you, she who guards you from loose flatteries?" "Maiden, she will not hear me." "Sir, she is right." I have given the first pastoral in extenso, to convey an idea to the reader of the charming tone pervading the whole number. The idea is simple enough an amorous knight, whose importunate offers to an unprotected girl are kept in check by mere dint of graceful, witty, sometimes tart reply. This motive is essentially the same in the five remaining pieces of the series. Several variations are, however, introduced with the aggregate result of a kind of plot or story. Two years are supposed to have elapsed between the first poem and the second. Again the pair meet; and again there are passionate importunities on the one, and graceful evasions on the other side. Remarkable is especially the sly humour with which the girl receives the knight's excuses for his long absence. The first stanza, with a translation subjoined, may serve as speci men : L'autrier trobei la bergeira d'antan, Pueis dis: Senhor com avetz estat tan Q'ieu nous ai vist? ges m'amors nous gragella?' 'Senhor, l'afan per qe podetz soffrir?' 'Toza, aissi etz vostres anhels gardan.' My shepherdess I found of yester year, G Sir, do you hold,' she said, 'my love so dear, 'It is my love that brought me here again.' 'Your flock alone, O maiden, you hold dear.' 'Through many lands to wander you are fain.' Nothing new occurs in the third pastoral. But in the fourth, dated three years after the third and seven years after the first poem, matters are considerably altered. The shepherdess has been united to her swain, and the knight finds her rocking a sleeping child in her lap. Time has worked its changes on the knight also, and at first she does not or pretends not to recognise him. To one of his amorous protestations she replies: 'That is just what Guiraut has told me, and yet I have not been deceived by him.' 'Girl,' he answers, Guiraut has never forgotten you, but you refuse to remember me.' 'Sir,' the girl says, evidently in her old vein of mocking compliance, 'his graceful bearing pleased me much better than you do, and if he came again I could not resist him.' In the further course of the conversation Guiraut lays great stress on the fame the girl owes to his songs all over Provence. He also, by a very blunt question, elicits the fact that the father of the child is one who has taken me to church,' a circumstance which by no means abates the passionate ardour of the troubadour. But he finds the matron as inexorable as he had found the maiden, and at last has to depart on his way with the reluc tant compliment: 'I have tried you sorely, but have found you of unexceptionable conduct.' Another space of seven years is supposed to elapse before we hear anything more of the shepherdess. These long intervals give a strange touch of realism to the story; for one does not see why the poet should wilfully destroy the illusions of youth and beauty without some reason founded on fact and chronology. This time the shepherdess and her daughter are on their return from a pilgrimage to Compostella. They are resting by the roadside, when the knight riding past sees them, and asks for news from Spain. At first the conversation takes a political turn, quite in accordance with the mature age of the parties, one would think. But the troubadour is incorrigible. He soon relapses into lovemaking, and goes so far as to threaten the lady with satirical songs in case of non-compliance. Even an appropriate allusion to his grey hair cannot bring him to reason. He listens with an ill grace, and at last takes angry leave. The sixth and last scene of the drama is laid at an inn, where the knight has sought shelter from the rain. He notices that the buxom landlady and her daughter are whispering together, and after some time recognises in the former the shepherdess of auld lang syne; very lang syne, for again six years intervene between this and the last meeting. Guiraut at once broaches his favourite topic. Hearing that the lady is a widow, he gallantly suggests: 'Surely a woman like you ought not to be without a lover!' She frankly confesses that there is an aspirant to her hand, but she does not feel inclined to change her condition a second time, for the very sensible reason, amongst others, that her wooer has 'seven children all under ten.' My only comfort,' she adds, pointing to her daughter, 'the source of my joy, stands before you.' This touching appeal draws the attention of the knight towards the girl, and immediately her youthful charms produce the usual effect on his inflammable heart. The sudden transfer of allegiance he excuses by the treatment he has received, and implores the daughter to make amends for the mother's cruelty. But again he receives nothing but pretty speeches, and thus the adventure comes to a close. Another poet much connected with the pastoreta is Gui d'Uisel, a celebrated troubadour of Limousin, who belonged to the church, and ultimately is said to have abandoned his poetic pursuits by an express command of the Papal legate. In connection with two brothers and a cousin he seems to have formed a sort of co-operative society on the principle of divided artistic labour and accomplishment. 'They were all four poets,' the old biography says, 'and made excellent songs. Elias (the cousin) wrote the good tensos; 1 Eble the wicked ones; and Peter sang what the other three had invented.' Gui, as was said before, was famous for his pastoral songs, several of which are extant. They show 1 Songs of dispute or contention, little of Guiraut Riquier's healthy realism, but are, on the other hand, full of quiet lyrical charm. In one of them he prettily describes the reconciliation between a shepherd and his lass, brought about by the troubadour's own counsel. The opening stanza is perhaps unsurpassed in Provençal literature for gentle, melodious flow of verse: L'autre jorn cost una via Una canson qe dizia, 'Mort m'an semblan traidor.' E qant el vi qe venia Salh en pes per far m'onor, E ditz, Deus sal, mo senhor, Q'er ai trobat ses bauzia A cui m'aus clamar d'amor.'1 Marcabrun also, the satirical poet. of whom more will have to be said hereafter, is amongst pastoral poets. He has little of Gui d'Uisel's lyrical sweetness, and his discourse with a shepherdess-for his poem also takes the form of a dialogue—is not always over-refined. But here again, strange to say, the flatteries of the troubadour find no favour with the maiden—a circumstance the recurrence of which greatly tends to increase one's belief in the virtue of Provençal shepherdesses. The other day by the roadside I heard a shepherd sing a song, which said: "False traitors have killed me." And when he saw me approach, he jumped to his feet to do me honour and said, 'God be with you, sir; for now I have found a friend, leal and discreet and without falsehood to whom I may complain of love.' |