The troubadours

Here the brief summary of the non-lyrical literature in the Provençal language comes to a close. In a work mainly devoted to the poetry of the Troubadours I have not thought it necessary to attempt anything like completeness of enumeration, my intention being mainly to give the reader some idea of the general aspect of a literary epoch almost entirely engrossed by one branch of art, the artistic song. A prevailing impulse of this kind is of course by no means unexampled in the history of poetry. The gregariousness of human beings in general is equally noticeable in the representatives of human thought and feeling. The age of Homer loved epic breadth, that of Elizabeth dramatic point and action; in our time the novel seems to rule the literary market. There were, of course, English romance-writers in the sixteenth century, just as there are English dramatists and lyrical poets of great power in the latter half of the nineteenth; but that does not in either case disprove the fact of a collective national instinct in the direction pointed out.

In the same sense it may be said that narrative poetry in mediæval Provence occupied a decidedly subordinate position. This is, at least, what the facts we know and the documents we possess lead us to believe. But documents and facts are not always satisfactory materials to prop up a preconceived theory. Certain scholars have in the face of them supplied the langue d’oc with an extensive and splendid epical literature, the treasures of which have unfortunately been lost to us, though why this loss should have fallen on the narrative in preference to the lyrical branch of poetry is not explained. The chief upholder of this opinion is the late M. Fauriel, the deservedly celebrated author of the ‘Histoire de la Littérature Provençale;’ but the foundation on which he rests his theory must be owned to be of the slenderest kind.

Among the ensenhamens, or instructions to particular classes of society, already mentioned, there are two, by Guiraut de Calençon and Guiraut de Cabreiras respectively, addressed to joglars, a class of singers, and professors of other more or less dignified arts, of whose duties and position in society we shall hear more hereafter. Amongst other accomplishments they are exhorted to acquire familiar acquaintance with certain favourite subjects of romance and story, a full enumeration of which is given in each instance.⁠[5] These two poems, together with a passage from ‘Flamenca,’ descriptive of a feast enlivened by song, give us a most welcome insight into the tales of woe and joy most apt to raise tears or merry laughter amongst the fair ladies of Provence. Here we meet with the names of many heroes of history and fiction. King Menelaus and his frail spouse, together with most of the renowned chieftains of the Greeks and Trojans, represent Homeric myth, Romulus and Remus prehistoric Roman tradition. Queen Dido, it need hardly be said, occupies a prominent place, as does also her singer Virgil, whom mediæval belief has surrounded with the necromancer’s mysterious halo in addition to his fame as a poet. Charlemagne and his champions—not forgetting Ganelon the traitor—were equally well known in Provence, while the influence of Celtic legendary lore, both with regard to poetry and music, is curiously illustrated by the mention in ‘Flamenca’ of a joglar who plays on the violin the lais del cabrefoil (lay of the honeysuckle) popularly ascribed to Tristan, the lover of Iseult. In addition to these another Instruction may be mentioned, addressed by one Arnaut Guillem de Marsan to a young gentleman of noble lineage who comes from a distance to consult him about amorous matters. Here the knowledge of the favourite subjects of romance is recommended as an accomplishment most adapted to gain the favour of a lady.

From such passages as these M. Fauriel concludes that of all the subjects mentioned in them elaborate treatments in the shape of epics or romances existed in the langue d’oc. But this supposition surely is quite unsupported by the evidence direct or indirect. The myths and semi-historic facts referred to, such as the deeds of Charlemagne or King Arthur, were the common stock of European nations in the Middle Ages, migrating from the Welsh shores of the Atlantic to the eastern confines of Germany, and back again to Saxo-Norman England. Trouvères, Troubadours, and Minnesingers were equally well acquainted with these inexhaustible sources of amusement, and a wayfaring minstrel was naturally expected to give a more or less original version of the familiar theme. But none of the passages mentioned above refers to any existing poem on the subjects it enumerates, or indeed to any written document at all, which latter, moreover, in nine cases out of ten would have been of little use to the popular singer. The existence, therefore, of an extensive epical literature in the Provençal language remains a mere conjecture in spite of M. Fauriel’s eloquent special pleading.

