Was the author of the “Razos de trobar” Jewish?

di Ed Emery  

Introduction 

I take as my starting point the known fact that the Jewish communities of al-Andalus were active in the communitarian production of poetry, both religious and secular. Poetry was prized as a worthy human activity [1], and it was enacted, discussed, criticised and collected as a public good. This is discussed in detail in Schirman [1954]. The same can be said of the Arabo-Islamic world: since the earliest days of Islam, poetry was one of the foundational building blocks of society. Detailed discussion of the art of poetry was a commonplace [2]. I am currently engaged in a research project which seeks to establish the potential links between the Arabic and Jewish poetic cultures of al-Andalus and the lyric forms of Early Europe. I propose that the Early European lyric cannot be understood without reference to those cultures. It is an area in which surprisingly little work has been done. 

In the article that follows my concern is with secular rather than religious poetry. Poetry that dealt with personal and social matters, and which also functioned in a transactional sense – eulogistic poetry in praise of patrons (potential and actual), poetic competitions in royal and noble courts, etc. 

Ramon Vidal 

In the poem “Abril issi” the poet Ramon Vidal describes how the narrator (whom we take to be Vidal himself) is walking in the marketplace of Besalú, thinking about life. He is approached by a young poet, who complains that it has become really hard for poets (minstrels, jongleurs, troubadours) to find patronage and employment. Ramon then explains that all is not lost, as long as one learns certain “tricks of the trade”, as one might say. In short, it is a mini-manual of how to succeed as a troubadour. As Sarah Kay puts it: “Abril issi’ e mays intrava [“April was ending and May beginning”] is about how the successful joglar, or performer of lyric, can negotiate varying levels of connoisseurship in his audience” [3]. 

Ramon Vidal of Besalú – his dates are given as “early 13th century”, so perhaps writing 1210-20 – is also the author of a very well-known text – the Razos de trobar – which is a carefully-argued ars poetica in which he details the shortcomings of the poets of his age, and makes recommendations for how they could improve their poeteering. 

One of the striking characteristics of Vidal’s work is the insertion of quotations from other poets – either to show their merits/de-merits, or to make a point. And here we have to appreciate his apparent originality. As proposed by Kay: 

«Many twelfth-century troubadours allude to one another’s songs, reprising phrases or rhyme schemes; they also reiterate material from their own songs, in tornadas, for example, or to link successive songs on the same theme together. But as far as I know, the earliest author to quote entire lines (or more) from troubadour songs is the Catalan poet and grammarian Raimon Vidal de Besalú, and the first work to contain quotations is his Razos de trobar (Rational principles of poetic composition). Dating from the turn of the twelfth to the thirteenth century, this, the oldest vernacular grammatical treatise-cum-art of poetry, quotes famous troubadour songs as models from which Raimon’s fellow Catalans can learn to appreciate or compose lyrics themselves» [4]. [My italics] 

This is not the only claim for primordial originality in the work of Vidal. Again, Kay: 

«Raimon Vidal is also credited with the authorship of three short didactic verse narratives (novas), two of which are extensively peppered with quotations from troubadour lyric and were probably composed by 1209 or 1213» [5]. 

These poems are “Abril issi’e mays intrava”, “Castia-gilos”, and “So fo e·l temps c’om era gais”. Taken together they exemplify Vidal’s approach, using the novas form as a means of teaching, combining narrative, moral instruction, and reflections on courtly and poetic norms. The novas of Vidal are among the earliest examples of this sung / recitational form. They were not the first, but it has been suggested that they were the first to use that kind of profuse incorporation of quoted lyric from other poets. So in this sense too he would be originary, and this claim needs to be addressed. 

The opening lines read as follows: 

Abril issi’ e mays intrava
e cascus dels auzels chantava
josla sa par que aut que bas;
e car remanion alras
vas totas partz neus e freidors,
venión frugz, venión flors
e clar temps e dossa sazós.

E yeu m’estava cossirós
e per amor un pauc embroncx,
sóvé‑m que fó matí adonc,
en la plassa de Bezaudun,
e anc ab me non ac negun,
mas amor e mon pessamen
avíon m’aisí solamen… 

…Venc vas mi vestitz e caussatz
us joglaretz a fort del temps
on hom trobava totz essems
justa ‘ls barós valor e pretz…

E yeu rendrey li sas salutz,
e si be‑m fuy aperceubutz
a so venir, que fos joglars;
si‑m volgui saber sos afars [etc] [6]. 

Translation 

«April was on its way out and May was coming in, and all of the birds were singing, each in its own way, some high, some low; and although frosts remained in all places, and snows and cold, fruits were coming and flowers were coming, and clear weather and a gentle season. And I was standing, brooding a little, because of love. I remember that it was morning then, in the town square of Bezaudun [Besalú], and there was no one at all with me, except Love and my thoughts, which kept me thus, alone… 

«There came toward me, dressed and shod, a jongleur, very much of those times when one found all together, among the barons, worth and honour. I returned his greetings to him, and since I perceived clearly from his manner of coming that he was a jongleur, I wanted to know his business». 

The jongleur enters into conversation, sharing points of view about the state of poetry and courtly life. He reflects on how troubadours had grown careless, forgetting the proper rules and refined manners that should guide their art. He reminds the narrator of the importance of measuring words carefully, showing respect in both love and song, and upholding the honour of the courtly tradition. 

The narrator listens to the jongleur’s words. They discuss the proper qualities of a poet: skill, courtesy, and the ability to teach through both narrative and verse. The jongleur also offers examples of behaviour and speech that should be avoided, warning against arrogance, jealousy, and empty flattery. 

I was originally brought to the writings of Ramon Vidal because they – or the thinking behind them – are foundational in the establishment of European lyric practice. For example, in their proposition of “the best language” for poetry.[7] In this there were echoes of debates that had animated recent Jewish littérateurs in Spain / al-Andalus, and in a moment of reflection it struck me that Vidal is quite a Jewish name, and there were Jewish communities in Besalù and its surrounding towns, and perhaps the author of these writings was himself Jewish. 

In what follows I propose a few lines of investigation that might substantiate this hypothesis. The work is investigative but it is also speculative, and does not conclude by establishing any degree of certainty. It is a work in progress. 

What are the elements that suggest that Ramon Vidal may have been Jewish? 

