From Chanson de Geste to Epic Chronicle: Medieval Occitan Poetry of War 1138493228, 9781138493223

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From Chanson de Geste to Epic Chronicle In this collection of essays Gérard Gouiran, one of the world’s leading and muchloved scholars of medieval Occitan literature, examines this literature from a primarily historical perspective. Through texts offering hitherto unexplored insights into the history and culture of medieval Europe, he studies topics such as the representation of alterity through female figures and Saracens in opposition to the ideal of the Christian knight; the ways in which the narrating of history can become resistance and propaganda discourse in the clash between the Catholic Church and the French on the one hand and the Cathar heretics and the people of Occitania on the other; questions of intertextuality and intercultural relations; cultural representations fashioning the West in contact with the East; and Christian dissidence in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Written in an approachable style, the book will be of historical, literary and philological interest to scholars and students, as well as any reader curious about this hitherto little-known Occitan literature. Gérard Gouiran was born in 1945 at Le Rove, which was then a small village close to Marseille. His parents often spoke Occitan between themselves but avoided doing so with their children for fear of damaging their education. It was only after studying classics in Marseille and then Paris that Professor Gouiran rediscovered the Occitan language, and from then on he has devoted himself to medieval literature. Best known for his magisterial edition of the troubadour Bertran de Born, he has written – and spoken – widely on troubadour lyric, epic and romance. Linda M. Paterson taught at Northeastern University, Boston, USA, for two years before moving to the University of Warwick, UK, in 1971, where she is now Professor Emerita. Her books include Troubadours and Eloquence (1975); The World of the Troubadours: Medieval Occitan Society, c.1100–c.1250 (1993); Culture and Society in Medieval Occitania (2011); and Singing the Crusades: French and Occitan Lyric Responses to the Crusading Movement, 1137–1336 (2018).

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VARIORUM COLLECTED STUDIES

From Chanson de Geste to Epic Chronicle

Gérard Gouiran

From Chanson de Geste to Epic Chronicle Medieval Occitan Poetry of War Translated from the original French and edited by Linda M. Paterson

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business This edition © 2020 individual chapters, Gérard Gouiran; selection and editorial matter, Linda M. Paterson The right of the editor to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Gouiran, Gérard, author. | Paterson, Linda M., translator. Title: From chanson de geste to epic chronicle : medieval Occitan poetry of war / Gérard Gouiran ; translated from the original French and edited by Linda M. Paterson. Description: New York, NY : Routledge, 2020. | Series: Variorum collected studies | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019054390 (print) | LCCN 2019054391 (ebook) | ISBN 9781138493223 (hardback) | ISBN 9781351028387 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Occitan literature—History and criticism. | Provençal literature—History and criticism. | French literature—To 1500—History and criticism. | Intercultural communication in literature. | Civilization, Medieval. | Troubadours. | East and West in literature. | Provence (France)—Civilization. Classification: LCC PC3307 .G68 2020 (print) | LCC PC3307 (ebook) | DDC 849/.09—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019054390 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019054391 ISBN: 978-1-138-49322-3 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-351-02838-7 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage LLC VARIORUM COLLECTED STUDIES SERIES CS1087

CONTENTS

Forewordix List of Original Essaysx PART I

Women and Saracens in the Occitan chansons de geste1   1 Silhouettes of women in the Occitan and Old French Roland texts

3

 2 Belauda’s garden

18

  3 Aude, Iphigenia, Polyxena

30

  4 So dis la donna: ‘Oy, bel sira Rollan, mos maritz es en malaür lo gran’: the Saracens and the Saracen woman in Rollan a Saragossa45   5 The Saracen: from the depths of Hell to the gates of salvation

63

  6 Between Saracens and Christians, or the decapitated horse

73

PART II

Aspects of war in occitan chansons de geste and lyric poetry

89

 7 Per las lurs armas devon tostemps cantier: intertextuality effects between Ronsasvals and certain lyric planhz91   8 The first appearance of the herald in literature and the earliest war songs of Bertran de Born

vii

102

contents PART III

The albigensian crusade

121

  9 Drama queen? Worse: a jongleur! – or how to discredit an opponent: the representation of Bishop Fulk of Toulouse, alias Folquet de Marseille, by the anonymous author of the Song of the Albigensian Crusade123 10 The French against Montfort?: the war councils held by Simon de Montfort in the second part of the Song of the Albigensian Crusade

136

11 The good use of rebellion

158

12 The Toulousains cry ‘Toulouse!’, the Gascons ‘Comminges!’ . . . The Comminges parallels in the Song of the Albigensian Crusade173 13 The troubadour and the overlord: history as viewed by the anonymous author of the Song of the Albigensian Crusade192 14 Las Novas del heretje, or who benefits from propaganda?

210

Bibliography229 Index233

viii

FOREWORD

We gratefully thank the publishers of the original articles for their permission to publish these English translations. The latter have benefited from many helpful suggestions made by Dr Carol Sweetenham and Professor Jean-Michel Ganteau, who kindly read them all. Professor Gouiran, whom I thank for his patience in answering my many queries, gave me a free hand in adapting the originals for anglophone readers, not all of whom will be familiar with Occitan. I have added translations of the medieval Occitan quotations and of quotations in modern foreign languages other than French, and some of the longer French ones. I should also like to record my warm thanks to Michael Greenwood, Marie Roberts and other members of the Routledge team for their unfailing courtesy and helpfulness. LP

ix

E S S AY S I N T H E O R I G I N A L FRENCH

  1 1991. ‘Silhouettes de femmes dans les textes rolandiens occitans et franciens’, in Il miglior fabbro . . ., Mélanges Pierre Bec (C.E.S.C.M.: Poitiers), 179–92   2 1990. ‘Le Jardin de Belauda’, in Vergers et jardins dans l’univers médiéval (CUER MA, Senefiance n° 28: Aix-en-Provence), 126–37   3 1998. ‘Aude, Iphigénie, Polyxène’, in Atti del XXI Congresso Internazionale di Linguistica e Filologia Romanza, Palermo, ed. G. Ruffino (Max Niemeyer Verlag: Tubingen), 625–38   4 1988. ‘So dis la donna: “Oy, bel sira Rollan”: les Sarrasins et la Sarrasine dans Rollan a Saragossa’, in De l’Étranger à l’Étrange ou la Conjointure de la Merveille (CUER MA, Senefiance n° 25: Aix-en-Provence), 221–44   5 2000. ‘Le Sarrasin du fond de l’enfer aux portes du salut’, La chrétienté au péril sarrasin (CUER MA, senefiance n° 46: Aix-en-Provence), 41–50   6 1992. ‘Entre Sarrasins et chrétiens ou le cheval décapité’, Le Cheval dans le monde médiéval (CUER MA, Senefiance n° 32: Aix-en-Provence), 239–55   7 1993. ‘Per las lurs armas devon tostemps cantier: effets d’intertextualité entre le Ronsasvals et certains planhz lyriques’ in Actes du IIIe Congrès international de l’AIEO de Montpellier en 1990, 3 vols (C.E.O. and A.I.E.O.: Montpellier), vol. III, 907–18   8 2014. ‘Les débuts du héraut d’armes en littérature et les premières chansons de guerre de Bertran de Born (1181–1183)’ (Summa, 4), 45–61   9 2003. ‘ “Tragediante?” Pis encore: jongleur! ou de l’art de déconsidérer un adversaire: la présentation de l’évêque Foulque de Toulouse, alias Folquet de Marseille par l’Anonyme de la Chanson de la Croisade albigeoise’, in L’anticléricalisme en France méridionale, milieu XIIe-début XIV e siècle, Fanjeaux, 8–11 July 2002 (Cahiers de Fanjeaux, n° 38, Privat: Toulouse), 111–33 10 2005. ‘Français contre Montfort? Les conseils de guerre tenus par Simon de Montfort dans la seconde partie de La Chanson de la Croisade albigeoise’, in Hommage à Francis Dubost, ‘Furent les merveilles pruvées Et les aventures truvees’, Études recueillies par F. Gingras, Fr. Laurent, Fr. Le Nan et J.-R. Valette (Champion: Paris), 281–305

x

e s s ay s i n t h e o r i g i n a l f r e n c h 11 2011. ‘Du bon usage de la rébellion’, in Résister, dir. A. Gonzalez-Raymond (PULM, coll. Voix des Suds: Montpellier), 165–82 12 2011. ‘Tolzan cridan: “Tolosa!” e “Cumenge”·l Gascos  .  .  . Le parallèle commingeois dans la Chanson de la croisade albigeoise’, in L’Aquitaine des littératures médiévales, dir. J.-Y. Casanova & V. Fasseur (PUPS, coll. ‘Cultures et civilisations médiévales’: Paris), 201–21 13 2008. ‘Le troubadour et le seigneur, ou la vision de l’histoire de l’auteur anonyme de la Chanson de la Croisade contre les Albigeois’, in M. Blaise, Écritures de l’histoire. Littérature, esthétique, psychanalyse (PULM, Cartes blanches: Montpellier), 93–113 14 2007. ‘Las Novas del heretje, ou à qui profite la propagande?’, in Atti del convegno internationale (Messina, 24–26 maggio 2007): Comunicazione e propaganda nei secoli XII e XIII, ed. R. Castano, F. Latella and T. Sorrenti (Viella: Rome), 331–48

xi

I Women and Saracens in the Occitan chansons de geste

1 SILHOUETTES OF WOMEN I N T H E O C C I TA N A N D O L D FRENCH ROLAND TEXTS1

In comparison with the Roland chansons de geste, the epics of Classical Antiquity seem to attribute a positively central role to women compared to the minimal space they occupy in the first of the new epic genre. Here, everything seems to polarise two universes: the world of the court, to which women belong, and the world of the camp and war, from which they are excluded. This seems to suggest that in a war waged on enemy territory there could be no women at all beyond those of the land being invaded: Saracen women, embodying the court of the Other.2 Christian women can put in an appearance only when the warriors – or at least the survivors – go home to their native land. Nonetheless, women can still play a part without needing to be present. It is in relation to them that Bishop Turpin estimates the terrible loss he foresees at Roncevaux, ‘from which many women will be filled with sorrow, so many girls made orphans and so many noble ladies widowed’.3 But above all, they haunt the heroes’ memories, the more so as their world is exclusively masculine. Hence women are particularly present in the way in which they bring the warriors’ values to life. Even in their absence, they form an audience without whose sanction an act of violence or daring cannot gain heroic status. There is, however, an exception to this physical absence of Christian women. In Ronsasvals, when Oliver’s son Galian comes to ask Charlemagne to arm him knight, the emperor orders him to be given a bath before his dubbing ceremony, and donnas and donzellas put on his armour.4 Who are these women and girls? 1 Texts referred to here are the Chanson de Roland (= CdR, Oxford manuscript); Ronsasvals (= Rs); Roland à Saragosse; Mortier’s Les Textes de la Chanson de Roland (Venice IV; Les Grandes Chroniques de France; Venice VII; Cambridge; Conrad; Lyon); and Châteauroux (ed. Subrenat). For full references see the Bibliography. 2 For the character of the Saracen queen Bramimonde, whose name takes various forms in the Occitan texts, see chapter 4 and Picchio Simonelli (1986). For the depiction of the female Saracen see especially Bancourt (1982). 3 Don mantas damas en seran corrosseyas,/ Tantas pieuzellas en seran orfanellas/ E tantas donnas gentils veuzas clameyas (Rs, 235–37). 4 Donnas, donzellas li van son cors armier;/ L’una ac nom Giborga de Raynier/ E l’autra fon Gaeta de Monclier (Rs, 878–80).

3

women and saracens in chansons de geste Even if one of them has the same name as Galian, it can hardly be inferred that she is his sister, especially given the circumstances in which Oliver sired this son of whose very existence he is ignorant.5 In any case this is the only passage which allows a glimpse of women in the Frankish army. Their presence probably conforms to reality, and is signalled in the Grandes Chroniques de France.6 We seem to be faced with a collision of clichés emanating from two different literary universes: the author inserts into the world of the masculine epic the romance tradition of the wandering knight, who is welcomed with, in particular, a bath. In our texts as a whole it is no surprise that thoughts of the absent woman blend with homesickness. Here she becomes the concrete, tangible image of nostalgia and so is generally cited among other objects of regret. So when the Frankish vanguard arrives in Gascony, the Oxford Roland tells us ‘it now reminded them of its fiefs and honours and maids and noble wives: there was no-one who did not weep for pity’.7 Similarly, when Gandelbuon le Frison realises he is about to die, he remembers, ‘I had two sons by my noble wife’ (Rs 632). And when Ganelon leaves on an embassy from which he is convinced he will not return, he entrusts the barons with this mission: ‘In sweet France, my lords, you will go to greet my wife on my behalf, and Pinabel, my friend and my peer, and Baldwin, the son of mine you know’.8 Variation in the order of regrets may also be significant, for example the fact that Ganelon’s first thoughts go to his wife. In preferring the love of a woman to epic male companionship and even his kin, so fundamental in a feudal context, is Ganelon not showing that he is a stranger to the world around him and ‘therefore’ ready to betray it? We should not forget that among the gifts which corrupt Charlemagne’s ambassador there are presents addressed by name from Queen Bramimonde9 to Ganelon’s wife: ‘To your wife I shall send two jewels rich with gold, amethysts and jacinths; they are worth more than all the wealth of Rome.

5 Women play quite an important part in Oliver’s life. In the Voyage de Charlemagne the peer makes a gab (boast) that he will make love to the daughter of King Hugh a hundred times; however, if here he forgoes dishonouring her at her entreaty, another idea of the character must have existed: the circumstances related by Ronsasvals closely resemble those of the Voyage, but in Ronsasvals the princess is named and the gab is carried out, Baracla even becoming pregnant by him. In the Occitan tradition we also meet another son of Oliver, born to a pagan woman: in the Roman d’Arles, the mother of Poure Noirit is Blancasflos, sister of Tibaut, the Saracen king of Arles (ed. Chabaneau 1889, vv. 653–90). 6 et aucun avoient pechié es Sarrazines et es autres fames chrestienes maismes, que aucun avoient amenées de France (ed. Mortier, p. 61; ‘and some had sinned with Saracen and other women, even Christians that some had brought from France’). 7 Dunc le remembret des fius e des honurs/ E des pulceles e des gentilz oixurs:/ Cel n’en i ad ki de pitet ne plurt (CdR, 820–22). 8 ‘En dulce France, seignurs, vos en irez:/ De meie part ma muiller salüez,/ E Pinabel, mun ami e mun per,/ E Baldewin, mun filz que vos savez’ (CdR, 360–63). 9 The Saracen queen’s name takes various forms in the Occitan and Old French texts – for example, Brasilmone, Bramidoine, Bramidonie.

4

s i l h o u e t t e s o f w o m e n i n o c c i ta n t e x t s Your great emperor never had such things’.10 Is not Ganelon’s wife, mother to Roland and sister to Charlemagne, thereby made to take some responsibility, even if involuntarily, for events at Roncevaux? And it will incidentally not be the only time she does so. That said, among the female shadows haunting the memory of the epic heroes, Aude is well known to be the main figure. But the first problem posed by the fair Aude is that if we take account of our corpus as a whole, her relationship to Roland is far from clear. If we follow the Oxford Roland, everything is simple: Aude is Roland’s betrothed; she calls him ‘the captain who swore to me to take me as his wife’.11 The situation changes in the Occitan texts, which lead us to conclude that Roland has married her. The Ronsasvals states that he wed her at Vienne,12 and Oliver speaks to his friend of ‘my sister Aude, whose lord you are’.13 Even more clearly, in the Rollan a Saragossa, Roland says to his companion, ‘I have taken your sister to wife’ (Vostra seror hay presa per molher, 279). There is confirmation of this relationship in the fact that Roland feels he has the right or duty to dispose of her future, and has the emperor told ‘that he should take in the clear-faced Aude and take care of her as a noble and most worthy lady, just as one would an apple-tree in an orchard’.14 Gandelbuon will deliver this message even more explicitly: ‘Take in the clear-faced Aude so that she may retain a perfect lover to love, just as he tends the apple-tree in the protective orchard’.15 But the same texts also make it clear that this marriage has not been consummated: after thinking of his wedding, Roland ‘ponders, for he has to suffer death and he will not have complete joy of Belauda’,16 and Oliver keeps the two aspects quite separate, referring to ‘my sister Aude, whose lord you are, and I wish you may hold her to take your pleasure with her’,17 distinctly implying a difference between institutional ownership and physical possession. Aude gives us clear confirmation of this factual state: ‘I can never embrace my husband’ (Rs 1785). We are a long way from the Ruolantes Liet where the young woman demands of Charlemagne, ‘Give me back my husband to whom you have given me as wife’.18

10 ‘A vostre femme enveierai dous nusches;/ bien i ad or, matices e jacunces,/ eles valent mielz que tut l’aveir de Rume./ Vostre emperere si bones n’en out unches’ (CdR, 637–40). 11 ‘le catanie, Ki me jurat cume sa per a prendre?’ (CdR, 3709–10). 12 ha Vienna l’espozet el gravier (Rs, 921). 13 ‘seror Auda, de qui yest messenhayre’ (Rs, 916). 14 ‘Que prenna Auda am son clar vizamant;/ An si la tenga com pros donna valhant, Com fay le poms dins lo fruchier semblant’ (Rs, 1118–20). 15 ‘E prennes Auda am son viage clier/ C’ami fin captenga la donna per amier, Com fay le poms el servador fruchier’ (Rs, 1192–94). 16 si consira, quar mort l’es a passier/ E de Bellauda non aura joy entier (Rs, 922–23). 17 ‘Am ma seror Auda, de qui yest messennayre,/ E vuelh que tengas ha ton plaser a fayre’ (Rs, 917–18). 18 Mortier 1944, Conrad, p. 175, 8692–93.

5

women and saracens in chansons de geste However, since what I have called Roland’s institutional ownership of Aude seems generally accepted,19 how can we explain these words of Oliver, furious that his companion wants to sound the horn when it is already much too late: ‘By this beard of mine, if I can ever see my gracious sister Aude again, you will never lie in her arms’?20 Does this mean that the bond between the couple could be dissolved and the brother would have more power than the fiancé? This strange situation might make one think of Germanic trial marriage. This situation is all the more interesting from the reader’s point of view, for the fragility of the bond between Roland and Aude means it can be played with, and we shall witness a real use of the character of Aude or her memory by the warriors. As we have seen in the passage I  have just quoted from the Oxford Roland, the young girl can serve as the basis for a kind of blackmail, but other episodes show us a much more subtle usage. The nostalgically tinged evocation of the fair Aude can create a climate which removes all defences from the one addressed, who then becomes incapable of refusing what is being asked of him. So in Roland à Saragosse the paladin, only accompanied by his peer Oliver, is on his way to the last Saracen city still resisting the Franks, in order to respond to the challenge issued by the beautiful Queen Bramimonde. As this challenge involves entering the city alone, he has to rid himself of the burdensome company of his faithful companion and persuade him to wait outside the walls, which Oliver cannot countenance since this means he would be treated as a coward and as useless in combat. Roland, who therefore has to deploy cunning, becomes talkative: after quickly and optimistically summarising the Franks’ military situation he adds, ‘It will be two months before we return to rest in sweet France. I have taken your sister, the fair Aude, whom I love so dearly, to wife.’21 This evocation aims to put Oliver into a favourable state of mind, to soften his heart so that he lets down his guard, to the extent that the reciter comments about Oliver, for the benefit of his listeners, ‘He does not yet know why he has told him this. When he does know he will be upset and angry’.22 And indeed after this psychological conditioning Roland will have no difficulty in extracting from Oliver an unspecified boon. Aude’s brother will be furious once he understands what boon he has so imprudently granted, but he cannot get out of it even if it means feeling the full weight of his companion’s wrath afterwards.

19 The Occitan works as a whole are nevertheless not consistent, even on this point: before the battle Bishop Turpin echoes the Oxford situation with ‘nor will you hold your beloved Aude, Oliver’s sister, in your arms, or have married her’ (‘Ni non auras el bras Auda, ta mia,/ Sor d’Olivier, ni l’auras espozeya’, Rs, 230–31). 20 ‘Par ceste meie barbe, Se puis veeir ma gente sorur Alde, Ne jerreiez jamais entre sa brace’ (CdR, 1719–21). 21 ‘Tro ha dos mes non volrem repayrier/ En doussa Franca nostres cors sojornier./ Vostra seror hay presa per molher,/ Auda la bella, cuy yeu puesc tant amer’ (Roland à Saragosse, 277–80). 22 Non sap anquar perque lo li aya comtet./ Can ho sabra, dolens sera es iretz (Roland à Saragosse, 281–82).

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s i l h o u e t t e s o f w o m e n i n o c c i ta n t e x t s In Ronsasvals, the roles are reversed. Oliver wants to persuade his companion to sound the horn and Roland has already twice refused. Oliver therefore changes tactic and his words succeed in softening the outlines of the blood-soaked plain of Roncevaux in order to touch the fierce heart of Roland, who is nevertheless well aware that the situation is hopeless: ‘Companion,’ he continued, ‘in a very short time we shall be in France in your dwelling with my sister Aude whose lord and master you are, and I wish for her to be yours according to your wish.’ When Roland hears him mention Bellaude, his heart becomes heavy and he remembers Bellaude, Oliver’s sister, when he married her by the river’s edge in Vienne; then he reflects he will have to die and that he will never have complete joy of Bellaude;23 and Roland sounds the horn. Alongside this softening intervention of memory of the Fair Aude, the evocation of ladies creates a sort of courtly backcloth, even in the Oxford Roland, but this is always in relation to the Saracen world. The curious comments concerning Margaretz de Sibilie, whose portrait emphasises that because of his beauty he is loved by ladies, none can see him without her face brightening up, and when they see her they cannot help smiling,24 present a sort of inversion of the courtly world, as he is given qualities which later so often come to be the lot of ladies that they become a real cliché. And Oliver’s words demonstrate conclusively that one of the functions of the knight’s heroic exploit is to attract the female gaze: when he has killed Marganice, he pronounces these few words as a sort of funeral oration: ‘I do not say that Charlemagne has not lost anything by it (the Saracen has just mortally wounded Oliver), but you will not be able to boast to your wife or to any woman you have seen in the land of your birth, or to have stripped me of a single pennyworth of spoil or to have caused any damage to me or to another’.25 Is this not a sign that it is the assembly of women that is the judge, and what therefore matters is to impress them?26 It is all the more striking to see that this Saracen world, where women play such an important role, is also capable of extreme brutality. During his decisive combat 23 ‘Compans,’ sa dis, ‘ja non tardaras gayre/ Que nos serem en Fransa ha ton repayre/, Am ma seror Auda, de qui yest messennayre,/ E vuelh que tengas ha ton plaser a fayre.’/ Cant aus Rollan de Bellauda parlier,/ Le cor li engrueyssa e vay li renembrier/ De la Bellauda, sa seror d’Olivier,/ Cant ha Vienna l’espozet el gravier,/ Pueys si consira, quar mort l’es a passier/ E de Bellauda non aura joy entier (Rs, 915–24). 24 Pur sa beltet dames li sunt amies, Cele ne·l veit vers lui ne s’esclargisset,/ Quant elle le veit, ne poet müer ne riet (Rs, 957–59). 25 ‘Iço ne di que Karles n’i ait perdu:/ Ne a muiler ne a dame qu’aies veüd/ N’en vanteras el regne dun tu fus/ Vaillant a un dener que m’i aies tolut/ Ne fait damage ne de mei ne d’altrui’ (Rs, 1959–64). 26 Somewhat strangely the Oxford manuscript is more romantic here than the Paris one, where the line (2043) corresponding to 1960 (Ne a muiler ne a dame qu’aies veüd) is quite different: De ceuls de France, de ces meillors escus.

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women and saracens in chansons de geste with Charlemagne, the emir turns women into rewards on the same level as fiefs: ‘The emir called on his people: “Strike, pagans, this is what you have come for! I shall give you noble and beautiful wives, and I shall give you fiefs and honours and lands” ’.27 There is nothing comparable as far as the other side is concerned, but the difference is striking when Charlemagne proposes to Aude to give her his own son Louis to compensate her for her loss. How should this contradiction be explained? We can hardly imagine that the author is consciously creating a difference between Spanish Saracens, paragons of pre-courtly courtliness as it were, and barbarian Saracens of the Orient. I would be more inclined to see here a manifestation of the double image of the Saracen world, a world of temptation and delights and at the same time a universe that is both frightening and primitive. If we can even find such traces of courtliness in the Oxford text itself, it is easy to see that they should be more numerous in the Ronsasvals. The courting of ladies, or domnei, which only appears in the Oxford Roland in the Saracen context, has an important place in the Occitan one. When Charlemagne has to explain the heroes’ absence to Belauda, he says they have gone courting.28 Similarly, when he laments Roland’s death and lists the qualities which make the loss of the paladin irreparable, he asks, ‘ “So what will the poor do that you used to make rich? and the Holy Church [you used to] love and obey, and the beautiful ladies [you used to] love and graciously serve?” ’.29 Is this not suggesting that speaking of love to ladies would appear to be one of the Occitan knight’s most important duties? Let us stay for a moment with the emperor’s planh for Roland. Here, in both the Oxford text and in Ronsasvals, the emperor thinks of those who will come to demand a reckoning from him for his nephew’s death. In the Old French text we read: ‘ “When I am in my chamber in Laon, foreign men will come from several lands and ask, ‘Where is the count, our captain?’ ” ’.30 This is sharply echoed in the following laisse: ‘ “When I am in Aix, in my chapel, men will come, and will ask for news” ’.31 This theme is not absent from Ronsasvals, but it is the women and not the men of his kingdom who are evoked by Charlemagne: ‘ “Without any doubt, when the ladies see me and ask me because of their good friendship, ‘Where are Roland and the barons of France?’ ” ’, then ‘ “And as for me, what will become of me, when the ladies come to speak with me and say, ‘Where is Roland

27 Li amiralz la sue gent apelet:/ ‘Ferez, paien, por el venud n’i estes!/ Jo vos durrai muillers gentes e beles,/ Si vos durai feus e honors e teres’ (CdR, 3396–99). 28 Auda, dis Karle, annatz son corteyer (Rs, 1763). 29 ‘Que faran paures que solias enriquir/ E sancta gleyza amar e obezir,/ E bellas donnas amar e gent servir?’ (Rs, 1533–35). 30 ‘Cum jo serai a Loün, en ma chambre,/ De plusurs regnes vendrunt li hume estrange,/ Demanderunt: “U est li quens cataignes?” ’ (CdR, 2910–12). 31 ‘Cum jo serai a Eis, em ma chapele,/ Vendrunt li hume, demanderunt noveles’ (CdR, 2917–18).

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s i l h o u e t t e s o f w o m e n i n o c c i ta n t e x t s who used to talk and act according to joy?’ ” ’. This is unquestionably a change which implies a different image of Charlemagne’s society.32 Anyway, does love not become one of the pillars of this society through inspiring warriors to fight? After he has heard the barons’ confession, Turpin harangues them in this terms: ‘ “Barons, listen to me! We shall win this battle, God willing; remember your beloved ladies, for a man who performs well will be well loved for it” ’33 – a strange perspective, since it is a man of the Church who transforms a crusade in God’s name into an opportunity for winning the love of the lady! Another passage of Ronsasvals merits separate treatment. In the hours preceding the battle, Bishop Turpin admonishes the Franks to repent before granting them absolution. He asks Count Angelier of Gascony if he has properly carried out the penances previously imposed on him, explaining at length that sin is everywhere. This long speech to the count about sin ends abruptly in the form of a question: ‘ “So I ask you whether you have a lover (amia)” ’.34 Turpin has certainly referred to anger and deceit, but nothing in the context has led one to expect that sin is linked to women, and certainly not to the one designated by the word amia. To my mind, for such a breakdown in explicit logic to be possible there would have to have been a remarkable continuity in what is implicit in the vast background of what is left unsaid, or said elsewhere, which has forged the unity of the Roland texts emerging as the polished, refined, transformation into literature of a much more extensive legendary whole. Turpin’s reasoning, so closely linking women and sin, evidently springs from the ancient source of misogynistic legends from Eve to Pandora. But I think it is much more interesting to situate it in relation to the Grandes Chroniques de France. This is how these tell the story of Marsile and Baligant’s diabolical plan: to create the impression that they are ready to submit to Charlemagne they send him gold, silver, wine ‘and 1000 beautiful Saracen women to serve him in the sin of fornication’.35 This effective manoeuvre is described in clear detail: And because some of the Christians had become drunk from the Saracen wine on the previous night, and some had sinned with Saracen women and other women, even Christians, whom some had brought from France, Our Lord wished them to be killed. And without fail, the intention and malice of the Saracens who had sent the presents were such that if the

32 ‘Cant mi veyran las donnas ses duptansa/ E diran mi per lur bona amistansa:/ “On es Rollan ni·l barnage de Fransa?” ’ (Rs, 1516–18), then ‘E yeu meteys, que poyray devenir/ Cant mi venran donnas comtar ni dir:/ “On es Rollan que sol far joya e dir?” ’ (Rs, 1539–41). 33 ‘Barons, ar m’escoutas!/ Esta batalha vencerem, si Dieu plas:/ De vostras amigas aras sias renembratz,/ Car qui ben fara, mot en sera amatz’ (Rs, 501–4). 34 ‘Per que yeu demant si vos aves amia’ (Rs, 341). 35 et. M. beles Sarrazines, pour iaus seruir ou pechié de fornication (Mortier 1941, Grandes Chroniques de France, p. 61).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste Christians received the presents of wine and women they could easily sin in being drunk and fornicating, and because of this their God would be angry with them and let them be killed.36 Even if the Grandes Chroniques de France is careful to make plain that ‘the most high-ranking barons of the army, forming the rearguard, just received the wine that the Saracens had sent, and the other lesser men took the women’,37 this episode provides a backcloth which re-establishes a kind of logic in Turpin’s speech. However, Woman, who is the downfall of a man in this life, is also his saviour in the next; Mary follows Eve, as is shown by the Gascon’s admirable reply: ‘I do indeed,’ he says, ‘the best in the world, and she is the most beautiful and honest. I tell you her name: My Lady Holy Mary. I appeal to her night and day, and for her love I shall perform knightly deeds, as long as it pleases her that I should be her knight. No man who relies on her can come to harm. For I grant no superiority to any other lady.’38 Turpin is amazed at this reply, which fills him with admiration: ‘ “Count Anglier, you have chosen her well, for I, a priest and a bishop to a queen, ought to have taken her as my defender” ’. We can only regret the obscurity clouding the end of the exchange.39 This must be one of the passages that best support the hypothesis that Ronsasvals, or at least some of it, is a late production. It not only provides good evidence of Marial piety but also may present the most complete example of the synthesis of divine love and love for the domna, with several of the features of fin’amor: the lady is a paragon of both physical and moral beauty, but in addition her love is the basis for a heroic exploit in a just combat. On top of that the lyric tradition is so perfectly respected that the lady is not only qualified in the superlative (v. 342), which is quite normal for the Virgin, but also in the

36 Et pour ce que aucuns des crestiens avoient esté enyvré la nuit devant du vin sarradinois, et aucun avoient pechié es Sarrazines et es autres fames crestienes maismes, que aucun avoient amenées de France, vot Nostre Sires que il fussent occis. Et sanz faille, l’entention et la malice des Sarrazins qui les presenz avoient envoiez estoit tieus, que se li crestien recevoient les presenz des vins et des fames, que il porroient bien pechier en yvrece et en fornication, et pour ce se corroceroit lor Dieus a iaus, et les lesseroit occire (Mortier 1941, Grandes Chroniques de France, p. 61). 37 li plus grant baron de l’ost, qui l’ariere garde fesoient, reçurent le vin tant seulement que li Sarrazin avoient envoié, et li autres menuz poples pristrent les fames (p. 61). 38 ‘Oc yeu,’ fay cel, ‘la melhor qu’el mont sia/ E la plus bella es tota ses bauzia:/ Per nom vos dic mi don sancta Maria:/ Per luy mi clam e de nuech e de dia/ E per s’amor faray cavallaria,/ Sol que a luy plassa qu’ieu son cavallier sia/. Non pot mal penre nuls homs qu’en luy si fia./ Que as autra donna non doni senhoria’ (Rs, 342–49). 39 ‘Coms Angelier, mot l’as bona cauzia,/ Que yeu que suy preyres, evesque de Regina,/ La degra aver presa per garentia./ Mas non plassa ha Dieu, lo filh sancta Maria, Que lo sieu cors retraysses ha follia’. Dis Angelier: ‘Non l’en encolpi mia’ (Rs, 350–55).

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s i l h o u e t t e s o f w o m e n i n o c c i ta n t e x t s comparative (v. 343), which is much more a feature of the love lyric than religious poetry.40 I am sure no-one will blame me for not expatiating at length on the figure of Belauda or the Belle Aude in the final part of our texts, since she is the female character of the Chanson de Roland on which the most ink has been spilled. The presentation of this figure varies considerably from one text to another, as if the interest attached to this pale, hieratic figure had grown with the passage of time. I shall recall just for the record that in the Oxford manuscript Aude is only ever mentioned by Oliver; Roland never speaks of her. Before the paladin’s death, ‘he recalled many things: all those lands he had conquered as a baron, sweet France, the men of his lineage, Charlemagne his lord who had raised him. He cannot help sighing and weeping for them. But he does not want to forget himself’.41 It must be acknowledged that, given the way Roland runs through his memory of so many things, this one thing is a singular omission. Let us attempt a rapid overview of the Oxford text where Aude figures in a total of twenty-nine lines in two laisses. A good part of them is devoted to other characters, in particular the emperor. The episode in which she appears is introduced by a gradual evocation of the place where she is. This becomes more and more precise, reducing the young woman to a symbol of homecoming. The dialogue is restricted to a minimum: Charlemagne does not spare her feelings and the only consolation he proposes is the old rule whereby one man is as good as another. It might even be suggested that by proposing to replace Roland, the son of an incestuous relationship (admitted in Ronsasvals) with Charlemagne’s legitimate son Louis, the emperor is thinking of erasing his fault and re-establishing order in the world. Aude hardly replies and her death is immediate; nothing about her separates actions and words. The author gives us no psychological explanation of her character; while he describes the emperor’s feelings from the inside, it is only by the young woman’s words and actions, hence from the outside, that interpretation is possible. In this episode, as short as it is admirable, there is just one element that is not absolutely essential to the narrative: Charlemagne’s error in thinking she has simply fainted. Apart from this any anecdote is excluded. It is also worth noting that while Roland, Oliver and Turpin are buried at Blaye, Aude is carried to female convent (CdR 3730) and lies at Aix-la-Chapelle, definitively separated from Roland and Oliver. In Ronsasvals we are not told where Charlemagne and Belauda meet. A few indications nevertheless suggest it is at Blaye rather than Aix: the pilgrim who has

40 See Gouiran 1985, vol. 1, pp. xc–xcvii, ‘Comparaison et compétition’. 41 De plusurs choses a remembrer li prist:/ De tantes terres cum li bers cunquist,/ De dulce France, des humes de sun lign,/ De Carlemagne, sun seignor, ki·l nurrit./ Ne poet müer n’en plurt e ne suspirt,/ Mais lui meïsme ne volt mettre en ubli (CdR, 2377–82).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste come from Santiago, which for once is clearly designated, says that four days ago he passed through Spain and adds, ‘ “and I shall go on to the worthy France” ’,42 which indicates fairly clearly an intermediate location, very probably Blaye. So in these circumstances the heroes are not necessarily separated. The space given to the young woman is much larger in Ronsasvals, and the three laisses (a total of 102 lines) where she is the main protagonist allow for a much more nuanced psychological portrait. The first of these laisses (49) is totally original in respect of the Roland texts as a whole. It presents a charming scene where ‘a young lady, Aysseleneta, the daughter of Duke Garin, was dressing her hair’.43 But this atmosphere of tender peace is soon troubled, giving way to an account of Belauda’s dream, erroneously interpreted by another of the young girl’s companions, Aybelina, daughter of Count Gui. With this dream Aude ceases to be a secondary actor in the epic. Only Charlemagne had been favoured with prophetic dreams, in the Oxford version (laisses 56–57, 185–86). These dreams, conducive to the creation of poetic symbols, may have been particularly appreciated by the audience, since not only does the Aude of later versions have prophetic dreams too, but they increase in number, becoming more complex and being made up of scenes without any apparent logical connection – or rather, whose connection depends on a logic unknown to the dreamer. The interpretation of these dreams is even more interesting. The Aude of later texts, as in the Oxford version, is a woman in a man’s world on which she depends. It is therefore a man  – in the Châteauroux version a cleric, the wise master Amaugin – who is the interpreter (6801–20). He understands its hidden meaning, but whether he is following Charlemagne’s plan or whether he feels pity for the young woman, he gives her a false explanation. Belauda is surrounded by women and it is one of these attendants, Aybelina, who will play at oneiromancy. We cannot be sure that the latter’s mistake is involuntary. The kindly lie of Master Amaugin leads me to consider the delicate problem of the late tradition: the fact that the Chanson de Roland is the story of a lie – that of Charlemagne, the incestuous father of Roland, passed on in the lie of Ganelon, Roland’s stepfather. The first lie corrupted the universe, and the reconciliation of the world with God brought about by the sacrifice at Roncevaux – Roland’s Passion – will only be brought about through a direct intervention in time and light by the Creator Himself. The question posed by the late tradition, which places another lie, or at least an aborted attempt at one, at the end of the work consists in knowing whether lying can be positive. Here are the facts. According to this tradition, more explicit than Ronsasvals, Charlemagne wants to soften the blow of the news of Roland’s death and Ganelon’s betrayal for the two women, Aude, Roland’s betrothed or wife, and Roland’s mother Gille/Berte (Cambridge, Châteauroux and Venice IV and VII).

42 ‘E iray m’en en Fransa la valhant’ (Rs, 1740). 43 Una donzella li dreyssava son crin,/ Aysseleneta filha del duc Garin (Rs, 1704–5).

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s i l h o u e t t e s o f w o m e n i n o c c i ta n t e x t s He therefore sends messengers charged with announcing to Girard de Vienne, the uncle of Oliver and Aude, that he should rejoin the emperor at Blaye where the wedding of Roland and Aude will be celebrated. To make this more plausible, Charlemagne goes as far as to organise a dramatic scenario, and when Aude, greatly alarmed by the dreams obsessing her, arrives at Blaye, he has ordered ‘that people should put on a show of joyfulness, leave off mourning, make the ladies dance and sing and children play in the streets and knights joust in the fields’.44 Unfortunately the emperor is suffering too much to be able to hide things for long, and he defends himself with constant back-pedalling. He first declares that the heroes have quarrelled with him and have gone off to Saracen lands, and even that Roland has found a wife and it will simply be up to Aude to accept the Duke of Normandy as her husband instead of someone whom people do not hesitate to describe as a faithless vassal and fiancé. But all of Charlemagne’s efforts come up against the wall of the young girl’s certainty; to the exchange proposal she even replies, ‘ “If any other man had spoken so lewdly I should have considered it monstrously wicked” ’45 (Paris 5706–7). To the idea of a Saracen rival she contents herself with saying, ‘ “There is no woman living anywhere in the world who could part me from Roland’s love” ’.46 In the face of this unbending resistance, Charlemagne comes to admit the real situation to Girard. At that moment Roland’s mother arrives, and it is surprising to see that the parallelism set up between the two women, who were supposed to have been kept in the dark as to the sinister reality by the messengers, is forthwith abandoned. Gille has hardly arrived in Blaye when Charlemagne embraces her saying, ‘ “Fair sister Gille, do you know the grievous news? Roland is dead, there is no point in concealing it” ’,47 before telling her about the treachery of the man who is her husband. It is hardly surprising that Gille faints at such a brutal revelation! It will not be long before Aude learns the truth. After the two women meet, when Gille remains ambiguous (‘ “I tell you truly that he has left us” ’)48 and the Berte of Châteauroux and Venice VII is silent, Aude begs Charlemagne to tell her the truth, of which she is actually aware, for a sort of prescience leads her several times to allude to the Roncevaux episode which no-one has mentioned to her. Charlemagne, no longer able to resist, admits, ‘ “Both the hardened warriors are dead, and have completely forgotten both me and you” ’.49

44 que joie facent, laissent le desmenter,/ Les dammes faiscent treschier et caroler,/ Et ces anfans par ces rues joer,/ Les chevaliers par les champs behorder (Mortier, Paris, 5656–59). 45 ‘S’uns autres hom deist tel lecherie,/ Je le tenisse a moult tres grant folie’ (Mortier, Paris, 5706–7). 46 ‘N’a famme en terre n’en cest siecle vivant/ Qui me partist de l’amor de Rollant’ (Mortier, Paris, 5727–28). 47 ‘Bele suer Gille, savez vos la dolée?/ Mors est Rollans, n’i a mestier celée’ (Mortier, Paris, 5755–56). 48 ‘Por voir vos di que laissiés nouz a’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5778). 49 ‘Andui sont mort li vassal aduré,/ Et moi et vos ont il tout oublié’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5807–8).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste Once she hears the news of the heroes’ death, the young girl completely changes her attitude: we witness the return of the moral strength that was already present in the Oxford Roland in her brief response to Charlemagne’s offer of compensation: ‘ “These words are strange to me. May it not please God or his saints or his angels that I should outlive Roland” ’.50 Just as Aude seems here to decide on her death, in the other versions she is the active character, the one who decides, who takes charge of her destiny in a sort of ultimate, expiatory self-sacrifice, in the midst of a court of old men who can only bewail their repeated losses. Against the background of this tradition, the originality of the Belauda of Ronsasvals should be re-emphasised. At the end of this song time accelerates so quickly that one passes directly from the pilgrim’s account of the catastrophe at Roncevaux to Charlemagne’s arrival, without there being any space for the sorrow of the assembled ladies, magisterially suggested by one elliptical line: ‘the palmer leaves and the ladies remain’.51 From then on Belauda, whose prophetic dream had, from a structural point of view, already placed her on the same level as the emperor, will also compete with him in answering ruse for ruse. In Ronsasvals we even rediscover this curious scene: ‘they [the women] have come to an agreement among themselves that they will comport themselves in joy and festivity so that they do not show great grief on Bellauda’s account’.52 Although she already knows of their death, Belauda asks where Roland, Oliver and the peers are, and Charlemagne replies, ‘They have gone courting’ (Annatz son corteyer), which is somewhat reminiscent of the marriage scenes in the late French versions. But Charlemagne’s attempt is stymied when the young girl continues: ‘ “My Lord,” she said, “leave this be: a palmer passed this way and told us that the twelve noblemen are dead” ’.53 She then surprises everyone with a speech similar to that of the old duke Naime: ‘ “and so we should not mourn, for nothing is gained by mourning: there is a time for loss and a time for conquest. I wish God may save their souls; you may marry me to someone else” ’.54 Just as an aside, as if the poet had thought that the audience’s surprise should not be further prolonged, she adds, ‘quietly: “May it not please the Righteous One that a man of flesh and blood should henceforth have complete joy of me!” ’.55 This staging has only one aim: to induce Charlemagne to let her see the bodies. This way she can speak a few words in front of Oliver’s corpse, whereupon 50 ‘Cest mot mei est estrange./ Ne place Deu ne ses seinz ne ses angles/ Apres Rollant que jo vive remaigne’ (CdR, 3717–20). 51 Le palmier vay e las donnas reman (Rs, 1746). 52 ‘E an enpres entr’els un covinant,/ Que·ls cors en porton an joya e an burban,/ Que per Belauda non mostron dolor gran’ (Rs, 1743–45). 53 ‘Senher, dis ella, aquo layssas estier:/ Per cest camin, es passat un palmier/ E contet nos mortz son li. XII. bier’ (Rs, 1765–66). 54 ‘E per aysso non devem dol menier,/ Car per dol far non vey ren gazanhier:/ Temps es de perdre e temps de conquistier./ Am que Dieu vuelha las lurs armas salvier,/ Vos mi podes autamens maridier’ (Rs, 1768–72). 55 soau: ‘Non plassa al drechurier/ Que homs de carn aya mays de mi joya entier!’ (Rs, 1773–74).

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s i l h o u e t t e s o f w o m e n i n o c c i ta n t e x t s she addresses the emperor once more: ‘ “King Emperor, I do not seek to trouble you: I have never been able to embrace my husband: if you ever want to find me alive, allow me, Lord, to kiss my spouse” ’.56 In fact this is exactly the opposite of the promise which will ensue: ‘she clasps the knight’s heart so hard that her heart bursts in her breast’.57 Unlike the Oxford Aude, whose words were almost synonymous with action, Belauda, a much more complex character, has to deploy trickery in a permanent way in order to be able to die in Roland’s arms. She dies in the midst of a lie, without making confession, as if this were a completely secondary matter or as if her actions related to a higher religion. The later French versions present a character who is just as decisive but who takes us into a new universe whose lesser resort to epic stylisation leaves more room for the picturesque, not to mention horror. Here Aude does not lie. On hearing news which in fact merely confirmed what she already knew, she faints, which provides the pretext for a description of the Alda dolorosa, directly connected to the description of the fiancée’s beauty on her departure from Vienne, but also a veritable pietà next to the two dead bodies. This interest in Aude’s physical actuality was almost entirely absent from the Oxford version. There follows the plea to Charlemagne which will allow her to remain in the church alone with the corpses, and here we have a scene which would be more to be expected in a fantasy romance than the epic: Aude, her face bloodied, goes to lift up the bodies of Oliver and Roland, then, through a long prayer (which once again, structurally, matches Charlemagne’s), she persuades God to make Oliver talk: ‘ “True God, put life into Oliver, until he has revealed his will to me” ’.58 It might be thought that this fantastic scene, which in some ways makes this epic character enter into romance, consecrates as it were her literary coming to power. Such an interpretation may be questionable. Even if Aude shows herself decisive towards Charlemagne, she does not have the liberty or the autonomy that characterises her in the Oxford text. It is only in the Chanson de Roland and Ronsasvals that religion puts in an appearance to honour her remains. From now on this is much more important: not only do we find Aude’s very long prayer, the manifestation of heavenly favour through the intervention of supernatural light and an angel, but, in the versions of Cambridge, Châteauroux and Venice VII, Aude will not forget to make her confession before dying. ‘She asked to make her confession and Charlemagne replied, “At once!” The king ordered an archbishop he loved to hear her confession. He took Aude aside into a crypt where she confessed her sins’.59 Thus her death is perfectly orthodox. 56 ‘Rey emperayre, non vos tenc agravier,/ Yeu non puec anc mon espos enbrassier;/ Si jamays viva mi voles atrobier,/ Layssas mi, senher, lo mieu espos bayzier’ (Rs, 1784–87). 57 Tant fort estrenh lo cor del cavallier,/ Que·l cor del ventre si vay tot esclatier (Rs, 1789–90). 58 ‘Metez, vrais Deus, en Olivier la vie,/ Tant que il m’ait sa volonté jehie’ (Mortier, Paris, 5984–85). 59 Confession la belle demanda;/ et respont K[arles]: ‘Ja plus ne demora.’/ Un archevesqe qe li roi mot ama/, A confeser li rois li commenda;/ Et cil prist Aude, une part la mena/ En une croute o ses pechiez conta (Subrenat 2016, 7210–15).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste Neither does she escape from the rules of kinship. Even if her death is the fulfilment of the promise which bound her to Roland (in Paris 5821 she says to Girard, ‘ “This is my wedding day, it will bring you great sorrow” ’),60 the fact remains that in these versions Aude depends on Oliver and not Roland. True, in Châteauroux she declares, ‘ “I shall speak to my brother Oliver, and to Roland, the duke so dear to me” ’, and she does lift up both bodies, but it is from Oliver alone that she expects an instruction on what she must do: ‘ “Let Oliver tell me his will!” ’.61 Her brother promises her Paradise in a reply which corresponds to a credo of the most traditional kind, where any mention of Roland is noticeably absent: ‘ “With me you will come into God’s company” ’.62 The young woman will once again mention the two heroes in parallel, but it seems that from now on Aude belongs more to her brother than her betrothed; she has returned to her kin, having been unable to leave it through marriage. The marriage of the dead does not make a contract. In the Oxford text there is no question of Aude rejoining the heroes in death. Charlemagne ‘places the lords in white tombs at Saint Romain; there lie the barons’,63 and nothing states that the young girl’s body has been taken away from Aix. In contrast, in the texts where Aude is at Blaye, it is interesting to note the placing of her remains. In Ronsasvals, we can only guess. Belauda has embraced Roland’s body so tightly that her heart has burst, and when Nayme de Bavier says to Charlemagne ‘ “Have both of them borne to the church” ’64 he is most probably speaking of Roland and Aude. The text then indicates that Charlemagne ‘had the lady and the knight buried. And he had the noble bodies completely embalmed, then had each borne to its own land’,65 which leads us to understand that the couple is buried on the spot, so probably at Blaye, whereas the bodies of the valiant knights, and so perhaps Oliver’s, are sent back home. The situation appears comparable in the Paris manuscript where the bodies of Aude and Roland are reunited but set apart from Oliver. The Cambridge manuscript gives no precise indication: once Aude is dead, she is laid next to Oliver without Roland being mentioned, and we are not told with whom she will be buried. For the texts of Châteauroux (7269–70) and Venice IV,66 Aude’s body is also laid next to her brother’s, but then the three heroes are buried in different places. Finally, the Venice IV manuscript recognises in the clearest possible way the return of Aude to her kin: ‘In one coffin were Aude and Oliver, then Roland was laid in 60 ‘Ce sont mes noces, vos en aurez grant ire’. 61 ‘Si parlerai a mon frere Oliver, et a R[ollant], le duc qe j’ai si chier’ (Subrenat, Châteauroux, 7099–100); En lor seant les dreza belement/ Et afaita par tel devisament/ Qe nus n’encline ne tant ne quant ne pent (7117–20), ‘She carefully lifted them up to sit and cunningly arranged for neither to lean nor droop in any way’; ‘Qe Oliver me die son talent!’ (Subrenat 2016, Châteauroux, 7155). 62 ‘O moi venrez en la Deu compeignie’ (Subrenat 2016, 7183). 63 En blancs sarcous fait metre les seignurs/ A Seint Romain, la gisent li baron (CdR, 3692–93). 64 ‘Fatz los amdos portar al monestier’ (Rs, 1795). 65 Fes soterrier la donna e·l cavallier./ E·ls gentils cors ha fach totz enbalcemier,/ Pueys cascun fes en sa terra portier (Rs, 1800–2). 66 Mortier 1942, Venice IV, laisses 359, 5358–63, 153.

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s i l h o u e t t e s o f w o m e n i n o c c i ta n t e x t s was laid in another’.67 It seems therefore that alongside a Tristan-type romance tendency to rejoin in death those whom life had refused to unite, there is another tradition which pays its dues to kinship, as an ultimate form of censure. So, during the period when Aude68 is taking on the fullness of a romance character, she undergoes a sort of recuperation. The Aude of the Chanson de Roland touches us through the immediacy of her reaction which renders nothing either to Caesar or to God, in order to give everything, all at once, to the couple that is Roland and Aude. The heroine of the later French texts, on the other hand, in an important part of the tradition, takes the time to pay her religious and even her social debts. Her character is more complex. It is touching, but it needs twists and turns, even fantasy, to hold our interest. These two images of the heroine correspond to different artistic concepts: the romanesque statue, hieratic and stylised, contrasts with a more modern kind of statuary that prefers curved lines and expressivity. It is not unreasonable to feel a fleeting regret for the serenity of the recumbent stone.

67 Entre un arche fu Aude et Oliver,/ Apres un autre fist Rollant colcer (Mortier 1942, Venice IV, 5386–87). 68 It is surely no accident that the versions of the song which dwell on the death of Aude completely exclude the baptism and further fate of the Saracen queen, Bramimonde, from the end of the story. There is a sort of balance or dividing up of the two characters which means that emphasis on the presence of the one does not occur without the disappearance of the other.

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2 BELAUDA’S GARDEN

In the Roland texts it would be tempting to contrast the untamed warrior world of adventure, most often symbolised by the wild décor of the immense forest forming the backcloth to the majesty of the great pine, with the civilised, organised world of woman: on the one hand, the tents of the host of warriors; on the other, the peacetime palaces presided over by the lady. So, in the Oxford Roland, ‘the emperor has returned from Spain, and arrives in Aix, the best place in France. He climbs up into the palace and enters the great hall. Aude, a fair young woman, comes towards him’.1 Aude is bound to the interior world of the palace and the hall. Whether in the various manuscripts she is shown to us in Aix-la-Chapelle or at the home of her uncle and guardian Girard de Vienne, there is no exception to this rule. In the Châteauroux manuscript, when Charlemagne’s envoys arrive in Vienne to take away the young woman they are to accompany to Blaye, without revealing to her the sad outcome of Roncevaux and instead telling her that she is to be wed to Roland, Girard’s wife Guibourc is overjoyed at the news and rushes into her chamber.2 Aude is therefore in her chamber, in other words inside an inside space as it were, in the holiest of holies, before she appears in the space of the great hall that is also inside but already public and social: ‘Lady Guibourc has led her into the palace, the whole of the great hall is lit up by her’.3 The bond between the lady and the palace is so tight that it becomes a way of defining her, and before leaving the aunt who has brought her up, Aude says farewell in these terms: ‘I take my leave of the wise Guibourc who has raised me in her tiled apartments’,4 showing that the chamber is clearly a way of defining women. Only dreams will allow women to access the wild world of men. In the later Roland texts where the character – I was going to say the adventure – of Aude is 1 Li empereres est repairet d’Espaigne / e vient a Ais, al meillor sied de France;/ muntet el palais, est venut en la sale./ As li Alde venue, une bele damisele (CdR, 3705–8). 2 Dame Gibor a la novele oïe,/ Del fier mesage est forment esjoïe;/ vint en sa chanbre ne s’en atarja mie (Subrenat 2106, 6536–38). 3 Dame Guibors l’a el palais menee;/ Tote la sale en fu enlumenee (6556–57). 4 ‘Congié demant a Guibor la senee,/ Qi m’a norrie en sa chambre pavee’ (6573–74).

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belauda’s garden considerably developed, especially through the account of dreams announcing the paladin’s death, it is through this device that Aude finds herself projected into the world of male adventure. According to the Châteauroux text, in the first dream a falcon carries the young woman off to a mountain-top,5 which in the Venice version becomes a tree, and more exactly in the Lyon text, ‘the top of a very high pine’.6 The second dream in which Aude, reduced to the role of a spectator, is present at a boar hunt symbolising the battle of Roncevaux, is placed from the outset beneath the sign of the forest: ‘After this one I had another more spectacular vision, for the whole of Spain was at my command. From Saragossa came Duke Roland with the valiant Oliver, my brother. They were going hunting in a greenwood where they started wild boars which raced off in terror. They pursued them on a slope beside a cliff near to a green meadow.’7 This is not the only hunting scene of Châteauroux’s episodic dream sequence: ‘they had gone hunting in a wood; they had started a magnificent adult stag and set their greyhound after it’.8 Brutally pitched by the dream into this alien forest universe, torn by the white falcon from her enclosed, protective world, Aude cannot intervene in the action, that is, the men’s hunt, where she has to settle for being a spectator. Her powerlessness when it comes to crossing the boundary between the two worlds will reveal itself in another dream scene, perhaps the most important one: ‘During the night I was greatly disturbed. I seemed to be on some land in a vast valley, under a wild rose: I was completely naked under this wild rose’.9 The Venice version also emphasises the wildness of the mountainous, wooded landscape, thus underlining how women are out of place in this forest world of the hunt, the male activity par excellence: ‘Another thing disturbed me: I had had to go into a vast forest and I found myself stripped of all my clothes’.10 Even if the Paris manuscript uses a different vocabulary – ‘I seemed to be in an orchard, in a huge valley, beyond a path, all naked beyond the orchard’11 – all the Roland texts

 5 enson un pui (6639).   6 Mortier 1941, Venice IV, 4816; Mortier 1944, Lyon, 2252, desoz .1. pin moult grant.  7 ‘Enprés icel m’avint autres plus grant,/ Car tote Espegne ert vers moi apendant./ De Saragoze venoit le dus R[ollant],/ Et Oliver, mon frere, lo vaillant./ Chacer alerent en un bois verdoiant./ Murent des porz paoros et corant;/ Il les chacerent contreval un pendant,/ Lez une roche, joste un pre verdoiant’ (Subrenat 2016, 6641–48).  8 ‘Ens en un bos erent alez chacier,/ Un cerf leverent merveillos e pleigner,/ Et il laiserent aler lo lievrer’ (Subrenat 2016, 6750–52).  9 ‘A une nuit me crut grant enconbrier:/ Avis m’estoit qe j’ere en un terrer,/ En un grant val desoz un aiglenter,/ Tote nue ere dedesoz l’aiglenter’ (Subrenat 2016, 6721–24). 10 ‘Ancor m’avint un altre engombrer/ Que m’estoit alez in un gald plener./ De tot mon draps me vit desnuer’ (Mortier 1941, Venice IV, 4889–92). 11 ‘Avis me fu que g’iere en un vergier,/ Enz 1 grant val, par delez un sentier,/ Trestoute nue par delez le vergier’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5550–52).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste agree that once she is taken beyond the palace walls and her chamber, woman is naked and resourceless in the primitive world of the wild. Apparently no bridge can span the yawning gap between the warrior universe, the primitive forest where the hunt and war are equivalent activities, and the civilised world of the palace and chamber where woman is to be found: only the dreamlike flight of the white falcon has allowed Aude to go beyond the precipice, and we have seen at what cost of renunciation, deprivation and death. In Ronsasvals this partition between outside and inside is jeopardised from the outset. The first time the female character appears, she is outside: It was in May when the gardens are in bloom and the birds sing in their own tongue; Bellaude is in the shade of a green pine, a young girl, Aisselenette, Duke Garin’s daughter, is dressing her hair, and more than another dozen ladies surround her.12 The cleverness of this smooth transition is worth noting. The word ‘garden’ is used not for the exact place where the heroine is, but in a general way. The shade-­ providing tree is still the traditional pine13 of the chanson de geste, but unlike the pine in the Oxford text, which is never qualified in its eight occurrences, Belauda’s pine is green. I think Alice Planche was quite right to say, of the ‘éléments du paysage, spécialement des végétaux’ in the Oxford text, that ‘ils ne sont jamais décrits pour eux-mêmes, ils entrent dans un décor signifiant et caractérisent une scène’. But what she writes of the green grass, that ‘l’épithète de nature ne peut passer pour une note descriptive’,14 seems to me to be inappropriate here. Even if these elements are all lyric clichés, their very combination lends them a certain evocative power. Nonetheless, Belauda’s occupation, which might be described as intimate, and which is perhaps one of the first appearances in our literature of a lady at her toilette, certainly shows that the outside is ‘domesticated’: the twelve ladies keeping the young woman and her attendant company show clearly that the garden here is a substitute for the ladies’ chamber. It is even tempting to suggest that the gardens in bloom in May, the little birds singing and the green shady pine make one think more of the artistic stylisation of a tapestry than the burgeoning of nature. But is it not characteristic of the garden to represent nature as disciplined, civilised and having lost all the primitive wildness of the forest – a veritable mirror of ladies? It would be easy to recall at this point that the match between garden and woman is marked by the very frequent recourse to comparisons with flowers: 12 So fo en may cant florisson jardin/ E l’auzelletz cantan en lur latin,/ Sta Belauda ha l’ombra d’un vert pin;/ Una donzella li dreyssava son crin,/ Aysseleneta, filha del duc Garin,/ E d’autras donnas plus de XII entorn si (Gouiran and Lafont 1991, 1700–5). 13 In an Occitan work it should also be recalled that the pine is the tree under whose sign the Chanson de Sainte Foy opens, with the line [L]egir audi sotz eiss un pin (Hopffner and Alfaric 1926, vol. 2, p. 253). 14 Planche 1974, p. 55, n. 12.

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belauda’s garden ‘There is no rose under the sun so bright that she has not surpassed its beauty’ or ‘she is rosier than a full-blown rose’ or ‘she is whiter than the hawthorn flower’.15 But Ronsasvals outdoes this with the words with which, in a sort of last will and testament, Roland entrusts Belauda to Charlemagne: ‘he should take in the clear-faced Aude and take care of her as a noble and most worthy lady, just as one would an apple-tree in an orchard’.16 The choice of terms, echoed a little further on by the messenger, Gandelbuon, ‘Take in the clear-faced Aude so that she may retain a perfect lover to love, just as he tends the apple-tree in the protective orchard’,17 is typical. The orchard tree may or may not be a symbol of fertility, but it suggests that Roland is imagining it in bloom like the lovely blossoming apple-tree of Flamenca.18 It not only contrasts with epic forest and trees but is also strongly marked by the term servador (‘protective’), which seems to me to imply enclosure, in other words the entry of tamed nature into the feminine closed space, or the expansion of the feminine into a sort of border area which it civilises. This idea that we are dealing with a kind of domesticated nature is corroborated by an analysis of Belauda’s dream: all the woodland scenes have disappeared and natural scenery has retreated, henceforth reduced to cosmic elements, as if nature were no longer wild enough to act as a setting for the nightmare: ‘It seemed to me that the whole world was cracking and that the sun was veiling its light: in the middle of the sky there spurted a ray of fire which landed in my mouth and entered within me; it burned me so that it split my heart.’19 Of course, critics have taken an interest in these features of Ronsasvals. In particular Élisabeth Schulze-Busacker has focussed on the study of the stylistic and lexical elements it borrows from troubadour poetry.20 Her examination of Belauda’s garden highlights the way in which the three traditional elements of the opening stanza of troubadour love songs combine: the season (en mai), vegetation (florisson jardin, ha l’ombra d’un vert pin) and fauna (l’auzelletz cantan en lur latin). At first these give us such an impression of having heard them all before that we expect to find them in a great number of troubadours; then we are surprised to learn that they are that frequent, even counted individually (six occurrences for cantar en lur latin, seven for florisson jardin, four of which are only in 15 Soz ciel n’a rose qi si soit coloree,/ Qe sa bautez n’ait tote trepasee (Subrenat 2016, 6563–64); Plus es vermoille que n’est rose espandie (Mortier 1944, Lyon, 2210); Q’ele est plus blanche qe n’est flors d’aubepine (Subrenat 2016, 7081). 16 Que prenna Auda am son clar vizamant;/ An si la tenga com pros donna valhant,/ Com fay le poms dins lo fruchier semblant (Rs, 1118–20). 17 E prennes Auda am son viage clier/ C’ami fin captenga la donna per amier,/ Com fay le poms el servador fruchier (Rs, 1191–93). 18 Lavaud and Nelli 1960, v. 2336. 19 ‘Semblant mi fon que tot le mon s’ubri/ E le solelh sa clardat escuzi,/ Per miey lo cel un ray de fuoc yssi,/ Jus en ma bocca intret e denfra mi/ Art mi de guiza que lo cor mi parti’ (Rs, 1710–14). 20 Schulze-Busacker 1978, pp. 708–18.

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women and saracens in chansons de geste Cerveri de Girona; the pine only appears twice and is never qualified as green). We must inevitably follow the critic’s conclusion: Cette comparaison entre le style des strophes printanières dans la poésie des troubadours et leur forme dans l’épopée Ronsasvals ne permet pas de signaler des influences précises, mais elle souligne une vaste connaissance de la technique des troubadours.21 In a nutshell, this is to say that our author was an excellent troubadour – like the best of them, capable of undertaking the characteristic activity of trobar which consisted in forging clichés together to create an original text – but that this gives us absolutely no way of pinning down any dating. To cite Schulze-Busacker again: Les réminiscences de la strophe printanière révèlent des connaissances de la poésie des troubadours qui se rattachent surtout à l’époque entre 1150 et 1250 et aux grands noms comme Bernart de Ventadour, Gaucelm Faidit, Peire Vidal et Aimeric de Peguilhan qui ont préféré la strophe printanière à trois éléments.22 This hundred-year interval of 1150 to 1250 is hardly restrictive. In fact it is tempting to see whether the features of Belauda’s garden, which generate an episode of considerable originality in the Roland tradition, could add anything to the great debate over the relative age of the Occitan epic. It is well known that even if we have a very precise terminus ad quem of 1398 for the two epic texts preserved in Apt, critical opinion is divided as to their terminus a quo. The question is naturally complicated by the fact that we are perhaps faced with a late reworking of a very ancient epic. Even without such a hypothesis and supposing a recent date of composition and features of armour taking us back to the early days of the epic,23 it is hard to take account of the coexistence in the same text of passages borrowed from the courtly lyric24 or the Marial cult. Our garden, or rather the dream that Belauda recounts in it to her ladies, has also attracted the attention of Cesare Segre, who has compared it with the rhymed Chanson de Roland, particularly the Châteauroux version and two versions of the romance de doña Alda. The Italian scholar notes firstly that our passage is original in forming an autonomous whole: the episode in Ronsasvals achieves complete autonomy, whereas in the rhymed ChR the latter is watered down in the confused account of the repercussions of the rout at Roncevaux. In the rhymed ChR, narrative

21 Schulze-Busacker 1978, p. 715. 22 Schulze-Busacker 1978, p. 718. 23 See Riquer 1969. 24 See chapter 4.

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belauda’s garden links to elements beyond the episode itself drown out its internal links. This situation is turned on its head by the Ronsasvals author [. . .]. What characterises the episode in Ronsasvals is its autonomy, whereas, in the rhymed Chanson de Roland, it is diluted within the confused account of the consequences of the defeat at Roncevaux. In the rhymed version the extra-episode narrative connections outweigh those within the episode. This relationship is reversed by the Ronsasvals author.25 Segre nevertheless remains cautious in his conclusion: Everything that could be interpreted from a positivist perspective as drawing on other sources is therefore a clear achievement of structural autonomy. This coincides with the insufficiently epic tone of Ronsasvals. In this case the use of chanson de femme schemas can be understood as immanent, as the influence of an abstract model inferred naturally from poetry of a traditional type and in particular from its ‘feminine’ realisations. It is the Ronsasvals author who has made of the Aude episode a little poem with chanson de femme features.26 If I understand this last comment correctly, for Segre the Ronsasvals author (no question of a reworking here) starts from the same material as the authors of the rhymed Chanson de Roland and the Romance and chooses to develop it in accordance with the blueprint of the chanson de femme. We must therefore nuance the statement of one of the most important specialists of Occitan Roland material, Hans-Erich Keller, when he writes, Or, Cesare Segre l’avait déjà dit à propos du rêve prémonitoire de l’héroïne: l’épisode de la Belle Aude dans Ronsasvals se rapproche beaucoup des chansons de toile françaises et du genre espagnol du romance, en particulier de celui du Sueño de Doña Alda.27 As we have seen, the Italian scholar was more prudent than this: his article never mentions chansons de toile but rather – and the degree of precision is very 25 ‘ciò che caratterizza l’episodio in Ronsasvals è la sua raggiunta autonomia, laddove nella ChR rimata esso è diluito nel confuso racconto delle ripercussioni della rotta di Roncisvalle. Le connessioni narrative extra-episodio soverchiano, nella ChR rimata, i nessi interni all’episodio. Rapporto che viene invece capovolto dall’autore del Ronsasvals’ (Segre 1981–1983, p. 8). 26 ‘Quanto, positiviscamente, potrebbe essere interpretato come il ricorso ad altra fonte, è dunque una netta conquista di autonomia strutturale. Cio coincide col tono scarsamente epico del Ronsasvals. Allora l’utilizzazione di schemi da chanson de femme può essere intesa in modo immanente; come l’influsso di un modello di conformazione narrativa e di strutturazione, un modello astratto dedotto ovviamente dalla poesia di tipo tradizionale e in particolare dalle sue realizzazioni di tipo ‘femminile’. E l’autore del Ronsasvals che ha fatto dell’episodio di Alda un piccolo poemetto con tratti di chanson de femme’ (Segre 1981–1983, p. 8). 27 Keller 1987, vol. 2, pp. 567–80, p. 573.

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women and saracens in chansons de geste ­different – chansons de femme. For Keller there is no doubt that the episode is a chanson de toile, even if, as he recognises, one element or another is missing: l’atmosphère poétique est classique: le début printanier de l’épisode; la demoiselle qui peigne les cheveux de Belle Aude; les noms de ses amies Aybelina et Aysseleneta; le rêve prémonitoire qui présage malheur. It therefore follows quite naturally for the critic that Il est évident que l’auteur du Ronsasvals connaissait les chansons de toile françaises aussi bien que l’auteur du Jeu de sainte Agnès provençal du XIVe siècle, mystère qui contient un planctus d’Agnès sur l’air ‘Dans la forêt d’Ardenne près du palais d’Alphonse, à la fenêtre de la plus haute tour’.28 And this is how Keller describes the genesis of the episode of the dream in the garden: cependant, le poème Ronsasvals a ceci de spécial que cet épisode a d’abord été converti en une chanson de toile, que, d’ailleurs, le compilateur occitan a probablement déjà trouvée dans sa source identique à celle du romance espagnol de Doña Alda; cette chanson de toile française fut utilisée ensuite par le contaminateur de Ronsasvals, ou de son modèle, pour terminer son poème. En faisant cela, il a violé, il est vrai, une des définitions de la chanson de toile, à savoir l’air d’antiquité du récit en l’actualisant.29 We can have a better idea of the issue represented by our garden at the end of the article: Ronsasvals est la transposition en provençal de textes composés en langue d’oïl, comme l’avait d’ailleurs déjà supposé Mario Roques. Notre conviction est corroborée maintenant par la mise en évidence d’une chanson de toile ayant pour sujet la tragédie de la Belle Aude, c’est-à-dire d’un produit d’un genre littéraire spécifiquement français et populaire entre 1230 et 1250. Cette chanson de toile a été apparemment transposée dans la même koinè franco-occitane dans laquelle avaient été aussi rendues deux versions différentes de la bataille de Roncevaux, sans qu’il soit encore possible de déterminer si ces transpositions ont été réalisées par les auteurs des sources de Ronsasvals ou par le compilateur de celles-ci et dont la copie d’Apt est le seul survivant.30 28 Keller 1987, p. 574. 29 Keller 1987, p. 575. 30 Keller 1987, p. 576.

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belauda’s garden So therefore, the issue presented by H.-E. Keller is simple: if it is demonstrated that the episode of Belauda in the garden is a chanson de toile we will have fixed a terminus a quo for the Ronsasvals, since this genre was in vogue between 1230 and 1250 and the Occitan imitations must have been slightly later. It will be appreciated that under these conditions it is worthwhile examining in somewhat minute detail the line of argument he puts forward. As a pledge of goodwill I shall begin by raising the obstacles with which Keller felt the need to encumber his demonstration. He concedes that two essential elements of the chanson de toile are missing from the episode: the refrain and the atmosphere of false antiquity. In my view, the absence of a refrain is unsurprising once it is admitted that a chanson de toile has been integrated into an epic. (I do not believe that Keller is thinking in terms of a quotation in the manner of Guillaume de Dole.) Once the French chanson de toile drawing on the Chanson de Roland was integrated into an epic text, I cannot see how it would not have lost its formal characteristics which came into frank contradiction with that genre. Now as far as the ‘prestiges du vieux temps’ and the ‘considération qui s’attache aux héros d’un rang distingué’, to borrow Zink’s words, are concerned, when a song adopting a flavour of archaism, drawing on such incomparably distinguished characters as Aude, Roland and Charlemagne, is integrated into an epic, in other words precisely into a world of the olden days, I cannot see how the archaic quality can survive. If, to follow Pierre Bec,31 the chanson de toile is a lyric-epic genre containing the same versification (a decasyllable divided 4/6) as in the epic with the frequent use of assonance and the presence of epic formulae, not to mention any musical links, it is self-evident that a chanson de toile should quite naturally merge into an epic text. It seems to me that one might add to the proposed line of argument an element which appears not to have attracted attention hitherto: in the Oxford version of the Chanson de Roland, the name of Oliver’s sister is pronounced four times: Oliver calls her ma gente sorur Alde (1720), while the narrator once adds an adjective to her name, une bele damisele (3708), another time designates her simply by her name (3517) and then finally uses an epithet, Alde la bel’ (3723). This indicates fairly clearly that the word bele functions as an independent epithet, just as it does in one of the Occitan Roland texts, Roland a Saragosse, Auda la Bella (280). The case is quite different in Ronsasvals which the same manuscript has preserved; according to the names index composed by Mario Roques,32 even if the name of Auda figures on its own eight times, there are no fewer than ten occurrences in which this name appears just to be an element of the composite first name Belauda.33

31 Bec 1977–1978, vol. 1, pp. 110–11. 32 Roques 1932, p. 185. 33 ‘AUDA 230, 916, 1117, 1191, 1706, 1760, 1763, 1780, Aude; voir BELAUDA, BELLAUDA . . . BELAUDA 1702, 1729, 1745, 1759; BELLAUDA 918, 923, 1699; LA BELLAUDA 1727, 1754;

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women and saracens in chansons de geste The tight link between the name and the epithet bela cannot help but make us think of the third of the three specific features which help Bec define the typology of the chanson de toile: De plus, c’est le nom même du personnage féminin (précédé de l’adjectif belle), figé en stéréotype poétique, qui ouvre généralement le poème (Bele Yolanz, Bele Isabel, Bele Beatris, Bele Amelot, Bele Emmelos, Bele Ydoine, Bele Doette, Belle Arembor, etc.).34 We see that Belauda is quite naturally inscribed at the end (or at the beginning) of the long series of belles which have given their name to Michel Zink’s book.35 It may nonetheless be observed that three of these occurrences figure outside the part of the text adapted from the chanson de toile, which presupposes a very careful reworker. If we now turn back to the elements which produce, in Keller’s words, ‘the classic poetic atmosphere’, it is noticeable that they do this rather less than we might think. The spring opening is far from being a constant feature of the chanson de toile, set far more frequently inside, where the female occupations are taking place, rather than outside. The spring opening does not figure in the characteristic features of the genre identified by Bec. It should be admitted that the choice of this argument to attribute a French origin to our text is somewhat unfortunate. As far as Aude’s toilette is concerned, I am happy to concede that in the case of Aysseleneta, and not Belauda, we encounter ‘le même motif initial de la jeune femme occupée à un travail domestique’.36 But apart from the fact that this image of a woman occupied with her toilette, or up early in the day, seems to me very different from the clichés of the chansons de toile, there is actually not one example of this in the twenty-one songs of Zink’s edition. Keller quotes Segre’s article: ‘romance = feminine activity: spinning, weaving, playing an instrument’;37 Belauda’s activity is of a distinctly different kind. Let us turn to feminine first names. In the chansons de toile, as note 33 indicates, we certainly find the names Argentine, Aiglentine, Aigline and even Aude, but apart from the latter being in my view more of a counter-example, I do not think we can conclude any more than that these songs have a certain tendency to use pet names, a natural way of stressing their heroine’s youth. The same motive could explain the diminutives Aysseleneta and Aybelina and similarly

LA BELLAUDA 920, Aude; voir AUDA, et cf. la forme Bell’Aude dans Galien et dans l’Entrée d’Espagne.’ 34 Bec 1977, p. 109. 35 Zink 1978. 36 Zumthor 1970, p. 325. 37 ‘romance = attività femminile: filare, tessere, suonare’, Segre 1981–1983, p. 579.

