This is a reproduction of a library book that was digitized by Google as part of an ongoing effort to preserve the information in books and make it universally accessible. Google books https://books.google.com This is a reproduction of a library book that was digitized by Google as part of an ongoing effort to preserve the information in books and make it universally accessible. Google books https://books.google.com S &) wt OD ae a fi! > | ; b 5 wtroduct Sim ate = 2) + Wey ee 4 9-sene > Peery? FPF 25ers = : iby i ee “s Ties op ep aie cigt ate Tete Seas tatytiviog stethaia y+ 34> pl peepee aortas 5 Spa - “+ : Ti ble Re - Ad kind nd j5} 4344: 333484 bab ia) \ BRARY LI] ° STANFORD -VNIVERSITY Digitized by Google Digitized by Google THE NEW MEDIEVAL LIBRARY THE NEW MEDIEVAL LIBRARY THE BOOK OF THE DUKE OF TRUE LOVERS. _ Translated and edited by ALicE Kemp- WELCH. OF THE TUMBLER OF OUR LADY. Translated and edited by ALtice Kemp-WELCH. THE CHATELAINE OF VERGI. Translated by ALicE KeEmp- Wetcu. With an Introduction by L. BRANDIN. THE BABEES’ BOOK: Medieval Manners for the Young. Modern- ised and edited by EDpITH RICKERT. THE BOOK OF THE DIVINE CONSOLATION OF SAINT ANGELA DA FOLIGNO. Translated by Mary G. STEEG- MANN. With an Introduction by ALGAR THOROLD. THE LEGEND OF THE HOLY FINA, VIRGIN OF SANTO GEMINIANO. Translated and edited by M. MANSFIELD. EARLY ENGLISH ROMANCES OF LOVE. Edited by Epitn RICKERT. EARLY ENGLISH ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP. Edited by EpitH RICKERT. THE CELL OF SELF-KNOW- LEDGE: Seven Early English Mystical Treatises. ditec by Epmunp G. GARDNER, M.A. ANCIENT ENGLISH CHRIST- MAS CAROLS. Collected and arranged by EpiTH RICKERT. TROBADOR POETS. _ Selected and translated by BakBARA SMYTHE. of A 23 : XN aia 8 KS $ IG (|e rT vobador Pp of the duties ¢ ofa a knight, came to carry with it a certain reverence for them, an an _end in itself, existing side by side with the service of religion. ‘The principles of chivalrous love were carried out chiefly by the lesser knights and by poets, many of whom were of obscure origin, Te ose talents had won them a certain position in society. The great barons of the country were too much occupied with political matters to have time to spare for the ceremonies and refinements of chivalrous love, though many of their number were trobadors; but among those who had no lands of their own, and who lived dependent on the bounty of some powerful lord, it was a récognised custom to pay court to the wife of their patron. The greatest boon that a knight demanded of his lady was a kind look or word, and for the sake of sucha reward he would dedicate Dinislt ts to her as a yassal would to his lord. Bernart entadorn says in a charming verse: “ “And therefore, | lady, have pity on your true lover, for I vow to you on my faite that Enever toved aught so ‘welt : ; with tands joined and head bent Tgive and deliver: “payeelE to you, and if there should be a fitting moment, give me.a kind glance, for I have very great desire for it.” Though this conception of chivalrous love first originated before the time of the trobadors, and was not in the be- ginning necessarily expressed in poetry, it soon came to be the theme of the new literature that was springing up. Feudatism-ant ty were the important factors in the creation of trobador poetry. The fendal system of life, the brilliant courts of the great barons where singers were welcomed and encouraged, gave the necessary material support to the art, and gave also, in the relation between b* xiv INTRODUCTION Mahn (“Die Werke der Troubadours,” four volumes, and ‘Gedichte der Troubadours,” four volumes). Separate critical editions of the works of many trobadors have been published. The language spoken and: written by the trobadors is now usually called “ Provencal.” Medieval chroniclers and poets generally used the name Provence to designate not only the province of that name, but the whole of France south of the Loire, and it was throughout this district that Provencal was spoken, though the dialect of Gascony differed so much from those of the other provinces as almost to count as a separate language. Provencal is not a mere dialect of French, but an independent language derived, like French, Italian, and most other languages of Southern Europe, from Latin. For political reasons it early ceased to be used as a literary language, and though it re- mained, and still remains, the spoken language of the people of Southern France, it came to be looked on merely as a patois. Of late years, Mistral and others have revived it for literary purposes. The modern Provengal written by them has of course developed from the language of the trobadors just as modern French has developed from the French spoken and written in the thirteenth century. Among the mass of trobador poetry there is much that can be of interest only to philologists. Only a small number of the trobadors wrote poetry of any great literary merit. It would be difficult, however, to overestimate the literary importance of the trobadors as a whole, for it may be claimed for them that they were the founders of modern lyric poetry. Their songs were the first lyrical poems to be written in medieval Europe. The earliest specimens date from the end of the eleventh century, and during the next hundred and fifty years Southern France was the most important literary centre in Europe. The literature of Provence was INTRODUCTION XV imitated by the poets of Northern France, Germany, Italy, Catalonia, and Spain ; it was itself original. Yet the troba- dors must have had some foundation on which to build up their art. This foundation must not be looked for in clas- sical literature, to which Provencal poetry owes practically nothing. The songs of the trobadors were a native product. They represent a very self-conscious and artificial form of art which nevertheless had its origin, as far as we know, in the songs of the country people. It is supposed that the par- ticular branch of popular poetry from which the trobadors derived their songs was the spring-song, sung, especially on the first of May, to accompany a country dance and to cele- brate the return of the “ sweet new season.” Some of the spring-songs have come down to us, and though none of the MSS. in which they appear are earlier in date than the be- ginning of the thirteenth century, it is probable that the songs themselves are much older. They were very seldom written down, for they were not considered worth recording, and besides, they were intended merely to be sung, and were learnt by heart and handed down from generation to generation. At the time when collections of French and Provencal artistic poems were first made, some of the old popular songs were included in the MSS., and so have been preserved for us. In the form of both verse and melody they have a certain resemblance to the artistic productions of the trobadors, though they are much simpler. It must be remembered that the art of the trobadors con- sisted not only in the writing of verse but in the composing of music as well, and words and music, the two halves of the Provengal song, should, whenever possible, be studied together. Unfortunately, the number of tunes that has survived is very much smaller than that of the poems. There XVili INTRODUCTION vassal and lord, the model for the relation between trobador 4 and lady. Chivalry, first the protection and then the adora- “tion of women, supplied the inspiration. So complete was the dependence of the trobadors on feudalism, that their poetry could not survive its fall. No one living at the close of the twelfth century, when the art and fame of the trobadors were at their greatest height, - . gould have predicted that in a hundred years’ time scarcely oe a_ trobador wl be_left.-Yet this was what actually typ happened. bigensian wars ruined the independence UA. ‘ . of Southern pas The barons were either exterminated (cor deprived of their possessions, and so impoverished that they could not support the trobadors any longer, and the latter were obliged to wander into Italy or Spain to seek new patrons. It is true that they found generous support in these countries, but the national character of their poetry was lost; it had become a trade instead of a recreation, and was gradually more and more neglected. Thus ended the most brilliant and in some respects the most important epoch of medieval literature. Though it is easy to understand that feudalism and chivalry between them could produce an artistic poetry derived from old popular songs, it must be conceded that they would scarcely have sufficed alone to bring that poetry to such a high level of excellence as it attained. This level could only have been reached by the aid of an inborn love of song among the natives of Southern France. Thie-fondness for song has always been recognised as belonging to the Provencals. Philippe Mousket, the old French chronicler, accounts for it as follows. When the Emperor Charlemagne divided his lands among his adherents, he gave Provence to the singers and musicians ; this was the cause of the love of melody and song which the Provencals have had ever since, and of their INTRODUCTION xix supremacy over all other people in music and poetry. This is a very fanciful way of accounting for the Provengal love of song, but there is no doubt that already in the time of Charlemagne the singers and musicians, the “ joglars,”” were af known and patronised in Southern France. ‘The prosperous ’ trobadors of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries had a Certain contempt for the profession of joglar, but this pro- fession was at all events of much greater antiquity than their own. These strolling entertainers were known in France from very early times. They went about from castle to castle and from town to town, earning what they could for their performances, which consisted not only in the playing of various instruments and the recital of long epic poems and shorter popular songs, but also in various juggling tricks. When trobador poetry became fashionable, the singing of the newest songs was added to the joglar’s list of accomplish- ments. ~T'robador literature, far from causing a decline in the popularity of the joglars, proved an encouragement and a valuable addition to their profession. People were always ready to hear a new song by some well-known trobador; and the poets themselves, though they often sang their own songs, were only too willing to teach them to the joglars, by whom they were quickly circulated throughout the country, and so brought fame and popularity to their authors. Ifa trobador could not sing well, he took a joglar into his service who went about with him and sang his songs. Some Jjoglars wrote songs themselves, and thus rose to the rank of tro- badors, while on the other hand those trobadors who had not the means to live as knights adopted the profession of joglar. It may be well at this point to attempt some sort of defi- nition of a trobador. As a matter of fact, the two classes of trobador and