One—
Amar/Trobar :
The Vocabulary of Love and Poetics
A prerequisite to gathering and interpreting stylistic statements is the ability to recognize such statements when they appear. Having absorbed both the formal approach to trouvère and troubadour lyric and recent historical studies, scholars no longer assume that every troubadour worshiped a high-ranking lady who so stirred his emotions that they "overflowed" into verse. A few have begun to suspect that the Provençal poets' "lexicon of love" is in large part a lexicon of poetry—that the verbs amar and trobar are almost interchangeable. One of the best formulations of this hypothesis is by Edward I. Condren: "Because of what seems to have been a tacit understanding that the troubadour's love was almost always fictional, and because of the explicit belief that love was always the source of poetic power, it does not seem impossible that the word love and the entire vocabulary used to talk about it came to signify for some the creation of poetry" (1972, 191).
The circumspection of Condren's statement appears to have come from a wish to make only such claims as could be strongly substantiated in a brief article, not from lack of conviction. In fact, this view of love and poetry is ubiquitous in troubadour lyric; Condren finds it in songs by Bernart de Ventadorn, Jaufre Rudel, Peire Vidal, Gui d'Ussel, Guilhem de Montagnagol, and, most unmistakably, Raimbaut d'Aurenga. Condren clearly shows how at least one element of the troubadour's expression of love for "the implied lady"—his "desire" (talan )—can function within the lexical field of trobar: it is the poet's intention, his will to compose, his "desire" to make the best possible song.
Paul Zumthor's quantitative analysis of the usage of the pair "to love/to sing" (aimer/chanter ) in a hundred trouvère songs identifies four ways in which these terms were used interchangeably by the northern French poets. Zumthor is much less reserved than Condren about his conclusion: "However one envisions this situation, it seems to me obvious that the connotative (if not the denotative) clusters represented by 'to sing' on the one hand, and 'to love' on the other, comprise a vast zone of intersection. I would scarcely hesitate to press the metaphor further and to announce bluntly that 'to love' 1 (referring to the subject of the song) is included in 'to sing' " (1971, 135). Zumthor cautiously includes the Occitan poet Bernart de Ventadorn, "whose songs more than the others' furnished the trouvères with the procedures of their art," among the poets conscious of "the circularity of the song," where "the poem is a mirror of the self . . . a mirror which is his eyes [i.e., the singer's eyes], which are Love, which is the Song" (p. 139).
One might object that the troubadours are exempt from Zumthor's conclusions because his concept of the "circular song" depends on the "impersonal I" of the trouvères: only when the "I" and the "you" of the poem recede can "it," the song, become its own self-fulfilling motivation. For the troubadours of around 1170, a highly individualized "I" dominates the song, and it is only the lady who vanishes. This objection can be met in at least two ways. First, "I sing" and "I love" can be equivalent or intersecting activities without weakening the identity of the speaker; on the contrary, the absence of an identified love object intensifies the song's reference to the performing self, and to what it performs. Second, the "individualism" of the troubadours serves their art: these poets have crafted for themselves stage personalities perhaps based on, but probably not identical with, their private characters (Sutherland 1965; Stevens 1978).
Although the intersection of amar and cantar cannot, without a great deal more and better evidence, settle the historical question of the origins of troubadour lyric,[1] I am convinced that it can assist us in reading troubadour lyric. It can, for example, explain "the split role of the persona"—as lover and as singer—of the most famous (and most apparently sincere in his fin' amors ) of all the troubadours: Bernart de Ventadorn. In an analysis emphasizing the distinctness of the two roles rather than claiming identity for them, Mariann S. Regan (1974) arrives at surprising results: singer and lover receive unequal emphasis, because time and
again in Bernart's songs the dissatisfactions of the unfulfilled lover are transcended and diminished by the artistic fulfillment of the singer.
