THE SIRVENTES.
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.