joglar were not always kept very distinct xx INTRODUCTION - their own time. The most general distinction was that “ trobador ” was one who wrote original songs, while a og ar” merely performed the works of others. The word trobador is derived, according to Gaston Paris, from a term of musical art, fropus, signifying a melody, so that trobador means one who invents “ tropi.” Its deriva- tion is more usually said to be from the verb trobar, to find (hypothetical Latin tropare), the meaning of trobador being literally a finder or discoverer. Whereas all joglars, whether or not they were also trobadors, were, broadly speaking, a class by themselves, trobadors were of all classes. In the two hundred years— from the end of the eleventh till the end of the thirteenth. century—during which trobador or literature.existed;.. -we find: pilaiearl dene allan and tradesmen, monks and joglars,. practising-the art of song-making, ‘and all brought to a ee al intellectual equality with each other by their art. But though the poets were of all classes, the poetry was of _one class only. The art of the trobadors was essentially of ~ an artistic, not a popular, character. A great many rules had to be ept inthe makinp-of—veree, and though these rules were not written down before the first half of the thirteenth century, they were regularly taught from an early period. There were no schools for the teaching of verse-making or music-making, but the trobadors learnt their art from each other. We cannot know who first made the rules. They were probably added to from time to time as the art developed, but, to judge from the careful form of words and music in early specimens of trobador song, some existed already in the time of the first trobadors. It must not be forgotten that the songs were transforma- tions of the old popular songs, and that some set verse-forms and melody-forms were borrowed directly from them. INTRODUCTION xxi ‘There were many conventions and rules about the subject of the love-songs of the trobadors:~ ‘Phe-attrtrde-of-con- ventional homage which a trobador had to adopt towards his lady has already been touched upon. Patience and dis- cretion were also necessary qualities. The identity of a / trobador’s lady was generally known, but nevertheless the most elaborate precautions were taken to keep it secret in theory atleast Tr the tady was addressed Inthe poem;-2- pseudonym had tobe ised instead of her own name, and a ” new song had always t6 Be sent by a joglar or some other messenger, never brought by a trobador himself. If the trobadors had little choice of subject in their poems, they could at any rate employ as great a variety of form as they pleased. It was a fixed rule that every new song must. have a new melody and a new form, that it must differ either in the number and length of lines, in the arrangement of the rimes, or in some other particular from every song that had gone before it. All the stanzas of a poem had to be of exactly the same structure, as they were all sung to the same melody, but it was not necessary to keep the same rimes throughout. It was, however, customary to do so. It is not usual to find the rimes changing for every stanza as they do in most modern poetry, but not infrequently we find two stanzas or three written with the same rimes, and then a change. Sometimes the lines of a stanza rime not with one another but with those of the next stanza, and it is not unusual to find one line ending with a word which is repeated in the corresponding line of every other stanza. Some trobadors were not content with letting the last words only of their lines rime with one another, but made the lines rime in the middle as well. The subject of metrical struc- ture 1s more fully treated in the notes to the translations. In spite of all the rules which had to be kept in the com- XXxii INTRODUCTION posing of words and melodies, and of the fact that all their love-poetry was inspired by the same-general-ides; there is a wonderful variety in the songs of the best trobadors. ‘There were, of course, a great many writers whose wotk never rose above mediocrity, and it would be difficult to distinguish the work of one such trobador from that of another, but we may say of others that they were really great poets. In the opinion of the trobadors’ contemporaries, Guiraut de Bornelh was the greatest poet among them. Dante, on the other hand, and Petrarch after him, put Arnaut Daniel first. Most modern readers disagree with the Italian poets as to the relative merits of these two trobadors, and prefer Bernart of Ventadorn to either of them, but few will deny the title of poet to any of these three or to many others as well. Guilhem de Cabestanh, Peire Vidal, and many more, wrote poetry of great charm, and Bertran de Born, the turbulent sower of discord between Henry II. of England and his sons, was, in a different genre, one of the most remarkable poets of them all. Very little is known of the lives of even the most celebrated trobadors. The contemporary “ biographies,” for the most part, give but the barest outline of the poet’s life, and that is often incorrect, and the longer ones consist chiefly of anecdotes @ propos of certain allusions in the poems. Though we know next to nothing of their lives, we have at least enough of their poetry to be able to judge of their art. It is admittedly impossible to reproduce the exact effect of a poem in a translation; and trobador verse, especially the best specimens of it, should be read in the original to be appreciated. In the following translations, however, I have tried to give some idea of what these poems were like, both as to their exterior form and as to their spirit, though I fear very little of their poetry remains. I have reproduced the INTRODUCTION xxii exact metrical structure of the originals in many translations, hoping thus to show the grace and ingenuity of some of the countless forms employed by the trobadors. I can only hope that these translations, imperfect as they are, will help to show the reader that the old Provencal songs are interest- ing not only to the philologist, but to the lover of poetry as well. Digitized by Google Tue art of the trobadors was not only fostered and encouraged by the nobles of Southern France, it’ was actually started by one of them.’* The earliest trobador whose poetiy’ nobleman, Guilhem IX. Duke of Aquitaine, who was also Guilhem VII. Count of Poitou. Among the trobadors and their contemporaries he was always known simply as “The Count of Poitou.” The familiarity with his art displayed by this poet, and certain allusions in his poems, show that he was not the only trobador of his time, but it may be safely assumed that he had no predecessors in the art, as no allusions to any earlier trobador are anywhere to be found. Guilhem was born in the year 1071. The main facts of his life have been recorded by the chroniclers. In the year 1100 he went at the head of 300,000 men on a very ill-fated crusading expedi- tion, of which he was almost the sole survivor. He is said by the chronicler Ordericus Vitalis to have made joking verses about his misfortunes in the East after his return, but unfortunately none of these have come down to us. Eighteen years later he started on an expedition against the Moors of Spain, and had a part in the great victory won over them by the King of Aragon A has come down to us was a powerful’ -- _ 2 TROB ADOR POETS in 1120. In 1126_he was making war on the King of France. In 1127 he died. Several descendants of the first of the trobadors played an important. part in the hterarv history of the ume. His granddaughter,- the celebrated ‘Eleanor of Aquitaine, the wife first of Louis VII. of France and afterwards of Henry II. of England, was a liberal patroness of the trobadors, and inspired’ some of the finest songs of the greatest of all Pro- teagal poets, Bernart of Ventadorn. Her sons—Henry, ‘Richard Coeur-de-Lion, and Geottrey, were also patrons of ‘she trobadors; Richard even followed the example of his “= great-grandfather. and wrote poems himself. According to the chroniclers, Guilhem of Aquitaine was a brave and accomplished, but also an ureverent and im- moral man. VWanous anecdotes of him are recorded to illustrate this character, and some of his songs further con- firm it. Amang the eleven which are extant some can scarcely be looked on as examples of trobador verse; their bold coarseness suggests rather the inspiration of ald popular songs than that af the ideals of chivalry. He has, however, left four love-songs of charming simvicity and sincerity. These expres a much les conventions and arniicial emo- tion than we usually meet with in the songs af the trobadors ; indeed the carrect “ feudal” :arm of love was not yet the fashion, and even if ic had been its not bkely that the great Duke af Aquitaine would have troubled himself about it. His thoughts were senousty accupied with poliucal matters, and poetry was te him any a diversian, not the chief busi- ness of his lite. Another at dis poems is an “ enigma,” or hansense yer, a form af pocuy which became popular among the teobador, wha usd it to express the dreamy and confused state af mind to which love reduced them. It cannot be sand with certamty to whom any of his songs THE COUNT OF POITOU 3 were addressed, but it is probable that some at least were written to a certain Countess Amalberge, who was for some time his mistress. The verse-forms employed by the Count of Poitou in his love-songs are simpler than some of those used by the later trobadors, but there is an ease and grace about them which show him to have been a practised poet. Of his talent as a musician we cannot judge, for except for a fragment of the melody to one of his songs which was adapted to different words in the Provengal mystery play of Saint Agnes, none of his music has come down to us. I REjorcine greatly I begin To love a joy I long to gain, And since I turn to joy again I ought to strive the best to win ; And better joy than mine within The whole world I might seek in vain. I, you must know, ought not to boast, Or on my worth myself to plume —But if a joy may ever bloom, This should be perfect o’er the host Of others, and bear fruit the most, As sunshine brightens winter’s gloom. No joy could e’er imagined be In man’s desire, or in his mind, Or in his thoughts, that I should find Equal to this that’s come to me. No man could praise it well, though he A whole year to the task assigned. TROBADOR POETS All happiness should bow before My lady, all her power confess, Because of her sweet graciousness And of her beauty’s goodly store. He’d live a hundred years and more Who could her love’s great joy possess. Her charm can cure the sick man’s plight, Her wrath can make the whole man die, And make the wise man’s wits to fly ; The fair man’s beauty it can blight, It makes the rudest boor polite And makes the courteous rude and shy. Since none can make a better choice, Nor mouth describe, nor eves behold, I want her for myself to hold, My heart to gladden with her voice, And me to