OTHER NARRATIVE AND DIDACTIC POEMS.
‘Flamenca’ is unequalled in mediæval literature for natural eloquence
of diction and psychological subtlety; in the _langue d’oc_, more
especially, there is nothing worthy of being mentioned by the side of it.
We possess, however, some shorter stories well invented and gracefully
told, as for instance an amusing novelette in verse by Raimon Vidal
of Besaudun, the tendency of which may be easily guessed by its title
‘Castia-Gilos,’ or ‘Jealousy Punished.’ Another quaint story, the ‘Lay
of the Parrot,’ by Arnaut de Carcasse, also deserves mention. A poem
called by its anonymous author a ‘roman’ would answer better to our
term ‘allegory.’ It contains an elaborate description of the abode of
Love, at whose court Joy, Comfort, Hope, Courtesy, and other symbolical
personages, collectively described as the ‘Barons of Love,’ make their
appearance. A hundred beautiful damsels, each with her lover, enliven the
scene, and to this gay parliament the god holds forth in a long speech
full of wholesome information and counsel in accordance with the most
approved code of Provençal gallantry.
This work marks the transition from the story to the didactic poem,
of which latter class the ‘Essenhamen de la Donzela,’ or ‘Advice to a
Young Lady,’ by Amanieu des Escas, is the most celebrated specimen.
The teaching of good manners is not a very lively task, and it must
be admitted that the Troubadours have at least shown considerable
ingenuity in hiding the pedantry of their rules and prescripts under a
whole flower-bed of pretty allegorical devices. Of Amanieu des Escas
we shall hear again. It need hardly be added that these codifications
of good manners, just like the grammatical and metrical treatises of
which Provençal literature can show a respectable number, belong to a
comparatively late period, when courtesy and refined speech began to fade
from the living intercourse of men.
The next section of narrative poetry to which brief reference must
be made differs widely from the works hitherto mentioned. It is the
historic epic or rhymed chronicle, two specimens of which, important
alike from the literary and the historic point of view, are extant. The
first gives an account of a war waged in the kingdom of Navarre between
1276-77. It has been edited from the only existing manuscript, with
excellent notes, by M. Francisque Michel in 1856. A Spanish edition was
published seven years previously at Pampeluna. The author is one Guillem
Auclier, of Toulouse in Languedoc, as stated at the beginning of the
poem. He was himself an active partisan in the war, and gives a lively
description of the events he witnessed. Frequent episodes relating to
contemporary events, such as the expedition of St. Louis against Tunis,
furnish details of great historic interest. The literary character of
the poem, however, does not essentially differ from similar mediæval
productions, and a detailed analysis may therefore be dispensed with.
Metrically it is interesting as an early specimen of the Alexandrine or
dodecasyllabic verse, which appears here in so-called ‘tirades monorimes’
of fifty lines, a shorter verse at the end of each tirade serving to
connect it with the following strophe. At other times this shorter
line is literally repeated at the commencement of the next tirade—an
interesting peculiarity, characteristic of Provençal poems of this class,
which betrays strong feeling for metrical continuity. It is, however,
not improbable that the musical accompaniment to which these poems
were chanted made a repetition of the final cadence desirable. A not
uninteresting literary controversy has been raised as to the identity
of the author of the present poem with a troubadour of the same name
and birthplace of whom we possess four political songs of considerable
power. Millot doubts this identity on account of a passage in one of the
songs which speaks of a young Englishman desirous to regain all that
the valiant Richard had possessed in France. Millot, who knew little
Provençal, misunderstands the passage in the sense of Richard being
mentioned as still alive; in which case the author of the song could
of course not have described, and been eye-witness of, events which
took place nearly a century after the death of the lion-hearted king.
But Millot’s supposition is quite erroneous, and the young Englishman
alluded to is evidently King Edward I., whose accession (1272) seems to
have roused expectations to be temporarily realised under his grandson.
That the aspirations of the Black Prince, and later on of Henry V.,
should have been foreshadowed at this early period, is undoubtedly an
important fact to the student of English history—one of the numerous
important facts, indeed, which might be gleaned from the works of the
Troubadours, and which make the total neglect of these works amongst us
so unaccountable.
