French Romance of the Later Middle Ages: Gender, Morality, and Desire

F R E N C H RO M A N C E O F T H E L AT E R M I D D L E AG E S

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French Romance of the Later Middle Ages Gender, Morality, and Desire RO S A L I N D B ROWN - G R A N T

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Great Clarendon Street, Oxford ox2 6dp Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in Oxford New York Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto With oYces in Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries Published in the United States by Oxford University Press Inc., New York # Rosalind Brown-Grant 2008 The moral rights of the author have been asserted Database right Oxford University Press (maker) First published 2008 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose the same condition on any acquirer British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Brown-Grant, Rosalind. French Romance of the Later Middle Ages : Gender, Morality, and Desire / Rosalind Brown-Grant. p. cm. ISBN 978–0–19–955414–0 1. French literature–To 1500–History and criticism. 2. Romances–History and criticism. 3. Sex role in literature. 4. Ethics in literature. 5. Desire in literature. I. Title. PQ155.S48B74 2008 843’.209–dc22 2008027673 Typeset by SPI Publisher Services, Pondicherry, India Printed in Great Britain on acid-free paper by Biddles Ltd., King’s Lynn, Norfolk ISBN 978–0–19–955414–0 1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

For Steve, always my Wrst and closest reader

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Preface Whilst French romances of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries have long enjoyed a privileged place in the literary history of France, romances from the later middle ages have been largely neglected by modern scholars, despite their central role in the chivalric culture of the day. In particular, although this genre has been seen as providing a forum within which ideas about masculine and feminine roles were debated and prescribed, little work has been done on the gender ideology of texts from the fourteenth and Wfteenth centuries. This study seeks to Wll this gap in the scholarship by analysing how the views of gender found in earlier romances were reassessed and reshaped in the texts produced in the moralizing intellectual environment of the later medieval period. In order to explore these topics, this book discusses Wfteen prose romances written in the century from 1390, many of which were commissioned at the court of Burgundy. It addresses key issues in recent studies of gender in medieval culture including the construction of chivalric masculinity, the representation of adolescent desire, the social and sexual roles of husbands and wives, and power relations between the sexes. In addition to oVering close readings of these texts, it shows how the romances of the period were informed by ideas about gender which circulated in contemporary works such as manuals of chivalry, moral treatises, and marriage sermons. It thus aims not only to provide the Wrst indepth study of this little-known area of French literary history, but also to question the critical consensus on the role of gender in medieval romance that has arisen from an exclusive focus on earlier works in the genre. Moreover, the book concentrates on the historico-realist romances which predominated in the late medieval period, works which made limited reference to the supernatural and instead presented their heroes and heroines as real-life Wgures. It therefore examines texts which followed very diVerent narrative conventions from the Arthurian stories which are often regarded as the norm in medieval romance. Rosalind Brown-Grant

Acknowledgements I would like to thank the Arts and Humanities Research Council for awarding me funding to take extended research leave in 2001, during which period the foundations of this study were laid. I would also like to thank the Leverhulme Trust for awarding me a Major Research Fellowship from October 2004 to September 2006 which allowed me to complete this study in its entirety. I am deeply indebted to the three colleagues who kindly agreed to act as the referees for my applications to these funding bodies: Simon Gaunt, Angus J. Kennedy, and Roberta L. Krueger. I am equally grateful to Marie-Claude de Cre´cy, Rebecca Dixon, Liliane Dulac, Thelma Fenster, Jane Gilbert, Marie-Anne Hintze, Karen Pratt, and Craig Taylor for generously agreeing to read particular chapters of the book or articles which have been incorporated into it; as I am to Adrian Armstrong, Catherine Attwood, Estelle Doudet, Miranda GriYn, Sylvia Huot, Angus J. Kennedy, Elizabeth L’Estrange, and Jocelyn Wogan-Browne for their help in answering queries or their contribution to the discussions of various papers which I gave at seminars and conferences in the early stages of preparing this study. Parts of Chapters 3 and 4 of this book have previously been published elsewhere and I would like to express my gratitude to Bernard Ribe´mont, editor of the Cahiers de recherches me´die´vales, and to Brepols, for their kind permission to incorporate this material into the book. I would also like to thank the Masters and Fellows of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, for permission to reproduce the miniature contained in Corpus Christi College MS 91, fo. 1r . I would also like to express my thanks to the staV at OUP, on both the commissioning and editing sides, who helped to prepare the typescript for publication, and to the anonymous readers who oVered useful suggestions for its improvement. Finally, I am as ever hugely indebted to my husband, S. H. Rigby, for his unfailing support and untiring willingness to read and comment on successive drafts of my work. It is to him that this book is fondly dedicated.

Contents Note to the Reader

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Introduction: Reassessing Late Medieval Romance (i) The ‘Waning’ of Romance in the Late Middle Ages? (ii) Recent Approaches to Late Medieval Romance (iii) Gender and Romance

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1. ‘Re´cits d’Armes et/ou d’Amour’: Love, Prowess, and Chivalric Masculinity (i) Late Medieval Discourses on Chivalry: Vocation, Rulership, Companionship, and Love (ii) Problematizing Premarital Love in Late Medieval ‘Re´cits d’Armes et d’Amour’ (iii) The Congruence of Passion and Politics in Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice (iv) The Politics of Love Unveiled in Rambaux de Frise (v) Chivalric Prowess and the Threat of Female Autonomy in Versions of Blancandin (vi) The Trauma of Unrewarded Love-Service in Jehan d’Avennes (vii) Heterosexual Love versus Homosocial Duty in Gilles de Chin (viii) Male Doubling and the Displacement of Desire in Olivier de Castille (ix) Conclusion 2. Youthful Folly in Boys and Girls: Idyllic Romance and the Perils of Adolescence in Pierre de Provence and Paris et Vienne (i) Views of Adolescence in the Late Middle Ages (ii) The Adolescent in ConXict: Youthful Disobedience versus Parental Authority (iii) The Adolescent in Love: Youthful Sensuality versus the Demands of Chastity (iv) The Adolescent in Exile: The Pursuit of Love versus Adherence to Social Duty (v) Conclusion

15 17 29 31 36 39 44 55 63 76 79 81 88 103 113 127

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3. Husbands and Wives in Marital Romance: The Trials of Male Adultery, Bigamy, and Repudiation (i) Late Medieval Views of Marriage: Canon Law, St Joseph, and Marital Practice (ii) Sex and the ‘Singleman’: Sterility, Adultery, and Companionate Marriage in the Roman du Comte d’Artois (iii) Exemplary Wives: Bigamy, Fidelity, and the Pursuit of Salvation in Gillion de Trazegnies (iv) Like Father, like Son? The Child as Model for the Repudiating Parent in Tales of the Seigneurs de Gavre (v) Conclusion

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4. Incestuous Desire versus Marital Love: Rewriting the Tale of the ‘Maiden without Hands’ in Versions of the Manekine and the Roman du Comte d’Anjou (i) Representing Incest: Courtly Passion, Brute Impulse, and Index of Tyranny (ii) Representing Marital Desire: Spousal AVection, Male Aggression, and Reasoned Political Choice (iii) Conclusion

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Conclusion: Romance in a Moralizing Culture

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Bibliography (i) Primary Texts (ii) Secondary Sources Index

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Note to the Reader Abbreviations of primary sources appear in the Bibliography. All line, page, or folio references to primary romance texts will be placed in brackets and will immediately follow quotations given in the body of each chapter. All line, page, or folio references to other primary texts will appear in the footnotes.

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Introduction: Reassessing Late Medieval Romance ( I ) T H E ‘ WA N I N G ’ O F RO M A N C E I N T H E L AT E M I D D L E A G E S ? If the twelfth and thirteenth centuries are commonly regarded as the apogee of French society and culture in the middle ages, then it is a critical commonplace that the fourteenth and Wfteenth centuries were an era of ineluctable decline. At best, this turbulent time in French history has been judged as a period of transition between, on the one hand, the renewal represented by the twelfthcentury intellectual renaissance and the development of the universities in the thirteenth century and, on the other, the advent of humanism and rise of political absolutism in the sixteenth century.1 At worst, it has been dismissed as an age of violence, corruption, and social disintegration.2 The most inXuential of these negative interpretations has, of course, been that of Johan Huizinga, whose analysis of this period in terms of an increasing divergence between its supposed chivalric ideals and its actual military and social practice, and of the pernicious eVects wrought on the country by papal schism, civil and external warfare, pestilence, and famine, has cast a long shadow over studies of late medieval France and Burgundy.3 For Huizinga, behind the facile emotions, ostentatious displays of wealth, and vainglorious adherence to empty convention and ceremonial which he saw as symptomatic of this period in French and Burgundian history, stood only a backward-looking belief in outmoded hierarchies. Such negative assessments of the historical climate of the later middle ages have also had a lasting eVect on views of the literary culture of this period.4 Thus, although Huizinga may have been writing over eighty years ago, his opinions are still being echoed in general surveys of French medieval literature in which the twelfth and thirteenth centuries are usually seen as a literary ‘golden age’, one in which most of the major genres that were to dominate the culture of medieval

1 Beaune 1985. 2 Tuchman 1978. 3 Huizinga 1955 (1st published in English in 1924).

4 Kilgour 1937.

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Introduction

France—the chanson de geste, romance, hagiography, and the fabliau—were invented or developed into their classic form.5 In this received wisdom, the following two centuries saw an irreversible decline in the quality of works belonging to these genres: for example, epic tales grew interminably long and derivative as they were reworked into prose and hagiographical texts became ever more condensed and formulaic as they were gathered into compendia such as the Le´gende dore´e. Lyric and drama alone have escaped being evaluated by scholars according to this pattern of a superior twelfth- and thirteenth-century ‘before’ and an inferior fourteenth- and Wfteenth-century ‘after’,6 with the lyric being deemed to have developed new stanzaic forms in the late middle ages,7 and drama being regarded as having reached its peak in this period in terms of its inventiveness, variety, and range.8 It is thus no accident that these two genres have received the most attention from scholars in what is otherwise a denigrated and neglected period of French literary history. Indeed, critics’ tendency to judge texts of the past by the subjective criterion of modern literary taste has meant that they have shown a lack of enthusiasm even for those genres such as the allegorical poem, courtesy books, and treatises on warfare and chivalry which did Xourish in the later middle ages.9 Of all the earlier genres which continued to be written and rewritten in the fourteenth and Wfteenth centuries, it is romance which has undoubtedly received the worst reception from modern scholars. In part this is due to the fact that most late medieval works of this type were written in prose, a form which critics have tended to interpret negatively as a symptom of ‘bourgeois realist’ inXuence on aristocratic culture.10 Romances of this period have thus largely been dismissed as repetitious tales of ‘armes et amours’, the dying gasp of an exhausted literary tradition, with only the odd late Wfteenth-century exception such as Antoine de La Sale’s Jehan de Saintre´ or the anonymous Jehan de Paris, which are routinely praised in literary histories for having broken with the generic conventions of their time and for having anticipated the future development of the novel.11 As Michel Zink has put it: ‘Personne ne lit plus les romans du xive et xve sie`cles. On les juge sans les connaıˆtre a` travers la folie de Don Quichotte, dont on les tient 5 Muir 1985; and Berthelot 1989. 6 See Muir 1985, p. 209: ‘For the next two centuries, the exploits of Arthur or Charlemagne and their followers, or the antics of Renart and his fellows, [ . . . ] are endlessly retold but only rarely revitalised. [ . . . ] Other genres, such as lyric and didactic poetry and drama, were more fortunate.’ 7 Paden 1998. 8 Muir 1985, p. 208. 9 See e.g. Ashley and Clark 2001, p. x: ‘The perceived nonliterariness of conduct literature—its didacticism, its supposedly simple rhetoric—has resulted in its marked absence until recently from literary histories.’ 10 Hatzfeld 1963 attempts to rehabilitate the literature of the 15th cent. as being more than just a ‘litte´rature de transition’, but his impressionistic defence of the period’s ‘aristocratic solemnity’ and ‘bourgeois naturalism’ simply restates as positive characteristics what previous critics had dismissed as negative in works of this kind. 11 Berthelot 1989; Kelly 1993, pp. 75–6; Lacy 2000; and Baumgartner 2005.

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responsables [ . . . ]. On soupc¸onne en eux une forme qui a perdu son sens et qui se re´pe`te en remaniements et en compilations interminables et de´pourvus d’invention.’12 Yet, if these unfavourable judgements of French history and literature in the later middle ages have long held the Weld, they have begun to be challenged in recent years.13 Whilst acknowledging the widespread gap between the social realities of the late medieval period and the ethical ideals propounded in the culture of the day, many historians have argued that the fourteenth and Wfteenth centuries should be characterized not as a period of decadence and decline but rather as one which witnessed a revival of the chivalric and courtly ideologies which are usually held to be the glory of the earlier centuries.14 Thus, in addition to the continuing popularity of traditional jousts and tournaments based on Arthurian models, new modes of combat in which knights could demonstrate their prowess were actually invented in this period. Whilst the emprise involved knights Xaunting some treasure on their armour which had been given to them by their ladies and challenging others to win it oV them in battle, the pas d’armes entailed setting up a pavilion with a beautiful lady in it next to a river-crossing or an entry to a forest and defending her against all comers for a speciWed period of time.15 Similarly, rather than seeing the late middle ages as a period of terminal intellectual decline before the glories of the Renaissance, literary scholars now give full credit to the role played by chivalric literature, whether Wctional forms such as romances, or non-Wctional works such as knightly biographies, manuals of chivalry, and chronicles, in setting out models of behaviour to which fourteenth- and Wfteenth-century aristocratic readers actually seem to have aspired rather than just being elaborate fantasies. Besides, as Larry D. Benson has observed, chivalry and courtliness had, in a sense, always been backward-looking, and even the texts of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries which Wrst formulated these concepts had evoked a mythical Arthurian heyday of knighthood that had never actually existed.16 Thus, far from this being simply an age of pessimism and decline, which produced only a literature of escapist fantasy or melancholic inspiration, many late medieval writers appear to have responded to their turbulent times rather diVerently, producing works aimed at persuading their audience to model their actions on those of ideal chivalric and courtly heroes.17 As can be seen in the biographies of Wfteenth-century knights such as Jacques de Lalaing, whose actions in turn became the stuV of Wctionalized history, these models exerted an ideological and emotional fascination over their contemporary 12 M. Zink 1988, p. 197. See also M. Zink 1983. 13 Thomasset and M. Zink 1993; and Baumgartner and Harf-Lancner 2003. See also Boudet 1997. 14 Benson 1976; Keen 1977; and Vale 1981. 15 Barber and Barker 1989; Bouchard 1998; and Flori 1998. 16 Benson 1976, p. 147. 17 Stanesco 1988b; and Colombo Timelli 1992b.

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audience.18 For this reason alone, the chivalric culture of this period, of which romances constitute a major part, deserves to be given serious consideration by modern critics. Our aim, after all, as literary historians, should surely be neither to denigrate nor to rescue such works from the past on the basis of subjective value judgements, but rather to gain an understanding of the role that these works played in their own literary and cultural context. ( I I ) R E C E N T A P P ROAC H E S TO L AT E M E D I E VA L RO M A N C E Indeed, scholars are Wnally beginning to analyse romances of the fourteenth and Wfteenth centuries in their own terms, rather than simply comparing them unfavourably with those of a putative ‘golden age’, or regarding them as the literary reXection of an era of supposed crisis and decline.19 One of the main signs of this revival of interest is the appearance of a number of modern critical editions of romances such as Ponthus et Sidoine, Jehan d’Avennes, and the Burgundian prose reworkings of Erec et Enide and Clige`s, which previously had to be consulted either in manuscript or early printed book form, or in unsatisfactory editions from the second half of the nineteenth century.20 However, much work remains to be done before the complete corpus of late medieval romances becomes available to scholars in an accessible and reliable form.21 In addition to being able to work with an increasing number of authoritative editions, specialists in late medieval romance have greatly beneWted from a growing modern understanding of the general literary culture of the day, one which has for so long been derided by critics as lacking in originality and invention. One of the key features that modern scholars have identiWed as innovative in this period is the body of work created by the scribes and translators who were employed by Charles V in the middle decades of the fourteenth century.22 These clerks, who included Nicole Oresme, Simon de Hesdin, and Jean Corbechon, produced a vast array of vernacular translations of moral, political, didactic, and encyclopedic texts by authors such as Aristotle, Valerius Maximus, and Bartholomaeus Anglicus. These translations were aimed at a literate aristocratic audience, one that sought an ethical dimension to its reading matter.23 This interest in ethics, which has now been linked by literary historians to the advent of humanism in late medieval France in terms of a rediscovery of the works of classical antiquity and a burgeoning conWdence in the vernacular as 18 Rychner 1950; and Pickford 1959. 19 Stanesco and M. Zink 1992. 20 On the manuscript traditions of late medieval romances, see Bossuat 1951, pp. 388–97; Woledge 1954 and 1975; and Me´nard 1997. 21 Servet 1996; and Colombo Timelli 1999. 22 Krynen 1981; Lusignan 1986; and Cerquiglini-Toulet 1993b. 23 Ornato and Pons 1995; and Ribe´mont 2002.

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an intellectual medium,24 was coupled with increasingly interiorized forms of lay piety which, in turn, stimulated a thirst for edifying works oVering practical, moral, and spiritual guidance on virtuous forms of living.25 Hence, in this period, the popularity of courtesy books and moral treatises such as Christine de Pizan’s ‘mirror for princesses’, the Livre des trois vertus, or Philippe de Me´zie`res’s allegorical tract for princes, the Songe du vieil pelerin, works which are currently undergoing re-evaluation by modern critics for the central part that they played in disseminating to a lay audience the moralizing culture of the day.26 As a result of these developments in the study of late medieval culture, we now have a far more complete picture of the literary context out of which the romances of the period emerged. For example, we can see why the literary patronage of monarchs such as Charles V and Charles VI, and of their close relatives such as the dukes of Berry and Bourbon, in whose service the clerkly translators and moralists of the period were writing, led to a greater production of moral, historiographical, and political works than of romances in the later decades of the fourteenth century.27 Whilst the classic romance texts of previous centuries such as the Prose Lancelot continued to be copied and enjoyed, relatively few new works in the genre date from this period. Most of those that were produced at this time are Arthurian, such as the Conte du papegau, Perceforest, Ysaı¨e le Triste, and Froissart’s Meliador, with the exception only of the prose and verse versions of the genealogical tale of Me´lusine, and Christine de Pizan’s courtly verse romance, the Livre du duc des vrais amans, to all of which excellent critical studies have recently been devoted.28 This scholarly reassessment of the great Valois libraries in terms of their patrons’ interest in humanism and their thirst for works of guidance on moral and spiritual self-fashioning has also been matched by a re-examination of one of the other great book collections of the period, that held at the court of Burgundy in the mid-Wfteenth century. Thus, although the literary tastes of the Burgundian duke Philippe le Bon have at times been criticized by scholars for being nostalgic, frivolous, or scabrous,29 recent analyses which build on the seminal but longneglected work of early twentieth-century scholars such as Georges Doutrepont,30 have shown that the ‘grand duc de l’occident’ in fact shared the same literary tastes for humanist and didactic works as his Valois predecessors. However, there was one crucial diVerence between these collections in that the Burgundian duke’s tastes were also accompanied by a far greater predilection for romances. Philippe le Bon thus not only followed the lead of the French kings in ordering his own copies of many of the moral and historiographical works 24 Simone 1961. 25 Vauchez 1987. 26 Brown-Grant 2002b. 27 Lemaire 1994. 28 Dembowski 1983; Harf-Lancner 1984; Maddox and Sturm-Maddox 1996; Re´gnier-Bohler 1997; Schmolke-Hasselmann 1998; Victorin 2002; Huot 2007; and Kelly 2007, pp. 127–36. 29 Vaughan 1970, p. 158. 30 Doutrepont 1909, 1935, and 1939b.

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Introduction

which they had in their personal libraries and in commissioning his own translations of a number of key humanist works on the practical and ethical dimensions of government,31 but he also accumulated an immense corpus of chivalric epics and romances. To this end, Philippe gathered round himself a group of like-minded noblemen, many of whom were members of the chivalric Order of the Golden Fleece which he had established in 1430, such as Jean de Cre´quy and Jean de Wavrin, who not only guided the duke in matters of literary taste but also gave him manuscripts of romances for his own collection.32 Thus, although Philippe and his fellow bibliophiles naturally had their own copies of the great Arthurian classics, they were also responsible for stimulating the production of large numbers of new works, whether mises en prose (also known as de´rimages) of earlier verse texts such as those of Chre´tien de Troyes, Gerbert de Montreuil, and Adenet le Roi, or original works in prose such as the tales of Olivier de Castille and Gillion de Trazegnies.33 Moreover, as scholars have demonstrated, the court of Burgundy was not alone in the Wfteenth century in taking an active interest in romance as, to a lesser degree, the court of Rene´ d’Anjou, himself an accomplished man of letters and the author of the allegorical Cuer d’amour espris, also saw the production of several new texts such as Pierre de la Ce´pe`de’s Paris et Vienne and La Sale’s Saintre´.34 That the romances of the Wfteenth century should have occupied an honourable place in the great libraries of the period alongside both medieval works of morality and historiography and humanist tracts on politics and ethics might at Wrst surprise us. Yet, in fact, the distinction between Wctional and didactic texts was only a narrow one, since both the patrons who commissioned these romances and the authors who wrote them saw the role of such works as being as much to instruct as to entertain. As we shall argue here, these romances could hardly remain untouched by the moralizing discourses on all aspects of human behaviour which abounded in this period given that these texts were the products of scribes and translators such as Jehan Wauquelin and David Aubert, who were also involved in the preparation of more obviously edifying works such as ‘mirrors for princes’ and chronicles, and of professional knights such as La Sale and Jean de Wavrin (author of the Anciennes Chroniques d’Engleterre to whom various romances have been attributed), who were also steeped in the moral and spiritual values of chivalric culture. Indeed, the very choice of prose as the medium in which these romances were written, far from being a sign of ‘bourgeois’ contamination as has often been claimed, was itself a rational one since prose had long been associated with ‘serious’ genres such as biblical commentary and historiography. As the pioneering 31 Vanderjagt 1981. 32 On Burgundian literary patrons, see Debae 1996; Gil 1998; De Smedt 2000; and Que´ruel 2006. 33 Doutrepont 1939b. 34 Coville 1941; and M. Zink 1988, p. 217.

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work of Jens Rasmussen has shown,35 by the Wfteenth century prose had become the preferred medium for all narratives, whether Wctional or historiographical, to the extent that the generic distinctions between romance, epic, and chronicle were greatly diminished,36 leaving each genre receptive to the conventions of the others in their common pursuit of maximizing verisimilitude.37 The status of prose as a means of truth-telling, in contrast with the octosyllabic verse used in earlier romances which the late medieval de´rimeurs felt to be deformed by the constraints of rhyme and the rhetoric of ornamentation, meant that it was now employed in these mises en prose both to commemorate the illustrious feats of the chivalric heroes of the past and to stimulate the reader to imitate these deeds and thus, in turn, to ‘write’ themselves into the annals of history. Finally, aside from its positive connotations of seriousness, truthfulness, and clarity, prose was deemed to be all the more indispensable when reworking texts from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries where much of the vocabulary and grammar of Old French had become almost incomprehensible to the contemporary audience of Middle French speakers. Just as scholars in recent years have abandoned so-called ‘bourgeois inXuence’ as an adequate explanation for the choice of prose in these romances, so they have also been at pains to re-evaluate the actual form of these texts which have for so long been judged as vastly inferior to the verse romances of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Thus, rather than seeing the preference for realism over the supernatural in the romances of the later middle ages as a symptom, once again, of ‘bourgeois’ concerns with the everyday, critics have argued that the use of prose is only one of a number of literary and narrative devices employed by the writers of these works in their aim of evoking the heroic deeds of the past in a credible and convincing fashion. Instead of lamenting the ‘prosaic’ form of these texts as has often been the case, modern scholars have shown how it was precisely in the interests of realism that authors of late medieval romance strove to make causal connections between episodes as logical as possible, to create characters who were psychologically plausible, and to locate plots within geographically and historically recognizable settings.38 Indeed, even the way in which the text was presented on the written page in romance manuscripts has been reinterpreted as a deliberate strategy for maximizing comprehension, particularly for an audience increasingly attuned to the individual, silent reading of books rather than to their public recitation.39 Hence, instead of thousands of lines of uninterrupted verse as in earlier romance, we see the division of the prose 35 Rasmussen 1958. 36 Morse 1980; Gaucher 1994; and Szkilnik 2003. 37 Brucker 2000, p. 47, argues that, in terms of increasing realism and courtliness, ‘l’e´pope´e glisse vers le genre romanesque’; whilst Roussel 2004, p. 350, emphasizes the continuing speciWcity of the epic in terms of ‘le choix des the`mes et des personnages mis en sce`ne’ in spite of the notable inXuence exerted on it by romance in this period. 38 Jovanovic 1962; and Abramowicz 1996. 39 Pickford 1963.

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Introduction

narrative into many short chapters (usually with their own explanatory headings).40 Similarly, instead of the interlacing of lengthy episodes covering Wrst the adventures of one character and then another, we Wnd a greater emphasis on narrative linearity with the plot being focused on the actions of one particular character and the reader’s attention being held through the constant use of analepses and prolepses. Likewise, description in later texts tends to function less as a way of conveying symbolic meaning (as, for example, in Chre´tien de Troyes’s descriptions in Erec et Enide of the heroine’s clothing as indicators of her changing marital status) than as a way of creating an eVet de re´el (as, for example, in Cleriadus et Meliadice which uses detailed accounts of costly garments, rich banquets, and elaborate tournaments in order to evoke a tangible and believable setting for the hero’s adventures). Even the type of conjointure found in the late medieval romances, in the sense of using the structure of the narrative to convey meaning, is far less complex than that employed by, say, a Chre´tien. Where the latter uses ampliWcatio, as, for instance, in the hierarchy of battles fought by the hero in Erec et Enide in which each adventure diVers from the previous one in terms of its signiWcance for the hero’s progression towards rehabilitation, a typical late medieval author, such as that of Ponthus et Sidoine, tends to employ comparison through parallelism as good knights are contrasted with bad, virtuous forms of kingship with corrupt, etc. In rejecting negative critical judgements of the linguistic and rhetorical strategies employed by the writers of late medieval romances, recent scholars have also shown how the transition from verse to prose went hand in hand with an updating of the content of the narrative through a process of acculturation, that is adaptation of old material in accordance with new cultural and ideological norms, particularly in the case of the mises en prose of earlier poems.41 Reading these works for the valuable information which they provide on the late medieval reception of twelfth- and thirteenth-century romances, rather than simply deeming them to be inferior imitations of their sources, modern critics have examined how the prose remanieur or de´rimeur placed far greater emphasis on explicit moralization than his verse predecessors had done, often overtly signalling the didactic dimension of the text in an authorial prologue.42 Similarly, they have shown how the writers of these romances felt the need to explain customs and practices no longer recognizable so as to cater for literary tastes and even, in the case of the Burgundian dukes, for political agendas very diVerent from those of the audience for whom the text was Wrst written. These important reassessments of late medieval romance on the part of modern critical editors, literary historians, codicologists, and philologists, have thus challenged traditional perceptions of these texts, presenting them not as the 40 Que´ruel 2000b; and Colombo Timelli 2004. 41 J. H. M. Taylor 1997 [1998]; Lacy 1997 [1998]; and Colombo Timelli 1998. 42 Bohler 2006a and b.

Introduction

9

tedious relics of a period of literary decline but rather as works of commemoration and moralization which took their proper place as part of a culture in which didactic exposition was the dominant mode of the day. ( I I I ) G E N D E R A N D RO M A N C E Yet, despite these welcome steps towards the re-evaluation of late medieval romance, there is nonetheless a major omission in the scholarship in this Weld: that of gender. This omission is perhaps due to the fact that so much of the pioneering editorial and philological work on these texts has taken place in French-speaking academic circles since, compared to Anglo-American medievalists, francophone scholars working on medieval texts have paid relatively little attention to questions of gender.43 For instance, in what are still undoubtedly the most comprehensive and sympathetic surveys of fourteenth- and Wfteenthcentury romance to date, Michel Zink usefully outlines many of the key features of texts in this period, yet omits to analyse any of these features in relation to gender issues.44 Thus, whilst he notes the increasing taste for violence and horror in the tales of incest and rape which abound in late romance, he makes no attempt to examine how these themes might be related to an analysis of power relations between the sexes in this period. Zink likewise Wnds a change in emphasis in these narratives whereby the knight-hero’s exploits lead purely to personal fulWlment through a good marriage rather than being put to the service of a collective body as in earlier Arthurian romance, yet does not place this supposed trend towards individualism within a broader consideration of how these texts contributed to contemporary discussions of chivalric masculinity. In similarly failing to take account of the gender dimension at work in these romances, particularly those produced at the court of Burgundy, other scholars such as Danielle Que´ruel have tended to see these narratives as being all of a piece in propounding a single model of chivalric heroism in the service of the Burgundian duke’s political aims, and to have left unexplored the question of whether the hero’s pursuit of military prowess is presented as being compatible with or antithetical to his aspirations in love.45 By contrast, Anglo-American scholars such as Simon Gaunt and Roberta L. Krueger, who have produced ground-breaking studies of gender in Old French romance, have long regarded this genre as providing a privileged space in medieval culture in which masculine and feminine identities were debated and within which social and sexual tensions could be explored.46 Thus, Krueger 43 44 45 46

One notable exception is Foehr-Janssens 2000. M. Zink 1983 and 1988. Que´ruel 1991. Krueger 1993; and Gaunt 1995, pp. 71–121.

10

Introduction

suggests that the principal roles played by heroines in these texts are those of the maiden, who leaves her parental home in search of a marriage partner of her own choosing; the mother, whose sexuality is appropriated for the purpose of founding or perpetuating an aristocratic lineage; and the adulterous mal marie´e, whose beauty inspires her lover to perform great deeds of prowess.47 On the question of how masculinity is constructed in these texts, both Krueger and Gaunt have detected a vein of misogyny at work in that women are often blamed for causing knights to fail to live up to the ideals demanded of them by their chivalric role.48 They have similarly commented on the tendency of Old French romance to depict men as lovers and warriors rather than as husbands, arguing that the prevalence of adultery in these works largely reduces those male spouses who do appear to the unheroic role of cuckold. Krueger and Gaunt have also noted a certain Xuidity in the representation of male sexuality through an emphasis on the sublimated attractions involved in homosocial bonding, even if heterosexuality itself is always ultimately reasserted as the norm in these works. However, whilst the studies produced by Krueger and Gaunt, as well as by other scholars such as E. Jane Burns and Peggy McCracken,49 have opened up new avenues of enquiry about the representation of gender in romance, their work has focused almost exclusively on the verse narratives of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.50 It thus remains to be seen whether their important Wndings on the paradigms governing gender roles in these romances are also valid for the prose texts of the later middle ages.51 We might therefore ask if the adventures of the resourceful maidens of Middle French romances were presented as the expression of an autonomy which would have appealed to young female readers, as was the case in Old French texts, or whether they were depicted as the actions of headstrong adolescents who had to be reintegrated into the family fold as quickly as possible. Were the married women of fourteenth- and Wfteenth-century romances valued purely for their reproductive capacity, as Krueger suggests is true of the earlier works, or could they also be represented positively as moral exemplars for their husbands? To what extent was the Wgure of the adulterous woman as esteemed for her ability to inspire acts of prowess in these later works as she had been in twelfth- and thirteenth-century romances or did the threat of transgressive sexuality that she posed come to be toned down by presenting her as a more chaste Wgure in a platonic form of relationship? Similarly, we might ask whether the representations of masculinity which these scholars have identiWed in earlier romances were reproduced in later medieval 47 Krueger 2000, pp. 132–49. See also Fisher 2000; and Riddy 2000. 48 Gaunt 1995, pp. 71–121; and Krueger 2000, pp. 143–5. 49 Burns 1993; and McCracken 1998. 50 With the exception, in the case of Krueger 1993, of Christine de Pizan’s Duc des vrais amans. 51 For pioneering studies of this type, see Szkilnik 1998, which discusses cross-dressing in later works such as Ysaı¨e le Triste and the Roman du Comte d’Artois; and Bordessoule 2001, which mentions Alain Chartier’s Belle Dame sans Mercy, and La Sale’s Saintre´.

Introduction

11

texts. For example, did knights in these works blame women for their own loss of honour or reputation, as in Old French texts, or was the onus now placed on them to take responsibility for their own desires and actions? Were men still represented in Middle French romances either in premarital relationships with maidens or in extramarital relationships with married women, as they had been in earlier works, or was there more of an attempt to valorize the Wgure of the husband? Finally, were the attractions of same-sex desire still hinted at in the homosocial bonds of military companionship, as had been the case in some twelfth- and thirteenth-century romances, or were these bonds, which were so integral to male chivalric identity, viewed in a wholly non-sexual light in later texts? In order to provide some answers to these questions by analysing the construction of gender in late medieval romance, our discussion draws on a corpus of Wfteen works most of which have received only scant critical attention from modern scholars. This corpus, which has been chosen with the aim of being as homogeneous as possible in terms of the provenance of the texts at issue, comprises prose romances produced in the century from around 1390, many of which were commissioned by patrons at the court of Burgundy and all of which gained an appreciative audience in that cultural milieu. All are historicorealist texts which present their heroes and heroines as real-life Wgures and largely omit reference to the supernatural, this type constituting the vast majority of romances in this period. It therefore excludes Arthurian romances (of which there are only relatively few original texts in the later middle ages) as well as genealogical narratives such as the tale of Me´lusine, and allegorical works such as Rene´ d’Anjou’s Cuer d’amour espris, all of which obey very diVerent narrative conventions from those of the historico-realist romances. This corpus is also intended to be as comprehensive as possible, covering the main sub-genres/themes within the historico-realist type, and thus examines both premarital relationships, as depicted in chivalric romances (Chapter 1) and idyllic romances (Chapter 2), and marital relationships, as represented in narratives of male adultery, bigamy, and repudiation (Chapter 3) and incest (Chapter 4). What may at Wrst sight appear to be a striking omission in this study, namely an analysis of extramarital relationships based on the traditional romance model of the unmarried male lover and the married lady, can be explained by the fact that, unlike in late Arthurian romances, this model is largely absent from the historico-realist works of the period, an absence which is symptomatic of the more moralizing attitude adopted in these texts. Since any of these romances which do depict a relationship between an unmarried man and a married woman take great pains to present such love as platonic and short-term or as culminating in marriage, they have been treated as premarital romances and so included for discussion in Chapter 1. The only historico-realist text that does conform to the traditional adulterous type is the Chastelain de Coucy, a prose reworking of the late thirteenth- or early fourteenth-century poem by Jakeme´s about the famous

12

Introduction

lyric trouve`re, Guy de Thourotte. Given that this work survives in a single manuscript which also contains a copy of the premarital romance of Gilles de Chin which can be read as a kind of corrective to it, it too will be brieXy discussed in Chapter 1 in the section dealing with this latter text. As for La Sale’s Saintre´, which can be categorized neither as premarital, since the love aVair does not culminate in marriage, nor as strictly extramarital, since the lady in question is in fact a widow, it has been excluded from our study on the grounds that it alone of all the Wfteenth-century romances has been thoroughly discussed by modern critics and so need not detain us here. OVering close readings of these selected works, this study addresses a range of aspects of gender ideology which are central to late medieval romances, such as the cultural construction of chivalric masculinity, the representation of adolescent desire, the social and sexual roles of husbands and wives, the nature of marital sexuality, and power relations between males and females. In order to show how these romances diVer from earlier works in their treatment of these gender issues, verse originals and prose reworkings of speciWc texts are directly compared with each other where appropriate, as are the generic conventions of earlier and late texts which belong to the same sub-type even where the one was not the direct source for the other. In addition to these close readings, this study also seeks to put these romances into their wider context by showing how they were informed by and themselves in turn contributed to a broad range of contemporary cultural discourses within which concepts of gender were formulated and disseminated in this period. These discourses from outside romance include: the analysis of masculine identity undertaken in manuals of chivalry, chivalric biographies, and ‘mirrors for princes’; the discussion of attitudes towards the young in medical texts, moral treatises, and historiographical works; and the view of marital behaviour expounded in marriage sermons and moral tracts, as well as in literary and visual artefacts which promoted the cult of St Joseph. This study begins by focusing, in Chapter 1, on the most popular sub-genre of medieval romance: chivalric tales of innamoramento which feature a young knight who proves his worth by performing great deeds of valour, deeds which are inspired by his love for a high-born woman whom he eventually marries. These tales include Ponthus et Sidoine, Cleriadus et Meliadice, Rambaux de Frise, the prose reworking of Blancandin, Jehan d’Avennes, Gilles de Chin (in comparison with the Chastelain de Coucy), and Olivier de Castille. Though often dismissed by modern critics as lacking in originality whilst, at the same time, being attacked for adhering only half-heartedly to the courtly and chivalric values of the earlier romance tradition, these works can in fact be seen as conducting a reexamination of knightly masculinity in terms of the conventional link between love and prowess, two key components of chivalric identity. This re-examination echoes that taking place in works which were central to the discussion of the role

Introduction

13

and function of knighthood at the time, such as the chivalric treatises of Ramon Lull, GeoVroi de Charny, and Ghillebert de Lannoy, and the historical biographies of famous knights such as Boucicaut, Jacques de Lalaing, and Jean de Bueil. In Chapter 2, which also deals with premarital romances, the discussion shifts to those idyllic tales which feature the deeply felt reciprocal love of an adolescent couple and their struggle to marry in the face of parental opposition. Comparing two late medieval idyllic texts, Paris et Vienne and Pierre de Provence, with a number of earlier works in the sub-genre (Floire et BlancheXor, L’EscouXe, Galeran de Bretagne, Guillaume de Palerne, and Aucassin et Nicolette), this chapter argues that there is a marked change in the later romances in the way in which the young couple are treated, this change being in line with the critical attitude adopted towards adolescents in the moral discourses of the period, as found in the works of, among others, Philippe de Novare, Giles of Rome, and Christine de Pizan. The focus of Chapter 3, which is the Wrst of two on marital romances, is on the relationship between the spouses, paying particular attention to the way in which the Wgure of the husband is here brought centre stage compared to earlier romance where he is largely a marginal character. Examining issues such as male adultery, bigamy, and repudiation of wives, the works discussed in this chapter include the Roman du Comte d’Artois, Gillion de Trazegnies, the Histoire des Seigneurs de Gavre, and its variant, Baudouin de Gavre. Reading these romances in the light of the late medieval views of marriage contained in sermons by preachers such as Jacques Legrand and Jean Gerson, in moral treatises by Giles of Rome and Philippe de Me´zie`res, and as expounded in works promoting the Wgure of St Joseph as a role model for husbands and fathers, we argue here that Wctional and didactic works alike seek to temper the traditional ‘aristocratic’ male preoccupation with ensuring succession by promoting a more ‘clerkly’ view of marriage as a sacramental and companionate bond between the married couple. Finally, in Chapter 4, which is also devoted to marital romance, we turn our attention to father/daughter incest narratives. Whilst these texts have traditionally been read by critics as contributing to medieval debates on the question of endogamous versus exogamous marriage, they are shown here to be undertaking an extensive interrogation of the nature of male marital sexuality itself and of the power relations between men and women. Through a comparison of Jehan Wauquelin’s Manekine, a Wfteenth-century prose version of the legend of the ‘maiden without hands’, with its source, Philippe de Remi’s thirteenth-century octosyllabic poem of the same title, as well as with an intermediary text, Jehan Maillart’s early fourteenth-century Roman du Comte d’Anjou, we can see how the treatment of male desire evolved in such romances over the course of the middle ages. Analysis of the way in which these three authors contrast the incestuous scenario of a father’s illegitimate passion for his daughter with the marital scenario of the man who falls in love with the daughter who has Xed her father’s advances reveals that the particular conceptions of incestuous desire and marital love in each version of the tale change according to the speciWc intertextual

14

Introduction

tradition (courtly lyric and romance, hagiography and anti-courtly satire, and the ‘mirror for princes’) on which the author was drawing. In marrying the close reading method which gender critics have applied to romance with the contextualizing approach adopted by literary historians, this study of late medieval romances has two main aims. It seeks not only to contribute to the current scholarly rehabilitation of a neglected body of texts in the history of French literature, but also to reassess the prevailing critical consensus on the cultural construction of gender in romance, showing how the paradigms governing male and female roles in earlier works of the genre were reshaped in the very diVerent cultural environment of the later middle ages.

1 ‘Re´cits d’Armes et/ou d’Amour’: Love, Prowess, and Chivalric Masculinity For most modern scholars, the vast majority of romances produced in the later middle ages continued to conform to the classic model of chivalric innamoramento in which a young knight proves his worth by performing great deeds of valour, deeds which are inspired by his love for a high-born woman whom he eventually marries. Yet, if the sheer number of such texts, often termed ‘re´cits d’armes et d’amour’ by modern medievalists, attests to the continuing popularity of a paradigm familiar from Arthurian literature of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, critics have often disparaged these later works as being symptomatic of the decadence and essouVlement of the genre as a whole. Thus scholars have suggested that, rather than engaging with the political concerns of their own day, these later texts are simply ‘romantic stories’ which hark back nostalgically to the courtly values of the past.1 Even those critics who have detected an engagement with contemporary issues in these later romances have still tended to accept that these works retained the traditional conception of the mutual dependence between love and prowess.2 Indeed, Michelle Szkilnik has argued that whilst the chivalric treatises and historical biographies of famous knights produced in the later middle ages developed a new conception of chivalry, one in which the knight’s main aim is to secure recognition at court as the member of an exclusive, international chivalric elite, the romances of this period, with the notable exception of Antoine de La Sale’s Saintre´, remained loyal to the traditional representation of the hero as lone chevalier errant engaged in a quest to win his lady’s love and to serve his prince.3 Michel Zink too sees the later romances as subscribing to the conventional idea of love as a stimulus to prowess even if, for him, they adhered more to the letter than to the spirit of the earlier works in their solipsistic fantasy of individual social advancement in which the hero’s acts of chivalry become a means to making a good marriage and securing a territory for himself.4

1 Vanderjagt 1981, p. 18; and Dubuis 1974. 2 G. Zink 1984; de Cre´cy 1996; and Szkilnik 2000. 3 Szkilnik 2003. 4 M. Zink 1983 and 1988.

16

‘Re´cits d’Armes et/ou d’Amour’

Yet in fact it could be questioned whether the romances of the fourteenth and Wfteenth centuries do simply reproduce the traditional view of love as a spur to prowess which had been idealized in the earlier works of the genre, and thus whether La Sale’s Saintre´ is as much of an exception as Szkilnik claims.5 Rather, in their depictions of knighthood, these later works conduct a redeWnition of the relationship between love and prowess, one which they share with the didactic chivalric treatises and historical biographies of the period. Thus, whilst the romances of the later middle ages do indeed oVer satisfying narratives of selfadvancement and of admittance to the ranks of an exclusive elite of knights, their heroes’ achievements were nonetheless subordinated to a broader vision of knighthood as being legitimated by its social utility and by its importance for the health of the entire body politic.6 These works therefore present the attainment of mature chivalric masculinity as the result of a renegotiation of the relationship between love and prowess so that the knight’s amorous identity and deeds of valour do not simply function as means to self-aggrandizement but rather become a test of his Wtness to rule and of the socially responsible use of power.7 As we shall see, this vision of the young knight as an apprentice-ruler, rather than as merely the self-regarding courtier which Szkilnik identiWes, was at the very core of contemporary discourses on chivalry as contained in romantic Wction and didactic works alike. This exploration of the relationship between love and prowess is examined here in seven late medieval romances, several of which are prose reworkings of earlier verse narratives, that together constitute a representative and coherent sample of texts covering a time span of some eighty years.8 These works are Ponthus et Sidoine (late fourteenth or early Wfteenth century), Cleriadus et Meliadice (c.1440), Olivier de Castille (sometime between 1430 and 1460), the prose version of Blancandin (between 1450 and 1460), Jehan d’Avennes (between 1460 and 1467), Gilles de Chin (before 1467), and Rambaux de Frise (between 1460 and 1480). Two of these works, Gilles de Chin and Jehan d’Avennes, have sometimes been categorized as chivalric biographies rather than strictly as romances.9 However, the fact that these texts privilege the conventions of Wction over historical exactitude means that they can be distinguished from the more 5 For a discussion of Saintre´ which compares its re-examination of love and prowess with that in Christine de Pizan’s Duc des vrais amans and Alain Chartier’s Belle Dame sans Mercy, see BrownGrant 2004. 6 Gaucher 1992. 7 On chivalric masculinity, see Bennett 1999; A. Taylor 1999; and Karras 2002. 8 For an example of other romances which, for lack of space, have been excluded from this corpus but show many of the same traits, see the mid-15th-cent. Burgundian prose reworking of Aimon de Varennes’s 12th-cent. poem Florimont, as preserved in Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France fr. 12566, in which Willard 1971, pp. 40–1, detects ‘a somewhat diVerent concept of knighthood from the one which pervades Aimon de Varennes’ poem, one more concerned with physical courage and moral valor than with theorizing about the precepts of chivalric love’ (emphasis added). 9 Gaucher 1994.

‘Re´cits d’Armes et/ou d’Amour’

17

‘historicized’ biographies, such as those of the French knight Boucicaut and the Burgundian hero Jacques de Lalaing, which, though also indebted to romance tradition, are more explicitly concerned with accurately recording dates and places and with extracting explicit moral lessons from the lives of their heroes and so are discussed below as examples of didactic works on chivalry.10 The majority of these romances were produced at the Burgundian court and even those whose exact provenance is unknown, such as Ponthus et Sidoine, which contains numerous references to western France, and Cleriadus et Meliadice, which has been linked to both Burgundy and Orle´ans through Philippe le Bon’s niece, Marie de Cle`ves, who married Charles d’Orle´ans, were nonetheless also read and appreciated by this highly cultured audience.11 Incorporating a range of diVerent themes into their basic narrative of innamoramento, these works are closely connected in the manuscript tradition in that many of them were reproduced in copies emanating from the workshop of the illuminator known as the ‘Maıˆtre de Wavrin’ who was based in Lille.12 In order, then, to examine the conception of knighthood and of chivalric masculinity that emerges from these romances, we need Wrst to relate it to the contemporary discourses on chivalry which were disseminated in the didactic treatises and historical biographies of the period that were also extremely popular at the Burgundian court.13 ( I ) L AT E M E D I E VA L D I S C O U R S E S O N C H I VA L RY: VO C AT I O N , RU L E R S H I P, C O M PA N I O N S H I P, A N D LOV E Though several didactic works in French dating from the early thirteenth century codiWed an explicit ideology of knighthood, such as Raoul de Houdenc’s Roman des eles (c.1210) and the anonymous Ordene de chevalerie (c.1220), it is from the end of this century onwards that detailed discussion of this topic really developed, whether in moral treatises on chivalry or in historical accounts of the lives of famous knights. The Xourishing of these works in this period may have been a response both to historical events, such as the defeats suVered by French knighthood in the Hundred Years War, and to the critiques of the chivalric institution 10 Gaucher 2002. 11 There are records of copies of Cleriadus et Meliadice in the libraries of both Marie de Cle`ves and the de Cre´quy family who were also great Burgundian bibliophiles, whilst one copy, now lost, is mentioned in the inventory of Philippe le Bon’s library (see Barrois 1830, no. 1305). Although there is no record of any copy of Ponthus et Sidoine in this inventory, the text was certainly well known in Burgundy as the male protagonist is mentioned amongst a list of other famous knights in Saintre´ (p. 48), and the biography of Jacques de Lalaing describes the eponymous hero as being a ‘nouvel Pontus’ (Lalaing, p. 245). 12 Naber 1990a and b. 13 Naber 1998.

18

‘Re´cits d’Armes et/ou d’Amour’

itself conducted in works such as Alain Chartier’s Quadrilogue invectif (1422).14 Central to the conception of chivalry outlined in these treatises and biographies is the idea that it is a vocation for the estate of knights similar to the spiritual vocation of the estate of the clergy, and thus a legitimate means by which a man can strive to gain salvation. Ramon Lull, the Catalan cleric, in his highly inXuential Libre del Orde de Cavallerı´a (sometime between 1279 and 1283) which was translated into French in the fourteenth century as the Livre de l’ordre de chevalerie,15 was the most fervent exponent of this view of chivalry: ‘tout aussy comme Nostre Seigneur Dieu a esleu les clers pour maintenir la sainte foy catholique avec escriptures et raisons contre les mescreans, aussy Dieu de gloire a esleu chevaliers pour ce que, par force d’armes, ilz vainquent et surmontent les mescreans’.16 Giving a spiritual signiWcance to every aspect of knighthood, Lull outlines the details of the dubbing ceremony such as the young man purifying himself in order to enter the ranks of those defending the Church, and he explains the symbolism of every element of the knight’s armour and equipment. Thus for Lull, as for other late medieval authors such as the illustrious French nobleman GeoV roi de Charny in his Livre de Chevalerie (c.1352), piety was an essential aspect of chivalry.17 As Charny puts it, since the knight earns his living from a profession in the course of which he could die any minute and which involves countless acts of aggression against other human beings, he must at all times be prepared to make a good, Christian end:18 ‘Et ycelles bonnes genz d’armes ne peuent tenir nulle regle ne ordenance, ne de leurs vies ne de leurs estaz, fors que de touzjours amer et doubter Dieu et garder de lui courroucier et d’eulz estre en telz estaz come touz les jours sont en teles aventures plus que nul autre gent.’19 In Lull’s view, crusading was therefore the highest form of chivalry, in that the knight is explicitly Wghting in the service of the faith, a view which is echoed by the author of the biography of the famous Boucicaut (1407–9), who describes the French knights who were imprisoned and then slaughtered by the Bajazet after the defeat at Nicopolis in 1396 as Christian martyrs.20 Less literally, 14 On critiques of chivalry, see Benson 1976; Vale 1981; Keen 1984; Bouchard 1998; and Flori 1998. 15 According to Minervini, editor of the Ordre de chevalerie, the earliest manuscripts of this translation date to the end of the 14th cent. (introd., p. 22). Although Minervini does not mention them, three copies of this work were owned by Burgundian patrons: Philippe le Hardi, Jean sans Peur, and the de Croy¨ family. See also Vanderjagt 1981, pp. 69–70. 16 Ordre de chevalerie, pp. 97–8. 17 One of the two extant manuscripts of the Livre de Chevalerie, Brussels, Bibliothe`que royale de Belgique 1124–6, was owned by the Burgundian duke Jean sans Peur (see Livre de Chevalerie, introd., pp. 74–5). 18 Kaeuper 1999, p. 50, remarks: ‘Knights know that God will understand and forgive the slips that mar their moral scorecards, especially since the very toughness of their lives functions as a form of penance.’ 19 Livre de Chevalerie, p. 182. 20 Boucicaut, p. 115. Preserved in only one manuscript, although this text seems to have had a less wide readership than other texts discussed in this section, the view of chivalry to which it subscribes has a great deal in common with them and the hero himself would have been well known in Burgundian circles through his depiction as the perfect chivalric companion-in-arms in Saintre´, a depiction which is in fact an amalgam of the traits of both Boucicaut and his illustrious father. See Lalande 1988 and 1990.

‘Re´cits d’Armes et/ou d’Amour’

19

Charny sees all knights as martyrs or at least ascetics in enduring a life of hardship which is much more rigorous than that of the clergy,21 as does the French nobleman Jean de Bueil in Le Jouvencel (1461–8), a manual of chivalry that takes the form of an autobiography, who stresses the sheer physical suVering of an existence in which food is often in short supply and danger forever at hand.22 Yet, whilst such writers did not hesitate to emphasize the spiritual side of chivalry, they nonetheless acknowledged the centrality of war in the career of a knight,23 as in Le Jouvencel where no sooner has the hero gained victory in one war than he is sent oV to lead his troops in another conXict: ‘En leur baillant une bonne grosse guerre bien fonde´e et a` bon tiltre, ilz seront bien et honnourablement pourveuz de leur vie et feront tousjours leur excercice; car a` gens d’armes est deVendu le repoz.’24 Thus, although jousts and tournaments are presented as having an important role to play in the formation of a knight, they are simply a prelude to the more serious business of war, since, as Charny endlessly reiterates, ‘qui plus fait, miex vault’. Whilst in the biography of that paragon of Burgundian knighthood, Jacques de Lalaing (c.1468),25 the young hero wins his chivalric spurs in combats such as at the tournament at Nancy and in the highly ritualized emprise and pas d’armes which he himself organizes,26 his real glory is won in the Ghentish wars fought on behalf of the duke of Burgundy during which he was eventually killed in 1453 by a stray cannonball outside the town of Poeke.27 Indeed, such a linear progression from one type of combat to another appears to have been a luxury which many knights could not aVord, since, in the lives of Boucicaut and the Jouvencel, the two heroes have no time to be inducted into knighthood through jousting or tournaments but are thrown straight into the experience of war, the one at the side of the duke of Bourbon in his battle against the king of Navarre, and the other under the tutelage of the capitaine de Luc (a pseudonym for the famous knight La Hire) in his struggle against the foreign invader.28 Whether in the sporting arena of the joust or in the actual Weld of battle, it was of vital importance for all knights to make a ‘bon commencement’ 21 Livre de Chevalerie, pp. 174–6. 22 Le Jouvencel was known in the Burgundian milieu via a luxury manuscript, Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France fr. 192, which was produced for the well-known bibliophile Louis de Bruges, seigneur de Gruthuyse (see vol. 1, introd., pp. cccxxiv–vi). See also Coopland 1951. 23 Kaeuper 1999, p. 131, notes that ‘A knight’s nobility or worth is proved by his hearty strokes in battle’. 24 Le Jouvencel, vol. 2, p. 156. 25 Although Lalaing was attributed by late 19th-cent. critics to Georges Chastelain, this text, which was produced at the request of Lalaing’s own family, is now thought to be a work of compilation drawing on a variety of sources such as the heraldic documents of the herald Toison d’Or (Jean Lefe`vre de Saint-Re´my), various chronicles, and even romances as the prologue is identical to that in Gilles de Chin. See Doutrepont 1939a. 26 Gaucher 1989, pp. 503–18. 27 For Georges Chastelain’s account of Lalaing’s death in these wars, see Chroniques, pp. 360–4. 28 In the case of Boucicaut, it is only after he has already participated in various military campaigns that he does take part in jousts and tournaments, such as the famous joust at SaintInglevert in 1390.

‘Re´cits d’Armes et/ou d’Amour’

20

in their early role as a novice in order to prove themselves in their later exploits as more experienced leaders of men. Further legitimation is given to chivalry in these texts through the familiar image of the body politic in which the role of knights, as the hands and arms of the ‘corps mistique’ as Le Jouvencel puts it,29 is to serve the head, the ruler, by upholding the common good through their defence of the other two estates, the clergy and the common people. Thus, the young hero of this text is praised by the king and his court for having striven to preserve the ‘chose publique du royaume, plus que pour ses revenues ne pour son cas particulier’.30 This emphasis on the ‘chose publique’ rather than on private gain is particularly strong in the Burgundian context where, in the various treatises on nobility and chivalry by humanist writers such as Giovanni Aurispa, Buonaccorso da Montemagno, and Diego de Valera which were translated from Latin into French in the mid-Wfteenth century, the bloodthirstiness of the knights is played down in favour of emphasizing their protection of the common weal. Thus, in Jean Mie´lot’s translation of Aurispa, known as the De´bat d’honneur, the moderate and public-spirited Scipio Africanus, dubbed ‘l’esperance et l’appuy de Romme’, is lauded over the more aggressive and self-serving examples of Hannibal and Alexander the Great whose chief aim in bearing arms was to ‘respandre sang humain et a gaster le monde’.31 If these chivalric treatises and biographies stress how service to his prince is an integral part of a knight’s career, they also explain how such service helps prepare the knight for his own future role as ruler, be it at the level of a small lordship or of an entire kingdom. Many of our texts thus outline how the good knight should behave in his capacity as lord of a domain, employing many of the same arguments as expounded in manuals of instruction for rulers known as ‘mirrors for princes’, such as Giles of Rome’s De Regimine Principum (c.1281), which was translated by Henri de Gauchy into French as Le Livre du gouvernement des rois (1282). Acknowledging his debt to this type of manual in Le Jouvencel, Jean de Bueil adopts an Aristotelian structure identical to that of Giles’s own ‘mirror’ by dividing his text into three parts. The Wrst of these, which he terms ‘monostique’ (i.e. ethics), is to do with the hero’s government of himself; the second (‘yconomique’) is concerned with his government of his household, in this case, his troop of men; and the third (‘politique’) is related to his government of the kingdom of Amydoine which he rules as regent, and it is this Wnal part that represents the apotheosis of the hero’s career as a knight.32 Similarly, GeoV roi de Charny dedicates a chapter of his book on chivalry to providing a very condensed ‘mirror for princes’ in which he outlines the qualities expected of a ruler such as piety, love of the common good, justice, mercy, and readiness to defend the realm.33 29 30 31 32 33

Le Jouvencel, vol. 2, p. 79. Ibid. 154. See de Medeiros 1998; and Allmand 1999. De´bat d’honneur, pp. 170, 171. Le Jouvencel, vol. 1, p. 16. On this debt to Aristotle, see Blanchard 1989. Livre de Chevalerie, pp. 140–4.

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The Burgundian nobleman and diplomat Ghillebert de Lannoy, in his Instruction d’un jeune prince (between 1439 and 1446), gives a particularly full exposition of such advice, one which is clearly aimed at both knights in their capacity as rulers and rulers in their capacity as knights, since, as he puts it: ‘Ordre de chevalerie, qui bien le voeult entendre, est si noble en soy que, s’il faloit eslire seigneur ou prince pour gouverner et maintenir une region, l’en ne le pourroit mieulx choisir ne eslire entre tous aultres estas que ou nombre des chevaliers.’34 For Lannoy, echoing the humanist texts on nobility with their emphasis on the practical politics of rulership,35 the chief qualities required of a prince/knight are the four cardinal virtues of prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude, the most important of which is justice as it is indispensable for the well-being of the realm.36 Indeed, it is precisely in the primacy awarded to justice that we see how closely linked chivalry and rulership are in these texts. Thus, through the exercise of justice involved in Wghting a just war or defending the realm, the necessary conditions are created for the entire body politic to prosper: in Lannoy’s words, ‘Car de justice vient paix et par paix le poeuple croist et multiplie en ricesse, labour et marchandise.’37 In Le Jouvencel, the hero dispenses justice both at the level of his fellow knights (as when he resolves disputes over valuable prisoners and the dividing-up of booty), and at the level of the realm when, in his capacity as regent of Amydoine, he brokers a lasting peace with the king’s enemies which will bring about the long-term security of the land. Similarly, in the life of Boucicaut, as much attention is paid to his role as just governor of the people of Genoa as it is to the narrative of his many battles against the inWdel. In addition to being a spiritual vocation, a career path, and a training for rulership, chivalry in these texts is also depicted as the means by which a son can make himself worthy of his place in the male genealogy of his family. Through this process of self-replication of the male line, not only must a young knight continue the prestige of his illustrious forefathers, but, in turn, he himself must serve as an example to future generations of sons. Thus, whilst Boucicaut is shown to be an almost exact replica of his father both in his preference for amassing honour rather than wealth and in obtaining the rank of ‘mareschal de France’ which his father held before him,38 Lalaing symbolically replicates his male forebears by devoting himself completely to serving as a knight ‘aWn qu’en luy ne de´faillist la renomme´e que les vaillants et nobles chevaliers ses pre´de´cesseurs avoient eue, et qu’elle ne prist Wn en luy’.39 Linked to this need to prove oneself worthy of one’s noble predecessors was the nature of nobility itself, an issue which was being debated in the humanist texts of the mid-Wfteenth century, such as Jean Mie´lot’s translation of Buonaccorso’s Controversie de noblesse, which stress how true nobility resides in one’s virtues 34 Instruction, p. 404. 35 Vanderjagt 1981, pp. 9–76. 36 Instruction, pp. 354, 356. 37 Ibid. 363. 38 Boucicaut, p. 412. 39 Lalaing, p. 69.

22

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rather than simply in one’s birth. However, this teaching did not imply that anyone could literally rise to the ranks of nobility but rather served to exhort those who were of noble birth to prove themselves worthy of their parentage through their acts of prowess.40 This view is echoed in Le Jouvencel where the author states that ‘nobles sont ceulx desquelx les euvres sont honnourables et virtueuses’,41 whilst Ghillebert de Lannoy, in his Enseignements paternels (between 1430 and 1440),42 advises the young man to consider, before embarking on any course of action, whether it will accrue to or detract from the honour of his family and, having made this judgement, to act always in such a way as to make his nobility manifest.43 As this emphasis on the knight’s Wnding his place amongst the male worthies of his family suggests, chivalric identity was crucially connected with the idea of homosociality, that is the complex and close-knit network of non-sexual male relationships which would determine the course of a young man’s career.44 Such homosocial friendships were often expressed through the circulation of goods and money and so were linked to the much-prized chivalric quality of largesse, or generosity.45 Hence, both the Burgundian treatises on nobility and Lannoy spell out the need for the worthy knight to use his wealth to cultivate his bonds with other men (‘fay des amis, et quant tu les auras, gardes les mieulx et plus chie`rement que chevance ne tre´sor que tu ayes’46), whereas the hero of Le Jouvencel insists on an equitable distribution of booty so as to foster a sense of community amongst his men. Such friendship between men could also be exhibited in a more political sense when it was said that a knight should always show his solidarity with a fellow member of his social group, even if he was not a kinsman, by coming to his aid. Thus Boucicaut, on hearing that the king’s relative, the count of Eu, has been taken prisoner by the Saracens, rushes to be at the count’s side in order to help negotiate his release from captivity.47 The homosocial bonds of chivalry were by no means limited to the sharing of material goods or the provision of aid but were rooted in strong aVective ties based on an intense sense of loyalty. These writers thus stress that chivalric masculinity is intimately bound up with the companionship of other men at all stages of the knight’s career, whether with those who are of superior rank or older than himself to whom he is linked through vassalage or mentorship, or those who are of equal rank to himself and closer to him in age with whom he forges a more brotherly relationship.48 In each case, the bond between fellow 40 Willard 1967b. 41 Le Jouvencel, vol. 2, p. 70. 42 See Sterchi 2004, who argues for Hugues de Lannoy, brother of Ghillebert, as the author of both this work and the Instruction. 43 Enseignements paternels, p. 460. 44 On homosociality, see Sedgwick 1985. 45 On the importance of largesse as a means of distinguishing the class of knights from the ‘meanspirited acquisitiveness of the merchants’, see Kaeuper 1999, p. 194. 46 Enseignements paternels, p. 466. 47 Boucicaut, p. 63. 48 Keen 1996.

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knights is expressed as a kind of ennobling love, one indebted to the Ciceronian idea of friendship as being the ‘love of virtue in another man’ that was to prove highly inXuential on both the chivalric and clerical discourses on love in the middle ages.49 The importance to the young knight of a senior Wgure who is his lord or mentor is particularly developed in the biographies of Boucicaut and the Jouvencel. Thus it is the duke of Bourbon who watches with great pleasure as Boucicaut Wrst earns his stripes and thus wins the older man’s love and respect,50 whilst the Jouvencel actually has four older knights to whom he feels especially indebted as the ‘commenceurs de son bien’ who launched him on his career.51 Not only does the Jouvencel honour his debt of loyalty to all four by ensuring that they lead a comfortable existence on their retirement from active service but, in turn, he himself, like Boucicaut, goes on to serve as an inspiration and loyal friend to his own junior companions. If the relationship between mentor and novice is characterized in these works by real aVection and mutual loyalty, that between two young men of similar age who serve as brothers-in-arms together is discussed in terms of an even closer abiding love, one which unites the two as strongly as if they were in fact blood relations. In Boucicaut, this is encapsulated in the saying ‘chacun aime son semblable’,52 whilst in the biography of Lalaing the hero forges a particularly intense bond with his patron and companion, the young duke Adolphe de Cle`ves, whom he is even said to resemble physically: ‘le jeune duc et luy s’entr’aimoient de grand amour, et ne s’en doit-on point esmerveiller, car eux deux estoient d’un eage; de corps, de hauteur et de fac¸on s’entre-sembloient tant bien qu’a` les voir, qui ne les eust connus, on eust dit qu’ils fussent deux fre`res’.53 Lalaing also forms a strong, brotherly bond with the herald Toison d’Or, Jean Lefe`vre de Saint-Re´my, who, in Georges Chastelain’s chronicle, is described as being stricken with inexpressible grief at the young hero’s sudden death before his very eyes ‘car tant le aimait et plus que son propre frere’.54 Jean de Bueil in Le Jouvencel even goes so far as to elevate this loyal, ennobling love between companions into an ideal which borders on a kind of ecstasy, such a vivid, almost eroticized description of love between men not being uncommon in the middle ages:55 Il vient une doulceur au cueur de loyaulte´ et de pitie´ de veoir son amy, qui si vaillamment expose son corps pour faire et acomplir le commandement de nostre Createur. Et puis on se dispose d’aller mourir ou vivre avec luy, et pour amour ne l’abandonner point. En cela vient une delectacion telle que, qui ne l’a essaie´e, il n’est homme qui sceust dire quel bien c’est.56 49 51 53 56

Jaeger 1999, p. 29. 50 Boucicaut, p. 23. Le Jouvencel, vol. 2, p. 260. 52 Boucicaut, p. 43. Lalaing, p. 31. 54 Chroniques, p. 363. 55 Jaeger 1999. Le Jouvencel, vol. 2, p. 21, emphasis added.

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It is striking that, compared to these accounts of the heartfelt, almost extravagant emotions felt by men-at-arms for each other, heterosexual love in these late medieval chivalric treatises and biographies is discussed in much more lukewarm and ambivalent terms and its capacity to ennoble the lover made much more questionable. Such lukewarmness and ambivalence may seem surprising to modern readers, given the popular stereotype of medieval chivalry as involving knights performing deeds of prowess for love of their ladies. However, this stereotype is largely derived from Arthurian romances of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries rather than from these didactic works on chivalry of the late middle ages.57 Thus, whilst all of our texts concur on the need for knights to honour and protect women,58 there is far less consensus among them on the actual importance which they accord heterosexual love in the formation of chivalric identity.59 As the most pious of the writers in our corpus, Ramon Lull is, perhaps predictably, the most fervent advocate of chastity in knights whom he declares should only express their sexuality within the ‘vertu de mariage’.60 Making no mention of the idea that prowess can be spurred on by passion, he limits his remarks on women to the potential dishonour that they can bring on chivalry itself if, for example, the wife of a knight lets herself be seduced or if a knight has children with a non-noble woman outside of marriage.61 By contrast, GeoVroi de Charny, whilst echoing Lull’s view of the desirability of marriage as a way of avoiding sexual sin, does subscribe wholeheartedly to the idea of love as ennobling and inspirational, provided that it is conducted honourably and in secret, this conception of courtly love betraying his debt to the earlier Arthurian romances such as the Prose Lancelot:62 ‘l’en doit bien amer, celer, garder, servir et honorer toutes dames et damoiselles par qui sont fait et se font les bons corps des chevaliers et des escuiers et les bonnes gens d’armes, dont tant d’onnour leur vient et leur acroist leur bonne renommee’.63 Love, for Charny, is thus based on the principle of eVort and reward, since, if a lady has an important role to play in helping a young novice to embark on a life of prowess, the onus is on her to remunerate the knight with her aVection if he proves himself worthy of her esteem: ‘Et aussi icelles tres bonnes dames doyvent et sont bien tenues d’amer et honorer ycelles bonnes gens d’armes qui, pour deservir d’avoir leur tres bonne amour et leur bon acueil, se mettent en tant de perilz de corps.’64 57 On love and prowess in Arthurian romance, see Hanning 1977, p. 4. 58 Boucicaut most famously established a chivalric order in 1402 speciWcally intended to defend the honour of women, this order being named the ‘Ordre de l’Escu vert a la dame blanche’. See Lalande 1988, pp. 93–4. 59 Whilst Benson 1976, pp. 153–62, rather takes at face value the discussion of heterosexual love in these didactic works, Kaeuper 1999, pp. 209–30, is much more reluctant to see all such discussion as adhering to a single ideology of ‘courtly love’. 60 Ordre de chevalerie, p. 176. 61 Ibid. 62 Livre de Chevalerie, introd., pp. 67–74. 63 Ibid. 122. 64 Ibid., emphasis added.

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At Wrst sight, Charny’s view of love as an inspiration to prowess and of prowess as an inspiration to love may appear to be shared with equal enthusiasm by the authors of the biographies of both Boucicaut and Lalaing. OVering up the examples of Lancelot and Tristan as the ultimate role models of amorous knights, Boucicaut stresses the beneWts for chivalric endeavour when a young man’s love is based on the desire to perfect himself, is devoted to a worthy object, and observes all propriety: ‘Ha! quans ont este´ exaussiez ou nom de prouece, que, se ne fust Amours, par qui leur venoit le hardement d’emprendre les fortes choses, les quelles pour accroistre leur renommee ilz achevoient aYn que ilz eussent la grace de leurs dames, ce ne fust rien d’eulx.’65 In his own youth, the hero is described as having emulated these literary models by striving to impress his lady with his deeds of prowess, though it is signiWcant that, marking a diVerence in emphasis from Charny’s view of love as expected reward, his passion is never overtly declared nor does he ever openly ask his beloved for reciprocation. Indeed, unlike those who ‘vont baudement aux dames requerre qu’ilz soient amez’, Boucicaut prefers to ‘le desservir par bien faire’ and so waits for his actions to speak louder than any words in order to persuade her to return his aVections.66 Yet, whilst the text hints that he was eventually successful in love, as the lady is said to be both delighted and anxious at all the military exploits that he accomplishes in her name,67 she is rather an abstract Wgure. Her individual response to her lover is in fact soon subsumed into the general approbation which Boucicaut receives from all the ladies of the court on his victorious returns to Paris.68 Love thus comes to occupy rather less importance in Boucicaut’s world as a reward for his eVorts than the glory and honour which he accrues through his prowess.69 Moreover, the eventual abrupt appearance in the narrative of his actual wife, Antoinette de Turenne, is presented as being wholly unconnected to the kind of love which was extolled earlier in the text. Instead of Boucicaut’s seeking to emulate the perfection of his lady-love through his courtly virtues and chivalric prowess, he himself is now mirrored by a wife whose virtues complement his own,70 thus making him the yardstick by which she is measured, rather than the other way round, as was the case in the courtly love paradigm upheld by Charny. In fact, as he grows older, Boucicaut shows himself to be not only chaste in marriage but also utterly impervious to women’s charms, as the sight of a beautiful lady at her window which is pointed out to him by a young oYcer leaves him completely unmoved, ‘car plus de semblant n’en fait que se de pierre fust’.71 Despite being depicted at the beginning of the narrative as an indispensable component of chivalric prowess, courtly love of the type lauded by Charny is implicitly dismissed in Boucicaut as an adolescent phase which the mature man has to go beyond once he has established his reputation for valour. 65 Boucicaut, p. 27. 68 See e.g. ibid. 83. 70 Boucicaut, p. 206.

66 Ibid. 33, 41. 67 Ibid. 55. 69 Gaucher 1994, pp. 370–3; and Szkilnik 2003, pp. 53–9. 71 Ibid. 417.

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The view of love in Boucicaut thus resembles what C. Stephen Jaeger calls the ‘grand amatory mode of noble life’ which ‘shows itself [ . . . ] as a script to which aspiring gentlemen can subscribe and a role into which they can enter’, and which Jaeger himself Wnds to be particularly evident in the biography of Lalaing.72 Thus, in Lalaing, where an even greater emphasis is initially placed on the power of love to perfect the young knight when the hero’s father outlines at length how his son must avoid the seven deadly sins if he is to prove himself a ‘vray amoureux’,73 there is little sense of the hero’s performance in love being anything more than a courtly game which involves no real aVective commitment. It thus stands in marked contrast to the spontaneous sincerity of his ennobling love for his male companions such as Adolphe de Cle`ves.74 Indeed, the role of heterosexual love in the formation of Lalaing’s chivalric identity is presented as being somewhat comical as it highlights the divergence between his tokenistic actions as a lover and his actual feelings as a man who prefers chastity to passion. At the tournament in Nancy where he attracts the attentions of not one but two married ladies, the duchess of Orle´ans and the duchess of Calabria, Lalaing courteously but eVectively plays them oV against each other, as he wears the favours of both on his armour and secretly accepts jewels from each in turn, thus fuelling their jealous suspicions that each has a rival for his aVections.75 Underlying the humour of this situation is, however, the more serious point that, far from being ennobling, such love is in fact a potential threat to the knight’s honour. Thus, whilst the two ladies are said to be smitten with him and ready to do more than just oVer him gifts, his own desires remain unengaged for fear of scandal and dishonour, and he does not hesitate when necessary to make an ‘honneste fuite’ from their advances: ‘de toutes les deux il estoit aime´ et chier tenu. Et ne tenoit qu’a` luy que encore n’en fust mieux; mais pour la doute de son corps et aussi pour la salvation de son aˆme, il ne s’y voulut oncques avancer que bien a` point.’76 Moreover, the fact that one of his female admirers, the duchess of 72 Jaeger 1999, p. 199. Although Jaeger sees Charny as equally subscribing to this ‘grand amatory mode’, the close and abiding link between love and prowess which, for Charny, are indispensable to chivalric identity makes him more of an adherent of the classic mode of courtly love. 73 As Beaune, modern translator into French of Lalaing observes, p. 1197, these teachings on love, which are taken from La Sale’s Saintre´ where they are proVered by the Dame des Belles Cousines are, to say the least, ‘un peu curieux dans la bouche d’un pe`re’. Yet this seemingly curious placement of advice on love into a father’s mouth may not be so curious if we see such advice precisely as a ‘script’ for public performance of an amatory role, as Jaeger suggests, rather than as a genuine philosophy of love. 74 Stanesco 1988a, p. 107, uses the term ‘monstration’ to describe this essentially performative aspect of late medieval chivalry; whilst Jourdan 1993, p. 101, notes how the chivalric events such as emprises and pas d’armes at which knights like Lalaing perform in front of ladies in fact function as a means of binding eminent knights to their princely sovereign, as is the case of Lalaing himself whose prestige as the Xower of Burgundian chivalry redounds to the glory of the duke, Philippe le Bon. See also Bousmar 1998. 75 Lalaing, pp. 49–56. 76 Ibid. 64, 49, emphasis added.

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Orle´ans, is the sister of his boon-companion, Adolphe de Cle`ves, means that the close homosocial bond which Lalaing has with her brother prevents him from overstepping the boundaries of propriety in his carefully moderated love-service to the lady herself. Indeed, the true source of his valour is later revealed to be neither of these actual ladies but rather his devotion to the Virgin Mary, in whose honour he adopts the devise ‘la nonpareille’, as Chastelain explains in his chronicle.77 Thus, as a chaste knight more in the mould of Ramon Lull’s pious ideal than that of GeoV roi de Charny’s perfect lover, Lalaing gives thanks to the Virgin as the real inspiration of his prowess in the elaborate dramatic entremets which follows the completion of his feats at the Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs: ‘Soubs ta Wance hardement me donnas j De fonder cy mon pas en ceste place: j Or est parfait, sy t’en viens rendre grace.’78 If the biographers of Boucicaut and Lalaing at least pay lip-service to the connection between love and prowess as performed in this ‘grand amatory mode’, even if their heroes soon abandon it, Ghillebert de Lannoy expounds a much more negative view of the potential dangers posed to knights by their association with women. In his Enseignements paternels, the third of the three key principles by which a knight should live, after temperate speech and fear of shame, is ‘abstinence de corps’.79 Developing Lull’s emphasis on chastity, Lannoy insists that, although not all women are bad, the company of the female sex in general, rather than being a spur to prowess is in fact inimical to it: ‘Car, par les trop continuellement hanter, pluseurs en ont perdu honneur, terres et seignouries.’80 For Lannoy, it is because the ways of women, in terms of their dress and pastimes, are wholly diVerent from those of men, being restricted to the realm of soft living, that they have the potential to corrupt and debase the superior martial qualities of men: ‘quy y communique incessamment entre elles doit avoir et tenir la grigneur partie des meurs fe´menines, qui est sexe de nature re´pugnant a` vaillance et honneur pour armes acque´rir’.81 Such contagion is by no means simply metaphorical since, as Lannoy explains, when coupled with too much eating and drinking, the love of women has the power to destroy a man’s very health, causing him to become ‘ydropique ou paralitique ou palasineux’.82 Thus, whereas Charny idealistically presented secrecy as a necessary part of nurturing an honourable love, Lannoy sees it rather as a pragmatic measure by which the young man who falls prey to passion can cover up his dishonourable weakness and preserve his own reputation.83 Finally, even marriage for Lannoy is discussed in terms of its moral expediency since, not only does he present it as being like sobriety in food and drink as a means by which to avoid corporeal excess, he also lists it as one of three possible ways in which to gain social mobility:84 ‘il pourra 77 Chroniques, vol. 2, p. 363. 78 Lalaing, pp. 240–1. 79 Enseignements paternels, p. 449. 80 Ibid. 450. 81 Ibid. 451. 82 Ibid. 463. 83 Ibid. 465. 84 The other two are service to the prince and the capture of valuable prisoners in war (ibid. 470–1).

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estre de toy sy grant renomme´e que tu trouveras ton party par mariage de telle et si riche dame que toy et les tiens a` tousjours en serez puissans et habondans en richesses’.85 In his pragmatism and cynicism about women, love, and marriage, Lannoy could not be more diametrically opposed to the courtly idealism of Charny for whom ladies are a means to a knight’s self-perfection, love a means to prowess, and marriage (provided it is not entered into simply for the sake of increasing one’s wealth), a means to leading a companionate and fruitful existence. Yet, perhaps the most disabused view of all as regards love in these works is that found in Le Jouvencel. Wholly absorbed by a military career which involves bloody acts of warfare rather than feats performed under an admiring female gaze at jousts and tournaments, the hero is presented for most of the text as living in an exclusively masculine world where his only aVective ties are with his male companions. Indeed, the only contact he has with a woman, through his marriage with the daughter of the king of Amydoine, is one that serves ultimately to conWrm all his previous suspicions about the perilous intrigues of court life since his fellow knights had earlier dissuaded him as a youth from seeking to make his career as an ‘homme de cour’ rather than as an ‘homme de guerre’.86 Exploiting the fact that the whole episode of the hero’s marriage is, unlike the rest of this autobiographical text, a complete Wction heavily inXuenced by romance convention, Le Jouvencel points up the divergence between the idealization of love and marriage in romance texts and the pragmatics of court politics in historical reality. Although the hero is suitably inspired by the beauty of his bride-to-be to pay her the usual courtly compliment of wishing to serve in battle for love of her, the actual marriage itself is described in the most perfunctory terms with the wedding night involving the legalistic consummation of a union rather than the rapturous coming-together of lover and beloved.87 Similarly, the king fails to keep his promise to give power over to the hero who has become a surrogate son to him through marriage, ‘ung Wlz acquiz’, since the Jouvencel discovers that the king in fact already has a male heir who was too young to be able to lead his troops into battle.88 The king’s daughter herself is likewise not simply the stock romance object of exchange between father and husband, but a knowing if unwilling pawn in her father’s use of the attractions of love and marriage as a bait by which to lure a military champion into his employ.89 Thus, rather than serving to extol the beneWts of love for chivalric prowess or the advantages of marriage for the knight’s social and spiritual standing, this whole episode functions chieXy to allow the hero an opportunity to demonstrate his moral superiority to all concerned as he pardons his wife, reaYrms his allegiance to his father-in-law, and refuses to usurp the throne to the detriment of the legitimate heir. As beWts a text which raises male companionship into an ecstatic 85 Enseignements paternels, p. 471. 86 Le Jouvencel, vol. 1, p. 44. On this anti-court theme, see Blanchard 1989, p. 11. 87 Le Jouvencel, vol. 2, p. 179–81. 88 Ibid. 184, 252. 89 Ibid. 254–5.

