, the trusty friend, 
 Blacas the Good is dead. 
 
 * Bouches du Rh8ne ; five leagues N.N.E. of Aix. 
 + By writing the name of a neighbour opposite each sin therein 
 denounced. 
 
66 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Some recompense I'll try to find 
 
 For all that I have lost, 
 In' sharing what he's left behind 
 
 'Mong those that need it most. 
 
 His gen'rous heart, his valiant heart, 
 
 His noble heart among 
 The kings I'll share, that each a part 
 
 May swallow and be strong. 
 
 And first the Kaisar it shall taste ; 
 
 He needs it to regain 
 The lands that, from his German host. 
 
 The Milanese have ta'en. 
 
 King Lewis next a share may claim ; 
 
 We know he needs it much, 
 If his mamma, whom more than shame 
 
 He dreads, will let him touch. 
 
 In turn the island's royal thrall 
 
 Thereon shall breakfast twice ; 
 His need's so great, his soul so small. 
 
 One piece would not suffice. 
 
 Castile's Fernando then I warn 
 
 To eat — that he may bear 
 His losses and his barons' scorn ; 
 
 He needs a double share. 
 
 The last our two weak counts I'll serve ; 
 
 To each I'll give enough 
 Their feeble hands and hearts to nerve. 
 
 The Tournois to thrust offl 
 
 But, to our thinking, Sordel did much better when he 
 confined the elegy to its legitimate purpose, as in the 
 following example : — 
 
 To whom shall now our songs be sung ? 
 
 Our passion now be said ? 
 As if their funercd kneU were rung. 
 
 We count them with the dead. 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 67 
 
 Alas ! and must we, Count of mine, 
 
 Our souls to sorrow give ! 
 Since w^anting those yon cells confine, 
 
 It is not life to live. 
 
 Ah ! never more shall their sweet tones, 
 
 My Count, del-ght our ears ; 
 They now are chanting orisons. 
 
 While we are shedding tears ! 
 
 But, wherefore do we mourning stand ? 
 
 And what do tears avail ? 
 'Twere better far, with armed hand. 
 
 Their prison to a^aU. 
 
 My Count, let's fire the place at once,. 
 
 And burn it — cells and towers — 
 And thus unshrine the vile St. Pons, 
 
 Who robs us of our flowers. 
 
 In vain ! in vain ! No human hand 
 
 May snatch them from their fate ! 
 They pine among the cloistered band, 
 
 And we are desolate. 
 
 In similar strain, though hardly of equal merit, is an 
 elegy by Aymerie of Beauvoir : — 
 
 Sanchez is dead ! ah, woe is me ! 
 
 ■ I cannot sing for sighing j 
 Or if I do — alas, 'twill be 
 As sings the swan in dying. 
 
 With mournful tears mine eyes are dim, 
 My heart is pierced with sorrow ; 
 
 The dirge I weave to-day for him 
 Will serve for me to-morrow. 
 
 I weep not for the Good and Brave, 
 
 For he is blest in Heaven ; 
 But all I've buried in his grave — 
 
 To that my plaints are given. 
 
 We have already described the structure of the canzon 
 
68 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 and remarked that it was applied to many subjects. It 
 might sing of war as well as of love ; and it might be 
 employed to inculcate rules of etiquette, as well as high 
 moral principles, as we shall have occasion to notice 
 when we come to discuss the influence of the trouba- 
 dours on society. To the various specimens of the 
 canzon given in other places, we add a nearly literal 
 version of one by the Countess Die : — 
 
 A painful song I sing. Woe is me ! I must complain of the 
 one whom I love more than all the world beside. With him, and 
 him only, my beauty, my grace, my wit, and even are in- 
 effectual. I am deceived, betrayed, abandoned, contemned, like 
 one guilty of some great crime ! 
 
 But this at least consoles me, dearest, that to you I never 
 failed in one tittle. I have always loved you, shall ever_ love you, 
 more than Seguin loved Valence. Yes ; it pleases me to think 
 that I surpass you in tenderness as much as you surpass me in 
 every brilliant quality. Why are you so amiable to all the world, 
 and cold only to me? 
 
 Your severity amazes and tortures me! Why should it not? 
 No ; it is not right that another lady, be she ever so fascinating, 
 should steal your heart away from me. Do you remember the 
 beginning of our affection ? God preserve me from being the 
 cause of its rupture ! 
 
 Your noble nature and your lofty rank reassure me. . Right well 
 am I aware that no lady of any country, far or near, could make a 
 better choice than yourself. But, dearest, you who know so much 
 of love, can you not divine who is the most tender and sincere of 
 women ? Have you forgotten the time when ?* 
 
 I might trust something to my rank ; something also to my 
 attractions ; and still more to the intensity of my affection. 
 
 To you, dear love, wherever you may be, I send this song, the 
 messenger and interpreter of my heart. Oh ! my handsome, my 
 amiable darling, I am dying to know why you treat me so sternly, 
 so barbarously! What is the cause? Is it hatred? Can it be 
 pride ? Let this closing verse remind you of the terrible effects 
 often caused by obduracy and pride. 
 
 We have now to notice a pleasing variety of Provengal 
 
 * There are blanks in our paraphrase, because the Countess Die wrote, 
 times, as unreservedly as Catullus. 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 69 
 
 poetry, of which, unfortunately, we possess but few 
 remains. In one of these Peyre d'Auvergne introduces a 
 lover as commissioning a nightingale to bear a message 
 to his mistress. "Away, sweet bird," cries the swain, 
 " seek the lady I love, reveal to her my feelings, discover 
 hers, and win her to say that I am not forgotten. Speed 
 on thy way ! Pause not nor turn aside ! Then be sure 
 to hasten back with glad tidings ! There is none so 
 dear to me, nor any from whom I desire so earnestly to 
 hear." The bird obeys, shoots away like an arrow, 
 reaches the desired spot, discovers the lady reclining in 
 an arbour, and attracts her attention by warbling his 
 sweetest notes — those with which he is wont to welcome 
 the earliest twinkle of the evening star. Then he 
 addresses the lady in human voice, tells her whence he 
 comes and from whom, and having thus delivered his 
 message faithfully, requests an answer. The lady con- 
 tinuing silent, the nightingale proceeds to remonstrate. 
 " Embrace love while it is offered," whispers he. " Seize 
 the happy moment ; it is a flower that quickly fades." It 
 is precisely the argument which an exquisite English 
 lyrist, Herrick, has thus expressed : — 
 
 Gather your rosebuds while ye may ! 
 
 Old time is still aflying ; 
 And that same flower that blooms to-day, 
 
 To-morrow may be dying. 
 
 The lady, who had only paused because she could not 
 at once find terms suiting the strength of her feelings, 
 then replies in very loving terms. The nightingale 
 returns, meeting with no mishap on the way, and 
 delights his master with the following tender message : 
 " Your pretty bird came straight to me. I heard him 
 with delight. My love, your absence pains me much. 
 You are dearer to me than all that the world contains. 
 
70 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Why were you so ready to leave me ? Had I foreseen 
 your intended departure I would have delayed your 
 happiness, and thus detained you by my side a little 
 longer. Much I regret that I did not do so. Your 
 absence oppresses my heart with sadness : I breathe 
 nothing but sighs. Were you with me, all would be 
 happiness ; I would not give you up for all the world. 
 Love is like gold ; the more it is tried the purer does it 
 become. Such love is mine. Fly away, beautiful bird ! 
 Let him know how dear he is to me ; nor forget to use 
 thy sweetest tones." 
 
 The foregoing fable was evidently borrowed from the 
 Moors, with whom old Peyre often came in contact dur- 
 ing his rambles. So also was the story composed by 
 Arnaud of Carcasses, of which we paraphrase some 
 portions. 
 
 The Parrot. 
 
 Upon the summit of a hill 
 There stood a lordly castle ; 
 
 Its battlements were guarded well 
 By steel-clad knight and vassal. 
 
 A lovely patchof garden-ground 
 Extended far behind it ; 
 i A lofty wall begirt it round, 
 
 And there were men to mind it. 
 
 There spread the forest tree its gloom, 
 
 There pear and apple grew, 
 There flourished flowers of rich perfume, 
 
 And flowers of beauty too. 
 
 Cool grottos were there and pretty nooks. 
 
 And boats for who loved rowing. 
 For 'neath the shades, and through the glades, 
 
 A dozen streams were flowing. 
 
 'Twas noontide in the summer's prime 
 
 Without a cloud or breeze, 
 A sweltering moment — just the time 
 
 To shelter 'neath the trees. 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 71 
 
 When one with a bewitching face, 
 
 And clad in raiment fine, 
 Upon the grass reclined her grace, 
 
 Beneath a pine to pine. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 He was a very ancient knight, 
 
 His muscles shrunk to gristles ; 
 A stoop diminished much his height ; 
 
 His beard was naught but bristles. 
 
 His voice was hoarse, his mind was coarse ; 
 
 A gruff, ungainly blade ; he 
 Was not, you know, the kind of beau, 
 
 To please a pretty lady. 
 
 * . m * m 
 
 She pined — ^but wherefore ? Tell I can't ; 
 
 She wanted — what ? I know not. 
 Perhaps it was some pretty plant 
 
 That in such gardens grow not. 
 
 While musing sad a sound she heard, 
 
 A pair of pinions flapping ; 
 And looking up, beheld a bird 
 
 Among the branches hopping. 
 
 'Twas not a daw, 'twas not a rook, 
 
 And it was not a dove ; 
 Its beak was shaped just like a hook, 
 
 In hue it was " a love." 
 
 A glittering eye, a saucy way 
 
 But fearing lest I mar it 
 In awkward effort to portray, 
 
 I'll say at once — a parrot. 
 
 That it was so the lady knew. 
 
 Though she had never seen one ; 
 Which demonstrates, whate'er its hue, 
 
 That she was not a. green one. 
 
 * m m * 
 
 " The prettiest youth on earth that moves, 
 
 Antiphanor they call him. 
 Has sent to say that you he loves, 
 
 And will, whate'er befall him. 
 
72 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 " He's tall and straight ; he's fresh and bright j 
 He's gentle and he's hearty ; 
 He's just the very opposite 
 Of yonder ancient party. 
 
 " A fairer or more gen'rous knight 
 You never heard or read on . 
 He bade me say that — well-a-day ! — 
 He loves the ground you tread on. 
 
 " He vows you have the sweetest eye 
 
 That ever lit a face, 
 And he avers he's sure to die, 
 Unless you grant him grace. 
 
 " He says his heart, if you deny. 
 Will snap just like a carrot, 
 
 A thread that's singed, or crust of pie " 
 
 " Be off ! you naughty parrot ! 
 
 " You're very bold such speech to hold 
 Unto a married woman ! 
 
 I will not list, and 
 
 Hist ! hist ! whisht ! ! ! 
 I hear my husband coming ! " 
 
 " Pooh ! " said the parrot, " it is naught, 
 
 Except some rabbits playing. 
 The rustling sward your ear has caught — 
 
 And then, as I was saying — 
 
 " My lord and you, sweet girl, would make 
 
 A pair " 
 
 " I will not listen ! 
 So just this answer back you'll take, 
 That I'll be none of his'n. i 
 
 " Besides, I never saw the youth. 
 As I'm a wedded madam, 
 I would not, parrot, of a truth, 
 Him recognize from Adam ! " 
 
 " He's rich—" 
 
 " For that I do not care." 
 "Him love!" 
 
 " Oh no ! I must not dare." 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY • 73 
 
 " I pray you do ! Of love for you, 
 
 I know his heart is quite full ; 
 If here were he, instead of me, 
 
 You'd find him so delightful." 
 
 " Now hold your prate ! To him who sent 
 
 At once I bid you hie, sir." 
 " If you agree to his intent, 
 
 And none need be the wiser ! 
 
 " Ten thousand ladies do the same, 
 Ten thousand more will do it ; 
 They dread, being prudent, naught of shame, 
 Nor e'er have cause to rue it." 
 
 * * * * 
 
 And thus the talk 'twixt dame and bird 
 
 That summer day proceeded — • 
 Until to love her heart was stirred 
 
 The youth for whom he pleaded. 
 
 " Since you insist it must be so," 
 
 Exclaimed at length the lady. 
 " You may unto your master go 
 
 And say that I am ready 
 
 To yield my heart, when he has knelt 
 
 And all his passion spoken ; 
 And bear this ring and broidered belt. 
 
 To him thereof in token." 
 
 " Thanks," said the bird, and took the things 
 
 " And now unto my master, 
 Fast as I came I'U ply my wings " 
 
 " No," said the lady—" faster ! " 
 
 The parrot flew the thin air through ; 
 
 He passed o'er lake and mountain ; 
 Until his master's form he knew, 
 
 Reclined beside a fountain. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 He mounts his steed ; the bird decides 
 
 Within his breast to nestle ; 
 And thus away the lover rides 
 
 Unto his lady's castle. 
 
74 . THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 High soars the parrot in the air, 
 And vaults across the towers ; 
 
 And soon he sees the lady fair 
 RecHning 'mid the flowers. 
 
 " In vain you come ! " the beauty cries, 
 And then she fell aweeping ; 
 
 " If he is seen, your master dies ! 
 My spouse strict watch is keeping." 
 
 " The doors are locked, the keys are placed- 
 
 Ah me ! — his pillow under; 
 If we are caught I'll be disgraced, 
 
 And he'll be torn asunder.'' 
 
 Rephed the bird, " Pray do not fear ! 
 
 Nor you nor he shall have ill ; 
 Here let me whisper in your ear 
 
 How I'll this coil unravel." 
 
 She smiled and nodded, said " I'U be 
 
 Ready beside yon gate." 
 " Good ! " said the bird, and off flew he 
 
 To where his master sat. 
 
 Then three words more — it might be four- 
 The knight burst out alaughing. 
 
 I fancy that the naughty bird 
 
 Had been what you call — " chaffing." 
 
 Then up he sprang, and down he threw 
 
 Upon each lofty spire, 
 A horrid something, blazing blue. 
 
 That people call — Greek fire. 
 
 I wo'n't, because I can't, say how 
 
 The bird the thing had got ; 
 The story only says that now 
 
 He poured it from a pot. 
 
 The stuff sticks fast where'er it falls, 
 
 And very soon it raises. 
 Upon the roof and o'er the walls, 
 Not one, but fifty blazes. 
 
PRO VENCAL POETR Y 75 
 
 The bells ring out, the people shout, 
 
 There is a fearful pother ; 
 They mount about, inside and out, 
 
 And try the flames to smother. 
 
 Garden and chamber watched no more, 
 
 The wily bird discovers; 
 He steals the keys and opes the door, 
 
 And there we leave the lovers. 
 
 At length, by. aid of vinegar, 
 
 Preserved in sundry places 
 For time of need, the crowds succeed 
 
 In putting out the blazes. 
 
 The smoke subsides, clears up the air — 
 
 Then o'er the treetops darting, 
 The watchful parrot warns the pair 
 
 That they must think of parting. 
 
 They part — 'tis in the usual way, 
 
 And needless to portray it — 
 But first the lady has her say, 
 
 Exactly as I say it. 
 
 " Adventures seek for love of me ; 
 
 I want a knight to brag on. 
 Of giants slaughter two or three, 
 
 Besides a fiery dragon. 
 
 " Then, there are lands where men they bake, 
 Though many folk deny it ; 
 I'd like to know if it be so, 
 So just to please me, try it ! 
 
 " I'd like a petted Crocodile, 
 I'd like a servile demon, 
 A unicorn — at least his horn ; 
 All these are things I dream on. 
 
 " I'd like a phoenix or a fay. 
 Or satyr to keep by me ; 
 You're sure to meet them by the way, 
 So do, now, gratify me — 
 
 There's a dear — y ! " 
 
76 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 The knight said " Yes," and, bowing low, 
 
 His fiery courser spurred off ; 
 But whether he did these things, or no, 
 
 Is what I never heard of. 
 
 That the poetry of mediaeval Provence derived its 
 peculiarities from the Moors there cannot be a doubt 
 It is Eastern in nearly all respects, and in form as well 
 as character. The prototype of every species of lyric 
 in use among the troubadours is. to be found in the 
 poetry of the Spanish Moors, of their Arab progenitors, 
 or of the cognate races. The Bible, for example, 
 abounds with poetry similar in form and general purpose 
 to the servente, the canzon, the frottola and the teiizon. 
 No serventes more terribly severe were ever penned than 
 the fifty-second, fifty-eight, and sixty-ninth psalms. 
 From the same book, too, many admirable specimens of 
 the canzon, commiato included, might be selected. Then, 
 the Bible contains a whole book of frottole, elegies in 
 abundance, and even ballads. In Exodus, xv. 20, 21, 
 there is notice of a ballad sung in the dance ; and, 
 besides many isolated examples scattered through the 
 prophetic writings, the books of Canticles and of Job 
 are collections of tenzons. The tenzon, indeed, is em- 
 phatically Eastern. Poetical contests were passionately 
 courted by the Arabs ; Mohammed was renowned for 
 excellence therein previous to his assumption of the 
 prophetic mantle. In Arabia, and generally in Western 
 Asia, these contests were carried to an excess, and in- 
 cluded an element of excitement unknown to the Pro- 
 vengals. The poets often staked their lives on the 
 issue of the dispute, and the loser had mostly to pay the 
 forfeit. Among them the tenzon was often turned into 
 a means of destroying a dangerous rival. Rules of 
 composition, even more strict than those in use among 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY j-j 
 
 the Proven5als, were current in the East, and the first 
 to infringe these rules was declared vanquished. Among 
 the few notices extant of the adventures of Ferdousy, 
 the Persian Homer, is an anecdote relating to his risks 
 ■ in a tenzon. At the court of Mahmoud the Gaznavide 
 he was defied to a poetical struggle by three rivals. 
 Every verse was to contain four lines, of which each 
 poet in turn was to supply one, and the same rhyme 
 was to be adhered to through the verse. The anta- 
 gonists of Ferdousy terminated their lines with the 
 syllable schem, fully believing that there were but three 
 words' in the Persian language which ended thus. But 
 the extensive reading of Ferdousy enabled him to 
 supply a fourth, in the name of an almost forgotten 
 character, Pischem. For the fiercest of these contests, 
 however, we must examine German history. The Teu- 
 tonic minstrels, who were most decided imitators of 
 the Troubadours in all respects, delighted in them. It 
 is said that Herman, Langrave of Thuringia, once held 
 a minstrel show in his castle of the Wartburg, wherein 
 he offered a prize to the most excellent. The award, 
 however, was obstinately disputed, and excited an acri- 
 monious feud between two of the most renowned singers 
 of the Fatherland, Heinrich von Ofterdingen and Wol- 
 fram von Eschenbach. These two determined at length 
 to bring their hostility to an end in a poetical contest, 
 wherein death was to be the penalty of defeat. The 
 struggle came off in the Wartburg in 1207. The 
 ancient hall was crowded with celebrities ; and beside 
 the minstrels stood the headsman and his assistants, 
 ready to do their office on the defeated champion. We 
 have the whole picture in our mind's eye. The singers 
 facing each other with intensest hatred, and around 
 them a crowd of dames and cavaliers full of that 
 
78 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 vigorous life which rejoices in contests wherein life is the 
 stake. Unfortunately, the progress and issue of the 
 struggle is uncertain. The narrators seem to have 
 beheld it through a glass and very darkly. According 
 to them, the strife was rather musical than poetical, and 
 Wolfram vanquished by a mechanical trick whichd rew 
 sounds of unusual richness from his instrument. Hein- 
 rich of Ofterdingen, however, managed to save his life, 
 for the Langravine Sophia flung her mantle over him, 
 and there was none there who dared to perpetrate the 
 sacrilege of tearing him from such a shelter. The story 
 closes with a tale of wizard interposition, which we leave 
 to the contempt it merits. In our opinion, the whole 
 narrative has been deeply tinged with hues borrowed 
 from the Provencal artists. The story of the mantle we 
 believe to have been borrowed from the Langue d'Oc. 
 Among some of the valleys of the Pyrenees it really 
 was customary to pardon the felon condemned to death 
 who could manage to break his fetters, or to wrench 
 himself from the grasp of the executioner, and take 
 refuge with the lady of the manor. 
 
 The Spanish Moors produced examples of the tenzon 
 long before this or any other species of what have been 
 fittingly termed vers de society, became habitual to 
 their Gallic neighbours. The magnificent Abderrahman 
 II. delighted to pass the time he could snatch from cares 
 of State in such pleasing exercises of the intellect, 
 along with his favourite, the poet Abdallah ben Zamri. 
 One of these canzons originated in a dispute which 
 made some noise at the Court of Cordova. In a tender 
 moment the monarch cast a necklace of incalculable 
 value round the neck of the beautiful Zeluca. His 
 councillors blamed his extravagance, representing that 
 the gems would have been better placed in the treasury. 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 79 
 
 as a provision for one of the political emergencies 
 that were perpetually recurring. Abderrahman blamed 
 the sordid-mindedness of his councillors ; and he and 
 Zamri contended which of the two could the better 
 excuse the gift. 
 
 Abderrahman. 
 They shine, indeed, but can they feel ? 
 
 Or to my sighing lend an ear ? 
 Have they a smile like hers to heal 
 
 My wounds of heart ? a voice to cheer ? 
 They value things of little worth. 
 
 Despising what of life's the pearl. 
 Ah, what are all the gems of earth 
 Compared unto my charming girl ? 
 
 Zamri. 
 Oh ! Caliph, count me not of those 
 
 In form but not in feelings human. 
 Who think the world a treasure shows 
 
 Surpassing blushing, blooming woman. 
 Of all the earth contains, or sea. 
 
 Of jewels, woman still is rarest : 
 And that fair girl who smiles on thee, 
 
 My Caliph, is of woman fairest. 
 
 Abderrahman. 
 As sweet thy verse, my Zamri, flows 
 
 As breeze across the flow'ry heath, 
 Or as the perfume of the rose, 
 
 Or almost as my beauty's breath. 
 My heart is hers, and hers mine eyes ; 
 
 Ah ! were they mine — thus would I use them ; 
 I'd string them, Zamri, jewel-wise 
 
 To form a pendant for her bosom. 
 
 We may observe that the Eastern extravagance of 
 the closing lines of this tenzon has many parallels 
 among the Provengal odes. 
 
 The Spanish Moors were even more extreme in their 
 love of song than their trans- Pyrenean neighbours. They 
 never used simple prose where there was a possibility 
 
8o THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 of employing verse. The latter they applied to the 
 most unpromising, and, as a northern mind would 
 consider, uncongenial subjects. Logical discourses, 
 essays on physical science, and even lingual manuals, 
 were composed in metre. Among many such monstro- 
 sities they possessed the Alpha, a renowned treatise on 
 grammar, and the Zamial, a treatise equally renowned 
 on the conjugations ! With the Moors, even more than 
 with the Provengals, the study of poety was universal, and 
 bards by profession were numerous. And among them, 
 even more than among the Provengals, were the praises 
 of the poet appreciated, and his censures dreaded. 
 Consequently, the Moors, even more than the Provengals 
 were given to rewarding panegyric, and averting satire 
 by boundless liberality to the sons of song. It was no 
 uncommon thing for a Moorish or an Oriental poet to 
 make his fortune through a single piece opportunely 
 sung. It is told of the renowned Haroun al Raschid, 
 that a quarrel with a favourite mistress having involved 
 him in melancholy ominous of series results, and this 
 quarrel having been terminated by the song of a poet, 
 the latter was rewarded with forty thousand pieces of 
 gold ! It is also told of a vanquished Moorish prince, 
 that being on his way to hopeless captivity, he bestowed 
 thirty-six pieces of gold, the last remains of all his 
 former wealth, on a poet who presented him with an ode 
 regretting his fall. Of the same prince another story is 
 related even more illustrative of the love of the Moors 
 for minstrelsy. He was once the chief of the dynasty 
 of the Almohades, and the mightiest prince of Moorish 
 Spain. In his contest with the monarchs of Castile, 
 then becoming formidable, he was short-sighted enough 
 to summon to his aid a new horde of desert-born fana- 
 tics, the Almoravides. The latter came at the call, 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 8i 
 
 swept back the Christians for a time, and then, turning 
 their swords against their employer, fixed themselves as 
 masters in the Moslem portion of the Peninsula. Long 
 before this had occurred, the Almohadis became appre- 
 hensive of the results of his imprudence, though hardly 
 yet conceiving that it could result, as it did, in the utter 
 ruin of his family. In this state of mind he dreamed a 
 dream, as oracular as the dreams of Eastern magnates 
 have ever been, and still more remarkable, in that it 
 deserves a place beside the vision of the damsel playing 
 on a dulcimer, that visited the pillow of that glorious 
 visionary, Samuel Taylor Coleridge. "In the dream of 
 the Almohadis a mournful peri made its appearance 
 bearing a guitar, and playing a plaintive air. It sang to 
 him as follows, and three times over, for so often did it 
 visit his slumbers in that one night : — 
 
 Once did'st thou ride a conquering king, 
 
 In Fortune's gilded car ; 
 And Fame delighted then to sing 
 
 Thy glories near and far. 
 
 But Fortune is no longer thine, 
 
 Her hand has laid thee low ; 
 And Fame thy name no more shall twine. 
 
 Save in a tale of woe. 
 
 Thy pleasures all have passed away 
 
 Like bubbles from the stream ; 
 The greatness thine but yesterday 
 
 Has vanished like a dream. 
 
 The servente was a renowned Moorish iiistitution. 
 Abdul Walid ben Abdallah, one of the many lovers of 
 the poetical princess Validhata, is said to have used a 
 satire against his rivals as effectively as ever Justice of 
 the Peace used the Riot Act against a quarrelsome 
 mob, dispersing them to all quarters from their pursuit 
 
 n. 
 
82 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 of the beauty. A fair illustration of the esteehi enter- 
 tained for satiric poets by the Spanish Moors is supplied 
 by the following anecdote. Solyman, the Cadi of 
 Merida (A.D. 900), having been removed from his post 
 by Abdallah, monarch of Toledo, he revenged himself 
 by publishing a fierce invective against the prince. The 
 piece excited much attention, and the author was soon 
 discovered. When he was brought before Abdallah, the 
 latter assumed a bantering tone. " My dear Solyman," 
 said he to the poet, " I hardly think that I merit your 
 reproaches. Still, I do not mean to punish you for your 
 poetry ; quite the contrary. You shall even have the 
 honour of reciting your compositions before me whenever 
 I may happen to be in the mood to hear them. This, I 
 doubt not, will be often, for you are afflicted with the 
 disease of jingling, and I am afflicted with the kindred 
 disease of liking the jingle. As you know, I value all 
 poetry, and yours more than that of anybody else — so 
 highly, indeed, that I consider one line of yours well 
 worth a thousand pieces of gold. And that sum, my 
 good Solyman, I mean you to pay me for every line you 
 may henceforth composeT 
 
 Like the troubadours, the Moorish singers were in the 
 habit of giving pet names to their mistresses. The great 
 Abderrahman, who was not less renowned as a poet than 
 as a warrior and a statesman, called his chief sultana 
 " the Light of the World" long before the term was 
 used by Moore's hero. 
 
 As among the troubadours, so there were among 
 the Moors many ladies of high rank, like Validhata; who 
 could wrap up a declaration of love in a copy of verses. 
 Thus wrote Abassa, the sister of Haroun al Raschid, to 
 the celebrated vizier — indeed, the most celebrated of all 
 viziers — Graffer, who was her lover : — 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 83 
 
 Ah ! if you ask what stains you trace 
 
 Upon this scroll of mine, 
 'Tis Modesty would fain efface, 
 
 With tears, each glowing line. 
 
 I cannot quench, howe'er I try, 
 
 This soul consuming flame; 
 And yet how speak it ? I must die 
 
 Either of Love or Shame. 
 
 I'll tear the scroll, lest it betray 
 
 My secret ; but reply. 
 How can I die of love nor say 
 
 That 'tis for you I die .' 
 
 The sentiments expressed in these lines are such as 
 were uttered a thousand times over, in after days, by 
 the Provengals. We have the report of a conversation 
 between Beatrice of Montferrat and Rambaud of Va- 
 quieras, in which the latter repeats the ideas of Abassa's 
 last stanza. 
 
 The Moslems too delighted in pretty fables, in which 
 birds and animals appear as actors, and we are ■ quite 
 sure that their Gallic neighbours borrowed largely from 
 these fables. There can be no doubt as to the Moorish 
 origin of the story of the Parrot of which we have 
 given a paraphrase. The picture of a lady secluded 
 under watch and ward, and of the employment of Greek 
 fire, applies only to the East. We cannot find the 
 smallest approach to harem life among the Provencals. 
 And Greek fire and its antidote, vinegar, were things 
 altogether unknown to Western warfare.* 
 
 The causes of the decline of Provengal poetry may 
 be summed up very shortly. Its rise and prosperity 
 were caused by communication with the Moors ; by the 
 excitement of the crusades ; by the rivalry between the 
 dialects of the Langue d'Oc, which extended, as already 
 
 * There is one exception. In 1148, Geoffrey Plantagenet used Greek 
 •fire at the siege of Montreuil-Bellay. 
 
84 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 remarked, from the Ebro to the Po ; and by the social 
 state of the peoples inhabiting this stretch of country, 
 In the course of a century all these conditions under- 
 went a material change. The fervour of the crusades 
 subsided long before the close of the thirteenth century 
 In that century too, the Moors ceased to exercise any 
 influence, literary or otherwise, over their neighbours of 
 France. And in that century two important sections 
 were broken off for ever from the Langue d'Oc. The 
 progress of the Christian dominions in Spain turned the 
 attention and the sympathy of the people of Aragon 
 and Catalonia to the westward, and tended to sever 
 them from the Provencals. It tended, also, to impoverish 
 and weaken the Moors, and, therefore, to depose them 
 from that pitch of social and intellectual excellence 
 which had rendered them so influential. During the 
 very same period, the growth of its cities and the 
 development of its native poetry un-Provengalized Italy 
 Thus, the Langue d'Oc being contracted to the lands, 
 lying between the Bay of Biscay, the Alps, and the 
 Mediterranean, and no longer regarded as a centre by the 
 Lombards and the Catalans, many powerful stimulants 
 to the attainment of intellectual superiority were with- 
 drawn. Besides, the same century beheld a great and 
 disastrous change in the social and political system of 
 the Provencals. French domination fixed feudalism in 
 the land, and destroyed for ever that commercial and 
 individual independence which has always been so 
 favourable to the growth of genius. But Provence was 
 not even allowed to retain its native genius. The 
 capitals of the country were no longer Toulouse, Mont- 
 pellier, and Marseilles. Up to the middle of the four- 
 teenth century they were Paris and Naples. After that 
 the capital was Paris only. For two centuries, therefore, 
 
PROVENCAL POETRY 85 
 
 Provfengal intellect was divided between Italy and 
 France. Eventually, it gave itself wholly up to the 
 latter, allowing its native language to fall into the 
 degradation of a patois, and its native literature to 
 become an antiquarian curiosity. 
 
COURTS OF LOVE 
 
 Many things which modern society abandon to public 
 opinion, or to the sense of propriety of individuals, 
 were controlled during the middle ages by popular insti- 
 tutions. We have no punishment for the ungrateful, 
 the avaricious, the domestic tyrant, the disagreeable 
 neighbour, or the person whose life is a crying scandal, 
 save one that is little regarded by its objects, repro- 
 bation. Among the men of the past it was strikingly 
 different ; they dealt with such persons as prescription 
 directed, and in a way that was not the less severe 
 because it happened to be thoroughly grotesque. This 
 was especially the fact in the countries south of the 
 Loire. Therein abounded potentates, bearing ridiculous 
 titles, who were elected by the mob, and who exercised 
 considerable power over delinquents beyond the reach 
 of graver tribunals. For instance : In Peregueux, the 
 King of Caitiffs was empowered to unroof the house of 
 the man who allowed his wife to usurp his authority ; 
 at Chailly " the boys," a term including the male 
 " children of larger growth," had the privilege of 
 dressing wife-beaters ridiculously and parading them 
 for several hours on the backs of asses, every first of 
 May ; and on the same day, at Autun, the King of 
 Fools and his merry men were accustomed to duck 
 scolds, slanderers, drunkards, etc., in the Bishop's Well. 
 
COURTS OF LOVE 87 
 
 The social system which delighted in such things 
 was precisely the one to devise and cherish the Court of 
 Love. When and how this singular tribunal originated 
 we have found it impossible to determine. It first 
 attracts our attention during the crusades ; and there 
 can be no doubt that it owes most of its more striking 
 characteristics, and all its glory, to these wars. In the 
 crusades the men of the Langue d'Oc took a leading 
 part from beginning to end. Within their borders the 
 first of these expeditions was decided upon, at the 
 Council of Clermont. A native of the Langue d'Oc, 
 Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, represented the Pope in that 
 expedition. A prince of the Langue d'Oc, Raymond of 
 Toulouse, was its wealthiest and most powerful chief- 
 Besides founding the great military order of the 
 Hospital, the men of the Langue d'Oc monopolised 
 two of the eight languages into which that order was 
 finally divided ; they filled the office of Grand Com- 
 mander, which took precedence on shore, and the office 
 of Grand Marshal, which took precedence at sea ; and up 
 to the opening of the sixteenth century, they furnished 
 just one half of the Grand Masters. It is stated that the 
 Langue d'Oc sent a hundred thousand warriors to the 
 first crusade ; and it is certain that it continued to feed 
 " the World's Debate " with an extraordinary propor- 
 tion of recruits. St. Bernard spoke in borrowed phrase, 
 full of Oriental exaggeration, when he boasted that the 
 second crusade had deprived Europe of six-sevenths of 
 its men. Still the consumption of manhood in this 
 fierce and protracted struggle must have been enormous. 
 And there resulted therefrom, in lands enthusiastic for 
 crusade, among which Provence and the bordering 
 countries thereof held unquestioned pre-eminence, a 
 repetition of that which should not have astonished the 
 
88 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 conquerors of Troy, when, after toiling through weary 
 siege and still more weary storm, they returned to 
 
 find- 
 Che le lor donne k li tormenti 
 Di tanta assentia, havean preso remedio— 
 Tutte s'havean giovini amanti eletti. Ariosto, xx. io. 
 
 On this state of things we have no wish to dilate. In 
 it, however, the Court of Love played decidedly a re- 
 straining part. It recognized existing gallantry, and, so 
 far as lay within its power, legalised it. But it insisted 
 on unswerving fidelity to a single lover ; it promoted 
 lofty sentiment and discountenanced mere appetite ; 
 and it stamped with opprobrium those who disregarded 
 its regulations. Thus it offered a formidable barrier to 
 coarse and indiscriminate licentiousness. 
 
 Had the Court of Love done no more it would have 
 merited some respect. But this that we have mentioned 
 was by no means the whole, nor even the better portion 
 of its work. It is admitted that the state of society is 
 determined by the position of woman therein. Where- 
 ever the female is a plaything or a drudge, the male is 
 fierce, treacherous, and cruel. There nothing desirable is 
 to be gained or preserved without chicanery and violence; 
 and there, consequently, shameless fraud and ruffianly 
 force reign despotic. No great knowledge of history is 
 requisite to show that fraud and force were precisely the 
 characteristics of the period immediately preceding the 
 crusades. The Court of Love changed all this. It 
 taught that affection was to be the prize of worth ; that 
 woman was to be wooed, deferred to, and cherished ; 
 and that there were seasons wherein the strong were to 
 rely no longer on their strength, and wherein victory was 
 to be won by generous devotion and graceful submission. 
 Circumstances gave it the power of enforcing its teach- 
 
COURTS OF LOVE 89 
 
 ings ; it developed taste, elegance, and all the milder 
 virtues : and it ended by communicating a polish to 
 society theretofore unknown. The mistress and the 
 cavalier servente indeed, as well as the Court of Love, 
 disappeared with the crusades. But the wife inherited 
 all the graceful prerogatives of the former, and the 
 husband all the high-toned sentiment of the latter. She 
 could never again degenerate into the mere directrix of 
 the spinsters or chief of the handmaidens. And he, 
 unlike his rude ancestors, who endeavoured to satisfy 
 their thirst for renown by meriting such epithets as 
 "Ironsides," "Hammer," "Wolf," and even "Devil," 
 sought thenceforth and above all things, to be dis- 
 tinguished as a gentle-vwaxi. 
 
 Unrecognized by the legislator and altogether op- 
 posed to the teachings of the priest, the Courts of Love 
 possessed neither chartered rights nor fixed seats, nor 
 any support but popular opinion. Their numbers, 
 therefore, were continually fluctuating. They died to- 
 day to revive to-morrow ; they vanished from one 
 quarter to reappear in another, according to the cha- 
 racters of the leading dames in each locality. Some- 
 times a brilliant court disappeared for ever with its 
 foundress ; sometimes it was maintained in prosperity 
 for ages, by a long succession of similar minds. Here 
 it was a petty thing, that included only the wives and 
 daughters of a few insignificant squires ; there it was 
 the magnificent assemblage of the noblest dames of a 
 great province. At one period we find these courts 
 multitudinous south of the Loire, and even extending 
 northwards to Champagne and Flanders, and eastward 
 as far as Palestine ; at another time we find them 
 receding to the narrow territory on the left bank of the 
 Rhone, taking refuge at Tarascon, Romani, Avignon, 
 
90 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Segni, etc., where eventually they withered under the 
 frigid rule of the northern monarchs. 
 
 Each Court of Love consisted of a pres ident a nd a 
 council. It is a statement often made that the nuni'Ber 
 composing the council was invariable, but for this there 
 is no foundation in the older writers. According. to 
 Andrd, the chaplain, one of the judgments of the 
 Countess of Champagne was issued with the approval 
 of " sixty ladies," and another with the approval of 
 "a great number." Writing of the Council of Pierre- 
 feu and Segni, an amalgamated thing, Nostradamus 
 gives the names of the ladies who composed it at "this 
 time " (the close of the twelfth century), a phrase evi- 
 dently meaning that there was no fixed number. Of 
 the Council of Romani, he states that it was formed " of 
 a certain number of ladies of the country, among whom 
 were the following," and then he mentions twelve. 
 And of the Council of Avignon he specifies fourteen, 
 "who," as he adds, "together with others of the prin- 
 cipal ladies flourishing at Avignon, during the residence 
 therein of the Papacy, held open Court of Love." 
 
 Another erroneous statement is that the Courts of 
 Love were composed exclusively of ladies. There are 
 instances on record wherein a fair proportion of the 
 members, including the president, were gentlemen. 
 These courts were held, in the towns, at the Hotel de 
 Ville ; in the country, in a castle hall, or, during the 
 summer, under a patriarchal tree. Sometimes the 
 pleadings were oral, and sometimes the arguments were 
 submitted to the court in writing. It would seem that 
 an appeal lay from a court of little fame, to one 
 wherein the dames were of the highest rank and re- 
 putation. The decisions of the latter were final, and, 
 besides, regarded as precedents. They were seldom 
 
CO URTS OF LOVE 91 
 
 disobeyed, since contempt of court was punished by- 
 expulsion from society. Nor was there anything arbi- 
 trary in these awards ; every one of them was a logical 
 deduction from the Code of Love.* This code, which 
 formed the manual of judges and suitors, consisted of 
 thirty-one articles, and was said to have originated as 
 follows : Once upon a time, somewhere in that period 
 of cloud and storm known to romance as the reign of 
 Arthur, a Breton knight besought the love of a Breton 
 damsel. In those days love was never gratuitous ; it 
 was necessary to purchase it by feats of dash and daring, 
 in which the lover had to risk his neck a hundred times 
 a day before he could climb to the lips of his mistress. 
 Consequently, the bold Breton was not a whit astonished 
 when " the Pulse of his Heart" commanded him to seek 
 the Court of Arthur, and there prove her the most 
 charming woman in existence, bymeans of those argu- 
 ments so dear to all knights errant — manslaughter and 
 housebreaking. That is to say, this very nice young 
 man was to thrash all the Knights of the Round Table 
 one after another, and then carry off. the celebrated 
 falcon belonging to the King, without asking any one's 
 leave. The youth undertook the enterprise and met 
 with the usual mishaps. He lost his way, was bothered, 
 seduced, bewitched, and well cudgelled any number of 
 times. At last he met with a benevolent fairy, who 
 enabled him to complete his task with equal ease and 
 honour. He carried off the falcon, and, along with it, a 
 scroll which he found attached by a golden chain to its 
 perch. Having reached home, he first arranged matters 
 to their mutual satisfaction with his lady love, and then 
 he employed a shaveling — always the proper word in a 
 romantic legend — to read the scroll. No sooner was 
 * It will be found at the close of this volume. 
 
92 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 the knight apprised of its contents than he despatched 
 an army of messengers to summon all the Beauty and 
 Chivalry of Armorica to discuss them. As in duty 
 bound, Beauty and Chivalry hastened to obey the 
 summons. They heard the wonderful story of the 
 scroll, listened breathlessly to the reading of the thirty- 
 one articles, and decreed unanimously that these articles 
 were thenceforth, and for ever, to have the force of law 
 among all high-born lovers. Then, they all took copies 
 of the precious document, which they communicated 
 to their neighbours on their return home. Thus the 
 Code of Love became known to all Christian peoples. 
 Its harmony with Christian faith, and, therefore, its 
 suitability for directing Christian practice, may be sur- 
 mised from the following few remarks of its most noted 
 exponent, Andre, the chaplain : " I dare not decide that 
 it is permitted us not to refuse the pleasures of the age. 
 I fear that my doctrine might appear a little too contrary 
 to the Commandments, and certainly it would not be 
 prudent to believe that one ought to give way to mun- 
 dane pleasures, rather than obey the Commandments.'' 
 The reverend Pere Andre was evidently one of those 
 clever gentlemen who know how and when and where 
 to "let I dare not, wait upon I would." This kind 
 of comment was pretty certain to secure him from the 
 censure of his superiors, without at all shaking his influ- 
 ence over his disciples. 
 
 Notwithstanding the fable told by Andre, the chap- 
 lain, we are far from believing that the Code of Love 
 originated in Bretagne. The hero of Breton legend was 
 often licentious, but never so on principle. He was 
 neither exclusively earthy nor merely logical. His 
 grossness was always considerably redeemed by his 
 aspirations, and his reason tempered and softened by 
 
COURTS OF LOVE 93 
 
 his fancy. There is nothing of the Armoric character 
 in the terse precision of the Code of Love ; in its bold 
 disregard of Christian teaching, or in its soulless material- 
 ism. From beginning to end, its precepts are the 
 children of the soil which nourished epicurean infidelity 
 and licentious heresy. 
 
 We commence our specimens of the decisions of the 
 Courts of Love with one by the Countess of Champagne. 
 To this princess a lady, and a gentleman who bore the 
 title of count, presented the following petition, which 
 seems to have been cast in the mould common to all 
 such productions : — • 
 
 It is proved by old experience that we should look for correct 
 judgment in the neighbourhood where grows the Tree of Know- 
 ledge, and that in our necessity we should draw water rather from 
 the brimming fountain than from the failing stream, since 
 abundance of gifts cannot proceed from dearth of riches. Being 
 one day under the shadow of a tree, discoursing of love and 
 examining its commandments, a doubt was born between us, 
 whether love could exist among the married or jealousy among 
 lovers. We disputed on this doubt, and supported our respective 
 opinions with arguments ; but neither of us would give way. We 
 agreed, therefore, after long contention, to submit it to your arbi- 
 tration. And we now lay before you our opinions in writing, being 
 firmly resolved to abide by your award, and perfectly confident 
 that the truth will be elicited and speedily determined by Your 
 Excellence. 
 
 To this petition the countess replied in the esta- 
 blished form : — 
 
 Because we are bound to attend to all just petitions, and must 
 not refuse our aid to those who are worthy to receive it — especially 
 to those who err in the articles of love, and require to be directed 
 aright therein — this that you have commended to me by your letter 
 I shall study to bring immediately to a proper termination. Your 
 letter states that between you was born this doubt , whether true 
 love may exist between the married, or jealousy between lovers ; 
 and that, having debated the matter in vain among yourselves, 
 you desire that I, who have your arguments before me, may deter- 
 
94 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 mine which of you is in the right. Therefore, having examined 
 the said arguments by the aid of sound science, we proceed hereby 
 to enact that love cannot extend his laws over husband and wife, 
 since the gifts of love are voluntary, and husband and wife are the 
 servants of duty. Also between the married can there be, in our 
 opinion, no jealousy, since between them there can be no love. For 
 jealousy is the companion of love, as is set forth in the Code of Lovei 
 which declares that love cannot subsist without jealousy. This is 
 our decision, formed with much deliberation and with the approval 
 of many dames ; and we decree that it be held firm and inviolable. 
 
 To this sentence Raynourard, writing on the authority 
 of Andr4 the chaplain, affixes the date 1174. Crescem- 
 bitii, however, who uses another ancient manuscript 
 dates it ten years earlier, and with the Italian we are 
 disposed to agree. The decree is quoted as a precedent 
 by Queen Eleanor, which proves that it could not have 
 been published in 11 74, or at any subsequent period ; 
 for in 1 173 Queen Eleanor was imprisoned by her hus- 
 band, nor did she regain her liberty for eleven years, 
 that is until the age of sixty-one, when it would be 
 rather too late for her to take further part in the 
 doings of the Court of Love. 
 
 Queen Eleanor's citation of the Countess of Cham- 
 pagne was occasioned by a curious question. A cavalier, 
 paying court to a dame already engaged, obtained her 
 promise that, should she ever find herself at liberty, she 
 would receive him as her lover. In process of time she 
 married her gallant, whereupon the cavalier resumed his 
 suit, conceiving with good reason, considering the 
 manners of the period, that the lady was now at full 
 liberty. She, however, could not be persuaded, against 
 the evidence of her feelings, that the man of her choice 
 had ceased to be her lover the moment he became her 
 husband. The suitor being as firm on his side the 
 matter was referred to the queen. The award of the 
 
COURTS OF LOVE 
 
 latter was thoroughly, scientifically, and inexorabl^.- 
 legal. "We dare not contradict the sentence of the 
 Countess of Champagne, who has pronounced that love 
 cannot exist between husband and wife. It is our 
 decree, then, that the dame aforesaid keep faith with her 
 cavalier." The poor lady, however, had a means of 
 escape, as appears from a sentence given about this time 
 by the Countess of Narbonne. Examining a case 
 wherein a lady had dismissed her gallant on contracting 
 marriage, the countess decided that " the supervention 
 of the marital bond did not deprive the first lover of 
 his rights, unless the lady announced that thenceforth 
 she meant to abandon love." This meant the abandon- 
 ment of society, for such a declaration was certain to 
 cause her to be shunned by the gay ladies and gentle- 
 men who then formed the vast majority of the fashion- 
 able world. 
 
 But though love could not exist between a married 
 couple, it was still possible for a husband to become the 
 accepted gallant of his wife. A case of the kind was 
 actually submitted to the decision of the Countess of 
 Narbonne, by a divorced husband who sought to be 
 admitted as the cavalier servente of his former wife. 
 He received the following satisfactory reply : " Between 
 those who have been married, but who are afterwards 
 separated, love is not to be reprehended ; it is even 
 respectable." 
 
 A case already cited shows that the Courts of Love 
 could be transformed into instruments of oppression. 
 It is a point of view from which we shall now take a 
 further survey of them. As we have elsewhere explained, 
 there were four degrees in love. The first was called 
 "hesitating," on both sides ; the second "praying," on the 
 part of the gentleman ; the third "listening," on the part 
 
96 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 of the lady ; and the fourth " druderie," or undisguised 
 gallantry. When the lady consented to enter the last 
 stage she granted the gentleman his first kiss, " on the, 
 neck below the kerchief." The giving and receiving of 
 this kiss between lovers, was considered equivalent to the 
 marriage ceremony between the wedded. Thereafter, 
 as it had been ruled by the Countess of Champagne, 
 there could be no withdrawal from the engagement, with- 
 out a cause whose sufficiency was to be determined by 
 the Court of Love ; and the said court, considering con- 
 stancy to be the essence of high-toned gallantry, was 
 not to be satisfied as to the validity of the cause without 
 a good deal of trouble. In consequence of this rule it 
 often happened that, when the lady was unwilling to 
 give the kiss, the gentleman sought to obtain it by fraud 
 or stealth, trusting that' wit or fortune would enable him 
 to turn his artifice into a legal title. It was in this view 
 that Vidal stole a kiss from the Viscountess of Mar- 
 seilles, and that Bertrand of Marseilles stole another from 
 the Lady of Figuires, but in neither instance with any 
 successful result. It seems that a promise of the kiss 
 was considered binding when seriously given, a thing 
 which rendered the law of love among the troubadours 
 curiously similar to the law of marriage among the 
 Scotch. A like use, too, appears to have been made of 
 it by unprincipled people, among whom we feel bound to 
 class William of Berguedam, a baron who dwelt on the 
 borders of Catalonia, ii 50-121 5. Full of dash, rest- 
 lessness, and ability, he was one who in a later age 
 would assuredly have spent his days in astonishing 
 Europe after the manner of the "admirable Crichton" 
 and his compeers. As it was, he made the very best use 
 of the opportunities accorded him by the ruder era in 
 which his lot was cast. He patronised and rivalled the 
 
■COURTS OF LOVE 97 
 
 wandering troubadours, he delighted in fray and foray, 
 and he sighed and serenaded to any extent. Being one 
 of those people who, however long they live, never 
 reach years of discretion, we find him at the ripe age of 
 sixty-five one of the most turbulent and intolerable, as 
 well as one of the most battered, beaux of the period. 
 On the verge of his career this choice spirit constituted 
 himself the plaintiff in a suit for Breach of Promise, 
 which was tried before one of the Courts of Love, the 
 respondent being a very young lady. Put into plain 
 English his plea would read somewhat thus : " I saw her 
 the day of her birth ; I have nursed her more times than 
 I can count ; I fell in love with her while she was yet in 
 swaddling clothes ; I cherished my passion in secret up 
 to three months ago ; then I disclosed my feelings and 
 asked for a kiss, which she promised to grant the next 
 time we met ; she refuses to keep her word, and now I 
 call upon this Honourable Court to do me right." The 
 drift of the plaintiff was sufficiently obvious. Could he 
 induce the court to decide in his favour, a thing by no 
 means improbable, the young lady would be compelled 
 , to become his mistress, or submit to social excommuni- 
 cation, a punishment whose severity, he thought, must 
 sooner or later reduce her to submission. For the 
 defence it was admitted that the promise had been 
 made ; but this, it was urged, was purely in jest, and 
 without the slightest idea that any demand would be 
 made for its fulfilment. It was further pleaded that the 
 damsel would never have given such a promise, even in 
 jest, had she entertained the remotest suspicion of the 
 serious consequences that might be evolved from her 
 indiscretion. Finally, her advocates referred to the 
 sixth article of the Code of Love — " Masculus non solet, 
 nisi in plena puberta, amare" — urging that the word 
 
 H 
 
g8 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Masculus covered both sexes, and that the damsel being 
 
 undoubtedly under age, she could not be coerced into 
 
 keeping a serious promise, had she made such a thing. • 
 
 William replied, asserting that the promise had been 
 
 seriously and deliberately given, contending that the 
 
 sixth article must be construed strictly according to the 
 
 letter — a view of the case for which he adduced many 
 
 authorities — and denying point blank that the lady was 
 
 immature and therefore entitled to take refuge under 
 
 the article cited, should the court rule, contrary to all 
 
 sound reason, that the said article applied to both 
 
 sexes. There could be no moral doubt as to which 
 
 side the truth lay ; but legal certainty and moral 
 
 certainty are two very different things. Here the one 
 
 thing legally certain was that a promise had been given, 
 
 and a promise was not to be trifled with. In those days 
 
 hardly anything else was regarded as binding. Men 
 
 who hesitated at no other perfidy took pride in 
 
 religiously observing their word ; and it would have 
 
 been a serious thing to have furnished the unscrupulous 
 
 with such a precedent, as the approval of Breach of 
 
 Promise by a tribunal which was emphatically one of 
 
 honour. At the same time the court had no wish to 
 
 perpetrate a glaring wrong by pedantic adherence to 
 
 the letter of the law. Under these circumstances, the 
 
 president — who in this instance was a gentleman — and 
 
 his council managed to patch up a sentence which, at 
 
 the same time, manifested their reverence for that 
 
 sacred thing, a promise, and completely satisfied the 
 
 requirements of justice. William was commanded to 
 
 take his kiss, because the lady had promised it ; and 
 
 then to give it back again because he had no right to it. 
 
 The young lady experienced no further annoyance. 
 
 Shortly after his non-suit her ancient admirer managed 
 
COURTS OF LOVE 99 
 
 to thrust his head in the way of a mortal stroke, to the 
 great relief of society. 
 
 The foregoing samples of their working give us a 
 view of the darker side of the Courts of Love ; let us 
 look for a moment at the brighter points. There was a 
 lady whose lover had been long absent on an expedition 
 beyond the seas. Despairing of his return, she sought 
 a new gallant, and found one to her liking. Here, how- 
 ever, the secretary of the absent gentleman intervened 
 like a queen's proctor, and summoned the lady to answer 
 to the charge of Infidelity before the court of the Countess 
 of Champagne. The accused defended herself skilfully. 
 Quoting the seventh article of the code, which states that 
 two years of widowhood must be observed for the death 
 of a lover, she pleaded that if a widowed lover might 
 contract a new engagement at the end of the two years 
 specified, it was but reasonable that she should be allowed 
 to replace an absent lover who for a term far longer than 
 two years had left her unconsoled by letter or message, 
 especially when the means of communication might have 
 been easily found, had he thought it right to seek them, 
 To this the Countess sternly replied :— 
 
 " A lady has no right to renounce her lover, under 
 the pretext of long absence, unless she knows, by infalli- 
 ble proofs, that he has violated his faith and failed in 
 his duty. The absence of a lover through necessity and 
 for an honourable purpose, furnished no sufficient excuse. 
 Nothing should be more gratifying to a lady than to 
 hear from distant lands, that her lover is winning glory 
 and acquiring consideration in the assemblies of the 
 great. The circumstance that he sends neither letter 
 nor message may be attributed to extreme prudence. 
 He may be reluctant to entrust his secret to a 
 stranger. And he may fear that a letter would disclose 
 
loo THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 the mysteries of his love, either through the faithless, 
 ness of the bearer, or through his death during the 
 voyage." 
 
 The Courts of Love interposed to punish infidelity as 
 well as to check it. A lover already engaged aban- 
 doned his mistress to sue to another. After a few days' 
 dalliance with the latter, he quarrelled with her and 
 sought to renew his engagement with the first. Then 
 both dames united to prosecute him in the court of the 
 Countess of Flanders. " Let the wretch," decreed the 
 Countess, " lose both sweethearts, and thencefortli let 
 no honourable woman listen to him. For he is possessed 
 by an ungovernable will, which is the mortal enemy of 
 true love." 
 
 Concerning the last-mentioned judgment, it may be 
 remarked, that, though the laws of the Courts of Love 
 were unchangeable as those of the Medes and Persians, 
 it was not impossible to evade them. So at least ex- 
 perienced one of the several troubadours, known as 
 Richard of Barbesieux. The gentleman we allude to, a 
 man of fortune and ability, who was as handsome in 
 person as he was elegant in manners, became the ac- 
 knowledged gallant of the wife of the Lord of Touai. 
 For awhile his passion burnt with the fiercest flame ; he 
 was always at the beck of the lady he loved, and ex- 
 tolling her in all kinds of verse. Richard, however, was 
 cursed with an " ungovernable will," and showed it in due 
 season. One fine day he abandoned his first love for 
 a second ; and a few days afterwards he forsook the 
 second love to resume his attentions to the first. In 
 short he played precisely the part of the criminal 
 dealt with by the Countess of Flanders ; and although 
 the fact is not expressly stated, there can be no 
 doubt that he was tried, condemned, and punished ac- 
 
t 
 COURTS OF LOVE loi 
 
 cording to that precedent by the local Court of Love. 
 The excommunicated troubadour retired to a hermitage 
 in a neighbouring wood, where he spent his time, partly 
 in composing melancholy roundelays, and partly in 
 pointing bitter serventes against the members of the 
 court that had. condemned him. The latter was by no 
 means the lighter portion of his task, for sooth to say 
 these ladies were not immaculate. Accepting a current 
 piece of scanda-l concerning the president, he said in one 
 of these invectives: "There are dames, who, when 
 punished by heaven with barrenness, do not shame to 
 produce supposititious offsprings, in order to secure the 
 dowry which, is the right of mothers."' Having dealt 
 thus with his leading foe, he denounced her coadjutors as 
 "spending their lives in corrupting innocence; in justi- 
 fying what was wrong ; in depreciating what was right ; 
 in forcing people to refuse what they loved and accept 
 what they hated ; and in boasting of and laughing over 
 the triumphs of their perverse ingenuity." Elegy and 
 servente produced great effect. The former procured 
 him general sympathy, and the latter rendered his 
 judges exceedingly uncomfortable. At the end of a 
 few months they found that his virulence was becoming 
 quite intolerable ; and in order to find an antidote, they 
 agreed to revise his^ case. Then they discovered that 
 the troubadour had been tried and cast on a false 
 issue. What they had mistaken for Infidelity, a crime 
 that could not be forgiven, turned, out to be mere Flirta- 
 tion, which, according to the statutes in that case made 
 and provided, was on the whole a thing to be com- 
 mended. So at least had decided Queen Eleanor, 
 and she was one of the infallible authorities of the 
 Court of Love. " Such is the nature of the passion,"' 
 rulpd the queen, " that lovers often feign other engage- 
 
102 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 ments to assure themselves beyond a doubt of the con- 
 stancy and fidelity of the objects of their attachment. 
 It is, therefore, a glaring offence against the laws of love 
 for a lady to make the flirtation of her lover wjth another 
 a pretext for dismissing him, unless there be evidence to 
 show that he has failed in his duty and broken his 
 plighted faith." The excommunication of Richard of 
 Barbesieux was therefore rescinded, and Madame de 
 Touai was recommended to restore him to favour. One 
 would have thought that the troubadour ought to have 
 been satisfied with this ; but a fit of petulence had taken 
 possession of him, and he refused to quit his hermitage. 
 In a few days, however, he thought better of the matter, 
 and, resuming all the graces of dress and demeanour 
 that had formerly characterised him, he hastened to his 
 mistress, to find that she had taken to her breast the 
 fit of sullenness that he had just discarded. He 
 pleaded, and his friends pleaded for him, but for a long 
 time in vain. At length the lady relented to this ex- 
 tent :— she agreed to pardon him whenever a hundred 
 dames and as many cavaliers, all true lovers, should 
 come together in a row and entreat her on their bended 
 knees to do so. Richard bestirred himself to gather the 
 requisite company, nor did he find it a difficult task. 
 Every lady in the neighbourhood was only too anxious 
 to make one of such a delightful party, and, of course, 
 every lady had a true lover at command. We may re- 
 mark that a variation of this, as well as of many another 
 troubadour's story, will be found in the Cento Antiche 
 Novelle. 
 
 Such cases as that of Richard of Barbesieux were far 
 from uncommon. The most faithful of knights would 
 be tempted, at times, into flirtation, and the mildest of 
 mistresses would give way occasionally to fits of jealous 
 
COURTS OF LOVE 103 
 
 anger, much to the content of the members of the 
 Courts of Love, who were thus provided with abundant 
 matter for delicious discussion, as was remarked by an 
 ill-natured troubadour, who was also one of the last of 
 the tribe, " with ample means of wreaking their vengeance 
 upon scornful lovers and successful rivals, and with 
 endless opportunities for gratifying their natural inclina- 
 tion for prying into and gossiping of the affairs of their 
 neighbours. Nor," adds the said splenetic bard, " do 
 I think that the Courts of Love would have flourished 
 to such an extent, had they not pandered thus to the 
 foibles of the sex." 
 
