1. THE TROUBADOURS.--When, in the tenth century, the nations of the south
of Europe attempted to give consistency to the rude dialects which had
been produced by the mixture of the Latin with the northern tongues, the
Provencal, or _Langue d'oc_, was the first to come to perfection. The
study of this language became the favorite recreation of the higher
classes during the tenth and eleventh centuries, and poetry the elegant
occupation of those whose time was not spent in the ruder pastimes of the
field. Thousands of poets, who were called troubadours (from _trobar_, to
find or invent), flourished in this new language almost contemporaneously,
and spread their reputation from the extremity of Spain to that of Italy.
All at once, however, this ephemeral reputation vanished. The voice of the
troubadours was silent, the Provençal was abandoned and sank into a mere
dialect, and after a brilliant existence of three centuries (950-1250),
its productions were ranked among those of the dead languages. The high
reputation of the Provençal poets, and the rapid decline of their
language, are two phenomena equally striking in the history of human
culture. This literature, which gave models to other nations, yet among
its crowds of agreeable poems did not produce a single masterpiece
destined to immortality, was entirely the offspring of the age, and not of
individuals. It reveals to us the sentiments and imagination of modern
nations in their infancy; it exhibits what was common to all and pervaded
all, and not what genius superior to the age enabled a single individual
to accomplish.
Southern France, having been the inheritance of several of the successors
of Charlemagne, was elevated to the rank of an independent kingdom in 879,
by Bozon, and under his sovereignty, and that of his successors for 213
years, it enjoyed a paternal government. The accession of the Count of
Barcelona to the crown, in 1092, introduced into Provence the spirit both
of liberty and chivalry, and a taste for elegance and the arts, with all
the sciences of the Arabians. The union of these noble sentiments added
brilliancy to that poetical spirit which shone out at once over Provence
and all the south of Europe, like an electric flash in the midst of
profound darkness, illuminating all things with the splendor of its flame.
At the same time with Provençal poetry, chivalry had its rise; it was, in
a manner, the soul of the new literature, and gave to it a character
different from anything in antiquity. Love, in this age, while it was not
more tender and passionate than among the Greeks and Romans, was more
respectful, and women were regarded with something of that religious
veneration which the Germans evinced towards their prophetesses. To this
was added that passionate ardor of feeling peculiar to the people of the
South, the expression of which was borrowed from the Arabians. But
although among individuals love preserved this pure and religious
character, the license engendered by the feudal system, and the disorders
of the time, produced a universal corruption of manners which found
expression in the literature of the age. Neither the _sirventes_ nor the
_chanzos_ of the troubadours, nor the _fabliaux_ of the trouvères, nor the
romances of chivalry, can be read without a blush. On every page the
grossness of the language is only equaled by the shameful depravity of the
characters and the immorality of the incidents. In the south of France,
more particularly, an extreme laxity of manners prevailed among the
nobility. Gallantry seems to have been the sole object of existence.
Ladies were proud of the celebrity conferred upon their charms by the
songs of the troubadours, and they themselves often professed the "Gay
Science," as poetry was called. They instituted the Courts of Love where
questions of gallantry were gravely discussed and decided by their
suffrages; and they gave, in short, to the whole south of France the
character of a carnival. No sooner had the Gay Science been established in
Provence, than it became the fashion in surrounding countries. The
sovereigns of Europe adopted the Provençal language, and enlisted
themselves among the poets, and there was soon neither baron nor knight
who did not feel himself bound to add to his fame as a warrior the
reputation of a gentle troubadour. Monarchs were now the professors of the
art, and the only patrons were the ladies. Women, no longer beautiful
ciphers, acquired complete liberty of action, and the homage paid to them
amounted almost to worship.
At the festivals of the haughty barons, the lady of the castle, attended
by youthful beauties, distributed crowns to the conquerors in the jousts
and tournaments. She then, in turn, surrounded by her ladies, opened her
Court of Love, and the candidates for poetical honors entered with their
harps and contended for the prize in extempore verses called _tensons_.
The Court of Love then entered upon a grave discussion of the merits of
the question, and a judgment or _arrêt d'amour_ was given, frequently in
verse, by which the dispute was supposed to be decided. These courts often
formally justified the abandonment of moral duty, and assuming the forms
and exercising the power of ordinary tribunals, they defined and
prescribed the duties of the sexes, and taught the arts of love and song
according to the most depraved moral principles, mingled, however, with an
affected display of refined sentimentality. Whatever may have been their
utility in the advancement of the language and the cultivation of literary
taste, these institutions extended a legal sanction to vice, and
inculcated maxims of shameful profligacy.