1. “Tota gens crestiana, juzeus e sarazís” 

Vidal shares with us the vibrant enthusiasm that the peoples of his era and his environment had for the business of writing and singing poetry (the art of trobar). In the opening section of his Razos de trobar he explains how all people like to listen to, and to compose, troubadour poetry. In that well-known passage he includes Jews and Arabs in the picture: 

«Tota gens Crestiana, Juzeus e Sarazís, emperador, princeps, rei, duc, conte, vesconte, contor, valvasor e tuit autre cavailler e clergues borgés e vilanz, pauçs et granz, meton totz jorns lor entendiment en trobar et en chantar, o qen volon trobar, o qen volon entendre, o qen volon dire, o qen volon auzir, qe greu seres en loc negun tan privat ni tant sol, pos gens i a, paucas o moutas, qe ades non auias cantar un o altre, o tot ensems» [8]. 

«All people – Christians, Jews, and Saracens; emperors, princes, kings, dukes, counts, viscounts, lords, vavassours, and all other knights; and clerics, townsmen, and peasants, […] small and great – every day set their minds to composing and to singing: either those who wish to compose, or those who wish to understand, or those who wish to recite, or those who wish to hear. So that it would be hard to find any place so private or so solitary where there are not people, whether few or many, in which you would not always hear someone singing – whether one person or another, or all together». 

In an era of profound anti-Islamic and anti-Jewish sentiment this foregrounding of Jews and Arabs in a positive sense is rather striking. It also argues for a kind of pan-European space of poetry, where the (by now millennial) separation between the Arabo-Jewish cultural spaces of al-Andalus and the trans-Pyrenees spaces of Christian culture was not always so acutely marked. 

2. About Besalú 

In his poetic narrative “Abril issi’…”, Vidal writes about the difficulties faced by troubadours in exercising their trade. Historically it was a period of warfare; the noble courts of Occitania were under pressure and would shortly be decimated by the onslaught of the Albigensian Crusade. The narrator (whom we assume to be Vidal himself) depicts himself as wandering in the marketplace of Besalú. 

There is no reason to think that Vidal is not from Besalú. That is how he is recorded in the historic record. So we might ask a few questions regarding that town, to fill in contextual detail.

Besalú is a small town in the north-east of present-day Spain, just south of the mountain range of the Pyrenees. Historically the county of Besalú extended across the mountains into France. It is 55km from the mountain pass known as Le Perthus (from the Latin pertusum, an “opening” or pass in the mountains). Throughout history, this pass, one of the five major crossing points of the Pyrenees, has been a thoroughfare for trade and commerce; it has also been a transit point for refugees in times of war and oppression. We are reminded of the hundreds of thousands of Republicans who fled Spain after the fall of Barcelona to the fascists in 1939, many of them using the Le Perthus transit point [9]. 

As regards the population of Besalú: The town’s population is currently about 2,500. At its peak in the 10th to 12th centuries, when it was the capital of the County of Besalú, estimates suggest that the total population ranged between 1,000 and 2,500 people. It is not possible to say how many Jews lived in Besalú. However, an intact 12th century mikveh [miqve in Catalan] Jewish ritual bath was discovered in 1964, one of the very few medieval mikvehs that have been found in Europe, and the only one in Spain. It stands beside the gate of the Viejo (Old) Bridge, in Jueus [Jews] Square. Besalú also has the remains of a medieval synagogue [10]. 

Besalú’s Jewish community would have been well integrated into the local economy, and would have been engaged in commerce, medicine, and money-lending. 

At a distance of only 33km from Besalú stands Girona. This city had a notable Jewish presence in its population; it was also an important centre of rabbinical thought. It was the birthplace of Nachmanides (Ramban) (1194–1270), a major Jewish philosopher, kabbalist and biblical commentator (who, incidentally, famously defended the Jewish faith against a Dominican Christian (in fact a Jewish convert) at the court of James I of Aragon – the Barcelona disputation of 1263).  

Just across the border, in France, stands the town of Perpignan. In the early 1200s this town also had a Jewish population, and that population grew significantly in the mid-century, possibly as a result of refugees incoming from Spain. At any rate, there is to be supposed a cross-border relationship between these respective Jewish communities. Moving further along the coast road into Provence there were significant Jewish populations c.1250 in Narbonne, Carcassone, Marseille, Arles, Avignon and Aix-en-Provence [11]. 

In the period when Vidal was writing, the Jewish communities in Provence and Languedoc suffered disruption because of the papal crusade against the Cathars. Where previously southern France had been a centre of Jewish learning and translation (notably as regards philosophy and science transmitted from Arabic sources), the destruction of Occitan court culture notably weakened that environment. Some Jewish scholars migrated to Spain or Italy, thereby shifting the centre of gravity of Jewish intellectual life. These pressures eventually led to the expulsion of Jews from Royal France (in 1306, 1322 and 1394). These new realities will also have materially affected the livelihood possibilities for travelling troubadours and musicians, whether Jewish or not [12]. 

3. The discourse on grammar 

If we now address the Razos de trobar, a substantial part of that work concerns itself with correct grammatical usage in the creation of poetry.

Vidal says that all poets (troubadours) need to know correct grammar, and persons wishing to know about grammar need to know about particular forms. Declensions, conjugations etc.

Thus, as an example of his discourse: 

«Totz horn qe s’entenda en gramatica deu saber qe og partz son de qe totas las paraolas del mont si trason, so es a saber, del nom et del pronom et del verb et del averbi et del particip et de la coniunctio et de la prepositio et de la interiectio […] Ausit ayes corn horn deu menar la[s] paraulas masculinas en abreuiamen et en alongamen» [13]. 

Translation 

«Everyone who wishes to be understood in grammar must know that there are parts from which all the words of the world are derived, that is to say: the noun, the pronoun, the verb, the adverb, the participle, the conjunction, the preposition, and the interjection. […] Likewise, one must know how a person should handle masculine words in shortening and in lengthening». 

Furthermore, he observes, poets should not ignore correct grammatical word-endings just for the sake of achieving a rhyme. 

Thus: 

«Saber deves qe trai, atrai, estrai, retrai son del present et de l’indicatiu et de la terza persona del singular, e den los hom dir aisi, con qi dizia aqel trai 10 caval de I’estable o aqel retrai bonas novas o aqel s’estrai d’aco qe a convengut et aqel atrai gran ben al sieu. En la primiera persona ditz hom ieu trac 10 caval de I’estable o ieu retrac bonas novas o ieu m’estrac d’aiquo qe ai convengut o ieu atrac gran ben mieus. 