For the most part, then, the argument that the vocabulary of amor intersects that of trobar has been restricted to the words amar/trobar/chantar themselves and their derivatives. Those who have carried the argument beyond this restriction have limited their claims to a single word (for example, as Condren explains talan, "desire" = "intention"), to a single poet's work, or to a single poem.[2]
Nevertheless, the vocabulary of fin'amors (pure love) has been thoroughly studied and categorized, both in specialized articles and in comprehensive studies. In a review of such a work, Jean-Charles Payen (1978, of Cropp 1975) complains that "the ideological dimension" is lost when the poets' words are defined solely with reference to the experience of the lover and not of the whole man in his social and historical setting. The entire courtly vocabulary should be reinterpreted, Payen argues, with sensitivity to a broader range of connotation. I would add to this, since "the lover" is essentially a fictitious persona in this poetry, and since "the whole man" is not represented in the spectacle of the canso, that the "ideological dimension" through which the courtly vocabulary most needs reinterpretation is the artistic ideology of the cantador/trobador (singer/poet).
Before presenting details of this dual vocabulary, where words of love function to describe poetic activity, let me stress that in the chapters to follow I use this mode of interpretation sparingly and with caution. Just as one cannot assume that a poet is always singing about a lady, one cannot assume that he is always singing about his art. My overall purpose has not been to write the dictionary of poetic terms, but to discover how the medium of transmission—no less than the individual creators—made choices of style, form, and flexibility in troubadour song. It is helpful to be able to recognize the subtle affirmations of stylistic preference, and not only the explicit ones. To this end, I will briefly sketch some of the ways in which the troubadours use this ambivalent vocabulary to weave together their two dominant subjects.
We have already seen the most important field of terms that take both amor and trobar as their object: the poet's will, his motivation to attain his object.[3] These terms have in the past been construed as always marking the influence of a lady. They are all words for intention. The most important of these are voler, talan, dezir (will, wish, desire), as well as cor
and coratge (heart); the category includes words that indicate the attitude of volition, such as ardir (burn), s'eslaissar (rush [to]), and s'esforsar (force oneself [to]). Raimbaut d'Aurenga combines the poet's "desire" and the activity that fulfills it in one word: rima ("I burn" or "I rhyme").[4]Joy is already well recognized as the creative impulse of poetry; few scholars still translate it jouissance .
The mental labor that precedes trobar is expressed by a group of words that have usually been taken as signs of the lover's pain, distress, and preoccupation with the lady.[5] To the courtly definitions of these words one should add an artistic connotation, since the poet "meditates" on both love and song. Pessar and cossir (think, worry) direct themselves toward "creating the song" as often as toward "loving a lady." The selection of words and rhymes is governed by chausimen (discernment), the ability to triar son melhs . The first, chausimen, is easily confused with jauzimen (enjoyment);[6] this word and triar (separate, discern) have both been read as referring exclusively to the selection of lovers or moral codes rather than of rhymes. Albir refers to a more decisive stage of thought (cf. mos albirs, "in my judgment"). A poet rapt in "thinking up" his song is "thoughtful": pensius, cossiros, or cabals .[7]
Poetic control is generally expressed as a bond tied by Amors, by an unspecified feminine agent, or by the poet. Such verbs as lassar and liar (tie, bind), tener en fre (keep in rein), metre cadena (enchain), and serrar (constrain) take as their object sometimes motz or vers (word, poem) and sometimes the speaker, me, mos cors (my heart/body) or his volers (will, desire). Esmerar (to purify) is something the poet does either to his song or to himself; the same is true of melhurar (to improve). The song can also take the reflexive form of these verbs and "purify itself" or "improve itself." Both the poet and his poem "grow" (cresc ). Loss of poetic control, which the poet usually denies, participates in the same vocabulary as does discourtesy toward ladies: faillir/faillensa (fail, failure), franher/frachura (break, fracture), desmezura (breach of good measure). The usage of such terms suggests that at times the poet becomes identified with his poem: mos cors s'esmera (my heart/body purifies itself) makes very little sense if we imagine the poet taking a bath; he is purifying "himself," which is his "performing self," and thus his "performance":
Per que·us deu ben esser plus car
mas mos cors yes vos s'esmera
si que res no·i pot camjar.
