The University of Chicago Press

Chicago and London

Etymologies and Genealogies
A Literary Anthropology
of the French Middle Ages
R. HOWARD BLOCH
Contents
Acknowledgments
Abbreviations
Introduction:
Toward a Literary Anthropology of the Middle Ages
1 Early Medieval Grammar
Genealogy and General Sign Theory
Linguistics and History
Origins
Strategies of Return
2 Kinship
The Biopolitics of Lineage
The Aristocratic Practice of Signs
Grammar and Lineage
The Tree of Jesse
ix
xi
1
30
64
vii
viii Contents
3 Literature and Lineage
The Epic
The Poetics of Disruption
4 Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire
Rhetoric and Desire
Philosophy and the Family: Abelard
Nominalist and Modal Grammar
5 The Economics of Romance
Household
Money
The Courtly Novel
6 Grail Family and Round Table
The Wasteland
Grail Quest and the Quest for the Name of the Father
Genealogy of the Book and the Book of Genealogy
Round Table and the Politics of Intention
Appendix A
Appendix B
Notes
Index
92
128
159
198
229
231
233
275
Acknowledgments
The excruciating final stages in the preparation of a book-proofread-
ing, checking of sources, indexing-are compensated only by the plea-
sure of thanking those who have participated in its genesis all along the
way. First among these are two close friends and intellectual compan-
ions, Alexandre Leupin and Eugene Vance, who will recognize in the
present work glimpses of an often heated, sometimes maddening, al-
ways challenging dialogue of the last few years. I am also indebted to
Daniel Poirion, who permitted me to present my ideas in their early
stages to his seminar at the Ecole Normale Superieure, and to Charles
Mela and Michel Zihk, whose comments partially reshaped my thinking
at that time. It is, of course, impossible to acknowledge all the colleagues
whose erudition and generosity lie hidden beneath the surface of the
essay which follows; I mention only in passing Leo Bersani, Alan Bern-
stein, Tom Bisson, Joe Duggan, Sepp Gumbrecht, Denis Hollier, Marie-
Helene Huet, Leo Lowenthal, and the group around Representations. A
ix
viii Contents
3 Literature and Lineage
The Epic
The Poetics of Disruption
4 Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire
Rhetoric and Desire
Philosophy and the Family: Abelard
Nominalist and Modal Grammar
5 The Economics of Romance
Household
Money
The Courtly Novel
6 Grail Family and Round Table
The Wasteland
Grail Quest and the Quest for the Name of the Father
Genealogy of the Book and the Book of Genealogy
Round Table and the Politics of Intention
Appendix A
Appendix B
Notes
Index
92
128
159
198
229
231
233
275
Acknowledgments
The excruciating final stages in the preparation of a book-proofread-
ing, checking of sources, indexing-are compensated only by the plea-
sure of thanking those who have participated in its genesis all along the
way. First among these are two close friends and intellectual compan-
ions, Alexandre Leupin and Eugene Vance, who will recognize in the
present work glimpses of an often heated, sometimes maddening, al-
ways challenging dialogue of the last few years. I am also indebted to
Daniel Poirion, who permitted me to present my ideas in their early
stages to his seminar at the Ecole Normale Superieure, and to Charles
Mela and Michel Zihk, whose comments partially reshaped my thinking
at that time. It is, of course, impossible to acknowledge all the colleagues
whose erudition and generosity lie hidden beneath the surface of the
essay which follows; I mention only in passing Leo Bersani, Alan Bern-
stein, Tom Bisson, Joe Duggan, Sepp Gumbrecht, Denis Hollier, Marie-
Helene Huet, Leo Lowenthal, and the group around Representations. A
ix
x Acknowledgments
special note of thanks is due Peter Haidu and Bernard and Jacqueline
Cerquiglini who read the manuscript in its entirety, as well as Charles
Bernheimer, Geoff Nunberg, and Paul Rabinow who, from the view-
points of the critic, the linguist, and the anthropologist, offered a wide
range of perspectives upon the Introduction. Finally, I would like to
express my gratitude to Jann Matlock, whose assistance with everything
from the sleuthing of sources to typing facilitated my task at every stage,
to the Humanities Research Council of the University of California, and to
the John Simon Guggenheim Foundation, which afforded me a delicious
sabbatical year.
Abbreviations
In order to reduce the number of footnotes, I have adopted the follow-
ing abbreviations for frequently cited texts:
Aucassin Aucassin et Nicolette, ed. M. Roques (Paris: Champion, 1967).
De Planctu Alain de Lille, De Planctu Naturae, in Satirical Poets of the
Twelfth Century, ed. T. Wright (London: Longman, 1872).
Etym. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiarum sive originum libri XX, ed. W. M.
Lindsay (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1911).
Historia Abelard, Historia Calamitatum, ed. J. Monfrin (Paris: J. Vrin,
1959).
Huth Huth Merlin, ed. G. Paris and J. Ulrich (Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1886).
Marcabru Les Poesies de Marcabru, ed. J. Dejeanne (Paris: Champion,
1909).
Metalogicon John of Salisbury, Metalogicon, ed. C. I. Webb (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1929).
xi
x Acknowledgments
special note of thanks is due Peter Haidu and Bernard and Jacqueline
Cerquiglini who read the manuscript in its entirety, as well as Charles
Bernheimer, Geoff Nunberg, and Paul Rabinow who, from the view-
points of the critic, the linguist, and the anthropologist, offered a wide
range of perspectives upon the Introduction. Finally, I would like to
express my gratitude to Jann Matlock, whose assistance with everything
from the sleuthing of sources to typing facilitated my task at every stage,
to the Humanities Research Council of the University of California, and to
the John Simon Guggenheim Foundation, which afforded me a delicious
sabbatical year.
Abbreviations
In order to reduce the number of footnotes, I have adopted the follow-
ing abbreviations for frequently cited texts:
Aucassin Aucassin et Nicolette, ed. M. Roques (Paris: Champion, 1967).
De Planctu Alain de Lille, De Planctu Naturae, in Satirical Poets of the
Twelfth Century, ed. T. Wright (London: Longman, 1872).
Etym. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiarum sive originum libri XX, ed. W. M.
Lindsay (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1911).
Historia Abelard, Historia Calamitatum, ed. J. Monfrin (Paris: J. Vrin,
1959).
Huth Huth Merlin, ed. G. Paris and J. Ulrich (Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1886).
Marcabru Les Poesies de Marcabru, ed. J. Dejeanne (Paris: Champion,
1909).
Metalogicon John of Salisbury, Metalogicon, ed. C. I. Webb (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1929).
xi
xii Abbreviations
Notices C. Thurot, Notices et extraits de divers manuscrits latins pour servir a
l'histoire des doctrines grammaticales du moyen age (Paris: Imprimerie Royale,
1868).
Perceval Chretien de Troyes, Le Roman de Perceval, ed. W. Roach (Ge-
neva: Droz, 1959).
PL Patrologia Latina, ed. J.-P. Migne (Paris: Garnier, 1879).
Priscian Priscian, Institutionum Grammaticarum libri XVIII, ed. H. Keil
(Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1961), vol. 2.
Roland La Chanson de Roland, ed. J. Bedier (Paris: H. Piazza, 1964).
Rose Le Roman de Ia rose, ed. D. Poirion (Paris: Flammarion, 1974).
Varro Varro, De Lingua Latina, ed. R. G. Kent (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 1951).
William IX Les Chansons de William IX, ed. A. Jeanroy (Paris: Champion,
1913).
Introduction: Toward a Literary
Anthropology of the Middle Ages
In Classical mythology the invention of writing is alternately ascribed
to the Phoenician Cadmus, the Greek Hermes, and the Egyptian Thoth.
1
The medieval figures most associated with writing are Odin, the inventor
of runes, and Merlin-magician, enchanter, and prophet. Merlin is said
to have written two books. The first, dictated to his mother's confessor
and protector Blaise, contains Merlin's account of events prior to and
during the Arthurian reign as well as the story of his own birth and
precocious rhetorical gifts. Through it we are privy to the legends of the
Round Table: "Et Merlins s'en ala a Blaise en Norhomberlande, si li
raconte tot et dist, et Blaise le mist en escrit et par son livre le resavons
nous encore. "
2
The second book, divinely inspired and transcribed by the
counselors at the court of Uter and Pendragon, is prophetically disposed:
"Et nostre sires qui est poissans sour tout m' a donne sens de sa voir toutes
choses qui sont a avenir en partie."
3
Merlin is the patron saint of letters
within the Arthurian world. In Geoffrey of Monmouth's Vita Merlini he
1
xii Abbreviations
Notices C. Thurot, Notices et extraits de divers manuscrits latins pour servir a
l'histoire des doctrines grammaticales du moyen age (Paris: Imprimerie Royale,
1868).
Perceval Chretien de Troyes, Le Roman de Perceval, ed. W. Roach (Ge-
neva: Droz, 1959).
PL Patrologia Latina, ed. J.-P. Migne (Paris: Garnier, 1879).
Priscian Priscian, Institutionum Grammaticarum libri XVIII, ed. H. Keil
(Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1961), vol. 2.
Roland La Chanson de Roland, ed. J. Bedier (Paris: H. Piazza, 1964).
Rose Le Roman de Ia rose, ed. D. Poirion (Paris: Flammarion, 1974).
Varro Varro, De Lingua Latina, ed. R. G. Kent (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 1951).
William IX Les Chansons de William IX, ed. A. Jeanroy (Paris: Champion,
1913).
Introduction: Toward a Literary
Anthropology of the Middle Ages
In Classical mythology the invention of writing is alternately ascribed
to the Phoenician Cadmus, the Greek Hermes, and the Egyptian Thoth.
1
The medieval figures most associated with writing are Odin, the inventor
of runes, and Merlin-magician, enchanter, and prophet. Merlin is said
to have written two books. The first, dictated to his mother's confessor
and protector Blaise, contains Merlin's account of events prior to and
during the Arthurian reign as well as the story of his own birth and
precocious rhetorical gifts. Through it we are privy to the legends of the
Round Table: "Et Merlins s'en ala a Blaise en Norhomberlande, si li
raconte tot et dist, et Blaise le mist en escrit et par son livre le resavons
nous encore. "
2
The second book, divinely inspired and transcribed by the
counselors at the court of Uter and Pendragon, is prophetically disposed:
"Et nostre sires qui est poissans sour tout m' a donne sens de sa voir toutes
choses qui sont a avenir en partie."
3
Merlin is the patron saint of letters
within the Arthurian world. In Geoffrey of Monmouth's Vita Merlini he
1
2 Introduction
supervises the construction of a scriptorium for the recording of his predic-
tions; in the Didot-Perceval he retires from the world to a "writing house"
or esplumoir.
4
The numerous disp.e_tches which circulate between lovers,
between enemies, between Arthur and his barons are the product of
Merlin's prolific pen, as are the inscriptions on tombstones, swords,
boats, and hermes scattered throughout the realm. Merlin is as powerful
an image of the writer as the Middle Ages produced and, indeed, an
embodiment of the principle of writing itself.
The pluralistic possibilities of writing are subsumed in the magician's
shapes. At times a young child, adolescent, old crone, woodsman,
shepherd, monk, and preudom, Merlin moves about under continually
shifting guises. His interlocutor in the Welsh Dialogue of Merddin and His
Sister Gwendydd addresses him successively as the "Judge of the North,"
the "Prophet," the "Master of Song," the "Melancholic," the "Warrior of
Arderydd," the "Wise," and the "One Who Has Completely Read the
Distichs of Cato."
5
The author of the Huth text confides that the other
characters "do not know that Merlin can take other forms and other
appearances (samblance) than his own"; and the polymorphous enchanteor
himself boasts that "those who believe they know me know nothing of
my being."
6
Merlin is the representation of that which cannot be said and
of everything that can be said-a shifter, trickster, joker, arbiter of value
and of meaning. Also omniscient, his special knowledge of the past, of
men's thoughts and intentions, of paternity, of the future, places him in
relation to the other figures of the text as the author Btands in relation to
his work: a privileged observer of its every aspect.
Merlin personifies the figure of the paradox-the prophet who is every-
where, yet nowhere. Representative of Satan, recuperated by God, he
retains the knowledge imparted by both. A fatherless being without
discernible origin, his conception having occurred without his mother's
awareness, he is at the same time the protector of paternity. A latter-day
Hermes, he is the inhabitant of the forest-the Wild Man-who is simul-
taneously the bringer of culture, the master of arts and of science, the
practitioner of music, medicine, astronomy, mathematics, and cal-
culation.7
Merlin is no less adept at human relations. Also like Hermes--the god
of clever speech, the wise child, flatterer, and liar-he represents the
skilled rhetorician, master of juridical discourse, guardian of technology,
and engineer of the physically impossible.
8
We are told that Hermes took
a special delight in the affairs of men, particularly in commerce, deals, in
barter as well as in buying and selling; he was the herald and messenger
of the Gods. Merlin, like his Classical counterpart, acts as messenger,
go-between, matchmaker, mediator, peacemaker; and, these failing, as
military strategist-master of ruse, maneuver, and surprise. His military
Introduction 3
triumph_s are supplemented by political savvy during peacetime. The
foundation of the Round Table is the product of Merlin's ingenuity as is
Arthur's elaborate succession toUter's kingdom.
9
Merlin's p_olysemous nature, invisible omnipresence, and superhu-
man perception of the past and future incorporates a sa voir that permits
the ?overnance of men and that poses generally the question of the
relation between knowledge and power. More precisely, his special
in writing-implies the existence of a power dis-
tmct from Immediately physical, military domination; the kind of power
afforded by know-how, technical competence, mastery of the signs of a
culture, including its music.
10
Here the confrontation between Merlin and
the counselors at Vertigier's court is highly instructive.
In what the political episode of the thirteenth-century
prose romance, King Vertigier concludes a pact with the Saxons. He then
seeks repeatedly to build an impregnable tower which crumbles mysteri-
ously after each attempt at construction. Vertigier summons his counsel-
ors whose of their skill in the of astronomy.
11
'Yhat official arbiters of truth read in the stars is, in fact, a premoni-
of therr own death at the hands of "a child of seven years conceived
without earthly father" ("un enfant de set ans qui estoit nes sans pere
d'oume terriien [et conceus] en une feme" [Huth, 1:41]).
Oedipal overtones of the astronomical prediction are obvious: like
Lams, the counselors seek to destroy that which the oracle reveals; and
like Oedipus himself, they pursue the knowledge which destroys. For the
struggle between the sanctioned discipline of astronomy and Merlin's art
is sealed in the lie, presented to Vertigier's court, that only the blood of
the fatherless child will make the tower stand (" ... et qui porroit eel sane
et metre ou mortier, si tenra la tours et sera tous jors mais bonne"
Ibid., Thus the sages hommes, in their search for the object of the
menacmg omen, come upon a group of children playing:
Et _en eel camp avoit une compaignie d'enfans qui choulloient. Et Merlins,
qUI le_s choses i_ estoit et vit les messages le roi Vertigier qui le
s_e(s) Merhns les un des plus riches enfans, pour chou
que Il savmt bien que Ille mesaesmeroit, si haucha la croche, si en feri l'en-
en l_a gambe; et li enfes commencha a plourer et Merlin a laidengier et
apieler sans pere. Quant li message qui le queroient oirent I' enfant ensi
SI alerent tout quatre viers I' enfant qui ploroit, si le demanderent:
"QUI est cil_ qui t'a feru?" Et il dist: "C'est (li) fieus d'une feme que onques
seult qUI l'engendra, ne onques n'ot pere." Quant Merlins l'oi, si vint
viers les tout en e! lour dist: "Signour, je sui chieus que
vous queres et que vous aves Jure(s) que vous ochirres et deves porter mon
sane le roi Vertigier." [Ibid., 1:43]
In this field there was a group of children playing with ball and club [Fr.
chouler]. And Merlin, who knew everything, was there and saw King Verti-
2 Introduction
supervises the construction of a scriptorium for the recording of his predic-
tions; in the Didot-Perceval he retires from the world to a "writing house"
or esplumoir.
4
The numerous disp.e_tches which circulate between lovers,
between enemies, between Arthur and his barons are the product of
Merlin's prolific pen, as are the inscriptions on tombstones, swords,
boats, and hermes scattered throughout the realm. Merlin is as powerful
an image of the writer as the Middle Ages produced and, indeed, an
embodiment of the principle of writing itself.
The pluralistic possibilities of writing are subsumed in the magician's
shapes. At times a young child, adolescent, old crone, woodsman,
shepherd, monk, and preudom, Merlin moves about under continually
shifting guises. His interlocutor in the Welsh Dialogue of Merddin and His
Sister Gwendydd addresses him successively as the "Judge of the North,"
the "Prophet," the "Master of Song," the "Melancholic," the "Warrior of
Arderydd," the "Wise," and the "One Who Has Completely Read the
Distichs of Cato."
5
The author of the Huth text confides that the other
characters "do not know that Merlin can take other forms and other
appearances (samblance) than his own"; and the polymorphous enchanteor
himself boasts that "those who believe they know me know nothing of
my being."
6
Merlin is the representation of that which cannot be said and
of everything that can be said-a shifter, trickster, joker, arbiter of value
and of meaning. Also omniscient, his special knowledge of the past, of
men's thoughts and intentions, of paternity, of the future, places him in
relation to the other figures of the text as the author Btands in relation to
his work: a privileged observer of its every aspect.
Merlin personifies the figure of the paradox-the prophet who is every-
where, yet nowhere. Representative of Satan, recuperated by God, he
retains the knowledge imparted by both. A fatherless being without
discernible origin, his conception having occurred without his mother's
awareness, he is at the same time the protector of paternity. A latter-day
Hermes, he is the inhabitant of the forest-the Wild Man-who is simul-
taneously the bringer of culture, the master of arts and of science, the
practitioner of music, medicine, astronomy, mathematics, and cal-
culation.7
Merlin is no less adept at human relations. Also like Hermes--the god
of clever speech, the wise child, flatterer, and liar-he represents the
skilled rhetorician, master of juridical discourse, guardian of technology,
and engineer of the physically impossible.
8
We are told that Hermes took
a special delight in the affairs of men, particularly in commerce, deals, in
barter as well as in buying and selling; he was the herald and messenger
of the Gods. Merlin, like his Classical counterpart, acts as messenger,
go-between, matchmaker, mediator, peacemaker; and, these failing, as
military strategist-master of ruse, maneuver, and surprise. His military
Introduction 3
triumph_s are supplemented by political savvy during peacetime. The
foundation of the Round Table is the product of Merlin's ingenuity as is
Arthur's elaborate succession toUter's kingdom.
9
Merlin's p_olysemous nature, invisible omnipresence, and superhu-
man perception of the past and future incorporates a sa voir that permits
the ?overnance of men and that poses generally the question of the
relation between knowledge and power. More precisely, his special
in writing-implies the existence of a power dis-
tmct from Immediately physical, military domination; the kind of power
afforded by know-how, technical competence, mastery of the signs of a
culture, including its music.
10
Here the confrontation between Merlin and
the counselors at Vertigier's court is highly instructive.
In what the political episode of the thirteenth-century
prose romance, King Vertigier concludes a pact with the Saxons. He then
seeks repeatedly to build an impregnable tower which crumbles mysteri-
ously after each attempt at construction. Vertigier summons his counsel-
ors whose of their skill in the of astronomy.
11
'Yhat official arbiters of truth read in the stars is, in fact, a premoni-
of therr own death at the hands of "a child of seven years conceived
without earthly father" ("un enfant de set ans qui estoit nes sans pere
d'oume terriien [et conceus] en une feme" [Huth, 1:41]).
Oedipal overtones of the astronomical prediction are obvious: like
Lams, the counselors seek to destroy that which the oracle reveals; and
like Oedipus himself, they pursue the knowledge which destroys. For the
struggle between the sanctioned discipline of astronomy and Merlin's art
is sealed in the lie, presented to Vertigier's court, that only the blood of
the fatherless child will make the tower stand (" ... et qui porroit eel sane
et metre ou mortier, si tenra la tours et sera tous jors mais bonne"
Ibid., Thus the sages hommes, in their search for the object of the
menacmg omen, come upon a group of children playing:
Et _en eel camp avoit une compaignie d'enfans qui choulloient. Et Merlins,
qUI le_s choses i_ estoit et vit les messages le roi Vertigier qui le
s_e(s) Merhns les un des plus riches enfans, pour chou
que Il savmt bien que Ille mesaesmeroit, si haucha la croche, si en feri l'en-
en l_a gambe; et li enfes commencha a plourer et Merlin a laidengier et
apieler sans pere. Quant li message qui le queroient oirent I' enfant ensi
SI alerent tout quatre viers I' enfant qui ploroit, si le demanderent:
"QUI est cil_ qui t'a feru?" Et il dist: "C'est (li) fieus d'une feme que onques
seult qUI l'engendra, ne onques n'ot pere." Quant Merlins l'oi, si vint
viers les tout en e! lour dist: "Signour, je sui chieus que
vous queres et que vous aves Jure(s) que vous ochirres et deves porter mon
sane le roi Vertigier." [Ibid., 1:43]
In this field there was a group of children playing with ball and club [Fr.
chouler]. And Merlin, who knew everything, was there and saw King Verti-
4 Introduction
gier's messengers who were looking for him. dre:v one of
the richest children because he knew he would dtshke htm; he rmsed the
club and struck the child in the leg, and the boy started to cry and to curse
Merlin and call him "fatherless son." When the messengers who
looking for him heard the child speak thus they the cry.mg,
child and asked him: "Who is the one who struck you? he He
is the son of a woman who never knew who engendered htm, nor dtd he
ever have a father." When Merlin heard this he approached the messen-
gers and said, laughing: "Lords, I am the one are that you
have sworn to kill in order to take my blood to King Verhgter.
Merlin's triumph over the astronomers is by no means ..
systematically usurps the officially sanctione?
juridical, political, technological, even theological-of a culture !s
transformed by his pervasive presence. The entrap.ment ?f s
counselors is merely the first of a number of foundmg episodes which
serve to establish the authority of a point of view indistinguishable from
the authorial voice-ubiquitous, omniscient, present in all its ruses. More
) ,. '" . .l !l'' -
U(IHl p .. qd.-t 4f1.,\{.-.VUJ '+ U .. \lfH- de1
ttJntqrdli .'
) tu .. ....,-M.
lkttum f<t..t!hnntfitbm> m-re bt.tru of.il>>ct frr:.-.
(.} tW,-;;1nt1d(-41tntnfct"\htnonJtncb..tt"'Ctttttd-,JfitAnu
' 4
"''P" fldmnrcuil'mn<t'lr;'
' ,.., ,._! ".
\.) ".,;'""'f".tctrft ":tal1ffmyn
tt:f!w!fj, ...
n;1iret!: mtf'.,.,U,Utr
..
Boys playing from Bede,
Life of Saint Cuthbert,
Ms. University College 165,
Bodleian Library,
Oxford University, England.
(Printed with the permission of
the Masters and Fellows of
University College, Oxford.)
Introduction 5
generally, it poses the possibility of a vision that presents itself as compre-
hensive and of a system of meaning adequate to such an all-
encompassing horizon. Nothing escapes the watchful eye of the "wise
child." The "wise men" can neither plot against him nor approach him
without being seen; the rich boy cannot retaliate without his foreknowl-
edge. As Merlin admits in the type of explanation that often concludes an
episode like the above, "because I knew they were against me, I identified
myself to them by means of a child whom I struck in order that he name
me." Even after the astronomers have promised not to kill him, Merlin
retains a perfect perception of their innermost intention. And in bringing
them before Blaise for the purpose of written confession, the magician-
inquisitor reminds those who until then held sway at court that "he wants
them to know that he will know if they tell a lie."
12
Merlin's totalizing regard places him at once outside and at the center
of the tale which he narrates and in which he participates. It incorporates
the vision of the scientist, the supposedly neutral observer, and that of
the actor within a drama of cultural mutation in which superstition is
vanquished by a higher law, a more efficient discourse-in this instance,
that of poetry and prophecy combined. Merlin's dominating presence is ..
the necessary condition of complicity with the reader; and his victory
creates the illusion of a reliable point of view from which to further
dominate the text until he delegates that power-the secret of writing's
power-and is himself trapped by it (Huth, 2:196-198).
The impossibility of locating Merlin within this enormous prose work,
which like its protagonist defies generic classification, creates a rich
confusion with far-reaching implications for our understanding of Old
French literature and its historical background. His role as observer and
participant, his status as poet and actor, suggest the subtle beginnings of
what might be termed a literary anthropology of the Middle Ages. I say
"anthropology" because Merlin's central (inclusive, neutral, and fun-
damentally ethnocentric) vision of a society which, as his lack of paternity
infers, is radically other takes as its own point of departure the compre-
hensive index of cultural elements and the deduction of its innermost
laws. I say "literary" because the vehicle of such a supposedly scientific
undertaking is itself poetic and indissociable from the polyvalent capacity
of language both to inform-to maintain its "transparence" -and to
delude. The man possessed of superior insight, both outside and above
the official discourse of the court astronomers, embodies the principle of
writing in all its reliable and illusory dimensions. And his rearrangement
within a work of romance of the prevailing "orders of discourse" merely
affirms the centrality of poetry within a process of broad social trans-
formation.
4 Introduction
gier's messengers who were looking for him. dre:v one of
the richest children because he knew he would dtshke htm; he rmsed the
club and struck the child in the leg, and the boy started to cry and to curse
Merlin and call him "fatherless son." When the messengers who
looking for him heard the child speak thus they the cry.mg,
child and asked him: "Who is the one who struck you? he He
is the son of a woman who never knew who engendered htm, nor dtd he
ever have a father." When Merlin heard this he approached the messen-
gers and said, laughing: "Lords, I am the one are that you
have sworn to kill in order to take my blood to King Verhgter.
Merlin's triumph over the astronomers is by no means ..
systematically usurps the officially sanctione?
juridical, political, technological, even theological-of a culture !s
transformed by his pervasive presence. The entrap.ment ?f s
counselors is merely the first of a number of foundmg episodes which
serve to establish the authority of a point of view indistinguishable from
the authorial voice-ubiquitous, omniscient, present in all its ruses. More
) ,. '" . .l !l'' -
U(IHl p .. qd.-t 4f1.,\{.-.VUJ '+ U .. \lfH- de1
ttJntqrdli .'
) tu .. ....,-M.
lkttum f<t..t!hnntfitbm> m-re bt.tru of.il>>ct frr:.-.
(.} tW,-;;1nt1d(-41tntnfct"\htnonJtncb..tt"'Ctttttd-,JfitAnu
' 4
"''P" fldmnrcuil'mn<t'lr;'
' ,.., ,._! ".
\.) ".,;'""'f".tctrft ":tal1ffmyn
tt:f!w!fj, ...
n;1iret!: mtf'.,.,U,Utr
..
Boys playing from Bede,
Life of Saint Cuthbert,
Ms. University College 165,
Bodleian Library,
Oxford University, England.
(Printed with the permission of
the Masters and Fellows of
University College, Oxford.)
Introduction 5
generally, it poses the possibility of a vision that presents itself as compre-
hensive and of a system of meaning adequate to such an all-
encompassing horizon. Nothing escapes the watchful eye of the "wise
child." The "wise men" can neither plot against him nor approach him
without being seen; the rich boy cannot retaliate without his foreknowl-
edge. As Merlin admits in the type of explanation that often concludes an
episode like the above, "because I knew they were against me, I identified
myself to them by means of a child whom I struck in order that he name
me." Even after the astronomers have promised not to kill him, Merlin
retains a perfect perception of their innermost intention. And in bringing
them before Blaise for the purpose of written confession, the magician-
inquisitor reminds those who until then held sway at court that "he wants
them to know that he will know if they tell a lie."
12
Merlin's totalizing regard places him at once outside and at the center
of the tale which he narrates and in which he participates. It incorporates
the vision of the scientist, the supposedly neutral observer, and that of
the actor within a drama of cultural mutation in which superstition is
vanquished by a higher law, a more efficient discourse-in this instance,
that of poetry and prophecy combined. Merlin's dominating presence is ..
the necessary condition of complicity with the reader; and his victory
creates the illusion of a reliable point of view from which to further
dominate the text until he delegates that power-the secret of writing's
power-and is himself trapped by it (Huth, 2:196-198).
The impossibility of locating Merlin within this enormous prose work,
which like its protagonist defies generic classification, creates a rich
confusion with far-reaching implications for our understanding of Old
French literature and its historical background. His role as observer and
participant, his status as poet and actor, suggest the subtle beginnings of
what might be termed a literary anthropology of the Middle Ages. I say
"anthropology" because Merlin's central (inclusive, neutral, and fun-
damentally ethnocentric) vision of a society which, as his lack of paternity
infers, is radically other takes as its own point of departure the compre-
hensive index of cultural elements and the deduction of its innermost
laws. I say "literary" because the vehicle of such a supposedly scientific
undertaking is itself poetic and indissociable from the polyvalent capacity
of language both to inform-to maintain its "transparence" -and to
delude. The man possessed of superior insight, both outside and above
the official discourse of the court astronomers, embodies the principle of
writing in all its reliable and illusory dimensions. And his rearrangement
within a work of romance of the prevailing "orders of discourse" merely
affirms the centrality of poetry within a process of broad social trans-
formation.
6 Introduction
The situation of the poetic text can be considered to be anthropological
in the strictest sense: like Merlin, it offers unique insight into the work-
ings of a society which it also conditions. And just as the magician-
inquisitor is both the bringer of writing and its corruptor-faithful wit-
ness and perfidious abuser-medieval poetry is both the reflection and
the agent of permutation of the object it reflects. We will have occasion
shortly to return to each of these points, which are by no means evident
given the fact that Old French literature is sufficiently alien to our own
sensibilities to require something on the order of an "anthropological"
explanation. But first a glance at the archetypal anthropological moment
in the history and practice of that discipline as we know it.
In a central chapter of Tristes Tropiques, C. Levi-Strauss offers a "lesson
in speaking" as important in its ramifications as the famous "le<;on
d'ecriture." The anthropologist, having spent some time among the
Nambikwara of Brazil, remains unable to penetrate that culture until, in
his own phrase:
Un jour que je jouais avec un groupe d'enfants, une des fillettes fut rap-
pee par une camarade; elle vint se refugier aupres de moi, et se mit, en
grand mystere, a me murmurer quelque chose a l'oreille, que je ne compris
pas, et que je fus oblige de lui faire repeter a plusieurs reprises, si bien que
l'adversaire decouvrit le manege, et, manifestement furieuse, arriva a son
tour pour livrer ce qui parut etre un secret solennel: apres quelques hesita-
tions et questions, !'interpretation de !'incident ne laissa pas de doute. La
premiere fillette etait venue, par vengeance, me donner le nom de son en-
nemie, et quand celle-ci s'en apen;:ut, elle communiqua le nom de l'autre,
en guise de represaille. A partir de ce moment, il fut tres facile, bien que
peu scrupuleux, d'exciter les enfants les uns contre les autres, et d'obtenir
tous leurs noms. Apres quoi, une petite complicite ainsi creee, ils me don-
nerent sans trop de difficulte, les noms des adultes.