The songs of the Provençals were divided into _chanzos_ and _sirventes_;
the object of the former was love, and of the latter war, politics, or
satire. The name of _tenson_ was given to those poetical contests in verse
which took place in the Courts of Love, or before illustrious princes. The
songs were sung from château to château, either by the troubadours
themselves, or by the _jongleur_ or instrument player by whom they were
attended; they often abounded in extravagant hyperboles, trivial conceits,
and grossness of expression. Ladies, whose attractions were estimated by
the number and desperation of their lovers, and the songs of their
troubadours, were not offended if licentiousness mingled with gallantry in
the songs composed in their praise. Authors addressed prayers to the
saints for aid in their amorous intrigues, and men, seemingly rational,
resigned themselves to the wildest transports of passion for individuals
whom, in some cases, they had never seen. Thus, religious enthusiasm,
martial bravery, and licentious love, so grotesquely mingled, formed the
very life of the Middle Ages, and impossible as it is to transfuse into a
translation the harmony of Provençal verse, or to find in it, when
stripped of this harmony, any poetical idea, these remains are valuable
since they present us with a picture of the life and manners of the times.
The intercourse of the Provençals with the Moors of Spain, which, as we
have seen, was greatly increased by the union of Catalonia and Provence
(1092), introduced into the North an acquaintance with the arts and
learning of the Arabians. It was then that rhyme, the essential
characteristic of Arabian poetry, was adopted by the troubadours into the
Provençal language, and thence communicated to the nations of modern
Europe.
The poetry of the troubadours borrowed nothing from history, mythology, or
from foreign manners, and no reference to the sciences or the learning of
the schools mingled with their simple effusions of sentiment. This fact
enables us to comprehend how it was possible for princes and knights, who
were often unable to read, to be yet ranked among the most ingenious
troubadours. Several public events, however, materially contributed to
enlarge the sphere of intellect of the knights of the _Langue d'oc_. The
first was the conquest of Toledo and Castile by Alphonso VI., in which he
was seconded by the Cid Rodriguez, the hero of Spain, and by a number of
French Provençal knights; the second was the preaching of the Crusades. Of
all the events recorded in the history of the world, there is, perhaps,
not one of a nature so highly poetical as these holy wars; not one which
presents a more powerful picture of the grand effects of enthusiasm, of
noble sacrifices of self-interest to faith, sentiment, and passion, which
are essentially poetical. Many of the troubadours assumed the cross;
others were detained in Europe by the bonds of love, and the conflict
between passion and religious enthusiasm lent its influence to the poems
they composed. The third event was the succession of the kings of England
to the sovereignty of a large part of the countries where the _Langue
d'oc_ prevailed, which influenced the manners and opinions of the
troubadours, and introduced them to the courts of the most powerful
monarchs; while the encouragement given to them by the kings of the house
of Plantagenet had a great influence on the formation of the English
language, and furnished Chaucer, the father of English literature, with
his first models for imitation.
The troubadours numbered among their ranks the most illustrious sovereigns
and heroes of the age. Among others, Richard Coeur de Lion, who, as a poet
and knight, united in his own person all the brilliant qualities of the
time. A story is told of him, that when he was detained a prisoner in
Germany, the place of his imprisonment was discovered by Blondel, his
minstrel, who sang beneath the fortress a _tenson_ which he and Richard
had composed in common, and to which Richard responded. Bertrand de Born,
who was intimately connected with Richard, and who exercised a powerful
influence over the destinies of the royal family of England, has left a
number of original poems; Sordello of Mantua was the first to adopt the
ballad form of writing, and many of his love songs are expressed in a pure
and delicate style. Both of these poets are immortalized in the Divine
Comedy of Dante. The history of Geoffrey Rudel illustrates the wildness of
the imagination and manners of the troubadours. He was a gentleman of
Provence, and hearing the knights who had returned from the Holy Land
speak with enthusiasm of the Countess of Tripoli, who had extended to them
the most generous hospitality, and whose grace and beauty equaled her
virtues, he fell in love with her without ever having seen her, and,
leaving the Court of England, he embarked for the Holy Land, to offer to
her the homage of his heart. During the voyage he was attacked by a severe
illness, and lost the power of speech. On his arrival in the harbor, the
countess, being informed that a celebrated poet was dying of love for her,
visited him on shipboard, took him kindly by the hand, and attempted to
cheer his spirits. Rudel revived sufficiently to thank the lady for her
humanity and to declare his passion, when his voice was silenced by the
convulsions of death. He was buried at Tripoli, and, by the orders of the
countess, a tomb of porphyry was erected to his memory. It is unnecessary
to mention other names among the multitude of these poets, who all hold
nearly the same rank. An extreme monotony reigns throughout their works,
which offer little individuality of character.
