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L’unité contestée de la des Saisnes

Povl Skårup Århus Universitet

Dans son Etude linguistique et littéraire de la Chanson des Saisnes de Jehan Bodel,1 Annette Brasseur a le mérite d’avoir montré que la fin des mss. LT, à partir de l’endroit où leur texte se sépare de celui du ms. A, n’a pas été composée par le même auteur que le ms. A. Ce résultat n’est plus en question. Il a d’ailleurs été renforcé par l’étude de Mme. Thiry-Stassin, citée ci-dessous.

Dans son ouvrage, Mme. Brasseur a également soutenu une hypothèse sur le texte du seul ms. A. Cette hypothèse consiste en trois éléments:

1. Telle qu’elle se trouve dans le ms. A, la chanson se divise en deux parties. 2. Les deux parties ont deux auteurs différents. 3. La coupure se place à la fin du vers 3307 (le texte entier comprend 4337 vers).

Cette hypothèse est basée sur (a) une comparaison du ms. A avec les mss LT, (b) des différences linguistiques entre les deux parties, et (c) des différences littéraires entre les deux parties.

Dans un article, “Jehan Bodel et les autres auteurs de la Chanson des Saisnes,”2 j’ai montré que le troisième élément de cette hypothèse est mal fondé. Il n’a aucune base dans le ms. A. Il est basé sur un fait et une hypothèse destinée à expliquer ce fait. Le fait est que les mss LT ont le même texte que le ms. A jusqu’au vers 3307 de celui-ci, mais un texte différent à partir de cet endroit. L’hypothèse est double: 8 / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 (1) le manuscrit de type A utilisé par le rédacteur de la rédaction LT n’allait que jusqu’à ce vers; (2) ce manuscrit contenait tout ce qu’avait écrit l’auteur. Mais il est tout aussi probable que ce manuscrit comprenait autant que le manuscrit A conservé et peut-être même davantage et que le rédacteur de LT a choisi de s’en écarter après le vers 3307 pour une raison qu’on ne peut que deviner. Et même si ce manuscrit n’allait que jusqu’au vers 3307, cela ne prouve pas qu’il contenait tout ce qu’avait écrit l’auteur : il a pu être incomplet par la perte matérielle d’un cahier ou autrement. Aussi Bernard Guidot, qui accepte les deux autres éléments de l’hypothèse de Mme. Brasseur, dit-il que “le point du suture précisément trouvé au vers 3307 nous gêne aussi quelque peu.”3

Dans l’article cité, j’ai montré également que les différences linguistiques entre les deux parties du ms. A, avant et après le vers 3307, étaient soit inexistantes soit trop faibles pour être significatives.4 “Pourtant, Mme. Brasseur a relevé deux traits par lesquels la fin du texte de A se distingue effectivement du début : la raréfaction des possessifs réduits no(s), vo(s) et l’allongement des . Mais les deux changements commencent environ quatre ou cinq cents vers avant le vers 3307. Le dernier possessif réduit (avant ceux des vers 3341 et 4029) se trouve au vers 2797, et la première longue commence au vers 2917. S’il y a une coupure dans le texte de A, c’est plutôt à cet endroit-là qu’il faut la chercher.” Bien entendu, la dernière remarque, écrite pour ceux qui acceptent le premier élément de l’hypothèse de Mme. Brasseur, n’implique pas que je sois de leur avis.

Depuis lors, deux travaux ont paru qui semblent appuyer l’hypothèse de Mme. Brasseur. Dans ce qui suit, je ne leur rendrai pas justice, parce que je ne discuterai pas des autres observations intéressantes qu’ils contiennent, mais Skårup / L'unité contestée 9 uniquement de leurs arguments pour accepter l’hypothèse en question. Martine Thiry-Stassin, dans sa communication au congrès Rencesvals d’Edimbourg, “Aspects de la foi et de la vie religieuse dans la Chanson des Saisnes de Jehan Bodel,”5 conclut qu’il apparaît que la thèse de Mme. Brasseur sur la double rédaction de la Chanson des Saisnes reçoit une confirmation supplémentaire.” Mais c’est que Mme. Thiry-Stassin a comparé les 3307 premiers vers du manuscrit A non pas avec le reste de ce manuscrit mais avec un ensemble constitué à la fois et sans distinction par le reste du ms. A et par les parties correspondantes des autres manuscrits. Si l’on considère à part la dernière partie du ms. A, on observe qu’elle ne se distingue pas d’une façon significative de la première partie du même manuscrit sur les points examinés, alors que les différences observées établissent une distinction entre la dernière partie des autres manuscrits et le ms. A entier. Or ce qui est douteux, ce n’est pas que l’auteur des 3307 premiers vers du ms. A, lesquels se retrouvent dans les mss LT, soit un autre que l’auteur (ou les auteurs) de la fin des mss LT, mais qu’il soit un autre que l’auteur de la fin du ms. A.

Mme. Brasseur elle-même a étudié La Chanson des Saisnes “au regard de son contenu parémiologique.”6 Elle a examiné la fréquence et la fonction des énoncés sentencieux dans le texte. La fréquence est calculée par rapport au nombre de vers; elle est exprimée en pourcentages à deux décimales. Selon les calculs de Mme. Brasseur, les énoncés sentencieux ont une fréquence de 0,57% dans les 3307 premiers vers du ms. A et de 0,39% dans les 1030 vers restants de ce manuscrit, c’est-à-dire 57 et 39 énoncés sentencieux sur 10 000 vers.7 Mme. Brasseur conclut que la fréquence se réduit “brutalement dans la seconde étape de A.”

Mais les nombres absolus sont beaucoup trop petits pour permettre cette conclusion. Si les 1030 derniers vers 10 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 avaient la même fréquence d’énoncés sentencieux que les 3307 premiers vers, ils en contiendraient cinq ou six. Or ils n’en contiennent selon Mme. Brasseur que quatre. Réduction brutale ou variation aléatoire?

Il y a plus. Même à l’intérieur des 3307 premiers vers, la fréquence n’est pas constante. Découpons-les en trois tranches successives de longueur égale; chacune comprendra 1102 (ou 1103) vers et sera donc à peine plus longue que les 1030 derniers vers du manuscrit. Voici les nombres d’énoncés sentencieux contenus dans ces trois tranches et dans les 1030 derniers vers:

vv. 1-1102: 10 vv. 1103-2204: 6 vv. 2205-3307: 3 vv. 3308-4337: 4

Ces nombres sont basés sur l’index établi par Mme. Brasseur. Il faut peut-être en corriger un ou deux. L’énoncé sentencieux du vers 1043: “l’atendres est mauvais” n’en est peut-être pas un, ce qui réduit dix à neuf pour les 1102 premiers vers. Inversement, si le ms. A ne contient pas le vers que le ms. R place après le vers 2565 et qui est identique au vers L2308, c’est peut-être dû à une omission, sans laquelle les vv. 2205-3307 contiendraient quatre énoncés sentencieux.

Quoi qu’il en soit, les nombres absolus sont si petits que leurs écarts d’une moyenne peuvent être dus au hasard. Si pourtant on insiste pour y voir une réduction systématique de la fréquence, elle peut être progressive, et elle s’arrête bien avant le vers 3307.

Quant à la fonction des énoncés sentencieux, on ne peut guère non plus sans parti pris démontrer de changement au cours du texte, du moins pas de changement qui justifie un des trois éléments de l’hypothèse de Mme. Brasseur. Skårup / L'unité contestée 11

De la base de cette hypothèse il ne reste plus que les différences littéraires que Mme. Brasseur a alléguées dans son Etude entre les deux parties dans lesquelles elle divise le ms. A. Ainsi, c’est en voyant une différence en ce qui concerne la figure de (voir l’Etude 223-26) que Bernard Guidot, dans le compte rendu cité, retient les deux premiers éléments de l’hypothèse, sans indiquer la place de la coupure qu’il suppose.

Ces différences littéraires n’ont pas été examinées sans parti pris. Si elles s’avèrent réelles, il est à voir si elles ne sont pas compatibles avec l’hypothèse d’un seul auteur qui a changé quelques-unes de ses habitudes au cours de la composition. On a vu qu’un de ces changements concerne la longueur des laisses. L’auteur a fait ces changements plutôt avant qu’après le vers 3307, mais il a pu les faire à des endroits différents. On n’observe pas de coupure brutale dans le texte du ms. A.

Dans son compte rendu, Bernard Guidot rappelle qu’“il faut bien avoir une idée de recherche avant de se lancer dans la quête aventureuse.” Sans doute, et il est même normal de commencer par chercher ce qui confirme cette idée. Mais on n’a pas terminé son travail avant d’avoir cherché également ce qui est contraire à l’idée préconçue et avant d’avoir considéré d’autres hypothèses pour expliquer les faits observés. Si on publie ses résultats sans avoir fait cela, on n’est pas forcément coupable de mauvaise foi, on peut également être atteint d’une foi aveugle en son idée préconçue. Et on peut être mal conseillé. 12 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Notes

1 Publications romanes et françaises, 190 (Genève: Droz, 1990). 2 Dans Revue Romane 26.2 (1991): 206-18. 3 Dans son compte rendu de l’Etude de Mme. Brasseur, dans Olifant 18 (1993): 191-96. 4 Je remercie Mme. Plouzeau de m’avoir signalé dans une lettre que j’avais mal compris un des exemples que je citais, “li combatres a ”, v. 1450. Ce n’est pas la construction li fiz au roi : “a Charles” n’y est pas un complément du nom exprimant la possession, c’est un complément régi par le verbe. 5 Dans Charlemagne in the North: Proceedings of the Twelfth International Conference of the Société Rencesvals, Philip E Bennett, Anne Elizabeth Cobby and Graham A. Runnalls, eds. (London: Grant & Cutler, 1993) 209-21. 6 Dans Olifant 18.3-4 (1993): 220-37. L’index des énoncés sentencieux contient plusieurs fautes typographiques; il a été copié d’après les pp. 336ss. de l’Etude, où on le consulte mieux. Je n’ai pas vérifié s’il est exhaustif. 7 A propos de la rédaction L, Mme. Brasseur conclut que la fréquence “a donc tendance à se réduire progressivement dans les différentes parties de L,” à savoir 0,59% — 0,52% — 0,51%. Erreur de calcul: 18 énoncés sur 3001 vers = 0,60%; 15 énoncés sur 2712 vers = 0,55%; 13 énoncés sur 2125 vers = 0,61%. Orality, and Collective Identity: The Carolingian Epic in

Juliann Vitullo Arizona State University

During the last decade, several medievalists have challenged the nineteenth-century notion that the “late” de geste of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries represent the genre’s decline and are simply mediocre, bourgeois copies of a once noble and heroic tradition. In the 1980s, Robert Francis Cook reminded scholars that the majority of extant chansons de geste date from the end of the twelfth through the fourteenth century (68), and François Suard pointed out that nineteen distinct chansons de geste were produced in the fourteenth century and eight in the fifteenth century (96).

Despite the popularity of the late within several social groups and regions, nineteenth-century literary historians such as Léon Gautier established the notion that these epics, especially those written in prose, embodied the genre’s stylistic and moral decline. Gautier and others also dismissed Italian Carolingian epics of the late as emblematic of the bourgeoisie’s rejection of the nobility’s military culture. Gautier, and his Italian contemporary, Pio Rajna, interpreted the earlier epic poems of a highly oral culture as a more masculine and noble literary form, while they perceived the later prose epics as signs of a literate culture’s effeminate and weak nature. Such characterizations support Brian Stock’s contention that social groups use orality and literacy to define themselves: “If the self-definition of one group is through writing, it is in the nature of things that the opposite party will think of themselves as directed toward the oral, unspoken or spontaneous” (148). This paper analyzes the ideological 14 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 importance of the Italian epic’s ambiguous status rather than dismissing it. I trace the competition between various forms of the epic in early-modern Italy, and describe how that rivalry relates to the self-definition of social groups. By examining the contradictory discourses of the Italian epic tradition, I also illustrate the important role that orality and literacy play in the development and maintenance of gender and ethnic identities.

Like its predecessor, the chanson de geste, the Italian Carolingian epic had deep roots in an oral culture. There is indirect evidence that stories of Carlomagno and were circulating in Northeastern Italy as early as the twelfth century (Limentani 40). The first extant manuscripts containing Carolingian epics were produced in the same region, approximately one century later, along with a document, written by the Paduan judge, Lovato de Lovati, which describes in somewhat disparaging terms the oral performance of Carolingian epics by the giullari.

It is appropriate that Lovati, often described by scholars as a pre-humanist, wrote the first of many negative assessments of the Italian Carolingian epic. Writing in Latin, Lovati had his feet securely planted in the literary world; he therefore did not have an ear for a tradition which grew out of the world of orality, and which was recited in what he called “deformed” French, a language known today as Franco-Italian (Foligno 49). Even when Italian authors of the late Trecento and Quattrocento produced epics in writing, they continued to use formulae and other techniques characteristic of oral narratives. Like many later critics, Lovati did not understand that a performed epic simply employed different rhetorical devices from those used in texts that are consumed silently and in private.

Following Lovati’s lead, scholars for many years thought that the giullari of the Veneto region wrote in Vitullo / Orality, Literacy and Collective Identity 15 Franco-Italian because they were uneducated and did not know correct . A more current interpretation, however, is that Franco-Italian is a literary language used to evoke the prestige and exotic qualities of French and yet still communicate with regional audiences in Northern Italy (Renzi 574).

The tales of narrated in Carolingian epics also formed part of a larger chivalric discourse which the new urban aristocracy in Italian communes used to endorse its power. Dubbings usually occurred alongside magna curia or grandiose celebrations for the communal elite, complete with jousts, tournaments, feasts, and entertainment by giullari (Larner 123). The giullari who performed Carolingian epics, therefore, did not recite their texts only to large uneducated crowds, as the description in Lovato de Lovati’s letter suggests, but also for the urban elite including its administrative professionals.

Although they used Carolingian epics to develop the chivalric mythology which supported their power, many members of the new urban aristocracy in Italy, especially the administrative class or pre-humanists, shared an ambivalent attitude toward the orality of the genre. They mistrusted the power of the oral tradition that reached so many people and at the same time felt superior to it because of their training in the ars dictaminis which helped them to earn positions of power within the communal structure. Stephen Nichols points out that the clerical tradition juxtaposed the mind/ body dichotomy with the similar opposition of writing/ orality and thus associated the dangers of the flesh with vocal performance (151). Similarly, the new urban aristocracy, particularly the administrative class with its training in letters, attempted to contain and use the voice. This ambivalence motivated a change in the epic’s discursive form as the genre’s center of production gradually shifted from a group of mostly anonymous authors in Veneto during the 16 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 thirteenth century to Tuscany during the fourteenth century. Concurrent with this transplantation, the Carolingian material lost its Old French veneer as it was translated from the hybrid, literary language created in the Veneto, Franco-Italian, into the new hegemonic language of Italy, Tuscan. During this period of transition, communal authors also translated the lasse of many of the early Franco-Italian epics into prose, and also into a new poetic form known as the cantare.

Why would writers in fourteenth-century Italy feel a need to transform a long tradition of poetic texts? The emergence of a new signifying system, such as prose or the cantare, generally means that in some ways writers deem the old system inadequate for certain messages and question its authoritative form (Kittay 8). Such a lack of confidence in the lasse on the part of the new administrative class—what I referred to as their “ambivalence” toward orality—motivated these two transitions. In order to discuss the formulaic changes more precisely and to illustrate how they relate to issues of orality and literacy as well as collective identities, I will outline very briefly the history of one Italian Carolingian epic, Ugo d’Alvernia.

Three extant manuscripts in Franco-Italian, dating from the end of the thirteenth or the beginning of the fourteenth century, contain versions of the Ugo story in lasse.1 At the beginning of the fifteenth century, , whom documents describe as a singer in communal Florence, translated several Carolingian epics into prose, including Ugo d’Alvernia.2 The Ugo epic was later translated into (the cantare form) in 1488 by Michelagnolo da Volterra, who also describes himself as a trombetto or singer.3 The three extant manuscripts in lasse, and the Ugo prose translation, which closely follows their narrative, can be easily divided into three parts. In the initial section, Ugo is at the court of Duke Sanguino and is falsely Vitullo / Orality, Literacy and Collective Identity 17 accused of making sexual advances toward the Duke’s wife, Sofia, who had tried in vain to seduce our saintly . Ugo flees to his native city, Alvernia, with Sanguino in hot pursuit. Eventually, Sofia’s father, King Carlo Martello of , becomes involved in the squabble and discovers that his daughter has lied about Ugo. The King makes the unusually harsh decision to have his daughter killed even though the pious Ugo pleads with Carlo Martello to spare her life. The second part of the narrative is linked to the first by Ugo’s marriage to Honida, whom he had met while fleeing from Sanguino. The blissful happiness of the newlyweds comes to an abrupt end at Carlo Martello’s festivities for Pentecost. The King sees Honida and immediately falls in love with her. He soon realizes that Honida is as saintly as her husband and that he must send Ugo on a mission in order to have a chance to seduce his vassal’s wife. The King quickly calls a meeting of his advisors, including a jongleur and members of ’s Maganza clan, at which he decides to send Ugo to Hell. He instructs Ugo to find the devil, make him a vassal, and bring back a tribute.

The dutiful Ugo accepts the mission and begins his journey toward Hell. On his way he has numerous adventures: he fights various wild animals, meets with the Pope and the legendary Father John, faces devils disguised as beautiful young women, and observes exotic peoples, many of whom he converts. Eventually, with the help of numerous prayers and supplications, Ugo reaches Hell and is guided through an underworld which shares certain similarities with Dante’s Inferno. Ultimately, Ugo obtains the tribute and returns to his homeland, which in his absence had been under siege from the King. Ugo brings Carlo Martello the valuable tribute but as soon as the King touches it, devils appear and carry him off.

As the third section of the narrative begins, Ugo and most of the other vassals are happy that the King has 18 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 disappeared, yet they are also left with the problem of choosing a new leader. Everyone supports Ugo, but the humble hero quickly refuses the throne, and eventually Guglielmo Zappetta (Capet) is elected.

Just when the vassals have resolved that problem, however, a letter arrives from the Pope saying that the are about to conquer the Holy City. Despite the efforts of Guglielmo Zappetta, the barons refuse to mobilize until Ugo intervenes and convinces them of their duty. The Germans, on the other hand, act quickly and make an agreement with the Pope that their King will become Emperor if they save Rome. By the time the French arrive the Germans have taken over much of the city and the relationship between the two supposedly allied armies becomes very tense. Eventually the French by themselves conquer the Saracens, but the Germans claim the victory and steal all the booty. Ugo hears a divine voice which tells him that he must arrange a tournament to decide whether a German or a Frenchman should be Emperor. He is also forewarned that he will sacrifice his own life and the French will lose the crown for their past sins. Six warriors from each side are chosen and they all kill each other in a brutal contest. A German is the last to die (he outlives Ugo by a short time), so that as the story ends the Germans have prevailed and control the Holy .

This narrative displays several ideological tendencies that repeat themselves in other late Carolingian epics. Most noticeably, the King is no longer a terrestrial leader chosen by divine mandate but rather a tyrant inspired by the Devil. It is easy to interpret such a narrative change as a reflection of communal Italy’s new mercantile values (Krauss 182). I believe, however, that such an interpretation is somewhat simplistic. The heroes of these tales remain land-owning aristocrats and, like Ugo, are usually members of the Chiaramonte family. Heroes perform super-human actions to Vitullo / Orality, Literacy and Collective Identity 19 earn their status but at the same time such extraordinary abilities are passed down through noble families. These stories therefore project the desires of the Italian communes and the new communal aristocracy to remain independent of the French kings and German emperors, as well as to enjoy the privileges of nobility. City-states such as Padua and Florence in which the Carolingian material circulated, represented themselves as communes whose republican ideals separated them from the “tyrants” who were in the process of expanding their power throughout the peninsula.

Even though the communal aristocracy promoted “republican” values, its members understood that ties to traditional sources of authority such as the Church and emperors were very important in justifying and maintaining their power. The extreme piety and patriotism of the Ugo represents a civic attitude that leaders of the Guelf cause tried to develop in Florence (Brown 42).

Andrea da Barberino’s prose translation of earlier Ugo d’Alvernia texts replicates this tension between republican and neo-feudal values on a formal level by combining the techniques of the traditional singer and more literary rhetorical devices. Through this combination he attempts to anchor his new status as author in oral traditions aimed at a mass audience and at the same time appeal to the literate elite.

The following example offers an illustration of such grafting. This first passage shows the direct address to the audience often used by the author of the Padova manuscript in lasse—standard epic fare: Or ascholte signor, p[er] dio onipotant / E ve dirò un gran tradimant (Biblioteca Vescovile di Padova, ms. 32, f. 1v). Although Andrea leaves out most of these transitions, he includes some of them for “oral” color in his prose text: 20 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Ma lasciamo un poco costoro, e torniamo al Conte Ugone, il quale, solo, non sapendo che via si tenere, et raccomandandosi a Dio, prese la via verso l’Ungheria, tanto doloroso, et pieno di pensieri, ch’era cosa non poterlo immaginare; et sempre dicendo molti salmi et orazioni, pregando Iddio che gli desse grazia di tornare sano et salvo a sua magione.(I, 108)

But let’s leave them for a short time, and return to Count Ugo who, alone, not knowing which path to take, and trusting in God, took the road towards Hungary, in such suffering, and full of worries, that it was unimaginable; and always reciting many psalms and orations, praying to God to grant him the grace to return home safe and sound.

At the same time, Andrea makes manifest to his audience that he belongs to a literary tradition by rewriting the simple periods of the earlier verse in lasse, creating long latinized sentences with participles and gerunds. The prose writer transforms the simple formula, composing a sentence almost as long as the protagonist’s journey.

Andrea also proves his mastery over the oral tradition by interpreting the Franco-Italian texts for his audience. Consider the next quotation in which he copies the French text and then translates the line for the audience:

Penetras, vedendo Sansone, lo sgridò che lo liberasse et disse: Francioso, dolgies mes mais suios aideraj, che vuol dire: Francioso, sciogletemi mie mani e aiutorvvi. (I, 283)

Penetras, seeing Sansone, yelled at Sansone to free him and said: Francioso, dolgies mes Vitullo / Orality, Literacy and Collective Identity 21 mais suios aideraj, which means: Frenchman, untie my hands and I will help you. Andrea’s ambivalence toward orality is also demonstrated by the debasement of jongleurs in his narratives. In the Ugo story, it is a jongleur, Saladino, who, thinking that the hero could never survive such an adventure, proposes that Ugo be sent on a mission to Hell so that the King can seduce Ugo’s wife. When Ugo finally reaches Hell, he finds Saladino among the circle of the pimps. In Andrea’s version of another famous narrative, L’Aspramonte, the narrator describes buffoni or jongleurs as weak and envious because of their effeminate nature (39). The expression he uses to describe these performers will then be repeated when the heroic authority of a powerful woman warrior is contained later in the narrative. Although contemporary documents describe Andrea as a cantarino or a public singer, he clearly attempts to separate himself from that social group, by associating it with sexuality and femininity.

One of the ways he does that is by including oral techniques in his texts, but enclosing them in a prose frame that represents the seemingly more rational, thus more masculine, world of literacy. In the communal culture of Florence, political authority became harder to trace since it no longer descended from one centralized source but rather was dispersed among the numerous judges, notaries, merchants, and nobles who ran the legal and economic apparatus. Prose, like the new bureaucracy, was perceived as natural and objective. This communal culture’s first auctor, Dante, refers to prose as a more “natural” form of expression since it is less “adorned” than writings in verse.4

The most obvious example of the authority of prose in Andrea’s Ugo is the section in which the hero travels to Hell. The narrator tells us that this episode is copied from an earlier version of the story in verse written by Giovanni Vincenzio Isterliano, which he quotes and then analyzes in 22 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 prose. These prose commentaries are much longer then the verses Andrea copies, and contain lists of Greek and Roman writers, epic heroes, and prophets that show off his knowledge of classical and Old French literature as well as the Bible.

Andrea’s affinity for such inventories attests to a respect for a new type of power that arose gradually during the early modern period. The development of what Bruno Latour calls “immutable mobiles” such as currencies, inscriptions, and maps is what allows bureaucracies to dominate through the use of records and figures rather than . Latour defines “immutable mobiles” as “objects which have the properties of being mobile but also immutable, presentable, readable, and combinable with one another” (7). The collection of such objects “through space and time is essential for domination on a grand scale” (22). In a society of immutable mobiles a person gains power by collecting and ordering inscriptions and figures. One establishes the validity of a claim or of a point of view by amassing more evidence than others. The legitimacy gained through such documents, however, can be quickly lost; one must continually gather and classify new information in order to prove one’s domination over others: “A man is never much more powerful than any other—even from a throne; but a man whose eye dominates records through which some sort of connections are established with millions of others may be said to dominate. This domination, however, is not a given but a slow construction and it can be corroded. . . . “ (29) Like the new administrative class of Florence, Andrea learned to dominate through the collection and combination of written and oral traces. His text claims authority over the earlier tradition by making continual references to the immutable mobiles he had collected.

As much as Andrea’s texts distance themselves from orality, they also display a great nostalgia for it. Andrea Vitullo / Orality, Literacy and Collective Identity 23 shared with authors of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries what Jesse Gellrich has called a “resistance to writing.” Gellrich has traced the roots of this late-medieval resistance to classical and patristic texts which had conceived of writing as a failed imitation of oral utterances. In contrast to such inferior mimesis, a return to the Verbum was regarded as a renewal of authentic language without differentiation. Gellrich’s analysis of fourteenth-century English chronicles connects this linguistic nostalgia with a reactionary political sentiment: “[T]his resistance to writing in the chronicle history of England . . . constitutes in its own right historical evidence of a society rooted in a nostalgia for the faded political ideals of feudalism and holding on to its anachronistic of the power of ruler in his presence and word” (470-71).

The Ugo narrative displays the same nostalgia for a landed aristocracy through its long-suffering and noble protagonist, Ugo. At the same time, the story ends with the hero’s death, and frequently deplores the violence of vendettas among aristocratic families and the lack of a seemingly objective, legal bureaucracy to negotiate the conflicts of the knightly class. Like the writers of the English chronicles, Andrea weaves together oral and literary techniques exploiting both the presence of the Word associated with the aristocracy and the power of systematic documentation associated with the communal bureaucracy.

This tendency to combine oral and literary techniques encouraged the creation of a new verse form, the cantare, that served as a bridge among social groups which could not read, those who read only in vernacular, and the elite who also read texts in Latin and Greek. A great debate still rages among Italianists about the origin of the cantare. Some scholars claim that Boccaccio invented the form while others trace its birth to more anonymous sources such as the laude of confraternities.5 Whatever its origin(s), the cantare 24 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 developed because of its versatility in addressing various social classes and the corresponding continuum of orality and literacy that existed in Italy during the . Texts written in ottava rima are made up of a chain of microtexts. Each cantare begins with a religious invocation and ends with a similar supplication, which also anticipates what will be narrated in its successor. The stanzas of the cantare are made up of eight hendecasyllablic lines—three couplets with an alternating scheme followed by a pair of endecasillabi baciati or a rhyming couplet. These stanzas differ from the lasse in several ways. Firstly, they are a closed form more like the sonnet then the lassa of indeterminate length. Secondly, the fixed ottava rima replaces the decasyllabic lines of the lassa that end with the same assonance or rhyme. Although this makes the cantare seem simpler because of its fixed form, it requires more complex—one might say literary techniques—at the level of the macrotext. For example, the first stanza in the following passage is connected to the next ottava by an enjambment that one would not likely find in a text composed in lasse (Limentani 69):

Vergine altiera io vi vo narrare, benché ingnorança m’abbi a sua bandiera. Con umiltà, io vi vo pregare che ci iscampi, e sia cosa vera quando nostre anime anno apasare di questa vita fa chelle no[n] pera, sì che abiano parte in ella eterna gloria. Or vo seguire la legiadra istoria

Dun ducha ch[e] ansuigi fu apellato. (f. 1r)

Noble Virgin I want to tell you a story even though ignorance makes me its standard. With humility, I want to plead you to save us, and may it be true that when our souls must pass Vitullo / Orality, Literacy and Collective Identity 25 from this life, let them not perish but instead take part in eternal glory. Now I want to return to the beautiful story of a Duke who was called Ansuigi.

Furthermore, the literary complexity of the cantare Ugo is enhanced by the connection of the religious exordium to the narrative events. The cantare in which Michelagnolo da Volterra calls on the Virgin to protect our souls presents a great military threat to the family of the future savior, Ugo, and in particular to his mother, Agnese.6 On the other hand, the cantare is similar to the lassa in the flexibility they both allow for the addition or deletion of narrative events; although the microtexts are closed systems, the macrotexts they make up remain open. It is quite possible, however, that the exordial and closing invocations developed as a failed literary technique to fix the order of an oral tradition which singers/authors continued to rearrange (Cabani 33). Also, unlike the prose translation, the rhyme scheme of the cantare, like the assonance of the lasse, accentuates the text’s oral nature. The cantare’s elasticity along the oral-literary continuum is the reason it arises as a triumphant alternative in the battle of discursive epic forms. These diverse functions also have important ideological significance which the cantare of Ugo d’Alvernia clearly demonstrates.

In his cantare version of Ugo d’Alvernia, da Volterra exhibits how a narrative can expand and contract in the oral tradition. His text has several new episodes; we now learn about the lives of Ugo’s parents, the hero’s childhood, the exploits of his brother Ugolino, and even the destiny of his progeny. He also adds a new heroic character, the stepfather of Ugo’s nephew, who serves as a “trombetto” for an aristocratic family.7 Throughout the text da Volterra writes the word trombetto in enlarged letters, emphasizing the noble acts of a character who did not come from the traditional 26 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 aristocratic stock of most epic heroes. Moreover, at the end of the narrative the author also describes himself as a trombetto. Conversely, da Volterra’s cantare reduces the exploits of Ugo in exotic lands and in Hell, instead focusing on conflicts between the Chiaramonte and Maganza clans.8 This revision places greater emphasis on familial politics than on the virtue and sanctity of the protagonist, Ugo. The cantare, therefore, returns to what had been one of the chanson de geste’s original functions: providing mythical origins for aristocratic families.

Da Volterra makes it explicit that he worked as a singer for an aristocratic Florentine family, the Lenzi, which held important communal offices throughout the Quattrocento (Kent 635). The singer even states that Piero di Lorenzo Lenzi served as the “Capitano di Pisa.” In order to hold such a post at that time, the Lenzi must have been supporters of the Medici family—the “veiled tyrants” of Florence. This disparaging epithet referred to the Medici’s accumulation of power in Florence while appropriating the republican institutions of the city. Politically astute, Lorenzo di Medici used both the chivalric and republican discourses for his own purposes; he made sure that several important men who supported his family became knights, but he always avoided that honor for himself (Brown 48). In a similar fashion, da Volterra claims that after Carlo Martello’s demise Ugo becomes the ruler of Tuscany, but the author never links that descendent with the Medici or the family for which he wrote the epic, the Lenzi. Just as the Medici family avoided the public scrutiny of chivalric titles, da Volterra linked the seigniorial families of Genoa and Ferrara, the Malaspina and the Este (the real tyrants according to the Florentine aristocracy), with direct descendants of Ganelon’s clan (f.162v - f.163r). Such selective genealogy brings us back to the contradictory nature of Italian Carolingian epics. Da Volterra’s text condemns kings and seigneurs at the same Vitullo / Orality, Literacy and Collective Identity 27 time that it justifies the aristocratic privileges of certain families and those who support them.

In his analysis of the Chanson de , Peter Haidu describes how that text represents the growing conflicts between the monarchy and the feudal system during the eleventh and twelfth centuries in France. He interprets the trial, torture, and execution of Ganelon as the symbolic subjection of the upper nobility’s codes of honor and vendetta to the King/Emperor (145). The cantare of Ugo d’Alvernia also presents contradictory ideological codes that focus on the control of violence. Like the Chanson de Roland, the Ugo narrative illustrates how the vendettas of noble clans promote a destructive fragmentation of society, while also questioning the idea of centralized power through the representation of the King. Ugo juxtaposes the city-state’s republican values, which promoted shared governance among citizens and the dispersal of power, with the constant hope that by centralizing political authority in the hands of one noble family, the community might bring a lasting peace to factional violence. Although the death of Ugo reveals the utopian nature of this nostalgic solution, the text still portrays him as a transcendental figure who seems to offer the only possible route to social salvation. The text suggests that the last hope for peace is a complete denial of diversity, including the various stylistic and ideological codes that contributed to it.

The diversity of Carolingian epics led to their critical demise. In particular, the oral elements of these texts caused them to be categorized as inferior to more literary works; the epics were either satirized by writers such as Ariosto or trivialized by humanists who did not consider them worthwhile. For example, Anton Francesco Grazzini wrote a satirical poem describing the well-known manuscript collection of Stradino, yet another follower of the Medici family who collected Carolingian epics (Maracchi Biagiarelli 28 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 54). The following quotation is Grazzini’s description of Stradino’s library:

Oh come fieno il caso i Rinaldini, i Nerbonesi e i Cavalieri erranti, per rinvolger salsiccia e marzolini! (Verzone 468)

Oh the stories of Rinaldo, of the Nerbonesi and of the errant knights should be used to wrap sausage and cheese!

At the end of his epic, da Volterra expresses quite a different opinion as he defends his interest in epics by explaining that he learned about ancient deeds from such texts, but above all else, that he had a good time with them. As another singer, Antonio Pucci, explained, the process of transforming a narrative into rhythm provided him with great pleasure (Bruni 148). These singers felt a physical connection to story telling that was difficult for those who lived in a cultural environment more dependent on books to understand. Even after the invention of the printing press, Carolingian epics of writers such as Andrea da Barberino or Michelagnolo da Volterra remained extremely popular. For example, between 1501 and 1516 there were various printings of titles such as Historia di Carlo Martello, Aiolfo del Barbicone, Aspramonte, Buovo d’Antona, Innamoramento di Carlo Magno, Guerin Meschino, Malagigi, Reali di Francia, Rinaldo e (Beer 335-38). The judgment of the pre- humanists and humanists such as Lovati or Grazzini, however, began a critical tradition that exiled these texts and their celebration of pleasure from the canon of .

Although humanists did not place the Carolingian epic in the canon of late medieval , da Vitullo / Orality, Literacy and Collective Identity 29 Volterra did. At the end of his tale of Ugo d’Alvernia, our trombetto listed the stories that he had read. He divided them into three categories “Libri di battaglie,” “Libri picholi e grandi di innamoramenti,” and “Libri dall’anima da legiere di quaresima” (f. 166r - f. 168r). He subdivided the first category into two groups: narratives about the age of Carlomagno and those which occur before or after that era. Da Volterra’s favorite genre was the Carolingian epic; this becomes clear not only because of its spot on the top of the list, but also because of his description of it. He claims that any man who does not enjoy such narratives is without reason and bestial. He uses the adjective “bellissimi” for the “libri di battaglie”, “buoni e bellissimi” for the “libri di innamoramenti” and simply “buoni” for the “libri dall’anima.” Such distinctions indicate that da Volterra appreciated what the books of love and religious texts had to teach him, but he certainly did not enjoy them to the same extent as his oral adventure stories. According to da Volterra’s pleasure principle, Carolingian epics outrank such canonical works as the poems of Petrarca and even Dante’s Divina Commedia. What can da Volterra’s canon of vernacular literature teach us? It illustrates that literacy and orality are not polar opposites but rather form a continuum. Much like rap music today, medieval Carolingian epics in Italy suffered critical exclusion in part because they included an oral component in a culture with strong literary prejudices. Da Volterra, as a literate man who probably did not read Latin or Greek, found himself somewhere in the middle of the literary-oral continuum of his age. As a result, his text embodies both the tensions and the pleasures of such an ambiguous status. 30 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 NOTES

1 The Hamilton manuscript 337 of the Kupferstich-Kabinett of Berlin; the N III 19 manuscript of the Biblioteca Nazionale di Torino; and the manuscript 32 of the Biblioteca del Seminario di Padova. A good portion of the Berlin manuscript was published by A. Tobler and E. Stengel in various articles, see Meregazzi 9-10. Although the manuscript in Turin was badly damaged by fire, a short extract of the manuscript had already been published by Renier. For published extracts of the Paduan manuscript, see Meregazzi 9-10. 2 Quotations for Andrea da Barberino’s prose text will be taken from the Zambrini and Bacchi Della Lega edition. All three narrative sections described below appear in the manuscripts that were used as the basis of that edition. Gloria Allaire, however, has recently discovered two sixteenth-century manuscripts of Andrea Barberino’s prose Ugo that seemed to omit the protagonist’s journey to Hell. After reading one of these manuscripts, the Rediano 177, I learned that the text still contains the second part of the narrative, but it is greatly reduced to one short chapter (folios 133-34) and does not describe the other world in detail as do the earlier manuscripts used for the Zambrini edition. Allaire has conjectured that the two manuscript traditions represent a reworking of the material by Andrea da Barberino himself. 3 The cantare is contained in the Palatino manuscript 82 of the Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana in Florence. 4 Dante followed a thirteenth-century tradition which associated prose with truthfulness. See Baranski 86 and Zumthor 246. 5 See Balduino for a recent summary of the debate. 6 For a detailed discussion of the various and complex uses of the invocation in the cantare tradition, see Cabani 23-46. 7 The first example occurs on f. 74r. 8 As previously noted, Allaire has recently discovered an alternative manuscript tradition of Andrea da Barberino’s prose Ugo in which the protagonist’s journey to Hell is greatly reduced.

WORKS CITED

Allaire, Gloria. “Due testimoni sconosciuti di Andrea da Barberino nel Codice Barberiniano Latino 4101 della Biblioteca Vaticana.” Pluteus 6-7 (1988-89): 121-30. Vitullo / Orality, Literacy and Collective Identity 31 ---. “Un manoscritto rediano delle Storie Nerbonesi e dell’ Ugone d’Alvernia di Andrea da Barberino.” Studi e problemi di critica testuale 47 (Oct. 1993): 43-48. Balduino, Armando. “Le misteriose origini dell’ottava rima.” I Cantari: struttura e tradizione (Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Montreal: 19-20 marzo 1981). Ed. M. Picone and M. Bendinelli- Predelli. Florence: Olschki, 1984. 25-47. Baranski, Zygmunt G. “La lezione esegetica di Inferno I: allegoria, storia e letteratura nella Commedia.” Dante e le forme dell’allegoresi. Ed. M. Picone. Ravenna: Longo, 1987. 79-97. Beer, Marina. Romanzi di cavalleria: il Furioso e il romanzo italiano del primo Cinquecento. Rome: Bulzoni, 1987. Bettarini-Bruni, Anna. “Intorno ai cantari di Antonio Pucci.” I Cantari: struttura e tradizione (Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Montreal: 19-20 marzo 1981). Ed. M. Picone and M. Bendinelli- Predelli. Florence: Olschki, 1984. 143-60. Brown, Alison. “The Guelf Party in Fifteenth-Century Florence: The Transition from Communal to Medicean State.” Rinascimento: Ser. ii, II (1980): 41-86. Cabani, Maria Cristina. Le forme del cantare epico-cavalleresco. Lucca: Fazzi, 1988. Cook, Robert Francis. “‘Méchants romans’ et épopée française: pour une philologie profonde.” L’Esprit Créateur 23.1 (Spring 1983): 64-74. Da Barberino, Andrea. L’Aspramonte. Ed. Luigi Cavalli. Naples: Rossi, 1972. Foligno, C. “Epistole inedite di Lovato de’ Lovati e d’altri a lui.” Studi Medievali II (1906): 37-58. Gautier, Léon. Les Epopées françaises. Études sur les origines et l’histoire de la littérature nationale. Vol. II. 1892. Osnabrück: Zeller, 1966. Gellrich, Jesse. “Orality, Literacy, and Crisis in the Later Middle Ages.” Philological Quarterly 67.4 (Fall 1988): 461-73. Haidu, Peter. The Subject of Violence: and the Birth of the State. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1993. Keller, Hans-Erich. “The Mises en prose and the Court of Burgundy.” Fifteenth-Century Studies 10 (1984): 91-103. Kent, Dale. “The Florentine Reggimento in the Fifteenth Century.” Renaissance Quarterly 23 (Winter 1975): 575-638. Kittay, Jeffrey and Wald Godzich. The Emergence of Prose: An Essay in Prosaics. Minneapolis: Minnesota UP, 1987. Krauss, Henning. Epica feudale e pubblico borghese: per la storia poetica di Carlomagno in Italia. Ed. and trans. A. Fassò. Padua: Liviana, 1980. 32 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Larner, John. “Chivalric Culture in the Age of Dante.” Renaissance Studies 2.2 (Oct. 1988): 117-30. Latour, Bruno. “Visualization and Cognition: Thinking with Eyes and Hands.” Knowledge and Society: Studies in the Sociology of Culture Past and Present 6 (1986): 1-40. Limentani, Alberto and Marco Infurna. “Introduzione.” L’Epica. Bologna: Mulino, 1986. 7-43. Maracchi-Biagiarelli, Berta. “L’Armadiaccio di Padre Stradino.” La Bibliofilia 84 (1982): 51-57. Meregazzi, L.A. “L’episodio del Prete Gianni nell’Ugo d’Alvernia.” Studi Romanzi 26 (1935): 1-69. Nichols, Stephen J. “Voice and Writing in Augustine and the Lyric.” Vox intexta: Orality and Textuality in the Middle Ages. Ed. A. N. Doane and C. B. Pasternack. Madison: Wisconsin UP, 1991. 137-61. Rajna, Pio. “Rinaldo da Montalbano.” Il Propugnatore III (1870): 58-127, 213-241. Renier, Rodolfo. “La discesa di Ugo d’Alvernia allo Inferno, secondo il codice franco-italiano della Nazionale di Torino.” Vol. 194. Bologna: Scelta di curiosità letterarie inedite o rare, 1883. Renzi, Lorenzo. “Il francese come lingua letteraria e il franco-lombardo. L’epica carolingia nel Veneto.” La storia della cultura veneta dalle origini al Trecento. Ed. G. Folena. Vicenza: Pozza, 1976. 563-89. Stock, Brian. Listening for the Text: On the Uses of the Past. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP: 1990. Suard, François. “La tradition épique aux XIVe et XVe siècles.” Revue des Sciences Humaines 55.183 (July-September 1981): 95-107. Verzone, Carlo, ed. Le Rime burlesche edite ed inedite di A.F. Grazzini. Florence: Sansoni, 1882. Zambrini, Francesco. and A. Bacchi Della Lega, eds. Storia di Ugone d’Alvernia volgarizzata nel secolo XIV da Andrea da Barberino non fin qui stampata. Bologna: Romagnoli, 1882. Zumthor, Paul. Langue, texte, énigme. : Seuil, 1975.

MANUSCRIPTS Biblioteca del Seminario di Padova 32 Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana 82 Rediano 177 Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion: Redefining the Feminine in the Naissance du Chevalier au Cygne

Finn E. Sinclair University of Edinburgh

The Naissance du Chevalier au Cygne, the Chevalier au Cygne and the Fin d’Elias form an epic trilogy which serves as a retrospective introduction to the Crusade cycle, the three chansons de geste having been produced later than the main corpus of the Cycle, in the late twelfth or early thirteenth century.1 Their focus on the story of the Chevalier au Cygne and the birth of his daughter, Ida, mother of Godefroi de Bouillon, provides an ancestral lineage for Godefroi, leader of the and first Christian king of Jerusalem, but also produces a trilogy of epics with their own narrative coherence. A further element which serves to separate the three from the subsequent epics of the Crusade cycle is their drawing on mythological topoi to provide the basis for their account of the Chevalier au Cygne’s birth. Although functioning as a prelude to the Crusade cycle, the Chevalier au Cygne epics cannot therefore be read as bound within a specifically epic context. The inheritance of themes and motifs from myth and folklore is particularly evident in the first of the trilogy, the Naissance. This generic interplay does not, however, serve to destabilise our reading of the narrative as an epic to any great extent. Despite the presence of folkloric motifs, our horizon of expectation is not overtly troubled, as the transition of the tale into its epic form sets the characters in a twelfth-century narrative frame which molds them to its own desires and expectations.2

This paper focuses on the female characters of the Naissance and on the ways in which their epic framing limits 34 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 or suppresses the role they play in the folktale. It is the transformation of these characters which most evidently illustrates the shift between generic norms and the differing significance of women in the two forms of narrative. Although the depiction of the chanson de geste characters may be seen as a closing down of the possibility for active female participation in the tale, there does, as I will show, remain a certain ambiguity in their representation.

The dual nature of the chanson de geste is reflected by its differing titles: the Enfants-Cygnes, or the Naissance du Chevalier au Cygne.3 The title Enfants-Cygnes, attributed by Gaston Paris, emphasises the chanson’s link with the myth or of supernatural swan-children which exists in Slavic, Germanic, and Irish traditions, among others.4 As pointed out by Jan A. Nelson:

That the story of the swan-children is an independent tale totally disassociated from the Swan legend is well attested by its appearance in Germanic folk tradition. . . . Its later attachment to the Swan Knight legend is the result of the presence of swans in the tale. They undoubtedly suggested to the poet its possible use as an explanation of the origin of the Swan Knight.5

The supernatural origin of the Chevalier au Cygne is not, therefore, an intrinsic feature of the Old French chanson de geste, but a result of its grafting onto the pre-existing myth of metamorphic swan-children, a link acknowledged by Paris. The alternative title, the Naissance du Chevalier au Cygne, underscores the epic nature of the tale, its internarrative connection to the rest of the Cycle, and the literary aim inherent in its composition, that of establishing the genealogical identity of the Chevalier au Cygne as ancestor of Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 35 Godefroi de Bouillon.6 The Enfances-Cygnes/Naissance (hereafter referred to as the Naissance) exists in two separate Old French versions, Elioxe and Beatrix.7 Elioxe is probably the earlier of the versions, and is that which retains the closest relationship to the folktale.8

The Beatrix version takes a further step away from this, introducing structural alterations which emphasise the role of the Chevalier au Cygne as an epic hero. The narrative prominence of the Chevalier throughout Beatrix has two important consequences. Firstly, it produces a tale which is more emphatically bound to the following chansons de geste of the cycle, and secondly, it privileges the male hero over the female characters, who play a more significant part in the action of the folktale and in Elioxe. Owing to this increase in the epic character of the tale, Beatrix is viewed by David Trotter as providing the more appropriate introduction to the Crusade cycle as a whole.9

Elioxe is thus the version of the Naissance which is most evidently a tale in transition, interweaving folktale material and the themes and concerns of the twelfth-century epic. This is not, however, an unproblematic synthesis since the epic is opened up to layering and division. Although having an overall narrative coherence, the poem can be split into two separate sections, the first being modeled primarily on the myth of the swan-children (ll. 1-2932), and the second (ll. 2933- 3499), after the retransformation of the children into human form, showing greater affinity with epic tradition. This second section focuses more emphatically on themes of male lineage, inheritance, and conquest, to the detriment of the female characters, who disappear from the tale. Elioxe will form the basis of this study, since this is the version of the Naissance which most clearly reveals the redundancies and ambiguities produced by the intergeneric transition of the female characters. 36 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 The shift in narrative form from myth to late twelfth- century epic caused much of the supernatural element of the original tale to be lost. Possibly this was viewed as irrelevant or inappropriate to the story of the Chevalier au Cygne as ancestor of Godefroi de Bouillon, although Elioxe in particular is still imbued with a definite supernatural ethos.10 A brief summary of the plot will illustrate this mythological influence:

King Lothair loses his way in a forest while out hunting and falls asleep by a fountain. When he awakens he encounters Elioxe, whose hand he requests in marriage. Elioxe predicts that she will give birth to septuplets—six boys and a girl—and will die in the process. One of the boys will become a great king, extending the lineage to the Orient. The marriage takes place, despite opposition from Matrosilie, mother of Lothair, and Elioxe’s prediction comes true. As Lothair is absent in combat at the time of the birth, Matrosilie orders that the seven infants be taken into the forest and abandoned. She informs Lothair that his wife gave birth to seven serpents who poisoned Elioxe fatally before flying away. Meanwhile, the children are raised by a hermit in the forest, but Matrosilie comes to know of their existence and of the fact that they each wear a gold chain (found around their necks at birth). She sends a servant to steal the chains, but he only succeeds in snatching those of the male children, who immediately transform into swans and fly away. Their sister leaves the hermit’s dwelling and makes her way to Lothair’s city, where she encounters the swans, who recognise her and allow her to feed them. This is brought to the attention of Lothair, who feels a strange affinity with the birds, but who has been unable to approach them. He learns the story of the swan-maiden and returns to question Matrosilie. She confesses her deception, relinquishing all save one of the gold chains, which has been melted down. Lothair pardons her and returns the chains to five of the swans, who regain Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 37 human form and are accepted by Lothair as his sons. The five grow to manhood and are knighted with great ceremony. They each then leave upon a separate quest, the Chevalier au Cygne being accompanied by the brother who still remains a swan.

Although this summary indicates the continuing importance of the supernatural in the chanson de geste, it does not reveal the extent to which the representation of character has undergone significant changes in the transition from folktale to epic. As mentioned above, this is particularly so in regard to the female characters of Elioxe. Their roles differ considerably in emphasis and importance when plotted through from the folktale to Elioxe, then to Beatrix, especially when viewed in relation to the role of the principal male protagonist, the Chevalier au Cygne, or, as he is named in Beatrix, Elias. The female character whose significance to the narrative undergoes the most radical alteration is the swan-maiden. In the folktale the girl, who remains nameless, serves as the heroic focus of the story, the action centring on and evolving around her. She redeems her six brothers from their fate of remaining forever as swans by performing a task which may be carried out by her alone, and which is characterised as particularly feminine in nature, such as sewing or weaving.11 The tale is linked to the solar and earth-goddess of constant renewal and rebirth, as the girl in turn bears seven children—six boys and a girl—capable of transforming themselves at will into swans, and the whole action is repeated.12 Although in Elioxe the potential importance of the swan-maiden is marked by her gender (the sole female among six brothers) and by the narrative’s initial lack of distinction between the male swan- children, she is not the hero or the ultimate focus of the tale. Instead, the girl merely functions as a catalyst in the resolution of the narrative’s problem. Her presence at the riverside and her recounting of her story to Lothair (ll. 38 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 2672-2703) are sufficient to set the scene for the tale’s dénouement. In Elioxe the swan-maiden performs no particular ‘feminine’ task to save her brothers. In place of any such redemptive action she is revealed as entirely lacking in the supernatural insight of her predecessors. When she does encounter the enchanted swans (ll. 2418-33) this is depicted as a chance occurrence and she fails to recognise them as her brothers. It is the children’s father, King Lothair, who performs the decisive action which frees his sons, regaining the gold chains from Matrosilie (ll. 2804-40) and returning them to the swan-children:

Li rois a pris la tierce caaine de l’or mier, Li tiers oisiaus se laise molt bien aplanoier, Et il li gete el col sans plus de l’atargier; Ausi avint cestui con il fust au premier. (ll. 2916-19)

The active potential of the swan-maiden is not, therefore, fulfilled in the chanson de geste. In place of a character imbued with a particular force or talent which dictates the evolution of the narrative, in Elioxe we find a swan-maiden who is as powerless as her brothers. This reduction of the swan-children to a basic homogeneity, despite the gender of the child who remains human, negates the importance and power which the girl is seen to possess in the folktale. The swan-maiden of Elioxe becomes a neutral cipher whose gender is in fact totally irrelevant to the narrative context, owing to her lack of any decisive action which may be gendered as ‘feminine.’ The fact that she is depicted as female is retained solely as a relic of the mythological origins of the poem.

The return of the swan-children to human form (ll. 2909-32) marks the poem’s shift from a mythical to an epic focus. The emphasis upon the fey and the merveilleux cedes Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 39 to the Christian supernatural, the transformation of the children now being depicted as miraculous rather than magical: ‘[Dieu] par miracle fait la cose ensi cangier’ (l. 2915). The children themselves give thanks to God:

Longes avons esté, bels frere, peneant, Et Damedex nos a faite merci si grant Par le main cest preudome que veés ci seant; Mercions damedeu, le pere tot puissant Et cel preudome la, molt me sanble vaillant (ll. 2935-39)

God and the ‘preudome’ (Lothair) are linked together as saviours of the enchanted children, Lothair acting as God’s instrument in a resolution which lacks any notion of female power or influence. The sacred and the secular are fused in the persona of the king, emblem of the world of the twelfth-century epic, and it is he who takes narrative precedence.13 The concerns of the poem are now emphatically bound within a social context which emphasises and the need to extend the boundaries of the Christian kingdom, together with the masculine concerns of patrilineal succession and inheritance. Lothair’s words indicate his sons’ importance as heirs, together with his daughter’s importance as a means of forging alliances and extending the social and political network:14

Por cou wel jo prover, vos estes mi enfant, Vos manrés avoes moi, des rices fiés tenant, Car jo tieng cest roiame, si l’ai en mon conmant: . VII. cités et .L. castels segnerilmant. Si serés cavalier et mi ami aidant, Et jou marierai ma fille hautement, Soit a roi u a prince u duc u amirant; Si arai des nevels, s’ierent mi bien aidant. (ll. 2974-81) 40 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

As noted above, the importance of the swan-maiden’s gender is considerably reduced in Elioxe. It is at the point of the poem’s transition from a predominantly mythological influence to a predominantly epic one, however, that her sex does become significant. Instead of functioning as neutral and placing her on a par with her brothers in the narrative’s scheme of gender power relations, the girl’s sex now marks her difference. In the context of the social and chivalric world of the epic her female gender negates any notion of her as a “player,” even a nominal one, in the action, and she disappears from the narrative.15 If the swan-maiden appears disempowered in Elioxe, her role in the Beatrix version of the Naissance is even more rigorously curtailed. This account of the metamorphosis draws the poem more closely into line with the following Chevalier au Cygne epics, through the depiction of the swan-maiden simply as one of the six children who are transformed into swans. The child who retains human form in this case is Elias, the Chevalier au Cygne himself, who becomes the hero of the tale and the instigator of its action, an alteration perceived by Gaston Paris as ‘une innovation voulue, toute médiévale.’16 An analysis of the differences between the two versions of the Naissance cannot be covered here, but the overall effect of the replacement of the swan-maiden by her brother in Beatrix is to give a more emphatically masculine focus to the whole poem. This masculine emphasis ties Beatrix more tightly into the genealogical framework of the epic cycle. The Chevalier au Cygne takes narrative precedence as the first significant ancestor of Godefroi de Bouillon from the very inception of the hero’s lineage, a shift which conforms to the epic topos of a genealogy based on male-male relationships.17 It is relevant to note the existence of a rather later Spanish version of the Naissance, Isomberte, from which the character of the female swan-child has disappeared completely, leaving a tale of seven male siblings.18 This would seem to reinforce a reading Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 41 of the twelfth-century Naissance du Chevalier au Cygne which interprets the presence of a female protagonist among the swan-children as a mythological relic. The more the story becomes influenced by the aims of epic narrative, and the later the version, the more the role of the female swan-child (originally the hero) is diminished and her character suppressed.

This suppression appears notably in the final section of Elioxe (ll. 3028-3499), which is devoted to the establishing of Lothair’s sons as his heirs, their knighting, and their departure in search of adventure and conquest:

Li .V. fil roi Lotaire, des autres ne sai quans, Sont assemblé ensanble, s’ont fait uns parlemans Que cascuns ira querre, sans conpaigne de gans, Aventure qui soit a cascun convenans. (ll. 3332-35)

Their mother’s prophecy is thus fulfilled. More importantly, the context for the heroic deeds of the Chevalier au Cygne has been established. As stated by the narrator:

Des .IIII. ne dirons or ne tant ne quant, Mais des .II. vos irons un poi amentevant, Del cisne qui la nef vait a son col traiant, Et del jentil vallet dedens sa nef gisant. (ll. 3481-84)

This comment opens up the way for the second epic of the cycle, the Chevalier au Cygne, which concentrates on the adventures of the Chevalier au Cygne alone. Although the Chevalier’s origins are here acknowledged as supernatural, the predominant aim and theme of the second poem is the establishment of a heroic lineage and an inheritance extending from the Chevalier au Cygne to his grandson, 42 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Godefroi de Bouillon. The epic cycle is thus begun. Its emphasis on the construction of a genealogy worthy of the Christian king of Jerusalem produces a narrative form which is partly defined by its preoccupation with a chronology and a linearity which can in turn be defined as particularly masculine.19 Although female characters do appear in the Chevalier au Cygne, their fundamental purpose is to act as conduits for a male lineage whose summit of perfection, in historical, epic and Christian terms, will be reached in the persona of Godefroi de Bouillon.