 TxcR rh pryLjja_Jove_was^ mercilessly punished. A 
 cavalier loving a dame, and having few opportunities of 
 meeting her, they agreed to communicate by means of 
 his secretary. The latter took advantage of his posi- 
 tion to sue for himself, and met with full success. When 
 the master discovered the perfidy, he denounced the pair 
 to the Countess of Champagne. The latter, considering 
 the case of unusual importance, collected no less than sixty 
 ladies to discuss it, and this was their unanimous decision : 
 " Let the traitors, who are in every way so worthy of each 
 other, reap the benefit of their crime. But, henceforth 
 and for ever, let them be banished from society. Let 
 neither ever be invited to the assemblies of the ladies, or to 
 the sports of cavaliers ; because he has broken the faith of 
 a gentleman, and because she has violated the principles 
 of female modesty, in stooping to a messenger." We 
 may observe that the last line of the sentence was dic- 
 tated by the eleventh article of the code, which declared 
 it " shameful to love where it would have been a shame 
 to wed." 
 
 An offence not uncommon in our own days was thus 
 castigated by the ladies of Provence : — " Let the culprit 
 
,o4 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 who reveals the secrets, with which he has been entrusted 
 by a lady, be henceforth and for ever deprived of all 
 hope of love. Let him be contemned by both sexes; and 
 should any lady dare to break this law, let her incur 
 the enmity of every honourable woman." It is stated 
 that the ladies of the South were compelled to frame 
 this statute by the prevalence of the offence, and to 
 render it thus severe in the hope of restraining it. 
 
 Those who were given to vaunting of favours unre- 
 ceived were not spared by the Courts of Love, as a 
 troubadour, whom Nostradamus terms Guilhem de 
 Bargemon, found to his cost. He was in the service of, 
 Raymond Berenger, the last of the old Counts of 
 Toulouse, by whom he was highly prized. One day the 
 gentlemen of the Court happened to indulge in a pas- 
 time, very common among Gascons and other Southern 
 men in past days, and not yet quite forgotten by them. 
 It was just that amusement which Shakspeare, who is 
 always true to nature — except only when he meddles 
 with geography — attributes to the French cavaliers the 
 night before Agincourt — vaunting. When all the gen- 
 tlemen had exhausted themselves in the effort to outdo 
 one another in the matter of throwing the hatchet, 
 Guilhem of Bargemon, who had kept silence until then, 
 came out with his boast. " Gentlemen," said he, "per- 
 mit me to state that there is not one here present whom 
 I have not dishonoured." " And me too } " questioned 
 the Count. "As for you, my lord," replied Guilhem, 
 " I neither include you in the number of those who have 
 suffered as I state, nor exclude you therefrom." Every- 
 body laughed, for the speaker was reputed to surpass 
 even Peter Vidal himself in the way of lying. The 
 matter would have passed off without further notice, 
 but for the unfortunate fact that Guilhem had a faculty 
 
COURTS OF LOVE 105 
 
 for turning things to ridicule, and that he delighted to 
 exercise this faculty on the ladies, whose hatred he had 
 thus secured. They were soon apprised of his latest 
 folly, and hastened to take advantage of it. Constitut- 
 ing themselves into a Court of Love, they proceeded to 
 try the boaster " who had outraged them so impu- 
 dently." Of course he was found guilty. Their 
 sentence was that he should be expelled the Court 
 of Provence. Many of the ladies would have added a 
 whipping, but the proposition was negatived on account 
 of the youth of the offender. Count Raymond was 
 then summoned to execute the sentence, and he had 
 no choice but to obey, though sorely against his will. 
 Another version of this story is given in the Cento 
 Antiche Novelle, in which the hero, there said to have 
 been William of Bergedam, is represented as about to 
 undergo the whipping at the hands of all the ladies, 
 and as escaping therefrom by a piece of coarse wit. 
 This last version is also told of John de Meung, one 
 of the composers of the celebrated romance of the Rose, 
 as well as of a German minnesinger. 
 
 The Courts of Love punished some offences peculiar 
 to vulgar minds with great rigour. The Countess of 
 Champagne, when regulating the presents that might 
 pass between lovers, decreed that they should be limited 
 to rings, gloves, ribbons, and trifles that could not 
 possibly cause the recipient to incur the imputation of 
 being mercenary. And Queen Eleanor ruled, that she 
 who received presents under the false pretence of re- 
 sponding to the affection of the giver; should be 
 accounted infamous. It is a fact that a lady of Avignon 
 convicted of breaking these statutes was expelled with 
 ignominy from the town. This could be no trifling 
 punishment under any circumstances, but, as inflicted in 
 
io6 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 the olden time, it was terribly severe. Sometimes the 
 offenders were grotesquely dressed and mounted on 
 asses, with their faces to the tails ; they were thus 
 paraded through the principal streets, and passed through 
 the gate, never to re-enter, amid the jeers of the mob. 
 In this way the citizens of Milan treated the mother of 
 the Emperor Frederick, whose vengence originated the 
 most insulting gesture known to Italians, and an insolent 
 phrase — "A fig for you " — known everywhere. Some- 
 times the culprit was led the same round on foot, and 
 then kicked through the gate by the public executioner. 
 In aggravated cases the subject was stripped of every 
 article of clothing, previous to the promenade. The 
 probabilities are that the dame of Avignon underwent 
 the penalty in the last and worst form. 
 
 Perhaps the strangest case ever submitted to the 
 wisdom of the pretty sages presiding over the Courts of 
 Love, was one preferred by the citizens of Toulouse 
 against a lady who dwelt in that city. She was known as 
 "la Belle Paule," and her beauty is described as prodigi- 
 ous. Her admiring fellow-citizens haunted her in crowds: 
 wherever she appeared nothing else was noticed. The 
 draper exhibited his wares, the preacher exerted his 
 eloquence, the filters employed their skill, but all in 
 vain. Everything else was forgotten in the universal 
 comtemplation of la Belle Paule and her " prodigious 
 beauty." Thoroughly disgusted with this oppressive 
 homage, which allowed her not a moment's peace, she 
 made up her mind to appear no more in public, and 
 confined herself strictly to her chamber. The con- 
 sequences were disastrous in the extreme. The male 
 citizens in a mass began to pine, growing meagre, wan, 
 and woeful as so many ghosts, until the whole place 
 wore a plague-smitten appearance. It is affirmed " sur 
 
COURTS OF LOVE 107 
 
 I'honneur" that several eminently enthusiastic individuals, 
 spent day^ together round the house in the hope of 
 catching a glimpse of her at the windows, and that — 
 being disappointed, they absolutely died of "les 
 angoisses de leurs regret." In this state of things the 
 governing body was compelled to take prompt 
 measures, and resorted to the nearest Court of Love. 
 This tribunal fully appreciated the emergency, and 
 decreed forthwith that la Belle Paule was to exhbit 
 herself at her window at least once a week, and for not 
 less than half an hour at a time, in order that her 
 neighours might have an opportunity of "refreshing 
 themselves" by contemplating her prodigious beauty. 
 The story is of the class which the Germans term 
 " Kraewinkler." But its very exaggeration shows the 
 ap££eeia£ioiLQfJbeautjL.ami3ngJthej^^ 
 powers,.exexQsedby the Courts of Love. 
 
 It would appear from' certain manuscripts preserved 
 in the archives of the towns wherein were held the most 
 celebrated of these courts, that they took cognizance 
 of certain crimes of a serious cast, and constituted 
 themselves the protectors and avengers of defenceless 
 females. The celebrated Folquet of Marsailles was 
 lactually tried in one for an attempt at seduction, and, 
 being convicted, was thrust with ignominy from the city 
 whose name he bears ; though another was better en- 
 titled to the preference, as Petrarch has not forgotten to 
 remark — 
 
 Folchetto ch' a Marsiglia il nome ha dato 
 
 Et k Geneva tolto. Trionfo d^Amore. 
 
 There might be some doubt of Folquet's guilt, since 
 the charge was preferred by a slighted mistress, Adalais , 
 wife of Beraldo, Lord of Marsailles, a lady powerfu 1 
 
io8 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 within the Court, and still more powerful beyond its 
 precincts. But there can be no doubt concerning the 
 trial and its results, or, therefore, of the sway arrogated 
 by these tribunals. Perhaps this particular trial did 
 something towards driving the powerful-minded Folquet 
 into the Church, wherein he became the deadliest foe of 
 Southern princes and Southern institutions. 
 
 We have told in another place how a Court of Love 
 caused Fabro of Uzes to be whipped for singing, as his 
 own, songs to which he had no right. This fact proves 
 that the authority of these courts extended further, in 
 matters literary, than to the criticism of language, and 
 sentiment and to the decision of the relative merits of 
 rival bards. They were, indeed, much more frequently 
 called upon to exercise judgment as critics than to 
 decree the punishment to be inflicted upon plagiarists. 
 But the discussion of these critical prerogatives we 
 leave for another chapter. 
 
 In conclusion, we wish it to be understood that our 
 remarks apply exclusively to the Courts of Love, as 
 !they existed during the Crusades. Making due allow- 
 ance for human nature, " the gallant " was one of the 
 jihevitable consequences of the Holy Wars. With them 
 he rose and flourished, and with them he vanished — 
 ijhat is as a national institution. When he disappeared 
 the Courts of Love had no further serious business to 
 itansact, and lost, indeed, their principal raison d'itre. 
 Xhey followed him to the grave, but not immediately, 
 for institutions never die with the circumstances that 
 ci-eated and sustained them in vigour. Their extinction 
 was preceded by that period of decrepitude and dotage 
 in which they merited the censure, which Hallam applied 
 rather too severely to their whole existence, when he 
 stigmatised them as "fantastical solemnities where 
 ridiculous questions of gallantry were debated." May 
 
COURTS OF LOVE 109 
 
 we add that the great compiler fully accounts for the 
 sweeping nature of his censure when he writes, directly 
 afterwards : " I have never had the patience to look at 
 the older writers who have treated this tiresome subject." 
 Not consulting "the older writers," it was very natural 
 that he should term the subject " tiresome." Whether 
 our readers will agree with him or not, is another 
 thing. 
 
no 
 
 TROUBADOUR'S LOVE IN THEORY. 
 
 The theory of love propounded by the Troubadours 
 was full of fantastic conceits, which their contemporaries 
 doubtless considered "sweetly pretty things." According 
 to this theory, the lover always dwelt at the sign of the 
 Fair Passion, in the' Street of Sacrifice, and in the 
 Parish of Sincerity ; while his mistress, the daughter of 
 Cruelty and Tyranny, had her residence at the sign of 
 the Stony Heart, in the Street of Rigour, and in the 
 Parish of Severity. Love was conceived of the ima- 
 gination, born in the heart, and nursed by the will. It 
 lived on gaiety, drew its strength from the persecutions 
 of the envious, and attained, maturity when the false- 
 hoods of the latter were exposed. Then, of course, the 
 lovers became happy, and devoted all their time to sing- 
 ing:. The Troubadours had a God of Love who differed 
 in many respects from the classic divinity. Vidal, who 
 in this particular may be considered to speak for the 
 whole fraternity, describes him as a handsome young 
 man, with a swarthy complexion, an aquiline nose, and 
 teeth that shone like " burnished silver " — features which 
 prove to our satisfaction, tha't their possessor was intro- 
 duced to the Provencals by their neighbours, the Spanish 
 Moors. This dusky potentate bestrode a palfrey of 
 which one side was black and the other white, one 
 shoulder brown and another grey, one ear yellow and 
 
LOVE IN THEORY in 
 
 the other dappled, and the mane and head red — a variety 
 of colouring that had a meaning, which, however, we 
 shall not attempt to penetrate. The rider of this varie- 
 gated palfrey bore the titles of Prince of Constancy, 
 Lieutenant-General of Fidelity, Marquis of Amiability, 
 &c. Beside him, on a jennet caparisoned in white, 
 ambled a light-haired beauty whose name was Mercy. 
 She was hardly less renowned than Love himself, being 
 constantly invoked in the lyrics of the Langue d'Oc 
 and in the early songs of Italy. Behind Dame Mercy 
 trots her lady of honour. Chastity, whose profusion of 
 hair, falling loose to her saddle, conceals her face and 
 covers her arms to the tips of her fingers — a picture 
 which might have suggested, or been suggested, by that 
 of Godiva, though we incline to think the former. 
 Knowing how much the men of the East, North, and 
 West borrowed from the Troubadours, ft seems to us 
 quite possible that there was a Provencal legend of 
 Chastity, now lost, of which the legend of Godiva is a 
 monkish adaptation. Beside dame Chastity rode the 
 squir^, Loyalty, bearing in one hand a slender wand, in 
 the other an ivory bow, and at his side three arrows, one 
 of which was pointed with gold, another with silver, 
 and the third with lead. Repeated allusions to these 
 arrows occur in mediiEval song. Guido Cayalcaniti, 
 the friend of the greatest Italian poet, devotes to them 
 a sonnet whose concluding lines say that they 
 
 fan tre ferute : 
 La prima dk piacere, e desconforta, 
 ' E la seconda desia la virtute 
 Delia gran gioia, che la terza porta. 
 
 The passion. Love, was esteemed one of the attributes 
 of aristocracy. ^ Peter of AuX^T-giie says that the knight 
 without love is a husk without a grain. Bertrand von 
 
112 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Born places want of love in the same class as ignorance 
 of the mysteries of the chase and cowardice in war — 
 that is, among eminently vulgar characteristics. The 
 same opinion is expressed by Dante when he makes 
 Francesca of Rimini say — 
 
 Amor, ch'al cor gentil ratto s'apprende. 
 
 Three lines lower the same poet alludes to the indivisi- 
 bility of Love and Mercy — 
 
 Amor, ch' a null' amato amar perdona ; 
 
 a line which, as Gary has not forgotten to notice, has 
 been imitated by Boccaccio, Pulci, and other successors 
 of the mighty Florentine. Mercy, indeed, was merely 
 the feminine of Love, and, though extending her power 
 over both sexes, was supposed to be especially the 
 quality of the dames. It was an article of faith among 
 the Troubadours that she who remained untouched by 
 the suit of a faithful lover, deserved the severest punish- 
 ment. A great authority among them, the Countess 
 Die, pronounces cruelty to be a sin equally grievous in 
 the eyes of God and of man. And many of them 
 anticipate Boccaccio and other novelists, in devising 
 suitable punishments for the offence, that given in the 
 "Decameron," harsh and repulsive as it may appear to 
 us, being quite in harmony with the ideas of the age for 
 which it was written. Vidal closes his description of 
 Love and Mercy by making them sing these lines : — 
 
 Let all those dull and soulless wights 
 
 Who will not love the lasses. 
 Their coursers yield to worthier knights, 
 
 And nought bestride but asses ; 
 And let those dames by whom, for gain, 
 
 A show of love is given. 
 Each, laden with a sack of grain 
 
 O'er the highways be driven. 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 113 
 
 Vidal, it seems, would have punished the knight who 
 did not love at all, precisely as the German legislators 
 of the same era were accustomed to punish the knight 
 who loved too well. When the latter dared to appear 
 at a tournament, after a mesalliance, he was deprived of 
 his charger, and compelled to ride the stockade that 
 surrounded the course until the close of the sports. It 
 is not unlikely that Vidal -intended to sneer at this. 
 The troubadours, especially those of low birth, were 
 the declared foes of all those items in the feudal system 
 which interfered with their amorous or ambitious views, 
 and Vidal was vain, ambitious, and low born. As to 
 the punishment which he devised for the mercenary 
 beauties, it was in conformity with repeated decisions 
 of the Courts of Love, which denounced the offence as 
 infamous. In those days an attempt was generally 
 made to give every punishment an appearance of poeti- 
 cal justice. We read of knights of that era who were 
 found guilty of dishonourable acts being condemned to 
 carry an animal, or the harness of a beast of burden, as 
 a signal species of ignominy. We may conclude, there- 
 fore, that the bearing of a sack of grain had a significance 
 which, though plain enough in the' twelfth century, can 
 no longer be detected. 
 
 According to theory there were four stages in love : 
 The first was called Hesitating, and lasted while the lady 
 was making up her mind as to whether she would allow 
 the gentleman to prefer his suit or not. During this 
 period, whose length depended on the character of the 
 arbitress, the gentleman was not allowed to say a single 
 word of love; but he was expected to manifest "the 
 passion that consumed him " by sighs, gestures, and 
 acts as expressive. The last meant that he was to 
 haunt the lady's steps by day and to hover round her 
 
114 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 dwelling by night. On the whole, what with his night- 
 walking and gibbering — for he was in duty bound to 
 grieve, groan, and turn up his eyes in all companies — a 
 lover in this stage, were he to make his appearance 
 among us, would be set down as a remarkably hkely 
 candidate for Bedlam. The second stage was termed 
 Praying, and in this the gentleman was permitted to 
 put his wishes into words and lay them, with due 
 humility, at the feet of his mistress. In the third, which 
 was called Hearing, she began to give some evidence 
 of softening by assigning tasks to the youth, which 
 were quite as well adapted to prove the hardness of his 
 pate as the intensity of his affection. The final stage 
 bore the expressive title Druerie : it began with a parody 
 of the ceremonies observed at the investiture of a vassal 
 by his feudal superior. The gentleman knelt before his 
 lady-love, placed his hands between hers, and acknow- 
 ledged himself " her man " in set form. She accepted 
 his homage in equally set form, and in token thereof 
 gave him a kiss, whose yearly repetition was to be 
 the highest reward of his fealty — according to 
 theory. 
 
 The preliminary s'tages might, and often did, last for 
 years, and as often had no end. Gaucelm Faydet is said 
 to have served Mary of Ventadour for seven years, and 
 in vain ; and Peter Vidal served Adalais of Baux for 
 even a longer period, with the like result. Instances, 
 too, are recorded wherein life was spent in probation. 
 There was always a limited number of high-toned, 
 romantic spirits who rather liked this sort of thing. It 
 was completely to the taste of Guillem of Agoult, who 
 sings somewhat thus : — 
 
LOVE IN THEORY lij 
 
 True love a thought can never breed 
 
 Virtue would blush to name ; 
 True love ne'er meditates a deed 
 
 Would bring its object shame ; 
 
 With licence it has no accord ; 
 
 It dreams not to deceive ; 
 Its service is its sole reward ; 
 
 'T would rather die than grieve. 
 
 In the same mood Guillem of Cabestaing requests per- 
 mission to kiss his lady's glove, and presumes to no 
 higher favour, and Aymerie of Beauvoir actually kisses 
 a glove that his mistress has dropped — an incident 
 which he commemorates in song : — ^^ 
 
 Upon my breast that little glove 
 With overwhelming force descended, 
 And crushed the barrier that defended 
 
 My heart 'gainst the besieger Love. 
 
 In another lyric this troubadour admits that his mistress 
 neither values, nor is likely to value, his affection. He 
 determines, however, to dangle on, comforting himself 
 the while with a hope which he knows to be vain, and 
 which he thus expresses : — " At least, beautiful lady, 
 whatever torment I endure, it will still be glorious to 
 hope ; for a rich and noble hope is better than a worthless 
 gift." This hoping against hope is an idea often sung 
 by the , troubadours, and by none more ingeniously 
 than by Bertrand d'Alamon : — 
 
 If you would knov/ the reason why 
 
 But half a song I bring, 
 I have— alas, I must reply — 
 
 But half a theme to sing ! 
 'Tis I alone that feel the spell ; 
 
 'Tis I alone that burn : 
 The lady that I love so well 
 
 My love will not return. 
 
ii6 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 I'll take the " No " she deigns to give, 
 
 Since she withholds the " Yes ; " 
 Better with her in hope to live 
 
 Than elsewhere to possess ! 
 Since with my fate I cannot cope, 
 
 Shall this my solace prove — 
 To dream that she, as whispers hope, 
 
 May one day learn to love. 
 
 No doubt there was a good deal of affectation in this 
 kind of thing. Many a poet pretended to cherish a 
 hopeless passion merely as an excuse for the exercise 
 of his ability in the production of quaint and novel 
 conceits. Quaint and conceited- enough these people 
 managed to make themselves, though they do not 
 always appear quite so novel. It is not uncommon to 
 find a dozen of them harping on precisely the same 
 string, and with but the smallest amount of variation. 
 To our thinking, Petrarch's passion was of this kind — 
 an affair altogether of the head. The great sonnet- 
 builder was as inveterate in his imitation of the fashions 
 — literary and amorous — of the Troubadours as he was 
 unscrupulous in appropriating their ideas — we might 
 add, and their very words. The Troubadours who, 
 
 -like Petrarch, preferred to sing a hopeless passion, 
 usually selected a dame whose rank and repute placed 
 her altogether beyond their reach — a duchess, or a 
 queen, who was not at all likely to countenance such 
 advances. Folquet de Lunel went even farther. Not 
 
 " finding an earthly mistress to his liking, he actually 
 sought for one in heaven, making the Virgin the subject 
 of his amatory lays, and singing her without stint under 
 the name of his " Gerson." It is a term which com- 
 mentators are at a loss to explain. We, however, 
 suspect that Folquet of Lunel was just such a jovial 
 spirit as the English Bishop of the last century, who 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 117 
 
 was much given to remarking that orthodoxy was his 
 doxy, and we think the word Gerson neither more nor 
 less than a form of one which is often used by the older 
 French writers, and which is the rather more familiar 
 than respectful feminine of the noun garifin. 
 
 Eai:- J:he most part t hejinreajity of .^uclx-passions. was 
 wellunderstood. There were, however, instances in 
 which, by dint of singing the charms of a celebrated 
 dame, the singer managed to work himself into a real 
 affection. So seems to have done Geoffrey Rudel, who 
 bore the title of Prince of Blaye, though the said princi- 
 pality could not have been any mighty thing, if Nostra- 
 damus be correct in his account of the prince. Accord- 
 ing to the erudite astrologer of the sixteenth century, 
 Geoffrey passed his earlier years in the household of the 
 Lord of Agoult — a great Provencal baron — as a stipen- 
 diary poet, which was the lowest grade but one in 
 which a troubadour could appear. Cceur de Leon, who 
 then bore the title of Count of Poitou, happening to 
 pay a visit to the Lord of Agoult, and expressing him- 
 self much pleased with the abilities of Rudel, the 
 generous host immediately made his guest a present of 
 the singer. The proceeding seems somewhat odd ; still 
 nothing was more common in the good old times than 
 such a transfer. Even so late as the sixteenth century 
 our ancestors considered the gift of a poet, or his equi- 
 valent, a fool, as a graceful proof of respect and affec- 
 tion. Rudel remained in the service of Richard, whom 
 he found a generous patron, and from whom it is pro- 
 bable that he received his "principality." At "this 
 period the pilgrims who returned from Palestine were 
 loud in the praises of the beauty, wit, and learning of 
 the Countess of Tripoly — a fact which goes to prove 
 two things : the first being that these gentry were 
 
ii8 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 thorough-going scandal-mongers; and the second that, 
 in the good old times, a tinge of blue was considered to 
 enhance the attractions of a lady. There can be no 
 doubt, indeed, concerning the latter ; no troubadour 
 ever omitted to credit his mistress with learning, when 
 there was any possibility of persuading the world that 
 she deserved it. Nor was this as seldom as might be 
 thought. Heloise was not at all singular among 
 medieval maidens, either in her desire for learning ; or in 
 the method she took to gratify it by employing a private 
 tutor ; or, we are sorry to add, in ultimately learning to 
 prefer the tutor to his lessons. To return to Rudel : 
 " he became beyond measure the lover " of this beauty 
 that he had never seen, sang her praises in innumerable 
 songs, and, finally, determined to make his way to 
 Tripoly in the garb of a pilgrim. Previous to his 
 departure he composed the following canzon : — 
 
 ' ^ I love — a stranger to mine eyes, 
 
 One to mine ears unknown ; 
 Who cannot listen to my sighs, 
 
 Nor breathe to me her own ; 
 Yet do I feel, and would I swear, 
 That she is lovely, past compare. 
 
 Beside my couch each night she seems 
 
 A blessed watch to keep ; 
 Then I admire her in my dreams, 
 
 And love her in my sleep. 
 The morning comes and she takes flight ; 
 A world divides her from my sight. 
 
 That world I'll cross to reach her gate, 
 
 And kneel her chair beside. 
 The journey must be fortunate 
 
 Since Love will be my guide. 
 And she shall know that, for her sake, 
 The pilgrim's staff and gown I take. 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 119 
 
 Thrice happy if within her hall 
 
 She yield me shelter then ! 
 Yea, I'd content me as a thrall 
 
 Among the Saracen — 
 To breathe the air that round her spreads, 
 And tread the blessed ground she treads ! 
 
 It is resolved ; I cross the tide, 
 
 I leave my native place ; 
 Oh God, transport me to her side, 
 
 And let me see her face ! 
 Grant me but life that I may tell 
 My tale to her I love so well ! 
 
 There ishall the minstrels sing my song, 
 
 And some its sense explain ;* 
 A tale of love so strange and strong 
 
 She cannot hear in vain ! 
 Ah, should her heart prove obdurate, 
 The fairies must have warped my fate ! 
 
 Sickening on the voyage, Rudel had a narrow escape 
 
 from being flung into the sea by the sailors, who at one 
 
 period thought him dead, or in a state so hopeless that 
 
 there was no chance of his recovery. Thus were pilgrims 
 
 treated in the olden time by those whose calling it 
 
 was to "go down to the sea in ships." He escaped the 
 
 catastrophe; but when the ship reached Tripoly he lay 
 
 like one about to breathe his last. The Countess was 
 
 apprised of his arrival and condition. And she, who 
 
 was no stranger to his mania, which, indeed, his songs 
 
 had rendered notorious from Gibraltar to Lebanon, 
 
 hastened to the vessel. Making her way to where 
 
 Rudel lay unconscious, she leant over him and, taking 
 
 him by the hand, welcomed him to Palestine. The 
 
 Countess had come unannounced ; but the grace and 
 
 sweetness of her address, coupled with the unerring 
 
 * Our readers will notice that Rudel was insane only as a lover. Few 
 poets would so frankly admit that theii verses required explanation. 
 
I20 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 instinct of love, declared to the poet who it was. He 
 raised himself joyously, as if he meant to spring from 
 the grasp of death which was evidently tightening 
 round him. Collecting his fleeting senses, he thanked 
 her in glowing terms for her visit, which he declared 
 had given him new life. "Oh, most illustrious and 
 virtuous Princess," he continued, " I will not submit to 
 
 death now that " "1 have seen you," he would hafe 
 
 added, had not the King of Terrors interposed and 
 hushed his voice for ever. The Countess was greafly 
 affected. Nostradamus states that she caused his 
 remains to be placed " in a rich and an honourable 
 tomb of porphery, on which were inscribed some venes 
 in the Arabic tongue," and that, so greatly did she take 
 the death of Rudel to heart, that she was never more 
 seen to smile. Other authorities assert that she imme- 
 diately became a nun. Nostradamus, however, uses 
 " the rich and honourable tomb of porphery on which 
 were inscribed some verses " — though not always in the 
 Arabic tongue — suspiciously often : and the story of a 
 bereaved lover taking the vows is as common at the 
 close of a mediaeval legend, as is the verse about the 
 growth of sv/eet briars and roses on the graves of 
 unfortunate sweethearts, and their intertwining, when 
 they reach a certain height, at the end of an old English 
 ballad. There are things, too, in the story of Rudel 
 which can hardly be reconciled with the known facts of 
 history. And, finally, the very same story is told of 
 another person, Andrea of France, who would seem to 
 be identical with the compiler of the code of love. 
 That there was such a person as Rudel, that he loved a 
 Countess of Tripoly in the strange way related, and 
 that he undertook a pilgrimage in search of her, may 
 be true. Doings at least as wild are told of other 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 121 
 
 troubadours. But the pretty conclusion we consider a 
 pure fabrication, though not without a purpose. The 
 Provencal singers set themselves from the beginning 
 to exalt themselves and their craft, and to inculcate 
 what they considered a proper respect for both. To 
 their patrons they were never weary of preaching 
 generosity and courtesy ; by which they meant that it 
 was imperative, on all who wished to be considered 
 perfect ladies and gentlemen, to lavish goods and graces 
 without limit' on the sons of song. 
 
 >jriig_troubadours were invariably thejjiost-'rEgpecHul 
 and tiHiiHlaEII&Si^s-at-^teellSHsitZ They shrank from 
 the expression of their sentiments, being dazzled, 
 bewildered, and awed by the beauty of their dames, 
 until the lips, so fluent in all other circumstances, 
 completely forgot their office. Thus writes Arnaud 
 Daniel ; — 
 
 To my mistress I tremble to say 
 
 The love pent my bosom, within : 
 Though so eloquent when she's away, 
 
 I forget with her how to begin. 
 
 Similarly sings Guy of Uzes : — 
 
 To see her face, a smile to gain, 
 Or glance that strikes me through- 
 
 In turn- each pretext do I feign, 
 Save love, the one that's true. 
 
 Into my heart, if love were weak. 
 
 But little fear would come ; 
 They feel not who unfaltering speak : 
 
 The deepest love is dumb. 
 
 Of her to others 'tis my pride 
 
 To breathe the wilUng song ; 
 But love o'erwhelms me by her side, 
 
 And checks my trembling tongue. 
 
122 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 And so also sings Aymerie of Beauvoir : — 
 
 How many times over, in secret, your lover 
 
 His passion has made up his mind to explain P 
 
 But, when you're before him, a feeling comes o'er him, , 
 
 Half awe and half fear that quite muddles his brain, 
 
 And his fine resolution to speak renders vain. 
 
 Such sentiments, however, were not peculiar to the 
 troubadours. Moore has penned a few lines so curi- 
 ously like some of those we have given that we think it 
 right to quote them, the more especially as they appear 
 to be somewhat less known than many other produc- 
 tions of the Irish minstrel : — 
 
 I would tell her I love her, did I know but the way ; 
 Could my lips but discover what a lover should say. 
 Though I swear to adore her every rporning I rise, 
 Yet, when once I'm before her, all my eloquence flies. 
 Oh, ye gods, did ye ever such a simpleton know ? 
 I'm in love and yet never have the heart t(f say so ! 
 
 Having plucked up a spirit one moonshiny night — 
 Then thought I, " I'll defer it till to-morrow's daylight." 
 But, alas ! the pale moonbeam could not frighten me more. 
 For I found by the noonbeam I was dumb as before ! 
 Oh, ye gods, did ye ever such a simpleton know ? 
 I'm in love and yet never have the heart to say so ! 
 
 Strange to say, this extreme reverence was not generally 
 approved of by the Provengal dames. We find them 
 repeatedly expressing their disgust thereat, and, while 
 remonstrating with their lovers on account of this em- 
 barrassing bashfulness, recommending them to adopt a 
 bolder bearing, much after the fashion of a Countess 
 of Provence whose identity we have no wish to de- 
 termine : — 
 
 Since in your face your love I trace 
 
 I would not have you shy. 
 Ah, were you but to sue for grace 
 
 I hardly could deny ! 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 123 
 
 But pray be quick and get it o'er ! 
 
 'Tis folly thus to sigh. 
 To win a smile and — something more 
 
 Perhaps you've but to try. 
 
 Come, summon up your spirits, dear, 
 
 And trip the preface through ! 
 Your timid air, your groundless fear. 
 
 Distresses me, as you. 
 
 Your courage wake ! The ice do break ! 
 
 You'll find it very thin. 
 You know that etiquette forbids 
 
 A lady to begin. 
 
 This being the state of affairs on one side, it is unneces- 
 sary to add that eventually the poets contrived to find 
 their tongues. The first use they made of these members 
 was to indulge in extravagant protestations, and in the 
 expression of sentiments too like idolatry. Thus sang 
 Arnaud Daniel : — 
 
 My lady is the fairest she 
 
 That dwells beneath the skies. 
 There's not a joy exists for me 
 
 Like looking in her eyes. 
 
 Her to propitiate lamps shall flame 
 
 And priests shall masses say : 
 Next to my God, unto my dame 
 
 I adoration pay. > 
 
 It may be observed that profanities like those alluded 
 to, in the fifth and sixth lines, with the view of inclining 
 one who was loved to respond to affection, were com- 
 monly practised, not only in the middle ages, but at a 
 much later date. We select a few instances in illustra- 
 tion from the multitudes given by ecclesiastical writers. 
 Thomas Bossius relates that, in' 1273, a woman made 
 an attempt to regain the lost affection of her husband 
 by a perfectly indescribable use of the host. Thiers, 
 
124 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 a writer of the last century, and than whom there was 
 none more learned in the history of superstition, states 
 that he once saw at Chartres a capuchin, who not only 
 advised a pair of lovers to communicate together with 
 the view of securing mutual fidelity, but who himself 
 actually administered the sacrament to them to this end, 
 breaking the wafer into two pieces, of which he gave 
 one to the female and the other to the male. Perhaps 
 the grossest instance of such practices was discovered 
 at Rouen, in 1647. The thing had been going on for 
 years, the scene being the convent of St. Louis de 
 Louviers, and the actors the whole of the nuns and their 
 successive confessors, the last of whom was burnt for 
 his part in the horrible farce. The whole story is told 
 in a book drawn up under the dictation of one of the 
 nuns by Desmarets, a respectable clergyman of Rouen. 
 It was published in 1652, under the name of the "His- 
 toire de Madeleine Bavent." 
 
 The extravagancies of the troubadours who had begun 
 to " lisp " their love was seldom confined to words or 
 superstitious observances. There was, indeed, quite a 
 rivalry among them as to which should devise the 
 silliest adventure, and execute it in the silliest manner. 
 One of the strangest of their methods of manifesting 
 devotion grew into a mania which reappeared , periodi- 
 cally down to the end of the fourteenth century. Those 
 who submitted to its influence were termed Gallois ; and 
 as there is mention made of Galloises, it is clear that the 
 maniacs were not all males. These people made it 
 their glory to become the martyrs of Love, and this was 
 the way in which they secured their desire : They stag- 
 gered along under a heap of thick woollen garments at 
 midsummer, and thence to the close of autumn. On 
 the first of November they threw off all their superfluous 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 125 
 
 robes, retaining barely what was usual at the season. 
 I'hese they diminished, bit by bit, as the inclemency of 
 the weather increased, until, by midwinter, there was 
 nothing but a single linen garment left to shelter them 
 from the cold. In this guise they delighted to expose 
 themselves to every wind that ■ blew, traversing the 
 frozen plains and climbing the snow-covered hills in 
 all directions. " These practices and these amourettes," 
 says an ancient writer, " lasted a great while — so long, 
 indeed, that the greater number of the Gallois died, or 
 were disabled by hardship. Every morning the pea- 
 sants might have been seen carrying some of them from 
 where they had found them, lying in the fields. Some 
 were stark and stiff, and others had to be rubbed and 
 chafed before the fire, while their teeth were forced 
 asunder with knives. The ladies were delighted with 
 this display, and failed not to sneer and gibe at those 
 who went about fully dressed. It is a thing beyond all 
 doubt that the Gallois and Galloises who perished were 
 the martyrs of Love." 
 
 It was customary, and indeed necessary, for any gen- 
 tleman who undertook an adventure at the command 
 of his mistress, to obtain the approbation of his feudal 
 superior. That granted, he was free, for the period of 
 his task, from^ all obligations save those imposed by 
 love. To show this, he always assumed a visible token 
 of his condition, after the manner of Sir Walter Manrey 
 and his companions, who carried a patch over one eye 
 in one of the French campaigns of Edward III., until 
 the performance of some gallant feat enabled them to 
 cast it aside. The manner set down in the romance of 
 Petit Jeande Saintre was, however, much more common. 
 There it is told how the Lord of Loiseleuch caused a 
 ring of gold to be fastened round his left arm above the 
 
126 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 elbow, and a second ring of the same metal above the 
 left knee, the two rings being connected by a chain of 
 gold. It is stated that any gentleman who met a 
 cavalier thus distinguished was bound, as a matter of 
 courtesy, to dismount and salute the token on his 
 knees. 
 
 When the troubadour became the accepted servant, 
 friend, or cavalier of a lady, love might be developed by 
 the pair in many ways, one form only being strictly 
 prohibited, and hardly ever attempted, that which led 
 to marriage. That form which is called Platonic had its 
 advocates. These, however, formed but an infinitesimal 
 section ; and though they claimed that theirs was the 
 species which originally obtained, it was always to 
 lament the departure of the golden age of morality and 
 the prevalence of quite other principles and practice. 
 " Never," says William of Agoult, "did I form a wish 
 obnoxious to the purity of any lady ; I could glean no 
 gratification from aught likely to wound her delicacy. 
 No, a true lover am I ; and the true lover prefers the 
 happiness of his mistress, a thousand times, to his own. 
 In former days it was the glory of gentlemen thus to 
 love, and necessarily, for their mistresses would have 
 disdained any other service." Then this high-toned 
 troubadour indulges in a Jerimiade to the effect that 
 in his age virtue had fallen altogether into decay, and 
 passion become material. His praises of ancient 
 excellence and his denunciations of current depravity 
 are repeated, with small variation, by many others, of 
 whom we may mention Guy of Uzes and Ugo Brunet. 
 With respect to the eulogies which these poets lavish 
 on the good old times, we have to observe that they are 
 hardly so well founded as the complaints which follow. 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 127 
 
 These "good old times" are like the rainbow — myths 
 which shine very prettily in a troubled atmosphere, but 
 which always evade pursuit. As often as they are chased 
 through history, they flit before the student from one 
 age to another, until they vanish in the obscurity of 
 tradition. 
 
 The species of love that really prevailed among the 
 troubadours is fairly illustrated in a canzon by Rambaud 
 of Vaquieras. In this piece the poet urges his suit to a 
 Genoese dame. He uses all the sophistries common 
 among the refined gallants of Provence on these occa- 
 sions ; ajid he places in the mouth of the lady precisely 
 such homely morality and vulgarly virtuous argument, 
 as might be expected from the unfashionable wife of a 
 mere Genoese trader. As we have elsewhere shown, it 
 was a leading article of the Code of Love that tender 
 ' feelings could not exist between husband and wife. 
 The principle was confirmed by numerous decisions of 
 the Courts of Love, and universally recognized in aris- 
 tocratic circles, where conjugal affection was a thing to 
 be derided and contemned — the mark, indeed, of a 
 supremely low-bred creature. In his tenzon, Rambaud 
 satirises all the women of Genoa by making their repre- 
 sentative exclaim, " Be off" with you, scurvy Provengal ! 
 I have a husband much handsomer than thou." He 
 completes his ridicule of the class to which she belonged, 
 by causing her to declare that she was unacquainted 
 with what good Society considered so essential — the 
 jargon of Love ; and that she entertained some respect 
 for the good opinion of her spouse, coupled with a lively 
 apprehension of his wrath in case of infidelity ; both 
 these being sentiments which the Proven9al dame would 
 have scorned to entertain. As a pendant to our sketch 
 
128 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 of the tenzon of Rambaud of Vaquieras, we subjoin these 
 lines by Guy of Uzes : — 
 
 I value whatever can strengthen esteem, 
 
 And all that disturbs it despise. 
 On pleasing intent still our mistresses seem, 
 
 While a vifife just the other way tries. 
 Then the lover is honoured who praises his dame ; 
 Who dotes on a wife meets with nothing but shame." 
 
 It must be admitted that there existed a levity of 
 manners among the troubadours hardly to be paralleled 
 in any other age or country. From end to end of the 
 Langue d'Oc shameless intrigue was the rule. .In their 
 actions and in their writings the gentlemen — nearly all 
 amateur poets- — were so many Sedleys and Rochesters. 
 And in both respects they were fully equalled by the 
 ladies. Perdigon speaks as the representative of society 
 in the following lines addressed to a mistress : — 
 
 In Love, I pray, bear you in mind, 
 
 I hate all this chivalrous pother ; 
 Whenever one dame proves unkind 
 
 I'm off to make love to another. 
 
 For I'm not the fellow to pine 
 
 Long years for an obdurate gipsy ; 
 Nor be always foregoing my wine, 
 
 When just in the mood to get tipsy. 
 
 There's many a prettier girl ; 
 
 But that you've no reason for rueing. 
 For I'm neither prince, duke, nor earl. 
 
 And can't be fastidious in wooing. 
 
 You have in sufficiency for me 
 A store of good looks, youth, and spirit ; 
 
 And your very devoted I'll be — 
 So long as you happen to merit. 
 
 Gaucelm Faudet struck the same chords, but with even 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 129 
 
 a bolder hand, in his address to the high-born and beau- 
 tiful Mary ofVentadour: — 
 
 Your rigour, dame, has driven me mad ; 
 
 But if you further strain 
 This heart with waiting, then, by God ! 
 
 You'll quickly drive me sane. 
 
 If you relent, myself am bent 
 
 To yield you love most fervent. 
 But if you don't, why then I won't, 
 
 And you will lose a servant. 
 
 Yes, you may sniff and take a tiff. 
 
 And show yourself a curst thing ; 
 I'll go to find a dame more kind, 
 
 And sing you with my worst string. 
 
 The last line involved a threat which was often used 
 by the troubadours, and always with great effect. Their 
 satire was as terrible to the ladies of Provence as was 
 that of Archilocus to the Greeks of his era. We cannot, 
 indeed, give any instance wherein the subject was driven 
 to suicide, but we shall shortly have occasion to men- 
 tion a remarkable case wherein bitter serventes all but 
 ended thus. If, however, Proven§al satire failed to direct 
 the hand of the self-murderer, hardly a day passed in 
 whi-ch it did not produce very serious results. Many 
 fled from it to the shelter of the convent, and at least as 
 many were intimidated by it into actions for which they 
 had no liking. And though Mary of Ventadour escaped 
 being victimised by Faudet, it was only by the employ- 
 ment of a ruse which rendered^her tormentor a laughing- 
 stock, and thus paralyzed his satire so far as she was 
 concerned. 
 
 The cynicism expressed by Perdigon and Faudet is 
 surpassed by that vented by Rambaud of Orange — a 
 man of the highest rank — in a few lines, wherein he 
 
I30 THE XROUBADOURS 
 
 sums up some of the leading maxims in love current 
 
 among his contemporaries : — 
 
 My boy, if you wish to make constant your Venus, 
 
 Attend to the plan I disclose :— 
 Her first naughty word you must with a menace ; 
 Her next — drop your fist on her nose !* 
 When she's bad, be you worse ! 
 When she scolds, do you curse ! 
 When she scratches, just treat her to blows ! 
 
 Defame and lampoon her, be rude and uncivil ; 
 
 Thus you'll vanquish the haughtiest dame. 
 Be proud and presumptuous, deceive like the devil ; 
 And aught that you wish you may claim. 
 All the beautiful slight ; 
 To the plain be polite ; 
 That's the way the false huzzies to tame ! 
 
 In conformity with these principles, the chivalrous 
 Von Born actually maligned, in the grossest way, his 
 beautiful mistress Maenz, with no other purpose than 
 simply to deter other gallants from approaching her. 
 We may remark that this was the system propounded in 
 the last century by the infamous de Sades. It was prac- 
 tised, however, with remarkable success, a hundred 
 years earlier, by the celebrated Duke of Lauzan and his 
 nephew, the lover of the beautiful daughter of the 
 Regent Orleans. It does not astonish us to find that 
 Rambaud of Orange was sighed for and sung by half 
 the rhyming dames of Provence, of whom one at least 
 was quite as cynical as himself The Countess Die, 
 whom Raynouard terms the Sappho of the Troubadours, 
 and whose lyrics he shows himself inclined to prefer to 
 those of the poetess of Lesbos, addressed a poem to 
 Rambaud, in which this sentence occurs : — " Let him 
 come in the evening to take the place of my husband, 
 
 * Literally thus in the original. 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 131 
 
 and my caresses shall be the gage of his fidelity." 
 Identical terms were used by another high-born dame, 
 the Viscountess Albisso, to the Count de la March, and 
 by the haughty sister of the Dauphin of Auvergne to Uc 
 Marshal, one of her knightly admirers. The ladies, 
 however, who descended to the use of these unpleasant 
 phrases, could love such gross libertines as Rambaud of 
 Orange with much tenderness, and lament their infideli- 
 ties in touching songs. Thus Azalais of Porcairagues 
 bewailed Rambaud's desertion of her : — 
 
 Hail to the winter's weeping clouds ! 
 
 Hail to its wailing winds ! 
 The dreariness my heart that shrouds 
 
 The scene congenial finds. 
 
 My Prince doth to another sue, 
 
 And woeful is my fate ; 
 How wretched are those ladies who 
 
 Attach them to the great ! 
 
 Their love becomes a jest, a stain, 
 
 A mock, a thing to hate, 
 " Nought," says the proverb, "do they gain 
 
 Who listen to the great." 
 
 Had I obeyed the warning tone, 
 
 And loved an humbler wight, 
 I had not thus lamented lone 
 
 This dismal winter night. 
 
 Azalais, however, did not long lament in loneliness. 
 Soon afterwards we find her announcing a new liason in 
 the following joyous canticle, of which the last two lines 
 contain an idea, a little varied, already expressed by 
 Perdigon : — 
 
 The frankest lover living ! 
 
 Oh, heart ! rejoice to tell — 
 To him thy fondness giving. 
 
 Thou hast bestowed it well ! 
 
132 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 I swear it by my beauty !^ 
 
 For ever true to prove — 
 While he conforms to duty, 
 
 And the lavifs of faithful love ! 
 
 This was the usual course of Provengal gallantry. 
 The attachment was vivid, sensual, and short ; and just 
 sufficient interval was left for the production of a few 
 doleful ditties before a new connection was entered on. 
 There were exceptions, of course ; the lady or gentle- 
 man was not always so fickle or so easily comforted ; 
 and the final parting did not invariably take place 
 without some attempt at reconciliation. With this view 
 the Lady of Castelozza addressed this remonstrance to a 
 lover whose name has not been preserved : — 
 
 How closely to you would I cling ; 
 
 How quickly your falsehood forget ; 
 And praises alone of you sing, 
 
 Could you be sincere even yet ! 
 
 To coquetry did I resort 
 
 They say 'twould your constancy win ; 
 
 But that were just censure to court. 
 And give you excuse for your sin. 
 
 From a heart that refuses to melt 
 Those who bid me my feelings conceal, 
 
 A passion like mine never felt ; 
 A passion like mine cannot feel. 
 
 To censure my passionate sighs, 
 
 I'm sure that there would be but few, 
 
 If you they could see with mine eyes. 
 Or dwell on your lips as I do. 
 
 Never out of my thoughts is that night 
 When you said you'd be mine ne'er to part. 
 
 On that promise I dwell with delight; 
 'Tis the dream — the fond dream of my heart ! 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 133 
 
 No envoy I send, but declare 
 
 In person, I hope not in vain, 
 No shelter have I from despair 
 
 If you will persist in disdain. 
 
 As you wish to be honoured belo* ; 
 
 As you hope to find favour above ; 
 On your suppliant mercy bestow, 
 
 Nor let her die martyred of Love ! 
 
 Poetical remonstrance with fickle lovers was not the 
 rule among the Provengal ladies, for the simple reason 
 that when matters amatorial came to the worst, and it 
 became a question of jilting or being jilted, the fair sex 
 preferred to deal the first stroke, and usually contrived to 
 do so. This leads us to the consideration of another 
 peculiarity of Troubadours' Love. It was an age in which 
 Revenge was esteemed a virtue, and no offence was more 
 certain to call down vengeance on the head of the offender i 
 than one against affection. Our sketch of Raimond of I 
 Miravals contains some specimens of such vindictive 
 action on the part of gentlemen ; but the legends that 
 remain of the females of the same period furnish many 
 more .striking. Of these the story of Guilhem of St. 
 Legier is a fair sample. He was a- wealthy baron of 
 Viana, famed for his amiable qualities and knightly 
 accomplishments. The chosen gallant of the Viscountess 
 Polonhac, he had a brother-in arms, Uc Marshal, who 
 was in the confidence of himself and his lady-love. The 
 greatest familiarity existed between the three. According 
 to a custom of the age, they assumed one name in 
 common, and were known far and wide as the three 
 Bertrand^. " For a long time there was much joy and 
 comfort between all three," says the old story-teller; 
 " but the end proved a thing full of sorrow for Guilhem. 
 The other two Bertrands did him a great wrong and a 
 
134 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 vile felony, as you shall hear if you give me your 
 attention. There came to Viana a beautiful lady, the 
 Countess of Castel Rousillon, whom everybody sang. 
 Guilhem berhymed her among the rest, and as he sang 
 well, and was* a ' very gentle perfect knight,' the 
 Countess found much pleasure iil his songs. Now Uc 
 had long wished to supplant his brother-in-arms in the 
 affections of the Viscountess, so he contrived to have it 
 told to the latter by other lips, that Guilhem was guilty 
 of infidelity. At the same time Uc himself pretended to 
 know nothing of the scandal. The Viscountess believed 
 as she had been informed, that the Knight of St. Legier 
 and the Countess were lovers even to the last degree, 
 and she was very wroth at the wrong that she conceived 
 had been done her, and determined to inflict due 
 vengence on the main offender. Sending for Uc, she 
 addressed him bluntly, saying, ' En (sir) Uc, I desire to 
 have you for my cavalier. I am well acquainted with 
 your character, and no gentleman suits me better. 
 Above all, I know of hone whom Guilhem would more 
 dislike to see preferred by myself. I mean to avenge 
 myself of him by your means. To that end I com- 
 mand that you accompany me on a pilgrimage that I 
 am about to make to Viana. We will go to St. 
 Legier, to Guilhem's house' — 'jazer en sa cambra, et el 
 sac lieg vuelh que vas jaguotz ab me.' Uc pretended 
 to be astonished at the proposal, and made a feeble 
 show of resistance, remonstrating that the lady really 
 was going somewhat too far, and that her commands 
 were not altogether just. She, however, quickly over- 
 ruled his objections, and he agreed to aid her in her 
 vengeance. Arraying herself ' gent and fine,' she took 
 the road with Uc, her damsels, and her squires, to make 
 her pilgrimage to the shrine of the good St. Anthony of 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 
 
 '35 
 
 Viana. Reaching St. Legier in due time, she dis- 
 mounted, and Guilhem, not being at home, she did just 
 as she pleased at his house, executing her vengeance 
 according to her plan. The thing was soon noised 
 abroad ; for, indeed, it would not have been vengeance 
 at all wanting notoriety. Guilhem was soon apprised 
 thereof, and he was greatly grieved. But he did his be^t 
 to conceal his feelings-^ — especially from the Viscountess 
 — and thenceforth he devoted himself to the Lady of 
 Castel Rousillon." It would appear that the villain of 
 the story did not escape with impunity. Nostradamus 
 relates that the lady, in no long time, discovered his 
 treachery, and that she sent him to collect her rents on 
 • certain estates, where he was slain by the tenantry 
 under ■ circumstances that were never explained, and 
 that certainly need no explanation to show that the 
 Viscountess was an unscrupulous termagant. It may be 
 added that the course adopted by the Viscountess as a 
 means of inflicting vengeance, was not unusual with the 
 dames of the period, who seemed to think that it 
 afforded them the best means of exhibiting supreme 
 contempt for a disagreeable wooer. Just in the same 
 way acted the lady of Albisso, when pestered by the 
 unwelcome attentions of Gaucelm Faudet, using the 
 house of the latter as the scene of an assignation with a 
 more favoured lover, the Count de la March. 
 
 It was an axiom- of the troubadours that love was 
 never so sweet as after a right good quarrel. They 
 were, therefore, in the habit of getting up " scenes " 
 pretty frequently, with the sole purpose of enjoying 
 what Gavaudan terms "the exquisite delight of re- 
 union." The most approved method of getting up a 
 quarrel — one, by the way, which was solemnly approved 
 of by several decisions of the Courts of Love— was by 
 
136 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 engaging in a hearty flirtation. The experiment was 
 dangerous withal. Not a few of those who attempted its 
 practice failed grievously. The parties againstwhom itwas 
 played off were often roused beyond the pitch designed, 
 and took revenge after the manner of the Viscountess 
 Polonhac. Even when the worst did not occur, the 
 reconciliation was not always to be attained without 
 excruciatingly anxious delays and certain painful sacri- 
 fices. One rash gentleman had to propitiate his mistress 
 by playing the hermit in the depths of a forest for many 
 months. Another was only restored to favour when he 
 succeeded in inducing a hundred ladies and as many 
 gallants — all being devoted lovers — to kneel before his 
 mistress and intercede for him. More curious was the 
 penalty imposed in the following instance. Piere of 
 Barjeac, and his friend Guillems, of Balaone, were 
 inseparable. Both were gentlemen of Montpellier, and 
 " good and dextrous troubadours." The one loved 
 Guillena, wife of the lord of Jauviac, and the other 
 loved Iverna, the wife of a little valvassour, who held 
 pf the same lord. " These gentlemen loved their ladies 
 exceedingly, serving them and singing of them ; and 
 their ladies loved them as much in return, as it was 
 possible to love." Piere, quarrelling unintentionally 
 with his mistress, Iverna, Guillems interposed and 
 effected a reconciliation between them. Thereafter, 
 hearing Piere boast that the sweets of love were in- 
 finitely sweeter after a quarrel than before it, Guillems 
 was tempted to try, in his own person, if this were 
 indeed the truth. The first step was to get up a quarrel. 
 When next he met Guillena he was about as insolent 
 as he could be, in consistence with his knightly cha- 
 racter. The lady was very forbearing, and attempted to 
 win him into a good temper, but in vain ; he quitted her. 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 137 
 
 apparently in a towering rage. She sent messengers 
 after him, whom Guillems refused to hear, and treated 
 with much unnecessary rudeness. The lady then sought 
 an interview, " and, throwing herself on her knees before 
 him, besought him to pardon her, if she had ever done 
 him any wrong." Guillems proving inflexible, the lady 
 lost all patience, and returned home indignant. Guillems 
 saw that he had succeeded in getting up the desired 
 quarrel ; but he was hardly satisfied with his success. 
 Fearing that he might have carried the thing a little too 
 far, he spent no very pleasant night. Next morning he 
 hastened to the castle of Jauviac, expecting to achieve 
 the reconciliation with no very great difficulty, and feel- 
 ing himself just in the mood to appreciate its lauded 
 sweets. He met with a reception differing somewhat 
 from that for which he looked. The lady refused to 
 see him, which was bad, and had him expelled with 
 ignominy, which was worse, seeing that the said 
 ignominy consisted of any quantity of hooting, half-a- 
 dozen stout cudgels, and several big dogs — being, in 
 fact, little, if at all, more tolerable than "tarring and 
 feathering,'' even when the luxury of " riding a rail " 
 happens to be superadded. Guillems returned to 
 Balaone with what may be termed inexpressible suffer- 
 ing ; for not only did his heart and his shoulders ache, 
 but his nether garments were sadly rent. Safe at home, 
 he changed his damaged robes, applied balsam to his 
 outward bruises, and put on all the airs and graces of 
 an utterly disconsolate lover. His neighbours were soon 
 acquainted with his predicament, and thronged in to give 
 him consolation. Among the rest came the Baron of 
 Anduse, who, if not a troubadour himself, was at least 
 the spouse of one celebrated poetess and the father of 
 another, and could, therefore, appreciate the feelings of 
 
138 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 his friend. This gentleman undertook to effect the 
 desired reconciliation, and after a wearisome negociation, 
 in which many hitches and not a few threatening crises 
 took place, succeeded. The lady consented to receive 
 Guillems on the old footing, on condition that he made 
 her a new song, deploring his faults, and extolling her 
 charms, and that with this song, he presented her with 
 the nail of the middle finger of his right hand. The 
 nail she insisted on having, because " Guillems was a 
 most brave strummer of cat-gut, and made much use of 
 this particular nail in his strumming." Guillems was 
 delighted to comply. He made the song in a twinkhng, 
 and, hurrying off to the nearest surgeon, bore the removal 
 of the nail without making one wry face. The lady 
 of Jauviac received both presents graciously — so gra- 
 ciously, indeed, that, in his turn, Guillems was enabled 
 to proclaim the surpassing sweets of reconciliation in 
 love. 
 
 The Code of Love declared that affection was not to 
 be placed where it would be a shame to wed. This 
 meant that gallant connections were only to be formed 
 between persons of equal rank. It would appear that 
 the rule was enforced to a certain extent. Arnaud de 
 Marveil, a troubadour of low birth, laments that he 
 dares not reveal his love for the Countess of Beziers, 
 even by his looks. Peyre Rogier, who sighed for 
 Ermengard of Narbonne, and Folquet of Marseilles, who 
 dangled in the train of the wife of one of the Viscounts 
 of that city, use similar expressions. Many a lady, too, 
 addressed a presuraptous cavalier as Beatrice of Montferrat 
 addressed Rambaud of Vaquieras, ordering him to convey 
 his love to " dames who were made for him." Not all 
 the troubadours, nor even the majority of them, sub- 
 mitted to this restriction. Many of them did their 
 
LOVE IN THEOR Y 1 39 
 
 utmost to reason, or ridicule it away. Bertrand of Mar- 
 seilles says that love is not swayed by riches or honours, 
 but rather by the qualities of the mind and body ; Guy 
 of Cavaillon considers that deeds equalise all ranks ; and 
 Guy of Uzes boldly maintains that the lady who refuses 
 to look upon a devoted lover as her equal, is guilty of 
 a crime. Nor were these assertions of the dignity of 
 intellect without much success, as we intend to show 
 when we com& to discuss that portion of our subject 
 which relates to the Cavalier Servent^. 
 
 In spite of its gallant customs, Provence was not 
 exempt from marital jealousy. Thus we find that ex- 
 cellent singer, Bernard of Ventadour, flying for his life 
 from the wrath of the Viscount Ebles of Ventadour, 
 whose dame had bestowed a kiss on the troubadour. 
 And thus we find William of Cabestang falling under 
 the vengeful sword of the Lord of Castel Rousillon, the 
 story of whose vengeance adds such a striking chapter 
 to the history of the Southern bards. It was necessary 
 then for gallants to resort to artifice on occasion, and 
 some very clever ones have been recorded. Among 
 these, one adopted at the outset of their loves by 
 a pair whose parting we have already related, deserves 
 some notice. It seems that at some time or other, the 
 Viscountess Polonhac had promised her husband never 
 to accept a gallant, except at his own request. The 
 Viscountess, like all the high-born ladies and gentlemen 
 of the period, prided herself on the strictest adherence 
 to her word, and, like most of the ladies and gentlemen 
 of the period, she cared very little about breaking it in 
 spirit, so long as she could keep it to the letter. For 
 awhile herself and her chosen lover, Guillems of St. 
 Legier, were greatly distressed by the promise, and much 
 puzzled as to how it was to be set aside in an honourable 
 
140 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 way. After thinking for a long time, Guillems hit 
 on a notable plan. He told the Viscount that there 
 was a certain lady who had promised never to love 
 without the consent of her husband — a thing which 
 proves that such promises must have been pretty 
 common, otherwise the Lord of Polonhac must have had 
 his suspicions excited by such a beginning. Guillems 
 went on to say that the lady he spoke of loved a worthy 
 knight, but that she shrank from breaking her promise, 
 and in consequence fell seriously ill, and that her hus- 
 band, discovering the cause of her illness, and being 
 quite a model husband, according to Proven9al ideas, 
 released her from her promise, and allowed her to have 
 lovers to her heart's content. Guillems added that he 
 had put the story into a song, of which he gave a copy to 
 the Viscount. The latter was amused by the story, and 
 liked the verses. He recited both to his wife, who, being 
 in Guillem's confidence, affected to be equally amused 
 and pleased, especially with the stanza which contained 
 the husband's licence to love. This stanza she requested 
 her husband to recite again. He did so in his best 
 manner, and the dame, applying the words to herself — 
 by one of those mental processes which won the casti- 
 gation of Pascal, when recommended by a certain order 
 of casuists — considered herself released from her obli- 
 gation, and acted accordingly. 
 
