THE CLASSICAL PERIOD
We now reach a group of three troubadours whom Dante[21] selected as
typical of certain characteristics: "Bertran de Born sung of arms,
Arnaut Daniel of love, and Guiraut de Bornelh of uprightness, honour and
virtue." The last named, who was a contemporary (1175-1220 _circa_) and
compatriot of Arnaut de Marueil, is said in his biography to have
enjoyed so great a reputation that he was known as the "Master of the
Troubadours." This title is not awarded to him by any other troubadour;
the jealousy constantly prevailing between the troubadours is enough to
account for their silence on this point. But his reputation is fairly
attested by the number of his poems which have survived and by the
numerous MSS. in which they are preserved; when troubadours were studied
as classics in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, Guiraut's poems
were so far in harmony with the moralising tendency of that age that his
posthumous reputation was certainly as great as any that he enjoyed in
his life-time.
Practically nothing is known of his life; allusions in his poems lead us [54]
to suppose that he spent some time in Spain at the courts of Navarre,
Castile and Aragon. The real interests of his work are literary and
ethical. To his share in the controversy concerning the _trobar clus_,
the obscure and difficult style of composition, we have already alluded.
Though in the _tenso_ with Linhaure, Guiraut expresses his preference
for the simple and intelligible style, it must be said that the majority
of his poems are far from attaining this ideal. Their obscurity,
however, is often due rather to the difficulty of the subject matter
than to any intentional attempt at preciosity of style. He was one of
the first troubadours who attempted to analyse the effects of love from
a psychological standpoint; his analysis often proceeds in the form of a
dialogue with himself, an attempt to show the hearer by what methods he
arrived at his conclusions. "How is it, in the name of God, that when I
wish to sing, I weep? Can the reason be that love has conquered me? And
does love bring me no delight? Yes, delight is mine. Then why am I sad
and melancholy? I cannot tell. I have lost my lady's favour and the
delight of love has no more sweetness for me. Had ever a lover such
misfortune? But am I a lover? No! Have I ceased to love passionately?
No! Am I then a lover? Yes, if my lady would suffer my love." Guiraut's [55]
moral _sirventes_ are reprobations of the decadence of his age. He saw a
gradual decline of the true spirit of chivalry. The great lords were
fonder of war and pillage than of poetry and courtly state. He had
himself suffered from the change, if his biographer is to be believed;
the Viscount of Limoges had plundered and burnt his house. He compares
the evils of his own day with the splendours of the past, and asks
whether the accident of birth is the real source of nobility; a man must
be judged by himself and his acts and not by the rank of his
forefathers; these were the sentiments that gained him a mention in the
Fourth Book of Dante's _Convivio_.[22]
The question why Dante should have preferred Arnaut Daniel to Guiraut de
Bornelh[23] has given rise to much discussion. The solution turns upon
Dante's conception of style, which is too large a problem for
consideration here. Dante preferred the difficult and artificial style
of Arnaut to the simple style of the opposition school; from Arnaut he
borrowed the sestina form; and at the end of the canto he puts the
well-known lines, "Ieu sui Arnaut, que plor e vau cantan," into the
troubadour's mouth. We know little of Arnaut's life; he was a noble of
Riberac in Périgord. The biography relates an incident in his life which
is said to have taken place at the court of Richard Coeur de Lion.
A certain troubadour had boasted before the king that he could compose a [56]
better poem than Arnaut. The latter accepted the challenge and the king
confined the poets to their rooms for a certain time at the end of which
they were to recite their composition before him. Arnaut's inspiration
totally failed him, but from his room he could hear his rival singing as
he rehearsed his own composition. Arnaut was able to learn his rival's
poem by heart, and when the time of trial came he asked to be allowed to
sing first, and performed his opponent's song, to the wrath of the
latter, who protested vigorously. Arnaut acknowledged the trick, to the
great amusement of the king.
Preciosity and artificiality reach their height in Arnaut's poems, which
are, for that reason, excessively difficult. Enigmatic constructions,
word-plays, words used in forced senses, continual alliteration and
difficult rimes produced elaborate form and great obscurity of meaning.
