The story of Geoffroi Rudel is a remarkable illustration of the fervid and imaginative tone of sentiment that prevailed in those romantic days. He was the favorite minstrel of prince Geoffroi Plantagenet, the elder brother of Cœur de Lion. While he lived at the court of England, admired and beloved by noble knights and lovely ladies, he listened with delight to descriptions of a certain countess of Tripoli, whose beauty, kindness, and virtue, were perpetually praised by the crusaders that returned from Holy Land. Rudel fell deeply and passionately in love with her fame. In one of his songs he says: “I adore an object I have never seen. Yet I am convinced that among all the Saracen, Jewish, and Christian beauties, none can be compared with her. Every night she appears before me in enchanting dreams. The beauty I adore shall behold me, for her sake, clad in a woollen garment, and with a pilgrim’s staff.” The ardent troubadour actually sailed for Palestine. But he became grievously ill during the voyage, and was nearly senseless when the vessel reached the shores of Tripoli. The countess, being informed of the circumstances of his arrival, hastened to meet him, and offer all the consolation in her power. He fixed his eyes upon her with a joyful expression, and expired. The countess caused him to be magnificently buried among the Knights Templars, and erected a monument of porphyry, with an Arabic inscription, commemorating his genius and his love. She then retired to a cloister, and took the monastic vow. The last song Rudel had addressed to her was transcribed in letters of gold, and she wore it continually near her heart. Richard de Barbesieu, having broken his vow of fidelity to a certain princess, built a cabin of boughs in the depth of the forest, and swore never to leave his solitude till the offended lady again took him into favor. Being a favorite minstrel in hall and bower, the knights and ladies sent him many entreaties to return; and finding their solicitations were all in vain, they tried their utmost to appease the anger of his lady-love. She at length relented so far as to promise him pardon, whenever a hundred brave knights, and a hundred beautiful dames, who had sworn eternal love to each other, should kneel before her, and with clasped hands supplicate mercy for their minstrel. A hundred brace of lovers performed the required ceremony, and the troubadour was pardoned. Still more extravagant was the conduct of Pierre Vidal, a half-crazed poet, who followed Cœur de Lion to the crusade. Having been banished from the presence of one lady for his presumptuous boldness, he chose for the next object of his amorous effusions a lady by the name of Louve de Penautier. In her honor he assumed the name of _Loup_, and actually disguised himself as a wolf, in order to be hunted by a pack of hounds. He was brought back shockingly mangled; and the lady and her husband took care of his wounds, though they laughed at his folly.