love and marriage have more often been found together, and the notion
has been growing with the ages that the one is the complement of the
other. Marriage, as has been said, was but an imperfect institution at
this time, and in many cases it appears that the code of love, as it may
be called, was quite superior to the civil code. For example, the feudal
law allowed a man to beat his wife moderately, as occasion required, but
respect was one of the fundamental laws imposed by the code of love.
Again, the civil law said that a woman whose husband had been absent for
ten years, and whose whereabouts was unknown, had the right to marry
again, but the code of love decreed that the absence of a lover, no
matter how prolonged, was not sufficient cause for giving up the
attachment. In short, in this world of gallantry the ideals of love were
higher than they were in the world of lawful wedlock, and the reason was
not far to seek.

It cannot be said, however, that these lofty ideals of Platonic
affection which so strongly characterize this brilliant and courtly
society were always carried out to the letter, and it must be admitted
with regret that there are many cases on record where the restraints and
formalities of etiquette were insufficient to check the fateful passion
when once its fires were burning. Every forbidden intrigue was fraught
with danger; indeed, the injured husband is sometimes alluded to as
_Monsieur Danger_, but here, as elsewhere, stolen sweets were sweetest,
and the risk was taken. Vengeance, however, followed discovery, and
swift was the retribution which overtook the troubadour when guilty of
faithless conduct. The tragic story of Guillem de Cabestaing, who came
from that district of Roussillon which is said to be famous for its red
wine and its black sheep, will serve to show how love could not be bound
by laws of honor and how quick punishment came to pay the score.
Guillem, the son of a poor knight, came at the age of twelve to enter
the service of my lord Raimon of Roussillon, who was also his father's
lord, and there in the castle he began his education. An esquire he
became, and he followed his master in peace and in warfare, perfected
himself in the gentler arts of song and music, and paid no small
attention to his own person, which was fair and comely. On an evil day,
however, my lord Raimon transferred young Guillem to the service of his
wife, the Lady Margarida, a young and sweet-faced girl who