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29

form of love, it therefore extols the homosocial solidarity, honour, and selfsuYciency of the ‘bons gens d’armes’ over the passion and deception of heterosexual love deployed at court in the service of the politics of marriage. The discourses on chivalry as expounded in these late medieval treatises of instruction and heroic biographies thus present knighthood as a complex amalgam of spiritual vocation and military career, service to the sovereign and preparation for power, masculine fellowship and pursuit of honour. The actual balance between these diVerent elements inevitably varies according to the agenda being followed by a particular author, with a cleric such as Lull stressing the more spiritual side of chivalry whereas the apologists celebrating heroes such as Boucicaut or the Jouvencel expand on the worldly glories of knighthood. Nevertheless, despite such diVerences of emphasis, many of the same teachings and arguments are recycled in these texts and thus all were agreed on what were the key deWning principles of chivalry itself. Only on one issue, that of the role of heterosexual love and its relationship to prowess, have we identiWed a marked lack of consensus among the authors of these works, with attitudes varying from the positively laudatory (Charny) to the playfully sceptical (Boucicaut and Lalaing), and from the mildly disapproving (Lull) to the outright hostile (Le Jouvencel and Lannoy). That this should be the case in works which, unlike the idealized romances of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, are meant to oVer practical and moral instruction to young noblemen preparing to embark on a life of chivalric service, should not necessarily surprise us. However, what is perhaps more surprising is that this ambivalence towards love as a spur to prowess does not seem to have been restricted to didactic texts such as these. Rather, it appears even to have permeated the actual romances of the late medieval period which, as we have seen, most modern critics such as Roger Dubuis and Michel Zink have characterized as traditional ‘re´cits d’armes et d’amour’. In unpicking this seemingly natural relationship between ‘armes’ and ‘amour’ and its signiWcance for the formation of chivalric identity, these texts belie their superWcial adherence to the Arthurian conception of love and prowess as interdependent and reveal themselves to have far more in common with the pragmatic and politically engaged view of chivalry found in the treatises and biographies with which they are contemporary. ( I I ) P RO B L E M AT I Z I N G P R E M A R I TA L LOV E I N L AT E M E D I EVA L ‘ R E´ C I T S D ’ A R M E S E T D ’ A M O U R ’ In twelfth- and thirteenth-century courtly romance, love and prowess were inextricably linked in the formation of chivalric identity and were conceived of as twinned ideals.90 As Marie-Luce Cheˆnerie puts it, in her discussion of 90 Kaeuper 1999, p. 222.

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Arthurian verse romance: ‘La toute-puissance de l’amour sur la personne aurait rebute´ l’orgueil des chevaliers et des dames, si elle n’avait oVert une contre-partie magniWquement persuasive. L’amour courtois chevaleresque, les eVets de l’amour sur la prouesse, voila` le sujet essentiel de nos romans et de bien d’autres.’91 Works of this period thus subscribe to the courtly conception of passion as a means of selfperfection so that the individual who is not in love is seen to be failing to express an essential aspect of his humanity, as in the case of the young hero in Marie de France’s Guigemar who bemuses the members of his father’s court by his indiVerence to love. The usual form taken by this interplay between love and prowess is that of a rhetoric of masculine love-service in which military valour is rewarded by aVection and where the lady rather than the knight is presented as wielding the power in the love-relationship, be it premarital or extramarital. Where a tension does exist in these romances between love and prowess, it tends to arise when one member of the couple fails to conform to his or her allotted role within this paradigm, as, for example, if a knight fails to make his mark in the Weld of combat (as in Hue de Rotelande’s late twelfth-century tale Ipomedon) or if a lady refuses to grant her love to a deserving supplicant (as in the early thirteenth-century original version of Blancandin). Equally, such tension is created when an adulterous passion provokes a clash of allegiances between a knight’s devotion to his beloved and his duty to his sovereign, as in the Tristan legend, or tends to occur within marriage when a knight has to reconcile love for a wife with a commitment to other knights and to the institution of knighthood itself, a key theme in the works of Chre´tien de Troyes. Yet, whether these crises are caused by a fundamental Xaw of character or by a more structural problem, one of the chief aims of these early courtly romances is to achieve resolution by reconciling love and prowess.92 Only in the anti-courtly so-called ‘realist’ romances of the thirteenth century, such as Joufroi de Poitiers or Jean Renart’s Roman de la Rose ou de Guillaume de Dole, are these twin values subjected to a more demythologizing critique, with sensual passion replacing reWned loveservice and with uncourtly adventures of ruse and cunning taking over from chivalric exploits on the Weld of battle.93 For many scholars of later romance, the texts of the fourteenth and Wfteenth centuries not only retain this traditional courtly view of love as indispensable for the inspiration of knightly prowess, but even appear to have resolved much of the latent conXict between the two. Thus, most critics have tended to regard the vast majority of late medieval romance heroes and heroines as conforming unproblematically to their expected roles in relation to love and prowess and have argued that works of the later period which depict a relationship outside 91 Cheˆnerie 1986, p. 455, emphasis added. See also Frappier 1973; Marchello-Nizia 1981; Benson 1984; and Duby 1988a. 92 As Cheˆnerie 1986, p. 456, states: ‘Comme le roman courtois en ge´ne´ral, le roman arthurien met en relation l’amour et la prouesse aWn de les discipliner et les ide´aliser l’un par l’autre.’ 93 Louison 2004, pp. 798–857. On ‘realist’ romance, see also Lyons 1965; and Keller 1985.

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marriage generally defuse the threat posed by adulterous love to a knight’s bond with his sovereign by presenting such love as platonic and chaste.94 Moreover, when dealing with relationships within marriage, as we shall argue in Chapter 3, late medieval romances were more concerned with examining actual forms of spousal behaviour than with exploring the conXict between a husband’s love for his wife and his acquittal of his knightly duties which had been at issue in the earlier works in the genre. However, in later texts which discuss a premarital relationship, the tension between love and prowess is in fact very far from being resolved and it is these works which formed the vast majority of romances produced in this period. Thus, in the seven texts which constitute the corpus under discussion in this chapter, heterosexual love is by no means represented as an unproblematic ‘given’ of masculine chivalric identity nor is it consistently idealized as an ennobling force as had traditionally been the case. Yet, these works do not owe their more critical attitude towards love to any debt to the earlier tradition of ‘realist’ romance as they all feature characters, plots, and settings which are wholly courtly in inspiration and in which the ideal of prowess is Wrmly upheld. Rather, it is in reading such texts in the light of contemporary discourses on chivalry and comparing them, where appropriate, with their earlier verse sources, that we can see how the view of love as a means to individual self-fulWlment which is central to twelfth- and thirteenth-century courtly romance is subordinated in these later works to a broader concept of the public good. A further consequence of this downplaying of love in these romances, one which is consonant with the late medieval discourses on chivalry, is that the way in which they portray relations between the knight and his lady is often less in terms of a mutually enriching love-service than of a struggle for mastery over both the self and the other. As a result, the homosocial bonds of male companionship are presented in a number of these Wctional works, just as they are in the didactic texts on chivalry, as being not only superior to, but even in opposition to, those of heterosexual love itself. ( I I I ) T H E C O N G RU E N C E O F PA S S I O N AND POLITICS IN PONTHUS ET SIDOINE AND CLERIADUS ET MELIADICE Produced at French courts but also widely read in the Burgundian milieu, Ponthus et Sidoine,95 a prose reworking of the late twelfth-century Anglo-Norman Roman 94 Benson 1976, pp. 159–62. 95 Preserved in twenty-eight manuscripts, Ponthus et Sidoine ran to ten diVerent printed editions in the 15th cent. and was translated into various European languages. Written in the language of western France, it has sometimes been attributed to the Chevalier de la Tour Landry as it betrays a close familiarity with the noble families of Brittany in this period.

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de Horn by a certain Thomas, and Cleriadus et Meliadice,96 which models itself very closely on Ponthus et Sidoine, were immensely popular works in their day. These two texts which recount the amorous and military adventures of young Spanish knights (the hero of the former being the son of the king of Galicia, and that of the latter being the heir of the count of Asturias), have often been classiWed by modern critics as idyllic romances,97 a sub-genre focusing on the highly eroticized love of a very young couple with this love taking precedence over every other aspect of their existence.98 Idyllic romances are also unusual in paying as much attention to the adventures of the female protagonist as to those of the male since each strives to be reunited with the other when their harmonious life together is disrupted by the disapproving parents who cause their separation. In these works, then, masculine identity is largely predicated on love, even at the expense of prowess. Yet, aside from their titles, which have perhaps misled critics into classifying them as idyllic texts, Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice satisfy none of these generic criteria.99 Far from subscribing to the idyllic paradigm of an allconsuming love which alienates the young couple from their societies and which prevents the hero from performing his knightly duties, Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice can more properly be read as classic instances of late medieval chivalric romances which hark back to the interdependence of love and prowess which is central to the Arthurian tradition.100 Love here is indeed a form of service performed by the hero in honour of his lady and so constitutes an ideal of self-perfection upheld in tandem with the pursuit of prowess. In this respect, the two young heroes conform to the model of the chaste, honourable knight as put forward by those such as GeoVroi de Charny (who was himself drawing on Arthurian models), in that they are inspired by love to perform great deeds and yet are not so overwhelmed by it as to abandon their chivalric vocation. On his arrival at the court of the heroine (Brittany in the case of Ponthus, and England in that of Cleriadus), each of the two heroes soon acquires his chivalric credentials and adopts an undeniable position of vassalic subservience towards his beloved, both socially and emotionally. Sidoine thus shows her dominance over Ponthus by commanding him to serve her as her knight and oVering him her love 96 Cleriadus et Meliadice is extant in nine manuscripts and Wve printed editions. 97 M. Zink 1983, p. 300. 98 See below, Ch. 2. 99 Blancandin, with its full title that includes the name of the hero’s lady, the Orgueilleuse d’amour, has also often been described as an idyllic romance, yet it too, like Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice, has nothing in common with works in this sub-genre: see Greco’s introd. to her edition of the prose reworking of this text, pp. 9–13. 100 Cleriadus et Meliadice makes particular reference to the Arthurian tradition in its explicit allusion at the beginning to the past reign of Arthur, which is thus implicitly compared to that of the present king, Philip (p. 1). This text also abounds in Arthurian-type characters who are given names such as the ‘Fe´lon sans Pitie´’, the ‘Fortune´ d’Amours’, the ‘dame de la Joyeuse Maison’, etc. Yet, signiWcantly, as Cleriadus progresses towards more serious historico-realist exploits in the Weld of war, the Arthurian, supernatural element of the narrative is left behind.

‘Re´cits d’Armes et/ou d’Amour’

33

as a reward (Ponthus et Sidoine, p. 22),101 whilst Meliadice grants her love to the supplicant Cleriadus who is all too intimidated by her royal status as daughter of the king of England compared to his own inferior rank as the son of a count (Cleriadus et Meliadice, p. 49). Moreover, unlike the unrestrainedly physical relationships in idyllic romance, which draw the parents’ disapproval, these pairings are marked by their extreme observation of chastity and by their respect for parental authority as the heroine insists that her lover should have no dishonourable intentions towards her, ‘nulle villennie’ as Sidoine puts it (Ponthus et Sidoine, p. 22). Ponthus, for his part, refuses even to sleep with his new bride on their wedding night until he has recovered his lost realm of Galicia from the Saracen king who dispossessed him (Ponthus et Sidoine, p. 133), whilst Cleriadus delays asking for Meliadice’s hand until he has been elevated to the rank of king by being chosen to succeed to the Irish throne (Cleriadus et Meliadice, p. 531) and his worth as a knight and defender of the realm has been fully recognized by her father (ibid. 545). Finally, in neither text is it the parents who cause the couple to separate but rather a courtier who is jealous of the hero’s advancement, and it is the young knight’s exploits which constitute the vast bulk of the narrative with the heroine being largely reduced to a more passive role. Thus, Sidoine’s actions are limited to initiating the relationship with the hero and then to locking herself up in a tower so as to try and avoid marrying the treacherous seneschal Guenelet who has betrayed Ponthus (Ponthus et Sidoine, pp. 154–67). Even when Meliadice is separated from her lover due to her uncle’s machinations and is obliged to Xee her father’s court and live as a ‘singlewoman’ by earning money from her needlework skills, her exile is soon brought to an end when she is reunited with the hero (Cleriadus et Meliadice, pp. 299–319, 367–83).102 If, in balancing the demands of love and prowess, the two heroes of Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice show the kind of exemplary self-government of their passions as outlined in a chivalric treatise such as that of Charny, they also conform to his view of the hierarchy of military endeavour. Thus, contrary to the opinion of some scholars for whom these narratives retain the amorous emphasis of the Arthurian tradition but none of its stress on the collective good,103 in neither case does the love-service performed in jousts and tournaments function simply as a self-regarding ritual in which the knight’s exploits are intended to make himself worthy of the lady’s aVection. To be sure, in the manner of an Arthurian knight, each of the two heroes organizes elaborate chivalric rituals with the defeated challengers being sent to the lady as her prisoners to deal with as she pleases, thereby accruing to her honour and status. Whilst Ponthus retires for a year to the forest of Broce´liande and disguises himself as the ‘Chevallier Noir aux Armes Blanches’ in order to take on all comers (Ponthus et Sidoine, pp. 53–71), Cleriadus spends a month dressed as the ‘Chevalier Vert’, beating a new opponent every day in combat (Cleriadus et 101 Guillaume 2004.

102 Rollier 2004.

103 M. Zink 1983, p. 298.

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Meliadice, pp. 211–60), such exploits redounding to their glory at an early stage of their chivalric careers. Yet, these privately inspired deeds of prowess form an integral part of a much greater and more collective endeavour as the knight completes his journey towards chivalric perfection through service to the wider community. This service is most clearly seen in the defence of the realm ruled over by the father of his beloved, as was lauded in the chivalric treatises and biographies of the period such as that of Boucicaut, which emphasize the need to serve the prince and to uphold the ‘bien publique’.104 The career path followed by Cleriadus corresponds especially closely to the hierarchy of feats of arms outlined by Charny in his axiom of ‘qui plus fait, miex vault’ whereby individual performance in duels, tournaments, and jousts serves merely as the Wrst stage of a knight’s training before he embarks on the more serious business of war. Cleriadus thus progresses from an initial series of individual acts of valour (Wghting a duel in honour of the king of England against a Lombard knight, rescuing a young girl from her abductors, distinguishing himself in the jousts organized at his sister’s wedding in Spain), to being elected captain of the English troops at the head of which he comes to the aid of the king of Cyprus who is attacked by Saracen hordes. Ponthus’s career is just as dazzling as that of Cleriadus. His very Wrst exploit is an individual duel against a Saracen challenger to the Breton king, before he goes on to Wght for the king of England in his war against the Irish, returns to Brittany to defeat Sidoine’s suitor (the king of Burgundy) in a wedding joust, and Wnally regains his own territory of Galicia by defeating the Saracens who had stolen it from his father. Ponthus, even more than Cleriadus, sees chivalry not just as a social duty but also as a spiritual vocation, in line with the highly Christianized view of knighthood as propounded both by Ramon Lull and in Boucicaut where one of the hero’s chief aims is to ‘accroistre le bien de crestiente´’.105 Ponthus is lauded for his exemplary piety (pp. 14–15) and the text frequently uses religious symbolism in order to show him performing a kind of imitatio Christi. For example, in his exile from Galicia the hero is Xanked by the same number of faithful companions as Christ was by his Apostles, and he himself attributes his victory over the Saracen challenger to God’s acting through him: ‘Jhesucrist a monstre´ par ung enfant qu’Il est vray Wlz de Dieu, et que ainsi fera Il par Sa puissance d’entre vous qui avez mauvaise loy’ (p. 27). Thus, although the hero’s actions in the case of both Ponthus and Cleriadus are initially inspired by love for his lady and each shows exemplary Wdelity to his beloved in eschewing marriage with another woman who is oVered to him by a grateful father in return for his military services,106 his motivation to undertake his many other valorous exploits is clearly political rather than simply amorous. 104 Boucicaut, p. 444. 105 Ibid. 344. 106 Ponthus is oVered the hand of Gene`vre, daughter of the king of England, whilst Cleriadus is invited to marry Cadore, daughter of the king of Wales.

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Indeed, it is this valorization of prowess undertaken for the good of others and not simply for the sake of love which gives each of these texts a highly didactic emphasis,107 one which matches that found in the chivalric treatises of the period. Such didacticism is explicit in Ponthus et Sidoine which begins by presenting the ensuing narrative as ‘une noble histoire dont l’en pourra aprendre mout de bien et de exemplaire, car jeunes gens doivent ouir et entendre les bons fais et dis des bons anciens qui ourent mout de biens en leur temps’ (p. 1).108 Moreover, towards the end of the tale, the hero delivers various ‘enseignements’ to his companion and cousin Pollide´s, whom he has helped accede to the English throne via marriage to the princess Gene`vre. In this mini ‘mirror for princes’, which is comparable in its concision to that of Charny, Ponthus exhorts Pollide´s to obey God’s commandments, to honour his father-in-law, to keep the peace at court, to govern his people with justice and compassion, to love and cherish his wife, and, Wnally, to look after the poor and the needy (pp. 179–82). It is also signiWcant that, in each case, the moment of the hero’s actual marriage is not the end of the narrative as might be thought to be the logical end point if their trajectories were concerned with the purely personal pursuit of love. Rather, it is precisely in the very lengthy episode following Cleriadus’s marriage that we see the extent to which the hero’s apotheosis is not that of a husband but rather that of a king,109 in line with the contemporary focus on good governance as a key component of chivalry as seen in Charny where rulers are expected to ‘faire le proYt du peuple avant que le leur singulier’.110 Cleriadus’s actions on gaining the throne of England reveal his wider aims as he engages in an extensive campaign of alliance-building by brokering marriages for his cousins Amador and Palixe´s with the daughters of the kings of Granada and Castile, as well as installing peace and justice in the relations between his own two kingdoms of England and Ireland.111 Though more implicit in its didacticism than Ponthus et Sidoine, this text is therefore no less intended to teach a lesson in knighthood in its presentation of the hero as a paragon of all the chivalric virtues and as a ruler of the same mettle as the ideal prince described by such as Charny. Love in Ponthus et Sidoine and in Cleriadus et Meliadice is thus at once idealized, in that the relationship of each of the couples is presented as harmonious, loving, and sincere, but also qualiWed, in that it is shown neither to 107 G. Zink 1984; H. M. Brown 1993; and de Cre´cy 1996. 108 The didacticism of this text on the issue of rulership is also emphasized in the codicological tradition where the text was bound in a number of manuscripts with other works containing politico-moral instruction, such as the tale of Prudence and Melibee, Honore´ Bouvet’s L’Arbre des batailles, Giles of Rome’s Livre du gouvernement, Christine de Pizan’s Faits d’armes et de chevalerie, and various works by Alain Chartier: see Ponthus et Sidoine, introd., pp. vii–xxxiii. 109 G. Zink 1984. 110 Livre de Chevalerie, p. 140. 111 Re´gnier-Bohler 2004, p. 283, observes that ‘les ˆıles de Bretagne sont des lieux ou` peuvent s’illustrer les qualite´s du Monarque, et ces romans e´voquent volontiers les proce´dures d’une vie politique et les de´le´gations de pouvoir souvent de´taille´es’.

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predominate nor to interfere with the knight’s attainment of prowess in his maturation towards manhood. Heterosexual desire therefore occupies a proper but circumscribed place in these texts as an initial spur to valour but thereafter, as in the biography of Boucicaut, it is relegated to the background as the political and didactic signiWcance of the knight’s chivalric exploits is brought to the fore. In this respect, the rhetoric of love-service employed in these works comes to function as a courtly fac¸ade covering a more pragmatic arrangement,112 as the genuine love felt by the hero for the heroine also serves to supply the father of his beloved with a surrogate son who, through marriage to the king’s daughter, will defend the realm and take over the reins of power after his death. A situation in which all are winners is established in both Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice as there is a happy congruence between the couple’s own personal desires and the wider needs of the kingdom, with the one serving to legitimate the other. Thus, even in these most ‘romantic’ of romances, the didactic and political aspects of chivalry which loom so large in the treatises and biographies of the period, are never far beneath the surface of the tale and their two heroes are as much apprentice-rulers as they are valorous knights and loyal lovers. ( I V ) T H E P O L I T I C S O F LOV E U N V E I L E D I N R A M B AU X D E F R I S E If in Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice the love-plot dovetails with the pragmatic needs of the kingdom in securing succession to the throne, this pragmatism is brought centre stage in the little-known romance of Rambaux de Frise,113 where, in a departure from the traditional romance convention, the title refers not to the actual hero of the text, the young knight Othon (who is later revealed to be the nephew of the king of Spain), but to the older king of Frisia into whose service he enters. Indeed, even the full title of the text as given in the list of rubrics, which is Le Livre du roy Rambaux de Frise et du roy Brunor de Dampnemarche (p. 47), makes mention only of the elderly king and his chief enemy. The attention of the text is thus Wrmly placed on Rambaux as king and his skill in appropriating the hero, Othon, as a defender of his realm and future 112 For Gaucher 1994, p. 372, this courtly fac¸ade is an ‘alibi courtois’, and she describes this ‘re´cuperation du de´sir a` des Wns politiques’ in the following terms: ‘Les services que rend le chevalier a` une princesse se re´percutent dans le domaine politique, au proWt du pe`re: celui-ci trouve, dans la relation amoureuse qui lie sa Wlle a` un vaillant homme d’armes, le moyen de s’assurer l’aide, l’auxilium, ne´cessaire pour de´faire l’ennemi du royaume’ (p. 371). 113 Rambaux de Frise was produced at the Burgundian court, possibly for Pierre de Beaujeu, nephew of Philippe le Bon, between 1460 and 1480, judging by the date of the miniatures in the single manuscript that preserves the text (Paris, Arsenal 3150). Drawing on a number of epic, pious, and romance themes, it is connected to the prose Blancandin in also situating its plot in the kingdom of Frisia, and indeed, the name given to the hero’s son in this earlier romance is that of ‘Raimbault le Frison’ (see Blancandin, p. 271).

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replacement. The shift in perspective signalled by this choice of title is matched by a shift from the courtly plot of love-service found in Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice to one of military strategy and matters of good government in which Othon is less the subject of the narrative than the object of others’ desires. Rambaux de Frise thus bears a very close resemblance to the third part of Le Jouvencel, with which it is strictly contemporary, in showing how a beleaguered king uses marriage as a bait by which to secure the military assistance of an established warrior. Arriving providentially at the Frisian court as the literal answer to the prayers of both Rambaux and his daughter Florissant when their kingdom is attacked by Brunor of Denmark, who wishes to marry the princess by force, Othon is a military godsend for the father, who needs a proper champion to lead his troops, and an object of desire for the daughter who falls for him at Wrst sight. Whilst Florissant’s desires are reiterated several times in the narrative, and are expressed in courtly terms which nonetheless betray a strong physical yearning (‘si prenoit elle si grant plaisir a le veoir et ouy¨r qu’elle ne s’en povoit saouler’, p. 63), no echoing emphasis is placed on Othon’s feelings. In contrast to the ideal of love in Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice in which the perfect knight is also a perfect lover, Othon is presented as a paragon of all the knightly virtues, being brave, humble, loyal, and generous, but, like the hero of Le Jouvencel, he appears to be utterly devoid of desire until the moment of his wedding night. Even here, the only emotions to which we are given access are impatience, as Othon is said to be annoyed at the delay in being alone with his new bride, and a kind of euphemistic contentment when Wnally, with the bedroom door closed behind the couple, ‘il estoit bien a son aise’ (p. 72). Although it is then retrospectively revealed that their love is indeed mutual, despite having been so discreetly felt as to be kept almost a secret (even from the reader!), and the newly-weds are described as two well-matched ‘loyaulx amans’ (p. 73), their feelings appear to be of limited importance compared to the fact that they are each performing their duty to marry in order to please and serve the king, Rambaux himself. This dutifulness is underlined in the description of their wedding night in terms of a marriage being duly consummated, as was that of the Jouvencel (‘quant se vint l’endemain, le mariaige consomme´, se leverent asse´s matin’, p. 73), rather than in the courtly terms of a night of bliss spent in each other’s arms like that in Cleriadus et Meliadice.114 Emphasizing still further the perfunctory treatment given to love in Rambaux de Frise, when Florissant is requested by both her father and her new husband to sing a song ‘pour amour de luy’ (p. 73), the song that she actually sings speaks far more eloquently of Othon’s usefulness to the kingdom as its defender than of the love they bear each other. Unlike the classic courtly lyric of longing and desire which Meliadice composes for Cleriadus,115 Florissant’s song says little of her 114 Cleriadus et Meliadice, pp. 649–50.

115 Ibid. 183.

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feelings but merely reiterates how Othon has risked his life for her country and thus deserves to be rewarded for his pains in serving the king (pp. 74–5). That Othon’s main function in the narrative is to provide the elderly, ailing king Rambaux with a surrogate son who has been designated as his ‘heretier universal’ (p. 77), is made explicit after his marriage, as is the functional nature of Rambaux’s own daughter’s role in producing a future male heir for the kingdom: le roy fut merveilleusement bien servy et suporte´ en sa vieillesse et en ses aVaires de Othon tout ainsi que ung bon Wlz doit faire a son pere. Aussi ne s’i faignoit pas sa femme de son couste´. Si fust elle dans peu de temps ensaincte d’enfant: et quant se vint au terme d’enfanter, deslivra d’un beau Wlz [ . . . ] Et voult le roy qu’il fust appelle´ Rambaux comme luy, ce que fut fait. (p. 76, emphasis added)

This process of self-replication on the part of the king, as underlined by the fact that his grandson is named after him at his request, is achieved by appropriating the reproductive power of his son-in-law as if Othon were in fact his own son. It thus stresses how the young hero’s duty is chieXy to ensure a smooth succession from Rambaux to another male descendant. In this respect, Othon is rather luckier than the Jouvencel who is himself completely sidelined from acceding to power when it is revealed that a male heir to the throne does in fact already exist. Whilst Othon is thus the very opposite of Brunor, the aggressive suitor of Florissant whom he defeats in battle, he nonetheless has one important aspect in common with him in that for neither of them is love the main motivation to attain marriage with her. In Brunor, love is replaced by a desire to avenge himself politically on Rambaux (for whose country he has always had a certain enmity), as well as by an aggressive lust for conquest of a new territory. In Othon, a warrior more in the mould of the career-minded Jouvencel for whom military service rather than love is the prime concern, desire is replaced by an extreme disinterestedness even to the point of not wishing to prevent Florissant from making a more advantageous marriage with someone of higher rank than himself (p. 69). Demystifying what is heavily masked under courtly rhetoric in Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice, Rambaux de Frise openly questions the centrality of love to masculine chivalric identity and shows how marriage serves largely as a form of reward which the king can deploy as a means of keeping his knightly saviour in his service. Just like the king of Amydoine in Le Jouvencel, Rambaux is urged by his subjects to use marriage for his own ends: ‘pour le prouYt du roy et de tout son royaume estoit espedient qu’il mariast Othon mieulx que autrement’ (p. 66). This is thus the most pragmatic of all the texts in our corpus, one which comes close to the disabused view of love and marriage found in a contemporary chivalric treatise such as Le Jouvencel. It reveals in unusually sharp and unidealized detail the distinctly male-centred agenda which is operative in both romance and the discourses on chivalry more generally: that of securing the integrity of a territory through the exercising of military might and the production of a

‘Re´cits d’Armes et/ou d’Amour’

39

legitimate male heir. By making the king and his daughter the actual subjects of the text and Othon the object of their common political agenda, Rambaux de Frise demonstrates how chivalric masculinity is fundamentally predicated on a man’s physical strength and reproductive capacity in the service of his sovereign. As in the ultra-pragmatic Jouvencel, so the cursory treatment of love in Rambaux de Frise serves as only the thinnest of veils for that political reality. In the aristocratic game of political succession, it is therefore not only women but also men themselves who can be treated as objects, albeit more willing and more knowing ones than their female counterparts. ( V ) C H I VA L R I C P ROW E S S A N D T H E T H R E AT O F F E M A L E A U TO N O M Y I N VERSIONS OF BLANCANDIN Whilst Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice continue to uphold the traditional romance ideal of love as an integral part of prowess, the remaining four texts in our corpus actually go much further than Rambaux de Frise which, as we have seen, baldly reveals the political pragmatism lurking behind the notion of love-service, since they all call into question the very power of woman to deWne chivalric identity through the economy of heterosexual love. Thus, in the case of the Burgundian prose reworking of the tale of Blancandin,116 to which we now turn, the way in which the later version of this text examines the challenges presented to the knight’s sense of self when a woman fails to reciprocate his desire reveals that it no longer accepts at face value the automatic assumption in its source that love is a crucial component of chivalric masculinity. Existing in two diVerent redactions in which the balance between amatory and military episodes varies slightly,117 the prose Blancandin by and large preserves the essential story of the verse original: a young nobleman leaves his parental home in the kingdom of Frisia in order to pursue a chivalric career; wins the aVection of the queen of Tourmaday, known as the Orgueilleuse d’amour due to her refusal to submit to love; Wghts to defend her territory against an unwanted 116 The popularity of this text at the Burgundian court may be explained by the fact that the hero is presented as the son of the king of Frisia, this ancient kingdom being connected to the prehistory of Burgundy itself: see Lacaze 1971. 117 Extant in three manuscripts, the shorter version of the prose Blancandin is contained in Brussels, Bibliothe`que royale de Belgique 3576–7, whilst the longer version is contained in Paris, ¨ sterreichische Nationalbibliothek 3438. Bibliothe`que nationale de France fr. 24371 and Vienna, O Greco’s edition of the prose Blancandin transcribes both the Brussels and Vienna manuscripts, contained on pp. 81–144 and 145–275 respectively. The shorter version largely omits the lengthy descriptions of battle scenes but retains all the key elements of the love between the hero and heroine, whilst the longer version preserves much more of the chivalric emphasis of the original and even invents further details of one or two military incidents (e.g. the capture of Blancandin’s father and the war against the king of Poland): see Jovanovic 1962; and Abramowicz 1996.

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suitor; and eventually becomes king through his marriage to her. However, close inspection of the longer prose redaction on which our discussion will be based shows how this de´rimage operates a subtle but signiWcant shift in the relationship between love and prowess compared with the earlier poem. This modiWcation would appear to be wholly in line with the similar evolution which we have identiWed in the discourses on chivalry in this period whereby the nostalgic adherence to the link between ‘armes et amour’ of a GeoV roi de Charny is largely replaced by the scepticism if not outright hostility towards love on the part of writers such as the author of Lalaing and Ghillebert de Lannoy who are exact contemporaries of the author of the Blancandin in prose. Moreover, not only is the importance of love for the formation of masculine chivalric identity notably reduced in this reworked version of the romance, but this change also goes hand in hand with a far more sceptical attitude towards women than that found in the original poem, this scepticism likewise being expressed in the conceptual works on chivalry which circulated at this time. In both early verse and late prose versions of Blancandin, the hero is motivated to leave his parental home in Frisia for the same reason. His father, the king, has deemed him to be too young to learn about knighthood and prevents him from receiving a military training. However, on contemplating a series of tapestries depicting the Trojan war, Blancandin is Wlled with a desire to emulate the deeds performed by these knights of old and so runs oV with his father’s best sword and horse in order to embark on a chivalric career. In both versions, the hero performs his Wrst act of prowess which consists of stealing a kiss (or three, in the case of the poem) from the heroine, the haughty Orgueilleuse d’amour, as she rides through a forest with her retinue of courtiers. Hereafter, however, the two versions diverge signiWcantly since, in the mise en prose, prowess comes to dominate at the expense of love, which itself takes on the form of a conquest of a recalcitrant woman. That it is indeed Blancandin’s mastery over the Orgueilleuse d’amour, as Wrst symbolized by his stealing of the kiss, which is primarily at stake in the prose reworking, is underlined in a number of ways. First, the two versions place a diVerent emphasis on their view of love as a means to self-perfection. In the original poem, when the Orgueilleuse d’amour’s feelings of outrage at Blancandin’s audacity in stealing the kiss from her have begun to subside and to be replaced by tentative pangs of love, her governess encourages her to nurture these emotions by describing the positive eVect produced on the individual who falls in love. Explaining that the duty of a woman in love is to abandon all ‘orgueil et felonie’ (l. 1406), the governess recounts how passion also has the beneWt of increasing male prowess: ‘C’est du mal que les autres ont j Qui les chevaliers fait cortois j Et les puceles met en prois, j Et qui fait faire les batailles j Et laissier mauvestiez et failles’ (ll. 1398–1402). This ideal of love as a spur to prowess is developed at greater length later in the narrative when Blancandin and his companion, Sadoine, attack the city of Cassidoine which is ruled by Daire, the son of the Orgueilleuse d’amour’s great enemy, Alimode´s. Having gained

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Sadoine’s help in this battle by promising him the hand of Daire’s sister if they are victorious, Blancandin pitches his tent which is decorated with scenes of love inspiring knights to deeds of valour, such images clearly being meant to motivate Sadoine into doing his best in order to earn the love of Daire’s sister: ‘Escrit i sont li jugement j D’amors et li atisement j Des acolers et des baisers j Des dames et des chevaliers, j Et li grant soupir des puceles j Et le regart des damoiseles j Qui molt sont sovent esmeu¨ j Quant chascune esgarde son dru’ (ll. 3445–52). This view of love as a means to self-perfection in both men and women, one to which a nostalgically minded Charny was still being drawn in the 1350s is, however, substantially modiWed in the mid-Wfteenth-century prose Blancandin, this shift being wholly in accordance with the questioning of such ideals found in the works of contemporary writers such as Lannoy. The prose version thus omits altogether the evocative description of Blancandin’s tent whilst its rendering of the dialogue between the heroine and her governess notably reduces the force of her lesson on the inspirational power of love, being applied more to women than to men so as to persuade the Orgueilleuse d’amour to cultivate the stirrings of love in her heart: ‘ce mal sera cause de vostre perfection et sachie´s que amours est la chose qui plus embelist et decore les nobles couraiges. Et ne pense´ point que jamais homme ne femme ayant bruit d’aucunes bonnes vertus passant les aultres y ait parvenu sans estre ou avoir este´ ou service d’amours’ (p. 181). Moreover, in this later version, although the Orgueilleuse d’amour watches from her tower every time Blancandin goes into battle on her behalf, her amorous gaze on him never directly inspires him to greater acts of prowess even when he carries her sleeve on his armour in respect of her wishes. Instead of the two-way process by which love and prowess mutually reinforce each other, as was the case in the verse original, what is in operation here is more of a one-way process, as the hero’s prowess serves as the means by which to gain her love, his success in the Weld of combat thus ensuring him victory in both the military and aVective domains. The Orgueilleuse d’amour herself, who is forced to admit that Blancandin ‘bien estoit digne d’estre ame´’ (p. 179), therefore becomes more an object of conquest than a source of chivalric inspiration to him, and so is subtly reduced, as in the writings of a Lannoy, to the status of a means to an end, that of the hero’s selfadvancement through marriage and his accession to power. Secondly, a key consequence of this substantial shift of emphasis in the representation of love is a change in the way in which the heroine herself is depicted, particularly as regards her long-standing refusal to love. In the original poem, the heroine’s choice not to give her heart to any man is shown primarily to be a question of personal preference as she has not yet found a lover whom she deems worthy of her aVection. As the knight of the ford, who Wrst tells Blancandin about her, explains: ‘L’autr’ier dist jame´s n’amera j Jusque fortune li dorra j Ou chevalier ou damoisel j Qui tant par ert cortois et bel, j Que nus n’i savra que reprandre j Se toz jorz le devoit atendre’ (ll. 553–8). Though undoubtedly inspired by ‘orgueil’ on her part, this extreme choosiness is nonetheless not a

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matter of simple caprice, hence Blancandin himself expresses his approval of it: ‘Molt par fait bien. j Ainz mais ne vi si saige rien; j Bien se set de toz delivrer’ (ll. 559–61). Even her refusal to take Alimode´s as her husband, which has left her country vulnerable to attack, is presented as a reasoned matter of choice on the grounds of her would-be suitor’s greater age, ugliness, and non-Christian faith, all reasons which even the heroine’s governess cannot gainsay despite her dismay at the danger into which the realm has fallen (ll. 1315–16). In the prose version, by contrast, the Orgueilleuse d’amour receives far harsher criticism of her refusal to love which is here interpreted as a dangerous bid for autonomy in both passion and politics. Thus, not only does the knight of the ford see her refusal to love as absolute, rather than merely contingent on her Wnding a suitable mate, and thus the result of her ‘orguilleux couraige’ and ‘obstinee voulente´’ (p. 162), her own provost condemns her for an ill-conceived personal choice which has had devastating political consequences that can only be remedied if she takes a husband: ‘qu’elle prensist ung bon seigneur pour deVendre nous et sa terre’ (p. 185). In stressing how the Orgueilleuse d’amour’s aVective autonomy equates to a dangerous political independence, this later version presents her as a threat to the correct social order whereby a male should rule,118 and hence emphasizes the need for Blancandin to assert mastery over her. Rather than simply being an object of desire as she is in the thirteenth-century poem, where her beauty and personal attributes are described to the hero in quite erotic detail so as to incite him to take action (ll. 566–92), in the prose reworking she is much more closely linked metonymically to the territory over which she rules, in line with the idea found in Lannoy of the unmarried lady who serves as a means to the knight’s securing of wealth and power. Just as Blancandin is inspired by desire to steal a kiss from her and thereby establishes his claim on her, so, on his Wrst sighting the city of Tourmaday, he is struck by its beauty and wealth, both of which function as displaced epithets for the lady herself, and is inspired to thoughts of possessing it: ‘luy sembloit la plus belle et la plus rice ou jamais il avoit este´ [ . . . ] et disoit en luy meismes que grant seigneur seroit celui qui une telle cite´ aroit en baillie’ (p. 167). This view is conWrmed by the provost himself who, on hearing that Blancandin has won the queen’s heart, assumes that he has thus become de facto the future lord of the realm: ‘il lui sembloit qu’encore seroit-il roy et seigneur de la terre de Tourmaday et que leur dame l’avoit bien en sa grace’ (p. 189). Moreover, when Blancandin explains to Sadoine why he needs his aid in his military campaign against Alimode´s, he describes his intended rescue of the queen in terms more apt to describe the liberation of a country, thus reaYrming the metonymic link between the lady and her land: ‘Si est que me veullie´s aidier et secourir a l’encontre du roy Allimode´s, qui par sa grant cruaulte´ 118 Derrien 1999, p. 101, rightly notes how the original poem highlights the dangers for a country ruled by a weak leader such as ‘des rois sans de´fense, des rois conque´rants, des reines sans e´poux’. In the prose reworking, this concern with the perils of female rulership as occasioned by the Orgueilleuse herself is brought out even more strongly.

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et tyrannie tient enserree et enclose la riens au monde que plus doy desirer mettre de servitude en francise. Ce est ma tresredoubtee dame, le Orguilleuse d’amours’ (p. 233, emphasis added). That the prose version of the tale diVers from the original poem in presenting the heroine as being as much an object of conquest to be won through deeds of prowess and a means of male self-advancement as an object of desire can also be seen in the text’s other lovers who parallel the hero and heroine, i.e. Sadoine and Alimode´s’s daughter who, in this later version, is given the name of Beatrix. In the verse narrative, Blancandin gains Sadoine’s support in his war against Alimode´s by promising him his enemy’s daughter in marriage, but the crudeness of this apparent view of her as simply a spoil of war whom he can dispose of is attenuated by long courtly passages in which she and Sadoine are shown falling in love with each other. Not only does the princess glimpse him when he is out hunting and is attracted by his youth and good looks, compared to the elderly suitor whom her own father has chosen for her (ll. 3480–96), but she is also seduced by his prowess on the Weld, her admiring looks towards him inspiring him in turn to greater feats of valour, as Sadoine exclaims to Blancandin: ‘Compainz, c’est por l’amor m’amie j Que ge voi la en cele tor, j Assez plus blanche d’une Xor. j Ne sai s’ele m’aime noient, j Mais un poi me fet de senblant’ (ll. 3644–8). In the prose version, however, Blancandin’s prerogative to dispose of Beatrix as a reward to Sadoine for his loyalty in war is never softened through the use of such courtly rhetoric but is constantly reiterated in the strongest of terms, as he states: ‘Certainement se a chief pouons venir de ceste guerre elle seroit vostre’ (p. 217). Furthermore, on their arrival in Cassidoine, Blancandin embarks on their mission which is to ‘assaillir la ville pour ce que dedens est la demoiselle qu’il lui avoit promise’ (p. 226), once again emphasizing the metonymic link between the lady and the territory which she controls, just as he did for the Orgueilleuse d’amour herself. There is thus no account given of any burgeoning mutual attraction between Sadoine and Beatrix. Rather, she is depicted as a highly pragmatic Wgure who, once she sees that the battle is turning against her own troops, surrenders both the city and herself to Blancandin. Promptly handing her over to Sadoine, the hero states: ‘prende´s ceste damoiselle, je la vous donne par tel sy que me aidere´s a secourir l’Orguilleuse d’amours’ (p. 228), and their marriage is later followed by Sadoine’s coronation as king of Cassidoine when Beatrix disowns her own father and grants control of his territory to her new husband (p. 261). She too, like the Orgueilleuse d’amour, is therefore intrinsically identiWed in this text with the land over which she rules, this view in the prose Blancandin of women as a means to male self-advancement, both for the hero and for his companion-in-arms as a reward for his loyalty, thus echoing the more pragmatic attitude towards love and marriage that characterizes the discourses on chivalry in the later middle ages.

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If the prose reworking of Blancandin, particularly in the longer redaction, follows much of the letter of the original poem, it nonetheless diVers markedly in its spirit, rejecting the courtly conception of the mutual interdependence of love and prowess in favour of a less idealized notion of love as a kind of conquest earned through acts of prowess and sealed by marriage. This is seen to be particularly necessary in the case of a lady whose aVective and political autonomy constitutes a challenge to the rule of men, hence the knight’s assertion of his chivalric identity also serves to neutralize this threat and to re-establish the correct social order which is seen as indispensable for peace and prosperity to be returned to the realm. The prospect of kingship, rather than simply the Orgueilleuse d’amour herself, is thus presented as the true and perfectly legitimate object of Blancandin’s desire as his deeds of valour are the proven credentials of his Wtness to rule. ( V I ) T H E T R A U M A O F U N R EWA R D E D LOV E - S E RV I C E I N J E H A N D’ AV E N N E S The ambivalence towards the heroine found in the prose reworking of the tale of Blancandin, which parallels the more disabused view of love that is characteristic of the chivalric discourses of the mid-Wfteenth century, is by no means unique in our corpus of late medieval premarital romances of innamoramento. In Jehan d’Avennes,119 such ambivalence is expressed at far greater length since, unlike Blancandin where the lady’s refusal to love is tantamount to a bid for political independence, it is shown here to be highly deleterious to the knight’s very sense of self and ability to serve his prince. For most critics who have analysed the relationship between Jehan d’Avennes and its source, the early fourteenth-century conte moral known as Le Dit du prunier,120 the most obvious diVerence between the two is that the former massively expands the latter, which comprises barely 1,400 lines of octosyllabic verse, by adding long sections recounting the hero’s various exploits in tournaments, pas d’armes, and crusades.121 Another key diVerence is in the treatment of love in the prose reworking compared to the verse original: whilst Jehan d’Avennes is deemed to be highly conventional in its representation of a hero who is almost immediately transformed into a courtly and chivalric paragon as soon as love 119 Jehan d’Avennes is preserved in two manuscripts, one of which (Paris, Arsenal 5208) belonged to the de Croy¨ family, whilst the other (Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France fr. 12572) was produced in the workshop of the ‘Maıˆtre de Wavrin’ and is mentioned in the inventory of Philippe le Bon’s library. 120 The only extant manuscript of the Prunier dates from around 1460. 121 See Duparc-Quioc 1955, pp. 206–35; and Jehan d’Avennes, introd., pp. 12–20. This text is also the Wrst part of a trilogy which includes a version in prose of the 13th-cent. Fille du comte de Ponthieu and the Roman de Saladin: see Finoli 1999.

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strikes him, the Prunier has been judged to be more subtle in its depiction of a callow youth who has to learn vital lessons about knightly conduct in love, lessons which are slowly and painfully delivered to him by a lady highly skilled in the game of love.122 Though she comments on Jehan d’Avennes in isolation from its source, Michelle Szkilnik is one of the few critics who Wnds the treatment of love in this text somewhat problematic,123 seeing the depiction of the lady as an undoubtedly philanthropic but curiously passionless creature as rather baZing to modern readers who also struggle to make sense of its Xat denouement when the obstacle to the knight’s attaining his desire, the lady’s husband, is hurriedly killed oV.124 However, detailed comparative analysis of Jehan d’Avennes and its source reveals that the representation of love in this text is in fact neither as conventional nor as implausible as scholars have suggested. Given that the de´rimeur may well have had what is now the only extant manuscript of the verse original to hand while composing his prose version, his portrayal of the lady as a troubling Wgure and the seeming Xatness of the narrative should be read as part of a conscious strategy of rewriting the Prunier, one informed by the contemporary discourses on chivalry with their more sceptical attitude towards both love-service and the female object of desire. Thus, just as in the examples of a Boucicaut or a Lalaing, the reworked version of this tale shows how Jehan has to renegotiate the fundamental relationship between love and prowess before his full chivalric identity can be attained. The prologues of these two works reveal an immediate and striking diVerence between them which is crucial for our understanding of their underlying didactic purpose since, in the Prunier, the focus is on the lady, and in Jehan d’Avennes, it is on the hero himself. Evoking the allegorical orchard of Honour in which grows the plum-tree (‘prunier’) of Prowess, the prologue of the original poem discusses the two diVerent types of woman who can help a knight gain access to this orchard: the unattached lady, whether widow or maiden, who can give him the material help he needs to perform chivalric deeds; and the married lady who refuses, out of loyalty to her husband and fear of dishonour, to give him either wealth or aVection, but whose very refusal acts as a spur to his attainment of prowess. As becomes clear in the ensuing narrative, the heroine in the Prunier incarnates both of these types: knowing how to play her hand cleverly in this skilful game of refusal and gift-giving, she oVers the knight material support without his knowledge whilst refusing to grant him her love openly until such time as her husband dies and she is free to remarry. 122 Prunier, introd., p. 29. 123 Szkilnik 2003, pp. 46–50. Her reading can thus be contrasted with that of Que´ruel 1988, p. 42, who simply sees the hero as embodying ‘des valeurs chevaleresques immuables’; and that of Finoli 1995, p. 139, who describes the lady’s actions as completely lacking in any ambiguity. 124 For a similar view of the troubling nature of the lady, see Dixon 2007.

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The prologue to Jehan d’Avennes, which lacks both the allegorical imagery and the discussion of women’s roles found in the Prunier, also diVers notably from that which usually appears in the sub-genre of Burgundian romanced biography to which this text belongs.125 Thus, although the initial rubric preceding the prologue presents the hero as ‘tres vaillans’ (p. 41) and links him to a prestigious dynasty (culminating in the great Saladin) which he will go on to found, the prologue neither conWrms Jehan as the hero of the text nor does it oVer the usual evocation of ‘les haulx fais’ of a valorous Burgundian ancestor presented to the reader for commemoration and imitation.126 Instead, it stresses that the work itself has been sadly neglected, ‘mis en nonchalloir’, in spite of its originality, being ‘pou [ . . . ] en usaige’, and quite pointedly recommends the subject matter as ‘digne de grand recommendation’, rather than the hero himself (ibid.). The audience, especially one well versed in the usual endorsements of the deeds of Burgundian heroes in such works, would therefore be primed to expect a signiWcant departure from the generic norm, an expectation which is certainly fulWlled as Jehan proves to be by no means as straightforward a model for emulation as the description of him as ‘tres vaillans’ in the initial rubric might suggest. When read in the light of contemporary views of chivalry, this divergence from the norm in Jehan d’Avennes would appear to be an expression of its fundamental questioning of the link between prowess and love and to its attendant scepticism concerning the role of women in the formation of chivalric identity. Indeed, when we go on to examine the representation of the two pairs of lovers in the Prunier and Jehan d’Avennes, the two diVerent sets of readerly expectations raised in their prologues are amply borne out. Thus, the perspective which is privileged in the Prunier is that of the lady who is presented as superior and more powerful than her young suitor on every level, being older than him and occupying a higher rank in society. More particularly, she, unlike the young would-be knight, is a consummate player in the game of love itself, using her sexual attractiveness as a means of Wrst gaining the uncouth boy’s attention by touching his hair (ll. 347–9), squeezing his foot and hand (ll. 376–9), and giving him presents such as a costly purse and belt which have amorous connotations when oVered as gifts from a lady to a man (ll. 414–18). Moreover, she uses her greater verbal dexterity in order to bend the boy to her will, hinting at the superiority of knights over mere squires in order to spur him into wanting to join 125 On these prologues, see Gaucher 1994, pp. 263–91. On prologues in earlier romance, see Badel 1975. 126 Compare, for example, with the unequivocally glowing terms of the prologue to Gilles de Chin, p. 1. This reading of the text thus renders problematic any automatic assumption on the part of critics such as Badel that Jehan d’Avennes was written to Xatter the young duke Charles le Te´me´raire (see Prunier, introd., p. 28) or even his elderly father Philippe le Bon. Rather more directly Xattering to the older duke in particular is the very positive representation in this text of the ‘duc de Bourgogne’ as Jehan’s military commander and patron. On the Burgundian reception of this text, see Que´ruel 2002.

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the ranks of knighthood (ll. 698–700) and employing a series of seemingly irrefutable reasons for her repeated refusals to give her love to him, these refusals or escondits being, of course, designed to prolong his chivalric eVorts (pp. 68– 76). Never does the lady lose control of power in this relationship, even in the latter stages when, after the death of her husband, she rescues the knight from his exile in the forest where he has lived in a state of despair after her Wnal refusal, since it is she who stage-manages his return to civilized society and organizes the contracting of their marriage (pp. 85–6). The lady in the Prunier is therefore an all-powerful domna who keeps her soupirant at bay until she is able to marry him, not really out of love it is implied, but rather because he is now of suYciently high status and renown to make a worthy replacement husband. Yet, if the lady is highly skilled in causing this young man to fall in love with her and in keeping him on the path of chivalric endeavour for a number of years, her reasons for playing such games are presented as neither egotistical nor frivolous. Rather, she sees her role as being dictated by pure disinterestedness, as symbolized by her gift to him of a diamond that has the power to bring the wearer of it good fortune, provided that neither the person who gives the present nor the one who receives it has any expectation of reward in so doing (ll. 725–37). Indeed, this disinterestedness is at the heart of all her actions since, to her mind, love is not something that can be earned through love-service, as the knight who does everything in order to win her thinks to be the case: ‘Suy chevalierz et ay este´ j AWn de vostre amour avoir’ (ll. 980–1). Thus, the only reward that he can justly claim for all his pains is his own honour since, thanks to her encouragements and endlessly deferred promises, he who was once but a ‘niche turbiert’ has now become a ‘bacheler rade et appert’ (ll. 1139–40). For the same reason of disinterestedness, she explains to her would-be suitor that she cannot give her love to another man when her own husband has done nothing to deserve such disloyalty (ll. 1115–16). Just as the knight himself has been a beneWciary of her disinterestedness as his sponsor and educator, so she herself was once the recipient of that which her spouse showed to her in marrying her and elevating her to a higher social position (ll. 1313–14). Moreover, if she was allowed to oVer the knight secret Wnancial help with his equipment, this was in fact with the sanction of her husband who put his wealth at her disposal in order that she might aid the social advancement of another knight (ll. 1336–7). According to Pierre-Yves Badel, the lady thus makes this disinterested process of education conducted by an older, more powerful person for the beneWt of a younger, more inexperienced person, into a kind of ‘loi sociale’,127 one which is necessary for anyone, male or female, wishing to take up their proper position in noble society. In performing her self-imposed social duty of advancing another whilst still maintaining her loyalty to her husband, the lady is cited not only as a model for the knight himself but also as an exemplar for other women. 127 Prunier, introd., p. 23.

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Ultimately then, in forcing her prote´ge´ to recognize her husband’s prior claim on her aVections, the lady shifts the didactic signiWcance of this tale from being about the rules of the game of love in which gender is all-important, to oVering a lesson on disinterestedness on the part of both men and women as an organizing principle of society.128 Unlike the lady in the Prunier who is presented as the voice of authority and as worthy of imitation by others, the countess of Artois in Jehan d’Avennes is depicted in far less detail and is no longer the main focalizer of the narrative since that role is given to Jehan instead. This reduction in her importance, the scenes of her interviews with Jehan being intercut with far lengthier episodes in which his chivalric exploits are recounted, substantially alters her position in the text and she becomes a more troubling Wgure whose motives and behaviour are seen in a far more dubious light. Such scepticism in this text about the domna’s right to manipulate a knight into performing acts of prowess with the endlessly deferred promise of her love as a reward would seem to mirror that found in works such as the biographies of Boucicaut and Lalaing, and especially the didactic writings of Lannoy, who all reject the power play involved in the game of courtly love in favour of men’s autonomy from the prerogative of women to determine their worth. Likewise, in Jehan d’Avennes, rather than replacing loveservice with the disinterested idea of prowess as its own reward as was the case in the Prunier, this game of eVort and reward is itself debunked as being injurious to the knight’s sense of self and so the hero has to learn to liberate himself altogether from the illusions of love. Presented as a paragon of courtly and wifely virtues, the countess in Jehan d’Avennes is initially depicted as the perfect complement to her husband whose equal she is in rank, beauty, and goodness, the two of them forming the perfect dynastic couple (p. 42) who set an implicit standard against which Jehan will be measured. Clearly, when the boy makes his Wrst appearance at the lady’s court, with his ragged clothes, bad manners, and unkempt appearance, the lady is completely out of his reach as a potential partner in love but it is her very unavailability on these grounds that inspires him to smarten himself up and to undertake acts of prowess in her honour. Jehan thus throws himself into the kind of courtly and chivalric game in which he expects his eVorts to be rewarded by the lady’s aVection, this game being sanctioned by both the earlier romance tradition itself and lauded by previous chivalric commentators such as Charny. Yet, despite being depicted initially as a force for good, the countess becomes an increasingly equivocal Wgure in the narrative. Although she uses her verbal dexterity rather than her sexual attractiveness as the main means by which to encourage Jehan to enter the world of knighthood, her words are shown to be far 128 Lucken 2002 sees the lady in the Prunier as rather more cynical than disinterested (and thus more akin to Belles Cousines in Saintre´), and the text itself as undermining rather than upholding the ideals of the early romance tradition.

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more misleading than those of the lady in the Prunier as regards her intentions towards him.129 She thus accompanies the gifts she gives him with ambiguous suggestions that diVer radically from the speech about disinterestedness pronounced by the lady in the verse original, as, for example, when she proVers the purse and belt to Jehan whilst urging him to accept them ‘pour l’amour de la dame que vostre gentil et noble cuer aimme le mieux’ (p. 50), a statement which he interprets as referring to her. The form of her escondits is equally ambiguous as she appears to make her besotted would-be lover more binding promises than she has any intention of keeping. For instance, in her second refusal, the countess seems to go far further than the lady in the Prunier who simply oVers the knight monetary help (l. 995) when she says: ‘Et, se ainsy faisie´s et il vous plaisoit puis retourner par dec¸a en moy requerant d’aulcune chose, je feroye tant envers vous que par raison il vous deveroit suYre’ (p. 122, emphasis added). Similarly, on her third refusal, when the lady in the original poem exhorts the knight to learn to moderate his desire, the countess here makes her most equivocal reply yet, promising during his absence to remain loyal to ‘mon ami et loingz et pre´s’ (p. 161), referring not to Jehan as he thinks, but to her husband who is overseas and of whose existence the hero is ignorant (p. 92). Yet it is in her Wnal and deWnitive refusal that we see most clearly the distance between the authoritative position occupied by the lady in the Prunier, who justiWes her conduct in an eloquent speech about spousal loyalty and social disinterestedness, and the defensive position in which the countess Wnds herself in Jehan d’Avennes. Her very language betrays her embarrassment at being pushed to deliver on her promises as she declares, rather shamefacedly, ‘ains vous confesseray mon cas’ (p. 183), thus revealing the hitherto hidden truth that she is married, rather than, as does the lady in the Prunier, expounding an alternative philosophy of love. Thinking that he is playing by one set of rules, those of eVort and reward as set out by a Charny, Jehan instead Wnds himself playing a game of another kind, one in which the lady appears to be toying with him, more in the manner of the courtly ladies in the biography of Lalaing who, avid for the prestige of being linked with an illustrious knight, treated him as their ‘passetemps’ and from whom the hero learnt to keep his emotional distance. The ambiguity surrounding the lady’s actions and words in Jehan d’Avennes is compounded by the fact that, although the narrator at various times assures the reader that the countess’s intentions are good (‘la dame [ . . . ] ne pensoit se non a bien faire’, p. 160), such assurances are not shared by Jehan himself who is convinced, rather, of her duplicity and betrayal in refusing to play by the expected rules of the game. Thus, unlike the Prunier, in which the lady swiftly dismisses the knight’s complaint that her concern with his well-being is insincere (ll. 1265–6), in 129 Dixon 2007 sees the lady as positively antagonistic and duplicitous in her relations with Jehan.

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Jehan d’Avennes the hero is not only described as a victim of love, a ‘desespere´ d’amours’ and an ‘homme abuse´’ (p. 184), but he himself condemns the lady’s ‘rigueur, Werte´, durte´, fraulde et mal engin’ (p. 185), charges which, signiWcantly, the narrator does not refute. The Wnal denouement, in which the countess reveals that her husband has died, similarly highlights the diVerence between the heroine of Jehan d’Avennes and the lady in the Prunier. Whereas the latter reaYrms her rejection of the concept of love-service by extolling the virtues of the spouse to whom she was rightfully devoted and agrees to help the knight only out of a profoundly disinterested sense of pity, the countess in Jehan d’Avennes is held to honour the promises which the hero believed she had made to him and so is obliged to reward him Wnally for his love-service to her (pp. 189–90). Thus, far from retaining her power over Jehan in determining her own fate, as the lady in the Prunier was honourably able to do, the countess in the prose reworking is presented rather as a kind of trompeur trompe´ who is caught in the snare of her own equivocal speeches and who thereafter gives over mastery completely to her new husband. The threat which she posed to his chivalric identity by refusing to reward his love and causing him to suVer a temporary withdrawal from human civilization in the woods is thereby neutralized through marriage, this new state symbolizing a fundamental shift in their power relations, one which, for commentators on chivalry such as Lannoy, was highly preferable to the destabilizing eVects of heterosexual passion. Indeed, it is precisely this need for the male to assert his mastery over the female in order to secure his sense of selfhood that not only links Jehan d’Avennes to its contemporary, Blancandin, but also distinguishes it from its earlier source as can be clearly seen if we turn now to how the knightly hero himself is portrayed in these two works. Compared to the lady in the Prunier whose demeanour and dress are the very epitome of courtliness, the young boy here is so disadvantaged in appearance, speech, and table manners that he cuts a ridiculous Wgure, that of the foolish ‘nice’. Slow to realize what the rules of the lady’s disinterested game are, he persists in believing that his love-service will bring him a reward and so sees himself throughout as having been poorly remunerated for his pains, claiming, for example, to have expected to be repaid in love rather than in mercenary gifts of jewellery: ‘Helas! Je n’avoye tallent j De donner mon cœur pour argent’ (ll. 1263–4). Similarly, he fails to understand that his social ascension is its own reward as the stages which he goes through show his progression from performing as a lone individual at tournaments (p. 72) to learning the social beneWts of largesse (p. 74), and from forming part of a group of companions retained in the service of dukes and kings (p. 75) to himself leading military campaigns overseas (p. 76). SigniWcantly, though his career is Wnally completed on his marriage to the lady, no mention is made of his gaining mastery over her through his new role as her husband. Rather, the text simply states that their union was well received by others and that he remained

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loyal to her. In the Prunier, then, it is through utter submission to the lady’s rules in accepting prowess as its own reward that the young man attains his full identity. In Jehan d’Avennes, by contrast, where the knight himself is the main character, the question of the power wielded by the lady over the man and the inXuence of love as opposed to prowess on the hero’s accession to chivalric identity, is treated very diVerently. If Jehan is undoubtedly more of a novice than a ‘nice’,130 in completing his transformation into a paragon of elegance and chivalric valour far more quickly than his counterpart in the Prunier, he is still nonetheless shown to be a dupe. He is a dupe, though, of a somewhat diVerent kind from that in the verse original, one who serves to illustrate an important moral lesson about the perils of love for the knight’s sense of self, this lesson being, as we have seen, central to the writings of Lannoy and to the biography of Lalaing in which women are similarly depicted as a potental threat to men’s honour. Thus, if the countess is seen to be ambiguous in her words and as a danger to Jehan’s subjectivity, which is eVectively destroyed when he falls into amorous despair, the hero himself is shown to be deluded in his aspirations. The chief means by which the text achieves this is through irony which it employs extensively so as to reveal the havoc that such delusions wreak on the knight’s identity when he puts too much store in love rather than prowess and gives the lady too much power to determine his well-being.131 Such use of irony simultaneously demystiWes the kind of romance literary convention still cherished by those such as Charny in which eVort in love guarantees a reward. It is thus in depicting the hero as dupe or even anti-hero that the narrator fulWls his promise in the prologue to present to the reader a subject matter which is out of the ordinary and yet still worthy of serious consideration. The Wrst example of such irony at the hero’s expense occurs when the narrator is slyly caustic about Jehan’s love for the countess which he subtly mocks as all the more inexplicable being based on only the slimmest evidence that it is actually reciprocated, ‘par sy pou d’occoison acquise comne par ung seul regard ou par une seulle parolle aulcunes fois proVeree soubz couvreture’ (p. 119). Secondly, and much more extensively, in order to highlight the deluded nature of Jehan’s persistence in seeing himself as a thwarted lover, the young knight’s frequent literary allegorizations of himself as a victim of Love are juxtaposed with the actual reality of his situation. For example, at the end of his second interview with the lady, Jehan launches into a self-dramatizing account of his inner struggle to cope with her rejection in the form of a psychomachia in which Amour leads Esperance before him in order to encourage him to continue in his chivalric endeavours. Underlining the deluded nature of Jehan’s allegorizations, the narrator 130 Prunier, introd., p. 29. 131 Finoli 2004, p. 259, notes the use of humour in the descriptions of the hero’s early formation in Jehan d’Avennes but does not relate this to any later ironic debunking of him as a dupe of love.

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reveals the gulf between his expectations and those of the lady by describing the two of them as being at cross-purposes with each other, ‘l’un en amour et l’aultre a faire entreprendre au gentil chevalier le voyage’ (p. 123). But perhaps the key example of this ironic intrusion of reality is the lady’s revelation that she has a husband, since it is this piece of information that destroys Jehan’s illusions about earning her love. It is thus not, as Szkilnik suggests, that this revelation is rather a poor twist to the narrative or indeed surprising in view of the romance convention that the presence of a spouse is not always an obstacle to taking a lover. Rather, this revelation can be read as a deliberate narrative strategy in that it is precisely the Xat, banal reality of this fact that hits the poor knight like a thunderbolt and shatters his dream of seeing his prowess rewarded by love. The same ironic bathos recurs in the scene of his reunion with the countess when, after singing a long, elaborate lay of complaint in which he calls on Death to take him,132 Jehan receives with comically tactless joy the news from the lady that her husband is now dead. The banal expediency of this news, just like that of the revelation of the husband’s existence in the Wrst place, thus serves to undercut the lover’s self-dramatizing illusions: ‘Atant la dame lui dist qu’elle est vesve et que son mari est mort, dont il la requiert. C. mille fois qu’elle ait merci de luy et est moult joieux le chevalier de la nouvelle’ (p. 189, emphasis added). In reality, then, a thoroughly practical solution is found to the problem that Jehan had inXated into a literary-inspired matter of life and death due to his not understanding how to play the game itself. His ultimate victory in this game is thus not only somewhat bathetic but also pyrrhic since it is mastery in marriage rather than the reciprocation of his love that proves to be his reward. Finally, the text ironically debunks both Jehan’s own suVerings and literary convention itself by showing that, though he criticizes the lady for not playing fair, neither in fact does he since, in spite of his eVorts to conform to the romance ideal of the valorous knight, he fails to abide by the rules of chivalric prowess itself. Like the knight in the Prunier, Jehan misunderstands the workings of the game of love-service but does so in a slightly diVerent way from his verse counterpart. In his eagerness to obtain his reward from the countess, Jehan contravenes the chivalric proscription on vantardise, or boastfulness, which, as we have seen in the example of Boucicaut who condemned those knights who boldly demand their reward from their ladies, is not the correct way to win a woman’s love. Thus, in the guise of ‘le Chevalier Blanc’ Jehan organizes a pas d’armes, taking on Wfteen diVerent challengers and winning a ruby from each of them in turn.133 However, unlike other romance heroes such as Cleriadus or Ponthus who show the necessary modesty in only letting news of their success in such events trickle back via the mouths of others to their respective ladies at court, Jehan openly boasts to the countess of his success in this endeavour and attempts to use the rubies won as a kind of currency to persuade her to return his love: ‘Sy vous supplie, madame, que en gre´ vuellie´s prendre ce petit don qui, 132 Colombo Timelli 1992c.

133 See Finoli 2000a and 2002–3.

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comme dessus est dit, de vous et a cause de vous me vient. Car, par ma conscience, quelque chose que j’aye entreprinse a faire, n’a este´ seulement que pour acquerre vostre bonne grace’ (p. 121). Similarly, whilst the knight in the Prunier saw love-service itself as a means of earning the lady’s love and lamented only receiving what he saw as monetary reward in return, Jehan perverts the chivalric ideal of largesse, the reciprocal giving of gifts, in order to obtain his goal of the countess’s aVection. Thus, in his Wnal interview with her, he exploits the chivalric tradition of New Year’s Day as a time when knights bring presents to their ladies by making an oVering of his ‘corps et cuer’ in the speciWc hope that she will return his present in kind, ‘vous suppliant qu’a ceste fois vous aie´s pitie´ de moy qui ne eux onquez en jour de ma vie une seulle heure de repos pour l’amour dont je vous aymme’ (p. 183). If Jehan is a dupe of love who sees himself as the victim of a lady who has abused her power in the game and so needs to rid himself of his literary and amorous illusions, he has to renegotiate the bases of his masculine identity through the most practical of solutions, marriage itself. Thus, compared to the Prunier where the text abruptly ends at the moment of the couple’s marriage and returns in the epilogue to celebrating the lady’s disinterested skilfulness at handling her lover, Jehan d’Avennes devotes a number of chapters to this event in a subtle account of how a new balance of power is set in place as Jehan becomes master of the lady and his standing in private Wnally matches that which he possesses in public. Though his marriage is of the type approved of by Charny, being for love rather than just for wealth, it nevertheless fundamentally changes his status, since, in marrying a lady of higher social rank than himself, it brings him the kind of self-advancement advocated by those such as Lannoy. Highlighting the fact that he is now a full member of a masculine elite which reXects back to him his own standing, Jehan himself goes in person to conclude the marriage contract, Xanked by high-ranking companions-in-arms with whom he had previously fought, and he is further honoured when the king himself brings all the most noble lords from his court to the wedding (pp. 190–1). Thus, having achieved the desired degree of autonomy from both heterosexual desire and the lady herself since his status is now measured through his homosocial ranking with other men rather than according to the yardstick previously wielded by a woman, Jehan henceforth completely eclipses the countess whose own feelings about the marriage remain muted if not entirely unrecorded. The complete shift in power that has taken place between them is expressed as his having at last taken possession of her body and title: ‘A laquelle messe fu monseigneur Jehan d’Avennez moult joieulx quand il soy trouva parc¸onnier de la dame, conte de Pontieu et, par le sacrement de mariage, seur de joı¨r de sez amours’ (p. 192, emphasis added). Even the Wnal tournament in which he competes, that which takes place at his own wedding, this time dressed in the arms of a ‘Chevalier Noir’, is signiWcant for the way in which it symbolizes the death of his previous identity as frustrated

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lover and the birth of his new self as masterful husband.134 Competing ‘pour l’amour de la dame’ but this time with the power and status that have accrued to him as a result of his becoming ‘le conte de Pontieu nouveau’ (Pontieu being the territory to which the countess was heir), he has no need to boast of his deeds to the lady in order to gain her love as it is the king himself, the ultimate sanction of his new identity, who informs her that her new husband has won the tournament (p. 194). The wedding night itself is likewise narrated wholly from Jehan’s point of view and is portrayed as the moment of his taking active, physical possession of the lady and the noble setting which she occupies, thus supplanting her previous husband in more than name alone: ‘Et lorsqu’il se vey seul en la chambre de sa dame, Dieux scet se sa joie se redoubla! Et s’il se couc¸a en si rice et noble lieu comme au lit de sa bien amee, je m’en tays’ (p. 195). Although the text narrates no further episodes of prowess, this is not to suggest, as Szkilnik has argued, that Jehan risks falling into the trap of recreantise out of love for his wife.135 Rather, it is a sign of his having gone beyond the need to reconcile love with prowess once he has attained the rank of a mature, adult, married senior since his identity is now that of ruler of a domain for whom love is an irrelevance and whose troubling desire has been laid to rest. No longer focused exclusively and solipsistically on winning the lady herself, he performs his role for the wider public good, in conformity with the late medieval discourses on chivalry. His tasks in this role are thus to found a dynasty by producing an heir, to educate his son to take over the succession, to perform charitable deeds, and generally to ensure the smooth running of ‘le bien publicque’, all of which, on the occasion of his death, his grieving subjects later celebrate him for having fulWlled (p. 196). Love, then, in this text, is by no means presented as a crucial component of chivalric identity but rather, given the hero’s inability to control the nature of the lady’s response to his pleas and the dangers posed by his own amorous delusions, it is shown to be highly problematic and potentially destructive of prowess itself. This work is indeed, compared to the others in our corpus, most distinctly ‘pou [ . . . ] en usaige’ as the prologue would have it, in showing us the hero as a fool for love. It not only substantially reworks its source-text, the Prunier, but in so doing also rewrites one of the most fundamental tenets of romance tradition, loveservice itself. In showing how power has to be wrested out of the hands of women in order for masculine identity to Xourish, this text conforms closely to a view which is hinted at playfully in the biographies of knights such as Boucicaut and Lalaing who manage to sidestep the perils of passion, but expounded in all seriousness in Lannoy for whom such dalliance is at best a distraction from prowess and men’s proper social role and at worst a threat to their emotional and physical health. 134 For slightly diVerent readings of the signiWcance of this tournament, see Colombo Timelli 1990; and Dixon 2007. 135 Szkilnik 2003, p. 50.

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( V I I ) H E T E RO S E X U A L LOV E V E R S U S H O M O S O C I A L DUTY IN GILLES DE CHIN Yet, it is not simply the female’s potential refusal to reward love in Blancandin and Jehan d’Avennes which causes the narrators of these late medieval romances to adopt a sceptical attitude towards women. In Gilles de Chin,136 it is precisely female de´mesure in love which poses a problem for the formation of chivalric masculinity, one which has to be overcome by downgrading the importance of heterosexual passion in favour of the homosocial bond of military companionship, this bond being presented as the very cornerstone of male identity in works such as Le Jouvencel and Lalaing. Previously commented on by critics who are mainly interested in comparing the hero of this anonymous prose reworking of an earlier epic,137 with his reallife, historical model,138Gilles de Chin is a key text in our corpus for the way in which it questions the role of romantic love in the formation of masculine identity. This questioning is seen in the close intertextual links which it maintains with other works such as Jehan d’Avennes, with which it shares the theme of the uncouth adolescent who has to be properly educated so as to prove himself worthy of his noble birth, but also, more particularly, with another contemporary romance, the prose reworking of the Chastelain de Coucy which is based on the late thirteenth- or early fourteenth-century poem by Jakeme´s.139 Not only does Gilles de Chin form, in Antoinette Naber’s phrase, ‘un couple inse´parable’ with the Chastelain de Coucy since the two works are bound together in the only extant manuscript which preserves the tale of the chatelain,140 but the story of Gilles can be read as a thoroughgoing corrective to that of the chatelain who, in the prose version, is known as Regnault (Chastelain de Coucy, p. 37). This corrective is undertaken by means of espousing a very diVerent view of chivalric masculinity from that in the Chastelain de Coucy, one which is drawn from the didactic works of the period in their rejection of the centrality of love to the knight’s identity. Although both Gilles de Chin and the Chastelain de Coucy present themselves as romanced biographies,141 they each have a diVerent didactic purpose as is revealed in the accompanying preface or prologue. Thus, if Gilles is an exemplary Burgundian chivalric hero, like Blancandin, whose valour needs to be commemorated 136 All references to this text, which is preserved in two manuscripts, will be to Cormier’s edition, in preference to Chalon’s now unsatisfactory early 19th-cent. edition. 137 The diVerences between verse epic and prose reworking, which are not major enough to be relevant to our argument here, are in line with those noted in other 15th-cent. mises en prose such as Blancandin, i.e. names are changed to reXect more closely the links with the Burgundian nobility of the later era, descriptions of tournaments are greatly expanded, and more attention is paid to causality and psychological realism: see Gilles de Chin, introd., pp. lv–lxix. See also Doutrepont 1939b; Rasmussen 1958; and Abramowicz 1996. 138 Lie´geois 1903; and Willard 1996. 139 See Suard 2002. 140 Naber 1991b. 141 Gaucher 1993b; and Menegaldo 2002.

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in order that ‘les haulx et courageux fais de nos anchiens predecesseurs ne soient estaint’ (p. 1), the chatelain is a victim of Fortune whose sad fate serves as a cautionary tale to other knights, being a ‘moult piteuse adventure quy advint n’a pas lonc temps a ung chevalier preu et hardy aux armes’ (Chastelain de Coucy, p. 35). This diVerence in their value as exemplars is, of course, due to the fact that Gilles, like a Boucicaut or a Lalaing, is chieXy remembered for his deeds of prowess, whereas the chatelain is renowned for having conducted a passionate extramarital aVair with the dame de Fayel, an aVair which, on being discovered by the lady’s husband, resulted in a tragic end for all concerned. In other words, as an antidote to the unhappy Regnault with whom numerous contrasts can be drawn, Gilles functions as a salutary reminder that love, particularly in the immoderate and illicit form of an extramarital relationship, is not an indispensable component of chivalric identity, as the contemporary discourses on knighthood insist. Rather, Gilles conforms much more closely to the ideal propounded in the biographies of those such as Boucicaut and Lalaing whereby the knight experiences love either merely as a stage in his career or simply for the purpose of respecting the due form of the ‘grand amatory mode’. His real business, however, is conducted through his relationships with other men, whether those of his own age who are his companions-in-arms or those older and more powerful than himself into whose ranks he eventually seeks to enter, in similar vein to the celebration of homosociality in both Lalaing and especially Le Jouvencel. Thus, from the very outset in Gilles de Chin, the bonds which so clearly establish and deWne the hero as a worthy knight amongst his peers are those he makes with the older males, the seniores, on whose patronage he crucially depends. That these relationships are meant to function as a counterpoint to those he has with women is seen in the way in which such male bonds either attenuate or indeed replace altogether those which he has with the various female protagonists in the text. The most important relationship Gilles has of this type is with the man who functions as his substitute father, the seigneur d’Oisy, who takes him on as an apprentice-knight after the hero’s own father, the seigneur de Chin, has failed to drag the boy out of his state of adolescent churlishness and ignorance through a clerkly education. Gilles’s male sponsor inducts him into the masculine world of chivalry, giving him a rigorous military training which will equip him to fulWl his future role (pp. 8–11), just as the various military sponsors of Boucicaut and the Jouvencel did for their young charges. The seriousness of his vocation as a knight is highlighted by the lengthy description of the dubbing ceremony organized by the seigneur d’Oisy in which Gilles, in the company of several of his peers, has a purifying bath, receives a belt and spurs, goes to church to say mass and make oVerings, and attends a celebration dinner in the new knights’ honour (pp. 13–14), this account echoing the spiritual aspects of chivalry emphasized by those such as Ramon Lull.142 The masculinized nature 142 On the dubbing ceremony in the late middle ages, see Stanesco 1988a, pp. 45–70.

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of Gilles’s entry into this exclusive brotherhood, thanks to the good oYces of his sponsor, foreshadows the way in which he both privileges his solidarity with his male peers over his relations with women and obeys the dictates of his chivalric duty over the demands of his heart, as was the case for Boucicaut and Lalaing. That Gilles’s identity is indeed Wrmly anchored in his bonds with other men, particularly those in authority over him, rather than being dependent, as it was for Jehan d’Avennes, on his aVective link with a woman of superior rank, can also be seen in the episode where he encounters the young man, Ge´rard du Chastel, who will become his lifelong companion-in-arms and close conWdant. What is particularly signiWcant about this episode is not only its placement in the narrative before Gilles meets his future lady-love, the countess of Nassau, but also its treatment as a quasi-amorous encounter which marries many of the codes of heterosexual desire familiar from lyric poetry and romance with the kind of ecstatic love between companions lauded in Le Jouvencel.143 Having competed in various tournaments and begun to be renowned for his valorous performance in the Weld, Gilles is making his way to a joust at Maastricht when he comes across Ge´rard for the Wrst time. The scene here is set in terms of a chance meeting in natural surroundings, ‘en une petitte prayerie, au pres d’un petit boschet’ (p. 30), one more usually found in the pastourelle where a wandering knight meets a shepherdess, and the actual season evoked is reminiscent of a classic lyric reverdie in which a springtime day and the singing of birds inspire thoughts of love (p. 31). The lyric code of amour de renomme´e, which usually inspires the lover to adore a lady whom he knows only by renown, is employed in this scene when Ge´rard is approached by Gilles ‘qui de lonc temps avoit desire´ sa compaignie’ (ibid.) purely on the basis of his reputation and Ge´rard in turn declares his love for Gilles whom he too knows by name alone: ‘Benoitte soit l’eure quant Dieux m’a fait sy grant grace d’avoir trouve´ celui que plus je desiroie voir en ce monde; or me doinst Dieux celle honneur que ma compaignie lui soit agreable’ (p. 32). In a Wnal expression of their reciprocal devotion, they pledge themselves to each other, ‘il s’aYancerent, jurerent et prosmirent a estre compaignons a tous jours mais et freres d’armes’ (ibid.), the only other occurrence of this verb ‘aYancer’ in the text being to describe Gilles’s engagement to Domision de Chie`vre who will become his actual wife,144 thus indicating the strength of the bond between the two men. The power of this close bond, as was also exalted in Lalaing and Le Jouvencel, and its inspirational force as an alternative spur to prowess to that supplied by the love of a woman, is seen when, on Gilles’s return from crusade, his very battle-cry of ‘Berlaymont!’ is suYcient to rouse Ge´rard and his other 143 On the appropriation of an amorous vocabulary for discussing the bonds of homosociality, see Jaeger 1999; and Ailes 1999. 144 ‘les partyes d’acord furent prestement Wancye´s ou chastel d’Anthoing, et jour pris pour faire les noches dedens ung moys appre´s’ (p. 215).

