The troubadours

The question remains to be asked,—which side did the troubadours take in this struggle? Did they prove themselves to be men of mettle in a contest in which their own literary existence was at stake no less than the freedom of their country? Both these questions can, with a very few exceptions, be answered in their favour; as a class, they stood to the cause of their natural friend and protector; and it must be remembered that that cause at the time was identical with religious toleration and opposition to the tyranny of Rome. With the theological side of the contest the troubadours, however, did not concern themselves much; it was their duty and joy to lash the vices of the priests with their satire, and to defend their country and their beautiful language against French intrusion; the subtleties of dualism and doketism they wisely avoided. It is true that the great Peire Cardinal once ventured to speak on the mooted point of purgatory and eternal punishment; but we shall presently see how untheological, or, which is the same, how purely human, was his interest in the subject. It seems, indeed, doubtful whether many of the troubadours espoused the opinions of their Albigeois countrymen. Of some of the fiercest antagonists of the priests we know the contrary, and of one troubadour only, Aimeric de Pegulhan, we are told parenthetically that he died in Italy, ‘en eretgia segon c’om ditz’—‘a heretic, as people say.’

Of the few troubadours prominently mentioned on the side of the Pope, one, Uc de St. Cyr, lived chiefly in Italy; another, Perdigon, had to pay dearly for his apostasy. When, after the battle of Muret, he rejoiced in the misfortune of his benefactor, the noble Peter of Aragon, society seems to have laid its interdict on him, and he had to hide his shame in a convent, where he died. Of much greater importance than either is the celebrated Folquet of Marseilles, whose name, as Bishop of Toulouse, and as one of the most zealous persecutors of his heretical countrymen, has more than once been mentioned in these pages. The life and character of this man are a psychological problem of deepest interest; his career was varied and inconsistent in itself—so inconsistent that the identity of troubadour and bishop has been doubted. But there is no reason for such a doubt, historical or psychological, as we shall presently see.

The birthplace of Folquet cannot be ascertained with absolute certainty. Most likely he was a native of Marseilles, where his father possessed a large amount of property. It had been acquired by mercantile pursuits, continued for a time by the poet himself after his father’s death, if we may believe an allusion in the Monk of Montaudon’s satire. Folquet, however, did not follow his father’s calling for long. He lived amongst the gay and fashionable at the courts of the great nobles, where his graceful bearing and his poetical gift made him a welcome guest. One of his protectors was Barral, Viscount of Marseilles, and it was his wife, Azalais, who became the poet’s idol, and may be regarded as the final aim and cause of all his further thoughts and deeds; including his ultimate conversion, I do not hesitate to add. Their intercourse was not one of the conventional flirtations so common between troubadours and high-born ladies. Neither was it a mutual and guilty passion, such as existed between Guillem de Cabestanh and Margarida. The old biographer lays particular stress on the fact, that ‘neither by his prayers nor by his songs could he ever move her to show him favour by right of love; and for that reason he always complains of love in his songs.’

These songs fully bear out the statement of the manuscript. Their one almost incessant theme is love’s disappointment. But this theme Folquet treats like an artist. He avoids monotony by an ever new array of striking similes and allegories in which he clothes his longing. What, for instance, can indicate the hesitation of a timorous though passionate lover better than the image of a man who has reached the middle of a tree, and does not ascend further or regain the earth, for fear of losing his chance or his life? Two stanzas of the poem in which it occurs may follow here in the original. They are full of sweetness, and will not offer serious difficulties to the reader, if he will consult the subjoined translation, which I have tried to make as literal as possible. The graceful intertwining of the rhymes bears witness to Folquet’s consummate workmanship, and deserves the attention of modern poets.

His father’s wealth, it is evident, was of little use to poor Folquet, and we can quite understand his chafing at the folly of men who would insist on envying his brilliant misery. For all his early dreams of happiness had been dispelled by the stern virtue of a woman.

