she sang Haydn's " With verdure"-all purity and poetical description; Bellini's "Casta Diva"-full of noble self-assertion, indignant remonstrance, and fluctuating passion; and the national airs of "Bonnie Prince Charlie" (this song was given at the desire of Prince Frederick of Prussia, who honoured the festival with his presence) and "God save the Queen ;" which last, when vehemently encored, she sang in German.

We had the delight of hearing Mendelssohn play his celebrated concerto in D minor-the one which he composed for the Birmingham festival in 1837; and it is with no disparagement to the three eminent professors whom we have heard play this piece in England, viz: Mrs. Anderson, Mad. Dulcken, and Mr. Moscheles, when we say, that it is only its composer who can render it full justice. His touch is quite perfect: the utmost delicacy and polish are combined with an equal vigour, clearness, and precision.

On the Tuesday and Wednesday there were races given, at which the Prince Frederick, the Prince of Strelitz, and the whole of the court were present. On the latter day the Prince gave a dinner to the whole of the artists who had contributed so much to the public gratification; and in the evening there was a ball prepared in the concert room for the towns people, at which the royal party appeared for a short time.

The orchestra upon this occasion consisted of 126 sopranos; 62 altos; 106 tenors; 134 basses, making 428 voices. The instrumentalists were, 67 violins; 22 violas; 22 violoncellos; 12 double

basses; 6 flutes; 4 oboes ; 4 clarinets; 4 bassoons; 1 ophicleide; 4 horns; 4 trumpets; I bass trumpet, and 4 trombones: 155 instruments, which, with the 2 conductors, and chorus masters comprised an orchestra of 586 performers.

144

AN HISTORICAL SKETCH OF FRENCH
LITERATURE.

V. ON THE LOVE-SONGS OF THE TROUBADOURS.

"He saide hee loved, and was beloved nothing;

Of swich matere, made hee many layes,
Songes, complaintes, roundels, virelayes;
How that he durst not his sorwe telle,
But languisheth as dothe a furie in helle;
And die he must, he said, as did Ecco

For Narcissus, that durst not tell here woe."

CHAUCER, Frankeleines Tale.

VARIED as are the productions of the Provençal bards, the most exalted and conspicuous station in their poësy must undoubtedly be assigned to their love songs. The influence of woman, which, under their Roman conquerors, they had slighted and disowned, was now, under their Gothic rulers, acknowledged in its most despotic shape. Love, as an idol, reigned supreme, and before his shrine were freely lavished those feelings of reverence and of veneration which ought to be excited only by the contemplation of an Heavenly One. Despite, however, this impassioned and ill-directed fervour, despite the laxity of morals which so peculiarly distinguished the age, it must be allowed that these outpourings of uncultivated genius were of unquestionable utility in an age of darkness and of oppression, when the superior trampled with despotic violence on the inferior, when feudalism was dominant, and when a long-continued system of servitude had degraded and brutalized mankind. The joyous strains of the Troubadours naturally elicited corresponding feelings of tenderness and love, and thus, arousing man's mental faculties from the degrading lethargy in which they had so long and so inertly slumbered, awakened him to a sense of his innate might, inspired him with new wants and new affections, evinced the value of social enjoyments and relations, and finally, by leading him from the dark and lowering aspect of the present, to the bright and airy vistas of the future, demonstrated the benefits of mental refinement and cultivation.

The love poems of the Provençals, though they present a profusion, possess but little real sentiment. It has also, with some show of justice, been objected to these compositions, that they are replete with the same ideas, that the same images and the same metaphors

are continually recurring, and that the poetry, which of all others should be the most glowing and impassioned, is, with few exceptions, the most insipid and the most heartless. This objection, however, must be not a little qualified, when we reflect that it must apply to all poetry of sentiment: without any incidents to keep the attention from flagging, this class of poetry is to be enjoyed only when the mind is in a fit mood, and then only by morsels. If perused in this manner, few will deny that in many, at least, of the Provençal love songs, the tenderness and purity of passion are exquisitely described; while in others the gracefulness of the style, combined with the regular return of the metre, present a charm which, though fully sensible of its influence, we find it difficult to account for.

In history in general, but more particularly in that of literature, there are few more important errors committed than by the inconsiderate use of general theories and views; their great misfortune being, that what may be true of literature, or history as a whole, is frequently totally false as to some of the parts of which it is composed. This false criticism is nowhere more plainly seen than in the branch of Provençal literature which we are now discussing, in the consideration of which there are two opposing parties, the one headed by the Schlegels, Raynouard, and the French critics; the other led by Dunlop, Hallam,* and the generality of our English writers. The opinions of both parties are generally expressed without any limitations, the first affirming that the amatory productions of the Troubadours are exquisitely graceful, and tender, and fervid, and beauteous; the second fulmining their anathemas, and decrying them as incongruous, insipid, valueless, and obscene. Both parties are partially correct; for it must be confessed that in many of these poems the boundary of devotional propriety is wantonly overstepped, the language of passion too frequently degenerates into the ungovernable ebullitions of lust, and the praises of true chivalry and honour give place to those of inconstancy and libertinism. These effusions it is which render so revolting, so monotonous, and so in