(R d'Aur, 26, 49–51)
Therefore I should be more dear to you, since my being [ cor ]
refines itself toward you in such a way that nothing can be
changed in it.
The claim "nothing can be changed in it" is strongly associated with claims for the stability of the song. Thus, the poet's identification with his song can alert us to subtle declarations about his choice of style and his hopes for its success.
The poet's enemies—and he spends much of his time defaming them—are those who "speak ill," the lausengiers . Marcabru has also called them trobador bergau , "hornet troubadours." They are rivals, bent on destroying or stealing the poet's reputation, love, and songs. They do not "speak ill" merely by gossiping, but by singing badly: they twist one's words. Much like the comic figure of the blundering jongleur, and often indistinguishable from him as an avol chantador (bad singer), the lausengier makes songs pejurar (get worse), and instead of singing he shouts (cridar ), twitters (braire ), or bleats (bramar ). His evil speech (mal dich ) brings dan, mal trach , and trebalh —damage, abuse, and trouble. Some words for gossip serve also as words for publication: mazan (the noise of rumor) can mean applause; ressos (echo) can mean good fame or ill; espandre (spread) can refer to the circulation of a rumor or of a song.
The virtues making up the troubadours' "implied lady" are attributes of songs:
Ai, bon'amors encobida,
cors be faihz, delgatz e plas
frescha chara colorida
cui Deus formet ab sas mas!
(B Vent 30, 50–53)
Ah, desired good love, body well made, delicate, and smooth,
fresh, colorful face, that God shaped with his hands!
If there is a lady here, she is an aspect of Amors (Love), as is the song; she has not quite materialized. Bon'amors conjures up a body and a face, both praised with the same words that poets use to boast about their songs: the body is "well made, delicate, and smooth" like a good melody, and the face is "fresh" and has "color," like a rhetorical trope. The greatest distinction between this being and a song is that she is God's handiwork, rather than Bernart de Ventadorn's. Yet since for us she exists only as this description, even she is Bernart's construct. Like the canso (love
song), the implied lady is frequently described as doussa, clara, franca, and gaia —sweet, clear, free, and gay. It does not matter who she is, as long as she, like a song, is "refined and purified":
S'ieu lieys pert per son folhatge
ieu n'ay autra espiada
fina, esmerada e pura.
(Mcb 28, 31–33)
If I lose her through her folly, I have glimpsed another one—
refined, purified, and spotless.
She is coind'e avinen, plazen, rizen (appealing and comely, pleasant, and laughing). So are many songs. If her love seems too steadfast ever to change, the speaker calls it veraia, certa, and segura —true, sure, and secure. So he may call his most stable songs. If she is "difficult," he complains that her behavior toward him is fer, greu, and escur —hard, difficult, and dark, like obscure poetry. He will not associate with a woman he considers vilana (lowly), or with obra vilana (lowly work).
Benefits conferred by the "implied lady" are implicitly verbal or musical as well as erotic. She "accords" favors or "accords with the speaker"—acort and acordar refer to "setting words to music." The benenansa and melhurament she offers "advance" the singer or "improve" the song. Solatz, plazer, and gaug —company, pleasure, and amusement—are to some extent conversational favors, bestowed in words. The speaker petitions for merce, the reward or prize for a good poem in the form of applause and money, of approving speech, or of a kiss.[8] The addressee may "reward" the poet in other ways: by "understanding" him (entendre ), by "retaining" him (retener ), or by "understanding" and "retaining" the song, memorizing it (aprendre ), and "knowing" its contents (saber ).[9]
Once having tried this approach, the reader will develop a sense of whether these meanings are applicable in a given context. I offer the method of "translation" from amor to trobar as a useful tool, capable of bringing out one of the "ideological dimensions" of troubadour language: the dimension of the poet's artistic intent. The troubadours are extremely self-conscious, and they are conscious of at least two and perhaps three "selves," for they portray the lover, the poet, and the song with which he identifies himself and which is the means of conveying all three portrayals. Their audience, moreover, was quite sophisticated by
1170. Entendadors were amateurs who "understood" this art not only through practice in careful listening but in many cases through practice in singing and composing songs too. They were interested in the techniques of expression as much as in the thing expressed.
