y, it follows as a matter of course that
the avowal of such sentiments became good form; the motif that the
honour of the beloved must be carefully shielded, and that no desire
must dim her purity, occurs again and again. But it should not be
forgotten that a poet may love a sentiment for its own sake, without
being in the least influenced by it. Many a troubadour drew inspiration
from an emotion which all praised as the supreme value; even if he had
no earthly mistress, he adored the sublime sentiment. Not infrequently
it happened that a troubadour who had been loud in praise of high love
and denunciation of base desire--a trick of his trade--suddenly came to
himself and changed his mind. Folquet of Marseilles, for instance, after
more than ten years of vain sighing, came to the conclusion that he had
been a fool.

Deceitful love beguiles the simple fool
And binds with magic thongs the hapless wight;
That like a moth lured by the candle-light,
He hovers, helpless, round the heartless ghoul.

I cast thee out and follow other stars
Full evil was my meed and recompense--
New courage steels my fainting heart, and hence
I kneel at shrines which passion never mars.

In an interesting poem Garin the Red implores _Mezura_ to teach him the
way to love purely and nobly; but he is anything but pleased with his
instructress, and comes to the conclusion that her whole wisdom is "just
good form" and nothing else.

But by my merry mood impelled
I kiss and dally night and morn
And do the things I feel compelled
To do--or else, with tonsure shorn,
I'd seek a cloister....

Elias of Barjols, finding that his love will never be returned, and
having no mind to sigh all his life in vain, renounces love altogether.
"I should be a fool if I served love any longer!"

"All you lovers are fools!" exclaimed another. "Do you think you can
change the nature of women?" This is one of the very rare criticisms of
woman; as a rule we hear only of her angelic perfection, wisdom, beauty
and aloofness.

The distinguished poet Marcabru was a woman-hater, and enemy of love
from the very beginning. He said of himself that he had never loved a
woman and that no woman had ever loved him.

The love which is always a lie
And deceiver of men, I decry
And denounce; I had more than enough.
Can you count all the evil it wrought?
When I think of it I am distraught