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Marie De FranceA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The love that forms the subject of Marie de France’s Lais, is a serious business that inevitably involves pain. In Guigemar the narrator describes love as “an invisible wound within the body, and, since it has its source in nature, it is a long-lasting ill” (49). The idea of love as a wound originates from the Roman god of love, Cupid, who shoots his victims with an arrow and fundamentally changes their nature. However, the “nature” the narrator refers to is both the human propensity to fall in love and the human weakness to make the fulfilment of one’s amorous hopes a precondition for happiness. In the Lais, the love-struck knights’ and ladies’ wounds manifest physical symptoms, such as sighing, growing pale, sleeplessness, and continual mental “anguish.” Both in Yonec and Les Deus Amants, the pain of amorous misfortune is so extreme that the ladies die when their beloved ceases to live, as though there is no further reason for them to exist. The ladies are commended for the depth of their devotion and are duly awarded with a memorial in Les Deus Amants and a revenge killing in Yonec. The pain suffered in loving an exalted other parallels the deep and somber devotion to a Catholic God. Faithfulness and a willingness to suffer for love are the marks of a virtuous character, as they indicate a willingness to act similarly by one’s nation or God.
The narrator posits that “a loyal partner, once discovered, should be served, loved and obeyed” regardless of gender, as she proposes equality between the knights and their ladies in this respect (49). While the pains of devotion to a specific partner are a great chivalric virtue, the narrator is also aware of “ignoble courtiers who philander around the world and then boast of their deeds”, thus treating love lightly and making it “the butt of jokes” (49). While the Lais do not center upon people who treat love lightly, the characters are aware of amorous disappointment and double-dealing—for example, when the lady considers the possibility that Equitan would “soon abandon me and I should be very much worse off” (58), and when Guilliadun learns that Eliduc lied to her about his marital status, affirming that “she who trusts a man is extremely foolish” (125). However, the truth is not that Eliduc treats love lightly, but that the seriousness he feels towards one partner is transferred to another. Although Guilliadun eventually marries Eliduc and learns to trust him, by the end of the lay, she joins Eliduc’s former wife, Guildelüec in devoting herself to God and the steadfast divine love that surpasses any transitory human affection.
Interestingly, Chaitivel shows that the withholding of love also causes pain and even death. The lady who refuses to choose between her four suitors inadvertently causes their death and injury, as they over-exert themselves in a tournament and very foolishly wander away from their followers. When the lady prefers to mourn the fate of all of the unfortunate knights, instead of focusing her affection on the surviving injured knight, he feels that he is the most wretched of them all, because there is no relief from seeing “the woman I love more than anything on earth” constantly without experiencing “the joy of […] any pleasure other than conversation” (108). This tantalization without satisfaction causes him to suffer “a thousand ills”, and he would prefer that death put an end to his longing (108). Like Tristam in Chevrefoil, he finds a measure of relief in the thought that a lay will be composed about his lovesick pains, thus memorializing him as a constant lover. On a meta-textual level, the function of the Lais as a whole is to commemorate astonishing acts of love and loyalty.
While knights who compete in tournaments and for the favor of lords and ladies are positioned as rivals in the Lais and can become superfluous if they do not adequately distinguish themselves, the women occupy a different kind of space. They do not wander around Brittany looking for favor but are instead attached to a household, whether that of a father or a husband. Even when they are closely guarded, as is the case of the mal mariées in Guigemar and Yonec, they are alone in their thoughts and agenda. All of the ladies are conscious of their reputation and social standing. While fornication is a sin in the Catholic Church, they are less concerned about afterlife torment or pregnancy than losing the favor of those around them. The lady in Milun laments when she gets pregnant that “I am not free. I have my chamberlain and many guards, young and old, who hate to see a just love and who delight in sadness” (99). Although she is of high standing, she senses that she stands to lose her advantage on a whim, as those who serve her would use her misfortune as an excuse to defame and punish her. This reinforces her isolation and her imperative need to be reunited with Milun. The narrative invites the audience to take the lady’s side, now that she stands to be abandoned by her court, and to invest in the fulfilment of her wishes.
When they fall in love and seek to escape or communicate with their beloveds, the ladies perform an active role to make the venture possible. Both in Milun and Eliduc, the ladies initiate the courtship. In the case of Milun, the lady is further active in sending messages via the swan and even managing to escape. The lady in Guigemar plays an active role in ensuring her beloved’s loyalty. Before he can strap a chastity belt on her, she ties a knot in his arm which only she can untie. In these instances, the narrator shows that women are not merely objects of adoration but instrumental in the narratives of love and desire. She thus disrupts the stereotype that links masculinity with activity and femininity with passivity.
While the lady has a tendency to act alone, there are examples of female cooperation where women act together in favor of the common good, rather than out of a wish for selfish gain. The Lais’ female powerhouse, Lanval’s fairy, is accompanied by two beautiful damsels. By virtue of their poise and confidence, the ladies who precede the fairy’s grand entrance, both to Lanval, and later before the public at his trial, fulfill the narrative function of building suspense. They also show that the fairy has a matriarchal household that rivals and poses an alternative to the king’s patriarchal one. The “very beautiful island” in Avalon that she and her servants inhabit, and where she takes Lanval, is a utopian realm that is almost too mysterious for the narrator to conceptualize (81).