Reading what may appear to be a declaration about love as a declaration about the love song calls for a kind of interpretation with which the troubadours are quite familiar. Their idea of the poem as drogoman or messatge —as "translator" or "messenger," as diplomatic envoy—shows their awareness that the poem allows them to move between two worlds, giving form and sense to the shapeless "sighs and tears" of inarticulate emotion:
Ma chansos er drogomanz
lai on eu non aus anar
ni ab dretz oillz regardar,
tan sui conques e aclus.
(R Berb 2, 45–48)
My song will be an interpreter, there where I dare not go nor
dare look with direct gaze because I am so vanquished and
downcast.
The idea of "the song as go-between" proposes a solution to the difficult double task of rendering the lover's "spontaneous emotion" believably in the highly artificial medium of rhymed verse with responding strophes. The song arbitrates between language and eros, imparting some of each of the other. Through its language, especially through the language of double reference, the poem can work out a treaty, act as diplomat, between separate "registers" of language; as ambassador, fluent in the idioms of both sender and receiver, it can "translate" from one code to another, addressing a feudal petition as an amorous one, interpreting the senses for the mind, making the language of poetic technique intelligible to "native speakers" of the language of social intrigue. The "game for one player" (whose object is artistic perfection) and the "game for two players" (whose object is fulfillment in love) share in language that applies to the larger "work" of the community—religion, economics, politics, as well as humbler activities like building and baking.
Bernart Marti does not despair over the incongruity of his two masks or over the need to end the lover's soliloquy with a request for praise of
the poet's skill. He sees himself as a kind of civil servant, a political arbiter. The verb entrebescar, among other meanings, denotes the patterned intertwining of sound and sense. Bernart makes of it, and of Amors, a sort of whimsical proper name; he describes his own diplomacy as a poet who sings both of love and of poetry:
N'Eblon man yes Margarida
lo vers per un mesatgier,
qu'en lui es amor jauzida
de don'e de cavalier.
Et ieu soi sai ajustaire
de dos amicx d'un vejaire,
n'Aimes e·n L'Estrebesquiu.
N'Aimes e·n L'Estrebeschaire
son dui amic d'un vejaire
. . . ab l'entrebeschiu.
(B Mar 7, 57–66)[10]
To Sir Ebles near Margarida I send the verse by way of a mes-
senger, for through it love is enjoyed between ladies and
knights. And, here, I am the adjustment officer between two
friends of one mind, Sir Love and Sir Intertwine.
Sir Love and Sir Intertwine are two friends of one mind . . .
with intertwining.
For Bernart, as for many other troubadours, love is a matter of language. Except for the most intimate moments, it consists entirely of speeches, pleas, promises, agreements, avowals—in short, of words. Bernart does not confine this observation to the sublimated spiritual love that one often hears ascribed to the troubadours, those pleas and flatteries from afar. Even the kiss, the "reward" (merces ) of the petition for love, is for him a "linguistic act":
C'aisi vauc entrebescant
los motz e·l so afinant:
lengu'entrebescada
es en la baisada.
(B Mar 4, 60–64)
Thus I intertwine the words and the music, refining [com-
pleting] them: tongue [language] intertwined is in the kiss.
Bernart suggests that a good song provides its own "prize" for the cantador, if the amador 's prize is a lady's kiss. The "intertwining tongue" boasts simultaneously of the lover's success and of the poet's craft. Bernart shows us the one moment when lovers, after so much talking, are "tongue-tied."
Ultimately, eros is subsumed into language, and not the other way around. This book concentrates, therefore, on what the poets tell us about their words rather than about their loves. What was "the lyric" to them? What were its ideals, its limitations? The first step in understanding their conception of poetry is to understand their medium.