After the thirteenth century, the troubadours were heard no more, and the
efforts of the counts of Provence, the magistrates of Toulouse, and the
kings of Arragon to awaken, their genius by the Courts of Love and the
Floral Games were vain. They themselves attributed their decline to the
degradation into which the jongleurs, with whom at last they were
confounded, had fallen. But their art contained within itself a more
immediate principle of decay in the profound ignorance of its professors.
They had no other models than the songs of the Arabians, which perverted
their taste. They made no attempt at epic or dramatic poetry; they had no
classical allusions, no mythology, nor even a romantic imagination, and,
deprived of the riches of antiquity, they had few resources within
themselves. The poetry of Provence was a beautiful flower springing up on
a sterile soil, and no cultivation could avail in the absence of its
natural nourishment. From the close of the twelfth century the language
began to decline, and public events occurred which hastened its downfall,
and reduced it to the condition of a provincial dialect.
Among the numerous sects which sprang up in Christendom during the Middle
Ages, there was one which, though bearing different names at different
times, more or less resembled what is now known as Protestantism; in the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries it was called the faith of the
Albigenses, as it prevailed most widely in the district of Albi. It easily
came to be identified with the Provençal language, as this was the chosen
vehicle of its religious services. This sect was tolerated and protected
by the Court of Toulouse. It augmented its numbers; it devoted itself to
commerce and the arts, and added much to the prosperity which had long
distinguished the south of France. The Albigenses had lived long and
peaceably side by side with the Catholics in the cities and villages; but
Innocent III. sent legates to Provence, who preached, discussed, and
threatened, and met a freedom of thought and resistance to authority which
Rome was not willing to brook. Bitter controversy was now substituted for
the amiable frivolity of the _tensons_, and theological disputes
superseded those on points of gallantry. The long struggle between the
poetry of the troubadours and the preaching of the monks came to a crisis;
the severe satires which the disorderly lives of the clergy called forth
became severer still, and the songs of the troubadours wounded the power
and pride of Rome more deeply than ever, while they stimulated the
Albigenses to a valiant resistance or a glorious death. A crusade
followed, and when the dreadful strife was over, Provençal poetry had
received its death-blow. The language of Provence was destined to share
the fate of its poetry; it became identified in the minds of the orthodox
with heresy and rebellion. When Charles of Anjou acquired the kingdom of
Naples, he drew thither the Provençal nobility, and thus drained the
kingdom of those who had formerly maintained its chivalrous manners. In
the beginning of the fourteenth century, when the Court of Rome was
removed to Avignon, the retinues of the three successive popes were
Italians, and the Tuscan language entirely superseded the Provençal among
the higher classes.
2. THE TROUVÈRES.--While the Provençal was thus relapsing into a mere
dialect, the north of France was maturing a new language and literature of
an entirely different character. Normandy, a province of France, was
invaded in the tenth century by a new northern tribe, who, under the
command of Rollo or Raoul the Dane, incorporated themselves with the
ancient inhabitants. The victors adopted the language of the vanquished,
stamped upon it the impress of their own genius, and gave it a fixed form.
It was from Normandy that the first writers and poets in the French
language sprang. While the Romance Provençal spoken in the South was
sweet, and expressive of effeminate manners, the Romance-Wallon was
energetic and warlike, and represented the severer manners of the Germans.