In the Naissance du Chevalier au Cygne there are two further female characters who also make the transition from the folktale tradition to the twelfth-century chanson de geste. These are the mother of the swan-children, who gives her name to the two French versions of the Naissance— Elioxe or Beatrix—and the children’s grandmother, mother of Lothair. Again, the treatment and scope of these two characters differs in the various versions of the tale. In general, however, their depiction shows a marked tendency for rationalisation over time, for a shift from the mythological to the epic, from the female and supernatural to the male and chivalric. There is, however, a significant difference between the portrayal of these characters and that of the swan-maiden. All three characters—the swan-maiden, the mother and the grandmother—play an important role in the mythological tradition and are, in their different ways, either written out of the epic versions or play a diminished role here. It is only in the case of the swan-maiden, however, that the female character’s gender ceases to be significant. As seen above, her character becomes virtually neuter in Elioxe, and is replaced by a male character in Beatrix. In contrast, the transition of the mother and grandmother from folktale to epic retains the gender marking of their roles. Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 43 In the case of Elioxe/Beatrix her gender is essential to her role as mother, and as a mother she is transposed to the epic. This does not take place, however, without a degree of redefinition and transformation as the character evolves from supernatural ‘fey’ to twelfth-century noblewoman. In the Elioxe version, Elioxe’s supernatural nature is implied from the moment of her meeting with Lothair (ll. 151-274), yet her character is nonetheless constructed to present the epic ideal of womanhood; her destiny is to extend the lineage (ll. 254-67). The encounter between Elioxe and Lothair conforms to the narrative scheme of a meeting between fey and mortal as defined by Laurence Harf-Lancner.20 It takes place in the middle of a forest beside an isolated fountain, where Elioxe appears as if by magic from the nearby mountain.

Ez vos une pucele cortoise et avenant, De la grande montaigne vint illuec descendant, Ne sai que sa biauté vos alaisse contant; Bele estoit et bien faite et de parage grant, Et son manoir avoit ens el mont la devant, Et puceles laiens por faire son conmant; Es cavernes del mont la ot abitement. (ll. 160-66)

It is this realm of the supernatural which provides Elioxe with status and power. Lothair’s entry into her world marks his passage from the masculine sphere of the known world to the sphere of the feminine, depicted as both natural and supernatural. This corresponds to a crossing of the boundary between culture and nature and subjects Lothair to Elioxe’s rule:

‘Sire’, dist la pucele, ‘bien sanblés de vaillance, Mais ço wel jo savoir, par quele mesprisance Entrastes en mon bos? Ene çou enfance? J’en porrai, se jo woel, molt tost avoir venjance; 44 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Mi centisme arai tost a escu et a lance, Se je trovoie en vos ranprosne ne beubance. (ll. 192-97) Lothair’s loss of direction and his fear of attack by wild beasts during his night in the forest (ll. 207-10) also indicate his lack of authority and control in this domain, that of the unknown. This enclosed world lacks both the physical marks of civilisation, such as roads, and its linguistic markings: The country is given no name, but is simply defined by Lothair as ‘not France’ (l. 217). It is only with the assistance of Elioxe, here in the position of knowledge and authority, that Lothair can regain the outside world from which he comes:

‘Ne sai quel part je sui, ne ne quier pas beubance; Metés moi al chemin, pucele de vaillance, Si porterai de vos bone novele en France.’ (ll. 215-17)

Their positions will, however, be reversed on the passage of both Lothair and Elioxe to the kingdom of France.

Elioxe’s agreement to marry Lothair brings about her transition from the feminine ‘Otherworld’ to the outside world which he represents.21 Her entry into its social framework, through her marriage, necessitates her conformity to its norms. Instead of symbolising the unknown and the supernatural, Elioxe must take up her predestined place as wife and mother, a shift which necessitates a redefinition of her character. This transition to the masculine sphere is marked by the text’s first mention of her name (l. 284). Elioxe now belongs to the realm of the known and the quantifiable. The supernatural nature of her character is not, however, completely suppressed by this naming, but remains an underlying trait which underscores her self-sacrifice to Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 45 duty. Elioxe has foreknowledge of her destiny, a divinatory power which Harf-Lancner sees as being of origin:22

‘Escoute encore, rois, si m’oras d’el parler. En la premiere nuit aprés nostre espouser, Que vauras vraiement a ma car deliter, Jo te di par verté loiaument sans fauser Que tu de .VII. enfans me feras encarger: Li .VI. en ierent malle, et pucele al vis cler Iert li sietismes enfes, co ne puet trespasser. Lasse! Moi, j’en morrai de ces enfans porter. Et quels talens me prent que jo m’en doie aler La u il m’estavra de tele mort pener, Mais que teux destinee doit par mi moi passer? Et m’ estuet travellier et tel mort endurer Por le linage acroistre qui ira outre mer, Et qui la se fera segnor et roi clamer.’ (ll. 254-67)

Although she possesses divinatory power and is thus aware of her forthcoming death, Elioxe is not deterred from becoming first a wife and then a mother. This reflects the twelfth-century perception of marriage and child-bearing as the ‘natural’ duty of any woman not entering a religious life.23 Elioxe’s duty to procreate is essential, and not only in fulfilment of this socio-cultural role. In the context of this particular narrative she will become mother to Lothair’s heirs, ensuring a legitimate succession for the kingdom and thus its political stability. In the wider context of the Crusade cycle, her role as prestigious matriarch of Godefroi de Bouillon’s lineage necessitates her depiction as an exemplary character, representative of the feminine ideal. Elioxe thus becomes a kind of ancilla Dei, endowed with a status almost analogous to that of the Virgin Mary. This marks the paradoxical relationship between a hero and his ancestors common to so many epic narratives; Godefroi de Bouillon’s 46 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 illustrious forebears heighten and validate his status as leader of the First Crusade and first Latin King of Jerusalem, while it is Godefroi’s religious and political significance which ensure the literary construction of his ancestors as an ideal. It is Elioxe’s motherhood which imbues her character with importance in both the mythical and the epic versions of the tale. In the latter, however, she must be presented as the embodiment of the twelfth-century ideal of femininity in order to be viewed as a worthy matriarch of the Bouillon lineage. Her depiction as a princess therefore predominates over her characterisation as a fey. Although her realm is that of the supernatural, the narrator is careful to underscore Elioxe’s royal descent and her wealth, as well as her beauty:

‘Li miens pere fu rois et de grant vasselage, .IX. cités m’a laisié quites en iretage. De .L. castels ai jo le segnorage, Et quanqu’il i apent vient tot a mon servage, Et voiier et maieur tot rendent trehage.’ (ll. 221-25)

Significantly, this description of her inheritance also places Elioxe in a decidedly feudal context: homage is paid to her as to a feudal overlord. The epic thus marks Elioxe as a twelfth-century noblewoman from the very beginning of the text—the point at which she is at her most obviously fey.

Elioxe’s journey to the kingdom of France and her subsequent marriage (ll. 281-449) see her taking up the role of queen and mother, a role which from this point on takes precedence over her feyness. Elioxe’s inheritance is now presumably brought to Lothair as a dowry, and her authority as a ruler in her own right is negated by her marriage. Again, this shift in power, the subjection of a married woman to her husband, conforms to twelfth-century social practice. However, in the context of the Crusade cycle this subjection Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 47 has further implications. Elioxe enters into marriage in full knowledge of her subsequent death in childbirth. Autonomy and power are replaced by self-sacrifice in the interests of furthering the lineage and extending the boundaries of the Christian kingdom. Elioxe is not only placed in a position of social subordination to her husband, but is also textually subordinated to her heroic male descendants. It is her maternity which is of prime importance. Elioxe may be constructed as the feminine ideal—beautiful, noble and of ‘grant parage’—but this is purely to ensure that the lineage of the Chevalier au Cygne and of Godefroi de Bouillon is without blemish. The feminine ideal thus becomes progenitor of the masculine, to which it is ultimately sacrificed with the death of Elioxe as she gives birth to the Chevalier au Cygne and his six siblings.24

In the Beatrix version of the Naissance, Beatrix does not die in childbirth, but is wrongfully accused of adultery and bestiality by her mother-in-law and is imprisoned. Apart from the replacement of death by imprisonment, Beatrix’s role is fundamentally the same as that of Elioxe. It is her maternity which is of paramount importance, and which functions as a form of sacrifice. Beatrix’s persecution has the added effect of heightening the impression of her nobility, strength, and patience, reinforcing her suitability as ancestress of Godefroi de Bouillon.25 Her imprisonment also focuses attention on the chivalric qualities of her son, the Chevalier au Cygne, who now takes on the central, heroic role. Elias leaves his childhood world of the forest and takes up arms in order to act as Beatrix’s champion as she is about to be put to death. It is through his prowess that she is redeemed and reinstated to her royal position, rather than through any effort of her own, or through any belated recognition of her virtuous nature.26 The separate fates of Elioxe and Beatrix are both found in the mythological tradition, and were presumably drawn from different 48 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 variations of the oral folktale.27 However, it is only in the chanson de geste that the character of the mother is sacrificed to the genealogical imperative of a lineage defined in terms of Christian heroism and conquest.

The final female character to be considered here is that of the grandmother of the swan-children: Matrosilie in the Elioxe version, and Matabrune in the Beatrix. Again, it is Elioxe which provides the focus of the following study. The malevolent character of the grandmother makes the transition from folktale to epic virtually unimpaired, and her role is instrumental in structuring both types of narrative. Of all the female characters of Elioxe, it is Matrosilie who has the most profound influence on the course of narrative events, and who appears as the most powerful. She, like the other characters, is set in the context of twelfth-century aristocratic society, where she acts out her role of mater familias. Matrosilie’s concern that her son contract a politically and economically advantageous marriage leads Jeanne Lods to refer to her as ‘une mère presque bourgeoise,’ a perception which underscores Matrosilie’s social role.28 In addition to political expediency, her reaction to Lothair’s projected marriage may also be regarded as expressing a maternal concern for his welfare:

‘Bels fiux, que penses tu? Nel fai si faitement! Tu ne prenderas feme ensi soudainement. Jo te querai oisor tot al los de no gent. Ci pres maint Anotars qui a grant tenement, Rois est de grant puissance s’a maint rice parent’ (ll. 360-4)

Social duty and maternal concern may be read into Matrosilie’s words, yet the notion that Lothair’s mother conforms to any kind of maternal ideal is swiftly belied by Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 49 the evil nature of her later actions and the consequences these have upon her son.29

A certain dualism is apparent throughout Matrosilie’s depiction. In terms of genre, she is a stereotypically ‘wicked stepmother’ type, of the kind often found in folktales, but in the Naissance she is nonetheless pressed into the mould of a twelfth-century matron.30 Her personal duplicity is manifested in a split between the public and the private, as her speech and public actions conform to a maternal norm, while her private machinations work against it. This is nowhere more evident than in her words to Lothair as he departures for battle, leaving the pregnant Elioxe in his mother’s care:

La mere vint atant, ne s’atarga noient, Si a dit a son fil molt amiablement: ‘Fiux, jo t’ainc autretant con moi, mien escïent, Et qui tu ameras, amerai le ensement; Se j’ai de toi neveu, joie et devinement Avra tos jors de moi, et esbanoiement.’ (ll. 738-43)

These professions of love project an image of caring motherhood which is proved completely false once her grandchildren are born. As soon as Elioxe has been buried (l. 1288), Matrosilie orders her liegeman to prepare two large baskets, then to carry their contents into the forest and abandon them (ll. 1305-39). This attempt to bring about the death of all of Lothair’s children (who are, of course, contained in the baskets) is a crime in many more ways than one. The attempted murder of her son’s children is legally a crime, but it is also a crime against nature. This is pointed out by the narrator, who reinforces his statement with an appeal to customary wisdom:31 50 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Mainte fois en proverbe selt li vilains retraire Que taie norist sot; ceste fait le contraire: Ne nourist sot ne sage, car ele est de put aire; Ains ocit et destruit, nen velt noreçon faire. Double mere est la taie quant ele est de bon aire, Mais des enfans son fil set molt bien mordre faire; (ll. 1319-24) Matrosilie’s actions also constitute a social crime, as it is the legitimate heirs of France she attempts to destroy. In the context of the Christian epic, the grandmother’s evil has an even greater import, for the lineage she threatens is that of Godefroi de Bouillon, future king of Jerusalem.

Matrosilie’s feminine gender is of considerable importance in the representation of her character. The private/public dichotomy of her behaviour is clearly indicative of the two faces of femininity prevalent in twelfth-century ideology.32 The notion of the grandmother as being a ‘double mere’ (l. 1323), and the image of the supportive mother which Matrosilie projects constitute an ideal. This is the role Elioxe fulfils. Her self-sacrifice subordinates her to the demands of the narrative’s patrilineage and to the higher demands of epic lineage and Christian mythography. Although Matrosilie articulates a similar desire to act out a role which is supportive both of family and of lineage, her words are belied by her actions, as seen above. It is these actions which then present the counter-image of womankind.33 Although lacking in any clear psychological motivation, save an overwhelming hatred of her daughter-in-law, Matrosilie’s behaviour illustrates the stereotypically ‘feminine’ traits of jealousy, greed, and deviousness.34 That Matrosilie is a mother also serves to set her firmly into a female role, although in contrast to Elioxe, Matrosilie’s role is not one which is dominated by her motherhood. This maternal sphere, designated as most socially and ideologically desirable for any woman not Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 51 entering into holy orders, is rejected by Matrosilie. Instead of becoming a surrogate mother on the death of Elioxe, Matrosilie transgresses against both the social and the natural order. Nurture is replaced by death and destruction (ll. 1319-24). Although the attempted murder of her new-born grandchildren marks Matrosilie as ‘unnatural,’ a contradiction of the maternal norm, the concept is here ambivalent and unstable. At the same time Matrosilie is in fact acting true to a female nature which renders her perverse and malevolent and which constitutes a threat both to men and to their offspring.35

As a force for evil, Matrosilie embodies a source of subversion. Socially subversive simply through her rejection of the nurturing role ideologically assigned to women, Matrosilie attempts to destroy the royal male lineage which most strongly marks her as seditious. As seen above, this attempt on the life of the Chevalier au Cygne and his siblings has a further genealogical significance in the context of the Crusade cycle as a whole. In view of the primacy of Godefroi de Bouillon’s ancestry, Matrosilie’s destructive impulse cannot succeed. Although her character is a potential threat to the social and patrilineal continuum, this threat inevitably remains bounded and contained. Like Matrosilie, the grandmother of the folktale does not succeed in bringing about the death of her grandchildren, but Matrosilie operates in a context dependent on the creation of a genealogical myth-history which dictates the outcome of her actions.

In the Naissance Matrosilie’s epic framing can therefore be seen as limiting her scope for subversion. In addition to the strictures imposed by the need to establish an ancestry for Godefroi de Bouillon, the social context of Elioxe also sets certain limitations. As seen above, the wicked grandmother of the myth is glossed as a twelfth-century matriarch. Matrosilie’s social status as a 52 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 woman is thus subordinate to that of her son, the head of the patriarchal household.36 In addition, she is revealed as emotionally subordinate to Lothair, not through love, but through fear:

Tant con ses fils est fors est ele et dame et maire, Mais s’il fust en maison, n’osast por son viaire Mostrer son felon cuer, qui est de mal afaire (ll. 1325-7)

Matrosilie is therefore constrained by her position in the social and familial network. Lothair is placed in authority over her, and her social and maternal duty is to him. This contemporary ideal would have been an ever-present factor in the audience’s perception of Matrosilie’s character. Her rejection of the ties which should bind her to Lothair, both as her son and as the king, to his children, and to the interests of the kingdom increases the impression of her deep moral turpitude.

Matrosilie’s evil nature cannot be openly manifested, but must act covertly. The split between speech and silence is important here. As already seen, Matrosilie’s public persona conceals her ‘true nature.’ The image of herself which she presents through her speech is calculated to conform to the prevailing feminine ideal. This verbal image is thus one which echoes the dominant ideological discourse of twelfth-century society and epic, playing on the notion of a female role construed as supportive of, and subordinate to, a male homosocial system. The public speech act is a means of framing and containing. In a similar way, the naming of Elioxe establishes her public identity and sets her firmly in a cultural context dominated by language.37 According to Adrienne Rich, ‘In a world where language and naming are power, silence is oppression, is violence.’38 Matrosilie may be oppressed into silence and secrecy, but this does not mean, Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 53 however, that she lacks power. It is silence which enables her subversive actions to be initially effective. The women attendant at the birth of the swan-children are sworn to secrecy:

‘Plevissiés ça vos fois que c’ert cose celee, N’a home ne a feme qui de mere soit nee Ne sera ceste cose ja par vos revelee.’ (ll. 1299-1301)

And so is the liegeman who takes the children into the forest to abandon them (ll. 1308-10).39 This subversive silence is finally broken by Matrosilie’s confession to Lothair (ll. 2783- 2840), the private here becoming public as Matrosilie’s evil is revealed in words as well as in deeds. From the point of her confession, Matrosilie appears to accept the nurturing, maternal role which she formerly rejected. Indeed, she becomes an exemplary grandmother, completely rehabilitated into the social framework of the epic. In addition to providing contributions for the knighting ceremony of the male swan-children (ll. 3161- 63; 3212-13), she is also entrusted with the care of Lothair’s daughter (ll. 3025-27), a move which seems particularly strange given the outcome of Matrosilie’s ‘care’ of Elioxe. Apart from these brief mentions, however, the grandmother plays no further role in the tale. Matrosilie’s silence, however, now appears ambiguous. The little that is revealed about her actions would seem to imply her conformity to her approved social role, and her speech is no longer composed of fabrications and lies. Conformity to the social norm now appears to take place through deeds instead of speech. It is Matrosilie’s silence, however, which forces the question of her fundamental transformation to remain open. Matrosilie’s previous public silence as to her perfidy and the silence which cloaked her machinations lend an ambiguity to her later lack of speech. The notion of the grandmother as a potential source of 54 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 malevolence and disruption is thus one which continues in the mind of the audience. Although her character disappears from the narrative, Matrosilie still remains a powerful image of negative femininity which cannot easily be dispelled.

In the Beatrix version of the Naissance, the grandmother is named Matabrune and basically plays the same role as that of Matrosilie in Elioxe.40 The difference here is that Matabrune’s daughter-in-law continues to live following the birth of the swan-children, and thus provides the grandmother with an additional focus for her hatred. Matabrune not only deceives her son as to the nature of his offspring, but also accuses Beatrix of bestiality and demands that she be put to death (Beatrix, ll. 216-23).41 Matabrune’s confession is not followed by any ambiguous ‘conversion.’ Instead, her wickedness is emphasised by her execution and by the fact that her soul is snatched away by the devil (Beatrix, ll. 2528-29). Silence does not function in the same way in the depiction of Matabrune as it does in that of Matrosilie, as the former’s vilification of Beatrix is quite apparent. Matabrune’s death then removes any question of her continuing subversion.

To return to Elioxe, it is the character of Matrosilie, of the three female characters considered here, whose depiction is the most obviously problematic. Although Matrosilie’s narrative function is the same as that of the grandmother in the myth, her character has an additional significance in Elioxe. As emphasised throughout this paper, the establishment of a worthy ancestry for Godefroi de Bouillon is a paramount concern in the Naissance. The characterisation of the Chevalier au Cygne’s grandmother as the embodiment of female evil and the source of the lineage’s potential destruction does not sit easily in a narrative founded on genealogical supremacy. Matrosilie’s social rehabilitation is an anomaly in the epic’s coherence which appears neither Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 55 comprehensible nor plausible in terms of psychology of character. It does, however, produce a dénouement which brings Matrosilie more into line with the genealogical imperative of the text.

In conclusion, the female characters of the Naissance, in particular Elioxe, retain a certain measure of their mythological import and characterisation, in varying degrees. They are all, however, subject to the influence of the epic’s twelfth-century framework. More importantly, it is the synthesis of the myth of the swan-children and the legend of the Chevalier au Cygne, epic ancestor of Godefroi de Bouillon, which produces significant alterations in the definition and role of the female characters. The role of the swan-maiden is suppressed in a genealogical frame which emphasises the male lineage, while her mother, Elioxe, is sacrificed to the demands of this lineage. Even the character of Matrosilie, who poses a powerful threat to the lineage’s future, undergoes a radical change which appears to render her ultimately harmless. With the retransformation of the Chevalier au Cygne and the containment of the threat posed by Matrosilie, the content of the narrative becomes more emphatically epic. This shift in tone prepares the way for the second epic of the cycle, the Chevalier au Cygne, and ultimately for his illustrious descendant, Godefroi de Bouillon. 56 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 NOTES

1 For details of the chansons de geste comprising the Crusade cycle see Dictionnaire des Lettres Françaises: Le Moyen Age (Paris: Livre de Poche, 1993), and Geoffrey M. Myers’s introduction to The Old French Crusade Cycle, Vol. 1: La Naissance du Chevalier au Cygne, eds. Emanuel J. Mickel Jr. and Jan A. Nelson (Tuscaloosa: U of Alabama P, 1977). All future references to the Crusade cycle will be to this volume. For an analysis of some of the elements serving to link the disparate epics into a more coherent cycle see D.A. Trotter, “L’ascendance mythique de Godefroi de Bouillon et le Cycle de la Croisade,” Métamorphose et bestiaire au moyen âge, ed. Laurence Harf-Lancner (Paris: Ecole normale supérieure, 1985) 107-35. 2 For the term ‘horizon of expectation’ see Hans Robert Jauss, Toward an Aesthetic of Reception, trans. Timothy Bahti (Brighton: Harvester, 1982). 3 See The Old French Crusade Cycle, introduction, p. lxxxxi. 4 As indicated in the introduction to The Crusade Cycle, p. lxxxxi. See also Jeanne Lods, “L’utilisation des thèmes mythiques dans trois versions écrites de la légende des enfants-cygnes,” Mélanges offerts à René Crozet à l’occasion de son soixante-dixième anniversaire par ses amis, ses collègues, ses élèves et les membres du C.E.S.M. (Poitiers: Société d’Etudes Médiévales, 1966) 809. For further relevant studies of the Chevalier au Cygne epics by the same author see “Encore la légende des enfants-cygnes: version courtoise et version pseudo-épique, étude de style,” Mélanges Rita Lejeune, professeur à l’Université de Liège (Gembloux: Duculot, 1969), vol. 2, 1227-44, and “La fin du Chevalier au Cygne,” Mélanges de langue et de littérature du Moyen Age et de la Renaissance offerts à Jean Frappier, professeur à la Sorbonne, par ses collègues, ses élèves et ses amis (Geneva: Droz, 1970), vol. 2, 659-82. 5 The Old French Crusade Cycle, Introduction, p. lxxxxi. 6 This title was attributed to the epic by H. A. Todd. See The Old French Crusade Cycle, introduction, p. lxxxxi. 7 The editions of Elioxe and of Beatrix referred to throughout comprise vol. 1 of The Old French Crusade Cycle. All quotations are from the Elioxe version unless otherwise stated. 8 As pointed out by Lods, the mythological influences on Elioxe and Beatrix are more complex than this order of composition may imply. It is also debatable whether the author of Beatrix did in fact know the Elioxe, and drew upon this, or whether he was influenced solely by the Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 57 oral forms of the tale. See Lods, “L’utilisation des thèmes mythiques,” 809-20. 9 Trotter, “L’ascendance mythique,” 119. 10 The mythological elements of the swan-children tale may have proved too pagan by association, the story subsequently undergoing a ‘Christianisation,’ i.e., a purging of its more obviously supernatural and magical elements, in order to render it more appropriate as a precursor of the legend of the Christian kings of Jerusalem, of whom Godefroi de Bouillon was the first. Trotter views this as particularly the case in regard to the actual metamorphosis of the swan-children: “c’est dans ces épisodes que réside la plus grande difficulté, le noyau païen du récit qu’il faut camoufler tant bien que mal” (“L’ascendance mythique,” p. 110). See G. Huet, “Sur quelques formes de la légende du Chevalier au Cygne,” Romania 34 (1905): 206-14 for details of modifications which serve to distance the later, literary versions of the epic from the primitive elements of the earlier tale. 11 See, for example, “The Six Swans,” Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm, et al, German Fairy Tales: Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm and others, eds. Helmut Brackert and Volkmar Sander (New York: Continuum, 1985) 113- 18. Here the swan-maid must sew six shirts of starwort in order to effect the transformation of her brothers into human form (116). 12 For details of earth-goddess beliefs see Anne Baring and Jules Cashford, The Myth of the Goddess: Evolution of an Image (London: , 1993). The same symbolic representation of the regenerative cycle may be seen in many myths, including that of Demeter and Persephone. 13 For an analysis of these two royal roles see Ernst H. Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Mediaeval Political Theology (Princeton: Princeton UP, 1981). 14 The function of women as the means of creating relationships between men in a society which is homosocial to the exclusion of women is reflected in Elioxe. See Susan Aronstein, “Prize or Pawn?: Homosocial Order, Marriage and the Redefinition of Women in the ‘Gawain Continuation,’” Romanic Review 82.2 (1991): 115-26, which treats the romance use of women as political and economic ‘pawns’ to establish bonds between men by marriage. For further discussion of the concept of homosocial society see Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, Between Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire (New York: Columbia UP, 1985). 58 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

15 In regard to the use of women to establish bonds between men in a male homosocial system, Aronstein states: “Once these bonds have been established, women can be eliminated from any further narrative or political action” (“Prize or Pawn?”, 126). In a similar way the swan-maiden may be eliminated from Elioxe once her brothers have been established in the social and political order. 16 Gaston Paris, “La Naissance du Chevalier au Cygne”, Romania 19 (1890): 323. 17 For details of theories on the genealogical structure of the Old French chansons de geste see R. Howard Bloch, Etymologies and Genealogies: A Literary Anthropology of the French Middle Ages (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1983); Sarah Kay, The ‘Chansons de geste’ in the Age of Romance: Political Fictions (Oxford: Clarendon, 1995); and Michael Heintze, König, Held und Sippe: Untersuchungen zur Chanson de geste des 13. und 14. Jahrhunderts und ihrer Zyklenbildung (Heidelberg: Winter, 1991). 18 La Gran Conquista de Ultramar, ed. Louis Cooper (Bogotá: Instituto Caro y Cuervo 51-54, 1979). The story of Isomberte is also summarised by Paris in “La Naissance du Chevalier au Cygne.” 19 See Julia Kristeva, “Women’s Time” in The Kristeva Reader, ed. Toril Moi (Oxford: Blackwell, 1990) 187-213. Kristeva makes the distinction between cyclical time, monumental time, and linear time. While the first two are linked to female subjectivity, maternity, and repetition, linear time is perceived as the time of language and history, a definition which readily leads to its labelling as masculine. In the context of the Chevalier au Cygne epics Kristeva’s essay reinforces the notion of a division between orality, cyclicity and the feminine, and literature, linearity, and the masculine. This binary opposition should not, however, be regarded as one which structures either the character of literature in general, or that of the Old French chanson de geste in particular. 20 “1) Le héros part de chez lui, seul, ou se trouve séparé de ses compagnons au cours d’une partie de chasse. 2) Il s’enfonce dans la forêt et parvient dans une clairière, souvent près d’un point d’eau. 3) Il découvre une femme merveilleusement belle, seule, qui semble l’attendre.” Laurence Harf-Lancner, Les Fées au Moyen Age. Morgane et Mélusine: la naissance des fées (Geneva: Slatkine, 1984) 113. Harf-Lancner also points out the inclusion of the mountain in the ‘espace surnaturel’ in literary tradition (187), although regards the overtly supernatural elements of the encounter as having been erased by the author (186). Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 59

21 As pointed out to me by Philip E. Bennett, the gender-marking of the ‘Otherworld’ in twelfth-century literature is dependent upon the sex of the main protagonist of the text, the supernatural being its opposite. Thus the lais of ‘Lanval’ and ‘Guigemar,’ where the hero is male, construct a female Otherworld, whereas the female hero of ‘Yonec’ is counterbalanced by a supernatural male. In the romance (as opposed to the lai) the Otherworld is, however, predominantly female, as the romance protagonist is by definition male. The inscription of the ‘Other’ as female is also an element of modern feminist theory: see Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex (London: Picador, 1988) and Toril Moi, Sexual/Textual Politics: Feminist Literary Theory (London: Routledge, 1994). 22 Harf-Lancner, Les Fées au Moyen Age, 187. The supernatural nature of Elioxe’s children also testifies to the continuing importance of the fairy element in her depiction. 23 As stated by Georges Duby, the perceived duty of the patriarchal head of a medieval family was: “de céder les filles, de négocier au mieux leur pouvoir de procréation et les avantages qu’elles sont censées léguer à leur progéniture, d’autre part d’aider les garçons à prendre femme. A la prendre ailleurs, dans une autre maison, à l’introduire dans cette maison-ci . . . où elle va remplir sa fonction primordiale: donner des enfants au groupe d’hommes qui l’accueille, qui la domine et qui la surveille.” Georges Duby, Mâle moyen age: de l’amour et autres essais (Paris: Flammarion, 1990) 16- 17. 24 It is significant in terms of the continuation of the male blood- line that the Chevalier au Cygne does not leave any male heir, but only a daughter, Ida, who will become mother to Godefroi de Bouillon: “Le chevalier au cygne est inséparable d’une figure héroïque, celle du premier avoué de Jérusalem. Celle-ci ne doit pas être éclipsée par celle d’un fils de l’homme fée. Godefroi sera donc le premier descendant mâle du chevalier au cygne” (Harf-Lancner, Les Fées au Moyen Age, 184). 25 The ‘persecuted innocent’ was a distinct female literary type in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Other examples include Parise la Duchesse and Philippe de Beaumanoir’s Manekine. 26 Here Beatrix is marked out from the other women of the ‘persecuted innocent’ tradition, who are reinstated into the social order when their intrinsic moral worth is recognised. 27 “Chacune des versions écrites suppose la connaissance des versions antérieures et en outre de versions orales différentes” (Lods, “L’utilisation des thèmes mythiques,” 819). 60 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

28 Lods, “L’utilisation des thèmes mythiques,” 812. 29 The text nods at various points towards a harmonious mother- son relationship existing between Matrosilie and Lothair. Matrosilie kisses Lothair in greeting upon his return with Elioxe (l. 341), and before her confession reminds him of the filial duty and honour which he owes her (ll. 2773-77). In turn, Lothair entrusts Elioxe to his mother when he leaves for battle (ll. 718-20), and also entrusts her with his daughter once the swan- children have been united with their father (ll. 3025-27). 30 See Motif-Index of Folk-Literature: A Classification of Narrative Elements in Folk-Tales, Ballads, Myths, Fables, Medieval Romances, Exempla, Fabliaux, Jest-Books and Local , ed. Stith Thomson (Copenhagen: Rosenkilde & Bagger, 1955-58). 31 See Li Proverbe au Vilain: Die Sprichwörter des Gemeinen Mannes. Altfranzösische Dichtung, ed. Adolf Tobler (Leipzig: Hirzel, 1895) for popular medieval sayings and beliefs. 32 See Woman Defamed and Woman Defended: An Anthology of Medieval Texts, ed. Alcuin Blamires (Oxford: Clarendon, 1992); R. Howard Bloch, Medieval Misogyny and the Invention of Romantic Love (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1991); Three Medieval Views of Women, eds. Gloria K. Fiero, Wendy Pfeffer and Mathé Allain (New Haven: Yale UP, 1989). 33 The same story of the vindictive mother-in-law also appears in Beaumanoir’s Le Manekine, while the fabliaux present a range of female characters who display the undesirable qualities supposedly innate to women. 34 Matrosilie reveals her jealousy of Elioxe by the attempted murder of her children (ll. 1328-36); greed by her theft of their gold chains (ll. 1933-35); and a general duplicity in her interaction with her son. 35 See Pseudo-Albertus Magnus, Women’s Secrets: A Translation of Pseudo-Albertus Magnus’s ‘De secretis mulierum’ with Commentaries, ed. Helen Rodnite Lemay (Albany: SUNY P, 1992). This natural scientific text comprises a mixture of medical theory and misogynistic rhetoric, testifying to the dangers presented to men by the female body and its reproductive function. 36 In Le Livre des manières (c. 1174-78), by Etienne de Fougères, ‘women’ are treated as an undifferentiated social category and are placed in final position, considered after the lowest male estates: Le Livre des manières, ed. Anthony R. Lodge (Geneva: Droz, 1979). See also Georges Duby, Le Chevalier, la femme et le prêtre: le mariage dans Sinclair / Suppression, Sacrifice, Subversion 61 la France féodale (Paris: Hachette, 1981), and Duby, Mâle moyen age, for details of the position of a married woman in the medieval family structure. 37 The perception of society and language as masculine constructs, operating as aspects of the Lacanian Symbolic, is an area which cannot be fully explored here. It is, however, important to note the significance of the link between language and the masculine in modern feminist theory. The problematic nature of women’s access to a language of authority and the expression of female subjectivity is a primary issue in the work of Hélène Cixous, Julia Kristeva and Luce Irigaray. 38 Adrienne Rich, On Lies, Secrets and Silence: Selected Prose, 1966-78 (New York: Norton, 1979) 204. Quoted in Dale Spender, Man Made Language (London: Pandora, 1992) 59. 39 The abandonment of children in the forest is a widespread folk-motif, see Motif-Index of Folk-Literature, but it also appears in literary form, e.g., Tristan, and Marie de France’s “Fresne.” 40 It is worth noting that there is an emphasis on death inherent in both the names applied to the grandmother characters, Matrosilie and Matabrune. While ‘Matrosilie’ may imply (step)motherhood, owing to the link between the initial element ‘Matr-’ and ‘mater,’ its second element, ‘- silie,’ is derived from ‘sillier,’ ‘to destroy.’ ‘Matabrune’ is a Saracen-type name composed of the negative elements ‘Mat-’ (death) and ‘-brune’ (dark). See André Moisan, Répertoire des noms propres de personnes et de lieux cités dans les chansons de geste françaises et les œuvres étrangères dérivées (Geneva: Droz, 1986) 696-97, for listings of similar Saracen names, e.g., Matalie, Matamar, Matefelon. 41 The accusation of bestiality stems from the fact that Matabrune informs her son that Beatrix gave birth to seven dogs. According to medieval belief, the physical nature of the father would be reflected in his child and multiple births indicated intercourse with several partners. In order to produce dogs Beatrix must therefore have had intercourse with dogs.

Aesthetic Considerations Based on “Elaborate Style” in the Chanson de Roland: Patterns of Intensification and Narrative Progression in Laisses 83-85

Jean-Paul Carton Georgia Southern University

In 1979, Jean-Marcel Paquette published an article on repetitive patterns, rhythmicity, and lyricism in the laisses similaires of the first horn scene in six versions of the Chanson de Roland.1 Although my own analysis of repetition in laisses 83-85 also deals with these themes, it differs from his in that it focuses specifically on the aesthetic function of one type of “elaborate style” repetition, the “repetitive group.” As in my previous studies on the subject of repetitive groups in laisses similaires and laisses parallèles,2 I propose to examine the relationship the successive occurrences of the repetitive group entertain with each other as well as with the laisse structure, the three-laisse set, and the passage in which they occur from the standpoint of both design and meaning, especially as they relate to the underscoring of narrative progression, a notion that is, of course, at the core of the distinction between laisses parallèles and laisses similaires. A similar analysis has shown that in laisses 40-42, the three-laisse similaire exchange between Marsile and Ganelon, a significant amount of narrative progression occurs and that the repetitive groups emphasize it in part by providing a succession of frames that correspond to distinct successive narrative moments.3

The terms “repetitive group” and “elaborate style” originated in John S. Miletich’s study of oral-traditional style in the l970s. The reader may refer to Miletich’s work on the 64 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 subject as well as my previous studies on the Chanson de Roland for detailed definitions of the concepts to which they correspond.4 For the purpose of the present article, suffice it to say that elaborate style involves a recurrence in idea which is unnecessary to the unfolding of the narrative line and thus delays somewhat the flow of narrative information. Elaborate style is a characteristic of oral-traditional but may also be found in other texts such as the Poema de mío Cid and the Chanson de Roland which, although they are not authentic oral-traditional texts, display some features of oral-traditional style. In such texts the repetitions are distributed sporadically and appear to emphasize certain important moments of the narrative. The repetitive group, which is the object of the present study, is one of four types of elaborate style repetition. It may be compared to Albert Lord’s “theme”5 and consists of extended groups of metrical units, hemistichs in the case of the Roland, that may recur successively anywhere in a given poem and, to a greater or lesser degree, also retard the flow of narrative information. These groups are bound together by a common idea or theme, such as the enumeration of armies in laisses 232-34, a boast, a single combat, etc., and involve at least five immediately successive units (hemistichs). As will be evident in the present study, although in these units diction and syntax are generally the same or similar, a certain (and in some rare instances a considerable) amount of variation may occur, both in their composition and combination. For a hemistich to belong to a repetitive group, however, it must contain a repeated idea with enough semantic weight to clearly attach it (the hemistich in question) to the thematic patterning of the repetitive group.6

The three laisses similaires of the first horn scene, laisses 83-85, which contain the core of the debate between and Roland, are based on three successive occurrences of a repetitive group. The repetitions appear as follows (the Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 65 first occurrence of the repetitive elements is indicated in italics and the repetitions in boldfaced italics):

83 Dist Oliver : « Paien unt grant esforz ; 1050 De noz Franceis m’i semblet aveir mult poi ! Cumpaign Rollant, kar sunez vostre corn : Si l’orrat Carles, si returnerat l’ost. » Respunt Rollant : « Jo fereie que fols ! En dulce France en perdreie mun los. 1055 Sempres ferrai de granz colps ; Sanglant en ert li branz entresqu’a l’or. Felun paien mar i vindrent as porz : Jo vos plevis, tuz sunt jugez a mort. » AOI

84 - « Cumpainz Rollant, l’olifan car sunez : 1060 Si l’orrat Carles, ferat l’ost returner, Succurat nos li reis od tut sun barnet. » Respont Rollant : « Ne placet Damnedeu Que mi parent pur mei seient blasmet Ne France dulce ja cheet en viltet ! 1065 Einz i ferrai de Durendal asez, Ma bone espee que ai ceint al costet : Tut en verrez le brant ensanglentet. Felun paien mar i sunt asemblez : Jo vos plevis, tuz sunt a mort livrez.» AOI.

85 1070 - « Cumpainz Rollant, sunez vostre olifan : Si l’orrat Carles, ki est as porz passant. Je vos plevis, ja returnerunt Franc.» - « Ne placet Deu, » ço li respunt Rollant, « Que ço seit dit de nul hume vivant, 1075 Ne pur paien, que ja seie cornant ! Ja n’en avrunt reproece mi parent ! 66 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Quant jo serai en la bataille grant E jo ferrai e mil colps e .VII. cenz, De Durendal verrez l’acer sanglent. 1080 Franceis sunt bon, si ferrunt vassalment ; Ja cil d’Espaigne n’avrunt de mort guarant.» 7

Several general features are evidenced by the highlighting in the text. At first glance, the most striking one occurs in the correspondence between the bulk of the repetitive group (from the first to the last highlighted verse line in each laisse) and the laisse itself. Although the structure of the repetitive group is closely related to the laisse structure and largely fits its mold, the correspondence is not perfect. Since the introductory lines of laisse 83 (1049-50) are situated outside of the frame constituted by the repetitive group and are not repeated in the following laisses, the bulk of the repetitive elements coincides with the laisse in its entirety in the second and third instances only, in laisses 84 and 85. In addition to this mismatch between the repetitive group and the laisse, variation occurs within the boundaries of the repetitive group in two general ways: (1) a number of hemistichs and lines that do not belong to the repetitive group are framed by the repetitive elements, and (2) a certain amount of variation takes place within the units forming the core of the repetitive group. In fact, as will be seen in the conclusion of this study, one of the outstanding charac- teristics of this particular repetitive group may very well be the relatively high degree of variation displayed in the repetitive units.

[1] The repetitive group and the laisse: mismatch

Two major effects result from the non-inclusion of lines 1049-50 in the repetitive group: a multifold effect of emphasis related to the representation of the urgency and Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 67 emotional dimension of Oliver’s request and a unifying effect that strengthens the bond between the three laisses similaires.

[1.1] Mismatch, narrative rhythm, and intensification

A reduction similar to the omission of lines 1049-50 from the repetitive group in laisses 84 and 85 occurs in the repetitive group of laisses 232-33, where it contributes to the acceleration of the narrative pace and thus emphasizes the build-up of the pagan forces.8 A similar effect of acceleration accompanies the omission of lines 1049-50 from the repetitive group in laisse 84, endowing Oliver’s plea with added intensity as he emphatically reiterates it in line 1059. This intensification is further enhanced by the fact that this effect of acceleration occurs simultaneously with an abrupt shift from a laisse beginning in the narrator’s voice and non-repetitive diction (laisse 83) to one beginning in unannounced direct discourse and repetitive diction (laisse 84).9

[1.2] Mismatch and unifying effect

The unifying effect of the mismatch between the laisse and the repetitive group depends essentially on the fact that it sets lines 1049-50 apart from the remainder of laisses 83-85, thus underscoring their introductory function in relationship not only to laisse 83, but to the entire exchange contained within the boundaries of the three occurrences of the repetitive group. Among the elements that mark these two lines as the introductory lines of the three-laisse similaire set and are thus emphasized by differentiation in diction (they do not belong to the repetitive group) are the phrase “Dist Oliver” (1049A), an unusual laisse transition, and the theme of the overwhelming superiority in number of the pagan forces (1049B-1050). 68 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 [1.2.1] “Dist Oliver”: vers d’intonation and formula

The unifying effect of the mismatch owes much of its impact to the fact that the lines that are not included in the repetitive group, lines 1049-50, feature the phrase “Dist Oliver,” an important part of the architecture of the passage in which laisses 83-85 occur because it contains the core of a vers d’intonation and because it is a formula of introduction to speech.10

As the core of a vers d’intonation, the word Oliver belongs to a pattern of echoes that permeate the entire passage delineated by laisses 79 and 88.11 Jean Rychner describes the vers d’intonation as follows: “Il arrive très fréquemment, dans toutes les chansons, que le nom d’un héros, ou le nom commun qui le désigne précisément, figure dans le premier vers d’une laisse, comme sujet de la proposition.... C’est une manière d’intonation, qui marque d’autant plus nettement le début de la laisse que, le plus souvent, ce personnage ne sera pas nommé de nouveau à l’intérieur de la laisse, qui concernera pourtant ses faits et gestes, ses discours.”12 In each of the three laisses preceding laisses 83-85, from laisse 80, which shows Oliver going to a hill top to observe the oncoming Saracen armies, to laisse 82, the word Oliver appears in the first line. Following its one-time use in the three laisses similaires, in line 1049 (laisse 83), the practice resumes in laisse 86 (1082) and ends with laisse 87, which is the last laisse devoted to the debate and where Oliver’s name appears in the vers d’intonation along with Roland’s in the famous and much-debated line “Rollant est proz e Oliver est sage” (1093), thus bringing together the two poles of the debate before the switch of the vers d’intonation to Roland’s name in laisse 88 (1110). The three-laisse similaire set is therefore marked by a momentary interruption of the rhythmic effect created by the repetition of the name Oliver and its coincidence with the beginning of the laisse throughout the passage. By being excluded from the Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 69 repetitive group, Oliver actually becomes in hemistich 1049A the core of the vers d’intonation for the entire three-laisse set formed by laisses 83- 85.

As an introduction-to-speech formula, the phrase “Dist Oliver” is also in the same passage an important architectural element that binds the three laisses similaires together and owes its unifying effect to its non-inclusion in the repetitive group in laisses 84 and 85. From the standpoint of its relation to the laisse structure, “Dist Oliver” is part of a crescendo leading to the climactic moment of laisses 83-85 and a subsequent decrescendo: it appears in internal position in laisse 79 (1006A), in the vers d’intonation in laisse 82, in the vers d’intonation of the three-laisse similaire set (laisses 83-85), in the vers d’intonation of laisse 86, and again in internal position in laisse 87 (1099A). In this progression, the three occurrences of “Dist Oliver” in the vers d’intonation (laisses 82, 83, 86) reinforce the perception noted in the foregoing paragraph that hemistich 1049A marks the introduction of the three laisses similaires, which it unifies under the same echo that signals the beginning of the preceding and following laisses (82, 86). Of course, the effectiveness of both this unifying effect and the accompanying switch to unannounced direct discourse in laisses 84 and 85 is enhanced by the mere formulaic nature of the phrase “Dist Oliver.” The omission of this phrase from these two laisses also derives its strength, by contrast, from the consistency with which introduction-to-speech formulas and formulaic expressions are employed elsewhere in the Roland and in the chanson de geste tradition.13

[1.2.2] Laisse transition

As transitional elements between laisse 82 and the bulk of the repetitive group in laisses 83-85, lines 1049 and 1050 mark a change of focus that owes part of its impact to 70 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 an ambiguity in the direction of Oliver’s words. In laisse 82, Oliver addresses the rearguard and urges them to fight the oncoming pagan forces. At the outset of laisse 83, however, there are no elements indicating that Oliver’s words are perceived by no one but Roland. It is only at line 1051, the first line of the repetitive group, with its strongly emphasized vocative, “Cumpaign Rollant,” that the listener/reader is suddenly aware, after a short delay, that the observer’s point of view has focused on the two companions-in-arms and has abandoned the collective setting of the previous laisse. Lines 1049-50 thus correspond to a moment of hesitation that marks the transition between two distinct scenes and provides the setting for the entire exchange between Oliver and Roland in laisses 83-87. In so doing, of course, these lines also constitute a strong unifying factor for that passage and, consequently, for the three laisses similaires under consideration here.

[1.2.3] Thematic frame

Finally, in setting lines 1049-50 apart from the rest of the three laisses similaires, the mismatch isolates the reason for Oliver’s subsequent and three-time repeated plea, the superiority in number of the pagan forces (1049B-1050), the repetitive group being essentially limited to the plea proper, the consequences of blowing the horn (Charles will return and save the rearguard), and Roland’s rejection. It must be noted that this theme of the superiority of the pagan forces contributes to the unification of the three laisses similaires not only by its position at the beginning of the first laisse of the set and its isolation in that position by the mismatch between the repetitive group and the laisse but also by the fact that it frames the three instances of the repetitive group, with its reappearance at the beginning of laisse 86 (1083-87), when Oliver returns to it after his failure to convince Roland in laisses 83-85, providing the closing element of the frame. Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 71 [2] The repetitive group as frame and core

In my analysis of the repetitive group as frame and core in laisses 83-85, I have separated my treatment of Oliver’s plea from that of Roland’s answer. Indeed, although in each of the three laisses similaires studied here the repetitive group forms an overall structure that ties together the two poles of the exchange between the two companions-in-arms, it also emphasizes the structure of the dialogue by marking the opening line of the two main subdivisions (plea/answer) with Roland’s name in some of the most stable and most highlighted repetitive units constituting the group: “Cumpainz Rollant” (1051A, 1059A, 1070A), “Respunt Rollant”/“ço li respunt Rollant” (1053A, 1062A, 1073B). Moreover, and certainly more importantly, the repetitive group is used in Oliver’s discourse in a manner that not only differentiates it significantly from Roland’s but, as will be seen, sets it in opposition to the latter.

[2.1] The repetitive group in Oliver’s request: overall emphasis on repetition

Oliver’s request contains four hemistichs that belong to the repetitive group. They occur as follows:

1051 Cumpaign Rollant, kar sunez vostre corn : Si l’orrat Carles, si returnerat l’ost. »

- « Cumpainz Rollant, l’olifan car sunez : 1060 Si l’orrat Carles, ferat l’ost returner, Succurat nos li reis od tut sun barnet. »

1070 - « Cumpainz Rollant, sunez vostre olifan : Si l’orrat Carles, ki est as porz passant. Je vos plevis, ja returnerunt Franc. » 72 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 As noted earlier with regard to the entire three-laisse set, variation occurs in this passage both in the arrangement of the repetitive units and in their internal composition.

[2.1.1] Repetitive-group design in Oliver’s request: open- ended structure and closed structure

In the portion of the repetitive group delineated by Oliver’s request in both laisses 84 and 85, non-repetitive elements (two hemistichs) are added to the core of the repetitive group, thus expanding this section of Oliver’s request from two lines (laisse 83) to three. The patterns, however, are noticeably different. The repetitive group forms an open-ended structure preceding a one-line expansion (1061) in laisse 8414 and a closed structure involving a two-unit “explosion”15 in laisse 85.

From the standpoint of the debate, what appears to be emphasized by the shift from the open-ended structure to the closed structure and by the nature of the elements added to Oliver’s request in the second and third instances is, successively, a slight step forward in laisse 84 and, in laisse 85, a relative weakening in his argumentation, which is accompanied by an intensification of the emotional dimension of his plea. In laisse 84, the expansion, “Succurat nos li reis od tut sun barnet” (1061), marks a certain progression as Roland’s companion is making explicit an aspect which is only implied in laisse 83, namely that the rearguard will be saved by Charles’s return, and this progression is emphasized by the fact that the new element follows the repetition, as in an incremental pattern, and closes the request. Thus the open-ended structure of the repetitive group is associated with a movement forward, however slight, in the logical development of Oliver’s attempt to convince Roland. By contrast, in laisse 85, the framing of the two new hemistichs, 1071B and 1072A, tends to emphasize Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 73 the repetitive nature of his request. One of the main effects of framing here is indeed to postpone, and thus highlight in a particularly strong way the last unit of the section of the repetitive group corresponding to Oliver’s plea by creating a slight effect of surprise that results from a return to a repetitive unit in hemistich 1072B after a departure in hemistich 1071B from a pattern of four consecutive repetitive units set by the two previous occurrences of the repetitive group (1051-52 and 1059-60). Because Oliver’s request in laisse 85 begins and ends with a repetitive unit, it is perceived to echo more strongly its first occurrence in laisse 83 than the second occurrence, which ends with a new idea. This relative emphasis on repetition brought about by the design of the repetitive group is reinforced by the nature of the non-repetitive elements framed by the latter in laisse 85. Hemistichs 1071B and 1072A do not bring forth any significantly new information or clarification and have relatively limited bearing on Oliver’s main point. They are the relative clause describing the whereabouts of the emperor, “ki est as porz passant” (1071B), and the main clause “Je vos plevis” (1072A). The former is essentially a filler, which nevertheless appears to be used here by the poet with a specific effect in mind, since the absence of new information that characterizes this type of relative clause fits and reinforces the repetitive nature of Oliver’s style.16 The latter, the primary function of which is to underscore an idea expressed in both previous instances of the repetitive group (“si returnerat l’ost” [1052B]/“ferat l’ost returner” [1060B]), somewhat dilutes Oliver’s message, endowing it with increased intensity rather than contributing to its logical development. This increased intensity is multifold and results not only from the fact that hemistich 1072A corresponds to a main clause of insistence and is situated within the frame constituted by the repetitive group but first and foremost from the fact that the phrase “Jo vos plevis” is borrowed from Roland’s two previous answers in laisses 83 and 84, where it emphatically marks the concluding line to both the hero’s 74 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 answers and the repetitive group as a whole (1058 and 1069). By being switched to the position it occupies in laisse 85, “Jo vos plevis” is no longer a repetitive-group unit17 but acquires renewed emphasis through its change of status and its proximity to its preceding occurrence (1069A). Indeed, hemistich 1072A corresponds both to what Miletich calls an “exact repetition,” i.e., a closely occurring elaborate-style repetition of an entire hemistich,18 and to a common stylistic characteristic of the Roland, the reprise verbale at the articulation between two laisses.

Interestingly, the pattern of slight step forward and subsequent weakening in Oliver’s argumentation observed above is also reflected in the metric and syntactic nature of the new elements. The expansion in laisse 84 (1061) corresponds not only to a step forward in Oliver’s argumentation in an open-ended structure but also to a full-line independent clause. As already noted, the elements added in laisse 85 are a dependent (relative) clause and a main clause that each correspond to a hemistich in two successive lines, each one thus having what Heinemann calls a metric status (grade métrique)19 and, to apply Heinemann’s concept to syntax, what I would like to call a syntactic status inferior to that of the expansion in line 1061.

[2.1.2] Variation in the core of the repetitive group in Oliver’s request

All variations inside repetitive-group units occur in the second hemistichs and reveal a progression similar to the one described in the foregoing section (2.1.1):

Cumpaign Rollant, kar sunez vostre corn (1051) - « Cumpainz Rollant, l’olifan car sunez (1059) - « Cumpainz Rollant, sunez vostre olifan (1070) Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 75 Si l’orrat Carles, si returnerat l’ost » (1052) Si l’orrat Carles, ferat l’ost returner (1060) Si l’orrat Carles, ...... (1071) ...... , ja returnerunt Franc » (1072)

The B hemistich of the first series (1051/1059/1070) features a complex weaving of the intensifying particle k(c)ar, the predeterminers vostre/l’, and the direct object corn/olifan. The first occurrence (1051B) presents the request in the usual syntactic order, with the direct object following the verb. In laisse 84, hemistich 1059B emphasizes the horn by means of a substitution of the direct object olifan for corn and a syntactic inversion placing the new object at the beginning of the hemistich. Gerard Brault stresses that carved elephant-tusk horns were a novelty in France at the time of the Song of Roland and, in addition to the magical and supernatural connotations generally associated with horns, they “no doubt inspired reverential awe among the French.”20 Thus the use of the word olifan instead of cors is not gratuitous and, in addition to preparing the /ã/ assonance for the climactic moment of laisse 85, where it with “Rollant,” shows Oliver taking his argument one step further, adding one dimension to it, stressing, if only indirectly, the powers of Roland’s horn in an effort to convince the hero that blowing it is the best course of action. In laisse 85, however, no new idea that might support Oliver’s argument appears in hemistich 1070B. To use Paquette’s term, Roland’s companion-in-arms uses a formule condensée,21 the elements of which are all taken from both previous instances. The verb suner remains the constant, the possessive adjective vostre is taken from the first instance (1051B) and the word olifan from the second instance (1059B). Syntactically, this lack of movement forward in Oliver’s reasoning corresponds to a return to the word order of the first occurrence of the hemistich (1051B) in laisse 83 (verb + direct object [preceded by a possessive adjective]). Thus, hemistich 1070B 76 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 essentially stresses Oliver’s insistence through a pattern of verbal and syntactic repetitions that brings together elements from the two previous occurrences of the second hemistich of the first line of the repetitive group (1051B, 1059B). One might add that, in laisse 85, the omission of the intensifying particle k(c)ar also provides a certain element of intensification to hemistich 1070B, but by understatement.22

The second set cited above (1052/1060/ 1071A,1072B) also features a return in the second hemistich of the third instance (1072B) to a syntactic pattern (adverb + verb + subject) found in the first one in laisse 83 (1052B) after a departure from it in the second occurrence (1060B). At the lexical level, the departure in hemistich 1060B from the syntactic pattern of hemistich 1052B corresponds to the switch from returner in 1052B to a faire causative form with the same verb in hemistich 1060B, a change that adds an emphasis on the cause/effect relationship, thus stressing, like “Succurat nos li reis od tut sun barnet” (1061) in the following line, an element that is implied in the previous occurrence of the repetitive group in laisse 83, and making it explicit. The third occurrence of the half line (1072B), however, differs somewhat from the third occurrence of the first set (1070), in spite of the return to the syntactic pattern of the corresponding unit of laisse 83, as it contains lexical variations that are somewhat more indicative of narrative progression. The adverb si, which merely expresses the notion of consequence in line 1052, is replaced by the adverb ja, which adds the notion of time, “soon,” “immediately,” in a renewed effort on Oliver’s part to emphasize the horn’s powers. Even the substitution of Franc for l’ost, with its possible emphasis on the affective character of the word Franc over ost, adds to Oliver’s request. Nevertheless, these variations do not offset the general tendency of this section of the repetitive group to underscore Oliver’s attempt to elaborate in laisse 84 and the subsequent relative weakening in the formulation of his argumentation in laisse 85. They Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 77 correspond essentially to an intensification of his message, indicating mostly his insistence and his emotion.

