A Portrait Of The Hero As A Young Child: Guillaume, , Girard, And Gui Anna P. Carney Cornell University Joseph Campbell writes that a hero is someone “who has found or done something beyond the normal range of achievement and experience” (151), which is certainly an appropriate way to describe the great men of French . The Williams, the Charlemagnes, and the all far surpass their peers in courage and industry, to the extent that they become symbols of manly perfection (for their time). Going “beyond the normal range of experience” implies setting oneself apart, which can almost be considered a problematic concept for this genre. In epic, there is always great emphasis on group effort, as there would be in any military situation. Men who are not specifically leaders must therefore follow whoever has that role. And while there might be varying degrees of enthusiasm and courage with which these men obey their orders, none the less, all the men are under the same orders. Since an epic hero must be free to follow his own extraordinary inclinations, only a position of leadership will allow him the freedom that he needs. Also, because everything in these poems concerns men working together for a common cause, there are relationships other than those of leader and follower that come into play and that vary from man to man. Some may have fathers on the field with them, others may have brothers, or life-long friends, or arch-enemies. There is always a complex web of personalities and relationships that creates a psychological interest in these poems alongside the literary one. This contrasts with medieval romance, where poets most often concern themselves with a single , who detaches himself from his ménage and goes off into the forest to seek his own adventure; the epic hero, on the other hand, detaches himself only spiritually, through his knightly excellence. Physically, he remains by the sides of his friends to whom he has close, strong ties, and continues to interact with them as always.

This emphasis on family in epic poetry, be it extended or immediate, must be the origin of the interest in the times before these valiant sons reached mature manhood. With the passage of time, their companions have not changed: as adults they now fight alongside those same fathers, uncles, brothers, and friends who were their companions in childhood. Have they themselves changed to become the great men that they are now? One cannot help but wonder how they got where 239 • / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

they are. Were they ever weakly dependent on their families like normal children? Or did they show their heroic, independent spark right from the beginning? The poets seem to have wondered this too, since more than one has undertaken to explore these questions. Indeed, the hero as a child is an image that would seem sympathetic to just about any audience. Of course, whether or not the child is an original invention or a pre- existing hero is important in determining how the character development is approached. If the child already exists in other poems as a great hero, the poet must decide if the audience is sophisticated enough to appreciate a depiction of a beloved hero as a small and insecure boy. Or perhaps the thought of this hero ever being less than flawless in any way, at any point in his life, would be displeasing to his loyal fans. The poet also needs to consider the adult hero’s character traits and the exploits that he undertakes, when trying to decide what sort of tale to tell about the child. On the other hand, if the youth is a spontaneously invented character, then the poet has a lot more freedom. He does not have to worry about preconceived ideas surrounding his creation, and in fact has only to satisfy himself. In this discussion, we will concern ourselves with four such young heroes: young William of the Enfances Guillaume, young Roland of the Chanson d’Aspremont, and Gui and Girard of the . Two of these are already known as grown men, and the other two are original creations. Just because they are young does not mean that the heroic ideal changes for them: every one of them separates himself in some way from the unremarkable masses with his amazing feats of strength and courage. The only difference is that they are young and inexperienced. Through their stories the poets explore the question of how a hero gets his start. I. Les Enfances Guillaume The first character we will examine is the young William of Les Enfances Guillaume. William, of course, is already well known and loved as a grown man; his characteristics as a great hero have already been developed and presented, and it is entirely because of his earlier stories that the poet has written this one. As a result, in this particular poem, it sometimes seems that the grown William of previously Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 240

existing stories has been asked to play himself as a boy, with the result that some aspects of the poem are rather implausible. One example of this awkwardness is that everyone in his large immediate family shows marked deference towards him right from the beginning, when he is supposed to be considered a mere untried boy. Also, his exploits involving Orange and Orable are already fully developed plans, and whenever possible he harangues people with the entire plot of the Prise d’Orange. There is a lot in young William that suggests a man twice his age. However, despite these flaws in character development, the Enfances Guillaume also contains a certain insight into how such a man might have set himself apart as a “child”, and also presents an interesting description of a close, exceptionally noble, royal family.

Family is a key word in this poem, since the entire Narbonnese family is involved in the drama that unfolds. Though the poet concerns himself primarily with the celebration of young William’s exploits, his story is hardly one of a single man on his own. Rather, the story follows the epic tradition of a group of people, led by one or two exceptional leaders, who defeat another group who are their enemies. In epic there is never a sense of one man fighting his own battle; and, in this story, the group is William, his brothers, and his mother and father, just as in other stories it is William and his nephews, or and Roland.

Even William is first defined in terms of his family background. The poet first explains that he will be concerning himself with “uns des fiz Ainmeri le chastienne / Qui tant jors tint Nerbonne an son demoinne” (6-7). This description of William as merely the son of his father proves to be a little ironic, as one realizes that the poet has created a William who is superior to Aymeri in almost all respects. But at the beginning, for the time being, Aymeri is presented as the model head of a family, conducting his wife from church:

A tant e vos le prout content Ainmeri, Vint dou moustier ou out la messe oït. Uns frans provoires li ot chanteit et dit, Ansanble o lui Ermanjairs la gentis. (38-41)

It is a very civilized scene—the good Christian parents emerging from mass and giving an impression of peace and contentment. The only thing, Aymeri says, that he could want for in the world is for his sons to be knighted, which, for some unexplained reason, is not possible as matters stand. When a messenger arrives, announcing Charlemagne’s 241 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

desire to dub Aymeri’s four oldest after a few years of service at court, he rejoices that his wish has come true. He tells his sons the good news, and Bernard and Hernaut docilely reply, “Si Deus m’aïst, nos irons a Paris. / K’i deaiz hait ki demourait ici!”(74-75). “Quant l’ot Guillaumes,” however, “a po n’anraige vis” (76). The thought of wasting all those years at court, instead of in battle makes him very angry indeed. He fumes,

Fiz a putains, mavais garsons frarins, La vostre anfance durait ele toz dis? Or deüsiés chivelir devenir Et garoier paieins et Sarasins. (77-80)

This is our very first view of William—a surprisingly violent boy refusing to be amenable because, like every self-respecting hero, he has higher expectations from life and much more exciting plans for himself than those his elders have made for him. His reaction sets him apart from his brothers right from the beginning. He finishes his speech by announcing his resolve to start out for Orange at the crack of dawn, “Ne revanrai si avrai tant conkis / Que bien porai trois mile honmes tenir” (92-93). Guibert le Petit and Bertrand loyally promise to go with him, though Bertrand adds that since he is the oldest, “Devant vos toz serai chastais et guis” (100). William is outraged by this declaration, and in his words we first begin to see the unusual hierarchy that exists among the men of the family and that has little to do with age; William retorts to Bernard,

Vos n’aveis mi voir di. Per cel apostre que kieirent pelerins, Se vos estiés trois cent et quatre vins, S’esteriés vos trestut a moi anclins. (101-04)

As the poem goes on, we see that Bernard is not the only one “anclins” to him, despite his years and lack of experience.

The invraisemblance of William’s position becomes even more marked when, next, William approaches his mother about the plan to go to Paris. He once again demonstrates single-mindedness about killing pagans (more forshadowing of his future career) and boasts to his mother “Plus an donrai a chacuns de mes freires, / K’onques n’an tint cuens Ainmeris, mes peires” (132-33). Instead of rebuking him for what sounds like disrespect and arrogance towards his father, Ermenjart Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 242

replies in a pleased manner, “Deus . . . don bien fusent je neie” (134), with an implied lack of consideration for Aymeri.

The next laisse continues in the same vein. The men are preparing for departure when Ermenjart approaches her son and expresses her fears about attack by the Saracens. William tells her not to worry, “Si m’anvoiés un mes en France douce: / Jai ne larai ne por roi ne por conte / N’en vos secoure a soissante mile honme” (153-55). He thus assures her of his official protection, but her fears are not allayed, and as William mounts his horse, “Dame Ermanjairt la janbe li anbraice. / ‘Filz,’ dit la meire, ‘que ferait ceste laice?’ “ (164-65) “ ‘. . . Se Sarasins et paieins nos asaille / Et je te mans ne per briés ne per chartre, / Ne lasieis, filz, que cecors ne me faice’ “ (164-71). This confidence in her son, and the emotion she displays at his departure seem strange and inappropriate, for she is not a lonely widow with only William to protect her, but the wife of the powerful count Aymeri and the mother of six other healthy and strong sons. She has never seen William in battle and can have nothing but his boasts upon which to base her confidence in him. Her attitude towards him, and indeed his attutude towards himself, suggests a foreknowledge of what his fate will be. For Ermenjart, William is already the mature warrior of his later stories that the audience is already acquainted with.

These scenes also suggest a just barely perceptible shadow on the character of Aymeri, because he is so unconcerned about leaving his wife unprotected that his son must take on the responsibility. This criticism of Aymeri becomes more pronounced when a spy informs Tedbald of the news from Narbonne, saying,

C’or puet Nerbonne troveir sanz seignorage: I n’i ait honme qui contredit l’an faice, Fors une dame ki ne l’atanrait gaire. Cuens Ainmeris a la chanue barbe S’en vait en France a l’anpereour Charle. (205-09)

This sort of refrain: “Narbonne belongs to the French, Aymeri rules it, but he has gone off and left it unprotected, so now’s our chance!” is repeated again and again by the pagans as they plan attacks. Tedbald even plots to give lady Ermenjart to an African king and separate her from her children forever. Surely Aymeri should take every step possible to insure that she never have to endure this fate. Since, however, he does not seem to have the slightest concern that she will be 243 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

in danger without him, it seems only natural that Ermenjart would turn to William for protection.

