The troubadours

Bertran de Born is a perfect type of the warlike baron of the middle ages, continually fighting with his neighbours or with his own vassals, and treating the villeins and clowns on his estate with a brutal contempt all the more unpardonable in his case as he openly and deliberately advocates such oppression in his songs. But his warlike ambition was not confined to the squabbles of petty feudal lords. With sword and song he fought in the great political struggles of the time, and the important part he played in the incessant wars of Henry II. of England with the King of France and with his own rebellious sons ought to secure Bertran a place in any comprehensive history of our Angevin kings.

As to the exact date of Bertran’s birth the manuscripts contain no information. By inference we find it must have been about the middle of the twelfth century. The old biographers call him Viscount of Autafort, a castle and borough of about a thousand inhabitants in the diocese of Perigord. His manhood fell in a stormy time of external and internal warfare.

The marriage of Henry of Anjou, afterwards Henry II. of England, with the divorced faithless wife of the French King was an abundant source of evil to the young adventurer. It is true that the possessions of Aquitain accruing to him from the marriage for the moment added to his power, but in the long run his large dominions in the west and south-west of France tended to divert his attention from the true focus of his strength—England. The tedious quarrels in which his continental possessions involved him with his feudal overlord, the King of France, greatly increased the troubles of his eventful reign. But far more disastrous were the domestic consequences of this ill-assorted union. History and popular myth have combined to depict Eleanor as the prototype of a ruthless termagant. Whatever may have been the provocations of her truant husband—provocations which, by the way, her own conduct hardly justified her in resenting too harshly—the charge remains against her that by her instigation her sons were first incited to rebel against their father. With much trouble and danger to himself Henry had in 1170 induced his English bishops to assist at a prospective coronation of his eldest son and namesake. Two years later the ceremony was repeated, young Henry’s wife, the daughter of King Louis VII. of France, being included, who for reasons unknown had been absent on the former occasion.

The return which Henry received for this highest mark of confidence was the claim on the part of his son to be put in immediate possession either of Normandy or of England. The refusal of this outrageous demand became the cause of animosities between father and son. Eleanor fanned the flames of discord, and it seems to have been by her advice mainly that young Henry at last broke into open rebellion. He fled from his father’s court at Limoges and took refuge with the King of France at St. Denis, where three days afterwards he was joined by his two brothers Richard and Geoffrey. The war which ensued was carried on by both sides with atrocious brutality, not even relieved by bold exploits of arms. The name of the hirelings enlisted by the King of England—Brabançons, from Braband, the country of many of their number—has become a bye-word in history, and the utter want of filial piety, or indeed of any higher motive, on the part of the young princes is at once revolting and astonishing. More than once during his repeated wars with his sons the King’s life was attempted, and on one occasion when he was going to a parley with young Henry he was received by a shower of arrows and slightly wounded. Sons who thus disregarded the demands of natural affection could not be expected to be more scrupulous where their country was concerned. Patriotism, more especially English patriotism, never was the strong side of the Plantagenets. In consequence the young princes did not hesitate for a moment to barter away some of the fairest portions of England for promises of assistance from the King of Scotland and the Earl of Flanders, and it was only by Henry’s energy and good fortune that these disgraceful bargains were frustrated. The war dragged on till 1174, and ended with a semblance of reconciliation; Richard being the last to submit to his father.

It was necessary to dwell to this extent on these circumstances in order to gain a background for our centre-figure the Troubadour. There is no direct evidence that Bertran de Born took a prominent part in the first rebellion of the English princes, neither do any of his warlike songs seem to refer to it. But even in case his youth or other circumstances prevented him from being an actor in the events just described, he was sure to be an eager spectator. Soon afterwards we see him in the thick of the fight. He seems to have been on terms of intimacy with the three elder sons of Henry, as is proved by the familiar nicknames by which he addresses them. Young Henry he used to call ‘Marinier’ (seaman), an interesting fact which shows that a sailor-prince in the Royal family is not altogether a modern invention. Geoffrey, by marriage Duke of Brittany, was ‘Rassa,’ a name without any distinct meaning to us; and Richard ‘Oc e no,’ that is ‘Yes and no,’ which might pass for an indication of straightforward and plain dealing, or, indeed, of the reverse, according to the terms on which prince and poet happened to be.

Bertran’s attachment to Prince Henry, the ‘Young King,’ as he and the old chroniclers frequently call him, was of the utmost importance for the poet’s life. It is, indeed, the redeeming feature of his character. From the first he seems to have espoused the young Prince’s cause, and no turn of fortune could ever make him waver in his fealty. It is sad to think that the influence thus acquired was used in further inflaming a nature already hot with pride and ambition. Bertran’s biographers lay particular stress on this point. ‘Whenever he chose’—the old manuscript says—‘he was master of the King of England and of his son; but he wished that the father should always be at war with the son, and the brothers with one another; and he also desired that there should be incessant feud between the Kings of France and England, and whenever there was peace or truce between them he was at great pains and trouble to undo the peace by means of his sirventeses, and to prove to each of them how they were dishonoured by such a peace; and he derived much good and also much evil from the mischief he made amongst them.’ In another place we are told that King Henry hated Bertran because the poet was ‘the friend and counsellor of the young King, his (Henry’s) son, who had made war against him; and he believed Sir Bertran bore the whole guilt of it.’ Not without reason does Dante place the troubadour in the ninth pit of hell, where, with Mahomet Ali, Mosca dei Lamberti, and other disturbers of Church and State, he is made to do penance for his disastrous counsels. Dante describes him carrying his own head severed from his body in his hand. ‘Know then,’ says the spectre addressing the poet, ‘that I am Bertran de Born, he who gave evil encouragement to the young King, causing father and son to wage war against each other. Because I parted men thus joined together I now carry my own head severed from its principle of life, my body.’⁠[23]