Less supernatural sisterhoods in the Lais also display alternatives to the patriarchal norm. For example, in Guigemar, the imprisoned lady’s companion is “a noble and intelligent maiden”, and she and the lady “loved each other dearly” (46). It is the younger girl who is first curious about Guigemar’s arrival and who encourages the lady to tend to him (47). This results in the love affair between Guigemar and the lady, and the possibility of leaving a loveless marriage for its opposite. In Le Fresne’s case, her acceptance that her beloved must be married to a woman of higher birth and her determination to continue to serve him enables her to be recognized by her birth mother. This leads to the female collaboration ensuring that the right marriage takes place. Similarly, Guildelüec cedes Eliduc to Guilliadun out of a sense that the truer love is between her husband and another woman. Her sacrifice brings all of them closer to God, as the women enter a holy order. Overall, the narrator shows that when women cooperate, using the peaceful means of negotiation and generosity, the world is a more benign and loving place. She thus implicitly makes an argument for women’s increased involvement in society.
In the Lais, interactions between humans and animals are often at the heart of miracles and transformations. In Marie de France’s Catholic world, animals were regarded as separate and inferior to humans because they did not possess souls. However, the superstitious, agrarian society of her Lais was more dependent on animals and open to the possibility that they were agents of magic. In the Lais, animals, with their myriad bodies and tempers, help the characters surpass their human limitations.
The knights in the Lais, would have been dependent on horses for both their work and their status. In French, the word for knight is chevalier, which literally means horseman. Knights seemed more powerful in the four-legged form of a centaur than on two feet. The ability to remain with one’s horse during a joust was a mark of knightly prowess. For example, Milun’s son proves himself the better knight when he manages to stay on his horse and knock Milun off. When the son sees that Milun is aged, he invites him to regain his dignity by presenting him with his horse and apologizing to him. This noble act is a means of reconciliation between father and son.
When Lanval’s fairy enters his trial, she mounts a palfrey, an elegant, lightweight horse. She thus entertains a chivalric appearance and gains the extra height that makes her more visible to the crowd—an act that befits the crusade of proving her unmatched beauty. The horse white and “richly equipped”, but it carries the lady gently (80). The lavishness and superior beauty of the animal are juxtaposed with the ease of the ride, which lends a courtly effortless quality to the fairy’s spectacle. Thus, human and animal features conspire to present the case that she is far more beautiful than the queen.
Animals that enable the humans to surpass their natural limitations include the weasels in Eliduc, which pass over Guilliadun’s apparently dead body. When a servant strikes one of the weasels to death, its partner revives it by placing a red flower in its mouth. When Guildelüec sees this miracle, she strives to copy the weasel’s ingenuity by stealing the flower and placing it in Guilliadun’s mouth. Showing that an animal was responsible for the miracle of reviving a human enables the narrator to testify to the ingenuity of nature and women, who find creative means of overcoming obstacles.
Birds also enable lovers to transgress the limitations of unfortunate marriages and high towers by virtue of their wings and uncommon flight paths. Muldumarec in Yonec flies in a hawk’s disguise to consort with his lady, while Milun uses a swan as his messenger. Birds, which are the messengers of love, can carry amorous sentiments but may also be sacrificed when illicit love is discovered. This is the case with both the hawk in Yonec and the nightingale in Laüstic. The latter even functions as a relic of thwarted love when it is put in a jeweled case and carried around by the brokenhearted knight.
However, not all interactions with animals can be so well controlled by humans. In the case of Bisclavret, he cannot help turning into a werewolf three nights of the week—something that the narrator presents as an unfortunate pathology, given the general nobility of his character. However, when his wife’s lover takes away his clothes, leaving him trapped in his wolf shape, he is able to draw upon the tropes of dog-like loyalty and affection when he begins to kiss the king’s feet and legs. His canine gentleness earns him the king’s respect, and when he displays more wolf-like qualities like lashing out at his wife’s lover and making off with her nose, the king trusts the animal above the humans, reasoning that his victims must have wronged him. Bisclavret’s ability to display both his dog and wolf-like sides leads the king to force the human actors to return Bisclavret’s clothes—an act that enables him to resume his human shape. Here, the lay shows that intelligence and goodness—and their opposites— can assume both human and animal forms. The moral is that one should be like the king, who pays attention to a creature’s behavior when making judgments.
Another animal that serves to teach a moral is the white hind in Guigemar’s story. When a love-immune Guigemar goes hunting and strikes a beautiful white stag between the antlers, “the arrow rebounded, hitting Guigemar in the thigh and going right through the horse’s flesh”, thus provoking a defeat for this peerless knight (44). The stag, with its rebounding power, claims itself “mortally wounded” and curses Guigemar so he will never heal until he finds a woman who “will suffer for your love more pain and anguish than any other woman has ever known,” causing him to suffer similarly for her (44). The action of mutual pain, begun by the animal and Guigemar in the hunt, will be repeated in the human love story. The animal, which innocently inhabited the woods with its fawn, teaches Guigemar the lesson that he cannot attack without retaliation, and that it is nature’s wish that he subdue his heart to love, rather than remain in his proud state of immunity.
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