Pero En B. del Ventedor mes la terza persona per prima en dos cantars. L’uns ditz Araỳ can vei la fuella los dels arbres cazer, et !’autres ditz Era non vei luzer soleill. Del primier cantar fon li falla en la cobla qe ditz: 

         Escontra-l dampnatge

        E la pena q’ieu trai. 

Aisi a trai, et degra dire trac, car o dieis en prima persona, on hom deu dire trac. En l’autre cantar fon li falla en la cobla qe ditz: 

          la ma dompna no-s meravelh

          Si-l prec qe-m don s’amor ni-m [b]ai,

          Contra la foudat q’i [eu] ‘retrai’. 

Autres! degra dire aisi retrac, qe de la terza persona es trai et retrai, qe aitan mal es dig ie\u\ trai per vos gran mal com qi dizia aqel retrac de vos gran mal. 

De leu po esser qe i aura d’omes qe diran: Έ cosi pogra dire trac ni retrac, qe la rima non anava en aisi?’ Ais disenz po hom respondre qe·l troba[i]res degra cercar motz et rimas qe non fosson biaissas ni falsas en personas ni en cas. [A]trai, estrai si dizon en aqella guiza mezeisa» [14]. 

Translation 

«One should know that trai, atrai, estrai, and retrai are forms of the present indicative, third person singular, and one therefore says thus: as if someone were to say “he takes [trai]  ten horses from the stable,” or “he brings back [retrai] good news,” or “he withdraws [retrai]from what he had agreed to,” or “he brings [estrai] great benefit to his own. 

In the first person, one says: “I take [trac] ten horses from the stable,” or “I bring back [retrac] good news,” or “I withdraw [estrac] from what I have agreed to,” or “I bring [atrac] great benefit to my own people”. 

But En B. del Ventador used the third person instead of the first in two songs. One says: “Now when I see the leaves of the trees fall,” and the other says: “Now I no longer see the sun shine”. 

In the first song, his error is in the stanza that says: 

    Against the harm
And the pain that I take. 

Here he says trai, whereas he should have said trac, because he is speaking in the first person, where one must say trac. 

In the other song, his error is in the stanza that says: 

    My lady does not marvel
    If I beg her to give me her love nor does she refuse me,
    Against the madness that I bring upon myself». 

Here he should have said retrac, since trai and retrai belong to the third person. It is just as incorrect to say “I trai great harm for you” as it would be for someone to say “he retrac great harm for you”. 

It may well be that there will be people who say: “But how could he say trac or retrac, because in that way the rhyme would not work?” To this objection one may reply that the troubadour ought to seek words and rhymes that are not incorrect or false in person or case. Atrai and estrai are similarly conjugated”. 

At this point we have to introduce the Andalusi Jewish poet Moshe Ibn Ezra [c.1055-60–c.1138]. His writing on these matters (in the Kitab al-Muḥaḍarah wal-Mudhakarah [“Book of Discussion and Remembrance”]) can be seen as a kind of advisory handbook on good poetic practice for aspiring poets [15]. In short, an ars poetica. Like Vidal, Moshe Ibn Ezra is concerned for correct grammar and correctness of poetic practice. He is a key figure in the development of Jewish Andalusi poetics, inasmuch as he argued that, for various geo-cultural reasons, the Arabs had the highest culture in the writing of poetry (and also of melitsot, rhyming prose; saj‘ in Arabic), and therefore Jewish writers should attempt to emulate the Arab writers in all things. Furthermore, he looks back at the whole history of Arabic poetics, quoting 73 stanzas from 46 different Arab poets, to show the supremacy of the Arabs in matters of poetry and citing them as models for Jewish poets. 

As an example of grammatical correctness, he writes about singulars and plurals, and in one sample he explains that the word “asher” is indeclinable, regardless of number: 

ומלת אשר יש שתשמש מוכנים מלבד זה, כגון לזכר ולנקבה לרבים ורבות:

 לזכר – “האיש אשר כלנו”; לנקבה – “זאת הארץ אשר תפל”;

לרבים – “והאנשים אשר עלו עמו”; לרבות – “וכל  הנשים אשר נשא לבן”

[Trans: And there are words that are used in addition to apply to both the masculine and feminine, both for the singular and the plural: for instance, for the masculine – “the man who is all of us”; for the feminine – “this is the land that is fertile”; for the masuline plural – “and the people who went up with him”; and for the feminine plural “and all the women whom Laban married” ][16]. [My emphasis] 

What is notable here is that he quotes from other poets, and shows how they erred in their grammar. A given poet “was not careful” in his use of words. Thus: 

ולא נזהר המשורר באמרו:

אל תתמה לכל אלה תמה כי                  באין עצים ואש יאפו בצקם.

[Trans: And the poet was not careful in his use of words…]

[17] [My emphasis] 

In the same way, Ramon Vidal speaks also of named poets who were not careful in their use of singulars and plurals: 

“Et per so qe ancaras n’aias maior entendement, vos en trobarai senblan dels trobadors, aisi con 0 an menat sobre·l nominatiu cas singular et sobre·l nominatiu plural et sobre·l vocatiu singular et dis en autre luoc: 

Bona dompna, vostre cor[s] genz. 

En G. de Sain Lesdier dis: 

Dompna, ieu vos sui messagiers; 

et en autre luoc dis: 

Non sai cals es le cavaliers [etc] 

Tuit aqist nominatiu foron singular alongat [18]. 

[Trans: And because you still have greater understanding, you will find it similar to the troubadours, as they have done on the nominative singular case and on the nominative plural and on the vocative singular and said in another place… etc]. 

I adduce these examples because they indicate grammar concerns that are shared by both men, with the intention of establishing good grammatical practice. Of course, in the medieval period there was no shortage of Classical and Latin texts that addressed the manner of writing poetry, with its customs, conventions and desiderata. Thus the Ars poetica of Horace (1st century BCE); the Ars Grammatica of Donatus (4th century CE)[19]; the Etymologiae of Isidore of Seville (c. 630 CE); the Ars versificatoria of Matthew of Vendôme (c. 1175 CE); and the Poetria nova of Geoffrey of Vinsauf (c. 1200–10 CE), the most influential poetic treatise of its time. However, as between Ramon Vidal and Moshe Ibn Ezra – and this is particularly distinctive – each of the men give examples of correct (and incorrect) grammar by including quotations from the poetical texts of other poets. 

It is therefore tempting to see Vidal as being within the same area of (Jewish) literary concerns as Moshe Ibn Ezra. 