13
In order to understand the full significance of Levi-Strauss's "discov-
ery," it is important to know that proper names are a subject of taboo
among the Nambikwara: "l'emploi des noms propres est chez eux inter-
dit" (p. 254). The anthropologist had, until then, relied upon a language
as artificial in its attributions as the Morse code which resonates even in
the chapter heading ("Sur la ligne"): "pour identifier les personnes il
fallait suivre l'usage des gens de la ligne, c'est-<1-dire convenir avec les
indigenes des noms d'emprunt par lesquels on les designerait. Soit des
noms portugais, comme Julio, Jose-Marie, Luiza; soit des sobriquets:
Lebre (lievre), Assucar (sucre)" (p. 294). An accurate perception of the true
proper name-and not just of one but of the multiple names (both of
children and of adults) that constitute a differential system-is the neces-
sary prelude to a "cracking" of the cultural code. With the deliverance
from unmotivated signs, the relations between those designated hence-
forth by supposedly determined "proper" names are assumed to fall into
Introduction 7
place. And if the anthropologist's revelation occurs by chance, it is no
accident, as J. Derrida notes, that the episode of discovery directly pre-
cedes the chapter on family life ("En famille").
Levi-Strauss's uneasy interaction with the children of theN ambikwara
marks the liminal anthropological moment-the instant at which the
outsider as observer penetrates the object of observation and play is
converted into "science." Here, in fact, is where the Huth Merlin and
Tristes Tropiques seem to join. The children's game, hidden identity, give
and take of tort and retaliation signal a certain episodic similarity. Beyond
that, the drama of demystification by nomination, which serves to estab-
lish meaning, is in both cases symptomatic of the beginning of a complic-
ity between author and reader (or listener) which radicalizes the literary
and scientific enterprise. Merlin names himself and is thus implicated in
the exposure of his own intention. It is, in fact, this dissolution of the
distinction between author and invention that renders the literary narra-
tive problematic. A crippling openness characterizes Merlin's stature as
universal signifier; and so comprehensive and contradictory is the novel
which exposes even the mechanism of its own production that it never
generates the kind of dramatic interest dependent upon "narrow mime-
sis" in the Aristotelian sense. Levi-Strauss, on the other hand, learns only
the names of others and thus remains firmly outside of the problema tics of
nomination that he thematizes. This is not to suggest that such a savvy
observer of the savage mind allows the dialectical possibilities of such an
encounter to pass unnoticed. On the contrary, he is keenly aware of the
fact that intellectual penetration cannot be dissociated from cultural
transformation. What escapes the scientist's gaze is the extent to which
any objectively conceived regard upon the other throws into question the
very premises of the scientific undertaking and the extent to which it is
itself productive of literary form.
Levi-Strauss's appearance upon the primal anthropological scene con-
tains the seeds of his own loss of innocence alongside that of the Nambi-
kwara. His access to the secret of social organization is, moreover, associ-
ated with a loss of transparency. Like Merlin, he passes from invisibility
("the Nambikwara were easy-going and unperturbed by the presence of
the anthropologist") to a visibility which destroys. Here, however, the
resemblance ends, since the question of the effects of self-exposure, of
what is destroyed, is not susceptible to evenhanded response. In naming
himself, Merlin also names the enterprise of fiction synonymous with his
being. For Levi-Strauss, by comparison, the consequences of naming the
other are merely incidental. The encounter with the children of the
Nambikwara implies the dissipation of his sources. His appearance to the
adults, and own investment with meaning, render further understand-
ing more difficult: "Lorsque ceux-ci comprirent nos conciliabules, les
6 Introduction
The situation of the poetic text can be considered to be anthropological
in the strictest sense: like Merlin, it offers unique insight into the work-
ings of a society which it also conditions. And just as the magician-
inquisitor is both the bringer of writing and its corruptor-faithful wit-
ness and perfidious abuser-medieval poetry is both the reflection and
the agent of permutation of the object it reflects. We will have occasion
shortly to return to each of these points, which are by no means evident
given the fact that Old French literature is sufficiently alien to our own
sensibilities to require something on the order of an "anthropological"
explanation. But first a glance at the archetypal anthropological moment
in the history and practice of that discipline as we know it.
In a central chapter of Tristes Tropiques, C. Levi-Strauss offers a "lesson
in speaking" as important in its ramifications as the famous "le<;on
d'ecriture." The anthropologist, having spent some time among the
Nambikwara of Brazil, remains unable to penetrate that culture until, in
his own phrase:
Un jour que je jouais avec un groupe d'enfants, une des fillettes fut rap-
pee par une camarade; elle vint se refugier aupres de moi, et se mit, en
grand mystere, a me murmurer quelque chose a l'oreille, que je ne compris
pas, et que je fus oblige de lui faire repeter a plusieurs reprises, si bien que
l'adversaire decouvrit le manege, et, manifestement furieuse, arriva a son
tour pour livrer ce qui parut etre un secret solennel: apres quelques hesita-
tions et questions, !'interpretation de !'incident ne laissa pas de doute. La
premiere fillette etait venue, par vengeance, me donner le nom de son en-
nemie, et quand celle-ci s'en apen;:ut, elle communiqua le nom de l'autre,
en guise de represaille. A partir de ce moment, il fut tres facile, bien que
peu scrupuleux, d'exciter les enfants les uns contre les autres, et d'obtenir
tous leurs noms. Apres quoi, une petite complicite ainsi creee, ils me don-
nerent sans trop de difficulte, les noms des adultes.
13
In order to understand the full significance of Levi-Strauss's "discov-
ery," it is important to know that proper names are a subject of taboo
among the Nambikwara: "l'emploi des noms propres est chez eux inter-
dit" (p. 254). The anthropologist had, until then, relied upon a language
as artificial in its attributions as the Morse code which resonates even in
the chapter heading ("Sur la ligne"): "pour identifier les personnes il
fallait suivre l'usage des gens de la ligne, c'est-<1-dire convenir avec les
indigenes des noms d'emprunt par lesquels on les designerait. Soit des
noms portugais, comme Julio, Jose-Marie, Luiza; soit des sobriquets:
Lebre (lievre), Assucar (sucre)" (p. 294). An accurate perception of the true
proper name-and not just of one but of the multiple names (both of
children and of adults) that constitute a differential system-is the neces-
sary prelude to a "cracking" of the cultural code. With the deliverance
from unmotivated signs, the relations between those designated hence-
forth by supposedly determined "proper" names are assumed to fall into
Introduction 7
place. And if the anthropologist's revelation occurs by chance, it is no
accident, as J. Derrida notes, that the episode of discovery directly pre-
cedes the chapter on family life ("En famille").
Levi-Strauss's uneasy interaction with the children of theN ambikwara
marks the liminal anthropological moment-the instant at which the
outsider as observer penetrates the object of observation and play is
converted into "science." Here, in fact, is where the Huth Merlin and
Tristes Tropiques seem to join. The children's game, hidden identity, give
and take of tort and retaliation signal a certain episodic similarity. Beyond
that, the drama of demystification by nomination, which serves to estab-
lish meaning, is in both cases symptomatic of the beginning of a complic-
ity between author and reader (or listener) which radicalizes the literary
and scientific enterprise. Merlin names himself and is thus implicated in
the exposure of his own intention. It is, in fact, this dissolution of the
distinction between author and invention that renders the literary narra-
tive problematic. A crippling openness characterizes Merlin's stature as
universal signifier; and so comprehensive and contradictory is the novel
which exposes even the mechanism of its own production that it never
generates the kind of dramatic interest dependent upon "narrow mime-
sis" in the Aristotelian sense. Levi-Strauss, on the other hand, learns only
the names of others and thus remains firmly outside of the problema tics of
nomination that he thematizes. This is not to suggest that such a savvy
observer of the savage mind allows the dialectical possibilities of such an
encounter to pass unnoticed. On the contrary, he is keenly aware of the
fact that intellectual penetration cannot be dissociated from cultural
transformation. What escapes the scientist's gaze is the extent to which
any objectively conceived regard upon the other throws into question the
very premises of the scientific undertaking and the extent to which it is
itself productive of literary form.
Levi-Strauss's appearance upon the primal anthropological scene con-
tains the seeds of his own loss of innocence alongside that of the Nambi-
kwara. His access to the secret of social organization is, moreover, associ-
ated with a loss of transparency. Like Merlin, he passes from invisibility
("the Nambikwara were easy-going and unperturbed by the presence of
the anthropologist") to a visibility which destroys. Here, however, the
resemblance ends, since the question of the effects of self-exposure, of
what is destroyed, is not susceptible to evenhanded response. In naming
himself, Merlin also names the enterprise of fiction synonymous with his
being. For Levi-Strauss, by comparison, the consequences of naming the
other are merely incidental. The encounter with the children of the
Nambikwara implies the dissipation of his sources. His appearance to the
adults, and own investment with meaning, render further understand-
ing more difficult: "Lorsque ceux-ci comprirent nos conciliabules, les
8 Introduction
enfants furent reprimandes, et les sources de mes informations taries"
(p. 294). Later, an even more dramatic encounter with the chief of the
Nambikwara results in the anthropologist's momentary disorientation,
loss of photographic equipment and weapons, and eventual recovery, as
if he had just participated sympathetically in a ritual isolation, initiatory
testing, and return (pp. 315-316).
If the effects upon the anthropologist of the anthropological moment
par excellence are temporary and anecdotal, its aftermath for the Nambi-
kwara is catastrophic and determining. The dissipation of one source
does not prevent Levi-Strauss from pursuing another; and this at the
center of the culture whose integrity, by his own account, is annihilated
by his presence armed with the tools of the anthropologist's trade. Here I
refer to the famous "writing lesson" in which the tribal chief, attracted by
the scientist's note-taking, inexplicably grasps the "purpose of writing,"
which the ethnologist equates with social domination:
L' ecriture avait done fait son apparition chez les Nambikwara; mais non
point, comme on aurait pu l'imaginer, au terme d'un apprentissage labo-
rieux. Son symbole avait ete emprunte tandis que sa realite demeurait
etrangere. Et cela, en vue d'une fin sociologique plutot qu'intellectuelle. II
ne s'agissait pas de connaitre, de retenir ou de comprendre, :mais d'ac- ,
croitre le prestige et l'autorite d'un individu-ou d'une fonchon-aux de-
pens d'autrui. [P. 316]
Levi-Strauss, again like Merlin, is the bringer of civilization through
writing, which in turn disrupts the very cultural fabric that he originally
sought to describe: "Ceux qui se desolidariserent de leur chef apres qu'il
eut essaye de jouer la carte de la civilisation (ala suite de rna visite il fut
abandonne de la plupart des siens) comprenaient confusement que l' ecri-
ture et la perfidie penetraient chez eux de concert" (p. 319).
For Levi-Strauss, writing is synonymous with the exertion of power,
exploitation, "the strengthening of dominion"; but a power whose effects
are uneven. On the one hand, penetration of the Nambikwara incurs a
temporary setback for the scientist; on the other, it portends a momen-
tous cultural breakdown mythologized in terms of a primal expulsion-
the fall from stone-age innocence into the corruption and strife that
Levi-Strauss, in the tradition of Rousseau, associates with the passage
from culture to society. In the question of this imbalance lies the differ-
ence between the archetypal anthropologist and the medieval Merlin.
More precisely, Levi-Strauss depicts the unilateral effects of writing upon
the other whose names permit not only anthropology but an exertion of
the power that the unaffected scientist exposes. In this respect the ethnol-
ogist reserves for himself a position of innocence inspired by an unper-
turbed belief in the transparency of his own discourse about the other,
while he shows that he has not learned an even more fundamental
Introduction 9
"lesson" about writing that J. Derrida undertakes to teach him in his own
founding meditation on language, De la Grammatologie.
Derrida accuses Levi-Strauss of what he terms "phonologism," a priv-
ileging of the voice over writing which falsifies the scientific project from
the beginning. According to the philosopher of language, the "writing
lesson" that the anthropologist localizes historically at a precise moment
in the evolution of culture is already contained in the speaking lesson.
Rather, the distinction which Levi-Strauss draws between speech, associ-
ated with innocence, and writing, identified with difference, hierarchy,
and corruption, is already operative in the "espacement" of speech
subsumed in the category of "archi-ecriture." Thus the violence inherent
in language has occurred even before the anthropologist arrives upon the
scene with his writing pad; it exists in the suppression of proper names
and, beyond that, in their original instigation: "Il y a ecriture des que le
nom propre est rature dans un systeme, il a 'sujet' des que cette oblitera-
tion du propre se produit, c'est-a-dire des l'apparaitre du propre et des le
premier matin du langage."
14
The violence of the chief's appropriation of
writing, which Derrida classifies as a "tertiary empirical" act, simply
mirrors a primal expropriation of "le vocatif absolu" endemic to any use
of language whatsoever-"la violence del' archi-ecriture, la violence de la
difference, de la classification et du systeme des appellations" (p. 162). __ j
For the philosopher, the fragility of the anthropological project lies in
the confusion of a supposedly neutral scientific discourse with an essen-
tially colonial endeavor. He faults Levi-Strauss for what he terms an
concept of writing whose ultimate consequences are more
ethnocentric than the ethnocentrism that the structuralist seeks to avoid.
Because of his ready acceptance of the distinction between voiced utter-
ance and writing, Levi-Strauss falls into the trap of what for Derrida is an
illusory and even dangerous distinction between idealized cultures with-
out orthography and cultures possessed of writing along with the repres-
sive technologies that it implies. Ample evidence both of innocence and
exploitation is, he maintains, to be found on either side of the barrier of
writing; and any attempt to assign priority to one side or the other
excessively dramatizes the role of the Western observer in a mythopoetic
reenactment of the Fall. According to Derrida, Levi-Strauss is guilty
finally of bad faith, of a Rousseauistic wallowing in ethnological confes-
sion that blinds him to the liberating as well as the enslaving effects that
writing, psychologically as well as historically, has always enjoyed.
I am aware that the above opposition is itself somewhat dramatized,
that its overly simple terms do justice to the more subtle strategies of
neither the anthropologist nor the philosopher. It is nonetheless germane
to the medieval example which, I think it also can be shown, even points
toward one possibility of a historically situated reconciliation of the two.
8 Introduction
enfants furent reprimandes, et les sources de mes informations taries"
(p. 294). Later, an even more dramatic encounter with the chief of the
Nambikwara results in the anthropologist's momentary disorientation,
loss of photographic equipment and weapons, and eventual recovery, as
if he had just participated sympathetically in a ritual isolation, initiatory
testing, and return (pp. 315-316).
If the effects upon the anthropologist of the anthropological moment
par excellence are temporary and anecdotal, its aftermath for the Nambi-
kwara is catastrophic and determining. The dissipation of one source
does not prevent Levi-Strauss from pursuing another; and this at the
center of the culture whose integrity, by his own account, is annihilated
by his presence armed with the tools of the anthropologist's trade. Here I
refer to the famous "writing lesson" in which the tribal chief, attracted by
the scientist's note-taking, inexplicably grasps the "purpose of writing,"
which the ethnologist equates with social domination:
L' ecriture avait done fait son apparition chez les Nambikwara; mais non
point, comme on aurait pu l'imaginer, au terme d'un apprentissage labo-
rieux. Son symbole avait ete emprunte tandis que sa realite demeurait
etrangere. Et cela, en vue d'une fin sociologique plutot qu'intellectuelle. II
ne s'agissait pas de connaitre, de retenir ou de comprendre, :mais d'ac- ,
croitre le prestige et l'autorite d'un individu-ou d'une fonchon-aux de-
pens d'autrui. [P. 316]
Levi-Strauss, again like Merlin, is the bringer of civilization through
writing, which in turn disrupts the very cultural fabric that he originally
sought to describe: "Ceux qui se desolidariserent de leur chef apres qu'il
eut essaye de jouer la carte de la civilisation (ala suite de rna visite il fut
abandonne de la plupart des siens) comprenaient confusement que l' ecri-
ture et la perfidie penetraient chez eux de concert" (p. 319).
For Levi-Strauss, writing is synonymous with the exertion of power,
exploitation, "the strengthening of dominion"; but a power whose effects
are uneven. On the one hand, penetration of the Nambikwara incurs a
temporary setback for the scientist; on the other, it portends a momen-
tous cultural breakdown mythologized in terms of a primal expulsion-
the fall from stone-age innocence into the corruption and strife that
Levi-Strauss, in the tradition of Rousseau, associates with the passage
from culture to society. In the question of this imbalance lies the differ-
ence between the archetypal anthropologist and the medieval Merlin.
More precisely, Levi-Strauss depicts the unilateral effects of writing upon
the other whose names permit not only anthropology but an exertion of
the power that the unaffected scientist exposes. In this respect the ethnol-
ogist reserves for himself a position of innocence inspired by an unper-
turbed belief in the transparency of his own discourse about the other,
while he shows that he has not learned an even more fundamental
Introduction 9
"lesson" about writing that J. Derrida undertakes to teach him in his own
founding meditation on language, De la Grammatologie.
Derrida accuses Levi-Strauss of what he terms "phonologism," a priv-
ileging of the voice over writing which falsifies the scientific project from
the beginning. According to the philosopher of language, the "writing
lesson" that the anthropologist localizes historically at a precise moment
in the evolution of culture is already contained in the speaking lesson.
Rather, the distinction which Levi-Strauss draws between speech, associ-
ated with innocence, and writing, identified with difference, hierarchy,
and corruption, is already operative in the "espacement" of speech
subsumed in the category of "archi-ecriture." Thus the violence inherent
in language has occurred even before the anthropologist arrives upon the
scene with his writing pad; it exists in the suppression of proper names
and, beyond that, in their original instigation: "Il y a ecriture des que le
nom propre est rature dans un systeme, il a 'sujet' des que cette oblitera-
tion du propre se produit, c'est-a-dire des l'apparaitre du propre et des le
premier matin du langage."
14
The violence of the chief's appropriation of
writing, which Derrida classifies as a "tertiary empirical" act, simply
mirrors a primal expropriation of "le vocatif absolu" endemic to any use
of language whatsoever-"la violence del' archi-ecriture, la violence de la
difference, de la classification et du systeme des appellations" (p. 162). __ j
For the philosopher, the fragility of the anthropological project lies in
the confusion of a supposedly neutral scientific discourse with an essen-
tially colonial endeavor. He faults Levi-Strauss for what he terms an
concept of writing whose ultimate consequences are more
ethnocentric than the ethnocentrism that the structuralist seeks to avoid.
Because of his ready acceptance of the distinction between voiced utter-
ance and writing, Levi-Strauss falls into the trap of what for Derrida is an
illusory and even dangerous distinction between idealized cultures with-
out orthography and cultures possessed of writing along with the repres-
sive technologies that it implies. Ample evidence both of innocence and
exploitation is, he maintains, to be found on either side of the barrier of
writing; and any attempt to assign priority to one side or the other
excessively dramatizes the role of the Western observer in a mythopoetic
reenactment of the Fall. According to Derrida, Levi-Strauss is guilty
finally of bad faith, of a Rousseauistic wallowing in ethnological confes-
sion that blinds him to the liberating as well as the enslaving effects that
writing, psychologically as well as historically, has always enjoyed.
I am aware that the above opposition is itself somewhat dramatized,
that its overly simple terms do justice to the more subtle strategies of
neither the anthropologist nor the philosopher. It is nonetheless germane
to the medieval example which, I think it also can be shown, even points
toward one possibility of a historically situated reconciliation of the two.
10 Introduction
Stated simply, Levi-Strauss's romanticized encounter with the Nam-
bikwara offers: the psychic satisfaction of a well-centered perspective
upon the other, a pleasure perhaps not divorced from that of "domin-
ion"; the esthetic satisfaction of a narrative in the broadest sense, that is to
say, a meditation upon origins or beginnings verging on the pleasure of
the literary text;
15
and a certain intellectual satisfaction implicit in the
possibility of cognitive certainty which, in its power to reassure, rein-
forces the seduction of central vision. On the other hand, Levi-Strauss's
unwillingness to identify, much less to come to grips with, the speaking
and writing subject leads at best to self-delusion and at worst to a complic-
ity in the anthropological project transformed, by a decisive intrusion
upon its object, into a neocolonial one. Ultimately, it elicits the kinds of
questions that Derrida poses and which threaten the very foundations of
anthropology as a scientific discourse. "Can there be an anthropology in
which the contradiction of a continuous description of difference does not
inhere?" "Can anthropology exist without the exertion of power?" Put
another way, "Is it possible to imagine a non-Western ethnology?" and
"What would such a regard of the other upon its other look like?"
Derrida's critique of the anthropologist offers, in tum, the philosophi-
cal satisfaction of a rigorous reexamination of the assumptions under-
lying all scientific discourse, including the assumed "transparency" of its
written form; it offers the pleasure attached to thoroughness of argument
and to the carrying of initial premises to their logical conclusion, even
when these menace the continuity of overall presentation. Yet it leads to
the reestablishment of a new principle of certainty according to which,
wherever language is involved, there can be no certainty of the type that
Levi-Strauss takes for granted; and this paradox is not without difficulties
of its own. For if the ethnologist unconsciously dramatizes, that is to say,
overparticularizes, an "empirical violence" by making it appear acci-
dental, if he maintains an illusory and potentially dangerous distinction
between the empirical and the essential, between the self and the other,
the philosopher in tum generalizes to such an extent as to obliterate the
particular altogether. By reducing the violence of representation to such a
basic level-pushing it from writing, to speech, and back to thought-
Derrida himself inflicts a violence equal to that of which he accuses
Levi-Strauss: he refuses the specificity of the object of representation,
denies its materiality, to such an extent as to pose the question of whether
one can, finally, distinguish between the annihilating effects of the
anthropologist's ethnocentric vision and those of the philosopher's
homogenizing regard.
16
The gulf between the ethnology of Levi-Strauss and the philosophy of
language of Derrida seems absolute and overdetermined from the begin-
ning. Levi-Strauss's vision of the other and Of the other's relation to
Introduction 11
writing is, in some fundamental sense, overdetermined by the choice, in
to the question "What is man?" of men without writing.
s. :esponse to same question is similarly decided by the
Impossibility of separating speech from a universal writing operative
even. the level of thought, and hence a universalizing of the human
it can be shown that in this radical disjunction
the _mteresting possibility of an anthropology of the West. A
tummg ?f the Le:i-Straussian project upon the Derridean prob-
of the sign constitutes a powerful tool for the analysis of a culture
hke the Middle Ages, one whose specificity consists '
precisely m a meditation upon language unrivaled in any era except
perhaps our own.
The idea of a "Western anthropology" is hardly original. The
work of M. Foucault, to take the most prominent example, v
can be situated in the disjunctive space between Levi-Strauss and Der-
rida. Foucault traces the various exclusionary provinces of our own
other.s-the criminal, sexual deviant; and he places the various
practices of exclusion, and thus the problem of identity, within the
general context of what he terms an "archeology" of the discourses of
man.
17
The situation of the Middle Ages is, however, different and not
just in the sense that M. de Certeau intends when he defines all history as
anthropological because it deals, alongside the madman of the
psychoanalyst and the wildman of the anthropologist, with the dead man
as. the other.
18
The distinguishing trait of the medieval example has to do 1
the fact that we are so massively cut off from the signs of an age
which we even now continue to define as a lacuna between two more
familiar cultural moments. This is more than a question of linguistic
competence, learning another language; it involves the philological en-
deavor in the highest sense of the term-the attempt to understand the
presuppositions, semantic range and context, material conditions, the
social, psychological points of reference of the signs of a
culture ahen enough from our own to allow very little to be taken for
granted.
19
Some of the most powerful readings of the medieval period to appear in
years are, in fact, those which capitalize upon the obligation to
Its strangeness with unfamiliar eyes, with the eyes of the anthropol-
ogist before he has "cracked the code," learned the proper names, of a
culture riddled with centuries of ready-made interpretations. In particu-
lar, Zumthor's Langue et technique poetiques a l'epoque romane and his
Essaz de poetique medievale encourage the reclassification of vernacular
literary modes according not to the romantically inspired notion of genre
but to enunciative distance ("ecart linguistique") which each
estabhshes with respect to Latin and with respect to each other.
20
H.-R.
10 Introduction
Stated simply, Levi-Strauss's romanticized encounter with the Nam-
bikwara offers: the psychic satisfaction of a well-centered perspective
upon the other, a pleasure perhaps not divorced from that of "domin-
ion"; the esthetic satisfaction of a narrative in the broadest sense, that is to
say, a meditation upon origins or beginnings verging on the pleasure of
the literary text;
15
and a certain intellectual satisfaction implicit in the
possibility of cognitive certainty which, in its power to reassure, rein-
forces the seduction of central vision. On the other hand, Levi-Strauss's
unwillingness to identify, much less to come to grips with, the speaking
and writing subject leads at best to self-delusion and at worst to a complic-
ity in the anthropological project transformed, by a decisive intrusion
upon its object, into a neocolonial one. Ultimately, it elicits the kinds of
questions that Derrida poses and which threaten the very foundations of
anthropology as a scientific discourse. "Can there be an anthropology in
which the contradiction of a continuous description of difference does not
inhere?" "Can anthropology exist without the exertion of power?" Put
another way, "Is it possible to imagine a non-Western ethnology?" and
"What would such a regard of the other upon its other look like?"
Derrida's critique of the anthropologist offers, in tum, the philosophi-
cal satisfaction of a rigorous reexamination of the assumptions under-
lying all scientific discourse, including the assumed "transparency" of its
written form; it offers the pleasure attached to thoroughness of argument
and to the carrying of initial premises to their logical conclusion, even
when these menace the continuity of overall presentation. Yet it leads to
the reestablishment of a new principle of certainty according to which,
wherever language is involved, there can be no certainty of the type that
Levi-Strauss takes for granted; and this paradox is not without difficulties
of its own. For if the ethnologist unconsciously dramatizes, that is to say,
overparticularizes, an "empirical violence" by making it appear acci-
dental, if he maintains an illusory and potentially dangerous distinction
between the empirical and the essential, between the self and the other,
the philosopher in tum generalizes to such an extent as to obliterate the
particular altogether. By reducing the violence of representation to such a
basic level-pushing it from writing, to speech, and back to thought-
Derrida himself inflicts a violence equal to that of which he accuses
Levi-Strauss: he refuses the specificity of the object of representation,
denies its materiality, to such an extent as to pose the question of whether
one can, finally, distinguish between the annihilating effects of the
anthropologist's ethnocentric vision and those of the philosopher's
homogenizing regard.
16
The gulf between the ethnology of Levi-Strauss and the philosophy of
language of Derrida seems absolute and overdetermined from the begin-
ning. Levi-Strauss's vision of the other and Of the other's relation to
Introduction 11
writing is, in some fundamental sense, overdetermined by the choice, in
to the question "What is man?" of men without writing.
s. :esponse to same question is similarly decided by the
Impossibility of separating speech from a universal writing operative
even. the level of thought, and hence a universalizing of the human
it can be shown that in this radical disjunction
the _mteresting possibility of an anthropology of the West. A
tummg ?f the Le:i-Straussian project upon the Derridean prob-
of the sign constitutes a powerful tool for the analysis of a culture
hke the Middle Ages, one whose specificity consists '
precisely m a meditation upon language unrivaled in any era except
perhaps our own.
The idea of a "Western anthropology" is hardly original. The
work of M. Foucault, to take the most prominent example, v
can be situated in the disjunctive space between Levi-Strauss and Der-
rida. Foucault traces the various exclusionary provinces of our own
other.s-the criminal, sexual deviant; and he places the various
practices of exclusion, and thus the problem of identity, within the
general context of what he terms an "archeology" of the discourses of
man.
17
The situation of the Middle Ages is, however, different and not
just in the sense that M. de Certeau intends when he defines all history as
anthropological because it deals, alongside the madman of the
psychoanalyst and the wildman of the anthropologist, with the dead man
as. the other.
18
The distinguishing trait of the medieval example has to do 1
the fact that we are so massively cut off from the signs of an age
which we even now continue to define as a lacuna between two more
familiar cultural moments. This is more than a question of linguistic
competence, learning another language; it involves the philological en-
deavor in the highest sense of the term-the attempt to understand the
presuppositions, semantic range and context, material conditions, the
social, psychological points of reference of the signs of a
culture ahen enough from our own to allow very little to be taken for
granted.
19
Some of the most powerful readings of the medieval period to appear in
years are, in fact, those which capitalize upon the obligation to
Its strangeness with unfamiliar eyes, with the eyes of the anthropol-
ogist before he has "cracked the code," learned the proper names, of a
culture riddled with centuries of ready-made interpretations. In particu-
lar, Zumthor's Langue et technique poetiques a l'epoque romane and his
Essaz de poetique medievale encourage the reclassification of vernacular
literary modes according not to the romantically inspired notion of genre
but to enunciative distance ("ecart linguistique") which each
estabhshes with respect to Latin and with respect to each other.
20
H.-R.
12 Introduction
Jauss, more in the German hermeneutic tradition than in that of the
linguistic schools of Copenhagen, Paris, and Prague, associates the other-
ness of the Middle Ages-what he calls its "alterity" -with the principle
of esthetic identification.
21
In what remains a fundamentally anthropolog-
ical gesture, he seeks to transform strangeness into a virtue by which a
necessary reflection upon the other becomes the pleasurable basis for
knowledge of the self.
Given that what we call the Middle Ages is sufficiently inaccessible to
habitual modes of perception and understanding to solicit anthropologi-
cal inquiry, "What," it may be asked, "would such an anthropology look
like?" Here is where Derrida challenges Levi-Strauss on his own terms.
For any satisfactory answer to this question itself entails exactly the kinds
of issues that the grammatologist prescribes. An anthropology of the
Middle Ages must, first of all, take as its point of departure the appropri-
ateness, even the primacy, of the consideration of language. This was a
period marked by intense debate about the nature and function of verbal
signs. Linguistics, within the medieval order of human (conventional or
socially determined) discourse, constituted a proper field of legitimation
capable of producing in the first instance knowledge of the perceptible
world. Moreover, the millennium between the fifth and the fifteenth
centuries was an age in which speculation about linguistic signs was
fundamental to speculation about the larger universe.
22
Not only was
medieval culture a culture of the Book, its epistemology an epistemology
of the Word and of words, but disciplines that today are considered
primary were, until the Renaissance, subordinate to the "artes sermo-
cinales." Economics, for example, was a subset of general sign theory (see
below, pp. 164--170); history was often considered under the heading of
grammar; philosophy dealt extensively with questions like the status of
general verbal terms; and theology was haunted by such issues as the
search for an adequate name for God, the efficacy of divine grace in
human speech, and the symbolic nature of the sacraments.
Second, any anthropology of the Middle Ages must take into account,
along with the centrality of linguistics, a certain practice of texts, which is
where Levi-Strauss's "epigenetic" concentration upon difference turns
upon Derrida. The philosopher's reduction of all meanings to one essen-
tial meaning, whence derives the power of his analysis, also marks the
parameters of a blind spot that falls within the anthropologist's domain.
