Mimesis (42 page)

It is precisely when Boccaccio tries to enter the realm of problem or tragedy that the vagueness and uncertainty of his early humanism becomes apparent. His realism—which is free, rich, and assured in its mastery of phenomena, which is completely natural within the limits of the intermediate style—becomes weak and superficial as soon as the problematic or the tragic is touched upon. In Dante’s
Commedia
the Christian-figural interpretation had compassed human and tragic realism, and in the process had itself been destroyed. Yet that tragic realism had immediately been lost again. The worldliness of men like Boccaccio was still too insecure and unsupported to serve, after the fashion of Dante’s figural interpretation, as a basis on which the world could be ordered, interpreted, and represented as a reality and as a whole.

10

MADAME DU CHASTEL

A
NTOINE DE LA
S
ALE,
a Provençal knight of the late feudal type, soldier, court official, tutor of princes, authority on heraldry and tournaments, was born about 1390 and died after 1461. For the greater part of his life he was in the service of the Anjous, who fought until about 1440 for their Kingdom of Naples but who also held extensive possessions in France. He left them in 1448 to become the tutor of the sons of Louis de Luxembourg, Count of Saint-Pol, who played a significant part in the vicissitudinous relations between the French kings and the dukes of Burgundy. In his youth Antoine de la Sale took part in a Portuguese expedition to North Africa; he was often in Italy with the Anjous; he knew the courts of France and Burgundy. It seems that he began his writing career with compilations for his princely charges—an activity which may have revealed to him a talent and inclination for narrative. His best-known work is at once a pedagogical novel and a love story,
l’Hystoyre et plaisante Cronique du Petit Jehan de Saintré
, probably the most vivid literary document of the late feudal period in France. For a time other works were also ascribed to him: the
Quinze Joyes de Mariage
and the
Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles
, although neither shows any of his very distinctive and unmistakable characteristics. Recently—especially since W. Söderjhelm’s book on the French novella of the fifteenth century (Paris, 1910)—most students seem inclined to reject these ascriptions.

He was some seventy years of age when he wrote a consolatory treatise for a lady who had lost her first child. This piece,
le Réconfort de Madame du Fresne
, was published by J. Nève in his book on Antoine de la Sale (Paris and Brussels, 1903, pp. 101-155). It begins with a very warmhearted introduction, which—in addition to pious exhortations—contains quotations from the Bible, Seneca, and Bernard of Clairvaux, as well as the folktale of the shroud and a passage in praise of a recently dead saint. Then follow two stories of brave mothers. Of these stories the first is by far the more important. It relates—although with numerous errors and mistaken identities—an episode from the Hundred Years’ War.

The English under the Black Prince are besieging the fortress of
Brest. The commander of the fortress, the Seigneur du Chastel, is finally forced to conclude an agreement by the terms of which he is to surrender the fortress to the Black Prince at a specified date if no help arrives before then; as hostage he gives his only son, a boy of thirteen; upon these conditions the Black Prince grants a truce. Four days before the specified period runs out, a ship with provisions arrives at the port. There is great rejoicing, and the commander sends a herald to the Prince with the request that he return the hostage, since help has arrived. At the same time, in accordance with the customs of chivalry, he asks the Prince to help himself to whatever provisions he may wish. The Prince, angry at seeing the long-coveted prize, of which he had thought himself sure, escaping him, refuses to consider the arrival of provisions as help in the sense of the agreement, and demands that the fortress be surrendered on the specified day, otherwise the hostage will be forfeited. The various stages of this train of events are narrated very effectively, with precise, if somewhat too circumstantial descriptions of the ceremonious appearances of the heralds with their several messages. We are told how the Prince first sends a negative though not completely unambiguous answer; how the Seigneur du Chastel, filled with somber premonitions, summons his relatives and friends to counsel him; how at first they merely look at one another in silence; none wants to speak first; none is ready to believe that the Prince is serious; none has anything to advise if such should prove to be the case:
Toutteffoiz, conclurent que rendre la place, sans entier deshonneur, à loyalement conseillier, n’en veoient point la fachon
. Then we are told how during the night the commander’s wife observes his trouble and finally gets the truth from him; how she swoons; how the day before the truce expires the Prince’s heralds appear with a clear demand that the agreement be carried out; how they are received and dismissed with a ceremony and courtesy in sharp contrast with the hostile content of the words spoken; how the Seigneur du Chastel shows his friends and relatives a serene and determined countenance; and how, during the night, when he is alone with his wife, he breaks down and completely abandons himself to his despair. This is the climax of the narrative:

Madame, qui de l’autre lez son très grand dueil faisoit, voyant perdre de son seigneur l’onneur ou son très bel et gracieux filz, que au dist de chascun, de l’aaije de XIII ans ne s’en trouvoit ung tel, doubta que son seigneur n’en preist la mort. Lors en son cuer
se appensa et en soy meismes dist: Helasse moy dollente! se il se muert, or as-tu bien tout perdu. Et en ce penssement elle l’appella. Mais il riens n’entendit. Alors elle, en s’escriant, lui dist: “Ha! Monseigneur, pour Dieu, aiez pitié de moy, vostre povre femme, qui sans nul service reprouchier, vous ay sy loyalment amé, servy et honnouré, vous à jointes mains priant que ne vueillez pas vous, nostre filz et moy perdre a ung seul cop ainssy.” Et quant le sire entend de Madame son parler, à chief de pièce luy respondit: “Helasse, m’amye, et que est cecy? Où est le cuer qui plus ne amast la mort que vivre ainssi où je me voy en ce très dur party?” Alors, Madame, comme très saige et prudente, pour le resconfforter, tout-à-cop changa son cruel dueil en très vertueulx parler et lui dist: “Monseigneur, je ne diz pas que vous ne ayez raison, mais puisque ainssi est le voulloir de Dieu, il vuelt et commande que de tous les malvaiz partis le mains pire en soit prins.” Alors, le seigneur lui dist: “Doncques, m’amye, conseilliez moy de tous deux le mains pire à vostre advis.”—“A! Monseigneur, dist-elle, il y a bien grant choiz. Mais de ceste chose, à jointes mains vous supplie, pardonnez moy, car telles choses doivent partir des nobles cuers des vertueulx hommes et non pas des femelins cuers des femmes qui, par l’ordonnance de Dieu, sommes à vous, hommes, subgettes, especialement les espouseez et qui sont meres des enffants, ainssi que je vous suis et à nostre filz. Sy vous supplie, Monseigneur, que de ce la congnoissance ne s’estende point à moy.”—“Ha, m’amye, dist-il, amour et devoir vuellent que de tous mes principaulx affaires, comme ung cuer selon Dieu en deux corps, vous en doye deppartir, ainssi que j’ay toujours fait, pour les biens que j’ay trouvez en vous. Car vous dictes qu’il y a bien choiz. Vous estes la mere et je suis vostre mary. Pourquoy vous prie à peu de parolles que le choiz m’en declairiez.” Alors, la très desconffortee dame, pour obeir luy dit: “Monseigneur, puisque tant vouliez que le chois vous en die”—alors renfforca la prudence de son cuer par la très grande amour que elle à lui avoit, et lui dist: “Monseigneur, quoy que je dye, il me soit pardonné; des deux consaulx que je vous vueil donner, Dieux avant, Nostre Dame et monseigneur saint Michiel, que soient en ma pensee et en mon parler. Dont le premier est que vous laissiez tous vos dueilz, vos desplaisirs et vos penssers, et ainssy feray-je. Et les remettons tous ès mains de nostre vray Dieu, qui fait tout pour le mieulx. Le IIme et derrain est que vous, Monseigneur, et chascun homme
et femme vivant, savez que, selon droit de nature et experience des yeulx, est chose plus apparante que les enffans sont filz ou filles de leurs meres qui en leurs flans les ont portez et enffantez que ne sont de leurs maris, ne de ceulx à qui ont les donne. Laquelle chose, Monseigneur, je dis pour ce que ainssi nostre filz est plus apparant mon vray filz qu’il n’est le vostre, nonobstant que vous en soyez le vray pere naturel. Et de ce j’en appelle nostre vray Dieu à tesmoing au très espouventable jour du jugement. Et car pour ce il est mon vray filz, qui moult chier m’a cousté à porter l’espasse de IX mois en mes flans, dont en ay receu maintes dures angoisses et par mains jours, et puis comme morte à l’enffanter, lequel j’ay sy chierement nourry, amé et tenu chier jusques au jour et heure que il fut livré. Touttefoiz ores, pour toujours mais, je l’abandonne ès mains de Dieu et vueil que jamais il ne me soit plus riens, ainssi que se jamais je ne le avoye veu, ains liberalement de cuer et franchement, sans force, contrainte, ne viollence aucune, vous donne, cede et transporte toute la naturelle amour, l’affection et le droit que mere puelt et doit avoir à son seul et très amé filz. Et de ce j’en appelle à tesmoing le trestout vray et puissant Dieu, qui le nous a presté le espasse de XIII ans, pour la tincion et garde de vostre seul honneur, à tous jours mais perdu se aultrement est. Vous ne avez que ung honneur lequel après Dieu, sur femme, sur enffans et sur toutes choses devez plus amer. Et sy ne avez que ung seul filz. Or advisez duquel vous avez la plus grande perte. Et vrayement, Monseigneur, il y a grant choiz. Nous sommes assez en aaige pour en avoir, se à Dieu plaist; mais vostre honneur une foiz perdu, lasse, jamais plus ne le recouvrerez. Et quant mon conseil vous tendrez, les gens diront de vous, mort ou vif que soiez: C’est le preudomme et très loyal chevallier. Et pour ce, Monseigneur, sy très humblement que je scay, vous supplie, fetes comme moy, et en lui plus ne penssés que se ne l’euissiez jamaiz eu; ains vous resconffortez, et remerciez Dieu de tout, qui le vous a donné pour votre honneur rachetter.”