strengthen and rejoice, ‘Vhat ] may nevermore grow old. If my belov’d her love will grant, 1 am prepared to thank and take And to dissemble far her sake, And say and do whate’er she want ; Of her nobiley Pil chang, And all my songs for her PM make. "Vo send no mesase do I dare, Kearny het anger, nor do | —So tear Loto do wrone—drw nigh "Vo her my pasnat ce declare. Vee she indent tar me should care, Rowing aie cure in her doth le. THE COUNT OF POITOU I Now a ballad new I’ll make me Ere the winter overtake me ; My beloved seeks to break me Of my love—she doubts it’s true. But no word from her can shake me, Never my bondage shall I rue. To her power myself I’ve given, May my chains be never riven, *Tis no sin to be forgiven That I love my lady true. I should die if from her driven, Hungering for her as I do. Fairer than a flower her face is, All else from my heart it chases, And if very soon her grace is Gained not, I shall die ’tis true, But shall live if she embraces Me ’neath the bough and kisses too. Love, what gain will you be making If, despairing, I’m forsaking You—would you the veil be taking ? Know, my love for you ’s so true That with grief my heart is aching Till I receive amends from you. How will you be better faring If I turn a monk, despairing ? —All the world’s joy we'll be sharing, TROBADOR POETS Lady, if our love be true. Now my comrade shall be bearing My ballad unto her I woo. Love makes me to freeze and tremble, For I think it must be true None whose grace did hers resemble E’er from Sir Adam’s lineage grew. III ENIGMA A sone of nothing I will write ; Not of myself or any wight, And not of youth or love’s delight, No, nor of aught. On horseback fast asleep one night Of it I thought. I’ve no idea when I was born, I’m neither happy nor forlorn, Nor friend nor stranger, I’ll be sworn —’Tis destiny, For thus on a high hill my Norn Decreed for me. When I’m asleep I’m unaware, Or when I’m waking, I declare ; My heart’s near breaking with despair, With grief it faints —And not a farthing do I care, By all the Saints. THE COUNT OF POITOU I’m ill and like to die I fear, But nothing know save what I hear; I'll seek a leech, but far or near Find none I want. If he can cure, I'll hold him dear —Not if he can’t. I’ve a sweetheart—I know not who, I’ve never seen her it is true, She’s pleased me ne’er, done nought I rue, Nor do I care, For messenger from her unto My house comes ne’er. I’ve seen her ne’er, my love is mad, She’s never made me gay or sad, When I don’t see her I am glad, I care no straw, For one who’s fairer can be had, And worth much more. To ask me where she dwells were vain, If on a hill or in a plain, How she wrongs me I can’t explain, So none can know; It grieves me sore here to remain, So I shall go. My song of nothing’s at an end; To one I send it who shall send It by another to my friend Down in Poitou, That he to me may give or lend The riddle’s clue. 8 . ‘TROBADOR POETS NOTES I. “ Rejotcing greatly I begin.” Metrical form.—That of the original is reproduced in the trans- lation. The rimes in the original remain unchanged throughout the poem, whereas I have changed them for every stanza. II. ‘‘ Now a ballad new I'll make me.” Metrical’form.—That of the original has been exactly preserved. Note the recurrence of the refrain word ¢rue (in the original ay, I love) at the end of the fourth line of every stanza. The use of such a refrain word was very common among the trobadors. The short stanza at the end of the poem is called a ¢ornada. The structure of the tornada had to resemble exactly that of the latter part of the preceding stanza—a rule that is not observed by the Count of Poitou in this poem, for he changes his rimes. Ifa poem had more than one tornada, the second might not be longer, but might be shorter, than the first. The tornada was used by most trobadors as an “ Envoi.’’ It was addressed either to the lady who inspired the poem, or to a friend or patron, or to the messenger who carried the song to the lady, or to the song itself. III. ‘* 4 song of nothing I will write.” Metrical form.—That of the original is reproduced in the translation except for the rimes of the short lines, which in the Provengal are the same throughout the poem. Stanza 2, |. 5.—This and other passages in trobador verse (cf. especially the last stanza of Jaufre Rudel’s song, ‘‘ Whenas the days are long in May”) allude to a popular belief in a species of THE COUNT OF POITOU 9 fairy godmother who arranged the destiny of mortals at their birth. I have doubts as to the suitability of introducing a Scandinavian Norn into a Provencal poem, but the exigencies of rime required her presence, and the Jairis of the Provencals seem to have fulfilled a function similar to that of the lesser Norns of the Scandinavians. ee ey _ “¢ JAUFRE Rupex of Blaye was a very noble man, the Prince of Blaye. And he fell in love with the Countess of Tripoli, whom he had never seen, because of the praise that he had heard said of her by the pilgrims who f 5 came from Antioch; and he made many songs about her, with good melodies and few words. And for the sake of seeing her he took the Cross and set out tosea. Andon the voyage a grievous illness fell upon him, so that those who were in the ship with him thought he was dead, but they brought him to Tripoli and carried him to an inn, thinking him dead. And it was made known to the Countess, and she came to him, and took him in her arms, and he knew she was the Countess, and recovered consciousness, and praised God and thanked Him for having let him live to see her. And so he died in the lady’s arms. And she had him honourably buried in the Church of the Templars, and on that same day she became a nun, through the grief that she felt by reason of his death.” Thus is the story of Jaufre Rudel told in the old Provencal biography. It is a story that has been known and loved of poets ever since the trobador’s own time. Petrarch alludes to it in his Trionfo d’ Amore. It has been turned into verse by the Germans Uhland and Heine, by the Italian Carducci, and by the Englishman Swinburne (in The Triumph of Time). _— 12 TROBADOR POETS M. Rostand has expanded it into a play, La Princesse Lotntaine. Yet nowhere—not in the fanciful ballad of Heine, telling how the figures of Rudel and his lady in the tapestry on the walls at the castle of Blaye come to life every night and wander up and down the halls whispering to each other of their love; not in the languorous, graceful Alexandrines of the French playwright, not even in the splendid poetry of Swinburne himself—has the story been told more perfectly than in the old biography. For poetry is in the story itself, and this poetry is most of all apparent when the story is told with few and simple words, without striving after effect, but with an unquestioning belief in its truth, and with a desire to tell that truth clearly and shortly. During the Middle Ages, Rudel’s love for a lady unknown to him save by report was not looked upon as ridiculous or even odd, and until the nineteenth century it never occurred to any one to doubt the truth of the beautiful story. When the serious study of the poetry of the trobadors was begun some hundred years ago, it was perhaps inevitable that sooner or later some scholar would seek to prove that the story was a myth. More than thirty years ago Professor Stengel tried to show that it was borrowed from the old French romance of Durmart le Galois, who fell in love with a Queen of Ireland whose very name was unknown to him simply because he had heard great praise of her; and later the great French scholar Gaston Paris attempted in a series of well-reasoned arguments to prove that it was untrue. These arguments of Gaston Paris have been examined and confuted by the American scholar J. H. Smith, but it cannot be denied that many modern scholars incline to the belief that the Pro- vencal biographer made up the story from a few “ mis- understood ”’ allusions to a distant love in Rudel’s own poems. If the story of Rudel has been attacked, it has been defended JAUFRE RUDEL a 13 as well. A. Stimming, in his edition of Rudel’s works published in 1873, shows that Stengel’s hypothesis is a good deal more far-fetched than the story itself, and Carducci, in a monograph written in 1888, also defends its truth. J. H. Smith, writing in 1899, is a still more recent apologist. Conclusive proof of the story’s falseness has not yet been, and probably never will be, given. At all events we are still free to believe it true if we will. Of course it would be unimaginable in our own day, but in Rudel’s age—an age of living faith and high ideals—men had very different ideas as to what was worth living for and striving for. We cannot declare the story untrue on the ground of its improbability, for it is not improbable from the medieval point of view. Let us then accept the beautiful story, and be grateful that there was a time when men were content to live and die for an ideal love. And now, who was the lady who inspired Rudel’s love, the “ Princesse Lointaine,” whom it was given to him to see at last? ‘There are two opinions on this point. Some think that she was Odierna, wife of Count Raimon I. of Tripoli, and that Rudel’s voyage and death took place in the year 1147, while he was on his way to the Second Crusade, in which he almost certainly took part. The statement in the biography, “for the sake of seeing her he took the Cross,” is cited in support of this view. According to tradition, however, it was Melisendis, the daughter of Odierna, whom Rudel loved. In this case he made a second voyage to the East, simply for the sake of seeing her, in 1162. The town of Tripoli on the coast of Syria was conquered by the Crusaders in 1109, and at the same time the county of that name was founded and given to Count Bertran of Toulouse, whose descendants held it till the year 1200, 14 TROBADOR POETS when it was merged in the principality of Antioch. Meli- sendis, the daughter of Count Raimon IJ., was born about 1142, and in 1160 was betrothed to the Emperor Manuel I. of Constantinople, who, however, refused to keep his en- gagement with her. This insult served to add to the fame of the princess, already renowned for her beauty and good- ness ; and according to many writers it was at this time that Rudel resolved to undertake the journey to Syria to see the lady of whose goodness and loveliness the pilgrims returning from the Holy Land had told him so much. Among the six poems which are all that remain to us of Rudel’s work, only two refer distinctly to his “ far-off love,” the other four probably having been addressed to some earlier love in France. According to Stimming, the first to be written was that beginning “ When the nightin- gale.” ‘The two last stanzas obviously refer to the poet’s intention of going on the Second Crusade, and as this ex- pedition started in June 1147, we may fix the date of the poem as the spring-time of that year. That Rudel actually took part in the Crusade is obvious from the fact that his contemporary Marcabru says at the end of