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companions to victory when they are hard-pressed in a tournament at Auxerre (pp. 189–90).145 Coming as it does just before the encounter with the woman who is to be his one passion, this meeting with Ge´rard serves to contrast it in terms of its signiWcance for Gilles’s identity as a knight. Whilst it is the hero’s initial desire to meet Ge´rard which forges their bond, one which is immediately reciprocated, it is the young countess of Nassau’s desire which initiates their relationship, as she is the one who makes all the Wrst moves. On hearing that he has come to seek hospitality at her castle, her emotions are thrown into immediate disarray as his ‘renommee’ which precedes his actual appearance at her door causes her to exhibit sudden signs of emotion that are synonymous with amorous confusion: ‘elle devint pale, puis encomenc¸a a rougir sy tres-fort que pou s’en failly qu’elle ne perdy contenance’ (p. 36). In contrast to the instant reciprocity of Gilles’s relationship with Ge´rard, it is again the countess who takes the initiative, sending him the heavily coded and intimate gifts of a costly sleeve and girdle and informing him, even before he has had a chance to oVer himself to her, that she has retained him as her knight (ibid.). It is thus not the forwardness on the part of the countess which is unusual in this text since Sidoine acts in the same way towards Ponthus, taking him as her knight at her own suggestion and making him a present of a precious diamond (Ponthus et Sidoine, p. 22). Instead, what marks out the countess’s relationship with Gilles as contingent rather than absolute is the fact that her Wrst meeting with him is both presented in a far less overtly amorous and reciprocal way than that which occurs between him and Ge´rard and situated, structurally speaking, between two key relationships between men to which it is implicitly contrasted. Whilst the Wrst of these relationships is, as we have seen, that between Gilles and Ge´rard, the second is that which the young knight has with the lady’s own husband, this further homosocial bond serving to complicate the heterosexual relationship between the future lovers and to weaken its force. Just as Lalaing’s bond with his close companion, Adolphe de Cle`ves, put the brake on the hero’s love-service to his sister, the duchess of Orle´ans, so such discretion and restraint are presented in Gilles de Chin as being all the more necessary in the case of a husband. Thus, intercut between Gilles’s and the countess’s Wrst meeting and the scene in which he and she actually declare their love for each other, is the tournament in Maastricht where Gilles comes to the rescue of the count of Nassau who thereupon binds himself to him out of gratitude: ‘en lui remercyant humblement de la courtoisie que ce jour par lui ly avoit este´ faitte, lui promettant que a tous jours mais il se sentoit estre tenu a lui’ (p. 44). Though Gilles then goes on to reciprocate fully the countess’s feelings as he begins to suVer the same physical symptoms of lovesickness as Wrst struck her (p. 45) and he proves himself to be a true, chaste, and honourable lover, his relationship with her is always 145 This same phenomenon occurs at the tournament in Trazegnies (pp. 74–5).

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attenuated by his respect for her spouse. The hero thus acts with moderation and discretion at all times, even to the point of rationing his visits to her so as neither to bring dishonour on any of them nor to arouse suspicion, particularly in her husband’s mind: ‘trop cremoit la parole des gens, tant pour l’onneur d’elle come pour lui meismes, et ossy la paix du conte son mary et d’elle; car jamais n’eust volu avoir este´ cause d’y avoir mis aulcun discort, laquelle chose lui eust moult despleu, se ainsy en fust advenu’ (p. 84). The strength of this countermanding bond between Gilles and the count is further symbolized in the ultimate chivalric gift of a precious steed of war, one which will later save Gilles’s life, that the lady’s husband makes him on his departure for crusade (p. 100), this gift proving to be more important to him than the amorous presents of jewellery which he receives from the countess herself. Gilles’s restrained behaviour towards the countess due to his homosocial attachment to her spouse, thus distinguishes him clearly from his counterpart Regnault in the Chastelain de Coucy who maintains no such bonds with any men of his own rank but rather relies entirely on his male servant, Gobert, in order to conduct his aVair with his lady. Moreover, since his relationship with the dame de Fayel is fully sexual, the chatelain has no commitment whatsoever to her husband but rather takes delight in deceiving his rival by adopting various disguises, in the manner of a Tristan, in order to be able to spend the night with her in her own castle (Chastelain de Coucy, pp. 184–6). By contrast, in Gilles de Chin it is the countess herself who undertakes to deceive her husband, as she pretends not to have met Gilles before when the count brings him home as his guest (p. 52), and it is she who comes up with various devious means of getting her presents of new arms to Gilles without anyone else’s Wnding out (p. 61). Indeed, in this relationship, the countess is the one who most resembles the indiscreet couple of the Chastelain de Coucy and who will thus suVer a tragic end which Gilles himself avoids in his observance of the necessary mesure in love and in his privileging of the homosocial bond over heterosexual passion. As the narrator proleptically hints, using the exact same proverb which is employed in the Chastelain de Coucy to lament the unhappy couple’s fate,146 it is the countess, not Gilles, who is doomed to suVer for her de´mesure in love: ‘en armes et amours, se troeuve asse´s souvent pour une joye cent doleurs. Ainsy en avint a la contesse de Nausso, come chy appre´s porre´s oı¨r’ (p. 79), as she duly does by dying of grief at the hero’s prolonged departure on crusade (p. 192). If Gilles’s relationship with the countess is thus made problematic by its being implicitly contrasted with his aVective bond with Ge´rard as well as with his respectful esteem for her own husband, it is Wnally shown to be deleterious to his very identity as a knight. Such a view echoes the critique of passion as a dangerous distraction from the real business of chivalry which is present in the writings of both a cleric like Lull and a pragmatist like Lannoy. Receiving a vision 146 ‘Ainsy va d’armes et d’amours: contre une joye cent dolours’ (Chastelain de Coucy, p. 224).

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one night in which an angel reproaches him for his adherence to ‘les fais mondains’ and exhorts him to undertake a crusade (p. 85), Gilles interprets this reproach as referring both to his predilection for tournaments and his devotion to the countess. In his mind, the two are synonymous since it is she who supplies him with the necessary arms in order to perform in these events and whose favours he carries on his armour. Indeed, as he explains to her when she tries, discreetly, to dissuade him from embarking on such a mission, it is because he sees their liaison as sinful, chaste though it is, that he feels compelled to take up the cross: ‘Madame, pour les pechie´s de ma dame et de moy, a qui je suis entierement, ay entrepris le voyage d’oultremer’ (p. 97). His very sense of selfhood being troubled by the lady since she constitutes a threat to both his honour and his salvation, Gilles’s desire to do penance for his relationship forces him to make her choose between her own selWsh desire to keep him tied to her and her duty as a Christian to let him absolve his sins through holy combat: ‘Or doncques, madame, je vous demande se ainsy estoit que vous euissie´s ung amy qui fust croisiez en lieu de moy, et que, de paour de mesprendre ne vous courouchier, venist prendre congiet a vous, sur tant que tenez de Dieu, luy donriez vous ou non?’ (p. 97). Presented in these terms, her dilemma has, of course, only one possible resolution and she has to give him leave to go. The gulf that lies between the two lovers in terms of their understanding of the seriousness of Gilles’s chivalric vocation, and the obstacle that the lady potentially poses to it, is even seen in their diVerence of attitude to the matter of crusading itself. For the lady, the crusade is a question of convenience rather than of salvation, as she argues that Gilles should wait until the bulk of his life is behind him when he is a grey-haired 50-year-old and that in the meantime he should expiate his sins through almsgiving (p. 96). For Gilles, on the other hand, the vocational aspect of crusade is underscored, as it was for his entry into knighthood itself, in the elaborate ceremony which is recounted here at length as the abbot of Saint-Martin hears his confession, blesses him and his sword, says a mass for him, accepts his oVering, and then gives him the red cross to wear over his clothes (pp. 87–8). Such an unusual degree of detail in this romance compared to others in our corpus not only draws attention to the spiritual nature of Gilles’s vocation, which is of a piece with the symbolism contained in the work of Lull, but also emphasizes the masculine exclusivity of chivalry which, for Lannoy, lies wholly beyond the understanding of mere women, being a ‘sexe de nature re´pugnant a` vaillance et honneur pour armes acque´rir’.147 In both his penitential reinterpretation of the signiWcance of his relationship with the lady and his freely chosen decision to undertake his crusading mission, Gilles can once again be seen as a corrective to the chatelain de Coucy. Unlike Gilles, his counterpart Regnault sees no need to atone for his illicit relationship with the dame de Fayel and is in fact tricked into going on crusade by the lady’s husband as a means of removing 147 Enseignements paternels, p. 451.

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him from her sight (Chastelain de Coucy, pp. 180–3). Whilst Gilles’s identity becomes less determined by amorousness than by penitence and is thereby saved, that of the chatelain, who is Wrst and foremost a lover, remains fundamentally unchanged, even though it leads to his own destruction. If Gilles is thus a pious knight of the sort lauded by Lull, the chatelain is an amorous knight of the kind castigated by Lannoy for his excessive adherence to love over duty. In juxtaposing homosocial bonds and heterosexual desire, and in portraying the countess as a certain threat to Gilles, as is seen in the equation of her love with ‘faits mondains’ and her own de´mesure even as a platonic lover, this romance is highly ambivalent towards women. Such an impression is more than conWrmed on examining the role played by two other key female protagonists in their relationships with the hero. These are the queen of Jerusalem, wife of the king into whose service Gilles enters in order to Wght against the Saracens, and Domision de Chie`vre, whom he eventually marries. The Wrst of these, the queen, in a variation on the theme of Potiphar’s wife, is presented as a grotesquely exaggerated version of the countess herself, being a would-be adulterous wife who attempts to force Gilles into becoming her lover in a fully sexual relationship. She too, like the countess, who was adept at keeping up appearances in public and disguising her real motives, is depicted as a sophisticated and intelligent ‘dame du monde’ (p. 121). However, the queen goes far further than the countess in using her cunning and power in order to undermine Gilles’s honour through her constant attacks on his loyalty to both the king and his own lady. Progressing from tacitly making herself available to him (pp. 122, 132) to accusing him of homosexuality until he confesses his love for another woman (pp. 149–50), she Wnally attempts to avenge herself on him for spurning her by making him perform a dangerous feat when he pleads with her to release a young squire who has oVended one of her knights. Mounted on the horse which had been given to him by the countess’s husband, and which he declares to be the thing that, after his lady, ‘est la chose que j’ayme le plus’ (p. 154), Gilles survives a leap into a deep trench which the queen had intended should kill him (pp. 155–6). In his parting shot to the king of Jerusalem from whom he ruefully takes his leave, Gilles not only underlines the danger posed to men’s honour by women whose desires stray into the realm of de´mesure but also explains how the wife’s behaviour has destroyed his own homosocial relationship with her husband for whose beneWt he had performed numerous military services: Sire, au mieulx que j’ay peu vous ay loyaulment servy, mais sachiez que, se vous me donniez tout vostre royaume, je ne serviroye ne demourroie avec vous, mais m’en retourneray ou pay¨s de France dont je suis natifz. Non pas, sire, pour chose ne mal que j’aye trouve´ en vous, mais seullement pour la malvaistie´ de vostre femme que sans cause m’a volu cuidier faire morir. (p. 157)

Compared to both the countess of Nassau and the queen of Jerusalem who elect Gilles as their love-object and for whom their passion is shown to be immoderate

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and potentially threatening to his honour, the only woman whom the hero actually chooses for himself is his future wife, Domision de Chie`vre. Though he is said to have fallen for her (p. 212) after only one night in her company, he suVers none of the pangs that he felt for the countess and, furthermore, her own expression of feelings for him is limited to that of being ‘d’acord’ with his proposal of marriage (p. 214). Unlike her two impassioned predecessors, this young girl, an orphan who has been taken in as a ward by the seigneur d’Anthoing, is a rather undeveloped, shadowy Wgure whose main attraction for Gilles is her name and wealth, even though the pair are also well matched in beauty and virtue. Thus, signiWcantly, it is her status as a ‘moult riche et grant terryenne’ (p. 212) which is described ahead of her actual moral and physical qualities, and their marriage is likewise welcomed as a ‘grant et belle aliance’ (p. 215) by their friends and kin. Gilles’s marriage is therefore comparable to that in Blancandin where the hero’s union with the Orgueilleuse d’amour is presented as a means of social mobility of the type advocated by Lannoy. Thus, in marrying Domision and eventually having children with her, Gilles takes on his full chivalric identity as a senior among the ranks of the older, more powerful men from whom he had previously received precious patronage. In this Wnal respect, he again diVers markedly from the chatelain de Coucy who, in dying young and unmarried, fails in his duty to safeguard his own lands by providing his subjects with a direct male heir. Moreover, since Domision occupies the subordinate position of wife to her husband, she poses no threat to Gilles’s pursuit of prowess in the service of his male peers and his mastery in their marriage is clearly illustrated in the fact that, despite his change in marital status, he continues to frequent tournaments and to give immediate military assistance to those such as his liege-lord, the count of Hainault, when the latter’s lands come under attack (pp. 220–1). Though more developed than the rather abstract and tokenistic love-service performed by the heroes of biographies such as Boucicaut and Lalaing, the relationship between Gilles de Chin and the countess of Nassau is nonetheless similarly depicted as a stage which the knight must go beyond if he is to attain his full status as an adult nobleman and lord of a territory. Relativized both by his close bonds with other men, be they companions or superiors, and by the scepticism surrounding the power of women in the economy of heterosexual love, this love-aVair has to be replaced by a marriage if the hero is to avoid ending up a tragic Wgure like the chatelain who failed to enter the ranks of the seniores and to fulWl his chivalric potential. Such choices on Gilles’s part are presented as being crucial since it is when chivalry is so closely imbricated with amorousness as to undermine the very bases of this male-dominated society, as it is in the Chastelain de Coucy, that masculinity itself is seen to be under threat. In showing how such a threat can be neutralized, Gilles de Chin subscribes wholeheartedly to the opinions of contemporary commentators on chivalry such as Lannoy for whom women, once their dangerous attractions have been replaced by the advantages of marriage, are by and large an irrelevance to chivalric identity.

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(VIII) MALE DOUBLING AND THE DISPLACEMENT OF DESIRE IN OLIVIER DE CASTILLE In conformity with many of the views expounded in the late medieval discourses on chivalry, the hero’s refusal to jeopardize his relationship with the lady’s husband in Gilles de Chin demonstrates how homosocial bonding serves to attenuate the importance of heterosexual desire. In Olivier de Castille,148 the Wnal text to be discussed in this chapter, we shall see how such bonding, when based on a close physical resemblance between the two knights in question, is not only elevated far above such desire in the hierarchy of human aVections, but is made to represent the very culmination of chivalric masculinity itself. Of all the works in our corpus, Olivier de Castille, which was written by the Burgundian author Philippe Camus at the request of the aristocratic bibliophile Jean de Croy¨,149 departs the most from the historico-realist norm. Although the eponymous hero and his double, his stepbrother Artus d’Algarbe, are Spanish knights who, like Ponthus and Cleriadus, accomplish their deeds of valour in the military arena of northern Europe, this text contains far more supernatural and pious elements than any of our other narratives since it incorporates themes into the basic romance plot which are more usually found in epic and hagiography. The Wrst and most important of these themes is that of ‘Two Brothers’, as in the thirteenth-century epic Ami et Amile, in which two young knights, unrelated by blood but bearing an extraordinary resemblance to each other, put their mutual debt of loyalty above that which they owe to either their spouses or their actual kin,150 as can be seen in the close relationship between Olivier and Artus. Second, it contains the folkloric and pious motif of the ‘Grateful Dead’, as in the thirteenth-century romance of Richars li biaus, whereby the ghost of an impoverished knight enters into a pact with the hero who altruistically organizes the knight’s burial when his own relatives refuse to do so, as is the case when Olivier performs this task for the dead Englishman, Jehan de Talbot.151 Third, Olivier de Castille includes the theme of parent/child incest, often found in pious and hagiographical tales, which is explicit in the case of Olivier’s stepmother who makes advances towards her stepson, and implicit in the case of the king of England 148 Given that Danielle Re´gnier-Bohler’s long-promised edition of Olivier de Castille, based on Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France fr. 24385, has still not appeared, and the work is only available in printed form in modern French translation, all reference to this text will be to this manuscript. See also Van Houtryve 1961. 149 Preserved in six manuscripts, the success of Olivier de Castille is attested by the fact that two of the copies are richly decorated by the most illustrious illuminators of their day, one in the style of the ‘Maıˆtre de Wavrin’ and the other in that of Loyset Lie´det, this latter copy (Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France fr. 12574) being produced by the scribe David Aubert shortly after the death of the duke Philippe le Bon. See Van Houtryve 1950; and Re´gnier-Bohler 2000. 150 Planche 1996. 151 This English knight, who was a famous Wgure in the Hundred Years War, also features in Le Jouvencel as one of the hero’s adversaries, and is thus a Wgure of considerable prestige.

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who is reluctant to allow his daughter, Elaine, to marry Olivier even though he has won her hand fairly in a tournament.152 Perhaps because this romance is only available in manuscript form, few critics to date have commented on the actual text of Olivier de Castille as opposed to the codices which contain it. One notable exception is Danielle Re´gnier-Bohler who has devoted a number of studies to its use of the motifs of doubling and pact-making which she sees as important for the way in which they prepare the hero for taking on the mantle of kingship.153 However, the kind of reciprocal homosocial bond which characterizes the relationship that the hero forges both with his own double, Artus, and the ghost of the dead knight, and which does indeed form an essential part of his preparation for rulership, should also be read as a key element of its renegotiation of the role of love and prowess in the formation of masculine identity, in line with the privileging of such bonds in the chivalric discourses of the period. Indeed, due to its exceptional narrative complexity, Olivier de Castille brings together many of the aspects of these chivalric treatises which we have identiWed in the other works of our corpus, such as the ambivalence towards women and desire found in Blancandin and Jehan d’Avennes, the emphasis on male bonding in Gilles de Chin, and the idea of political succession through self-replication in Rambaux de Frise. As the full title given in the opening rubric indicates (‘Cy commenche le livre de Olivier de Castille et de Artus d’Algarbe son loyal compaignon’, fo. 2v ), this renegotiation consists chieXy of elevating homosocial duty above that of heterosexual love, such duty being suggested in the connotations of comradeship and loyalty attached to the names of these two heroes which evoke both Roland’s faithful brother-in-arms and the illustrious head of the Round Table himself. Moreover, heterosexual love is shown to be highly problematic not only because it is complicated in this tale by intergenerational incest, but also because of the threat which it poses to the male’s very sense of self, thus echoing the critique of heterosexual love found in the works of Lannoy who was particularly fearful of the feminization of knights through their association with women. The episode of mother/son incest or, to be more accurate, stepmother/stepson incest, is crucial for the subsequent development of the narrative since it is these unwanted advances from his father’s second wife which prompt Olivier to exile himself from the kingdom of Castile and to seek his fortune overseas. His aim is to reach Constantinople but he actually arrives in England, due to a storm which wrecks his ship and casts him ashore on the English coast. Yet this episode is more than just a convenient narrative device for launching the hero on his adventures as it not only paints a highly disturbing picture of women but also depicts the very nature of heterosexual desire as deeply troubling for masculine identity. 152 The fact that the original version of this text was dedicated to Jean de Croy¨ for whom the Burgundian scribe Jehan Wauquelin also reworked into prose the incest tale of the ‘maiden without hands’ known as the Manekine, suggests that this theme was of particular interest to this nobleman. For a full discussion of father/daughter incest narratives, see below, Ch. 4. 153 Re´gnier-Bohler 1981–3 and 1986.

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Like the queen of Jerusalem in Gilles de Chin whose desires are presented as immoderate and whose frustrated love soon turns to hate when the hero rejects her, Olivier’s stepmother, the queen of Castile, is depicted as a sexual aggressor whose behaviour towards him is condemned as a form of ‘folye’ (fo. 10v ). Attracted by the hero’s exceptional physical beauty, she eVectively feminizes him by placing him in the position of sexual object, telling him that he is ‘fait [ . . . ] pour estre regarde´’ (ibid.), whilst she herself adopts the role of sexual predator by making moves on her stepson that are described in terms of palpable physical force: ‘[elle] s’appressa fort son beau Wlz’ (fo. 11r ). Not only are her actions made to appear illegitimate by this reversal of gender roles but her love for Olivier is itself doubly illicit in that she is betraying both her husband, as the hero points out to her (fo. 13v ), and her own son, since the passion she feels for Olivier exceeds the natural love that she should feel for Artus himself (fo. 10r ). Ignoring both her duty to her spouse and son and the actual canonical strictures on incest which forbid those closely related by marriage to have any sexual commerce with each other, she uses the lack of a direct blood-tie between her and Olivier as a pretext for pursuing a relationship with him: ‘je ne vous suys de rien et pour ce comme a une autre vous povez faire de moy vostre amye et moy de vous mon amy’ (fo. 14r ). The Wnal weapon in her armoury, that more usually employed by a male soupirant with a reluctant lady, is to use emotional blackmail as she threatens to kill herself if he does not accede to her desires, ‘je m’ochyray a mes deux mains et pour ce, mon amy, en vous est ma vie et ma mort’ (fo. 14v ), and, when he continues to reject her advances, calls him an ‘occiseur de damez’ on whom she vows in fury to seek revenge (fo. 15r ). Olivier, placed in this position of sexual object, reacts in exactly the same way as any lady in romance whose beauty has brought her unwanted sexual attention, cursing his good looks which he fears will be ‘cause de ma destruction’ (fo. 13r ). Yet his horror at Wnding himself in this feminized position goes further than this as he sees it as an attack on his very honour and soul and is thus determined to escape forever from his stepmother’s ‘dampnable voulente´’ (fo. 17v ). The most signiWcant loss for Olivier, as a result of his self-imposed exile, is that of his close daily companionship with Artus, the beneWcent intimacy of this homosocial bond thus being contrasted with the malevolent sensuality of the queen’s heterosexual desire for him, as Olivier writes in the letter which he leaves for Artus to Wnd, along with a magical phial of water which will grow cloudy as a signal to him that his friend is in danger: ‘en quelque pays ne lieu qu’il fust il se tenoit son bon frere, compaignon et amy, ne jamays de sa part ne l’oubliroit’ (fo. 18r , emphasis added). Moreover, the dangerous repercussions of the queen’s incestuous desire are not limited simply to the personal realm but are also felt more widely in the political domain as the vital bond between ruler and knight that serves to uphold the ‘chose publique’ is disrupted. Thus, just as in Gilles de Chin where the queen of Jerusalem’s transgressive desire for the hero both endangers Gilles

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himself and imperils the common good by depriving the king of his chief military champion, so Olivier’s enforced departure robs his father, the king of Castile, of his heir and mainstay, ‘le bras dextre et deVendeur de luy, de son royaume et de tous les amys et au contraire l’espee redoubtable et furieuse de tous ses ennemys’ (fo. 24r ). Realizing the full consequences of her actions, the queen repents her anger towards Olivier and resolves to spend the rest of her days praying for his safety, having admitted to herself the disaster that she has brought on both her husband and the realm by her loss of self-mastery, being ‘celle qui pas n’estoit maistresse d’elle, mays ferue et subgette par sa fragillite´ a couroux’ (fo. 25v ). If the queen’s overt incestuous intentions towards Olivier cast an initial pall over heterosexual desire in the romance, in contrast to the non-sexual nature of his close bond with his stepbrother, the more covert but equally dangerous incest that underlies the relationship between the king of England and his daughter raises similar questions about the personal and political perils of such desire. That the king’s love for his daughter departs from the paternal norm, a theme which is commonly used in medieval texts to suggest the link between immoderate desire and political tyranny,154 is shown in Olivier de Castille in a number of ways. First, the tournament in London at which knights compete for the prize of his daughter’s hand in marriage is not organized of the king’s free will, but rather at the ‘tresinstante requeste de tous ses subge´s’ (fo. 30r ) who are anxious that he should sort out the matter of his succession. This reluctance on her father’s part is attributed to his unwillingness to be deprived of her company as he would be if she married a king and went oV to live in her new husband’s country: ‘Car il l’amoit de sy grant amour que impossible luy eust este´ de faire bonne chiere le jour que pas ne l’eust veue ou regardee’ (fo. 30v ). Hence, he agrees to the tournament in the hope that, if she must marry, it should be to a lesser-born but valiant knight who will stay to defend the realm rather than making her leave her father’s home. Such egotistical concerns on the king’s part in Olivier de Castille thus stand in marked contrast to the readiness of the ruler in other works such as Rambaux de Frise and Cleriadus et Meliadice to use the lure of the princess’s marriage to a valorous knight as a means of ensuring the well-being of the realm. Secondly, the father’s implicitly excessive desire for his daughter is seen in the manner in which the tournament itself is conducted, since, being based on using weapons of war which will virtually guarantee a high attrition rate (‘d’espeez trenchans et non rabatuez ainsy que se ce fust pour combatre son ennemy mortel’, fo. 40v ),155 this means that a large number of Elaine’s potential suitors 154 See below, Ch. 4. On this link between incest and tyranny, see Bullo´n-Ferna´ndez 2000. 155 Keen 1984, pp. 205–6, notes that in the later middle ages it was far more common for knights competing in tournaments to use blunted weapons (arms `a plaisance) than weapons of war (arms `a oultrance), which thus highlights the unusual insistence on the more deadly form of weaponry in this particular combat. See also OrgelWnger 1982. The king here can thus be

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will be killed. The princess herself is sickened by the slaughter which ensues on the second day of the tournament and, in her request to her father that he change the rules for the third day by authorizing the use of less deadly weapons, she hints that she understands perfectly well that this choice of arms is not meant to accrue to her honour but rather to meet his own personal agenda: elle avoit este´ fort lassee de seoir et desplaisante d’esgarder l’occision qui avoit este´ faitte. Pour ce dist a son pere a l’apres souper, ‘Elas, monseigneur, n’estez vous pas desplaisant et n’avez vous eu pitie´ de ce que vous avez veu? Vous / faictes morir vos gens sans cause. Je ne cuide pas que ce soit par moy et se je le pensoye je feroye aytant serment de jamays non estre mariee.’ (fo. 47r---v , emphasis added)

That Elaine’s surmise as to her father’s real purpose in allowing the tournament to take such a bloody form is correct seems conWrmed by the king’s own rather more cavalier attitude to the death of his own men who are Wghting on the side of those ‘de dedens’ against challengers ‘de dehors’ such as Olivier. Though he expresses his regret at their deaths, he nonetheless treats them as wholly dispensable, ordering that the forty-six knights killed the day before simply be replaced by the same number again (fo. 48r ). Others too, such as the Irish kings who Wght on the side of those ‘de dedens’, one of whom is killed by Olivier in combat, comment on the king of England’s ‘crudelite´ et tirannie’ in organizing such an event, using terms which recall Olivier’s own condemnation of his stepmother’s attempted incest: ‘Et comment pour ta singuliere et dampnable voulente´ acomplir de froit sang et sans cause as fait morir tes hommes par quoy tu es cause de l’eV usion de sang humain et de ton samblable frere christien’ (fo. 72r , emphasis added). Thirdly, once Olivier has proved himself in the Weld of battle on each of the three days of the tournament and has been universally acknowledged by the judges as the victor, the king unexpectedly introduces a new condition into the contest, one which serves to postpone the marriage of his daughter by a year whilst Olivier takes up residence at the English court. Despite his previous declaration that he would prefer to marry Elaine to a poor but worthy knight so as to keep her at his court, the king claims somewhat contradictorily that it would be injudicious to reward such a knight without knowing anything more about him since Olivier is an ‘estrangier incongneu de nous tous’ (fo. 58v ). Though at the time this caveat is approved by his courtiers as a shrewd move which will also spare Olivier from incurring the envy of his rivals if he is rewarded there and then (fo. 59r ), not only does the hero himself see this as an unfair delaying tactic which makes him distrust the king (fo. 62r ), but Elaine herself blames her father for failing to reward the man who was entitled to marry her distinguished from a moderate and just ruler such as Theseus in Chaucer’s ‘Knight’s Tale’ who, as Rigby 1996, p. 34, points out, is praised by his subjects ‘for arranging the tournament between Palamon and Arcite so that no blood will be shed, a contrast with the description of the tournament in Boccaccio’s Teseida, [ . . . ] where a great many knights are killed’.

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without having to endure such a delay (fo. 85r ). Although the king himself Wnally recognizes his fault in deferring the marriage for so long and agrees to give Elaine to Olivier in recognition of his military service to the crown, his real reason for this deferral, his excessive devotion to her, is hinted at when he describes his diYculty in parting with ‘la plus chiere chose que j’ay au monde’ (fo. 88v ). The king of England’s covert incestuous desire for his own daughter thus not only raises serious issues about his tyrannical conduct as a monarch,156 since it leads to the slaughter of his own men and alienates his erstwhile allies, the Irish kings, but also, even more importantly for our purposes, it mirrors in implicit form the incest of Olivier and his stepmother and so, too, adds to the text’s problematization of the nature of heterosexual desire.157 Whilst it could be argued that it is incest which is being critiqued in Olivier de Castille rather than heterosexual desire itself, this argument is not borne out when we turn to examine how even non-incestuous male/female love is presented in this text. The kind of scepticism which we have noted in other chivalric treatises and romances of the period is equally present in the depiction of the relationship between the hero and Elaine. Here, as a consequence of the king’s deferral of the marriage, Olivier’s service to the princess over the course of the year is presented as being fraught with diYculty and injurious to his very health. Indeed, the love which he bears Elaine is seen as troubling from the very Wrst and, though it is initially treated in comic mode, it soon takes on more tragic overtones. The scene where Olivier Wrst lays his eyes on her at the tournament is comical, since he is immediately rooted to the spot and has to be nudged into action by his mentor, the Blanc Chevalier (the ghost of the dead Jehan de Talbot) (fo. 41r---v ), as is his Wrst actual feat of arms when, disorientated by his powerful feelings for Elaine, he causes the collapse of a stand full of spectators by striking it with his lance, this feat causing the heralds to joke that he must indeed be a great knight as he felled one hundred men with a single blow (fo. 42r ). Only once he recovers his wits does the eVect of his love for Elaine and the sight of her inspire him in more conventional romance mode to perform greater deeds of valour (fo. 45r ), and his intense love for her is sealed by the kiss which she bestows on him when he Wnally wins the tournament and her hand in marriage: ‘Ce baisier trespercha Olivier le corpz et les entraillez et se loga et enserra au plus secret lieu de son cuer ne oncques plus ne s’en parti’ (fo. 63v ). From being the unwilling and feminized object of his predatory stepmother’s desire, Olivier thus begins to attain the status of masculine subject of desire in his passion for Elaine. 156 Re´gnier-Bohler 2000, p. 63, points out that David Aubert, in his version of Olivier de Castille, draws out the political signiWcance of the text by giving the English king the name of Richard, thus evoking Richard II who was deposed as a tyrant in 1399 (and who, incidentally, was engaged in two military campaigns against the Irish). 157 On the frequent doubling of the incest motif in medieval narratives, see below, Ch. 4.

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Yet this love soon takes on a more disturbing aspect for the hero’s sense of self when, as a result of the marriage’s postponement, Olivier is prevented from fully entering the ranks of the seniores as a husband and ruler and Wnds himself instead in a social limbo. Like the Jouvencel who is equally betrayed by a king’s failure to keep his word and so has to Wnd an appropriately chivalric response to this setback, so Olivier too has to face up to the frustration of not being able to realize his ambition. As a symbol of his aberrant status and its eVect on his identity as an unfulWlled would-be husband, Olivier volunteers to become Elaine’s ‘escuyer trenchant’ (fo. 63r ), serving her food at table as a means of proving his devotion. His service to her thus takes a rather diVerent and more abased form than the usual love-service through acts of prowess that a knight performs in his lady’s honour, as lauded by Charny and amply demonstrated in Ponthus et Sidoine or Cleriadus et Meliadice, and it is signiWcant that, though Olivier continues to joust, he does not do so for Elaine’s beneWt (fo. 67r ). Rather, what further highlights the unconventional and troubling nature of this choice of serving role is that it is one more usually played in these romances, such as Jehan d’Avennes, by a boy who is still only a squire and not yet been granted the rank of knight,158 let alone a young man who, as in Olivier’s case, has already proved his worth as the victor of a three-day tournament. As if this loss of social status were not enough to suggest the perilous position in which he Wnds himself as a result of his frustrated desire, it is accompanied by a critical loss of health of the kind which chivalric commentators such as Lannoy describe in their writings. Underlining his relative powerlessness in this position, his frustrated passion for Elaine is exacerbated by her refusal, through fear of causing scandal, to give him any sign that his love is reciprocated. Olivier himself thus explicitly links his suVering not only to the conventional snares of the God of Love but also to her father’s failure to keep his original promise: ‘Ha, roy d’Engleterre, se ta parolle eust este´ veritable et que tu eussez tenu mot de roy, je ne fusse pas jusques a ceste extermite´ en quoy je suys de present’ (fo. 68v ). What was once treated in comic mode as a momentary loss of selfhood as Olivier was transWxed by the sight of Elaine is now depicted in a more serious fashion as a dangerous state of alienation which imperils his very honour: ‘il s’anichilla et anienty tant qu’il ne luy chailloit plus de nul bien faire’ (fo. 67v ). This is symbolized by the fact that he who never sustained any injury in all his acts of prowess in the ultra-violent tournament now cuts his Wnger to the bone when distracted in hopeless contemplation of Elaine’s beauty at the dinner table (fo. 68r ), this injury being swiftly followed by a grave illness which nearly causes his death. That such unbalanced passion is injurious to Olivier’s very being is seen in the vocabulary used to describe his lovesick desire for Elaine which recalls that relating to his stepmother’s illicit desire for him. Like the queen of Castile, 158 Colombo Timelli 1992a.

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Olivier loses his self-mastery, being no longer ‘maistre de luy’ (fo. 67v ) and hands over responsibility for his condition to the object of his desires, claiming that Elaine ‘estoit sa mort et sa vye’ (fo. 71r ), and causing her to regret her beauty which has had such a deleterious eVect on him (fo. 69v ). Even when the princess restores him to health by reminding him that the year’s delay is nearly up, she continues to have the power to determine Olivier’s state of mind by maintaining her pose of indiVerence to him in public, thus causing him to suVer further mental anguish, ‘dont Olivier avoit souvent mal en la teste’ (fo. 71v ). Just as was the case in Jehan d’Avennes, so the hero suVers here both physically and psychologically from his lack of control over this amorous situation, such a loss of selfgovernment being treated as highly undesirable in the contemporary discourses on chivalry. At the moment when the hero, deprived no longer of either his full social status or fulWlment of his sexual desire, Wnally marries Elaine, we see him surmounting the last obstacles to selfhood and swapping subservience in love for mastery in marriage. Exhibiting more than just the usual impatience shown by a romance hero who is eager to spend his wedding night with his bride, as in Jehan d’Avennes, Olivier enacts his symbolic and aggressive replacement of the king of England as possessor of his daughter by pushing over a heavy table in order to bar the door of their nuptial chamber to any intruders (fo. 92v ). This deWnitive act of possession culminates in the immediate conception of a male heir which serves as both a reward and a symbol of the hero’s complete accession to masculine seniority. Even more than in either Jehan d’Avennes or Gilles de Chin, heterosexual desire between two such otherwise well-matched young people as Olivier and Elaine is thus shown in this text to be potentially harmful to the hero’s sense of self. Modern scholars have often pointed out that, unlike the medieval lyric in which desire is endlessly suspended in order for poetic creation to continue, the romance paradigm, by virtue of its narrative linearity, demands closure precisely through fulWlment of desire.159 Yet, what is signiWcant about the late medieval romances in our corpus is that the eVect of painting desire in such an equivocal light, due to the imbalance of power between the sexes, the fear of lack of reciprocation, and the danger of unwanted sexual aggression on the part of others, is to show how marriage is not so much a positive culmination of this desire but rather the only way in which the male can regain self-mastery. Such an attitude towards marriage as a means of attaining full selfhood which is present in both Jehan d’Avennes and in Olivier de Castille would seem to arise directly from the didactic works and chivalric biographies of the period which, in contrast to the courtly rhetoric used in the more ‘romantic’ Wctions such as Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice, present marriage quite unashamedly as an alternative 159 Hult 1986.

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to love and see it primarily as a means of social ascension and of accession to rulership. Yet Olivier de Castille does not simply problematize heterosexual desire through the extreme motif of incest nor demystify romantic love through the marital bond. Rather, it goes much further in showing how any form of male/ female desire is of secondary importance to aVective ties between men in the construction of masculine identity. Both the unhealthy intergenerational attractions felt by a stepmother for her stepson and by a father for his daughter, as well as the more conventional relationship of the hero with his wife, are thus contrasted with the homosocial bond of mutual loyalty which links the hero principally to his stepbrother, Artus, and to a lesser extent, the ghost of the dead knight, Jehan de Talbot. Whilst the former is based on a free and conscious vow of allegiance which arises out of a deep-rooted mutual love, the latter is based on a debt the full signiWcance of which Olivier is not immediately aware, since he makes no connection between the man whose burial he paid for and the Blanc Chevalier who stage-manages his success in the tournament at London. The skilful way in which these two diVerent narrative strands are brought together in Olivier de Castille allows the narrator to draw out the key similarity between them, which is that the debt to one’s male peer, one’s ‘semblable’ as the author of Boucicaut puts it, should surpass all other human relations. Moreover, by demonstrating the qualities of loyalty and justice which are inherent in honouring this debt to his male semblables, the hero establishes his credentials as a future ruler who is motivated by both loyalty and justice towards his subjects.160 Unlike heterosexual love which is based on diVerence, be it in terms of sex, age, and power, and is thus a source of anxiety for Olivier until his desire is Wnally fulWlled through marriage, the homosocial bond between him and his double Artus is based on similarity in all of these respects. This privileging of similarity over diVerence as a more perfect kind of aYnity, one which is all the more miraculous here being the result of biological hazard and election rather than genetics, takes the notion of the chivalric semblable to a whole new level, as the resemblance between Olivier and Artus surpasses even that of those two other companionate lookalikes, Lalaing and Adolphe de Cle`ves. This obsession with the perfection of similarity, particularly as it concerns male bonding, may also be related to the belief in medieval medicine that, in human reproduction, a father will naturally feel more love for the child who resembles him the most, namely the male, with a very close resemblance between father and son being particular 160 Re´gnier-Bohler 1981–3, p. 123, observes that ‘la ge´mellite´ retrouve la fonction fondatrice des temps anciens, mosaı¨que de signes e´pars qui s’organisent en un univers de de´signations tre`s concerte´es du roˆle du Prince, de sa destination `a une bonne gestion, des vertus qui fondent cette dernie`re’ (emphasis added).

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proof of the excellent quality of the seed that produced it.161 The extraordinary likeness of Olivier and Artus who are stepbrothers purely through marriage but born at the same time to their respective sets of parents is therefore held up in the text as being the actual cause of their devotion to each other, since, according to this logic of both companionate and reproductive perfection, like is naturally drawn to like: ‘furent nourrys ensamble et se entramerent tant que nul pourroit deviser plus, comme cy apres orre´s, et, sus ma foy, il y avoit bien cause car ilz estoient sy samblablez qu’on ne scavoit aucuneVoys congnoistre l’un pour l’autre’ (fo. 7v , emphasis added). Moreover, the two boys are identical not only as regards their physical appearance but also their moral nature, since they are both said to possess remarkable ‘douceur’ as a deWning trait (fo. 8v ), display equal valour in the Wrst tournament in which they compete as young knights (fo. 9v ), and express total mutual respect for each other’s abilities as Artus does not begrudge Olivier’s being awarded the prize in this event but rather uses it as an inspiration to achieve success in future (fo. 10r ). Swearing their eternal allegiance to each other, in a manner which surpasses even that of Gilles and Ge´rard in Gilles de Chin or the two companions in Lalaing, the stepbrothers elevate the love they bear one another over all other aVective ties: ‘Car advis leur estoit, la voulente´ de Notre Seigneur arriere mise, que impossible seroit a tous autres choses de jamays separer leur tresgrant amour et bonne compaignie’ (fo. 8r ). Furthermore, the phial of water which Olivier leaves with Artus as an indicator of his state of health functions as a symbol of the extreme sympathy between the two of them, the distress felt by the one naturally causing the distress of the other. This relationship then, is the yardstick by which all others in the text will be measured, since, as Olivier writes in his letter to Artus, ‘en vous est ma seulle esperance’ (fo. 18v ). Such a relationship based on doubling is, however, not taken for granted but rather tested throughout the narrative. In the Wrst instance, Artus sees the phial of water become cloudy and leaves Castile in order to Wnd Olivier and help him in his hour of need, the form of this quest being a precise imitation of his companion’s journey, as he too leaves alone on foot, arrives in the British Isles when his ship is blown oV course and is assisted in his rescue of Olivier from captivity in Ireland by the same Blanc Chevalier. The perfect sympathy of the two stepbrothers is seen in the extreme emotion each feels in their reunion (‘la pyteuse recongnoissance de ces deux tant loyaux et parfais compaignons’, fo. 113v ) and is symbolized by their wish to leave Ireland mounted on a single 161 Hu¨e 1989; and Lett 1997. For evidence of this paternal bond based on sameness in Olivier de Castille, see fo. 139r where the ghost of Jehan de Talbot tells Olivier that, in payment of his debt to him of half of everything he owns, he will take his son rather than his daughter because he knows the male child to be his father’s favourite: ‘Le chevalier dist qu’il vouloit avoir le Wlz pour ce qu’il congnoissoit qu’il estoit mieulx ame´ que la Wlle. Adont le roy en plourant prist son Wlz par la main et le bailla au chevalier en disant, ‘‘Mon enfant, en la garde de Dieu je te recommande. Le plaisir de ta jouvente me dure peu.’’ ’

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horse so that Artus might take proper care of Olivier who has been weakened and physically ravaged by his lengthy incarceration (fo. 114v ). Yet this rescue itself contains a future test for both men as Artus is instructed by the ghost of the dead knight to return to London before liberating his friend, to pass himself oV as Olivier in order to comfort the king of England and Elaine, and to chastely share a bed for a month with his friend’s wife so as to cure her of an illness which has struck her down on her husband’s disappearance. The only discord that arises to disrupt the perfect bond between the two male doubles is thus caused by heterosexual desire itself since Artus’s revelation to Olivier that he had slept at night in Elaine’s bed while he was in London causes the hero to Xy into a violent rage before his hapless stepbrother has the chance to explain that he did not even give her so much as a kiss, let alone commit any ‘villonnie ne deshonneur’ (fo. 106v ). Olivier, ‘comme homme hastif et plain de fureur’ (fo. 115v ), thinking that Artus has betrayed him by sleeping with his wife, therefore pushes his stepbrother oV the horse, breaking his arm and leg, and leaves him for dead, but later begs his pardon when he discovers the truth of Artus’s Wdelity to him and so reaYrms the strength of their bond: ‘Car de ma part je le vous pardonne de bon ceur et penssez qu’il est plus possible que touttes choses que Dieu a faictes se changent et muent que jamays l’amour et fraternite´ que j’ay a vous parte de moy, ne pas n’est possible que jamays chose se n’est la mort le puisse separer’ (fo. 118v ). Thereafter, once Olivier has returned to England and established Artus as his equal at court, an idyll is established in their relations, one which echoes that found in didactic works such as Le Jouvencel where the knights live in harmony and solidarity with each other: ‘Toutte leur pensee n’estoit que a faire bonne chiere et joyeuse. Ce que l’un vouloit sy faisoit l’autre et estoient leurs deux ceurs plus unis que leur samblance n’estoit qui estoit une meysmes chose’ (fo. 123r ). This harmony stands, however, in marked contrast to the more ‘romantic’ works in our corpus where such an equable state usually involves a hero and heroine such as Cleriadus and Meliadice or Ponthus and Sidoine and whose happiness is only interrupted by the machinations of others. In this instance Fortune herself acts directly to disrupt their harmony by aZicting Artus with an appalling illness which eats up his face, blinds him, and leaves him near to death, this more extreme version through doubling of the facial ravages that Olivier suVered as a result of his imprisonment being a powerful symbol of the threat to the two men’s friendship which is based on their physical resemblance.162 This illness also signals the ultimate phase in the testing of their devotion to one another as Olivier is informed in a dream sent by God that the only remedy is to make Artus unwittingly drink the blood of two young innocents, a boy and a 162 Re´gnier-Bohler 2005, pp. 178–9, reads this episode slightly diVerently as Artus’s being punished for having impersonated his stepbrother when he spent the night (albeit blamelessly) with Olivier’s wife.

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girl, who have been killed for that very purpose, this dream being mirrored in that sent to Artus himself in which he learns that Olivier holds the key to his cure but without the crucial details about the sacriWce of the children. SigniWcantly, highlighting the fact that the love the two men bear each other is being placed in a hierarchical relationship to all the other loves which have preceded it, Artus implores Olivier to save him in terms which echo the pleas of both the impassioned queen of Castile to Olivier and Olivier himself to Elaine, ‘mon tresdoulx frere vous estes ma mort et ma vye, car une voix m’a dit anuyt qu’il vous est possible de moy regarir’ (fo. 125v , emphasis added). In the debate with himself which takes the form of a psychomachia between Raison and Nature on the one side, and Franchise (Loyalty) on the other (fo. 128r ), this latter quality being the chief cement binding males to each other in the discourses on chivalry, Olivier’s decision to sacriWce his own two beloved children in order to save his stepbrother’s life thus attests to his privileging of his companionship with Artus over all other human relationships: ‘il se conclu d’ochire ses deux eVans pour l’amour de son frere en disant qu’il n’avoit riens plus chier que luy et que l’amour de quoy il amoit ses eVans n’estoit de riens a comparer envers celles de quoy il amoit son compaignon’ (fo. 126v , emphasis added). The Wnal sanction of this hierarchy of aVections, whereby the hero’s loyal love for his semblable surpasses that for his own immediate family and kin, is given when God miraculously restores the two children to life, thereby saving Olivier from having to Xee into exile for murder. Whilst Artus himself is horriWed on learning that his stepbrother has set more store by an ‘homme estrangier qui de riens ne t’appartient’ (fo. 129r ) than his own Xesh and blood, Olivier counters by reiterating the profound reciprocity of their friendship which compelled him to repay the debt owed to Artus for having saved his life in Ireland (fo. 132r ). The companionate devotion between the two men which consists even of risking their lives for each other and which is lauded by others as ‘la nonpareille qui oncques fu ne quy est possible de jamays estre’ (fo. 133r ) thus attains a similar intensity to that in Le Jouvencel where such loyalty takes on, as we have seen, a positively ecstatic quality. The ultimate reward which Olivier grants to Artus in recognition of their bond is, at Wrst sight, a rather curious one given the attention previously paid in the narrative to the perils of incest, since he oVers his own daughter in marriage to his stepbrother. Yet, the incestuous nature of this union in light of the fact that Artus is the girl’s uncle by marriage is played down in favour of a more symbolic exposition of the relationship between the two men in which, in keeping with the discourses on chivalry, companionate loyalty is rewarded by extreme largesse. Thus, Artus accepts Olivier’s oVer, not with any expression of actual desire for the girl but rather out of a wish to please the giver of the gift, Olivier himself, ‘puis que son plaisir estoit tel que de luy donner sa Wlle qu’il seroit bien mal gracieulx de le refuser’ (fo. 143v ). Moreover, the daughter herself is not really shown to be a person in her own right so much as one of Olivier’s most precious possessions which, as in the matter of the blood-cure that the hero was prepared to give

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Artus, he therefore deems to belong as much to his stepbrother as to himself, ‘vous estes parchonnier de ce que Dieu m’a donne´’ (fo. 143r ). Finally, the marriage is, for Olivier, an extraordinary means by which to ensure his own self-replication as heir to the throne, especially since his actual son with Elaine dies on crusade before he can succeed his father. This male fantasy of selfreplication, which is such an important part of the concept of chivalry and which we have seen at work in Rambaux de Frise where the eponymous king ensures his own perpetuation after his death by having his grandson named after him, thus attains new heights in Olivier de Castille.163 Here, the hero is literally replaced by his own double as king of England as the miraculous similarity of the two men is seen to bypass human reproduction itself. Though the hero’s close bond with his wife is celebrated in their being placed in the same tomb together, the fact that she dies of grief almost immediately after his death indicates how her existence is wholly predicated on his, whilst he, by contrast, lives on and continues to perpetuate his own line through the children produced by his daughter and Artus, the almost identical version of himself. As in his relationship with Artus but at a further remove, Olivier’s relationship with Jehan de Talbot is similarly based on both the lack of a blood-tie and a shared resemblance, albeit one which is social rather than physical since it is out of respect for the fact that the Englishman is a knight that the hero resolves to help him. Such respect and homosocial solidarity between semblables is, as we have seen, a key element in works such as Boucicaut where one knight will always come to the aid of another. Appalled that the dying man, whom he had found to be such a steadfast companion on board ship and during the wreck oV the coast of England, has been threatened with excommunication for owing money to a bourgeois, Oliver pays oV the debt and spends his money on a suitable funeral for this man who ‘en sa vye [fut] homme de tres grande vertu’ (fo. 29v ). Moreover, Olivier unknowingly enters into a pact with the ghost of this same man whom he meets in the woods after he has been robbed of the rest of his money, precisely because this person who oVers to equip him so that he can compete in the tournament at London is a knight (fo. 34v ). Olivier’s compassion for the dead man and his loyalty towards this second man, the Blanc Chevalier, because of their shared rank and in spite of their being strangers to him, thus stands in notable contrast to the uncharitable behaviour of both Jehan de Talbot’s actual kin who refuse to pay his debt and the king of England who mistreats Olivier for being an ‘estrangier incongneu’ at his court. His loyalty to this second semblable, in addition to that shown to his real double, Artus, for whom he was prepared to kill his own children, is shown to be equally remarkable when the ghost later returns to claim his half of everything that Olivier has earned as a result of his social ascension through military success and marriage. In response 163 See also Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice where the heroes marry oV their lookalike cousins to the noble heiresses who are attracted to them along the way.

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to the knight’s horriWc insistence that he must hand over not just one of his two children but also half of his wife whom he must therefore kill, Olivier puts his repayment of this debt above his love for Elaine, though not without agonizing Wrst over the consequences of his actions. Because of his exemplary Wdelity to the knight in being prepared to acquit himself of this grisly debt, Olivier is ultimately spared from cutting his wife in two by the ghost who tells him that his only motive was to test him, ‘Ce que j’en ay fait n’a este´ que pour esprouver ta franchise’ (fo. 142r ). Having found Olivier to be true to his word and to have upheld the male bond of chivalric loyalty, the dead man vows to continue the virtuous circle of reciprocal debt to a fellow knight which the hero initiated when he saved Jehan de Talbot from the pit of hell and promises to pray in turn for Olivier’s own salvation (fo. 142v ), thus showing how the chivalric bonds of homosociality can transcend even death itself. Through the multiple narrative strands which it employs, Olivier de Castille brings a new and original signiWcance to the ‘Two Brothers’ theme, one which serves as the basis of its celebration of the kind of homosocial friendship that played such an important part in the chivalric discourses of the day. Establishing a hierarchy of aVective ties which privileges the harmonious similarity embodied in male companionship over the troubling diVerence of heterosexual desire and also taking to extraordinary lengths the fantasy of male self-replication, this text constitutes perhaps the most extreme example in our corpus of how late medieval romances, under the inXuence of didactic works on chivalry, question the importance of male/female love in their redeWnition of what it meant to be a knight in the later middle ages. ( I X ) C O N C LU S I O N Though often dismissed by modern critics as lacking in originality whilst, at the same time, being accused of adhering only half-heartedly to the courtly and chivalric values of the Arthurian tradition, the chivalric romances of innamoramento of the later medieval period can in fact be seen as conducting a reexamination of knightly masculinity, one which echoes that taking place in the chivalric treatises and historical biographies of the time. Thus, if works such as Ponthus et Sidoine and Cleriadus et Meliadice retain the traditional link between ‘armes et amour’, with love providing inspiration for the knight’s martial achievements, they also show how the ultimate goal of the hero’s quest is to attain the mantle of rulership, acting above all not simply for his own good but for that of the entire body politic. By contrast, Rambaux de Frise goes even further in explicitly disavowing the romantic idealism of these two works (in which matters of government are masked by a rhetoric of love-service), seeing love as irrelevant to the pursuit of prowess and instead presenting marriage as a pragmatic reward for exemplary military service.

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In tandem with this questioning of the mutual interdependence of love and prowess which characterizes the contemporary discourses on chivalry, other romances of the period betray a profound scepticism towards the female object of desire herself, such scepticism far exceeding that found even in the earlier romance tradition. Thus, the prose reworking of Blancandin shows how the lady’s bid for both aVective and political independence has to be contained, with its knightly hero asserting his mastery over her as he conquers both her heart and her territory. Even more troubling for the hero’s sense of self is the lady who, as in Jehan d’Avennes, seeks to sit in judgement on the knight’s worth and withholds her love as an incitement to increasing his prowess. Here, only through marriage and full attainment of his status as a land-holding senior can the hero wrest control from the lady of the meaning of his own chivalric existence. If the heroine who refuses to bestow her love has the power to undermine male subjectivity, so the lady who asserts her desires is seen in these works as having the capacity to undermine the institution of chivalry itself. Thus, in Gilles de Chin, heterosexual desire as relentlessly pursued by the tragic hero of the Chastelain de Coucy is placed in opposition to the exclusive bonds of male companionship which are presented as the primary means by which a knight can gain honour in this world and obtain salvation in the next. Thus relativized, heterosexual love takes second place to the bonds of male friendship which, in Olivier de Castille, is exalted into the highest form of human aVection, one based on the perfect congruence of like with like as the male hero unites in sympathy and loyalty with a mirror image of himself in order to take up the reins of power. Under the inXuence of late medieval discourses on chivalry, these premarital romances present marriage by and large as a practical arrangement, either as a legitimate outlet for desire, a reward for service performed, or as a means of obtaining a territory. Whilst this view of marriage is not depicted as being incompatible with love, it nonetheless diVers substantially from that found in the marital romances of the same period in which, as we shall argue below in Chapter 3, we can see a diVerent discourse at work, that contained in marriage sermons and moral treatises, which present the relations between spouses as more positively valorized in themselves. Whereas, for critics such as Szkilnik, La Sale’s Saintre´ is unique in its reduction of love to the status of an ‘e´piphe´nome`ne’ in favour of accentuating ‘le compagnonnage viril’,164 what we have shown here is that this tendency is in fact endemic to this whole corpus of late medieval romances. Doubtless, as Szkilnik argues, this trend functioned as a mechanism with which to defend the exclusive privileges of the knighthood in the face of the putative rise of the ‘noblesse de robe’. Nevertheless, the defence of knightly privilege mounted in these works was expressed in terms of a rhetoric which presented the knights as making an indispensable contribution to the health of the social body. In redeWning chivalric 164 Szkilnik 2003, p. 53.

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masculinity by rethinking the relationship between love and prowess, late medieval texts, both Wctional and didactic, aYrmed the bonds of loyalty between fellow members of the caste of knighthood whose duty it was to uphold the common good, whether in the knight’s service to his prince or in his own capacity as a ruler. Far from being simply ‘romantic stories’ of individual ambition and self-fulWlment, these later romances were part of a wider current of contemporary thought, one which was devoted to examining the place of chivalry in the matter of good government and the role of virtue in the construction of the self.

2 Youthful Folly in Boys and Girls: Idyllic Romance and the Perils of Adolescence in Pierre de Provence and Paris et Vienne If, as we saw in Chapter 1, chivalric stories of a young knight’s quest to seek his fortune and to win the hand of a lady constitute the narrative norm of premarital romance plots, idyllic tales which feature the deeply felt reciprocal love of an adolescent couple and their struggle to marry in the face of parental opposition were also very popular in the middle ages. The archetypal examples of this subgenre are Floire et BlancheXor (c.1150), Jean Renart’s L’EscouXe (c.1200), Renaut’s Galeran de Bretagne (c.1200),1 Guillaume de Palerne (c.1220), and Aucassin et Nicolette (early thirteenth century), a chantefable whose basic plot is that of an idyllic romance. For Myrrha Lot-Borodine, whose 1913 study is still the only monograph devoted to these texts, the term ‘idyllic romance’ applies exclusively to stories of young couples who have loved each other from infancy, the idyll in question being that of childhood itself.2 Having deWned the sub-genre in such restrictive terms, she claims that it died out after the end of the thirteenth century as the romance preference for introspective courtly lovers and male prowess predominated over the emphasis in idyllic works on youthful innocence and female ingenuity. A more recent and more inclusive deWnition of idyllic romance is that of William Calin who describes the love featured in these texts as ‘a nonmilitary, nonadulterous, and nonhierarchical erotic relationship’.3 For Calin, the most distinctive feature of such romances is that the love between these headstrong adolescents dominates the narrative at the expense of chivalric prowess, to the extent that the traditional gender roles in courtly romance are often reversed with

1 This text is erroneously attributed by the editor Lucien Foulet to Jean Renart, but was in fact written by Renaut about whom little else is known. 2 Lot-Borodine 1913. 3 Calin 1989, p. 39. This more precise deWnition also prevents idyllic romance from becoming a ‘catch-all’ term used to classify any text featuring young, unmarried lovers, such as Ponthus et Sidoine, Cleriadus et Meliadice, and Blancandin which, as we noted in Ch. 1, above, have all at times been erroneously and unhelpfully placed in this category, as has Ge´rard de Nevers (c.1451), the prose reworking of the Roman de la Violette (see Brown-Grant, forthcoming).

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the heroine becoming at times much more active than the hero himself.4 The task thus facing the young couple, whose passion may not necessarily date from infancy, is to regain the idyll which they brieXy shared when they Wrst declared their love for each other and which they subsequently lost when they were separated due to family interference. Seen in terms of Calin’s deWnition, the idyllic romance certainly did not disappear after the end of the thirteenth century as Lot-Borodine claimed. On the contrary, the continuing success of the sub-genre is in fact attested by two early Wfteenth-century prose works of south-eastern French provenance which contain plots featuring exactly the same kind of ‘nonmilitary and nonhierarchical’ love between two unmarried adolescents that Calin sees as the key feature of idyllic romance, these texts being the anonymous Pierre de Provence et la Belle Maguelonne (before 1430?),5 and Pierre de la Ce´pe`de’s Paris et Vienne (1432),6 which may have been inspired by it.7 Indeed, these two works can be regarded as late medieval bestsellers since they are not only preserved in numerous manuscripts,8 but were also reproduced in many printed editions during the Wfteenth and sixteenth 4 Calin 1989, p. 40. In view of the greater prominence of active heroines in idyllic romance, Jones 1997, p. 16, groups these texts under the useful umbrella term of ‘feminocentric romance’ along with other 13th-cent. works such as those in the ‘wager cycle’ (e.g. Gerbert de Montreuil’s Roman de la Violette and Jean Renart’s Roman de la Rose ou de Guillaume de Dole) and father/ daughter incest narratives (e.g. Philippe de Remi’s Manekine). 5 Biedermann’s edition of this text, to which all reference is made here unless otherwise stated, is based on a not entirely satisfactory combination of the printed edition of c.1480 and the earliest known manuscript, Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France fr. 1501. Khanna’s edition, which is also based on this manuscript, has thus been used here to correct Biedermann on occasion. Colliot’s edition is of the later redaction of the text, referred to as redaction C by Biedermann and redaction III by Khanna, which was prepared by a German scribe in 1453 and is preserved in Cobourg Landesbibliothek MS S IV 2. 6 In order to aid comprehension, some acute accents have been added to quotations from Kaltenbacher’s edition of Paris et Vienne, which is based on Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France fr. 1480, and to which all reference is made here unless otherwise stated. Babbi’s edition is based on the second, much shorter redaction of this text, as preserved in Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France fr. 20044, which was to form the basis of the later printed editions and European translations. For full details of the French tradition of manuscripts and printed editions, see Babbi 1991, pp. 29–55. 7 One piece of evidence which suggests that Paris et Vienne was written after Pierre de Provence is that Pierre is mentioned among the knights whom Paris Wghts in the tournament to decide which of three noble maidens is the most beautiful: see Paris et Vienne, p. 421. However, Biedermann, in his edition of Pierre de Provence, gives 1438 as the approximate date of this text, which thus makes it postdate Paris et Vienne, and is of the opinion that this reference to Pierre Wghting against Paris is an interpolation which was added to the manuscripts of Paris et Vienne composed at the chaˆteau d’Orgon in Provence in 1443 (Paris, Arsenal 3000 and Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France fr. 1464). The fact that both texts probably circulated in earlier versions in the late 14th cent. makes it almost impossible to establish for certain which was written Wrst. 8 Though originating in the south of France and thus associated with Angevin courtly culture, both texts proved equally popular at the Burgundian court. Barrois 1830, p. 186, lists as no. 1266 a lost manuscript containing Pierre de Provence which was cited in the inventory of Charles le Te´me´raire’s goods in 1477. On the later reception of Pierre de Provence, see Andries 1981; and Blom 1996. A manuscript containing a copy of Paris et Vienne which is preserved in Brussels, Bibliothe`que royale de Belgique 9632-3, would seem to have been adapted for Burgundian tastes: see Naber 1991a.

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centuries and translated into several other European languages, Pierre de Provence enjoying particular success in its German version,9 and Paris et Vienne being rendered into English by William Caxton. Further evidence of the popularity of idyllic romance in this later period is provided by the prose reworking of Guillaume de Palerne which was published by Olivier Arnoullet at Lyons in 1552.10 Paradoxically, although these later idyllic romances probably enjoyed a far wider diV usion than the earlier texts in the tradition, which survive in only a very few manuscripts,11 they have received far less attention from modern scholars. Moreover, whilst critics have shown how early idyllic texts raise important issues about the representation of adolescent sexuality and the construction of gender ideology in medieval romance,12 those scholars who have discussed the Wfteenthcentury works in the sub-genre have tended to read them in isolation from the earlier tradition and to view them merely as sentimental tales about innocent children.13 Yet to do this is to miss the deWning trait of such romances, which is the portrayal of boys and girls in their struggle for aVective self-determination in the face of parental opposition. By comparing a corpus of early idyllic romances that includes Floire et BlancheXor, Galeran de Bretagne, L’EscouXe, Guillaume de Palerne, and Aucassin et Nicolette, with the later Pierre de Provence and Paris et Vienne,14 the aim of this chapter is to examine how this sub-genre of romance developed in the course of the middle ages in terms of its depiction of adolescent desire and gender roles. As we shall see, texts from the Wfteenth century oVer a very diVerent treatment of these issues from that found in works of the earlier period, one which is far more moralistic and unsympathetic in its portrayal of the young couple. In order to account for this shifting attitude towards youthful love in later idyllic romances, we need Wrst to determine the extent to which such changes mirror the evolution of medieval discourses on adolescence itself. ( I ) V I EW S O F A D O L E S C E N C E I N T H E L AT E M I D D L E AG E S Medieval conceptions of adolescence as a speciWc stage in the human life cycle were indebted not only to classical medicine, astrology, and natural philosophy, 9 On the various printed editions of the German translation, see Khanna’s edition of Pierre de Provence, introd., p. xxxvii. 10 See Manolis’s edition; Williams 1952; and Garrus 2006. 11 Floire et BlancheXor survives in three complete manuscripts and one fragment, L’EscouXe and Guillaume de Palerne are preserved together in a single manuscript (Paris, Arsenal 6565) and both Galeran de Bretagne and Aucassin et Nicolette survive in only a single manuscript apiece. 12 Gilbert 1997a and b; McCaV rey 1998; Pensom 1999; and Krueger 1999. 13 Reynier 1908, p. 12; So¨derhjelm 1924; and Coville 1941. For studies of the Middle English version of Paris et Vienne which pay more attention to questions of gender and sexuality, see Cotton 1980; and Hudson 1994. 14 The much later date of the prose Guillaume de Palerne means that it has been excluded here from our corpus.

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but also to early Christian theology.15 These various traditions produced a plethora of systems for dividing man’s lifespan into diVerent numbers of ages: for example, four, six, seven, or twelve, in accordance with the four humours, the six days of creation, the seven planets, the twelve months of the year, etc. Yet, however these diVerent systems divided the life cycle, all recognized adolescence as a crucial period in human existence, one which was usually referred to by the term ‘adolescentia’ or occasionally as ‘juventus’ (though this latter term could also be used for the following period of middle-aged maturity).16 The distinctiveness of adolescence lay in the fact that it marked the onset of the capacity for sexual reproduction in both males and females. Yet, if there was universal agreement that adolescence started at 12 for girls and 14 for boys, there was far less consensus about its end, this being determined by the number of divisions being used in any particular system. As a result, this period could theoretically be deemed to be over at 21, 28, 35, or even 45, although, in practice, an individual was generally thought to have left adolescence behind on becoming married and starting a family. In identifying the typical characteristics of adolescents as deWned by medieval writers, we need to take account of two distinct tendencies in their discussions of the ages of man: on the one hand, description with the aim simply of outlining the characteristic traits of each age group; on the other, prescription with the aim of providing a moral and didactic lesson appropriate for people of that age. As we shall see, whilst adolescence could be treated as the ideal age in some respects, it was more usually condemned as a troublesome period of human existence, an attitude which was to become much more entrenched in the later middle ages. The descriptive attitude to youth is best seen in the genre of medical writings which addressed the diet and healthcare needs of each age group and which usually took the male as the norm apart from when discussing speciWcally female aspects of health such as pregnancy or menstruation. According to the Hippocratic/Galenic theories of physiology that linked adolescence to the element of Wre, youths were thought not only to have hot and moist bodies but also a sanguine, Wery temperament due to the high temperature of their blood. For example, in his Re´gime du corps (1256), Aldobrandino of Siena recommends that the adolescent male must be regularly purged in order to release the abundance of humours in his body,17 and should avoid over-indulgence not only at the table but also in bed, given that too much sexual pleasure early in life can lead to permanent physical and psychological debilitation.18 Drawing not only on the physiological tradition but also the astrological theories of the seasons and the planets, works of moral philosophy such as Dante’s Convivio (written sometime between 1304 and 1307) similarly deemed the period of adolescence 15 The following discussion is heavily indebted to Burrow 1986; Sears 1986; and Youngs 2006. 16 On medieval youth, see Shahar 1990; Faaborg 1997; Alexandre-Bidon and Lett 1999; and Orme 2001. 17 Re´gime du corps, p. 79. 18 Ibid. 80. See also Baldwin 1994; and Cadden 2000.

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to be comparable to the heat and rising sap of spring and to be ruled by the inXuence of the planet Venus.19 One corollary of this emphasis on deWning adolescence as the amorous age par excellence was its idealization in medical and encyclopedic texts as a time of physical growth, beauty, and strength in both sexes. Whilst boys were not yet deemed to have achieved total physical maturity at this age, since they did not yet have beards or much body hair,20 adolescence in girls was thought of as the time when female beauty was unsurpassed, combining the perfection of virginity with the desirability linked to their capacity to reproduce.21 This idealization of the physical aspects of youth can be seen in the Re´gime du corps which describes the perfect ‘complexion’, meaning the outer physique as it reXects the inner temperament, in terms identical to those typically used to describe the robust beauty and joyful exuberance of adolescents: a skin which is ‘clere et rouge’; hair which is neither straight nor curly but wavy and preferably blond; eyes which are ‘cler et luisant’ and ready to laugh; neat eyebrows; a medium-sized mouth; a face which is ‘bien forme´s’; Xesh which is ‘mole et souef ’; a strong and agile body which is neither too thin nor too fat; and hands which have ‘dois agus et lons et ongles soutils et bien colourees’.22 This tendency to idealize the beauty of youth was to leave its mark on the lyric poetry and romances of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries with their countless portraits of the morally and physically exquisite adolescent, both male and female.23 A classic example of such a portrait is that of the debonaire Deduit in Guillaume de Lorris’s section of the Roman de la Rose (c.1235) which conforms exactly to Aldobrandino’s description of youthful beauty.24 As J. A. Burrow has observed, this correlation between physiological concepts and the idealization of adolescence in the works of writers such as Chre´tien de Troyes or the troubadour and trouve`re poets, which were wholly preoccupied with recounting the valorous and amorous deeds of beautiful young men in pursuit of equally attractive young women, thus amounted to a veritable ‘cult of youth’.25 However, at the same time as early romance and lyric idealized adolescence as the physical peak of perfection in humans, other literary genres of the same period, such as hagiography and epic, tended to conform to the opposite, prescriptive tendency to encourage the young to transcend the limitations of their age group. Adolescents (males in particular) were thus exhorted to avoid the impetuousness and rashness characteristic of youth and to behave more like the old, as in the praiseworthy Wgure of the wise and prudent puer senex found in saints’ lives such as those of Gregory, Martin, and Wilfrid, as well as in epics such as La Chanson de Guillaume.26 19 21 23 25 26

Sears 1986, pp. 103–4; and Hirdt 1992. 20 Bartlett 1994. Phillips 2003, p. 43. 22 Re´gime du corps, pp. 194–200. Colby 1965; Moroldo 1983; and Burns 1997. 24 Rose, vol. 1, ll. 799–817. Burrow 1986, pp. 165–6. See also Ko¨hler 1966. Burrow 1986, pp. 95–135. See also de Combarieu 1980.

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This emphasis on the need to transcend the failings of youth became more marked in the later middle ages as didactic texts increasingly condemned adolescence as a period of potentially dangerous moral and social disruption and thus prescribed more appropriate forms of behaviour for the young, male and female.27 This moralizing, prescriptive discourse on adolescence which, as in the medical texts, took boys as its norm, was particularly concerned with the problem of youthful disobedience to parental authority, an emphasis which is not surprising given that the key preoccupation of the aristocratic society for which these works were produced was the acquisition and administration of a territory and its successful transmission to following generations of sons. Thus, moralists such as Philippe de Novare in his treatise Des quatre tens d’aage d’ome (c.1260) saw youth as the most dangerous age in the human life cycle as the mind and body are then not only at their most impressionable but also most apt to pursue their own desires, with potentially devastating consequences for the individual and for society.28 He deplores the fact that the immoderate heat of their bodies leads the young to put their will before their reason, ‘chevauche volantez raison’,29 and so, as a result of subordinating their rational faculties to their physical drives, makes them susceptible to the sin of presumption, the ‘vent d’outrecuidance’,30 causing them to overestimate their own abilities and to undertake rash and unthinking actions. An equally dangerous trait in the young was that of pride which, in the Livre du gouvernement (1282), Henri de Gauchy’s translation of Giles of Rome’s ‘mirror for princes’ De Regimine Principum (1281), is condemned as the root of adolescents’ insubordination to their elders, since ‘il lor semble qu’il doient estre seignors et s’enorgueillissent et ne veulent estre sougez a autrui’.31 Such presumption and pride were likewise held to be responsible for adolescents’ readiness to defy the opinions of others, to show contempt for the tenets of Christian morality, and even to resort to violence in order to gratify their desires. As Christine de Pizan points out in her historiographical Livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roi Charles V (1404): ‘es aucuns, par la chaleur de leur sang, batailles et riotes, autres par impacience prenent contens a` leurs meilleurs amis, recopvent et aiment leurs mortelz anemis, [ . . . ] habondent en oppinions volontaires au contraire de raison, croissent en paroles sanz frain, aVerme´es en pure volente´, sanz regart ou` ce peut cheoir’.32 This eagerness to trust their own judgement in the face of all opposition was likewise thought to lead adolescents into becoming deceitful, as Giles suggests when he states that the young not only tell lies in order to attain their aims but also refuse to own up to their crimes and misdemeanours when found out.33 27 Gauvard 1982; and Pastoureau 1997. 28 Quatre tens, p. 21. 29 Ibid. 22. 30 Ibid. 33. 31 Livre du gouvernement, p. 221. 32 Fais et bonnes meurs, vol. 1, p. 25. 33 Livre du gouvernement, p. 128.

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A further negative characteristic which features prominently in late medieval views of adolescence is that of sensuality, which was deemed to be common to both sexes. Here, again, moralists such as Philippe, Giles, and Christine were responding to aristocratic fears that youthful sexuality could evade parental restraint, control of sexuality being vital for a social system which perpetuated itself by the legitimate transmission of property and by using marriages to form alliances between families. Certainly, although boys and girls of the nobility were educated separately once they were past infancy, there was never total segregation of the sexes in the semi-public space of the medieval court in which events such as banquets, jousts, and tournaments involved extensive social interaction between young men and women.34 Thus, Giles oVers a general warning about the bodily heat of the young making them lustful and irrational whilst Christine condemns the fact that adolescents give themselves up to ‘foles amours ou mains vicieus deliz en plusieurs manieres’.35 Philippe provides more speciWc advice, counselling parents against letting children form early attachments to each other for fear these might develop into sexual relationships later on and suggesting that the only remedy for youthful sensuality is marriage at as early an age as possible.36 Thus, whilst medical texts could suggest that adolescent males should observe moderation in taking sexual pleasure for the sake of their health, the moralizing discourse of the later middle ages emphasized how the indulgence of physical appetites imperilled the spiritual well-being of the young of either sex. In practice, although premarital sexual activity was viliWed in medieval theology and canon law as a form of fornication, it was often tolerated on the part of boys but seen as particularly reprehensible on the part of girls whose virginity was a guarantee of their worth in the marriage market. This double standard regarding male and female sensuality meant that the consequences of unchastity were seen as being especially serious for young women since they risked losing their honour and reputation as well as bringing shame on their families.37 As Philippe observes: Tieus est la meniere et li usages des fames qui font folie et vilenies de lor cors. Autrement est des homes: car, comment qu’il soit dou pechie´, il ont une grant vainne gloire, quant l’an dit ou seit que il ont beles amies, ou jones, ou riches. Li lignages des homes n’i a point de honte, et les fames honissent et avilenissent eles meı¨smes et tout lor lignage ensemble, quant eles sont a droit blasme´es ou reprinses de tel fait.38

Futhermore, according to Philippe, the lesser reason of girls made them less able than boys to resist their unchaste urges in the Wrst place, and, in Giles’s view, if girls experienced physical pleasure at too young an age, even within the context of 34 35 36 37 38

Re´gnier-Bohler 1984; and Duby 1988b. Livre du gouvernement, p. 126; Fais et bonnes meurs, p. 25. Quatre tens, pp. 17, 45. Karras 1996. See also Gauvard 1993; and Cerquiglini-Toulet 1993a. Quatre tens, p. 50.

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marriage, there was a danger that they would become immoderate thereafter in their sexual appetites as the habits of youth set the pattern for later life.39 Adolescent disobedience and sensuality were thus central issues of concern in an aristocratic society which regarded adolescence as a matter of reaching physical maturity and of being made ready to take on the social and juridical status of an adult.40 If a young woman’s adolescence was eVectively over once she was married, a young man was thought to have stopped being an adolescent and to have entered ‘middle age’ not only once he had taken a wife but also once he had obtained a territory to administer and begun to produce successors.41 Moralizing writers were therefore keen to suggest ways in which adolescence could be successfully negotiated in order to ensure the full socialization of the young into their allotted role. For Giles, the chief means towards the integration of the young into society is to insist on their submission to their parents’ authority: ‘les enfanz doivent obeı¨r a eus et eus porter hennour et reverence, quer chascun doit obeı¨r a son soverain et a celi qui le governe et le porvoit dont il se puet vivre et estre soustenuz’, this being particularly important for males who must Wrst obey their fathers if they are themselves to learn how to rule over others in turn.42 Giles thus explains that parents should inculcate ‘bones mours’ and ‘bones manieres’ in their male and female oVspring from the age of 7 onwards, this being the age at which children start to use their reason.43 In addition to giving the standard recommendation that young males should be inducted into the ‘sciences de clergie’ (i.e. the trivium), he also advises that children of both sexes be taught sobriety and moderation in all things so as to avoid sinfulness and lechery later on in life. In order to socialize potentially disruptive male adolescents, writers such as Giles and Philippe stressed that aristocratic boys should be trained from childhood to employ their vigour and strength in the quest for honour.44 The way to do this was through chivalric pursuits such as the cult of errance whereby bands of young knights performed in tournaments in the hope of impressing older men who might then grant them the hand of their daughters,45 thus channelling the aggression of unmarried youths into socially acceptable forms of behaviour.46 In Giles’s view, the young man should harden his body through military exercise in order to learn how to defend his territory, and Philippe recommends that he should strive to accumulate and pass on a solid inheritance to the next generation.47 However, for female adolescents, late medieval didactic writers oVered a very diVerent set of moral prescriptions. Young noblewomen were principally objects of exchange between aristocratic families whose value lay in their making marriages which served the needs of their kin, such as creating alliances or rewarding friendships and services rendered; taking the veil and retiring to a 39 41 43 47

Quatre tens, p. 49; Livre du gouvernement, p. 169. 40 Karras 2002. Duby 1973. 42 Livre du gouvernement, pp. 193, 222. Ibid. 195. 44 Vale 1981. 45 Stanesco 1988a. 46 Kaeuper 2000. Livre du gouvernement, p. 221; Quatre tens, p. 39. See also Charpentier 1989.