Of much greater importance than the Navarrese chronicle is the celebrated
song of the crusade against the Albigeois heretics and their chief
protector, Count Raimon of Toulouse. The author or authors (for most
probably there were two) of this poem also were contemporaries and
eye-witnesses of many of the incidents of this cruel war, the ultimate
issue of which proved fatal to the literary and political independence of
the south of France. A fuller account of this work will be found where we
come to consider the prominent part taken by the Troubadours in the vital
struggle of their country.
In connection with the chronicle of the Albigeois crusade may be
mentioned the only poem of importance which the _langue d’oc_ contributed
to the spirited dogmatic controversy incessantly carried on between
the heretics and the champions of the Church. The little interest taken
by the Troubadours in the doctrinal aspect of the case may account for
this paucity of documents.[2] A great number of heretical writings
have undoubtedly been destroyed by the intolerant rage of monks and
inquisitors, but it is by no means certain that many, or indeed any, of
these were written by, or in the language of, the Troubadours. If so, one
cannot but wonder why the violent attacks on the moral depravity of the
clergy, with which Provençal literature is teeming, should have escaped
the same fate.
The poem I am speaking of certainly leaves nothing to be desired as
regards orthodoxy. It is written by Izarn, a monk, and a more striking
specimen of monkish effrontery would be looked for in vain in any
literature. So grotesque indeed is the cynicism displayed, that one
almost suspects an ironical sceptic cleverly disguised in the mask of
the zealot; but there are other features of the poem—little touches,
for instance, of vanity and unctuous self-laudation—which place the
author’s real purpose beyond a doubt. The ‘Novas del Heretge,’ or ‘Tale
of the Heretic,’ is written in the form of a dialogue between the author
and one Sicart de Figueiras, apparently an important member, or, as he
calls himself, a ‘bishop,’ of the Albigeois sect. The opening lines are
important to the historian of theology. They prove that the Neo-Manichean
heretics believed, or at least were said by the Catholics to believe,
in something very like metempsychosis. ‘Tell me,’ the monk begins, ‘in
what school you have learned that the spirit of man, when it has lost
its body, enters an ox, an ass, or a horned wether, a hog or a hen,
whichever it sees first, and migrates from one to the other until a new
body of man or woman is born for it?... This thou hast taught to deluded
people whom thou hast given to the devil and taken away from God. May
every place and every land that has supported thee perish!’ This style of
spiritual vituperation was likely to prove but too effective, being as it
was enforced by very material means of coercion. For the conversation,
as we gather from the next-following lines, takes place in one of the
prisons of the sacred tribunal. ‘The fire is alight,’ Izarn continues;
‘the people are assembled to see justice done, and if you refuse to
confess you will certainly be burnt.’ Motives of much less force would
be sufficient to overcome the resistance of the worthy Sicart. His
conscientious scruples are indeed of the very slightest description; he
is anxious only about the terms of his capitulation. ‘Izarn,’ he says,
‘if you assure me and give securities that I shall not be burnt or
immured or otherwise destroyed, I don’t care what other punishment you
may inflict; only save me from that.’ But he knows his captors too well
to expect his life from motives of pity. Treachery is the price of his
safety, and of that commodity he offers liberal measure. ‘Berit,’ he
says, ‘and Peire Razol’ (two other spies, it may be conjectured) ‘don’t
know half of what I do. I will tell you everything you ask both about
believers and heretics, but you must promise me secrecy.’ Next follows a
somewhat rambling explanation of the cause of his desertion, in which the
souls of five hundred people whom he claims to have rescued from eternal
perdition play a principal part. But he is particularly anxious to
impress upon the monk that poverty has not been the motive of his action.
‘First of all,’ he says, ‘I want you to know that I have not presented
myself to you owing to hunger or thirst, or from any need whatsoever;
pray be aware of that.’