There is, however, no reason to deny that more than one narrative poem may have fallen a victim to time, and in some instances at least we have strong circumstantial evidence pointing that way. One of these cases leads to considerations so interesting in other respects that a short statement of it may be welcome to the reader. It is well known that the works of the Troubadours were at an early period read and admired in the neighbouring country of Italy, and that the poets in the lingua volgare recognised in them at once their models and allies in the struggle against the predominance of Latin scholarship. Students of the ‘Divina Commedia’ or of Petrarch’s ‘Trionfi’ are aware of the prominent position assigned to the Provençal singers amongst the poets of the world, and they may also remember that of the Troubadours themselves none is mentioned with higher praise than Arnaut Daniel. Petrarch calls him gran maestro d’amore, the ‘great master of love, whose novel and beautiful style still (i.e. about the middle of the fourteenth century) does honour to his country;’ and Dante, in his philological and metrical treatise ‘De vulgari Eloquio,’ declares himself indebted to Arnaut for the structure of several of his stanzas. The ‘sestina,’ for instance, a poem of six verses in which the final words of the first stanza appear in inverted order in all the others, is an invention of this troubadour adopted by Dante and Petrarch, and, most likely through the medium of French models, by Mr. Swinburne, as we shall presently see.

But another far more lasting monument has been erected to Arnaut in the immortal lines of the ‘Purgatorio,’ where Guido Guinicelli, in answer to Dante’s enthusiastic praise of his poetry, points to another shade, and

This artful ‘smith of his mother-tongue’ is our troubadour, who, when addressed, replies in pure Provençal, a language evidently quite familiar to Dante. The above-cited lines are generally considered to be the clue to the apparently excessive admiration lavished on Arnaut by the Italian poets. There can indeed be no doubt that, in addition to his fame as a lyrical singer or troubadour proper, his equal excellence as a narrative poet is here referred to, the word ‘prose’ being used not in our modern sense, but for the rhymed couplets of the epic in contradistinction to the elaborate stanzas or versi of the love-song.

The further question arises, what were the works on which Arnaut’s reputation as an epical poet was founded, and for the answer to this question we again must look in the works of Italian poets. Pulci, the humorous author of the ‘Morgante Maggiore,’ mentions our troubadour twice amongst the writers of Carlovingian epics, explaining his statement by the further indication that he (Arnaut) ‘wrote most diligently and investigated the deeds of Rinaldo (i.e. Renaut de Montauban, the eldest of the quatre fils Aimon) and the great things he did in Egypt.’ This seems to prove conclusively that as late as the end of the fifteenth century, when Pulci wrote, an epic poem on ‘Renaut’ by Arnaut Daniel was known amongst scholars in Italy.⁠[6]

But a still later and in one sense still more important testimonial to Arnaut is found in Torquato Tasso, who, it appears, mentions him as the author of a poem on ‘Lancelot.’ For this enables us to connect our troubadour with a second and perhaps the divinest passage in Dante’s divine poem. The reader need scarcely be reminded that the story which kindles to open and conscious flame the silent passion of Francesca da Polenta and Paolo Malatesta is a romance of Lancelot—

and nothing is more probable than that Dante should have thought of Arnaut Daniel’s lost epic when he wrote the inspired lines that are in everybody’s memory.

Many poets might wish to rest their posthumous fame on such lines rather than on their own works; but it may be inferred on the other hand that Arnaut Daniel (if he really be the author referred to) must have been a mighty mover of the heart to gain such a tribute from the lips of Francesca da Rimini.

It may seem strange that the Provençal biography is completely silent with regard to Arnaut’s epical achievements. But, in the best times at least, the professional story-teller was strictly divided from the Troubadour, and the biographer may have thought it wiser to say nothing on the subject. With reference to the same matter it is perhaps significant that Arnaut is described as a ‘joglar’ in the Provençal notice of his life. In Italy this point of etiquette was, of course, of no importance; and hence most likely the indirect channel through which Arnaut’s fame as a writer of romance has reached posterity.