one of his poems : ‘* T wish to send the poem and the music to Sir Jaufre Rudel beyond the seas, and I wish that the French may have it to gladden their hearts.” It may be remarked here that this poem of Marcabru’s is evidence against the theory that Rudel’s far-off love was Odierna and not Melisendis. ‘Those who believe this theory say that Rudel, instead of going to the Holy Land by land with the King of France, went by sea with Anfos Jordan, Count of Toulouse, and that they landed at Tripoli, where Rudel, having looked upon his lady, died. If he had died immediately on reaching the Holy Land, how should Marcabru have spoken of him as being there with the French host? It is more likely that Rudel JAUFRE RUDEL 15 returned from the Holy Land and wrote his remaining poems later. The second in date, according to Stimming, is “When the stream of the spring.” Stimming thinks this was addressed to the same lady as “ When the nightin- gale,” but that it was written a good deal later than the latter, as it is much bolder in tone. Two more poems were written to this lady, but in the last of them the poet indicates that she has deceived him, and that he means to have nothing more to do with her. We cannot tell how soon after he began to dream of his unknown love in Tripoli. Perhaps the story of the Emperor’s faithlessness inspired him to love the forsaken lady, as he had been thrown over himself. Of the “ many songs ” which, according to the biography, he made about her, two only remain to us. Translations of | both are given below. The former of these two songs, *'Whenas the days are long in May,” is the most famous and the most beautiful poem by Rudel that we possess, but his poetry, tender and naive as it is, is less poetical than the story of his love and death. It is not for his verse- making, but for his devotion to an ideal, that Rudel’s name has been and will be known through the ages. No trobador’s love-story is more romantic than his, and surely none had a more ideal ending. **O brother, the gods were good to you, Sleep, and be glad while the world endures, Be well content as the years wear through ; Give thanks for life, and the loves and lures ; Give thanks for life, O brother, and death, For the sweet last sound of her feet, her breath, For gifts she gave you, gracious and few, Tears and kisses, that lady of yours.” } 1 Swinburne, Zhe Triumph of Time, stanza 43. 16 TROBADOR POETS I Wuen the nightingale amid the leaves gives its love, and seeks it and takes it and sings its glad joyous song, and often looks at its mate, and the streams are clear and the meadows are smiling, then great joy comes to my heart because of the new delight that reigns. I desire a certain friendship, for I know of no more precious joy; I pray and wish that she may be kind to me and may make me a gift of her love ; for she is tall, slender, and fair, and her love and her understanding are good and without blemish. I yearn for this love awake and, in my dreams, asleep, for I have a marvellous joy therein, wherefore I rejoice in it rejoiced and rejoicing; but her beauty avails me nought, for no friend can teach me how I may ever have a good answer from her. I am so desirous of this love that when I run towards it meseems that I go backwards and that it flies from me. And my horse runs there so slowly that scarcely shall I ever reach my goal, if Love does not hold her back for me. I am desirous of a lady to whom I dare not tell my wish, but when I look on her face I am altogether bewildered. And shall I ever have courage to dare to tell her she may take me as her servant, since I dare not beg for mercy from her ? Ah, how lovable are her words and how sweet and pleasing her deeds, for never was there born among us any woman so charming, slender and fresh and gentle- JAUFRE RUDEL 17 hearted, and I do not believe there is a fairer one, or one who so rejoiced those who looked on her. Love, I depart from you rejoicing because I go seeking my good, and I am so far courageous that my heart will soon be rejoicing by the mercy of my good Protector, who wants me and calls to me, and deigns to help me, and has brought me back to good hope. And whoever remains in comfort here and does not follow God to Bethlehem, I know not how he may ever be accounted noble or how he will ever come to salvation. For I know and believe of a truth that he whom Jesus teaches learns in a true school. Il Wuen the stream of the spring grows clear as it is wont, and the wild rose appears, and the little nightingale on the branch turns and repeats and smoothes andi beautifies its sweet singing, it is right that I should repeat mine. . Love of a distant country, my whole heart aches for you, and I cannot find a cure if I do not go at her bidding, led on by sweet love, into a garden or into a room with her whom I long for. Since opportunity altogether fails me I do not marvel if I am enflamed by love, for never was there a fairer Christian woman, or Jewess, or Saracen, nor does God will it, and he who gains aught of her love is indeed fed with manna. My heart ceases not to yearn for that lady whom I love best, and I think that desire deceives me if avarice takes her B 18 TROBADOR POETS from me ; for the grief that is cured with joy is sharper than a thorn, so I never want any one to pity me for it. Without a letter on parchment I send the song we sing, in simple Romance language, to Sir Ugon Brun, by Filhol. It pleases me that the Poitevin people and all Anjou and Guyenne and Brittany should rejoice in her. III Wuenas the days are long in May I love the song of birds afar, And when no more I hear their lay Then I recall my love afar. Sorrow so sore my heart doth blight, Nor nightingale nor may-flower white Can please me more than winter drear. No more will love e’er make me gay Unless I find my love afar ; No fairer lady lives, I say, In all the world, or near or far. And all her virtues shine so bright, For her I’d fain be captive hight In heathen lands, and nothing fear. Great joy twill be when I shall pray From her a resting-place afar, And if it please her, I shal] stay Near her, though coming from afar. Ah, what sweet conyerse, what delight We’ll have when there our vows we plight, When lovers far at last are near. JAUFRE RUDEL 19 Happy and sad I'll make my way When I shall see my love afar, But yet I know not when the day Will come, her country is so far ; Full many a road leads there aright, The distance doth not me affright And unto God the way is clear. My heart ne’er from the Lord will stray, Who'll lead me to my love afar, But for each joy I have alway Two evils, for she is so far. Would that, with staff and scrip bedight, I as a pilgrim ever might Before her beauteous eyes appear. May God, Whose power the world doth sway, Who did create this love afar, Grant my desire, nor say me nay, And let me see my love afar Full soon, and this most joyous sight Shall turn to day the darkest night And give my grieving heart glad cheer. He’s right who says I’m yearning, yea And pining for a love afar ; No other longing I display Save to enjoy my love afar. But my desires are hopeless quite ; Thus did my Fate decree in spite, None should love me whom I held dear. But my desires are hopeless quite ; Curst be the Fate, whose cruel spite Decreed that none should hold me dear. TROBADOR POETS IV He cannot sing who sounds no air, Nor without words a song compose ; Of rime, indeed, he little knows Who has not learnt its rules with care. Wherefore my song I thus prepare ; The more ’tis heard, its merit grows. Let no man think it strange that I Love one whom I shall ne’er behold, No other love as dear I hold Save hers on whom ne’er looked my eye, Who’s never told me truth or lie, Nor know I if ’twill e’er be told. She strikes 2 blow of joy that kills, A wound of love that steals my heart, Whence I shall pine beneath the smart Unless full soon sweet pity fills Her heart ; no man with such sweet ills E’er died, rejoicing, from love’s dart. I never fell asleep so fast But that in spirit I was there, Nor had, awake, such grief or care But that my heart to her had past. But when at morn I wake at last Again of joy I’m unaware. Never rejoiced I in her sight, Nor will she e’er in mine; ’tis clear That she will never hold me dear JAUFRE RUDEL 21 Or vow or promise with me plight. Ne’er laughed I so for sheer delight— Yet what I'll gain does not appear. Peironet, cross the Ili now And I will cross to her, and she, If she so please, shall shelter me, And sweet discourse we’ll have, I vow. Full ill my Fate did me endow If love for her my death will be. The song is good if nothing wrong I did, and all doth well accord. Let him who learns it see no word Is spoilt or altered in the song ; In Quercy ’twill be known ere long By Bertran and Toulouse’s lord. 22 TROBADOR POETS NOTES I. “S When the nightingale.” Metrical form.—The original is written in stanzas of seven lines, each line having eight syllables except the sixth, which is a feminine line and has only seven syllables. The rime-system is ababbcd. The last two lines find their rimes only in the corresponding lines of the following stanzas. The same mmes are used throughout the poem. The music of this song is one of the most beautiful trobador melodies now in existence. Three other melodies by Rude! have come down to us, namely, those of the other songs here translated. According to Summing, this is the earliest song by Rudel that we possess, and the only one he wrote before starting on the Second Crusade. Stimming describes it as a crusading-song, but only the two last stanzas give it this character, the first six being entirely given up to the subject of the poet’s love. Stanza 7, |. 3.—** my good Protector.” God, Who has inspired the poet with the desire to go on the Crusade and thus to do good to his soul. Or, according to Smith, who believes the Oudierna theory, the ‘‘ good Protector” is Odierma, and the poet in this song speaks of two loves, a lady of his own country and the far-off ideal princess. Il. * biome the stream of the spring.” Metrical form.—The mme-system of this poem is the most complicated to be found in Raodel’s works. The stanzas contain seven lines of seven syliaties each, the second and fourth lines having masculine and the others &uunine nmes. The rime system - - - of stanzas 1 and 23 a be'da’c'e’. that of stanms > 4 and JAUFRE RUDEL 23 § is c’da’bc’a‘e”. The last stanza (the fifth) has the char- acter of a tornada, both in its subject and in its form, which reproduces exactly that of the preceding stanza. Stanza 2,1. 1. ‘* Love of a distant country.” This looks like an allusion to the “ far-off love,” but as other lines in the poem suggest that the lady is known to Rudel, it is usually thought to be addressed to his earlier love. In another poem to the same lady he says, ‘‘ Far are the castle and the tower where she and her husband dwell,” but in this poem it is clear that he knows the lady of whom he writes, so we may suppose merely that she lived in some part of France not very near to Blaye— which is situated on the right bank of the Gironde, about twenty miles north of Bordeaux. Stanza 5, 1. 