 Marital jealousy being not unknown in the land of song, 
 and elopements being among the results of this passion, 
 such things happened occasionally among the trouba- 
 dours. A noted instance, that of Peyre de Maenzac, 
 will be found in our sketch of the Dauphin of Avergne. 
 Still more remarkable was the one in which Sordel, one 
 of the heroes of Dante, took a principal part. At one 
 period Sordel was the Cavalier Serv^nte of Cunizza, the 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 141 
 
 sister of the monster Eccelino of Romagna. The conn ec- 
 tion was broken off after the marriage of the lady to the 
 Marquis St. Boniface. But Eccelino and his brother be- 
 coming the foes of this noble, they actually employed the 
 former lover of their sister to steal her away from her hus- 
 band ! It was a good example of the utter unscruplousness 
 of Italian policy in that age. Sordel found little difficulty 
 in persuading the lady to fly with him. Cunizza after- 
 wards became the heroine of a variety of light adven- 
 tures, much resembling those which Boccaccio attributes 
 to the daughter of a certain king. But the strangest 
 thing connected with her story is the fact that Dante, 
 who condemns the infinitely nobler Francesca de Remini 
 to eternal punishment, actually gives the worthless 
 Cunizza axonspicuous_position in Paradise ! Nor is the 
 singularity at all lessened by the explanation which he 
 puts into her mouth, to the effect that she was born 
 under the planet Venus, and therefore the blameless 
 victim of its influence. 
 
 Cunizza fui chiamata, e qui refulgo 
 
 Perchfe mi vinse 11 lume d' esta. Stella. 
 
 Ma lietamente a me medesima indulge 
 
 La cagion di mia sorte, e non mi noja 
 
 Che forse parria forte a Ivostro vulgo. — Paradiso ix. 32-6. 
 
 Such opinions, though not universal, were widely enter- 
 tained in that age. The troubadour, Nat de Mons, has 
 left a tenzon in which he summarises the arguments for 
 and against the doctrines of astrology, without attempt- 
 ing to decide between them ; and Alfonso of Castile, to 
 ; whom he submitted the piece, hesitates equally to pro- 
 nounce an opinion. Others, however, were hardly so 
 cautious. The doctrine that sinners are not responsible 
 for their sins is far too pleasant not to gain numerous 
 
142 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 disciples, whether it be propounded under the name of 
 phrenology or astrology. 
 
 One result of gallantry among the Provengals was an 
 attention to the person which, in too many instances, 
 became extravagant. To say nothing of excess in orna- 
 ment, the ladies of the South are said to have indulged 
 in such devices as painting ! Thus sings Ogier : — 
 
 I cannot bear those ancient graces 
 Who cheat us with their made up faces. 
 The lovely white and red they show 
 Are borrowed from the medico. 
 
 And again : — 
 
 That creature so splendid is but an old jade ; 
 Of ointment and padding her beauty is made ; 
 Unpainted if you had the hap to behold her, 
 You'd find her all wrinkles from forehead to shoulder 
 
 What a shame for a woman who has lost all her grace 
 To waste thus her time in bedaubing her face ! 
 To neglect her poor soul I am sure is not right of her, 
 For a body that's going to corruption in spite of her. 
 
 The Monk of Montaudin, who is equally severe, goes 
 more into detail. He says that the ladies lay on the 
 paint so thick as to eclipse the images suspended in the 
 chapels ; that the older ones paint the wrinkles .under 
 their eyes ; that they mix mercury with other drugs ; 
 that they use a wash of which mare's milk and ground- 
 beans form the chief ingredients ; that they employ 
 saffron so lavishly as a cosmetic, as to quadruple the 
 price thereof; and that there are more than three 
 hundred different washes and ointments employed by 
 the sex. 
 
 It would have been as well had the dames confined 
 their chemical studies to the composition of cosmetics 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 143 
 
 Never, however, was there a brisker demand for those 
 ugly things, love lotions, which were, as usual, little better 
 than poisons. Among the victims of such trash were 
 several of the troubadours. One of the highest promise, 
 Luc de Grimaldi, was attached to a young lady of the 
 great house of Villeneuve, and from her he received a 
 potion that deprived him of reason. Nor was this the 
 worst. In one of his paroxysms the poor man slew 
 himself. Nostradamus writes that the damsel was 
 repeatedly impelled to the verge of suicide, by the re- 
 probation — most of it in verse — which her conduct drew 
 down. But, unfortunately for the character of the age, 
 his remarks go to show that, in this instance, public 
 abuse was directed at th^ deed, not as a thing essentially 
 wicked in itself, but because it had deprived society of 
 a man that could ill be spared. A brother poet, Rostang 
 Berenguer, was more fortunate in similar circumstances. 
 " He was enamoured of a Proven9al dame, whose name 
 and family are unknown, and who was somewhat stricken 
 in years. She was the most expert in mischief of all 
 the women of her time. She knew all the simples that 
 were to be gathered on the Col d'Amie and among the 
 other mountains of Provence ; she .was skilful in the 
 composition of aphrodisiacs, and learned in the days 
 most favourable for their administration. To the poet 
 this . woman gave a beverage which I will not term 
 erotic, but rather mortal. In consequence of .this 
 draught he lost his senses, and assuredly would have 
 died had he not been succoured by a pitying damsel, 
 the daughter of a Genoese gentleman of the house of 
 Cibo, who dwelt at Marseilles, and to whom the poet 
 had been introduced by means of a canzon which he 
 had written in-her praise. Through a powerful antidote 
 which she gave him to drink, the damsel restored him 
 
144 THE' TROUBADOURS 
 
 to sense and health. In return, the grateful poet 
 not only celebrated his preserver in many songs, but, 
 abandoning the hag, sought to devote himself to her 
 exclusively. She, however, being as virtuous as beauti- 
 ful, repelled his attentions, and eventually induced him 
 to discontinue them by means of a poem which she 
 wrote — for she, too, was a troubadour." It is not im- 
 probable that the mediaeval Mrs. Turner introduced in 
 the foregoing story, was as skilful as her English suc- 
 cessor in producing aids to beauty; and it is quite pos- 
 sible that, like many another of her species, she was fully 
 capable of preparing and administering a fatal draught 
 on request. That the damsel Cibo, who was so virtuous 
 and beautiful, should possess similar knowledge, shows 
 the startling prevalence of such studies in the good old 
 times. 
 
 There were not wanting writers to denounce the whole 
 vicious system of gallantry propounded by the trouba- 
 dours, authorised by the Courts of Love, and maintained 
 by Fashion. Giraud Borneil shows what he thought of 
 the current vice when, alluding to the divorce of 
 Louis VII., he says — " It is better for a king to forfeit 
 one-half of his dominions than to retain a wife of infa- 
 m.ous repute." Ricard of Barbesieux declares that the 
 ladies of fashion spent their time in corrupting one 
 another, and in ruining all connected with them ; and 
 that, when they had effected all the mischief within their 
 power, they sat down to justify their depravity, and to 
 make merry over its results. Guy of Uzes says — 
 "Love is utterly degenerate; women engage therein as a 
 play, take the first comers to their hearts, and change 
 them as they change their cloathes." William Adhemar 
 laments that they prefer fools to men of merit, and dis- 
 agreeable gallants to amiable husbands ; that they 
 
LOVE IN THEORY 145 
 
 despise the liberality of the former, and, while ruining 
 their fortune, abandon themselves to suitors equally 
 worthless, in mind, body, and estate. And Peyre 
 d'Auvergne boldly denounces these gallant connections 
 as so many adulteries, from whence spring a generation 
 destitute of honour, courage, or merit of any kind, and 
 which usurps estates, titles, and honours, to which it has 
 no right. 
 
 Note. — On page 138, it is stated that Guillems of Balaone made 
 much use of one of his nails in playing on the harp. Such a use 
 of the nail, it would° seem, was considered in the olden time, 
 essential to skilful play. Thus, in one of the oldest of English 
 romances, King Aylmar directs his steward to teach the fugitive 
 young prince Home to touch the harp 
 
 " with his nayles sharpe." 
 
146 
 
 THE CAVALlfiR SERVENTE; 
 
 OR, LOVE IN PRACTICE. 
 
 AjuonG the troubadours there could be no r ecogn ised 
 and sustained gallantry between a pair when the lady 
 was much the inferior in point of birth. The Cavaliers 
 Serv^ntes, then, were of two classes : they were either 
 the social equals of their ladies, or selected from a con- 
 dition much beneath them. In the first instance there 
 were certain duties imposed on the gentleman, and 
 certain rights accorded to him. He could not refuse to 
 perform the one, nor his lady to grant the other, with- 
 out incurring disgrace. The rights we shall allow to 
 disclose themselves as we proceed. The duties were 
 multifarious. The cavalier was to escort his mistress 
 abroad and to wait on her at home. He was to show 
 her particular attention in society, to secure her a duly 
 honoured place in all companies, and to eat off the 
 same plate at meals. " There were eight hundred 
 cavaliers seated at table," says an old romance, " and 
 there was not one among them that had not a dame or 
 a damsel at his trencher." In another romance — that 
 of " Lancelot of the Lake " — a lady plagued with a 
 jealous husband is made to lament that, for many a 
 day, no gentleman has eaten off her plate. In church 
 the cavalier was to take care that no lady of inferior 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE. 147 
 
 rank was censed before his mistress. This was one of 
 his most onerous tasks, since there was nothing more 
 disputed in the olden time than the honour of premier 
 censing. Even so late as the seventeenth century, it 
 was not uncommon for rivals on this item to come to 
 blows, even in the church. In earlier times such dis- 
 putes led to many deadly feuds, and in later days to 
 numerous duels and an infinity of endless law-suits. In 
 addition to the duties already mentioned, the cavalier 
 was expected to keep his mistress well supplied with 
 flowers according to the season, to make her frequent 
 gifts of elegant trifles, and to give feasts in her honour 
 according to his means. He was also bound, from time 
 to time, to show that his attachment was undiminished, 
 by undertaking hairbrained adventures in her honour, 
 according to the law thus laid down by Giraud 
 Calanson : — 
 
 The envoys of the heart should be 
 
 The noble deeds of chivalry : — 
 
 A daring charge, an escalade, 
 
 A knight or banner captive made!; 
 
 A pass against a host maintained, 
 
 A name through trials borne unstained — 
 
 Thus love most eloquently speaks ; 
 
 This is the homage maiden seeks. 
 
 Old story abounds with such adventures, which the 
 knight did not always undertake alone. There were 
 instances wherein the dame accompanied him, in order 
 to be the witness of his prowess, and wherein, we are 
 bound to add, she was quite prepared for any event, 
 and as ready to reward victory in the person of a 
 stranger as in that of her " friend." Thus Ariosto, who 
 borrowed so much from the Provencals, and who makes 
 Doralice 
 
 Dio ringratlo con mani al ciel supine, 
 
r48 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 when she fancies that her lover, Mandricardo, is vic- 
 torious in his duel with Ruggiero, represents this same 
 Doralice as only restrained by shame from swelling the 
 crowd of the Paladin's admirers, when he proves the 
 victor. "The Southern Scott" adds, still adhering 
 strictly to nature as manifested among the troubadours, 
 that Doralice 
 
 Per non si veder priva d'amore, 
 Havria potuto in Ruggier porre il core. 
 
 Many a Dorahce may be traced through the byways of 
 mediaeval history. 
 
 One of the most usual tasks imposed on the cavalier 
 servdnte was to keep a narrow pass, for one month, against 
 all knightly comers ; that is, to allow none such to thread 
 the defile without an encounter, lance to lance. In 1449 
 a renowned warrior, the Bastard of Burgundy, actually 
 accomplished such a task, obstructing for a month the 
 road between Calais and St. Omer, at a spot called La 
 Belle Jardin. During the whole of the time he was 
 accompanied by a lady of the highest rank, whose real 
 title was shrouded under one adopted for the occasion, 
 " The Fair Pilgrim." We are not aware that la Belle 
 Jardin was one of the usual scenes of such adventures. 
 There were passes, however, south of the Loire to 
 which knights habitually resorted for a similar purpose. 
 Conspicuous among these passes were the entrance to 
 the Valley Chivalrous, in Dauphin6, and the Strait of 
 Razili, near Chinon, in Poitou, each of which bore the 
 name of the Dragon's Mouth. Never, from the be- 
 ginning of spring to the close of autumn, were these 
 passes to be found destitute of defenders, each of whom 
 retained his post for a month. A romance describes 
 two such champions resting on their arms at such a 
 spot. Their banner floated from the branches of a 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 149 
 
 neighbouring oak, to the trunk of which was fastened 
 a sheet of parchment, inscribed with the conditions of 
 the emprise. Among these conditions, which may be 
 accepted as common in these cases', it was laid down 
 that neither dame nor damsel should be allowed to pass, 
 unless attended by a cavalier willing to break two 
 lances in her honour, or unless she left a pledge which 
 her cavalier was to redeem within a certain time. 
 There was an alternative which we shall not transcribe. 
 Should the champion of the dames fail to keep his seat 
 in the encounter, he was allowed to redeem his arms 
 and his horse, the usual prizes of the fray, by pledging 
 his honour to perform some ridiculous penance. It 
 should be explained that the defenders of such a pass 
 were bound to signify their arrival by sending a herald, 
 accompanied by a trumpet, through the neighbourhood, 
 and that merchants, peasants, pilgrims, and other such 
 wayfarers were not to be molested. Thus the highborn 
 ladies who risked themselves on such a path were con- 
 sidered to do so deliberately, and fully prepared for 
 aught that might happen. 
 
 The cavali6r serv^nte was bound to glorify his mis- 
 tress with his pen as well as with his sword. If incapable 
 of using the former, he either took a low-class trouba- 
 dour into his pay, or he formed with one of knightly 
 rank just such a brotherhood in-arms as the Marquis 
 of Monferrat formed with Rambaud of Vaquieras. It 
 was, indeed, indispensable for a man of rank to sing 
 himself, or to find a friend who could sing for him. 
 The first wish of a Provengal beauty was to be eulo- 
 gised in song. And well it might be, seeing that the 
 influence of the lyre wa? co-extensive with Christianity, 
 and that to be the subject of an approved canzon was 
 to become an object of curiosity, of desire, and of envy 
 
ISO THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 at every court in Europe. Thus the wife of an obscure 
 chatelain — of a man Httle known in his own restricted 
 neighbourhood, and not known at all a league beyond 
 it — might, and often did, obtain as much celebrity, and 
 consequently as much homage, as the wife of the 
 mightiest prince. Such a lady became a centre of at- 
 traction to all that was brilliant among the knightly and 
 noble, and kings, princes, and counts made pilgrimages 
 to her residence as to a popular shrine. Thus the King 
 of Aragon was drawn to Lombez, and the Count of Foix 
 to Cabaretz, by the praises which the ladies of these 
 places received from Vidal and Raymond de Miravals. 
 The cavalier serv6nte never used the real name of his 
 mistress in his songs. When the lady happened to be 
 attached to a court, it was usual for the troubadour to 
 address all his amorous ditties to the presiding princess, 
 like Uc of St. Cyr, who sang the beautiful Claramond 
 under the name of her mistress, the Countess of Pro- 
 vence. The princess usually accepted these songs as the 
 very highest species of compliment, though perfectly 
 aware that somebody else was intended, and that she 
 herself played some such part between the poet and 
 his mistress, as the tulchan bishops of the Scotland of 
 another and a former period, used to play between the 
 tithes of a diocese and the great men who really enjoyed 
 these good things — that is, as a conduit for transmitting 
 the songs to the real object without directing suspicion 
 to the latter. The custom had a comic side ; the poet 
 might give blue eyes and golden locks to a dark-browed 
 sovereign, and might describe her as rejoicing in youth, 
 beauty, and genial temperament, when she was really 
 and notoriously the reverse. But however the singer 
 pretended to describe the princess, the description was 
 always accepted as if it were strictly accurate, and 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 151 
 
 rewarded precisely as our ancestors of the eighteenth 
 century used to reward dedications. When, the lady he 
 loved happened to reside on her own domain, then 
 the troubadour invented a pet name for her. Thus 
 Rambaud of Vaquieras termed Beatrice of Montferrat 
 " My charming Cavalier," Ricard of Barbesieux sang 
 his mistress under the name of "My Soul and My Body," 
 and Arnaud Daniel berhymed Madame de Boville as 
 " Cibernia." It was not unusual, especially when the lady 
 was a poetess, for the nom d'amor to be used in common. 
 There were even instances in which it was applied not 
 only to the principal in an intrigue, but to all the con- 
 fidants thereof. Thus Guillems of St. Legier, his mis- 
 tress, Azalais de Claustral, and his friend, who was also 
 her friend, Uc Marshal, were each termed "my Bertrand." 
 This custom was adopted in obedience to the canon 
 which laid down s ecrecy as essential to gall antry. But 
 as, generally speaking, secrecy was the oneThing that 
 gallants did not desire, the custom was merely a piece 
 of fashionable affectation — the thinnest, indeed, of dis- 
 guises ; for nobody who took the smallest interest in the 
 songs could well remain in ignorance of the persons and 
 incidents to which they referred. 
 
 If it was the first wish of a Provencal beauty to 
 become renowned in song, it was assuredly the second 
 wish of her heart to hear her rivals libelled through the 
 same medium. Perhaps, of the two, the cavalier serventd 
 found more occupation in traducing the ladies of the 
 vicinity, at the command of his charmer, than in pub- 
 lishing high-flown panegyrics on the charmer herself 
 Nor did he do the former without some personal risk. 
 It was not unusual in the good old times for the retort 
 to a sharp satire to take the forms of cudgelling, tongue 
 slitting, and at times of assassination. For these reasons, 
 
152 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 then — to praise herself, to repel the slanders levelled at 
 her, and to slander others — the gallant dame desired 
 above all things, that her cavalier should wield, in person 
 if possible, a trenchant pen. Indeed the service of the 
 wi elder of such a pen was a subject of dispute among 
 the beauties of a province. None could count on his 
 fidelity for any length ; for no contrivance or temptation 
 was left untried to win him from his happy possessor for 
 the time being. Perhaps this, quite as much as his 
 natural inclination that way, tended to render Rambaud 
 of Orange the rake par excellence of his day. 
 
 Rambaud was nearly allied to William of the Short 
 Nose, who was created King of Aries by the Emperor 
 Frederick. He was the lord of many castles, a dashing 
 soldier, a man of fashion, and a poet. His poetry, 
 indeed, was more remarkable for vigour and daring, than 
 for grace of idea or smoothness of versification. But, 
 being ready witted, full of animal spirits, a devoted 
 friend, a bitter foe, and a reckless, rollicking, jovial 
 prince, he was at once the dread and the delight of the 
 ladies, of whom nearly all the more noted of the period 
 loved and lamented him in turn. After innumerable 
 bonnes fortunes, some of which we have noticed else- 
 where, and each of which was illustrated by its cynical 
 canzons, Rambaud attached himself with unusual steadi- 
 ness to the Lady of Castelverde, whom he immortalised 
 under the odd name of " My Funny Thing." From her, 
 however, he was compelled to separate by evil reports 
 — which means that the flirtation between the pair had 
 become altogether too frank and " al fresco " for that not 
 very sensitive generation to tolerate longer. Rambaud 
 then made up his mind to visit the Countess of Urgel, 
 a Catalan dame whom he had never seen, but whom he 
 was led to like, as Geoffrey Rudel had been led to like 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 153 
 
 the Countess of Tripoly, on common report." The said, 
 report credited her with all the requisites of a trouba- 
 dour's mistress — that is, not only with beauty, wit, and 
 learning, but with wealth and generosity. Nor was 
 Rambaud the less inclined to turn his steps towards 
 Urgel, because it was notorious that the Countess had 
 fallen in love with him through reading one of his songs, 
 and that she had said, in confidence, to one of her 
 waiting.women, who had communicated the remark, in 
 confidence, to all the world, that if Rambaud would only 
 pay her a visit, there was absolutely nothing in her 
 power to bestow for which he might not hope. On his 
 way to Catalonia Rambaud fell ill. Being thus unable 
 to continue his journey, he made up a parcel of original 
 lyrics, which he transmitted to the Countess by means 
 of a wandering minstrel who bore the euphonious name 
 of the Nightingale. Doubtless Rambaud intended to fol- 
 low, but, in the course of his convalescence, he formed 
 a connection with a woman of the lowest rank, from 
 which, adds one of his biographers, he drew neither hon- 
 our nor profit — the first, because such an amour was 
 accounted disgraceful in a man of his rank ; and the 
 second, because this plebeian woman could not bestow, 
 upon him any of those substantial tokens of love which 
 troubadours were in the habit of receiving, and indeed 
 of exacting, from their highborn mistresses. Shortly 
 afterwards we find the gay Prince of Orange at the 
 court of the last of the Raymonds of Provence. Here 
 he addressed a canzon to the Princess Margaret, after- 
 wards the Queen of St. Louis, and was immediately 
 exiled to the Island of Hieres by Raymond's prime 
 minister, " Romeo " Villeneuve, a man concerning whom 
 is related one of the most singular stories of the middle 
 ages. It was a very unusual reward for such a compli- 
 
154 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 ment ; so, at least, it was thought by the Princess who 
 interceded with success to procure the recall of the poet. 
 He died shortly afterwards, having worn out his life, like 
 so many similar characters, while, so far as years went, 
 hardly yet in his prime. 
 
 By far a better specimen of the cavalier serv^nte than 
 Rambaud of Orange was Raymond Jordan, Viscount 
 of St. Antoine en Quercy. He is described as handsome 
 in person, courteous in manners, dextrous in arms, and 
 magnificent in habits. It is further stated that " he was 
 a good poet in all the vulgar dialects." These were five : 
 the Langue d'Oil, the Langue d'Oc, the Gascon, the 
 Tuscan, and the Catalan, as appears from a canzon by 
 Rambaud of Vaquieras, in which all five are employed. 
 Raymond Jordan was especially noted for his mastery 
 of the Provencal, in which, says Nostradamus, and not 
 without a good deal of truth, men of all nations then 
 took pleasure in writing. This estimable and accom- 
 plished knight loved, and was beloved, by a beautiful 
 and an amiable lady, Madame Mabile Rais, wife of the 
 Viscount of Albi. She, however, shrank from show^ing 
 her preference, being apprehensive of exciting the 
 jealousy of her husband. So Raymond Jordan, growing 
 weary of sueing in vain, and not being disposed to con- 
 tent him with the high platonics advocated by some of 
 his tribe, went off to the wars in desperate mood. He 
 took care that his intention of flinging away his life in 
 battle should be conveyed to Mabile. She, therefore, 
 when news came that he was slain, gave full credence 
 thereto. It is quite probable that the Viscount had the 
 report spread with the view of working on the affection 
 of his mistress. But, if this were the fact, he overshot 
 the mark, for she was so much affected by the tidings as 
 to die of grief When Raymond returned from the 
 
THE CAVALIER S ERVEN TE 155 
 
 campaign, and was apprised of the catastrophe, he was 
 inconsolable. First he raised a marble statue to the 
 lady. It was probably the work of a Byzantine artist, 
 and one of those stiff pieces of realism which mark 
 alike the youth and dotage of sculpture. Then Ray- 
 mond, forswearing poetry and all commerce with human 
 kind, retired to a lonely hermitage, where he remained 
 secluded for a year. At the end of that time Dame 
 Alice de Montfort, daughter of the Viscount de Turenne, 
 taking pity on the anchorite, sent to entreat that, for 
 love of her, he would cast off his melancholy and return 
 to society. She added that she was quite ready to 
 bestow upon him her heart and her love, and that if he 
 did not find it convenient to come to her, she was per- 
 fectly willing to visit him. Raymond received the 
 message courteously, as befitted an accomplished knight. 
 His widowhood, however, was not yet expired, for the 
 code of love decreed that the death of a lover was to be 
 lamented for two years, and Raymond was too true a 
 troubadour not to observe the law. The love of such a 
 lady as Dame Alice de Montfort, however, was not to be 
 lost by a pedantic adherence to the strict letter of the 
 law. So " little by little he returned to his former self 
 and resumed the practices of love." Then, on the day 
 that his widowhood terminated, he presented himself 
 to dame Alice, who welcomed him with every possible 
 token of joy. He' swore to be her cavalier, and she 
 vowed to be his mistress, " giving him the ring that she 
 wore upon her finger as a pledge of faith. Then he 
 began to sing again, and to do all things as of old, alto- 
 gether forgetting his first love. And he took the marble 
 figure which he had caused to be carved of Mabile de 
 Ruis, and gave it to the monks of Montemayor, who 
 
iS6 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 baptised it by the name of a saintess, and set it up in 
 their church." 
 
 A cavalier servdnte of still another description was 
 Pons de Capdueil, who is identical with the Pons de 
 Brueil of Nostradamus. Of the highest birth and the 
 largest possessions, he contrived to increase his wealth, 
 without incurring the odium of avarice, by exercising a 
 discrimination unknown to his contemporaries in his 
 magnificence. This calculating exquisite attached him- 
 self to Adalais, the daughter of Bernard of Anduse, 
 and the wife of a neighbour, Oizil, Lord of Mercure. 
 The latter was a thoroughly fashionable husband, ac- 
 cording to the ideas of the day. Not only did he 
 permit the flirtation between his wife and his friend, but 
 he even attended all "Av^ fetes with which the cavalier de- 
 lighted to honour his mistress, and whereat the canzons 
 which Pons composed for Adalais were invariably sung. 
 Oizil took his full share in the games, and heard the 
 ardent lyrics of his host with equanimity, if not with 
 positive approval. The course of true love, however, 
 never did run smooth ; and here, where there was abso- 
 lutely nothing else to apprehend, a whim disturbed it 
 very effectually. Strange to say, the whim did not arise 
 on the side where one would have expected. Pons con- 
 ceived the suspicion that the love of Adalais was not 
 sincere. After worrying himself and her therewith for 
 several months, he resolved to put it to the proof 
 Removing in haste to another district, he began to make 
 ardent suit to the Viscountess of Rousillon. He ex- 
 pected a burst of passionate anger from Adalais, when 
 she should hear of his conduct, and he was prepared to 
 return the moment this unequivocal proof of affection 
 had been shown. Adalais, however, merely forbade the 
 name of the faithless Pons to be mentioned in her 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVE NTE 157 
 
 presence, and continued her pursuit of pleasure as ar- 
 dently as ever. Pons was disappointed, became uneasy, 
 quitted the lad^^ of Rousillon, and returned to pray for 
 pardon. But Adalais refused to see him or to receive 
 his messages. Then he resorted to the u sual remedy of 
 lovers in such predicaments — song — sending her the fol- 
 lowing apology : — 
 
 Ah, if you ask what urged me to depart — 
 'Twas not inconstancy, nor fickleness ; 
 It was a wish conceived of Love's excess, 
 To try the test of absence on your heart. 
 How grieved I, how regretted when to me 
 That you were touched nor word, nor token prov'd ! 
 But think not that you're 'free although unmov'd : 
 From you I cannot, will not severed be ! 
 
 Song, however, or at least his songs, seemed to have 
 lost their influence over the spirit of Adalais : neither 
 these verses, nor many others, produced any visible 
 effect He then employed three ladies to plead his 
 cause. This was a common course with lovers forlorn. 
 Among the pieces published by M. Raynouard, are 
 several poetical epistles, in which ladies advocate the 
 cause of disgraced lovers with their female friends. The 
 advocates selected by Pons entered heart and soul into 
 the affair, and finally procured his pardon. It was 
 usual in such cases for the mistress, before consenting 
 to receive back a repentant cavalier, to insist on being 
 presented with a document, very legally drawn up, and 
 bearing the signature of her rival, in which the latter 
 gave a full discharge to her whilom lover. It is not 
 stated that any such quittance was presented in this 
 instance. Perhaps it was dispensed with because the 
 Viscountess of Rousillon had not conformed to usage on 
 her side. For it was generally understood that no lady 
 was to receive attentions from the cavalier serv^nte of 
 
IS8 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 another, unless that other had dismissed him in due 
 form, or had wronged him so flagrantly as to justify 
 him in wooing elsewhere without further ceremony — 
 things, neither of which had happened in this instance. 
 Other conditions, too, were usually exacted, and it is 
 probable that in this instance some such conditions 
 were not omitted. We are not informed of the penance 
 which Pons had to perform. But he certainly made the 
 customary offering, a song, in which he confesses that 
 he is now perfectly satisfied, and declares that hence- 
 forth he will keep strictly to the path of love, without 
 deviating a hair's-breadth to the right or to the left. 
 His new-born fidelity was not fated to be put to the 
 test ; shortly after his reconciliation with her, Adalais 
 died, an event which he thus lamented : — 
 
 Ah, when the arrow pierced my queen, 
 
 Why did it not pierce me .'' 
 Those who in life but one have been, 
 
 But one in death should be. 
 
 There is a thought that through my pain 
 
 Some solace to me brings — 
 That while I breathe her funeral strain 
 
 She as an angel sings. 
 
 No more I'll love, no more I'll sing, 
 
 Since she I love is gone ; 
 But closing heart, and rending string. 
 
 Die tuneless and alone. 
 
 He adhered to the resolve thus announced. Joining 
 one of the military brotherhoods of the day, he became 
 a warm and eloquent advocate of the Third Crusade, in 
 the course of which he died. 
 
 The ladies for the most part preferred a cavalier 
 serv6nte of rank inferior to their own. While a man of 
 very high birth was too much courted to remain strictly 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 159 
 
 or even moderately faithful, and while it was but na- 
 tural that an equal should be restive under caprice, 
 there were many reasons why "a friend" of lower grade 
 should be both faithful and submissive. To the last, 
 indeed, the stricter rules of gallantry were chiefly if not 
 altogether applied. A high-born dame could be as 
 severe as she pleased with a plebeian lover, without risk 
 of the censure that, in those singular days, would as- 
 suredly have attached to her had she failed to fulfil her 
 part in the covenant of gallantry, when the second 
 party thereto was a man of position. Who else but 
 a lover dazzled by the lofty station of his mistress, 
 flattered out of all sober judgment by her occasional 
 smiles, and, it must be added, in real need of her more 
 substantial favours, would conform to such an absurd 
 rule as is thus laid down by Amanieu des Escas : — 
 " When it happens that your lady gives you real cause for 
 jealousy, and that she denies what you have seen with your 
 own eyes, you are to say, 'Dame, I am sure that your 
 words are the very truth ; but — I really thought I saw 
 the other thing ! ' " When we perceive a lover dangling 
 for years in the first or second degree of Love, as Vidal 
 and Faudit, we may be sure that he is a plebeian. Neither 
 the Lady of Albisso, nor Loba de Penantier, stood on 
 such strict ceremony with the Counts of la March and 
 Foix. Indeed, it was evidently considered a good jest 
 on the part of a lady to give a low-born poet to under- 
 stand that she loved him, and meant, after due proba- 
 tion, to admit him to the fourth and last degree of 
 Druderie, until she had secured her purpose. Then— 
 when she had sufficiently gratified her vanity and her 
 vengeance, by having herself abundantly extolled and 
 her rivals vilified in his verses — when he had driven 
 the, object of her resentment into the cloister, and col- 
 
i6o THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 lected admirers round herself, she disabled the resent- 
 ment of the poet, and won additional renown for herself, 
 by dismissing him with some such glaring piece of scorn 
 as that with which Maria of Abisso dismissed Gancelm 
 Faudit. In the humiliations which he experienced as 
 a cavalier servente, this Faudit may be accepted as 
 a fair type of his class. The method by which Mary 
 of Ventadour closed a prolonged flirtation with him is 
 exceedingly characteristic of the state of society among 
 the troubadours. It is thus related by an old story- 
 teller : — " Gancelm Faudit loved Mary of Ventadour, for 
 seven years, without reward oi plazer en dreg d' amor. 
 One day he appeared before his lady, and declared that 
 she must make up her mind to accord him his 'right,' 
 or to lose him. In the latter case he signified that he 
 meant to find a lady more grateful, and that, while 
 singing her praises, he would know how to distribute 
 blame among those who deserved it at his hands. Then 
 he quitted Mary in anger. Now Gancelm could indite 
 very bitter serv^ntes, and Mary, who was much afraid 
 of becoming their subject, knew not what to do. To 
 accept him as her cavalier was a thing not to be thought 
 of ; but then how was she to escape his withering sar- 
 casm .•" In her extremity she sent for her friend, Ma- 
 dame Audiart de Malamort, who was fair, gentle, and 
 sage, and inquired what she would have her do. And 
 Audiart said that she would neither advise Mary to 
 keep Gancelm nor yet to dismiss him. She added that 
 she knew a way to make him abandon his pursuit, with- 
 out rancour or enmity towards the object thereof Mary 
 was comforted to hear this, and besought her friend to 
 do the thing. So Audiart sent the following message 
 to Gancelm : — ' Ames may un petit auzel el punh que 
 una grua volan el ciel .'' (literally, love you better a little 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE i6i 
 
 bird in the hand than a crane flying in the sky ?) This 
 was a variation of a well known proverb, for the Pro- 
 vengals were hardly less given to such expressions than 
 the Spaniards, from whom, indeed, they acquired the , 
 habit, just as the latter, in their turn, had acquired it 
 from the Moors. Gauceln could not but guess the 
 meaning wrapt up in this message, for Mary was a great 
 lady and Audiart but a little one. Mounting his horse, 
 he rode off to the residence of the latter, who received 
 him graciously. There he asked what was meant by 
 the crane and the little bird. Audiart replied that she 
 had great pity of her visitor, seeing that he loved, and 
 was not beloved in return ; that the lady whom he had 
 sung so long was the crane, and that herself was the 
 little bird. ' Know ' continued she, ' that though I am 
 not so powerful as she is, yet I am full as young and 
 gentle. Men say, too, that I am very fair. Still more, 
 I have never yet had a cavalier ; I have never given or 
 broken a promise of love ; I have never deceived any, 
 or been deceived of any. But I have an exceeding 
 desire to value and love, and to be valued and loved 
 of one from whom I can receive praise and honour. 
 I know that you are he who can give me all I desire ; 
 and you must know that I can well repay you. I 
 wish to have you for my lover, and to make you 
 the gift of myself and my love, even to that extent 
 which caused you to quarrel with my lady Mary. 
 If this be agreeable to you — if you accept my offer 
 and consent to become my "friend" — I wish you, in 
 token thereof, to make a song in which you will inform 
 her, frankly and courteously, that you have found an- 
 other lady as gentle and loving as could be desired, one 
 who loves you and whom you love, and that you intend 
 to follow her no more.' Gauceln was delighted, for 
 
 M 
 
i62 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Audiart was very beautiful, and he did all that she 
 commanded. But when he came to ask his reward, 
 she refused, saying that she had merely promised in 
 order to withdraw him from the hopeless and dangerous 
 pursuit in which he had been involved for seven years. 
 Gauceln then accused her of treachery, and Audiart 
 admitted that she had indeed been treacherous, but 
 that it was only to rescue him from a treachery that 
 was leading him to death. Finding her immovable, 
 the troubadour returned home, where he made a vow 
 never to sing again." The vow was soon broken, and 
 certainly would not have been formed, had Gauceln 
 felt himself in a position to satisfy his wrath by satirizing 
 either lady. But he had formally and voluntarily re- 
 leased the one from whatever engagement had subsisted 
 between them, and that in terms which fully justified 
 the deception practised by the other, since they ad- 
 mitted that he had sinned against a maxim universally 
 recognised among gallants, and which is summed up in 
 a few homely lines in daily use among ourselves, who 
 seldom suspect that we derive these lines from the 
 troubadours : — 
 
 It is good to be merry and wise ; 
 
 It is good to be honest and true ; 
 It is good to be ofif with the old love — 
 
 Before we be on with the new. 
 
 In her final interview with Faudit, it will be remarked 
 that Dame Audiart spoke of his death as but too likely 
 to result from perseverance in his attentions to Mary of 
 Ventadour. Such, indeed, was the peril invariably dared 
 by the low-class cavalier serv^nte, after a certain stage 
 in gallantry had been reached. So long as the lady 
 remained indifferent to his suit, or so long as he con- 
 tented himself with a few slight favours, his songs and 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVE NTE 163 
 
 his passion were subjects of amusement to her noblcrela- 
 tives, and nothing more. But the moment it appeared 
 that he became too ardent or she too condescending, 
 nothing but speedy flight could preserve the singer from 
 mutilation or death. If the lady, while caring nothing 
 for the troubadour, had no desire that evil should befal 
 him, she contrived to have an intimation of his danger 
 conveyed to him. If she loved him, she added the means 
 of flying — a purse and a good horse — to the hint. It was 
 only in cases wherein such risks were to be apprehended 
 that there was an attempt at real secrecy, though it must 
 be added that such attemptswere seldom or never success- 
 ful. The troubadour could seldom refrain from boasting 
 of his luck. And then there were people — rivals and others 
 — who had an interest in penetrating the intrigue, and in 
 disclosing it to those who were most likely to resent it. 
 While many ladies deceived the poets in order to 
 command their pens, there were a few who did so in the 
 view of acquiring the skill to wield those formidable 
 weapons themselves — at a cheap rate. This was the 
 experience of Geoffrey de Luc, a troubadour highly 
 renowned in his day, and, as Nostradamus declares, no 
 less a master of Greek and Latin than of his native 
 tongue — an assertion that appears to us somewhat dar- 
 ing, since De Luc preceded Petrarch, who, in spite of 
 earnest effort, never could acquire even a tolerable 
 knowledge of Greek. This learned gentleman attached 
 himself betimes to Flandrina of Flassan, a lady who was 
 afterwards wedded to a relative, Renaud of Flassan, and 
 of whom Geoffrey sang under the name of Blancheflower. 
 She was clever and witty, and she showed an intense de- 
 sire to be instructed in all the mysteries of rhyme and 
 cadence, which were not a few, in the right use of similes, 
 in the elaboration of conceit, and in the curious views of 
 
i64 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 natural science then entertained. Her lover, who was 
 a proficient in all these things, could do no less than offer 
 himself as tutor ; and the more readily, since he well 
 knew that many a fair student of song had concluded 
 her studies by falling in love with her teacher. Master 
 and pupil being equally earnest in this instance, there 
 could be but one result of the studies. The Monk of 
 the Golden Isle testifies 'that De Luc rendered his Flan- 
 drina so learned and skilful, " that repeatedly, when 
 mingling with the most celebrated poets, as well female 
 as male, in poetic disputation, she let it appear to all how 
 great was the e:Jccellence of her poetry." But, alas that 
 it should be said! some little time after her poetic educa- 
 tion was completed, " this selfish and ungrateful woman 
 abandoned her poet, and made no more account of him." 
 He, not being able to cast off the bonds of affection 
 quite so easily, gave himself up unreservedly to his 
 grief He neglected mundane affairs, and wandered 
 about in the garb of woe, lamenting his hard fate, and 
 accusing his mistress of cruelty and ingratitude. He 
 was particularly severe on the very practical use she 
 had made of his excessive affection, as appears in the 
 following rather curious lines. 
 
 Her doubly in my debt I prove — 
 
 I taught her " la Gaye Saber.'' 
 She owes ine, then, besides her love, 
 
 A something for my labour. I swear it by the mass ! 
 
 Her while I sang and taught to sing, 
 
 What promises she made me ! 
 But she, being mistress of the string, 
 
 Dismissed and never paid me— the most ungrateful lass ! 
 Here I denounce her to the scorn 
 
 Of each poetic meeting ; 
 For, while I served her night and morn, 
 
 She thought of nought but cheating— And making me an ass ! 
 
 We cannot say that we find this effusion particularly 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 165 
 
 pathetic. The damsel, however, was sufficiently moved 
 by it to make an elaborate response, in which she 
 entered with intolerable minuteness into all the "theorie" 
 and into all the finedrawn subtilities of Love. The whole 
 of her argument tended to prove that he expected far 
 too much for his services,'and was otherwise and com- 
 pletely in the wrong. To the charge of ingratitude she 
 retorted, with much adroitness, that it was he who was 
 ungrateful, since he ought to have felt more than repaid 
 for all his trouble and devotion, by the consciousness 
 that her beauty — in fixing him as her suitor — had with- 
 drawn him from degrading pursuits, and prevented the 
 perpetration by him of ten thousand deeds of licenti- 
 ousness. " The poet," remarks Nostradamus, " had no 
 great esteem for this correction." Not so the prigs and 
 pedants of both sexes, who, by this time, had reduced 
 passion to a thing]of metaphysics, to which they applied 
 all the rules ever laid down by that mediaeval deity, 
 Aristotle, as expounded by the Schoolmen. Seeing 
 that his sighs and his complaints were all in vain, 
 Geoffrey made up his mind, in his despair, to let all 
 things go as they might. As for himself, though he did 
 not leap from the cliffs of Argentere, a cape on the 
 Tuscan coast, which was the Leucadia of the trouba- 
 dours, nor yet suspend himself from the convenient 
 branches of an oak, nor even dive, in search of that 
 truth which he had not found elsewhere, to the bottom 
 of a well, it must be admitted that he took a step fully 
 as desperate, since he became an active member of one 
 of those poetical academies, which did far more than 
 even the hated domination of the French to quench the 
 true fire of song in the Provengal spirit. 
 ■ If many ladies deceived and made laughing-stocks of 
 troubadours of low birth, it must be allowed that quite 
 
166 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 as many favoured them, even to the fourth degree. But 
 in nearly all these instances, as truth compels us to 
 remark, the appreciative dames had previously entered 
 that paradoxical period of life which is called " a certain 
 age," because the computation of years therein becomes a 
 thing altogether uncertain. It was chiefly, if not ex- 
 clusively, in these instances that any attempt was made 
 to observe the rules laid down with respect to secrecy. 
 For, as we have already observed, and in spite of all the 
 specious arguments of the poets — some of which we have 
 collected in another place — public opinion went dead 
 against a liason between a high-born dame and a man of 
 low degree. More serious still, the swords of indignant 
 relatives were always ready to avenge the dishonour by 
 the slaughter of the paramour. In this and other 
 respects Peyre Rogiers was a very good sample of his 
 class. He was in orders, a canon — some say of Aries, 
 others of Claremont — but certainly a canon. " Seeing 
 that he was young, handsome, and lively, and con- 
 sidering that he would live more profitable at large in 
 the world than by confining himself to a religious life, 
 wherein he found nothing but ' envy, hatred, and 
 malice, and all uncharitableness ' — he determined to 
 quit the cloister and devote himself to Provengal poetry." 
 And in like manner, we take leave to observe, rea- 
 soned and resolved many another excellent monk of the 
 period. Peyre Rogiers adopted the amusing line, and 
 began as an itinerant. " He devised fine and ingenious 
 comedies, which, and withgreat apparatus, he recited in 
 all the princely courts " — a sentence which goes to show 
 that Messire Peyre was the organiser and conductor of 
 a troop of strollers. It is added that "he won great 
 renown, for all that he exhibited was good." In the 
 course of time he attached himself to the court of 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVE NTE 167 
 
 Ermengard, Countess of Narbonne, a lady who ruled 
 her little sovereignity with much success for more than 
 fifty years. She — one of the most renowned of the Pre- 
 sidents of the Courts of Love, an enthusiast in song, and 
 the generous patron of singers — was now somewhat sere. 
 With her the accomplished young clerk immediately 
 became a prime favourite, and indeed her cavali6r ser- 
 v&te in the fourth degree. It was under the rose, for 
 the experienced Ermengard knew what were likely to be 
 the consequences of scandal. So, to distract attention 
 from the liason, Peyre got up a violent flirtation with 
 one of the companions of the countess, a young lady of 
 high birth, Ughetto de Baux, better known as Bauzetta, 
 or the little Baux. While sedulously concealing the 
 real gallantry which he carried on with the countess, he 
 took care to flaunt the flirtation rather ostentatiously 
 before the eyes of the world. Everybody, including 
 Bauzetta herself, believed that the latter was the lady 
 addressed in the very warm lyrics of Peyre, under the 
 name of Tort N aves (you are mistaken). It was a name 
 that caused a good many to marvel. The countess, 
 however, believing that the affair with the little Baux 
 was not serious, and that she was the mistress, and 
 therefore the person really sung, thought it remarkably 
 appropriate. And so it was. Peyre intended it for both 
 ladies, and both richly deserved it, for both were alike 
 deceived. The flirtation with Ughetto was just as real 
 as that with the countess. One is tempted to linger 
 over the predicament of the poet at this juncture — over 
 the worry and. anxiety to which he must have subjected 
 himself by his double-barrelled system of wooing. The 
 countess was not to hear of the state of aff'airs between 
 himself and Ughetto ; the latter was to be kept in igno- 
 rance of his intimacy with the countess, and the whole 
 
i68 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 court was to be deceived as to both. The task was a 
 difficult one under any circumstances ; and here the cir- 
 cumstances were about as unfavourable as they could 
 well be, since all the parties resided under the same 
 roof. Still, if anybody could play with success the part 
 which the poet had imposed upon himself, Peyre was 
 just the man. His conventual education had tended to 
 develope his thoroughly diplomatic nature in the way 
 most congenial. At this period he was about as cool 
 and calculating a gentlemen as ever made love to a lady 
 and her attendant at the same time, if we may judge 
 by his songs, of which the following is a fair specimen :— 
 
 Because you're in love must you needs be an ass ? 
 
 While you silly watch thus are keeping 
 Beneath the cold moonshine, believe me, your lass 
 
 In comfort is supping or sleeping. 
 
 I tell you the dames are not wanting in wit ; 
 
 They know how your follies to measure. 
 I never yet found that they valued a bit 
 
 What brought them nor profit nor pleasure. 
 
 Be it known there are many things more to her taste 
 Than all your fond moping and pining — 
 
 A chain round her neck, or an arm round her waist 
 She'd rather by far you were twining. 
 
 Now don't be too eager, for that's just the way 
 
 To win first-rate cause to be jealous. 
 " That lad I may have when I please," she will say ; 
 
 And so she will flirt with the fellows. 
 
 You'll find, if you whine and pull faces so droll. 
 
 That she'll choose a practical lover ; 
 And while, like a ghost, round her chamber you stroll, 
 
 That he'll be within it — in clov-er. 
 
 Even the cool Peyre Rogiers, however, could not suc- 
 ceed in making love to a pair of companions for any 
 length without a hitch. An exposure — not a partial 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVE NTE 169 
 
 thing, but one in which the double intrigue was perfectly- 
 exhibited — took place, and Ermengard, being greatly- 
 blamed, was compelled to dismiss the poet, as she had 
 already dismissed the little Baux. Peyre took again to 
 the road, though not very greatly grieved. He knew 
 that such a glowing scandal was precisely the thing to 
 make the fortunes of a man of his profession. And 
 Fortune, no doubt, would have blessed him right 
 speedily, had it not been for a trifling accident. The 
 members of the House of Baux were, it seems, in a 
 hurry to wed their giddy little kinswoman, and they 
 entertained the notion that the death of the gay 
 deceiver was a necessary preface to the •ceremony. So, 
 gathering in tolerable numbers, and arming themselves 
 to the teeth, they waylaid Messire Peyre as he was 
 "jogging along the road," and put a period to his songs 
 and his seductions by slitting his windpipe. 
 
 Remarkably like Peyre Rogiers in his love-making, and 
 not unlike Rudel in his fate, was the poet Guilhem 
 Adhemar. He was a stray shoot from the stock of 
 Grignan, one of. the noblest in Provence, who, having 
 failed in every other profession, including that of 
 soldier — a sort of failure not at all complimentary to 
 one of gentle blood in those fighting days — betook him- 
 self, as a final resource, to the profession of troubadour. 
 He was one of the countless cavaliers of M. Raynouard's 
 Sappho, the Countess Die, a collection of whose poems 
 he made a point of carrying about with him, and some 
 of whose verses he made a point of singing in every 
 company. He also was one of the many with whom, as 
 she does not forget to tell us in her songs, she made use 
 of the convenient pretext of pilgrimage in order to 
 carry on her intrigues with the greater freedom. But 
 beneath his ostentatious show of passion for the countess 
 
1 70 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Guilhem Adhemar concealed a real and an ardent 
 attachment for her niece, who bore the same name still 
 as herself. He was not much of a singer ; indeed, his 
 poetic renown would seem to have been in a large mea- 
 sure a reflection from that of the Provengal Sappho. 
 His remains are chiefly of that lower order of poetry — 
 the satiric. Still, there are a few tender pieces among 
 them, though even these are little more than manifest 
 imitations of other lyrists — the following fragment, pro- 
 bably addressed to one lady and intended for the other, 
 being a tolerable specimen : — 
 
 The summer comes- with all its flowers, 
 
 And orchards rich with fruit ; 
 The birds are warbling in the bower. 
 
 And why should I be mute ? 
 
 In summer woods and summer airs 
 
 Delight I ever find ; 
 And now my heart is free from cares — 
 
 The maid I love is kind. 
 
 The news of the approaching marriage of the younger 
 countess was a death stroke to the troubadour ; it laid 
 him on a bed from whence he never rose again. The 
 truth was now disclosed. How it was received by the 
 elder countess history has not recorded. Adhemar 
 begged to be visited by the younger lady before he 
 died, and not in vain. Such requests were common 
 down to a much later period ; nor was it considered con- 
 sistent with Christian charity to give them a denial. The 
 letters of Busini relate a remarkable instance that 
 occurred in Florence in 1530. Martelli, one of the un- 
 successful champions in the singular duel that distin- 
 guished the siege of the Tuscan capital, when dying 
 of his wounds, entreated that the lady of his love might 
 be allowed to visit him. She had never given him the 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 171 
 
 slightest encouragement ; nevertheless, his request was 
 complied with, the lady being led to his chamber by her 
 husband. The latter is considered by Busini, who evi- 
 dently had no soul for chivalrous usages, as rather too 
 ready to illustrate the proverb by driving his goat dan- 
 gerously near the edge of the precipice. The young 
 countess was led by her mother to the couch of Adhemar. 
 He, who was at the last gasp, raised her hand to his 
 lips, and died in the act of kissing it. Both ladies were 
 appalled. The younger took the veil in a convent of 
 Tarascon, where she devoted her leisure to the versifica- 
 tion of a local legend. The elder charged herself with 
 the obsequies of the deceased poet. " Over his remains 
 she raised a mausoleum, on which she had engraven, 
 with marvellous skill, various heroic deeds and enter- 
 prises of chivalry, after the manner of Egyptian 
 hieroglyphics." 
 
 Bernard of Ventadour had a narrow escape from a 
 fate like that which befel Peyre Rogiers. He was the 
 son of a baker of Ventadour, who happened to attract 
 the attention of Ebles, the lord of the place, at an early 
 age. This Ebles was one of the most noted magnates 
 of the south. He was valiant, witty, and wealthy ; and 
 he was especially distinguished for generosity and 
 magnificence. A man of talent himself, he quickly 
 detected the nascent genius of the baker's child, 
 and, removing him to the castle, took much plea- 
 sure in developing him into a poet. Such things were 
 not unusual : it is recorded that the Dauphin of 
 Auvergne, a man of much superior rank to Ebles, 
 did not disdain to act as the poetic Mentor of 
 Hughes of St. Cyr. By the time that Bernard had 
 attained maturity, the Lord of Ventadour was declining 
 in life. He had also perpetrated a folly common to 
 
172 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 men of his years and character in taking to himself a 
 young and beautiful wife, of whom it was said that, like 
 other gay gentlemen who wed late in life, he was 
 exceedingly jealous. Much pleased was he, then, to find 
 that the songs of the domestic poet, which, probably by 
 order of Ebles himself, were all addressed to the domestic 
 beauty, rendered the said beauty utterly indifferent to 
 other praise. Perhaps the viscount considered that the 
 poet whom he had manufactured — " out of fire bricks 
 and mouldy crusts" — was his private property ; that the 
 songs, therefore, were as much his own as though they 
 had proceeded complete from his lordly brain, and that 
 the subject of these songs could not but consider her 
 gratitude due exclusively to himself. If he reasoned 
 in this way, he erred in common with a good many 
 others. Ebles was not blind to the impression that his 
 attractive viscountess had made on the poet ; but he was 
 not at all disposed to quarrel with Bernard on that 
 account. He saw clearly that a dash of real passion had 
 greatly improved the songs of the latter, and he never 
 dreamt that his exceedingly aristocratic dame could 
 respond to the sentiments of one so lowly born. Ebles, 
 however, was deceived. Bernard was handsome and 
 amiable, and the countess, ere long, fell just as deeply in 
 love with him as he had fallen with her. Up to this 
 period the canzons of the poet had been akin to the 
 following : — 
 
 While winter passes with its snows, 
 
 And spring time blossoms fair, 
 My love no change of season knows ; 
 
 Tis always winter there. 
 
 Love has its summer blooming bright, 
 
 Its autumn rich with fruit ; 
 And all save I — unhappy wight ! — 
 
 In turns their joys salute. 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 173 
 
 Am I condemned Love's woe to taste, 
 
 Nor ever know its bliss ? 
 Must I my life in penance waste, 
 
 Nor ever do amiss ? 
 
 I'll cease my song, away I'll rove ! 
 
 Yet no, I'll linger nigh ! 
 Perhaps my constancy may move 
 
 The Dame I cannot fly. 
 
 Now, however, he adopted a gayer measure, and with 
 the full approval of his patron, who was not yet in- 
 structed of the cause. That, however, the husband 
 discovered much earlier than the pair desired. They 
 were about as prudent as lovers usually are in such 
 circumstances, and contrived to excite suspicion at an 
 , early period. First Ebles detected stolen glances and 
 responsive blushes ; then he caught them whispering 
 behind doors ; finally there was placed in his hands 
 a fair copy of a very passionate song, in which the 
 poet went into ecstacies over a certain delicious kiss, 
 which he compared to the spear of Achilles, in its power 
 to wound and heal It was not the only time the 
 pretty conceit had been used, nor was it the last It 
 has been allowed to pass uncensured in Dante, Chaucer, 
 and Shakspeare; but critics have been quite indignant 
 at its employment by Bernard of Ventadour, who, they 
 think, had no right to manifest even the slightest token 
 of acquaintance with the classics. The excellent critics 
 however, forgot that this was emphatically a Latin age, 
 that the learned controversies of Abelard and his com- 
 peers were subjects of universal curiosity, and that the 
 troubadours found it indispensable to their success to 
 keep themselves abreast with the progress of knowledge, 
 and therefore to know something of scholastic doings 
 and scholastic learning. Ebles was even more dissatis- 
 fied with this sonnet than the critics. He read it, to 
 
174 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 flame up like a mediaeval gentleman, though certainly 
 with less fury than some that could be named. He 
 did not fling his wife out of the window, Hke one jealous 
 husband ; nor her waiting-maid, like another jealous 
 husband ; nor wife, waiting maid, confidant, and lover, 
 like a third jealous husband, the excellent Meinherd of 
 Bavaria. Perhaps none of his windows were wide enough 
 to allow the performance of the feat ; perhaps, too, his 
 muscles were not " in condition " — which is very likely, 
 considering his years. He did what he could, however, 
 and that was something. He stormed and swore at the 
 top of a very loud voice ; he ran amuck through the 
 castle, beat the pages who happened to cross his path, 
 kicked the dogs, and flung about the platters, which, 
 being of pewter, sustained little damage, but raised 
 a tremendous clatter. If our readers ask why he did 
 the last trick, we can only reply that it was a way 
 they had in the olden time. Of course nobody would 
 think of such a thing in the nineteenth century, because, 
 of course, we are all more civilised ; and then, you know, 
 pewter platters have departed with the olden time — a fact 
 that in itself would render the raising of a clatter by 
 their means somewhat difficult. Then Ebles cooled 
 down, ordered his wife into close confinement, and 
 despatched a party of halberdiers to arrest the poet. 
 The last he swore, by half the saints and all the demons, 
 to hang by the neck from a beam in his lady's chamber, 
 and there to let him dangle as long as the hemp would 
 hold, for the delectation of his paramour. Such deeds 
 were not unusual in the days of old, as is shown in one 
 of the stories of Boccaccio, having indeed given rise to 
 that grimmest of proverbs — "there is a skeleton in 
 every house." Fortunately for Bernard, who, it seems, 
 was absent at the outbreak of the storm, he had friends 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 175 
 
 at the castle, and by one of these'he was apprised of all 
 that had happened, and of his impending fate. Bernard 
 acted like a wise man, though hardly like a devoted 
 lover. Leaving the lady to the tender mercies of her 
 irate spouse, he took to his heels on the instant, nor did 
 he pause in his flight till he found himself safe at the 
 court of Eleanor of Aquitaine, the very gay wife of 
 one who was soon to become King of England. Here 
 the poet was safe, and something more. The affair at 
 Ventadour and his flight therefrom, had secured him, 
 and at once, all that renown which other troubadours 
 of the same class could only achieve, by dint of talent 
 and perseverance, after years of wandering and in the 
 face of endless hardships. What befel the viscountess 
 has not been noticed by tradition : it is probable that 
 she made her peace with Ebles, and that she conducted 
 her further loves with more discretion. As for Bernard, 
 he was taken into the service of Eleanor, whose smiles 
 soon taught him to forget the lady of Ventadour. He 
 sang his new mistress in many songs, of which the fol- 
 lowing gives us a glimpse of some of the " rights " 
 claimed by the cavalier serv^nte : — 
 
 A thousand times over she breathes the glad news 
 
 She'll yield, and the pretty deceiver 
 Her breaches of faith can so sweetly.excuse, 
 
 That her lover is fain to believe her. 
 
 I bow to her wishes, I bask in her sm'iles ; 
 
 She does with me just as she pleases ; 
 Which is not as I please ; with wile upon wile 
 
 My heart past all bearing she teases ! 
 
 From blaming I shrink ; yet ungentle she'll be 
 To her Knight, if she cease not to slight him. 
 
 And, since he's her "friend" in the highest degree. 
 With his dues, as his duties, delight him— 
 
176 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 To let him attend while her pillow is spread, 
 And while o'er the task each maid lingers ; 
 
 To let him kneel down by the side of her bed 
 And — her buskin unlace with his fingers. 
 
 The last passage is not unlike one occurring in a 
 clever book of Italian travel of the last generation. 
 " I once saw a lady " writes Forsyth, " bid her Signer 
 Cavaliere stir up her fire (' Attozate il mio fuoco'). At 
 the word of command he put his hand under her petti- 
 coat, removed the chafing dish, stirred the coals with 
 a small silver shovel which he kept in his pocket, 
 replaced the pan, and readjusted her dress." The 
 mediffival practice alluded to by Bernard of Ventadour 
 was hardly so formidable as it looked. It was, indeed, 
 little more than an attempt to carry out the leading 
 idea of the gallantry of the age. Love was looked upon 
 just as a species of feudal service, wherein the gentle- 
 man played the part of vassal, and the lady that of 
 suzerain, and on stated occasions it was the duty of 
 the vassal, and his privilege also — since, so long as he 
 was allowed to perform these duties, his rights were 
 secure — to serve his lord at table, and even to prepare 
 his couch and lay him thereon. Bernard's felicity in 
 the land of the Gascons was terminated by the removal 
 of Eleanor to England, an event which drew from him 
 this song : — 
 
 Had I the wings of the swallow, 
 Through the air to cleave my way, 
 
 How quickly my mistress I'd follow, 
 My heart at her feet to lay. 
 