There is, nevertheless, another way of looking at the question of Aymeri’s character. It may not be that he is really so deficient in admirable qualities that his wife is forced to place her trust elsewhere, but that he and she both realize that William is the more deserving of that trust. The grown William of the earlier stories has been put in the incongruous role of child, but everyone—most of the characters as well as the audience—knows that he is really the most powerful man in the country. Only unsympathetic characters doubt his superiority. This suggested understanding of what William is to become makes it only natural that he should be trusted over his father, even at the beginning. It would have been less pleasing to the audience to have a strong, overbearing Aymeri demanding the glory and respect that would normally have been his right, when everyone wants William, disguised as a child, to be the hero of the story.

The idea of a boy with the characteristics of a man is not without precedent. The puer senex topos is found in literature from Antiquity to the Middle Ages, and even later, and describes the ideal man—a man who possesses all the beauty and strength and zeal of youth, as well as the wisdom and morality that are usually thought of as accompanying age (Curtius 98-101). It is therefore not surprising that such a theme would be found in this story, where the poet is specifically trying to create the perfect young warrior according to the ideals of the time: young and strong, but without the fears and weaknesses of youth. Of course one could not describe this thoughtless William as having the dignity and prudence of an old man, but he certainly has the courage and confidence of a veteran warrior.

Aymeri, on the other hand, is depicted as quite unremarkable in this poem, which eliminates the question of rivalry altogether. To show Aymeri’s harmlessness, the poet uses constant reminders that the father is getting old. He refers to him as “Ainmeri lo viel chanut barbei” (316), or “Ainmeris le chanus et li blans” (403), or, more directly, “Ainmeri lo viel” (629), which all imply that the father’s days of glory are just about over, and that he is fortunate to have such a promising young son. Aymeri is still the nominal head of the household, but he upholds the silent agreement that William is to be encouraged to take control whenever he wants—which is most of the time. Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 244

When the Narbonnese finally set off for Paris, the trip is an eventful one, for they are attacked by 7,000 pagan messengers of Tedbald. At first, everyone’s prowess is celebrated:

La bataille est et mervelouse et grant; Fransois i fierent mainte comunamant Et paieins aus, qui ne doute niant; De totes pars i fut la planteis grant. (373-76). Even the pagans are striking noble blows—so noble, that “plus de mil et cinc cens” (405) finally succeed in unhorsing Aymeri, giving William the long-desired chance to distinguish himself. This he does, in the usual way, by singlehandedly destroying “stacks” of men, and forcing the dismayed but admiring pagans to retreat in the face of this awesome display of force. It is a brutal force too, administered with a sharpened stake, since the boy has not yet received proper arms.

The next important event of the battle is William’s capture of Balçan, a beautiful horse that the pagans leave behind in their flight. Balçan is no ordinary animal; he is a horse of tremendous power and a very fitting companion for a warrior like William. When William first catches sight of him, the horse is making such a noise that “Tote la terre an vait retantisant” (476), and when he finally mounts him, “il li saut quarante piés de terre. / Teil efroi moinne conme savaige beste: / Tuit an tantisent et li vas et li testre” (498-500). This instills even more fear into the pagans, and they run away all the faster. More important, however, is Balçan’s connection with Orable—though William already knows that he is destined to conquer Orange, he does not yet know about the lady involved. She, apparently, had undertaken the complete care of Balçan: “Orable l’ot gardeit plus de set ans, / Dedans Orange, an un sillier tot tans,” and, what is more interesting,

Ains n’ann usit per nul honme vivant. Elle meïmes lo regardoit sovant, Ce li stastoit les costeis et les flans, Les quatre janbes et les piés asimant Et lo viaire a son erminne blanc. (458-64) The horse seems to be a symbol of Orable herself and her city—that is, something of beauty that has been cared for and nurtured in preparation for the coming of its master, and for his benefit only. By taking over Balçan, William unknowingly establishes his first connection with his future wife. 245 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

The pagan Aquilant, who was charged with Balçan, is less than happy at the theft of his lady’s horse, but he is too afraid of what he has seen William do with his sharpened stake to challenged him for it. Aquilant is the first to say what later becomes a recurring theme, that William must either be enchanted or possessed by the devil:

Damosais, sire, con tu es fel et fier, Ne t’os atandre por cel peil aguisier. A vi diable! c’or laisent ton lancier! Per Mahonmet, mout te doi resoignier, Tu es faeis, ne fait pais a noier: Tu ne redoutes ne lance ne espiét. (527-32) But, with reassurances of safety from William, Aquilant goes on to tell how Tedbald has sent him to ask for the beautiful Orable’s hand in marriage. This gives William another opportunity to recite the entire plot of the Prise d’Orange, this time adding that, after killing Tedbald, and seizing the city, he will have Orable baptized. Aquilant is to take this message back to Orable, along with his greetings and assurances of friendship. Just hearing about Orable is enough to charm William (he is intelligent enough to recognize his destiny when he hears it), and the same is true of the lady. Aquilant tells her, “Nes Ainmeris estoit pris et loieis, / Quant un diaubles nos saut toz elasiés: / Guillaume a nom, fiz Ainmeri lo viel” (627-29). This “devil,” he tells her, plans to come to Orange, kill her future husband, convert her, and then marry her. Orable faints at this news, but eventually reconciles herself to the idea, and from this point on, the two are pledged to each other, on the basis of reputation alone. For someone who has not even been knighted yet, William has come very far. He has two women, his mother and his fiancee, entirely convinced of his superiority and willing to place all their trust in his rescuing them from the clutches of Tedbald. During the next battle, it is William’s turn to be seized by the pagans, and in a humorous scene the pagans threaten him with what they think must be a fate worse than death:

Haï! Guillames, grant folie pansaistes; En cest enchaus ne gaignerés vos gaires. Or vos moinrai an Oranges, an ma saule, Si vos randrai ma serour dame Orable Ke vos ferait geter dedans sa charte. (1092-96) Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 246

To be brought to Orable is William’s dream come true, and he revels in his plans to dine that evening by her side. When William is fighting, there is room for no one else; and all praises go to him. But when he is away from the action, or indisposed, as he is here, the poet never hesitates to allow the rest of his family to show their worth. Bernard, who has hardly been mentioned since the beginning, now has a chance to show his valor by rescuing William from his captors. This he does, in a creditable manner, though William expresses disappointment at not having attained Orange: Bien aveiz esploitié. Mais d’une chose suix je griez et iriez, Ke Sarrasin s’estoient tant tardié Ke ne s’astoient a dis lues aloignié. Car a Oranges venise volantier, Veoir . . . dame Orable. (1266-72) But the author seems to want to emphasize the fact that this entire family (with the occasional exception of Aymeri) is of unusual nobility and valor. This point is made again when Tedbald goes to attack Narbonne. Ermanjart mourns, “He, Aymeris, malemant esploitastes / Kant a Nerbone voz trois anfans laisastes! / Mauvais garans lor sereiz lai n’ait guare” (1520-22). Indeed, the children who are still with her must really be young, if the four oldest that have left were considered children too. Nonetheless, these young boys have great courage. Aïmer tells his mother: Livreiz moi cele broigne treslie Et cest vert elme ou li ors reflambie S’irai conquerre a ma lance brunie, Vers Sarrasins, don nostre gent guarisent. (2036-39) and Bueve and Guibert reply, “Enondeu, freire, san moi n’ireiz vos mie” (2041). What follows is a valiant, though somewhat unrealistic display of skill that proves that even the younger side of the Aymeri family is worth more than the average man. Meanwhile, Aymeri and his troops finally make it to Paris without further molestation. When they first arrive at Saint Denis, “El maistre borc propristent lor osteiz” (2272), but William is not content to sit around the hotel, waiting for his summons. Instead, “De la compaigne est partis et sevreiz” (2274), and he goes to the church where 247 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

Charlemagne is about to oversee a procession of his knights. William seizes this opportunity to present himself before Charles with a display of startling rudeness and brutality. He breaks into the solemn scene by insisting that he must be the one to present the to the emperor, but the pre-existing sword-bearer is not receptive to his claims: “Anfant le vit si l’ot en grant vilteit” (2290). William resorts to force: A poig senestre l’ait per le brais coubré, Pluis de trois tors l’ait entor lui torné, Kant vint a quart si le laissat aler, Le haterel li fiert a un piller, A poc li oil ne sont anduit voleit; De devant Charle est une fois pameiz. (2293-98) Then, adding insult to injury, William shouts to him, “Filz a putains” (2300), Ne fust por Charle, le fort roi coronney, Et le bernaige ke voi si assambley, Jai vos feïse andouz les oelz voler, Les poinz tranchier, les oroiles coper, Kant mon commant osaistes trespasser. (2300-06) No one can believe this behavior, which is appalling even by medieval standards; and Charles says that, though very well-grown and handsome, this “diable” should be burnt at the stake, with his ashes scattered to the wind. Luckily Aymeri and the other boys arrive on the scene at this point, and everyone’s identity is revealed. All is forgiven, and it appears that William was quite right in demanding what was his due. Not long afterwards, William is given another opportunity to demonstrate his strength in front of Charlemagne on a much worthier object of dislike than Charles’s uncooperative swordbearer. A beast-like Breton arrives at court, announcing “Champions suix, jai millor ne vaireiz, / Sai suix venus por voz Francoiz mater” (2411-12). When no one dares to rise to the challenge, this terrifying beast-man boasts to Charles,

Drois ampereres, mavaise gent aveiz: Toz vos Francoiz ai vancut et mateiz. En autre terre bien m’en porai vanter C’an vostre cort n’ai cortois bacheler Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 248

K’encontre moi en ost baston porter. (2434-38) For the Charlemagne of epic poetry to be told that all his men are cowards and that the fact is going to be advertised abroad, is a terrible thing, an insult of such gravity that it is only fitting that William take the matter in hand. Again the two men fight, and finally William brutally strikes the Breton down dead at Charlemagne’s feet. Charles is well pleased, and says, “Mes bones armes me fai aparillier / Car cest anfant voil faire chevalier” (2539-40). William has proven his loyalty and valor, and now deserves to be knighted, along with the rest of his family.