The following stanza may serve as an example--
L'aur' amara fa·ls bruels brancutz
clarzir que·l dons espeys' ab fuelhs,
e·ls letz becxs dels auzels ramencx
te balbs e mutz pars e non pars.
per qu'ieu m'esfortz de far e dir plazers
A manhs? per ley qui m'a virat has d'aut,
don tern morir si·ls afans no·m asoma.
"The bitter breeze makes light the bosky boughs which the gentle breeze [57]
makes thick with leaves, and the joyous beaks of the birds in the
branches it keeps silent and dumb, paired and not paired. Wherefore do I
strive to say and do what is pleasing to many? For her, who has cast me
down from on high, for which I fear to die, if she does not end the
sorrow for me."
The answers to the seventeen rime-words which occur in this stanza do
not appear till the following stanza, the same rimes being kept
throughout the six stanzas of the poem. To rest the listener's ear,
while he waited for the answering rimes, Arnaut used light assonances
which almost amount to rime in some cases. The Monk of Montaudon in his
satirical _sirventes_ says of Arnaut: "He has sung nothing all his life,
except a few foolish verses which no one understands"; and we may
reasonably suppose that Arnaut's poetry was as obscure to many of his
contemporaries as it is to us.
Dante placed Bertran de Born in hell, as a sower of strife between
father and son, and there is no need to describe his picture of the
troubadour--
"Who held the severed member lanternwise
And said, Ah me!" (_Inf._ xxviii. 119-142.)
The genius of Dante, and the poetical fame of Bertran himself, have
given him a more important position in history than is, perhaps, [58]
entirely his due. Jaufré, the prior of Vigeois, an abbey of
Saint-Martial of Limoges, is the only chronicler during the reigns of
Henry II. and Richard Coeur de Lion who mentions Bertran's name. The
_razos_ prefixed to some of his poems by way of explanation are the work
of an anonymous troubadour (possibly Uc de Saint-Círe); they constantly
misinterpret the poems they attempt to explain, confuse names and
events, and rather exaggerate the part played by Bertran himself.
Besides these sources we have the cartulary of Dalon, or rather the
extracts made from it by Guignières in 1680 (the original has been
lost), which give us information about Bertran's family and possessions.
From these materials, and from forty-four or forty-five poems which have
come down to us, the poet's life can be reconstructed.
Bertran de Bern's estates were situated on the borders of Limousin and
Périgord. The family was ancient and honourable; from the cartulary
Bertran appears to have been born about 1140; we find him, with his
brother Constantin, in possession of the castle of Hautefort, which
seems to have been a strong fortress; the lands belonging to the family
were of no great extent, and the income accruing from them was but
scanty. In 1179 Bertran married one Raimonde, of whom nothing is known,
except that she bore him at least two sons. In 1192 he lost this first [59]
wife, and again married a certain Philippe. His warlike and turbulent
character was the natural outcome of the conditions under which he
lived; the feudal system divided the country into a number of fiefs, the
boundaries of which were ill defined, while the lords were constantly at
war with one another. All owed allegiance to the Duke of Aquitaine, the
Count of Poitou, but his suzerainty was, in the majority of cases,
rather a name than a reality. These divisions were further accentuated
by political events; in 1152 Henry II., Count of Anjou and Maine,
married Eleanor, the divorced wife of Louis VII. of France, and mistress
of Aquitaine. Henry became king of England two years later, and his rule
over the barons of Aquitaine, which had never been strict, became the
more relaxed owing to his continual absence in England.