4. On audiences, and listening and understanding 

Part of Vidal’s complaint about the audiences of his time was that they did not listen and did not have the will or the means to comprehend the inner meanings of poetry. This was an important matter, in several respects. Since much poetry and story-telling was oral, active listening (absorbing and passing on) were essential for the continuation of literature. Since he was a grammarian, he was insistent that careful attention should be paid to correct grammar and its preservation of meaning. Much of the Razos de trobar is devoted to this question. Furthermore, since troubadour poetry was built on word-play, intricate manipulations of prosodic elements, subtle references and hidden meanings, poetry could not be rightfully understood without attentive deep-listening. 

Thus, as regards the poets’ own capacities for understanding: 

«In this knowledge of composing poetry (saber de trobar) the troubadours are deceived, and I will tell you how and why. The listeners who understand nothing, when they hear a good song sung, will pretend that they understand it very well, yet they do not understand it at all, because they think people would take them for fools if they said they did not understand it. In this way they deceive themselves, for one of the greatest forms of intelligence in the world is to ask about and to wish to learn what one does not know. 

«And likewise, when they hear a bad troubadour, they will praise his song out of ignorance; and if they do not wish to praise it, at least they will not wish to criticize it. And in this way the troubadours are deceived, and the listeners are to blame for it. For one of the greatest virtues in the world is to know how to praise what deserves praise and to blame what deserves blame. 

«Those who think they understand but do not understand learn nothing through obstinacy, and so they remain deceived. I do not say at all that all the men in the world can become refined or knowledgeable, nor that I can turn them away from their foolishness by my words. But God did not make such a great error that, once something is well explained and well spoken, there should not be some person who understands it. Therefore, although I do not think I can make everyone understand everything, I wish to make this book for those on one side [i.e., for those capable of learning]. 

«This knowledge of composing poetry has never before been set down or assembled so well in a single place; rather, each person had it in his heart according to how refined or understanding he was. And do not believe that any man has ever been a complete master or perfect in it; for knowledge is so dear and so refined that no man has ever fully guarded it all. Every refined and understanding person who carefully examines this book will recognize that. Nor do I say that I am a master or perfect; but I will say this according to my understanding in this book: that any man who understands it and has a good heart for composing will be able to make his songs without any shame» (Marshall, 1972:4) [20]. 

Significantly, in Vidal’s view, the responsibility for good poetic practice lies as much with the public / audience, as with the poets themselves. Thus the creative role of audition in the poetic process. This is something that we find also in the writings of the Andalusi Jewish savant and poet Abraham Ibn Ezra [1089–1164] (indeed this was apparently something for which he was “famed”) [21]. This Ibn Ezra was a biblical commentator. He wrote on the true meanings of the sacred texts, interpreting their literal meanings. He emphasised the importance of listening carefully to the Torah, not just as a passive act but as a means of deep comprehension, inasmuch as true wisdom comes from studying and listening to the words of the prophets and scholars. An accurate interpretation of the Torah depended on hearing and analysing the words with precision. As a grammarian and commentator, Abraham Ibn Ezra stressed that understanding sacred texts requires careful listening to the nuances of language. Thus listening was not just a passive activity but an intellectual and spiritual discipline. This applied as much in poetry as it did in biblical exegesis, language study, or philosophical inquiry, and careful listening was seen as the foundation of true understanding and wisdom. 

This pressing concern for the listening process was perhaps innovative in the literary circles of Early Europe, but for centuries it had been fundamental to Jewish culture. This was one element that brought me to consider a possible element of Jewish thought in Vidal’s poetics. In other words, the stipulation in the Razos de trobar that active listening, audition, was a fundamental constitutive part of the process of poetry. There is, incidentally, a comparable idea in Arabic musical practice – namely that the audience is as much a part of the constitutive moment of music as are the performers. 

5. On novas, machberoth and maqamaat 

Structurally, Vidal’s “Abrils issi’“ – as a literary-didactic text addressing questions of poetry and poetics – is particularly interesting for us. It is a rhyming narrative within which verses are inserted. In the critical literature this approach is referenced as being innovative. Thus Meritxell Simó, when speaking of another Vidal work: 

«A comparison of Ramon Vidal’s So fo·l tems c’om era gais with a contemporary French work, Jean Renart’s Le Roman de la Rose, is highly eloquent when illustrating the different reception of the troubadours’ poetry in Catalonia and elsewhere in Europe. Around the same time, these two works of fiction were pioneers in a literary fashion that would become quite popular around Europe, which consisted of interspersing fragments of poetry lifted from the troubadours’ compositions in a narration in verse» [22]. [My emphasis] 

What distinguishes Vidal’s work from Le Roman is that he is writing to construct an ethical and aesthetic ideal. Using the mechanism of the quote, he shares with his readers the moral teachings of his Occitan counterparts with a view to establishing a canon of authors and texts and connecting them to a certain hierarchy of courtly values. So fo·l tems c’om era gais enacts a poetic debate with the purpose of educating. It seeks to build an ethical model by turning a canonical selection of troubadour verses into authority. 

If we extend our definition of “Europe” to include Spain / al-Andalus, as I believe that we must, there is absolutely no reason for us to see this as a pioneering innovation. I suggest that the structure of Vidal’s novas (narrative interspersed with verses taken from other poets) is equivalent to the Jewish machberoth tradition, which in turn followed from the Arabic maqamaat. The following is a sample inserted verse from a maqama known as the “Poetic Maqama” [Maqama al‑sha‘riyya]. A reflective piece from al-Hariri on the misfortunes of the base “lower” world [dunya]:  

يا خاطِبَ الدّنيا الدّنِيّـةِ إنّـها      

شرَكُ الرّدى وقَرارَةُ الأكـدارِ     

دارٌ متى ما أضحكت في يومِها     

أبكَت غداً بُعْداً لها مِن دار      

Translation 

   “O speaker to the lowly world, indeed it is
a snare of death and a dwelling of misfortunes.
A place that, whenever it makes you laugh today,
tomorrow will make you weep, far from its abode  [23]. 

In Arabic culture, the maqama had the following characteristics: The text was a self-contained narrative episode. It was written primarily in rhymed prose (sajʿ), and this was interspersed with short poetic passages which were either self-authored or were quotations from other writers. In the maqama the emphasis was on rhetorical display, metaphor, and learned allusion [24]. 

In short, the novas of Ramon Vidal has its parallel in the red thread of prosimetrum that runs from Hamadhani [25], through al-Hariri [Maqamat] [26], then al-Charizi [Tahkemoni] [27], down to Immanuello of Rome [Machberoth] [28], Each of these works, in its own way, is a major monument of cultural achievement, and the cultural form was thoroughly embedded in Arab and Jewish culture. 