2. Sir Ugon Brun is otherwise unknown. It was customary among the trobadors not to write down their songs, but to teach them to joglars, and send these to sing them to the persons to whom they wished to make the songs known. It would seem from the concluding lines that the lady was a person of importance, since she was known even in Brittany. III. ‘‘ Whenas the days are long in May.” Metrical form.—That of the original has been reproduced exactly in the translation. The refrain word ‘‘afar” at the end of the second and fourth lines of each stanza seems to insist on the fundamental idea of the poem—the distance and the inaccessibility of his love. This song is at once the most famous and the most clear expression of Rudel’s longing for a far-off love. If his love-story is indeed a myth, it was probably chiefly from this song that the tale was invented. The allusion to the land of the Saracens in stanza 2, and the wish expressed in stanza 5, that he might go as a pilgrim to his lady’s country, explain themselves if we believe that the poem is addressed to the Countess of Tripoli. Stanza 7, 1. 6. ‘Thus did my Fate.” Cf. the note on 24 TROBADOR POETS stanza 2 of the Count of Poitou’s Enigma. See also stanza 6 of the following song. IV. ‘* He casnot sing who sounds no air.” Metrical form.—In the original the rimes remain unchanged from stanza to stanza. Clearly, this song is written about the Countess of Tripoli. Stanza 6,1. 1. ‘ Peironet.” Probably his joglar. ‘the Iii.” Most likely the Isle, a tributary of the Gironde, which any one travelling from Blaye to Marseilles—whence ship would be taken for the East—would in effect have to cross. Stanza 7, 1.5. ‘‘ Quercy.” The province of Quercy belonged to the Counts of Toulouse. 16. ‘* Bertran.” It is not known who Bertran is. A son of Count Anfos Jordan of Toulouse had this name. ‘ Toulouse’s lord.” The reigning Count of Toulouse in 1147 was Anfos Jordan (1109-1148); in 1162, Raimon V. (1148-1194). This allusion to the Count of Toulouse understanding the song is considered, by those who believe Odierna to be the ‘‘ far-off love,” to prove that Rudel went on the Second Crusade with the Count. It can be quite well accounted for by the fact that the Counts of Toulouse and Tripoli were related, and probably kept up some intercourse with each other, so that the Count might know of Rudel’s love. of Hentadorn Litrzz is known concerning this poet’s life. His songs treat entirely of love, and contain no historical allusions, and it is only from the contemporary biography (never a very trustworthy authority), and from known facts concerning the persons with whom he came in contact, that we can construct the story of his life. Born probably some time between 1125 and 1128, he was the son of peasants in the service of the Viscount of Ventadorn in Limousin. The biography says “‘ he was a man of poor birth, son of a servant who was an oven-tender, who heated the oven to cook the bread of the castle of Ventadorn ”; and the trobador Peire d’Alvernhe, in a song satirizing his contemporaries, taunts him with having had a father who was a crossbowman, and a mother “ who heated the oven and gathered fire-wood.” What was really important for Bernart’s after life was the fact that he was born in the domain of Ventadorn; as the Viscount Ebles II., the vassal and friend of the Count of Poitou, was himself a trobador, and soon discovered that the peasant boy had talent. He thereupon interested himself in Bernart, sent him to be educated at a monastery school, and himself taught him the art of song-making. And Bernart “ became a fair man and a skilful, and he knew well how to compose and sing, and he was courteous and well-taught.” 25 26 TROBADOR POETS The Viscount Ebles III., son and successor of Ebles II., continued his father’s patronage of the young poet, and Bernart lived at his court and stood high in his favour. In 1148 Ebles married the beautiful Margarida of Torena (Turenne), and Bernart and she fell in love with each other, and he wrote all his songs for her. ‘“‘ And their love lasted a long time before the Viscount or other men perceived it.” Many husbands tolerated and even encouraged the trobadors who made love to their wives, but the Viscount was not one of these. When we compare the passionate sincerity of Bernart’s songs with the artificial grace of many another trobador’s work, we need scarcely be surprised to hear that the Viscount, when he discovered that his wife was the subject of Bernart’s songs, had her imprisoned and guarded, and caused her to dismiss the trobador. It is almost impos- sible to believe that any of Bernart’s songs were inspired by the mere desire to offer conventional homage to his patron’s wife, and, whether Margarida cared for him or not, it is fairly certain that he was in love with her. He seems to have lingered near Ventadorn for some time, but soon he journeyed northwards and took up his abode at the court of Eleanor of Aquitaine, wife of Henry of Anjou, Duke of Normandy. The “long time” during which the poet’s first love-affair lasted cannot have been more than two years, for in 1150 Ebles III. repudiated Margarida, who almost immediately afterwards married the Count of Angouléme. Bernart’s affection did not long survive the parting from his lady, for he was soon as deeply in love with the beautiful Duchess of Normandy as he had before been with the Viscountess of Ventadorn. Again, however, he was destined to be parted soon from his lady, though this time it was a political matter, not the husband’s jealousy, which separated BERNART OF VENTADORN 27 them. In 1154 Henry of Anjou became King of England. It is probable that he took the poet with him when he went over to his new kingdom (see the Notes to the song, “ When I see in the midst of the plain ”), but Bernart soon returned to Eleanor in Normandy. The King himself soon followed him, and at the end of the year he took his Queen over to England to be crowned, “and Bernart remained on this side, sad and grieving.” It is not known if he ever went to England again. He may have done so 1n 1158, but the bio- graphy tells us only that he went to the court of the “ good Count,” Raimon V. of Toulouse, and remained there till the Count’s death. He then renounced the world and his art, and entered the Cistercian Abbey of Dalon, where he died. Nothing is known of his life at the court of Toulouse. It is clear that he made a long stay there, as Raimon V. did not die till 1194, and he wrote some of his songs there, but we cannot even guess at the identity of the lady or ladies who inspired them. Bernart took great pains to conceal the names of the ladies to whom his songs were addressed. Only a few songs can be assigned with certainty to the periods of his two known love-affairs. It is probable that those in which the lady is called “Tristan” were written to the Viscountess of Ventadorn, while the names “ Conort”’ (Comfort), and “ Aziman” (Magnet) refer to Eleanor of Aquitaine. The few songs which contain allusions to England and Normandy are also obviously addressed to Eleanor. One fact seems fairly certain; though the poet had many different loves, his love was always real and not simulated. Through all his songs there runs a note of sincerity which is lacking in the work of many of the trobadors. The genuine emotion in his songs would alone make them worthy of study, but it is united with other qualities which make 28 TROBADOR POETS his poems the finest examples of trobador verse that we possess. Although one of the earlier Provengal poets, he possessed a complete mastery over form, and there is a wonderful richness and variety in the different metres he employs. Yet even in the most elaborately constructed of his songs, his language always remains simple and graceful. This simplicity of expression makes his poems easier to read - in the original than those of almost any other trobador— it also makes them more difficult to translate. The follow- ing translations give but an inadequate idea of the work of Bernart of Ventadorn, whose songs, uniting perfection of form with grace of language and sincerity of emotion, entitle him to be looked upon not only as the greatest of the trobadors, but as one of the finest, if not the finest, of medieval lyric poets, and as worthy to be classed among the great writers of the world. Forty-five of his poems have come down to us, and nineteen of his melodies. The latter show him to have been one of the best of trobador musicians. We can trace in some of them an effort to make the melodies suit the sense of the words. I Wir joy I now begin my song, With joy I end and finish too, And if the end be good and true Then the beginning can’t be wrong. Since that for the good beginning Joy and happiness I’m winning, Therefore to thank the good end would be meet, For all good things I hear praised when complete. BERNART OF VENTADORN 29 Joy masters and o’erpowers me, And verily I marvel how I can refrain from telling now What joy is mine, and gaiety. But ’tis seldom that a lover Dares his passion to discover ; us Fear of offending her makes me so meek, My courage fails me and I dare not speak I am well skilled in this one thing: That willingly I always lie To any man who asks me why I’m happy, and rejoice and sing. He acts foolishly and blindly Who, when Love looks on him kindly, - Unto another dares his love to tell * —Unless he knows that he can serve him well. I hate a meddling man above All others, and it seems to me There is no worse discourtesy Than prying into others’ love. Envious, what are you enjoying, Me thus troubling and annoying? Let all men strive their duty to fulfil ; You gain no joy by treating me so ill. Courage will oft a lady save From spiteful and malicious men, For if her heart do fail her then She scarcely can be good or brave. Her whom I shall love for ever I implore that she will never 30 ao TROBADOR POETS Be changed or moved by slanderous words, for I Of jealousy can make the jealous die. I never thought of treachery When from her lips I tasted bliss, But death she dealt me with a kiss, And if one more she gives not me, As by Peleus’ weapon smitten Shall I be, for it is written That no man could be healed whom it had hit Unless his wound was struck again by it. Fair lady, I am conquered quite By your great beauty and your fair Red laughing lips and gracious air, Sweet smile and eyes than stars more bright, For, ’mong all I see around me None so fair as you I’ve found me. The gentlest lady in the world I woo, My eyes are dazzled when I look on you. Love with joy indeed has crowned me Who to such a lady’s bound me That those who praise her cannot speak more true, And those who blame, a worse deed cannot do. I] WHEN the young grass and leaves appear And flowers make the gardens gay And nightingale doth sweet and clear Upraise his voice and start his lay, I’ve joy in flowers and joy in birds that soar, Joy in myself, and in my lady more, BERNART OF VENTADORN On every side by joy I am possest, But she’s a joy that conquers all the rest. Oh I am dying of thought and care, For oft I think upon her so, Robbers might seize me unaware And nothing of them should I know. Ah Love, an easy prey in me you found, With but few friends and to your service bound ; Will you not set my lady’s heart afire With love, ere I am dead of my desire? I marvel that I can forbear My passion to declare outright. When I behold my lady fair Her lovely eyes appear so bright I scarce can bear to keep me from her side, I’d hasten to her, feared I not her pride. In face and figure none so fair I know In loving so reluctant and so slow. So well I love, so dear I hold, So humbly serve, so sorely fear My lady, that I am not bold To speak or beg when she is near. But well she knows my grief and misery, And if she please, then she is kind to me, And if she please, content with less am I, So that no blame may come to her thereby. If I were skilled in magic lore, To children I’d transform my foes Who then could trouble us no more And nothing harmful could disclose. 