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belauda’s garden one of the female first names mentioned at Galian’s dubbing ceremony, Gaeta de Monclier (879). It strikes me as hard to take certain features usually typical of the chanson de toile into consideration when they involve elements that have come straight out of the Chanson de Roland, in whichever version. Unless we consider the rhymed Chanson de Roland as also drawn from a chanson de toile, how can we interpret ominous forebodings a genre element when Aude’s dream is developed at such length in these versions? Similarly, with respect to the arrival of an eyewitness of the tragic elements obliged to confess the truth, which will lead to the lover’s death,38 we can certainly imagine that such an ending does not presuppose that there has been a desire to conform to clichés of the chanson de toile; it would have been rather difficult arrange matters differently. Finally, I would be even more hesitant to see the arrival of a messenger, which is indeed characteristic of the Ronsasvals, as an addition due to the necessities of the genre, given that this pilgrim comes, according to Belauda, from sant Jaume poyssant. This allusion to the route to Santiago is absent from the French versions to the extent that that people have thought it might have been expurgated. It is is only confirmed in the other Apt text, Roland à Saragosse, where the paladin evokes the moment when ‘they went to conquer Santiago’ (sant Jaume annavan conquistier, 274). These allusions to the route to Santiago seem to me to hark back to an ancient state of the song, which deters me from thinking of the character of the pilgrim as a newcomer invented by the chanson de toile of Aude. I should like now to say a word about the knowledge of French chansons de toile which the author of Ronsasvals is supposed to have shared with that of the fourteenth-century Provençal Jeu de sainte Agnès. Here are the two Occitans lines cited in a note of Keller’s designating a poem from which a planctus of this work borrows the tune: El bosc d’Ardena/ Justal palaih Anfos,/ A la fenestra de la plus auta tor (‘In the forest of Ardennes by the palace of Anfos, at the window of the highest tower’). Zink says of this song that the tune is similar to the four surviving chansons de toile tunes, and that the two lines cited in the rubric are clearly, in their content and form, the beginning of a chanson de toile, qui est certainement, non pas une chanson provençale, mais une chanson traduite en provençal. La mention de la forêt d’Ardenne est en effet surprenante dans une chanson méridionale. En revanche elle s’accorde et avec la localisation de l’action du Guillaume de Dole et avec l’origine géographique du chansonnier de Saint-Germain, seul manuscrit à renfermer des chansons de toile anonymes, qui est lorrain.39

38 Keller 1987, p. 574. 39 Zink 1978, p. 17.

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women and saracens in chansons de geste I have nothing in principle against the fact that these two lines may have been translated from French, but I confess I have some trouble in following Zink’s line of argument. I cannot readily see why the form of these lines could not be Occitan, for unless I have missed something, I do not think decasyllables divided 4/6 with epic caesura are particularly rare in the South. As for the bosc d’Ardena, it is certainly geographically close where the action of Guillaume de Dole is played out, but I can perceive less interest in the remark concerning the Saint-Germain songbook which, precisely, does not contain this song. Moreover, should we really see the forest of Ardennes from such a narrowly geographical perspective? After all, this forest plays a major role in an epic text as widely known as Renaud de Montauban, where it is found not only in the place with which we are familiar but also in Aquitaine. Once a chanson de toile seeks ‘les prestiges du vieux temps’, is it really surprising if it sets its story in a famous epic forest? It is hard not to accept that French epics extended significantly further than the limits of langue d’oïl territory. I am even tempted, with all due caution, to suggest that in a northern song it is the palaih Anfos that is surprising. This first name is characteristic of the Iberian rulers, particularly the Aragonese, who were counts of Provence for a long time. It was also used by the Toulousain Alphonse Jourdain, to the point that the Song of the Albigensian Crusade calls the Toulousains by the name Anfozenc.40 I do not know whether the name was often used by great French lords before Alphonse II, the son of Blanche of Castile. But could we perhaps suppose that there were Occitan chansons de toile when there are no surviving examples? I shall simply point out, following Zink, that only twenty-one pieces of this genre, whose success seems to have been extremely fleeting, have come down to us, and one of these is a reverdie; nine of them are in the Saint-Germain songbook, five others are the work of Audefroy le Bâtard and the others have been preserved as quotations in narrative works. Isn’t this a sign of the extreme fragility of this transmission, which is essentially based on three branches? Would it be too risky to suppose that on the Occitan side, where popularising genres do not appear to have enjoyed much prestige, the fragility was even greater? Obviously this problem of the existence of Occitan chansons de toile is somewhat secondary to my aim. I simply wanted to emphasise that, even if we allowed for a chanson de toile stage in the composition of the version we have of the Ronsasvals, we could not conclude without further precautions that this chanson de toile was in French. But as it will have become clear, I am not convinced by Keller’s attempt to demonstrate that Belauda’s garden was the reworked version of a chanson de toile. Too many specific features of this genre are, precisely, epic features. Hence it would both easy to take what belongs purely and simply to the epic as a 40 Martin-Chabot 1931–1961, 80.17.

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belauda’s garden constituent feature of these songs, and very hard to uncover traces of a song which of its very nature is likely to merge completely with the epic. What is more, if we were dealing in this particular passage with the adaptation of a chanson de toile, the elements of the genre which in principle have nothing to do with the epic, and on which the demonstration is founded, ought not to figure in other episodes. Now this is not the case either for the spring setting, or for the diminutive, or I would add for Belauda’s name, or for the relationship between the woman and the garden. I therefore think that the most reasonable attitude is Segre’s. It is possible to speak of influence exerted by the chanson de femme, which in Bec’s words ‘représente beaucoup plus un type lyrique qu’un genre constitué’41 and of which one finds much older examples than French chansons de toile, if only with the early eleventh-century kharjas. On the other hand, it seems to me highly exaggerated to speak of chanson de toile, and even more so to seek to draw conclusions from it concerning the genesis of Ronsasvals. In fact we are in complete and total ignorance, and there is very little chance of solving this knotty problem. In these circumstances the most likely hypothesis will be the one that will offer the simplest explanation of the most data: intertextual links with twelfth-century troubadours, the description of a piece of armour characteristic of the twelfth century without any manifestation of later innovations, such exact knowledge of Saragossa that it made Jules Horrent say ‘Il a été composé en Catalogne et non ailleurs en pays d’oc. Quel serait l’Occitanien qui serait aussi bien informé sur Saragosse!’42 We can add signs of influence of the courtly lyric and the Marial cult.43 And we should also add the intermediate language between Occitan and French used particularly but not uniquely for the rhymes; but that may be a different problem. In any case, the key to Ronsasvals lies not in Belauda’s garden, which retains all its mystery.

41 Bec 1977–1978, pp. 61–62. 42 Horrent 1986, p. 79. 43 See Schulze-Busacker 1980.

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3 A U D E , I P H I G E N I A , P O LY X E N A

Aude, Iphigenia and Polyxena share more than attractive names and sad destinies, even if the similarity of the latter is not immediately apparent. Here is a quick reminder of their stories: • • •

Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon, is lured to the shore of the Euripus on the pretext of marrying her to Achilles but in fact to serve as victim in the sacrifice which will appease Artemis and allow the Greek fleet to go and besiege Troy; Polyxena, daughter of Priam, is claimed by the ghost of Achilles, her throat being cut on the tomb of this hero to whom she had been engaged; Aude, sister of Oliver, betrothed to Roland, dies in the Oxford version of the Chanson de Roland on hearing the news of her fiancé’s death.

Despite their differences, on reading these briefest of summaries we cannot help being struck by certain structural parallels: in all three cases we are faced with unusual virgin brides whose marriage is replaced by death. Ancient Greek princesses are obviously not my subject here, even if these heroines, whose fate serves me as a point of comparison, would deserve detailed consideration. My intention is to examine the character of Aude, not as she appears in the two laisses (268–269) of what I am tempted to call the ‘classic’ Oxford version of the Roland but in its rhymed versions, also known as ‘reworkings’, where the episode of Roland’s young fiancée quite literally proliferates. It has often been observed that Oliver’s sister, a character who only appears in a single episode of the Oxford text, gains in importance in the other versions (Gouiran 1991). In Ronsasvals for example Roland shows concern for the fate of his betrothed Belauda in the message he has sent by Gandelbuon, and she is the protagonist of several scenes. Similarly in the Cambridge text, once Baligant is defeated Charlemagne cries out over Roland’s body which he has just discovered, ‘ “Alas, Girard, what terrible grief for the fair Aude and for you, though she is unaware of it!” ’.1 This concern will remain with the emperor as he journeys back 1 ‘Hee! Girart, com grant deul vous affie/ Et la belle Aude, mes el ne le scet mie’ (Mortier, Cambridge, 3532–34).

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a u d e , i p h i g e n i a , p o ly x e n a over the Pyrenean passes, taking with him the bodies of the peers, and of Ganelon whose fate is yet to be determined. On his arrival at Saint-Jean, after placing the traitor under the guard of powerful vassals, he entrusts the others with a no less important mission: ‘Barons,’ said Charlemagne, ‘I have summoned you, for I wish to entrust you with a mission for me. Have a hundred knights equipped; you must journey through the wastelands and go straight to Vienne which is held by the baron Girard. Tell the duke to come to talk to me and bring with him Aude of the loveliest face; tell him that I  intend to celebrate her marriage. I thought to give her to my nephew, but Ganelon has come between them’. ‘ “Barons”, he went on, “may I  trust you?” ’. He made all those about to leave swear on all the relics to conceal this loss until he himself could speak with Duke Girard. ‘ “I intend to console the fair Aude by attempting to spare her this grief. If you do not do so, I shall never be able to speak to her: I shall witness the breaking of her heart” ’.2 Once he has done these two key things Charlemagne reaches Blaye: ‘The emperor has his bugles sound and the biers are carried directly to Blaye’.3 It is hard not to be struck by the extreme precautions with which the emperor surrounds himself. Not only do the missi dominici have to conceal the news of the heroes’ death from Aude and Girard, but, the better to ensure their obedience, Charlemagne goes as far as to impose on them an oath taken on relics – an odd oath, given that they are swearing to tell a lie. And the emperor certainly has no cause for complaint: his messengers acquit themselves so well of their task that they do not just announce to Aude and Girard the celebration of the long-deferred marriage but take the trouble to paint it in colours likely to flatter the ambition of the powerful feudal baron: ‘ “The king is noble, it is right to say so: great love he has for you and all your people. He wishes to augment your fiefs and your wealth” ’.4

2 Quant K[arlles] vit au maitin ajorner,/ Nevelon fait devant soi apeler,/ Gerart de Blois et Gui de Seint Omer,/ Joifroi d’Anjou qe il pot tant amer:/ ‘Baron,’ dist [Karlles] ‘je vos ai fait mander,/ Un mien servise vos voudrai commander:/. C. chevalers me faites conraer,/ Par la gastine vos convient a paser/ Droit a Viene qe tient Girart li ber./ Dites au duc c’a moi viegne a parler,/ Si m’ament Aude qi tant a le vis cler,/ Et si li dites qe la vorai marier./ Jo la cuidai a mon nevou doner,/ Mais Guenelons nos a fait desevrer.’/ . . . . ‘Baron,’ dist il, ‘puis moi en vos fier?’/ Il lor a fait a toz soz sainz jurer/ Et a toz cels qi devoient aler,/ Qe il feront cele dolor celer/ ‘Tant qe je puisse au duc G[irart]. parler / Et la bele Aude volrai reconforter./ Se li pooie sol icest duel enbler !/ S’ensi nel faites, ja n’i porai parler,/ Ainz li vesrai le cuer el cors crever’ (Subrenat 2016, 6158–71, 76–84). 3 Et l’empereres fait ses graisles sonner,/ Tout droit a Blaivies font les bierres porter (Mortier 1942, Paris, 4787–88). 4 ‘Ber est li rois, drois est que on le saiche;/ Forment vos aimme et tout vostre paraige:/ Croistre vos vueult d’onnor et d’eritaige’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5331–33).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste Everything happens as if, once the messenger has begun lying, he is at liberty to abandon all restraint and indeed take relish in disguising the sinister reality: ‘Roland and Oliver often take their leisure in the woods. Charlemagne sends us to tell you to come to him without delay. Be assured that we do not wish to forget the fair Aude, Oliver’s sister: Charlemagne wishes to celebrate her wedding in Blaye: he wants to leave him the whole of Spain as well as giving Oliver a wife and augmenting his fiefs and lands.’5 This makes Girard look like a poor fool whose vanity makes him swallow all these lies: ‘I was already powerful; I shall be even more so when my lord has fulfilled all he wishes. Lady Guibourc, listen to what I tell you: when my lineage is united to his – but where is the fair Aude? she will stand beside Roland –, I shall receive eternal honour.’6 Charlemagne will find even more surprising complicity on the part of Master Amaugis, the learned interpreter of dreams. As soon as she has left Vienne, Aude is prey to a variety of dreams, each more sinister than the last. Terrified, she tells Girard about them. To interpret them he turns to a wise cleric of his household. ‘ “My God!” ’ said Girard, ‘ “how appallingly fearful!” ’ The cleric, we are told, had been a wise man since the age of reason; he had been brought up in the kingdom of France and knew more than all clerics schooled in necromancy. He took up a book in which he clearly saw despair and the deaths of the counts and how the traitor Ganelon had sold them out to the impious king Marsile. Of twenty thousand not one had returned to France. The cleric was a shrewd man; he realised what had happened, but he put on a brave face on account of the fair Aude and said to Girard, ‘Ride untroubled, you have no need to fear for your friends; but tomorrow afternoon you will learn the story which will cause pain and grief in France.’7 5 ‘Entre Rollant et le conte Olivier,/ Cil vont el bois souvent esbanoier./ Par nos voz mande Karlemaine au vis fier/ Qu’alez a lui, pansez de l’esploitier;/ Et la bele Aude qui est suer Olivier,/ N’i volons pas, ce sachiez, oubliier:/ Karles la vueult a Blaivies nosoier,/ Trestoute Espaingne li vueult li rois laissier;/ Et marier vueult le conte Olivier,/ Cel cuide croistre et d’onnor et de fié.’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5341–50). 6 ‘Je iere riches, or serai plus assez/ Quant mes sire a faitez ses volentez:/ Dame Guiborc, oiez la verité:/ Quant mes lingnaiges sera au sien meslez,/ Ou est bele Aude au gent cors honoré?/ Li dus Rollans l’aura a son costé; A touz jors mais en serai honorez’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5355–61). 7 ‘Deus’ dist Girars, ‘ci a fiere doutance!’/ Li clers fu saiges des qu’il issi d’anfance,/ Et fu norris enz ou regne de France,/ Et sor touz clers sot il de ningremance./ Il prinst. I. livre, si a lit sans doutance,/ La mort des contes i vit et la pezance,/ Et com fel Ganes les vendi en balance/ Au roi Marsille qui

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a u d e , i p h i g e n i a , p o ly x e n a The Châteauroux version states more logically, ‘ “You will see a picture which will bring sweetness and joy to France” ’.8 Laisse 297 goes on to state that The cleric, a wise man, hid his grief. He picked up his book and quickly hid it. He sighed in his heart and tears came to his eyes. He altered the meaning of the dream. [. . .] Girard understood him, and heaved a deep sigh; he broke out in sweat from what he had heard; from that time on he rode without stopping.9 How is it that the cleric, a man belonging to the household of Girard and Aude, with no knowledge of Charlemagne’s intentions, follows the emperor’s line of action so determinedly? What is even more surprising is Girard’s silence even though he seems to have understood the meaning of the dreams, as the text clearly indicates: he ‘hears it’, and his physical reaction confirms it: ‘De ce qu’il oit touz li cors li sua’ (‘on hearing this, sweat came out all over his body’). Deviousness and male complicity do not stop here. When the wedding cortège reaches the outskirts of Blaye, Charlemagne, who has just been put in the picture, has to take some kind of action; but what? ‘ “Ah, lord Naime, you who are such a good counsellor, what stratagem shall we use to console them for this loss?” ’10 In the Paris version a parallel laisse provides the following solution: ‘Dear lord Naime,’ the noble Charlemagne continues, ‘for the love of God, let us put aside our grief. Have it proclaimed to the army on my authority that we are abandoning sorrow in order to manifest joy: ladies should be made to perform farandoles and round dances, children to play in the streets and knights to joust in the fields. For my part I shall go and talk to Duke Girard. Otherwise I shall see his heart break in his breast.’11 en Deu n’ot creance./ Des. XX. milliers n’en torna uns en France./ Li clers fu saiges, n’el tint pas a enfance;/ Mais por bele Aude fist bele contenance./ Dist a Girart: ‘Chevauchiez a fiance,/ De vos amis ne faitez effreance;/ Ainz demain vespre en orrez la samblance,/ Dont il aura dolor ou duel en France’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5591–5).  8 ‘Ainz demein none en vesrez tel senblance / Don il sera dolzor et joie en France’ (Subrenat 2016, 6790–91).  9 Li clers fu saiges, qui la dolor cela:/ Il prinst son livre, isnellement l’osta,/ Dou cuer sozpire et. I. petit plora./ En autre san le songe trestorna (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5606–9)  . . . Girars l’entent, durement sozpira,/ De ce qu’il oit touz li cors li sua;/ Puis icelle hore, mie ne s’arresta (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5627–29). 10 ‘Hé! Nayme, sire, de bon consel menbré,/ Per quel engin serons nos porpensé?/ Coment il soient de cest duel conforté?’ (Subrenat, Châteauroux, 6844–46). 11 ‘Biaus sire Naymme,’ ce dist Karles li ber,/ ‘Por amor Deu, laissons cest duel ester./ Parmi celle ost faitez mon ban crier/ Que joie facent, laissent le desmenter,/ Les dammes faicent treschier et caroler/ Et ces anfans par ces rues joer,/ Les chevaliers par les champs behorder;/ Et je irai au duc Girart parler;/ Et a belle Aude, que volrai conforter./ S’ainsiz ne’l faz, je n’i porrai parler; Ainz li verrai le cuer ou cors crever’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5653–63).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste The Châteauroux version makes this more precise: ‘ “I shall go and speak to Duke Girard, for I intend to comfort the fair Aude: she will find it very hard to recover from this loss.” ’12 To be honest, it was more than time for him to think up this ruse – although in point of fact the emperor of the rhymed Roland narratives spends so much time fainting he has little left for reflection. Charlemagne’s implausible lack of preparation for an action about which he is supposed to be so concerned leads to the immediate question as to why it should be so urgent to bring Aude to Blaye. Some versions hardly feel it necessary to explain, whereas others take care to justify it. The Paris version clearly indicates that ‘You will conceal our sorrow until I have been able to speak to Duke Girard and the fair Aude whom I wish to comfort. If I can ease them in their great loss, I shall feel much better in my heart. If you do not act as I tell you, I shall not be able to speak to him and I shall see his heart break in his breast.’13 The aim of this deception, which turns into the grim masquerade in Blaye, seems therefore designed to spare Aude and Girard from pain and stop them dying of shock, as if our Charlemagne had learned the lesson of the Oxford version. It is easy to demonstrate that as far as Girard was concerned there was little cause for anxiety; when Charlemagne realised that Aude did not believe a word of the unlikely story he was feeding her, he approached Girard and leant towards him, moving a little away from the others; without being able to speak, the king fainted. Then Girard realised there was a great loss. Charlemagne recovered consciousness begging the duke to excuse him. He recounted in detail the loss and the sorrow, the betrayal perpetrated by Ganelon. When he understood, Girard nearly went out of his mind, but his courage allowed him to hide his feelings and to comfort his lord.14 Far from sparing Girard pain, it is in fact Girard himself who is left with the task of comforting the king, who has, once again, fainted.

12 ‘Et je irai au duc Gerart parler/ Por la bele Aude qe voldrai conforter / Mot li ert fort cest deus a trepaser’ (Subrenat 2016, 6853–55). 13 ‘ . . . Que vos ferez ceste dolor celer/ Tant que je puisse au duc Girart parler/ Et a bele Aude, que voldrai conforter./ Se je lor puis icest grant duel embler,/ Plus en auroie le cuer et sain et cler./ S’ainsiz n’el faitez, je n’i porrai parler,/ Ains li verrai le cuer dou cors crever’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 4777–83). 14 Vint a Girart, envers lui s’enclinna,/. I. seul petit des autres s’esloingna;/ Ne puet parler li rois, ainz se pasma./ Lors sot Girars que grans dolor i a./ Karles revint, au duc merci cria;/ Tout le dammaige et le duel li conta,/ La traïson que Ganes fait li a./ Girars l’entent, a poi ne desvia;/ Par vasselaige son coraige cela,/ Et son seignor moult bien reconforta (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5736–45).

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a u d e , i p h i g e n i a , p o ly x e n a We should incidentally note Girard’s silence at this point. Of course this is only silence towards Aude, confirming the male complicity we have already glimpsed in the episode of Master Amaugis. However, one might object that the reasons for sparing a weak woman and a seasoned warrior are not the same, and that when the texts link Girard and Aude they may be simply describing Aude. This may be so; in which case let us look at the example involving another woman which the texts present in parallel with Aude. Charlemagne is not satisfied with sending for Roland’s betrothed; he also summons Roland’s mother, who is incidentally Ganelon’s wife. To cut a long story short, there is, in contrast with the Paris version,15 a close parallel between the treatment of Aude and the treatment of Berte (sometimes also called Gille), even if we are not told the precise reasons given for summoning her so quickly. After all, her son’s marriage would have provided an excellent pretext. When Berte/Gille reaches Blaye, Charlemagne, who has just confessed the real situation to Girard, goes to meet her across the meadow on a favourite mule; he greets her, then embraces her. ‘Dear sister Gille, do you know of our loss? Roland is dead – there is no point in concealing it – along with handsome Oliver, the twelve peers and twenty thousand men from my lands. I brought the best men with me; they are all dead to a man. Ganelon is responsible for this; he betrayed me and sold them to the infidels.’ On hearing this, Gille faints with grief, but Charlemagne lifts her to her feet and comforts her most gently.16

15 Quant l’empereres revint de pasmison/ Et duc e conte qui furent environ,/ Karles apelle Bazin le Borgoingnon,/ Garnier d’Auvergne et Guion et Milon:/ ‘Baron,’ dist Karles, ‘entendez ma raison;/ De mon service vos proi je et semoing:/ Que me faiciez sans nulle contanson./ Je vos voil ci deviser. I. sermon:/ Vos en irez a la cit de Mascon/ Por ma suer Gille a la clere fason;/ Celle fu fame au riche duc Milon,/ Puis la donnai au conte Ganelon;/ Randu m’en a. I. mauvais guerredon.’/ Et cil respondent: ‘Faillir ne vous devons.’ [261] – ‘Franc chevalier, encor vouz dirai al,/ De chevauchier ne vos soit mie mal./ En chascun lieu ou vos panroiz ostal,/ Celez moult bien le dammaige mortal;/ Ditez ma suer, qui a le cuer loial,/ De grant honor onques ne pansa mal./ Je la donnai au traïtor mortal/ Qui m’a tolu maint nobile vassal/ Et, a bien prez, ma coronne roial./ Jhesus l’en rende. I. si fier baptistal,/ Que touz li mons l’en esgart communal!’ [262] Li. V. baron que rois Karles semont,/ Congié demandent, puis montent; si s’en vont./ Tel duel ot Karles, que mot ne lor respont,/ A poi que il por la dolor ne font/ Et cil chevauchent, quant de l’ost parti sont;/ Il ne redoutent ne val, ne plain ne mont;/ Prochiennement arriere revenront,/ La seror Karle avec euls amenront./ Ha, Deus! quel duel quant il assambleront,/ Quant Aude et Gille ensemble i enterront (Mortier 1942, Paris, 4790–824). 16 Va li encontre aval parmi la prée/ Sor une murle qui forment li agrée;/ Baisier la vait, quant il l’ot saluée:/ ‘Bele suer Gille, savez vos la dolée?/ Mors est Rollans, n’i a mestier celée,/ Et Oliviers a la chiere membrée,/ Li. XII. per par male destinée./.XX. M. Franc qu’avoie en ma contrée,/ La mieudre gent que j’avoie amenée,/ Mort sont trestuit sans nulle demorée:/ Ce fist fel Ganes, qui sa foi m’a faussée/ Quant les vendi a la gent deffaée.’/ Gille l’entent, de dolor est pasmée;/ Mais Karlemaine l’an a suz relevée,/ Moult doucement l’an a reconfortée. (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5752–66).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste Well, Charlemagne certainly knows how to take the edge off bad news. The poor woman, learning in the same breath of her son’s demise and her husband’s treachery, has good reason to faint. The obvious question is of course why, rather than break the news gently, Charlemagne should decide to bludgeon her with the brutal truth. Now let us turn to Charlemagne’s meeting with Aude, a meeting where in theory the emperor’s task is to avoid the young girl’s death by carefully handling the way in which she is told what has happened. That said, since she has been brought to Blaye where the heroes’ tortured bodies lie at rest, we can hardly suppose there is any idea of hiding their death from her indefinitely. The aim is clearly to gain time, specifically to hold the line until the afternoon, as the emperor (‘ “Que il n’el saichent ainz le vespre avespré” ’ [let them not know it before nightfall]) and the cleric Amaugis (‘ “Ainz demain vespre en orrez la samblance” ’ [but tomorrow, at nightfall, you will learn the truth]) oddly reiterate. As we have seen, when the approach of the cortège from Vienne is announced, Charlemagne has taken steps to ensure that his army puts up a good front. Nevertheless he remains the key figure in fulfilling his intentions. It is not unduly difficult to bring the fair Aude across a huge expanse of territory without her learning the news prematurely through some blundering messenger as in Ronsasvals; but that is only a small part of the task at hand. It is for Charlemagne to find the words that will keep the fragile young girl alive, given that there can be little doubt her first comment will be to express astonishment at the absence of her future husband: On seeing Aude, Charlemagne runs to take her in his arms, and she acts in the same way; he begins to kiss her more than a hundred times without wanting to stop. ‘My lord,’ she says, ‘where are Olivier and Duke Roland who is to marry me? He has kept me waiting a long time in Vienne. I am so full of sorrow, and there is plenty of reason for me to be unhappy; alas, I greatly fear some misfortune has befallen him.’17 This is the point where the emperor has to pronounce the words he has had ample time to mull over since he sent his messengers: ‘ “Lors plora Karles, si regarda Ogier” ’ (5694, ‘then Charlemagne wept and looked at Ogier’). Not exactly effective. And things go from bad to worse. The emperor explains that he has quarrelled with Roland and Oliver who were pursuing the fight against the Saracens; and he proposes another marriage to Aude, which places us back in the logic of the Oxford version: ‘ “Forget the love of these two counts: I  will give you the Duke of Normandy; he has great merit and he is a great lord” ’.18 A laisse parallèle 17 Karles voit Aude, si la cort embracier/ Et elle lui, s’el commence a baisier/ Plus de. C. fois, ainz ne le volt laissier/ ‘Sire,’ dist elle, ‘et ou est Oliviers,/ Li dus Rollans qui me doit nosoier?/ Moult m’aura fait en Vianne laissier./ Tant sui dolante, n’i a que courroucier./ Je mescroi, lasse! que n’i ait encombrier’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5686–93). 18 ‘D’anz. II. les contes laissiez la druerie:/ Je vos donrai le duc de Normendie,/ Moult par est prouz et de grant seingnorie’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5701–3).

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a u d e , i p h i g e n i a , p o ly x e n a ­emphasises the adventures awaiting the two noble warriors, more redolent of Ariosto rather than the chanson de geste: ‘In the month of May, when the days are long, they will cross the river known as Noisant and will go to fight in Babylon. Count Oliver will become its emir and he will marry Baligant’s sister’.19 Finally, Charlemagne reaches the acme of tact when he announces, ‘ “Count Roland has married a young girl; her father is Floaire, king of the Val-dormant; it is her beauty that has made him unfaithful” ’.20 It is hardly surprising that Aude, whose character retains all its dignity, does not believe a word of it: ‘There is no woman in the world who could take Roland’s love away from me. I have lost him, I am perfectly sure of it; whoever may rejoice at it, my heart is full of sadness.’ Then Charlemagne and Naime the valiant began to weep.21 Apart from weeping, what does Charlemagne do? ‘When the king sees that he will be unable to cover up the truth or console fair Aude, he sighs from the heart and sheds some tears. He leaves the young girl with the good Dane.’22 So he calmly abandons Aude to Ogier and goes to unburden himself to Girard; he then follows suit with his sister who, at long last, reveals the truth to Aude: ‘Aude,’ says Gille, ‘I will not lie to you; to be honest, I tell you that my son Roland, who has loved you so long, is no longer with us; my heart will never be free of this sorrow.’ Once she understands, Aude faints with grief; believing him to be dead, she sighs for sorrow; Charlemagne raises her up again.23 Nevertheless, it is from the emperor’s mouth that fair Aude awaits the truth, and so all the themes are bunched together in a laisse parallèle. Duke Girard was devastated; he had the courage to cover up his feelings and console his lord. They reach Blaye and enter it. The young men 19 El mois de may, quant cil jor seront grant,/ Passeront l’eve c’on apelle Noisant;/ En Babiloinne s’en iront ostoiant;/ Cuens Oliviers en sera amirans,/ Et panra famme la seror Baligant (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5717–21). 20 ‘Une pucelle a prins li cuens Rollans,/ fille Flohaire, le roi de Val Dormant./ Por sa biauté vait la vostre chanjant’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5722–24). 21 ‘N’a famme en terre n’en cest siecle vivant/ Qui me partist de l’amor de Rollant./ Je l’ai perdu, g’el sai a enciant,/ Qui qu’en ait joie, g’en ai le cuer dolant.’/ Lors plora Karles et Naymmes li vaillans (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5727–31). 22 Quant voit li rois que ja n’el celera/ Ne la bele Aude conforter ne porra,/ De cuer sozpire et un petit plora;/ Au bon Danois la pucelle livra (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5732–35). 23 ‘Aude,’ dist Gille, ‘ne vos mentirai ja:/ Rollans, mes fiz, qui tant jor vos ama,/ Por voir vos di que laissiés nouz a./ Jamais dou cuer li diaus ne m’istera.’/ Aude l’antent, de dolor se pasma,/ Cuide mors soit, por le duel sozpira,/ Et Karlemaine amont la releva (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5776–82).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste manifest great joy, the ladies dance round dances and farandoles and the children play in the streets while the squires joust in the fields; at the church no bells are tolled, just as Charlemagne had commanded Naime. Charlemagne dismounts from his harnessed mule. He walks up to the palace with Girard while dukes, counts and enfeoffed knights go to meet them to greet the king and fair Aude, with much honour; but there is no trace of Roland, or Oliver, the valiant young man. Aude bewails this and looks at the king: ‘Legitimate emperor, I beg you for the love of God, take pity on me, wretched as I am, who love you more than anyone in the world. Tell me the truth about Duke Roland and wise Oliver, my brother.’ ‘Fair one,’ said the king, ‘it is impossible to pretend otherwise, the two valiant young men are dead and they have totally forgotten us, you and me.’24 The sole aim of the long quotations given in the notes is to show that – whatever the poets of the rhymed Châteauroux, Cambridge, Paris or Venice versions may have thought  – the supposition that fair Aude was lured to Blaye to spare her from dying of shock, as in the Oxford version, simply does not stand up. The old emperor is totally incapable of carrying out such an undertaking successfully. And moreover, as the closely parallel adventure of Berte/Gille shows, he hardly even tries. In fact, Berte/Gille finds not a shred of compassion in her brother other than what he feels for himself, and it is therefore not because of Charlemagne’s compassion that Aude is brought to a rendez-vous in Blaye. Once this pretence has been set aside, the question remains: why is the young girl brought to Blaye where the peers’ bodies are to be found? What can be so terrible that the truth needs to be stifled, and more significantly camouflaged by all sorts of practices which are the exact opposite of what one would expect in mourning: children playing, ladies dancing, knights jousting, all masks to cover up death? The text itself gives us a very clear answer: it is at the very hour of the afternoon which recalls the hour of Christ’s death, that Aude too has a rendez-vous with death. Just as Iphigenia is lured to a ‘blood-soaked wedding’ – ‘What a horrible union you prepare for me! [. . .] So it was Hades, and not the son of Peleus, Achilles, whom you have offered to me as spouse! 24 Li dus Girars fu fortment abosmez;/ Par vasselaige son coraige a celé/ Et son seignor moult bien reconforté./ Viennent a Blaivies, la dedens sont entré;/ Grant joie mainnent cil jone bachelier,/ Les dammes ont treschié et carolé,/ Et li anfant par ces rues joé,/ Li escuier par ces champs behordé,/ Si qu’au monstier n’ot onques sains sonné,/ Ainsiz com Karles l’ot Naymmon commandé./ Karles descent dou murlet affautré,/ Il et Girars sont el palais monté,/ Et duc et conte et chevalier chazé/ viennent encontre, le roi ont salué/ Et la belle Aude au gent cors honoré;/ Mais de Rollant n’i ont mie trouvé/ Ne d’Olivier, le vassal aduré;/ Dont plora Aude, s’a le roi esgardé:/ ‘Drois empereres, merci por l’amor Dé,/ De ceste lasse or vos preingne pité;/ Car plus voz aimme c’omme de mere né./ Dou duc Rollant me ditez verité/ Et d’Olivier, mon frere, le sené.’/ – ‘Bele,’ dist Karles, ‘ne puet iestre celé,/ Andui sont mort li vassal aduré,/ Et moi et vos ont il tout oublié.’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5783–808).

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a u d e , i p h i g e n i a , p o ly x e n a And to this chariot you have drawn me, towards a blood-soaked wedding, you perfidious one!’25 – so the lure of marriage has been dangled before Roland’s fiancée in order to draw her to Blaye, and this marriage proves to be a death. As she herself says, ‘ “Uncle Girard, we face terrible suffering: it is my wedding day, and you will have great sorrow from it” ’.26 The death of Aude now seems not so much a mere twist of the plot, as in the Oxford version, but rather a planned outcome, involving all these mendacious men: Charlemagne, his messenger, Master Amaugis and Girard. But in order to compare Aude with Iphigenia – in contrast with Berte/Gille – it will still be necessary to prove that her death does in fact represent a sacrifice. Let us return to Antiquity and the character of Polyxena,27 who seems to have aroused much less interest than Iphigenia, even if we know that she gave her name to a lost tragedy of Sophocles. We do not know for what reason she was sacrificed, and according to some authors she was not even sacrificed but committed suicide. Events unfold as if people at the time were faced with an awkward fact, which had become inexplicably barbaric for the Greeks of the literary era. The theme developed by Euripides was treated in the Ilioupersis of Arctinos. The résumé given by the Chrestomathy of Proclus ends on these words: ‘Then, after setting fire to the city (of Troy), the Greeks cut Polyxena’s throat on the tomb of Achilles.’ We find the same dissonance expressed in a remark by the character of Hecuba in Euripides’s play: ‘ “Was it necessity which drove them to make a human sacrifice on the tomb, when it is more fitting there to cut the throat of oxen?” ’ (vv. 260–61). Awkwardness and incomprehension predominate: ‘Why was Polyxena designated for this funereal offering?’ The legend attempted to reply: an explanatory note on Hecuba v. 41 relates that Achilles had agreed with Priam on marriage with the young girl, when he was killed in the sacred wood of Apollo of Thymbra. Hygin alludes to an analogous version: he recounts that the Greeks chose Polyxena because Achilles, who was in love with her, had come to seek her out when he fell beneath the blows of Alexander and Deiphobus. Others said that because she was enamoured of the hero she had not been able to survive him. It is known that this tale of the amorous relations of Achilles and Polyxena was told by Dictys, Dares and Philostratus. But it was probably much older, and it has been thought that its subject matter was already outlined in the Cyprian Songs.28 It seems to me that as far as the character of Polyxena is concerned, we could reasonably risk the following hypothesis. We find ourselves well and truly in the presence of human sacrifice, corresponding to an extremely ancient practice 25 Grégoire 1942, 364–71. 26 ‘Oncles Girars, ci a moult fort martyre./ Ce sont mes noces, vos en aurez grant ire’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5820–21). 27 Méridier 2003, vol. 2, Hecuba, p. 203, vv. 165–71. 28 Méridier 2003, vol. 2, Hecuba, p. 166.

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women and saracens in chansons de geste which is no longer either understood by, or acceptable to, the Greeks of the classical period; they therefore try to explain it within their rational and anachronistic system, their most advanced attempt consisting in making it so abstract that the cruelty of the nubile young girl’s sacrifice on the tomb of her dead lover sees itself replaced by a suicide for love. René Girard seems to be thinking of our heroines, when in his chapter ‘les dieux, les morts, le sacré . . . ’ he explains that ‘the crisis’ which such sacrifice resolves presents itself as the loss of difference between the dead and the living, intermingling the two normally separate realms [. . .]. Beyond a certain paroxysm of revulsion the dead again start to accept the cult they inherit; they stop haunting the living and return to their habitual dwelling-place. How do these dead intervene among the living? ‘[T]hey come to haunt or possess the living. They give them nightmares, fits of madness’. It is worth remembering that ‘in Polyxena Achilles’s shade was seen to appear (fragm. 523); it seemed to be addressing Agamemnon, and was foretelling the crime of Clytemnestra (fragm. 526); finally, it was probably claiming Polyxena’.29 It is unnecessary to mention the dreams which disturb Aude and forewarn of her of her misfortune. In fact the most obvious parallel we might cautiously suggest between Aude and Polyxena resides in the observation that both heroines die on the tomb of the prematurely dead hero. Can this be taken any further? Perhaps. We have seen how classical Greek thought found Polyxena’s fate repugnant. They reacted similarly to that of Iphigenia, which was literally sublimated, since the victim is replaced by an animal and carried off to Tauris among the barbarians where – in an irony of fate or the flexibility of Greek dialectic – she presides over human sacrifices. Evidently these are fine for Barbarians even if intolerable for Greeks. Our poets find it no easier than those of classical Greece to extricate themselves from this strange death, the difference being that Turold opted for abstraction. The others, oddly, follow the solution already adopted in the case of Iphigenia. In Euripides’s play of the same name the young girl has a double aspect, whose psychological inconsistency was already criticised by Aristotle. In the first place she ‘tries to persuade Agamemnon to let her live. But in the second, when she realises the futility of the efforts made to save her, she bluntly announces her intention to accept her destiny’.30 After a long period of being tossed backwards and forwards at the mercy of others, her character abruptly gains an autonomy which makes her in fact take charge of her own fate. She even organises her own sacrifice: ‘Young women, piously sound a paean of praise on my destiny in honour of Artemis, daughter of Zeus. Let the Danaeans keep reverent silence. 29 Girard 1972, p. 380. 30 Jouan 1993, p. 36.

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a u d e , i p h i g e n i a , p o ly x e n a Let the baskets be prepared, let the flame consume the lustral barley, let my father pass to the right around the altar. For it is salvation I bring to the Greeks, and victory.’31 One cannot avoid being struck by the similarity of Aude’s attitude: after having been literally floored and transformed into a pietà by the revelation of a truth so long suspected, ‘with a heart-rending sigh, Aude faints. When she regains consciousness, she is yellower than wax’.32 And yet we see the young girl gaining total autonomy and taking the situation in hand, much better than Charlemagne has ever managed to do. In Ronsasvals she pretends to be ignorant of the truth and feigns a state of resignation which allows her to trick him. She even proposes the idea of a substitute marriage. Thus she achieves her goal: to find death, in a strange, physical wedding, as she embraces her fiancé’s body. ‘Aude goes and lies next to Roland; she clasps the knight’s body so tightly that her heart bursts in her breast’.33 Despite contradictory laisses brought together by the Paris version, where we find all at once the truthful announcement of the immediate future in laisse 31034 and the recollection of the duplicity of the Ronsasvals Belauda35 in the previous one, her actions give the same impression, to the point where the author steps back to comment on his character: ‘Never was a woman so bold’.36 His opinion is readily shared: Aude, despite being a trembling young girl given to fainting, manages to induce Charlemagne to let her go alone into the church where the bodies have been laid, and she ‘approaches the biers and drags the two counts out of them; she arranges them so that the bodies remain upright without falling over’.37 It is in this situation that she will pray to God to grant the power of speech to Oliver’s dead body which will invite her to share with him the joy of heaven. The end, if not as abrupt as that of the Oxford version, is swift: after a few words of lament over the heroes and adieu to those present, which the Châteauroux version, more logical here, has neatly reintegrated into the scene (laisse 388), Aude announces, ‘ “Death so long desired comes to me” ’ (6009), makes the sign of the cross, and ‘Her heart stops, her soul has left’.38

31 Jouan 1993, 1467–74. 32 Aude se pasme et durement souzpire./ Quant el revint, plus fu jausne que cire (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5816–17). 33 Justa Rollan si vay Auda cougier;/ tant fort estrenh lo cors del cavallier/ que·l cor del ventre si vay tot esclatier (Rs, 1788–90). 34 Ainz me sera li cuers el cor partis,/ Puis m’en irai avecques mon ami/ Et a mon frere, qui la dolor souffri (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5844–46). 35 ‘Si proierai a mon frere Olivier./ Se ma dolor me porroit alegier,/ Tost me verrez ancui eslaiecier’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5855–57). 36 Onques mais famme ne fist tel hardement (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5921). 37 Quant vint as bierres, anz. II. les contes prent,/ S’es afaita par tel devisement/ Que l’uns ne l’autres ne clinne ne ne pent (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5922–24). 38 ‘La mort me vient que tant ai desirrée’; Li cuers li part, l’arme s’en est alée;/ Li angre Deu l’an ont el ciel portée (Mortier 1942, Paris, 6009; 6018–19).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste Here, as we can see, we are presented with an entirely Christian scene. But in fact, if we move from the scandalous sacrifice of Polyxena to that of Iphigenia which is eminently civilised even before being annulled, all this conflicts head-on with the Christian world. The Oxford Aude has no space for sacraments. The Aude of the Paris version embarks in vain on an immense two-laisse credo, crosses herself and commends herself to God before her heart bursts, but there remains this highly significant line: ‘Aude remained unconscious for a long time: no man in the world could obtain a word from her, no cleric, no priest could hear her confession’.39 The Châteauroux version, which as I have emphasised is keen to show events unfolding logically, takes this Christianising requirement even further: The fair one asked to be confessed and Charlemagne replied: ‘At once!’ The king entrusted the care of hearing her confession to an archbishop who was very dear to him; the latter took Aude aside into a crypt where she rehearsed her sins. In accordance with what she had done he fixed the penance she was to perform. Aude knelt for a moment, said her mea culpa and invoked Jesus.40 The scenario is the same in the Lyon text, if more naïve.41 The concern to give Aude a Christian death means that all tension vanishes from the text and has to be relaunched by a new and final invocation from the heroine. So it has been a long road with much re-elaboration to make the link from Charlemagne’s incomprehensible motive for making Roland’s fiancé travel across the wasteland to a Christian death, albeit a strangely choreographed one. Aude’s death might lead one to think the situation clear. Like Achilles with Polyxena, the warrior, prematurely dead without having known the fulfilment of marriage, has received in compensation the symbolic and indissoluble embrace of the fiancés in the Ronsasvals, where one can rightly apply to Belauda what Hecuba says of her daughter: ‘married without a spouse, virgin no longer virgin’.42 In fact, the substitutions are not over and done with and it is the relationship between Aude and Roland itself which will be nullified. The relationship between the two peers, closely united in death, means that it is of course hard to distinguish between them. We have already been surprised to hear Charlemagne say to 39 Moult estut Aude en longue pasmison:/ Nus hom de char n’en pot traire raison,/ Ne clers ne prestres donner confession (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5832–34). 40 Confession la belle demanda/ Et respont K[arlles]: ‘Ja plus ne demora.’/ Un archevesqe qe li rois mot ama,/ A confeser li rois li commenda;/ Et cil prist Aude, une part la mena/ En une croute o ses pechiez conta./ Cil li enjoint, selonc ce qe fait a,/ La penitance qe la bele fera./ Un seul petit Aude s’agenoila,/ Bati sa coupe et Yesu reclama (Subrenat 2016, 7210–19). 41 Puis se repanse que se confessera:/ Se la morz vient, plus tost sauve sera./.I. arcevesque que li rois comanda,/ A confesser errant la comanda./ Aude li conte les pechiez que fait a,/ Puis bat sa corpe, e cil asoute l’a./ Aprés cest mot bele Aude Dieu proia/ Que mort li doint que desirée l’a;/ A Oliviers, son frere, s’en ira,/ E a Rollant que moult forment ama (Mortier 1944, Lyon, 2527–36). 42 Méridier 2003, p. 204, 612.

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a u d e , i p h i g e n i a , p o ly x e n a Aude, ‘ “Forget the love of the two counts” ’, thereby linking Roland and Oliver even though only Roland is involved. But whether we are faced with a concern to moralise or with the intervention of an idea of kinship, we will now see Oliver’s role overshadowing that of Roland. Firstly, and quite legitimately, in the church at Blaye the girl faces the terrible sight of the two bodies (according to the text it is only later that they will be embalmed). But at the moment when Aude begs Charlemagne to let her see them, it is Oliver who is given priority: ‘True emperor, I want to beg you for God’s sake to leave me alone in the church; I wish to remain there to pray to Our Lord; I shall speak with my brother Oliver; if he could alleviate my pain, you would soon see me find joy again’.43 This is even clearer in her prayer to God: ‘ “Give a sign today, true God, to the wretched creature that I am, waiting in the church: may Oliver say all he wishes to me” ’.44 And it is through the intermediary of Oliver’s dead body that God’s angel will speak: And the true God does not abandon the young girl, for the holy angel has heard her words; he lent next to the ear of Oliver who spoke as if he had been alive: ‘Dear sister Aude, have no fear, you will be with me in God’s following high above in heaven where true joy is to be found; there you will receive all beauty and will care little for earthly life’.45 In this sinisterly staged scene, the dead bodies of the brother and the lover rely in vain on each other to form a sort of dual unity; Oliver alone speaks and disposes of Aude’s destiny. There is one final indication in our texts, dubbed ‘reworkings’ as they sometimes so appropriately are, concerning the final destination of these three bodies, once Aude has passed into the world that has been claiming her presence. The Lyon version seems to reflect a state in which the two betrothed were supposed to find each other in death: ‘Charlemagne had them opened and embalmed; Oliver

43 ‘Drois empereres, por Deu vos voil proier/ Que vos me faitez delivrer le monstier;/ Je i voil iestre por Dammledeu proier,/ Si proierai a [Si parlerai – Subrenat 2016, 7104] mon frere Olivier./ Se ma dolor me porroit alegier,/ Tost me verrez ancui eslaiecier’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5852–57). 44 ‘Faitez, vrais Deus, ancui demonstrement/ A moi chaitive, qui el monstier atent/ Que Oliviers me die son talent.’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5962–64). 45 E li vrais Deus la pucelle n’oublie,/ Car li sains angres a la parole oïe,/ Prez d’Olivier s’apuia lez l’oïe;/ Ainsiz parla com se il fust en vie:/ ‘Bele suer Aude, ne vos esmaiez mie,/ O moi venrez en la Deu compaingnie,/ Lassuz el ciel, ou joie est esbaudie./ Toute biautez t’i iert amanevie,/ Poi priserez la terrienne vie’ (Mortier 1942, Paris, 5986–94).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste is carried to a church, then Roland and bright-faced Aude’.46 The similar texts of Cambridge and Châteauroux are unclear,47 other than signalling the separation of Roland and Oliver: ‘They had Oliver borne to a church: they did not want to bury him alongside Roland’; and the other versions separate Roland from a kinship couple formed by Aude and Oliver, the Paris version leaving no room for doubt: ‘He has Roland arranged with great care, as well as Oliver and bright-faced Aude, then he orders them to be buried together, but they did not want to instal Oliver of such glorious deeds next to Roland’,48 and the Venice one even less so: ‘Aude and Olivier were placed in one coffin and Roland was laid in another’.49 This final separation says loudly, clearly and mercilessly, that what was not united in this life cannot be united in the next. What I consider a last avatar of Aude’s adventure takes us a long way from her classical sisters Polyxena and Iphigenia. The fact remains that the reworkings of the Chanson de Roland pose a collection of insoluble questions, even if we stop at the Oxford version. So what is this fiancée doing in the song, which she enters simply to die in it? Up to this point she has been conspicuous by her absence, and the hero has not given her a moment’s thought, while recalling at great length everything worthwhile in the life he is abandoning. In the rhymed texts, what then has been the point of giving marriage as the pretext to bring Aude to Blaye? Obviously I am not proposing to see Aude’s death as parallel with the death of Sardanapalus or the ritual practices of the Scythian leaders. Nevertheless the hypothesis of a practice of human sacrifice, which had become scandalous to the point of being unnamable at the time of our texts, has the merit of re-establishing a certain coherence and, what is no less important, showing the struggle of a ‘modern’ author against a subject-matter that was in some way imposed upon him. I can do no better than conclude with the words of René Girard writing about sacrifice: ‘its fate is to disappear and also be transformed during the evolution of the rite, even before there are any modern interpretations to wipe out all trace of its origins’.50

46 Karles les fit fandre e enbaucemer,/ Oliviers font en. I. mostier porter,/ E puis Rollant, e Aude au vis cler (Mortier 1944, Lyon, 2564–66). 47 Jouste Olivier, le conte poigneour,/ La font coucher, trestout pour soue amour (Mortier, Cambridge:,4893–94), and the following laisse: Olivier firent en I. montier porter;/ Pres de Roullant ne le voudrent enterrer (4918–19). Joste Oliver, dalés le pogneor/ La font cochier, al non del Creator (Subrenat 2016, 7266–67), Oliver firent a un moster porter,/ Pres de R[ollant] nel vousent enterrer (Subrenat 2016, 7290–91). 48 Moult richement fait Rollant conraer,/ Et Olivier et Audain au vis cler,/ Puis les commande ensamble a enterrer;/ Mais Olivier qui tant fist a loer,/ Pres de Rollant ne voldrent ajouster (Mortier 1942, Paris 6059–63). 49 Entre un arche fu Aude et Oliver./ Apres un autre fist Rollant colcer (Mortier 1941, Venice IV, 5386–87). 50 Girard 1972, p. 449.

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4 S O D I S L A D O N N A : ‘ O Y, B E L SIRA ROLLAN, MOS MARITZ ES EN MALAÜR LO GRAN’ The Saracens and the Saracen woman in Rollan a Saragossa The war of which Rollan a Saragossa is an episode is more reminiscent of the ‘Reconquista’ than Charlemagne’s historic expedition, which only lasted for some four months. In effect one of the protagonists wants to take revenge on Roland, who wounded him seven years earlier. Under these circumstances the adversaries would struggle to maintain a permanent state of belligerence, and at times they get involved in some strange relationships. The result is that Roland, when preparing to enter Saragossa, can ask for information about the town from seven Norman merchants coming out of it. They are leaving the city leading fourteen mules laden with gold and silver; Roland recognises them without a doubt as Christians.1 These Norman Christians are therefore freely trading with the Saracens in the middle of war. They are simply careful not to accept the splendid Arab horse that Roland won from King Farnagan, well aware that ‘ “if the Saracen people knew about it they would rob us of what we are bringing” ’,2 in other words they would be robbed not of their life but their goods. They are nevertheless sufficiently attached to both of them to make it their business to try to give the steed to Oliver at the earliest opportunity, no matter how great the profit that Roland – who for his part refers to a mortal risk (v. 436) – assures them that they will derive from it once they are back home. The Norman merchants are not the only ones to prefer to think in terms of commercial rather than moral issues. At the end of the work a Saracen comes to find Oliver in the middle of the field of Roncevaux to propose a strange deal. This man, Golian, reports that the king of the Black Mountain is about to put his treasure in a safe place behind the walls of Saragossa. Oliver’s first reaction is to be suspicious, but not for long; he goes off to take part in this operation, which turns out to be extremely fruitful. There is no lack of traitors in the chansons de geste, but in principle treachery does not pay, and those who profit from their 1 De la cieutat yesson set mercadans,/ quatorze muls menan cargat d’aur et d’arjant,/ crestians foron, ben los connoc Rollan (Gouiran and Lafont 1991, 395–97). 2 Si ho sabian la sarrasina jant,/ tot nos tolrian so que nos aportam (431–32).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste services generally take on the task of punishing them. Does Charlemagne not say in the Chanson de Roland, ‘ “He who betrays a man kills himself and the other” ’?3 Nothing of that here. Oliver simply acknowledges that ‘ “Golian has served me” ’, and when they divide up the spoils, ‘the Saracen receives 500 pieces of silk and 1,000 besant coins; all give him as many horses and arms as he desires’.4 This likeable Sarrasin, whose rank must not be high enough for anyone to think of suggesting that he might convert to Christianity, does not instantly disappear from the story, and Oliver turns to him for help in staging a trick he is going to play on Roland. He cannot be said to be addressing him as an enemy of his faith: ‘ “Friend, he said, climb up the tower” ’.5 The author also has some difficulty in marking the differences between Christians and Saracens. The peers certainly feel a certain fascination for the world of their adversaries, and Roland, from a hilltop, ‘sees Saragossa, the great worthy city; he looks down, towards the south, on the high towers and vast palaces’.6 But it sometimes happens that the image of the Other is simply your own reflection. In the Christian camp, alongside soldiers checking their armour, ‘others are enjoying a game of chess’.7 And when Roland asks the Norman merchants how the Saracens pass their day, it is hard to see the response as particularly exotic: ‘ “In faith, Sir, they rise early, they carry on until the said hours, then they sit down on a white carpet; they are brought chess sets and backgammon with which the Saracens entertain themselves” ’.8 However, certain elements in the representation of the Saracens differentiate them fundamentally from the Christians. Thus it could be argued that the essential characteristic of the anonymous Saracens is their vast number, with them being primarily defined as an obscure, undifferentiated swarm. The word prieyssa (672, 699 and 1073), whether referring to the crowd or the amorphous mêlée of the combat, is used of them alone. It does not appear in relation to the Christians, either when Oliver finds 60,000 valiant knights in his quarters, or when we are told that there were so many soldiers near to Roland that no-one could see him coming (150); and it is never used of the Franks when they are fighting. It is as if the number of Saracens invokes the idea of a devilish disorder. The number of Frankish troops can in fact be considerable. The rescue army with which Charlemagne will escort the two peers, unbeknownst to them, comprises 60,000 men (250). Oliver will set out on the final raid with 30,000 soldiers.

3 ‘Ki hume traist, sei ocit e altroi’ (CdR, 3959). 4 ‘Servit m’a Golian’ (1235); al Sarrazin donan. C. palis e mil soutz de bezans,/ cavals es armas trastuch a son talant (1262–63). 5 Amix, dis el, vay en la tor montant (1342). 6 Vi Saragossa la gran cieutat valhant,/ Sot si esgarda ves miech dia passant/ las autas tors e·ls palays que son grans (284–86). 7 li autre van als escax deportant (147). 8 ‘A ma fe, sira, matin si van levant,/ auson las oras a las horas layans/ e pueys s’aseton sobre. I. tapit blanc./ Escax e taulas lur portan hom davant/ on se deportan la sarraÿna jant’ (411–15).

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the saracen woman in rollan a saragossa But the reservoir of Saracens seems inexhaustible. Charlemagne says that their kings would not hesitate to sacrifice 30,000 men (43–45), and according to one merchant, in Saragossa, there are a good 100,000 peasant combatants (408). This figure is confirmed by Braslimonda (597): when Roland flees from the town, 60,000 men will chase after him (899) even if, according to Turpin, when the Christian reinforcements arrive the combat only sees ‘more than 20,000’ soldiers facing the two peers (1132). We have to accept that there is not much comparability in these battles between the numbers of combattants and spectators, since as Marsile says, ‘ “there are 60,000 men outside in the countryside; because of them I can’t advance half a foot” ’.9 Even allowing for epic exaggeration it is unlikely that in a single afternoon the enemy brothers, in a conflict where they are mostly taking turns to attack, despatch 40,000 Saracens. Nor is it likely that, as the author states of Roland, ‘from the early morning at dawn he did not stop until after midday; before the evening he had killed as many as 1,200’.10 We can hardly accuse Roland of slacking on the job. It is the number of Saracens rather than their valour that puts our hero in danger. Of the count of Bravis he says: ‘ “If all the others in this town are the same, I shan’t have done with them for the rest of my life” ’,11 while the waves after waves of Saracens convince the paladin, who has finally escaped from the trap of Saragossa, that his action is pointless: ‘ “However many I’ve killed there’s not one fewer!” ’.12 Similarly, the Gandelbuon of Ronsasvals cries that ‘ “I see these people increasing without growing any fewer; I think the dead are coming back alive” ’,13 and Paul Bancourt highlights ‘la multiplication des ennemis s’abattant comme un fléau’.14 This is how the author dramatises a remarkable surge of collective rage at the death of the count of Bravis, when the Saracens find a new source of energy in their sorrow: Great was the pagans’ grief; they mourn their brothers, their fathers and their kin; they hurl their sharp feathered darts and break his shield to pieces; they inflict such blows on his Algerian hauberk that from his mouth and nostrils, according to the story, blood was flowing down his face.15  9 ‘Seyssanta milia en ha foras el camp,/ per totz non fay demiech pe adevant’ (962–69). 10 Del bon matin a l’alba pareyssant/ non definet tro miech dia passant;/ enans lo vespre si n’i ac mort aytant,/ mil e. IIC. (683–86). 11 ‘Si tuch li autres son aytals de sayans,/ Non n’ychiray ha trastot mon vivant’ (813–14). 12 ‘Tant non n’aussi/ Que un en sia mermant’ (912). 13 ‘Aquestas gens vey creysser ses mermier;/ yeu crey que·ls mortz tornan ressuscitier’ (Rs, 617–18). 14 Bancourt 1982, p. 1005. All quotations from Bancourt have been translated into English by Linda Paterson. 15 Gran fon lo dol de la payana jant,/ ploran lur frayres e lurs filhs es parans, lansan lur dartz enpennet e trenchantz/ que son escut li van tot pesseyant;/ tals colps li donan per l’alberc jaucerant/ que per la bocca e per las narras davant,/ so dis la gesta, ayssi cazec lo sanc (820–26).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste It is also worth noting that the collective la payana jant is picked up in third-­ person plural verbs without subject pronouns, highlighting the absence of individuality among the Saracens and stressing the idea that there is an enormous mass where it is hard to distinguish the individual even when it is on the move. When a pagan heads the troops (630) or moves outside the lines (980) this is pointed out, the rarity of the action making it worth noting. Should we conclude that the Saracens do not possess that individual existence or valour which alone gives rise to epic heroes? It depends. Our author has not made all Saracens anonymous. With King Farnagan we encounter a solitary Saracen for the first time. He has come out early in the morning into the gardens surrounding Saragossa to make sure the Franks are not creeping into them. His first reaction on hearing the violent threats of Roland, whom he had first taken for a spy, a messenger or a jongleur, is to flee. When Roland declares he will not hesitate to strike him in the back, the king’s burst of energy in confronting the paladin is simply the result of despair – all to no avail as it turns out. The king of the Black Mountain is lucky not to need to draw on such resources. On his way to Saragossa he is ambushed by Oliver and 30,000 Franks. His reaction shows he has a grasp of the essential: he abandons his troops to massacre and his vast hoard of treasure to plunder (1253) but seems to save his life, if not his honour. When attacking, Saracens like to take full advantage of the circumstances, in other words their numbers. Hence the anonymous Saracen at the gate of Saragossa manages to seize Malmatin’s reins, profiting from the mêlée, and thus force Roland – who can no longer reach him with his lance – to unsheath Durandal. This does not however do much to prolong the life of this particular trickster. This sense of seizing an opportunity also characterises King Balan: he takes advantage of the fact that a general assault has thrown Roland and his mount to the ground to seize the warhorse and gallop off on it. Then, while this king is totting up his spoils, he suddenly sees Oliver thundering towards him. This puts a swift end to his bravado: The other man is afraid as soon as he hears Oliver; he would not wish to be there for all the gold in Outremer. He drops the reins on his charger’s neck; if he had realised, he would have been able to flee, but Oliver struck him with his lance, flinging him a lance-length from the charger. The king goes off on foot into the mêlée, very happy to have escaped.16 Obviously this is hardly what one might see as an epic attitude, but it does allow King Balan to survive, since he will be the only man to enter Saragossa with

16 El hac paor deus que aus Olivier,/ non hi volgra esser per tot l’aur d’otramer;/ Gurpis las regnas sobre·l col del destrier;/ Se·n fos nembratz, ben s’en pogra alier./ Mas de sa lansa lo feri Olivier:/ cant l’asta dura l’abatet del destrier;/ per miech la priessa s’en vai lo rey ha pe,/ Grant joya n’ac cant en fon escapet (1068–75).

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the saracen woman in rollan a saragossa Marsile, ingloriously, after the general battle. There is clearly not much difference between this grotesque king, both a slick opportunist and a coward, and the treachery pure and simple with which the author imbues two characters. When Oliver has finally made up his mind to help Roland when the latter is out of action and his blows have lost all their effectiveness, and Roland leaves the battlefield to go and rest next to a fountain, a Saracen strikes him without warning with his lance, piercing his hauberk. Roland had placed his lance down on the ground – but near enough nevertheless for the coward to suffer immediate justice. More picturesque is the adventure of King Amalrant, a Saracen who understands Latin and Romance (yet another one, but in seven years of war. . .) and has overheard the exchange during which Roland is confessing his exhaustion to Oliver, who flatly refuses to help him. Amalrant thinks this would be a fine opportunity for glory at little cost, and asks of King Marsile (who has no illusions about the chances of this champion who has suddenly appeared on the scene) the right to confront Roland in exchange for his past long service. The author dramatises Amalrant’s inflated conceit and smugness as he adopts a protective tone towards Marsile, then struts in front of the Saracen army, challenging Roland, full of confidence that the duke will yield without a fight. His deflation when Roland takes him at his word produces a highly successful comic effect. As he watches his own trap close round him, ‘he would not have wanted to be there for gold or silver, but he did not dare to extricate himself in any way: he had received Marsile’s glove’.17 All he can do is to take courage from his very fear, as the defunct King Farnagan had done. He will however receive from Marsile a funeral oration parallelling the one bestowed on Farnagan by Braslimonda: ‘ “I knew it,” said Marsile. “If another comes along he will die in the same way” ’.18 Rather as Hell apes Paradise, the structure of the Saracen hierarchy parallels the organisation of Frankish society. Just as the ten kings, ergulhos e prezans (407), are a counterpart to the twelve peers, Marsile corresponds to Charlemagne.19 This antithesis is marked in their ideologies. Whereas Marsile is confident only in the numerical superiority of his men (to whom he gives a long explanation of the tactic before the assault which will succeed in unhorsing the paladin), Charlemagne has a completely different view of warfare: the only type of combat he values is single combat, the only form worthy of a knight, and despises the mêlée with its lack of differentiation. When Oliver tells him that Roland has been unhorsed, the emperor asks who has performed such a feat, but when he learns that no single individual deserves to be praised for it, he simply loses interest: ‘I think nothing of it, since

17 Non hi volgra esser per aur ni per arjant,/ mas non s’en ausa pas estrayre niant:/ del rey Marcili n’a receuput son gan (986–88). 18 ‘Yeu m’en sabia aytant:/ si n’i ven autres el morra eychamant’ (993–94). 19 The parallelism in the Chanson de Roland (laisses 70–78) may look more exact. In reality, the twelve Saracen peers correspond to the simple requirements of the combat: such a concern does not interfere with the social description here.

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women and saracens in chansons de geste it was not a single man alone who unhorsed him’.20 As he said in the Chanson de Roland: ‘If their troops are numerous, what does it matter, my lords?’.21 After all, as is normal after having shared such a long history, the two groups know each other well. Seven years earlier Roland wounded the count of Bravis in single combat. If we rely on the chronology of the Chanson de Roland, this sites the episode immediately before the narrative related by the Chanson and Ronsasvals. So the hero reminds Oliver (270–76) that the Franks, on their way to SaintJacques, had formerly conquered Saragossa and that Marsile must have retaken it from them, this city being the only one left resisting in Spain. This means Marsile has had time to observe his opponents, and he knows them well. As soon as he is warned that a lone fighter has forced the gate of Saragossa he says, ‘ “I believe this is Roland, Charlemagne’s nephew who has such great pride” ’.22 Far from being unaware of the paladin’s strength, he will never have any illusions about the outcome of the single combat which King Amalrant wishes to undertake with the hero, even when the latter is exhausted: ‘ “I know for sure you will not live long” ’,23 he says, and he does not think he has any champion who can defeat Roland by ability alone. Marsile also knows Oliver: when the Saracens wonder what demon is let loose when Roland is finally out of the field, the king replies, ‘ “This is Oliver, whom I recognise from the great blows he strikes” ’.24 He understands the situation well enough to have a clear vision of what is at stake in the fight and as he announces the battle of Roncevaux he can see what advantage can be gained from Roland’s temerity: ‘ “If we can take or defeat him, King Charlemagne, who is able to love him so dearly, will be dead along with all his troops: Christendom will be brought low by it and paganism massively exalted” ’.25 The only problem is that they still need to capture the paladin. And once Roland appears on the palace square of Saragossa, King Marsile, who may perhaps be excused given that he is unarmed, only takes on leadership of the Saracens the better to flee the enemy (539). He will only once risk confronting Roland in single combat and he is only this reckless because ‘he is nearly out of his mind’.26 In fact when Marsile, now exhausted, brings his troops into the square, he finds Roland engaged in romantic conversation with Queen Braslimonda, his own wife. The pain the king feels may give the king the courage to attack him, but it does not make him more vigorous, and it is only the quality of his hauberk that prevents him from being unhorsed by his opponent’s lance blow. As if this inglorious

20 ‘Yeu non ho pres niant,/ pos un solet non l’annet derroquant’ (1170–71). 21 ‘Si unt grant gent, d’iço, seignurs, qui calt?’ (3340). 22 ‘Yeu cuch sia Rollan,/ lo neps de Karle que ha l’erguelh tant gran’ (513–14). 23 ‘Yeu say ben non vieures longamant’ (974). 24 ‘Aysso es Olivier,/ Qu’ieu lo connosc als gran colbes que fier’ (1094–95). 25 ‘Si·l podem penre ni luy far recrezant,/ Karle lo rey que lo pot amar tant,/ Si·l en es mort e trastota sa jant:/ Crestianisme s’en ira abayssant/ E paguanisme ha grans pans eychaussant’ (529–33). 26 am pauc non pert son sans (637).

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the saracen woman in rollan a saragossa humiliation were not enough, Marsile has to swallow the affront to the bitter end and only escapes Durandal by virtue of being Braslimonda’s husband; in other words, because of the tie linking Roland to Marsile’s wife. One cannot always choose one’s means of safety. This first lesson will be more than enough for Marsile, who will carefully avoid the danger in future, even if this cowardice does not make him renounce bravado. The author creates successful comic effects from this. Thus the king threatens Roland, ‘ “I will hang you high on the gallows: never again will you see Charlemagne who so loved you” ’,27 and Roland answers him with a proper challenge: ‘ “Evil king, advance! King, you are a coward if you do not! My God, whoever saw so many worthless men?” ’.28 To the savage insult represented by these words, Marsile’s reply makes one smile: ‘ “God make you suffer! By Bahomet, I shall not advance!” ’29 Similarly it is hard not to laugh when the king, who has appeared in such an unfavourable light, indignantly admonishes his men: ‘ “Lords,” he says, “why don’t you capture Roland? Can’t you see he is exhausted?” ’30 Marsile’s cautious cowardice reaches a pitiful, crowning moment when, on seeing the general battle lost to what is after all only a detachment of the Frankish army, he abandons his troops in a critical situation. He will take refuge alone with King Balan, another image of cowardice, in the town whose gate they will take great care to close to prevent Frankish access, without worrying about the Saracens left outside the walls. If cowardice is probably Marsile’s main defect, it is not his only one. As we have seen, he is jealous. He is also cruel. When Roland abandons him, Oliver curses him and hopes he falls into Marsile’s power: ‘ “Would to God Almighty that Marsile held you captive in these towers and great palaces; no man of woman born can endure this.” ’31 And indeed, Marsile, rendered even more furious by the battle, threatens Roland with hanging: a shameful punishment reserved for peasants.32 Still, Roland threatens Oliver with the same cruel death if he persists in refusing to help him (952–54), before Charlemagne in turn threatens Roland if he fails to bring back Oliver (1322). Marsile is also a bad overlord: Charlemagne said of him that he will not hesitate to spill the blood of 30,000 of his soldiers (43–44). He will indeed unhesitatingly abandon them to be massacred. In addition, he fails in his duty to be generous; whereas at the moment of his death Roland thinks of the goods he would have wished to lavish on his men, and whereas Oliver leaves on an expedition to enrich

27 ‘Yeu ti pendray en forcas autamant:/ May non ti veyra Karle que ti ama tant’ (691–92). 28 ‘Malvays rey, vay avant;/ Rey yest volpilh, c’ar non alies avant!/ Dieus, qui anc vy tant de avol jant?’ (693–95). 29 ‘Dieus ti don marrimant;/ Per Baomet yeu non yray avant’ (697–98). 30 ‘Senhos,’ fayt ilh, ‘con non prennes Rollan?/ Ja vezes vos que tot es recresant’ (884–85). 31 ‘Plagues ha Dieu, a la paterna grant,/ que·l rey Marcili vos tengues de layans/ En cellas tors els palays que son grans;/ No·l pot suffrir home de mayre vivant’ (318–21). 32 Bancourt 1982, p. 162.

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women and saracens in chansons de geste his men and will take almost nothing as the spoils are shared out, Amalrant says to his overlord: ‘ “I have served you for a long time without you giving me a bezant’s worth.” ’33 The same idea recurs in Ronsasvals (8–9). Finally, to complete our portrait of the Saracen king, we should note that as far as religion is concerned, the author contrasts the faith of Roland, always confident and deferential, and always protected, with Marsile’s ambiguous attitude. He continually swears by Baomet (698, 709), of course, and even by Baomet mon Dieu, but Braslimonda tells us that he is careful to foresee all situations and not to anger any god, particularly the Christian one: ‘King Marsile does the same; every day he offers Him a besant; he does this so that He will protect him from the Franks.’34 Following the chanson de geste tradition,35 he loses all respect for his god when the situation is not in his favour, and on learning that Roland has managed to escape from Saragossa, he takes his deity violently to task: ‘ “Ah, Baomet, evil impotent god, you have done wrong in taking Roland from me; you will lose the eyes from your head, for sure!” ’36 – a counterpart to Roland’s prayer: ‘ “Ah, God,” he says, “true Father Almighty, it is now that Roland will die, and without delay; Holy Mary, pray to Your Child!” ’37 So we can see that most of the Saracens figuring in Rollan a Saragossa are far from being positive heroes or even just heroes. They completely fulfil ‘la fonction de faire valoir le guerrier chrétien et d’exalter ses exploits’.38 We have also observed that their faint-heartedness introduces into the epic moments of light relief, a real comedy of derision. Cruel, ridiculous, constantly defeated as they are, the Saracens are not unlike the devils in medieval mystery plays. However, among this multitude where those who stand out usually do so for their failings, there is one remarkable exception: the count of Bravis. When Marsile, despite the huge crowd of soldiers accompanying him, is fleeing from Roland, he meets an old man to whom he tries to convey his panic. But the count of Bravis is a brave old man, a truly gallant knight who, seven years earlier at the age of over ninety, had no hesitation in confronting Roland in single combat.39 He received a such a wound in his left side that he has been confined to bed ever

33 ‘servit vos ay longament,/ C’anc no·m doniest la valor d’un bezant’ (961–62). 34 E·l rey Marcili vay atrestal fazant,/ A cada jor li uffre. I. bezant;/ per tal ho fay que lo gardi dels francs (391–93). 35 In CdR, after Marsile’s defeat, the Saracens destroy their idols (laisse 187) and Bramimonde berates them violently in 2715–18. 36 ‘Ay, Baomet, malvays dieus recrezant,/ Mal ho as fach, car mi as tout Rollan;/ los huels del cap en perdras veremant’ (893–95). 37 ‘Ay, Dieus,’ dis el, ‘vera paterna grant!/ Or sa morra tot a estros Rollan;/ Sancta Maria, or prega ton enfant’ (847–50). 38 Bancourt 1982, p. 1005. 39 The age of the count of Bravis needs to be seen in relation to that of other old men: according to Marsile, Charlemagne is over 200 years old (CdR 552), which does not prevent the emperor from fighting; in contrast, the Ronsasvals has him say, ‘Vielh suy e freols, armos non puesc portier’ (1212, ‘I am old and feeble, I cannot bear arms’).