If Vidal were Jewish he would very likely have been familiar with this maqama tradition as it was represented in Jewish literary culture. 

6. On the question of finding the best language for poetry 

A significant section of Vidal’s Razos de trobar is the discussion about which is “the best language for poetry”. I propose that this topos necessarily refers us back to the well-documented discussions of the Andalusi Jewish writers Moshe Ibn Ezra (who decided for Arabic) and Yehuda Al-Charizi (who opted polemically for Hebrew). 

A key trope of European literature at the start of the 13th century is the question of “which language is best for the writing of poetry”. We find it in Dante’s De vulgari eloquentia [c.1302-5] [29], where he surveys all the dialects available in the Italian peninsula and Sicily, and concludes that they all fall significantly short of perfection, and that an “illustrious common language” needs to be created – and thereby establishes a canon for all Italian literature to come [30]. 

The choice of poetic language in that period of time was relatively open. The Sicilian School had learned their poetry from the troubadours of Provence – and many of their poems contain words from the Provençal, in much the same way that modern British popular song draws in from the hegemonic culture of the USA. Indeed, Dante saw Occitan – the language of the troubadours – as the most refined Romance venacular, and may even have considered writing the entirety of his Divina commedia in Provençal [31]. 

There are many strands in these discussions. On the one hand, there is an element of racism implicit in it. Namely that one language is inherently inferior to another. This is apparent in Dante’s comments on various North Italian dialects (rough, strident and ugly-sounding), and notably the language of the Trevisans: “This I denounce as the height of barbarism” [32].  And “For what the Romans speak is not so much a vernacular as a vile jargon, the ugliest of all the languages spoken in Italy” [33]. 

On the other hand, there is a “seeking of identity”, the creation of a shared cultural space, which is particularly apparent among refugee and migrant communities when they settle in a new host country. It has been a perennial topic within the Jewish communities of the diaspora – as exemplified in the language debate among the Sefardi Jews of Thessaloniki, who historically had to choose between Turkish, Greek, English, Judeo-Spanish and French [34]. 

One important area in which this debate was conducted – indeed, where it raged – was in Jewish literary circles in Spain. Here the polemic was outspoken and specific. 

One key figure was the Jewish poet Moshe Ibn Ezra [Granada, c.1055 – after 1138]. In his long treatise Kitab al-Muḥaḍara wal-Mudhakara [Book of Discussion and Remembrance] he argues that, for historically specified reasons, the Arabic language is the most perfect language for poetry, and that therefore Jewish poets should adopt Arabic poetry as their model. 

Thus: 

«Whatever the Scripture permits is permissible, but since in singing in Judah we follow the footsteps of the Arabs, it is obligatory for us to imitate them as much as we can. […] Since I have already stated earlier that poetry is the wisdom of the Arabs, and that the Jews follow in their footsteps in this art, I will not pay attention to the words of those who deny the relevance of these rhetorical methods, nor to those who argue that there is little need to emulate their practices according to reality and capability. This is because the Arabs have agreed upon these techniques and have made them essential tools for their compositions and poetic structure. When these elements are present in their poetry, they appear charming in their eyes; when absent, the poetry seems dull and unappealing, even if these techniques are conventional rather than absolute truths» [35]. 

And indeed they did so, as Ibn Ezra also did himself, and they wrote either in the Arabic language or incorporating Arabic words and phrases into their Hebrew [Here the key models were the muwashshah, the zajal and the qasida]. 

The other pole of the debate was Yehuda al-Charizi [Toledo, mid-1100s to 1225], a Jewish poet who adopted the Arabic genre story-telling style of the maqamat and produced his own poetic narrative, the Tahkemoni [1218-20], in a genre known as machberot, a monumental achievement, written in rhyming prose [melitsot; the Tahkemoni has been translated into English in an equally monumental effort of rhyming prose by David Simcha Segal]. Al-Charizi translated the maqamat of Al-Hariri [c. 1054-1122] (developed from the earlier model of Al-Hamadhani [969-1007]) into Hebrew, before then composing his own. The Preface to his work spells out the issue in no uncertain terms: for too long Jewish poets have been subservient to the Arabic language – now the time has come to break free, and to establish Hebrew as the “national” language of poetry for Jews. “Hence I wrote this book to raise Hebrew’s holy tower” [36]. While he was deeply versed in Arab literary styles, he felt that Hebrew was the language of theology and religions, so was better suited to national aspirations. In no sense was al-Charizi a minor figure – he had translated Maimonides c.500-page “Guide for the Perplexed” from Arabic into Hebrew. In the Prologue to the Tahkemoni he expresses his admiration for al-Hariri, but then his regret for having translated the poet’s Maqamaat into Hebrew. Thus: 

«Al-Hariri, who left all other poets panting and weary, composed a stunning work in Arabic, rhymed prose wedded with metric stich – even if he dealt in contraband: for lo, his vessel is with Hebrew sailors manned! Demand of its every trope: How cam you here to stand? and the latter will reply, I was stolen away out of the Hebrews’ land. 

…After I had translated the treasure of this all‑but‑prophet to my readers’ pleasure and profit … Forgive me, Lord, I cried, for I am much to blame! Alas my name and my father’s name, that I diverted the Bible’s crystal brook to fructify a foreign book. I made a wrong choice. Look: I tended the vineyards of strangers and forsook my own» [37]. 

Since Jewish littérateurs occupied a key position as translators, mediating various cultural products from the Islamic and Ancient Greek worlds into Early European culture, we can appreciate the intensity of complexity and creativity that surrounded the whole business of arriving at acceptable languages for poetics. 

Within troubadour culture, in his Razos de trobar, Vidal states loud and clear that “Limousin” is the language best suited for cansons and serventes, while French remains the best language for romances and pastourelles. Thus: 

«La parladura francesca val mais et [es] plus avinenz a far romanz et pasturellas, mas cella de Lemosin val mais per far vers et cansons et serventes. Et per totas las terras de nostre lengage son de maior autoritat li cantar de la lenga lemosina qe de neguna autra parladura […] Per q’ieu vos die qe totz hom qe vuella trobar ni entendre deu aver fort privada la parladura de Lemosin. Et apres deu saber alqes de la natura de gramatica, si fort primamenz vol trobar ni ente[n]dre, car tota la parladura de Lemosyn se parla naturalmenz et per cas et per [nombres et per] genres et per temps et per personas et per motz, aisi com poretz auzir aissi si ben o escoutas”» [38]. 

