Report of the Judgement of the Court
Gilles de Rais was condemned to be hanged and burned … [Gilles] made a request to the President of the Court: he and his servants, Henriet and Poitou, had committed enormous and terrible crimes, for which they were condemned to death, and he begged the President that he and his servants should die at the same hour on the same day, but that they should die just after him, who had been the principal cause of their misdeeds … for if they did not see him die, they might fall into despair, thinking that they were dying, but that he, the cause of their misfortune, might go unpunished … The President agreed to this.
Report of the End of Gilles de Rais
Gilles offered up several fine prayers to God, commending his soul to Him. Then, having given this good example to his servants, he chose to die first. His servants told him to be brave as a knight should, and trust in God’s love, and recall the Passion that led to our Redemption. Gilles died in a state of contrition. And before his body was burned, he was cut down and placed in a coffin, and taken to the church of Our Lady of Carmel in Nantes, where he was buried. Then Henriet and Poitou were hanged and burned to ashes. But they had shown much contrition and repented their misdeeds, and they persevered in this until the end.
SOCIETY
This section is inevitably broader than the rest, and it contains a whole rhymed novella about a medieval social climber, delinquent and tearaway. The Middle High German tale of Helmbrecht, a yeoman farmer and his son, was written at the end of the thirteenth century, probably in Bavaria, by Wernher der Gartenaere, who may well have been a Franciscan friar. The whole is an outspoken sermon against the wickedness of modern youth. The writer uses the farmer and his namesake son to contrast old courtly values with the new world at a time when society was breaking down and the feudal system was in decline. There is no doubt at all whose side the writer is on, and the medieval German work is a particularly vivid illustration of a society which is breaking down, with people leaving their proper stations for what are in all senses improper ones. Within the context of the work, the fact that young Helmbrecht gets a particularly horrid comeuppance provides for a satisfactory literary conclusion; but the rather desperate feudal and religious conservatism of the author and his conviction that God’s justice will triumph in the end is all a bit optimistic. Historically, of course, even the law enforcement officers (hangmen) can’t, couldn’t and didn’t hold back real social decay for long, and it was a while before the robber-barons and their private armies were brought under control in an empire that by now was well and truly un-holy.
Wernher
Helmbrecht – Father and Son
One man will tell you things that he has seen,
the next of happenings where he has been
a witness. Then again, a third will tell
a tale of love, a fourth of business well-conducted,
and the fifth of property,
then number six of the nobility.
My story is of things well-known to me,
of things that I, with my own eyes, could see.
I saw (and I shall tell you nothing wrong!)
a country farmer’s son with hair so long,
so soft and gently curling, that it fell
beyond his shoulders, blond and full as well,
and thus he went – his hair was all his pride.
He kept it dressed and lean, tucked up inside
a hooded cape, embroidered like a book
of stories. I bet you’d have far to look
to see so many birds made out so fair
again! Pigeons and popinjays were there
embroidered well and finished beautifully.
Shall I tell you what else was there to see?
A yeoman farmer – Helmbrecht was his name –
once had a son; he is the very same
lad that this story tells of. His name too
was Helmbrecht, like the father. That the two
should have the same name was the custom then.
So I shall do my best to turn my pen
to show you all, briefly and carefully,
the many wonders that there were to see
upon young Helmbrecht’s cape. I’m telling you
that all of this is absolutely true
and I’m not making up a pack of lies.
Right from the back, where the hood starts to rise,
up to the top and back, from crown to nape
along the middle seam, young Helmbrecht’s cape
had little birds embroidered all around,
as if they’d just alighted on the ground,
having flown there out of the nearby woods
just to come down upon this very hood,
the finest anyone had ever seen,
and far, far better than had ever been
upon this kind of yokel’s head! Idiocy!
But – well, let’s see what else was there to see.
There was the story of the siege of Troy,
when Paris, that quite impossible boy
stole and seduced the wife of Greece’s king,
(a lady he adored above all things),
and how Troy fell after many a day,
and from it how Aeneas fled away
and took to ship, and to the seaways turned,
while at his back the topless towers burned,
and Troy’s great walls collapsed, were lost to sight.
Alas, that such a yokel ever might
wear such a cape, embroidered all so well
of which there is so very much to tell.