Its poetry, too, was widely different from the Provençal. It was no longer
the idle baron sighing for his lady-love, but the songs of a nation of
hardy warriors, celebrating the prowess of their ancestors with all the
exaggerations that fancy could supply. The _Langue d'oui_ became the
vehicle of literature only in the twelfth century,--a hundred years
subsequent to the Romance Provençal. The poets and reciters of tales,
giving the name of Troubadour a French termination, called themselves
Trouvères. They originated the brilliant romances of chivalry, the
_fabliaux_ or tales of amusement, and the dramatic invention of the
Mysteries. The first literary work in this tongue is the versified romance
of a fabulous history of the early kings of England, beginning with
Brutus, the grandson of AEneas, who, after passing many enchanted isles,
at length establishes himself in England, where he finds King Arthur, the
chivalric institution of the Round Table, and the enchanter Merlin, one of
the most popular personages of the Middle Ages. Out of this legend arose
some of the boldest creations of the human fancy. The word "romance," now
synonymous with fictitious composition, originally meant only a work in
the modern dialect, as distinguished from the scholastic Latin. There is
little doubt that these tales were originally believed to be strictly
true. One of the first romances of chivalry was "Tristam de Léonois,"
written in 1190. This was soon followed by that of the "San Graal" and
"Lancelot;" and previously to 1213 Ville-Hardouin had written in the
French language a "History of the Conquest of Constantinople." The poem of
"Alexander," however, which appeared about the same time, has enjoyed the
greatest reputation. It is a series of romances and marvelous histories,
said to be the result of the labors of nine celebrated poets of the time.
Alexander is introduced, surrounded not by the pomp of antiquity, but by
the splendors of chivalry. The high renown of this poem has given the name
of _Alexandrine verse_ to the measure in which it is written.
The spirit of chivalry which burst forth in the romances of the trouvères,
the heroism of honor and love, the devotion of the powerful to the weak,
the supernatural fictions, so novel and so dissimilar to everything in
antiquity or in later times, the force and brilliancy of imagination which
they display, have been variously attributed to the Arabians and the
Germans, but they were undoubtedly the invention of the Normans. Of all
the people of ancient Europe, they were the most adventurous and intrepid.
They established a dynasty in Russia; they cut their way through a
perfidious and sanguinary nation to Constantinople; they landed on the
coasts of England and France, and surprised nations who were ignorant of
their existence; they conquered Sicily, and established a principality in
the heart of Syria. A people so active, so enterprising, and so intrepid,
found no greater delight in their leisure hours than listening to tales of
adventures, dangers, and battles. The romances of chivalry are divided
into three distinct classes. They relate to three different epochs in the
early part of the Middle Ages, and represent three bands of fabulous
heroes. In the romances of the first class, the exploits of Arthur, son of
Pendragon, the last British king who defended England against the invasion
of the Anglo-Saxons, are celebrated. In the second we find the Amadises,
but whether they belong to French literature has been reasonably disputed.
The scene is placed nearly in the same countries as in the romances of the
Round Table, but there is a want of locality about them, and the name and
the times are absolutely fabulous. "Amadis of Gaul," the first of these
romances, and the model of all the rest, is claimed as the work of Vasco
Lobeira, a Portuguese (1290-1325); but no doubt exists with regard to the
continuations and numerous imitations of this work, which are
incontestably of Spanish origin, and were in their highest repute when
Cervantes produced his inimitable "Don Quixote." The third class of
chivalric romances, relating to the court of Charlemagne and his Paladins,
is entirely French, although their celebrity is chiefly due to the
renowned Italian poet who availed himself of their fictions. The most
ancient monument of the marvelous history of Charlemagne is the chronicle
of Turpin, of uncertain date, and which, though fabulous, can scarcely be
considered as a romance. This and other similar narratives furnished
materials for the romances, which appeared at the conclusion of the
Crusades, when a knowledge of the East had enriched the French imagination
with all the treasures of the Arabian. The trouvères were not only the
inventors of the romances of chivalry, but they originated the allegories,
and the dramatic compositions of southern Europe. Although none of their
works have obtained a high reputation or deserve to be ranked among the
masterpieces of human intellect, they are still worthy of attention as
monuments of the progress of mind.
The French possessed, above every other nation of modern times, an
inventive spirit, but they were, at the same time, the originators of
those tedious allegorical poems which have been imitated by all the
romantic nations. The most ancient and celebrated of these is the "Romance
of the Rose," though not a romance in the present sense of the word. At
the period of its composition, the French language was still called the
Romance, and all its more voluminous productions Romances. The "Romance of
the Rose" was the work of two authors, Guillaume de Lorris, who commenced
it in the early part of the thirteenth century, and Jean de Meun (b.
1280), by whom it was continued. Although it reached the appalling length
of twenty thousand verses, no book was ever more popular. It was admired
as a masterpiece of wit, invention, and philosophy; the highest mysteries
of theology were believed to be concealed in this poetical form, and
learned commentaries were written upon its veiled meaning by preachers,
who did not scruple to cite passages from it in the pulpit. But the
tedious poem and its numberless imitations are nothing but rhymed prose,
which it would be impossible to recognize as poetry, if the measure of the
verse were taken away.
