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Jan. 27th, 2006 09:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ricardienneWhen we picked presentations in Comp. Lit., no one else wanted Chansons de Geste. So I don't have to deal with a group. Of course, my research so far has been to go to the library and check out whatever translations of chansons other than Roland they have. Unfortunately, they only have two: Chanson d'Aspremont, which is Charlemagne cycle, and Chançun de Guillelme which, though not involving Charlemage, nevertheless has the plot of A Very Outnumbered But Valiant French Army (or in this case, three successive Very Outnumbered But Valiant French Armies) nearly get slaughtered by Pagans, but eventually Rout them By The Grace Of God. This is sort of too bad, as I was hoping to get one of the family cycles, as well. I remember reading a prose translation of Raoul de Cambrai once, and it would be nice to have a good, non-Saracen-centric, chanson like that one. (This is not precisely the research I'm supposed to be doing, I think. But I'll do general research tomorrow.)
I read Guillelme this morning, and am about half way through Aspremont. I must say, they grow on you, these Old French epics. Although, I was not thrilled with the translation of the Guillelme. I know that the original had some sort of rhyme (though I think it was more assonance than rigorous end-rhyme) but there must be a way to translate it into verse without sticking in a "forsooth" or a "doughty," not to mention all of the -eth 3rd person singulars, every other line. It just sounds silly. But I came to rather enjoy it, in spite of that.
The barrier for me with these things are the battles, which are really central to the poems. But, there's only so many descriptions of armor, horses (oh, and speaking of horses, a side-note the anonymous poet: having two important horses in the same part of the same poem who have the same name = not a good idea), weapons, and shields that can be interesting. And, really, after the 30th or so knight who gets a sword slashed through him, so that he is literally split in two, or so his brains are running out his ears, or such that his guts are winding around his ankles, even the shock factor fades. This is particularly true when said knight takes out 700 Saracens with one handtied behind his back holding his bowels in. But once I can get beyond that, there's a lot to really like.
Chanson de Guillelme, in particular, has some really great characters. Sure, there are plenty of noble and tragically slaughtered heroes (as two French armies are completely destroyed, and a third brought down to two men in a pyrrhic victory), there's a wise and unfailing brave liege lord (the William of the title), but there's also his wife, Lady Guiburc. She's great. When her husband William shows up back at the castle, having shamefully been forced to flee (at the end of Disastrous Massacre #2), she quietly lets him in by the back door so that none of his vassals will witness his shame, and then singlehandedly masterminds a plan to get him his honor back. "Oh, yes," she tells all ov his men, "William won a great victory; all of the Pagans fled back to their ships. But the tides were against them, so they got off and are now just sitting with all of their treasure on the beach, waiting to get picked off." Thus she organizes Nearly Disastrous Mission #3, which, granted, may not have been the best of ideas, but in the context, of course it the only thing that can be possibly done. And then there's Gui, William's young nephew (he's 15, actually, but is considered basically a child, if a very precocious one -- take that you who go on about medieval adulthood beginning at 12, or whatever.) Actually, the adorable plucky youngster doesn't seem to be an anomaly -- Chanson d'Aspremont features Young Roland (Childe Roland, I suppose, though he has not as yet come to any Dark Tower). Gui, as a typical adolsecent boy, gets hungry in the middle of the battle, and whines for three laisses about how he is going to die of starvation, and how his hands are getting too weak to hold his weapons, if he doesn't get food. (Fortunately, he does, in time to save his Uncle and help kill the Saracen king).
I'm only half-way through the Chanson d'Aspremont, and, actually, it was the one I started with, but I got bored, and then daunted by its 11,000 line monstrousness. (Roland is 4,000 lines, and Guillelme was only 2500.) Having read Part 1, however, I'm glad I came back to it.
The basic plot doesn't really interest me. It's almost a reverse Song of Roland, actually. The headstrong, arrogant, proud, incredibly valiant, Durendal-wielding chevalier-preux is defeated when he refuses to call for help until it's too late. Only this time, said chevalier is the pagan King Aumon, son of King Angolet, who is trying to conquor the world, starting with France. This is, among, other things, the story of how Roland got his sword and oliphant. So there are lots of battles, some murderous bears and leopards, and even a (super-bonus) griffen. Oh, and a promiscuous Saracen Queen, who flirts with anything that wears armor.
