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10 himself one of the doughtiest knights in the world and the most beloved of ladies." Jongleurs escorted him like grooms, recited his poems, played his instruments, aspired assiduously to his worldly glory and mastery of song. He needed no home, since all homes were open to him; and he was an incomparable guest. His dramatic genius availed him showily when he was called upon to improvise in the banqueting-halls of noblemen's castles, and the close of his recitals never failed to invite a shower of those gifts of gold and purple and fine linen which were the luxurious maintenance of the typical troubadour.

On his way back to France, the magnificent youth proclaimed his good fortune with his customary lack of reticence.

"My heart beats high," he sang, "for Barral summons me. Praise be to God and to those that reared me! ... I am of those who do not build fancies nor speak too much of themselves, yet this is true: that I love women and fell knights to earth. Many a fine tournament have I broken up, for I deal such deadly blows that all exclaim, 'That is Sir Peire Vidal, the master of chivalry and the pursuit of love, who performs noble deeds for the sake of his friends, who loves battles and tournaments more than a monk loves bread.'"

Azalais, however, proved no more approachable than before; and, tiring perhaps of the minor note of lamentation, Peire decided after a time that he was "a sillier thing to love her so than the mad shepherd who plays his pipe to a beautiful mountain,"—and withdrew.

N the method that he chose of impressing the heart of the fair Loba de Peinautier, of Carcassonne, who next captured his fugitive affections, Peire carried into execution a fancy that a less literal poet would have turned into a neat stanza;—but it was ever his way to amaze mankind by living his metaphors. Poets are by profession the apologists of unreason; yet few, like Peire, have ever been at the pains to exemplify in their precious persons the extravagance that their rhymes so confidently extol. Acting on the suggestion contained in the meaning of his inamorata's name, the poet now dubbed himself "Lop," changed the arms on his shield to "wolf," dressed himself in wolfskins, and hid in the mountains, whither he summoned shepherds to hunt him with dogs. From this piece of folly Peire barely escaped with his life; in addition, it brought him contemptuous laughter from Loba, jeers from that larger audience of which, despite his defiance, he remained always so sensitively conscious,—and a determination, perhaps, to have done with extravagance.

In spite of the breakneck enthusiasm with which he conducted his amours, Peire was, of course, neither a sincere lover nor yet a sentimentalist. On the contrary, the only plausible explanation of his perplexing contradictions is that he was of an extravagantly satirical temper.

Even in his intervals of apparent lucidity, the same strain of mockery is evident, as in those prose writings of his where he seriously extols all the virtues, those in particular which he always neglected to practise. One of the most singular of literary curiosities is that series of precepts which Peire relates that he formulated for a jongleur who applied to him for advice. It is impossible not to believe that this was still another of his often far-fetched jests.

"Be always suitably dressed," counselled Peire, "but never dandified. Let your garments be well made, and so care for them that they shall seem always new. Have an honest mien. Do not speak too much." Again he says: "Do not condemn other jongleurs. Such critics of their equals have the appearance of low jealousy." And again: "As for you, whatever may be your intellect, your knowledge, or your talents, do not boast of them. Be modest and you will find persons who will help you to succeed."

In the conscientious disregard of all these precepts, Peire Vidal rounded out a venerable age; and died finally—unsympathetic historians allege from too free indulgence in wine—at the court of his royal friend and patron, King Emmerich of Hungary. He did not lack for epitaphs; and his distorted sense of humor would perhaps have derived especial unction from the inadequacy of even the most flattering among them.