And now, perhaps, you’d like to hear beside
what was depicted on the other side
with silken threads and wonderful to see?
The tale reports these details honestly.
On Helmbrecht’s cape, and all on the right hand
was Charlemagne and his Knight Roland,
and Turpin and Sir Oliver, the four
who fought so hard together, true and sure,
and did heroic deeds of bravery
against the Saracens and their army.
The great lands of Provence, the land of Arles,
fell to the forces of the mighty Charles,
who fought with boldness and with strategy
and with his forces set Galicia free,
a land the pagans held for many a day.
What else was there? One moment, and I’ll say.
From one side of the binding to the next
(it’s true – all this is in the story’s text)
you’ll hear what he had tucked behind his ears.
The tale of King Attila’s sons was there,
and how they, on Ravenna’s battle-field,
each fought so bravely, though each one was killed,
felled by the hand of Witego, the knight,
a brave and wild man, furious in the fight,
who also slew Theoderic the king.
If you like, I can tell you everything
that this young cuckoo had depicted on
his cape. Oh yes, I’ll tell you, everyone.
The stupid child had (it’s true, I’m bound!)
all down the seam, along and all around
from his right ear and all the way along
behind the left, and round the other one
(I’m sure of this – the story tells me true,
so listen and I’ll pass it on to you)
such pictures! Every one a sight to see,
fine knights and ladies, all of chivalry.
Such pictures never ever were surpassed.
And there were lovers there, each with his lass,
outdoors, as they enjoyed a stately tread,
the whole of this picked out in silken thread.
Beside each knight two ladies took their stance
(just as they do today in formal dance).
One knight held firmly to the lady’s hand.
And on the cape (embroide
red to the end)
between the maidens stood a noble squire
who held them by the hand, and rather higher
in the field, well-drawn, a merry fiddler stood,
with other musicians upon that hood.
And now I’ll tell you how young Helmbrecht came
to get this cape – the story’s very strange.
Helmbrecht – the idiot, the stupid fool!
Yes, how he got it I’ll reveal to you.
So let me now narrate for those who hear
the story of the cape itself, and where
it came from. It was all embroidered by
a sexy nun, who fancied chivalry
more than her convent, ran away and fled,
and this is what she got up to instead.
These are strange things for any nun to do,
but, well, I’ve seen, and it’s nothing new!
Her lower abdomen led her astray,
and took her reason with it, so they say.
Helmbrecht had a sister, Gotelind,
and she gave to the nun (she was so kind)
a whole cow for the nun to have as meat.
The nun’s embroidery was so neat
that she by needlework earned all her food,
by sewing capes and clothes like Helmbrecht’s hood.
So Gotelind gave the nun a whole cow.
But let me tell you what his mother now
gave her – she gave the seamstress-nun
more eggs and cheeses than she’d ever come
by in her convent kitchen in a year;
she’d not have seen so much, or even near.
Indeed, she’d not have had so much good cheese
within those walls – they see nothing like these.
Beside all this, the sister gave Helmbrecht
fine linen, white, the best she could collect,
to make him look his best. No better weave
could be found anywhere. I do believe
that it was woven fine and tightly fit,
and seven weavers worked full time on it
to make a cloth so fine and white and rare,
better than you might come on anywhere.
Still trying to make Helmbrecht look his best,
his mother gave young Helmbrecht even more
to make the son look finer than before:
best worsted cloth – no tailor ever held
such cloth to work with in his life; as well
she added in a measure of sheepskin
straight from the animal, as a lining –
the skin was from a pure merino lamb,
and none so white was found in all the land.
The worthy lady also gave the lad
a chainmail coat, the best sword to be had,
and these (the coat of mail and the blade)
gave pleasure to the boy. And then she made
his gear and his accoutrement complete
with all the other things that he thought meet –
a dagger and a leather side-bag – huge
and too absurd for anyone to use!
When they had clothed the boy so very well
he said: ‘Mother, now listen and I’ll tell
you what I need: a doublet fine and clean.
If I should be without one I shall seem
to be a bumpkin and a nobody.
I know exactly how it ought to be.
It should be such that when you get a sight
of it, you’d say: ‘Yes, that will be quite right.’
Your son will do you honour everywhere,
a son who is so noble and so fair.’
