The troubadours

The formal principle on which the division in the earlier chapters has been made must henceforth be abandoned entirely. The two great classes of poetry to which we now must turn, and which comprise by far the greater portion of Provençal literature, the sirventes and the canzo, have no metrical scheme inherent in either of them as an essential part of their kind. The same infinite variety of rhyme and metre and stanza is found in the one as well as in the other. They can be separated, therefore, according to the subject-matter alone; and on this ground a division is easy enough, and satisfactory, at least as far as one of the two branches is concerned. The canzo, it may briefly be said, is a lyrical poem which treats of love, and a sirventes one which does not. To the further definition of the latter somewhat negative term we must now devote our attention for a little while. A few general remarks on the character of the poetry of the troubadours, distinguishing it from all other mediæval schools, may aptly precede this, the most important section of the present work.

Of the enormous importance of poetry in the literary, the social, the political, and the religious life of mediæval Provence, of the variety of functions which it assumed, and the energy and success with which it did justice to each of them, the modern reader can hardly form an idea. A passage with which the troubadour Raimon Vidal opens his learned treatise on metrical art, called ‘Razos de Trobar,’ will throw some light on the intense and wide-spread love of song characterising this outburst of long pent-up feeling. ‘All Christendom,’ he says, ‘Jews and Saracens, the emperor, kings, dukes, counts and viscounts, commanders, vassals, and other knights, citizens and peasants, tall and little, daily give their minds to singing and verse-making, by either singing themselves or listening to others. No place is so deserted, or out of the way, that, as long as men inhabit it, songs are not sung either by single persons or by many together; even the shepherds in the mountains know of no greater joy than song. All good and evil things in the world are made known by the troubadours, and no evil talk, that has once been put into rhyme and verse by a troubadour, fails to be repeated every day.’

Let us now inquire into the nature of a poetry which exercised so potent a sway over all classes of society. The appearance of the first troubadour coincides very nearly with the earliest impetus of pious indignation caused by the sorrowful tales of pilgrims to the Holy Sepulchre. The result was a universal rising of Christian nations, a common effort of pious revenge on the Painim, an invasion finally of the eastern by the western world, such as history has rarely witnessed. Gibbon and Chateaubriand, Hume and Joseph de Maistre, may look on the crusades in very different ways. In one thing they cannot but agree, viz., that the religious impulse of which they were the tangible result tended to remould and imbue with a new principle of life the whole of western civilisation. The only mental product of this profound revolution of feeling which concerns us here, is the idealised conception of chivalry in immediate connection with the enthusiastic movement alluded to. This idea included those others of honour, of prowess, of candour, of loyalty, which, even in modern parlance, we are wont to comprehend in the word chivalrous. But the noblest duty of the mediæval knight was his service and devotion to the lady of his heart, a feeling akin to the religious veneration of that type of immaculate womanhood which the wisdom of the Roman Church had placed on a par almost with the Deity itself. These feelings, common as they are to the mediæval poetry of all nations, were expressed with more than ordinary fervour by the knightly singers of Southern France. At the same time they appear here with so many national and individual modifications, as to impart to the study of Provençal literature, beyond the historical and philological importance of its monuments, an additional human interest.

Take, for instance, the idea of love as reflected in the poetry of the troubadours. It is true that many of their songs breathe the purest and most ardent spirit of romantic veneration; one chief division of Provençal poetry, the canzo, or song proper, is exclusively devoted to this loving worship. But the bold natural common sense of the French character always acted as a wholesome antidote to the tendency of purely spiritual sublimation. We have already observed the essentially realistic view which Count William took of the grande passion, and we shall hear before long that the weaknesses of their fair idols were a favourite butt of the satiric iconoclasm of more than one of the troubadours.

This leaven of scepticism is observable even amongst the effusions of religious enthusiasm. I am not alluding to the active part taken by many of the troubadours in the struggle of Count Raimond of Toulouse, the protector of the Albigeois, against the ravaging hordes of Simon de Montfort, the champion of Papal supremacy. This part was rather of a national than of a religious kind;⁠[17] for it must be remembered that the crusade against the Provençal heretics implied at the same time an onslaught of Northern centralisation on Southern independence, the success of which finally resulted in the abrupt and total decline of Provençal literature. What I was referring to is a curious and most charming poem by Marcabrun, in which that celebrated troubadour seems to oppose the excessive passion of the age for crusading expeditions. This was a somewhat ticklish subject, and apt to bring a peaceful poet into unpleasant collision with hierarchical powers. To cautious considerations of this kind we probably owe one of the sweetest conceptions of Provençal poetry; one of the rare instances, moreover, in which a description of beautiful scenery has been successfully attempted. For, as a rule, the troubadours show little rapport with outward nature, and their occasional allusions to flowers and blue skies are generally of a conventional character.