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convent was the only other option for unmarried daughters.48 The destiny of young noblewomen therefore being marriage or the religious life, writers such as Philippe advised that adolescent girls should be raised from childhood to be chaste, obedient, and submissive, receiving instruction only in those skills such as sewing and spinning which would be useful to them in their future roles as wives and mothers or as nuns.49 Not only did moralists see it as important to socialize the young into their future roles but they also deemed it essential to encourage people to live out the later years of their lives as virtuously as possible in order to redeem their souls from the sins committed in their youth. As Philippe puts it, whilst the young can expect some allowance for the weaknesses of their age, a persistence in committing the sins of adolescence later in one’s life is unpardonable.50 Thus, for Giles, it is the middle-aged man, being subject neither to the rash excesses of adolescence nor to the opposite failings in the old (such as their cowardly pusillanimity), who represents an ideal since he alone can act in accordance with his nature rather than having to struggle to transcend it.51 Thanks to the fact that his body is starting to cool and the balance of his humours is becoming more stable, the middle-aged man can Wnd the virtuous mean in all things since his own nature itself leads him towards moderation, ‘a cen que en lor mours et en lor manieres il n’aient ne pou ne trop’.52 Other writers, such as Christine, saw the remedy for the springtime excesses of youth as lying not in the summer or ‘aage perfait’ of middle age but in the autumn of the ‘aage de meurete´’ or old age. For her, it is this stage which constitutes the apogee of human existence, provided that it is characterized by true repentance of one’s adolescent follies rather than by a regretful nostalgia for all the ‘deliz es quelz jeunece encline’ which the spirit would willingly still cling to if the Xesh were not so weak.53 In didactic works of the late medieval period, the earlier mistrust of the overheated nature of the young thus hardened into a more virulent disapproval of their characteristics and actions. Whilst adolescence was still acknowledged as a period of health, beauty, joy, and valour, as even Philippe and Giles were prepared to admit,54 it came to be viewed primarily as a dangerous age in which the young, inXamed by the heat of intemperate passions, lacked self-restraint in 48 Mitchell 1999. 49 Quatre tens, p. 16. On medieval conduct and courtesy literature addressed to women, see Hentsch 1903; Kelso 1956; Bornstein 1983; Ashley and Clark 2001; and De Gendt 2003. 50 Quatre tens, p. 37. 51 Shahar 1997, p. 65. 52 Livre du gouvernement, p. 133. 53 Fais et bonnes meurs, p. 35. 54 Whilst Philippe asserts that it is only Wtting that the young should have high spirits and a great capacity for pleasure, provided that such qualities are directed towards the proper ends (Quatre tens, p. 38), Giles identiWes six positive qualities to be found in the young as liberality, optimism, courage, a trusting nature, mercifulness, and a desire for honour, traits which he ascribes to the relative lack of life experience of the young as well as to their physiological make-up (Livre du gouvernement, p. 123).

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all aspects of their lives. Being excessively amorous, overly intent on pursuing their own desires, violent and quarrelsome, headstrong, deceitful, disobedient, and too quick to dismiss the advice of those older and wiser than they, adolescents were seen to be placing their own future salvation in jeopardy. If the later middle ages thus saw a rise of negative attitudes towards adolescence, how did this shift impact on the genre of romance? Although there is no lack of beautiful young heroes and heroines in fourteenth- and Wfteenth-century romances, thus attesting to the longevity of the ideal of adolescent physical perfection,55 these later texts also subscribe to the didactic view of adolescence as a time of potentially irresponsible immaturity. For instance, as we have seen in Chapter 1, the heroes of Jehan d’Avennes and Gilles de Chin are presented initially as adolescent wastrels who, in spending all their time and energies on base pursuits and in failing to live up to the expectations demanded of them by their birth and rank, are seen to be a disgrace to their families. The need to negotiate successfully the perils of adolescence was similarly evoked in the chivalric biographies of this period which drew heavily on the conventions of romance, such as that of Boucicaut where the hero is praised for the way in which ‘sa grant bonte´, vaillance et vertu exceda, passa et vainqui tous les mouvemens et inclinacions de fole jeunece, en tele maniere qu’il estoit plus meur en vertu et meurs des en l’aage de .XX. ans que les plusieurs ne sont a .L.’.56 Given the prevalence of these more critical opinions of adolescence in later romance, idyllic texts, which feature protagonists whose extreme youth is particularly pronounced, could hardly remain immune to the inXuence of the didactic discourses on the young. How, then, did the portrait of adolescents evolve in such romances from the twelfth to the Wfteenth century and what was the eVect on these works of the moralists’ views on issues such as the disobedience, sensuality, and socialization of the young? Structuring our discussion around these three issues, we need to ask, Wrst, what narrative strategies are employed in idyllic romances to suggest either approbation or disapprobation of the intergenerational conXict caused by the disobedience of the young? Second, how far is the lovers’ relationship eroticized in these works and is this done with the aim of celebrating or condemning adolescent sensuality? Finally, to what extent do our romances condone or proscribe these adolescents’ evasion of conventional social roles? ( I I ) T H E A D O L E S C E N T I N C O N F L I C T: YO U T H F U L D I S O B E D I E N C E V E R S U S PA R E N TA L AU T H O R I T Y In idyllic romance, the disobedience which was seen as characteristic of adolescence principally manifests itself in the young male or female’s attempt to take a 55 See e.g. the portrait of the eponymous hero in Ponthus et Sidoine, p. 16. 56 Boucicaut, p. 82.

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marriage partner of their own choosing in opposition to their parents’ wishes. In this respect, such texts engage with two key issues in actual medieval marriage practices: consent and social mobility.57 On the one hand, from the late eleventh century onwards, the Church sought to establish mutual consent as the basis of wedlock in the face of opposition from the aristocracy who tended to see marriage in terms of arranging political alliances between noble families.58 Increased emphasis was thus placed on the need for individuals to declare their consent to the proposed marriage at an age at which they could come to a rational decision, adolescence rather than infancy being deemed the appropriate moment at which this declaration should be made. On the other hand, social mobility through marriage similarly raised the question of adolescent resistance to parental coercion.59 Whilst such mobility was clearly desirable from the point of view of the young person who aspired to a higher social position than the one he or she currently occupied,60 it could be far less attractive from the point of view of the parent, particularly the father, who might see his oVspring’s marriage with a social inferior as a potential diminution of the family’s status and honour or as a blow to his own chance of social mobility. Although no medieval moralist would have rejected consent as a fundamental principle of Christian marriage, writers such as Philippe de Novare or Giles of Rome, as we have seen, nonetheless express deep unease at the prospect of adolescents disobeying their parents on the question of marriage and thus criticize the young for being ungrateful to their elders and for being governed by an inXated sense of their own self-worth in wanting control of their own destinies. Similarly, both legal records and historiographical texts of the late medieval period show that, in spite of the Church’s theoretical view of consent as paramount, it did little in fact to contest the control exerted by the French nobility over the marital practices of their own oVspring.61 Church court cases and chronicles of this era thus express strong disapproval of a child whose choice of marriage partner was unacceptable to its parents, to the extent that the exercising of such individual choice, whether on the part of a boy or a girl, was seen as transgressive. Even in the case of clandestine marriage or abduction, such legal and historiographical works reveal that the disobedient oVspring tended to seek reconciliation with their oVended parents in order to gain reintegration into the family fold.

57 Hudson 1994; Jones 1997; and Krueger 1999. 58 Duby 1978; Brooke 1989; Cartlidge 1997; and Reid 2004, pp. 25–68. For a fuller discussion of the discourses on marriage in the late middle ages, see below, Ch. 3. 59 Hudson 1994. 60 Duby 1973, p. 220, describes male social mobility as ‘la chasse a` la Wlle riche, au bel e´tablissement’. 61 Donahue 1983 notes how late medieval French parents sought to prevent their children from contracting clandestine marriages by persuading them to consent to marriage at an early age and by enforcing such marriage contracts through the Church courts. See also Ribordy 2004; and McCarthy 2004.

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If both early and late idyllic romances thus treat intergenerational conXict between oVspring and parents on the choice of marriage partner primarily in terms of consent and social mobility, they nonetheless adopt very diVerent attitudes towards their heroes and heroines’ desire for self-determination. As we shall see, whilst the early examples of the sub-genre side with the young against their parents by presenting adolescents as laudably determined to surmount all obstacles in their path to self-fulWlment, the later works do not hesitate to condemn the young couple as wilful and disruptive of wider familial and social relations.

Early idyllic romances The main way in which twelfth- and thirteenth-century idyllic romances legitimate the disobedience towards parental authority shown by their beautiful, headstrong, and single-minded heroes and heroines is by treating their noncompliance as a question of their right to love or to marry whomsoever they please. As Philippe Me´nard cogently puts it: ‘Mais Wnalement pour les conteurs les amoureux ont toujours raison. On pourrait dire que d’une certaine fac¸on la jeunesse est porteuse de changements, qu’elle fait craquer un ordre social Wge´ et introduit une faille dans des mentalite´s tourne´es vers l’inte´reˆt familial plutoˆt que vers l’e´panouissement individuel.’62 The romance which makes the most forceful case for individual consent as the prime consideration in marriage is Guillaume de Palerne in which all the attempts made by parents to impose a marriage partner on their children eventually fail. Not only does the heroine, Melior, foil her father’s plans to marry her oV to the son of the emperor of Greece by running away with her lover Guillaume, but even its subplot concerning Guillaume’s sister, Florence, whose hand is aggressively sought by the king of Spain for his son, shows such parental coercion to be doomed, as the defeated son is forced by Guillaume to admit that it is futile to seek marriage with an unwilling party: ‘Moilliers a prendre ait mal dehe´ j C’on fait outre sa volente´’ (ll. 7175–6). By treating the determination of adolescents to exercise their own will against familial opposition as an issue of personal consent, such romances present the young as objects of sympathetic identiWcation for their readers. In Galeran de Bretagne, the eponymous hero does not have to confront parental refusal of his wish to marry Fresne (whose origins are unknown to him), since his mother and father die before they know of his plans, but he does still have to resist the pressure exerted on him by other members of his kin-group who want him to marry a woman of more certain parentage. His youthful determination to stand by his pledge to marry Fresne leads him to ignore the advice of his conWdant, the older knight Brun, who tries to persuade him to stop visiting his beloved at the convent of Beause´jour where they had grown up together (ll. 2938–43). 62 Me´nard 1992, p. 185.

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However, far from being punished for his obstinacy, Galeran’s refusal to give up his love for Fresne, and his unwillingness to agree to a forced marriage with a partner who is in fact her twin-sister, are rewarded at the end of the narrative when he Wnally manages to marry the girl whom he has loved since infancy. When even the initially disapproving Brun, who had belittled Galeran’s love as a ‘rage ou corps’ (l. 6357), eventually admits that such constancy in love is worthy of praise (ll. 7611–12), adolescent singlemindedness in withholding consent to an unwanted marriage is shown to be unequivocally validated in this text. In other idyllic romances, the reader’s identiWcation with the hero and heroine is reinforced by showing how, unlike the reluctant Brun in Galeran de Bretagne, the young couple’s conWdants oVer them their wholehearted support in their conXict with their parents. In Guillaume de Palerne, for instance, Alixandrine, Melior’s close companion, is soon persuaded to drop her misgivings and helps the lovers Xee from the emperor’s court, and it is she who comes up with the idea of sewing them into bearskin disguises in order to help them make their escape (ll. 3020–4). Similarly, in Floire et BlancheXor, BlancheXor’s companion Gloris pledges to help the couple keep Floire hidden from discovery in the tower where he has been reunited with his beloved (ll. 2459–61). Indeed, not only are the adolescent heroes and heroines of early idyllic romances able to persuade others to help them in their quest before eventually being rewarded for their tenacity by marriage with the partner of their own choice, they also do so safe in the knowledge that God himself is on their side. Thus, just as the narrator of Be´roul’s Tristan shows how God is favourable to the adulterous lovers in helping Tristan escape from imprisonment and in punishing the treacherous barons who try to denounce the couple to King Mark,63 so the narrators of these romances attribute divine sanction to the lovers’ actions. In Guillaume de Palerne, for instance, the fugitive pair invoke God’s help which comes in the form of a werewolf who provides them with food and protection: ‘Dist Guilliaumes: ‘‘Fu ainc mais tel chose veu¨e, j Quant Diex par une beste mue j Nos fait a tel besoing secours?’’ ’ (ll. 4127–9). When the couples in these early romances do suVer serious mishap once they have escaped from parental control, this is rarely due to any fault of their own but rather is imputed to the envious and Wckle goddess Fortune acting independently of God’s will.64 In Floire et BlancheXor, for example, the lovers’ idyllic existence in the tower of the ‘amiral’ is interrupted only when Fortune intervenes (ll. 2511–18). By contrast, when Fortune does act as a force for good in these texts, she is seen as an agent of Divine Providence and therefore as further evidence of God’s approval of the lovers’ cause, as when BlancheXor’s mother gives thanks to God that Fortune has restored her family to its former noble state (ll. 3341–6).

63 Ollier 1990; and Dussol 1993. 64 On Fortune as either free agent or instrument of Divine Providence, see Hunt 1999.

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An even greater identiWcation with the adolescents in their struggle with their parents is encouraged in these idyllic romances by portraying the opposing adults as unappealing characters, thereby justifying the vehemence with which the hero or heroine Xouts their authority in withholding his or her consent. In Floire et BlancheXor, the hero’s parents are shown to be treacherous in their attempts to separate the young couple, since Floire’s father sells BlancheXor into slavery and tells his son that she is dead (ll. 423–7). Similarly, in L’EscouXe, the narrator portrays Aelis’s father, the emperor of Rome, as a weak man who goes back on his word to Guillaume’s father, his vassal, to whose son he has promised the hand of his daughter.65 In thrall to his own subjects and to his treacherous wife who seduces him into breaking his word, the emperor bitterly regrets his weakness and deems himself to be punished by God when he learns that his daughter has run away with her lover (ll. 4134–9). If early idyllic romances justify the adolescent’s deWance of parental authority by upholding the principle of consent, they also legitimate youthful disobedience concerning the parental choice of a partner by presenting it in terms of social mobility. In Galeran de Bretagne, for example, Fresne defends herself against the abbess of Beause´jour, Galeran’s aunt, who has accused the girl of presumption in wanting to marry her nephew. Justifying her Wtness to wed Galeran on the grounds of her nobility of worth rather than of birth, Fresne claims that her acquisition of all the accomplishments of a noblewoman such as needlework, musicianship, and hawking is suYcient proof of her ‘gentillesse’ (l. 3887) and so stands Wrm in her ambition to become a ‘Contesse et dame de grant terre’ (l. 3893) through her marriage to Galeran. Whilst this defence of social mobility might at Wrst sight appear to be a youthful attack on adult snobbery, any real challenge to the social values of the medieval aristocracy is soon neutralized in these romances since, invariably, the seemingly disadvantageous partner turns out to be extremely suitable in terms of both birth and merit. Thus, in Guillaume de Palerne, not only does the hero Wrst prove his chivalric prowess through his deeds of valour, but he is also eventually revealed to be of high enough rank to marry Melior, daughter of the emperor of Rome, when it is discovered that he is actually the son of the queen of Apulia. Even where the lower-status partner does not turn out to be of exactly the same standing as their lover, their worth is nonetheless proven in other ways, as in Floire et BlancheXor where the heroine exerts a positive inXuence on her beloved by encouraging him and his subjects to convert to Christianity (ll. 3309–10). In extremis, where the clash of wills has been so violent and where the disobedience shown to the parents by the adolescent has been particularly Xagrant, as in Aucassin et Nicolette where the hero frees his father’s own enemy in revenge for the latter’s breaking his promise to let Aucassin see Nicolette again (X), no such posthoc justiWcation of marriage partner is possible. Instead, despite the fact that 65 Baldwin 1997.

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Nicolette is shown retrospectively to be of even higher birth than the hero, being the abducted daughter of the king of Carthage, the narrator simply kills oV both Aucassin’s parents and Nicolette’s adoptive father (who was complicit in her imprisonment) with a convenient deus ex machina that leaves the lovers free to marry (XXXIV). These early idyllic romances thus try to ‘have it both ways’ by upholding the adolescent’s right to choose their own partner whilst reaYrming the social order in showing the beloved to be of suitable birth and personal worth to take their rightful place at their spouse’s side. Nevertheless, complete reconciliation between the sparring generations is not always achieved at the end of these texts and the opposing parent is often simply removed from the narrative, suggesting that such romances are more favourable towards the adolescent’s assertion of his or her own will than they are to the strictures of parental authority. Adolescent selfdetermination, though it involves disobedience, obstinacy, and ingratitude, is thus seen in these twelfth- and thirteenth-century texts to produce its own reward. All this was to change in Wfteenth-century idyllic romances which were to abandon the unambiguously positive attitude towards individual choice in marriage on the part of the young which was found in the earlier tradition.

Pierre de Provence That a more moralizing attitude to adolescence led to the reader’s identiWcation with the hero and heroine being made much more problematic can be clearly seen in Pierre de Provence. From its opening, this romance questions the traditional idyllic strategy of justifying adolescent disobedience by presenting it as the right of the young to pursue the goal of social mobility and to withhold their consent to an unwanted marriage. Thus, Pierre’s parents query their son’s wish to leave the parental home and increase his fortune on the pragmatic grounds not only that he should be content with the wealth and honour he already possesses, but also that he is thereby putting his father’s territory in jeopardy by risking depriving it of its rightful heir (p. 4). Acknowledging his parents’ rights over him, Pierre avoids outright disobedience to them and instead has to negotiate his departure by convincing them that his youthful urge to increase his worth is in fact laudable: ‘Je suis celuy qui desire faire vostre commandement. Toutesfois, s’il vous plaist de me faire tant d’honneur et grace de me donner conge´, vous me ferez le plus grand plaisir que jamais vous me pourriez faire; car un jeune homme ne peut que mieux valoir de voir le monde’ (pp. 5–6, emphasis added). In presenting this discussion as a reasoned negotiation between the parents and the son, the text thereby prevents the reader from simply siding with the adolescent in this intergenerational conXict of opinion, as had been the case in earlier idyllic romances where the fathers in particular tend to be depicted as unbending and tyrannical.

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Yet, if Pierre’s exercising of his will in the pursuit of social mobility is less confrontational than that of earlier idyllic heroes, it still proves to be problematic since he fails to reveal to his parents that he actually has a more compelling reason for leaving the parental home than simply the quest for honour. This is the amour de renomme´e that he has conceived for Maguelonne, the daughter of the king of Naples, of whose beauty he has heard tell from older, more experienced knights: ‘il alla disposer en son noble cueur que s’il pouvoit avoir conge´ de son pere et de sa mere qu’il l’iroit voir secretement comme chevalier errant’ (pp. 3–4). Though inspired by a noble sentiment, the secretive nature of this love hints at a deceitfulness in Pierre’s youthful character, a trait which, as we have seen, was severely criticized by the late medieval moralists writing on adolescence. This deceitfulness is further displayed in the way in which Pierre uses incognito as a means of pursuing his social ambitions on his arrival at the court of Naples. Here, dressed in red arms which are decorated only with pictures of keys, the symbol of his patron saint, Peter, the hero uses his chivalric disguise to mask his true social origins and to draw attention instead to his prowess in order to win the favour of Maguelonne. His success in the Wrst of two tournaments more than proves his merit as the onlookers deduce from his valorous actions and chivalrous demeanour that he must be noble and worthy, ‘de quelque grant lignage’ (p. 11). However, despite having distinguished himself and gained the love of a noble heiress, Pierre’s insistence on continuing to maintain his incognito points up his lack of openness in not seeking to attain social mobility in a more honourable fashion.66 As Susan Crane has observed, ‘The full semiosis of incognito requires that the knight complete his adventure by giving up the disguise and incorporating the renown he has won into his earlier identity.’67 In refusing to abandon his disguise in this way, Pierre leaves himself open to reproach for not revealing his origins since he might in fact be met with a favourable response from his beloved’s father were he to ask directly for her hand, as Maguelonne’s conWdante, her nurse, tells him: ‘Mais puisque vous la voulez aimer de noble cueur sans vilenie, pourquoy ne voulez vous qu’elle sache votre lignage, car par aventure vous pourriez estre de tel lieu que de vous et d’elle se feroit le mariage au plaisir de dieu’ (p. 23, emphasis added). Even though Maguelonne herself assures him that he is deWnitely of suYcient status for her to consider him a worthy husband (p. 32), 66 Whilst such scepticism about incognito is not new in the romance tradition, being used, for example, in the late 12th-cent. Ipomedon to show how the hero adopts incognito for the uncourtly and misogynistic purpose of tricking and humiliating his female admirers (see Krueger 1993, pp. 73–82), its presence in our late medieval idyllic texts serves the very diVerent purpose of making a point about adolescent failings: duplicitousness in Pierre de Provence and, as we shall see below, presumption in Paris et Vienne. 67 Crane 2002, p. 132, emphasis added. In this respect, Pierre can be contrasted with other knights such as Jehan d’Avennes who readily reveals his true identity after competing in various tournaments. Moreover, unlike Olivier de Castille who conceals his true identity from his father-inlaw for as long as he does because he is afraid of bringing dishonour onto his family if the reason for his exile (his stepmother’s attempted seduction) is revealed, Pierre has no logical motivation for not telling Maguelonne’s parents whose son he is.

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Pierre continues to cling to the false modesty of his incognito even after publicly proving his worth a second time by defeating a rival knight who has organized a tournament for love of her (p. 44), his pursuit of social mobility through deceitfulness therefore being shown to be highly equivocal in a way that had not been the case for heroes of twelfth- and thirteenth-century idyllic romances. The topos of social mobility as a legitimation of adolescent disobedience found in earlier idyllic texts is further undermined in Pierre de Provence in that there is no post-hoc justiWcation of the hero’s social standing in the eyes of Maguelonne’s parents since she never returns to her parental home in order to be reconciled with her family. Thus, although Pierre is rewarded with a marriage partner of higher status than himself, he has no opportunity to prove his worth deWnitively to her parents despite his lower birth, which would have justiWed her deWance of her family’s wishes. SigniWcantly, although the text notes that the couple’s son did thereafter become king of Naples as well as count of Provence (p. 103), there is no mention made of Pierre himself acquiring this kingdom through his marriage to Maguelonne, as he is simply shown inheriting his own father’s realm on the latter’s death. Rather than validating social mobility on the grounds that the acquisition of new territories is a worthy goal which the adolescent male must strive for (which was how Pierre himself had tried to justify his initial departure from home), this romance places far more emphasis on describing how the hero is brought back into the fold of his own family. If Maguelonne is shown to be instrumental in bringing about the reunion of Pierre with his parents, his role is to submit, Wnally, to their authority in matters of marriage, and to uphold the social values of the older generation. Thus it is his father who forces Pierre to recognize that what amounts to his clandestine marriage to Maguelonne is inadequate and that he must wed her in a properly solemnized public ceremony: ‘Je veux [ . . . ] que icy en ce saint lieu, devant tous, tu la espouses et la preignes pour femme’ (p. 102).68 In line with the late medieval critique of adolescence and of the prevailing attitude towards marriage amongst the nobility of the period, this text therefore suggests that the young male’s pursuit of self-aggrandizement cannot be at the expense of paternal authority. However, Pierre de Provence not only subverts the traditional justiWcation of youthful disobedience on the grounds of social mobility, it also rewrites the idyllic convention of using individual consent to gain the reader’s sympathy for the lovers. Whereas in earlier romances such as Guillaume de Palerne the arrival of a socially superior but unwanted suitor for the heroine’s hand acts as the catalyst for her to withhold her consent and to Xee, in Pierre de Provence Maguelonne 68 In canon law, a marriage was seen as legal and binding if both parties were of an age to give their consent using present-tense vows (verba de presenti), even if consummation did not immediately take place. This was equally true in the case of clandestine marriages where there were neither witnesses to the exchange of vows nor a church ceremony, such unions often being later solemnized in accordance with the wishes of the spouses’ families, as is the case here in Pierre de Provence. See Thundy 1989; and McSheV rey 2004.

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simply makes a vague allusion to the fact that her parents have plans for her to marry (p. 48). Moreover, whilst in the early idyllic tradition disobedience towards parents could be legitimated by divine sanction, in Pierre de Provence the lovers’ Xight is presented as being disobedient to God. Despite having initially vowed to love each other chastely in secret and to place their fate in God’s hands (p. 36), Pierre, motivated by nothing more than a whim to test the heroine’s love for him (‘pour essayer et sentir Maguelonne’, p. 46), imprudently tempts fate by citing his duty to return to his parents as a pretext for leaving her father’s court, which then causes Maguelonne to declare her readiness to go with him. Unlike in previous romances, such as Guillaume de Palerne, where the lovers take Xight conWdent that God is on their side, in Pierre de Provence this generic convention is overturned and instead a moral lesson is oVered on the dangers of the young asserting their will. Not only does the narrator stress that it is God himself who has separated the lovers, by sending a kite to steal the purse containing the rings which the hero gave the heroine (p. 53), but Pierre himself repeatedly acknowledges his fault and accepts that he is being punished by God for having made Maguelonne leave the security of her parental home: ‘Helas! ne suis je pas mauvais et faux de vous avoir jete´ du pays de votre pere, ou vous estiez si noblement tenue’ (p. 57). Furthermore, if the lovers’ Xight lacks the divine sanction enjoyed by earlier idyllic couples, it also fails to garner the support of their conWdants. The illegitimacy of Maguelonne’s disobedience in insisting on leaving her home with Pierre is thus underlined by the fact that, although she initially adheres to the advice of her nurse who counsels restraint and extreme caution in her relationship with her lover, once she has made up her mind to run away with Pierre, she hides her plan from the older, wiser woman for fear of being dissuaded from her chosen course of action (p. 49). In putting her faith in her own opinions, rather than listening to the counsel of her elders, and in tricking her own conWdant, Maguelonne again conforms to the image of the opinionated and deceitful adolescent criticized in the moralizing discourse of the day. Finally, whereas in earlier romances the lovers’ parents are usually shown to be acting unjustly in either blocking their children’s desires for social mobility or branding them as ungrateful for refusing to consent to marriage with a socially superior partner, in Pierre de Provence both sets of parents receive a far more sympathetic treatment since the lovers’ wish to run oV together causes great emotional turmoil in their respective families. Not only is the whole court of Naples described as being plunged into sorrow on discovering Maguelonne’s disappearance (p. 52), but several chapters are also given over to recounting how the heroine oVers comfort to Pierre’s parents, particularly his mother, who presume their lost son to be dead. Part of Maguelonne’s atonement for having disobeyed her conWdante, her parents, and God, is therefore to console Pierre’s mother and father, even though she herself is equally in mourning for her lost love (p. 76).

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Thus, in failing to condone adolescent disobedience on the grounds of either social mobility or of consent and in showing the emotional devastation which it causes to the couple’s two families, Pierre de Provence calls into question the idyllic romance convention that the end of self-fulWlment on the part of the young couple always justiWes the means of youthful deceitfulness and wilfulness. OVering a moral lesson which is wholly consistent with the late medieval critique of adolescence, this romance places far more emphasis on submission to parental authority than it does on youthful self-determination at any price. In so doing, it tempers the traditional idyllic fantasy of a completely free choice of marriage partner (which can be pursued regardless of the consequences to the wider family unit) with a more restrictive view of wedlock as needing to be properly solemnized and approved of by the spouses’ kin, a view that also conformed more closely to the actual marital practice of the aristocracy of the times.

Paris et Vienne Explicit moralization of the kind employed in Pierre de Provence was not, however, the only way in which Wfteenth-century idyllic romance could address the issue of youthful disobedience and the potential clash between parents and their oVspring on the question of choice in marriage. Unlike Pierre de Provence, Paris et Vienne does so by means of parody,69 since this latter text oVers no clearcut identiWcation with the lovers in their withholding of consent and pursuit of social mobility.70 This is most clearly seen in the depiction of Vienne herself, particularly as regards her refusal to consent to the marriage which her father has brokered for her with the son of the duke of Burgundy. Whilst some critics such as Werner So¨derhjelm have seen Vienne as an attractive Nicolette Wgure in her clever use of linguistic dexterity (or ‘discourse as prowess’ as Kevin Brownlee puts it), in order to achieve her own ends,71 others such as JeV rey St Clair have read her as a much less sympathetic Wgure who in fact verges on being an antiheroine.72 Certainly, in a perfect illustration of Philippe de Novare’s claim about adolescent subordination of their reason to their will,73 Vienne is portrayed as a 69 See Gaucher 1994, pp. 177–85, whose remarks on the use of parody in chivalric biography are equally applicable to romances of the same period: ‘[La biographie] enseigne avec le sourire [ . . . ]. Son pouvoir mime´tique repose sur celui de la de´mystiWcation: elle se rit des œuvres dont elle s’inspire (parodie) comme des hommes qu’elle pre´tend de´peindre (comique)’ (p. 185). 70 In the later, much shorter redaction of Paris et Vienne which, as its modern editor Babbi points out, omits the prologue, the heroine’s three dreams, and most of the dialogue contained in the original, much of the parodic ambiguity surrounding the representation of the main characters is in fact dropped in favour of explicit moralization, thus making this version of Paris et Vienne much more similar in tone to Pierre de Provence. 71 So¨derhjelm 1924, p. 43; and Brownlee 1986. 72 St Clair 1976. 73 St Clair (ibid. 131–2) notes that the term ‘volunte´’ is associated principally with Vienne in her tireless assertion of her will against that of her father, to the extent that ‘It is implied that such overwhelming volunte´ is an empty pursuit which can not have productive results. Part of the nature of volunte´, exclusive unrelenting desire to attain ones [sic] ends, can only lead man to folly.’

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highly wilful adolescent, one who exploits her learning in order to achieve her aims.74 She is thus not only a parody of Nicolette, since she employs her eloquence in far more dubious ways than Aucassin’s beloved ever did, but can even be seen as a parody of the argumentative virgin martyr heroines of contemporary hagiography in her verbal confrontations with her father.75 Vienne’s sophistical eloquence is used to manipulate all those around her, including even the bishop of St Vincent, whose friendship with Paris she exploits for her own ends by making a fake confession to him of her ‘sin’ of having stolen various chivalric trophies from Paris’s bedroom. Far from expressing any real repentance for this deed, she uses her supposed confession as a pretext for having the bishop act as go-between to ask Paris to come and retrieve the stolen trophies from her, in order that she might Wnd out once and for all if he is her unknown admirer (pp. 460–1). Vienne similarly deploys her verbal skills in her conversations with her companion Ysabeau, where she comes up against far more resistance to her love for Paris than that shown by a conWdante to an idyllic heroine in earlier texts. Embodying many of the characteristics which the late medieval moralists deplored in adolescents, Vienne is depicted as a sophistical Wgure who is not only unable to tolerate any contradiction of her will, but whose irrational and headstrong behaviour provokes amusement, exasperation, and eventually despair in her friend who, though two years younger than her, is presented as a voice of reason in opposition to Vienne’s ‘volunte´’. In response to Ysabeau’s suggestion that she should obey her parents in their choice of partner for her, Vienne is moved immediately to anger and verbally manipulates her friend into dropping her opposition by unpicking her arguments one by one: elle se torna moult yreusement vers Ysabeau et luy dist: ‘O Ysabeau, et n’es tu pas tropt oultrecuidee, folle, et plus que enragee, que me cuydes par ton sermon convertir? Et d’un couste´ me chasties en disant que je fays et dy folie, et d’aultre part te conscens a ce que je veulh en disant, que tu ne me diz riens contre Paris, qu’il ne soit bien digne que je l’aye a mary?’ (p. 451)

The pie`ce de re´sistance of Vienne’s parodic eloquence in defence of withholding her consent is her lengthy confrontation with her father.76 Like a specious version of the quick-wittedness of virgin martyrs such as St Catherine, whose learning allowed them to confound their pagan persecutors,77 she refutes her father’s 74 Vienne’s early education is described in the following terms: ‘Ladicte Vienne commenca a croistre et a multiplier en tres grande beaute´ et en tres grant sciense et tousjours lsyoit livres et romans de belles ystoires’ (p. 394). 75 On gender and hagiography, see Wogan-Browne 1994; Gaunt 1995, pp. 180–233, 321–7; and Vitz 1999. 76 In the shorter redaction where this important scene is massively reduced, Vienne simply claims that illness prevents her from marrying the suitor chosen by her father, thus making her character far less duplicitous and much more straightforwardly loyal to Paris: see Babbi’s edition, pp. 109–11. 77 See the account of St Catherine, ‘introduicte es ars liberaux’ in Jean Batallier’s late 15th-cent. version of the Le´gende dore´e (Jean de Vignay’s earlier French translation of Jacobus de Voragine’s Legenda aurea), pp. 1106–16, 1108. Jean de Vignay’s translation was extremely popular in the late middle ages but is not yet available in a modern critical edition, hence the reference to the later version by Jean Batallier which is heavily indebted to it.

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accusations that she has been disobedient, ungrateful, and treacherous to him in attempting to elope with Paris (pp. 531–3). Itemizing all her counter-arguments, she Wrst cites Boethius in order to challenge her father’s description of her as ‘desfortunee’, in the sense of being ‘accursed’ even though, as the reader is fully aware, Vienne is no victim of Fortune patiently accepting her fate but rather has carefully engineered every single step of her liaison with Paris. Second, Vienne dismisses her father’s charge that she has been disloyal to him by countering that it is only right that she put her loyalty to God in wishing to remain a virgin above that to her parent, despite the fact that, as the reader knows only too well, it is not God to whom she has dedicated herself, but rather Paris. Third, she lies to her father in denying that she has secretly betrothed herself to her lover, even though this is exactly what we have seen her do in an earlier episode where she and Paris promise to marry each other (pp. 496–7).78 In a Wnal rhetorical Xourish of deceptive self-presentation, she compares herself to the blameless Holy Innocents who were unjustly slain by Herod, in order to deXect her father’s threat to kill her, despite the fact that she has been guilty of disobedience to him in attempting to elope. Underlining the sophistical and ironic nature of many of these arguments and thus the critical distance which the reader is expected to adopt from them, the narrator wryly observes at the end of Vienne’s speech that her father is left in a state of utter, wordless confusion: ‘Le dauphin fut si confutz de ceste responce que Vienne luy Wt, que il ne peut ne sceut respondre ung tout seul mot’ (p. 533). To be sure, the reader is clearly meant to be amused by Vienne’s verbal manipulation of others. Yet, unlike the virgin martyrs of hagiography or even the heroines of early idyllic romances whose actions were never criticized, the sympathy which Vienne is able to command from the reader is undermined by the constant attacks on her obstinacy from a range of characters, attacks which echo key tenets in the late medieval discourse on adolescence. For example, the ever-rational Ysabeau frequently criticizes Vienne for subordinating her reason to her will in continuing to suVer imprisonment rather than acceding to her father’s wishes: ‘Si me semble que vous estes tropt hors de raison, si ne vous plaist aucunement changer vostre volunte´’ (p. 549). An even more compelling objection, that she is in fact committing a sin in maintaining her resistance to her parents’ wishes, is put forward by the benevolent bishop of St Vincent who, in his attempt to end the dispute between Vienne and her father, warns her against incurring God’s displeasure through her refusal to marry (p. 606). Ultimately, although Vienne is rewarded for her obstinacy in defying her father’s will by attaining marriage with her chosen husband, she herself recognizes her fault and 78 Ysabeau herself is the informal witness to this exchange of promises, as she reports to Vienne’s mother: ‘luy dist tout ce qu’elle scavoit de Vienne, et commant elle s’estoit promise et donnee a Paris en nom de mariage, et commant aussi Paris s’estoit donne´ a Vienne’ (p. 529). Such promises on the part of two individuals who had reached the canonical age of consent would thus have constituted verba de futuro but would only have been considered as legally binding if consummation of the union subsequently took place. Paris and Vienne are thus betrothed in their own minds de facto but not strictly de jure in the eyes of her parents. See Brundage 1993; and Toxe´ 2000.

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seeks her father’s forgiveness for having provoked him to such anger against her (p. 622). Echoing the pragmatic emphasis which we have already noted in Pierre de Provence on reconstituting, under the father’s authority, the family which has been torn apart by the wayward child, the parodic representation of Vienne in this text oVers only the most tenuous defence of withholding consent to arranged marriage as a valid form of youthful rebellion. Vienne’s extreme obstinacy in defence of her own will and choice of partner thus makes of her, at best, an anti-heroine and, at worst, an illustration of the headstrong and duplicitous adolescent condemned by the moralists of the time. Similarly, in contrast to earlier romances which used social mobility to justify adolescent self-determination, this text does not allow us to see Paris and Vienne’s disobedience as being wholly legitimated on these grounds either. As in Pierre de Provence, the romance convention of adopting chivalric incognito as a way of pursuing social mobility is again shown to be problematic. Just as Pierre keeps his real identity a secret from those at the court of Maguelonne’s father, so Paris disguises his participation in two tournaments in which he adopts white arms and thoroughly distinguishes himself for love of Vienne. If Pierre is shown to be deceitful in failing to make a timely disclosure of his identity, Paris can be seen to be presumptuous in persisting in his belief that his chivalric prowess will somehow outweigh the fact of his inferior birth. He himself acknowledges to Vienne his ‘outrecuidance’, the very term used by moralists such as Philippe de Novare to condemn adolescent presumption, in loving a woman so elevated above him in the social hierarchy: ‘Car despuys que mes yeulx heurent l’ardement de vous regarder, je fus si entreprins de vostre beaulte´ qu’il me fust force vous amer sur toutes les riens que Dieu crea et forma, non obstant que bien ay cogneu que c’estoit tropt d’oultrecuidance a moy de vouloir amer en si hault lieu’ (p. 469, emphasis added). However, once Vienne has accepted his love, Paris asserts that he would relish the opportunity to prove his chivalric superiority, despite his lesser birth, by taking on her more noble suitors in the Weld of combat, with the victor being granted her hand (pp. 482–3). Though Paris’s own father ironically appears to support him in this fantasy, upbraiding him for his presumption in wanting to marry Vienne on the grounds that the mysterious knight in white arms has a greater claim to her (pp. 486–7), she herself comically debunks such forms of chivalric contest as a valid method for achieving his aim. Teasing her lover about his over-conWdence on the Weld of battle, Vienne insists that he adopt instead the more direct route of making a formal proposal of marriage (p. 483). At this point, Paris’s father shows a more pragmatic apprehension about the pursuit of social mobility since he only reluctantly agrees to plead his son’s suit for Vienne’s hand, seeing this as a ‘folle requeste’ (p. 486) that will be taken by the dauphin as a great dishonour to him. Given that the dauphin is indeed outraged at the presumption of his vassal’s son in proposing marriage to Vienne (p. 490) and throws Paris’s father into prison once the couple’s subsequent aborted

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elopement is discovered, the extreme consequences of the young couple’s will in breaking the feudal bond between their two fathers further complicate the pursuit of social mobility as a valid adolescent goal. Moreover, the fact that, even at the end of the tale, Paris’s disguised prowess in the two tournaments proves to be less important in his being accepted as Vienne’s husband (pp. 622–3) than the Saracen disguise which he adopts in order to free the dauphin from prison shows that, ironically, trickery is far more eVective than any display of chivalric excellence. The romance convention of chivalric incognito is therefore presented parodically as a fantasy which guarantees no promotion of social mobility, being merely a style of performance which can be adopted in ritualized tournaments designed to channel adolescent male aggression into acceptable forms.79 Thus, at the same time as mocking presumption in the adolescent male through its parodying of chivalric incognito, Paris et Vienne also makes the more serious point, one in line with the late medieval critique of the young, that the youthful arrogance and egotism which are born of presumption can lead to signiWcant social disruption,80 as is seen in the discord created between the lovers’ two fathers. Thus, like Pierre de Provence, Paris et Vienne diverges markedly from earlier idyllic tradition in rejecting consent and social mobility as valid grounds for adolescent disobedience. Rather than being encouraged to identify unreservedly with the lovers in their quest to achieve marital union, the reader is forced to consider the very real damage caused by the actions of these adolescents to the family unit. The obstacle which the opposing parent represents in Paris et Vienne cannot therefore be so easily dismissed as in Floire et BlancheXor or Aucassin et Nicolette in which the father conveniently dies. Instead, as in Pierre de Provence, Paris et Vienne places far greater emphasis on establishing the dynamics of the diVerent families and the need for the rebellious children to be fully reintegrated into them. Where Paris et Vienne diVers from Pierre de Provence is in achieving this aim not by means of straightforward moralization but, once again, through parody in its depiction of Vienne’s father, the dauphin, as the lovers’ chief antagonist. The dauphin of Provence is initially shown to be both a worthy man who is loved by all his subjects for his fairness (p. 393), and a devoted father who adores the daughter for whom he and his wife had to wait seven years before God granted them a child (p. 394). Indeed, it is out of aVection for his daughter that the dauphin organizes a tournament in her honour so as to help her overcome her melancholic state which, unbeknownst to him, has been caused by her having fallen in love with the disguised Paris who has been serenading her every evening 79 That this is the function of such chivalric contests is explicitly seen to be the case in the second tournament where Paris competes and which the king of France has organized in order to put an end to the violent quarrels between various young noblemen of Bohemia and Flanders as to who is the most beautiful out of Vienne, Floryane (daughter of the duke of Normandy), and Constance (sister of the king of England) (p. 410). 80 On the deviation from social norms in this and other contemporary romances, see Kelly 2004.

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(p. 402). However, when Vienne deWes her father by Wrst eloping and then refusing to consent to the projected marriage with the son of the duke of Burgundy, her father’s behaviour towards her changes dramatically and he begins to act like a brutal tyrant, one more familiar from hagiographical texts than from idyllic romance. Just as Vienne herself is presented as a parody of both the idyllic heroine and the virgin martyr, so the dauphin is a parody of the aggressive parent who fails to act with the moderation expected of the middle-aged man. Denying his love for his daughter whose birth he now bitterly regrets and for whose sake he has made such eVorts (p. 530), he far exceeds the violent behaviour of the thwarted fathers in, for example, Floire et BlancheXor and Aucassin et Nicolette, since he threatens to kill his own child whereas they merely wish to rid themselves of the young women to whom their sons have formed an unsuitable attachment. Moreover, his threats to cut Vienne’s body into little pieces and eat them (p. 530) take on a wholly excessive quality not previously found in the idyllic tradition, being more reminiscent of hagiographical tyrants such as the father of St Christine.81 Similarly, the imprisonment which the dauphin imposes on his daughter is far more brutal than that inXicted on Nicolette: Vienne’s prison is thus no delightfully decorated vaulted room (Aucassin et Nicolette, V, ll. 2–4), but rather a dark, underground dungeon in which she receives little to eat or drink (p. 538), one which recalls the kind of cell in which martyrs such as St Margaret were imprisoned.82 The dauphin’s immoderate response to his daughter’s refusal is thus presented as being a mirror image of the immoderate nature of her own obstinacy in withholding her consent to marriage, an action which, as we have seen, is heavily criticized by other characters.83 Although the dauphin’s authority is such that none at his court dares question his actions, he is nonetheless eVectively ‘punished’ for his cruel treatment of his daughter in a parallel fashion when he, in turn, is imprisoned by the Sultan for being a crusader spy, this imprisonment only coming to an end when he is rescued by Paris disguised as a Saracen. Having taken the idyllic romance convention of intergenerational conXict and exaggerated it by means of parody to create a situation in which two wills come up violently against each other, the text has to resort to an equally extreme measure to resolve this conXict between wayward adolescent and despotic father. It is therefore unique among the idyllic romances, early or late, in adopting trickery as the means by which an uneasy compromise is achieved between 81 See e.g. the following account of the confrontation between St Christine and her father in the Le´gende dore´e, p. 631: ‘Et lors commanda il que la char lui fust rasee aux ongles et que ses tendres menbres fussent desrompues. Et lors, Christine print de sa char plain poing et la gecta a son pere et lui dist: ‘‘Prens, tirant, et mengue la char que tu as engendree.’’ ’ 82 St Margaret’s prison is described as a ‘chartre’, see Le´gende dore´e, pp. 606–9, 607. 83 Given the tendency amongst the late medieval French nobility to exert maximum control over the marriages of their oVspring, the observation made in Hudson 1994, pp. 84–5, that ‘Perhaps [her father’s] cruelty would have been considered commensurate with his daughter’s transgression in eloping’ is highly pertinent.

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rewarding adolescent disobedience and upholding paternal authority. The denouement of Paris et Vienne is thus tinged with irony which highlights the diYculties in arriving at such a compromise, as when the dauphin, because of his promise to grant Vienne’s hand to his deliverer, Wnds himself in the unwitting position of begging his daughter to marry the same young man whom he once so violently rejected for being ‘ung si vil homme et de si basse condition’ (p. 530). In challenging the traditional idyllic forms of legitimation of youthful disobedience, Paris et Vienne thus exposes the very real tensions involved in trying to reconcile the rights of the adolescent with those of the parent, tensions which are foregrounded in the legal and historiographical accounts of marriage in this period and which the earlier romances tended merely to gloss over in favour of the lovers. If a new equilibrium is reached at the end of the narrative whereby the young couple are able to marry, Paris to inherit the dauphin’s territory, and Vienne’s father to reassert his authority, this happy outcome is somewhat undermined by the portrait of adolescent disobedience and the furious response which it provokes in the older generation that emerges from this text. Whilst showing the futility of a parent’s attempts to extract a child’s consent by force, Paris et Vienne also reveals the high price paid by a child who refuses absolutely to obey its parent. In its depiction of parodic excess, the representation of the disobedient child in this text thus not only closely parallels the critique of adolescence delivered by the moralists of the period, but it also makes a powerful plea for moderation in the behaviour of both the young and their elders alike. ( I I I ) T H E A D O L E S C E N T I N L OV E : Y O U T H F U L S E N S UA L I T Y V E R S U S T H E D E M A N D S O F C H A S T I T Y If the writers of idyllic romance faced the problem of reconciling youthful selfdetermination with parental authority, they were equally forced to adopt a range of narrative strategies in order to square adolescent sensuality with the ideal of chastity. After all, the youthful amorousness which is the very staple of idyllic romance was not only socially transgressive, since the couple wish to marry against their parents’ wishes, but also morally transgressive in posing a threat to the lovers’ chastity, the loss of which is particularly dangerous for the heroine, being the token of her worth as a future marriage partner. Whilst the early romances oVer up the sexual behaviour of the young couple as a spectacle for the audience’s gratiWcation, they simultaneously attempt to contain the threat of this illicit desire by showing how the lovers express their passion within the bounds of chastity. In the later romances, by contrast, where the couple’s sexuality is evoked in far less graphic terms, the depiction of their desire serves as a warning to readers about the dangers of giving in to the impulses of the over-heated adolescent body.

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Early idyllic romances All of the texts in our corpus of twelfth- and thirteenth-century romances portray adolescent sensuality both male and female as a powerful force, amorousness being presented as an inevitable and even natural aspect of the adolescent condition: as the hero’s tutor Lohier explains to him in Galeran de Bretagne, to be young is necessarily to be in love (ll. 1692–7). However, compared with traditional courtly romances such as those of Chre´tien de Troyes which were equally concerned with depicting the love of young males for young females, these idyllic texts stand out for the degree to which adolescent desire is explicitly eroticized, thus oVering an entertainment for their contemporary audience which, at times, borders on the voyeuristic.84 Certainly, the young couples in these romances are depicted as extremely desirable sexual objects, the portrait of the heroine’s charms in particular becoming almost titillatory. The narrator of Galeran de Bretagne, for example, goes well beyond the standard courtly account of Fresne’s face and body in his alluring description of her burgeoning adolescent breasts (ll. 1291–3) and in his allusions, at once salacious and prudish, to the hidden beauty of the most secret parts of her body: ‘Soubz la pelice ou la chemise, j Que courtoisie me deVent j Que je ne nomme appertement, j Louer assez plus le devez j Que trestout ce qu’oy¨ avez: j Je croy qu’il soit, n’y soit cele´, j Blanc et poli et potele´’ (ll. 1306–12). Not only are the adolescent protagonists of early idyllic romances depicted as desirable objects, but they themselves are shown to be highly-sexed desiring subjects, this degree of sexualization again being seen as much on the part of the heroines as the heroes of these texts. Thus, when Nicolette tries to explain to the king of Torelore what she values in the hapless Aucassin, she unashamedly recalls the intense pleasure that she experiences when lying in her lover’s arms (XXXIII, ll. 4–11), whilst in L’EscouXe, Aelis recounts how often she and her lover Guillaume have enjoyed exploring each other’s bodies: ‘Ahi! Guillaumes, biax amis, j Tantes foı¨es ave´s mis j Vos beles mains, qui si sont blanches, j A cest bel ventre et a ces hanches j Et taste´ mon cors en tos sens! j Si m’aı¨t Diex, poi pris mon sens j Se vos n’en estes par tans sire’ (ll. 3283–9).85 Yet, at the same time as these romances enthusiastically display the attractions of adolescent desire, they also voice many of the anxieties about this form of sexual behaviour, especially when it escapes parental control, since it can lead to possible dishonour and disaster not just for the individual, but also the entire family. In L’EscouXe, for instance, the heroine’s mother expresses her concern at the fact that Aelis and Guillaume are known to share a bed, since, even though 84 Gilbert 1997a. On sensuality in ‘realist’ romances in general, of which idyllic romance is one subgroup, see Louison 2004, pp. 824–33. 85 Bouillot 1998, p. 121, notes that such descriptions of sensual behaviour as here in L’EscouXe are nonetheless presented with great delicacy and reWnement.

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they are oYcially betrothed, she doubts the wisdom of letting two adolescents sleep together as if they were still innocent infants (ll. 2820–5). In Galeran de Bretagne, the practical consequences of adolescent sexual passion are evoked when Lohier, Fresne’s godfather, misreads the symptoms of love that the heroine is suVering as a sign that she is pregnant, an assumption which she vigorously refutes (ll. 1497–8, 1504–5). The most acute danger posed by adolescent sexuality is that of asognentage, or taking a mistress, a type of conduct seen in these texts as theoretically sinful and shaming for both parties, even if in practice the female mistress is more heavily castigated for it than the male lover. Thus, in Galeran de Bretagne the furious abbess says that Fresne is dishonouring herself in continuing to conduct her liaison with Galeran, describing her as a ‘garce povre estrange’ (l. 2935), but claims her nephew is dishonouring himself not by the fact of having her as his mistress per se but rather because Fresne is too low-born to be a suitable lover for him (ll. 2959–60). These texts thus have to perform a delicate balancing act between, on the one hand, entertaining their audience with the titillating spectacle of adolescent desire and, on the other, containing the social and moral threat which this desire represents. Depicting adolescent amorousness in courtly terms as a love between ‘ami’ and ‘amie’ which is destined to be expressed through conjugality as soon as the couple can marry, they provide a certain amount of graphic detail without ever quite overstepping the limits of propriety. Such sensual pleasure is thus conWned to what Peter Bailey has termed ‘parasexuality’ (semi-licit embraces and kisses which fall short of full intercourse).86 The heroes and heroines of idyllic romance, whilst taking plentiful pleasure in each other’s arms are strenuous in their denials, when challenged, that any illicit act of intercourse has taken place, even when all evidence might point to the contrary. Thus, in Floire et BlancheXor, when the ‘amiral’ Wnds the couple in bed and assumes that they have slept together, calling BlancheXor a ‘putain’ (l. 2689), Floire springs to her defence by maintaining that her virtue remains intact (ll. 2693–4). Even Guillaume in L’EscouXe tries to convince his future father-in-law that, despite having spent nights with his beloved, he has gone no further than just kissing her face and has refrained from touching her more intimately (ll. 3034–7), the Xagrant contradiction of this statement when compared to Aelis’s own account of how Guillaume has in fact touched her all over being left tantalizingly unresolved. In Guillaume de Palerne, this insistence on chastity within the limits of parasexuality is dealt with in a diVerent way. Being the only text in our early corpus in which the couple actually remain together in their Xight from the parental home and thus the one in which the need to convince the reader of their continued chastity is the greatest, it also shows the most circumspection regarding the exact nature of their relationship. Thus, whilst the hero and heroine are described as having spent a night together at the court during which ‘Tant 86 Bailey 1990, cited and usefully summarized in Phillips 2003, p. 163.

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s’entrebaisent et acolent j Et font ensamble lor deduis’ (ll. 1734–5), once they actually leave Melior’s home and have to hide out in woods and forests, far from giving free rein to their sensuality, they actually become more chaste in their behaviour as they simply lie in each other’s arms for comfort (ll. 3372–3). However, whether a particular romance insists on the couple’s chastity after they leave home or oVers only suggestive hints that the lovers may have come close to exceeding the bounds of propriety, in none of these early texts is a couple actually criticized for expressing their sensual nature. Rather, the suVering which both hero and heroine undergo during either their separation from each other or, as in Guillaume de Palerne, during their joint Xight from civilization, is presented as a proof of their constancy in love rather than as a punishment for sexual impropriety. At the end of Floire et BlancheXor it is therefore God himself who is said to have restored the heroine to the hero as a reward for his unfailing endeavours (ll. 3291–6), whilst L’EscouXe concludes by oVering up the couple as an example of what ‘grans merveilles’ (l. 9056) love can help the young to accomplish. Paradoxically then, whilst these texts entertain their readers with voyeuristic and detailed descriptions of the young couple’s sensuality, they nonetheless adhere to an underlying moral code. Unlike in Be´roul’s version of the Tristan legend or other contemporary tales of adulterous love such as the Chastelaine de Vergi, there is no idealization in these idyllic romances of passionate love outside marriage and each of the young couples ends up channelling their sexual desires into a socially acceptable conjugality. If these texts thus show adolescent sexuality as perilous in that it can lead to unwanted pregnancy and dishonour, they nonetheless present their heroes and heroines as capable of regulating their own behaviour and of respecting the bounds of social propriety, no matter how hard they might actually push against them in their love-play. Their overwhelming desire for each other is thus at once presented as a spectacle for the audience’s gratiWcation whilst also providing subject matter for a more edifying lesson about the beneWts of extreme constancy in love.

Pierre de Provence If early idyllic romances vacillate between an eroticization of adolescent love and a belief in the powers of self-regulation amongst the young, later texts in the subgenre express no such optimism about the ability of youth to remain in control of such powerful psychological and physiological drives. Although Pierre de Provence diVers from its predecessors in that its hero is not a boy who has grown up with a girl with whom he then falls in love, but rather a young knight who presents himself to Wght at his beloved’s court, the passion which develops between the two protagonists is still unmistakably portrayed as a love between adolescents. Here, however, the depiction of youthful sensuality provides no

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pretext for titillation but rather is subordinated to an exploration of the way in which such desires have to be contained if the young couple are to attain maturity and make a good end in life. In so doing, Pierre de Provence radically rewrites idyllic convention, oVering a moralized representation of the lovers’ passion which is in close accordance with the late medieval moralists’ view that adolescent amorousness is the result of the will overcoming the dictates of reason and so leads to perdition if left unchecked. Eschewing the traditional idyllic tendency to present the hero and heroine as alluring sexual objects, the text limits itself to showing how the young couple struggle to remain chaste in expressing their undeniably strong passion for each other. Whilst Pierre’s desire is discussed in physiological terms as a product of the over-heated adolescent body, ‘car tout son cueur estoit a regarder la singuliere beaute´ de Maguelonne et de y repaistre ses yeux et son cueur dont il estoit ardent et enXambe´ ’ (p. 11, emphasis added), Maguelonne’s passion takes the form of youthful lovesickness: ‘car amour a laquelle nul noble cueur en jeunesse ne peut resister, l’avoit si fort blesse´ que n’avoit plus puissance de soy’ (p. 16, emphasis added). The adolescent’s dangerous situation which Philippe de Novare describes as being created when ‘chevauche volantez raison’ is then amply demonstrated when Maguelonne is seen battling to make her reason control the physical desire which she feels for Pierre and which threatens to overwhelm her on Wnally having arranged an intimate rendezvous with him (p. 30). Given the power of these emotions, no sooner have the young couple in Pierre de Provence made their declarations of love to each other than they immediately enter into a clandestine marriage, uttering present-tense vows which technically make them each other’s spouse from that moment on (p. 33),87 in marked contrast to earlier idyllic lovers who express their eventual wish to marry but who remain for the rest of the narrative simply each other’s courtly ‘ami’ and ‘amie’. In the case of Pierre and Maguelonne, this rush to enter into marriage, far from being an excuse to abandon chastity, is a means by which to reaYrm it, since they see it as the expression of their complete devotion to one another. Thus, prior to their separation, Pierre and Maguelonne contain their mutual desire by engaging in only very limited physical contact with each other in accordance with their own secret vow not to consummate their marriage until it has been properly solemnized in church (p. 33),88 and with their more public promise to Maguelonne’s nurse that they will love each other ‘honestement’ as they await their fate (p. 37). Throughout their separation, they continue to refer to each other as their partner in marriage: just as Pierre laments the presumed fate of his ‘leale espouse’ (p. 57), so Maguelonne implores God to reunite her 87 See above, n. 78. 88 The care with which the text thus shows the couple’s refusal to enter immediately into a wholly clandestine, fully consummated union indicates the extent to which such marriages were regarded by the late medieval French nobility as highly transgressive and morally repugnant. See Donahue 1983; and Ribordy 2004.

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with her ‘Pierre en lequel par vostre douceur et grace j’estoie tant noblement marie´e’ (p. 66). Yet, where Pierre de Provence diVers most radically from earlier romances is in showing how, despite the couple’s vow to remain chaste in their conjugal Wdelity to each other, adolescent desire is, by its very nature, impossible to restrain and so tends to disaster. Thus, it is Pierre’s youthful inability fully to control his passions which leads to their subsequent fateful separation after they have left her parental home.89 Unlike in Floire et BlancheXor and L’EscouXe where the narrators oVer no explicit moralizing commentary on the lovers’ enthusiasm for passionate embraces and kisses, the couple in Pierre de Provence are clearly punished as much for their immoderate desires as for their original act of disobedience to their parents and to God’s will. This punishment of the idyllic hero and heroine, which never occurs in any of the earlier romances in the sub-genre, would seem to exemplify the late medieval moralization of adolescent sexuality as a destructive force both for the individual and for society in general. This condemnatory tone, which is Wrst introduced into the narrative of Pierre de Provence when the hero abandons Maguelonne in order to pursue the kite which has stolen the purse containing her rings, is notably absent in the corresponding episode in L’EscouXe. In this earlier work, Fortune is presented as the malign force working to destroy the couple’s idyll as the narrator alludes to the familiar medieval commonplace that this Wckle goddess is jealous of the happiness of others (ll. 4466–9). Although some blame is apportioned to the hero for his part in his own downfall, Guillaume is deemed to be guilty merely of foolishness since, distracted by the sight of his beloved, he left the purse with the ring open instead of putting the piece of jewellery onto his Wnger for safekeeping (ll. 4528–9). Instead, most of the blame falls on the kite itself which is presented here as an evil bird, one on which Guillaume later takes his revenge by killing another of the same species in a Wt of rage, and which the narrator himself curses in God’s name (l. 4550). The treatment of this same episode in Pierre de Provence could not be more diVerent, designed as it is to cast the hero in a far less favourable light so as to draw a moral lesson from his behaviour. In the only scene in this work which contains any detailed physical descriptions of the lovers and is thus presented as being one of erotic excess,90 Pierre becomes increasingly inXamed with desire for Maguelonne who is lying in his lap, dwelling on her physical beauty as his attention moves from her face and mouth down to her breasts: ‘Et quant il avoit contemple´ son plaisant visage et avisoit celle douce bouche, petite et 89 Khanna, in her edition of Pierre de Provence, introd., p. lxxx, observes: ‘Maguelonne and Pierre are separated because of his doing—erotic pleasure makes him forget reality.’ 90 So¨derhjelm 1924, p. 25, notes this injection of a ‘nuance d’e´rotisme’ in a work which otherwise avoids such descriptions, but he does not go on to read this change of tone as indicating a moral lesson about the dangers of such eroticism.

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vermeille, il ne se pouvoit saouler de la regarder. Et apres ne se put tenir de despoitriner sa gente poitrine qui estoit plus blanche que la neige, pour voir et taster ses plaisans mamelles’ (p. 53). Confronted with these erotic sights, Pierre loses all sense of judgement and perspective, suVering a psychological destabilization of the kind which the moralists deplored in their accounts of the eVect of amorous desire on the male adolescent: ‘Et en faisant cela estoit si ravi en amours qu’il luy sembloit qu’il fust en paradis et que jamais chose ne luy pouvoit nuire ne desfortune ne luy devoit avenir’ (p. 53). Thus, whereas in L’EscouXe the narrator is clearly favourable to the lovers and even God is presumed to be on their side in cursing the thieving bird, in Pierre de Provence it is the narrator himself who intervenes to condemn Pierre and to announce the punishment that he and Maguelonne will shortly receive (p. 53). Far from the bird acting out a destiny willed by Fortune as in L’EscouXe, it is presented here as the instrument of God himself and as part of his plan for the chastisement of the couple, as the narrator underlines: ‘Mais nostre seigneur luy alla monstrer qu’en cestuy monde n’a plaisir sans douleur ne felicite´ parfaite, et va permettre qu’un oiseau marin vivant de rapine, cuidant que celuy cendal rouge fust une piece de chair vint volant et le prit et s’en alla’ (p. 54, emphasis added). Thus, in spite of their attempts to sublimate their desires through marriage, the insuYciency of this measure in view of the fact that theirs is an unsolemnized, clandestine union, is seen in the way in which their relationship is still overtaken by the forces of erotic attraction and hence their idyllic ‘aventure’ becomes a moral tale of punishment and penance as willed by God.91 The seriousness of the couple’s transgression and the moral lesson to be drawn from it are signalled by the narrator in a highly unusual case of direct speech to a character in which he denounces the hero’s actions: ‘Or plust a dieu, Pierre, que vous n’eussiez bouge´ les anneaux ne le cendal de la ou vous les pristes ou n’eussiez plus cure d’eux, car il vous seront chers et mauvais et plus aussi a Maguelonne. Et si demourrez grant temps a voir l’un l’autre, et l’un cherchera l’autre par le monde’ (p. 55). Neither Pierre nor Maguelonne initially acknowledges that their marital chastity has been compromised by their desire, with the hero claiming in his prayer to the Virgin for help that ‘en nostre amour n’a eu volente´ deshonneste’ (p. 57), and the heroine imputing their separation to the devil rather than to any sexual impropriety on their part (p. 63). However, the punishment that each is forced to undergo is clearly related to their transgressive sexuality, a point to which we shall return below. Thus, although, like the protagonists of early romance, Pierre and Maguelonne’s constancy in love is ultimately rewarded with their reunion, the narratorial disapproval which their sexual nature as amorous adolescents receives 91 See the later redaction of Pierre de Provence, introd., p. xvi, where the editor Colliot notes: ‘Parce qu’ils sont profonde´ment malheureux, Pierre et Maguelonne se retournent vers Dieu, dont d’ailleurs ils ont peur, car ils voient dans la catastrophe qui les se´pare une punition voulue par ce Dieu qu’ils ont oVense´ ’ (emphasis added).

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constitutes a signiWcant break with the earlier tradition, a disapproval which is wholly consonant with the late medieval moralists’ condemnation of youthful sensuality and of the disapproval in this period of clandestine marriage.92

Paris et Vienne At Wrst sight, the love which Paris and Vienne feel for each other appears to conform more closely to early idyllic convention than the amour de renomme´e which Pierre conceives for Maguelonne and which compels him to present himself as a stranger at her father’s court. Not only is their love depicted as a passion between two very young people, Paris being 16 years old and Vienne only 11 when they Wrst fall in love, but their two families are closely connected through the vassalage which binds Paris’s father to the dauphin. Both lovers display the classic signs of a burning adolescent desire: Paris tries unsuccessfully to rid himself of his feelings for Vienne but only falls more deeply in love with her (‘plus ardoit le feu d’amours, que desir metoit en son cueur’, p. 397), whilst Vienne explains to Ysabeau that she is in the throes of an ardent passion, ‘ung desir qui est une Xame de feu, qui art mon cuer par force d’amer, que, cy Dieu n’a mercy de moy, je moray briefment’ (p. 413). As in Pierre de Provence, Paris et Vienne presents a far less eroticized image of adolescent desire than that found in the earlier idyllic romances but it goes one further in showing how, once Paris and Vienne have declared their love and betrothed themselves to one another, their respect of social proprieties exceeds even that of Pierre and Maguelonne. Not only are their caresses described in the most discreet of terms (‘s’entrebayserent moult doulcement’, p. 475), but they are always chaperoned in their private meetings by Vienne’s companion, Ysabeau. Indeed, unlike even the most chaste of early idyllic romances, Guillaume de Palerne, in which the lovers leave the emperor’s palace unaccompanied by Melior’s conWdante, Alixandrine, Ysabeau here continues to safeguard Vienne’s chastity throughout the course of her attempted elopement. The two girls not only cross-dress to preserve their modesty but are also shown sharing a bed at the priest’s house where they take refuge from the storm, whilst Paris sleeps next to the cleric who has oVered them protection for the night (pp. 499–500). Yet, as in the treatment of adolescent desire in Pierre de Provence, if the passion experienced by the couple in Paris et Vienne is not overtly sexualized, it is nonetheless still presented as morally transgressive. Echoing the divine disapproval of the lovers’ desires seen in the providential device of the thieving bird in Pierre de Provence, Paris et Vienne uses natural symbolism to suggest that neither God nor Fortune is on the lovers’ side when they try to elope in deWance 92 Donahue 1983.

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of their parents’ wishes.93 For example, Vienne’s dream on the eve of the couple’s departure that a swollen river will stop Paris rescuing her from a ravening lion in her father’s garden (p. 495) turns out to be prophetic in that, on the day of their elopement, the lovers encounter adverse weather conditions which they deem to have been sent by God to foil their plans.94 Thus, the ‘plue si merveilleuse, qu’il sembloit que le ciel deust tomber’ (p. 500) which falls that day not only prevents them from continuing on their journey but also destroys the bridge over the Xooded river by which the lovers had hoped to make their escape. Recognizing this impassable river as a symbolic expression of God’s disapproval of their transgressive desire, the lovers are forced to abandon their plans. As Vienne exclaims: ‘O fortune desmesuree et mauveise destinee, commant vous m’estes contraire en ce point! E vray Dieu de paradis, que n’ave´s vous pitie´ de moy povre meschine, ne me veulhes pas pugnir selon mes pechiez’ (p. 504, emphasis added). However, unlike Pierre de Provence which limits itself to explicit moralization of the couple’s desire, Paris et Vienne also makes extensive use of its preferred method of comic debunking in its critique of adolescent sexuality. For example, in a parodic exaggeration of the courtly topos of love as a religion,95 Paris builds himself an altar to both God and Vienne which he decorates with the trophies that he won in her honour at the king of France’s tournament (p. 431). Outdoing her lover, Vienne not only steals these trophies in order to make her own altar at which she prays God to bring Paris to her (p. 453), but is also inspired by her prayers to dream of Paris appearing before her in a new robe, a sight which, when it does actually transpire in reality, causes her to feel such rapture that she mistakes Paris for God himself (p. 456). That this youthful over-enthusiasm for her lover is clearly meant both to amuse and to instruct the reader is signalled by the fact that the sensible Ysabeau herself can only smile at Vienne’s idolatrous fervour (p. 457). A further device which undermines the reader’s identiWcation with the young couple is the ironic counterpoint to the lovers’ desire provided by their two conWdants, Edoardo and Ysabeau, who are of only slightly lower social standing than the hero himself. Though also adolescents, these two appear to transcend completely the conventional failings of their age group as each counsels Paris and Vienne to avoid the dangers of immoderate passion, using terms which would not have been out of place in the writings of a Philippe de Novare or a Giles of Rome. For example, whilst Edoardo warns Paris that ‘amour est de telle 93 The young couple’s consciousness of their transgression in eloping is much more marked in the shorter, more moralized redaction of the tale where Vienne makes Paris swear that he will respect her chastity until their marriage can be properly celebrated: see Babbi’s edition of Paris et Vienne, p. 92. 94 This motif of storms to signify God’s displeasure is more commonly found in the overtly religious genres of epic and hagiography, but could also be used in romances and biographies to suggest the workings of providence: see Gaucher 1994, pp. 114–18. 95 On love as a religion in courtly literature, see Lewis 1936; and Kay 2000.

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condition que aucunes foiz frappe le cuer de l’omme d’une Xame de desir, que [ . . . ] il convient que le scens et la raison soit surmontee et gouvernee par la volunte´, dont il s’ensuit beaucop de mal’ (p. 471), Ysabeau entreats Vienne not to ‘consentir ainsi du tout a ce que vostre cuer veult, que vous en puissies avoir domaige et deshoneur’ (p. 450). Edoardo’s attitude towards his own amorous adventures similarly provides a counter-example to the behaviour of Paris and Vienne. Though Edoardo is initially in love with a woman who is presumably married, ‘une dame qu’il amoit pour amour en Brebant’ (p. 441), this love, far from resembling the passion that consumes the hero and heroine, serves simply as a useful pretext to go oV on a jousting tour of the region with Paris. Nor does his love prevent Edoardo from agreeing at the end of the tale to marry Ysabeau (p. 626). Despite the fact that no mention has been made hitherto of any feelings that these two might have for each other, Edoardo and Ysabeau thus form a couple whose ready acquiescence to their arranged marriage, one which proves to be just as fruitful in oVspring as that of Paris and Vienne, oVers a bathetic contrast to the lengthy and dramatic adventures undergone by the hero and heroine for the sake of their love. In this respect, the two conWdants conform much more closely than do the hero and heroine to the late medieval moralists’ opinion that adolescents should avoid the dangers of excessive passion and obediently accept the beneWts of a properly sanctioned marriage, such a union being more in line with the actual marital practice of the nobility at that time. Providing neither the titillating apology for adolescent desire typical of early idyllic romances nor the wholly moralistic condemnation of it found in Pierre de Provence, Paris et Vienne oVers instead a more comic analysis of the excesses of youthful love, one which nonetheless adheres closely to the late medieval critique of sensuality in the young. Neither sexually alluring adolescents nor contrite penitents, Paris and Vienne are presented instead as anti-heroes who attain their reward for their loyalty to each other only at great expense to themselves and their families. Moreover, their suVering as martyrs to love96 is ironically undermined by the counter-example of their more rational and dispassionate conWdants who show rather greater submission than they do to adult control in matters of marriage.

96 Antoine de La Sale, who was requested by his patron, Jean de Calabre, to compose his own version of the story of Paris and Vienne, one which, as far as we know, he never in fact produced, similarly notes the extreme nature of the young couple’s suVering as martyrs to love in the preface to his Saintre´ : ‘Et le deuxieme livre traittera des tresloyalles amours de Mademoiselle Vyenne d’Allenc¸on et de Paris de Rousillon, comme les plus martirs d’amours que je aye leu ne oy¨ dire’ (p. 34). It is, however, open to question as to whether this comment is meant to be taken at face value to suggest that the loyal young lovers oVer a contrast to the disloyalty shown to Saintre´ by the Dame des Belles Cousines, as some critics have argued, or perhaps should be read to indicate La Sale’s own awareness of the excessive nature of the couple’s travails which lend themselves to parody.

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(IV) THE ADOLESCENT IN EXILE: THE PURSUIT OF LOV E V E R S U S A D H E R E N C E TO S O C I A L D U T Y The forbidden love of the young couples in idyllic romance not only entails disobedience towards parental authority and the illicit expression of their innate sensuality, it also leads them into abandoning their allotted social roles. Whilst the hero is prevented by his passion from acting as future lord of a territory and head of a household, the heroine who chooses love over duty Xees her role as object of exchange in the dynastic politics of marriage. As we have seen, moralists such as Giles of Rome and Philippe de Novare were unequivocal about the dangers posed to aristocratic society when adolescents put their own desires Wrst and failed to perform their prescribed roles within heterosexual marriage. To their minds, such individualism leads young males to irrationality and violence, and young females to the loss of honour and reputation, with all the attendant conXicts that this creates with their families, conXicts which are amply attested in the legal texts of the period.97 If, in early idyllic romances, such deviation from the expected male and female roles in the pursuit of love is presented as a justiWed if unfortunate response to societal intolerance of the lovers’ amorous plight, in later texts the young couple’s bid for aVective independence is Wrmly castigated as an unacceptable escape from conventional gender socialization.

Early idyllic romances The pursuit of love at the expense of duty to family is shown in our twelfth- and thirteenth-century romances to lead to alienation from society as the hero and heroine alike are diverted from their normal development towards adulthood. However, the actual degree and form of alienation which idyllic protagonists experience vary greatly, as do the means by which the lovers eventually achieve social reintegration. In the young males of early idyllic romance, there is a spectrum of alienation which runs from a discrepancy between an individual’s ability to perform his chivalric duty and his personal fulWlment through love, to a complete inability to function in any recognizably aristocratic role due to his crippling state of lovesickness.98 Representing the Wrst of these positions on the spectrum is the young hero of Galeran de Bretagne who is shown passing through all the obligatory stages of his upbringing as a future seigneur, from pupil to page and thence to knight, in full acceptance of his destiny to take his dead father’s place as lord of a territory and then himself to produce a successor to inherit this territory after him. The social alienation which he nonetheless experiences in the 97 Donahue 1983; and Ribordy 2004. 98 On the alienating eVects of lovesickness, see Ciavolella 1976; and Wack 1990.

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course of his maturation is due to his lack of self-fulWlment through love since, out of his devotion to the absent Fresne, he disobeys his elders in refusing to marry the girls whom his kinsman, Brun, and later Brundore´, Fresne’s own father, present to him as eligible partners. Yet, although this absence of love causes him anguish and suVering, Galeran is not actually prevented by his passion from fulWlling his other chivalric duties, the sleeve with Fresne’s image embroidered on it which he carries into battle inspiring him to perform great deeds of courage (ll. 5974–8). The majority of early idyllic heroes are, however, situated towards the other end of the spectrum of alienation from Galeran. Prostrated by their thwarted passion, these young men are almost completely alienated from their society to the extent even of wanting to commit suicide, thus exhibiting the most extreme form of the irrational and violent behaviour deplored by the late medieval moralists. Hence, whilst Floire apostrophizes his stylus, a present from BlancheXor, with which he intends to kills himself, ‘Grafe, fait il, por c¸ou fus fait j que Wn mesisses a cest plait’ (ll. 999–1000), Aucassin declares his readiness to dash his head to pieces against a wall rather than see Nicolette in the arms of another man (XIV, ll. 10–11), and Guillaume in L’EscouXe is actually driven to a brutal act of self-harm when he punches himself in the face in his amorous desperation at being separated for so long from Aelis (ll. 6926–37). Unlike either Galeran or the hero of Guillaume de Palerne who are both inspired by their love to demonstrate their prowess, none of these other alienated idyllic males is able to perform his alloted social role of knight and seigneur until he is reunited with his beloved and so proves incapable of any acts of chivalry. Floire, the most active of these desolated heroes, wins back his BlancheXor not through acts of valour but rather through the skilful employment of his considerable wealth, which enables him to buy the help that he needs in order to gain entry to the tower in which she has been imprisoned, whilst Guillaume in L’EscouXe suVers the most profound social and emotional alienation of all, simply languishing as a half-mad keeper of falcons after having failed to Wnd his beloved Aelis. However, these early idyllic heroes are far from being simply ‘Love’s fools’99 but are rather presented as Love’s victims since their alienation stems from the destabilizing lovesickness which is seen in these texts to take on a particularly virulent form in the adolescent male. Yet, signiWcantly, it is not their lovelorn state itself which is condemned in these early romances (unlike in, say, Thomas’s Tristan where such passion is presented as a largely destructive force).100 Rather, it is the obstacles placed in the lovers’ path by their parents or kin-group which are held to blame for their alienation. When these obstacles are removed and the lovers reunited, either by the convenient death of the parents or their family’s recognition of the loved one’s worth, this lovesickness is instantly cured and the 99 Martin 1972.

100 Brault 1996.

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young man restored to his proper social role. In these texts, it is often a fathersubstitute, with a better understanding of the adolescent’s alienated condition than the hero’s actual parent, who resolves intergenerational conXict and reintegrates the male hero into society. Thus, in Floire et BlancheXor it is the ‘amiral’ who, once he has heard the tale of the lovers’ separation, not only forgives them for their deception but also arranges for the lovers to be married and the hero to be dubbed a knight (ll. 3133–9), whilst in L’EscouXe, Aelis’s patron, the count of Saint Gilles, plays a similar role in reintegrating his cousin Guillaume into society (ll. 7746–51). This need for such a man to act in loco parentis is made particularly explicit in Galeran de Bretagne where Fresne’s father, who has shown great admiration for the hero’s abilities as a knight, deals with the distraught Galeran with extraordinary compassion for the youth’s tender age, breaking the news gently to him that he can now marry Fresne with the full approval of both families (ll. 7590–4). Paradoxically then, the idyllic hero in these early romances is eVectively alienated from society by the very individuals who most want him to be integrated into it and it is thus the obstructive father or other male kin-member who either has to be removed from the narrative or replaced by a more sympathetic older male for this reintegration to occur. Presenting lovesickness as a signiWcant obstacle to the young man’s ability to perform his expected role as knight and seigneur, these texts thus stress that such illness must be taken seriously as a condition and that those around him must help him overcome it by ceding to his desires, since it is in society’s interest that they do so if a territory is not to lose its rightful ruler. If early idyllic romances tolerate the challenge which the adolescent hero’s social and emotional alienation poses to the rule of the father by upholding the principle of his right to aVective self-determination, the way in which this challenge is contained in the case of the heroine is dealt with rather diVerently. The spectrum of alienation experienced by the young female protagonists of these texts, who refuse to be passive objects of exchange in marriages arranged for them by their parents, diverges from that of young males in two key respects. First, alienation for idyllic heroines takes one of two possible forms: either spatial, in that the young woman is literally deprived of her physical liberty through imprisonment; or socio-economic, in that she loses her status as a noblewoman and instead adopts the lifestyle of a bourgeoise, using the skills acquired as part of her aristocratic upbringing in order to earn her living once she has Xed her parental home. Second, in neither case does this alienation lead to the kind of emotional and physical prostration suVered by idyllic heroes such as Aucassin and Guillaume in L’EscouXe who are unable to recover from their lovesickness and to reintegrate themselves into society unaided. Indeed, the female counterparts of these hapless heroes prove themselves to be remarkably active and resourceful in maintaining their right to love whomsoever they please, whilst

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adapting readily to the new spatial or socio-economic circumstances in which they Wnd themselves.101 Heroines who suVer spatial alienation include BlancheXor who is sold into slavery and becomes a prized virgin in the harem of the ‘amiral’ and Nicolette who is thrown into prison by order of Aucassin’s father. However, despite undergoing involuntary imprisonment of the kind which few idyllic males actually experience, these incarcerated heroines never fall into the state of despair which overwhelms the hero of such texts, nor do they conform to the model of the passive maiden awaiting rescue found in more conventional courtly romance.102 Rather, standing Wrm in her pursuit of love with the partner of her choice, the imprisoned BlancheXor shows suYcient presence of mind to save herself from the sexual attentions of the ‘amiral’ by vowing to kill herself if necessary (ll. 2403–10) and Nicolette jumps from the tower where she is being held captive and hatches a plan for her and Aucassin to run oV together (XII). Alternatively, idyllic heroines embrace their socio-economic alienation by undertaking activities such as musicianship or needlework before attaining eventual reunion with their lost lovers.103 Thus, if Nicolette, after her brief period of imprisonment, later cross-dresses as a male musician for a short time in order to regain access to her beloved Aucassin (XXXVIII), in other texts the resourceful heroines work for some years in their new roles before such reunion takes place. In L’EscouXe, Aelis becomes a skilled embroideress and storyteller whereas Fresne, in Galeran de Bretagne, takes up both music-making and highquality textile production.104 SigniWcantly, such gainful employment serves not only as a means of subsistence for these young women but also as a powerful symbol of the sexual choice which they have made in remaining faithful to their absent lovers. By virtue of their industriousness, these heroines thus send out an important signal to those around them that they are avoiding idleness with all its traditional implications in women of unchastity or even prostitution.105 As Fresne puts it: ‘Fole ne suis ne n’ay seigneur j Ne poursuite de compaignon j Se la de Dieu le puissant non’ (ll. 4200–2). Eschewing all male company, she works tirelessly and honestly (ll. 4296–9) and avoids leaving the house except to go to church (ll. 4302–3). 101 Berkvam 1981, p. 88 observes: ‘Ce qui diVe´rencie surtout la jeune Wlle du jeune homme, c’est que le jeune homme noble, Wer de son lignage, n’envisage jamais d’autre me´tier que la chasse ou la chevalerie tandis que la jeune Wlle noble, dont la nature fe´minine semble transcender toutes les cate´gories sociales, n’he´site pas `a exercer un me´tier de bourgeoise quand le besoin s’en fait sentir’ (emphasis added). 102 Fries 1996. 103 Baumgartner 1992; and Jones 1997. 104 One idyllic heroine who conforms to neither of these paradigms, Melior in Guillaume de Palerne, is of course spared having to undertake such activity by virtue of the fact that she and her beloved are never actually separated from each other. Furthermore, after a period of privation living in the woods like animals, they are soon reintegrated into aristocratic society when Guillaume’s mother accepts her unknown champion’s oVer to Wght on her behalf and invites them to live at her court. 105 On the link between idleness and unchastity, see Fleming 1969, pp. 73–9; and Karras 2000.

