all their sweetness only in a Christian atmosphere.  What is characteristic in them is the strange suggestion of a deliberate choice between Christ and a rival lover.  That religion, monastic religion at any rate, has its sensuous side, a dangerously sensuous side, has been often seen:  it is the experience of Rousseau as well as of the Christian mystics.  The Christianity of the Middle Age made way among a people whose loss was in the life of the senses partly by its aesthetic beauty, a thing so profoundly felt by the Latin hymn-writers, who for one moral or spiritual sentiment have a hundred sensuous images.  And so in those imaginative loves, in their highest expression, the Provencal poetry, it is a rival religion with a [216] new rival cultus that we see.  Coloured through and through with Christian sentiment, they are rebels against it.  The rejection of one worship for another is never lost sight of.  The jealousy of that other lover, for whom these words and images and refined ways of sentiment were first devised, is the secret here of a borrowed, perhaps factitious colour and heat.  It is the mood of the cloister taking a new direction, and winning so a later space of life it never anticipated.

Hereon, as before in the cloister, so now in the chateau, the reign of reverie set in.  The devotion of the cloister knew that mood thoroughly, and had sounded all its stops.  For the object of this devotion was absent or veiled, not limited to one supreme plastic form like Zeus at Olympia or Athena in the Acropolis, but distracted, as in a fever dream, into a thousand symbols and reflections.  But then, the Church, that new Sibyl, had a thousand secrets to make the absent near.  Into this kingdom of reverie, and with it into a paradise of ambitious refinements, the earthly love enters, and becomes a prolonged somnambulism.  Of religion it learns the art of directing towards an unseen object sentiments whose natural direction is towards objects of sense.  Hence a love defined by the absence of the beloved, choosing to be without hope, protesting [217] against all lower uses of love, barren, extravagant, antinomian.  It is the love which is incompatible with marriage, for the chevalier who never comes, of the serf for the chatelaine, of the rose for the nightingale, of Rudel for the Lady of Tripoli.  Another element of extravagance came in with the feudal spirit:  Provencal love is full of the very forms of vassalage.  To be the servant of love, to have offended, to taste the subtle luxury of chastisement, of reconciliation—­the religious spirit, too, knows that, and meets just there, as in Rousseau, the delicacies of the earthly love.  Here, under this strange complex of conditions, as in some medicated air, exotic flowers of sentiment expand, among people of a remote and unaccustomed beauty, somnambulistic, frail, androgynous, the light almost shining through them.  Surely, such loves were too fragile and adventurous to last more than for a moment.