[2.2] The repetitive group in Roland’s response: emphasis on argumentation

The repetitive group is used quite differently in Roland’s response to Oliver, where it clearly endows the hero’s discourse with a strong argumentative quality. Here, not only is framing associated with amplification and a clear thematic progression in the development of his ideas, but the general tendency at the level of both the overall architectural design of the repetitive group and the correspondence between individual units is one of increasing variation and intensification that often involves a departure in laisse 85 from patterns established by the repetitions in laisse 84.

[2.2.1] Repetitive group design in Roland’s response: framing and amplification, framing and narrative progression, mismatch between frame and the- matic unit, and framing and hypotaxis

Framing and amplification. The series of frames formed by the repetitive group in Roland’s response to Oliver follows an even numeric progression, one in laisse 83, two in laisse 84, and three in laisse 85. This progression is accompanied, at least in the first part of the laisse section devoted to Roland, by a progressive increase in the number of both framing and framed hemistichs. I isolate the passage for the reader’s convenience:

Respunt Rollant : « Jo fereie que fols ! En dulce France en perdreie mun los. 1055 Sempres ferrai de Durendal granz colps ; 78 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Respont Rollant : « Ne placet Damnedeu Que mi parent pur mei seient blasmet Ne France dulce ja cheet en viltet !

1065 Einz i ferrai de Durendal asez,

- « Ne placet Deu, » ço li respunt Rollant, « Que ço seit dit de nul hume vivant, 1075 Ne pur paien, que ja seie cornant ! Ja n’en avrunt reproece mi parent ! Quant jo serai en la bataille grant E jo ferrai e mil colps e .VII. cenz, (De Durendal...)

In laisse 83, the first frame surrounds three non-repetitive units, hemistich 1053B and line 1054. It reappears in laisse 84, where the framed elements are hemistich 1062B and lines 1063 and 1064 (five units), and expands into two subframes in laisse 85, the first subframe containing lines 1074 and 1075 and the second one line 1077 (six units). The pattern of amplification involving the units that belong to the repetitive group, i.e., the framing units, occurs in an even progression that corresponds to a kind of “snowball” effect. In this section of the repetitive group, no repetitive unit appearing in a given laisse is dropped from the repetitions in the subsequent occurrence(s). In laisse 84, the first recurrence of the first frame picks up three framing units from laisse 83 ([1053A]/1062A, [1055]/1065). Laisse 84 provides in turn three new units that are added to the repetitive pattern in laisse 85, “Ne placet Damnedeu/Deu” ([1062B]/1073A), and “Que mi parent pur mei seient blasmet”/“Ja n’en avrunt reproece mi parent” ([1063]/1076), endowing Roland’s discourse with a cumulative or incremental dimension that reinforces the pattern of intensification resulting from the mere increase in the number of frames and framed hemistichs. Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 79 It is true that in the second part of Roland’s response to Oliver, the repetitive group features amplification only in its first recurrence, in laisse 84, where a one-line explosion coupled with a compression ([1056]/1067B) results in the framing of three new hemistichs (1066-1067A), the overall number of lines in this section increasing from four (1055-58) to five (1065-69):

1055 Sempres ferrai de Durendal granz colps ; Sanglant en ert li branz entresqu’a l’or. Felun paien mar i vindrent as porz ! Jo vos plevis, tuz sunt jugez a mort.» AOI

1065 Einz i ferrai de Durendal asez, Ma bone espee que ai ceint al costet : Tut en verrez le brant ensanglentet. Felun paien mar i sunt asemblez : Jo vos plevis, tuz sunt a mort livrez. » AOI.

E jo ferrai e mil colps e .VII. cenz, De Durendal verrez l’acer sanglent 1080 Franceis sunt bon, si ferrunt vassalment ; Ja cil d’Espaigne n’avrunt de mort guarant.»

In laisse 85, because framing is achieved through the substitution of one line for another (1080 replacing 1057/1068), no increase in the number of lines occurs. In relation to laisse 84, there is even a slight decrease both in the number of framed hemistichs (two instead of three) and the number of lines constituting the section (four instead of five). However, this decrease does not offset the tendency toward amplification noted above in the first part of Roland’s response, a tendency that is supported by the increasing number of lines devoted to Charles’s nephew in each instance, including in laisse 85 (six in laisse 83, eight in laisse 84, and nine in laisse 85). In fact, this tendency sets the 80 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 hero’s discourse in opposition to Oliver’s, the latter being characterized by a diminution in laisse 84 (from four to three lines), followed by a status quo in laisse 85 (three lines).23

Framing and narrative progression. Scholars who have focused their attention on laisses 83-85 over the years often see a significant amount of narrative progression in Roland’s response to Oliver in these three laisses similaires and the elements generally cited as indicating narrative progression show a strong correspondence with those contained in the first frame.24 But what is the progression emphasized here? Following a study of the manuscript tradition, Jules Horrent went as far as challenging the laisse order of the Oxford manuscript. According to him, in the original order, laisse 85 preceded laisse 84 and the three laisses similaires consequently showed Roland detaching himself progressively from his initial emphasis on his personal reputation (mun los), his argumentation thus becoming increasingly persuasive.25 Gerard Brault’s interpretation of mun los, on the other hand, suggests a different progression. Brault believes that it should not be interpreted as proof of Roland’s pride, a view resulting from the imposition of modern values on the Old French text, but as a term that “sums up” all the values the hero is fighting for. To put it in Brault’s words, “to Roland’s way of thinking, mun los, family, France, and Emperor are the equivalent of Christianity” and Roland’s refusal to blow his horn is grounded in his “sense of duty to uphold Christianity.” To support his interpretation Brault stresses that in the Roland “Emperor” means “God,” and he points out Roland’s own repeated invocations to the Deity in the debate.26

Indeed, the notion of Christianity is very present in the passage and is emphasized by the repetitive group both by framing and by inclusion in the repetitive units, as evidenced by the italicized elements in the following outline: Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 81

Frame Framed elements Laisse 83

Introduction-to-speech formula Blowing the horn would be a (1053A) mistake (1053B) Blows (1055) Roland would lose his reputation (1054)

Laisse 84

Introduction-to-speech formula Invocation to God (1062B) (1062A) The reputation of Roland’s Blows (1065) kindred would be damaged by his action (1063) The reputation of Roland’s country would be damaged by his action (1064)

Laisse 85 Invocation to God + Roland does not want anyone to Introduction-to-speech formula report (1074) that he ever (1073) called for help because of a The reputation of Roland’s pagan threat (1075)27 kindred will not be damaged because of his action (1076)

Since it corresponds to a main clause, Roland’s invocation to God, “Ne placet Damnedeu/Deu” (1062B, 1073A), to which Brault refers in his discussion of the nature of Roland’s honor, causes the notion of Christianity it contains to permeate in both laisses 84 and 85 the two subordinate clauses that depend on it, i.e., the bulk of the framed hemistichs in the first frame and subframe. Thus, as suggested by Brault, in Roland’s mind the reputation of his kindred and that of his country are inseparable here from the religious element. The hero defines his duty to both in terms of God’s will. In addition, the phrase “Ne placet Damnedeu/Deu” is part of a pattern of increasing emphasis on the Christian dimension of his motivation that depends 82 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 heavily on the structure of the repetitive group and may be described as follows: (1) the notion of Christianity is absent from Roland’s response in laisse 83, or rather, if one agrees with Brault’s understanding of the word los, it is implied therein, and occurs within the frame constituted by the repetitive group; (2) in laisse 84, it appears explicitly in one hemistich, “Ne placet Damnedeu” (1062B), which is strongly highlighted by being the main clause in a two-and-a-half-line sentence also framed by the repetitive group; (3) in laisse 85, it appears in two hemistichs, 1073A and 1075A, acquiring added emphasis not only through the increase in the number of occurrences but also through the inclusion of the first hemistich, “Ne placet Deu,” within the repetitive group. In addition, although the other hemistich, “Ne pur paien,” refers to the Christian dimension of Roland’s decision only by opposition, it does so very clearly and in a way that leaves no doubt as to its importance. This phrase appears in the first hemistich of line 1075 in a position of high emphasis, not only because it occurs in a statement highlighted by framing in the third and last occurrence of the repetitive group, but also because, within that statement, it bears the maximum effect of the stress resulting from a succession of forward thrusts28 created by the need for complements for “Ne placet Deu” (1073A) and “Que ço seit dit” (1074A). The forward thrust beginning with “Ne placet Deu” is indeed prolonged by “ço li respunt Rollant” (1073B) and reinforced by hemistich 1074A, which in turn calls for its own complement. This second thrust is kept alive by hemistich 1074B and again by hemistich 1075A before resolving in the second hemistich of line 1075.

Thus the successive instances of the first frame in Roland’s response to Oliver show the hero not detaching himself from an emphasis on his personal reputation, as suggested by Horrent, but following a progression that corresponds to an increasing insistence on the religious dimension of his duty. They isolate three distinct moments in Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 83 his argumentation. In laisse 83, if one accepts Brault’s interpretation of mun los, Roland explains his refusal by a global reference to all of the values he is fighting for. In laisse 84, in his effort to convince Oliver, he stresses his point by going into some details, referring more specifically to his duty to his family and country, spelling out disgraces that would result for them from the loss of his good name while stressing his wish that such misfortunes be against God’s will. In laisse 85, Charles’s nephew clearly places his desire that his reputation remain absolutely free from any suspicions (“Que ço seit dit de nul hume vivant” [1074]) in the religious context of the Christian/pagan opposition (“Ne pur paien” [1075A]). It is indeed Roland’s understanding that his personal reputation, along with the reputation of his kindred and that of his country, depends on his ability to fight the pagans and not give in to any threat they might represent. His acceptance of Oliver’s request would constitute an admission of his inability to defend Christianity.

Although they may not be as significant to the development of the hero’s argumentation as the elements of the first frame just described, the other framed hemistichs and lines in Roland’s answer may also be seen as part of a progression that corresponds to an effort to convince. In laisse 83, for example, Durendal is merely mentioned as the means by which Roland will be able to strike his blows (“Sempres ferrai de Durendal granz colps” [1055]) and the following line states that his will be completely covered with blood (“Sanglant en ert li branz entresqu’a l’or” [1056]). When this section of the group is exploded to form the second frame of the following laisse, the added elements in line 1066 stress the sword’s dependability (“bone”) and perhaps its ease of access and Roland’s preparedness (“ceint al costet”). In line 1067, “Tut en verrez” denotes an effort on the hero’s part to involve Oliver more directly and personally in his demonstration. The significance of this last addition in the three-laisse progression is reinforced by the fact that it is 84 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 kept with some variation in laisse 85, the climactic third laisse, where it becomes part of the repetitive group (“De Durendal verrez l’acer sanglent” [1079]). In the second subframe in laisse 85, “Quant jo serai en la bataille grant” (1077) brings renewed insistence to Roland’s discourse by making explicit information that is already present by implication in laisses 83 and 84, namely his presence in the battle.29 In the final frame of laisse 85, line 1080 (“Franceis sunt bon, si ferrunt vassalment”) marks a progression in Roland’s argumentation that consists in a shift in focus from a statement on the pagans’ fate (“Felun paien mar i vindrent as porz” [1057] and “Felun paien mar i sunt asemblez” [1068]) to an explanation of why they are doomed to die. This thematic progression is reinforced by another that leads to the same focal point in the same line: indeed, although they occur in two successive laisses at different points in the thematic pattern of the repetitive group, the elements contained in the last frame of the last two laisses (1066-1067A and 1080) also correspond to a progression in the hero’s argumentation, with the last frame of laisse 84 highlighting his reliance on his sword and the last frame of laisse 85 his reliance on his rearguard. It is interesting to note that this second progression is underscored by an internal verbal echo created by the recurrence of the adjective bon(e) (1066A, 1080A), which connects the two frames and emphasizes the notion of dependability in both instances.

Frame and thematic content: mismatch. Looking at the relationship between frame and thematic content in Roland’s answer, one cannot help but notice a certain imbalance in laisse 85, especially in the case of the second subframe (1076-78) but also in the second and last frame (1079-81). This characteristic constitutes a departure from a pattern established by the nature of framing in Roland’s answer in laisses 83 and 84 (1053-55, 1062-65, 1065-67) as well as in the first subframe in laisse 85 (1073-76), where a Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 85 strong correspondence between frame and thematic unit highlights the important points of Roland’s argumentation. In lines 1076-78, the framed element, “Quant jo serai en la bataille grant” (1077), does not correspond to a main idea and is not even thematically connected to the opening line of the frame (1076). Instead, it is part of a narrative unit that goes beyond the latter’s closing boundary:

1077 Quant jo serai en la bataille grant E jo ferrai e mil colps e .VII. cenz, De Durendal verrez l’acer sanglent.

Line 1077 nevertheless constitutes a very powerful utterance that emphasizes not so much a new idea30 but a new impulse that underscores Roland’s eagerness and unfailing determination. Because it corresponds to a subordinate clause and precedes the main clause to which it is connected, one of its main functions is to inject new vitality into the mention of Roland’s blows and bloodied sword by creating a strong anticipation or forward thrust toward that main clause. This thrust corresponds to a movement that transcends the limits of the frame by being reinforced by a second thrust resulting from a syntactical change in the closing line: in laisse 85, the reference to Roland’s valiant blows, “E jo ferrai e mil colps e .VII. cenz” (1078), is no longer an independent clause (1055) or part of a main clause (1065), which would end the strong anticipating thrust created by line 1077, but a second (coordinated) subordinate clause that prolongs the thrust to the next line, where the main clause is located (1079). This double effect is enhanced by the fact that, since line 1077 is not a repetition and thus contrasts with the previous occurrences of this section of Roland’s answer, it creates in the listener/reader the expectation that the anticipated main clause might bring a new idea, an expectation that is of course not fulfilled and endows the repetitions in lines 1078 and 1079 with a slight effect of surprise that results in renewed emphasis on their content. 86 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

Of course, the fact that the main clause in line 1079 also corresponds to the opening line of the next frame (1079-81) highlights yet another lack of correspondence between frame and thematic unit, with line 1079 showing much stronger ties to the preceding lines than to the other elements of the frame:

1080 Franceis sunt bon, si ferrunt vassalment ; Ja cil d’Espaigne n’avrunt de mort guarant.»

Framing, parataxis, and hypotaxis. A stylistic feature that is inseparable from the effects of mismatch and forward thrust described above is hypotaxis. In fact, the second subframe resulting from the division into two frames of the first part of Roland’s response to Oliver (1076-78) may be described as the last stage in a progression involving a switch from parataxis to hypotaxis. In laisse 83, Roland’s style is paratactic and the framed elements correspond to two different main points filling respectively one hemistich (1053B) and one verse line (1054). Actually, the whole of laisse 83 consists of a paratactic succession of ideas expressed in sentences that each correspond to a hemistich or a verse line. In laisse 84, the repetitions (1062A, 1065) frame a five-hemistich sentence composed of a one-hemistich main clause (1062B) with two one-line subordinate clauses (1063, 1064), with the conjunctions of subordination (que) and coordination (ne) being emphasized at the beginning of their respective verse lines. In laisse 85, the main clause (1073A) becomes part of the opening line of the first frame of Roland’s answer, and therefore of the repetitive group, and the framed elements in both subframes are limited to subordinate clauses (1074-75, 1077). This switch from parataxis to hypotaxis, which begins in laisse 84, thus culminates in laisse 85 with a strong emphasis, by framing, on subordinate clauses. This effect of emphasis is of course Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 87 strongest in the second subframe of laisse 85, in line 1077, where, as seen in the foregoing section, the strong anticipating thrust associated with the subordinate time clause reinforces the lack of correspondence between the frame and its thematic content. In laisse 85, hypotaxis thus characterizes six out of nine lines devoted to Roland’s response, with lines 1076, 1080, and 1081 being the exceptions.

[2.2.2] Variation in the core of the repetitive group in Roland’s response

One of the most salient features of the repetitive group in Roland’s answer is its overall relatively high degree of variation in diction, syntax, and meter. In fact, in conjunction with the patterns of amplification, the mismatch between frame and thematic content, and the increasing use of hypotaxis observed in the foregoing paragraphs, Roland’s discourse features a progressive increase in flexibility in the composition of the repetitive units, a “loosening,” so to speak, of their structure. Before examining individual variations in greater detail, I thus propose to look at their scope and distribution.

Increasing flexibility in Roland’s expression. The repetitive units in laisse 85 not only display an overall higher degree of variation than those in laisse 84 but also, in the majority of instances, a marked departure from patterns of equivalence found in the first recurrence of the repetitive group in that same laisse. Seven of the eight repetitive group units that belong to Roland’s response in laisse 84 are indeed among the most stable units repeated by the hero in laisses 84 and 85. Laisse 84 contains the only units that are repeated verbatim (“Respunt Rollant” [(1053A)/1062A]; “Felun paien” [(1057A)/1068A]; “Jo vos plevis” [(1058A)/1069A]) 88 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 together with four of six units that display strong parallelism in meter, syntax and diction in laisses 84 and 85:

Sempres ferrai de Durendal granz colps (1055) Einz i ferrai de Durendal asez (1065)

...... mar i vindrent as porz (1057B) ...... mar i sunt asemblez (1068B)

...... tuz sunt jugez a mort (1058B) ...... tuz sunt a mort livrez (1069B)

In laisse 85, Roland’s discourse contains no repetitive group unit with verbatim repetition and only two of the ten units that belong to the repetitive group show the kind of metric and syntactic parallelism evident in the foregoing series:

Sempres ferrai (1055A) Einz i ferrai (1065A) E jo ferrai (1078A)

...... de Durendal granz colps (1055B) ...... e mil colps e .VII. cenz (1078B)

However, even these units, especially hemistich 1078B, do not display the same degree of equivalence with the corresponding units in the previous occurrences of the repetitive group as do the units listed above for laisse 84. For example, unlike the series constituted by lines (1055)/1065, hemistichs (1057B)/1068B, (1058B)/1069B, and even (1055A, 1065A)/1078A, hemistichs 1055B and 1078B show no internal metric equivalence at the level of the repetitive elements they contain (adjective + colps). Equivalence in meter exists only at the hemistich level. Moreover, in spite of strong elements of parallelism, line 1078 on the whole is characterized by a departure from patterns of tighter equivalence set in line 1065 by the first recurrence of the Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 89 repetitive group, a feature that corresponds to Paquette’s 1-1-2 rhythm31 and naturally contributes to endowing the second reiteration with an element of increased flexibility: in hemistich 1078A, the coordinating conjunction e and the subject pronoun jo replace the two successive occurrences of a two-syllable adverbial element (Sempres, Einz i [1055A, 1065A]) and in hemistich 1078B, the phrase “de Durendal,” on which the repetition in hemistich 1065B is based, is omitted and postponed to the next line.

Of the remaining units that belong to the repetitive group in Roland’s response to Oliver, the majority feature variation in meter, which is generally linked to variation in diction and, in a number of instances, in syntax. With one exception, all such units are found in the third laisse (laisse 85), i.e., five of the ten units that belong to the repetitive group in Roland’s reply in that laisse:

(Laisse 83)/Laisse 84

Sanglant en ert li branz entresqu’a l’or (1056) ...... le brant ensanglentet (1067B)

(Laisses 83, 84)/Laisse 85

Respont Rollant : « Ne placet Damnedeu (1062) - « Ne placet Deu, » ço li respunt Rollant (1073)

Sanglant en ert li branz entresqu’a l’or (1056) Tut en verrez le brant ensanglentet (1067) ...... verrez l’acer sanglent (1079B)

...... tuz sunt jugez a mort (1058B) ...... tuz sunt a mort livrez (1069B) Ja cil d’Espaigne n’avrunt de mort guarant (1081) 90 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 In laisse 84 hemistich 1067B is the only unit that shows this degree of variation in Roland’s discourse. In addition to the compression from one verse line (1056) to the second hemistich (1067B), it involves a change of the overall structure from an independent clause (1056) to a direct object (1067B) accompanied by a change of the grammatical function of the word branz from subject to direct object, as well as the omission of en, ert, and entresqu’a l’or, and the shift from sanglant to its cognate ensanglentet.

In laisse 85, three of the five units featuring variation in meter still show a relatively high degree of stability in syntax and diction. In line 1073, although hemistichs A and B are inverted in relation to line 1062, all the elements that hemistichs 1062A and 1062B have in common with hemistichs 1073B and 1073A, respectively, reappear in the same order inside these hemistichs, and lexical variation is limited to the substitution of Deu for Damnedeu (1073A) and the addition of ço li in the two-syllable slot resulting from the inversion (1073B). Similarly, in hemistich 1079B, variation in meter (consisting of a compression of part of the first hemistich of line 1067 [verrez] with the second hemistich of the same line) occurs without syntactic change while, in terms of diction, one of the two substitutions involves close cognates (ensanglentet and sanglent). However, in spite of this relative stability, variation in both line 1073 and hemistich 1079B includes elements that differentiate them sharply from the corresponding units in the first two occurrences of the repetitive group and thus endow the repetitive series to which they belong with the 1-1-2 rhythm observed earlier in connection with line 1078: in line 1073, the actual switch of the introduction-to-speech formula to the second hemistich follows two successive occurrences in first hemistich position (1053A, 1062A) and in 1079B acer replaces two previous instances of bran(z)(t) (1056B, 1067B).32 Line 1081, on the other hand, shows a much higher degree of variation that marks it even more strongly as the Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 91 third element of a 1-1-2 sequence. It features an expansion based on hemistichs 1058B and 1069B that involves a change from a subordinate clause to an independent clause with a different internal syntactic structure. In addition, variation in diction is also considerable, with the noun mort being the only repeated word in the entire line.

Finally, two repetitions involving a total of three repetitive units do not fit in the categories listed above but also occur in laisse 85 with a degree of variation uncharacteristic of laisse 84:

Que mi parent pur mei seient blasmet (1063) Ja n’en avrunt reproece mi parent (1076)

...... de Durendal granz colps (1055B) Sanglant en ert ...... (1056A)

...... de Durendal asez (1065B) Tut en verrez ...... (1067A)

De Durendal ...... (1079A)

Although lines 1063 and 1076 display correspondence in terms of the entire verse line, there is no internal metric, syntactic, or even lexical equivalence between the individual units. Equivalence in diction is limited to the word parent, used once in the first hemistich and once in the second, and syntactic variation involves a change from a subordinate noun clause (1063) to an independent clause (1076) with a different internal syntactic structure. In hemistich 1079A, “De Durendal” is clearly marked by the 1-1-2 rhythmic pattern not only through its occurrence in first-hemistich position following two instances in second hemistichs (1055B, 1065B), which is accompanied by a change in grammatical function from an adverbial modifier describing the means by which Roland’s blows will be given (1055B, 92 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 1065B) to an adjectival modifier identifying “l’acer sanglent” (1079B), but also in relation to hemistichs 1056A and 1067A, the twice-occurring pronoun en being replaced by its antecedent.33 Other patterns of variation in Roland’s response. Beyond their role in the pattern of increased flexibility described above, not all of the variations appearing in the core of the repetitive group have the same degree of significance, nor are they necessarily indicative of narrative progression, even when lexical elements are involved. In “Que mi parent pur mei seient blasmet” (1063) and “Ja n’en avrunt reproece mi parent” (1076), for example, it may be difficult to see in the switch from blasmet to reproece a development that contributes to bringing a significantly new idea to the narrative line or that takes Roland’s argument one step further. One of the striking features in this repetitive series, however, is a change of the overall structure from a dependent clause (1063) to an independent clause (1076), i.e., a gain in syntactic status that adds a degree of finality and intensity to Roland’s statement, thus underscoring his increasing determination. Overall, in Roland’s response to Oliver, as is the case in Oliver’s request, the general tendency is that the variations associated with the repetitions contribute to the unfolding of the narrative line, even when they denote only a slight intensification of the message.

As already noted, although the repetitive series constituted by the opening line of Roland’s reply to Oliver involves some minor lexical variation, its impact is largely related to the patterns resulting from the combination and arrangement of the A and B hemistichs:

Respunt Rollant : ...(1053A) Respont Rollant : « Ne placet Damnedeu (1062) - « Ne placet Deu, » ço li respunt Rollant (1073) Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 93 Here, the cumulative design creates a very strong intensification of the already powerful verbal echo established by the introduction-to-speech formula, “Respunt Rollant” (1053A, 1062A). This intensification not only emphasizes the phrase “Ne placet Damnedeu/Deu” (1062B, 1073A) by marking its late inclusion within the structure of the repetitive group34 but also denotes an increase in Roland’s determination. The latter is further reinforced by the multiple effect of emphasis resulting from the hemistich inversion in line 1073. Indeed, moving “Ne placet Damnedeu/Deu” to the first-hemistich position also stresses the unwavering nature of Roland’s decision by emphasizing the negative dimension of his response with the placement of the negative adverb at the beginning of the first line devoted to his third answer, and consequently at the culminating point in a pattern of crescendo involving introductions to speech that may be described as follows: (1) in laisse 83, each character’s intervention is preceded by a formula of introduction to speech; (2) in laisse 84, as I have already noted, the narrator’s introductory formula is eliminated in Oliver’s case, resulting in an unusual start in direct discourse, but retained verbatim in Roland’s case; (3) in laisse 85, owing to the inversion of the two hemistichs in line 1073, Roland’s reply, like Oliver’s request in the two preceding instances (laisses 84 and 85), begins in direct discourse, thus underscoring the progression of the debate by increasing the intensity felt when Oliver’s discourse does the same for the first time in laisse 84 (1059). In Roland’s case, of course, the introduction-to-speech formula is not deleted but only moved to the second hemistich, where it gives the narrator an opportunity to join in verbally in the pattern of intensification by filling the two syllables left vacant by the move from first hemistich to second hemistich position with the demonstrative pronoun ço and the indirect object li (1073B) to form a hemistich that is an emphatic equivalent of “Respunt Rollant” (1053A/1062A). 94 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 In the following series, lexical substitutions are at the center of the pattern of intensification:

Sempres ferrai de Durendal granz colps (1055) Einz i ferrai de Durendal asez (1065) E jo ferrai e mil colps e .VII. cenz (1078) In the first hemistichs, the substitutions underscore the progression from parataxis to hypotaxis noted above in section 2.2.1. In hemistich 1055A, the statement “Sempres ferrai” is clearly set in opposition to the preceding line, in which Roland presents his initial reason for refusing to blow his horn, but this opposition is conveyed only by implication through the paratactic succession of lines (1054-55) whereas it is expressed lexically in the next occurrence. Indeed, the word einz in “Einz i ferrai” (1065A) expresses a strong opposition after a negative sentence. In laisse 84, that negative sentence corresponds to Roland’s second reason for not blowing his horn: the consequences this act would have for the reputation of his family and for his country (1062B-1064). Here, the word einz thus emphasizes the connected nature of the hero’s discourse, adding to the representation of its argumentative dimension. This aspect is not only present but is taken one step further in the third instance of the hemistich, “E jo ferrai” (1078A), where the coordinating conjunction e connects line 1078 with the preceding dependent clause, thus underscoring the change in grammatical nature of the repetitive elements in line 1078 from a main clause (1065) to a subordinate clause. Of course, in addition, variation in hemistich 1078A also emphasizes Roland’s determination through the use of the intensifying pronoun jo.

In the second hemistich of lines 1055, 1065, and 1078, the substitutions present several facets of a single reality and may thus also be seen as elements of the overall pattern of intensification in Roland’s response to Oliver. The switch from granz colps in “de Durendal granz colps” Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 95 (1055B) to asez in “de Durendal asez” (1065B) corresponds to a change of focus from the strength of the blows to their great quantity. In the last occurrence of the hemistich, “e mil colps e .VII. cenz” (1078B), Roland specifies the number, which certainly helps the poet with the requirements of meter and assonance, but which can also be viewed as representing an effort to be more precise, and therefore more convincing, in spite of the highly stylized nature of the phrase.

A striking feature in this repetitive series, however, is the already-noted omission and postponement of the phrase “de Durendal” to the next line in the third occurrence of the repetitive group. Although the variations connected with the repetition of “de Durendal” in hemistich 1079A do not bring a new idea to the narrative line, they do contribute to a strong intensification in Roland’s expression of his trust in his sword and his promise to fight. The name Durendal is stressed in laisse 85 by the brief hesitation that its non-inclusion in hemistich 1078B and postponement to the next hemistich and narrative element causes in the flow of Roland’s discourse, by a gain in metric status (from part of a hemistich to a full one), and also by its integration into the pattern of anticipating thrust created by the dependent time clauses in the two preceding lines. Its postponement results in its placement in a position of high emphasis at the beginning of the line corresponding to the anticipated main clause, where, as a prepositioned adjectival modifier, it adds to the forward thrust by extending it inside the main clause to the following hemistich, hemistich 1079B, and underscores it by expanding the echo created by the repetitions in line 1078. That “de Durendal” appears in the main clause in line 1079 is also significant as it marks a relative gain in emphasis in relation to the other repetitive elements of hemistichs 1055B and 1065B, the mention of Roland’s blows and their quantity, which are relocated from an independent and a main clause in laisses 83 and 84 (1055 and 1065), respectively, to a subordinate clause in laisse 85. 96 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

The hemistich that ends the forward thrust of lines 1077-79 is the last element of a series that features two successive compressions:

Sanglant en ert li branz entresqu’a l’or (1056) Tut en verrez le brant ensanglentet (1067) ...... verrez l’acer sanglent (1079B)

Although this repetition seems to bring little to the narrative line, it contains a number of features pertaining to its design (compression and syntax) and lexical content that are very significant from the standpoint of narrative progression. Each reiteration (which is based on a first/previous occurrence that fills an entire line) appears in a more condensed fashion in the second hemistich, a feature that not only leaves some room for new elements to be added in the first hemistich of the same line (I have already referred to the significance of “Tut en verrez” [1067A] and of “De Durendal” [1079A])35 but, by its cumulative nature, also corresponds to a kind of intensification in itself. In laisse 85, this intensification is further strengthened by the strict parallelism existing between hemistich 1079B and the corresponding part of line 1067 (verb + direct object preceded by a definite article + adjective), a feature that differentiates the third occurrence of the series from the previous ones (1056 and 1067B), which show no syntactic equivalence and only limited verbal and metric parallelism, with li/le bran(z)(t) occurring at the beginning of the second hemistich.36

Syntactically, the emphasis on hemistich 1079B owes much to the fact that this hemistich concludes the anticipating thrust of lines 1077-79 but, as is the case with hemistich 1079A, it also involves the nature of the clauses concerned. In laisses 83 and 84, the lines that describe Roland’s bloodied sword (“Sanglant en ert li branz entresqu’a l’or” [1056] and Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 97 “Tut en verrez le brant ensanglentet” [1067]) both correspond to independent clauses that immediately follow Roland’s statement about the blows he is ready to strike with Durendal (“Sempres ferrai de Durendal granz colps” [1055] and “Einz i ferrai de Durendal asez,/Ma bone espee que ai ceint al costet” [1065-66]). In both instances the notion of result (the bloodied sword) is implied through parataxis, thus placing these clauses (1056, 1067) in a relation of dependency to the statement describing the blows (1055, 1065-66). In laisse 85, “verrez l’acer sanglent” (1079B) is the core of the main clause in a comparatively long sentence (three verse lines instead of one) that includes the mention of the blows in a coordinated dependent time clause (“E jo ferrai e mil colps e .VII. cenz” [1078]). The description of Roland’s bloodied sword, and consequently the importance given to it by the hero in his argumentation, thus shows a relative increase in emphasis due both to a shift from paratactic dependency to a main clause and a comparative decrease in the syntactic status of the blows (from an independent to a dependent clause).

In this repetitive sequence, lexical variation consists essentially of the omission of “entresqu’a l’or” (or rather its replacement by Tut in a non-repetitive unit [1067A]) and three substitutions. The omission helps mainly to make room for the addition of verrez in the second occurrence of the line (1067). The first substitution, which involves the change from sanglant (1056A) to ensanglentet (1067B), fulfills the requirements of assonance and meter but brings little to the narrative line, except perhaps for a slight intensification in the description of the blood on the sword due to the very change of word, the comparative length of the new word (four syllables instead of two) and, of course, its placement at the point of assonance. The return to the word sanglent in hemistich 1079B, also essentially for reasons pertaining to meter and assonance, does little more than highlight the stability of Roland’s statement. On the other hand, the 98 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 substitution of l’acer (1079B) for li branz/le brant (1056B, 1067B) switches the emphasis from the blade to the metal of which it is made, and adds connotations of strength, hardness, and dependability, thus contributing new ideas that somewhat strengthen Roland’s reassertion of his trust in his sword.

In the repetitive series consisting of “mar i vindrent as porz” (1057B) and “mar i sunt asemblez” (1068B), the substitution of “sunt asemblez” for “vindrent as porz” also involves a slight progression in meaning. In the first laisse, in line 1057, Roland merely mentions that the pagans came to the pass. In laisse 84, by switching to the verb asembler in line 1068, he describes the same action, but more fully, stresses its result, and emphasizes lexically the collective dimension expressed in line 1057 only by the plural of the verb and its subject, thus evoking more vividly the presence and size of the pagan armies, and, consequently, the urgency of the situation. In addition, depending on one’s grammatical understanding of sunt asemblez, it may also be possible to link the use of tenses in lines 1057 and 1068 to narrative progression. If one follows Lucien Foulet’s glossary, which lists the occurrence of sunt asemblez in line 1068 as the present tense of the passive voice, one may see in this substitution a progression based on a change of tense and consisting of the mention of a past event followed by a description of its result or of the following event in the present tense.37

The remaining series featuring variation involves the second hemistich of the last line of laisses 83 and 84 and the last line of laisse 85:

...... tuz sunt jugez a mort (1058B) ...... tuz sunt a mort livrez (1069B) Ja cil d’Espaigne n’avrunt de mort guarant (1081) Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 99 In hemistich 1069B, variation is limited to a two-syllable substitution and a word inversion. The substitution is clearly not related to the need for correct meter or assonance, which could have been provided by jugez, and results in a progression that relies essentially on the lexical nature of the terms involved. Following the word jugez, livrez denotes an intensification in the formulation of the pagans’ fate by Roland. It makes explicit an idea which, for him, is implied in the word jugez, namely that once judgment has been rendered, it is carried out. The past participle livrez brings the pagans one step closer to death. In the third occurrence of the series, after he has realized that he has not yet convinced Oliver, Roland rephrases his statement entirely, stressing this time that the pagans will not find any protection from death.

[3] Conclusion

The technique of the repetitive group is employed in laisses 83-85 in a manner that differs significantly from its use in the conversation between Ganelon and Marsile in laisses 40-42, both in terms of its overall architectural design and of the correspondence between individual units. From the standpoint of architectural design, two main areas of difference exist: (1) the nature and function of the mismatches between the structure of the repetitive group, the laisse structure and the dialogue structure (question [request]/answer), and (2) the use of framing. In both passages, however, the repetitions and accompanying variations underscore narrative progression in particularly strong albeit different ways.

In neither set of laisses similaires does the overall structure delineated by the repetitive group match the laisse structure in all three instances. In laisses 40-42, there is a perfect match between the structure of the repetitive group and the discourse structure where the repetitions occur but, 100 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 because Ganelon’s first answer does not belong to the repetitive group, the repetitive group coincides with the strophic structure only in laisse 42. This mismatch between the laisse and the repetitive group is part of the pattern of merging styles that underlies the three-laisse exchange. Ganelon’s treason is conveyed stylistically by his adoption of Marsile’s style, which is repetitive from the beginning of the three-laisse set, and the merging of two clearly distinct repetitive groups, one corresponding to Marsile’s three questions and the other to Ganelon’s second and third answers.38 In laisses 83-85, because the mismatch concerns the first lines of the three laisses similaires and thus sets off their vers d’intonation and Oliver’s reason for requesting Roland to blow his horn (1049B-1050) from the remainder of the tripartite exchange, thus exposing its theme, the technique is essentially used to provide an introduction to the three- laisse similaire set, to isolate it within the larger passage in which it occurs, and to endow Oliver’s plea with added emotion through the resulting effect of acceleration it creates at the beginning of laisse 84 and through the accompanying shift to an abrupt start in direct discourse.

The technique of framing non-repetitive units between repetitive group units is very limited in laisses 40-43, which feature only one instance of an “implosion,” i.e., the elimination in a subsequent occurrence of a repetitive group of elements situated between units that belong to its core,39 a type of frame that is perceived retrospectively by the listener/reader as a missing element at the time of the recurrence. All other framed elements in laisses 40-42 are syntactically-equivalent second hemistichs in substitution patterns of the type “Tanz colps ad pris sur sun escut bucler”/“Tanz colz ad pris de lances et d’espiet” ([526]/541), a technique that is closer to the substitution of syntactically- and/or metrically-equivalent elements in units belonging to the repetitive group than to framing per se.40 In laisses 83-85, the framing of non-repetitive units is used much more Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 101 extensively, both in Oliver’s request, where much of the intensification in Oliver’s emotion and the weakening in his argumentation depend on the opposition between an open-ended structure and a closed structure, and in Roland’s answer, where it emphasizes the major elements of the hero’s argumentation as well as a number of stylistic features such as amplification, a progressive switch from parataxis to hypotaxis, and a departure from a pattern of tight correspondence between repetitive group and thematic content, all of which contribute to the overall increase in intensity and complexity that characterizes his discourse.

With reference to the correspondence between individual repetitive units, the most obvious difference revealed by comparing laisses 40-42 and 83-85 is that the successive occurrences of the repetitions display a much lower degree of equivalence in the debate between Oliver and Roland than they do in the exchange between Marsile and Ganelon, where the majority of lexical variations occur in connection with elements that are syntactically and/or metrically equivalent. In fact, as mentioned in the previous paragraph, even some of the non-repetitive units emphasized by the repetitive group in laisses 40-42 are syntactically and/or metrically equivalent and thus enhance the effect of parallelism between the successive occurrences of the repetitive group. Since the model established by Marsile and eventually accepted by Ganelon is based on repetition and on the two characters’ intention to reach a common ground, which is reflected in their common diction in the last laisse of the set, it only seems natural for the correspondence between the individual repetitive group units in laisses 40-42 to be very tight. This tightness is the measure of the understanding between the Christian messenger and the pagan leader. In laisses 83-85, the picture is quite different. There is no merging of discourse nor of point of view. On the contrary, not only does each character stick to his initial position but at the level of diction, what seems to be emphasized in 102 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Roland’s discourse by the progressive loosening in the degree of equivalence between the repetitive units and the departure in laisse 85 from patterns of equivalence established in the previous laisse is an increasing difference between the two companions-in-arms, a widening gap. Whereas in Oliver’s plea the repetitive group and the accompanying variations highlight only a slight movement forward in laisse 84, followed in laisse 85 by a relative emphasis on repetition, in Roland’s response they suggest a very dynamic progression in which their complex interplay emphasizes fluidity and continuity. The patterns of intensification in Roland’s discourse correspond to an effort to rationalize, to rephrase, to develop. His emotional buildup differs from Oliver’s in that it corresponds to language that is characterized by increasing quantity, variety, and complexity.

In both laisses 40-42 and laisses 83-85, and with the exception of the mismatch in the first laisse of each set, the repetitive groups provide a succession of frames that are simultaneously delineated by the discourse structure (question[request]/answer) and the laisse structure, isolating each new narrative moment in a weave of echoes that may slow down the flow of events without, however, bringing them to a halt or even blurring their chronology.41 Even Oliver’s last reiteration of his request, in spite of the fact that the repetitive group emphasizes its relative lack of significantly new ideas, appears to correspond to a third and emotionally climactic moment in his unsuccessful attempt to convince Roland, a moment during which he repeats not only his own words but also borrows from Roland’s own repetitions. Oliver’s adoption of “Jo vos plevis,” clearly marks this third occurrence of his plea as a reaction to Roland’s first two responses and thus situates it after the latter on the narrative continuum. Likewise, the successive occurrences of the repetitive group clearly mark successive stages in Roland’s efforts to explain his refusal to Oliver, emphasizing new elements and new increases in intensity as Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 103 well as its argumentative nature, with the chronological dimension of Roland’s three answers also being marked in part by the phrase “Jo vos plevis,” which, in reaction to Oliver’s use thereof, he does not repeat in the third laisse.42

NOTES

1 Jean-Marcel Paquette, “Le Texte en métamorphose: Contribution à une poétique des laisses similaires d’après six versions de la ‘scène du cor’ de la Chanson de Roland,” Mélanges de langue et littérature françaises du Moyen Age offerts à Pierre Jonin, Senefiance 7 (Aix-en-Provence: CUERMA; Paris: Champion, 1979) 503-14. Reprinted in The Nature of Medieval Narrative, ed. Minnette Grunmann-Gaudet and Robin F. Jones (Lexington, KY: French Forum, 1980) 99-122. All mentions of Paquette’s article in this study refer to this reprint. 2 Jean-Paul Carton, “Aesthetic Considerations based on ‘Elaborate Style’ in the Chanson de Roland: Diminution in Laisses 232-234,” Olifant 12.1 (1987): 29-45; Carton, “Aesthetic Considerations Based on ‘Elaborate Style’ in the Chanson de Roland: Narrative Progression in Laisses 40-42,” Olifant 15.2 (1990): 137-55. 3 See Carton, “Narrative Progression,” 151-54, for a discussion of the notions of stasis and narrative progression in laisses similaires in general and in laisses 40-42 in particular. 4 For a bibliography of John S. Miletich’s work on the subject, see Carton, “Diminution,” 43-45. For a more recent publication, see John S. Miletich, “Muslim Oral Epic and Medieval Epic,” The Modern Language Review 83.4 (1988): 911-24. For a statistical comparative application of this method to the Chanson de Roland, see Jean-Paul Carton, “Oral-Traditional Style and the Song of Roland: ‘Elaborate Style’ and ‘Essential Style,’” diss. U. of Utah, 1982; Carton, “Oral-Traditional Style in the Chanson de Roland: ‘Elaborate Style’ and Mode of Composition,” Olifant 9.1-2 (1981 [published 1985]): 3-19. 5 Albert B. Lord, The Singer of Tales (Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1960; rpt., New York: Atheneum, 1974) 68-98. 6 For a detailed discussion of the extent to which variation is possible for units to be considered as belonging to a repetitive group, see Carton, diss., 97-114. 104 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

7 The text is that of the Mortier edition of the Oxford Roland: Raoul Mortier, ed., Les Textes de la Chanson de Roland, 10 vols. (Paris: Geste Francor, 1940-44) vol. 1: La Version d’Oxford. The correspondence between the repetitive elements is as follows (numbers given are line numbers; as in the previous studies dealing with elaborate style in the Roland, A and B refer respectively to first and second hemistichs; parentheses indicate the base occurrence[s] of the corresponding repetitive elements): (Laisse 83) / Laisse 84: (1051) / 1059; (1052) / 1060; (1053A) / 1062A; (1055) / 1065; (1056) / 1067B; (1057) / 1068; (1058) / 1069. (Laisses 83, 84) / Laisse 85: (1051, 1059) / 1070; (1052A, 1060A) / 1071A; (1052B, 1060B) / 1072B; (1053A, 1062A) / 1073B; (1062B) / 1073A; (1063) / 1076; (1055A, 1065A) / 1078A; (1055B) / 1078B; (1055B, 1065B-1056A, 1067A) / 1079A; (1056, 1067) / 1079B; (1058B, 1069B) / 1081. 8 Carton, “Diminution,” 35. 9 See Paquette 103-104 for an analysis of the rhythmic pattern created by the first line of each laisse in connection with this shift to direct discourse. 10 For a definition of the formula, see Lord 30-67. 11 Although this passage does not correspond to the first horn scene in its entirety, it does constitute a narrative unit, as underscored by the fact that it is framed by another repetitive group:

1010 Pur sun seignor deit hom susfrir destreiz E endurer e granz chalz e granz freiz, Sin deit hom perdre e del quir e del peil.

1117 Pur sun seignur deit hom susfrir granz mals E endurer e forz freiz e granz chalz, Sin deit hom perdre del sanc e de la char.

12 Jean Rychner, La Chanson de geste: Essai sur l’art épique des jongleurs, Société de publications romanes et françaises 53 (Genève: Droz, 1955) 71-72. 13 See Lord 47-48 for a definition of “formulaic expression.” Joseph Duggan, in his study of the formulaic style of the Roland, stresses the indispensability of such formulas in most chansons de geste and relates their presence in the poems to the fact that the latter were presented orally (Joseph Duggan, The Song of Roland: Formulaic Style and Poetic Craft [Berkeley: U of California P, 1973] 109). Whatever the origins of the formula, the use of the phrase “Dist Oliver” in laisses 79, 82, 83, 86, and 87 and its absence, as well as the absence of any Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 105 introduction-to-speech formula, from the presentation of Oliver’s discourse in laisses 84-85 are clearly of an aesthetic nature. 14 Of course, within the context of the entire repetitive group, line 1061 is framed by Oliver’s two-line repetition and the first hemistich of Roland’s answer, “Respont Rollant.” 15 This term refers to the insertion of non-repetitive units between repetitive units in a second or subsequent occurrence of a repetitive group. See for example, Carton, “Diminution,” 42; Carton, diss., 108-109. 16 Edward A. Heinemann sees relative clauses such as “ki est as porz passant” as “particulièrement aptes au rembourrage” and notes that, seen in this light, line 1071 “acquiert une saveur nouvelle” (Edward A. Heinemann, L’Art métrique de la chanson de geste: Essai sur la musicalité du récit, Publications romanes et françaises 205 [Genève: Droz, 1993] 81). 17 In laisse 85, “Jo vos plevis” no longer belongs to the repetitive group because it is not part of the same narrative pattern, i.e., the sequence of ideas that constitute Roland’s answer. 18 See, for example, John S. Miletich, “Narrative Style in Spanish and Slavic Traditional Narrative Poetry: Implications for the Study of the Romance Epic,” Olifant 2.2 (1974): 113-14; Carton, diss., 114-20. 19 Heinemann, Art métrique 23-26. See also Edward A. Heinemann, “Rythmes sémantiques de la chanson de geste, 2: Rythmes internes de l’hémistiche dans les vers où figure un nom de ville dans les Enfances Guillaume,” Romania 110.1-2 (1989): 40-71. 20 Gerard J. Brault, ed. and trans., The Song of Roland: An Analytical Edition, 2 vols. (University Park: The Pennsylvania State UP, 1978) 1: 215. 21 Paquette 104. 22 Heinemann, Art métrique 234. 23 Paquette notes in his study of the horn scene the overall algorithmic progression of laisses 83-85. It is important to emphasize that the increase in the number of lines from which it results is limited to Roland’s response (Paquette 100). 24 See, for example, Jules Horrent, La Chanson de Roland dans les littératures française et espagnole au Moyen Age, Bibliothèque de la Faculté de Philosophie et Lettres de l’Université de Liège 120 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1951) 218-20; André Burger, Turold poète de la fidelité: Essai d’explication de la Chanson de Roland, Publications romanes et françaises 145 (Genève: Droz, 1977) 132. Horrent, who challenges the order of laisses 84 and 85, retains for discussion only one element of the 106 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 frame in laisse 85, line 1076, and does not include the framed elements of that laisse in his analysis of the progression in Roland’s argumentation:

1053 Jo fereie que fols! En dulce France en perdreie mun los. 1062 Ne placet Damnedeu Que mi parent pur mei seient blasmet Ne France dulce ja cheet en viltet!

1076 Ja n’en avrunt reproece mi parent!

The elements selected by Burger are closer to the actual framed elements in the first frame:

1054 En dulce France en perdreie mon los.

1062 Ne placet Damnedeu Que mi parent pur mei seient blasmet Ne dulce France ja cheet en viltet!

1073 Ne placet Deu, ço li respunt Rollant, Que ço seit dit de nul hume vivant, Ne pur paiens, que ja seie cornant.

Burger’s selection omits the first of the framed elements in laisse 83 (1053B) and includes the opening line of the first subframe in laisse 85 (1073). 25 Horrent 218-20. See note 24 for the textual elements on which Horrent bases his interpretation. 26 Brault 1: 184. 27 Cesare Segre, believing the scribe had failed to recognize a double causal structure in lines 1074-75, corrects de in “de nul hume vivant” by pur (Cesare Segre, ed., La Chanson de Roland [Milano, Napoli: Riccardo Ricciardi Editore, 1971] 201). Brault on the other hand translates both “de nul hume vivant” and “pur paien” as agents of “seit dit” (Brault 2:69). I prefer to see, as does Bédier, for example, in “de nul hume vivant” the agent of “seit dit” and in “pur paien” the causal complement of “seie cornant” (Joseph Bédier, La Chanson de Roland [Paris: Piazza, 1937] 93). 28 For the notion of “thrust,” especially forward thrust or “anticipating thrust,” see Heinemann, Art métrique 100-106. See also Edward A. Heinemann, “Line-Opening Tool Words in the Charroi de Nîmes,” Olifant 17.1-2 (1992): 51-52. Carton / Aesthetic Considerations 107

29 See also sections entitled Frame and thematic content: mismatch and Framing, parataxis and hypotaxis for stylistic elements of emphasis produced by this line. 30 See above, text corresponding to note 29. 31 See, for example, Paquette, 106, 107, 111, 112. 32 See Paquette, 107, 111. 33 Hemistich 1079A is in this regard a somewhat unusual repetitive group unit in that it echoes part of two distinct base units in each of the two previous occurrences of the repetitive group, hemistichs 1055B and 1056A in laisse 83 and hemistichs 1065B and 1067A in laisse 84. Normally, when a repetitive element changes narrative function in a subsequent occurrence of a repetitive group (when it is not part of the same narrative pattern), its recurrence is not considered as belonging to the repetitive group (see above, n. 17). Due to the contiguity and relationship of the narrative elements corresponding to lines 1055/1065 and 1056/1067, the case of hemistich 1079A is somewhat different. Indeed, although the phrase “De Durendal” in hemistich 1079A is shifted to a new narrative element (the description of Roland’s bloodied sword instead of the mention of the blows Roland will strike), the narrative function of hemistich 1079A in the series of ideas constituting the repetitive group is identical to that of en in hemistichs 1056A, “Sanglant en ert,” and 1067A, “Tut en verrez,” in which en is synonymous with “de Durendal” used as an adjectival modifier identifying “li branz” (1056B) and “le brant ensanglentet” (1067B). 34 For the significance of this phrase, see 2.2.1 (Framing and narrative progression). 35 See 2.2.1 (Framing and narrative progression) for “Tut en verrez” and the foregoing paragraph for “De Durendal.” 36 Limited syntactic and even metric parallelism exists, however, in the correspondence between hemistichs 1056A and 1067A (en + verb at the caesura). The latter, however, does not belong to the repetitive group. 37 Lucien Foulet, “Glossaire,” in Joseph Bédier, La Chanson de Roland commentée (Paris: Piazza, 1937) 323-522. Paquette notes the tense progression in his article on laisses 83-85 (Paquette 112). Most translators, however, including Bédier, have preferred to render sunt asemblez as a perfect reflexive (Bédier, La Chanson de Roland 93). Foulet himself does note that it is possible to see the instance of the verb in line 1068 as a perfect reflexive, the reflexive pronoun being sometimes implied in such constructions. 38 Carton, “Narrative Progression,” 151-54. 39 Carton, “Narrative Progression,” 141-44. 108 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

40 Carton, “Narrative Progression,” 144-48, 150. 41 For a summary of the successive narrative stages in laisses 40- 42, see Carton, “Narrative Progression,” 153. 42 I wish to thank Professor Edward A. Heinemann for his helpful comments on an earlier version of this article as well as John S. Miletich for his guidance in the early stages of my study of “elaborate style.” “A Roland for an Oliver”: Their Quarrel Again (La Chanson de Roland, laisses 130-31)

Robert A. Hall, Jr., Cornell University IN MEMORIAM WILLIAM J. ROACH

A Roland for an Oliver, i.e., a blow for a blow, tit for tat, referring to a drawn combat between Roland and Oliver. (John Bartlett, Familiar Quotations, ed. Emily M. Beck, 4th edition, [Boston: Little, Brown, 1995].) This proverbial expression is derived from the duel between the two knights in Bertrand de Bar-sur-Aube’s Girart de Vienne, which will be discussed in Section 5.

1. THE PROBLEM. In medieval epic and legend, the two knights Roland and Oliver were renowned as the greatest of the “Twelve Peers” at the court of Charlemagne, doughty defenders of Christendom against the Saracens, and joined to each other as compaignons (brothers-in-arms, often establishing their compaignie through a formal ritual. Yet, in the best-known of the epic poems1 describing their heroic last stand together with twenty thousand other Franks2 at the battle of Roncesvalles (August 15, A.D. 778), in the midst of the fight against the overwhelmingly superior forces of the pagan , which they already realize they have lost, there erupts a brief but intense quarrel between the two. Roland has thrice refused (laisses 83-85),3 to sound his famous horn Olifant and thereby to summon Charlemagne to return and aid him and the rearguard, saying that it would be cowardly to do so and would cause him and his Franks to “lose face” as the object of satirical songs (Que malvaise cançun de nos chantet ne seit ‘May no evil song be sung about us’, v. 1014). Finally, Roland changes his mind and proposes to sound the Olifant and recall Charlemagne 110 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 (laisses 128-29) and thereby angers Oliver, who criticizes him severely in the next two laisses (laisses 130-31).

Archbishop Turpin hears them arguing and calms the quarrel, so that before their deaths Roland and Oliver are reconciled, returning to their former brotherly love and affection. Oliver agrees to Roland’s sounding the Olifant; Charlemagne hears the sound of the horn;4 he and his army return, but too late to save any of the rearguard. Of the four who have survived up to this point, Walter of the Hum and Oliver die from their wounds, followed by Turpin. (According to another version of the story, Turpin survives, and writes an account of the battle. Since all discussants agree that this text, in Latin prose, was actually written in the mid-twelfth century, it is known as the Chronicle of the Pseudo-Turpin.) Roland is the last to die, a process which is described in considerable detail in laisses 174-76 (Jenkins: 173-75). He is taken up into Heaven by the archangels Gabriel and Michael and an angel named Saint Cherubin.

It is generally agreed that these two passages—the quarrel between Oliver and Roland, and the long drawn-out, almost hagiographical description of Roland’s death— constitute two of the high points of the poem. With regard to laisses 130-31, the question then arises, for the characters themselves and for the reader-hearer,5 as to whether Oliver’s extreme wrath and reproaches against Roland are justified or not. Individual modern critics’ opinions have varied, depending on their attitude toward the problem of individual authorship and, therefore, toward the presumed aim of the “author” or “last redactor,” if we assume that the Oxford Roland (see below) could have had a single person who put the poem into its final form as we have it at present.6

2. ONE AUTHOR OR SEVERAL? There is a very wide gamut of possible positions on the matter of individual Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 111 authorship and hence of the importance and interpretation of the Oliver-Roland quarrel, depending on the critic’s stance. Many discussants presume that one person either authored the text or re-worked it, and hence assign the name Turoldus to that person.7 At one extreme, we can postulate a single author for the entire work, including the “” episode (laisses 185-265),8 as do two of the most recent major critics, Brault (1978) and Cook (1987), and many others. For them, Turoldus is the obvious name for the author. Jenkins (1929) operates with two persons, the author of the next-to-last version and also a “last redactor” or remanieur, whom he calls “Turoldus.” This procedure can be followed if we assume that a sharp distinction can be made between the work of “Turoldus” as opposed to that of his predecessor(s), based on either linguistic or semantico-stylistic consider- ations.

At the opposite extreme are theories such as those of Gaston Paris (1865), according to whom not only the Roland, but other medieval epics as well, would have been “stitched together” from earlier short poems or cantilenae, and of Ramón Menéndez Pidal (1959 [1960]), who considered that, of the variant forms in which we have the Roland and the other epics, each represents a kind of “freeze-frame” giving evidence for the particular stage which the work had reached in the course of its continual development (both oral and written) at the hands of successive singers (minstrels) and writers (whether creators or copyists). Paris’s view was related to the “distributionist” approach to the Homeric epics, according to which the Iliad and the Odyssey were not the work of a single author “Homer,” but rather a collection of originally separate lays, “stitched together” by one or (more likely) several “rhapsodes” or “song-stitchers.” Menéndez Pidal derived his theory from his own research into the history of medieval and modern Spanish (oral and written). His approach has been supplemented by modern 112 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 work on the creation and transmission of oral epics (e.g., Parry [1930] and Lord [1960]) for general theory, and Duggan [1973] for the Chanson de Roland ).

