FOOTNOTES:

Gianfré Rudel ch' uso la vela e 'l remo,A cercar la suo morte.

The song which the minstrel composed when he fell sick on this romantic expedition, and found his strength begin to fail, and which the Countess wore, folded within her vest, to the end of her life, is extant, and has been translated into most of the languages of Europe; of these translations, Sismondi's is the best, preserving the original and curious arrangement of the rhymes, as well as the piety, naïveté, and tenderness of the sentiment.

Irrité, dolent partiraiSi ne vois cet amour de loin,Et ne sais quand je le verraiCar sont par trop nos terres loin.Dieu, qui toutes choses as faitEt formas cet amour si loin,Donne force à mon cœur, car aiL'espoir de voir m'amour au loin.Ah, Seigneur, tenez pour bien vraiL'amour qu'ai pour elle de loin.Car pour un bien que j'en auraiJ'ai mille maux, tant je suis loin.Ja d'autr'amour ne jouiraiSinon de cet amour de loin—Qu'une plus belle je n'en sçaisEn lieu qui soit ni près ni loin!

Mrs. Piozzi and others have paraphrased this little song, but in a spirit so different from the antique simplicity of the original, that I shall venture to give a version, which has at least the merit of being as faithful as the different idioms of the two languages will allow; I am afraid, however, that it will not appear worthy of the honour which the Countess conferred on it.

"Grieved and troubled shall I die,If I meet not my love afar;Alas! I know not that I e'erShall see her—for she dwells afar.O God! that didst all things create,And formed my sweet love now afar;Strengthen my heart, that I may hopeTo behold her face, who is afar.O Lord! believe how very trueIs my love for her, alas! afar,Tho' for each joy a thousand painsI bear, because I am so far.Another love I'll never have,Save only she who is afar,For fairer one I never knewIn places near, nor yet afar."

Bertrand d'Allamanon, whom I have mentioned as the companion of Rudel on his romantic expedition, has left us a little ballad, remarkable for the extreme refinement of the sentiment, which is quite à la Petrarque: he gives it the fantastic title of ademi chanson, for a very fantastic reason: it is thus translated in Millot. (vol. i. 390).

"On veut savoir pourquoi je fais unedemi chanson? c'est parceque je n'ai qu'un demi sujet de chanter. Il n'y a d'amour que de ma part;la dame que j'aime ne veut pas m'aimer! mais au défaut desouiqu'elle me refuse, je prendrai lesnonqu'elle me prodigue:—espérer auprès d'elle vaut mieux que jouir avec tout autre!"

This is exactly the sentiment of Petrarch:

Pur mi consola, che morir per leiMeglio è che gioir d'altra—

But it is one of those thoughts which spring in the heart, and might often be repeated without once being borrowed.

FOOTNOTES:[4]Sismondi—Littérature du Midi.[5]Thibault fût Roi galant et valoureux,Ses hâuts faits et son rang n'ont rien fait pour sa gloire;Mais il fût chansonnier—et ses couplets heureux,Nous ont conservé sa mémoire.anthologie de monet.[6]If lusty Love should go in quest of beauty,Where should he find it fairer than in Blanche?If zealous Love should go in search of virtue,Where should he find it purer than in Blanche?If Love, ambitious, sought a match of birth,Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanche?[7]La plus honorable recompence qu'on pouvait faire aux dits poëtes, était qu'on leur fournissait de draps, chevaux, armure, et argent.[8]Millot, vol. ii. p. 148.[9]Richard de Barbesieu.[10]Millot, vol. iii. p. 86.—Ginguené, vol. i. p. 280.[11]"Depuis ne fut jamais veue faire bonne chère," says the old chronicle.—I am tempted to add the description of the first and last interview of the Countess and her lover in the exquisite old French, of which the antique simplicity and naïveté are untranslateable."En cet estat fut conduit au port de Trypolly, et là arrivé, son compagnon feist (fit) entendre à la Comtesse la venue du Pelerin malade. La Comtesse estant venue en la nef, prit le poête par la main; et lui, sachant que c'éstait la Comtesse, incontinent après le doult et gracieux accueil, recouvra ses esprits, la remercia de ce qu'elle lui avait recouvré la vie, et lui dict: 'Très illustre et vertueuse princesse, je ne plaindrai point la mort oresque'—et ne pouvant achever son propos, sa maladie s'aigrissant et augmentant, rendit l'esprit entre les mains de la Comtesse."—Vies des plus célèbres Poëtes Provençaux, p. 24.