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the saracen woman in rollan a saragossa since. His reaction to the terrified king’s news can be summed up as follows: when the coward comments to him that things are going really badly he replies: ‘ “Now I feel fine” ’, and adds without a pause, ‘ “Where is my armour?” ’.40 The time for revenge has finally arrived. Marsile then accuses him of speaking like a fool: it is obvious he will lose his life! With great nobility, the old man retorts, ‘ “You spoke like a coward; I am old, over 100, and if I die there is no harm done.” ’41 And he does indeed get dressed and armed for this final rendez-vous, in two very short parallel laisses (XII–XIII) where the shroud-like whiteness of clothes of ‘very white silk’, the sword ‘whose hilt was of silver’, and the banner of a ‘rich white silk’ suggest funeral attire.42 The old man, leading his soldiers whom he compels to follow him much in spite of themselves, dreams of capturing Roland. Before going to tackle his enemy, as a skilful tactician – the only one to show these qualities amid the general panic – he begins by closing the city gates with the help of chains and especially an extraordinary bolt (773), whose key he fastens to his saddlebow for greater security. This done, he rushes to the fight and hurls himself against Roland with such violence that he knocks him off balance. Although he himself has been thrown to the ground, the old man jumps up at once; he draws his sword and goes to strike Roland, giving him such a blow on his helmet that he slices off one side of it. His hauberk is solid, he cannot pierce it; the sword crashed down on the saddle-bow and could not break it; it was entirely made of pure silver.43 And before killing him, Roland gives him high praise (813–14). The count has therefore the merit of being the first to bring doubt into the mind of the Christian knight, and his death will inspire the Saracens with the courage of despair. They so riddle Roland with arrows44 that he has to turn tail and gallop off towards the gate, which he finds solidly shut. This puts him in an extremely critical position. So even after his death the old count remains the only Saracen to make the paladin incur such danger that all the miraculous power of Durandal and the holy relics in its hilt will be needed to extricate him from it. This ­hundred-year-old is a fine character, a little reminiscent of Don Diègue though

40 702–03, 710, 717. 41 ‘Volpilhage dizes;/ je suy yeu vielhs, ben ay. C. ans passet/ e si hi mori nulh dampnage non es’ (737–39). 42 cendat mot blanc (743), don le pons fon d’arjant (745), riche blanc sandet (756). 43 E le vielh si redreyssa tantost de contenant/ E vay trayre s’espeya e vay ferir Rollan/ desus per l’elme un colbe aytant grant/ Que uns des cayres en vay jos derrocant:/ Fort fon l’alberc, no·l poc falcer niant/ Sobre l’arsson en davalla lo brant,/ No·l pot falcer, tot fon de fin arjant (805–11). 44 The theme of throwing weapons allowing an opponent too cowardly to confront a hero in single combat to strike him down from a distance is also found in CdR, laisse 160.

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women and saracens in chansons de geste less garrulous, imbued with a spirit of violence and a profound sense of his claim to fame. The count is far from being the traditional old man full of good advice.45 He practises auxilium above all, and his advice – as we have seen, he is capable of trickery and even a tactical sense – is primarily attached to honour. In sum, all the Saracens of Rollan a Saragossa, even if they are inferior to the two Christian heroes, do not systematically cut a poor figure, and the ardent courage of the count of Bravis shows that it is possible for Saracens to be valiant knights, which emphasises all the more the cowardice of Marsile. But whatever the qualities of the heroic old man, the fact remains that the most appealing Saracen of the text is a Saracen woman. Women, whose place in the medieval Occitan lyric is well known, are not absent from the Occitan epic. After hearing the confession of the peers who will die at Ronsasvals, Archbishop Turpin encourages them to fight with these words: ‘ “Now remember your beloved ladies, for whoever does well will be much loved” ’,46 and Charlemagne, in his lament for Roland, will include love service among his nephew’s qualities, ‘ “loving and graciously serving beautiful ladies” ’, before remembering: ‘ “when the ladies come and speak to me and ask me, ‘Where is Roland who used to speak and act according to joy?’ ” ’47 If the courtly love of beautiful Christian women is so important, it is not hard to see why in the universe of the imagination, both attractive and repellent, composed of the Saracen women in the chansons de geste, it is no surprise that the ‘other’ woman, or the woman/wife of the ‘other’, occupies an important place. Bancourt has clearly shown this in the pages he has devoted to the Saracen woman, of whom he states that she represents ‘une conception ancienne de la femme, selon laquelle elle est, par rapport à l’homme, essentiellement tentatrice et séductrice’.48 The character of the queen, Marsile’s wife, is not an original creation of Rollan a Saragossa: even if Braslimonda does not appear in Ronsasvals, she occupies a hardly negligible place in Turold’s Chanson. She figures in various ways in a dozen laisses, even being mentioned in the very last one, under the names of Bramimonde and Bramidonie, before becoming Christian as Juliane. She even plays an important political and social role.49 Let us dwell for a moment on her character in the Chanson de Roland. She appears for the first time during Ganelon’s embassy, and gives him rich gifts for his wife, but this action cannot be said to mark her independence or any personal choices: ‘elle met son charme au service d’un dessein politique, celui de séduire le

45 It will be recalled that Duke Naime of CdR is also a fighter, even if the weakness due to his great age makes him lose in a duel where he almost dies (laisses 247–50). 46 ‘De vostras amigas aras sias remembratz,/ Car qui ben fara, mot en sera amatz’ (Rs, 502–3). 47 ‘e bellas donnas amar e gent servir;/ Cant mi venran donnas comtar ni dir:/ on es Rollan que sol far joya e dir?’ (Rs, 1535 and 1540–41). 48 Bancourt 1982, p. 752. 49 Bancourt 1982, pp. 637–40.

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the saracen woman in rollan a saragossa Franc’.50 The great majority of her appearances in the Chanson make her into the woman for whom feats of arms signify only misfortune: a Hecuba, more wife than mother. As Jacques Ribard felicitously observes, ‘Ici le contrepoint [to Marsile’s silence when he is brought back wounded to Saragossa] est fourni par les cris et les lamentations de Bramidoine’.51 The author seems to delight in underlining the vanity, even the indecency of the woman’s complaints. Clarien tells her, ‘Lady, do not speak so much!’ and Marsile himself makes a laconic and brutal response to his wife: ‘Leave it there!’52 If this attitude confers on the character an undeniable originality which has intrigued critics, it does not prevent the queen – far from it – from being a real stakeholder in the tragedy of Saracen Spain. Bancourt observes that Dans la Chanson de Roland, les pleurs de la reine Bramimonde, ses cris, ses malédictions, ses blasphèmes, sa participation active au déchaînement sacrilège du peuple, son mépris des fanfaronnades, son défaitisme, son ironie, ses prières, montrent bien combien elle se sent personnellement engagée par la fortune du combat.53 However, even if she is involved, she is rarely a historical agent. After Marsile’s death, it is true that as a widow she hands over the towers to Charlemagne,54 but despite all the regard in which she is held, she has been taken over by others. If Charlemagne says of her conversion, ‘ “In my house there is a noble captive; she has heard so many sermons and pious stories that she wishes to believe in God and has asked to become a Christian” ’, Turold sums up the process with less delicacy: ‘He has converted her to Christianity’.55 However attractive this queen of sorrows, of whose physical appearance we know nothing,56 she is very different from the Braslimonda of Rollan a Saragossa. As we are picking up the story in the middle, we do not know why the queen has sent her glove to Roland: a sign of a strange and ambiguous challenge.57 Is it

50 Bancourt 1982, p. 793. 51 ‘Ici le contrepoint est fourni par les cris et les lamentations de Bramidoine (vv. 2595–608, 2714– 23)’ (Ribard 1976, p. 540). 52 ‘Dame, ne parlez mie itant!’ (2724); ‘Laissez ço ester!’ (2741). 53 Bancourt 1982, p. 666. 54 E Bramidonie les turs li ad rendues (CdR, 3655). 55 En ma maisun ad une caitive franche,/ tant ad oït e sermuns e essamples/ creire voelt Deu, chretientet demandet (CdR, 3978–80); Em Bramidonie ad chrestientet mise (CdR, 3990). 56 Bancourt 1982, p. 573. 57 ‘A rendez-vous which is less a reward than a test of his valiance’ (Bancourt 1982, p. 732); he also writes of the Bramimonde of Anseis de Carthage, ‘The proposed rendez-vous is always perillous. It is a test that the Christian knight owes himself to pass, that he must “dare” under the threat of counting as a coward’ (p. 755), and he refers to Gaydon (8290), the Saisnes (laisses 69, 71, 122 and 127) and Anseïs (4939, 6086 and 6215). Similarly, ‘the sleeve offered by Brandimonde to Raimon (4541, 4999, 5000) is not a guerredon (reward), it is a guarantee of safe passage which

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women and saracens in chansons de geste simply the rumour of the hero’s feats that has aroused the fair queen’s curiosity? Bancourt reminds us that ‘les héros chrétiens méritent, conquièrent la Sarrasine par leur prouesse, mais comme par surcroît [.  .  .]. Dans la conception épique, [. . .] l’amour est accordé au soupirent valeureux comme une grâce’.58 We do not know if this is the case for Braslimonda, but it is certain that curiosity alone can hardly suffice to explain her impatience: ‘ “I am amazed about the paladin Roland. A  good ten days ago I  sent him my glove; since then I  have seen not a single messenger from the Franks” ’,59 she says, before sending a donzella to observe the Black Mountain from which the paladin descends on horseback with his banner unfurled. As soon as she is informed, she hurries to check for herself the identity of the approaching knight: ‘the lady put her head out of the window, looked towards the Black Mountain and saw Roland coming’.60 However vague the news is, when she was saying that she was only awaiting a ‘messenger/message from the Franks’, ‘when Braslimonda hears this her heart is overjoyed’.61 And she recognises the peer, whether because his banner is famous or whether the queen’s heart is telling her this. She might be thought to be moved by a certain taste for competition, for as soon as she recognises him she cries out: ‘ “he will certainly attack our city; before he leaves the damage will be great.” ’62 On this point, the author of Rollan a Saragossa has created an interesting psychological portrait by staging the contradictions of courtly love, unexpected in the epic context in which we find ourselves. To be worthy of the most perfect lady – and Braslimonda regularly receives the epithet ‘am lo cors covinent’ (‘with the perfect body’) – the knight too must show himself to be the most perfect, which in a feudal context is essentially demonstrated on the battlefield. In other words, in order to honour the worth of the one who is worthy of her love, the lady must demand, at the risk of trembling on his account, that he endlessly place his life in danger. This romantic atmosphere is only surprising because it occurs in a work dated to the twelfth century. Otherwise relations between a Saracen woman and her lover ‘s’apparentent fréquemment aux conceptions de l’amour chevaleresque ou de l’amour courtois’, and ‘telle est bien la nature de l’amour chevaleresque que l’amour et l’exploit sont inséparables, que c’est par l’exploit qu’on mérite l’amour et non l’inverse’.63

accompanies the invitation to the rendez-vous and a stimulant (pp. 784–85)’. It is obviously not irrelevant that our Braslimonda sends not a sleeve, a romantic act, but a glove, an epic one. 58 Bancourt 1982, pp. 770–71. 59 ‘Ben meravilh del palaÿn Rollan:/ Ben ha. X jors qu’ieu l’enviyey mon gan,/ Anc pueys non vi .1. message dels Franx’ (331–33). 60 Vay li donna lay fors son cap gitant,/ Esgardet ves Mont Negre e vi venir Rollan (349–50). 61 Cant l’auszi Braslimonda, tot lo cors ac jauzant (347). 62 ‘Esta nostra cieutat hasaldra veramant;/ abans qu’el s’en torni lo dampnages es grans’ (355–56). 63 Bancourt, pp.  769–70. For the dating of Rollan à Saragossa and Ronsasvals, see Riquer 1955 and especially Riquer 1969.

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the saracen woman in rollan a saragossa In fact the test imposed on Roland is quite frankly exceptional, since he must attack the city of Saragossa all by himself. He is well aware of this and therefore invents a trick to get rid of the company of Oliver, who will find it very difficult to forgive him for treating him like this. Braslimonda expects the hero to perform unheard-of feats, since when she watches him kill King Farnagan with a single blow of his lance, she grants the latter this poor three-line funeral oration: ‘I knew it; if Roland came across a hundred of such kings their god would not protect them’.64 This means she expects Roland to do better. For her to show her real self to the knight, he will have to perform a deed that is truly out of the ordinary, and after all, during at least seven years of war when he must have delivered some pretty impressive sword-blows, it is clear that she is a demanding woman. But finally, once Roland has forced open the gate of Saragossa while felling with great blows of his lance and sword ninety-nine of the hundred men-at-arms guarding it, while the hundredth, who has left an arm behind, rushes off to warn Marsile, and when 60,000 Saracens are donning their armour in readiness to capture the audacious knight, the fair lady judges that he has proved his worth. The only snag is that if it is hard to get into Saragossa, it is even harder to get out of it. Hence it is in the midst of spilled blood, while the sound and fury are suspended for a brief instant, that a romantic meeting will take place, more redolent of romance than of epic. In such difficult circumstances, Braslimonda has not decided to dress casually, and the description of her preparation presents a charming parallel contrasting with the obligatory scenes in which the hero or heroes get ready for combat (94– 139 for Oliver, 180–93 for Roland and 742–56 for the count of Bravis): each to his own war. I do not know which are most to be admired in this fair Saracen woman: her exotic clothes – ‘She wears a tunic of African silk and tight-fitting silk pantaloons’,65 the latter reminiscent of Oriental pantaloons, modified;66 her wondrous mare – ‘it was green and indigo, dappled and iron grey’;67 or else this miracle of Saracen workmanship: ‘with the breastplate marvellously rich: on it were 1,000 little tinkling gold bells, all playing on two silver threads; when one went up, the other went down, being arranged in matching pairs’,68 which leads the author to proclaim that ‘God never created a cleric who was so knowledgeable he could say 64 ‘Yeu en sabia aytant:/ si d’aytals reys trobava. C. Rollan,/ ja lur dieus non lur seria garans’ (387–89). 65 Viest un blisaut d’un pali affricant/ e d’un samit caussas estreytamant (545–46). 66 Bancourt tells us that the Muslims of Andalusia wore as an undergarment a pair of long narrow trousers (p. 582). 67 Vert fon es inde, pomellat e ferrant (v. 551). Carlos Alvar’s translation (Roldan en Zaragoza, 47, Saragosse 1978): ‘eran respectivamente, verde, indigo, moteado y grisaceo’, where vert qualifies le blisaut, inde the caussas, pomellat the mantel and ferrant (not gerrant) the palafren, although ingenious, may be overly rational. 68 E lo peytral meravilhos e gran:/ mil esquilletas hi hac d’aur ressonant,/ totas corron per dos filetz d’arjant,/ quant la una pueja e l’autra deyssant,/ de doas en doas si van aparelhant (554–58).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste by what cunning art they were made’.69 We are reminded of the Arabs’ superior skill in clock-making and the gift which history or legend tells us that Charlemagne received from the caliph Haroun al Raschid. Braslimonda carries a sparrowhawk: ‘They brought her a sparrowhawk of four moults; you never saw a more valiant one, and she carried it on her wrist in a glove which was gilded elegantly with a gold fringe’.70 This probably corresponds to a traditional image of the Arab world where falconry was held in great honour, but it may suggest other senses: the sparrowhawk is also a symbol of peace, and could mean that the queen does not identify herself with the combats between Roland and the Saracens; it could also be the promise of another sweet form of peace. Whatever the case, the author paints a refined picture of a dream woman, reminiscent of ladies in tapestries, but he also shows us the character of a decisive lady who, far from trusting to chance, carefully prepares the encounter to which she will make her way alone. After very diplomatically greeting Roland in the name ‘of the Creator’, taking an initiative she will never abandon, she stages her power as a suzerain in an act once more parallel to the actions of the warriors. ‘When she sees him she takes him by the reins: “You are a prisoner, you will never return.” ’71 Roland is well aware that there can be no trap here, and he replies with extreme courtesy, granting her a power he would refuse to any other: ‘ “Most willingly. You will succeed in taking [my reins] better than any man alive: even if there were a thousand pagan fighters, they would never manage to pull on my silver reins.” ’72 After this ceremony, an homage both courtly and feudal, the game can end, and another Braslimonda appears. Although she told her prisoner he could not leave Saragossa, she now urges him to leave as fast as possible; the towers of the city are no love prison. The queen even tells Roland of her admiration: ‘ “You have made a marvellously great attack” ’ (589), and she proceeds to what the author calls a splendid gesture (ensenhamant, 608): in order for the hero to give Charlemagne the proof that he has indeed performed his audacious feat, she asks him to take her cloak, of which we have been told that ‘a rich merchant could not even purchase the metal loops alone fastening it at the front’;73 ‘ “per m’amor”’, she adds.

69 Anc Dies non fes clergues que aytant sapian/que sapchan dir per qual engienh si fan (559–60). The horse of Juzian, Marsile’s nephew, wears the same ornament in Rs (55–60), as well perhaps Turpin’s (446). 70 Un esparvier li aportan davant/ de quatre muydas, no·l vi horn plus valhant,/ E portet lo sobre el ponh en un gant/ que fon daurietz d’aur frizet bellemant (567–70). 71 Ella que·l vi per las regnas lo prant:/ ‘Tot estes pres, non tornares niant’ (581–82). 72 ‘Ben mi ven a talant,/ Ben penres mielh que nulh home vivant:/ si eran mil dels payans combatans,/ non tirarian ja mays regnas d’arjant’ (583–86). These wholly symbolic acts have nothing to do with those of the Bramimonde of Anseïs de Carthage. As soon as the Christians arrive, and the queen welcomes them very graciously, she embraces Raimon and clasps him close (Alton 1892, 5032–33) before granting him everything from this first interview. 73 Sol los selcles que l’afublan davant/ non pot comprier ben riches mercadant (548–49).

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the saracen woman in rollan a saragossa This gift – and we know that the gift has its place in the codification of fin’amor, even signifying one of the stages in its development – brings with it a moment of special silence when the author dwells on a description of the queen through Roland’s eyes: ‘Braslimonda was beautiful, her face resplendent’.74 And so we arrive at a surprising moment when the two heroes, perhaps unable to take their relationship any further, exchange regrets. Roland, who had managed to extort an unspecified boon from Oliver by reminding him that ‘ “I have taken your sister to wife, the fair Aude, whom I can love so much” ’,75 suddenly cries out: ‘ “Would to God the Father that I held you outside in the fields” ’.76 It might seem surprising to address such words to God if the troubadours did not so often implicate Him in their love affairs. The queen entertains similar feelings and even goes so far, in a dream, as to grant all the Saracens’ lands to the Christians: ‘ “Ah God! If only you were with me, Lord Roland, before tomorrow nightfall, I should give you the Saracens’ field in exchange.” ’77 It must be said that her feelings, which are at least of considerable interest to Roland, leave little room in her heart for those of her faith, and we have witnessed the quick conclusion she drew from the death of King Farnagan. Similarly, when she goes in search of Roland, she asks a Saracen where he is, and when the unfortunate man laments that the peer has killed two of his brothers, she makes this charming retort: ‘ “I couldn’t care less about this.” ’78 It cannot therefore be said that she is very devoted to the interests of the Saracens, and it is without too much displeasure that she evokes the pain Marsile will feel on being stripped of his kingdom: ‘ “King Marsile will be very sorry for it.” ’79 The relation between this Saracen woman and her gods is also rather surprising. This positive character is no doubt on the way to being converted, which explains why she links Roland’s feats to the god worshipped by the Christians: ‘ “Their lord they pray to every day was good” ’; but this does not stop her commending Roland to Baffon (394).80 Bancourt made the same observation: ‘La plupart des Sarrasines ne se font pas scrupule de trahir leur foi et leur patrie [. . .] l’amour fait d’elles des adversaires impitoyables de leurs compatriotes’.81 Perhaps the fair queen is even more so. But the dream in which the couple have let themselves be carried away, even if the imperfect subjunctives and conditionals of vv. 623–28

74 Braslimonda fon bella, la cara mot resplant (621). 75 ‘Vostra seror hay presa per molher,/ Auda la bella, cuy yeu puesc tant amer’ (279–80). 76 ‘Plagues ha Dieu, a la paterna gran,/ qu’ieu vos tengues de lay foras el camp’ (623–24). 77 ‘Ay! Dieus, car tu lay fossas am mi, sira Rollan!/ Ans que vengues al vespre deman bayssant,/ vos en rendria dels Sarrazins lo camp’ (625–27). The Bramimonde of Anseïs offers her husband’s kingdom to her lover Raimon, provided, that he takes her away (7345–49). 78 ‘So non pres yeu niant’ (577). 79 ‘E·l rei Marcili en fora tot dolans’ (628). 80 ‘Bon fon lur senhor, que van tot jorn pregant’ (390). From an ethnological point of view, it is interesting to note that Braslimonda swears on Baffon, whereas the men swear by Baomet. 81 Bancourt 1982, p. 816.

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women and saracens in chansons de geste stress that both of them are conscious of only living a dream, is dissipated by the arrival of the Saracens, led precisely by the importunate husband. Marsile, unlike Braslimonda and Roland, seems to know little about the code of fin’amor, since ‘he saw Roland with his wife and felt so upset he almost lost his mind’.82 This is the only time, as we have seen, he will be brave enough to take a risk he will not be able to take again, since Roland unhorses him and prepares to cut his head off with his sword. At that moment Braslimonda who on her husband’s arrival had uttered these mocking words, ‘ “Most unfortunately it’s my husband” ’,83 and whose manner of addressing Roland was becoming steadily more affectionate, rushes up: ‘Braslimonda cries out loudly to him: “Mercy, dear lord, do not kill him: he is my husband, I should protect him.” ’84 We can appreciate the perfect logic of these last words. Incidentally, Roland shares in this logic, since he replies: ‘ “You are absolutely right: he should be protected for love of you.” ’85 So it is for love of Braslimonda that her jealous husband is spared by the very one who was eagerly courting her. This mercy is in fact just a way of continuing to do so. Braslimonda is a curious figure. She does not seem cold-hearted, since the author had already said that the emir had sent her the carbuncles and topazes adorning her horse’s harness: ‘ “he is her drut and is very much in love with her” ’.86 Drut usually has a strong sense in Occitan. Nevertheless I do not think Bancourt’s definition can be applied to her: Hardie dans ses propos et dans son comportement, ignorant la pudeur, toujours la première à déclarer son amour, à provoquer par ses avances celui que son cœur désire, à lui fixer des rendez-vous équivoques où elle prend l’initiative des baisers et des étreintes, ne connaissant d’autre frein à sa sensualité que les limites qui lui sont imposées par son ami, telle apparaît en général la Sarrasine épique.87 Admittedly Braslimonda takes the initiative in sending her glove and arranging the rendez-vous at Saragossa with Roland, but she cannot be reproached with a 82 Lay am sa molher el vi estar Rollan,/ don ac tal dol am pauc non pert son sans (636–37). 83 ‘Mos maritz es en malaür lo gran.’ This swift and worthy irony regarding her malmari (‘bad husband’) is quite different from the Bramimonde of Anseïs whose criticisms are heavily explicit: ‘Trop a vescu, Molt m’anoie sa vie;/ Ja mais par lui n’iert dame bien servie;/ Jou doi avoir del mireor envie/ Et moi mirer, tant que soie loïe,/ Et la potenche soit Marsile baillie!/ Tant a vescu que sa car a brisie’ (7173–78, ‘ “He has lived too long; I am very annoyed that he is still alive. He will never serve a lady properly; I shall have to want a mirror and gaze into it for as long as I am admired, and Marsile will have to be given a crutch. He has lived so long that his flesh is rotten!” ’) 84 E Braslimonda li vay fort escriant:/ ‘Merce, bel sira, non l’aucizas nient:/ mos maritz es, ben deu esser garans’ (645–47). 85 ‘Rason en aves gra:/ Per vostre amor deu aver garimant’ (649–50). 86 ‘De Babilonia los li trames l’amirat,/ que es sos drut que la pot amer tant’ (563–64). 87 Bancourt 1982, p. 748.

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the saracen woman in rollan a saragossa lack of modesty and the whole charm of the scene of their encounter comes precisely from the fact that the two characters know perfectly well that their love is impossible. Roland loves Aude, ‘ “whom I love so dearly” ’ he says; Braslimonda does not particularly love Marsile, but that is not a sufficient reason. Their only exchange will be the mantle given by the queen under the pretext that without it people will not believe that Roland has carried out his feat, and she still merely contents herself with placing it on the neck of his horse Malmatin: their gloves do not even touch. It takes all the emotion aroused by Marsile’s irruption on the scene for Braslimonda to pass from Sira to Bel sira in addressing the paladin. Besides, the queen is sure enough of controlling her feelings never to hide them. The merchants tell Roland, who is clearly extremely pleased, that Braslimonda, invincible at chess, told her losing competitors at the end of the day, ‘ “You are all checkmated for the love of Roland.” ’88 So despite Marsile’s anger she does not for an instant dream of justifying herself. Perhaps she thinks that saving a husband for whom she has little love is ample justification in itself. And when the mêlée is unleashed, Braslimonda disappears. We can imagine her riding away, haughty and still smiling, already transforming into a precious memory the magical instant she has lived and in which she has for a moment dreamed that her life might have been different. The Saracen woman of Rollan a Saragossa is distinguished by a self-confidence that has no truck with dishonesty, and whereas Bancourt observes (p. 742) that Saracen women never blush, our author depicts the charming shyness of Braslimonda’s donzella who, sent to the top of the palace to see whether she can see some messenger coming in response to the glove sent by her mistress to Roland, comes back robeyant (343, ‘blushing’) to make her report. Braslimonda does not blush, but it is perfectly natural that a queen should not behave like an unmarried girl. This queen is an attractive figure, with a touch of the magical, endowed with a strength that allows her to act freely and with remarkable spirit revealing itself in such a detail as this: ‘the lady mounts her palfrey; she takes hold of the stirrup and no companion attends her’.89 Bancourt comments (p. 824) that the Saracen woman represents the image of woman in revolt. Braslimonda has nothing of a woman in revolt. She presents the surprising image of a woman who is able to keep her heart free, without thereby infringing, apart from during a moment of waking dream, the laws and customs of her rank, her country and her time. She is also far from representing the condition of the Saracen woman seen as a reward for a warrior in the Chanson de Roland where the emir, to spur on his men, promises to give them beautiful, gracious wives (3398), or else the final development of this figure, the Bramimonde of Anséïs de Carthage, whose character is more often reminiscent of the fabliau than

88 419–20. This theme of the Saracen woman playing chess with, or in the presence of, men also appears in Huon de Bordeaux (Guessard and Grandmaison 1860, 7325–525). 89 El palafren vay la donna montant,/ pren son estrieu, companhon non hi atant (565–66).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste the epic. This free queen even manages, in a narrative where Roland looks like a Matamore more often than he should, to inspire in Roland a real frisson of sensuality, and I think it is to Braslimonda that one owes what Mario Roques refers to as ‘l’impression de dignité élégante, de souriante courtoisie, d’émotion retenue qui se dégage du récit de Roland à Saragosse’.90

90 Roques 1932, p. xv.

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5 THE SARACEN From the depths of Hell to the gates of salvation

The representation of Saracens in the Oxford version of the Chanson de Roland is known to be ambiguous. Even if, in an absolute sense, Christians are right and pagans are wrong, such Manichaeanism is not consistently carried through in the details of the text. King Marsile may be wily enough to use the anger of a great Christian baron to turn him into a traitor, with Queen Bramimonde’s assistance to boot. But these figures are not so stereotyped as to be incapable of psychological development. The queen, for example, rebels against the god-idols which have been unable to save her husband from mutilation. Christians may occasionally be less prejudiced towards their opponents than one might expect: when Saragossa is finally captured the Saracens have no other choice than conversion or death, ‘apart from the queen who will be led captive to sweet France: the king wishes her to be converted through love’.1 It is not simply because the queen is a woman that she merits such treatment. When Marsile’s great warriors ride out, the author notes admiringly of the emir Balaguer, ‘what a nobleman, were he only a Christian!’2 Such authorial ambivalence towards the Saracens is even clearer in the Occitan Roland texts.3 I have already attempted to demonstrate this elsewhere, in the somewhat romantic text of Rollan a Saragossa, where the queen becomes the peer’s domna.4 That was relatively easy to demonstrate; here I shall try to take it further through the Ronsasvals. One of the most striking characteristics of the Saracens is that they form a huge amorphous mass of people, in contrast to the Christians who are presented as individuals. True, several pagan leaders are individualised through a name, especially during single combat. But the Christian hero, usually the winner of a knightly duel, is continually faced with an ever-renewed tide of pagans, where individuals merge into a single crowd. So for example the author, perhaps weary of inventing 1 ne mais sulla reïne/ En France dulce iert menee caitive:/ Ço voelt li reis par amur cunvertisset (La Chanson de Roland, Dufournet 1993, 3672–74). Quotations from the Oxford Roland are taken from this edition. 2 Fust chrestiens, asez oüst barnet (899). 3 Roland à Saragosse and Ronsasvals: see Gouiran and Lafont 1991. 4 See chapter 4.

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women and saracens in chansons de geste Saracen names, has Oliver’s son first strike ‘a pagan, but I don’t know who he was’,5 just as in laisse 2 a warrior appears who is both minutely described and anonymous: something hard to imagine in the case of a Christian. This mass of Saracens is striking in its lack of differentiation, magisterially illustrated by Roland’s words, ‘ “There are so many of these unholy people, seemingly more numerous than blades of grass.” ’6 The numbers given always suggest an effort to count the uncountable. Indeed we even have the impression that when pagans are divided up they seem to multiply, as they are cut into pieces during battle and we see ‘heads cut off and armour broken, helmets crushed, bodies falling off horses, blood, brains and lungs spilling everywhere, and hands and feet flying to the ground’.7 The advantage of this infinite multiplication of the enemy is clear when we realise that the narrative is one of defeat – even if that defeat is transfigured. How can the heroes be reproached for failure when the pagan hordes are so numerous that they seem hardly affected by the Christian exploits? Gandelbuon, sent as a scout, sees no other recourse but God: ‘God, help us,’ says the peer Gandelbuon; ‘Holy Mary, how can we resist? I see the numbers of people growing greater and not less; it makes it look as if the dead are coming back to life! How, with thirty knights, shall we stop these sixty thousand that I see before me? Each one of us faces two thousand!’8 To Western eyes, overwhelming an opponent by sheer weight of numbers does not count as valour, and in this context, failure is without consequences, unless it actually changes into success. In Saragossa, on learning from Oliver that Roland has been thrown from his horse, Charlemagne quickly asks: ‘ “Sir Olivier, who has unhorsed Roland?” ’, and when the hero replies ‘ “By my faith, Sire, I cannot tell: they were sixty thousand pagans,” ’ the old master of knightly prowess draws the inevitable conclusion: ‘ “I do not count this, as it was not one man on his own who unhorsed him.” ’9 Nonetheless, although this epic exaggeration produces striking effects, I do not think that this is the only reason the author uses it. We need to remember the 5 sus un payan, mas non say dir cal fos (1074). 6 ‘tantas n’i ha de la gent averseya,/ mays per semblant que pels d’erba resteya’ (211–12): the exact sense of pels d’erba resteya is unclear. 7 e trencar testas e rompre garnizons,/ elmes esfrondar e cors caser d’arsons,/ e sanc espandre, servellas e polmons,/ e per lo camp olar pons e talons (552–55). 8 ‘Dieus, ajudas! dis Gandelbuon lo bier,/ sancta Maria, com ho poyrem durier?/ Aquestas gens vey creysser ses mermier;/ yeu crey que·ls mortz tornan ressucitier./ Con estarem sol. XXX. cavalliers/. LX. milia que yeu vey lay estier?/ Cascun de nos n’escazon. II. milhiers!’ (615–21). 9 ‘Olivier sira, qui deroquet Rollan’?/ ‘Per ma fe, sira, no vos say dire qual,/ seyssanta milia foron de la payana jant.’/ So respont Karle: ‘Yeu non ho pres niant/ pos un solet non l’annet derroquant.’ (1167–71).

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the saracen demon’s answer when it is driven out by Christ and made to name itself: ‘My name is Legion.’ If we invert the terms of the proposition, we might well say that the Saracens are legion precisely because they are demons. There is an indication of this in the use of the word aversier to designate Saracens. When Roland relates to Turpin what he has seen from the hilltop, he speaks of the gent averseya (211) before sending Gandelbuon to spy on nostre aversier (595). This word can certainly mean ‘adversary, enemy’, but it also denotes ‘the Adversary’ par excellence, in other words the Devil. And it is no surprise to see Archbishop Turpin – who better to fight this demon? – sending the emir of Frontals into a hell which is his true domain: ‘ “I  send you to the infernal princes; I believe your dwelling-place is down where nothing is seen but pain and suffering.” ’10 In addition, how can we avoid being reminded of a popular evocation of the Devil when the author endows the aforementioned anonymous Saracen with a ‘face blacker than the bottom of a cauldron’?11 Also satanic is the pride which inspires the Saracens – ‘The Saracens are savage and arrogant’12 – which the author repeatedly highlights: a pride which oversteps the bounds since, as in the case of the evil angels, it challenges their lord and master. When Marsile sends Falsabroni to lead sixty thousand men against the thirty remaining Franks, he complies, but not without declaring, ‘ “What tremendous folly for such a powerful army to march against so few men! I cannot see here any occasion for glory or honour.” ’13 Even more seriously, when Marsile tries to dissuade his nephew Juzian from attacking the peers, the latter responds roundly, ‘ “Dear lord and uncle, you speak like a fool” ’, before concluding, ‘ “if you grant me this gift, you will be well rewarded; if you do not, I shall take it anyway.” ’14 Once the Saracen becomes an individual he is primarily characterised in terms of evil. But there are two sides to evil: the Saracen world often exercises a real fascination over Christians, through either the technical superiority of their craftsmen or their near-fantastic wealth. If we proceed to compare soldiers whose equipment is described not during the course of the action itself but as a kind of foretaste the author is at pains to point out, we arrive at the picture illustrated in the following table, where o indicates a Saracen, † a Christian, a double asterisk elements the author particularly dwells on and the numbers following some entries the footnotes relating to them. It is immediately apparent that even if the number of Saracens whose arms are described is not much greater than that of the Christians, the picture with respect

10 ‘yeu ti trameti als princes enfernals:/ jus en enfern crey que sia tos hostals,/ on son veziblas las penas e li mals’ (455–57). 11 e·l cap plus negre non es fons de caudier (114). 12 Sarrazins son salvage e ergulhos (268). 13 ‘Ben aus folia grant/ que a tant pauc venga tant poderoza gant./ Ayssi non prenc honor ni honremant’ (694–96). 14 ‘Bel senher oncle, ben parles follamant/ . . . si mi das lo don, guizardon n’aures gran;/ si non lo mi das, penray lo eyssamant’ (21–24).

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targa pesant

brant d’assier valhant **21

bon e– trenchant l– bona de fraysse atriant

escut ou targa = shield

espaza ou brant = sword

espieu = spear

gonfanon, ensenha = standard

lansa, asta = lance

g– de pali affricant

bons e– trenchans vert e– luzant

esperons = spurs

elm = helmet

c– de fer bel a– pezant

Juzian ° (32–60)

causas = chausses albert = hauberk

Table 5.1 Naymon † (375–89)

e– ben fach e– vert e colrat**17 e– bel e blocat

c– de ferre a– menut malhat e– dauratz

Amalroc ° (480–92)

e– trenchant / e– e massa a– grossa d’un a– grossa de a– grossa e·l fer fraysse de fraysse de niellatz quartier carton ensenha senha de ciclaton / g–

e– an broca e– bel e bon d’un car coyne denier e– d’acier brant de Colonha

e– vert obriet

c– de fer fort a– doblier a– menut malhat trenchas e–

Anonymous ° (112–20)

ensenha **18 g–

e– ben trenchant a– grossa

e– tranchant

tarja pezant

vert e– luzant

c– de ferre a– jauceran

Falsabroni (700–12)

g– sagnant

a– bayssada

e– d’acier

e– que fay brant colps mortals

e e– non es aytals e– de son senhal **16

Savaric † (795–803)

Galian † (886–93)

pent g–

a la falberta brant d’acier un brant contrarios **15 e– trenchant

c– de ferre a– menut malhat trenchanz e– e– destre e– senestre e– vert e clier e– fort e meravilhos l' e– e– am senha de falcon

Gandelbuon † (600–6, 1093–1107) c– de ferre a– de malhas a– d’assier claus brocant e– daurietz

Turpin † (440–4)

c– meravilhos e gran **21

destrier ric

c. trotier sella = saddle s– d’ori cella d’or mier peytral = breastplate peytral d’arjent sonalhetas = bells sonalhetas **20 falhas = doublure f– vermelhas d’étoffe? estrieus = stirrups alairons = saddle bow

massa = masse d’armes caval, destrier, alferant = horse s– d’ori p– d’arjant

estrieu

s– s– d’ori p– de faysson p– dauratz s–

estrieus pendens alayrons

p– s– 19

c– grant e gros c– cubert de e poyssant ferre

c– d’Espanha c– d’Espanha

massa alferrant

cella p–

destrier mot ros c. destrier poderos

women and saracens in chansons de geste to the Saracens is much more complete. In addition only three Saracen fighters (Bossiran, Cauligon and Orgelin) intervene without their weapons having been initially described, whereas on the Frankish side the weapons of Estout de Langres, Jauceran, Garnier de Termes, Salamon de Bretagne and Garin de Sayne, not to mention Oliver and Roland, are simply mentioned according to their usefulness in combat. Durendal must of course be discounted here since it possesses a legendary existence, which means it exists outside the account of the battle. Saracen arms are therefore in and of themselves an object of interest for the song’s audience, whereas that of the Christians most frequently just represents the tools needed for battle. Among those elements the author particularly dwells on there are two cases involving Christians, but as far as Savaric is concerned, this just involves one line giving a sword’s genealogy15 and, in Turpin’s case, again just one line describing the coat of arms on his ensign.16 In both cases it is tempting to speak of historical accuracy. If we now consider the Saracen side, we have two specifications for Juzian alone: a single line of verse giving the genealogy of his horse, and another much more extensive passage consisting of a ten-line parenthesis on the history of his sword. Amalroc’s helmet seems to bring to the author’s mind all the treasures of the Orient: ‘This helmet was encircled with precious stones: gems, beryls and crystals and coral, chalcedony and set rubies, spinels, carbuncles, tessellated sapphires, castaienis, and refined cameo; he had bought this helmet for a thousand gold marks’.17  Strangely, we never learn of what happened to this treasure as Roland kills its owner with a lance blow to his shield, as if the author had spared this superb helmet. Finally, if the author chooses to describe Falsabroni’s ensign, as in Turpin’s case, he is not concerned with accurately recording a point of heraldry in the making but rather with again stressing the gilded dream of the Orient: ‘the pagan’s banner was of silk woven with silver, and the fastening of African jasper, and the other fastenings were made with emeralds’.18 Even when the Franks do have such fine ornaments, the presentation is completely different. Turpin’s horse, the only one to be all clad in iron, has a breastplate adorned with bells.19 This though is descriptive poverty in comparison with the same ornament on the horse of the Saracen Juzian, which wore bells at the front of its breastplate: when one goes up the other goes down; they go down [and up] on silver chains and are tuned to such clear

15 que Galibot lo det al filh Simon (803): ‘which Galibot gave to Simon’s son’. 16 lo camp fon d’aur e·l cap vermelh e blaus (445): ‘on field of gold head scarlet and blue’. 17 de ricas peyras fon l’elme vironat,/ playnies, bericles e crestals e corals/ e cassadonis e robins encastratz,/ balays, carieis, saffilis ajustatz/ e castaienis, camazieus esmeratz :/ de mil marcs d’aur fon l’elme acaptat (483–89). 18 L’ensenha fon de seda am l’arjant/ e la fuvella d’un jaspi affricant/ e de maragdes las autras eyssamant (705–07). 19 de sonalhetas fon ornat son peitral (447).

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the saracen harmony that you would not have listened with so much pleasure to the vielle or the organ as to the melody made by these little bells’.20 But such superiority may further strengthen the suspicion that the Saracen is in collusion with the world of evil. Juzian’s sword comes to him directly from another world, splendid and disturbing: ‘giants threw it into the high sea, dreamers revered it in their dreams, an enchanter withdrew it through enchantment’. Similarly he ‘mounts a great, marvellous horse, progeny of a wild beast and a swift warhorse’.21 How can we avoid the impression of a threatening world of the fantastic, when we see the fiendish anonymous Saracen in a surprising mixture of colours: a green helmet (elme vert), a red saddle-cloth (falhas vermelhas), a gold saddle (d’or mier) and a black face (plus negre non es fons de caudier)? We are left with the impression that Satan himself is taking part in the battle, particularly once Falsabroni enters the scene. Here too the ‘great, heavy, powerful’ horse is important; it represents a veritable war machine, allowing the Saracen to ride out ahead of his ranks to knock down one of the Christian peers before returning to take refuge amongst them, without Roland ever being able to catch up with him. What we witness is the construction of a terrible, unstoppable mechanism whose motions are regularly and rhythmically interspersed with Roland’s planhz (laments) for each of his dead companions. Falsabroni’s effectiveness ignores what we might now call fair play, and he unashamedly takes advantage of his physical superiority which only Roland could challenge. In point of fact the Saracens are not presented as chivalrous, and this is exemplified in Orgelin, who defeats Oliver. This ‘proud and fierce’ warrior strikes the peer, exhausted by the long fight, with a blow from a mace, ‘nearly making his eyes burst from his head’. Oliver loses his sight from the shock, just at the moment when Galian, his son he does not know, comes to introduce himself. ‘While they are speaking, Orgelin has entered the fray; he goes to strike Oliver on the shield, splits it apart, pierces his hauberk; he knocks him down dead from the swift charger’. Galian is outraged: ‘ “How can you fight against a dead man? Take me on: my heart is still intact.” ’ One may wonder whether Galian’s rage, when he not only slices Orgelin’s trunk in two but stays to cut off all his limbs, is simply legitimate vengeance for his crime, or whether such ferocity is actually a reminder that Galian is the son of a Saracen woman. If the Ronsasvals takes a purely classical stance, inasmuch as it confines itself to the battle episode (even if it does contain an extended account of Aude’s death), 20 e sonalhetas ha son peytral davant:/ cant l’una pueja e l’autra s’en deyssant/ e pueys deyssendon per cadenas d’arjant,/ assi s’acordan ha un clar covinant,/ viola ni orguenas non volrias auzir tant/ quant lo sonet que las esquillas fan (55–60). 21 E a son latz un brant d’assier valhant/ . . . en auta mar la giteron jayans,/ sieu sopniayre la sopnieron en sopniant,/ un encantayre las en trays en encantantz (38, 43–45)  . . . caval cavalca meravilhos e gran,/ filh d’una fera e del destrier corrant (52–53).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste we are nonetheless reminded that the Spanish crusade only represents a brief moment in the eternal clash between good and evil. It marks a time just before the battle of Roncevaux, a time known only to the main characters involved in the fighting, when Roland captured his horse, now Malmatin de Bonmatin as the Saracens called it, and when the empire of evil was even more powerful. This is how Juzian makes his claim to Marsile: ‘ “I ask you for Chartres, the city of Roland; I have heard that it comes under the jurisdiction of my lineage and that my ancestors owned it for a long time.” ’22 Such long-standing contact between the two sides – corresponding to historical reality – could not have happened without mutual exchanges and familiarity, even if this does not dampen their antagonism. The finest example of this is Roland’s sword. As we have just seen, Juzian’s sword has a long history. It has little reason to feel inferior to Roland’s, because in fact these weapons are sisters: ‘Against his sword there is no defence: it was the twin of Roland’s and both were made in Wayland’s forge, one by the father and one by the son’.23 We have seen what was the magical fate of the swords later on, but everything brings them close to each other, even the manner in which they came into the hands of their present owners. The Saracen sword was seized from the noble King Agolan by Marsile who handed it on to his nephew Juzian; Durendal was won by Charlemagne who killed Baynant for it, and he then passed it on to his nephew Roland on the day of his dubbing ceremony: a strange coincidence, especially given that, as we see in Rollan a Saragossa, Durendal is strongly Christian, for its hilt is filled with holy relics. For all that, in the Ronsasvals it is still clear that this sword holds memories of a magical past. When Roland draws his weapon out of the silk enveloping it on the day of the final battle, ‘he saw it somewhat changing colour: “Alas, Durendal, my good sword, how purple you are this morning!” ’ And not only is the sword able to foretell the future, but also, once Roland is dead, it will be impossible to dispossess him of it. There is nothing in Ronsasvals of the Oxford Roland’s efforts to break Durendal; instead, only Charlemagne will be able to take the sword from his nephew’s hand and he only does so in order to send it back to the water from whence it came. Even if there may be an issue of contamination from Arthurian legend here, it is still clear that in this respect, Christian and pagan magic rub along well together: in Roncevaux a cycle of the great human battle comes to its end and the sword of dreams returns – now made Christian – to the depths from which the enchanter had brought it forth. Saracens and Christians show other similarities: pagans and Roland in particular share Lucifer’s pride, a recurrent theme of Ronsasvals. We know that this pride, twice stigmatised by Oliver, is perceived as the main cause of the Roncevaux 22 ‘de Chartres vos quier, la cieutat de Rollan;/ auzit ay dir que a mon linhatge apant/ e mons payrons la tengron longamant’ (10–12). 23 Commenting on v. 314 of her edition of Raoul de Cambrai (p. 29, n. 11), Sarah Kay notes that ‘the famous smith Galan(t)/ Waland (Engl. Wayland) is mentioned in several chansons de geste; see Langlois, Moisan’.

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the saracen disaster. On the first occasion Oliver says to him, ‘ “I have heard it said by many judicious men that pride is nothing but huge folly” ’, before repeating, ‘ “a proud heart is worthless; this great pride has killed both France and us” ’. But there is a considerable difference. Roland certainly commits the sin of pride, but the Saracens are the epitome of pride itself: ‘ “The Saracens are savage and arrogant” ’, as Turpin says. This savagery, already seen with Orgelin, will find its most complete expression in the character of Alimon de Mares. When Roland has fallen silent after his long ‘death-defying’ prayer and confession, a new centaur from Hell makes an appearance: ‘It comes spurring at top speed towards the steps where Duke Roland is, to kill him’. And that is what it will do. ‘The Saracen comes up to the Frank on huge, powerful Barbarot: he gives him such a blow in the middle of his chest that he knocks him down dead on the steps where he is’, so denying Roland the serenity which surrounds his end in the Oxford manuscript. This character Alimon de Mares would be the most complete guarantee of the Manichaeanism underpinning the struggle between Franks and Saracens, were it not for a new character in between the two passages I have just cited: also a Saracen, but a ‘courtly Saracen’ by the name of Falceron. This paragon of courtliness will attempt to step between them, to apostrophise the ‘barbarous Saracen’, to tell him he will only derive ‘ “a reputation for pride and bad faith” ’ from his action; then, seeing that he cannot prevent him from carrying out his wicked deed, he curses him in terms that are much more Christian than Saracen: ‘ “May God make you pay for it, in His holy mercy.” ’ This is already striking, but there is more: Falceron, who has remained alone with a dead body he would like to bring back to life, goes to help him in his final death throes: ‘He went to sit close beside him, raised up his head and wiped his face’. Such exceptionally delicate care, despite the religion separating them, shows sufficient respect for the other man to be able to pronounce these words, the last to be heard by the peer: ‘ “Roland,” he says, “your god must be hearing you,” ’ after which ‘at that moment, his soul parted from his body’. The delicacy of Falceron, probably so named because he is still a man of the false law, is all the greater since there is no question of him converting. He marks the distance which persists between Roland’s god and his: ‘ “May the God who chose to make your body so handsome save your soul and preserve you from peril.” ’ And the strange pietà which unites the most Christ-like nephew of Charlemagne and a Saracen capable of acknowledging another’s religion disintegrates, for Falceron can hear the Frankish army arriving and cannot stay without putting himself in danger: he remains a Saracen after all. So while the scourge seemed so universal, and black and white so clear-cut, while Saracens with the glorious exception of Bramimonde had no choice other than death or most generally forced conversion, here Ronsasvals presents us with the unexpected figure of a Sarrasin cortes who needs no particular divine grace to be capable of feeling the impropriety of killing off a hero. What is more, it is a Sarrasin cortes who is capable of speaking to a dying man, even of making 71

women and saracens in chansons de geste himself the spokesman to pray to a god in whom he does not believe. Of course, Roland, as a victim offered for Charlemagne’s redemption, finds himself in death between the good and the bad Saracen, but it must be granted that the image of Falceron, caressing the face of Roland’s near-dead body on the blood-soaked ground into which the fresh and joyful crusade has transformed the slopes of Roncevaux, erects a figure of hope all the more luminous in that it is totally atypical.

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6 BETWEEN SARACENS AND CHRISTIANS, OR THE D E C A P I TAT E D H O R S E

To begin with a truism, never has a member of a social group been more attached to an animal than the knight to his horse. Even the Latin eques, in whose legal definition the equus participates fundamentally, seems less closely tied to it, given that the knight or chevalier can hardly forget that he is also a horseback rider or cavalier, particularly in Occitan where there is only one word for the two meanings. Evidence for the importance of the horse’s place in the knight’s mind is provided by two stanzas of Bertran de Born,1 where the fiery miles invites Richard the Lionheart, about to return from captivity, to re-establish order among the barons of Aquitaine, who had all too eagerly taken advantage of their redoubtable overlord’s absence to shrug off the Plantagenet yoke: I wish the king were an augur, and that he would cross over here to join us, and that he knew which of the barons is false to him and which is loyal, and knew of the disease that is causing the Limousin, which used to be his, to limp, and which would be good to him but for a tumour that is damaging him. I wish he would be its farrier and treat it when he has the time, and drain it with two setons before it grows too hard, once he has returned from Germany.2 Isn’t it remarkable how the metaphor emerging from the poet’s pen is quite naturally that of the Limousin horse, whose disease, the malaigna which makes it lame, must be examined, namely the sobros or tumour of the horse’s cannon bone which has to be treated in the way that a farrier, maneschausis, would do by placing dos sedos, two setons which will drain the tumour and prevent exostosis (the

1 Gouiran 1985, song 35, vv. 25–37. 2 Ben volgra.l reis fos devis/ e que passes sai mest nos/ e que saubes dels baros cals l’es fals ni cals l’es fis/ e conogues la malaigna/ de que clocha Lemozis/ q’era/ sieus, e fora.ill bos,/ mas us sobros lo gavaigna./ Ben volgra.l maneschausis/ coras q’en fos lezeros,/ e q’en passes dos sedos/ anz que trop li endorzis,/ pois q’er vengutz d’Alamaigna.

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women and saracens in chansons de geste growth of a bone spur)? How can we fail to see his familiarity with the way of looking after a horse supposed by such a metaphor? Familiarity, yes, but not necessarily affection. I  shall try to demonstrate this from some texts drawn from the Roland and Guillaume cycles3 which allow comparison between the attitudes of Christians and Saracens towards their mounts. We are undoubtedly entitled to ask whether, on the Frankish side, the horse is really anything other than a living piece of equipment. When Roland asks Oliver for a gift and the latter replies, ‘ “If I own anything you desire, a horse, armour or a piece of equipment, I will give it to you with pleasure and willingly” ’ (Rs 297–99), is there really any difference between the equipment and the mount? Similarly, horses are seen as forming part of general booty: ‘to the Saracen they give a hundred pieces of silk and a thousand sous in besants, horses and arms, as much as he desires’ (Rs 1262–63). There is no question that the knight does not take the greatest possible care of his horse – it would be mad not to do so – but he does so in the same way as he takes the greatest possible care of his equipment. For example, if we consider the harrowing passage where the valiant Gandelbuon, atrociously wounded, riding a horse that is hardly in any better state than he is, attempts to cross the pass of Roncevaux to transmit Roland’s final message to Charlemagne, it would be easy to believe that a feeling of companionship unites horse and knight: Gandelbuon mounts using the silver stirrups. Step after step he climbs the mountain; but his horse is seriously wounded and cannot go backwards or forwards; and the noble Frank dismounts and treats his wounds with the green grass, and the charger recovers his breath. ‘Ah, my good horse, won’t you go on any further?’4 But as soon as he meets Garin de Sayne and his three thousand Germans, it is clear that Gandelbuon is no longer thinking of the horse in any other terms than its usefulness (1156–57): ‘For the love of God, give me another steed: mine is so weak that it cannot go on.’5 One steed is worth another, like a piece of equipment, unless Gandelbuon’s moment of tenderness is only imaginable when he is on his own, and that in the presence of a group of warriors it is inconceivable that one should show such feeling for this animal. The knight is even likely to ascribe much more importance to certain arms than to his horse. I have the clear impression that we are better informed about the names of swords than of horses. Everyone knows the name Excalibur; I have no 3 McMillan 1949, Henry 1935, Cloetta 1906 and 1911, Rolin 1897. 4 Gandelbuon monta per los estrieus d’arjant;/ pas davant autre la montanha perprant;/ mas sos cavals es naffrat malamant,/ non pot annar arreyre ni avant;/ e le francs nobles a la terra deyssant,/ claus li las naffras de l’erba verdejant/ e.l destrier vay alena recobrant./ ‘Ay! bon caval, e non ires avant?’ (R, 1126–33). 5 ‘Per amor Dieu, cambias mi d’alferrant/ que-l mieu es freol, non pot aler avant.’ (R, 1156–57).

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between saracens and christians idea of the name of Arthur’s horse. Perhaps a sword is used more than a horse, since swords seem to outlive their owners. It is also worth observing that a sword has the shape of the Cross and that its hilt sometimes appears to be a genuine reliquary. It is in the Moniage Guillaume that this assimilation of the horse to a piece of armour receives its most striking confirmation, in a scene where burlesque vies with the sacred. The abbot of Aniane entrusts William, the butt of the monks’ hatred, with the task of going to buy fish on the coast, which forces him to cross a forest infested with brigands; but the abbot, in order to rid himself of this troublesome postulant, forbids him to defend himself unless the thieves take his breeches. But when faced with this extremity William, who now has the right to resist, is disarmed, and Count William turns round and sees next to him his workhorse which he had loaded with fish. The count rips off its leg right down to the hoof, brandishes it above his head and rushes towards the thieves: he hits the first one with such force that he knocks him down dead. Then the righteous warrior unceremoniously knocks down another, then the third. He has killed three of the base liars. The noble, illustrious count dealt so many blows that he massacred all of them and there was not one left standing. Thus William freed up the route: from now on no poor man would be deprived of his merchandise. Count William looked at the poor workhorse whose leg he had ripped off: ‘God,’ said the count, ‘have pity on this mutilated horse and heal it so that it becomes hale and hearty before my eyes.’ The noble, illustrious count then took the leg he had torn off, and put it back perfectly in the place from which he had torn it. Because of the prayer of the illustrious good count, God performed a great miracle.6 The new Samson, armed with an original type of club, undeniably takes pity on the horse, but it must be acknowledged that this is an odd way to treat man’s finest conquest, even if we are only dealing with a beast of burden. True, St William the knight’s first miracle concerns a horse, but it is treated in a more than cavalier fashion. But this is not because our authors have failed to note the horse’s

6 Li quens Guillaume a regardé arrier,/ d’encoste lui voit ester son somier,/ que de poisson avoit bien fait cherkier./ Li quens li race le cuisse a tout le pié,/ en haut le lieve, s’a son pas avanchié,/ vint as larrons: le premier a paié/ par tel vertu que mort l’a trebucié./ Puis fiert un autre li vassals droituriers,/ et puis le tierc, ne l’a mie espargnié./ Trois en a mors des glotons losengiers./ Tant i feri li jentix quens proisiés,/ tous les a mors, n’en remest uns en pié./ Or a Guillaume le cemin aquitié/ ja mais povre home n’i laira son marcié./ Li quens Guillaume le soumier a coisié/ de cui ot pris le quisse a tout le pié:/ ‘Diex,’ dist li quens, ‘par ta sainte pitié,/ garissiés, sire, cest cheval meshaignié,/ si que le voie sain et sauf et haitié.’/ Lors pris la quisse que il avoit sacié,/ si li remist li gentils quens proisiés/ sifaitement com il l’ot esragié./ Pour la proiere dou bon conte proisié/ i fist Dex grant miracle (ed. Cloetta 1906, 645–68).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste affection for its master. The charger is certainly dangerous for those it does not know. The hero’s host, a certain Bernard, asks William to go and feed his horse himself, saying, ‘I wouldn’t do it for fourteen cities: as God is my help, I dare not go near it for it would eat me alive’, and William tells him he is very wise.7 Similarly, when the William of Les enfances seizes the horse that Orable was sending to her fiancé Thibaut of Arabia, he encounters more resistance from the charger than from its guards: Count William held Baucent by the bridle; he mounted by the left stirrup; he dug his spurs into its sides and it leaped forty feet into the air. It sowed terror like a wild beast: vales and hills, mountains and lovely valleys echoed around; beneath its hooves the whole earth shook.8 This does not stop the charger from feeling real affection for his master, which our authors have described very well, as in Rs 194–201: When the horse saw Roland in full armour, it recognised him like a mother her son; it began to kick with its four hooves, to buck and jump for joy so powerfully that it made all the ground around him quake. When Malmatin saw Roland in full armour, it recognised him just like a mother recognising her son, and reared up.9 Isn’t it surprising that this evocation of maternal love, which I think is not very common in chansons de geste, comes to qualify the relationship between the horse and its master? No less touching is the scene where William’s horse recognises his master who had left him for safe-keeping in the abbey while he retired to the desert: The abbot had his horse brought out, but the animal was very tired and worn out, thin and exhausted, weak and emaciated, because it had been used for pulling loads of stone. The abbot had it rubbed down and curried. As soon as he saw it, the count began to weep: ‘Horse,’ he said, ‘you fill me with great pity. I can see that your flanks and sides are thin;

7 ‘Ne l’en donroie pour quatorse cités:/ se Diex m’äit, jou n’i os abiter,/ car ja m’aroit mengié et estranglé’ (ed. Cloetta 1911, 5899–901). 8 Li cuens Guillaumes tint Basant per la reinne;/ ill i montait per son estrier senestre,/ les esperons pres de costeys li serre,/ et il li saut quarante piés de terre./ Teil efroi moinne conme savaige beste:/ tuit an tantisent et li vas et li testre/ et les montaigne et les valeie belle;/ desous ces piés tranble toute la terre (Henry 1935, 495–502). 9 Quant lo caval vi Rollan ben garnit,/ aysi·l conoc com fay mayre son filh;/ dels quatre pes comenset a fremir,/ fort tremolar e si fort ha burdir/ que entorn si fay la terra fremir./ E Malmatin, quant vi garnit Rollan,/ aysi-l conoc com mayre son enfant,/ los pes premier si vay ausant levant (Rs, 194–98).

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between saracens and christians now you will have to endure great pains, but I know not whether you will be able to bear me. I have never seen such a valiant animal.’ When the horse heard William’s voice, it looked at him closely and recognised him, even though it had not seen him for more than seven years. It pawed the ground and whinnied and pranced around, determined not to let anyone stop him: neither sergeants nor young knights could stop it joining William of the short nose. Then it reared, snorted and whinnied loudly: ‘Sir William,’ said the abbot, ‘now hear the truth: since the hour of your departure, I  have never seen it show so much joy, or lift its head or prick its ears.’ ‘It is God’s will,’ replied William. The horse was saddled richly; William looked at it tenderly, mounted to the saddle-bows from the ground, wrapped around as he was in all his clothing. He made a dash into the court . . .10 In this scene, slightly reminiscent of the Odyssey (even if William’s concern goes no further than knowing whether his horse will be able to carry him), there is an undeniable correspondence between the horse’s love and his master’s affection, but what is surprising is William’s response to the abbot. It is as if the knight were seized with an astonishing reticence in the face of this love felt by a horse abandoned to ill-treatment for seven years or, to be more precise, reduced from being a charger to a beast of burden. Was there some impropriety in the tough knight-hermit revealing to others this affection expressed silently in this superb expression doucement regardé? But we shall come back later to William’s dual attitude; let us return to Roland. In Rollan a Saragossa, as often in the epic, the horse is part of the exchange between Saracens and Christians. It is often the prize for victory in combat: of Oliver’s charger Blaviet we learn that the bay white-stockinged steed was from Arabia and that Charlemagne won it at Pamplona (123–27). When Roland kills King Farnagan in the orchard at Saragossa he seizes his horse but, probably not knowing what to do with it, gives it to Norman merchants who have given him information, saying that they will gain gold and silver in their own country for it and that, large and marvellous, it is from Arabia (426–29). In fact it seems that the only good horse 10 Li abes fait son ceval amener/ mais il estoit travilliés et penés,/ maigres et las, foibles et descarnés,/ que trait avoit a le pierre amener./ L’abes le fait torchier et conreer;/ li quens le vit, si commenche a plorer:/ ‘Chevaus,’ dist il, ‘de vous ai grant pité,/ mout voi vos flans maigres, et vos costés;/ or vous estuet grans paines endurer,/ mais jou ne sai se me porrés porter./ Ainc ne vi mais beste de tel bonté.’/ Quant li cevaus ot Guillaume parler,/ tost le conut et bien l’a ravisé,/ et si nel vit bien a set ans passés./ Grate et henist et maine grant fierté,/ onques ne vaut pour nul home arrester,/ nel pot tenir serjans ne bacelers,/ desci qu’il vint a Guillaume au cort nés:/ La se desroie, braidist et henist cler./ Et dist li abes, ‘Merveille öir pöés!/ Sire Guillaumes, or oiés verité:/ dès puis cele eure de chi fustes tornés,/ ne le vi mais tel joie demener,/ drechier la teste, ne l’oreille lever.’/ Et dist Guillaumes: ‘C’est li plaisirs de Dé.’/ Li cevaus fu ricement enselés;/ Guillaumes l’a doucement regardé,/ de plaine terre est es archons montés,/ atout ses dras dont est envelopés./ Parmi la cort a un eslais doné (ed. Cloetta 1911, 5277–306).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste is a Saracen one from Spain or Arabia. The Saracens are masters in training them. Juzian, Marsile’s nephew, rides ‘a large, marvellous horse, son of a wild beast and a swift charger’ (R 52–53), and when Queen Bramimonde goes to meet Roland she is brought a palfrey that is ‘green and indigo, dappled and iron grey’ (Rs 550–51). It is clear that the Arab horse has pride of place in the Christian imaginary world. Roland’s horse, named Malmatin in the Apt texts,11 is no exception to this rule, and whatever its love for its master, it too comes from Spain and King Baligant knows its entire history: ‘My lords,’ he said, ‘do not kill it, for in faith I bought it at a high price: I gave Valencia, a worthy city, for it; then I gave it to the cruel Ferragut who conquered as many enemies as there were.’12 We do not know how Malmatin came to be in Roland’s hands, but it is more than likely that it was the outcome of combat. Nevertheless, once King Baligant recognises Roland’s charger, the rules are strict: ‘ “there is no-one who kills or injures it in any way, however brave he is, on whose person I will not take vengeance, for in the whole of Spain there is none so swift” ’ (660–63). It is self-evident that such orders suit Roland very well: ‘when Roland hears this nothing has pleased him so much as knowing that his charger is out of danger’ (664–65). In fact the desire to preserve Malmatin from injury will totally guide the Saracens’ combat tactics and be a considerable impediment to them, since Roland for his part does not refrain from spurring his mount into their ranks. Marsile himself admonishes his men, ‘My lords,’ he said, ‘let us go and strike Roland with our lances through his Algerian hauberk, but take great care of the charger; do not kill it, do not wound it at all. When Roland is on the ground he is likely to be very powerful, and we shall have him and his swift charger, Malmatin: this is what people call it.’13 Marsile’s tactic is highly successful, as they throw both the man and the horse to the ground at the same time. Here comes the powerful king Balsant: he seizes Malmatin by its silver

11 These are the two Roland texts written in Occitan discovered in 1912 by the librarian of the town of Apt, deposited in the Avignon archives; see Gouiran 2018. 12 ‘Senhos,’ dis el, ‘non l’aucizas niant,/ qu’ieu lo compriey per ma fe chieremant:/ diey en Valensa, une cieutat valhant;/ pueys lo doniey ha Ferragut al tiran,/ qu’el en ac tant, si los fes recrezant’ (Rs, 655–59). 13 ‘Senhos,’ dis el, ‘annem ferir Rollan/ de nostras lansas en l’alberc jaucerant;/ mas del destrier vos annas fort gardant,/ non l’aucias ni lo playes niant;/ cant sera a terra, ben deura esser poyssant/ es aurem luy e son destrier corrant/ Malmatin es, que aysi lo vay hom nomnant’ (Rs, 1032–38).

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between saracens and christians reins, mounts it and gallops away with it; he takes it to grass that comes up to its chest and washes its coat and its mouth likewise; then from there he heads for the battlefield; he spurs to the middle of the terrain: ‘Ah! Bonmatin, how fine and swift you are! I would not give you away for gold or silver, for Saragossa or anything like it.’14 This prompts various observations. Firstly, Malmatin does not resist Balsant (who must be the same as the aforementioned Balagant), its previous master. Secondly, the Saracen king showers it not only with care but with attention. He leaves the battleground (it must be admitted that he is not wild about war and this coward will not defend this much-loved horse against an Oliver in a rage) to devote himself wholly to the charger, in a veritable process of reappropriation through physical contact: he washes its mane and its muzzle before making it run and speaking to it. This process ends with the animal’s name being changed: it used to be called Malmatin, no doubt a ‘bad morning’ for the Saracens, and now can be called nothing but Bonmatin (‘good morning’) once back in their hands. Hence I think we may already conclude that if the Christians know how to appreciate a good horse, the Saracens for their part accord it an importance beyond measure. *** There is a horse that accompanies William from the conquest of Orable to the horrors of Archamp which, incidentally, it will not survive. Its name is a common one given to horses’ markings, Baucent, denoting a horse with white socks. Orable, who is enormously attached to this horse, sends it as a love-token to Thibaut whom she is to marry, and a whole troop of Saracens look after the animal as it is being led by a guard of honour to its new owner (467–71). The narrative also provides us with another opportunity to appreciate the extent to which the Saracens value an exceptional horse, and their affection towards it:15 Orable had kept it permanently in a stall in Orange for more than seven years and no-one had ever mounted it. She herself would often go to see it and would rub its belly and flanks, as well as its four legs and feet, and its face with her white ermine.

14 [. . .] luy e·l caval si van derrocant./ Ve vos vengut lo fort rey Balaant,/ pren Malmatin per las regnas d’arjant/ e puget sus, vay s’en amb el corrant;/ met lo en l’erba tro al peytral davant,/ lava sos crins e sa bocca eychamant/ e pueys yssi de la foras el camp,/ per miech la plassa en vay esperonant:/ ‘Ay, Bonmatin, con est bon e corrant:/ non vos daria per aur ni per arjant,/ per Saragossa ni pueys per atrestant’ (Rs, 1043–53). 15 Orable l’ot gardeit plus de set ans,/ dedans Orange, an un sillier tot tans;/ ains n’ann usit per nul honme vivant./ Elle meïmes lo regardoit sovant,/ ce li stastoit les costeis et les flans,/ les quatre janbes et les piés asimant/ et lo viaire a son erminne blanc (Henry 1935, 458–64).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste Unquestionably, even if we have to take the noble lady’s caprice into consideration, not only should this passage add to the evidence that the Saracens see in the horse something quite other than a simple means of combat or transport, but also a strange relationship begins to emerge between this horse and its owner, for whom it gradually becomes the symbol of love, if not of the person loved. Beneath the splendid silk cloth which shows its domestication, this horse remains a formidable charger, yet it is a lasting pledge of Orable’s love for Thibaut. Like this love, it will be hijacked to William’s benefit. When Aquilant says to the latter, ‘ “And Baucent, which you have ridden, used to sniff me from head to toe. We have lost him and we shall never be able to saddle him again, for he belongs to you and no other” ’,16 his words seem not to be just about Baucent. William may well have conquered him but that does not mean he has total power over him, and this is the message he sends to Orable: ‘You who know me well, tell Orable not to be sad if I take away her charger. If I live long enough to become a knight, she might see me jousting beneath the walls of Orange, spurring good Baucent to a gallop . . .’17 Indeed, in the Chanson de Guillaume Baucent is the property of Guibourc. When she decides to help Guiot who wants to join his uncle William at the battle of Archamp (1548–50), she brings him Baucent. Her property is so recognisable that Guiot has to lie to William and tell him he took it by force – though he later admits his lady lent it to him, to William’s astonishment (1868–74). To give a rapid summary of the relevant events of this second battle of Archamp: when Liard, William’s horse, is killed beneath him, Gui gives him Baucent and follows his uncle on foot; they then meet King Deramé and Gui asks William to give him back his mount so that he can confront the Saracen. William does no such thing and strikes Deramé, knocking him to the ground with his leg cut off at the thigh. The Saracen’s horse is then available for Gui. The Saracen, lying on the field, saw William leading his good horse away; he started to lament his loss most keenly. ‘Alas, Baucent, how much I managed to love you! I brought you from the sea shore and the one who owns you now is incapable of providing properly for your needs, to walk beside you, bleed you or shoe you.’ ‘Brigand,’ said William, ‘stop this moaning and think about mending your leg, and I shall think about taking care of this good horse!’ He went up to Gui and handed it over to him. The 16 ‘Et me cherjait Bausant, sus coi vos este,/ desor mes manbres et les aus de ma teste./ Perdut l’avons, ja mais n’i metrons selle,/ car vos l’aveis, ne puet ores autre estre’ (ed. Henry 1935, 521–24). 17 ‘Dites Orable qui bien me conisiés;/ ne li poit mie se j’an moig son destrier,/ se je vi tant ke soie chivelier,/ desor Orange m’an vairait tornoier,/ lo bon Basant et poendre et elasier’ (ed. Henry 1935, 558–62).

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between saracens and christians Saracen felt great resentment in his heart: ‘Ah! Baucent, good charger, how unhappy you are, with your fine physique and your noble gaits! You were carrying me when I lost my leg. On your back I have won so many battles! There is no better horse on earth. The pagans will feel great anger at this.’ ‘Brigand,’ retorted William, ‘I care not for your words!’18 William then gives Deramé’s mount to Gui, saying he much desires the one he is seated on (1955), but Deramé’s horse will not long outlive its master, for it is killed beneath Gui whom the Saracens capture. Alone on the battlefield, William then clashes with Alderufe: at the shock both riders fall to the ground and the Christian renews his tactic, cutting off the Saracen’s leg at the thigh. Then, The brave knight puts his foot in Florescele’s stirrup, grasps the s­ addle-bow, mounts, and pricks it with the sharp spurs; the horse leaps vigorously [. . .]. ‘I shall not, I think, be giving this horse back again.’ [. . .] ‘My God has looked kindly on me,’ says William; ‘this mount is worth all the lord of Palermo’s gold.’ He went up to Baucent, then cut his head off. After killing him, he broke out in tender lamentations: ‘Alas, Baucent, how wrong I  was to kill you! God help me, you have never committed a fault towards me, in any way at night or day. But I did this so that no Saracen will ever mount you, and no noble knight will ever be shamed because of you.’19 This attitude of William finds its clear antithesis in that of Alderufe, who renews Deramé’s laments: Alderufe was lying in the middle of the meadow. Then he looked up at his horse: ‘Alas, Florescele, valiant, honoured charger, I could never

18 Li Sarazin se jut en mi le pré,/ si vit Willame sun bon cheval mener,/ e il le comence tant fort a regretter:/ ‘Ohi, Balçan, que jo vus poei ja tant amer!/ Jo te amenai de la rive de mer,/ e il qui ore te ad ne te seit proz conreier,/ ne costier ne seigner ne ferrer.’/ ‘Glut,’, dist Willame, ‘laissez cest sermun ester,/ e pren conseil de ta quisse saner,/ e jo penserai del bon cheval garder!’/ Vint a Gui, e si li ad presenté:/ Li Sarazin out al quor grant rancune:/ ‘Ha, Balçan, bon destrer, tant mar fustes,/ vostre gent cors e voz riches ambleures!/ La me portas u ma quisse ai perdue./ Tantes batailles sur vus ai vencues!/ Meillur cheval n’ad suz ces nues./ Paene gent en avront grant rancune.’/ ‘Glut,’ dit Willame, ‘de ta raisun n’ai cure!’ (ed. McMillan 1949, 1930–48). 19 A Florescele est a l’estriu venu,/ quant saisi ad l’arçun li bers, si muntad sus,/ si l’ad broché des esperuns aguz;/ e il li salt par force e de vertu [. . .]/ ‘Cest cheval n’ert hui mais, ço quid, rendu.’/ Lunsdi al vespre./ ‘Ben m’ad veu mun Deu,’ ço dist Willame,/ ‘cist valt tut l’or al sire de Palerne.’/ E vint a Balçan, lores li trencha la teste;/ quant il l’out mort gentilment le regrette:/ ‘Ohi, Balçan, a quel tort t’ai ocis!/ Si Deu m’aït, unc nel forfesis,/ en nule guise, ne par nuit ne par di./ Mais pur ço l’ai fait que n’i munte Sarazin,/ franc chevaler par vus ne seit honi’ (McMillan 1949, 2151–54, 2158–68).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste have found a better one than you! Once you belonged to the powerful king Deramé, then I led you to Archamp by the sea to fight nobly and for glory. William is taking you away, to my great shame; would I could commend him to his devils! Ah, William, what a horse you are taking! Would that you were a man capable of taking care of it! There is none as good in Christendom and in pagan lands none such could be had again. Give it back, lord, for kindness sake! I will give you four times its weight in gold, the purest and most precious in Arabia.’ William listened to him and laughed beneath his nosepiece. ‘Pay attention, foolish king, to mending your leg, and making a crutch so you can walk, and forging the hook and stump! I shall pay attention to looking after the horse as a man who knows how to do it. I have had a lot of good ones, thank God!’20 It is impossible not to be struck by the difference in their attitudes. While the two Saracens are cruelly wounded physically, atrociously mutilated, their only thought is for the horse, taken away by a conqueror who is totally incapable in their eyes of looking after it properly. For Deramé, the tragedy is that William does not know how to ‘provide properly for the horse, walk beside it, bleed it or shoe it’. Alderufe’s concern is the same when he cries, ‘what a horse you are taking! Would that you were a man capable of taking care of it!’ In the face of this extraordinary love the Saracens feel for their chargers, the Franks pale into insignificance. If William refuses to give Baucent back to Gui once he has captured Deramé’s horse it is not out of sentimental attachment but simply because ‘ “the one I’m seated on is much to my taste” ’. Patently, the supreme scandal is the killing of Baucent. At this point there is a full realisation that for the Christian, the horse is simply a means to an end, a tool for war like any other. It might be argued that William kills Baucent in the same way as Roland tries to destroy Durendal, so that it does not fall into enemy hands and its qualities are not turned back against the Christians. However, the difference is very clear: Roland has no choice, William does. Baucent risks falling (back) into Saracen hands only because William has taken a fancy to Florescele, for the sole reason that the latter, notably more individualised by its name than these ‘Greys’ (Liard) and ‘White Socks’ (Balzan), has superior qualities as far as

20 E Alderufe se jut en mi le pré./ Sun balçan ad puis regardé:/ ‘Ohi, Florecele, bon destrer honured,/ mieldre de vus ne poei unques trover!/ Ja fustes vus al fort rei Deramé,/ jo te menai en l’Archamp sur mer/ pur gent colp ferir, e pur mun cors aloser;/ Willame t’ameine, si ad mun quer vergundé,/ a ses diables le peusse jo comander!/ Ahi, Willame, quel cheval en menez!/ Fuissez home quil seussez garder!/ Il n’en ad si bon en la crestienté,/ n’en paesnisme nel purreit l’en recovrer./ Rend le mei, sire, par la tue bunté!/ Par quatre feiz le ferai d’or peser,/ del plus fin d’Arabie e del plus cler.’/ Quant l’ot Willame, rit s’en suz sun nasel:/ ‘Pense, fols reis, de ta quisse saner,/ de faire escache cum tu puisses aler,/ e le crochet e le moinun ferrer!/ Jo penserai del cheval conreier,/ cum li home qui le covine en set./ Jo en ai eu maint bon, la merci Deu!’ (McMillan 1949, 2178–200).