In the overall history of the development of the Roland legend, it is generally recognized that it must originally have taken its start from popular tales that would have begun to circulate very soon after the battle of Roncesvalles in 778.9 We have indirect evidence of the rapid growth and extension of the story, in references to Roland and Roncesvalles and in the use of the names of Roland and Oliver as given names from the eleventh century onwards.10 Reflections of early poems, in more or less incomplete form, have been discovered in such documents as the “Hague fragment,“11 and the “Nota emilianense” preserved at the monastery of San Millán.12

From the end of the eleventh century onwards, a number of fairly similar versions of the Roland story, dealing primarily with the defeat of Charlemagne’s nephew Roland and the twenty thousand Franks under his command at the battle of Roncesvalles on August 15, A.D. 778, are extant in more or less complete form. Among these, “O” is the best known and is usually referred to as the Chanson de Roland, the “Song of Roland” par excellence. Parallel, but by no means identical versions (often written in other languages) are found in other medieval manuscripts, of which the most important is that known as “V4.”

As to whether all of those works whose overall corresponds roughly to that of the Oxford Roland can be traced back, together with that poem itself, to a single common archetype or not, adhuc sub judice lis est. In general, those critics who favor the hypothesis of a single author or of an earlier author revised by a “last redactor” accept the idea of a common archetype. Those who, with Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 113 Menéndez Pidal, regard each one of these versions as a unique manifestation of a particular individual phase in the transmission and spread of the legend, are inclined to accept such a hypothesis only for the Oxford manuscript and the closest parallel versions such as V4 at most.

The Oxford version deals primarily with the events immediately preceding the battle of Roncesvalles (beginning with Charlemagne’s return to France), the battle itself, and its immediate aftermath (the Saracens’ renewed and much greater attack, under the emir Baligant, ending in Charlemagne’s final victory and the trial and execution of the traitor Ganelon). In general, it would seem likely—basing our reasoning on what is known from the observed practice of oral poets in modern times—that the earliest poetic treatments of the Roland story would have begun with simple, relatively brief oral poems describing the events at the battle of Roncesvalles itself, of which in the nature of things we have no written record.13 As time went on, there would have been a gradual accretion of further material, both the incorporation of details from related tales and the addition of major elements such as the second of the Saracens under the emir Baligant. The influence of written sources, especially ancient history, should be neither under- nor over-estimated.

Furthermore, Roland came to be viewed more and more as not only a warrior, but also a saint, combining the military heroism which must have been the first aspect of his legendary fame with the virtues of a defender of the Christian faith. These two conceptions of his role in history have given rise to conflicting assumptions concerning Roland’s character and the psychological motivation of his acts. When, as in O, he refuses to sound his horn and to call for Charlemagne to return to succor him and his rearguard of twenty thousand Franks against the overwhelming horde of Saracens, is he 114 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 showing undue pride and démesure, or is he behaving as would befit a martyr in the greater cause of Christendom? This and similar problems are reflected in the behavior of the characters of the story itself and also in the opinions of latter-day discussants and literary critics.

3. LINGUISTIC STRATA. One aspect of the problem which is of major importance in our understanding of these questions, but which has been badly neglected, especially in recent decades, is the indubitable presence of more than one stratum of linguistic development in the text of O. We must distinguish between three linguistic strata, as manifested in the assonances in the individual laisses.14 In the earliest stratum (datable to the tenth century),15 the distinction between the development of /á/ in stressed free syllables (which I shall represent by /æ/)16 and that of open /é/ is kept. Likewise, /ai/ assonates with /a/, whether before a nasal or not (e.g. in /faire/ (to do) from PRom. /fákere/) and /pain/ (bread) from PRom. /páne/), not with /e/ as in the later monophthongization of /ai/, e.g., in /tere/ (land) from PRom. /térra/). Similarly, the retention of the contrast between other diphthongs and the corresponding simple vowels, and of that between open and close /o/, is to be ascribed to the earliest stratum.17

To the middle stratum (eleventh century) are to be ascribed the maintenance of the distinction between /an/ and /en/, /an/ and /ain/, /en/ and /ein/, nasal /õ/ and close /o/, and the use of the future in -eiz (2nd person plural). Characteristic of the latest stratum (twelfth century) are the mergers of /an/ with /en/, of /ai/ and /e/, of all nasal /o/, of all oral /o/, and the presence of futures in -ez.18

4. TEXT AND COMMENTARY. With these criteria in mind, we may now proceed to a close line-by-line reading and explication of the two laisses (Brault, nos. 130-31; Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 115 Jenkins, nos. 129-30), citing first the text of O as transcribed by Brault and then giving my translation thereof (which often differs from those of other commentators) and further remarks on the text, its meaning and significance.

Verse Text and Commentary Laisse 130 (Brault), 129 (Jenkins)

1713 Ço dit Rodlant: “Forz est nostre bataille, Roland says [this]: “Our battle is fierce,

1714 Jo cornerai, si l’orrat li reis Karles.” I shall sound the horn, and King Charles will hear it.”

1715 Dist Oliver: “Ne sereit vasselage! Oliver said: “That would not be a brave deed!

1716 Quant je le vos dis, cumpainz, vos ne deignastes.” When I told you to, companion, you did not deign to.”

1717 “S’i fust li reis, n’i oüsom damage. “If the king were here, we would have suffered no harm.

Roland has, in an earlier passage (laisses 83-85) refused, not only once, but three times, to sound the Olifant and call for Charlemagne to return. There follows this exchange; but who speaks verses 1717 and 1718, Oliver or Roland? If we assume it is Oliver, these two lines are tautologous and therefore redundant. If it is Roland, we have, in vv. 1713-18, a dialogue consisting of three speeches, of two verses each. In the first, Roland reverses his decision and decides to sound the Olifant after all. In vv. 1715-16, Oliver 116 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 rejects Roland’s change of mind. Roland, who “might be supposed to cling even to a faint hope of victory” (Jenkins, note to v. 1719), defends his decision (vv. 1717-1718). Oliver, “irritated by Roland’s [as it seems to him] unreasonable persistence . . . makes an angry reply and a quarrel begins,” as hesitantly suggested by Jenkins in his note to v. 1719. If we accept this interpretation of vv. 1713-18, a period and a closing quotation mark should be placed after deignastes (v. 1716), and an opening quotation mark before S’i fust li reis in v. 1717.

In support of our interpretation, we may observe that everywhere else in O, formulas like “Ço dist Rodlanz,” “E cil respont,” etc., introducing a speech, occur only at the beginning of a laisse or after a previous speech by a different character. If we assume that vv. 1717-18 are spoken by Oliver, the occurrence of Dist Oliver at the beginning of v. 1719 becomes arbitrary and unnecessary; if, however, they are Roland’s reply to Oliver, that formula then can be seen as a necessary indication of the introduction of a new speaker.

1718 Cil ki la sunt n’en deivent aveir blasme.” Those who are there should have no blame for it.”

Here there are two questions: (1) Who are Cil ki la sunt—the other members of Roland’s rearguard at Roncesvalles, or Charles and his army who are by now descending from the summit of the Pyrenees? (or, in other words, what does la mean at this point?) and (2) what is the reference of en—for what is it that “those who are there” are not to be blamed? To grasp the full import of this sentence, we will perhaps do best to ascribe as broad a meaning as possible to both la and en. Neither the surviving members of the Frankish rearguard, nor Charles and his army are responsible for “it”, i.e., for the whole situation as it has Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 117 developed. If none of them bear any responsibility in the matter, who does?—Roland, as the commander of the rearguard. The further implication is that he is the one who should take whatever action is necessary at this point, and that is to sound the horn and call Charles back so that they will suffer as little further harm as possible. Oliver’s point is that Roland’s earlier decision should be adhered to, for a change of mind at this juncture would still be cowardly and shameful. Roland, however, now considers that the present extreme danger justifies a call to Charlemagne for succor.

1719 Dist Oliver: “Par ceste meie barbe, Oliver said: “By this beard of mine,

1720 Se puis veeir ma gente seror Alde, If I can see my noble sister Alda,

This is the first of two passages in O, involving Oliver’s sister Alda, to whom Roland was betrothed. In the other passage (vv. 3707-32), Charlemagne informs her of her fiancé’s death, whereupon she collapses at Charles’s feet and dies. This second sequence can be interpreted more or less romantically, according to the hearer-reader’s preferences. Any such interpretation is, however, very much out of place with regard to verses 1719-20. Jenkins (19292:130) cites a remark of Wilhelm Tavernier: “Her mention here, in the storm and stress of battle, is like a ray of sunshine breaking through heavy clouds.” Such an observation is, at best, nothing but mawkish sentimentality. Actually, Oliver’s mention of Alda is anything but romantic or poetic. On the contrary, it is brusque, brutal and coarse, as we shall see à propos of the next line.

1721 Ne jerreiez jamais entre sa brace!” AOI You will never lie in her arms!” 118 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Oliver is so angry at Roland that he takes the drastic step of breaking off Roland’s engagement to Alda, in no uncertain terms, and rather coarse ones at that, referring directly and unmistakably to the physical realities of sex.19 This is considerably more down-to-earth and realistic than any “discreet eroticism” as suggested by Brault (1978, 1:155-58, 211), nor is it a “suggestion that [Oliver’s] sister will perform her wifely duties with enthusiasm” (Brault [1978, 1:469, note 14]).20

Over the meaning of the three letters AOI, which occur at the end of numerous, but not all, laisses of O, there has been an extensive but as yet inconclusive debate.21 All that seems evident is that the letters are in some way connected with an increase in emphasis to be given at the end of 2 selected laisses. Jenkins’s suggestion (1929 : 5), that AOI is related to the Old French verb aoire (‘to increase,’ from adaugere) and thus marks a line as climactic, is probably as good as any. Certainly amen, as suggested by de Mandach (1957) and approved by Brault (1978, 2:253, note to the English translation, v. 9), is quite unsatisfactory from any but a purely religious point of view.

Laisse 131 (Brault), 130 (Jenkins)

1722 Ço dist Rodlant: “Por quei me portez ire?” Roland says: “Why are you angry at me?”

Roland does not understand why Oliver is displeased and angry, and asks naïvely for the reason of his wrath.

1723 E il respunt: “Cumpainz, vos le feïstes, And he [Oliver] replies: “Companion, you did this,” or, more freely, “You brought this about,” or “This [situation] is your doing.” Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 119 Jenkins emends cumpainz ‘companion’ to com proz and takes the whole verse to mean ‘you have fought like a brave man,’ saying “Note that Oliver’s attitude towards Roland is ever one of deep respect; here, even though angry, he is constrained first to compliment his brother-in-arms for the incredible deeds of valor the other has just performed.” No: such an interpretation weakens the growing intensity of Oliver’s condemnation of Roland’s behavior, as does Brault’s translation of this verse as ‘you brought it on yourself.’ Oliver’s addressing Roland as cumpainz at this point is especially significant in contrast to his assertion that their leial cumpaignie is at an end, in v. 1735 (see below), and Jenkins’s emendation is particularly mal à propos and to be avoided.

The position of vos here, immediately after the caesura where the form would receive full phonological stress, indicates emphasis and hence tells the hearer-reader that it is a subject-pronoun, not an unstressed proclitic dative. Oliver is (in answer to the implication of v. 1718) telling Roland that he, Roland, is the one to be blamed for the disastrous situation in which the rearguard finds itself. For the emphatic function of the tonic personal pronoun, cf. Ménard (1973:72-73 [56:1]). Brault’s translation ‘you brought it on yourself’ is weak also in that it requires us to take vos as an unstressed proclitic, out of accord with the well-known limitation on the occurrence of such unstressed elements (i.e. not at the beginning of a sentence, as is the case here, since cumpainz is syntactically independent as a vocative and does not form part of what follows.)

The next word, le, is used here with reference to the overall situation, as also in v. 1677, ad icest mot l’unt Francs recumencet ‘at these words [lit. this word], the Franks began it [i.e. the battle] again). (Cf. Ménard (1973:64 [47:2].) There 120 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 is enough of the deictic force of the PRom. /íllu-/ ( Lat. illu-) left in le here to justify our translating it as ‘this.’ The verb feïstes, in the preterite, indicates that Oliver considers Roland’s actions as belonging in the past, over-and- done-with, and hence irremediable, rather than lasting into the present and therefore still subject to change. (Cf. Ménard [1973:139, 146]). Oliver’s use of the preterite, with its past punctual meaning, shows that, contrary to Brault’s assertion (1978, 1:211-12), he does indeed “accept, as do Roland and Turpin, the irreversibility of the situation.”

1724 Kar vasselage par sen nen est folie; For bravery with intelligence is not [the same as] madness;

There have been various efforts to interpret the sequence vasselage par sen as having a meaning beyond the literal sense of ‘intelligent’ or ‘sensible bravery,’ but they seem unnecessary for our understanding of vv. 1724-25. The traditional interpretation of these lines, that Oliver is berating Roland for lack of moderation and for resultant folly (estultie), seems reasonable unless we assume in advance, as does Brault, that Roland’s “foolish” behavior is to be praised as essential to his function as a Christian martyr and that the Chanson is a “paean to martyrdom” (Brault 41).

1725 Mielz valt mesure que ne fait estultie. Moderation is worth more than recklessness.

Much has been written about Roland’s démesure or lack of moderation. Most commentators have taken the position, normal since the time of Bédier, that Roland excels in physical bravery but not in wisdom and reasonable moderation, whereas Oliver is wise and prudent. In this connection it is customary to cite what appears to be a summing-up of the characters of the two men in v. 1093, Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 121 Rollant est proz e Oliver est sage, usually translated as ‘Roland is brave and Oliver is wise.’ (Cf. our final discussion in sections 6 and 7.) Whether Roland’s apparent démesure is due to an inherent tragic flaw in his psychological make-up or (as maintained by Cook [1987]) a reflection of the values of the society in which he lived and fought, may be debated but is not relevant to the question of the immediate cause of the debacle at Roncesvalles.

1726 Franceis sunt morz par vostre legerie. Franks have died through your irresponsible behavior.

In any case, as Oliver says in this verse, it is Roland’s refusal to sound his horn which Oliver characterizes as legerie or ‘an imprudent action, inspired at times by arrogance, at others by mere vivacity of spirits’ (Jenkins [19292:131-32]). That Oliver “implies that Roland must answer for the deaths of the French” at Roncesvalles (Brault [1978.1:211) is an understatement. This line constitutes a specific statement, not merely an implication, that Roland’s legerie is to blame.

Is it valid to say, as Brault does, that “[the] absence of any guilt feeling on his [Roland’s] part clearly points to the fact that he is responding to a higher moral imperative than that which prompted Oliver’s remark”? One may perhaps doubt that Roland would be justified in projecting onto the others at Roncesvalles the “higher moral imperative” which Brault ascribes to him. To what extent would one of the ordinary Frankish soldiers in that battle have regarded his and his fellow combatants’ deaths in that battle as the result of a presumed “profound sense of loyalty to [Roland’s] comrades” on Roland’s part and a good reason for the “corresponding allegiance” which Brault considers Roland 122 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 expects from his men? We may wonder how many of Roland’s soldiers would have enjoyed the role of “martyrs malgré eux” thus cast upon them in order that “the martyrdom of the French must be made to bear fruit.” (Cf. also our note 25.)

We may also query Brault’s statement (1978, 1:211) that “[the] hero will lament his fallen comrades, but nowhere will he show any sign that their loss affects his conscience. Roland evidently draws a distinction between his duty to aid and protect his men . . . and the notion of being accountable for them.” In other words, Brault seems to be suggesting that it is Roland’s duty to stand by his soldiers once they are in a disastrous situation, but not to avoid getting them into such a situation in the first place.

1727 Jamais Karlon de nus n’avrat servise. Never more will Charles have feudal service from us.

Here, as also a few lines further on in this laisse (vv. 1732-35), Oliver points out that Roland’s foolhardiness has caused Charlemagne to be deprived of his best warriors, so that henceforth they can never perform the feudal duty which they owe him, namely fighting on his behalf and that of Christianity.

1728 Sem creïsez, venuz i fust mi sire, If you had believed me, my lord would have come here,

Oliver is stating the obvious, that if Roland had recognized the validity of Oliver’s advice and had sounded the Olifant, Charlemagne would have returned to Roncesvalles. Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 123 1729 Ceste bataille oüsom faite [e] prise, This battle we would have fought [and] won,

As the fifth word in this verse, the manuscript has u (or). It makes little sense, however, to say “we would have fought or won the battle.” Jenkins and other editors emend u to e (‘and,’ which is what we would normally expect). The scribe’s error could be explained as due to anticipation of the two u’s in the following verse.

1730 U pris u mort i fust li reis Marsilie. King Marsile would have been either captured or killed in it.

Oliver is again emphasizing the good developments that would have resulted if Roland had followed his advice, in this instance the capture or death of the Saracen leader Marsile.

1731 Vostre proëce, Rollant, mar la veïmes! Your prowess, Roland, we saw it in a bad hour!

A slightly freer rendition of this verse might be ‘It was a bad hour for us, Roland, when we saw that prowess of yours!’ This is not a lament for Roland, nor is it in any way a compliment, as implied in Jenkins’s paraphrase ‘Your prowess, Roland, alas! we have seen the last of it’. The basic meaning of Old French mar(e) is ‘in a bad hour; with evil results,’ and has a negative implication with regard to whatever action is referred to by the verb it modifies. Thus, when the members of Ganelon’s retinue say to him (v. 350) tant mare fustes, they are saying in effect ‘your life came to such an unhappy end,’ with the past punctual meaning of the preterite fustes telling him and us that his existence is already over-and-done-with, and mare, that its end came in an evil or 124 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 undesirable way (a cheerful thought for someone who is about to set out on an almost certainly fatal expedition!). When used with a verb in the future tense, mar gives it a strongly negative imperative meaning, e.g., mar lo fereiz ‘in an evil hour will you do it, don’t do it!’ (cf. Tok Pisin nogud yu mekim olsem ‘don’t do it!’ with nogud ‘with undesirable results’ plus yu mekim olsem ‘do you do it or will you do it thus’). Oliver’s meaning here is clearly that Roland’s irresponsible bravery has brought catastrophe on the Franks.

There is no justification for taking veïmes as referring to Oliver alone as the speaker of this line, nor for taking it as ‘I have come to rue your prowess.’ The verb is plural and clearly refers to the entire Frankish rearguard, those already slain and their survivors. Also, ‘we have come to rue your prowess’ is by no means strong enough to render mar la veïmes ‘we saw it in an evil hour,’ as suggested above.

1732 Karles li magnes de nos n’avrat aie. Charlemagne will receive no more assistance from us.

Oliver is stating the obvious consequence of Roland’s misconceived and misapplied prowess, namely that it has deprived Charlemagne of any further assistance that he might have had from them and the other men of the rearguard had they remained alive.

1733 N’ert mais tel home desqu’a Deu juïse. There will never be such a man again until God’s judgment day.

Roland, Oliver implies, has failed to realize his own worth to Charlemagne and to the cause of France and Christianity. He has been so valiant a warrior that there will never again on this earth, from now until the Last Judgment, Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 125 be such a man—but he has needlessly thrown himself away,22 with the disastrous results set forth in vv. 1734 and 1735.

1734 Vos murrez e France en ert hunie. You will die and France will thereby be dishonored.

Roland’s coming death will be a source, not of honor and glory, but of shame for France (and therefore for Charles and Christendom), because of the disaster that Roland has brought about at Roncesvalles by refusing to sound the Olifant in time to recall the main body of the Frankish army. Roland has stated specifically, in the three laisses 83-85, that it would be shameful to blow the Olifant and call Charlemagne back—an attitude best regarded as deriving historically from Germanic shame culture (Jones [1963] and others). At this point, he is turning Roland’s own argument against him and making it clear that Roland has accomplished exactly the opposite of what he thought he was doing when he refused to call Charlemagne back.

1735 Oi nos defalt la leial compaignie. Today comes to an end our faithful companionship.

At least as far as v. 1723, Oliver has regarded Roland as his “companion” (brother-in-arms, comrade). At this point, however, he says that their faithful companionship has come to an end. Normally, there would be no reason to expect that it would do so, even after death. Archbishop Turpin has promised them that, as befits most holy martyrs (v. 1134), they will be together in Paradise (Sieges avrez el greignor Pareïs ‘you will have seats in upper Paradise’ [v. 1135]). Their companionship is coming to an end, before they die (as shown by his use of the present tense in defalt ‘comes to an end’), because Roland has done irremediable harm to 126 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Charlemagne, France and Christendom by (as he has just pointed out) needlessly throwing himself away. In other words, Oliver now considers that Roland is no longer bound to him by ties of either family alliance (he has broken off Roland’s engagement to Alda) or companionship (which Roland has destroyed by his failure to live up to his duty to his overlord, or to his men).

1736 Ainz la vespre mult ert gref la departie.” Before eventide the separation will be very grievous.”

Oliver is, naturally, very unhappy over the resultant state of affairs, and expresses his feelings on the matter in this verse. If Roland had not (at least as seen through Oliver’s eyes) “let the side down” so grievously, their separation through the death of first Oliver and then Roland, would have been brief and would have lasted only until they met again in the greignor Pareïs as Turpin had promised, and their cumpaignonage would have remained unbroken. But, rebus sic stantibus, would Roland (or, for that matter, any of the others) end up in Paradise after all? In any case, there was going to be a separation of unspecified duration, a sufficient cause for Oliver’s sadness.

It is my contention that, if we read these two laisses thoroughly and completely in their literal sense (as advised by Dante in the Convivio [II.1] and many others) before introducing any further interpretations (allegorical or otherwise), we get a gradual but complete picture of the development of Oliver’s anger, which—if we confine ourselves to its clearly defined description in the text itself—is fully justified. I know of no more total, intense and at the same time more carefully built-up condemnation in any literature. Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 127

5. HOW MANY ? It is generally agreed that there was an evolution, in the history of the Roland legend, from a view of him as primarily a warrior who led the Frankish rearguard at Roncesvalles in a heroic but eventually disastrous defeat by the Saracens, to a related but in part somewhat contradictory interpretation of his acts as those of a purely saintly person, free (from a long-range point of view) of all responsibility for the outcome of that battle. Our question, as hearer-readers, has to be, rather, what was the course of that development, and at what point therein are we to site the version given in O (and, to a large extent, in V4 as well)? Our reply will depend, to a certain extent, on our view of the stage(s) at which we consider that several elements were added to the main outline of the action, and their function (essential or ancillary?) in its development.

Chief among these elements is the long “Baligant episode” (generally viewed as extending at least from v. 2069 through v. 3674), in which the emir Baligant, summoned by Marsile, comes with an army to Saragossa and engages Charlemagne in a new battle, ending in the single combat of the two leaders and the latter’s (narrow) victory. To a considerable extent, the action of this episode parallels that of the main plot, so that one may wonder how essential it is to the poem as a whole. Some hearer-readers may consider that it is unessential and simply served to satisfy a naïve medieval audience’s desire to be told of the ultimate victory of Charlemagne and Christendom and thus to be relieved of any doubt in that regard. Others (e.g., Bédier) regard it as necessary because it moves the action from the sphere of combat between individual warriors and even nations to that of the universal conflict between Christianity and . If we hold the latter opinion, we may consider that the Baligant episode either formed part of the original legend of Roland, or was added to it very soon after its formation. If we hold the former view, we may consider “Baligant” a later addition. 128 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

The same considerations apply to other elements which are present in O, such as the compaignonage of Oliver and Roland, the stopping of the sun in its course (vv. 2449-51, 2459), and the replacement of the Basques by the Saracens. All of these have been shown to occur quite early in the development of the legend (cf. Menéndez Pidal [1959: ch. 11, especially pp. 414-15]), so that, even though we cannot ascribe specific year-dates to the addition of a particular element, we can be sure that there must have been a series of quite early accretions, and almost certainly in oral (rather than written) tradition to begin with. As is normal with oral singers of tales, each minstrel would have made his own adaptation of the story, adding elements and quite likely also omitting some, depending on his audience, the region he was performing in, and so forth. Consequently, there must have been a whole series of versions of the Roland story, almost to the point where one might say quot joculatores, tot cantiones Rolandi: ‘there were as many Songs of Roland as there were minstrels.’ According to this view, the poem preserved for us in the Oxford manuscript would have been one of these many versions—or, possibly, a combination of at least two versions. As Menéndez Pidal phrased it (1959: 113), we are dealing with “una poesía viviente y perdurable, rebelde a fijarse en una forma estática,” ‘a living and long-lasting poem, unwilling to be fixed in a static form,’ which “vivía en contínua variante, en contínua refundición,” ‘had its life in continual variation, in continual reworking,’ to which O was no exception.

From these considerations, it also follows that the successive reworkings of the legend would have presented gradually changing and developing views of Roland’s character and his relation to the action and the other personages, including God and Charlemagne. We can hypothesize at least four stages of the hero’s passage from the Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 129 role of fighter at Roncesvalles in A.D. 778 to that of pure saint:

1. The simple warrior, engaged in combat with the enemy (at first probably the real-life Basques and Muslims of the region, allied against the Frankish invader) and carrying on a heroic but foredoomed battle against superior numbers. This original Roland would have been (at least in the first ballads which simply narrated the fight as oral, local history) an almost supernaturally brave but wholly humane person.

2. The preternaturally brave fighter, with strength given him not only by his own innate qualities but also by a special divine grace, so that he might be seen as not only Charlemagne’s, but also God’s defender against the infidels, the latter being seen as not mere “local yokels” but representatives of Hispanic pagandom in general. This Roland would, however, still have had an essentially human and hence fallible character, because of which he could make mistakes in judgment for which he might legitimately be criticized. At this stage, he is also considerably more courtly in his behavior and speech than in his manifestations as Roland-1.

3. From being brave but human, as just suggested, Roland would have acquired more and more features of supernatural saintliness, so that when his defeat and death were imminent, they would be foretold by special meteorological and seismological phenomena (vv. 1423-27): rain, hail, windstorms, thunder, lightning, earthquakes, darkness at noon. It is not, as some think, the end of the world, but 130 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Ço est li granz dulors por la mort de Rollant It is the great lament for the death of Roland (v. 1437) The similarity with the events accompanying the death of Christ on the cross, as reported in Matthew 27 and Luke 23, is obvious.

4. In the period following the approximate date of O (ca. A.D. 1100), Roland came to be regarded less and less as a warrior-hero, and more and more as a saint and martyr for the cause of Christendom, to the point of total sanctification in the Pseudo-Turpin Chronicle and in the Ruolantslied. Seen from this angle, his character had no fault, and hence no blame could attach to any of his actions, no matter how unwise they might seem from a purely earthly point of view. (For typographical convenience, we shall refer to these four conceptions of the hero as Roland-1, Roland-2, Roland-3 and Roland-4.)

It is my contention that, in O at least, we have a portrayal of the hero as a mixture of Roland-2 and Roland-3, resulting from the presence of laisses from two or more linguistic strata (cf. above, section 3)—two Rolands, as it were, therefore, in response to our query at the beginning of this section, who are not always reconcilable with each other, and who reflect the two intermediate stages of development just discussed. They are both too far along to be regarded as embodying the original simple warrior Roland-1 (the enfes portrayed in Aspremont,23 with no hint of a saintly vocation), but by no means the faultless, blameless Roland-4 of the ultimate sanctification. In Girart de Vienne, we have him as Roland-2, and even (on his first contact with Alda, vv. 3401-68) as Roland-1, in his very unsaintly effort at abduction. Thereafter, he is further along in his development and subject to change in his attitudes toward both Oliver and Alda.24 However, he is not yet anything more than a doughty Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 131 fighter of the pagans, and with only a statement by the author Bertrand that Roland and his peers will die at Roncesvalles—but still with no hint of saintliness.25

The “split personality” of the Roland in O is evident above all in certain pairs of laisses where he appears in one to be acting in accord with a much ruder and less civilized code of behavior than in the other. This contrast is most evident in laisse 59 as contrasted with laisses 60-61, which contain irreconcilable speeches ascribed to Roland when he responds to his stepfather Ganelon’s nomination of him to the rearguard. In vv. 752-54, Roland is represented as speaking to Ganelon “a lei de chevaler,” ‘after the fashion of a knight,’ i.e., in a courtly manner:

Sire padrastre, mult vos dei aver cher, La rereguarde avez sor mei jugiet. Sir stepfather, I must hold you in high esteem, [For] you have nominated me to the rearguard.

He then goes on to assert that Charlemagne’s baggage train will be well defended and safe, to which Ganelon replies “Veir dites, jol sai bien,” ‘You speak truly, I know it well.’

The verses of this laisse assonate in accordance with the latest stratum of phonological development, having the diphthong ie (from earlier stressed open /é/ before /n/) in two lines (vv. 755 and 760), in the midst of other lines which have stressed /æ/, spelled e, from stressed /á/ in free syllables before a non-nasal consonant.

In the two following laisses (nos. 60 and 61), however, we find assonances of an earlier type: in laisse 60, straight /a/ (e.g., rereguarde, padrastre) together with /ái/ in 132 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 aire and in laisse 61, /o/ before a nasal (/barón/ barun, etc.) and also before non-nasal (plort). Thus we have: Quant ot Rollant qu’il ert en la rereguarde, Ireement parlat a sun padrastre: “Ahi! culvert, malvais hom de put aire, “Quias le guant me caïst en la place, “Cume fist a tei le bastun devant Charle?” ‘When Roland heard that he would be in the rearguard, He spoke angrily to his stepfather: “Ah, scoundrel, wicked man of base lineage, “Did you think the glove would fall from my hand on the spot, “As the staff fell from yours in front of Charles?”’

In the laisse immediately preceding no. 59, we find an assonance in straight /a/, which we cannot assign to either an earlier or a later linguistic stratum on the basis of phonological development alone. From the semantic point of view, however, both laisse 58 and laisses 60-61 belong to a decidedly more primitive level of culture and thematic development. In these laisses, Roland and Charlemagne are both already cognizant of Ganelon’s evil nature and intent. In laisse 58 (vv. 746-47), Charlemagne says to Ganelon, after the latter has nominated his stepson Roland to the rearguard,

“Vos estes vis diables, “El cors vos est entree mortel rage!” “You are a living devil, “Deadly anger has entered your body!”

From this observation of Charlemagne’s we must deduce that Ganelon has accompanied his nomination of “Rolland, cist miens fillastre” (‘Roland, this stepson of mine’) with appropriate voice qualifiers and at least facial Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 133 contortions indicating contempt, hostility and the like. This minor aspect of the sequence, shown in vv. 746-47, is further evidence of an earlier conception of the Roland-Ganelon relationship, one of previously existing mutual hatred, in confirmation of that embodied in laisses 60 and 61 as we have just pointed out. It seems clear that laisse 59, with its presentation of Roland as speaking “in knightly fashion” to Ganelon and thanking his stepfather quite sincerely for the nomination to the rearguard, is an interpolation in the midst of a series of laisses which belong both phonologically and semantically to an earlier stratum. This interpolation gives a view of Roland-3 which is definitely out of harmony with the picture of Roland-2 contained in the preceding and following material. It is, therefore, quite out of the question to consider (as did Bédier, for instance, and some others) that laisse 59 could be by the same author as laisses 58 and 60-612. The two strata represented in this sequence simply cannot be reconciled.

This is by no means the only passage in which this duality of authorship is evidenced by both phonological and semantic characteristics of the text. Among others, we may mention laisses 40 and 41, in both of which the Saracen King Marsile questions Ganelon about Charlemagne, with laisse 40 showing assonance entirely in /æ/ and with a rather more naïve and primitive approach to the subject matter than laisse 41, which mixes /æ/ and /ié/. Of the three laisses (83-85) in which Oliver urges Roland to sound the horn Olifant and call Charlemagne to return, the first (83) assonates entirely in /o/ and hence is indeterminate as to its stratum; the second (84) is older, being entirely in /æ/; and the third (85) is later, mixing the developments of /en/ and /an/. This is one of the several instances of laisses similaires in O in which much the same material is repeated in two or three successive stanzas evidencing different linguistic strata. In connection with these phenomena of repetition, we should at least mention the 134 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 observation of the late Prof. Galen Kline,26 of Virginia Polytechnic Institute, that O is in a way similar to a modern pop singer’s “fake book” offering a performer a choice of several variants for a song or part of one. According to this theory, we should perhaps speak of the “compiler” of O, rather than of a “remanieur” or “last redactor.“27

Returning to the question asked at the beginning of this section: there are at least two Rolands portrayed in O, whom we have referred to as Roland-2 and Roland-3. The latter is more in evidence in the long drawn-out death sequence (laisses 163- 75), vv. 2215-2396), but even there the hagiographic element is mixed with the military-feudal, in Roland’s attempts to preserve his sword Durendal and the Olifant from the Saracens (laisses 167-72, vv. 2259-354) and in his surrendering of himself, as symbolized by his glove, to God, after feudal custom (vv. 2365, 2373 and 2389-90):

Sun destre guant a Deu en puroffrit, Seit Gabriel de sa main l’ad pris. ‘He proffered his right gauntlet unto God, Saint Gabriel took it from his hand.’

In any case, we are not justified in seeing, even in these laisses describing Roland’s last hours on earth, a portrayal of him as Roland-4, the pure and saintly hero who presumably never erred nor was to blame in any matter. In O we have come quite a distance beyond Roland-1, the warrior-hero and nothing else, but at the same time we have not yet arrived at Roland-4, the object of martyrology and hagiography as portrayed, say, in the Pseudo-Turpin Chronicle and the Middle High German Ruolantslied.28

At no point in O does Roland either speak or behave in the manner of one who regards himself as a wholly religiously-oriented saint or martyr, or expects to be regarded Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 135 as such. His words and actions are those of a brave, daring fighting man, who (as we learn in the end) places excessive trust in his ability to defeat his enemies on this earth. Roland’s only fear is that he may seem to be a coward and thereby “lose face” (“en dulce France en perdreie mun los” ‘in fair France I would thereby lose my good name,’ v. 1054). He is afraid of the mockery embodied in satirical songs: “Or guart chascuns. . . . Que malvaise cançun de nos chantet ne seit” ‘Now let everyone see to it . . . that nasty songs shall not be sung about us’ (vv. 1013-14); “Tantes batailles en avum afinees / Male chançun n’en deit estre cantee” ‘We have finished so many battles successfully with them [our swords]; / A bad song must not be sung about them’ (vv. 1465- 66). It is this fear that has caused him to reject Charlemagne’s offer of half his army to fight back the Saracens’ attack (laisse 63: “Deus me cunfunde, se la geste en desment” ‘May God put me to shame, if I thereby disgrace my family’ (v. 788),29 and to refuse three times (laisses 83, 84, 85) to sound the Olifant and call Charlemagne back in time (cf. above, à propos of v. 1733 and note 22).

Here we have no trace of the saint and martyr whom we have labeled Roland-4. We are dealing with a mixture of the two intermediate Rolands, our nos. 2 and 3, for whom it is our task, as textual and literary critics, to separate and distinguish from each other.

6. IS OLIVER INSANE? In his treatment of the Roland- Oliver quarrel and especially of Oliver’s severe reproaches to Roland in laisse 131 (Jenkins 130), Brault (1978, 1: 209-14) comments with increasingly negative judgments on Oliver’s criticisms of Roland’s actions. The customary critical reaction to the debate between the two heroes has been to agree with Oliver’s view of the matter, seeing in his observations a justified condemnation of Roland’s excessive self-confidence, for which the term démesure (‘lack of 136 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 measure, lack of balance’) has become customary. Oliver’s observations are usually considered to be well-founded and applicable to the situation: “Kar vasselage par sens nen est folie; / Mielz valt mesure que ne fait estoltie. / Franceis sunt morz par vostre legerie” ‘For bravery with intelligence is not madness; / Moderation is worth more than recklessness. / Franks have died through your irresponsible behavior.’ Roland has thought to avoid disgrace by a demonstration of daring and brave deeds; but his misapplied prowess needlessly deprived Charlemagne of his and the other twenty thousand men’s services and thereby brought shame on France.

Brault, however, interprets the situation in the opposite fashion, considering Roland to be wholly blameless, without responsibility for the disaster at Roncesvalles. “Roland has no fault or flaw and makes no mistake,” Brault tells us (1978, 1: xiii). In his accusations in laisse 131, Oliver “becomes increasingly distraught and . . . gives every sign of mental aberration” (1978, 1: 212), deliberately distorting the reasons given earlier by Roland by interpreting them literally, e.g., blaming Roland for the deaths of his men, “disregarding the fact that it was Ganelon who caused the disaster and the Saracens who brought it about” (1978, 1: 212). (Rather, they had laid the foundations for the catastrophe, but Roland’s refusal of help was its immediate cause, that which triggered the actual event.) Brault considers that Oliver’s accusing Roland of folly is “a ploy which masks his own incipient madness” (1978, 1: 212). Then Brault brings in Oliver’s sister Alda in a comparison with Lady Macbeth’s vision of bloody hands, and says, “After more accusations Oliver again, in a complete non sequitur, abruptly mentions Alda. It is as if, transfixed with horror, he could see Alda lying in Roland’s bloody embrace” (1978, 1: 212). In his discussion, Brault goes back from laisse 131 to laisse 129 and Oliver’s telling Roland “Ja avez vos amsdous les braz sanglanz” ‘You Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 137 already have both your arms bloody’ (v. 1711). Brault neglects the tense (future!) of the verb in “Ja mais ne jerreiez” ‘You will never lie,’ which refers to some undefined point of time to come, not at all descriptive of the present situation at Roncesvalles. He also confuses the reference to Roland’s arms in v. 1711 with that of Alda’s in v. 1721. Who is engaging in non sequitur: Oliver in the poem, or the modern critic?

No: to turn the situation on its head in this way, to regard Roland as blameless and Oliver as a victim of mental aberration, we have to introduce the conception of Roland-4 from outside the poem, in which, as we have just seen, there is no evidence at all of Roland’s being a pure, blameless martyr in the situations and actions it portrays. To view the Roland-2 and Roland-3 of the Chanson itself as if he were Roland-4, the modern critic must read into the actual text a body of preconceptions and an outlook which may be more or less distantly relevant (according to his own personal view of the matter), but which require us to distort the actual information available in the text itself rather drastically in order to make it fit into the critic’s Procrustean bed.30

7. CONCLUSION. The Chanson de Roland, as preserved for us in O, is indeed a masterwork, especially valuable because it is a document of transition in more than one respect. In O, as we have just seen, the character of Roland is shown as approximately halfway between the conceptions of the hero as warrior-martyr (our Roland-2) and as a martyr-warrior (our Roland-3), affording a valuable view of the development of the legend at a crucial stage.31 The Oxford Roland, in its attestation of at least three linguistic strata (as shown by S. Farrier [1985]), gives evidence of the ongoing differentiation of Old French, especially Norman, from the rest of the Gallo-Romance varieties circa A.D. 1100. 138 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 From a more long-term point of view, it is customary for literary and cultural historians to consider that the medieval European literatures begin, rather surprisingly, with masterpieces like the Old French Chanson de Roland and the Old Spanish Cantar de myo Çid. This phenomenon is perhaps not so surprising if we regard them as not only the beginnings of modern literatures, but also the last survivors (fortunately noted down for posterity) of a long line of oral masterpieces of which, through the very nature of orality, we have no record and concerning which we can at best make only surmises based on indirect evidence.32

Likewise, from the viewpoint of political history, the conflict of loyalties in Ganelon’s and Roland’s relation to each other and to Charlemagne arises from a change in the duty of a vassal to his overlord which was taking place just at this time. Is Ganelon entitled to seek vengeance against his fellow vassal Roland (with whom he is on an equal or “horizontal” plane in feudal relationships) even to the detriment of their common superior Charlemagne (the older view), or does his pursuit of his private vendetta constitute a violation of “vertical” duty to his overlord and hence treason against the king and the state? This topic has been discussed repeatedly in commentaries on the Roland, most recently by Haidu (1993).

So far as our main topic is concerned (the Oliver- Roland quarrel), it seems to me that, in the light of the entire text itself, without a priori considerations imported from outside, the customary interpretation of the famous line 1093 (“Rollant est proz e Oliver est sage”) as equally favorable to both heroes is valid. We may perhaps render it a trifle freely as ‘Roland is brave and daring, and Oliver is intelligent and commonsensical.’ Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 139 NOTES

1 The version known as O, i.e. the manuscript surviving in a single copy preserved at the Bodleian Library of the University of Oxford.

2 I follow Jenkins and others in rendering both Franc and Franceis as ‘Frank,’ rather than ‘Frenchman,’ to avoid the excessively modern connotations of the latter translation. Unfortunately, it is not possible to do likewise with France, since the appropriate form Francia could have connotations ranging from earliest medieval times down to our own day. 3 The two best-known editions of O differ in their numbering of the laisses in this passage. The references given here are to Brault’s edition (1978). The reader who is using Jenkins’s edition (1924 or 19292) should subtract one from the numbers of the laisses. 4 This episode, with the sound of the horn as its central motif, has remained down the centuries as an element of romantic sentiment—most famously, perhaps, in Alfred de Vigny’s poem Le Cor ‘The Horn,’ with its final line “Dieu! Que le son du Cor est triste au fond des bois!” ‘God! How sad is the sound of the Horn, deep in the forest!’

5 In medieval times, the Roland and similar epic poems, short or long, were sung by minstrels to audiences, especially at courts and in public places. A fragment of the melody to which at least some of the lines of the Roland were sung has been preserved. 6 I am basing my discussion principally on the two outstanding editions of the Oxford Roland with English commentary: that of Jenkins (1925, 19292) and that of Brault (1978). So far as transcription is concerned, my personal preference would have been to quote the text in Jenkins’s normalized form, but I am using the punctuated direct transcription given by Brault, both for typographical convenience and because the latter (or an approximation thereto) is far more widely known, and its use avoids controversy over the problem of normalization in general (as practiced also by Gaston Paris, Karl Bartsch and others). 7 This usage is based on the interpretation given by most discussants to the final line of O (v. 4002): Ci falt la geste que Turoldus declinet, taking declinet to mean ‘tells, narrates, recounts.’ Jenkins’s interpretation (19292: xxiii, lx, 279-80) of the last three words as ‘for Turoldus is in poor health’ (as a reason for stopping the story at this point), although seductive, has not won general acceptance. 140 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

8 As is well known, there are differences between the position and numbering of certain laisses as between the Oxford version and others, some of which are followed by Jenkins in his edition (on semantic and other grounds), thus introducing an inevitable discrepancy between his edition and that of Brault. We follow the latter, for the reasons set forth in note 1. 9 The name of Roland does not begin to be mentioned in the Latin chronicles which recount the story of the defeat at Roncesvalles until considerably later, whether as part of an official “cover-up” of that disaster (as suggested by Ruggieri [1936] ) or not. 10 Cf. especially Lejeune (1950). 11 Preserved, as the name indicates, at The Hague (Netherlands); cf. Aebischer (1957). 12 Cf. Alonso (1954). 13 Cf. the basic works of Parry (1930) and Lord (1960) and (for the Roland) Duggan (1973). 14 Cf. Farrier (1985), especially Chapters 2 (“Linguistic Dating”) and 3 (“Distinctions among the Strata”) and Farrier (1988). 15 Cf. Farrier (1985: 81-97). 16 I use, in this connection, /æ/ as a “cover-symbol” which can represent varying non-phonemically distinctive sounds, ranging from a low- to a mid-front non-rounded vowel sound. Following what seems to me the phonetically well-founded view of Nyrop (19143: 171 [pp. 188-89]), I conceive of the development as having passed from long [a:] through a process of gradual fronting to long [æ:] and thence to long open [e:] and (later, in some dialects, to long close [ê:], with length rather than tongue- height or tension becoming the significant distinctive feature. 17 Cf. Farrier (1985: 101). 18 For the middle and latest strata, cf. Farrier (1985: 102). 19 Such thoughts are not unsurprising, in view of the well-known fact that, in hard physical combat, men get very excited sexually—as witness especially the prevalence of rape committed by the soldiers of a conquering army immediately following the capture of a city and its female inhabitants. 20 There is still a further possibility, in view of the assonance in this laisse. Inasmuch as it manifests a characteristic of the earliest linguistic stratum of the poem, the assonance of /a/ before nasal consonance (blasme ‘blame’) with /a/ before non-nasal (barbe ‘beard’, brace ‘arms’, etc.), its semantics may justifiably also be taken to represent an earlier, less refined stage of culture. From both points of view, it is not Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 141 impossible that brace may have been a replacement for an earlier and even more explicit term, one containing nasalized /ã/, which would also have fitted the assonance and which would have been equally or still more appropriate after the preposition entre (between). 21 Cf. the references given in Brault 1978: 2.253. 22 A modern parallel might be the insistence of some ideologues that women airplane-pilots in the military should be permitted to risk their lives in combat, thereby depriving society of women’s essential and hence far more important services as the only ones who can continue humankind. 23 Both Aspremont and Girart de Vienne are of course later works than O, but the picture they give of the pre-Roncesvalles Roland corresponds fairly well to what must be hypothesized concerning the overall developments of his character in legend and epic tradition. Naturally, they do not justify any inferences as to the date and details of the transmission of the story. Girart de Vienne contains numerous episodes which make the reader-hearer smile, and may very likely have been Bertrand’s additions to the main body of the Roland legend. 24 Note that in both these relationships, both Oliver and Alda become hostile to Roland at their respective first meetings: when Roland has captured Oliver’s sparrow-hawk (vv. 2780-2851), and when Roland attempts to abduct Alda (vv. 3401-68). Their enmity continues when Roland and Oliver fight in the battle between Charlemagne’s army and Girart’s over the quintaine (vv. 3196-3666), and when Alda shouts reproaches at Roland for having killed Poinçon (vv. 3667-73). For a time, Roland and Alda flirt with each other (vv. 4636-98) and feel mutual attraction. Later, in the single combat between Roland and Oliver (vv. 5207-5870), it becomes evident that the two heroes are equal in bravery, nobility and generosity. Each comes more and more to respect the other and Alda prays long and earnestly for both (vv. 5680-5722). Responding to Charlemagne’s prayer, God sends an angel commanding them to cease their duel and to fight the Saracens in Spain, for which their souls become compaignons, and establish their bond of compaignonnage (vv. 5934-70). Roland and Alda are formally affianced by Charlemagne, but their marriage (vv. 6800-30) is never consummated because Roland and the rest of Charlemagne’s host are immediately called away (vv. 6831-6928) for what we learn in the Chanson de Roland is to be a seven years’ war. Their time together as an engaged couple is very brief indeed, consisting only of the festive gathering at which their fiançailles are announced. We may note en passant, that Alda is both a romantic, glamorous heroine and a daring fighter. When she hurls a rock down from 142 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 the battlements, smashing a Gascon’s head to smithereens (vv. 4629-34), she is to be compared to the cartoonist Fontaine Fox’s doughty “powerful Katrinka,” a worthy mate for the invincible hero Roland-2. 25 Martyrdom is indeed mentioned in Girart de Vienne, but only in a general way. The angel who appears to Roland and Oliver promises that both will have “verai pardon” and will go to Paradise (vv. 5917-20). An unnamed archbishop (presumably Turpin) promises absolution from their sins to all who willingly go to war against the pagans (vv. 6876-84). There is no suggestion that Roland will be singled out for special saintliness or martyrdom. 26 Communicated to me personally some years ago. I have not been able to find any trace of a bibliographical reference to his having published this idea anywhere. 27 In favor of this notion we might perhaps emphasize the fact that O is, as is well known, a (comparatively speaking) pocket-size “minstrel’s copy” (Jenkins [19292: 4, note to v. 9]), serving as an aide-mémoire, not only (if at all) in performance, but also in preparatory review. 28 It is worth pointing out en passant that the only occurrence of the word martir is in vv. 1134-35, where Archbishop Turpin promises the entire rearguard “Se vos murez, esterez seinz martir / Sieges avrez el greignor Pareïs” ‘If you die, you will be holy martyrs; you will have seats in the highest Paradise.’ In the four occurrences of the word martirie (vv. 591, 695, 1166, 1467) it means ‘slaughter,’ not ‘martyrdom.’ The men of the rearguard are sometimes described as “volunteers,” but in laisse 64, the only ones who volunteer for the rearguard are the twelve Peers and Walter of the Hum, who then choose the remaining twenty thousand (v. 802). We are not told whether they all offer to go of their own free will, or whether some or all are “volunteered.” Is it permissible to wonder whether they all enjoy becoming des martyrs malgré eux in a situation which was not part of their original feudal duty? (Cf. also our remarks à propos of v. 1726.) See also v. 1863, in which Roland apostrophizes the rearguard, saying “Barons franceis, pur mei vos vie murir,” with an ambiguous use of the preposition pur. Does the sentence mean ‘on account of me, i.e. because of what I have done’? Some commentators favor one interpetation, some the other. 29 Old French geste could refer to one’s family, the army of which one was a part, the military expedition on which one was engaged, or one’s nation. In a passage like this, it may have had any one of these meanings, or may be taken to evoke more than one of them at the same time. Hall / A Roland for an Oliver 143

30 This is not to say that an individual’s or a generation’s understanding of a particular passage or of an entire work of literature may not acquire special relevance from their own experience of a newly arisen situation or from a previously neglected factor. Thus, in the autumn of 1940, in the light of the recent “fall of France,” v. 1806 (“De ço qui calt? Car demuret i unt trop” ‘Who cares about that? [= colloquial “So what?”] They have tarried too long’) and a parallel rhetorical question in vv. 1840-41 acquired a freshness and an intensity of meaning from current events. Likewise, the treatment, not only of individuals and groups, but even of entire nations as “expendable” (e.g., Finland in 1940 and the Baltic states in 1944-45) afforded a new base for seeing Ganelon’s perception of his own situation (laisse 58) vis-à-vis the Twelve Peers in a similar light (cf. Hall [1961]). 31 I am not the first by any means (cf. for instance Whitehead [1966] and others) to call this to scholars’ attention, but Susan Farrier (1985, 1988) was the first to make the point on the basis of a thorough study of all the linguistic evidence present in the text itself. Her demonstration of the existence and importance of these linguistic differences has not yet received the recognition it deserves. 32 The best overall discussion of the entire problem of orality and literacy from a pan-cultural point of view is Ong (1983); cf. also Hall (1984).

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Aebischer, Paul. “Le fragment de la Haye: les problèmes qu’il pose et les enseignements qu’il donne.” Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie 73 (1957): 20-27. Alighieri, Dante. “Il Convivio.” Opere. Edizione critica della Società Dantesca Italiana. Firenze: Sansoni, 1921. Alonso, Dámaso. “La primitiva épica francesa a la luz de una Nota Emilianense.” Revista de Filología Española 37 (1954): 1-94. Brandin, Louis, ed. La Chanson d’Aspremont, chanson de geste du XIIe siècle. CFMA. 2nd edition. 2 vols. Paris: Champion, 1924-25. Brault, Gérard J., ed. The Song of Roland: An Analytical Edition. 2 vols. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State UP, 1978. Cook, Robert Francis. The Sense of The Song of Roland. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1987. Duggan, Joseph J. The Song of Roland: Formulaic Style and Poetic Craft. Berkeley: U of California P, 1973. Farrier, Susan E. A Linguistic Dating of the Oxford Chanson de Roland. Diss. Cornell U, 1985. 144 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 ---. 1988. “A Linguistic Dating of the Oxford Chanson de Roland and Stylistic Analysis of the Resultant Strata.” Olifant 13.1 (1988): 3- 28. Haidu, Peter. The Subject of Violence: The Song of Roland and the Birth of the State. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1993. Hall, Robert A., Jr. “On Individual Authorship in the Roland.” Symposium 15 (1961): 297-301. ---. Review of Ong (l983). Language 60 (1984): 625-30. Jenkins, Thomas Atkinson, ed. La Chanson de Roland: Oxford Version. New York: Heath, 1924. (Revised edition, 1929. Reprint, Watkins Glen, N.Y: American Heritage Foundation, 1978, with supplementary bibliography by Gérard J. Brault.) Jones, George Fenwick. The Ethos of The Song of Roland. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1963. Lejeune, Rita. “La naissance du couple littéraire ‘Roland et Olivier.’” Mélanges Henri Grégoire, vol. 2. Bruxelles: Institut de philologie et d’histoire orientales et slaves, 1950. 371-401. Lord, Albert B. The Singer of Tales. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1960. Mandach, André de. “The so-called ‘AOI’ in the Chanson de Roland.” Symposium 11 (1957): 303-15. Ménard, Philippe. Syntaxe de l’ancien français. Manuel du français du Moyen Age, vol. 6. Bordeaux: Sobodi, 1973. Nyrop, Kristoffer. Grammaire historique de la langue française. Troisième édition revue et corrigée. Copenhague: Gyldendalske, 1914. Ong, Walter J. Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. New York: Methuen, 1983. Parry, Milman. “Studies in the Epic Technique of Oral Verse-Making: I. Homer and Homeric Style.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 41 (1930): 73-147. Ruggieri, Ruggero M. Il processo di Gano nella “Chanson de Roland.” Firenze: Sansoni, 1936. Van Emden, Wolfgang, ed. Girart de Vienne, par Bertrand de Bar-sur- Aube. Paris: SATF, 1977. Whitehead, Frederick. “L’ambiguïté de Roland.” Studi in onore di Italo Siciliano 2 (Firenze: Olschki, 1966):1203-12. Notes on Reality and Improbability in Gordon Knott

Returning to the world of Fierabras studies after an absence of many years, I was surprised, when I reviewed the records, to discover the comparative paucity of work between the late 1950s and 1980: somehow, one had expected more. But this deficiency has been made up for to some extent by the volume of work which has flowed from the pen of M. de Mandach, and I have read with great interest a number of his writings, in particular his La Geste de Fierabras—le jeu du réel et de l’invraisemblable (Geneva: Droz, 1987). All references to de Mandach’s work in these notes are to page numbers in that monograph.

My interest is that of one who, albeit unknown to de Mandach when he wrote, did attempt a critical edition,1 based on ms. E of Fierabras, and who, over the years which this task occupied, came to form fairly clear views of his own. These had reference to the filiation of the manuscripts, the historical sources of the poem, its geographical provenance, its authorship, and many other matters, and were, of course, based on the information available at that time. My primary concerns then were perforce textual, and intensive archive research was out of the question, illuminating and fascinating as it might have been; nevertheless, one inevitably acquired some insight into the difficulties of a tradition both oral and written, in which historical facts were inextricably jumbled with and poetic invention. This problem has been tackled by a number of scholars, in particular von Richthofen,2 and, with particular reference to Spain in the geography of the epic, Várvaro.3 My own experience, coupled with a reading of their later ideas, has left me with a certain degree of caution in these matters, which I am not inclined to abandon. I have also to acknowledge an enormous 146 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 debt to my friend Professor Colin Smith, who has not merely encouraged me to return to studies which I had long abandoned, but has furnished me with a number of very profitable hints and suggestions and some sound and benevolent criticism.

It may be useful, in order to set the scene very barely, to outline very briefly what I understand by various key terms used in this article.

The Vulgate

By this I describe, as others have done in the past, the six complete or near complete manuscripts which contain the verse French Fierabras approximately as we know it from the one published edition, that of Kroeber and Servois, dating from 1860. These are:

A Bibliothèque Nationale, f.fr. 12603

B Bibliothèque Nationale, f.fr. 1499

E Real Biblioteca de El Escorial, M III. 21

H Niedersächsische Landesbibliothek, Hanover, IV, 578

L British Library, Reg. 15 E VI

V Vatican Library, Regina 1616.

They are indicated throughout by these abbreviations, which are those generally used.

The term excludes the heavily reduced version contained in British Library ms. Egerton 3028, the various verse and prose versions in other languages, and, for practical Knott / Notes on Reality and Improbability 147 purposes, the tiny fragments surviving at Metz, Namur, Strasbourg and elsewhere. The Vulgate is, essentially, that body of manuscripts on which any editor must draw for an edition or a presentation (to use a term of the late Professor R. C. Johnston) of any text of the Old French verse Fierabras.

The Diptyque littéraire

This is a term historically used to describe the two poems of Fierabras and the Destruction of Rome as they appear in ms. H, and also, in abbreviated form, in ms. Egerton 3028. The events of the Destruction of Rome precede chronologically those of Fierabras and may indeed represent some of the original core story, but there is neither general agreement as to whether the two poems as presented in H represent the original, dual form, nor whether the Destruction (which is by a different hand in the manuscript) was added in a later version as a sort of explanatory prologue. My own preference is for the latter view, that of de Mandach is for the former.