South of Aquitaine proper the dominions of the Count of Toulouse
stretched from the Garonne to the Alps; this potentate was also called
the Duke of Narbonne, and was not disposed to recognise the suzerainty
of the Duke of Aquitaine. But in 1167 Alfonso II., King of Aragon and
Count of Barcelona, had inherited Provence, to which the Duke of
Toulouse laid claim. Henry and Alfonso thus became natural allies, and
the power of Alfonso in Aragon and Catalonia, was able to keep in check
any serious attempt that the Count of Toulouse might have meditated on [60]
Aquitaine. On the other hand, Henry had also to deal with a formidable
adversary in the person of the French king, his lawful suzerain in
France. Louis VII. (or Philippe Auguste) was able to turn the constant
revolts that broke out in Aquitaine to his own ends. These circumstances
are sufficient to account for the warlike nature of Bertran de Born's
poetry. The first _sirventes_ which can be dated with certainty belongs
to 1181, and is a call to the allies of Raimon V, Count of Toulouse, to
aid their master against the King of Aragon. What Bertran's personal
share in the campaign was, we do not know. He was soon involved in a
quarrel with his brother Constantin, with whom he held the castle of
Hautefort in common. Constantin was driven out and succeeded in
persuading the Count of Limoges and Richard, Duke of Aquitaine, to help
him. Richard, however, was occupied elsewhere, and Bertran survived all
attacks upon the castle. In 1182 he went to the court of Henry II.,
during a temporary lull in the wars around him; there he proceeded to
pay court to the Princess Matilda, daughter of Henry II., whose husband,
Henry of Saxony, was then on a pilgrimage. He also took part in the
political affairs of the time. Henry II.'s eldest son, Henry "the young
king," had been crowned in 1170 at Westminster, and was anxious to have [61]
something more than the title, seeing that his brother Richard was Duke
of Aquitaine, Count of Poitou, and practically an independent sovereign.
Bertran had not forgotten Richard's action against him on behalf of his
brother Constantin, and was, moreover, powerfully attracted by the open
and generous nature of the young king. He therefore took his side, and
on his return to Limousin became the central point of the league which
was formed against Richard. Henry II. succeeded in reconciling his two
sons, the young Henry receiving pecuniary compensation in lieu of
political power. But the young Henry seems to have been really moved by
Bertran's reproaches, and at length revolted against his father and
attacked his brother Richard. While he was in Turenne, the young king
fell sick and died on June 11, 1183. Bertran lamented his loss in two
famous poems, and soon felt the material effects of it. On June 29,
Richard and the King of Aragon arrived before Hautefort, which
surrendered after a week's resistance. Richard restored the castle to
Constantin, but Bertran regained possession, as is related in the second
biography.
Henceforward, Bertran remained faithful to Richard, and directed his
animosity chiefly against the King of Aragon. At the same time it
appears that he would have been equally pleased with any war, which [62]
would have brought profit to himself, and attempted to excite Richard
against his father, Henry II. This project came to nothing, but war
broke out between Richard and the French king; a truce of two years was
concluded, and again broken by Richard. The Church, however, interfered
with its efforts to organise the Third Crusade, which called from
Bertran two _sirventes_ in honour of Conrad, son of the Marquis of
Montferrat, who was defending Tyre against Saladin. Bertran remained at
home in Limousin during this Crusade; his means were obviously
insufficient to enable him to share in so distant a campaign; other, and
for him, equally cogent reasons for remaining at home may be gathered
from his poems. There followed the quarrels between Richard and the
French king, the return to France of the latter, and finally Richard's
capture on the Illyrian coast and his imprisonment by Henry VI. of
Austria, which terminated in 1194. Richard then came into Aquitaine, his
return being celebrated by two poems from Bertran.
The Provençal biography informs us that Bertran finally became a monk in
the Order of Citeaux. The convent where he spent his last years was the
abbey of Dalon, near Hautefort. The cartulary mentions his name at
various intervals from 1197 to 1202. In 1215 we have the entry "_octavo,[63]
candela in sepulcro ponitur pro Bernardo de Born: cera tres solidos
empta est_." This is the only notice of the poet's death.
Dante perhaps exaggerated the part he played in stirring up strife
between Henry II. and his sons; modern writers go to the other extreme.
Bertran is especially famous for his political _sirventes_ and for the
martial note which rings through much of his poetry. He loved war both
for itself and for the profits which it brought: "The powerful are more
generous and open-handed when they have war than when they have peace."
The troubadour's two _planhs_ upon the "young king's" death are inspired
by real feeling, and the story of his reconciliation with Henry after
the capture of his castle can hardly have been known to Dante, who would
surely have modified his judgment upon the troubadour if he had
remembered that scene as related by the biography. Sir Bertran was
summoned with all his people to King Henry's tent, who received him very
harshly and said, "Bertran, you declared that you never needed more than
half your senses; it seems that to-day you will want the whole of them."