Marcabrun introduces us into the full splendour of southern spring; the trees are strewn with the young year’s blossoms, and resonant with the songs of birds. By the brook in the orchard we see a lonely maiden, the beautiful daughter of the châtelain. Little she heeds the bloom of the spring, or the joyous note of the songsters. Her tears mingle with the brook, and bitterly she complains to ‘Jesus, Lord of the world, for great grief has come to me through thee. The best men have gone to distant lands at thy behest, and with them my true love, bravest among the brave.’ The poet here steps in to interrupt the lady’s lament with gentle remonstrance. ‘Your tears,’ he suggests, ‘will injure your face and complexion; moreover He, who has adorned the trees with blossoms, may turn your grief into joy.’ But the lady turns a deaf ear to his comfortings. ‘Sir,’ she replies, ‘I willingly believe that God in the next world may vouchsafe me his grace; but in this I have lost my true love.’⁠[18] Supposing the tendency of the poem to be such as I have surmised it to be, it must be owned that Marcabrun has carried out his purpose in the most ingenious manner. Pious souls might be referred to the religious commonplaces, introduced for safety sake, while more intelligent listeners could not fail to perceive the poet’s real meaning in the naïve pleadings of the desolate girl. An analogous mode of treatment of the identical subject occurs, by the way, in a poem by the excellent North-French trouvère Rutebœuf. He also describes a discussion between an assailant and a staunch defender of the crusades. To keep up appearances, the wicked sceptic had ultimately to confess himself convinced, but the reader easily perceives that the greater force of argument is, and is meant to be, with the vanquished.

From various statements in the above remarks, the reader will have seen that the popular idea of a troubadour as a singer of love, and of nothing but love, is as incorrect and one-sided as popular ideas frequently are. There is, indeed, no important topic of political, social, and literary history of the time, which does not find an echo in the poetry of these gay singers. The form of art in which these and kindred questions are treated is collectively called the sirventes,⁠[19] and the study of this branch of Provençal literature is of engrossing interest, both by the variety of contemporary topics touched upon, and by the display of brilliant wit and trenchant personal satire, with which many of these songs abound; the latter feature being in strong contrast with the charming but somewhat monotonous sweetness of the canzo, or love-song. The sirventes of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries has been compared with the newspaper press of the nineteenth; and it may indeed seem doubtful to which of these two organs of public opinion the greater influence on the contemporary mind ought to be attributed, leaving, of course, the international importance of modern journalism out of the question. The rapid circulation of the censuring sirventes amongst those concerned was amply provided for by vagrant joglars, whose lively recitations gave additional zest to satirical points; and the boldness and fierce castigation of public or private enemies indulged in by the troubadours throw all similar attempts of modern writers into the shade. Cobbett and the early Quarterly Reviewers would appear mild in such juxtaposition. The eagerness with which princes and great nobles tried to ward off, or return with equal force, the attacks of poets infinitely their inferiors in rank and power, proves the dangerous nature of the weapon.

According to its subject-matter the sirventes may be divided into four important groups: the personal, the social-and-political, the moral, and the religious sirventes; the last-named term being applicable chiefly to the poems relating to the Albigeois crusade. Theological and more especially dogmatic subjects gave little concern to the troubadours, although they had a keen eye for the weaknesses of the clergy both secular and monastic. All these classes of polemic literature will be treated at length in the course of this work. To complete the outline of the subject it is necessary only to refer briefly to two minor branches of the sirventes. They are the planh or complaint, and the crusader’s song, the former belonging more especially to the personal, the latter to the religious, class of poems.

The planh is a poem written on the death of a mistress, a friend, or a protector. It no doubt was amongst the duties of courtly poets to deplore the loss of the latter in suitable terms, and by far the greater number of complaints remaining to us belong to the species of official poetry. But in spite of this there is the true ring of sorrow in most of these songs, a fact which shows the frequent existence of genuinely cordial relations between the poets and their noble patrons. ‘Like one,’ says Folquet of Marseilles, ‘who is so sad that he has lost the sense of sorrow, I feel no pain or sadness; all is buried in forgetfulness. For my loss is so overpowering that my heart cannot conceive it, nor can any man understand its greatness.’ The object of this pathetic and no doubt sincere sorrow is not, as might be expected, a beloved friend of equal station or a mistress, but Barral, the mighty viscount of Marseilles, at whose court Folquet had been staying for a long time, and to whose wife, Adalasia, he was passionately attached.