[4]Sismondi—Littérature du Midi.

[5]Thibault fût Roi galant et valoureux,Ses hâuts faits et son rang n'ont rien fait pour sa gloire;Mais il fût chansonnier—et ses couplets heureux,Nous ont conservé sa mémoire.anthologie de monet.

[5]

Thibault fût Roi galant et valoureux,Ses hâuts faits et son rang n'ont rien fait pour sa gloire;Mais il fût chansonnier—et ses couplets heureux,Nous ont conservé sa mémoire.anthologie de monet.

[6]If lusty Love should go in quest of beauty,Where should he find it fairer than in Blanche?If zealous Love should go in search of virtue,Where should he find it purer than in Blanche?If Love, ambitious, sought a match of birth,Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanche?

[6]

If lusty Love should go in quest of beauty,Where should he find it fairer than in Blanche?If zealous Love should go in search of virtue,Where should he find it purer than in Blanche?If Love, ambitious, sought a match of birth,Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanche?

[7]La plus honorable recompence qu'on pouvait faire aux dits poëtes, était qu'on leur fournissait de draps, chevaux, armure, et argent.

[8]Millot, vol. ii. p. 148.

[9]Richard de Barbesieu.

[10]Millot, vol. iii. p. 86.—Ginguené, vol. i. p. 280.

[11]"Depuis ne fut jamais veue faire bonne chère," says the old chronicle.—I am tempted to add the description of the first and last interview of the Countess and her lover in the exquisite old French, of which the antique simplicity and naïveté are untranslateable."En cet estat fut conduit au port de Trypolly, et là arrivé, son compagnon feist (fit) entendre à la Comtesse la venue du Pelerin malade. La Comtesse estant venue en la nef, prit le poête par la main; et lui, sachant que c'éstait la Comtesse, incontinent après le doult et gracieux accueil, recouvra ses esprits, la remercia de ce qu'elle lui avait recouvré la vie, et lui dict: 'Très illustre et vertueuse princesse, je ne plaindrai point la mort oresque'—et ne pouvant achever son propos, sa maladie s'aigrissant et augmentant, rendit l'esprit entre les mains de la Comtesse."—Vies des plus célèbres Poëtes Provençaux, p. 24.

"En cet estat fut conduit au port de Trypolly, et là arrivé, son compagnon feist (fit) entendre à la Comtesse la venue du Pelerin malade. La Comtesse estant venue en la nef, prit le poête par la main; et lui, sachant que c'éstait la Comtesse, incontinent après le doult et gracieux accueil, recouvra ses esprits, la remercia de ce qu'elle lui avait recouvré la vie, et lui dict: 'Très illustre et vertueuse princesse, je ne plaindrai point la mort oresque'—et ne pouvant achever son propos, sa maladie s'aigrissant et augmentant, rendit l'esprit entre les mains de la Comtesse."—Vies des plus célèbres Poëtes Provençaux, p. 24.

In striking contrast to the tender and gentle Rudel, we have the ferocious Bertrand de Born: he, too, was one of the most celebrated Troubadours of his time. As a petty feudal sovereign, he was, partly by the events of the age, more by his own fierce and headlong passions, plunged in continual wars. Nature however had made him a poet of the first order. In these days he would have been another Lord Byron; but he lived in a terrible and convulsed state of society, and it was only in the intervals snatched from his usual pursuits,—that is, from burning the castles, and ravaging the lands of his neighbours, andstirring up rebellion, discord, and bloodshed all around him,—that he composed a vast number oflays,sirventes, andchansons; some breathing the most martial, and even merciless spirit; others devoted to the praise and honour of his love, or rather loves, as full of submissive tenderness and chivalrous gallantry.