31 32 TROBADOR POETS © Ah then I know that I should see my love, Her shining eyes, her neck like plume of dove ; Then would my burning lips allay their drouth And drink her kisses till they scarred her mouth. Would I might find my lady when She lies in slumber real or feigned, For I would steal a sweet kiss then, Which all my prayers have not gained. Lady, by faith, love’s gifts we little use, And while time flies, its fairest hours we lose. Let us converse in secret signals veiled ; Though courage help not, craft has never failed. ad she who lets her lover stay ong in suspense is much to blame, For fruitless talk of love is aye False and deceitful in its aim. For one may love and feign to love elsewhere, Tell clever lies when witness none is there ; Dear lady, if my true love you’d requite, Falsehood should never give me doubt or fright. Messenger, go, my friendship do not slight, Though fear withholds me from my lady’s sight. Il Wuen I see the leaves falling from the trees, whomever it may grieve or trouble it ought to please me greatly. You need not think that I want to see flowers or leaves since she whom I most desire is harsh to me. I would fain depart from her, but I have not power to do it, BERNART OF VENTADORN 33 for I hope ever for her forgiveness even when I despair most utterly. You may hear grievous news from me; when I gaze on the fair lady who was wont to welcome me, who now does not summon me or let me come to her, my heart is like to break with grief. May God, Who rules the world, let me rejoice in her, for if she opposes me thus, nothing will remain to me but death. I trust no more in auguries or magic; good hope has ruined and killed me, for the fair lady whom I love so deeply cast me out when I asked her love, as if I had done her wrong. It grieves me so much that I cannot be comforted, but I do not show this, for I sing and pretend to rejoice. I know not what more I can say, but it is great folly to love and long for the fairest lady in the world. He who first invented mirrors did worse than kil me, and it seems to me that I have no worse enemy ; never when she looks at herself and sees her beauty shall I rejoice in her or in her love. She may never give me all her love, nor would it be fitting, but if it pleased her to show me some kindness, I would swear to her on my faith that the favour she showed me should never be known through me; let it please her, for I am at her mercy; if it pleases her to kill me, I complain not at all. Indeed it is right that I should lament if I lose through my pride the sweet companion and the joy which I was wont to have. My boldness gains me little since she whom I most desire has estranged herself from me. Cc ed 34 TROBADOR POETS Pride, may God destroy you, for now I weep through you! It is right that I should lose love, for I took it from myself through my own fault. I know a very good way of lessening the loss and grief which I am enduring, for my thoughts are always with her ; he who tries to move my heart and speaks of another does great annoyance and folly and rudeness; I have no better messenger in all the world, and I send it in pledge until I return from here. Lady, I send you my heart, the best friend I have, as a hostage, until I return from here. IV Wuene’er I see the lark take flight And soar up towards the sun on high Until at last for sheer delight It sinks, forgetting how to fly, Such envy fills me when I see All those whom love thus glad can make, I marvel that the heart of me With love and longing does not break. Alas, I thought I knew the art Of love, but have it yet to learn, For I to one have given my heart Who ne’er will love me in return. My heart she’s stolen, and the whole tas Wide world, and mine own self also, And nought she’s left me since she stole Herself, but vain desire and woe, BERNART OF VENTADORN My whole soul in her power lies, My own I am not since the hour She let me gaze into her eyes As in a mirror full of power. Mirror, I’m dying of despair Since in your depths I first did look, I lost myself, even as fair Narcissus gazing in the brook. Of women I despair; no more In them will I put faith at all; As I defended them of yore So now do I renounce their thrall. And since I hold no other dear Save her for whom I sorely grieve, All I mistrust and all I fear, For all are like her, I believe. I blame my lady, for her deeds Prove her a woman like the rest ; What she should like she scarcely heeds, And what’s forbidden she loves best. None pities me in my distress, And now a fool’s reward have I, Yet know not why ’tis so, unless It be that I aspired too high. Now of a truth is mercy lost And never shall I know it more, For she who ought to show me most Shows none to me, though I implore. Ill it beseems her that she should Thus let her yearning captive die, 35 {- us s ta , 36 TROBADOR POETS Who, save from her, can have no good, And that her help she should deny. Since with my lady naught avails, Pity, nor justice, nor my nght, And since my love to please her fais, Pll plead no more, but leave her sight. Thus I renounce her utterly ; She’s slain me and she does not care, And, since she wills it, I will be An exile sad, I know not where. Tristan, you shall hear nought of me, I go away, I know not where, Love I abandon utterly, And joy and singing I forswear. V Tue nightingale rejoices among the flowers in the garden, and such great trouble comes to me thereby that I cannot help singing; and I know not of what or of whom, for I do not love myself or any one else, and I make an effort because I know how to make a good -- * song when I am not a lover. He who woos with pride and deceit gains more love than he who is always supplicating and humiliates himself too much, for love hardly wants any one who is frank and true as [ am, and has ruined me because I am not false or deceitful. For just as the branch bends whichever way the wind blows it, so am I towards her who makes war on me, ever BERNART OF VENTADORN 37 ready to do her will. She plays and amuses herself well with me, for she fixes all her faults on me; and indeed it is true that the thief thinks all men are his brothers. She is always blaming and complaining of me and finding fault with me, and when she does anything foolish it is I who suffer for it, but what ruins and destroys me is that I am of low birth, for I will let her put my eyes out if she can reproach me for any other fault. No man who saw her fair eyes or her face would think that she had a wicked heart or an evil will, but the water that flows quietly is worse than that which rushes. She who pretends to be gracious and is not, is deceitful. I avoid and go away from every place where she is, and I pass before her with closed eyes that I may not see her. For he goes after love who goes away from it, and follows it who flies from it; I have a very good mind to keep away until I return to my lady. Never yet will I make complaint. to her, although I am distressed, for it troubles me that I must yield thus and lose all my trouble. I keep and train myself for her service, and if we are not both friends, it does not seem or appear to me that my heart will be lightened by another love. Tristan, though it does not seem so to you, I love you more than I am wont to. VI SINcE you ask me to sing, my lords, I will sing, but when I think to sing I weep whenever I try. You will scarcely find a singer who sings well when he is sorrowful; but 38 TROBADOR POETS I fare much better with love-sickness than ever I did, so wherefore am I dismayed ? I know that God does me great good and great honour, for I love the fairest of ladies and she loves me, I know; but now I am far from her and I do not know how she fares ; this kills me with gemnef, for I have no chance of going there often. But it pleases me so well when I remember her, that, who- ever cries or calls to me, I hear nothing; the fair one draws my heart to her so sweetly that if any man says I am here, I think and believe he cannot see me. Love, what shall Ido? [am ever at war with thee, by my faith I shall die of desire which is in me if the fair lady does not let me come to her, that I may embrace her and kiss her, and caress her fair white body. And therefore, lady, have pity on your true lover, for I swear to you by my faith that I never loved aught so well ; with hands folded and head bent I give and deliver myself to you, and if there should be a fitting moment, give me a kind glance, for I have very great desire for it. I never grow tired of love through harm or trouble; and when God is good to me I neither refuse nor scorn His goodness ; and if it happens otherwise I can well endure the sorrow, because a wise man must always draw back the better to spring forward. My “Squire ” and I have it in our hearts to go begging together, and that she should take with her him she loves without deceit, and I my Magnet. BERNART OF VENTADORN 39 Vil Wuen I see in the midst of the plain the leaves falling from the trees before the cold sets in and the summer © departs, I want to make my song heard. For two years I have refrained from it, and now I must make amends. Sorely it grieves me that I should ever adore her who hardens her heart against me; for if I ask aught from her it pleases her not to answer a single word. Indeed, my foolish desire is killing me, for it follows the fair sem- blance of love and cannot see that love fulfils it. She understands deceit and evasion so well that I always think she is willing to love me; full sweetly she deceives me, for she ruins me with her kind glance. Lady, this is no gain to you, for I truly think the loss is yours what- ever ill may happen to your servant. May God Who protects all the world put it in her heart to welcome me, for food does not nourish me, nor any good thing profit me, so much do I fear the fair lady ; wherefore I surrender myself to her, begging for mercy, so that she may give or sell me if she likes. She will do ill if she does not send for me when she is un- dressing, that I may be at her command