It must be confessed, however, that the Troubadour’s lyrical efforts would hardly lead one to credit him with lucid exposition or narrative grace. Arnaut Daniel is the Browning of Provençal literature. He delights in ‘motz oscurs’ (dark words) and ‘rims cars’ (dear or scarce rhymes) and equally far-fetched similes. One of these latter, a symbol of unrequited love, became almost proverbially attached to his name. ‘I am Arnaut,’ it ran, ‘who loves the air, who hunts a hare with an ox, and swims against the stream.’ His intentional obscurity and his mannerism were largely imitated, but no less frequently attacked and travestied by contemporary poets and satirists. Petrarch’s allusions to ‘his novel speech,’ and Dante’s expression, ‘smith of his mother-tongue,’ evidently allude to Arnaut’s peculiarities of style. We can also quite understand how the great Florentine could admire a dark shade of melancholy, a bold originality of thought, and a hankering after scholastic depth, but too nearly akin to his own mental attitude; but how far these qualities would have fitted into the frame of a narrative, or whether the poet succeeded in dropping them for a season, must remain an open question. It is curious that one of the brightest and most amusing bits of literary gossip which Provençal biography can show is attached to the sombre figure of this troubadour. As there will be no occasion in the following pages to return to the biography of Arnaut, the clever little anecdote may follow here. It will serve at the same time as a specimen of Provençal prose. A literal translation is subjoined:

‘E fo aventura qu’el fo en la cort del rei Richart d’Englaterra: et estan en la cort us autres joglars escomes lo com el trobava en pus caras rimas qe el. Arnautz tenc so ad escarn e feron messios cascus de son palafre qe no fera, en poder del rei. E’l reis enclaus cascun en una cambra. E’N Arnautz de fastic quen ac non ac poder qe lasses un mot ab autre. Lo joglars fes son cantar leu e tost. Et els non avian mas de X jorns d’espazi; e devia s jutjar per lo rei a cap de cinq jorns. Lo joglars demandet a’N Arnaut si avia fag; e’N Arnautz respos; “qe oc, passat a tres jorns.” E non avia pensat. E’l joglars cantava tota nueg sa canso per so qe be la saubes; e’N Arnautz pesset col traisset ad escarn, tan qe venc una nueg e’l joglars la cantava e’N Arnautz la va tota retener e’l so. E can foron denan lo rei, N’Arnautz dis qe volia retraire sa canso; e comenset mot be la canso qe’l joglars avia facha. E’l joglars can l’auzic gardet lo en la cara e dis q’el l’avia facha. E’l reis dis co s podia far? E’l joglars preguet al rei q’el ne saubes lo ver. E’l reis demandet a’N Arnaut com era stat. E’N Arnautz comtet li com era stat. E’l reis ac ne gran gaug e tenc so a gran escarn. E foron acquistat los gatges, et a cascun fes donar bels dos.’

‘And it happened that he (Arnaut Daniel) was at the court of King Richard of England; and there being also at the court another joglar the latter boasted that he could invent rhymes as scarce as could Arnaut. Arnaut thought this good fun, and each gave his horse as a pledge to the king, in case he could not do it (viz. gain the bet). And the king locked them up each in a room. And Sir Arnaut, being tired of the matter, was not able to string one word to another; the joglar made his song with ease and speedily. And they had no more than a space of ten days allowed to them. And the king was to judge at the end of five days. The joglar then asked Sir Arnaut if he had done. “Oh yes,” said Sir Arnaut, “three days ago.” But he had not thought of it. And the joglar sang his song every night so as to know it well. And Arnaut thought how he could draw him into ridicule; so one night, while the joglar was singing, Arnaut took care to remember the whole song and the tune. And when they were before the king, Arnaut declared that he wished to sing his song, and began to sing in excellent style the song that the joglar had made. And the joglar, when he heard this, stared him in the face, and declared that he himself had made the song. And the king asked how this was possible, but the joglar implored him to look into the truth of it. The king then asked Sir Arnaut how this had happened, and Sir Arnaut told him how it had happened. And the king had great joy at this, and thought it most excellent fun. And the pledges were returned, and to each he gave fine presents.’