He first celebrated Elinor Plantagenet, the sister of his friend and brother in arms and song, Richard Cœur de Lion; and we are expressly told that Richard was proud of the poetical homage rendered to the charms of his sister by this knightly Troubadour, and that the Princess was far from being insensible to his admiration. Only one of the many songs addressed to Elinor has been preserved; from which we gather, that it was composed by Bertrand in the field, at a time when his army was threatened with famine, and the poet himself was suffering from the pangs of hunger. Elinor married the Duke of Saxony, and Bertrand chose for his next love the beautiful Maenz de Montagnac, daughter of the Viscount of Turenne, and wife of Talleyrandde Perigord. The lady accepted his service, and acknowledged him as her Knight; but evil tongues having attempted to sow dissension between the lovers, Bertrand addressed to her a song, in which he defends himself from the imputation of inconstancy, in a style altogether characteristic and original. The warrior poet, borrowing from the objects of his daily cares, ambition and pleasures, phrases to illustrate and enhance the expression of his love, wishes "that he may lose his favourite hawk in her first flight; that a falcon may stoop and bear her off, as she sits upon his wrist, and tear her in his sight, if the sound of his lady's voice be not dearer to him than all the gifts of love from another."—"That he may stumble with his shield about his neck; that his helmet may gall his brow; that his bridle may be too long, his stirrups too short; that he may be forced to ride a hard trotting horse, and find his groom drunk when he arrives at his gate, if there be a word of truth in the accusations of his enemies:—that he may not have adenierto stake at the gaming-table, and that the dice may nevermore be favourable to him, if ever he had swerved from his faith:—that he may look on like a dastard, and see his lady wooed and won by another;—that the winds may fail him at sea;—that in the battle he may be the first to fly, if he who has slandered him does not lie in his throat," &c. and so on through seven or eight stanzas.

Bertrand de Born exercised in his time a fatal influence on the counsels and politics of England. A close and ardent friendship existed between him and young Henry Plantagenet, the eldest son of our Henry the Second; and the family dissensions which distracted the English Court, and the unnatural rebellion of Henry and Richard against their father, were his work. It happened some time after the death of Prince Henry, that the King of England besieged Bertrand de Born in one of his castles: the resistance was long and obstinate, but at length the warlike Troubadour was taken prisoner and brought before the King, so justly incensed against him, and from whom he had certainly no mercy to expect. The heart of Henry wasstill bleeding with the wounds inflicted by his ungrateful children, and he saw before him, and in his power, the primary cause of their misdeeds and his own bitter sufferings. Bertrand was on the point of being led out to death, when by a single word he reminded the King of his lost son, and the tender friendship which had existed between them.[12]The chord was struck which never ceased to vibrate in the parental heart of Henry; bursting into tears, he turned aside, and commanded Bertrand and his followers to be immediately set at liberty: he even restored to Bertrand his castle and his lands, "in the name of his dead son." It is such traits as these, occurring at every page, which lend to the chronicles of this stormy period an interest overpowering the horror they would otherwise excite: for then all the best, as well as the worst of human passions were called into play. In this tempestuous commingling of all thejarring elements of society, we have those strange approximations of the most opposite sentiments,—implacable revenge and sublime forgiveness;—gross licentiousness and delicate tenderness;—barbarism and refinement;—treachery and fidelity—which remind one of that heterogeneous mass tossed up by a stormy ocean; heaps of pearls, unvalued gems, wedges of gold, mingled with dead men's bones, and all the slimy, loathsome, and monstrous productions of the deep, which during a calm remain together concealed and unknown in its unfathomed abysses.

To return from this long similitude to Bertrand de Born: he concluded his stormy career in a manner very characteristic of the times; for he turned monk, and died in the odour of sanctity. But neither his late devotion, nor his warlike heroism, nor his poetic fame, could rescue him from the severe justice of Dante, who has visited his crimes and his violence with so terrible a judgment, that we forget, while we thrill with horror, that the crimes were real, the penance only imaginary. Dante, in one of the circles of theInferno, meets Bertrand de Born carrying his severed head,lantern wise, in his hand;—the phantom lifts it up by the hair, and the ghastly lips unclose to confess the cause and the justice of this horrible and unheard-of penance.

——Or vedi la pena molestaTu che spirando vai veggendo i morti;Vedi s'alcuna è grande come questa.E perchè tu di me novella porti,Sappi ch' i' son Bertram dal Bornio, quelliChe diedi al Re giovane i ma' conforti.I' feci 'l padre e 'l figlio in se ribelli:....*....*....*....*Perch'io partii così giunte persone,Partito porto il mio cerebro, lasso!Dal suo principio ch 'è 'n questo troncone.Così s'osserva in me lo contrappasso.[13]Now beholdThis grievous torment, thou, who breathing goestTo spy the dead: behold, if any elseBe terrible as this,—and that on earthThou mayst bear tidings of me, know that IAm Bertrand, he of Born, who gave King JohnThe counsel mischievous. Father and sonI set at mutual war:——Spurring them on maliciously to strife.For parting those so closely knit, my brainParted, alas! I carry from its sourceThat in this trunk inhabits. Thus the lawOf retribution fiercely works in me.[14]

