Heroines of the French Epic
Page 19
And struck with all his hate Count Guinemant the Frenchman.
2490 He cracked the shield he bore, he tore his hauberk’s meshing,
He drove his cutting spear against the baron’s belly
And threw his bleeding corpse one lance-length on the meadow.
Prince Floovant saw the deed, and almost lost his senses.
He charged upon his steed, his anger at its zenith,
And smote the great Emir with all his strength and temper.
So true a blow it was and with so true a weapon
That all Mahomet’s wiles were powerless against it:
The head of King Galeen went flying to the Devil!
The fight was done and won; the Pagans fled in terror,
2500 As French and German knights flew after them and sped them
With blows towards a flow whose tow was swift and heavy.
The river did the rest: so many of them perished
That no one, then or now, could calculate how many!
Of Clovis’s two sons, the ones who’d turned against him,
One perished straightaway, the other fled directly
To Basum town inside the realm of his protector,
Whose men elected him to be Galeen’s successor.
This royal traitor’s name, God rot his bones, was Jetta,
Who brought to France henceforth such sorrow, pain and terror.
2510 Floovant and Richier returned to Laon together.
No man alive today, or yesterday, could tell you
The princely booty gained from all the Pagans left there:
A field of dashing steeds, or palfreys sweet and steady,
A bank of silk marquees, of golden cloths and Bezants,
And prisoners of rank, whose ransom would be heavy.
Whoever came that day made profit on the venture:
Until the day they died they lived in pride and plenty.
THE PROFIT GAINED that day by one and all was high:
The BOY who’d gone, returned: and when the MAN arrived
2520 His mother hurried forth, and, as she held him tight,
She kissed him tenderly, then welcomed all the knights.
You never saw such joy, so many tears and smiles!
Prince Floovant introduced fair Maugalie his bride,
And straightaway the King led everyone inside
St Rémi’s church to crown our hero and his wife.
King Flores of Alsace was anxious then to ride
Back home with all his men and Richier besides –
And so they did, each lord returning to his shire.
King Floovant stayed in France, and ruled it all his life
2530 As one whom much distress had tutored to be wise.
My lords, there’s nothing more that any man alive
Could tell you of this song that wouldn’t be a lie.
God bless and guard you all who’ve listened to my rhymes –
And me no less, the bard who sang you every line!
❦
PART II
Bartered Brides
‘On looking round, the King saw Garnier was near.
He said at once: “My boy, my comfort’s joy, come here!
Since first I dubbed you knight in Valbrun’s open field
You’ve battled hard for me and won great victories,
Confounding with your hand my strongest enemies.
Had land been free before, you would have been enfeoffed.
But now take this reward: four thousand men with shields
To serve you when you wed the lovely Aye my niece.”
Young Garnier replied: “Much thanks, my noble liege,”
And bowed his head as far as Charlemagne’s feet.’
Aye of Avignon (ll.70–9)
The commodification of women, both as primary and collateral objects of male desire or ambition, is clearly witnessed in Old French Epic poetry from its beginning as a recorded genre, and testifies strongly to the victimisation experienced by females in the patriarchal society of medieval Western Europe. The medieval Church justified its jaundiced view of womankind by reference to the anti-feminist diatribes of its founding Fathers, and promoted it daily by an insistence on the celibate ideal for its ordained Sons. Biblical exegesis branded all women as ‘daughters of Eve’ – the supreme temptress to mankind’s original sin and primary instrument of the Devil – and thus, of logical necessity, as both evil and inferior creations to men. This tradition of thought and belief, once legally adopted and socially institutionalised, inevitably affected all aspects of a medieval woman’s life: her education, her work, her legal and property rights, her political and religious role, and, perhaps above all, her marriage conditions. Examples of marriage by hierarchical arrangement, for gain, rather than by personal choice, for love, abound in the chansons de geste, and reflect no doubt the daily reality endured by many female members of their original audiences.In the Song of Roland, for example, having just announced his heroic nephew’s death, Charlemagne immediately offers the dead man’s fiancée, Aude, the hand of his son and heir Prince Louis as a fitting alternative, assuming she will consider this the highest consolation and honour he could possibly bestow upon her at the loss of her beloved – upon this, the very day of the doomed pair’s intended marriage! In Raoul de Cambrai, this same Louis, now king, injudiciously offers the unwilling hand of his sister, the hot-headed hero’s mother, to a relative stranger as a timely reward for military services rendered. In another popular epic, Girart de Vienne, Charlemagne’s initial promise and subsequent revocation of the hand of a recently widowed duchess marks the start of the most celebrated baronial revolt in the extant canon of Old French Epic composition. In many chansons de geste, including the great Song of Roland, the hands of ‘well-bred and pretty women’ are promised in marriage by Saracen monarchs to their troops as an inducement or reward for military prowess, and the reparations demanded by Pagan victors in these narratives often stipulate the inclusion of Christian virgins (see, for example the Song of Aspremont, ll. 7833–46; 7916–30, 7993–8015). Amorous Saracen princesses also offer their female entourage quite freely to French heroes who find themselves imprisoned inside otherwise hostile strongholds (e.g. Floripas in Fierabras and, as already seen, Maugalie in the Song of Floovant). In the Song of William the irrepressible Saracen-born Guibourc, although now christened as a necessary condition of her recent marriage, is still quite ready to offer an inducement she knows will overcome her weary barons’ reluctance to aid her husband:
“And any man with land who wants a wife,
I have five score and sixty more inside,
Princesses all of peerless mien and mind;
By William’s grace each raised here from a child;
They sew my silk each day with rowels fine;
Come with me now and choose the one you like!