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between saracens and christians he is concerned.21 There is no better way of saying that the only value of the horse, in the eyes of the Christian knight, lies in its usefulness rather than its intrinsic being.22 In the scorched earth epic represented by the Chanson de Guillaume this can bring only death: just as Deramé, though crippled, is finished off by Gui for fear of him siring his future enemy (1969–75) – a policy followed by William towards Alderufe – Baucent has his head cut off so that it cannot be used in possible revenge by the Saracens. *** This stage of the story is a long way from the form in which we find it in Aliscans, where William’s steeds have a considerable place and importance in the narrative. Here the affective relationship between man and animal is much more heavily stressed, firstly because the knight talks to his horse. ‘My horse,’ he says, ‘you are exhausted. If you had had four days’ rest, I should be fighting the Saracens again. Now I can see that you can’t help me. By God, you will not be reproached. You have always served me very well; there has hardly been a day when I haven’t made you gallop. I give you thanks and gratitude for your service. If I could take you to Orange, you would not be saddled for over a month and you would eat no unwinnowed barley or drink from an unpolished basin. You would be curried twice a day.’23 The horse understands him, replies vocally and, dare I say, magically, grants his wishes: On hearing him, Baucent wrinkled his nostrils, tossed his head and pawed at the ground. He got his breath back and completely recovered. He whinnied loudly as if he had just shot out of his stable freshly shod. When William saw that his horse had recovered his energy he felt greater joy than if he had been given fourteen cities.24 21 In the Moniage Guillaume says he stole his horse from Aerofle le fier (324). 22 It is true that Oliver warned us: ‘Ja no·m don Dieus caval ni garnimans/ Si yeu no·l conquier am m’espeya trenchant!’ (Rs, 8.450–51, ‘May God give me no horse or equipment if I don’t beat him with my cutting sword!’; the knight’s mount must be won). 23 ‘Cevaus,’ fait il, ‘molt pers estre lases;/ Se vos fuscies. IIII. iors seiornes,/ Si me refuse as Sarrasins melles./ Ore voi bien aidier ne me poes;/ Si m ait Dex, plaidies nen er seres./ Qui toute ior molt bien servi m aves:/ Petit fu hui ne fuscies galopes;/ De vo siervice vos renc mercit et gre./ Se vos peuise a Orenge mener,/ Nen i seist siele ains. I. mois pase;/ Ne mangisies orge ne fust vanes;/ Ne buvisies s a vaisel non dolet;/ Le ior fuscies fois does conrees’ (Rolin 1897, 534–46). 24 Baucans l oi, si a froncie des nes,/ La tieste esceut, si a des pies hoe;/ Reprent s alaine, si est bien recovres;/ Il hennist cler con se fust lues getes/ Fors de l estable et de novel fieres./ Guillaumes voit que est resvertues;/ Ne fust si lies por. XIIII. cites (Rolin 1897, 547–53).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste This scene will be almost entirely reproduced shortly afterwards: William of the short nose dismounts. He rubs his horse’s flanks and sides, then puts his arm around his neck in very great affection: ‘Baucent, what are you going to do?,’ the count says to him. ‘Your flanks are soaked in blood and sweat; it’s not surprising that you are weary, for harsh trials have exhausted you. If I get discouraged it will be the end of me.’ Baucent hears him and understands perfectly. He pricks up his ears, wrinkles his nose, shakes his head and recovers all his energy. When the count sees that his horse has regained his vigour, he leaps immediately into the saddle. Brave William was wise and renowned. He headed for the Archamp through a valley, calmly, without losing his head; he did not spur Baucent and did not make him gallop.25 I don’t in fact think that such repetition reflects solely epic practices; the author of this version is gradually preparing us to accept the scandalous exchange of Baucent and Alderufe’s horse. It is essential that it is because he is forced to do so that William trades his personal horse for another one, and not for the simple reason that the second is better than the first. It is within this organisation of the text that the following episode takes place. It is already completely extraordinary that Baucent has been able to recover his strength twice, but during one of the numerous encounters between William and the Saracens, ‘the two at the rear have wounded the horse with white socks: one in the crupper, one in the flank. It’s a miracle they haven’t killed it’.26 The noble animal has obviously come to the end of his strength and his rider only changes mount because from now on it is a question of life or death for him. Still, the exchange could not exactly be said to take place in an atmosphere of harrowing regret, and William’s delight in seizing a horse such as the one here called Volatile comes across as veritable jubilation: Then the count seizes the good maned war-horse and mounts by the stirrup of beaten gold. Three times he makes it charge in the grassy meadow, and the steed does quick successive dashes for him: neither a roe-buck

25 Lores descent Guillaumes au cort nes;/ Son ceval frote les flans et les costes/ Enpries la colle par molt grant amiste./ Et dist li quens: ‘Baucant, quel le feres?/ Molt voi vos flans sanglens et tressues./ Nen est mervelle se vos estes lases;/ que trop par estes travillies et penes./ Se me recrois a ma fin sui ales.’/ Baucans l oi, si l entendi ases,/ Drece l oreille, si a froncie des nes,/ Esceut la tieste, si est resvertues./ Quant voit li quens que est resvigores,/ Isnelement est es arcons montes./ Li ber Guillaumes fu sages et menbres;/ tout un vaucel est viers l’Arcant tornes,/ Tout belement, nen est pas desrees:/ Baucans ne fu ne poins ne galopes (Rolin 1897, 681–97). 26 Li dui deriere ont le baucant navre:/ Li uns en crope, li autres ou coste./ Grans mervelle est que ne l ont atue (Rolin 1897, 1041–43).

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between saracens and christians nor a young stag would be able to keep up with it. From now on William has no fear of miscreant pagans.27 We should not need to return to the words of Alderufe, wounded and little interested in his horse’s fate, if he did not present the question in even clearer terms than we have seen so far: ‘But, by Mohammed, give me back my horse! I will buy it back from you at a very good price: I will give you three times its weight in Arabian gold and you will have those we are holding prisoner in our ships freed.’ William thinks he is telling him lies made up to trick him. He answers the pagan: ‘You speak foolishly. I would not give it back for fourteen cities. Now I am going to leave and you will stay here.’ At these words the Turk nearly goes mad. The rogue cries at the top of his voice: ‘Ah! William, what a perfect horse you have! By Mohammed, you are taking the best one ever seen or admired! It gallops so tremendously fast and ambles so comfortably that its rider cannot be tired, whether in mountains, hills or valley thickets. Galloping never hurts it and it has never been bled or shod: its hooves are harder than tempered steel. Ah, Volatile, I have looked after you for so long! I am much sorrier for you than for me. Do give it back, William of the short nose! You have achieved what you wanted, Now bring it back to me! In return I will do anything you ask.’28 The inconsistencies here strongly suggest some rewriting has taken place: in this world where henceforth the Saracens attack horses, as we have just seen, while the Christian knight treats them tenderly, there is nothing to stop William from being absolutely incapable of understanding Alderufe’s attitude; he is convinced that the Saracen’s promises are just a trap and he cannot believe in the sincerity of his offer. All the same it is hardly irrelevant that the Saracen was proposing to set his nephews free in exchange for the return of Volatile; yet here is William simply

27 Lores saisist le bon destrier crenu;/ li quens i monte par l estrier d or batu./ Trois fois l eslaise parmi le pre herbu,/ et li destriers li randone menu:/ Ne s i tenist cievrous ne ciers ramus:/ nen a mes garde de paiens mescreus (Rolin 1897, 1261–66). 28 ‘Mais, por Mahom, mon ceval me rendes!/ Molt cierement iert viers vos racates:/ de l or d Arage sera trois fois peses;/ et vous meismes quitement raveres/ caus que prisons tenomes en nos nes.’/ Guillaumes cuide que die fausete,/ por lui trair soit ensi apenses;/ dist au paien: ‘De folie parles;/ ne le rendisse pour. XIIII. cites:/ ains m en irai et vos i remanres.’/ Ot le li Turs, a poi nen est dreves;/ a haute vois s est li fel escries:/ ‘Ahi, Guillaumes, com fait ceval aves!/ Par Mahomet le millor enmenes/ qui onques fust veus ne esgardes,/ molt par ceurt tos et si amble souef,/ hom qui sus siet ne puet iestre lases,/ en pui, en tiertre, ne en val enconbres./ Onques por corre ne pot iestre greves / ne onc ne fu ne sainnies ne feres:/ ongles a dures plus que aciers tenpres./ Ha Volatile, tant ior vous ai garde;/ de vos me poise plus que de moi ases./ Quar le me rent, Guillaumes au cort nes!/ Bien l aves fait, or le me ramenes!/ Ie t en ferai toutes tes volentes’ (Rolin 1897, 1276–301).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste shutting him up with a blow of his sword, and moreover just when the wounded sovereign had just fainted with pain. This doesn’t stop William finding himself once more lumbered with an extra horse. How can the author, who doesn’t mind letting his hero be responsible for the murder of Baucent, resolve this delicate situation? He will not manage to do so without considerably increasing the role of the horse in this story. He comes up to Baucent, who is exhausted, and takes off its bridle, saddle and chest strap. The noble, honourable count does this so that he is not taken by pagans or Esclers, and will run better and faster.29 As we shall see, the concern to stop the Saracens seizing the horse persists, but a new solution is proposed. After this, William, who has donned Alderufe’s armour, can go off with a clear conscience – and besides, Baucent follows him as he is so fond of him (1336). The presence of this extra horse will draw attention to the disguised knight who is first taken for his victim and then recognised by two Saracens: ‘A sorrel horse with white socks is closely following him; to judge by his arms, he looks like my cousin Arofle. I think he must have killed William the marquis. I recognise perfectly well the tawny sorrel with white socks so impetuously dashing after Arofle.’ – ‘By my god Apollo,’ says Baudus, ‘by the way he is riding he doesn’t look like an Arab!’30 These two leaders will resolve the question posed since they will take the murder upon themselves. But why do they kill Baucent, who is just carrying on following William, instead of devoting all their efforts to pursuing their enemy? The only explanation seems to be that they embody absolute evil, unless Baucent is an expression of the idea that William cannot flee from Archamp until he has abandoned everything there, since he goes off on Alderufe’s horse having adopted the latter’s appearance and speaking languages that are not his own. We should not be so naïve as to think that if Guibourc fails to recognise him it is just because he is wearing Saracen armour. Whatever the case, They surround Baucent at the foot of a rock; these vile scoundrels cut him to pieces and wound William in the face.31

29 Vient a Baucant, qui molt estoit lases;/ le frain li oste, la siele et le poitrel;/ por cou le fait li frans cuens ounores/ que ne soit pris de paiens ne d Esclers:/ Et mius corra et mius iert abrieves (Rolin 1897, 1316–20). 30 ‘Uns sors baucans le suit tot son train;/ as armes samble Arofle, mon cousin./ Ie cuic mort a Guillaume le marcis:/ bien recounois le sor baucant rufin,/ qui suit Aroufle eslaisies a tel brin.’/ Et dist Baudus: ‘Par mon deu Apolin,/ Au cevaucier samble mal Arabi’ (Rolin 1897, 1355–61). 31 Baucant encloent au piet d une rociere;/ tout le detrencent cele gent pautoniere,/ et le marcis ont navre en la ciere (Rolin 1897, 1410–12).

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between saracens and christians For all that, all the elements we have met in the Willame do not disappear: hence the lamentations of William who bewails the death of the good steed, even if this time he is not responsible for it (1438). We even find the decapitation of the horse by the hero’s sword, simply displaced and projected onto an animal of less importance to the story. William fights one of its pursuers, Baudus, knocks him off his horse, Then reaching out his hand, he seizes the horse; I think he would have quickly led it away, but the Saracens are nearby, more than forty ready to strike. William sees the situation and sees red. He draws his sword with its hilt of annealed gold and instantly cuts off the good steed’s head.32 What an extraordinary way of modifying a broken narrative. Between Willame and Aliscans the Saracens have become horse murderers while William, in contrast, no longer abandons Baucent other than by force of necessity, and above all does not kill him. There must nevertheless have been something very weighty in the tradition for the Aliscans author to feel obliged to have William slaughter a horse, after relieving it of everything that a different sensibility found barbaric about it, as if he were substituting on an altar the sacrifice of Guibourc’s horse with a sort of unknown horse. Had there possibly been a time when Saracens were considered barbarians because they cared too much for horses, and then another time when their barbarity had to be shown by the dire treatment inflicted on poor Baucent? Whatever the case, all these manipulations around the death of this horse certainly show that we are facing a passage containing a deep meaning that is difficult to plumb. In my view, the important element lies in the Chanson de Guillaume: there would be many things to say about the possible meaning of William’s gesture in decapitating Baucent, but I should like to stress that one ought perhaps to be more surprised about the lord of Barcelona’s regrets and the funeral oration he pronounces to the glory of Baucent, than to the decapitation itself. In this Christian world where, as we have seen, the horse is above all a tool, strongly related to the other elements of the knight’s equipment and therefore essentially replaceable by another model of better quality, we twice catch William out being tender-hearted: if Aliscans goes into long developments of the affective relations between William and his mounts, it doesn’t invent them from scratch. Nonetheless, let us be reassured: in Willame, the gesture is definite and the Frankish knight acts as another would. He decapitates Baucent, who has become supernumerary and hence dangerous, and by means of a general statement he avoids the fulsomeness to which the abbot was inviting him. But there has been

32 Pus tent le main, s a le ceval combre:/ mien entient ia l en euist mene,/ mais Sarrasin li sont pries del coste/ Plus de. XL., de ferir apreste./ Voi le Guillaumes, tout le sanc a mue./ Il trait l espee au pon d or noele;/ au boin ceval a lues le col cope (Rolin 1897, 1464–70).

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women and saracens in chansons de geste a look full of tenderness, regret for an unjust act. Decidedly, compared with the killing machines of which that reasonable mini-monster Gui provides the prime example, William is not a simple being. Besides, he is not ignorant of equestrian matters, despite the Saracens’ accusations in this regard: ‘I shall take care to look after the horse, as one familiar with the needs of horses. I have had many good ones, thank God!’33 William ‘knows what they need’, and, in this, the man who married the Saracen Orable to make her into the Christian Guibourc, the man who brings back the body of the renegade Guichard to keep his word to his wife, occupies an original place between these clashing Saracen and Christian worlds.

33 ‘Jo penserai del cheval conreier,/ cum li home qui le covine en set./ Jo en ai eu maint bon, la merci Deu!’ (McMillan 1949, 2198–200).

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II Aspects of war in occitan chansons de geste and lyric poetry

7 PER LAS LURS ARMAS DEVON TOSTEMPS CANTIER Intertextuality effects between Ronsasvals and certain lyric planhz Among the relatively numerous family of Roland manuscripts, the Occitan Ronsasvals looks like a short text, with its 1802 lines compared with the 4002 of the Oxford version or 8200 of that of Châteauroux. So this strengthens the case for stressing the large space it devotes to laments for the dead. In point of fact Charlemagne mourns for his nephew in no fewer than seven laisses (38–44) and in 118 lines. This is then continued by the jongleur Portajoyas, who laments the death of Turpin in three laisses (45–47) and 31 lines. In addition, as if this were not enough, quite a number of other passages are devoted to the same end. Thus Roland spends 27 lines on the death of five of the heroes and Galian six on that of his father Oliver; this adds up to 172 lines, nearly a tenth of the text. It could certainly be argued that, all in all, the Song of Roland is nothing if not a lament for a world nearing its end, and thus it is to be expected that it would offer strong similarities with the Latin planctus or the vernacular planh. Comparison with the other versions of this epic is enough to assure us that the Ronsasvals demonstrates a marked taste for the literary genre in question, whether the Latin or the Occitan version. For my study I shall follow the order of the text. Let us start by looking at the short ‘funeral orations’ pronounced by Roland over the dead bodies of his peers, before considering the planh spoken by Charlemagne for his nephew, and that of the jongleur for bishop Turpin. In the Oxford Roland, the death of the ‘secondary’ peers contains little detail and in particular the chain of events follows on swiftly: the various Saracens who kill them are immediately punished by Roland, Oliver and Turpin, which therefore leaves little space for lament. One of the longest commentaries is spoken by Roland on the occasion of an exchange with Oliver: ‘Sire cumpainz, ja est morz Engeler; nus n’avium plus vaillant chevaler.’ Respont li quens: ‘Deus le me doinst venger!’1 1 ‘ “Sir companion, Engeler is dead; we had no more valiant knight.” The count replies: “God grant I avenge him!” ’ (CdR, 1503–05).

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wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y The organisation of the Ronsasvals is quite different, insofar as we can judge, given the gap following v. 821. Unfolding before our eyes are the deaths of the uncle/nephew couple Jauceran/Estout (end of laisse 16), then Garnier or Gautier de Termes, Salamon de Bretagne and Savaric. The series may well have continued, since at v. 821 it is Miolon’s turn to enter the lists. These episodes are constructed on a fixed pattern: (1) the pagan Falsabroni meets the peer and kills him; (2) Roland, who has helplessly watched the scene, tries to catch up with the Saracen, but the exhausted Malmatin cannot catch up with the latter’s horse; and (3) Roland then dismounts and pronounces a short funeral oration for the dead man in two parts: the first, susceptible to variations, is the lament proper; the second is devoted to the message which Roland entrusts to the dead man for the dead barons: Roland will shortly be joining them. One cannot avoid being struck by the absence of virtually any variety in this passage: there is nothing before the fight with Falsabroni that does not repeat itself without the slightest tactical variation. The Ronsasvals author had many devices at his disposal to avoid monotony; the Oxford text for example groups the deaths of heroes together, and varies the avengers by involving not just Roland but also Turpin and Oliver, whose rôle as we know is not yet at an end. In fact, our poet has consciously sought the stabbing effect of similar episodes which are only modified by the artistic use of different assonances. The author makes Falsabroni a symbol of death: impossible to reach, he strikes like lightning before disappearing into the thick of the Saracen ranks, leaving a corpse behind. We gain the impression that a monstrous automaton has been set in motion, an inhuman mechanism which alone can explain the peers’ defeat in this twilight of the heroes. In fact this slow, repetitive progression is calculated to lead us to the death of the supreme hero, for whom the successive loss of his friends, each time felt more keenly, is in some way gradually emptying out his being; thus it is he and he alone, all the more alone in that no Christian is ever mentioned as being near him, who feels his amermament, the diminution he suffers as the representative not only of a world but also as an individual. To turn to a more technical aspect: can these repetitive texts be called planhz, given the fact that they are short and only ever announced by the verb dire (dis, vv. 741, 764)? If they are compared with the key elements of the planctus shown by Caroline Cohen,2 we find very few parallels, but the comment corresponds well to what Stanley Aston noted in relation to the Occitan planhz.3 Indeed, if we put these passages alongside the genre of lament, they correspond much more closely to the Occitan planhz than the Latin planctus. 2 A. The invitation to lament. B. The deceased’s lineage. C. Enumeration or la description of the lands and persons in mourning. D. Praise of the deceased. E. Nature’s mourning. F. Description of the corpse and allusion to the tomb. G. Prayer (Cohen, 1958). 3 Aston 1971.

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i n t e rt e x t u a l i t y e f f e c t s This is the pattern of these passages: Table 7.1  Apostrophe

Estout and Jauceran

Gautier de Termes

Salomon senher

Savaric senher

Categories, warlike activities

Armas, torneiamens, batalha Paradis, sant Juan Nos, segle √

crestiantat √

Mi √

Fis perdre √

Prayer to Loss to Salutation and announcement of arrival

In what seems to be a consistent model, underpinning the effect of stabbing repetition previously mentioned, it is immediately clear that the lament for the death of Estout and Jauceran is the only one to present any original features. Now, if we examine the lines by which this planh differs from the others, Ay! valent comte, ses vos e que faran hueymays las armas ni bons torniamans? Dolor poyran aver cant no·s veyran en la batalha aquilh que vist vos an. Las vostras armas ha Jhesu Crist coman qu’en paradis las meta sant Juan (742–47) we are immediately aware of having heard this before. First of all there is the echo of the famous planh of Gaucelm Faidit for Richard the Lionheart: A! Seigner reys valens, e que faran/ hueymais armas ni fort tornei espes (vv. 28–29),4 immediately followed by three extracts from Bertran de Born’s planh for the Young King: Qan torneiaran,/ Auran dol quan no·us veiran (vv. 72–73), E tut aqil que·us avion vezut (v. 58), A Dieu lo coman/ Que·l met’ en loc san Joan (vv. 13–14).5 In these episodes, two poetic strategies clearly coexist: alongside a poet who is moving the Roland material in the direction of elegy, multiplying groups of parallels with little variation, we can see the emergence of another concept, highly typical of the troubadours’ art of trobar as highlighted by Jörn Gruber:6 the troubadour has borrowed lines from two of the most famous planhz of the Occitan

4 ‘Ah Lord, valiant King, what will henceforth become of deeds of arms and tough tightly-packed tourneys?’; see the edition of G. Barachini and the English translation by L. Paterson, www.rialto. unina.it/GcFaid/167.22/167.22trad-note.htm. 5 Gouiran 1985, n° 13. 6 Gruber 1983.

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wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y lyric and has integrated them into lament, thus rendering it more ‘classical’, more traditional, without the slightest regard for either verisimilitude (the torneiamens are rather surprising for the Carolingian era and the word certainly has the technical sense of ‘tournaments’, as is shown by the allusion to spectators in the next line) nor to the delicate balance of the lament, which was of little interest to him. Unlike these texts which one dis (declaims), Charlemagne’s lament for Roland’s death is explicitly signalled as a planh: thus v. 1499 (laisse 38) announces that the king non pot muydar que non plor e non planha (‘cannot help lamenting’), a highly characteristic association of words found in the planhz of Guillem de Berguedà, Gaucelm Faidit and Guilhem Augier Novella.7 In the same way, Turpin’s planh is preceded by the line Estranhamens comenset ha plorar (v. 1632, ‘he began an extraordinary lament’). A simple quantitative comparison of our 118 lines of lament with the 38 of the Oxford text is already striking. But the difference is not limited to this extended planh; in fact it is the author’s very point of view which is different. Ronsasvals focusses our interest entirely on Charlemagne’s speech, simply preceded in laisse 38 by six introductory lines. It is tempting to say that, during the bravura piece represented by the planh, author and character merge. The former cannot look at the latter, and all action is interrupted, apart from in the final laisse of the speech (44) to which we shall return in detail; when Charlemagne falls silent, our eyes do not dwell on him but turn immediately to the jongleur Portajoyas. In the Oxford text, only two of the five laisses in which Charlemagne mourns for Roland contain no description. This is far from the highly abstract discovery of Roland’s body in Ronsasvals, which is reduced to this: He finds his nephew dead on the plain, He goes down to him at the foot of a mountain, He cannot help but weep and lament.8 In the Oxford text, the discovery occupies seventeen lines and Charlemagne, who has fainted next to the corpse, has to be helped by his barons, and will faint again during his oration. On the other hand, Turold does not consider the funeral oration as an entity in itself. He inserts descriptive elements in every couple of laisses, showing us the effect of grief on Charlemagne and his men, as if he never forgot to stand aloof, and carefully avoiding any confusion with his hero: Trait ses crignels, pleines ses mains amsdous. Cent milie Franc en unt si grant dulur, n’en i ad cel ki durement ne plurt9 7 Nos. 95, 148 and 235 in Riquer 1975. 8 Son nep Rollan trobet mort en la planha,/ a luy deyssent al pe d’una montanha,/ non pot muydar que non plor e non planha (1497–99). 9 ‘He tears out his hair with both hands. 100,000 Franks feel such great grief that there is none who does not weep bitterly’ (207, 2906–8).

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i n t e rt e x t u a l i t y e f f e c t s is echoed in laisse 209 by Sa barbe blanche cumenset a detraire, ad ambes mains les chevels de sa teste. Cent milie Francs s’en pasment cuntre tere,10 before the speech ends with: Ploret des oilz, sa blanche barbe tiret. E dist dux Naimes: ‘Or ad Carles gran ire’.11 It might be mischievously observed that if the southern hero talks a lot more, he gesticulates and exaggerates less. Moreover people do not make a habit of fainting in Ronsasvals. For us, the essence lies in this difference in point of view or style, which contrasts a text in which language is always scene-setting and action with one which shows a clear tendency to turn a lament, inserted into and necessary to the plot, into an abstract lyric piece situated into its epic context (see Table 7.2). As already seen in the first section, it is notable how the apostrophe Ami Rollant is a constant and indeed veritable signal marking the start of lyric direct speech. Among the other obligatory elements we find the prayer to God to ask Him to receive the hero, de tei ait Deus mercit (‘God have mercy on you’, v. 2887), Deus metet t’anme en flors/ en pareïs entre les glorius (‘God set your soul among flowers in Paradise with the glorious ones’), the admirable formula of vv. 2898–99, and finally de tei ait Deus mercit./ L’anme de tei seit mise en pareïs Table 7.2 

apostrophe prayer for Roland praise of Roland loss to the suzerain Charlemagne’s remorse evocation of the future eternal grief prayer for Charlemagne

206

207

208

209

210

1 2 3 4

1 2 – 5 3

1 –

1 – 2 4

1 2

2

3

4

10 ‘He began to tear with both hands at his white beard and the hairs of his head; 100,000 Franks fell fainting’ (209, 2930–2). 11 His eyes filled with tears, he pulled on his white beard. And Duke Naime said, ‘Charlemagne has great sorrow’ (211, 2943–44).

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wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y (‘God have mercy on you. May your soul rest in Paradise’, vv. 2933–34). Praise of the deceased is less frequent: even though the warrior is exalted in vv. 2888–89, the praise comes down to two qualifiers in v. 2916: prozdoem, juvente bele (‘brave man, fair youth’). More interesting, in that we have the impression of abandoning for a moment the clichés of a literary genre in favour of a move towards dramatisation, is the part devoted to the evocation of the future through two little scenes which allow us to picture Charlemagne’s loss, now that he is both diminished in his power as a suzerain and damaged in this rôle because he has to account for the life of his men. To turn now to the planhz proper of the Ronsasvals: it is obvious that in such a long text more themes will be treated. Table 7.3 attempts to group the main ones together, without claiming to be complete. To return to the comparison with the patterns established by Cohen and Aston: it is clear that the first point highlighted by Cohen, the invitation to lament, would make little sense in the context in which we find ourselves. In contrast, if we consider the adaptations of this theme in the initial stanza of the Occitan planhz as they appear in Aston’s article, the situation is different. Aston noted that eight of the eleven planhz he was studying indicate the topic in the first stanza, which is also the case in our laisses. However, as in the Ronsasvals passages previously studied, the apostrophe constantly falls at the beginning of the groups of lines in direct speech, most often in the form of Bel neps Rollan. Here we may note that it ceases to be simply a kind of sound signal, and acquires a truly literary function. We can see that the short apostrophe Bel neps is only used when the name Rollan figures in the immediate proximity, and above all that the slow tolling effect, obtained by the anaphora from laisse to laisse, speeds up, and comes to make

Table 7.3 

apostrophe regret contempt for the world renunciation or loss praise evocation of the future reflection on the lament death addressed categories abandoned winning of God the adversary prayer for Roland anecdote prayer for Charlemagne world upside-down

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

1 2 3 4

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

4 3

6 2

2

3

3 2 4

2

6 2,4

2,4 3 5

3 6 2 4 5 4

2

3 6 5 7 4

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4 2

3,6 5

3

5

5

i n t e rt e x t u a l i t y e f f e c t s way for an anaphora from one line to another, where the syntax becomes quite disjointed: Bels neps Rollan, que faray de pezansa? Bel neps Rollan, perdut ay m’alegransa, Bel neps Rollan, mon gauch e ma burbansa, Bel neps Rollan, ma joya e m’esperansa, Bel neps Rollan, mon sens e ma nembransa, Bel neps Rollan, mon pres e ma valhansa, . . .12 Aston then enumerates the feelings expressed by the poet: he is broken with grief, has lost all joy, cannot sing as he feels so much pain, feels nothing but contempt for the whole of humanity and will suffer as long as death does not carry him off in his turn. There is not one of these points that does not figure in Charlemagne’s planhz. The second point distinguished by Cohen, the evocation of the dead man’s lineage, is, according to Aston, ‘conspicuously absent’ from virtually all the Occitan planhz. This is a close parallel to our texts, since the only mention of lineage that could be evoked is in fact entirely negative, given the evocation of Charlemagne’s sin.13 The third point, the enumeration of countries or persons in mourning, is found, but it is infinitely less developed than the fourth: the praise of the dead man, which, as often in the lyric, twice leads to the evocation of Alexander. We may then note that points five (the grief of nature) and six (the description of the body or the tomb) are equally absent from Charlemagne’s planh and from lyric compositions. The case of the seventh point, the prayer, which we know is a constant in the planh genre, requires a different and stylistic explanation: as we have seen, there is little evidence of prayer, particularly for the deceased, in the seven laisses studied. There is a logic to this since a long prayer, a veritable credo, precedes the planhz in laisse 37. Yet another will be pronounced by Charlemagne in laisse 49, after the intervention of Portajoyas: to some extent the prayer has ceased to be an integral part of the planh and has become a bravura piece, as obligatory as it is autonomous. As a preliminary conclusion, it must therefore be acknowledged that there is a remarkable coincidence between the composition of Charlemagne’s planhz and the motifs of the lyric genre as Aston has described them in their differences from the Latin planctus.

12 ‘Dear nephew Roland, what shall I do, I am so full of sorrow? dear nephew Roland, I have lost my cheerfulness, dear nephew Roland, my joy and pomp, dear nephew Roland, my joy and my hope, dear nephew Roland, my reason and my prudence, dear nephew Roland, my worth and valiance. . . ’ (1506–11). 13 Roland was the issue of Charlemagne’s incest with his sister (vv. 1224–27).

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wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y Perhaps I may be allowed a brief excursus concerning the anecdotes contained in these laisses. We have seen that in the Oxford version, Charlemagne was anxious about the claims of his vassals who, at Laon and then at Aix, would come to find out about the fate of the peers. This scene is also found in the Ronsasvals, but in this text in which concepts of the Occitan lyric sometimes surface, we are in a different world: ‘And for me, what will become of me when ladies will come to speak and say: “Where is Roland who used to create joy?” ’.14 This is the courtly universe rather than the world of war. We can take another step along this road linking the planhz of Ronsasvals to the lyric genre. If we examine laisse 44 more closely, we notice that its structure is oddly repetitive: the two moments of direct speech are separated by the account of an action of Charlemagne, who picks up Roland’s sword and throws it into a lake. New lyric elements then appear, before a final group of lines, well isolated from the apostrophe bel neps, curiously not at the start, introduces into the narrative the fundamental element of Charlemagne’s sin. Here are the lines of this second moment of the planh: Ay! dousa Mort, per cortesia gran, menasses m’en pos tout m’aves Rollan, car caytieu seran tuch sels que sa vieuran. Ay! valenz cors, bel neps, e que faran Frances, Bretons, Proensals ni Normans, Ni que faran mantz torney ni borbant? Mas tot cant claus ni le solelh resplant auran dolor cels que torner veyran totas sazons, car vezer non vos poyran Segle bauzat, messongier e truant, tout nos aves an baus e anb engan so que avias mostrat an bel semblant, mas pauc vales vos ni cels que hi estan.15

14 ‘E yeu meteys, que poyray devenir/ cant mi venran donnas comtar ni dir:/ “On es Rollan que sol far joya e dir?” ’ (1539–41). 15 ‘Ah! Sweet death, out of great courtesy, take me away since you have taken Roland, for all those who will live in this world are wretched. Alas, valiant heart, dear nephew, what will become of French, Bretons, Provençals and Normans, and what will become of so many tourneys and such splendour? But in the whole of the universe lit by the sun, grief will embrace forever those who attend tourneys, for they will be able to see you no more. Deceitful world, lying and perfidious, you have taken from us by lies and deceit what you had shown us with a smiling face, but you are worth little, no more than those who dwell in you’ (1611–23).

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i n t e rt e x t u a l i t y e f f e c t s A simple reading reveals several elements we have seen being re-used in the planh adressed by Roland to Estout and Jauceran, but we can also add some extra elements by returning to the planh of Bertran de Born cited above, from whom the author has already borrowed copiously: Engles e Norman, Breton et Irlan; Qan torneiaran/ Auran dol quan no·us veiran; Al segle truan/ Pel malastruc an/ Que nos mostret bel senblan; No pretz un besan/ Ni·l cop d’un aglan/ Lo mon ni cels que·i estan.16 Besides this passage, particularly rich in echoes, we can indicate that the same planh for the Young King has probably inspired laisse 43, since Seingner, per vos mi voill de joi estraire . . ./E ja mais jois la ira no m’esclaire (57–60)17 is found in Neps, per t’amor mi vuelh de joya estrayre (1579), Que ja mays gauch la dolor non m’esclayre (1581).18 Bertran de Born has however no exclusive claim on inspiration, and we discover that the planh of Gaucelm Faidit, Q’eras nos a mostrat Mortz que pot faire, q’a un sol colp a·l meillor del mon pres tota l’onor, totz los gaugs, totz los bes (23–25),19 is an almost direct inspiration for Ar, Mort, ben mostras de ton poder cals es, car as ha un colp lo mielh del segle pres, totas las honors, totz los gautz, totz los bens (1545–47).20 It is now time to discuss the planh spoken by Portajoyas over the body of Turpin. There is no need to continue with a tedious comparative enumeration of themes: a simple glance at the table suffices to show that Cohen’s point five, the suffering of nature, appears here, of which Aston said that it was rarely present and when it is, it is in general and conventional phrases of the type ‘the world is in darkness’. Here, our jongleur goes into detail: On your account the earth should shake, And the stars should not shine brightly, 16 ‘English and Normans, Bretons and Irish’ (61–62); ‘When they joust they will be sad not to see you’ (72–73); ‘in this world, deceitful because of the ill-fated year which had shown us such a smiling face’ (40–42); ‘The world and those in it have no more value for me than a besant (coin) or an acorn-cup’. 17 ‘Lord, on your account I want to remove myself from joy . . ./ And may joy nevermore lighten my sorrow.’ 18 ‘Nephew, for love of you I wish to renounce joy [. . .] so that joy will nevermore console my grief.’ 19 ‘Death has now shown us what it can do: at a single blow it has taken the best in the world, all honour, all joys, all good things.’ 20 ‘Now, Death, you plainly show your power, for with a single blow you have taken the world’s elite, all its honours, all its joys, all its good things’.

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wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y Sun and moon dim their light, And the birds abandon their singing, And the rush of running rivers dry up.21 If these are clichés of the funeral oration, it should be recognised that they do not appear in lyric planhz. Alerted by the presence of this element of the Latin planctus, a more thorough examination of the terms of praise allows us to identify the probable presence of Cohen’s point two, the evocation of the deceased’s lineage, so remarkably absent from the lyric planhz as well as Charlemagne; God, says Portajoyas, has made Turpin de bon ayre. Thus there are at least two terms of the planh, one particularly clear, which distance us from the lyric planh and move us closer to the Latin planctus, which hitherto had only shown any relationship to our texts insofar as, to recall Aston, any funeral oration is likely to entail similar themes. How can we not be struck by the fact that the heroes’ planhz are blatantly linked to the lyric form of the funeral lament, what Aston calls the planh for the prince, the author (or rather one of the authors) going so far as to borrow overtly from two of the most famous planhz of the Occitan lyric, whereas the planh of the cleric Turpin has preserved the motifs of the Latin planctus? This ability of the author to adapt his generic themes to his characters, here the jongleur of the bishop steeped in clerical culture, could be reinforced if necessary by the presence of the authorial reflections in the planh, this self-reflexivity underlining the contradiction inherent in speaking for so long on a subject which ‘tongue cannot say nor any heart conceive’.22 Of course, the preceding remarks confirm many of Élisabeth Schulze-­Busacker’s analyses of the presence of lyric elements in the Ronsasvals.23 Nevertheless, I should like to emphasise in conclusion the fact that the aim of these reflections on the passages of funeral lament in the Ronsasvals was not simply to show how a probable remanieur was able to take his inspiration, rather shamelessly at times, from the lyric, as the good troubadour he probably was himself. My intention is rather to show how his dexterity renders difficult any consideration of the date of this composite work, and this is all the more tiresome given that we sometimes have the impression of finding ourselves, as in laisse 44 where Charlemagne’s sin

21 Per vos deuria la terra tremolar,/ e las estelas que non luÿssan clar,/ solelh e luna de lur clardat mermar,/ e los auzels muydar de lur cantar,/ e flum correns de lur brieu restancar (1655–59). These elements are very different from the image of the end of the world found in laisse 110 of the Oxford version. Besides, what is important is that they are placed in Turpin’s planh and not Roland’s. 22 Lenga non ho pot dire ni dengun cor pensar (1653). 23 Schulze-Busacker 1978 and 1980. I regret having been unable to see the article indicated as due to be published in the Actes du 5e Colloque de l’Institut d’études médiévales, Montréal 1978: ‘La complainte des morts dans la littérature occitane’.

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i n t e rt e x t u a l i t y e f f e c t s is confessed and the fate of Durendal recounted after its owner’s death, faced with an extremely ancient element enclosed within what a more or less late jongleur, in love with some fine bravura pieces, with this ceremonial poetry of the lyric planh, probably considered as indispensable adornments of Roland material, which was in his eyes already out of date.

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8 THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF T H E   H E R A L D I N L I T E R AT U R E A N D T H E E A R L I E S T WA R S O N G S O F B E RT R A N D E B O R N In Chrétien de Troyes’s Chevalier de la Charrete, during the episode of the tournament of Nohauz, a curious character turns up abruptly in the romance: a tant ez vos un garnemant, un hyraut d’armes, an chemise, qui an la taverne avoit mise sa cote avoec sa chauceüre, et vint nuz piez grant aleüre, desafublez contre le vant.1 [along came a good-for-nothing, a herald in just his shirt, who had left his tunic and shoes in the tavern and was hastening up barefoot and coatless against the elements.] This character is all the stranger in that this is the first literary mention of the herald – if we accept that the romance was indeed composed in 1177.2 Indeed, it would be hard to imagine that the person who would often be viewed in later centuries as the arbiter of nobility could first appear as a clownlike figure typically found propping up the bar of the local tavern, having probably just lost everything, including his clothes, at gambling. Nevertheless, we can already observe one stock feature of his future roles: when the garnemant spots Lancelot’s monocoloured shield (we do not know whether he is in a hurry because he has no clothes, having left them in the tavern, or because he is being pursued by other rascals), his professional curiosity overcomes his fear of danger. Such a buckler is out of the ordinary, and in some way represents an anonymous shield: l’escu troba a l’uis devant, si l’esgarda; mes ne pot estre

1 Roques 1967, 5536–41. 2 Ménard 1971.

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the first appearance of the herald qu’il coneüst lui ne son mestre, ne set qui porter le devoit.3 [he found the shield in front of the door and looked at it; but it was impossible to recognise it or who owned it, and he didn’t know who ought to carry it.] One of the herald’s functions is in fact to recognise a knight from his arms, so as to relay his identity to the tournament spectators. In the same domain it is easier to date the first occurrence of a rei d’armas in the troubadour Bertran de Born. We can in fact pinpoint to 1184 a particularly violent sirventés against King Alfonso of Aragon, whom the lord-poet of Hautefort was accusing of an act of treason allegedly leading to the capture of a fortress. This piece contains a stanza relating a highly suspect anecdote which Bertran probably derived from his friend the Catalan troubadour Guillem de Berguedà: Peire Joglar saup mal pagar, Que·l prestet deniers e cavaus, Que la vella que Fons-Ebraus Atent lo fes tot pesseiar; Qu’anc l’entreseings fags ab benda De la jupa del rei d’armar Que·l baillet, no li puoc guizar C’om ab coutels tot no·l fenda.4 [[Alphonse] poorly repaid Peire Joglar for having lent him money and horses, for the old woman awaited by Fontevraud had it cut to pieces; indeed, the sign the king had given him, made of a band of the king of arms’ skirt, could not stop him being slashed with knives.] If we recall that the herald wore a tabard, a long thick tunic, decorated with his lord’s coat-of-arms at the front, at the back and on the sleeves, thus transforming the herald into a living symbol of his lord’s arms and honour, we can appreciate that Alfonso could hardly give a better safe-conduct than this band of cloth, and what a dishonour it was for him for anyone to treat it so contemptuously. We may note in passing that there is a clear difference between Chrétien’s herald and Bertran’s Aragonese ‘king of arms’. The second is clearly integrated into the court in a hierarchical system, which is obviously not the case in the caricature represented by the first. One might object that this ‘king of arms’ represents some feature of the court of Aragon, perhaps an early example, but the way our Limousin speaks of it is perfectly neutral, as if it was well known to his public.

3 Roques 1967, 5542–45. 4 Gouiran 1985, 24, 41–48.

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wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y So from these two literary examples – even if the second is much less secure than the first, since the sirventés would have no credibility if it did not reflect some form of reality, if not truth – we can conclude that these occupations are first mentioned no earlier than the third quarter of the twelfth century. This does not imply that the role played by the characters did not exist before literature came to recognise it; the role may very well have preceded the actual occupation. My aim here is to examine whether to a certain extent Bertran de Born might have been orienting the Occitan sirventés (which is well known to have existed since the previous generation of troubadours) in a direction that could have a lot to do with the existing or emerging occupation of heralds. A well-known activity of the herald consists in announcing on all sides that at a given date there will be a tournament or a battle which will provide young lords with an opportunity to cover themselves in glory, not to mention the profit that this may also bring with it. Now, the first war composition of the lord of Hautefort announces a fixed battle where the main protagonists were supposed to be the count of Toulouse Raymond V and the king of Aragon Alfonso II. The rivalry between these two great southern lords had been going on for so long that it is hard to give an exact date for the composition of Bertran de Born’s chansso,5 though a certain number of historical allusions point to 1181. That year in fact, Adémar de Murviel, one of Raymond’s supporters, killed Ramon-Berenguer, Alfonso’s brother and lieutenant in Provence. Alfonso reacted violently: he captured and razed the castle of Murviel, then marched into the county of Toulouse where he ravaged a number of fortresses before setting up camp right below the city walls. However, shortly afterwards he moved on into Aquitaine to meet up with his ally Henry II Plantagenet. And here we need to recognise that however ardently the poet composed his war song in order to draw men into the imminent combat, nothing confirms that the battle did in fact finally take place. Even if Bertran treated Alfonso in advance as a rei vencut, this could easily have been just sabre-rattling. It should also be noted that the alliance between the Angevin and the Catalan made the latter automatically a potential enemy of the Aquitaine barons, the king of England’s least docile vassals, of which the following years would afford him stinging proof. Lo coms m’a mandat e mogut per n’Araimon Luc d’Esparo q’ieu fassa per lui tal chansso on sion trencat mil escut, elm et ausberc et alcoto, 5 Gouiran 1985, p. lix: ‘dès que nous abordons des chants de guerre proprement dits comme les pièces 9 et 12, il faut remarquer que l’auteur n’emploie pas le mot sirventes: il parle de chanson (40.3) et de chantar (28.1), ce qui ne saurait évidemment être déterminant, mais ne manque pas de troubler.’

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the first appearance of the herald e perpoing falsat e romput. Et er l’ops que sia atendut, pois comtar mi fai sa razo, e que ges non diga de no, depois que m’o a covengut; que blastimarant m’en Gasco, car de lor mi tenc per tengut.6 [the count has informed and commanded me through Raimon Luc d’Esparron that I should compose a song for him such that a thousand shield, helmets, hauberks and doublets should be broken and pourpoints pierced and torn. And people should pay him attention, since he has given me his reasons, and I do not refuse, since he has made this agreement with me. If not, the Gascons will blame me for it, and I consider myself under an obligation to them.] We can see that the troubadour is informing his public, quite prosaically I am tempted to say, that the count of Toulouse has sent the Gascon lord Raimon Luc d’Esparron to commission a song from him capable of unleashing combats in the manner of a veritable Tyrtaeus, the author of paeans supposed to have led the Spartans to victory in the old days. Modesty is not Bertran de Born’s strong point, to say the least. Unlike composers of cansos, the most highly prized troubadour genre, he does not feel the need to explain the reasons for him being the best poet. But how can we fail to appreciate that the fact that a lord as powerful and high-ranking as the count of ­Toulouse – with wealth that puts him on equal footing with so many kings – should despatch a lord of his court to a Limousin castellan of middling importance to ask him to produce a song, is the clearest mark of his worth? Moreover, even if the text does not take the trouble to underline it, are there that many composers who can envisage their song having the effect that ‘a thousand shields, helmet, hauberks and doublets are broken and doublets pierced and torn’? And this is not just boasting on Bertran’s part, since it is precisely because of this ability that the count has sent him his messenger. So he prefers the future anterior to the simple future, as it confers more reality on the actions. He even uses the past tense, so inevitable does the defeat of the Catalans and Aragonese appear to him (or this is how he wants to present it); they are led by a king who has already lost Tarascon, in other words Provence, and who is already vanquished, despite the number of great lords, his allies, whom the poet lists minutely just as a herald would do. For the count of Toulouse’s supporters there are no names; is it not enough to proclaim that, at Bertran’s summons, the great lords, the most honoured and

6 Gouiran 1985, 9, 1–12.

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wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y famous barons and companions in the world, will rush to his aid? And it is not without good reason that Bertran, putting them all on the same level, recalls their objectives in doing so: some will respond to the feudal summons, but all will obey other motives, the lure of gain and the thirst for glory. Perhaps even this ‘feudal baron of middle condition’ (Riquer 1971) had in mind the jovens, those young landless and impoverished nobles who gained their subsistence from warfare and tourneys – he himself being counted, a few years later, among the [. . .]. xxx. tal gerrier: chascus ha capa traucada. Tuich seignor e parsonier, per cor de gerra mesclada, c’anc no·n cobrem dinairada anz qand a als colps mestier, ant lor coreilla prestada,7 [thirty such fighters: each has a cape full of holes – all, lords and co-lords – because of our passion to join the fight, for we never gained a penny from it; but every time there is a need for blows, they have claimed their part]. All this is bathed in an aristocratic atmosphere of joyous, carefree destruction which makes the lord of Hautefort literally voice his jubilation in the envois that close the piece. A Tolosa, part Montagut, Fermara·l coms son gomfano El prat comtal, costa·l Peiro; E qand aura son trap tendut, E nos lotjarem de viro Tant que tres nuoitz i jairem nut. E seran i ab nos vengut Las poestatz e li baro E li plus honrat compaigno Del mon e li plus mentaugut; Que per aver, que per somo, Que per pretz s’i serant mogut. E desse que serem vengut, Mesclar s’a·l torneis pel cambo E·ll Catalan e·ll d’Arago Tombaran soven e menut, 7 Gouiran 1985, 20, 15–21.

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the first appearance of the herald Que no·ls sostenran lor arso, Tant grans colps los ferrem nos drut. E non pot esser remasut Contra·l cel non volon tronco E que cendat e cisclato E samit non sion romput, Cordas e tendas e paisso E trap e pavaillon tendut. Lo reis q’a Tarascon perdut E·l seigner de Mon-Albeo, Rotgiers e·l fills Bernart Otho E lo coms Peire lor n’aiut E·l coms de Fois ab Bernardo E·N Sans, fraire del rei vencut. De lai, pensson de garnizo, Que de sai lor er atendut. Totz temps vuoill que li aut baro Sion entre lor irascut.8 [In Toulouse, beyond Montaigu, the count will plant his standard in the PréComtal, near Peyrou; and when he has erected his tent, we shall settle all around in such numbers that we shall have to sleep on the bare ground for three nights. And the great lords and most honoured and famous barons and companions will have come there with us; some will have come for gain, some for the summons, some for glory. And as soon as we arrive, fighting will break out on the terrain, and the Catalans and Aragonese will fall frequently and in great numbers, for their ­saddle-bows will not support them, so great will be the doughty blows with which we shall strike them. And nothing can stop lance splinters flying up to the heavens and the ­ripping of clothes of sendal, sisclaton and samit, and the destruction of ropes, tents, tent posts and standing pavilions,

8 Gouiran 1985, 9, 13–46.

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wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y or the king who has lost Tarascon and the lord of Montauberon, Roger and the son of Bernard Atho and count Pierre coming to their aid, along with the count of Foix with Bernard and Sancho, brother of the vanquished king. Over there let them take thought to getting equipped, for here people will be paying attention to them. I always want the high barons to be inflamed against each other.] Even if the battle for which it had been thought necessary to call on Bertran’s poetic services did not take place, the troubadour was amply to make up for it a few years later when the war which had been averted ended up bursting out and hence providing the poet with the means to exercise his talents. But in order to consider some of the sirventés by which he distinguished himself, we shall need some historical background. At the beginning of the 1180s the heirs of Henry II of England were pitted against each other in fierce rivalry. His eldest son, the Young King Henry, already twice crowned, paradoxically found himself in an inferior situation compared to that of his younger brothers. Richard had been provided with the lands of Aquitaine by his mother Eleanor, and Geoffrey became count of Brittany while still a child, through his marriage. Even if it would be an exaggeration to say that their father gave them free rein in their domains, the fate of the Young King was much worse than theirs: he possessed nothing of his own, since all the lands that were eventually to be his belonged for the time being to his father, who was very little inclined to give up the least fragment of his power. The prince therefore received, or should have received, an income which he found far too paltry for his highly expensive needs and for the open-handedness which brought him the self-­interested praises of numerous troubadours. Encouraged by the barons of Aquitaine, who did not overly appreciate Richard’s harsh rule, the Young King, weary of endless vain recriminations, had got to the stage of making plots. Nevertheless he probably lacked the strength of character necessary to press home his advantage. When his father, busy besieging Talairan at the Puy-Saint-Front at Périgueux with Richard and Geoffroy, summoned his firstborn, the latter resisted and tarried for a long time in Limoges with one of his co-conspirators. However, he did not dare to oppose his father’s pressure any further and agreed, much to the detriment of the Aquitanian barons, to allow himself to be reconciled to Richard, before going back on this and fleeing to France. It was probably during this period that the sirventés was composed. One can well imagine the feelings of disappointment and rage of the Aquitanian barons thus left in the lurch. It was not so much that they were reduced to their own forces, since the Young King could bring them nothing apart from his tournament team at best; but his defection above all deprived their movement of

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the first appearance of the herald any feudal justification and hence the support of allies from outside of the Plantagenet domains. I do not know whether, for the sirventés Pois Ventadorns e Comborns ab Segur, the lord of Hautefort was charged with expressing their fury. Its formulation rather suggests that he took it upon himself without needing to be pushed into it. Besides, unlike the count of Toulouse, the Aquitanian barons were his equals, or nearly so, in their common misfortune. Pois Ventadorns e Comborns ab Segur E Torena e Monfortz ab Gordo Ant faich acort ab Peiregos e jur, E li borzes si claven de viro, M’es bel q’ieu chant e que m’en entremeta D’un sirventes per lor assegurar; Q’ieu non vuoill ges sia mia Toleta, Per q’ieu segur non i pogues estar. Ha! Puoig-Guillem e Clarenz e Graignol E Saint-Estier, mout avetz grand honor, Et eu meteus, qui conoisser la·m vol, Et a sobrier Engolesmes, maior D’En Charretier que guerpis la charreta; Non a deniers ni no·n pren ses paor; Per qu’ab honor pretz mais pauca terreta Q’un gran empier tener ab desonor.9 [Since Ventadour, and Comborn, and Ségur, and Turenne, and Montfort, and Gourdon, have come to an agreement and bound themselves by oath to Périgueux, and the burghers are locking themselves in all around, it pleases me to sing and undertake a sirventés to reassure them; for I certainly would not want Toledo to be mine if I could not safely stay there. Ah! Puy-Guilhem, and Clérans, and Grignols, and Saint-Astier, you are most honourable, and so am I, if anyone will acknowledge me to be so, and above all Angoulême, more than Sir Carter who has abandoned the cart; he has no money and seizes none without fear. I therefore prize more highly a small parcel of land ruled with honour than a great empire held with dishonour.] If the first text only gives the names of adversaries, in order to leave the door open to all those who would like to come and share the glory, this time by contrast we 9 Gouiran 1985, 20, 1–16.

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wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y have a list of the greatest number of potential allies. It is as if all these names of lordships are tolling a veritable bell. In the first two stanzas we find poetry of terrifying effectiveness, rendered all the more so by the use of parallels. In both stanzas Bertran begins by listing all that Aquitaine has produced in the way of splendid names – the fiefs of all its allies who are coming to cover themselves with glory – hammering home the conclusions with pithy, proverb-like expressions. Between these two poles but inverting them from one stanza to the next, he inserts himself personally into the list and takes care to exclude those he esteems unworthy to share in this military glory. At first we have the surprising list of plotters. This might be thought to amount to a way of handing over to the king of England the name of his enemies. More probably it is a way of burning these lords’ boats, forcing them to persist, willingly or not, along the path of glory, by holding the sword of the sirventés at their back. Heading the list are the viscounts of the Limousin, the men of Périgord, and in a prominent position Talairan of Périgueux, who was shouldering the main part of the effort. Then, in response to the warlike tolling of aristocratic names, Bertran uses just a single line to evoke the atmosphere of war: E li borzes si claven de viro. These burghers, ridiculous cowards in the eyes of the milites, who rush to lock their doors when the times are epic, also serve to remind us that war is the moment, as our poet says elsewhere, when sera rics qi toldra volontiers (‘anyone who is ready to pillage will be rich’).10 It is as if, in the heart of a lord, or a joven in particular, there was never much distance between the pillager and the epic hero. After this the main proposition, occupying the second half of the stanza, is entirely devoted to the troubadour himself. He presents himself not as someone who is writing in order to respond to the request of a great feudatory or a king but as one who simply follows his free will (m’es bel), one who is only subject to aristocratic moral imperatives. He is not at anyone else’s beck and call. It is the others who need the poet to come and reassure them by means of a sirventés (a technical word which did not appear in Lo coms m’a mandat), as if the term implied a form of satire which would have made no sense in the war between Toulouse and Aragon. Everything up to the final apothegm makes Bertran the subject, placing him at the centre of the moral value system. Rather than keeping to general formulae or deeds of epic heroes, the troubadour makes his own opinion into the rule to which he expects others to conform, as he multiplies the ‘ieu’ (‘I’) and other first-person signs. How could one imagine that a troubadour who was not at the same time a lord of some importance and acknowledged worth could allow himself to use such formulations? To begin with, the second stanza seems to follow the same process of accumulation as the first, but in fact there is no lack of variation. True, there is the same listing of lords, this time with more from the Périgord than the Limousin, 10 Gouiran 1985, 32, 24.

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the first appearance of the herald but what only appeared as the presentation of allies now reveals itself as a roll of honour, whose pride of place is allotted to the lords of Angoulême whom Richard had tried to deprive of their brother’s heritage. Once again the placing of words is significant: the lord-troubadour who, as we have just seen, has displayed high self-esteem as a poet, finds a way to slip into the roll of honour in between the four Périgord lords and those of Angoulême. Moreover, the periphrasis which is supposed to lend a slight nuance of modesty to such pride, ‘Ah! Puy-Guilhem, and Clérans, and Grignols, and Saint-Astier, you are most honourable, and so am I, if anyone will acknowledge me to be so’, actually only serves to emphasise his merit. In the first stanza, it was as a composer that Bertran put himself forward; in the second, it is as a lord who acts according to what is expected of him, in other words by proving his qualities as a bellator. However, Bertran is wise enough not to place himself in the first rank and rather merges into the list where a veritable trumpet-blast draws attention to the lords of Angoulême, their name stressed by the enjambement emphasising the word ‘maior’, which combines with the following line to form what might be called the alexandrine of shame. In fact Bertran de Born, a good reader of Chrétien de Troyes11 and more pertinently here the Chevalier de la Charrete, which has been dated to 1181, endows for the occasion the deceitful royal prince of England with the murderous senhal En Charretier, ‘Sir Carter’, or even worse, ‘My Lord of the Cart’. The relative clause que guerpis la charreta seeks to explain it with this comment: Non a deniers ni no·n pren ses paor./ Per qu’ab honor pretz mais pauca terreta/ Q’un gran empier tener ab desonor! According to the gloss provided by the author of the razo to this sirventés, ‘He [Richard] had stolen the cartage revenues (the Young King took a tax on cartage granted him by his father)’.12 Some commentary was desirable – even if it would be a miracle if the tax mentioned by the razo actually corresponded to historical reality! – and the audience of the razo was not all, as was the lord of Hautefort, very familiar with contemporary French literature. But we do better to rely on the gloss provided by Bertran himself in D’un sirventes no·m cal far loignor ganda, a sirventés of the same period and on the same subject: Que malvatz fai, car aissi viu a renda/ de liurazon a comte et a garanda (‘For he behaves basely, living like this entirely on what he is given, counted out and measured’). In other words, a king worthy of the name is self-reliant.13

11 Lefèvre 1970, vol. II, p. 605, sees in v. 57, Per la costuma tener de S’abrils e foillas e flors, a reminiscence of Érec et Énide. 12 Gouiran 1985, p. 183: el avia toltas las rendas de las caretas (de las quals caretas lo reis joves prendia certa causa, si com lo paire l’o avia donat). The author even repeats, some lines later, En Richartz l’avia toltas las rendas de las caretas. 13 Gouiran 1985, 23, 9–10. After this war Bertran will accuse Alfonso of Aragon, who had come to support Henry II, of having come esser soudadiers logaditz (Gouiran 1985, 23, 9), ‘to hire himself out as a mercenary’, which he develops in sirventés 24, 61–64 with E reis que loger atenda/ De seignor, bel deu affanar;/ Et el venc sai per gazaignar/ Mais qe per autra fazenda (‘And when a

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wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y Nonetheless, the troubadour’s thought is not really clear. Chrétien de Troyes’s readers know that by mounting the cart Lancelot is far from dishonouring himself, even if this situation was supposed to represent the worst possible shame in the eyes of those who lived at the time of Arthur. Chrétien takes great care to clarify this: ‘Carts in those days held the place of our pillories today’.14 We should therefore understand Bertran to mean that the Young King has had the courage, like Lancelot, to confront a situation which seemed ignominious to outside observers but which, for those in the know – a new type of entendenz as it were – proved his courage and merit. We might, if we did not share the heroic-epic vision of Bertran de Born’s world, understand that the Young King’s attitude towards his father was far from being a model of loyalty. We may recall that on the prince’s death, even if the author of the Histoire de Guillaume le Maréchal does not hesitate to write that the young Henry le fist puis si bien en sa vie/ qu’il raviva chevalerie/ qui a cel tens ert pres de morte (‘then acted so well in his life that he revived chivalry which at that time was near death’),15 the chronicler William of Newburgh is severe to the point of comparing him to Absalon: he declares that he is dead too soon considering his age but much too late considering his deeds, and he explains the manifestations of sorrow that followed his death by the dreadful biblical adage: Stultorum infinitus est numerus, ‘the number of fools is infinite’. It is interesting by the way to recall that Dante will also evoke Absalon in relation to the Beltramo dal Bornio of the Divine Comedy. Bertran confirmed his accusation of lack of firmness in a sirventés composed in the same period on the structure of a fashionable love song by Giraut de Bornelh. Despite the difference in form his condemnation was no less severe. This time he highlighted not the praise of vassals more courageous than their overlord but a clear, uncompromising exposé of the situation. He compared the Young Henry with epic heroes, to his great disadvantage, and the place names recited in a litany represented not the allies he had abandoned but the towns and estates over which the royal prince’s lack of will would prevent him ruling. D’un sirventes no·m cal far loignor ganda, tal talan ai que·l diga e qe l’espanda, car n’ai razon tant novella e tant granda del Joven Rei q’a fenit sa demanda son frair Richart, pois sos paire·l comanda, tant es forsatz! Pois N’Aenrics terra non ten ni manda, sia reis dels malvatz! king expects his pay from a lord, he certainly needs to take the trouble to earn it. Well, he came here to earn money more than for anything else’). 14 Roques 1967, vv. 321–22 (De ce servoit charrete lores/ don li pilori servent ores). 15 Paul Meyer, L’histoire de Guillaume le Maréchal, comte de Striguil et de Pembroke, régent d’Angleterre de 1216 à 1219, poème français (Paris, 1891), 2639–41.

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the first appearance of the herald Que malvatz fai, car aissi viu a randa de liurazon a comte et a garanda. Reis coronatz que d’autrui pren liuranda mal sembla Arnaut lo marques de Belanda, ni·l pro Guillem que conquis Tor Mirmanda, tant fon presatz! Pos en Peitau lor ment e lor truanda, no·i er mais tant amatz. Ja per dormir non er de Coberlanda reis dels Engles ni conqerra Yrlanda ni tenra Angieus ni Monsaurel ni Canda ni de Peiteus non aura la miranda; ni sera ducs de la terra normanda ni coms palatz ni de Bordels ni dels Gascos part Landa seigner ni de Basatz. Conseill vuoill dar el son de ‘N’Alamanda’ lai a·N Richart, si tot no lo·m demanda: ja per son frair mais sos homes non blanda. Nonca·is fai el, anz asetga e·ls aranda, tol lor chastels e derroca et abranda devas totz latz. E·l reis tornei lai ab cels de Garlanda e l’autre, sos coignatz! Lo coms Jaufres, cui es Bresilianda, E volgra fos primiers natz, car es cortes, e fos en sa comanda regesmes e duchatz.16 [I won’t put off composing a sirventés any longer, I’m so keen to speak it openly and spread it abroad. I have such a new, extraordinary theme for it: the Young King has renounced his claims against his brother Richard, because his father tells him to – so he is forced into it! Since Lord Henry neither holds nor governs land, let him be king of the cowards! For he acts like a coward, living like this entirely on an allowance counted out and measured. A crowned king who takes rations from others hardly seems like Arnaut the marquis of Belanda, or the valiant William who 16 Gouiran 1985, 11.

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wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y conquered Mirmanda Tower. He was so glorious! Since he lies and deceives them in Poitou, he will never be much loved there as much. It is not by sleeping that he will be king of the English in Cumberland, or conquer Ireland, or hold Anjou or Monsaureau or Candes, or have the watchtower of Poitiers; nor will he be duke of the land of Normandy, or count palatine of Bordeaux or lord of the Gascons beyond the Landes or of Bazas. I want to give some advice to Sir Richard over there, to the tune of ‘Lady Alamanda’, even if he hasn’t asked me for it; let him never more treat his men favourably for fear of his brother. He doesn’t do so anyway; instead he besieges them, gnaws away at their possessions, seizes their castles, creates ruin and fire on all sides. Let the king go and tourney there with those of Garlande and the other one, his brother-in-law! I wish count Geoffrey, to whom Broceliande belongs, were the elder brother, for he is courtly, and that the kingdom and the duchy were under his command.] In reality, since Henry II was well aware of the danger in letting his eldest son plot at the French court, he multiplied his promises, and the prodigal son returned. But nothing had changed other than that he now found his brother of Brittany more disposed to listen to him. Henry II wanted Richard and Geoffrey to agree to pay homage to their elder brother. Geoffrey did so, but Richard refused outright; he was master of his mother’s lands, just as his brother would one day be of his father’s. The king imposed his will once again, but when Richard submitted, it was the Young Henry’s turn to refuse. It seems he then revealed to his father the treaties agreed with the Aquitanians. What followed is unclear: according to some chroniclers, the king wanted to achieve a general peace treaty, which presupposed the signature of the Aquitanian barons; Geoffrey, like a good disciple, apparently offered to go and persuade them to come, but when he joined them, sparked off a rebellion, and was soon joined by his elder brother. Such naïvety fits ill with what is known of Henry II, but what we do know is that when he himself appeared outside Limoges he was greeted with a volley of arrows. And this was the moment for Bertran to resume normal service. He vigorously composes a piece which he designates, not by the word sirventés, but by the more general verb chantar. This does not stop him taking considerable care over its poetic form, which consists in coblas quaternas, three groups of four stanzas – an extremely rare stanzaic structure. And once again he starts composing, he says, in response to a command; however, the first line suffices to transmit the core of his message, since the one he calls lo reis is in fact the Young King. It is only later that he will refine the term with joven rei, for in his eyes, Henry II is now no more than lo reis annat, the bygone king, mercilessly pensioned off because of his age, and whose sons the troubadour claims to reproach for having disturbed his peace. 114

the first appearance of the herald But to retain our focus on the herald’s role which Bertran de Born seems to assume here, and which may seem even more characteristic than it was during the Toulousain affair, one notes that once again the herald’s role consists first and foremost in recruiting combatants. To this end our troubadour begins by establishing an inventory of places. Bertran has understood full well that the war he is promoting will not be a minor one: he sings a l’auzen del mon menassat (‘in the hearing of the threatened world’), and what is at stake in the fighting is clearly the succession to Henry II which most patently does not only concern his vassals and his children but many others besides. Incidentally, does he not foresee that the battlefield will move around and that the fight will involve the clash of the Normans, French and Flemish? In any event, if Bertran has clearly chosen which side he is on, it is interesting to see that there is little question of blame in this text. Although the envois celebrate the glory of Geoffrey of Brittany and the Young King, their enemy Richard the Lionheart is on the receiving end of several compliments: not only is he alleged to have given lessons in tactics to his older brother, but the troubadour even compares him with a wild boar, while correcting the image by saying that his fury will not manage to get the better of him. The only character of high rank whom Bertran thinks it is useful to lecture is the king of France. At the same time as the lord of Hautefort, a great lover of chansons de geste, recalls the traditional military superiority of the French in those epics, he reproaches Philip of France for not caring enough about his reputation for glory, and for tin-plating his conduct when it would be more valuable gold-plated. Ieu chan, que·l reys m’en a preguat, A l’auzen del mon menassat De l’afar d’aquesta guerra, D’aquest juec que vey entaulat; E sabrem, quant l’auran joguat, Dels quals dels filhs er la terra. Tost l’agra·l Reys Joves matat, Si·l coms no·l n’agues essenhat, Mas aissi·ls clau e·ls enserra Qu’Enguolmes a per fort cobrat E tot Centonge deliurat Tro lai part Finibus-Terra. Si·l coms pot far sa voluntat, Que no·l vendon cyst afiat, Ni del tot si dezenferra. Qu’anc cynglar no vim pus irat Quan l’an brocat ni l’an cassat Qu’elh er; mai sos cors non l’erra. 115

wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y De mossenhor lo rey annat, Conosc que an siey filh peccat, Que del sojorn d’Anglaterra L’an ahoras dos ans lunhat. De totz lo·n tenh per enguanat Mai quan de Johan-ses-Terra. Li Guizan si son acordat Entre·lhs e ves lui revelat. Quon aissilh de Lombardia Mai volon esser be menat Per rey que per comte forssat; D’aitan lur trac guarentia. Aquest juec tenc per guazanhat Deves nos e per envidat, Que dels pezos de Valia Avem l’escachier desliurat, Que tug n’aneron esfredat Ses comjat q’us non prendia. En Lemozi fon comensat, Mas de lai lur er afinat. Qu’entre Fransa e Normandia, Ves Giortz e ves Nuoumercat, Vuelh qu’en aujon cridar ‘Arrat!’ E ‘Monjoy!’ e ‘Deus aïa!’ Lo sen venserem ab foudat, Nos, Lemosin, et envezat, Que volem qu’om do e ria; Que·l Norman en son enuiat E dizon, si·s n’eron tornat, Q’uns mais d’elhs sai non venria. Lo rey tenc per mal cosselhat De Fransa, e per piegz guizat; Quar vey que sos fagz estanha Que li valrion mais daurat; E si no val a son conhat; Sens e pretz tem que·l sofranha. Frances, si quon es abdurat Sobre totz e li plus prezat, 116

the first appearance of the herald Paresca q’us non remanha Companh que·l reys aia mandat; Que ja mais no seretz honrat Si non etz en la mesclanha. Lo dux de Berguonh’a mandat Qu’el nos aiudar’a l’estat Ab lo secors de Campanha, On venran tal cinc cen armat Que, quant tug serem aiustat, Non er Peitieus no s’en planha. Reys qui per son dreg si combat A mielhs dreg en sa eretat. E quar conquerec Espanha Karles, n’a hom tos tempz parlat. Qu’ab trebalh et ab larguetat Conquier reys pretz e·l guazanha. Senh’En Rassa, aquest comtat Vos cresca·l reys ab Bretanha! Lo Reys Joves s’a pretz donat De Burcx troqu’en Alamanha.17 [I sing, since the king has asked me to do so, in the hearing of the world threatened by this state of war, about the game I see set out on the table; and we shall know, when they have played it, which of the sons will have the land. The Young King would soon have checkmated Richard if the count hadn’t taught him a lesson, but he encloses and surrounds him so tightly that he’s recovered the Angoumois by force and freed the whole of Saintonge up to Finistère and beyond. If the count can have his way, and if these allies do not sell him down the river and he is still not totally rid of chains, he will rampage more than any wounded or hunted boar we have ever seen; his furious onslaught never leads him off track. I’m aware that the sons of my lord the bygone king have sinned, for it is now two years that they have kept him away from his retreat in England. In my opinion he’s deceived by all of them in this affair, with the exception of John Lackland. 17 Gouiran 1985, 12.

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wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y The Aquitanians have agreed together and risen up against him like Lombards. They prefer to be well treated by a king than forced by a count – this much I can guarantee for them. I consider this game won for our side, and started up again, for we have cleared the board of the pawns of the Vallée; all have run away scared without one of them taking his leave. Everything began in the Limousin, but it will end elsewhere. Between the Ile-de-France and Normandy, towards Gisors and Neufmarché, I want them to hear the shouts of ‘Arras!’, ‘Montjoie! and ‘God aid us!’ We shall conquer sense with folly, we keen Limousins, for we want people to spend and laugh; and the Normans are unhappy about it: they say that if they hadn’t been brought back here, none of them would ever come. I consider the king of France ill advised and even worse led: I see him tinplating his deeds when they would be better for him in gilt; and if he does not help his brother-in-law, I fear good sense and merit will fail him. Frenchmen, since you are the toughest of all and the most praised, let it appear that no companion summoned by the king will stay behind; you’ll never be honoured if you’re not in the thick of the mêlée. The duke of Burgundy has let it be known that he will help us this summer, with the aid of Champagne; some five hundred armed men will come, so that when we’re all assembled, Poitiers will be sure to complain. A king who fights to defend his rights has better right to his inheritance. Because Charlemagne conquered Spain, people have been talking about him ever since. For it is through effort and open-handedness that a king conquers glory and wins it. Lord Rassa, may the king offer you this county as well as Brittany! The Young King has gained glory from Burgos to Germany.] In effect this point is perhaps how Bertran de Born best distinguishes himself from the earliest heralds. What guides him is not concern for recompense, as in the case of the hiraucel of the Histoire de Guillaume le Maréchal.18 It is not that Bertran is completely disinterested; we have seen that he speaks of his poverty and he will 18 Meyer 1891, 3485–90: Lors commensa un[s] chantereals/ Qui ert hirauz d’armes nov[e]als,/ Echanta novele chanson:/ Ne sai qui louot ne que non,/ Mais el refreit out: ‘Mareschal,/ Kar me

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the first appearance of the herald later say, Mas non ai ges Lezinan ni Rancom/ Q’ieu puosca loing osteiar ses aver (‘but I do not own Lusignan or Rancon to let me to go to war far off without money’).19 This may seem very like soliciting, but it may also refer to the duty of generosity which the great only practise with reluctance, usually when the demands of war force them into it. I believe that what is important to the lord of Hautefort is less his personal interest than his desire to impose his personal ideology, essentially founded on the chanson de geste, as we can see from the last full stanza of this long war song, and which can even lead him to voice some awe-inspiring diatribes against the great at the risk of having to pay very dearly for it. But at the end of his career, when King Richard returns, our troubadour has shown him perfect loyalty while the king was a prisoner in Germany and was betrayed by so many of his vassals, and he concludes a sirventés of welcome with this stanza:20 Bo·m sap l’usatges q’a·l leos Q’a ren vencuda non es maus, Mas contr’orgoill es orgoillos. E·l reis non a baros aitaus, Anz, qan vezon que sos affars es mendre, Poigna chascus cossi·l puosca mesprendre. E no·us cujetz qu’eu fassa motz a vendre, Mas per ric bar deu hom tot jorn contendre. [I like the way a lion behaves: it is not cruel to the defeated creature but is proud against the proud. The king has no such barons; when they see his affair in decline, each tries his best to harm him. And don’t think I’m composing words for sale; one should always fight for a powerful baron.] We might smile at seeing that it was not without some embarrassment that the former bellicose rebel was now supporting the more powerful man, and was feeling obliged to forestall any possible accusation of composing motz a vendre. If Bertran de Born, in his early career war songs, could act as a herald in his calls to combat, full of detail designed to show waverers how much it was in their interest to take part in the forthcoming battle, his compositions always have an epic background, in which he saw the total justification of the idea of feudal nobility. We should also remember that in tandem with his indispensable political skill and his constant focus on aristocratic duty, he never lost sight of his attention to poetic form, and through this he greatly contributed to giving the sirventés its letters patent. We might therefore conclude that there is a considerable difference between the lord of Hautefort and the herald, as shown by the examples taken from Chrétien

donez un boen cheval!’ (‘Then a little singer who was a new herald began to sing a new song: I do not know whom it praised or not, but it had the refrain, “Marshal, do give me a good horse!’). 19 Gouiran 1985, 28, 13–14. 20 Gouiran 1985, 36, st. V.