Bearing only tangentially either upon the general phenomenology of
language or upon the ontological conditions of its production (or meta-
physical implications), this field has to do with the question of reception,
what H.-R. Jauss (after Gadamer) refers to as a text's "horizon of expecta-
tion," as well as with the global issue of use and social function.
23
It
involves the ways in which a culture ritualizes-ignores, appropriates,
Introduction 13
suppresses, disseminates, banalizes, fetishizes--the corpus of symbolic
possibilities available to it at a given moment. And, finally, it entails the
modes by which various means of textual production mediate and are
mediated by other cultural discourses (e.g., familial, scientific, economic,
legal).
We begin from the premise that the twelfth and thirteenth centuries
offer a unique opportunity for an anthropology based upon the practice
of the text. Unique because, as C. S. Lewis claimed, this period repre-
sented one of the few moments of true historical mutation the West has
ever known. But unique also because the nature of the transformation
which affected virtually every area of social and cultural life was so
intimately connected to a profound shift in the status and uses of writing.
Its situation at the terminus ad quem of the so-called Dark Ages can, in fact,
mean only this: that the period between the collapse of the Carolingian
Empire and what G. Duby designates as the "watershed years" of the last
quarter of the eleventh century left relatively few written traces. This is
not to infer that writing was not practiced regularly by a small group of
assiduous annalists and scribes but rather that, during this "ebbtide of
history," th_elocus of writing was severely restricted. Literally displaced
from the center to the margins of society, to the monasteries and high
princely circles scattered throughout Europe of the invasions, both the
place of writing in the polis and its function were marginalized. The
Renaissance of the High Middle Ages, in contrast, was practically
synonymous with a collective "writing lesson" -the irruption of a basi-
cally illiterate secular culture into writing, and the break, within writing,
of a universal Latin culture into the disparate vernacular tongues. For the
first time since the fall of the Roman Empire, the lay aristocracy of
Western Europe possessed a cultural vehicle adequate to express its
innermost tensions and ideals.
24
And for the first time since the triumph
of Christianity, the techniques of writing heretofore reserved for a caste
(clerical and male) were massively disseminated among those exercising
an ecclesiastical function as well as not.
What is to be learned from this collective "writing lesson," this intru-
sion of writing into many activities conducted until then without it (e.g.,
government, secular law, business, poetic performance)? First, that the
unidirectional catalyzing effect which Levi-Strauss assigns to history
because of writing does not hold for the medieval example. Cultures
possessed of writing lose it, repress it, displace it, only to rediscover and
reappropriate it even centuries later. Second, that the idyllic, tension-free
state that the anthropologist associates with an ignorance of writing
cannot be said to be universal and certainly does not pertain to the period
in question: the "Dark Ages" were characterized by the most extreme
conflict and chaos; the "age of writing," in comparison, offers the first
12 Introduction
Jauss, more in the German hermeneutic tradition than in that of the
linguistic schools of Copenhagen, Paris, and Prague, associates the other-
ness of the Middle Ages-what he calls its "alterity" -with the principle
of esthetic identification.
21
In what remains a fundamentally anthropolog-
ical gesture, he seeks to transform strangeness into a virtue by which a
necessary reflection upon the other becomes the pleasurable basis for
knowledge of the self.
Given that what we call the Middle Ages is sufficiently inaccessible to
habitual modes of perception and understanding to solicit anthropologi-
cal inquiry, "What," it may be asked, "would such an anthropology look
like?" Here is where Derrida challenges Levi-Strauss on his own terms.
For any satisfactory answer to this question itself entails exactly the kinds
of issues that the grammatologist prescribes. An anthropology of the
Middle Ages must, first of all, take as its point of departure the appropri-
ateness, even the primacy, of the consideration of language. This was a
period marked by intense debate about the nature and function of verbal
signs. Linguistics, within the medieval order of human (conventional or
socially determined) discourse, constituted a proper field of legitimation
capable of producing in the first instance knowledge of the perceptible
world. Moreover, the millennium between the fifth and the fifteenth
centuries was an age in which speculation about linguistic signs was
fundamental to speculation about the larger universe.
22
Not only was
medieval culture a culture of the Book, its epistemology an epistemology
of the Word and of words, but disciplines that today are considered
primary were, until the Renaissance, subordinate to the "artes sermo-
cinales." Economics, for example, was a subset of general sign theory (see
below, pp. 164--170); history was often considered under the heading of
grammar; philosophy dealt extensively with questions like the status of
general verbal terms; and theology was haunted by such issues as the
search for an adequate name for God, the efficacy of divine grace in
human speech, and the symbolic nature of the sacraments.
Second, any anthropology of the Middle Ages must take into account,
along with the centrality of linguistics, a certain practice of texts, which is
where Levi-Strauss's "epigenetic" concentration upon difference turns
upon Derrida. The philosopher's reduction of all meanings to one essen-
tial meaning, whence derives the power of his analysis, also marks the
parameters of a blind spot that falls within the anthropologist's domain.
Bearing only tangentially either upon the general phenomenology of
language or upon the ontological conditions of its production (or meta-
physical implications), this field has to do with the question of reception,
what H.-R. Jauss (after Gadamer) refers to as a text's "horizon of expecta-
tion," as well as with the global issue of use and social function.
23
It
involves the ways in which a culture ritualizes-ignores, appropriates,
Introduction 13
suppresses, disseminates, banalizes, fetishizes--the corpus of symbolic
possibilities available to it at a given moment. And, finally, it entails the
modes by which various means of textual production mediate and are
mediated by other cultural discourses (e.g., familial, scientific, economic,
legal).
We begin from the premise that the twelfth and thirteenth centuries
offer a unique opportunity for an anthropology based upon the practice
of the text. Unique because, as C. S. Lewis claimed, this period repre-
sented one of the few moments of true historical mutation the West has
ever known. But unique also because the nature of the transformation
which affected virtually every area of social and cultural life was so
intimately connected to a profound shift in the status and uses of writing.
Its situation at the terminus ad quem of the so-called Dark Ages can, in fact,
mean only this: that the period between the collapse of the Carolingian
Empire and what G. Duby designates as the "watershed years" of the last
quarter of the eleventh century left relatively few written traces. This is
not to infer that writing was not practiced regularly by a small group of
assiduous annalists and scribes but rather that, during this "ebbtide of
history," th_elocus of writing was severely restricted. Literally displaced
from the center to the margins of society, to the monasteries and high
princely circles scattered throughout Europe of the invasions, both the
place of writing in the polis and its function were marginalized. The
Renaissance of the High Middle Ages, in contrast, was practically
synonymous with a collective "writing lesson" -the irruption of a basi-
cally illiterate secular culture into writing, and the break, within writing,
of a universal Latin culture into the disparate vernacular tongues. For the
first time since the fall of the Roman Empire, the lay aristocracy of
Western Europe possessed a cultural vehicle adequate to express its
innermost tensions and ideals.
24
And for the first time since the triumph
of Christianity, the techniques of writing heretofore reserved for a caste
(clerical and male) were massively disseminated among those exercising
an ecclesiastical function as well as not.
What is to be learned from this collective "writing lesson," this intru-
sion of writing into many activities conducted until then without it (e.g.,
government, secular law, business, poetic performance)? First, that the
unidirectional catalyzing effect which Levi-Strauss assigns to history
because of writing does not hold for the medieval example. Cultures
possessed of writing lose it, repress it, displace it, only to rediscover and
reappropriate it even centuries later. Second, that the idyllic, tension-free
state that the anthropologist associates with an ignorance of writing
cannot be said to be universal and certainly does not pertain to the period
in question: the "Dark Ages" were characterized by the most extreme
conflict and chaos; the "age of writing," in comparison, offers the first
14 Introduction
peaceful fruits of civil administration-the discipline of the state-along
with the displacement of the anarchy of internecine conflict toward
foreign crusade. Finally, the absolute association of writing with a hierar-
chization of social relations is much more problematic than the ethnolo-
gist would allow. Levi-Strauss posits as a necessary corollary of writing
the reinforcement of the ability of some individuals to dominate others.
25
And while it is true that the twelfth and the thirteenth centuries witness a
gradual centralization of political power-the consolidation of a monar-
chic presence within an expanding royal domain along with the revival of
towns-the role of writing per se in such an evolution is highly ambigu-
ous. Its dissemination produced almost limitless possibilities for the
dispersion of power alongside of its concentration. If anything, this
"second feudal age" (M. Bloch) testifies to a persistent tension between
those ready to capitalize upon the institutional forms of power that
writing permits-administrative, legal, economic-and those for whom
it represents (consciously or not) the possibility of their subversion.
Writing is not, as the ethnologist asserts, the cause of social conflict; it is, in
the absence of Derrida's "tertiary empirical violence," at once the vehicle
of such conflict and the terrain upon which it occurs.
This brings us to our second premise, which is that the literary text
represents a privileged forum for the realization of such tensions and, in
fact, a key to the anthropology of the age. In an era in which historical
documents are still relatively rare and culturally biased (in favor of aris-
tocracy and clergy), in which the intellectual output of "high culture" is
ideologically oriented and detached from everyday life, literature opens a
via regia to the only kind of anthropology that can have any meaning
within the context of the "writing culture" of the High Middle Ages. This
will change, of course, with the fundamental reorganization of the orders
of knowledge and of discursive practice at the time of the Renaissance (in
particular, with the intrusion of the vernacular upon areas of historical
and scientific inquiry formerly reserved for Latin, and with printing).
Until then, however, poetry remains crucial to the anthropological en-
deavor. And if we have begun with what at first appears like a fantasy-
filled work of fiction, it is because a literary text like the Huth Merlin,
situated at the confluence of documentary evidence and ideological pre-
scription, furnishes the richest answers to the questions that ethnology
poses (more later); it yields the most dynamic indication of what A. Borst
calls "life forms." Merlin embodies the possibility of an anthropology of
difference, as outlined by Levi-Strauss, combined with a grammatologi-
cal reflection upon the role of language (and of the subject) within such an
undertaking, as articulated by Derrida. The magician-politician stands on
neither side of writing. At once within and outside of the tale, he both
names himself and is associated with writing in all its potential to exert
Introduction 15
and to subvert the power it names. Simultaneously scientist and poet,
Merlin's status as witness and participant in this drama of social trans-
formation above all marks the literary work as a privileged locus-a point
of departure-for the anthropology of the later medieval period.
Merlin's stature as author also indicates the degree to which the literary
object is itself implicated in the process it exposes. Here lies a centering
paradox of the project at hand: namely, the vernacular poetry of theRigh
Miaafe Ages both reflects its cultural moment, thus enabling anthropo-
logical description, and is a prime vehicle for the change of that which it
reflects. Such a dialectical relation is, of course, characteristic of the
bivalent role of literature in every age. Yet the medieval situation is
particular, and the nature of this particularity bears special meaning for
the anthropologist of the Christian West.
In the era before the book, before all that the book implies by way of an
autonomous article consumed by a public of solitary readers, the literary
object constituted an anthropological space in the strictest sense. Here is
where the dichotomy that Levi-Strauss (in the mainstream of Western
linguistics) draws between voice and writing takes on significance in spite
of Derrida's critique. For the defining mode of literature was, until the
fourteenth century, that of the oral recitation. Even those texts of which
we possess the (often fragmentary) written traces were themselves in-
tended to be either read aloud or sung. What this means is that poetry
enjoyed a public, collective status denied to it in the age of printing. And
its practice remained indissociable from the kinds of symbolic activity that
the anthropologist normally studies. The "performed text" represented a
periodic ritual enactment of the most basic values and innermost code of
the Jay culture of the High Middle Ages-the affirmation with only
limited variation of that which is ideologically manifest elsewhere. But
with this crucial distinction: where the ritual of the anthropologists is an
essentially conservative force of social cohesion, literature stands at the
crossroads of medieval social practice and ideology. It is at once the
representation of that which occurs outside of the realm of textual pro-
duction and, as A. Adler and E. Kohler have shown, an inverted mirror of
the possible.
26
The poetic performance stands as a ratification of the ideals
of the community and as a forum for the articulation of responses to
shared dilemmas, and thus as an instrument of change. This is another
way of saying that the relation between the medieval poet and his audi-
ence is more dynamic than that of the shaman and his clan. And while the
literary ritual always commemorates the common past of the group, it
also attests to a deep complicity between what Zumthor calls the
"vouloir-entendre" and the "vouloir-dire."
The Old French text is a "generator of public consciousness," which
can be said to exist through it just as society can be said to exist through
14 Introduction
peaceful fruits of civil administration-the discipline of the state-along
with the displacement of the anarchy of internecine conflict toward
foreign crusade. Finally, the absolute association of writing with a hierar-
chization of social relations is much more problematic than the ethnolo-
gist would allow. Levi-Strauss posits as a necessary corollary of writing
the reinforcement of the ability of some individuals to dominate others.
25
And while it is true that the twelfth and the thirteenth centuries witness a
gradual centralization of political power-the consolidation of a monar-
chic presence within an expanding royal domain along with the revival of
towns-the role of writing per se in such an evolution is highly ambigu-
ous. Its dissemination produced almost limitless possibilities for the
dispersion of power alongside of its concentration. If anything, this
"second feudal age" (M. Bloch) testifies to a persistent tension between
those ready to capitalize upon the institutional forms of power that
writing permits-administrative, legal, economic-and those for whom
it represents (consciously or not) the possibility of their subversion.
Writing is not, as the ethnologist asserts, the cause of social conflict; it is, in
the absence of Derrida's "tertiary empirical violence," at once the vehicle
of such conflict and the terrain upon which it occurs.
This brings us to our second premise, which is that the literary text
represents a privileged forum for the realization of such tensions and, in
fact, a key to the anthropology of the age. In an era in which historical
documents are still relatively rare and culturally biased (in favor of aris-
tocracy and clergy), in which the intellectual output of "high culture" is
ideologically oriented and detached from everyday life, literature opens a
via regia to the only kind of anthropology that can have any meaning
within the context of the "writing culture" of the High Middle Ages. This
will change, of course, with the fundamental reorganization of the orders
of knowledge and of discursive practice at the time of the Renaissance (in
particular, with the intrusion of the vernacular upon areas of historical
and scientific inquiry formerly reserved for Latin, and with printing).
Until then, however, poetry remains crucial to the anthropological en-
deavor. And if we have begun with what at first appears like a fantasy-
filled work of fiction, it is because a literary text like the Huth Merlin,
situated at the confluence of documentary evidence and ideological pre-
scription, furnishes the richest answers to the questions that ethnology
poses (more later); it yields the most dynamic indication of what A. Borst
calls "life forms." Merlin embodies the possibility of an anthropology of
difference, as outlined by Levi-Strauss, combined with a grammatologi-
cal reflection upon the role of language (and of the subject) within such an
undertaking, as articulated by Derrida. The magician-politician stands on
neither side of writing. At once within and outside of the tale, he both
names himself and is associated with writing in all its potential to exert
Introduction 15
and to subvert the power it names. Simultaneously scientist and poet,
Merlin's status as witness and participant in this drama of social trans-
formation above all marks the literary work as a privileged locus-a point
of departure-for the anthropology of the later medieval period.
Merlin's stature as author also indicates the degree to which the literary
object is itself implicated in the process it exposes. Here lies a centering
paradox of the project at hand: namely, the vernacular poetry of theRigh
Miaafe Ages both reflects its cultural moment, thus enabling anthropo-
logical description, and is a prime vehicle for the change of that which it
reflects. Such a dialectical relation is, of course, characteristic of the
bivalent role of literature in every age. Yet the medieval situation is
particular, and the nature of this particularity bears special meaning for
the anthropologist of the Christian West.
In the era before the book, before all that the book implies by way of an
autonomous article consumed by a public of solitary readers, the literary
object constituted an anthropological space in the strictest sense. Here is
where the dichotomy that Levi-Strauss (in the mainstream of Western
linguistics) draws between voice and writing takes on significance in spite
of Derrida's critique. For the defining mode of literature was, until the
fourteenth century, that of the oral recitation. Even those texts of which
we possess the (often fragmentary) written traces were themselves in-
tended to be either read aloud or sung. What this means is that poetry
enjoyed a public, collective status denied to it in the age of printing. And
its practice remained indissociable from the kinds of symbolic activity that
the anthropologist normally studies. The "performed text" represented a
periodic ritual enactment of the most basic values and innermost code of
the Jay culture of the High Middle Ages-the affirmation with only
limited variation of that which is ideologically manifest elsewhere. But
with this crucial distinction: where the ritual of the anthropologists is an
essentially conservative force of social cohesion, literature stands at the
crossroads of medieval social practice and ideology. It is at once the
representation of that which occurs outside of the realm of textual pro-
duction and, as A. Adler and E. Kohler have shown, an inverted mirror of
the possible.
26
The poetic performance stands as a ratification of the ideals
of the community and as a forum for the articulation of responses to
shared dilemmas, and thus as an instrument of change. This is another
way of saying that the relation between the medieval poet and his audi-
ence is more dynamic than that of the shaman and his clan. And while the
literary ritual always commemorates the common past of the group, it
also attests to a deep complicity between what Zumthor calls the
"vouloir-entendre" and the "vouloir-dire."
The Old French text is a "generator of public consciousness," which
can be said to exist through it just as society can be said to exist through
16 Introduction
language.
27
The most compelling proof of this is, of a
one-the fact that so few texts are ascribable to an author mvested With
more personality than a mere name. of
Dante constituted a kind of common property belongmg to no mdividual
poetic voice but to the voice of the community as a whole,
a liminal space between that which it reflects and vestige
of an oral performance, it is the relic of a society which once rehed o.nly
tangentially upon writing. Symptom of an immense process of textuahza-
tion operative throughout the culture, it is at the the catalyst ?f
change. A literary anthropology of the Middle Ages IS situated, then, m
the interstices between Levi-Strauss's "epigenetic" privileging and Der-
rida's radical denial of the difference between oral and written expres-
sion-in the zone where "archi-ecriture" lends itself to discussion in
terms of social practice. .
One final premise governs the present study: that we are a
unique position for such an undertaking. Recen.t advances by his.tonans
make it possible to begin to answer for the Middle Ages the kmds of
questions that concern the anthropologist (e.?., economic ex-
change, symbolic practice). The study of medieval literature has,
over, begun to emerge from the exhaustion of idealist and posihvist
criticism which has for some time now adequately answered the ques-
tions of nineteenth-century philology (e.g., chronological and regional
situation, sources, manuscript affiliation, genre). More important, th.e
reassessment of the relation between the social sciences and the humam-
ties as it has occurred over the last twenty years, renders the narrow
dis;inctions between academic disciplines inappropriate to the intellec-
tual project atuned to the exigencies of its own age. This implies the
necessity of interdisciplinary study, but only as a t.o study of the
relation between the various orders of knowledge pertaimng elsewhere
and at other times, only as a first step in the global attempt to assimilate
the contemporary discourses of man-their underlying determinations,
practical consequences, methods-to any consideration of the othe.r.
This blurring of the borders between traditiona.l domains is
appropriate to the universalizing culture of the Middle Ages. It m
the direction of a dialogue between the past and the present of which the
exchange between Levi-Strauss and Derrida, mediated by is
merely emblematic. More precisely, the issues define own mtel-
lectual temper were sufficiently crucial to the penod as ?ur
"historical other" as to render such a dialogue compellmg. Merhn, faith-
ful witness and unwitting anthropologist, enlightens us about his own
time. But beyond that, his curiously ambiguous status encourages specu-
lation about the structuralist ethnologist, the writer on writing uncon-
scious of his own poetic gesture, as well as about the poststructuralist
Introduction 17
philosopher whose analysis denies, to cite T. Adorno, that "everything is
not possible at all times." What I am suggesting is that the choice of the
Middle Ages is really a choice motivated by, and in favor of, the present-
and not just in the sense of Jauss's "otherness" provoking identification.
On the contrary, this temporally distant and logically inaccessible era
speaks directly to our time as a kind of challenge to many of the burning
issues of the day. Its pertinence is writ large, there to be read in:
1. The centrality of semiotics. As we have already affirmed above (p. 12),
the place of the language arts is fundamental within the medieval orders
of knowledge. Linguistics will lose its centrality at the time of the Renais-
sance and only since F. de Saussure has it begun to recapture its pride of
place. This is one of the defining themes of the essay which follows, and
we will have occasion to return to it over and over again.
2. The status of the subject. For the structuralist, the existence of a
community without writing serves as a testing ground for what E. Said
terms "life at the zero point," that is to say, the possibility of a culture .
without the relations of power that the idea of social life has, since the
eighteenth century, implied. Similarly, the High Middle Ages represent
an ideal test case for the radical questioning of the subject characteristic of
many of the most powerful minds from Hegel, Nietzsche, and Freud to
Barthes, Derrida, Lacan, and Foucault. Here the problem of whether the
discourse of the individual is, to invoke the medieval expression,
"founded," or whether a transpersonal discourse speaks through the
individual, is crucial and cannot be separated from broader linguistic
concerns. The Dark Ages represent a kind of "zero point" of the subject.
Whether for theological reasons, for reasons connected to the underlying
structure of a warrior society, or because of the reduced role of writing,
the status of the individual was, from the time of the Carolingian Renais-
sance to that of the twelfth century, reduced to a minimum. This "middle
age" of the Middle Ages signals an absolute rupture between
notions of the self and those of our own age. Conversely, the reign of
Louis VII onward marks a founding moment in the history of the self as
we know it (and as it will be modified during the Renaissance and the
Enlightenment). .
One of the guiding tenets of the present study as well as of my previous
book on medieval literature and law is that Old French poetry played a
crucial role in this evolution.
28
Both symptom and vehicle, vernacular
literature was the privileged locus for the articulation of a notion of the
self as a distinct inner space with a law of its own. This will culminate in
the thirteenth century with the appearance of long allegorical poems
offering a full-blown dynamic model of the mind. But it is obvious more
generally in the constant ideological collective (
individualizing (courtly) forms as well as m the relative lack of specificity
16 Introduction
language.
27
The most compelling proof of this is, of a
one-the fact that so few texts are ascribable to an author mvested With
more personality than a mere name. of
Dante constituted a kind of common property belongmg to no mdividual
poetic voice but to the voice of the community as a whole,
a liminal space between that which it reflects and vestige
of an oral performance, it is the relic of a society which once rehed o.nly
tangentially upon writing. Symptom of an immense process of textuahza-
tion operative throughout the culture, it is at the the catalyst ?f
change. A literary anthropology of the Middle Ages IS situated, then, m
the interstices between Levi-Strauss's "epigenetic" privileging and Der-
rida's radical denial of the difference between oral and written expres-
sion-in the zone where "archi-ecriture" lends itself to discussion in
terms of social practice. .
One final premise governs the present study: that we are a
unique position for such an undertaking. Recen.t advances by his.tonans
make it possible to begin to answer for the Middle Ages the kmds of
questions that concern the anthropologist (e.?., economic ex-
change, symbolic practice). The study of medieval literature has,
over, begun to emerge from the exhaustion of idealist and posihvist
criticism which has for some time now adequately answered the ques-
tions of nineteenth-century philology (e.g., chronological and regional
situation, sources, manuscript affiliation, genre). More important, th.e
reassessment of the relation between the social sciences and the humam-
ties as it has occurred over the last twenty years, renders the narrow
dis;inctions between academic disciplines inappropriate to the intellec-
tual project atuned to the exigencies of its own age. This implies the
necessity of interdisciplinary study, but only as a t.o study of the
relation between the various orders of knowledge pertaimng elsewhere
and at other times, only as a first step in the global attempt to assimilate
the contemporary discourses of man-their underlying determinations,
practical consequences, methods-to any consideration of the othe.r.
This blurring of the borders between traditiona.l domains is
appropriate to the universalizing culture of the Middle Ages. It m
the direction of a dialogue between the past and the present of which the
exchange between Levi-Strauss and Derrida, mediated by is
merely emblematic. More precisely, the issues define own mtel-
lectual temper were sufficiently crucial to the penod as ?ur
"historical other" as to render such a dialogue compellmg. Merhn, faith-
ful witness and unwitting anthropologist, enlightens us about his own
time. But beyond that, his curiously ambiguous status encourages specu-
lation about the structuralist ethnologist, the writer on writing uncon-
scious of his own poetic gesture, as well as about the poststructuralist
Introduction 17
philosopher whose analysis denies, to cite T. Adorno, that "everything is
not possible at all times." What I am suggesting is that the choice of the
Middle Ages is really a choice motivated by, and in favor of, the present-
and not just in the sense of Jauss's "otherness" provoking identification.
On the contrary, this temporally distant and logically inaccessible era
speaks directly to our time as a kind of challenge to many of the burning
issues of the day. Its pertinence is writ large, there to be read in:
1. The centrality of semiotics. As we have already affirmed above (p. 12),
the place of the language arts is fundamental within the medieval orders
of knowledge. Linguistics will lose its centrality at the time of the Renais-
sance and only since F. de Saussure has it begun to recapture its pride of
place. This is one of the defining themes of the essay which follows, and
we will have occasion to return to it over and over again.
2. The status of the subject. For the structuralist, the existence of a
community without writing serves as a testing ground for what E. Said
terms "life at the zero point," that is to say, the possibility of a culture .
without the relations of power that the idea of social life has, since the
eighteenth century, implied. Similarly, the High Middle Ages represent
an ideal test case for the radical questioning of the subject characteristic of
many of the most powerful minds from Hegel, Nietzsche, and Freud to
Barthes, Derrida, Lacan, and Foucault. Here the problem of whether the
discourse of the individual is, to invoke the medieval expression,
"founded," or whether a transpersonal discourse speaks through the
individual, is crucial and cannot be separated from broader linguistic
concerns. The Dark Ages represent a kind of "zero point" of the subject.
Whether for theological reasons, for reasons connected to the underlying
structure of a warrior society, or because of the reduced role of writing,
the status of the individual was, from the time of the Carolingian Renais-
sance to that of the twelfth century, reduced to a minimum. This "middle
age" of the Middle Ages signals an absolute rupture between
notions of the self and those of our own age. Conversely, the reign of
Louis VII onward marks a founding moment in the history of the self as
we know it (and as it will be modified during the Renaissance and the
Enlightenment). .
One of the guiding tenets of the present study as well as of my previous
book on medieval literature and law is that Old French poetry played a
crucial role in this evolution.
28
Both symptom and vehicle, vernacular
literature was the privileged locus for the articulation of a notion of the
self as a distinct inner space with a law of its own. This will culminate in
the thirteenth century with the appearance of long allegorical poems
offering a full-blown dynamic model of the mind. But it is obvious more
generally in the constant ideological collective (
individualizing (courtly) forms as well as m the relative lack of specificity
18 Introduction
of the individual work within its generic mode, its status, in Zumthor's
phrase, as a "nuance within a register." Again, these are issues fun-
damental to the discussion which follows, and they will recur repeatedly.
3. The coincidence of the linguistic and the social. The orders of language
and of society were, in the period under scrutiny, considered to be
connatural. In the first place, language was held to be proper only to man
and the necessary condition of human society. "Deprived of speech," as
John of Salisbury asserts in what remains the keynote of the age, "men
would degenerate to the condition of brute animals, and cities would
seem like corrals for livestock, rather than communities composed of
human beings united by a common bond for the purpose of living in
society, serving one another, and cooperating as friends."
29
The language
arts stood as the sine qua non of social order; and in the tradition passed
to the Middle Ages by Cicero, the foundation of the city and of rhetoric
are conceived as simultaneous gestures implicated in each other:
Nam fuit quoddam tempus cum in agris homines passim bestiarum modo
vagabantur et sibi victu fero vitam propagabant, nee ratione animi quic-
quam, sed pleraque viribus corporis administrabant; nondum divinae re-
ligionis, non offici ratio nemo nuptias viderat legitimas,
non certos qmsquam aspexerat hberos, non, ius aequabile quid utilitatis
haberet, acceperat ....
tempore quidam magnus videlicet vir et sapiens cognovit quae
matena esset et quanta ad maximas res opportunitas in animis inesset
h?minum, si earn posset elicere et praecipiendo meliorem reddere; qui
in agros et in tectis. silvestri:?us abditos ratione quadam
compulit m locum et congregav1t et eos m unam quamque rem in-
h?nestam ... , deinde propter rationem atque ora-
tionem stud10sms audientes ex feris et immanibus mites reddidit et
mansuetos.
30
was a time when men wandered at large in the fields like animals
an? hved on wild fare; they did nothing by the guidance of reason, but
chiefly physical strength; there was as yet no ordered system of
worship nor of social duties; no one had seen legitimate marriage
nor had anyone looked upon children whom he knew to be his own; nor
had they learned the advantages of an equitable code of law ....
At this juncture a man-great and wise I am sure-became aware of the
latent man and the wide field offered by his mind to great
achievement If one could develop this power and improve it by instruction.
Men were scattered in the fields and hidden in sylvan retreats when he
assembled and gathered them in accordance with a plan; he introduced
them to every useful and honorable occupation . . . , and then when
through reason and eloquence they had listened with greater attention, he
transformed them from wild savages into a kind and gentle folk.
Thus the Classical anthropological moment represents a curious blend of
elements familiar both to the ethnologist and the philosopher of lan-
guage. "Epigenetic" in its dramatic unraveling, Cicero's concern with
Introduction 19
origins assumes the possibility of a primordial state before the existence
of the city, religion, reason, justice, and the family-the law of exogamy
which Levi-Strauss equates with culture itself. Yet the Latin rhetorician
remains closer to Derrida in his situation of the primal social law some-
where between Aristotle's "inarticulate noises made by brute beasts" and
Levi-Strauss's graphic writing-that is, in a refinement of speech synony-
mous with rhetorical eloquence and reason itself. The "time before the
law" is, moreover, not that of the structuralist's sentimental rendering of
the Golden Age; on the contrary, that which precedes eloquent speech
and social order is defined by ''blind and unreasoning passion satisfied by
misuse of bodily strength."
31
Augustine in many ways comes closest to the Derridian imbrication of
socialization and signification. For the Bishop of Hippo, appellation does
not coincide with thought but is coterminous with a primary instance of
the social: "Since," he maintains, "man remains incapable of forming /
solid social bonds without words, through which he communicates in
some way his soul and his thoughts to another, reason understood that it
was necessary to give names to things .... "
32
Similarly, Aquinas ac-
knowledges in the advent of meaningful language the expression of
man's nature, which "because he is a social and political animal, made it
necessary for his ideas to be transmitted to others. . . . "
33
The law of
language, whether located in appellation, speech, or eloquent expres-
sion, is synonymous with the law. Their common origin is not merely
chronological, as, for instance, in the patristic association of Hebrew
letters and the reception of the law through Moses, but logical as well. In
the tradition stretching as far back as the Latin grammarian Varro, speech
and justice are allied: "Dico 'I say' has a Greek origin, that which the
Greeks call 8eLKww 'I show.' ... From this moreover comes dicare 'to
show, to judge,' because the ius 'right' is spoken; from this iudex 'judge,'
because he ius dicat 'speaks the decision.' ... "
34
Historically and logically related, the orders of language and of society 1
are also ontologically intertwined. Here we touch upon the Platonic
theme of man the microcosm of the greater universe and, in particular,
upon the conceptualization of the latter in terms of a written text. The
twelfth century was one of the great ages of Platonism in the West, and
the analogy between man and the elements of the cosmos received both
doctrinal and literary elaboration in the Chartrian commentaries upon the
Timaeus (William of Conches, Gilbert of Porreta), Bernard Silvestris's De
Mundi universitate, Godfrey of Saint-Victor's Microcosmos, and later in the
physics and "naturalist anthropology" of Albert the Great, Bonaventure,
Aquinas, and Jean de Meun.