But the part that really drew me in was the story of two minor characters: Balan, Angolet's wisest and greatest knight, and Naimes, who is Charlemagne's. Balan is the messenger Angolet first sends to the French with the demand that Charles surrender all of his land and convert to Islam (or what passes as Islam in a chanson de geste, that is, worship of the trio of Gods, Mahom, Apollo, and Tergavant). This, of course, Charlemagne refuses. But the Franks, being the Good Guys, nevertheless treat Balan courteously, none more than Naimes, who intercedes for him when Charlemagne gets mad enough at the proposal to try to kill the messenger. Naimes houses Balan in his own tent that night, and, "They talk all night and all night disagree." Of course, we only get to hear what Naimes has to say in defense of Christianity, and, in the morning, Balan has to leave for his own side, as much as he is secretly (though he won't say it out loud at this point) attracted to the French court (and the One True FaithOMT). Some time later, Naimes goes as an envoy to the Saracen court, where he really does end up in danger from the more murderous, dishonorable elements there. Balan, though, comes to his defense, saves, him, and houses him in his tent for his stay at the Pagan court. When Naimes gets ready to leave, Balan confesses that, once the battle is over, he plans to defect to the Christian side, but that he cannot betray his lord in the middle of the war. Even though his heart is elsewhere, he stays and fights. And, surprisingly, survives, as does Naimes. Part One ends with his baptism by the Pope (who, in this Chanson, has nothing better to do that follow the French army around to give rousing speeches before battles, mainly.) where he receives the new and much stupider name of Witikin.
Of course, this little story all revolves around Christianity being right and Islam being wrong; it's an inherently religious fable, and you can't really separate out the dichotomized good and evil world view from the rest of it. And yet, it's so easy, really, to suspend reason for a while and just accept, for as long as I'm reading, that 'Christians are right and Pagans are wrong,' that Charlemagne's side is good and Angolet's side is evil on priniciple, and reading the poem that way, there is something beautiful about Balan's gradual change of heart and continuing conflict. And it is gradual. He is amazed and impressed by his first sight of Charlemagne's noble knights and respendent court; when he comes to report back, he's almost executed as a defector because he praises the enemy so highly. But even when he has made up his mind that he wants to be on the other side, honor holds him back. He has a lord and he has a side, and he has to stick with that. It's only when his son Gorhan is killed, and the Saracen army utterly destroyed, that he surrenders and asks to be baptized. In him, we see duty above even personal salvation, to some extent. But also, we see a friendship that crosses the boundaries of religion. It's as much his respect and liking for Naimes -- I suspect the poem itself would say 'love,' and it might not be too far off by any reckoning: Naimes himself announces that he is unmarried and uninterested in women… Naimes/Balan=OTP, anyone? -- as anything else that persuades him to change over. This is such a nice touch, I think, and certainly the suspense of whether one or both would die or not kept me going through some of the more dull battle parts.
I read Guillelme this morning, and am about half way through Aspremont. I must say, they grow on you, these Old French epics. Although, I was not thrilled with the translation of the Guillelme. I know that the original had some sort of rhyme (though I think it was more assonance than rigorous end-rhyme) but there must be a way to translate it into verse without sticking in a "forsooth" or a "doughty," not to mention all of the -eth 3rd person singulars, every other line. It just sounds silly. But I came to rather enjoy it, in spite of that.
The barrier for me with these things are the battles, which are really central to the poems. But, there's only so many descriptions of armor, horses (oh, and speaking of horses, a side-note the anonymous poet: having two important horses in the same part of the same poem who have the same name = not a good idea), weapons, and shields that can be interesting. And, really, after the 30th or so knight who gets a sword slashed through him, so that he is literally split in two, or so his brains are running out his ears, or such that his guts are winding around his ankles, even the shock factor fades. This is particularly true when said knight takes out 700 Saracens with one hand
Chanson de Guillelme, in particular, has some really great characters. Sure, there are plenty of noble and tragically slaughtered heroes (as two French armies are completely destroyed, and a third brought down to two men in a pyrrhic victory), there's a wise and unfailing brave liege lord (the William of the title), but there's also his wife, Lady Guiburc. She's great. When her husband William shows up back at the castle, having shamefully been forced to flee (at the end of Disastrous Massacre #2), she quietly lets him in by the back door so that none of his vassals will witness his shame, and then singlehandedly masterminds a plan to get him his honor back. "Oh, yes," she tells all ov his men, "William won a great victory; all of the Pagans fled back to their ships. But the tides were against them, so they got off and are now just sitting with all of their treasure on the beach, waiting to get picked off." Thus she organizes Nearly Disastrous Mission #3, which, granted, may not have been the best of ideas, but in the context, of course it the only thing that can be possibly done. And then there's Gui, William's young nephew (he's 15, actually, but is considered basically a child, if a very precocious one -- take that you who go on about medieval adulthood beginning at 12, or whatever.) Actually, the adorable plucky youngster doesn't seem to be an anomaly -- Chanson d'Aspremont features Young Roland (Childe Roland, I suppose, though he has not as yet come to any Dark Tower). Gui, as a typical adolsecent boy, gets hungry in the middle of the battle, and whines for three laisses about how he is going to die of starvation, and how his hands are getting too weak to hold his weapons, if he doesn't get food. (Fortunately, he does, in time to save his Uncle and help kill the Saracen king).