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In exercising their right to express their desire through sexual Wdelity and in maintaining a reputation for chastity through their work, these early idyllic heroines thus avoid the greatest danger which is inherent in their socio-economic alienation, namely, their loss of honour, which was the late medieval moralists’ chief concern for unmarried girls. A further way in which these heroines safeguard their chastity is through keeping the close company of other women. Aelis and her friend Ysabeau in L’EscouXe, as well as Fresne and her companion Rose in Galeran de Bretagne, form inseparable pairs of young women who act as chaperones for each other as they sell their prized needlework to the wealthy whilst they travel in search of the heroines’ missing lovers. The homosocial bond between the heroine and her companion in this friendship functions both as a bulwark against loss of honour and even as a temporary alternative to the economy of heterosexual marriage.106 For some critics, such female solidarity seems at times even to venture beyond the practical into the sexual,107 as Aelis, for example, appears to persuade Ysabeau to become her companion through her sexual embraces: ‘Ele se traist plus dele´s li, j Si la baise, estraint et acole. j Par la douc¸or de sa parole j La conquiert si qu’ele li dit j Qu’ele fera sans contredit j Sa volente´, comment k’il aille’ (L’EscouXe, ll. 5288–93). However, though such behaviour on Aelis’s part serves as an extremely eVective way of cajoling others into performing her will, since she also ‘seduces’ two other noblewomen into giving her their custom and protection, it is neither interpreted by others around her as an alternative to heterosexuality itself, nor is it sustained beyond the moment at which she is Wnally reunited with her male lover. Rather, her deployment of her seductive charms on other women can be seen as a tactic designed to help her work her way back into the ranks of the aristocracy from which she has been excluded by her forbidden love for Guillaume. Nonetheless, if the heroine’s new mode of existence allows her to function eVectively outside her proper social milieu whilst still maintaining her honour, it never ceases to be experienced as a form of alienation from her rightful position in society. Thus, whilst the friendships which Aelis and Fresne enjoy with their respective female companions are both intimate and supportive, such bonds are still predicated on a profound inequality of social status.108 Acknowledged by all to be the superior of their friends and co-workers, of Fresne it is said that ‘Qui son corps esgarde et son vis, j Ainz est bien a chascun avis j Qu’a conte soit Wlle ou a roy’ (Galeran de Bretagne, ll. 4321–3), whilst Aelis declares that only she, due to her higher birth than Ysabeau, is capable of producing the luxury silken objects which will catch the eye of the nobility rather than the coarser linen goods which her friend can make (L’EscouXe, ll. 5457–61). Moreover, the fact that the heroine’s reintegration into society is brought about by dint of her own eVorts and resourcefulness in locating and then confronting her erstwhile lover, so as to 106 Krueger 1999; and Roberts 1999. 107 Diller 1979. 108 Jones 1997, p. 32.

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Wnd out if his feelings for her have remained unchanged, attests to the urgency with which she seeks to enjoy once more the privileges of her original class.109 Thus, in Galeran de Bretagne, Fresne’s wish to regain her sexual and social status as a noblewoman can be seen when she goes to reclaim Galeran on the day of his wedding to her twin-sister. Employing her skills of needlework and musicianship in order to present herself once more as the desiring aristocratic lady that she really is, she dresses in exquisite, costly clothes and sings him the courtly song of love that he once taught her (ll. 6917–7004).110 In depicting the heroine’s wish to return to the aristocratic convention of heterosexual marriage, albeit with the partner of her own choosing, these texts uphold her right to pursue love whilst neutralizing the threat which her socio-economic independence and sexual selfdetermination pose to paternal authority. Representing the lovers’ alienation from their rightful social position as a reversal of conventional gender roles, these early idyllic romances thus show how the usually active male is reduced to a state of passive prostration which renders him socially and emotionally dysfunctional, whereas the usually passive female object of exchange has to become active in order to survive outside her own social milieu and to attain her eventual reintegration within it. In reconciling the demands of love with those of duty, these works suggest that, since the state of social and emotional dysfunctionality endured by the alienated male is a loss to society, it is society itself which has to accommodate his pursuit of love. Since the heroine’s socio-economic alienation is seen as far less threatening to the social order, being presented neither as a viable permanent alternative to heterosexual marriage nor as incompatible with the preservation of her honour, it is tolerated in these works as a temporary state within which she can continue to be a desiring, if chaste, subject. SigniWcantly, in neither case is such alienation portrayed as an actual punishment for the adolescent’s pursuit of self-fulWlment through love, even if, in the particular case of males, it leads to the kind of irrational and self-destructive behaviour abhorred in the late medieval discourse on adolescence. Rather, alienation is shown to be an unfortunate consequence of society’s intolerance towards the young couple’s passion and so serves as a means by which their constancy and Wdelity are tested and proven.

Pierre de Provence In marked contrast to the early romance tradition, the hero’s state of alienation in Pierre de Provence is presented not merely as a prostration but as an actual form of punishment for his transgression in taking Maguelonne away from her father’s court and in falling prey to his erotic desires. Thus, although Pierre excelled in arms before his love for Maguelonne was fully declared, he ceases entirely to function as a knight once the couple have been separated from each other and 109 Krueger 1999, p. 174.

110 Burns 2002, pp. 8–9.

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falls into a state of the deepest physical and psychological dejection. Whereas in the early tradition such prostration is deplored but blamed on the paternal antagonist who blocks the hero’s desire, this work proposes no such reconciliation of the opposing demands of love and duty. Instead, in a clear echo of the late medieval critique of adolescence, in Pierre de Provence it is the unrestrained pursuit of love itself, albeit within a chaste but still clandestine marriage, as well as the damage which such transgression causes to the family unit, which come under critical moral scrutiny. In order to stress that the alienation undergone by the hero of this text should be seen as a divinely sanctioned punishment, Pierre de Provence borrows a moralizing symbolism from hagiography and pious exempla which is wholly lacking in earlier romances. Employing the traditional motif from devout literature of being cast adrift on a rudderless ship as punishment for his lack of bodily restraint,111 the tale shows the terriWed young hero being carried away at God’s command on a strong sea-current after he has climbed into a small boat in an attempt to chase the thieving bird and retrieve the stolen purse (pp. 55–6). Pierre’s complete alienation from his society is likewise symbolized by the fact of his exile, as a Christian, amongst the Saracens of Alexandria, where he leads an existence full of psychological anguish at the loss of his love: ‘jamais ne se pouvoit resjouir, mais continuellement dolent estoit et pensif de son amie Maguelonne’ (p. 59). His state of moral dejection is symbolically matched by that of his physical disintegration when, on his way home to Provence, Pierre is seen to be as much in thrall as ever to his desire for his beloved to the extent that, as at the moment of their original separation, he loses all command of his judgement when thinking of her. Thus, on an island where his ship stops to take on water, Pierre is punished for losing himself in contemplation of a Xower which reminds him of Maguelonne by falling asleep and missing the ship’s departure (pp. 81–2). His subsequent physical suVering on the island where he falls ill through lack of food not only symbolizes his extreme symptoms of lovesickness at being deprived of the sight of the beloved but also the beginnings of Pierre’s reintegration into society since the narrator explains that God then wills him to be rescued and cared for in a hospital in the town of Trapana. Just as Maguelonne is the instrument by which he is reunited with his family, so she proves to be the agent by whom his social and emotional alienation is Wnally ended once he arrives at the hospital that she has built on the island of Port Sarrasin. The traditional courtly motif of the lady as the lover’s ‘doctor’ is here both literalized and moralized as she returns him to moral and physical health through her ministrations in her role as nurse and holy recluse: ‘Reposant soy Pierre ainsi en cestuy hospital, pour le grant service que luy faisoit l’hospitaliere, il commenc¸a fort a guerir, lequel se merveilloit fort de la grant peine et diligence qu’icelle dame prenoit a le servir et les autres aussi. Et disoit en son cueur que sans faute elle devoit estre quelque sainte personne’ (p. 91). 111 Hares-Stryker 1993.

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Pierre’s dysfunctional existence after his separation from his lover thus underlines the moral lesson oVered in this text on the dereliction of chivalric and familial duty caused by the pursuit of love. This refusal to reconcile the opposing demands of love and duty in the lovers’ favour is even more marked in the case of the pathway that Maguelonne herself follows. If Pierre’s pathway is shown to be punitive, that of Maguelonne is positively penitential. Involving not just socioeconomic alienation of the kind experienced by earlier idyllic heroines such as Aelis and Fresne, but also spatial alienation of the sort undergone by BlancheXor, this pathway is imbued with a moralizing religious symbolism. Thus, although Maguelonne proves herself to be just as resourceful and industrious as Aelis and Fresne, she uses her wits not for her own self-aggrandizement in order to regain her social status, but rather to withdraw almost entirely from the world, embracing a life of poverty and devoting herself to pious deeds. Similarly, given that, unlike BlancheXor, her imprisonment is wholly voluntary, Maguelonne’s state of alienation constitutes an explicit moralization of the idyllic plot since she herself acknowledges that both she and her lover are being punished for their sins: ‘Et maintenant, seigneur Jhesucrist, par vostre incomparable puissance vous a plu que soyons separe´s l’un de l’autre par aventure, cher Seigneur, c’est par nostre coulpe et nostre peche´, car pecheurs sommes’ (p. 66, emphasis added). The penitential reclusiveness of Maguelonne’s chosen pathway would seem to be a direct response to the kind of anxieties expressed by moralists such as Giles of Rome and Philippe de Novare about the perils facing the chastity of young women once they stray outside the family home. Whereas in early idyllic romances these fears are dealt with by showing how the heroines manage to preserve their honour through their industrious activity and chaste frequentation of female company, in this text no such optimism is expressed about the likely fate of adolescent females who escape from parental control. Indeed, Pierre de Provence would not seem to be alone in this respect, since concerns of the kind raised by the moralists about the dangers facing the lone woman’s chastity were similarly echoed in other late medieval narratives. For example, both the Roman du Comte d’Anjou (1316) and the short moral tale known as Floridan et Elvide (mid-Wfteenth century) depict with particular vividness the ever-present threat of rape for young noblewomen who lack familial protection.112 In the Wrst of these works, a tale of father/daughter incest, a maiden who has escaped her father’s advances and has taken refuge with a townswoman is harassed by several young men who seek to take her by force if she will not consent to having sex with them.113 In the second, a cautionary tale of a young couple who have eloped, the hero is killed by a group of drunken men whilst the heroine Elvide decides to slit her own throat rather than submit to being raped by them.114 112 See Gravdal 1991. 113 For a full discussion of the Comte d’Anjou, see below, Ch. 4. 114 This Latin tale by Nicolas de Clamanges was translated by Rasse de Brunhamel around 1456.

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In the light of such anxieties about the fate of wilful young women expressed by late medieval writers of both moralizing and narrative works, Pierre de Provence underscores Maguelonne’s exemplary value by presenting her as a heroine whose active preservation of her chastity exceeds that shown by the young women of the earlier idyllic tradition who simply kept themselves busy and avoided male company. Not only does Maguelonne positively repent of having left her father’s home without his permission, but, in this spirit of penitence, she sublimates her romantic desires through pious works in order to preserve her greatest asset, her maidenhood. Moreover, like saints such as St Mary the Egyptian or St Elizabeth of Hungary,115 Maguelonne thoroughly alters her appearance, desexualizing her body in order to act out her penance. Her socioeconomic and spatial alienation is thus matched by her physical alienation from her identity as a desirable young noblewoman as she exchanges her rich garments for the lowly garb of a female pilgrim and dirties her face so as to mask her beauty (p. 65). Consciously repressing her sexual identity until such time as her conjugal desire for Pierre can be legitimately expressed, she commends herself to the Virgin as a ‘povre pucelle’ (p. 67). This withdrawal from the world the better to guard her virginity culminates in her settling on the island of Port Sarrasin where she builds a small church and hospital in which to devote herself to the care of the poor. From being a young aristocrat, she therefore transforms herself into Wrst a ‘pelerine’ and then an ‘hospitaliere’ who leads a ‘tres aspre vie’ (p. 71) of active penance and her very identity becomes subsumed into that of the church itself which bears both her and Pierre’s names, being known as ‘Saint Pierre de Maguelonne’ (ibid.). Only when Maguelonne has brought Pierre back to health and is about to restore him to his family does she once more take on the appearance of a desiring subject, safe in the knowledge that her penance and state of alienation are now over. Enacting her return to the economy of sexual passion by donning rich garments and unpinning her long, luxuriant hair, the traditional marker of maidenly virtue and desirability (p. 95),116 she is then presented to Pierre’s parents as the legitimate object of his aVections (p. 101). Just as Maguelonne and Pierre recognize that God has punished them for their disobedience and immoderate desires, so they now acknowledge that their being reunited is a reward for having endured the punishment and penance he sent them, as the heroine explains to her beloved just before revealing her identity to him: ‘Et ainsi qu’il vous a donne´ des tribulacions, ainsi il vous donnera plaisir et joie, pourquoy priez le de bon cueur qu’il luy plaise que ainsi soit’ (pp. 93–4). 115 Expiating her sins as a former prostitute, St Mary the Egyptian is described in the Le´gende dore´e, p. 408, as living in the desert, her body having been thoroughly altered by the austerity of her existence: ‘une creature toute nue et le corps noir et brule´ pour l’ardeur du souleil’. As a less extreme example of such bodily desexualization, St Elizabeth eschews all the costly garments and trappings of her previous royal status in her pursuit of a life of poverty: ‘elle se vestoit de vilz vestemens et metoit ung pouvre voil sur son chief ’ (ibid. 1073). 116 Phillips 2003, pp. 45–6.

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A Wnal signiWcant element which indicates the extent to which the reader is expected to take from this tale not simply a homily on constancy in love, as was oVered in early idyllic texts, but rather a moralization of idyllic romance itself, is provided by the brief epilogue which recounts the end of the lovers’ lives. This epilogue, which is omitted from the earlier works in which no such moral is intended to be drawn, stresses that the youthful couple were able to surmount the perilous temptations of adolescence and to make a good end at their deaths: ‘Mais Pierre et Maguelonne vesquirent en sainte et honneste vie et moururent saintes personnes et furent ensevelis en la dite eglise dedans un mesme sepulcre, de la quelle eglise la dite Maguelonne avoit este´ fonderesse, et y avoit institue´ hospitalite´’ (p. 104). Not only does this passage Wt in with the emphasis placed by the late medieval moralists on the need to overcome the dangers of adolescence with its excessive forms of love, but it also draws attention to the most virtuous action which Maguelonne accomplished in her life as part of her penance. If, like the heroes and heroines of earlier romances, the lovers’ alienation from society is ended when Pierre is reinstated as heir to a territory which he will govern on his father’s death and Maguelonne is established as his legitimate bride, this text nonetheless refutes the primacy given to love over duty in the earlier idyllic tradition. Echoing the views expressed by the moralists of the later middle ages about how potentially transgressive adolescents must be reintegrated into the social order based on Wlial duty to family and forced to give up the follies of youth, Pierre de Provence shows that such reintegration can only occur when the young couple repent the excessive nature of their love due to the rigours of the alienation which it forces them to undergo.

Paris et Vienne Paris, like Pierre, is initially presented to us as a highly accomplished knight who proves his worth in a series of tournaments but who fails to reap the beneWt from his adoption of a chivalric incognito through his continued refusal to reveal his identity. When neither the legitimate route of a formal marriage proposal nor the illegitimate route of an aborted elopement allows him to attain his heart’s desire, Paris too abandons all chivalric pursuits and instead falls into the alienated state of prostration characteristic of the idyllic hero on being separated from his beloved. If, however, Paris et Vienne follows Pierre de Provence in subjecting the hero’s pursuit of love and the alienation which it produces to a moral critique, this critique is delivered here in more comic fashion by making Paris into a veritable anti-hero. The extreme pathos of Paris’s prostration constitutes a parody of the traditional idyllic lover since, even compared to the emotional alienation of a Guillaume or an Aucassin, his status as a tortured young lover is overdetermined.

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Not only is he a martyr to love who, as his friend Edoardo predicted, is fated to suVer (p. 471), but he also sees himself as a victim of Fortune condemned to a life of misery for his youthful presumption in loving such a high-born maiden as Vienne (p. 561). In even more pathetic mode, in which he outdoes even the desperate resignation of his idyllic predecessors, he writes out his will in a letter to Edoardo, this will being a mixture of a sentimental testament amoureux in which he bequeathes his heart to Vienne and a more pragmatic bequest that his place as his parents’ heir be taken by Edoardo (p. 562).117 Similarly, in this same letter, giving full vent to his dejection, Paris adopts the melancholic cliche´s of lyrical allegory in order to describe what his future life of misery holds in store for him:118 ‘Premierement je feray ung lit qui sera de douleur, ou je coucheray sans relever, le chevet que je tendray desoubz ma teste sera de larmes, et les couvertures seront de tristesse. Mes vestimens seront de deulh, mon mangier et mon boyere sera de soussy, et tous mes parlers seront de plains’ (ibid.).119 Finally, Paris’s utter prostration is seen in his being unable to think about Vienne or even to hear her name without bursting into tears (p. 577, for example). Through the use of such comic exaggeration, the text thus oVers up Paris’s state of emotional alienation as an exemplum in malo of the lack of moderation in love, such de´mesure forming a central part of the late medieval critique of adolescence. Compared to the earlier romances in which the problem of the idyllic lover’s emotional and social alienation is resolved by removal of the obstacle posed by the obstructive parent, in Paris et Vienne, where the emphasis is placed on reconciling the lovers’ desire with the constraints of family and duty, the obstacle posed by the dauphin cannot be surmounted but rather has to be accommodated for the hero to be reintegrated into society. Yet, even here, Paris’s reintegration is presented in the most equivocal of terms since it is based on a highly elaborate piece of deception. Thus, unlike Pierre whose reinsertion into society comes at the cost of a lengthy period of punitive exile during which his extreme state of social alienation is symbolized by his adoption of Saracen dress and language, Paris displays these same signs of alienation but, ultimately, puts them to a very diVerent purpose. Once he has roused himself from his initial prostration and gone into exile, Paris in fact exploits his alienated appearance as a Saracen unable even to speak the ‘langue latine’ (p. 576) in order to trick the dauphin and regain 117 On the parodic use of such testaments, see Cerquiglini 1999. 118 On the presence of the lyric in late medieval romance, though without making this point about the potentially parodic nature of such lyric insertions in a prose narrative, see Finoli 2000b. 119 See e.g. Charles d’Orle´ans who writes of wrapping up the heart of his beloved ‘En ung cueuvrechief de Plaisance’, watering it ‘En larmes de Piteux Penser’, and then drying it ‘au feu d’Esperance’ (Ballade XXXII, ll. 6, 11, 14); of his own heart having become a hermit ‘En l’ermitage de Pensee’, and henceforth dressing in ‘L’abit de Desconfort’ (Ballade XLIII, ll. 2, 32); and of how on St Valentine’s Day he woke from the ‘somme de Soussy j Ou j’avoye toute la nuit dormy j Sur le dur lit d’Ennuieuse Pensee’ (Ballade LXVI, ll. 6–8): see Charles d’Orle´ans, vol. 1, pp. 51–2, 64–5, and 91. See also Cerquiglini-Toulet 1993b.

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access to Vienne and his country of origin.120 For Paris, his Saracen disguise is thus not only a marker of his alienation but also serves as a parodic form of incognito, given that his previous adoption of chivalric incognito based on prowess failed to advance his amorous ambitions. His subsequent actions are similarly a parodic version of the non-chivalric deeds which Floire had to perform through spending money and bribing oYcials in order to gain access to his imprisoned BlancheXor. Whereas Floire used his wealth and guile to deceive the ‘amiral’, Paris uses it principally to deceive the person who is at once his chief antagonist and yet the man whom he most needs as the means by which to achieve reintegration: Vienne’s father himself. Based as it is on a fundamental deception, Paris’s motivation to free the dauphin is highly complex: the hero feels both respect for the dauphin as a feudal ruler (p. 578) and pity for his wretched state as a prisoner (p. 582), and so declares to the monk acting as his translator that he sees it as his Christian duty to help the dauphin (p. 585). However, this latter admission is then made ambiguous by the fact that, once the dauphin has promised to grant Paris his territory and his daughter in marriage (p. 588), the hero not only immediately insists on the dauphin’s promising to keep his word, but also arranges for a mass to be said, the culmination of which is the dauphin’s swearing a solemn oath on the holy sacrament and sealing it with a kiss on Paris’s lips (p. 591). As if to underline further the ambiguity of Paris’s motives in exploiting his social alienation in order to achieve social and familial reintegration, his adoption of this second incognito is treated as more comic than heroic in a number of ways. First, there is a constant use of dramatic irony in Paris’s appearing not to understand what the dauphin is saying to him and having to go through his translator when in fact he is fully aware of what is being said around him. Second, Paris’s use of such incognito in order to dupe even Vienne herself conforms to the fabliau motif of the trompeur trompe´ whereby he is able to play her at her own game and so refuses to be put oV by the smell from the rotten meat by which she has repelled her previous suitor (p. 611). Finally, the ironic excess of their emotions is likewise seen in the narrator’s clin d’œil use of direct address to the reader in describing how their embraces on recognizing each other are so fervent that they border on strangulation: ‘lors heussie´s vous veu les deux amans doulcemant baiser et estroictement acoller, si que il sembloit qu’ilz se voulsissent estrangler’ (p. 617).121 If Paris’s status as idyllic hero and object of identiWcation is thus complicated by the ironic distance adopted in the narrative towards the means by which he 120 Paris’s exile in this original version of the text thus has nothing expiatory about it, unlike both the Burgundian version and the shorter, moralized redaction in which more emphasis is placed on his actions as a pilgrim seeking some religious solace: see Que´ruel 2000c, esp. pp. 345–6; and Gaullier-Bougassas 2003, pp. 158–64. 121 The verb ‘estrangler’ is more usually employed in late medieval romances to describe a knight’s combat against a ferocious animal, such as a savage lion in Cleriadus et Meliadice (p. 127).

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achieves his reinsertion into society, the same can also be said for Vienne. Indeed, just as Paris’s adoption of Saracen disguise echoes that of Pierre de Provence but changes its signiWcance from being punitive to exploitative, so Vienne’s acceptance of her imprisonment by her father echoes Maguelonne’s embrace of her spatial alienation but in equally parodic form since Vienne’s withdrawal from the world is not penitential but rather wholly self-serving. She, like Paris, is thus presented as an embodiment of the deceitful adolescent whose relentless pursuit of love constitutes a persistent challenge to the moralizing discourse of the day, this argument similarly being underscored by comic rather than serious means. Far from sublimating her desire for Paris through acts of selXessness and charity towards others as Maguelonne did, Vienne’s defence of her right to sexual self-determination is expressed as a battle with her father for control of her virginity as she refuses to be an object of exchange between himself and the duke of Burgundy (p. 515) and so attempts to pass herself oV as a latter-day virgin martyr. However, since her longed-for reinstatement in society, like that of Paris, is thus based on deception, her heroic status as a martyr to love is undermined by being depicted as a series of parodic twists on common motifs from saints’ lives. For example, whilst Vienne appears to conform to the image of the martyr comforting her fellows in incarceration by encouraging them to stand Wrm in their faith when she exhorts the long-suVering Ysabeau to join her in oVering up a prayer to God for guidance (p. 550),122 the truth of the matter is that she has already hatched a plan of her own to repel her unwanted suitor and thus maintain her Wdelity to Paris. Similarly, she pretends to be imitating the ‘sains prophetes’ and ‘sains hermites’ (p. 551) by refusing to eat any supper before praying to God and accompanying this gesture with a little sermon to Ysabeau on the dangers of gluttony (ibid.),123 when in fact she is appropriating the motif of the holy fast for her own ends by putting the chicken meant for their supper under her armpits so as to make her body smell revolting to her suitor.124 Though some critics have interpreted this episode as an unwarranted shift into the uncourtly world of the fabliau,125 it is perhaps better seen as a parodic allusion to the hagiographical se exnasaverunt topos whereby female martyrs mutilated themselves, usually by disWguring their faces, or fell mysteriously ill with tumours or leprosy in order to discourage unwanted sexual advances and so preserve their virginity.126 The actual means by which Vienne gives the appearance of being ill is a further parody, that of the legendary case of the Lombard 122 See e.g. the account of St Cecilia preaching to Tiburtius in prison: ‘Et donc lui prescha de l’avenement et de la passion de Dieu et lui demonstra moult de convenablete´s de la passion’ (Le´gende dore´e, p. 1086). 123 See e.g. the exemplary fasting of St Martha: ‘elle eschevoit a menger char et toutes gresses, eufs, froumages et vin. Et elle ne mengoit que une fois le jour’ (ibid. 663). See also Bynum 1987. 124 Vincensini 1999. 125 Cotton 1980, p. 92; and St Clair 1976, p. 188. 126 On this topos, see Schulenburg 1998, pp. 145–55.

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women who repelled their would-be assailants in the same way and which was cited in the late middle ages, most famously by Christine de Pizan,127 as an example of women’s virtuous defence of their chastity in the face of male assault. Here, however, Vienne’s foul smell serves as a ruse by which she, like Paris, exploits her physically alienated state to meet her own aims as she uses this ‘proof ’ of her exemplary suVering in order to dupe her would-be suitor into thinking her a holy virgin whose vocation he should respect: ‘L’evesque et le Wlz au duc de Bergoigne eurent grant pitie´ et disoient entre eulx que Vienne devoit estre saincte pour la grant pascience qu’elle moustroit’ (pp. 557–8, emphasis added).128 As a Wnal comic means by which to problematize the reader’s interpretation of the text and identiWcation with the characters, the narrator’s prefatory and concluding remarks act as parentheses which encourage the audience to think critically about what they have just read. For example, as in Aucassin et Nicolette where the proleptic reference to the ‘proueces’ (I, l. 6) which Aucassin accomplished for love of Nicolette is hardly matched by the young hero’s actual lacklustre performance, so too in Paris et Vienne the description in the prologue of the ‘beaulx faitz’ (p. 392) which Paris executed for love of Vienne hardly anticipates the unchivalric act of deception on which the hero’s whole success in love is based. Similarly, the assertion in the prologue that the ensuing subject matter is of value to the reader by virtue of its being ‘bien raisonnable et asse´s creable’ (ibid.) is somewhat undermined in the epilogue itself. This epilogue in Paris et Vienne superWcially resembles that in Pierre de Provence in which the hero and heroine are clearly lauded for having made a successful transition to adulthood and prepared themselves for a worthy end. However, in its evocation of the couple’s virtuous later life, it also sounds a Wnal note of ironic excess which weakens the prologue’s previous claims about the text’s exemplarity and credibility, since we are informed that Paris and Vienne attained the highly improbable ages of 105 and 97 respectively when they died (p. 629)!129 Thus, if Paris and Vienne are ultimately rewarded for their respective uses of trickery by achieving their goal of marriage, the narrator’s extensive use of irony and parody leaves the reader in some doubt as to just how exemplary an idyllic couple they are, since it is only by exploiting their state of alienation that their reintegration is achieved. Unlike Pierre and Maguelonne who are given the status of penitent heroes in regretting having put the pursuit of love ahead of their social and familial duty, Paris and Vienne are shown to be more like the anti-heroes of

127 Cite´ des Dames, vol. 1, pp. 182–3. 128 SigniWcantly, in the shorter, moralized redaction of Paris et Vienne, this duping of her suitor is limited simply to her feigned illness and thus falls far short of the sustained parody of sainthood which is developed in the original text: see Babbi’s edition, pp. 112–15. 129 By contrast, the shorter redaction of Paris et Vienne both omits the prologue altogether and, in its concluding chapter, makes the rather more believable claim that Paris simply lived and reigned for another forty years after the death of the dauphin: see Babbi’s edition, p. 139.

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the contemporary genre of the nouvelle130 in that, though their deception of others meets with proven success, their behaviour clearly contravenes the prescriptions of orthodox morality, as contained, in their particular case, in the late medieval discourse on adolescence. (V) CONCLUSION Reading Wfteenth-century idyllic romances in the light of how earlier works in the sub-genre portrayed the amorous adventures of adolescents reveals a marked change in the way in which the young are treated in these texts. Adolescents in early romances such as Floire et BlancheXor, L’EscouXe, and Galeran de Bretagne are presented to us as objects of identiWcation whose quest for self-determination is legitimated by the pursuit of social mobility and by the right to withhold consent. Their powerful sexuality is treated as a source of readerly pleasure and their struggle to be reintegrated into society on their own terms entails adult acceptance of their prerogative to pursue love, it being suggested as in the interests of the aristocracy itself for the young male to recover from his crippling state of lovesickness and for the young female to preserve her chastity and social standing. In these works, the reconciliation of seemingly irreconcilable opposites is shown to be unproblematic: adolescent disobedience can be accommodated with parental authority, the expression of sensuality made compatible with the need for chastity, and the pursuit of love made condonable in spite of social alienation. If these earlier idyllic texts thus invite maximum identiWcation with the couple whose pursuit of their amatory desires is never questioned, Pierre de Provence and Paris et Vienne encourage their readers instead to adopt a more critical distance from the lovers, employing a variety of rhetorical strategies in order to rewrite the model of idyllic love and the gender roles which it produces. This distance from the lovers, which leads to a more moralized view of their pursuit of amorous selfdetermination, would seem to conform to a change in attitude towards adolescence in the later middle ages whereby moralists were intolerant of youthful disobedience on the issue of marriage, pessimistic about the ability of the young to regulate their own sensual desires, and insistent on the need for the young to conform to their appointed social roles. Moreover, in these romances the pragmatic concerns of lineage and propriety which were integral to the actual marital practice pursued by the later medieval aristocracy would seem to have intruded on the idyllic fantasy of adolescent self-determination to the extent that the conXicts which it produces between parents and children are shown to be far more diYcult to resolve than the earlier texts would suggest. 130 In common with the irreverent nouvelle of the period, Paris et Vienne can be seen to share the ‘esprit moqueur et malicieux’ which Rasmussen 1958, p. 18, has identiWed as characteristic of many 15th-cent. literary texts.

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In this respect, Pierre de Provence can be read as a veritable anti-idyllic romance, in its refusal to condone youthful disobedience, in its warning against the dangers of adolescent sensuality, and in its suggestion that a period of suVering and penitence has to be undergone for this perilous age in the human life cycle to be safely overcome. Whilst the hero’s penance involves physical and psychological debilitation in his exile from his own country and religion, that of the heroine is an asceticized and desexualized retreat from the world. Whereas the earlier works tended to side with the adolescents in their quarrel with their parents, attempting to resolve all tensions by reconciling very diVerent points of view, Pierre de Provence instead argues that the unchecked pursuit of personal gratiWcation has disastrous social consequences, thus giving the parental side of the argument and oVering a sustained critique of the lovers’ behaviour. Although, in its more ludic engagement with the narrative conventions of the idyllic tradition Paris et Vienne adopts a less directly critical tone than that employed by the narrator of Pierre de Provence, it oVers no less of an attack on adolescent behaviour. It therefore counsels fervently against youthful disobedience by showing how it provokes a violent response from the parental Wgure who actually wields power. Similarly, it mocks the amorous suVering to which youth is prone and oVers a more rational and moderate alternative to the suVerings of the hero and heroine in the form of their less besotted conWdants. Finally, it too rejects any easy reconciliation of the opposing sides in intergenerational conXict by showing that the gravity of this conXict is such that resolution can only be achieved through extraordinary and improbable means. Paris and Vienne are thus obliged to exploit their state of alienation, the former using his Saracen disguise and the latter her impersonation of a virgin martyr, in order to achieve their simultaneous goals of social reintegration and marriage. Whilst medieval idyllic romances from the Wfteenth century could therefore adopt either overt moralization or more playful forms of narrative ambiguity in their portrayal of the love between boys and girls of the nobility, their representation of adolescence constituted a clear and substantial break with the ‘cult of youth’ as elaborated in the idyllic texts which were composed in the centuries before. As products of the moralizing culture of the late middle ages, which served in large part to uphold the social values of the aristocracy particularly as regards the duty of children to conform to the wishes of their parents in the matter of marriage, works such as Pierre de Provence and Paris et Vienne subscribed wholeheartedly to the view that transcendence of youth’s limitations rather than celebration of its seasonableness was the lesson to be learnt from their tales of adolescent desire.

3 Husbands and Wives in Marital Romance: The Trials of Male Adultery, Bigamy, and Repudiation Whilst late medieval writers of romance were more than willing to cater for their audience’s appetite for the adventures undergone by premarital heroes and heroines, whether of the socially responsible kind discussed in Chapter 1 or of the more socially disruptive kind examined in Chapter 2, they were also keen to depict the sort of adventures that typically befell the heterosexual couple once they were bound together in marriage. In so doing, marital romances of the later middle ages mark a radical break with the earlier romance tradition which privileges stories of innamoramento, such as Le Bel Inconnu or Partenopeu de Blois, in which the natural conclusion of both the young hero’s quest and the tale itself is the moment of his marriage to his lady, and stories of adultery such as Clige`s and Guigemar which are focalized through the adulterous wife and her lover and where the husband himself is usually a marginal, unsympathetic Wgure.1 Even in a rare early marital romance such as Erec et Enide the focus tends to be on the conXict caused by the male’s public role as a knight and his private self as a lover rather than on the expected duties of the hero and heroine within their roles as husband and wife.2 One group of romances from this later period which were produced at the Burgundian court of Philippe le Bon stands out for the way in which they oVer a detailed analysis of the nature of marriage itself and of the qualities required of both spouses, this attention to the husband being a particular innovation compared to the previous marginalization of this Wgure in earlier works in the genre. Taking marriage as their starting point rather than their end point by featuring a hero who is both knight and husband from the very beginning of the narrative, these texts address a range of moral issues which arise from that key preoccupation of medieval male aristocrats: how to secure a legitimate heir for their lands and title after their deaths. Thus, in the Roman du Comte d’Artois (written 1 Two exceptions to this rule are King Mark in Thomas’s version of the Tristan legend and Arthur in the Mort Artu. See Micha 1951. 2 Cartlidge 1997.

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between 1453 and 1467), the husband’s disappointment at his wife’s failure to produce a child leads him to abandon her and to attempt to seek solace in an adulterous relationship with another woman. Only when the wife, cross-dressed as a man, succeeds in fulWlling the three seemingly impossible tasks which he sets her on his departure (getting herself pregnant by him and obtaining his Wnest horse and diamond, all without his knowledge) does he return home and they resume their married life together. In the romance of Gillion de Trazegnies (between 1433 and 1450), after a long period in which the married couple remain childless, the husband embarks on a pilgrimage of thanks when his wife does eventually conceive, but is then held captive by Saracens for twenty years in which time he contracts a bigamous second marriage (with the daughter of the Sultan who has imprisoned him) in the erroneous belief that his Wrst wife has died. On Wnding out the truth from his twin sons who eventually track him down, he returns home and all three spouses renounce marriage for a life of chastity, the two wives retiring to a convent and the husband to a monastery. Finally, in the Histoire des Seigneurs de Gavre (1456) (which also existed in a shorter redaction known as Baudouin de Gavre (1455), written for the Angevin court), the husband repudiates his wife and disowns his own son when she makes an unfortunate joke about the father’s relationship to his child which causes him to question his paternity and her sexual Wdelity. The couple are only reconciled many years later by the son who has proved himself, through his own chivalric exploits, to be the worthy oVspring of his father. Although all of these romances are anonymous, the Comte d’Artois, Gillion de Trazegnies, and the Seigneurs de Gavre have often been attributed to a single author, whom some critics have identifed as the Burgundian nobleman, Jean de Wavrin, who also wrote the Anciennes Chroniques d’Engleterre.3 Whether or not Jean de Wavrin did in fact write these romances,4 he appears to have been the owner of the earliest surviving manuscripts of all three of them, which were produced at the workshop in Lille known as that of the ‘Maıˆtre de Wavrin’,5 and two of which, the Comte d’Artois and the Seigneurs de Gavre, were illuminated in 3 Bayot 1903, pp. 7–12, 129–96, argues that this text, Gilles de Chin, and Lalaing were all the work of the same author whom he simply calls ‘un professionnel du remaniement’; Seigneuret, in Comte d’Artois, p. xxix, tentatively attributes this work to Jean de Wavrin, though he cites no evidence to support his hypothesis; Horgan, in her edition of Gillion de Trazegnies, pp. xii–l, conWrms Bayot’s Wndings and identiWes the author of the text as Jean de Wavrin on the basis of a comparison between what she argues is his autograph manuscript of this text (Brussels, Bibliothe`que royale de Belgique 9629), his Anciennes Chroniques, and Lalaing, which she contrasts with Saintre´, Pierre de Provence, and Pierre de la Ce´pe`de’s Paris et Vienne, adding that it is likely that Wavrin was also the author of the Comte d’Artois. 4 Naber 1990b. 5 Stuip, in Seigneurs de Gavre, pp. xli–xlv, Wnds close parallels between this text and Gillion de Trazegnies (amongst other contemporary romances), but hesitates to attribute both them and the Comte d’Artois to Jean de Wavrin, preferring instead to suggest that the production of these texts was overseen by a ‘maıˆtre d’œuvre’ at the workshop from which all three originated. For Stuip, although this ‘directeur’ may have been Wavrin, this is impossible to prove.

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the distinctive cartoonish style of that particular artist. The number of highquality manuscripts of each text which were subsequently copied for some of the most illustrious literary patrons of the period, attests to the popularity of these works in Burgundian court circles.6 In addition to originally emanating from the same workshop, these three texts can also be seen to constitute a highly coherent corpus in terms of their formal properties. Thus, although Elisabeth Gaucher has argued that the Seigneurs de Gavre and Gillion de Trazegnies should be classiWed as chivalric biographies whereas the Comte d’Artois is a work of pure Wction, she herself shows how such biographical texts were heavily indebted to the conventions of Wctional romances produced in the same period.7 Whether the work in question features a Wctional Burgundian nobleman, as in the Comte d’Artois, or the supposed historical ancestor of an actual prominent family of that region, as in the Seigneurs de Gavre or Gillion de Trazegnies, each Xeshes out its particular plot with similar episodes portraying the pangs of love, the display of chivalry at tournaments, and the valour shown in embarking on crusade.8 Moreover, each text presents the hero as an exemplar for the reader’s ediWcation and employs a similar conjointure whereby the signiWcance of the hero’s actions is revealed through a series of parallels and contrasts, whether between the spouses or the diVerent generations of father and sons. Given that it has proved diYcult even for modern scholars with access to extensive archives to identify which precise ancestor of the Trazegnies or Gavre families is supposedly being portrayed in these chivalric biographies, and that, in the case of the Seigneurs de Gavre and Baudouin de Gavre the hero is referred to by diVerent names, it is highly unlikely that contemporary readers would have read these ‘historical’ biographies very diVerently from the Wctional Comte d’Artois in which the hero is identiWed merely as the count ‘Philippe’.9 6 There are three extant manuscripts of the Comte d’Artois (Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France fr. 11610 (the earliest), Ashburnham-Barrois IV (now lost), and Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France fr. 25293); Wve French manuscripts of Gillion de Trazegnies (Brussels, Bibliothe`que royale de Belgique 9629 (the earliest), Jena, University Library El. f. 92, Brussels, Bibliothe`que royale de Belgique IV 1187, Du¨lmen, collection of the duc de Croy¨, and Chatsworth, collection of the Duke of Devonshire), plus two in Latin; and three of the Seigneurs de Gavre (Brussels, Bibliothe`que royale de Belgique 10238 (the earliest), Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 91, and Lie`ge, Bibliothe`que publique Andre´ Minon MS 6A9 (now lost)). On this lost manuscript, see Thiry 1973; and on another non-extant manuscript, see Stuip 1991b. There is also a Flemish version of the Seigneurs de Gavre of which only a fragment still exists: see Seigneurs de Gavre, pp. x–xv. 7 Gaucher 1994, pp. 137–58. 8 See Seigneurs de Gavre, pp. xix–xxxi, on the text’s borrowings from contemporary prose reworkings of romances such as Blancandin and Florimont. See also Stuip 1991a. 9 In Comte d’Artois, pp. xxxi–xxxiii, Seigneuret points out that this text too may have been based on a real historical character, Philippe de Bourgogne (1323–46), although he notes the large number of historical inconsistencies which would militate against this interpretation. However, since these inconsistencies are by no means more serious than those in the case of our other two romances, this fact alone would not support a case for reading this text purely as a work of Wction and the other two as more factually based.

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Modern critics have generally paid little attention to these texts, tending simply to see them as examples of the many historico-realist romances which fuelled Philippe le Bon’s propaganda eVorts to enhance the status of those territories, such as Artois and Gavre, which had recently come under his control.10 Thus, even those scholars who have observed that the hero’s chivalric adventures in these works are set in train by his departure from his family due to ‘des proble`mes amoureux ou conjugaux’11 have overlooked how these works oVer an unparalleled analysis of male and female marital roles in their treatment of such issues as male adultery and childlessness, bigamy and repudiation. Moreover, if, as Chapter 1 argued, the inXuence of the medieval discourses on chivalry is palpable in premarital romances, which present marriage as a safe outlet for heterosexual desire in which the male can reassert his mastery over the female or as a means of self-advancement by which a knight can become the lord of a territory, these marital romances oVer a rather more positive view of marriage, one which is inXuenced by a diVerent set of discourses more directly concerned with promoting good relations between spouses. Such discourses were disseminated in contemporary marriage sermons, in moral treatises, and in works celebrating the cult of St Joseph. Reading these Burgundian romances in the light of these contemporary clerical discourses on marriage, we shall see that, in situating their heroes’ adventures within the context of the family, these works are very far from being straightforward panegyrics of chivalric heroism but rather should be regarded as important purveyors of moral lessons on the expected behavioural norms for married men and women.12 ( I ) L AT E M E D I EVA L V I EW S O F M A R R I A G E : C A N O N L AW, S T J O S E PH , A N D M A R I TA L P R A C T I C E Reconciliation of the demands made on medieval men and women by their simultaneous membership of the noble caste and of the Christian community was by no means unproblematic. As Georges Duby argues in his famous discussion of marriage in the middle ages,13 the early medieval nobility had adhered to an ‘aristocratic’ model of marriage, a model which was essentially endogamous in being based on the exchange of women between closely connected families and on the necessity of ensuring legitimate succession down the 10 Lacaze 1971; and Que´ruel 1994. 11 Naber 1990a, p. 463. 12 Gaucher 1993a, p. 25, notes: ‘Il ne s’agit pas seulement de Xatter le narcissisme de quelques aristocrates de´chus, en leur oVrant le miroir de´formant de leur perfection passe´e: il s’agit aussi d’œuvres de propagande et de conseil ou` la re´trospective se combine avec la prospective.’ However, in highlighting the didactic function of such texts, Gaucher limits the import of these lessons simply to chivalric prowess rather than extending it, as we shall argue here, to the roles of spouses. 13 Duby 1978.

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generations in order to maintain the coherence of dynastic territories.14 Given the primacy attached to succession in this model, a woman’s failure to produce heirs could leave her in a vulnerable position as noblemen frequently resorted to repudiation in order to take a second wife in the hope that she would prove to be more fertile than the Wrst. Whereas St Augustine had established the orthodox view of the three goods of marriage (oVspring, Wdelity, and the sacramental bond between the spouses),15 the ‘aristocratic’ model very much privileged the Wrst of these over the other two. By contrast, the ‘ecclesiastical’ model of marriage promulgated from the end of the eleventh century onwards was exogamous in forbidding marriage between men and women related to each other within seven degrees of consanguinity or if they were linked by close bonds of spiritual aYnity such as godparenthood. Moreover, this model stressed the indissolubility of the marital union once it had been celebrated in accordance with canon law. Such law stipulated that a marriage was valid either if a promise to give consent (known as verba de futuro) had been made by both spouses of an age to do so (7 years old being the canonical minimum) and was later followed by consummation, or if consent to marry there and then had been given in the form of verba de presenti by a girl of at least 12 years of age and a boy of at least 14, even if consummation did not then subsequently take place.16 Even if a marriage was contracted clandestinely, that is, in the absence of witnesses or a priest, and not solemnized at a church, it was deemed to be indissoluble if consent had been freely given on both sides and if both parties were actually eligible to marry by being of the canonical age, of the Christian faith, not married to anyone else, unrelated within the forbidden degrees of consanguinity or aYnity, and not in religious orders or excommunicate.17 For medieval churchmen, a marriage could only be dissolved if it could be proved that it had never been properly validated, that is if consent should have been denied on the grounds of bigamy or incest, etc.18 If such was proved to be the case, it was then possible for either party to remarry after an annulment. Alternatively, a husband and wife could be separated in the sense that they were no longer obliged to share a bed and table, on the grounds that there had been adultery, cruelty, or apostasy on the part of one of them. Unlike annulment, however, separation did not dissolve the marriage and so did not leave the spouses free to marry other people. In insisting on the essential indissolubility of the marital union, the Church’s rejection of childlessness as legitimate grounds for the repudiation of one’s wife was a direct assault on this common practice of the early medieval nobility and so provided greater protection for women within wedlock. From the twelfth 14 On the shift from bilinearity towards patrilinearity which came to distinguish feudal society, see Herlihy 1983. 15 Reynolds 1994. 16 Brundage 1993; and Toxe´ 2000. 17 Donahue 1983. 18 McCarthy 2004, pp. 139–41; Butler 2004.

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century onwards, canon law views on marriage and the spouses’ roles within it were disseminated to the laity by preachers such as Jacques de Vitry and Guilbert de Tournai.19 Although Jacques de Vitry in particular was fond of drawing antifeminist lessons in his sermons, as when he rails against women as temptresses in his discussion of adultery,20 for the most part the discourse on marriage contained in such sermons was remarkably even-handed in its treatment of the two sexes, since their main aim was to promote harmony within wedlock rather than to berate women as men’s inferiors.21 Although we are familiar with the conXict between these two models of marriage in the twelfth century, ‘aristocratic’ marital practice in the following centuries remained at variance with a number of aspects of ‘ecclesiastical’ doctrine and so continued to generate criticism in the clerkly texts of the later medieval period. Indeed, lay and clerical writers of this era can be seen as being even more aware of the vulnerability of wives by virtue of their subordinate position to their husbands than earlier preachers had been. This awareness is certainly evident in works such as Giles of Rome’s Livre du gouvernement (1282), the marriage sermons of Jean Gerson (1363–1429)22 and Jacques Legrand,23 Philippe de Me´zie`res’s Livre de la vertu du sacrement de mariage (written between 1385 and 1395), and in the conduct book written by the Me´nagier de Paris for his young wife (c.1393). Given the didactic culture shared by all these later writers, whether churchmen or laity, it is perhaps more accurate to describe their model of marriage as ‘clerkly’ rather than as ‘ecclesiastical’, but it remained no less contestatory of the ‘aristocratic’ model for all that.24 Whilst, like Augustine, all these writers acknowledge that one of the chief functions of marriage is to have children, they all stress that its more important goods are Wdelity and the sacrament. Thus, if Jacques Legrand recognizes the value which the laity, and the nobility in particular, place on oVspring as a product of wedlock when he states that ‘Mariage est ordene´z pour lignee avoir et pour aimer l’un l’autre’,25 he also highlights the need for mutual love and sexual Wdelity between the spouses. Jean Gerson echoes this view in lauding the

19 d’Avray 2001. 20 d’Avray and Tausche 1980. 21 Schnell 1998. 22 See esp. Chastete´ conjugale. 23 See his Livre de bonnes meurs, written 1404–10. 24 On the familiarity of these texts in the Burgundian cultural milieu: see Doutrepont 1909 who notes the presence in Philippe le Bon’s library of copies of various works by Gerson (pp. 222, 229, 234), of the Mesnagier (p. 295), and of Jacques Legrand’s Livre de bonnes meurs (p. 231). On this latter text, see also Straub 1997. The unique manuscript of Philippe de Me´zie`res’s Sacrement de mariage (Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France fr. 1175), Wrst written for Jehanne de Chastillon, wife of Pierre de Craon, later belonged to the well-known Burgundian bibliophile Louis de Gruthuyse (also known as Louis de Bruges): see Sacrement de mariage, p. 11. On copies of Giles of Rome’s Livre du gouvernement at the Burgundian court, see Dogaer and Debae 1967. 25 Livre de bonnes meurs, p. 369.

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‘loyaulte´ amoureuse’ of the wedded couple to each other,26 and praises the symbolic signiWcance of the sacramental bond between husband and wife as an expression of the soul’s union with God within which each can help the other to live a Christian life.27 Similarly, Philippe de Me´zie`res explains that the true signiWcance of marriage lies in the spiritual bond between husband and wife rather than in the physical bond of ‘copulation charnele’.28 Indeed, these writers place such an emphasis on the aVective and sacramental bond between the spouses who are made one Xesh in marriage, that they argue that the closeness of this bond far exceeds the love that exists between parent and child. As Gerson states, ‘Il me semble que aussi doit [l’omme] plus amer sa femme que ses enfans; et aussi de la femme au mary’,29 whilst Giles of Rome remarks that ‘l’en deu¨st plus garder et amer la foi de mariage que l’en ne feı¨st les enfanz ne la lignie’.30 On the speciWc issue of repudiation of wives who fail to produce heirs for their husbands, Giles argues that, although a union is perfect when children result from it, they are not integral to it nor should their absence be considered a pretext for ending it. Rather, children should be seen as ‘biens communs’ which should serve to bind the couple even more closely together: ‘Et bien avient que li homme et la femme ont enfans et pour l’amour naturel qu’il ont entre eus, il s’entraiment plus par nature et plus ont grant amor entr’eus por les enfanz que il ont li uns de l’autre, tant ont il plus grant propos de demourier li uns oveques l’autre sanz departir.’31 Philippe de Me´zie`res, for his part, is particularly forthright in his condemnation of the ‘aristocratic’ practice of husbands who exploit the Church’s own rules on consanguinity in order to rid themselves of infertile and unwanted wives.32 Whilst emphasizing the importance of marital love for a successful union, all these writers nonetheless argue that the wedded state should not be seen as a licence to indulge in sexual pleasure as an end in itself.33 Rather, implicitly adopting the Pauline view that it is better to marry than to burn (1 Corinthians 7: 9), Philippe points out that intercourse within marriage is meant to serve as a legitimate outlet for sexual incontinence,34 and as a means of procreation through mutual payment of the conjugal debt, which Gerson deWnes as ‘compaignie charnelle selond ce que nature l’a ordonne pour avoir lignee’.35 For Gerson, marital love should be a moderate emotion not to be confused with the extreme but ephemeral passion of ‘ame[r] par amours’, and love based merely on passion cannot be a stable foundation for a lasting relationship: as he notes, ‘Plaisance luxurieuse tantost passe, la riote demeure’.36 Giles of Rome, echoing St Jerome’s view that the too ardent lover of his wife is tantamount to an adulterer,37 thus 26 Chastete´ conjugale, p. 862. On Gerson’s particular interest in preaching on marriage and his interest in providing advice to wives, see D. C. Brown 1987, pp. 209–51; Ouy and Gauvard 2001; and Mazour-Matusevich 2004. 27 Chastete´ conjugale, p. 860. 28 Sacrement de mariage, p. 221. 29 Chastete´ conjugale, p. 864. 30 Livre du gouvernement, p. 154. 31 Ibid. 154–5. 32 Sacrement de mariage, pp. 246–8. 33 Brundage 2000. 34 Sacrement de mariage, p. 222. 35 Chastete´ conjugale, p. 861. See also Makowski 1977. 36 Chastete´ conjugale, p. 860. 37 Brundage 2000, p. 40.

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insists that conjugal relations should be conducted in a spirit of ‘amistie´ honeste et delitable’.38 Furthermore, although these writers recognized that marriage could be legitimately contracted for the purposes of bringing peace between families or nations,39 they insisted that both parties should have freely given their consent, this issue being the very cornerstone of the Church’s teaching on marriage.40 Moreover, if they are to have the best chance of leading a harmonious life together, it is important to ensure that the couple are well matched. For Giles, it is thus crucial that the future bride and groom be as equal as possible in age, rank, and wealth so that problems such as jealousy and lack of respect can be avoided: ‘doit l’en bien regarder que entre l’omme et la femme ait proportion d’egaute´, et en noblete´ et en aage et en richeces et en amis et en autres choses selon cen que reson enseigne’.41 This ‘clerkly’ view of marriage as a companionate and indissoluble union based on Wdelity and the sacramental bond, as opposed to the more utilitarian ‘aristocratic’ view of it as a means to contract political alliances and to produce heirs, thus regards the two spouses as mutual helpmeets whose dealings with each other should be conducted in a spirit of moderation, particularly on the part of the husband towards his wife.42 Thus, if the Church’s teachings insist that the wife is ultimately subject to her husband’s rule, the husband himself should behave in a benevolent rather than despotic fashion towards her, treating her as a companion rather than as his servant.43 Thus, for Giles of Rome, the husband, whilst being the superior partner in the marriage, must treat his wife with honour and respect, as should be particularly evident from the way in which he speaks to her, chastising her and guiding her actions in a suitably caring manner: ‘la conversation est avenant entre l’omme et la femme, quant li hons li demostre covenables signes d’amistie´, et quant il li enseigne les biens a fere et amoneste avenaument’.44 As regards how wives themselves are expected to behave, all these writers are unanimous that their chief virtues should be obedience and discretion, chastity and sobriety. On the Wrst of these two sets of complementary virtues, Jacques Legrand stresses that wives should always feel ‘honte de mesprendre et paour de 38 Livre du gouvernement, p. 178. 39 See Chastete´ conjugale, p. 859, where Gerson cites one of the beneWts of marriage as being ‘quant amitie est engendree et conservee par tout ung lignage ou en ung pais autrefois par mariage’. 40 See e.g. Sacrement de mariage, p. 242. See also d’Avray 2005, pp. 124–9; and, on the rights of children in relation to consent, see Metz 1976. 41 Livre du gouvernement, p. 163. 42 Klapisch-Zuber 1988, p. 485, notes: ‘De tous ces re´cits, e´crits de morale et de pre´dication, retenons en eVet l’ide´e dominante: le mariage ne saurait assurer le salut (terrestre) ou le repos de l’homme et de la femme qu’il associe a` vie que par la mode´ration qu’ils sauront y mettre: mesure dans la manie`re dont ils se rendront la dette conjugale, mesure dans leurs rapports quotidiens, dans leurs e´carts de conduite meˆme, tempe´rance des mœurs et de l’usage des biens acquis ou des he´ritages’ (emphasis added). 43 See e.g. Chastete´ conjugale, p. 863. 44 Livre du gouvernement, p. 178.

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desobey¨r’,45 whilst Gerson emphasizes that, in the event that their husbands’ conduct might leave something to be desired, they should ‘dissimuler paciamment aucuns deVaulx des maris’ and at all times use their ‘prudence discrete’ in their dealings with their spouses.46 In Giles of Rome’s view, obedience and discretion in wives are particularly related to how they regulate their speech: ‘Quer se eles sevent tere selon cen qu’eles doivent, eles en plesent plus a lour mariz et font a lour seignour avoir plus grant amour a eles, quer li philosophe [Aristotle] dit que poi parler est trop bel a femme.’47 The importance of these two virtues is similarly highlighted in the Me´nagier de Paris’s conduct book for wives which holds up the Wgures of Griseldis and Prudence (wife of Melibee) as the supreme incarnations of obedience and discretion respectively. Whilst the former showed her virtue through her ability to hold her peace in the face of extreme provocation from her husband, the latter proved her worth through her judicious use of speech in dissuading her hot-headed spouse from seeking a violent revenge against his enemies.48 Obedience and discretion do not, therefore, translate into the wife’s total acquiescence to her husband’s will if he persists in sinning, as can be seen in the marriage sermons of preachers such as the late thirteenth-century Jacobus de Voragine.49 Indeed, particularly in matters such as fornication, it is actually the wife’s duty to rebuke and admonish her husband into abandoning his sinful ways.50 As regards wives’ chastity and sobriety, these two virtues were also seen to go hand in hand, with sober moderation in all aspects of women’s behaviour (speech, eating, drinking, dress and bearing, etc.) being deemed an indicator of their sexual continence. As Jacques Legrand thus advises: ‘Si doit la femme estre simple et bonne, non mye tant seulement de corps, mais aussi de maintien: car en parler, en regarder, en converser ne doit elle chose faire par quoi autri puisse d’elle mal penser ou jugier.’51 For Giles of Rome, the chief reason why wives should maintain a chaste appearance at all times is so that their husbands will not doubt that they are in fact the real fathers of their children: ‘Quer quant les mariz voient aucuns signes ou aucunes deshonesteez, il ont souspichon de lor femmes, por quoi il ne sont pas certains que les enfanz soient lours.’52 However, although these writers underline the need for sexual Wdelity in both husband and wife, there is nevertheless evidence in their works for the moral double standard inherent in medieval gender ideology whereby the sin of inWdelity is condemned more vigorously in women than in men.53 As Philippe de Me´zie`res makes explicit, adultery, although reprehensible in either spouse, is particularly dangerous in wives precisely because it leads to uncertainty about the true paternity of 45 47 49 50 51 52

Livre de bonnes meurs, p. 371. 46 Chastete´ conjugale, p. 862. Livre du gouvernement, p. 176. 48 Mesnagier, pp. 192–230 and 326–400. Galloway 1992. On medieval wives as ‘preachers to their husbands’, see Farmer 1986. Livre de bonnes meurs, p. 370. Livre du gouvernement, p. 175. 53 Karras 1996.

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her oVspring: ‘la femme fault asse´s pis que l’omme pour la generation adultere qui aucunefois en est engendree, dont mainte noble lignie en est deshiretee’.54 In propounding this ‘clerkly’ view of marriage, these late medieval writers also set out the responsibilities of parents towards their oVspring, responsibilities which fell as much on fathers as on mothers.55 Indeed, refuting the ‘aristocratic’ tendency to see a father’s role as being chieXy that of progenitor, Jacques Legrand stipulates that the function of the man is far from being restricted to that of mere biological reproduction since the male head of the family also has a crucial part to play in ensuring the moral welfare of his own children: ‘il ne souYst pas que le pere soit cause de ses enfans par generacion, mais oultre plus il les doit nourrir et enseignier’.56 For Giles of Rome, parental attentiveness to ensuring that their children receive a good education is all the more necessary in the case of the nobility since their oVspring, on reaching adulthood, will be expected to act as examples of good moral behaviour to those beneath them in the social hierarchy.57 Inevitably, the most powerful exemplum illustrating all these principles concerning the ideal male and female roles within marriage was that of the Holy Family itself, as can be seen in the cult of St Joseph which took oV in the course of the later middle ages. As Gerson puts it in his sermon on marriage: ‘Si convient enseigner par l’example du mariage Joseph et Nostre Dame que il doit estre.’58 Having Wrst gained popularity amongst the mendicant orders in the fourteenth century, the cult of this saint was actively promoted by a number of eminent churchmen, including Pierre d’Ailly and Bernardino of Siena, and a feast day dedicated to St Joseph was eventually adopted as part of the oYcial calendar during the pontiWcate of Sixtus IV (1471–84).59 Yet undoubtedly the most enthusiastic promoter of this cult was Jean Gerson himself who, between 1413 and 1418, composed a series of works aimed at instituting a feast day to celebrate the marriage of Joseph and the Virgin Mary. In his two treatises in French which provide the most comprehensive accounts of his views on Joseph,60 Gerson lauds the saint’s union with Mary as one which was wholly in conformity with the religious law of their own time and he depicts their marriage as an ideal of ‘paix et union’61 based on mutual consent if not 54 Sacrement de mariage, p. 306. 55 This view of parents’ responsibilities towards their oVspring and the children’s reciprocal right to sustenance and both material and spiritual support was also enshrined in the canon law of the period: see Reid 2004, pp. 69–97. 56 Livre de bonnes meurs, p. 376. See also Chastete´ conjugale, pp. 864–5. On Gerson’s views on the education of children, see Bonney 1973. 57 Livre du gouvernement, p. 189. 58 Chastete´ conjugale, p. 859. 59 Payan 1997; Hale 1996. 60 See Pour la feˆte; and Conside´rations. 61 Conside´rations, p. 94. On the political reasons behind Gerson’s promotion of this marriage as a symbol of peace in the context of the civil war raging in 1413 between Armagnacs and Burgundians, see Lieberman 1961.

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consummation in order to oVer up the two spouses as models of marital conduct. Thus, even though both Joseph and Mary are clearly exceptional in being sanctiWed even when in the womb, in remaining virgins all their lives, and in being descended from the line of King David,62 they are nonetheless presented as a highly imitable and harmonious couple with Joseph, as husband, acting as ‘chief et seigneur’63 and his wife and child being subject to his authority. Wives should live as Mary did ‘en sa bonne pais avec son espous’, whilst husbands should follow the example of Joseph ‘pour avoir telle amour, telle foy et loyaulte envers leurs espouses, et les amer, les nourrir et garder’.64 Building on the traditional patristic view of Joseph as a just man and protector of his holy spouse,65 Gerson portrays him as a husband whose discretion and good faith led him to overcome his doubts on hearing of Mary’s imminent virgin birth and to take every care to safeguard her reputation. Gerson therefore presents the marital trust of Joseph towards Mary as an example for all spouses who should set aside their suspicions of each other and remain together in spite of any diYculties which might arise between them.66 Furthermore, Gerson not only argues that Joseph’s industriousness, vigour, and tenderness beWtted him to take on the role of head of household, but also stresses how, as Jesus’s foster-father, Joseph showed great physical aVection for the child, protecting him from his enemies, and provided a moral lead for him by instructing him and initiating him into the rites and customs of the law.67 One of Gerson’s particular innovations was to refute the alternative, popular view of Joseph as a decrepit, incompetent old man (‘comme un moult vieillart homme, a barbe Xorie’),68 arguing instead that Mary’s husband was in his ‘jouvence’, that is the full bloom of maturity at the time of his marriage, when he was aged about 36.69 Far from being an elderly burden on his family, Joseph was able to take on fully the physical and moral roles of a husband and father as the provider, protector, nurturer, and lord of his wife and child. Gerson thus extols Joseph as a role model of both the contemplative life in his admiration and veneration of the Virgin and Child who have been entrusted to his care and of the active life in earning his living honestly, providing for the material well-being of his family, and observing all the customs of the religious law, such as presenting his child at the temple.70 62 On the controversial nature of the Wrst of these three arguments, see Payan 1997, pp. 23–5. 63 Conside´rations, p. 66. 64 Pour la feˆte, p. 12. 65 Hale 1996, pp. 103–5. 66 Pour la feˆte, p. 14. 67 Conside´rations, pp. 72–3. 68 Ibid. 72. 69 Ibid. 75. Gerson here cites Isidore of Seville in subscribing to the fourfold division of the ages of man which he terms enfance, adolescence, jouvence, and viellesce. See the more detailed discussion of this topic in Ch. 2, above, as well as Burrow 1986; Sears 1986; and Youngs 2006. 70 Pour la feˆte, p. 13.

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Yet, if Gerson exults in the fact that the Son of God was humble enough to submit to the rule of a mere ‘charpentier’71 this does not mean that he sees Joseph as a model purely for the labouring or mercantile classes. Rather, he stresses that Joseph, despite his lowly station, was actually of noble birth and showed himself to be a worthy descendant of his royal ancestors in devoutly accepting and diligently executing his role as husband of the Virgin and foster-father of the Saviour. Joseph thus provides the nobility with a vivid example of how they too can play their part as virtuous and industrious members of a dynastic chain: ‘les royauls et de haulte noblesse doivent avoir especiale devocion tant a saint Joseph comme a Nostre Dame a cause de leur royal et digne noblesse’.72 Further evidence of the growing interest in the later middle ages in presenting Joseph as a marital and paternal model for the laity can be found even in those cultural forms which had hitherto tended to depict the saint as a somewhat ridiculous Wgure, even as a senile fool or a cuckold.73 As Gerson himself notes with evident delight, images honouring the marriage of the Virgin and St Joseph were starting to take hold in the visual arts of the period: ‘se met l’exemplaire de ceste desponsacion Nostre Dame es paintures et sculptures publiquement’.74 Thus, in painting, the representation of an elderly Joseph getting on with household tasks in the background whilst the Annunciation or the Nativity is shown in the foreground, does not mean that the saint is being mocked or marginalized. Instead, such images highlight the important role which Joseph played in the Saviour’s upbringing, as well as the saint’s contemplative role as spectator of the mystery of Jesus’s birth.75 The virtues of Joseph could also be enhanced by attributing to Jesus’s foster-father some of the pictorial symbolism usually reserved for his mother, depicting him in a traditional ‘Madonna’ pose with the child in his arms or, in a visual parallel to the theme of St Anne and Mary, showing him walking with or reading to the child.76 This visual reinterpretation of Joseph as an aVectionate, attentive, and loving father was in line with a more general tendency of the period to portray fathers playing with their children, inducting them into various types of work, and generally striving to ensure their moral and physical well-being, a portrayal which confounds the modern stereotype of the medieval father as cruel disciplinarian.77 This late medieval shift from an exclusive veneration of the Virgin and Child to include Joseph as the third element of the Holy Family,78 can also be seen in the drama of the period. Whereas earlier vernacular Nativity plays had emphasized the humour of Joseph as an incompetent substitute for his wife in trying to bathe, feed, and rock a rather recalcitrant baby Jesus,79 the mystery plays of the 71 Conside´rations, p. 67. 72 Ibid. 71. See also Payan 1997, p. 28. 73 On Gerson’s struggle to promote this more positive view of Joseph, see Sheingorn 2002. 74 Pour la feˆte, p. 15. On the changing portrayal of Joseph, see Foster 1978; Payan 1990; and Pastoureau 1991, pp. 31–7. 75 Payan 1997, pp. 16–17. 76 Hale 1996. 77 Alexandre-Bidon 1997. 78 Herlihy 1983, pp. 127–8. 79 Hale 1996, pp. 104–6.

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early to mid-Wfteenth century now aVorded him a more digniWed treatment, one which is consonant with that set out in the writings of Gerson. Thus, works such as Eustache Mercade´’s Passion d’Arras and Arnoul Gre´ban’s Myste`re de la Passion, in depicting Joseph as the ideal father of a child who is not actually his, elevate the practical and emotional aspects of the parental role over the mere fact of biological reproduction.80 Joseph is presented here as the conscientious protector and aVectionate nurturer of both his wife and his child, combining the more maternal role of feeding and changing his son, of caressing him and making him laugh, with the more strictly paternal role of socializing the child into the world through his observance of the law and his involvement of the rest of his kin in the key moments of the child’s passage to adolescence. Again, as in Gerson’s writings, the image of Joseph that emerges from these religious dramas is both that of a good husband and father who expresses his great love for his spouse and son, and that of a good ‘Christian’ who displays his devotion to God through his awed contemplation of the Virgin and Child. One Wnal piece of evidence that shows the extent of Joseph’s rehabilitation by the latter half of the Wfteenth century is the use made of him by the Burgundian chronicler and indiciaire, Georges Chastelain, in his Traite´ par forme d’alle´gorie mystique sur l’entre´e du roy Loys en nouveau re`gne (1461). In this allegorical work which is a gloss on a dream-vision of the Nativity that represents the entry of the new king Louis XI into Paris, Chastelain compares the infant Christ to Louis, the royal house of France to Mary, and Joseph to no less a Wgure than the Burgundian duke, Philippe le Bon himself.81 The point of this latter comparison is to emphasize the benevolence, humility, and devotion worthy of a Joseph that Philippe has demonstrated towards France in his role as ‘conservateur de l’enfant’ and as the ‘serviteur humble de sa dignite´, [qui] l’a administre´e le´alment et conduite [ . . . ] jusqu’au lieu de son enfanter’,82 thus disposing the new king’s subjects more favourably towards the man whom they had (wrongly, according to Chastelain), long considered their enemy.83 In a culture which was increasingly marked by a stress on interiority in lay piety and by a desire for self-fashioning through the imitation of accessible didactic models, the Wgure of Joseph as exemplary husband and father was thus a powerful symbol of domestic responsibility for all strata of the laity, including the nobility, one by whose inXuence, as we shall see, the marital courtly romances of the period did not remain untouched. Given the prevalence of these discourses on marriage and the respective roles of the two spouses as set out in marriage sermons, moral treatises, and in the cult of St Joseph, what inXuence did the Church have on the actual marital practices 80 Subrenat 1989; and Payan 1990. 81 On the Nativity imagery and ritual used as part of the actual civic triumph that accompanied this royal entry, see Kipling 1998, pp. 71–3. 82 Traite´, p. 16. 83 Doudet 2005, pp. 626–38.

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of the late medieval nobility which it continued to criticize so vociferously? To what extent was it able to combat the ‘aristocratic’ model of marriage which had dominated the practice of the noble classes in the earlier centuries of the middle ages? In some respects, the ‘ecclesiastical’ or ‘clerkly’ model of marriage promoted by the Church had eventually prevailed over the ‘aristocratic’ model in the sense that the principles of indissolubility and monogamy, whereby it was forbidden to repudiate wives or to contract bigamous remarriages, and the advantages of properly solemnized marriages were accepted by the nobility.84 However, the Church also had to meet the nobility halfway on a number of key issues. Thus, on the question of incest, theologians were forced to change the law since noble husbands had proved adept at turning the strict rule on consanguinity to their own advantage by citing incest as the grounds on which to abandon an infertile spouse to whom they had belatedly ‘discovered’ they were related within the forbidden seven degrees. After the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215, the Church relaxed the rule to only four degrees of consanguinity but reserved to itself the exclusive right to rule on the marital practices of the aristocracy through the granting of dispensations. Whilst accepting the proscription on the most extreme forms of incest in the Wrst and second degrees, noble families thus had to seek a dispensation in advance of Wnalizing any marriage contract where the two intended spouses were related in the third or fourth degrees. On the fundamental principle of consent, the Church similarly had to accommodate aristocratic practice by recognizing the importance of familial consent as much as that of the individuals concerned. It was thus ready to condone betrothals contracted for reasons of state between children under the canonical age of 7 and to accept the aristocratic view that lack of consummation could be valid grounds for annulment, even when the individuals in question had expressed their consent. We can certainly see this tension between ecclesiastical doctrine and noble practice in the Burgundian matrimonial policy of the Wfteenth century which reveals that the dukes adhered to the ‘aristocratic’ model of marriage in that they tended to marry women to whom they were related within the forbidden number of degrees, since many of them were connected to the royal house of Valois.85 For example, Philippe le Bon’s Wrst wife, Michelle de France (m. 1409), was the daughter of King Charles VI, Philippe’s great-uncle, whilst his second wife Bonne d’Artois (m. 1424), was his aunt by marriage. In order to further their dynastic aims, the dukes were therefore obliged to accommodate canon law by seeking papal dispensations before the proposed unions could be celebrated. Ironically though, these endogamous marriages actually produced few male heirs who lived to inherit their fathers’ lands and title. Philippe le Bon, for instance, in 84 Ribordy 2004; and McCarthy 2004. 85 Armstrong 1968. On Burgundian marital practice, see also Caron 1987, p. 213, who notes that ‘l’endogamie e´tait bien une re´alite´’.

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the course of three marriages (as a result of the deaths of his Wrst two, barren spouses) managed to sire only one son who survived to maturity.86 However, if the Burgundian dukes subjected themselves to the Church’s authority in seeking its permission to marry their spouse of choice and in remaining married even if their wives proved infertile, they were no great observers of clerical teachings on Wdelity as one of the chief goods of marriage. Philippe, like many of the noblemen who frequented his court,87 conducted numerous extramarital aVairs in the course of which he proved himself to be a proliWc progenitor of illegitimate children.88 This type of conduct, whilst widely practised, did not, however, go uncriticized by contemporaries such as Georges Chastelain who bemoaned the fact that the duke was so subject to ‘le vice de la chair’.89 It is within this context of an aristocratic culture that was intensely preoccupied with dynastic matchmaking and the provision of legitimate heirs, whilst being far more cavalier in its attitude towards inWdelity in men than towards that in women, that our corpus of marital romances, the Comte d’Artois, Gillion de Trazegnies, and the Seigneurs de Gavre were written. Let us turn, then, to considering to what extent these texts oVered a critique of the marital practices of the nobility in the later middle ages and how far they provided an alternative to the ‘aristocratic’ model of marriage, one based on the ‘clerkly’ ideal of responsible marital behaviour in both men and women.90 ( I I ) S E X A N D T H E ‘ S I N G L E M A N ’ : S T E R I L I T Y, A D U LT E RY, A N D C O M PA N I O N AT E M A R R I A G E I N T H E R O M A N D U C O M T E D’ A RTO I S Unlike many romances of the late medieval period, the Comte d’Artois is not a prose reworking of an earlier poem. It does, however, draw on at least two identiWable literary sources: a thirteenth-century French nouvelle (Flore et Jehane), 86 Vaughan 1970, pp. 132–5. 87 Ibid. 133. 88 Armstrong 1968, pp. 133–4, points out that whilst the Wrst and last Burgundian dukes (Philippe le Hardi and Charles le Te´me´raire) ‘ont mene´ une vie conjugale exemplaire’, the second and third dukes, Philippe le Bon and his father Jean sans Peur, produced far more illegitimate than legitimate children. 89 Cited in Prevenier and Blockmans 1986, pp. 225–31, 228. Of course, as Doutrepont 1909, p. 521, points out, Philippe le Bon’s own fondness for moral and didactic works as well as for Wctional texts like romances did not prevent there being a great divergence between his ‘gestes pieux’ and his ‘mœurs relaˆche´es’. 90 If the author of these three texts was indeed Jean de Wavrin as has often been conjectured, this ‘clerkly’ element of his writing would not be out of character as his literary tastes also ran to the acquisition of didactic and moral works such as Aristotle’s Ethics and a French translation of the Epistle of St Bernard. Other patrons at the Burgundian court who also shared his penchant for such works include Jean de Croy¨, Jean de Cre´quy, and the duchess herself, Isabel of Portugal. See Willard 1967a; Naber 1990b and 1998.

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which combines the plot of the ‘wager cycle’ with the theme of the abandoned wife who cross-dresses in order to insinuate herself back into her husband’s good graces, and Boccaccio’s tale in the Decameron (III, 9) of the man who sets his wife three impossible tasks before he will agree to live with her again.91 The romance’s modern editor, Jean-Charles Seigneuret, has argued that this work was designed to draw a Xattering parallel between its hero, Philippe, comte d’Artois, and his namesake, the duke of Burgundy, in terms of their chivalric and amorous exploits.92 Yet, it is hard to agree with this assessment of the romance as simply a light-hearted piece of Xattery of Philippe le Bon, even if Jean de Wavrin does seem to have commissioned the original manuscript of the text for him. Rather, the text oVers a sustained critique of its would-be adulterous hero by showing that, in addition to fulWlling his role of husband in ‘aristocratic’ terms by producing an heir to inherit his title and lands, Philippe also has to learn to conform to the ‘clerkly’ model of the husband who is bound to his wife by a solemn vow. The Comte d’Artois thus adheres to the orthodox view of churchmen such as Gerson and Legrand that it is indeed the sacrament and Wdelity which are the central aspects of a successful and virtuous marriage, whilst oVspring are to be seen as a blessing rather than as its deWning feature. Adopting the common romance motif of childlessness,93 the text uses this theme for a particular moral purpose, that of showing how the hero’s preoccupation with begetting an heir leads to a crisis in his masculine identity, one which can only be resolved when he has learnt to live ‘en joye amoureuse’ (p. 153) with his wife, she herself proving to be a perfect exemplar of spousal devotion. The didactic import of the Comte d’Artois is signalled by the contrast between its opening and closing passages. On the one hand, the prologue creates the expectation that the reader will be entertained by an account of a valiant knight’s deeds: ‘[les] haultez entreprisez, amours et beaulx fais d’armez d’un conte d’Artois’ (p. 1). On the other hand, the Wnal pages oVer the reader a form of ‘doulce correction’ (p. 153) by depicting the shamefaced hero returning home to his wife after having learnt an important lesson about his marital responsibilities, a lesson which is wholly in line with that preached by Gerson and others on the loving friendship which must exist between the spouses, such as that between Joseph and Mary, and on the duty to render the conjugal debt. Summing up in a sentence the central moral message of the text, the hero himself observes that 91 On Flore et Jehane, see Krueger 1993, pp. 140–3. See Comte d’Artois, p. xxxii, on the availability of the Decameron in French translation to the anonymous prose author from 1414 onwards. See also Paris 1887. 92 Comte d’Artois, pp. xxviii–xxix. On nostalgia in this text for the values of 12th- and 13th-cent. romance, see Dubuis 1974, pp. 217–18, and 1978, pp. 25–9. 93 In Gillion de Trazegnies, as we shall see below, childlessness is dealt with in terms of Christian stoicism, as the loving husband is saddened at his wife’s failure to conceive but stresses that it is clearly God’s will that they are childless, rather than any physiological defect in either of them; whilst in the popular 13th-cent. tale of Robert le Diable, the childless duchess of Normandy resorts in desperation to praying to the devil for help in conceiving a son.