It seems, however, that although unwilling to grant him any favour, the fair Azalais was extremely jealous of the poet’s praise. This, at least, would appear from an anecdote in the manuscript. Count Barral had two sisters residing at his court, with whom Folquet lived on terms of intimate friendship. But his mistress did not believe in Platonic relations between troubadours and young ladies at court. Her jealousy fixed on one of her sisters-in-law, the lady Laura, of whom she declared Folquet to be enamoured. She refused to see her lover again, ‘and would have no more of his prayers and fine words,’ as the biographer naïvely adds. Folquet was in despair; ‘he left off singing and laughing, for he had lost the lady whom he loved more than the whole world for one with whom he had no connection beyond courtesy.’ This assertion of the manuscript deserves our belief. It is quite possible, and indeed seems indicated by a passage in one of his songs, that Folquet affected a tender feeling for Laura in order to divert the attention of spies, but his real passion was all for Azalais. His songs and his conduct leave no doubt on the subject. It is an open question whether the intercession of a noble lady sought by Folquet obtained him the full pardon of his mistress. But certain it is that he remained invariably attached to her through good and evil report. For misfortune was in store for the countess. Barral, for some reason or other, got tired of his wife, obtained an invalidation of his marriage, and wedded another lady. Folquet’s position was difficult. The count was his oldest friend and protector, whom he loved sincerely, as is proved by the beautiful elegy on his death, which ensued soon afterwards. But no considerations of worldly prospects or friendship could shake his allegiance to the lady of his love. We possess songs dedicated to her subsequent to the separation, in one of which, written the year after Barral’s decease, the praise of the count is, curiously enough, addressed to his divorced widow. Perhaps the great peacemaker Death had taken the sting from her resentment, and the pair loved to linger over the memory of the departed.

From one of Folquet’s songs it has been concluded that, tired of his purposeless endeavours, he at last broke off his relation with Azalais. The poem is one of Folquet’s finest and most characteristic efforts, containing a violent impeachment of Love himself. ‘Too late,’ the poet says, ‘I have discovered Love’s falsehood. I am like one who swears never to gamble again after he has lost his whole fortune.’ He further complains that for more than ten years Love has been his bad debtor, promising payment and never keeping the promise, and at last he solemnly renounces his allegiance to the faithless god. The protest is forcible and well expressed; but it is by no means proved that the poet acted upon his wise resolution. On several previous occasions he had expressed similar resolutions, but always with little or no effect either on himself or on his cruel lady; and we find, indeed, not without a smile at the incongruity of the poetic mind, that the identical song in question is dedicated to Azalais.

At last the lady’s death relieved him from his thraldom, but only to deliver him over to another still more fateful passion. The manuscript relates how this event, together with the loss of some of his dearest friends, preyed on the poet’s mind, and how in a fit of melancholy he renounced the world, together with his wife and two sons, who are mentioned for the first time on this occasion. Folquet joined the order of Citeaux, and soon became abbot of a rich monastery, from which position he not long afterwards was raised to the still more important one of Bishop of Toulouse. To his new vocation he brought the same zeal, the same perseverance, which marked his wooing of Azalais. It was the same flood of passion turned into a different channel. So far there is nothing to reproach in Folquet’s conduct, and we even can sympathise with a man in whom all worldly desire dies with the one object of his passion. But his zeal against the heretics, carried to the pitch of cruel persecution, forms an unjustifiable complement to his asceticism. Neither can we excuse Folquet’s violent hatred against Raimon VI. of Toulouse, at whose father’s hands the troubadour had received much kindness. Considered in this light, the scene at the Council of the Lateran, where the glib-tongued poet is employed to compass the Count’s ruin, gains a new and sinister meaning. Poetry itself Folquet seems to have abandoned on his entering the monastery. We possess of him only one religious song, a passionate expression of remorse and of terror at an impending eternal punishment, which most likely belongs to the time of his conversion. It is pleasant to think that his art at least remained undefiled by fanaticism.