35
For the theologians, philosophers, and
speculative poets of the High Middle Ages, the world is, on the one hand,
the ambiguous mirror of God, at once the source of illusion for man's
18 Introduction
of the individual work within its generic mode, its status, in Zumthor's
phrase, as a "nuance within a register." Again, these are issues fun-
damental to the discussion which follows, and they will recur repeatedly.
3. The coincidence of the linguistic and the social. The orders of language
and of society were, in the period under scrutiny, considered to be
connatural. In the first place, language was held to be proper only to man
and the necessary condition of human society. "Deprived of speech," as
John of Salisbury asserts in what remains the keynote of the age, "men
would degenerate to the condition of brute animals, and cities would
seem like corrals for livestock, rather than communities composed of
human beings united by a common bond for the purpose of living in
society, serving one another, and cooperating as friends."
29
The language
arts stood as the sine qua non of social order; and in the tradition passed
to the Middle Ages by Cicero, the foundation of the city and of rhetoric
are conceived as simultaneous gestures implicated in each other:
Nam fuit quoddam tempus cum in agris homines passim bestiarum modo
vagabantur et sibi victu fero vitam propagabant, nee ratione animi quic-
quam, sed pleraque viribus corporis administrabant; nondum divinae re-
ligionis, non offici ratio nemo nuptias viderat legitimas,
non certos qmsquam aspexerat hberos, non, ius aequabile quid utilitatis
haberet, acceperat ....
tempore quidam magnus videlicet vir et sapiens cognovit quae
matena esset et quanta ad maximas res opportunitas in animis inesset
h?minum, si earn posset elicere et praecipiendo meliorem reddere; qui
in agros et in tectis. silvestri:?us abditos ratione quadam
compulit m locum et congregav1t et eos m unam quamque rem in-
h?nestam ... , deinde propter rationem atque ora-
tionem stud10sms audientes ex feris et immanibus mites reddidit et
mansuetos.
30
was a time when men wandered at large in the fields like animals
an? hved on wild fare; they did nothing by the guidance of reason, but
chiefly physical strength; there was as yet no ordered system of
worship nor of social duties; no one had seen legitimate marriage
nor had anyone looked upon children whom he knew to be his own; nor
had they learned the advantages of an equitable code of law ....
At this juncture a man-great and wise I am sure-became aware of the
latent man and the wide field offered by his mind to great
achievement If one could develop this power and improve it by instruction.
Men were scattered in the fields and hidden in sylvan retreats when he
assembled and gathered them in accordance with a plan; he introduced
them to every useful and honorable occupation . . . , and then when
through reason and eloquence they had listened with greater attention, he
transformed them from wild savages into a kind and gentle folk.
Thus the Classical anthropological moment represents a curious blend of
elements familiar both to the ethnologist and the philosopher of lan-
guage. "Epigenetic" in its dramatic unraveling, Cicero's concern with
Introduction 19
origins assumes the possibility of a primordial state before the existence
of the city, religion, reason, justice, and the family-the law of exogamy
which Levi-Strauss equates with culture itself. Yet the Latin rhetorician
remains closer to Derrida in his situation of the primal social law some-
where between Aristotle's "inarticulate noises made by brute beasts" and
Levi-Strauss's graphic writing-that is, in a refinement of speech synony-
mous with rhetorical eloquence and reason itself. The "time before the
law" is, moreover, not that of the structuralist's sentimental rendering of
the Golden Age; on the contrary, that which precedes eloquent speech
and social order is defined by ''blind and unreasoning passion satisfied by
misuse of bodily strength."
31
Augustine in many ways comes closest to the Derridian imbrication of
socialization and signification. For the Bishop of Hippo, appellation does
not coincide with thought but is coterminous with a primary instance of
the social: "Since," he maintains, "man remains incapable of forming /
solid social bonds without words, through which he communicates in
some way his soul and his thoughts to another, reason understood that it
was necessary to give names to things .... "
32
Similarly, Aquinas ac-
knowledges in the advent of meaningful language the expression of
man's nature, which "because he is a social and political animal, made it
necessary for his ideas to be transmitted to others. . . . "
33
The law of
language, whether located in appellation, speech, or eloquent expres-
sion, is synonymous with the law. Their common origin is not merely
chronological, as, for instance, in the patristic association of Hebrew
letters and the reception of the law through Moses, but logical as well. In
the tradition stretching as far back as the Latin grammarian Varro, speech
and justice are allied: "Dico 'I say' has a Greek origin, that which the
Greeks call 8eLKww 'I show.' ... From this moreover comes dicare 'to
show, to judge,' because the ius 'right' is spoken; from this iudex 'judge,'
because he ius dicat 'speaks the decision.' ... "
34
Historically and logically related, the orders of language and of society 1
are also ontologically intertwined. Here we touch upon the Platonic
theme of man the microcosm of the greater universe and, in particular,
upon the conceptualization of the latter in terms of a written text. The
twelfth century was one of the great ages of Platonism in the West, and
the analogy between man and the elements of the cosmos received both
doctrinal and literary elaboration in the Chartrian commentaries upon the
Timaeus (William of Conches, Gilbert of Porreta), Bernard Silvestris's De
Mundi universitate, Godfrey of Saint-Victor's Microcosmos, and later in the
physics and "naturalist anthropology" of Albert the Great, Bonaventure,
Aquinas, and Jean de Meun.
35
For the theologians, philosophers, and
speculative poets of the High Middle Ages, the world is, on the one hand,
the ambiguous mirror of God, at once the source of illusion for man's
20 Introduction
fallible senses and a source of knowledge about it& Creator. Man, on the
other hand, is the reflected image of the natural universe whose laws he
embodies, a "workshop," in the phrase of John Scotus, in which the
principles of nature are constantly renewed. Under such an analogical
articulation of subsistent categories, the distinction between the natural
order of the universe and social order is minimized. To know nature is to
know an ideal order of relation between men since natural law is the
equivalent of psychic law. And the bond between human psychology and
cosmic order, one of the major themes of Boethius's De Consolatione,
becomes in the twelfth century the basis of moral science. As Hugh of
Saint-Victor observes, "nature and justice are allied."
36
Finally, to com-
plete the syllogism, if man and nature, nature and society, are analogous,
so too is man analogous to the human community. This idea is developed
most fully in the topos of the Body Politic. Urania's speech of the De
Mundi universitate equates natural law with a harmonious balance of
bodily parts. John of Salisbury gives elaborate expression in the Policrati-
cus to the organic metaphor of bodily health and social equilibrium.
37
If I have introduced the theme of man the microcosm (a dangerous
gesture for the scholar who risks being caught in the analogical move-
ment he describes), it is because the natural order equated with social
order itself rests upon an essentially linguistic model. The speculum Dei is
conceived as a function of writing. For Hugh of Saint-Victor, for example,
"the entire sense-perceptible world is like a sort of book written by the
finger of God." According to Alain de Lille, "every creature in the world
is, for us, like a book and a picture and a mirror as well." "There marked
down by the finger of the Supreme Scribe can be read the text of time, the
fated march of events, the disposition made of the ages" -so affirms
Bernard Silvestris.
38
Even more important, the moral order that mediates
the relation between individual and community was, throughout the
period in question, subject to analysis in specifically linguistic terms. The
medieval language arts provided the framework for discussion of the
mental images which, because they are held to be universal, define the
parameters of a universal psychology. This is true, for instance, of Augus-
tine whose economy of conversion is, as M. Colish has shown, overdeter-
mined by the model of rhetoric.
39
It is equally applicable to the case of
Abelard who equates mental images with general verbal terms and for
whom the logic of ideal linguistic relations is equivalent to the subsistent
order of the world. Then, too, the assimilation of linguistics and psychol-
ogy among the speculative grammarians of the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries yields the global project of reconciling through universal gram-
mar the mind's modes of signifying the ontological categories of the real
with the voice's modes of material expression.
Introduction 21
The coincidence of the orders of language and society, mediated by a
linguistically defined psychology, obviously cannot be separated from
the centrality of semiotics and the question of the subject; and, as with
these first two points, it informs our inquiry into the relation between
language theory, family structure, and poetic form. I am aware, of course,
1
tharn.ot all literary critics, much less those whose specialty is the Middle
acknowledge such a problematics and that those who do disagree
radically as to how to define it. I am conscious also that this particular
combination of elements risks appearing somewhat arbitrary to the
anthropologist, who habitually deals with the correlation of linguistics
and kinship; to the historian, who uses literary material to document the
history of the family; to the critic, for whom the connection between
grammar and poetry is crucial; and to the philosopher, who may be used
to the mutual consideration of all three but not to their historical situation.
The project proposed does, in fact, cross the customary boundaries
between ethnology, linguistics, philology, philosophy, and intellectual,
social, institutional, and literary history; and it is perhaps worthwhile to
situate it within the often overlapping histories of these domains.
If asked to identify the beginning of modern formulations of the rela-
tion between the structure of a given society and its language, one would
have to point to eighteenth-century "philosophical anthropology,"
which is itself rooted in the much older search for an original language
and in a growing consciousness of the political consequences of such a
determination.
40
Rousseau, for example, equates three basic types of
figures, conventional characters, and alphabetic
signs-with three corresponding types of social order: "Ces trois ma-
nieres d' ecrire correspondent assez exactement aux trois divers etats sous
lesquels on peut considerer les hommes rassembles en nation. La pein-
ture des objets convient aux peuples sauvages; les signes des mots et des
peuples barbares, et I' alphabet aux peuples polices."
41
Giambattista VIco posits a similar linguistic trio corresponding to three
stages of evolution and of political organization. The Age of Families at
the of is characterized by "a silent language using signs
havmg a natural relation with ideas"; the Age of Heroes, by
hermc emblems founded on resemblances, comparisons, images,
metaphors, natural descriptions"; and the Age of Men, by "conventional
signs appropriate to popular republics and monarchic states."
42
Though the first edition of La Scienza Nuova appeared almost a century
the Romantic period of the discipline of compar-
ative philology, VIco laid the foundation of historical linguistics and of
history based upon the study oflanguage. Thus, he attempts to prove, for
example, that nouns existed before verbs since "in order to have a
20 Introduction
fallible senses and a source of knowledge about it& Creator. Man, on the
other hand, is the reflected image of the natural universe whose laws he
embodies, a "workshop," in the phrase of John Scotus, in which the
principles of nature are constantly renewed. Under such an analogical
articulation of subsistent categories, the distinction between the natural
order of the universe and social order is minimized. To know nature is to
know an ideal order of relation between men since natural law is the
equivalent of psychic law. And the bond between human psychology and
cosmic order, one of the major themes of Boethius's De Consolatione,
becomes in the twelfth century the basis of moral science. As Hugh of
Saint-Victor observes, "nature and justice are allied."
36
Finally, to com-
plete the syllogism, if man and nature, nature and society, are analogous,
so too is man analogous to the human community. This idea is developed
most fully in the topos of the Body Politic. Urania's speech of the De
Mundi universitate equates natural law with a harmonious balance of
bodily parts. John of Salisbury gives elaborate expression in the Policrati-
cus to the organic metaphor of bodily health and social equilibrium.
37
If I have introduced the theme of man the microcosm (a dangerous
gesture for the scholar who risks being caught in the analogical move-
ment he describes), it is because the natural order equated with social
order itself rests upon an essentially linguistic model. The speculum Dei is
conceived as a function of writing. For Hugh of Saint-Victor, for example,
"the entire sense-perceptible world is like a sort of book written by the
finger of God." According to Alain de Lille, "every creature in the world
is, for us, like a book and a picture and a mirror as well." "There marked
down by the finger of the Supreme Scribe can be read the text of time, the
fated march of events, the disposition made of the ages" -so affirms
Bernard Silvestris.
38
Even more important, the moral order that mediates
the relation between individual and community was, throughout the
period in question, subject to analysis in specifically linguistic terms. The
medieval language arts provided the framework for discussion of the
mental images which, because they are held to be universal, define the
parameters of a universal psychology. This is true, for instance, of Augus-
tine whose economy of conversion is, as M. Colish has shown, overdeter-
mined by the model of rhetoric.
39
It is equally applicable to the case of
Abelard who equates mental images with general verbal terms and for
whom the logic of ideal linguistic relations is equivalent to the subsistent
order of the world. Then, too, the assimilation of linguistics and psychol-
ogy among the speculative grammarians of the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries yields the global project of reconciling through universal gram-
mar the mind's modes of signifying the ontological categories of the real
with the voice's modes of material expression.
Introduction 21
The coincidence of the orders of language and society, mediated by a
linguistically defined psychology, obviously cannot be separated from
the centrality of semiotics and the question of the subject; and, as with
these first two points, it informs our inquiry into the relation between
language theory, family structure, and poetic form. I am aware, of course,
1
tharn.ot all literary critics, much less those whose specialty is the Middle
acknowledge such a problematics and that those who do disagree
radically as to how to define it. I am conscious also that this particular
combination of elements risks appearing somewhat arbitrary to the
anthropologist, who habitually deals with the correlation of linguistics
and kinship; to the historian, who uses literary material to document the
history of the family; to the critic, for whom the connection between
grammar and poetry is crucial; and to the philosopher, who may be used
to the mutual consideration of all three but not to their historical situation.
The project proposed does, in fact, cross the customary boundaries
between ethnology, linguistics, philology, philosophy, and intellectual,
social, institutional, and literary history; and it is perhaps worthwhile to
situate it within the often overlapping histories of these domains.
If asked to identify the beginning of modern formulations of the rela-
tion between the structure of a given society and its language, one would
have to point to eighteenth-century "philosophical anthropology,"
which is itself rooted in the much older search for an original language
and in a growing consciousness of the political consequences of such a
determination.
40
Rousseau, for example, equates three basic types of
figures, conventional characters, and alphabetic
signs-with three corresponding types of social order: "Ces trois ma-
nieres d' ecrire correspondent assez exactement aux trois divers etats sous
lesquels on peut considerer les hommes rassembles en nation. La pein-
ture des objets convient aux peuples sauvages; les signes des mots et des
peuples barbares, et I' alphabet aux peuples polices."
41
Giambattista VIco posits a similar linguistic trio corresponding to three
stages of evolution and of political organization. The Age of Families at
the of is characterized by "a silent language using signs
havmg a natural relation with ideas"; the Age of Heroes, by
hermc emblems founded on resemblances, comparisons, images,
metaphors, natural descriptions"; and the Age of Men, by "conventional
signs appropriate to popular republics and monarchic states."
42
Though the first edition of La Scienza Nuova appeared almost a century
the Romantic period of the discipline of compar-
ative philology, VIco laid the foundation of historical linguistics and of
history based upon the study oflanguage. Thus, he attempts to prove, for
example, that nouns existed before verbs since "in order to have a
22 Introduction
meaning . . . a sentence must start with a noun, either explicitly or
understood, which governs it." And, in a gesture which anticipates by
some two hundred years R. Jakobson's famous studies of aphasia and
language acquisition, Vico cites the example of a man who, "struck dumb
with apoplexy, retained his mastery of nouns even though he lost control
completely of verbs."
43
The Neapolitan philosopher's deduction of the
development of language and of the individual from the logic of gram-
matical construction is crucial to the thought of the early comparative
philologists, who seized upon the evolutionary significance of typologi-
cal difference.
44
But where Vico saw in the principles of internal structure
an indication of the accretional ontogenesis of human language in gen-
eral, F. Bopp, F. Schlegel, J. Grimm, and R. Rask, following the lead of
comparative anatomy, found a key to the history of particular language
and to their genetic relation. Their attempt to establish a historical linguis-
tics coterminous with the natural history of mankind obscured, in fact,
the analogy between grammatical and political order.
The publication of W. von Humboldt's Uber die Verschiedenheit des
menschlichen Sprachbaues (1836) marks a turning point in the history of our
topic. The aristocratic diplomat and amateur linguist, armed with the
wealth of empirical data amassed ever since Sir W. Jones's positing of a
common origin of Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, Gothic, and Celtic (1786), re-
turned to the question which obsessed Vico, namely, the equation of the
formal structure of a particular language and the spirit of the people who
speak it: "Ihre Sprache ist ihr Geist und ihr Geist ist ihre Sprache."
45
Von Humboldt's assimilation of grammar and national identity itself
enjoyed a rich heritage, leading, on the one hand, to linguistic and
comparative psychology and, on the other, to ethnolinguistics. Yet it was
his reformulation (from the paradigms of A. G. Schlegel and F. Bopp) of a
tripartite system for the classification of languages according to morphol-
ogy that spawned what remains the most outlandish articulation of the
relation between linguistic and social order of a most extravagant age. I
am referring to M. Muller's assimilation of isolating, agglutinating, and
inflecting languages to societies built respectively around the institutions
of family, tribe, and state. Family tongues, of which Chinese is the
prototype, are ideally suited for conversation within the consanguineal
group: "It is a style of thought and speech, not unusual between mother
and daughter. The one generally knows what the other is going to say,
and words are used more to indicate than to describe thought. Long
sentences are hardly thought of ... and particular intonations, familiar
accents, are sufficient to prepare the mind of the hearer .... "
46
Muller
thus posits a perfect adequation between a language composed of numer-
ous unchangeable independent units and a culture consisting of numer-
ous autonomous living groups with little global integration.
Introduction 23
Similarly, the Turanian or Nomadic languages, "which express in
words not only ideas, but the relation of ideas," are suited to tribal
organization: "The Turanian life is no longer a family life, or the life of a
troglodyte Muni. It is the life of tribes, where the individual and the
family are separated only by the floating walls of tents, and in daily
contact_ with their clansmen. It is an indispensable requirement in every
language, that it should be intelligible to many, though their
mtercourse may be but scanty. The introduction, therefore, of elements
expressing as clearly as possible the grammatical relation of words, the
invention of whether natural or conventional, for distinguishing
between nommal and verbal roots, the avoidance of everything that
might obscure the meaning of words or the intention of their grammatical
exponents, distinguishes the Turanian from the Chinese."
47
And, finally,
only the so-called State languages are appropriate to life within the
political community: "In the Arian and Semitic languages we find institu-
tions, laws, and agreements, which, like the law of inheritance and
succession at Rome or in India, show the stamp of an individual will
impressed on the previous traditions of scattered tribes."
48
From the field of comparative philology the problem of relation be-
and culture passed to that of anthropology and ethno-
hngmshcs; these, less heavily imbued with nineteenth-century natural-
and Darwinian evolutionism, could ignore neither the question of
nor the trend toward cultural relativism. Early anthropologists
hke Frazer, Morgan, McLennan, Kroeber, and Rivers turned to semantics
over grammar; and where family structure is concerned, they were ob-
sessed by the attempt to reconcile the conflict between the so-called
descriptive and classifying systems of kinship terminology.
49
At the same
time, linguistically inclined ethnographers and linguists either denied
altogether the importance of physical determinism or fell into a kind of
relativism that endows every language with the power to produce inde-
pendently an adequate system of cultural reference. F. Boas, for instance,
contends that "it does not seem likely that there is any direct relation
between the culture of a tribe and the language they speak."
50
E. Sapir
rejects "all attempts to correlate particular types of linguistic morphology
with certain stages of cultural development," though he does accept that
"the vocabulary of a language more or less reflects the culture whose
purpose it serves."
5
' Sapir's student B. L. Whorf posits thought as a
cultural problem solvable by linguistics; and this through the distinction
between vocabulary, which is taken to be the "natural product of motor
reactions," and syntax, or the culturally determined "factors of linkage
between words and morphemes which make the categories and patterns
in which meaning dwells. "
52
Whorf thus reintroduces the core of Muller's
evolutionism through the back door of cognition.
22 Introduction
meaning . . . a sentence must start with a noun, either explicitly or
understood, which governs it." And, in a gesture which anticipates by
some two hundred years R. Jakobson's famous studies of aphasia and
language acquisition, Vico cites the example of a man who, "struck dumb
with apoplexy, retained his mastery of nouns even though he lost control
completely of verbs."
43
The Neapolitan philosopher's deduction of the
development of language and of the individual from the logic of gram-
matical construction is crucial to the thought of the early comparative
philologists, who seized upon the evolutionary significance of typologi-
cal difference.
44
But where Vico saw in the principles of internal structure
an indication of the accretional ontogenesis of human language in gen-
eral, F. Bopp, F. Schlegel, J. Grimm, and R. Rask, following the lead of
comparative anatomy, found a key to the history of particular language
and to their genetic relation. Their attempt to establish a historical linguis-
tics coterminous with the natural history of mankind obscured, in fact,
the analogy between grammatical and political order.
The publication of W. von Humboldt's Uber die Verschiedenheit des
menschlichen Sprachbaues (1836) marks a turning point in the history of our
topic. The aristocratic diplomat and amateur linguist, armed with the
wealth of empirical data amassed ever since Sir W. Jones's positing of a
common origin of Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, Gothic, and Celtic (1786), re-
turned to the question which obsessed Vico, namely, the equation of the
formal structure of a particular language and the spirit of the people who
speak it: "Ihre Sprache ist ihr Geist und ihr Geist ist ihre Sprache."
45
Von Humboldt's assimilation of grammar and national identity itself
enjoyed a rich heritage, leading, on the one hand, to linguistic and
comparative psychology and, on the other, to ethnolinguistics. Yet it was
his reformulation (from the paradigms of A. G. Schlegel and F. Bopp) of a
tripartite system for the classification of languages according to morphol-
ogy that spawned what remains the most outlandish articulation of the
relation between linguistic and social order of a most extravagant age. I
am referring to M. Muller's assimilation of isolating, agglutinating, and
inflecting languages to societies built respectively around the institutions
of family, tribe, and state. Family tongues, of which Chinese is the
prototype, are ideally suited for conversation within the consanguineal
group: "It is a style of thought and speech, not unusual between mother
and daughter. The one generally knows what the other is going to say,
and words are used more to indicate than to describe thought. Long
sentences are hardly thought of ... and particular intonations, familiar
accents, are sufficient to prepare the mind of the hearer .... "
46
Muller
thus posits a perfect adequation between a language composed of numer-
ous unchangeable independent units and a culture consisting of numer-
ous autonomous living groups with little global integration.
Introduction 23
Similarly, the Turanian or Nomadic languages, "which express in
words not only ideas, but the relation of ideas," are suited to tribal
organization: "The Turanian life is no longer a family life, or the life of a
troglodyte Muni. It is the life of tribes, where the individual and the
family are separated only by the floating walls of tents, and in daily
contact_ with their clansmen. It is an indispensable requirement in every
language, that it should be intelligible to many, though their
mtercourse may be but scanty. The introduction, therefore, of elements
expressing as clearly as possible the grammatical relation of words, the
invention of whether natural or conventional, for distinguishing
between nommal and verbal roots, the avoidance of everything that
might obscure the meaning of words or the intention of their grammatical
exponents, distinguishes the Turanian from the Chinese."
47
And, finally,
only the so-called State languages are appropriate to life within the
political community: "In the Arian and Semitic languages we find institu-
tions, laws, and agreements, which, like the law of inheritance and
succession at Rome or in India, show the stamp of an individual will
impressed on the previous traditions of scattered tribes."
48
From the field of comparative philology the problem of relation be-
and culture passed to that of anthropology and ethno-
hngmshcs; these, less heavily imbued with nineteenth-century natural-
and Darwinian evolutionism, could ignore neither the question of
nor the trend toward cultural relativism. Early anthropologists
hke Frazer, Morgan, McLennan, Kroeber, and Rivers turned to semantics
over grammar; and where family structure is concerned, they were ob-
sessed by the attempt to reconcile the conflict between the so-called
descriptive and classifying systems of kinship terminology.
49
At the same
time, linguistically inclined ethnographers and linguists either denied
altogether the importance of physical determinism or fell into a kind of
relativism that endows every language with the power to produce inde-
pendently an adequate system of cultural reference. F. Boas, for instance,
contends that "it does not seem likely that there is any direct relation
between the culture of a tribe and the language they speak."
50
E. Sapir
rejects "all attempts to correlate particular types of linguistic morphology
with certain stages of cultural development," though he does accept that
"the vocabulary of a language more or less reflects the culture whose
purpose it serves."
5
' Sapir's student B. L. Whorf posits thought as a
cultural problem solvable by linguistics; and this through the distinction
between vocabulary, which is taken to be the "natural product of motor
reactions," and syntax, or the culturally determined "factors of linkage
between words and morphemes which make the categories and patterns
in which meaning dwells. "
52
Whorf thus reintroduces the core of Muller's
evolutionism through the back door of cognition.
24 Introduction
It is among the componential analysts that ethnolinguistics appears to
break definitively with nineteenth-century naturalism and to abandon
grt:mmar in favor of descriptive semantics. More precisely, in an age
dominated by behaviorism in psychology, functionalism in anthropol-
ogy, and structuralism in linguistics, they seek to discard the question of
meaning altogether, or, in the words of F. G. Lounsbury, "to do for
meaning what 'structural phonetics' (phonemics) was intended to do for
the structure of sounds in language, namely, to isolate its distinctive
features and build descriptions on these."
53
Indeed, the parallel between
Kroeber' s proposals for the study of kinship as a differential system (1909)
and Saussure's definition of language as a distributional field (1916) is
striking.
54
But it was not until the post-World War II era that such
ethnologists and linguists as Goodenough, Lounsbury, Wallace, Atkins,
Conklin, and Greenberg found, in the phonemics of the Prague School,
an apparatus capable of bridging the gap between the two. Thus, as
Lounsbury maintains, the phone, a unique linguistic event, is held to be
equivalent to the unique individual or kinsman; the phonotype, a class of
phones heard and transcribed as the same by the phonetician, corre-
sponds to the kintype, a class of kinsmen given the same designation by
the ethnologist; and, finally, the phoneme, a class of noncontrastive
phonotypes sharing distinctive phonetic features, parallels the kinclass,
or kintypes which "are not contrasted terminologically and which share
the same distinctive bundle of semantic features."
55
A. F. C. Wallace and
J. Atkins outline the steps of a componential analysis as follows: (1)
recording of a complete set of terms of reference or address; (2) definition
of these terms according to traditional kintypes (Fd, FaBr, DrHuBr); (3)
identification of two or more conceptual dimensions, each of whose
values ("components") is signified by one or more of the terms; (4)
definition of each term by means of a symbolic notation, as a specific
combination or set of combinations of the components; (5) statement of
the semantic relationship among the terms.
56
Componential analysis was born out of the tremendous anxiety of the
ethnologist vis-a-vis the linguist who, it was feared, had found either in
the language of generative grammar or in that of Boolean logic the means
of rivaling the "hard" sciences. The results often look like some Brave
New Anthropological World. J. H. Greenberg, for example, proposes to
represent the prohibition of marriage between parents and children by
the equation xMy-:J- (xPy v yPx), and cross-cousin marriage as follows:
xMy-:J: (3u) (3w) (3z): wPx z Pyu Pwu Pz:WEf.L ZE<j> v WE<j>ZEf.J-.
57
Lounsbury captures the essence of Pawnee kinship in the formula
An+ 1UA -n;AnUA -n;AnUA -n-l.ss
The immediate aim of the componential analysis is the definition of a
"cultural grammar," what Greenberg outlines as the creation of "a meta-
language describing the syntax of the formulas for the relationship terms
Introduction 25
of a particular system."
59
Its eventual goal is, however, the comparison,
through such a metalanguage, of various kinship systems whose material
means of expression varies, and, ultimately, the articulation of general
rules of relation between functional social roles and the terms of their
classification. Thus G. Murdock proposes a universal grammar of kinship
based upon a worldwide ethnographic sampling of over two hundred
and fifty cultures; and he establishes the thirty postulates and axioms by
which "the elements of social organization, in their permutations and
combinations, conform to natural laws of their own with an exactitude
scarcely less striking than that which characterizes the permutations and
combinations of atoms in chemistry or of genes in biology."
60
Levi-Strauss offers in three articles reprinted in L'Anthropologie structu-
rale at once the most interesting and frustrating reflection upon the
relation of anthropology and linguistics. It is here, in fact, that the centu-
ries-old dream of discovering the "general but implicit" rules of culture
reaches an apogee, and, to be more specific, that the dream of wedding
the laws of kinship to those of language is consummated. Marriage and
language are, for the structural anthropologist, analogous systems of
communication designed to insure, respectively, the circulation of
women and of messages.
61
They participate coequally in the "identical
unconscious structures" which furnish such a fertile meeting ground for
social and psychological order and which, in the absence of any more
teleological definition of culture, provide an interpretative goal. Thus the
ultimate anthropological project, outlined in the essay entitled "Lan-
guage and the Analysis of Social Laws" -the establishment of a congru-
ence between the languages of the world and the systems of kinship that
language simultaneously reflects and encodes. According to Levi-
Strauss:
1. The Indo-European system of kinship assures "the density and
fluidity of the population" through a minimum of negative prescriptions
just as the Indo-European languages "have simple structures utilizing
numerous elements 'competing' to occupy the same positions in the
structure. "
62
2. The Sino-Tibetan kinship systems are derived from the simplest
forms of Indo-European "general reciprocity"; and where language is
concerned, they function in accordance with complex structures contain-
ing few elements, "a feature that may be related to the tonal structure of
these tongues."
3. African kinship represents an "extension of the bridewealth system,
coupled with a rather frequent prohibition on marriage with the wife's
brother's wife." This leads to a system of general reciprocity more com-
plex than in the Sino-Tibetan example, "while the types of unions result-
ing from the circulation of the marriage-price approaches ... the statisti-
cal mechanism operating in our own society." African languages, in turn,
24 Introduction
It is among the componential analysts that ethnolinguistics appears to
break definitively with nineteenth-century naturalism and to abandon
grt:mmar in favor of descriptive semantics. More precisely, in an age
dominated by behaviorism in psychology, functionalism in anthropol-
ogy, and structuralism in linguistics, they seek to discard the question of
meaning altogether, or, in the words of F. G. Lounsbury, "to do for
meaning what 'structural phonetics' (phonemics) was intended to do for
the structure of sounds in language, namely, to isolate its distinctive
features and build descriptions on these."
53
Indeed, the parallel between
Kroeber' s proposals for the study of kinship as a differential system (1909)
and Saussure's definition of language as a distributional field (1916) is
striking.
54
But it was not until the post-World War II era that such
ethnologists and linguists as Goodenough, Lounsbury, Wallace, Atkins,
Conklin, and Greenberg found, in the phonemics of the Prague School,
an apparatus capable of bridging the gap between the two. Thus, as
Lounsbury maintains, the phone, a unique linguistic event, is held to be
equivalent to the unique individual or kinsman; the phonotype, a class of
phones heard and transcribed as the same by the phonetician, corre-
sponds to the kintype, a class of kinsmen given the same designation by
the ethnologist; and, finally, the phoneme, a class of noncontrastive
phonotypes sharing distinctive phonetic features, parallels the kinclass,
or kintypes which "are not contrasted terminologically and which share
the same distinctive bundle of semantic features."