Translation 

«The French manner of speech is better and more suitable for composing romances and pastourelles, but that of Limousin is better for composing vers, cansos, and sirventes. And throughout all the lands of our language, the songs of the Limousin tongue have greater authority than those of any other speech. […] Therefore I tell you that anyone who wishes to compose [trobar] or to understand must have the speech of Limousin very much at his disposal. And afterwards he must know something of the nature of grammar, if he truly wishes to compose or to understand, for all the speech of Limousin is spoken naturally and according to case and number and gender and tense and person and words, as you can hear if you listen carefully». 

There is also another consideration – would his proposed “best language” happen to be the dominant language of the court of the person(s) at whose courts Vidal sought patronage. In other words, was he writing in some sense to please his paymasters? For the moment this must remain an open question. 

With the above I am proposing that Vidal’s discussions around the “best language” for poetry have an immediate and vivid counterpart in the Jewish literary culture that contemporaneously flourished in Spain / Andalus. Perhaps there existed similar discussions elsewhere in Early Europe, but until and unless proven otherwise we might assume that Vidal’s positions reflect those Jewish debates, and also that if he was Jewish he would have been part of them. 

7. The concern for knowledge, wisdom and intellect 

The concern for knowledge, wisdom and intellect is new in troubadour thought. It is notably present in the tradition of tenso / tenzone, where writers seek the opinions of other writers, who then reply in verse. The characteristic – for instance among the sonneteers – of deferring to the greater wisdom of one’s interlocutor at a certain point also tipped over into parody – “Oh you who know so little…” [39]. However, for all its newness in troubadour culture, the concern for knowledge, wisdom and intellect was thoroughly present in Jewish culture of the time (see, for example, Abraham Ibn Ezra’s “Poem on Intellect”, below). 

Meritxell Simo [2024] says: The unusual prominence of the notion of ‘wisdom’ and the figure of the minstrel as a literary motif/character in Ramon Vidal’s work makes sense within this context of ‘reviving’ the memory of and systematising courtly values. The textual nature of the knowledge equated with the conservation of the courtly values, emblematically represented by the poetic texts, confers a crucial role on the minstrel, who becomes the memory and educator of courtly society [40].  [My emphasis] 

Seeking the educated opinions of others was a fundamental part of Jewish culture. The scriptural writings had to be decoded, discussed, and re-coded. The opinions of religious men were habitually sought on matters of correct religious observance. It was a habitual and necessary part of Jewish everyday life, and the problems posed were not always easy of resolution. For instance, the letters that people wrote to Maimonides requesting religious opinions. Thus the following, as regards the responsa [answers] of Maimonides:  The Epistle to Yemen, probably a compilation of several shorter responsa, was written by Maimonides about 1172 in reply to an inquiry (or inquiries) by Jacob ben Netan’el al-Fayyūmi, then head of the Jewish community in Yemen. The exchange of letters was occasioned by a crisis through which the Jews of that country were passing. A forced conversion to Islam, inaugurated about 1165 by ‘Abd-al-Nabī ibn Mahdi, who had gained control over most of Yemen, threw the Jews into panic. The campaign conducted by a recent convert to win them to his new faith, coupled with a Messianic movement started by a native of the country who claimed he was the Messiah, increased the confusion within the Jewish community. Rabbi Jacob evidently sought guidance and encouragement, and Maimonides attempted to supply both [41]. 

In Andalusi Jewish culture, the writing of epistolary verses – together with their respectful deference to the wisdom of one’s interlocutor – was a notable part of cultured life, as noted by Aurora Salvatierra: 

«Among the Jewish elite in al-Andalus, the art of poetry was a social phenomenon that crossed the borders of the purely literary. Writing was an inseparable expression of a way of life and, sometimes, a way of cultivating friendship. This relationship between friends reached a particular intensity in epistolary compositions. [...] Among the Jewish elite in al-Andalus, the art of poetry was a social phenomenon that crossed the borders of the purely literary. The Hebrew poets were a circle of friends who shared a poetic model that they enjoyed. Acceptance of this model as the standard was a sine qua non in order to gain admittance to this select group. The poetry that they created and “consumed” had a remarkable strength that removed barriers between people of different origins, social level, age, education, and so forth who joined this erudite aristocracy» [42]. 

In the writings of the Andalusi Jewish poet, astrologer, biblical commentator and polymath Abraham Ibn Ezra [1089–1164], the highest of value is accorded to knowledge, wisdom and intellect. Words such as הַחָכְמָה (wisdom, khachama), שֵּׂכֶל (intellect, sechel). Indeed he is known for his “Poem of the intellect”, of which this is an excerpt: 

 “שִׁיר הַשֵּׂכֶל” – “Poem of the Intellect” 

הַשֵּׂכֶל הוּא מַלְאָךְ בְּתוֹךְ גּוּף   
מֵאֵת אֱלֹהִים נִתַּן לָאָדָם   
בּוֹ יַעֲלֶה מֵעֲפַר הָאֲדָמָה   
וְיִתְקָרֵב אֶל מְקוֹר הַחַיִּים    

Translation 

The intellect is an angel within the body,
given by God to humanity.
Through it one rises from the dust of earth
and draws near to the source of life [43]. 

And elsewhere: 

אֱמֶת הַחָכְמָה פְּרָי יֵצֶר   
עֵץ תְּבוּנָה יְשׁוּרָיו נִרְחָבִים   
הַשֵּׂכֶל מְאִיר בָּעוֹלָם   
וּבְלִי אוֹתוֹ לֹא־יָכֹל אָדָם לְדַעַת     

Translation 

Truth is the fruit of wisdom’s tree;

its shoots are broad paths of insight.

Intellect illuminates the world,

and without it a person cannot truly know [44]. 

And in relation to his life as a wanderer / exile between countries: 

  נָע וָנָד אָנֹכִי בָאָרֶץ   
וְהַחָכְמָה לִי לְבַד בֵּיתִי     

Translation 

I am a wanderer upon the earth,
and wisdom is my only home [45]. 

Within troubadour [46] and, later, Italian poetic culture, attributions of wisdom, intellect, etc are a distinct discursive historical arrival, and their arrival needs to be accounted for. It seems reasonable to look to the Jewish poetics of al-Andalus for a possible origination of such elements 

8. Were there Jewish troubadours? 

Necessarily, if we propose that Vidal was Jewish, we need to posit the existence of Jewish troubadours within the culture of the area spanning medieval Catalonia and Provence. Frankly speaking, here we are in the realm of “dark matter”. We know that throughout their history the Jewish people have produced musicians, and have been involved in the business of music (despite the fact that religious leaders frowned upon this), but the evidence for Jewish troubadours is sparse to say the least. 