My lord will give you land, and I a wife,
If you will go and win them in the fight!”
How many men rushed forth to choose a bride,
Who at Archamp were fated soon to die!”
(The Song of William, ll.1390–1400)
There is, of course, much overt violence, both physical and verbal, in any poetry based on warrior prowess, and some of it in the Old French Epic is certainly also directed towards women. Verbally it can be found at all narrative levels, from brief, misogynistic asides, often quoted as ‘wise proverbs’, to lengthy tirades, often of the most insulting nature, usually, but not always, delivered by a male at the boiling-point of anger or frustration. In the Song of William, for example, the eponymous hero raises his sword to strike his own sister after deploring and cursing her life as one of serial debauchery. In Raoul de Cambrai, Raoul hurls the most insulting accusations at the Mother Superior of Origny convent, who is also the
mother of his closest companion Bernier, and then his troops proceed to burn down her convent with her and three hundred of her charges trapped inside. In The Knights of Narbonne, the ageing Aymeri brutally knocks his wife Hermenjart to the ground when she, naturally and sensibly, objects to his decision to dismiss all their sons from their endangered homeland. Having been violently struck, amazingly she rises, however, and proceeds to thank her husband for reminding her of her ‘rightful position’ in the marriage! At its most abusive extreme, the rape, mutilation, and/or murder of women, as innocent victims of male aggression in civilian or military life, are reported unflinchingly in the Old French chansons de geste. Both Saracen and Christian women, from Bramimond in the Song of Roland (c.1100) onwards, express their fear of the consequences of military defeat, and are shown to suffer cruelly therefrom, in individual confrontations and group assaults.
Like some profitable movies of today, some successful Old French epic songs were continued either backwards or forwards in time to entertain their public with the youthful exploits or last days of particularly popular heroes or with those of their ancestors or descendants. One such chanson de geste, relating the harassed marital life of a Countess Aye of Avignon, seems to have proved sufficiently popular among French medieval audiences for it to be alluded to in many other tales and to justify the composition of a sequel some ten years after the original production appeared. Read together they offer us a fascinating insight into the narrative modifications being made by the trouvères of the time in order to adapt their Epic genre to the changing taste and composition of their audiences.Most notable here is the shifting emphasis, both during and between each narrative, from a passive to an active romantic heroine, and from a loathsome to a respected Pagan hero.
At her father’s death, Aye of Avignon, Charlemagne’s niece, becomes a rich and royal marriage target, not only for the ardent arrows of respectable suitors, but also, because of her exceptional physical beauty, for the shafts of cupidity and desire shot continually by her predatory neighbours. In Aye I she is, predictably, ‘awarded’ by her uncle to his favourite knight, Garnier of Nanteuil, for whom, the poet makes it clear, the acquisition of her duchy is of equal importance to that of her hand.However, the Aye I poet does begin to challenge the most basic assumption of his artistic genre, namely that ‘Pagans are wrong and Christians are right’ (Song of Roland, 1015), by introducing a cast of Christians who are villains and a Saracen protagonist, King Ganor, who is anything but evil. Subsequently his continuator in Aye II breaks completely new ideological ground for the chansons de geste by transforming the Pagan monarch, the French Epic genre’s traditional arch-villain, into a Romantic super-hero, one who is a model of virtue, both as monarch and as lover. King Ganor in Aye II is not only prepared to wait patiently and courteously for his devotion’s reward, but also willing to abandon his land and his personal safety, his territorial conquests and even his religion, at a moment’s notice, to pursue, rescue and realise the love of his life. The second poet is thus also able to give a complete twist to the traditional ‘Saracen Princess’ motif of his genre, by having a Pagan hero fight for the hand of a Christian Princess, forfeit his material gains and change his religion to achieve a romantic goal.