55
A. F. C. Wallace and
J. Atkins outline the steps of a componential analysis as follows: (1)
recording of a complete set of terms of reference or address; (2) definition
of these terms according to traditional kintypes (Fd, FaBr, DrHuBr); (3)
identification of two or more conceptual dimensions, each of whose
values ("components") is signified by one or more of the terms; (4)
definition of each term by means of a symbolic notation, as a specific
combination or set of combinations of the components; (5) statement of
the semantic relationship among the terms.
56
Componential analysis was born out of the tremendous anxiety of the
ethnologist vis-a-vis the linguist who, it was feared, had found either in
the language of generative grammar or in that of Boolean logic the means
of rivaling the "hard" sciences. The results often look like some Brave
New Anthropological World. J. H. Greenberg, for example, proposes to
represent the prohibition of marriage between parents and children by
the equation xMy-:J- (xPy v yPx), and cross-cousin marriage as follows:
xMy-:J: (3u) (3w) (3z): wPx z Pyu Pwu Pz:WEf.L ZE<j> v WE<j>ZEf.J-.
57
Lounsbury captures the essence of Pawnee kinship in the formula
An+ 1UA -n;AnUA -n;AnUA -n-l.ss
The immediate aim of the componential analysis is the definition of a
"cultural grammar," what Greenberg outlines as the creation of "a meta-
language describing the syntax of the formulas for the relationship terms
Introduction 25
of a particular system."
59
Its eventual goal is, however, the comparison,
through such a metalanguage, of various kinship systems whose material
means of expression varies, and, ultimately, the articulation of general
rules of relation between functional social roles and the terms of their
classification. Thus G. Murdock proposes a universal grammar of kinship
based upon a worldwide ethnographic sampling of over two hundred
and fifty cultures; and he establishes the thirty postulates and axioms by
which "the elements of social organization, in their permutations and
combinations, conform to natural laws of their own with an exactitude
scarcely less striking than that which characterizes the permutations and
combinations of atoms in chemistry or of genes in biology."
60
Levi-Strauss offers in three articles reprinted in L'Anthropologie structu-
rale at once the most interesting and frustrating reflection upon the
relation of anthropology and linguistics. It is here, in fact, that the centu-
ries-old dream of discovering the "general but implicit" rules of culture
reaches an apogee, and, to be more specific, that the dream of wedding
the laws of kinship to those of language is consummated. Marriage and
language are, for the structural anthropologist, analogous systems of
communication designed to insure, respectively, the circulation of
women and of messages.
61
They participate coequally in the "identical
unconscious structures" which furnish such a fertile meeting ground for
social and psychological order and which, in the absence of any more
teleological definition of culture, provide an interpretative goal. Thus the
ultimate anthropological project, outlined in the essay entitled "Lan-
guage and the Analysis of Social Laws" -the establishment of a congru-
ence between the languages of the world and the systems of kinship that
language simultaneously reflects and encodes. According to Levi-
Strauss:
1. The Indo-European system of kinship assures "the density and
fluidity of the population" through a minimum of negative prescriptions
just as the Indo-European languages "have simple structures utilizing
numerous elements 'competing' to occupy the same positions in the
structure. "
62
2. The Sino-Tibetan kinship systems are derived from the simplest
forms of Indo-European "general reciprocity"; and where language is
concerned, they function in accordance with complex structures contain-
ing few elements, "a feature that may be related to the tonal structure of
these tongues."
3. African kinship represents an "extension of the bridewealth system,
coupled with a rather frequent prohibition on marriage with the wife's
brother's wife." This leads to a system of general reciprocity more com-
plex than in the Sino-Tibetan example, "while the types of unions result-
ing from the circulation of the marriage-price approaches ... the statisti-
cal mechanism operating in our own society." African languages, in turn,
26 Introduction
have "several modalities corresponding in general to a position in-
termediate between 1) and 2)."
4. Oceanic kinship and linguistic patterns demonstrate simple struc-
tures and few elements.
5. And, finally, American Indian paternity of the Crow-Omaha type
combines elements of special and general exchange, whereas the
appropriate linguistic patterns demonstrate "a relatively high number of
elements which succeed in becoming organized into relatively simple
structures by the structures assuming asymmetrical forms."
63
Levi-Strauss thus brings us full circle. We recognize in his comprehen-
sive conceptualization of the relation between the world's languages and
systems of kinship none other than the global project of comparative
philology. The ethnologist's discovery of the physical and mechanical
laws of paternity and syntax-whether of many elements and few rules
or of complex structure and few elements-differs little from von Hum-
boldt's discovery of inflecting and isolating languages; the identification
with cultures practicing general and restricted exchange is close indeed to
Muller's application of von Humboldt's categories to state versus family
societies. Like the historical linguistics of the nineteenth century, the
universal classification that Levi-Strauss proposes rests upon the
assumption that language and kinship are subject to the methods of the
natural sciences, to the "exactitude" of atoms in chemistry or genes in
biology, according to the latter-day naturalism of Murdock. More serious,
Levi-Strauss falls into the same trap as the componential analysts who
confuse the operative concept of a metalanguage with the untenable
notion of a metasociety. By universalizing "mental structures," he
affirms the essential unity of mankind, which, despite the synchronic
cast, merely reintroduces a certain outworn physiological ethnology
dressed in the clothes of the unconscious processes. Which poses an
important question: Can we think the problem of unity as the anthropol-
ogist proffers it without at the same time postulating a unified origin? Can
one imagine the Family of Man without a common ancestor? Or different
linguistic families without the Ursprache of the comparative philologist?
Levi-Strauss's global strategy for the perfect adequation of linguistics
and kinship is Darwinism in disguise. Just as A. Schleicher sought "to do
for the organism of language what Darwin did for animals and plants,"
the ethnologist seeks to do for the species of family relations what the
philologist did for language.
64
And if his totalistic undertaking, unlike the
fastidious descriptions of the componential analysts, remains pur-
posefully vague, it is because there has never been a successful correla-
tion of language type-monosyllabic, polysyllabic, tonal, or morpholog-
ical-with the structure of a particular society.
65
On the contrary, societies
with vastly different infrastructures speak the same tongue; and societies
Introduction 27
with a similar institutional base speak languages of the most diverse types
(e.g., Eastern Europe where we find Slavic, Finno-Ugric, Germanic, and
Romance patterns). Instances abound of societies that have undergone
sudden transformation with only superficial (lexical) effect upon current
usage (e.g., France and Russia at the time of their popular revolutions).
Conversely, examples of relatively rapid linguistic change, as in periods
of intense immigration, are to be found in the absence of a corresponding
social shift.
The anthropological dream of union between language and culture, the
occulted naturalism of the structuralist, is rich in lessons for the literary
anthropology of the Middle Ages. It points to the incapacity of ethnology
to transcend certain philological issues like the reciprocity of unity and
origin as well as to the broader issue of what Derrida terms "epigeneti-
cism." It calls into question any formulation of the problem that is rooted
in the essentially philological project of adequation between kinship and
spoken grammar. Furthermore, it serves as a reminder of the extent to
which the linguistics of the past century, which subtends both the univer-
sal anthropological project and standard medieval studies, is itself de-
fined by a particular family model. This is as true of the initial undertaking
of comparative philology, the reconstitution of a lost original Indo-
European ancestor, as for the abiding interest in etymological roots.
Historical linguistics, infused with the terminology of the family (e.g.,
mother and sister languages, families and subfamilies of tongues), de-
pends upon the Stammbaumtheorie of Linnean biology for the classification
of speech according to genera and species.
66
That branch of philology
concerned with the establishment of texts takes as its point of departure
the organization of manuscripts into a pedigree (stemma) descended often
from a lost original prototype, as a genealogical model of poetic produc-
tion mirrors that of historical linguistics.
67
When added to the family
oriented theories of genre which have dominated literary studies until
recently, the task seems hopelessly complex.
Here is where the medieval problematics of language theory, family
structure, and poetics steps into the breach opened by anthropology
when it moves beyond the immediate ethnological analysis, and where it
also renders traditional medievalism conscious of its own anthropological
underpinnings. For in the following pages the degree to which the
foundations of romance philology are shaped by its object of study-
which is anthropological in the strictest sense-will become increasingly
clear. Not only do the genetic roots of historical linguistics stretch back to
the period under scrutiny (and beyond that to Biblical notions of an
original language), but the literary text, as we have affirmed and shall
n?w proceed to demonstrate, occupies a singularly ritualized anthropolo-
gical space between ideology-what Levi-Strauss might call a "mental
26 Introduction
have "several modalities corresponding in general to a position in-
termediate between 1) and 2)."
4. Oceanic kinship and linguistic patterns demonstrate simple struc-
tures and few elements.
5. And, finally, American Indian paternity of the Crow-Omaha type
combines elements of special and general exchange, whereas the
appropriate linguistic patterns demonstrate "a relatively high number of
elements which succeed in becoming organized into relatively simple
structures by the structures assuming asymmetrical forms."
63
Levi-Strauss thus brings us full circle. We recognize in his comprehen-
sive conceptualization of the relation between the world's languages and
systems of kinship none other than the global project of comparative
philology. The ethnologist's discovery of the physical and mechanical
laws of paternity and syntax-whether of many elements and few rules
or of complex structure and few elements-differs little from von Hum-
boldt's discovery of inflecting and isolating languages; the identification
with cultures practicing general and restricted exchange is close indeed to
Muller's application of von Humboldt's categories to state versus family
societies. Like the historical linguistics of the nineteenth century, the
universal classification that Levi-Strauss proposes rests upon the
assumption that language and kinship are subject to the methods of the
natural sciences, to the "exactitude" of atoms in chemistry or genes in
biology, according to the latter-day naturalism of Murdock. More serious,
Levi-Strauss falls into the same trap as the componential analysts who
confuse the operative concept of a metalanguage with the untenable
notion of a metasociety. By universalizing "mental structures," he
affirms the essential unity of mankind, which, despite the synchronic
cast, merely reintroduces a certain outworn physiological ethnology
dressed in the clothes of the unconscious processes. Which poses an
important question: Can we think the problem of unity as the anthropol-
ogist proffers it without at the same time postulating a unified origin? Can
one imagine the Family of Man without a common ancestor? Or different
linguistic families without the Ursprache of the comparative philologist?
Levi-Strauss's global strategy for the perfect adequation of linguistics
and kinship is Darwinism in disguise. Just as A. Schleicher sought "to do
for the organism of language what Darwin did for animals and plants,"
the ethnologist seeks to do for the species of family relations what the
philologist did for language.
64
And if his totalistic undertaking, unlike the
fastidious descriptions of the componential analysts, remains pur-
posefully vague, it is because there has never been a successful correla-
tion of language type-monosyllabic, polysyllabic, tonal, or morpholog-
ical-with the structure of a particular society.
65
On the contrary, societies
with vastly different infrastructures speak the same tongue; and societies
Introduction 27
with a similar institutional base speak languages of the most diverse types
(e.g., Eastern Europe where we find Slavic, Finno-Ugric, Germanic, and
Romance patterns). Instances abound of societies that have undergone
sudden transformation with only superficial (lexical) effect upon current
usage (e.g., France and Russia at the time of their popular revolutions).
Conversely, examples of relatively rapid linguistic change, as in periods
of intense immigration, are to be found in the absence of a corresponding
social shift.
The anthropological dream of union between language and culture, the
occulted naturalism of the structuralist, is rich in lessons for the literary
anthropology of the Middle Ages. It points to the incapacity of ethnology
to transcend certain philological issues like the reciprocity of unity and
origin as well as to the broader issue of what Derrida terms "epigeneti-
cism." It calls into question any formulation of the problem that is rooted
in the essentially philological project of adequation between kinship and
spoken grammar. Furthermore, it serves as a reminder of the extent to
which the linguistics of the past century, which subtends both the univer-
sal anthropological project and standard medieval studies, is itself de-
fined by a particular family model. This is as true of the initial undertaking
of comparative philology, the reconstitution of a lost original Indo-
European ancestor, as for the abiding interest in etymological roots.
Historical linguistics, infused with the terminology of the family (e.g.,
mother and sister languages, families and subfamilies of tongues), de-
pends upon the Stammbaumtheorie of Linnean biology for the classification
of speech according to genera and species.
66
That branch of philology
concerned with the establishment of texts takes as its point of departure
the organization of manuscripts into a pedigree (stemma) descended often
from a lost original prototype, as a genealogical model of poetic produc-
tion mirrors that of historical linguistics.
67
When added to the family
oriented theories of genre which have dominated literary studies until
recently, the task seems hopelessly complex.
Here is where the medieval problematics of language theory, family
structure, and poetics steps into the breach opened by anthropology
when it moves beyond the immediate ethnological analysis, and where it
also renders traditional medievalism conscious of its own anthropological
underpinnings. For in the following pages the degree to which the
foundations of romance philology are shaped by its object of study-
which is anthropological in the strictest sense-will become increasingly
clear. Not only do the genetic roots of historical linguistics stretch back to
the period under scrutiny (and beyond that to Biblical notions of an
original language), but the literary text, as we have affirmed and shall
n?w proceed to demonstrate, occupies a singularly ritualized anthropolo-
gical space between ideology-what Levi-Strauss might call a "mental
28 Introduction
structure" -and institutions. The choice of the medieval period presents,
finally, a way out of the impasse encountered by the heretofore unsuc-
cessful attempt to link a particular language as it is spoken with social
structure. This possibility of resolution lies not in language but in the
sustained reflection upon language unique to the West.
68
Philosophical
anthropology, comparative philology, and ethnolinguistics have failed
until now because of the arbitrariness of all "cultural" definitions of
linguistic structure. The syntactic independence of the word within the
inflecting sentence can, for example, be used to emphasize the freedom of
choice of the individual within a system of "general exchange," while its
morphological intricacy stands, at the same time, as proof of the integra-
tive complexity of the political state. What a closer look at the medieval
language arts offers, in contrast, is a definition of linguistic structure
abstracted from any particular idiom, a key not to the rules governing
concrete instances of writing or speech but to the rules governing all such
rules. It is, to invoke the Foucaultian terminology, not merely one repre-
sentation among others but the representation of the laws of representa-
tion.
The literary anthropology which follows takes shape, then, around the
attempt to trace the relation between such a privileged map of the condi-
tions of representation and the symbolic activities which are both deter-
mined and mediated by it. If it is organized somewhat in the manner of
what the classicists call a "ring structure," that is, according to an initial
progression reversed by that of the end, its symmetry should not be
confused with the substantive disposition of the matter at hand. Thus, we
shall begin with what John of Salisbury terms "the cradle of philosophy,"
early medieval grammar, which was heavily oriented around the con-
cepts of signification and definition as well as around the practice of
etymology. The thesis of the first chapter, simply put, is that a genealogi-
cally defined linguistic model informs not only the discipline of grammar
(both internal grammar and historical linguistics), but remains fun-
damental to an entire epistemological mode manifest in the discourse of
history, theology, and Biblical exegesis.
Chapter 2 traces the relationship between the "etymological" grammar
of this formative period and the radical reorganization of the aristocratic
family of the twelfth century around the notion of genealogy and, in
particular, around certain lineal institutions (e.g., strict exogamy, restric-
tion of marriage, primogeniture). We shall see how the patterns of noble
kinship prevalent until the time of the French Revolution are themselves
rooted in a particular linguistic model, and, further, how such a system of
paternity is sustained by certain aristocratic practices of the sign (e.g.,
heraldry, patronymics). More important, we shall see how they are
mediated by a range of representational fields encompassing the visual
Introduction 29
arts (stained glass and manuscript illustration), genealogical narrative,
"literary" genealogies, and epic poetry. The first part of Chapter 3 is, in
fact, devoted to the homological identity between the Old French chanson
de geste and grammatical and familial models based, respectively, upon
etymology and genealogy. In the remainder of this section, pivotal point
of the "ring," we explore the various modes of radical disruption of the
epic; in particular, we see how the Old French and Proven<;:allove lyric
served to interrupt a poetic code supporting both an implicit model of
representation and the biopolifics of lineage. The bulk of Chapter 4
situates the "disruptive" chanson d'amour in relation to the "disruptive"
linguistic movements of the latter Middle Ages (nominalism and modal
grammar) and in relation to the advent, alongside of lineage, of a system
of kinship closer to the early modern conjugal unit or household. I argue
in Chapter 5 that the courtly romance constituted a privileged forum for
the mediation of conflicting grammatical, familial, and literary modes. In
the novel more than anywhere else the issues that concern the literary
anthropologist-marriage, succession, narrative continuity, representa-
tional integrity, the connection between economic and linguistic prop-
erty, sexual desire-are both thematized and productive of form. Finally,
our conclusion focuses upon the role of such mediatory literary models in
the massive reorganization of the relation between power and writing
that accompanied the reconstitution of the Capetian state.
28 Introduction
structure" -and institutions. The choice of the medieval period presents,
finally, a way out of the impasse encountered by the heretofore unsuc-
cessful attempt to link a particular language as it is spoken with social
structure. This possibility of resolution lies not in language but in the
sustained reflection upon language unique to the West.
68
Philosophical
anthropology, comparative philology, and ethnolinguistics have failed
until now because of the arbitrariness of all "cultural" definitions of
linguistic structure. The syntactic independence of the word within the
inflecting sentence can, for example, be used to emphasize the freedom of
choice of the individual within a system of "general exchange," while its
morphological intricacy stands, at the same time, as proof of the integra-
tive complexity of the political state. What a closer look at the medieval
language arts offers, in contrast, is a definition of linguistic structure
abstracted from any particular idiom, a key not to the rules governing
concrete instances of writing or speech but to the rules governing all such
rules. It is, to invoke the Foucaultian terminology, not merely one repre-
sentation among others but the representation of the laws of representa-
tion.
The literary anthropology which follows takes shape, then, around the
attempt to trace the relation between such a privileged map of the condi-
tions of representation and the symbolic activities which are both deter-
mined and mediated by it. If it is organized somewhat in the manner of
what the classicists call a "ring structure," that is, according to an initial
progression reversed by that of the end, its symmetry should not be
confused with the substantive disposition of the matter at hand. Thus, we
shall begin with what John of Salisbury terms "the cradle of philosophy,"
early medieval grammar, which was heavily oriented around the con-
cepts of signification and definition as well as around the practice of
etymology. The thesis of the first chapter, simply put, is that a genealogi-
cally defined linguistic model informs not only the discipline of grammar
(both internal grammar and historical linguistics), but remains fun-
damental to an entire epistemological mode manifest in the discourse of
history, theology, and Biblical exegesis.
Chapter 2 traces the relationship between the "etymological" grammar
of this formative period and the radical reorganization of the aristocratic
family of the twelfth century around the notion of genealogy and, in
particular, around certain lineal institutions (e.g., strict exogamy, restric-
tion of marriage, primogeniture). We shall see how the patterns of noble
kinship prevalent until the time of the French Revolution are themselves
rooted in a particular linguistic model, and, further, how such a system of
paternity is sustained by certain aristocratic practices of the sign (e.g.,
heraldry, patronymics). More important, we shall see how they are
mediated by a range of representational fields encompassing the visual
Introduction 29
arts (stained glass and manuscript illustration), genealogical narrative,
"literary" genealogies, and epic poetry. The first part of Chapter 3 is, in
fact, devoted to the homological identity between the Old French chanson
de geste and grammatical and familial models based, respectively, upon
etymology and genealogy. In the remainder of this section, pivotal point
of the "ring," we explore the various modes of radical disruption of the
epic; in particular, we see how the Old French and Proven<;:allove lyric
served to interrupt a poetic code supporting both an implicit model of
representation and the biopolifics of lineage. The bulk of Chapter 4
situates the "disruptive" chanson d'amour in relation to the "disruptive"
linguistic movements of the latter Middle Ages (nominalism and modal
grammar) and in relation to the advent, alongside of lineage, of a system
of kinship closer to the early modern conjugal unit or household. I argue
in Chapter 5 that the courtly romance constituted a privileged forum for
the mediation of conflicting grammatical, familial, and literary modes. In
the novel more than anywhere else the issues that concern the literary
anthropologist-marriage, succession, narrative continuity, representa-
tional integrity, the connection between economic and linguistic prop-
erty, sexual desire-are both thematized and productive of form. Finally,
our conclusion focuses upon the role of such mediatory literary models in
the massive reorganization of the relation between power and writing
that accompanied the reconstitution of the Capetian state.

Early Medieval Grammar
As the three knights who are to complete the Arthurian quest
the locus of transcendence-the Grail-they come upon three objects
identified as Solomon's boat, David's sword, and three pieces of wood.
1
Each has its own history, meaning, and relation to the others. The boat is
connected to Solomon's prophetic vision of his own descent and to the
desire to indicate to "the last of his lineage" his foreknowledge of Gala-
had's coming: "Si pensa coment il poi:st fere a celui h?me, derreain
de son lignage que Salemons, qui si lone devant este, seust la
verite de sa venue."
2
The Old Testament kmg IS thus proJected apocry-
phally into what was, from the perspective of the High Al?es, the
equivalent of early modern history. important, his perceptwn
future conception focuses upon what IS taken to be a natural relatwn
between genealogy and signification. Solomon's about "the
truth of the ending of his line" elicits almost automatically the url?e to
leave a readable trace of his own existence, as the issue of generatwn-
30
Early Medieval Grammar 31
what constitutes a natural link between members of the same family-
entails that of representation-how signs signify and, more precisely, how
they signify through time.
The second object encountered by the Grail Knights is David's sword
passed down through his son Solomon and signaling, according to the
anonymous author(s) of La Questedel Saint Graal, an adventure waiting for
Galahad. It too has a medieval and Biblical past. This is the weapon with
which the Fisher-King of Arthurian legend was wounded-an act, we are
told, that repeats the original crime of the Old Testament as well as its
redemption in the New:
Et la mort que Abel re.;ut par trai:son a eel tens qu'il n'estoient encore que
troi home en terre senefia la mort au verai Crucefie, car par Abel fu il
senefiez et par Caym fu senefiez Judas par qui il re.;ut mort. Et tout einsi
come Cains salua Abel son frere et puis l'ocist, tout ausi salua Judas son
seignor, et si avoit sa mort porchaciee. Einsi s'acorderent bien les deus
morz ensemble, non pas de hautece, mes de senefiance. [P. 217]
And the death of Abel by treachery in the days when there were only
three men on earth signified the death of the true Crucified, for Abel sig-
nified Our Lord, and Cain prefigured Judas, who brought about his death.
And just as Cain greeted his brother Abel and then slew him, even so did
Judas greet his Lor,d, although he had been compassing his death. There
are then many points where these deaths correspond, not in degree, but in
their outward signs.
In the similarity of outward signs coupled with deeper differences of
degree and meaning, the question of signification is linked to that of
history, and to a particular vision of history as repetition. In fact, this /
passage shows, as well as any in Old French literature, how, according to
the medieval sense of typology or figura, one event prefigures another as
the signs of divine Providence become manifest through time.
3
History,
whose original Old Testament version is interpreted by a second render-
ing in the New Testament, represents a text whose unfolding meaning
will become fully evident only at the end of human duration. Here the
central issue is triple. For the question of signification-how signs sig-
nify-informs that of prefiguration-how history works. Both coincide,
moreover, in a reversible cycle of fall and redemption. Just as Christ's
sacrifice redeems Cain's founding infraction, Galahad' s coming will re-
deem--cure-the wounded Fisher-King. Signification and prefiguration
are thus subtended by the issue of transgression, as sign theory and
history meet in the question of the origin of the law.
The third object, or set of objects, encountered by the Grail Knights
consists of three sticks of wood which, we learn, are vestiges of three
Biblical trees. The first, a white twig, is part of the original Tree of
Knowledge situated at the site of the birth of sexual desire. Like Solo-

Early Medieval Grammar
As the three knights who are to complete the Arthurian quest
the locus of transcendence-the Grail-they come upon three objects
identified as Solomon's boat, David's sword, and three pieces of wood.
1
Each has its own history, meaning, and relation to the others. The boat is
connected to Solomon's prophetic vision of his own descent and to the
desire to indicate to "the last of his lineage" his foreknowledge of Gala-
had's coming: "Si pensa coment il poi:st fere a celui h?me, derreain
de son lignage que Salemons, qui si lone devant este, seust la
verite de sa venue."
2
The Old Testament kmg IS thus proJected apocry-
phally into what was, from the perspective of the High Al?es, the
equivalent of early modern history. important, his perceptwn
future conception focuses upon what IS taken to be a natural relatwn
between genealogy and signification. Solomon's about "the
truth of the ending of his line" elicits almost automatically the url?e to
leave a readable trace of his own existence, as the issue of generatwn-
30
Early Medieval Grammar 31
what constitutes a natural link between members of the same family-
entails that of representation-how signs signify and, more precisely, how
they signify through time.
The second object encountered by the Grail Knights is David's sword
passed down through his son Solomon and signaling, according to the
anonymous author(s) of La Questedel Saint Graal, an adventure waiting for
Galahad. It too has a medieval and Biblical past. This is the weapon with
which the Fisher-King of Arthurian legend was wounded-an act, we are
told, that repeats the original crime of the Old Testament as well as its
redemption in the New:
Et la mort que Abel re.;ut par trai:son a eel tens qu'il n'estoient encore que
troi home en terre senefia la mort au verai Crucefie, car par Abel fu il
senefiez et par Caym fu senefiez Judas par qui il re.;ut mort. Et tout einsi
come Cains salua Abel son frere et puis l'ocist, tout ausi salua Judas son
seignor, et si avoit sa mort porchaciee. Einsi s'acorderent bien les deus
morz ensemble, non pas de hautece, mes de senefiance. [P. 217]
And the death of Abel by treachery in the days when there were only
three men on earth signified the death of the true Crucified, for Abel sig-
nified Our Lord, and Cain prefigured Judas, who brought about his death.
And just as Cain greeted his brother Abel and then slew him, even so did
Judas greet his Lor,d, although he had been compassing his death. There
are then many points where these deaths correspond, not in degree, but in
their outward signs.
In the similarity of outward signs coupled with deeper differences of
degree and meaning, the question of signification is linked to that of
history, and to a particular vision of history as repetition. In fact, this /
passage shows, as well as any in Old French literature, how, according to
the medieval sense of typology or figura, one event prefigures another as
the signs of divine Providence become manifest through time.
3
History,
whose original Old Testament version is interpreted by a second render-
ing in the New Testament, represents a text whose unfolding meaning
will become fully evident only at the end of human duration. Here the
central issue is triple. For the question of signification-how signs sig-
nify-informs that of prefiguration-how history works. Both coincide,
moreover, in a reversible cycle of fall and redemption. Just as Christ's
sacrifice redeems Cain's founding infraction, Galahad' s coming will re-
deem--cure-the wounded Fisher-King. Signification and prefiguration
are thus subtended by the issue of transgression, as sign theory and
history meet in the question of the origin of the law.
The third object, or set of objects, encountered by the Grail Knights
consists of three sticks of wood which, we learn, are vestiges of three
Biblical trees. The first, a white twig, is part of the original Tree of
Knowledge situated at the site of the birth of sexual desire. Like Solo-
32 Chapter One
mon's boat, it too signifies foreknowledge of future generations, in this
case those of Eve, "just as if she were speaking to her heirs who would
come after her"; and, like David's sword, it is bound up in a cycle of
decline and recovery: "Et ce fu senefiance que par la Virge Marie li
heritages recovrez qui perduz estoit au tens de lors:"
4
The second _twig,
which is green, belonged originally to the Tree of Life located of
Eden at the place of copulation. It seems, in fact, to embody the prmc1ple
of procreation: "Car si tost com il en ostoient un raim, ille fichoient en
terre, si reprenoit tantost et enracinoit de son gre .... "
5
Finally, the third
stick, which is red, represents a piece of the Tree of Death, which stood at
the locus of the original crime and which was used, the author(s) indi-
cates in the construction of Solomon's boat. The red stick is also set in
opp;sition to its green counterpart in that it is associated a of
reproduction and an economics of dearth: "Ne de celm ne P?Olt
autres aengier, ainz moroient toutes les plantes que len en fes01t ....
This last series of relics seems to embrace the earlier two, as the issues of
generation, signification, prefiguration, and transgression are structured
by that which, for lack of a better term, I shall call insertion-how a
relates to a whole, and, by extension, how the model of such a relation
affects the representation of the family as a system for the insertion of
individuals within a group.
The medieval text thus makes a surprising connection between the
seemingly distinct fields of sign theory (how signs represent), family
structure (how the parts of a lineage are, through signs, related), history
(which is precoded according to a system of Christological salvation), and
the origin of the law. What is more, not only do the elements of this
equation define a nexus of key symbolic activities within any culture (the
family, history, the law), but they serve, for the period in question, to
define one of the basic models of representation itself. These specific
figurations of family, history, and signification articulate a common prin-
ciple in that each contains parts bound by relations of contiguity, mutual
participation, imbrication, and temporal-diachronic-sequence. First, a
sequence of objects (Cain's weapon transformed into David's sword
passed to Solomon, and eventually to Galahad)-and a series of trees and
graftings (white, green, and red, used for Solomon's and then for the
Questors' boat). Second, a series of events linked to the trees-disobedi-
ence leading to conception, conception to death, death to sacrifice and
resurrection. And, finally, a genealogical series: Adam is the ancestor of
David, Solomon, and Christ as well as of the three Grail Knights.
7
The image of the tree is a powerful symbol of the problematics which
the text seems so naturally to expose. Like the technique of the "mise-en-
abyme" of medieval blazonry, it both captures the movement of that
which it structures and constitutes a designation-a kind of map--of
Early Medieval Grammar 33
representation itself. Or of what we might, with consciousness of the
complexity of any such rhetoricizing of history, think of as a metonymic
representation-one that involves a contiguous link of part to whole,
container to contained, penetration of subsequent by prior events, a
linear unfolding of history across time. The tree, in this instance, is
doubly significant, since the thirteenth-century audience was probably
aware that, according to legend, the Tree of Paradise was linked vesti-
gially to the Cross. The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil proved to be
an instrument of sin and death before becoming the vehicle of re-
demption; the lignum vitae of paradise prefigures the new dispensation.
8
Thus the metonymically linked trees imply a system of relations in which
every part is, through the seamless web of a lost beginning (an original
wholeness at the outset of time), embedded in a hierarchical and chrono-
logical series. Where kinship is concerned, the Questors (Bohort, Perce-
val, and Galahad) are the descendants of Joseph of Arimathea, who, since
Christ could not reproduce, nonetheless preserved his lineage by gather-
ing his blood in the Grail. Christ, in turn, is linked to Solomon, David,
and Adam. No matter how distant the relation, Galahad, "the last of his
line," represents a vestige of all that has preceded: a part of Solomon
passed to and remains embedded in Galahad, just as a part of Adam
passed to Solomon, and, by implication, a part of God to Adam. In the
sequential play of identity and difference, sameness engenders
sameness; and the integral tie to an origin is preserved.