These two scenes celebrate the wild and brutal recklessness of William that has been hinted at throughout the poem, but which is by no means supposed to cast him in a negative light. This violence of character, verging on lack of control, is not found in the other characters, or even in William in his other stories. As a young man, he has yet to be reined in by knowledge and experience; and he possesses an unlimited energy and desire for adventure that excludes forethought, or fear, of any kind.

His recklessness is rewarded as Charles offers him a set of arms, but William rejects them, saying, “Trop sont ligieres, ne m’aroient mestier; / Bernart mon freire en faites chevalier” (2545-46). Bernard has no such reservations and accepts the arms gladly, without minding William’s slur on his strength. What follows is sort of a mass-dubbing, some of it by William himself, and the acquisition by William of a great deal of wealth. Now he has all the wealth and equipment that he could ever want and a reputation established, and his father is not the slightest bit threatened by it: “Aymeris voit de son fil la richesce; / C’il en ot joie je ne m’en mervoil certe” (2691-92).

The last adventure in the poem is when the French receive word that they must hurry back to Narbonne. The messenger asks for “Guillaumes et Aymeris li bers” and tells them of Ermenjart’s troubles. Aymeri rides up to William and announces, “Perdue aveiz Nerbone la citeit, / Assise l’ont Sarrasin et Esclei. / Ta meire mande ke vos la secoureiz” (2760-62). Once again we see an example of Aymeri’s willingness to let William take control of the situation: it is William who has lost Narbonne, and William who must save his mother.

Before they leave Paris, Charlemagne singles William out, “Sor un destrier leiz Guillame chevauche, / Son braiz senestre li ait mis sor 249 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

l’espale” (2786-87). The emperor draws him aside, calls him “Amin, biau freire” (2788) and asks him to serve the young Louis when the latter succeeds as emperor. William promises to cut off the head of anyone who doesn’t show Louis the proper respect and “Molt doucement l’empereres l’enbraice. / Plorant departent et Guillames et Charles” (2806-07). William is such an amazing person that he achieves a friendship with the great Charles that transcends the authority-based relationship of vassal and lord— and all this in one day!

By now there is even less pretense of Aymeri’s being the head of the household; and, as they move towards Narbonne, William makes the plans. First, he orders that Bernard be sent ahead with twenty knights and a gonfanon. “Fils,” says his father, “si con vos conmandeiz,” and the older brother sets out to prove himself to William. “Mon confenon i vodroie esprover,” he says, “Car a Guillame n’oseroie raler / Se d’un paien nel voi ansanglantei” (2837-39). The opportunity to slay the enemy presents itself immediately, but before long he is surrounded by pagans. As Roland called for Charlemagne, Bernard calls for William with “un cor ki a son col pandié” (2869). A battle of the noblest sort ensues, as William and his men come to Bernard’s rescue. Eventually, William comes face to face with his arch-enemy Tedbald, who, not knowing to whom he speaks, announces,

Cest grant gent ai ici amené, Telz trante rois ke ne croient en De. Car Aymeris en est an France aleiz, A Charlemainne ces anfans presanter. Ainz k’il revigne serait desariteiz Car Aymeris est chanus et berbeiz Et vielz et frailes, mout ait son tans usei; Il ne puet mais ses garnemans porter. (2951-58)

Even though there is a fair amount of evidence to support this statement throughout the poem, William must of course defend his father’s name, and he wounds and unhorses Tedbald. The pagans finally flee, thanks to the intervention of William and his brothers, and the family is joyfully reunited:

Dame Ermanjars est contre lui alant, Cent fois li baise la bouche de devan. Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 250

Granz fut la joie dou peire et des anfans, Kant sont venu an Nerbone la gran. (3119-22)

II. La Chanson d’Aspremont

Young Roland’s story is similar in many ways to William’s, though the structure and story-line in the Chanson d’Aspremont are markedly different from those of the previous poem; however, like William, Roland too is already the beloved hero of any audience, which influences how the poet develops his character a great deal. In the Chanson d’Aspremont, Charlemagne is faced with a huge pagan invasion from the south, which threatens all of Christendom. The poem is long, with several interlaced plots, but certainly one of them could be called the “Enfances Roland,” because it tells of young Roland’s role in the defeat of this pagan force. Charles must rise to one of the greatest challenges of his life, but this challenge provides young Roland with his first opportunity to establish a reputation. The path to glory is far from smooth, however, since the very man that Roland is trying to help thwarts him at every move. Roland has made the mistake of becoming too dear to Charlemagne, who, as a result, is very reluctant to expose his beloved nephew to the dangers of battle— despite Roland’s being a valuable addition to his cause. Because of this relationship, the events in the story concerning Roland follow a particular pattern, with two recurring scenarios. The first is one where Charles places restrictions on Roland, Roland breaks free from these limitations, and Charles must reluctantly allow him to do as he wants. Once Roland is free to follow his own inclinations, the next scenario comes into play: Charles despairs on the battlefield because things are looking grim in one way or another, then Roland arrives and does something that saves the situation from disaster. In both cases, Charles allows sentiment to cloud his judgement and lower his confidence; but Roland uses the appropriate knightly emotion of anger to focus on solving the problem at hand. There is nothing passive about Roland. Whatever challenge he faces, he never stops trying to overcome all obstacles until he succeeds. Roland’s story begins with a challenge from Charlemagne, who tells Archbishop Turpin that he is placing Roland and three other youths under his care for the duration of the war. “Jo ai ces quatre noris en ma maison;” he says, “Gardés les moi tant que nos revenron. / A cest besoing n’ai cure de garçon” (1060-62). Having raised them in his 251 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

own household, Charles makes the common parental mistake of assuming his children to be always helpless and in need of his constant watchful eye. Turpin agrees to lock the boys up in the dungeon of Montlaon. Incarcerated in this manner, Roland and his friends bring to mind damsels being locked up in towers to be kept pure and away from harm. Since everyone in the poet’s audience already knows about Roland, the idea of his being kept away from danger, like a woman, seems outrageous, and funny too. “Li enfant qui tant font a proisier,” are outraged too. From within their prison they listen to “ces cors soner, tentir et graisloier, / Ces ostoirs braire et henir tant destrier,” and they see “par cele ost errer tant escuier” (1250-52). By listing all the exciting preparations being carried on outside, the author creates a sense of excitement and anticipation and shows the growing frustration that the boys feel at being left out of it. To contrast with these brave, active youths, the poet invents a “portier,” who refuses their offered bribe to make him a knight if he lets them out because, as a knight, “on i boute molt malement et fiert” (1262). He says, “Jo aim molt miols cha ens le sommillier” (1263). The boys response to this is to “aïrier,” a rage that serves them well, particularly Roland, throughout the poem because it incites valor and courage and banishes the fears and doubts that plague the more mature characters. In this case, it promotes Roland’s first “military” exploit. “Li enfant se prendent a irier” (1275), and Roland then begins a rallying speech. “Bien devons enragier” (1276), he says, and tells them that they must each take up a “baston de pomier” (1286); if the porter does not give in to their demands, “Tant soit batuz qu’il n’ait ja mais mestier” (1288). “Rollandins fu durement irascuz” (1292) as he approaches the guard, and when the “vilains malotruz” (1310) refuses to let them go, the four boys beat him to death and make their escape. Anyone in the poem who does not immediately give Roland what he wants receives the same treatment. Their next caper is almost as brutal, lawless, and violent as the first; and the modern reader may begin to think that prison is indeed the proper place for these boys. Once free, Roland declares that they need horses and immediately spots four beautiful animals, in the possession of Bretons, that he decides will serve them very well. “Alons, si lor tolons,” says Roland, “Qui que il soient, ja ne lor demandon” (1326-27); and they proceed to strike and unhorse until all are taken. The Bretons, who don’t know what hit them, run to their king and tell him of the “gloton” who stole their horses and gave them blows from which they will never recover; “Orguillos sunt et de male estraçon” (1344). Since Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 252

this sounds serious, King Salemon rides to investigate; but, when he sees who the culprits are, he laughs, and kisses Roland. “Salemon rit” is repeated twice and shows the good humour and tolerance that all Roland’s elders show towards him. From this affectionate tolerance we are to understand that Roland is behaving just as a budding knight ought to: with an unthinking lawlessness of action that comes from a spirit entirely lacking in fear. All of his elders recognize his promise and approve of his zeal. Roland does not have to wait long to exercise this zeal to fight. Soon a messenger rides into camp to announce that Charles needs everyone’s help, “sos Aspremont est a tel enconbrier” (4948); and anyone who does not do what he can will be beheaded by Charles himself. The whole camp rises to the occasion: “serjant et escuier / Et canberlenc et keu et boutellier / Et escançon et vallet et huissier” (4954-56), and they take up whatever makeshift arms they can. Roland, who “n’en ot que aïrier” (4964) takes charge and, as before, we see him lead a sort of makeshift army, armed himself with “un grant pel de pomier.” Meanwhile, things do not look good on the field. “Tot s’esbahirent,” and “Karles meïsmes en tint le chef enclin” (5480). His responsibility as emperor weighs heavily upon him, and he enumerates the disasters that will befall his people if his mission fails. “Se de cest canp traient paien a fin,” he says, “Ja mais en France n’orai messe al matin, / Ains m’ocirai a mon brant acerin” (5486-88). All his men join in weeping at this prospect until Andefroi rides up to tell them that “Quarante mil mescin” (5495) are on their way, led by Roland himself. The tone of the poem abruptly changes, and there is general rejoicing at the news that Roland is coming to their rescue. Charles happily exclaims, “Deu en mercie le sovrain roi poissant” (5506) and “Je les cuidoie a Loon la devant. / Quels bons eürs les va aconduisant!” (5510-11). Meanwhile, the children approach, making such a racket that “En retentiscent li pui et li pendant” (5515). Charles and his men, on the verge of despair, are given new hope by this boisterous and noisy arrival of Roland and his entourage. Leading an army to battle is definitely a victory for Roland, who wants only to be involved in the fight; but the poet never fails to emphasize that Roland is operating against what can only be described as the stigma of youth, which, though he is no longer locked up because of it, constantly causes him to have difficulties that his elders are spared. Because of this condition, Roland suffers a constant lack of quality equipment. During this battle, Roland is on a “somier” who 253 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