Although there seems to be no historical prototypes for the three protagonists of both poems, the character of Aye was a popular one among medieval audiences, being frequently referred to in subsequent literary works. Her symbolic figure – one whose beauty and sweetness were able to inspire and survive the ruthless devotion of three Christian dukes and a Pagan emir for fifteen full years – no doubt struck a particularly sympathetic chord among the female listeners to and readers of her first adventure, inspiring and ensuring the success of its continuation. Both poems are fairly short by Old French Epic standards, but are nonetheless brimming with scenes of action, episodes of pathos, and moments of rustic and maritime charm. It is to the lasting credit of both original authors that the amorous adventures of this long-suffering heroine can still be enjoyed today in either or both of their medieval manifestations.
AYE OF AVIGNON
1.How Lady Aye was married
MY LORDS, God bless you all! Attend me, I implore you,
And hear a noble song that tells a worthy story:
How Charlemagne raised Sir Garnier from boyhood,
Together with the Queen, who cherished and adored him.
The child was good and true, and grew so wise and loyal
That when the King went out, to woodlands or to waters,
He never left him home: the noble youngster joined him
To hold his hunting-bow or help him with the horses,
Or wear upon his wrist the hunting-hawk or falcon.
10 And when the King was tired, the youth, inside his quarters,
Would sing him off to sleep or play some music for him:
There never was, in truth, a more adept performer.
And then, when it was time to ply the art of warfare,
Young Garnier at once was knighted and awarded
The leading roles in court, at Charlemagne’s orders,
Of seneschal in chief and bearer of the war-flag.
His duties spurred him on: ere long he left on horseback
With many gallant knights to fight against the forces
Of Charlemagne’s foes, defeating all that fought him.
20 Sir Garnier was wise and shared his fame and fortune
So freely that his name was honoured even more so.
His closest friend at court from early days had always
Been Bérenger, a duke, who, as I heard, was also
A son of Ganelon, that most disloyal royal!
But soon a maiden’s love would sunder friendship, causing
A thousand knights and more to die in bloody slaughter,
And churches to be torched, their burning belfries falling.
The song of Aye begins – so listen and enjoy it!
SIR GARNIER, the son of Lord Doōn, was brave,
30 And loved by great and small for all his winning ways.
With many gallant knights and vavasours he waged
Campaigns against the foes of Charlemagne’s reign
And suffered night and day for Charlemagne’s sake.
He captured many forts in Charlemagne’s name,
Subduing foreign foes and forcing renegades
To recognise the King and promise him their faith.
King Charlemagne loved the valour he displayed,
And gave him many gifts and honours in exchange –
As you’re about to hear, without the least delay.
40 KING CHARLEMAGNE’S reign was full of noble deeds:
In one of these he’d fought and wrought a great defeat
On Witikind, the King of savage Saxony.
But Charlemagne’s win had cost him many Peers,
And Avignon’s Antoine, a duke, was one of these.
His widowed wife, bereft of vigour in her grief,
Had but a daughter left to rule their mighty fief.
In lovely France, the King, his whiskers white with years,
Was holding court at Laon, where many had convened,
And summoned forth the girl, who was indeed his niece,
50 To share with him her cares and plan for their relief.
And thus it was that Aye, our heroine, appeared.
Three hundred knights in white escorted her with zeal,
A bodyguard well armed with lances and with shields,
And shod in spurs to speed their stallions and steeds.
The maid herself bestrode a tawny mule whose seat
Was made of golden silk with padding in between.
She wore a gown whose folds were sewn with golden pleats.
No Christian maid before was half as fair
as she:
She stunned the court at once– she took away their speech!
60 The King, though, wasn’t mum, and bade her take the seat
Right next to him at once, whomever this aggrieved!
Then, lifting up his voice, he said so all could hear:
“Sir Antoine of Valence, alas for you indeed!
Your loss to me is great! Your lifetime was too brief!”
Bertrand of Laon replied: “My lord, let grieving be,
For neither young nor old can know when death is near.
What is important now is that your niece receive
A count, a duke or prince, in marriage, who may keep
Her lands from others’ hands and govern them in peace.”
70 On looking round, the King saw Garnier was near.
He said at once: “My boy, my comfort’s joy, come here!
Since first I dubbed you knight in Valbrun’s open field
You’ve battled hard for me and won great victories,
Confounding with your hand my strongest enemies.
Had land been free before, you would have been enfeoffed.
But now take this reward: four thousand men with shields
To serve you when you wed the lovely Aye my niece.”
Young Garnier replied: “Much thanks, my noble liege,”
And bowed his head as far as Charlemagne’s feet.
80 The Monarch stopped him short and led him off to greet
And grasp the proffered hand of Aye his bride to be.
God help her though, for woe would haunt her wedding-feast –
Such woe that never since old David’s sling released
The stone that slew Goliath, of which the Scriptures speak,
Or Judas Maccabeus made Antiochus yield,
Or Trassus was betrayed by Jetta of Londite,
Did wilder war ensue wherein so many Peers
Who’d lived a life of joy endured an end so bleak!
SO LOVELY AYE was given and Avignon was won –
90 And Gontier and Sanson, Renard and Aumagon