The Mutation brusque or Sport

This is a Darwinian concept used by de Mandach to account for the appearance, in forms which one would not have expected, of new, differing versions of Fierabras. Starting from a putative, original “version blanche,” colors of increasing intensity are used to denote versions at increasing distance from the original. This, of course, does away with the need to construct orthodox stemmata, and the dangers of constructing stemmata where a verse and prose tradition of such complexity is concerned are indeed very great. It is all too easy to assume that manuscripts have followed some kind of definable written tradition—that one manuscript must have 148 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 been copied from some other—whereas in fact all sorts of other interventions, scribal, oral and cultural, may well have taken place en route to the versions we have. Nevertheless, the question of the development of the Fierabras tradition is one that has preoccupied many scholars, and it is not by accident that discussion of the manuscripts, their affiliations and their ramifications occupied eighty-five pages of the introduction to my unpublished text. But I think that I still tend to prefer something more systematic, which does impose the obligation to seek connections and sources, while recognizing very clearly the limitations which will always be imposed by the eccentricity of and the lacunae in the material to hand.

Dating

Here, “dating” refers to attempts to set some kind of date for the composition of the “original” version of the poem. Again, there is no general agreement on this date, whether the evidence adduced is linguistic, metrical, or historical. My own view is that a date of composition before the second half of the twelfth century is highly unlikely, and that we may even be looking at any date up to 1225. I have not had the advantage as yet of seeing Dr. M. J. Ailes’s recent work on this, but I gather from verbal communication with her that her conclusions are somewhat similar. De Mandach, however, opts for a dating at the end of the eleventh century and very close to the events he believes the poem describes. One cannot fail to be impressed by the huge erudition and the enthusiasm displayed by de Mandach in treating of his subject; the detail of much of the intensive archive and chronicle research is most striking. Nevertheless, the further one reads, the more one has the impression that the vast amount of historical and geographical fact assembled is in reality only relevant if one accepts certain données which de Knott / Notes on Reality and Improbability 149 Mandach regards as virtually incontrovertible. These are, principally, that: a) The date of composition of the original Fierabras is close to the events he believes it describes.

(b) These events and their geographical location can be precisely identified.

(c) The author of the original can be precisely identified.

(d) The development of the poem follows a pattern of mutations or “sports”; and

(e) These, too, can be clearly described.

(f) The clue to this identification lies, not in the “Vulgate” manuscripts, but in the prose versions of Bagnyon and Piamonte in French and Spanish, and in the Provençal verse manuscript.

(g) Fierabras and the Destruction of Rome, which appear together in only one of the Vulgate manuscripts, represent an original diptyque littéraire.

These are formidable assertions, many of them highly questionable, which require a large-scale critique that few might wish to undertake—although I am sure that it would be well worth doing. In the meantime, however, I find myself troubled by two or three features of de Mandach’s case, and by certain of the methods used to support it. The first of these is the apparent need to impose order and certainty on what is undeniably a chaotic scene, a veritable plum pudding of historical, legendary, magical, religious and many other ingredients. I do not quite understand this desire, which seems to me to add nothing to our appreciation of the pudding. There is virtue at times, confronted with a work in this kind of tradition, in doubt and imprecision, rather than 150 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 assertive certainty. Following from this, I have to admit that de Mandach’s blinding certainties are not always so self-evident to me: the facts assembled do not always appear to lead in an inexorable chain to the conclusions drawn. De Mandach has made extensive use of the Darwinian metaphor of the “sport” in his view of the development of the “geste de Fierabras,” but the use of scientific metaphors seems to me to impose a duty to employ scientific method. Lastly, one has the sensation that much of the factual reality contains everything except the vital fact which would link it firmly and incontrovertibly to the improbable world of Fierabras. Without this, without the stamp of proof, theories must remain conjectural in the long run. As an illustration in microcosm of my misgivings, there follow a number of notes, two on place names, three on personal names, in Fierabras; in addition to these, there is a brief discussion of de Mandach’s identification of the author of Fierabras with Wautier I, châtelain of Douai. These touch only in passing on the greater ideas which lie behind them, but they may serve to indicate the nature of my sense of unease.

Agalafre (Galafre)

A glance at Langlois4 or Moisan5 will show that this name is not an uncommon one for Saracens in the Old French epic, although none of the other examples refer to a ; Galafre is variously a Saracen, a king or an emir. According to de Mandach (50-51), the giant who guards the bridge of Mautrible (E Maltrble) or Mantible (this form being a peculiarity of the French and Spanish prose versions, and one tiny Panamanian verse only) derives his name from the Arabic halâf, meaning the Salix aegyptiaca or Egyptian willow. Thus, de Mandach says, a man of great stature could acquire this nickname by analogy with the great tree. Al calaf, or simply calaf, could transform itself into Algalafre. Knott / Notes on Reality and Improbability 151 There are slight problems with this hypothesis. The Egyptian willow’s normal height is not greater than fifteen feet,6 although it may rarely achieve thirty feet. In fact it is simply a large shrub; to call a very large man after it would be rather like nicknaming a heavyweight boxing champion Hazel.

Again, the Salix aegytiaca, apart from a couple of introductions in botanical gardens, is unknown in Western Europe or north-west Africa, although it extends eastward from Egypt. There is no record of its having been introduced to Iberia by the Arabs in their incursions into the peninsula. It would be unknown to the indigenous population, to the French, and probable to most, if not all, of the Arabs. This being the case, it is not likely to have had any significance at all for any of them of the kind that de Mandach supposes.

As long ago as 1874, Milá y Fontanals7 proposed an alternative derivation from El Fehri, the name given to the Emir Jusuf, charged in AD 746 with putting down anarchy in Arab Spain. Although the time gap is wide, this is if anything rather more plausible.

But of course there remains the possibility that the name is not of Arab provenance at all; I am inclined to believe that Algalafre or Galafre, like Golishan and Gologros, is the giant Goliath, who “became the synonym for a dangerous, preferably heathen, adversary, even as Mahomet became the symbol for an idol.“8

We shall probably never know, but the Egyptian willow certainly provides no solutions.

Bramimonde 152 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 I find it difficult to understand the attention paid by de Mandach to (pp. 71, 73, 75, 77). The name does not in fact appear in any of the Vulgate manuscripts. The two lines in ms. E which he italicizes (lines 2185-86 in my text) do not appear in any other manuscript:

Ke Sorramonde fist de la chartre geter Lui et ses compaignons en sa chartre aorner

They are a unique reading, and Sorramonde (and I think it is a double r) is clearly visible to the naked eye. The form Bramiminde was introduced by Hilka and was a misreading of the manuscript. It can have no significance at all in this context. De Mandach correctly observes (p. 73) the possible connection with Aimeri de Narbonne, laisse CXIV, lines 4589-4602 (ed. Demaison, Paris: SATF, 1887). He concludes “De fait, la chanson Aimeri de Narbonne rapporte aux vers 4589-4602 que Aïmer le Chétif a guerroyé contre les Sarrasins et conquis Venise. En outre, il a séduit la princesse Maure Soramonde, dont le père, l’aufage persis était jusque-là maître des lieux. . . . La princesse s’étant convertie, elle épousa Aïmer, créant ainsi un précédent pour la carrière de Floripas.” The name does, of course, appear elsewhere, but what is important in this resemblance is not the appearance of Soramonde or the question of whether this has something to do with Bramimonde, but whether the name appears in both poems coincidentally or as a result of borrowing one way or another. It would do no harm to de Mandach’s hypothesis of a very early dating for the original Fierabras if it were seen as a borrowing from a version of Fierabras by the author of Aimeri de Narbonne; seen the other way round, however, it creates serious damage, as its editor held that Aimeri “n’a pu être composée avant 1205.“9 In fact, we cannot know whether elements of one were culled from the other, from somewhere else, or not at all. One does most certainly ask oneself why these lines should appear in E and nowhere else. Should they be evidence of an earlier form, Knott / Notes on Reality and Improbability 153 one would expect them, if one follows de Mandach’s argument, to turn up in some form in the French and Spanish prose versions, but they do not. If one believes that E is in fact one of the best sources for the early tradition, then the lines make sense in context, and the case for a later dating is somewhat strengthened. My feeling is that they are evidence of authenticity and not of waywardness.

Balan

The origins of the name Balan are discussed in several places by de Mandach (pp. 60-61, 72, 86). He charges me with having formulated “une hypothèse saugrenue“—namely, an attempt to identify the name Balan with that of the horse ridden by Belisarius during Witiges’s siege of Rome in AD 537.10 In fact, this is an idea which is tempting, but which I rejected. (The Greek form for the horse in Procopius, incidentally, is Φαλιος not Βαλιoς). In my note on the name (p. 564 of my edition of E), I said that I felt that the derivation of the name remains unexplained, and in my article I indicated that “there is no possibility of establishing any sound link between Balan and the emir Balan of our story.”

I am more skeptical about de Mandach’s attempted identification with (Mu’tamid) Ben Abbâd all bi’llah, for two reasons. One is that, as I have said when discussing Bramimonde, this is a name which does not actually appear in the Vulgate manuscripts at all, and the connection made between the “nom-masque” of Bramimonde and al-Mu’tamid’s daughter-in-law is, therefore, not convincing. Secondly, the name Balan in a number of epics (as a reference to Moisan will show), which have no roots at all in the same location and series of events in eleventh-century Iberia. In the same note on p. 564 of my edition I suggested that this was a generic name for Saracen chiefs (although the 154 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Balan in Aspremont is a mere messenger who appears only briefly), and I adhere to this view. I am sure that we must accept, as de Mandach himself does, that the prophet Balaam, he of the ass to which the angel of the Lord appeared (Numbers XXII), is the probable prototype of Balan, whether this is spelt Balan, Balant, Balaan, or Laban. He was, after all, sent out by King Balac to cast a curse on the advancing righteous, in this case the Israelites, and is thus perfectly fitted for his role as a heathen adversary.

El Puente de Mantible

De Mandach’s principal discussion of the bridge known throughout the Vulgate Fierabras as the “pont de Mautrible” (E Maltrible throughout) appears on pp. 37-40 and 49-50. He is impressed by the fact that in the French prose version of Bagnyon and in the Spanish Historia del Emperador Carlo Magno y de los doce pares de Francia it takes the form Mantible or Mantrible. Even more importantly, he has discovered that the form puente del Mantible appears in three places. The first is the Madoz Enciclopedia Universal Ilustrada of 1845 which, speaking of the bridge of Alconétar, near Cáceres, describes it as a “famoso puente de piedra, llamado también del Mantible, que . . . existió en el hoy término municipal de Garrovillas, prov. de Cáceres.” The second is a little-known Panamanian décima in riddle form, which has two references, as follows:

Las llaves de Turquía en la Puente del Mantible era la fuerza invencible que el almirante tenía and

y se juntaron los cristianos Knott / Notes on Reality and Improbability 155 en la Puente de Mantible.

As can be seen, only one of these references is to the Puente del Mantible. The décima, as de Mandach indicates, is almost certainly rooted in the Bagnyon-Piamonte prose versions—“ainsi le roman de Bagnyon-Piamonte constitue-t- il probablement l’inspiration du poème panamanéen” (p. 58), and further back still, in the Pseudo-Turpin. As another two lines of the décima say:

claro como bien sabes lo escribieron en latín.

The form la Puente de Mantible, incidentally, appears only in Piamonte and in the later play of Calderón who, presumably, took the name directly from the romance. The bridge is unvaryingly masculine elsewhere in the Fierabras tradition, and the feminine form found in the décima almost certainly indicates that it has origins no further back than Bagnyon; its validity as evidence of any kind of earlier tradition wanes correspondingly, even more so given the inconsistency between de and del Mantible.

De Mandach’s last source is Apuntes sobre la Historia de Garrovillas de Alconétar (I Parte: El Garrote Túrmulus y Alconétar) by Santiago Molano Caballero, privately published in Cáceres in 1984. It contains numerous misprints and misspellings, both in Spanish and in other languages, which cause one to wonder about its general accuracy, but it does contain a good deal of useful information about the many- layered antiquities of this small place on the Tagus.

According to the author, who devotes a chapter (D—unfortunately the pages are not numbered) to a discussion of “Alconétar en las leyendas,” the name “puente del Mantible” was “muy popularizado en Garrovillas,” 156 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 although he does not say from what date this was so. He couples this, as does de Mandach, with the fact that a local “tor carré,” still surviving, is known as the “Torre de Floripes.” However, he is ultimately cautious in his conclusions. While he asks himself “¿Por qué los nombres de los lugares del romance y de la ‘comedia’ corresponden a los de hoy día en Alconétar?”, his answers are guarded. “Primeramente creemos que ya que, como se ha dicho, está demostrado que los personajes citados no pisan, por así decir, la zona, deducimos que es a partir de la obra de Calderón cuando comenzarían a ser nominados de tal forma; quizás por el pueblo, vista la correspondencia entre los sitios de la obra y los del lugar se lo aplicó al ser prácticamente idénticos.” But he does float, very cautiously, the thought that “Si los personajes no corresponden a la zona, ¿por qué no habría podido producirse un hecho similar en el lugar, vista la existencia en el mismo de moros y cristianos, con innumerables hechos de armas, en que se hubieran cambiado tan sólo los nombres de los personajes, dándoseles los muy conocidos ya por todo el pueblo en las leyendas? . . . Si tenemos que desplegar un amplio abanico de posibilidades, tendremos que incluirla también.”

In other words, the strongest possibility is that this is a popular idea derived from a tradition that was widely known (cf. Robin Hood’s grave near Mirfield in Yorkshire, and the various sites that are supposed to be the last resting place of Boudicca after the rising of the Iceni in Suffolk). If there were indeed such events in the area of Alconétar, no record has survived which would convert this possibility into certainty.

This strikes me as a totally reasonable approach. What is very clear after a reading of his monograph is that even the date when the bridge was destroyed is uncertain, and that in any case it underwent a process of natural collapse. As the author says, the Romans did not have the advantage of Knott / Notes on Reality and Improbability 157 caissons, and the piers failed to stand up eventually to normal wear and tear. We cannot, therefore, attach a tale of the bridge’s destruction to any particular epoch—and Alconétar saw the successive arrival of the Romans, the Arabs and the Christians. What does seem overwhelmingly probable is that the name of the Puente de Mantible dates back to Calderón and Piamonte, and not forward from any one particular incident or campaign, and this is supported by the form La Puente.

However, we are invited to believe that “Puente del Mantible” is the original and correct form, and that we are thereby enabled to identify the location of the legendary bridge.

The rare form is doubly convenient, as it enables de Mandach to derive it from Pons Mandibulae, which cannot be the case with any of the other spellings. All these latter, however numerous, are therefore by his definition false. He says (note 151a, p. 102) “En France Mantrible devient souvent Mautrible par association d’idée avec le mal . . . ce pont symbolise le mal—le doute n’est pas permis.” I would agree wholeheartedly with this last point, but offer a simpler suggestion for its origin later in this note. I have emphasised de Mandach’s devient, because it seems to me to illustrate the uncertainty of the method at this point; there is no more evidence to confirm that Mantrible became Mautrible by any simple form of association of ideas, and a good deal more to suggest that an originally simple idea became altered in later versions, particularly in Spanish. We are reminded that Fauriel11 sought in 1852 to identify the scene of the action in Fierabras with a sector of land between the Duero and the Tagus. This portion of land was taken by Alfonso VI in 1093 and given as a county, along with the hand of one of his daughters in marriage, to Henry of Burgundy. However, Philippe Lauer12 demonstrated very satisfactorily the origin of the legendary Guy of Burgundy in the person of Guido II, 158 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Marquis of Spoleto, and to the best of my knowledge this view has never been refuted. Fauriel’s theory is a good one, by no means untenable and with several points in its favour, but neither is it demonstrably true. Fauriel himself was honest enough to say that all we have is “l’ombre d’un fait réel, seulement déplacé ou défiguré.” Once again we ought to confront the fact that we are not dealing in Fierabras with historiography, but with a confusion of the distantly factual, the poetic and the fantastic. Where the derivation from pons mandibulae is concerned, the difficulty seems to me to lie precisely in the word mandibula. The bridge is supposed to be likened to a jawbone, which seems a very odd comparison in any case; but more importantly, the word is essentially a learned one, which does not have much currency in its French form mandible until the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. One doubts whether the ordinary French, Spanish or any other speaker in the eleventh century, other than the Latin-learned, used it or would have understood its meaning.

Following from this, it seems to me that place names are more commonly the product of popular, not erudite, usage. Clearly, there are exceptions, but they tend to be the names given by the autochthonous population, deriving from the appearance and nature of places, and so on, but in the terms of the common people, not of clerics or scholars. A great many place names today are the product of distortions, false etymologies, misreadings and misunderstandings on the part of the uneducated, but few derive from elegant scholarly puns and anagrams. This latter supposes a degree of literacy which is highly improbable, save among the very few, at the time when de Mandach believes that the poem was first composed. This point seems to me to apply with full force both to mandibula > mandible > mantible and to Flumen Tago > Fl. Tago > Flagot. (Very interestingly, Piamonte refers (p. 171, Figueiro edition of 1708) to “el Río de Flagor”; any such pun clearly meant nothing to him.) The latter in particular is only possible if taken visually; spoken, Knott / Notes on Reality and Improbability 159 the pun disappears at once. Both are elegant propositions, but they are the concept of a and not of an Extremeño muleteer or laborer.

There are difficulties where the derivation of Mantible or Mautrible from mandibula is concerned. The fact that none of the verse Vulgate versions support the form Mantible or Mantrible is a weighty one. I think that one simply has to accept that Mautrible is not an example of scribal waywardness, but indicates a name which has nothing to do with mandibula. If, as de Mandach suggests, Mal Triple suggests itself, and the bridge was indeed a symbol of trouble or evil, does not mal trible make even better sense? Tribler in the sense of battre, harceler, tourmenter has an early currency in Old French, and would serve very well to describe the tribulations which the French were about to undergo.

One other small point comes to mind. While ms. A, describing the approaches to Maltrible, reads:

parmi haute brouchie se sont abandonné (K & S, line 1867) ms. E reads: parmi hautes rochieres es les acheminez (line 1976, my text) and is supported in this reading by B, H and V. This seems an eminently sound reading, and it might help de Mandach’s attempts at location.

Morimonde

This town, captured by the French in Fierabras, is identified by de Mandach (p. 37) with Montemor, later Montemor-o-Velho, on the estuary of the river Mondego, 160 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 some seventeen kilometres from Figueira da Foz. I ask myself why he does not think of Montemayor del Río, not all that far away, off the road from Plasencia to Béjar: the Baños de Montemayor nearby are of some antiquity, “uno de los más importantes complejos termales de la España romana,“13 and it is on the Ruta de la Plata. If any identification of Morimonde is needed or indeed possible, this seems a rather better gamble.

“Pour les chrétiens,” he says, “le nom de cette cité, Mont des Maures, était symbolique, tant qu’elle était occupée par leurs adversaires, qu’ils fussent Musulmans ou Mozarabes.” Possibly, but it seems rash to conclude that “cette appellation ne résulte-t-elle pas d’un calembour, d’un jeu de mots pour Monde des Maures?” Why? Mont des Maures is possible, but Monde des Maures stretches credulity, and Montemayor, a simple and indeed not uncommon place name in Spain, requires no credulity at all: Monde des Maures is a piece of over-sophistication which in the final analysis is redundant.

In support of his case, de Mandach adduces the fact that the Chroniqueur des Saintongeais interpreted the place name Mortagne on the Gironde as Mauretagne, and that St. Bernard founded a dependency of the Abbey of Clairvaux at Craonne, near Laon, under the title of Vauclair. In the first case, this is precisely the kind of false understanding—in no way intended as a play on words—that often transforms place names, and thus it has little or no significance; in the second case, the fact that this inverted form is said to have been bestowed by St. Bernard underlines my point that this kind of thing is done by the literate and the learned and not by common folk. Even more importantly, the village appears today on the map, not as Vauclair, but as Vauclerc, which is an entirely appropriate and comprehensible name, and not an inversion or a play on words at all. I find the identification of Montemor or Montemayor with Morimonde just credible, but Knott / Notes on Reality and Improbability 161 not on these grounds; on the other hand, Morimonde may be just one more fantasy place in the fantastic world of the epic’s Spain.

Gautier de Douai—is he necessary?

The need to identify precisely the author of an Old French chanson de geste seems to me to be a peculiarly modern one. We are, after all, dealing with a tradition which is as much oral as literary, and one doubts very much whether those who heard or read Fierabras in its early days cared very much who its author was, any more than the average filmgoer of today worries very much about who the scriptwriter was. Von Richthofen14 has underlined the utter difference of the “author/public” ideas of that time. He insists, rightly, on the participatory and collaborative role of the audience in the composition: “C’est le public contemporain (ou presque) qui se souvient des évènements historiques racontés, et sa fonction est—ou serait—de les contrôler. . . . Mais ce même public est aussi un co-auteur invisible et une des causes de la construction historique arbitraire quand il provoque des concessions à son goût particulier, et se fait ainsi responsable de l’interpolation des thèmes populaires qui appartenaient à d’autres poèmes.” Or again: “Normalement l’audience participe au procès de l’élaboration du profil d’une œuvre littéraire.”15

We should ask ourselves whether this quest for an individual author with his individual work is not bound up with modern ideas of individualism and of property. This in no way implies any kind of Marxist approach, but it does seem to me that to impose this kind of view on early medieval work is to foist on it an alien concept, romantic on the one hand and mercantile on the other—the poem has to be in some way the individual expression of the author’s thought and his personal achievement and property. 162 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

It is the privilege of scholars to trouble themselves about such things, and a good deal of effort has gone into trying to establish the identity of the “author” of Fierabras: whether it is ultimately worth the labour is a large question which it is possibly not academically polite to ask. To identify the nature, the values, the culture and the interests of the audience which plainly loved Fierabras—why else should it have become so widely known, reproduced and elaborated?—is perhaps to tell us as much as we need to know about its authorship.

De Mandach has taken up where A. Tits16 left off in 1938. He has devoted a whole chapter of his monograph (pp. 110-28) to an attempt to establish the identity of the author, whom he believes to be Wautier I, châtelain of Douai, born around 1030 and last mentioned in 1111. This, of course, ties in with his belief in a very early date of composition for the original Fierabras. The internal evidence for this, as distinct from the mass of external chronicle and archive evidence, is slim; however, the idea of a Gautier de Douai as author was picked up by Tits in her dissertation, although she does not seem to have taken in that the reference in question, which is to be found only in ms. H of the Vulgate manuscripts, appears also in the highly abbreviated text of ms. Egerton 3028, edited by Brandin in 1938.

Ms. H of the Vulgate reads:

Gardes k’il n’i ait nois ne corouce ne mellee, Si orres bone chanchon de bien enluminee: N’i avera fable dite de mensonge provee. Nuils de les altres jugelours, kels le vous unt countees Ne sevent de l’estoire vailant un darree. Le chanchon ert perdu et le rime fausee, Knott / Notes on Reality and Improbability 163 Mais Gautier de Douay, a la chier membree, Et li rois Lawis, dont l’alme est trespassee, -- Ke li fache pardone la virge honoree! Par luy et par Gauter est l’estoire aünee Et le chanchon drescie, esprise et alumee, A Saint Dynis de France primerement trovee, Del rolle de l’eglise escrit et translatee; Cent anz i ad estee, ch’est verite provee.

An abbreviated version, but with the same reference to Gauter de Doway, le roi Lawis and Saint Denis de France appears in Egerton. This has always seemed to me to be an attempt on the part of later remanieurs to authenticate their version of the poem and establish its venerability, rather than any kind of serious evidence of its authorship. One must remember that the two poems, the Destruction of Rome and Fierabras, contained in H are in different hands and had different illustrators, and that this detracts from H’s credibility as evidence of an early, original, diptyque littéraire.

I cannot accept de Mandach’s argument that the Provençal manuscript substantiates his views. Lines 5-10 read:

L’estoria fon trobada a Paris sotz l’autar, Que la trobet .j. monge c’on apela Richier. Al mostier Sant Denis sotz lo maestre autier, Clergues era el segle, e si fon cavayer, E trays esta chanso--don li moc son leulier-- Per lo conselh de .K. qye l’avia en chier.

He states that it is “loisible de penser” that the Douai model gave the regional form of Wautier/Watier/Gachier which was incomprehensible to a Provençal copyist, who calmly replaced it by Richier; as for the substitution of Karles for Louis, it is again “loisible de penser” that the scribe took his 164 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 cue from the Fierabras which follows, where the king is always Karles. I submit that it is not “loisible de penser” anything of the sort. A great deal of Fierabras is about faith, but the process, as distinct from the subject, of textual criticism is not about faith, but about reliable method. What the Provençal manuscript actually does is not to support the readings of H and Egerton, but to cast serious doubt upon them. Tits very rightly did not attempt to use P in support of her authorship theory. She said:17

Il est une indication que la Destruction de Rome ne nous donne pas mais qui ressort visiblement de tout ce préambule: l’auteur du texte se présente comme un remanieur du texte de Gautier et de feu le roi Louis . . . . Gautier et le roi Louis le traduisent, en rassemblant les éléments et reconstituant la chanson.

Further on, she identified le roi Lawis with the “écrivain talentueux dont nous apprécions l’œuvre.” Lawis, she believed, died, and his work was completed by Gautier de “Douay, ville qui fut le berceau des jongleurs les plus réputés.”

De Mandach goes a great deal further than this, and identifies the author firmly with Gautier de Douai. One cannot but be impressed by the immense amount of research put into the identification of Wautier I of Douai and the tracing of his life and work. However, it does not seem worthwhile repeating the detail at great length here; it is readily available in de Mandach’s pages. More importantly, it is ultimately irrelevant, unless one is, once again, prepared to make a large leap of faith and assume that this interesting person, who was in the right place and had all the right qualifications to write the poem, actually did so. Not a single fact confirms this, and until hard evidence is produced, this Knott / Notes on Reality and Improbability 165 attribution must remain at the very best a matter of possibility, certainly not probability.

“Si nos conclusions se vérifient, c’est la première fois que l’auteur d’une geste épique française peut être parfaitement identifiée. Rien de gratuit, donc, dans les références à Gautier de Douai. . . .“ Everything hangs on that “si nos conclusions se vérifient“—alas! that is exactly what does not happen. If one chooses to forget that the two pieces in ms. H are in different hands, if one chooses to believe that the Destruction de Rome and Fierabras proper form an original diptyque littéraire, and that Jean Bagnyon and the Doce pares de Francia represent an early, not a late form of the legend, then possibly this becomes more attractive. If, however, one accepts the possibility that H and Egerton are both late representatives of one particular version only, which has no greater claims to authenticity than any other—and a good deal of the internal linguistic evidence of the Vulgate manuscripts leads one in this direction—then one is bound to exercise a little caution. After all, a great deal is known about Francis Bacon; he was in all the right places at the right times, and probably had all the intellectual and literary qualifications, to enable him to write the plays attributed to Shakespeare. But, despite the expenditure of a great deal of time, effort and ink, nobody has yet succeeded in showing that he did. Which brings me back to my starting point—does it matter? We are left, in the case of Shakespeare, with a body of amazing dramatic literature, and in the case of Fierabras with a poem which had enormous popularity in Europe and even elsewhere, and which has been interesting enough in itself to attract comment and criticism for well over a hundred years. Its precise authorship is ultimately a matter of curiosity, but not of importance.

While I have always accepted that Fierabras has its origins somewhere in north-east France, there is nothing, other than the mention of Gautier, to tie it firmly to Douai. It 166 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 has always seemed to me that other curious geographical points have been underexplored. The first is the considerable prominence given to Berart de Montdidier in the poem, as also to Richard of Normandy. If the area of provenance of Fierabras was Douai, why should such non-strictly local heroes play such large parts? Secondly, Fierabras, after his conversion, becomes identified with St. Florent de Roye. Bédier18 and Gröber19 agreed that this is the sixth/ seventh-century priest whose remains were transferred from Saumur to Roye in 1135. Neither could explain why he should have become attached to the Fierabras legend, and de Mandach does not take up the point (which of course would have considerable implication where dating is concerned). The references to Roie, to Saint-Riquier, and the interesting reading of ms. E in line 730 -- dusqu’as pors de Pontis (A “Lutis”; B “Flandiz”; L “jusqu’au port de Lantis”) have always made me wonder whether searches have not been conducted a little too far to the north-east. Also to be borne in mind is the even more interesting unique reading of E at a very confused point in the poem where the manuscripts are concerned. Where A gives us (lines 2302-08):

Richars de Normendie adonc ne se puet taire, Il a dit a Karlon: “Sire, que veus tu faire? Se tes hommes envoies a ce mal avresaire, Saces de verité, ce sera grant contraire”, etc.

E reads:

Em piez s’enn est levez Richart de Normendie; Ch’est Richart sans pöor, a la chiere hardie, Qui de Fescamp fist faire la plus maistre abeïe, etc.

A, as can be seen, rhymes in aire here, E in -ie, V in -ez, and BH -ent or -ant. This whole portion of the Vulgate poem is confused where the order of the speakers is concerned as well, and is probably not very reliable all round. Knott / Notes on Reality and Improbability 167 Nevertheless, it is interesting to find the reference to Fécamp, which de Mandach has also noted and discussed at length. (This whole episode of the ambassadors of Charlemagne20 is indeed, as de Mandach says, “un épisode-clé” where the manuscripts are concerned, but I doubt whether we are really “en présence d’un cas de camouflage de détails essentiels”). Line 1207 in A runs:

Et Longis vous feri de la lance es costes.

The legend of Longinus, and the Précieux Sang, like Richard I and II of Normandy, are firmly associated with the abbey of Fécamp, and I asked myself forty years ago whether the scribe (not necessarily the author) of this manuscript of Fierabras knew of the association and introduced it deliberately; a counterblast to the Joseph of Arimathea legend, attached to Glastonbury, (A line 1216: “Sains Josech vous rechut quant fustes descloes”) might have been well received. If one couples this in passing with lines 3167-69:

Car pleüst ore a Dieu, le roi de maïsté, Richars tenist Jupin a Rouen, sa cité, S’en feroit le moustier de sainte Trinité; one may ask whether we do not have another hint which leads us in the same direction; the reference may be to Rouen, but the moustier de sainte Trinité may well be that of Fécamp.

This being the case, I am inclined, unlike de Mandach, to take the references to Sant Lis in the Provençal poem to mean what they appear to mean at first sight, namely Senlis. I do not accept that “le territoire en question ne représenterait pas d’entité féodale précise, mais une région beaucoup trop exigüe pour correspondre à une réalité.” I do not think that it is necessary to torture etymology to the 168 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 extent of identifying Saint Lis with Saint Eloi, nor does it seem to me to be profitable.

Far from being “une région exigüe,” what we have here is a suggestion of an area based, not on Douai and Arras, but on southern Picardy and Ponthieu, reaching out into Normandy. It does not have to be an “entité féodale précise” for the purposes of our story, nor does it have to be some religiously based triangle; like Keller,21 I see no firm base for believing that the story had anything at all to do with the Holy Shroud of Compiègne. As I have said, the internal linguistic evidence of the manuscripts points strongly to a Picard origin, but there is nothing which links it firmly and specifically to Arras/Douai. Senlis, Saint Riquier, Montdidier, Roye—all fit this outline; occasional references, and the high profile accorded to Richard of Normandy, take us further west.

I do not believe that there can be any certainty in these matters, but there may be scope in this area for the kind of research that de Mandach has undertaken elsewhere. At the same time, I think that the small conclusions which I have drawn in the preceding paragraphs serve to emphasize the risk which is inherent in this kind of effort to attach works like Fierabras to the world of historical fact; a larger critique, which looked at the way in which historical material is selected, used and interpreted in order to reach numinous certainties would, I am sure, emphasize it even more strongly. But the other risk, which in a way seems even more serious, is that in the process a great deal of hard work, enthusiasm and originality is misdirected. As von Richthofen has said in this context,22 “Comme il n’y a pas de fiction totale, il n’existe pas (à l’autre extrême) d’historiographie vraiment objective...la volonté et les préjugés, de même que la considération d’un certain public, entrent dans l’opération qui a pour effet la transformation de la vérité objective, souvent plus discutable que celle de l’œuvre littéraire.” There Knott / Notes on Reality and Improbability 169 is, as Várvaro23 has pointed out, a world of difference between the “réalisme géographique” of the Poema de mio Cid and the world of Fierabras or many other French epics. But as he says, what creates the difference is not “une circonstance fortuite ni la conséquence d’un réalisme hispanique métahistorique”; it is a matter of “la volonté culturelle.” It is to this kind of “volonté culturelle” that attention can most profitably be turned. At the end of the day, many of the Morindes, the Morlinganes, and other names in the chansons de geste “se laissent prendre,” as Várvaro says, “au jeu de sonorités allusives afin de dénommer de parfaites cités de rêve, des châteaux en Espagne.” NOTES

1 Gordon A. Knott, A Critical Edition of the Old French chanson de geste “Fierabras” based on the Text of the Escorial MS. M. Litt. thesis (unpublished), Cambridge, 1955. 2 Erich von Richthofen, “Anciens problèmes épiques et leurs solutions partielles (quelques indications),” Olifant 14.1 (1989): 31-60. 3 A. Várvaro, “L’Espagne et la géographie romane,” Medioevo Romanzo 14 (1989): 3-38. 4 Ernest Langlois, Table des noms propres de toute nature compris dans les chansons de geste imprimées (Paris: Bouillon, 1904). 5 André Moisan, Répertoire des noms propres de personnes et de lieux cités dans les chansons de geste françaises conservées dans les œuvres étrangères dérivées, 5 vols. (Geneva: Droz, 1986). 6 William J. Bean, Trees and Shrubs Hardy in the British Isles, 8th ed., 4 vols. (London: Murray, 1980) 253. 7 Manuel Milá y Fontanals, De la poesía heröico-popular castellana (Barcelona: Verdaguer, 1874). 8 Jessie L. Weston, From Ritual to Romance (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1920) 151, 193-94. 9 , chanson de geste, ed. L. Demaison, SATF (Paris: Didot, 1887), Introduction, pp. lxxxix-xc. 10 Gordon A. Knott, “The Historical Sources of Fierabras,” Modern Language Review 52 (1957): 504-09. 11 Histoire littéraire de la France, XXIII (Paris: Imprimerie Royale, 1733-1898) 190-212. 170 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

12 P. Lauer, “Le Poème de la Destruction de Rome et les origines de la cité léonine,” Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire (1889) 307-61. 13 Gonzalo B. Alfagame, et al., Historia de Extremadura. I, La geografía y los tiempos antiguos (Badajoz: Universitas Editorial, 1985) 130. 14 von Richthofen 57. 15 von Richthofen 58. 16 A. Tits, La Légende de Fierabras, diss. Louvain 1938. 17 Tits 25. 18 Joseph Bédier, Les Légendes épiques, 2nd ed., 4 vols. (Paris: Champion, 1914-1921). See vol. IV, 406. 19 Gustav Gröber, Die handschriftlichen Gestaltungen der Chanson de Geste “Fierabras” und ihre Vorstufen (Leipzig: Vogel, 1869) 26. 20 de Mandach 137-40. 21 H.-E. Keller, ed., L’Histoire de Charlemagne (parfois dite “Roman de Fierabras”), (Geneva: Droz, 1992), Introduction, ix-x. 22 von Richthofen 36. 23 Vávaro 38. El diablo como protagonista en el Poema de Fernán González: un concepto clerical de la historia

Matthew Bailey The University of Texas, Austin

Una de las principales innovaciones del Poema de Fernán González es la integración de una dimensión sobrenatural a la narración de las hazañas legendarias del conde Fernán González.1 A través de una serie de semejanzas y contrastes articulados por medio de un extenso lenguaje figurado, el autor del poema logra añadir esa segunda dimensión a la gesta tradicional de la lucha por la independencia de Castilla.2 El propósito del presente ensayo es ilustrar la articulación de la dimensión sobrenatural del poema, afirmándola como innovación del poeta arlantino que fue rechazada posteriormente por los árbitros del heroísmo castellano, los redactores alfonsíes de la Estoria de España.3

El poema revela un marcado esfuerzo creador en el lenguaje figurado empleado en la descripción del moro como enemigo de la fe cristiana: la gente descreyda (60b), (89b), (102d), (175a), (187b), (191c), (232c), (239a), el pueblo descreido (82a), (117c), (166d), (186b), (515a), el pueblo descreyente (109b), (254a), (520d), descreyntes (252b), los non vautyzantes (103c), la gente pagana (232b), (433c), las fazes paganas (543d), los pueblos paganos (142a), (271d), (275a), (294b), (411b), (412c), (507c), (509b), (539c), (542a), (566b), (630a), (738c), los paganos (16b), (73a), (81c), (253b), (519c), (682b), la gente maldicta (395a), la gente rrenegada (74a), (444a), los pueblos rrenegados (205a). Otros términos, igualmente peyorativos pero menos enfocados en lo religioso, son canes (162d) y la mala semiente (520c).4 172 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Hay otra serie de términos figurados que designan al diablo y a su ejército: el mortal enemigo (6c), (217a), el vestyan mascaryento (11d), el vestyon fanbryento (493d), el pecado (32b), (101a), (255c), (340b), (340d), (370c), (741d), la ueste antygua (341c), los falsos carvonientos (481d), la vestya (485a).5

Los ejemplos citados forman parte de un notable esfuerzo artístico destinado a ilustrar la importancia del papel desempeñado por los mahometanos y el diablo en la diáspora castellana. La unión de estas dos fuerzas enemigas contra la cristiandad hace posible la destrucción de España y la opresión en que viven los castellanos cuando Fernán González asume el caudillaje de Castilla. Este conde de Castilla conduce a su ejército a victorias en batallas contra los moros al igual que contra reyes cristianos, pero en la concepción arlantina de esa histórica empresa el caudillo se enfrenta también al diablo. El reconocimiento de la presencia del diablo entre las fuerzas enemigas de los castellanos es el aspecto fundamental de la singularidad de este poema arlantino elaborado sobre una base de uno o varios cantares sobre Fernán González. El estudio del lenguaje figurado destinado a la descripción de los enemigos de los castellanos servirá para deslindar mejor la interpretación de la historia ofrecida por el autor del poema. Empecemos el análisis con la descripción de la traición hecha por el conde Julián al rey Rodrigo y, consecuentemente, al resto de la España cristiana. Los detalles de la traición son conocidos por el público (42a); la novedad ofrecida por la narración poética es la participación del diablo en la empresa:

Estava la fazienda toda en ygual estado avya con este vyen grran pesar el diablo rrevolvyo atal cosa el mal aventurado el gozo que avya en llanto fue tornado Fyjos vautyzados non devyeran nasçer que esos comen çaron trayçiom a fazer Bailey / El diablo como protagonista 173 envolvyo lo el diablo e metyo y su poder esto fue el escomien ço de a España perder El conde don Yllam commo avedes oydo commo ovo por las paryas a Maruecos torçido ovo en esto comedio tal cosa conteçido por que ovo el rreyno de ser todo destruydo (40-42)

Estos versos presuponen un conocimiento de los hechos esenciales de la traición, limitándose a una referencia breve al conde y su encargo (42a-b). Lo que sí describen en detalle es el papel del diablo como instigador de las traiciones que llevaron a la pérdida de una edad dorada de la religión cristiana (véanse también los versos 6c, 37c, 68b, 70c-d, 101a).6

Para una mayor apreciación de la peculiaridad de la versión poética del momento definitivo en la historia del pueblo godo, veamos varias narraciones de la conquista de España por los moros ofrecidas por las crónicas alfonsíes. En las crónicas la victoria de los moros se atribuye a la traición del conde don Julián y también, en parte, por la falta de preparación de los godos para los rigores del campo de batalla: “ca por la luenga paz que ouieran desacostumbrandosse darmas non sabien ya nada de los grandes fechos que los godos fizieran en otro tiempo, et eran tornados uiles et flacos et couardes, et non pudieron soffrir la batalla, et tornaron las espaldas a sus enemigos; e non se podiendo amparar ni foyr, moriron y todos” (Primera crónica general, capítulo 556, p. 309 a48-b5).7 Notamos que el diablo no figura en la descripción de la traición del conde don Julián.

Las crónicas dan explicaciones semejantes al referirse a otra batalla posterior en la defensa de la península por los godos, antes de concluir que la victoria final de los moros se debe al estado de enflaquecimiento de los crisitanos después de dos años de hambres y muertes (cap. 557, p. 309b 45-50). 174 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Resulta ilustrativa una referencia al aspecto sobrenatural, si bien no incluye al diablo: “e la gracia de Dios auie se arredrada et alongada dellos et auie tollido el su poder et el su deffendimiento de los omnes de Espanna, ... aquella yente tan poderosa et tan onrrada fue essora toruada et crebantada por poder de los alaraues” (cap. 557, p. 310a 23-34). En resumidas cuentas, la traición del conde don Julián, en combinación con la falta de preparación para la guerra y el abandono de Dios, contribuyen a la la derrota de los godos.

A continuación las crónicas ofrecen explicaciones más detalladas del abandono en que Dios tiene a los cristianos de la Península. Después de detallar su sufrimiento a manos de los moros invasores, explican la ira divina como una reacción a la traición y la decepción perpetradas por los reyes y otros nobles del reino de los godos en España: “algunos fueron alçados reyes por aleue, algunos por traycion de muerte de sus hermanos o de sus parientes, non guardando la uerdad nin el derecho que deuieran y guardar por quexa de ganar el sennorio mal et torticieramientre como non deuien” (cap. 559, p. 314a 12-17). Por tanto, la conquista de España por los moros es un castigo que Dios ha permitido: “e por esta razon auiuose la yra de Dios sobrellos, et desamparoles la tierra que les mantouiera et guardara fasta alli, et tollio dellos la su gracia” (cap. 559, p. 314a 20-23).8 Si las crónicas incluyen al diablo en su versión de la historia, éste no parece tener poder independientemente de Dios, como en el poema. Por ejemplo, antes de la traición del conde Julián el diablo figura en la descripción de las costumbres viles y pecaminosas de los godos durante el reinado de Vitiza. Tanto aquí como en otros lugares de la narración, el diablo puede influir en el comportaminiento de los hombres, pero sólo Dios tiene poder suficiente para controlar el destino. Así es que cuando Dios ve que los godos se han convertido en perezosos pecadores y en asesinos, decide castigarlos cediendo su poder al diablo quien obrará para su perdición: “auino assi por los peccados del rey Vitiza et de todas sus Bailey / El diablo como protagonista 175 yentes que quiso Dios crebantar la gloria et el poder de los godos de Espanna, e por ende metiosse Satanas en la paz que querie Vitiza mostrar por enfinta, et fue en esta guisa” (cap. 552, p. 306a 37-43). Las crónicas luego pasan a narrar los acontecimientos que llevarán a la invasión de los moros y a la destrucción de la España cristiana.

La interpretación cronística de la historia castellana se enfrenta directamente a la del monje arlantino en la relación de las hazañas de Fernán González, ya que a partir de la estrofa 172 los cronistas dependen exclusivamente del poema arlantino (Menéndez-Pidal 61, Zamora Vicente 54, nota al verso 173a). Por lo tanto, las comparaciones directas entre los versos del poema y su prosificación en las crónicas ilustran claramente el rechazo por parte de los cronistas de la participación activa del diablo en las campañas contra los castellanos y su legendario conde. En el primer ejemplo los castellanos se preparan para entrar en la batalla de Lara, cuando de repente la tierra se abre y traga a uno de ellos. El diablo es la causa de este horror, como explica el poeta en sus versos introductorios del episodio:

El conde don Fernando estava muy quexado queria moryr por ver se con los moros en el canpo byen cuydava ese dia rreynar ay el pecado que metyo grrande espanto en el pueblo cruzado(255)

La versión cronística no hace ninguna mención del diablo al introducir el episodio: “Et el conde Fernan Gonçalez estava estonces quedo en un logar, et cobdiciaua ya uerse ayuntado con los moros. Et acaescio alli aquella ora el signo quel monge dixiera al conde” (cap. 691, p. 394b 17-21). Los acontecimientos son los mismos, pero la participación del diablo no se declara ni en la introducción al episodio ni en ninguna parte de su narración en la crónica. 176 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Aparece otro signo sobrenatural en la carrera de Fernán González y, una vez más, su presentación varía entre el poema y la crónica. En este segundo ejemplo el signo llega en forma de una serpiente sangrienta y rabiosa que viene por el aire echando fuego por la boca; aparece súbitamente entre el ejército cristiano en vísperas de la batalla de Hacinas. En el poema el conde, al informarse de la aparición, entiende inmediatamente que es una ilusión creada por el diablo para asustar a sus vasallos:

Quando gelo contaron asy commo lo vyeron entendio byen el conde que grran miedo ovyeron que esta atal fygura que diablos la fyzieron a los pueblos cruzados reuoluer los quisieron (476)

Fernán González también percibe que el diablo y su hueste infernal obran en solidaridad con los moros contra las tropas cristianas:

A los moros tenian que los venian ayudar coydavan syn duda a los cristianos espantar por tal que los cruzados se ovyeron a tornar que quisyera en la veste algun fuego echar (477)

El caudillo de los castellanos, que sin vacilación alguna ha comprendido que la serpiente es obra del diablo, necesita calmar a sus huestes antes de que abandonen la campaña. Decide explicarles la religión de los moros como una combinación de astrología (479) y magia negra (480), pasando luego a detallar sus diabólicos conjuros:

Ayvntan los diablos con sus conjuramentos aliegan se con ellos e fazen sus conventos dizen de los pasados todos sus fallimientos todos fazen conçejo estos falsos carvonientos (481) Bailey / El diablo como protagonista 177 La serpiente surge a raíz de esta conjuración contra los cristianos:

Algun moro astroso que sabe encantar fyzo aquel diablo en syerpe fygurar por amor que podiese a vos otrros espantar con este tal engaño cuydaron se nos toruar (482)

De esa manera el protagonista explica las fuerzas invisibles que están detrás del espectro. A continuación Fernán González afirma el poder de Cristo sobre el diablo, y recalca que los cristianos deben obedecer y temer su poder, y ningún otro (484). El conde concluye su explicación dando amenazas sermonarias a sus vasallos con el fin de que pongan su fe en el dios cristiano y se olviden de la serpiente y de su impulso inicial de abandonar la batalla de Hacinas:

Quien este Señor dexa e en la vestya fya tengo que es caydo al Señor Dios en vna gran yra anda en fallimiento la su alma mesquina quantos que ansyna andan el diablo los guia (485)

El miedo expresado por las huestes cristianas a consecuencia de la aparición de la serpiente acaba siendo interpretado como indicio de su poca fe en el poder protector de su dios. El diablo no tiene ningún poder real contra Dios, quien es todopoderoso. La versión del mismo episodio en las crónicas tiene otro tono, que rápidamente desecha la idea de que la aparición pudiera ser algo más que un engaño ‘arteria’, y ridiculiza cualquier otro poder que no sea del dios cristiano:

El conde, quando lo sopo et lo entendio, mando llamar a todos los de la hueste et dixoles assi: ‘Amigos, los moros son omnes que saben muchos encantamentos, et llaman los diablos con sus espiramientos que fazen; et algun moro astroso que sabe fazer estas cosas, 178 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 fizo aquella uision uenir por ell aer por espantarnos con esta arteria. Mas uos, como sodes omnes entendudos, bien deuedes saber que el diablo non nos puede fazer ningun mal, ca le tollo el poder Nuestro Sennor Jhesu Cristo. Et nos acomendemosnos a aquel sennero Dios que fizo todas las cosas del mundo et que es poderoso de dar et de toller a quien el quiere, et non demos nada por tales cosas (cap. 699, p. 402b1-17).

Las crónicas narran el episodio de manera más sucinta, no cabe duda, pero es de notar que todo lo que se omite está relacionado con el diablo. Específicamente de la versión en prosa se omiten los cuatro versos que explican cómo Fernán González se da cuenta de que la horrible visión es obra del diablo (476), los cuatro versos que explícitamente revelan la conjuración entre el diablo y los moros cuyo fin es asustar a los cristianos y conseguir que abandonen la campaña (477), que en la crónica se reduce a algo mucho más superficial: “ca tenien que era sennal de ser uençudos” (cap. 699, p. 302a49-b1); se excluyen los cuatro versos que describen la astrología como elemento fundamental de la religión de los moros (479), al igual que los detalles de la magia negra que practican: “de rreuolver las nuves e de rrevolver los vyentos” (480c); también están ausentes de la versión cronística los cuatro versos en los que el conde revela los diabólicos conjuros de los moros (481) y el recurso sermonario del conde que cierra el episodio declarando que irán al infierno los vasallos que no pongan su fe en Dios (485). En fin, de la versión en prosa se excluye todo lo relacionado con los poderes del diablo y su capacidad para desviar a los cristianos de la fe verdadera y de llevarlos al infierno. A diferencia del poema, las cronistas tratan este episodio como una molestia que ha de incluirse, pero en su elaboración resta importancia a los aspectos sobrenaturales, produciendo así la descripción del mismo fenómeno insólito, Bailey / El diablo como protagonista 179 -pero sin la misma atención a los elementos sobrenaturales y religiosos del poema. En la narración del monje arlantino se entiende la guerra en el campo de batalla como una manifestación visible de la batalla por las almas en que se enfrentan continuamente Dios y el diablo. El hecho de que en el poema Fernán González explique pormenores de las prácticas religiosas de los moros y amenace a sus vasallos con el infierno indica que toma en serio los poderes del diablo para conmover a las huestes cristianas.

A menudo en el poema se menciona como el diablo y los moros se unen para hacer frente a los castellanos y Cristo. Para reforzar la idea de esta alianza, el poeta emplea términos figurados para referirse a los mahometanos que enfatizan su oposición a la fe cristiana (los cuarenta y seis ejemplos anteriormente dados). Los cronistas, en cambio, ignoran las referencias anticristianas del poema y emplean la palabra moros, que aparece en el poema cincuenta y ocho veces. Tanto es así su preferencia que de las cuarenta y seis veces que se emplea uno de estos términos figurados en el poema, sólo en una ocasión se le incluye en la versión cronística del poema: la gente pagana (232b), “aquella yent pagana” (cap. 690, p. 393b22). Los cuarenta y cinco usos restantes son rechazados por los cronistas, en algunos casos emplean moros, yentes u otra palabra para personas, o simplemente usan el verbo en plural.

La palabra moros no contradice las expresiones figuradas del poema, ya que se les ha considerado paganos, no creyentes o renegados religiosos, pero el énfasis en la oposición a la fe crisitiana no se nota en las crónicas. Por medio del lenguaje figurado del poema, sin embargo, las batallas entre moros y cristianos se convierten en conflictos religiosos en que la virtud más significativa es la fe en el dios cristiano. El enfoque de las crónicas en los aspectos más concretos y más visibles de los acontecimientos se aleja del mensaje tan claramente cristiano del poema y resalta las 180 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 consideraciones nacionalistas castellanas que entran en juego en las batallas.

El lenguaje metafórico del poema lo distingue de las narraciones poéticas más tradicionales como el Poema del Cid, que es metonímico a todos los niveles de expresión (veáse Montgomery). Las distinciones entre estas dos formas de expresión se refleja en mayor grado en la dicotomía entre la prosa y la poesía. En la descripción de esa dicotomía Roman Jakobson considera que la poesía es principalmente metafórica y la prosa, metonímica, ya que el principio de la similitud sirve de base a la poesía, mientras que la prosa se construye en base a la contigüidad. En las formulaciones de Jakobson la poesía tiende hacia la expresión metafórica debido al paralelismo métrico de los versos o a la equivalencia fónica de las palabras que forman la rima (Jakobson 114). El poema clerical exhibe esas dos características poéticas en mayor grado que los poemas épicos más tradicionales como el Poema del Cid y las Mocedades de Rodrigo, y más todavía cuando es comparado con las crónicas en prosa. Es probable, por tanto, que el uso de la rima consonante en la cuaderna vía sea una consideración importante en las innovaciones léxicas comentadas en este ensayo.

Examinemos los aspectos acústicos del empleo de los términos figurados dedicados a resaltar la alianza entre los mahometanos y al diablo. Conviene recordar que las exigencias métricas del mester de clerecía son mayores que las del verso épico tradicional y la maestría del poeta se nota sobre todo en su habilidad para completar la rima.9 En el Poema de Fernán González el autor parece explotar su lenguaje figurado para completar la rima de muchos versos. Concretamente, de las cuarenta y seis referencias figuradas referentes al moro, treinta y cinco se emplean a final de verso. De las once restantes, diez emplean pagano (la gente pagana, las fazes paganas, los pueblos paganos, los Bailey / El diablo como protagonista 181 paganos), que parece admitirse tanto en el interior de verso (las diez ocurrencias mencionadas) como para completar la rima (doce ocurrencias). La otra referencia figurada que no se encuentra en final de verso es canes, que es más tradicional ya que lo usa el Cid al condenar a los infantes de Carrión cuando ya no son sus yernos (Michael 1980:v. 3263). Todos los demás términos, que por cierto son los más innovadores y originales, ocurren exclusivamente a final de verso, completando la rima. Por el contrario, moro(s) aparece en el poema cincuenta y ocho veces y en un solo caso completa la rima de un verso (278c). Las otras palabras empleadas para completar la rima de esta estrofa demuestran lo insólito de una rima consonante con moro: “Fallaron en las tyendas soberano tesoro / muchas copas e vasos que eran de un fyno oro / nunca vyo atamaña rriqueza cristiano nin moro / serien ende abondados Alexander e Poro“(278).

Si miramos la rima en las estrofas que emplean las términos más originales del poeta, observaremos la naturalidad de su expresión. Por ejemplo, al hablar el narrador del conde castellano, emplea gente descreyda al referirse a los moros: “Fyzo su oraçion el moço byen conplida / de coraçon la fizo byen le fuera oyda / fyzo grandes vatallas con la gente descreyda /mas nunca fue vençido en toda la su vyda” (191). Con la posible excepción de la expresión figurada, la rima se completa con palabras comunes, que bien podían emplearse en muchos contextos. Tanto en este ejemplo como en otros cabe la posibilidad de que los términos figurados del poema tengan su origen en la necesidad de acoplar la repetida mención de los moros y del diablo a las exigencias métricas del nuevo mester. En ese sentido es notable que en las ocho estrofas en que se emplea gente descreyda, las otras palabras que riman ocurren repetidamente (vida, cinco veces; partyda, cuatro; medida, cuatro; vertyda, dos; ayuda, dos; ésta última aún cuando no rima). Del mismo modo, en las cinco estrofas en que se 182 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 emplea pueblo descreido, movydos rima tres veces y guaridos, dos.

Para apoyar la observación de que moro se presta a la rima consonante tan bien como las expresiones figuradas originales del poema, pongámonos como paralelo el ejemplo de diablo. Esta palabra ocurre trece veces en el poema y en ningún caso completa la rima. Sin embargo, las catorce ricas y variadas expresiones figuradas referentes al diablo completan la rima en doce ocasiones (excepciones son 341c y 485a). Estos datos y los anteriores sobre la rima parecen indicar la probabilidad de que las expresiones figuradas del poema sean un mecanismo artístico para incluir en la resonancia del poema los protagonistas vitales de la historia castellana según la interpretación del monje arlantino.10 Queda por resolver el problema del rechazo del lenguaje metafórico en la versión cronística del poema. Su ausencia es notable, sobre todo porque ese lenguaje permite al poeta construir una segunda dimensión de la actividad, en la que se revela un mundo de simpatías y antipatías entre las fuerzas sobrenaturales del bien aliadas con Fernán González por un lado y, por otro lado, las fuerzas del mal aliadas con los moros. El poema presenta algunos signos visibles de las fuerzas invisibles que obran en todo momento para efectuar sus designios entre los humanos. De ese modo el poeta ilustra para su público una dimensión nueva en los acontecimientos, ilustrando la validez del axioma que ofrece Michel Foucault para la época, “conocer es interpretar“/“to know is to interpret” (Foucault 32). El lenguaje figurado del poema construye una asociación evidente del moro con el enemigo malo, el diablo. Al vincularlos crea una fuerza de dos dimensiones que no cede ante ninguna fuerza que no se apoye también en lo sobrenatural. Los cronistas rechazan esta interpretación de la historia, amenguando el énfasis en la dependencia respecto a Dios demostrada por los castellanos, lo cual produce un enfoque más centrado en Fernán González como gran campeador y líder de su pueblo. La distinción no Bailey / El diablo como protagonista 183 es insignificante, ya que ahí se juega con la representación del mundo castellano y el reconocimiento debido a los responsables de sus meritorios logros.

