thou root and branch of all
iniquity... Greed blindeth thy eyes, and too close dost thou shear thy [89]
sheep... thou forgivest sins for money, thou loadest thyself with a
shameful burden. Rome, we know of a truth that with the bait of false
forgiveness, thou hast snared in misery the nobility of France, the
people of Paris and the noble King Louis (VIII., who died in the course
of the Albigeois crusade); thou didst bring him to his death, for thy
false preaching enticed him from his land. Rome, thou has the outward
semblance of a lamb, so innocent is thy countenance, but within thou are
a ravening wolf, a crowned snake begotten of a viper and therefore the
devil greeteth thee as the friend of his bosom." This sirventes was
answered by a _trobairitz_, Germonde of Montpelier, but her reply lacks
the vigour and eloquence of the attack.

It is not to be supposed that the troubadours turned to religious poetry
simply because the Albigeois crusade had raised the religious question.
Purely devotional poetry is found at an earlier period.[29] It appears
at first only sporadically, and some of the greatest troubadours have
left no religious poems that have reached us. The fact is, that the
nature of troubadour poetry and its homage to the married woman were
incompatible with the highest standard of religious devotion. The famous
_alba_ of Guiraut de Bornelh invokes the "glorious king, true light and
splendour, Lord Almighty," for the purpose of praying that the lovers [90]
for whom the speaker is keeping watch may be undisturbed in interchange
of their affections. Prayer for the success of attempted adultery is a
contradiction in terms. For a theory of religion which could regard the
Deity as a possible accomplice in crime, the Church of Southern France
in the twelfth century is to blame: we cannot expect that the
troubadours in general should be more religious than the professional
exponents of religion. On the other hand, poems of real devotional
feeling are found, even from the earliest times: the sensual Count of
Poitiers, the first troubadour known to us, concludes his career with a
poem of resignation bidding farewell to the world, "leaving all that I
love, the brilliant life of chivalry, but since it pleases God, I resign
myself and pray Him to keep me among His own." Many troubadours, as has
been said, ended their lives in monasteries and the disappointments or
griefs which drove them to this course often aroused