I'm only half-way through the Chanson d'Aspremont, and, actually, it was the one I started with, but I got bored, and then daunted by its 11,000 line monstrousness. (Roland is 4,000 lines, and Guillelme was only 2500.) Having read Part 1, however, I'm glad I came back to it.
The basic plot doesn't really interest me. It's almost a reverse Song of Roland, actually. The headstrong, arrogant, proud, incredibly valiant, Durendal-wielding chevalier-preux is defeated when he refuses to call for help until it's too late. Only this time, said chevalier is the pagan King Aumon, son of King Angolet, who is trying to conquor the world, starting with France. This is, among, other things, the story of how Roland got his sword and oliphant. So there are lots of battles, some murderous bears and leopards, and even a (super-bonus) griffen. Oh, and a promiscuous Saracen Queen, who flirts with anything that wears armor.
But the part that really drew me in was the story of two minor characters: Balan, Angolet's wisest and greatest knight, and Naimes, who is Charlemagne's. Balan is the messenger Angolet first sends to the French with the demand that Charles surrender all of his land and convert to Islam (or what passes as Islam in a chanson de geste, that is, worship of the trio of Gods, Mahom, Apollo, and Tergavant). This, of course, Charlemagne refuses. But the Franks, being the Good Guys, nevertheless treat Balan courteously, none more than Naimes, who intercedes for him when Charlemagne gets mad enough at the proposal to try to kill the messenger. Naimes houses Balan in his own tent that night, and, "They talk all night and all night disagree." Of course, we only get to hear what Naimes has to say in defense of Christianity, and, in the morning, Balan has to leave for his own side, as much as he is secretly (though he won't say it out loud at this point) attracted to the French court (and the One True FaithOMT). Some time later, Naimes goes as an envoy to the Saracen court, where he really does end up in danger from the more murderous, dishonorable elements there. Balan, though, comes to his defense, saves, him, and houses him in his tent for his stay at the Pagan court. When Naimes gets ready to leave, Balan confesses that, once the battle is over, he plans to defect to the Christian side, but that he cannot betray his lord in the middle of the war. Even though his heart is elsewhere, he stays and fights. And, surprisingly, survives, as does Naimes. Part One ends with his baptism by the Pope (who, in this Chanson, has nothing better to do that follow the French army around to give rousing speeches before battles, mainly.) where he receives the new and much stupider name of Witikin.
Of course, this little story all revolves around Christianity being right and Islam being wrong; it's an inherently religious fable, and you can't really separate out the dichotomized good and evil world view from the rest of it. And yet, it's so easy, really, to suspend reason for a while and just accept, for as long as I'm reading, that 'Christians are right and Pagans are wrong,' that Charlemagne's side is good and Angolet's side is evil on priniciple, and reading the poem that way, there is something beautiful about Balan's gradual change of heart and continuing conflict. And it is gradual. He is amazed and impressed by his first sight of Charlemagne's noble knights and respendent court; when he comes to report back, he's almost executed as a defector because he praises the enemy so highly. But even when he has made up his mind that he wants to be on the other side, honor holds him back. He has a lord and he has a side, and he has to stick with that. It's only when his son Gorhan is killed, and the Saracen army utterly destroyed, that he surrenders and asks to be baptized. In him, we see duty above even personal salvation, to some extent. But also, we see a friendship that crosses the boundaries of religion. It's as much his respect and liking for Naimes -- I suspect the poem itself would say 'love,' and it might not be too far off by any reckoning: Naimes himself announces that he is unmarried and uninterested in women… Naimes/Balan=OTP, anyone? -- as anything else that persuades him to change over. This is such a nice touch, I think, and certainly the suspense of whether one or both would die or not kept me going through some of the more dull battle parts.