....*....*....*....*

Perch'io partii così giunte persone,Partito porto il mio cerebro, lasso!Dal suo principio ch 'è 'n questo troncone.Così s'osserva in me lo contrappasso.[13]

Now beholdThis grievous torment, thou, who breathing goestTo spy the dead: behold, if any elseBe terrible as this,—and that on earthThou mayst bear tidings of me, know that IAm Bertrand, he of Born, who gave King JohnThe counsel mischievous. Father and sonI set at mutual war:——Spurring them on maliciously to strife.For parting those so closely knit, my brainParted, alas! I carry from its sourceThat in this trunk inhabits. Thus the lawOf retribution fiercely works in me.[14]

Pierre Vidal, whose description of love I have quoted before, was one of the most extraordinary characters of his time, a kind of poetical Don Quixotte:—his brain was turned with love, poetry, and vanity: he believed himself the beloved of all the fair, the mirror of knighthood, and the prince of Troubadours. Yet in the midst of all his extravagances, he possessed exquisite skill in his art, and was not surpassed by any of the poets of those days, for the harmony, delicacy, and tenderness of his amatory effusions. Hechose for his first love the beautiful wife of the Vicomte de Marseilles: the lady, unlike some of the Princesses of her time, distinguished between the poet and the man, and as he presumed too far on the encouragement bestowed on him in the former capacity, he was banished: he then followed Richard the First to the crusade. The verses he addressed to the lady from the Island of Cyprus are still preserved. The folly of Vidal, or rather the derangement of his imagination, subjected him to some of those mystifications which remind us of Don Quixote and Sancho, in the court of the laughter-loving Duchess. For instance, Richard and his followers amused themselves at Cyprus, by marrying Vidal to a beautiful Greek girl of no immaculate reputation, whom they introduced to him as the niece of the Greek Emperor. Vidal, in right of his wife, immediately took the title of Emperor, assumed the purple, ordered a throne to be carried before him, and played the most fantastic antics of authority. Nor was this the greatest of his extravagances: on his return to Provence, he chose for the secondobject of his amorous and poetical devotion, a lady whose name happened to be Louve de Penautier: in her honour he assumed the name ofLoup, and farther to merit the good graces of his "Dame," and to do honour to the name he had adopted, he dressed himself in the hide of a wolf, and caused himself to be hunted in good earnest by a pack of dogs: he was brought back exhausted and half dead to the feet of his mistress, who appears to have been more moved to merriment than to love by this new and ridiculous exploit.

In general, however, the Troubadours had seldom reason to complain of the cruelty of the ladies to whom they devoted their service and their songs. The most virtuous and illustrious women thought themselves justified in repaying, with smiles and favours, the poetical adoration of their lovers; and this lasted until the profession of Troubadour was dishonoured by the indiscretions, follies, and vices of those who assumed it. Thus Peyrols, a famous Provençal poet, who was distinguished in the court of the Dauphind'Auvergne, fell passionately in love with the sister of that Prince, (the Baronne de Mercœur) and the Dauphin, (himself a Troubadour) proud of the genius of his minstrel and of the poetical devotion paid to his sister, desired her to bestow on her lover all the encouragement and favour which was consistent with her dignity. The lady, however, either misunderstood her instructions, or found it too difficult to obey them: the seducing talents and tender verses of thisgentil Troubadourprevailed over her dignity:—Peyrols was beloved; but he was not sufficiently discreet. The sudden change in the tone and style of his songs betrayed him, and he was banished. A great number of his verses, celebrating the Dame de Mercœur, are preserved by St. Palaye, and translated by Millot.

Bernard de Ventadour was beloved by Elinor de Guienne, afterwards the wife of our Henry the Second, and the mother of Richard the First:—I have before observed the poetical penchants of all Elinor's children, which they seem to have inherited from their mother.

Sordello of Mantua, whose name is familiar toall the readers of Dante, as occurring in one of the finest passages of his great poem,[15]was an Italian, but like all the best poets of his day, wrote in the Provençal tongue: he is said to have carried off the sister of that modern Phalaris, the tyrant Ezzelino of Padua. There is a very elegant ballad (ballata) by Sordello, translated in Millot's collection; it is properly a kind of rondeau, the first line being repeated at the end of every stanza; "Helas! à quoi me servent mes yeux?"—"Alas! wherefore have I eyes?"—It describes the pleasures of the Spring, which are to him as nothing, in the absence of the only object on which his eyes can dwell with delight. The arrangement of the rhymes in this pastoral song is singularly elegant and musical.