"Sire", said Bertran, "it is true that I said so and I said nothing but
the truth." The king replied, "Then you seem to me to have lost your
senses entirely". "I have indeed lost them", said Bertran. "And how?" [64]
asked the king. "Sire, on the day that the noble king, your son, died, I
lost sense, knowledge and understanding." When the king heard Bertran
speak of his son with tears, he was deeply moved and overcome with
grief. On recovering himself he cried, weeping, "Ah, Bertran, rightly
did you lose your senses for my son, for there was no one in the world
whom he loved as you. And for love of him, not only do I give you your
life, but also your castle and your goods, and I add with my love five
hundred silver marks to repair the loss which you have suffered."
The narrative is unhistorical; Henry II. was not present in person at
the siege of Hautefort; but the fact is certain that he regarded Bertran
as the chief sower of discord in his family.
Mention must now be made of certain troubadours who were less important
than the three last mentioned, but are of interest for various reasons.
Raimbaut d'Aurenga, Count of Orange from 1150-1173, is interesting
rather by reason of his relations with other troubadours than for his
own achievements in the troubadours' art. He was a follower of the
precious, artificial and obscure style, and prided himself upon his
skill in the combination of difficult rimes and the repetition of
equivocal rimes (the same word used in different senses or grammatical
forms). "Since Adam ate the apple," he says, "there is no poet, loud as [65]
he may proclaim himself, whose art is worth a turnip compared with
mine." Apart from these mountebank tricks and certain mild "conceits"
(his lady's smile, for instance, makes him happier than the smile of
four hundred angels could do), the chief characteristic of his poetry is
his constant complaints of slanderers who attempt to undermine his
credit with his lady. But he seems to have aroused a passion in the
heart of a poetess, who expressed her feelings in words which contrast
strongly with Raimbaut's vapid sentimentalities.
This was Beatrice, Countess of Die and the wife of Count William of
Poitiers. The names, at least, of seventeen poetesses are known to us
and of these the Countess of Die is the most famous. Like the rest of
her sex who essayed the troubadour's art, the Countess knows nothing of
difficult rhymes or obscurity of style. Simplicity and sincerity are the
keynotes of her poetry. The troubadour sang because he was a
professional poet, but the lady who composed poetry did so from love of
the art or from the inspiration of feeling and therefore felt no need of
meretricious adornment for her song. The five poems of the Countess
which remain to us show that her sentiment for Raimbaut was real and
deep. "I am glad to know that the man I love is the worthiest in the
world; may God give great joy to the one who first brought me to him: [66]
may he trust only in me, whatever slanders be reported to him: for often
a man plucks the rod with which he beats himself. The woman who values
her good name should set her love upon a noble and valiant knight: when
she knows his worth, let her not hide her love. When a woman loves thus
openly, the noble and worthy speak of her love only with sympathy."
Raimbaut, however, did not reciprocate these feelings: in a _tenso_ with
the countess he shows his real sentiments while excusing his conduct. He
assures her that he has avoided her only because he did not wish to
provide slanderers with matter for gossip; to which the Countess replies
that his care for her reputation is excessive. Peire Rogier whose
poetical career lies between the years 1160 and 1180, also spent some
time at Raimbaut's court. He belonged to Auvergne by birth and was
attached to the court of Ermengarde of Narbonne for some years: here
there is no doubt that we have a case of a troubadour in an official
position and nothing more: possibly Peire Rogier's tendency to
preaching--he had been educated for the church--was enough to stifle any
sentiment on the lady's side. On leaving Narbonne, he visited Raimbaut
at Orange and afterwards travelled to Spain and Toulouse, finally
entering a monastery where he ended his life.