La insistencia cronística en la gesta humana al enfrentarse con el discurso del monje arlantino se acopla a la concepción del tiempo histórico de la crónica universal alfonsí notada ya por Francisco Rico. Según Rico, los cronistas distinguen dos etapas en la historia del mundo, separadas por la venida de Cristo. En la primera etapa los diablos campeaban por la tierra y maltraían a la humanidad, mientras que después de Jesús los diablos quedaron privados de tal facultad (Rico 68). Al ser así se revelan los criterios de los refundidores del episodio tratado aquí anteriormente, en que Fernán González explica a sus vasallos el engaño de la aparición de la serpiente. En los versos que los cronistas excluyeron de su prosa se reconoce el poder del diablo sobre el mundo natural, mientras que en los versos incluidos se niega el poder del diablo y se afirma el de Dios. El poder de Dios sobre el diablo libera al hombre para enfrentarse con el enemigo real.

La aversión al lenguaje poético por parte de los compiladores alfonsíes ha sido notada por Brian Powell en otro contexto. Al comparar el Poema del Cid con su prosificación alfonsí en la Crónica de veinte reyes Powell observa que los cronistas conservaron aquellas partes de la historia que tenían un interés mayormente político o militar, omitiendo todo aquello que no sirviera a sus propósitos. Powell afirma la necesidad de los compiladores de ocultar la naturaleza poética de sus fuentes, lo cual los motivaba a alterar el vocabulario poético, los giros, el orden de las palabras, los epítetos, etc: “poetic vocabulary, turns of phrase, word order, epithets and so on” (Powell 109). De interés al presente trabajo son algunas omisiones notadas por Powell (91, 97-98), entre ellas toda la oración de Jimena (vv. 330-65) y la inclusión del nombre del arcángel Gabriel (v. 184 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 406), el mensajero divino que en un sueño le asegura al Cid el éxito en el exilio (404-12). Notamos que la aparición del arcángel y la oración de Jimena son las únicas ocasiones en el poema en que se establece una dependencia del Cid respecto a la voluntad divina, y parece ser en este caso también que los prosificadores prefirieron desviar el foco de la narración y centrarlo sólidamente sobre el héroe.11

La preferencia demostrada por los cronistas por enfocar el mundo objetivo en parte se debe a la naturaleza misma de la prosa que, como mantiene Jakobson, es fundamentalmente distinta a la poesía. Y en parte esa preferencia se deberá al deseo de explicar los éxitos políticos y militares de los castellanos en términos de los partícipes más importantes, los héroes tradicionales. La dimensión cristiana forma parte de esa historia, y Dios tiene un papel en ella, pero al insistir en la dimensión sobrenatural de la historia reciente se le resta algo a los logros de los héroes nacionales mejor conocidos y más admirados.

La expresión metafórica en el poema se emplea no sólo para nombrar sino también para implicar al diablo en los asuntos humanos. A diferencia de los casos citados hasta ahora, los términos como tender/ordir rredes y ordir tela no tienen una función notable en el nivel acústico, ni se emplean en la asociación del diablo con los moros; más bien revelan la presencia del diablo entre los enemigos cristianos de los castellanos.

El primer ejemplo que examinaremos ocurre en la narración de aquella traición del conde don Julián, quien acaba de convencer al rey Rodrigo de que sus vasallos pueden olvidarse de las guerras y dedicarse al cultivo de sus tierras ya que han conseguido establecer una paz duradera con los moros. El rey acepta las recomendaciones del conde y el narrador, antes de pasar a la descripción de la reacción de Bailey / El diablo como protagonista 185 los vasallos del rey, comenta lo siguiente, aparentemente al público:

Fue fecha la varata atal como entendedes vya lo el diablo que tiende tales rredes testorno el çimiento cayeron se las paredes lo que estonçes perdiestes cobrar non lo podedes (68) Estos comentarios son concebidos como una guía para el público. El lenguaje figurado permite implicar al diablo en la destrucción de España iniciada por don Julián. De esa manera se interpretan la acción y los acontecimientos de la narración para el público por medio de unos términos figurados lo suficientemente abstractos como para aplicarse a muchas situaciones diferentes, pero al mismo tiempo lo suficientemente concretos como para comunicar culpabilidad. El verso final: “lo que estonçes perdiestes cobrar non lo podedes” (68d), conecta los acontecimientos de la narración al público, demostrándole que todavía sufre los efectos de la traición.

El segundo ejemplo se relaciona con las maquinaciones de doña Sancha, reina de León, que vive para destruir a Fernán González desde que éste mató a su padre. Como parte de la trampa que le pretende tender al conde la reina le propone un matrimonio con su sobrina con el fingido propósito de reanudar la paz con don García, rey de Navarra y hermano de doña Sancha. En realidad la reina quiere sorprender al conde desprevenido y encerrarlo en prisión. El conde acepta la propuesta de matrimonio y el poeta no vacila al revelar que es obra del diablo:

Quando oyeron las jentes aqueste casamiento todos tenian que era muy buen ayuntamieto que seria de la pas carrera y çemieto mas ordio otras rredes el diablo e çeniçieto (591) 186 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 En el último ejemplo el poeta representa al diablo como el responsable de una disputa entre los leoneses y los castellanos surgida a raíz de una correría hecha por Fernán González sin acompañamiento leonés. Los leoneses se ofenden y el poeta, aunque reconoce gratuitamente la maldad de la reina, realza al diablo para transformarlo en el culpable:

Era de amas las partes la cosa ençendida sopo lo la reyna e touo se por guarida ay abia el diablo gran tela ordida mas fue por el buen rrey la pelea partida (744)

Como apreciamos en los ejemplos dados, el lenguaje figurado se emplea para implicar al diablo, personaje que de otra manera no se incluiría en lo narrado. El poema lleva al público a otra dimensión en la que obran fuerzas invisibles. En su interpretación de la gesta legendaria del conde castellano los acontecimientos históricos por sí solos no son del todo comprensibles. Los protagonistas de la lucha por la independencia de Castilla ya no se limitan a los castellanos y sus enemigos históricos sino que incluyen a Dios y sus elegidos, san Pelayo, san Millán y Santiago, por un lado; al diablo y su hueste por otro lado. El autor arlantino implica al diablo en la derrota de la España goda y en los males de Castilla. De forma paralela en los éxitos participa Dios a través de su allegado Fernán González, gran campeador, no cabe duda, pero sólo porque Dios media por él. El uso del lenguaje figurado para implicar al mundo sobrenatural en acontecimientos históricos sugiere un público consciente de la gesta de Fernán González, pero incapaz de discernir las batallas entre Dios y el diablo que servían de trasfondo al drama nacional. El poema les revela un nuevo orden y otra manera de ver el mundo.12 El argumento más convincente de que el poema es una nueva y atrevida presentación de los sucesos más significativos de la historia de Castilla se encuentra en el hecho de que las crónicas alfonsíes la Bailey / El diablo como protagonista 187 rechazaron, admitiendo el poder del diablo sólo por el consentimiento de Dios.

NOTAS

1 Se han formulado varios argumentos abogando por la existencia de un Can apreciado la pervivencia de una vieja materia épica que sirvió de base al autor del el romacero viejo (263). Un estudio más reciente y bastante completo Poema de Fernán González, volviendo a aparecer en las Mocedades de Rodrigo y en del tema aparece como obra póstuma de Menéndez Pidal en que ya no se habla de un *Cantar sino de uno o varios cantos sobre el conde rebelde (421-48, esp. 442, 446). Otros críticos resaltan paralelos entre el poema en cuaderna vía y algún precedente tradicional o foclórico (véanse Avalle-Arce 60-73; Geary 57-80. 2 Michel Foucault describe en detalle como hasta finales del siglo XVI las representaciones literarias del mundo visibl tar de Fernán González. Desde Manuel Milá y Fontanals se ha e e invisible tendían a estructurarse por medio de la articulación de semejanzas y contrastes (17-25). 3 La Estoria de España no se acabó de redactar nunca, pero se ha demostrado que la Crónica de veinte reyes es la versión crítica sacada de los borradores alfonsíes de la historia de los reinos de León y Castilla y que hubiera formado parte de aquella obra cronística alfonsí (Fernández-Ordóñez 65-73). 4 Cito aquí y en adelante de la transcripción paleográfica del manuscrito único incluida en la presentación de la edición crítica de Menéndez Pidal (34-153). 5 Los términos figurados presentados aquí aparecen también en mi libro (Bailey 32-33), en el cual no se incluye, claro, el presente análisis. 6 En un acertado retrato del autor del poema, H. Salvador Martínez describe su concepto del pasado visigodo como una edad dorada de la religión cristiana (Martínez 28-35). 7 Cito de la edición de Menéndez Pidal (1906) porque sigue siendo la más asequible. Las citas ofrecidas en este ensayo son prácticamente idénticas a los mismos pasajes de la Crónica de veinte reyes, crónica que es probablemente anterior y más fiel a los borradores alfonsíes que la publicada por el maestro. 188 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

8 Inés Fernández-Ordóñez cita lo mismo con otra valoración (Fernández-Ordóñez 34). De todos modos su enfoque ofrece un interesante paralelo a mi argumento. Sostiene que la interpretación de la pérdida de España en las crónicas alfonsíes formaba parte de un programa político de extensa aplicación para justificar las aspiraciones políticas del rey sabio (Fernández-Ordóñez 39). Es decir, que tanto en las crónicas alfonsíes como en el poema arlantino la historia se interpreta según criterios específicos. 9 Así lo declara el poeta del Libro de Alexandre en la segunda estrofa del poema: “Mester traigo fermoso, que no es de joglaría, / mester es sin pecado, ca es de clerezía / fablar curso rimado por la cuaderna vía, / a sílabas contadas, ca es grant maestría” (edición de Jesús Cañas 130-31). 10 John Geary incluye las expresiones figuradas estudiadas aquí en una lista de fórmulas semánticas que supuestamente comparten características estilísticas con fórmulas de otros cantares épicos (Geary 147-52). Sobra decir que entiendo la expresión del poema arlantino como fundamentalmente distinto de esos otros poemas. 11 Véase también mi capítulo sobre la oración de Jimena (Bailey 43-54). Un excelente y amplísimo análisis de los criterios empleados en las compilaciones cronísticas alfonsíes acompaña la edición de La versión crítica de la “Estoria de España” (Inés Fernández-Ordoñez 1993). En su estudio de la prosificación del Cantar del Bernaldo (176-85), la autora concluye: “Los objetivos perseguidos por el autor de esta Versión fueron depurar el texto de detalles excesivamente poéticos, no oportunos en una exposición “científica” del pasado, mejorar la verosimilitud del relato y defender una ideología claramente monárquica . . . .“ (185) 12 Al estudiar el empleo de adjetivos en la épica, Montgomery concluye, aunque con cautela respecto al Poema de Fernán González, que el idioma épico que no da cabida a la creación de metáforas, ya que al proponer analogías el poema se prestaría a un sinfin de interpretaciones: “[E]pic idiom, with little room for the creation of metaphors, which, by proposing resemblances, can too easily invite a proliferation of viewpoints” (Montgomery 175). La creación de expresiones figuradas por el poeta arlantino tiene el propósito de convertir al mundo sobrenatural en protagonista de las hazañas del héroe, lo cual es inusitado en la épica castellana y distingue al poeta arlantino y su creación de sus bases tradicionales y de otros poemas del género. Bailey / El diablo como protagonista 189 BIBLIOGRAFÍA CITADA

Avalle-Arce, Juan B. “El Poema de Fernán González: clerecía y juglaría.” Philological Quarterly 51(1972): 60-73. Bailey, Matthew. The Poema del Cid and the Poema de Fernán González: The Transformation of an Epic Tradition. Madison: Hispanic Seminary of Medieval Studies, 1993. Cañas, Jesús, ed. Libro de Alexandre. Madrid: Cátedra, 1988. Fernández-Ordóñez, Inés. Las ‘Estorias’ de Alfonso el sabio. Madrid: Istmo,1992. ---, ed. La versión crítica de la Estoria de España. Madrid: Fundación Ramon Menéndez Pidal, 1993. Foucault, Michel. The Order of Things: An Archeology of the Human Sciences. New York: Random House, 1973. Geary, John. Historia del Conde Fernán González. Madison: Hispanic Seminary of Medieval Studies, 1987. ---. Formulaic Diction in the Poema de Fernán González and the Mocedades de Rodrigo. Madrid; Potomac, MD: Porrúa Turanzas; Studia Humanitatis, 1980. Jakobson, Roman. Language in Literature. Cambridge: Belknap, 1989. Martínez, H. Salvador. Poema de Fernán González. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1991. Michael, Ian, ed. Poema de Mio Cid. 2nd ed. Madrid: Castalia, 1980. Milá y Fontanals, Manuel. De la poesía heroico-popular castellana. Barcelona: Verdaguer, 1874. Reimpresión de M. de Riquer. Barcelona: Instituto Cervantes, Literaturas Romanicas, 1959. ---. Obras de Manuel Milá y Fontanals. Barcelona: CSIC, 1959. Menéndez Pidal, Ramón, ed. Primera crónica general. Tomo 1. Madrid: Bailly-Bailliére, 1906. ---, ed. Reliquias de la épica hispánica. Ed. Diego Catalán. Madrid: Gredos, 1980. ---. La Epica medieval española. Ed. Diego Catalán and María del Mar Bustos. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1992. Montgomery, Thomas. “The Poema del Cid and the Potentialities of Metonymy.” Hispanic Review 59 (1991) : 421-36. Montgomery, Thomas. “Adjective Patterning in Spanish Epic.” Olifant 17.3-4 (1992-93): 168-76. Powell, Brian. Epic and Chronicle: The Poema de Mio Cid and the Crónica de veinte reyes. London: MHRA, 1983. Rico, Francisco. Alfonso el Sabio y la General estoria. 2nd ed. Barcelona: Ariel, 1984. Zamora Vicente, Alonso. Poema de Fernán González. 2nd ed. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1963.

Courage and Honor, Cowardice and Shame: A Motive Appeal in Battle Orations in The Song of Roland and in Chronicles of the Central Middle Ages

John R. E. Bliese Texas Tech University

In spite of all that has been written about medieval warfare, relatively little attention has been devoted to questions of morale or the psychology of combat. The most detailed discussion, the most complete and, in many ways still the best, was written by J. F. Verbruggen some forty years ago.1 This subject deserves more attention because, as R. Allen Brown said of the Norman knights: “We really ought to know what manner of men these were.”2

Verbruggen argues that, when scholars have considered the knightly mentality in war, they have too often been misled by relying too much on literary sources. He refers, for example, to Léon Gautier who believed, based on the chansons de geste, that “the knights loved battle for its own sake.”3 This notion that the knights had “a gigantic and insatiable lust for fighting” can still be found today. Verbruggen emphatically rejects it as based merely on the “lyrical effusions” of some poets. The knights were, after all, “still human beings who feared for their lives in the presence of danger, and who behaved as men have always done in battle—in fear of death, mutilation, wounds and captivity.”4 He then turns to evidence from chronicles, especially those written by eye witnesses, as better sources for the psychology of knights in battle. 192 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Implied in his argument are the larger questions: Just exactly what are the differences between the chronicles and the epic poems in their portrayal of the knightly mentality in combat? How do their respective portrayals relate to the realities of medieval warfare? To address these questions here, the poem I will consider is the Oxford version of The Song of Roland. This version was written in Anglo-Norman French, so was apparently directed at an audience of Normans. Moreover, we have reason to believe that the Normans were inspired by the story of Roland. William of Malmesbury and Wace both claim that before the Battle of Hastings began, some version of Roland’s story was sung to fire up the knights’ fighting spirits.5

When so great a medievalist as David C. Douglas turned his attention to The Song of Roland, he felt compelled to apologize for presuming to have something to say in such a specialized field6—and a fortiori so must I. If I can be permitted an excuse, the one I will claim is similar to his: I do not intend to offer any new interpretation of the poem itself, nor will I presume to criticize the literary analyses by the many great Roland scholars. All I intend to do here is to compare the poem to chronicles of the central Middle Ages and to what is now known about medieval warfare.

To identify similarities and differences between the poem and the chronicles, one could extract all relevant statements about the knights in war, but it would be very difficult to draw conclusions from such random comments. It would be much better if we could use a directly comparable type of evidence. And we have just such a type in battle orations—speeches to armies either before battles begin or during combat. Battle orations are a recurrent rhetorical form that concentrates and focuses the authors’ concepts of the psychological dynamics of war. They are found across different genres of writing, and thus are a type of evidence that can be directly compared from one genre to another. Bliese / Courage and Honor 193 I have found some 360 of these speeches in the chronicles of the central Middle Ages; thirty-six of them are in histories written or commissioned by the Normans and depict Norman commanders addressing Norman armies.7 For a complete analysis, one would have to collect battle speeches from many epics as well. Here, I can only start such a study by looking at just one poem. The Song of Roland is full of discourse, with some thirty-nine exhortations to fight. (Since all of the chroniclers’ speeches are addressed to Western knights and it is their mentality that is being considered, I am only using the speeches to the Christian army.)

These speeches are largely composed from a relatively short inventory of motive appeals. Some appeals appear frequently and others are apparently less important. Taken as a whole, they give us a rather complete psychological profile of combat. There are a number of significant differences in the overall profiles provided by the chronicles and The Song of Roland, but here I want to focus on the most important one, and then I will consider Verbruggen’s specific admonition as it pertains to the speeches in the chronicles and the poem.

In both the chronicles and The Song of Roland, the dominant persuasive appeal centers on the martial virtues: bravery, valor, prowess; and their opposite: cowardice. Intimately connected with these motives is the public recognition that goes with them: honor, glory, renown, and likewise their opposites: shame and disgrace. But these appeals are developed differently by the poet and by the chroniclers.

The chroniclers use these appeals rather as one might expect: the knights are usually asked to be brave and win glory and honor. For example, on the First Crusade, during the battle at the Lake of Antioch, Bohemond sent in his 194 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 reserves with an exhortation to its leader: “Charge at top speed like a brave man and fight valiantly . . . be very brave, as becomes a champion of Christ.”8 According to Henry of Huntingdon, at Hastings Duke William praised his men, for they were the “bravest of nations”; he had no doubt about their valor. He referred to the “inherent spirit of [their] race”; they were the “most valiant” of men.9 At Bourgthéroulde, Odo Borleng exhorted the knights: “Today on this battlefield the courage and determination of every champion will be manifest to all.”10 In Ralph of Caen’s account, Duke Robert of Normandy was the hero of Dorylaeum. The Duke exhorted the crusaders: “Either the victor’s crown or a glorious death awaits us: there will be glory in either fate, but it will be the greater glory which more quickly makes us martyrs.”11

But this is not how the appeal is used in The Song of Roland. Indeed, perhaps the strangest feature of the poem is the way in which it uses this motive. Those great heroes, and the rest of the French army as well, are usually not exhorted to show valor and enhance their glory, but merely to avoid disgrace.

On the positive side, Roland exhorts Oliver and claims that Charlemagne selected for the rear guard twenty thousand men of such a sort that, “Sun escïentre, n’en I out un curard” (1115-16).12 Turpin encourages Roland: “Asez le faites ben! / Itel valor deit aveir chevaler” (1877-78). Before the second battle, Charles tells his men: “Barons franceis, vos estes bons vassals” (3335). All these appeals are very weak, compared to the ways in which the chroniclers normally use them.

But when we turn to the opposite side of this motive, the poet is much more forceful. Roland exclaims: “Mal seit des coer ki el piz se cuardet!” (1107). The French say to each other: “Seignors barons, n’en alez mespensant!” (1472). Bliese / Courage and Honor 195 Charlemagne says of his army, “Asez est fols ki entr’els se demente” (3010).

The poet also portrays the French knights as very concerned that they do not get a bad reputation. Roland says, “Or guart chascuns que granz colps i empleit / que malvaise cançun de nus chantet ne seit” (1013-14); “Malvaise essample n’en serat ja de mei” (1016). He asks his men to sell their lives dearly, “Que dulce France par nus ne seit hunie!” (1927). Roland asks Oliver to strike, and says about Durendal and Halteclere; “Male chançun n’en deit estre cantee” (1466). Turpin begs the knights not to flee: “Que nuls prozdom malvaisement n’en chant” (1474). There is no mention of honor and glory to be won, no mention of good songs that might be sung about their exploits.

The chroniclers also, of course, use the sanctions of shame and disgrace in their battle speeches. However, of the 156 speeches that include this general motive appeal, only thirty-five take the negative approach, and many of those balance it with affirmations. Of the twenty-four Norman speeches that use this motive, only ten adopt a negative approach, and every single one is balanced with positive appeals. Before the Battle of Hastings, William of Poitiers has Duke William exhort his Normans: “If you bear yourselves valiantly you will obtain . . . honor. . . . If not . . . you will incur abiding disgrace.”13 In Geoffrey Malaterra’s chronicle, Roger exhorts the Normans on Mount Turone. He asks them to avoid future censure; they should resume their former strength, and win renewed praise.14 But the Roland poet does not balance the two sides of this appeal and as a result, his use of this motive is much more negative than that of the chroniclers.

This striking characteristic of the poem is largely ignored by most Roland scholars. George Fenwick Jones, however, offers a very interesting interpretation of these 196 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 passages (and similar ones that are not in the exhortations). He believes that The Song of Roland “expresses a way of life known as a ‘shame culture.’”15 He first turns to the anthropologist Ruth Benedict for some definitions. She writes:

[In] anthropological studies of different cultures the distinction between those which rely on shame and those that rely heavily on guilt is an important one. A society that inculcates absolute standards of morality and relies on men’s developing a conscience is a guilt culture by definition. . . . In a culture where shame is a major sanction, people are chagrined about acts which we expect people to feel guilty about. This chagrin can be very intense and it cannot be relieved, as guilt can be, by confession and atonement.16

Jones rejects the traditional interpretation of the poem which sees Roland as guilty of excessive pride, as a result of which he refuses to call for help before the battle begins. His men therefore have to fight while hopelessly outnumbered, and twenty thousand of Charlemagne’s best knights perish. Roland finally realizes his guilt, for which he repents at the end of the battle.17 This traditional approach does not explain the portrayal of motives we have seen reflected in the speeches. Instead, Jones applies Benedict’s concepts: “The heroes of the [poem are] constantly motivated by concern for public opinion . . . most of its actions are motivated by fear of shame; and therefore it expresses a way of life known as a ‘shame culture.’”18

But Jones goes even further; he believes that since shame is the dominant motive in this poem (and in other poems as well), it was therefore the dominant motive in the “real world.” He begins with a quotation from Alfred North Bliese / Courage and Honor 197 Whitehead: “It is in literature that the concrete outlook of humanity receives its expression. Accordingly, it is to literature that we must look, particularly in its more concrete forms, namely in poetics and drama, if we hope to discover the inward thoughts of a generation.”19

On the basis of Whitehead’s statement, Jones argues that “since epic poems enjoyed far wider reception than did any monastic writing . . . they give us a better picture of the ideals and aspirations . . . of the fighting and ruling classes... To ascertain the ‘inward thoughts’ of twelfth-century humanity, one could choose no better work than The Song of Roland, an epic generally accepted as the most significant and most representative literary creation of its time and place.”20 “To judge by its unrivaled popularity, [it] must have embodied the ideals and attitudes of the dominant element of French society.”21 Since the poem features shame as the dominant motive, the knights of the central Middle Ages must have lived in a shame culture.

Jones’s interpretation at least draws attention to an important characteristic of the poem which other interpretations ignore.22 As their motives are portrayed in the battle speeches, the great heroes in The Song of Roland are not trying to be brave or to demonstrate their valor to enhance their glory and win even greater renown. They are clearly portrayed as dominated by the overwhelming fear of disgrace, of losing face, of losing honor—rather unheroic motives, one would think, but there they undeniably are. But when this poet’s rather strange portrayal of motives is applied to the knights of the real world, the argument becomes much less defensible. As we have seen, the chroniclers believed that the knights were much more concerned with obtaining glory and honor than with merely avoiding disgrace, and that alone would make for a very different profile of motives.23 198 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 There are, moreover, many important indications that Christian spirituality and its attendant concept of guilt played an important role in the knights’ mentality. The Oxford Roland was written close to the time of the First Crusade. By then, western Europe had been Christian, a guilt culture, for hundreds of years. In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, significant numbers of knights went on pilgrimages to atone for their sins. Many knights “converted” and became monks. Most of them, to be sure, did so only on their deathbeds or when their martial careers were over. But a significant number converted much earlier in their lives. Such acts, as well as many of the donations to monastic houses, have been interpreted as evidence of developing spirituality and increasing awareness of guilt.24

There is a considerable amount of evidence that the preaching of the First Crusade was so enormously successful because it offered the warriors an acceptable way to expiate the guilt incurred by their way of life. As H. E. J. Cowdrey as written, “No reader of eleventh-century sources, especially those relating to the Crusade, can fail to be struck by men’s insistent preoccupation to secure the remission of sins . . . there are historical junctures when a particular matter of Christian dogma or concern . . . strikes home to men with exceptional force. When the First Crusade was being prepared, it seems to have been so with the remission of sins.”25

For the knights at the end of the eleventh century, spirituality and guilt seem at least to have played a significant cultural role. There is, thus, good reason to believe that the culture of the knights was more complex than Jones would indicate on the basis of one particularly significant aspect of epic poetry.

Of course, this does not deny that shame was a very important motive. Ruth Benedict notes that a person in a guilt Bliese / Courage and Honor 199 culture can feel shame about conduct that is in no way a sin.26 We have seen that fear of shame was used by the chroniclers in their speeches. Shame can be an important sanction, perhaps especially in the military. Consider S. L. A. Marshall’s contention that social pressure is what keeps soldiers from running away. When soldiers in combat think they will not be disgraced in the eyes of their buddies, they will flee. Marshall concludes that there is one thing a soldier will “value more highly than life—his reputation as a man among other men.”27

We are still left, however, with the undeniable fact that The Song of Roland relies almost solely on avoiding shame, not on showing bravery and winning greater glory, as a means of bolstering fighting spirit. It is almost completely negative in its use of the most important motive appeal of the time, while the chronicles, including those written by knights, are overwhelmingly positive. In this respect, the motives of the great poetic heroes, who deal epic blows in battle and defeat enormous numbers of their foes, seem decidedly unheroic. Can we really infer anything from that portrayal about the mentality of the knights in the poet’s audience? Before attempting to answer that question, we need to return to Verbruggen’s admonition about the use of “literary” sources and consider The Song of Roland in relation to the realities of warfare of the time.

Verbruggen especially warns against the belief that the knights of the real world loved battles, just as portrayed in the poems.28 The speeches from the chronicles do not demonstrate any such love of combat. A few speakers tell their armies that they now face the battle they have long wanted, but this is used to overcome reluctance when finally face to face with the enemy in reality.29

The Song of Roland, on the other hand, presents a rather mixed picture. The heroes, or at least Roland, lust for 200 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 battle, but the army apparently does not. For example, when Oliver sees the Moslem army approaching, he reports that they may have a battle, and Roland replies, “E Deus la nus otreit!” (1008). But in the battle, as the second wave of the enemy approaches, the French “Suvent regretent Oliver e Rollant, / Les XII pers, qu’il lor seient guarant” and Turpin has to plead with them not to run away (1469-73).

The few passages that offer a view of the French army are largely overlooked in the secondary sources. Some scholars, however, have taken the poetic portrayal of the great heroes, especially Roland, as reflections of the reality of medieval knights in war.30 Léon Gautier believed that the knights “were everyday exposed to do battle, to fight with, and to massacre each other, as a matter of course”; the knights “loved fighting for its own sake” and “they entered into a battle as into Heaven; the longest days seemed too short, if they only spilt their own blood, or someone’s else [sic].”31 But this sort of statement can be found in much more recent works as well. According to George Fenwick Jones, “without warfare a youth could not prove himself in battle and thereby win renown, the only positive value that made life worth living.”32 And William Kibler writes, “in the early feudal militaristic society a knight is no better than he proves himself to be in battle, and . . . every chance to do battle was an opportunity to increase one’s personal honor. The earliest French knights were primarily interested in one thing: war.”33

The reality of medieval warfare, however, was quite different. As John Gillingham, among others, has clearly demonstrated, we should not assume that war meant battles. War was often nearly continuous, but the medieval army normally avoided battle at virtually any cost. There were very few pitched battles in the Middle Ages. Consider the experiences of some noted commanders. William the Conqueror, in a lifetime of war, was in only three or four battles.34 Henry II, who was described as “the greatest Bliese / Courage and Honor 201 conqueror since Charlemagne,” never fought a single one. That renowned warrior Richard Lion Heart, who made war for some twenty-five years, fought no more than three battles in all that time. Philip Augustus, the victor at Bouvines, fought only that one battle in his whole life, and he did everything he could to avoid it.35 Four generations of Counts of Anjou, ruling from the late tenth through the eleventh century, fought just six battles in total.36 William the Marshal was the greatest knight of his day, but he fought only two battles in a long life of war.37 Clearly, the great warriors of the real world did not want to fight battles. Even the crusaders normally avoided battles, and one Moslem who had fought against them described them as the most cautious of warriors.38

It may well be that the knights of the Middle Ages loved war, but that is very different from saying that they loved battles. War was a process of sieges, and of maneuvering and raiding, in which opportunities for plunder abounded.39 Of course the knights loved that. But battles were the last things they wanted, and when confronted with an enemy army in the field, a medieval commander almost always avoided direct confrontation. As Gillingham concludes: “Unquestionably, there were men who enjoyed going to war, but there were very few, if any, who enjoyed the imminent prospect of a pitched battle.”40

There is a correlation between the psychological profile of the soldiers of the day and the kind of warfare waged.41 If the knights of the real world had been the sort of people Gautier and Jones and Kibler believe they were, their profile of motives would have made the typical cautious warfare of the time virtually impossible. On the other hand, there is nothing in the chroniclers’ profile of motives that would be inconsistent with the realities of medieval war. The chroniclers produce a picture of the psychology of combat 202 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 that conforms much more closely to medieval warfare than does the author of The Song of Roland.

This investigation began with an implication of Verbruggen’s admonition about using “literary” works as historical evidence. Analysis of a rhetorical form that recurs in different types of writing has presented us with a significant contrast in the ways in which the chroniclers and the Roland poet treated one of the most important categories of motivation for the knights of the central Middle Ages. Chronicles and epics are, of course, both genres or forms of literature, with their own characteristics and constraints, and these “generic conventions . . . complicate any attempt to equate the textual representation of a mounted warrior class or caste with the actualities of its existence.”42 In drawing conclusions from them or about them, we need to consider the primary constraints operating on each genre. Chronicles are a type of rhetorical historiography, with a tradition that extends back through antiquity, that was taught in the medieval schools under the liberal art of rhetoric. The authors were expected to spice up their narratives with many different kinds of rhetorical embellishments, one of which (the figure prosopopoia) was to write appropriate speeches for their main characters on all sorts of occasions. But these speeches (and other rhetorical artifacts as well) could not be mere flights of fancy; they were expected to meet the tests of plausibility, judged, of course, by the standards of the time. Nancy Partner even refers to this criterion as a “rhetorical imperative.”43 Their battle speeches, thus, show us what the chroniclers thought the speakers should have said, what their authors thought would have been the most appropriate and effective appeals to use.44 These speeches, therefore, are in many ways “realistic,” although, of course, they are not “real,” that is, they are not verbatim reports of speeches.45

On the other hand, whatever subsidiary purposes an epic poem may have had, the main purpose is clear: to Bliese / Courage and Honor 203 entertain an audience of knights and nobles, i.e., warriors.46 And as a means of entertainment, the epic poets relied heavily on exaggeration. “The norms of epic writing militate against the chansons de geste being thoroughly realistic. . . . Exaggeration is an essential feature of such writing, and the rhetoric of the chansons de geste is dominated by hyperbole.”47

Now, for an audience of Normans who knew what war was like, The Song of Roland gives a very unrealistic picture of warfare. The poem features one battle after another, when in reality battles were very rare and competent warriors avoided them at almost any cost.48 Stories of battles, the poet believed, were more entertaining than stories of sieges and raids.

For an audience of Normans who knew how to fight, the poem gives a very unrealistic picture of fighting. It depicts a whole series of combats between isolated individuals, but battles were actually fought in close-packed formations (conrois).49 As Bernard Bachrach observes, this “required great personal discipline as well as the ability to operate effectively in groups. The requirements of medieval battle were the antithesis of the individualistic behavior heralded in the chivalric literature.”50

Moreover, when the poet describes combat with the sword, he portrays the famous epic blow with which a hero splits his foe down the middle, through the top of his helmet, on through his body and down into the horse’s back (e.g., 1325-33, 1370-75, 1601-07). But this was not apparently how knights actually fought. As John Benton notes:

If one reflects on this stroke, it is better suited to legendary heroes than to real- life survivors. If a warrior raises his arm like a tennis player about to serve, 204 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 he exposes the vulnerable area of the armpit, loses the ability to parry all but a similar stroke, and gains nothing from the forward movement of the horse. According to those of my students who have fought with heavy swords on foot (I have not), a sweeping side-stroke is more powerful than an overhead smash, because it can be delivered with the torque of the whole body. And for a mounted warrior, a thrust is preferable to a cut, and the “epic stroke” is particularly dangerous, because if the opponent veers, the stroke would then descend on the head of the rider’s own horse.51

When the members of the Milites Normannorum were demonstrating arms and armor at the 1993 Hasins Society Conference, I asked them about fighting with swords on horseback. They said they had tried it, and fully corroborated what John Benton’s students had told him. But for the poet, individual combat and epic blows had more entertainment value than fighting as it was really done.52

Now, if warfare and combat are portrayed so unrealistically, in order to make the poem more entertaining, there is no reason to assume that the poem gives a more realistic picture of the mentality or motives of the knights of his day. That, too, is presumably exaggerated and altered in ways designed to make it more entertaining. The poet apparently believed it would have more audience appeal to depict the great heroes warning each other not to disgrace themselves than to portray some alternative motivation.53

It may well be, as many modern scholars contend, that the epics embody the values of their audience;54 but that does Bliese / Courage and Honor 205 not necessarily make them realistic. Western movies or TV shows may embody important American values, such as individualism, self-reliance and the triumph of good over evil, but that does not mean that they portray the lifestyle or mentality of real cowboys. The epic portrayal of great heroes may make for wonderful and powerful literature; it may embody important values; and it may show us what the medieval warriors thought was entertaining. But a poem such as The Song of Roland does not seem to be good evidence for the psychology of war. The studies of medieval warfare have allowed us to measure the poem “against a reconstructed social reality” of war,55 which shows how greatly the poet exaggerated and deviated from reality in order to entertain his audience. Since the chronicles do not corroborate the poet on the portrayal of the most important motives in war—bravery versus cowardice, honor versus shame—we should assume that he has done the same with his picture of the psychology of combat. Verbruggen’s admonition, with which we began, applies here, too. The chroniclers, on the other hand, at least give us a plausible profile of motives for the medieval warriors that is not inconsistent with the way they really fought—and that is, perhaps, as close to the psychology of medieval war as we can hope to get. 206 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 NOTES

1 J. F. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages from the Eighth Century to 1340s, trans. Sumner Willard and S. C. M. Southern (Amsterdam: North Holland, 1977), 39-72, 249-51. 2 R. Allen Brown, “The Status of the Norman Knight,” War and Government in the Middle Ages: Essays in Honour of J. O. Prestwich, ed. John Gillingham and J. C. Holt (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1984) 18. 3 Verbruggen 40. The section from which Verbruggen is quoting may be found in Léon Gautier, , trans. Henry Frith (London: Routledge, 1891) 56. 4 Verbruggen 39-41. 5 William of Malmesbury, Willelmi Malmesbiriensis Monachi de Gestis Regum Anglorum, ed. William Stubbs, Rolls Series, 2 vols. (London: Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1887-1889) 2: 302; Wace, Le Roman de Rou de Wace, ed. A. J. Holden, 3 vols. (Paris: Picard, 1970-1973) 2: 183. 6 David Douglas, “The Song of Roland and the Norman Conquest of England,” French Studies 14 (1960): 99. 7 John R. E. Bliese, “Rhetoric and Morale: A Study of Battle Orations from the Central Middle Ages,” Journal of Medieval History 15 (1989): 201-26; John R. E. Bliese, “The Courage of the Normans: A Comparative Study of Battle Rhetoric,” Nottingham Medieval Studies 35 (1991): 1-26. 8 Gesta Francorum et aliorum Hierosolymitanorum, ed. and trans. Rosalind Hill (London: Nelson, 1962), 36-37. 9 Henry of Huntingdon, History of the English, ed. Thomas Arnold, Rolls Series (London: Longman, 1879) 200-02; The Chronicle of Henry of Huntingdon, ed. and trans. Thomas Forester (London: Bohn, 1853) 210-11. 10 Orderic Vitalis, The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis, ed. and trans. Marjorie Chibnall, 6 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1969-1980) 6: 348-49. 11 Ralph of Caen, Gesta Tancredi in Expeditione Hierosolymitana, Recueil des historiens des Croisades: Historiens occidentaux, 5 vols. (Paris: Imprimerie Royale, 1841-1885) 3: 622. 12 All quotations from the poem are from La Chanson de Roland, ed. and trans. Gerard J. Brault (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State UP, 1984). Line citations will be given after each quotation. Bliese / Courage and Honor 207

13 William of Poitiers, “The Deeds of William, Duke of the Normans and King of the English,” English Historical Documents, vol. 2: 1042-1189, ed. and trans. David C. Douglas and George W. Greenaway (London: Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1953), 225; Histoire de Guillaume le Conquérant, ed. Raymonde Foreville (Paris: Belles Lettres, 1952) 182-84. 14 Geoffrey Malaterra, De Rebus Gestis Rogerii Calabriae et Siciliae Comitis et Roberti Guiscardi Ducis fratris eius, Rerum Italicarum Scriptores, ed. Ernesto Pontieri, nuova edizione (Bologna: Zanichelli, 1928) 5, 1: 46. 15 George Fenwick Jones, The Ethos of The Song of Roland (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1963) 97. 16 Ruth Benedict, The Chrysanthemum and the Sword: Patterns of Japanese Culture (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1946) 222-23. The quotation appears in Jones 97. 17 A good representative of this traditional interpretation is Alain Renoir, “Roland’s Lament: Its Meaning and Function in the Chanson de Roland,” Speculum 35 (1960): 572-83; see also W. T. H. Jackson, The Literature of the Middle Ages (New York: Columbia UP, 1960) 167. 18 Jones 96-97. 19 Jones 1. The quotation is from Alfred North Whitehead, Science and the Modern World (New York: Macmillan, 1947) 110. Jones also uses this quotation in “The Chanson de Roland and Semantic Change,” Modern Language Quarterly 23 (1962): 46. 20 Jones, Ethos 1. 21 Jones, Modern Language Quarterly 46. There is general agreement among scholars that The Song of Roland reflects “the period of the and of feudalism, not the Carolingian era in which the narratives occur”; Pierre Le Gentil, The Chanson de Roland, trans. Frances F. Beer (Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1969) 57. 22 Jones interprets The Song of Roland as portraying a completely secular, pagan, Germanic culture. His view is a minority one and he has been criticized for ignoring elements both in the poem and outside of it that are inconsistent with the concept of a shame culture; see, e.g., Robert Francis Cook, “Roncevaux symbole de la nécessité,” Olifant 8.4 (1981): 366; Ronald N. Walpole, review of The Ethos of The Song of Roland, Medium Auvum 34 (1965): 52-55. The most common interpretation of the poem sees it as a Christian epic heavily influenced by crusading ideas, but there has been considerable controversy over whether the poem is secular or religious. Jones’s arguments for a secular interpretation may be found most fully developed in The Ethos of The Song of Roland and in “Roland’s Lament: 208 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 A Divergent Interpretation,” Romanic Review 53 (1962): 3-15; see also D. D. R. Owen, “The Secular Inspiration of the Chanson de Roland,” Speculum 37 (1962): 390-400. Gerard Brault gives a good synopsis of the major interpretations of the poem, with full citations, in The Song of Roland, 1, Introduction and Commentary (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State UP, 1978) 7-15. He contends that Christian beliefs and imagery play a very important role in the poem (Brault 15). Perhaps John Benton’s conclusion is best: “The idea that there could be a sharp distinction between secular and religious culture in the crusading period seems to me a false dichotomy”; “‘Nostre Franceis n’unt talent de fuïr’: The Song of Roland and the Enculturation of a Warrior Class,” Olifant 6 (1979): 253. Robert Francis Cook reaches a similar conclusion in The Sense of The Song of Roland (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1987) 211. 23 William J. Brandt concludes, based on his study of the chronicles, that “a medieval aristocrat was expected to pursue [honor] positively and aggressively . . . honor was in one way or another the foremost value in the aristocratic scheme. The best evidence of its importance was its function as a criterion: the good man was the one who was aggressive in the pursuit of honor”; The Shape of Medieval History: Studies in Modes of Perception (New Haven: Yale UP, 1966) 111-12. This would involve a considerably different mentality and behavior pattern than would merely attempting to avoid doing anything disgraceful. 24 See, e.g., Chrisopher Harper-Bill, “The Piety of the Anglo- Norman Knightly Class,” Anglo-Norman Studies 2 (1979): 63-77, 173-76; Jonathan Sumption, Pilgrimage: An Image of Mediaeval Religion (London: Faber & Faber, 1975), especially chapter 7, “The Penitential Pilgrimage”; Bernard S. Bachrach, “The Pilgrimages of Fulk Nerra, Count of the Angevins, 987-1040,” Religion, Culture and Society in the Early Middle Ages: Studies in Honor of Richard E. Sullivan, ed. Thomas F. X. Noble and John J. Contreni (Kalamazoo: Western Michigan UP, 1987) 205-17. 25 H. E. J. Cowdrey, “The Genesis of the Crusades: The Springs of Western Ideas of Holy War,” The Holy War, ed. Thomas Patrick Murphy (Columbus, OH: Ohio State UP, 1976) 21. 26 Benedict 222. 27 S. L. A. Marshall, Men Against Fire (New York: Infantry Journal, 1947) 153. He was referring to American soldiers in World War II and no one would contend that America is a shame culture. In fact, Ruth Benedict’s purpose in contrasting shame and guilt cultures was to explain the differences between Japanese and Americans. Her book was written for the Office of War Information as an attempt to explain to Americans what kind of enemy we faced in World War II. Bliese / Courage and Honor 209

28 Verbruggen 39-41. For the expression of love of war in the chansons de geste, see Micheline de Combarieu, “Le Goût de la violence dans l’épopée médiévale,” Senefiance 1 (Aix-en-Provence: CUERMA, 1976): 35-67. 29 Bliese, “Rhetoric and Morale,” 217. 30 A useful, and perhaps unique, contrasting interpretation is offered by Jacques Ribard, “Y a-t-il du ‘pacifisme’ dans La Chanson de Roland?” in Charlemagne et l’épopée romane. Actes du VIIe Congrès International de la Société Rencesvals, Liège, 28 août – 4 septembre 1976, 2 vols. (Paris: Belles Lettres, 1978) 2: 529-38. 31 Gautier, Chivalry, 19, 56, 471-72. 32 George Fenwick Jones, Honor in German Literature (Chapel Hill, NC: U of North Carolina P, 1959) 20. 33 William J. Kibler, “Roland’s Pride,” Symposium 26 (1972): 151. 34 John Gillingham, “William the Bastard at War,” in Studies in Medieval History Presented to R. Allen Brown, ed. Christopher Harper-Bill, Christopher J. Holdsworth and Janet L. Nelson (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1989) 145. 35 John Gillingham, “Richard I and the Science of War in the Middle Ages,” War and Government in the Middle Ages: Essays in Honour of J. O. Prestwich, ed. John Gillingham and J. C. Holt (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1984) 80-81. The characterization of Henry II is by Jordan Fantosme; Jordan Fanstosme’s Chronicle, ed. and trans. R. C. Johnston (Oxford: Clarendon, 1981) 11 (lines 111-13). 36 Georges Duby, The Legend of Bouvines: War, Religion and Culture in the Middle Ages, trans. Catherine Tihanyi (Berkeley: U of California P, 1990) 112. 37 David Crouch, William Marshal: Court, Career and Chivalry in the Angevin Empire, 1147-1219 (London: Longman, 1990) 182. 38 R. C. Smail, Crusading Warfare, 1097-1193. (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1956), esp. Chapter 6, “The Latin Field Army in Action”; the quotation from the Moslem commander Usamah appears on p. 138. 39 Stephen Morillo, Warfare under the Anglo-Norman Kings, 1066- 1135 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1994), 2. This is precisely the type of warfare recommended by Vegetius’ De re militari; Gillingham, “Richard I and the Science of War,” 82, 85. This Roman military manual was the standard one in the Middle Ages; see Bernard S. Bachrach, “The Practical Uses of Vegetius’ De re militari during the Early Middle Ages,” The Historian 47 (1985): 239-55; Josette A. Wisman, “L’Epitoma rei militaris de Végèce et sa fortune au Moyen Age,” Le Moyen Age 85 (1979): 13-31; 210 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Charles R. Shrader, “The Influence of Vegetius’ De re militari,” Military Affairs 45 (1981): 167-72. 40 Gillingham, “Richard I and the Science of War,” 86. 41 See, e.g., Marshall, Men Against Fire, 78. 42 Robert W. Hanning, “The Criticism of Chivalric Epic and Romance,” The Study of Chivalry: Resources and Approaches, ed. Howell Chickering and Thomas H. Seiler (Kalamazoo: Western Michigan UP, 1988) 93. It was apparently recognized at the time that chronicles and chansons de geste were two different genres. As Frederick Goldin points out, the Roland poet clearly distinguishes his epic from the chronicle on which it was based; The Song of Roland, trans. Frederick Goldin (New York: Norton, 1978) 5. And Raymonde Foreville notes that William of Poitiers, writing a few years earlier, asserts that his history of the deeds of William the Conqueror will not be an epic but will be a “true” history; “Aux origines de la légende épique: les Gesta Guillelmi ducis Normannorum et Regis Anglorum de Guillaume de Poitiers,” Le Moyen Age 56 (1950): 197. Foreville demonstrates that he in fact borrowed much from the epic tradition. But he did recognize that these were two different kinds of literary works. 43 Nancy Partner, “The New Cornificius: Medieval History and the Artifice of Words,” in Classical Rhetoric and Medieval Historiography, ed. Ernst Breisach (Kalamazoo: Western Michigan UP, 1985) 12; see also Roger Ray, “Rhetorical Scepticism and Verisimilar Narrative in John of Salisbury’s Historia Pontificalis,” Classical Rhetoric and Medieval Historiography, 66, 83-84. For relevant precepts from the two most popular texts for the study of rhetoric at the time, see Cicero, De inventione 1.7.9; 1.19.27-1.20.28; 1.21.30 and Rhetorica ad Herennium 1.2.3.; 1.8.11-1.9.16. For the rhetorical tradition of historiography in the Middle Ages, see also R. W. Southern, “Aspects of the European Tradition of Historical Writing: 1. The Classical Tradition from Einhard to Geoffrey of Monmouth,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th ser., 20 (1970): 173-96; John O. Ward, “Classical Rhetoric and the Writing of History in Medieval and Renaissance Culture, European History and its Historians, ed. Frank McGregor and Nicholas Wright (Adelaide: Adelaide UP, 1977) 1-10; John O. Ward, “Some Principles of Rhetorical Historiography in the Twelfth Century,” Classical Rhetoric and Medieval Historiography, 103-65; Roger Ray, “Medieval Historiography through the Twelfth Century: Problems and Progress of Research,” Viator 5 (1974): 33-59. 44 All of the chroniclers would have had some knowledge of the mentality of the knights. Several of them were knights themselves (of the Norman authors, William of Poitiers, Ralph of Caen, the author of the Gesta Francorum, and possibly Wace). Some accompanied armies on the Bliese / Courage and Honor 211 Crusades (e.g., the author of The Conquest of Lisbon, see below, note 45). Even the monastic chroniclers had ample opportunity to learn about the psychology of the warriors. The monks normally came from the same social background as the knights and there frequently were converted knights in the monasteries. As John Gillingham concludes, “it was natural for observant monks to be well informed about war”; “William the Bastard at War,” 143, n.15. Maurice Keen reaches a similar conclusion: “Knights and clerks . . . understood each other’s worlds, better than is often allowed for”; Chivalry (New Haven: Yale UP, 1984) 32. 45 The one possible exception is the speech to the crusaders before they assaulted the walls of Lisbon in 1147. It may actually have been given by the author of the chronicle; The Conquest of Lisbon (De Expugnatione Lyxbonensi), ed. and trans. Charles Wendell David (New York: Columbia UP, 1936) 41. 46 Jackson, The Literature of the Middle Ages, 37; Lynette R. Muir, Literature and Society in Medieval France: The Mirror and the Image (New York: St. Martin’s, 1985) 4. 47 H. S. Kay, “Topography and the Relative Realism of Battle Scenes in the Chansons de geste,” Olifant 4 (1977): 259. 48 This is true of many of the chansons de geste. McGuire, in his study of the southern cycle of poems, refers to the “rare interval between battles” and “the terrible monotony of battle scenes”; Thomas A. McGuire, The Conception of the Knight in the Old French Epics of the Southern Cycle with Parallels from Contemporary Historical Sources (East Lansing, MI: U of Michigan P, 1939) 62 ,112. It is interesting to note that when a work of medieval literature does describe war realistically, with sieges and ravaging the land rather than a whole series of battles, many modern literary scholars believe the author was being critical of the knights for not living up to chivalric ideals; see the analysis of Gottfried van Strassburg’s Tristan and its modern interpreters by Martin H. Jones, “The Depiction of Military Conflict in Gottfried’s Tristan,” Gottfried von Strassburg and the Medieval Tristan Legend, Anglo-North American Symposium, ed. Adrian Stevens and Roy Wisbey (Cambridge: Brewer, 1990) 45-65. But, as John Gillingham notes, ravaging the land, besieging strongholds and avoiding pitched battles was the way William the Marshal fought, and therefore “by definition this was the kind of war the best knights fought”; “War and Chivalry in the History of William the Marshal,” Thirteenth-Century England 2 Proceedings of the Newcastle- upon-Tyne Conference, 1987, ed. P. R. Cross and S. D. Lloyd (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1988) 12. 49 Verbruggen, Art of Warfare, 38; J. F. Verbruggen, “La Tactique militaire des armées de chevaliers,” Revue du Nord 29 (1947): 163-68; J. F. Verbruggen, “L’Art militaire en Europe occidentale du IXe 212 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 au XIVe siècle,” Revue internationale d’histoire militaire (1953-1955): 489-92. 50 Bernard S. Bachrach, “Caballus et Caballarius in Medieval Warfare,” The Study of Chivalry, 197. 51 Benton, “The Song of Roland and the Enculturation of a Warrior Class,” 239. 52 Norman Daniel believes that “since the songs were successful we must conclude that the audiences did not . . . mind that the technique of war should be frankly stylized or even burlesqued”; Heroes and Saracens: An Interpretation of the Chansons de Geste (Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 1984) 18. He compares these “deeds of superhuman strength” which the heroes perform to modern comics; Heroes and Saracens, 266. 53 Since a chanson de geste is above all meant to be entertaining, the way the poet uses this appeal leads me to wonder if this is supposed to be humorous. Would an audience of warriors not think it amusing to see the greatest of heroes exhorting each other not to do anything disgraceful? See Norman Daniel on jokes in the chansons de geste: Heroes and Saracens, 17-18, 96-97, 132 for a general discussion. The index references many specific instances of humor analyzed in the text. 54 Jackson, The Literature of the Middle Ages, 37-38; Jones, Honor in German Literature, 59; Cook, The Sense of The Song of Roland, 130. A subsidiary purpose of the chansons de geste may have been not merely to embody values but to teach them. “Medieval literature is fundamentally and continually didactic,” designed “to give pleasure and instruction at one and the same time . . . by examples of Christian heroism”; Muir, Literature and Society in Medieval France, 2. John Benton also believes that one goal of poetry such as The Song of Roland was to teach values or to “enculturate” the warrior class. Some of the chronicles, of course, may also have had a similar purpose; O. Capitani, “Specific Motivations and Continuing Themes in the Norman Chronicles of Southern Italy: Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries,” The Normans in Sicily and Southern Italy (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1977) 18, 23. 55 Howell Chickering, “Introduction,” The Study of Chivalry, 3. Adolescent Knights in The Song of William

Nicole Clifton Northern Illinois University

Gradus aetatis sex sunt: infantia, pueritia, adolescentia, iunventus, gravitas atque senectus. . . . Secunda aetas [est] pueritia, id est pura et necdum ad generandum apta, tendens usque ad quartumdecimum annum. Tertia adolescentia ad gignendum adulta, quae porrigitur usque ad viginti octo annos. (Isidore, XI.2)

In his Etymologies, Isidore of Seville allows that men may mature at different ages, so that age alone is insufficient to define adolescentia; what is crucial to him is that the adolescent is of an age to engender children, and—by comparison with the iuvenis—has not attained his full adult strength. This vagueness remains in the encyclopedic works of the later Middle Ages, as well as in the vocabulary of much medieval literature, whether written in Latin or the vernacular. Georges Duby has discussed the various Latin terms, including puer and adolescentus, used by medieval writers to describe young men from the time they reach knighthood until they marry. Because of the range of meanings attached to adolescens and jeune, puer and enfant, it is often assumed that the Middle Ages had no concept of adolescence as a separate stage of life.

The Old French chansons de geste, however, with their great interest in the enfances of popular heroes, are a fertile ground for further explorations of medieval views on adolescence and youth. Steven Taylor finds it ironic that the terms enfant and enfances should, in the chanson de geste, “connote prowess, ardor, perseverance,” although their “normal” resonance in the Middle Ages was of “weakness, ignorance, frivolity and a period of social uselessness” (Taylor 3). Given the popularity of the chansons de geste not 214 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 only in France but also in England (see Blaess), their treatment of adolescent knights should be considered alongside more learned definitions of adolescence as we explore the medieval connotations of words like enfant. For instance, in his study of the term bacheler and its synonyms in twelfth-century chansons de geste, Jean Flori has shown that although not all bachelers in the chansons de geste are unmarried, they are always young, and, furthermore, the term bacheler carries a special ideological resonance, a sort of glamour attached to being a young, accomplished warrior (Flori 313).

By limiting the field of study still further, it is possible to see that at least one medieval vernacular writer does present adolescence as a distinct phase of life, and that he distinguishes between the terms meschin, enfant, and bacheler. The shows a number of young men who are recognizable to the modern eye as adolescents, although the degree of realism in their descriptions varies according to their roles in the story. If we compare these youths to the older knights in the Chanson de Guillaume, and to the more idealized enfants of certain other epics in the William cycle, it is clear that the writer of the Chanson de Guillaume—and, by extension, his audience—understood adolescents to be something more than boys and less than men.

In the Chanson de Guillaume, William is surrounded by his young nephews and brothers-in-law. Two have already been knighted; three achieve knighthood as the story unfolds.1 The latter three, Gui, Girard, and Rainouart, are presented as more realistic, rounded characters than the idealized Vivien or his antithesis, Guischard, who apostatizes on the battlefield. Gui, Girard and Rainouart, though brave in battle, are comic figures. A large part of the comedy, as well as the realism, comes from the contrast between the ideals of knighthood and their embodiment in these relatively fragile Clifton / Adolescent Knights 215 vessels, subject to hunger, fatigue, and abrupt changes of mood.2 Of the three, Girard promises to be the most heroic in traditional epic terms. When we first meet Girard, he is a squire to the cowardly count Tedbald, although it soon becomes clear that this position is not to his liking. Acting on his own initiative, he borrows arms in a somewhat unorthodox fashion, and essentially knights himself.3 This unusual state of affairs, however, makes no difference in his valor.

Girard’s cousin Gui has not even attained the status of squire when he enters the action, but rises out of a corner by William’s fireplace to offer his services, which William at first scorns. Whereas Girard’s valor is stressed by the contrast with the men he serves, Gui’s bravery is even more clearly marked as a result not only of his extreme youth but also of his small size. Finally, as a sort of complement to Gui, the enormously strong Rainouart rises from an even lowlier situation, that of kitchen knave. If his apparent social status bars him from knighthood, so too does his religion, for he is in fact a pagan, although he presents himself as a Christian.