Lastly, as illustrating the history of the amatory poetry of this age, I extract from Nostradamus[16]the story of the young Countess de Die; she loved and was beloved by the Chevalier d'Adhèmar: (ancestor I presume to that Chevalierd'Adhèmar who figures in the letters of Madame de Sevigné.) It was not in this case the lover who celebrated the charms of his mistress, but the lady, who, being an illustrious female Troubadour, "docte en poësie," celebrated the exploits and magnanimity of her lover. The Chevalier, proud of such a distinction, caused the verses of his mistress to be beautifully copied, and always carried them in his bosom; and whenever he was in the company of knights and ladies, he enchanted them by singing a couplet in his own praise out of his lady's book. The publicity thus given to their love, was quite in the spirit of the times, and does not appear to have injured the reputation of the Countess for immaculate virtue,[17]whichAdhèmar would probably have defended with lance and spear, against any slanderous tongue which had dared to defame her.

The conclusion of this romantic story is melancholy. Adhèmar heard a false report, that the Countess, whose purity and constancy he had so proudly maintained, had cast away her smiles on a rival: he fell sick with grief and bitterness of heart: the Countess, being informed of his state, set out, accompanied by hermother, and a long train of knights and ladies, to visit and comfort him with assurances of her fidelity; but when she appeared at his bed-side, and drew the curtain, it was already too late: Adhèmar expired in her arms. The Countess took the veil in the convent of St. Honoré, and died the same yearof grief, says the chronicle;—and to conclude the tragedy characteristically, the mother of the young Countess buried her in the same grave with her lover, and raised a superb monument to the memory of both. The Countess de Die was one of the ten ladies who formed theCourt of Love, held at Pierrefeu, (about 1194) and in which Estifanie de Baux presided.

These Courts of Love, and the scenes they gave rise to, were certainly open to ridicule; the "belles et subtiles questions d'amour" which were there solemnly discussed, and decided by ladies of rank, were often absurd, and the decisions something worse: still the fanciful influence they gave to women on these subjects, and the gallantry they introduced into the intercourse between the sexes, had a tendency to soften the manners, to refine the language, and to tinge the sentiments and passions with a kind of philosophical mysticism. But these gay and gallant Courts of Love, the Provençal Troubadours, their lays, which for two centuries had been the delight of all ranks of people, and had spread music, love, and poetry through the land;—their language, which had been the chosen dialect of gallantry in every court of Europe,—were at once swept from the earth.

The glory of the Provençal literature began when Provence was raised to an independent Fief, under Count Berenger I. about the year 1100; it lasted two entire centuries, and ended whenthat fine and fertile country became the scene of the horrible crusade against the Albigenses; when the Inquisition sent forth its exterminating fiends to scatter horror and devastation through the land, and the wars and rapacity of Charles of Anjou, its new possessor, almost depopulated the country. The language which had once celebrated deeds of love and heroism, now sang only of desolation and despair. The Troubadours, in a strain worthy of their gentle and noble calling, generally advocated the part of the Albigenses, and the oppressed of whatever faith; and in many provinces, in Lombardy especially, their language was interdicted, lest it might introduce heretical or rebellious principles; gradually it fell into disuse, and at length into total oblivion. The Troubadours, no longer welcomed in castle or in hall, where once

They poured to lords and ladies gay,The unpremeditated lay,

were degraded to wandering minstrels and itinerant jugglers. An attempt was made, about a century later, (1324) by the institution of theFloral Games at Thoulouse, to keep alive this high strain of poetical gallantry. They were formerly celebrated with great splendour, and a shadow of this institution is, I believe, still kept up, but it has degenerated into a mere school of affectation. The original race of the Troubadours was extinct long before Clemence d'Isaure and her golden violet were thought of.