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wa r i n c h a n s o n s d e g e s t e a n d ly r i c p o e t r y de Troyes and the Histoire de Guillaume le Maréchal; but does this difference persist? The question arises when one reads what Michel Stanesco wrote of the herald: He participates very closely in chivalric life, right from the twelfth century on; he became an intimate of princes, constituted the chroniclers’ main source of information, and became a writer himself. More than a guardian of chivalric tradition, was he not the living expression of a certain vision of the world?21 Doesn’t he seem to have been thinking of Bertran de Born?

21 Stanesco 1988, p. 184: ‘Il participe de très près à la vie chevaleresque, et cela dès le XIIe siècle; il devint un familier des princes, constitua la principale source d’information des chroniqueurs, fut lui-même écrivain. Plus qu’un gardien de la tradition chevaleresque, ne fut-il pas l’expression vivante d’une certaine vision du monde?’

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III The albigensian crusade

9 DRAMA QUEEN? WORSE: A JONGLEUR! – OR HOW TO D I S C R E D I T A N O P P O N E N T: T H E R E P R E S E N TAT I O N O F B I S H O P FULK OF TOULOUSE, ALIAS FOLQUET DE MARSEILLE, BY THE ANONYMOUS AUTHOR OF THE SONG OF THE ALBIGENSIAN CRUSADE It is a commonplace of the cantigas d’escarnho e maldizer of the Gallego-­ Portuguese lyric to label an enemy trovador with the withering epithet segrel or jongleur, but I have recently had occasion to emphasise, in connection with Sordel, how wounding it could be to this troubadour of aristocratic origin to be treated as a joglar, more or less forced by ill fortune as he was to share the existence of these Occitan author-composer-interpreters swarming into the courts of northern Italy, once the Albigensian Crusade had deprived troubadours and jongleurs of their Occitan bases.1 This distinction between a troubadour, known for composing only for love of his lady, and a jongleur, accused of being inspired purely by a taste for cash, was certainly not unknown in Occitan lands in the thirteenth century, and Sordel himself must have experienced it at the court of Provence. It seems obvious that the attitude of this man from Goito, who refused to see himself identified as a joglar and who made an energetic claim to his quality as a trobador, has little to do with the troubadour Folquet de Marseille after his metamorphosis into Bishop Fulk of Toulouse. In the well-known anecdote Robert de Sorbon relates that ‘whenever Folquet, bishop of Toulouse, heard a song he had composed during the time when he lived among lay people, he would put himself on bread and water for the rest of the day’. The sin of which the prelate accused himself is most likely to have been his past devotion to pernicious vanities which were leading his audience astray and turning him aside from the urgent search for salvation, rather than for having sought profit like a common joglar instead of devoting himself to fin’amor like any good troubadour, which was a purely 1 See Gouiran 2006.

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the albigensian crusade secular matter. Besides, even if it would be very difficult to work out the exact state of the future bishop’s fortune, this Genoese merchant’s son never had the reputation of lacking financial means. So it is hardly surprising to witness the anonymous author of the second part of the Song of the Albigensian Crusade2 putting these lines into the mouth of the Count of Foix: ‘With his lying songs and his insinuating words which lead to perdition all those who sing or recite them, with his honed and polished repartees, with our gifts which have made a jongleur out of him, with his bad doctrine, he has become so rich that no-one dares defend what he opposes.’3 If the first two lines of the quotation may seem fair enough, a straightforward attack in the form of a criticism that is both literary and moral, the considerations that follow – ‘with our gifts which have made a jongleur out of him, [. . .] he has become so rich’ – are of a very different order. They recall Sordel’s debates with his adversaries, who treat him as a joglar in order to humiliate him by dragging him down to their level, so much so that this seems rather out of place in the Count of Foix’s argument. This raises questions about what the intention of the Anonymous might be, the readers of his Song being well aware that he rarely acts without conscious design. If we examine the Song as a whole, we cannot but note that its first author, Guilhem de Tudela, did not have time to give to our bishop the place he deserved; and that very oddly, in the two short laisses he does devote to him,4 while praising him highly as ‘the bishop of Toulouse, Folquet, he of Marseille, whom no-one equals in goodness’,5 he devotes the main part of the text to reporting his audience’s accusations and jibes against him. I am happy to concede that this is designed to strengthen the rebuke to the Toulousains for behaving so badly towards such a holy man, and hence to justify the punishment that will land on them, but it must still be granted that this makes more space for the reported criticisms than for the bishop’s praises. In fact it is the Anonymous who will flesh out the character of Fulk, even if here again the beginnings are certainly modest. We see him taking part in the battle of Muret: before the sortie which will finally turn out to be successful, he blesses the

2 All quotations are taken from Martin-Chabot’s edition. 3 Que ab cansos messongeiras e ab motz coladitz/ Dont totz hom es perdutz qui·ls canta ni los ditz/ Ez ab sos reproverbis afilatz e forbitz,/ Ez ab los nostres dos, don fo enjotglaritz/ Ez ab mala doctrina es tant fort enriquitz/ C’om non auza ren diire a so qu’el contraditz (145.62–67). 4 L’evesques de Tholosa, Folquets, cel de Maselha/ Que degus de bontat ab el no s’aparelha,/ E l’abat de Cistel l’us ab l’autre cosselha./ Totjorn van prezican la gent co no·s revelha [. . .]/ Anc re que preziquesson no mezon dins l’aurelha/ Ans dizon per esquern: ‘Ara roda l’abelha [. . .]’ (46.1–4, 8–9); Li crezen dels eretges, que an ab lor paria,/ Van dizen que l’avesques, l’abat e la clercia/ Les fan mesclar ves lor, e per aital folia/ Que l’us destrua l’autre [. . .] (47.5–8). 5 L’evesques de Tholosa, Folquets, cel de Maselha / Que degus de bontat ab el no s’aparelha (46.1–2).

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r e p r e s e n tat i o n o f b i s h o p f u l k o f t o u l o u s e crusader troops, with the efficiency of one who realises that the blessing must in no way delay them: in the passage of laisse 39 devoted to them, Montfort occupies sixteen lines in words or actions, Baldwin three, Guillaume de la Barre three and the bishop’s blessing one. We might expect him to play a more important role in Simon’s entry into Toulouse where, after all, following the rout of Muret, he is one of the rare surviving figures of authority. In fact the author is content to mention him once in the council preparing this entry. Unlike Simon who, in the early stages of his sway over Toulouse, refuses on reflection to destroy the city which would definitively harm his own interests – which will not prevent him calling regularly for this later on – Fulk is already a partisan of the extreme solution, which he will argue for in Montfort’s councils with the regularity worthy of a Cato. But in fact it is at precisely two highly significant moments of the Song that the bishop moves from a supporting role to one of protagonist. He takes one of the leading roles at the time of the Lateran Council where he is the spokesman of the Montfort party, as well as when the crusading army turns back towards Toulouse after the defeat at Beaucaire. My study will therefore limit itself to these two episodes. To recall the sequence of speeches at the Council: the debate is introduced by Innocent III, whom the Anonymous presents throughout as a just man and hence totally favourable to the cause of the Occitan lords whose rights he recognises, but who does not have the means to oppose the prelates he is obliged to follow as their leader. After the pope, the first to express himself, in direct speech, is Count Raimon-Roger of Foix. One only has to glance at Table 9.1 to recall that Clio is first and foremost a muse; in other words, for Antiquity, history is a literary genre and not a science consisting of the precise reporting of facts. However scrupulous the Anonymous was, he was much too educated not to be aware of this, and he had too much of a taste for grand frescoes to confine himself to the mundane labour of a chronicler. One only has to compare the descriptions of the two main protagonists of the scene to see the difference in treatment meted out to them by the author. The first is as follows: Meanwhile, before the pope, for it was the time and moment, the Count of Foix rose to his feet and the arguments came to him in abundance; he knew very well how to develop them. He knew very well how to develop them in a sensible and judicious manner. When the Count of Foix spoke, standing on the paving, the whole assembly paid attention, looking at him and listening to him. He had a fresh complexion and fine physique. He approached the pope and said to him eloquently [. . .].6 6 Mas denant l’Apostoli, car es temps e sazos/ Se leva·l coms de Foih, et aonda·l razos/ Ez el sap la ben diire./ Ez el sap la ben diire ab sens e ab escient./ Cant lo coms se razona desobre·l paziment/ tota la cort l’escouta, l’esgarda e l’entent;/ Ez ac la color fresca e lo cors covinent;/ E venc a l’Apostoli e dih li belament [. . .] (143.39–41 and 144.1–5).

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the albigensian crusade Table 9.1  Count of Foix’s speech (144.1–42)

Bishop’s reply (145.4–25)

description (144.1–5) captatio benevolentiae (144.6–11) claim to personal orthodoxy affirmation of the innocence of his Toulousain suzerains (144.12–23) submission of the two counts to the Church to which they have handed over their property, which has caused them nothing but suffering (144.24–39) Justice should be restored! (144.40–42) the legate brings confirmation (144.43– 145.3)

description (145.4–5) accusation of complicity based on: Montségur Esclarmonde the ‘pilgrims’ (145.16–20) the setting (145.21–23)

conclusion (145.24–25) d’Arnaut de Vilemur’s provocation (145.26–32)

Count of Foix’s response (145.33–146.9)

the justice: response to the accusation: Boulbonne Montségur Esclarmonde the Crusaders (145.34–59) the bishop (145.60–78)

Justice should be restored! (146.1–9) The pope’s response: justice will be restored (146.10–19)

The very person of the count is already working as a captatio benevolentiae for the listeners/readers, but the vague word belament which immediately precedes Raimon-Roger’s tirade is ambiguous: Martin-Chabot translates it as ‘éloquemment’, as if, in the same way as the Anonymous presents the person of the count favourably, he was praising his eloquence in advance. If we then look at the short presentation of the bishop, the difference is clear: ‘At this the bishop of Toulouse rose to his feet, for he was well prepared and prompt to respond’.7 This promptness to answer tempts me to understand belament as ‘calmly’, which would contrast with de respondre amarvitz, ‘prompt to respond’, marking the agitation of the churchman who intervenes without having been invited to speak, in total opposition to the count’s calmness. This contrast in their attitudes is reinforced by the long captatio benevolentiæ, well integrated into the argumentation, which Raimon-Roger addresses to the pope,8 whereas the 7 Ab tant se leva empes, car estè ben aizitz,/ L’evesques de Tholosa, de respondre amarvitz (145.4–5). 8 ‘My Lord, rightful pope, under whose jurisdiction the whole world falls, and who hold the seat and authority of St Peter, in whom all sinners must find a protector and who must uphold law, peace and justice, since you are placed on this seat for our salvation, Lord, hear what I have to say and give

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r e p r e s e n tat i o n o f b i s h o p f u l k o f t o u l o u s e bishop is in such a rush to nail his adversary that he does not take time either to wait to be invited to speak, or to proceed through this obligatory rhetorical commonplace, and he addresses the people present at the Council as if he is in a law court without so much as acknowledging the person of Innocent by a single word.9 By this the reader gains the impression that dignity is more associated with Raimon-Roger than with Fulk. In the somewhat rigorous interplay of parallels that emerges from the table, there are some interesting discrepancies. To the count of Foix, who shows that by agreeing to hand over their lands to the Church the Toulousains have only brought upon themselves death and suffering from the impositions of Montfort, the bishop replies by evoking the sufferings of the martyred crusaders, before letting them as it were speak for themselves. Finally Raimon-Roger retorts that he refuses to see the crusaders as pilgrims, before moving on to the famous ad hominem attack on the bishop to which, tellingly, no-one ever returns, especially not the pope, who nonetheless speaks straight afterwards to put an end to the joust. The great debate focuses on justice, as its conclusions show, equally the count’s or the pope’s, and in a manner which leaves considerable room for other elements, even that of Fulk hammering away at his contention that for causing the crusaders’ martyrdom his adversary ‘should never again own land; that is what he deserves!’10 Even when the count speaks of the people’s sufferings beneath Montfort’s yoke, he appeals less to the public’s sensibility than to the Council’s deliberations and never goes into very precise descriptions: ‘they have been abandoned to killings and tortures’, ‘to Sir Simon Montfort, who seizes them, oppresses them, devastates them, annihilates them, without any pity’, ‘they have fallen into misfortune and death’.11 Just as the brutality of Fulk’s intervention gives the impression of being out of place, so his evocation of what he considers to be the martyrs of Montgey, through his use of a sort of picturesque horror, seems rather inappropriate to the dignity of a debate where he seems to show little concern to face up to his opponents on their own ground: ‘And he has killed, mutilated, crippled and disembowelled so many of your pilgrims, who were serving God by pursuing the heretics, me back all my rights’ (‘Senher dreitz apostolis, on totz lo mon apent/ e te·l loc de sent Peire e·l seu governament,/ on tuit li pecador devon trobar guirent,/ E deus tener drechura e patz e judjament,/ Per so car iest pauzatz al nostre salvament,/ Senher, mos diitz escota e totz mos dreitz me rent’ 144.6–11).  9 ‘Senhors,’ so ditz l’avesques, ‘tug auzetz que·l coms ditz [. . .]’ (145.6). 10 ‘Ja no deu tenir terra, c’aitals es sos meritz!’ (145.25). 11 ‘they were handed over to killings and torture to their worst and most relentless enemy, Sir Simon de Montfort who binds them and hangs them, and destroys them and annihilates them mercilessly (foron lhiurat a mort e a turment/ Al pejor enemic e de pejor talent,/ A·n Simon de Montfort, que·ls lhia e los pent,/ E·ls destruit e·ls abaicha, que merces no lh’en prent (144.27–30), ‘They have fallen into peril and death’ (So vengutz a la mort e al perilhament, 144.32).

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the albigensian crusade mercenaries and “faidits”, that the ground of Montgey has remained encrusted (crostitz) with them, so that France is still in mourning for them and you remain dishonoured by it. Such are the cries of pain of these blind, crippled and mutilated men, none of whom can walk any more without the support of a guide, and whose laments are echoing outside the door, that the one who has massacred, crippled and amputated the limbs of these men should never again own land; this is what he deserves!’.12 Laforas a la porta (v. 21) can be understood in two ways: either literally, meaning that the bishop, with a staggering sense of the theatrical, has indeed had mutilated crusaders brought to Rome to place their appalling wounds under the pope’s very eyes and discredit in advance everything the Occitan counts might have to say; or, more probably, as a form of prosopopoeia in the Grand-Guignol style, if I can be forgiven the anachronism. In either case, the Anonymous is discrediting Fulk who, in a matter of justice, uses exaggerated devices such as blaming the pope – hitherto forgotten – and probably vulgar ones, as the adjective crostitz revoltingly mixes up images of dried blood and bread-crumbs! Decidedly – the thundering riposte of the count of Foix, who virtually treats him as a valet, in any case certainly as an inferior, inclines me to believe this – in comparison with the counts of Toulouse, Foix and Segni (Innocent III’s title), the son of the Genoese merchant clearly does not belong to the same world as those around him, and his speech does not even seem like a troubadour’s. In its histrionic gestures and overblown manner, it seems like a jongleur’s. The second example is even clearer. Once again, the bishop is directly defending the interests of Montfort and not those of the Church. This time we are in Toulouse, during the very last days of August 1216: Simon has just been forced to raise the siege of Beaucaire in what is his first real defeat. In fury he tears off towards Toulouse which he thinks is on the point of defection, wanting to pillage it and hold it to ransom in order to be able to continue war in Provence. Once he has arrived, while he threatens a delegation of frightened Toulousains and debates with the barons and clergy of his council, Fulk wastes no time: he enters the town ‘spurring on his mount’ and incites his flock to leave the town to greet their lord, that ‘dear, good count’, not thinking twice about making any kind of promise: ‘you will be rewarded in this world and in the next you will enjoy the same glory as confessors. He makes no demands on your goods: on the

12 ‘E los teus peregris, per cui Dieus fo servitz,/ Que cassavan eretges e rotiers e faizitz,/ N’a tans mortz e trencatz e brizatz e partitz/ Que lo cams de Montjoy ne remas si crostitz/ Qu’encara·n plora Fransa e tu·n remas aunitz./ Laforas a la porta es tals lo dols e·l critz/ Dels orbs e dels nafratz e d’aicels meg partitz,/ Que negus no pot ir si no lo mena guitz,/ E cel que los a mortz ni brisatz ni cruichitz/ Ja no deu tenir terra, c’aitals es sos meritz!’ 145.16–25.

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r e p r e s e n tat i o n o f b i s h o p f u l k o f t o u l o u s e contrary, he will give you his own, and under his protection you will find yourselves getting better off’.13 Alongside him, in a grotesque doubling, the abbot of Saint-Sernin echoes his master: ‘Lords, reason speaks through the mouth of my lord bishop: go to receive your pardon, go before the count to welcome his lion [. . .] and they will do you not a button’s-worth of harm’.14 At the exhortations of Montfort’s two acolytes the Toulousains begin to leave the town, and during this time Simon’s men start to destroy and pillage. The Toulousains, demoralised, at first can only complain to God of their fate in the general desperation, ‘ “Oh God, how you have put us in Pharoah’s power!” In all the streets women and children weep’,15 before one of the cries by which the town expresses itself revives hearts through the energy of despair: ‘ “Better to die honorably than live in prison!” ’.16 And then comes one of those great crowd movements that the Anonymous excels at depicting, giving the impression that it is the entire town which is defending itself in a veritable war of the people through the solidarity of all social categories: ‘And when all were assembled, sons and fathers and ladies and young girls, they began to construct barricades wherever they could, each one in front of his house’.17 Despite the fire that Simon gave orders to light, the crusaders are driven back and the count himself is reduced to locking himself inside the Château Narbonnais. The Anonymous takes great care to show us that if Montfort has just suffered another defeat on the military level, he has an ally who will allow him to turn a situation around that leaves him little other hope than that of the vengeance he will take on his hostages: However, the bishop reflects on the situation, applying his whole mind to it, in order to find a way of converting the town and its inhabitants. The whole night long he had messengers sent back and forth to show, explain, recount to the Toulousains and call on them to understand the reasoning and specious arguments which made them hope for their salvation, so that he finally imposed on them his way of thinking.18 13 ponhen ad espero (172.27); comte car e bo (172.30), auretz ne gazardo/ En est segle e en l’autre vera confessio./ Que re no vol del vostre, ans vos dara del so/ Et en la sua garda penretz milhorazo (172.33–36). 14 ‘Senhors,’ so ditz l’abat de Sent Cerni, ‘razo/ Ditz mosenher l’ivesque: e pendetz lo perdo/ E anatz enta·l comte recebre·l seu leo. [. . .] Que ja no·us faran tort lo valen d’un boto’ (172. 37–43). The lion is the heraldic sign of the Montforts, decorating Simon’s banner carried before him to mark his presence (Martin-Chabot, vol. 2, p. 207, n. 4). 15 ‘Dieus! co nos avetz meses e·l poder Pharao!’/ Per las carreiras ploran donas e efanto (172.59–60). 16 ‘Car mais val mort ondrada que remandre en preizo!’ (172.64). 17 E can foro ensemble entre·l filh e·lh pairo/ E donas e donzelas, cascus per contenso/ Comensan las barreiras quec denan sa maizo (172.72–74). 18 Mas l’evesques cossira e·i met tot son albir/ Com el puesca la vila e·ls baros covertir;/ La noit fè los messatges e anar e venir/ Per monstrar e retraire e diire e somonir/ Lo sen e la semblansa don cuidero guerir,/ Aisi que sa doctrina lor a faita obezir (172.59–64).

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the albigensian crusade The next day at dawn a small assembly meets in the house of the Commune and, oddly, the bishop is not there. It is the abbot of Saint-Sernin who is in charge of haranguing the participants and leading them into the open jaws of the gaping trap while singing the praises of their pastor: ‘My lord the bishop has spoken up for you so powerfully that the two of them, he and Charity, have won over the count. The bishop is taking up your defence so energetically that the count is angered at it. Together the count and the bishop have agreed on this: that the bishop asks you to yield to his mercy. In person he gives you God and his dignities and those of the pope and all the clergy as guarantors, that for certain you will lose neither your lives, nor your money, land, building in the city, nor anything other of your possessions’.19 This promise through which the Church itself takes the people of Toulouse under its protection is therefore one of the highest solemnity, which does not stop the people in the assembly from expressing – entirely uselessly – all their suspicions: ‘Lord Abbot, if it please you, your loyalty terrifies us: you, the count and the abbot, have taught us, for many times you have put us to the test, that you have never kept any promise that you made to us’.20 The abbot redoubles his assurances, saying to the Toulousains what they want to hear and to believe at all costs: ‘Once the holy Church has taken you under its protection, the count is not so foolish or outrageous as to do anything to you for which he might be reproached. If he were to do anything to you that was wrong or unjust, the Church would raise its voice so loudly on all sides that Rome and the whole of Christendom would hear it!’.21 Despite the undeniable success of the previous day and the minimal trust they have in Montfort and the religious authorities, the orator meets with little opposition, as 19 ‘Car mosenher l’avesques vos a tant razonatz/ Que vencut an lo comte entre·ls e Caritatz./ Tan vos defen l’avesques que lo coms n’es iratz./ Entre·l coms e l’avesque son d’aitant acordatz/ Que l’avesques vos manda qu’en sa merce·us metatz,/ El meteus vos fiansa Deu e sas dignitatz/ E las de l’Apostoli e de totz los letratz/ Que ja cors ni aver ni terras no perdatz,/ Ni bastimen de vila ni autras eretatz’ (174.20–26). 20 ‘N’abas senher, si·us platz,/ Trop nos fai gran paor la vostra lialtatz:/ Vos e·l coms e l’avesques nos avetz castiatz,/ Car en mantas maneiras nos avetz essaiatz,/ Qu’anc re no·ns tenguitz que mandatz nos aiatz’ (175.35–39). 21 ‘Pos que la santa Glieiza vos aia aseguratz/ No es lo coms tan nescis ni tan outracujatz/ Que nulha re vos fassa de qu’el sia encolpatz./ E si re vos fazia que fos tortz ni pecatz/ La Glieiza cridaria enaisi per totz latz/ Que Roma l’auciria e la Crestiandatz!’ (175.43–48).

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r e p r e s e n tat i o n o f b i s h o p f u l k o f t o u l o u s e if, in the absence of a legitimate count at their head, the Toulousains could not get beyond a simple knee-jerk reaction to resist properly.22 No decision is taken at this meeting, which ends with individual considerations, other than to continue the discussion at a general assembly on the communal ground in Villeneuve. There, at the time when daylight grows clear and bright, the bishop goes out to make his way to the assembly outside the town. Knights and bourgeois and the leading inhabitants come there from the town; they go as far as the watchtower. The bishop, the abbot, the provost, the prior and Master Robert are there before them.23 We get lost in speculation about the bishop’s attitude. Why not go to the assembly at the communal ground? It is certainly not because he was afraid to take on the near-perjury represented by the assurances given by the abbot: we see him repeat them later in an analogous situation without batting an eyelid. There are only two possible explanations: either the change of place is important, and the move from the communal house to the open ground of Villeneuve removes the Toulousains yet further from the protection of the town and makes them even more aware of their weakness; or the performance the bishop is about to give is not of the kind that can be repeated without the risk that the public will end up spotting what lies beneath. The word ‘performance’ is not excessive if one thinks of the bishop’s speech about to be pronounced from high up on the mirador. Martin-Chabot suggests that this watchtower was built ‘on the city ramparts, perhaps above the Villeneuve gate, near which the assembly is being held’, and provides the former troubadour with a veritable stage from which he can address an assembly transformed into a theatre audience. The Anonymous’s whole game will involve discrediting the bishop by showing the two sides of his speech, whose apparent preaching ill conceals the reality of trickery. From the beginning of his ‘performance’, the word semblança denounces Fulk’s duplicity. His attitude and words are nothing but sham: ‘The bishop begins his speech sweetly, speaking as if sighing and weeping’,24 and these two lines preceding his actual speech disqualify him before he has even begun. The argument is simple: starting with the captatio benevolentiae Fulk wants to show that in the etymological sense he is in sympathy with his listeners, that the shepherd shares in the sufferings of his flock. Close to the Toulousains, he is neutral, he assures them, and hence best placed to defend their cause with the count. 22 So much so that Aimeric de Castelnau announces quite naturally that he is going to leave; there is never any idea of pursuing any resistance that would make this exile pointless. 23 E cant lo jorns s’esclaira e pren la resplandor/ S’en es ichitz l’avesques fora al parlador;/ Cavaliers e borzes e li baro ausor/ i vengon de la vila e van al mirador./ E l’avesques e l’abas e·l prebost e·l prior/ E maestre Robertz esteron denan lor (175.5–10). 24 E l’avesques comensa sa razo ab dossor,/ En sospiran sermona ab semblansa de plor (175.11–12).

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the albigensian crusade The Anonymous takes the greatest pleasure in accumulating signs of the bishop’s hypocrisy as he plays the holy man but speaks with words of choice ambiguity. What does he mean by the medical vocabulary of the line, ‘may [Jesus] purge you of the evil sap and the unhealthy humour’?25 Doesn’t this mean that the social body of the town is sick and needs to be purged? Isn’t there another means of expelling the ‘evil sap’ and the ‘unhealthy humour’, namely bleeding? If one draws out the consequences from the metaphor, the bishop’s i­ntentions are not particularly veiled. And what is the bon coratge of v. 17 other than ­submissiveness? In fact the bishop is actually a go-between: those who oppose Simon are a sickness or sick people who need to be purged, and the only count known to the bishop and to whom one must submit is, obviously, Simon de Montfort. ­Moreover, there is no question of siding with the Raymonds: to choose their side would be ‘to flee elsewhere’, alhor (v. 21), an ‘elsewhere’ which is both what lies outside the bounds of legitimacy and also the ‘elsewhere’ of exile. Then, in a remarkable turnaround, the metaphor leads Fulk to present their former lord as a threat to his followers: ‘if they choose to believe me, let them not flee elsewhere: I shall keep them safe from the wolf and the wicked robber’.26 Even if we know that the wolf for the Toulousains was a way of designating Simon, it is self-evident that the lob, the mal raubador, the ‘wicked robber’ (v. 22) can only be Raymond: a fine piece of acrobatics, only possible through the art with which the former Folquet juggles religious metaphors, the echoes of gospel parables coming one after the other and colliding as if they were produced by a machine out of control: in the anguished situation in which the Toulousains find themselves, what is meant by the promise to have them ‘graze on sweet-smelling grasses’? The other flights of fancy are every bit as inspired, with the resumption of the parable of the good shepherd (vv. 26–28) followed by a maxim: ‘The one who shakes the tree and causes the flower to fall will certainly not pick a single good fruit that year’, which was aimed at reminding the public of events as painful as they were recent, since the Song, on many occasions, relates how the occupying forces had cut down the fruit trees, especially the olives (laisse 159, v. 71). Then the animal world returns in the speech with the sacrifice envisaged by the bishop: ‘I would rather wild beasts and vultures devoured all my flesh, my blood and my strength, than for you to be illtreated or unfortunate in any way’.27 It is evident, throughout the whole of this text, that the Anonymous is giving free rein to his irony. It should not be forgotten that his part of the Song was written shortly after all the events he is recounting, and that therefore his listeners are familiar with them and that what he says about its bishop is nothing new: hence they cannot fail to compare the mise-en-scène and the good apostle’s tirade with

25 qu’en giet la mala saba e la mala humor (175.16). 26 ‘S’elas me volon creire,/ que no fuian alhor:/ Defendrai las al lob e al mal raubador’ (175.21–22). 27 ‘Tota la carn e·l sanc, la forsa e la vigor/ Voldria que·m manjesso bestias e voltor,/ Que vos de re no fossatz forsat ni pecador’ (175.34–36).

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r e p r e s e n tat i o n o f b i s h o p f u l k o f t o u l o u s e the sequence of these events. They may even be tempted to add a loud ‘Amen!’ to all the misfortunes that the hypocrite has just wished upon himself. To my mind it is only by focusing on the following two intertwined concerns, the bishop’s desire to charm and the Anonymous’s concern to denounce him, that one can understand the length of this speech with its strange accumulation of images which fuse into and give birth to each other: animal images of biblical sheep followed by scavengers who feed on punishment, and plant images providing the décor of a cardboard paradise towards which the new Ysengrin professes to be leading his listeners. As in the case of the abbot of Saint-Sernin’s speech, the tone totally changes once it is a question of dealing with negotiation and the guarantees the Toulousains are to be given. I have emphasised in notes 20 and 21 the energy with which the abbot was making his promises. The bishop is even more definite: ‘I take God and the Virgin Mary as my witness, and the body of the Holy Saviour and all the orders conferred upon me, along with the abbot and the prior, that I am giving you good advice, that I never gave better. If I heard any complaint about anything the count did to you, then you would have God and myself as your defender’.28 It is tempting to say that the grotesque is vying with the infamous in this guarantee given with such firmness: the infamy of a prelate who pollutes what ought to be the most sacred for him in a promise which he knows he will betray almost immediately, grotesque in the association of the abbot and prior placed on the same level as God and the Virgin Mary. And so, when the Toulousains, who have no means of not trusting the one whom they nevertheless know they ought not to trust – ‘whether willingly or by force, the Toulousains are caught in the noose’ – when the Toulousains are accompanied before the count by the bishop and by a certain Gui de Montfort whose presence at Villeneuve – how significant! – the Anonymous had hitherto concealed, it is under the utterly useless protection of the militant and triumphant Churches that they enter the lion’s den. Once they are in the count’s presence, play-acting, tears and promises are over. The mask falls, the real Fulk speaks. We are a long way from the coladitz (cajoling) speeches evoked in Rome by the count of Foix, and the bishop’s words are brief, with the cutting edge and hardness of a weapon. ‘My lord Count’, says the bishop, ‘take these hostages and as many others as you like from among the inhabitants of the town: we shall be able

28 ‘Dieu vo·n trac ad auctor/ E la verges Maria e·l cors sent Salvador/ E trastotas mas ordes e l’abat e·l prior/ Qu’eu vos do bon cosselh, que anc no·n dei milhor,/ E si el re·us fazia, qu’ieu n’ausissa clamor,/ Puichas n’auriatz Dieu e mi defendedor’ (175.54–59).

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the albigensian crusade to tell you which ones and to guide your choice. If you take my advice you will send for them right away’.29 His only concern is to be effective and we see him a little later alluding to the Villeneuve promises without the faintest shadow of remorse coming to cloud his certainties. ‘I am going to show you how to become master of the Toulousains: I have received them mercifully so that you can take them by surprise. If anyone blames you for having broken my guarantee, justify yourself as best you can, by saying that you are excluding them from my protection, the Church and mercy’.30 Of course, it is easy for the Anonymous to put these words into the mouth of the bishop who is thus in the position of denouncing himself in front of the audience listening to the Song of the Albigensian Crusade. Naturally, the bishop is pitilessly criticised: we have seen him treat the pope scandalously at the Lateran Council; he is shown to us in Toulouse as the predecessor of ‘Realpolitik’; the Anonymous compares him with the Antichrist and develops his trickery in detail. But – and this will be my conclusion – he is careful never to lose sight of the accusation that is most hurtful to Fulk/Folquet, the one that most lowers him in the estimation of his own people, even more than in those of his adversaries: his behaviour as a jongleur. After first denouncing him through the mouth of Raimon-Roger, he takes advantage of the fact that preaching is also clearly a sort of theatre (how could a preacher avoid drawing on an actor’s resources?) to reduce this ‘performance’ to a performance of indignity. It is no bishop who could evoke the wounded and the dead of Montgey by means of grand gesticulations, with the coarseness of a quasi-culinary vocabulary; who would roll his eyes brimming with false tears during a speech where animal and vegetable metaphors and images on the stage of the Villeneuve watchtower verge on the baroque. It is a histrionic ham, perfectly capable of cold-bloodedly weeping and ranting before pointing out to Montfort which members of the audience he can incarcerate as he pleases, despite all the most holy guarantees he has given them. At the same time, the pejorative notion of jongleur marks him with the suspicion of avaritia, this interest made explicit in the count of Foix’s speech, even if not specified in the Villeneuve affair.

29 ‘Senher coms,’ ditz l’avesques, ‘etz ostatges penretz/ E d’aquels de la vila aitans cans ne voldretz:/ E sabrem vos diire les cals ni cui trietz./ E si m’en voletz creire, ades i enviaretz’ (176.2–5). 30 ‘Monstrar vos ei la via com los apoderetz:/ Eu los prezi a merce per aiso que·ls sobtetz./ E si om vos blasmava, que melhs vo·n razonetz/ Que de me e de Glieiza e de merce·ls gitetz’ (176.75–78).

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r e p r e s e n tat i o n o f b i s h o p f u l k o f t o u l o u s e I have recalled how much the memory of his troubadour life embarrassed the bishop. The Anonymous was extremely clever in amplifying this weakness by stressing the traditional opposition between jongleur and troubadour, the troubadour he was himself, and the jongleur he endeavoured to find and denounce in the former Folquet. In so doing he adds an aggravating factor to the uncompromising indictment of the bishop Fulk: the accusation of being – a jongleur.

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10 THE FRENCH AGAINST M O N T F O RT ? The war councils held by Simon de Montfort in the second part of the Song of the Albigensian Crusade In exchange for his protection, a feudal lord’s vassals owe him auxilium and consilium by putting at his disposition their armed forces and wise advice. This double service corresponds to the two main time periods of the chanson de geste, the time of fights between redoubtable warriors and the time of reflection which usually precedes battle and allows for the determination of strategy and tactics. This division is often marked in the text by an opposition between narrative and dialogue which brings a certain variety into the epic and, when the situation arises, allows for greater verisimilitude when the epic decides to become a song of history, as in the Song of the Albigensian Crusade.1 As a good troubadour, the anonymous author of the second part of this text has shown himself aware of the need to vary its tone by introducing a number of pages of direct speech, whether the dialogue during which the warrior-­troubadour Gui de Cavalhon sizes up the Young Count of Toulouse while giving him a lecture (laisse 154), or in the tragi-comic scene where Simon de Montfort worms the news of the Toulouse uprising out of the messenger who has brought it, being extremely careful not to let it be known in the camp in order to avoid the demoralisation of his men (laisse 186). This use of direct speech also applies to the ‘official’ councils held by Simon and his chief lieutenants, which I  propose to examine, while leaving aside the ‘hot-blooded’ councils of his barons on the tactics to be adopted in the unfolding conflict. It is therefore not surprising to find official councils only during the siege of Beaucaire, during the spring – summer of 1216 (laisses 156–70), and the two sieges of Toulouse, the first from the end of August to October 1216 (laisses 171–79) and the second from October 1217 to June 1218 (laisses 187–95). To define an ‘official council’ I can only resort to the vocabulary provided almost exclusively by two word-families. The first is clear enough, with

1 Martin-Chabot 1961. All quotations are taken from this edition.

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t h e f r e n c h a g a i n s t m o n t f o rt ? cosselh and its derivative verb cosselhar. There is no doubt about the following lines: Lo coms e.l cardenals e li cosselhador N’Amaldrics e l’ivesques e li autri doctor Cosselheron essems ab cosselh celador.2 But the other word-family is much less clear, since to parlamen corresponds the verb parlar, which is likely to be used frequently in less specialised senses. There is no doubt when the Anonymous writes that Cant foro a la Pasca, venc la gentil sazos, E es ichitz de l’ost n’Amaldric e.n Guios E.l coms e.l Cardenals e mot d’autres baros; Cosselhavan ensemble e parlan a rescos:3 The sense of parlan is guaranteed by the cosselhavan preceding it, and to a lesser but real extent, by the a rescos following it, since councils are generally secret. The same applies to laisse 192 where the author tells us that Montfort A mandat parlament als majors cosselhiers,4 particularly as he states at the end of the debates can del cosselh partiro.5 In fact it can be agreed that the use of the noun parlamen is enough to determine that there is a council taking place: E.l coms de Montfort manda breument sos parlamens: L’ivesques e.l preboide e.ls baros e.ls parens Ins en la tor antiqua parlan celadamens,6 this being once again confirmed by the reference to secrecy and the repetition shortly afterwards: En aquestas paraulas es faitz l’acordamens.7 Further on we find a situation whose similarity is all the more marked for being built on the same rhyme: Et can lo jorns s’aprosma, ab lo temps resplandens, El castel Narbones es faitz lo parlamens; Ins e la tor antiqua, de sobre.ls pazimens.

2 ‘The count, the cardinal, their counsellors, Amaury, the bishop and other wise men deliberated together in secret council’ (199.52–54). 3 ‘When it was Easter the gentle season arrived. Amaury, Gui, the count, the cardinal and many other barons left the camp; they deliberated together and spoke in secret’ (195.1–4). 4 ‘has summoned his chief counsellors to an assembly’ (192.25). 5 ‘when they left the council’ (193.18). 6 ‘The count of Montfort promptly summons his council: the bishop, the provost, the knights and his kin, meeting in the ancient tower, deliberate in secret’ (179.13–15). 7 ‘The agreement was made with these words’ (179.63).

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the albigensian crusade Denant Gui de Montfort, qu’es nafratz malamens Lo coms e la clercia e los baros valens E ab lor la comtessa parlon privadamens.8 Apart from the usual allusion to secrecy, we find the use of the word cosselh to qualify the proposal of Foucaud de Berzy in the course of the exchanges, and above all, the narrative conclusion emphasises the acordament, defined by the echo in the first line of the following laisse in the word cosselh: En aquesta maniera es pres l’acordamens Com fassan los dos setis. Com fassan los dos setis es lo cosselhs donatz Entre.ls baros e.l comte empres e autreiatz.9 But on the other hand, does parlar have this technical sense when the Anonymous writes, E.l coms de Montfort parla ab sos amics privatz?10 I am inclined to think so, since we are then told that these ‘close friends’ include tres avesques (three bishops) including the bishop of Nîmes, e no sai cants abatz (and I don’t know how many abbots), to whom should no doubt be added Simon’s ordinary general staff. It certainly appears that ab sos amics privatz represents the usual secrecy of the council rather than the degree of intimacy of the count of Leicester with its members. In fact the speech with which the count opens the seance leaves no room for doubt: Volh saber de vos autres cal cosselh m’en donatz.11 The situation in laisses 193–94, where the Toulousains have just repulsed the French, is harder to call. Simon has no sooner removed his armour than the bishop and the cardinal come to speak with him. This looks very much like a somewhat improvised council, especially because the intervention of one of his barons, Hugh de Lacy, shows this is not a private conversation between Montfort and the churchmen. In addition, the narrative conclusion seems to confirm a technical sense of parlar: Tant parleron ensemble tro que lo jorn falis.12 This is not just a conversation, for the cardinal adds that they will have to change tactics and, he says, autre cosselhs n’er pris (194.27). Besides, the important decisions which have been taken will be put into practice: the bishop and the countess of Montfort  8 ‘And as day drew near, when it was getting light, the council was held in the Château Narbonnais; within the ancient tower, on the paving, in the presence of Gui de Montfort, gravely wounded, the count, the clergy and the valiant barons, and with them the countess, deliberated in secret’ (189.15–20).  9 ‘In this way it was agreed among them how they would conduct the two sieges. How they would conduct the two sieges was proposed, decided and agreed among the barons and the count’ (189.124–25; 190.1–2). 10 ‘The count of Montfort conferred with his close friends; there were three bishops with them and I don’t know how many abbots. To all he made vehement complaints’ (162.5–7). 11 ‘ “I want to know from you others what counsel you give me about this” ’ (162.22). 12 ‘they spoke together right until nightfall’ (194.57).

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t h e f r e n c h a g a i n s t m o n t f o rt ? leave Toulouse with Pierre des Voisins and Foucaud de Berzy, one of Simon’s main critical councillors. It can also be agreed that we need to take account of relatively varied words designating the summons to the meeting, for example E pregua sos baros e manda sos parens,13 all the more interesting in that its sense is then confirmed by the purely technical line, Els parlan e cosselhan trastotz celadamens.14 One could identify in this way a whole series of verbs including, alongside the main one mandar (160.10; 170.5; 1179.13; 192.25), pregar (170.5), demandar (176.21) and probably apelar: E apres el apela.n Gui e n’Ug de Laces/ E n’Ala e.n Folcaut e n’Aldric lo Flames.15 The idea of secrecy, as we have seen, recurs regularly in connection with these councils: either people are afraid of leaks or spying, which is always possible in a war where there are southerners in both camps, or else they do not fully trust these pilgrim soldiers who have come to fulfil their forty days’ service and who are often reluctant to prolong their involvement any further. Thus the council is held celadamens (170.7; 179.15), privadamens (189.20), a rescos (195.4) and perhaps celador (199.54), to which we should add the discretion indicated by quetz: En apres el demanda sos barons dreit e quetz.16 We may even sometimes wonder, when the councillors gather around their lord, in a closed space or otherwise, whether that is enough to indicate the holding of a council: we have seen that the mention ins en la torn antiqua occurs twice (179.15; 189.17), and we might add ‘in the Château Narbonnais’ (186.16) for buildings, ‘inside the silk tent where the eagle shines’ (170.6) or ‘inside a pavilion’ (200.67) for tents, and elsewhere the simple idea of stepping aside from the main part of the army (168.1; 195.2–3). So in laisse 200, El jorn de Pentacosta, can granan li broton, Lo coms auzic la messa e la profession; Ez en apres s’en intra dedins un pabalhon E.l Cardenals e l’abas e l’avesque felon, N’Amaldrics e.n Bochartz e so fraire.n Guion, En Alas, en Folcauz e li autre baron,17

13 ‘and he calls for and summons his barons and kin’ (170.5). 14 ‘they speak and deliberate in secret’ (170.7). 15 ‘Then he called for Sir Gui and Sir Hugh de Lacy and Sir Alan and Sir Foucaud and Sir Aldric the Flemish’ (171.64–65). 16 ‘Then he summons his barons promptly and noiselessly’ (176.21). There is even a passage where Martin-Chabot translates An dig en lor secret by ‘ont délibéré en conseil secret’ (deliberated in secret council, 141.32). 17 ‘On the day of Pentecost, at the time when the young shoots are producing grain, the count listened to Mass and took part in the procession; then he entered a pavilion and, with him, the cardinal, the abbot, the treacherous bishop, Amaury, Bouchard, Gui his brother, Alan, Foucaud and other barons’ (200.65–70).

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the albigensian crusade it seems as if there is an absence of any technical vocabulary, and the narrative repetition can tell us nothing since the meeting is interrupted by the arrival in the camp of a new crusader, Raoul, count of Soissons; and yet the fact that all these men are withdrawing into a conclave seems to correspond physically to the ‘secrecy’ of the council, especially as the Anonymous provides in this passage one of the most exhaustive lists of Simon’s councillors. When all the councillors are there, there is a good chance of there being a council! Now the field of investigation has been defined,18 we may ask ourselves who these people are who take part in the count of Montfort’s councils. In the first place, unsurprisingly, it seems clear that the lord’s importance is marked by the number of people he summons, and we shall see two examples of this. Firstly, at the first council of Beaucaire, ‘thirty of them met with him in a leafy orchard’,19 and these thirty, we are first told, are seus baros dictans, which Martin-Chabot glosses as ‘ceux de ses barons qui prennent part aux décisions’; but among them there speaks the bishop of Nîmes who does not appear regularly to belong to this category. In the second case the Anonymous also stresses the quantity of councillors surrounding Simon: ab sos amics privatz/ E ac i tres avesques e no sai cants abatz.20 At other times the author prefers, in order to achieve the same aim, to give a list of named councillors, which can exceed a dozen.21 More interesting than this enumeration is this summary by categories: E pregua sos baros e manda sos parens (170.5), especially as the different verbs are perhaps not as irrelevant as Martin-Chabot thought.22 The lines already quoted from laisse 189 highlight three groups: los baros valens; the parens represented by Gui, the wounded brother and la comtessa Alice to whom her husband does not hesitate to entrust confidential missions; and coming immediately after the count, la clercia whose fundamental role in this crusade comes as no surprise. It is these three 18 I therefore retain the following councils: (a) from June to August 1216, under the walls of Beaucaire: 160.10–58; 162.5–60; 168.1–58 and 169. 1–45; 170.4–21; (b) from August to October 1216, return to Toulouse: 171.64–69 and 171.1–25; 176.21–88 and 177.1–36; 179.13–63; (c) November 1217 to June 1218, finishing off Toulouse: 189.15–125 and 190.1–56; 192.23–120 and 193.1– 17; 193.73–96 and 194.1–56; 195.1–20; 199.52–65; 200.65–101; 202.53–100 and 203.1–31. I leave aside a certain number of dialogues which do not seem to me to be able to enter into the framework I have defined, such as Montfort’s speech before the battle of Muret (139.42–54), laisse 178 where a gap between lines 8 and 9 prevent a decision, laisse 187 which relates the meeting between Simon and his brother Gui who gives him a report in public beneath the walls of Toulouse (Simon, Gui, Alan and Foucaud intervene), laisse 188 with a discussion in the middle of fighting concerning the wound of Gui de Montfort (involving Simon, Gui de Lévis and Hugh de Lacy), laisse 197 where Montfort withdraws after his defeat and has an exchange with Gautier de la Betona, and finally laisse 204 where, after the failure of the ‘cat’, there is an exchange between Simon, Foucaud and Hugh. 19 160.12. 20 ‘The count of Montfort conferred with his close friends; there were three bishops and any number of abbots’ (162.5–6). 21 For example 202.55–59. 22 ‘summons and convokes his barons and his relatives’.

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t h e f r e n c h a g a i n s t m o n t f o rt ? categories which we find once more in 179.4: L’ivesque e.l prevoide e.ls baros e.ls parens, the clergy being represented by the bishop and the provost. It might be thought that these distinctions are justified: the family is under the orders of its head who can therefore easily be subject to a summons, whereas his barons are invited, given that with respect to them Simon is in theory primus inter pares. The situation of the clergy is very different: the Song shows that they are under Simon’s orders, who in turn is under theirs. However, things are not this simple, especially as, by attacking the principle of legitimacy (did Simon not title himself, after 1209, Viscount of Béziers and Carcassone through divine providence?), the crusade represented a dangerous brew of disruptive forces, as we may deduce from the attitude – more reserved at the very least – of the king of France. As far as the Church is concerned, the texts give us the opportunity to distinguish between the conduct of Bishop Fulk of Toulouse, the one who carries out the base tasks of Montfort to whom he shamelessly sacrifices his flock, and that of the cardinal-legate who on several occasions stands out separately, even if it never seems to be through his indulgence. The most important aspect of our councils clearly concerns the barons: the text does not reveal any separation between barons and parens, except that we understand by the latter term the maisnada, the household. The son Amaury figures little in our texts: at most he intervenes at the end of a council to claim the first rank in combat, as might be expected of a typical young man desperate to prove himself (193.16–17). The conduct of Gui, Simon’s brother, is frankly indistinguishable from that of the high-ranking barons. In fact this is where the real difference lies. On the one hand we find the old men, these lower- and middle-ranking lords who came at the beginning of the crusade and have received a fief which they would really like to enjoy in future peace and quiet. Few of them really knew Montfort when he was little richer than they were, but they have participated in the fabulous rise allowed him by the clergy. They are loyal to him – how could they be otherwise? – but grumble readily, asking whether Simon’s whole mad escapade can ever stop, before, according to the medieval proverb, pride has not led its rider to a fall. On the other hand, there are always some of the lords who come to complete the pilgrimage, the famous forty days which grant them the remission of their sins and the suspension of their debts. Among them we encounter great aristocrats who recall those who, after the fall of Carcassonne, had disdainfully refused Trencavel’s domains, when the count of Nevers and the duke of Burgundy according to Pierre des Vaux-de-Cernay, the count of Saint-Pol according to Guilhem de Tudela, said that they were not interested in the spoils of others (no an ilh cura de l’autrui dezerit, 34.17), with the first author of the Song adding, ‘there is no-one who does not consider himself dishonoured if he accepts this fief’. Nearly nine years later, feelings have not changed, and as soon as the count of Soissons arrives in the camp, he is forced to accept Simon’s authority but refuses from the outset any part in the booty offered him; then, in the middle of a council, he will not hesitate to question Montfort’s rights not only over Toulouse but even over 141

the albigensian crusade Carcassonne and Béziers. The Anonymous equally shows us a certain Amaury de Craon standing firm in daring to deny the cardinal-legate the right to deprive the legitimate owner of his lands, to the extent that the prelate unctuously accuses him of becoming the defender of the enemy and imposes a penance on him for it. There is even a council where Robert de Picquigny, even though one of the earliest to sign up to the crusade, says the lords have been made into garsos e pautoniers, ‘menials and derelicts’ (192.89). However partisan the author’s presentation may be, this divergence between ‘parvenu’ lords and lords ‘of good birth’ seems unarguable. In several councils a certain number of lords play the thankless part of Simon’s unconditional backers, and bring him unqualified support at moments when others rebuke him for the errors into which his violence has led him (such passages are punctuated with the stinging words fel, felnia: ‘furious, rancour’). It is when Montfort intends to make the Toulousains pay for the first defeats he has just suffered at Beaucaire (probably such as to reinforce the differences between the crusaders who have hitherto been little accustomed to reverses) that we see, in the council described in laisses 176–77, those whom the Anonymous presents as flatterers. The first exactions of their new count have forced the Toulousains into a revolt which only the viciousness of bishop Fulk manages to stifle. Simon has a narrow escape and is all the more determined to finish once and for all with these vassals whose rebellion nearly succeeded. While all the important barons, beginning with his brother Gui, oppose what he wants to do as he set out at the opening of the council, he is supported by three men: Lucas, Thibaut and Ferry. Gui is the first to respond and advise moderation, vigorously backed by Alain de Roucy, who goes so far as to say the Toulousains are gentil ome (176.50), and Foucaud de Berzy, who wonders whether Montfort is going to behave like a wise man or a fool (176.54). At that point Lucas retorts, ‘Barons, if the count believed your poor arguments you would make him lose his land’;23 an intervention which, even if it doesn’t show great oratorical ability, nevertheless gives Simon the opportunity to take an extraordinary decision: to organise a council within the council, with the usual indication of withdrawal: ‘Lucas,’ says the count, ‘you and my lord bishop will advise me; you will judge appropriately, for you only want what is best for me and you will never tell me lies.’ They withdrew to one side and spoke alone.24 So here the council is split in two and it is a meeting of three men that is under way while Montfort’s barons are reduced to awaiting the outcome. As a consummate

23 ‘Baros’, so ditz Lucatz, ‘ab vostres malsabetz,/ Si lo coms vo.n crezia, vos lo dezeretaretz’ (176.57–58). 24 ‘Lucatz’, so ditz lo coms, ‘vos me cosselharetz/ E mossenher l’avesques, que per dreit jutjaretz,/ Que voletz tot mon pro e ja non mentiretz.’/ Az una part se trazo e parlero soletz (176.59–61).

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t h e f r e n c h a g a i n s t m o n t f o rt ? flatterer, Lucas will pick up an idea that Montfort had already expressed at Beaucaire and which he continually repeats: too many dead bodies separate him from the Young Count of Toulouse for any agreement between them to be possible. Lucas simply adds a proverb: ‘ “The proverb states, and the rule confirms it: don’t trust anyone whom you have harmed.” ’25 As a true lauzengier,26 Lucas simply tells his master what he wants to hear, and cleverly stresses the love the Toulousains bear towards their legitimate count which will make them all the keener to deny it to Simon, thus rubbing salt in the wound. The bishop will add nothing to the principles to be followed and will be content to indicate what tactics to adopt, finishing off the process of winning Montfort’s agreement which he was ready to give from the outset,27 promising him that he will thus be able to take revenge on these Provençals who have humiliated him. It is only then that the count turns to the great council: ‘then addressing his barons with a tone full of arrogance, “I hold this council as good and as valid: I shall reduce the town’s power to nothing.” ’28 Is it the concern to compete in eagerness to serve his master that then makes another flatterer intervene, anxious to display his support? ‘ “Lord Count,” says Thibaut, “you have excellent judgment and you can tell who speaks the truth to you or who lies,” ’29 thus obliging Gui to speak again and in vain denounce the bad councillor, even though the decision has been officially taken: ‘ “Thibaut,” cried count Gui, “you speak foolishly, for you are counselling the count to commit a fault.” ’30 As if this were not enough, Ferry now intervenes, once again picking up the tragic theme of Beaucaire, authorised by an allusion to the fable of the peasant and the serpent: ‘ “He will remind them of their sons, their brothers and their parents you have killed and for whom their hearts remain in grief.” ’31 One senses the disgust provoked in Foucaud by the way these flatterers outdo each other in baseness, when he concludes the council with laichem est parlament (‘ “let us bring this assembly to an end” ’), while in his turn uselessly repeating the barons’ arguments which the coalition of the flatterers has been able to demolish so successfully. A curious detail: to designate the speakers at the council, in laisse 176 we find lo coms (23), en Guis (27), n’Alas (48), n Folcaut (53) and Lucatz (57, 59, 63), and then in laisse 177 Tibaut (7, 11), lo coms Gui (11), Feris (16) and en Folcaut (28). It is probably no accident that our three flatterers are deprived of the

25 So ditz lo reproverbis e demonstra la leitz:/ Cui mal fis no ti fis (176.66–67). 26 ‘flatterer, slanderer’, a typical bugbear of the troubadours. 27 He opens the council saying, ‘car destruirei Toloza’ (v. 24), which allows little room for manoeuvre. 28 E a dit als baros mot orgulhosament:/ ‘Ieu tenc aquest cosselh per bo e per valent:/ Que l’afar de la vila tornarai a nient’ (177.4–6). 29 ‘Senher coms,’ ditz Tibaut, ‘be avetz ecient/ E podez ben conoicher cals vos ditz ver o ment’ (177.7–8). 30 ‘Tibaut,’ ditz lo coms Gui, ‘vos parlatz folament/ Car datz cosselh al comte que fassa falhiment’. 31 ‘Membrar lo an li filh e li fraire e·l parent/ Que vos lor avetz mortz, dont an lo cor dolent’ (177.19–20).

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the albigensian crusade honorific en which usually salutes high social status: is this a punishment inflicted by the Anonymous or is it, more probably, a clear indication that these three men do not belong to the lord of Montfort’s barons? In fact, if we examine Martin-Chabot’s notes devoted to these three characters, we learn of Lucas that he is named filius Johannis in a document of 1211 and was part of Simon’s entourage, that Thibaud was one of Simon’s familiars, probably one of the knights of his household (mesnie), and that Ferry d’Issy was a knight, one of Simon’s familiars and named among the members of his court (curiales) in one of Simon’s charters, and that all three figure in the Montforts’ acts from 1211 onwards.32 This is not enough evidence to draw firm conclusions, but there is a strong temptation to see them as knights of his mesnie unable to extract themselves from the closest possible solidarity with the master on whom they depend. It would take too long to examine the character of the different barons as shown in the councils, and I shall limit myself to studying how the anonymous author, a remarkable propagandist of the greatest finesse, exploits the interventions he attributes to them. The aim of these councils, which all take place within the two years from June 1216 to June 1218 – dark years for the crusaders – is to give an account of them while making people forget the long preceding period when nothing seemed capable of resisting Montfort. However, we shall distinguish between, on the one hand, the councils of the siege of Beaucaire and the second siege of Toulouse preceding the final defeat of Montfort, these entirely dealing with defeats, and on the other, the first siege of Toulouse, where the highly compromised situation was saved through the skill of bishop Fulk. The Anonymous cleverly chooses to have his explanation of these defeats given by those primarily concerned – and essentially this lies in the character and behaviour of Montfort – which have led God to turn His face away from His own soldier to side with the Toulousains. These faults will be simultaneously staged during the councils and denounced by the most noble French barons who, very clearly, are not meant to be subject to the same condemnations as their leader. We come then to a thundering condemnation of the ecclesiastics, again expressed in two ways, partly through their actions and partly through their council speeches which meet with ferocious responses from the crusaders who are absolutely free of any suspicion of heresy. Finally, how better to express the rightfulness and glory of the Toulousains, beginning with their leaders, than by placing their praises in the mouth of their adversaries? Montfort certainly knows how to win and he has shown some remarkable military qualities; very probably, he also knows how to exploit his victories. But he is a terrible loser! As I have explained, the group of councils which I have studied all take place during the time when the wind of defeat is blowing, so that one is tempted to wonder whether a military leader ever happens to call his councillors

32 Martin-Chabot, vol. 2, p. 234, n.3, p. 186, n.4 and p. 238, n.1 respectively.

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t h e f r e n c h a g a i n s t m o n t f o rt ? together during periods of victory.33 Simon, as is logical, is the first to speak in almost all these sessions and, in those occurring during the first and third sieges, where the Toulousain counts play an important role in his defeats, his speeches boil down to long laments which exasperate his companions but for the Anonymous have the advantage of highlighting the qualities of his own side. Thus on his arrival outside Beaucaire, after complaining of the treachery of the Provençals, the count gives vent to his resentment: ‘I am deeply offended, and it is a hard and cruel thing for me to be robbed like this by a young boy of fifteen: without power, strength and money to distribute, he has thrown me out of Provence and is standing his ground vigorously.’34 Could the Anonymous possibly celebrate the merits of the Young Count any better than Simon, his worst enemy? Similarly, at the second Beaucaire council, Simon’s incredible bad faith does not prevent him from admitting defeat when he says, ‘Lords, listen and consider how I am expelled from Provence and see my men perishing and put in danger. The Young Count wages war on me, for his pride is overweening; since he left Rome, he has made such progress that he has taken away my land and seized my domains. If he now takes Beaucaire from me, this will be such a humiliation for me that all that rests of my land seems poverty to me.’35 The same thing will happen outside Toulouse. Simon cannot understand how the losers can get the upper hand in this way and cannot stop asking this stinging, constantly repeated question: ‘ “my sorrow grows stronger and I seem bewitched, because a troop of losers have completely thwarted us” ’,36 ‘ “since people reduced to nothing have dispossessed me to such an extent” ’37 or again ‘ “unarmed men resist us” ’;38 even the derogatory vocabulary he employs only serves to emphasise

33 At the time of the first war council of Beaucaire, the Anonymous says that Simon vol cosselh pendre, car l’es cregutz afans (160.11), which ought to be translated as ‘wants to take counsel as problems are sprouting up before him’. 34 ‘Totz lo cors me sospira e m’es greus e pezans/ Car aisi·m desereta us tozetz de quinze ans:/ Ses poders e ses forsa e ses avers donans/ M’a gitat de Proensa e m’es tant contrastans’ (160.17–20). 35 ‘Senhor,’ so ditz lo coms, ‘entendez e gardatz/ Com yeu soi de Proensa issitz desheretatz,/ E vei estar mos homes perdutz e perilhatz;/ Que.m combat lo coms joves, car es outra cujatz,/ Que pos issit de Roma s’es aitant enansatz/ Que m’a touta ma terra e.s pren mas eretatz;/ E s’ara.m tol Belcaire, eu soi tant abaichatz/ Que tota l’autra terra mi sembla paubretatz’ (162.8–15). 36 ‘Per que.m dobla la ira e cug estre encantatz,/ Car una gens vencuda nos an totz raüzatz’ (190.22–23). 37 ‘Car una gent perida m’a tant dessenhorit’ (193.92). 38 ‘Car omes senes armas son defendens a nos’ (195.10).

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the albigensian crusade further his defeat, to the greater glory of the Toulousains: ‘ “since I see the hares fighting against the hounds” ’.39 Evidently, when such weak enemies are capable of stymying the all-powerful Simon de Montfort, there must be good reasons for it, and in the case of a crusade supposedly under the influence of God’s judgment people readily think in such terms; and Simon never stops trying to justify himself, without ever questioning his own position. So at Beaucaire he protests, ‘ “And yet I conform to the deeds, words and orders of the Church. And since he is a sinner and I am begging God, I am greatly astonished to see how God allows his success” ’;40 then at Toulouse, ‘I support the holy Church and carry out its orders; I  was master of Provence and its dependencies, and I am astounded, when I devote myself to God’s service and obey him, to see how He allows this, how this pleases and is agreeable to Him, how He wishes me to be dishonoured, since He has let me be destroyed by my enemies.’41 With setbacks the dark knight, the terrible war machine embodied in the count of Montfort, becomes human, and we now see him hesitating between the pharisaism of a man proclaiming his own merits and the anguish of abandonment, the lama sabactani. We might come to feel pity for him, were it not that he returns obsessively to the same conclusion: vengeance. Simon cannot understand his defeats and constantly tries to attribute the responsibility for them to others, in whom he sees only treason, the treason of the Provençal barons: ‘ “ Lords, before you and before God, I complain of the barons of this land, who behave like traitors and rogues” ’,42 or that of the Toulousains, accused of being responsible for a defeat in Provence that Simon cannot get over. We might be listening to the wolf of the fable when he declares to the notables, ‘ “ It is you who have deprived me of both Beaucaire, since it is your fault that I have not been able to capture it, and the Venaissin and Provence and the whole Valentinois” ’,43 when he had long formed the plan to plunder them to re-establish his finances (168.53–58). Indeed, it is because he needs the wealth of the Toulousains in order to set off again on the conquest of Provence that he has decided that Toulouse had betrayed him: ‘We shall go to Provence when we have enough money, but beforehand we shall ruin Toulouse so that we shall leave nothing of any value: since 39 ‘Car ieu vei que las lebres an contrast als lebriers’ (192.40). 40 ‘Ez eu fas de la Glieiza los faitz e.ls ditz e.ls mans./ E car el es pecaire ez eu soi mersejans/ Fas me grans meravilhas co vol Dieu so enans’ (160.24–26). 41 ‘Eu captenc santa Gleiza e los seus mandamens;/ Proensa era mia e.ls apertenemens;/ E fas mi meravilha de Dieu co n’es cossens,/ Pos eu fas sos servizis e·lh soi obeziens,/ Cum li platz ni l’agrada ni vol mos aunimens,/ Que m’a laichat destruire als sieus contradizens’ (189.26–31). 42 ‘Senhors, a totz vos autres e a Dieu son clamans/ Dels baros de la terra, que so fals e truans’ (160.15–16). 43 ‘Voz m’avetz tout Belcaire, per so car no l’ai pres,/ Veneisi e Proensa e tot Valentines’ (171.44–45).

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t h e f r e n c h a g a i n s t m o n t f o rt ? it has made me lose Provence, it is with its own wealth that I shall reconquer it.’44 Surrounded on all sides by defeat, Simon so longs to find someone to blame that he comes to suspect the Church and even browbeats Fulk, his most fervent partisan: ‘Bishop,’ the count replies, ‘if God has exalted me, I believe that you and the clergy have betrayed me, for of the stronghold I had conquered with the cross, the sword and contrary fate have dispossessed me.’45 The churchmen have a lot of difficulty in responding to their champion’s questioning, and one can imagine just how successful the bishop of Nîmes’s counsel of resignation, and the cardinal legate’s of patience (189.32–39) are. In contrast, the count of Montfort’s barons have no trouble in furnishing explanations for his failures, but if they are loyally fulfilling their duties as advisers, their words are not the ones a leader likes to hear. Indeed, his barons, and above all his brother, highlight the personal responsibility of their suzerain. Gui does not spare him to say the least: ‘ “As long as all the riches and all the money comes into your hands, you care nothing for people’s death” ’;46 later he speaks of Simon’s fury (cor felo, 172.8) and resentment (felnia, 179.45). As usual Alain de Roucy does not mince words and denounces the pride and arrogance (l’orgolhs e.l bobans, 160.28) of his leader and rebukes him of his rancour and anger (·l vostre mal coratge e l’ira, 171.67); but above all he acts as spokesman for the Anonymous who puts into his mouth the most terrible words: ‘This is how pride, anger and presumptuousness transformed the angels into serpents. And it is because you are ruled by pride and malevolence that you have no care for mercy and clemency displeases you, and bad temper and spitefulness charm and please you.’47 When it comes down to it, Simon recognises his violence and anger himself, and when he loses Toulouse, he admits, ‘ “I  am overwhelmed with anger, pain and desire” ’:48 an anger that spares no-one. After unsuccessful combats we see 44 ‘Nos irem en Proensa can aurem aver pro,/ Mas ans metrem Toloza en tal destructio/ Que ja no.i laissarem nulh aver bel ni bo:/ Pos ela.m tolc Proensa, cobrarai la del so’ (172.1–4). 45 ‘Avesque,’ ditz lo coms, ‘si m’a Dieus enantit/ Que vos e la clercia cuit que m’aiatz trazit;/ que.l capdolh qu’ieu avia ab la crotz conquerit/ Glazis e aventura m’en a desenhorit’ (193.78–81). 46 ‘Ab sol que sia vostre tot l’avers e l’argens,/ Vos sol non avetz cura de la mort de las gens’ (170.20–21). 47 ‘Car orgolhs e felnia e oltracujamens/ Feron tornar los angels en guiza de serpens./ E car orgolhs vos sobra e.l coratges punhens/ E merces no.us es cara e.us tira cauzimens/ E.us abelis e.us platz tristeza e avols sens’ (189.43–47). 48 ‘per que.m creis la felnia e.l mals e.l desiriers’ (192.38).

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the albigensian crusade him taking things out on the clergy, which earns him a dry reprimand from the ­cardinal-legate, who is clearly less patient towards him than the bishop: ‘ “And wherever pity is in decline and goodness forgotten, pity loses its name and lordship its command” ’,49 which obliges Simon to make his excuses: ‘ “My Lord,” says the count, “forgive this lapse; I am so annoyed and irritated that I don’t know what I’m saying any more.” ’50 Not only do the councillors not hesitate to challenge the terrible faults of their leader, they are also lucid enough to analyse how harmful they are to their interests. So Gui warns his brother against his cor felo, his rage against Toulouse, for ‘if in your fury you sack it, you will have a poor reputation throughout Christendom and you will draw down on yourself the anger of Jesus Christ and the condemnation of the Church’.51 Gervais de Chamigny sees clearly why the resistance of the Toulousains is so desperate: ‘They defend themselves vigorously and their resistance is hard and fierce. Because we have made all their hearts bleed, they prefer to die honourably than live in shame’.52 Robert de Picquigny, who gives a very full explanation of the crusaders’ defeat, sums it up: ‘ “The count loses land because he is not a good landlord.” ’53 But he goes further in his accusation of Simon, blaming him and saying that once he had conquered the land, ‘ “he then handed it over to devils who deliberately ruin and illtreat the populations.” ’54 His denunciation of the process is even more final, in an accusation whose comprehensiveness must affect more than one person present at the council: ‘Because Toulouse has endured so many mortal torments, it is not surprising it was recovered. For having made lords out of lackeys and guttersnipes, the reward that will come to the count and all the

49 ‘E lai on merces merma e bes torna en omblit,/ Merces e senhoria i pert lo nom e.l guit’ (193.86–87). 50 ‘Senher,’ so ditz lo coms, ‘merce d’aquest falhit;/ Tant soi iratz e felnes que no sai que mai dit’ (193.88–89). 51 ‘E si la destruzetz, ab vostre cor felo,/ Per tot Crestianesme n’auriatz mal reso/ E de Jhesu Crist ira e de Gleiza ocaizo’ (172.8–10). 52 ‘Ez es mals e salvatges le lor defendemens./ E car totz lor coratges lor avem faitz sagnens/ Mais volon mort ondrada que viure aunidamens’ (189.69–71). 53 ‘E lo coms pert la terra car no es bos terriers’ (192.76). 54 ‘En apres el l’a messa en poder d’aversers,/ Que destruzon los pobles e.ls dampnan volontiers’ (192.81–82).

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t h e f r e n c h a g a i n s t m o n t f o rt ? rest of us will be that all our descendants will have to suffer hardship along the highways: for anyone who despoils, massacres and illtreats the rightful landowners must endure and undergo endless fire and hatred.’55 But all know that it is now too late to undo the harm that has been done. As I have already mentioned, when Gui de Montfort proposes to his brother to revert to better relations with the Young Count, or with the Toulousains, Simon explains that there is too much blood between him and his subjects and the solution therefore lies in more massacres, more complete or even definitive, as his evil geniuses ceaselessly reiterate to him – no doubt the lackeys and guttersnipes to whom Picquigny refers. Clearly, when we compare the Toulousains and their leaders with Simon and his henchmen, their qualities can only be dazzling. This is naturally the case of the Young Count, lauded by the inevitable Alain de Roucy: ‘However, even if the count is a youth, a young child, he is talented and good and handsome and tall, he has resources and good defenders; hence he damages us and diminishes our prestige and our chances. He is certainly of a lineage to prosper and advance, for Richard was his uncle and Bertrand his kinsman.’56 But (and this is a much more delicate matter given the character’s ambiguity) even Raymond VI is rehabilitated in the words of his dreadful rival: ‘Indeed, I thought to be sure and certain that count Raymond had gone into the land of the Saracens or some other country; that I should never see him again over here. And now I see him regain his splendour and I realise I was wrong, since with such a small company he has installed himself in his capital, he defends himself and resists, he inflicts losses and grows stronger, helped by the rebels who cause my ruin and my dishonour.’57

55 ‘E car sufri Tholosa mans mortals enugers,/ Ges non es meravilha s’es faitz lo recobriers./ E car ne fe senhors garsos e pautoniers,/ A nos totz e al comte n’er donatz tals loguiers/ Que totz nostres linatges pecaran els semdiers;/ Car cel qui tol e dampna e auci·ls domenjers/ Deu portar foc e ira e sufrir estremiers’ (192.87–93). 56 ‘Pero, si.l coms es joves ni tozetz ni efans,/ Es de bona natura e bos e bels e grans,/ E a poder e forsa e de bos amparans,/ Que.ns destrui e.ns abaicha e.ns amerma.ls balans,/ E es ben de lhinatge que.s milhor’e s’enans,/ Qu’en Richartz fo sos oncles e sos parens Bertrans’ (160.34–39). 57 ‘Car ieu cuidava estre ben certas e ben fis/ Que fos lo coms Ramons intratz mest Sarrazis/ O en las autras terras, que ja mais sa no·l vis./ Ara vei que s’alumna e ques avia mespris,/ Que ab petita companha s’es el capdolh asis/ E defen e contrasta e dampna e s’afortis/ Am la gen contradita que·m destrui e m’auni’s’ (194.12–18).

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the albigensian crusade Finally, even the Toulousain people find the crusader councillors voting in their favour: ‘ “as they are noble people, you should treat them with respect.” ’58 Of course, the ill-treatment suffered by the Toulousains would already be a reason for Heaven to take on their defence, but this is certainly not enough for the Anonymous who, more than once, gives the impression of having some knowledge of law. He will therefore, again through the voice of Montfort’s impartial counsellors, undertake to show that right is on the Occitan side. So, since Simon accuses the Provençal barons of treachery, it is Hugh de Lacy who will demonstrate that if these barons have ever been treacherous it was towards their legitimate lord in accepting Montfort in the first place, and not in supporting him afterwards. It is not easy to deprive a castle of a legitimate lord. The people of Beaucaire love their count with all their heart, ardently; they have far preferred him to Jesus Christ. If they have ever betrayed him, now they want to be loyal. When they made their oath on the missal, they were forced and coerced against their will and it was not possible for them to do otherwise. Wrong and force rule where the law is impotent and worthless: a promise extorted by violence has no legal force. And the man who conquers another’s land and seizes his home to the detriment of justice, using deceit and malice, loses the land he has conquered, its revenues and capital.59 How can we fail to admire these modern reflections on the validity of an oath sworn under constraint? Law is also high on the agenda when Simon, who has literally robbed his way from Beaucaire to Toulouse, aims to punish his subjects whom he accuses of rebellion. A Toulousain lawyer, master Robert, asks for the law to be respected: ‘Since the Toulousains have not committed treason towards you, you ought not to ruin them in the absence of due judgment; if you conform to the law, they ought not, on the basis of a simple accusation, to lose their property or suffer any torment.’60

58 ‘E car son gentil ome, a ondrar los auretz’ (176.50). 59 ‘Greu pot hom castel toldre a senhor natural,/ Car ilh lo comte jove per fina amor coral/ Aman mais trop e.l volon que Crist l’esperital./ E si anc trachor foron, volon estre leial;/ Que cant eli jureron ius el libre missal,/ El cor n’eron forsat e non podion al;/ Que ben es tortz e forsa on dreitz no pot ni val./ Car sagramen forsat a dreitura no val./ Car cel qui comquer terra ni pren l’autrui logal/ E merma la dreitura e pren l’engan e.l mal/ Pert l’onor comquerida e gazanha e.l cabal’ (169.8–18). 60 ‘Que pos elh non an fait envas vos traïcio/ No los degratz destruire si per jutjamen no;/ E si gardatz dreitura, per encusatio/ No devon aver perdre ni sofrir passio’ (172.22–25).