 I'd hasten the mountains over, 
 
 I'd cross the foaming tide. 
 Around her steps to hover, 
 
 And nestle her couch beside. 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 177 
 
 Each morning, with its singing, 
 
 Awakes me the nightingale, 
 To my mem'ry sweetly bringing 
 
 Of all our loves the tale. 
 
 I blame not the notes thus stealing 
 
 Away mine hours of rest ; 
 I find a solace in feeling 
 
 That once, at least, I was blest. 
 
 The playful breeze that bloweth 
 
 From where my lady lies 
 Empalaced, around me streweth 
 
 The scents of Paradise. 
 
 Never can I forget her, 
 
 Though worlds were us to part ! 
 No ; the graver, Love, has set her 
 
 Image too deep in my heart. 
 
 Being deprived of the sight of Eleanor, and, what was 
 more, of a liberal patroness, the "Son of Song" next 
 sought and obtained the protection of the Count of 
 Toulouse. In the court of this prince he. obtained the 
 favours of the Countess of Beaucire, who is designated 
 by Nostradamus "a princess of singular beauty and 
 gentleness" — a phrase which is always dropping from 
 the pen of the old professor of the occult, and 
 which means about as much as Brantome's "belle et 
 honneste." In the service of this princess he continued 
 until she died, when Bernard, feeling no further vocation 
 to love, took a course often adopted by troubadours in 
 a similar mood, and entered a convent. There it is said 
 that he employed himself in imitating Ovid. None of 
 these imitations have survived — for a very good reason. 
 The monk of the Golden Isle says that the caligraphy 
 was so vile that it was impossible to read it without 
 recalling the scribe to life. One singularity in the bio- 
 graphy of Bernard of Ventadour must not be omitted. 
 
178 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 The story of his love passage with the viscountess has 
 been preserved from oblivion by the son of the lady, 
 who seems to have thought with the Abbe de Sade, 
 that, if one could not become notorious by one's own 
 good or bad deeds, the next best thing was to link one's 
 name with the notoriety of an ancestor. This worthy peer 
 " related the whole matter to a learned personage of the 
 time whose name is not known," but who, like many an- 
 other learned gentleman, appears to have found congenial 
 employment in perpetuating a pretty piece of scandal. 
 
 Another tolerable specimen of the low-born cavalier 
 serv6nte and his fortunes is contained in the story of 
 Aymerie of Beauvoir. He was a Gascon, who had been 
 brought up to the Church, but who quitted the cloister 
 at much the same age, and for much the same reasons, as 
 Peyre Rogiers. Him, Madame Gentel Ruis, a lady of 
 the great house of Valette, accepted as her " friend," 
 and retained as such until the voice of scandal, threat- 
 ening her with the usual infamy, and him with the as 
 usual assassination, compelled them to part. He fled 
 as men fly the plague, fast enough and far enough, never 
 halting until he had placed himself completely beyond 
 the reach of the vengeful la Valettes, in the Court of 
 Provence, which seems to have been the general resort 
 of troubadours in difficulties, amorous or pecuniary. In 
 this court there was a very learned lady who had 
 graduated in every one of the seven liberal arts — not 
 a very unusual thing, as we have had occasion to observe 
 more than once. An acquaintance with these seven 
 arts did not mean very much ; still it was not to be 
 obtained without long study and much cost, for the 
 teachers of the good old time had the trick, common to 
 the quacks of all time, of prolonging the period of their 
 services, and squeezing the purses of their victims to the 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 179 
 
 utmost. Barbossa then, must have reached years of 
 maturity before her education could have been pro- 
 nounced complete. Besides all this learning, Nostrada- 
 mus declares that she possessed " immortal beauty, an 
 infinity of- graces, and many good and saintly habits." 
 Among the last was a strongly pronounced inclination 
 for the cavalier serv^nte ; for our excellent authority 
 does not forget to remark that "she was the most 
 gallant in the world." It was a maxim that no man 
 could sing without having a mistress of whom to sing; 
 and as Aymerie had either to sing or starve, he was 
 bound to provide him with a mistress as speedily as 
 might be. No doubt his experiences v/ith Madame 
 Gentel Ruis had taught him some discretion. He had 
 little wish to be sent packing again, and still less to be 
 reasoned with by the wrathful relatives of any lady, as 
 St. Louis recommended all good Christians to reason with 
 unbelievers — ^that is, with three feet or so of cold steel. 
 After searching the Court of Provence with careful eye, 
 Aymerie considered that the learned, devout, and gallant 
 Princess Barbossa was about the^ safest object therein, 
 and her praises he determined to sing. The game of 
 love began at once, and it must be allowed that the lady 
 played her part therein to perfection. She was duly 
 severe at the outset ; she softened by just degrees ; and 
 she admitted the gentleman to the fourth stage precisely 
 at the proper time. His muse must have found it 
 difficult to soar at all times to the height expected by 
 Barbossa, but that it was fairly successful in its flights 
 the following choice collection of exaggerated sentiments 
 
 will show : 
 
 Oh perfect one ! unto your sway 
 
 My heart I wholly gave, 
 A docile and, I grieve to say, 
 
 An unrewarded slave. 
 
i8o THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 If mercy comes not to my aid, 
 
 Shall I unfaithful prove ? 
 No, never ! I must low be laid 
 
 Before I cease to love. 
 
 I'll hope and wait, whate'er my pain, 
 
 Until you deign to bless ; 
 Such hope I'd rather entertain 
 
 Than all elsewhere possess. 
 
 Your friendship, Princess, then, I'll try, 
 
 Till softer feelings move ; 
 And at the worst — well, I can die, 
 
 But never cease to love ! 
 
 And Dame Barbossa could act just as heroically as the 
 troubadour sang. One day, when she was promenading 
 in due state, her maids being around, and her lover at an 
 humble distance, she happened to drop her glove. 
 Aymerie hastened to pick it up, and, kissing it devoutly, 
 he presented it to its owner, who received it with a 
 gracious smile. The damsels were indignant at this 
 flagrant breach of decorum. They remonstrated with 
 their mistress, greatly wondering how she, of all ladies 
 living, could permit such a thing in public. " Permit 
 such a thing ! " replied the Princess, putting on her 
 grandest air ; " I would have you to know, my maidens, 
 that ladies of honour cannot grant too many favours, in 
 an honest way, to those men of genius who have the 
 power of immortalizing them in song." The story is 
 evidently the original of one manufactured centuries 
 later for the Queen of Charles VII. and Alain Chattier. 
 The incident of the glove was commemorated by 
 Aymerie in some verses which we have given in another 
 place, and they were followed by many more in the same 
 stilted vein. This pretty amour had a very suitable 
 close. Dame Barbossa retired to a convent of the 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE i8i 
 
 Strictest rule, where she was forbidden to see or speak to 
 worldlings, except through a grating ; and her cavalier 
 died of grief— a bit of tragedy that, to our thinking, 
 tends to heighten the high comedy of the whole affair. 
 
 Of another of these cavalier servdntes a story is told 
 which has been used to an unlimited extent by succeeding 
 poets and novelists. It has, of course, been improved 
 upon in its passage through so many brains ; but, as it 
 happens, it is of a kind that cannot be completely 
 twisted out of its original shape. Guilhem Durante, of 
 Montpellier, was a renowned lawyer, remarkable, among 
 other things, for a tenacious memory. Some attributed 
 this peculiarity to " a certain stone set in gold which he 
 always carried about with him." His own explanation 
 thereof was more probable. He held that gluttony and 
 wine-bibbing dulled the wit and obscured the memory ; 
 he therefore-practised the strictest temperance. Perhaps, 
 too, his memory was strong or weak, as he liked or 
 disliked the subject upon which it was exercised. It was 
 remarked that, " did he read a fine romance, in prose or 
 verse, but once over, he could recite it word for word." 
 This lawyer of temperate habits and powerful memory 
 was also an " exalted poet." And being a poet, it follows 
 that he had a mistress to inspire his strains, who was a 
 relative of his own, of the name of Balba. " Through 
 extreme curiosity, he' investigated the hour of the birth 
 of this lady. The result of his researches he communi- 
 cated to a medical friend, who was also an astrologer, 
 beseeching him to make it the subject of astral calcula- 
 tion. The medico did so, foretelling to Durante,, according 
 to the judgment of astrology, all that was to befal 
 Balba, and stating, in particular, that her death would be 
 attended by extraordinary circumstances, but that she 
 was fated to enjoy a lengthened life. For several years 
 
1 82 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 did the lawyer-poet bear all this faithfully in his memory, 
 according to the saying of the sage. At length the 
 time arrived when the prediction was to be fulfilled. 
 One day Balba was taken suddenly and alarmingly ill, 
 the next she improved somewhat, but on the third she 
 was so greatly afflicted by her malady as to be accounted 
 dead, and preparations were made for her interment. 
 The report of this sudden death coming to the ears of 
 the poet, he was so much affected thereby that he died 
 himself, and was buried on the same day as Balba. 
 While the latter lay in her coffin, and while her obsequies 
 were yet in progress, she began to breathe, and then to 
 wail — a thing that mightily astonished the bystanders. 
 Being removed from the grave, and promptly aided, she 
 was carried home alive, and likely to live. During her 
 convalescence she was informed of the strange and 
 sudden death of Durante, and such was its effect upon 
 her that she entered a convent forthwith. There she 
 spent many years, dying at length, and unmistakably, at 
 the ripe age of sixty." 
 
 Another cavalier serv^nte has supplied Boccaccio with 
 the original of a story which Dryden has put into 
 vigorous English verse. " In his youth Bertrand of 
 Marseilles was clownish and stupid. But, mixing among 
 the Provengal beauties, and being 'seized or possessed' 
 of love for one of them, the damsel Porceletta, of the 
 ancient house of Porcelet of Aries, he acquired as much 
 polish, and as much knowledge in the science of love, as 
 most people. And so, increasing in sense and worth, he 
 became in time a good poet." The love that caused 
 such a striking change in this Provengal Cimon did not 
 extend its influence to his Iphigenia. Of the many 
 doleful lyrics that he sent her, we select one for imitation. 
 The said imitation, we wish it to be understood, is 
 much less of a caricature than most of our readers 
 
THE CA VALIER SER VENTE 1 8 3 
 
 would be inclined to suspect ; and, besides, it is, as 
 Michael Cassio would say, " a more exquisite song than 
 the other." 
 
 I said my heart was like to break, 
 
 And that my soul was cast, 
 By passion's tide, just like a wreck 
 
 Disabled by the blast. 
 
 I swore an oath that what I felt 
 
 Was like to turn my head ; 
 I sighed — such sighs ! — and then I knelt, 
 
 But not a word she said ! 
 
 I preached of Grace in moving strain ; 
 
 I told her she was fair ; • 
 I whispered what renown she'd gain. 
 
 By listening to my prayer. 
 
 I spoke of needle and of pole, 
 
 And other things I'd read ; 
 But unto all my rigmarole — ■ 
 
 Why not a word she said ! 
 
 I prayed her then my love to test, 
 
 To send me near or far — 
 I'd squelch the dragon in his den, 
 
 I'd yoke him to my car. 
 
 I'd risk for her, as faithful knight, 
 
 My eyes, or limbs, or head, 
 Being quite prepared to fool or fight — 
 
 But not a word she said ! 
 
 I argued that, if poor in cash, 
 
 Yet I was rich in mind ; 
 Of rivals vowed to make a hash. 
 
 When such I chanced to find. 
 
 I knit my brows, I clenched my hand, 
 
 I tried to wake her dread ; 
 In quiet wise, you'll understand — 
 -But not a word she said ! 
 
1 84 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 This was followed by a piece on another strain : 
 
 Mercy severe, and Joy delayed too long, 
 And disappointed Hope, will either slay, 
 Or from that maid ungrateful turn away 
 
 The love that in my breast is now so strong. 
 
 Ah, wherefore is it that she does this wrong ! 
 That I in vain to her must sigh and pray ! 
 Why leave me without cause, and why betray 
 
 This heart that her has loved so well and long ? 
 
 On one occasion he followed the example of Vidal, and 
 stole a kiss, a theft which the lady facilitated by going 
 to sleep in a convenient place. The kiss was sufficiently 
 respectful, since the poet confined it to the lady's eyes. 
 Nevertheless it awoke her in a towering rage, which the 
 following canzon, somewhat too much in the style of 
 Perdigon, did not tend to alleviate: 
 
 Like a peasant who thinks he has lit on a casket 
 
 O'erflowing with silver and gold — 
 To find he has only dug up a basket 
 
 That nothing but rubbish doth hold- 
 So was my delight when I thought I had found in you 
 
 A heart full of sweetness and truth 
 Changed to grief when instructed that nothing was sound in you 
 
 Except just your outside and youth . 
 
 Away, then, I'll wander a lady to seek out 
 
 In whom truth and constancy meet, 
 Instead of yourself, who, the plain fact to speak out, 
 
 Are only a heap of deceit. 
 
 The lady ended the matter by wedding another, 
 whereupon Bertrand retired with his disappointed hopes 
 to a monastery — an action that we can hardly under- 
 stand, since, according to the theory of Trouvers' love> 
 marriage was precisely the thing to make Porceletta a 
 perfect mistress. 
 
 We now come to the world-renowned story of William 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 185 
 
 of Cabestang. We shall preface our version thereof 
 with a few remarks anent its credibility, and, by impli- 
 cation, the credibility of all similar legends. It is told 
 in many different forms. Nostradamus gives one, 
 Boccaccio another, and the deeply-read commentator on 
 Petrarch and Dante, Velutello, a third. These writers 
 do not differ capriciously, or without authority. Their 
 respective details have been drawn from manuscripts, 
 most of which are yet extant, and several of which have 
 been published by Raynouard. Even the most poetic, 
 and therefore the most improbable, of these versions, that 
 of Boccaccio, agrees in all essentials — the genius which 
 animates it excepted — ^with one of the old Provengal 
 raconteurs. As to the legend itself, we consider that, 
 like the best of our own old ballads, it has had a foun- 
 . dation in actual fact. But those who, like ourselves, have 
 attempted to identify the ballads alluded to with historic 
 events, will understand how poetic tradition deals with 
 facts, distorting and embellishing them until the picture 
 is no more like the original than a moonlight shadow is 
 like the object by which it is cast. The ballad of Chevy 
 Chace was undoubtedly founded on the fight of Otter- 
 bourne ; but, in passing through the brain of the poet, 
 the incidents have quite lost their primitive shape. So 
 it is with the Scotch ballad of Bothwell Brigg, wherein 
 separate events are so oddly interwoven. So also it is 
 with the story of Fair Rosamond, And so, finally, it 
 is with the stories of the troubadours. Of the last 
 there is not one that is not varied in many ways, and 
 the reason is, because these legends were preserved by 
 men much less anxious to make their narratives true 
 than to make them striking. Story-telling, it should 
 be remembered, was as much a portion of the profession 
 of the troubadour as singing ; and in his stories, as in 
 
i86 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 his songs, he found, for the most part, what was chiefly 
 amusing in his own fancy. One principal object was to 
 be interesting, and another to excel his rivals. To 
 make a good legend, then, he never hesitated to embellish 
 promising materials, or to tack together in one romantic 
 whole the more striking portions of many different tales. 
 According to all the traditions, William of Cabestang 
 belonged to an ancient but decayed family of Roussillon, 
 a province included in the present department of the 
 Eastern Pyrenees. There is a place called Cabestang 
 still to be found about a league and a quarter south- 
 east of Perpignan. The name is such a one as might 
 be expected to occur on the dreary flat, lined with 
 shallow lagoons, which borders the Mediterranean in 
 that quarter. It means the Hollow of the Pond, and 
 signifies that the district was at one period submerged. 
 The first portion of William's story has been carefully 
 omitted by most of those who have written concerning 
 him of late years. It is not consistent with the amiable, 
 interesting, and guileless character which they prefer to 
 consider him. Like so many other troubadours, he 
 commenced his career as a wanderer. Possessing a fine 
 person, and, as his remains prove, considerable poetic 
 ability, he met with fair success. Visiting the Court of 
 Provence, he there attached himself as cavalier servente 
 to a great lady, Berengeria de Baux, daughter of the 
 Viscount of Marseilles, on the usual conditions — songs 
 on his part, and graces on hers, which, in instances hke 
 this, wherein the lady was very great, and the gentleman 
 very small, included money, horses, and clothing, as well 
 as smiles. Berengeria, it would seem, like many another 
 of the chosen dames of the poorer troubadours, was 
 somewhat past her prime. She certainly did not rely on 
 her charms, or on her very substantial recognition of his 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 187 
 
 devotion, to retain her William in allegiance. She 
 resorted to a device which, as we have elsewhere shown, 
 was not uncommon in such cases, and administered a 
 love potion. The results were not happy ; the draught 
 distorted William's face into the semblance of a hideous, 
 endless laugh. Fortunately for him, he had contracted 
 an intimacy with a dealer in poisons and antidotes — 
 a circumstance which does not ' exalt the poet of the 
 Salt Pond in our estimation — and, by the aid of this 
 shady character, his countenance was relieved of its 
 appalling grin. Having no wish to play the hyena in 
 this way against his will, he hastened to quit Provence 
 without taking leave of the delightful Berengeria. He 
 next appears in his native province, holding a dubious 
 post in the household of Raymond, the wealthy Lord of 
 Castel-Roussillon, a place about a league and a quarter 
 east of Perpignan, and within the same distance of 
 William's ancestral marsh. Indeed, lines connecting the- 
 three points would form an equilateral triangle. This 
 noble, like all the jealous husbands who figure in the 
 legends of the troubadours, was somewhat ancient, and 
 had, of course, a charming wife. With respect to her 
 it may be remarked that a Viscountess of Castel- 
 RoussiHoh appears in the story of Guilhem of St. 
 Legier, and also in the story of Pons of Capdueil, 
 cavaliers who were both the contemporaries of him 
 of Cabestang. It is probable, then, that the same 
 lady was in turn the mistress of all three. If not, 
 well then Raymond of Castel-Roussillon must have 
 been as unfortunate in the matter of wives as the son of 
 the unfortunate favourite of " Good Queen Bess." The 
 poet and the viscountess fell in love with one another, 
 and there anent the romance people tell a delightfully 
 lackadaisical story. According, to them, this not very 
 
1 88 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 delicate lover of the not very delicate Berengeria de 
 Baux — this personage so well acquainted with the com- 
 pounders of philtres and antidotes — was so exceedingly- 
 bashful that he really could not venture to say a single 
 word to his impassioned viscountess. Such bashfulness 
 might have been all very well had the case been one 
 wherein the siege of the lady's heart had to be conducted 
 according to the strict rules of gallantry, which laid it 
 down that the respectful timidity of which we have 
 already discoursed, was to be observed in the preli- 
 minary stages. But this was not the fact. The lady of 
 Castel-Roussillon is termed by the older writers 
 Torisonda, a name suspiciously like an uncomplimen- 
 tary Spanish word. The romance people style her Mar- 
 guerite, which is a favourite name with them, and one 
 which they apply to any dame for whom they desire to 
 excite the sympathies of their readers. Well, Madame 
 Torisonda, or Marguerite, who had no wish to observe 
 the strict rules of gallantry in this instance, having 
 sighed and ogled, and squeezed the hand, and even trod 
 on the toes* of the timid young man any number of 
 times without drawing a response, at length determined 
 to pop the question herself, which she did on the first 
 opportunity. 
 
 The scene of question-popping, which the romance 
 people appear to think tender and touching in the 
 extreme, we find comic. There was a page on the watch 
 at the top of the stairs, another stood at each end of 
 the corridor, and the trustiest of damsels kept the 
 entrance to the chamber. Inside stood a beautiful lady, 
 in magnificent attire and graceful attitude, and by her 
 side was a handsome young man, blushing to the tip of 
 
 * All these tokens of love are mentioned in a canzon by Saveri de 
 Mauleon. 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 189 
 
 his ears, keeping his eyes fixed on his toes, and seeming 
 sadly at a loss what to do with his legs and his arms. 
 
 "William," said the charming viscountess, in the 
 sweetest of voices, " suppose a lady — such a lady as 
 myself— happened to fall in love with you, do you 
 think you could respond to her affections ? " 
 
 After many hums and haws, and many trials of the 
 strength of the floor with his toes, the bashful youth 
 managed to reply that he might possibly do the thing 
 of which the lady inquired, provided he were quite sure 
 that there was no intention to jest at his expense. 
 
 " Quite right," repHed the viscountess. " But tell me 
 now, are you really ah — so —ah — so inexperienced that 
 you cannot distinguish between jest and earnest in such 
 a matter ? " 
 
 William said not a word, but he looked as if he really 
 were verdant, even to that extent. 
 
 The lady pouted, pulled a flower to pieces, strode 
 hastily up and down the apartment, hesitated as to 
 whether it were worth her while to think any more in 
 tender guise of a youth so disgustingly raw, and finally 
 determined to make "another trial. She drew very close 
 to the youth, placed her little hands on both his 
 shoulders, which thrilled beneath the touch, brought her 
 lips — full, red, and moist — perplexingly close to his, 
 and, while her ringlets dangled teazingly against his 
 nose, and her breath fanned the blood in his cheeks into 
 a white heat, inquired, " Do you think, dearest William 
 that I could jest with you 1 " 
 
 The rest of the scene remains undescribed. So it 
 shall remain for us, who have no desire to evoke it from 
 that inexhaustible magazine whence arecent commander- 
 in-chief is said to have evoked fourteen victories — 
 the depths of our internal consciousness. 
 
igo THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Within the next few weeks Castel-Roussillon, and, 
 indeed, all the castles in the neighbourhood, were enli- 
 vened by a series of passionate songs in this style : — 
 
 I wandered through a garden, 'twas filled with flowers the rarest, 
 
 And of all these briUiant blossoms I culled the very fairest ; 
 
 So fine its shape, so sweet its scent, its hues so richly blent, 
 
 That heaven, I'm sure, created it itself to represent. 
 
 My lady is so charming, my lady is so meek, 
 
 Such tenderness is in her smile, such beauty in her cheek ; 
 
 Such kisses blossom on her lip, such love illumines her eye — 
 
 Oh, never was there neath the stars a man so blest as I ! 
 
 I gaze, I thrill with joy, I weep, in song my feelings flow— 
 
 A song of hope, delight, desire, with passion all aglow — 
 
 A fervent song, a pleading song, a song in every line — 
 
 Of thanks and praise to her who lists no other songs but mine. 
 
 Oh, hear me sweet ! Oh, kiss me sweet ! Oh, clasp me tenderly ! 
 
 Thy beauties many, many touch, but none that love like me. 
 
 The lovers were cautious, the pages and damsels were 
 trusty, and no name was mentioned in the lyrics ; but, 
 somehow or other, an inkling of what was going forward 
 reached Raymond of Castel-Roussillon. He took a course 
 that shows him to have been by no means the headlong 
 and ferocious monster that he has been painted. In- 
 stead of doing like other jealous husbands in similar 
 circumstances — kicking the songster out of doors, or 
 causing him to be waylaid and knocked on the head, while 
 he locked up the erring dame — he actually went quietly 
 to, Messire William and demanded an explanation! 
 William was ready with one entirely to his satisfaction. 
 He declared, with unblushing cheek and unfaltering 
 tone — which shows that he was no longer the raw and 
 timid youth of a few weeks before — that he was devoted, 
 heart and soul, to Agnes, the sister of Torisonda and 
 the wife of a neighbouring baron, that to her his songs 
 were addressed, and that Agnes and himself were 
 greatly grieved by the jealousy of Baron Robert of 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 191 
 
 Tarasca, and sorely in need of an obliging friend who 
 would enable them to meet in safety. Raymond was 
 delighted to have his suspicions removed in this 
 fashion ; he felt really grateful to William ; and, in his 
 gratitude, he volunteered to play the part of friend 
 between him and Agnes. He did so there and then, 
 starting off at once to the chateau of his brother-in-law, 
 where William was exceedingly well received. A very 
 pleasant evening followed, in the course of which 
 William contrived to apprise Agnes of the state of 
 affairs ; and Agnes, being a lady of gallantry herself, as 
 well as the sister of Torisonda, did her best to aid the 
 deception being practised on Raymond. So, also, did 
 her husband ; for, like all the gentlemen of that era, he 
 dearly loved a joke ; and the best of all jokes among 
 the troubadours was the cheating of a jealous husband. 
 This particular specimen of the favourite pastime trans- 
 pired, and became, for the time, the principal subject of 
 laughter to the country round ; nor did anybody enjoy 
 the thing more than the parties chiefly concerned, 
 Torisonda and William. In fact they were more for- 
 ward than anyone else in saying smart things concern- 
 ing the stupidity of the wittol. Instigated by his 
 mistress, the poet went so far as to make it the subject 
 of his songs, of which he had the consummate impu- 
 dence to inscribe the following to Raymond : — 
 
 Your dame, all allow, is a sweet bit of stuff. 
 
 And I'm not a bad-looking fellow ; 
 While you, my old veteran, are wrinkled and tough, 
 
 And your skin's most uncommonly yellow. 
 She sees that I'm brisk ; I see she's divine ; 
 
 We both see that you're old and wheezy. 
 You can't shut her eyes, and you cannot shut mine — 
 
 So you might just as well take it easy, 
 
 Old boy— you might just as well take it easy. 
 
192 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 I'm teased with fond wishes I cannot repress — 
 'Tis precisely the same with your beauty; 
 
 And when such as we are can steal a caress, 
 We're sometimes oblivious of duty. 
 
 'Tis nature, you know it, then wherefore repine, 
 And bounce about crusty and breezy ? 
 
 You can't shut her heart, and you cannot shut mine- 
 So you might just as well take it easy, 
 Old boy — you might just as well take it easy. 
 
 In due time the whole matter was disclosed to Ray- 
 mond, and every one of the songs submitted to his 
 notice by his goodnatured friends. It was a time when 
 revenge was esteemed a virtue, and Raymond deter- 
 mined to be avenged to the full extent of the wrongs 
 that he had suffered and the insults that he had 
 received. These, with all due respect to the romance 
 people, we are bound to pronounce extreme. Provengal 
 gallants were usually content with the perpetration of 
 one crime, unless when driven to a second in what they 
 considered self-defence. But here, in addition to being 
 injured, the husband had been gulled and mocked in 
 very wantonness, like the merest dotard. In resolving, 
 as he did, that the poet should die, he did not venture 
 one inch beyond law as it existed in most places, and 
 custom as it existed everywhere. William was in the 
 service of Raymond, and the Feudal Code defined the 
 seduction of the wife of the master by the servant, as 
 treason. True the laws of Aragon, of which Raymond 
 was the subject, had been greatly mitigated in this 
 particular under a race of gallant monarchs. Instead of 
 burning, the ancient punishment of adulterers — that is, 
 when the injured party declined to slay them himself— 
 such offenders were now merely liable, the female to 
 imprisonment in a convent, and the male to a fine. But 
 these milder laws were never invoked by any but the 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 193 
 
 trading classes. Members of the aristocracy still arro- 
 gated the right to slay the seducer, which had been con- 
 ferred upon them by the ancient statutes. 
 
 Raymond slew William immediately, and with his 
 own hand. The more probable accounts state that the 
 parties met— each being well attended — near the lower 
 mountains of the Pyrenees, and that the lover fell in 
 single combat with the outraged husband. It would 
 seem that he made neither an energetic nor an honour- 
 able resistance ; that, in fact, he displayed a good deal 
 of a commodity which is occasionally found in the pos- 
 session of such fascinating youths, and which is termed 
 " the white feather." The Monk of Montemayor, who 
 lived not long afterwardi^ and who spent much time in 
 collecting facts respecting the troubadours, denounces 
 William as " a fool and a coward " for allowing himself 
 to be slain by " a vile pig of a jealous husband." And 
 here, we think, terminates the truth of the legend — that 
 is, if there be any truth in it all. According to the 
 romance people, Raymond cut off the head of the beau 
 and tore out his heart. He had the latter cooked and 
 laid before his wife as a delicate morsel, watching her in 
 grim silence as she ate. Then, he declared that she had 
 swallowed the heart of her lover, and, in confirmation of 
 his words, produced the bloody head. She fell senseless 
 in horror to recover in despair. Rising with the 
 gestures of a Clytemnestra, she taunted her husband 
 into drawing - his sword upon her. Then she fled 
 shrieking before him, to the summit of the castle, 
 from whence she flung herself into the arms of 
 death. It is added that the fate of the lovers exbited 
 general sympathy ; that their friends, aided by a royal 
 contingent, levelled the castles of Raymond with the 
 ground ; that the ferocious lord himself was deprived of 
 
194 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 his estates, and imprisoned for life by Alfonso ; and 
 that the gallant monarch, causing the bodies of the un- 
 fortuates to be laid in a magnificent tomb inscribed with 
 their story, decreed that thenceforth this tomb — which 
 stood in the principal church of Perpignan — should be 
 the term of an annual procession of all the faithful 
 lovers of the province. We may. observe that the whole 
 of this pretty story, including the institution of the 
 annual procession, is related of another pair of lovers, 
 who lived and died, according to the romance people, 
 at the same period in Burgundy, being such a coinci- 
 dence — or, rather, series of coincidences, as reality has 
 never witnessed. 
 
 As to the annual processions, there really were such 
 things observed over the south of France, and in many 
 places to the north, all through the Middle Ages ; but 
 nowhere else than in Roussillon was it pretended that 
 they owed their origin to the catastrophe of a pair 
 of lovers, aided by the decree of an appreciative 
 monarch. Within the limits of the Langue d'Oc, and in 
 many of the countries bordering thereon, there were 
 fraternities of gay ladies and gentlemen who called 
 themselves Valentines. Every year, on the 14th of 
 February, these Valentines assembled on horseback in 
 some convenient place, usually the centre of the nearest 
 town. Here they formed files, each consisting of a lady 
 and a gentleman ; and hence they departed to make the 
 circuit of the neighbourhood. They were led by two 
 files got up to represent Cupid, Mercy, Loyalty, and 
 Chastity, and they were duly attended by trumpeters 
 and banner-bearers, to say nothing of the inevitable 
 rabble. The procession closed at the Hotel de Ville, 
 •whose principal apartment was gaily decorated for the 
 occasion. Here the Valentines worshipped Love, in a 
 
THE CAVALIER SERVENTE 195 
 
 neat parody on the Mass. Then each pair kissed and 
 parted, for a new engagement was about to be formed. 
 There was now produced a silver casket, containing the 
 names of all the gentlemen present written on separate 
 slips of parchment. One by one, each of the ladies 
 drew a slip, until no more remained in the casket. 
 Afterwards the president, bedizened as Cupid, read out 
 the names written on the slips, and the gentlemen who 
 bore these names became the Valentines of the respec- 
 tive ladies who had drawn them for the ensuing year. 
 When all the Valentines were thus recoupled, the laws 
 of the institution were read over by the president. 
 These specified that each gentleman was to be faithful 
 to his lady for the term of twelve months ; to keep her 
 well supplied with flowers, according to the season, and 
 to make her presents at stated periods ; to escort her 
 whithersoever she wished to go for purposes of piety or 
 pleasure ; to make her songs, if a poet, and to break 
 lances in her honour, if skilled in arms ; and to resent to 
 the utmost every insult levelled at her. The laws furthe? 
 specified that, should the gentleman happen to be cot.- 
 victed of wilful failure in any item, he was to be ex- 
 pelled with ignominy from the society. In this case- 
 the Valentines were to assemble, as on the 14th of 
 February, and march to his house. In front thereof his 
 crime and sentence were to be proclaimed, and a bundle 
 of straw was to be burned on his door-sill, in token of 
 his excommunication. Finally, the marriage of a pair 
 of Valentines was strictly prohibited, under the like 
 penalty. The president having finished his recitation of 
 the statutes, another parody of the Church services of 
 the day was perpetrated, and the party broke up. 
 These singular fraternities,, some of which survived to 
 the commencement of the sixteenth century, certainly 
 
196 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 owed their origin to the species of gallantry taught and 
 practised by the troubadours, and with them, therefore, 
 we shall close our notice of the MEDIAEVAL CAVALIER 
 Servente. 
 
 'Note. — It is stated in the text, that some of the fraternities of 
 Valentine were in existence early in the sixteenth century. We 
 mean in something like their ancient vigour. In the seventeenth 
 century, and even in the eighteenth, it was still usual to form 
 groups of Valentines on the 14th of February. But these were 
 no more than what may be termed supper-table groups, and 
 engaged the parties to nothing beyond an exchange of pretty, 
 trifles. — See Pepys and other Diarists. 
 
197 
 
 WANDERING TROUBADOURS 
 
 The troubadours formed two widely different classes. 
 There were those who sang by inclination and those 
 who sang by profession. Among the former were great 
 princes like Coeur de Lion and Alfonso el Sabio ; and 
 great barons like the Counts of Poitou, Provence, and 
 Toulouse ; and an infinite num'ber of lesser but still 
 powerful chatelains, like Savari de Mauleon and Ber- 
 trand Von Born. The professional troubadours were of 
 various orders. Some were of noble, others of very 
 plebeian birth ; some were vagabond and others sta- 
 tionary, the latter being chiefly those who, wearying of 
 a wandering life, had taken service with the wealthier 
 barons. 
 
 The profession ofthe _ trou badour was , probabjy the 
 best remunerated of the age and country. Money, 
 clothes, jewels, arms, horses, and unlimited hospitality 
 were the more usual rewards of the skilled in " the gay 
 science." But exceptional merit was always paid at a 
 higher rate. We find Aubert of Pucibot and Rambaud 
 of Vaquieras winning knighthood, and Guilhem Boyer, 
 Arnaud of Cotignac, Gauceln of Mostiere, and others, 
 gaining comfortable governments through their supe- 
 riority in song. In the course of this chapter we shall 
 have occasion to notice several instances of wandering 
 bards realizing much wealth. There is even one instance 
 
 /• 
 
198 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 on record wherein a large estate was given for a single 
 composition. Taraudet of Flassans purchased the estate, 
 the name of which he bore, from Folquet of Ponteves 
 for a piece entitled — " Lous Ensegnamens per se garder 
 contra las Traysons d' Amor " — Instructions to guard 
 against the treacheries of love. Concerning this piece, 
 it has been remarked by the Monk of the Golden Isle, 
 that the instructions it contained could not have been of 
 much value, since vendor and purchaser were alike and 
 egregiously deceived of their mistresses. 
 
 Old Proven5al poetry abounds in allusions to the 
 munificence of patrons and the good fortune of poets. 
 Perhaps, the care with which it is evident that the latter 
 laboured to inculcate generosity towards themselves did 
 something to produce the desired result. And even 
 ' more effective in this way, must have been the denun- 
 I ciations which the disappointed troubadour never failed 
 to aim at the stinginess of the patron — that is, when the 
 latter happened to be himself unacquainted with the art 
 of stringing rhymes. Otherwise the satirist got as good 
 as he gave, and the edge was thus taken off his diatribe. 
 So it happened with Hughes of St. Cyr, at least once 
 in the course of his varied peregrinations. He paid a 
 visit to the Count of Rhodez, a baron whose munificence 
 he had fomerly experienced, and was received with 
 somewhat less warmth and liberality than he conceived 
 to be fairly his due. Thereupon, he retired in high dud- 
 geon to a neighbouring chateau, where he composed the 
 following delectable lay — despatching it, of course, to 
 the count the moment he could find a suitable mes- 
 senger. The said messenger, it may be observed, was 
 in this, as in all similar instances, a singer of the lowest 
 class, who communicated the lay by singing it before the 
 subject : — 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 199 
 
 Don't be afraid my mettlesome blade 
 
 Nor raise your eyebrows nor straighten your leg — 
 
 I assure you I have not come to beg. 
 
 Of this world's goods 1 have all I need — 
 
 As for yourself^if you're short of pelf — 
 
 For so it may be 
 That times have changed with you as with me — 
 
 I do not object my pockets to rifle 
 
 In order to hand your countship a trifle ; 
 I verily think it would be a good deed ! 
 
 To this piece of cool impudence the count, who was 
 also a poet, replied, and at once, by the same mes- 
 senger : — 
 
 You wretched scamp ! You inveterate tramp ! 
 
 Do you indeed forget, or no, 
 
 Entering my castle some years ago 
 
 Naked without and empty within — 
 
 A very scari crow ragged and thin ? 
 
 To fatten you up and set you to rights 
 
 Cost me more than the board of a couple of knights, 
 
 Including their tail of archers and squires- - 
 
 And now — by the souls of all my sires ! — 
 
 Those who hear I know will believe — 
 You inveterate screw I You more than Jew ! 
 If I were to offer a palfrey or two, 
 By jingo, you're just the sneak to receive ! 
 
 The count was not satisfied with this elegant retort, 
 but summoned his neighbour to expel Hughes forth- 
 with. This the neighbour refused in a biting song, in 
 whose composition- the vagabond probably had a share. 
 The affair culminated in one of those endless feuds so 
 common in the good old times. 
 
 It must be admitted that the life of the wandering 
 troubadour possessed peculiar attractions for people of 
 erratic temperament. They were allowed all the privi- 
 leges, and more than all the licence of the pilgrim and 
 the strolling friar ; they were free to come and go where 
 
200 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 ever they liked ; a cast of their art paid every bill, and 
 they were always much more welcome than any other 
 class of itinerant. During the winter months they 
 remained at home, composing new pieces. With the 
 spring they resumed their peregrinations, and thence to 
 the unloosing of the colder blasts and the retreat of 
 vegetation before them, they were in their glory. The 
 poorer members of the profession travelled alone and 
 afoot, with staves in their hands and wallets on their 
 backs. They sang chiefly for the amusement of the 
 lower classes in town and country, delighting especially 
 to entertain the frequenters of the hostelries. Their 
 admission to the castle was mostly surreptitious and 
 accomplished for the gratification of the menials. Some- 
 times a message, such as that sent by Hughes of St. Cyr, 
 procured them the favour of an interview with the baron 
 himself And sometimes the baronial family was com- 
 pelled to resort to the poor-devil minstrel, in dearth of 
 all other sources of amusement, for the dissipation of its 
 ennui. This was the opportunity of the musical vaga- 
 bond, and then, of course, he exerted himself to the 
 utmost. If he possessed any original talent it was cer- 
 tain to be recognized and rewarded in the substantial 
 manner we have mentioned. Besides, he sprang at once 
 to note ; for the first high-class discoverer of genius was 
 sure to take credit to himself, and to trumpet its praises 
 in all directions. Nor would the said discoverer of genius 
 allow the possessor of the valued quality to depart with- 
 out supplying him with introductions to his neighbours. 
 The last would vie with each other in their liberality to 
 the poet ; so that, after experiencing the hospitality of 
 three or four such entertainers, he would find himself 
 enabled to take rank with the more gentlemanly pro- 
 fessors of his crafc. Thereafter his journeys would be 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 201 
 
 made on horseback, with sumter mule and page, and in 
 many cases attended by subordinate singers and buffoons 
 — for many of the higher-placed troubadours anticipated 
 the Richardsons, and other directors of companies of 
 strolling players in the last century. With ordinary 
 prudence, the troubadour's fortune was now secure. He 
 might continue his career until he had gathered a com- 
 petence. He might attach himself to a wealthy baron 
 as social companion and general adviser, obtaining in 
 return the run of the castle, and a knight's holding or 
 two besides. And if attractive in person, he might 
 become the cavalier servente of some wealthy widow, or 
 domineering wife. 
 
 The life of the wandering troubadour had its shadows 
 as well as its lights. One of the chief attractions of his 
 lyrics was their personality. When he could throw a 
 current scandal into a song, or when he could describe a 
 diisagreeable character therein to the life, the poem was 
 assured of unusual success. But the poet was also 
 assured of more than ordinaryperil. Those were rough and 
 ready times, and the persons censured generally avenged 
 themselves with more or less severity on the censor. 
 They would waylay him to administer chastisement, 
 sometimes by a savage whipping, sometimes by slitting 
 or cutting out his tongue, and sometimes by slaying him 
 outright. The professional troubadour was also the butt 
 of all the practical jokers among the higher classes. 
 Ladies and gentlemen delighted to raise a laugh at his 
 expense, nor were they very scrupulous as to the means. 
 Indeed, in their desire to befool the poets, not a few of 
 the jokers, especially among the dames, succeeded very 
 effectually in damning their own reputations to all time 
 — as, for instance, the Lady of Albisso, some notice of 
 whose pranks will be found in the present chapter, and 
 
202 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 the Lady Lombes, one of whose freaks is told in our 
 sketch of Raymond of Miravals. Sometimes a baron 
 would suspect — or pretend to suspect — that the trouba- 
 dours was not what he asserted to be, but a spy or gal- 
 lant in disguise ; and then the object of suspicion had to 
 prove his right to the title under which he had announced 
 himself by composing, on the spot and generally in un- 
 pleasant circumstances, a song concerning whose origi- 
 nality there could be no doubt. Then, as will be seen 
 in our notice of the cavalier servente, the poet who 
 lived by his verses ran much risk from the jealous hus- 
 bands and irate relatives of giddy dames. And occa- 
 sionally they fell among thieves, from whom they did not 
 always escape so neatly as Peyre of Chateauneuf— of 
 whom Nostradamus romanceth as follows: — " an author 
 worthy of credit, whom he of San Csesar affirms that he 
 has seen and read, states that this poet, while returning 
 from Rochemartin, whither he had been to visit the 
 lord of the place, having reached the wood of Vallon*' 
 was there captured by some thieves who haunted the 
 place — robbing and murdering the passengers. Having 
 possessed themselves of his horse, money, etc., the thieves 
 stripped him even to his shirt and were just going to kill 
 him. But the victim entreated to be allowed, before he 
 died, to sing one of his songs. Obtaining his request, 
 Peyre of Chateauneuf (in his shirt be it remembered and 
 under the shadow of the sombre woods, with the trucu- 
 lent scoundrels around him) began to improvise so 
 sweetly, in praise of thieves and thievery in general, and 
 of the thieves of Vallon in particular, that, for the great 
 delight they felt in his song, these rogues returned him 
 
 * The woods and caves in the neighbourhood of Vallon, in the Ardtehe, 
 were well adapted for the proceedings of banditti ; they were used with some 
 effect by the Camisards in the days of Louis XIV. 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 203 
 
 his horse, his money, and every thing they had taken 
 from him." Though hardly believing the legend our- 
 selves, w are bound to admit that such a thing was not 
 utterly impossible among the impulsive children of the 
 south, where, if any where, " music hath charms to tame 
 the savage." To say nothing of the older stories of 
 Amphion, Orpheus, and Arion, which are merely exag- 
 geration of actual occurrences, there is an adventure, not 
 unlike that attributed to Peyre of Chateauneuf, related , 
 of Ariosto. 
 
 •All things considered, it was but natural that the 
 profession should become, as it really did, the alternative 
 of those who failed in .other pursuits. Elias Carel, for 
 instance, had been a jeweller and heraldic engraver, 
 before he took up the lute ; Elias of BarioJs, a bankrupt 'i 
 merchant; Peter of St. Remy, a ruined spendthrift ; a 
 host, runaway monks, and quite as many, unsuccessful 
 soldiers. To one of the latter, Raymond of Miravals 
 addressed some instructions, in which ■ the character and 
 qualifications of such aspirants to lyrical honours are 
 well hit off. " Friend Forniers," says Raymond, " I 
 understand that you wish to be instructed by me in the 
 gentle art of the troubadour. In the first place, you 
 ought to thank God, who has put it into your head to 
 abandon the trade of soldier; Then, you must know that 
 you have to learn the manners and customs that obtain 
 among.respectable people. It requires one man to handle 
 the sword and the bow, and another to touch the strings 
 of the lyre. When you carried the former, it was quite 
 in character to rob, plunder, and do violence, and, as I 
 have heard of you, to strip the houses, fields, and granaries 
 of monks and hospitalers in preference to those of 
 other people. But against such practices you must now 
 make a firm resolve. You may think it very hard to be 
 
204 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 debarred of your innocent pastimes, but I assure you, 
 my dear Forniers, that troubadours only make love in a 
 legitimate way, and seldom or never allow their cudgels 
 to make acquaintance with the backs of the clergy. 
 Then, you will have to get rid of some other vices 
 peculiar to soldiers. Bethink you, for instance, how 
 terribly you swear when you happen to lose your last 
 coin at 'the gaming table ; that, my friend, is a trick that 
 society will not tolerate in a troubadour. It is possible 
 that you are capable of making such sacrifices to the 
 propriety imposed by the profession which you desire to 
 adopt ; though I greatly doubt it. Should you, however, 
 really succeed in divesting yourself of these and other 
 uncleanly habits of the camp, perhaps you may begin 
 to think of setting up for a singer." 
 
 Forniers was the type of a class who looked upon the 
 craft of the troubadour as a method equally easy and 
 agreeable of making a way through the world. There 
 were others, however, who were actuated by very 
 different sentiments, and who entertained the most 
 exalted opinions of the profession and themselves, 
 considering that they had what is now called "a 
 mission," and regarding themselves as the benefactors 
 and regenerators of society. Of this class was Vidal, 
 who has written for the brotherhood, a manual that 
 rtiight be studied with advantage by the members of 
 certain grave callings at the present day. After lamenting 
 the degeneracy of his era, and contrasting it, as is the 
 Custom of such moralists, with the exalted virtue of the 
 good old time, Vidal exclaims, " I see but one remedy 
 for all this mischief, and that is the art of the trouba- 
 dour." Then he enumerates all the qualities which he 
 considered essential, to the singer. He was to be as 
 wise as the serpent and as harmless as the dove; as 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 205 
 
 pliable as the willow, and as steadfast as the oak. He 
 was to have learning without pedantry, and wit untainted 
 with folly — to possess the keenest insight into character, 
 combined with the tact to mould himself to every dispo- 
 sition — to be amiable without being parasitic, and 
 edifying without becoming tedious; his merriment was 
 to be unalloyed with levity, and his joviality was to be 
 combined with strictest temperance. He was to be an 
 authority on matters of etiquette, and a model in point 
 of dress ; he was to be modest without being shy, and 
 prudent without being sordid. In short, he was to 
 possess all the better qualities of every other class, in 
 addition to those that were peculiar to his own. 
 
 None of the troubadours, and least of all Vidal, 
 attained to this standard. Nor do those who made an 
 attempt thereat seem to have been much appreciated in 
 their day. Of the majority of the latter, little more 
 than the names and a few high-toned rhapsodies have 
 been transmitted to posterity. The reason perhaps is, 
 because all these, as Amanieu des Escas, Arnaud of 
 Marsans, and William of Agoult were not professional 
 troubadours. Indeed, of the latter, perhaps, the only 
 unquestionably high moral reputation belongs to Giraud 
 of Borniel. He was born of poor parents at St. Gervaise, 
 a small hamlet of the province so prolific of song and 
 songsters — the Limousin. By some means or other he 
 acquired, while yet a child, a passion for learning, which 
 is perhaps the only passion that never yet was baffled. 
 The winters he devoted to study, and the summers he 
 spent in wandering through the land, accompanied by 
 " two excellent musicians," who sang his songs. These 
 songs were highly prized. The Proven gals esteemed 
 their author the greatest of all their poets, and termed 
 him the " Master of the Troubadours." But this 
 
2o6 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 opinion has not been shared by such admirers and 
 competent judges of Provengal poetry as Dante and 
 Petrarch. The latter pronounces Arnaud Daniel, who 
 is hardly more than a shadow to us moderns — 
 
 Gran Maestro d'amor, ch'alla sua terra 
 Ancor fa onor col dir pulito e bello.* 
 
 And the former, while making repeated and honourable 
 mention of Geraud de Borneil in his treatise of Vulgar 
 Eloquence, yet terms the lofty value attached to his 
 works by his countrymen mere folly, and agrees with 
 Petrarch in assigning superiority over all the troubadours 
 to Arnaud Daniel. 
 
 Far miglior fabbro del parlar materno : 
 Versi d'amore, e prose di romanzi 
 Soverchio tutti : e lascia dir gli stolti 
 Che quel de Lemosi credon ch ch' avanzi. 
 
 In one respect, however, Geraud fully merited the 
 supremacy that his countrymen accorded him. Nostra- 
 demus testifies that " in person he was beyond measure 
 chaste and temperate ; and' that he was superior in 
 prudence, generosity, and integrity to all the other poets." 
 It is stated that many princes sought to win him to 
 their service by tempting offers, but that, disdaining 
 all subjection and all restraint — including the bonds of 
 matrimony — he continued to the last his peculiar course. 
 Parsimonious to himself, except in matters literary, he 
 divided his gains, which were considerable, between his 
 poor relations and the church of his native place, where 
 he died, at an advanced age, in 1 17 — . 
 
 Giraud de Borniel was essentially that personage of 
 whom at one period ourselves used to hear so much — 
 " the schoolmaster abroad." His character, however, 
 
 * There is another reading — "novo e bello" — which may be correct, 
 since Arnaud Daniel introduced a new style. 
 
, WANDERING TROUBADOURS 207 
 
 was exceptional. The average wandering troubadour 
 thought more of amusing his audience than of edifying 
 it ; and far from being a moral teacher, he was, in nine 
 cases out of ten, just the reverse. His chief care being 
 to render himself an entertaining companion, he sought 
 to cultivate his conversational powers to the utmost^- 
 Of one of them it is said that he was acquainte^\vith 
 the virtues of all the plants, knew how to tdlibrtunes, 
 and could recite all the best romances oi the Round 
 Table and all the best theses of the Universities. By 
 the last must be understood such questions as, how 
 many angels could dance on the point of a needle, or 
 nestle in a sunbeam ; and such arguments as, those 
 attributed to that superlatively honest mind, which 
 attempts to reason impartially on both sides of contested 
 subjects, and which the schoolmen personified by the hun- 
 gry ass placed between two equally attractive bundles of 
 hay. It is added that this accomplished stroller could 
 repeat, word for word, every one of the stories contained 
 in two celebrated collections of stories — one of which, 
 "The Castoiement," was translated from the Arabic by a 
 Jew (i 106), and the other, "The Dolopathes," was com- 
 piled by a monk, towards the end of the same century — 
 and that he was besides, remarkable for the neatness of his 
 dress and address, the luxuriance of his ringlets, and 
 the delicacy of his complexion, in which the old gossip 
 includes the hue of his maiden-like fingers. With respect 
 to the recitation of stories learnt by heart, it may be 
 remarked that this was not confined to the troubadours. 
 The thing was commonly practised by all the cultivated ' 
 minds of mediaeval Europe, and would, probably, be 
 still in use but for the invention of printing. "The 
 closing story of your Decameron," writes Petrarch to 
 Boccaccio, " has affected me so much that I have com- 
 
2o8 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 mitted it to memory, in order that I may be able to 
 recite it to my friends." r • 
 
 The wandering troubadour was quite as frequently 
 the singer of the poetry of other men as a poet himself 
 Poets of acknowledged talent were always beset by 
 vagabonds eager to buy, beg, or steal a new piece. It 
 was not every bard of established fame that condes- 
 cended tg^ake money in this way, though that some 
 of them did' so will be seen in our notice of the career 
 of Gaucelm Faudet, and also in a remark made by 
 Petrarch which we intend to quote presently. It was 
 more usual for the low class tramp to receive his lyrics 
 gratis, but always on condition that he made no altera- 
 tion therein, that he announced the author's name wher- 
 ever he made use of it, and that he sang it to a proper 
 tune and under suitable circumstances. The last stipu- 
 lation was not at all unnecessary. It is said (Sac- 
 chetti, cxv.) that Dante was once terribly incensed at 
 finding a group of the lowest class dancing to some 
 verses of his " Inferno," which were being sung by a black- 
 smith. The bards who distributed their compositions 
 " without money and without price," were not unac- 
 tuated by selfish motives. There were some who did so 
 with the view of getting others to vent their satires, in 
 districts and before companies where they durst not 
 appear themselves. And we may believe, that the 
 pleasant hope of thus extending their renown, was not 
 absent from the minds of even the most unselfish of 
 those who bestowed their poems by way of alms. 
 Among the many charitable in this way was Raymond 
 de Miravals, who thus addresses the singer, Bayonna : 
 " I see that you are poor and badly clothed ; but I 
 mean to extricate you from your misery by giving you 
 a servente, which will be worth money and raiment to 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 209 
 
 you. At the Court of Narbonne I have known a worse 
 to be repaid with a horse, a saddle of Carcassonne, a 
 lance bearing a pennon, a coat of mail, and a buckler. 
 Here, take it and try your fortune among my neigh- 
 bours. I do not mention the barons to whom you 
 ought to apply ; there are so many of them meritorious 
 that the task would be endless, and where all are super- 
 lative there can be no preference and, therefore, no selec- 
 tion. They, be sure, will recompense you well. Go 
 afterwards to Carcassonne. Present yourself to Peyre 
 Rotgier of Cabaretz, and if he does not pay you your 
 feeTTwiU give you double myself Then betake you to 
 my friend, Oliver, who will clothe you from head to foot 
 in fine cloth of Carcassonne. Montesquieu will be sure 
 to welcome you, for there is nobody more affable. He 
 will give you a summer suit and a horse fit for the 
 tourney. Next, sing your songs and serventes to Ber- 
 trand de Saissac, who will not allow you to depart 
 empty-handed. It is true that he is one of those who 
 would rather keep than give away. Nevertheless, for 
 love of me, he will bestow on you a useful cob. Hasten 
 then to Aymerie of Narbonne, who will complete your 
 good fortune by presenting you with a fine horse and 
 its trappings." In another place Raymond says to this 
 same Bayonna, who seems to have been one of those 
 people whose inveterate tendency to flounder in diffi- 
 culties renders them so uncomfortable to their friends : 
 " Here is a third servente which I make for you. The 
 others have gained you much gold and silver, to say 
 nothing of second-hand finery and old suits of armour, 
 and this I have no doubt will turn out as productive." 
 There is a passage in one of the letters of Petrarch 
 which deserves to be quoted as a pendant to the above. 
 "There are people of little wit, strong memory, and 
 
2IO THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 consummate impudence who, possessing nothing of 
 their own, pillage the brains and purses of others with- 
 out compunction. They frequent princely courts where 
 they say and sing the pieces composed by better men, 
 receiving in return presents of all kinds, and clothes as 
 well as cash. To obtain the means of making a liveH- 
 hood they pester writers of renown, and by dint of 
 entreaties, or of bribes — according to the disposition of 
 him to whom they apply — they generally procure what 
 they want. Formerly I used myself to be much 
 annoyed by these people ; but I see little of them now. 
 Perhaps they think that age has extinguished in me the 
 poetic fire ; perhaps they conceive that I devote too 
 much time to my new studies to produce any verses ; 
 and perhaps they have discovered that I have become 
 harsh and uncharitable. Still it happens now and then, 
 that I am touched by the misery and humility of the 
 suppliants, and waste an hour or two in producing some- 
 thing that may satisfy their wants ; nor are they all 
 ungrateful. Occasionally have I seen persons, who have 
 left me naked and miserable, return in good case and 
 well provided with money, to thank me for my services. 
 Pleased with their acknowledgments, I have made up 
 my mind to refuse my aid to none such. But as often 
 as I did this have I been compelled to abandon my 
 purpose by the worry to which it subjected me." 
 
 That the literary man of the past should be made 
 the recipient of all the rubbish that encumbered the 
 wardrobes of the wealthy, harmonises but poorly with 
 our ideas of the dignity of the profession. Still the 
 custom, though carried to an extreme in this instance, 
 was not so degrading as it appears. Down to the 17th 
 century the gift of a dress by a superior was considered 
 an honour. Nor did great people confine such dona- 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 211 
 
 tions to their subordinates. One of the mistresses of 
 Henri Quatre, gave a petticoat to make a canopy for 
 an image of the Virgin, and the magnificent robe was 
 received with due gratitude by the priests of the shrine. 
 The extent of such an honour, indeed,, depended on the 
 quality of the material and the condition of the article. 
 If it were of poor stuff or much worn, it was not regarded 
 as in any degree honourable but something else — as ap- 
 pears from various serventes in which poets are taunted 
 with wearing the cast robes of their patrons. Of course, 
 the troubadours did not retain all their presents. Select- 
 ing such things as they required, they disposed of the 
 rest — finding a ready sale for the cattle at any of the 
 numerous fairs, and as ready a sale for the " old clothes " 
 in the Jewry of the nearest town — for, as appears from 
 the records of the period, the Jews were even then noted 
 for their dealings in such things.* 
 
 The wandering troubadours did not confine them- 
 selves to song and recitation. Many of them did their 
 best to carry out the instruction which Giraud Calanson 
 gave as follows : — " Learn to play on the tabor and 
 cymbal, to prepare nine instruments with ten cords, to 
 manipulate the many-stringed fiddle, to strike the harp 
 and the guitar, to blow the flute, and to contrive a dance 
 that shall suit the notes of the bag-pipe. Learn also to 
 throw up and catch little balls on the points of knives, 
 to play tricks with baskets, to imitate the chirrup of 
 birds, and to jump through four hoops." The practice 
 of these juggling and fiddling tricks, along with the 
 character of many of the mere reciters and acrobats, 
 was felt to degrade the profession, and drew occasional 
 
 *A troubadour profanely remarked of the tribes, that they showed 
 themselves so rebellious in the wilderness, ' simply because a certain 
 miracle forbade their garments to decay, and thus suspended a beloved trade. 
 
212 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 lamentations to that effect from its worthier members. 
 One of the latter, Giraud Riquier of Narbonne, addressed 
 a petition to Alfonso — or, as the troubadours wrote the 
 name, — Amfos el Sabio, a renowned patron of poetry, 
 in which the monarch was besought to exercise his 
 authority in restoring the " gay science " to its pristine 
 dignity. As a means thereto, Giraud suggested the 
 publication of an edict in which the poets, the singers 
 of poetry, and the buffoons, should be classified apart. 
 Amfos made no attempt to effect the proposed ar- 
 rangement. Perhaps, he saw that it lay beyond his 
 reach. Nor did any other sovereign accept the task 
 from which he shrank. So long, therefore, as Provence 
 remained the land of song, the name, troubadour, con- 
 tinued to confound the man of original genius and 
 exalted sentiment with the merest stroller. 
 