The poet’s portrayal of these three youths is realistic, rather than heroic, in both physical and psychological details. Girard and Gui, in particular, are immediately recognizable as adolescents, by both their appetites and reactions. They exhibit what Jeanne Lods describes as the basic character of adolescence: “C’est d’abord l’impatience, sous une double forme: hâte de devenir un homme, intolérance devant les façons d’agir des adultes” (59). Rainouart shares this characteristic, though in other ways he appears to be older than the other two. He alone is called bachelers, whereas Gui is exclusively referred to as enfes and Girard is le meschin.

When the meschin, Girard, first comes on the scene, he appears to be a minor character, a mere follower of 216 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Tedbald. It would seem that his physical appearance is unremarkable, for he is never described; he is characterized, instead, by his actions. He establishes himself at once as outspoken and quick-witted, refusing to accept Tedbald’s saddle-cloth “quant conchie est tote” (354), using the count’s greed to force him to stop (XLI), then stripping him of both arms and horse (XLII-XLIV). His bravery, as he rides back to rejoin Vivien, contrasts vividly with Tedbald’s frantic and ungentlemanly flight; the poet comments of Girard, “Unc plus gent home ne mist Jhesu en l’ost” (434), comparing the meschin favorably to grown men.

When Girard arrives, Vivien, though surprised to see him (“Cosin Girard, des quant ies chevaler?” [459]), is glad to have his aid, placing the youth at his right hand (465) and saying, “Si jo t’ai, ne crem malveis engrun” (467). He never questions Girard’s prowess, as William will later question Gui’s. Indeed, Girard alone remains with Vivien when the last twenty of his men try to retreat (LXVI), though we do not see Girard in action until he fights his way from the field (LXXXI).

Although Girard’s courage is more than equal to that of Vivien’s men, his psychology is that of an adolescent, and Vivien understands this. When Vivien sends Girard to seek help from William, rather than ordering the boy to go, he laments, “Amis Girard, si jo te ossasse quere, Que par la lune me alasses a Willame!” (633-4) He suggests the danger of the ride, rather than allowing any inference that he wants to get his young cousin away from the battlefield. Girard, with the temerity of the young, will happily volunteer for the hardest task available.4 He has shown similar spirit in his brusque treatment of Tedbald and harsh words to Esturmi (XLVII), and will do so again as he lies dying in William’s arms. Girard, though dying, simply does not know when he is licked: Clifton / Adolescent Knights 217 “Mais qui tant me ferreit que jo fuisse munté, E mun vert healme me fust rafermé, Mesist mei al col mun grant escu bocler, E en mun poing mun espé adolé, Puis me donast un sul trait de vin cler E qui n’en ad vin me doinst del duit troblé, Ne finereie ja mais par la fei que dei Dé. Cher lur vendereie les plaies de mes costez, Dunt a grant force en est li sancs alez.” (1154-62)

His youth adds pathos to this brave speech; we may see the inability of an adolescent to believe in his own mortality.

His physical limitations are also those of an adolescent. Though in good spirits when he departs from the battlefield, Girard soon finds himself forced to cast away his armor, for:

Grant fu li chaud cum en mai en esté E lungs les jurz, si out treis jurz juné E out tele seif qu’il ne la pout durer. (709-11)

He arrives at William’s castle leaning on his sword. Girard has endured more on the battlefield than will Gui, who has to restore himself on the Saracens’ leftovers before he can continue fighting, but his stamina is not that of Rainouart, who will find his hunger a reason to fight even harder (Wathelet- Willem, I, 369-70).

Once in William’s hall, Girard shows both his kinship to William and his ravenous youth by the amount he eats. After Guibourc seats him,

Si lui aportat d’un sengler un’ espalle, Li quons la prist si la mangat a haste. 218 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Ele li aportat un grant pain a tamis, E dunc en aprés sun grant mazelin de vin. Girard mangat le grant braun porcin, E a dous traiz ad voidé le matelin, Que unques a Guiburc mie n’en offrit, Ne ne radrescat la chere ne sun vis. Veïst le Guiburc, a Willame l’ad dit: “Par Deu, bel sire, cist est de votre lin.” (1045-54)

Guibourc’s remark may perhaps be a barb aimed at William, but she does recognize the similarity between William and his nephew. After resting, Girard regains all his vigor and enthusiasm; he rolls out of bed shouting, “Munjoie, chevalers, car muntez!” (1072). Rainouart will show a similar moment of enthusiasm (2898-2901), but it will be less remarkable in his case since he will not yet have done battle.

Where Girard is an outspoken, quick-witted meschin who is physically almost the equal of a grown man, Gui is a single-minded enfant who can be downright insolent and who is so small that he cannot even pass muster among the squires. The term always used to describe Gui, enfant, can refer to any unmarried knight. In this case, given the repeated references to Gui’s small size, his age, which is less than fifteen, and the contrast between his “cor d’enfant” and “raisun de ber,” it obviously means “child.”

But he is a most unusual child. Though we first see him rising from the hearth like a male Cinderella, he is Vivien’s brother, and he lives up to this relationship. William is at first disgusted by the boy’s audacity in offering to take over his fief:

Quant l’ot Willame, vers l’enfant se grundi, Dunc li respunt Willame, mult laidement li dist: “Mielz voz vient, glut, en cendres a gisir Clifton / Adolescent Knights 219 Que tei ne fait mun conté a tenir!” (1451-54)

Gui responds with such spirit that he soon wins over his uncle, who hails the boy as his heir. Gui is still not content with this victory, but manipulates Guibourc into giving him arms and a horse and sending him off to battle. Jeanne Wathelet-Willem describes him as behaving “en enfant gâté . . . . [M]aintenant qu’il est seul avec sa tante, il va se servir de l’arme des faibles: les larmes” (I, 336). Tears are hardly the only weapon Gui has to hand, but they probably are the most effective one to use on Guibourc, at least for the first attack. Gui is quick to follow up his advantage with the same tactics he previously used on William, responding to Guibourc’s objections with his trademark “Unc mais n’en oï tel!” (1533). Small he may be, but Gui excels at getting what he wants, and his courage in defying his elders should not be overlooked.

Despite his small size, his skill at arms equals his ability as a debater, as he shows when William challenges his presence in the army (CLV). After this demonstration, William calls the boy to his right side (CLVI), as Vivien earlier did for Girard. Gui even surpasses Girard’s earlier performance by rescuing William from an attack by the Saracens, who, surprised by this onslaught, believe that Vivien has been resurrected.

These exploits may seem too extraordinary to be called realistic descriptions of adolescent behavior, as I have done. Yet Gui, though an infant prodigy, is nevertheless recognizable as a boy; he is not a young super-hero like Galahad. He frequently prefaces his remarks with “Un petit m’atendez,” simultaneously asking for attention which is not his by right and gaining a few moments to order his thoughts before speaking. At one point he forgets his story of escape and offers William the horse which Guibourc gave him “de 220 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 sun gré” (CLXXIV). William catches this slip, and Gui, thinking fast, responds, “Unc mais n’oï tel,” and distracts his uncle by telling him the Saracens are getting away. Gui’s smart remarks are sometimes blustering, as when he complains to William of his hunger. He begins by putting the blame on his aunt, and also exaggerates his own distress.

“Mar vi Guibourc qui suef me norist, 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, Ne puis mes armes manier ne sustenir, Brandir ma hanste ne le balçan tenir, Ne a mei aider ne a altre nuisir. Aincui murrai, ço est duel e peril.” (1737-44)

Exaggeration, self-pity, and attempts to shift the blame are all typical adolescent rhetorical devices. These faults would be marks of cowardice and bad character in an adult, like Tedbald, but in Gui they only show his youth.5

Despite his exaggeration, Gui’s hunger is real; such a small body cannot have the reserves of strength that a grown man’s would have. This, too, is an aspect of his realistic portrayal. His hunger links him to William, Girard and Vivien, but he cannot bear it so easily as they. This is not his fault, as both the poet and William acknowledge. The former comments, “Deus, que ore n’ad pain e vin Willame!” (1762), and William, without a trace of I-told-you-so, sends Gui off to find some food, warning him only,

“Mangez del pain, petit bevez del vin, Puis me socorez al dolerus peril, Ne me ublier, mult sui en tei fis!” (1776-78) Clifton / Adolescent Knights 221

Without anyone to keep an eye on him, however, Gui eats only a little bread, and hastily downs “un grant sester” of wine (1795-96). This certainly restores his spirits; whereas he was almost in despair as he announced his hunger to William, he returns to the field with such a show of valor as to make the enemy think that Vivien lives again (1853-54). He even teaches William a lesson in warfare: one must show no mercy to the wounded, for

“S’il n’aveit pez dunt il peüst aler, Il aveit oilz dunt il poeit veer, Si aveit coilz pur enfanz engendrer; En sun païs se fereit uncore porter, Si en istereit eir Deramé, Qu’en cest terre noz querreit malté. Tut a estrus se deit hom delivrer.” (1969-75)

William is impressed by his reasoning, saying again, “Cors as d’enfant et raisun as de ber” (1977). Yet as Jeanne Lods points out, Gui’s reasoning is not that of an adult, nor is this the topos of the puer senex. Rather, he shows the “logique implacable” of childhood: “nous touchons au troisième caractère important sans doute pour l’épopée . . . la pureté, ou, si l’on veut, l’exigeance de l’absolu” (60). It is precisely as an infant prodigy that Gui is valuable.

Rainouart shares this “exigeance de l’absolu,” arguing with William in terms that echo Gui’s (“De folie parlez!” [2660]), and insisting on retaining his tinel. As Wathelet- Willem notes, “à sa force extraordinaire, Rainouart joint quelque chose d’enfantin” (I, 364n.). His age is uncertain; he is called bachelers, a term whose nuances Jean Flori has explored. In Rainouart’s case, the term seems to indicate that, whatever his age, he cannot function as a full adult in Christian society. In his prodigious strength, he is the 222 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 antithesis of little Gui, but in other aspects, the two are remarkably similar.

Both youths, for instance, are admirably courageous despite coming from circumstances that suggest easy living and sloth. Gui has lounged around the hearth; Rainouart comes out of the kitchen, and indeed, continues to work there even after he has joined William’s army. He has had no training in warfare, nor in its privations, a point which worries William: “Ben semblez home qui tost voille digner, E par matin n’ad cure de lever.” (2658-59) But Rainouart says that he will be worth more than fifteen men to William (2662). Indeed, not only does he wield his tinel well, he also leads back into battle a number of cowards who hoped to go home when William gave amnesty to those who had no stomach for fighting (CCXXXII). Like Gui, Rainouart’s ideas of the proper way to wage war differ from William’s; both young men lean toward the pragmatic rather than the chivalrous.

They are also both willing to argue with William, who soon learns to listen to them. Rainouart takes this trait even further than Gui. When William forgets to reward his efforts, Rainouart vows to retaliate:

“Al pais vendrai devant ceste cité; Si ferai dunc de crestiens altretel Cum ore ai fait de paiens de ultre mer.” (3370-72)

Though Rainouart started out humble enough to go back to the kitchen after a day’s march with William (CCXXVIII), he has a healthy sense of self-worth, and intends to get what he knows he deserves.

The redactor makes Rainouart’s admission to the Narbonnais lineage more acceptable by introducing various Clifton / Adolescent Knights 223 thematic links with William and his nephews. These include Rainouart’s valor, audacity and appetite. Both William and Rainouart’s former master comment on this when Rainouart wishes to join the army (CCXIX); like the heroes of the fier lignage, he suffers from hunger on the battlefield (CCXXXIII); and when he complains of William’s treatment of him, what he minds is not being invited to table. Referring to Vivien, Girard, and Gui’s hunger, Jean Frappier states that “on ne saurait la comparer à celle d’un Rainouart” (I, 198). He refers to the “ton héroï-comique” in which Rainouart appears, but when Rainouart laments his hunger, his complaint is no more comic, if less exaggerated, than Gui’s:

“Si jo fusse a Loün la cité, En la cusine u jo soleie converser A cest hure me fuisse jo dignez; Del bon vin cler eüsse jo beü assez, Si m’en dormisse juste le feu suef. Ço comparunt Sarazin e Escler.” (3000-05)

Wathelet-Willem is more sympathetic to Rainouart than is Frappier, describing his character as revealed in this speech as naive and childlike, thus linking him to Gui. The difference is that Rainouart finds his hunger a reason to fight on; since the pagans are depriving him of his comforts, he will revenge himself on them for this deprivation (I, 369-70). But when Rainouart goes on to detail the violence he will wreak on the pagans, he hardly sounds either naive or childlike. He knows exactly how to do the most damage:

“Sire Willame, ci voz pri que m’atendez, E jo irrai la jus vers cele mer; La u vei les dromunz aancrer, Si.s irrai freindre e bruser ces nés.” (3006-09) 224 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 And he will follow through on his threat. Whereas hunger, for those of the fier lignage, is something to be stoically endured until it can safely be assuaged, Rainouart turns it into an advantage on the battlefield. A final glimpse into Rainouart’s character is afforded by his own description of his boyhood in the last laisse of the poem. His father entrusted him to a tutor, of whom Rainouart says,

“Jo ne voleie faire pur lui tant ne quant, Ainz m’en turnai tost e ignelement Solunc la rive, ma pelotte culant.” (3514-16)

The picture of a boy disobeying his tutor and running off to the river, chasing a ball, is vivid and amusing. Since the motif of a boy playfully getting into a boat and then being blown out to sea has been repeated in various types of literature for centuries, it is difficult now to see the subsequent action as it would have appeared to a medieval audience, without overtones inspired by Mark Twain or Arthur Ransome. Since, however, Rainouart is a humorous character, it is probably appropriate to see humor in his account of his adventure, despite his statement that he got into his boat through “boban” (3518). His story is comic in its constant reversals of fortune: he would have drowned, except that fortunately he was saved by merchants; unfortunately they wanted to sell him (and Rainouart strikes a further comic note when he says that no one would buy him); fortunately the king bought him, and put him to work in the kitchen where he never went hungry (3546). Rainouart says that when the king appeared at the fair, “Il me esgardeit, si me vit bel enfant” (3533). As I have noted, enfant is a word difficult to define, in general. However, up to this point in the Chanson de Guillaume it has been applied, with two exceptions, only to Gui and to William’s squire, both youths under fifteen.6 I think I am therefore justified in suggesting Clifton / Adolescent Knights 225 that Rainouart was under fifteen when the king bought him, and thus, after his seven years in the king’s kitchens (3545), is twenty-one or younger when he joins William’s army. In comparison with Girard and Gui, he seems rather more mature emotionally, as well as physically larger and stronger; he understands his limits, and does not engage in bravado. We are quite convinced that Rainouart is capable of doing whatever he says he will do.

These three youthful heroes illustrate a theme common to the epics of the William of Orange cycle: rebellion against established authority, a willingness to take matters into one’s own hands, an initiative which the older generation would both welcome—as a sign of bravery and competence—and dread as disruptive (Duby 217-18). Emperor Louis embodies both attitudes simultaneously; he depends upon William’s strength, yet prefers not to get involved in William’s fights. Steven Taylor believes that “the negative character traits attributed to the enfant,” though amusing, “certainly reflect judgmental perceptions of children and adolescents on the part of twelfth and thirteenth-century adults,” although incidents involving these characteristics also allow the adults to indulge in nostalgia for their own youthful “high jinks” (9). However, in the William cycle of epics, most of the “negative” traits are also exhibited by older characters; and the adolescent knights appear in a favorable, though humorous, light.

The Chanson de Guillaume paints William as an old man, dependent on his family for advice and support, though his determination to continue the fight against the Saracens and his behavior at Louis’s court reveal traces of the courage and impetuousness that his nephews show. In other poems of the cycle, however, William himself appears as the brave young upstart. In the Charroi de Nîmes, William disguises himself as a merchant, hardly an appropriate role for a noble of his stature; but he is willing to do whatever is necessary, 226 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 even if it is unorthodox. Similarly, in the Prise d’Orange, some version of which must have been current before the Chanson de Guillaume, William, having already conquered Nîmes, is bored and eager to take another city. He seems to enjoy disguising himself as a Saracen in order to penetrate Orange. In the Couronnement de Louis, William engages in spirited wit on the subject of his shortened nose and lengthened name. Moreover, as Jean Frappier puts it, William possesses an “impétuosité juvénile [qui] se traduit... par son désir de briller au premier rang et de ne laisser à personne une chance de l’éclipser dans l’illustration du lignage—ce qui ne va pas sans causer quelque dépit à son neveu Bertrand” (2:166).

Bertrand’s impatience is not unique. Other epics in the cycle focus on the same sort of youthful initiative on the part of other family members. Aliscans and the Chevalerie Vivien both deal with Vivien’s impetuous vow and its consequences; Les Narbonnais describes the exploits of Guillaume and his brothers. Youthful bravery and brashness are continually foregrounded.

One could speculate that this emphasis on adolescent ambition may have something to do with the importance of the uncle-nephew relationship, at the expense of father-son relations, throughout the cycle. Father-son rivalry would have been all too familiar to the epic’s audience, but the uncle- nephew bond might have provoked less anxiety. William repeatedly receives support from his nephews, even in the Prise d’Orange, where he is a young, unmarried man. The relationship between him and his nephews is fairly egalitarian; support goes both ways. This is not to suggest, however, that father-son relationships would necessarily appear as troubled. When Aymeri appears in the Chanson de Guillaume, he does so as the second of William’s relatives to offer him men, and his offer of seven thousand men (2559) is the largest made by any of William’s relatives. Clifton / Adolescent Knights 227

It is interesting that Girard, Gui, and Rainouart all tend to act independently; they do not ask others for advice, nor do they run in packs of other young men. Girard might be said to do so, but he breaks away from Esturmi’s entourage to join Vivien. Georges Duby suggests that a young man leading the men who were knighted at the same time as himself was an important part of the chivalric system: “La cohésion vassalique, qui unissait les pères, se reconstitue alors parmi les ‘jeunes’: au sein de la bande, elle se prolonge par une nouvelle génération” (215-16). Wathelet-Willem suggests that this is the sort of relationship that Vivien has with his men (1:283n), but Vivien loses all those who fight beside him; the “cohésion vassalique” of that band is irretrievably lost. Girard, Gui, and Rainouart tend, instead, to identify themselves with older men—Vivien and William—rather than with their peers. This independent attitude may explain why William accepts their lessons; a single young man, admiring though impatient, is less a menace than a band of them threatening revolt. The Chanson de Guillaume highlights individual heroes, anxious for their own advancement, their own place in the world of men; they have no followers to whom they would distribute their fathers’ or uncles’ goods, were they to obtain them. William may accept Gui as his heir partly because there is no threat of Gui’s dividing the lands William worked so hard to acquire.

Within the Chanson de Guillaume, Girard, Gui, and Rainouart contrast markedly with other characters, thereby bringing various themes and lessons to the fore. Girard’s courage, for instance, makes the craven behavior of Tedbald and Estourmi appear even worse. Girard himself is not above pointing this out to Tedbald, saying,

“Si dirrez tant al regné de Berri, Qu’i jo sui remis e tu t’en es fui. N’en di que ja m’en veies vif.” 228 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 (357-59)

He cares nothing for his own life; his duty is to help his kinsman.

His death, too, contrasts with that of Guibourc’s nephew, Guischard. Their deaths are described in similar laisses (CXXIV-CXXIX), leading to the expectation that the two young men will be similarly brave; instead, Guischard renounces the Christian God. Had we not just viewed Girard’s exemplary death, reminiscent of Vivien’s, we might be more tempted to excuse Guischard’s final weakness. He has fought bravely to this point, one of William’s two remaining men; and he is not an experienced knight, having been dubbed two days before the battle (1035). But after Girard’s final speech, such pity is impossible. Whereas Girard contrasts with minor characters, Gui contrasts most strikingly with Vivien and William himself. Gui is Vivien’s brother, and rather than simply mentioning this fact, the poet describes Gui’s lineage in almost exactly the same terms that he used for Vivien’s (295-300, 1436-40). This alone suggests that the brothers should be seen in the same light; certainly they both fight bravely and are absolutely loyal to their uncle. But where Vivien is the very portrait of the perfect knight, in the tradition of Roland, Gui is amusing, impertinent, undersized, and pragmatic: hardly the nobly tragic figure that his brother is. Gui’s behavior both accents Vivien’s sacrifice and throws it into question. Which brother is the better knight? There can be no doubt of Vivien’s bravery, or of his importance to the poem; but Gui fights by his uncle’s side and gives him lessons in warfare. The boy’s wit makes his uncle appear slow-witted, easily distracted, and overly devoted to an impractical courtly code of behavior. And yet they are similar; as Jeanne Lods says of them, “un pas de plus dans la psychologie du père noble et il dirait: ‘Je me reconnais bien là!’” (60). Comparison with Gui makes not only Vivien but also Clifton / Adolescent Knights 229 William appear in a double perspective. Gui may put the old man at a disadvantage at times, yet William handles the situation with good grace, accepting the lessons the boy offers, and praising him for his good sense. Furthermore, age endures better than youth on the battlefield; yet Gui and William work well together, each helping the other. As Wathelet-Willem notes, whereas Vivien hopes that his uncle will come to his rescue, William winds up hoping for help from Gui (342-3). The generations are mutually dependent.

I have already discussed the ways in which Gui and Rainouart resemble each other. Rainouart also parallels Guibourc’s nephew Guischard in that both young men are converted pagans who fight for William and who consider withdrawing their loyalty to him. But Guischard’s conversion takes place before the action begins, and his faith has never been tested. Rainouart, however, is so eager to fight for William that he never considers that his unbaptized state might cause any difficulty, and even lies about his religion. He tells Bertram, “Jo crei tresbien en Dé” (3032) and insists to the amirail of Balan, “Jo sui ben baptisez” (3252). Guischard was properly dubbed, whereas Rainouart fights with a tinel, but appearances can be deceiving. Rainouart’s unbaptized faith survives the rigors of battle and receives its reward in the last laisse of the poem.

He does, however, threaten to rebel against William before he gets the compensation he deserves. In this, he is less like Guischard than like William himself. William has to threaten to return his fief to Louis before he can shame the king into contributing men to his cause. Rainouart’s défi seems to be of a similar nature. Rainouart also resembles William in his great size and strength. He, like Gui, seems to be a reminder of what Fierebrace was in his youth.

The values of the Chanson de Guillaume differ from those of, say, the Chanson de Roland. William survives by 230 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 imitating the behavior of Girard, Gui, and Rainouart, delivering the coup de grâce to wounded enemies, rebelling against his overlord, retreating when necessary. On the other hand, Vivien li bers, both preux and sage, with all the attributes of a conventionally perfect knight, dies—honorably and in the odor of sanctity, it is true, but his battle is finished by others less saintly than he. The Chanson de Guillaume presents an alternative to the knightly behavior of heroes such as Roland; in it, as in other epics of its cycle, shame can be lived down.7 Even Guibourc, suspicious though she is of William’s returning alone, does not really seem to believe that he should have remained to die on the battlefield. Not to belittle Roland’s sacrifice, but we are not dealing here with the conquests of an army that can retreat to the north after its successes; William has to live on the frontier, and cannot afford grand gestures at the expense of victory.

It might seem that we are dealing with two different ideals of knighthood, one represented by Vivien (and William, in his more idealistic moments) and the other by Gui and Rainouart. Girard straddles this line, since he revolts against Tedbald, presumably his lord, to fight beside Vivien, but is quite heedless of his own life in doing so. I think, however, that in fact what the poet presents is precisely the difference between youth and age, which is why the three young men I have discussed are so realistically described. The fact of their youth—even, perhaps, their adolescence—is important; their impetuosity is what will keep the knightly class vigorous. Old codes must continually be brought up to date, which is what William’s nephews do, though not without some hesitation. They frequently begin with their speeches by saying, “Un petit m’atendez.“8 In employing this phrase, the youths are both asking for attention which they might otherwise have trouble commanding, and emphasizing their own subsequent words. This is just one of the realistic psychological notes struck by the poet. Clifton / Adolescent Knights 231 William accepts the new ideas offered by his young companions with admirable flexibility. In literary works, the young need not be the threat to the older generation that they appear to be in Duby’s picture of northern France in the twelfth century. They will invigorate their society, supply new models of heroism; as Jeanne Lods has it, “On pourrait peut-être aller jusqu’à dire que les hommes sont des héros d’épopée dans la mesure où ils gardent en eux quelque chose de l’adolescence” (62).

NOTES

1 In considering the roles that these three youths play, I shall treat the Chanson as a single work; although the evidence for G1 and G2 being different texts is convincing, the combined redaction that survives may also be seen as a single work of art. 2 Although the three young men I shall discuss are all heroic, they are not the same three whom Jean Frappier sees as embodying three aspects of juvenile heroism, namely Vivien, Girard, and Gui (Frappier I, 176). I am interested primarily in youths who are of an age to be knighted but who are not yet or have only just become knights. Despite Vivien’s youth, his worth has been frequently tested, as he makes clear in laisses LXXIV-LXXVII. He already has lands of his own, for William gives them to Rainouart at the poem’s end (3500-01). As for Guischard, he has been knighted when he goes into battle, though very recently, and he appears only briefly; he seems to be chiefly a foil for Girart and Rainouart. 3 Wathelet-Willem believes that this interpretation is acceptable, though unusual: “Adouber peut évidemment signifier simplement ‘équiper’; cependant le sens premier est ‘armer chevalier’. . . . Girart, simple écuyer, revêt pour la première fois, des armes de chevalier. Il procède ainsi à un adoubement qui présente une double anomalie: le jeune homme s’arme lui- même et l’opération a lieu el chemin. Cette interprétation . . . est confirmée par la question de Vivien (v. 459: des quant ies chevalier?) et par la précision du poète (v. 1074: idunc a primes fu Girard adoubé).” (Recherches, I, 300, n. 94.) 4 Certainly adult knights also volunteer willingly for impossible quests, but the topos is associated particularly with youthful knights. Other examples include Sir Thomas Malory’s Gareth and Sir La Cote Mal Taille, and Guerrehes in the First Continuation of Chrétien’s Perceval. 232 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

5 Youth, of course, is necessarily flawed in medieval philosophy; the views of St. Augustine in his Confessions were still current in the later Middle Ages. 6 Vivien uses the word once, speaking to Esturmi of the Archamp: “Ja ne garrat li petit pur li grant,/ Nem pot garir le pere sun enfant” (247-8). And the “enfes Guibelin” offers to bring William two thousand men for the final battle in the Archamp (2566). 7 In the Couronnement de Louis, for example, William ignores Corsolt’s taunt that his family will be ashamed of him for having a shortened nose, and boasts of the situation instead, naming himself “Conte Guillelme au cort nes le guerrier” (AB 1162). 8 Wathelet-Willem cites Girart in 356 to Tiébaut, Gui at line 1631, and Rainouart, 2974, 3040, 3061, and 3095 (I, 372, n. 486).

WORKS CITED

Augustine, Saint. Confessionum libri XIII. Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina, 27. Ed. Lucas Verheijen. Turnhout, : Brepols, 1981. Blaess, Madeleine. “L’Abbaye de Bordesley et les livres de Guy de Beauchamp.” Romania 78 (1957): 511-18. Duby, Georges. “Les ‘jeunes’ dans la société aristocratique dans la France du Nord-Ouest au XIIe siècle.” Hommes et structures du Moyen Age. Paris: Mouton, 1973. 213-25. Flori, Jean. “Qu’est-ce qu’un bacheler?” Romania 96 (1975): 289-314. Frappier, Jean. Les Chansons de geste du cycle de Guillaume d’Orange. 2nd ed. 2 vols. Paris: Société d’Edition d’Enseignement Supérieur, 1967. Iseley, Nancy V., ed. La Chançun de Willame. University of North Carolina Studies in the Romance Languages and Literatures 35. Chapel Hill: North Carolina UP, 1961. Isidore of Seville, Saint. Etymologiarum sive originum libri XX. Ed. W. M. Lindsay. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1911. Rpt. 1985. Lepage, Yvan G., ed. Les Rédactions en vers du Couronnement de Louis. T.L.F. 261. Geneva: Droz, 1978. Lods, Jeanne. “Le Thème de l’enfance dans l’épopée française.” Cahiers de Civilisation Médiévale Xe - XIIIe Siècles 3 (1960): 58-62. Malory, Sir Thomas. The Works of Sir Thomas Malory. Ed. Eugène Vinaver. 2nd ed. 3 vols. Oxford: Clarendon, 1967. Clifton / Adolescent Knights 233 McMillan, Duncan, ed. Le Charroi de Nîmes: chanson de geste du XIIe siècle. 2nd ed. Bibliothèque française et romane, B:12. Paris: Klincksieck, 1978. Régnier, Claude, ed. Aliscans. CFMA 110. Paris: Champion, 1990. ---, ed. La Prise d’Orange: chanson de geste de la fin du XIIe siècle. 5th ed. Bibliothèque française et romane, B:5. Paris: Klincksieck, 1977. Roach, William, ed. The Continuations of the Old French Perceval of Chrétien de Troyes. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P, 1949. Segre, Cesare, ed. La Chanson de Roland: edizione critica. Documenti di filologia 16. Milan: Ricciardi, 1971. Suchier, Hermann, ed. Les Narbonnais, chanson de geste. SATF. 2 vols. Paris: Didot, 1898. Taylor, Steven M. “Comic Incongruity in Medieval French ‘enfances.’” Romance Quarterly 35.1 (1988): 3-10. Terracher, Louis-Adolphe, ed. La Chevalerie Vivien: chanson de geste. Paris: Champion, 1909. Wathelet-Willem, Jeanne. Recherches sur la Chanson de Guillaume. Bibliothèque de la Faculté de Philosophie et Lettres de l’Université de Liège. 2 vols. Paris: Belles Lettres, 1975.

La Historia troyana polimétrica: una nueva tentativa de renovación de la épica culta

Lola Peláez Simmons College

En su tesis inédita, El Poema de Alfonso XI: ¿Crónica rimada o épica?,1 Mercedes Vaquero plantea y resuelve de manera convincente para gran parte de la crítica2 el problema sobre la renovación de la épica en España de la misma manera que ocurrió en Francia. Sabemos que a mediados del siglo XII empiezan a producirse en la épica francesa una serie de cambios, entre ellos el que atañe al tipo de rima, por lo que en las refundiciones de los viejos cantares de gesta se empieza a cambiar la antigua asonancia a una rima aconsonantada. Ya hacia 1160 vemos esta rima consonante en algunos cantares de gesta del ciclo de las cruzadas, como la Chanson d’Antioche, refundición de Graindor de Douais, y de otros ciclos, como el de Roland. La proporción a favor de la consonancia irá aumentando hasta llegar al siglo XIV, donde nos encontramos que de 1305 a 1350 hay en Francia diecisiete cantares consonantados frente a tres asonantados.3

En España podemos ver un primer intento de renovación épica en el Poema de Fernán González, escrito hacia 1250. Su autor, un monje de Arlanza, hace una refundición del hoy perdido Cantar de Fernán González, en la cual utiliza la rima consonante y la cuaderna vía, no considerado tradicionalmente un metro para la épica. El Poema de Alfonso XI,4 compuesto en el siglo XIV por Rodrigo Yáñez,5 constituye otro intento de renovación épica y forma parte de la llamada “nueva épica,” identificada por Vaquero en su citada tesis, donde reivindica como épicos une serie de rasgos formales que en España, y no en Francia, 236 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 habían sido excluídos de ese género, como son la rima consonantada y el verso octosilábico, ambos presentes en el Poema de Alfonso XI, compuesto en cuartetas octosilábicas aconsonantadas de rima alterna abab.6

La misma estrofa encontramos en la Historia Troyana Polimétrica (HTP),7 traducción fragmentaria del Roman de Troie como se recordará, que constituye un caso singular dentro de la literatura medieval peninsular debido a la polimetría de los versos originales que acompañan a la prosa, pues cuenta con seis diferentes combinaciones de estrofa y metro. De los doce poemas conservados, nueve están compuestos en octosílabos, une de ellos agrupados en sextinas (I), otro en pareados (XII), y siete están agrupados en cuartetas (III, IV, y VII a XI), a las que hay que añadir dos cuartetas más intercaladas en la prosa.8

La cuarteta octosilábica aconsonantada es, sin duda, el metro preferido por el poeta, utilizada en siete poemas como ya dijimos: El tercero (III), en el que Agamenón aconseja la muerte de Héctor, el cuarto (IV), intercalado en la prosa y detectado por Marina Scordilis Brownlee,9 en el que Héctor se queja ante Elena por el sufrimiento de sus “dos maridos” luchando por ella en la batalla, del sexto al noveno (VI - IX) en los que se narra la historia de Troilo y Briseida con sus correspondientes lamentos y quejas a causa de su separación, el décimo (X), que narra el envío del caballo de Troilo como regalo de Diomedes a Briseida para conquistar su amor, y el undécimo (XI), que describe la pena de amor de Diomedes por Briseida y cómo gana su amor. La sextina octosilábica (I) es el lamento de Aquiles por la muerte de su amigo Patroclo, y los octosílabos pareados son las lamentaciones de Hécuba y Andrómaca para evitar que Héctor salga a la batalla (XII).

En este trabajo me propongo presentar las estrofas octosilábicas aconsonantadas que están intercaladas en la Peláez / La Historia troyana 237 prosa de la HTP como una prueba más de que en efecto hubo un intento de renovación en la épica peninsular durante el siglo XIV. Tras la exposición de la hipótesis que desarrollo a continuación, espero ayudar a esclarecer el problema de la fecha del texto conservado, que según Menéndez Pidal10 hay que situarla alrededor de 1270 por razones lingüísticas, frente a Amador de los Ríos, Menéndez Pelayo y Solalinde, que se inclinan a fechar la obra en el siglo XIV.11 También espero contribuir a solucionar el problema de su pertenencia a un género u otro, y que es una traducción de un roman francés que tiene además características épicas y cronísticas mezcladas con elementos líricos.12

Estamos de acuerdo con la profesora Vaquero cuando afirma que el criterio métrico no puede ser el único para determinar si un texto es épico o no, pues el uso de la cuaderna vía y del octosílabo en textos épicos demuestra que el género admite diferentes metros. El uso del octosílabo en la épica francesa13 queda ilustrado desde temprana fecha con el cantar de Gormond et Isembard, escrito entre 1068 y 1104 en tiradas de longitud variable con una cuarteta con carácter de planto que se repite a modo de estribillo. También lo encontramos en el Roman d’Alexandre de Alberic, de 1120, y en las tempranas vidas de santos. En España la evolución métrica hacia el octosílabo ya se dio dentro de la épica tradicional española, pues nos encontramos con el verso de catorce sílabas que predomina en el Poema de Mío Cid (PMC), junto con el de dieciseis del Roncesvalles y de las Mocedades de Rodrigo, es decir, que de dos hemistiquios heptasilábicos se pasa a dos hemistiquios octosilábicos. Además, también dentro de la épica tradicional, ya se puede apreciar una tendencia a pasar de la agrupación de los versos en tiradas a la ordenación de los mismos en estrofas, como indican las rimas internas que hay en el PMC y en el Roncesvalles, que pueden ser consideradas, según Vaquero, preludios de la estrofa utilizada por Yáñez en el Poema de 238 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Alfonso XI. Así leemos en los versos 411 a 414 y 2769 a 2772 del PMC.14 Sinava la cara, a Dios se fo acomendar mucho era pagado del sueño que soñado ha. Otro día mañana piensan de cavalgar; es día a de plazo, sepades que non más. (82)

En un monte espesso Félez Muño se metió, fasta que viesse venir sus primas amas a dos o que han fecho ifantes de Carrión. Víolos venir e odió una razón. (274)

Conviene hacer constar aquí que la presencia del octosílabo aconsonantado como medio de expresión de asuntos épicos en Castilla nos lleva hasta el siglo XII, pues conocemos por Francisco Rico15 unas coplas octosilábicas que hacia el año 1158 las mozas de Avila cantaban en los corros, donde lamentaban que los pares de Francia fueran elogiados y Çorraquín Sancho no:

Cantan de Roldán, Cantan de Olivero, e non de Çorraquín, que fue buen cavallero.

Cantan de Olivero, Cantan de Roldán, e non de Çorraquín, que fue buen barragán.

Mercedes Vaquero por su parte se remonta hasta el siglo XIII para demostrar que el octosílabo no es un verso atípico de la épica. Resalta dos poemas de Pero da Ponte escritos en la seguna mitad del XIII en octosílabos aconsonantados y destaca en la primera mitad del XIII al poeta portugués Afonso Lopes de Bayam, que compone en tiradas de alejandrinos monorrimos una parodia de un cantar Peláez / La Historia troyana 239 de gesta francés, seguramente de la Chanson de Roland, que él llama “gesta de mal diser.” Junto a esta composición, y es lo que interesa destacar aquí, aparece un corto poema que funciona como apéndice, en el que se pide al público que dé dinero al juglar, y está escrito en octosílabos aconsonantados de rima abab, así transcritos en su tesis:

Deu ora el-Rei seus dinheiros a Belpelho, que mostrasse en alardo cavaleiros e por ricomen ficasse; e pareceo a Sampalo con sa sela de badana: qual ricomen tal vassalo, qual concelho tal campana! (328)

La estudiosa piensa que es muy posible que el juglar compusiera la parodia en la métrica de los antiguos cantares de gesta y el remate en el metro que comenzaba a estar en uso, el octosílabo aconsonantado, y que ya en la mitad del XIV se habría establecido, como lo demuestra el Poema da Batalha do Salado de Afonso Giraldes, escrito en el mismo metro.16 Estos versos ne dejan de recordarnos el explicit del PMC que se lee al final del manuscrito, con letra del siglo XIV, en los que notamos una tendencia al octosilabismo, y que Menéndez Pidal transcribe así:

El romanz es leýdo, dat nos del vino si non tenedes dineros, echad allá unos peños, que bien nos lo darán sobr’elos (342)

Parece, pues, que hay también en la épica peninsular una tendencia al cambio métrico que, claro está, conlleva un cambio de ritmo. Posiblemente estos cambios tengan que ver con el carácter oral del género, ya que son composiciones 240 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 para ser cantadas o recitadas, y con la necesidad que el poeta tendría frente al público de renovar las melodías rítmicas que narraban historias que en muchos casos eran ya conocidas por todos.

Por otro lado, parte del proceso de renovación que tuvo lugar en la épica del siglo XIV en España se manifiesta en la inclusión en las narraciones épicas nacionales de motivos de las materias de bretaña o de la materia troyana, como es el caso de la inclusión en el Poema de Alfonso XI de dos profecías de Merlín, una tras la muerte de don Juan el Tuerto y la otra tras la batalla del Salado. También debemos recordar que en el proceso de evolución de la épica como género hacia el roman hay un aumento de la incursión de elementos líricos, ya levemente apuntados en la épica tradicional peninsular, con la presencia de lo que podría ser una breve adaptación de una canción de primavera en los versos 1618-19 del PMC señalada por Alan Deyermond:17

“Mio Cid e sus compañas tan a grand sabor están: el invierno es exido, que el março quiere entrar” y un alba en los versos 2703-04 que marca la traición de los infantes de Carrión:

“Con sus mugieres en braços demuéstranles amor: ¡mal gelo cunplieron quando salié el sol!”

Mucho más desarrollado está el motivo lírico en el Poema de Alfonso XI y en el Cantar de Sancho II, pues en cada uno se inserta una maya. La primera, ya señalada por Diego Catalán,18 está en las estrofas 411 a 414 del Poema de Alfonso XI:19

que da los puntos doblados, con que falaga al lozano e (a) los enamorados Peláez / La Historia troyana 241 en el tienpo del verano,

ca quando vienen las flores e los árboles dan fruto, los leales amadores este tienpo precian mucho,

así como el mes de mayo, quando el ruiseñor canta (e) responde el papagayo de la muy fermosa planta;

la calandra al otra parte del muy fermoso rosal, (e) el tordo, que departe el amor que mucho val. (122-23)

La maya del Cantar de Sancho II se puede apreciar en el capítulo CDLXXXII de la Crónica de 1344:20

Despois que el rey dom Garcia foy preso e metido em ferros, partiosse el rei dom Sancho de Santaren pera Coymbra. E, emm partindo de Coymbra, era primeiro dya de Mayo. E, quãdo chegarõ a aquella fonte e que as moças tomavã augua pera as mayas e foron nebrados como era primeiro dia de Mayo, começarõ os castellãos de hyr cantando as mayas. Mas el rey dom Garcia, que o ouvya, hya chorando. (362)

Junto a estos motivos líricos, muchos de los cuales aparecen en la HTP, hay una creciente participación de personajes femeninos en la épica. Sirva como ejemplo el caso del episodio de la bella Alda en la Chanson de Roland, que es narrado muy brevemente en el manuscrito de Oxford (vv. 3705-33) en rima asonante, y luego se desarrolla en las 242 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 nuevas versiones de la gesta que aparecen en rima consonante a partir de la segunda mitad del siglo XII. Así, en el manuscrito de Châteauroux el episodio de Alda ocupa alrededor de 900 versos, y también se amplía en el Ronsasvals provenzal, donde aparece el motivo de los sueños premonitorios de la novia de Roldán, que posiblemente estaría también en el Roncesvalles navarro.21 Seguramente de este texto navarro, o de otro parecido hoy perdido, procede el romance castellano “En París está doña Alda, la esposa de don Roldán,” donde es patente el elemento lírico unido al protagonismo femenino, igual que en las poesías VI a IX de la HTP.

Nos encontramos, pues, con que en la evolución de la épica parecen ir a la par la consonancia de la rima con la incursión de elementos líricos y la participación de personajes femeninos, lo cual sugiere un tipo de adecuación entre el asunto y la forma. Además, uno de los motivos que siempre ha formado parte del género épico y que según Propp22 está en relación con su origen, es el motivo del lamento funerario, tal y como muestran los lamentos de Carlomagno en el fragmento conservado del cantar de Roncesvalles, y los lamentos de Gonzalo Gústioz en Los siete Infantes de Lara. No es de extrañar, pues, que en el Poema de Alfonso XI también encontremos lamentos funerarios: de la estrofa 893 a la 912 el rey de Marruecos se duele de la muerte de su hijo y de su sobrino, matados en España por tropas cristianas. Las lamentaciones en el poema se extienden también al dolor por las derrotas bélicas: de la estrofa 1856 a la 1869 el rey de Marruecos expresa su dolor con quejas y lamentos al haber sido vencido por Alfonso XI en la batalla del Salado, igual que hará el rey de Granada más tarde en las estrofas 1882-88.

Diego Catalán23 señaló la relación entre el Poema de Alfonso XI y la HTP en cuanto al ritmo de los lamentos, que también se dan ante el cuerpo de un muerto (Aquiles ante Peláez / La Historia troyana 243 Patroclo), o ante una situación de dolor (separación de Troilo y Briseida). Cita tres cuartetas del Poema de Alfonso XI y señala cómo el acento en tercera, propio de la poesía latina medieval según Menéndez Pidal, divide el octosílabo en dos mitades que además corresponden en muchos casos a dos unidades de sentido, tal y como aparece en algunos versos de la HTP. Veamos las estrofas 892-95 del lamento del rey de Marruecos en el Poema de Alfonso XI y el de Aquiles en la poesía I de la HTP, en sextinas octosilábicas:

Poema de Alfonso Onceno HTP

El rey luego con gran duelo “¡Amigo, commo m’dexastes? se levantó des estrado. Ca vos sienpre me amastes En su cámara entrava mas que a uos mesmo syn llamándose malandante, falla. como un toro bramava Por mi mal es la mi vida llamando: “¡Fijo, Infante, pora mi mal fue venida, lunbre destos ojos míos, señor, aquesta batalla! ¡Aína será mi fin! ¡Gran pecado fizo Dios ¡Que sera de mi, mesquino! sobre mí, moro marín, ¡tan a so ora me vino (qu)e perdí muy noble braço! coyta de tan fiera guisa! ¡Rey mezquino! ¿Qué faré? Greçia fuese despobrada Abomelique el pigaço, Troya toda fues quemada ¡ya nunca vos más veré! e tornada en çeniza! (206) (55)

Como vemos, no sólo es comparable el ritmo de los octosílabos, sino algunas frases, como “¡Rey mesquino! ¿Qué faré?” en el Poema de Alfonso XI, y “Que sera de mi, mesquino!” en la HTP, que por otro lado ya la encontramos en los hemistiquios octosilábicos del Roncesvalles navarro, en boca de Carlomagno ante el cadáver de Roldán, en el verso 42: “Mas atal viejo mezquino, ¿agora que faráde?”24 244 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Quizás el ritmo en tercera de los octosílabos se vea mejor en los siguientes versos, que son peticiones en boca de personaje femenino: la reina a su padre, el rey de Portugal en la estrofa 1181 del Poema de Alfonso XI, y Hécuba a su hijo Héctor en pareados octosílabos en la poesía XI de la HTP:

Poema de Alfonso XI HTP

como a buen rey (e) sesudo, “Ay mi fiio, ay mi señor, mi padre e mi amigo, ay mi bien, ay mi amor, mi espejo e escudo, ay mi lumbre, ay mi amigo!” mi consejo, mi abrigo. (253) (203)

El topos de desear la muerte forma parte de los lamentos, tanto en el del rey de Marruecos, en la estrofa 1866 del Poema de Alfonso XI, como en el de Briseida por la separación de Troilo, en las cuartetas octosilábicas de la poesía VI de la HTP:

Poema de Alfonso Onceno HTP

¡ay, qué ventura tan fuerte, e dezía: “¡ay, que ventura, qué quebranto e qué caída!; mi mesquina, mal andante ¡ay, Dios, pídote la muerte!: atan fuerte e tan dura! ¡mejor me es que la vida! ¿por que non mory yo ante (362) que aquesto alegase nin que me en aquesto viese? (133)

Y de nuevo aquí nos encontramos con que el mismo motivo aparece ya en la épica tradicional del Roncesvalles navarro, en los versos 77-79, aunque en este caso formulado de otra manera: Peláez / La Historia troyana 245 ¡Con tal duelo estó, sobrino, agora non fués bivo. ¡Agora ploguiés al Criador, a mi seynnor Jhesuxristo, que finase en este logar, que me levase contigo! (401)

Hay en la HTP otros dos poemas que no son octosilábicos, uno, en alejandrinos monorrimos (V), describe la sexta batalla con muchas de las convenciones de la épica (paralelismos, descripción de las armas y los enfrentamientos dos a dos, entre Héctor y Aquiles) a través de los ojos de las “dueñas e donzellas” que lo ven desde las torres. Es decir, constituye un ejemplo más de que en el siglo XIV los poetas utilizan un metro diferente al tradicional para exponer asuntos épicos. El otro es la profecía de Casandra (II), en décimas de versos de cuatro y ocho sílabas, desarrollo original de una estrofa frecuente en la poesía latina medieval, a su vez muy conocida en la lírica gallego-portuguesa, igual que la cuarteta octosílaba de rima abab, ya señalado por Menéndez Pidal.25 Esta relación de la HTP con la lírica gallego portuguesa se vio reforzada cuando Dutton y Walker26 demostraron que las poesías líricas insertadas en El Caballero Zifar, de métrica parecida a la profecía de Casandra, son posiblemente de origen gallego. Deyermond, por su parte, destacó en su citado artículo la reminiscencia que tienen las líneas 21-24 del lamento de Aquiles con las cantigas de amigo, la deuda de las composiciones VI a XI con la lírica del amor cortés, y el alba que contiene la composición VIII, despedida de Troilo y Briseida. Efectivamente, tales elementos líricos existen en la HTP, y contamos con el mencionado trabajo de Louise Haywood en el que estudia algunos de ellos, pero como ya Menéndez Pidal señaló,27 estamos ante poesía funda- mentalmente narrativa, no lírica, lo cual la separa de los lais del Tristan, y además, añadimos aquí, no se puede olvidar el marco épico que las engloba.

Retomando, y para concluir, podemos ver en los octosílabos de la HTP un ejemplo más de la nueva épica del 246 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 siglo XIV, tanto por la métrica, pues hemos visto que las cuartetas octosílabas se utilizaban para escribir épica, como por el asunto y los motivos utilizados, entre ellos, el protagonismo femenino y los lamentos con el topos de desear la muerte. Dado que la incursión de elementos líricos en la épica es una práctica que aumenta con el desarrollo del género, como hemos visto, no es de extrañar, pues, que haya un alba insertada en la composición VIII, igual que, como dijimos, hay una maya dentro del Poema de Alfonso XI. Si además tenemos en cuenta que en su transmisión manuscrita la HTP nos viene enlazada en los dos manuscritos conservados con la versión de Alfonso XI del Roman de Troie, mandada hacer en vida por este monarca, en 1350, creo que se puede justificar el ver en sus poesías la obra de un poeta de la corte de Alfonso XI que sigue la moda literaria de su tiempo para llegar más a un público al que le gustaba escuchar épica sobre materia antigua en un metro diferente al tradicional.

NOTAS

1 Mercedes Vaquero, “El Poema de Alfonso XI: ¿Crónica rimada o épica?” 2 vols., diss., Princeton University, 1984. 2 Alan Deyermond, en El Cantar de mío Cid y la épica medieval española, Biblioteca General 2 (Barcelona: Sirmio, 1987) 91-93, siguiendo a la profesora Vaquero habla de una nueva épica en el siglo XIV peninsular. Por su parte, Juan Victorio en el prólogo a su edición, Poema de Alfonso Onceno (Madrid: Gredos, 1991) 25 y 32, a pesar de que no lo llama poema épico, pues no parece conocer el estudio de Mercedes Vaquero, se aleja de la denominación de “crónica rimada” y lo considera una “canción de cruzada,” emparentado con el Cantar de mío Cid y con el Poema de Fernán González. 3 Vaquero, El poema de Alfonso XI, 2:315-16. 4 Además de la citada edición de Juan Victorio, cuenta con la edición de Yo Ten Cate, Poema de Alfonso XI, RFE, Anejo LXV (Madrid, 1956). Peláez / La Historia troyana 247

5 Juan Victorio piensa, junto con Carolina Michaelis Vasconcelos, que Rodrigo Yáñez es más recopilador que autor (Poema de Alfonso Onceno, 27-29). 6 Para la relación del Poema de Alfonso XI con la épica, véase el capítulo III de la tesis de Vaquero, titulado “El Poema de Alfonso XI y la épica,” II: 148-255. 7 Historia troyana en prosa y verso, texto de hacia 1270, ed. Ramón Menéndez Pidal y Eudosio Varón Vallejo, RFE, Anejo XVIII (Madrid: Aguirre, 1934). 8 Una, señalada por Menéndez Pidal en el prólogo a su edición (Historia troyana, xxvii), se encuentra al comienzo del trozo noveno del manuscrito M, folio 131 d:

mogier casta e fermosa, si puede ser fallada, mas debe ser preciada que piedra preciosa.

Otra, que señalo yo ahora, forma parte de las palabras que Diomedes le dirige a Briseida cuando la recibe en el campamento griego y solicita su amor, al comienzo del folio 132 d:

E, señora e amiga, mi lunbre y todo mi bien, non vos pese de quequier que vos yo agora diga.

9 Marina Scordillis Brownlee, “Undetected verses in the Historia troyana en prosa y verso,” Romania 100 (1979): 270-72. 10 Historia troyana en prosa y verso, ix. 11 Antonio García Solalinde, “Las versiones españoles del Roman de Troie,” RFE 3 (1916): 121-65. 12 Véase al respecto Marina Scordillis Brownlee, “Narrative structure and the rhetoric of negation in the Historia troyana,” Romania 106.3-4 (1985): 439-55; Louise M Haywood, The Lyrics of the Historia Troyana Polimétrica (London: Department of Hispanic Studies, Queen Mary and Westfield College, 1996). 13 M. Vaquero, capítulo IV de su tesis “El Poema de Alfonso XI y la tradición épica románica,” 2: 256-366. 14 Cantar del Cid, ed. Ramón Menéndez Pidal (Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1976). 248 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 15 Franciso Rico, “Del Cantar del Cid a la Eneida: tradiciones épicas en torno al Poema de Almería,” BRAE 65 (1985): 197-211. 16 M. Vaquero, II: 329. 17 A. Deyermond, “Lyric traditions in non-lyrical genres,” Studies in Honor of Lloyd A. Kasten (Madison: Hispanic Seminary of Medieval Studies, 1975) 39-52. 18 Diego Catalán, Poema de Alfonso XI: fuentes, dialecto, estilo (Madrid: Gredos, 1953) 78-79. 19 Cito por la edición de Juan Victorio, Poema de Alfonso Onceno. 20 Cronica General de Espanha de 1344, ed. Luis Felipe Lindley Cintra, vol. VIII (Lisboa: Academia Portuguesa da Historia, 1961). 21 Chanson de Roland: Cantar de Roldán y el Roncesvalles navarro, ed. Martín de Riquer (Barcelona: Sirmio, 1989) 39. 22 Vladimir Propp, “The Wander Tale,” Theory and History of Folklore (U of Minnesota P, 1984) V: xii. 23 Catalán 134-36. M. Vaquero llama la atención sobre este paralelismo en la nota 19 al capítulo IV del Poema de Alfonso XI, 352. 24 Chanson de Roland. Cantar de Roldán y el Roncesvalles navarro, 399. 25 R. Menéndez Pidal, E. Varón Vallejo, Historia troyana en prosa y verso, xiv-xv. 26 Brian Dutton y Roger M. Walker. “El Libro del Cauallero Zifar y la lírica castellana,” Filología 9 (1963): 53-67. 27 Historia troyana en prosa y verso, viii. Ainsy disoit Huon: le couplage discours-formule référentielle en vers d’intonation dans Hugues Capet

Jacques E. Merceron Indiana University

Dans le prolongement du désastre de Crécy (1346), la cuisante défaite de la chevalerie française face aux archers anglais à Poitiers (1356) allait confirmer de façon indubitable le déclin de cette institution.1 Discréditée sur le plan militaire, l’aristocratie le fut désormais tout autant sur le plan du prestige social. La malvaise cançun jadis tant redoutée par Roland et les preux de Charlemagne l’atteignait de plein fouet à travers les propos fulminants de l’auteur anonyme de la Complainte sur la bataille de Poitiers. Après avoir affirmé que De tels gent ne puent aistre dicte bonne chançon,2 il ajoutait de manière vitriolique: Il n’est cueur qui peust d’euls dire trop laidure;/Fauls, traistres, desloyaus, sont infame et parjure (vv. 65-66). La royauté française incarnée par la jeune et fragile dynastie valoise, quoiqu’épargnée par l’opprobre, ne semblait guère mieux lotie. Blessé au visage, Jean le Bon allait demeurer prisonnier des Anglais pendant plus de trois ans. En 1358, alors que le roi était encore captif, le Dauphin, futur Charles V, se voyait même contraint de mettre le siège devant Paris en raison des troubles fomentés par le prévôt des marchands, Etienne Marcel, appuyé par Charles de Navarre qui tentait d’affirmer ses ambitions sur la couronne de France. Comme le note J. Subrenat,3 “politiquement donc, le royaume était particulièrement affaibli et le moral des Français devait être au plus bas.” Mais la lutte ne se situait pas seulement sur le terrain militaire et diplomatique. Le souci de légitimer la dynastie valoise face aux prétentions anglaises transparaît dès 1350 dans l’orientation nouvelle des Grandes Chroniques de France. La 250 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 crise de 1356-58 avait en outre mis en lumière l’impérieuse nécessité de redéfinir les alliances sociales et politiques.

