A friend of Orri's was Geoffroi de Villehardouin, who has written in French an excellent history of the Fourth Crusade, in which he participated; and although the churchmen complain that "his abandonment of Latin means the ruin of all learning," the use of the vulgar tongue for all kinds of books is undoubtedly increasing.
For the less formal kind of writings there is already a considerable French literature. Conon himself has a book of philosophers' proverbs, a collection of wise saws and maxims that are often attributed to such ancient worthies as Homer, Æsop, Moses, and Solomon, but which have a flavor extremely French. Here you can find many a saying that will long survive the thirteenth century, although it is doubtless much more ancient. "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush"; "All is not gold that glitters"; "God helps those who help themselves"; "A friend in need is a friend indeed"; "Still waters run deep"—all are threadbare wisdom around St. Aliquis, as well as such maxims as do not transmit so well, such as, "Among the blind, the one-eyed man is king"; and, "Famine drives the wolf out of the woods."
But the bulk of this "vulgar" literature is in poetry. The epics (chansons) have been growing ever since a certain Turould is said to have composed the "Song of Roland" not very long after A.D. 1000. We have just seen what a wealth of romances Maître Edmond has at his disposal. The earlier of these tales are mere recitals of war and adventure; but in the later, though they continue in the North French dialect, the South French (troubadour) influence appears. We have stories turning about lawful or illicit love rather than about lance thrusts. The troubadours of the Langeudoc language find now compeers in the trouvères of the northern Languedoil. Baron Orri is a trouvère himself. He has tried his hand at making a chanson on the adventures of the hero Renaud of Montauban; while composers of less exalted rank prepare the shorter fabliaux, contes, and dits which abound with comedy and sarcasm, striking at all the vices and follies of society.
North French Epics and Romances
Baron Orri, however (who is not an original genius), is perhaps to be classed really as an assembleur—that is, he adapts old romances and puts them in a new setting. He changes over stories from the Languedoc or from the Breton to his North French dialect. To-day, at a quiet interval, Maître Edmond takes him aside. "Fair baron, you know that we master jongleurs seldom wish to set written copies of the poems we chant before strangers, but how can I deny anything to so liberal a seigneur as you? I have with me transcripts of a new song concerning Charlemagne's paladin, William of Orange, and another prepared by the great trouvère, Robert of Borron, concerning the finding of the Holy Grail by King Artus's knight, Sire Perceval. Would you have sight of them?"
Baron Orri is only too pleased. Before he quits St. Aliquis he will have possessed himself of the precious parchments, and Maître Edmond becomes the richer by several Paris livres. A fine copy of a great chanson is worth its weight in silver. The monks complain that the capital letters are as carefully elaborated in gold, and the miniature illustrations are as delicately executed, as those in a copy of the Gospel; and that the bindings of embossed leather make the books so heavy that they require reading stands, before which the ladies, nevertheless (neglecting holier things), seem willing to stand all day long.
However, before the wedding guests end their happy day, another entertainer than Maître Edmond is asked to perform. It is Baron Orri himself. He has lived so long in the south country that he has caught the troubadour gallantries. Stories run that he has left three lady loves in three different castles; that he has had a most romantic duel with a jealous husband, which ended however, in a reconciliation on proof that the friendship had been only platonic; and that he is a past master in all the thirty-four different methods of rhyming and the seventy-four different kinds of stanzas with which the expert bards of southern France serve up their sentimental ditties. At a suitable moment just before the noble guests are gathering for the supper Adela addresses him:
"We know, kind Sire Orri, that you are a practitioner of all the 'gay science' of the South. You can sing chansons, songs of love; vers, the poems of slower movement; sirventes, poems of praise or satire; and also are master of the tenso, the debate on some tender subject, carried on in courtly verse. Honor us with your skill; for our northern poetry is rude and uncourtly beside that of the Languedoc."
Barron Orri makes an elegant bow: "Ah, gracious lady," he says, "I wish I could convince you that a good refusal were worth more than a poor gift, but doubtless you would think me rude; therefore, I will obey. Though many of you, I fear, do not speak the beautiful Languedoc tongue, yet in so noble a company I am sure most of you will at least understand me. What shall it be, a tenso by Bernart de Ventadorn discussing most wittily, 'How does a lady show the greater affection—by enjoining her friend to win renown, or by urging him simply to love her?' or shall I attempt a short chanson by that other high troubadour, Arnaut de Maruelh?"
"The chanson—the love song!" cry the company.