*See Dunlop's History of Fiction, vol. ii., p. 184; he there says that the compositions of the Provençals "contain violent satires against the clergy, absurd didactic poems, moral songs versified from Boethius, and insipid pastorals." Hallam, also, (vol. iii., p. 541, 8vo. edit.) speaking of these bards, says, "These were the celebrated Troubadours whose fame depends far less on their positive excellence than on the darkness of the preceding ages, on the temporary sensation they excited, and on their permanent influence on the state of European poetry." 19

VOL. X., NO. XXVIII.

sipid, the poetry of the Provençals; and happy had it been for that poetry if this portion at least had been lost in the wreck of ages; the remaining fragments would, like the sacred leaves of the Sybil, have increased in value by diminution in number, and Posterity would gladly have received from Time the gift, two-thirds of which he had consigned to a well-merited Oblivion.

If, however, we peruse these productions with a more attentive and less jealous eye, we cannot deny to some few at least the honourable meed of a well-deserved praise. Some of their fugitive pieces are perfect in their kind, and possess a sensibility altogether intellectual, and a passion as fervent as it is pure. Some of their most pleasing productions are those where we find the sturdy warrior, the knight that mocks at steel and thirsts for danger, sinking before the eye of beauty into the gentle, tender, and submissive lover. These productions breathe a strange combination of amorous and chivalrous feelings; the inborn sympathies of the heart are seldom extinguished: and from the scenes of slaughter and desolation the knight gladly turned to the eye of compassion, and with a heart untainted with bloodshed chaunts alike the loveliness of his mistress and the prowess of his arm.

Exquisite, however, as are some of these amatory productions, it must be confessed that love, as a passion, is too generally misconceived, and addresses itself rather to the head than to the hearts of its hearers. The passion which inspired the Troubadour was essentially artificial, and emanated more frequently from the advantages of present convenience than from any actual passion. This artificial tendency arose, in part at least, from the spirit of chivalry itself-a spirit which, at first sight, would seem to authorise a very opposite conclusion. Chivalry, though it extended the apparent, curtailed the real, influence of love; for by erecting it into a regular system, it degenerated from a generous impulse into a frivolous passion, till at length the knight selected a mistress not from any principle of love, not from any glowings of enthusiasm, but as a proper and indispensable appendage to his knighthood; an object of devotion, to whom he might dedicate his effusions, and desecrate the name of love by giving it to the heartless connection. Chivalry gave scope to many virtues, but it often fostered gigantic vices and sheltered innumerable crimes; and though we may believe that the days of its dominion were as we wish them to have been, though we may fancy that all the ladies were lovely and chaste, and all the knights gentle and brave, we cannot but know that thoughts like these are but the day-dreams of the mind, and that

though the splendour of feudal pomp and magnificence may tend to gloss, they never can hide its real deformity. Wretched in its general jurisprudence, it is nowhere seen to greater disadvantage than in its misconception of love; the tender passion was laid aside for heartlessness, or used only for intrigue and grossness and immorality.

Though many, however, of the Troubadours were thus insensible to the tender passion, it cannot be denied that others, again, were equally susceptible. Thus, Guillaume de la Tour could not survive his mistress ;* Guillaume d'Adhemar died for love; and Pierre Rogiers and Richard Barbesieux† turned hermits. Pierre Vidal, however, stands deservedly in the first rank for genius, extravagance, and absurdity. In harmony of metre and in elegance of expression this poet far excelled all his contemporaries; his talents, however, were alloyed with a most unfortunate propensity to fall in love with every fair dame whom he saw; and whom his inordinate vanity led him to believe loved him in return. His indiscreet boasting caused one indignant husband to pierce his tongue with a hot iron. This, however, had no effect in cooling his passion; for very shortly afterwards he succeeded in stealing a kiss from Adalasia, the wife of his patron, Barral de Baux; for this dire offence the amorous knight was obliged to flee to Geneva, whence he proceeded, as a crusader, to the Holy Land. Here he again fell in love with a plebeian Grecian woman, who was palmed upon him by the nobles as the niece of the Emperor of the East. Overjoyed at his lucky marriage, he immediately assumed the imperial title, had a throne erected, and was only deterred from further folly by the exhaustion of his finances. His enemy Barral being now dead, Vidal returned to Europe, and, renouncing his attachment to Adalasia, was attracted by the charms of Louve de Genautier. In honour of this fair lady he suffered himself to be called Loup; and, by way of still

*Millot, Hist. Lit., &c., tom. i., p. 147.

+ This poet was enamoured of the fair daughter of Geoffroi Rudelle; but having cause to doubt the fidelity of his mistress, he secluded himself for the space of two years

"Miels de domna que fugit ai dos ans.'

He then returned to his mistress, but having still cause for dissatisfaction he resolved to "vivre comme un reclus, comme un ours." He then went to Spain, where he secluded himself, and died "e lai visquet, e lai morti.”—Ray. nouard, Choix des Poésies, tom. v., p. 433; Hist. Litt. de France, tom. xix., p. 536.