I cannot quit the subject of the Troubadours without one or two concluding observations. To these rude bards we owe some new notions of poetical justice, which never seem to have occurred to Horace or Longinus, and are certainly more magnanimous, as well as more true to moral feeling, than those which prevailed among the polished Greeks and Romans. For instance, the generous Hector and the constant Troilus are invariably exalted above the subtle Ulysses and the savage Achilles. Theseus, Jason, and Æneas, instead of being represented as classical heroes and pious favourites of the gods, are denounced as recreant knights and false traitors to love andbeauty. In the estimation of these chivalrous bards, a woman's tears outweighed the exploits of demi-gods; all the glory of Theseus is forgotten in sympathy for Ariadne; and Æneas, in the old ballads and romances, is not, after all his perfidy, dismissed to happiness and victory, but is plagued by the fiends, haunted by poor Dido's "grimly ghost," and, finally, doomed to perish miserably.[18]Nor does Jason fare better at their hands; in all the old poets he is consigned to just execration. In Dante, we have a magnificent and a terrible picture of him, doomed to one of the lowest circles of hell, amid a herd of vile seducers, who betrayed the trusting faith, or bartered the charms of women. Demons scourge him up and down, without mercy or respite, in vengeance for the wrongs of Hypsipyle and Medea.

Guarda quel grande che vieneE per dolor, non par lagrima spanda;Quanto aspetto reale ancor ritiene!Quelli è Giasone——Con segni e con parole ornateIsifile inganno——Tal colpa a tal martiro lui condanna,Ed anche diMedeasi fa vendetta.Inferno, C. 18.

Guarda quel grande che vieneE per dolor, non par lagrima spanda;Quanto aspetto reale ancor ritiene!Quelli è Giasone—

—Con segni e con parole ornateIsifile inganno——Tal colpa a tal martiro lui condanna,Ed anche diMedeasi fa vendetta.

Inferno, C. 18.

"Behold that lofty shade, who this way tends,And seems too woe-begone to drop a tear;How yet the regal aspect he retains!'Tis Jason——He who with tokens and fair witching wordsHypsipyle beguil'd—Such is the guilt condemns him to this pain;Here too Medea's injuries are aveng'd!"—Carey.

Carey.

And Chaucer, in relating the same story, begins with a burst of generous indignation:

Thou root[19]of false lovers, Duke Jason,Thou slayer, devourer, and confusionOf gentil women, gentil creatures!

The story of his double perfidy is told and commented on in the same chivalrous feeling: and the old poet concludes with characteristic tenderness and simplicity—

This was the mede of loving, and guerdonThat Medea received of Duke Jason,Right for her truth and for her kindnesse,That loved him better than herself I guesse!And lefte her father and her heritage:And of Jason this is the vassalageThat in his dayes was never none yfoundSo false a lover going on the ground.

It is in the same beautiful spirit of reverence to the best virtues of our sex, that Alcestis, the wife of Admetus, who sacrificed her life to prolong that of her husband, is honoured above all other heroines of classical story. She has even been elevated into a kind of presiding divinity,—a second Venus, with nobler attributes,—and in her new existence is feigned to be the consort and companion of Love himself.

Another peculiarity of the poetry of the middle ages, was the worship paid to the daisy, (la Marguerite) as symbolical of all that is lovely in women. Why so lowly a flower should take precedence of the queenly lily and the sumptuous rose, is not very clear; but it seems to have originatedwith one of the old Provençal poets, whose mistress bore the name of Marguerite; and afterwards it became a fashion and a kind of poetical mythology.[20]

Thus in the "Flower and the Leafe" of Chaucer, the ladies and knights of the flower approach singing a chorus in honour of the Daisy, of which the burthen is, "si douce est la Marguerite."

FOOTNOTES:[12]Le Roi lui demande, "S'il a perdu raison?" il lui répond, "Helas, oui! c'est depuis la mort du Prince Henri, votre fils!"[13]Inferno, c. xxviii.[14]Carey's translation of Dante. Mr. Carey reads Re Giovanni, instead of Re giovane:—King John, instead of Prince Henry.[15]Purgatorio, c. vi.[16]Vies des plus célèbres poëtes Provençaux.[17]Agnes de Navarre, Comtesse de Foix, was beloved by Guillaume de Machaut, a French poet; he became jealous, and she sent her own confessor to him to complain of the injustice of his suspicions, and to swear that she was still faithful to him. She required, also, of her lover, to write and to publish in verse the history of their love; and she preserved, at the same time, in the eyes of her husband and of the world, the character of a virtuous Princess.—See Foscolo—Essays on Petrarch.[18]Percy's Reliques.[19]Root, i. e. example or beginner.[20]See the notes to Chaucer, the works of Froissart, and Mémoires sur les Troubadours.

[12]Le Roi lui demande, "S'il a perdu raison?" il lui répond, "Helas, oui! c'est depuis la mort du Prince Henri, votre fils!"