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t h e f r e n c h a g a i n s t m o n t f o rt ? Gui de Montfort, less precise, and like most of the barons in the council thinking of the long term, wants to appease Toulouse: ‘For reason, law, custom and honour demand that, since it is showing its good will towards you, you should be benevolent towards it, and since it is not proving intransigent, you should not be intransigent towards it.’61 Once again, boldness is on the side of Alain de Roucy: when the Toulousains, driven to the end of their tether by Montfort, have revolted and only been suppressed thanks to their bishop’s disloyalty, at the moment when one of the count’s flatterers tries to cut the council short – ‘ “Sir count,”, says Thibaut, “it is judged that anyone who rebels against his lord must be punished by death through bloody torture” ’ – Montfort’s perpetual gainsayer counters him with a brilliant defence speech on the vassal’s right to rebel when he is bullied by his lord. ‘Thibaud,’ says Sir Alan, ‘these are words which will bring misfortune onto the count, if God does not protect him. Did the count not swear to them on the relics of the saints that he would be benevolent and loyal to them and that he would treat them with kindness? And they also, in truth, swore an oath to him. Since the commitment is reciprocal, one ought to think hard about which of the two sides is the cause of the rupture. For my part, if I am your vassal, if I behave loyally, if I love you sincerely and obey you, if I commit no wrong or fault towards you, and if I wish you no harm, if you are then a bad lord to me, if you break your oath and if you come and attack me with arms of cutting steel, should I not, in danger of death, defend myself? Yes indeed, I most certainly should. The right that lordship gives to the lord is only that his vassal should never attack him first.’62 We might think that the Anonymous had Raoul de Cambrai in mind, unless he has somewhat confused feudal homage with the convenientia which cannot have been so well known or appreciated by the real Alan.

61 ‘Car razos es e dreitz e costuma e pretz,/ Pos ela.us humilia, que vos la humilietz/ E pos que no s’orgulha, que vos no.us orgulhetz’ (176.31–33). 62 ‘Senher coms,’ ditz Tibaus, ‘datz es lo jutjamens/ Que totz hom, cals que sia, vas senhor defendens/ Si deu la mort recebre ab glazios turmens’./ ‘Titbaut’, so ditz n’Alas, ‘aquels razonamens/ Faran gran mal al comte, si Dieus no.lh es guirens./ E donc lo coms mosenher no.ls juret sobre sens/ Que·ls fos bos e leials e.ls tengues bonamens?/ E ilh a lui jureron atresi veramens./ E pos que d’ambas partz es l’aseguramens/ Be deuria om gardar d’on ve lo falhimens./ E si ieu so vostre om e·m captenc leial[mens]/ E.us am de bo coratge e.us soi obediens/ E no.us ei tort ni colpa ni no.us so malmirens,/ E vos etz mos mal senher e.m passatz sagramens/ E que.m vengatz destruire ab fers trencans luzens/ No.m deg de mort defendre?/ Si, dei be verament./ Mas tant de senhoria n’a lo senher valens/ Que sos om no.l cometa nulhs temps primeiramens’ (179.25–42).

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the albigensian crusade The one who takes the firmest stance on the question of law will not be one of Simon’s vassals but rather a great crusading lord, count Raoul de Soissons, who has arrived late to complete his forty-day service and who is not afraid to question everything. ‘Sir Count of Montfort, if it had pleased Jesus Christ that Pride should be Right and that Sin should be Pity, the town, its riches and all it is stocked with should be yours. But for the moment I see no likelihood of it being about to be captured, because count Raymond, duke and marquis, claims it as his birthright and we know he is in the right’.63 In fact, such words, which demolish the legal edifice painfully constructed by the clergy and Simon, could not be placed in the mouths of the barons of his closest circle without removing all credibility from the characters set up by the Anonymous, as they would appear manifestly as his puppets with their strings all too visible. Once again the unknown author’s skill is confirmed by his close attention to this issue. If the count’s flatterers happen to denounce their adversaries – ‘ ­“Barons,” retorted Lucas, “given your bad arguments, if the count believed you you would make him lose his land” ’ – and if Montfort happened to try to intimidate them: ‘By God, Sir Hugh,’ retorted the count, ‘do not protest, it is not in your interest; for by the holy Mass, where the host is consecrated on the altarcloth, you will not see Castelnaudary again, nor will you, Sir Alan, see Montréal, before I have recaptured Beaucaire’ – the crusading barons never appear as traitors to their lord, and all their criticisms are meant to be constructive. Foucaud de Berzy offers the best example of this grumbler’s fidelity. After having strongly challenged the promises of the bishop of Nîmes and expressed some rather defeatist ideas, he nonetheless gives good tactical advice at the siege of Beaucaire, regularly using a first-person plural form which shows that in no way is he breaking away from solidarity with Montfort and his objectives: ‘ “It will certainly be an immense mercy and the righting of all wrongs if you and I obtain the complete triumph of the rights you are pursuing” ’,64 then ‘ “If we stay here, I  believe we shall suffer such damage that your reputation and ours will be

63 ‘Senh’en coms de Montfort, si a Jhesu Crist plagues/ Que Orgolhs fos Drechura e Pecatz fos merces,/ Vostra fora la vila e l’avers e l’arnes./ Mas no.m da a vejaire c’ara sia comques,/ Per so que.l coms Ramons, que es dux e marques,/ La clama per linatge, e sabem que vers es’ (202.73–78). 64 ‘Ben es merces complida e tortz adreituratz/ Si nos e vos trobam tot lo dreit que sercatz’ (162.59–60).

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t h e f r e n c h a g a i n s t m o n t f o rt ? diminished for all time” ’;65 and he then presents his advice which the count supports. Finally, it is he again who develops at length66 the idea of building a new Toulouse which will smother the first one, and Simon, once again, adopts his baron’s bold idea, despite Fulk’s objections. Even Alain de Roucy, the harshest of his companions, who is not in the habit of sparing the count, cannot be suspected of treachery, and even when he shows himself at his roughest, he states: ‘ “Because I love you cordially and I endure the damages along with you, I must warn your and tell you when you are mistaken and in the wrong.” ’67 And Montfort is well aware that the ability of his barons to oppose him has its limits, and answers: ‘ “You are lecturing me too much: when I lose and weaken you gain nothing by it.” ’68 Thus, since right is on the side of the Raymonds to the point that their most committed enemies recognise this, and even Simon, despite himself, can only note his failure, there is only one explanation. God is henceforth on the Occitans’ side, and it is a Montfort, the count’s own brother, who is the first to say so: ‘ “Dear brother,” said Sir Gui, “I tell you for sure that God cannot allow you any longer to possess the town of Beaucaire, or the rest.” ’69 God cannot sanction the horrors that the clergy and Simon casually envisage: ‘The Lord, who rules the world and renders his just judgments, does not consider it acceptable, nor does it please him, nor does he wish to allow that the population of Toulouse should be put to death or ruined’,70 observes Alain de Roucy after the first setbacks at the town, before proceeding to a deeper analysis that leads to a more final condemnation of his leader: ‘The man who ruins another and does him wrong and is too presumptuous, deliberately causing harm, suffers losses and damage. Since Pity observes that benevolence is not to your taste, Pity and Justice wish you to be in conflict with them. Any territorial lord unable to behave with restraint seems destined for ill fortune once Jesus Christ comes to hate him; he loses the world’s sympathy and remains weighed down by his faults.’71 65 ‘E si sai remaniam, eu cug que tant perdrem/ Que·l vostre pretz e·l nostre totz temps abaissarem’ (168.16–17). 66 189.83–111. 67 ‘Car vos am de coratge e soi ab vos dampnatz/ Vos dei monstrare e dire cant falhetz ni pecatz’ (190.33–34). 68 ‘Trop me proverbïatz/ E can ieu pert ni mermi, re vos no gazanhatz’ (190.47–48). 69 ‘Bels fraire,’ ditz en Guis, ‘eu vos dic veramens/ Que Dieus no vol suffrir que vos siatz tenens/ Del castel de Belcaire ni de l’als longamens’ (170.16–17). 70 ‘E.l senher, qui capdela e da.ls dreitz jutjamens,/ No li platz ni.lh agrada ni.n vol estre cossens/ Que.l pobles de Tholoza sia mortz ni perdens’ (189.50–52). 71 ‘E cel qui damna e peca e es outracujatz,/ Ab saber de mesprendre, es mespres e dampnatz./ E car Merces s’albira que cauzimens no.us platz/ Vol Merces e Dreitura que ab lor contendatz;/ E totz

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the albigensian crusade The more obvious the setbacks become, the more clearly it appears that God could only choose the side of light against that of darkness: ‘ “God who is holiness, virtue, light and truth, hears the complaints clearly and sees the frequent deeds,” ’72 and if the bishop of Toulouse is on the side of the crusaders, the patron saint of the cathedral has definitively chosen between Fulk and his flock: ‘ “For it appears to me that St Sernin is with them, that he protects and leads them, them and their land, it seems,” ’73 Hugh de Lacy murmurs, as if to himself, at the end of a council. So God may have chosen the Occitan camp, but the Church militant has embraced Montfort’s side at the expense of dirtying its hands in its service, as Fulk does by deceiving his flock and handing them over. The Church even seems to go further than the count, who seems too lost, not to say moderate, in the eyes of the cardinal-legate. The Anonymous does not shun the denunciation of prelates whose cruelty exceeds that of the laymen, but his skill assuredly lies in carrying the attack into the territory of dogma, where papal pretensions even irritate certain crusaders. The remission of sins promised by Innocent III to anyone who fights for the faith is a problem for more than one of them, and when the bishop of Nîmes, in order to make the crusaders forget the disastrous effect on them of the hanging of one of their knights, proclaims: ‘I declare to you that today he has suffered martyrdom for the love of Christ Who pardons the faults, evil deeds and sins of all the others who have been killed or wounded’, he attracts a violent retort from the usually quite moderate Foucaud de Berzy: ‘By God! Sir Bishop, it is with arguments like yours that goodness diminishes and evil redoubles itself; the facility with which you clergy absolve and pardon without penitence is astonishing [.  .  .] as for me, I cannot believe without better proofs given by you that any man is worthy if he dies without confession.’ And when the bishop insists, affirming that from the crusaders’ point of view, ‘ “every man, whoever he is, even if he is in a state of mortal sin” ’, is absolved, his adversary refuses to believe ‘ “that because of your sermons and our sins Jesus Christ is not angry with us.” ’74 princeps de terra, cant es desmezuratz,/ Cant Jhesu Crist l’azira, par dezaventuratz,/ E pert lo grat e.l segle e roma encolpatz’ (190.26–32). 72 ‘E Dieus, qu’es sants e dignes e clars e vertadiers,/ Enten be las rancuras e los faitz sovendiers’ (192.83–84). 73 ‘Qu’a mi don’a vejaire qu’ab lor es sent Cernis/ Que.ls garda e.ls governa, o sembla, e lor païs’ (194.55–56). 74 ‘Per Dieu, senher.n avesques, de tal razo jutjatz/ Per que lo bes amerma e lo mals es doblatz;/ E es grans meravilha de vos autres letratz/ Com senes penedensa solvetz ni perdonatz. [. . .] Car ieu pas no creiria, si mielhs non o proatz,/ Que nulhs hom sia dignes, si no mor cofessatz’ (162.37–40, 43–44).

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t h e f r e n c h a g a i n s t m o n t f o rt ? The cardinal-legate readily promises this martyr’s crown too, to anyone who dies fighting, but as probably more of a man of war than his colleague from Nîmes, he does not hesitate to paint vengeful pictures of conquered Toulouse, while waiting for it to please God to take His own vengeance: ‘Let neither church nor hospital nor saint’s tomb afford protection to its inhabitants; let them be tortured to death there without distinction! And if any of your people were to die fighting, I and the holy Pope guarantee to all those who die thus that they will wear crowns similar to those of the holy Innocents.’75 He puts so much zeal into this – ‘ “then the men, women and noble houses will be delivered up to the flames and will be turned into charcoal” ’76 – that the barons are left dumbfounded, and Robert de Belmont alone violently contradicts him: ‘By God, our dear Father! It is unseemly for you to speak of this mode of salvation or to promise us indulgences; for, by holy Mary, mother of God of glory, before we take the town by virtue of speeches and sermons, it will be blows, man to man, wounds and single combats that will give God and the Devil the chance to judge which soul is good.’77 This resistance to the right to indulgences is doubled by the refusal to allow the Church to dispose of the temporal at will, and it will fall to Amaury de Craon to denounce the claim, which places us directly in the context of the Investiture Dispute: fiefs are not held from the Church but clearly derive from great aristocratic principles. ‘My Lord’, says Amaury, ‘read and you will find that you ought not to accuse me on this score, for the Scriptures do not state, and the Law does not prescribe, that you should deprive any territorial lord of his patrimony. If at present count Raymond loses the land he has inherited, Loyalty and Right will give it back to him at another time.’78

75 ‘E no lor valha glieza ni ospitals ni sens/ Que no prengan martiri laïns cominalmens!/ E si negu dels vostres i moria firens,/ Ieu e lo sante Papa li fam aital covens/ Que portaran coronas engal dels Ignocens’ (189.35–39). It is noticeable that the terrifying bishop Fulk looks like a moderate in comparison with the cardinal (192.56–57): ‘E.ls homes e las femnas e los efans laitiers/ Iran tuit a l’espaza, si no son els mostiers’ (‘and men, women and babies at the breast will all die by the sword, unless they take refuge in the churches’). 76 ‘E·ls omes e las femnas e las gentils maizos/ Passaran per las flamas e devindram carbos’ (195.20–21). 77 ‘Per Dieu! nostre car paire, esta salvatïos/ No.us cal de vos a dire ni prometre perdos;/ Que, per santa Maria, maire del glorïos!/ Ans que prengam la vila per ditz ni per sermos,/ Entre colps e coladas e plagas e tensos/ Saubra Dieus e Diables cals esperitz es bos!’ (195.24–29). 78 ‘Que no ditz la Escriptura ni demostra la Leitz/ Que nulh princeps de terra a tort dezeretetz./ E si lo coms Ramons pert ara sos heretz/ Leialtat e Dreitura la.ilh rendra autras vetz’ (203.20–23).

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the albigensian crusade Thus, before the death of Simon de Montfort in a state of sin comes to sanction God’s choices definitively (at least the author probably believed this), the situation is clear in the French camp. On the one hand we have the barons linked to Montfort, swept up in a whirlwind which they cannot withstand despite their wish to put an end to it but who can only observe that the Toulousains are in the right, together with the great French lords who realise to their horror what the so-called crusade represents. On the other hand we have Montfort, a conqueror who is more and more disillusioned and pessimistic, whose sorrow and rage are regularly condemned, and who is supported by flatterers and perverted ecclesiastics who have no fear of opposing God Himself and falsifying His message to an obscure purpose. The falsification is l’enguans, the trickery of which Alain de Roucy speaks from the time of Beaucaire on: ‘ “To me as to all it seems the Jesus Christ does not want trickery to succeed any longer.” ’79 The obscure purpose is the secretz denounced by Amaury de Craon: ‘That Parage should be brought low, put in peril and broken because of others’ wrongs is a subject of great astonishment. If I, in my land, had known that this was the secret aim, neither I nor those of my company would be here now.’80 Thus the long and the short of the crusade is this: people want to profit from other people’s desleitz or wrongdoings, the pretext being provided by a handful of heretics for whom, in the Song, the Anonymous makes no more place than if they had never existed, in order to destroy Paratge, the symbol of Occitan civilisation. It is no surprise that those who oppose this plan are aristocrats, since they are the primary target of an enterprise that would make no sense outside the Gregorian Reform. It will be noted that the key term and symbol, Paratge, so present in the Anonymous’s text, is only found twice in the mouths of Frenchmen, and that these are precisely the two men who denounce the ‘plot’: Amaury of Craon and, naturally, Alain de Roucy, ‘one of the most famous knights of the kingdom’.81 So it is by basing himself on these high-ranking great lords, moved solely by the sense of what is right and what is the true religion, particularly having understood what is meant by Paratge, that the Anonymous denounces an enterprise to which he denies any crusading value, in order to better reveal it as an unjust war of conquest; and I should like to conclude that, if Guilhem de Tudela undertook to

79 ‘Et a mi ez als autres es vejaire e semblans/ Que Jhesu Cristz no volha que mais cregua l’enguans’ (160.32–33). 80 ‘Ez es grans meravilha car per autres desleitz/ Es abaichatz Paratges e perilhos e fretz./ S’ieu saubes e ma terra c’aitals fo lo secretz/ Ni ieu ni ma companha no i foram esta vetz’ (203.24–27). 81 Martin-Chabot, vol. I, p. 247, n. 3.

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t h e f r e n c h a g a i n s t m o n t f o rt ? tell the story of the Song of the Albigensian Crusade, the Anonymous for his part has written the history of the war of Paratge,82 or the Song of Toulouse. And the better to prove the injustice of the accusations, if I may be permitted one last quotation: when Simon returns to the camp after having failed yet again at Toulouse, trist e fel ez iros, and addresses Christ per felnia, ‘the town’s defenders come back from it, joyful and saying to each other: “Jesus Christ is with us, protects us and leads us,” ’83 before an act of grace, a real Christian Credo,84 turns the issue of the crusade upside-down by emphasising elements that show how far the accusation of Catharism is unfounded and unjust.

82 This takes up the name attributed to the work of Guilhem Anelier, Histoire de la guerre de Navarre. 83 E.ls baros de la vila s’en repairan joios:/ E ditz laüs a l’autre: ‘Jhesu Crist es am nos,/ Que.ns garda e governa’ (195.141–43). 84 ‘ “Jesus Christ guides us and we must thank Him for the bad and good things He gives us and receive them with resignation, for He can well support us for this just reason that we wish to live and die in His faith. For we believe in this God Who keeps us from error and Who made the heaven and the earth and makes them bear fruit and flowers, Who created the sun and the moon for the splendour of the world, Who created man and woman and brought souls into existence, Who entered the Virgin’s womb for the fulfilment of the Law, Who underwent martyrdom in His flesh to save sinners and gave His precious blood to lighten the darkness, and came to offer Himself to His Father and to the Holy Spirit. Thanks to the reception and fulfilment of holy baptism, thanks to love and obedience to the holy Church, we have the right to conquer Jesus Christ and His love” ’ (196.1–15).

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11 THE GOOD USE OF REBELLION

It is not enough for the conqueror to use brute force to impose his authority in the long term: he can only ensure the submission of the conquered if he finds in the latter a sort of internal complicity. At the level of the group, this may be what is conventionally called a fifth column; at the level of an individual, it is a question of killing hope, so that he can only see submission as a reasonable attitude. When we examine the beginnings of the crusade conducted against the southern lords in the name of the struggle against the heresy that we call Albigensian or Cathar, we can see that the conduct of events has not been left to chance. According to the first author of the Song of the Albigensian Crusade, the Navarrese Guilhem de Tudela, who was on the side of the crusaders, even before the latter set siege to Béziers they had agreed on a strategy. ‘The barons of France and the region of Paris, clergy and laymen, as well as princes and marquises, all agreed among themselves that the inhabitants of every fortified town which the army might approach and which refused to yield them all up before the army captured it would be put to the sword. Then no-one would dare resist them, because of their terror at such examples. Thus they took Montréal and Fanjeaux and the rest of the land; for without this, I swear by my faith that they would not have conquered them by force. This is why all the inhabitants of Béziers were massacred; they were all killed, for want of being able to inflict anything worse on them.’1

1 Le barnages de Fransa e cels devas Paris/ E li clerc e li laic, li princeps e∙l marchis/ E li un e li autre an entre lor empris/ Que a calque castel en que la ost venguis/ Que no∙s volguessan redre tro que l’ost les prezis,/ Qu’anesson a la espaza e qu’om les aucezis;/ E pois non trobarian qui vas lor se tenguis/ Per paor que auria e per so c’auran vist./ Que s’en pres Monreials e Fanjaus e∙l païs;/ E si aisi no fos, ma fe vos en plevis,/ Ja no foran encara per lor forsa conquis./ Per so son a Bezers destruit e a mal mis/ Que trastotz los aucisdron: non lor podon far pis (21.1–13). All quotations are taken from Martin-Chabot’s edition. Linda Paterson’s English translations are based on Martin-Chabot’s but occasionally deviate from them.

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the good use of rebellion The last hemistich makes it clear that it was a question of using the most extreme means in order to make people understand that all those who resisted could expect the worst possible treatment, and the Navarrese cleric ends a passage describing the massacre in the churches of all those who had taken refuge there – priests, women and children – with this formulation: ‘I do not think there had been such savage killing agreed or carried out since the time of the Saracens.’2 After another slaughter on a grand scale at Lavaur, where Aimeric de Lavaur, a disillusioned supporter of Simon de Montfort, was hanged in the company of more than eighty knights, while four hundred members of the people were burned in a field and the lady of the castle, Guirauda, known for her charity, was thrown into a well and covered with stones, Guilhem – whose loyal support for the crusade does not prevent him from feeling the horror of all this – cries out: ‘Then there was such a huge massacre that I think it will be spoken of until the end of the world. My lords! That should teach them [the Albigensians] a lesson; if, as I have seen and heard, they have had so much to endure, it is because they do not do what the clergy and the crusades demand of them. They will end up doing so when they are stripped of everything, and they will be thanked for it by neither God or men.’3 Here we see the second jaw of the terrifying pincers: since submission is inevitable, what is the point of resistance? It only serves, pointlessly, to force the unfortunate aggressors to be cruel, which they find repugnant and only resort to out of the need to be effective. Not only does resistance mean exposing oneself to the most atrocious form of death, but the future is so inexorable that this makes no reasonable sense and even all hope of help from God is forbidden. This is how the situation looked during the period of the beginning of the crusade, at a moment when the Occitan magnates did not yet feel directly concerned by the crusaders’ conquests and when it was still plausible to imagine that the Catalan Peter II and the Toulousain Raymond VI would have no difficulty in keeping at bay a crusading army which was not conspicuous in its numbers, and particularly whose effectiveness was reduced by the fact that most of the northern lords were coming to carry out their forty-day penance before going home – having very little interest, whatever the military situation might be, in prolonging their stay or setting down roots in a foreign land. We know what difficulties the abbot of Cîteaux faced when it became necessary to replace Trencavel at Carcassonne: the counts of Nevers and Saint-Paul did not hesitate to tell him ‘that they had enough land to live on as long as it was given to them, in the kingdom of France, the land 2 C’anc mais tan fera mort del temps Sarrazinis/ No cuge que fos faita ni c’om la cossentis (21.19–20). 3 Ladoncas lo fo faita aitant grans mortalda/ Qu’entro la fin del mon cug qu’en sia parlat/ Senhor, ben s’en deurian ilh estre casti/ Que, so vi e auzi, son trop malaürat/ Car no fan so que∙ls mandon li clerc e li crozat;/ C’a la fi o fairan, can siran desraubat,/ Aisi co aisels feiron, e ja non auran grat/ De Dieu ni d’aquest mon (68.29–36).

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the albigensian crusade of their fathers; so they were not interested in the plunder of others’. And Guilhem comments, ‘There is no-one who would not consider himself dishonoured by accepting this fief’.4 On the other hand, when the great army finally assembled by Raymond, count-duke-marquis, and Peter, king of Aragon, who has only recently triumphed at the battle of Las Navas de Tolosa, has suffered a total disaster in the face of a small army, solid and well led by Simon de Montfort at the battle of Muret, when people have learned that the king is dead, that the count has fled, hardly taking the time drop in on Toulouse to tell his subjects to negotiate their interests as best they could (‘he said to the chapter, in secret, to negotiate an agreement as best they could’),5 it is hard to see in whom or what the Toulousains could place their hopes; so as soon as their legitimate lord departs they yield, following his recommendations: ‘And the inhabitants of Toulouse, in sadness and sorrow, reached an agreement with Simon and swore an oath to him, and they submitted to the Church in due and proper form.’6 It is worth pointing out that the cardinal-legate Peter of Benevento, Simon and bishop Fulk of Toulouse are intelligent enough to bring along prince Louis, the son of Philip Augustus, the king of France and hence Raymond’s suzerain, in order to lend an air of legitimacy to the entry into the town of Montfort and his men. Simon incidentally does not fail to take out a different kind of insurance: he secures the Château Narbonnais, the residence of the counts of Toulouse, and has the fortifications reinforced by a ditch and palisades on the side of the city. He has not only demolished the city ramparts and the fortifications of the Bourg but also destroyed the towers of the fortified houses of the town nobles. We should also add that for greater peace of mind, without waiting for the Toulousains to swear their oath of fidelity to him, he has had half their consuls handed over as hostages and sent to Arles.7 It has to be said that at the moment when the Song of the Crusade arrives at the episode of Muret, a strange transaction takes place. For reasons unknown, Guilhem de Tudela – chaplain to count Baldwin, count Raymond’s brother and enemy – abandons his pen, which is taken up by a new author for whose identity we must rely on conjecture. All that can be said for certain is that he is a much greater master of his language than the Navarrese poet and that he belongs to the immediate entourage of the counts of Toulouse, which seems to have given him direct knowledge of the events which he describes in detail with rigorous precision, even if he never hides his commitment to the Toulousain side.

4 Dison que pro an terra, si cadaüs tan vit/ El regisme de Fransa, on lor paire nasquit;/ Per so, no an ilh cura de l’autrui dezerit/ No i a sel que no cug del tot estre traït/ Si sela honor prent (34.15–19). 5 Ez a dig al Capitol, ez aquo bassamens,/ Que al mielhs ques el puescan fassan acordamens (141, 12–13). 6 E∙ls homes de Tolosa, cum caitieus e dolens,/ S’acordan ab Simo e li fan sagramens/ E redon s’a la Gleiza, a totz bos cauzimens (141.18–20). 7 Martin-Chabot, vol. II, pp. 34–35, notes 1 and 3.

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the good use of rebellion It is no doubt for this reason that the song abandons the comital capital (Toulouse) to its fate to devote itself at length to the narrative of the Lateran Council, where the counts of Toulouse attempted to save their rank and their property, clashing with the person who was no doubt their worst enemy, bishop Fulk, Simon de Montfort’s representative in Rome. Simon was much too concerned to profit from his advantage on the ground to abandon the city. The counts did gain recognition of the orthodoxy of their faith, but, if the anonymous author is to be believed, pope Innocent III was constrained by his clerics to grant Simon what he had already seized. This brilliant writer sums this situation up in a sentence whose brevity underlines its injustice: ‘ “Barons,” said the pope, “the case is judged: the count is Catholic and has behaved loyally, but let Sir Simon hold the land.” ’8 However, the pope does refuse to dispossess the son at the same time as the father, and he formally and officially allocates to the young count, the future Raymond VII, the dowry of his mother, Joan of England: the Venaissin, the Argence and perhaps Beaucaire. This is why the theatre of operations moves to Provence, and once again it is with extreme precision that the Anonymous recounts the triumphant entry of the counts into their town of Avignon before father and son separate: while Raymond VI travels to Spain in search of supporters, his son, whom the author mostly calls the young count, goes off to besiege Beaucaire, where a solid garrison of Montfort’s soldiers is occupying the keep in a hostile town. It is not easy to know how the Toulousains conducted themselves during the period between their oath of obedience in May 1215 and Simon’s return to the offensive in the last days of August 1216 when, with consternation and rage one can readily picture, he comes to suffer his first defeat at Beaucaire. According to the highly partisan Anonymous, as soon as Simon took possession of Toulouse he was already thinking of destroying it, and only spared it under the conditions we have seen so as to take care of the goose that laid the golden eggs. In the councils held by the count of Montfort below the walls of Beaucaire there is no mention of disturbances or plots which would have constrained him to undertake this incredible forced march of 240 km in three days9 in order, as Martin-Chabot states, ‘to return to Toulouse to strengthen his authority’, in what would therefore have been a preventive undertaking. Simon only speaks of the town in a council in order to plan his tactics in the case of a military defeat: in that case, he says, ‘ “we shall ride straight to Toulouse; we shall share all the riches within it and for those we cannot carry away we shall arrange hostages. Rich with all this wealth we shall go to Provence, take Avignon, Marseille et Tarascon, then recover Beaucaire.” ’10  8 ‘Baro,’ ditz l’Apostolis,’ faitz es lo jutjamen:/ Que lo comte es catolix e∙s capte leialmens,/ Mas∙n Simos tenga∙l terra’ (148.72–74).  9 Martin-Chabot, vol. II, p. 199, note 6. 10 ‘Dreitament a Toloza sempre cavalgarem,/ E l’aver que lai sia cominalment partrem/ E per cel que remanha los ostatges trairem;/ E ab la manentia en Proensa vindrem,/ Avinho e Marselha e Tarascon pendrem / E cobrarem Belcaire’ (168.53–58).

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the albigensian crusade We may obviously wonder whether this ‘innocence’ of the Toulousains serves only to demonstrate that Simon feels immutable hatred for his subjects and sees no possible outcome other than the town’s destruction. The project of constructing a new Toulouse that he will undertake later on seems to suggest that this is not just a question of propaganda on the Anonymous’s part and Simon was certainly not the only feudal lord of the period to hate with heart and soul these towns where the development of new social classes was threatening the traditional powers. We should not be surprised that our author prefers to look for psychological motives for this hatred, explaining it through the voice of a crusader who refers to the fable of the serpent and the peasant; there is too much blood between Montfort and the Toulousains for either side ever to forget it.11 Whatever the case may be, when a Toulousain delegation goes to meet the count who is surrounded by a fully equipped army, these men of the town, ‘the best of the knights, the richest of the burghers’, reproach Montfort for his lack of trust and make a clear show of their submission: ‘ “You should enter, Sire, with your palfreys, without hauberk or arms, in a gold-embroidered pourpoint, singing, crowned with garlands, as becomes one who is a lord; whatever you might command, no-one would oppose.” ’12 But the count of Montfort’s reply is extremely violent: ‘Barons,’ said the count, ‘whether you like it or not, unarmed or armed, however you look at it, I shall enter the town and I shall see how things stand; this time you have been wrong to provoke me: it is you who have taken Beaucaire away from me, since it is because of you I have been unable to capture it, and the Venaissin and Provence and all of the Valentinois. For in a single month I have received more than twenty messages telling me that you have been plotting against me on oath and that you

11 ‘Senher coms,’ ditz Feris, ‘diirei vos mon talent:/ Si vos laichatz Toloza en tal milhurament/ Que remangan ses perdre e adreit e manent,/ Membrar lor an li filh e li fraire e∙l parent/ Que vos lor avetz mortz, don an lo cor dolent./ Can auran l’autre comte en lo velh fondament/ E ab lor bon coratge pendran afortiment,/ Que vos e l’autra terra metran a dampnament./ Membre∙us lo reproverbis de la mala serpent,/ Cel que ditz al vila sobre l’acordament:/ Can eu veirai la osca no sirem be volent/ Ni tu veiras la bressa; per qu’eu m’en vau fugent’ (‘ “ Sir Count,” said Ferry, “I will tell you how it seems to me: if you leave the Toulousains in prosperity so that they remain without losing any of their privileges and their wealth, they will remember their sons, their brothers and their relatives you have killed and for which their hearts remain in mourning. When they have the other count within the old walls and their boldness is reinforced by contentment, they will cause you trouble, you and the rest of your land. Remember the retort of the cruel serpent, the one that says to the serpent when it is a question of making peace between them: as long as I see the cut and you see the cradle, they will be no good agreement between us; this is why I’m off” ’ (177.16–27; for the story behind this allusion see Martin-Chabot, vol. II, p. 239, n. 4). 12 ‘Vos degratz intrar, senher, ab vostres palafres/ Desgarnit, senes armas, ab las jupas d’orfres,/ Cantant, ab las garlandas, cum sel qui senher n’es;/ E so que vos mandessatz, om no i contradiches’ (171.35–38).

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the good use of rebellion have written to count Raymond to enable him to retake Toulouse and me to lose it.’13 But how should we understand this? There would be nothing extraordinary, quite on the contrary, in supporters of the Raymonds continuing their activities in Toulouse and informing the count of the evolution of events. Nevertheless, when the representatives protest their innocence, Simon no longer speaks of specific facts and, like those of the wolf of the fable, the attacks become very general: ‘ “Barons, ” says the count, “you are being far too underhand and malicious in your treatment of me. Never since the day I conquered you, or even before that, have my honour or profit found any favour or support from you” ’.14 In addition, in the council immediately afterwards a lawyer does not hesitate to say to the war leader: ‘ “Since the Toulousains have committed no treason towards you, you ought not to ruin them without due judgment.” ’15 It seems clear therefore that Simon has no sure proof and there is no logic to his actions other than the reason he gives the council, which in fact repeats his line of argument at Beaucaire, where all seems clear and indeed necessary: ‘My lord,’ replied the count, ‘I am so short of money that I have pawned all my rents and all my taxes, and those with me have explained and warned me that they are afflicted by such dearth and such great penury that if I do not succeed in this business, I do not know how they will behave towards me.’16 Even whilst they are in council the troops advance towards the town, and it is then that the clergy, the bishop of Toulouse and the abbot of Saint-Sernin intervene to encourage the people to come out to greet its count and celebrate his arrival, even though the decision to take the notables as hostages has already been made. But as the assembly comes together, ‘throughout the town a rumour spreads; it says and explains to the inhabitants, “Barons, turn round and go back unobtrusively

13 ‘Baro,’ so ditz lo coms, ‘o vos plassa o vos pes,/ Desgarnitz o garnitz, o en lonc o en tes,/ Intrarei en la viala e verei ben qu’i es,/ Car aquesta vegada m’avetz a tort comes:/ Vos m’avetz tout Belcaire, per so car no l’ai pres,/ Veneisi e Proensa e tot Valentines./ Que mais de vint messatjes n’ai agut en un mes/ Que contra mi vos eratz de sagrament empres/ E al comte Ramon que aviatz trames/ Per qu’el cobres Tholoza e que ieu la pergues’ (171.40–49). 14 ‘Baros,’ so ditz lo coms, ‘trop m’etz mals e plaides;/ C’anc pois ni dabans, pos ieu vos aig comques,/ No∙us plag ni∙us abelig ma honor ni mos bes’ (171.61–63). 15 ‘Que pos elh non an fait envas vos traïcio,/ No los degratz destruire si per jutjamen no’ (172.22–23). 16 ‘Senhor,’ so ditz lo coms, ‘eu soi tant fort esmes/ C’ai totas empenhadas mas rendas e mos ces;/ E la mia companha a∙m mostrat e enques/ Que fraitura e neceira los a tant sobrepres/ Que si en aiso falhia no sabria que∙m fes’ (171.74). This does not stop Simon picking up in the next laisse the theme of Toulouse’s responsibility for his defeats which will from then on recur like a veritable obsession: ‘Pos ela∙m tol Proensa, cobrarai la del so’ (‘since it has made me lose Provence, it is with its own wealth that I shall reconquer it’ (172.4).

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the albigensian crusade and quietly, go back in, for the count is asking for hostages and demanding they should be handed over; and if he finds you here outside the town, you will look like fools.” ’17 While the Toulousains flock together to discuss all these events, they notice that the count’s soldiers are already pillaging their homes and, in the midst of the weeping of women and children, the men then take the measure of their impotence: ‘They replied quietly, muttering “Oh God! How You have placed us in Pharaoh’s power!” ’ But once again, like the rumour that had warned them of the danger, there now arises throughout the town an anonymous, unanimous cry: ‘ “Barons, to arms, for we see the time has arrived to defend ourselves against the steel and the lion! It is better to die honourably than to live in prison.” ’18 This ‘voice of the town’ will have an almost magical effect: ‘sons and fathers and ladies and young girls’ erect and defend barricades, and if every person becomes a soldier it can also be said that every object becomes a weapon in street fighting: sickles, wooden bars, stones and planks and rubble, so that Montfort’s tough soldiers yield in the face of this armed city and resort to their last and most fearful argument, fire. And even against the fire, which as one can imagine was very hard to extinguish in a medieval town, it seems that the people split to form fronts on several sides at once: ‘They reinforced the barricades with felled trees; some take care of the defence and others deal with extinguishing the fire, while others rush to hang and seize the French who had first come and settled the town.’19 If we are struck by the remarkable effectiveness shown by the Toulousains in these combats, the complete anonymity in which the author leaves his fighters is even more striking, so that we sometimes have the impression that they become one with the town itself. The aesthetics of the epic, not unlike certain designs of Eisenstein, also contribute to the absence of individuality among the combatants. Throughout the town they mount such resistance that the streets and the sky resound and echo with the shouts and tumult and trumpet blasts. French and Burgundians yell to those of the town, ‘Montfort!’ and those within, ‘Toulouse! Beaucaire! Avignon!’. Where they meet in fierce fighting, they strike each other with hatred and rage in their hearts: lances, swords, lance shafts and stumps, bolts, stones, maces, firebrands, arrows, guisarmes, blades, standards, pickaxes, wooden bars and stones and planks and rubble are hurled all around on all sides, so that helmets, shields, saddle-bows are smashed to pieces, and heads and brains and chests and faces and arms, legs and fists and forearms. So tough was 17 ‘Baro, car vo∙n tornatz suavet a lairo/ Que∙l coms demanda ostatges e vol c’om los li do;/ E si∙us troba sa foras semblaretz ben brico’ (172.48–50). 18 Mas per tota la vila escridan en un so / ‘Baron, prendam las armas, car vezem la sazo/ Que nos er a defendre del fer e del leo,/ Car mais vol mort ondrada que remandre en preizo!’ (172.62–64). 19 E feiron las barreiras ab trencadas garnir;/ L’us pessan del defendre e∙ls autres d’escantir;/ E li autre van tost e pendre e sazir/ Los Frances c’albergueron, de primer al venir (173.4–7).

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the good use of rebellion the fighting, the peril and the struggle that the crusaders, and count Gui with them, were driven back under the blows of their adversaries. When they realised they had no other way of saving themselves, the count of Montfort shouted, ‘Now set fire to whatever you like!’20 The author is at pains to give us the impression of a mêlée bereft of all humanity but without letting us lose sight of the difference in the weapons of the two sides, so that we are still clear during this enumeration that it is the Toulousains who are winning, even if they are never named in the Occitan text (where the expression ‘of their adversaries’ of the translation does not appear). The individuality of the Toulousains is only shown in their war-cries, designed more for defiance than for rallying, which launch the struggle and set city names in opposition to names of men. It is clearly no accident that the crusaders are individualised in the person of their leaders, Simon and Gui de Montfort, his brother. A similar study could be carried out in detail from the moment when the town delegates present themselves before their terrifying lord. It would show that no name is ever pronounced on the Toulousain side. There are sometimes social or other categories, but the author mostly resorts to the third person plural of the verb without expressing the personal pronoun relevant to the subject.21 There is just one exception in the case of Aimeric de Castelnau, because in choosing to refuse to hand himself over to Montfort he distances himself from the town which he abandons in order to escape an adversary. He is well aware of Simon’s hatred for this faithful follower of count Raymond. Thus, if we follow the Anonymous, at nightfall, Simon de Montfort has just suffered a terrible defeat: his army of hardened fighters has been driven back by Toulouse. It has not been possible to lend this event any individual reality: there is no Jeanne Hachette to symbolise the struggle or to lead it symbolically, just the urban community. The events that follow are even more instructive. While Simon terrorises the hostages he had previously locked up in the Château Narbonnais, Bishop Fulk takes the initiative, and his messengers circulate through the town to persuade the Toulousains to come to an assembly the following day, where they will meet with members of the clergy who will act as conciliators between the two parties. 20 172.81–96: ‘Monfort!’ lor escridero Frances e Bergonho,/ Cels de laïns: ‘Tholoza! Belcaire! e Avinho!’/ Mas lai on s’encontrero, ab la gran contenso,/ Se van entreferir ab mal cor e felo:/ Mas lansas e espazas e astas e tronso/ E sagetas e peiras e massas e tizo/ E flecas e gazarmas e li bran e·lh peno/ Pics, barreiras e peiras e latas e cairo/ De tantas partz lai vengo de dreit e d’enviro/ Que debrizan li elme e l’escut e l’arso/ E testas e servelas e li peitz e·l mento/ E li bratz e las cambas e li pung e·l brazo./ Tant es mala la guerra e·l peril e·l tenso/ Que firen los ne menan, lor e·l comte Guio./ E cant il no conogro nulha autra guarizo/ Lo coms de Monfort crida: ‘An lo foc a bando!’ 21 In laisse 172: knights, burghers (v. 22), town, population (v. 55), barons (v. 52), women, children (v. 60), knights, burghers, militiamen (v. 66), sons and fathers (v. 72), ladies and girls (v. 61); in laisse 173: some . . . others (v. 5), the others (v. 6), knights, burghers, servants (v. 25), those of the town (v. 36), those who were there (v. 43), the inhabitants of the town (v. 51), etc.

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the albigensian crusade These are very strange conciliators, given that the abbot of Saint-Sernin, who now assures them that ‘ “You will definitely not lose your lives, or your money, or land, or town house, or anything else you own” ’ was saying the day before, ‘ “Let his troops be lodged freely in your houses; do not refuse to do this; sell them what they need in good faith, and they will do you not a button’s-worth of wrong” ’, at the very moment when the town was starting to be pillaged.22 The people are well aware of this, and the Anonymous has them speak this response to the abbot: ‘ “Lord abbot, if it please you, we are appalled at your idea of being trustworthy! You, the count and the bishop have put us through the mill many times, and taught us that you have never held to anything you led us to believe” ’ (174.35–39). A  speech in which the bishop, the former troubadour Folquet de Marseille, deploys all the skill of oratio falsa, will be needed to persuade the one-day victors to go and place themselves at the mercy of a lord who has never concealed his hatred from them. The Anonymous delights in showing the hypocrisy of the one whom the count of Foix had publicly treated as a jongleur at the Lateran Council.23 The argument that carries the day is the one advanced by the unctuous abbot: “Once the holy Church has taken you under its protection, the count is not so unreasonable or enraged as to do anything to you for which he could be reproached. If he were to treat you wrongly or unjustly, the Church would raise its voice so loudly on all sides that Rome and the whole of Christendom would hear it”.24 Fulk drives the message home: “If I led you to your downfall and deceived you, I should lose the fruit and the tree and all the merit of my labour; Jesus Christ would take me for a hypocritical deceiver”.25 And the Toulousains weaken, perhaps inclined to hear a speech which they actually want to hear, or because they do not feel they have the energy to pursue their epic struggle. ‘ “Sire, out of sincere love, since we have you as our father and ruler, we take you as our guarantor and adviser. In the name of justice and the Redeemer, we beseech you: is this good advice you are giving us or will we be acting foolishly if we follow it?” ’26 This incredible last question shows that the Toulousains are in fact perfectly well aware of the enormity of the mistake they are making, but haven’t they sworn an oath to Montfort? Aren’t they alone, without a lord? Isn’t the bishop the only authority in the town? One last 22 ‘Que ja cors ni aver ni terra no perdatz,/ Ni bastiment de vila ni autras eretatz’ (174.27–28); ‘Que la sua mainada s’albergue a bando/ Per les vostres albercs, e no∙ls digatz de no;/ E tinetz lor la venda ab bona liurazo,/ Que ja no∙ls faran tort lo valen d’un boton’ (172.40–43). 23 See chapter 9. 24 ‘Pos que la santa Glieiza vos aia aseguratz/ No es lo coms tan nescis ni tan outracujatz/ Que nulha re vos fassa de qu’el sia encolpatz./ E si re vos fazia que fos tortz ni pecatz/ La Glieiza cridaria en aissi per totz latz/ que Roma l’auciria e la Crestiandatz’ (174.43–48). 25 ‘E donc s’ieu vos perdia ni∙us gitava en error/ Perdria∙l fruit e l’albre e la digna labor;/ E Jesus Crist tendria∙m per fals galiador’ (175.31–33). 26 ‘Senher, per bona amor,/ Car vos avem per paire e per governador/ Trazem vos per guirent e per coselhador./ Pregam vos per dreitura e per lo Redemptor:/ Si∙ns donatz bon cosselh o fariam folor?’ (175.49–53).

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the good use of rebellion grimace from Fulk will be enough: “If the count did anything at all for which any complaint reached my ears, then you would have God and myself as defenders”.27 To pick up the image of Fulk’s preaching, the Toulousain flock follows its shepherd who leads them straight to submit to Montfort, and in front of the count there is no further need for dissimulation: ‘ “My Lord Count,” said the bishop, “Here are the hostages for you to take, and as many more as you like from among the town’s inhabitants: we shall know how to point out which ones and to guide your choice. If you take my advice you will send for them straight away.” ’28 Simon listens to his faithful councillor and takes so many hostages that he fills up the castle. He does assemble his council, but only to announce straight away that he is going to destroy Toulouse. He refuses to listen to his usual councillors who advise moderation and only pays attention to those who support his plan. The repression is cruel: Montfort is not satisfied with just sending off columns of hostages towards the towns subject to him, ill-treated and chained together, he orders the nobles and the well-off to leave Toulouse and organises the destruction of the buildings of the town ‘ “until it is levelled to the ground” ’.29 But this is not enough, and in a new council he announces: ‘ “My heart and reason tell me to deliver the town up to pillage and then to the sword and to fire” ’,30 and his councillors will need to be very firm to rewind the programme to its first stage. The author thus concludes this episode of brilliant resistance that ends in total failure: ‘For the count of Montfort remained in Toulouse for a long time, to destroy it and do his will with it.’31 And he came back a few months later to put yet further pressure on it. But the omniscient author cannot resist a gesture to his audience at the moment when the Toulousains are hounded out of their town before it is destroyed: ‘ “Ah God!” they said to each other, “such vicious masters! Lord! How you have delivered us into the hands of brigands! Either grant us death or give us back our lords!” ’32 In fact, while Simon finds himself in the north of Provence waging war from one end to the other of Occitan lands, Raymond VI reappears in Gascony at the home of the count of Comminges; he has sounded out his former subjects in correspondence, and they have invited him to come and take back his place in Toulouse. Weary of his Spanish tribulations, he takes the road to the town, firmly backed by his Gascon relatives, and gains a first, well-omened, victory over Joris.

27 ‘E si el re∙us vos fazia, qu’ieu n’auzissa clamor/ Puichas n’auriatz Dieu e mi defendedor’ (175.58–59). 28 ‘Senher coms,’ ditz l’avesques, ‘etz ostatges penretz/ E d’aquels de la vila aitans cans ne voldretz:/ E sabrem vos diire les cals ni cui trietz./ E si m’en voletz creire, ades i enviaretz’ (176.2–5). 29 ‘tro c’om n’intre de cors’ (178.46). 30 ‘lo cors e∙l pessamens/ Me ditz que per la vila an lo barrejamens/ Et en apres lo glazi e la flama ardens’ (179.15–17). 31 Car lo coms de Monfort i estec longamens/ Per destruire Toloza e per far son talens (179.78–79). 32 ‘E Dieus!’ ditz l’us a l’autre, ‘tant mals governadors!/ Senher, co∙ns avetz meses en mas de raubadors!/ O vos nos datz la mort o∙ns rendetz als senhors!’ (178.36–38).

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the albigensian crusade When he arrives outside Toulouse the fog hides him, and Hugues Jean and Raimon Belenguier come and fetch him to make an entry into the town that turns into a triumph. The joy expressed in religious metaphors – the population rushed towards him [. . .] It was with tears of joy that he was welcomed in happiness, for returning joy produces fruits and flowers. They say to each other, ‘Now we have with us Jesus Christ and the morning star, the star that has regained its brilliance for us, since here is our long-lost lord!’33 – is immediately transformed into a rebellion: Their hearts are filled with such valour and such ardour that they pick up a stick here, a stone there, or a lance or a sharpened dart; they go through the streets with whetted knives and they slice, cut and massacre the Frenchmen they find in the town.34 The collective action of this crowd where ‘each one thought he enclosed Oliver in his heart’35 is such that the valiant knights who come out of the Château Narbonnais prefer to turn back and the countess of Montfort decides to send a messenger to her husband to make him return at all costs. But Toulouse is a defenceless town, now stripped of fortifications, and so In no town has one ever seen such rich workers, for there the counts and all the knights are at work, the bourgeois and bourgeoises, the well-to-do merchants, men, women and courtly money-changers, the girls and boys, servants and runners; they carry a pickaxe here, a spade there, there a light digging-fork. Each of them has a heart eager for the task.36 Popular enthusiasm is so strong that when Simon’s brother and son, accompanied by certain of his best captains, rush to the aid of the countess on hearing what is going on in Toulouse, their squadrons not only collide with the Toulousains, but ‘the townsmen, young and old, knights and burghers withstand

33 Ladoncs i venc lo pobles [. . .]/ Ab lagrimas joiozas es ab joi receubutz/ Car lo jois que repaira es granatz e floritz./ E si ditz l’us a l’autre: ‘Ara avem Jhesu Cristz/ E∙l lugans e la estela, que nos es esclarzitz/ C’aiso es nostre senher, que sol estre peritz’ (182. 67, 71–75). 34 Aisi an lor coratges valens e endurzitz/ Que pren basto o peira, lansa o dart politz/ E van per las carreiras ab los cotels forbitz/ E detrencan e talhan e fan tal chapladitz/ Dels Frances qu’en la vila foro acosseguitz (182.79–83). 35 Que cascus ins el cor cuja aver Olivier (183.7). 36 E anc e nulha vila no vis tan ric obrer/ Que lai obran li comte e tuit li cavaler/ E borzes e borzezas e valent mercadier/ E∙lh home e las femnas e∙ls cortes monedier/ E li tos e las tozas e∙l sirvent e∙l troter;/ Qui porta pica o pala o palagrilh leugier./ Cascus a la fazenda a lo cor viacer (183.67–73).

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the good use of rebellion the shock; the valiant and skilful population, close to the count’s heart, have resolutely resisted them’.37 The count of Foix’s son, Roger-Bernard, has also ‘arrived in the midst of the mêlée, with his whole company that he heads and leads; and his presence stiffens their resolve, as soon as he is recognised’.38 It is a terrible defeat for the French troops, even if the battle has taken place without Montfort, and the Anonymous, employing one of his favourite strategies, seizes this perfect opportunity to have a valiant French captain acknowledge it: ‘ “We have been massacred and vanquished by a troop of vanquished men” ’,39 says Alain de Roucy. Then Foucaud de Berzy opens the council following the battle by painting this picture: ‘We have weapons in abundance, good knives, swords, hauberks, armour, dazzling helmets, solid shields, maces and swift chargers. And now a vanquished, half-dead, demoralised people without arms or equipment have succeeded in driving us out of their town by shouting and defending themselves with cudgels and clubs and by throwing stones.’40 And he acknowledges that Montfort’s cruelty has made God change sides. From now on the slow process has been set in motion that will lead to the twilight of Simon de Montfort: from his return to the walls of Toulouse (laisse 187) to his death (laisse 205) and the abandonment of the siege. I shall not study in detail this new Toulousain episode of resistance, which contrasts with the first one mainly in the fact that hope, in the person of the count, has returned. Battles and war councils follow one another without anything definitive happening until Montfort is killed. Battles may put the Toulousains in a bad position, but they will never again experience the awful disarray that seized them after the energy of despair had allowed them to chase the crusaders out of their town. From then on, in the councils held by the French after their defeats, the theme of the ‘vanquishing vanquished’ will be reiterated like a litany: firstly with Simon who, on his return, addresses these reproaches to Gui ‘ “Brother, [.  .  .] it is a shameful business that unarmed men have beaten you” ’, before he is forced to accept it himself: ‘ “people reduced to nothing have dispossessed me to such an extent [.  .  .]” ’, ‘ “All Christendom must be ashamed that disarmed men are

37 E∙ls baros de la vila, los joves e∙ls canutz,/ Cavalers e borzes, que los an sostengutz,/ E l’adreitz valens pobles, desiratz e volgutz,/ Que los an durament combaten defendutz (184.19–22). 38 E es per mei la preissa Rogers Bernatz vengutz,/ Ab tota sa companha, que capdela e condutz,/ E referma∙ls coratges, can i fo conogutz (184.30–32). 39 ‘Car una gens vencuda nos a mortz e vencutz’ (184.65). 40 ‘Car nos avem pro armas e bos cotels e brans,/ Ausbercs e armaduras e elmes flamejans/ E bos escutz e massas e correns alferans;/ E una gens vencuda, mieg morta, perilhans,/ Desgarnit, senes armas, defendens e cridans/ Ab bastos e ab massas e ab peeiras lansans/ Nos an gitatz deforas’ (185.23–29).

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the albigensian crusade resisting us” ’. Then in the council following the death of the crusade leader, Alain de Roucy will say: ‘ “You must acknowledge that it is the vanquished who is victorious, for it has never been seen before that a town won by losing” ’.41 However, another theme runs through the song: the idea that the presence of the legitimate lord gives a lead, in the two senses of the word, to the disordered crowd, courageous but incapable of taking charge of itself. The author himself says so: This is why the count of Toulouse, with his few ill-equipped people, has, by a happy chance, recovered Toulouse and received the oaths of its inhabitants; and they, cheerfully taking part in the works and defence, remain joyful under their legitimate lord.42 It is also said by the Toulousains themselves, in response to crusaders already seeing themselves as victors as they enjoy a provisional success: ‘ “You may be vicious, hard and full of yourselves, but we have right on our side and we have the town; we have courage and we have a lord!” ’43 And it is also said by the Raymonds’ supporters, such as the Catalan Dalmas de Creixell: ‘ “Now that God has given us back our supreme leader . . .” ’.44 Above all, through the Anonymous’s favourite device, the idea is expressed by certain crusaders themselves, whether anonymous – ‘ “Because they have regained their legitimate lord, the field is now open to the hare” ’45 – or certain crusading leaders presented in a favourable light, such as the very recently arrived count of Soissons who, when Montfort literally offers him the town, replies: ‘For, by Holy Mary, I was told yesterday that in the town they have all that they need, that they are in good heart, have plenty of fighters and a legitimate lord, and are so valiant at arms and such good fighters that whatever you hit them with they answer with carnage.’46

41 ‘Fraire,’ so ditz lo coms, ‘est plaitz es vergonhals/ Cant homes senes armas foron ab vos cabals’ (187.23–24); ‘Car una gens perida m’a tant dessenhorit’ (193.91); ‘E totz Crestianesmes deu esser vengonho/ Car omes senes armas don defendens a nos’ (195.9–10); ‘E podetz ben conoicher que cel qu’es vencutz vens,/ Car anc mais no vitz vila qe gazanhes perdens’ (207.106–7). 42 Per que∙l coms de Toloza, ab sas petitas gens/ E ab bona ventura e ab paucs garnimens,/ A cobrada Toloza e pres los sagramens/ E∙l baro, ab gran joia, obrans e defendens,/ En leial senhoria son remazut gauzens (189.4–8). 43 ‘E si vos etz maligne e mal e gabador/ Nos avem dreit e vila, coratge e senhor!’ (199.6–7). 44 ‘Pos Dieu nos a rendut nostre capdel major’ (191.65). 45 ‘E car lor natural senhor an recobrat,/ Ve∙us lo camp a la lebre per totz temps azinat’ (188.89–90). 46 ‘Que, per santa Maria, a mi comtec hom er/ Que ilh an dins la vila tot cant que an mester/ E bon cor e gran forsa e senhor dreiturer/ E valon tant per armas e son tan bon guerrier/ Que cant vos lor datz ilh vos redon carnier’ (201.31–35).

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the good use of rebellion Furthermore, the author is not content to voice this idea himself and have it voiced by others: on several occasions he stages it. So when the two armies take up opposing positions, on the Toulousain side the commanding count of Comminges, Sir Dalmas, Sir Pelfort and Sicard de Puylaurens, with their fine companies, full of youth, occupied the lists and the fortifications; and the others galloped out across the bridges, knights, burghers, archers and sergeants, all crossed the river without anyone waiting for the others. But Roger-Bernard gives his orders, guides and organises the resistance, as do Roger de Montaut who has come to the front, and the valiant Ot de Terride and the good defenders.47 The repetition of the devices I  highlighted in the first rebellion of Toulouse is easily seen: the little people, assigned to social or other categories, full of an enthusiasm which could have quickly become dangerous were it not for the presence of the lords, in particular Bernard IV de Comminges and Roger Bernard de Foix, who supervise these more or less improvised troops that quickly become disorganised in both attack and retreat.48 Another point is worth noting: even if no individual stands out from the anonymous crowd, the return of the count and the aristocracy brings back proper names and individuals. When I quoted the text recounting Raymond VI’s return into his capital, you may have noticed that the Anonymous even named the two burghers who went to fetch him. This whole second siege of Toulouse is studded with the names of individuals, and personal exploits abound in it. The full significance of the parallelism between the two sieges of Toulouse now becomes apparent. At the time of the first rebellion, the people of Toulouse, composed of anonymous figures of all classes and even sexes, may well give proof of the greatest bravery, even to the point of vanquishing a solid army led by experienced leaders; but this is no use, for they do not know what to do with a military victory. In contrast, at the time of the second rebellion, the one that the Anonymous no doubt thought was the proper one, the Toulousains are furnished with 47 Que lo coms de Cumenge ab bon captenement/ E∙n Dalmatz e∙n Pelfortz, Sicart de Pog Laurent/ Am las belas companhas, complidas de jovent,/ Establiron las lissas e lo defendement;/ E li autre s’en eison permiei los pons corrent,/ Cavalers e borzes e arquer e sirvent/ E tuit passeron l’aiga, que negus no s’atent./ Mas Rotgers Bernatz manda e capdela e defent/ E∙n Rotgers de Montaut que ven primeirament/ e∙l pros n’Ot de Tarrida e li ben defendent (197.75–84). 48 It is not that easy to supervise the townspeople and even Master Bernard, in theory a paragon of wisdom, does not hesitate to back the nobles into a corner: ‘Que, per la santa Verge on floric castetatz!/ Ara er lor o nostra la terra e∙l cumtatz/ Car, per la Crotz sanctisma! sia sens o foldatz/ Nos irem per la gat si vos o comensatz,/ E si vos non o faitz, lo Borcs e la Ciutatz/ Son aisi tuit essems d’anar acorajatz (‘For by the Holy Virgin in Whom chastity flowered! now the land and the county will be either theirs or ours; because, by the most holy Cross! – whether this is an act of sense or folly – we shall march against the cat [war engine]; if you decide to do this, and even if you don’t do so, the Bourg and the Cité are so unanimously resolved to go’, 204.126–31).

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the albigensian crusade their legitimate lord and leaders depending on him; and here, whatever the enemy’s strength, with God’s help because the cause is legitimate, victory becomes possible. This is to say that our text, willingly propagandist, is not satisfied with just celebrating the cause of Toulouse, it is also a lesson addressed to the Toulousains themselves, so easily led to diminish the place of their lord. Curiously, although one might suspect this lesson to represent a simple, somewhat reactionary application of a feudal vision of the world – as if it were just a question of making the ‘producers’ understand that they ought to leave the battlefield to the nobles who derive their rank from their warrior function – it is actually much more progressive than this. It is true that I have stressed above all the Toulousain people’s inability to organise its resistance without its legitimate lord, but it would be easy to show that a lord counts for little without the love of his subjects, and when count Raymond leaves his, even if it is to seek help, we have the impression that he becomes unreal. In fact it is a relationship of reciprocal love which is at the root of what the Anonymous presents as the Toulousain ideal; is it not extraordinary to see the people of Toulouse qualified as desiratz e volgutz (‘desired and longed for’, 184.21)? The sacred bond unifying people and lord leads them to participate in this common nobility, which means we see our author qualify city burghers with surprising adjectives: in the crowd struggling to restore a semblance of fortification, we see that merchants are valiant (valent mercadier) and money-changers courtly (cortes monedier). Isn’t this the idea that is at the root of the elusive notion they call paratge?

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12 THE TOULOUSAINS CRY ‘TOULOUSE!’, THE GASCONS ‘ C O M M I N G E S ! ’  .   .   . T H E C O M M I N G E S PA R A L L E L S I N THE SONG OF THE ALBIGENSIAN CRUSADE One only has to glance at the plate entitled ‘La maison de Comminges du Xe au XIIIe siècle’ in Charles Higounet’s fine book, Le Comté de Comminges de ses origines à son annexion à la couronne,1 to realise the complexity of the interrelations between the great Pyrenean families. Toulouse, Carcassonne and Foix lie alongside Comminges, Aspet, Couserans and Bigorre. These alliances are reflected in the use of first names. However, if at the very end of the tenth century we come across the common Toulousain name Raymond at the head of the county of Comminges, and right at the beginning of the eleventh the name Roger which is most often found in Foix; it is the name Bernard that predominates in the county family of Comminges, so much so that it is systematically given to the eldest son. When Dodon of Samatan succeeds his elder brother Bernard II he even adopts the name Bernard III, as if the title demanded the use of this first name. So in order to deal with the situation in passages which bring together count Bernard IV of Comminges – who has the good taste to reign from 1176 to 1225, in other words the whole period of the Albigensian Crusade with which I am concerned here – and his eldest son, the future Bernard V, the anonymous author of the second part of the Song distinguishes between the count of Comminges and Bernard of Comminges. He even seems to manage never to introduce any confusion in such complex circumstances.2

1 Higounet 1984. 2 It is fairly straightforward to distinguish between the son of Bernard IV and that of Gui, the count’s brother, even in a case as complicated as in vv. 65–67 of laisse 214: En Bernatz de Cumenge qu’est bels e bos e gens/ E rics e pros e savis e dans e comquerens,/ En Bernat de Cumenge, sos cozis, ichamens [. . .] (Sir Bernard of Comminges who is handsome and amiable and gracious, powerful, wise, bold and conquering, and also Bernard de Comminges his cousin’, Martin-Chabot, vol. III, pp. 312–13).

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the albigensian crusade As might be expected, the wars of this period probably reinforced the ties between the Occitan combatants, unless they themselves had a clear political aim of reinforcing them. The Bernard whom we, like the Anonymous, shall refer to from now on as the count of Comminges was himself the result of the marriage of Dodon of Samatan (alias Bernard III) with the daughter of the count of Toulouse, Alphonse-Jourdain, father of Raymond V of Toulouse, and was therefore the cousin of his suzerain Raymond VI. The count in turn was to marry his son, Bernard of Comminges, to Cecelia, sister of Roger-Bernard, count of Foix, on 6 May 1224, further consolidating this apparent triad of Toulouse, Foix and Comminges. This is reflected in the words of Guilhem de Tudela, the pro-crusade author of the first part of the Song, that serve as my title: Tolzan cridan: ‘Tolosa!’, e ‘Comenge!’. l Gascos,/ E ‘Foiss!’ cridan li autre . . .3 These alliances, using the word in the family sense, seem to offer evidence to manifest the solidity of the lineage; they can though also be explained by attempts to avoid the division and discord which sometimes took hold of great families. Thus Guilhem de Tudela relates that when the count of Toulouse went to speak to Trencavel, the son of his sister Adelaide, after the publication of Papal Bulls in February 1209 calling on the faithful to take part in the crusade against the Albigensian heretics, with the aim of asking him to put an end to their quarrels in order the better to put up resistance, their blood relationship was no use: The count spurred back; he begged and beseeched his nephew not to wage war on him or seek a quarrel with him; they should unite both their forces to resist so that they and their land should not fall into terrible destruction. Far from saying yes, the other man refused; they left on bad terms and the count left in fury for Provence, Arles and Avignon.4 In the face of his nephew’s hostility Raymond VI is said to have asked his western allies to go and see the pope, and then the emperor: He had someone seek out his friend the archbishop of Auch over in Gascony with the idea that he would unequivocally agree to serve as an intermediary, along with the abbot of Condom, a clergyman of good family.5 The bishop of Auch was in fact Bernard of Montaut whom the Pope, two years later, was to ask to resign, before openly dismissing him in 1214 for lack of 3 The Toulousains shout ‘Toulouse!’, the Gascons ‘Comminges!’ and the others ‘Foix’! 4 Lo coms s’en retornè a coita d’esperon,/ Lo vescomte son bot merceia e somon/ Que no guerrei ab lui ni no.lh mova tenson,/ E que sian amdui a la defension,/ Qu’ilh ni.l païs no caian en mal destruction./ El no li dig anc d’o, enan li dig de no,/ E son se mal partit, e.l coms s’en vai felo;/ E vai s’en en Proensa az Arle e az Avinhon (9.13–20). 5 Per l’arsevesque d’Aux, qui era sos compaire,/ Trames lai en Gasconha, car il era vegaire/ Qu’el ira al mesatge, no s’en voldra estraire,/ E l’abas de Condom, us clergues de bon aire (10.6–9).

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t h e c o m m i n g e s pa r a l l e l s apostolic zeal; the abbot of Condom, Montzin of Galard, belonged to a great Gascon family. As far as our Bernard IV of Comminges is concerned, other considerations intervened: he had long been trapped between two strong characters, Alfonso II of Aragon and Raymond V. Choosing between them was difficult and even dangerous, so that despite the rebuffs he had to suffer from his royal neighbour and despite the kinship ties uniting him to the Toulousain he never declared himself openly against him. This enabled him to preserve a certain independence at the height of Alfonso’s influence which stretched from Béarn to Provence, and it was only in 1197, once the two great lords had vanished from the scene, that Bernard was able to play the older brother and try to bring them together.

The Gascons and the Crusade In fact at the beginning of the crusade we find the Gascons hesitating in just the same way as all the other southerners between their traditional ties and the call to the crusade against heretics, who incidentally do not seem to have been particularly numerous in the Gascon mountains. Nevertheless, in June 1209, when the crusading army – whose number astonishes Guilhem de Tudela – sets out, Gascons are not absent: There were men of all near and distant lands there, from Auvergne, Burgundy, the Ile-de-France; there were people from everywhere: southern and northern Germans, Poitevins, Gascons, men of the Rouergue and Saintonge.6 Similarly, when Simon of Montfort goes to besiege Termes around the autumn of 1210, the Navarrese poet again includes Gascons, in his enumeration of the knights and young men present: Hermans, Bavarians, Saxons, Frisians, men from Le Mans, Angevins, Normans, Bretons, southern and northern Italians, Provençals and Gascons. There was the lord archbishop of Bordeaux, Amanieu d’Albret, and the men from around Langon. All those there are carrying out their ­forty-day service: when some arrive, others leave.7 It goes without saying that many lords can be included under the heading of Gascons, and that those in question here are probably not Pyreneans. It 6 Tota la gent d’Alvernhe, e de lonh e de pres,/ De Bergonha e de Fransa e de Lemozines; de tot le mon n’i ac: Alamans e Ties,/ Peitavis e Gascos, Roergas, Centonges (13.5–8). 7 Alaman e Bavier e Saine e Frison,/ Mansel e Angevi e Norman e Breton,/ Logombart e Lombart, Proensal e Gascon./ Lo senher arsevesques qu’es de Bordel i fon,/ N’Amaneus de Lebret e cels de vas Lengon;/ Lai fan la carantena tuit aicel que i son,/ Que cant la uni venon e li autre s’en vont (56.22–27).

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the albigensian crusade even happens that the term is employed in a very broad sense by Guilhem de Tudela, who writes of the Agenais campaign, ‘Arnaud of Montaigu and the other Gascons knew well how to guide him in this region. After he had taken Montcuq, which belonged to count Raymond’8 – as long as the lord mentioned here is actually the one of Montaigu-de-Quercy, as Martin-Chabot believes and the expression e li autre Gascon grammatically implies that the said lord is also considered a Gascon, which is distinctly less than obvious. On the other hand, when it comes to Gascons resisting alongside the count of Toulouse’s supporters – But the site of Casseneuil is strong, so they did not capture it; besides, there was a garrison that defended it valiantly, for they had placed lightfooted Gascons, good dart-throwers, among the besieged9 – one might well think that their speciality in dart-throwing is highly characteristic of mountain-dwellers, like the count of Toulouse’s men of whom Peire Vidal speaks in Drogoman senher and whose cries are ‘Aspe!’ and ‘Ossau!’10 None of this stops the Navarrese Guilhem from showing precise knowledge of Gascony (even if he concentrates on the possessions of the count of Comminges), when he describes the crusaders, after the fall of Moissac, attempting to encircle the count of Toulouse: They invaded the whole of Gascony without hindrance: Saint-Gaudens and Muret, town as well as keep; from Samatan and the Isle-Jourain to Oloran beyond, they have conquered absolutely everything, as well as Gaston’s lands: they have found no resistance anywhere, except at the entrance to the lands of Foix.11

The time of the fathers After the council of Montpellier of February  1211 which seeks to impose unacceptable conditions on Raymond, forcing him to renounce his domain and go into exile, the count, without asking permission, returns to his lands and has the terrible charter read out to all his vassals, with the result that

 8 Arnaut de Montagut e li autre Gascon/ Les sabon ben guidar per sela region./ Moncuc desamparero, qu’ert del comte Ramon. . . (114.16–18).  9 Mas Cassanhols es fortz, per que no l’agron ges/ E per la garnizo que l’a mot ben defes;/ Que.s mes dins de Gascos fortment leugiers de pes/ Que son bon dardasier (13.34–37). 10 Martin-Chabot, vol. I, p. 41, n. 9. 11 Per trastota Gasconha intreron a bandon;/ Sent Gauzens e Murel, lo castel e.l dromnhon,/ Samata e La Isla, tro lai en Olaron,/ Trastot o an comquist, e la terra Gaston;/ Q’e nulh loc no troberon nulha defension/ Mas sol lo cap de Foiss. . . (126.6–11).

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t h e c o m m i n g e s pa r a l l e l s indignation leads his knights and burghers to take his side. So preparations begin: The burghers of Moissac and Agen say they would rather flee to Bordeaux by river than have Barrois or French for masters; if it were the count’s will, they would go and settle in another land, wherever he wished. On hearing them the count thanks them warmly. Then he sets his seal on the letters he sends to all his friends everywhere, up in the Albigeois, here in Bearn to the count of Comminges and the count of Foix, and over in the Carcassés.12 This message must have been effective since on 16 June 1211, when the crusaders are marching on Toulouse, we learn that the counts of Comminges and Foix are already there: A messenger went to report it [sc. that the crusaders were already 20 km away] in Toulouse. Count Raymond and his men rushed to put on their armour, as did the count of Comminges who had come to his aid, the count of Foix and the Navarrese mercenaries.13 This is especially understandable given that not only were particular possessions of the counts of Comminges situated very close to Toulouse, but in the city itself they also owned a dwelling which will be referred to later as a well-known location: l’ostal del comte de Cumenge.14 Between these fights and Peter of Aragon’s arrival in Toulouse in January 1213, the Pyrenean clan seems to have been completely faithful to the count of Toulouse. With impeccable logic, Simon turns against the count of Foix, who seems to be the next most important of his adversaries, and goes to lay waste his lands in July 1211, before reaching Rocadamour where he dismisses his army. So, When the count of Toulouse had been informed that the count of Montfort had broken up his army, he sent out summonses throughout his land 12 Li borzes de Moichac e sels de Agenes/ Dizon c’ans fugirian per l’aiga en Bordales,/ Que sian lor senhor ni Barrau ni Franses;/ O s’en iran estar, si lo coms o volgues,/ Ab lui en autra terra, on que a lui plagues./ E lo coms, cant o au, lor ne ret grans merces./ Donc a fait sos sagels e a.ls pertot trames,/ A trastotz sos amics, la sus en Albiges,/ E de sai en Bearn e al comte Cumenges,/ E al comtre de Fois, e lai e Carcasses (61.6–15). 13 Us mesatges o vai a Tholosa comtar,/ E.l coms Ramons e.l sieu se corregon armar,/ E lo coms de Cumenge que.lh es vengutz aidar,/ E lo coms, sel de Foiss, e li rotier Navar (77.21–24). 14 ‘the count of Comminges’s residence’ (173.9). Martin-Chabot (vol. II, p. 214, n. 2) notes that there is no documentary evidence of the site of the dwelling owned by the counts of Comminges in Toulouse, but the existence of a rue de Comminges (the present-day rue des Moulins), a bridge and a gate in the town walls also called ‘de Cominges’, at its south-west corner, continuing the same road (the bridge led to the île de Tounis), supports the hypothesis that this dwelling was in this part of the Cité.

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the albigensian crusade and ordered his friends and allies this time to get themselves ready. The count of Comminges, who was lord of Saint-Gaudens, and the count of Foix with a great number of barons and numerous other lords arrived that very day.15 When Savaric de Mauleon joins them, Guilhem de Tudela is filled with truly epic enthusiasm at the sight of such a massive army gathering: My lords, the army of the count of Toulouse and the Toulousains was incredibly huge: the whole of Toulouse, Moissac, Montauban, Castelsarrasin, the Ile-jourdain and the Agenais were there: no-one stayed behind. All the men of Comminges and Foix took part, as well as Savaric de Mauleon, whose presence brought them great joy, and the Gascons from Gascony and the people from around Puigcerdá.16 Despite the power of this army, the campaign that followed, where there were many reversals of fortune, brought each side in turn close to decisive victory. The count of Foix in particular routed a body of crusaders, but his troops, bent on pillage, let themselves be taken by surprise by rescue parties from the opposition, and after that the situation degenerated into a stampede. Since of the allies of Toulouse it was the count of Foix who had yet again distinguished himself the most effectively, it was towards the Pyrenees that Montfort turned his forces. Pierre des Vaux-de-Cernay recounts in great detail how the Germans of Enguerrand of Boves, who had arrived in Carcassonne shortly before, had come to take Pamiers and Saverdun, and the counts of Toulouse and Foix had fled at the approach of Simon’s army. As Guilhem de Tudela states, ‘they invaded the whole of Gascony without impediment’, beginning with Saint-Gaudens, Muret and Samatan, in other words through the lands of the count of Comminges. From then on, leadership passes to the king of Aragon, who sees the opportunity to fulfil an ambition that until then has seemed out of reach: to scoop up the chestnuts that Simon would pull out of the fire, to his own considerable advantage. We have seen how the middle-ranking – and even great – Pyrenean lords acted as satellites to the palatine count-duke of Toulouse. Now was the opportune moment for the crown of Aragon to occupy the centre of a new constellation which had been taking shape for a considerable period, since it is no exaggeration to say

15 Cant lo coms de Tolosa ac la noela auzia,/ Que lo coms de Montfort a sa ost departia,/ El somonic sa terra tanta co el n’avia,/ E mandá sos amics, cels c’ab lui an paria,/ Que s’asesmo trastuit a aicela vegia./ Lo comte de Cumenge, que Sent Gauzens tenia,/ E lo comte de Fois, ab mot gran baronia,/ E motz d’autre baros i vengon a un dia (87.1–8). 16 Senhors, mot fo la ost meravilhosa e gran/ Del comte de Tolosa e d’aicels de Tolzan:/ Tholosa e Moysac i son e Montalban/ E Castel Sarrazi e la Isla-en-Jordan/ E trastotz Agenes, que degus no i reman;/ Tuit aicels de Cumenge e cels de Fois i van,/ Savarics de Malleo, de que gran joia fan,/ E Gascos de Gasconha e de vas Pog-Serdan (88.1–8).