 It must not be supposed that the trobar's craft was 
 to be assumed off-hand. Facility in rhyming, an ear 
 for music, a vein of low humour, a good stock of 
 impudence, and even a capacity for jumping through 
 four hoops, were not the only essentials. Something 
 further was requisite, which was only to be learnt by 
 association with recognized members of the brother- 
 hood. For instance — the poet's stock of imagery was 
 limited, and so were the uses of each particular figure. 
 There was one kind of metre appropriated to the can- 
 ,zon, another to the tenzon, and a third to the servente. 
 Rhyme and cadence, too, had their laws, which could 
 only be infringed by a genius of the highest order. 
 There were also what may be called stage laws. A good 
 song had to be given in an attractive form, in order to 
 render it popular ; and, as all great poets are not blessed 
 with sweet voices, the troubadour who was merely a 
 poet, found it necessary — as in the case of Giraud de 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 213 
 
 Borneil, to consort with pleasing singers. It was also 
 found that monotony did not pay, and, therefore, one 
 after another, declamation, farce, and tumbling were 
 added to the entertainment. The performance of the 
 troubadour thus assumed an essentially dramatic cha- 
 racter at an early period, and necessitated the study 
 of grouping and dressing the characters, as well as of 
 the arrangement of the parts. It is to Provence, indeed, 
 that we ought to look for the origin of the modern 
 drama. Ourselves are inclined to think that the mystery 
 plays were in a great measure designed to rival the 
 more profane exhibitions of the troubadours, just as 
 we are inclined to think that the larger number of the 
 monkish legends were intended to supersede the legends 
 of romance in the popular mind. Apart from the 
 technicalities we have specified, there were certain laws 
 of copyright necessary to be understood, as the follow- 
 ing anecdote will show. When dying, Aubert of Sisteron, 
 a poet of the cavalier servente order, entrusted his com- 
 positions to his comrade, Peyre of Valieres, whom he 
 directed to present them, in his name, to the lady of his 
 love, the Marchioness of Malespina. It was customary 
 for the troubadour, when he found his last hour ap- 
 proaching, to take such a course as this, and the trust 
 was seldom betrayed. Peyre, however, proved a scoun- 
 drel, and sold the songs to a wandering troubadour, 
 Fabro of Uzes, who sang them as his own. The deceit 
 was soon detected, for the manner of the real author 
 was peculiar, and several of the songs were already well 
 known. But, so long as Fabro confined his perigrina- 
 tions to Lombardy and Piedmont, he suffered no ill- 
 consequence. In Provence, which the plagiarist entered 
 next, a different fate awaited him. There the Courts of 
 
214 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Love took cognizance of such offences, and before one 
 of them Fabro was speedily cited. He had no choice 
 but to appear, for every inhabitant of the country was 
 the unpaid but very zealous servant of the tribunal, and 
 such a thing as contempt of court was quite impossible. 
 By some means which is left untold, the attendance of 
 an all-important witness, Peyre of Valieres, was secured 
 at the trial. Fabro was found guilty and sentenced to 
 be whipped — a sentence which was rigorously executed. 
 It was no less customary than necessary for intending 
 trpbars to place themselves under the instruction of 
 properly qualified teachers. In earlier times the dis- 
 ciple followed and waited on the master — pretty much 
 as Elisha devoted himself to Elijah, nor did the one 
 think of setting up for himself until the other had 
 abandoned the road. Thus, a poet, whose real name 
 is forgotten under the sobriquet Cercamons icherche 
 monde — Rambler), which he derived from his irresist- 
 ible liking for vagabondage and the extent to which he 
 gratified it, was followed by the somewhat better known 
 Marcebrus. This Cercamons is pictured in old manu- 
 scripts in the habit of a traveller, that is, afoot, with 
 his tunic tucked up to his belt, and carrying over his 
 shoulder a staff, to the end of which a bundle is slung ; 
 about as primitive a mode of getting over a journey as 
 can well be conceived. His scholar was, in his way, a 
 representative man. He was a foundling brought up by 
 Aldric de ViUars, a Gascon baron, in whose fields he 
 had been exposed.* Displaying some ability, the baron 
 had him educated with the view of filling one of the 
 many fat benefices at his disposal — a purpose which 
 some interpret as showing that the baron knew more 
 
 * By feudal law the lord was bound to provide for children exposed on 
 his lands. 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS . ■2\t, 
 
 about the foundling and his origin, than he thought it 
 right to disclose. The protig^, however, frustrated the 
 intention of the patron by falling in love with the life of 
 a troubadour — ^just as the hero of one of Father Front's 
 lyrics fell in love with the life of an itinerant piper — and 
 absconding with Cercamons in his fifteenth year. 
 While playing the part of fag, he bore the name of 
 Pan _Perdit, probably in allusion to the comfortable 
 livelihood he had sacrificed. Eventually his name was 
 altered to Marchbrus, or Mark the Severe, because his 
 strength lay in satire. Not less a wanderer than his 
 master, he traversed many lands, extending his rambles 
 as far as Portugal. Everywhere he sang against current 
 vices, being especially bitter on love and lovers. Un- 
 fortunately, his censure was not confined to the sin, but 
 dealt just as harshly with the sinner, and, therefore, made 
 him many enemies. Finally, a number of the barons of 
 Guienne, whom he had exasperated by his serventes, 
 united to take vengeance on him ; and waylaying 
 him during one of his excursions, put him to death. 
 Marchebrus — who, by the way, must not be confounded 
 with another of the same name, who flourished two 
 hundred years later — was not the only troubadour who 
 suffered thus, and for a like cause. 
 
 Another method of acquiring the skill of the trouba- 
 dour was by frequenting those baronial and princely 
 courts which the members of the fraternity were accus- 
 tomed to haunt. It was chiefly in this way that men of 
 high birth became adepts in the " gay science." It was 
 in this way, also, that professionals acquired that high- 
 bred tone of language and sentiment, and that perfect 
 knowledge of all the niceties in the theory and practice 
 of love, and in the code of honour, wanting which they 
 were fitted only to amuse the artisan and the peasant. 
 
2i6 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 It was here, too, that the professional received his 
 diploma in the shape of recognition of his talents, and 
 of introductions, frequently couched in rhyme, addressed 
 to other patrons of poesy. These courts, indeed, were, 
 to all intents and purposes, academies of song. It was 
 a common winter-evening amusement for some of the 
 leading personages to propose subjects for discussion in 
 rhyme. Ladies as well as gentlemen, and amateurs as 
 well as professionals, all, indeed — and there were many 
 — who could make a tolerable verse were accustomed 
 to join in these contests ; and it was the duty of the 
 president to decide who had done the best therein. 
 
 Only inferior to the Palace as a school of Pro- 
 vengal poetry was the convent. The monks of that 
 period were everywhere the leaders of public opinion, 
 because, while carefully identifying themselves with the 
 interests and pursuits of the people, they had the culti- 
 vation, wealth, leisure, and position, which qualified 
 them to lead. The Proven5al monks, of course, shared 
 the enthusiasm of their countrymen for song, and had 
 facilities for acquiring skill therein denied to most 
 others. Vocal music was then a principal study of 
 ecclesiastics, and it was carried by them to a pitch of 
 perfection from which it declined during the course of 
 the Reformation, and to which it is hardly likely again 
 to attain. Nor were ecclesiastics the only adepts in 
 the science. An enthusiasm therefore pervaded all 
 ranks, from the monarch to the milkmaid. Good King 
 Robert, the music-mad sovereign of France, was not 
 without rivals among his peers. James I. of Scotland 
 could play on eight instruments ; and it is stated that 
 from him Scotch melody derives its distinctive character 
 — plaintive sweetness. Music, too, was one of the manias, 
 indulgence in which tended to effect the ruin of his 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 217 
 
 accomplished but weak successor, James III. Our own 
 Henry V. was also a lover of music. He carried 
 with him to France a magnificent band, which played 
 for an hour, every evening and every morning, before his 
 tent ; and at his court he maintained twelve minstrels, 
 each of whom was clothed and lodged, and received 
 besides one hundred shillings, equivalent to nearly as 
 many pounds sterling, yearly. It was proposed to 
 cBebrate his return to London, after the victory of 
 Agincourt, by a musical festival, in which children, 
 clad in white surplices, were to line all the streets 
 through which he was to pass, chanting the while a song 
 which is probably that given, with the music, in the first 
 volume of the Pepys' Collection, and which has this" 
 refrain : " Deo Gratias : Deo gratias, Anglia, redde pro 
 victoria," at the end of every stanza. Whatever opinion 
 may be formed of the song as a poem, to us it seems 
 perfectly suitable to such an occasion. Unlike other old 
 ballads, it is brief, containing but twenty-four lines, the 
 versification is simple, and the religious sentiments are 
 just those to harmonise with the character of Henry. 
 Perhaps nothing shows more strongly the influence of 
 music in the Middle Ages than the deference manifested 
 by the turbulent Florentines to the blind musician 
 Francesco, who died in 1390, and who, among the 
 countless musicians similarly afflicted, was emphatically 
 distinguished as " Cieco." To him they hastened for 
 advice in political emergencies, regarding his words as 
 something divine. At such seasons the street mob, 
 then the ruling power, clamoured to know what Cieco 
 said, nor would they listen to any of their favourite 
 orators, until the utterances of the oracle had been 
 divulged. Fortunately for them, Cieco was an en- 
 thusiast, and, therefore, not the man to imitate the 
 
2i8 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 priestess of Apollo in matters touching Philip. Music 
 being thus dear to the laity, it was of necessity doubly 
 dear to the clergy. It formed the most striking and 
 attractive part in the rites of the Church ; and, as we have 
 already remarked, it was carried by Churchmen to the 
 highest perfection. This will be evident to those who con- 
 sult the works of the English composers, who were edu- 
 cated under the old system, and who flourished during the 
 decline of Church music, in the reigns of Elizabeth and 
 James. A competent judge, Dr. Burney, declares some 
 of these pieces to be so difficult, that it would be next to 
 impossible to find a master in England who could play 
 one of them, after a month's practice. Every cathedral 
 and every monastery had its "song school," in many 
 cases presided over by men of high and varied accom- 
 plishments. These teachers were always on the look-out 
 for promising pupils, and so were the brothers of the 
 convent, for a single surpassing voice often made the 
 fortune of a shrine. And as the choirs were always in 
 request by the promoters of civic and other feasts, we 
 may fairly conclude that their teachers did not limit 
 their lectures to sacred music. 
 
 It is certam that the ranks of the troubadours were 
 largely recruited from the cloisters ; and it is equally 
 certain that these runaway monks were among the most 
 skilful and successful of the craft. As we have already 
 noticed several of these worthies, and the motives that 
 induced them to' throw off the cowl, in our chapter on 
 the cavalier servente, we shall limit our illustrations 
 for the present to the following : — " Louis Lascaris," 
 writes Nostradain^s, " was of the noble and ancient 
 house of Lascaris, Counts of Tende, Ventigmiglia, and 
 other places. He was a person so illustrious and of such 
 renown, that the said lands — as writes the monk of the 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 219 
 
 Golden Isle — glorified greatly in him as a most famous 
 and excellent poet." Having made this offering to the 
 vanity of the living members of the house of Lascaris, 
 Nostradamus continues in a like eulogistic vein : — " He 
 was of such a happy wit, not only in the poetical Pro- 
 vengal, but also in the vulgar dialects, that nobody could 
 equal his sweetness, or his invention. While yet a youth 
 he took holy orders in a monastery. But afterwards, 
 falling in love with a lady of the neighbourhood, the 
 sister of the great Isnard of Glandeves, he married her 
 and had five children." Here we are bound to observe 
 that our authority is provokingly succinct. He should 
 have told us how a troubadour came to perpetrate such a 
 solecism as marrying the lady of his love, and he should 
 have stated how the marriage of his sister with a vaga- 
 bond monk, which really was no marriage at all, could 
 have satisfied the scruples of the great Isnard of 
 Glandeves. Besides, he leaves a great blank in the life 
 of the poet, saying nothing whatever of his adventures 
 during an interval that must have been remarkably 
 eventful and, therefore, interesting, since the next sen- 
 tence shows him as a military chief of high renown — a 
 position that could not have been attained easily or 
 expeditiously. "At this period the Queen Giovanna, 
 having a powerful army in Provence for the expulsion 
 of the Free Companies, gave the command thereof 
 to Lascaris, who was valiant and skilled in war. At 
 the end of the campaign the envy and malice of his 
 ill-wishers caused him to be persecuted by Pope 
 Urban V., who desired that he should return to his 
 convent. But he, who would have chosen death in 
 preference, and who saw that the Pope was every day 
 becoming more and more exasperated against him, went 
 with a fine equipage to the court of the Queen 
 
220 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Giovanna, whose protection he claimed. Queen 
 Giovanna duly considered the services that the poet 
 had rendered, and those that he might yet render her 
 crown." Then Nostradamus adds two or three lines 
 which hit off the characters of the Queen, of the Papacy 
 as it then was, and of the age, to a nicety. " Seeing 
 besides that he v/as a gentleman of handsome person 
 and gay and generous disposition, she wrote so earnestly 
 in his favour to the Pope at Avignon, that his Holiness 
 consented to fix a period of twenty-five years, at the 
 end of which the poet was to return to his cell. This 
 grace was confirmed by Gregory IX., the successor of 
 Urban, but the poet expired before the period." We are 
 bound to add that the Provengal historians differ with 
 Nostradamus in one particular, which as they give it, 
 increases the piquancy of the story. They deny that 
 Lascaris was ever any thing more than the gallant of 
 the sister of the great Isnard of Glandeves. 
 
 As curious in its way is the story of another runaway 
 monk, Aubert of Pucibot. " While yet a boy," says 
 Nostradamus. " he was placed in a convent by his father, 
 a gentleman of Limousin. There he applied himself to 
 good letters and to music, learning to play on all sorts 
 of wind and stringed instruments. Being, besides, a 
 good inventor, he became an excellent Provenfal poet" 
 — while he remained in the convent, be it remembered. 
 " There was a lady, his friend, who visited him very 
 often at the convent, under the pretence of devotion." 
 It is probable that this female friend fell in love 
 with Aubert's delicious voice in the first instance. 
 As to the rest of her conduct, we beg to assure our 
 readers that, if the satirists* are to be trusted, 
 
 * Poesies de Coquilart, Mathiolus Bajaiaus, etc. 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 221 
 
 it was not unusual for the dames of the middle ages 
 to have monkish gallants and to visit them " at the 
 convent under the pretence of devotion." To Aubert 
 " this dame intimated that it was a sin and a shame for 
 him to waste his best years in such a prison, and that it 
 would be much better to wander the wide world over, 
 than to continue vegetating idly in the cloister." The 
 lady, of course, was not quite disinterested in her 
 counsel. The event, however, must have caused her 
 some disappointment. " Following her advice, Aubert 
 quitted the convent, and hastened to Savari de Mauleon, 
 who was the common resort of all the knowing ones, 
 because he loved and esteemed them, and besides 
 making them fine and *^aluable presents, caused their 
 poetry to be appreciated and valued by the highest 
 personages of Provence. Here Aubert soon fell in 
 love with a beautiful and virtuous danhsel of the house 
 of Barras. Her name was Barrassa, and in praise 
 of her he made many choice songs. But she declared 
 that she would never respond to his affections until he 
 should succeed in getting himself dubbed a knight, 
 adding that when he had raised himself to the specified 
 dignity, she was quite willing to marry him. Where- 
 fore Aubert, who was burning with love, had recourse 
 to the generous Savari, and the latter not only gave him 
 the honouring stroke, but added to that gift an estate 
 to enable the new-made cavalier to support his position. 
 Then Aubert espoused the said damsel and dwelt with 
 her, until Savari, being commissioned to undertake an 
 embassy into Spain, summoned the poet to attend him. 
 Aubert hastened to follow his benefactor, and during his 
 absence Barrassa dwelt all alone in the house. Here she 
 was so assiduously courted by an English cavalier, that he 
 persuaded her at length to quit her home and follow him 
 
222 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 to Aries. And at Aries this very unworthy specimen of 
 island chivalry abandoned his frail companion, without 
 so much as bidding her good-bye. Meanwhile, Aubert 
 returned from Spain, and on his way home he halted 
 at Aries, lodging, as it happened, next door to the house 
 in which his wife dwelt. He recognized her immediately, 
 and obtaining an mterview with her, ascertained without 
 being recognised, that she was leading an immoral life. 
 The next morning he compelled her to accompany him 
 to Avignon, where he shut her up in a convent' He 
 himself took the thing so much to heart that he dis- 
 posed of all he possessed, and adopted a reli- 
 gious life ; nor could all the entreaties of the many 
 persons of high rank who took pleasure in his poetry, 
 induce him to compose another line." There is a varia- 
 tion of the conclusion of this story, not forgotten by Nos- 
 tradamus, in which it is said that the poet led his wife from 
 Aries either to the " Avenc of Crues," a profound abyss in 
 the department of the Arddche, not far from Armen- 
 tier, into which it was anciently the custom to throw 
 women convicted of adultery; or to the Cape of Armen- 
 tare, on the Tuscan coast, a headland, which seems to 
 have been used in the Middle Ages somewhat as Leucadia 
 was used in older times, and which is described as a 
 terrible precipice, lofty and abrupt, over against the 
 Island of Hieres. Some say that Aubert really slew his 
 wife at one or other of these places, whilst others assert 
 that, " more cunning than he, she softened him so much 
 with fine words that he contented himself with shutting 
 her up in a monastery." This romantic and uncertain ver- 
 sion of the story seems to have been founded, partly on 
 the ancient custom to which it refers, and partly on an 
 erroneous rendering by an Italian writer, of a passage in 
 the original Provengal narrative. Bastero points out 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 2^3 
 
 that in the line — e inena la e7i una inongia on la fes 
 rendre, the word inongia, which means monastery, has 
 been translated mountain, and the wiiole line turned 
 into " he conducted her to the precipice, where he slew 
 her," instead of the true reading, "he conducted her to 
 the convent, where he confined her." It is a neat, and 
 by no means an exaggerated specimen of the conse- 
 quences that may follow the misconception of a single 
 word, by a daring translator. 
 
 All the monks who turned troubadours were not run- 
 aways. Many of them were commissioned by their 
 superiors to traverse the country in this character, 
 because it was found that the heretical missionaries — who 
 were then so numerous and active in Southern France 
 and in Northern Italy — also made a great and formidable 
 use of song and of the liking of the people therefor. 
 These heretics pretended to be troubadours, not only 
 
 • because they thus obtained an excellent disguise, 
 but because the profession aided them in procuring an 
 introduction to strangers, in preparing an audience to 
 receive unaccustomed doctrines, and in dealing heavy 
 strokes at orthodoxy. The latter did not disdain to 
 learn from its antagonists, nor to meet them with their 
 own weapons. This, however, is a portion of our sub- 
 ject which we have already discussed in our chapter on 
 Provengal poetry. 
 
 There remains to be noticed but one other method of 
 acquiring skill in the art of the troubadour. A time came 
 when "professors of poetry" found it profitable to locate 
 themselves in the chief Provengal cities. A celebrated 
 
 ; jongleur, Peyre Cardinale, settled thus at Tarascon, 
 towards the close of the thirteenth century. He found 
 abundant occupation and gave such great satisfaction 
 that the commune took him into its service, and 
 
224 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 assigned him a large stipend out of the pubh'c revenues. 
 Kobert, Duke of Calabria, visiting that quarter shortly 
 afterwards, was so much pleased with the conduct of 
 the men of Tarascon and their professor that, in the name 
 his father, who was Count of Provence as well as "King 
 of Naples, he confirmed all the privileges of the city, and 
 exempted it, besides, from taxation of every kind for the 
 next ten years, on one single condition — that the pro- 
 fessorship should be maintained. It should be added 
 that Peyre Cardinale was a man of exceptionally high 
 character and consummate ability, who afterwards 
 attained high rank as a diplomatist in the service of the 
 Neapolitan monarch. Another of these professors was 
 Bertrand of Pezers, who, as Nostradamus informs us, 
 " for a long time kept a public school of Proven9al 
 poetry." Among his pupils was a young lady of noble 
 family, who was surpassingly beautiful, and who " sang 
 like an angel." Bertrand taught this attractive being, 
 to make verses ; nor was this the sum of his instructions. 
 The professor, as well as the pupil, was young and hand- 
 some ; so he fell in love with her, and she fell in love 
 with him. " There is nothing so contagious as love," 
 remarks a sapient old writer, "that is, if one who is 
 infected therewith be brought in contact with another of 
 the opposite sex." The end of the matter was precisely 
 such an event as is commemorated in the old Scotch 
 ballad of " The Gaberlunzie Man." Thenceforth the 
 professor's occupation was at an end. Neither himself 
 nor his wife had anything to expect from the infuriated 
 relatives — who would not have been quite so furious had 
 he merely made her his mistress — except the insertion 
 of six inches of steel under the fifth rib, or a dip in the 
 nearest stream. So, partly to avoid such a catastrophe, 
 and partly to procure a subsistence, the pair became 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 225 
 
 wandering troubadours, a career in which unusual suc- 
 cess attended them. Their story was soon widely, 
 known, exciting a good deal of sympathy for them, and 
 a good deal of curiosity concerning them. Thus, 
 wherever they went, they were sure of a favourable 
 reception, an advantage of which they took care to make 
 the utmost. Previous to entering a chateau, they were 
 accustomed to make minute inquiries respecting the 
 inhabitants, " Then," writes our authority, " and with 
 wonderful quickness, they would compose a song orna- 
 mented with the memorable deeds — in love, war, and the 
 chase — of the chatelain and his progenitors." It need 
 hardly be added that they were always richly rewarded. 
 On one occasion, however, they were guilty of a small 
 error of judgment. It happened when Giovanna I. of 
 Naples and her newly-wedded second husband, Louis of 
 Taranto, were compelled to take refuge at Avignon from 
 the vengeance of the Hungarian monarch. Being the 
 last representative of their ancient counts, Giovanna was 
 exceedingly dear to the Provencals, and her court was 
 speedily thronged with all that was noble among them. 
 Nor with such only. The brilliant scene was the resort 
 of all who lived by their wits, and thither, with the rest of 
 their tribe, hied Bertrand and his wife. The couple soon 
 secured a royal hearing ; but, to the astonishment of 
 queen, consort, and courtiers, the entertainment opened 
 with an elegy, in which Andrea of Hungary, the first 
 and murdered spouse of Giovanna, was credited with 
 every possible virtue. A curious jumble of Christian 
 saints and heathen deities was employed to tear him 
 from the arms of the fond Giovanna, just to prove her 
 patience. And then the same choice band was made 
 to present her with a better husband in the person of 
 Louis of Taranto, as the meet reward of her angelic 
 
 Q 
 
226 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 resignation; The piece closed with a "joyous 
 epithalamium " on the recent wedding. Then came the 
 reward of the singers. Among other rich gifts the 
 poetess received " a gown of velvet cramosie " from 
 the queen, and the poet a silken mantle from the 
 king. This was for the epithalamium. The singers 
 were then led to the kitchen, where they were heartily 
 fustigated by the master-cook- — as a small return for their 
 elegy. 
 
 It was not unusual for pairs resembling Bertrand of 
 Pezersand his wife in all respects —except occasionally the 
 trifle marriage- — t o wanderas troubadours. So wandered 
 those " comeres," as they delighted to term themselves, 
 the noble Raymond Ferraud, and the equally noble 
 Alete de Mauleon, lady of Courbon. Ferraud, the 
 Admirable Crichton of his day, was warrior, mathe- 
 matician, engineer, musician, and architect, as well as 
 poet. After dazzling the court of good King Robert for 
 half a generation, he turned vagabond along with Dame 
 Alete, who was one of the presidents of the Court of 
 Love held in the Castle of Romanini. For several years 
 the lovers led a joyous life, and met with boundless suc- 
 cess. At length came the period of cooling blood and 
 evaporating passion — that period to which sensual 
 indulgence contributes nothing but repulsive memories, 
 and which is called Repentance. Both repented bitterly, 
 and took a course not difficult to anticipate. It was not 
 without a touch of poetry. Burning every copy of their 
 amorous songs, and retiring to the Gulf of Cannes, the 
 one became a nun in the convent of St. Marguerite, which 
 stood on the more southern of the twin islets of Lerins, 
 and the other became a monk in the Monastery of St. 
 Honoret, which stood south of the narrow strait on 
 the other islet. Thus effectually sundered, though 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 227 
 
 almost within earshot, they spent the remainder of their 
 lives. 
 
 In the case of Guilhems de la Tor, who flourished 
 during the war of the Sicilian Vespers, such companion- 
 ship had another termination. Traversing Lombardy, 
 he visited Milan, where he fell in love with the wife of 
 a barber. The lowly dame proved as frail as the 
 high-born lady of Courbon, and abandoning husband 
 and home, she marched away with the troubadour. All 
 went well with the pair for a few months. At Como, 
 however, the barber's wife fell a victim to one of those 
 visitations of pestilence so frequent in the middle ages. 
 Her lover, as infatuated as Raphael with his Fornarina, 
 could not believe- in her death. " She is merely feigning, 
 the better to obtain an opportunity for abandoning me," 
 he would remark to those around him. The people of 
 Como having buried the body, in spite of his resistance, 
 Guilhems took post upon the grave. There he remained 
 continually for ten days and as many nights. " Every 
 night," writes an unknown, " he opened the grave and 
 took out the body of his mistress. Keeping it fixedly 
 in view, he would spend the hours of darkness be- 
 seeching her to speak to him ; to say whether she were 
 alive or dead ; to return to him if she were living, and, 
 if she were indeed dead, to signify what pain she suffered, 
 that he might know how many masses there were to be 
 said, and how much alms there was to be distributed, in 
 order to procure her relief Then, at break of day, he would 
 replace the body in the grave and cover it up. When 
 the singular story was known through the place, the 
 people assembled, and, tearing Guilhems from the scene 
 of his watch, thrust him from their city. Thenceforth he 
 wandered incessantly over the face of the earth, seeking 
 through many countries for the means of restoring 
 
228 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 his beautiful mistress to life. At length a mocker 
 pretended to supply him with what he desired so 
 earnestly. " If you recite the Psalms, fifty Paternosters, 
 and as many Aves, and if you feed seven mendicants 
 every morning for a whole year, without breaking your 
 fast, quenching your thirst, or speaking a word, the 
 woman you love will be restored to you," said the 
 mocker. Guilhems followed his advice in every par- 
 ticular, keeping an exact account the while, of the 
 progress of time. But when the year was out, and he 
 found that he had been cheated, he died of the dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 Perhaps the most remarkable of these couples was 
 Gancelm Faudit and Guglielma Monia. The father of 
 the former was a wealthy plebeian of Uzerche, an 
 ancient commune of the department of the Correze. 
 During the latter portion of his life the old merchant 
 held the post of Papal Agent at Avignon. Nurtured in 
 one of the principal centres of song, the elder Faudit 
 was, like- countless others of his day, an amateur trou- 
 badour. His son inherited his tastes as well as his 
 estates. When the old man died, and Gancelm found 
 himself independent, he abandoned business to frequent 
 the Provengal courts as a troubadour of the higher 
 order. With all his wealth and ability, our plebeian 
 could not gain admission to the inner and more select 
 portion of the aristocratic circle. He hung about its 
 edge, consorting with the equivocal people who tenanted 
 that uncertain district. Among them he became a gam- 
 bler, a winebibber, a glutton, and a free liver in every sense 
 of the word. Like his knightly compeers, he aspired to 
 become the cavalier serv6nte of some high-born dame ; 
 and being ambitious, he made choice of the reigning 
 beauty of Auvergne and the Limousin, Mary of Ven- 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS -229 
 
 tadour. This lady incited Faudit to take the cross, 
 probably to get rid of him in a quiet way ; and he 
 still playing- the dashing cavalier, accordingly took the 
 cross. Wasting the remnant of his fortune in providing 
 men, horses, and harness, he sailed for Palestine. The 
 East he foiind not at all to his liking. Besides, the King 
 of England had just concluded his truce with Saladin. 
 So he hastened to return to France, where he stept 
 ashore penniless, a circumstance that at once put an 
 end to his aping of chivalry, fieing unfit for anything 
 else, he now became a professional jongleur. In that 
 character he took service with Cceur de Lion, whose 
 acquaintance he seems to have forn^.ed during his trip 
 to the Levant, and with this monarch he remained 
 until the catastrophe before Chalus. Deprived by itof his 
 patron, Gancelm had no alternative but to take to the 
 road, like so many of his brother rhymers. A wretched 
 singer, though a good poet, he had but small success at 
 the outset. At .length, in a convent at- Aix, he met 
 with a damsel of noble birth, Guglielma Monia of 
 Soliers. She was pretty, learned, and sang deliciously. 
 Probably she employed the troubadour to teach her to 
 rhyme — no uncommon thing with ladies in those days. 
 Be that as it may, the gay Faudit enticed her from the 
 convent "with his fine words," and thenceforward, for 
 many a day, she was the companion of his wanderings, 
 .rendering his compositions with a grace and a spirit that 
 soon raised them to popularity. Faudit did not limit 
 his entertainment to these songs. " He composed trage- 
 dies and comedies," and collecting a company of actors, 
 exhibited his pieces at so much a head. The mention of 
 "tragedies and comedies" at a period so early is rather 
 startling. Cresambini, indeed, after due consideration, 
 pronounces the pieces so named to have been " mere 
 
230 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 farces, satirical compositions full of laughter, and, so to 
 say, having neither head nor tail." But, even as such, 
 they must have had a dramatic form. Besides, Nostra- 
 damus, who wrote on good authority, mentions Faudit 
 as arranging the scenes, distributing the parts, and per- 
 forming the other duties of a manager, not forgetting 
 the important one of receiving the money. And, 
 further, we know that several of his contemporaries 
 played similar pieces in precisely the same way. In 
 this instance the " tragedies and comedies " proved re- 
 markably successful, and filled the pockets of the con- 
 triver in more ways than one. Besides exhibiting them 
 himself, he sold them to other troubadours •' at from 
 two to three thousand livres and even more apiece." 
 In the course of his wanderings Gancelm abandoned 
 none of his vices. He seems, indeed, to have acquired a 
 mastery over the dice-box that rendered it harmless ; but 
 he could not prevent certain other propensities from 
 producing their due effect. The result was that himself, 
 and his wife too, for she followed his example — became 
 " corpulent beyond measure." Wearying of the road, 
 especially as he had accumulated a handsome fortune, 
 Gancelm settled down at length in the neighbourhood 
 of Uzerche, to lead the life of a petty chitelain. Here he 
 resumed the ambition of his earlier years, to become 
 the chosen knight of some lady of high rank. But though 
 he sang and paid court, and, as one of his biographers 
 remarks, " made a perfect ass of himself every morning 
 of his life," he gained not the slightest success. One 
 after another he besieged the hearts of the neighbouring 
 dames, and from siege after siege he was repulsed with 
 ignominy — in such style, indeed, as to render him the 
 butt of all the builders of serventes in Provence. But, 
 irrepressible as the Bruce himself, he rose undismayed 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 231 
 
 from every fresh defeat to make another effort. Having 
 told, in another place, how he was foiled by Mary of 
 Ventadour, who, if identical with his former flame, must 
 by this time have become tolerably mature, we shall 
 content ourselves for the present, with relating his signal 
 discomfiture by Maria Garrida, wife' of Raymond, Lord 
 ■ of Albisso. This dame was a high-spirited beauty, who 
 ■held precisely such notions concerning some of the pro- 
 prieties as Madame de Motteville attributes to a lady 
 notorious during the wars of the Fronde, the Duchess 
 of Mombason. She was vain withal, and happening, 
 when Gancelm turned his aspirations in her direction, 
 to be greatly in want of a rhymer to sing her manifold 
 perfections, she smiled upon him and gave him hope 0/ 
 shortly obtaining " merci " — a word pregnant with 
 meaning in the mouth of a Provengal beauty. She even 
 allowed him " to kiss her neck below the kerchief," 
 which was a well-known earnest of greater favours to 
 come. At this stage of his suit Gancelm was called 
 tp a distance for some days ; and no sooner was he well 
 out of the way, than the froHcksome Maria Garrida 
 despatched a trusty messenger to her favoured lover 
 for the time being, who was no less a personage than 
 Uc le Brun, afterwards the Count de la March e — he whose 
 intended bride King John took to himself — and at this 
 time about the gayest gallant of all the Langue d'Oc. 
 The purport of the message we shall soon see. Imme- 
 diately after the departure of the messenger, the lady 
 was seized with a qualm of conscience. She remembered, 
 or thought she remembered, that at a former period, exact 
 time unknown, she had vowed to go on a pilgrimage to 
 the shrine of our Lady of Rochma ure, and she determined 
 to fulfil her vow at once. Such a pilgrimage could 
 not but form a pleasant excursion ; for the route lay 
 
232 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 through the finest and most varied scenery in France, 
 and terminated on the shores of the Rhone, in a spot 
 of the wildest beauty. It is a nook on the right bank 
 of this rapid island-studded river, walled in by fantastic 
 cliffs, every peak of which is capped with a ruin of 
 romantic appearance and history. Of course a pilgrim 
 is not forbidden to enjoy the beautiful prospects which 
 expand at times before him — that is if his shirt ungar- 
 nished with prickles, and his shoes unlined with raw peas, 
 will allow him to enjoy them. Nor was the dame of 
 Albisso just the person to torture her delicate body 
 by any such ascetic devices, even on a pilgrimage. Being 
 of highly cultivated mind, and an enthusiastic admirer of 
 the beautiful, she was eminently fitted to appreciate the 
 attractions of the^way, had not her attention been com- 
 pletely absorbed by something else. At the end of the 
 first stage of her pilgrimage lay Uzerche, and there the 
 lady elected to take shelter for the night in the house 
 of her devoted admirer, Gancelm. The wife of the 
 latter made her very welcome, appropriating to her use 
 the bedroom of the absent troubadour. And " there," 
 says the naughty story-teller, " the lady found Uc con- 
 cealed, a thing that pleased her mightily. And she re- 
 mained in the house with him two whole days. Then 
 she continued her pilgrimage to Rochemaure, whither 
 Uc attended her." The narrative contains several other 
 lines remarkably illustrative of the manners of the 
 period. They are, however, lines which we should 
 as soon think of turning into English as one of 
 the discourses of that model Churchman, Brother Jean 
 des Entommeures. Hardly had the pair quitted his 
 house than Gancelm returned, and his wife hastened 
 to relate all that had passed, without sparing him a 
 single detail. He was hugely disgusted, especially with 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 233 
 
 the impudence that had made choice of such a place of 
 assignation. And well he might be ; for, as more than 
 one example shows, when the gay ladies of Provence 
 desired to show supreme contempt towards a wooer, 
 they invariably contrived to meet his successful 
 rival in precisely such a place as Maria Garrida met 
 Uc le Brun, and as invariably adopted measures to 
 give the matter wide publicity. Gancelm took char- 
 acteristic revenge. He made a bitter song on the 
 offenders ; his last, as it proved, for he died shortly after- 
 wards. 
 
 Faudit's method of repairing a shattered fortune was 
 one commonly adopted by gentlemen in difficulties. 
 Hughes of Lobieres, a knight of Tarascon, finding him- 
 self penniless, but a thorough master of the art of com- 
 posing cobbole, canzon, servente, and tenzon, became a 
 wandering troubadour. His birth procured him admis- 
 sion to the highest circles, and his talents — for he was one 
 of the ablest men of the era — did the rest. In a very 
 few years he was enabled, not only to retire, but to as- 
 sume the state of a great baron. Here he displayed 
 wickedness fully on a par with his ability. He grati- 
 fied his passions to the utmost, and perpetrated crimes 
 of every, hue, and, to a great extent, with impunity ; for 
 he was as skilful in the execution of his misdeeds as he 
 was daring in their conception, being one of those 
 monsters divest of pity, love, and fear which Sh.akespeare 
 has typified in Richard HI. — one of those being com- 
 posed exclusively of appetite and intellect, who are in 
 one direction too much above, and in another direction 
 too much below, their kind to feel with it or for it. In- 
 a few years he became the terror and detestation of 
 every class. At last the country could bear with him 
 no longer, and roused against him in arms, as against 
 
234 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 one of those fearful beasts of which old legends tell. 
 Hughes, however, was not to be taken in the toils. 
 Finding resistance hopeless, and escape impossible, he 
 committed suicide, but so artfully that even this last 
 crime could not be proved. Thus he secured his carcass 
 against torture in life and contumely in death, and to 
 this extent triumphed over his foes. Time the Avenger, 
 however,has taken full vengeance on Hughesof Lobieres. 
 His songs and his good deeds — if such he ever per- 
 formed — are consigned to oblivion, and nothing but the 
 memory of his iniquity survives. 
 
 More worthy of success were the three brothers, Guy 
 Eble, and Peyre, and their cousin, Elias of Uzes. These 
 were kinsmen of knightly race, who found their inherit- 
 ance too small to afford them a decent maintenance. 
 It happened that while Guy was skilful in composing 
 canzons, and Eble as skilful in composing serventes, 
 Peyre was a good musician, and Elias an excellent 
 comedian. Putting their heads together, they concluded 
 that " it was better to improve their position by uniting 
 their talents and visiting the various courts, than to re- 
 main at home to die of hunger." Accordingly they formed 
 a partnership, in which Peyre was to do the music and 
 Elias the tumbling, while Eble was to make himself 
 generally useful, and Guy was to receive the money 
 and divide it equally among them. Starting from Uzes, 
 in the costume of Cercamons, they trudged afoot to the 
 castle of the nearest of the great barons, who happened 
 to be that same Lord of Albisso, with whose self-willed 
 wife we have already formed some acquaintance. The 
 baron was exceedingly liberal to good poets and so were 
 his numerous guests ; and both lord and guests were 
 compelled to admit that better poets than these were 
 seldom to be met with. Consequently the cousins 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 235 
 
 quitted the castle to continue the campaign, not only- 
 well mounted and supplied with necessaries, but carrying 
 with them testimonials certain to procure them a ready 
 hearing elsewhere. Nor were they less fortunate in their 
 subsequent calls. Being prudent withal, they soon 
 amassed a competence, which might have been larger 
 but for one small circumstance, Eble's serventes formed 
 the chief attraction of the troupe. But, unfortunately, 
 their personality, the quality that rendered them 
 so popular with the great body of their hearers, 
 was precisely the quality that rendered them un- 
 welcome to a powerful minority. Finding that remon- 
 strance could not induce the trouvers to soften this 
 characteristic, and probably conceiving that, fustigation, 
 tongue-slitting, and assassination, were not precisely the 
 remedies to be applied with success to four atheletic_ 
 youths who knew how to handle their weapons, the 
 parties aggrieved appealed to the Papal Legate at 
 Avignon. This dignitary lent a ready ear to the com- 
 plaint, for it was proved, though hardly to his satisfac- 
 tion, that Guy and his company were accustomed to 
 treat Churchmen as they treated laymen, not sparing the 
 Legate himself, nor even his superior, the Pope. Guy 
 and his kin were far from being the only troubadours 
 who indulged their satire to this extent. But it happened 
 that the manager of the tmipe was in orders, and, 
 consequently, amenable to ecclesiastical jurisdiction. The 
 Legate, therefore, found little difficulty in reducing the 
 party from Uzes to submission. He made them promise 
 with an oath that- they would never more make songs 
 against the Pope, or against any other prince, lay 
 or clerical. " And this," adds Nostradamus, " was the 
 reason that these poets, who were so excellent that I 
 Would willingly call them prophets, never afterwards 
 
236 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 composed, or at least published, any songs, but re- 
 turned home with much wealth — thanks to their 
 poetry." 
 
 Wandering troubadours did not always make such 
 prudent use of their profits as some of those we have 
 mentioned. Too many of them followed the example 
 of William Magret, concerning whom a biographer, 
 who was not an Irishman, remarked that he wasted 
 every penny he received in gaming, and — spent the rest 
 in the taverns ! The said Magret, it was added, was 
 always poor and in tatters, and finished his career in a 
 Spanish hospital. Similar penury was the lot of all the 
 vagabonds at one time or another. Their period of proba- 
 tion was always a period of hardship ; and circumstances 
 over which they had no control — as war, pestilence, 
 famine, and the death of patrons — occasionally renewed 
 its miseries. But, sooth to say, their pecuniary 
 difficulties were mostly to be traced to their own follies. 
 These dilemmas afforded an inexhaustible source of 
 satire to their rivals. For instance, Rambaud of 
 Vaquieras, having published a piece in which he 
 charged the Marquis of Malespina with no less an offence 
 than highway robbery, the Marquis, after acknowledging 
 the crime — and justifying it, too, in the style of Robin 
 Hood — thought it a sufficient retort to remind Ram- 
 baud — in very good verse, be it understood — how he had 
 seen him at Pavia foot sore and actually in want of 
 food. The Monk of Montmayor, too, delights to 
 record how William Adhemar used to strut about in 
 the discarded finery of his noble patrons. Not un- 
 frequently the poet himself took to jesting on the same 
 theme, probably with the view of anticipating and 
 blunting the ridicule of others as in the following 
 tenzon : — 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 237 
 
 Said Guy, " Oh, ancient mantle ! with thy rusty, musty plush, 
 Thy stains, and. general shabbiness, thou hast put me to the blush; 
 Thou hast caused me grievous trouble, thou hast brought me 
 
 lasting shame ; 
 I would, ere I had worn thee, I had given thee to the flame ! 
 Of a bewitching lady thou hast lost me all the grace, 
 Because of thee, thou wretched rag, I ne'er shall see her face." 
 
 " Oh, Scorner !" said the mantle, "hast thou, then, cast away 
 
 All memory of my services on many a better day ? 
 
 That I am stained and shabby I know, sir, to my cost ; 
 
 But came it not from shekel ing thee in storm, and rain, and frost ? 
 
 I grieve that I have caused thee to be jilted by yon maid ! 
 
 Much rather would I wrap ye both down there beneath the shade." 
 
 Then Guy unto his bosom his worn old mantle caught. 
 Saying, "I thank thee for thy goodwill, and for that pretty 
 thought. 
 - No longer of thy vifretched plight shalt thou have cause to grieve. 
 Nor thy master of his lady-love a second time bereave. 
 Thy rents shall all be darned, and, to cover every stain, 
 In crimson of the deepest hue I'll have thee dyed again." 
 
 " Bosh !" said the cloak, as backward upon the breeze it fluttered) 
 
 " With pretty phrases never yet were any parsnips buttered ! 
 
 That story for the horse marines, O master mine, may do ; 
 
 I'm used to thy fine promises, and to their rupture too. 
 
 My rents will ne'er diminish until thy rents increase, 
 
 About the Eve of Good St. Tib* — so, master, hold thy peace !" 
 
 It must be admitted that when the poet found him- 
 self in a difficulty of the kind mentioned above he 
 generally developed an ingenuity as rapid in its effects, 
 and just as decisive, as the cap of Fortunatus. A good 
 instance occurs in the story of Peyre de Ruer. Once 
 upon a time this genius conceived a trobar's attachment- 
 a thing more remarkable for intensity than endurance — 
 for a Neapolitan damsel, whose acquaintance he had 
 formed in the neighbourhood of Aix. This lady knew 
 
 * A festival which occurs neither before Christmas nor after, and which 
 therefore, is equivalent to " the Greek Kalends-." 
 
238 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 how to keep him dangh'ng at arm's length until he had 
 spent all his money, and disposed of his horses, baggage, 
 and finery besides. Then she gave him to understand 
 that his attentions were not quite so welcome as they 
 had been. This awakened Peyre, not, indeed, from his 
 dream of love, but to a very lively sense of his situation. 
 He, however, was not a man to despond, even though it 
 was Holy Week, a season in which his particular art was 
 quite at a discount. Borrowing a gown from a tavern 
 acquaintance of the Benedictine order, he betook him- 
 self to the nearest fashionable shrine, which he found 
 thronged with devotees. Obtaining an interview with 
 the cure, he gave that worthy to understand that he 
 was a monk who held a preaching licence from his 
 superior ; and he exhibited a folded paper, which he 
 declared was the said licence, neatly drawn up in Latin. 
 The priest, as he surmised, was blind in his Latin eye — 
 an infirmity coextensive in those days with deafness in 
 the Latin ear — and, therefore, made no attempt to exa- 
 mine the pretended licence. He welcomed its bearer as 
 a priest and a brother, and agreed to grant him the use 
 of his pulpit on the following day. That night it is 
 whispered that the true priest and the false one did not 
 seek their respective couches until far on in the small 
 hours. The cure declared that his brother and himself 
 were engaged in a species of mental gymnastics called 
 wrestling in prayer ; but the scandal-mongers remarked 
 that the said prayers sounded singularly like the accom- 
 paniment of profane revelry. The equivocal sound 
 died away at length. Good Friday^ dawned, and the cur6 
 and his guest hastened to the church, with cheeks 
 somewhat pale and eyes sunken, but otherwise as 
 grave and decorus as good priests should be. At sermon- 
 time Peyre mounted the pulpit to make "a small oration." 
 
WANDERING TROUBADOURS 239 
 
 The novelty of the position, however, abashed him, and 
 he stood for a few minutes, like one of Scott's heroes, 
 unable to muster a single oratorical idea. Feeling- that 
 something must be done, and not knowing what else to 
 do, Peyre, "all of a sudden, and as bold as brass," began 
 to sing a doleful love-song : — 
 
 Pauc m 'an valgut mos precs ny mos prezies, 
 
 Ny jauzimen d'ausel, ny flour d'eglay, 
 
 Ny lou plazer que Dieu transmet en May, 
 Quand on vey verd lous prats ny lous garryes. 
 
 Epauc my val (segon lo qu'yeu vey aras,) 
 
 Lou del qu'yeu au que m' aucy e m' accor ; 
 
 Ou, qu 'yeu fussa reclus subra un gran tor, 
 Que sufertar tant greus dolors amaras 
 
 From prayer and tear no solace do I glean ; 
 No succour from the joyous May that throngs 
 The bowers with birds and bloom, with flowers and songs, 
 
 And clothes the gardens and the glebe in green. 
 
 And little me avails (too well I know) 
 The pangs that wound my heart or rather slay — 
 Oh, that within a dungeon dark I lay. 
 
 To bear no more this weight of am'rous love !* 
 
 By the time his song was finished, and while the 
 people were yet under the influence of the amazement 
 created by this odd prelude, Peyre had recovered his 
 self-possession. Adroitly using the song as a text, he 
 launched forth into a sermon on the subject of the day, 
 " preaching with a vehemence that subdued the whole 
 congregation to tears." The last, however, must not be 
 
 * It was not uncommon for the more serious preachers of the period to 
 adopt a similar text. Among the Arundel manuscripts, in the British 
 Museum, there is a Latin sermon by the celebrated Langton, in which the 
 thing is done. The Cardinal quotes eight lines of a Norman-French 
 love-song addressed to a certain "la bell Aliez," and applies them to 
 the Virgin. 
 
240 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 accepted as a proof of unusual eloquence on the part 
 of the preacher. In those days it was so generally- 
 regarded as " the correct thing " to weep during a Good 
 Friday sermon, that dry eyes at such a time were never 
 excused, except in one who, like Joe Miller's hero, 
 happened to belong to another parish. Having closed 
 his discourse, Peyre recited the seven penitential psalms 
 reduced to rhyme, to the great delight of his hearers, 
 who thought these specimens of Provencal poetry the 
 finest things of the sort in the world. Finally, giving 
 them his blessing, he took post at the church-door, 
 where, "with downcast eyes and melancholy looks," 
 he besought alms. Nor did he ask in vain, for his hood 
 was filled to overflowing with gold and silver. Another 
 night of what the worthy cure termed " wrestling in 
 prayer," and his neighbours termed '• drinking and 
 singing," followed this very successful sermon. Then 
 Peyre bade adieu to his host and returned to the world. 
 With a portion of his singularly obtained funds he re- 
 placed his equipage. He then hurried to his Neapolitan, 
 who received him graciously. And here, with our reader's 
 permission, we take leave of the whole excellent 
 company of Wandering Troubadours. 
 
241 
 
 RAMBAUD OF VAQUIERAS. 
 
 We know very little of the early life of Rambaud of 
 Vaquiera'S. The central portion of his career is seamed 
 with broad streaks of mist, and the close is a perfect 
 blank. Among the stories of the troubadours there is 
 none more imperfect than his, and not one more in- 
 teresting. His father was a poor knight of the Princi- 
 pality of Orange, and he himself began life poorer still, 
 being utterly landless. This was probably as much the 
 result of youthful indiscretion as of ancestral poverty. 
 In one old Provencal manuscript it is stated that, at this 
 period, he was looked upon universally as " a fool " — a 
 term which another account softens into " little prudent." 
 Imprudent or not, he possessed high poetic ability, which 
 his necessities speedily developed. Betaking him to the 
 usual resource of Provencal gentlemen in difficulties, he 
 became a professional troubadour. Blessed with an 
 attractive person and many amiable qualities, and being 
 withal, according to the notions of the age, a thorough 
 gentleman, he rose rapidly to renown. Contrary to the 
 proverbial fate of gifted men, he seems to have been 
 appreciated at his true value, and, in the first instance, 
 at home. It is told that his feudal chief, William of 
 Baux, Prince of Orange, attached him to his court, that 
 he rewarded him with great and substantial favours, and 
 that he brought his poetry into high esteem am.ong 
 
 R 
 
242 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 great personages. Of Rambaud's literary genius, the 
 older writers remark that his warlike pieces were full of 
 energy and fire, but that he became tedious when he 
 sang of love. Such, also, is our own opinion, with the 
 addition that we perceive a vein of pleasant humour, 
 seldom to be found among the troubadours, running 
 through many of his compositions, as, for instance, 
 through the following, in which he describes a tour- 
 nament. Among the Provencals, the latter, we may 
 premise, was not exactly the stern presentment of 
 battle that it showed itself more to the northward, but 
 something akin to the javelin play of the Moors : — 
 
 I'll tell you of our tournament without circumlocution. 
 What warriors bravest shone therein, and did piost execution. 
 Of who stood up and who fell down I'll say the simple truth : 
 To magnify in love or war, trust me, I'm not the youth. 
 
 The Lord of Baux began the fray — I err, it was his horse^ 
 A giant beast that overthrew whatever crossed its course : 
 He backed against a noble count, and hurled him to the ground, 
 And then disabled with his kicks fell twenty horses round ! 
 
 Among the crowd your Dragonel conspicuous appeared. 
 As under him his fiery barb most furious plunged and reared. 
 'Twixt steed and rider to the last uncertain was the fray, 
 For while the latter bit the dust, the former ran away. 
 
 Count Beaucire was released the next from his unruly steed, 
 And thus enabled one to mount more meet for martial deed. 
 Then Barral of Marseilles, good knight, a fine career did make. 
 Till, by a knight still better, he was flung into a brake. 
 
 Across the lists Mondragon's lord I saw most boldly prance, 
 And overthrow a knight, himself, without breaking his lance. 
 A squire, whose steed was skin and bone, it was that dealt the blow : 
 Mondragon calmly raised himself and sought a safer foe. 
 
 Mevallion's lord dashed bravely on, completely clad in mail ; 
 
 The barb that bore him was a trifle larger than a quail ; 
 
 His spear struck Nicholas on the helm; good Nicholas laughed 
 
 amain ; 
 To him the shock was such as might have dealt a drop of rain. 
 
RAMBAUD OF VAQUIERAS 2^^ 
 
 The Prince of Orange boldly charged three warriors in a row, 
 Because his horse would plunge that way, whether he would or no ; 
 They fled, but if from man or horse to him it mattered nought, 
 Since, chasing like a victor, he himself a victor thought. 
 
 V h 
 Rambaud of Vaquieras seems to have made a 
 
 lengthened stay at the Court of Courteson (the chief 
 
 town of Orange). It is thought that at this time he 
 
 formed a sort of poetic fraternity with that licensed 
 
 profligate, Rambaud of Orange, because Petrarch joined 
 
 the two names in three lines of his " Trionfo d'Amor ": — 
 
 E quei che fur conquisi con piu guerra, 
 I dico 1' uno e 1' altro Rambaldo, 
 Che cantar pur Beatrice in Monferrato. 
 
 These lines, it may be observed, have furnished the 
 erudite with one of those subjects wherewith to puzzle 
 themselves and their readers, in which the merely 
 erudite delight. Petrarch, no doubt, had his reasons for 
 coupling the names. Perhaps he did so under the in- 
 fluence of that despotic thing, rhyme ; or for the same 
 reason that, a little before, induced him to couple the 
 names of -two individuals, the Guidos, who lived at 
 different periods ; or because he possessed evidence of 
 the existence of fraternity between the Rambauds which 
 has not come down to us. The matter, however, is not 
 worth discussion, and hardly worth notice. 
 
 Rambaud of Vaquieras seems to have quitted his 
 comfortable quarters at Courteson for a reason unusual 
 among people of his profession : he simply discarded 
 his patron. William of Orange belonged to a family 
 that affected a claim to the sovereignty of Provence, 
 and was tempted, partly by injudicious ambition, and 
 partly by apparently favourable circumstances, to set 
 himself up in opposition to the reigning Counts. At 
 first he was countenanced by the German Emperor, who 
 
244 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 claimed to be the suzerain of Provence, and who 
 gratified Wilham with the empty title of King of Aries. 
 The Emperor, however, gave the new king no substan- 
 tial support, and, the latter being unable to cope alone 
 with his opponent, turned for aid to the King of 
 France. For reasons of which we shall say a word 
 elsewhere, the Provengals detested the French, and 
 resolutely opposed the Northern policy of consolida- 
 tion. To be anti-French was the leading maxim of all 
 patriotic Provengals ; and the troubadours, always the 
 representatives of public opinion, were anti-French to a 
 man. Rambaud of Vaquieras was not an exception. 
 So far he had supported his patron in his opposition to 
 the House of Aragon with sword and pen ; but when 
 William allied himself with the French, Rambaud 
 changed sides, and levelled his serventes at him whom 
 he had so lately eulogised. 
 
 Unfortunately for the Prince of Orange, certain cir- 
 cumstances had rendered him an excellent subject for 
 raillery. On one occasion, being involved in pecuniary 
 difficulties, probably by his ambitious struggle, he 
 resorted to a means of replenishing his purse not un- 
 common at the time. It was simply highway robbery, a 
 profession practised during the twelfth century by 
 personages of even higher rank than Robin Hood, that 
 is if the latter really were Earl of Huntingdon. Hardly 
 a generation before a brother of the King of France 
 had shown brilliantly in cutting purses, and, at that very 
 period, exalted members of the houses of Couci and 
 Montmorency were winning distinction in the same 
 line. Among the passengers who underwent the strip- 
 ping dexterity of his Highness of Orange was a 
 northern merchant, who lost no time in making formal 
 complaint to Philip Augustus. The latter was a power- 
 
RAMBAUD OF VAQUIERAS 245 
 
 ful monarch, who understood full well the necessity of 
 conciliating the mercantile classes. But the Prince of 
 Orange was a friend, Provence was a long way off, and 
 he was then at blows with a terrible antagonist, Coeur de 
 Lion. The king, therefore, told the merchant to right 
 himself if he could, and thought no more of the matter. 
 Most people would have regarded such an answer as an 
 intimation to take no further steps ; but this particular 
 merchant was possessed by just such a spirit as induced 
 one of his class and country, some two centuries ago, 
 to declare war on his own account against a king of 
 England. He, therefore, determined to use the licence 
 he had received. He wrote a letter to the Prince of 
 Orange, inviting him to Paris, and to this letter he forged 
 the royal seal and signature. It was precisely the device 
 to succeed in an age in which letter-writing was little 
 practised, and in which, therefore, skill in detecting for- 
 gery had not yet been developed. William was deceived, 
 as the merchant expected, and set out for Paris. On 
 the way the letter-writer contrived to intercept the 
 prince, and make him prisoner. He held him fast, too, 
 until he compelled him to disgorge his plunder, and 
 sufficient interest besides, in the way of ransom. AH 
 the world heard of the trick, and laughed ; and William, 
 who saw that a display of ill-temper was not likely to 
 mend matters, tried to laugh with the world as he made 
 his way homewards. But he did not reach Courteson 
 quite so soon or so easily as he could have wished. Not 
 liking, perhaps, the route on which he had suffered such 
 an awkward mishap, he chose to return to his princi- 
 pality by water. Now it happened that on the banks 
 of the Rhone there lay an estate which he had ravaged 
 not long before, and its owner, Aymerie of Valentinois, 
 determined to use the opportunity thrown in his way by 
 
246 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 his enemy, after the manner of the merchant. A num- 
 ber of fishermen in his employ kept strict watch on the 
 river, and arrested the Prince, without the smallest diffi- 
 culty, as he floated carelessly by. Aymerie exacted even 
 a heavier ransom than his predecessor. All the world, 
 especially the Provengal portion thereof, laughed louder 
 than before. But William did not laugh this time. 
 His misadventures were sung everywhere in countless 
 serventes. One of the most biting was composed by 
 the Count of Cavaillon, who handed it to a wandering 
 minstrel with these words, which formed the concluding 
 stanza of the piece : — " Go, Bonnardo, and advise this 
 mighty king not to travel far from his enormous king- 
 dom, save with sufficient escort. He is subject to being 
 taken prisoner." Bonnardo did exactly as he was told, 
 and with impunity; for in those days a Provengal noble 
 would as soon have thought of whipping a mere singer 
 as of stripping an altar. Rambaud, too, had his fling at 
 his late patron, but the piece does not seem either 
 pointed or humorous. It merely taunted the prince 
 with allowing himself to be cheated by a false seal, and 
 afterwards to be captured as a minnow is caught by a 
 pike. William retorted very shortly : casting an old 
 sneer at Rambaud, he pronounced him "the biggest 
 fool " he ever knew. 
 
 Rambaud quitted Provence for Italy; why we are 
 not informed, and shall not attempt to speculate. He 
 commenced his journey in a plight that fully justified 
 his repute for folly in matters pecuniary. None of the 
 substantial favours bestowed upon him by the Prince of 
 Orange had abided with him. In fact he closed his con- 
 nection with the Court of Courteson as poor as he began 
 it. He was destitute of even a horse, and continued his 
 journey " afoot like a base jongleur," as a literary oppo- 
 
RAMBAUD OF VAQUIERAS 247 
 
 nent afterwards took care to remind him. One of his 
 pieces gives us a glimpse of him in the course of this 
 journey. It is a tenzon in which he makes love to the 
 wife of a Genoese trader, after the high-flown manner of 
 the Provengals, and in which she responds after the 
 matter-of-fact and vulgar manner of her class. The 
 thing is evidently satiric of the trading classes, who 
 were even then beginning to tread too closely on the 
 heels of the aristocracy in the pursuit of luxury : — 
 
 RAMBAUD. 
 
 I pray you, pretty lady, that to love me you would try ; 
 
 So rich are you in virtue that your humble slave am I. 
 
 And, then, you are so knowing in the rules of etiquette — 
 
 A dame more fascinating, I swear, I never met ! 
 
 For you I'd .forfeit Genoa, though all its wealth were mine : 
 
 Oh, love me, then, in charity, nor longer let me pine ! 
 
 LADY. , y 
 
 Be quiet with your teazing now, you cunning, saucy Jew ! v , (M 
 
 Were you to sigh here all your life I never could like you. 
 I'd rather twist your neck about, you sweet-tongued cheat from 
 
 Provence. 
 My husband is a nicer man ; so, rascal, get you off hence. 
 
 • RAMBAUD. 
 
 Oh, lady, you're so tasteful, so elegant, so neat ! 
 
 I'm dying for your good-will ; then grant it, I entreat. 
 
 Delight is your companion, discretion is your guide ; 
 
 'Tis therefore I prefer you to all the world beside ; 
 
 'Tis therefore that, without reserve, I am your lover true — 
 
 My love impels to ask for yours ; then, lady, grant it, do ! 
 
 LADY. 
 Now what a fool you must be, man, to talk to me like that. 
 Just walk your chalks ; you havn't the sense of e'en a decent cat. 
 Lawks ! what a naughty thing 't would be to bow to your intent ! 
 Were you a king or emperor I don't think I'd consent. 
 To the wrong shop you've brought your wares. Come, prater, now 
 
 be dumb ; 
 Sure wicked wretches they must be i' the place from whence you 
 
 come. 
 
248 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 RAMBAUD. 
 Oh, lady, do not treat me thus !— 'tis neither just nor right ; 
 Nay, further, I regret to add, that it is not polite. 
 Of a gentleman all well-bred folk allow it is the part 
 To tell his lady that he loves, to show her all his heart ; 
 And her to beg that she would deign to pity his sad phght. 
 Protesting, as he pleads, that he her servant is and knight. 
 You are as fresh and fair of hue as is the rose in bloom ! 
 But that's a common thing, my dear, so therefore don't presume. 
 Yet still I prize you, and, in turn, you ought to value me, 
 And if you won't 'twill be a crime 'gainst heaven and courtesy. 
 