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‘l’omme qui est marie´ ne puet bonnement ne lecitement laissier sa femme sans grant essoine qui nulle rigle ne observe, tant pour luy tenir compaignie et payer le droit de mariage comme pour garder son peuple en justice et nourir en union’ (p. 149). In its thorough examination of male and female marital conduct, the Comte d’Artois delivers this lesson by exploiting to the full both verbal and dramatic irony and by knowingly playing on the standard generic conventions of romance.94 The opening chapters of the text portray the hero as he is about to abandon what we may usefully describe as the ‘singleman’ role of the young, unattached knight who is free to pursue renown and pleasure, in order to take on the husbandly role of the senior, the mature man who has duties to both his spouse and subjects. At Wrst sight, the hero appears to be a perfect candidate for this new role as he is presented as a paragon of all military and amorous virtues. Depicted as a supremely gifted warrior, he accomplishes extraordinary acts of valour in order to save the honour of French knighthood against the English and the Germans in a tournament at Boulogne. However, since this tournament is also a thinly disguised competition for the hand of the daughter of the count of Boulogne,95 Philippe is shown at the same time to be a highly desirable match. Arrayed in striking red armour, which here signiWes his valour and courage,96 Philippe cuts a virile Wgure who impresses the ladies of the court (p. 11). At the dance before the tournament, he and the count’s daughter fall in love with each other immediately, which thus pre-empts any extended lovesickness or anguish on the hero’s part. Philippe’s amatory success then inspires him to win the tournament and to ask the girl’s father to accept his suit, at which point the wedding is duly celebrated. Yet, despite his willingness to enter into the married state, the hero’s actions, even on the day of his marriage, also hint at an immaturity which means that he will prove unable to conform properly to his new husbandly role. Rather than excusing himself from jousting at the tournament held to celebrate his marriage, the better to preserve his energies for his wedding night (let alone to save himself from serious injury), Philippe insists on competing in the lists, an act which is not 94 On the tendency towards demythiWcation of the hero in chivalric biography, which is equally applicable to romances such as the Comte d’Artois, see Gaucher 1994, pp. 176–85. See also Kelly 2004, p. 359, who notes how the author of the Comte d’Artois treats the hero’s departure in a manner which mixes ‘le rire et l’inquie´tude’. 95 See Picherit 1989 on the possible variations on this motif in the romance tradition. Its perfunctory nature here at the very beginning of the Comte d’Artois compared, for example, to its more central role as the culmination of the narrative of the 13th-cent. Richars li biaus, signals the shift in the later romance towards examining the hero’s conduct within marriage rather than simply exalting his prowess prior to marriage. 96 The heroes of both Olivier de Castille and Jehan d’Avennes also adopt red armour on occasion in the course of their exploits at tournaments. On the conventional symbolism of the colour red, often associated with Mars, which could have these positive connotations or more pejorative ones of anger and pride, see Pastoureau 1986, p. 40.

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without ambivalence in the context of romance.97 That this enthusiasm is inappropriate is suggested within the narrative in a number of ways. For example, the excessive nature of his passion for jousting is signalled by the fact that onlookers at the tournament, delighted by his skilful performance, nonetheless comment on his extraordinary attachment to deeds of arms which they describe using a string of near-synonyms as ‘son deduit, sa nourreture et son joieulx passetempz’ (p. 20). Furthermore, the colour blue of his shield, ‘l’escu d’azur’ (ibid.), a colour commonly associated with Wdelity in courtly literature from Froissart onwards,98 turns out to be ironically inappropriate since, rather than remaining faithful to his wife, the hero soon directs his thoughts towards a diVerent woman, eventually even forgetting that he is married: ‘[le] penser amoureux de la belle Wlle du roy [ . . . ] luy faisoit entr’oublier pays, femme et toutez aultrez chosez mondainez’ (p. 98). On failing to impregnate his wife on his wedding night, contrary to another romance convention of almost instantaneous conception,99 and on Wnding this situation unchanged in the Wrst two or three years of his marriage, Philippe begins to question his new identity. No longer a singleman deWned in terms of his military and amorous prowess, neither is he a husband deWned in terms of his generative prowess, that is, one who has acceded to the higher status of a senior. The hero thus comes to interpret his marriage according to the ‘aristocratic’ model whereby his own role is primarily that of ensuring succession, a role based on his sexual potency, rather than according to the ‘clerkly’ model that would require him to serve as a companion to his wife, as he had done in the early years of their marriage which they had spent ‘joieusement’ together (p. 22). In theological terms, the hero overvalues oVspring as the chief good of marriage at the expense of the goods of the sacramental bond and Wdelity, and it is his 97 See e.g. Ponthus et Sidoine, p. 178, where the hero shows his consideration for his wife and subjects in declaring that ‘il ne seroit jame´s d’assentement que l’en feist fait d’armes le jour des nopces, et dit ce pour le roy de Bourgongne qui estoit mort le jour de ses espousailles’. See also Olivier de Castille, fo. 91v : ‘Olivier ne jousta pas aYn qu’il ne fust trop foule´ et aussy aYn qu’il fust plus fres et plus nouveau pour les dansses du soir.’ In Gillion de Trazegnies, p. 89a, this motif is treated in more comic mode as the guests at the wedding of the comte de la Marche gently mock the bride’s anxiety about her new husband’s welfare when she sees him hurt in the joust on their wedding day: ‘L’un disoit a l’autre: Ceste nouvelle dame a eu bien cause de crier pour son mary car se d’aventure il eust este´ blecie´ la nuit n’eussent peu jouster ensemble.’ A similar comic treatment of the topos is likewise found in Cleriadus et Meliadice, p. 641, where the hero makes light of the injury he has received in the wedding tournament so as not to alarm his bride, joking to the surgeons who bind him up that ‘j’ay espoir que la partie a` qui j’ay aVaire anuyt est si gracieuse qu’elle m’espargnera aucunement et ne me sera pas si cruelle comme ont este´ ceulx du jour’. 98 Pastoureau 1986, p. 17, cites Froissart’s Dit dou bleu chevalier (1361–7) as instrumental in popularizing blue as ‘la couleur de la loyaute´ et de l’amour Wde`le’. See also Ainsworth 1999. 99 In the introduction to her translation of Olivier de Castille, p. 1052 n. 2, Re´gnier-Bohler observes: ‘La conception d’un enfant maˆle de`s la premie`re nuit est un topos bien connu de la litte´rature me´die´vale: cette fe´condite´ merveilleuse est atteste´e pour la conception d’Arthur et de bien d’autres he´ros.’ Examples of late medieval romances in which sons are conceived on the couple’s wedding night include Olivier de Castille and Rambaux de Frise.

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failure to produce children which causes him to leave his wife without seeking her consent and so to cease paying the conjugal debt. The narrator underlines the reprehensible nature of these actions on Philippe’s part by showing how they are at total variance with a marriage which has been properly sanctioned in accordance with the canon law as preached in the contemporary ‘clerkly’ discourse on marriage. Their union was based on clear consent on both sides (p. 16), it initially involved mutual aVection, since both were said to be smitten by the same ‘sayette d’amours’ (p. 6), and consummation took place immediately, as bride and groom are described as enjoying a ‘double plaisance’ (p. 22) on their wedding night. Yet, unable to complete the transition from unattached knight to ‘aristocratic’ husband, Philippe’s response to this crisis is to shed his husbandly identity altogether by trying to reinvent himself as a singleman, thereby violating his marriage vows. Through the use of multiple ironies, the transgressive and doomed nature of Philippe’s attempt to reassert himself as an unmarried knight and lover is exposed. The hero’s desire to reconstruct his identity in terms of his military prowess leads him to undertake a series of exploits which are typical of the singleman in romance narratives. On one level, he gives a very convincing performance of this masculine role: he oVers a dazzling display of feats of arms in tournaments in Paris (p. 26); helps lift the siege of an unjustly attacked nobleman, the count of Urgel (pp. 29–46); acts as champion in a judicial duel to defend the honour of a calumniated maiden, the countess of Cardonne (pp. 51–9); and Wghts as a valiant defender of the faith against the Saracens on behalf of the king of Castile (pp. 67–96). He proves himself to be not only a supremely brave warrior (against the prince of Catalonia, Urgel’s enemy) and a clever tactician (in his ambush of the Saracens), but also an inspiring and eloquent rallier of men (against the Saracens and Catalans) and a merciful victor towards his defeated enemies (such as the maiden’s calumniator, the seigneur de Moncalde). In all his relations with other men, whether his allies, patrons, or companions-in-arms, the hero forms the appropriate chivalric bonds of male solidarity100 (for example, the narrator describes how the hero and the young countess’s uncle, the king of Aragon, ‘se conjoı¨ssoient par grant amistie´’, p. 59), and he is universally praised for the courteous and respectful way in which he treats his male peers. However, on another level, the hero’s chivalric performance is subtly undermined. That his military zeal is excessive (as was his previous attachment to jousting), even bordering on the unnatural, is signalled by the frequent description of his deeds as ‘desmesure´’ (p. 42) and of his fury in battle as being that of an ‘[homme] faez’ (p. 43), a man under some kind of enchantment. This emphasis on Philippe’s de´mesure contrasts with the more positive and unambiguous description in contemporary romances such as Jehan d’Avennes and Ponthus et 100 See above, Ch. 1, on male bonding in Gilles de Chin and Olivier de Castille.

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Sidoine of the hero’s ability to ‘faire merveilles’ on the Weld.101 Moreover, once he starts performing not only for his own glory but in order to impress the king of Castile’s daughter, by making sure that ‘il en fust parle´ jusquez a sa dame, la Wlle du roy dont il estoit amoureux nouvellement’ (p. 71), these negative epithets come even thicker and faster. In depicting the hero as being ‘fae´ ou homme inmortel’ (p. 76), and as Wghting ‘desmesureement’ (pp. 86–7), the narrator thus highlights both Philippe’s over-compensatory desire to distinguish himself through feats of arms and his wrongful wish to gain the favour of a woman whom, in fact, he has no right to court. At several points in the narrative, Philippe’s illegitimate attempt to pass himself oV as a singleman is exposed by the use of irony. First, there is the divergence between the hero’s own theory of marriage (one which echoes the emphasis on companionship in the ‘clerkly’ view, as exempliWed by Joseph and Mary) and his actual inability to put this theory into practice. Thus, Philippe is shown exhorting the vulnerable countess of Cardonne to marry the prince of Vienne, in order that she might ‘avecquez luy vivre amoureusement et a son prouYt’ (p. 65, emphasis added), when he himself has failed to do just this with his own wife since his departure from her causes her to regret his disregard for ‘le bon tempz que par l’espace de .ii. a .iii. ans nous avons ensamble sy amoureusement mene´ ’ (p. 116, emphasis added). Secondly, there is a telling lack of Wt between Philippe’s chivalrous behaviour and language in his guise as singleman towards both his male peers and other ladies and his dereliction of duty towards his own wife. His desire to protect ladies such as the countess of Cardonne, whose lands are in danger without a male to defend them, and the kindness of his speech towards them, his ‘doulcez et bellez devisez’ (p. 62), thus contrast markedly with his abrupt departure from Artois which left his own wife and subjects without a protector, and with the ‘dur et divers langage’ (p. 24) which he employed on saying goodbye to her, such language being seen by ‘clerkly’ writers such as Giles of Rome as wholly inappropriate within marriage. Through ironic inconsistencies such as these, the hero’s martial over-achievement is subverted by his marital under-achievement, thereby critically weakening his moral credibility.102 The hero’s attempt to reinvent himself as a singleman in the sense of playing the lover similarly meets with only partial success. Philippe does perform the role of the amorous knight with a certain degree of conviction, since he manages to convert the melancholic symptoms which he suVers as a seemingly infertile 101 In Olivier de Castille, there is a distinction made between the hero’s normal prowess in tournaments which leads him to deal ‘merveilleux copz’ (fo. 50r ) against his adversaries and that which he demonstrates in the war against the Irish when he is particularly incensed towards the enemy and strikes ‘desmesurez copz’ (fo. 75r ) which terrify his companions and opponents alike. 102 Gaullier-Bougassas 2004, p. 299, sees the hero’s behaviour towards his wife as a ‘trahison’, even though, in her view, the narrator never makes this explicit, whilst Re´gnier-Bohler, 2004, p. 286, argues that Philippe’s prowess in Spain is simply rewarded by the eventual conception of a heir: ‘La fe´condite´ sociale [e´tant] alors ampliWe´e par la ve´ritable fe´condite´’.

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husband into those of a lovesick soupirant. On the couple’s failure to produce a child, Philippe succumbs to a state of profound melancholy: ‘sy ne se pooit son cuer nullement oster de merancolie, pensant a quoy il tenoit que nulz enVans ne pooit avoir de sa femme; et tant y musa et pensa que tout en devint changie´, pale et tout descouloure´’ (p. 22). Yet, once he falls into this state, his childlessness becomes self-conWrming, since, in medieval medical discourse, the melancholic man, due to his coldness and dryness, was thought the least likely either to be able to perform sexually or to produce sperm of the requisite quality for conception.103 In describing the hero’s condition as melancholic, the narrator is perhaps hinting here that it is Philippe rather than his wife who is responsible for their continuing lack of children. Indeed, on his departure from her, the hero himself tries to reassure his wife that she is not at fault in any way: ‘je ne le fais pour mal ne desobeı¨ssance que je sache en vostre personne’ (p. 25). Moreover, one of the impossible tasks that he sets her, that of becoming pregnant by him without his knowing, also suggests that he thinks himself incapable of siring a child. However, when he meets the king of Castile’s daughter, Philippe begins to reassert his sexual identity through his love for her and so shakes oV the melancholic symptoms generated by his frustrated paternity: ‘car grant bien luy faisoit son gent regarder seulement; et, apprez disner, il ala lez damez convoyer et soy solacier en leurs chambrez pour passer tempz et dechasser merancoliez’ (p. 67, emphasis added). Ironically, in attempting to construct himself once more as a lover, Philippe actually falls prey to the same melancholic symptoms as before, losing strength, appetite, joy, and colour (p. 112) but now his symptoms are due to a diVerent condition—lovesickness—and are thus the masochistic, bittersweet suVerings of a conventional singleman rather than the humiliations of an infertile husband.104 Yet, despite this partial success at casting himself in the role of the lover, Philippe’s amorous aspirations are destined to remain unfulWlled, as the narrator underlines by his Xouting of two key conventions of romance. The Wrst of these is the topos of the lover and the lady suVering the pains of love in parallel. At Wrst sight, our hero appears to conform to the generic norm, familiar from Chre´tien de Troyes and Marie de France onwards, of the lover who is indomitable in the Weld of battle but hopelessly tongue-tied in the Weld of love, being ‘tant craintif d’oy¨r le reVus de sa dame que pour ce n’eust ose´ sa bouche ouvrir pour requerir mercy’ (p. 112).105 Yet, in Clige`s or Guigemar, what adds to the piquancy of the singleman hero’s love pangs is the fact that his lady is suVering similar agonies which, if he only knew it, would bring him great comfort. The ironic twist in the 103 Bullough 1994, p. 41. For instance, in Placide´s et Time´o, p. 210, the popular late 13th-cent. encyclopedia of natural philosophy, the author notes that women had best avoid melancholic men as ‘Peu ont appetit et peu en peuent faire; pour ce qu’il sont frois, et perdent tout appetit; pour ce qu’il sont ses, peu en peuent’. See also Thomasset 1982, pp. 111–63; and Jacquart and Thomasset 1985. 104 On lovesickness, see Wack 1990; and Beecher and Ciavolella 1992. 105 Martin 1972, p. 17.

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Comte d’Artois is that at no time does the king of Castile’s daughter even seem to be aware of the hero’s feelings for her (‘qui a son mesaise n’eust jamais pense´’, p. 121), let alone to be pining for love of him, and is attentive to him only within the bounds of courtly propriety. Her remoteness from her would-be lover is signalled by the fact that she is never depicted as an autonomous being to whose interior feelings we are given access, but rather is always shown as a member of a larger family group that has welcomed the hero to their court: ‘Le roy, sa femme et sa Wlle, avecques leur chevalerie, se party de Toulette et ala en la ville de Daldolif, ou voulentiers se tenoit [ . . . ] et Wst logier le conte d’Artois tant bien c’onquez mieulx sceut’ (p. 98). Furthermore, the girl never speaks in direct discourse to the hero and is also kept physically apart from him at key points in the narrative either by her governess, who acts to protect her honour, or by Philippe’s wife herself when she takes the princess’s place in the assignation with her husband. The hero’s love for someone who is totally unaware of his suVering thus only serves to highlight the irrational and doomed nature of his desires. The second example of the narrator’s undermining Philippe’s status as a lover comes in his subversive treatment of the topos of the lady as the ‘doctor’ who can cure the hero’s lovesickness. In accordance with this topos, one Wrst popularized in the Tristan legends,106 Philippe deems his illness to be treatable only by possessing his desired lady, whom he refers to as his ‘medecine’ (p. 112). Yet, in practice, it is his own wife, for whom he never felt such violent and debilitating emotions when he fell in love with her, who actually fulWls the role of doctor by curing him through a magisterial piece of trickery. In her guise as his valet, she detects and accurately interprets all his symptoms as those of lovesickness which everyone else around him has put down to exhaustion from battle. On overhearing his laments, she recognizes that his amorous Wxation is both irrational (a ‘folie’, p. 116), and potentially fatal, being a love which stands in complete opposition to the moderate emotion which Philippe showed for his wife and which was far more in line with the ‘clerkly’ ideal of married love. Confronting the hero with her diagnosis, she declares: ‘vous dis je que tant me congnois en vostre maladie que certain suis qu’elle vous vient d’amours, comme assez l’ay entendu par lez regrez et plaintez [ . . . ] que vous avez fait par plusieurs nuis, tant piteusez que [ . . . ] n’est mie possible qu’en tel estat puissiez longuement vivre’ (p. 118). In accepting his faithful valet’s help, in the hope of being restored to health, Philippe unwittingly conWrms his wife’s role as his actual cure, for it is in tricking him into thinking he is sleeping with his paramour—when in fact he is making love to his own spouse—that she brings his suVering to an end. This psychological cure is none the less eVective for being based on subterfuge, since Philippe exclaims to the woman in his arms: ‘Et bien me doy jugier eureulx et tout vostre serviteur, quant ceste gracieuse courtoisie m’avez faitte que de moy guerir de ce dont nul aultre que vous ne me porroit guerir ne donner allegance’ (p. 133, 106 Ciavolella 1976; and Wack 1990.

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emphasis added). In a supreme piece of dramatic irony, the hero thus deems himself to be a satisWed singleman whose lovesickness has been cured by his lady when he is in fact being made to perform the role of a dutiful husband in bed with his wife. Moreover, unbeknownst to him, the illicit pleasure of adulterous intercourse has been rerouted into sex within marriage for the more orthodox purpose of procreation and of rendering the conjugal debt. Thus, if having been found wanting as a singleman, Philippe has, by the end of the text, learned to accept the correct role of husband, it is his wife who, in performing to perfection her own role of good spouse, reimposes this identity on him. In this respect she acts in conformity with the ‘clerkly’ discourse on marriage, but in a highly ironic fashion, since it is as a ‘preacher to her husband’,107 albeit one who teaches by example rather than by overt prescription, that she saves him from sin. Marriage, for the wife, if not for her husband, is absolutely indispensable to the construction of her own identity since, unlike Philippe who has a name and an existence prior to and outside marriage, she is never named, being referred to solely in terms of her relationships with the men who confer her identity on her, Wrst as a daughter and then as a wife. She is either the ‘Wlle du comte de Boulogne’ or the ‘comtesse d’Artois’, this latter title having no meaning for her if the ‘comte’ himself is absent from her side (p. 100). Even when she chooses a name for herself in her cross-dressed disguise as her husband’s valet, she calls herself by a diminutive form of his name, ‘Phlipot’, thus highlighting the extent to which her identity is dependent on his and the indissolubility of the bond between them as spouses. The worthiness of the countess of Artois as a spouse is seen in her close adherence to the teaching in the ‘clerkly’ discourse on companionate marriage that wives should display discretion and obedience. Yet, whilst being grounded on the principle of wifely subjection, which is not to be confused with complete submission, this teaching nonetheless enshrines a notion of reciprocity through complementary marital roles and allows women to prove themselves worthy of being loved in turn by their husbands. The countess is certainly highly discreet in acting so as to protect her husband’s good name at all times. She not only uses the pretext of a pilgrimage to mask her own departure from her subjects (p. 103) and conWdes her secret only to the most trustworthy person she can Wnd (the princess of Castile’s governess), but she also discloses the truth behind her husband’s absence to his subjects only once her mission has been accomplished (pp. 142–3) in order to persuade them to recall him to Artois (p. 147). Similarly, the countess proves her obedience by following to the letter the terms of the ‘contract’ that her husband sets her on his departure, even if this involves a clever piece of subterfuge on her part. Yet, ironically, her obedience also serves her own ends since it is by substituting herself for his ladylove in bed and by publicly showing his subjects how she has fulWlled the three 107 See Farmer 1986.

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conditions of his ‘estrange traittie´’ (p. 147) that she reconstructs him as her husband. In so doing, she morally obliges Philippe to abide by the terms of his own contract, as he himself admits that ‘bien estoit acomply son veu et que par tant plus ne devoit selon raison diVerer a faire son desire´ retour’ (ibid.). If the ethical asymmetry involved in wives exercising discretion and obedience in order to cover up their husbands’ misdemeanours, as recommended by writers such as Gerson, therefore remains unchallenged in this romance, the countess’s ingenuity in displaying these virtues nevertheless obliges the hero to adhere to his marriage vows by oVering her once more the love and protection which, as her husband, it is his marital duty to render to her. The countess herself thus shows how a display of obedience and discretion can be turned to women’s own advantage since she thereby acts as a moral exemplar for her husband and forces him to accept his marital responsibilities. Yet, in addition to displaying these speciWcally feminine attributes, the countess also brings her husband back into line by demonstrating those virtues which were deemed in the ‘clerkly’ discourse on marriage to be common to both sexes: aVective loyalty and sexual Wdelity. Whilst she never actually resorts to telling her husband what to do—her discretion is so absolute that she never even reproaches him to his face for his would-be inWdelity—her persuasively virtuous actions are shown to speak more loudly than any words. Thus, her unfailing loyalty to her husband is proved by the fact that, despite his betrayal of her, she, out of her love for him, seeks to save him from death through an unrequited passion: ‘Certez voire folie est ce bien quant ainsy consume´s vostre force et jonesse pour une dame qui par aventure ne tient compte de vous’ (p. 116). This loyalty is also the key quality which others laud in her: whilst the princess’s governess explains to Philippe that ‘a la plus leal et meilleur dame, de quoy l’on puist tenir parolle, estez vous mariez et bien l’a monstre´ quant pour vostre amour a endure´ tel paine’ (p. 148), the count’s own subjects sing his loyal wife’s praises to him, attributing her successful completion of the quest to her ‘sens, subtillite´ et parfaitte lealte´’ (p. 147). If aVective loyalty is presented in this text as a marital virtue which should be upheld by both sexes, the importance of sexual Wdelity on the part of the wife, and thus, by extension, on the part of her husband, is seen in the manner in which she undertakes her ‘queste amoureuse’ (p. 102) to reclaim him. The narrator takes great care when presenting the countess’s cross-dressing to divest this device of any of the connotations of transgressiveness and sexual licence, whether hetero- or homosexual, which were frequently attached to it in medieval romance.108 Instead, it is treated here simply as a means to an end, since it allows the wife to gain access to her husband without being recognized.109 Similarly, the wife’s choice of an elderly travelling companion, Olivier, ‘ung 108 Davidson 1997; and Busby 1998.

109 Szkilnik 1998, p. 82.

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anchien gentilhomme’ (p. 101), removes any hint of sexual impropriety in his travelling alone with his cross-dressed mistress. The only man on whom she does exert any kind of attraction in her guise as a male is, appropriately enough, her own husband, who declares his valet to be ‘celuy que j’aime mieulx que nul homme de ce monde’ (p. 139). Yet even this attraction is more of an indicator of the aVection and esteem in which Philippe holds his manservant, the intimacy between them serving to show how the hero’s skill at creating friendships with other males—including his cross-dressed wife!—is not matched by his ability to bond lovingly according to ‘clerkly’ convention with his own spouse in her more normal guise. Unlike the eponymous heroine of the thirteenth-century Roman de Silence or Marte in the late fourteenth-century Ysaı¨e le Triste who, in male dress, both attract the unwanted attentions of other women,110 the disguised wife in the Comte d’Artois is presented as a courteous but sexually unavailable young man. Though ‘he’ is seen by the ladies of the Castilian court as someone whose ‘fachon et belle maniere’ are admirable (p. 120), this does not lead to any amorous involvement with them. Similarly, the valet/wife’s close friendship with the princess’s governess is desexualized by being likened to that of two ‘seurs germainez’ (p. 121) and she soon reveals the nature of her quest and thus her true sexual identity as a ‘belle et entiere femme’ (p. 123) in order to take the older woman into her conWdence. The narrator thereby replaces any titillating hint of intimacy between two women, typical in romances of transvestism, with a nonsexual female solidarity. This motif of solidarity is more commonly found in ‘singlewoman’ romances such as the Comte d’Anjou (see below, Chapter 4) in which a young girl escaping from unwanted male desires (often those of her own father) receives assistance and shelter from an older woman.111 It is nonetheless aptly employed in the Comte d’Artois as a means of highlighting the wife’s preservation of her chastity for her husband. Yet, in providing her husband with a model of sexual Wdelity in marriage, Philippe’s wife also performs a function for him which he is meant to reciprocate, one which was central to the canon law deWnition of marriage: that of oVering an outlet for incontinence, it being the duty of the two spouses to help each other to avoid the sin of fornication.112 By substituting herself, a licit object of desire, for the illicit object of her husband’s passions, the wife succeeds in subverting her husband’s would-be adulterous behaviour. Furthering her own practical ends but, at the same time, turning gratiWcation of his sexual needs into mutual payment of the conjugal debt, she takes on fully the prescribed ‘clerkly’ marital role of saving her spouse from sin, which she describes as his ‘folie’ (p. 116),

110 Szkilnik 1998, pp. 65, 77. 111 Roberts 1999; and Foehr-Janssens 2000, p. 250. 112 Elliott 1993; Payer 1993; and Baldwin 1994.

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whilst simultaneously gaining satisfaction of her own needs according to ‘le droit de mariage’ (p. 149). However, even as this romance underlines the need for sexual Wdelity on the part of both husband and wife, we can still Wnd evidence in it of the moral double standard which was inherent in medieval gender ideology, even in the ‘clerkly’ discourse on marriage which was in other respects so even-handed towards the two sexes. Thus, in emphasizing the chastity of the countess in her relations with all except her husband, the narrator not only constructs her as a moral exemplar of Wdelity but also fulWls another crucial aim: that of ensuring the legitimacy of the child which she is carrying by showing that there is no possibility of interpreting her pregnancy as being by anyone other than her husband. It is therefore signiWcant that the only point in the text where a divine rather than human agency is said to be at work concerns the timing of the birth of the couple’s child, an event which, much to the husband’s relief, takes place exactly nine months after they Wrst slept together in Castile: ‘pour oster toutez souspechons ainsy que Dieux le vault, elle en delivra droit au bout de .ix. mois que son seigneur avoit geu avecq luy premierement, dont je ne vous sc¸avroie recorder les loe¨ngez qu’il en Wst a son Createur’ (p. 153). Thus, if the husband is chastised for his sexual inWdelity by being forced to give up the girl he loves (p. 150), he nonetheless receives the suitably ‘aristocratic’ reward of a male heir. Although, according to the ‘clerkly’ model of marriage, the wife’s role is not simply to produce a legitimate child but also to provide a loving corrective to her husband’s wayward behaviour, her chastity and sexual Wdelity are still presented in the narrative as being more important than those of her spouse. By playing on romance convention, exploiting all the resources of irony, and deploying contemporary teachings on the spiritual bond in marriage, the Comte d’Artois encourages its noble audience to abandon the role of ‘singleman’, which leaves the male in thrall to the deleterious passions of lovesickness,113 in favour of the more moderate but enduring emotions which are characteristic of companionate marriage. Likewise, it condemns the role of ‘aristocratic’ husband for being predicated on something so fundamentally precarious as male sexual potency which, when found wanting, can lead to men scapegoating and abandoning their wives. Instead, the Comte d’Artois advocates the model of the ‘clerkly’ husband as a far more sustainable and viable mode of masculine identity, a lesson which it teaches by presenting the hero’s wife herself as the perfect embodiment of loving companionship and spousal devotion.

113 See above, Ch. 1, on how the eVects of heterosexual desire are presented as dangerous for the young knight’s health and spiritual well-being in premarital romances such as Gilles de Chin, Jehan d’Avennes, and Olivier de Castille.

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( I I I ) E X E M P L A RY W I V E S : B I G A M Y, F I D E L I T Y, A N D T H E P U R S U I T O F S A LVAT I O N IN GILLION DE TRAZEGNIES Paradoxically, given that far more of the narrative in Gillion de Trazegnies114 is devoted to lengthy descriptions of battles than in the Comte d’Artois,115 this text has been much more readily identiWed as a marital romance by modern critics who have shown how it combines the theme of the husband with two wives, possibly derived from late twelfth-century sources such as Marie de France’s Eliduc and Gautier d’Arras’s Ille et Galeron,116 with that of the epic tradition of the Saracen princess who falls in love with a Christian knight.117 Yet Gillion de Trazegnies is not solely concerned with resolving the conundrum posed by a set of bigamous relationships. Rather, as Elisabeth Gaucher has observed, it also deals more generally with the behaviour expected of spouses within marriage, raising such issues as the problem of childlessness, the extent of marital Wdelity, and the role of sexuality.118 Developing Gaucher’s approach, we shall argue here that Gillion de Trazegnies was heavily indebted to the ‘clerkly’ discourse on marriage whose inXuence we have already noted in the Comte d’Artois, and that, in turn, this chivalric text helped to disseminate this discourse to its aristocratic audience since it too submits its hero’s behaviour as a husband to a rigorous critique. Where the Comte d’Artois uses all the resources of verbal and dramatic irony in order to demythify the hero and to reveal his shortcomings as a husband, Gillion de 114 WolV ’s edition of Gillion de Trazegnies, based on the manuscript held at the University Library of Jena, El. f. 92, whose punctuation and spelling have been amended here, has also been corrected where necessary by using Horgan’s edition of the incomplete manuscript of Gillion de Trazegnies preserved in Brussels, Bibliothe`que royale de Belgique 9629. See also Bayot 1903, pp. 45–60, and Horgan’s edition, pp. cv–cxii, for the view that the text may be a prose reworking of a 14th-cent. poem written in octosyllabic verse, vestiges of whose rhyme scheme they claim to Wnd in the later version. 115 The text’s accounts of warfare against the Saracens waged by the hero, Gillion, and his twin sons, Jehan and Gerard, would have echoed the dreams of crusade nurtured by its original dedicatee, Philippe le Bon: see Santucci 2002. These three shining examples of Burgundian knighthood would also certainly have Xattered both Philippe and other readers such as Antoine, the ‘Grand Baˆtard de Bourgogne’, and the bibliophile Louis de Gruthuyse who both later commissioned copies of the text. Antoine’s copy, WolV ’s MS D, which is preserved in Du¨lmen, collection of the duc de Croy¨, was commissioned from the scribe David Aubert in 1458, and that of Louis de Gruthuyse, WolV ’s MS E, held at Chatsworth, collection of the duke of Devonshire, was completed in 1464 and may also have been copied by David Aubert. Both manuscripts contain a substantially expanded conclusion concerning Gillion’s Wnal military campaign which led to his death, this alternative ending being written by the original author at the request, presumably, of these two new patrons: see Horgan’s edition of Gillion de Trazegnies, pp. lii–lxxxiv. See also Ham 1932. 116 Bayot 1903, pp. 65–75; Matzke 1906–7 and 1907–8; Paris 1923; Trindade 1974; and Horgan 1991. 117 Gaucher 1994, pp. 123–8; Santucci 1995; and Que´ruel 2000a. 118 Gaucher 1994, pp. 359–61.

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Trazegnies presents its male protagonist as a more epico-hagiographical Wgure,119 one whose lengthy captivity at the hands of the Saracen enemy serves as expiation for his chief crucial failing as a husband, that of leaving his pregnant wife at her time of need. Moreover, if, in the Comte d’Artois, it is the hero’s exemplary wife who serves to teach her spouse good husbandly conduct, in Gillion de Trazegnies it is the hero’s two exemplary wives, Marie and Gracienne, who each perform this function. As in the Comte d’Artois, Gillion de Trazegnies emphasizes that men of the nobility should not put their ‘aristocratic’ duty to procreate and ensure succession ahead of their ‘clerkly’ duty to love, honour, and protect their wives, a lesson which it too delivers by means of contrasting male and female behaviour within marriage. Thus, from the very beginning, Gillion himself is not presented as the only exemplar in this text, as the narrator in the prologue diverges from the traditional topos of commemorating simply the male protagonist’s ‘haulz et coraigeuz faiz’ and instead attributes these deeds to ‘nobles et vertueuses personnes’ of indeterminate gender (p. 1a).120 The narrator then explains this allusion by imputing the origin of his tale to a funerary monument which he himself had supposedly visited, this being a triple tomb at the Abbaye de l’Olive which contains the bodies of ‘deux nobles et vaillans dames et leur mari ou milieu d’elles’ (p. 1b). Although only Gillion is actually named in the prologue, the unusual prominence given to his two wives for their virtue and valour signals their importance in the narrative which is to follow, and both are later revealed to have names which are highly suggestive of their status as moral exemplars. Furthermore, having been given a book recounting the story of these three people which he purports to have translated from Italian into French, the narrator claims that this subject matter is ‘belle et piteable a oir’ (p. 2a), thus anticipating the aesthetic and emotional eVect which he hopes to produce on the reader. Only once he has established this marital triangle as the primary narrative focus does the narrator go on to introduce his secondary matter: the tale’s chivalric content as seen in the ‘haulz faiz’ and ‘grans proesses’ (ibid.) exhibited by Gillion and his two sons. SigniWcantly, compared to the primary plot, this secondary material is presented to the dedicatee, Philippe le Bon, as being simply ‘moult plaisant a oir’ (ibid.), which suggests that it has more value as entertainment than as a source of instruction. The fact that the end of the tale similarly closes on the image of the triple tomb, this time as it receives the heart of its Wnal inhabitant, Gillion himself, 119 On the inXuence of epic on this text, see Gaucher 1994, pp. 111–37; and Santucci 2002. 120 This is rendered slightly diVerently, but in similar gender-indeterminate fashion, in Horgan’s edition, p. 1, as ‘Les haulx et corageux fais des nobles et vertueux corages de nos anchiens predecesseurs sont dignes d’estre raconte´s et escrips tant et adWn de leur baillier et acroistre non immortel par renommee et souveraine loenge come aussy pour esmouvoir et enXamber les coeurs des lisans et escouttans a eviter et fuir oeuvres vicieuses et deshonnestes, mais voloir emprendre et acomplir choses honnestes et glorieuses, meritoires de vivre en perpetuel memore.’

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several years after the death of his two wives (p. 214), further underlines how the text embeds its lengthy celebration of chivalric prowess within the framework of a didactic and pious tale of marital relations.121 This structural placement of one plot within another thus establishes a hierarchical relationship between the two whereby the framing narrative of marital Wdelity, as demonstrated by the two exemplary wives, serves to counterbalance the embedded narrative of male prowess and its overriding concern with matters of lineage. Just as in the Comte d’Artois, the initial narrative problem in Gillion de Trazegnies is that of childlessness. Whilst Philippe, the hero of the former text, fell at this Wrst hurdle in valuing oVspring more highly than the companionate aspect of marriage, Gillion appears to conform more closely to the ‘clerkly’ stance on childlessness in refusing to let this diYculty turn him against his wife. Rather, Gillion and Marie are shown to bond closely in their frustration at being unable to become parents and to be of one mind in placing their trust in God to help them conceive a child. Indeed, their conformity to the ‘clerkly’ model is such that they express their wish for a child not merely as an earthly expedient for ensuring succession, but also from a more spiritual desire to honour the sacrament of marriage by producing oVspring who will increase the number of Christians on earth: ‘que apres eulx yssist lignie dont Dieu peust estre servi’ (p. 3b). The religious signiWcance of their desire to procreate is further conveyed in the wife’s reverie on seeing a mother carp with a large school of her oVspring swimming in the castle moat (p. 4). Although most critics have read this episode as simply an allusion to a folkloric legend concerning the occurrence of multiple births in the Trazegnies dynasty,122 it can also be read as an allegory of the ‘clerkly’ marital and familial values which the text also seeks to promote. In medieval bestiaries, Wsh in general are said to be intensely protective parents, pure-bred in refusing to miscegenate with other species, faithful to a single mate, and closely connected through the parental-Wlial bond,123 all aspects which are featured in the discourse on marriage as set out in sermons and moral treatises of the time. Whilst the literal fecundity suggested by the Wsh is certainly borne out in Marie’s eventually conceiving twins, these other symbolic associations can likewise be seen to anticipate key episodes in the narrative. The loving brood of Wsh with its devoted parent thus comes to symbolize the need to restore family unity after Gillion is separated for twenty years from his wife and children. It also points forward to the issue of marital Wdelity, as the hero’s second marriage and later reunion with his Wrst wife produce a conXict of allegiance to his two spouses, and it raises the question of how to respect the purity of a bloodline, one which is 121 This eVect would, however, have been substantially altered in the much longer conclusion of the later versions of the text in which Gillion departs on his Wnal military expedition in the company of one of his sons. 122 See Hu¨e 1989; and Gaucher 1995, who explains the origin of this family name as being a corruption of ‘treize ne´s’. 123 See e.g. Book of Beasts, pp. 203–6.

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later resolved when only Gillion’s Wrst marriage leads to the production of children. Yet, having established Gillion as more of a ‘clerkly’ than a strictly ‘aristocratic’ husband, the text nevertheless shows how he still makes one fatal error when, in his zeal to fulWl his role as producer of a child, he neglects to perform his proper duty as protector of his wife, thus leading to the break-up of the entire family. The signiWcance of this failing on Gillion’s part, when he overrides his wife’s opposition to his plan to go on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem in order to thank God for allowing her to become pregnant, has been overlooked by modern commentators on this text.124 Yet, it is precisely the way in which this failing is presented that highlights the expiatory nature of Gillion’s subsequent adventures and hence his value as an exemplar for the reader. Not only was embarking on a pilgrimage without the spouse’s consent seen to be an infringement of marital rights, according to preachers such as Gerson,125 but such journeys, even when undertaken out of the best intentions such as thanking God for ending a period of sterility, are shown in texts of this period to be almost as fraught with danger as taking up arms on an actual crusade. Thus, in the prose reworking of the Fille du Comte de Pontieu (c.1468), a married couple’s pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in the hope of conceiving an heir turns out to be the source of all their subsequent suVering.126 When the husband is attacked by brigands and the wife is raped, she is unable to bear the shame of this traumatic event and tries to kill her own husband, whereupon she is set adrift at sea in a barrel by him and her own father as punishment for her deed. The perils associated with pilgrimage are similarly apparent in Gillion de Trazegnies as the hero’s announcement to his liege-lord at a gathering of his kin that he intends to leave for Jerusalem, only four months into his wife’s pregnancy, is greeted with shock and dismay (pp. 7–11). If Gillion is therefore seen to be exposing himself unduly to danger, his decision to leave his wife in her time of greatest need is presented as a dereliction of his husbandly duty towards her. As Gillion’s own wife, Marie, puts it: ‘je vous supplie que de vostre alee vous plaise a deporter jusques a ce que je soye accouchee aWn que saichiez avant vostre departement quel hoir Nostre Seigneur vous aura envoye´. [ . . . ] Se ceste requeste ne m’octroyez, grant paour ay et doubte que aucun grant inconvenient ne m’en adviengne’ (p. 10a, emphasis added). The penitential nature of Gillion’s subsequent separation from his wife and future sons is underscored in a number of ways, using motifs which are more commonly found in epic and hagiography than in romance. First, on his arrival in Jerusalem he receives a troubling dream which prophesies the suVering which he is about to undergo as a result of his overriding anxiety to ensure his succession 124 Que´ruel 2000c, p. 342, sees Gillion’s journey to the East as simply a ‘voyage d’actions de graˆce’, as does Gaullier-Bougassas 2003, p. 276. 125 See Chastete´ conjugale, p. 861: ‘Une personne mariee peut elle faire pelerinages ou aumosnes sans le consentement de l’autre? Se les pelerinages sont loingtains, y me samble que non.’ 126 See Notz 1982.

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(pp. 12–13). This dream, which takes the form of an allegory, foretells how he will be taken prisoner by a griYn (Gracienne’s father), comforted by a loving fawn (Gracienne herself ), tended to by a white dove (his jailer Hertan who becomes his devoted companion-in-arms), attacked by two beautiful birds (his own sons who come up against him in combat), and Wnally welcomed by a fairy at her castle (his own wife, Marie). However, the dream ends on a frightening note as Gillion Wnds himself sitting beside a nest on a branch which begins to break, this perhaps being a vivid image of his fear about the loss of an heir to his name and lands, one which causes him to wake in alarm.127 Second, once he has been incarcerated by the Saracens who take him to Babylon, Gillion expresses remorse for the pain and suVering that his departure has inXicted on his wife and implores God to help her to bear it on his account: ‘vueilles aydier a supporter le dueil et le grant desplaisir que je sens que ma tresamee compaigne a a porter pour moy’ (p. 20b). Underlining his portrayal as more of an epico-hagiographical Wgure who is subject to supernatural visions than the more worldly character of Philippe in the Comte d’Artois, Gillion is comforted by an angel whose words, if they console him with the knowledge that he will see his native land again before his death, still inform him that he must suVer for a long time before that day comes: ‘Mais avant ce souVreras assez de paines et travaulx’ (p. 21a). Moreover, in abandoning his wife in her time of need, Gillion has not only condemned himself to a period of suVering but also imposes a similar destiny upon his own sons since, as the narrator foretells at the moment of their conception, they too will undergo ‘grans travaulx et grans paines’ (p. 6a) before they eventually Wnd him. Indeed, this visitation of the father’s sins upon his sons is seen in the fact that they follow in Gillion’s exact footsteps in their search for him, Jehan being imprisoned in the very same cell in Tripoli as his father before him (pp. 144–6), and many of their adventures mirror those of their father, Gerard’s falling in love with a Saracen princess, Natalie, whose cause he has to champion when she is slandered (pp. 146–60), echoing the relationship of Gillion and Gracienne. Further underlining the expiatory nature of Gillion’s exile, the chief tribulation which he has to undergo involves not only his physical and aVective separation from his wife, friends, and kin, but also his spiritual isolation from those practising his own religion. Thus, in the manner of a Christian martyr, Gillion is threatened with death by the Saracens in a way which is reminiscent of the fate of saints such as Sebastian, as he is stripped naked and tied to a post, ready to be killed by the archers placed around him (p. 23). This sight, at once erotic and spiritual, inspires Gracienne to plead with her father for his life, not only because she has fallen in love with Gillion but also because she wishes to convert to his 127 Gaucher 1994, pp. 121–3, interprets this dream sightly diVerently, seeing the white dove not just as Hertan but also as a symbol of the Holy Spirit, the fairy in the castle as a reference to the pope who baptizes Gracienne and Hertan, and the broken branch as the future separation of Gillion from both of his wives.

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faith: ‘en son cuer le print a amer et desir de croire en Jhesu Crist aWn que de lui peust estre amee’ (p. 23b). One of Gillion’s chief penitential actions in the course of his lengthy exile therefore takes the form of inducting into the mysteries of Christianity this woman whose very name evokes the grace with which she is Wlled in seeking to convert and whose erotic desire is thus channelled into a spiritual vocation (p. 27). The Wnal aspect of Gillion’s penance consists of his decision, on hearing the false news of Marie’s death from the treacherous knight Amaury who wishes to take her as his own wife, to devote the rest of his life to a personal crusade against the inWdel. In a state of despair at the loss of his spouse, kin, and homeland, Gillion acknowledges that this calamity is directly due to his own untimely departure from his wife’s side and so vows, in the manner of an epic hero, to expiate his ‘deVaulte’ and ‘pechie´’ (pp. 69b, 70a) by undertaking the holy mission of killing as many Saracens as possible in his battles on behalf of Gracienne’s father. If Gillion’s exemplary function thus resides in showing how his failure to do his duty towards his wife has to be expiated through his penitential actions as both a proselytizer of the Christian faith and a miles Christi, his two wives Marie and Gracienne prove themselves to be marital models of exemplary Wdelity and devotion, as is suggested by the religious connotations of their names. Although, unlike an Eliduc who consciously betrays his marriage vows, Gillion is only shown to be bigamous by accident since he enters into his second marriage in good faith having been convinced of his Wrst wife’s demise, his willingness to remarry at all nonetheless contrasts sharply with Marie’s absolute refusal to do so. Though encouraged to take another husband by Gillion’s liege-lord, as is deemed permissible in canon law,128 given that her spouse has been missing for over seven years, she herself rejects all such thoughts, declaring herself hopeful of his possible return and dedicating herself in the meantime to making a ‘husband’ of her two sons: ‘Je feray en l’actendant Wlz et mary de ses deux beaulx Wlz que la voy. Car pose´ ores que leur pere ne revenist, si ne auroye je autre mary que eulx; assez ay este´ mariee’ (p. 58). Marie, like her holy namesake, thus makes a vocation of her motherhood.129 This situation, however, only remains tenable so long as her sons are minors since, once they are of an age to prove their chivalric worth, they start to chafe against their mother’s devotion to them and decide to seek out their father so as to return him to her as the proper object of her aVections. Even though this plan to restore Marie’s wifely status to her is thwarted by the fact of Gillion’s second marriage (pp. 94–6), her Wdelity to him remains undiminished as she retreats from the world in order to devote herself to God and to pray for her husband’s soul (p. 212b).

128 McCarthy 2004, p. 139. 129 Gaucher 1994, p. 360, describes this as ‘l’exaltation de la maternite´’.

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Gracienne, for her part, reveals her exemplary quality in dedicating herself to loving Gillion as part of her devotion to the Christian faith. Prior to their marriage, she channels her erotic desire for him into a more chaste form of love and constructs her relationship with him more along the lines of a sister and brother than on that of two lovers: ‘leurs amours furent justes et loyales sans y proceder en nulle vilaine pensee’ (p. 56b). Indeed, the purity of Gracienne’s love for Gillion is highlighted by its contrast with that felt by the other Saracen princess, Natalie, for the hero’s son, Gerard. Whereas Natalie and Gerard’s relationship almost immediately becomes sexual (p. 144a), a turn of events which leads him to have severe doubts about her Wdelity towards him, particularly since she, unlike Gracienne, shows no desire to convert to his faith (p. 159a), the love between Gillion and his lady is only consummated in marriage and is preceded by her baptism such that his union with her can be properly legitimized according to the Christian faith (p. 170). Moreover, Gracienne shows herself to be a fervent adherent of the Christian conception of marriage when, on hearing that Gillion’s Wrst wife is still alive, she reaYrms the indissolubility of her own bond with him by refusing to let him return to Trazegnies without her, whilst simultaneously acknowledging Marie’s prior claim to him in canon law by oVering to dedicate herself to his Wrst wife’s service: ‘Jamais jour que j’aye a vivre ne vous lairray mais iray avec vous et serviray vostre premiere dame et espouse tant que Dieu par sa grace me donrra ou corps la vie’ (p. 206b). Finally, Gracienne’s Wdelity to Gillion is allegorized in the dream which his son Jehan has, in which he sees his father being comforted by a turtle dove (p. 94b), this bird being a conventional symbol of female devotion to a beloved spouse.130 Paradoxically then, it is in voluntarily renouncing their right to conjugal relations with the man who is husband to both of them and in retiring to a life of chastity in a convent as a means of solving the dilemma in which Gillion’s bigamy has placed them, that Marie and Gracienne demonstrate the perfection of their marital Wdelity to him. Whilst some critics have interpreted the intensity of the two wives’ devotion to their husband and to the strict tenets of their faith as a kind of rivalry between them in their desire for self-abnegation,131 it can also be seen as showing their superiority to Gillion himself as moral exemplars. Their solution to the problem of their husband’s bigamy is much more absolute than that suggested by Gillion, since he merely proposes to return to his Wrst wife and to give up all physical relations with Gracienne whilst Marie is still alive: ‘jamais nul jour, tant que ou corps auray la vie, n’auray atouchement a elle se devant elle n’aliez de vie a trespas’ (p. 212b). This solution, which would in fact have been wholly in line with medieval canon law, as there are no grounds on which his Wrst marriage could be legally annulled,132 is nevertheless deemed unacceptable by the 130 See below, nn. 154 and 155. 131 Bayot 1903, p. 4, calls this ‘une lutte courtoise entre deux femmes preˆtes a` se sacriWer’. 132 On bigamy, see Ribordy 2004, pp. 68–73.

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two women. Thus, it is only once Marie and Gracienne have become united in their common purpose, being ‘tout d’un consentement et d’un accord’ (p. 212b), that Gillion then follows their example by giving his lands over to his two sons and retiring to a similar life of chastity in the monastery of Cambron. Mirroring each other in their exemplary virtue, the two wives retire from the world at the same moment, die within the same year, and their tombs are erected side by side by Gillion himself. As Gaston Paris puts it, ‘l’aˆme du re´cit [ . . . ] c’est l’union parfaite dans laquelle vivent les deux femmes’.133 By embedding its ‘male’ narrative of prowess and lineage within a ‘female’ narrative of marital Wdelity, this romance thus oVers a moral lesson on the function of marriage which goes well beyond just a new telling of an old tale of bigamy such as Marie de France’s Eliduc. Emphasizing the sacramental and companionate aspect of wedlock, Gillion de Trazegnies shows how the union of husband and wife is not meant to be simply an ‘aristocratic’ arrangement whereby a dynasty perpetuates itself but rather a more ‘clerkly’ bond within which two individuals can live in what Gerson calls ‘religieuse entencion a Dieu’.134 Thus, the real signiWcance of both of the hero’s marriages is shown to reside in their value as a means of salvation since, on the one hand, it is through her union with Gillion that Gracienne comes to adopt the Christian faith whereas, on the other hand, Marie’s withdrawal from her bond to her husband in order to pray for the good of his soul becomes the means by which both she and he can be saved. The earthly pursuit of dynastic succession through wedlock is thus presented in this text as secondary to the spiritual pursuit of living a virtuous life within marriage, one which renders the spouses worthy of commemoration in a tomb as magniWcent as that shared by Gillion de Trazegnies and his two illustrious wives. ( I V ) L I K E FAT H E R , L I K E S O N ? T H E C H I L D A S M O D E L F O R T H E R E P U D I AT I N G PA R E N T I N TA L E S O F T H E S E I G N E U R S D E G AV R E Like the Comte d’Artois and Gillion de Trazegnies, the tale known as the Seigneurs de Gavre, as well as the shorter, earlier version of the story entitled Baudouin de Gavre,135 has been little studied by modern critics except as a panegyric to the

133 Paris 1923, p. 124. 134 Chastete´ conjugale, p. 860. 135 Baudouin de Gavre is preserved in a single manuscript, Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France n.a.f. 1821, from which some folios are missing. A provisional edition of this text published privately by Stuip, is preserved in Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France 4o pie`ce 1233. Here, all reference to Baudouin de Gavre will be to pages in this provisional edition, followed by the corresponding folio number in the manuscript.

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valiant ancestor of an illustrious Burgundian family.136 Yet, in common with these other romances, it too features a major family crisis when a nobleman repudiates his wife and disowns his son on unreasonable grounds, this crisis only being resolved when the son Wnally manages to reconcile his two estranged parents and so regains his status as heir, thus ensuring the continuation of the Gavre name and territory for posterity. That the tale of the seigneurs de Gavre was of interest to medieval readers not only for its depiction of chivalric prowess but also for its portrayal of marital issues is suggested by the fact that at least two of the extant versions of the story appear to have been composed on the occasion of an aristocratic marriage. Baudouin de Gavre, which sets the son’s adventures in the kingdom of Hungary, may have been written in 1455 to mark the union of Jeanne de Laval, heiress of the lordship of Gavre,137 and Rene´ d’Anjou, heir to the Hungarian throne.138 The earliest copy of the longer version, the Seigneurs de Gavre, transposes the hero’s sphere of action to the dukedom of Athens and is contained in Brussels, Bibliothe`que royale de Belgique 10238 (Stuip’s MS B). It was composed in 1456, most likely at the moment of the betrothal or wedding of Marie de Ghistelles to Godefroid de Gavre-Herimez, this particular branch of the Gavre family being connected by marriage to the duke of Athens in the fourteenth century and their arms being those mentioned in the opening chapter of the text itself.139 Although the family drama is accentuated to diVerent degrees in both these works and in the other extant copy of the Seigneurs de Gavre which is found in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 91 (Stuip’s MS C),140 all of them oVer an important lesson on wedlock, one which is wholly consistent with the ‘clerkly’ teachings of the period as expounded in both marriage sermons and moral treatises such as ‘mirrors for princes’. Thus, in each version of this story, a forceful case is made 136 Stuip notes that ‘C’est un bel exemple de cette litte´rature pseudo-historique e´crite pour un public aristocratique, a` qui elle cherche a` plaire et a` tendre un miroir’ (Seigneurs de Gavre, p. xix), but he does not explicitly extend the text’s didactic scope to include marital as well as chivalric conduct. 137 See Seigneurs de Gavre, pp. xiii–xiv; and Stuip 1982. In Baudouin de Gavre, p. ii, Stuip acknowledges that this date may be problematic as the miniatures in this manuscript appear to date from about 1470. See also Legare´ 1996, p. 214, who dates the manuscript to 1470–80 and thus sees the text as not necessarily commemorating the moment of Jeanne’s marriage itself but rather more generally as recording ‘the ties between the Hungarian dynasty and the Houses of Laval and Anjou’; and Lejeune and Stiennon 1966–7, p. 348, who argue that the text was written for Guy de Laval, Jeanne’s father, whose arms are depicted on fo. 2r . 138 The cultural links between the courts of Anjou and Burgundy were strong, with works emanating in the one court often being copied for patrons in the other, such as Paris et Vienne and Pierre de Provence (see above, Ch. 2) and certain authors, such as Antoine de La Sale, were associated in the course of their literary careers with each in turn. See Kogen 2006. 139 Seigneurs de Gavre, p. xvii; and Stuip 1990. 140 The main diVerences between versions B and C concern the opening chapters, which are included along with various other smaller changes in the appendix (pp. 240–78) of Stuip’s edition which is based on B. Copy C was probably written at the behest of a member of the Wavrin family as it gives greater prominence to the repudiated wife who belongs to that particular dynasty, as can be seen in the opening chapters. See Stuip 1993; and Visser-Fuchs 1998.

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for moderation in male marital conduct and for personal self-control as the basis of virtue in both the family and the wider community. This teaching on moderation, unlike that in the Comte d’Artois and Gillion de Trazegnies where it is the wife who is the model for the husband, is here developed by contrasting the actions and behaviour of the father and son, as can be seen from the very inception of each of our three versions. The authorial prologue contained in MSS B and C of the Seigneurs de Gavre, which varies only slightly between the two copies, adheres closely to convention in expressing the author’s desire to commemorate the ‘haulx et corrageux fais’ of the illustrious of the past for the ediWcation of the reader (p. 1). However, though the prologue stresses that the heroes of this text are the ‘seigneurs de Gavre’ in the plural, it soon becomes apparent from the very Wrst chapters of the tale that this seemingly straightforward commemoration of their valorous deeds is complicated by the fact that the exemplary value of father and son is by no means identical. Raising as a key issue the need of each male link in the dynastic chain to prove himself to be both a worthy recipient of the chivalric legacy handed down to him by his forebears and a model for those generations to come,141 the text implicitly invites the reader to compare these two examples of Gavre men, the father Guy and the son Louis (ibid.). Whilst both are of equal valour in terms of their chivalric prowess, a diVerence soon emerges between them in terms of their fulWlment of their role both as husbands and as fathers. Indeed, it is precisely because of Guy’s actions that the key crisis of the narrative is set in train as he takes disproportionate exception to his wife’s joke that if he were more certain of his child’s parentage, he would love him even more dearly, a joke which, if undoubtedly illjudged,142 is nonetheless perfectly consistent with medieval anxieties about ensuring paternity. In Baudouin de Gavre, the tale’s moral tone is even more explicit since the prologue here makes no mention of commemorating the deeds of past knights but rather opens with a proverb on the need for circumspection in one’s speech so as neither to give oVence nor to perceive it where none is intended: En ung proverbe dit le phillosophe ‘que l’on ne peult mesdire quant la parolle que l’on dit est prinse pour / agreable.’ Et e converso. Pourquoy ung checum se doit et est tenu avoir regard a la parolle qu’il pretent faire et proceder de sa bouche. Car combien que aucuneVoiz l’on ne cuide mesdire, touteVois si la parolle est prinse pour inacceptable, il semble que l’on a meVait. (p. 1; fo. 2r---v )

The aptness of this proverb in the marital context is, of course, illustrated by the mother’s injudicious joke and by the father’s violent over-reaction to it. Thus, on the one hand, the mother quips that if her husband knew himself to be ‘le pere

141 See above, Ch. 1, on the importance of this issue in the late medieval discourses on chivalry. 142 Kelly 2004.

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seullet’ (p. 2; fo. 4r ) of his son he would love him all the more, a joke which the narrator plays down by explicating it, in accordance with medieval thinking on human reproduction, to mean that the child is not the sole product of his father but that the mother too had her part to play in his creation.143 On the other, the husband’s response is out of all proportion to the perceived oVence as he is described as being ‘furieux et malentendant’ (p. 2; fo. 4v ) in hurling the baby against a wall and in verbally abusing his hapless wife. Yet, much more than in the longer version, the following account of the hero’s adventures is then subordinated to resolving this family trauma as the son, Baudouin, vows neither to marry nor to be knighted until he has succeeded in reconciling his estranged parents by beating his father, Girard, in combat and earning the right to bear his arms and name. Moreover, as the end of the tale makes clear, it is the father rather than the mother who is shown to be more at fault as he is the one who begs her pardon so that a reconciliation can take place, his violent language and unfamilial behaviour having caused the original break-up of the domestic unit. The miniatures accompanying the manuscripts of these three versions all reinforce the didactic message of the tale. Whilst all copies illustrate the scene of the father’s shocking rejection of his wife and son, that contained in MS C of the Seigneurs de Gavre (Corpus Christi College, MS 91, fo. 1r : see Frontispiece) highlights with particular vividness the contrast which the reader is invited to draw between father and son in terms of their exemplary value as knights and husbands. The importance of this image is signalled not only by its being the sole miniature contained in this manuscript but also by its placement above the text of the prologue, to which it provides an ironic counterpoint. Thus, in marked opposition to the prologue’s evocation of illustrious deeds of chivalry by these scions of a Burgundian family, the miniature itself depicts a scene of terrible violence perpetrated by one such family member, the horror of this scene being underlined by the gestures of distress made by the various ladies and gentlemen of the household who are witness to it. Given the close rapport in this period between secular iconography of the family unit and religious images of the Holy Family in which St Joseph is shown to be lovingly and closely connected to both the Virgin and the infant Christ,144 this visual representation of a family torn apart by the father’s actions suggests that the seigneur de Gavre is behaving in a manner completely contrary to that displayed by Joseph in his role as protector of his wife and spouse as preached in the marriage sermons of the 143 On the respective roles played by the male and the female in human reproduction and the greater love felt by the father for the son in whom he sees himself being physically mirrored, see Lett 1997. 144 Foster 1978, pp. 214–46, notes the increasing tendency in the course of the late middle ages, under the inXuence of Gerson and others, to depict the Holy Family as an intimate group with close physical and aVective links between the parents and the Christ Child, citing works such as a miniature in the early 15th-cent. moral text Ci Nous Dist, and the Hours of Catherine of Cleves (c.1440).

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time.145 More speciWcally, the father’s hurling of the child into the Wreplace,146 and the textual description of his being burnt up in the heat of his own anger at this moment (see, for example, p. 247), stand in striking contrast to the frequent iconographical association in this period of Joseph with Wreplaces whereby the saint is presented as a model of self-control in protecting both himself and Mary from the Wres of passion.147 Moreover, in MS B of the Seigneurs de Gavre and in Baudouin de Gavre, the image of familial harmony with the father holding the baby in his arms which immediately precedes that illustrating his eruption into violence, further serves as an apt iconographical reminder of the model of Joseph as the archetypal loving husband and father, and of Guy/Girard’s subsequent dramatic departure from it. The Wrst of the substantial contrasts that can be drawn between father and son in these works, contrasts which are informed by the ‘clerkly’ teachings on marriage which circulated in this period, concerns the superiority of the marriage made by the son compared to that of the father. Thus, in the Seigneurs de Gavre, the union between Louis and his wife Ydorie, daughter of the duke of Athens, conforms far more closely than that of his father, Guy, and his wife, the daughter of the seigneur de Wavrin, to the ideal expressed by authors such as Philippe de Me´zie`res and Giles of Rome of a successful and happy marriage being one in which the spouses are matched in terms of age, rank, and mores. Louis and Ydorie are both frequently described as being ‘nonpareil’ as examples of young manhood and womanhood and are aged about 22 and 17 respectively. If the former incarnates all the expected virtues of a youthful knight, being praised by the duke’s seneschal Eminidus as ‘la Xeur des chevaliers du monde’ (p. 89), the latter is said to surpass all other women of the land in terms of both her beauty and her virtue (p. 76). Not only is their suitedness to each other particularly evident on the day of their wedding, when the narrator remarks that ‘Avoec ce que beaulte´ tresexcellente estoit en eulx, furent aourne´ en bonnes meurs et vertus; bien furent esleu et nee ly ungs pour l’autre’ (p. 178), it is also oYcially 145 Alexandre-Bidon 1997, pp. 52–3, 54–5, not only also cites numerous late medieval examples of Joseph in this aVectionate and protective pose but also notes how few illustrations of paternal violence there are in the art of this period, these being mainly limited either to biblical images of Abraham sacriWcing his son, mythological images of Saturn devouring his children, or anti-Semitic images of Jewish fathers punishing their sons for taking holy communion with their Christian friends. Given the rarity of such images of violence in the more realist art of the period, that of the father in all these versions of the tale of the seigneurs de Gavre must have appeared all the more shocking. 146 Gaucher 1994, pp. 117–18, interprets this scene in more folkloric terms, seeing the child’s burning in the Wre as a kind of rite of passage by which he will be initially excluded from the family home before being reintegrated into it, thanks to the burn mark by which his father Wnally recognizes him as his own. 147 In addition to the Me´rode triptych (1425–35), usually attributed to either the Master of Fle´malle or Robert Campin, in which Joseph is seen making a Wrescreen, Hahn 1986, p. 60, n. 36, also cites two other images showing Joseph with prominent Wreplaces. These are the Holy Family held at the convent of the Clarisses in Le Puy and a painting of the same group in the church of Vieure in the same region near Tournai.

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acknowledged at the tournament in Compie`gne where they are awarded the prize for being the most perfect couple of valiant knight and beautiful lady (pp. 204–7). The symmetry of the two spouses in terms of their age, beauty, etc., can thus be read as the recipe for success in their highly companionate marriage and Ydorie’s own father remarks with pleasure on ‘la belle vye que entre luy et sa femme demenoyent’ (p. 179). As if to underline the importance of this ‘clerkly’ principle of marital compatibility, the suit of the duke of Anternopoly who seeks to marry Ydorie by force is rejected with horror by the Athenians precisely on the grounds that, though he may be of high rank and status, he is wholly unsuited by his great age (over 60) and hideous looks (being an ugly, misshapen hunchback) to have such a young and beautiful wife (pp. 76–7). In contrast to the perfect match made by his son, the marriage contracted by Louis’s father Guy in the Seigneurs de Gavre is Xawed in one crucial respect. To be sure, he and his wife are presented as equals as regards physical appearance, this being seen in the beauty of the child which they produce together: ‘car le pere et la mere de luy estoient sy bien fait et fourme´ que de la beaulte´ d’eulx deux estoit renommee partout, loings et pres’ (p. 3). They are also initially shown to be suited in terms of their rank and personal qualities, Guy being described as ‘doulx, amyable et courtois’ (p. 2) and his wife as ‘sage, humble et courtoise’ (p. 3). However, the seigneur de Gavre and his wife are separated in terms of age as he is said to be 37 when he marries and she only 17.148 Although this diVerence in age is not seen to be an obstacle by the friends and kin who broker their union, since the groom is presented as still being strong and vigorous in body (p. 2),149 it does prove to be the major source of discord in their relationship. As both versions of the Seigneurs de Gavre emphasize, since it is the wife’s immaturity which makes her speak out of turn in joking about her husband’s paternity, the failure on the part of her older, more mature spouse to show the necessary understanding and forgiveness towards her ‘jonesse’ makes him all the more responsible for the family break-up that ensues. In taking no account of her 148 Klapisch-Zuber 1988, p. 475, notes that the more usual disparity of age between bride and groom in late medieval Europe was six–ten years. Whilst the age diVerence between the seigneur de Gavre and his wife is not therefore on a par with that of the elderly January and the nubile May in Chaucer’s ‘Merchant’s Tale’, whose union is greeted with great scepticism and mockery by their neighbours, it is nonetheless signiWcantly greater than that of most couples in our corpus of late medieval romances. Gillion de Trazegnies, for example, is married at about 20 years of age to a woman who is referred to as being in her youth. 149 The age of the seigneur de Gavre is thus almost identical to that of St Joseph who, at least according to Gerson’s calculations, was about 36 when he married the adolescent Mary (Conside´rations, p. 75). Gerson, at pains to stress Joseph’s relative youthfulness, presents this as an ideal age at which a male could marry by claiming that such was Aristotle’s opinion in his Politics. However, see Giles of Rome, Livre du gouvernement, p. 212, who similarly cites Aristotle as an authority in order to back up his opinion that the spouses should be reasonably close in age, by arguing that the philosopher’s view was that women should ideally be married at 18 and men at 27. Giles would in fact seem to have misquoted Aristotle or at least to have used a corrupted version of his text, as the philosopher, pointing out that the ideal age for procreation was 37 in men and 17 in women, proposed this as the age at which the sexes should marry: see Aristotle’s Politics, pp. 29–32.

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inexperience, Guy thus acts contrary to the precepts expounded in the moral works of writers such as the Me´nagier de Paris who, as a much older husband of a 15-year old wife, is fully aware of the need to admonish his spouse in private and with compassion for any youthful lapses on her part which he calls ‘descontenances ou simplesses’.150 In his violent and cruel speech towards his wife, in which Guy calls her a ‘tresmalvaise putte’ and slanders his own son as ‘vostre bastart’ (p. 4), he similarly fails to heed the advice of those such as Giles of Rome who counsel the use of harsh words and discipline only for a wife whose behaviour is completely uncontrollable and who argue that a husband with a sensible wife should adopt a discreet and courteous manner in correcting his spouse’s faults. In MS C of the Seigneurs de Gavre and in Baudouin de Gavre, this criticism of the husband’s immoderate response to his young wife’s unfortunate remarks is even more developed as both these versions stress not only that he had absolutely no cause to doubt her Wdelity but also that he is greatly at fault in taking her remark in such bad faith. In this respect, he adheres neither to the precepts of those such as Gerson and Legrand who advised husbands to avoid being excessively suspicious of their wives,151 nor to the model of Joseph, as put forward by Gerson, who, as an exemplary, mature husband and a man of justice, put his trust in his wife’s virtue above any suspicions regarding her faithfulness and thus did not allow any ‘turbacion ou doubte ou cause de division’ to disrupt their union.152 In Baudouin de Gavre, the narrator criticizes the husband’s behaviour as intolerant and unjust given that his wife is known universally to be completely blameless: ‘et aussi savoit on bien qui elle estoit; et pour ce la / tenoyt on pour la plus vertueuse, noble et excellante dame du pays et d’environ, necte, pure et innocente de corps comme la perle et marguarite’ (p. 3; fos. 5v ---6r ). MS C of the Seigneurs de Gavre goes even further in condemning the husband for the lack of faith and circumspection expected in a man of his age when he persistently refuses to let himself be reassured by his wife and the other members of their household: ‘Le seigneur, poursievant de plus en plus sa mauvaistie´ et cruaulte´ comme homme foursene´, pour prieres, pleurs ne cris que tous sceussent faire, oncques pour ce ne se voult amollier ne soy reVraindre de la grant ire en quoy il estoit’ (p. 247). The contrast between the son’s compatibility with his wife and the father’s incompatibility with the mother on the grounds of age is by no means the only dissimilarity between these two generations of Gavre males. In both the Seigneurs de Gavre and Baudouin de Gavre, father and son are shown to diVer markedly in 150 Mesnagier, p. 22. See also Chastete´ conjugale, p. 862: ‘Les maris d’autre part doivent soustenir la fragilite´ des femmes. S’elles sont juenes, le mary les peut chastoier, premierement de paroles doulcement, puis de verges.’ 151 See Chastete´ conjugale, p. 861: ‘[l’omme] ne doit pas de legier soupeconner’; and Livre de bonnes meurs, p. 370: ‘les hommes sont moult souvant souspec¸onneux de leurs femmes’. 152 Pour la feˆte, p. 14.

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terms of their behaviour as spouses and parents. Thus, whilst Louis in the Seigneurs de Gavre (and to a lesser extent Baudouin in the shorter version) can be seen to conform perfectly to the ideal of husband and father as incarnated by Joseph in fulWlment of his duty to cherish and honour his wife as well as to protect and nurture his children, Guy and Girard fail to live up to this ideal on almost every count. From being a lovesick youth pining for his beloved until he discovers that she too shares his feelings, Louis on his eventual marriage to Ydorie proves to be no less Wrmly devoted to her as his wife. Earning the love of his father-in-law, the duke of Athens, for the tender and considerate way in which he treats Ydorie, Louis vows to the dying duke that he will endeavour always to show such aVection and honour to her as she amply deserves (p. 185). As ‘seigneur et mary’, Louis lives in peace and harmony with Ydorie, ‘en bonne paix et amour ensamble’ (p. 219), in accordance with the ‘clerkly’ view of the husband as the one who commands and the wife as the one who obeys, whilst avoiding all despotism and dishonour in his rule over her. Thus, when he has made up his mind to return to France in order to try and reconcile his parents, he is careful not to go against her wishes by undertaking such a journey alone but rather gains her goodwill by oVering to take her with him on his mission, stating that ‘jamais pour riens ne vous voldroye laissier’ (p. 191). This resolve to remain always by his wife’s side marks Louis out as conforming particularly closely to the model of Joseph whom Gerson praised for his physical devotion to Mary ‘sans la delaissier en quelconque ou pour quelconque necessite´’.153 As a father, Louis not only fulWls his ‘aristocratic’ role of provider of an ‘hoir legitisme’ to the dukedom of Athens and to the lordship of Gavre through his two sons, Ypolitus and Baudouin, but also dutifully performs his ‘clerkly’ role of educator of his children and protector of their well-being. Thus, on the one hand, he accedes to his own parents’ wishes for an heir by leaving his second-born to be brought up by them in France in all due estate, whilst, on the other hand, he himself educates his Wrst-born who is destined to be the Athenian duke, whom he helps to ‘nourir et introduyre en letres et en scyence’ (p. 186). Louis thereby proves himself to be both a loving and devoted father, as well as an obedient son, in ensuring the future status of his second child despite the intense pain that it causes both him and Ydorie to part with the boy (p. 217). The son’s paradoxical status as model for his father is handled slightly diVerently in Baudouin de Gavre. Here, the hero’s marriage to Margaline, daughter of Tramirus, king of Hungary, is not presented as a perfectly balanced love-match to the same extent as that of Louis and Ydorie, as more emphasis is placed on the unhappy state of the father’s union than on the perfect nature of that of his son. However, even here, the text ends with a paean to marital harmony as the reconciled parents are Wnally described as living in accordance with the ‘clerkly’ 153 Ibid. 12.

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ideals of love, Wdelity, and the sacrament, such that they end their days both at peace with each other and in God’s good grace: ‘Et ainsi demourerent toute leur vie en bonne paix et union, et Wnirent leurs jours en Dieu, et obtindrent par la permission et clemence divine la gloire perpetuelle’ (p. 34; fo. 41r ). The image immediately following the end of the text in this manuscript, which was devised by Rene´ d’Anjou as a symbol for himself and his bride Jeanne,154 similarly underlines this idealized view of matrimony as it shows two amorous turtle doves who are tied together by a silken cord round their necks perched on the branch of a fruiting redcurrant, a Wtting evocation of love, union, and fecundity in marriage (fo. 41r ).155 Thus, in their failure to adhere to the model of marital and parental conduct as expounded in the ‘clerkly’ discourse on marriage and which is fully exempliWed by Louis in the Seigneurs de Gavre, both Guy and Girard are presented as being guilty of a dereliction of their duty towards their wives and children. This refusal to perform their proper role, which is denounced by Louis as a ‘moult grant pechie´’ (p. 261),156 is demonstrated in a number of diVerent ways in the various versions of the tale. First, in banishing his wife from the marital home, each man deprives her of the aVective support, the ‘pitie´ de femme a mary et amour qui par droit ne doit estre mise tout en non challoir’ (p. 254), which she should be able to command from her husband according to the sacrament of marriage. In the absence of the love of her spouse, the wife has to fall back on the love which her parents and her own child can give her. Whilst this parental love is seen to be freely given and received, the Wlial love which she commands from her son is presented as much more equivocal since both the Seigneurs de Gavre and Baudouin de Gavre highlight the diYculty involved in the son’s attempt to compensate his mother for the loss of his father, the unnaturalness of this burden being suggested by the fact that both Louis and Baudouin in these versions appear blocked by it from leading their proper existence as aristocratic males.157 Thus, prevented by his own conscience from leaving his mother in order to go out into the world as a knight and pursue honour, Baudouin becomes uneasy at his inability to assuage his mother’s persistent sorrow: ‘le dueil de sa mere lui commenc¸a a poindre et faire mal, pource qu’il la veoyt ainsi demener si douloureuse vie’ (p. 10; fo. 13r ). Louis too, in MS B of the Seigneurs de Gavre, explains his 154 See Legare´ 1996, pp. 212–13, and, for a reproduction of this image of the spouses as turtle doves, see p. 232, Wg. 3. 155 This choice of motif may also be explained by the belief as expressed in medieval bestiaries that the female turtle dove mated for life and was thus taken as a model of chastity and Wdelity: see the entry on this bird in Bestiary, pp. 163–4. See also Gerson, in Chastete´ conjugale, p. 867, who brieXy alludes to ‘l’exemple de la turterelle’ in his argument against remarriage. 156 Baudouin, for his part, upbraids his father in the following terms: ‘je n’ay autre pere que vous en ce monde, et m’avez engendre´ par la grace de Dieu a la plus dolente dame qui soit en ce monde, dont vous avez moult grandement oVence´ envers Dieu’ (p. 14; fo. 17v , emphasis added). 157 Berkvam 1981, p. 132, notes how, in the middle ages, it was expected that, in the absence of her husband, the woman (‘e´ternellement mineure’) would submit to the authority and wishes of her son, just as she did to those of Wrst her father, and then her spouse.

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fear to his mother that her insistence on his remaining with her will eventually damage his reputation: ‘se ainsy est que avec vous face longhe demouree, je ne puis voir que perdus et gaste´s ne soye et que en moy ne soit estainte la glore et la bonne renommee que en mes predecesseurs a tousjours este´’ (pp. 5–6).158 These texts thus raise the issue of potential emasculation of a son who has to remedy a mother’s loss of her husband’s aVection and so is unable to set forth in search of an exogamous marriage partner of his own. This suggestion of excessive parent/child devotion, which was clearly a troubling subject in medieval culture, is elsewhere more explicitly presented as incest in works such as the Manekine and Apollonius de Tyr where a father’s attempt to marry his own daughter on the death of his wife short-circuits the child’s own ambitions to make a good marriage outside the immediate family unit (see below, Chapter 4). Though depicting a situation which falls short of actual incest in this case (perhaps because mother/ son incest occurs much less frequently in medieval texts than that of father/ daughter), all three versions of our tale nonetheless stress that, far from the son’s becoming a substitute for his father in his mother’s aVections, his role is to bring the estranged couple back together again, as both Louis and Baudouin constantly remind themselves throughout the course of their adventures. In this respect, these romances can be seen to be espousing the ‘clerkly’ teachings of moralists such as Giles of Rome who counter the ‘aristocratic’ view of oVspring simply as dynastic building blocks by arguing that children should instead be seen as an expression of the parents’ love for each other and as a bond which encourages them to stay together.159 This insistence on the need for the husband to fulWl the emotional and sexual role towards his wife which a son cannot licitly perform is reinforced with particular emphasis at the end of the Seigneurs de Gavre where the now elderly father is not only publicly reconciled with his wife but also sleeps with her in private once again, thus paying her the conjugal debt which he had withheld from her for so many years. This restoration of the aVective and physical bond between them is then hailed by their son and daughter-in-law as a sign that the couple are once more living ‘d’acort, en paix et amour ensamble’ (p. 216). The father’s refusal to perform his ‘clerkly’ duty to his wife in depriving her of the love which she is owed by right, is compounded in all these versions of the tale by his failure to oVer her the protection which is her due. Her physical banishment is underlined with particular pathos in MS C of the Seigneurs de Gavre which, of all three versions, is the most damning in its portrayal of the husband. Here, the dishonour done to the repudiated wife is highlighted by recounting every hour of her traumatic Xight from her marital home until she reaches the safety of her father’s house (pp. 247–8). Indeed, the enormity of her 158 See also Gillion de Trazegnies, p. 95, where Jehan and Gerard’s attempt to leave their mother in order to search for their father causes her to launch into a heart-rending lament at the prospect of losing them too. 159 Livre du gouvernement, pp. 154–5.

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abandonment is such that she even loses her own parents who soon die of grief at her plight, her desolate state as a deserted wife thus being matched by her status as a fatherless orphan with only her infant son and younger brother for company: ‘Elle voiant sans pere et mere et estre deschassee de son mary et son enfant aussy, lui devoit moult douloir’ (p. 255). The contrast in the Seigneurs de Gavre between the behaviour of the father, who violently ejects his wife from her own home, and the son, who, in line with the example of St Joseph, seeks never to be parted from his beloved spouse, could not therefore be more marked. The third element of the father’s rejection of his proper marital role is his neglect of his duty towards his child, which is likewise contrasted with the devotion shown by the son towards his own oVspring in the Seigneurs de Gavre. Far from playing his expected role of educator, it is the mother in both versions of this text who has to fulWl this function, giving her son valuable ‘enseignements’ on moral and chivalric conduct (pp. 6–7, 255–6). In Baudouin de Gavre, where no mention is made of the hero’s eventually having any children of his own, it is nevertheless emphasized that it is his grandfather who has to step in to perform this educative role in the absence of the father and who, in so doing, shows himself to be far more loving than the child’s actual blood parent: ‘Et le bon prince son pere grant, qui l’aymoit plus que son pere corps, lui Wst aprandre a chevaucher, jouster, chasser, voler, jouer a la paulme, gecter a la barre de fer et toutes manieres de noblesses, desquelles choses il estoit le souverain d’icellui lieu et d’environ’ (p. 9; fo. 12v , emphasis added). Finally, if the father fails his son in ‘clerkly’ terms as his educator and protector, he refuses even to perform his ‘aristocratic’ duty towards him by allowing him the right to bear the family arms and name. Thus, in all three versions of the story, in the lengthy interview between father and son in which the latter asks his parent for money and the necessary chivalric equipment needed for him to embark on the pursuit of honour, Louis/Baudouin succeeds in obtaining from Guy/Girard nothing but a battered old felt hat of his, a ‘chappelet’ or ‘capel’. The symbolism of the hat as a marker both of the son’s disinheritance by his father and of his own urgent wish for dynastic recognition is developed in great detail in Baudouin de Gavre and especially in the Seigneurs de Gavre. In the Wrst of these versions, the young hero vows not to use his father’s coat of arms until he has won them from him in combat and so adopts instead a white shield into the middle of which he nails the old felt hat (pp. 16–17; fos. 20r ---21r ). This choice of armorial device thus underlines both his status as a novice in military matters and the blankness surrounding his identity to which the hat gives only the most oblique of clues (as the host of the inn where Baudouin’s father stays on his journey to the east remarks to his guest: ‘dit l’on ycy que ce signiWe quelque chose’, p. 29; fo. 35r ).160 This hat similarly lends itself to his battle-cry of ‘Gavre capel’ which he even takes 160 On the connotations of innocence and purity attached to the colour white in the choice of arms, see Pastoureau 1986, p. 40.