Auvergne produced a far more important troubadour in the person of Peire [67]
d'Auvergne, whose work extended from about 1158 to 1180; he was thus
more or less contemporary with Guiraut de Bornelh and Bernart de
Ventadour. He was, according to the biography, the son of a citizen of
Clermont-Ferrand, and "the first troubadour, who lived beyond the
mountains (i.e. the Pyrenees, which, however, Marcabrun had previously
crossed)... he was regarded as the best troubadour until Guiraut de
Bornelh appeared.... He was very proud of his talents and despised other
troubadours." Other notices state that he was educated for an
ecclesiastical career and was at one time a canon. He had no small idea
of his own powers: "Peire d'Auvergne," he says in his satire upon other
troubadours "has such a voice that he can sing in all tones and his
melodies are sweet and pleasant: he is master of his art, if he would
but put a little clarity into his poems, which are difficult to
understand." The last observation is entirely correct: his poems are
often very obscure. Peire travelled, in the pursuit of his profession,
to the court of Sancho III. of Castile and made some stay in Spain: he
is also found at the courts of Raimon V. of Toulouse and, like Peire
Rogier, at Narbonne. Among his poems, two are especially well known. In
a love poem he makes the nightingale his messenger, as Marcabrun had [68]
used the starling and as others used the swallow or parrot. But in
comparison with Marcabrun, Peire d'Auvergne worked out the idea with a
far more delicate poetical touch. The other poem is a _sirventes_ which
is of interest as being the first attempt at literary satire among the
troubadours; the satire is often rather of a personal than of a literary
character; the following quotations referring to troubadours already
named will show Peire's ideas of literary criticism. "Peire Rogier sings
of love without restraint and it would befit him better to carry the
psalter in the church or to bear the lights with the great burning
candles. Guiraut de Bornelh is like a sun-bleached cloth with his thin
miserable song which might suit an old Norman water-carrier. Bernart de
Ventadour is even smaller than Guiraut de Bornelh by a thumb's length;
but he had a servant for his father who shot well with the long bow
while his mother tended the furnace." The satiric _sirventes_ soon found
imitators: the Monk of Montaudon produced a similar composition. Like
many other troubadours, Peire ended his life in a monastery. To this
period of his career probably, belong his religious poems of which we
shall have occasion to speak later.
We have already observed that the Church contributed members, though
with some reluctance, to the ranks of the troubadours. One of the most [69]
striking figures of the kind is the Monk of Montaudon (1180-1200): the
satirical power of his _sirventes_ attracted attention, and he gained
much wealth at the various courts which he visited; this he used for the
benefit of his priory. He enjoyed the favour of Philippe Auguste II. of
France, of Richard Coeur de Lion and of Alfonso II. of Aragon, with that
of many smaller nobles. The biography says of him, "E fo faitz seigner
de la cort del Puoi Santa Maria e de dar l'esparvier. Lone temps ac la
seignoria de la cort del Puoi, tro que la cortz se perdet." "He was made
president of the court of Puy Sainte Marie and of awarding the
sparrow-hawk. For a long time he held the presidency of the court of
Puy, until the court was dissolved." The troubadour Richard de
Barbezieux refers to this court, which seems to have been a periodical
meeting attended by the nobles and troubadours of Southern Prance.
Tournaments and poetical contests were held; the sparrow-hawk or falcon
placed on a pole is often mentioned as the prize awarded to the
tournament victor. Tennyson's version of the incident in his "Geraint
and Enid" will occur to every reader. The monk's reputation must have
been considerable to gain him this position. His love poems are of
little importance; his satire deals with the petty failings of mankind,
for which he had a keen eye and an unsparing and sometimes cynical [70]
tongue.
Be·m enoia, s'o auzes dire,
Parliers quant es avols servire;
Et hom qui trop vol aut assire
M'enoia, e cavals que tire.
Et enoia·m, si Dieus m'aiut
Joves hom quan trop port' escut,
Que negun colp no i a agut,
Capela et mongue barbut,
E lauzengier bee esmolut.
"These vex me greatly, if I may say so, language when it is base
servility, and a man who wishes too high a place (at table) and a
charger which is put to drawing carts. And, by my hope of salvation, I
am vexed by a young man who bears too openly a shield which has never
received a blow, by a chaplain and monk wearing beards and by the sharp
beak of the slanderer." The monk's satire upon other troubadours is
stated by himself to be a continuation of that by Peire d'Auvergne; the
criticism is, as might be expected, personal. Two _tensos_ deal with the
vanities of women, especially the habit of painting the face: in one of
them the dispute proceeds before God as judge, between the poet and the
women: the scene of the other is laid in Paradise and the interlocutors
are the Almighty and the poet, who, represents that self-adornment is a
habit inherent in female nature. In neither poem is reverence a [71]
prominent feature.
