The troubadours : $b A history of Provençal life and literature in the middle agesHueffer, Francis
History
The troubadours : $b A history of Provençal life and literature in the middle ages
Hueffer, Francis
Provençal poetry -- History and criticism; Troubadours
But all this is changed in the second portion of the poem. The French
have now become ‘homicides’ and ‘men of the sword;’ sometimes even the
uncomplimentary epithet of ‘taverners,’ or pothouse-keepers, is applied
to them. Folquet is summarily alluded to as the ‘avesque felon,’ or
‘wicked bishop;’ and the Pope himself is reproached with his cruelty to
Raimon. But the most striking contrast between the two portions of the
poem becomes apparent in the judgment of Simon de Montfort’s character.
The author’s hatred against him in the second part vents itself in
bitterest invective, and is not appeased by death itself. The description
of the great leader’s fall in our poem is extremely vivid; it is painted
with the colours of hatred. At the same time the triumph at the enemy’s
fall bears involuntary witness to his greatness. Simon is besieging
Toulouse, the rebellious capital of the dominions lately granted to him
by the Pope, and the author describes an assault made by the crusaders,
and valiantly repelled by the inhabitants. Montfort, incensed at the
little progress made by his troops, is complaining to his brother,
who has just been hit by an arrow. There was in the city, the author
continues, a machine for throwing stones, worked by women, both girls and
matrons. A stone is thrown, and goes ‘straight where it ought to go.’
This ‘ought to go’ is an admirable trait of the fatalism of hatred. ‘It
hits,’ the author continues, evidently gloating over the details, ‘Count
Simon on his helmet, with such force that his eyes and brain, and the top
of his head, and his forehead, and his jaws, are knocked to pieces. And
the Count falls to the ground, dead, and bleeding, and black.’
The terror and grief caused by this sudden event amongst the crusaders
are then briefly alluded to, but the author is again in his element when
he describes the unbounded joy of the besieged, fully shared by himself.
The suggestions of making a martyr and saint of Simon, in his epitaph,
the author treats with the utmost scorn. ‘If by killing men,’ he says,
‘and shedding blood, by destroying souls and consenting to murder, by
trusting in false counsels and by incendiarism, by ruining the barons and
shaming nobility, by fostering evil and crushing good, by the massacre of
women and children, one can gain Jesus Christ in this world, then Simon
must wear a crown and shine in heaven.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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