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t h e c o m m i n g e s pa r a l l e l s that in Occitan lands, the twelfth century is the century of the rivalry between Toulouse and Barcelona. Peter II of Aragon was now liberated from all anxieties as far as the Iberian peninsula was concerned. The battle of Las Navas de Tolosa left his hands free at the same time as it made him the new champion of Christianity. He was certainly not happy about the proximity of the crusaders who had advanced as far as the Couserans, the territory of Roger of Comminges, one of the count of Foix’s nephews. But on 6 January 1213 the Catalan makes his way to Toulouse, where he stays for a good month. He positions himself from the start as protector of the counts of Toulouse and the Pyrenees, which he defends to the Pope through his messengers. Pierre des Vaux-de-Cernay, who can hardly be said to be keen on the king’s activities, allows us to follow events in precise detail. Firstly, Peter meets with ecclesiastics who are presiding at the time over the council of Lavaur. He urges them to ‘give back their lands to the three counts of Toulouse, Comminges and Foix and to Gaston of Béarn. But in reply the archbishop tells him to put his demands in writing and send them, written and sealed, to the bishops in Lavaur’.17 Peter follows Arnaud-Amaury’s instructions and defends his protégés, most particularly Bernard IV of Comminges: As the count of Comminges has never been a heretic and has not welcomed heretics, but rather has fought against them and is said to have lost his land for having come to the assistance of his suzerain and cousin the count of Toulouse, the king intercedes in his favour and asks, since he is his vassal, that his lands should be restored to him: he will give satisfaction according to the Church’s will if it is proved that he has committed any wrong.18 The response of the Fathers in council who, as we have already seen, are not readily impressed by the new champion of Christ, is, if I might say so, blunt: To your requests and prayers concerning the count of Comminges, we have judged it right to reply as follows: We know from an entirely reliable source that he has committed numerous excesses, violated his oath, contracted an alliance with heretics and their supporters, attacked the Church with the complicity of these pariahs as if he had some personal injury to avenge, then been expressly invited to cease following this path, to turn back to himself and reconcile himself to Catholic unity; nevertheless this count has maintained and still maintains his wickedness; he is struck with excommunication and anathema. It is he, the count of Comminges, who has led the count of Toulouse into war, just as the latter is

17 Guébin 1951, p. 145. 18 Guébin 1951, p. 146.

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the albigensian crusade said to be accustomed to declare; he therefore bears the responsibility for the continuation of hostilities and the numerous ills that result for the Church. However, if he shows himself worthy of deserving the benefit of absolution, the Church does not refuse to judge him fairly if he has a complaint against someone, but only after he has been absolved and he has the power to take legal action.19 In the face of the total failure of his intervention, Peter turns to Innocent III himself. At first he appears to have found the words to persuade the pope, to the chronicler’s great outrage: But the king of Aragon showed no remorse: he carried out and amplified the evil he had planned: he took the heretics and the excommunicated under his protection, in other words the three counts of Toulouse, Comminges and Foix, Gaston of Béarn, all the knights of the Toulousain and the Carcassés who had been dispossessed for heresy and had taken refuge in Toulouse, in fact all the citizens of Toulouse [. . .]. By insinuating falsehood and keeping silent about the truth, he had obtained a bull in which the lord pope ordered the count of Montfort to restore their property to the counts of Comminges and to Gaston of Béarn: another bull addressed to the archbishop of Narbonne gave the impression that the lord pope cancelled the indulgence previously granted to those who took the cross against the Albigensian heretics.20 Seeing that it is the very existence of the crusade and its continuation which are compromised, the crusade leaders and the clergy supporting them redouble their invectives against the count of Toulouse: Every day he grows worse than he was the day before, he inflicts on God’s Church all the evil he can, either in person, or through his son, or through his accomplices the counts of Foix and Comminges and Gaston of Béarn, depraved and wicked men.21 Finally, Innocent III gives in to his clerics and rescinds everything: Besides, we are outraged and astonished that, through the intermediary of your messengers who conceal the truth and utter lies, you have extorted an apostolic mandate ordering the restoration of their property to the noble lords the counts of Comminges and Foix and Gaston of Béarn.

19 Guébin 1951, p. 148. 20 Guébin 1951, p. 152 and p. 156. 21 Guébin 1951, p. 154.

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t h e c o m m i n g e s pa r a l l e l s They are in fact excommunicate, since they protect heretics and openly support them, not to mention the other grave and numerous misdeeds imputed to them: so since a mandate obtained on their behalf under these conditions is valueless, we revoke it entirely as surreptitious.22 This reprimand adorned with conciliatory remarks was seemingly insufficient to our chronicler’s taste, who reports that later, During this Mass, in candlelight, all the bishops excommunicated the count of Toulouse and his son, the count of Foix and his son, the count of Comminges, and all their supporters, aides and defenders.23 There is no doubt that the king of Aragon was included in this sentence, although the bishops intentionally omitted to mention his name. Whatever the case, it was too much for the king of Aragon. Unable to obtain an agreement from the council ‘guaranteeing to the counts of Toulouse, Foix, Comminges and Gaston of Béarn the possession of their estates’, nor even a brief armistice, he then issued a defiant challenge to Simon de Montfort, a true declaration of war, when on 27 January [he] had received the oaths of the count of Toulouse and his son, the counts of Foix and Comminges and their sons, Gaston of Béarn, and the consuls and inhabitants of Toulouse, who placed all their persons, goods and cause under his protection. He then established a vicar embodying his ­authority in Toulouse, where he left a garrison of Catalans on his departure.24 In fact once he had received the oath of all these barons and the town Peter had the absolute duty to protect them. The process was similar to that of Bismarck laying the groundwork for German unity through the 1870 war: it was of their own free will that the Pyrenean barons, so long resistant to any kind of homage, placed themselves under the king of Aragon’s protection, and the same applied to the count of Toulouse who had always been his rival and the main instigator of resistance to Barcelona. All that was now needed was a Battle of Sedan. . . The king crossed back over the Pyrenees to raise his army. A few months later he was visited by Bernard IV who was probably trying to make him speed up his preparations. The count did not stay long since he seems to have been back among the Toulousains who were preparing for the attack on Pujol a few days later. When the Occitan and Catalan armies joined forces, the final war council took place on 12 September at Muret which, by a happy coincidence, belonged to the count of Comminges (the latter fell under the jurisdiction of the count of Toulouse for his fiefs of Muret and Samatan). Bernard IV’s hierarchical rank is incidentally

22 Guébin 1951, p. 158. 23 Guébin 1951, p. 175. 24 Guébin 1951, p. 152.

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the albigensian crusade highlighted by the way in which the new, anonymous author of the song presents the various participants: Then the next day, when they saw daylight appear, the noble king of Aragon and all his captains went outside into a meadow to hold council, and similarly the counts of Toulouse and Foix and the good- hearted, loyal count of Comminges.25 On the one hand we see the noble king of Aragon and his captains, not differentiated by individual names, on the other, the usual triad Toulouse-Foix-Comminges with a sort of particular acknowledgement to our Gascon. One might expect to see the great barons expressing themselves in hierarchical order at this council, but we know that this order will be turned on its head: the king will speak first and the count of Toulouse second, but then one of the Aragonese, emerging from the previous general mass to receive a name, will cut him short with an insulting kind of challenge. This will force the count of Toulouse to abandon strategic reflection in favour of completely inappropriate epic bravado, putting an end to the council and leading directly to disaster. Nothing is said in the song or elsewhere of the count of Comminges’s conduct, to the point where we know nothing of what he did during the whole winter of 1212–1213. He probably appeared before the new papal legate, Peter of Benevento, who lends a somewhat less unfavourable ear to the disinherited counts than his predecessor had done, even if Pierre des Vaux-de-Cernay malevolently delights in suggesting that this was simply a trap to make them submit more readily. It is probably better to confine our remarks to saying that the counts spent a period of uncertainty in which their legal situation left them pitching and tossing between the pressure of the crusading leaders, the hesitations of Innocent III – then less favourable to Montfort than in the past – and the support of some Occitan barons and their people. It does not seem that the count of Comminges travelled to Rome with his friends from Toulouse and Foix, a journey that allowed them to defend their cause directly before the Lateran Council. He was certainly involved, since it was difficult to separate his case from those of the two other counts, but he may have been represented by Arnaud of Comminges of whom we are told that he was probably a nephew of Bernard IV. In the Song it is, curiously, bishop Fulk who mentions the absent count among his reproaches to the pope, whom he accuses of being too soft towards Montfort’s opponents: ‘This starts with count Raymond: you recognise him as a Catholic, you think he is a good man, a holy man, and that this also applies to the count of Comminges and the count of Foix’.26 He may consider this diabolical triad to be inseparable, or else he may have included Bernard because 25 E puis a l’endema, can viro lo jornal,/ Lo bos reis d’Arago e tuit li seu capdal/ Eison a parlament, defora, en un pradal,/ E lo coms de Tholoza e de Foih atertal/ E lo coms de Cumenge, ab bon cor e leial (138.21–25). 26 Car pel comte Ramon es lo comensamens:/ Tu.l receps per catolic e qu’es bos om e senhs,/ E.l comte de Cumenge e.l de Fois ichamens (148.17–19).

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t h e c o m m i n g e s pa r a l l e l s his reputation was such as to add to the weight of the accusations made against those he held to be his accomplices, those ‘depraved and wicked men’. We do not know how the count of Comminges was finally treated: Charles Higounet supposes, on the basis of good arguments, that he would not have benefitted from the same advantages as his neighbour of Foix but would have shared the fate of the count of Toulouse, and that Comminges would have been granted to Montfort.

The time of the sons Much time goes by before the song mentions the count of Comminges again. Nearly four years pass between his rapid appearance on the field of Muret and his intervention in the council held by Raymond of Toulouse in the lands of the count of the Couserans and Pallars. It is of some interest to give the broad outline of this period in order to understand the structure of the text under consideration here. Let us begin with the very important Lateran Council, which dealt with many subjects other than the crusade against the Albigensians to which we are confining ourselves. The great novelty of the unfolding scenes is that if the Gascon count – all in all a secondary character from the Anonymous’s point of view – has disappeared, a new character comes onstage in the person of the young count of Toulouse, the future Raymond VII. Long held in the shadow of his father, he emerges gradually, in fits and starts, and becomes a more notable character in the scenes where the author makes him his protagonist. This applies to his meeting with the pope when his father has left Rome, and again when he rides from Salon to Avignon alongside the troubadour-soldier Gui de Cavalhon: in both cases, we see both his character and his plans growing stronger. He achieves full autonomy later on beneath the walls of Beaucaire, given that Raymond VI has left him in Provence in order to go and look for help in Spain. From then on, the young prince’s star gradually grows brighter until the moment when this new David is capable of confronting the evil genius represented by the dark and seductive Simon of Montfort. The battles at Beaucaire mark the young count’s coming of age and the moment when he takes power, and at the same time the beginning of the fall of his enemy, on whom all had previously smiled and who begins to feel a bitter sense of abandonment: ‘ “I am all sighs, I am suffering and disheartened about being thus dispossessed by a fifteen-year-old boy.” ’27 Simon will not in fact succeed in defeating the young Raymond. The alarming messages reaching him from Toulouse force him to conclude a peace agreement which leave him free to go and nip the revolt in the bud. Incidentally it is worth noting that immediately after subduing Toulouse, he heads off to Gascony once more: ‘Then he crossed the Garonne and went to Saint-Gaudens, directly into Gascony’ (179.80–81) where he will marry his son to the heiress to Bigorre,

27 ‘Totz lo cors me sospira e m’es greus e pezans/ Car aisi.m dezereta us tozetz de quinze ans’ (160.17–18).

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the albigensian crusade before returning to Provence. Henceforth this constant swing of the pendulum sweeps him along in a ceaseless, frenetic race to bolster a construction that his presence alone can keep aloft. With Toulouse subdued Simon returns to ravage northern Provence, and has some successes, ‘so the Provençals had lost heart until the moment when God sent them a sweet light from the direction of Toulouse which lit up the world by invigorating Parage and making Merit turn bright again’. This light that grew so fast is the news that Raymond VI has reappeared from the direction of Pallars. Laisse 181 is devoted to a fundamental council held at the seat of Roger of Comminges, viscount of Couserans and count of Pallars in Catalonia, nephew of the count of Foix through his mother and his father the count of Comminges, and vassal of the count of Toulouse for his castle of Quié. In this council, in accordance with custom, it is the main character who speaks first, to set out the question under discussion: Raymond VI informs his allies that the Toulousains are appealing to him for help, and he asks them whether he should risk such an enterprise. The first to reply is the count of Comminges. We find him echoing the language used by Gui de Cavalhon to the young count on the way to Avignon: in the course of his advice the motif of paratge recurs in the almost identical words used by the son of the count of Foix, who speaks in the absence of his father Raimon-Roger (the latter will only join his allies a few weeks later).28 Despite what seems to be general agreement, it is only after listening to another joven, the count of Comminges’s son, that the count of Toulouse makes his decision: ‘Dear nephew, this is what we shall do, if it please God’ (181.21–25). This makes it clear that it is the young Bernard who finally persuades him, even if many other speeches will continue in the same vein before Raymond VI announces the conclusion of the council. If the ride from Salon to Avignon was a walk in the park, the same is not true of the legitimate count’s return to Toulouse. The route crossing Comminges is guarded by Joris, and the count’s small company will have to engage in battle at a moment when any battle could be his last – and for a long time his only military experience has been failure. This first and decisive lock is forced, and once again it is the young Bernard – whose qualities the Anonymous never loses an opportunity to praise – who is chosen to emphasise the victory’s symbolism: Bernard of Comminges, who was highly intelligent, said: ‘Lord, it well appears to me that we shall have God as our guide, for we have beaten them at the river crossing. We shall certainly retake Toulouse, the omen guarantees it.’ ‘Dear nephew,’ said the count, ‘you will not be proved wrong.’29 28 ‘Si vos cobratz Toloza, per so que la tengatz,/ Totz Paratges.s restaura e reman coloratz’, then in vv. 29–32: ‘Senher coms, be.us posc diire, Si Toloza cobratz,/ De tot vostre heretatge tinetz las claus e.ls datz/ E totz Pretz e Paratges pot esser restauratz’ (181.24–25). 29 Ditz Bernat de Cumenge, qu’es ben de sen aibitz:/ ‘Senher, be m’es semblansa que Dieu nos sera guitz/ Car al passar de l’aigua los avem descofitz./ Ben cobrarem Tholosa que l’aür nos o ditz.’/ ‘Bels nebs,’ so ditz lo coms, ‘no.n seretz desmentitz’ (182.21–25).

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t h e c o m m i n g e s pa r a l l e l s From now on, the young man fully assumes the place appropriate to his rank. Just as we have seen the young count of Toulouse’s star rising in Provence, so we see Bernard of Comminges playing the role of a great vassal, both in consilium, as in the Couserans, and in auxilium, in the battle of Salvetat where Joris is put to flight. This is even more marked when Alice of Montfort – whose husband, as we have seen, is in Provence – questions Simon’s lieutenants. The place reserved for Bernard in the reply confers a unique role on him: ‘Barons,’ said the countess, ‘who are these highwaymen who have taken the town from me and who is responsible?’ ‘Madam,’ said Sir Gervais, ‘it can be none other than count Raymond who is claiming Toulouse, and Sir Bernard of Comminges whom I see advancing at their head: I recognise his banner and his standard-bearer.’30 This place of honour is in any case justified by the manifest courage of the young count in the combats that follow the Toulousain count’s entry into his capital: Sir Bernard of Comminges has acquitted himself well in this: with his fine company, he has distinguished himself through his valiance in occupying and holding the exits and passages at the side of the castle, where their baggage-train was. His merit and praiseworthiness in this clearly deserves to be recognised.31 This is not the only time when Bernard’s warrior qualities earn him the approval of the Anonymous. At a difficult moment when Simon, furious, as he says, at seeing ‘the hares resisting the hounds’ (192.40), decides to resort to trickery, he sets an ambush: at the first light of dawn, a small group of the best French soldiers will attack the town and try to lure the Toulousains outside the walls; then the crusaders as a whole will intervene and easily win the battle. But then the young count of Comminges takes the initiative: ‘Sir Bernard of Comminges has taken over the leadership and command of the men of the town to prevent them having themselves killed; he shouts to them at that moment that the others will not be able 30 ‘Baros,’ ditz la comtessa, ‘cals son aquest rotier/ Que m’an touta la vila e cel que mal ne mier?’/ ‘Dona,’ so ditz.n Girvais, ‘no pot estre estiers:/ So es lo coms Ramons, qui Toloza requier,/ E.n Bernatz de Cumenge, que vei venir primer/ Qu’ieu conosc la senheira e.l seu gomfanonier’ (183.27–32). This can be understood either as Bernard being at the head of the troop, accompanied by the standard-bearer with the arms of Comminges on his person and the banner he is holding, or that the young man has made himself his uncle’s standard-bearer for the occasion of the entry into Toulouse, when it would be more logical for the banner to be placed at front in these circumstances. In addition, one could also explain the prominent position of the arms of Comminges by the young man’s ardour or by his close kinship with the Raymonds. 31 En Bernatz de Cumenge s’i es ben captengutz/ Qu’ab sa bona companha, valens e aperceubutz,/ De la part del castel, on era lor traütz,/ A.ls bocals e.ls passatges establitz e tengutz;/ Per que l’en deu ben estre lo laus e.l pretz rendutz (184.57–61).

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the albigensian crusade to resist them.’32 In other words, the cool head and natural authority of the joven, his military instinct, prevent the Toulousain people’s lack of discipline leading to another disaster: Bernard imposes his discipline without reducing their courage, thereby amply fulfilling his duties as an aristocrat. So just like the young count of Toulouse, Bernard of Comminges gradually takes on the depth in the Song that transforms a secondary character into a protagonist. Nevertheless, we need to take account of the importance of historical facts in our text, which belongs to a new literary genre.33 The author may well transform the segments of time into narrative drivers, giving them more or less meaning and more or less space, but he cannot go too far in distorting the facts. Just as it has been possible to set in parallel the love nòvas and lyric cançons, so one could do the same for the sirventés and songs based on contemporary history: their public is aware of the facts; it can take pleasure in seeing them presented in a suitable light, but there would be little sense in distorting them. From this point of view, the development of the character of the young count of Toulouse proves to be fully justified: immediately following the return from the Lateran Council the count of Toulouse leaves his son in Provence to go and seek help, and the anonymous author’s account loses sight of him until his quasi-­ resurrection in the Couserans. Whether or not the actions carried out at Beaucaire were primarily down to the lords to whom Raymond VI had entrusted the prince is of no importance: the joven is from now on the protagonist of the song and raises himself up to the level of his adversary, Simon, who serves as Goliath to the new David. But there is nothing of the sort for the young Bernard, always surrounded by heroes more important than he, if only because they are, as it were, his seniors in the song, the count his father and Raymond of Toulouse. But these basic obstacles do not prevent the young count from taking on new stature as the song progresses. Immediately after the affair where we saw the budding hero show so much boldness in action, the author informs us of Bernard of Comminges’s departure for Gascony: ‘Sir Bernard of Comminges has taken his leave of them and departs for Gascony in order to rekindle the war against the enemies and to go and look for Joris.’34 Little is known of this strange figure, a sort of mysterious double of Montfort. He is certainly an ally of his, but we do not know whether he is an Occitan who has joined the crusade or a northern Frenchman. He is continually scouring Gascony35 looking more like a gang leader than one of Simon’s lieutenants. It must 32 En Bernatz de Cumenge pres lo capdel e·l guit/ Dels omes de la vila qu’ilh no sian delit,/ En apres lor escrida no serian sofrit (193.28–30). 33 Or at the very least renewed if we take into account the Canso d’Antioca to which Guilhem de Tudela refers in his opening lines. 34 En Bernatz de Cumenge a de lor comjat pris/ E vai s’en en Gasconha encontra.ls enemics/ Per refermar la guerra e per cercar.n Joris (194.69–71). 35 The explanations offered by Martin-Chabot (vol. II, p. 271, n.5 and III, p. 87, n.9) seem rather confused: among other things, I can see nothing militating in favour of a Joris from the Languedoc as the equivalent of Georges in the Grammaire istorique des parlers provençaux modernes of J. Ronjat.

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t h e c o m m i n g e s pa r a l l e l s be pointed out that the status of laisse 209, entirely devoted to the exploits of the young Bernard de Comminges, is odd. Indeed, if we accept Martin-Chabot’s approach, the prince has left Toulouse during the winter, and fighting only starts again at Easter 1218, ending with the raising of the siege on 25 July of the same year, a month after Montfort’s death. But laisse 208, which relates the abandonment of the siege of Toulouse, finishes with the following transition: ‘Sir Bernard of Comminges certainly needs to show himself capable, for Sir Joris is riding against him, sending him his challenge and laying waste his lands’.36 This passage gives the impression of an inverse echo of the previous situation. If the expedition of the previous winter really did take place, despite such an unpropitious season, what is sure is that it was not a success for Bernard and that the anonymous author was very careful not to tell us this. Moreover the request for help which Bernard addresses to the barons of Toulouse, and his father in particular, could be interpreted in this way, for he is finds himself de mainada escaritz, ‘with few troops’. This long laisse truly places the young viscount on the same level as the song’s protagonists, which emphasises not so much victory over the finally captured Joris, as Bernard’s speech to his troops before he leads the attack against the French, where we find all the rhetoric of an Occitan leader: And when they found themselves gathered together for the council, Sir Bernard of Comminges addressed the barons in a fine speech which cheered them all. ‘Lords, noble knights: Jesus Christ, the true God, loves us, rules over us and has shown us His favour. He has just handed over and delivered to us absolutely all those enemies of ours who had been destroying us. We shall assuredly give battle and we shall be victorious; my heart tells me so. Lords, just think of what a diminished state they hold us in: in all our fiefs there are fake lords; these people have killed fathers and young children; they have killed ladies and slain their husbands; they have annihilated Paratge and have enriched themselves, and they force us to wander through the world in danger and suffering, and are constantly hunting us down in the blossoming woods. Ah, by Holy Mary, the Virgin empress! I should rather we be killed by arms or sharp swords than stay to let ourselves be oppressed by them. If they find us standing bold and combative before them, Paratge will be forever honoured and respected! If you are willing to believe me, since they are within our reach, their fate and ours will be decided in such a way that hell and paradise will have their share of souls. As for the booty that will be taken and conquered in this encounter, it will be shared equally among us.’ All shout in one voice, ‘Well spoken! Well spoken! Let’s ride out to the fight! We shall have God as our guide!’37 36 En Bernatz de Cumenge s’a ops a enantir,/ Qu’en Joris lo cavalga e.l manda requerir/ E li gasta sa terra (208.107–9). 37 E cant foron essems al parlament aizitz/ A.n Bernatz de Cumenges los baros somonitz,/ Belament se razona ez a.ls totz esbauditz:/ ‘Senhors, francs cavaliers, lo vers Dieus, Jhesu Cristz/ Nos

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the albigensian crusade The themes of the young men’s speeches clearly coincide on numerous points, thus giving the impression of a unanimity far removed from the divisions and ulterior motives that led their fathers into failure and disrepute. The time of libertines gives way to the time of knights. Moreover, these parallels between the two young counts of Toulouse and Comminges not only create a sort of unity between the two outermost parts of the Occitan territories but also run alongside one of the most fundamental aims of the author of the Song of the Albigensian Crusade: to show that the reasons alleged to justify the war, religious reasons in particular, are false pretexts. It must be acknowledged that the morality of the great Occitan lords of the first generation, Raymond VI of Toulouse, Bernard IV of Comminges or even Peter II of Aragon, whose image since Las Navas de Tolosa was that of the great defender of the Church, publicly left something to be desired, so that the terrible words of the clerics who spoke of ‘depraved and wicked men’ would not have been without a certain resonance.38 From the time of the Lateran Council it is clear that the real obstacle to the confiscation of fiefs by the crusaders arises from the existence of young children. The logic coming straight from the gospels to which the pope refers – ‘And if the count were condemned – which he is not – why should his son lose the land and the inheritance? Jesus Christ who is our Lord and our King has said: the father’s sin does not make the son guilty!’39 – contrasts with what must be called the realpolitik of a certain Folquet de Marseille: ‘And you, you strip him [Montfort] of the land, the places and the fortresses of Montauban and Toulouse which he has conquered in the name of the Cross with his shining sword, with this article which distinguishes

ama e.ns governa e nos ha ben aizitz/ Que.ls nostres enemics, que.ns avian delitz,/ Nos ha be totz essems lhiuratz e amarvitz./ Nos aurem la batalha, senes totz contraditz,/ E sera ben vencuda. que·l coratges m’o ditz./ Senhors, ara vos membre cum nos teno feblitz,/ Q’en totas nostras terras a senhors apostitz,/ Que cilh an mortz los paires e los efans petitz/ Ez an mortas las donas e destruitz los maritz,/ Ez an mort tot paratge e lor eish enriquitz/ E nos fan ir pel setgle perilhatz e marritz/ E nos cassan tot dia pels boscatges floritz./ E, per santa Maria, Vergena emperaritz!/ Mas volh moiram ab armas o ab glazis forbitz/ No que ja sempre.ns tengan abaichatz ni peritz./ E si be·ns troban ara firens e afortiz,/ Totz temps n’er mais Paratges ondratz e obezitz./ E si m’en voletz creire, pos los trobam aizitz,/ Le lor afar e.l nostre er aisi devezitz/ Qu’iferns e paradis aura dels esperitz;/ Que mais val mortz ondrada c’aisi viure aunitz./ Pero l’avers, que i sia ni pres ni comqueritz,/ Er be entre nos autres belament departitz.’ Trastuit essems escridan: ‘Ben o ditz! Ben o ditz!/ Cavalguem la batalha! Que Dieus nos sera guitz’ (209.51–79). 38 One simply had to recall the less than glorious role played by the three associates in the sad adventures of Marie de Montpellier. 39 ‘E si·l coms damnatz era, aiso qu’el pas non es,/ Sos filhs perque perdra la terra ni l’eres?/ E ja ditz Jhesus Crist, que reis e senher es,/ Que pel pecat del paire le filhs non es mespres’ (149.40–43).

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t h e c o m m i n g e s pa r a l l e l s between the property of heretics and that of loyal believers, orphans and widows, and that’s not the least of it!’40 It seems that it was not enough for the Anonymous just to put on stage sons of impeccable blood – and we should remember that in the Toulousain case this is the blood of one of the most glorious lineages of the West. The young princes are at the same time jovens in the usual sense: in this particular case, whether married or not, they are young men whose father-lord is still the fief-holder, but who also represent Joven, Youth, the sort of political renewal of the world of which Bertran de Born sang: I love to see power changing hands and the old leaving their houses to the young, and each one can leave so many children to posterity that one of them may have merit. Then it is a better sign for me of the renewal of the world than flowers or birdsong. And anyone who can replace an old lady or lord by young ones, it is his duty to ensure renewal.41 It seems in effect that our young men’s power of regeneration extends its influence over the preceding generation through a sort of contagion of purity and that these fathers, somewhat discredited, regain their worth, as is the case for the count of Comminges ab fin cor esmerat who has the privilege of inflicting a dreadful wound on Gui de Montfort, which does not fail to prefigure the fate of his brother: The powerful count of Comminges, his heart pure and unalloyed, stretched a crossbow which someone was pleased to bring him; he places on it a shaft of pure hardened steel and fires after gathering his thoughts and aiming carefully. He strikes Gui de Montfort, whom he has seen at the front of the troops, and gives him such a blow at the top of his gold-trimmed hauberk that he makes the steel go right through the silk material and his ribs.42 The case of count Raymond is much more extraordinary, for the Anonymous does not really try to make him pass for a hero: despite the council of the Couserans 40 ‘E tu tols li la terra e·ls locs e·ls bastimens,/ Qu’es per crotz conquerida e ab glazis luzens,/ Montalba e Tholoza, desobre aquels covens,/ Estiers la dels iretges, e dels lials crezens/ E d’orfes e de veuzas, que aquela n’es mens!’ (148.9–13). 41 Gouiran 1985, vol. II, 38, 1–8: Belh m’es quan vey camjar lo senhoratge/ E·lh vielh laixan als joves lur maizos,/ E quascus pot giquir a son linhatge/ Aitans d’efans que l’us puesc’esser pros./ Ladons m’es vis que·l segle renovelh/ Mielhs que per flor ni per chantar d’auzelh./ E qui dona ni senor pot camjar/ vielh per jove, ben deu renovelar. 42 E.l rics coms de Cumenge, ab fin cor esmerat,/ Fetz tendre una balesta, que l’aporten de grat;/ E mes sus una pua de fin acer calhat/ E tira e cossira ez albira membrat,/ E fier.n Gui de Montfort, que vi aprimairat,/ E dona li tal colp sus en l’ausberc safrat/ Que per meias las costas e pel pan del cendat/ Que d’una part en oltra li a l’acer colat (188.32–39).

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the albigensian crusade and the words of the young count of Comminges, despite the victory at the Salvetat, the count still hesitates to enter Toulouse which has nevertheless called for him, and his attitude has nothing of a future conqueror about him: But at dawn, when the sky was lightening and daylight appearing, the count took fright for he was afraid to be seen and for rumour of it to spread on all sides.43 It will take nothing less than a divine miracle darkening the air to conceal the count, and the arrival of the representatives of Toulouse, to reassure Raymond, but the scene that follows transforms this man, who seems highly pusillanimous when one thinks of the terrible sufferings that their fidelity has cost the Toulousains, into a sort of Lord’s anointed. Now the entry of the legitimate count takes on the appearance of an entry into Jerusalem in a veritable transfiguration, where one can however observe that it is the acts and attitudes of the people of Toulouse which restore dignity to an almost totemic overlord: When they left the river they came to the meadow with banners unfurled and pennants flying. When the townspeople noticed the arms, they rushed towards the count as if he had been resurrected. Then when the count made his entrance through the vaulted portals, the people flooded towards him, great and small, men and women, wives and husbands: they knelt before him and kissed his garments, his feet, his legs, his arms and his fingers. He is received into joy with tears of joy, for the returning joy blossoms and bears fruit. And they said to each other: ‘Henceforth Jesus Christ is with us like the morning star, the star that has regained its brilliance, for here is our lord, he who was dead. So Merit and Paratge that were buried have been resuscitated, alive, healed and in good health, and all our descendants will be prosperous for ever.’44 Of course, count Raymond has been reconciled to the Church by the pope in the Lateran palace; the reader will recall the extraordinary reception reserved for him by the Avignonese on his return from Rome, and we know he is back from a sort of purgatory in Spain; but who could recognise in the object of this

43 Mas a l’albor del dia, can lo jorn esclarzitz,/ E can viro lo jorn, lo coms es espauritz,/ Per so car ac temensa qu’el pogues estre vitz/ E que per tota la terra se leves brutla e critz (182.32–35). 44 E can eison de l’aiga son el pratz resortitz,/ Senheiras desplegadas e.ls gonfanos banditz./ E cant ilh de la vila an los senhals cauzitz/ Aisi vengo al comte, com si fos resperitz,/ E cant lo comte s’en intra per los portals voltitz,/ Ladoncs i venc lo pobles, lo maier e.l petits/ E.ls baros e las donas, las molers e.l maritz/ Que denan s’agenolhan e.lh baizan los vestitz/ E los pes e las cambas e los braces e.ls ditz./ Ab lagrimas joiozas es ab joi receubutz/ Car lo jois que repaira es granatz e floritz./ E si ditz l’us a l’autre: ‘Ara avem Jhesu Cristz/ E.l lugans e la estela, que nos es esclarzitz,/ C’aiso es nostre senher, que sol estre peritz./ Per que Pretz e Paratges, que era sebelhitz,/ Es vius e restauratz e sanatz e gueritz/ E totz nostre linatge per totz temps enriquitz’ (182.62–78).

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t h e c o m m i n g e s pa r a l l e l s quasi-adoration on the part of the people the former excommunicated lord and the one who fled from Muret? In conclusion, I should like to emphasise the structuring aspect of the parallels which I have attempted to highlight. The Toulouse of the Song of the Albigensian Crusade is supported by two pillars, the marquisate of Provence where the counts of Saint-Gilles can count on the unreserved support of the town of Avignon, which the French will make pay dearly for its unwavering fidelity; and the Gascony of the Pyrenean lords closely linked by blood to the dynasty of the Raymonds. It is these two provinces that allow the Raymonds to resist, and Montfort has fully understood this, trying by all possible means to seize them, by an astute matrimonial policy, to be sure, but also by war. Despite his remarkable strategic swiftness, he will wear himself out running from one end of the Occitan territory to the other and in trying to invent a policy for which he lacks the financial and military means. These two regions are also those where the torches of the resistance are successively lit in the persons of the two young counts of Toulouse and Comminges, even if it must be acknowledged that the importance of the future Raymond VII clearly outweighs that of his Pyrenean cousins of Comminges or Foix. The parallels between the young princes are emphasised by the points they have in common brought out by the Anonymous, and in particular a troubadour background context reinforced on the Provençal side by the intervention of the troubadour Gui de Cavalhon. This element consists essentially in the strong presence of Joven but also in the use of the word that is constantly found on the lips of all the Occitans, namely paratge, whose repetition guarantees a community of thought, if not of civilisation. This ideology may be modern, at least in its expression – since we know that the term paratge is not that commonly used by the troubadours – but it covers age-old, fundamental ideas in a new form, in particular the sacred bond between land and lineage, a bond that is indissoluble despite all the acts of violence and cowardice evidenced in the return of the legitimate count of Toulouse. In his brother’s absence Gui de Montfort attempts to retake the town, and for this he summons several Gascon barons who, like the count of Armagnac,45 had promised to join Montfort’s troops when Simon, his son or his brother required them to come. But when these barons arrive somewhat reluctantly outside the town, it is too late: Gui has been wounded by the count of Comminges and, for that day, Simon has had to sound the retreat. As for the Gascon barons who had been ordered to come and who under coercion sadly join up with the count, they laugh and joke (others can weep and groan!); they say to each other, ‘What a turnaround for all of us! Ah, noble Toulouse, full of goodness, you whom Paratge and Mercy thank with all their hearts, how you have made Pride swallow her words with the aid of Righteousness!’46 45 Martin-Chabot, vol. II, pp. 295–96, n. 5. 46 E.ls baros de Gasconha, que lai eran mandat,/ Que venian al comte, iradament forsat,/ Cals que plor o que planha, ilh an ris e jogat,/ E si ditz l’us a l’autre,‘Nos em tuit restaurat;/ Ai! la gentils Toloza, complida de bontat,/ Cui Paratges merceia e Merces ab bon grat,/ Cum avetz ab Dreitura Orgolh dezeretat!’ (188.93–99).

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13 THE TROUBADOUR AND THE OVERLORD History as viewed by the anonymous author of the Song of the Albigensian Crusade When a troubadour whose identity we are unlikely ever to discover1 one day lays his hands on the manuscript containing Guilhem de Tudela’s narrative presenting his angle on events currently unfolding in the improperly named South of France, does he really have a project in mind? To speak of a writing project is not as anachronistic as it might seem. If we suppose that a lord such as Baudoin or Guillaume de Contres had commissioned Guilhem – from Navarre, that cradle of the chanson de geste – to set contemporary events into epic form, it would have been a question of a fixed-price commission like others coming down to us in other art forms.2 In the thirteenth century there was nothing new about dressing up contemporary events in the prestigious garments of a chanson de geste, and the eastern crusades provided a compelling precedent: did Guilhem not acknowledge that, as far as its form was concerned, his song was inspired by the Canso d’Antioca?3 I mentioned presenting an angle in the narrative. The first angle differentiating our two authors is that Guilhem defends the viewpoint of those the Song calls ‘the clergy and the French’, whereas the Anonymous belongs to the innermost circle of the counts of Toulouse, as is shown more than once by his knowledge of precise details of which he otherwise could not have been aware. But this is not the only angle to consider: another is the artistic one, for our ‘troubadours’ – I take the word in its simplest sense of a literary author composing in Occitan – are far from lacking in traditional culture. Even if their knowledge is essentially based on Latin, they know that history-writing is a literary genre in which events are only matter to be put into form, and it would be as unwise to seek direct reporting in the speeches of bishop Fulk as in those of Pericles in Thucydides, or of Catiline in

1 Guida 2003. 2 Lafont 1991: ‘nous suggérons de voir la preuve d’existence d’une école de Tudèle de l’écriture épique’ (vol. I, p. 271), and ‘Guilhem venu de Tudèle, la ville de l’épopée’ (vol. II, p. 208; see also pp. 204–12 and 238–44). 3 Senhors, esta canso es faita d’aital guia/ Com sela d’Antiocha et ayssi·s versifia/ E s’a tot aital so, qui diire lo sabia (Martin-Chabot 1931–1961, 2.1–3): ‘My Lords! This song is composed on the model of the Canso d’Antioca, it is put into verse in the same way and composed on the same tune, for anyone who might know how to recite it.’ All quotations are taken from this edition.

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the troubadour and the overlord Sallust. Actions and minds certainly come under the heading of chronicle, and we can readily acknowledge the accuracy of the information provided by the Anonymous, but its shaping, its language, its transformation of people into characters, the attribution of meaning to the gestures of the ‘poor actor who struts and frets his hour upon the stage’, all this comes from the artist: one artist who takes up the challenge of speaking differently from another. ‘Let’s put the facts to one side . . .’ The other angle is that of ideology, what we might call the wish to generate propaganda, were it possible to make this word bear neutral rather than pejorative connotations: the sense of demonstration whose art consists in transforming into self-evident truth just what the adversary is claiming to call into question. From his opening lines, the Anonymous sets out the central point at issue in the Song. King Peter II of Aragon, that very Christian king who has just beaten the enemies of the faith at the battle of Las Navas de Tolosa, is made to speak. Peter is expounding to his vassals his reasons for intervening the other side of the Pyrenees: ‘The clergy and the French want to despoil my brother-in-law the count of his inheritance, and hound him out of his lands; without wrong-­doing or fault on his part  – for none can be adduced –, but just because it pleases them to do so, they want to dispossess him.’4 This already sums up the essence of the issue. The forces present are made up of two groups. On one side, an ethnic one, are the Frances, and an institution, the clergue, those who will be called the Church militant. On the other are the comte of Toulouse and his conhat (brother-in-law), the king of Aragon, whose alliance is based on a bond of kinship. The aim of the aggressors is defined by three synonymous terms: deseretar (disinherit), de terra gitar (expel from [his] land) and decasar (disenfeoff). What is at stake is the land: inherited land, passing, like blood, from father to son, through lineage, following a recognised, universally accepted system, which must not be infringed upon other than for a really exceptional reason. The scandalous event, the act of outrageous turpitude which would prompt the breaking of the natural law, does not exist: ‘without wrong-doing or fault on his part’. There is only a totally unjustified, arbitrary will: ‘just because it pleases them’ – unless the real reason is so scandalous that it cannot be uttered. From now on the propagandist has a clear path to follow. What he has to do is to proclaim the sacred character of the transmission of land through the bloodline, to undermine every last one of the foundations of an accusation which would allow this ever again to be called into question, even to risk denying the Church any rights in the matter, and to make plain to everyone the unmentionable explanation

4 ‘Li clergue e·ls Frances volon deseretar/ Lo comte mon conhat e de terra gitar;/ Ses tort e senes colpa, que hom no·ls pot comtar,/ Mas sol car a lor platz, le volon decasar’ (132.1–4).

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the albigensian crusade of an unjustifiable act of aggression.5 When he picks up the pen which Guilhem de Tudela has dropped, the events which the Anonymous has to relate are some of the darkest he has to record. The first is the battle of Muret, an episode in which he displays Simon’s strategic qualities in their full glory. The author himself does not yet realise how deadly a blow this battle is to the cause he is defending. Then comes the Lateran Council. Here pope Innocent III shows himself very favourably disposed towards the counts of Toulouse and Foix, whom he exonerates of all suspicion of heresy. The arguments of the Occitan side cut a swathe through the furious attacks of bishop Fulk, but the pressure of the clergy on the pope is so strong that the latter, despite everything, pronounces the following sentence, whose iniquity the Anonymous denounces through the very form of their self-­ contradiction: ‘The cause is judged: the count is Catholic and has behaved loyally; but let lord Simon hold the land.’6 The situation will seem no less desperate when, a few weeks later, during an interview the pope grants to the future Raymond VII, a fifteen-year-old lad7 – as Montfort will say contemptuously later on – he recognises the boy’s rights over the dowry of his mother, Joan of England, namely the Venaissin, the Argence and – perhaps – Beaucaire. Thus, when our author writes that father and son, who have just met at Genoa, ‘rode gaily along, thinking of their arrival, until they were at Marseille’,8 the reader cannot help but admire their unshakable optimism, apparently devoid of the slightest foundation in reason. It is to a passage of the following laisse (154), which relates the arrival of the two counts in their town of Avignon, that I wish to draw attention, for it seems to me to be a particularly consummate example of the anonymous author’s project and his artistry in marvellously combining literary form with his concept of history. If we are to believe the Anonymous, the counts arrive in Marseille right at the start of February 1216. A few days later, they are told that the notables of Avignon are waiting on the river bank9 to pay them homage; they go to the meeting-place

5 The explanation, well in line with the Gregorian Reform, would be that the clergy aim to make the Church a sort of supreme suzerain above all others, with the right to grant – and withdraw – all temporal fiefs. This claim is clearly expressed by the cardinal legate who does not hesitate to threaten Simon de Montfort in person by saying to him that the Church ‘has the power to take away from you and to give to you’ (Qu’ela a poder que·us tola et ha poder que·us don, 200.98). We see a lucid crusader, Amaury de Craon, imperiously rise up against this pretention: ‘The Scriptures do not say, and the law does not prescribe, that you should wrongly deprive any landlord of his patromony’ (‘Que no ditz la Escriptura ni demostra la Leitz/ Que nulh princep de terra a tort dezeretetz’, 203.20–21). Compare note 15 below. 6 ‘Faitz es lo jutjamens:/ Que lo coms es catolix e·s capté leialmens/ Mas·n Simos tenga·l terra’ (148.72–74). 7 ‘ . . . us tozetz de quinze ans’ (160.18). 8 E cavalgan ab joia e pessan del venir/ Tro foro a Maselha (152.71–72). 9 al ribatge (153.7), to which the editor comments, n. 2: ‘La suite de la laisse indique que le lieu ainsi désigné était la berge du Rhône sous le rempart, occidental sans doute, d’Avignon’. The rest of the

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the troubadour and the overlord Table 13.1  1 Ab gran joi albergueron; e·l matin ab lo ros, Cant l’alba dousa brolha e·l cans dels auzelos, E s’espandig la folha e la flors dels botos, Li baro cavalguero doi e doi per l’erbos, 5 e pessan de las armas e de las garnizos.1 1

With great joy, they took their lodgings; and in the morning, at dewfall, when the sweet dawn and birdsong emerge, and the leaves and flower buds open up, the barons rode two by two across the grassy plain, their thoughts occupied by arms and equipment.

154.1–5.

for Raymond VI to receive it, then the next day return to Marseille and immediately leave again for Salon, where they arrive at nightfall and take their lodging (Table 13.1).10 If we recall that the scene takes place in the first week of February, it is clear that the author is not concerned with painting a realistic picture of the plains watered by the Durance, even if I  readily concede my ignorance of the exact details of that year’s weather. The initial joi or surge of life illuminates the beginning of the laisse which presents us, as Martin-Chabot well noted,11 with what is commonly named the ‘Natureingang’ (nature opening) of the troubadours. How can we avoid acknowledging that this very early ‘reverdie’ is symbolic in more than one way? After night and winter have descended on troubadour lands, there comes a spring dawn whose fragility inevitably recalls the daring hawthorn flower of the count of Poitou, William of Aquitaine. In fact it will be a long time before the sun is mentioned in the text, not before the Marseille fleet comes to complete the blockade of Beaucaire, on one of those other mornings of the world when all the elements of a new nature unite to bring decisive support to the young count.12 laisse gives no details: the text tells us that the counts left in the morning to go to the ­meeting-place, el rivatge (v. 11), where, in his city’s name, Arnaut Audegier pronounces the speech of homage to which Raymond VI replies soberly. The next day, the Anonymous adds, the counts return to Marseille without delay, from where they immediately leave for Salon where they arrive at nightfall. Martin-Chabot, in a new note (1, p.  94), comments, ‘Raimond VI et son fils, après avoir passé la nuit à Avignon, retournent à Marseille, qu’ils quittent bientôt pour se rendre à Salon (à 49 kilomètres au nord de cette dernière ville et 45 au sud de la première), où se rassemble la troupe des Provençaux et des “faiditz” qui prêteront main-forte au jeune comte Raimond’. 10 E vengron a Selho la noit al avespratge,/ E albergan ab joia (153.45–46). 11 ‘Quelques vers de notre poète, évoquant la fraîche nature, rappellent des débuts de chansons de troubadours, qui célèbrent les charmes de la verte saison; ainsi ceux par lesquels commence sa 154e laisse’ (Martin-Chabot, vol. II, p. xxiv). 12 Li escutz e las lansas e la onda qui cor,/ E l’azurs e·l vermelhs e·l vert ab la blancor,/ E l’aurs fis e l’argens mesclan la resplandor/ Del solelh e de l’aiga, que partig la brumor./ E·n Ancelmetz, per terra, e sei cavalgador/ Cavalgan ab gran joia ab la clara lugor,/ Ab sos cavals cubertz e denant l’auriflor./ De totas partz escridan: ‘Toloza!’ li milhor,/ Per l’ondrat filh del comte qui recobra sa honor,/ E intran a Belcaire (163.70–79). (The shields, the lances and the running water, the azure, scarlet, green and white, fine gold and silver mingle their brilliance with that of the sun and the water, the mist having dispersed. On the ground, Anselmet and his knights ride merrily along in the beautiful light, with their caparisoned horses and the oriflamme at the front. On all sides these

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the albigensian crusade On the other hand, this text also represents a synthesis of the art of the troubadours, representatives of the world for which all these riders/knights are fighting. Several genres are in fact represented here: the canso or love-song of course, through the nature topos with its animal and plant aspects already mentioned (an expression such as l’alba . . . brolha may even echo a specific troubadour); the alba as well, obviously (of course it would actually be a counter-alba!), not only in the use of the word but also in the presence of birds which it shares with the cançon; then we gradually realise that in fact the ‘Natureingang’ (nature introduction) of the love-song is simply a device to introduce the sirventés or political song with which Bertran de Born entertained himself on many occasions.13 The interplay of genres, so dear to the troubadours, continues when the couple (doi e doi) is in fact a pair of knights constrained by the path to ride two abreast and whose subject of conversation is not love, to which such an introduction ought quite naturally to lead, but in fact war, de las armas e de las garnizos. A love-song, with its sub-genre the alba, a warrior sirventés: the only thing missing from the lyric system is the debate in its various forms. In other words the Occitan lyric will be up to full strength when the troubadour Gui de Cavalhon, instead of partir un jòc (opening a debate), starts a dialogue with the young count of Toulouse, who therefore must be his riding companion. This idea is confirmed by the fact that what ms. C calls the Partimen del coms e d’en Gui,14 whose subject is not very different, has actually come down to us. Moreover, the synthesis of nature’s ‘reverdie’ and the troubadours’s love of joven (youth)15 occurs quite naturally in the person of the young count. Laisse 160 reads, ‘On all sides there blooms a new flower that will resurrect Worth and Parage; for the young count, who is clever and valiant, is demanding through

valiant men cry ‘Toulouse!’ in honour of the revered son of the count who is recovering his land, and they enter Beaucaire.) 13 In particular in the two sirventés criticising Alfonso II of Aragon, Pois lo gens terminis floritz et Cant vei pels vergiers desplegar (ed. Gouiran, vol. I, nos 23 and 24). 14 I. Senhe·n coms, saber volria/ qual tenriatz per melhor:/ si l’apostoli·us rendia/ vostra terra per amor/ o si per cavallairia/ la conqueretz ab honor,/ suffertan fam, freit e calor./ Qu’ieu sai be la qual penria/ s’era de tan gran ricor,/ que·l maltraichz torn en legor. (Lord Count, I should like to know which you would prefer: the pope to give you back your land out of affection or for you to recapture it gloriously through knightly deeds, enduring hunger, cold and heat. I know what I would choose, if I were of such high rank, for suffering turns into an easy life.) II. Senhe·n Gui, mais amaria/ conquerre pretz e valor/ que null’autra manentia/ que·m tornes a deshonor./ Non o dic contra clercia/ ni m’en esdic per paor,/ qu’ieu no vuelh castel ni tor/ s’ieu eis no la·m conqueria;/ e miei honrat valedor/ sapchan que·l gazains er lor. (Lord Gui, I should prefer to conquer merit and worth more than any other wealth that would cover me in dishonour. I am not saying this against the clergy and I am not excusing myself out of fear: I want no castle or tower unless I win them myself and my glorious allies know that it is entirely to their benefit). Ed. www.rialto.unina.it/GuiCav/192.5(Guida).htm. 15 For the sense of this term see Gouiran 1985, pp. CXV–CXVII.

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the troubadour and the overlord arms reparation for the acts of dispossession and damage.’16 Did Bertran de Born, one of the troubadours whose tracks Gui often seems to follow, or claim he is following, not say that if a young lord succeeded his father, ‘then for me it is a better sign of the world’s renewal than flowers or birdsong’?17 Thus the laisse’s introduction makes it clear to which universe the Anonymous is referring: the world of Paratge is definitely the world of the troubadours, and every, or nearly every, sentence element, following the system once studied by Jörn Gruber,18 contains elements of the past to which the new author is now laying claim. So it is hardly surprising, given this atmosphere, that it should be Gui de Cavalhon, a Provençal knight bound by close ties to the Raymonds of Toulouse but also a troubadour, who questions the young man as if he were a candidate in a sort of initiation. Table 13.2 Mos Guis de Cavalho desobr’un caval ros A dig al comte jove: ‘Oimais es la sazos Que a grans obs Paratges que siatz mals e bos, Car lo coms de Montfort que destrui los baros 10 E la gleiza de Roma e la prezicacios Fa estar tot Paratge aunit e vergonhos, Qu’en aisi es Paratges tornatz de sus en jos Que si per vos no·s leva per totz tems es rescos. E si Pretz e Paratges no·s restaura per vos, 15 Doncs es lo mortz Paratges e totz lo mons en vos. E pus de tot Paratge etz vera sospeisos, O totz Paratges moria o vos que siatz pros!’1 1

But Gui de Cavalhon, mounted on a chestnut horse, said to the young count: ‘Now is the time when Parage very much needs you to be bad and good, for the Count of Montfort, who is destroying the barons, and the Church of Rome and the preaching, are overwhelming Parage with shame and ignominy; for Parage is so overthrown, that if it is not raised up again by you, it will disappear for ever. If Worth and Parage are not restored by you, then Parage dies and the whole world dies in you. And since you are the true hope of all Parage, either all Parage will die or you will need to be valiant!’

154.6–17.

16 Car una flors novela s’espandis per totz pans/ Per que Pretz e Paratges tornara en estans;/ Car le valens coms joves, qu’es adreitz e prezans,/ Demanda e contrasta los dezerestz e·ls dans (vv. 5–8). 17 Belh m’es quan vey camjar lo senhoratge/ e·lh vielh laixan als joves lur maizos,/ e quascus pot giquir a son linhatge/ aitans d’efans que l’us puesc’esser pros./ Ladoncs m’es vis que·l segle renovelh/ mielhs que per flor ni per chanter d’auzelh. (I like to see power change hands/ and the old leave their houses to the young/ and each can bequeath to his successors/ so many children that one of them may have merit./ Then to me it is a better sign of the world’s renewal than flowers or birdsong, ed. Gouiran, vol. II, n° 38, vv. 1–6). 18 Gruber 1983.

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the albigensian crusade This is more than a question in a jòc-partit; it is a warning that the troubadour addresses to his young lord; and to describe the civilisation of which we have found a symbolic definition in the laisse’s introduction, one word ceaselessly, hammeringly, returns: Paratge,19 repeated seven times in a seven-line speech. This word, indubitably fundamental to our understanding of the text, covers a collection of ideas which, while positive, are far from clear; and saying that the pair Pretz e Paratges of v. 14 probably consists of synonyms does not move us forward. But after all, are our notions of ‘merit’, ‘worth’ and ‘nobility’ really any more precise? In fact, using the term Paratge designates a social, moral, intellectual, even warrior ideal, in which the Occitans recognise the very best in their conception of the world. We may sometimes even wonder whether Paratge simply designates the Occitan community for which, in the absence of any ethnicity, we hardly find in the song anything but the smaller common factor that is language.20 What is more, the word Paratge, as far as I can see, is only mentioned twice by Frenchmen and in each case it is in acknowledging that the Toulousain party is in the right.21 In the face of this word which manages to designate both an ideal and a people, Gui de Cavalhon sets up one single person whose role is literally overwhelming: a sort of champion who must confront the Count of Montfort, the Church of Rome and the preachers. Yet again the troubadour resorts to the device of accumulation, when he apostrophises Raimondet (young Raymond) by using either the second-person plural verb (vv. 8 and 16), or the pronoun vos (vv. 13, 14 and 15), or finally both (v. 17). This is the perfect way of saying that people are averting their eyes from a whole period of defeats and tears, and that the Occitan people and civilisation are awaiting their David (Table 13.3). 19 See particularly Ghil 1989 and Zambon 1998. 20 When the Avignonese are taking their oath of allegiance, Raymond VI thanks Audegier saying, ‘and you will be praised by all Christendom and by your language’ (‘e auretz l’avantatge/ de tot Crestianesme e del vostre lenguatge’, 153.40–41). Martin-Chabot translates this last word by ‘votre contrée’; much further on we find in the mouth of the young count before the battle of Baziège, ‘E pessem d’est lengatge, com sia milhoratz’, translated as ‘Songeons à améliorer le sort de ce pays’ (211.23). 21 Firstly Alain de Roucy, who can be seen as the best of the crusaders, a sort of veteran of Montfort whom he persists in lambasting with bitter truths, says of Toulouse: ‘Es es laïntz Paratges’ (190.37, ‘Parage dwells there’; then Amaury de Craon, opposing the theses of the cardinal-legate in person: ‘E si lo coms Ramons pert ara sos heretz/ Leialtat e Dreitura la·ilh rendra autras vetz./ Ez es grans meravilha car per autres desleitz/ Es abaichatz Paratges e perilhos e fretz./ S’ieu saubes e ma terra c’aitals fo lo secretz/ Ni ieu ni ma companha no·i foram esta vetz’ (203.22–27). (‘If count Raymond now loses his inherited land, Loyalty and Right will give it back to him another time. For Parage to be abased, imperilled and broken because of others’ wrongs is a subject of great astonishment. If I in my lands had known what was the secret plan, neither I nor those of my company would be here now.’)

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the troubadour and the overlord Table 13.3 ‘Gui,’ so ditz lo coms joves, ‘mot n’ai lo cor joios S’aiso qu’en avetz dig, eu farei breu respos : 20 Si Jhesu Crist me salva lo cors e·ls companhos, E que·m reda Tholoza, don ieu soi desiros, Jamais non er Paratges aonitz ni sofrachos Que non es en est mon nulhs om tan poderos Que mi pogues destruire, si la Glieza no fos. 25 E es tant grans mos dreitz e la mia razos Que s’ieu ai enemics ni mals ni orgulhos, Si degus m’es laupart, eu li seré leos!’1 1

‘Gui’ replied the young count, ‘my heart is full of joy and to what you have said, I shall respond briefly: if Jesus Christ preserves me and my companions and if He gives me back Toulouse, as I desire, Parage will never more be shamed or impoverished; for there is no-one in this world so powerful as to destroy me, but for the Church. And so great are my rights and my cause that even if I have evil and proud enemies, if anyone is a leopard, to him I shall be a lion!’

154.18–27.

Even though the young man makes a good response (respos) to the troubadour’s speech, as is proper in a tençon, it cannot be said that it is in the same vein as the words of his interlocutor, as is usual in a debate. For Gui, the religious element was represented by la gleiza de Roma e la prezicacios, in other words a force implacably hostile to Paratge; in contrast, Raymond places his speech and his destiny beneath the sign of Jesus Christ. Any other approach could only put the enemies of the counts of Toulouse in the right, given that they are accused, if not of heresy or supporting heretics, of being luke-warm in the fight against them. Raymond not only recognises that his fate and that of his people are in the hands of Jesus, he goes so far as to demonstrate humility before the Church – the only force capable of defeating him, he tells us. The Anonymous thus prolongs the scenes of the Lateran Council and extracts lessons from it through his favourite hero. The young count does not fall into the trap of pride, the fault or rather sin of Lucifer, with which the author continually stigmatises Montfort and which Raimondet himself denounces in his enemies (v. 26); on the contrary, he acknowledges the Church’s omnipotence. But what he might have to fear from it he seems to imply by adding immediately afterwards: ‘so great are my rights and my cause’. How could the Church oppose a rightful cause, or someone fighting for a just cause? We should recall that the young man stayed behind in Rome after his father’s departure and that he was received by Innocent III in a private audience in which, in the face of the pontiff’s reticence and evasions, Raymond ended up asking the question in the clearest possible way:

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the albigensian crusade ‘And since it all comes down to fighting, Sire, I wish to beg nothing of you but to leave me the land if I can conquer it.’22 If the Anonymous is to be believed, the pope looks at him and sighs, and then kisses him and gives him his blessing: ‘Be careful what you do, and remember what I say: all that grows dark must one day grow bright again. May God Jesus Christ let you begin well and end well, and may you meet with great good fortune.’23 We can obviously understand these words of the holy father in terms of his thoughts about the fate of Raymond VII’s soul, but it is hard to see how the latter could have interpreted them in any other way than as a very favourable, and hardly tacit, response to the question he had just asked. The young man had good reason to think that the pope, constrained by his clergy to decide in favour of Montfort because of the victories of the one who was, after all, his champion, was strongly disposed to respect a form of neutrality in the case of victory changing sides. The fact is that Gui’s speech did not stress the justice of the cause, perhaps because Paratge itself embodies its rightfulness. The final word pros seemed to bear the weight of the main question and hence to emphasise the person charged with the mission of restoring Occitan courtly society. The young prince does not shy away from this mission, as is demonstrated by the animal comparison where he quite naturally chooses the royal symbol of the lion, thereby depriving Montfort of it, on whose banner it actually figured, and reducing him to the image of the leopard. For that matter the count does not even mention the name of his main adversary, who is merged with the collection of mals ni ergulhos enemies, as if this last word were amply sufficient to identify him. A strong character, this young man organises his response independently of the ‘first stanza of the tençon’: faith in Jesus Christ, importance attached to legitimacy and what is right, humility towards the Church which is not presented as an enemy; to all these qualities one last point, perhaps the most important, should be added: in demanding a ‘valiant knight’ capable of saving Paratge, Gui was suggesting a solitary hero. But if the young count’s first words evoke God, the next are devoted to his companions, placed on the same level of importance as his own person – Si Jhesu Crist me salva lo cors e·ls companhos – followed by Toulouse, of which Provence is the key. Simon will understand this so well that he will not stop wishing to make the Toulousains pay very dearly for the loss of Beaucaire. Thus the hero can only take on the onerous task of saving Paratge, of recobrar l’eretatge, ‘recovering his patrimony’ – an expression that comes back again and again in the Song to show clearly that land is transmitted through the bloodline – if 22 ‘E, pus ieu vei que torna del tot al esgremir,/ Senher, re als no·t vulh demandar ni querir,/ Mas que·m laiches la terra si la posc conquerir’ (152.57–59). 23 L’Apostolis l’esgarda e gite un sospir,/ E enapres lo baiza e pres l’a benazir:/ ‘Tu garda que faras e apren que vulh dir,/ Que tot cant que s’escura a obs a esclarzir./ Be·t lais Dieus Jhesu Crist comensar e fenir,/ E grans bonaventura que·t posca perseguir’ (152.60–65).

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the troubadour and the overlord Table 13.4  28 Tant parlan de las armas e d’amors e dels dos Tro que·l vespres s’abaicha e·ls recep Avinhos.

They speak of arms and love and gifts until night falls and Avignon receives them.

he relies on his companhos: his peers, knights and nobles, but also his subjects, as Tholoza suggests and as the rest of the text confirms (Table 13.4). Thus, the tençon between these two characters has served in one way as an introduction to words of which we only know the subject, but this is enough for us to know that the subject is Paratge. We know how much giving and the notion of generosity are fundamental in Occitan civilisation. People have gone so far as to speak of it in terms of potlatch, given the extent to which it was considered good form to show that one was not attached to material goods. In Bertran de Born’s song quoted above, did the troubadour-lord not proclaim that a man is young if he pawns his goods and he is young when he is denuded of everything. He keeps young when hospitality costs him dear and he is young when he gives exceptional presents. He keeps young when he burns his treasure-chest and his coffer and when he stages combats, jousts and tourneys. He keeps young when he enjoys courting ladies and he is young when jongleurs like him?24 And did he not complain of bad lords he reproached in these terms: ‘for no-one among them will ever speak of arms or love’?25 Something might remain unclear in this exchange: how is it that can we refer so precisely to the troubadours’ world without mentioning fin’amor? It might be argued that a notion as fundamental as largess is, like love, also only found in the headlines of the conversation. Perhaps fin’amor too was hardly a subject to dwell on at a time when the counts of Toulouse had every interest in projecting their image as paragons of orthodoxy.26 We should however note that love is involved when Rai-

24 Joves es hom que lo sieu ben enguatge/ et es joves, quan es ben sofraitos./ Joves se te, quan pro·l costa ostatge/ et es joves, quan fa estraguatz dos./ Joves se te, quan art l’arqua e·l vaixelh/ e fai estorn e vouta e sembelh./ Joves se te, quan li plai domneyar/ et es joves, quan ben l’aman juglar (ed. Gouiran, vol. II, no 38, vv. 25–32). 25 Que ja mais d’armas ni d’amor/ non parlara hom entre lor (ed. Gouiran, vol. I, n° 1, vv. 43–44). 26 The only possible reference as far as I know is in 210.90–91 where the Anonymous writes, The count began to laugh and said courteously: ‘May God preserve my lady and the Château Narbonnais!’ (E·l coms se pres a riire et a dig que cortes:/ ‘Si Dieus mi sal ma dona e·l castel Narbones!’). The editor specifies in a note to dona that this is his wife Sancha of Aragon, which is historically unsure.

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the albigensian crusade mondet replies using the adjective desiros – but his desire is addressed to Toulouse. It is the comital city that has now taken the place of the troubadours’ lady.27 However all this may be, the young count’s words clearly contain the magic words ‘open sesame!’, for now night is falling and Avignon appears, like the Grail castle which sometimes materialises before the knight’s eyes when he might otherwise vainly scour the country searching for it. This late arrival of a troop of riders who had left Salon at dawn after a ride of nearly 50 km impels us once more to wonder whether, as at the beginning of the laisse, symbols are more important than reality.28 What an extraordinary scene of popular happiness, which confirms the profound and religious bond that unites the town to its lords! Once Avignon has opened its doors to its counts on the symbolic level, it is the turn of the inhabitants’ hearts to manifest their adhesion in a sort of unanimity which the text first establishes by the various actions bringing people of all ages and places together, before they unite in their shouts, which then become words spoken together. The Table 13.5  30 E cant per mei la vila es levatz lo resos, Non i a vielh ni jove que no i an volontos Per totas las carreiras e foras las maizos; Aquel que mais pot corre·s te per aventuros; La un cridan: ‘Tholosa!’ pel paire e pel tos, 35 E li autre : ‘la joia! c’oimais er Dieus ab nos!’ Ab afortitz coratges ez ab los olhs ploros Trastuit denan lo comte venon da genolhos; E pois dizon ensemble:/ ‘Jhesu Crist glorios, Datz nos poder e forsa que·ls eretem amdos!’ 40 Es es tan gran la preicha e la professios Que obs i an menassas e vergas e bastos.

And when the sound of their hooves reverberates through the town, no-one, old or young, fails to rush eagerly out of the houses and throughout the streets; he who can run fastest blesses his luck. Some cry ‘Toulouse!’ for the father and the youngster, and the others, ‘Joy!, for now God will be with us!’ With hearts fortified and eyes full of tears, they all come to kneel before the count, and then say all together, ‘Glorious Jesus Christ, give us the power and the strength to give them both back their heritage!’ The crowd and the procession are so huge that there is a need for threats, sticks or rods.

27 For this assimilation of the courted lady to the besieged city one might add Bertran de Born’s song 19 where one could suggest a parallel metaphor in the case of Limoges (see ed. Gouiran, n. to st. VI, pp. 384–88). 28 The Anonymous tells us that Simon travelled from Nîmes to Montgiscard (240 km according to Martin-Chabot) in three stages rather than five; in other words, 49 km between the two cities represent a perfectly ordinary stage, which would confirm the idea that these two knights could have conversed.

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the troubadour and the overlord town of Avignon, which we have seen massing in a whirlwind of crowds, nevertheless speaks with a single voice. We cannot fail to be struck by the atmosphere emanating from this text where the sacred joy is both Christian and pagan. This crowd which has just received vergas e bastos (rods and sticks) has something of the Roman Lupercalia about it, but it is above all the Christian sacrality that predominates. It is no accident that the Anonymous uses the word professios whose exact sense is ‘procession’, just as he plays deftly on the transition between lines 37 and 38: the Avignonnais denan lo comte venon da genolhos. This is a posture of respect before their lord, but when they express themselves all together, one could imagine for a moment that it is to him that the phrase Jhesu Crist glorios29 is addressed, and it is only the next line that sets this straight. But then, by an extremely significant inversion of ideas on the part of the Anonymous, we find that those who were in a position of adoration or subjection now reveal themselves to be those who can change their lord’s fate. In their prayer to God, the little people of Paratge ask nothing for themselves. They simply pray to receive the power and strength to re-establish the legitimacy of their lords who, contrary to what their respective attitudes would suggest, are in a situation of dependence, and give them back the heritage of which they have been despoiled. By a remarkable interplay of reciprocity, the fate of the suzerains and that of the vassals undergo an entrebescament (interlacing) similar to that which used to characterise the Occitan lyric but which here emanates from feudal dialectic, which brings us back once again to the introduction of our laisse. But let us bring the Avignon night to a close, before attempting to draw some conclusions.

Table 13.6 El mostier s’en intreron per far lor orazos, E puis fo lo manjars complitz e saboros, E mantas de maneiras las salsas e·ls peichos, 45 E vis blancs e vermelhs e giroflatz e ros, E·ls jotglars e las viulas e dansas e cansos.

The counts entered the church to say their prayers; then there was dinner, copious and tasty, with many and varied sauces and kinds of fish, and wine, white and rosé, clove-spiced and red, with jongleurs, vielle-playing, dances and songs.

29 For an even clearer case, compare Raymond VI’s entry into Toulouse in note 30 below, which recalls even more clearly Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem.

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the albigensian crusade If it was in the street through which they passed that the prayer was spoken asking Jesus Christ to grant them the favour of returning their inheritance, it is inside the church that is celebrated the action of grace. In other words, it is here that the young count’s programme is fulfilled point by point, and those whom the clergy were accusing in Rome of favouring heresy are conducting themselves as perfect Catholics. The Anonymous will go so far along this path that, during the siege of Beaucaire under the leadership of his young hero, the local priest will be seen promising salvation to anyone participating in the construction of the drystone wall which will enclose Simon’s men in the keep. When the reader reflects that the crusaders were granted an indulgence in exchange for their expedition, he might suspect the author of not shrinking from irony when he shows us the people joyfully cry, ‘ “Let’s go and win the indulgence!” ’30 The action of grace continues quite naturally in a feast marked by the abundance and variety of its dishes and even more of its wines. But the meal is firstly a festival, a social act, and eating is not the only activity: people are enjoying themselves. Many are the texts in which troubadours reproach the French for being little inclined to invite people to eat with them and for lacking gaiety. The festival of Avignon where the pleasures of the table are accompanied by music, dancing and singing, again represent a traditional element of the civilisation of Paratge, attested by the physical presence of jongleurs. Moreover this festive aspect and the link to the Occitan lyric will reappear in even the hardest of tasks. Once the diverse categories of the people of Paratge are engaged in a common task that unites them, the lyric returns: thus, during the works on the defence of Beaucaire, Never did you ever see such rich masons engaged in building work, for it was knights and ladies who carried the blocks and young gentlemen and ladies the materials and the cut stones, all the while singing ballads, verses and love-songs.31 In this long episode where the military situation is reversed, the Anonymous often emphasises the riches of Provence. Thus he relates that Throughout the region, there arrived for the besiegers money and supplies, oxen, cows, pigs, sheep, geese, chickens, partridges, capons, other game, wheat, flour and Genestet wine, all in such abundance that you would have thought you were in the Promised Land.32 30 N’Arbert lo capelas lor a fait breu sermo:/ ‘Senhors, de part de Dieu e del comte·n somo:/ Cel que fara·l mur sec ni re·i metra del so,/ Que de Dieu e del comte n’aura bon gazerdo,/ E desobre mas ordes, aura salvacio.’/ Trastug essems escridan: ‘Tuit anem al perdo!’ (My lord Arbert the priest made them a short speech: ‘Lord, I give notice in the name of God and the count: anyone who works on the drystone wall and contributes to its construction will have a good reward from God and the count, and by the sacred orders I have received, I guarantee his salvation.’ With one voice they cried. . ., 158.16–21). 31 E anc en nulha obra no vis tan ric masso:/ Que cavaer e donas aportan lo reblo/ E donzel e donzelas lo pertrait el cairo,/ Que cascus ditz balada o verset o canso (158.28–31). 32 E vengo per las terras vendas e lhiurazo,/ E li bou e las vacas e li porc e·lh moto,/ E aucas e galhinas e perlitz e capo,/ e·lh blatz e la farina e l’autra venazo,/ E·l vis de Genestet, que vai tant a bando/ Que ladoncs resemblet terra de promissio (158.43–48).

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the troubadour and the overlord Table 13.7 Lo dimenge mati, es retraitz lo sermos de pendre·l sagrament e las promissios; E pois dis l’us a l’autre:1 ‘Senher dreitz, amoros, 50 Ja no·us fassa temensa donars ni messios, Que nos darem l’aver e metrem los cors bos Tro que cobretz la terra o que muram ab vos.’ – ‘Senhors,’ so ditz lo coms, ‘bels n’er lo gazerdos Que de Dieu e de mi seretz plus poderos.’

On the Sunday morning people spoke the words, swearing the oath and making the promise; and all said, ‘Rightful, beloved lord, have no fear of giving and spending, for we shall give our goods and commit our sound bodies until you recover the land or we die with you.’ ‘Lords,’ said the count, ‘the reward will be fine for you will be richer through God and through me.’

Since the Avignonese were addressing their count, the text could not be ‘dis l’us a l’autre’ (they are saying to each other), so should be corrected to ‘dis l’us e l’autre’ (all say).

1

It is difficult to know if the Sunday morning is simply the day following the counts’ arrival or if it was chosen to lend greater solemnity to the charter established between the city of Avignon and the counts of Toulouse, its lords. The second solution seems preferable, given the emphasis on fish in the evening meal of their arrival. Whatever the case, this charter, which has not come down to us and of which Martin-Chabot summarises the probable content in a note,33 shows a key moment in the relations between the lord and his men. It would be naïvely optimistic to think that the Avignon notables did not attempt to take advantage of the difficult situation in which the count of Toulouse found himself, and of the realisation that he was not in a state to conceal it. In these circumstances it is interesting to see how the Anonymous presents the transaction: for him, the people of Avignon simply placed their goods and their persons at the disposition of their lord. Thanks to them, the count of Toulouse was restored to his role, if not to his lands, since he could once more practise donars ni messios, giving and spending, in other words the largess that consisted in making money circulate34 – which would hardly damage a large commercial town. The count’s reply is certainly interesting for the parallel he establishes in ascribing a double merit to his vassals, partly with respect to himself but also in relation to God – probably because in this way they confirm to divine law in carrying out their duties. But above all, even if the Anonymous does not go into

33 ‘pour faire mémoire des serments et promesses échangés, de la part des Avignonnais, d’hommage, aide et conseil au comte, de la part de celui-ci de confirmation des privilèges et coutumes de la ville’ (Martin-Chabot, vol. II, p. 98, n. 2). 34 In his song 38 already quoted, Bertran de Born sent the jongleur Arnaut (Daniel?) to tell Richard ‘never to try to amass old treasure, for with new treasure he can win glory’ (vv. 43–44, e ja thezaur vielh no vuelh’amassar/ qu’ab thezaur jove pot pretz guazanhar).

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the albigensian crusade details, it shows that the people of Avignon knew how to take advantage of their loyalty: apart from God’s blessing, they would also receive riches from the count. The Song’s editor informs us that, that same year, the young count ‘granted to the people of Avignon – knights, burghers and merchants – exemption from all tolls in his present lands and those to be recovered in future’.35 The faithful and devoted vassals were also (or thought they were) good investors. I should add that we only need to see the way the Anonymous presents the situation to realise that this realpolitik in no way embarrasses him. As far as he is concerned, the interests of the counts of Toulouse and their vassals, the men of their own language, converge perfectly. When we take cognizance of the difficulties the counts of Toulouse experienced with their beloved capital, it is easier to appreciate the view of history displayed by the author of our text. His work is propagandistic in the sense that it defends the counts of Toulouse from the ignominious accusation of not combatting heresy. It demonstrates that the holy pilgrims who have come to fight against heretics are just a band of cruel pillagers who have seized upon the first available pretext in order to deprive an antique lineage of its most sacred rights, and it represents the real expression of what we could not yet call a nation but which he certainly calls a lengatge. The Anonymous is keen to fulfil this aim, and as we read him, we do come to wonder where are these heretics whom the crusaders are the only ones to allude to. But his propaganda also has another aim: to make people understand, with an infinitely greater lightness of touch and more nuances than those of the traditional Menenius Agrippa, that the interests of the counts of Toulouse and those of their subjects – knights, burghers, merchants, peasants – are inextricably linked. In particular it is important to make it clear to these burghers and city merchants, who have gradually bought back from their lord the major part of their rights, albeit sometimes at the risk of even creating Italian-type podestats, that without their legitimate lord, they are nothing. This is abundantly demonstrated in what happens next in the Chanson. Simon, who has had to abandon Beaucaire, flies towards Toulouse, whose defection he fears, in order to carry out his vengeance. He lures the notables outside the city to take them hostage, while his troops begin the siege of the town. At this point the Toulousains, in despair and seeing themselves irredeemably lost, make the choice that the best course is to resist, and do this so vigorously in the street fighting that they manage to chase the crusaders out. They then find themselves back in a strong position, but the fine honeyed speeches of their bishop Fulk, the former troubadour Folquet de Marseille – even though they know him to be Simon’s keenest supporter – convince them to go and be reconciled with him. Montfort then seizes these naïve people whom the bishop hands over to him, claps them in irons, and is on the point of destroying the town. His advisors persuade him with considerable difficulty 35 Martin-Chabot, vol. II, pp. 98–99, n. 3.