So in the clothes-chest that she had at home
there was a cloth-length left, and only one,
and she was sad when she was now required
to sell it for the doublet he desired.
She bought for it some other cloth of blue.
I tell you this – and once more it is true –
that never had a farmer or his type
worn such a cloth, or anything quite like.
Nothing as good as this would ever come their way.
I do assure you that it’s true as day!
Whoever told him how to dress up well
certainly knew his stuff! All men could tell
that this lad knew the image he must chance
to get from all that much-approving glance.
The doublet was like this: up Helmbrecht’s back
right from his belt to the nape of his neck
one button lay close to the next, I’m told,
and every one was shiny, twinkling gold.
So what about it? If you’d like to hear
I’ll tell you all about his other gear.
The doublet collar buttoned at the chin
and there were buckles there that kept it in
and they all shone like silver in the sun.
The doublet was the best that anyone
had seen in all their lifetime. Such a one
was never worn by any farmer’s son.
Nor had such effort ever gone to waste
in this country, or any other place.
Come on – just have a look at all this gear –
three buttons were of crystal clear,
neatly proportioned all and unsurpassed,
and kept the doublet buttoned fast
for this young idiot, this little loon!
The front of his fine doublet was all strewn
with sequins – you could see them shine and gleam
from far off, blue, yellow and red and green,
or black and white, as he had specified,
and you could see them sparkling far and wide.
They dazzled and they twinkled at a glance
so that, whenever he got up to dance
he was the cynosure of every eye,
and girls and ladies saw him passing by
and followed him with longing, loving looks –
it’s true, I tell you! It’s all in the book.
And I can tell you something else freely!
Beside him, women would not look at me!
And on his bodice, where it joined the sleeves,
right up and down the seams, believe
me, lots of little bells were sewn on here
and you could hear them jingle, loud and clear
when he went dancing, stepping in the line
– a great hit with the ladies every time!
One of the comic poets of yesteryear
could really do this justice, were he here,
better by far than I can manage. Well,
just listen anyway. I’ve more to tell.
His mother sold plenty of eggs and hens
so that she could buy him some things again –
fine hose, high-buckled shoes were for the boy
to make him even finer, and her joy.
And now he was completely kitted out
and said: ‘I want to go off to the court,’
and he went on: ‘Dear father, now I need
some help from you, and your support indeed.
My mother and my sister gave me lots
of things – and this shall never be forgot –
for giving me so much you can be sure
they’ll have my gratitude for evermore.’
The father was not pleased to hear this said,
but then he thought, and to his son replied:
‘You have the clothing. You can have from me
a horse, as proud and fine as he can be,
a jumper or a courser, full of style,
who’ll never tire, though you ride many a mile.
This fine beast then will carry you to court
–believe me, it will be most gladly bought,
as soon as I can find one I can buy.
But son, just let me say to you that I
would rather that you gave up all these thoughts
to go and dance attendance at some court.
Please do not go – just listen to my words,
for life at court is very, very hard
for those not born to it – indeed, it’s tough
for those who are familiar enough
with it. Son, stay with me and steer the plough,
and saddle up our packhorses, and now
we’ll till the land together, you and I,
and live in honour till the day we die,
and you will be my right and proper heir,
esteemed, as I am, honoured everywhere.
I’ve kept faith with myself and other men,
I’ve never borne false witness. Always when
I have to pay my tithes each year, I do,
and bring my tributes as and when they’re due.
I’ve lived my life honestly as I can
without envy, with hatred of no man.’
The son said: ‘Father dear, I beg of you
not to turn me from what I want to do,
for things cannot be any other way.
I have to go there and I have to stay
and get a taste of how things are at court.
As for those sacks of corn you’ve always bought,
I’ll not be humping them onto my back
or loading dung until my bones all crack,
onto your dung-cart – no, never again,
will you now catch me – never, in God’s name,
yoking the oxen up before the plough
sowing the fields and meadows – that I vow!
I tell you father, it would not be fair
on my long, flowing, fine and golden hair
and on my curls and my complexion too,
and on my clothes, so fitting and so new,
and on my cape, the garment that I love,
embroidered all around with silken doves
The Dedalus Book of Medieval Literature Page 7