The decision to begin with the tree which preserves an attachment to
origin, and which binds within a single nexus both semiology and
kinship, is hardly innocent. For the lignum so enmeshed with the ideas of
lineage and language also serves to define the terms and parameters of
our discussion. The series of objects waiting for the Grail Knights are
paradigmatic of issues which the text signals to its own progeny of
readers. And the passage directly preceding the achievement of the Grail
Quest (which is, after all, a quest for meaning) merely defines more
succinctly than any other a series of fields of inquiry relevant, even
crucial, to our understanding of a much broader textual corpus-virtually
the breadth of Old French literature. Through the link which the prose
romance establishes between signification and family structure it teaches
us from within how to make that exceedingly difficult leap toward that
which conditions it from without. Ultimately, it points in the direction of
an anthropology of the High Middle Ages based upon the increasingly
important discursive practice of the literary performance. In what may
seem like a paradox to many historians, the reversal of a natural order of
knowledge, the literary work can show us how to begin to read as an
interconnected range of symbolic activities the seemingly diverse do-
mains oflanguage theory, kinship, economics, and intellectual and social
32 Chapter One
mon's boat, it too signifies foreknowledge of future generations, in this
case those of Eve, "just as if she were speaking to her heirs who would
come after her"; and, like David's sword, it is bound up in a cycle of
decline and recovery: "Et ce fu senefiance que par la Virge Marie li
heritages recovrez qui perduz estoit au tens de lors:"
4
The second _twig,
which is green, belonged originally to the Tree of Life located of
Eden at the place of copulation. It seems, in fact, to embody the prmc1ple
of procreation: "Car si tost com il en ostoient un raim, ille fichoient en
terre, si reprenoit tantost et enracinoit de son gre .... "
5
Finally, the third
stick, which is red, represents a piece of the Tree of Death, which stood at
the locus of the original crime and which was used, the author(s) indi-
cates in the construction of Solomon's boat. The red stick is also set in
opp;sition to its green counterpart in that it is associated a of
reproduction and an economics of dearth: "Ne de celm ne P?Olt
autres aengier, ainz moroient toutes les plantes que len en fes01t ....
This last series of relics seems to embrace the earlier two, as the issues of
generation, signification, prefiguration, and transgression are structured
by that which, for lack of a better term, I shall call insertion-how a
relates to a whole, and, by extension, how the model of such a relation
affects the representation of the family as a system for the insertion of
individuals within a group.
The medieval text thus makes a surprising connection between the
seemingly distinct fields of sign theory (how signs represent), family
structure (how the parts of a lineage are, through signs, related), history
(which is precoded according to a system of Christological salvation), and
the origin of the law. What is more, not only do the elements of this
equation define a nexus of key symbolic activities within any culture (the
family, history, the law), but they serve, for the period in question, to
define one of the basic models of representation itself. These specific
figurations of family, history, and signification articulate a common prin-
ciple in that each contains parts bound by relations of contiguity, mutual
participation, imbrication, and temporal-diachronic-sequence. First, a
sequence of objects (Cain's weapon transformed into David's sword
passed to Solomon, and eventually to Galahad)-and a series of trees and
graftings (white, green, and red, used for Solomon's and then for the
Questors' boat). Second, a series of events linked to the trees-disobedi-
ence leading to conception, conception to death, death to sacrifice and
resurrection. And, finally, a genealogical series: Adam is the ancestor of
David, Solomon, and Christ as well as of the three Grail Knights.
7
The image of the tree is a powerful symbol of the problematics which
the text seems so naturally to expose. Like the technique of the "mise-en-
abyme" of medieval blazonry, it both captures the movement of that
which it structures and constitutes a designation-a kind of map--of
Early Medieval Grammar 33
representation itself. Or of what we might, with consciousness of the
complexity of any such rhetoricizing of history, think of as a metonymic
representation-one that involves a contiguous link of part to whole,
container to contained, penetration of subsequent by prior events, a
linear unfolding of history across time. The tree, in this instance, is
doubly significant, since the thirteenth-century audience was probably
aware that, according to legend, the Tree of Paradise was linked vesti-
gially to the Cross. The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil proved to be
an instrument of sin and death before becoming the vehicle of re-
demption; the lignum vitae of paradise prefigures the new dispensation.
8
Thus the metonymically linked trees imply a system of relations in which
every part is, through the seamless web of a lost beginning (an original
wholeness at the outset of time), embedded in a hierarchical and chrono-
logical series. Where kinship is concerned, the Questors (Bohort, Perce-
val, and Galahad) are the descendants of Joseph of Arimathea, who, since
Christ could not reproduce, nonetheless preserved his lineage by gather-
ing his blood in the Grail. Christ, in turn, is linked to Solomon, David,
and Adam. No matter how distant the relation, Galahad, "the last of his
line," represents a vestige of all that has preceded: a part of Solomon
passed to and remains embedded in Galahad, just as a part of Adam
passed to Solomon, and, by implication, a part of God to Adam. In the
sequential play of identity and difference, sameness engenders
sameness; and the integral tie to an origin is preserved.
The decision to begin with the tree which preserves an attachment to
origin, and which binds within a single nexus both semiology and
kinship, is hardly innocent. For the lignum so enmeshed with the ideas of
lineage and language also serves to define the terms and parameters of
our discussion. The series of objects waiting for the Grail Knights are
paradigmatic of issues which the text signals to its own progeny of
readers. And the passage directly preceding the achievement of the Grail
Quest (which is, after all, a quest for meaning) merely defines more
succinctly than any other a series of fields of inquiry relevant, even
crucial, to our understanding of a much broader textual corpus-virtually
the breadth of Old French literature. Through the link which the prose
romance establishes between signification and family structure it teaches
us from within how to make that exceedingly difficult leap toward that
which conditions it from without. Ultimately, it points in the direction of
an anthropology of the High Middle Ages based upon the increasingly
important discursive practice of the literary performance. In what may
seem like a paradox to many historians, the reversal of a natural order of
knowledge, the literary work can show us how to begin to read as an
interconnected range of symbolic activities the seemingly diverse do-
mains oflanguage theory, kinship, economics, and intellectual and social
34 Chapter One
history. But first to the issues which La Queste raises and which will
occupy us for the remainder of the chapter. These are: early medieval
historical linguistics, internal grammar, sacramental theology, and the
determining role of all these in the articulation of an ideal model of the
family and a vision of the past.
Genealogy and General Sign Theory
Galahad' s family tree is rooted in the primal locus par excellence, and it
is implicated in the original inscription of meaning upon the world. More
important, the notion of meaning was, throughout the period in ques-
tion, itself couched in genealogical terms. La Queste del Saint Graal merely
suggests what was a pervasive association operative at all levels of culture
and as close as one may come to a "mental structure" of the age. So
widespread, in fact, was the identification of signification and generation
that we begin only somewhat arbitrarily with the monumental figures of
Augustine, Jerome, and Isidore of Seville.
Augustine's position at the juncture of late Classical and medieval
culture makes it easy to idealize his role as the "founder" of medieval sign
theory; yet such a title is justified. The depth of his reflection upon signs,
which is evident in almost all of the major works, is unequaled by any
Latin writer before the time of Abelard or Aquinas. It is, in distinction to
the reams of gloss of even the most important encyclopedists of late
Antiquity, the last attempt before the High Middle Ages to formulate
personally-as well as logically and theologically-a comprehensive
semiological theory. This is why Augustine's concentration upon the
relation between meaning and procreation is especially telling. "How,"
he asks, in seeking to distinguish between sense perception and intellec-
tual apprehension, "can the phrase 'to increase and multiply,' which
seems to refer only to man, also refer to the offspring of water?" If the
words are interpreted according to "the actual nature of things," then
they cannot be applied to things "not begotten from seed." But if we
interpret them figuratively, "we find multitudes among spiritual and
among corporeal things. "
9
In the first instance, our senses are deceived by
the illusory nature of signs; and in the second, that illusion is corrected by
an act of intellection revealing their true meaning. Generation is thus
conceived as a problem of interpretation:
In his omnibus nanciscimur multitudines et ubertates et incrementa; sed
quod ita crescat et multiplicetur, ut una res multis modis enuntietur et una
enuntiatio multis modis intellegatur, non inuenimus nisi in signis corporali-
ter editis et rebus intellegibiliter excogitatis.
10
In all these instances we meet with multitudes, fertility, and increase. But
as to what may in such wise increase and multiply that a single thing may
be stated in many ways and a single statement may be understood in
Early Medieval Grammar 35
many ways, this we find only in signs corporeally expressed and in things
intelligibly conceived.
For Augustine, there can be no distinction between the propagation of ,
men-their increase and dispersion-and the propagation of meaning. A '
single thing stated multiply, or a single statement understood multiply,
participate in the degeneration of signification that accompanied the
multiplication of mankind.
The place of Babel as a dispersion of men and of tongues is, of course,
paramount in the linguistic mythology of the Christian West.
11
What I am
suggesting, however, is that the medieval reception of the Babel myth
was itself part of a broader dynamic in which generation and signification
are implicated in each other. Genealogy conceived along linguistic lines
and language conceived along family lines represent two facets of a more
general problematics of the sign prevalent in the thought of many of the
most powerful intellectual figures from Augustine to the Renaissance.
This connection is evident, for example, in the patristic fascination with
the proximity of Adam's engendering of Eve and his naming of her.
According to Augustine, the act of naming the earthly things precedes
the engendering of Eve and indeed seems to cause it: " . . . iam
uideamus, quare sit factum, quod adductae sunt ad Adam omnes bestiae
agri et omnia uolatilia caeli, ut eis nomina inponeret, atque ita uelut
necessitas oreretur creandi ei feminam ex eius latere .... "
12
The creation
of the first woman and her designation are simultaneous gestures, as
Saint Jerome also makes clear in separate versions of the primal eponymic
moment. In the first, Eve is called Virago, "quia de viro suo sumpta est";
and in the second, she is called hissa, since in Hebrew "vir quippe vacatur
his et mulier hissa."
13
In both cases, a derivation occurring purely within
the realm of the referent-"Et dixit Adam: Hunc nunc os ex ossibus meis,
et caro de carne mea" -is coterminous with linguistic derivation.
This imbrication of signification and generation is most fully explored
within the Alexandrian exegetical tradition, where it becomes practically
synonymous with a certain fetishism regarding Hebrew proper names.
For Jerome, in particular, the derivation of a divinely given name be-
comes genetically prescriptive. He maintains that a proper appellation is
equivalent to a genealogical program, and its alteration is tantamount to a
prophetic rewriting of the future. When, for instance, Abram's name
("quod interpretatus pater excelsus") is changed to Abraham ("pater
multarum [gentium]"), his abundant progeny is both understood from
the new name and prospectively inscribed in history. Similarly, Sarah's
late motherhood entails an altered name which reflects the same rich
genealogy:
Sarai igitur primum uocata est per sin res ioth: sublato ergo ioth, id est I
elemento, addita est he litera, quae per A legitur, et uocata est Saraa.
34 Chapter One
history. But first to the issues which La Queste raises and which will
occupy us for the remainder of the chapter. These are: early medieval
historical linguistics, internal grammar, sacramental theology, and the
determining role of all these in the articulation of an ideal model of the
family and a vision of the past.
Genealogy and General Sign Theory
Galahad' s family tree is rooted in the primal locus par excellence, and it
is implicated in the original inscription of meaning upon the world. More
important, the notion of meaning was, throughout the period in ques-
tion, itself couched in genealogical terms. La Queste del Saint Graal merely
suggests what was a pervasive association operative at all levels of culture
and as close as one may come to a "mental structure" of the age. So
widespread, in fact, was the identification of signification and generation
that we begin only somewhat arbitrarily with the monumental figures of
Augustine, Jerome, and Isidore of Seville.
Augustine's position at the juncture of late Classical and medieval
culture makes it easy to idealize his role as the "founder" of medieval sign
theory; yet such a title is justified. The depth of his reflection upon signs,
which is evident in almost all of the major works, is unequaled by any
Latin writer before the time of Abelard or Aquinas. It is, in distinction to
the reams of gloss of even the most important encyclopedists of late
Antiquity, the last attempt before the High Middle Ages to formulate
personally-as well as logically and theologically-a comprehensive
semiological theory. This is why Augustine's concentration upon the
relation between meaning and procreation is especially telling. "How,"
he asks, in seeking to distinguish between sense perception and intellec-
tual apprehension, "can the phrase 'to increase and multiply,' which
seems to refer only to man, also refer to the offspring of water?" If the
words are interpreted according to "the actual nature of things," then
they cannot be applied to things "not begotten from seed." But if we
interpret them figuratively, "we find multitudes among spiritual and
among corporeal things. "
9
In the first instance, our senses are deceived by
the illusory nature of signs; and in the second, that illusion is corrected by
an act of intellection revealing their true meaning. Generation is thus
conceived as a problem of interpretation:
In his omnibus nanciscimur multitudines et ubertates et incrementa; sed
quod ita crescat et multiplicetur, ut una res multis modis enuntietur et una
enuntiatio multis modis intellegatur, non inuenimus nisi in signis corporali-
ter editis et rebus intellegibiliter excogitatis.
10
In all these instances we meet with multitudes, fertility, and increase. But
as to what may in such wise increase and multiply that a single thing may
be stated in many ways and a single statement may be understood in
Early Medieval Grammar 35
many ways, this we find only in signs corporeally expressed and in things
intelligibly conceived.
For Augustine, there can be no distinction between the propagation of ,
men-their increase and dispersion-and the propagation of meaning. A '
single thing stated multiply, or a single statement understood multiply,
participate in the degeneration of signification that accompanied the
multiplication of mankind.
The place of Babel as a dispersion of men and of tongues is, of course,
paramount in the linguistic mythology of the Christian West.
11
What I am
suggesting, however, is that the medieval reception of the Babel myth
was itself part of a broader dynamic in which generation and signification
are implicated in each other. Genealogy conceived along linguistic lines
and language conceived along family lines represent two facets of a more
general problematics of the sign prevalent in the thought of many of the
most powerful intellectual figures from Augustine to the Renaissance.
This connection is evident, for example, in the patristic fascination with
the proximity of Adam's engendering of Eve and his naming of her.
According to Augustine, the act of naming the earthly things precedes
the engendering of Eve and indeed seems to cause it: " . . . iam
uideamus, quare sit factum, quod adductae sunt ad Adam omnes bestiae
agri et omnia uolatilia caeli, ut eis nomina inponeret, atque ita uelut
necessitas oreretur creandi ei feminam ex eius latere .... "
12
The creation
of the first woman and her designation are simultaneous gestures, as
Saint Jerome also makes clear in separate versions of the primal eponymic
moment. In the first, Eve is called Virago, "quia de viro suo sumpta est";
and in the second, she is called hissa, since in Hebrew "vir quippe vacatur
his et mulier hissa."
13
In both cases, a derivation occurring purely within
the realm of the referent-"Et dixit Adam: Hunc nunc os ex ossibus meis,
et caro de carne mea" -is coterminous with linguistic derivation.
This imbrication of signification and generation is most fully explored
within the Alexandrian exegetical tradition, where it becomes practically
synonymous with a certain fetishism regarding Hebrew proper names.
For Jerome, in particular, the derivation of a divinely given name be-
comes genetically prescriptive. He maintains that a proper appellation is
equivalent to a genealogical program, and its alteration is tantamount to a
prophetic rewriting of the future. When, for instance, Abram's name
("quod interpretatus pater excelsus") is changed to Abraham ("pater
multarum [gentium]"), his abundant progeny is both understood from
the new name and prospectively inscribed in history. Similarly, Sarah's
late motherhood entails an altered name which reflects the same rich
genealogy:
Sarai igitur primum uocata est per sin res ioth: sublato ergo ioth, id est I
elemento, addita est he litera, quae per A legitur, et uocata est Saraa.
36 Chapter One
Causa autem ita nominis immutati haec est, quod antea dicebatur princeps
mea, unius tantum modo domus mater familiae, postea uero dicitur abso-
lute princeps, id est lipxolXTa.
1
'
Therefore she was first called Sarai from "sin," "res," "ioth"; then when
"ioth," that is the element for I, was removed, the letter "he," which we
read as A, was added, and she was called Saraa. However, the reason for
such a change in her name is this, that previously she was called "my
ancestor" while she was the maternal head of only one household; but
afterward she is called "absolute ancestor," that is apxolXTa, the originator.
Jerome believes not only in the original propriety of Hebrew names but in
the grounding of Hebrew roots in eternal truth. The name "Israel," for
instance, is composed of the triple root for "man" ("uir ex tribus literis
scribatur, 'aleph' 'iod' 'sin,' ut dicatur 'eis'"), the triple root for "seeing"
("uidens ex tribus, 'res' 'aleph' 'he,' et dicatur 'raha' "),plus the combined
letter el from "aleph" and "lamed" and meaning "God without luck."
Thus "Israel" means "one who sees God or the mind seeing God" ("uir
uidens deum siue mens uidens deum"). Jerome's interpretation is,
moreover, the product of a theological rather than a strictly philological
gesture since, as he maintains, "we are guided more by the scriptures and
angels or by God, who named Israel, than by any secular learning."
15
Augustine too participates in the mysticism of proper names; and the
program of human history that he conceptualizes according to discrete
evolution of moral and family lines is contained in the names of the
founding fathers of the two cities.
16
But no one comprehended better than
Isidore the close relation between generation and appellation. "Sem," he
tells us, "means named, since the name is understood through a percep-
tion of future generations" ("Sem dicitur nominatus, quod nomen ex
praesagio posteritatis accepit" [Etym., 7:vi, xvi]). Isidore seems to be
aware that the Hebrew tl\f-
1
(Shem) means "name." Yet he also plays
somewhat gratuitously on the resemblance between seed (semen) and
sign (Greek sema, Latin semanticus); and such play reveals the extent to
which genealogy is encoded in the name that is "borne out" -under-
stood-through genealogically conceived time: "Ex ipso (Sem) enim pa-
triarchae et apostoli et populus Dei. Ex eius quoque stirpe et Christus,
cuius ab ortu solis usque ad occasum magnum est nomen in gentibus."
17
For the Bishop of Seville, there is no distinction between the name
"Sem," the engendering of his line, and its meaning; nor can these
elements-Sem, insemination, and semantics-be distinguished from
their culmination in the dissemination through Christ, "whose name is
greatly on the lips of men," of the Word (see below, pp. 60-61).
Thus, naming, reproduction, understanding, and preaching are bound
within an essentially verbal epistemology based upon a deep faith in the
mediatory power of signs. As Augustine affirms, prophecy, promise, and
progeny are all allied:
Early Medieval Grammar 37
Non est itaque dubitandum, quoniam haec facta sunt et stulta esse non
ob s_ignificandum esse facta, fructum futuri saeculi ab ipso
Jam pnmordw_ genens humani Deo praescio in ipsis suis operibus miseri-
corditer praed1cante, ut certo tempore seruis suis siue per hominum succes-
siones_siue per spi_ritum uel angelorum ministerium reuelata atque
c<:'nscnpta et promittendis rebus futuris et recognoscendis inpletis testimo-
mum perhiberent: quod magis magisque in consequentibus ad pare bit.
18
Of this there can be no doubt, since these are real facts which cannot be
d_ivested of meaning facts are intended to mean something), and
from _the ':'ery of the human race, God, in his prescience,
graciously mscnbed m his works that which would come to fruition in cen-
turies hence; he wanted for these things, revealed and written down at the
time-whether by the succession of men, or by his Spirit, or by
the m1mstry of angels-to bear witness to those who serve him of the
promise of future events and of the knowledge of their completion.
Names, as signs, bear prospectively the mark both of their meaning and
?f their historical effects; understood through time, they fulfill the prom-
Ise--complete the genealogy-that they contain.
19
Language constitutes,
in this respect, a kind of genetic code in which the future in germ is
inscribed but which remains indecipherable until its genesis has become
historically realized.
Linguistics and History
The question of historical realization cannot, in fact, be divorced from
the implication of signification and generation in each other or from the
model of Christian history which it implies. This is evident from the
beginning in the writing of Eusebius of Caesarea, who can be said to be
the father of Christian historical writing. Not only did the Historia Eccle-
siastica represent the point of departure for subsequent Church histories,
but the Chronographia preserved in Jerome's Latin translation stood as the
dominant paradigm of world history for over a thousand years. The
radical nature of Eusebius' s break with tradition lay in an expansion of the
geographical and temporal scope of history from local accounts of wars,
towns, even dynasties, to the history of all mankind from Creation to the
present (A.D. 324); in the recasting of history in essentially linear instead
of cyclical "long year" terms; and in the assimilation of the Graeco-
Roman model of history as a series of empires to a vision of the past more
in keeping with the Old Testament pattern of genealogical succession.
From the fourth century on, the defining mode of universal history was
that of genealogy. Just as there was in ancient Hebrew no distinction
between the word for history and generation (l"l'l::l:1"l:1), there is in the
Eusebius-Jerome world chronicle no way of separating the sequence of
events from paternal succession. With fathers the prime subject of histor-
ical enunciation and children its object, the Latin genere becomes the
binding thread of historical narrative:
36 Chapter One
Causa autem ita nominis immutati haec est, quod antea dicebatur princeps
mea, unius tantum modo domus mater familiae, postea uero dicitur abso-
lute princeps, id est lipxolXTa.
1
'
Therefore she was first called Sarai from "sin," "res," "ioth"; then when
"ioth," that is the element for I, was removed, the letter "he," which we
read as A, was added, and she was called Saraa. However, the reason for
such a change in her name is this, that previously she was called "my
ancestor" while she was the maternal head of only one household; but
afterward she is called "absolute ancestor," that is apxolXTa, the originator.
Jerome believes not only in the original propriety of Hebrew names but in
the grounding of Hebrew roots in eternal truth. The name "Israel," for
instance, is composed of the triple root for "man" ("uir ex tribus literis
scribatur, 'aleph' 'iod' 'sin,' ut dicatur 'eis'"), the triple root for "seeing"
("uidens ex tribus, 'res' 'aleph' 'he,' et dicatur 'raha' "),plus the combined
letter el from "aleph" and "lamed" and meaning "God without luck."
Thus "Israel" means "one who sees God or the mind seeing God" ("uir
uidens deum siue mens uidens deum"). Jerome's interpretation is,
moreover, the product of a theological rather than a strictly philological
gesture since, as he maintains, "we are guided more by the scriptures and
angels or by God, who named Israel, than by any secular learning."
15
Augustine too participates in the mysticism of proper names; and the
program of human history that he conceptualizes according to discrete
evolution of moral and family lines is contained in the names of the
founding fathers of the two cities.
16
But no one comprehended better than
Isidore the close relation between generation and appellation. "Sem," he
tells us, "means named, since the name is understood through a percep-
tion of future generations" ("Sem dicitur nominatus, quod nomen ex
praesagio posteritatis accepit" [Etym., 7:vi, xvi]). Isidore seems to be
aware that the Hebrew tl\f-
1
(Shem) means "name." Yet he also plays
somewhat gratuitously on the resemblance between seed (semen) and
sign (Greek sema, Latin semanticus); and such play reveals the extent to
which genealogy is encoded in the name that is "borne out" -under-
stood-through genealogically conceived time: "Ex ipso (Sem) enim pa-
triarchae et apostoli et populus Dei. Ex eius quoque stirpe et Christus,
cuius ab ortu solis usque ad occasum magnum est nomen in gentibus."
17
For the Bishop of Seville, there is no distinction between the name
"Sem," the engendering of his line, and its meaning; nor can these
elements-Sem, insemination, and semantics-be distinguished from
their culmination in the dissemination through Christ, "whose name is
greatly on the lips of men," of the Word (see below, pp. 60-61).
Thus, naming, reproduction, understanding, and preaching are bound
within an essentially verbal epistemology based upon a deep faith in the
mediatory power of signs. As Augustine affirms, prophecy, promise, and
progeny are all allied:
Early Medieval Grammar 37
Non est itaque dubitandum, quoniam haec facta sunt et stulta esse non
ob s_ignificandum esse facta, fructum futuri saeculi ab ipso
Jam pnmordw_ genens humani Deo praescio in ipsis suis operibus miseri-
corditer praed1cante, ut certo tempore seruis suis siue per hominum succes-
siones_siue per spi_ritum uel angelorum ministerium reuelata atque
c<:'nscnpta et promittendis rebus futuris et recognoscendis inpletis testimo-
mum perhiberent: quod magis magisque in consequentibus ad pare bit.
18
Of this there can be no doubt, since these are real facts which cannot be
d_ivested of meaning facts are intended to mean something), and
from _the ':'ery of the human race, God, in his prescience,
graciously mscnbed m his works that which would come to fruition in cen-
turies hence; he wanted for these things, revealed and written down at the
time-whether by the succession of men, or by his Spirit, or by
the m1mstry of angels-to bear witness to those who serve him of the
promise of future events and of the knowledge of their completion.
Names, as signs, bear prospectively the mark both of their meaning and
?f their historical effects; understood through time, they fulfill the prom-
Ise--complete the genealogy-that they contain.
19
Language constitutes,
in this respect, a kind of genetic code in which the future in germ is
inscribed but which remains indecipherable until its genesis has become
historically realized.
Linguistics and History
The question of historical realization cannot, in fact, be divorced from
the implication of signification and generation in each other or from the
model of Christian history which it implies. This is evident from the
beginning in the writing of Eusebius of Caesarea, who can be said to be
the father of Christian historical writing. Not only did the Historia Eccle-
siastica represent the point of departure for subsequent Church histories,
but the Chronographia preserved in Jerome's Latin translation stood as the
dominant paradigm of world history for over a thousand years. The
radical nature of Eusebius' s break with tradition lay in an expansion of the
geographical and temporal scope of history from local accounts of wars,
towns, even dynasties, to the history of all mankind from Creation to the
present (A.D. 324); in the recasting of history in essentially linear instead
of cyclical "long year" terms; and in the assimilation of the Graeco-
Roman model of history as a series of empires to a vision of the past more
in keeping with the Old Testament pattern of genealogical succession.
From the fourth century on, the defining mode of universal history was
that of genealogy. Just as there was in ancient Hebrew no distinction
between the word for history and generation (l"l'l::l:1"l:1), there is in the
Eusebius-Jerome world chronicle no way of separating the sequence of
events from paternal succession. With fathers the prime subject of histor-
ical enunciation and children its object, the Latin genere becomes the
binding thread of historical narrative:
38 Chapter One
Enos vero cum jam esset nonagenarius genuit Cainam: deinde alios filios et
filias. Fuerunt autem anni ejus DCCCCV. Cainam vero cum esset septuage-
narius genuit Malaleel: deinde alios filios et filias. Fuerunt omnes anni ejus
DCCCCX. Malaleel quadragenarius genuit Jareth: deinde alios filios et
filias.
20
Indeed, when Enos was already ninety years old he engendered Cain, and
after him other sons and daughters. In fact, his life span was nine hundred
and five years. Indeed, when Cain was seventy years old he engendered
Malaleel, and after him other sons and daughters. His entire life span was
nine hundred and ten years. When Malaleel was forty years old he engen-
dered Jareth, and after him other sons and daughters.
History as procreation is, in its broad outlines, an extension of Creation,
its direction a lineage from Adam-through Noah, Abraham, David, and
Solomon-to Christ. In the margins of the central sacred line stand the
races of men ("alios filios et filias"). Humanity evolves according to a
process of accretion, beginning with a single set of parents and moving
toward separate branches of the original family, and, eventually, whole
tribes.
The Eusebius genealogical model will be modified throughout the
period in question. It is possible, even, to speak of an identity between
the external history of historical writing and its internal mode; for those
whose works are organized genealogically themselves constitute a
genealogy no less cumulatively disposed than the original prototype. The
medieval historian's task was, in fact, largely conceived as the completion
or updating of Eusebius's "paternal" text. And the lineage of the Chrono-
graphia-its continuators and their continuators-stretches from one end
of the Middle Ages to the other.
In addition to translating the Chronographia, Jerome updated it to A.D.
379, Augustine to the sacking of Rome, his pupil Orosi us to 417.
21
Our
knowledge of the early history of Gaul is enhanced by the Chronicorum
Libri II of Sulpicius Severus who extended Eusebius's text to 403, and by
Prosper of Aquitaine's Chronicon which terminates in 455. Similarly,
Idatius' s Chronicon, which supplements ancient universal history with an
account of the period between 379 and 468, remains the basis of early
Visigothic history in Spain.
In the sixth century, Marcellanus, chancellor of the Emperor Justinian,
expanded Eusebius to 534; Victor, Bishop of Tunis, to 566; and John of
Bisclaro, inspired by Idatius and Victor, to 590. Fulgentius's De Aetatibus
Mundi is a universal history along the lines of Eusebius' s founding vision,
as are Cassiodorus's chronicle (ca. 519) and Gregory of Tours's grafting of
Frankish history onto that of the world since Creation. Isidore assimi-
lated the Chronographia in the seventh century, Bede in the eighth, Frecult
of Lisieux and Ado of Vienne in the late Carolingian period. Though
Early Medieval Grammar 39
several world chronicles appeared during the first century of Capetian
rule (e.g., those of Herman of Reichenau, Lambert of Hersfeld, and
Marianus Scotus), the second great era of universal history did not begin
until the time of the First Crusade. Indeed, the twelfth century witnessed
the Chronographia of Sigebert of Gembloux and his continuators, that of
Hugh of Flavigny and of Ekhard of Aura; these in addition to Hugh of
Fleury's Historia Ecclesiastica and Otto of Freising' s Historia de Duabus
Civitatibus. The most illustrious world chronicles of the thirteenth century
are Robert of Auxerre' s Chronographia and Vincent of Beauvais's Speculum
Historiale. In the late Middle Ages, Ranulf Higden's Polychronicon, along
with its supplements to the first quarter of the fifteenth century, stood as
the last vestige of a heritage of historical writing that had dominated for
over a millennium.
More important than the history of historical writing, however, is the
fact that Eusebius's grounding of humanity in an original order of the
world and his genealogical model of evolution cannot be separated from
contemporaneous linguistic theory-that is, the grounding of words in
an original moment of signification. According to the early medieval
sense of history, a primary instance of signification-the moment against
which Babel as a dissemination of men and of meaning will be mea-
sured-occurred in the Garden of Eden. Adam is said to be the first to
speak and the inventor of names: "omne enim quod vocavit Adam
animae viventis ipsum est nomen eius."
22
Hebrew, the original language,
is sacred because it is as close as any tongue can be to the thoughts of God
at the time of Creation, and, as Philo of Alexandria asserts, to the matter [..-/.
of Creation: "with Moses the names assigned are manifest images of the
things, so that the name and thing are inevitably the same from the first,
and the name and that to which the name is given differ not a whit."
23
Philo's affirmation of the initial coincidence of words and things is by
no means an isolated example. On the contrary, we find the belief in the
integrity of a primeval language-an Ursprache similar to the Indo-
European of the comparative philologist-for as long as the model of
universal history seems to prevail. Augustine posits the existence of an
original single tongue but hesitates about what to call it, maintaining only
that "if the language that Adam once spoke still survives today, it con-
tains the sounds with which the first man named the earthly animals and
the birds.''