 LADY. 
 Shut up ! Get out ! Make yourself scarce ! I vow I've heard 
 
 enough ! 
 I do not care one single straw for your Provenfal stuff! 
 All that you can say to me is so much Greek or Dutch ; 
 I do not care for you at all, nor could for any such. 
 There, hold you jaw ! Lord, if he knew ! — I'm speaking of my 
 
 spouse — 
 I'd catch it awfully, I know ! So, fellow, leave the house ! 
 
 How Rambaud quitted Genoa, and why, remains 
 untold. Nor do we know what afterwards befell him, 
 until a servente represents him as having been dis- 
 covered at Pavia in the lowest state of misery — absolutely 
 in want of food — by the writer, the Marquis Albert of 
 Malespina. It would seem that this noble not only 
 relieved the necessities of the troubadour, but introduced 
 him to one of the most brilliant courts of the period, 
 that of Boniface, Marquis of Montferrat. The latter 
 belonged to a family of the highest renown. His father 
 had been one of the most distinguished Crusaders of 
 the twelfth century, and two of his brothers had won 
 great names in the Holy Wars. One of the two, 
 Conrad, — he who fell by the hands of the Assassins — 
 had borne for a period the title of King of Jerusalem. 
 Boniface himself was perhaps the most brilliant member 
 of this heroic family. Unrivalled in military exercises, 
 
RAMBAUD OF VAQUIERAS 249 
 
 a daring soldier, a skilful captain, a poet, the very soul 
 of honour, and generous and disinterested in the highest 
 degree, he was the beau-ideal of knighthood. It speaks 
 well for the character of Rambaud that Boniface 
 immediately conceived for him a friendship which 
 strengthened with years. Indeed, they were never after- 
 wards separated. Nor was it merely on account of his 
 amiability, or of his social and literary qualities, that the 
 marquis valued the minstrel. Rambaud had other 
 recommendations, as he reminded his master in one of 
 his canzons : — " I can boast, my lord, that I know how 
 to conduct myself in your court ; I can be liberal, 
 obedient, agreeable, and discreet. Nobody can reproach 
 me with insolence, nor can any say that I ever shrank from 
 your side in battle, or did not prefer your renown even 
 to my own life." And it would appear that there was 
 little or no exaggeration in these statements. 
 
 Rambaud accompanied Boniface in the expedition 
 which the Emperor Henry VI. conducted to Sicily 
 in 1 194, and he seems to have done good service 
 therein. In one of his canzons he mentions some of 
 the experiences of himself and his patron in the course 
 of the campaign. " You remember," said he, addressing 
 Boniface, "when you were riding near Aci Real with 
 only ten companions, how you were assailed by four 
 hundred hostile troopers. Disdaining to fly as little as a 
 falcon before a flock of cranes, you met them boldly. 
 But the odds against you were too great, and, in spite of 
 the most desperate resistance, you were in extremities 
 when I came up with aid. We raised the Marquis, 
 Albert of Malespina, who had been beaten to the 
 ground. Then we dashed against the foe, and drove 
 them with ignominy from the field. I have been in 
 many grievous prisons for having served you well in 
 
2S0 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 your wars," adds Rambaud, thus implying that on other 
 occasions, if not on this one, he had secured the escape 
 of the marquis by allowing himself to be captured in 
 his stead. Such marks of devotion were common in 
 those chivalrous times, and were rendered the easier by 
 the custom, common among great chiefs, of dressing and 
 arming their more favoured gentlemen precisely like 
 themselves, an honour that Boniface had not neglected 
 to accord to Rambaud. " For you," the latter goes on 
 to say, " have I led many forlorn hopes, fired numerous 
 strong places, and performed other bold actions. At 
 Messina I came up when you were beaten to the ground; 
 I covered you with my cloak ; I flung myself between 
 you and the spears that were aimed at your head and 
 heart. When you took Randasso Paterno (Val di 
 Dimone) and Calatagirone (Val di Noto), and when you 
 took Palermo, I was still the closest to your banner." 
 Nor was Rambaud unrewarded. He received knight- 
 hood from the honour-giving hand of the m.arquis 
 himself, who even made him, in some respects, his equal, 
 by becoming his sworn brother-in-arms. Perhaps the 
 latter fact accounts to some extent for the bold freedom 
 of Rambaud's lays. But this freedom was not likely to 
 prove offensive to the marquis, since the singer never 
 said one word in praise of himself without contriving to 
 say two in praise of his chief — to whom, indeed, he 
 delighted to render himself, in battle and in ballad, an 
 admirable foil. 
 
 The nine or ten years immediately following the 
 Sicilian expedition were years of prosperity to the 
 troubadour. Whether as a knight or a poet, he was 
 bound to have a mistress, and the lady of his choice 
 was the " bright particular star " of the Court of Mont- 
 ferrat, Beatrice, sister of the marquis, and wife of Enrico 
 
' i*^r'viAW. 
 
 Vt^'^i 
 
 RAMBAUD OF VAQUIERAS ' 251 
 
 del Carretto, lord of Finale. That she merited his 
 preference not less by personal worth than by her posi- 
 tion, appears from the fact that she was one of the few 
 mentioned by another troubadour, Aymerie of Beauvoir, 
 as models of all that was excellent in woman. To 
 apprise her of his sentiments he adopted a method 
 usual when the lover was of rank much below the dame. 
 " Have the goodness, madam," said he one day, " to aid 
 me with your counsel, of which I stand greatly in need. 
 ■ I love the most beautiful and amiable lady in the world. 
 I see her and speak with her continually ; but so much 
 do her transcendent merits overawe me that I dare not 
 reveal my feelings. For the sake of heaven, madam, I ^^^ 
 beg you to say how I am to act. Am I to die of love, 
 or must I die of fear when I have revealed it .■' " This 
 was speaking quite as an accomplished gentleman of the 
 period. And in her reply Beatrice spoke equally as an 
 accomplished lady of the period. " A loyal gentleman," 
 said she, " who loves a lady whom he fears and respects 
 would be guilty of great wrong were he to allow Jiimself 
 to die in silence of his passion. It is his duty to explain 
 his feelings to the lady of his choice before allowing 
 himself to come to such an extremity. I advise you, 
 therefore, to make known your affection, and to request 
 your lady to retain you as her cavalier servdnte. If 
 she be prudent and courteous she will not take it amiss. 
 Far from considering your request dishonouring, she will 
 esteem you the more for it. Indeed, such, is your worth 
 that there is not a lady in the world, even were she a 
 queen or an empress, that ought not to consider herself 
 happy in having such an one for her knight." This 
 very explicit reply could produce but one result ; and 
 thus Rambaud was established as the gallant of 
 Beatrice. 
 
252 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Our poet's time was not spent exclusively in singing, 
 feasting, and love-making. His brother-in-arms was a 
 thorough knight-errant, who delighted in rectifying 
 wrongs, particularly when the wronged ones happened 
 to be damsels. " More than a hundred maidens," sang 
 Rambaud, have I seen you wed to barons of high degree, 
 without ever taking advantage of their weakness, though 
 you were in the prime of manhood. I have known you 
 make the fortunes of scores of worthy knights, and 
 punish as many more, who deserved it, with utter ruin. 
 So many widows and orphans have I beheld you comfort, 
 so many of the wretched have I seen you relieve, so 
 many of the deserving raise up, and so many of the 
 wicked put down, that, if good deeds could win Paradise, 
 you would be sure of high place therein." And of one 
 of these exploits, which comprised in itself the comfort 
 of the afflicted, the relief of the distressed, and the 
 punishment of the wicked, Rambaud gives the following 
 most interesting account : — " Do you remember the 
 evening, when the jongleur Aimonet rushed, breathless 
 and travel-stained, into the hall, to inform you that they 
 were going to carry Jacobina into Sardinia, to wed her 
 there against her will .■' Then you bethought you of 
 your last meeting with her ; how she threw herself, 
 weeping, into your arms, and how touchingly she 
 entreated you to defend her against the cruel tyranny 
 of her uncle. After supper five of us armed and mounted. 
 There was yourself my lord marquis, Guyot, Hugonet 
 dAlfar, Bertauden, who guided us so well, and myself. 
 We galloped all night through the darkness ; we reached 
 the gate just as they were bearing her away to place her 
 in the ship. It was I who tore her from the midst of 
 them, while all the people shouted. Horse and foot 
 chased us hard ; but we pushed our chargers to the 
 
RAMBAUD OF VAQUIERAS 253 
 
 utmost, and left pursuit behind. We thought ourselves 
 out of danger, when we were intercepted by those of 
 Pietra. Seeing so many cavaliers, so many shields 
 gleaming, and so many banners waving, we were some- 
 what afraid; it would be useless to deny it. We turned 
 from the road, and concealed ourselves among the hills 
 between Finale and Albenga. During our retreat to 
 cover and our stay therein, we heard horns and trumpets 
 sounding, calls to arms, and signals repeated on all 
 sides. Two days were we there without food, and on 
 the third we resumed our course. In a narrow defile 
 we encountered twelve freebooters, nor knew what to do, 
 for we dared not charge them on horseback. Then I 
 dismounted, and ran forward to assail them. I received 
 the thrust of a lance, but I wounded three or four, and 
 made them turn their backs. Being joined by my 
 comrades, we drove off the thieves, and traversed the 
 pass in safety. Doubtless you will remember how gaily 
 we dined that day, though we had only one loaf among 
 us, and not a drop to drink. That evening we reached 
 Nice, where Pinclair received us joyfully. Next 
 morning you gave Jacobina to her cousin Anselmo, 
 whom afterwards you enabled to recover his county of 
 Ventimiglia from his usurping uncle." 
 
 From beginning to end the foregoing story carries 
 the stamp of truth. The ride along the road, then,, as 
 now, called " the Corniche," was as exciting as that of 
 " Young Lochinvar,"- from Netherby. And the two days 
 sojourn among the hills will, no doubt, remind our readers 
 of the flight of " Lord Ullin's Daughter." Those, indeed, 
 must have been romantic times when a single adventure 
 could include the more striking incidents of two such 
 ballads. Between Albenga and Finale is the Cave of 
 St. Lucia, which might have served the party as a place 
 
254 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 of shelter. It is now occupied in part by a chapel, which 
 probably was erected in gratitude for some such service. 
 The lady Jacobina was evidently of high descent, being 
 perhaps niece to the Count of Savoy, a prince who then 
 laid claim to Ventimiglia. Nor was this the only deed 
 of the kind performed by Boniface. Rambaud alludes 
 to a similar one in which he carried off the lady Soldina 
 from the strongest fortress of the Marquis of Malespina, 
 and gave her to Boson d'Anguillar, who was dying for 
 love of her. 
 
 But while sharing and winning much renown in these 
 dashing enterprises — of which it may be presumed that 
 he suggested not a few — the course of Rambaud's love 
 did not run smooth. In the court of Chivasso, the 
 capital of Montferrat, there were those who envied his 
 favour with Beatrice, and who took advantage of his 
 frequent absences to impair it. Some did their worst to 
 disparage his deeds and to blacken his fame. Others, 
 with more skill, appealed to the pride of Beatrice, and 
 dwelt on the disparity of rank between herself and her 
 lover. The former did not malign altogether in vain, 
 as the poet bitterly complains ; but the latter were by 
 far the more successful. One day — it might have been 
 immediately subsequent to the achievement of a 
 chivalrous enterprise, Rambaud appeared before his 
 dame, and addressed her as usual. Greatly was he 
 amazed, and not less mortified, when she put on her 
 haughtiest air, and commanded him to make love to his 
 equals, since she was resolved to have nothing more -to 
 say to him. Confounded by this rebuff, the troubadour 
 adopted the course prescribed in such circumstances, 
 though he did not carry it to the same lengths as some 
 others. He neglected his person, and cast aside his 
 guitar ; but he did not turn hermit, nor even quit the 
 
RAMBAUD OF VAQUIERAS 255 
 
 court. While silent himself, he knew how to procure 
 those who could sing pieces very expressive of his 
 dominant feelings. Some of these were tirades against 
 the sex in general, and some were levelled at his mistress. ' 
 Neither were bitter, for Rambaud was not bilious ; but 
 those addresses to Beatrice were about the most curious 
 ever inspired by the injustice of a mistress. One speci- 
 men will suffice : — 
 
 The peacock, when he contemplates 
 
 The pretty tail he elevates. 
 
 Its hundred eyes, its brilliant dyes, 
 
 Its nodding pride, its shape, its size, 
 
 Until, in swelling vanity, 
 
 Upon the nearest wall climbs he, 
 
 That his fine plumage all may see — 
 
 This peacock is a type of me 
 
 When the perfections of my dame 
 All her grace of form and feature, 
 I contemplate, till they elate, and puff me up, just like that creature ; 
 But too soon one little word. 
 Piercing deeper than a sword, 
 " No," reduces me to shame. 
 
 While Rambaud was indulging his grief by carrying 
 song and slovenliness to ridiculous extremes, two 
 wandering minstrels arrived at court. Both played 
 skilfully on the violin, and both excelled in dancing. 
 Between them they had devised a very quick step, which 
 they footed to their own music, greatly to the delight of 
 all the spectators but one. While everybody else 
 applauded, Rambaud leant against the wall in gloomy 
 abstraction. The marquis had noticed with regret the 
 melancholy of his friend on former occasions. Not 
 improbably he knew that another person regretted it 
 just as much as himself; he considered the present a 
 favourable time for bringing it to an end, and he deter- 
 mined to do this in a way that should prevent its 
 
256 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 renewal. "Come, come," said he to Rambaud, while the 
 detractors listened amazed, " why so sad ? How is it 
 that you alone take no pleasure in the entertainment ? 
 There is no gentleman of my acquaintance who ought 
 to be more joyous. Are you not the accepted cavaher of 
 my sister .?" " Alas !" replied the sad poet, " I, of all men 
 living, have the least reason for gaiety." " Pooh !" said 
 the marquis ; " come along with me !" And, drawing his 
 arm within his own, Boniface led his brother-in-arms to 
 Beatrice. " For love of me and of this gentle company," 
 said Boniface, "it is my wish that you command 
 Rambaud to resume his accustomed happy mood and 
 to sing as he used to do." The lady needed only the 
 excuse furnished by such an appeal in order to comply. 
 Rambaud was restored to her favour — or rather accorded 
 a higher place therein than before — and his detractors 
 were for ever silenced. We need not say that he marked 
 the event by various canticles, of which we venture to 
 paraphrase one. 
 
 To-morrow is the merry, cheery, festal first of May. 
 
 If thou wouldst have me, lady mine, among the rest be gay, 
 
 Then send me, ere the morning dawn — oh, darling that thou art ! — 
 
 A message and a token that shall pierce each jealous heart. 
 
 If this thou doest not in thy pride, oh, then, my lady, know — 
 
 The triumph of mine enemies will double all my woe ! 
 
 If I were now to forfeit thee, the day would fatal be 
 
 But no ; I cannot dream a day so dread will come to me. 
 
 Dismissal of presumption is the worthy recompense, 
 
 While I have loved, and still shall love, with fear and reverence. 
 
 Rambaud, without doubt, received the message and 
 the token that he requested, for we hear no more of his 
 crosses in love. 
 
 Shortly after the reconciliation recorded above 
 Rambaud penned not the least curious of his pieces. It 
 was founded on an incident perhaps not unusual even 
 
RAMBAUD OF VAQUIERAS 257 
 
 in our own days, though certainly it has not often 
 received notice in song. One day the Countess Beatrice 
 took it into her head to array herself as a warrior — in 
 strictest privacy, of course — her own apartments being 
 the scene, and all the bolts being well drawn. Having 
 assumed the panoply of war, and donned the glittering 
 cuirass and the plumed helm, with brassard, greave, 
 gauntlet, and weapons offensive to match, she strutted 
 up and down the chamber with all the airs of a newly- 
 fledged man-at-arms. She then drew her sword 
 and brandished it against the tapestry, in which she 
 pierced a good many holes. But Rambaud, accom- 
 panied "by his brother-in-arms it may be presumed, was 
 outside the door. In this door there happened to be a 
 chink, and to the chink the pair applied their eyes, and 
 witnessed the whole performance. They withdrew, much 
 amused, one of them to make the scene the subject of 
 a lengthy canzon. Therein he conceived that all the 
 rival beauties of the neighbouring lands had declared 
 war against the Bel Cavalier, the pet name by which 
 for ever afterwards he preferred to designate his mistress 
 — and told how they assembled, under the Countess of 
 Savoy, to assail her with " war, flame, smoke, and dust." 
 The older ladies hastened to join the ranks because they 
 had lost all the youth, beauty, and merit which she still 
 retained in perfection ; and the younger swelled the host 
 because the fame of the Bel Cavalier so far surpassed 
 their own. They advanced to besiege her with all " the 
 pomp and circumstance of war." Before the fray began 
 Madame de Savoy made a suitable harangue in which 
 she exhorted her followers to do their utmost against 
 this formidable rival, who deprived them of so much 
 renown and ho.Tiage. The attack began bravely. Engines 
 were worked, arrows discharged, and stones hurled, and 
 
258 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 the miners plied their craft beneath the ramparts, amid 
 all the tumult of a heady fight. At last the ladders 
 were placed, and the assailants prepared to mount to 
 tl>e assault. But the Bel Cavalier, the heroine of 
 Courtesy, was undismayed. Bestriding her charger, 
 without either helm or cuirass, mailed only in her 
 beauty, and wielding her sword, she sallied against 
 her foes. All went down beneath her blows. They 
 fled in thousands before her lovely but resistless 
 strength. She pursued them to the stronghold, 
 where she shut them in, and subjected them in 
 turn to close and vigorous, and eventually successful 
 siege. The piece, light as it is, has value on many 
 accounts. It is a picture of the warfare of the period. 
 It speaks of the war-chariot bearing the banner and the 
 bell, so familiar to the students of mediaeval history ; of 
 mining and of Greek fire ; it gives a fair representation 
 of military science as it then was ; and it alludes, besides, 
 to the insurrection of the peasants of Maurienne against 
 their clerical seigneurs, which was one of the earhest 
 popular revolts of which modern history takes notice. 
 
 Thus, charming all around him with his humorous 
 and heroic lays, accompanying the gallant marquis in all 
 his exciting rides, and paying due court to the lady 
 Bc-atrice, Rambaud passed his life delightfully in 
 Montferrat, until the preaching of Fulk of Neuilly 
 roused the chivalry of France, Champagne, and Flanders 
 to a new crusade. It is probable that Boniface had no 
 intention of taking part in this enterprise at first. But 
 the chosen General-in-Chief, the Count of Champagne, 
 dying as the crusaders were about to depart, and the 
 remaining leaders being unable to select a successor from 
 among themselves, they despatched a solemn embassy 
 to the Marquis of Montferrat, whose character as a 
 
RAMBAUD OF VAQUIERAS 259 
 
 knight and a captain was well known, beseeching him 
 to join them as their leader. The offer was too flattering 
 to be refused by a man like Boniface. Repairing at once 
 to Soissons, he was there solemnly installed in his new 
 dignity. This circumstance, so gratifying to the pride of 
 the House of Montferrat, was made the theme of the 
 following canzon by the brother-in-arms of the marquis : 
 
 Who does not see that God is pleased the good to recompense, 
 Since Montferrat so high he lifts o'er every other prince ? 
 All those who take the cross to-day have chosen him to head 
 Their conquering march unto the mount whereon the Saviour 
 
 bled. 
 Who gave him fame, and lands, and wealth, and vassals true and 
 
 brave. 
 Be sure, will grant him full success on and beyond the wave. 
 As went the kings — the favoured three — to Bethlem's holy towers, 
 With him we'll go, and win them, too, from all the Moslem powers. 
 St. Nicholas directs the fleet, St. George is with the host ; 
 We'll raise our banners as we near the ever-honoured coast : 
 We'll leap thereon, we'll crush the foe, we'll shatter spear and 
 
 sword. 
 And under Jordan's swelling wave we'll thrust the cursed horde. 
 Let Christian valour in the West ours in the East excel. 
 And, while the Marquis hunts the Turk, let Spain the Moor expel. 
 Bel Cavalier, for whom I write, O ! tell if for your sake, 
 For which alone I live, shall I the cross refuse or take .' 
 Such joy with you I feel, such woe when from you I divide, 
 That nothing but your own command can send me from your side. 
 
 The last lines of his canzon correctly described the 
 writer's feelings. Though rejoicing in the honour done 
 to his patron, Rambaud was not willing to take a share 
 in the expedition himsel£ He says, indeed, in another 
 composition, that he had made up his mind to remain 
 in attendance on Beatrice, but that he could not say 
 " No " when the marquis requested him to accompany 
 him. 
 
 History relates how the armament intended to drive 
 
26o THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 the Saracens from Palestine was directed against the 
 Greek Christians by the consummate ability of that 
 admirable representative of the Venice of the thirteenth 
 century and its far-sighted policy, Enrico Dandola ; 
 how he rendered the Crusaders the docile instruments of 
 Venetian interest, and how, by means of their swords, he 
 wonfor his countrymen a possession — the island ofCandia 
 — -which they held for no less than four hundred and fifty 
 years. It was the real commencement of Venetian 
 power and grandeur, and ultimately it proved the main 
 cause of the destruction of both. The City of the Lagoons 
 never recovered from the exhaustion caused by the 
 prolonged and costly warfare, in which Candia was 
 wrested from them by the Turks. Thus, sooner or 
 later, national'as well as individual sin becomes its own 
 avenger. 
 
 History has not forgotten to relate the exploits of 
 the marquis, nor how the commanding genius of the 
 grand old Venetian — such a true king of men as is only 
 nurtured by seagoing peoples — deprived him of the crown 
 that was fairly his due. But history says nothing of the 
 achievements of his brother-in-arms ; and, unfortunately, 
 the glimpses which we catch of those deeds in the songs 
 of Rambaud do not enable us to give a connected out- 
 line of his adventures in the East. In one of these songs 
 we are told— half in jest, half in earnest — how he 
 followed the banner of the marquis through all the 
 perils attending the capture of Byzantium. " Loaded with 
 old iron like a Brabangon. mercenary," he writes, 
 " I fought on the steps of the palace, and received a thrust 
 that penetrated my armour. I was by your side when 
 the Emperor, seeing how desperately and merrily you 
 fought, though we were as one against a thousand, 
 and how valiantly the Count of Flanders and his 
 
RAMBAUD OF VAQUIERAS 261 
 
 comrades supported us, let his heart drop into his heels, 
 and took to flight, leaving behind him his handsome 
 daughter and his treasures. We pursued as the wolf 
 follows the lamb, or the hawk chases the sparrow." In 
 another song Rambaud vaunts that he assisted the 
 marquis to storm cities, to capture princes and kings, 
 and to secure kingdoms. He adds, with a little excus- 
 able exaggeration, that his chief expelled the Emperor 
 from his dominions in order to bestow them on another. 
 And he concludes with a piece of information, which, 
 though no more than we expected, nevertheless 
 pleases us much — that his patron had raised him to 
 wealth and honour — an assertion which he emphasises 
 with the remark — "This is the simple truth." 
 
 For three years Boniface led a stirring life, fighting 
 over every inch of classic Greece, besieging Corinth, 
 forcing the pass of Thermopylffi, holding tournamerits 
 on the scene of the Olympic games, reviving the days 
 of the centaurs on the plains of Thessaly, and traversing 
 the Spartan domains with a band of warriors that couid 
 have scattered the followers of Agesilaus like chaff" before 
 the wind. A series of ballads commemorative of his ex- 
 ploits during these years, by such a soldier-poet as Ram- 
 baud of Vaquieras, would be worth their weight in gold 
 counted fifty times over; but such, alas, we have not. 
 Therefore, we can only remark that wherever the marquis, 
 now entitled King, gave battle, there the troubadour con- 
 tended by his side. Boniface fell, sword in hand, at the 
 siege of Satalia, in 1207 ; and, as Rambaud of Vaquieras 
 vanishes completely from our sight aboutthe same period, 
 we may conclude that the brothers-in-arms perished 
 together. Taking them for all in all, and making due 
 allowance for their age and its predomiting vices, it must 
 be allowed that they were a noble pair. Our readers, 
 
262 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 we are sure, will agree with us when, applying to them a 
 sentence uttered many an age previous, we say that 
 " they were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their 
 death they were not divided." 
 
263 
 
 RAYMOND DE MIRAVALS 
 
 Raymond DE Miravals is one of the few troubadours 
 who merit special attention. He is one of the few 
 whose strongly-marked individuality refuses classifica- 
 'tion ; and his adventures, in their natural sequence, 
 throw too much light on the manners of his class and 
 country, to be scattered piecemeal among our illus- 
 trations of Provengal love and literature. At the 
 beginning of his career he found himself in a position 
 not uncommon to members of the aristocracy of the 
 Langue d'Oc, an aristocracy which, in many respects, 
 bore a singular resemblance to that of Ireland in the 
 eighteenth century. In the hands of a series of reck- 
 less-living ancestors, the estates of Miravals had 
 dwindled down to a miserable shred, on which, all 
 counted, there were no more than sixty persons to be 
 found. In those days the labourer lodged with the 
 farmer, and was counted as one of the family. Sixty 
 people then meant no more than four or five families, 
 and as many vassals. Now a feudal lord of the olden 
 time bore much resemblance to a lion. So long as the 
 hunting-grounds of the latter are extended, and the 
 tenants thereof in the shape of graminivora, numerous, 
 the lordly beast flourishes. At the same time his 
 demands, being distributed over a wide area and among 
 many families, are but lightly felt. But when the hunt- 
 
264 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 ing-grounds become restricted, and the tenants thereof 
 few, two unpleasant things are sure to happen. The 
 lion's wants are harder to be supplied ; his skin, there- 
 fore, loses its glossiness, and his sides lose their plump- 
 ness. His demands, also, are felt with increasing severity 
 by his diminishing vassals, until a period arrives Ivhen 
 the appetite of the lord is certain to exterminate the 
 tenant, and in the event himself, unless both emigrate, 
 the one to avoid being eaten up, and the other to 
 escape the unpleasant predicament of having nothing- to 
 eat up. To this miserable state Raymond de Mirayals, 
 the lord of an imposing chateau, a narrow domain, tmd 
 four or five vassals, found himself reduced on succeed- 
 ing to his inheritance. Having " some bowels " — this 
 was a favourite phrase with our ancestors of two or 
 three hundred years back, who, being a dinner-loving 
 race, and duly appreciating the effects of a good " feed " 
 on the soul as well as on the body, considered the 
 organs of digestion to be the special domain of all that 
 was amiable and compassionate, and therefore of all 
 that was heroic in humanity — having some bowels, then, 
 Raymond de Miravals determined to relieve his scanty 
 company of retainers of his destructive suzerainty for a 
 period. In the twelfth century there were many open- 
 ings for a young man of rank and spirit who wished to 
 push his fortune. He might enter the Church, wherein 
 good birth, if sufficiently decorous, was always sure of a 
 good benefice. He might go a crusading against the 
 Turks in Palestine, or against the Moors in Spain — a 
 career wherein he was likely to receive many more cuffs 
 than crowns, and one, therefore, to be avoided, unless one 
 happened to be in the last extremity of enthusiasm or 
 despair. If he had a taste for "a life on the rolling 
 wave," he could make his d^bilt in the noble art of 
 
RA YMOND DE MIRA VALS 265 
 
 piracy at any of a hundred ports. If he preferred a 
 rover's Hfe on land, there were free companies even then 
 in existence who, at the conclusion of a war, were given 
 to establishing themselves at very free quarters on the 
 lands adjacent to the scene of their last campaigns, 
 until a new war found fresh employment for their 
 swords, or until a crusade, got up for their especial 
 benefit, exterminated them ; or he might follow the 
 example of the Algais, and, enlisting a band of cut- 
 throats, declare himself " the friend of God and the foe 
 of all the world," which was the polite method of inti- 
 mating that a gentleman had taken to highway robbery. 
 None of these alternatives suited Raymond. "He 
 was deeply learned in the science of love," says 
 Nostradamus. " He was understanding in courteous and 
 courtly manners, and he was more thoroughly instructed 
 in the best knowledge of the period than any other man 
 of whom I have written." He was, besides, an adept in 
 music and in the manufacture of rhymes. Of course, 
 then, he became a troubadour. The life was easy and 
 joyous — in fact, no less made for the man than the man 
 was made for it. His earlier adventures as a bard are 
 unrecorded. We know not in what direction he first 
 directed his steps, whether he betook him to Provence, 
 to Auvergne, to Narborme, or to Toulouse, in the first 
 instance. We know not what middle-aged lady, of 
 "learned, pious, and gallant habits," first received him 
 as cavali6r serv^nte, nor what budding beauty withdrew 
 him from such allegiance. We are ignorant alike of his 
 earlier bonnes fortunes and of the perils in which they 
 involved him. When he presents himself in story it is 
 in the zenth of his success and renown. He has re- 
 covered the whole estate of Miravals, he has increased 
 it by many an acre, he has taken to himself a wife, and 
 
266 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 he is a favourite with Raymond of Toulouse, who con- 
 descends to take lessons from him on the lute, and who 
 is pleased to be termed, in canzon, cobbole, and tenzon, 
 the Audiart, or scholar, of the great master. He is 
 equally prized of the barons of the country including 
 Oliver Saissac and the Viscount of Beziers, and he is 
 highly esteemed of the King of Aragon himself. Better 
 still, "there was neither dame nor damsel, no matter 
 what her condition, who did not desire to be on terms 
 of intimacy with him. All the ladies, indeed, desired to 
 see him, to hear him sing, to know him and be known 
 of him, and to enjoy his familiarities and grant him 
 theirs ; because he knew so well how to amuse and please 
 them, and to bring them honour by his songs, that those 
 who were not loved and sung by him -(vere little 
 esteemed." "But for all this," writes the Monk of the 
 Golden Isle and Uc of St. Cssar, " never did he receive 
 from one of them any favour in the matter of love. It 
 was just the reverse, for every one of them cheated him." 
 Indeed, Peter Vidal was not more remarkable for his 
 follies, nor Bertrand Von Born for his mischief-making 
 capacity, than was Raymond de Miravals for his 
 amorous misfortunes. 
 
 Foremost among the ladies that he sang stands the 
 name of Loba de Penautier. She is described as the 
 most beautiful woman of the country, and as no less 
 vain than beautiful. There was nothing in the world 
 that she loved so much as to receive the homage of 
 gentlemen and to become the subject of their songs, 
 and for a time she was fully gratified in both respects. 
 Among her lovers were the Princely Count of Foix, the 
 Barons Oliver de Saissac, Peyre Rotgier of Mirapays 
 and Cabaretz, and Aymerie of Monreal, and the trou- 
 badours Vidal and Miravals. " But," says the story- 
 
RA YMOND DE MIRA VALS 267 
 
 teller — the same who recounts the wolf-exploit of Vidal — 
 " Miravals loved her best of all, and made her the subject 
 of many songs. And, on account of the high renown to 
 which he had raised her, and because she knew that a 
 singer so esteemed could exalt or degrade her as he 
 pleased, she admitted his attentions, and even 'prometia 
 de far plazer en dreg d'amor e I'avia retenant baizan ' " 
 T^promised to do him pleasure in right of love, and kissed 
 him in secret — precisely as Maria Garrida d'Albisso had 
 promised and kissed Faudit. " But she did it all to 
 deceive him." By means of this promise and this one 
 kiss, as Miravals complains in a canzon, Loba kept him 
 in her train for two years and five months. Having 
 reason to believe, at the end of this time, that she was 
 deceiving him for the sake of a more favoured gallant, 
 he quitted her, in order to devote himself to the service 
 of the " Marquiza Gemesquia." This lady was the young 
 and beautiful wife of the Count of Minerve, and is de- 
 scribed as one " gentle, gay, and young, who had never 
 behed or deceived any, or been belied or deceived of 
 any." Shortly after the secession of Raymond de 
 Miravals from her rule, Loba became the subject of a 
 terrible scandal. It was discovered that the haughty 
 beauty who had scorned the advances of so many, 
 laughed at Vidal, and deceived Miravals, was " no better 
 than she should have been ; " that, in short, she had 
 made of the Count de Foix her drut or gallant, and had 
 been carrying on with him that thing so offensive to the 
 manners of the day — a temporary intrigue. "And 
 was this intrigue published through all the country of 
 Carcassonne, and on account thereof was she deprived 
 of praise, honour, and friends ;" in one word, subjected 
 to social excommunication. " For in that country they 
 held as dead every lady who made her lover of a high 
 
268 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 baron" — not, as explains Millot, the incompetent editor 
 of St. Palaye's Researches, because men of the highest 
 rank were more depraved than their inferiors, which was 
 not and could not be the fact, but just because the Code 
 of Love, here in strict conformity with universal feeling, 
 had laid it down that there should be no gallantry ex- 
 cept between parties of equal rank. Fuil advantage 
 was taken of Loba's fall by all her numerous enemies. 
 Her rivals excited their rhyming gallants to libel her; 
 and those rhyming gallants who had been neglected for 
 the Count of Foix libelled her on their own account, 
 among the bitterest of these assailants being Peter 
 Vidal. Through the whole of the Langue d'Oc there was 
 nothing spoken of but Loba's shame. It was sung in 
 the castle and the cottage, in the street and in the 
 tavern, to the noble and to the peasant ; for there were 
 always low-class minstrels in plenty ready and thankful 
 to accept the serventes and other compositions of esta- 
 blished masters, and to publish them everywhere to the 
 sound of harp and fiddle. Thus excommunicated, 
 reviled, hooted, laughed at, and, as it would seem, 
 abandoned of her husband also, Loba was unutter- 
 ably miserable. 
 
 While the troubadours taught that loyalty was to be 
 strictly observed towards the loyal, they also taught that 
 it was a good and a praiseworthy act to deceive the 
 deceiver. Nor was this doctrine peculiar to the trou- 
 badours. Wherever we cast our eyes — whether into the 
 cloister or into the cabinet, over the camp or around 
 the court — we shall find that the golden rule, as prac- 
 tised in the middle ages, lacked the little qualification 
 that gives it its chief value, and that it was thus 
 expressed : " Do to others as — they do to you." In 
 conformity with the practice of his age, Raymond de 
 
RA YMOND DE MIR A VALS 269 
 
 Miravals determined to deceive the one who had so 
 grievously deceived him. With this view he adopted a 
 ine of conduct towards Loba that greatly astonished 
 tiis contemporaries. When all others assailed and 
 i^illified her, " he began to defend her, to cover her 
 Fault, and to excuse her with respect to the count.'' 
 Raymond's magnanimity made nearly as much noise as 
 Loba's error. The subject heard thereof with varied 
 feelings, for she had dreaded the satire of Raymond, 
 which she felt only too conscious of having deserved, 
 more than that of anyone. She was, therefore, equally 
 surprised and gratified. Sending, for her champion, "she 
 thanked him with tears," and in really moving terms. 
 " To-day," lamented the forlorn beauty, " I have neither 
 praise, nor honour, nor friends, male or female ; nor do 
 I receive salutation or courtesy from anyone." Here 
 there was a pause and a burst of passionate grief Then 
 Loba dried her eyes, or attempted to dry them ; but 
 the tears would fall in spite of her. She continued her 
 little speech, which was much broken by irrepressible 
 sobs : " But for all this do I feel fully repaid by your 
 defence of me; and if you would know why I made you 
 not, as you wished, dreg d'ainor, it was not through 
 preference for another — for all that they say of me is 
 mere scandal — but in order that a period of waiting 
 might render you the more grateful for the favour that - 
 I intended to bestow. I see, with delight, that these 
 false reports have not shaken your affection, which^ 
 oh, believe me ! — is not misplaced. I never loved, and 
 never shall love, another. To you I give myself, body 
 and soul — to live in your house, and in your power, and 
 at your will — on condition that you avenge me of mine 
 enemies to the best of your ability!' 
 Poor Loba ! The last sentence of her speech explains 
 
270 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 all. Terribly wicked it was. But then vengeance was 
 the characteristic of the age. She only spoke as others 
 acted. We rejoice to think that no gentleman of the 
 nineteenth century would have taken advantage of her 
 misery. That, however, was " the age of chivalry." 
 Thank God that it has vanished for ever ! It is the 
 first time that we inscribe the interjection, but it is far 
 from being the first time that our studies of the past 
 have caused us to utter it. 
 
 Raymond de Miravals being a gentleman of the age 
 of chivalry, he accepted Loba's offer en bloc, and took 
 her to live with him, merely to abandon her a few weeks 
 afterwards, probably with contumely — an acl;ion of 
 which he did not fail to vaunt in a canzon specially 
 composed for the occasion ; " which," adds the narrator, ' 
 alluding to both song and desertion, " was the only 
 vengeance he could take on a woman." We record the 
 sentence with some little pleasure : it expresses a senti- ' 
 ment that, in the twelfth century, was seldom uttered or 
 acted upon beyond the domain of song, and shows, 
 therefore, that the troubadours, with all their follies and 
 all their vices, really did exercise an ennobling influence 
 over their era. What became of Loba has not been 
 stated. She was hardly the subject to be admitted by 
 even the easy-going convents of that era, even had she 
 been of a character to seek an asylum in one of them ; 
 and it is quite evident that she had been discarded by 
 her relatives. Suicide was not unknown to the Provengal 
 dames ; but she was not of a character to adopt such a 
 remedy. As to other alternatives — let us drop the veil 
 over Loba. 
 
 "Having told you," continues the old raconteur, "how 
 Raymond repaid Loba de Penautier for her treachery, 
 I shall now tell you how he was betrayed of Adalais, 
 
RA YMOND DE MIRA VALS 27 1 
 
 wife of Bernard de Boisasso, lord of the Castle of 
 Lombes." The story-teller, however, while exulting in 
 the deed of the troubadour, does not say (what the 
 remainder of his narrative evidently shows to have been 
 the fact) that the sad deed, though openly laughed at 
 and applauded, nevertheless engendered in the female 
 Provengal mind a firm resolve to grind off the sharp 
 edges of this very choice diamond. Adalais was as fond 
 of praise and homage as Loba herself, and, encouraging 
 Raymond's advances, he sang her everywhere, until she 
 became the most renowned for beauty, grace, and 
 courtesy of all the women in that quarter. " She pre- 
 tended to love Raymond, promised him dreg d'amor, 
 and gave him kisses in earnest thereof Now through 
 the songs of Raymond was Adalais admired and sought 
 of all the barons far and near, and she became the 
 subject of curiosity even at the coyrts of Aragon and 
 Toulouse ; and the king and the count sent her 
 messages and presents of jewels, which she willingly 
 accepted." Nor was Raymond less pleased with this 
 than Adalais, for he made a song, in which he congratu- 
 lated her on her magnificent conquests, and himself on 
 the possession of a mistress so attractive. He did not 
 forget to take to himself due credit for the possession of 
 merits which induced a beauty so much sought after to 
 prefer him, a simple gentleman, to sovereign princes. In 
 the course of time the King of Aragon happened to 
 pass that way ; and Raymond, obtaining an audience for 
 the asking, according to the custom of those very easy 
 times, entreated his Majesty to pause at Lombes, in 
 compliment to the lady of the castle and her admirer. 
 The king did so, to the great delight of the poet and 
 the dame ; and the latter prepared for him a sumptuous 
 feast. " And in the course of the feast he spoke of love 
 
2/2 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 to the lady, who heard him willingly That 
 
 night I know who stole in secret, while everybody else 
 was asleep, to the royal chamber. In the morning the 
 intrigue was known to all the members of the royal 
 train, and, indeed, to every person in the castle. 
 Raymond, who expected to be enriched with joy by the 
 congratulations of the king on the many perfections of 
 his mistress, was terribly mortified to hear the story. 
 He quitted the castle hastily, amid the jests and laughter 
 of the courtiers, and, going home, he made a song, in 
 which he complained bitterly of the wrong and felony 
 that had been done him by the pair." The song, how- 
 ever, had little effect. His adventure with Loba was 
 fresh in the memory of his acquaintances. They remem- 
 bered how he had vaunted of his keenness on that 
 occasion, and, looking upon the present affair as decidedly 
 a case of " diamond-cut diamond," in which the lady had 
 by far the better, they were unsparing in their ridicule. 
 Raymond's friend, Uc of Mataplan, was especially severe 
 on him, and to his serventes the subject replied as 
 follows, in a cobbole addressed to a Catalan lady who 
 was the mistress of Uc : — 
 
 Your lover, Madame Sancha, is 
 
 A very nice young man ; 
 But minding business none of his 
 
 Is not a prudent plan : 
 
 I wish him well, and therefore hope 
 
 You '11 teach him this to know — 
 That when a nose a-poking goes, 
 
 It often meets a blow. 
 
 Me he assails and takes to task 
 
 About a sordid dame ; 
 But if the crime be hers, I ask 
 
 How mine can be the shame "i 
 
RA YMOND DE MIRA VALS 273 
 
 If he will couple sorry rhymes, 
 
 A better theme would be — 
 How Amfos knightly falith forgot, 
 
 And Adalais modesty. 
 
 The fiend of folly man and mule 
 
 At times must needs possess ; 
 Nor can we check each frantic fool, 
 
 But castigate them — yes. 
 
 Your knight, then, punish, Sancha fair. 
 
 And I'll chastise my "mount;" 
 I'd whop both man and mule, but spare 
 
 The man on your account. 
 
 The foregoing is a fair example of the milder form of 
 satire among the troubadours. 
 
 The trick played upon Raymond by Adalais of 
 Lombes was not by any means the worst that he had to 
 bear. One much more annoying quickly followed. In 
 the neighbourhood of Castres dwelt the widow of a 
 wealthy valvassour, much better known as the Beautiful 
 Albigeoise than by her baptismal name, Ermengard. 
 Hearing how Raymond had been treated byAdalais, 
 she resolved to amuse herself, in like manner, at his 
 expense. It was, however, necessary to know him in the 
 first instance, for as yet she was not of his acquaintance. 
 And she procured an introduction by a means not un- 
 common among her countrywomen. She sent to apprise 
 Raymond that, hearing how he had been deceived by 
 Adalais, and sympathising with him in his sense of 
 wrong, she was willing to make him amends for all his 
 loss and suffering by receiving him as cavalier servente. 
 Raymond snapped greedily at the bait, betook him to the 
 residence of the Beautiful Albigeoise, and was delighted 
 with his reception. Then he began to praise Ermengard, 
 and to extol her many excellent qualities in song. "But 
 Ermengard was wise and prudent, and knew how to 
 
274 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 distinguish between those who were her real friends 
 and those who were not, and to deal with each as they 
 merited." It happened, while Raymond de Miravals sued 
 her to grant him plazer in dreg d'amor, that the baron, 
 Oliver de Saissac, prayed her to become his wife. She 
 refused to grant Raymond's request, but she admitted 
 that she was quite ready to accept him as a husband, as 
 she explained, " in order that their affection might never 
 be broken, nor themselves parted " — a sentence which 
 showed that she either knew very little or cared very little 
 about the theory of love. Raymond was better acquainted 
 with this theory than most people; but the widow was 
 wealthyas well as beautiful ; and,besides, it was necessary 
 to do something in order to obliterate the memory of his 
 last disgrace. He therefore agreed, at the suggestion of 
 Ermengard, to get rid of his wife, as a necessary preface 
 to the marriage. It seems that she, whose name was 
 Gaudarenza, kept house at Miravals, while her excellent 
 husband was roaming over the country in his double 
 profession of troubadour and gallant. It was not that 
 she was any better domesticated than himself, for her 
 amusements differed little from his own. She excelled in 
 dancing, and was, besides, a poetess ; and her favourite 
 partner in bolero and fandango, who was also the 
 subject of her amorous lays — that is to say, her cavalier 
 servente — was an accomplished knight of the neighbour- 
 hood, Guilhem Bremon. Raymond quitted Ermengard 
 to hasten to Gaudarenza. " Come," said he abruptly, 
 as his wife met him at the door, " one troubadour is 
 quite enough for the best house that ever was built. 
 A woman that makes verses shall no longer be my wife. 
 You know that two of a trade, especially such a trade 
 as ours, can never agree. The best thing you can do, 
 then, is just to pack up your things and go home to 
 
RA YMOND DE MIRA VALS 275 
 
 your relatives, for I am resolved to have nothing more 
 to do with you." Gaudarenza was very angry at what 
 she heard. She stamped her foot, and declared she 
 would at once do as Raymond desired, and send for her 
 friends to take her home. Now she had a friend, a 
 brave and gallant cavalier, William Bremen, to whom 
 she used to address her songs and with whom she fazia 
 sas dansas. So she apprised Bremon that he must come 
 and carry her off and make her his wife. Bremon 
 heard the news with joy. Mustering his friends, he came 
 with a brave troop to the castle of Miravals, and dis- 
 mounted at the door. Gaudarenza saw him alight, and 
 hastened to tell Raymond that her friends had arrived 
 and were ready to take her away, and that she desired 
 to go with them. Raymond rejoiced to hear this, and 
 ordered her to apparel her for her journey, which she did 
 with speed, while her friends waited without. And when 
 she was ready Raymond himself led her to the door, and 
 handed her over very gracefully and courteously, and with 
 many compliments, to William Bremon. Then the lady's 
 palfrey was brought forward ; but before she mounted 
 she turned to Raymond, saying that, since he meant 
 to part with her, he ought to give her for wife to Bremon. 
 He replied that he had no objection to do so, provided 
 Bremon and herself were willing. Both rejoined that 
 they were ; and Bremon, producing a ring, put it on her 
 finger, while Raymond joined their hands as husband 
 and wife. When this was done the party rode off, with 
 Gaudarenza, who was much pleased, in the midst. 
 Having thus parted with his wife, Raymond hastened 
 to Ermengard, and, informing her that he had acted 
 according to her wish, he requested her to keep her 
 promise. The lady said he had done well, and directed 
 him to return to his castle, there to make preparations 
 
276 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 for a fashionable wedding — adding that she, too, had 
 something to arrange, and that when she was ready she 
 would send for him. Raymond obeyed her this time 
 also, providing all things necessary for a magnificent 
 feast, and inviting all his friends to partake. Mean- 
 while, Ermengard sent for Oliver de Saissac, who came 
 to her immediately. She told him how she had made 
 up her mind to accede to the wish that he had so 
 often expressed, and take him for her husband — a thing 
 that made him the happiest man alive. That very night 
 he carried her off to his castle, and next morning he 
 married her, with great rejoicing and a gorgeous feast, 
 whereat there was much company present. While 
 Raymond de Miravals was in his castle superintending 
 his preparations, and looking anxiously for the promised 
 messenger, news came that the lady had wedded Oliver 
 de Saissac. Much was he grieved and annoyed, for he 
 had lost both wife and mistress ; and, besides, all his 
 great preparations for the feast were quite thrown 
 away. Adalais, too, had betrayed him for the King of 
 Aragon, as you have heard ; so he lost all joy and 
 solace and all inclination to compose and sing ; and thus 
 he remained a long time. But a gentle lady, who was the 
 wife of Peter Rotgjer of Cabaretz, and who was eager 
 for praise and glory, sent him a message. After 
 saluting and comforting him, she prayed that he would 
 leave off his grief for love of her, and declared of a truth 
 that she was prepared to go to him if he would not come 
 to her, and would make him so much courtesy and love 
 as would prove that she had no desire to deceive him 
 like the others." She kept her word, restoring Raymond 
 to joy and song. It is the last gallant adventure recorded 
 of him. 
 
 Raymond's light and laughing life had a melancholy 
 
RA YMOND DE MIRA VALS 277 
 
 conclusion. The .Crusaders of De Montfort seized his 
 castle and his lands, and drove him into exile. Here 
 his serventes did much to rouse the King of Aragon to 
 the aid of the people of Toulouse ; but he had the misery 
 to hear of the utter destruction of his royal friend and 
 his gallant host under the walls of Muret. From that 
 time forward misfortune was the constant attendant of 
 Raymond de Miravals until he died, " poor and worn 
 out in body and mind." 
 
278 
 
 PETER VIDAL 
 
 We are satisfied that Peter Vidal has been confounded 
 with his father and his son, who were troubadours as 
 well as himself, and credited with poems * that he never 
 wrote, and with a length of life that he did not enjoy. 
 His was one of those ardent natures that are rapidly- 
 exhausted. All the deeds recorded of him occurred 
 between 1185 and the close of the century, and there is 
 good reason to believe that he died about the time of 
 the capture of Constantinople by the Franks. We may, 
 therefore, conclude that his birth could hardly have 
 happened earlier than 1165. 
 
 Nobody could write more brilliantly, or act more 
 absurdly, than Vidal. In song he had few equals ; in 
 conduct he was the creature of impulse and the slave of 
 inordinate vanity. So addicted was he to outrageous 
 vaunting, that it became customary to remark of every 
 Parolles, " He lies like Peter Vidal." And yet he was 
 so frank, so generous, so perfectly harmless, and intel- 
 lectually so gifted, that he was a general favourite. We 
 must not forget to add that he was an accomplished 
 musician, and that he possessed an exquisite voice. His 
 person has not been described : perhaps it is as well. In 
 
 * Vidal's father, a wealthy tanner of Toulouse, was merely an amateur 
 .singer. The third Vidal, like the second, was a professional troubadour. 
 
PETER VIDAL 
 
 279 
 
 the twelfth century — that is, had he been bom a 
 Proveneal — Goldsmith would have been a Vidal, ahd in 
 no respect did poor Noll's exterior correspond with the 
 ideal that fancy loves to form of a favourite singer. 
 
 Vidal achieved renown with extraordinary rapidity. 
 This was owing in some measure to the quality of his 
 verses, but still more to his freaks. In those days 
 practical joking was carried to an extreme that we can 
 hardly understand ; and Vidal's character rendering 
 him the dupe of every practical joker, we find him, from 
 one end of his career to the other, figuring as the victim 
 of intensely ludicrous " sells." It is thus that he makes 
 his first appearance in story. 
 
 On the banks of the Arriege dwelt a husband so 
 jealous and vindictive, that gallant could undertake no 
 more perilous enterprise than to go a-wooing to the very 
 pretty wife of Guillems of Castenet. By playing on 
 Vidal's vanity, some of his reckless acquaintances 
 managed to stimulate him to beard this grim old lion in 
 his den. Making his way to Castenet, he demanded the 
 hospitality of its lord as a troubadour. " Troubadour !" 
 muttered Guillems, eyeing his visitor suspiciously, and 
 summoning a score or so of serving-men ; " I'll soon 
 prove that. Here," saidhe to his retainers, " carry me 
 this fellow to the well yoim&i>j^d tie him in one of the 
 buckets." The thing was done in a twinkling. " Now,. 
 friend," said Guillems to Vidal, " I mean to have you 
 ducked 'twixt this and noon. By that time you must 
 compose a song, and thus show that you really are what 
 you say, or " — here he swore a great oath — " I cut the 
 rope and let you go to the fiend !" The vassals turned 
 the winch with a will, sousing Peter through some 
 twenty feet of twilight into the water, and then lifting 
 him all dripping until his nose reached the level of the 
 
28o THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 castle-yard. Much did the sufferer execrate and threat 
 and splutter, and loudly did the spectators laugh. This 
 went on for half an hour or more, until the baron became 
 impatient. "Hallo, down there!" roared he to Vidal, 
 who was just visible above the water ; " how about that 
 sonnet ?" There was a ring of grim satisfaction in the 
 query, for the lord of Castenet had made up his mind 
 that his visitor was an impostor — a disguised wooer, in 
 fact — and, therefore, fully worthy of the fate he had in 
 store for him. Great, then, was his surprise when the 
 following lines rolled up from the well : — 
 
 Work on, proud knight, your tyrant will ! 
 
 But know that useless your abuse is ; 
 Yon winch is not Parnassus hill, 
 
 Nor this the fountain of the Muses. 
 
 But though Pegasus were this string, 
 
 And you up yonder an Apollo, 
 Rather than ope my h'ps to sing, 
 
 Your purpose fell I'd bid you follow ! 
 
 That he had made a mistake the knight was fairly 
 convinced. Nor could he help admiring the ingenuity 
 with which Vidal contrived to prove his claim to the 
 title of troubadour while affecting to refuse. So he 
 hastened to terminate the suspense of his visitor and to 
 make amends for his harshness.* Vidal returned in high 
 spirits to Toulouse, where he vaunted without stint, and 
 circulated a canzon in which he credited himself with 
 complete success during his visit to the jealous knight. 
 This piece of impudence soon met with its reward. 
 While proceeding to what he was led to believe an 
 assignation, he fell into the hands of the offended 
 husband ; and had he been a man of solid character, it 
 would have gone hard with him. But not even Guillems 
 
 * A story not unlike the above is told by Wood of two Oxford students' 
 
PETER VIDAL 281 
 
 of Castenet could think seriously of slaying " such a fool 
 as lying Peter." So, after terrifying him to any extent, 
 the irate baron contented himself with what most people 
 considered a very proper piece of vengeance. He slit 
 the lying tongue with his dagger, and then dismissed its 
 owner. 
 
 Vidal was only too glad to escape thus, for in those 
 days mutilation was practised to a frightful extent, by 
 the private avenger as well as by the public executioner.* 
 Toulouse contained skilful medicos, one of whom found 
 small difficulty in repairing the damage. But the capital 
 of Languedoc was no longer a residence for our trou- 
 badour. His punishment was not less notorious than 
 his offence; nobody thought it a bit too severe. He was 
 berhymed and laughed at without mercy; and, to 
 escape the universal ridicule, he emigrated. 
 
 We next find him attached to the household of one of 
 the greatest of the Provengal barons^Beraldo, lord of 
 Saux. This magnate was nearly allied to the reigning 
 family; he possessed vast estates, held quite a court of 
 his own, and bore the title of Viscount of Marseilles^a 
 title, we may observe, that was little more than nominal ; 
 for the Marseilles of seven hundred years ago was sub- 
 stantially a republic. Beraldo, who was jovial and 
 generous, and something of a troubadour also, was one 
 of the many great ones who found it a pleasant thing to 
 have jongleurs at command who could eulogise them- 
 selves and vituperate their neighbours in witty rhymes. 
 Vidal, therefore, who was the wittiest of rhymers, became 
 
 *Not many years before a. minstrel published some verses reflecting 
 rather severely on the first monarch of the Plantagenet line. Henry 
 hunted him vindictively from one castle to another, until he got him within 
 his grip ; he then pat out his eyes. The minstrel, in despair, refused all 
 sustenance, and died thus. His name was Luc de la Barre. 
 
282 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 forthwith a prime favourite with Beraldo. Apartments 
 were assigned him and valets appointed to attend him ; 
 he had a first-rate mount in the stable and an honoured 
 seat at the board ; finally, he was clad in all respects — 
 and whether for banquet, chase, or tilt — precisely like 
 his principal. Than the last the force of favour could no 
 further go. _ To be apparelled and armed like the patron 
 was the thing of all others most desired by the follower 
 in the olden time. It was not, indeed, without its draw- 
 backs. When the lord went to battle, his counterfeit 
 presentments ran a good deal of risk, as it happened 
 with those of Henry IV. at Shrewsbury, and with those 
 of Richmond at Bosworth. Nor were Peter and his 
 fellows altogether exempt from such perils. They were 
 expected to go to war — at least as spectators — in order 
 to be the better able to rehearse the feats of the 
 champions. The last they sometimes did on the wrong 
 side ; like the rhyming monk who accompanied 
 Edward II. to Bannockburn, and who, being made 
 prisoner, had to hymn the triumph of the Bruce by way 
 of ransom. 
 
 In his new sphere Vidal gathered glory and shame in 
 full proportions. A principal scene of the former was 
 the banquet-hall. There he displayed in all its brilliance 
 his unrivalled talent as an improvisatore. It must be 
 admitted that a mediaeval banquet was precisely the 
 thing to excite such a genius to unusual effort. And 
 the south of France being then, perhaps, the most refined 
 and luxurious quarter of Europe, it was there that such 
 lords as Beraldo provided those feasts which Le Grand 
 d'Aussy describes so well. We will suppose our readers 
 present at such a banquet ; that they have sufficiently 
 admired the proportions of the apartment, and duly 
 scrutinised the costumes, whose magnificence leaves 
 
PETER VIDAL 283 
 
 modern competition so far in the rear ; that they have 
 partaken of a thousand delicacies of which our cookery- 
 has forgotten, not merely the preparation, but the very 
 names ; that the close of the feast is approaching ; that 
 spiced wines and pastry, in artistic forms, are passing 
 round ; and that the tumblers and the minor minstrels 
 have exhibited their respective accomplishments for the 
 delectation of the company. A cry — ^just such a one as 
 may be heard in a theatre of the present day — is now 
 raised for an improvisation from the mighty master, 
 Vidal. We cannot say that we care much for such 
 off-hand things ourselves, unless when they happen, as 
 is sometimes the case, to be of the order of Sheridan's 
 witticisms — that is, carefully conned beforehand. Vidal 
 was not of a character to take so much trouble ; and, 
 therefore, even his unpremeditated lyrics have no more 
 than average merit. Such as they are, however, we feel 
 bound to give a specimen. He obeys the call, then, 
 rises, takes a guitar from an attendant, and runs his 
 fingers over the strings. At the sound conversation 
 drops, even the whispers of flirtation * cease, and all is 
 wrapt attention. He happens to be in a satiric mood, 
 and his song is a succession of hits, under which a good 
 many of the guests wince very perceptibly — a thing 
 that, perhaps, renders this effort all the more acceptable 
 to those who escape. In one point the piece is of value 
 —it shows that Provengal society was not so very unlike 
 our own as some would have us think. 
 
 I hate who gives a scanty feast, 
 
 The mind where envy rankles, 
 A brawling monk, a smirking priest, 
 
 And the maid who shows her ankles. 
 
 ' Doubtless, our readers will be glad to learn that this delightful art was 
 already known and practised in the twelfth century. 
 
284 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 The fool who dotes upon his wife, 
 
 The churl whose wine's diluted, 
 The puritan with joy at strife — 
 
 May these three be well hooted ! 
 
 Deep shame befall who wears a sword 
 
 He never draws in fight, 
 And be the huxter's brat abhorred 
 
 Who apes the airs of knight. 
 
 Let scorn be hers who weds her groom, 
 
 And his who weds his harlot. 
 And may the gibbet be the doom 
 
 Of rogues that strut in scarlet ! 
 
 Tumultuous applause follows ; and, when this subsides, 
 Vidal condescends to entertain the company with his 
 last new servente. It is founded on the perilous position 
 of the Christian kingdom in Palestine in the year 1187, 
 just before the news of the capture of Jerusalem arrived 
 to startle the Western world ; and it is composed in 
 reprehension of the indifference with which the European 
 Powers regard the crisis. 
 
 Shame on the sensual German, too drunk to hear the call 
 
 That rings for help across the wave, from Salem's leaguered wall ! 
 
 Shame on the Flemish burghers, a dull and sordid race. 
 
 Who ply the shuttle while the Turk defiles each holy place ! 
 
 Shame on the island princes, who waste in sinful fray 
 
 The blood and gold that might have swept the pagan from his prey! 
 
 Shame on the Butcher's offspring,* the laggard in the fight. 
 Who arms to do his neighbour wrong, but not his faith to right. 
 Shame on the ancient dotard who only tells his beads. 
 While Saladin a mighty host against King Baldwin leads. 
 And shame on every singer whose verses will not aid 
 To rouse the chiefs of Christendom unto a new Crusade. 
 