near to her at the foot of the bed, and may take off her dainty shoes humbly and on my knees if she will deign to hold out her foot to me. The song is quite completed so that no word is lacking to it, beyond the land of Normandy across the wild deep sea, and if I am far from my lady, the fair one, whom God protect, draws me to her as with a magnet. Siam as So iii oe ee, a 40 TROBADOR POETS If the English King and Norman Duke wishes it, I shall see her before the winter overtakes us. For the King’s sake I am English and Norman, and were it not for my Magnet, I should stay till after Christmas. VII THE nightingale’s sweet plaintive air When I have fall’n asleep at night Wakes me, with joy bewildered quite, © Thinking of love and pondering. And better I could not employ Myself, for ever I’ve loved joy, And I begin with joy to sing. Of this joy I might well declare —If of such joy one spoke at all— That others’ joys must seem but small, And none with my great joy can vie. And many a man will boast that love Has favoured him all men above Who has not half as much as I. Oft I regard her beauty rare, And see how lovely is her face, How full her actions are of grace —If to say more I had a mind Then a whole year in very deed Fitly to praise her I would need, So courteous is she and so kind. Lady, my arms for you I bear, And e’er for you shall they be borne. BERNART OF VENTADORN . i I am your vassal pledged and sworn | And evermore henceforth will be. } For first of all my joys are you, And you shall be my last joy too, j As long as life remains to me. { : Here I may seem to be, but e’er_ My spirit with my love doth bide, } And moves not ever from her side | Although my body’s far away. My thought’s a faithful messenger . And brings me joyous news of her, And of her kindness day by day. I know not when again or where We'll meet; I leave you-sorrowing ; For your sake I have left the King, | But pray to you this may not mean A loss to me, for you shall find Me humble, generous, and kind : At court with knights and dames, I ween.i 1 \ ; ~ Good Ugonet, pray bear in mind The song that to you I’ve consigned, And sing it to the Norman Queen. IX 1) * Sucn delight has come to me, - Reason it o’erpowers, Frost and snowflakes seem to be Red and yellow flowers, TROBADOR POETS For my joy grows mightily With the wind and showers, And my verse and melody With fresh beauty dowers. With love and with delight My heart is flooded quite, Winter seems like summer bright, Snowdrifts leafy bowers. Now, though all around me freezes, I, in light attire, Can defy the bitter breezes, Warmed by true love’s fire. Overbearing pride displeases Her whom I desire, Humbleness in love more pleases Me, since I aspire To win love and delight From her whose eyes’ glad light Is more precious in my sight Than the wealth of Tyre. Though her presence I must leave, Far from her be hiding, In her friendship I believe Still with faith confiding. If I see her, or receive Of her any tiding, On that day I shall achieve Happiness abiding. She is my heart’s delight, My soul to her takes flight, I myself, unhappy wight, Far in France am biding. BERNART OF VENTADORN All my joy despair submerges, Then, good hope returning To my heart it bravely urges Me to fear no spurning. As a ship on ocean surge Is Ever tost and turning, So my heart’s great joy now merges Into sorrow burning. Now fled is my delight —E’en Tristan, the true knight, For Isolde and the night Longed with less of yearning. Would that I the form could take Of a bird, then, flying Through the night, my way I’d make There where she is lying ! Lady, see, for pity’s sake, Your true love is dying, And my heart is like to break With my tears and sighing. Oh, Queen of all delight, I yield me to your might ; Prithee now my love requite, Make no more denying ! All my hopes and thoughts unbroken Never from her part, When I hear her praises spoken Then by true love’s dart In my soul is joy awoken, Grief must needs depart, And my happy face is token Of my joyous heart. 43 TROBADOR POETS I weep for sheer delight, No grief my joy can blight Nor my heart with sorrow smite, Pain has lost its smart. This song which I indite, Go sing my love aright, Let her know my piteous plight Through my verse’s art. X I cannot see the bright sun’s glow, So darkened to me is its light, But this to me gives no affright, For the fire of love is glowing In my heart, which it has lightened, And, though others may be frightened, I am content, have what I want, So my song in nought is wanting. The fields that now are wrapt in snow Seem to me filled with blossoms bright, For now my joy is at its height And I think, although ’tis snowing, That the world by spring is brightened, For my lady-love has heightened My hopes and said her love she’ll grant —May she ne’er forget the granting ! From fear’s advice no good I gain, *Tis fear that makes the world so bad, And wicked men, with envy mad, Strive their purpose to be gaining BERNART OF VENTADORN 45 —How to make true love fare badly. Curséd men who act thus madly, I would that God would all destroy Who true love would be destroying ! And of such people I complain Who make me sorrowful and sad, For they are grieved when I am glad, And whene’er they are complaining And on others’ joy look sadly, I behold their grief right gladly Since my delight can thus annoy Those who oft are me annoying. By night and day I weep and wake And sigh, but soon I cease to grieve, And count it joy ills to receive, For good hope doth gently wake me And it swiftly cures my grieving ; Sure, tis joy I am receiving, Tis happiness e’en to desire Such a love as I’m desiring. Marvel not, lady, if I take Such joy in you, but give me leave To love you; if you do, believe, Happiness will overtake me, Grief henceforth I shall be leaving And all men will be believing That to a high love I aspire Since to yours I am aspiring. 46 TROBADOR POETS XI Tue better to hide my sad thoughts and my trouble, I sing and rejoice and show joy and happiness, and I make an effort to sing and laugh, for I am dying and I show no sign of it. And I am so overpowered by Love, he has quite conquered me by force and by battle. God never made trouble or torment, except love-sorrow, that I would not suffer quietly, but even that I endure, though it grieves me, for Love makes me love wherever he pleases, and I tell you this much, that if I am not loved, the fault lies not with my slackness. I am servant and friend and slave to my lady, and I ask no other kindness from her but that she should secretly turn her lovely eyes towards me, for her look does me much good when I am sorrowful, and I will give her praise and a thousand thanks for it, for I have no friend in the world who is worth so much to me. It is a happy day for me when I behold her, her mouth and eyes and forehead and hands and arms, and her whole person in which there is nothing that is not beautifully fashioned. Beauty could make no one fairer than she is, although I have great grief and trouble from her. I wish evil to my own will, so much do I desire her, and I value myself all the more because I was so bold as to dare to set my love in so high a place, wherefore I am well-bred and prudent, and when I see her I am so | delighted that it seems to me my heart rises heaven- wards, BERNART OF VENTADORN 47 Within my heart I am grieved and angry because I follow my wishes so much, but no man ought to say such a thing, for he does not know how fortunate he is. What then shall I do about the fair secret glances? Give them up? I would rather give up the whole world. I have nothing to tell to slanderers, for great joy was never kept hidden by them, and I tell you so much that to excuse myself I have changed the dice by lying to them ; for every game is destined to be lost which is ruined by their spying. XII I am in thought and in trouble about a love which binds me and looses me, for I cannot go so far this way or that but that Love always keeps me in his control, for now he has given me the heart and the will to beg, if I may, for so great a favour that the King, if he begged for it, would have shown great boldness. Alas, unhappy wretch, what shall I do and what counsel shall I take? For she does not know the grief that I endure, nor do I dare to beg for mercy from her. Poor fool, indeed you have little sense, for she would noways love you in word or deed, but would see you dead first. And therefore, since I shall die thus, shall I truly tell her the trouble that comes to me from it? Truly I will forthwith tell it her—No, I will not, by my faith, even if I knew I should gain the whole of Spain by it. I would rather die a felon’s death for its ever having come to my, thoughts. 48 TROBADOR POETS Never through me shall she know how I suffer, nor shall another tell her aught of it. I want no friend in this affair, but may God ruin him who holds me back, for I want neither friend nor relative; for to me it is very great courtesy that love should kill me for my lady’s sake, but it would not be honourable for her. And therefore what wrong does she do to me, for she does not know what is happening? She ought indeed to guess by this time that I am dying of love for her.— And how ?—By my foolish bearing and by my great cowardice, which ties my tongue when I come into her presence. No joy is like to mine when my lady looks on me or sees me, for her fair, sweet glance goes to my heart which it sweetens and gladdens ; and if it lasted long I would swear to her by the Saints that there is no other joy in the world, but I burn with grief at parting. Since I will not send her a messenger and it is not fitting that I should speak to her, I know of no counsel to take, but I am greatly comforted by one thing; she knows and understands how to read, and it pleases me that I should write the words, and if it pleased her, she could read them for my salvation. And if no other grief befall her, for God’s and for mercy’s sake may she not take away from me her kindness and her fair speech. \o XIII Ir is no marvel if I sing better than any other singer, for my heart draws me more towards love, and I am more obedient to its command. I have given up heart and BERNART OF VENTADORN 49 body and wisdom and wits and strength and power to love, the bridle draws me so towards it that I care not a whit for any other thing. He is indeed dead who does not feel some sweet taste of love in his heart; and what avails life without love, save to anger men? May Lord God never hate me so much as to let me live a month or a day after I have ceased to desire love and may be blamed as wearisome. In good faith and without deceit I love the fairest and best of ladies; my heart sighs and my eyes weep, for I love her only too well, and lose much thereby. What else can I do? Love for her has seized me, and the prison in which it has put me can be opened by no key save mercy, and I find no mercy here. This love wounds my heart so gently with its sweet savour : I die of grief a hundred times a day, and revive a hundred times with joy. Indeed, my grief is of fair seeming, for it is worth more than other good, and since my grief is so much good to me, good indeed will my joy be after my trouble. Ah God! would that the true lovers were recognisable from among the false, and that slanderers and deceivers wore horns on their foreheads! I would give all the gold and silver in the world, did I possess it, for my lady to know how truly I love her. When I see her, it is plain from my eyes, my face and my colour, that I tremble with fear as a leaf shakes in the wind. I have not as much sense as a child, so over- whelmed with love am I, and a lady should have great pity on a man who is thus conquered. D 50 TROBADOR POETS Good lady, I ask nothing of you save that you should take me as your servant, for I will serve you as I would a good master, whatever my reward may be. Behold me at your command, faithful, humble, joyous, and courteous; you are neither bear nor lion that you should kill me if I give myself up to you. I send the song to my “ Courteous,” there where she is, and let it not displease her that I have tarried so long. BERNART OF VENTADORN SI NOTES I. “ With joy I now begin my song.” Metrical form.