No More Learning

Amilau, or Millau in Aveyron, on the banks of the Tarn, was the major source of earthenware in the Roman Empire, and site of one of the major bridges over the Tarn. Subject to the King of Aragon from 1172, it was taken by Raymond VI of Toulouse in 1222, and James I of Aragon finally ceded his rights to the town in 1258 to France. Marseille which established itself as a republic during the period was at the centre of conflict for decades. In 1246 it finally passed to Charles of Anjou, Count of Provence.

Bel Restaur, 'the lovely one who restores me', or the Fair Healer, may be Guida da Rodez, 1212-1265, daughter of Henri I Count of Rodez. She married Pons VI of Montlaur in 1226. She was then Baronne de Posquieres, de Castries et de Montlaur, and became a patroness of troubadours.

Ai las e que-m fan mei uehls

Alas, what use are my eyes

If they see not what I prize?

Though summer renew and adorn

Itself with leaf and flower

Yet however I sing and mourn,

She, the lady of pleasure,

Cares not for my prayers forlorn,

I'll sing, I'll die a lover,

So loving her, dusk to dawn,

For little do I see her.

Alas, what use are my eyes

If they see not what I prize?

Although love cause me to sigh,

I'll not complain of a thing;

For the noblest, I choose to die,

Though evil for good may sting,

So long as she consents that I

Hope, mercy she yet may bring,

Whatever suffering I may buy,

I'll not claim for anything.

Alas, what use are my eyes

If they see not what I prize?

I die if her love she'll not give,

For I cannot see or dream

Where I can turn or how I'll live,

If she so distant seem,

No other could please I believe,

Nor make me forget, I deem;

Whatever the love I conceive

The more Love shall I esteem.

Alas, what use are my eyes

If they see not what I prize?

Ah, why does she treat me harshly?
She knows how it comforts me,

To sing, and praise one so worthy,

I'm hers, the more painfully

She exalts or abases me,

I can't prevent it, truly,

Far from her I'd not wish to be,

Though living death is my fee.

Alas, what use are my eyes

If they see not what I prize?

So I'll beg my sweet friend in song,

Please don't kill me, sinfully.

If she knows it to be a wrong

When I'm dead she'll grieve for me,

Yet I'd rather she brought death on,

Than live as her pleasure decree,

Worse than death not to see the one

Whom I love so tenderly.

Alas, what use are my eyes

If they see not what I prize?

Guiraut Riquier (c. 1230 - 1292)

One of the last, if not the last, of the true Provencal troubadours, Guiraut survived the Albigensian Crusade and the wars that effectively destroyed the cultured society that had supported them. He served Aimery IV, Viscount of Narbonne, as well as Alfonso el Sabio, King of Castile. He is also believed to have served Henry II, Count of Rodez. He made this somewhat ironic alba in 1257, a fitting coda to the troubadour era.

Ab plazen

From pleasant

Thoughts now and

Amorous,

Sufferings call

Despite all

Carefulness,

I sleep not though I tire,

So toss, and turn, and gyre,

And desire

To see the dawn.

From such gales

Pain assails

Day and night,

Joy now fails

So prevails

Sad heart's plight,

So at night fiercer fire

Consumes my mind entire,

And desire

To see the dawn.

Sad awake

Till daybreak

Watch I keep,

No pleasure

To lie there

Without sleep,

Joyless love deep in the mire;

So that with sighs I respire,

And desire

To see the dawn.

Bringing harm

Night wears on,

It would seem.

Such chagrin

I've not known

No sweet dream,

For I can't see her I admire,

Though to comfort her I aspire,

And desire

To see the dawn.