and the ladies sympathise with his misfortunes: they find themselves terribly ennuyés in the absence of the poet who was accustomed to vaunt their charms and their deeds of prowess; and at the end of two years they send a deputation, entreating him to return,—but in vain: they then address themselves to the lady, and humbly solicit the pardon of the offender, whose disgrace in her sight, has thrown a whole province into mourning. The princess at length relents, but upon conditions which appear in these unromantic times equally extraordinary and difficult to fulfil. She requires that a hundred brave knights, and a hundred fair dames, pledged in love to each other, (s'aimant d'amour) should appear before her on their knees, and with joined hands supplicate for mercy: the conditions are fulfilled: the fifty pair of lovers are found to go through the ceremony, and the Troubadour receives his pardon.[10]

The story of Peyre de Ruer, "gentilhomme et Troubadour," might be termed a satirical romance, did we not know that it is a plain fact, related with perfect simplicity. He devotes himself to a lady of the noble Italian family of Carraccioli, and in her praise he composes, as usual, "maintes belles et doctes chansons:"—but the lady seems to have had a taste for magnificence and pleasure; and the poet, in order to find favour in her eyes, expends his patrimony in rich apparel, banquets, and joustes in her honour. The lady, however, continues inexorable; and Peyre de Ruer takes the habit of a pilgrim and wanders about the country. He arrives in the holy week at a certain church, and desires of the curé permission to preach to his congregation of penitents:—he ascends the pulpit, and recites with infinite fervour and grace one of his own chansons d'amour,—for, says the chronicle, "autre chose ne sçavait," "he knew nothing better." The people mistaking it for an invocation to the Virgin Mary or the Saints, are deeply affected and edified; eyes are seen to weep that never wept before; the most impenitent hearts are suddenly softened: he concludes with an exhortation in the same strain—and then descending from the pulpit, places himself at the door, and holding out his hat for the customary alms, his delighted congregation fill it to overflowing with pieces of silver. Peyre de Ruer forthwith casts off his pilgrim's gown, and in a new and splendid dress, and with a new song in his hand, he presents himself before the ladye of his love, who charmed by his gay attire not less than by his return, receives him most graciously, and bestows on him "maintes caresses."

I must observe that the biographer of this Peyre de Ruer, himself a churchman, does not appear in the least scandalised or surprised at this very novel mode of recruiting his finances and obtaining the favour of the lady; but gives us fairly to understand, that after such a proof of loyauté he should have thought it quite contrary to all rule if she had still rejected the addresses of this gentil Troubadour.

Jauffred (or Geffrey) de Rudel is yet more famous, and his story will strikingly illustrate the manners of those times. Rudel was the favourite minstrel of Geffrey Plantagenet de Bretagne, the elder brother of our Richard Cœur de Lion, and like the royal Richard, a patron of music and poetry. During the residence of Rudel at the court of England, where he resided in great honour and splendour, caressed for his talents and loved for the gentleness of his manners, he heard continually the praises of a certain Countess of Tripoli; famed throughout Europe for her munificent hospitality to the poor Crusaders. The pilgrims and soldiers of the Cross, who were returning wayworn, sick and disabled, from the burning plains of Asia, were relieved and entertained by this devout and benevolent Countess; and they repaid her generosity, with all the enthusiasm of gratitude, by spreading her fame throughout Christendom.

These reports of her beauty and her beneficence, constantly repeated, fired the susceptible fancy of Rudel: without having seen her, he fell passionately in love with her, and unable to bear any longer the torments of absence, he undertook a pilgrimage to visit this unknown lady of his love, in company with Bertrand d'Allamanon, another celebrated Troubadour of those days. He quitted the English court in spite of the entreaties and expostulations of Prince Geffrey Plantagenet, and sailed for the Levant. But so it chanced, that falling grievously sick on the voyage, he lived only till his vessel reached the shores of Tripoli. The Countess being told that a celebrated poet had just arrived in her harbour, who was dying for her love, immediately hastened on board, and taking his hand, entreated him to live for her sake. Rudel, already speechless, and almost in the agonies of death, revived for a moment at this unexpected grace; he was just able to express, by a last effort, the excess of his gratitude and love, and expired in her arms: thereupon the Countess wept bitterly, and vowed herself to a life of penance for the loss she had caused to the world.[11] She commanded that the last song which Rudel had composed in her honour, should be transcribed in letters of gold, and carried it always in her bosom; and his remains were inclosed in a magnificent mausoleum of porphyry, with an Arabic inscription, commemorating his genius and his love for her.

It is in allusion to this well-known story, that Petrarch has introduced Rudel into the Trionfo d'Amore.