Quite as genuine and historically more important is the song in which Gaucelm Faidit deplores the premature death of England’s heroic King Richard. ‘It is hard on me,’ he says, ‘that the greatest loss and the greatest pain I ever had, and which I shall deplore for aye and ever, that this loss I must announce and proclaim in a song. The great and glorious Richard, the king of the English, is dead. Ah, God! what grief, what a loss! How strange the word sounds, and how sad it is to hear! He must have an obdurate heart who can bear it.’ The poet then proceeds to sing the praises of his lost protector in enthusiastic terms. ‘The king is dead—not for a thousand years has there been a man so brave, so kind, so bold, so liberal. For Alexander, the king who conquered Darius, did not, I believe, show such largess, nor are Charles and Arthur equal to his worth!’ All this may seem exaggerated and hyperbolical on the ground of historic criticism and moral principle; but Gaucelm Faidit did not see in Richard the rebellious son of former, and the tyrannic ruler of later days. To him he was the centre of gaiety and splendour, the fount of wealth and comfort, and, there is little doubt, a beloved friend withal.

Of another Complaint devoted by Bertran de Born to the praise of Richard’s ill-fated brother Henry we shall hear on a later occasion. It marks the climax of power and beauty reached by this section of poetic art.

Of the close connection between the poetry of the troubadours and the impulse which sent thousands of knights and varlets of all nations to the distant East, general mention has already been made. The more immediate result of this affinity of spirit is the song of the crusade, a poem that is designed to inspire men with valour and sacred ambition in the service of the Lord. It is a characteristic fact that the first troubadour of whom we have historic knowledge has left us a remarkable song of this order.

Guillem of Poitiers, the reader will remember, led anything but an exemplary life. But towards the end of it he repented, and resolved to atone for his evil ways by a pilgrimage to the Holy Land at the head of a large army. So important an event in his life and thought the poet could not let pass in silence. He wrote a song in commemoration of it, which is a document of deepest interest both as regards its psychological and its historic import. It betrays a heart loth to leave the world’s joy and yet urged on to a holy purpose by the sense of a deep necessity of regeneration. ‘I go into exile,’ he says, ‘and leave behind me my son surrounded by warfare and fear and danger; for his neighbours are malevolent men.’ He conjures his cousin and his overlord to take care of the unprotected boy, who without such help would be lost. He next bids a sad adieu to knightly splendour and to the joys of love, and in token of sincere repentance he humbly asks the forgiveness of all whom he may have offended. The tone of the song is exceedingly sad, and full of a latent presentiment of death. On the other hand we miss the holy enthusiasm of the early crusaders. There is no appeal to the faithful, no proud determination to liberate the Redeemer’s tomb by deeds of valour, such as abound in similar poems by other troubadours. It has indeed been doubted whether the song referred to the crusade at all, and not rather to some shorter pilgrimage or temporary retirement from the world. But for a minor event of that kind the fear of danger for his son and country appears too grave, and it seems on the other hand but natural that a man of Guillem’s temperament and habits should speak of a separation from the haunts of his pleasure and the scenes of his glory as a dreary banishment. In his feeling this grief and disappointment would naturally be uppermost, but all the more worthy of emulation must have been the example of a resolve which in spite of all this remained unshaken. From this point of view Count Guillem’s poem holds a prominent place amongst the songs of the crusade.

In most cases, however, these songs take the form of an appeal or admonition addressed to the people, and, more frequently still, to individual princes and nobles. These are exhorted to abandon their worldly interests and discords, and join hands in the sacred endeavour. The allusions to persons and contemporary events incidentally introduced make some of these poems exceedingly valuable material for the historian. Others again are interesting owing to the genuine elevation of the heart that speaks from every line and inspires the work with true poetic passion. Three songs by Pons de Capduelh, a noble poet of Puy Sainte Marie, deserve mention. They all refer to the crusade against Saladin, and must have been written about the year 1188. As regards elevation of language they are unsurpassed in Provençal literature. The second especially is a master-piece of simple and yet impressive diction. Unfortunately its length forbids the quotation of the original together with an English version. The latter alone, on the other hand, would convey too imperfect an idea of the tone and diction of the poem. As a middle course I have subjoined a rendering which occurs in the French edition of Dietz’s ‘Poesie der Troubadours.’