C’est sur cet arrière-plan confus de démoralisation, d’effort concerté de redressement national et de redéfinition du paysage socio-politique que s’inscrit la chanson de Hugues Capet. Face à la révolte populaire et à la trahison réelle d’une fraction de l’élite bourgeoise, l’auteur de cette œuvre propose cependant une leçon politique inverse. Tirant implicitement la leçon des événements contemporains qu’il transpose dans la France du Xe siècle, il s’attache à promouvoir un nouveau type d’alliance entre la monarchie et la bourgeoisie face à la fraction aristocratique révoltée contre la couronne.4 Cet aspect original n’a pas échappé aux quelques critiques contemporains qui se sont intéressés à ce poème. Pour Robert Bossuat, le poète de la chanson, réfléchissant sur les événements de la crise politique de 1356-58, s’est fait l’interprète du sentiment populaire en composant un récit où se manifestait “l’accord complet du pouvoir monarchique avec la bourgeoisie qui l’[avait] sauvé.”5 Plus récemment, Albert Gier a vu dans cette chanson un “poème de l’harmonie sociale,”6 tandis que Renate Blumenfeld- Kosinski y a lu, de façon plus ambiguë, un récit dont le sens résulte d’un “dialogue of the multiple and contradictory currents that inform it.”7

Nous voudrions montrer, pour notre part, que cette chanson de propagande, dans son désir d’influer sur les mentalités et les comportements, de susciter des réflexions et de promouvoir un nouveau dialogue social, ne se contente pas seulement d’inscrire la nouveauté de ces aspirations politiques dans les formules éprouvées, voire éculées, de la poétique traditionnelle. Elle articule au contraire cette visée politique novatrice au moyen d’une “mise en architecture” qui place délibérément le discours sous toutes ses formes—monologues et réflexions du héros, dialogues et propagande politique—au centre de son projet rhétorique. De Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 251 manière plus spécifique, elle s’attache à revitaliser l’emploi du vers d’intonation en lui conférant un rôle original dans la scansion d’un programme porté par le discours amoureux, social et politique.

Chargé de signaler un changement d’assonance, le premier vers de chaque laisse a généralement valeur d’intonation, tant par sa position que par un formalisme souvent fortement prononcé: présence dans le vers du nom ou du titre d’un héros, inversion épique ou encore ordre des premiers mots selon un schéma “adjectif attribut + verbe être + sujet,” etc.8 Dans le système de la narration épique, les vers d’intonation remplissent différentes fonctions extra- diégétiques: appels à l’auditoire pouvant signaler des changements d’épisode ou marquer/simuler un découpage du récit en journées narratives9 ou encore simples indicateurs de poursuite du récit. Plus intéressantes pour notre propos sont les fonctions qui ressortissent plus directement à la diégèse épique: reprise, résumé, parallélisme qui articulent et assurent la cohésion du récit.10 En outre, les vers d’intonation similaires encadrant et rythmant certaines laisses en séries contribuent à souligner certains épisodes majeurs des chansons. Comme le note Alexandre Micha, la “reprise d’un même vers d’intonation dans une suite de laisses assure quelque unité à un épisode: on le perçoit comme un accord fondamental, qui assied la tonalité.”11 Il apparaît donc, dans ces conditions, que l’étude du vers d’intonation offre un point d’observation privilégié pour tenter de mettre en lumière certains traits thématiques et stylistiques récurrents d’une chanson de geste particulière.

Dès 1864, essayant de cerner la différence entre les anciennes chansons et Hugues Capet, le marquis de La Grange, son premier éditeur, remarquait: “on y sent je ne sais quoi de nouveau dans le récit.”12 Notant la difficulté de préciser une telle intuition, il ajoutait néanmoins: “elle est visible aussi dans les formes du langage, où l’on peut relever 252 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 ... des mots qu’on n’a point encore vus, des expressions de date récente. Nous ne voyons pas, par exemple, au XIIIe siècle, cette forme qui revient si fréquemment dans le poème de Hugues Capet et qui se retrouve dans celui de Baudoin de Sebourc: Ainsi disoit Huon qui tant fist à prisier.”13 C’est cette remarquable intuition du Marquis que nous nous attacherons à préciser et à approfondir dans cette étude, en la mettant en rapport avec les visées propagandistes de la chanson.

Un examen des 160 laisses constituant la chanson de Hugues Capet permet de constater l’existence de multiples échos parmi les vers d’intonation. Nous nous bornerons ici à étudier les formules de type “Ainsy disoit...,” formules à fort indice de récurrence signalant un discours (monologue ou dialogue) placé en position antécédente. Du point de vue structurel, cette formule s’intègre dans un couplage “discours-formule en vers d’intonation”14 qui, au plan énonciatif, met en relief le passage du discours au récit. Renvoyant à un discours antéposé, la formule—notamment grâce à l’adverbe de manière Ainsy—revêt donc une valeur référentielle et conclusive qui tranche sur l’emploi plus courant du vers d’intonation comme ouverture du discours ou comme élément d’un “schéma déclaratif,” selon la typologie de Lachet.15

I. Etude formelle

Dans sa version la plus stéréotypée, cette formule se présente sous la forme syntaxique Ainsy + dire + nom propre/titre, remplissant le premier hémistiche du vers alexandrin: Ainsy disoit Huon; Ainsy dist le roïne.16 On rencontre aussi un certain nombre de variantes d’aspect moins formulaire utilisant d’autres verba dicendi comme looer, prisier, se deviser, mais dont “l’attaque” par Ainsy et le Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 253 contenu sémantique nous autorisent à les rattacher à la version stéréotypée. Un relevé des vers d’intonation comportant ce genre de formules fait apparaître le décompte suivant: sur un total de 23 occurrences, 12 renvoient à des monologues et 11 à diverses situations de dialogue. En ce qui concerne les monologues, c’est Hugues (Huon), le héros de la geste, qui se taille la part du lion, puisque 8 des 11 monologues lui sont attribués17 (les trois autres étant prononcés par la reine Blanchefleur, son connétable et Drogues de Venise).

I.1. Formules renvoyant à des monologues I.1.1. Monologues de Hugues Capet

Du point de vue formel, les vers d’intonation des monologues de Hugues Capet se rattachent à deux types bien circonscrits. Le premier hémistiche Ainsy disoit Huon est suivi soit d’une apposition (type A), soit d’une proposition relative à valeur d’épithète qualifiante (type B). Seule la laisse XXXIII présente une variante isolée (C).

A. Ensi disoit Huon, ly damoisiaulz faitis (l. II) Ainsy disoit Huon, ly damoisiaulz de pris. (l. XI) Ainsy disoit Huons, ly bachellers membrus. (l. VII) Ainsi disoit Huon ly vassaus gracïeus (l. XXXIV)

B. Ainsy disoit Huon qui le cors ot plaisant (l. VI) Ainsi disoit Huon qui tant ot de renon. (l. XLI) Ainsi disoit Huon qui tant fist a prisier. (l. XLV) Ainsi disoit Huon qui moult ot de vaillance (l. XL)

C. Ainsi Huëz Cappez en lui se devisa (l. XXXVIII)18

I.1.2. Autres monologues 254 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Les autres vers d’intonation incluant des noms ou titres de locuteurs dont la longueur métrique est variable (deux et quatre syllabes) présentent par suite une plus grande diversité formelle:

Ainsi ly connestablez prisoit le baceller. (l. XLVI) Ainsi disoit le dame au gent cors signouri (l. LII)19 Ainsi Droguez ly biaulz en lui se devisoit. (l. LXIV)

I.2. Formules renvoyant à des dialogues

Les vers d’intonation renvoyant à des situations de dialogue présentent une cohérence formulaire moins forte que celle des monologues, en raison de la double contrainte imposée par l’inclusion de noms de locuteurs et d’allocutaires de longueur métrique variée (de trois à six syllabes). En revanche, ce qui s’impose alors à l’attention, c’est la virtuosité d’un art jouant sur la permutation des différents syntagmes en fonction de la nécessité métrique et assonantique:

1. Ainsy + verbe déclaratif (=1) + locuteur (=2) + allocutaire (=3): Ainsy dist le roïne au conte Savary. (l. XV) A-1-2-3 2. Ainsy + locuteur + allocutaire + verbe déclaratif: Ainsy Huëz ly bers a son oncle disoit. (l. XIII)A-2-3-1 3. Ainsy + verbe déclaratif + allocutaire + locuteur: Ainsi dist a sen frere Fedris ly parjurez. (l. XVI) A-1-3-2 Ainsi dist a Huon le dame douche et franche. (l. XXII) 4. Ainsy + verbe déclaratif + collectif locuteurs/allocutaires (=2/3): Ainsi se devisoient ensamble ly enfant (l. LVIII) A-1-2/3 Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 255

5. Ainsy + auxiliaire (=1) + collectif locuteurs/allocutaires + participe passé du verbe déclaratif (=1’): Ainsi ont ly enfant adont leur consail pris (l. LXI) A-1-2/3-1’ Ainsi ont ly .X. frere leur besongne acordee (l. LXVI)

Le sémantisme du vers d’intonation peut aussi parfois “déborder” par enjambement sur le vers suivant. Dans ce cas, la proposition relative se place en incise entre le nom du locuteur et celui du “référendaire”:

Ainsi ly connestablez qui le cuer ot entier (l. XXXI) A-2δ Prisoit Huëz Cappet, le baceller legier.1-3

Ainsi ly connestablez qui le cuer ot hardy (l. XXXII) Looit le ber Huon au coraige agensy

Dans les deux cas, le concept-clé (prisier, looer), soulignant une évolution psychologique et politique du connétable (cf. III. 2.3: D6 et D7), se trouve mis en valeur par le rejet en tête de vers.

II. Etude comparative

Il convient d’évaluer le degré d’originalité de Hugues Capet quant à la mise en œuvre d’une poétique de la scansion discursive fondée sur l’emploi du couplage discours-formule. Pour ce faire, nous examinerons un certain nombre de chansons s’échelonnant du XIIe au XIVe siècle.

Le sondage effectué “en amont” permet de constater que, si les chansons anciennes de l’échantillon retenu20 font une large part aux formules introduisant un discours,21 elles 256 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 ne soulignent en revanche que rarement un discours déjà prononcé. Au lieu d’utiliser une formule faisant référence au discours du locuteur (type Ainsy disoit Huon), elles préfèrent généralement mettre en valeur l’effet du discours prononcé sur l’allocutaire par des formules qui correspondent à ce que Lachet appelle le “schéma narratif”22 avec Quant + verbe sensoriel: Quant l’ot Rollant (Chanson de Roland, v. 302); Quant l’ot Marsilie (v. 601), schéma qui perdure au XIVe siècle.23

Deuxième constatation, la formule référentielle type Ainsy + verbe déclaratif apparaît bien dans ces chansons, mais son emploi reste très limité,24 et toujours en cours de laisse. Berte as grans piés, œuvre en alexandrins achevée après 1273-74,25 ne comporte que trois occurrences de cette formule. Encore sont-elles sémantiquement et structurellement disparates.26 Une chanson—Ami et Amile (ca. 1200)—présente toutefois un emploi plus structuré de ces formules, puisqu’elle livre deux occurrences strictement identiques: Ainsiz le dist que ne l’entendi on (vv. 1189 et 1675). Il s’agit en outre dans les deux cas d’un couplage monologue-formule dont la fonction est précisément de souligner, au-delà de la distance et , le parallélisme des situations et la quasi identité formulaire des discours d’Ami et d’Amile, elle-même reflet de la “gémellité spirituelle” des deux compagnons: les monologues séparés des héros revêtent tous deux la forme d’une invocation divine avant un combat décisif (l. LXVI et l. LXXXIV). On perçoit dans cet exemple l’ébauche timide de l’utilisation séquentielle du couplage discours-formule si caractéristique de Hugues Capet (cf. III. 1.1.), mais là encore, ce procédé, loin de prendre son point d’articulation au vers d’intonation, reste “noyé” dans le corps de la laisse.

Le sondage effectué “en amont” de notre chanson ne livre donc au sein de l’échantillon retenu aucune occurrence de la formule référentielle du type Ainsy disoit Huon en vers Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 257 d’intonation. Il est donc permis de conclure que ce couplage particulier représente une nouveauté rhétorique qui se diffuse au cours du XIVe siècle, comme nous allons à présent le montrer par l’examen de la production épique contemporaine de Hugues Capet (HC) (ca. 1358).27

Les chansons de geste tardives étant souvent fort longues, nous nous sommes limité à quatre œuvres: Le Bâtard de Bouillon (BB) (ca. 1350),28 Lion de Bourges (LB) (ca. 1350),29 Florent et Octavien (FO) (ca. 1356)30 et La Chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin (BDG) (ca. 1380-1385).31 Dans tous les cas, le relevé systématique du couplage discours-formule s’est avéré positif. Un examen comparatif révèle toutefois que ces chansons sont loin de faire un usage strictement identique de ces formules de clôture discursive.

TABLEAU COMPARATIF DES FORMULES REFERENTIELLES32

NOMBRE OCCUR- % NOMBRE VERS OCCUR- % DE RENCES * TOTAL DE DISPO- RENCES ** LAISSES * VERS NIBLES **

BB 221 1 4 6546 6325 8 12

LB 697 9 12 34298 33601 65 19

BDG 786 12 15 24346 23560 8 3

FO 452 42 92 18509 18057 37 2

HC 160 23 143 6360 6200 10 16

* en vers d’intonation ** en cours de laisses

A s’en tenir au seul aspect quantitatif, ce tableau permet de faire un certain nombre d’observations. Tout d’abord, en quantité relative (pourcentage), toutes les chansons privilégient le couplage discours-formule en vers d’intonation par rapport au couplage en cours de laisse. On peut donc conclure à une spécialisation rhétorique de ces 258 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 formules référentielles de type Ainsy + verbum dicendi + ... D’autre part, alors que le pourcentage de couplage en cours de laisse est sensiblement le même pour toutes les chansons (à l’exception du 0,003% de BDG), le traitement du couplage en vers d’intonation met clairement en évidence deux groupes distincts de chansons: un groupe BB,33 LB et BDG à faible couplage (surtout si l’on considère le grand nombre de vers d’intonation de LB et BDG); un groupe FO et HC à fort couplage (respectivement 9,2% et 14,3%).34 Il n’est pas exagéré de dire que dans ces deux chansons le couplage discours-formule en vers d’intonation fait figure de véritable procédé rhétorique. Nous soulignerons toutefois dans un instant la profonde originalité stylistique d’HC dans l’emploi de ce procédé. Notons encore qu’HC, FO et BDG utilisent le procédé pour mettre en valeur le nom et le discours du héros principal: 9 occurrences sur 23 dans HC (cf. I. 1.1.); 5 occurrences sur 12 dans BDG. On relève d’ailleurs dans ces chansons la même matrice rhétorique pour souligner les paroles du héros:

Ainsi disoit Bertran qui bon galois estoit (l. X) Ainsi disoit Bertran, qui si bien esploitoit (l. XIX) Ainsi disoit Bertran, qui tant fist a prisier (l. XXI) Ainsi disoit Bertran dont je vous signifie (l. XLI) Ainssi disoit Bertran, qui fort va chevauchant (l.DCXL) Ainsi disoit Florent qui fu de j(e)onne aage (l. XLVII) Ainsi disoit Florent, le damoisel gentilz (l. CIII) Ainsy disoit Florent a la fresche coulour (l. CXI) Ainsi disoit Florent a la clere façon (l. CCXCI) Ainsi disoit Florent par dedens la prison (l. CCCCXXII)

Dans un cas, on rencontre même une coïncidence formulaire quasi parfaite entre les trois chansons (respectivement HC, FO, BDG): Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 259

Ainsi disoit Huon qui tant fist à prisier (l. XLV) Ainsy disoit Florent qui tant fait a prisier (v. 3261) Ainsi disoit Bertran, qui tant fist a prisier (l. XXI)

Pour frappantes que soient ces ressemblances formelles, elles ne doivent toutefois pas masquer l’originalité profonde d’HC dans l’utilisation structurelle et narrative du procédé, comme nous le montrerons à présent par l’examen du contexte d’apparition de ces formules.

III. Etude contextuelle III.1. Monologues (=M) III.1.1. Monologues de Hugues Capet

Criblé de dettes, le jeune Hugues décide de quitter le royaume de France pour échapper à ses créanciers et tenter ailleurs sa bonne fortune: l. I Il en a juré Dieu, le Pere droiturier, Que tout hors du roiaume s’ira esbanoyiier, Se laira cez detteurs ung petit refroydier, Car jusquez a .XX. ans fera il bon paiier. l. II Ensi disoit Huon, ly damoisiaulz faitis (vv. 31-35)

Le vers d’intonation vient souligner un premier monologue en discours indirect (M1: vv. 31-34), discours dans lequel la simplicité du “programme” hédoniste (s’ira esbanoyiier, v. 32) s’allie à la désinvolture cavalière d’un jeune insoucieux.

On n’a guère à attendre pour connaître la nature des plaisirs envisagés par le fougueux jeune homme. Après avoir mis enceinte la fille d’un chevalier du Hainaut, Hugues est amené à tuer ce dernier. Contraint à fuir, il se lamente au cours d’un monologue (M2: vv. 215-30), se consolant 260 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 toutefois bien vite en égrenant le chapelet de ses conquêtes amoureuses. Le monologue se conclut sur la promesse de nouvelles aventures galantes: l. V Et dist a lui meïsmez: “Ceus païs ne m’est preus ...” (v. 215) Puis dist a l’autre mot: “Je sui maleüreus ...” (v. 225) l. VI Ainsy disoit Huon qui le cors ot plaisant. (v. 231)

Hugues poursuit en Brabant sa et dangereuse équipée de séducteur, essaimant ici et là moult bâtards. Dans les faubourgs de Nivelle, il est assailli par les hommes d’un drapier dont il a séduit la fille. A la suite de cette mésaventure galante, Hugues traverse la Hollande, pour se rendre en Frise. En route, il s’abandonne une nouvelle fois à la méditation (M3): l. VI Et dist a lui meïsmes: “Vé me chy bien mescant ...” (v. 280) l. VII Ainsy disoit Huons, ly bachellers membrus. (v. 298)

Délaissant l’évocation directe de ses conquêtes amoureuses, Hugues amorce pour la première fois dans ce monologue (vv. 280-97) une réflexion de nature générale sur les risques de la séduction, réflexion qui se voit toutefois rapidement rejetée à l’arrière-plan en faveur d’une nouvelle apologie du plaisir amoureux. Le damoisiaulz conclut en réitérant sa ferme intention d’accomplir le “service d’amour.” Echaudé, mais non encore calmé, il échappe de peu à la pendaison, après avoir séduit la cousine du roi d’Utrecht (l. VII). Quittant précipitamment la ville, Hugues se rend en Allemagne (l. IX).

Là, ayant délivré une jeune femme enlevée par une troupe de voleurs, il caresse un instant l’idée de la séduire: Et dist: “Il y aroit deduit par habondance (l. X, v. 443). Mais sa réflexion marque à ce point une évolution très nette, Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 261 soulignée par le balancement rhétorique Et dist.../ Puis dist. Ce monologue (M4: vv. 443-52) prolonge et approfondit la méditation sur les risques de la séduction esquissée en M3: l. X Puis dist: “Il vault trop mieulz que de ce je m’esanche, Car j’ay du fet d’amour trop ouvré en m’enfance, De coy j’ay moult souvent esté en grant ballance...” (vv. 444-46) l. XI Ainsy disoit Huon, ly damoisiaulz de pris. (v. 453)

Armé de cette nouvelle sagesse, Hugues se propose alors de rendre la jeune fille à sa famille et de mettre un terme à ses frasques de jeunesse. Se souvenant opportunément d’un oncle boucher, il décide de boucler son périple amoureux et de rentrer à Paris.35 Ainsi se clôt ce qu’on pourrait appeler le “cycle galant des Enfances Huon.”

Il est indéniable que les quatre monologues des laisses I, V, VI et X forment, du point de vue sémantique, une série structurée (SM1) dont la cohérence est justement soulignée au plan rhétorique par la récurrence des vers d’intonation du type Ainsy disoit Huon aux laisses II, VI, VII et XI. Le quadruple couplage monologue-formule constitue un marquage rhétorique qui jalonne pas à pas l’éducation sentimentale du héros et les étapes géographiques de son périple amoureux (Hainaut, l. V; Brabant et Frise, l. VI; Allemagne, l. X).36 C’est donc ce procédé anaphorique qui, en accord avec le caractère sémantiquement homogène et progressif des quatre monologues, permet à ces derniers de structurer et signaler leur fonctionnement sériel. C’est en vain qu’on chercherait une telle organisation systématique dans les discours et les cinq vers d’intonation similaires de CBG dont les monologues et dialogues se distribuent sans principe apparent et sans aucun effet sériel. 262 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 L’effet sériel dans Hugues Capet ne se borne toutefois pas à ce simple quatuor de laisses: une deuxième série de quatre monologues (SM2) ponctuée de formules faisant référence au discours du héros vient en effet s’articuler sur la série précédente pour constituer avec elle un véritable diptyque,37 marquant là encore une progression narrative dont nous aurons à examiner le sens.

Pour honorer les exploits militaires de Hugues, la reine lui fait servir un paon. La vue de cette nourriture réservée aux héros déclenche une méditation qui se traduit par un nouveau monologue intérieur (M5: vv. 1553-57): l. XXXIII Le paon esgarda et moult ala pensant, Du veu que Porrus fist, si ala ramembrant, Du viellart Quassamus, dez aultrez en sievant, Comment lez aquievoient en honour exauchant; Puis dist ... (vv. 1553-57) l. XXXIV Ainsi disoit Huon ly vassaus gracïeus. Lors a parlé en hault ... (vv. 1582-83)

Ce monologue traduit le vertige émerveillé du jeune conquérant face à sa destinée brillante, à son amour pour Marie, fille de la reine Blanchefleur et à son ambition de la conquérir.38 L’étroite symbiose de la prouesse militaire à venir et de la conquête amoureuse se trouve ainsi directement scellée et suggérée par le poète dans ce bilan initial de l’entreprise du héros.

Mis en relief par un vers d’intonation, M5 précède un vœu héroïque, dit “Vœu du paon” (l. XXXIV), par lequel Hugues s’engage solennellement devant la cour à se rendre seul dans le camp ennemi afin d’abattre les ennemis de la couronne. Le monologue intérieur de la laisse XXXIII, célant la motivation profonde du héros (... et moult ala pensant,/ Du veu que Porrus fist, vv. 1553-54), fait contraste avec le vœu Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 263 prononcé à voix haute à la laisse suivante (Lors a parlé en hault, v. 1583). Une fois de plus se trouve souligné par le vers d’intonation l’écart entre parole publique et parole privée.

Le monologue suivant (M6: vv. 1696-726) exprime la volonté de Hugues d’accomplir le veu aventureus en dépit de tous les obstacles. Outre sa fonction de “pointeur référentiel,” le vers d’intonation de la laisse XXXVIII (Ainsi Huëz Cappez en lui se devisa, v. 1727) a de nouveau pour objet de souligner directement le statut de discours intériorisé du monologue précédent.

La séquence narrative suivante (M7/M7’) offre une plus grande complexité structurelle dans la mesure où elle s’organise non autour d’un simple, mais d’un double couplage discours- formule. Parvenu devant la tente de son ennemi, le roi d’Utrecht, Hugues s’abandonne à ses réflexions: l. XXXIX Adont c’est arestez moult longement pensans, M7 Puis dist: “Vrais Dieus de glore qui es en chieulz manans...”(vv. 1817-18) l. XL Ainsi disoit Huon qui moult ot de vaillance; M7’ Puis dist a lui meïsmez: “Par saint Denis de France ...” (vv. 1828-29) l. XLI Ainsi disoit Huon qui tant ot de renon. (v. 1852)

Ce monologue est une exortation personnelle à se venger de la peu glorieuse issue de son aventure d’Utrecht (cf. l. VII, VIII, IX). Le vers d’intonation de la laisse suivante (l. XL, v. 1828) renvoie à ce monologue, tout en mettant à nouveau en avant les qualités guerrières du héros. Le vers suivant (v. 1829) représente non un monologue distinct, mais la deuxième phase du monologue de la laisse XXXIX. Ce dédoublement du monologue (vv. 1818-27 et vv. 1829-51) et 264 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 des formules (v. 1828 et v. 1852) organise donc un jeu de va-et- vient qui souligne avec un didactisme de plus en plus appuyé (Ainsy disoit Huon...)39 l’aspect de plus en plus programmatique des réflexions du jeune conquérant: un homme de basse extraction, mais ambitieux, ne peut atteindre à la gloire qu’en se mesurant aux feudataires les plus puissants. On notera le chemin parcouru par Hugues depuis le simple s’ira esbanoyiier de M1!

Souligné par le vers d’intonation de la laisse XLV, le monologue suivant (M8: vv. 2026-39) rapporte les lamentations de Hugues face à la situation précaire de ses alliés mis en déroute par les troupes de Fédri et du roi d’Utrecht. Sa décision de secourir ses alliés, mise en valeur par le vers d’intonation, n’en est que plus méritoire: Ainsi disoit Huon qui tant fist à prisier (v. 2040).

Huitième et dernier monologue, ce discours de Hugues s’accompagne de réflexions sur un moment décisif pour le succès de son entreprise d’ascension sociale et matrimoniale: J’ay trez bien commenchié, bien moiienné oussy,/Se le fin est mauvaise, j’aroie tout honny (vv. 2031-32). Ce bilan final (M8) où transparaît l’idée que le destin du jeune ambitieux se joue dans l’issue (heureuse ou funeste) de la bataille, fonctionne comme un écho rhétorique et thématique du bilan initial présenté à la laisse XXXIII (M5).

Si le premier volet narratif (SM1) présentait le “cycle galant des Enfances Huon,” le second volet du diptyque (SM2) s’attache à peindre le “cycle de la maturation sentimentale et de l’ascension sociale du héros.” Il marque en effet chez Hugues le passage d’une sexualité dispersée de type “dom juanesque” à une affinité élective dans le cadre du mariage.40 Jusqu’alors vécue comme pure dissipation libidinale, la sexualité du héros de basse extraction sera désormais réorientée vers la conquête d’un statut social Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 265 éminent à travers la quête d’une épouse royale. Nous aurons à revenir sur la signification politique de ce schéma narratif qui emprunte la forme et l’idéologie du conte populaire. Par ailleurs, la prouesse chevaleresque jusque-là confinée au libertinage individuel se met à présent au service du pouvoir royal. Cette maturation est soulignée avec netteté par l’évolution des qualificatifs appliqués au jeune homme dans les vers d’intonation. Alors que dans la première série de monologues “libertins” (SM1), Hugues était successivement présenté comme ly damoisiaulz faitis (l. II), Huon qui le cors ot plaisant (l. VI), ly bachellers membrus (l. VII), ly damoisiaulz de pris (l. XI), dans la deuxième série de monologues (SM2), il est, pour la première fois dans un vers d’intonation, traité de “vassal” (Ainsi disoit Huon ly vassaus gracïeus, l. XXXIV), qualificatif qui met en valeur la nouvelle ambition sociale du jeune homme, tandis que sa vaillance est soulignée dans le vers d’intonation de la laisse XL (v. 1828).

La métamorphose du séducteur en chevalier soucieux de sa réputation se manifeste par l’apparition récurrente de la notion d’honneur dans les quatre laisses de SM2 (venir a haulte honour, l. XXXVII, v. 1726; Car c’est toudis honour, l. XXXIX, v. 1827; honour par habondance, l. XL, v. 1834; Lors aroie men fait noblement aconply, l. XLIV, v. 2039). En définitive, l’idéologie de ce second volet est marquée par une trilogie “amour-prouesse-honneur” qui assure la forte homogénéité sémantique des quatre laisses, homogénéité elle-même renforcée par l’encadrement et la scansion rhétoriques des quatre formules référentielles en vers d’intonation.

III.1.2. Autres monologues (M9-M10-M11)

En dehors des deux volets discursifs consacrés à Hugues Capet, les formules référentielles apparaissent encore 266 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 à trois reprises en rapport avec des monologues (M9: l. XLV, vv. 2080-85; M10: l. LI, vv. 2390-400; M11: l. LXIII, vv. 2891- 98): Ainsi ly connestablez prisoit le baceller (l. XLVI, v. 2086); Ainsi disoit le dame au gent cors signouri (l. LII, v. 2401); Ainsi Droguez ly biaulz en lui se devisoit (l. LXIV, v. 2899). Comme dans les monologues de Hugues Capet, ces formules ont pour fonction de signaler une cohérence sémantique qui, autrement, pourrait passer inaperçue. Isolés et apparemment disparates, ces trois monologues ont en fait pour dénominateur commun de traduire chez les locuteurs (et donc de transmettre à l’auditoire) le sentiment d’être avec Hugues ou les événements auxquels il est mêlé en présence de phénomènes extraordinaires: étonnement émerveillé du connétable face au prodige de vaillance de l“Inconnu” (Hugues) (Je ne say que quidier, v. 2080); étonnement de la reine d’être tombée parfaitement (v. 2395) amoureuse de Hugues, homme de condition modeste (petis hons, v. 2394) qu’elle considère toutefois comme ly plus parfais (v. 2393); stupéfaction de Drogues (tous s’en esbahi, v. 2890) de constater un revers d’alliance inattendu (rébellion d’une partie des grands feudataires). La trace du “prodige” laissée dans le sillage de Hugues Capet est donc scrupuleusement relevée par le poète grâce au retour en leitmotiv des formules sentencieuses débutant par Ainsy.

III.2. Dialogues (=D)

Les vers d’intonation renvoyant à des dialogues présentent, pour leur part, une plus grande variété de situations que les monologues sémantiquement homogènes du héros: réflexions, éloges, expressions de gratitude, propositions et accords, discussions, etc. Il est néanmoins possible de percevoir une certaine cohérence soulignée précisément par le couplage dialogue-formule. Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 267 III.2.1. Dialogue de transition

Face à son oncle boucher qui l’incite à s’insérer dans le lignage bourgeois, Hugues, invoquant certains risques, affirme son opposition de principe au mariage, sauf à accroître sa richesse et à s’élever socialement, tandis qu’il vante les plaisirs et avantages d’aimer en secret selon l’usage courtois (D1): l. XII Sez onclez ly a dit: “Biaus niez, parsaint Climent ...” (v. 563) —Biaux onclez, dist Huon, bien os vo parlement ...” (v. 586) l. XIII Ainsy Huëz ly bers a son oncle disoit. (v. 608)

Ce discours de Hugues (D1: l. XII, vv. 586-607) assure la transition entre les monologues de la première série SM1 (M1 à M4) et ceux de la seconde SM2 (M5 à M8) (cf. Annexe). Tant par son contenu que par le fait qu’il s’agit d’un quasi- monologue (bien que tenu en présence de l’oncle boucher),41 il se place dans la suite logique des monologues “libertins.” Mais d’autre part, en formulant la possibilité conditionnelle du mariage, il constitue un jalon narratif important en direction de la quête de l’épouse royale.

III.2.2. Dialogues et écarts langagiers (D2-D3-D11)

Dans Hugues Capet, les formules référentielles servent aussi à accentuer la nature “pipée” de l’échange verbal. C’est le cas par exemple dans la laisse XV où, après avoir averti son public des arrières-pensées funestes de Savari (v. 646), le poète souligne dans le discours de la reine (D2: l. XIV, vv. 670-83) l’opposition entre la réponse officielle, temporisatrice, prononcée à voix haute (vv. 670-79) et la restriction mentale proférée à voix basse (vv. 681-83). Ponctuant cette série d’échanges verbaux marquée de 268 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 duplicité de la part des deux interlocuteurs, le vers d’intonation dans sa formulation neutre fait ici figure de litote (v. 684: Ainsi dist le roïne au conte Savary.), ne reprenant en fait que la partie “émergée” et “épurée” du discours de la reine. Le vers d’intonation avec formule référentielle (v. 741: Ainsi dist a sen frere Fedris ly parjurez) sert aussi à mettre en relief un discours qui s’illusionne et se grise de sa propre puissance (discours du traître: D3: l. XV, vv. 736-40), tout en soulignant de façon implicite et par contraste l’habileté biaisante du discours antagoniste (de la reine: vv. 719-31). Le vers d’intonation (v. 6098: Ainsi dist ly bon contez qui tant ot le cors gent.)42 sert enfin à mettre en valeur un discours (D11: l. CLII, vv. 6094-97) où s’exprime ouvertement un désaccord complet entre les parties en présence. C’est ainsi que le connétable met en opposition la parole mensongère et la duplicité des traîtres qui ont fait jeu de fauvin envers le roi (v. 6095) à la subtilité dont il a fait preuve pour déjouer leurs perfides agissements (Ly quis vraie scïence contre vo faulz engin, v. 6097).

Outil rhétorique au service d’une visée propagandiste, le couplage dialogue-formule, par son effet structurant, permet de souligner soit de façon oblique (D2-D3), soit de façon frontale (D11), l’irréconciliable écart entre le parti monarcho-bourgeois et celui des grands feudataires révoltés. Nous verrons bientôt comment cette série discursive “discordante” (D2-D3, prolongée en D11), loin d’être structurellement isolée, fait pendant à une série discursive “concordante” (D8-D9-D10).

III.2.3. Dialogues et moments-clé (D4-D5-D6-D7)

L’auteur de Hugues Capet utilise aussi le couplage discours-formule pour mettre en relief une série de dialogues constituant autant de moments-clé et de jalons dans le Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 269 déploiement du projet propagandiste. C’est d’abord le cas, lorsqu’en présence des bourgeois de Paris et des chevaliers de son conseil privé, la reine annonce qu’elle adoubera personnellement Hugues et qu’elle en fera son champion (D4: l. XXI, vv. 975-86). Il s’agit là d’une première promotion éminente qui justifie pleinement de la part du poète le recours à un couplage discours-formule (v. 987: Ainsi dist a Huon le dame douche et franche). Le côté exceptionnel de cette démarche est d’ailleurs souligné par le fait que la reine se sent obligée de justifier son action de façon anticipée à l’égard de détracteurs éventuels (vv. 984-86).

L’éloge de Hugues par le connétable (D6: l. XXX, vv. 1435-42), souligné par le vers d’intonation (v. 1443-44: Ainsi ly connestablez qui le cuer ot entier,/Prisoit Huëz Cappet le baceller legier.), constitue un autre tournant décisif de la narration: c’est à ce moment précis qu’est scellée l’alliance politique de la bourgeoisie et de la fraction aristocratique restée fidèle au pouvoir monarchique. Mais cette alliance marque en outre le triomphe personnel de Hugues le boucher43 qui voit solennellement reconnaître sa supériorité par le représentant de l’aristocratie: admettant que Hugues est le meilleur chevalier du monde, le connétable émet en effet le vœu que le jeune homme soit couronné roi de France et épouse l’héritière du royaume.

Cet événement, clé de voûte de la politique d’alliance des classes, semble si important au poète qu’il réitère la scène de l’éloge de Hugues par le connétable, cette fois en présence de la reine-mère (D7: l. XXXI, vv. 1490-506). Là encore, la formule référentielle en vers d’intonation vient marteler le programme idéologique du poète (l. XXXII, vv. 1507-08: Ainsi ly connestablez qui le cuer ot hardy/ Looit le ber Huon au coraige agensy). Dans son enthousiasme, le connétable va jusqu’à affirmer la supériorité guerrière de Hugues sur tous les preux d’autrefois: ni Roland, ni Olivier, ni Guillaume, ni 270 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 Ogier, ni Judas Macchabée, ni même Alexandre ne peuvent l’égaler en prouesses!44 Sur le plan formel, le double panégyrique des laisses XXX et XXXI revêt, grâce aux vers d’intonation formés sur un moule identique, la forme de laisses parallèles. Dans les trois cas (D4-D6-D7), les formules référentielles en vers d’intonation (l. XXII, XXVI, XXXI et XXXII) lient en une série articulée et ascendante des moments-clé chargés d’illustrer de façon didactique la politique d’alliance sociale à travers l’exemple de la prodigieuse ascension du “boucher.”

Il existe toutefois une occurrence de formule référentielle (l. XXVI, v. 1161: Ainsi ly .II. baron ont pris leur parlement)45 qui semble faire figure de cas isolé. Extérieure à la fulgurante carrière de Hugues et à la politique d’alliance nationale, la décision de Beuves, roi de Tarse, et de Drogues de Venise de différer leur guerre contre le Sultan afin de porter secours à la reine Blanchefleur (D5: l. XXV, vv. 1134-60) constitue néanmoins un tournant décisif sans lequel la généreuse entreprise de Hugues eût risqué de rester lettre morte. C’est la présence de la formule référentielle qui nous incite à faire de cet épisode une lecture qui l’intègre dans un projet politique global. Grâce au marquage à valeur indicielle de “moment-clé,” l’auteur laisse transparaître son souci de ne pas laisser la nouvelle politique d’alliance nationale être perçue comme impliquant un désintérêt pour les alliances internationales.

III.2.4. Dialogues entre les bâtards de Hugues Capet (D8-D9-D10)

Une dernière série articulée de couplages dialogue- formule se propose d’exalter, par contraste avec la série “discordante” D2-D3 (prolongée en D11), l’alliance harmonieuse des classes à travers la mise en évidence de consensus discursifs. Engendrés dans diverses régions situées Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 271 au nord de la France, les bâtards de Hugues convergent “par hasard” sur Senlis (l. LIV). Dans l’auberge où ils se sont retrouvés, ils entament une discussion qui, tout en mettant en relief la diversité de leurs origines sociales (chevalerie, boucherie, etc.), permet de dégager leur accord fondamental (D8: l. LVII, vv. 2624-39). Cette “consonance” soulignée par la formule référentielle Ainsi se devisoient ensamble ly enfant (l. LVIII, v. 2640) constitue à la fois une extension filiale du modèle paternel d’harmonie dans le dualisme incarné par ce “Janus social” qu’est Hugues Capet et un paradigme microcosmique de l’alliance entre la bourgeoisie et l’aristocratie.

Un autre dialogue entre les fils du héros (D9: l. LX, vv. 2725-56) cristallise cette fois le modèle de l’harmonie sociale autour de deux bâtards particuliers. Henri, alter ego aristocratique du père, propose de s’emparer de chevaux appartenant à des chevaliers et de laisser Richier, incarnant le côté roturier du lignage de Hugues, cuver son vin pendant que les neuf autres bâtards s’illustreront par de hauts faits d’armes.46 La proposition d’Henri est acceptée: Ainsi ont ly enfant adont leur consail pris (l. LXI, v. 2762). L’auteur intercale toutefois entre la proposition et l’accord un commentaire annonçant que Richier-le-roturier apportera sous peu un soutien décisif aux frères aristocrates, soutien qui leur sauvera la vie. Là encore, le vers d’intonation permet de scander pas à pas la progression d’une idéologie d’alliance qui ne semble un instant se remettre en cause que pour mieux se réaffirmer dans toute sa vigueur.

Une nouvelle proposition d’Henri—accomplir un exploit dont on parlera encore dans 1000 ans (v. 2955)—reçoit l’accord unanime des bâtards (D10: l. LXV, vv. 2968-69), accord que souligne une fois de plus une formule référentielle: Ainsi ont ly .X. frere leur besongne acordee (l. LXVI, v. 2970). Outre la réaffirmation du consensus fraternel, ce discours articule cette fois directement 272 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 l’équivalence Henri/Hugues, fils/ père (Fieux doit sambler le pere en bon afaitement, v. 2961). L’exploit proposé par Henri—attaquer directement Fédri dans son propre camp—se présente en effet comme la copie filiale du “Vœu du paon” accompli par le père.

S’il est vrai que ces trois dialogues (D8-D9-D10) soulignés par des formules référentielles servent, à travers le discours consensuel des bâtards, à marteler la propagande d’alliance entre bourgeoisie et monarchie prônée par l’auteur et par la dynastie valoise, ils n’en laissent pas moins transparaître aussi quelques points de friction éventuels. Comme le héros roturier des vieux schémas folkloriques, Hugues-le-boucher s’élève par degrés, à la force du poignet, au statut de héros, vainc le “monstre” rebelle, épouse la princesse et accède à la royauté.47 Dans le double contexte déjà signalé de démoralisation et de redressement national, le “conte” du boucher-chevalier devenu roi pouvait certes avoir l’avantage de flatter les aspirations d’une bourgeoisie aux ambitions croissantes. Sur le plan historique, il restait toutefois à savoir combien de temps “Richier” allait se contenter de suivre les initiatives d“Henri” et de venir à sa rescousse sans jouer sa propre carte politique. L’ambiguïté foncière de ce programme politique présenté selon un schéma populaire rhabillé aux couleurs de l’épopée, allait progressivement se révéler une arme à double-tranchant et, à long terme, s’avérer fatale pour la royauté française.

Œuvre traduisant l’aspiration à un nouveau contrat social, Hugues Capet avait besoin d’illustrer pas à pas l’ascension d’un héros qui fût paradigmatique de cette nouvelle exigence. Pour cela, elle se devait de marteler les thèmes de ce contrat de façon didactique et sentencieuse. C’est à ce besoin que répond, selon nous, la réitération systématique, sérielle, du couplage discours-formule référentielle du type Ainsy disoit Huon en vers d’intonation. Phénomène somme toute assez marginal dans les autres Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 273 chansons du XIVe siècle, ce type de couplage, une fois élevé au rang de procédé rhétorique original, a permis à l’auteur de Hugues Capet de mettre en place une véritable poétique de la scansion du discours, en articulant toute une série de laisses au plan sémantique et formel, en orchestrant des échos textuels (gradations, oppositions, décalages, mises en symétrie) et en signalant de façon appuyée des moments-clé. Robert Bossuat qui, sans aller jusqu’à les dénigrer comme la plupart de ses prédécesseurs, n’était pas spécialement tendre pour les chansons de geste du XIVe siècle voyait néanmoins dans Hugues Capet une “œuvre cohérente” et centrée sur l’”exposé des idées dont [elle] n’est que le prétexte.”48 Nous espérons avoir montré que cette cohérence interne de l’expositio idéologique perçue intuitivement par Bossuat repose en bonne partie sur le procédé de couplage discours-formule référentielle en vers d’intonation. Portant sur un procédé rhétorique à la fois original et à forte valeur structurante, ces conclusions nous semblent donc faire justice du sévère jugement d’Edmond-René Labande49 qui ne voulait voir dans les chansons de geste du XIVe siècle—dont Hugues Capet—qu’un “informe fatras marquant une irrémédiable décadence” du genre épique.

NOTES

1 Sur ces deux défaites, voir Alfred Coville ,Histoire du Moyen Age, vol. 6 (Paris: P.U.F., 1941) 512-13 et 544-47. 2 Ed. Charles de Beaurepaire, 2/12 (Paris: Bibliothèque de l’Ecole des Chartes, 1851) 261, v. 12. La Chronique des quatre premiers Valois, œuvre d’un clerc contemporain des événements attribue également ces désastres aux fautes de la chevalerie française (cf. Daniel Boutet et Armand Strubel, La littérature française du Moyen Age [Paris: P.U.F., 1989] 95). 3 Le Roman de Hugues Capet au XIVe siècle, trad. François Suard et Jean Subrenat (Troesnes: Corps 9, 1987) 8-9. 274 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

4 On retrouve un écho de cette aspiration chez l’auteur de la Complainte citée engageant le roi à Mener Jaque Bonhome en sa grant compagnie (v. 95). 5 “La chanson de Hugues Capet,” Romania 71.284 (1950) 476. Voir aussi François Suard, “Hugues Capet dans la chanson de geste au XIVe siècle,” Religion et culture de l’an mil (Royaume capétien Lotharingie), Colloque international Hugues Capet (Paris: Picard, 1989) 215-25, repris dans F. Suard, Chanson de geste et tradition épique en France au Moyen Age (Caen: Paradigme, 1994) 285-311. 6 “Hugues Capet, le poème de l’harmonie sociale,” Essor et fortune de la chanson de geste dans l’Europe et l’Orient latin. Actes du IXe Congrès International de la Société Rencesvals, Padoue-Venise 1982, vol. 1 (Modena: Mucchi, 1984) 69-75. 7 “Rewriting History in the Chanson de Hugues Capet,” Olifant 15.1 (1990) 46. Pour les travaux plus anciens, on se reportera à Ferdinand Lot, Etudes sur le règne de Hugues Capet et la fin du Xe siècle (1903, réimpr. Genève-Paris: 1975), spéc. 324-50. 8 Jean Rychner, La Chanson de geste: essai sur l’art épique des jongleurs (Genève: Droz, 1955) 71-72. 9 La Chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin de Cuvelier, éd. Jean- Claude Faucon, vol. 3 (Toulouse: Editions Universitaires du Sud, 1991) 40. 10 Cf. Dominique Boutet, Jehan de Lanson: technique et esthétique de la chanson de geste au XIIIe siècle (Paris: Ecole Normale Supérieure, 1988) 24. 11 “Le Siège de Barbastre. Structure et Technique,” Travaux de Linguistique et de Littérature 6.2 (1968) 47. 12 Hugues Capet, éd. Marquis de La Grange, APF 8 (Paris: Franck, 1864) xxiv. Tout en mentionnant quelques nouveautés stylistiques, Noëlle Laborderie a aussi inversement—et à juste titre—insisté sur l’ancrage traditionnel de notre texte dans sa récente édition (Hugues Capet: chanson de geste du XIVe siècle, CFMA 122 [Paris: Champion, 1997] 62-67). C’est cette édition que nous citons dans notre étude. 13 La Grange xxiv. 14 Ci-après indiqué comme “couplage discours-formule.” 15 Ce critique distingue six schémas principaux pour les vers d’intonation dans Ami et Amile (“Les vers d’intonation dans la chanson de geste d’Ami et Amile,” Ami et Amile: une chanson de geste de l’amitié, éd. Jean Dufournet (Paris: Champion, 1987) 93-105. 16 A noter que l’autre formule d’intonation à forte récurrence dans Hugues Capet se présente comme la contrepartie logique de la Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 275 précédente: Quant + nom propre + oïr/entendre (Quant Huëz entendy). Ce type de formule figure déjà dans les chansons les plus anciennes (cf. II. infra). 17 Il existe neuf occurrences de la formule dans les huit monologues de Hugues Capet, car un monologue est dédoublé sur deux laisses (cf. III.1. 1: monologue M7/M7’) et comporte deux vers d’intonation. 18 Cf. Ainsi roy Almauri en luy se devisoit. Florent et Octavien: chanson de geste du XIVe siècle, éd. Noëlle Laborderie, vol. 1 (Genève: Slatkine, 1991) v. 7171. 19 Cf. Florent et Octavien (formule en cours de laisse): Ainsi disoit l’enfant au gent corps seignori (v. 7343). 20 La Chanson de Roland: texte établi d’après le manuscrit d’Oxford, éd. Gérard Moignet (Paris: Bordas, 1969), La Prise d’Orange, chanson de geste de la fin du XIIe siècle, éd. Claude Régnier (Paris: Klincksieck, 1986), Raoul de Cambrai, éd. Sarah Kay (Oxford: Clarendon, 1992), Ami et Amile, chanson de geste, éd. Peter F. Dembowski, CFMA 97 (Paris: Champion, 1987) et Girart de Vienne, chanson de geste, éd. Frederic G. Yeandle (New York: Columbia UP, 1930). 21 Bernard Cerquiglini (La Parole médiévale: discours, syntaxe, texte [Paris: Minuit, 1981] 22-26) appelle “prolepse” les séquences linguistiques qui précèdent le discours, signalant ainsi le passage du récit au discours. Il appelle “analepse” celles qui sont insérées dans le discours qu’elles signalent rétrospectivement (cf. aussi Sharon Myers-Ivey, “Repetitive Patterns for Introducing Speech in the Manuscript Tradition of the Prise d’Orange,” Olifant 8.1 [1980] 51-65). Les formules référentielles dont nous traitons signalent inversement la conclusion d’un discours, le passage du discours au récit. 22 Lachet 96-97. 23 Dans la chantefable Aucassin et Nicolette pouvant remonter à la première moitié du XIIIe siècle (éd. Mario Roques, CMFA 41, 2e éd. [Paris: Champion, 1969]), le passage du discours au récit est marqué par deux formules qui semblent combiner le traditionnel Quant l’ot + nom d’allocutaire et la référence au discours antécédent du locuteur avec ensi: Quant li rois de Cartage oï Nicolete ensi parler (XXXVII, 1) et Quant Aucassins oï einsi parler Nicolete (XL, 1). Le discours du locuteur est aussi explicitement pris en compte dans les formules employant le verbe respundre: Guenes respunt (Chanson de Roland, v. 296) en vers d’intonation ou Respunt Marsilie (v. 424) en vers de conclusion. Comme on le voit, ces solutions ne peuvent concerner que les seules situations de dialogue. 276 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4

24 Que la formule étudiée se trouve dans une chanson composée en alexandrins et que la plupart des chansons anciennes soient composées en décasyllabes n’est pas en soi un facteur limitatif. Les formules sont en effet d’une grande malléabilité métrique, par extension ou réduction: l’hémistiche alexandrin Ainsi disoit Huon est réduit à quatre syllabes Ainsiz le dist dans le vers décasyllabique classique d’Ami et Amile. Il serait aussi possible de faire “glisser” le nom du locuteur dans le second hémistiche et d’écourter le vers: Ensi disoit Huon,/ ly damoisiaulz faitis (6+6) pourrait devenir *Ensi disoit/ Huon ly damoisiaulz (4+6). Malgré cela, on constate que ces formules ne figurent pas dans les chansons anciennes en alexandrins comme le Voyage de Charlemagne à Jérusalem et à Constantinople (éd. Paul Aebischer, TLF 115 [Genève: Droz, 1965]), Floovant (éd. Sven Andolf, [Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksells, 1941]) ou Gui de Nanteuil (éd. James R. McCormack, TLF 161 [Genève: Droz, 1970]). Elle figure toutefois à plusieurs reprises dans le roman de Blancandin ou l’Orgueilleuse d’Amour, roman d’aventure du XIIIe siècle (éd. Franklin P. Sweetser, TLF 112 [Genève: Droz, 1964]), ms P: vv. 4383, 4469, 4903; ms C: vv. 5289, 5723, 6202). 25 Ed. Albert Henry, TLF 305 (Genève: Droz, 1982) 23. 26 Ainsi l’ont devisé, Dieu les puisse honnir! (v. 380); Ainsi li fait la vielle entendant la favele (v. 2080); Ainsi l’ont arreé, puisque li rois l’otroie (v. 2859). 27 On peut aussi se demander si le développement des formules de type Ainsy disoit postposées au discours n’est pas à mettre en rapport avec le développement considérable des écrits historiques au XIVe siècle, écrits à caractère rétrospectif. Contrairement au Ço dist Rollant antéposé qui “présentifie” pour le public l’acte énonciatif, le Ainsy disoit Huon postposé et à l’imparfait fige la parole dans l’irrémédiablement accompli. 28 Ed. Robert F. Cook, TLF 187 (Genève: Droz, 1972). 29 Ed. William W. Kibler, Jean-Louis Picherit et Thelma S. Fenster, 2 vols., TLF 285 (Genève: Droz, 1980). 30 Ed. Noëlle Laborderie, vol. 2 (cf. n. 18). 31 Ed. Faucon, vol. 3 (cf. n. 9). Moins poème épique que chronique héroïque, cette chanson emprunte néanmoins la forme de la chanson de geste. 32 Pour obtenir le pourcentage d’occurrences des formules en vers d’intonation, nous prenons en compte le nombre de laisses de chaque chanson. Pour ce qui concerne le pourcentage d’occurrences en cours de laisses, nous prenons en compte le nombre de “vers disponibles” (nombre total de vers de la chanson moins nombre de vers d’intonation). Ainsi, pour HC, le second pourcentage (0,16%) est calculé sur 6200 vers (6360-160). Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 277

33 Robert Cook (xlii) note justement le caractère “banal” et “un peu lâche” de l’enchaînement des laisses de cette chanson. 34 Nous excluons dans FO neuf occurrences de formules similaires commençant par Enssement dit, Si haultement ... parla, Si faittement... Leur inclusion porterait le pourcentage à 11,2%. 35 On notera que Hugues était précisément parti de Paris (cf. v. 169). 36 De la même manière, Lachet (98) relève dans Ami et Amile l’emploi de vers d’intonation parallèles pour souligner “la progression dramatique d’une scène,” mais aucun de ces vers ne concerne notre formule. 37 En fait, les deux volets du diptyque des monologues de Hugues Capet (SM1: M1-M4 et SM2: M5-M8) sont séparés par une série ininterrompue de dialogues (SD: D1 à D7), D1 jouant le rôle de charnière entre monologues et dialogues. Cf. Annexe. 38 Cette nouvelle inclination matrimoniale est toutefois en accord avec une déclaration précédente de Hugues remontant au temps de sa jonesse sur la fonction sociale du mariage (vv. 588-90, cf. infra III.2. l. XII). 39 La Grange (lii) avait déjà relevé “l’intervention du poëte, qui . . . mêle des sentences et des réflexions.” 40 Ce faisant, le jeune homme qui en jonesse [eü] maint grant esbatement (v. 565) ne fait que mettre à profit le conseil que son oncle boucher lui a prodigué sous forme de proverbe: Mais fruis qui ne meüre, se nature desment (v. 566). 41 Ce dernier, en effet, loin de dissiper l’enthousiasme du jeune homme se contente de sourire discrètement (v. 609) face à cet exposé catégorique. 42 Il s’agit là d’une occurrence isolée, puisqu’elle est la seule à figurer hors des 66 premières laisses qui comprennent toutes les autres occurrences (cf. Annexe). Nous la présentons toutefois ici pour ne pas rompre notre présentation thématique des dialogues. 43 Sur la légende d’introduction des bouchers dans la lignée des rois de France, voir La Grange (iv-x), Bossuat 1950 (453-56) et Suard et Subrenat (11-12). Un récent article de Bernard Ribémont et Michel Salvat (“De Francion à Hugues Capet, descendant d’un boucher. Légende des origines et encyclopédisme,” Le Moyen Age 99.2 [1993] 249-62) fournit des arguments pour appuyer l’hypothèse de Bossuat selon laquelle la légende marquant l’appartenance de Hugues Capet à une famille de bouchers parisiens était connue dès la fin du XIIIe siècle, avant même sa première mention chez Dante (beccaio di Parigi, Purgatoire, XX, vv. 49-52). Sur les prolongements et les enjeux politiques ultérieurs de cette 278 Olifant / Vol. 20, Nos. 1-4 légende en Allemagne et France, voir R. Bossuat, “La légende de Hugues Capet au XVIe siècle,” Mélanges d’histoire littéraire de la Renaissance offerts à Henri Chamard, professeur honoraire à la Sorbonne, par ses collègues, ses élèves et ses amis (Paris: Nizet, 1951) 29-38. 44 Cette série nominale se présente comme une adaptation tronquée de la liste des Neuf Preux représentant les divisions traditionnelles de l’Histoire (Antiquité classique, Antiquité biblique, chrétienté) (cf. Anne Higgins, “Medieval Notions of the Structure of Time,” Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies 19.2 [1989] 245-46). Ce remaniement au profit de l’héroïsme chrétien confirme la volonté politique de l’auteur de la chanson de rattacher Hugues Capet (et les Valois) aux lignages prestigieux de Charlemagne et de Guillaume d’Orange (cf. Suard et Subrenat 13-14). 45 Le terme parlement renvoyant lui-même directement à une formule précédente de Beuves (Car j’ay ung bon consail tout maintenant trouvé, v. 1146) renforce encore la cohésion du couplage “dialogue-vers d’intonation.” 46 Sur les traits burlesques de ce personnage qui traduiraient un “embourgeoisement” du comique épique, voir Jean Subrenat, “Richier émule de Rainouart: le burlesque dans la chanson de Hugues Capet,” dans Bernard Guidot, dir., Burlesque et dérision dans les épopées de l’occident médiéval, Actes du colloque de Strasbourg, sept. 1993, Annales littéraires de l’Université de Besançon, 558 (1995) 151-63. 47 Henri Fromage, “Hugues Capet, le dernier des hommes sauvages,” Bulletin de la Société de Mythologie Française, 181-82 (1996) 19-24. 48 Robert Bossuat, Le Moyen Age (Paris: del Duca, 1962) 222. 49 Etude sur Baudouin de Sebourc (Paris: Droz, 1940) 139. Merceron / Ainsy disoit Huon 279

ANNEXE

REPARTITION PAR LAISSES DES COUPLAGES “DISCOURS-FORMULE EN VERS D’INTONATION” DANS HUGUES CAPET ------MONOLOGUES DIALOGUES ------SM1: M1I-II M2V-VI M3VI-VII M4X-XI ------SD: D1XII-XIII D2XIV-XV D3XV-XVI D4XXI-XXII D5XXV-XXVI D6XXX-XXXI D7XXXI-XXXII ------SM2: M5 XXXIII-XXXIV M6 XXXVII-XXXVIII M7 XXXIX-XL M7’ XL-XLI M8 XLIV-XLV ------M9 XLV-XLVI M10 L-LI ------D8LVII-LVIII D9LX-LXI ------M11 LXIII-LXIV D10 LXV-LXVI D11 CLII-CLIII