“N’i ot poitral ne sele ne estrier. / Il nel set tant ferir ne manechier / Que il le puist de son pas esforcier” (5533-35). He wants to help his uncle, but he lacks the support needed in order to do so most effectively. However, he never lets these obstacles limit him and, always with initiative, ingenuity, or at least hard-headedness, takes control of the situation. In this case, Roland appropriates the excellent horse and arms of a dead pagan that serve him very well. As is expected, an armed Roland is a force to be reckoned with; and the pagans express their astonishment and dismay at his brutal strength and skill: “Mal ait cel carpentier. / Par Mahomet, molt fait a resognier” (5569-70), and later on, Mandé a Karles l’ariere ban arier. Ne nos i valt ferir ne caploier. Fuions nos ent, que n’avons d’el mestier. Aumes, nos rois, mar i mut l’encombrier. (5583-86) Now it is the pagan’s turn to despair, and Charlemagne’s to take heart. This reversal is entirely the work of the energetic Roland. The next scene he appears in follows the exact same pattern. Charles is in trouble again, because Aumon has managed to break open his helmet, and “Qant ce voit Karles, auques fu esperdu” (5997). He does not feel a cowardly fear for his own skin, though, but rather a deep concern for his men and their fate: “Si jo i muir, bien sont François vencu. / Et, Dex, mi home que sont il devenu?” (6000-01). Charles, suffocating under his sense of responsibility, is ready for defeat when once again Roland appears to bring hope to his uncle. “Huimais eüst Karles li rois perdu,” writes the poet, ”Qant Rollandins ot ja tant coreü” (6004-05). In this scene, however, the poet adds a new note to the Roland-as-saviour theme by suggesting that Roland is not alone in his role of Charles’ protector; in fact, God Himself has undertaken to insure that Roland be where he is needed: “Si con Dex volt, li vrais pere, Jesu, / Qui ne volt mie que Karles fust vencu, / Que Rollandins est sor als enbatu” (6007-09). Aumon scorns him for a boy, not knowing who he is, but soon regrets this assumption of weakness when Roland, armed with a “tronçon,” unhorses him with ease. The next laisse consists of variations on these events and repeats the new argument of Roland as the arm of God. Aumon has Charles at his mercy, and twirls him around more than forty times, so that “Se Damerdex ne li fesist secors / Et Rollandins qui la i vint le cors, / Ja mais en France ne fust rois ne allors” (6024-26). Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 254

Another important aspect of this scene is that it is the first one that mentions as being destined for Roland. Roland strikes Aumon so furiously with his great rod that the pagan, who had at first refused to take him seriously, now marvels at his strength. He says that “li vif diable” must have given him that stake and that “molt iert cevaleros.” He is so impressed that he insists that Roland should have Durendal if he himself should be killed. Roland doesn’t waste any time and strikes “Aumon ens el branç par devant / Qui Durendal li fist voler avant” (6057-58) and before the disarmed pagan can flee, “Fiert et refiert trois cols en un tenant” (6067), so that Aumon falls down and dies of his wounds. The poet concludes, Or poés dire, et bien le vos creant, Que ja mais Karles, a jor de son vivant, En dolce France ne fust mais repairant Ne ne portast corone d’or luisant, Si Dex ne fust et son neveu Rollant. (6071-75) But, though alive, Charles is badly hurt, and suddenly, Roland’s character shows a soft side that as yet had not been exposed. In direct contrast to the brutal warrior, who has just ruthlessly cut down an unarmed man, this Roland “vait soi agenellant; / Tenrement plore, sel vait araisonant: / ‘Oncles, vis tu, por Deu le raemant?’“ (6082-84). Then he “s’abasse, si le va essuant”(6087). In these lines the reader sees that Roland is not a complete animal—he is a nobleman, capable of the gentler feelings that would be expected from someone of his high birth. He just does not have much opportunity to demonstrate them in this poem because of his wild spirits, and the multiple opportunities to engage in battle. By this point in the poem, the poet has sounded out most of the themes concerning Roland’s character, and his interesting relationship with Charlemagne. The following episodes are a repetitive mix of these various elements. For example, in Roland’s next scene, everyone is called upon once again to come to the aid of Charlemagne, “li bacelier legier, / Keu de cuisine, senescal, botellier, / Et damoiseax, jogleor et harpier, / Et tos icex qui se poront aidier” (7271-73). It seems that the poet uses this idea of exceptions being made, of armies being made up of unlikely characters, either to create an opportunity for Roland to go to battle or to explain why he is in battle in the first place. But it seems rather extreme to contrive repeated “the arming of the kitchen help” scenes merely to excuse the presence of another unexpected warrior—a youth—on the battlefield, unless the poet wishes to underline the 255 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

nature of the restrictions placed upon Roland. Roland has so little support from his uncle when it comes to being included in the struggle that it takes a situation where everyone—absolutely everyone—else is getting permission to fight for Charlemagne to consider letting his beloved nephew participate too. When Roland hears the news that all able-bodied men are ordered to take up arms, he has no intention of being left out. He mounts his horse and, with his companions, angrily rides off to find Charlemagne. Meanwhile, “Li rois sospire molt angossosement” (7313) again for the lives of all the good men that he has lost. The Charles of this poem is extremely sensitive to the horrors of war—a sensitivity that makes him more sympathetic to the modern reader than epic heroes generally are. He looks ahead to future losses, and adds “Or me restuet revertir a tel gent / Qui me tolrent del mels del remanent. / Por un petit que li cuers ne me fent” (7326-28). Charles does not seem to have the hard-hearted confidence and arrogance that he needs to help him carry out this difficult undertaking; and there is always a sharp contrast in the text between his sinking heart and the indomitable spirit of Roland, who is just arriving at the scene. What Charlemagne lacks in arrogance, Roland makes up for abundantly; and, when the nephew arrives, he vents his frustrations by acting very rudely to his uncle. To begin with, he complains of the deplorable lack of equipment. “Je chevalcai un ceval dur et lent,” he says, bringing up the familiar horse problem; “Dedens ma boce n’a mie un tot sol dent / Qui ne me duelle molt dolereusement” (7338-40). If Charlemagne gives every other able-bodied man arms, but excludes Roland, the young man threatens, “Ne serons mie o lui plus longuement” (7346). This is indeed a remarkably different attitude towards the situation than the one his uncle entertains. Charlemagne is willing to let his cause suffer because he is afraid of Roland’s getting hurt, but Roland is willing to desert Charlemagne rather than stand idle. Roland puts the battle and his role in helping Charlemagne’s cause before even his loyalty to Charles himself. Charles is unable to achieve this disinterestedness because of too much sentiment. “Roland si est trop jovene,” he says, “a cest mestier. / A porter armes et a caut cevalcier, / A jeüner, a longues nuis vellier / Poroit on bien itel ome empirier” (7357-60). Perhaps it is fitting that Charles list only the physical trials of battle, since Roland shows no sign of ever having trouble with the psychological aspects that Charles finds difficult. But at the same time, the idea of a Roland too weak for the Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 256

physical rigors is also difficult to envision, since he has already proven himself to be more powerful than some of the strongest warriors on the field. Finally, after recalling Roland’s success against Aumon, Charles agrees to dub Roland with the others. How old and battle-weary Charles has become is particularly noticeable in the following dubbing scene. He arms “Trois cens et trente et set” eager young men; but, rather than experiencing satisfaction for having augmented his army so well, he is racked with guilt and melancholy. The poet writes: Quant li comence de s’enfance a membrer, K’il li estuet en tel liu atorner, Dont il meïsmes ne cuide retorner, Cist fais li fu isi grief a porter Qu’il lor deüst a tos les ciés colper; Ne peüst il sur les dos piés ester; Li rois s’en vait sor un lit acouter. (7461-67)

The responsibility for all these lives that he puts at risk is too much for him, and later on it is not surprising to hear him say to Roland, “Se Dex me done en France repairier, / Que je voldrai sejorner et cacier, /A els irras mon regne justicier” (7509-11). The thought of retirement is as attractive to him as it would be anathema to Roland. Roland, in the meantime, is doing very well indeed, since Charles is finally allowing him to be armed as a proper knight. Up until now, Roland had refrained from picking up a sword “car il n’ert mie encore chevalier” (5549), but now three hundred are brought out, one of which “n’afiert mie a garçon.” This is Durendal, which Charles girds at Roland’s side, and, “dolcement en riant,” asks God to give Roland courage and strength. As if this were not enough, Charles summons “Treis cent et trente set” chevaliers and says “Rollans . . . molt vos poés proisier. / Ces vos doins jo, sans altre parçonier” (7505-06). Not only is he now well armed, but he also has an entire battalion at his disposal, which is a far cry from his original state of being locked away in prison. But though he seems to have won his freedom, Charles cannot resist asking Ogier to watch over him: “Ogiers, dist Karles, de Rollant te fas don. / Garde le bien; nol comanç se toi non“ (7515-16). Ogier is not the only protection Roland is to have, however; if Charles had only realized that God himself was seeing to Roland’s safety too, he might have allowed himself to relax a little. A man 257 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