‘Qu’il soit désormais notre guide et notre protecteur, celui qui guida les trois rois à Bethléem. Sa miséricorde nous indique une voie par laquelle les plus grands pécheurs, qui la suivent avec zèle et franchise, arriveront à leur salut. Insensé, insensé l’homme qui, par un vil attachement à ses terres et à ses richesses, négligera de prendre la croix, puisque par sa faute et par sa lâcheté il perd à la fois son honneur et son Dieu.

‘Voyez quelle est la démence de celui qui ne s’arme point. Jésus, le Dieu de vérité, a dit à ses apôtres qu’il fallait le suivre, et que pour le suivre on devait renoncer à tous ses biens, à toutes ses affections terrestres; le moment est venu d’accomplir son saint commandement. Mourir outre mer pour son nom sacré est préférable à vivre en ces lieux avec gloire; oui, la vie est ici pire que la mort. Qu’est-ce qu’une vie honteuse? Mais mourir en affrontant ces glorieux dangers, c’est triompher de la mort même et s’assurer une éternelle félicité.

‘Humiliez-vous avec ardeur devant la croix, et par ses mérites vous obtiendrez le pardon de vos péchés; c’est par la croix que notre Seigneur a racheté vos fautes et vos crimes—lorsque sa sainte pitié fit grâce au bon larron, lorsque sa justice s’appesantit sur le méchant, et qu’il accueillit même le repentir de Longin. Par la croix il sauva ceux qui étaient dans la voie de la perdition; enfin il souffrit la mort et ne la souffrit que pour notre salut. Malheureux donc quiconque ne s’acquitte pas envers la générosité d’un Dieu.

‘A quoi servent les conquêtes de l’ambition? En vain vous soumettrez tous les royaumes qui sont de ce côté de la mer, si vous êtes infidèles et ingrats à votre Dieu. Alexandre avait soumis toute la terre. Qu’emporta-t-il en mourant? Le seul linceul mortuaire. Oh! quelle folie de voir le bien et de prendre le mal, et de renoncer pour des objets vains et périssables à un bonheur qui ne peut manquer ni jour ni nuit! Tel est l’effet de la convoitise humaine; elle aveugle les mortels, elle les égare, et ils ne reconnaissent pas leurs erreurs.

‘Qu’il ne se flatte pas d’être compté parmi les preux, tout baron qui n’arborera pas la croix et qui ne marchera pas aussitôt à la délivrance du saint tombeau! Aujourd’hui les armes, les combats, l’honneur, la chevalerie, tout ce que le monde a de beau et de séduisant, nous peuvent procurer la gloire et le bonheur du céleste séjour. Ah! que désireraient de plus les rois et les comtes, si, par leurs hauts faits, ils pouvaient se racheter des flammes dévorantes où les réprouvés seront éternellement tourmentés?

‘Sans doute il est excusable celui que la vieillesse et les infirmités retiennent sur nos bords; mais alors il doit prodiguer ses richesses à ceux qui partent; c’est bien fait d’envoyer quand on ne peut aller, pourvu que l’on ne demeure pas par lâcheté ou indifférence. Que répondront au jour du jugement ceux qui seront restés ici malgré leur devoir, quand Dieu leur dira: “Faux et lâches chrétiens, c’est pour vous que je fus cruellement battu de verges; c’est pour vous que je souffris la mort”? Ah! le plus juste alors tressaillira lui-même d’épouvante.’

We must now for a moment return to the sirventes generally, and note, for the sake of completeness, one or two more of its separate branches. In some of the biographies we meet with the use of a curious term, sirventes-joglaresc, which at first sight would lead one to expect a poem more especially designed for recitation by a joglar. But such a distinction cannot be substantiated by facts. We know that not only all sirventeses, but all canzos as well, were to a great extent dependent for their promulgation on the professional singers and reciters. Moreover, the manuscripts seem to indicate quite a different meaning. They generally add by way of explanation that the sirventes so denominated dealt out both praise and vituperation, the former of course to the worthy, the latter to the vicious. But why and when such a meaning came to be connected with such a term is one of the unsolved riddles of literature.

Little more than a whim is the canzo-sirventes, a mixture of the love-song and the non-love-song, generally beginning with a satirical discussion of personal or public affairs and winding up with the praise of a lady. No transition is made, the abruptness of the change being evidently considered an additional charm. No wonder that Peire Vidal, one of the most eccentric troubadours, favoured the mongrel type. Of it and of him, more anon.