[13]Inferno, c. xxviii.

[14]Carey's translation of Dante. Mr. Carey reads Re Giovanni, instead of Re giovane:—King John, instead of Prince Henry.

[15]Purgatorio, c. vi.

[16]Vies des plus célèbres poëtes Provençaux.

[17]Agnes de Navarre, Comtesse de Foix, was beloved by Guillaume de Machaut, a French poet; he became jealous, and she sent her own confessor to him to complain of the injustice of his suspicions, and to swear that she was still faithful to him. She required, also, of her lover, to write and to publish in verse the history of their love; and she preserved, at the same time, in the eyes of her husband and of the world, the character of a virtuous Princess.—See Foscolo—Essays on Petrarch.

[18]Percy's Reliques.

[19]Root, i. e. example or beginner.

[20]See the notes to Chaucer, the works of Froissart, and Mémoires sur les Troubadours.

Amatory poetry was transmitted from the Provençals to the Italians and Sicilians, among whom the language of the Troubadours had long been cultivated, and their songs imitated, but in style yet more affected andrecherché. Few of the Italian poets who preceded Dante, are interesting even in a mere literary point of view: of these only one or two have shed a reflected splendour round the object of their adoration. Guido Cavalcanti, the Florentine, was the early and favourite friend of Dante: being engaged in the factions of his native city, he was forced on some emergency to quit it; and to escape the vengeance of the prevailing party, he undertooka pilgrimage to Sant Jago. Passing through Tolosa, he fell in love with a beautiful Spanish girl, whom he has celebrated under the name ofMandetta:

In un boschetto trovai pastorellaPiù che la stella bella al mio parere,Capegli avea biondetti e ricciutelli.

Some of his songs and ballads have considerable grace and nature; but they were considered by himself as mere trifles. His grand work on which his fame long rested, is a "Canzone sopra l'Amore," in which the subject is so profoundly and so philosophically treated, that seven voluminous commentaries in Latin and Italian have not yet enabled the world to understand it.

The following Sonnet is deservedly celebrated for the consummate beauty of the picture it resents, and will give a fair idea of the platonic extravagance of the time.

Chi è questa che vien ch' ogni uom la mira!Che fa tremar di caritate l' a're?E mena seco amor, sì che parlareNull' uom ne puote; ma ciascun sospira?Ahi dio! che sembra quando gli occhi gira!Dicalo Amor, ch'io nol saprei contare;Cotanto d' umiltà donna mi pareChe ciascun' altra inver di lei chiam' ira.Non si porria contar la sua piacenza;Che a lei s'inchina ogni gentil virtute,E la beltate per sua Dea la mostra.Non è si alta già la mente nostraE non s'è posta in noi tanta saluteChe propriamente n' abbian conoscenza!

"Who is this, on whom all men gaze as she approacheth!—who causeth the very air to tremble around her with tenderness?—who leadeth Love by her side—in whose presence men are dumb; and can only sigh? Ah! Heaven! what power in every glance of those eyes! Love alone can tell; for I have neither words nor skill! She alone is the Lady of gentleness—beside her, all others seem ungracious and unkind. Who can describe her sweetness, her loveliness? to her every virtue bows, and beauty points to her as her own divinity. The mind of man cannot soar so high, nor is it sufficiently purified by divine grace to understand and appreciate all her perfections!"

The vagueness of this portrait is a part of its beauty:—it is like a lovely dream—and probably never had any existence, but in the fancy of the Poet.

Cino da Pistoia enjoyed the double reputation of being the greatest doctor and teacher of the civil law, and most famous poet of his time. He was also remarkable for his personal accomplishments and his love of pleasure. There is a sonnet which Dante addressed to Cino, reproaching him with being inconstant and volatile in love.[21]Apparently, this was after the death of the beautiful Ricciarda dei Selvaggi; or, as he calls her, his Selvaggia: she was of a noble family of Pistoia, her father having been gonfaliere, and leader of the faction of the Bianchi; and she was also celebrated for her poetical talents. It appears from a little madrigal of hers, which has been preserved, that though she tenderly returned the affection of her lover, it was without the knowledge of her haughty family. It is not distinguished for poetic power, but has at least the charm of perfect frankness and simplicity, and a kind ofabandonthat is quite bewitching.