named George appears, who says that he has come for a particular reason: Yorge m’apelent la ou je sui manant. Si ai partot le premier cop devant; Mais ja l’ai ore allié a cel enfant. Or li lais je par itel covenant Ja en cest camp [Roland] ne sera sanc perdant. Hui fera Dex as crestïens sanlant Que li les velt avoir a remanant. (8517-23) Mandaquin, a fearsome pagan, is charging towards them at that very moment, and George says that the first blow is to be Roland’s. If he feels himself in danger, he has only to cry “Saint Iorge” (8540) to insure his safety. Roland beholds this man, “Que Dex del ciel li a fait envoier / Crestïenté tenir et ensaucier” (8543-44) and then applies himself to the matter at hand. Roland is “petit,” and “grans fu l’aversier,” but Durendal serves him well, and meanwhile Ogier, Saint George, Saint Domin, and Saint Mercury look on like guardian angels. Continuing to add to his already brilliant reputation, Roland fights in one more battle during this poem. He and his gang “en ont ocis tant, / Dont il seront prisié a lor vivant” (9544-45). But, though all goes well, Ogier’s responsibility to make sure Roland stays in line is wearing him a little thin. Roland wildly rides off to his own affairs, and “Qant Ogiers se fu aperceü / Del neveu Karle qu’il n’a mie veü, / N’est pas mervelle s’il a paor eü” (9550-52). He rushes to Huon and cries, “Del neveu Karle ne sai qu’est devenu. / Ier matinet, qant il livrés me fu, / Desor ma vie l’avoie receü” (9555-57). Finally he spots him in the middle of a huge melee and hurries to his rescue. Fear turns to relief at finding Roland safe, and then to anger, as Ogier finally vents his frustration at having to waste time on this self-centered and head-strong boy: “Rollans,” he reproaches him, “ne m’avés mie bien covenant tenu,” Por vos garder ai je mon pris perdu. De Damerdex m’avoit tant secoru Que sain et sauf vos aie au roi rendu: Si m’aït Dex et la soie vertu, Ne garderai ja mais fors mon escu. (9565-71) Roland, who seems to have never heard a harsh word in his life, is dumbstruck. “Dont fu Rollans si taisant et si mu / Ne ce ne qoi ne li a respondu” (9572-73). All throughout the poem, Roland’s sometimes Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 258

outrageous behavior is tolerated with affectionate good humor that, toward anyone other than Roland, would have seemed unreasonably tolerant. But, since the audience knows the great man Roland is to become, the poet seems to have judged that it would have been boring and irritating if the characters in the story had not recognized his potential too; and thus only Charles, blinded by affection, tries to stifle the boy’s spirits a little. But this outburst from Ogier provides the single instance in the book where Roland is treated as any other young boy would be. Ogier, a knight of great repute, who has worked hard for his position, would naturally resent being relegated to babysitting Roland instead of concentrating on his own performance in battle. And Roland certainly shows no compassion for him, since his only concern is his own glory. It would probably have been easier on everyone if Roland had stayed locked up at Montlaon. But Roland can not be blamed for the petty concerns of the people around him. He knows he can help the French cause, and furthermore, God has purposely arranged to have him there so that the pagans will be defeated. His youth gives him a simplicity and unity of purpose that allows him to overlook the obstacles placed before him and thus makes him better suited to the role of heroic warrior than some of his older companions. Both William and Roland are far from being strangers to the audiences who listen to their youthful exploits; and, in both cases, this foreknowledge of their destinies colors the accounts of childhood in subtle (or not so subtle) ways. However, the resulting strain on the imagination should not be ascribed to any lack of artistic ability on the part of the poets, since it seems that they both know exactly what they are doing. In the rather more crudely written story of young William, the poet creates a story line where the swaggering success of this beloved hero would be pleasing to any medieval audience already familiar with the triumphs of the grown man. The more subtly drawn Roland is nonetheless satisfactory because of his amazing popularity and success among his peers and elders. The foreshadowing of the hero’s future career is an indispensable element in both stories; and, though it sometimes lends an implausible tone to the poems, they were, no doubt, all the better received. Realism has never been particularly prevalent in epic poetry, so why quibble about varying degrees of fancifulness? The more critical eye of the modern reader, however, finds it interesting to note how the adult warrior affects the child in different ways in each poem. 259 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

The opening laisses, where the poets first declare their intentions, offer the first clues as to how the young heroes will be approached. In the Enfances Guillaume, the poet begins, “Per moi oreis com il conkist Oranges / Et con il prist lai dame Orable a famne” (10-11), and a little further on repeats, “Huimais oreis de Guillelme chanteir, / Con il conkist Orange la citei / Et prist Guibour a moullier et a peir” (25-27). Now these opening remarks are not altogether truthful. The plot he has just described is exactly that of the Prise d’Orange, whereas our poem describes the laying of groundwork which will allow the Prise d’Orange to eventually take place. For the meantime, the poet must make do with frequent allusions to these future events, with a William whose vision of his own future is startingly crystal clear and accurate, and who has no scruples about reciting these plans at every given opportunity. William’s creator gives him a very specific mission in life: converting Orange, marrying Orable, etc. Without previous knowledge of William’s future undertakings, this story would make very little sense at all. Roland’s creator paints him with a much more subtle brush, so that, though he is far from being an ordinary youth, his story could conceivably stand alone without constant reference to previous works. The first laisse of this poem is quite different from the one described above. The poet announces that he is going to sing of how . . . li rois i adoba Rollant Et il li çainst al costé l’orie brant, Cho dist la gieste, Durendal le trencant. C’est la premiere dont il onques fist sanc; Aumont ocist qui fu fix . (13-17) This passage actually sticks to the matter at hand and explains what specifically happens in this particular poem: Roland is dubbed, kills his first pagan, and is victorious over Aumon in battle. Only the reference to his acquisition of Durendal suggests future exploits. Moreover, the only other reference to his adult character in the poem comes after he has defeated Aumon: “Illeuc conquist Rollandins l’olifant, / Le bone espee Durendal le vallant / Et Vielantiu qui tant estoit corant” (6076-78). This is as specific as the poet gets in telling young Roland’s tale, and all other references to Roland’s illustrious future are buried in a perfectly reasonable epic story line that could easily stand alone without prior knowledge of its precursors. But this is not to say that Roland’s character is not greatly influenced by his adult counterpart. Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 260

One way of seeing these influences of the grown hero is to examine the relationship between father-figure and son. Both Aymeri and Charlemagne are much less forceful than one is used to seeing such men be, which allows what are supposedly mere boys to control them, or at least, if necessary, to ignore their wishes. By being able to follow their own inclinations, William and Roland can act as the powerful, independent men that we know them to be in their other poems. The poets choose not to trouble their audiences with disturbing images of these beloved heroes experiencing the fears and doubts, and demonstrating the submission to their elders, that would normally be expected from young men going to battle for the first time. In William’s case, the author makes very little effort to create a natural power hierarchy among the Narbonnese men-folk. The father/son relationship that we see is indicated by a “viel” and “chanu berbé” Aymeri who is more than happy to say “fiz . . . si con vos conmandeis” to his younger, but more powerful son. Roland, too, invariably has more energy and higher morale than his “father” Charlemagne, and does not think twice about disobeying Charles’ injunctions to stay away from danger. They both take control of their own destinies at once and present themselves as better warriors than their fathers, whose fatigue and sentiment contrast starkly with the angry energy of their sons.

It is interesting that the poets are both unwilling to attribute any normal human weaknesses to their young men, when they allow so many of their other characters to be touchingly human. A noticeable example of this discovery of human frailty is in the Charlemagne of the Chanson d’Aspremont, since the characters of the Chanson d’Aspremont are in general particularly well developed and well-rounded. One might have expected that, because Charlemagne has so many periods of doubt and despair, there would be room for weakness and doubt in Roland too, particularly in view of the troubles he has to face before finally making it to the battlefront. But no—Roland never hesitates, never fears, never doubts; and, as a result, he is a harder, stronger character than Charlemagne, in the same way that William is stronger than Aymeri.

Why must these boys be so indomitable? Why is there no room for what the modern reader would think to be more normal or natural character development? One explanation for this insistence on strength stems from the ambiguity of the boys’ position. In medieval epic there is an extreme separation between the world of men and battle and the 261 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

world of women and home. Children and women belong in the safety of the castle and are meant to be protected. Men, on the other hand, are meant to be out exposing themselves to danger and risking their necks at every available opportunity—in fact, doing anything but staying at home, protected with the women. So the adolescent male finds himself in a curious position: is he a child, to be kept safe at home, or a man, who belongs with the dangers of the field? Charles decides that Roland is a child, who along with the rest of the women and children must be locked away for safety and who can serve no purpose among the men. How disappointing and how ridiculous it would have seemed if Roland had quietly accepted this decree and agreed to hide demurely away from the world! Instead he dispels all ambiguity concerning his identity by breaking out of that prison; and, since his own connection with the hearth is dangerously recent, he must prove his worthiness by showing that transition to be complete. The transition to adulthood is a universally trying experience; but our epic heroes, Roland and William, sail through it with ease, encountering difficulty only from outside sources and never from within themselves. One could almost say that they bypass adolescence altogether, and never experience the troubles of that transition period at all. They go from childhood to manhood in one complete step.