In considering the popularity of these long, didactic works, it must not
be forgotten that the people of that day were almost entirely without
books. A single volume was the treasure of a whole household. In
unfavorable weather it was read to a circle around the fire, and when it
was finished the perusal was again commenced. No comparison with other
books enabled men to form a judgment upon its merits. It was reverenced
like holy writ, and they accounted themselves happy in being able to
comprehend it.
Another species of poetry peculiar to this period had at least the merit
of being exceedingly amusing. This was the _fabliaux_, tales written in
verse in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. They are treasures of
invention, simplicity, and gayety, of which other nations can furnish no
instances, except by borrowing from the French. A collection of Indian
tales, translated into Latin in the tenth or eleventh century, was the
first storehouse of the trouvères. The Arabian tales, transmitted by the
Moors to the Castilians, and by the latter to the French, were in turn
versified. But above all, the anecdotes collected in the towns and castles
of France, the adventures of lovers, the tricks of gallants, and the
numerous subjects gathered from the manners of the age, afforded
inexhaustible materials for ludicrous narratives to the writers of these
tales. They were treasures common to all. We seldom know the name of the
trouvère by whom these anecdotes were versified. As they were related,
each one varied them according to the impression he wished to produce. At
this period there were neither theatrical entertainments nor games at
cards to fill up the leisure hours of society, and the trouvères or
relators of the tales were welcomed at the courts, castles, and private
houses with an eagerness proportioned to the store of anecdotes which they
brought with them to enliven conversation. Whatever was the subject of
their verse, legends, miracles, or licentious anecdotes, they were equally
acceptable. These tales were the models of those of Boccaccio, La
Fontaine, and others. Some of them have had great fame, and have passed
from tongue to tongue, and from age to age, down to our own times. Several
of them have been introduced upon the stage, and others formed the
originals of Parnell's "Hermit," of the "Zaïre" of Voltaire, and of the
"Renard," which Goethe has converted into a long poem. But perhaps the
most interesting and celebrated of all the _fabliaux_ is that of "Aucassin
and Nicolette," which has furnished the subject for a well-known opera.
It was at this period, when the ancient drama was entirely forgotten, that
a dramatic form was given to the great events which accompanied the
establishment of the Christian religion. The first to introduce this
grotesque species of composition, were the pilgrims who had returned from
the Holy Land. In the twelfth or thirteenth centuries, their dramatic
representations were first exhibited in the open streets; but it was only
at the conclusion of the fourteenth that a company of pilgrims undertook
to amuse the public by regular dramatic entertainments. They were called
the Fraternity of the Passion, from the passion of our Saviour being one
of their most celebrated representations. This mystery, the most ancient
dramatic work of modern Europe, comprehends the whole history of our Lord,
from his baptism to his death. The piece was too long for one
representation, and was therefore continued from day to day. Eighty-seven
characters successively appear in this mystery, among whom are the three
persons of the Trinity, angels, apostles, devils, and a host of other
personages, the invention of the poet's brain. To fill the comic parts,
the dialogues of the devils were introduced, and their eagerness to
maltreat one another always produced much laughter in the assembly.
Extravagant machinery was employed to give to the representation the pomp
which we find in the modern opera; and this drama, placing before the eyes
of a Christian assembly all those incidents for which they felt the
highest veneration, must have affected them much more powerfully than even
the finest tragedies can do at the present day.
The mystery of the Passion was followed by a crowd of imitations. The
whole of the Old Testament, and the lives of all the saints, were brought
upon the stage. The theatre on which these mysteries were represented was
always composed of an elevated scaffold divided into three parts,--heaven,
hell, and the earth between them. The proceedings of the Deity and Lucifer
might be discerned in their respective abodes, and angels descended and
devils ascended, as their interference in mundane affairs was required.
The pomp of these representations went on increasing for two centuries,
and, as great value was set upon the length of the piece, some mysteries
could not be represented in less than forty days.