 * Such was the origin of the Capets, according to mediaeval gossip. 
 Hugh,'' the first of the family, is made by Dante {Purgaiorio, xx. 52) to 
 describe his descent thus — 
 
 Figliuol fui d'un beccajo di Parigi. 
 
PETER VIDAL 285 
 
 This piece excites unqualified enthusiasm, and the 
 applause is renewed in thunderous form. Nor is the 
 audience content with applauding. One throws a gold 
 chain round the poet's neck, another forces a ring on his 
 finger, a third clasps his embroidered sword-belt round 
 his waist, and a fourth casts his mantle over his 
 shoulders. Few of these gifts are retained by the poet ; 
 most of them are ransomed by the givers at the close of 
 the feast, and the remainder are entrusted, according 
 to custom, to the safe keeping of an accommodating 
 Hebrew or Cahorsine. 
 
 We are now compelled, with much reluctance, to 
 notice Vidal's shame. A leading personage at the court 
 of the viscount was his brother, Hugues de Baux. This 
 nobleman was the prime confidant of the poet, and a 
 very Puck in the matter of practical joking. Never 
 before had he possessed such a glorious subject for the 
 exercise of the accomplishment in which he excelled. 
 He manipulated Peter with consummate dexterity, and 
 kept him perpetually involved in ridiculous scrapes 
 without ever forfeiting his good opinion. The trouba- 
 dour was notoriously addicted to the tender passion, 
 and of this weakness Hugues was always taking advan- 
 tage. Did a pretty lady happen to smile on the one, the 
 other was sure to be at hand to swear that she was 
 smitten, to urge a hundred things in proof thereof, and 
 to press his friend to take his fortune at the flood — by 
 which Messire Hugues meant the perpetration of some 
 unmitigated piece of lunacy. Thus the poor fellow was 
 kept pretty constantly employed in scaling walls, hiding 
 behind tapestry, and walking of nights under hideous 
 disguises — to his invariable, and in most cases signal, 
 discomfiture. It is but right to state that Hugues was 
 not alone in his benevolent efforts to befool Vidal. The 
 
286 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 ladies were just as much to blame. "Each of them," 
 writes a gossiping contemporary, "said all she could to 
 please Peter, and promised him whatever he took it into 
 his head to ask, without the smallest intention of keep- 
 ing faith." All this furnished high amusement to Beraldo 
 and his friends, and doubtless would have continued to 
 do so for an indefinite period, had not the inveterate 
 joker thought fit at length to direct the amorous aspira- 
 tions of the poet towards his sister-in-law, the Lady 
 Adalais. We regret to state that the latter was quite 
 aware of what was going forward, and that she con- 
 descended occasionally to assist in confirming her 
 strange admirer in his folly. Vidal's eccentricities now 
 became supreme. Intoxicated beyond expression at the 
 thought of being preferred by a princess, he worked 
 himself into just such a passion as Cervantes assigns to 
 his hero — of whom, indeed, Vidal seems to us the 
 original. There was no end to the strange tasks which 
 Hugues imposed on the poet in the name of the lady ; 
 and from none of these tasks did the poet dream for a 
 moment of shrinking. At length the joker disguised a 
 fellow-scapegrace as a wizard, and introduced him to 
 Vidal. The latter had made up his mind to employ 
 magic in securing the aff'ections of the viscountess, and 
 the wizard pretended to gratify him. A great deal of 
 preliminary mummery was performed in secret, and the 
 dupe agreed to complete the incantation by riding an 
 enormous boar three times round the outer wall of the 
 castle in broad daylight. Here we may remind our 
 readers that the twelfth century was emphatically the 
 era of magic ; an era when it was universally trusted, 
 dreaded, and invoked, and when no absurdity recom- 
 mended in its name was too gross for acceptance. It 
 was an era, too, when — as may be gathered from the 
 
PETER VIDAL 287 
 
 " Decameron " — it was not at all uncommon for practical 
 jokers, as in this instance, to deceive simpletons under 
 magical pretences.* 
 
 Hugues took care that sufficient publicity should 
 attend the exploit, and spectators crowded to the scene 
 as thick as bees in swarming time. The pig was muzzled 
 to keep it from using its tusks, and to this muz7le a 
 string was attached — a string which Vidal grasped by- 
 way of bridle when he mounted. Here we pause a 
 moment to admire him, which is but just, seeing that a 
 poet on a pig is something entirely unique in literary 
 history. That it will remain so we should not like to 
 assert. Experience shows that the freak of a great writer 
 is contagious. And now that we have exhibited the 
 mediaeval Vidal on a pig, there is no saying how soon 
 the modern Vidals may not take it into their heads to 
 exhibit themselves likewise. 
 
 The boar commenced proceedings by fixing its feet 
 firmly in the ground and setting up an ear-splitting 
 scream. After some twenty minutes spent thus, some- 
 body applied a lighted brand to its tail, whereupon it 
 dashed off at a furious pace, but in the wrong direction. 
 The scaniper was brought up by a well-filled ditch, into 
 which master piggy plunged, bearing Vidal with him. 
 Released from this predicament, the pair went through 
 a variety of curious evolutions. Sometimes both were 
 sprawling together ; sometimes Vidal was sprawling 
 alone ; sometimes he was galloping after the pig ; and 
 ' sometimes he was galloping on it, though seldom in the 
 right direction. The quadruped, which had manifested 
 
 * Maestro Griffolino of Arezzo paid rather dearly for such a jest. 
 Failing to provide Albero, " figliuolo segreto " of the Bishop of Siena, 
 with a charm which would enable him to fly, the youth complained to the 
 Bishop, and the latter had the conjuror \ivcm.\..— Inferno, xxix. 109-17. 
 
288 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 throughout a vicious propensity for dashing headlong at 
 every obstacle in the way, at length charged a passing 
 wain, and depositing the biped under the wheels, made 
 its escape to a neighbouring wood, whither the disgusted 
 Vidal did not follow it. Thus ended the oddest attempt 
 at bewitching a pretty lady that has ever been recorded. 
 Before Beraldo and his family had ceased to laugh at 
 Vidal's race, the latter was ripe for an exploit of another 
 kind. Hugues persuaded him that, all circumstances 
 considered, he could do no better than steal a kiss from 
 the viscountess, and a kiss he resolved to steal. One 
 morning, while prowling about the corridors, he saw the 
 viscount leaving his chamber, and he — who, be it re- 
 membered, was clad in similar fashion — stole quietly in. 
 The viscountess was in that delicious state which is 
 neither sleeping nor waking, and in which we can shape 
 our dreams just as we please. Kneeling by the bed, the 
 audacious poet kissed her on the lips. " Feeling the 
 kiss," says the old Provengal storyteller, "and thinking 
 it was Beraldo, her husband, she raised herself on her 
 elbow, and looking round saw — that fool, Peter Vidal 1 " 
 Jumping out of bed, she seized him by the ears, which, 
 as a contemporary — Raymond de Miravals — remarks, 
 were conveniently long, and bumped his head lustily 
 against the wall, while she made the castle ring with 
 her shrieks. "Then," says our authority, "came the 
 damsels of the lady, as I have heard, and asked what all 
 the uproar was about. And while dame Adalais was 
 explaining the matter to her handmaidens, who won- 
 dered much and loudly, Peter Vidal contrived to release 
 his long ears and run away. Then the lady sent for her 
 husband, and complained dolorously how Peter Vidal 
 had kissed her. And the handmaidens complained also, 
 speaking altogether, as is their wont, and making an ex- 
 
PETER VIDAL 289 
 
 ceeding great noise. But Beraldo, being a prudent man 
 and a hearty, took the thing in jest, and began to laugh. 
 And when he had laughed his fill, he wiped his eyes 
 and reproved his wife, because she had made such a 
 hubbub about the thing that the silly fellow had done. 
 But all he could say failed to appease her, or to restrain 
 her clamour, or the clamour of the handmaidens. Then 
 Beraldo went out and thought no more about the 
 thing. But dame Adalais sent messengers in all direc- 
 tions to arrest Vidal, and menaced him very grievously. 
 And when Vidal heard of these threats he was sore 
 afraid, and hastening on board ship, he fled to Genoa." 
 
 Not considering himself safe in the city of St. George, 
 Vidal continued his flight into Lombardy. During his 
 wanderings he composed many sonnets, in which he 
 deplored his exile from the " light of his eyes " in very 
 moving terms. These sonnets, however, formed only a 
 portion of his literary labours. He addressed canzons 
 to various Italian cities, abounding in political wisdom ; 
 and he scattered serventes over Christendom, bewailing 
 the recent capture of Jerusalem, and recommending the 
 Crusade then in preparation. Nor, in spite of his devo- 
 tion to the viscountess, did he neglect to practise an 
 adage in which, as versified by Moore, we are told 
 that— 
 
 When we are far from the lips that we love. 
 
 We have but to make love to the lips we are near. 
 
 Thus he got up one very pretty flirtation with Donna 
 Estefania, a lady of Turin ; and another, still prettier, 
 with Rambauda of Biolh, who was the wife of a gentle- 
 man bearing the formidable name of Rostaala. From 
 Rambauda he received a girdle — possibly as he had 
 received the kiss — which he carefully preserved and 
 often displayed as a trophy. 
 
290 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Vidal reappeared at Genoa just as Richard of England 
 touched at that port on his way to Palestine. Though 
 the lion-hearted monarch had already quite a troop of 
 minstrels in his train,* he was not the less eager to en- 
 gage the world-renowned Vidal. And the latter, seeing 
 that nothing better was likely to offer for the present, 
 consented to accompany him. Before the fleet sailed he 
 composed the following canzon, which he took care to 
 transmit to Adalais : — 
 
 Thy breeze is blowing on my cheeks, 
 
 Oh land of lyre and lance : 
 In every gush to me it speaks 
 Of her I love, and France. 
 'Twas there I sang, and won renown ; 
 
 'Twas there my heart I gave 
 Unto the dame whose cruel frown 
 
 Me forth an exile drave — 
 How pleasant every breeze that leaves 
 
 The land of lyre and lance. 
 How welcome every voice that weaves 
 A tale of Her and France ! 
 
 Why for the deed it bade me dare 
 
 Could not my love atone ? 
 And wherefore does a form so fair 
 
 So stern a spirit own ? 
 Far better feel a Moslem blade. 
 
 Than thus despairing pine ; 
 So on my breast the cross I'll braid, 
 
 And hie to Palestine. 
 Seek, song, with this my last farewell, 
 
 The land of lyre and lance ; 
 Nor to my lady fail to tell, 
 I die for Her and France ! 
 
 As a crusader, Vidal's versatile spirit adapted itself to 
 
 * -He used these minstrels in lampooning his rivals, among the rest the 
 Duke of Austria, who retorted in kind. So long as these two chiefs re- 
 mained in Palestine their respective bards never ceased to enliven the 
 camp with songs satirising the antagonists of their masters, which songs 
 were sung among the tents after the manner of ballad-singers. 
 
PETER VI DAL 291 
 
 its surroundings with only too much faciHty. " Here," 
 says one of his mediaeval biographers, "he acted as 
 madly as elsewhere. Filling his brain with chivalrous 
 fancies, he fully believed himself a hero, and wished that 
 others should believe it too." He soon contrived to 
 render his new mania sufficiently conspicuous. History 
 tells how Coeur de Lion quarrelled with the monarch of 
 Aphrodite's favourite isle — a monarch who, by the way, 
 was then in full and very successful rebellion against his 
 liege lord, the Emperor Isaac Angelus. Nor does his- 
 tory omit to describe the victory of the Plantagenet, 
 and how he fettered his captive with chains of silver — 
 an honour of which the latter was hardly worthy. But 
 neither historian nor biographer has thought it right to 
 apprise us of the precise part taken in these events by 
 our troubadour. Whatever that part might have been 
 — whether he really charged with the men-at-arms, or, 
 which is more probable, whether he merely accompanied 
 them in fancy — ^Vidal did not hesitate to appropriate all 
 the glory of the triumph in his songs. Here is a speci- 
 men of one : — 
 
 Up with the banners of Vidal ! 
 
 Loud let my trumpet be blown ! 
 A charge I prefer to a bridal, 
 
 And a rattling fight to a throne. 
 My eyes like twin comets are flashing ! 
 
 I rush as a pike in a lake ! 
 'Mid the ranks of the foe I go smashing, 
 
 Just like a bull through a brake. 
 Then up with the banners of Vidal ! 
 
 Huzzah ! 
 
 I'm Arthur, Sir Launcelot, Roland — 
 
 Yea, all the Round Table in one ; 
 From Italy northward, to Poland, 
 
 For fighting, like me ye'll find none. 
 
292 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 My name causes armies to shiver 
 
 Beneath my fierce tread the earth quakes ! 
 
 And the demi-god blows I dehver, 
 Before me each obstacle breaks. 
 
 Then sound ye the onset of Vidal ! 
 
 Huzzah ! 
 
 The author continues his vaunts for another stanza : — 
 " When clad in my white hauberk, and wielding my 
 sword, I am resistless ! Alone I disarmed a hundred 
 barons and captured as many more ! Nor am I less 
 formidable in the bower than in the battle. I woo but 
 to win ; and am the terror of the carpet-knight as well 
 as of the seasoned warrior." 
 
 When Richard resumed his voyage to Palestine, Vidal 
 did not accompany him. Perhaps the troubadour had seen 
 enough of war ; perhaps he had contracted a brother- 
 hood-in-arms with one of the officers left in garrison ; 
 perhaps he was fascinated by the delightful clime, the 
 luscious wines, and the charming women of the 
 island. For one, or it might be for all, of these 
 reasons he elected to reinain behind. And certainly 
 his comrades had no cause to regret his choice — that is, 
 if they were partial to a hearty laugh. Here, as every- 
 where else, he became the willing dupe of the jokers, 
 and made himself supremely ridiculous. He was intro- 
 duced to a Greek woman of indifferent character, given 
 to understand that she was the niece of the late 
 Emperor — that man of romantic fortunes, Andronicus — 
 and the heir of the Imperial crown, and — persuaded to 
 marry her ! Then he delighted his mischievous friends 
 by working himself up into the full belief that he really 
 was a sovereign prince. He assumed the style and 
 title of emperor, and never appeared in public without 
 having a throne and other Imperial insignia borne 
 before him. The jokers hastened to conform to his 
 
PETER VI DAL 
 
 293 
 
 lunacy. They published his proclamations, they placed 
 heralds at his disposal, they surrounded him with pomp, 
 and they pretended to be busy in preparing for the 
 expedition that was to depose the usurper of his rights. 
 The amusement occasioned by this stupendous folly 
 was not confined to Cyprus. It was told all over 
 Christendom, and heard of with peculiar interest in 
 Provence. 
 
 But this aside, his Provengal friends were not likely 
 to forget him. Nor was he the man to allow himself to 
 be readily forgotten. All through his exile he had 
 never neglected an opportunity of keeping his name and 
 deeds fresh in the memory of those at the court of 
 Beraldo. Even in the midst of his dream* of empire, 
 he did not forget the preceding dream of love, but 
 continued to compose passionate lyrics, which he trans- 
 mitted to their subject, dame Adalais, by the hands of 
 the merchants, pilgrims, and crusaders, who maintained 
 uninterrupted communication between the East and the 
 West. Vidal's flight had caused a vacancy at Baux 
 which could not be filled up. Beraldo, his brother 
 Hugues, and many another who had laughed at his 
 oddities and delighted in his really brilliant qualities, 
 never ceased to sue for his pardon from the indignant 
 lady, and at length obtained it. He was immediately 
 apprised of the event in an epistle penned by Hugues, 
 and despatched by a special messenger. " Come back 
 as quick as you can," advised the writer. " Your lady 
 has forgiven you. Further, she makes you a present 
 of the kiss you stole, and — happy man ! — she promises 
 to give you another of her own free will the first time 
 she and you happen to meet." The closing line was a 
 neat sample of Messire Hugues' skill in the art of fabri- 
 cation, but Vidal accepted it as truth, reading and re- 
 
294 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 reading until he became absolutely drunk with delight. 
 His magnificent pretensions and warlike preparations 
 were at once and completely forgotten, and he took ship 
 for Marseilles without pausing to bid his Greek wife 
 adieu. During the voyage he vented his feelings in a 
 score of joyous songs, of which we subjoin a short speci- 
 men : — 
 
 Visions of beauty round me throng — 
 Each thought's a flower, each brea:th a song. 
 With hope my every fibre glows, 
 My very blood in music flows. 
 Her mantle Joy has round me cast, 
 My lady-love relents at last. 
 
 No grief has earth like that we prove 
 When swept in wrath from those we love ; 
 Nor does a bliss for mortals smile 
 Like that when fond hearts reconcile. 
 I feel the bliss — I've felt the pain: 
 Nor shall I tempt the last again. 
 
 The chroniclers say that Vidal met with a flattering 
 reception at Baux ; that the day of his arrival was 
 observed as a festival ; that the viscountess deigned to 
 keep the promise that Hugues had made in her name ; 
 and that the poet was restored to all his former favours 
 with herself and Beraldo. He did not abide long in 
 Provence ; nor during his stay there did he perpetrate 
 any folly extravagant enough for special mention. Why 
 he quitted Baux we are not informed, but within a few 
 months of his return from the East we find him esta- 
 blished on the banks of the Orbiel, in that quarter of 
 Languedoc which is now known as the department of 
 the Aude. Here he possessed an estate, and here he 
 was as the centre of a crowd of poetic and frolicsome 
 celebrities of both sexes, one of his nearest neighbours 
 
PETER VIDAL 295 
 
 being the knightly singer, Raymond de Miravals, whose 
 talents, eccentricities, and ludicrous mishaps were only 
 inferior to his own. Another neighbour was the beautiful 
 Loba de Penautier, wife of the wealthy lord of Cabaretz ; 
 and as Vidal could not dispense with a mistress, he 
 condescended to fall in love with Loba. He had a good 
 deal of rivalry to encounter. The lady counted many 
 admirers, among them being the fascinating Miravals, 
 and the splendid Count of Foix. Peter, therefore, felt 
 bound to distinguish himself in some way or other 
 beyond his compeers, and, after much cogitation, he hit 
 upon a plan thoroughly Vidalian. The name Loba 
 meant she-wolf. So, in compliment to his mistress, 
 Peter dubbed himself Lobs, or he-wolf, and gave out 
 that he had been transformed into a loup-garou by the 
 lady's charms. To carry out the idea more fully, he 
 clothed himself in the skin of a wolf, and employed the 
 shepherds of Cabaretz to hunt him ovsp their hills "with 
 hound and horn," as if he really were the wild beast 
 that he pretended to be. The shepherds executed their 
 part of the business with right good will, worrying him 
 with their dogs and belabouring him with cudgels until 
 he dropped exhausted. In this plight — covered with 
 bruises, and incapable of moving a limb — he was laid, by 
 his own direction, at Loba's door. She, adds the story- 
 teller, did nothing but mock and laugh at him, while her 
 other lover, Raymond de Miravals, immortalized the 
 adventure, as Butler immortalized the adventures of 
 Hudibras. 
 
 While Peter was still smarting from bruise and jibe 
 and scorn — which were the only fruits of his freak — 
 death deprived him of a patron and friend in Raymond 
 v., Count of Toulouse. The troubadour displayed his 
 grief with customary absurdity. He abandoned songs, 
 
296 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 allowed his beard to grow, shaved the heads of himself 
 and his servants, and cut off the manes, tails, and ears 
 of his horses. The men of the South laughed as usual, 
 but they could not dispense with his lyrics. No less a 
 personage than the King of Aragon considered it his 
 duty to visit him, in order to rouse him out of his 
 melancholy. This the King effected, and Peter, resuming* 
 all his former self, continued to amuse and edify hi^ 
 countrymen for seven or eight years more. During 
 this period he wrote so well and acted so wildly that 
 none but his intimates could believe that Vidal the 
 Troubadour and "Vidal the Fool" were the same indi- 
 vidual. 
 
 The news of the capture of Byzantium by the heroes 
 of what is called the Fourth Crusade revived his Cyprian 
 dream of empire. The moment he was apprised of 
 Dandola's achievement, he hurried to the Golden Horn 
 in his usual headlong way, meaning to prefer his claims 
 to the vacant throne. He died before he could excite 
 the risibility of the Crusaders ; but whether during the 
 voyage or directly after landing cannot be ascertained. 
 
 Characteristic in all things, Vidal's very last composi- 
 tion, an unconscious satire on his whole life, was a 
 treatise entitled, La Many era de Retirar sa Lengua — 
 the method of holding one's tongue. And his epitaph, 
 penned by Raymond Miravals, was of a piece therewith : 
 
 Shall never more the Master's skill 
 
 Delight the festive throng ; 
 The fertile brain, alas ! is still, 
 
 And mute the silver tongue ! 
 
 Far from tte Land of Song he lies. 
 
 Beyond the sullen vyave ; 
 A stranger's hands have closed his eyes, 
 
 And laid him in his grave. 
 
PETER VIDAL 297 
 
 I'll weep that none who loved him there 
 
 Could smooth his dying bed ; 
 I'll weep the loss we have to bear, 
 
 Since such a soul is fled ! 
 
 But no — the dirge I will not raise, 
 
 Nor garb funereal don ! 
 The bard is living in his lays; 
 
 'Tis but the fool that's gone. 
 
298 
 
 A KNIGHTLY GROUP 
 
 The troubadours with whom we have now to deal 
 tenanted the northern frontier of the Langue d'Oc — that 
 is to say, the elevated region of Central France. They 
 were borderers and mountaineers in semi-barbarous 
 times, as well as poets and men of the South. They 
 were, therefore, always in extremes for good or for evil 
 — always displaying that singular mixture of high 
 heroism and unscrupulousness, of magnanimity and 
 meanness, of cunning and recklessness, of brutish vice 
 and sordidness, of cruelty and vindictiveness — in short, 
 always manifesting that servility to every impulse, and 
 that perfect capacity for adapting themselves to every 
 circumstance, which invariably distinguishes your noble 
 savage, as exemplified in Ali Tapelen, Djezzar Pacha, 
 and, in fact, every chief that rises to eminence among 
 predatory tribes. 
 
 The first care of the baron of Auvergne or the 
 Limousin was to possess a stronghold. For the site he 
 selected, if possible, such a situation as that whereon 
 Richard L erected his chateau Gaillard, an eminence 
 projecting from the neighbouring hills, and connected 
 with them by means of a narrow neck in which a deep 
 ditch was always excavated. The" sides of the cliff 
 were scarped by art where nature had not already per- 
 formed the task ; and if the area was insufficient, means 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 299 
 
 were taken to extend it, as at the castles of Clisson and 
 Chinon. In both cases huge walls of masonry, built up 
 from the valley below to a level with the top of the cliff, 
 furnished the additional space required. Upon such a 
 site, and sheer from the edge of the precipice, rose the 
 outer wall of the baronial stronghold to the height of 
 some forty feet ; and this wall was studded with massive 
 round towers of at least double the altitude. Within 
 the circuit, and commanding the entrance thereto, stood 
 the donjon, which, during the twelfth century, was, for the 
 most part, a -gigantic round tower. The most imposing 
 specimen of these circular donjons was that of Coucy. 
 The wall was 190 feet in height and 34 feet in thickness, 
 and it inclosed an area 100 feet in diameter. It was 
 divided into four stories, of which the topmost, con- 
 taining the state apartments, was the only one possessing 
 windows. There was a staircase piercing the wall on 
 one side, and a well-hke funnel, running from top to 
 bottom, on the other, both of which communicated with 
 the various floors. On the uses of the former we need 
 not dwell ; those of the latter we leave to imagination. 
 The lower story was pierced by a well penetrating the 
 rock to the depth of a hundred yards. Around the 
 court were placed the stables, the lodgings of the garri- 
 son, and apartments destined to shelter the tenantry in 
 time of war, or those guests who could not find accom- 
 modation within the keep in time of peace. If we 
 reduce the height of the donjon, the thickness of the 
 wall, and the diameter of the area, enclosed thereby at 
 Coucy by one-half, the description will apply generally 
 to the castles of the period. 
 
 On each side of the donjon stood a detached tower. 
 One of these was the windmill, and the other bore the 
 various names of oubliette, devil-tower, tower of famine, 
 
300 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 &c. The latter terrible building was entered by a door 
 placed high up in the wall, access to which was obtained 
 by means of a narrow drawbridge reaching from the 
 second or third story of the donjon. From the door to 
 the roof the devil-tower was a succession of cells. 
 Downwards " the arrangement varied. Sometimes the 
 lower portion was merely a hollow shaft, into which 
 those condemned to be forgotten were cast, living or 
 dead, according to their crime or the temper of their 
 judges. Sometimes a succession of cells dived down- 
 wards to the foundation, increasing in horror as they 
 descended. The lowest vault of such a pandemonium, 
 that of Eck, standing on the banks of the Upper Danube, 
 being opened, a few years back, the floor was seen to be 
 covered with decaying skeletons, while on a mouldering 
 chair in a corner sat a figure which crumbled into dust 
 when it was approached. Eck was a German fortress, 
 but the lowest of its prison-cells had many rivals 
 farther west. 
 
 Very frequently the lowest deep of the prison-tower, 
 like Milton's Hell, was but the entrance to a lower and 
 even more fearful abyss, the real oubliette. Such a one 
 has been thus vividly described by Mr. T. A. TroUope, 
 in his book, " Filippo Strozzi : " — " The interior of the 
 tower of Volterra is reached by a drawbridge communi- 
 cating with other buildings which gives entrance through 
 a small door on the second story of the prison. From 
 the entrance a narrow stairs ascends to the upper stories 
 and descends to those below. The lowest is a horrible 
 den, occupying the entire interior of the tower, vaulted 
 in the form of a dome, and lighted only by one round 
 hole, about the size of a man's head, which pierces a 
 thickness of wall of some twenty to thirty feet. The 
 effect is that the chamber is perfectly dark, with one 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 30 1 
 
 glaring eye of light staring into its impenetrable black- 
 ness. It might have been supposed that these arrange- 
 ments would have sufficed, But a diabolical ingenuity- 
 has devised the means of adding fearfully to the torments 
 of the captives consigned to this horrible place, by ex- 
 cavating a profound pit in the centre of the dungeon, 
 so large as to leave only a pathway some five or six feet 
 in width between the wall and the utterly unprotected 
 edge of the abyss. By this fiendish invention the 
 prisoner was, in the profound darkness, compelled to 
 limit his locomotion to a mill-horse like circuit around 
 the wall, with which he was obliged to be continually in 
 contact, if he would avoid the danger of falling into the 
 unknown depth below. It is a piteous thing to mark 
 the deep-worn trace of miserable feet around this gang- 
 way between the wall and the pit, to note the polishing 
 which shrinking shoulders, in nervous dread of the 
 hidden chasm, have imparted to the stones, and, above 
 all, to observe the deep marks that have been worn in 
 the marble at the solitary eye-hole by the leaning there 
 of captives, tantalizing themselves during the long, long 
 hours with this far off glimpse of the light of the sun." 
 The mere pit, however, fearful as it was, was not all. 
 There were instances not a few in which cruel invention 
 contrived to add to its terrors. At the bottom of one 
 many yards in depth — that of Baden-Baden — there were 
 found, not many years ago, fragments of ponderous 
 wheels set round with rusty knives, to the blades of 
 which portions of bones, rags, and torn garments were 
 still adhering. 
 
 Besides the oubliette every well constituted feudal 
 castle had its torture-chamber, "built with funnel- 
 shaped walls, contracting upwards, in the manner of a 
 glass-house," as at Avignon, or deftly lined, with the 
 
302 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 same purpose — that is, to stifle the cries of the sufferers. 
 These torture-chambers were well provided with suitable 
 engines, the favourite at the period of which we write 
 being termed the catasta. This was an iron grating, 
 seven feet long and thirty inches wide, which was raised 
 about three feet from the ground, on stone supports. 
 Thereon the victim was bound at full length, and one or 
 more charcoal fires were lighted beneath him. It was 
 more frequently used, in the twelfth century, as a means 
 of extortion than as an instrument for wrenching forth 
 a confession of guilt. Thibault the Fifth, Count of 
 Blois, coveting the castle of Chaumont, seized the lord 
 thereof by treachery, and tortured him on the catasta 
 until the victim signified his willingness to yield the 
 fortress. But the chatelain in command refused to sur- 
 render his trust at the order of a captive ; and Thibault 
 continued to roast the lord of Chaumont until he slew 
 him. Similarly the poetic barons of the Limousin 
 seized a staunch supporter of Coeur de Lion, the Arch- 
 bishop of Bordeaux, and tormented him until he paid 
 an enormous ransom. Concerning the uses of the 
 catasta we shall have occasion to say a little more pre- 
 sently. 
 
 Possessed of a stronghold, the next care of the 
 baron of Limousin or Auvergne was to be magnificently 
 arrayed in war and peace. Splendid weapons, fine 
 horses, and gorgeous apparel were sought by them as 
 passionately as by all semi-barbarous chiefs. Heavy 
 knobs of gold and silver, interspersed with jewels, glit- 
 tered everywhere on their persons and on the caparisons 
 of their horses. Their women, too, were equally splen- 
 did. Like those of the men, their robes gleamed with 
 " barbaric pearls and gold." A singular instance of the 
 magnificence of female dress in the twelfth century is 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 303 
 
 given in the account of the burial of Henry II. When 
 this monarch expired, his corpse was treated by his ser- 
 vants — precisely as that of William the Conqueror had 
 been treated a century before. They abandoned him in 
 a body, but not until they had stripped the house of all 
 that was valuable, including the garments of the dead. 
 Henry's burial was the work of strangers, who, wishing 
 to give the ceremony a semblance of royalty, circled the 
 king's head with a diadem formed out of the embroi- 
 dered hem of a lady's petticoat. 
 
 Perhaps the most significant illustrations of the 
 sumptuous habits of the great in the twelfth century are 
 furnished by the denunciations of such things among the 
 clergy which were penned by the Puritans of the body. 
 St. Damian complains of the dignitaries of the Church as 
 scenting their vases with Indian perfumes, cooling 
 their wine in crystal vessels, covering their walls with 
 admirably woven hangings and their seats with pictured 
 tapestry, sleeping on carved bedsteads and beneath 
 coverlets of many dyes, wearing costly furs, and 
 delighting in high-stepping horses, in rings set with 
 pearls, and in wands glittering with gold and gems. 
 With respect to all these luxuries, we have to observe 
 that priests are but men, and that, in point of dress, 
 &c., they will always maintain an equahty with the 
 class to which they belong. We close our remarks 
 on the dresses of this period with an extract from Saba 
 Malaspina, an early Italian annalist, who, it ought to be 
 stated, is here describing the triumphal entry into Rome 
 of young Conradin, when on his way to the field of his 
 
 ruin : " In honour of the occasion the Romans, male 
 
 and female, slung all their finery to ropes, which they 
 stretched across the streets. These ropes were orna- 
 mented, not with laurel leaves or green branches, but 
 
304 ■ THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 with valuable garments and many sorts of furs. Thereto, 
 also, were fastened waist-belts, bracelets, gold chains, 
 bunches of rings, jewelled necklaces, buckles, silks, 
 curiously-woven coverlets, purple hangings, and table- 
 cloths, fine Hnen interwoven with silk and gold, gilded 
 mantles, &c." 
 
 Next to dressing, the mediaeval baron thought of 
 eating. It is a subject — perhaps the only one connected 
 with the middle ages — concerning which we never felt 
 any enthusiasm. To others, therefore, we leave the task 
 of recounting the thousand dishes and the recondite 
 dainties which loaded the baronial table six or seven 
 hundred years ago. Neither shall we attempt to discuss 
 the more usual sports and pastimes of that far-back era : 
 its chases, hawkings, tiltings, &c., have been dwelt upon 
 more than sufficiently already. Be it ours to sketch, in 
 a homely way, what might, could, would, or should have 
 been the sayings and doings of the hall of the knightly 
 troubadour on an evening late on in autumn. The 
 members of the family are gathered round the fire. "The 
 room is covered with mats," says Amerien des Escas, 
 " and at intervals the party drink deep draughts of old 
 wine." •■' Some," says Arnaud de Marsaus, " play chess 
 or draughts ; others sing songs or tell old tales." " They 
 discourse with mirth and pleasantry," says Vidal ; " and 
 there is not one present, be he gentleman, squire, or 
 page, who is not as familiar as a tamed bird." They 
 talk of courtly usages, warlike feats, and the temper of 
 weapons. After numerous tales of elf-forged blades, 
 they discuss the estimation in which a knight should 
 hold a trusty one. " Once upon a time," says an ancient 
 warrior, "a cutler of Beauvais exhausted all his skill 
 upon a sword. Having shaped, poised, and tempered 
 it to his satisfaction, he betook him to the ducal court 
 
A KNIGHTLy GROUP 305 
 
 ait Falaise, and presented this specimen of his handi- 
 work to Robert the Devil. The latter proved its qualities 
 on the instant, shredding pieces from the waving 
 tapestry, smiting off the head of an ass that stood in the 
 court with its load of wood, and cleaving in two sundry- 
 ancient helms and hauberks, without turning the edge 
 of the steel. ' A glorious weapon ! a splendid weapon ! 
 The sword for a warrior !' exclaimed the duke, pressing 
 hilt and blade to his lips, and ordering a reward to be 
 given to the maker at every interjection. First came a 
 purse containing a hundred pieces of gold ; this was 
 followed by a war-horse, richly caparisoned ; and the 
 latter, again, by a complete suit of ducal robes, including 
 all the usual ornaments. ' Hum !' said the cutler ; 'the 
 duke is mad or full of wine. No sane man would give 
 all these for the best sword under the sun. I shall 
 be off before he recovers his senses and resumes his 
 gifts.' So saying, the citizen of Beauvais made a bundle 
 of the raiment, pocketed the purse, and, mounting the 
 horse, disappeared in a twinkling. Hardly was he out 
 of sight than a squire came in search of him with still 
 another reward — the duke's own goblet — a vessel of 
 gold of the richest workmanship. Not finding the cutler, 
 the squire returned the goblet to his master. ' What a 
 fool he was to go so soon !' ejaculated the duke. ' Had 
 he waited but a little longer, I would assuredly 
 have enriched him.' ' But it is only a sword,' sug- 
 gested some of the counsellors of the duchy. ' Only 
 a sword ! ' retorted Robert : ' know ye not that a 
 good sword in the hands of a Norman duke is worth a 
 kingdom ?' " 
 
 From weapons the conversation turns to strong arms. 
 The chaplain has a tale to tell of what he saw in Italy. 
 " There," says he, "I once met a Catanian, one Galeazzo, 
 
 X 
 
3o6 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 who was also called Bardisano. He was taller than 
 other men by the head and shoulders, and he was so 
 large and so well proportioned of limb, that it seemed as 
 if nature had wrought with all her force to produce a 
 model of manhood. His strength and his agility were 
 alike unequalled. None like him could jump, hurl the 
 stone, or cast the lance ; and he was as valiant as strong. 
 He was equally at home on horseback and on foot, and 
 undaunted in perils. Among other proofs of his manhood 
 were these : — One day, being fully clothed in mail, and 
 holding his lance in his right hand, he placed his left 
 hand on the saddle and sprang into the seat at a single 
 bound. He could stop a horse in full career by the 
 pressure of his knees, and he could lift an ass, with its 
 burden of wood, and carry it on his shoulders. Fighting 
 one day against two stout men, he knocked one down 
 and knelt on him, thus holding him helpless, until he 
 had vanquished the other. Then he tied both their 
 hands behind their backs, and marched them before him 
 in triumph. Afterwards, being at a certain siege, he 
 was assailed by three light horsemen at the same instant. 
 One he struck dead to the ground, a second he flung 
 out of his saddle, and to the third he dealt such a 
 blow with his fist that the man turned and fled at full 
 speed. Four times did he combat in the lists — twice in 
 France and as often in Italy — and always gained the 
 victory."* 
 
 The foregoing story brings forth others wherein the 
 fabulous predominates, and from giants the conversation 
 diverges to giant-slayers and aids to strength. " There 
 are secrets," says the veteran seneschal, " whereby a 
 man may transfer to himself the strength of any beast 
 
 'Fazello. Storia de Sicilia, Dec. I., lib. iii., cap. i. 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 307 
 
 so long as he may need it. One at least of these is well 
 known in Bretagne. There you may often see bulls and 
 horses fall prostrate in their stalls, and remain without 
 motion for a certain space. Afterwards they recover 
 their strength, and spring to life as suddenly as they had 
 fallen. It is because some peasant had borrowed their 
 strength during a wrestling-match. I have myself 
 wrestled in my youth with a diminutive Breton who 
 flung me every time with the greatest ease. He did 
 the same with three of my comrades. We afterwards 
 found that he had borrowed for the occasion the strength 
 of two horses and one bull." The, company in general 
 blame such dark practices : all prefer defeat to victory 
 won by illegitimate means. Among such means was not 
 reckoned feeding on pork, which in that old day was 
 considered by far the most strengthening species of diet. 
 " Galen recommends it," says a friar, who is also a leech. 
 "To its use, too, Petronius and Juvenal attribute the 
 triumphs of the Roman armies, which, as Pliny relates, 
 fed thereon for ages by preference." " Such food, how- 
 ever, has its dangers," replies a guest: "it is well known 
 to be a main cause of leprosy." This is agreed to ; and 
 leper stories go round, involving a good many scandals ; 
 for, the Church allowing divorce when husband or wife 
 was afflicted with the disease, the result was a good deal 
 of villany and licentiousness. Instances, indeed, occurred 
 in all directions of persons abandoning several mates 
 under the pretence that they were lepers — facts which 
 show that, in the olden time, the disease was just as likely 
 to result from the unfortunate choice of a spouse as from 
 over-addiction to pork-eating. 
 
 Of course the evening could not close without a dis- 
 cussion on the chase, and on the rival merits of hawking " 
 and hunting. Herein especially the ladies are qualified 
 
3o8 THE TRUOBADOURS 
 
 to take part.* Perhaps it was in view of such a conversa- 
 tion that Guillaume Cretin wrote his poem entitled " A 
 Dispute between two Ladies respecting the Sports of 
 Dogs and Birds," and that Gace de la Vigne wrote 
 another on " The Results of the Chase," containing not 
 less than ten thousand lines. Both poets prefer hawking 
 to coursing, and sum up their arguments in favour of the 
 former much as follows : — "It communicates pleasure to 
 dames, queens, princesses, &c., who can take part in all 
 the diversions of falconry, and carry the hawk, without 
 giving occasion to scandal ; while at the chase propriety 
 confines them to the broad paths and to the company of 
 their attendants, and thus prevents them from sharing in 
 the deeper excitements and intenser pleasures." In that 
 curious old book, " Le Roi Modus," a similar dispute 
 between two dames is referred to the Count of Tancar- 
 ville, who decides in favour of hunting, " since at one 
 and the same time it pleases the ear and the eye, while 
 hawking pleases only the eye." A still greater authority 
 — Gaston Phoebus of Foix, whose sudden death is 
 ascribed to over-exertion in hunting — considered that 
 both sports' were of equal merit. He held field amuse- 
 ments in general in the highest estimation, maintaining 
 (Liure de Gaston Phoebus) that therein lay the straight 
 course to paradise, because by their means great lords 
 thrust aside idleness, which is the mother of all the vices. 
 In the midst of the desultory conversation the arrival 
 of a troubadour of note is announced, and the whole apart- 
 ment is at once in commotion. The call of the post- 
 man at the country seat of a keen politician is the 
 nearest approach to such an event in modern times. 
 For says Thierry : " In the twelfth century the songs 
 
 * See the Sporting Tracts of the Prioress Juliana Berners, printed in 
 foUo, at St. Albans, i486. 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 309 
 
 of the troubadours, circulating rapidly from castle to 
 castle, and from town to town, supplied the place of 
 periodical gazettes in all the country between the rivers 
 Is^re and Vienna, the mountains of Auvergne and the 1 
 two seas." " There was neither peace nor war, nor/ 
 revolt nor negotiation, which was not announced and] 
 criticised in rhyme." The serventes of Bertrand Vonl 
 Born, the Dauphin of Auvergne, Savari de Mauleon, and) 
 other established poets, were so many leading articles, 
 as eagerly looked for as, and even more intently studied 
 than those of the Times. But the troubadour was far 
 more welcome than the postman. Within his single 
 person he included the circulating library, the opera, &c., 
 as well as the newspaper and the letter-box. The petiod 
 of his arrival, however, is late, and, as we know already 
 all that he is likely to say and do, we shall allow him to 
 retire for the night with the other tenants of the castle. 
 The sleeping-draught then is passed round in a massive 
 goblet, usually of silver, and richly chased, and the com- 
 pany breaks up. The persons of highest rank recline 
 on Couches, with sheets of silk and coverlets of fur, as 
 appears from an Italian poet of the period, Folgore da 
 San Gimignano. Occasionally the coverlet is of silk, 
 stuffed with wool and hair. Thus it is told of Henry 
 II. that, being at Chinon in 1167, and informed of some 
 exasperating piece of insolence on the part of Becket, 
 he cast the silken coverlet of his bed on the floor, rolled 
 on it in a paroxysm of fury, and tore therefrom with his 
 teeth, pieces of the wool and hair wherewith it was 
 stuffed. As for the bedstead, besides being carved and 
 Otherwise ornamented, it has attached to it several 
 plumes of the partridge, which are supposed to bring 
 long life to the sleeper. 
 Next day the baron indulges in a favourite pastime ; 
 
3IO THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 he has made up his mind "aller i la proie," which 
 means that he intends to replenish his exhausted purse 
 by robbing on the high road. The thing is common, 
 Cardinal de Vitry devotes a whole chapter of his Occi- 
 dental History to " the robberies and exactions com- 
 mitted by the great lords and their satellites." " They 
 play the thief," writes he ; " they exercise the trade of 
 brigand ; they attack the passengers on the road, 
 sparing neither priest nor pilgrim ; they are pirates at 
 sea, where they pillage the merchants, burn the ships, 
 and slay or drown crews and passengers ; they respect 
 not even the Church, plundering the sanctuary of the 
 holiest objects." Nor does the Cardinal write at 
 random. In our notice of Rambaud of Vaquieras we 
 have mentioned the plundering achievements of the 
 Prince of Orange and of the Marquis of Malespina ; and 
 there were scores of men of the highest rank who did 
 likewise. " Thierry was King of France," says a 
 chronicler, " and his brother Robert was Duke of 
 Burgundy, while Eudes, the third brother, possessed 
 neither lands nor powers, and lived, therefore, by violence 
 and robbery." Philip I. and a favourite counsellor 
 actually attempted to plunder the wealthy shrine of St. 
 Germain en Pr6s, and were only prevented by what the 
 story-teller terms a miracle. Gregory VII. accuses the 
 same king of acting as a robber-chief. " Merchants of 
 various countries," writes the indignant Pope, " being on 
 their way to one of the French fairs, were intercepted 
 by the king himself, and robbed of a large sum of 
 money." Speaking of the vassal lords of this model 
 king, Gregory says : " They seize even the pilgrims on 
 their way to Rome, and, plunging them into cells, 
 subject them to horrid torture (the catasta) in order to 
 compel them to pay exorbitent ransoms." In I1Q7 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 311 
 
 Eudes, Duke of Burgundy, laid an ambuscade for Anselm 
 Archibishop of Canterbury, who was then travelling 
 through his territories on his way to Lyons, meaning to 
 plunder him. Eudes caught the archbishop, but was 
 intimidated by the bold bearing of his prisoner, and let 
 him go. Hugues de Pomponne, chatelain of the fortress 
 of Gournay for his father, robbed the merchants who 
 passed his hold, whether by land or by water. Having 
 carried off a body of traders from the royal road and 
 immured them in his cells, he was besieged by the 
 eldest son of the king, who took the castle, in spite of 
 the armed opposition of the Count of Champagne. In 
 1 148 Thibault, Count of Blois, complained to the 
 primate, Suger, that the Viscount of Sens and his son 
 Garin had stopped certain merchants on the king's 
 highway, and stolen from them 700 livres. In 1109 the 
 young lord of Rocheguyon was murdered by his own 
 brother-in-law, under circumstances of unusual atrocity. 
 In praising his virtues one of the chroniclers of St 
 Denis says : " His father and his grandfather rendered 
 themselves notorious for brigandage ; and though, so far, 
 he himself had shown no inclination to robbery or 
 theft, perhaps he might have fallen into the habits of 
 his sires had he lived much longer.'' To such an extent, 
 indeed did the habit prevail that a Duchess of Angers 
 held the tower of Montleheri with a body of cut-throats, 
 at the head of whom she rode on predatory expeditions, 
 which kept the country for leages round in mortal terror. 
 The northern border of the Langue d'Oc was, more than 
 any other land — not excepting even Rhineland — infested 
 by bandit nobles. It was there that, finding all other 
 measures ineffectual, the clergy resolved, in a council 
 held at Limoges (103S), to try the effects of the interdict, 
 as a restraint on highway robbers of lofty rank. We 
 
312 TfiE TROUBADOURS 
 
 shall not accompany our poetic and free-handed warrior 
 to theproie; neither shall we attempt to picture his doings 
 with his captives. If our readers will suppose a certain 
 scene in " Ivanhoe " uninterrupted by the opening of the 
 siege of Torquilstone, the thing will be unnecessary. 
 
 War, however, is the business in life of the border 
 troubadour. He likes it for its excitement ; but he likes 
 it still more for the opportunities which it affords hiin of 
 gratifying his darling propensities. Under its cover he 
 can take vengeance on his feudal foes ; he can plui^der 
 their lands to any extent ; he can slaughter their vassals, 
 and he can carry off their wives and their daughters, 
 without fear of being called to account. For the chival- 
 rous singer of the Langue d'Oc is a shrewd calcula1|or 
 of chances ; he knows how to change sides at the right 
 time ; he is not burdened with those honourable 
 scruples which tie a modern gentleman to the party 
 which he has chosen, and all the more firmly in defeat ; 
 and he has always wit enough to devise a plausible 
 excuse for the trick known and detested in a country 
 not very distant, and which has suffered much therefrom, 
 as " turning one's coat." Above all, your noble trouba- 
 dour prefers what is called " civil " war, and never does 
 he neglect an opportunity of provoking it. 
 
 Preeminent in his capacity for raising storms was the 
 renowned Bertrand Von Born. He is one of the many 
 whose abilities have been exceedingly overrated, and by 
 posterity as well as by his contemporaries. As a destroyer 
 he was consummate. But, we submit, the power of 
 destruction is not a great quality. It is universal — 
 possessed by idiots and children, and even by the 
 lowest reptiles. A miserable snake can destroy the 
 life which God alone has power to give ; and the veriest 
 scoundrel that ever trod the earth may ,sap the social, 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 313 
 
 religious, or political system whose construction has 
 employed all the energies of a succession of the best 
 and noblest brains. The power of creating and re- 
 gulating — the really great and godlike attribute— is con- 
 fined to the few ; and amongst thesefew Bertrand Von 
 Born must not be numbered. 
 
 Von Born first distinguished himself in a family 
 dispute. According to the custom of the time and the 
 country, his father, at his death, divided the lands and 
 the castle of Hautefort, seven leagues east of Perigueux, 
 between Bertrand and his brother Constantine. Ber- 
 trand, however, would be content with nothing less 
 jthan the whole ; and he bullied and persecuted his 
 brother into signing a formal renunciation of his 
 portion. The moment Constantine was safe out of the 
 clutches of the tyrant he proclaimed the wrong that 
 had been done him, and repudiated the agreement. 
 Public sympathy was altogether in his favour, and he 
 found many powerful supporters. Bertrand did not 
 attempt to deny his acts, nor even to excuse them. On 
 the contrary, he exulted therein, and actually had the 
 audacity to publish a servente to the following effect : — ■ 
 
 Back from my lands, if your safety ye prize ! 
 
 Whoever invades them, I'll tear out his eyes. 
 
 My law is, to fear not — all others I slight. 
 
 Peace ! — I detest it : in war I delight. 
 
 I heed not the obstacles craven hearts raise — 
 
 Their " truces of God," and their unlucky days. 
 
 Never by me shall an hour be rejected 
 
 When fame may be gathered or vengeance inflicted. 
 
 For wealth and enjoyment let some give their labours ; 
 
 My treasures are war-horses, helmets, and sabres. 
 
 Then back from my lands, if ye're prudent, my foes ! 
 
 Back ! I say. Here ye get nothing but blows ! 
 
 Hautefort I'll hold, let who will be right : 
 
 Come on who gainsay it— I'm ready for fight. 
 
314 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Or taking only the general ideas : — 
 
 In peace let cowards rust away, 
 
 And childlike rule and law obey ; 
 
 But I, who never yet knew fear, 
 
 Will draw the sword and hurl the spear, 
 
 And crush the weaker in the dust, 
 
 Nor check my course save when I must. 
 
 I reck not what the churchman says ; 
 
 I care not for your lucky days. 
 
 To me all seasons are alike, 
 
 My friends to aid, my foes to strike. 
 
 One crime alone is known to me — 
 
 Neglected opportunity. 
 
 Other compo-sition of the same kind followed. Nor did 
 Bertrand rely on his songs alone. He gathered soldiers, 
 and met the supporters of his brother in arms. He 
 harassed them with forays, ambuscades, and night 
 attacks ; he dazzled them with daring actions ; he 
 sternly disputed every inch of ground with them. And 
 while thus valiant, skilful, artd indefatigable in the field, 
 he was just as indefatigable and skilful, and even more 
 daring, in the cabinet. He knew the characters of his 
 opponents to the bottom ; he was perfectly acquainted 
 with their loves and their hates ; he knew where scruple 
 ended in them, and the precise point whereat the 
 meaner passions began to sway them ; and he made 
 such admirable use of his knowledge that within a week 
 the confederacy against him was ready to fall to pieces. 
 By this time, too, public opinion had veered completely 
 round. The rapacity and tyranny of Bertrand were 
 forgotten in the admiration excited by his dashing 
 ability. Then he was the weaker party — one opposed 
 to many. And, besides — as he took good care to inform 
 the whole country in slashing rhyme — not one of those 
 who sought his ruin had been so remarkable for fraternal 
 
A KNIGHTLY CROUP S'S 
 
 or filial affection as to assume, with any show of justice, 
 the part of vindicator of outraged virtue. The war 
 brought nothing but renown to Bertrand Von Born ; and 
 the peace that quickly followed left him not only lord 
 of Hauteforte and its lands, but by far the most 
 distinguished and influential man of the Langue d'Oc. 
 
 The war between the Von Borns was a fair sample of 
 those waged by the barons of the South. Brothers 
 contended with brothers, cousins with cousins, and 
 fathers with sons, in similar or far more insignificant 
 quarrels, many of which originated like the following :- — 
 Among the vassals of the princely Dauphin of Auvergne 
 were two brothers, Austros and Peyre de Maenzac. 
 They were joint heirs of the family estate, which was 
 not a large one, and came to an agreement by which 
 Austros was to keep the lands, while Peyre was to try 
 his fortune in the world as a troubadour. It was, as we 
 have already mentioned, a common course in such cases; 
 and here, as elsewhere, it is probable that he who 
 selected vagabondage received a handsome sum for 
 outfit. Peyre prospered as a singer. Ere long he 
 attached himself closely to the household, and still more 
 closely to the wife, of a wealthy baron, Bernard de 
 Tiersac. An event not usual among the troubadours 
 followed : the lady and the cavalier servente eloped 
 together. Peyre led his prize to Auvergne, whither he 
 was quickly followed by the outraged husband, at the 
 head of a large band. To their assailants the knights of 
 Maenzac could oppose no adequate resistance. Peyre, 
 therefore, applied to his feudal superior, the Dauphin, 
 for aid, and received it. The gallant prince summoned 
 his vassals, and drove back De Tiersac and his friends. 
 Nor was this all. Having won the victory, he presented 
 the Provencal Paris with a stronghold wherein to secure 
 
3i6 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 his Helen, and an estate wherewith to support her. Nor 
 could all the remonstrances or threats of the Church 
 induce him to withdraw his protection from the adul- 
 terers, who spent the remainder of their lives together. 
 
 This Dauphin of Auvergne was of a character 
 common in the Langue d'Oc. High-bred and gifted 
 with brilliant talents, vain, valiant, and selfish, he could, 
 and often did, surpass all his contemporaries in daring, 
 generosity, and meanness. He is thus described by 
 Crescembini, whose lines sum up all that has been 
 said of him by the Proven9al gossips : — " He was one 
 of the most learned, courteous, liberal, and valiant cava- 
 liers of his time, and beyond all belief accomplished 
 and famous in arms and in love. He greatly loved the 
 poets, and did them much good ; and he was himself 
 excellent in Proven al poetry, and had no equal in 
 eloquence. In the prime of life he was prodigal to 
 excess : his profusion went so far that it lost him the 
 half, and even more, of liis possessions. But, seeing the 
 necessity of reformation, he adopted a manner of living 
 so strict, and even penurious, that he not only recovered 
 all that he had lost, but became much more wealthy 
 than he had ever been before." The Dauphin of 
 Auvergne was evidently the Byron of his day. The 
 latter, be it remembered, could fling away thousands 
 ostentatiously in a night, or make a bet to live upon 
 fifty pounds a-year — and win it, too, had there been 
 any to take it. 
 
 In one of the longer pieces of Vidal — his Jongleur's 
 Story — there occurs a sketch of the Dauphin and his 
 court : — " Chance conducted me one day to Montferraud, 
 to the Dauphin of Auvergne. Never was there a more 
 agreeable court than this one. There I found a brilliant 
 company ; nor was there one among them — dame, lord, 
 
A KNIGHTLY CROUP 31 7 
 
 knight, or squire, who was not as familiar as a little bird 
 which is fed out of the hand. Christmas — termed in 
 this country the Calend — was at hand. When the com- 
 pany rose from table they took seats round the hearth, 
 and the knights and the troubadours conversed with 
 mirth and gaiety. After much amusement the gentle- 
 men rose and retired without speaking ; but my lord 
 and I remained sitting, and continued the conversation " 
 in which, we may add, the former played the part of 
 moralist, comparing the present with the past, in the 
 usual strain. Nor does Vidal in this piece give an un- 
 faithful picture of the Dauphin. On the troubadours 
 depended the renown of the barons of the Langue 
 d'Oc; and of the troubadours, therefore, the Dauphin was 
 the uniform and unhesitating patron. From him they — 
 or rather the more distinguished of them — could always 
 obtain lands, rents, and knighthood, like Perdigon, or 
 effectual aid in war, like Peyre de Maenzac. 
 
 The Dauphin did not shine so brilliantly in love, as 
 he did in war and in song. Among his many mistresses 
 there was one named Marrina, who was endowed with 
 a very unromantic liking for eggs and bacon. Once 
 upon a time she happened to fall short of the latter 
 commodity, and, being unwilling to forego her usual 
 breakfast for any length, she applied to her lover for a 
 supply of the thing needful. And he very illiberally 
 ^directed his steward to give her just half of that for 
 which she sued — a flitch of bacon. The story circulated 
 far and wide, and everybody blamed the meanness of the 
 Dauphin. The half flitch of bacon figured in endless 
 canzons, decidedly the sharpest of which was penned by 
 the Dauphin's cousin, the Bishop of Clermont. The 
 bishop, however, had his faults, and the Dauphin was 
 just the man to gibbet them to all time. Out came a 
 
3i8 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 sonorous servente, in which the prelate was charged 
 with just such a double-headed crime as David perpe- 
 trated against Uriah. The subject of the said servente 
 retorted in kind, and received a still heavier castigation. 
 Nor did anybody pity him ; for the Dauphin had the skill, 
 which the bishop lacked, of keeping the mob on his side. 
 Even more characteristic of the Dauphin than the 
 foregoing anecdote, is one told of his intrigue with one 
 of the gay daughters of the Viscount of Turenne. This 
 young lady, taking a liberty not usual, at least at this 
 period, in the Langue d'Oc, procured a cavalier servente 
 while she was yet under her father's roof, and unprovided 
 with a husband. This cavalier was the Dauphin, who, 
 during his courtship, made an acquaintance — that of 
 Peyre Pelissier, the steward of the viscount — which he 
 turned to account in his own way. The steward was a 
 plebeian, remarkable for valour, wealth, ability, and 
 integrity — that is, as integrity was then understood. 
 His integrity, however, did not prevent him from be- 
 coming the confident of the lovers, and aiding them in 
 every way. From Pelissier the Dauphin borrowed large 
 sums of money, time after time, promising, of course, to 
 repay him. The liaison coming to an end, and the 
 Dauphin discontinuing his visits, the creditor thought it 
 time to demand his money. But, unfortunately for him, 
 he had neither document nor witness to produce in 
 evidence, and the Dauphin, therefore, could safely deny, 
 as he did, that he owed him a penny. In his wrath, 
 Pelissier had recourse to the only remedy open to him. 
 He published his wrong in a servente, which, whatever 
 might have been thought of it seven hundred years ago, 
 is not now worth reproduction. The debtor replied as 
 audaciously as Bertrand Von Born replied to his brother 
 Constantine. He sneered at the low birth of his as- 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 319 
 
 sailant, he scoffed at his folly in lending without security, 
 and he recommended him to repair his shattered fortunes 
 by taking to the road as a pilgrim or a blind beggar. 
 In short, he treated the rascality as a good jest ; and so, 
 doubtless, did his high-born contemporaries. 
 
 The loves of the Dauphin of Auvergne, if received as 
 a sample of Provengal manners, do no credit thereto ; 
 and neither did those of Bertrand Von Born. The 
 latter sang and flirted with many ladies, among whom 
 was Helena, the sister of Coeur de Lion. The passion 
 of his life, however, was that which he entertained for 
 Maenz de Montagnac, one of the daughters of the 
 Viscount de Turenne, and the wife of one of the 
 Tallyrands de Perigord. Such a man could not be 
 regarded with weak feelings, and Maenz seems to have 
 been passionately devoted to him. He, however, was 
 far too brilliant a character to remain unsought by the 
 forward beauties of the South. Like Rambaud of 
 Orange, he was wooed in song by half a dozen Sapphos, 
 the chief of whom was Guiscarda, wife of the Viscount of 
 Comborn. Flattered by such a preference, Bertrand forgot 
 his faith, and quarrelled with Maenz, but speedily re- 
 pented, and sought for pardon in the following verses : — 
 
 I merit not the censure, unfounded is the blame : 
 On that account to banish me were verily a shame. 
 May the wild falcon seize my hawk, and rend it to my face, 
 If I prefer not hope of you unto another's grace. 
 
 May I be bound upon a mule, and ignominious led, 
 While showers the hooting rabble filth and offal on my head ; 
 May I be doomed in winter's depth at a vile inn to bide, 
 With surly host and sorry fare— if I am not belied. 
 
 My lady will not pardon ; what shall I do or dare ? 
 To justify me in her eyes, what shall I say or swear .? 
 What castle burn ? what baron take ? what deed of daring do 
 Shall I perform to prove that I am ever staunch and true ? 
 
320 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 May the wind fail me when at sea ! and when to court I fare 
 May all the ribalds cudgel me as though a clown I were ! * 
 May 1 be seen when battle joins to turn my rein, and fly — 
 If my accuser has not said a foul and groundless lie ! 
 