—That of the original is reproduced in the trans- lation, but in the original the same rimes are used throughout. According to Diez, this song is one of Bernart’s earliest, being addressed to the Viscountess of Ventadorn, but we have no certain proof that this is the case. It is very characteristic in its ex- pression of the writer’s joy in the very thought of love and his outspoken hatred of the gossips and slanderers who were the bane of all the trobadors. : Stanza 6, 1. 5. Peleus’ weapon—the spear of Achilles. Il. ‘‘ When the young grass and leaves appear.” Metrical form.—That of the original is reproduced, except for the changing rimes. Diez assigns this song and the following one to the period of the poet’s love-affair with Margarida of Ventadorn. Both songs have very pretty melodies. III. ‘* When J see the leaves falling.” Metrical form.—The original is written in stanzas of twelve lines ; feminine lines of five syllables and masculine lines of six syllables alternate with each other. The feminine lines of ‘one stanza all rime together and the masculine lines do the same, but each stanza has fresh rimes. IV. ‘* Whene'er I see the lark take flight.” Metrical form.—The original keeps the same rimes throughout. - This song is one of the best known by Bernart, and the first 52 TROBADOR POETS stanza is looked upon as one of the brightest gems of Provencal poetry. The music also is especially beautiful. The pseudonym ‘‘ Tristan” is said by Bischoff to refer to the Viscountess of Ventadorn, but the general conception of the song suggests rather that, as Diez supposes, it was one of Bernart’s latest. Many of his songs were written when he was in a de- spondent mood, but it is not usual to find him declaring that he will abandon love. V. ‘* The nightingale rejoices.” Metrical form.—The original is written in stanzas of eight lines, each line having seven syllables. The rime-system is a°*ba*becd~d~. The same rimes are kept throughout. This song has somewhat the character of an ‘‘ Enigma,” for in it the poet seems to defend his love in spite of, even because of, its umreasonableness. ‘ Tristan” has obviously been unkind to him, but he is all the more ready to go on loving her. Stanza 3, 1.5. ‘‘The thief thinks all men are his brothers.” This is an example of the proverbial sayings that many trobadors introduced into their songs. In stanza 5 we find another, exactly similar to the modern French ‘‘Il n’y a pire eau que Peau qui dort,” and resembling the English ‘‘ Still waters run deep.” VI. ‘Since you ask me to sing.” Metrical form.—The original is written in stanzas of nine hexasyllabic masculine lines. Rimesystem—ab ab aba bb. The rimes remain unchanged for two stanzas; for the next two the 5 rime is used as the a rime, and a fresh rime is introduced for the érime. A similar change takes place at the fifth stanza. This song, which, from the allusion to ‘‘ Magnet,” we may suppose to have been addressed to Eleanor of Aquitaine, is one of the most charming that Bernart wrote. The fifth stanza gives charming expression to the idea that a trobador must swear fealty to his lady as a vassal to his lord. The effect of naive sincerity is greatly increased in the original by the simple metre adopted, the nine short lines with their alternating rimes, However, as its BERNART OF VENTADORN 53 simplicity of thought is the poem’s most remarkable feature, and as it is easier to reproduce this in a prose than in a verse trans- lation, I have not here attempted a metrical version. Stanza 2, l. 3. “I am far from her.” This allusion leads one to suppose that the poem was written when Bernart was in England, or possibly when the Queen herself had gone there. VII. §* When I see in the midst of the plain.” Metrical form.—The stanzas have seven lines of seven syllables ; the fifth and sixth are masculine lines, the others feminine. Rime system, a°b’a°c°dde~. The second, fourth and seventh lines of each stanza rime only with the corresponding lines of the other stanzas. This is one of the few poems the date and subject of which can be definitely decided. It furnishes the only proof we possess that the poet went to England ; the sixth stanza and the two tornadas show that it was written during his sojourn in this country with King Henry II. in 1154, when the King went over to claim his crown, leaving Queen Eleanor in Normandy. Tornada 1. ‘*‘ The English King and Norman Duke.” Henry II. VIII. §* The nightingale's sweet plaintive air.” Metrical form.—In the original the same rimes are kept throughout. I have changed them from stanza to stanza, except for the first line of each stanza. These lines rime only with each other. Probably the song was written after Bernart’s return from England in 1154, as he says, ‘‘ For your sake I have left the King.” But apparently he was not at the Norman court, as he says he is far away from his love. IX. “ Such delight has come to me.” Metrical form.—The metrical form of this song, perhaps the most beautiful that Bernart ever wrote, is as melodious as it is elaborate, and the complication of form hinders in no way the free and graceful expression of ideas. Although I have attempted @ metrical translation in order to give some idea of the splendid 54 TROBADOR POETS swinging rhythm, I have not been able to reproduce exactly the rime system of the original. All the lines, except the ninth, tenth and eleventh, which have the refrain word delight (in the original amor, love), and its two rimes, should have feminine rimes, whereas the scarcity of feminine rimes in English has obliged me to alternate feminine and masculine lines, except in the fourth stanza. Then the last line of each stanza (and also the second, fourth, sixth and eighth) rimes with the first (also the third, fifth and seventh) of the following stanza, so that the effect of an unbroken but ever-changing chain of rimes is produced. It is much to be regretted that the musie of this song has not come down to us. Stanza 2, 1.12. ‘* The wealth of Tyre.” What Bernart really says here is ‘‘ Friesland” ; but as the city of Tyre is sometimes mentioned by the trobadors for its wealth, I have allowed myself to use the name here for the sake of the rime. Stanza 3, 1.12. We may suppose, from the poet’s saying that he was in France far away from his love, that the song was written after Queen Eleanor had gone to England to be crowned. Stanza 4, ll. 10-12. Frequent reference is made by the trobadors to the loves of Tristan and Isolde, who were looked upon in the Middle Ages as the type of ideal lovers. It is interesting to note that though many trobadors compared their love and their faith- fulness with Tristan’s, they never presumed to compare their ladies with Isolde. There was too much equality in the love of the immortal lovers, too little servility on Tristan’s part and too little imperiousness on Isolde’s, to make it a fitting prototype for the loves of the trobadors and their ladies. In spite of this the story seems to have been the most popular, as it was one of the finest, of medieval romances, and it is therefore not surprising to meet with many allusions to it. X. * J cannot see the bright sun’s glow.” Metrical form.—The versification of this song is noteworthy. It is written in what the Provencals called “‘ derivative rimes,” two BERNART OF VENTADORN 55 words derived from a common root, or different inflexions of the same word, riming with two other words similarly connected. The original poem is written on the same rimes throughout; in the translation I have changed the rimes at every other stanza. It is a proof of Bernart’s genius that he was able to use this elaborate device without any sacrifice of poetic effect. It cannot be said to whom this and the three following songs were addressed. XI. ‘ The better to hide my sad thoughts.” Metrical form.—The original is written in stanzas of six deca- syllabic lines, rime system a°ba°bbc”. The rimes remain unchanged throughout. XII. “Zam in thought and in trouble.” Metrical form.—The original is written in stanzas of eight lines ; the lines have eight syllables except the sixth and seventh, which have only seven. Rime system, a ba bec d“de. Stanza 7, 1. 4. ‘*She knows and understands how to read.” To be able to read was by no means a universal accomplishment among ladies in the twelfth century, and it was not every trobador who could write. Arnant Daniel says in one of his songs, ‘*I know well, without having the art of writing, what is a plain and what a hill,” &c. XIV. §* Zt ts no marvel if I sing.” Metrical form.—The rime system of this song is very compli- cated. The stanzas have eight octosyllabic masculine lines. The rime scheme of the stanzas is: Stanza la bbbacddc; Stanza 2, cb bcadda; Stanza 3,as 1, &c. This gives the intertwined effect noticed in another of Bernart’s songs. In spite of this elaborate system, there is a naiveté and simplicity of thought and expression in the poem, rendering it one of the most charming and characteristic we possess. Digitized by Google | ertran de Born Bertran DE Born, most famous of all trobadors, is a curiously different figure from any of his literary con- temporaries. As they sang of love, he sang of war ; as they tried to move the hearts of their ladies to pity, he strove to stir up the hearts of the nobles of France to strife and anger against each other. He wrote a few love-songs indeed, but it is by his war-songs that he has always been famous.! These have caused some few writers to hail him as a high-souled patriot, striving to free his native Aquitaine from the tyranny of her English rulers, but this is not the usual judgment passed on Bertran de Born. It was his fate to be stigmatised by Dante as an evil sower of discord, and he has gained the terrible im- mortality that a place in the Inferno gives to those who came under the ban of Dante’s wrath. Dante’s meeting with Bertran is thus described (Inferno, xxviii. ll. 118-142) : ‘