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as his actual name until his mission to reconcile his parents has been completed. Only once his father has formally recognized him as his son and heir does the young man call himself Baudouin de Gavre, thus signalling that he has regained his rightful place in the family structure (p. 33; fos. 39v ---40r ). In the Seigneurs de Gavre, the issues of disinheritance and legitimation as symbolized by the old hat are dealt with slightly diVerently. Here, Louis adopts his father’s arms as his own (p. 51), these arms being particularly prestigious having originally been given to a Gavre ancestor by Roland himself (pp. 1–2), and he uses the hat as a crest to wear on his helmet which he too incorporates into his battle-cry of ‘Gavre au chappelet’. This version then makes much more of the symbolism of this curious crest which is subjected to constant misinterpretation by both his friends and enemies alike.161 Whilst his companions-in-arms are puzzled by the divergence between Louis’s prowess as a knight and the worthless object to which he attaches so much value (pp. 49, 154), his adversary Cassidorus, accuser of the countess of Istria whose cause the hero espouses in a trial by combat, misreads it as a sign that Louis himself is of no consequence as a warrior, a misreading which he soon comes to regret. This discrepancy between the hat’s objective worthlessness and its subjective value to Louis mirrors that between its owner’s lack of a deWnite origin and his obvious brilliance as a knight and later status as duke of Athens, this discrepancy only being resolved when his father, moved to pity, Wnally reintegrates his son into the Gavre dynasty. If all three versions of our romance show how the son acts as a corrective to the failings of his father in terms of his marital role, that contained in the Seigneurs de Gavre, and MS C in particular, also examines how deWciencies in the aristocratic male’s personal conduct can have disastrous consequences for his ability to govern in political life. This link between the rule of one’s self and that over one’s household and realm, which is a commonplace of moral treatises such as Giles of Rome’s ‘mirror for princes’, is seen in Louis’s moderation in his behaviour towards his wife which is matched by his skill at ruling over his newly acquired dukedom, whereas the lack of self-control seen in Guy’s violent and unjust response to his wife and son is shown to be highly deleterious to the integrity of his own inherited territory. Thus, just as the son’s marital conduct acts as an index of his political conduct, one which redounds to his glory, so the father’s shortcomings in the one area condemn him roundly in the other. Louis’s exemplary self-restraint is underlined by his portrayal throughout as a puer senex, that is as a young man who clearly transcends all the failings deemed typical of youth in medieval culture, displaying none of the rashness, selfcentredness, lustfulness, and short-temperedness traditionally expected of the adolescent (see above, Chapter 2). Rather, his emotional self-control is evident not only in his behaviour as a husband, as we have seen, but even before his 161 On the use of crests as heraldic devices, see Pastoureau 1988, p. 134: ‘Ainsi le cimier est-il toujours un de´guisement ambivalent. Lie´ au regard, il dissimule en meˆme temps qu’il proclame.’

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marriage when he is in the throes of lovesickness. Unlike the impetuous adolescent lovers of the idyllic romance tradition who ignore their conWdants’ calls to moderate their passion and attempt to elope so as to overcome parental opposition to their union, Louis and Ydorie follow the advice of their respective conWdants, Melyor and Edea, by containing their passion for each other until their love can be expressed in a marriage which has been properly sanctioned by both her father and his barons: ‘Mais oncques en dit, en fait ne en parler ne Wrent samblant de faire chose qui a deshonneur leur tournast’ (p. 133). Louis’s ability to control his emotions in his private life is paralleled in the military sphere where, unlike his adversaries who lose their tempers when challenged by him,162 he retains his composure throughout and so emerges the victor. Thus, despite Louis’s extremely youthful appearance as a ‘moult tresbel jovenencel’ (p. 23) who is not yet even 22, his extraordinary maturity as a cool-headed warrior who gives excellent counsel on military tactics marks him out as Wt and worthy to rule over an entire kingdom. As his Athenian allies put it: ‘se a eage d’omme pooit venir, souYssant estoit asse´s de tenir et gouverner royalme ou empire’ (p. 99). When, eventually, Louis is installed as the ruler of Athens, his subjects rejoice at his ability to act in a way which is older and wiser than his years: ‘Car tous, grans et petis, se penoyent de le complaire, pour ce que en luy veoyent sens et prudence autant que jamais euissent veu en homme de son eage; de tous estoit ame´ et prisie´s’ (p. 183). That Louis’s qualities on a personal level inform his political judgement and conduct can be seen in his desire for justice and his capacity for compassion.163 Thus, in the private domain, he is thoroughly imbued with a sense of duty towards his mother whose plight he pities and whom he seeks to restore to her former status as wife of the seigneur de Gavre. In the public domain, his compassionate pursuit of justice is witnessed by his vow to rescue the abducted sister of the knight Gadifer who is being threatened with rape, to Wght in a trial by combat in defence of the slandered countess of Istria, and to liberate Ydorie herself from the attacks launched on her country by her frustrated suitor, the duke of Anternopoly. If Louis therefore amazes all who know him by the admirable ‘unseasonableness’ of his moderate behaviour, given his young age,164 his father, Guy, who ages from 37 at his marriage to nearly 60 when he is Wnally reconciled with his son, acts contrary to the expectations attached to his age, being presented as lacking in self-control and good governance in either the personal or the political sphere. 162 See e.g. the abductor of a maiden who attacks Louis in a manner described as being ‘comme demy foursene´’ (p. 25), whilst Cassidorus, accuser of the countess of Istria, is said to ‘vif marvoyer’ at Louis’s taunts (p. 55). 163 See above, Ch. 1, on these qualities and the capacity for self-government which were central to the discourses on chivalry. 164 On ‘unseasonableness’ and transcendence of the expected norms of a particular age in humans, see Burrow 1986; and Sears 1986.

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Indeed, at the moment of his repudiation of his wife, when he is almost 40 years old, Guy is seen to be totally consumed by his ‘grant ire’ (p. 247), an emotion in whose grip he still Wnds himself over twenty years later when he hears that a knight bearing his arms and using his family name (who is, of course, Louis), is Wghting at the tournament in Compie`gne. Although he is now represented as an old man, there is still no hint of moderation or of a calming in his irate behaviour despite the fact that, according to the medieval belief in the progressive cooling of the human body, his age should have led him to increased circumspection and compassion.165 Just as there was a disparity between Louis’s youth and his sangfroid, one which is seen to be highly commendable, so the disparity between Guy’s elderly appearance and his heated irascibility is seen to be incongruous: though he is still of commanding stature and bearing, he is described as having ‘les cheveulx [ . . . ] moult gris et entremerle´s, la barbe aussy blance que nege, son vyaire moult couloure´, espris de feu et d’ire’ (p. 211, emphasis added). The political consequences of the father’s immoderate behaviour are explored in particular detail in MS C of the Seigneurs de Gavre where his loss of emotional self-control not only leads to the destruction of his own household from which, much to his subjects’ dismay, he has exiled his own wife, but it also leaves his entire territory in danger of being attacked by the Wavrin dynasty who are deeply insulted by his repudiation of their kinswoman. Guy’s lack of self-restraint in refusing to listen to the counsel of his friends and family who attempt to reconcile him with his wife can be seen in his furious response to them ‘comme cellui qui estoit chault et boullant plus que nul homme de son temps’ (p. 250) and in his declaration that he would rather be exiled from his own lands than take his wife back. Only on the intervention of count Baudouin of Flanders, liege-lord of both the seigneur de Gavre and his father-in-law, the seigneur de Wavrin, is the danger of battle averted, though the count’s attempt to broker peace is more courteously accepted by the maligned wife’s father than by Guy himself. Indeed, his self-delusion and lack of political astuteness are shown to be all the more complete as he continues to see himself as the injured party in the quarrel between the two families rather than as the actual instigator of it in the Wrst place (p. 253). Unlike his son, Louis, Guy is therefore not in control of his own emotions, his household, or even his own realm, the very succession of which has been jeopardized by his refusal to recognize the legitimacy of his own son. In marked contrast to the intemperate nature of Louis’s father, the Seigneurs de Gavre presents an alternative model of the elderly ruler in the form of Ydorie’s own father, the duke of Athens, whose personal conduct admirably informs his political role. Thus, unlike Guy, who is depicted as an obdurate and obstinate 165 See Giles of Rome, Livre du gouvernement, pp. 132–3. See also Jacques Legrand, Livre de bonnes meurs, p. 366, who cites St Ambrose on the need for the elderly to be ‘en meurs amyable et doulx, en conseil prouYtable, en parole estable, a mourir tout prest, a reprendre tres courageux et sage’.

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‘viellart’ who refuses to listen to the good counsel of others and is prepared to put his individual pride before his duty to his family and his subjects, the duke of Athens is eulogized on his deathbed as an ideal ruler who has put the good of his subjects before his own personal gain, having been fair, just, charitable, compassionate, generous, and astute (pp. 186–7). On a personal level, such qualities are equally evident in his role as a father as he respects his daughter’s wish to be spared an unsuitable marriage and he shows admirable humility in changing his mind about accepting Louis as his son-in-law, despite his unknown origins, when counselled to do so by his seneschal Eminidus and his peers. However, no such political lesson is drawn in Baudouin de Gavre from the contrast between the son’s moderation and the father’s lack of it.166 Rather, the negative portrait of the parent, Girard, serves here as a moral example of penance and contrition. Becoming conscious much earlier of his unjust treatment of his wife and son, the father is still blocked by his pride and intransigence (his ‘obstinace et male voulente´’, p. 9; fo. 12r ), from making amends to them. Thus, after summarily dismissing Baudouin from his house with only the old felt hat as his gift, he begins to regret the uncourtly way in which he spoke to his son but Wnds himself unable to change his mind: ‘pource qu’il avoit este´ long temps en icelle oppinion, il lui sembloit que tousjours estoit tenu de y perseverer’ (p. 16; fo. 20v ). Later, in the course of a pilgrimage, he hears the story of Baudouin’s vow to reconcile his parents and is Wlled with secret remorse and pity for him (p. 30; fo. 35v ). Finally, on being defeated in combat by his son and then implored by him to pardon his wife, he himself makes public confession of his fault: ‘Ce voyant et oyant, le seigneur de Gavre dist: ‘‘Levez vous, mon treschier Wlz, car tout est pardonne´, et me pardonnez aussi de par elle, car je confesse que a tort et sans cause je l’ay fait, et m’en desplaist tresgrandement’’ ’ (p. 33; fo. 39v ). The fact that it is the father who so publicly begs for pardon in Baudouin de Gavre, unlike Guy in the Seigneurs de Gavre who is merely asked to grant it to his wife (p. 216), underlines the more moral than political emphasis in this particular telling of the tale. In all the diVerent versions of this romance, we have seen how the son is presented as the true hero of the tale and as a model for his own father.167 Yet, far from his heroism being based exclusively on chivalric prowess, it is shown to reside also in his status as a husband and father as deWned in ‘clerkly’ terms, one whose adoption of these two roles allows him to acquit himself thoroughly of his ‘aristocratic’ duty to perpetuate the glory of an illustrious dynasty. Though his father might be endowed with the same chivalric qualities and virtues as his son, his heroic status is radically called into question by his failure to live up to this marital and parental ideal. In his immoderate refusal to care for and protect his 166 From a young age, Baudouin is described as being ‘rempli de toute vertu et noblesse, saige et discret, hardy et bien / modere´’ (p. 9; fos. 12v --13r ). 167 On the more common use of fathers as models for their sons in moral and historiographical texts, see Hyatte 2004.

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own family, he is portrayed as a Wgure who displays none of the ‘clerkly’ virtues in marriage and whose unfamilial behaviour thus threatens to destroy the aristocratic system of values on which his very existence is predicated. (V) CONCLUSION In foregrounding the knight not just as a brave warrior but also as a husband and father and in highlighting the need for men to develop a loving and companionate union with their wives, late medieval romances such as the Comte d’Artois, Gillion de Trazegnies, and the Seigneurs de Gavre aYrm the importance of marriage as the fundamental basis of a social and moral order rather than simply as a tool for aristocratic advancement and self-perpetuation. Acting in this respect in tandem with the teachings on spousal and parental behaviour contained in the moral treatises and sermons of the period to which they were indebted, these works oVer an implicit critique of the marital and sexual mores of the Burgundian male nobility. Although this audience may have appreciated these tales primarily for their commemoration of the chivalric exploits of their putative ancestors, the lessons which these romances provide on marital conduct nonetheless formed an integral part of the ideological representation of these knights as heroes and of their wives as heroines. In the Comte d’Artois, male sexuality is shown to be potentially transgressive unless it is properly channelled through marriage, even if the social consequences for the transgressor may be less drastic in the case of men than in that of women, and it is notably the wife herself who saves the hero from sinning by acting as an utterly discreet ‘preacher’ to her husband. If, in its response to the problem of childlessness, this romance, in common with Gillion de Trazegnies, shows the production of oVspring to be secondary in importance to the sacramental value of marriage as the basis for a harmonious existence in this life, the latter text goes even further than the former in presenting wedlock as a crucial means by which both spouses can achieve salvation in the next. Whereas it is the wives in these two works who function as models of Wdelity for their husbands who are thereby encouraged to attach a more ‘clerkly’ value to their marriages, it is the son in the Seigneurs de Gavre and its variant, Baudouin de Gavre, who serves as an exemplary spouse and parent for his own father. Echoing in this respect the kind of virtues preached in the contemporary discourse on marriage and demonstrated by St Joseph, the son, the true hero of these tales, also shows how the exercise of moderation in one’s private behaviour within marriage can serve as the blueprint for one’s political conduct in the public realm of government. Through the use of such illustrious role models of marital good conduct as these noblemen and -women of Artois, Trazegnies, and Gavre who are presented in these texts as the supposed ancestors of their contemporary Burgundian audience, these marital romances thus encourage their readers, male and female

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alike, to make themselves, in turn, worthy of being the subject of a romanced biography. In their emphasis on the couple’s relationship within marriage rather than simply on the premarital or extramarital love that earlier romances had privileged, these works mark a major turning point in the evolution of the genre, one which is perhaps most strikingly seen in their exhorting their male readers not simply to display the virtues of valorous knights and just rulers, but also to translate these qualities into the more intimate sphere as loving husbands and nurturing fathers.168 168 For an earlier, shorter version of this chapter, see Brown-Grant 2002a.

4 Incestuous Desire versus Marital Love: Rewriting the Tale of the ‘Maiden without Hands’ in Versions of the Manekine and the Roman du Comte d’Anjou If, in Chapter 3, we saw how, in line with the late medieval ‘clerkly’ discourse on marriage, forms of spousal behaviour related to the issues of male adultery, bigamy, and repudiation were examined in a range of marital romances, it is male desire itself which comes under intense critical scrutiny in Jehan Wauquelin’s Manekine (before 1448?), another romance that raises important questions about marriage that was produced at the court of Burgundy.1 Written for Jean de Croy¨,2 Wauquelin’s text is a prose reworking of the popular legend of the ‘maiden without hands’3 originally recounted in Philippe de Remi’s octosyllabic poem of the same title (c.1240).4 Philippe’s version not only exerted an important inXuence on all subsequent romance renditions of the legend, including that of Wauquelin, but was also much imitated in both epic and dramatic form.5 This legend, in which a young noblewoman Xees from her father’s unwanted sexual advances, is one of a number of variations on the motif of incest which enjoyed an extraordinary popularity in the middle ages.6 The actual form which this incest takes and the precise family members it involves varies markedly from genre to genre. Whilst mother/son incest tends to predominate in hagiography and religious exempla, father/daughter incest is more prevalent in epic and romance. 1 On the literary activity of Wauquelin, see Veysseyre 2006. 2 On the literary patronage of this Burgundian nobleman, see Debae 1996; and De Smedt 2000. 3 Wauquelin seems to have taken a particular interest in the ‘maiden without hands’ narrative since he also rewrote it in his prose version of the 14th-cent. epic Belle He´le`ne de Constantinople (1448) which is likewise based on this tale. On the question of the dating of the two works by Wauquelin, which remains controversial, Colombo Timelli 2006 cites new evidence to argue that in fact the Manekine might have been written before the Belle He´le`ne. 4 Philippe’s version is preserved in a single manuscript dating from the early 14th cent. which was originally owned by an earlier member of the same family as Jean de Croy¨. The text of Wauquelin’s mise en prose is incomplete as a result of all the miniatures in the unique manuscript in which it is preserved having unfortunately been removed: see Colombo Timelli 2005–6. 5 See Suchier’s introd. to his edition of the two versions. See also Harvey 2002–3. 6 On incest, see Walecka 1993; and Archibald 2001.

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Furthermore, if mother/son stories often involve the sexual consummation of the relationship between two protagonists who are unaware of their kinship (as in the example of the life of St Albanus where the son unwittingly marries his own mother), the father/daughter model generally avoids consummation since the horriWed child runs away from her incestuous parent.7 Whilst both types of parent/child incest narrative use dysfunctional family relationships in order to counsel the need for confession, penitence, and prayer to their audiences,8 they each diVer in the particular use which they make of the incestuous scenario. Hagiography, being explicitly didactic, highlights the exemplary value of the protagonists as repentant sinners, whereas romance, whose moralizing is often left implicit, employs the father/daughter paradigm as a way of exploring its generic concerns with individual identity, marriage, and dynastic succession. In this perspective, many scholars have argued that romance incest narratives made a direct contribution to contemporary debates on the choice of marriage partner. As we have seen above in Chapter 3, the aristocracy, which tended to favour endogamous unions within a close-knit kin-group in order to protect its interests and privileges, found itself in conXict with the Church’s promotion of exogamous unions with individuals outside the kin-group through its teachings on the degrees of consanguinity within which marriage was admissible.9 Father/daughter incest narratives have thus been read as highlighting the need for an accommodation between the values of the aristocracy and those of the Church by taking an extreme case from each end of the spectrum running from very closely connected to wholly unrelated marriage partners. If extreme endogamy is obviously unacceptable in the case of an aristocratic father who tries to marry his own child in order to avoid the problem of female succession to the throne by producing a male heir, so is extreme exogamy in the case of the young man who falls for the incestuous father’s daughter and who marries her in spite of the fact that his kin-group know absolutely nothing about her social standing or origin. In the ‘maiden without hands’ versions of this narrative, which constitute the vast majority of romances and epics that feature incest, the violence of the daughter’s own rejection of extreme endogamous marriage is revealed in her willingness even to mutilate herself so as to deXect her father’s illegitimate desire to marry her.10 A diVerent approach to father/daughter incest narratives has been to see them as creating a ‘feminine picaresque’ which provides an alternative to the usual male-centred romance plot by featuring more active heroines whose identity is 7 An exception to this rule of non-consummation between father and daughter which, signiWcantly, lies outside the ‘maiden without hands’ group, is the case of King Antiochus who rapes his own child in the many versions of Apollonius of Tyre that circulated in the middle ages: see Archibald 1991. See also Roussel 1984a; and Sheidegger 1989. 8 Archibald 2001. See also Donavin 1993. 9 On the rules concerning consanguinity, see Duby 1978 and 1981. 10 Gouttebroze 1989.

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forged through their exile from the aristocratic family home.11 After a period of great physical hardship, these heroines, such as those in the ‘maiden without hands’ group, are eventually rewarded for their faith in God by their recovery of their noble status and fulWlment in a happy marriage.12 However, in analysing romances of father/daughter incest purely in terms of how they contribute to medieval debates on endogamy versus exogamy, scholars have failed to account for the fact that works which ostensibly use an identical incest motif such as that of the ‘maiden without hands’ could actually put this motif to very diVerent didactic purposes. Likewise, those critics who have argued that these texts provide positive representations of women within the incest scenario have tended to assume a single model of female heroism and have omitted to show that the actual dynamics of the relationship between the heroine, her father, and her husband diVer markedly from text to text. Rather, then, than simply seeing the father/daughter incest motif as either a narrative pretext for a debate on the proper choice of marriage-partner or as a catalyst for a young woman to set oV on a series of adventures, we shall examine how Jehan Wauquelin and Philippe de Remi’s versions of the legend of the ‘maiden without hands’ oVer a thoroughgoing analysis of the nature of incest as a form of desire and of its eVect on male/female relations both within and outside the bonds of marriage. Thus, through their juxtaposition of the legitimate marital desire between the young couple and the father’s incestuous desire for his daughter, such incest in its original etymological meaning of incestus or unchastity being classiWed with adultery in both canon law and secular law as a type of fornication,13 we shall see how two texts could use the exact same story but, on the basis of it, produce radically diVerent conceptions of male desire and of the power relations between the sexes. In order to account for the diVerences in these two romances written over two hundred years apart, we need to adopt a twofold strategy of reading. On the one hand, from a diachronic perspective, we can trace the evolution of the treatment of the incest motif from the thirteenth to the Wfteenth centuries by comparing Wauquelin’s version of this tale not only with his original source, but also with an intermediary tale which itself oVered a preliminary reworking of Philippe de Remi’s text, Jehan Maillart’s Roman du Comte d’Anjou (1316), also written in octosyllabic verse.14 On the other hand, from a synchronic perspective, we need to examine how the particular conceptions of incestuous desire and marital love 11 On ‘feminine picaresque’, see Gravdal 1995. See also Walecka 1992. For a critique of Gravdal’s view that medieval canon law and secular law largely suppressed the issue of father/ daughter incest, compared to the much fuller treatment this issue received in the literary texts of the period, see McLaughlin 1997. 12 Black 2003. 13 Manselli 1977; and Walecka 1993. 14 The Comte d’Anjou was dedicated to Pierre de Chambli, seigneur de Viarmes, a counsellor at the court of Philippe le Bel. For an idiosyncratic study contesting the identiWcation of the author of this work as Jehan Maillart, see Dragonetti 1986.

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in each version of the tale relate to the precise literary context in which it was produced. The critical consensus on these three works is that the earliest version of the Manekine is distinctly courtly in tone, since Philippe de Remi owes a clear debt to the twelfth-century lyric and romance traditions in his extensive use of courtly rhetoric and interior monologues in love scenes.15 Jehan Maillart’s Comte d’Anjou is generally seen as being anti-courtly in marrying elements of hagiography, in its portrayal of a martyred heroine, with those of satire, so as to oVer a virulent attack on courtly values.16 Finally, Wauquelin’s prose Manekine has been deemed to be less courtly than the verse original, in omitting its monologues and descriptions, more pious, in inserting biblical quotations, and also more historicized, in endowing its characters with the names of actual historical Wgures.17 How, then, does the courtliness of the original Manekine, the hagiographical anti-courtliness of the Comte d’Anjou, and the pious historicism of Wauquelin’s prose reworking inform the way in which each deals with the issue of incest? How does the representation of incest in each text aVect its discussion of sexual desire within the context of marriage? What view of gender power relations emerges from the depiction of desire in each of these three works, both within and outside the incestuous scenario? ( I ) R E P R E S E N T I N G I N C E S T: C O U RT LY PA S S I O N , B RU T E I M P U L S E , A N D I N D E X O F T Y R A N N Y

Philippe de Remi’s Manekine As in most subsequent versions of the ‘maiden without hands’ story, Philippe de Remi’s text presents incest as arising from a mixture of political expediency, misplaced loyalty, and illicit desire. The king of Hungary is faced with a particularly diYcult dilemma: when his wife dies, his subjects refuse to allow his only daughter to be named as his heir and urge him to remarry in the hope of having a male heir by a second wife; yet he is also bound by a promise to his dying spouse to marry none but her exact equal. With his subjects’ failure to Wnd a suitable match for him and at their suggestion that only his daughter can take her mother’s place as his partner, the king conceives an incestuous passion for his own child. Philippe treats this shocking transgression of a fundamental taboo in courtly terms, using an Ovidian rhetoric which he had inherited from twelfth-century lyric poets and from early romance writers such as Chre´tien de Troyes.18 The 15 On the courtliness of this text, see Harvey 1997a, b, and c. See also Roussel 1984b; Castellani 1985; Dufournet and Castellani 1988; and Wrisley 1994. 16 Foehr-Janssens 2000, pp. 221–61. See also Planche 1979, 1984, and 1993; and Black 1997. 17 Roussel 1996; Harvey 1996–7; Foehr-Janssens 1998; and Rouillard 2000. 18 On courtly rhetoric, see O’Donoghue 1982; and Kay 2000.

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king’s desire is thus presented in conventional courtly language as a burning aZiction of the heart which has been brought about by the action of his eyes gazing on a beautiful object and causing him to fall ill until such time as his passion can be requited:19 ‘Mais od lui em porte le dart j D’amours, qui grant anui li fait. j Car si soutilment li a trait j Parmi les iex que dusc’al cuer j Le feri’ (ll. 424–8). In going on to represent the king’s struggle with his conscience as a typical psychomachia between the forces of Reason and Love, with Love Wnally winning out, (such as that which famously assails Lancelot in Chre´tien’s Charrete),20 the Manekine depicts incest as a form of passion which has been directed towards the wrong target: ‘Sens et amour le font doloir, j Qui dedens sen cuer se combatent, j Si que le roi souvent embatent j Une eure en sens, l’autre en folie’ (ll. 478–81). Although Philippe’s use of courtly rhetoric with which to discuss incest is principally designed to spare the sensibilities of his aristocratic audience, it also reveals a profound scepticism towards women which has important consequences for the way in which the heroine is subsequently depicted. According to this courtly rhetoric, to which both the narrator and the character of the father subscribe, the female love-object is a troubling Wgure because of her ability both to inspire love in the male subject yet also to inXict pain on him in failing to reciprocate his desire, as in the conventional love scenario of the lyric in which a married woman is held to be responsible for the suVering of the male lover/ poet, a suVering which, according to him, only she can assuage.21 The lover/poet thus has to use his rhetoric of love-service in order to cajole or even emotionally blackmail the woman into granting him her favours.22 However, in the incestuous scenario of the Manekine, the sheer impossibility of the daughter’s giving in to her father’s desire, of curing his illness as the courtly rhetoric would have it (‘mais puis a nul fuer j N’en pot trouver la garison’, ll. 428–9), means that the responsibility for his lovesickness falls even more heavily onto her.23 The irony of this unhappy situation is stressed through extensive play on the daughter’s name, ‘Joı¨e’, since she who could give her father his longed-for ‘joie’ will in fact only bring him pain: ‘En petit d’eure fu troublee j La joie en ire et en tristour. j Onques mais en si peu de jour j Joie en tel dolour ne tourna’ (ll. 804–7). It is thus arguably because of her troubling status as courtly female love-object, rather than, as some critics have suggested, the fact that she harbours incestuous feelings of her own at some unconscious level,24 that Joı¨e in the Manekine is punished for having had the power to inspire this passion in her father in the Wrst place. 19 See e.g. Blondel de Nesle, ‘Bien doit chanter qui Wne Amors adreche’, in O’Donoghue 1982, pp. 176–80. 20 Charrete, ll. 365–77. 21 See e.g. Guiot de Provins, ‘Molt avrai lonc tans demore´’, in Poe´sie lyrique, vol. 2, p. 36. 22 Burns 1985. See also Huchet 1987; and Gaunt 1995, pp. 122–79. 23 On lovesickness as a form of emotional blackmail, see Ciavolella 1976; and Wack 1990. 24 See Marchello-Nizia’s translation of the verse Manekine, postface, pp. 201–18; and Jeay 2002.

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The text reinforces this point by drawing a comparison between her beauty and that of Helen of Troy in order to show that, even if they themselves are innocent, such women’s looks bring about the unhappiness and destruction of otherwise good and worthy men:25 ‘Mais avenu est as pluisours; j Que par feme ont este´ destruit j Li plus sage et li miex estruit, j Et tel fois coupes n’i avoient j Les femmes pour qu’il emprenoient j Les folies et les outrages’ (ll. 400–5). The religious gloss which is then put on this situation of misdirected love, as Joı¨e herself tries to steer the king towards repentance, is wholly compatible with the idea of the daughter as courtly scapegoat for her father’s illicit desires. As the narrator notes at the end of his comparison of the daughter with Helen of Troy as a woman who has to pay a high price for her beauty: ‘Souvent compere autrui pecie´ j Teuls qui n’i a de riens pecie´. j Ausi Wst Joı¨e la bele’ (ll. 409–11). This link between the biblical idea of the sins of the parent being visited upon the guiltless child,26 and the courtly paradox of women’s innocent culpability is seen in the fact that it is the daughter who has to undergo an arduous penance in the form of self-imposed mutilation and exile whereas her father’s absolution at the end of the tale simply involves making a public confession heard by the pope. The association between the daughter’s penance (through the verb comperer, meaning ‘to pay for’) and her expiation of her father’s sin (that of the pere) is reiterated through a frequently repeated series of rhymes, as when Joı¨e herself states in rejecting her father’s advances: ‘Mes cuers n’iert ja a chou plaissie´s j Pour nului que prenge mon pere; j Car qui s’ame pert trop compere’ (ll. 570–2, emphasis added). Thus, the Manekine not only uses courtly rhetoric in order to deal with the sensitive subject of incest in a euphemistic way, as at worst a ‘fol voloir’ (l. 482) caused by love, but it actually follows the logic of such rhetoric through to its obvious conclusion in presenting the troubling female love-object as inescapably responsible for both male desire and the consequences of refusing to reciprocate it. Although this is not to say that, within the narrative, the daughter is actually expected to accede to her father’s incestuous wishes, the courtly rhetoric it employs substantially alters the text’s moral trajectory which would more normally lead us to condemn the father and to sympathize with the daughter. To modern readers, this confusion between the rhetoric used to discuss incest and the moral lesson which is to be drawn from it may seem like blaming the victim, since the actual penitentials of the period would have stipulated up to Wfteen years’ penance or even exile for a man who attempted to seduce his own daughter.27 To mid-thirteenth-century readers, however, who were familiar with the conventions of a courtly culture which put the onus for male desire squarely onto women, this emphasis on female culpability must have seemed entirely consistent with the codes of courtliness itself. 25 On the medieval topos of women’s troubling beauty, see Burns 1993, esp. pp. 115–50. 26 See Exodus 20: 5 and 34: 7, Numbers 14: 18, and Deuteronomy 5: 9. 27 On the penalties for incest stipulated in canon law, see Walecka 1993; and Gravdal 1995.

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Comte d’Anjou Yet, the mixed message delivered in Philippe’s courtly treatment of incest did not go uncontested by later medieval readers. As if in response to the Manekine, the version of the ‘maiden without hands’ tale recounted in Jehan Maillart’s Comte d’Anjou in the early decades of the fourteenth century conducts a virulent critique of the kind of courtliness seen in the earlier text in its depiction of incest, one that appeals to the hagiographical tradition in its portrayal of the persecuted heroine. Openly depicting the sexual impulses which courtly rhetoric usually masks, the Comte d’Anjou makes clear that its subject matter is the eponymous nobleman whose explicit urge was to ‘deZourer sa Wlle’ (p. 1).28 This refusal to mince words can also be seen in the unnamed daughter’s condemnation of her father’s lust as an act of ‘avoultire’ (l. 426), (i.e. adultery, in the sense of illicit and excessive desire). Nor is there any attempt to lay blame for the father’s actions on the promptings of other members of his court: since female succession is not presented as a problem for his subjects, the question of his needing to marry his own daughter for reasons of state does not arise. Here, unlike in the Manekine, the father is depicted as an aristocratic Wgure whose aggressive sexual behaviour is seen as typical of the males of his class since it is soon to be repeated in the lust which the girl’s own future husband initially displays towards her. Inverting two key topoi of seduction in courtly rhetoric, the chess game and the hunt, the Comte d’Anjou strips away the veil with which romance usually masks sexual desire. As Yasmina Foehr-Janssens has noted, the ‘seduction scene’ in which the father Wrst falls for his daughter whilst they are playing chess together reveals the power play between male and female which is encoded within the erotic, double-edged language of this courtly game.29 Weakened by the sight of his daughter’s beauty and defeated by her superior skill at chess, the father attempts to reassert his authority over her and impose his desire on her by resorting to a courtly rhetoric that portrays her as the seducer and himself as her hapless victim: ‘Vostre biaute´ m’a si seurpris j Que je me rent a vous tout pris, j Pris, voire, et tout emprisonne´. j De grant douchor empoisonne´ j M’a le cuer vostre clere face; j Ne soy que je die ne face, j Vostre acort me couvient avoir j De touz mes bons faire, ou ja voir j Ne serai de mort respite´z’ (ll. 341–9). Through the use of this rhetoric, one which the narrator himself refuses to endorse, the father exposes the extent of his own self-delusion and deceitful manipulation of reality. When asked by his daughter exactly how she might ease his pain, which 28 Whilst Louison 2004, p. 843, is right in seeing Maillart as removing the veil of courtly rhetoric in order to reveal ‘les de´sirs bestiaux des hommes’ which lie behind the king’s incestuous desire, her categorization of both Philippe de Remi’s Manekine and the Comte d’Anjou as anti-courtly ‘romans gothiques’ rather less helpfully collapses all distinction between the two in their very diVerent treatments of love. 29 Foehr-Janssens 1989. On the erotics of chess-playing in medieval culture, see Stanesco 1988a, pp. 103–11.

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she mistakes for a physical ailment, the count tries to cling to a courtly vocabulary by calling his desire for her ‘le delit j Naturel que delit deduit j Est nomme´z d’amis et d’amie’ (ll. 373–5). However, she soon sees through this euphemistic language to what the narrator declares to be the ‘pensee laide et vilaine’ (l. 379) which actually lies behind the father’s courtly terminology. On her refusal to accede to his wishes, the count Wnally abandons all pretence at courtliness, declaring that he will instead impose his desires on her by force: ‘Mez, puiz qu’obaı¨ssance faut, j Bien aemplirai ce deVaut, j Quer a faire vous couvendra j Par force, puis que la vendra, j Ce que par amours vous demande’ (ll. 445–9). Similarly, in its use of the metaphor of desire as a hunt, the Comte d’Anjou reverses the traditional gender roles so as to expose what it sees as the true balance of power between male and female in the scenario of courtly love. Thus, whilst lyric poets such as Thibaut de Champagne present the lady as huntress and the male as her quarry in his comparison of himself to the hapless unicorn captured by the beautiful beloved,30 here it is actually the father who is the hunter and the daughter who is the prey of his carnal appetites, as when she herself explicitly tells him that he should satisfy his desires by marrying any other nobleman’s daughter, stating ‘Vous trouvere´z bien autre proie’ (l. 434, emphasis added). This metaphor becomes literalized as her rebuVed father seeks to reassert his temporarily piqued masculinity by taking an all-male group of ‘chevaliers et damoisiaux’ (l. 511) out to go hawking. The vanity of this pursuit is then revealed through a subtle use of animal symbolism, since the bird which the count selects as his prey, and does indeed succeed in killing, is the heron which, in a proleptic piece of dramatic irony, acts as a displaced Wgure for the daughter whom the father will, by contrast, never succeed in possessing.31 The parallels between the bird and the girl are indeed compelling. According to medieval bestiaries,32 the heron was thought to be a very religious bird, as betokened by its colours of white, denoting purity, and grey, denoting penitence. It was also deemed to be a metaphor for the souls of the saints in their scorning of the world and the devil and to be an ardent defender of its young, which symbolizes its desire to chasten any who would harm those in its care. All of these qualities are, of course, amply demonstrated by 30 See Thibaut de Champagne, ‘Ausi conme unicorne sui’, in Poe´sie lyrique, vol. 2, pp. 54–7. For an account of the rhetoric of the hunt as an expression of male desire disguised as female desire, see Bordessoule 2001. On the love imagery of hunting, see also Thie´baux 1974; Winn 1980; and Rooney 1993. 31 The symbolic signiWcance of the heron as the lecherous father’s prey may also be explained by the fact that, in 14th-cent. hunting manuals such as Henri de Ferrie`res’s Livre de Chasse (c.1354–77), ch. 95, pp. 194–6, the hunting of herons is described as needing a hawk driven by great hunger (‘tout faucon qui volle pour heron doit avoir greigneur fain et plus aspre que ne doit faucon qui volle pour ane’, p. 196) and the heron’s meat itself, which is given to the hawk as a reward, is deemed to be a particularly rich and delicious prize (‘quer c’est une viande lecheresse’, p. 195). See also Cummins 2001, p. 229, who cites examples of late medieval Iberian lyrics in which the beloved is depicted as a heron and the lover as a hawk, this symbolism being part of ‘a wider tradition in which the heron is used as a comparison for the beauty of woman’. 32 See e.g. Bestiary, p. 132.

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the heroine herself who not only protects her virginity and undergoes penance, but is shown to be particularly pious (‘Toute fu sa pensee mise j En Dieu amer et Sainte Yglise’, ll. 127–8), and utterly devoted to her child whom she later seeks at all costs to spare from being killed by the order of his own father. Through its association of such pursuits as the chess game and the activity of hunting with aggressive male sexuality, the Comte d’Anjou precludes any attempt to present the father’s incestuous desire for his daughter in more benign courtly terms as a form of passionate love. Indeed, rather than adopting the metaphorical conventions of courtly romance, the Comte d’Anjou takes on a distinctly hagiographical character in its depiction of incest when the Devil makes an unexpected appearance in the middle of the scene where father and daughter are playing chess. For some critics, this attribution of the father’s incestuous desire to the machinations of the Devil serves to reduce the guilt of the male sexual aggressor.33 Yet, the intervention of the Devil in the Comte d’Anjou actually shifts any guilt away from the heroine and puts the onus for incest Wrmly on the father himself, since it reinterprets the traditional view of the Fall that casts woman as temptress and man as her dupe,34 and disrupts the convenient image of the daughter as seductress which her father is trying to construct. SigniWcantly, it is not the father whom the Devil Wrst approaches but rather the daughter herself, ‘Ce dous enfant [ . . . ] j Qui en Dieu ot s’entente mise’ (ll. 257–8). Unlike the original scenario of temptation, however, the Devil is unsuccessful in his attempts to seduce the female to his will: ‘Tempter la vost, mes ne pot mie j Li faire cheoir en folie’ (ll. 261–2), and so switches his attentions to the father, where he encounters far greater success. Therefore, if the daughter does unwittingly serve as the Devil’s instrument of temptation, in that it is her beauty which is used to seduce her father (‘La biaute´ sa Wlle li Wche j U cuer’, ll. 266–7) crucially, it is not she herself who is tempted by him. Like the virgin martyrs of hagiography, whose dazzling beauty is in fact an instrument for good in that the persecution which they attract allows them to convert others,35 the daughter in the Comte d’Anjou adopts the role of preacher to her father. In the tradition of saints such as Christine, the daughter deWes her father’s authority over her and, like other virgin martyrs such as Margaret, who attempted to quell the lascivious thoughts of the tyrants who wanted to seduce them, she tries to turn away his desire and to direct it instead towards God. Just like a stock persecutor from hagiography,36 her father mocks her eVorts at preaching, stating sarcastically that ‘Il samble que vous sarmonne´z’ (l. 438), and ridicules her words as ineVective against his power: ‘Vous savre´z molt bien preechier j Se vous poe´z empeechier j Qu’a grant leisir et a plente´ j N’aie de vous 33 Gravdal 1995. 34 d’Alverny 1977. 35 Cazelles and Johnson 1979; and Wogan-Browne 1994. 36 See e.g. St Lucy’s tormentor, Paschasius, who, in the Le´gende dore´e, pp. 130–1, mocks her preaching, ‘Tu peulx bien dire ces parolles a ung fol crestien, ton semblable; tu le dis pour neant a moy qui garde les ordonnances des princes’, and, when threatening her with violence to silence her, exclaims, ‘Les parolles cesseront quant les batemens vendront’.

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ma volempte´!’ (ll. 457–60). On seeing his resistance to her preaching, the daughter then abandons her father to his sin and utters instead a lengthy prayer to God as a substitute parent in whom she decides to put all her hope and faith. Unable to bring her father to repent by preaching, the daughter has instead to teach by example as she escapes into a life of poverty and fasting, a model which her desolate parent unknowingly mirrors when, unable to eat, he dies of despair at her departure.37 Unlike the king in the Manekine who eventually attains absolution from the pope, the father in the Comte d’Anjou only confesses his sin to his subjects rather than to a clergyman. It is thus left to his brother, the bishop of Orle´ans, to save his soul in extremis by saying masses after his death (ll. 1693–7). Yet, although she fails to save her father, the daughter’s status as secular saint is not diminished since it is by her example that her husband comes to expiate his own sins of the Xesh, and thus accomplishes what her father was unable to do. Jehan Maillart’s anti-courtly and hagiographical depiction of incest in the Comte d’Anjou can thus be seen to oVer an implicit critique of Philippe de Remi’s treatment of it in the Manekine. This more critical approach to courtly rhetoric may be due to the fact that, as Nancy Black has argued, Maillart worked as a high-ranking notary for the king, Philippe le Bel, who himself conducted a moral crusade which sought to correct the loose behaviour of the aristocracy of his day.38 The most likely source for Maillart’s critique is Jean de Meun’s demystiWcation of courtly love in his continuation of the Roman de la Rose (c.1275), which was to prove enormously inXuential on the subsequent development of both lyric and romance.39 Certainly, Maillart’s stripping away of the mask of courtly rhetoric so as to reveal the sexual drives motivating the father’s incestuous desire would seem to be heavily indebted to Jean’s satirical rewriting of Guillaume de Lorris’s quest for a rosebud as a thinly veiled allegory of sexual conquest.40 Just as in Jean’s text where the cynical Friend’s Ovidian teachings counsel the Lover to use duplicitous language in order to seduce the rose but, when this eloquence fails, the goddess Venus recommends the use of violence against the female love-object,41 so Maillart in the Comte d’Anjou exposes the identical power relations involved when an incestuous father tries to use both courtly rhetoric and force in order to prey on his own daughter.

Jehan Wauquelin’s Manekine Jehan Maillart was not the only later medieval author to oVer a critique of Philippe de Remi’s courtly treatment of incest since Jehan Wauquelin’s mid-Wfteenth-century 37 Foehr-Janssens 2000, pp. 240–2. 38 Black 2003. 39 Badel 1980. 40 Quilligan 1977; and Minnis 2001. 41 In the Rose, the Friend’s discourse is recounted in vol. 1, ll. 7201–9972, and Venus’ assault on the castle of the rose’s chastity is contained in vol. 3, ll. 20674–end.

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prose Manekine is no less revisionist in its attitude towards the morality of the earlier version. However, if Maillart’s anti-courtly depiction of incest in the Comte d’Anjou is indebted both to the Rose and to the genre of hagiography, Wauquelin draws on an entirely diVerent intertextual tradition in his discussion of incestuous desire. Whilst most scholars have seen Wauquelin’s mise en prose as being very closely based on Philippe’s original Manekine, there are in fact signiWcant diVerences between the two versions, diVerences which go well beyond mere omission of detail such as the de´rimeur’s abridgement of the love scenes found in his source. Nor is it just that, as some critics have suggested, Wauquelin injects a more pious note into his representation of incestuous desire in which, like Maillart, he contests Philippe’s more courtly view. Rather, he also introduces a politicomoral dimension into his discussion, one which is more usually encountered in works belonging to the ‘mirror for princes’ genre. These didactic texts were not only widely read in the later middle ages but also exerted a notable inXuence on other literary genres of the period, including romance. Thus, as we have seen in previous chapters, a chivalric romance such as Ponthus et Sidoine incorporates a condensed ‘mirror for princes’ in its instructions to the young ruler on how to govern the kingdom, an idyllic romance such as Pierre de Provence echoes the negative view of adolescence found in these ‘mirrors’, whilst a marital romance such as the Seigneurs de Gavre follows the lead of these didactic works in examining the personal and political implications of unreasonable husbandly behaviour. The most important of these ‘mirrors for princes’ was, as we have noted in previous chapters, the Livre du gouvernement, the French translation of Giles of Rome’s De Regimine Principum.42 As Charles Briggs has observed: from the middle of the thirteenth century, the rulers of France, joined in the Wfteenth century by members of cadet branches of the royal family, seem to have made the composition, translation, and propagation, not to mention the reading of texts belonging to the mirrors of princes genre, of which De regimine was the most successful example, into what amounted to a matter of policy.43

Not only would Wauquelin have been familiar with this version of Giles’s text, copies of which were held in the library of the Burgundian dukes,44 but he himself actually produced a new translation of it, Le Livre du gouvernement des princes, which was commissioned by his patron Philippe le Bon in 1450.45 42 Bell 1962; Krynen 1981; and Blanchard and Mu¨hlethaler 2002, pp. 7–32. 43 Briggs 1999, p. 16. See also Merisalo and Talvio 1993; and Merisalo 1997. 44 These are Brussels, Bibliothe`que royale de Belgique 9474 and 10368. See Barrois 1830; and Dogaer and Debae 1967, pp. 72–3. 45 Unedited, this work is preserved in Brussels, Bibliothe`que royale de Belgique 9043. Vanderjagt 1981, p. 57, n. 61, observes that this manuscript, which dates from 1452, was ‘one of the most beautiful and expensive ones of the entire ducal collection’ and that ‘Philip the Good and Wauquelin apparently felt that the original translation into French by Henry of Gauchy was unreadable, and for this reason Wauquelin made a new translation’. See also Merisalo 2006, pp. 25–32, who argues that Wauquelin’s translation is far less abridged than that of Henri de Gauchy in that he retains Giles’s allusions to his chief source, Aristotle, and often embellishes a point in greater detail.

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As we shall argue here, Giles’s ‘mirror for princes’ constitutes a key intertext for the prose Manekine, one which sheds new light on Wauquelin’s own aesthetic and didactic strategies as it reveals him to be as indebted to the moralizing culture of the period for his reworking of the conventions of earlier romance as were other contemporary Burgundian authors of works such as Gilles de Chin or the Comte d’Artois.46 More speciWcally, in drawing on the work of Giles of Rome whose ‘mirror for princes’ made an important contribution to the ‘clerkly’ discourse on marriage which we analysed in Chapter 3, Wauquelin can be seen to expound in far greater detail the link between the personal and the public ramiWcations of male marital desire which was touched on brieXy in the Seigneurs de Gavre. Thus, through a close comparison between the representation of incest in Wauquelin’s mise en prose and Giles of Rome’s advice to princes against endogamous marriage in the Livre du gouvernement,47 we shall argue that the de´rimeur’s version of the ‘maiden without hands’ story not only diverges much more signiWcantly from that of Philippe de Remi than has previously been suggested, but also develops Maillart’s anti-courtly stance on incest in a new direction. Compared to Philippe and Maillart who, in their prologues, state that they hope all who hear their tales will Wnd pleasure and proWt in them, Wauquelin seems to allude directly to Giles of Rome at the very start of the Manekine where he oVers his text to his audience of noblemen in the hope that ‘tous prinches et vaillans seigneurs peussent et seussent a leur gouvernement pourveir’ (p. 267, emphasis added). The central tenet of Giles’s ‘mirror for princes’ is that good government on the part of the ruler depends on the prince’s good government of himself and of his family, especially in matters of personal morality: ‘qui vuelt gouvernier autrui, il doit primierement savoir gouvernier soi meı¨smes’.48 For Giles, since the prince’s primary duty is to seek the common good of all his subjects, insofar as this is within reason and in accordance with Christian doctrine, he must learn to restrain any emotion which might impair his judgement: ‘Et de tant doivent les rois et les princes conoistre les movemenz de courage, cum plus puent fere grant mal au reaume quant il sont mauvesement meu¨z et contre reson, et cum plus puent fere grant bien a lour pueple quant il sont meu¨z por bien ou por mal, selon cen que il doivent et selon reson.’49 Taking 46 On the Burgundian predilection for works which mixed politics, literature, and didacticism, see Doutrepont 1909 and 1939b. 47 In view of the popularity of the Livre du gouvernement, of which there are thirty-one extant copies, and given that the prose Manekine probably preceded Wauquelin’s own translation of De regimine, of which only one manuscript exists, all references to Giles’s text will be to the earlier translation. However, in the footnotes accompanying each quotation, the comparable passage from Wauquelin’s translation, the Gouvernement des princes, will also be cited. 48 Livre du gouvernement, p. 6; ‘Car qui weult estre sages pour les aultres gouverner, il doit estre sage pour lui meismes savoir gouverner’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 5ra ). 49 Livre du gouvernement, p. 98; ‘Laquelle chose savoir aYert ou appartient de tant plus aux rois et aux princes que par leurs passions ou mouvemens poet venir plus grans mauls et ossy plus grans biens au poeuple qui leur est commis’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 80ra ).

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his cue from Giles, Wauquelin in the Manekine oVers his aristocratic readers the portrait of a king who fails either to moderate his desire for his own daughter or to impose his political authority on his subjects, a portrait which he Xeshes out with numerous historical details that are absent from the verse original. Critics have often seen these details as yet another instance of a Burgundian writer treating his Wctional source material as if it were a chronicle.50 Yet, his addition of such historical material also has the eVect of giving his inherited tale of incest a new politico-moral orientation since, in situating the king’s actions within a precise historical context, his text gains not just in realism but also in exemplary value.51 As Wauquelin himself suggests in his prologue, where he explains his use of this extra material: ‘j’ay mis cel antecedent pour mieulx ma matere poursieuwir et declarer’ (p. 269). Marking his distance from his source in this way, Wauquelin presents the king as much as an exemplar in malo, one familiar from the ‘mirror for princes’ genre, as he does the daughter as an exemplar in bono, one familiar from hagiographical and pious writings. That the prose Manekine is indebted to Giles of Rome’s moral and political lesson to the prince can be seen in the incest episode in which Wauquelin seems to draw closely on Giles’s three arguments against endogamous marriage.52 The Wrst of these arguments is that sexual intimacy within marriage between diVerent generations of the same family reduces the amount of respect which the older member should receive from the younger member. By the same token, since the obedience which a wife owes to her husband is incompatible with the reverence that she should be able to command from her son, Giles states that such an extreme endogamous marriage is forbidden by every society and every religion: ‘quer il ne fu onques souVert entre genz, de quel loi qui [sic] il fussent’.53 Although he does not then go on to discuss the case of marriage between father and daughter, Giles insists that, given this potential loss of respect between family members as a result of endogamous marriage, such a close union is only permissible if it is authorized by the Church or is contracted with the aim of bringing about some exceptional advantage to the kingdom, such as strengthening an alliance. Even here, he adds an important rider to the eVect that endogamous marriage can only be permitted if the husband and wife are more distantly related than either parent and child or Wrst cousins: ‘quant li lignage commence a s’esloingnier, par aucune dispensation ou por aucun grant bien avoir ou por

50 Roussel 1996. 51 On the exemplarity of late medieval romance, see Cazauran 1987. 52 Giles of Rome’s arguments are indebted to Aristotle, St Augustine, and St Thomas Aquinas: see Archibald 2001, pp. 9–52. 53 Livre du gouvernement, p. 159; ‘onques ne fu licite a quelque personne du monde, de quelque nation ou gens qui fuissent’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 129va–b).

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aucun grant mal eschiver, l’en puet prendre femme de son lignage, si comme du tierz genoil ou du .IIII.’.54 In Wauquelin’s Manekine, the justiWcation for incest as avoiding the greater evil of female succession which is put forward by the barons and clergy of Hungary might seem to meet Giles’s argument about incest being condoned if it brings some particular advantage when they state, in the form of a proverb, that ‘on puelt bien faire un petit mesquief pour eskieuwer ung plus grant’ (p. 280).55 However, in being prepared to countenance the forbidden union of parent and child, and ignoring the key caveat in Giles’s teaching concerning the permitted degrees of consanguinity within which such a marriage could take place, their argument is null and void in the eyes of the Church. The reason why the Hungarian subjects are so ready to Xout Christian doctrine in order to attain their political aim is hinted at by the narrator when he points out that their ruler, Solomon, was the third Christian king of Hungary (p. 269). This detail explicates what the original Manekine had left implicit since it suggests that Christianity had only relatively recently been adopted in the kingdom.56 That the king’s own position is therefore potentially unstable, due to the readiness of his subjects to exert their will over his, and even over that of God, is made explicit when he acknowledges their pivotal role in the body politic, ‘par vous et non aultrement je vis et regne en domination’ (p. 280), even as he regrets that their desire that he should marry his own daughter is ‘contre la loy de Dieu’ (ibid.). In giving in to his subjects’ argument that the common good of the country can only be met by his agreeing to this incestuous marriage, the king signally fails to recognize Giles’s important precept that the ruler must work for the well-being of his subjects insofar as this is in accordance with both God’s law and human reason itself. The second of Giles’s arguments against endogamous marriage is that the wise prince should avoid marrying someone too closely related to him since an exogamous union can bring peace to warring families by increasing the social and dynastic contacts between them:57 mariage si est ordenez a avoir pes et concorde entre ceus qui se marient, et por cen que entre ceus qui sont d’un lignage pur la procheinete´ du lignage qui est entr’eus il a 54 Livre du gouvernement, p. 160; ‘Ainsy dont en trop grant prochainnete´ de degre´ de consanguinite´ ne doit point estre mariage contrais. Touttefois, ou tiers et ou quant [sic] degre´, pour ce que ilz commenchent a eslongier la prochainnete´ ou consanguinite´, mais que dispensation y soit pour aulcun bien attaindre et poursieuyr, ou aulcun mal eviter, porra estre contrais mariages’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 130v a ). In Old French, ‘genoil’, and its variant ‘genol’, both of which are derived from the Latin geniculum, are synonyms for ‘ge´ne´ration’ and are associated with the verb ‘genoir’ which means ‘engendrer’: see Godefroy 1994, p. 255. Duby 1981, pp. 40–1, explains this usage by describing how the degrees of consanguinity are counted ‘a` la manie`re germanique, naı¨ve, corporelle per genicula, partant de l’e´paule et poussant en ligne droite, d’articulation en articulation, jusqu’a` la dernie`re phalange’. 55 On Wauquelin’s use of proverbs in his advice to princes, see Pe´rez-Simon 2006. 56 On the symbolic status of Hungary as being at the frontier between the Christian west and the pagan east, see Legros 1989. 57 On the use of marital dispensations in order to broker peace, see McCarthy 2004, p. 81.

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sousWsant amor et pes et concorde, reson naturele enseigne que l’en ne se doit pas marier a femme de son lignage, mes a cele qui ne li apartient, por cen que ceus qui ne sont pas amis de char aient amour et amistie´ en eus par mariage.58

Wauquelin appears to echo this argument in his Manekine when he adds an important detail about the king’s Wrst marriage, a detail missing from Philippe’s version which was less concerned with extracting political lessons from the narrative. Here, in the mise en prose, the narrator points out that the king of Hungary married his Wrst wife in order to secure peace with her father, the emperor of Germany,59 thus emphasizing the important political stakes involved in contracting aristocratic marriages: ‘Cestui roy en sa jonesse ot grandes guerres a l’encontre de l’empereur Henri d’Alemagne, mais Wnablement ledit empereur lui donna sa Wlle en mariage, par lequel mariage la pais se Wst’ (p. 268). Unlike the king’s Wrst marriage which advanced the common good of the country, the endogamous marriage of father and daughter serves no social and political function other than to avoid female succession in Hungary. The king himself recognizes that this concern is more of an obsession on his subjects’ part than a reasoned political argument when he laments to his dying wife that ‘les Hongrois sont tant durs et obstinez en leur perversite´, que jamais ne souVeroient que femme les dominast’ (p. 270). Yet, in giving in to his subjects’ misplaced anxiety on this score, the king fails to live up to Giles’s teaching that the good ruler should set a moral example for his subjects in order to correct their own failings: ‘est cen plus descouvenable chose que les rois et les princes aient defaute de vertu que les sougez, por cen que ceus qui sont en estat des rois ou de princes, il doivent adrecier les autres a cen que il aient bones vertuz et facent bones euvres’.60 His political and moral authority as a ruler are thus once again placed into question since, as one of his own barons puts it, the king’s indecisiveness about remarrying has left his subjects impoverished in the sense of lacking a convincing leader: ‘bien puis dire povres s’il sont denue¨z et orphenes de pasteur’ (p. 280), using the familiar commonplace in medieval ‘mirrors for princes’ that the ruler should act as a good shepherd to his Xock.61 58 Livre du gouvernement, p. 159; ‘par mariage entre / les contrayans vient et naist paix et concorde et se entre les cousins et parens par la prochainnete´ de la char a souYssant amistie´, la rieule naturelle ordonne que nulz mariages ne se doient contraire entre eulz puis que ilz sont par grant consanguinite´ conjoins, mais a ceulz qui riens n’appartiennent l’un a l’aultre aYn que nouvelle conjonction d’amistie´ se face entre ceulz qui riens n’attiennent l’un a l’aultre par ce mariage’ (Gouvernement des princes, fos. 129vb --130ra ). 59 This is also a change from Philippe’s text in which she is the daughter of the king of Armenia, one which might be explained by the fact that Wauquelin wanted to put even greater emphasis on the advantages which would have accrued to the kingdom of Hungary through an alliance with the powerful emperor of Germany. 60 Livre du gouvernement, p. 99; ‘est il ensy chose tresdetestable en ung roy ou en un prince avoir plus grant deVaulte de vertus que es subgies car l’estat du roy requiert de induire les aultres a vertu’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 81rb ). 61 See e.g. Christine de Pizan, Corps de policie, I. 9, p. 13: ‘Le bon prince qui aimera son pays gardera les siens soingneusement a l’exemple du bon pasteur si qu’il garde ses ouailles, lequel veille par grant cure pour les deVendre des loups et des males bestes’.

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The third argument put forward by Giles of Rome against incest is perhaps the most important for our discussion as it condemns the extreme nature of the desire felt by the male in the context of an endogamous marriage. For Giles, the danger of such a relationship is that it compounds the natural love between relatives with the conjugal love between man and wife so that it turns into dangerous lust: Quer cum plus est l’amor grant entre l’omme et la femme, et plus i a d’amour, de tant i a l’omme plus granz deliz de gesir a la femme, li homme a amour a la femme a cele qui est de son lignage, et se il prenoit femme de son lignage par mariage, sor l’amour que il avroit a lui par nature de lignage, il avroit a lui amour de mariage, par quoi il avroit a li trop grant amor, et por l’amor du lignage et por l’amour de mariage.62

Such an excess of desire must have disastrous consequences for a man’s behaviour as it prevents him from exercising the moderation necessary in his sexual relations with his wife, thus rendering him unWt to rule. As Giles states, the good prince must set his goals higher than simply seeking out the pleasures of the Xesh: ‘car cum plus est li rois en haut estat et en grant seignorie, de tant s’abesse il plus et s’aneantist et avile, quant il a maniere de vivre en delit corporel, qui est vie de beste mue.’63 In his treatment of the king’s incestuous passion, Wauquelin seems to allude to this key argument in Giles’s armoury when he glosses the king’s amorous state in terms which are more familiar from the didactic teachings of this ‘mirror for princes’, where immoderate desire is described as ‘delit corporel’, than from the courtly romance. Leaving no room for doubt in the reader’s mind as to the moral standpoint which is being adopted in this text, the heading of the chapter where the king conceives his incestuous passion reads ‘Comment le roy enamoura sa Wlle d’amour concupiscencielle et carnelle’ (p. 281, emphasis added), and the king’s ‘desir carnel’ and ‘concupiscence’ are explicitly condemned in the episode that follows (p. 283). The extent to which the king has submitted to his own lust can be seen in the highly charged erotic atmosphere of the scene where he confronts his daughter. In this chapter, which is focalized from the king’s own lascivious point of view as he constructs his daughter as a desirable love-object, the narrator marks his distance from the male protagonist by repeatedly using the verb sambler to underline that what we are seeing is indeed from the father’s self-deluded 62 Livre du gouvernement, p. 160; ‘il est expedient a ung chascun veullans vivre par raison et entendement et non donner oevre au pechie´ de luxure de soy marier, mais non point a femme de sa consanguinite´. Car se il se marioit a femme de sa consanguinite´, par l’amour qui doit estre en mariage qui seroit avoec celle amour de consanguinite´ une amour seroit sy grande entre eulz que les delectations charnelles en seroient trop grandes et porroient trop excercer ce pechie´ par ceste suramour trop habondamment et les fais luxurieux. Dont il s’ensieult que mal / aYert a tous rois et a tous princes de contraire mariage a femme qui leur soit de trop grant consanguinite´ prochaine’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 130rb--va ). 63 Livre du gouvernement, p. 14, emphasis added; ‘de tant que le prince est grant, de tant doit il estre plus excellens des aultres en dignite´ en vie et en magnitude de bonte´. Sy est donc une indigne chose de estre en un sy hault degre´ et eslire la vie des bestes’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 12rb ).

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perspective: ‘lui conmencha a sambler que oncques nature n’avoit si belle creature fourmee, non mie Helaine par qui les Troiiens furent destruis, [ . . . ] et bien lui sambloit que il n’y avoit point de comparison a sa belle Wlle Joiie’ (p. 281). In notable contrast to the father’s perception of her as an object of lust (one which repeats Philippe de Remi’s equation of the daughter with Helen of Troy as the unwitting destroyer of men), the devout Joı¨e regards herself much more as a Judith-Wgure pitted against the ‘malisce et perversite´ Holofernes’ of her father (pp. 286–7) and the narrator himself likens her action in mutilating her hand to that of St Lucy who tore out an eye in order to repel the lubricious glances of a nobleman: ‘[elle] Wst a la samblance de la nonnain que se esracha ung oel et l’envoya a ung seigneur qui le prioit d’amours, pource que il lui disoit que par son douch et gratie¨ux regart il estoit soupris de son amour’ (p. 287). In Wauquelin’s version, the excessive nature of the king’s desire, due to his overdetermined relationship to his daughter, leads to a violent disjunction between courtly appearance and sordid reality. Unlike Philippe de Remi’s Joı¨e, who sees her father’s wish to marry her as being motivated only by political expediency rather than by incestuous desire, the daughter in the mise en prose soon grasps the fact that an illicit passion lies behind her father’s attempts at self-justiWcation: ‘La damoiselle, quant elle eult apris la vollente´ son pere et que il estoit soupris d’amour d’elle par convoitise carnelle, fu moult honteuse, et qui plus est, moult tristre et esbahye’ (p. 285, emphasis added). Moreover, the full extent of the father’s immoral and excessive desire is drawn out even further in Wauquelin’s version than in either the original Manekine or the Comte d’Anjou as it is only here that the father goes beyond the mere verbal threats of violence and actually tries to force himself physically on his daughter who struggles to fend him oV: Adont le roy veant que sa Wlle ne prendoit point bien en gre´ ce que il lui avoit dit, l’embracha et la volt baisier, et la Wlle mist sa main audevant, pource que elle veoit bien que il s’escauVoit ou delit de la veue d’elle, et ossy ce Wst elle a celle Wn qu’il s’en hontiast, mais non Wst, ains s’en couroucha ung petit et entra en plus grant desir que devant. (ibid., emphasis added)

As the king loses all mastery of himself and his passion transmutes into the anger of a tyrant ready to kill his daughter if she refuses to give her consent (‘Le roy [ . . . ] comme tous plains d’ire et de mautalent’, p. 286), the text hammers home the point that such a failure to control his own desires renders a man wholly unWt to rule others. Thus, to an even greater extent than in a premarital romance such as Olivier de Castille which, as we noted in Chapter 1, shows the deleterious eVect of covert incestuous desire on the moral judgement of the king of England, in Wauquelin’s treatment of overt father/daughter incest in the prose Manekine, such illicit passion is depicted as being tantamount to political tyranny itself.64

64 On this link between incest and tyranny, see Donavin 1993; and Bullo´n-Ferna´ndez 2000.

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Like Maillart before him, Wauquelin reveals a profound scepticism towards courtly desire and a distinct preference for moralizing his romance by using a range of didactic sources. However, in borrowing not simply from biblical and hagiographical writings, as previous critics have noted, but also from ‘mirrors for princes’ such as that of Giles of Rome, Wauquelin draws from this tale of incestuous desire a whole new politico-moral lesson in self-government and self-restraint for his audience of male aristocrats. ( I I ) R E P R E S E N T I N G M A R I TA L D E S I R E : S P O U S A L AFFECTION, MALE AGGRESSION, AND REASONED POLITICAL CHOICE Having seen how each of our three authors adopts a diVerent perspective on the issue of incest, we need now to examine how they deal with the question of desire more generally, with respect both to its role within marriage and to the power relations which it creates between the sexes in their conjugal roles.

Philippe de Remi’s Manekine For a number of scholars, Philippe de Remi’s use of courtly rhetoric in the Manekine in order to discuss both the king’s incestuous desire for his daughter and the more legitimate love between Joı¨e and her future husband, equates the two as excessive types of desire which have to be transcended in order for the heroine’s journey of exile to culminate in reconciliation. Huguette Legros, for example, has argued that Joı¨e’s intense piety, as seen in her prayers to the Virgin, ultimately elevates the heroine’s spiritual kinship with God over all other ties, be it with her father or her husband,65 whilst Jean-Guy Gouttebroze has suggested that although the Manekine presents marriage by choice as more of an ideal than enforced marriage, the reconciliation between father and daughter at the end still shows that such a love-match has to be sanctioned by the bride’s kin-group in order not to undermine the prevailing social order.66 In fact, as we shall argue here, far from rejecting courtly desire altogether in favour of either spiritual kinship or more socially acceptable marriages, Philippe’s Manekine can be seen to celebrate and idealize this type of love when, in contrast to incestuous desire, it does achieve its proper goal of perfect unity in the well-matched couple. In the context of legitimate courtly desire between Joı¨e and her future husband, the king of Scotland (as opposed to the incestuous passion of the father for his daughter), the female love-object is no longer a source of troubling anxiety for the male subject since here she fully returns his love. However, if Joı¨e is still 65 Legros 1989.

66 Gouttebroze 1989.

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‘punished’ in the second part of the Manekine in the form of yet another exile, this occurs not because of her equivocal status as courtly lady withholding her favours from her would-be lover, but rather as a result of the slanderous machinations of her jealous mother-in-law whose revenge is motivated by ‘Le grant traı¨son ne l’envie j Que ele avoit dedens le cuer’ (ll. 3054–5), the source of such envy being implicitly her own covert incestuous desire for her son.67 This character’s intervention, which consists of switching the letters sent between her son and his seneschal in order to accuse Joı¨e of having given birth to a monster and so bring about her execution, is thus akin to the interference on the part of the envious losengier Wgures in the traditional courtly scenario who seek to disrupt the lovers’ happiness by spreading lies about them. An archetypal example of such Wgures, who are often females whose own love for the hero has been rebuVed, is the backbiting duchess in the Chastelaine de Vergi. Unlike this text in which the slandered couple meet a tragic death, here in the Manekine it is the vengeful mother-in-law who suVers a miserable end whereas the heroine is eventually rewarded for both her faith in God and her perfect love for her husband by triumphing over all adversity. Adopting the structuring device of parallelism (i.e. juxtaposition of narrative episodes) popularized by the twelfth-century romance tradition of writers such as Chre´tien de Troyes,68 Philippe invites the reader to compare the representation of the disreputable desire of the father for his daughter with the more praiseworthy passion that exists between the girl and her future husband. In contrast to the father’s one-sided attempt to construct his daughter as the object of his desire, the love between Joı¨e and her husband is based on reciprocity, as each voices their desire for the other and thereby expresses their own subjectivity. This key diVerence between the two scenarios of desire is seen Wrst at a structural level where the asymmetry of the incest scenario is contrasted with the symmetry of legitimate love. Thus, whilst there is no echoing monologue from the daughter to mirror that of her father as he grapples with his feelings for her, there is an ironic juxtaposition of such monologues as Joı¨e and her future husband each struggle with their passions unbeknownst to the other, these matching scenes of consternation being a clear echo of Chre´tien’s Clige`s in which Alexandre and Soredamors have to wrestle with their emotions, each unaware of the other’s identical dilemma.69 This contrast in the Manekine between the one-sidedness of incest and the reciprocity of true love continues at a lexical level in the choice of vocabulary used to show how the mismatch between father and daughter is countered by the perfect sympathy between the lovers. Thus, in the context of incestuous desire, the father 67 This doubling of the incest motif through covert/overt forms of such passion, whose presence we have already noted in Olivier de Castille (see above, Ch. 1), is a common feature of such tales: see Archibald 2001, p. 110. 68 See e.g. the parallelism between the eponymous couple and Mabonagrain and his ‘amie’ in Erec et Enide. See also Kelly 1992. 69 Clige`s, ll. 626–868 and 893–1042.

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seeks to impose his ‘voloir’ on his daughter, ‘Se mon voloir ne vole´s faire, j Tost vous tournera a contraire’ (ll. 581–2), one to which her own will, her ‘voel’, is completely opposed, since she would rather follow her dead mother than replace her in life as her father’s new wife: ‘La damoisiele demoura j En sa cambre, plaine de duel; j Morte voldroit estre son voel’ (ll. 592–4). In the legitimate scenario of desire, by contrast, the two lovers are totally of one mind and thus share a single term to describe their will, their ‘volente´’: ‘S’aime le roy, et li rois li. j Ensi ont ensamble un anui. j D’un desir, d’une volente´ j Sont ambedoi entalente´’ (ll. 1509–12). The reciprocity of the desire between the heroine and her future husband is similarly signalled through the use of description. Thus, compared to Joı¨e’s revulsion at her father’s desire, there is great emphasis put on the king of Scotland as a suitable love-object for her. Before she has even seen him, she is informed by the provost who Wnds her boat washed up on the shore at Berwick that the king is a ‘Bacelers jovnes et jolis’ (l. 1218), a thoroughly eligible man. Importantly too, in his monologue in which he struggles with his love for the unknown, maimed girl who has been brought to his court, the king of Scotland not only enumerates all the Manekine’s attractions in a highly conventional head-to-toe description of his desired object,70 but also expresses his fervent wish that she in turn should mirror his desire by constructing him as an object in her eyes. Alluding to the topos of the courtly gaze,71 the king dares to wish that he could interpret her look at him as one of desire, but immediately fears that he has seen no such thing: ‘Qu’il m’est avis, quant je l’esgart, j Que si vair oel, si douch regart j Me voelent dire: ‘‘Je vous voel.’’ j Non font! C’est chou dont plus me duel’ (ll. 1573–6). Similarly, no sooner has he fantasized about how pleasurable it would be to have her as his lover to kiss, ‘Biau se poroit ichil deduire j Qui sans mal et sans vilonnie j La baiseroit comme s’amie’ (ll. 1594–6), than he imagines a reciprocal scene in which he himself is wrapped in her arms as her beloved: ‘S’estoie acole´s de ses bras, j Tousjors mais avroie souslas’ (ll. 1611–12). For her part, Joı¨e too barely dares believe in her possible status as his desired object: ‘Et que il me tien compaignie, j Quide je pour c’estre s’amie?’ (ll. 1697–8). Her description of him, though far less extensive than his of her, since it is limited to the one line ‘Se il a le cors bel et gent’ (l. 1714), nonetheless bespeaks the intense physical attraction that she feels for him, one which she tries in vain to resist. Surrendering to Love, she also submits to the fate dictated for her by her name as being simultanously both subject and object of desire; both the one who feels joy and the one who gives joy to others: ‘Bien doi amer, car en mon non j Voi ge raison que doie amer; j Enne me doit on apeler j En non de baptesme Joı¨e? j Joı¨e autrestant seneWe j Comme d’amours avoir la joie’ (ll. 1776–81).72 70 See Colby 1965. 71 See Goldin 1967; and Stewart 2003. 72 The idea of the daughter’s name as being linked to her destiny to give and receive love can be seen as a further echo of Clige`s where Soredamors’s name is glossed as ‘gilded with love’ (‘sororee d’Amors’, l. 976).

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The intense pleasure that each of the lovers experiences in the other is expressed through the conventional description of their physical love in each other’s arms on the nights following their wedding. This description once again underscores the reciprocity of their desire, a characteristic which, as we shall see, is notably absent from the comparable wedding-night scene in the anti-courtly Comte d’Anjou: ‘Mout lour avoit bonne savour j Li acolers et li sentirs, j Li baisiers, li biaus maintenirs, j Li biaus deduis, li biaus souslas j Que il avoient bras a bras’ (ll. 2120–4). Whilst some commentators on the Manekine have argued that this love is ultimately shown to be excessive since, when the two are Wnally reunited and reconciled with each other, they are advised to refrain from sleeping together during Holy Week,73 the fact that this is only a temporary abstinence which is soon remedied once the religious ceremonies are over does not detract from the idealization of their love as an all-encompassing passion. Indeed, the reciprocity which marked both the initial stages of their innamoramento and their early married life together is echoed and ampliWed through the use of reXexive verbs when the narrator describes their renewed love-making at the end of this period of abstinence: ‘Or sachie´s bien que cele nuit j Orent asse´s joie et deduit, j Comme cil qui tant s’entramoient j Et qui tant s’entredesiroient. j Perdu s’entrestoient set ans, j Dont tante paine, tans ahans j Eurent eu¨; or sont au port j Venu de joie et de confort’ (ll. 7835–42, emphasis added). The close bond between husband and wife is consistently elevated above all relationships that they have with other people including, signiWcantly, even their own child. Thus, when Joı¨e is sent into exile from Scotland, her lament is wholly concerned with having lost the love of the person whom she adored more than anything else, ‘plus que riens nee’ (l. 3855). In the absence of this love, she can only take consolation in loving God instead: ‘Bien voi l’amour d’omme c’est vens. j Or me doinst Dix la soie amour!’ (ll. 3868–9), a consolation which, however, only temporarily replaces her devotion to her husband until their reconciliation. Once this has taken place and the family returns to Scotland, Joı¨e’s love for her husband is yet again described as being even greater than that for her beloved son: ‘Car il n’est riens qu’ele aime tant j Fors tant seulement le sien pere. j Mais a cele amour ne compere j Nule amour qui fust de gens nee’ (ll. 7894–7). The love they bear each other, though rewarded by God with this son and later with other children, therefore comes before any material preoccupation on their part with ensuring succession. In this respect, it acts as a corrective to the incestuous and egotistical desire felt by the father for the daughter, a desire which was initially motivated by his selWsh wish for a male heir even at the price of transgressing Christian law. Philippe de Remi’s Manekine is thus not simply a critique of the aristocratic practice of putting the political, dynastic, and Wnancial advantages of marriage ahead of individual choice, nor is it a plea for putting one’s spiritual relationship 73 Harvey 1997b.

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with God ahead of all other earthly ties. Rather, it adheres wholeheartedly to the twelfth-century courtly romance tradition of Chre´tien and others in idealizing love within legitimate marriage as an ennobling and inspiring form of desire, provided that is based on perfect reciprocity between the loving couple.74

Comte d’Anjou The contrast between Philippe’s idealized treatment of desire and that found in Maillart’s Comte d’Anjou could hardly be greater. Where the Manekine sees the father’s passion for his daughter as being in complete opposition to that between the two lovers, in Maillart’s version the husband’s desire for his future wife is practically identical to that of the abusive father in its brutality and indiVerence towards her lack of reciprocity for his feelings. For some critics, such as FoehrJanssens, the anti-courtly and pessimistic view of sexual relations seen in the Comte d’Anjou is typical of later medieval texts, such as the satirical Roman de Fauvel which shares its strong sense of melancholic regret that courtly values have fallen into decline.75 Other scholars, such as Catherine Rollier-Paulian, have observed that the text puts forward maternity, on the model of the Virgin and Child, as the sole safe means of expressing women’s troubling sexuality, since it is only once the heroine herself becomes a mother that her beauty ceases to excite the aggressive desire in all those males who catch sight of her and starts instead to inspire their pity and compassion.76 What has been less noticed by critics is that the Comte d’Anjou actually goes to great lengths to contrast heterosexual desire, whether incestuous or legitimate, which is consistently represented as dehumanizing and destructive, with the non-sexual solidarity between the heroine and the various women who come to her aid, and which is depicted as wholly charitable and socially constructive.77 If heterosexual desire within marriage, based on male dominance and female obedience, is presented in the Comte d’Anjou as an unavoidable necessity for members of the aristocratic class, it is nonetheless shown to be far less socially beneWcial than other types of human relations. Like the heroine’s father himself, her husband (the count of Bourges), is depicted as a voyeuristic, sexually predatory, and tyrannical male aristocrat who abuses his power and status in order to gratify his desires. Unlike in the Manekine, there is no shared ‘volente´’ between the two spouses but simply the husband’s own ‘volente´’ which initially consists of an overwhelming urge to have sex with the unknown, beautiful girl whom he has espied sheltering in the house of his vassal, the chatelain: ‘Mont la regarde volentiers; j Il pense que uit jours entiers j En cel chastel sejornera, j Si que sa volempte´ fera j De la pucelle a grant 74 See Noble 1982. 75 Foehr-Janssens 2000, pp. 246–8. 76 Rollier-Paulian 1998. 77 Though she doesn’t comment on the gender implications of the text’s valorization of charity, Rollier-Paulian 2003 notes how the illuminations in one particular manuscript of the text bring out the religious and charitable message of the text.