For the impulse to musicality, in a memorable passage in Isaac Babel’s “Awakening”, a chapter in his Odessa Stories, we read: 

«All the people in our circle – brokers, shopkeepers, bank clerks, and steamship office workers – taught their children music. Our fathers, seeing no future for themselves, came up with a lottery. They played it out on the bones of little people. More than any other city, Odessa was possessed with this madness. And it’s true – for decades our city supplied the concert halls of the entire world with wunderkinds. Mischa Elman, Zimbalist, Gabrilowitsch came from Odessa, and Jascha Heifetz started out in our city. When a boy turned four or five years old, his mother took this puny, feeble creature to see Mr. Zagursky. Zagursky ran a factory of wunderkinds, a factory of Jewish dwarfs in lacy collars and little patent leather shoes…» [47] . 

In the account offered by Seroussi, “practicing music as a profession appears to be a characteristic of Jewish life in Christian Spain, as one of the services offered by Jewish vassals to their rulers”. Summarising his account:  Al-Chạrizi (c.1220) dedicated a poem to the Jewish ’ud player Ysh’ayah (yode’a nagen be-kinnor). The illuminated miniatures in the manuscripts of the Cantigas de Santa Maria of King Alfonso X depict Jewish musicians. One of the earliest cases of a Jewish trovador is Yishạq Ha-Gorni, active in Provence and probably Aragon during the second half of the 13th century. In his Hebrew poems, he depicts his own persona as a troubadour, stresses his proficiency as an instrumentalist. He was an exceptional case of a combination of Hebrew poet and troubadour. Most Jews who engaged in this profession in medieval Spain were mainly involved with the dominant non-Jewish culture. In other words, they were proficient in poetry in Romance languages and its musical performance rather than in composing Hebrew poems [48]. 

At the court of King Sancho IV of Castille, the court registers for 1293–4 mention a Jewish juglar and his wife, along with Moorish and Christian juglares. A “Barzalay judeum joculatorem” [accusative] appeared before the court of Jaime II in Barcelona in 1315. Jewish performers appear in the Aragonese sources in the late 1300s with various denominations: mim, jouglar, tocador de viola, sonador de laut, minister, minister de corda, and ministers d’instruments de corda. All these Jewish musicians played string instruments. Most were from Aragon. 

Again from Seroussi, the Barcelona Haggadah (14th century, British Library, Add. Ms 14761) includes a realistic scene of an ensemble of contemporary instrumentalists. The instruments are the pipe (flaviol or flauta de pico) and drum played by the same musician, rebec, lute (guitarra morisca), bagpipe (cornamusa) and a pair of small kettle drums. Another example, the Golden Haggadah (British Library Add. Ms. 27210) (probably Barcelona, c.1320–35, portrays Exodus (15:20): “And Miriam […] took the minstrel on her hand”. The image portrays five young female musicians and two dancers. The musicians are playing a lute, square and round drums, cymbals and two woodblocks. The playing of instrumental music by Jews in territories adjacent to Spain which had also been under Muslim rule is also documented [49]. 

In an item that is particularly relevant to our case, in the list of taxes imposed on the Jews of Sicily in the year 1312, under the chapter titled “cabella iocularie”, we read: 

Nullus Iudeus audeat habere tubas, nec ioculatores zammarias et guidemas secundum ritum Sarracenorum in nuptiis, nisi per cabellotum cabelle predicte. 

Translation 

Let no Jew dare to have trumpets, or jongleurs, or zammarias and guidemas according to the rituals of Arabs in weddings, except where laid down by the cabellotum cabelle [50].

Seroussi proposes that zammaria means zampogna (cornamusa, siringa, gaita); the meaning of guidema is unclear, as is cabellotum cabelle. 

The passage appears to mean that Jews are banned from having Arab-style performances by musicians at weddings except by special permission. I suspect that the instrumentation would have been shawms and drums (commonplace in North African weddings to this day). Rather than bagpipes, zammaria perhaps more likely means shawm, from the Arabic زَمْرِيَّة (zamriyya), although the two instruments do share a common musical space in public manifestations. 

As regards the two Jewish musicians – a man and a woman – figured in the Cantigas of Alfonso X, the man plays the shofar and the woman plays a darbuka drum on her shoulder. It is noteworthy that both of them appear to have a yellow patch sewn onto their clothing, perhaps an imposed mark to identify them as Jews [51]. 

The movements of troubadours, travelling between various royal courts seeking patronage, are well attested. Their travels went two ways across the Pyrenees [52]. 

Elsewhere in Europe there is concrete evidence of at least one Jewish troubadour, namely Süsskind [Süßkind von Trimberg or Süsskind der Jude], a semi-legendary travelling poet who was active in Germany c. 1220–50, who left one Minnesang-style poem and who is portrayed in the Codex Manesse wearing the distinctive Judenhut (Jewish hat) that marks his Jewish identity [53]. 

However, the only named Jewish troubadour who appears in Occitan literature is Bonfilh (or Bonfils), apparently from Narbonne, which is between Barcelona and Montpellier. He appears in a partimen debate with Guiraut Riquier [c.1230-1292], “Auzit ay dir, Bofil, que saps trobar” [“I hear tell, Bonfilh, that you know how to trobar”]. However, Susan Einbinder suggests that Bonfilh may have been an invention of Guiraut and not a real person at all, or that he may have been a stand-in for the Jewish poet Abraham Bedersi [b. in Béziers, possibly fl. c. 1240] [54]. 

In a slightly later period, but nonetheless worthy of note, we have the splendid soundscape account offered by Immanuello Romano [1261-1332] of the court of Can Grande della Scala in Verona, northern Italy, in which Jews and Arabs (giudei and saracini) are both present: 

Quivi babbuini,

romei, peregrini,

giudei, saracini

vedrai capitare. 

“Tatim tatatim

tatim tatatim

tatim tatatim”,

sentirai trombettare[55]. 

As regards the activity of both listening to and creating troubadour poetry, we have Vidal’s observation that Jews (among many other categories of people) were engaged in that activity. “Tota gens Crestiana, Juzeus e Sarazís…” [56]. 