Neither poet ever specifies their actual ages. Both are free with the term enfes, but the word has a different meaning for each boy. For William, it seems a mere courtesy title, since no one except his enemies treats him like a child. No one questions his right to fight in the battles that the Narbonnese face on their way to Paris—in fact, no one seems to mind when he actually slips into command. And indeed, it would not make sense for his companions to mind, because his strength is that of a grown man and he proves to be an essential addition to the Narbonnese force. Only his enemies are unsporting enough to refer to his youth; Charles’ unfortunate swordbearer and the Breton, among others, see him as a child and later regret it, one of them at the expense of his life. Roland’s situation is somewhat different. He knows that he is at least the equal of any grown man, and the audience and the poet know it, but no one else seems to believe it. Charles orders Turpin to lock him up, because, he says, “A cest besoing n’ai cure de garçon” (1063). Some time later, after praising Roland for his skill on the field, Ogier feels obliged to add “Ne vos caut mie de moi a eslongier, / Car encor estes jovene de cest mestier” (9474-75). Even entirely peripheral characters feel the need to place Roland under protection, as we see when Salemon the Breton king “apela Senson / Et Ernaïs et Girart et Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 262

Rogon: / ‘Gardez les moi, signor, gentil baron’ “ (1363-65). While Roland may feel no insecurities about acting as an adult, his status as enfes causes his elders to blindly suppress his ambitions. Their instinct to protect prevents their making the objective observation that Roland is one of the best fighters they have. In La Chanson de Roland, Roland is considered Charlemagne’s right-hand man. In La Chanson d’Aspremont, Roland is trying to play that exact same role, and indeed, without the nephew’s help, the uncle would be lost several times over. It is ironic that Charles discourages this essential source of security because he feels that his “right-hand man” is not old enough to take care of himself. Both William and Roland exhibit greater strength and skill on the battle field than anyone else, which implies a certain amount of physical maturity. But since exaggeration is hardly unheard-of in epic poetry, it is not safe to make such logical assumptions; even adolescents of very small size have been shown to destroy everything in their path in chansons de geste. However, there is one more measure of maturity that both poems suggest, that seems to have relatively little to do with chronological age, and that is whether or not a man has been dubbed with arms. This ceremony seems to be a critical rite of passage, like a modern teenager obtaining his driver’s license, or a daughter getting married, that instantly changes that individual’s status in society. Before being dubbed, both boys make a point of not carrying proper arms, even when given the opportunity. When Roland scavenges for arms left by dead pagans, “Espee nuë ne degna il ballier / Car il n’ert mie encore chevalier” (5548-49). And when William finds himself in the same postion, he says, Ne plaise a Deu lo grant Que je jai aie adous ne guernemant Tant que vanrai an Franse sa avant, Ai Charlemainne l’anpereour pousant; Se me donrait ados et guernemant Si me saindrait espeie a son talant. (447-52) Instead, they arm themselves with “bastons de pomier” or “peils aguisiés,” which seem more appropriate weapons for them anyway, since a sharpened stake suggests crude lawlessness much more effectively than an elegant sword. As undubbed boys, they ride around with their brutal makeshift arms, with nothing to lose, with no oath sworn to chivalry, and astonish friend and foe alike with their wild antics. With the sword and kind words from Charlemagne comes a new sense of responsiblility, and nothing they do afterwards as adult 263 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

chevaliers equals the licentiousness of their boyhood. They are both immediately given men to govern, battalions to lead, and thus, it is implied, they join the ranks of mature, responsible knights.

Care-worn responsibility, however, like that of Charlemagne, is hardly a stumbling block for them, even after dubbing. Everything about their characters suggests youth and energy and optimism. In this way their portraits, apart from how others treat them, are nearly identical.

Judging by these portraits, it seems that unbridled lawlessness must be a medieval ideal for young men. Their reaction to any challenge is always to be splendidly filled with a great ire, which suggests an instinctive courage. This emotion usually accompanies a noisy demonstration of power that resounds throughout hill and dale. William’s chasing pagans on Balçan is an absolutely terrifying spectacle:

Broche Bauçant per andouz le costeiz, Goule baiee, si tint ample le neiz; Toute la terre fait desoz lui tranbler, Foudre resamble et oraiges de mer. (1037-40)

And Roland, when he leads his men on to help Charles, “Del bruit qu’il mainnent et de la noise grant / En retentiscent li pui et li pendant” (5514- 15).

Furthermore, when Roland and his friends beat their uncooperative guard to death, we see a parallel example in William’s beating of Charlemagne’s uncooperative sword-bearer. And in just the same way that William wants to carry that sword, Roland and his friends want the Breton’s horses, and they do not hesitate to seize what they want and make a point of not asking politely for permission. The interesting thing is that no one seems to blame them for it. When the people at court hear that this devil is Guillaume, son of Aymeri, “molt en sont esbahi. / Guillaume baixent et firent grant anclin” (2355-56). Roland’s people not only kiss him, but laugh, shaking their heads a little, and remark on his great promise. This good-humored tolerance is not so surprising if one considers the entire lack of fear and self-doubt that is implied by these actions; for what qualities could be more valuable than these in their future careers? Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 264

However, a story about a young knight does not have to be based on his future career. It is actually possible to write about a young man without giving a thought to any time but the present in which the story is told. The result is a great deal more freedom for the poet and a much wider range of character possibilities.

III. La Chanson de Guillaume

In the Chanson de Guillaume, we see just such a range, as the poet intertwines the stories of two new young knights with the tale of grown William’s exploits. A study of very young men in the Chanson de Guillaume is particularly interesting because, though the name suggests a celebration of the feats of William, other, less physically powerful, characters are given a chance to show strength and courage. The great William himself, on the other hand, like Aymeri and Charlemagne, is actually allowed to show weakness and vulnerability underneath his rough exterior. The relevant part of the song, before Rainouart steps in, is about the French as underdogs, fighting an endless stream of pagans; and though most such epic battles do have a ratio of at least three pagans for every Frenchman, this song lacks a lot of the security and assurance found in other epic poems, and carries more of a sense of hopelessness and despair. By allowing the suggestion of the powerful hero’s fallibility, the poet can go beyond the exclusive circle of established knights. The change of tone opens the way for youths (and even women) to play important roles in the defeat of the enemy and the defense of Christianity.

Girard is the first such character encountered in the poem. Though not quite as unlikely a hero as Gui or Guiborc, he is still young and has yet to prove his valor. His story starts off with the words, “Si cum li ors s’esmere fors de l’argent, / Si s’en eslistrent tote la bone gent” (328-29) a refrain that foreshadows precisely what follows. He is first introduced accompanying his lord Tedbald, who in cowardly though perhaps sensible fashion, is fleeing the pagan onslaught. Girard cannot agree to this passive approach to the disaster, and renounces his fidelity to Tedbald. He asks him to tell the kingdom of Berry that while he (Tedbald) has run away, Girard remains to fight and serve the worthy Vivien. In this manner, Girard sets himself apart as one of the “bone gent.” This episode with Tedbald contains a little slapstick humor. Once Girard has tricked his lord into approaching him, he then grabs him 265 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

around the neck and pushes him off his saddle, “Desi qu’as laz l’en ferid le healme en terre” (369). While Tedbald is struggling upside down, with his helmet stuck in the ground, Girard disarms him and takes his ex- lord’s superior arms for himself. This behavior of a vassal towards his lord might have seemed shocking; but, because Tedbald is portrayed as a ridiculous man who is running away in the face of danger, it seems to be a point of honor for Girard to act just as he does, thereby liberating himself to pledge his loyalty elsewhere. This episode is Girard’s first chance to prove himself. The encounter with Esturmi, while on his way to battle, is quite similar. Esturmi appears in front of him; and “sun bon cheval aveit si mesbailli, / Co en volt gent que unques home n’i mist / Grant ignelesce en volt traire Esturmi” (408-10). The condition of a horse in these poems is often symbolic of the state of the rider; and, when a horse has been ridden to death, it generally implies either great courage and rigor, or, conversely, sheer panic. In Esturmi’s case, the situation is decidedly the latter. “Menbre del fuir,” he warns, “Turnez arere, pensez del renvaïr, / Si ore ne returnes, tost i purras mort gisir” (413-15). But Girard once again proves his worthiness as a knight by exhibiting the customary mercilessness towards traitors and cowards. He unhorses Esturmi too, and then offers him “un curteis mot”: Ultre, lechere! Pris a mortel hunte? Ne t’avanteras ja a Tedbald, tun uncle Si tu t’en fuies, n’i remeint prodome. N’avras ja Willame le cunte, Ne Vivien, sun neveu, ne nul altre prodome. (423-27) To fight with such role models as William and Vivien should be every young knight’s ideal. Esturmi would rather “en [son] lit morir,” but Girard has all his priorities in the right order. He cannot wait to defend the sacred, though seemingly doomed, cause of the French. The poet adds, “Unc plus gent home ne mist Jhesu en l’ost / Que fu Girard quant parti de Tidbald” (434-35), which implies that these two acts of separation and renunciation have proved Girard’s worth in the sight of God. When Vivien sees him in the field, he is surprised, and asks “ Cosin Girard, des quant ies chevalier?” “Sire,” he replies, “de novel, nient de vielz” (459-60). It seems, therefore, that he is now worthy of the name “knight,” without having been officially dubbed (Wathelet- Willem 1: 300). Sensing that the young man’s heart is in the right place, Vivien has him ride on his right hand, carrying his gonfanon. Girard’s heroic but short-lived career has begun. Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 266

When Vivien sends Girard off to seek reinforcements, William makes his first appearance; and we see immediately that William, like Vivien, is at a disadvantage too:

Li quons Willame ert a Barzelune, Si fu repeiré d’une bataille lunge Qu’il aveit fait a Burdele sur Girunde. Perdu i aveit grant masse de ses homes. Este voz Girard qui noves li cunte. (933-37)

He is not introduced as the powerful, invincible answer to everyone’s prayers, but as a man who is really rather tired, and would not at all mind a little rest at home. This first impression of dispirited fatigue does not bode well for the French cause, and is reinforced when, after hearing Girard’s plea, William supposedly “tests” Guiborc’s loyalty to him and his kin by voicing his woes— how “Uncore nen ad que sul treis jurz passez / Que jo sui venu de bataille champel,” how he has lost his “nobile barné” and how “Loinz sunt les marches u jo ai a comander” (1016-20). This repetition of his troubles makes the situation seem even more grim; but with the encouragement of the noble Guiborc, he decides to go. Despite this inauspicious beginning, William is by no means to be thought of as a weak man. On the contrary, once the decision to fight has been made, he can still drain a mazer of wine in two gulps (without offering any to Guiborc!) and leap vigorously from a sound sleep with “Munjoie, . . . Chevalers, car muntez!”—two refrains the poet uses to demonstrate a knight’s strength and energy. It is true that he still retains the spirit of chivalry and heroism, but it cannot be denied that this William is more human and more vulnerable than one is used to seeing him and characters like him. Particularly remarkable is the scene where he returns home with his wife’s nephew dead in his arms. All his men have been killed, including Vivien, he has no more forces, and no one to inherit his great estates, and he weeps with shame in his wife’s arms: Kar ja diseient en la cur mun seignur Que eres femme Willame, uns riche hom, Un hardi cunte, un vaillant fereür; Ore estes femme a un malveis fuieür, Un cuart cunte, un malveis tresturner, Qui de bataille n’ameine home un sul. (1304-09) 267• Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

