The birthplace of Folquet cannot be ascertained with absolute certainty. Most likely he was a native of Marseilles, where his father possessed a large amount of property. It had been acquired by mercantile pursuits, continued for a time by the poet himself after his father’s death, if we may believe an allusion in the Monk of Montaudon’s satire. Folquet, however, did not follow his father’s calling for long. He lived amongst the gay and fashionable at the courts of the great nobles, where his graceful bearing and his poetical gift made him a welcome guest. One of his protectors was Barral, Viscount of Marseilles, and it was his wife, Azalais, who became the poet’s idol, and may be regarded as the final aim and cause of all his further thoughts and deeds; including his ultimate conversion, I do not hesitate to add. Their intercourse was not one of the conventional flirtations so common between troubadours and high-born ladies. Neither was it a mutual and guilty passion, such as existed between Guillem de Cabestanh and Margarida. The old biographer lays particular stress on the fact, that ‘neither by his prayers nor by his songs could he ever move her to show him favour by right of love; and for that reason he always complains of love in his songs.’ These songs fully bear out the statement of the manuscript. Their one almost incessant theme is love’s disappointment. But this theme Folquet treats like an artist. He avoids monotony by an ever new array of striking similes and allegories in which he clothes his longing. What, for instance, can indicate the hesitation of a timorous though passionate lover better than the image of a man who has reached the middle of a tree, and does not ascend further or regain the earth, for fear of losing his chance or his life? Two stanzas of the poem in which it occurs may follow here in the original. They are full of sweetness, and will not offer serious difficulties to the reader, if he will consult the subjoined translation, which I have tried to make as literal as possible. The graceful intertwining of the rhymes bears witness to Folquet’s consummate workmanship, and deserves the attention of modern poets. CANZOS. S’al cor plagues ben for’ ueimais sazos De far canson per joia mantener; Mas tan mi fai m’aventura doler,— Quan bem cossir los bes els mals qu’ieu ai— Que tug dizon que ricx sui e bem vai. Mas cel qu’o ditz non sap ges ben lo ver: Benenansa non pot negus aver D’aquela re, mas d’aquo qu’al cor plai. Per que n’a mais us paubres s’es joyos Q’us ricx ses joy, qu’es tot l’an cossiros.