24
Isidore follows the tradition of Alexandrian Judaism accord-
ing to which "words are the indices of things," and Hebrew "the mother
of all tongues."
25
John of Salisbury refers to Hebrew as the tongue v
"mother nature gave our first parents." Brunetto Latini considers it the
"original natural language."
26
Dante's search for beginnings leads him
back through "the form of speech created by God together with the first
38 Chapter One
Enos vero cum jam esset nonagenarius genuit Cainam: deinde alios filios et
filias. Fuerunt autem anni ejus DCCCCV. Cainam vero cum esset septuage-
narius genuit Malaleel: deinde alios filios et filias. Fuerunt omnes anni ejus
DCCCCX. Malaleel quadragenarius genuit Jareth: deinde alios filios et
filias.
20
Indeed, when Enos was already ninety years old he engendered Cain, and
after him other sons and daughters. In fact, his life span was nine hundred
and five years. Indeed, when Cain was seventy years old he engendered
Malaleel, and after him other sons and daughters. His entire life span was
nine hundred and ten years. When Malaleel was forty years old he engen-
dered Jareth, and after him other sons and daughters.
History as procreation is, in its broad outlines, an extension of Creation,
its direction a lineage from Adam-through Noah, Abraham, David, and
Solomon-to Christ. In the margins of the central sacred line stand the
races of men ("alios filios et filias"). Humanity evolves according to a
process of accretion, beginning with a single set of parents and moving
toward separate branches of the original family, and, eventually, whole
tribes.
The Eusebius genealogical model will be modified throughout the
period in question. It is possible, even, to speak of an identity between
the external history of historical writing and its internal mode; for those
whose works are organized genealogically themselves constitute a
genealogy no less cumulatively disposed than the original prototype. The
medieval historian's task was, in fact, largely conceived as the completion
or updating of Eusebius's "paternal" text. And the lineage of the Chrono-
graphia-its continuators and their continuators-stretches from one end
of the Middle Ages to the other.
In addition to translating the Chronographia, Jerome updated it to A.D.
379, Augustine to the sacking of Rome, his pupil Orosi us to 417.
21
Our
knowledge of the early history of Gaul is enhanced by the Chronicorum
Libri II of Sulpicius Severus who extended Eusebius's text to 403, and by
Prosper of Aquitaine's Chronicon which terminates in 455. Similarly,
Idatius' s Chronicon, which supplements ancient universal history with an
account of the period between 379 and 468, remains the basis of early
Visigothic history in Spain.
In the sixth century, Marcellanus, chancellor of the Emperor Justinian,
expanded Eusebius to 534; Victor, Bishop of Tunis, to 566; and John of
Bisclaro, inspired by Idatius and Victor, to 590. Fulgentius's De Aetatibus
Mundi is a universal history along the lines of Eusebius' s founding vision,
as are Cassiodorus's chronicle (ca. 519) and Gregory of Tours's grafting of
Frankish history onto that of the world since Creation. Isidore assimi-
lated the Chronographia in the seventh century, Bede in the eighth, Frecult
of Lisieux and Ado of Vienne in the late Carolingian period. Though
Early Medieval Grammar 39
several world chronicles appeared during the first century of Capetian
rule (e.g., those of Herman of Reichenau, Lambert of Hersfeld, and
Marianus Scotus), the second great era of universal history did not begin
until the time of the First Crusade. Indeed, the twelfth century witnessed
the Chronographia of Sigebert of Gembloux and his continuators, that of
Hugh of Flavigny and of Ekhard of Aura; these in addition to Hugh of
Fleury's Historia Ecclesiastica and Otto of Freising' s Historia de Duabus
Civitatibus. The most illustrious world chronicles of the thirteenth century
are Robert of Auxerre' s Chronographia and Vincent of Beauvais's Speculum
Historiale. In the late Middle Ages, Ranulf Higden's Polychronicon, along
with its supplements to the first quarter of the fifteenth century, stood as
the last vestige of a heritage of historical writing that had dominated for
over a millennium.
More important than the history of historical writing, however, is the
fact that Eusebius's grounding of humanity in an original order of the
world and his genealogical model of evolution cannot be separated from
contemporaneous linguistic theory-that is, the grounding of words in
an original moment of signification. According to the early medieval
sense of history, a primary instance of signification-the moment against
which Babel as a dissemination of men and of meaning will be mea-
sured-occurred in the Garden of Eden. Adam is said to be the first to
speak and the inventor of names: "omne enim quod vocavit Adam
animae viventis ipsum est nomen eius."
22
Hebrew, the original language,
is sacred because it is as close as any tongue can be to the thoughts of God
at the time of Creation, and, as Philo of Alexandria asserts, to the matter [..-/.
of Creation: "with Moses the names assigned are manifest images of the
things, so that the name and thing are inevitably the same from the first,
and the name and that to which the name is given differ not a whit."
23
Philo's affirmation of the initial coincidence of words and things is by
no means an isolated example. On the contrary, we find the belief in the
integrity of a primeval language-an Ursprache similar to the Indo-
European of the comparative philologist-for as long as the model of
universal history seems to prevail. Augustine posits the existence of an
original single tongue but hesitates about what to call it, maintaining only
that "if the language that Adam once spoke still survives today, it con-
tains the sounds with which the first man named the earthly animals and
the birds.''
24
Isidore follows the tradition of Alexandrian Judaism accord-
ing to which "words are the indices of things," and Hebrew "the mother
of all tongues."
25
John of Salisbury refers to Hebrew as the tongue v
"mother nature gave our first parents." Brunetto Latini considers it the
"original natural language."
26
Dante's search for beginnings leads him
back through "the form of speech created by God together with the first
40 o Chapter One
Adam naming the animals.
Ms. 24 Aberdeen University
Library, Scotland.
(Printed with the permission
of the Court of Aberdeen
University.)
soul" to the first Hebrew word (see below, pp. 42-43). And the four-
teenth-century grammarian Henri de Crissey traces the roots of Latin
back through Greek and Hebrew to the "sounds given by God": "Hebrei
vero voces multas imposuerunt, mediantibus vocibus datis a Deo."
27
The first namer (whether Adam, or, as in other originary myths, a
grammarian or philosopher) imposed upon things names adequate to
express-or proper to-their nature. This founding linguistic moment
constitutes, in fact, a primary instance of the proper, as the propriety of
beginnings is stressed over and over again by theologians, grammarians,
and rhetoricians. Cicero, for example, claims that "the proper and defi-
nite designations of things were born almost at the same time as the
things themselves." Quintilian asserts that "words are proper when they
bear their original meaning." Augustine maintains that "signs are proper
\ when they are used to designate the objects for which they have been
created. "
28
And, as we shall see, the determination of property (what a
word is) along with difference (what it is not) constitutes a subbranch of
the language arts whose role is to undo the dislocations of sense caused
by poetry and use, and thus to restore to each altered articulation its
proper-that is, original-meaning.
Early Medieval Grammar o 41
The initial fixing in language of the properties of things, or adequation
between the properties of things and of words, was, in turn, passed on,
inherited, along linguistic lines that' are also family lines. This is more
than a case of assimilating metaphors of the family to those of grammar.
On the contrary, language seems to function in a family way. To be more /
precise, the basic conceptual framework for the evolution of language is/
one of biological reproduction. And if medieval linguists remain highly
conscious of the degenerative nature of verbal signs, of their constant
devolution from the proper, they also conceive of this process in terms of
familial accretion. Varro, for example, maintains gender to be a function
of generation: "Genera 'genders' are named from generare 'to generate.'
For whatever gignit 'begets' or gignitur 'is begotten,' that can be called a
genus and can produce a genus."
29
Priscian too assimilates linguistic and
biological reproduction in the development of nouns: "Genera enim
dicuntur a generando proprie quae generare possunt, quae sunt mascu-
linum et femininum."
30
And according to Isidore, word classes procreate
because they are sexually defined; letters replicate within words to "en-
gender" or alter their significance: "Genera verborum ideo dicta, quia
gignant. Nam activo adicis 'R' et gignit passivum; rursum passivo adimis
'R' et parit activum."
31
The association of linguistic and genealogical reproduction is, how-
ever, nowhere more evident than in the area of patronymics, which
serves, at least for Varro, as the basic model of nominal genesis:
Ut in hominibus quaedam sunt agnationes ac gentilitates, sic in verbis: ut
enim ab Aemilio homines orti Aemilii ac gentiles, sic ab Aemilii nomine de-
clinatae voces in gentilitate nominali: ab eo enim, quod est impositum recto
casu Aemilius, orta Aemilii, Aemilium, Aemilios, Aemiliorum et sic reli-
quae eiusdem quae sunt stirpis. [Varro, p. 372]
As among men there are certain kinships, some through the males, others
through the clan, so there are among words. For as from Aemilius were
sprung the men named Aemilius, and the dan-members of the name, so
from the name of
11
Aemilius" were inflected the words in the noun-dan:
for from that name which was imposed in the nominal case as II Aemilius"
were made
11
Aemilii,"
11
Aemilium,"
11
Aemilios," "Aemiliorum," and in this
way also all the other words which are of this same line.
In the name of the father lies the origin of names, and in fact, pure origin.
As the grammarian explains, if Jupiter was once called Diovis and Diespa-
ter ("Father Day"), "they who come from him are called dei 'deities' and
dius 'god' and divum 'sky' ... " (Varro, p. 63).
Priscian, in discussing the ways in which secondary words are derived
from words of first imposition, begins with the patronym.
32
And not only
is the name of the father the principle of derivation appropriate to proper
names, but it is deeply rooted in the proper, that is to say, both in a
particularized relation between the things designated (derived from each
40 o Chapter One
Adam naming the animals.
Ms. 24 Aberdeen University
Library, Scotland.
(Printed with the permission
of the Court of Aberdeen
University.)
soul" to the first Hebrew word (see below, pp. 42-43). And the four-
teenth-century grammarian Henri de Crissey traces the roots of Latin
back through Greek and Hebrew to the "sounds given by God": "Hebrei
vero voces multas imposuerunt, mediantibus vocibus datis a Deo."
27
The first namer (whether Adam, or, as in other originary myths, a
grammarian or philosopher) imposed upon things names adequate to
express-or proper to-their nature. This founding linguistic moment
constitutes, in fact, a primary instance of the proper, as the propriety of
beginnings is stressed over and over again by theologians, grammarians,
and rhetoricians. Cicero, for example, claims that "the proper and defi-
nite designations of things were born almost at the same time as the
things themselves." Quintilian asserts that "words are proper when they
bear their original meaning." Augustine maintains that "signs are proper
\ when they are used to designate the objects for which they have been
created. "
28
And, as we shall see, the determination of property (what a
word is) along with difference (what it is not) constitutes a subbranch of
the language arts whose role is to undo the dislocations of sense caused
by poetry and use, and thus to restore to each altered articulation its
proper-that is, original-meaning.
Early Medieval Grammar o 41
The initial fixing in language of the properties of things, or adequation
between the properties of things and of words, was, in turn, passed on,
inherited, along linguistic lines that' are also family lines. This is more
than a case of assimilating metaphors of the family to those of grammar.
On the contrary, language seems to function in a family way. To be more /
precise, the basic conceptual framework for the evolution of language is/
one of biological reproduction. And if medieval linguists remain highly
conscious of the degenerative nature of verbal signs, of their constant
devolution from the proper, they also conceive of this process in terms of
familial accretion. Varro, for example, maintains gender to be a function
of generation: "Genera 'genders' are named from generare 'to generate.'
For whatever gignit 'begets' or gignitur 'is begotten,' that can be called a
genus and can produce a genus."
29
Priscian too assimilates linguistic and
biological reproduction in the development of nouns: "Genera enim
dicuntur a generando proprie quae generare possunt, quae sunt mascu-
linum et femininum."
30
And according to Isidore, word classes procreate
because they are sexually defined; letters replicate within words to "en-
gender" or alter their significance: "Genera verborum ideo dicta, quia
gignant. Nam activo adicis 'R' et gignit passivum; rursum passivo adimis
'R' et parit activum."
31
The association of linguistic and genealogical reproduction is, how-
ever, nowhere more evident than in the area of patronymics, which
serves, at least for Varro, as the basic model of nominal genesis:
Ut in hominibus quaedam sunt agnationes ac gentilitates, sic in verbis: ut
enim ab Aemilio homines orti Aemilii ac gentiles, sic ab Aemilii nomine de-
clinatae voces in gentilitate nominali: ab eo enim, quod est impositum recto
casu Aemilius, orta Aemilii, Aemilium, Aemilios, Aemiliorum et sic reli-
quae eiusdem quae sunt stirpis. [Varro, p. 372]
As among men there are certain kinships, some through the males, others
through the clan, so there are among words. For as from Aemilius were
sprung the men named Aemilius, and the dan-members of the name, so
from the name of
11
Aemilius" were inflected the words in the noun-dan:
for from that name which was imposed in the nominal case as II Aemilius"
were made
11
Aemilii,"
11
Aemilium,"
11
Aemilios," "Aemiliorum," and in this
way also all the other words which are of this same line.
In the name of the father lies the origin of names, and in fact, pure origin.
As the grammarian explains, if Jupiter was once called Diovis and Diespa-
ter ("Father Day"), "they who come from him are called dei 'deities' and
dius 'god' and divum 'sky' ... " (Varro, p. 63).
Priscian, in discussing the ways in which secondary words are derived
from words of first imposition, begins with the patronym.
32
And not only
is the name of the father the principle of derivation appropriate to proper
names, but it is deeply rooted in the proper, that is to say, both in a
particularized relation between the things designated (derived from each
42 Chapter One
other) and in a singular and exclusive relation between the word and its
meaning. In contrast to derivation according to the principle of posses-
sion, which from common nouns yields all manner and gender of things,
patronymic derivation from a proper noun is appropriate only to men and
only to those in a direct line of descent.
33
Priscian's association of patronyms, the proper, masculinity, and
linearity poses the possibility within grammatical theory of something
resembling the rule of primogeniture, an idea restricted neither to the
area of nominal derivation, nor to late Latinity, nor, as we shall see in
relation to the history of medieval families, to linguistics. Isidore betrays a
similar associative nexus in his search for the first roots of words (pri-
mogenia) as well as in the analogy which he establishes between the way
fathers and sons are related and the way they are named: "Quattor etiam
modis filii appellantur: natura, imitatione, adoptione, doctrina" (Etym.,
9:v, xv). Finally, as late as the fourteenth century, the author of the
Provenc;al Leys D' A mars offers an even more systematic elaboration of the
link between the modes of paternity and lexical derivation. Words are
related, he maintains, by sound and meaning, by sound alone, or by
meaning alone. If by sound and meaning (e.g., amors from amar), "this is
the equivalent of a natural and legitimate son born within the bounds of
legal wedlock." If by sound alone (e.g., contrafar from contrari and far),
"this is the equivalent of a natural son, otherwise called a 'bastard.'" And
if by meaning alone (e.g., huey from jorn), "this is equivalent to an
adopted son."
34
If the prime model of linguistic derivation is that of paternity, that of
historical linguistics is also one of genealogical succession. Jerome insists
upon the coevolution of families and of tongues.
35
Augustine, in dealing
with the problem of continuity despite the linguistic catastrophe of Babel,
associates "the House of Heber in which the primitive language of the
race survived" and Hebrew.
36
Isidore, evoking a false etymology, renders
the name "Heber" synonymous with inheritance:
Heber transitus. Etymologia eius mystica est, quod ab eius stirpe transiret
Deus, nee perseveraret in eis, tralata in gentibus gratia. Ex ipso enim sunt
exorti Hebraei. [Etym., 7:vi, xxiii]
Heber means passage. Its etymology is mystical, since through his lineage
passes God; nor does it adhere in them, but is transmitted to the chosen
people. From that one comes the Hebrews.
Not only is Heber's family the essential link to the truth of an original past
but it is indistinguishable from an original language of the prophets and
of the sacred text.
37
Linguistic continuity insures genealogical continuity,
as language determines race: " . . . ex linguis gentes, non gentibus
linguae exortae sunt. "
38
For Isidore, the history of mankind is essentially
Early Medieval Grammar 43
that of its diverse tongues. From Hebrew stem Greek and Latin; from
Greek, the five divisions of common, Attic, Doric, Ionic, and Aeolic; from
Latin, the four subspecies of early, true, Roman, and corrupted (Etym.,
9:i, v-vi). And from corrupted, we can only posit, as did Dante, the
diverse vernacular tongues.
It is, in fact, in Dante's De Vulgari Eloquentia that we find the most
complete model of historical linguistics. The Florentine poet's search for
the original language carries him back to the first word and beyond words
to the sound El, "which is neither question nor answer."
39
This primal
moment of signification and of origin is thus removed from all semantic
function. Meaning everything and excluding nothing, it is both divine
presence and a potential mirror of the created world-an undifferentiated
utterance whose subsequent division into syllables, words, parts of
speech, languages, regional tongues, city dialects, and intramunicipal
patois serves as a reminder that language breeds and that its history
parallels that of humanity. Not only parallels it, but is itself inscribed
within an unbroken chain of paternal relations, since for Dante the
rapport between the illustrious vernacular and other more particular
tongues is that of father to son:
Nam, sicut totum hostium cardinem sequitur, ut, quo cardo vertitur, verse-
tur et ipsum, seu introrsum seu extrorsum flectatur, sic et universus muni-
cipalium vulgarium grex vertitur et revertitur, movetur et pausat, secun-
dum quod istud, quod quidem vere paterfamilias esse videtur.'"
For as the whole door follows its hinge, so that whither the hinge turns the
door may also turn, whether in or out, in like manner also the whole head
of municipal dialects turns and returns, moves and pauses according as
this illustrious language does, which really seems to be the father of the
family.
The history of human language is that of genealogical succession: from
the first universal syllable, the name of God, to the most particular patois;
and from God the universal father to the last sons of his line.
The homologous endomorphic pattern of universal history and exter-
nal linguistics is further sustained by the internal organization of gram-
mar itself. Donatus and Priscian structure their presentations in-
crementally. Both the Ars Grammatica and the Institutiones Grammaticae
move from the definition of sound (vox) and letters to a discussion of
syllables, parts of speech, syntactic construction, and errors of diction,
which, when intentional, constitute rhetorical figures. The Instituta
Artium of Probus proceeds similarly, as do Isidore's grammatical chap-
ters, which, as in Dante, imply a continuous progression between the
genesis of an original language-the development of the partes orationis
from undifferentiated sound-and the evolution of languages from a
single fully constituted tongue. Medieval language theory, historical
42 Chapter One
other) and in a singular and exclusive relation between the word and its
meaning. In contrast to derivation according to the principle of posses-
sion, which from common nouns yields all manner and gender of things,
patronymic derivation from a proper noun is appropriate only to men and
only to those in a direct line of descent.
33
Priscian's association of patronyms, the proper, masculinity, and
linearity poses the possibility within grammatical theory of something
resembling the rule of primogeniture, an idea restricted neither to the
area of nominal derivation, nor to late Latinity, nor, as we shall see in
relation to the history of medieval families, to linguistics. Isidore betrays a
similar associative nexus in his search for the first roots of words (pri-
mogenia) as well as in the analogy which he establishes between the way
fathers and sons are related and the way they are named: "Quattor etiam
modis filii appellantur: natura, imitatione, adoptione, doctrina" (Etym.,
9:v, xv). Finally, as late as the fourteenth century, the author of the
Provenc;al Leys D' A mars offers an even more systematic elaboration of the
link between the modes of paternity and lexical derivation. Words are
related, he maintains, by sound and meaning, by sound alone, or by
meaning alone. If by sound and meaning (e.g., amors from amar), "this is
the equivalent of a natural and legitimate son born within the bounds of
legal wedlock." If by sound alone (e.g., contrafar from contrari and far),
"this is the equivalent of a natural son, otherwise called a 'bastard.'" And
if by meaning alone (e.g., huey from jorn), "this is equivalent to an
adopted son."
34
If the prime model of linguistic derivation is that of paternity, that of
historical linguistics is also one of genealogical succession. Jerome insists
upon the coevolution of families and of tongues.
35
Augustine, in dealing
with the problem of continuity despite the linguistic catastrophe of Babel,
associates "the House of Heber in which the primitive language of the
race survived" and Hebrew.
36
Isidore, evoking a false etymology, renders
the name "Heber" synonymous with inheritance:
Heber transitus. Etymologia eius mystica est, quod ab eius stirpe transiret
Deus, nee perseveraret in eis, tralata in gentibus gratia. Ex ipso enim sunt
exorti Hebraei. [Etym., 7:vi, xxiii]
Heber means passage. Its etymology is mystical, since through his lineage
passes God; nor does it adhere in them, but is transmitted to the chosen
people. From that one comes the Hebrews.
Not only is Heber's family the essential link to the truth of an original past
but it is indistinguishable from an original language of the prophets and
of the sacred text.
37
Linguistic continuity insures genealogical continuity,
as language determines race: " . . . ex linguis gentes, non gentibus
linguae exortae sunt. "
38
For Isidore, the history of mankind is essentially
Early Medieval Grammar 43
that of its diverse tongues. From Hebrew stem Greek and Latin; from
Greek, the five divisions of common, Attic, Doric, Ionic, and Aeolic; from
Latin, the four subspecies of early, true, Roman, and corrupted (Etym.,
9:i, v-vi). And from corrupted, we can only posit, as did Dante, the
diverse vernacular tongues.
It is, in fact, in Dante's De Vulgari Eloquentia that we find the most
complete model of historical linguistics. The Florentine poet's search for
the original language carries him back to the first word and beyond words
to the sound El, "which is neither question nor answer."
39
This primal
moment of signification and of origin is thus removed from all semantic
function. Meaning everything and excluding nothing, it is both divine
presence and a potential mirror of the created world-an undifferentiated
utterance whose subsequent division into syllables, words, parts of
speech, languages, regional tongues, city dialects, and intramunicipal
patois serves as a reminder that language breeds and that its history
parallels that of humanity. Not only parallels it, but is itself inscribed
within an unbroken chain of paternal relations, since for Dante the
rapport between the illustrious vernacular and other more particular
tongues is that of father to son:
Nam, sicut totum hostium cardinem sequitur, ut, quo cardo vertitur, verse-
tur et ipsum, seu introrsum seu extrorsum flectatur, sic et universus muni-
cipalium vulgarium grex vertitur et revertitur, movetur et pausat, secun-
dum quod istud, quod quidem vere paterfamilias esse videtur.'"
For as the whole door follows its hinge, so that whither the hinge turns the
door may also turn, whether in or out, in like manner also the whole head
of municipal dialects turns and returns, moves and pauses according as
this illustrious language does, which really seems to be the father of the
family.
The history of human language is that of genealogical succession: from
the first universal syllable, the name of God, to the most particular patois;
and from God the universal father to the last sons of his line.
The homologous endomorphic pattern of universal history and exter-
nal linguistics is further sustained by the internal organization of gram-
mar itself. Donatus and Priscian structure their presentations in-
crementally. Both the Ars Grammatica and the Institutiones Grammaticae
move from the definition of sound (vox) and letters to a discussion of
syllables, parts of speech, syntactic construction, and errors of diction,
which, when intentional, constitute rhetorical figures. The Instituta
Artium of Probus proceeds similarly, as do Isidore's grammatical chap-
ters, which, as in Dante, imply a continuous progression between the
genesis of an original language-the development of the partes orationis
from undifferentiated sound-and the evolution of languages from a
single fully constituted tongue. Medieval language theory, historical
44 Chapter One
linguistics, and history seem to mirror each other. And if the Eusebius-
J erome model functions according to a process of genealogical accretion,
it merely reproduces an identical ontogenetic movement within the realm
of grammar. The expansion of humanity-from a single set of parents to
families and nations-parallels the extension of language from sound,
letters, and words of first imposition to derived words, word groups,
figures of speech, and complete tongues.
The development of linguistics and of history are connatural not only
in their common accretional pattern but in their direction as well. Euse-
bius expanded the scope of history, endowed it with linearity, and traced
its movement through the principle of genealogy; and he also recast
history in essentially degenerative terms. The "short-wave" regenerative
cycles of ancient history cede in the Chronographia to a long-range course
of decline. Christian history is, especially from the time of Augustine's
elaboration of Eusebius, a process of continual erosion according to
specific time periods-the articuli temporum sive aetatum-prior to a final
redemption at the end of human time. Here again, generation and sig-
nification meet in the antinomic connection between degeneration and
the interruption of meaning. Just as, according to the Eusebian model,
men evolve through time away from God, words devolve-through use,
catastrophe, translation, and poetry (especially pagan verse)-away from
Adam's primal act of naming. From an original univocal signification
stems the multiplicity of tongues; and from the unity of the original
couple stems the multiplicity of the races of men. Both history and
grammar are bound by a common sense of loss and dispersion, by a
common nostalgic longing for beginnings, and by a set of ontologically
similar strategies of return.
Origins
The primacy of origins is an important, indeed, the defining, character-
istic of early medieval grammar. And yet, it is not as simple a matter as it
seems.
41
The dominant attitude toward the question of beginnings was,
in fact, one of anguished ambiguity provoked by a deep split between
what medieval writers knew about verbal signs and what they desired to
believe about them-a split evident in the easy copresence of what seem
like mutually exclusive explanations of linguistic origin (natural versus
conventional) as well as in an even more pervasive dichotomy between
semiological theory and practice. The wish to begin again, to return to the
"time before Babel," shapes early medieval sign theory. It accounts for
the identification of linguistics with semantics and for a certain nostalgic
"theology of words." Thus, the grammar of the period between Priscian
and his twelfth-century commentators was dominated by the concepts of
signification and definition-by emphasis of the object of meaning over
Early Medieval Grammar 45
its mode; by insistence upon "real" definition based upon physical prop-
erty; and, where grammar and theology coincide, by a certain overdeter-
mined belief in the transparency of signs.
Any attempt to come to grips with the question of beginnings must
itself begin with the distinction between the ontological status of Adam's
founding gesture and what we shall refer to throughout as the various
medieval "strategies of origin." More precisely, for those who speculated
about language in an age ruled by the dream of uniting the divine Word
with words of human intention, Adam's naming of the "earthly animals
and the birds" was necessarily an ambiguous act involving a seemingly
unresolvable paradox: that is, if names are essential to the cognition of
things and "without them," as Isidore asserts, "things would perish,"
how could the first namer have enjoyed a perception of physical objects
sufficient to their proper designation?
The paradox of the first namer is expressed differently according to the
diverse modes of medieval knowledge. It is conceived simultaneously as
a theological, a grammatical, and a logical issue. Even within a single
intellectual discourse, it is subject to a diversity of formulations and
resolutions. The exegetical tradition of Alexandrian Judaism is perhaps
the most radical in its refusal to pose the dilemma as an inherently
linguistic question and in its relegation of the problem of first names to
the orthodoxy of doctrine. Philo Judaeus, for example, considers the first
man to have been "superior to men born many generations later when
the race had lost its vigor." Adam is a divinely inspired namer who
perceived "bodies and objects in their sheer reality."
42
Along the same
lines, Origen too claims that the names imposed by Adam "are not
concerned with ordinary created things, but with a certain mysterious
divine science that is related to the Creator of the universe." When used
properly, that is to say, when "pronounced in a particular sequence
natural to them," they have the power to affect nature; when abused,
they are dangerous to those who degrade "certain mysterious principles
of language" coterminous with an original and sacred order of the
world.'
3
We have seen the results of the Alexandrian solution in connection
with the exegetical tradition it spawned-that is, the medieval cult of
Hebrew proper names (see above, pp. 35-37). Let us note, then, in
passing, that the theological probity of this consecration of the first
namer also assured its wide assimilation and long duration. Thierry of
Chartres, over a century later, still insists that Adam's naming of things
took place in the divine intellect:" ... hoc tatum in mente divina factum
est."
44
Among late Latin and medieval grammarians the problem of first
names is indissociable from the debate about whether human language is
44 Chapter One
linguistics, and history seem to mirror each other. And if the Eusebius-
J erome model functions according to a process of genealogical accretion,
it merely reproduces an identical ontogenetic movement within the realm
of grammar. The expansion of humanity-from a single set of parents to
families and nations-parallels the extension of language from sound,
letters, and words of first imposition to derived words, word groups,
figures of speech, and complete tongues.
The development of linguistics and of history are connatural not only
in their common accretional pattern but in their direction as well. Euse-
bius expanded the scope of history, endowed it with linearity, and traced
its movement through the principle of genealogy; and he also recast
history in essentially degenerative terms. The "short-wave" regenerative
cycles of ancient history cede in the Chronographia to a long-range course
of decline. Christian history is, especially from the time of Augustine's
elaboration of Eusebius, a process of continual erosion according to
specific time periods-the articuli temporum sive aetatum-prior to a final
redemption at the end of human time. Here again, generation and sig-
nification meet in the antinomic connection between degeneration and
the interruption of meaning. Just as, according to the Eusebian model,
men evolve through time away from God, words devolve-through use,
catastrophe, translation, and poetry (especially pagan verse)-away from
Adam's primal act of naming. From an original univocal signification
stems the multiplicity of tongues; and from the unity of the original
couple stems the multiplicity of the races of men. Both history and
grammar are bound by a common sense of loss and dispersion, by a
common nostalgic longing for beginnings, and by a set of ontologically
similar strategies of return.
Origins
The primacy of origins is an important, indeed, the defining, character-
istic of early medieval grammar. And yet, it is not as simple a matter as it
seems.
41
The dominant attitude toward the question of beginnings was,
in fact, one of anguished ambiguity provoked by a deep split between
what medieval writers knew about verbal signs and what they desired to
believe about them-a split evident in the easy copresence of what seem
like mutually exclusive explanations of linguistic origin (natural versus
conventional) as well as in an even more pervasive dichotomy between
semiological theory and practice. The wish to begin again, to return to the
"time before Babel," shapes early medieval sign theory. It accounts for
the identification of linguistics with semantics and for a certain nostalgic
"theology of words." Thus, the grammar of the period between Priscian
and his twelfth-century commentators was dominated by the concepts of
signification and definition-by emphasis of the object of meaning over
Early Medieval Grammar 45
its mode; by insistence upon "real" definition based upon physical prop-
erty; and, where grammar and theology coincide, by a certain overdeter-
mined belief in the transparency of signs.
Any attempt to come to grips with the question of beginnings must
itself begin with the distinction between the ontological status of Adam's
founding gesture and what we shall refer to throughout as the various
medieval "strategies of origin." More precisely, for those who speculated
about language in an age ruled by the dream of uniting the divine Word
with words of human intention, Adam's naming of the "earthly animals
and the birds" was necessarily an ambiguous act involving a seemingly
unresolvable paradox: that is, if names are essential to the cognition of
things and "without them," as Isidore asserts, "things would perish,"
how could the first namer have enjoyed a perception of physical objects
sufficient to their proper designation?