 He meant it to be understood that his flirtation with 
 the lady of Comborn had been one of those trifles which 
 were allowed, and, indeed, advised, by the Courts of 
 Love, as the best possible means of stimulating a flag- 
 ging passion into renewed ardour. Maenz, however, 
 was not to be regained by even these verses, and Ber- 
 nard was compelled to adopt another, but still a usual 
 course. In the neighbourhood dwelt a celebrated 
 beauty and poetess, Tiburza de Montausier, who was 
 then widowed of husbands for the second time, and of 
 gallants for perhaps the twentieth. To Tiburza Ber- 
 trand offered the vacancy which Maenz had left in his 
 heart. But Tiburza had very troubadourlike ideas of 
 propriety, and so made this reply : — " If there is any 
 probability of reconciling you and Maenz, the thing 
 shall be done by me. If you have wronged her, and she 
 prove unwilling to receive you again, neither will I 
 receive you. But if I cannot reconcile you two, yet 
 find withal that you are not solely to blame,' then shall 
 I be happy to accept such a knight as yourself for my 
 cavalier servente." Bertrand agreeing to this, Tiburza 
 set about the reconciliation with perfect sincerity, and 
 soon effected it. There was no recurrence of the quarrel. 
 At a later period, indeed, Bertrand was in some appre- 
 hension of seeing his beauty won from him by one or 
 other of a crowd of celebrated wooers, which included 
 
 * An allusion is here made to the very singular body of life guards 
 instituted by Pliilip Augustus. See Cornhiil Magazine, January, 1868. 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 
 
 321 
 
 CcEur de Lion. In this emergency he adopted a plan 
 recommended by Rambaud of Orange. He wrote a 
 servente, in which he represented Maenz as a monster of 
 depravity, and thus drove away her admirers! How 
 Maenz liked the triclt the gossips have not told. But 
 as she continued faithful to her maligner, it is probable 
 that the head, of whose strength he was so proud, fur- 
 nished him with an excuse for his conduct which she con- 
 sidered satisfactory. 
 
 It is chiefly as a demon of discord, as a firebrand of 
 war, that Bertrand is known to history. From one end 
 of France to the other he was renowned, dreaded, and 
 courted ; and by princes and kings as well as by his 
 equals. With whomsoever he was brought in contact, 
 over that person did he acquire the most extraordinary 
 influence — an influence which he never employed except 
 for evil. He was the leader of the barons of the March, 
 and he kept them perpetually employed in. private 
 feuds or in foreign hostilities. One after another he 
 was the friend and counsellor of each of the sons of 
 Henry II. of England ; and so long as they lived, he 
 contrived to fling them in ceaseless strife against their 
 sire, or against' one another. Even that cool and wary 
 statesman, Philip Augustus, was, to some extent, the 
 plaything of the wily troubadour, being driven at times, 
 by his sneers and taunts, into a course of action of 
 which his better sense completely disapproved. But to 
 do adequate justice to Bertrand's feats of mischief 
 would require volumes, and we have but a few pages at 
 command. We must, therefore, content ourselves with 
 a general glance at his career. 
 
 In 1 173 began that contest between Henry II. and 
 his children which ceased not so long as any remained 
 to continue it. Sometimes all the sons were banded 
 
 Y 
 
322 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 against the sire ; sometimes these sons were arrayed 
 against each other ; and sometimes the father and one 
 son contended against the other sons. Truces were 
 made only to be broken, and sides taken just to be 
 deserted. And inciting to treacherous breach of truce, 
 •or still more treacherous change of sides, the incarnate 
 demon, Bertrand Von Born, was always to be found. It 
 was his interest to act this diabolical part, for while the 
 war lasted his " strong head " rendered him the real king 
 of the South, while in peace he was nothing but a third- 
 rate baron. On one occasion young Henry, already a 
 crowned king, making peace with the elder Henry, and 
 abandoning his territories to his brother Richard in ex- 
 change for a fixed income, left the scene of war to 
 take up his residence at the court of France. It was a 
 heavy stroke for the barons, to whom his presence had 
 given the semblance of right, and they resented his 
 desertion accordingly. Heretofore he had been the 
 brother in arms and song of Bertrand, the two singing 
 each other, according to a fashion then prevalent, under 
 the name of " Mariner." But no sooner did Von Born 
 hear of the youth's defection than he forgot all feelings 
 of brotherhood, and vented against him a series of 
 fierce invectives, of which the following is a fair 
 sample : — 
 
 Oh, what a fine young king is this 
 Who does as his father bids him — 
 
 Who, kissing hand, at word of command, 
 Of land and revenue rids him ! 
 
 Possessed of heart, ere doing this thing 
 You would have made food for ravens. 
 
 Yes, you are every inch a king ; 
 But it is the King of Cravens I 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 323 
 
 'Tis kingly thus your realm to concede 
 
 Unto a younger brother ! 
 'Tis also a very royal deed 
 
 To live on the wealth of another ! 
 
 Dost think a prince can gain new friends, 
 
 The old ones thus befooling ? 
 Or that who youth in pastime spends 
 
 Best fits himself for ruling ? 
 
 Assailed in this way, the impulsive Plantagenet was 
 soon again seduced into rebellion. The second son of 
 the English King, Richard, then known as Count of 
 Poitou, was now on the side of his father. He, too, had 
 been the intimate of Bertrand, and his brother in arms 
 and song, the former being known as Ou, and the 
 latter as Oc. He, too, had been the tool of the wily 
 mountaineers ; and he, therefore, the strongest in brain 
 as in arm and heart of all his father's sons, knew right 
 well that the prime enemy of his house was Von Born. 
 Him, therefore, the Lion-hearted selected from the 
 rebel group, hunted from the field to his stronghold, and 
 captured therein after a gallant defence. The surrender 
 was unconditional, and Richard fully intended to destroy 
 the arch-disturber. But the singular ability of the 
 latter was never so conspicuously powerful as in 
 extremity. It mastered everything without the head 
 that contained it, chiefly because it could master all 
 within. Every passion of its owner, every prejudice, 
 every habit, every superstition, every principle, every 
 hate, every love, every powerful impulse was the docile 
 slave of this intellect. Von Born was thoroughly ac- 
 quainted with the proud and fierce, yet generous and 
 impulsive, character of Richard, and he adapted himself 
 thereto with consummate dexterity. The mixture of 
 dignity and humility which the prisoner displayed 
 
324 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 before his conqueror, and the words of flattery which he 
 knew so well how to mould, completely softened the 
 conqueror, and Bertrand was granted life and liberty. 
 His lands and his castle, indeed, were confiscated, but 
 these he quickly regained by a course of artful conduct, 
 recorded by such odes as this : — 
 
 I have suffered many losses, but still have heart to sing ; 
 
 My castle I've surrendered, but it is unto a king. 
 
 I bowed and sued for grace when before him I was led ; 
 
 He pardoned and embraced, and I've nothing more to dread. 
 
 Ye barons who abandoned me, though swearing to be true, 
 
 Ye cannot blame me when in turn I now abandon you. 
 
 If Richard will accept the gift, myself to him I'll bind, 
 
 With single heart and faith as pure as silver thrice refined. 
 
 His rank will cause him to be like the sea that seems to take 
 
 Whate'er is given it, on the shore again to cast it back. 
 
 It well befits so great a prince as Richard to restore 
 
 What he has taken to the knight who humbles him before. 
 
 At least I beg that he vi\\i deign the wardship of his castle 
 
 To trust to who will keep it best, his now repentant vassal. 
 
 For if he leave it as to-day to my relentless foes. 
 
 No peace can he expect, for we will ever be at blows. 
 
 Nor need he fear that such an act will cause him to be twitted 
 
 That, like an idiot, he allowed himself to be outwitted. 
 
 Aye ready shall I be to serve and yield him honour due — 
 
 A thing, perhaps, I had not done, if they had been but true. 
 
 The remembrance of his peril and of Richard's lenity 
 effected no change on the troubadour. He was still the 
 same turbulent dare-devil, still the same prime mover 
 of confusion, still the same unscrupulous, intriguing, 
 violent baron as ever. Soon afterwards he drew down 
 upon his head the personal vengeance of the terrible 
 Henry H. — a man, whose ability was equal to that of 
 the First William, and who would have been as great a 
 monarch and as mighty a victor, but for his unbridled 
 passions. Bursting forth and sweeping him headlong 
 before their rush at the most critical seasons, these 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 325 
 
 passions never failed to neutralize the deepest-laid plans 
 of the English king, and to render unavailing all his 
 valour and indefatigability. Having besieged and cap- 
 tured Von Born, as his son had done before him, " the 
 captive was led to the tent of his powerful enemy," 
 writes Thierry. " Before he pronounced the vib victis, 
 Henry was desirous of tasting a little of the luxury of 
 revenge by deriding the man once so formidable, and 
 who had boasted that he feared not even a king. 
 ' Bertrand,' said the sovereign, ' thou wert wont to say 
 that never hadst thou found an occasion that demanded 
 the exercise of more than half thy brain. But a time 
 has now come when even the whole of it will hardly 
 serve thy turn.' ' My lord,' replied the Southern noble, 
 with the confidence arising from the consciousness of 
 intellectual superiority, ' it is true that I said so, and I 
 said the truth.' ' Still, I think,' sneered the king, ' that 
 thy head has failed thee for once.' ' I admit it, sire,' 
 replied Von Born, ' and well it may. It has never 
 recovered from the shock it received on the day 
 that the valiant young king, thy son, ceased to 
 breathe.' At this unexpected mention of his son the 
 King of England burst into tears, and fainted. When 
 he recovered he was another man. All vengeful thoughts 
 had passed away, and he saw only in Bertrand the 
 ancient and cherished friend of the child whose loss he 
 so deeply lamented. Instead of the reproaches and the 
 capital sentence which the prisoner had reason to expect, 
 thie king addressed him thus : — ' Sir Bertrand, Sir 
 Bertrand, thou hadst good cause to lose thy wits for 
 the sake of my son. Thou wert dearer to him than any 
 other man in the world. For his sake I give thee thy 
 life and restore thee thy castle. I restore thee also my 
 friendship and my favour; and I grant thee five hundred 
 
326 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 marks to make good the injury that thou hast suffered 
 in this war.' " The deed was creditable, to Henry. It 
 was exaggerated, indeed, and the result of exaggerated 
 sentiment. But the twelfth century was an age of 
 extremes, and the Plantagenets were always more 
 extreme, for good or for evil, than their contemporaries. 
 To our thinking Von Born hardly merited such treat- 
 ment. He might have regretted the death which the 
 old king felt so keenly ; but we greatly doubt it. The 
 ode .in which he pretended to bewail the event bears not 
 the slightest trace of real feeling. Here it is : — 
 
 The noblest prince that ever trod the earth, 
 The prince whose heart was worthy of his birth, 
 
 Lies low within the grave. 
 No more he'll ride the tilt or draw the sword ; 
 Honour and courtesy have lost their lord, 
 
 Their worthiest chief the brave. 
 
 Ah, death, thou mightest have found another prey I 
 Wretches enough there were to speed away ; 
 
 But know, 'tis past thy might 
 From loving breasts to cast his mem'ry forth. 
 Or us forbid to imitate the worth 
 
 Of him— the model knight. 
 
 Thou who didst die our sinful race to save — 
 Thee I implore for him, the good and brave, 
 
 That of thy boundless grace 
 Thou wouldst imparadise him, not with churls, 
 But 'mid the honoured band of lords, and earls, 
 
 And princes give him place ! 
 
 It will be observed that Von Bom's idea of heaven 
 was not unlike that expressed by Michael Cassio : 
 
 Cassio. For my own part — no offence to the general or to any 
 man of quality — I hope to be saved. 
 
 Iago. And I too, lieutenant. 
 
 Cassio. Ay, but by your leave not before me ; the lieutenant is 
 to be saved before the ancient. 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 327 
 
 Von Born remained the same man for long years ; 
 always leading a faction, always engaged in feuds, and 
 always venting his animosity against those who with- 
 stood him, in diatribes as coarse as they were fierce. 
 Thus, for instance, he dealt with Alfonso of Aragon : — 
 
 To quarrel with Amfos, the King, was adt my wish, I swear ; 
 But he's so faithless, sordid, vile, that I cannot forbear. 
 In censure all men speak of him and his insatiate greed. 
 His vices must be well chastised, and I will do the deed. 
 
 I'll tell you of a trick of his, as it was told to me 
 
 By one who saw it : you will judge if baser aught could be. 
 
 A knight invited him to feast, and as a guest he came. 
 
 Was thus received into the house, and then — O deed of shame ! — 
 
 He seized his unsuspecting host and turned him out of door. 
 
 The lands thus vilely gained he keeps, nor will he them restore. 
 
 He sent a band to aid Castile against the Moorish curs ; 
 
 " A knightly deed," you'll say ; but wait until I close my verse. 
 
 Of these good knights, in various fights, were fifty captives made ; 
 
 To Amfos the Castilian King a sum for ransom paid. 
 
 But he, the mean one ! kept the coin to waste with dice and wine. 
 
 And left within the Moorish cells his gallant knights to pine ! 
 
 If you have money in your purse, beware of this fine king ! 
 For if he fancies that you're rich he'll come a borrowing. 
 He'll cringe and flatter till you lend ; but look for payment — then 
 He'll pay as paid the cat the owl, or as the fox the hen ! 
 
 A worthy knight, the other day, as men of credit tell, 
 
 Was jeered at by some wretched clowns, and cudgelled them 
 
 right well. 
 His blood was up, his arm was strong, and one of them he slew — 
 A catiff hound, a cheating knave, a misbegotten Jew ! 
 The tribes unto King Amfos hied, and loud complaint preferred. 
 And, as they weighted it with gold, the plaint the monarch heard. 
 
 Then surely had the knight been fined or fast in prison set ; 
 But woe for him it happened that the king was in his debt. 
 The latter saw an easy way whereby to pay the bill— 
 Unto the Jews he gave the knight on him to work their will ! 
 
328 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Away the dogs their victim bore ; beneath their hands he died ; 
 'Twas thus King Amfos paid a debt, and gained some cash beside. 
 A sage foretold that he would prove a coward and a knave, 
 Nor ever do a gen'rous deed from cradle unto grave. 
 By friend and foe and knight and cit and serf it is confest 
 That, the prediction to fulfil, King Amfos does his best. 
 
 At length came the decay of body and bodily passion, 
 while the intellect and its desires remained as strong as 
 ever. The consequences were a living hell to a man 
 like him. To escape it he was compelled to choosje 
 between suicide and the cloister. He adopted the 
 latter, closing his life as a monk in the Abbey df 
 Coteaux. He left a son who lacked nothing but op- 
 portunity to have equalled the evil renown of his sire, as 
 the following servente, satirizing Xing' John, attests : — 
 
 ni tell him of his fathers, 
 
 I'll tell him of their fame ; 
 The fights they fought, the deeds they wrought, 
 The tasks to glorious ends they brought 
 
 Shall cover him with shame. 
 
 Guienne laments King Richard, % 
 
 The gen'rous and the bold. 
 Who, to defend his heritage. 
 Shrank not a mighty war to wage, 
 
 And spared nor blood nor gold. 
 
 But more does Guienne mourn 
 
 The reign of coward John — 
 He who prefers a hawk or hound 
 To all the leagues of fertile ground 
 
 By valiant Richard won. 
 
 For John loves not the battle ; 
 
 He's neither king nor knight ; 
 He shrinks himself to draw the blade. 
 And — deeper shame — he will not aid ■ 
 
 The chiefs who dare to fight I 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 329 
 
 For ever vanquished in the war, 
 
 For aye in peace befooled ; 
 'Tis but too plain that rules the cur 
 
 Where once the lion ruled. 
 
 But, though the darkest fate befall, 
 The poet cannot hope to call 
 
 A blush into his cheeks. 
 Abandoned still to crime and lust, 
 He lets his honour in the dust 
 Be trampled, like a mouldy crust, 
 
 Nor heeds when censure speaks ! 
 
 Nowhere in his awful poem is the imagination of 
 Dante more strikingly and justly terrific than in the 
 doom which he assigns to the elder Von Born : — 
 
 I' vidi certo, ed ancor par ch'io '1 veggia, 
 Un busto senza capo andar si come 
 Andavan gli altri della trista greggia. 
 E'l capo tronco tenea per le chiome. 
 Pesol con mano a guisa di lanterna, 
 E quel mirava noi, e dicea : O me ! 
 Di s& faceva a sfe stesso lucerna. 
 
 Nor do we consider these lines merely imaginative. In 
 the course of our experience we have had occasion to 
 observe, and that repeatedly, that the wicked man is 
 invariably punished, even on earth, through that thing 
 in which he most delights, or in which he takes the 
 greatest pride. 
 
 The other barons of the March — the Dauphin of 
 Auvergne, the Viscounts of Limoges, Ventadour, Com- 
 born, &c., to the end of their days played much the 
 same part as Von Born — in inferior form, however, as 
 befitted their inferiority of character. They fought, 
 sometimes for their natural chief, Richard of England, 
 and sometimes against him. And he, a true child of 
 the Langue d'Oc, never hesitated to exchange with 
 
330 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 them either blows or ballads. In the poetical contest, 
 however, he was always beaten. He was one of those 
 who are not born poets, and who cannot be moulded 
 into any resemblance of the sterling article. He was 
 too honest to put his name to the compositions of 
 others ; and his own verses are simply contemptible. 
 Of these verses the following are favourable specimens : 
 
 Now, County Guy, let it be told, 
 
 And you, Sir Dauphin, own, 
 Where is the valour that of old 
 
 In count and dauphin shone .' 
 
 You plighted faith ; with me you swore 
 
 As firm to stand as rocks. 
 You keep your faith for ever more 
 
 As does the wolf or fox. 
 
 Yet why should that cause me to start. 
 
 Or in amazement stare ? 
 Foxes you well may be in heart, 
 
 Since you are such in hair. 
 
 Why did you fail to bring me aid ? 
 
 What made your blood so cold? 
 Were you afraid of not being paid. 
 
 Or that I had no gold 1 
 
 Truly a noble choice you make ! 
 
 King Philip--heaven him save ! — 
 His word was never known to break ! 
 
 And then he's rich and brave ! 
 
 While I am faithless, sordid, poor, 
 
 And fear in war to ride. 
 It must have been the contrast, sure. 
 
 That caused you to change side. 
 
 Richard was frank and open, and, his paroxysms of 
 temper aside, full of magnanimity. As much cannot be 
 said of the border troubadours. They were brave, 
 indeed, and brilliant, and very capable of generous 
 
A KNIGHTLY GROUP 331 
 
 deeds; but they were also unscrupulous and treacherous, 
 as history abundantly shows ; and, when interest or 
 vengeance dictated the crime, they shrank not from 
 assassination. In 1183 a number of them made a das- 
 tardly attempt to slay Henry II. during a parley. They 
 inveigled him withm range of one of their strongholds, 
 and then greeted him with a flight of arrows, one of 
 which pierced his doublet, while another slew a knight 
 by his side. The full atrocity of the deed can only be 
 appreciated by those who are acquainted with the war- 
 like usages of the era. These usages allowed the vassal 
 to resist his sovereign in the field on receiving due pro- 
 vocation ; but they forbade him to raise his hand against 
 the person of that sovereign, even in the fury of the 
 battle. In war, as well as in peace, all good knights 
 were taught to regard that person as a sacred thing. No 
 monarch was ever more hated by his subjects than John ; 
 and yet the barons whom he was hunting vindictively 
 and relentlessly to destruction, obeying what they con- 
 sidered duty, repeatedly withheld the death-stroke 
 which their followers were aiming at the breast of the 
 tyrant. These remarks will apply to the slaughter of 
 King Richard before Chalus — a siege into which it is 
 our opinion that he was deliberately provoked with a 
 view to the catastrophe which followed. 
 
 We close our remarks on the knightly troubadours 
 with one of their canzons :— 
 
 From me a canzon mayst thou claim, 
 Thou thing whose whole's unknown to fame. 
 Whose half's exposed to sneer and scorn — 
 My tried and trusty bugle-horn. 
 
 As much, I'm sule, it merits song 
 As sword so sharp or spear so long ; 
 Confined to fight their uses are, 
 While it is good in peace and war. 
 
332 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 It has a note to cheer the fray, 
 To urge the dogs upon the prey; 
 And one to reach my lady's ear, 
 Whisp'ring, " The hour of tryst is near." 
 
 Then I can use it as a cup ; 
 Thus, with a cork, I close it up, 
 And, filling to the brim with wine, 
 Kiss, as I quaff, this horn of mine. 
 
333 
 
 THE 
 
 INFLUENCE OF THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 The influence exercised by the troubadours can hardly 
 be exaggerated. Bjfjneans of their lyrics they swayed 
 the mijids_ of their countrymen, from the sovereign 
 princes downwards, nearly at will. Their opposition 
 was death, their favour the breath of life, to the institu- 
 tions of their country. There was nothing, however 
 excellent,_lhat could resist their ridicule and invective ; 
 and there was nothing, no matter how pernicious, to 
 which their approving songs could not give perpetuity. 
 Nor was their influence limited to their own age or 
 country. When they were in their prime, all Christendom 
 delighted to imitate them. The practice of Provengal 
 manners, the cultivation of Provencal sentiments, and 
 the knowledge of the Provengal language were the 
 essentials of a polite education. The Langue d'Oc was 
 the school of the middle ages. Germany, France, Italy, 
 and eveii England were the pupils of its airy wit and 
 fastidious elegance. Nor when it declined into the mere 
 dull province of a great kingdom was its influence 
 destroyed. The gentlemen and the poets of the neigh- 
 bouring lands continued to display the polish, and to 
 sing the songs which the troubadours had taught them. 
 
334 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 The troubadours were authorities in all matters of 
 taste and etiquette. They prepared the youth of both 
 sexes for society, and they drew up rules for their 
 guidance therein. It was thus that Amanieu des Escas 
 instructed the young man of rank while he was yet a 
 page or squire : — " Shun the companionship of fools, 
 impertinents, or meddlers, lest you pass for the same. 
 Never indulge in buffoonery, scandal, deceit, or false- 
 hood. Be frank, generous, and brave ; be obliging and 
 kind ; study neatness in your dress, and let elegance 
 of fashion make up for plainness of material. Never 
 allow a seam to remain ripped and gaping ; it is worse 
 than a rent : the first shows ill-breeding ; the last only 
 poverty, which is by far the lesser evil of the two. There 
 is no great merit in dressing well if you have the means ; 
 but a display of neatness and taste on a small income 
 is a sure token of superiority of spirit. You must have 
 a mistress ; that is essential to your position as a gentle- 
 man ; but be true to her, and make no boast of her 
 favours. To perfect your manners, you must go to 
 court ; that is the true seminary of politeness : there 
 weak minds are strengthened and strong minds perfected. 
 If you take service, let it be with a man of worth and 
 liberality. Study to please him without bending to his 
 worse qualities. Show no jealousy of those around him ; 
 it is not only mean, but dangerous. He has a right to 
 distribute his favours and his bounty as he pleases. 
 Have your arms, &c., always ready for use. Be first up 
 in the morning, and, when called upon, first also in the 
 saddle. In the tourney, do not fail to display all your 
 dexterity and valour." 
 
 The same troubadour is equally minute in his direc- 
 tions to the young lady in waiting. He recommends 
 her to rise early, so that her mistress may find her ready 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF THE TROUBADOURS 335 
 
 dressed when she summons her. In dressing, he makes 
 one recommendation which we should hardly think 
 necessary, and another absolutely vicious. He desires 
 her first to wash her hands, her arms, and her neck, and 
 to lace herself very tightly. The next direction also 
 must sound rather strange in modern ears — that the 
 nails should not be worn so long as to allow any black 
 to appear therein. But, remembering a certain proverbial 
 expression common in the last generation and in the 
 generations preceding, we must admit that this rule was 
 not uncalled for. Our mentor proceeds with the remark 
 that the mediaeval young lady should be particularly 
 careful of her head, for this very troubadour-like reason, 
 that what is most exposed to observation should re- 
 ceive the most attention. " Clean your teeth every 
 morning," he adds. " Do all these things before any 
 person can see you, and do not neglect to look in the 
 mirror ; it will be of service in aiding you to perceive 
 and rectify any portion of your attire that may not be 
 quite in order. Have everything ready for your mis- 
 tress before she rises, so that she may not have to wait ; 
 but do not enter her chamber until she is alone, or shall 
 summon you. Before she quits her bed hand her needles 
 and thread, a comb, and whatever else she may require 
 to arrange her hair and her head-dress "—a direction 
 which seems to indicate that the streaming ribbons with 
 which the beauties of that period were accustomed to 
 deck their tresses, were sewn in their places. " When 
 she is dressed, hold the mirror, that she may see whether 
 every lace, &c., is in its proper position. Afterwards you 
 will procure her cool and fresh water to wash her face, 
 hot forgetting to hand her a towel. Then it will be your 
 duty to examine that there is nothing omitted, mis- 
 placed, or awry." Here we may remark that a trouba- 
 
336 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 dour was fully competent to give instructions on all such 
 points, since, as cavalier servente, he was accorded 
 the right of being present at the toilet of his mistress, 
 and must, therefore, have had full opportunity of 
 acquainting himself with all its mysteries. Amanieu 
 des Escas continues to instruct the waiting-woman 
 for getting through the day. After leaving her mistress 
 she might " go down to the hall, saluting everybody, and 
 replying with courtesy to their inquiries, but by no 
 means in superfluous words. " When you go to hear 
 mass,'' he continues, " be modest and sedate. Do not let 
 your eyes rove about ; turn them rather to the ground, 
 or, better still, towards the altar, and avoid whispering. 
 On leaving church, should anyone attempt to engage 
 you in conversation, you may gratify them, bui without 
 noise or dispute, for nothing is more unseemly in a 
 damsel than a boisterous tone. People say, too, that it 
 is hardly decent to wear a petticoat, or other garment, 
 in which there are stitches broken. The slightest excess 
 in wine ruins a lady beyond recovery ; at meal-times, 
 then, be careful not to drink it undiluted. Press no one 
 to eat ; it is ill-breeding. Carve what is before you ; the 
 guests will be uncourteous if they do not share the 
 trouble with you. After the repast, when your lady has 
 washed her hands and rinsed her mouth, you may do 
 the same — there is nothing more healthful. But if you 
 go aside to wash, be sure to have companions, lest 
 ill-natured people should make remarks. At table take 
 your place near your lady, leaving two seats between 
 her and yourself Give a gentle answer to him who 
 seeks your love. By treating everyone courteously 
 you will make no foes. You will find many ways of 
 ridding yourself of disagreeable suitors without insult- 
 ing them. Wealth and good looks should not direct 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF THE TROUBADOURS 337 
 
 your choice ; both are dangerous, unaccompanied by- 
 merit. Prefer an amiable man of honourable family. 
 Tolerate no liberties, and have but a single lover. Sighs 
 and messages will assail you, but heed them not. Be 
 sure that the lover who employs an emissary is worth- 
 less. He who is loyal will entrust his secrets to none." 
 So much for the spinster. When the lady had attained 
 a fixed position by marriage she was to be guided by 
 the rules and decisions of the Courts of Love. These 
 regulations applied equally to the gentleman. But as 
 he had many relations which they did not include, 
 supplementary rules were necessary. And the more 
 essential of these, as drawn up by that Provengal 
 Chesterfield, Arnaud of Marsans, we shall give in the 
 next paragraph : — 
 
 " Be always neat and elegant in your dress, no matter what the 
 material," says Arnaud of Marsans. " See that your linen be fine 
 and white, and that your shoes, stockings, doublet, &c., be well 
 fitting, so that everyone may admire them. Let your gown, if you 
 wear one, be rather short than long. It should be wide enough in 
 front to cover the breast. Let your mantle be of the same stuff as 
 your gown, and let the girdle and clasp be properly arranged. 
 A gentleman should be particularly careful of his hair. It should 
 be frequently washed, and it is better to wear it short than long. 
 If the beard and moustache be allowed to grow, they become 
 ungainly. It would be better to have them too short, were it not 
 that all excess is to be avoided. Be careful how you carry your 
 hands and use your eyes ; do not stare rudely, nor let your fingers 
 dangle or move about awkwardly. If you see anything with 
 another that attracts your attention, do not be guilty of the rude- 
 ness of taking it out of his hands.'' 
 
 Having instructed the knight in matters of dress and 
 deportment, Arnaud of Marsans deals with his duties as 
 the master of a house : — 
 
 "At home be magnificent. Keep many squireis — two especially, 
 who shall always be in attendance on yourself. Be careful that 
 
 z 
 
338 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 the latter are pleasing in person and address. It will suffice if the 
 others are discreet and know how to converse with ease, so that 
 you may send them anywhere without fearing that they will make 
 themselves and you ridiculous, or cause anybody to say 'like 
 master, like man.' When you have company, be kind to all. 
 Invite them to make themselves at home ; see that they be well 
 served, and set them an example of good humour and ease. You 
 will have few friends if you are illiberal or inhospitable. Never eat 
 alone ; nothing is so clownish." 
 
 And yet this clownishness must have been sufficiently 
 common, or it would not have met with the reprobation 
 of our authority. He, indeed, is not the only one who 
 mentions, in order to censure, this particular trick. 
 Raymond Gaucelen of Beziers lamented that there were 
 many who shut themselves up to eat alone, concealing 
 themselves more carefully at meal-times than certain 
 birds concealed their stores of food : — 
 
 " Sit with your guests,'' recommends the troubadour of Marsans. 
 " Be attentive yourself, and see that your servants are the same. 
 Maintain a cheerful fire, and be sure that you do not allow your 
 servants to whisper to you. Nor should you whisper to them; it 
 looks mean. To avoid this, let all your directions be given before 
 you sit down to table. See that the horses and servants of your 
 guests are properly attended to, otherwise you will hear complaints 
 that will cause you to blush. Do not lock your gates, nor maintain 
 thereat porters armed with cudgels to repel grooms, pages, and 
 jongleurs. Be the last to rise from table. Keep open house to all 
 the world, and be ready to receive all comers, no matter what the 
 hour. Play highj it is honourable ; and play long. Bear your 
 losses and your gains with the like equanimity. In short, spend 
 your revenues in hospitality.'' 
 
 So much for the knight as a housekeeper. Afterwards 
 Arnaud de Marsans gives him instructions for his 
 guidance in various other circumstances :— 
 
 " Be always well mounted. Let a charger, swift of foot and easy 
 to manage, be always led in your train. Your arms should be 
 costly and well kept, and your shield, lance, and cuirass of good 
 proof. Look well to the trappings of your horse ; the saddle and 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF THE TROUBADOURS 339 
 
 crupper should be of the same colour, so should your shield and the 
 streamer of your lance. Have a horse to carry your baggage ; thus 
 you will never be taken at a short, but always be found ready for 
 war or tilt — always ready to take advanta.^e of an opportunity for 
 gaining honour and renown, and for recommending yourself to the 
 ladies. In war be ever vigilant. Make it a point of honour to be 
 foremost in the onset, and last in the retreat. At the tournament 
 be provided with several spears and helms. Have your horse gar- 
 nished with bells ; the sound inspirits the animal and his rider, 
 and terrifies the foe. Never return from the lists without an 
 encounter. When your lance fails you, draw your sword and 
 strike till the clatter startle hell and heaven ! " 
 
 Other troubadours anticipated or repeated the 
 instructions of Arnaud de Marsans, and occasionally 
 added thereto. Arnaud of Marveil says : " The merit 
 of a knight consists in being well armed and mounted, 
 in wielding his weapons and managing his horse with 
 dexterity, in conducting an armed band with judgment, 
 in charging with courage, in presenting himself grace- 
 fully at court, and in rendering himself agreeable to all." 
 Bertrand Von Born says : " The first laws of honour 
 are to make war, to tilt at Advent and Easter, and to 
 enrich one's mistress with the spoils of the vanquished." 
 In another place the same troubadour implies what a 
 gentleman ought to be, while denouncing certain things 
 as ungentlemanly. " I cannot endure a noble who is 
 illiberal and ungracious, who makes unfounded accu- 
 sations, who will not repay the favours he has received, 
 who knows not how to hunt or hawk, and who is undis- 
 tinguished in love or war." 
 
 fSo far and so minutely did the troubadours instruct 
 their contemporaries as to dress and behaviour in 
 society!] As teachers of principles they were much less 
 comprehensive, seldom extending their precepts beyond 
 superficial accomplishments and qualities almost as 
 superficial. "Count of Toulouse," says Guy of 
 
340 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 Cavaillon, "if you wish to be prized, be loyal, liberal, 
 and magnificent ; bestow splendid gifts on friends and 
 strangers ; be always ready to give, and always reluc- 
 tant to refuse ; persecute your enemies, and favour your 
 friends." " I love good friends, good cheer, and hand- 
 some presents," said the Monk of Montaudun ; " I hate 
 parsimony, a friend who fails me in the day of need, the 
 man who speaks evil of dice, and the sorry fellow who 
 refuses to play." " The base soul," says Guilhem, of 
 Agoult, " is careless of renown." " It is a reproach and a 
 shame to change one's mind lightly," says Nat de Mons. 
 Ogier laments the Viscount of Beziers as " the good, the 
 brave, the courteous, the most valiant and the best of 
 knights." And Raimond de Durfort regrets that the 
 sous of his friend were not all crowns, since he was just 
 the man to enrich those who suffered by the rapacity of 
 others. We could multiply such quotations to any 
 extent. vThus the troubadours inculcated love of glory, 
 perilous enterprise, and pleasure ; magnificent habits, 
 boundless liberality, profuse hospitality, and deep play ; 
 fidelity to one's word, the pursuit of revenge and gal- 
 lantry, but hardly anything elsej These were virtues in 
 their eyes — almost the only ones, but certainly those 
 that were indispensable. Through all their poems we 
 yiardly ever meet with a sentiment truly heroic. They 
 never pause to preach patriotism, or self-denial, or a 
 really virtuous principle![ There is^o such thing among 
 them as recommending the pursuit of good for its own 
 sakej As for what may be termed wisdom, their teach- 
 ings therein are confined to the utterance of prudential 
 commonplaces in a hesitating, half-hearted way. " Every- 
 one" says Gancelm Faudit, " ought to be prudent in his 
 pleasures ; taking care, however, to guard himself from 
 falling into niggardly habits. One should always try to 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF THE TROUBADOURS 341 
 
 do good according to one's capacity. He who attempts 
 to live altogether without restraint must not expect to 
 be long or widely renowned. Regularity of conduct is 
 that from whence good report springs. He whose heart 
 is large to give ought to consider well from whence he 
 is to procure the means of gratifying his inclination ; 
 but I do not say that a man ought to abstain from 
 giving. There is much trouble in accumulating wealth ; 
 but the great difficulty lies in keeping it when it is 
 accumulated. He who loses what he has by his 
 folly, knows not where to look for more. Without 
 sense and prudence there is neither worth nor esteem. 
 All things have their places : there is a place to speak 
 and a place to be silent, a place to give and a place to 
 withhold, a place for wisdom and a place for folly. He 
 who values his reputation will be neither a fool nor a 
 prater ; he will not reveal that which ought to be con- 
 cealed, nor attempt to conceal that which ought to be 
 known. He is a fool who sings all his verses, a fool who 
 trusts a fool, a fool who is not chastised when he is in 
 fault, and the greatest of fools who follows all his inclin- 
 ations." Beyond this kind of thing — the worthless 
 morality of the proverb which everybody quotes and 
 nobody follows, and which is dinned in one's ears until 
 it ceases to mean anything— ^he teachers of Provence 
 never ventured in the path of wisdomj 
 I The character of the Provencals, their dislikes and 
 their preferences, dictated the sentiments of people so 
 dependent in popularity as the troubadours. The latter 
 Iflattered the foibles of those to whom they sang, and 
 thus developed the aristocracy of Provence into a race 
 of perhaps the most reckless, restless, brilliant profli- 
 gates that ever the world saw — a race ready to risk 
 every thing to destroy a foe or please a mistress — whom 
 
342 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 a sarcasm could urge to mortal combat, whose fiercest 
 mood a panegyric could reduce to amiability, whose 
 sternest resolution evaporated before an epigram, whose 
 loftiest motive was glory, who were incapable of com- 
 prehending the little word duty, whose life was a round 
 of^ensuality, and whose closing scene was the triumph 
 of superstition^ To the numerous anecdotes illustrative 
 of these remarks which we have scattered through our 
 pages we append the following, perhaps the most cha- 
 racteristic of any. In 1 176 the Counts of Provence and 
 Toulouse met at Beaucire, in order to conclude a treaty 
 of peace. Each prince was attended by a brilliant train 
 of nobles, who spent the period of meeting in attempts 
 to outshine one another in splendour and profusion. 
 More even than the scene of meeting between Henry 
 VIII. and Francis I. did the scene of this one deserve to 
 be termed "the Field of the Cloth of Gold." Horses 
 were shod with silver, valets clad in the richest attire, 
 and dogs decorated with jewelled collars. As to the 
 feasting, every evening beheld a banquet which 
 Heliogabalus would have delighted to share, and 
 Petronius to describe. Tournament followed tour- 
 nament, each surpassing its predecessor in sumptuous- 
 ness. The one closing the interview between the 
 princes was marked by unheard-of prodigality. " I," 
 said the lord of Siminiane, " will prepare the lists." He 
 did so by yoking twelve pairs of white oxen to a plough 
 and breaking up the ground. Afterwards he caused 
 the space to be sown with thirty thousand golden crowns. 
 " I," said the lord of Agoult, " will provide the prizes," 
 which he did to the value of a hundred thousand crowns. 
 " I," said Guilhem de Martello, "will prepare the feast.'' 
 He kept his word, loading the tables w'th magnificent 
 plate and the rarest viands cooked over the flame of wax 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF THE TROUBADOURS 343 
 
 tapers, and at the close each guest was presented with 
 the plate that he had used. " Now," said another 
 worthy, Raymond of Venous, " I will treat you to such 
 a spectacle as you never saw before." In the centre of 
 the tilting-ground he caused thirty stakes to be planted, 
 and to these stakes his servants fastened thirty noble 
 horses, each superbly caparisoned. In the midst of the 
 circle was -placed the armour, weapons, and other equip- 
 ments of thirty men-at-arms. The value of the whole 
 surpassed even the cost of Martello's supper. Then the 
 lord of Venous, causing a great quantity of wood to be 
 heaped over the armour and round the horses, fired the 
 enormous pile and destroyed the whole ! 
 
 The religion of the Langue d'Oc was greatly modified 
 by the Provencal character. There, as will be seen 
 in our sketches of Gancelm Faudit and Guilhem of 
 St. Legier, a pilgrimage was in most instances a prome- 
 nade of gallantry, and a shrine a place of assignation ; 
 and even in those pilgrimages wherein devotion was the 
 real object, that devotion was still of an amorous cha- 
 racter. Near Marseilles, at Les Baumes, high up among 
 woods and rocks, was a grotto, in which it was said that 
 the Eastern penitent, Mary Magdalen, had spent the 
 last seventeen years of her life. The legend was evidently 
 without base. In modern times the most strenuous advo- 
 cate of such things among the educated admit that 
 tradition confounded a recluse of Provencal descent 
 with the sister of Lazarus. During the middle ages, 
 however, good Catholics never dreamt of doubting the 
 story. Thegrotto, through which runs a stream said tohave 
 originated in Mary's tears, contained a chapel, lately le- 
 stored, and was honoured with a devotion that extended 
 far beyond the limits of the Langue d'Oc. Among the 
 pilgrims to the shrine are numbered three queens and 
 
344 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 thirteen kings of France, all the counts of Provence, 
 " many popes, and an infinity of princes, dukes, and 
 barons." By far the most interesting pilgrims were 
 those of love. A stroll barefoot along the rocky ways 
 that led to the recess, was a favourite penance inflicted 
 on certain offenders. But fully as often the penance 
 was self-imposed. It was believed that a pilgrimage 
 to this particular shrine, accompanied by a fitting 
 offering and a proper amount of prayer, was the best of 
 all remedies for slighted affection, since the sympathizing 
 saint invariably cleared the heart of passion and sent it 
 home rejoicing. At Poictiers, near the other extremity 
 of the Langue d'Oc, there was a similar, but even more 
 singular, shrine. The story of its origin is this : — A 
 youth of tender conscience, giving way to temptation, 
 took his frailty so much to heart that he pined to death. 
 From his grave sprang a rose-tree, bearing a few dis- 
 coloured, pining blossoms, and a great many thorns. 
 The circumstance attracting much attention, the grave 
 of the youth was opened and his body examined. In 
 the mouth was found a billet, inscribed with the word 
 " Marie." The thing was proclaimed a miracle, and the 
 body removed to a grave excavated near the altar of the 
 Virgin. Over this grave was erected a monument, con- 
 sisting of a pillar supporting a rose-bush, in the centre 
 of which lay a heart. Thither unhappy lovers were 
 accustomed to travel on pilgrimage, in order to obtain 
 relief The place, it is stated, was never for a moment 
 vacant. A visitor was always to be seen clasping the 
 pillar with both arms, and preferring a petition for relief 
 with abundance of tears, while many other visitors 
 waited with manifest impatience, their turn to go through 
 the same form. 
 
 Indeed, wherever the eye rested in mediaeval Provence, 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF THE TROUBADOURS 345 
 
 it was sure to distinguish tokens of the influence of the 
 troub; t'iijiirs and their songs. Nothing can be more 
 prosaic than the by-laws, regulations, &c., inscribed 
 over our toll-gates ; but in Provence, at the period of 
 which we write, even such things as these were charac- 
 teristic of the people. Such dues as the following 
 were regularly exacted by the custodians of ferries, 
 bridges, &c. : — " Buffoons, mimics, dancers, and minstrels 
 shall play before the lady of the manor." "A tumbril 
 carrying rogues to trial or punishment, shall pay a cord 
 of the value of six deniers." "A pilgrim shall sing his 
 romance to a new tune, and in return he shall receive a 
 bed of fresh straw, should he think proper to pass the 
 night in the manor." Concerning this item we may be 
 allowed to remark that, considering the number of 
 pilgrims who were always a-foot, such a thing as "a new 
 tune " could not have been of very easy attainment, and 
 that, in consequence, the pilgrim ran considerable risk of 
 losing his passage and his bed of fresh straw, if the toll- 
 taker happened to be in a surly mood. "A footman 
 (booted or not), mendicant or vagabond, shall have free 
 lodging, provided he make four sommersaults." "A 
 Moor shall cast his turban into the air and pay down 
 five sols, full weight, at the door of the chateau." " A 
 Jew shall put his shoes on his head, and say, ' will he, 
 nill he,' one pater in the patois of the country." "An 
 exhibitor of bears or monkeys shall make the animals 
 dance to the sound of the flageolet.'' And there were 
 many other items fully as curious as any of those we 
 have quoted. 
 
 Very illustrative of the influence possessed in their 
 day by the troubadours, are the customs which prevailed 
 at Aix down to the last century, and which, perhapsi 
 have not wholly disappeared even yet. Aix, it may be 
 
346 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 observed, more than any other Provengal town, might 
 be expected to present such remnants of the age of 
 song. It was the favourite dwelHng-place of the Counts 
 of Provence, and, therefore, a principal haunt of the 
 troubadours. It was also the residence of that enthu- 
 siastic admirer of everything that was old and chivalrous, 
 Rene of Anjou. And it may be presumed — indeed^ the 
 thing is capable of proof — that the "good king" did his 
 best, and not without a certain amount of success, to 
 re-establish those usages which, even in his day, were 
 already somewhat quaint and unfashionable. The 
 municipality of Aix retained in its service "a master 
 poet and four apprentices, who were called the Mamons." 
 Every New Year's Day each of these mamons received 
 a scarlet robe, a yellow bonnet, and a gay cockade, in 
 addition to his stipend. One of their duties was to 
 make odes, and recite them, in praise of the town, at 
 certain festivals. But they were far less laureates than 
 censors, being expected to denounce, without fear or 
 favour, all signal displays of pride, vanity, cunning, or 
 immorality, confirmed cases of hypocrisy, mesalliances, 
 &c. The diatribe was always delivered in the presence 
 of the culprit, and there was no such thing as shunning 
 it. When there was a culprit to be dealt with, the poets 
 put their heads together and concocted the doggrel. 
 This done, they donned their glaring attire, and, attended 
 by the belman and sundry minstrels, marched off to the 
 residence of the doomed individual. They mostly took 
 the longest way, traversing the streets with solemn steps ' 
 and slow. And as the citizens of Aix rather liked such 
 things, they were sure to have a tolerable company in 
 attendance. Nobody could refuse to admit them, under 
 the heaviest penalties ; nor was it safe to be out of the 
 way. So the sufferer was mostly to be found at home 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF THE TROUBADOURS 347 
 
 with his best apartment prepared for the visitors. The 
 apprentices began the business by strewing the chamber 
 with brown flowers. This done, the whole band struck 
 up the accusing song, adopting an air whose monotony- 
 was sure to allow every sentence to be heard with a dis- 
 tinctness, excruciating for, at least, one of the audience. 
 Having reached the final stanza, always a stereotyped 
 piece of advice not to be naughty again, the mamons 
 bowed low to the company and withdrew. This delect- 
 able custom was religiously observed on all fair, and on a 
 good many hardly fair, occasions, until, about a hundred 
 and thirty years ago, a citizen becoming restive under 
 the infliction, adopted measures that put an end to the 
 mamons and their satires, to the vast regret of the 
 lovers of all good old customs. " Since then,'' remarks 
 M. de Villeneuve, in his Biography of King Ren6, 
 " fools and follies have decidedly increased in and about 
 Aix." 
 
 Still more curious were the associations of Valentines 
 which overspread the Langue d'Oc, and even appeared 
 in many of the neighbouring countries. In our chapter 
 on the Cavalier Servente, and apropos of Guilhem of 
 Cabestaing, we have given a sketch of the valentines 
 in high life. There were similar guilds among the 
 masses, and these, as they obtained at Aix, we shall 
 now notice. On the first of May all the unmarried and 
 disengaged lads of the place assembled in a meadow, 
 and cast lots for the disengaged damsels of the neigh- 
 bourhood, every one, female as well as male, being 
 bound to accept the partner assigned by chance. The 
 lad was to champion the lass against evil tongues, to aid 
 her in her labours, to escort her to church on Sundays 
 and holidays, and to present her with a bouquet contain- 
 ing- ten difi'erent kinds of flowers, on the first day of every 
 
348 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 month, a dove at Easter, and three cakes at Whitsuntide. 
 When May Eve came round a cam, the lads planted 
 v/hat were called Mais under the windows of their valen- 
 tines. These Mais were of two kinds. A branch of 
 elder was employed if the planter wished to resume his 
 liberty, and a branch of birch if he were satisfied with 
 his choice and desired to perpetuate the engagement. 
 In the latter case the branch was decorated with gar- 
 lands of flowers and gay ribbons, and enclosed several 
 birds of song. If the maiden accepted the offer thus 
 made, she removed the May to her chamber ; but if the 
 offerer happened to be distasteful, she signified the 
 unpleasant truth by leaving the May where it stood, 
 sometimes emphasizing her refusal by placing a plate of 
 walnuts beside it. It is said that there was a good deal 
 of craft exercised on these occasions — that the maidens 
 sometimes replaced the elder-branch with one of birch, 
 not forgetting the walnuts, and that the youths resorted 
 to similar contrivances — each desiring to throw the 
 shame of being refused on the other. 
 
 We must not omit to notice the influence of the 
 troubadours on history. Their romantic accounts, of the 
 prison adventures of Cceur de Lion, and of the doings 
 of sundry kings, counts, princes, and emperors, are now 
 no longer credited. But there was a time when such 
 fables were taught and believed as true history. We 
 have before us a treatise on the Duello (Venice, 1569), 
 written in the sixteenth century, by a grave and judi- 
 cious personage, Don Geronimo Urrea, Viceroy of 
 Naples, councillor of Charles V. &c., &c. Therein is 
 described how a certain Raymond Bercnger, Count of 
 Barcelona, made a journey in disguise into the heart of 
 Germany, and how he encountered, and slew in single 
 combat, the traducer of an empress, whose life depended 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF THE TROUBADOURS 349 
 
 on the issue of the strife. All this is told exultingly as 
 a fact, the deed and its doer being held up to the 
 admiration of the generation for which Urrea wrote, as 
 models than which nothing could be found more worthy 
 of imitation. Modern criticism has exploded many of 
 these fables, though not without much labour, and in 
 the face of obstinate prejudice. But a sufficient number 
 of them still remain, and are likely to remain for many 
 a day to come, on the pages of history. One instance 
 we .shall mention : it is the story told of Queen Eleanor 
 sucking the poison from the wound of Edward I. — a 
 story which was and is told of many other heroines and 
 heroes besides. 
 
 The influence of the troubadours on the literature 
 of Europe generally has been great. As we have 
 already remarked, all the popular forms of Italian 
 poetry were borrowed from them. Nor were Italians 
 less indebted to the Provengals in the matter of idea. 
 Our experience has shown us that it would not be diffi- 
 cult to fill a good-sized volume with examples, in which 
 the former have taken, not merely the sense, but the 
 very words of the Proven9als to themselves. It has 
 formed no part of our plan to do this, otherwise we 
 could have shown Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, and Tasso, 
 to make no mention of lesser names, paraphrasing as 
 extensively from the Provencals, as Spenser of " The 
 Fairie Queene," and some other early English bards, 
 paraphrased from the Italians. Of Petrarch Millot has 
 remarked, with a good deal of audacity, that he 
 borrowed one line from Arnaud Daniel, and that the 
 latter was the only troubadour thus honoured. If the 
 appropriation of a man's ideas be conferring honour on 
 him, then we must say that Petrarch distributed a good 
 deal of honour among the troubadours. We give one 
 
350 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 instance out of many; much of the substance of the 
 beautiful sonnet beginning : — 
 
 Benedetto sia '1 giorno, e 1 mese, e '1 anno ; 
 (Blessed be the day, the month, the year ;) 
 
 and several of the lines, notably the one just quoted, 
 
 have been borrowed from a canzon, attributed to 
 
 Giraud of Borneil, in which the parallel passage opens 
 
 thus : — 
 
 Ben ai al temps, el jorn, e '1 an, e '1 mes. 
 
 (Blessed be the season, the day, the year, the month). 
 
 The plagiarism is curious, and not the less so, since 
 precisely the same benediction is repeated by Byron : — 
 
 Ave Marie ! Blessed be the hour ! 
 The time, the clime, the spot ! 
 
 Do}i Juan, iii., 102. 
 
 It is not improbable but that the plan of the " Divina 
 Commedia " was suggested by the Provengals. In our 
 illustrations of the servente,we have given a rough para- 
 phrase of one in which the poet makes rather a daring 
 visit to Paradise — a kind of thing not at all unusual with 
 the troubadours and their contemporaries. Indeed, there 
 yet remains a manuscript, written some time during the 
 Pontificate of Alexander III., in which is related the 
 vision of a certain Fra Alberico, of Montecassino, who 
 is represented as having made — in the spirit — precisely 
 the same round as Dante. To this vision may be 
 traced not a few of the terrible ideas afterwards expressed 
 by the father of Italian poetry. Ourselves think that 
 Alberico was a phantom called up by the editors, and 
 that the story was really borrowed from the Provencals, 
 like many others of a different caste. (So far has this 
 borrowing been carried, that there is hardly one of the 
 older Italian novelists, Boccaccio included, who cannot 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF THE TROUBADOURS 351 
 
 be proved to have indulged therein, and in most 
 instances largely. Of this we have pointed out many 
 instances in the course of our work. Perhaps the 
 strongest proof that could be given ot our assertion, is 
 contained in the remark which Ariosto places in the 
 mouth of Rinaldo, when the nocchier proposes to relate 
 the story " of Adonic and the valuable gift of a dog 
 which he made to the wife of the judge." To this the 
 paladin replies • — 
 
 II suono 
 Non passa '1 Alpe, e qui tra voi rimane ; 
 Perche nfe in Francia, nfedove ito sono 
 Parlar n'udi ne le contrade estrane. 
 
 Orlando, xliii. 7 i. 
 
 Ariosto could hardly have said as much of other 
 stories told in the same poem. As to this particular 
 one, we remember a remark once made respecting 
 Raphael, to the effect that he might safely repudiate the 
 title of a copyist, since he had taken care to destroy 
 the original of his copy. Nor was similar destruction by 
 any means impossible in the case of a Provencal story ; 
 for then, as now, the more important Provengal manu- 
 scripts were to be found in Italy. The importation of 
 ultramontane ideas must have gone far indeed, when 
 Ariosto thought it right to announce the Italian origin 
 of his dog story. Nor is such importation denied by 
 the Italian commentators, every one of whom goes to 
 Provengal literature for materials. 
 
 That the Minnesangers were the imitators of the 
 troubadours no impartial student can doubt. Such is 
 the similarity of style between these rivals that the 
 one or the other must have been copyists. That the 
 troubadours preceded the Minnesangers by a long 
 period, and were, therefore, the originals, is capable of 
 
352 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 demonstration. While the lyrigts of ttie " Fatherland " 
 are unknown to history previous to the middle of the 
 twelfth century — a date telling against thtir originality, 
 as we shall show presently — the annalists give us 
 glimpses of the troubadours at an earlier period. 
 Glaber, narratin'^ i ' ^ marriage of King Robert to Con- 
 stance of Aquitaiiic (looo), shows that the Provengals 
 who followed the bride to Northern France, were not 
 very different from the Provencals of later times. He 
 speaks of their fickleness, their foppishness, and the mis- 
 chievous influence which they quickly acquired over their 
 new acquaintances. And, while telling how the French 
 hastened to copy the dress and manners of their visitors, 
 he proves sufficiently the superior refinement of the latter. 
 Glaber closes with some verses, in which he is severe on 
 the Provengals, thereby proving, as it seems to us, that 
 the objects of his censure were already singers, and that 
 he himself had fallen into the habit of imitation which 
 he blames in the courtiers. It is probable that the 
 troubadours were in song by the beginning of the 
 eleventh century ; but it is certain that such was the 
 fact fifty years later. By the time last mentioned the 
 Provencal language was formed, and one consummate 
 master thereof, William, Count of Poitou, had taken up 
 the lute ; and from William's days forward the succes- 
 sion of troubadours was continuous. The prince we 
 speak of was one of the earliest crusaders : nor was he 
 the only troubadour, by many thousands, who fought 
 against the Saracen. It was only in these wars that 
 the Germans could be introduced to Provencal poetry ; 
 and, if this be admitted, then the middle of the twelfth 
 century would be about the period when the Minne- 
 sangers would be likely to begin to produce successful 
 imitations of the lyrics of the troubadours. Further, it 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF THE TROUBADOURS 353 
 
 has been clearl^ shown that the Germans repeatedly 
 translated the rhymes of tlfe Provengals, while it has not 
 been proved that the Provengals ever translated from the 
 German. The poetry of the Langue d'Oc, indeed, does 
 not present a single German feature. Nor can we 
 remember an instance in which a troubadour, even of 
 the most vagabond propensities, turned his steps 
 towards the Rhine. Precisely the contrary is the fact 
 in both cases. Many German songs are evidently of 
 Provengal origin ; and many a German knight imitated 
 the Emperor Frederick, in visiting Provence and in 
 making Provengal verses. 
 
 The Norman trouvieres were, unquestionably, the 
 children of the troubadours — their first-born, it may be 
 observed. The contiguity of Normandy to the Langue 
 d'Oc, and the establishment of Norman princes in Poitou 
 and Anjou, with the consequent freedom and facility of 
 intercourse between the North and the South, caused ■ 
 the poetry of the two countries to assume a close resem- 
 blance at an early date. Nearly all the more popular 
 legends and songs have their representatives in both 
 literatures. And there are instances, as in the lays of 
 Cceur de Lion, in which it is impossible to pronounce 
 which of the two versions is the original. 
 
 We say not one word of the influence exercised by 
 the troubadours over Spanish literature, simply because 
 it would be impossible to give anything like an intelli- 
 gible view of this influence, within the few pages that we 
 could bestow thereon. 
 
 Ere we conclude, we may remark that, amid much \ 
 evil, the troubadours did some good. They were the first 
 real revolutionists of modern times. In their hves and 
 in their songs they were a protest against the iron 
 rigidity, the pride, and the exclusiveness of the feudal 
 
 A A 
 
354 THE TROUBADOURS 
 
 system. They were the earliest assertors of the dignity 
 of intellect. In their view, the poet, no matter what his 
 birth, was the equal of the prince. And their system of 
 gallantry, with all its vices, had this much good — that 
 it allowed the man of genius to cope with the prince, 
 and thus prepared the public mind for an extension of 
 the rivalry. 
 
 With an imitation of one of their battle-songs, we 
 close our sketches of the TROUBADOURS : — 
 
 March, march ! — to rival the glory- 
 Achieved in Cressy's fray ; 
 March, march ! — to lengthen the story 
 Our sires began that day. 
 Ye look for the same good fruit on the scion 
 
 That grew on the parent tree ; 
 And are we not the cubs of the Lion, 
 
 Grown hoary in victory ? 
 Forward ! March, march ! 
 
 March, march ! — ye broad-breasted yeomen — 
 
 An English trumpet calls ! 
 March, march ! — to-day should our foemen 
 Look to weapons and walls. 
 Whate'er befall ere the strife be ended, 
 Yet shame awaits not our bands : 
 Defeat has shed 07i us fame more s-plendid 
 
 Than triumph on other lands* 
 Forward ! March, march ! 
 
 * This is the simple truth ; as, for instance, Talbot at Chatillon, the 
 battle of Fontenoi, &c. 
 
355 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 CODE OF LOVE. 
 
 1. Causa conjugii ab amore non est excusatio recta. 
 
 2. Qui non celat araare non potest. 
 
 3. Nemo duplici potest amore ligari. 
 
 4. Semper amorem minui vel crescere constat. 
 
 5. Non est sapidum quod amans ab invito sumit amante. 
 
 6. Masculus non solet nisi in plenS. pubertate amare. 
 
 7. Biennalis viduitas pro amante defuncto superstiti praescribitur 
 
 amanti. 
 
 8. Nemo, sine rationis excessu,' suo debet amore privari. 
 
 9. Amare nemo potest, nisi qui amoris suasione compellitur. 
 
 10. Amor semper ab avaritiffi consuevit domiciliis exulare. 
 
 11. Non decet amare quarum pudor est nuptias affectare. 
 
 12. Verus amans alterius nisi suse coamantis ex affectu non cupit 
 
 amplexus. 
 
 13. Amor raro consuevit durare vulgatus. 
 
 14. Facilis perceptio contemptibilem reddit amorem, difficilis eum 
 
 carum facit haberi. 
 
 15. Omnis consuevit amans in coamantis aspectu pallescere. 
 
 16. In repentini coamantis visione, cor tremescit amantis. 
 
 17. Novus amor veterem compellit abire. 
 
 18. Probitas sola quemcumque dignum facit amore. 
 
 19. Si amor minuatur, cite deficit et raro convalescit. 
 
 20. Amorosus semper est timorosus. 
 
 21. Ex vera zelotypia affectus semper crescit amandi. 
 
 23 . De coamante suspicione percepti zelus interea et affectus crescit 
 amandi. 
 
356 APPENDIX. 
 
 23. Minus dormit et edit quern amoris cogitatio vexat. 
 
 24. Quilibet amantis actus in coamantis cogitatione finitur. 
 
 25. Verus amans nihil beatum credit, nisi quod cogitat amanti 
 
 placere. 
 
 26. Amor nihil posset amori denegare. 
 
 27. Amans coamantis solatiis satiari non potest. 
 
 28. Modica praesumptio cogit amantem de coamante suspicari 
 
 sinistra. 
 
 29. Non solet amare quem nimia voluptatis abundantia vexat. 
 
 30. Verus amans assidua, sine intermissione, coamantis imagine 
 
 detinetur. 
 
 31. Unam feminam nihil prohibet a duobus amari, et a duabus 
 
 muheribus unum. 
 
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