1101, he composed a farewell to Provence, being haunted by a sad presentiment that he should see that fair land no more. His foreboding was not realized. He came back unscathed at the end of two years, after many wild adventures and narrow escapes, and wrote a burlesque account in verse (which has not survived) of his experiences in Palestine. He lived until 1127, and made ruthless war in his later years upon his young and defenceless neighbor, Alphonse Jourdain of Toulouse, for the sovereignty of that province. Alphonse was a son of the heroic Raymond, the leader of the first crusade, born in the Holy Land and baptized in the Jordan, whence his surname. daughter of his was distinguished by the tuneful homage of a troubadour named Guiraud le Roux, of knightly rank but poor, who had taken service at Alphonse's court. This Guiraud is remarkable as being the only troubadour on record who loved but one woman; and there is a quality about his whimsical and subtle but always irreproachable verses which reminds one a little of the Elizabethan lyric. A William IX. of Poitiers was succeeded by his son William X.; and he in turn was the father of one of the most illustrious women of her age, a great patroness of the troubadours, and past-mistress of all that nebulous lore which was made the absurd matter of solemn discussion and adjudication in the socalled Courts of Love. This was no other than the beautiful and stately Eleanor, - Princess of Aquitaine and Duchess of Normandy, first married to Louis VII. of France, then divorced and married to Henry II. of England, the merciless but by no means immaculate censor of the fair Rosamond Clifford, and the mother of Richard of the Lion Heart. She was already married to Henry, who was ten years her junior; but she had not yet visited England when she welcomed and installed as her formal worshipper at the Norman court one of the most famous and prolific of all the troubadours, a true poet, though a light and inconstant lover, Bernard of Ventadour. Very humbly born, the son in fact of the castle baker, Bernard's exquisite talent was early discovered by his master, Ebles III. of Ventadour, who is described in the old chronicles as having "loved, even to old age, the songs of alacrity." Ebles not only educated the boy, but permitted and even encouraged him, for a long time, to afficher himself as the adorer of his own youthful second wife, Adelaide of Montpelier. The day came, however, when the youth's homage was suddenly discovered to have passed the proper ceremonial bounds; and he was abruptly dismissed, to take new service in Norinandy. It is next to impossible to separate, in his remains, the songs of the two periods: Adelaide or Eleanor, it is all virtually one. The limpid stream of babbling minstrelsy flows on for some forty years, always dulcet and delicate, sometimes lightly pathetic, but reflecting indifferently the image of either lady. Within the long period of Bernard's placid ascendency were comprised the rapid and fiery careers of two men of a very different stamp, -the most tragical figures in all the miscellaneous choir. Jaufré Rudel, the Prince of Blaya, fell in love with a certain Countess of Tripoli on the mere rumor of her charms; assumed the cross for the sole and sacrilegious purpose of meeting her; fell ill upon the voyage, and on his arrival was recovered from a death-like trance by his lady's embrace, only to die almost immediately in her arms. The horrible story of William of Cabestaing would seem quite beyond belief were it not given circumstantially, and with very slight variations, by an unusual number of writers. Himself a gallant and accomplished cavalier, William won such favor in the eyes of the Lady Margarida, wife of Raymond of Roussillon, that he aroused the savage jealousy of the latter, who waylaid and slew him, and then cut out his heart, which he ordered cooked and seasoned and set before his wife. The hapless lady partook of it; then, on being brutally told the ghastly truth, she swore that she would never eat again, sprang past her husband, who had drawn his sword, leaped from the high balcony of an open window, and perished. Both Raymond and William were vassals of Alphonse II. of Aragon, himself a troubadour, and a great patron of the art. He had Raymond arrested, and caused him to die in prison; while the tomb of the lovers before the door of the church at Perpignan was long a place of pious resort for the pilgrims of passion in those parts. A different and less melodramatic interest attaches to the names of the two Arnauts, Arnaut Daniel and Arnaut de Maroill: of whom the former, as we know from Canto xxvi. of the "Purgatorio," spoke in Provençal to Dante when he met. him in the shades; while the latter is mentioned by Petrarch in a canzone as "the less famous Arnaut." The distinction seems a strange one; for while the verses of the former are chiefly remarkable for an extraordinary artificiality and complexity of rhythm, the latter, who had vowed his devotions to a certain lovely Viscountess of Béziers, was the author of some of the most exquisitely tender bits of Provençal song which we possess. The laborious verbal conceits and metrical intricacies of Dante's Arnaut were imitated with great ingenuity, and even exaggerated, by Raimon de Miraval, who fought in the Albigensian war; during which so many of the local poets and their patrons fell, that a whole civilization seemed to perish with them. That cruel contest may be held to mark the beginning of the end of the Provençal school of song. The name of a woman, the Countess Die, who also, like the royal Eleanor, presided over a Court of Love, remains attached to one plaintiff lament much admired in its day; and another woman, though unnamed, was the author of the most artless and impassioned of all the peculiar class of poems known as albas or morning-songs. Another very beautiful alba was written by Guiraut de Borneil, of whom it is said by his ancient biographer that he composed the first true chanson, all previous poets having made verses only. He won a weightier kind of renown by the virile force and fire of his sirventes, — didactic or satiric pieces, — in which he mourned the accumulated misfortunes of his country, or lashed the crimes and vices of the men who had brought her to the verge of ruin. Contemporary with Guiraut was another intrepid censor of the corruptions of his time, Peire Cardinal; of whom we have a satire beginning with the burning words, "Who desires to hear a sirventes woven of grief and embroidered with anger? I have spun it already, and I can make its warp and woof!" Both these brave men died not far from the year 1230, and the course of Provençal literature after their day is one of steady deterioration. [The dates at the head of these pieces translated by Miss Preston represent, approximately, the time within which the several authors wrote.] GUILLAUME DE POITIERS. (1190-1227.) I. BEHOLD the meads are green again, Now should each heart that loves obtain Its own delight. But I will say no ill of love, However slight my guerdon prove; Their hearts are high, their might is great, Who well endure. II. Desire of song hath taken me, No more pay I my fealty In Limousin or Poitiers, Since I go forth to exile far, And leave my son to stormy war, To fear and peril; for they are No friends who dwell about him there. What wonder then my heart is sore To guard his kinsman and my heir? If he of Anjou shield him not, Deeming him well-nigh in despair. Nay, if he be not wondrous wise, And him into the dust will bear. Ah, I was brave and I had fame, Confide all sinners everywhere. Surrendering all that did elate My heart, all pride of steed or state, Forgive me, comrade most my own, In Latin and Románs my prayer. Oh, I was gallant, I was glad, Nor can I more my burden bear. Good friends, when that indeed I die I triumphed still, or here or there. - But farewell now, love, luxury, GUIRAUD LE ROUX. (1110-1147.) COME, lady, to my song incline, The last that shall assail thine ear. And scarce thou feign'st thyself there with delighted! But this I know, thou radiant one and sweet, In very deed, if cause appear, Honor it is to be by thee incited To any deed; and I, when most benighted By doubt, remind me that times change and fleet, BERNARD DE VENTADOUR. (1140-1195.) I. No marvel is it if I sing Better than other minstrels all, For more than they am I love's thrall, |