An interesting entry in the Jewish Encyclopedia tells of the badḥan (from the Talmudic word בדח, “to cheer up, make laugh”). These were merrymakers or professional jesters whose business it was “to entertain the guests at a marriage-feast with drollery, riddles, and anecdotes. […] Two men are reported to have represented themselves as such: ‘We are merrymakers (“badduḥi”) and cheer up the sad. Wheresoever we see two men at enmity, we try to make peace between them.’ […] The name given them originally in Jewish writings is “leitsan” [לֵיצָן], a term which occurs in “Asufot,” by R. Elijah b. Isaac of Carcassonne, who lived in the early part of the thirteenth century. The jesters were obliged to possess not only comic ability, but also a certain deal of learning, since those jokes were appreciated most which were connected with Scriptural verses or Talmudic passages. Such scholarly comedians were in vogue largely in the Middle Ages” [57]. In later Yiddish usage the word badkhn / badchen is adopted to mean a wedding entertainer, jester, or clown, preserving a core notion of making people merry at celebrations and in communal life.

At stake here is a critical issue concerning the terms that we use in order to define such people. In the semantic field of troubadour we also have terms such as minstrel, jongleur, jester all of which have variant shades of functional meaning depending on circumstances (musical instrumentalists, professionals, jokers etc). For a person who acts as the pivotal point of a community social gathering, and who uses poetry and song to that end, and who may engage the public in group singing of refrains, we lack a specific English term. My closest approximation would be “choragogue”, and elsewhere I have called the activity “poeteering” – in other words, not simply the production of poetry but the use of poetry as the core of community social events. 

In Hebrew the word מְשׁוֹרֵר [meshorer, from שִׁיר [song] comes close to this. Originally it meant singer or chant-leader, but it later evolved to mean a poet, especially one whose poetry is rhythmic, elevated, or performative (poeteering). This definition is functionally distinct from פייטן [paytan, poet]. In medieval Andalusi usage it also takes on additional shadings. In Ibn Gabirol and Yehudah ha-Levi it means not simply “poet,” but “one who gives voice – through song – to wisdom, prayer, or divine longing” [58]. 

In Arabic poetic culture there is a similar poeteering role played by the zajal performers who are present at weddings and other community gatherings to animate the proceedings by means of poetry and song, which may be improvised and which may engage the public in the singing of refrains.[59] In the context of my ongoing research it will be interesting to make a comparative analysis of zajal practices in medieval al-Andalus and the contiguous and sometimes contemporaneous practices of tenso/tenzone in troubadour culture; however, that lies outside the perimeter of this article. 

9. The name Vidal 

The name Vidal was a common given name among Sephardi Jews in medieval Spain. Deriving from the Latin vitalis, it was possibly used as a Romance equivalent of the Hebrew name Chaim [“life”] [60]. There are records of Vidal Crescas de Caslar, a physician, translator and liturgical poet of Avignon, fl. 1327; Vidal of Tolosa, a 14th-century Spanish scholar who wrote a commentary on Maimonides’ “Yad”; and Crescas Vidal of Perpignan, early 14th century, and his brother Don Bonafos Vidal, who were involved in Maimonidean controversies [61].

10. Some preliminary conclusions 

From the observations offered above there emerges no definitive evidence. However, the material is strongly suggestive. 

Ramon Vidal has a name that was common among Spanish Jews. He lived in Besalú, a town where there was a Jewish community, and within a geographic area where many towns had Jewish communities. He was a troubadour. Jews are habitually represented as being active in commerce, money-lending, bureaucracy etc, but there is very little literature on Jews as troubadours (although we know that they existed).  Was Vidal Jewish himself? He does not state the fact – but then perhaps he would not, because in those days perhaps it was better to conceal one’s Jewishness (given the occurrence of massacres, and racial hostility). So we need to look for other potential probative elements. Literary critics see Vidal’s work as being innovative in various respects. But if one looks at salient aspects of Jewish literary culture in the early 1300s, it is evident that his “innovative” aspects in fact have their counterparts in Jewish literary culture.

The prosimetrum structure of his narrative novas has a large history in the Arabic and Hebrew genre of the maqama. His technique of inserting the verses of other poets into his own is very strongly foreshadowed in the maqama tradition. The scenario of his “Abrils issi’” also matches the classical maqama scenario, of a meeting in a public place between two protagonists and an ensuing unfolding of discourse. His concern for grammar and correct usage among poets has a striking parallel in the writings of Moshe Ibn Ezra. The emphasis on audition – active listening and the contribution that audiences make to the poetic act – is a familiar topos of Jewish writers, not least with the biblical commentator and poet Abraham Ibn Ezra. The surprising arrival of “knowingness” – wisdom, intellectual capacity etc – into Vidal’s writings and into Early European lyrics in general (notably in tenso / tenzone exchanges between poets) is thoroughly foreshadowed in the writings of Andalusi Jewish poets (for instance Abraham Ibn Ezra has a “Poem of the Intellect”). 

Ultimately, and unless one can find specific evidence of his non-Jewishness, my feeling is that the balance of plausibility suggests that either Vidal was Jewish himself, or he was in close proximity to Jewish literary culture. 

Dialoghi Mediterranei, n. 78, marzo 2026 

[*] Abstract

La veridicità storica ci impone di considerare l’area geografica della penisola iberica e della Francia meridionale (Provenza, Linguadoca, estendendosi fino all’Italia) come uno spazio unitario per quanto riguarda la produzione lirica medievale, con specifici artefatti lirici e modalità di produzione poetica condivisi e diffusi in tutta la regione. Questa è la cosiddetta “ipotesi transpirenaica” [the “trans-Pyrenees hypothesis”]. La verifica di tale ipotesi può avvenire solo attraverso una dettagliata mappatura storica e geografica – una prosopografia – delle singole forme poetiche e dei singoli poeti-performer (giullari, trovatori, menestrelli ecc.). Un ambito centrale del dibattito critico fu la definizione della “migliore lingua” per la produzione poetica e la necessità di una “correttezza” grammaticale ed espressiva nella scrittura in versi. Troviamo questa problematica nel De vulgari eloquentia di Dante Alighieri e, precedentemente, nelle Razos de trobar di Ramon Vidal. Le proposte avanzate da Ramon Vidal, sia nella sua poesia sia nella prosa delle Razos, presentano una sorprendente somiglianza con le istanze della comunità letteraria ebraica di al-Andalus nel secolo precedente. Tali somiglianze sono sufficientemente marcate da suggerire che Vidal possa essere stato ebreo.

Notes