Et quant le cappitaine oist Madame si haultement parler, avec un contemplatif souspir, remercia Jhesus-Crist, le très hault et puissant Dieu, quant du cuer de une femeline et piteuse creature partoient sy haultes et sy vertueuses parolles comme celles que Madame disoit, ayant ainssy du tout abandonné la grant amour de son seul et très aimé filz, et tout pour l’amour de lui. Lors en briefves parolles luy dist: “M’amye, tant que l’amour de mon
cuer se puelt estendre, plus que oncques mais vous remercie du très hault et piteux don que m’avez maintenant fait. J’ay ores oy la guette du jour corner, et ja soit que ne dormissions à nuit, sy me fault-il lever; et vous aucum peu reposerez.”—“Reposer, dist-elle, hellas, Monseigneur, je n’ay cuer, œul, ne membre sur mon corps qui en soit d’accord. Mais je me leveray et yrons à messe tous deux remerchier Nostre Seigneur de tout.”

(Madame, who on the other side made great moan, seeing either her lord’s honor lost or her beautiful and gracious son, whose equal at the age of thirteen, as everyone said, could not be found, feared that her lord might die of it. Then she thought in her heart and spoke within herself: “Alas, how wretched I am! If he dies, then you have lost everything.” And in this thought she called to him. But he heard nothing. Then, raising her voice, she said to him: “Ah, my lord, for the sake of God, have pity upon me, your poor wife, who has loved and served and honored you loyally without complaint about any service, and who begs you with clasped hands, do not ruin thus at once yourself, your son, and me.” And when the lord heard Madame’s words, he finally answered her: “Alas, my dear, what is all this? Where is the heart that would not rather love death than live as I see myself, in these very dire straits?” Thereupon Madame, who was very wise and prudent, to comfort him, suddenly changed her bitter meaning to brave counsel and said to him: “My lord, I do not say that you are not right, but since such is God’s will, he wills and commands that of all bad things the least evil be taken.” Then the lord said to her: “Then, my dear, advise me which of the two is the less evil in your opinion.”—“Oh, my lord,” she said, “that is a hard choice. But of this, I beg you with clasped hands, relieve me, for such things must issue from the noble hearts of brave men and not from the female hearts of women who, by God’s command, are subject to you men, especially wives and mothers of children as I am to you and our son. Therefore I implore you, my lord, that the decision of this be not given to me.”—“Ah, my dear,” he said, “love and duty require that in all my important affairs—as one heart in two bodies according to God—I should let you share as I have always done because of the good that I have found in you. Now you said that there is here a choice. You are the mother and I am your husband. Therefore
I ask you that in few words you set forth the choice to me.” Then the most disconsolate woman said, obeying: “My Lord, since you so wish that I tell you the choice,”—and here she strengthened the prudence of her heart by the great love she bore to him and said: “My lord, whatever I say, may it be forgiven me. Two counsels I would give you, and in them may first God and our Lady and my lord Saint Michael be present in my thought and speech. The first is that you leave all your mourning, your sorrow, and your thoughts, and so too shall I. And let us put them all in the hands of our true God who does all for the best. The second and last is that you, my lord, and every man and woman alive, know that by natural right and the experience of our eyes it is more apparent that children are sons and daughters of their mothers who have carried them in their loins and given birth to them than they are of their husbands or of any others (?) to whom they are given. And this I say, my lord, for thus it is more apparent that our son is my true son than that he is yours although you are his true natural father. And of this I call our true God to bear witness on the very terrible day of judgment. And for this then he is my true son, who cost me very dear to carry nine months in my loins while I suffered throughout many a day many a great anxiety, and to give birth to whom I almost died, whom I so dearly fed and loved and cherished down to the day and the hour when he was given over. But now and for ever more I abandon him into the hands of God and it is my will that he shall never more be anything to me, as though I had never seen him, but of my own free will, without force, constraint, or violence whatever, I give, cede, and transfer to you all the natural love, affection, and right which a mother can and must have for her only and dearly loved son. Of this I call to witness the most true and powerful God who lent him to us for the space of thirteen years, for the maintenance and safeguarding of your sole honor which will be lost for ever more if it is to be otherwise. You have but one honor which, after God, you must love more than wife, child, and all things. And likewise you have but one son. Consider now which would be the greater loss to you. And truly, my lord, here is a great choice. We are still of an age to have sons, if it pleases God. But your honor, once lost, alas, you can never recover. And if you follow my counsel, people will say of you, whether you are dead or alive: That is a man of honor and a
very loyal knight. And therefore, my lord, as humbly as I know how, I beg you, do as I do, and think no more of him than if you had never had him. But take courage and thank God for everything, for He has given him to you to redeem your honor.”