Discouraged self-effacement is certainly something rare in the world of epic heroes, but his insecurities give Guiborc the opportunity to demonstrate her virtues as the perfect wife and also make it possible for a third character to be developed, “li enfes Gui”. In the Chanson de Roland it would have been almost sacrilege to suggest that the knights required the aid of women and children; but, in this story, it is possible to tell how they serve William very well indeed. Guiborc, for her part, has had the inspired initiative to amass a whole new army for her husband during his absence; and thirty thousand men are dining upstairs in the castle even as he unknowingly weeps with despair. Then Gui is presented as the surprising solution to the rest of his troubles. Though the development of a character like Gui is possible in this poem as it would not be in others, his childish characteristics are no less incongruous in the heroic, masculine setting in which they are placed. Gui’s character is a very skillfully drawn and often humorous portrait of a typical adolescent struggling to fit into the adult world. The fact that he struggles at all, in any way, is what makes such a tremendous difference between his character and that of William or Roland. In this story the poet creates a true adolescent, torn between the conflicting worlds of child and man and struggling to make the transition, as everyone in the world must do. Gui is still very much a child, but with glimmers of heroism shining through. And he certainly comes from good stock. As the grandson of Aymeri and the brother of Vivien, he has illustrious shoes to fill. Our first view of him emphasizes his youth: “N’out uncore quinze anz, asez esteit petiz, / N’out point de barbe ne sur li peil vif / Fors icel de sun chef dunt il nasqui” (1441-43). But his words that follow contain a curious mixture of adult strength and determination and childish characteristics, a combination that recurs throughout his story. Gui is almost fifteen, with adulthood just around the corner; and the poet skillfully intermingles manly qualities with childlike ones to create an excellent portrayal of the contradictions of adolescence. Gui, when addressing his uncle William, declares that he will hold his lands if the latter dies, because he wants to take care of his lady Guiborc; “Ja n’averad mal dunt la puisse garir,” he says, “Pur ço qu’ele m’ad tant suef nurri” (1449-50). Protection of his mother figure is his primary concern, as would be expected from a child to whom home ties are still of great importance. William chastises him for putting himself forward: “Mielz voz vient, gluz, en cendres a reposer / Ke ne te fait a tenir ma cunté!” (1455-56); but Gui replies with great spirit, “A la fei, sire, uncle, Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 268

unques mes n’oï tel” (1459); and one can just imagine him stamping his foot with childish impatience at his uncle’s denial. Then, suddenly, his next words display a wisdom and strength that belie his years. He argues first with, “Pur petitesce que m’avez a blasmer? / Ja n’est nul si grant que petit ne fust né” (1464-65), which certainly cannot be denied, and then goes on to swear that he would kill in battle anyone who tried to take William’s property away from him—a boast worthy of even the great Roland himself. All this, finally, because “Guiburc, ma dame, fereie mult ben garder” (1473). William is greatly affected by these words. “Cors as d’enfant e si as raisun de ber” (1479), he says, which is exactly what we are to understand by the puer senex topos mentioned above (see also Frappier 1: 176).

However, the next episode suggests that perhaps his “raisun” has not entirely left the world of childhood yet (Lods 59): when Guillaume and his troops ride off to battle, “dunc prent Gui a plurer.” Naturally, when he sees the men ride off, leaving him behind with the women-folk, he feels humiliated—it is unfair that they refuse to include him, since they have not even given him a chance to show what he can do. Where before he spoke with swaggeringly masculine words, he now vents his frustration in tears like a child (Wathelet-Willem 1: 336): “Par ma fei, dame, / N’ai que quinze anz, si sui en tel vilté: / Retenu sui de bataille champel” (1516-18). Guiborc is unconvinced that strength of resolution will make up for weakness of body and tells him that he is too young to endure the rigors of battle. As before with William, Guy won’t take no for an answer: “Unc mais n’en oï tel!” (1533) he says, and with childish cunning explains that he could lie to William and say that he had escaped by force. But his reasons for going contain the same confidence and self-assurance that he demonstrated when declaring that he would kill anyone who tried to take away his inheritance; he unblinkingly tells Guiborc that unless he, Gui, protects William in battle, William will never come back alive. Guiborc is convinced. She arms him with a “petite broine,” a “petite healme,” a “petite espee” and a “petite targe duble,” along with “une glaive petite” (1516-18), which all brings to mind dressing a doll up in little doll’s clothes. He sounds so small and vulnerable, mounted on the great horse that Guiborc gives to him, but the poet adds “Mielz portad armes que uns hom de trente anz,” (1556), just in case we have forgotten that this is no ordinary child.

Gui’s arrival on the field is preceded by a speech from William— a speech which serves to show how out of place Gui is in this 269 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

environment. First there is a mention of Vivien, Gui’s brother, in glowing terms; Deça la Rin ne de dela la mer En paenisme n’en la crestienté Ne pout l’om unques mieldre vassal trover Pur eshalcer sainte crestienté Ne pur lei meintenir e garder. (1599-1603) Vivien was an ideal knight, in strength and valor, and they would all do well to follow his example. William goes on to say that battle is a time for “les leger bachelers, /Les forz, les vigrus, les hardiz, les menbrez” (1613- 14). Then suddenly he sees Gui, who, on the surface, embodies none of the qualities that he’s been extolling. “Qui est cel petit armé? / Sur cel cheval qui entre vus vei ester? / Bosoing out de homes qui ça l’ad amené!” (1616-18). What follows next is a scene very much like Gui’s first encounter with William: Gui angers William with his boldness, William refuses his permission to Gui’s schemes, and Gui retorts with wise and unanswerable words. Finally William is forced to admit “Cors ad d’enfant e raisun as de ber.” This sequence is a refrain throughout the story of Gui and serves to illuminate his exceptional strength of will and intellect. His confidence, however, is soon replaced by the needs of a child whose strength has been taxed beyond what he is able to endure. Clever words are all very well, and Gui knows how to use them to his advantage, but the harshness of battle takes its toll on him. “Mar vi Guiburc qui suef me norist,” he weeps, “Qui me soleit faire disner si matin. / Ore est le terme qu’ele le me soleit offrir, / Ore ai tel faim ja me verras morir” (1737-39). The reader is touched as the boastful, confident Gui becomes suddenly vulnerable because he misses the attentions and comforts of an aunt who sees to his dinner. “Ore voldreie estre a ma dame servir” (1747), he says, as hunger allows the child to be revealed once more. But, with a little food in him, he is a man again and returns to battle more forcefully than ever. He saves an unhorsed William from pagan attack, and the awe-struck pagans are moved to cry, “Ço est fuildre que cheit! / Revescuz est Vivien le guerreier” (1853-54). They turn to flee this new, but invincible warrior. To say that he is like his brother come back to life is the highest compliment that can be paid. Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 270

His reputation is established, and he has achieved what he set out to do, despite limitatons in size, strength, and experience.

The stories of Girard and Gui, which are kept so separate that the two never meet on the battlefield, are two variations on the same theme. They are untried youths with an independence of spirit that enables them to achieve greater glory than would otherwise be expected of them. They both make the choice to be exceptional. Girard chooses to separate himself from his friends in order to act according to his principles. Gui seizes an opportunity for heroism rather than stay comfortably at home. Both characters act contrary to what is expected of them, ignore the expectations of their elders, and go on to greater things. For this reason, they become heroic. Once this preliminary effort has been made, the rest follows as a matter of course. Their lords accept their services gladly, and they take their positions at his right hand. Vivien says to Girard, and William to Gui, that with him there, he fears no misfortune.

IV. Commonalities After examining all four stories about young knights and their first experiences, one starts to see how the inventiveness of the poet in the Chanson de Guillaume exposes the somewhat formulaic aspect of William’s and Roland’s stories. But, just as there are marked differences among the poems, they also share many common characteristics.

The most important common theme of all is that of going “beyond the normal range of achievement and experience.” Roland and William, like Gui and Girard, find themselves trapped in a situation where other people are trying to control what they do, and where it would be no dishonor to accept everyone’s wishes passively. But they all desire something more than the average experience and push past the limits that have been set for them.

Roland’s and Gui’s situations most obviously follow this theme, since they are both specifically told that they are too young to do a man’s work. Their foster-fathers try to leave them behind with the rest of those who are considered too weak to fight. They, however, refuse to accept this enforced inactivity and, by scheming, find ways to be involved with the adults. William is not held back to the same extent as Gui and Roland, but he does face three or four years of serving at court before he is to be knighted. By displaying superior skill and courage in 271 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

the presence of his companions, and, more importantly, of Charlemagne, he is awarded arms the very day he arrives at Saint Denis. Girard’s story is distinct because he does not seem as young as the others. He is never referred to as “li enfes Girarz” or mentioned in terms of being too small or too weak. His story is more about the need to break free from old ties in order to move on to bigger and better things. Since the ties of his youth will not lead him to a brilliant career, he must seek new ones that will. In short, each youth actively decides his own fate.

One of the biggest challenges that all four face as they struggle to liberate themselves is the dilemma of finding arms—which is surprising since it would seem that, in those days, in families as well off as theirs, fine sets of arms would be readily available. But because of their symbolic value, acquiring arms is never as easy as one would expect; it is not something that will one day eventually happen to the boys as long as they have the patience to wait. Who knows how long Charles would have had Roland locked up? Or how long it would have taken William to decide that little Gui was old enough to fight? All three poets emphasize that becoming armed and ready for battle must be the result of actively seeking that state. The trials that each boy faces in order to achieve this goal vary in nature and severity, but the poems share the common theme that arms are something to be sought after and earned. For William and Roland, as previously discussed, taking up arms has an especially important significance. For them it marks the time when they are officially recognized as knights, and their passage from childhood to independence. Charlemagne is their judge in both cases. William proves himself worthy by striking the disrespectful Breton dead at Charles’ feet, in reward for which the emperor announces, “Veeiz ici Aymeri le bairon; / Ses filz Guillames ait ossis le Breton; / Je en ferai chevalier voiant toz” (2531-33). Roland serves Charles equally well by killing Aumon, leaving Charles no choice but to begrudgingly concede that, because of this exceptional proof of valor, “si seras chevalier” (7381).