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deduit’ (ll. 2609–13). Once the girl heeds the advice of her protector to become the count’s wife and avoid being dishonoured as his whore, this illicit desire is directed within the more legitimate channel of marriage. However, it is signiWcant that, in taking the count as her husband, the girl aligns her ‘volente´’ not with his, but rather with that of God, whom she regards as having presented her with this opportunity which would at least restore her lost social status to her, even if her actual preference is to remain unmarried: ‘Se tel grace me veult prester, j Je ne li veil pas contrester, j Ainc¸ois sa volempte´ sivrai j A mon pooir tant con vivrai, j Car obaı¨r doit par droiture j Au criateur sa criature’ (ll. 2801–6, emphasis added). That the union of the count of Bourges and the heroine is based on obedience and submission on her part, rather than on mutual love, is signalled in the description of their wedding night which, in stark contrast to that in Philippe’s Manekine, stresses the physical suVering which the maiden undergoes in losing her virginity, rather than the lovers’ reciprocal pleasure. Counselled by her weeping female attendants to submit to her husband’s embraces, ‘Et sueVre quanqu’il voudra faire j Humblement et sanz contredire, j Si comme fame a son sire’ (ll. 2916–18), the girl acts as the mere passive vessel for her lord whose desires alone are described as being satisWed in their encounter: ‘Quer eschape´z ne fust ja vis, j Se n’en eu¨st sa volente´’ (ll. 2948–9). Her own opinion of events, which she gives to her female attendants the morning after, is that she has done her conjugal duty and endured her suVering with patience: ‘Certes, j’ai souVert molt grant paine j [ . . . ] Mez, se Dex plest, je garrai toute’ (ll. 2974–6), a suVering for which she is subsequently rewarded by conceiving a son. Marriage is thus presented initially in the Comte d’Anjou as a kind of pis aller by which the husband’s immoderate sexual desires can be channelled into a safer outlet than prostitution.78 At a most basic level, it illustrates St Paul’s pessimistic view that ‘it is better to marry than to burn’ (1 Corinthians 7: 9), since the alternative which the count originally envisaged would have brought dishonour on himself and the girl, not to mention his hosts who refuse to act as his pimps or ‘maqueriaus’ (l. 2675) in procuring her for him. The heroine’s view of marriage is itself hardly more idealized than that of her future husband since she too regards it as having little to do with love. One of her chief regrets at having to leave her father’s house is that her prospects of making an advantageous match from a list of highly eligible noblemen (ll. 745–51) have thereby been ruined by her incestuous parent, whose duty was to ensure her an honourable entrance into the marriage market: ‘He´! quens d’Anjo de grant poissance, j A tort et a grant mescheance j Me couvient de vous departir’ (ll. 771–3). SigniWcantly, her future spouse, the count of Bourges, is himself absent from this list, perhaps because his wealth is not in fact as great as that of her father, as she herself later points out when enumerating what her son would have been entitled to inherit both from 78 On prostitution as an outlet for avoiding rape, see Karras 2000.

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his father and through his mother if he had not been disowned: ‘Des terres et des grans nobleces j Qu’il doit avoir de par son pere j Et encor plus de par sa mere’ (ll. 4068–70, emphasis added).79 Omitting any conception of love or desire in her own view of her marriage to the count, she simply expresses her gratitude that her noble status will be returned to her, albeit not quite at the level which she enjoyed as the count of Anjou’s daughter. Even when, once they are married, the husband’s feelings for his wife change from lust into genuine love, her feelings for him remain far more inscrutable since they arise out of a sense of duty, which is very diVerent from the intense desire which Joı¨e and the king of Scotland evidently feel in each other’s company in Philippe’s Manekine: ‘Li quens l’aime molt et tient chiere; j A li se deduit et deporte, j Et la dame envers li se porte j Tellement que molt li agree’ (ll. 3066–9). On being exiled from her new home and status, the wife expresses no regret at losing the love of her husband, which was the main source of anguish for Joı¨e in the Manekine; rather her thoughts are all with her disinherited child whom she hopes will be avenged against his cruel father: ‘Ha! biau Wlz, Dex vous dont croissance j Et vous otroit senz et puissance j De conquerre vostre heritage j Et de connoistre le lignage j Dont vous estes par droite orine!’ (ll. 4425–9). Unlike in Philippe’s text, the heroine’s love would seem to be all for her son rather than for her husband. As she awaits her and her child’s death at the hands of the four executioners appointed to this end, she behaves towards her baby son with a physical tenderness which is strikingly absent from her relations with her husband: ‘Lors le resgarde doucement. j Et le rembrace estroitement. j La bouche li bese et le vı¨s j Qu’il a tant bien fet a devis. j ‘‘Fuilz, dist elle, Dex te sequeure!’’ j Li enfes rit, la mere pleure’ (ll. 4073–8). Numerous scholars have interpreted this mother/son relationship as a means of neutralizing the heroine’s troublesome sexual allure, her ‘coˆte´ allumeuse involontaire’ as Foehr-Janssens puts it, by relegating her simply to the status of provider of a male heir.80 However, this relationship could also be seen in another light, as the only truly loving couple in the text, precisely because it does not involve aggressive male sexual desire. Providing an alternative not only to father/daughter incest but also to husband/wife dominance and submission, the mother/son relationship of the heroine and her child thus constitutes as much a lesson for men, as it does for women, about the need to temper their sexuality since it is a love based on selXess devotion to another rather than on the gratiWcation of the senses.81 Indeed, only once the heroine’s husband has undergone penance for his sins and has learnt to see his wife as a virtuous example to be imitated along the path of physical suVering, rather than as either just a sexual object or the provider of a male heir, is their marital aVection treated as a form of reciprocal love. This reciprocity which Xowers at their reconciliation is signalled by the use of reXexive 79 The heroine’s uncle, the bishop of Orle´ans, also later makes this point (ll. 6334–8). 80 See Rollier-Paulian 1998, who cites Foehr-Janssens (p. 255). 81 See Berkvam 1981.

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verbs which, for the Wrst time in their relationship, breaks with the usual pattern of the count’s one-sided ‘volente´’ and his wife’s submission to his will: ‘A trestout dit et raconte´ j La grant joie qu’il s’entreWrent j Ces deus genz, des que s’entrevirent. j [ . . . ] Ne pueent parler ne mot dire; j Li uns sanz plus l’autre remire j Et s’entrembracent et estraignent; j De joie ne sefaignent’ (ll. 5972–80, emphasis added). Reiterating the need for reciprocity in marriage, the wife’s own uncle, the bishop of Orle´ans, gives each of the spouses an appropriate lesson on their diVering duties in wedlock. Whilst her uncle stresses that the wife’s primary duty is to serve her husband with love and respect (ll. 6436–56), he insists that the husband’s chief duty is to show loyalty to her, loving her with complete honesty and honour, ‘Sanz decevement et sanz guille’ (l. 6451), qualities which the count signally lacked before his marriage when his only thoughts had been to possess the girl as a sexual object before discarding her once he had taken his pleasure. Thus, whilst the Comte d’Anjou does achieve a Wnal narrative resolution in the form of a reconciliation between the spouses, the overwhelming impression of heterosexual desire in Maillart’s text is that it is ineluctably associated with male aggression and female submission. This view of the power relations between the sexes is reinforced even at a structural level since, unlike the Manekine where all the daughter’s helpers in escaping Wrst her father’s and then her husband’s wrath are male (i.e. the provost of Berwick, the seneschals of Hungary and Scotland, and the senator of Rome), in the Comte d’Anjou it is a succession of women who oVer the beleaguered heroine a refuge from male sexual predacity.82 In contrast to Joı¨e in the Manekine, who leaves both Hungary and Scotland without any companion, the daughter in Maillart’s text escapes in the company of her trusted nurse or ‘mestresse’, who remains devotedly at her side until she dies of grief on hearing that the heroine has been sentenced to death by her husband’s order (ll. 4043–8). Similarly, at the beginning of her Wrst exile in Orle´ans, the heroine is given food, shelter, and an honourable occupation in making embroidery by a kind, older woman of lower social status. This woman responds to the heroine’s distressed state with a compassion that contrasts sharply to the overwhelming lust that she seems to inspire in almost all the men who lay eyes on her and the shelter which the woman oVers is explicitly given with the aim of protecting the heroine from the lascivious male gaze:83 ‘Et soie´z asseu¨r, quer hons j Nus qui vive ne qui sanc porte j Ne passa mon seuil ne ma porte j Onques puis que fu trespasse´z j Mon mari, quatre anz a passe´z. j Donc se bien voule´z estre coiez, j Vous porre´z ici toutevoiez j Molt paisiblement demourer’ (ll. 1268–75). Once their hiding place has been discovered by some local men who plot to rape the heroine, she and her nurse Xee to Lorris where they are taken in by the wife of the local chatelain, at his suggestion. Although the chatelaine initially refuses to welcome them because she suspects her husband of trying to install the heroine 82 Foehr-Janssens 1989; and Roberts 1999. 83 On female-only spaces, see Re´gnier-Bohler 1984.

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as his mistress, this lady soon realizes her mistake, begs the two women’s pardon, and invites them to stay and teach her daughters how to embroider cloth. This female friendship based on charity proves to be long-lasting since the chatelaine later expresses her great aVection for her erstwhile prote´ge´e once the heroine’s true identity has been restored to her: ‘Vers li s’agenoille et encline, j Quer elle l’amoit d’amour Wne j Pour lez grans biens qu’en li savoit’ (ll. 6527–9). In the course of her second exile, after the birth of her son, the heroine is similarly oVered succour by the kindly ‘mairesse’ of Estampes, whose charitable impulse towards her is to bathe and feed her and her newborn child (ll. 4475–87). When she moves on yet again to Orle´ans, the heroine is taken in by the prioress who is in charge of the poorhouse, the Maison-Dieu, whose kindness to her is likened to that of a parent to a child, a kindness which thus compensates for the distinctly uncharitable behaviour shown to the daughter by her real parent, her father: ‘Souef la norrist, bien l’aaise; j Ne fault a chose qui li plaise; j Bien est servie et bien gardee; j A bons parens est arrivee’ (ll. 4739–42). The reciprocity which is seen to be so conspicuously lacking in heterosexual desire, whether incestuous or marital, is thus shown to form an integral part of female friendships. Not only do the heroine and her companion protect the honour of the chatelain’s wife by refusing to complain to her husband that she initially refused to let them in her house (ll. 2073–5), but the heroine is scrupulous in oVering an appropriate reward to all those women who oVered her help and sustenance in her time of need (ll. 6703–8). This positive representation of female solidarity in the Comte d’Anjou thus oVers a marked contrast to its highly negative portrayal of masculinity with its associations of sexual aggression and immorality. Apart from the elderly chatelain who is the heroine’s chief male protector, this portrayal includes not only the main characters of the heroine’s father and her husband, but also more minor Wgures, such as the three young men of Orle´ans whose stray tennis ball leads them to discover the heroine’s hiding place and who then threaten her with rape (ll. 1708–1835), as well as the inhospitable mayor whose wishes the kindly mayoress has to Xout in order to help the heroine (ll. 4450–524). Men in the Comte d’Anjou are even shown to be uncharitable towards other men, as the heroine’s husband himself discovers once he embarks on his own penitential quest in search of his lost wife. Insulted and threatened by a male peasant from whom he tries to beg some bread (ll. 5360–85), he is also beaten up in both Estampes and Orle´ans by gangs of townsmen who despise him for refusing to work for his living. SigniWcantly, he is Wnally taken in and helped by the same two women, the ‘mairesse’ of Estampes and the prioress in charge of the Maison-Dieu in Orle´ans, who had helped his wife a few weeks before him. Whilst the only female antagonist, the countess of Chartres (the count of Bourges’s disgruntled aunt who takes such strong objection to her nephew’s failure to consult her on his marriage plans), might seem to be the exception to this pattern of female solidarity, she is in fact depicted as a virilized ‘male traı¨tresse’ (l. 6847). As an unnatural representative of her sex (the counterpart

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of the evil mother-in-law in the Manekine), her tyrannical behaviour is thus shown to be much more akin to that of the heroine’s disreputable father (with which it also shares its diabolical origin since she too is said to be ruled by the Devil) than it is to the envy exhibited by the mother-in-law in Philippe’s Manekine. Like the count of Anjou himself, who proved to be such a poor ruler of his domains since his excessive desire for his daughter ultimately led to his death and the loss of his only heir, the countess occupies the unusual, masculinized position of being lord of her own lands, which she too governs badly. Her selWshness and viciousness are seen in her excessive taxation of her subjects in order to pay for her unnecessary war against her nephew, and she even has to buy in mercenaries to Wght for her since she is unable to command the loyalty of her own vassals (ll. 7571–6). The view of sexual desire, marriage, and power relations that emerges in the Comte d’Anjou is thus a thoroughly disabused one. If, for a man of the noble class, marriage is at least a means by which to channel otherwise immoral sexual urges and to ensure legitimate succession, for a woman of the same class, it is the only way in which to protect herself from unsolicited male sexual aggression. Where the Comte d’Anjou does oVer a more positive representation of human relations is in its depictions of both maternal love and, more especially, female solidarity, as examples of the virtue of charity, this latter form being exempliWed not only by various women of non-noble social standing, but particularly by the heroine herself: ‘Vers les povres ert toute esprise j De doucheur et de charite´: j Souvent par grant humilite´ j Les sert en sa propre personne, j Leve les pie´z, l’argent leur donne, j Et puis a mengier et a boire, j Sanz appetit de vaine gloire’ (ll. 8010–16). Regretting the loss of such virtue in the society of his own times, which he regards as being marked instead by self-interest and indiVerence towards others, particularly on the part of males towards their fellow men, the narrator observes that ‘L’en le voit tout apertement j Quant li Wlz ne sequeurt le pere j Et le frere faut a son frere’ (ll. 8048–50). Far from simply presenting the heroine as an exemplar of the triumph of patience over adversity, as most critics hitherto have observed, he also oVers her to both male and female readers alike as a model of charity and altruism which he sees as being urgently needed in all human relations. In advocating charitable altruism in preference even to legitimate heterosexual desire, the Comte d’Anjou can once again be seen to break with Philippe de Remi’s courtly idealization of love.84 Instead, he appears to subscribe to the attack on courtliness as pioneered by the Rose where Jean de Meun shows the quest for sexual gratiWcation to be a self-serving and futile exercise, one which destroys wider social relations since it engenders little but mistrust and mutual contempt between the sexes, as is seen in the matching cynical discourses of the Old 84 Louison 2004, p. 879, similarly detects this kind of altruism at work in the Comte d’Anjou, but again attributes this too generally to her entire corpus of ‘romans gothiques’ and thus loses the contrast between the treatment of married love in this text and that in Philippe de Remi’s Manekine.

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Woman and the Friend concerning the deceits which men and women perpetrate on each other in the pursuit of love.85 Whilst it is a matter of Werce critical debate as to whether the Rose oVers a genuine alternative to courtly desire in the charitable form of love which is advocated by the personiWcation of Reason,86 Maillart in the Comte d’Anjou would seem to be unequivocal in proposing female solidarity as a model of charity with which to combat the cynicism of courtliness. A less playful and deliberately ambiguous writer than the ludic and eclectic Jean de Meun, Maillart nonetheless follows his predecessor’s lead in oVering an anticourtly view of heterosexual relations but does so through the use of more explicit moralization.

Jehan Wauquelin’s Manekine If Jehan Maillart adopts an anti-courtly perspective in his depiction of desire, whether incestuous or legitimate, we need now to examine whether the prose Manekine shares in this disabused outlook on love within the bonds of legitimate marriage. Certain critics have argued that Wauquelin’s treatment of marital love as a matter of state, rather than just of personal choice, tempers the early romance tradition which depicts the consent of the loving couple as the overriding imperative in marriage.87 Taking this argument a stage further, we shall see that Wauquelin emphasizes the public nature of the couple’s love, as opposed simply to its private expression, precisely in order to draw a politicomoral lesson from it, a lesson which, just as in his analysis of the incestuous scenario, is equally indebted to the ‘mirror for princes’ of Giles of Rome in both its general precepts on self-government and its speciWc discussion of marriage. Thus, by the standards of the ‘mirror for princes’, whilst the heroine’s father is a negative example of a king who lacks both moral and political authority, Joı¨e’s husband can be seen as a positive counter-example, one who retains his selfmastery as a lover/spouse and so preserves his integrity as a ruler. From the very Wrst, the love between Joı¨e and the king of Scotland is presented in Wauquelin’s prose version as being more moderate and more companionate in kind than the all-consuming passion which characterizes the relationship of the heroine and her husband in Philippe’s Manekine. Although the desire which the lovers feel for each other is clearly seen to be reciprocal, the omission of the juxtaposed monologues that were such a feature of Philippe’s text means that 85 Payen 1977 also sees Jean de Meun’s Rose as central in propounding this disabused view of marital relations. However, whilst Payen attributes this sense of crisis to the anti-feminism of the Rose, what we have shown here is that the Comte d’Anjou is actually far more critical of aggressive male sexuality both outside and within marriage itself. 86 The most fervent proponents of this type of reading of the Rose are Robertson 1962; and Fleming 1969. For a recent critique of these views, see Kelly 1995. 87 Rouillard 2000; and Foehr-Janssens 1998. This view of the primacy of consent in earlier romance is similarly borne out in the idyllic subgroup of texts in this same period: see above, Ch. 2.

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more space is given to describing the feelings which the king bears for the heroine than to those which she has for him, thus highlighting his importance as an exemplar for Wauquelin’s implied aristocratic audience. Compared to his counterpart in Philippe’s version, the king here is much more concerned with tempering his feelings by ensuring their compatibility with his honour and public standing. His evocation of Joı¨e’s charms therefore remains markedly abstract in contrast to the detailed account of the heroine’s physical attractions in the verse original, as the king contents himself simply with dwelling on ‘la biaute´ d’elle et a sa fourme, a sa contenanche’ (p. 305). This evocation also diVers radically in tone from the text’s earlier erotic description of the girl as seen through her father’s eyes, thus contrasting the legitimate and moderate nature of the king of Scotland’s passion with the unnatural lust felt by the parent for his child. From his appreciation of her beauty, the king is able to deduce that she must be of noble birth and is thus his social equal: ‘Et veritablement y pert tresbien a son maintieng et adce que elle moustre, que elle soit de tresbon lieu yssue’ (ibid.). In this dual focus on both beauty and birth, Wauquelin seems to be drawing on Giles’s view in the Livre du gouvernement that beauty is an important consideration for the ruler when choosing a bride, since her attractiveness will stop him from seeking sexual satisfaction with other women: ‘Et plus la biaute´ de femme si fet mult eschiver fornication, quer quant les femmes sont beles, les mariz s’en retree¨nt de fornication et de luxure.’88 However, for Giles, this criterion must not be over-valued at the expense of her most important attribute, her noble birth, since it is this which ensures that she will be a Wtting companion for the prince: ‘quer mariage est ordene´ a avoir compaignie avenant et a avoir femme qui li soit avenant compaigne, et por cen que les rois et les princes sont nobles il aWert que il preignent femme qui soit de noble lignie et de gentille, quer noble femme est avenant compaigne a nobles hons’.89 The heroine of the prose Manekine not only meets these criteria as attested by her physical appearance and bearing, but, as is revealed at the end of the narrative, she also fulWls Giles’s further conditions that the prince’s wife should be wealthy, well connected to powerful people, chaste, and continent: ‘[les princes] doivent primierement enquerre que lor femmes soient [ . . . ] puissantes d’amis et aient plente´ de richeces, et qu’eles soient beles et granz et qu’eles soient chastes et atemprees et facent euvres 88 Livre du gouvernement, p. 164; ‘la biaulte´ de la femme ne touche mie seullement a la bonte´ de lignie mais aussy fait et / vault a eviter ou eschiever fornication, pour lequel pechie´ eschiever ou eviter est ce mariage ordonne´s’ (Gouvernement des princes, fos. 132vb --133ra ). 89 Livre du gouvernement, p. 161; ‘mariage doit estre naturel et selonc nature pour ce que l’omme et la femme sont naturellement compaignables. Et la premiere compaignie naturelle, comme il appert par le philozophe es Politiques, est la compaignie du masle et de la femelle, c’est assavoir du mari et de la moullier. Et ce ne se porroit faire se le mariage n’estoit ordonne´ en aulcune deuwe compaignie naturelle. Et pour ce que deuwement et couvegnablement le noble est acompaignie´s a la noble, les rois et les princes qui sont de noble generation, a la cause de ce que mariage est ordonne´s a deuwe et couvegnable compaignie naturelle, doient querir femmes qui soyent de noble generation’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 131ra--b ).

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qui ne tournent a vilennie ne a servage’.90 Joı¨e’s proven moral qualities, as she is shown to lead a devout and chaste life in the care of the senator of Rome, and her excellent social standing, as she is publicly acknowledged once more as the daughter of the king of Hungary and the heiress to the kingdom of Armenia through her mother (p. 358), thus conWrm the king’s good judgement in choosing her as his bride. In a notable diVerence of emphasis between the prose and rhymed versions of the Manekine which also serves to highlight the gap between legitimate and illegitimate desire, the king of Scotland in Wauquelin’s text discusses the changes which love has wrought on him both as a man and as a ruler. Whereas in his complaint about the unexpected pain which love is causing him, Philippe’s hero comes across as an inexperienced lover who is undergoing such emotions for the very Wrst time when he states that ‘Ne cuidoie pas k’il eu¨st j En amours cose qui neu¨st’ (ll. 1539–40), in Wauquelin’s mise en prose the king is less concerned with the pain that love causes and more with the threat which it poses to his ability to retain mastery of himself. He thus laments the fact that this powerful emotion has been able to enfeeble even so mighty a ruler as himself: ‘ ‘‘O vray Dieu!’’ disoit il, ‘‘je ne quidoiie point que amours eust telle puissance que moy faire ensi decliner, moy qui sui puissant et redoubte´ ’’ ’ (p. 304, emphasis added). Wauquelin’s allusion to the debilitating eVect of private emotions on the public behaviour of the ruler, one which is noticeably absent from the verse original, would seem, once again, to echo key precepts in Giles’s ‘mirror for princes’. Here Giles condemns excessive desire, or ‘desatemprance’ as he puts it, since it renders the ruler bestial, infantile, weak, and despicable, and cites the example of Sardanapalus whose addiction to love rendered him ‘tout femelin et tout abandonne´ a luxure’91 and left him exposed to attack from his own subjects, a fate which the good prince should seek at all costs to avoid: ‘Et por cen que li rois et li prince doivent mult douter, que li pueple ne se mueve encontre eus, il aWert a eus que il soient atemprez a ensuivre les deliz du cors.’92 In Wauquelin’s Manekine, the king of Scotland’s lucid acknowledgement of the power of desire to aVect a man’s capacity to rule thus acts as a counter-example to the crippling lack of 90 Livre du gouvernement, p. 165; ‘ilz doient premierement diligentement enquerir comment elles soyent aournees et parees des biens exteriores, [ . . . ] et comment par tel mariage ilz puissent attaindre civile puissance et multitude d’amis. Secondement, ilz doient investiguier et querir qu’elles soient resplendissans de biens corporels: c’est qu’elles soient de grant estature et qu’elles soient plaisans et belles de corps. Tiercement, que ce ne leur souYsse s’elles ont aXuence de biens exteriores et s’elles resplendissent de biens corporels s’elles ne sont aussy resplendissans des biens de pensee et d’ame. Et doient querir [ . . . ] qu’elles soient songneuses et ententives a faire leurs besongnes licites et honnestes’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 133va ). 91 Livre du gouvernement, p. 59; ‘tous femenins et tous donne´s a intemperance’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 50rb ). 92 Livre du gouvernement, p. 59; ‘Et pour ce que tresbien fait a cremir aux roys et aux princes que la fureur du poeuple ne soit incitee contre eulx, il leur est meismement expedient que ilz soient attempre´s’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 50va ).

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self-knowledge on the part of the lustful father, whose fury at seeing his daughter reject him led him to act like a tyrant towards her. In the mise en prose, the king’s debate with himself as to whether he could just take the object of his desires as his mistress, rather than actually marry her, similarly dwells on weighing up the likely public consequences of his private actions. Whilst Philippe’s hero simply observes that he would incur criticism for seducing the girl, ‘Se je la tieng en soignentage, j L’amours sera fausse et volage, j Durement blasme´s en seroie’ (ll. 1543–5), Wauquelin’s king expands much more on the public blame which would accrue to him for seducing her and so diminish both his moral standing and his honour: ‘se j’en fay ma damme par amour et que en elle je passe le apetit de la char, ce me sera reprouve´, et dira on que je seray faulx et desloyal et tresvollaige et de peu de discretion de avoir deXoure´ une tant noble et amanieree demoiselle, et espoir ossy elle est de tel lieu issue que j’en vaulroye mains’ (p. 304). On this question, Giles’s inXuence on Wauquelin is once again palpable: backing marriage as the only possible honourable outlet for the ruler’s desires, he explains that any illicit sexual activity on the ruler’s part will only undermine his status in the eyes of his subjects: ‘Et puis que mariage est chose selon nature, il apiert bien que chascun doit eschiver fornication et generaument toute euvre de luxure qui est contraire a mariage, et de tant les doivent plus eschiver les rois et les princes cum pluis [sic] doivent estre mieudres et plus sages des autres.’93 Even the king’s speciWc point in the mise en prose about the danger of ‘deXowering’ the daughters of noble families seems to parallel Giles’s coda to the negative example of Sardanapalus, in which he warns the good prince against incurring the wrath of his male subjects by dishonouring their womenfolk: ‘Et plus se li rois sont desatemprez el delit de luxure, il feront tort a lour hommes et de lor femmes et de lor Wlles et esmouvront lor hommes contre eus.’94 If, compared to the verse Manekine, the king’s moral behaviour and public reputation are presented in Wauquelin’s text as being under particularly close scrutiny by the members of his court, there is likewise far greater attention paid to how his subjects respond to his choice of wife. Most notably, the prose Manekine plays down the eVect which the heroine’s beauty has on the king’s court in favour of showing how they approve of her moral qualities. This is completely in keeping with the idea propounded in ‘mirrors for princes’ that the good ruler will provide himself with a worthy companion, since not only his honour but that of the kingdom itself depends upon it, as Giles puts it: ‘cum plus doit venir 93 Livre du gouvernement, p. 152; ‘Et se mariage est aulcune chose naturelle, il s’ensieult que fornication qui est contraire a mariage soit universellement de tous citoyens a eschiever comme chose contraire a l’oeuvre naturelle. La quelle fornication et totalement tout illicite usage de tous fais luxurieux doient fuir les rois et les princes de tant plus que il leur aYert estre meilleurs et plus vertueux que les aultres gens’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 123vb ). 94 Livre du gouvernement, p. 59; ‘Et sensiblement nous veons que ceulz qui sont donne´s aux volupte´s sensibles sont contempne´s et despite´s. Et qui plus est, les intempere´s sont injurie´s ens es aultres personnes, meismement les conjoins comme en femmes et en Wlles, [et] provocquent les aultres contre eulx’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 50va ).

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grant mal et grant peril au reaume, se eles [les femmes] ne sont bones et bien enseignies’.95 In Philippe’s Manekine, the heroine is portrayed as the focus of attention at the wedding banquet where all can feast their eyes on her as much as they want: ‘Mout fu celui jour esgardee j La bele, la bien acesmee; j Quant plus l’esgardent, plus leur plest; j De l’esgarder cascuns se paist’ (ll. 2333–6). Forgiving the king his somewhat wilful coup de teˆte in marrying a woman whose origins remain unknown, his subjects Wnally give their approval on the basis of the positive evidence of the heroine’s beauty and noble appearance (ll. 2339–40). In Wauquelin’s version, by contrast, much greater detail is given to showing how the king’s subjects oVer their public sanction to his marriage on the basis that he has acted, like a good ruler, in the interests of the common good of the body politic. Lauding the king for having made an astute and well-reasoned choice in taking the heroine as his queen, his subjects show their universal approval of her in that she is loved and respected by all: ‘ceste bonne roy¨nne se Wst tellement amer de touttez manieres de gens, des plus grans, des plus petis et des moiiens, que c’estoit merveille, et disoiient que leur roy fu tresbien conseillie´ le jour que la volente´ lui vint de le prendre en mariage’ (p. 315, emphasis added). Since the queen’s role is as much to provide an heir as it is to serve as a worthy companion to the king, his subjects are even more fulsome in their public sanction of his choice of bride when she gives birth to a son. Reiterating their view that the king has exercised reasoned judgement, as highlighted in the use of the term ‘conseillie´’, his subjects praise him once again for having acted in the best interests of the body politic: Et de cest enfant chi fu le pay¨s tant resjoy¨ que merveilles, si en disoient moult de choses entre eulx, et disoiient que le roy avoit este´ bien conseillie´ de prendre ceste femme, car il en aroit de biaulx enfans qui aprie`s son dechie`s tresbien les gouverneroient, et en faisoiient moult de festez et d’esbatemens comme gens qui estoiient remplis de touttez joiies. (p. 319, emphasis added)

Wauquelin’s emphasis on the approval shown by the king’s subjects of his sound moral and political judgement in reconciling his private desire with the public good of the realm, thus marks a signiWcant diVerence from the treatment of the same passage in Philippe’s Manekine. Moreover, in terms familiar from the ‘mirror for princes’, it underscores the distance between the king of Scotland as a virtuous ruler in his choice of wife and the king of Hungary as a unwise ruler, one whose poor judgement makes him go against Christian teaching and submit to his subjects’ unreasonable demands that he take his own daughter as his bride. Wauquelin’s attention to demonstrating the public suitability of the queen as the king’s consort and her standing in the eyes of his subjects, as opposed to Philippe’s concentration on the private satisfactions experienced by the couple, is 95 Livre du gouvernement, p. 176; ‘Et se il aYert que les citoyens induisent ainsy leurs femmes, encore aYert il mieulx aux rois et aux princes de tant mieulx que par l’indeu gouvernement de eulz [i.e. leurs femmes] poet apparoir contre le regne plus grant peril que les aultres’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 143ra ).

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matched by his refusal to dwell on the sensual aspect of their relationship once the wedding has taken place. Compared to Philippe’s lengthy descriptions of the couple’s joy in being each other’s courtly ‘ami et amie’, there are no intimate accounts in Wauquelin’s text of their wedding night together nor of the sexual pleasure which they take in each other’s arms on the nights thereafter. Rather, the king’s attitude towards his new wife is presented in terms which are much more in line with the companionate deWnition of marriage as prescribed by Giles of Rome and seen more generally in the ‘clerkly’ discourse on marriage. Drawing on the positive Augustinian view of the goods of marriage, rather than on the more negative Pauline view of this institution as simply a necessary outlet for man’s sinful sexuality, Giles stresses that the husband’s role is to uphold the sacrament of the marital union, to cherish the loyalty which the spouses bear each other, and to seek to have children: ‘Dont l’en doit querre en la femme touz les biens qui font a eschiver fornication et qui font foi et loiaute´ de mariage garder et avoir avenanz enfanz.’96 The wise ruler must thus show continence and moderation in his physical love for his wife, for fear that otherwise it will debilitate him and distract him from his public duties, ‘Dont chascun doit gesir a sa femme atempree¨ment, et de tant aYert il plus as rois et as princes cum plus desaWert a eus feblece de cors et de pensee, et cum plus desaWert a eus que il aient lour desir desatempre´.’97 Stressing that the prince’s primary role is to honour his wife rather than just be a lover to her, Giles explains that ‘por cen que la femme est personne conjointe a l’omme, qui honoure sa femme il honoure l’omme, et plus la femme est compaigne a l’omme, por quoi il aWert que chascun homme selon son estat tiengne honourablement sa femme’.98 Echoing these precepts, the prose Manekine thus describes how even though the king cleaves to his wife as one Xesh, he does so in a restrained rather than overly passionate way, showing her the honour and respect which are rightly her due: ‘Et le roy demora aveuc sa femme en tresgrant deduit et soulas et le tenoit comme son proppre corps, en honneur et en exellence de dignite´’ (p. 314). This balanced view of the ‘vraye et parfaitte amour’ (p. 310) that exists between the couple in Wauquelin’s version is seen even in the lament which his heroine utters when forced to leave Scotland. Unlike in either Philippe’s 96 Livre du gouvernement, p. 163; ‘Toutes les choses donques qui samblent valoir pour eviter fornication, pour garder la foy des marie´s et pour deuwement produire lignie doient estre quises en la femme’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 132va ). 97 Livre du gouvernement, pp. 177–8; ‘Il aYert donques tous citoyens attempreement user de l’assamblement conjugal. Et de tant aYert il aux rois et aux princes de tant que plus leur est mal aYrant ou appartenant d’avoir pour telle maniere doumage le corps debilite´ et la pensee ou l’entendement deprimee ou oppressee et l’appetitit [sic] desattempre´ et non continent’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 143vb ). 98 Livre du gouvernement, p. 178; ‘chascun homme est tenus pour son honneur de tenir sa femme honnestement vestue et paree selonc sa faculte´ et puissance. Et lui doit donner les choses qui lui sont necessaires deuwement. Car puis que la femme est a lui conjointe, cellui qui fait honneur a la femme ceste honneur redonde en la personne meisme de son mari’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 144ra ).

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Manekine, which focuses on Joı¨e’s love for her husband, or the Comte d’Anjou, where the exiled wife places all her aVection in her child, the mise en prose portrays the heroine’s love for her spouse and her concern for the fate of her child in far more even-handed terms. Thus, whilst she grieves for the lost love of her husband, ‘lequel je amoye plus que moy meismes’ (p. 333), she also rails at the disheritance of her son from his rightful lands: ‘Ha! mon treschier enfant, que poe¨z vous avoir meVait, vous qui estez ensi banis de vostre terre, en laquelle vous devez par droit porter couronne et estre roy aprie`s vostre pere, qui par sa crudelite´ nous a mis en ce peril?’ (ibid.). This balance between her diVerent roles as wife and as mother of the male heir to the throne recalls Giles’s view of how children are the beloved ‘biens communs’ of their parents and should thus serve to unify the couple: ‘Et bien avient que li homme et la femme ont enfans et pour l’amour naturel qu’il ont entre eus, il s’entraiment plus par nature et plus ont grant amor entr’eus por les enfanz que il ont li uns de l’autre, tant ont il plus grant propos de demourier li uns oveques l’autre sanz departir.’99 This unifying function is, of course, amply fulWlled by the child himself in both versions of the Manekine, since it is his playing with his mother’s wedding-ring that attracts the attention of his father when he enters the house of the Roman senator in which Joı¨e has taken refuge. In Wauquelin’s version, however, where the love between husband and wife is balanced by that of both parents for the child, this symbolic act takes on a far greater resonance than in the verse original where, instead, the love between the married couple is presented as paramount. Thus, whilst in Philippe’s text the king of Scotland explains to the senator that it was he who gave the ring to his wife, for whose sake he has undertaken his quest, ‘li aniaus fu miens jadis j Et que je le donnai m’amie, j Dont j’ai trait lonc tans male vie’ (ll. 6172–4), the hero in Wauquelin’s version stresses that the ring has led him to hope that he has Wnally found both his wife and his child in search of whom he has been scouring the world: ‘je le donnay a une damoiselle, laquelle je espousay par le tresgrant amour que j’euch a elle et de laquelle je euch ung enfant, pour laquelle et pour lequel j’ay euut tant de mal a porter et a souVrir’ (p. 349, emphasis added). Eschewing the courtly exclusiveness of marital desire seen in Philippe’s Manekine, but also avoiding the wholly disabused view of heterosexual relations found in Jehan Maillart’s Comte d’Anjou, Wauquelin’s prose reworking therefore calls on the didactic discourse of the ‘mirror for princes’ in order to oVer a view of conjugal love which allows the worthy ruler to give expression to his private desires whilst ensuring that he acts at all times for the promotion of the common good of his subjects. 99 Livre du gouvernement, pp. 154–5; ‘Et qui plus est, pour ce que aulcuns sont amis d’aulcun ont ilz une inclination d’amer l’un l’aultre, et ce doient bien donc faire les peres et les meres puis que ilz ayment naturellement leur lignie que ilz ont ensamble par dilection naturelle par laquelle leur amour doit acroistre et se doit nourir. Et comme amour se die aulcune unitive force, quant amour est crissue et multiplye´ par la lignie engenree, le pourpos d’eulz est augmente´s de vouloir l’un avoec l’aultre inseparablement demourer’ (Gouvernement des princes, fo. 125rb ).

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213

( I I I ) C O N C LU S I O N The representation of incestuous desire in our three romances, which cover over two hundred years in the history of the genre, thus changes signiWcantly over time, according not only to the particular agenda which each individual author was pursuing but also to the intertextual tradition on which he was drawing: whether to twelfth-century lyric and romance in the case of Philippe de Remi, to anti-courtly satire and hagiography in the case of Jehan Maillart, and to ‘mirrors for princes’ in the case of Jehan Wauquelin. The way in which each of our three authors deals with the issue of incest is also intimately bound up with their view of marital desire and of the power relations between the sexes. In Philippe de Remi’s original version of the Manekine, although the intensity of courtly desire is condemned in the context of incest, it is nonetheless idealized once it is relocated into the more appropriate context of legitimate marriage. Philippe’s text therefore continues to uphold the view of its romance predecessors, such as that of Chre´tien de Troyes, in which the ideal relationship between the sexes involves a high degree of reciprocity, and is presented as a passion which takes precedence over all other emotional ties, even including that between parent and child. Only in this way can the courtly heroine of the Manekine, who plays such an ambiguous role in the scenario of incestuous desire where she is paradoxically made into the guilty party for inspiring her father’s passion, be fully redeemed through a reciprocal relationship within a loving marriage. If Philippe de Remi shows himself to be uncritically indebted to the romance tradition of an earlier age, with its problematic depiction of the female loveobject, our two later medieval authors moralize this tale and draw a very diVerent conclusion from it about whether it is the man or the woman who must take responsibility for male sexual desire. Thus, for Jehan Maillart in the Comte d’Anjou, there is no innate diVerence between the excessive desire of incest and the aggressive male sexuality which has to be tamed through marriage. In his cynical view of desire, one which is informed as much by the satirical anticourtliness of Jean de Meun’s Rose as it is by the abhorrence of sexuality found in works of hagiography, heterosexual relations are marked by tensions and inequalities which can never be entirely resolved. Subverting the courtly paradigm of passionate love and its abusive power play which casts woman as the huntress/ seductress when in fact she should be seen as the hunted prey for male appetites, the only kinds of love which are exalted in the Comte d’Anjou are those disinterested forms such as that between mother and child, or the charitable friendship which exists between two females in order to protect themselves from predatory male sexuality. Where Philippe de Remi idealizes desire once it is removed from an incestuous context, and Jehan Maillart sees only continuity between the illicit desire of incest and the aggressive desire which is channelled into marriage, Jehan Wauquelin

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would seem to oVer a third alternative, one which stands midway between these two opposing views. In his prose version of the Manekine, he shows how the excessive nature of the desire displayed through incest undermines a ruler’s capacity to govern compared to the more moderate, companionate form of love within marriage which, since it allows the ruler to temper his passions, means that he can perform his proper, allotted role within the body politic. Taking his inspiration from the politico-moral discourse of the ‘mirror for princes’ in his depiction of the father and husband as exemplars in malo and in bono respectively of the king, Wauquelin demonstrates the need for the fervours of heterosexual desire to be modiWed by full consideration of the political and moral issues raised by the ruler’s marriage. The balanced view of love that emerges in his text is thus one which breaks both with Philippe’s courtly scepticism towards the female love-object and with Maillart’s critique of woman as the sexual pawn of man since, for Wauquelin, the heroine is depicted not as an erotic lure but rather as the honoured spouse and worthy companion of her astute and temperate husband. In his prose Manekine, Jehan Wauquelin took the immensely popular legend of the ‘maiden without hands’ and reshaped this familiar raw material so as to arrive at new answers to the questions about the nature of male desire and about the relations between the sexes that had been raised in previous versions of the story by Philippe de Remi and Jehan Maillart. Drawing on the didactic material of the ‘mirror for princes’ genre on the personal and political implications of desire, Wauquelin argued that companionate love was preferable to courtliness, that social responsibility was preferable to self-gratiWcation, and that moderation was preferable to excess, thus using his speciWc stance on incest to reinforce the discourse on marriage propounded in other marital romances of the later middle ages.100 100 For an earlier, shorter version of this chapter, see Brown-Grant 2006.

Conclusion: Romance in a Moralizing Culture Comparison of early and late medieval romances reveals that the conceptions of gender roles which critics such as Roberta L. Krueger and Simon Gaunt have identiWed in twelfth- and thirteenth-century works in the genre underwent a number of signiWcant changes in the later middle ages. Such changes are particularly marked in the case of masculine roles as chivalric identity comes to be redeWned in the premarital romances of the later medieval period, such as Jehan d’Avennes and Olivier de Castille, in line with the new emphasis which contemporary works on chivalry placed on the social and political utility of knighthood and the group solidarity fostered through homosocial bonds. Similarly, the idea of what made a good husband is radically altered in the marital romances of the day, as texts such as Gillion de Trazegnies and the Seigneurs de Gavre adopted the view of marriage as a companionate union based on the reciprocal (if not necessarily equal) rights and obligations of the married couple, a view which was actively propounded in late medieval marital treatises and sermons. Whilst studies of Old French romance have tended to suggest that it is female sexuality which is presented in these texts as troublesome and in need of being controlled and contained, what emerges from these later romances is that male sexuality could be viewed as equally problematic and in need of close moral scrutiny if transgressive forms of male behaviour, such as the irrational lusts of incest (as seen in Jehan Wauquelin’s Manekine) and adultery (as seen in the Comte d’Artois), were not to be allowed to destabilize the social order. Just as masculine roles were transformed in late medieval romances, so the ideals of feminine behaviour in these texts were also inXuenced by the changing attitudes towards gender in discourses which circulated outside the genre. Thus, in a clear echo of the anxieties expressed about retaining parental control over young people’s choice of marriage partner in the legal, moral, and historiographical writings of the period, the sexual autonomy enjoyed by the adolescent female in earlier premarital romances is far more curtailed in later texts of this type, such as Paris et Vienne and Pierre de Provence. By contrast, the Wgure of the wife is more foregrounded in later marital romances, such as the Comte d’Artois and Gillion de Trazegnies, where she is by no means valued simply for her

216

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reproductive capacities, as would seem to have been the case in earlier works, but could also function as a moral exemplar for her husband, provided, of course, that her actions conformed with the prescriptions on good wifely behaviour expounded in the sermons and marital treatises of the time. This concern with the regulation of sexuality, both male and female, and its containment within the bounds of properly sanctioned marriage, can be seen in the relative scarcity in our corpus of depictions of extramarital relations between an unmarried male lover and a married lady, this traditional romance model being predicated on the idea of love-service as ennobling and as an enhancement of military prowess. Thus, in premarital tales where the knight’s beloved is married, as in Jehan d’Avennes and Gilles de Chin, in the former such passion, particularly when unrequited, is presented as being threatening to masculine chivalric identity, whilst in the latter this love-service has to be carefully portrayed as both platonic and as secondary in importance to the homosocial bonds of the hero and his peers. If only the prose version of the Chastelain de Coucy appears to adhere wholeheartedly in this period to the extramarital model of courtly love-service, the fact that the single extant copy of this work was bound with a text like Gilles de Chin which is far more sceptical about the beneWts of such passion, suggests that it circulated with an accompanying gloss. The critical consensus of the past attributed the diVerences between earlier and later romances to a so-called decline in chivalry and courtliness, as the works of the fourteenth and Wfteenth centuries supposedly succumbed to the pernicious eVects of ‘bourgeois realism’. Here, by contrast, we have re-examined the romances of the later middle ages in their own terms, arguing that these texts should be seen as the products of a more overtly moralizing culture than that of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In other words, where the earlier romances appear to provide more escapist fantasies for the reader in their readiness to question (if often only to reaYrm) the moral values of the day, there is far greater congruence in the later romances with the moral precepts found in the didactic works of the period. Given the prevailing general tendency in late medieval culture to feed the audience’s desire to fashion themselves according to moral, spiritual, and ethical models, it is hardly surprising that the romances of this period should also have sought to prescribe forms of behaviour which their readers, male and female, could incorporate into their daily lives. Realism in these texts, far from being a sign of uncourtly or ‘bourgeois’ decadence, is presented as a truthful means of exposition and thus as the most suitable form for didacticism, being used to propound ideals of personal, social, and political responsibility which were just as elevated as those found in the moral treatises, sermons, and historiographical writings of the later middle ages. Yet, if realism is common across the genre, this stylistic pervasiveness does not necessarily lead to either conceptual or narrative uniformity in these texts, a point which even the most sympathetic commentators on the genre have tended to ignore in their portrayal of these works as conforming unanimously to a single

Conclusion

217

model of chivalric heroism and as adhering without deviation to the same literary conventions (apart from the obvious odd exception such as La Sale’s Saintre´ ). Indeed, an analysis of these texts from a gender perspective, even those that seem to be the most stereotypical, shows that there is, in fact, far greater variation in their presentation of their main protagonists, particularly the young unmarried hero, than has often been thought. Thus, whether the hero is depicted principally as a lover, a warrior, or a ruler, is crucially dependent on the type of social and aVective relations that he prizes above all others, whether those with women, as in Pierre de Provence, or those with other men, particularly those in a position of seniority to him, as in Rambaux de Frise and Gilles de Chin. Such variation is equally evident in the range of interpretations which these romances give to institutions such as marriage. If all romances are highly prescriptive in terms of how they discuss marriage and the couple’s behaviour within it, the various subgenres within this body of texts nonetheless produce very diVerent emphases in their treatment of it. Thus, the view of marriage as a means of male selfadvancement and emotional self-mastery in premarital chivalric romances, such as Jehan d’Avennes, diverges notably from that found in marital narratives, such as the Comte d’Artois and Gillion de Trazegnies which stress instead the detailed duties and demands expected of the knight in his role as husband and father, as well as the beneWts accruing to men from the loving companionship of their virtuous wives. Adopting a gender approach to late medieval romances also reveals a hitherto unsuspected degree of variation in terms of their rhetorical and narrative strategies. Although the use of prose in these works has often been derided by critics as lacking in subtlety and complexity compared to the intricacies of the verse employed in earlier romances, it is in fact far from being a blunt instrument. Hence, in texts such as Gillion de Trazegnies and the Seigneurs de Gavre, a marked divergence from the conventions normally found in a romance prologue acts to shift the reader’s expectations about the narrative’s chief protagonist in a new and unexpected direction. Likewise, the use of irony, particularly when coupled with parody of linguistic conventions derived from other genres like the lyric or hagiography, as found in works such as Jehan d’Avennes and Paris et Vienne, has the eVect of demythologizing a romance hero or heroine, this mixture of humour and instruction thus serving to make them into more credible moral exemplars for the reader than if they were simply perfect paragons. If the pioneering work on gender in romance by scholars such as Krueger and Gaunt has opened up the texts of the earlier medieval period to new critical readings, this study has aimed to do the same for the long-neglected romances of the later middle ages, showing how an analysis of masculine and feminine roles in the light of contemporary discourses on gender enables us to see these works in all their diversity and complexity. Although the primary texts which form the basis of this study were chosen in order to provide a representative body of late medieval romances, this corpus is, of course, far from being exhaustive. Indeed,

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not only other historico-realist texts but also works in the Arthurian and allegorical sub-genres of late medieval romance would repay investigation from a gender perspective, especially if such investigation were grounded in an appreciation of the wider cultural context in which these texts were produced. For example, the late medieval prose reworking of an earlier historico-realist romance, such as the thirteenth-century Gui de Warwick, which belongs to the subgroup of ‘penitential’ romances, or an allegorical work such as Rene´ d’Anjou’s Cuer d’amour espris, could be examined for the diVerent ways in which they appear to renounce the role of heterosexual desire in the construction of chivalric identity, the one in the light of contemporary manuals on penance and the other in the light of discussions about love in the late medieval lyric. Similarly, the question of female agency on the part of an abandoned wife, as is seen in an Arthurian text such as Ysaı¨e le Triste, could be analysed with regard to contemporary ideas on wifely virtue as found in the moral and pious tales of devoted spouses such as Prudence and Griseldis. Such studies would not only shed further light on the representation of gender roles in romances of the later middle ages but could also encourage scholars to revisit some of the views arrived at on the construction of masculine and feminine identities in earlier works of the genre, such as, for example, whether male sexuality is consistently presented as less problematic than female sexuality in these texts. Rather than maligning late medieval romances on the basis of subjective or anachronistic modern tastes, we have argued here that these works should be examined in their own right as both a contribution to and an engagement with the culture of their own day, in particular in terms of their role in debating and disseminating concepts of gender. Only when we see them in this light will these texts take their proper place alongside the many other areas of fourteenth- and Wfteenth-century literature which are Wnally beginning to emerge from under the shadow long cast by Huizinga’s dismissive judgement of French culture in the later middle ages.

Bibliography (I) P RI MARY TEXTS QUOTED

Where more than one edition of the same work is given below, an asterisk shows the edition from which quotations are taken unless otherwise stated in individual notes. Aucassin et Nicolette Baudouin de Gavre

Bestiary

Blancandin (verse) Blancandin (prose) Book of Beasts Boucicaut Charles d’Orle´ans Charrete Chastelain de Coucy Chastete´ conjugale Chroniques

Aucassin et Nicolette: Chantefable du XIII e sie`cle. Ed. Mario Roques. 2nd edn. Paris: Champion, 1969. *Baudouin de Gavre, re´cit en prose du XV e sie`cle. Ed. R. E. V. Stuip. Utrecht: no publisher, 1981. Baudouin de Gavre. Paris, Bibliothe`que nationale de France n.a.f. 1821. Bestiary: Being an English Version of the Bodleian Library, Oxford M. S. Bodley 764 with all the original miniatures reproduced in facsimile. Ed. and trans. Richard Barber. London: The Folio Society, 1992. Blancandin et l’Orgueilleuse d’amour: Roman d’aventures du XIII e sie`cle. Ed. Franklin P. Sweetser. Geneva/Paris: Droz/Minard, 1964. Blancandin et l’Orgueilleuse d’amours: Versioni in prosa del XV secolo. Ed. Rosa Anna Greco. Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso, 2002. The Book of Beasts, Being a Translation from a Latin Bestiary of the Twelfth Century. Ed. T. H. White. London: Jonathan Cape, 1956. Le Livre des fais du bon messire Jehan le Maingre, dit Bouciquaut, mareschal de France et gouverneur de Jennes. Ed. Denis Lalande. Geneva: Droz, 1985. Charles d’Orle´ans, Poe´sies. Ed. Pierre Champion. 2 vols. Paris: Champion, 1923–7. Chre´tien de Troyes. Le Chevalier de la Charrete. Ed. Mario Roques. Paris: Champion, 1981. Le Livre des amours du Chastellain de Coucy et de la Dame de Fayel. Ed. Aime´ Petit and Franc¸ois Suard. Lille: Presses universitaires de Lille, 1994. Jean Gerson. ‘De la chastete´ conjugale.’ In Jean Gerson: Œuvres comple`tes. Ed. Pale´mon Glorieux. Paris: Descle´e, 1966. Vol. 7/1, pp. 859–68. Georges Chastelain. In Œuvres de Georges Chastellain. Ed. H. Kervyn de Lettenhove. Brussels: Victor Devaux, 1866. Vol. 2.

220 Cite´ des Dames Cleriadus et Meliadice Clige`s (verse) Clige`s (prose) Comte d’Anjou Comte d’Artois Conside´rations Controversie de noblesse Corps de policie De´bat d’honneur Enseignements paternels Erec en prose Erec et Enide Fais et bonnes meurs Fille du Comte de Pontieu Floire et BlancheXor Floridan et Elvide Galeran de Bretagne Gilles de Chin

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Gouvernement des princes Guillaume de Palerne (verse) Guillaume de Palerne (prose) Instruction Jehan d’Avennes Lais Lalaing

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No. 134 fonds Godefroy of the Bibliothe`que municipale of Lille.’ Ph.D. diss., University of Evanston, Illinois, 1954. La Chronique du bon chevalier messire Gilles de Chin. Ed. R. Chalon. Mons: Publications de la Socie´te´ des bibliophiles de Mons, 1837. *Histoire de Gilion de Trasignyes et de Dame Marie, sa femme. Ed. O. L. B. WolV. Paris/Leipzig: Brockhaus & Avenarius/Desforges/J. J. Weber, 1839. Horgan, Frances Mary. ‘A Critical Edition of The Romance of Gillion de Trazegnies from Brussels, Bibliothe`que royale MS 9629.’ Ph.D. diss., University of Cambridge, 1985. Jehan Wauquelin. Le Livre du gouvernement des princes. Brussels, Bibliothe`que royale de Belgique 9043. Guillaume de Palerne: Roman du XIII esie`cle. Ed. Alexandre Micha. Geneva: Droz, 1990. John C. Manolis. ‘Guillaume de Palerne: Les Versions en prose.’ Ph.D. diss., Florida State University, 1976. Ghillebert de Lannoy. Instruction d’un jeune prince. In Œuvres de Ghillebert de Lannoy. Ed. Charles Potvin. Louvain: Lefever, 1878, pp. 327–425. L’Istoire de tres vaillans princez monseigneur Jehan d’Avennes. Ed. Danielle Que´ruel. Villeneuve-d’Ascq: Presses universitaires du Septentrion, 1997. Marie de France. Lais. Ed. Alfred Ewert. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1978. *Livre des faits de Jacques de Lalaing. In Œuvres de Georges Chastellain. Ed. H. Kervyn de Lettenhove. Brussels: Victor Devaux, 1866. Vol. 8. Le Livre des faits du bon chevalier, messire Jacques de Lalaing. Trans. Colette Beaune. In Splendeurs de la cour de Bourgogne: Re´cits et chroniques. Ed. Danielle Re´gnier-Bohler. Paris: Robert LaVont, 1995, pp. 1193–1409. Jacobus de Voragine. Legenda aurea. In La Le´gende dore´e: E´dition critique dans la re´vision de 1476 par Jean Batallier, d’apre`s la traduction de Jean de Vignay (1333–1348) de la Legenda aurea (c. 1261–1266). Ed. Brenda DunnLardeau. Paris: Champion, 1997. Jean de Bueil. Le Jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, suivi du commentaire de Guillaume Tringant. Ed. Le´on Lecestre. 2 vols. Paris: Librairie Renouard, 1887; Geneva: Slatkine Reprints, 1996. Jean Renart. L’EscouXe: Roman d’aventure. Ed. Franklin Sweetser. Paris/Geneva: Droz, 1974. Jacques Legrand. Archiloge Sophie: Livre de bonnes meurs. Ed. Evencio Beltran. Paris: Champion, 1986.

222 Livre de Chasse Livre de Chevalerie

Livre du gouvernement

Manekine (verse)

Manekine (prose)

Mesnagier Olivier de Castille

Ordre de chevalerie Paris et Vienne Paris et Vienne (shorter redaction) Pierre de Provence

Pierre de Provence (later redaction)

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Index adolescents 25, 55, 56, 79–128, 139 n. 69, 141, 167 n. 149, 173, 174, 189, 215 alienation of 113–26, 127, 128 deceitfulness of 84, 88, 94, 95, 97, 100, 125 disobedience of 84, 86, 88–90, 92–3, 95–7, 99–101, 103, 108, 113, 121, 127, 128 presumption of 84, 92, 94 n. 66, 100–1, 123 sensuality of 85–6, 88, 103–6, 110, 112, 113, 127, 128 Adolphe de Cle`ves 23, 26, 27, 58, 71 adultery 10, 11, 13, 30, 31, 61, 79, 91, 106, 129–30, 132–5, 137–8, 143–4, 151, 153, 181, 185, 215 ages of man 82, 139 n. 69; see also adolescents Albanus, St 180 Aldobrandino of Siena 82, 83 allegory 45, 46, 51, 123, 141, 157, 159, 161, 188; see also personiWcation Ami et Amile 63 amour de renomme´e 57, 94, 110 anti-hero 51, 112, 122, 126 anti-heroine 100 Apollonius de Tyr/Apollonius of Tyre 171, 180 Aristotle 4, 20, 137, 143 n. 90, 189 n. 45, 191 n. 52 Politics 167 n. 149 arms/armour, colours of: black/noir 33, 53 blue 146 green/vert 24 n. 58, 33 red 145 white/blanc 33, 52, 68, 71, 72, 75 Arnoullet, Olivier 81 Aubert, David 6, 63 n. 149, 68 n. 156 Aucassin et Nicolette 13, 79, 81, 92–3, 97–8, 101, 102, 104, 114, 115, 116, 122, 126

Augustine, St 133, 134, 191 n. 52, 211 Aurispa, Giovanni 20 Badel, Pierre-Yves 47 Bailey, Peter 105; see also ‘parasexuality’ battle-cries 57, 172, 173 Baudouin de Gavre 13, 130, 131, 162–6, 168–73, 176, 177 Benson, Larry D. 3 bestiaries 157, 170 n. 155, 186 Black, Nancy 188 Blancandin (prose) 12, 16, 32 n. 99, 36 n. 113, 39–44, 50, 55, 62, 64, 77, 79 n. 3 Blancandin (verse) 30, 39–44 Boccaccio 144 Boucicaut, subject of eponymous biography 18, 19, 21, 22, 23, 25, 26, 27, 29, 34, 36, 45, 48, 52, 54, 56, 57, 62, 71, 75 Briggs, Charles 189 Brownlee, Kevin 97 Buonaccorso da Montemagno 20, 21 Burns, E. Jane 10 Burrow, J. A. 83 Calin, William 79–80 Camus, Philippe 63; see Olivier de Castille canon law 65, 85, 95 n. 68, 99 n. 78, 132–4, 138 n. 55, 142, 147, 153, 160, 161, 184 n. 27; see also penitentials carp 157 Catherine, St 98 Caxton, William 81 Cecilia, St 125 n. 122 Charles d’Orle´ans 17, 123 n. 119 Charles le Te´me´raire, duke of Burgundy 46 n. 126, 80 n. 8, 143 n. 88 Charles V, king of France 4–5 Charles VI, king of France 5, 142

248

Index

Charny, GeoVroi de 13, 18, 19, 20, 24, 25, 26 n. 72, 27, 28, 29, 32, 33, 34, 35, 40, 41, 48, 49, 51, 53, 69 Chartier, Alain 16 n. 5, 18, 35 n. 108 Chastelain de Coucy 11–12, 55, 56, 59, 60, 61, 62, 77, 216 Chastelaine de Vergi 106, 197 Chastelain, Georges 19 n. 25, 143 Chroniques 19 n. 27, 23, 27 Traite´ par forme d’alle´gorie mystique sur l’entre´e du roy Loys en nouveau re`gne 141 Cheˆnerie, Marie-Luce 29 chess 185, 187 childlessness 130, 132, 133, 144, 149, 155, 157, 177; see also sterility chivalric biography 12, 70, 88, 97 n. 69, 131, 145 n. 94 Chre´tien de Troyes 6, 8, 30, 83, 104, 149, 182, 197, 200, 213 Charrete 183 Clige`s 129, 149, 197, 198 n. 72 Erec et Enide 8, 129 Christine de Pizan 13 Cite´ des Dames 126 n. 127 Corps de policie 193 n. 61 Duc des vrais amans 5 Fais et bonnes meurs 84, 85, 87 Christine, St 102, 187 chronicles 3, 6, 7, 19 n. 25, 89, 191 Cleriadus et Meliadice 8, 12, 16, 17, 31–6, 37, 38, 39, 52, 63, 66, 69, 70, 73, 75 n. 163, 76, 79 n. 3, 124 n. 121, 146 n. 97 Clige`s (prose) 4 Comte d’Anjou 13, 120, 153, 179, 181, 182, 185–8, 189, 190, 195, 199, 200–6, 212, 213, 214 Comte d’Artois 13, 129, 131, 143–54, 155, 156, 157, 159, 162, 164, 177, 190, 215, 217 conWdant(e)s 57, 90, 91, 94, 96, 98, 110, 111, 112, 128, 174 conjointure 8, 131 consanguinity 133, 135, 142, 180, 192, 193 n. 58, 194 n. 62

Crane, Susan 94 crests 173 cross-dressing 110, 116, 130, 144, 151, 152, 153 crusade 44, 57, 59, 60, 75, 102, 131, 155 n. 115, 158, 160, 188 Dante 82 daughters: as means of brokering alliances 35, 193 as objects of exchange between father and husband 74–5, 92, 103, 124 as prizes in a tournament 66–70, 86, 145, 151 as rewards for military services rendered by hero 28, 34 n. 106, 36–9 as spoils of war 43 see also incest, father/daughter de´mesure 55, 59, 61, 123, 147–8 de´rimages 6, 40; see also mises en prose; prose reworkings Diego de Valera 20 Dit du prunier, see Prunier Doutrepont, Georges 5 dreams/visions 59, 73–4, 97 n. 70, 111, 141, 158–9, 161 dubbing 18, 56, 115 Dubuis, Roger 29 Duby, Georges 132 duels 34, 147; see also trial by combat Elizabeth of Hungary, St 121 embroidery 114, 116, 203–4 emprises 3, 19, 26 n. 74 epic 2, 6, 7, 36 n. 113, 55, 63, 83, 111 n. 94, 155, 156, 158, 159, 160, 179, 180 errance 15, 86, 94 Erec en prose 4 fathers: as educators of their children 26, 138 as Wgures of authority 86, 90, 92, 93, 95, 97–103 sons’ resemblance to their 18 n. 20, 21, 71–2, 75 substitute 56, 115

Index see also incest, father/daughter; Joseph, St Fille du Comte de Pontieu 158 Flore et Jehane 143 Floire et BlancheXor 13, 79, 81, 91, 92, 101, 102, 105, 106, 108, 114, 115, 116, 120, 127 Floridan et Elvide 120 Foehr-Janssens, Yasmina 185, 200, 202 Fortune 56, 73, 99, 123 Galeran de Bretagne 13, 79, 81, 90, 91, 92, 104, 105, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 120, 127 Gaucher, Elisabeth 131, 155 Gaunt, Simon 9–10, 215, 217 Gautier d’Arras 155 gaze of lover 28, 41, 198, 203 Ge´rard de Nevers 79 n. 3 Gerbert de Montreuil 6, 80 n. 4; see Roman de la Violette Gerson, Jean 13, 134–5, 137–8, 144, 152, 162, 168–9 Giles of Rome 13, 20, 35 n. 108, 84, 85, 86, 87, 89, 111, 113, 120, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 148, 166, 168, 171, 173, 175 n. 165, 189–94, 196, 206-12; see also Henri de Gauchy Gilles de Chin 12, 16, 19 n. 25, 46 n. 126, 55–62, 63, 64, 65, 70, 72, 77, 88, 147 n. 100, 190, 216, 217 Gillion de Trazegnies 6, 13, 130, 131, 144 n. 93, 146 n. 97, 155–62, 164, 171 n. 158, 177, 215, 217 Gouttebroze, Jean-Guy 196 Gre´ban, Arnoul 141 Gregory, St 83 Griseldis 137, 218 Guilbert de Tournai 134 Guillaume de Lorris 83, 188; see also Jean de Meun Guillaume de Palerne (prose) 81 Guillaume de Palerne (verse) 13, 79, 90, 91, 92, 95, 96, 105, 106, 110, 114, 116 n. 104 Guy de Thourotte, chatelain de Coucy 12

249

hagiography 2, 14, 63, 83, 98, 99, 102, 111 n. 94, 119, 125, 156, 158, 159, 179, 180, 182, 185, 187, 188, 189, 191, 126, 213, 217; see also Legende dore´e; virgin martyrs Helen of Troy 184, 195 Henri de Ferrie`res 186 n. 31 Henri de Gauchy 20, 84; see also Giles of Rome heron 186 Histoire des Seigneurs de Gavre, see Seigneurs de Gavre Holy Family 138, 140, 165, 166 n. 147; see also Joseph, St; Virgin (Mary) homosociality 10, 11, 22, 27, 29, 31, 53, 55–9, 61, 63, 64, 71, 75, 76, 117, 215, 216; see also male bonding; semblables Hue de Rotelande 30; see Ipomedon Huizinga, Johan 1, 218 Hundred Years War 17 hunting 43, 186 nn. 30–1, 187 husbands: as rivals to the hero 45, 47–50, 52, 56, 58–61, 63 duties of 12, 132–43, 215, 217 heroes as 10, 11, 13, 31, 35, 37, 50, 54, 62, 69, 73, 94, 99, 101, 129–32, 143–78, 181, 185, 188, 189, 196–214 see also Joseph, St illuminations 17, 63 n. 149, 130–1, 200 n. 77; see also miniatures incest 9, 11, 63, 64, 71, 74, 133 as index of tyranny 66, 68, 195, 200, 205, 209 as pretext for annulment 133, 142 deWnition of 181 father/daughter 13, 64 n. 152, 66–8, 80 n. 4, 120, 171, 179–214 mother/son 64, 171, 179, 197 stepmother/stepson 64–6, 68 incognito 94–5, 100–1, 122, 124 innamoramento 12, 15, 17, 44, 76, 129, 199 Ipomedon 30, 94 n. 66

250

Index

irony 51–2, 99–101, 103, 111–12, 124, 126, 145–9, 151, 154, 155, 165, 183, 186, 197, 217; see also parody Jacobus de Voragine 98 n. 77, 137; see also Le´gende dore´e Jacques de Vitry 134 Jaeger, C. Stephen 26 Jakeme´s 12, 55; see Chastelain de Coucy Jean de Bueil (the Jouvencel) 13, 19, 69; see Le Jouvencel Jean de Cre´quy 6, 143 n. 90 Jean de Croy¨ 63, 64 n. 152, 143 n. 90, 179 Jean de Meun 188, 189, 205–6; see also Guillaume de Lorris Jean de Vignay 98 n. 77; see Legende dore´e Jean de Wavrin 6, 130, 143 n. 90, 144 Anciennes Chroniques d’Engleterre 6, 130 Jeanne de Laval, wife of Rene´ d’Anjou 163, 170 Jehan d’Avennes 4, 16, 44–54, 55, 57, 64, 69, 70, 77, 88, 94 n. 67, 147, 215, 216, 217 Jehan de Paris 2 Jerome, St 135 Joseph, St 132, 138–41, 144, 148, 165, 166, 167 n. 149, 168, 169, 172, 177 Joufroi de Poitiers 30 jousts 3, 19, 28, 33, 34, 57, 69, 85, 112, 145, 146, 147; see also tournaments kingship 8, 44, 64 Krueger, Roberta L. 9–10, 215, 217 Lalaing, Jacques de, subject of eponymous biography 3, 13, 19, 21, 22, 25, 26, 29, 40, 45, 48, 49, 51, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 62, 71, 72, 130 n. 3 Lancelot 25, 183 Lannoy, Ghillebert de 21, 22, 40, 41, 42, 48, 50, 51, 54, 59, 60, 61, 62, 64 Enseignements paternels 22, 27–8 Instruction d’un jeune prince 21 largesse 22, 50, 53, 74 La Sale, Antoine de, see Saintre´ Le Bel Inconnu 129

Lef e`vre de Saint-Re´my, Jean, herald Toison d’Or 19 n. 25, 23 Legenda aurea, see Jacobus de Voragine; Legende dore´e Le´gende dore´e 2, 98 n. 77, 102 nn. 81–2, 121 n. 115, 125 nn. 122–3, 187 n. 36; see also hagiography; virgin martyrs Legrand, Jacques 13, 134, 136, 137, 138, 144, 168, 175 n. 165 Legros, Huguette 196 Le Jouvencel 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 28–9, 37, 38, 39, 55, 56, 57, 63 n. 151, 73, 74 L’EscouXe, see Renart, Jean Livre du gouvernement, see Giles of Rome losengiers 197 Lot-Borodine, Myrrha 79 love: as charity 125, 200, 204–6 deleterious eVects of 44, 59, 70, 82, 109, 114, 128, 150, 154 disinterested 38, 47–50, 53, 213 extramarital 11–12, 30, 56, 216 ennobling eVect of 23, 24, 26, 31, 216 marital 11, 12, 13, 71, 77, 129–78, 179–214 platonic 10, 11, 216 premarital 11–12, 13, 30, 31, 44, 77, 79 reciprocal 25, 39, 51, 52, 57, 58, 64, 69, 70, 74, 79 see also amour de renomme´e; wives, husbands’ love for love-service 27, 30, 31, 33, 36, 37, 44–5, 47, 50, 52, 53, 58, 62, 69, 76, 183, 216 lovesickness 58, 69, 107, 113–15, 119, 127, 145, 149, 150–1, 154, 169, 174, 183; see also love, deleterious eVects of Lucy, St 187 n. 36, 195 Lull, Ramon 18, 24, 27, 29, 56, 59, 60, 61 lyric 2, 14, 37, 57, 70, 83, 123, 182, 183, 186, 188, 213, 217, 218 McCracken, Peggy 10 ‘maiden without hands’ 13, 179–214; see also incest, father/daughter

Index Maillart, Jehan, see Comte d’Anjou ‘Maıˆtre de Wavrin’ 17, 44 n. 119, 63 n. 149, 130 male bonding 23, 62, 65, 66, 71, 72, 73, 74, 77, 78, 101, 147, 153; see also homosociality; semblables manuals of chivalry 3, 12, 19, 20 Manekine, see Philippe de Remi; Wauquelin, Jehan Margaret, St 102, 187 Marie de Cle`ves, duchess of Orle´ans 17, 26, 27, 58 Marie de France: Eliduc 155, 162 Guigemar 30, 129, 149 marriage: annulment of 133, 142, 161 ‘aristocratic’ model of 13, 132–4, 135, 136, 138, 142–3, 144, 146, 147, 154, 156, 158, 162, 169, 171, 172, 176, 177, 180, 199 bigamous 11, 13, 130, 142, 155, 160 clandestine 89, 95, 107, 109, 110, 119, 133 ‘clerkly’ model of 13, 134, 136, 138, 142, 143, 144, 146, 147, 148, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 162, 163, 166, 167, 169, 170, 171, 172, 176, 177, 179, 190, 211 companionate 13, 136, 151, 154, 157, 162, 167, 177, 206, 211, 214, 215 conjugal debt in 135, 144, 147, 151, 153, 171 consent to 89–93, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102–3, 127, 133, 136, 138, 142, 147, 195, 206 consummation of 28, 33, 37, 54, 70, 95 n. 68, 99 n. 78, 107, 133, 139, 142, 147, 161 ‘ecclesiastical’ model of 133–4, 142 endogamous 13, 132, 142, 180, 190–4 exogamous 13, 133, 171, 180 goods of 133, 134, 143, 146, 211 ideal ages of spouses in 133, 139, 166, 167–8

251

mastery in 31, 40, 42, 50, 52, 62, 70, 77, 132 moderation in 135, 136, 150, 154, 164, 168, 173, 176, 177, 194, 206–7, 211, 214 political alliances sealed by 35, 85, 86, 89, 136, 193 sermons 13, 77, 132, 134, 137, 138, 157, 163, 165, 177, 212, 215, 216 unifying role of children in 62, 75, 134, 135, 138, 171 vows 95 n. 68, 107, 144, 147, 152, 160 see also husbands; Joseph, St; Virgin (Mary); wives Martha, St 125 n. 123 Martin, St 83 Mary, St, the Egyptian 121 medical texts 12, 82, 83, 84, 85, 149 melancholy 101, 123, 148–9; see also lovesickness Me´lusine 5, 11 Me´nagier de Paris 134, 137, 168 Me´nard, Philippe 90 Mercade´, Eustache 141 Mie´lot, Jean 20, 21 miniatures 163 n. 137, 165; see also illuminations ‘mirrors for princes’ 5, 6, 12, 14, 20, 35, 84, 163, 173, 189–91, 193–4, 196, 206, 208–10, 212, 213, 214 mises en prose 6, 7, 8, 40, 55 n. 137, 189, 193, 195, 209, 212; see also de´rimages; prose reworkings monologues 182, 197, 198, 206 mothers: as educators of sons 172 heroines as 10, 200, 202, 212 -in-law 197, 205 vocation of 87, 138, 157, 160, 202 see also incest, mother/son, stepmother/ stepson; Virgin (Mary) mystery plays 140 Naber, Antoinette 55 nouvelle 127, 143

252

Index

Olivier de Castille 6, 12, 16, 63–75, 77, 94 n. 67, 146 n. 97, 146 n. 99, 147 n. 100, 148 n. 101, 195, 197 n. 67, 215 Ordene de chevalerie 17 Ovid 182, 188 parallelism as narrative device 8, 43, 102, 131, 140, 144, 149, 174, 186, 197 ‘parasexuality’ 105 Paris et Vienne (Burgundian version) 80 n. 8, 124 n. 120; see also Pierre de la Ce´pe`de Paris et Vienne (shorter redaction) 97 n. 70, 98 n. 76, 111 n. 93, 124 n. 120, 126 nn. 128–9; see also Pierre de la Ce´pe`de Paris, Gaston 162 parody 97–8, 100–3, 111, 112 n. 96, 122–3, 124–6, 217; see also irony Partenopeu de Blois 129 pas d’armes 3, 19, 26 n. 74, 44, 52 Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs 27 Paul, St 201, 211 Peter, St 94 penance/penitence 18 n. 18, 60–1, 87, 98, 109, 112, 120–2, 125, 126, 128, 158, 160, 176, 180, 184, 186–7, 188, 202, 204, 218 penitentials 184 personiWcation 206; see also allegory Philippe de Me´zie`res 13, 135, 137, 166 Sacrement de mariage 134 Songe du vieil pelerin 5 Philippe de Novare 13, 84, 85, 86, 87, 89, 97, 107, 111, 113, 120 Philippe de Remi, sire de Beaumanoir 13, 171, 179, 181, 185–8, 189, 192, 193 n. 59, 195, 196–200, 201, 202, 203, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214 Philippe le Bel, king of France 181 n. 14, 188 Philippe le Bon, duke of Burgundy 5–6, 17, 26 n. 74, 36 n. 113, 44 n. 119, 46 n. 126, 63 n. 149, 129, 132,

134 n. 24, 141, 142, 143, 144, 155 n. 115, 156, 189 Pierre de la Ce´pe`de 6, 80 Paris et Vienne 6, 13, 79–81, 97–103, 110–12, 122–7, 128, 215, 217 see also Paris et Vienne (Burgundian version); Paris et Vienne (shorter redaction) Pierre de Provence 13, 79–81, 93–97, 100, 101, 106–10, 111, 112, 118–22, 126, 127–8, 189, 215, 217 Pierre de Provence (later redaction) 109 n. 91 pilgrims/pilgrimage 121, 124 n. 120, 130, 151, 158, 176 Ponthus et Sidoine 4, 8, 12, 16, 17, 31–6, 37, 38, 39, 52, 58, 63, 69, 70, 73, 76, 79 n. 3, 146 n. 97, 147–8, 189 power relations of sexes 9, 12, 13, 50, 181, 182, 188, 196, 203, 205, 213; see also marriage, mastery in prologues 8, 19 n. 25, 45, 46, 51, 54, 55, 97 n. 70, 126, 144, 156, 164, 165, 190–1, 217 Prose Lancelot 5, 24 prose reworkings 4, 7, 12, 16, 31, 32, 39, 40, 42, 44, 50, 55, 77, 79 n. 3, 81, 131 n. 8, 143, 155 n. 114, 158, 179, 182, 189, 190, 191, 206, 207, 208, 209, 211, 214, 216, 218; see also de´rimages; mises en prose proverbs 59, 164, 192 Prudence, wife of Melibee 137, 218 Prunier 44–54 psychomachia 51, 74, 183 puer senex 83, 173 Que´ruel, Danielle 9 Rambaux de Frise 12, 16, 36–9, 64, 66, 75, 76, 146 n. 99, 217 Raoul de Houdenc 17 rape 9, 120, 158, 174, 180 n. 7, 201 n. 78, 203, 204 Rasmussen, Jens 7 recreantise 54

Index Regnault 55, 59, 60; see Chastelain de Coucy Re´gnier-Bohler, Danielle 64 Renart, Jean L’EscouXe 13, 79, 81, 92, 104, 105, 106, 108, 109, 114, 115, 116, 117, 120, 122, 127 Roman de la Rose ou de Guillaume de Dole 30 Renaut 79; see Galeran de Bretagne Rene´ d’Anjou 6, 11, 163, 170, 218 repentance, see penance/penitence reproduction, medieval views of 71, 72, 75, 82, 83, 138, 141, 165 Richars li biaus 63 Robert le Diable 144 n. 93 Roland 64, 173 Rollier-Paulian, Catherine 200 romance: Arthurian 3, 5, 6, 9, 11, 15, 24, 29, 30, 32, 33, 76, 129 n. 1, 146 n. 99, 218 extramarital 11–12, 30, 56, 178, 216 genealogical 5, 11 historico-realist 11–12, 32 n. 100, 63, 132, 218 idyllic 11, 13, 32–3, 79–128, 174 marital 13, 77, 129–78, 179, 189, 214, 215, 217 premarital 11–12, 30–1, 44, 77, 79, 132, 154 n. 113, 178, 195, 215–17 ‘realist’ 30, 31, 104 n. 84 see also ‘wager cycle’ romance motifs: immediate conception of male heir 70, 146, 201 lady as ‘doctor’ 119, 150 wedding joust 34, 53, 145–6 Roman de Fauvel 200 Roman de Horn 31–2 Roman de la Rose, see Guillaume de Lorris; Jean de Meun Roman de la Violette 79 n. 3 Roman de Silence 153 Roman du Comte d’Anjou, see Comte d’Anjou Roman du Comte d’Artois, see Comte d’Artois

253

St Clair, JeVrey 97 Saintre´ 2, 6, 12, 15, 16, 77, 112 n. 96, 217 Saracen 22, 33, 34, 61, 119, 130, 147, 155 n. 115, 156, 159, 160 disguise 101, 102, 123, 124, 125, 128 princesses 155, 159, 161 see also crusade Sardanapalus 208, 209 Sebastian, St 159 Seigneuret, Jean-Charles 144 Seigneurs de Gavre 13, 130, 131, 162-77, 189, 190, 215, 217 semblables 23, 71, 74, 75; see also homosociality; male bonding senior(es) 54, 56, 62, 69, 77, 145, 146 singleman 145–9, 151,154 singlewoman 33, 153 social mobility 27, 62, 89–90, 92, 93–5, 96, 97, 100–1, 127 So¨derhjelm, Werner 97 sons: as exemplars for their fathers 162–78 as replacement for absent fathers 160, 170, 202 surrogate 28, 36, 38 see also fathers, resemblance of sons to their; incest, mother/son, stepmother/stepson sterility 143, 158; see also childlessness Stuip, Rene´ 163 Szkilnik, Michelle 15, 16, 45, 52, 54, 77 Thibaut de Champagne 186 tournaments 3, 8, 19, 26, 28, 33, 34, 44, 50, 53–4, 55 n. 137, 57–8, 60, 62, 64, 66–9, 71–2, 75, 80 n. 7, 85–6, 94–5, 100–1, 111, 122, 131, 145–7, 148 n. 101, 167, 175; see also jousts trial by combat 173, 174; see also duels Tristan 25, 30, 59, 150 in Be´roul 91, 106 in Thomas 114, 129 n. 1 trompeur trompe´ 50, 124 turtle dove 161, 170

254

Index

vantardise (boasting) 52, 54 Virgin (Mary) 27, 109, 121, 138–41, 144, 148, 166, 167 n. 149, 169, 196, 200 virginity 83, 85, 99, 116, 121, 125, 126, 137, 139, 187, 201 virgin martyrs 98, 99, 102, 125, 128, 187; see also hagiography; Legende dore´e ‘wager cycle’ 80 n. 4 Wauquelin, Jehan 6 Manekine 13, 64 n. 152, 179, 181–2, 188–96, 206–14, 215 Gouvernement des princes 189–95, 207–12 Wilfrid, St 83

wives: as moral exemplars 25, 48, 137, 143–62, 164, 177, 202, 217, 218 criteria for choosing 167–8, 193, 207, 209–10 duties of 12, 132–43, 191 husbands’ love for 30, 31, 35, 54, 75, 135, 194, 199, 200, 202, 211, 212 repudiation of 11, 13, 130, 132, 133, 135, 142, 163, 171, 175, 179 see also Virgin (Mary) Ysaı¨e le Triste 5, 153, 218 Zink, Michel 2, 9, 15, 29