Gentil mio sir, lo parlare amorosoDi voi sì in allegranza mi mantene,Che dirvel non poria, ben lo sacciate;Perchè del mio amor sete giojoso,Di ciò grand' allegria e gio' mi vene,Ed altro mai non haggio in volontate,Fuor del vostro piacere;Tutt' hora fate la vostra voglienza:Haggiate previdenzaVoi, di celar la nostra desienza."My gentle love and lord! those tender wordsOf thine so fill my conscious heart with joy,—I cannot speak it—but thou know'st it well;Wherefore do thou rejoice in that deep loveI bear thee, knowing that I have no thoughtBut to fulfil thy will and crown thy wish:—Watch thou—and hide our mutual hope from all!"

"My gentle love and lord! those tender wordsOf thine so fill my conscious heart with joy,—I cannot speak it—but thou know'st it well;Wherefore do thou rejoice in that deep loveI bear thee, knowing that I have no thoughtBut to fulfil thy will and crown thy wish:—Watch thou—and hide our mutual hope from all!"

Meantime the parents of Ricciarda were exiled from Pistoia, by the faction of the Neri. They took refuge from their enemies in a little fortress among the Appenines, whither Cino followed them, and was received as a comforter amid their distresses. Probably the days passed in this dreary abode, among the wild and solitary hills,when he assisted Ricciarda in her household duties, and in aiding and consoling her parents, were among the happiest of his life; but the winter came, and with it many privations and many hardships. Their mountain retreat was ill calculated to defend them against the fury of the elements: Ricciarda drooped under the pressure of misery and want, and her parents and her lover watched the gradual extinction of life—saw the rose-hue fade from her cheek, and the light from her eye, till she melted from their arms into death; then they buried her with tears, in a nook among the mountains.

Many years afterwards, when Cino had reached the height of his fame, and had been crowned with wealth and honours by his native city, he had occasion to cross the Appenines on an embassy, and causing his suite to travel by another road, he made a pilgrimage alone to the tomb of his lost Selvaggia. This incident gave rise to the most striking of all his compositions, which with great pathos and sweetness describes his feelings, when he flung himself down on herhumble grave, to weep over the recollection of their past happiness:

Io fu' in sull'alto e in sul beato monte,Ove adorai baciando il santo sasso,E caddi in su quella pietra, oimè lasso!Ove l' onestà pose la sua fronte;E ch' ella chiuse d' ogni virtù il fonteQuel giorno che di morte acerbo passoFece la donna dello mio cor,—lasso!—Già piena tutta d' adornezze conte.Quivi chiamai a questa guisa Amore:"Dolce mio Dio, fa che quinci mi traggiaLa morte a se, che qui giace il mio cor!"Ma poi che non m'intese il mio signore,Mi disparti, pur chiamando, Selvaggia!L'alpe passai, con voce di dolore.

The circumstance in the last stanza, "I rose up and went on my way, and passed the mountain summits, crying aloud 'Selvaggia!' in accents of despair," has a strong reality about it, and no doubtwasreal. Her death took place about 1316.

In the history of Italian poetry, Selvaggia is distinguished as the "bel numer' una,"—"thefair number one"—of the four celebrated women of that century—The others were Dante's Beatrice, Petrarch's Laura, and Boccaccio's Fiammetta.

Every one who reads and admires Petrarch, will remember his beautiful Sonnet on the Death of Cino, beginning "Piangete Donne"

Perchè 'l nostro amoroso messer CinoNovellamente s'è da noi partito.

In the venerable Cathedral at Pistoia, there is an ancient half-effaced bas-relief, representing Cino, surrounded by his disciples, to whom he is explaining the code of civil law: a little behind stands the figure of a female veiled, and in a pensive attitude, which is supposed to represent Ricciarda de' Selvaggi.

All these are alluded to by Petrarch in the Trionfo d'Amore.

Ecco Selvaggia,Ecco Cin da Pistoja; Guitton d'Arezzo;Ecco i due Guidi che già furo in prezzo.

The two Guidi are, Guido Guizzinello, and Guido Cavalcanti. Guitone was a famous monk,who is said to have invented the present form of the sonnet: to him also is attributed the discovery of counterpoint, and the present system of musical notation.

Of Conti's mistress nothing is known, but that she had the most beautiful hand in the world, whence the volume of poems written by her lover in her praise, is entitled,La Bella Mano, the fair hand. Conti lived some years later than Petrarch. I mention him merely to fill up the list of those ancient minor poets of Italy, whose names and loves are still celebrated.

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