As is fitting for an event of such importance, both young men are armed in dubbing ceremonies of great splendor. In fact, William’s ceremony takes on some of the qualities of a royal coronation. “Quinze arseveske et set abeit” look on, along with “vint chanone ke sont menant et riche” (2676-77). William carries his own arms “Desus l’autel del bairon Saint Denise” (2679), and finally “Guillame adoubent el Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 272

mostier Saint Denise” (2684). With great solemnity, Charles himself personally dresses him with the heaviest and most powerful suit of armor. And when they emerge from church, the great ceremony completed, the poet refers to William as “Guillames Fierebrace” (2719), which is the name by which he is known in his adult adventures. Roland’s ceremony is not quite as magnificent since, after all, they are on the battlefield. But still, given the presence of “li rois Droe,” and “li rois Salemon” and “li dus Namles et Ogier et Fagon” (7468-69), there are illustrious personages enough. Charles buckles Durendal around Roland’s waist, with some suitable words of encouragement and then places an entire battalion under his control. Now, like William, Roland has everything he needs to perform as an adult in battle. This acquisition of arms is the climax of both Roland’s and William’s stories, and the ultimate end for which they are striving. Afterwards, all that remains for them is one or two more battle scenes where they prove that Charles did not make a mistake. The arming of Gui and Girard is approached from a different angle. Because the poets are allowed a great deal more flexibility in the development of Gui and Girard, they do not have to worry as much about the preconceived ideas of the audience that force Roland and William to be so much alike. Instead they can be very imaginative in creating unique adventures for these new characters. What is more, the boys’ acquisition of armor is not the happy result of proving themselves worthy but rather brought about by a high-spirited courage that leads them to search out the seemingly unattainable means with which to fight. In order for them to do anything at all, they must be armed at once; and only then do their trials and adventures begin. Both youths are dubbed under very unusual circumstances. Girard, for example, dubs himself. This sounds strange enough, but what is even more strange is that he does so by stealing his superior’s own armor. This is a very curious approach, but the youth has no choice. His lord Tedbald flees like a coward, leaving Girard to fend for himself and forcing him to seize that which would normally be gently conferred upon him. Gui also finds that he must be armed unconventionally: in his case, he is armed by a woman. Of course, Guiborc is not just any woman, since throughout the poem she is depicted as a very strong and courageous character and one who is certainly worthy to confer honors upon her subjects. But having a woman bestow arms upon a prospective knight crosses the division 273 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

between the world of men and battle and that of women and the home. Gui is very young— the youngest of all the four youths and definitely the most childlike. By having this child armed by his “mother,” and then sending him off to save William’s life, the poet interestingly depicts the traditionally helpless ones as saviors and protectors. In every case, however the story is told, the arming of the youth signifies empowerment and is always an essential step towards maturity and adulthood. Like the ubiquitous dubbing ceremony, family relationships are also an essential element in each story of young heroes, since it is during childhood that immediate family ties are strongest. To begin with, mothers have never been known to occupy important positions in epic poetry, unless it is in the capacity of someone’s sister. Roland’s mother, for instance, is mentioned in passing for being the sister of Charlemagne. All of these numerous nephew/uncle relationships, in fact, hinge on the powerful uncle having a child-bearing sister, and while not always mentioned, the existence of this woman is always implied. Of course it is not surprising that these manly heroes fail to make constant references to their mothers while riding off to battle with their other male companions. Women as conquests, like Guiborc in the Enfances Guillaume, are potential subjects of discussion, since they are connected with a knight’s success in both affairs of the heart and affairs of the sword. But women as mothers generally recall days of childhood dependence and sentimental attachment, which are certainly not great ideals of knighthood. However, since, for the four heroes discussed in this paper, the days of childhood are not long lapsed, it is not surprising to see maternal figures developed as important characters in two of the three poems.

In keeping with the tone of Les Enfances Guillaume, the mother of young William is not a care-giver but a helpless dependent who relies entirely on her son for security. This is the only sort of mother/son relationship that could possibly be tolerated in this poem because of the poet’s insistence on an aggressive and independent young William. William takes the position one would normally expect her husband to fill and establishes himself as her champion, but not even the slightest intimation is made about any needs of William’s that are fulfilled by Ermenjart. Presumably he has reached an age where she can be of no use to him except as someone through which he can prove his power. By saving her and Narbonne from the pagans, William can add one more feat to his list of things to boast about. Though Ermanjart is his real mother, to William she becomes a generic “lady in distress,” and Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 274

the mother-child bond no longer seems to tie him to her as much as his status as a knight, and hers as a lady. This parental bond, however, is still quite strong between Gui and Guiborc. This is partly due to Gui’s being so much younger than young William, but also to the poet’s freedom to paint Gui with qualities that are not strictly manly and unsentimental. Like William, Gui also wishes to protect his foster-mother, but not because she is in some specific danger. William responds willingly to Ermenjart’s frightened pleas, as any proper knight would; but Gui spontaneously invents the need for someone to take care of Guiborc because of his obvious great affection for her. “Guiburc, ma dame, voldreie ben servir” (1448), he says, “...Pur ço qu’ele m’as tant suef nourri” (1450). And he has not yet outgrown his own need for her, either. After enduring a few of the hardships that he was warned he would face in battle, he bursts into tears on the battlefield and weeps for Guiborc, which is an unusual thing for a knight to do. Imagine Roland finding battle too overwhelming, and crying for his mother! In this case, however, the poet allows Gui to reveal how he is still very much a child and, in doing so, perhaps creates the only realistic character among the four boys. At any rate, in the thick of the fight, Gui “Mult tendrement pluret des oilz de sun vis” (1733) and admits, “Ore voldreie estre a ma dame servier” (1747). For Gui, his foster-mother stands for a comfort and warmth which contrasts sharply with the hostile discomfort of the world of men. Though possessing the strength and skill of an adult, Gui has not quite matured enough to be able to give up this softness in his life altogether. Young Roland and Girard don’t seem to have mothers, or if they do, they are not thinking of them. But, again, one would not expect them to, since the mature knight outgrows the need for the comforts of maternal care; and the weakness and sensitivity of childhood are far behind him. It could almost be said that Charles is a mother and a father to Roland, given his excessive affection for the boy and concern for his welfare; but Roland rejects these sentiments, as we can be certain he would even if they came from a female source. Mothers, these poems suggest, must be protected as all women must be; but a true knight, no matter how young, is free from all such childhood dependencies. Father-figures are more permissible, since their influence traditionally begins where a mother’s ends. They are role models, and as such are involved in their son’s first introduction into the world of men—while a mother must remain in the world of childhood. It seems 275 • Olifant / Vol. 18, Nos. 3-4

odd, therefore, that the father figures in these three poems should be so uniformly uninspiring, when they would be thought so important in the development of their sons and nephews. Uninspiring is a strange word to use to describe Charlemagne and William, since they are generally celebrated as very great leaders. But here, in contrast to their ambitious nephews, they are tired and battleweary and, even worse, do their best to discourage them from fighting in battle. Gui and Roland must disobey direct orders at every turn in order to gain the experience that they anxiously seek. And William, just like Charlemagne, lacks the untiring enthusiasm for excitement that one would expect from a hero. He is often discouraged, and talks of his desire for rest. Aymeri is different from these other two father figures because he rarely discusses his needs or opinions at all. His son William’s character is so overpowering that it obscures his own altogether. One fact becomes very clear after all this is considered: a knight has a much easier time if he has nothing to lose. William and Charles, weighed down by the responsibilities of commanders-in-chief, find war an exhausting proposition. Naturally they do not want to add fears for their nephews’ safety to the rest of their worries. The four bachelors, however, have only themselves to worry about and can face battle with undimmed enthusiasm. Only young William has the slightest suggestion of an extraneous attachment—his “engagement” to Orable— but his position is a far cry from the head-of-family he later becomes. The boys can afford to be irresponsible because no one depends on them, and this helps to explain in part the difference between their superior performances and their father-figures’ relative lack of brilliance. The final conclusion that one can draw from these poems is one that could be reached intuitively: only those characteristics of childhood that do not clash with the medieval ideal of knighthood are generally used to develop very young characters. All four stories show how a “promising youth” should act, since how could William or Roland be anything but promising as children? And in three of the four portraits this means perfection beyond even what their adult companions can boast of.

Of course little Gui is the exception to this rule that all child heroes are hard-hearted and level-headed. He is the only one who is allowed sentiment that is not immediately connected with knightly matters. While the others may get teary-eyed at the thought of their great leaders, like Vivien or Charlemagne, Gui cries over the loss of his Carney / Portrait of the Hero as a Child • 276

foster-mother, and thinks of her as his greatest love. Also, his character is allowed to exhibit some of the less convenient aspects of childhood that the others are not—like disenchantment with battle, and fatigue, and the desire to be safe at home. Now this is not to say that he, too, does not perform outrageous feats of strength and skill just as well as the others, only that he is allowed to be a little more human as he does so.

For all of them, their age does play a role when it comes to recklessness and fearlessness, since they have not yet had time to be weighed down with responsibility; but this only enhances the heroism of their characters. Fears and insecurities, which one would think would be just as much a part of being a youth fighting a man’s battle, are never mentioned. All of the obstacles that stand in the way of success are external. They never come from inside the youths themselves. While adults might decide that they are too young to be given a chance to prove themselves, they themselves never have a moment’s doubt that the battlefield is where they belong, fighting the most difficult battles. And they are quite right to think this way too, because they are always the most magnificent knights on the field. The adults are proven wrong if they do not at first perceive this excellence, and the youths win their long-sought freedom.

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