The meaning of all this is that he wants to point out, as indeed he does
afterwards in so many words, how valuable an acquisition he would be, and
how glad the Church of Rome ought to be to receive him on terms however
favourable. This seems reasonable enough, but the matter appears in a
very different light when he begins to describe with glowing colours
the treasures which his confidential position amongst the heretics has
placed at his disposal. An account of the easy and luxurious life he
led amongst the heretics is evidently inserted with a view to disparage
and expose as hypocritical pretence the appearance of rigorous morality
assumed, and in most cases no doubt justly assumed, by the elders of
the dissenting churches. But all these comforts and enjoyments, Sicart
declares, he has forsaken for the call of Heaven, interpreted to him
by the eloquent voice of that chosen vessel, Izarn—the author, that is.
The complacency with which the monk by the mouth of his convert pays a
compliment to his own theological sagacity, mentioning especially ‘nine
questions’ which have completely baffled the heretic, and not omitting at
the same time an incidental reference to his poetical gift, is as amusing
as it is characteristic. It furnishes, moreover, the best proof against
the suspicion of a hidden satirical purpose, which the tone of the poem
may have excited in the reader’s mind. The subtlest humorist could not
artificially reproduce the naïve genuineness of this self-praise. No
wonder that, convinced by such excellent argument, Sicart is willing to
atone for former errors by the merciless persecution of his late friends
and co-religionists. ‘Not twopennyworth of love or peace shall they find
at my hands,’ he savagely exclaims, promising at the same time to betray
to the Inquisition the most secret places where they and their treasures
are hidden—all sentiments highly and unctuously approved of by the
excellent Izarn, it need scarcely be added.
No more barefaced disclosure of the vilest motives of the human heart
can well be imagined than is to be found in this poem. ‘Mr. Sludge
the medium’ himself would hesitate before entering into competition
with the worthy monk and his no less desirable convert. If the utterly
demoralising influence of religious persecution on both persecutors and
at least the weaker part of their victims needed further proof in our
days, this poem might be held up as a warning example.
It is perhaps hardly fair to mention together with such a production
other works by monkish authors sometimes replete with simple-minded
piety and never without the quaint charm of mediæval narrative. Such
are the paraphrases of Biblical and other religious legends of which
Provençal literature shows a goodly array. None of them, however, calls
for detailed notice, their character showing no essential deviation from
similar works in other languages, and their subject and treatment being
widely remote from the artistic poetry with which this book is chiefly
concerned. Suffice it to mention the names of some of the saints chosen
for treatment, such as St. Alexius, St. Honorat, and Sta. Fides, (the MS.
of the last-mentioned legend dating, according to Fauchet, as far back as
the eleventh century), also rhymed paraphrases of the apocryphal gospels
of ‘St. Nicodemus,’ and the ‘Infancy of Christ.’
Of much greater importance than any of these is a semi-religious
didactic poem treating of that favourite hero of the pseudo-historic
Muse in the middle ages, Boethius, and the spiritual comfort he derived
in his worldly misfortune from what Shakespeare, perhaps with a faint
reminiscence of this very man, calls ‘adversity’s sweet milk philosophy.’
The goddess of that divine science appears to Boethius, ‘Count of Rome,’
in prison, to which he has been sent by the Emperor Teiric (Theodoric),
a usurper and unbeliever whose claims to the throne the single-hearted
statesman refuses ta acknowledge, and whose vices he has publicly
reprimanded. Boethius is condemned on a false charge of having invited
the Greeks to invade Rome. In his dungeon he laments his fate and regrets
his sins, an opportunity for moralising of which the poet avails himself
by enforcing the didactic key-note of his poem: ‘The good and evil deeds
of our youth find their just reward in advanced age.’
The darkness of the prison is suddenly brightened by the appearance of
a beautiful maiden clad in garments of resplendent richness. She is
the daughter of a mighty king, and her own power and gifts are without
measure. ‘Beautiful is the lady,’ the poet repeats, ‘although her days
have been many; no man can hide himself from her glance.’ She herself has
woven her gorgeous robes, ‘one fringe of which could not be bought for
a thousand pounds of silver.’ At the bottom of her garment is inscribed
the Greek letter Π, while her headdress shows a Θ, the former signifying,
according to the poet, ‘the life which is entire,’ the latter ‘the just
law of heaven.’ A number of birds ascending steps which are suspended
between the two letters signify mankind in its struggle for divine
righteousness. Some more allegory of the same kind finishes the poem,
which is evidently the fragment of a much larger work, founded possibly
on the celebrated ‘Consolatio Philosophiæ.’