One of the most extraordinary figures in the whole gallery of troubadour
portraits is Peire Vidal, whose career extended, roughly speaking, from
1175 to 1215. He was one of those characters who naturally become the
nucleus of apocryphal stories, and how much truth there may be in some
of the fantastic incidents, in which he figures as the hero, will
probably never be discovered. He was undoubtedly an attractive
character, for he enjoyed the favour of the most distinguished men and
women of his time. He was also a poet of real power: ease and facility
are characteristics of his poems as compared with the ingenious
obscurity of Arnaut Daniel or Peire d'Auvergne. But there was a
whimsical and fantastic strain in his character, which led him often to
conjoin the functions of court-fool with those of court poet: "he was
the most foolish man in the world" says his biographer. His
"foolishness" also induced him to fall in love with every woman he met,
and to believe that his personal attractions made him invincible.
Peire Vidal was the son of a Toulouse merchant. He began his troubadour
wanderings early and at the outset of his career we find him in
Catalonia, Aragon and Castile. He is then found in the service of Raimon
Gaufridi Barral,[24] Viscount of Marseilles, a bluff, genial tournament [72]
warrior and the husband of Azalais de Porcellet whose praises were sung
by Folquet of Marseilles. It was Barral who was attracted by Peire's
peculiar talents: his wife seems to have tolerated the troubadour from
deference to her husband. Peire, however, says in one of his poems that
husbands feared him more than fire or sword, and believing himself
irresistible interpreted Azalais' favours as seriously meant. When he
stole a kiss from her as she slept, she insisted upon Peire's departure,
though her husband seems to have regarded the matter as a jest and the
troubadour took refuge in Genoa. Eventually, Azalais pardoned him and he
was able to return to Marseilles. Peire is said to have followed Richard
Coeur de Lion on his crusade; it was in 1190 that Richard embarked at
Marseilles for the Holy Land, and as a patron of troubadours, he was no
doubt personally acquainted with Peire. The troubadour, however, is said
to have gone no farther than Cyprus. There he married a Greek woman and
was somehow persuaded that his wife was a daughter of the Emperor of
Constantinople, and that he, therefore, had a claim to the throne of
Greece. He assumed royal state, added a throne to his personal
possessions and began to raise a fleet for the conquest of his kingdom.
How long this farce continued is unknown. Barral died in 1192 and Peire
transferred his affections to a lady of Carcassonne, Loba de Pennautier. [73]
The biography relates that her name Loba (wolf) induced the troubadour
to approach her in a wolf's skin, which disguise was so successful that
he was attacked by a pack of dogs and seriously mauled. Probably the
story that an outraged husband had the troubadour's tongue cut out at an
earlier period of his life contains an equal substratum of truth. The
last period of his career was spent in Hungary and Lombardy. His
political _sirventes_ show an insight into the affairs of his age, which
is in strong contrast to the whimsicality which seems to have misguided
his own life.
Guillem de Cabestanh (between 1181 and 1196) deserves mention for the
story which the Provençal biography has attached to his name, a
Provençal variation of the thirteenth century romance of the _Châtelaine
de Coucy_.[25] He belonged to the Roussillon district, on the borders of
Catalonia and fell in love with the wife of his overlord, Raimon of
Roussillon. Margarida or Seremonda, as she is respectively named in the
two versions of the story, was attracted by Guillem's songs, with the
result that Raimon's jealousy was aroused and meeting the troubadour one
day, when he was out hunting, he killed him. The Provençal version
proceeds as follows: he then took out the heart and sent it by a squire
to the castle. He caused it to be roasted with pepper and gave it to his [74]
wife to eat. And when she had eaten it, her lord told her what it was
and she lost the power of sight and hearing. And when she came to
herself, she said, "my lord, you have given me such good meat that never
will I eat such meat again." He made at her to strike her but she threw
herself from the window and was killed. Thereupon the barons of
Catalonia and Aragon, led by King Alfonso, are said to have made a
combined attack upon Raimon and to have ravaged his lands, in
indignation at his barbarity.
The Provençal biography, like the romance of the _Châtelain de Coucy_,
belongs to the thirteenth century, and the story cannot be accepted as
authentic. But the period of decadence had begun. By the close of the
twelfth century the golden age of troubadour poetry was over. Guiraut de
Bornelh's complaints that refinement was vanishing and that nobles were
growing hard-hearted and avaricious soon became common-places in
troubadour poetry. The extravagances of the previous age and the rise of
a strong middle and commercial class diminished both the wealth and the
influence of the nobles, while the peace of the country was further
disturbed by theological disputes and by the rise of the Albigeois
heresy.