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the troubadour and the overlord to ‘be content’ just to impose a heavy tribute on them, demolish the fortifications and deliver Toulouse up to pillage. In dramatic laisses, the Anonymous shows both the heroism of the Toulousains, capable of resisting against the best m ­ en-at-arms led by seasoned war leaders, and the incredible naïvety of the notables, who can hardly be said to lead them, and who prove totally incapable of organising things after their first victory. So, about a year later, helped by the morning mist, count Raymond VI decides to enter Toulouse surrounded by a small troop. After much hesitation, he fords the Garonne without even daring to use a bridge in case he is recognised by the crusaders. On leaving the water, they regrouped in the meadow, banners unfurled and ensigns fluttering. As soon as the inhabitants of the town had made out their emblems, they came before the count, as if he had been raised from the dead. And when the count made his entry through the vaulted gateways, the population rushed towards him, great and small, barons and ladies, wives and husbands, kneeling before him, covering with kisses his garments and his feet and his legs and his arms and his fingers. It was with joyful tears that he was welcomed with joy, for the return of joy is producing flowers and fruit. They said to each other: ‘Now we have Jesus Christ with us, and the morning star, the star that has regained its brightness for us, since our long-lost lord is here! Merit and Parage, which were in the grave, are alive and restored to health and cured; our whole lineage will be enriched forever.’ Their hearts are full of such valiance and toughness that they take up a stick or a stone, a lance or a sharp dart; they go through the streets with honed knives and they slice, cut and massacre any French they catch in the town, crying: ‘Toulouse! Today is the day when the fake lord will leave, along with his whole race and his evil tribe, for God is defending right, as the count who was betrayed has imposed himself so strongly with a tiny company that he has recovered Toulouse.’36 36 E can eison de l’aiga son el prat resortitz,/ Senheiras desplegadas e·ls gonfanons banditz./ E cant ilh de la vila an los senhals cauzits,/ Aisi vengo al comte, com si fos resperitz./ E cant lo comte s’en intra per los portals voltitz,/ Ladoncs i venc lo poble, lo maier e·l petitz/ E·ls baros e las domnas, las molers e·l maritz,/ Que denan s’agenolhan e·lh baizan los vestitz/ E los pes e las cambas e los braces e·ls ditz/ Ab lagrimas joyozas es ab joi receubutz/ Car lo jois que repaira es granatz e floritz./ E si ditz l’us a l’autre: ‘Ara avem Jhesu Cristz/ E·l lugans e la estela, que nos es esclarzitz,/ C’aiso es nostre senher, que sol estre peritz./ Per que Pretz e Paratges, que era sebelhitz,/ Es vius e restauratz e sanatz e gueritz/ E totz nostre linatge per totz temps enriquitz.’/ Aisi an lor coratges valens e endurzitz/ Que pren basto o peira, lansa o dart politz/ E van per las carreiras ab los cotels forbitz/ E detrencan e talhan e fan tal chapladitz/ Dels Frances qu’en la vila foro aconseguitz/ Et escridan: ‘Toloza! oi es lo jorns complitz/ Qu’en issira defora lo senher apostitz/ E tota sa natura e sa mala razitz / Que Dieus garda dreitura que·l coms qu’era trazitz/ Ab petita companha s’es d’aitant afortit / C’a cobrada Tholosa’ (182.62–89).

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the albigensian crusade Forgive this long quotation, but it shows us, among other things, to what extent the triumphal entry into Toulouse echoes the Avignon episode,37 even if the extraordinary allusion to the Resurrection, which revives by its presence alone the hearts of the defeated Toulousains, goes a lot further in terms of religious symbolism. The next laisse gives more examples of the single-minded unity which will allow the count and his subjects to beat the crusaders.38 In accordance with one of the favourite devices of the Anonymous, who likes to use the crusaders as a mouthpiece, this new situation will be summed up by one of Montfort’s principal advisers, Foucaud de Berzy, who, after listing the arms available to their troops, adds: ‘Conquered, half-dead, beaten people, without equipment or arms, have succeeded in throwing us out of their town by shouting and fighting with cudgels and clubs and by throwing stones.’39 The reason for successive victories following the long series of defeats is clear to all, and from now on will return like a leitmotif during Simon de Montfort’s war councils.40 Firstly, when he tries to recapture Toulouse, his lieutenants explain to him in the popular earthiness of proverbs the new situation in which he finds himself: ‘because they have recovered their legitimate lord, the field is permanently open to the hare’.41 On another occasion, Robert de Picquigny offers a sort of theoretical analysis: ‘The one who conquers lands while his courage is unbroken loses the conquered honour once he wants to dominate through violence; for once his courage fails, the land is recovered by the legitimate heir.’42 Finally, when the count of Soissons rejoins the siege and the Count of Montfort promises him ‘a quarter or a fifth of the booty’ of Toulouse, the important lord laughs in his face and rebukes him for so readily promising him what he does not possess, ‘for by holy Mary, yesterday I was told that they have all they need

37 The Anonymous sometimes repeats word for word elements of the Beaucaire episode cited in note 31 above in order to amplify them: instead of E anc en nulha obra no vis tan ric masso (158.28), he begins: E anc en nulha villa no vis tan ric obrier (183.67) and the scene similarly ends on a feast, and to Que cascus ditz balada o verset o canso (158.31) corresponds Fan baladas e dansas ab sonet d’alegrier (183.78). 38 Another example of these outbursts of joy which transform themselves into military victory occurs when the young count in his turn enters Toulouse (201.72–77). 39 ‘E una gens vencuda, mieg morta, perilhans,/ Desgarnit, senes armas, defendens e cridans,/ Ab bastos e ab massas e ab peiras lansans,/ Nos an gitatz deforas’ (185.25–29). 40 See chapter 10. 41 ‘E car lor natural senhor an recobrat/ Ve·us lo camp a la lebre per totz temps azinat’ (188.89–90). 42 ‘Que cel qui conquer terra, can rema·l cors entiers,/ Pert l’onor conquerida, can vol estre sobriers;/ Que, can franh lo coratges, la cobra l’eretiers’ (192.65–67).

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the troubadour and the overlord in the town and plenty of courage and great forces and a legitimate lord’.43 It is therefore unsurprising that this should be taken up by those most concerned, the Toulousains, who reply to the French who already think of themselves as victors: ‘We have justice and the town, we have courage and a lord!’44 Thus the idea the Anonymous wishes to promulgate is that, contrary to all right, the Church and the French have sought to despoil the Toulousain counts of a legitimate heritage transmitted through blood, by employing the fallacious pretext of heresy, which the author barely mentions. The aim is therefore to restore a previous state of things when Paratge reigned supreme, even if, oddly, passages referring to the past are very rare (indeed it is well known that before the period of the crusade the word Paratge does not seem to have been often used in the sense it has here). But, strangely, we are not however dealing with a reactionary view of history: for the Anonymous, the only solution lies in the establishment of a close, confident, mutually advantageous relationship between lord, nobles and, to use a conveniently vague expression, the people of the cities. His idea is that without the people supporting him, such as these people of Avignon who want to put him back in possession of his heritage, the lord is nothing; without a lord to direct them, to lead them into war if need be, to protect them in order to guarantee their mutual prosperity, the people are nothing. Without allowing himself to be impressed by the situation he must often have witnessed in this early thirteenth century, when the struggle between leading figures and ancestral lords could be ferocious, the anonymous author argues for an open partnership between the three orders of society. This alone will enable them to put these clerics back in their place, these clerics who are exceeding their function and are bearers of the detestable ‘nouvelleté’ of which Montaigne will later express his hatred. This is why the Song’s best orator, the prestigious lord Raimon-Roger of Foix, addresses the Toulousains of the council in these terms: ‘Barons, Toulousains, listen to this advice: you ought to be most joyful because your ancestors were good and loyal towards God and their lord, and because you have honoured them and yourselves as well, since you have recently caused a flower to bloom that lights up the darkness and spreads its brilliance around, and you have restored splendour to Merit and Parage, which were wandering the world without knowing where to go, and, since you are good people, this has made you shed many tears.’45

43 ‘Que, per santa Maria, a mi comtec hom he/ Que ilh an dins la vila tot cant que an mester/ E bon cor e gran forsa e senhor dreiturer’ (201.31–33). 44 ‘Nos avem dreit e vila, coratge e senhor!’ (199.7). 45 ‘Baros, vos de Toloza, entendetz est auctor:/ Gran gaug devetz aver car tuit vostre ancessor/ Foron bo e leial vas Dieu e vas senhor,/ E vos avetz ondratz vos meteises e lor/ Car avetz espandida novelament tal flor/ Per que l’escurs s’alumpna e pareis la claror;/ Que tot Pretz e Paratge avetz trait a lugor,/ Que·s n’anava pel segle, e no sabia or,/ E car vos etz proome en avetz fait mant plor’ (191.47–55).

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14 L A S N O VA S D E L H E R E T J E , OR WHO BENEFITS FROM P R O PA G A N D A ?

One of the rare troubadours songbooks to have been written ‘on site’, in the Languedoc (the Toulousain), the Urfé songbook is unique in preserving a curious text whose rubric (123r–124v) reads Aiso son las novas del heretje.1 It is usually classed among religious pieces. Comprising some 682 lines of verse and various Latin quotations, it relates an odd confrontation between two characters. It can hardly be called a dialogue: the priest, representing orthodoxy, speaks from lines 1–529 and again from 651 to the end, whereas the interlocutor he addresses as ‘heretic’ only speaks in 530–650: 120 lines as opposed to over 560. This unequal clash takes place in a context which requires examination. The title which the copyist ascribes to our composition merits particular attention. What is meant by novas in medieval Occitan, and does this term actually designate a literary genre? In fact when we look at the works to which this term has sometimes been applied, from the 10,956-line Roman de Jaufré (E aiso son novas rial, v. 21) to the 3,101-line Las novas del papagai, it is hard to see it as a technical term. Pierre Bec, who describes it as a ‘bref récit, intermédiaire entre le roman et le conte, mais écrit comme eux en vers octosyllabiques à rimes plates’, feels obliged to indicate in a note that it is odd to find the term novas in a 682-line piece in the form of a debate in monorhymed laisses with the intercalation of a shorter line.2 He could have mentioned other formal elements that vie with each other to make our text a one-off. It is composed of laisses of twelve-syllable lines, the laisses differing from each other by their rhyme, as is typical of epic texts; from the fourth laisse on, and with the exception of the eighth and, for technical reasons, the eleventh and last, each laisse ends with a hexasyllabic line having a new rhyme announcing that of the following laisse. This is how Eugène Martin-Chabot, the editor of the Song of the Albigensian Crusade, describes this system: Par une particularité qui lui est propre, il a donné à ce vers final une rime qui diffère de celle de toute la laisse qu’il clôt et fournit au contraire celle 1 For the text of Las novas del heretje there is one edition by Paul Meyer (Meyer 1879), recently succeeded by that of Peter T. Ricketts (Ricketts 2000). But I cite it (henceforth NH) from my own copy of ms. R, with my translation. 2 Bec 1988, p. 8 and n. 2, p. 24.

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l a s n o va s d e l h e r e t j e de la laisse qui suit. Cette disposition correspond à ce que les anciens grammairiens provençaux appellent coblas capcaudadas. The subject of the first sentence of this quotation, the writer characterised by the ‘particularité qui lui est propre’, happens to be Guilhem de Tudela, the author of the first part of the Song, an avowed partisan of the crusaders. We would do well to remember that when an anonymous author, on the side of the counts of Toulouse and opposed to the crusade, wrote his continuation of this work, he marked his different approach by abandoning the system of coblas capcaudadas to innovate with coblas capfenidas. If this form is as original as Martin-Chabot claims – and there is no difficulty in accepting this as far as non-lyric texts are concerned – it is clear that by deliberately following in the footsteps of Guilhem de Tudela he was declaring a particular intention. In addition, we need to note that the five laisses which do not end in a hexasyllable end on quotations from those parts of the Scriptures which are recognised by both sides. There is one other element which strongly differentiates this composition from known novas and shows it to be highly original: it is devoid of virtually all narrative structure. The author has deliberately chosen to present his work just in the form of direct speech, and in fact it would be tempting to speak of a debate, if the comparative size of the protagonists’ speeches did not render the term débat adopted by Paul Meyer and Pierre Bec completely inappropriate. In this composition as a whole – we shall emphasise more than once its unfinished aspect – appears just one single narrative element, as if it had escaped the author’s watchful eye. At the critical moment when the heretic is about to speak, Izarn, the preacher lets slip the interpolation ‘so ditz’ (thus says): ‘ “Izarn,” so ditz l’eretge, “si vous m’asseguratz . . .” ’. This clearly shows that the heretic’s words are reported by a narrative, despite great care having been taken to eradicate any distance between the preacher and his speech. And this is not simply an indication of passing from one character to the other: we would look in vain for any break in the text when the preacher speaks again to end the pseudo-debate. The text does in fact give the impression of considerable realism. It suggests the transcription of an interrogation, or an even rougher draft, since for a long time the reader is left unaware of the speakers’ identities. It is only when the heretic speaks at v. 530 that we find out the name of the character who has spent so long vilifying him: now that he is at last able to open his mouth he pronounces Izarn’s name (v. 530), before a little later according him the En (v. 616), a mark of respect which in theory indicates a certain social rank. Moreover the heretic acknowledges that Izarn has the same authority as the inquisitor Ferrier: ‘You and brother Ferrier, you who have received the power to bind and unbind, whatever the sin, of a heretic, a Waldensian or a sandal-wearer’.3 In my view such an assimilation does not let us see Izarn as a sort of specialist in literature or propaganda who would have simply been charged with staging the conversion of a heretic in ‘un petit 3 ‘vos e fraire Ferrier, a qui poder es datz/ de liar e de solvre, cal que sia·l pecatz/ d’eretj’o de baudes o dels essabatatz’ (NH, 627–29).

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the albigensian crusade ouvrage de propagande catholique’,4 even if this is emphasised in an odd way, as we shall see. In a note to his article on Sicart de Figueiras,5 Francisco Zambon has provided a quick overview of the various Izarns likely to correspond to the main protagonist of Las novas del heretje. Basing himself entirely on the appropriate premise that one should start out from available information to identify the person, Zambon observes that our preacher must have belonged in some way to the court of the Inquisition. In the text Izarn speaks with great admiration of Bernard de Caux, the continuator of the work of Guilhem Arnaut (here ‘Huc Arnaut’, v. 324) and Ferrier’s predecessor. In addition, Bernard de Caux’s register reveals among the inquisitor’s collaborators the name Willelmus Bernardus Isarni. If this shadowy official had found himself thus under the literary spotlight, it must be said that Sicart, by situating him on the same level as the great inquisitor Ferrier, was cleverly playing on the age-old impulses of the human soul: after fulsomely flattering the preacher’s qualities as a writer, he did not hesitate to confer on him a much higher place in the hierarchy of the Inquisition than the one he actually occupied. The candidate proposed by Jean Duvernoy in 1994 was not without interest either. This Ysarnus, cappellanus de Denato shows himself to be a firm supporter of the Dominicans and to belong to the same geographical area as Sicart, and above all he has written – in Latin, at any rate. Finally, Zambon tells us that long ago Fauriel and Bartsch had identified our preacher with the character named by Guilhem de Tudela in the Song of the Albigensian Crusade: ‘This is what my lord Izarn told me, when he was archdeacon of Vielmorès and that whole region’.6 This hypothesis convinced Martin-Chabot no more than Zambon. Yet two elements seem to me to be worth taking into account. Firstly, it is interesting to see on what subject this Izarn de Vielmorès made himself the informer of Guilhem de Tudela: according to Martin-Chabot’s translation, Le comte ‘d’Alos’ s’en était retourné, ayant fait à l’armée un séjour assez long; il aurait été alors très partisan de la paix avec Toulouse, n’eussent été les Français, du plus haut rang comme du moindre, et l’évêque et le clergé et les prédicateurs, qui parlaient des hérétiques et de leur folle erreur. Aux Cassés on en avait trouvé, dissimulés dans une tour, jusqu’à quatre-vingt-quatorze, de ces perfides insensés. In addition, the editor explains in a note about the Cassés that Raimond and Bernard, lords of the Cassés, are named in heresy trials conducted by the inquisitors in 1246 and 1247.7 How can we avoid being struck by the coincidence of so many 4 Lavaud and Nelli 1966, p. 764. 5 Zambon 2003. 6 Martin-Chabot 1960, vol. I, 84.12–13: So me comtec n’Izarns, que era adoncs prior/ De trastot Vielh Mores e d’aicela onor. 7 Martin-Chabot 1960, vol. I, p. 201.

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l a s n o va s d e l h e r e t j e elements? The prior Izarn says that heretics have been found hidden in the Cassés; isn’t this precisely the activity in which the Izarn of the novas has been engaged? There is nothing, even the dates of the heresy trials mentioned, that is not close to the time in which the novas are placed. If we bear in mind the astonishing formal concordance that unites Guilhem de Tudela’s work and our text, are we not justified in thinking that counts for a good deal? Of his own identity our heretic makes no mystery. He begins by speaking of his father and social rank: ‘My father’s name was Ermengaut de Figueiras; I could have been a knight had I had the chance’.8 He then reveals his own name, ‘Sicart de Figueiras’ (v. 632). He makes no effort to minimise his role in heresy: ‘fui bisbes levatz’ (‘I was a consecrated bishop’, v. 546), he declares, after calmly explaining that he has saved at least five hundred people with his own hands (v. 545). In the deal he wants to make with the Inquisition, what would normally have been a charge against him stands a chance of enhancing his value in their eyes, since the higher he is in the heretical hierarchy, the more useful are his ‘turning’ and his revelations. In the article already quoted, Zambon presents a wholly convincing critical synthesis of what has been written on the subject by J. Duvernoy and M. Roquebert.9 I shall just rehearse its conclusion since the identification of the characters of the Novas is only tangential to my study; for me its greatest interest lies in the possibility of perceiving the gap between historical reality and its presentation in the text by the protagonists. Sicart de Figueiras (Sicardus de Figueriis) was probably born at the beginning of the thirteenth century and is attested as a Perfect in Cordes in 1224. He is latter found as a ‘minor son’ of Jean du Collet, who, Zambon informs us, was bishop of the heretical church of Albi until 1243 and was probably succeeded by his brother Aimeric. Duvernoy suggests that Sicart may actually have been a ‘major son’, the bishop’s immediate deputy and potential successor. He seems to have changed sides between 1242 and 1244 and his confessions are preserved in a manuscript of the Inquisition (see Cahiers de Fanjeaux, n° 3). If, as Zambon reasonably concludes, we are not to confuse Sicart de Figueiras with his homonym Sicart de Lunel, then we do not know what happened to him after his betrayal, even if there is every chance he carried out the programme he had promised to Izarn. The presentation of the two protagonists as real people is further reinforced by the historicity of the characters alluded to, the inquisitors Bernard de Caux and Ferrier, the Perfects Peire Capella and Joan del Colet and the converted heretics Peire Raols and Raimon Vilar. To follow Zambon again, as far as we know the Novas are a completely reliable historical document.10  8 ‘Ermengaut de Figueyras fo mon paire apelatz;/ cavayer pogr’ieu esser, si astres m’en fos datz’ (NH, 612–13).  9 Zambon draws on Duvernoy 1974 and 1979, on Roquebert 1998, and an oral communication with the latter. 10 Zambon 2003, p. 737.

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the albigensian crusade A word about the date on which the ‘debate’ takes place. I think this must be close to that of the composition. The terminus a quo is given in vv. 324–25: ‘And the wise Huc Arnaut did not choose to hold back, so much so the deceitful heretics cut off his head’,11 which evokes the massacre of the inquisitors at Avignonet on 28 May 1242. The terminus ad quem is less clear. The text refers to brother Ferrier who abandons his work as an inquisitor before the end of 1244, but we can refine this: if the P. Razols of the text (644) corresponds to Peire Raols, a converted Cathar who was eliminated by his former co-religionaries, Ferrier has disappeared by September  1244. What is more, the siege of Montségur began in spring 1243 and the fortress fell in March  1244, at the end of an offensive launched in February. The preacher could hardly have failed to use such a victory to support his arguments if it had already happened. Under these conditions, even if we need to take account of what Sicart says when he boasts of his effectiveness – ‘If they won’t convert before February I’ll have them all captured by our squires’12 – the piece must have been composed at the very start of 1244, or even at the end of 1243.13 Before we finally turn to the text’s content, we should also note that the controversy takes place in front of an audience. In three passages whose tone is unusually moderate, Izarn, who throughout the whole piece constantly addresses the heretic in the second person singular, passes without explanation to the second person plural (v. 342 auzetz, v. 431 podetz), and even goes so far as to use the term senhors (v. 409). This is definitely not the tone he uses towards an enemy, whom nothing in the world would induce him to address as ‘Lord’. Since these sentences are not addressed to his adversary, it must be asked whether the latter is really the only, or even the essential, target of the preacher’s discourse. Let us come to the system of the controversy, which is very simple. Izarn chooses points of doctrine he attributes more or less accurately (this is not his main concern) to his opponent before knocking them down in various ways, the final one consisting of one or more biblical quotations. Thus the first four laisses are devoted to refuting the ideal that creation is the work of the Devil and not God, with various excursuses, in particular on the practice of the laying on of hands. The fifth laisse is more a credo than an argument: ‘Will you choose the fire or will you remain with us who have the new faith with the seven steps called sacraments?’.14 The first five sacraments are just listed to begin with: baptism, confession, marriage, extreme unction and confirmation.

11 ‘ni·l savis Huc Arnaut anc no s’i volc palpar,/ per que li fals heretje l’an fag lo cap trencar’ (NH, 323–24). 12 ‘Si covertir no·s volon, ans que venga febriers,/ trastotz los farai penre a nostres escudiers’ (NH, 642–43). 13 My thanks go to Philippe Martel for this argument and for lending me his valuable support as a historian for this article. 14 ‘Si cauziras el foc o remanras ab nos/ c’avem la fe novela ab los. vii. escalos/ que son ditz sacramens’ (NH, 153–55).

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l a s n o va s d e l h e r e t j e However when we get to the sixth, the eucharist, we know this obviously represents one of the main points of disagreement between the protagonists, particularly as Izarn carefully hammers home the idea that it takes place ‘however criminal or guilty the priest may be’15 (we know this was a great matter for debate in the Middle Ages when the Cathars were not the only ones to oppose the official Church). At this point our inquisitor dwells on the subject for quite a long time and completely loses sight of the seventh and last sacrament, which nevertheless is a critical issue for the two protagonists, since it concerns ordination. This is a strange omission which once again prompts us to reflect on the literary, or even simply propagandistic, status of these novas. The following four laisses bring us back to the controversy. Firstly we are faced with one example chosen from among the sacraments, marriage (laisse 6), where the positions are particularly irreconcilable. Then this mission to argue against his opponent leads the preacher to give more space to the ideas he is combatting (or more exactly to the idea he has, or what he wants to present, of them). The same will occur for baptism and the resurrection of the flesh. There is no space to dwell on a detailed analysis of Izarn’s arguments, and I shall simply stress what could be called the apparently deliberate structures of the preacher here. These essentially consist in demonstrating the heretics’ error, based on biblical quotations which – it should be emphasised – he has carefully and almost entirely chosen from those parts of the Scriptures accepted by both parties.16 Other elements, less reasoned or deliberate, derive from preaching. Izarn’s speech in vv. 50–70 is piercing in its indignation: ‘We do not find it written in the acts of Solomon, neither does any prophet or apostle expound anywhere, that the work of the Devil brings salvation or that the Holy Spirit has ever been base enough to set up His dwelling in a diabolical vessel. And you, you value Him less than a side of bacon: merely through the laying on of hands, you save your neighbour! You refuse to preach in a church or in a public place, or pronounce your sermon anywhere other than in thicket, woods or bushes, where you find Dame Domergua, Rainaut or Bernardo, Garsons or Peironela spinning with her distaff while they expound the Gospels blah blah blah. One weaves, the other spins, the third tells in her sermon how the Devil is the author of all creation. There has never been a gang like it: they may not have much idea of what grammar or letters are, but that will not stop them picking away at God’s possessions. The Emperor of Glory is not going to lose a button’s worth of what belongs to Him by right.’17 15 ‘cal que sia∙l preveire, forfag o neclechos’ (NH, 163). 16 Raguin 2007, p. 2. 17 ‘Nos no trobam escrig el fag de Salamo,/ propheta ni apostol en loc non o despo,/ que obra de Diable done salvatio,/ ni anc Sant Esperit tan vernassals no fo/ qu’en vaissel de Diable establis sa maizo./ E tu fas ne vieutat major que de baco/ c’aissi, ab ma pauzada, salvas ton companho!/

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the albigensian crusade If we take the time to pause over the reasons and strong points of this outburst, as well as the words used, we are firstly struck by Izarn’s horror at the attitude he attributes to the heretics: a lack of respect for God which is expressed – rather vulgarly – in a range of commercial vocabulary: the Holy Spirit cannot be vernassals, ‘of little worth, common’, while, he says to the heretic, ‘you make Him worth less than a side of bacon’. We almost have the impression that he accuses Sicart of commercial dumping, because he is content for a vulgar laying on of hands to make the Holy Spirit descend! Equally great is his incomprehension of these people’s form of worship, when they refuse to preach in a church or a public place because they prefer to do it in thickets, woods or bushes.18 Apart from the fact that it would probably not have been very safe for non-Catholics to assemble in a public square, it is convenient to forget that for the Albigensians, any material church could only be of the Devil and that a true church consisted simply in the assembly of the faithful. But here again, this description of a ‘wild’ church, in its primary sense, in other words of the forests, of the absence of civilisation, must in Izarn’s mind discredit Sicart if there were any need to do so. But even more than the church of thicket, woods and bushes, what Izarn abhors is a popular church, a church of the people, and – the ultimate horror – a church where women speak. In this solitude, here we find men and women together, which is already apt to arouse suspicion. His detestation, suffused with supreme contempt, even lends the preacher wit, as he mocks this newfangled distaff gospel where, amidst this aichi vai, aichi fo it would not be surprising to find that it is an article of faith that the devil is the author of all creation, and that naturally the person preaching is a woman: l’autra (‘the other’).19 But what is evidently the greatest scandal to a cleric, in particular a cleric who prides himself on his knowledge of literature, as we shall see later, is that it is a gang of this kind that, in an expression also full of Tu no vols demostrar ta predicatio/ en glieyza ni en plassa, ni vols dir ton sermo,/ si non o fas en barta, en bosc o en boisso,/ lai on es Na Domergua, Rainaut o Bernado,/ Garsons o Peironela, que filon lur cano/ desponen l’avangeli: aichi vai, aichi fo./ L’us teis e l’autre fila, l’autra fai so sermo/ cossi a fag Diable tota creatio./ Anc mays aital mainada trobada no fo/ c’anc no saupro gramatica ni de letra que·s fo,/ e cujo Dieu mermar de sa possessio./ Aqui non pot ges perdre lo valen d’un boto/ l’emperaire de gloria, de sa drecha razo’ (NH, 50–69). 18 The preacher’s art consists in putting into popular language propositions to be found almost exactly in Latin texts. Hence we find the theme of the need to preach in churches or public places in the fifth book of the Decretals of Gregory IX, chap. XII, Laici non praedicent, nec occulta conventicula faciant, nec sacerdotes reprehendant, under tit. VII dealing with heretics in general: ‘quod evangelica praedicatio non in occultis conventiculis, sicut haeretici faciunt, sed in ecclesiis iuxta morem catholicum est publice proponenda. Nam iuxta testimonium veritatis omnis, qui male agit, odit lucem, et ad lucem non venit, ne eius opera arguantur. Qui autem facit veritatem, venit ad lucem, ut manifestentur opera eius, quia in Deo sunt facta.’ 19 We find ourselves in the same context as in the previous note, and the Church’s traditional cold misogyny, Mulier, quamvis docta et sancta, uiros in conventu docere non presumat (Décret de Gratien I, dist. XXIII, c. XXIX, which forbids women to preach, confer baptism or touch sacred objects), gives way to coarse humour, seeking connivance with a more than probably male audience.

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l a s n o va s d e l h e r e t j e images, claims to erode God’s possessions, while knowing nothing of grammar or reading. We feel the full weight of the contempt of a specialist, a litteratus, for amateurs who are disagreeably making him waste his time: illiterati who cannot be regarded as rivals. There is a real class-consciousness here which goes beyond the clerical/lay dynamic. In laisse 8, which deals with baptism, one is rather taken aback to see the preacher use the adjective cortes in addressing his opponent: ‘Look here, heretic, you don’t seem very courtly’,20 before rebuking him for abandoning the baptism by water and chrism in favour of baptism by laying on of hands. We quickly realise that it is much less the manner of baptism than the person giving it which Izarn finds intolerable: ‘A curse on anyone who brings in the custom of putting baptism in the hands of a peasant who has been at the rear end of sheep, who knows nothing of reading or writing, and who has been taught nothing but digging and ploughing: that’s what his job is’.21 Cortes was the opposite of vilan socially speaking, and even if an unworthy cleric could bring about the transubstantiation, it is completely out of the question for a peasant to confer baptism. There are some boundaries that cannot be overstepped, whether it is a question of social order or of class. Izarn will attack his adversary in the same way elsewhere, even if it is a question of showing him his inadequacy in matters of Scripture rather than overall culture. After quoting several apostles the preacher cries out: ‘It is better to believe them in everything they have said rather than Peire Capella22 or an “unconsoled”, a heretic or a Waldensian, or yourself, you ungodly man!’,23 and later, ‘And you, you wicked heretic, you are so ignorant that you obey nothing of what I show you by so many good authorities, like God and St Paul: can this not penetrate your heart or pass between your teeth?’.24 We should not be surprised if the preacher considers that, as an orthodox believer, he is the only one in a condition to understand the sacred texts. This means that Izarn has to play both the good cop and bad cop of interrogation all by himself, and if his threats are precise and menacing, he still leaves the

20 ‘Ara, veyas, heretje, be semblas mal cortes’ (NH, 373). 21 ‘Malaventura·l vengua qui la costuma i mes/ qu’entre mas de pages baptisme se fezes/ que mou detras las fedas, que anc no saup que s’es/ letra ni escriptura, ni anc no·n fon apre/ mais d’arar e de foire; ve·us sos mestier cal es’ (NH, 379–83). 22 Petrus Capellanus, deacon of the Cathar church of Albi 1227–1241 (Zambon, p. 732). 23 ‘Aquest fan mielhs a creire de tot cant an parlat/ que Peire Capella ni hom descosolat,/ heretje ni baudes ni tu descofessat’ (NH, 145–47). 24 ‘E tu, malvat heretje, iest tan desconoissens/ que nulha re qu’ie·t mostre per tans de bos guirens,/ com es [de] Dieu e sans Pauls, non iest obediens/ ni·t pot intrar en cor ni passar per las dens’ (NH, 218–21).

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the albigensian crusade door to indulgence slightly ajar. Thus we see the ignorance he finds so intolerable occasionally becoming a mitigating circumstance: ‘Superficial people, who don’t know how to read or write and are ignorant of the commandments, easily change when they are not kept close, for had they been kept close, as is now the case, they would have left wickedness aside and learned what is good. This is why, Sirs, it is necessary for the Lord make the grace and mercy that belong to Him descend where they are needed’.25 So preachers could show themselves to be sympathetic: ‘They have all agreed to guarantee to any man who confesses, returns to the faith and reconciles himself to the Church that he will not be burned or immured, as long as he does not deny anything that can be proved to him, and they will inflict a light penance on him and he will not lose his property; this is how they ask them to acquit themselves as long as they are capable of telling the truth’.26 However, if the preacher is supposed to convince and persuade, it certainly seems that he has in no way abandoned violent methods of persuasion. The text is littered with almost as many allusions to hellfire as it is to biblical quotations. Laisse 4 ends with, ‘And if you will not believe them, here is ready prepared for you the fire that is burning your companions alive’,27 while the next, in a sort of cobla capfenida, begins with ‘Now I  want you to respond in one or two words: will you choose the fire or will you stay with us?’.28 The fire theme creates a similar transition between laisse 6 (‘So the fire is being prepared, along with the pain and torture you must endure’) and laisse 7 (‘Before I taken my leave of you and let you enter the fire, I wish to dispute with you about the resurrection’).29 The fire appears once more at the start of laisse 8: ‘Heretic, I would like, before the fire takes hold of you and you feel its flames, if you do not admit yourself defeated 25 ‘La gen frevol de cor que no sabon que s’es/ letra ni escriptura ni·l mandamen cals es,/ leu se van cambian qui de prop non lur es/ car qui lor fos de prop aichi com aras es,/ lo mal agro laissat et agro·l be apres./ E per aco, senhors, ops y es la merces/ e la misericordia del senhor de cui es,/ que la fassa dissendre aqui on mestiers es’ (NH, 404–11). 26 ‘Tug se son acordat, qui·s volra cofessar/ ni tornar a la fe ni reconsiliar,/ tot home asseguron d’ardre e d’emurar,/ que non tenga ren nec c’om li puesca proar,/ e dar l’an penedensa que poira leu portar,/ senes son aver perdre; aisi·ls mando passar/ ab sol qu’en veritat los puescon atrobar’ (NH, 328–34). 27 ‘E s’aquestz no vols creyre, vec te·l foc aizinat/ que art tos companhos’ (NH, 150–51). 28 ‘Aras vuelh que·m respodas en. i. mot o en dos/ si cauziras el foc o remanras ab nos’ (NH, 153–54). 29 ‘per que·l foc s’aparelha e la pen’e·l turmens/ per on deves passar./ Ans que·t don comïat ni·t lais el foc intrar,/ de resurrectio vuelh ab tu disputar’ (NH, 222–25).

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l a s n o va s d e l h e r e t j e this night. . . ’.30 Finally, when it seems that Izarn has completed his preaching and used up the entire arsenal of his religious quotations, he opens laisse 10 with an even more precise threat than before: ‘From now on you will have no more delay: if you do not confess immediately, the fire is lit, the crier is going through the town, the crowd is assembled to witness justice being carried out: you will be immediately burned alive’.31 Thereupon the heretic, from whom all the preacher’s demonstrations have not elicited a single word (unless he did not get the opportunity to say anything), reacts to this final ‘argument’. ‘Izarn,’ says the heretic, ‘if you guarantee and assure me that I shall not be burned, immured or killed, I shall bear in peace all the other torments.’32 As is evident from the beginning of his response, there is no question of spiritual arguments which, it seems to me, ought to have converted him, if our piece represented a true product of propaganda. It seems that of all Izarn has said, Sicart has only retained one thing: that with preachers there is the possibility of doing a deal. Oh, he certainly talks of his conversion: ‘I adopt the faith of Rome,’33 he says, before adding, ‘As far as your nine propositions are concerned, about which you have been preaching to me all day, I have decided to believe them all.’ But why does this declaration come at such a late stage, especially after Sicart, by describing his life as a bishop, has revealed to his listeners that they are dealing with a cynical game-player? Moreover we can hardly ignore the author’s irony  – this implies that the main protagonist is simply a character, something that can in no wise be excluded – when Sicart gets carried away in over-excitement and adds that he is ready to believe ‘even more of them, if you can propose any’.34 This is certainly the best way of showing that he regards the theological demonstration as totally unimportant. It is tempting to see the renegade similarly overdoing things elsewhere; the lines before and after the phrase I have just quoted frame the ex-­heretic’s allegiance with such a collection of servile praises of the preacher that we end up wondering whether the packaging isn’t more important than the content. In the first lines our preacher is promoted to the rank of writer, not to

30 ‘Heretje, be volria, ans que·l foc te prezes/ ni sentisses la flamma, s’esta nueg no·t recres’ (NH, 348–50). 31 ‘Hueymai, d’aisi avan, non seras esperatz:/ si, aras, no·t cofessas, lo foc es alucatz/ e·l corn va per la vila·l pobol es amassatz/ per vezer la justizia, c’ades seras crematz’ (NH, 526–29). 32 ‘Izarn, so ditz l’eretge, si vos m’asseguratz/ ni·m faitz assegurar que no sia crematz,/ emuratz ni destrug, be sofrirai (ms. o farai) en patz/ totz los autres tormens, si d’aquestz me gardatz’ (NH, 530–33). 33 ‘e prenc la fe de Roma’ (NH, 610). 34 ‘De . viiii. questios que denan me pauzatz/ e·m prezicatz tot jorn, me soi acocelhatz/ que totas las creirai e mai, si m’en mostratz’ (NH, 620–22).

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the albigensian crusade say troubadour, and receives the en which Sicart did not use to address him at the beginning: ‘I say this to you, Sir Izarn, since you express yourself well in poetry and in romance and as you are a man of learning: no man in the land – and you can choose whoever you like – has more experience than you in rhymes and romance’.35 One wonders what is more surprising: the servility of what he says or the awkwardness with which he says it. It is therefore to his talent, heavily stressed by Izarn, that the conversion is due: ‘I have decided to believe them all, and even more of them, if you can propose any, because of the good guarantees you bring me and the proofs you present to me. It is through your words that I wish to be baptised and brought back to the faith you preach to me’.36 In our modern logic of propaganda as it should be understood, another idea is essential: not only will the preacher’s victory be greater if it is his arguments more than his threats that convince his opponent, but the triumph will be greater if the convert is higher up in the hierarchy of his church and in his personal merit. As far as hierarchy is concerned, the condition is fulfilled amply and indeed more than amply, since Sicart makes no bones about proclaiming that he was made a bishop (v. 545), and it could even be pointed out that he has been one for quite some time since he has been able to give the consolamen to more than five hundred people. However, here we face a problem: we do not know whether Sicart de Figueiras ever was a bishop. To be sure, this may be just a question of vocabulary and perhaps, as it has already suggested, Sicart was a ‘major son’ or ‘minor son’ to Joan del Colet, but I wonder whether Duvernoy and Zambon base their suggestion on anything other than Sicart’s declaration in our novas; and the same could be said of the social claims of our immodest ex-heretic when he says he could have been a knight. Despite this we should not let ourselves get carried away by the poisonous pleasure of being too hypercritical, for apart from the remarkable precision of all the verifiable historical elements of the text, we have one fundamental guarantee: it presents us with a small world where all and sundry know their neighbours. Maybe we do not know all the Cathars of the church of the woods, for example, but there is every chance that everyone in the Albigeois where this spectacle is probably unfolding knew and recognised them perfectly.

35 ‘A vos o dic, N’Izarn, car es enrazonatz/ de rimas, de romans, et es endoctrinatz,/ que lunhs homs de las terras, e sia qui·us vulhatz/ de rimas, de romans non es mielhs assajatz’ (NH, 616–19). 36 ‘que totas las creirai e mai, si m’en mostratz/ per los bos testimonis que vos me amenat/ e per las guerentias que denan me pauzatz./ Per las vostras paraulas vuelh esser batejatz/ e tornatz a la fe que vos me sermonatz’ (NH, 622–26).

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l a s n o va s d e l h e r e t j e If the future renegade takes the greatest care to emphasise his importance in the social and religious hierarchies, we cannot accuse him of painting a flattering self-portrait, to the point that one wonders whether Izarn would really have had much to boast about in reintegrating such scum into the bosom of the Church. Once again, one wonders why Sicart makes the sort of confession that seems unlikely to attract sympathy from one side or the other – and which no-one is asking him to make anyway! If we examine at what moment this confession occurs in the unfolding of the text, we can see that the logic of Sicart, who has just made a straightforward deal, is entirely commercial. As long as he is spared the most horrible punishments, he will say whatever anyone likes, which probably includes handing over his former companions. But clearly he fears that it will do him no good to have come forward of his own free will and so he stresses – perhaps rather too much – that he used to live and indeed still lives, according to his own words, in a situation of benanansa (‘happiness, comfort’, this word being repeated in vv. 578 and 608, so framing the description of Sicart’s life) in which he had every opportunity to remain instead of putting himself in danger – which proves, he says to Izarn in an odd piece of phraseology, that ‘I have shown you more affection than you think’.37 To sum up Sicart’s idea of benanansa it is enough to indicate that he reels off (or is made to reel off) everything people say about Cathars in order to discredit them: Cathars are rich (‘you will find few who are poor or badly off’)38 and they stick together (the usual accusation; ‘I have lots of rich, opulent friends and there is none who, if he has money or silver, is not satisfied until he has handed them over to me. I am handsomely furnished with goods and deposits with which I keep all our faithful well supplied’,39 and behind this idea of money deposited into the hands of the Perfect it is not too hard to see the accusation of usury taking shape, usury often being mixed up with heresy itself). But essentially, the aim of this self-critique, which foreshadows Stalinist trials, is to attack directly what had made the heresy so successful among the common people: the Perfects’ way of life. So the people admired their poverty? Well, why the need to own cash if you can draw endlessly on other people’s resources? So the Perfects put themselves on a strict diet? ‘If it’s true that I often fast, don’t feel sorry for me, for I often eat very fine dishes, sauces with cloves and good pâtés. Fish is as good as bad meat, and fine wine spiced with cloves is as good as wine from the barrel, and fine white bread is as good as the loaves of the cloister’.40 37 ‘e fag vos ai amor major que no·us pessatz’ (NH, 577). 38 ‘que pauc non trobaretz paupres ni estiratz’ (NH, 585). 39 ‘ieu ai ganre d’amicx manens et assazatz/ e non y a negu que·s tengua per paguatz,/ s’a deniers o argen, tro que·ls m’a comandatz./ D’avers e de comandas soi be atessaratz,/ que totz nostres crezens ne tenc acabalatz’ (NH, 580–82). 40 ‘Si·m dejuni soven, ja d’aco no·m planguatz/ que be mangi soven de fort bos cozinatz,/ de salsas de girofle e de bos empastatz./ Be val peis avol carn, e bo vi giroflatz/ val be vi de tonela, e pas barutelatz/ val be michas de claustra’ (NH, 590–95).

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the albigensian crusade Finally, in an astonishing comparison, whereas the inquisitors spend their nights scouring the pathways, our Sicart knows another form of benanansa: ‘I calmly stay inside a comfortable shelter with our associates, who are assembled there, and who de-louse me and scratch me when I feel like it. And sometimes, when I feel like it, sin costs nothing with a male or female cousin, for I absolve myself as soon as I dismount. There is no impiety or sin so mortal that whoever does it or says will not be saved if he comes to us, that is, you understand, through me or through the deacon who will be at my side’.41 What else could one expect from such diabolical creatures? And naturally the height of sin is sexual: not only do the so-called chaste Perfects abandon themselves to lechery, but they even do so without respect for blood relations or distinction of sex! But to me, what is most likely to make the audience shudder in horror is the way in which the heretic shakes off the question of sin: are we looking at monstrous hypocrisy or demonic spirit? But again, if it is accepted that the author has fulfilled his aim – if it is a question of showing a Perfect who provokes horror – he has gone too far and has completely forgotten that Sicart was supposed to have converted and to be asking for his reintegration into the Church. When this convert speaks of a life he is supposed to have renounced, I am inclined to say that he does so while he is still licking his lips at the memory of his former sins. He has not renounced evil, he has renounced benanansa. What he says, as a conclusion to his description – ‘and I want to renounce it because I realise it is a sin, and if I adopt the faith of Rome, I want you to be grateful for it and me to be received as an honoured man’42 – is a cold statement of the point of view of his new masters. For him, this benanansa was highly valuable and he expects to be compensated for it, and generously at that. We are a long way from what Izarn said when he was envisaging pardon for repentant heretics at the end of laisse 8, ‘Grace comes to the one who repents in tears’, before distinguishing between two kinds of tears, those shed by the man who mourns for the loss of his material goods and those shed by one who ‘weeps for the prolonged delay, the days and years and months, of not carrying out his struggle and his good deeds in

41 ‘Ieu m’estau dins cobert belamen et en patz/ ab nostres cofraires, que soy appariatz,/ que m’espulgo e·m grato, can m’en ven volontatz./ E ben a las veguadas can m’en ven volontatz / si es cozi o cozina, no costa re·l peccatz,/ qu’ieu meteis m’en absolvi, can ne so devalatz./ Non y a descrezensa ni tan mortal peccatz,/ qui que·ls digua ni·ls fassa, que no sia salvatz,/ s’a nos autres s’en ve, enaissi·o entendatz,/ per me o pel diague que m’estara de latz’ (NH, 598–607). 42 ‘E s’ieu la vuelh giquir, car conosc qu’es peccatz,/ e prenc la fe de Roma, vuelh que m’o graziscatz/ e que sia receuputz coma us homs onratz’ (NH, 609–11).

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l a s n o va s d e l h e r e t j e God’s service, and considers himself ruined as a result’.43 Sicart’s eyes are dry; if the character is feeling any regret, it is regret for the loss of the life of pleasure and debauchery he has just described and which he must renounce to save his skin, rather than for putting his soul in danger; but he is not even at the stage of regret that would imply genuine renunciation. And anyway the heretic’s words make one wonder whether he has really and truly renounced heresy. When he explains how he needs to be supported in the long term by the Inquisition, once he has been ‘debriefed’, he stresses how tenaciously the heretics will pursue him, because in abjuring his faith he automatically brings about the damnation of the faithful for whom his consolamen had guaranteed paradise: ‘If I leave and abandon them, I take away salvation from these five hundred people and hand them over to the devils to do what they like with them; they will be plunged into the torments of hell and damned, for not one of them will ever be saved’.44 Even if the only thing that concerns this good shepherd is the vengeance the relatives of the damned will want to wreak on him, this text – unless it contains genuinely satanic irony – doesn’t give the slightest impression that Sicart fails to share the heretics’ outlook on their unfortunate relatives’ fate. (This is perhaps why our Cathar bishop speaks in very heterodox terms, since for his co-­religionaries the only hell there is in this world, unless the author or the preacher, having little interest in brother Ferrier’s type of Cathar theology, did not judge it suitable to enter into such details.) The reality is that, even if the renegade wants to get paid for his renunciation of benanansa, he can see far enough ahead to know that he has no future. The capture of Montségur is by now only a question of days and it is better to throw in his lot with the winners while there is still time.45 Besides, while giving the impression of minimising this renunciation (without which his surrender would lose its value), he recognises that he hardly has any choice, thereby in effect validating the action of the Inquisition: ‘If you take a heretic, wherever you discover him, you must bring him before the court, if you want to be spared. That has surprising

43 ‘Qui be·s penet ni·s plora, aqui vai la merces, and 436–38: e plora la gran tarda e·ls jorns e·ls ans e·ls mes/ car non a esplechat sa lucha e sos bes/ el servizi de Dieu’ (NH, 418). 44 ‘Si·m soi partitz de lor e·ls ai desamparatz,/ trastotz aquels. v.c. auria dessalvatz/ e lieuratz als diables per far lor voluntatz/ en las penas d’ifern cazutz e condampnatz/ que jamai. i. d’aquels non seria salvatz’ (NH, 547–51). 45 It is unsettling that Sicart should choose precisely February, the date of the start of the final assault on the fortress, as the deadline of the ultimatum he suggests putting to his former co-religionaries, the more so given that one could hardly foresee that favourable weather conditions would allow the attack to be launched so early in the year.

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the albigensian crusade consequences, greater than you might imagine, for our dearer and most devoted friends have abandoned us for this and have become our adversaries and our enemies: they capture and bind us, after greeting us, so that they may be absolved and that we may be condemned; this is how they believe they can atone for their sins at our expense’.46 Thus we find ourselves at a grim moment in time when the Perfects are betrayed by their followers, so effective is the terror of the Inquisition and so demoralised are the Believers by the siege of Montségur. M. Roquebert concludes from an episode contemporary with our text that everywhere the Perfects are guaranteed somewhere to stay and are provided with guides and boatmen; they always find food and lodging, their arrival is always announced in advance, the believers are alerted to their presence and those who visit them, male and female, ‘adore’ them and rush to hear their sermons and do not stint in their gifts.47 Apart from dolce far niente, this exposé describes the situation de benanansa which Sicart will reveal in his own way, for the reasons we have seen. The situation evidently needs to be nuanced, even if it is impossible to say whether this new state of affairs corresponds to reality or is only described in this way in order to demonstrate the effectiveness of the Inquisition’s action. If propaganda is everywhere in the text of the novas, the inclination to overdo it leads to contradictions from which the author has had difficulty in extricating himself. Indeed there are simple questions of verisimilitude that need to be asked: how can this Sicart find himself face to face with a preacher in front of an assembly? After Avignonet there is certainly no more time for intellectual encounters or more or less peaceful controversies (which in any case Izarn’s diatribes don’t pretend to be). The omnipresence of the fire in the text itself suggests there is little room now for preaching. True, we can envisage an interrogation turned into literature, but it is an odd one that gives more space to the interrogator than the interrogated. What is more, it is hard to imagine how a ceremony of this kind could be staged at this time for some old unknown heretic, as the text tries to make us believe, since it is only in the penultimate laisse that Sicart pronounces his name. Moreover the situation will hardly become any more believable when our heretic explains why and how he came to be there: ‘I decided to come to the court of my own free will, without being obliged to do so’ he explains, after recalling, ‘I came with a safe-conduct’. How can this be thought to carry any weight with Izarn? In fact, if an intermediary lets him know that an unknown heretic is asking to meet him, provided he is offered a safe-conduct, there is very little chance that 46 ‘que, qui pren un heretje, on que sia trobatz,/ lo deu redr’a la cort, si vol estr’escapatz./ Aiso so meravilhas majors que no·us pessatz,/ que li pus car amicx e·ls pus endomergatz/ que nos autri acsem, nos n’an dezamparatz/ e so fach adversari et enemic tornatz,/ que·ns prendo e·ns estaco, cant nos an saludatz,/ per so qu’els sian quiti e nos autres damnatz;/ aichi cujon ab nos rezemer lur peccatz’ (NH, 566–574). 47 Roquebert 1998, cited by Zambon 2003, p. 736.

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l a s n o va s d e l h e r e t j e he can receive him without an ulterior motive, and none that he would organise a theological debate in his honour. In reality, if the preacher receives him it can only be with the thought that there is going to be a highly valuable defector. At this point, what interest would the preacher have in gratifying him with such a long sermon, unless this is obviously not addressed to him? We have just seen that a number of elements in Sicart’s speech are grist to the preacher’s mill. We have sensed that the contradiction in the convert himself undermines his captatio benevolentiae, according to which he is giving himself up of his own free will by explaining that the success of the Inquisition’s work has made the Perfect’s situation untenable. Granted, it presents the image of the heretics that Izarn expects and which the Church’s propaganda has always offered to the people; nevertheless these ‘admissions’ are unlikely to serve as attenuating circumstances at a trial. Our repentant sinner is so busy blackening the picture that he is forgetting that he himself is its subject . . . unless of course he already knows that he has nothing to fear at the trial and that the subject of the novas is elsewhere. In fact, in laisse 7, there is a long defence of the preachers: ‘They have all agreed to guarantee to any man who confesses, returns to the faith and reconciles himself with the Church that he will not be burned at the stake or immured provided that he denies nothing that can be proved against him, and that he will be subject to a light punishment and will not lose his property; this is how they order them to acquit themselves as long as they are capable of telling the truth. And if the preachers are said to conduct themselves badly and risk their souls in exchange for those of others, the lord pope who has installed them and who has never for one moment wished to replace them would never have left them in post if he had seen them behave improperly in Christ’s work: he would have silenced them and replaced them with others’.48 It is highly significant that this long excursus, whose aim in theory is to set up a sort of jurisprudence allowing the future repentant sinner to be received back into the Church (a jurisprudence which will not fail to echo more than one of Izarn’s terms in his reply), continues with ‘I wish to cut short my speech: all these arguments you hear me setting out here I have drawn from the Sacred History, both to warn the faithful 48 ‘Tug se son acordat, qui·s volra cofessar/ ni tornar a la fe ni reconsiliar,/ tot home asseguron d’ardre e d’emurar,/ que non tenga ren nec c’om li puesca proar,/ e dar l’an penedensa que poira leu portar/ senes son aver perdr; aisi·ls mando passar/ ab sol qu’en veritat los puescon atrobar/ E qui dira d’aquestz que·s vuelhon mal menar/ ni·l vuelhon las lurs armas per las autras donar,/ ja·l senher apostoli, que los i fa estar/ et anc per negun temps no·ls i volc cambiar,/ ja el no·ls y laissera si·ls y vis malmenar/ el negoci de Crist, ans los fera mudar/ e cambiar per autres’ (NH, 328–41).

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the albigensian crusade against sin and to correct the wicked. I am not saying this to harm people or to look good in the eyes of the Franciscans or the preachers, but to protect the faith, and God has promised us this’,49 during which considerations Izarn seems to have completely forgotten his adversary, being wholly occupied with defending the work of the Inquisition in front of his audience (it would obviously be hard to convince a heretic that the pope’s support is a guarantee of the justice of the inquisitors’ activity!), as the use of the second-person plural auzetz referred to above. And as if this were not enough, the topic returns in laisse 8, in another very long passage, where there is also an apostrophe that cannot be addressed to Sicart: ‘Although the Catholics are three or five times more numerous than the heretics, all would be destroyed, if God had not sent us these preachers to mitigate the lack of wise men; for it is because there was no-one to speak of the faith or preach about it that it has been corrupted, and it is because people have listened to them [the heretics] that it [heresy] has been implanted here wherever it is found. There would never have been Believers, heretics or Waldensians if there had been a good shepherd to oppose them.’50 Once again we see it is a question of defending the preachers, this time sent by God, because of the incompetence of the local clergy. We can recall Innocent III’s appalling diatribe against the bishops of the Midi, ‘These blind men, these dumb dogs who can no longer bark’.51 As in the preceding case, this apology is set in a context which proclaims in general terms the sense of the indulgence and the forgiveness that the preachers are allegedly accustomed to show towards these illiterate, fragile folk (we may be surprised to see this applied to Sicart, but it is true that he has been silent until now). It does not seem possible to give a real conclusion to this work, which needs further investigation, but it seems to me at least to be indispensable to scrutinise these novas in the light of the events of the time, hard as the text is in both its language and its apparent lack of any literary aim. As I have said, the terminus a quo is represented by the night of 28–29 May 1242, and it is a sure bet that the massacre of Avignonet is exerting a considerable influence on our text. The violence of

49 ‘Mo sermo vuelh breujar:/ totz aquestz argumens c’aisi m’auzetz parlar/ ai trag de las estorias e per entrecelar/ los lials de falhir e·ls mals per emendar./ Non o dic per mal d’ome ni per plazentejar/ Menor ni Prezicaire mais per la fe garar,/ si Dieus nos o a promes’ (NH, 341–47). 50 ‘Sitot son ilh catholic. v. tans o per. i. tres/ que no son li heretje, tot fora a mal mes/ s’aquetz prezicadors Dieu no sai tramezes/ per frachura de savis; car no fo qui·n disses/ ni fo qui·n preziques, se corrompet la fes/ e·s plantet per entendre per tot aqui on es./ Ja no fora crezens, heretje ni baudes,/ si agues bon pastor que lur contradisses’ (NH, 396–411). 51 Belperron 1942, p. 129.

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l a s n o va s d e l h e r e t j e the reaction against the work of the Inquisition has led some to question its procedures, particularly the practice of disinterring the dead suspected of heresy, which had provoked several popular uprisings; it would not be surprising if Catholics, even members of the clergy, thought that an institution which was unfamiliar with the customs of the region where it was exercising its activities was not best placed to manage to eradicate heresy. Las Novas del heretge, whose intended audience is hard to make out from reading it, seems to be quite a good response to all accusations. Yes, the preachers – insofar as Izarn is one! – are perfectly familiar with the good arguments to use against heretics and the fire is not a systematic response (this demonstration seems to be the essential element of Izarn’s preaching); no, violence is not their only way of acting, and the Inquisition is capable of pardoning the lost sheep as long as the latter proves that it has definitively broken with the heretics – and can this be any better demonstrated than by receiving back into the Church a character as advanced in evil as Sicart? Yes, the procedures used by the Inquisition are effective, and it is a heretic bishop – or almost – who bears witness to this. Yes, heresy is an abomination from all points of view, and here again we have this from the best informed source. How tempting it would be to suppose that we are placed in front of the remains of a remarkable piece of manipulation: on one side, an important Cathar, who believes this, or has an interest in believing it; he has understood that the adventure in which he has believed or from which he has profited is over, and that he will have to pay for it to escape the fire. On the other side, a secondary character of the Inquisition, a bit of a writer from time to time, who has the opportunity to use this repentant sinner and publicly defend the institution he serves. In fact, the deal we witness in the last two laisses must have been preceded by negotiation that took place in a small committee: Sicart promises to put his knowledge and abilities at the service of the Inquisition, and in exchange asks for his life and protection; he accepts a light punishment and hopes he will soon be able to make himself indispensable to his new camp. Izarn is in the dominant position at the moment when the novas were being composed; we know that Catharism is approaching its final hour and, after all, the converts Berit and Peire Raols52 aren’t doing too badly the job that Sicart is simply promising to do even more successfully, since the result is that our bishop has come to the point of giving himself up! But the foreseeable failure of Catharism is not designed to favour the Inquisition, which seems less necessary from now on, and whose excesses seem more to provoke disturbances than restore order, to the point that even on the Catholic side people are less hesitant to criticise it. Sicart’s job is to play the role of the Cathar. His silence in the first nine laisses will allow Izarn to demonstrate his ability to subdue a heretic who will present himself, moreover, as a bishop and of good family; the

52 The fact that Berit and Peire Raols are placed on the same level suggests that they were engaged in similar activities: ‘il convertito Peire Raols’ (Zambon, p. 733).

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the albigensian crusade dialogue that follows will provide the proof that the Inquisition has chosen the right path and that in any case it is not as extremist as its adversaries claim since it is capable of pardoning such an appalling reprobate as the ex-bishop, on condition that he prove through his actions that he has returned to the bosom of the Church, whose last intervention through the preacher shows that it is prudent and vigilant. At this point, the most difficult question to resolve, if we are to envisage the novas as a propaganda text, the cui prodest? seems somewhat less obscure: the psychological action is not directed at Cathar Believers or Perfects whom neither Izarn’s preaching nor Sicart’s caricature would be able to convince but at the simple Catholics that need to be persuaded that it is indispensable to continue the struggle against heresy, and the Inquisition alone is capable of leading the fight. Naturally, these are only hypotheses, and they do not resolve all the apparent incoherences of the text, but they do have the advantage of already resolving a good number of its contradictions. It is to be hoped that further research will shed a little more light on this difficult text.

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INDEX

Adémar de Murviel 104 Agen 177 Agenais 176, 178 Agolan, king 70 Aimeric, Cathar bishop 213 Aimeric de Castelnau 165 Aimeric de Lavaur 159 Aimeric de Peguilhan, troubadour 22 Aix(-la-Chapelle) 8, 11, 16, 18, 98 Alain de Roucy 142, 147 – 56, 169 – 70, 198n21 Alderufe 81, 83 – 4, 86 Alfonso II of Aragon, king 103 – 4, 111n13, 175, 196n13 Alice de Montfort, countess 138, 140, 168, 185 Alimon de Mares 71 Alphonse-Jourdain of Toulouse, count 174 Amalrant, Saracen king 49 – 50, 52 Amalroc, Saracen 66, 68 Amaugin, master 12 Amaury (Amaldric) de Craon 137, 139, 142, 155 – 6, 194n5, 198n21 Amaury de Montfort 141 Anglier, count 10 Angoulême 109, 111 Aniane, abbot of 75 Aquilant, Saracen 80 Aquitaine 28, 73, 104, 108, 110 Arabia 77 – 8, 82 Aragon 103, 110, 178 Archamp 79 – 80, 82, 84, 86 Argence 161, 194 Arles 160, 174 Arnaud-Amaury, archbishop 179 Aspet 173 Auch 174

Aude (Bellaude, Belle Aude, Belauda) chapters 1 – 3 passim; in the civilised, indoor world of women 18; death 39 – 44, 59, 61, 69; in dreams of the wild 19 – 21; lied to by Charlemagne 31 – 8; presentation in different texts 11 – 17; relationship to Roland and Oliver 5, 16 – 17, 42 – 4; relation to treatment in other literary genres 21 – 8; as sacrifice 30 – 44 Audefroy le Bâtard, trouvère 28 Auvergne 175 Avignon 161, 164, 174, 183 – 4, 191, 194, 195n9, 201 – 9 Avignonet 209, 224, 226 Aybelina 12, 24, 26 Aysseleneta (Aisselenette) 12, 20, 24, 26 Bahomet (Baomet) 51, 52; see also Mohammed Balagant (Balsant), Saracen 78 – 9 Balaguer, Saracen 63 Balan, Saracen 48, 51 Baldwin, brother of Raymond VI of Toulouse 125, 160 Baligan (Baligant), Saracen 78 Barbarot, horse 71 Barcelona 87, 179, 181 Baucent, horse 76, 79 – 87 Baudus, Saracen 86 Béarn 175, 177, 179 – 81 Beaucaire siege and crusaders’ defeat 125, 128, 136, 161 – 4, 195, 200 – 1, 204, 206; councils 140, 142 – 7, 150, 152 – 3; and the future Raymond VII 183, 186, 194 Berit, converted heretic 227 Bernard, master 171n48 Bernard III of Comminges 173 – 4

233

index Ferry d’Issy, familiar of Simon de Montfort 142 – 4, 162 Floaire 37 Florescele, horse 81 – 2 Foix see Raimon-Roger of Foix, count Folquet de Marseille, troubadour = Fulk of Toulouse, bishop character 123 – 5, 127 – 8, 131 – 2, 134 – 5, chapters 9 and 10 passim, 160 – 1, 165 – 6, 182, 188, 192, 194, 206 Foucaud de Berzy 138 – 40, 142 – 3, 152, 154, 169, 208

Bernard IV of Comminges, count 171, 173 – 7, 179, 181 – 2, 184 – 8 Bernard V of Comminges 173 – 4 Bernard of Caux, inquisitor 213 Bernart de Ventadour 22 Bernart of Montaut, bishop of Auch 174 Berte = Gille 12 – 13, 35, 37 – 9 Bertran de Born, troubadour 73, 93, 99, chapter 8 passim, 189, 196 – 7, 201, 202n27, 205 Béziers 141 – 2, 158 Bigorre 173, 183 Blaviet, horse 77 Blaye 11 – 13, 16, 18, 31 – 9, 43 – 4 Bonmatin see Malmatin, horse Bossiran, Saracen 68 Bramimonde, Braslimonda 3n1, 4, 6, 17n68, 52n35, 54 – 61, 63, 71, 78 Bravis, count 47, 50, 52, 54, 57 Brittany 108, 114 – 15, 118 Burgundy 118, 141, 175 Carcassonne 141 – 2, 159, 173, 178 Cassés 212 Cauligon 68 Charlemagne 5, 7, 74, 77; contrast to Marsile 51 – 2; and Durendal 70; lament for Roland 54, 91, 94 – 8; his sin and redemption 72, 97 – 8, 100 – 1; treatment of Aude on death of Roland 8 – 9, 11 – 16, 18, 21, 30 – 9, 41 – 3; treatment of Bramimonde 55; view of warfare 49, 64 Chrétien de Troyes 102 – 3, 111 – 12, 119 Cîteaux, abbot of 159 Comminges 167, 171, chapter 12 passim Couserans 173, 179, 183 – 6, 189 Dalmas de Creixell 170 – 1 Deramé, Saracen 80 – 3 Dodon of Samatan see Bernard III of Comminges England 104, 108, 110 – 11, 117, 161, 194 Enguerrant of Boves 178 Estout de Langres 68, 92 – 3, 99 Euripides 39 – 40 Falceron, Saracen 71 – 2 Falsabroni, Saracen 65 – 6, 68 – 9, 92 Farnagan, Saracen 45, 48 – 9, 57, 59, 77 Ferrier, inquisitor 211 – 14, 223

Gaeta de Monclier 3n4, 27 Galian 3 – 4, 27, 66, 69, 91 Gandelbuon le Frison 4 – 5, 21, 30, 47, 64 – 6, 74 Ganelon 4 – 5, 12, 31 – 2, 34 – 5, 54 Garin, duke 12, 20 Garin de Sayne 68, 74 Garnier d’Auvergne 35n15 Garnier or Gautier de Termes 68, 92 – 3 Gascony 4, 9, 167, 174, 176, 178, 183, 186, 191 Gaston of Béarn 176, 179 – 81 Gaucelm Faidit, troubadour 93 – 4, 99 Genoa 194 Geoffrey of Brittany, count (= Rassa) 108, 114 – 15, 118 Gervais de Chamigny 148, 185 Gille see Berte = Gille Girard de Vienne, duke 13, 16, 18, 30 – 5, 37 – 40 Golian, Norman merchant 45 – 6 Gui (Guios) de Montfort 133, 137 – 43, 148 – 9, 151, 153, 165, 173n2, 189, 191 Gui, count 12 Gui, Guiot, nephew of William of Orange 80 – 3, 88 Guibourc 18, 32, 80, 86 – 8 Gui de Cavalhon 136, 183 – 4, 191, 196 – 200 Guilhem de Tudela 124, 156, 158 – 60, 174 – 6, 178, 186n33, 192, 194, 211 – 13 Guillaume see William Guillaume de Dole 25, 27 – 8 Guillaume de la Barre 125 Guillem Augier Novella, troubadour 94 Guillem de Berguedà, troubadour 94, 103 Guiot see Gui, count Guirauda 159

234

index Nîmes 202n27; bishop of 138, 140, 147, 152, 154 – 5 Normandy 13, 36, 114, 118

Haroun al Raschid, caliph 58 Hautefort 103, 104, 106, 109, 111, 115, 119; see also Bertran de Born, troubadour Henry II Plantagenet, king 104, 108, 111n13, 114 – 15 Hugh de Lacy 138, 139n15, 150, 154

Ogier 36 – 7 Oliver chapter 1 passim; blames Roland’s pride 70 – 1; Charlemagne’s lies about him 36 – 7; death and separation from Roland 35, 41 – 4, 91; defeated by Orgelin 69; and horses 74, 77, 79, 83n22; inspiration to Toulousains 168; relation to Aude and Roland 5 – 6, 11 – 17, 19; at Saragossa 45 – 6, 48 – 51; and son Galian 3 – 4, 4n5; tricked by Roland 57 Orable 76, 79 – 80, 88 Orange 79 – 80, 83 Orgelin, Saracen 68, 69, 71

Innocent III, pope 125, 127 – 8, 154, 161, 180, 182, 194, 199, 226 Iphigenia 30, 38 – 40, 42, 44 Italy 123 Izarn, inquisitor chapter 14 passim Jauceran 66, 68, 92 – 3, 99 Joan del Colet, Cathar Perfect 213, 220 Joan of England 161, 194 Juliane 54; see also Bramimonde, Braslimonda Juzian, nephew of Marsile 58, 65 – 70, 78 Laon 8, 98 Las Navas de Tolosa, battle 160, 179, 188, 193 Lateran Council 126, 134, 161, 166, 182 – 3, 186, 188, 194, 199 Lavaur 159, 179 Liard, horse 80 Limousin 73, 103, 105, 110, 118 Lucas, familiar of Simon de Montfort 142 – 4, 152 Malmatin, horse 48, 61, 70, 76, 78 – 9, 92 Marganice, Saracen 7 Margaretz de Sibilie, Saracen 7 Marseille 161, 194 – 5 Marsile 9, 32, 47, 49 – 55, 57, 59 – 63, 65, 70, 78 Mary = Virgin Mary 10, 52, 64, 133, 155, 170, 187, 208 Mohammed 85; see also Bahomet (Baomet) Moissac 176 – 8 Montauban 176, 188 Montségur 126, 214, 223 – 4 Montzin of Galard, abbot of Condom 175 Muret, battle 124 – 5, 140n18, 160, 176, 178, 181, 183, 191, 194 Murviel 104 Naime 14, 33, 37 – 8, 54n45, 95 Navarre 157n82, 192

Pallars 183 – 4 Pamiers 178 Peire Capella, Cathar Perfect 213, 217 Peire Raols, converted heretic 213 – 14, 227 Peire Vidal, troubadour 22, 176 Périgord 110 – 11 Peter II of Aragon, king 159 – 60, 177, 179 – 81, 188, 193 Peter of Benevento, cardinal 160, 182 Pierre des Vaux-de-Cernay 141, 178 – 9, 182 Pierre des Voisins 139 Pinabel 4 Polyxena 30, 39 – 40, 42, 44 Portajoyas, jongleur 91, 94, 97, 99 – 100 Provence 191, 204; and Aragon 28, 104 – 5, 175; court 123; Simon de Montfort’s war in 128, 145 – 7, 161 – 3, 163n16, 167, 174, 185; Young Count in 183 – 6, 191, 200 Raimon, lover of Bramimonde 55, 58, 59n77 Raimon Belenguier 168 Raimon Luc d’Esparron 104 – 5 Raimon-Roger of Foix, count 126 – 7, 184 Raimon Vilar, converted heretic 213 Ramon-Berenguer of Provence, count 104 Raoul de Soissons, count 140 – 1, 152, 170, 208 Raymond of Toulouse, future Raymond VII (Raimondet) 161, 183, 191, 194, 195n9, 198 – 9, 200, 202

235

index Raymond V of Toulouse, count 104, 174 – 5 Raymond VI, count of Toulouse 132, 156, 159, 161, 163; arrives back in Provence 194 – 5; character 149, 182, 188; council in Comminges 184; re-entry into Toulouse 203n20, 207; return to Toulouse 165, 167, 171 – 2, 174, 176 – 7 Richard the Lionheart 73, 93, 108, 111, 113 – 15, 117, 119, 149, 205n34 Robert, lawyer 131, 150 Robert de Belmont 155 Robert de Picquigny 142, 148, 208 Robert de Sorbon 123 Roger-Bernard of Foix 169, 171, 174 Roger of Comminges 179, 184 Roland chapters 1 – 4 passim, 64 – 5, 68 – 72, 74, 76 – 8, 82, 91 – 100 Rome 4, 128, 130, 133, 145, 161, 166, 182 – 3, 190, 198 – 9, 203, 219, 222; see also Lateran Council Roncevaux 3, 5, 7, 12 – 14, 18 – 19, 22 – 4, 45, 50, 70, 72, 74 Saint-Gaudens 176, 178, 183 Saint-Jacques, Santiago 12, 27, 50 Saint-Sernin 129 – 30, 133, 163, 166 Salamon de Bretagne 68, 92 Salon 183 – 4, 195, 202 Salvetat, battle 185, 190 Samatan 176, 178, 181 Santiago see Saint-Jacques, Santiago Savaric, lord 66, 92 – 3 Savaric de Mauleon, baron and troubadour 178 Sicart de Figueiras, heretic chapter 14 passim Simon de Montfort, count chapter 9 passim; attacks Foix 177 – 8; character 144, 146, 156 and passim; councils 125, chapter 10 passim, 208; death 156, 186, chapter 13 passim; defeated at Beaucaire 161; embraced by the Church 154; ill treatment and trickery of Toulousains 127 – 30, 162 – 7, 200; military competence 144, 160, 194; opposed by Peter of Aragon 181; pope supports his title to the land 161; resides in Toulouse 160 – 1; siege of Termes

175; twilight of his fortunes 169, 183 – 6, 191, 202, 204, 206 Sordel of Goito, troubadour 123 – 4 Spain 12, 18 – 19, 32, 50, 55, 78, 118, 161, 183, 190 Talairan of Périgueux, viscount 108, 110 Tarascon 105, 107 – 8, 161 Thibaut (of Arabia) 76, 79 – 80 Thibaut, familiar of Simon de Montfort 142 – 3, 151 Toulouse 173, chapters 9 – 13 passim; Alfonso II attacks 104, 107, 110; army and allies 178 – 9, 183, 190; and Comminges 173 – 4, 176; Montfort’s rights over 141; and Parage 184, 191, 198n21; people of 130, 150, 153, 155, 160 – 2, 167, 172, 180 – 1, 190; return of Raymond VI 167 – 72, 184, 190, 203n29, 207 – 8; rivalry with Barcelona 179; sieges 136, 144 – 8, 171, 187; Simon de Montfort in 125, 128, 134, 140n18, 167; takes place of troubadours’ lady 202; uprising and resistance 136, 150, 164 – 5, 168; see also Raymond of Toulouse, future Raymond VII (Raimondet); Raymond V, of Toulouse, count; Raymond VI, count of Toulouse Trencavel 141, 159, 174 Turold 40, 54 – 5, 94 Turpin 3, 6n19, 9 – 11, 47, 54, 58, 65 – 6, 68, 71, 91 – 2, 94, 99 – 100 Valentinois 146, 162 Venaissin 146, 161 – 2, 194 Vienne 5, 7, 15, 18, 31 – 2, 36; see also Girard de Vienne, duke Villeneuve 131, 133 – 4 Volatile, horse 84 – 5 William of Aquitaine, count of Poitou, troubadour 195 William of Newburgh, chronicler 112 William of Orange, count 74 – 88, 113 Young Count see Raymond of Toulouse, future Raymond VII (Raimondet) Young King (Henry Plantagenet) 93, 99, 108, 111 – 15, 117 – 18

236