Alazais had been married, probably by her father or her feudal over-lord, to Count Ozil de Mercoeur, for whom she made no pretence of any feeling, not even of esteem. It was evidently a mariage de convenance, as most marriages were in those days, and the love of the Countess of Ozil for her neighbour across the mountains at least did not rob the Count of her affections, since he had never possessed or apparently desired them.
"In essential womanliness," says Justin Smith, "and in the graceful arts of social intercourse, we may think of her as the equal of any lady we have met.... Courtliness was her abiding principle, the true courtliness which consisted in ... graceful speech, in avoiding all that could annoy others, and in doing and saying everything that could make one loved." The mutual attraction of these two, the same writer continues, "penetrated by the fire of two ardent natures, came to be love, as the rich flow of the grape, changing its quality insensibly, acquires in time the sparkle, the bouquet, and the passion that make it wine."
Taking into consideration the times in which they lived, one would suppose that fortune favoured these two, and that for once one should have a nice cheerful story to console us for the many sad ones.
But no; Pons must needs harbour doubts of the sincerity of Alazais, and so he determined to test her by the time-honoured device of exciting jealousy. He therefore proceeded to devote himself ostentatiously to another lady, expecting a "burst of passionate anger" from Alazais. But that lady, one is glad to learn, disdained reproaches and kept a dignified silence. After all, she seems to have argued, Pons was not bound to devote himself to her or to continue to do so if he were tired of it.
So Pons, much astonished and chagrined, "became uneasy," as we are told, "quitted the lady of Roussillon, and returned to pray for pardon." But Alazais apparently thought that trying experiments upon a person one professes to love was somewhat inconsequent, and she intimated that she preferred not to receive Pons. He sent her a song, explaining his conduct.
"Ah, if you ask what urged me to depart," it begins (although, in fact, Alazais had never asked anything of the kind, much to the troubadour's annoyance)—
"'Twas not inconstancy nor fickleness;
It was a wish conceived of love's excess,
To try the test of absence on your heart.
How grieved I, how regretted, when to me