The "Clerks of the Revels," an incorporated society at Paris, whose duty
it was to regulate the public festivities, resolved to amuse the people
with dramatic representations themselves, but as the Fraternity of the
Passion had obtained a royal license to represent the mysteries, they were
compelled to abstain from that kind of exhibition. They therefore invented
a new one, to which they gave the name of "Moralities," and which differed
little from the mysteries, except in name. They were borrowed from the
Parables, or the historical parts of the Bible, or they were purely
allegorical. To the Clerks of the Revels we also owe the invention of
modern comedy. They mingled their moralities with farces, the sole object
of which was to excite laughter, and in which all the gayety and vivacity
of the French character were displayed. Some of these plays still retain
their place upon the French stage. At the commencement of the fifteenth
century another comic company was established, who introduced personal and
even political satire upon the stage. Thus every species of dramatic
representation was revived by the French. This was the result of the
talent for imitation so peculiar to the French people, and of that pliancy
of thought and correctness of intellect which enables them to conceive new
characters. All these inventions, which led to the establishment of the
Romantic drama in other countries, were known in France more than a
century before the rise of the Spanish or Italian theatre, and even before
the classical authors were first studied and imitated. At the end of the
sixteenth century, these new pursuits acquired a more immediate influence
over the literature of France, and wrought a change in its spirit and
rules, without, however, altering the national character and taste which
had been manifested in the earliest productions of the trouvères.
3. FRENCH LITERATURE IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY.--French had as yet been
merely a popular language; it varied from province to province, and from
author to author, because no masterpiece had inaugurated any one of its
numerous dialects. It was disdained by the more serious writers, who
continued to employ the Latin. In the fifteenth century literature assumed
a somewhat wider range, and the language began to take precision and
force. But with much general improvement and literary industry there was
still nothing great or original, nothing to mark an epoch in the history
of letters. The only poets worthy of notice were Charles, Duke of Orleans
(1391-1465), and Villon, a low ruffian of Paris (1431-1500). Charles was
taken prisoner at the battle of Agincourt, and carried to England, where
he was detained for twenty-five years, and where he wrote a volume of
poems in which he imitated the allegorical style of the Romance of the
Rose. The verses of Villon were inspired by the events of his not very
creditable life. Again and again he suffered imprisonment for petty
larcenies, and at the age of twenty-five was condemned to be hanged. His
language is not that of the court, but of the people; and his poetry marks
the first sensible progress after the Romance of the Rose.
It has been well said that literature begins with poetry; but it is
established by prose, which fixes the language. The earliest work in
French prose is the chronicle of Ville-Hardouin (1150-1213), written in
the thirteenth century. It is a personal narrative and relates with
graphic particularity the conquest of Constantinople by the knights of
Christendom. This ancient chronicle traces out for us some of the
realities, of which the mediaeval romances were the ideal, and enables us
to judge in a measure how far these romances embody substantial truth.
A great improvement in style is apparent in Joinville (1223-1317), the
amiable and light-hearted ecclesiastic who wrote the Life of St. Louis,
whom he had accompanied to the Holy Land, and whose pious adventures he
affectionately records. Notwithstanding the anarchy which prevailed in
France during the fourteenth century, some social progress was made; but
while public events were hostile to poetry, they gave inspiration to the
historic muse, and Froissart arose to impart vivacity of coloring to
historic narrative.
Froissart (1337-1410) was an ecclesiastic of the day, but little in his
life or writings bespeaks the sacred calling. Having little taste for the
duties of his profession, he was employed by the Lord of Montfort to
compose a chronicle of the wars of the time; but there were no books to
tell him of the past, no regular communication between nations to inform
him of the present; so he followed the fashion of knights errant, and set
out on horseback, not to seek adventures, but, as an itinerant historian,
to find materials for his chronicle. He wandered from town to town, and
from castle to castle, to see the places of which he would write, and to
learn events on the spot where they occurred. His first journey was to
England; here he was employed by Queen Philippa of Hainault to accompany
the Duke of Clarence to Milan, where he met Boccaccio and Chaucer. He
afterwards passed into the service of several of the princes of Europe, to
whom he acted as secretary and poet, always gleaning material for historic
record. His book is an almost universal history of the different states of
Europe, from 1322 to the end of the fourteenth century. He troubles
himself with no explanations or theories of cause and effect, nor with the
philosophy of state policy; he is simply a graphic story-teller. Sir
Walter Scott called Froissart his master.
Philippe de Commines (1445-1509) was a man of his age, but in advance of
it, combining the simplicity of the fifteenth century with the sagacity of
a later period. An annalist, like Froissart, he was also a statesman, and
a political philosopher; embracing, like Machiavelli and Montesquieu, the
remoter consequences which flowed from the events he narrated and the
principles he unfolded. He was an unscrupulous diplomat in the service of
Louis XI., and his description of the last years of that monarch is a
striking piece of history, whence poets and novelists have borrowed themes
in later times. But neither the romance of Sir Walter Scott nor the song
of Béranger does justice to the reality, as presented by the faithful
Commines.