The value of the fragment as it stands is of a philological rather
than of a literary kind, owing to the numerous archaic forms and words
occurring in it, many of which have disappeared from the later Provençal.
With the exception of a short hymn in praise of St. Eulalia (published
by Diez in his admirable edition of the work under discussion),
‘Boethius’ is generally considered to be the earliest poetic specimen
of the _langue d’oc_, belonging, as it undoubtedly does, to the tenth
century, and therefore preceding the first of the Troubadours by at least
a hundred years. Of the remainder of the didactic poems the briefest
notice must suffice. One class of them are large accumulations of human
knowledge—encyclopædias in fact without the alphabetical arrangement—such
as the ‘Tezaur’ (Treasure) by Master Corbiac, treating in Alexandrine
lines of most known and unknown sciences, including geology, music,
history, and necromancy; and the still more celebrated ‘Breviari d’Amor,’
an enormous compendium of mediæval wisdom, and most probably one of the
most ponderous books ever written in spite of its promising title. Two
manuscripts of this work are in the British Museum. The author’s name is
Matfre Ermengau, a monk of Beziers, and the poem was begun, according to
a statement in the preface, in 1288. How long it took the laborious poet
to compose his 27,000 lines, heaven only knows. A poem by Daude de Pradas
on the birds used for falconry, belonging to this class, may be of some
interest to historically minded lovers of sport.
But of much greater importance, and indeed invaluable to the student of
manners and customs, is a second category of didactic poetry, consisting
of rules and precepts of demeanour for certain classes of society,
young ladies, pages, joglars or minstrels, and others. Some of these
‘ensenhamens,’ as they were called—for instance, that by Amanieu des
Escas—have already been referred to in these pages. Others will be
mentioned in due course.
In the poems of the historic and didactic orders rhyme and metre were
to a great extent mere accessories, and of many of them prose versions,
made evidently for the sake of cheapness and convenience, are actually
in existence, such as the transcription of the Song of the Albigeois
Crusade, also of the Gospel of Nicodemus, and other legendary poems.
These and numerous other prose works, theological, moral, medical, and
juridical,[3] are entirely beyond the scope of the present work—with one
exception. This is a curious collection of biographies of the principal
troubadours found in several manuscripts, and varying from a few lines
of matter-of-fact information to lengthy and circumstantial accounts
of a suspiciously romantic character, including attempts at furnishing
a commentary, critical and anecdotal, for single poems. In some cases
several biographies of the same poet are found, one richer than another
in interesting details, and showing evidently the desire on the part
of later authors to improve upon an originally simple story. But in
spite of this the immense value and general authenticity of this source
cannot be denied, especially in cases where the author gives his name
and declares himself an eye-witness of the events he describes. At the
end of the biography of Bernard de Ventadorn, we read, for instance,
the following interesting notice:—‘Count Eble de Ventadorn, the son of
the viscountess whom Sir Bernard loved, told me Uc de St. Cyr what I
have caused to be written down of Sir Bernard.’ The same Uc de St. Cyr,
himself a well-known troubadour, also wrote (or at least composed, for
his powers as a scribe may seem doubtful on his own showing[4]) the
life of Savaric de Mauleon and probably of several other contemporary
poets. Another biography is claimed by one Miquel de la Tor, and in many
other instances references to eye-witnesses, or claims to personal and
immediate knowledge, are made. Unfortunately accounts of only 104 out of
about 400 troubadours of whose existence we know have been preserved.
But even as it is we ought to be thankful to the mediæval scribes, who,
as regards the Troubadours, have at least partially removed the darkness
which overhangs, for instance, the personal histories of North-French
Trouvères or German Minnesingers, not to name more recent and infinitely
more important epochs of English literature.