The paradox of the first namer is expressed differently according to the
diverse modes of medieval knowledge. It is conceived simultaneously as
a theological, a grammatical, and a logical issue. Even within a single
intellectual discourse, it is subject to a diversity of formulations and
resolutions. The exegetical tradition of Alexandrian Judaism is perhaps
the most radical in its refusal to pose the dilemma as an inherently
linguistic question and in its relegation of the problem of first names to
the orthodoxy of doctrine. Philo Judaeus, for example, considers the first
man to have been "superior to men born many generations later when
the race had lost its vigor." Adam is a divinely inspired namer who
perceived "bodies and objects in their sheer reality."
42
Along the same
lines, Origen too claims that the names imposed by Adam "are not
concerned with ordinary created things, but with a certain mysterious
divine science that is related to the Creator of the universe." When used
properly, that is to say, when "pronounced in a particular sequence
natural to them," they have the power to affect nature; when abused,
they are dangerous to those who degrade "certain mysterious principles
of language" coterminous with an original and sacred order of the
world.'
3
We have seen the results of the Alexandrian solution in connection
with the exegetical tradition it spawned-that is, the medieval cult of
Hebrew proper names (see above, pp. 35-37). Let us note, then, in
passing, that the theological probity of this consecration of the first
namer also assured its wide assimilation and long duration. Thierry of
Chartres, over a century later, still insists that Adam's naming of things
took place in the divine intellect:" ... hoc tatum in mente divina factum
est."
44
Among late Latin and medieval grammarians the problem of first
names is indissociable from the debate about whether human language is
46 Chapter One
of natural or of conventional (socially determined) origin. Indeed, the
conflict between those who believe words to be the necessary emanations
of things and those who believe them to have been "imposed" upon
things is at least as old as Western philosophy. Scholars interested in its
history have traced it back to Plato's Cratylus, exposed its pride of place in
Pythagorean, Epicurian, Stoic, Alexandrian, and Aristotelian traditions,
and, most recently, have insisted upon its relevance for the understand-
ing of poetry since Mallarme .'
5
Medieval attitudes toward the issue of naturalism versus conventional-
ism represent a distillation of conflicting earlier views, but a distillation
that is neither adequately synthesized nor, because of abiding hesitations
on both sides, fully resolved. There is, for instance, little in late Classical
or medieval linguistic theory to sustain the full implications of the natu-
ralist position, certainly nothing equivalent to the Stoic attempt to root
the elements of language (letters) in the human body as if nature, un-
mediated, might somehow speak for itself.
46
On the other hand, we do
not find unqualified belief in the purely undetermined nature of human
speech, nothing as radical, say, as Saussure's "arbitraire du signe." Here
is where the dichotomy referred to earlier becomes most visible: those
who theorized about language, from the late Latin grammarians to the
speculative grammarians of the fourteenth century, rejected the notion of
words as physical extensions of things and accepted the fact of their
imposition. In accordance with the Aristotelian precept (passed through
Boethius) that "words are sounds having meaning established by con-
vention alone," there was general agreement that verbal signs are social-
ly, not naturally, determined.
47
And yet, a profound resistance to break-
ing entirely with the wish for continuity between language and matter
along with a radical denial of the practical consequences of such a rupture
are evident in almost every attempt to confront the complex nature of
verbal signs; indeed, together they constitute the most salient features of
early medieval linguistics.
Of the Latin grammarians, Varro offers the most sustained considera-
tion of primary word formation, and his position in the De Lingua Latina is
among the most "naturalist" available to the Middle Ages. The grammar-
ian of the first century B.C. divides all of reality into four universal
categories-body, place, time, and action-which correspond to the four
essential classes of words. And though he does not specifically designate
a first namer, Varro does maintain that nature served as a "guide" to the
original imposition of names: "ea (natura) enim dux fuit ad vocabula
imponenda homini" (Varro, p. 174). Likewise, Priscian, whose Institu-
tiones Grammaticae served to shape much of medieval grammatical
thought, had a clear sense of the purely human origin of linguistic signs.
Yet he too remains unable to free himself from the notion of the sign as
Early Medieval Grammar 47
physically rooted. Letters maintain the "appearance of elements of the
world": " ... literas autem etiam elementorum vocabulo nuncu-
paverunt ad similitudinem mundi elementorum" (Priscian, p. 6).
The "naturalist" strains of Latin grammar and of Alexandrian her-
meneutics meet in the monumental figure of Isidore, who believed some
letters to be grounded in universal human experience. The Greek "Y," for
example, signifies-by resemblance-the life of man (" 'Y' litteram Py-
thagoras Samius ad exemplum vitae humanae"). Other graphic forms,
however, signify by custom. "8" traditionally means death, "for the
judges used to affix that same letter '8' to the names of those they
condemned."
48
According to Isidore, letters have three characteristics: a
name; a figure, "by which its character or shape is signified" and which
exists either by the nature of its sound or arbitrarily; and a power (potes-
tas), "which nature gives" (Etym., l:iv, xvii-xviii).
49
Where names are
concerned, a similar duality prevails. Some are imposed by convention
and others in accordance with nature: "Non autem omnia nomina a
veteribus secundum naturam inposita sunt, sed quaedam et secundum
placitum."
50
Isidore's hesitation with respect to the original formation of
words is, moreover, obscured by an uncompromising reverence for ety-
mology. It is almost as if the obsessiveness with which he seeks meaning
through origin belies-or causes him to forget-the deeper consequences
of his own ambivalence toward primal appellation (see below, pp. 55-56).
A similar ambivalence toward the question of origin is evident in
Augustine's assimilation of widely divergent views about the nature of
language in general. He displays, for example, a certain trust in the ability
of sensible signs to denote reality and thus to serve as inferential tools
along the soul's path to higher truth.
51
Augustine does not hesitate to use
etymologies to make a point. He indulges in a certain cratylism of
Hebrew proper names (see above, pp. 36--37) and is fascinated by natural
language, which he associates in the Confessions with the immediately
comprehensible bodily gestures common to all men. But Augustine also
betrays a pervasive distrust of words, which, he emphasizes repeatedly,
are hopelessly bound to the contingent, mutable, temporal realm of the
senses. Language remains an imperfect medium because of the "cor-
poreal matter of verbal signs."
52
Conventional speech (and all human
utterance falls within this domain) at best serves the limited function of
indicating to others that which is already and always present in the mind
of the speaker.
53
Words are not productive of knowledge in the first
instance; on the contrary, Truth, for the Bishop of Hippo, lies beyond the
realm of the senses. Intelligible truth, the truth toward which the signs of
the perceptible world guide (through memory and illumination) the
human soul, hovers in the silence which fascinates Augustine in the
Confessions and shines forth in the moments of understanding that he
46 Chapter One
of natural or of conventional (socially determined) origin. Indeed, the
conflict between those who believe words to be the necessary emanations
of things and those who believe them to have been "imposed" upon
things is at least as old as Western philosophy. Scholars interested in its
history have traced it back to Plato's Cratylus, exposed its pride of place in
Pythagorean, Epicurian, Stoic, Alexandrian, and Aristotelian traditions,
and, most recently, have insisted upon its relevance for the understand-
ing of poetry since Mallarme .'
5
Medieval attitudes toward the issue of naturalism versus conventional-
ism represent a distillation of conflicting earlier views, but a distillation
that is neither adequately synthesized nor, because of abiding hesitations
on both sides, fully resolved. There is, for instance, little in late Classical
or medieval linguistic theory to sustain the full implications of the natu-
ralist position, certainly nothing equivalent to the Stoic attempt to root
the elements of language (letters) in the human body as if nature, un-
mediated, might somehow speak for itself.
46
On the other hand, we do
not find unqualified belief in the purely undetermined nature of human
speech, nothing as radical, say, as Saussure's "arbitraire du signe." Here
is where the dichotomy referred to earlier becomes most visible: those
who theorized about language, from the late Latin grammarians to the
speculative grammarians of the fourteenth century, rejected the notion of
words as physical extensions of things and accepted the fact of their
imposition. In accordance with the Aristotelian precept (passed through
Boethius) that "words are sounds having meaning established by con-
vention alone," there was general agreement that verbal signs are social-
ly, not naturally, determined.
47
And yet, a profound resistance to break-
ing entirely with the wish for continuity between language and matter
along with a radical denial of the practical consequences of such a rupture
are evident in almost every attempt to confront the complex nature of
verbal signs; indeed, together they constitute the most salient features of
early medieval linguistics.
Of the Latin grammarians, Varro offers the most sustained considera-
tion of primary word formation, and his position in the De Lingua Latina is
among the most "naturalist" available to the Middle Ages. The grammar-
ian of the first century B.C. divides all of reality into four universal
categories-body, place, time, and action-which correspond to the four
essential classes of words. And though he does not specifically designate
a first namer, Varro does maintain that nature served as a "guide" to the
original imposition of names: "ea (natura) enim dux fuit ad vocabula
imponenda homini" (Varro, p. 174). Likewise, Priscian, whose Institu-
tiones Grammaticae served to shape much of medieval grammatical
thought, had a clear sense of the purely human origin of linguistic signs.
Yet he too remains unable to free himself from the notion of the sign as
Early Medieval Grammar 47
physically rooted. Letters maintain the "appearance of elements of the
world": " ... literas autem etiam elementorum vocabulo nuncu-
paverunt ad similitudinem mundi elementorum" (Priscian, p. 6).
The "naturalist" strains of Latin grammar and of Alexandrian her-
meneutics meet in the monumental figure of Isidore, who believed some
letters to be grounded in universal human experience. The Greek "Y," for
example, signifies-by resemblance-the life of man (" 'Y' litteram Py-
thagoras Samius ad exemplum vitae humanae"). Other graphic forms,
however, signify by custom. "8" traditionally means death, "for the
judges used to affix that same letter '8' to the names of those they
condemned."
48
According to Isidore, letters have three characteristics: a
name; a figure, "by which its character or shape is signified" and which
exists either by the nature of its sound or arbitrarily; and a power (potes-
tas), "which nature gives" (Etym., l:iv, xvii-xviii).
49
Where names are
concerned, a similar duality prevails. Some are imposed by convention
and others in accordance with nature: "Non autem omnia nomina a
veteribus secundum naturam inposita sunt, sed quaedam et secundum
placitum."
50
Isidore's hesitation with respect to the original formation of
words is, moreover, obscured by an uncompromising reverence for ety-
mology. It is almost as if the obsessiveness with which he seeks meaning
through origin belies-or causes him to forget-the deeper consequences
of his own ambivalence toward primal appellation (see below, pp. 55-56).
A similar ambivalence toward the question of origin is evident in
Augustine's assimilation of widely divergent views about the nature of
language in general. He displays, for example, a certain trust in the ability
of sensible signs to denote reality and thus to serve as inferential tools
along the soul's path to higher truth.
51
Augustine does not hesitate to use
etymologies to make a point. He indulges in a certain cratylism of
Hebrew proper names (see above, pp. 36--37) and is fascinated by natural
language, which he associates in the Confessions with the immediately
comprehensible bodily gestures common to all men. But Augustine also
betrays a pervasive distrust of words, which, he emphasizes repeatedly,
are hopelessly bound to the contingent, mutable, temporal realm of the
senses. Language remains an imperfect medium because of the "cor-
poreal matter of verbal signs."
52
Conventional speech (and all human
utterance falls within this domain) at best serves the limited function of
indicating to others that which is already and always present in the mind
of the speaker.
53
Words are not productive of knowledge in the first
instance; on the contrary, Truth, for the Bishop of Hippo, lies beyond the
realm of the senses. Intelligible truth, the truth toward which the signs of
the perceptible world guide (through memory and illumination) the
human soul, hovers in the silence which fascinates Augustine in the
Confessions and shines forth in the moments of understanding that he
48 Chapter One
associates elsewhere with "listening with the inner ear," or "speaking
with the heart."
54
Though conventional linguistic signs may facilitate
human understanding, their function within the Augusrtnian ontology is
decidedly pedestrian. Natural signs are relatively higher on _the
ontological scale, but, unlike their verbal eqmvalents, they are
only to the intelligence. Thus, while Augustine accepts the hngmshc
mythology surrounding Adam's naming of "the earthly animals and the
birds," he problematizes this founding semantic gesture. The names
which are originally imposed are the proper designations of earthly
things, and in this they come as close as is possible to a pristine
language. Their relation to the spiritual truth beyond words remams,
however, only approximate.
The notion of approximation characterizes the sign theory of the later
Middle Ages. Abelard maintains that "words imitate things": "voc_es
sunt emulae rerum."
55
Though the vox is a natural phenomenon, Its
meaning has been invented or constituted by human intention in order to
signify; and that signification is conventional. Here, as elsewhere,
however, intellectual awareness of the socially determined nature of
language is accompanied by an unwillingness to dispense with linguistic
determinism. According to Abelard, "the one who originally composed
names followed the nature of things."
56
The theme of imitation can also be found in the most comprehensive
twelfth-century reflection on the language arts, John of Salisbury's Meta-
logicon. So succinct, in fact, is John's articulation of the problem that it is
worth quoting at some length:
Artium uero matrem superius collectum est esse naturam; sed licet hec ali-
quatenus, immo ex maxima parte ab
naturam tamen imitatur, et pro parte ab Ipsa ongmem duCit, e1que m
omnibus, quantum potest, studet esse conformis .... Ipsa quoque n?mi-
num impositio aliarumque dictionum, etsi arbitrio humano na-
ture quodammodo obnoxia quamyro suo probabiliter_Imi_tatur.
Homo enim ad exequendum dmme d1spensahoms effectum et ad mstituen-
dum inter homines uerbi commercium rebus his primo uocabula indidit,
que preiacebant, nature manu formate, et ilia uel ex elemen-
tis uel ex materia et forma compegerat et d1stinxerat, ut rahonahs creature
possent sensibus obici, earumque diuersitas, sicut proprietatibus, sic et
uocabulis insigniri. (Metalogicon, p. 32]
We have already seen that nature is the mother of the arts. While grammar
has developed to some extent, and indeed mainly, as an invention of man,
still it imitates nature, from which it partly derives its origin. Furthermore,
it tends, as far as possible, to conform to nature in all respects .... The
very application of names, and the use of various_ expressions,
such depends on the will of man, is in a way subject to nature, It
probably imitates (at least) to some modest In the
divine plan, and in order to provide verbal mtercourse m human society,
man first of all named those things which lay before him, formed and
Early Medieval Grammar 42
fashioned by nature's hand out of the four elements or from matter and
form, and so distinguished that they could be designated by names as well
as properties.

Abelard and John of Salisbury neither endow the primal namer with
superhuman powers nor stress the ontological impossibility of the pro-
cess of naming. They opt instead for an adequation between things and
their original designation. Divested of divine trappings, the first namer is
both philosopher and grammarian-"one," as Michel de Marbais main-
tains, "who must have cognition both of things signified and of the
sounds to be applied to them."
57
-
Abelard's and John of Salisbury's moderate conventionalism is in
many respects typical of medieval sign theory, that is, ideas or mental
concepts are considered to signify naturally (and universally), but are
themselves signified by convention, or by social institution. Language
may be flawed by the roundabout nature of all human intention, but the
original namer of "the earthly animals and the birds" was nonetheless
guided by the properties of things. .
This brings us to a second major characteristic of early medieval gram-
mar, a yrivileging of the object of reference over its mode, which even
assumes metaphysical proportions. According to Augustine, the study of
language is essential because all signs work to mediate the relation /
between man and God. Yet neither such a study nor its object holds any
intrinsic value except insofar as they can be of service in orienting the
potential believer toward the truth which lies beyond them. the
Magistro Augustine enjoins his interlocutor to "esteem the thmgs sig-
nified more than their signs" ;
58
and to the objection that the word
"coenum" (filth) is superior both to its referent and its meaning, he
replies that a knowledge of "coenum" is superior both to the word and
the thing itself. Words are functional: they exist either to designate that to ,
which they refer or to provide knowledge of their reference. The signifier
depends in some fundamental way upon the signified, which is why,
Augustine insists, "it is necessary to accord words less value than
objects for which we employ them."
59
More important still, language m
the absence of reference is conceived as incomplete and empty: "Words
merely teach us other words, less than that, a sound and a simple voiced
noise .... "
60
It is a knowledge of things that completes the knowledge
of words.
Not only are objects to be valued more than their signs, but excessive
emphasis upon words constitutes a sin. "To mistake signs for things" is a
"pitiful servitude" that prevents the soul from attaining "divine light."
61
Augustine condemns both the dialecticians, "who seek beauties of ex-
pression more than appropriate to the gravity of thought," and the
rhetoricians, "who seek not to make truth triumph, but the means of
48 Chapter One
associates elsewhere with "listening with the inner ear," or "speaking
with the heart."
54
Though conventional linguistic signs may facilitate
human understanding, their function within the Augusrtnian ontology is
decidedly pedestrian. Natural signs are relatively higher on _the
ontological scale, but, unlike their verbal eqmvalents, they are
only to the intelligence. Thus, while Augustine accepts the hngmshc
mythology surrounding Adam's naming of "the earthly animals and the
birds," he problematizes this founding semantic gesture. The names
which are originally imposed are the proper designations of earthly
things, and in this they come as close as is possible to a pristine
language. Their relation to the spiritual truth beyond words remams,
however, only approximate.
The notion of approximation characterizes the sign theory of the later
Middle Ages. Abelard maintains that "words imitate things": "voc_es
sunt emulae rerum."
55
Though the vox is a natural phenomenon, Its
meaning has been invented or constituted by human intention in order to
signify; and that signification is conventional. Here, as elsewhere,
however, intellectual awareness of the socially determined nature of
language is accompanied by an unwillingness to dispense with linguistic
determinism. According to Abelard, "the one who originally composed
names followed the nature of things."
56
The theme of imitation can also be found in the most comprehensive
twelfth-century reflection on the language arts, John of Salisbury's Meta-
logicon. So succinct, in fact, is John's articulation of the problem that it is
worth quoting at some length:
Artium uero matrem superius collectum est esse naturam; sed licet hec ali-
quatenus, immo ex maxima parte ab
naturam tamen imitatur, et pro parte ab Ipsa ongmem duCit, e1que m
omnibus, quantum potest, studet esse conformis .... Ipsa quoque n?mi-
num impositio aliarumque dictionum, etsi arbitrio humano na-
ture quodammodo obnoxia quamyro suo probabiliter_Imi_tatur.
Homo enim ad exequendum dmme d1spensahoms effectum et ad mstituen-
dum inter homines uerbi commercium rebus his primo uocabula indidit,
que preiacebant, nature manu formate, et ilia uel ex elemen-
tis uel ex materia et forma compegerat et d1stinxerat, ut rahonahs creature
possent sensibus obici, earumque diuersitas, sicut proprietatibus, sic et
uocabulis insigniri. (Metalogicon, p. 32]
We have already seen that nature is the mother of the arts. While grammar
has developed to some extent, and indeed mainly, as an invention of man,
still it imitates nature, from which it partly derives its origin. Furthermore,
it tends, as far as possible, to conform to nature in all respects .... The
very application of names, and the use of various_ expressions,
such depends on the will of man, is in a way subject to nature, It
probably imitates (at least) to some modest In the
divine plan, and in order to provide verbal mtercourse m human society,
man first of all named those things which lay before him, formed and
Early Medieval Grammar 42
fashioned by nature's hand out of the four elements or from matter and
form, and so distinguished that they could be designated by names as well
as properties.

Abelard and John of Salisbury neither endow the primal namer with
superhuman powers nor stress the ontological impossibility of the pro-
cess of naming. They opt instead for an adequation between things and
their original designation. Divested of divine trappings, the first namer is
both philosopher and grammarian-"one," as Michel de Marbais main-
tains, "who must have cognition both of things signified and of the
sounds to be applied to them."
57
-
Abelard's and John of Salisbury's moderate conventionalism is in
many respects typical of medieval sign theory, that is, ideas or mental
concepts are considered to signify naturally (and universally), but are
themselves signified by convention, or by social institution. Language
may be flawed by the roundabout nature of all human intention, but the
original namer of "the earthly animals and the birds" was nonetheless
guided by the properties of things. .
This brings us to a second major characteristic of early medieval gram-
mar, a yrivileging of the object of reference over its mode, which even
assumes metaphysical proportions. According to Augustine, the study of
language is essential because all signs work to mediate the relation /
between man and God. Yet neither such a study nor its object holds any
intrinsic value except insofar as they can be of service in orienting the
potential believer toward the truth which lies beyond them. the
Magistro Augustine enjoins his interlocutor to "esteem the thmgs sig-
nified more than their signs" ;
58
and to the objection that the word
"coenum" (filth) is superior both to its referent and its meaning, he
replies that a knowledge of "coenum" is superior both to the word and
the thing itself. Words are functional: they exist either to designate that to ,
which they refer or to provide knowledge of their reference. The signifier
depends in some fundamental way upon the signified, which is why,
Augustine insists, "it is necessary to accord words less value than
objects for which we employ them."
59
More important still, language m
the absence of reference is conceived as incomplete and empty: "Words
merely teach us other words, less than that, a sound and a simple voiced
noise .... "
60
It is a knowledge of things that completes the knowledge
of words.
Not only are objects to be valued more than their signs, but excessive
emphasis upon words constitutes a sin. "To mistake signs for things" is a
"pitiful servitude" that prevents the soul from attaining "divine light."
61
Augustine condemns both the dialecticians, "who seek beauties of ex-
pression more than appropriate to the gravity of thought," and the
rhetoricians, "who seek not to make truth triumph, but the means of
50 Chapter One
making their discourse preferred to that of their adversaries."
62
As in the
Pauline dictum, overattachment to the form of expression, as opposed to
its substance, has doctrinal consequences: it is the equivalent of an act of
concupiscence-a love of the letter (body) to the detriment of the spirit
(soul)-in which everything corporeal, temporal, and contingent is impli-
cated. To love words or to become overly involved with them is to defer
the knowledge of God.
It is as if language, for Augustine, were transparent because its eter-
nally subsistent object always draws words to their natural mark. Put
another way, the role of signs is merely to activate other modes of
knowing-memory or intellection; and they point inevitably to the same
predetermined truth. Tongues may vary and the means of verbal expres-
sion may be hopelessly rooted in material reality, yet all language is about
God and leads to God.
63
The theologian insists that it makes no difference
whether God's name is written in gold or ink, since "the former would be
more precious, the latter more worthless, but the thing signified would be
the same."
64
And despite the rhetorical exaggeration, the comparison is
perfectly paradigmatic of the extent to which meaning overshadows
expression. Words have no specific opacity of their own. On the contrary,
they refer "only to other words," as language effaces itself before that
which lies beyond it and to which it is naturally drawn.
The Augustinian transparency of the sign finds a corollary among
grammarians, rhetoricians, and philosophers in the trend toward what
W. and M. Kneale call "real definition," that is, in the impulse to "look at
the thing" rather than to its sign in order to determine meaning.
65
We
have seen that both Abelard and John of Salisbury, echoing a formulation
that dates at least to the Rhetorica ad Herennium, affirm that names imitate
nature. But, more generally, the classificatory apparatus of early medie-
val grammar is heavily weighted in favor of the signified. Donatus and
Priscian, in rejecting Aristotle's two-part as well as the Stoic five-part
classification of the partes oration is, opt for a system of word class based
primarily on meaning. For Donatus, a noun is "a part of speech which
signifies with a case a person or a thing"; a verb is "a part of speech with
tense and person but without case, signifying 'to perform some action,' or
'to suffer,' or neither."
66
One of the important assumptions underlying
early medieval grammar is that what rather than how a word signifies
determines its linguistic status.
The question of what, which is essentially that of how to assess physical
property, was traditionally the domain of philosophers and logicians.
According to Aristotle, Porphyry, Boethius (and even Cicero and Quinti-
lian), everything has a property, which is the inessential quality dif-
ferentiating it from all others in its species; or, if a species, from all others
in its genus.
67
The determination of property (what a thing is) together
Early Medieval Grammar 51
with the determination of difference (what it is not) constituted the
science of definition invoked by philosophers as the first step in the
construction of a syllogistic argument. Definition engaged in the service
of dialectics was thus intended to demarcate the differences between
things. Its philosophical status was, however, always somewhat fluid
precisely because of the Adamic paradox-the difficulty of separating
completely the discreteness of things from their linguistic designation.
From the beginning, Aristotle, whose categories served as the basis for all
such classification, links the practice of definition to that of predication.
Property is that which is predicated of an individual or of a species, "for
the species is to the genus as subject is to predicate, since the genus is
predicated of the species, whereas the species cannot be predicated of
the genus."
68
By the time of Cassiodorus (sixth century A.D.) a shift of focus has
occurred such that definition represents "a short statement of a thing's
essential nature which separates it from others in its class by determining
its proper signification."
69
The definition by difference of the philo-
sophers is no longer seen to represent a relation in nature but has become
a phenomenon of language, a statement. The distinctness of things is
synonymous with their physical property, which is the equivalent of a
"proper signification." Isidore, who follows the schema of the categories
of the real of Porphyry's Introduction to Aristotle (the Isagoge), claims that
"the nature of anything whatever is made clear by the unfailing definition
of its substance" and that such a definition is the first principle of philoso-
phy. Nonetheless, his outline of the procedure for arriving at a proper
definition terminates, like that of Cassiodorus, in a proper meaning:
Nam posito primo genere, deinde species et alia, quae vicina esse possunt,
subiungimus ac discretis communionibus separamus, tamdiu interponentes
differentias, quousque ad proprium eius de quo quaerimus signata eius ex-
pressione perveniamus, ut puta: Homo est animal rationale, mortale, terre-
num, bipes, risu capax. [Etym., 2:xxv, ii]
For once we have first set down the genus, we then subjoin the species
and the other things that are possibly related; then by setting aside the
common qualities we make distinctions, continually interpreting differences
until we arrive at the proper quality of that which we are examining, its
meaning being made definite, as for example: Man is a rational, mortal,
biped animal, capable of laughter.
What had begun as a technique for the substantive determination of the
nature of things has become, by the time of Isidore, a grammatical
strategy by which the meaning of names becomes ascertainable through
the principle of physical property.
70
Property is the "reason" or "cause"
of the imposition of names ("Nomina sunt consequentia rerum"); and, as
an anonymous thirteenth-century grammarian maintains, "Nature is
50 Chapter One
making their discourse preferred to that of their adversaries."
62
As in the
Pauline dictum, overattachment to the form of expression, as opposed to
its substance, has doctrinal consequences: it is the equivalent of an act of
concupiscence-a love of the letter (body) to the detriment of the spirit
(soul)-in which everything corporeal, temporal, and contingent is impli-
cated. To love words or to become overly involved with them is to defer
the knowledge of God.
It is as if language, for Augustine, were transparent because its eter-
nally subsistent object always draws words to their natural mark. Put
another way, the role of signs is merely to activate other modes of
knowing-memory or intellection; and they point inevitably to the same
predetermined truth. Tongues may vary and the means of verbal expres-
sion may be hopelessly rooted in material reality, yet all language is about
God and leads to God.
63
The theologian insists that it makes no difference
whether God's name is written in gold or ink, since "the former would be
more precious, the latter more worthless, but the thing signified would be
the same."
64
And despite the rhetorical exaggeration, the comparison is
perfectly paradigmatic of the extent to which meaning overshadows
expression. Words have no specific opacity of their own. On the contrary,
they refer "only to other words," as language effaces itself before that
which lies beyond it and to which it is naturally drawn.
The Augustinian transparency of the sign finds a corollary among
grammarians, rhetoricians, and philosophers in the trend toward what
W. and M. Kneale call "real definition," that is, in the impulse to "look at
the thing" rather than to its sign in order to determine meaning.
65
We
have seen that both Abelard and John of Salisbury, echoing a formulation
that dates at least to the Rhetorica ad Herennium, affirm that names imitate
nature. But, more generally, the classificatory apparatus of early medie-
val grammar is heavily weighted in favor of the signified. Donatus and
Priscian, in rejecting Aristotle's two-part as well as the Stoic five-part
classification of the partes oration is, opt for a system of word class based
primarily on meaning. For Donatus, a noun is "a part of speech which
signifies with a case a person or a thing"; a verb is "a part of speech with
tense and person but without case, signifying 'to perform some action,' or
'to suffer,' or neither."
66
One of the important assumptions underlying
early medieval grammar is that what rather than how a word signifies
determines its linguistic status.
The question of what, which is essentially that of how to assess physical
property, was traditionally the domain of philosophers and logicians.
According to Aristotle, Porphyry, Boethius (and even Cicero and Quinti-
lian), everything has a property, which is the inessential quality dif-
ferentiating it from all others in its species; or, if a species, from all others
in its genus.
67
The determination of property (what a thing is) together
Early Medieval Grammar 51
with the determination of difference (what it is not) constituted the
science of definition invoked by philosophers as the first step in the
construction of a syllogistic argument. Definition engaged in the service
of dialectics was thus intended to demarcate the differences between
things. Its philosophical status was, however, always somewhat fluid
precisely because of the Adamic paradox-the difficulty of separating
completely the discreteness of things from their linguistic designation.
From the beginning, Aristotle, whose categories served as the basis for all
such classification, links the practice of definition to that of predication.
Property is that which is predicated of an individual or of a species, "for
the species is to the genus as subject is to predicate, since the genus is
predicated of the species, whereas the species cannot be predicated of
the genus."
68
By the time of Cassiodorus (sixth century A.D.) a shift of focus has
occurred such that definition represents "a short statement of a thing's
essential nature which separates it from others in its class by determining
its proper signification."
69
The definition by difference of the philo-
sophers is no longer seen to represent a relation in nature but has become
a phenomenon of language, a statement. The distinctness of things is
synonymous with their physical property, which is the equivalent of a
"proper signification." Isidore, who follows the schema of the categories
of the real of Porphyry's Introduction to Aristotle (the Isagoge), claims that
"the nature of anything whatever is made clear by the unfailing definition
of its substance" and that such a definition is the first principle of philoso-
phy. Nonetheless, his outline of the procedure for arriving at a proper
definition terminates, like that of Cassiodorus, in a proper meaning:
Nam posito primo genere, deinde species et alia, quae vicina esse possunt,
subiungimus ac discretis communionibus separamus, tamdiu interponentes
differentias, quousque ad proprium eius de quo quaerimus signata eius ex-
pressione perveniamus, ut puta: Homo est animal rationale, mortale, terre-
num, bipes, risu capax. [Etym., 2:xxv, ii]
For once we have first set down the genus, we then subjoin the species
and the other things that are possibly related; then by setting aside the
common qualities we make distinctions, continually interpreting differences
until we arrive at the proper quality of that which we are examining, its
meaning being made definite, as for example: Man is a rational, mortal,
biped animal, capable of laughter.
What had begun as a technique for the substantive determination of the
nature of things has become, by the time of Isidore, a grammatical
strategy by which the meaning of names becomes ascertainable through
the principle of physical property.
70
Property is the "reason" or "cause"
of the imposition of names ("Nomina sunt consequentia rerum"); and, as
an anonymous thirteenth-century grammarian maintains, "Nature is
52 Chapter One
repulsed by a name that does not respect its referent": "Nee est gramatica
pure a voce hominis; sed regulatur impositor a proprietatibus rerum, ut
non possit significare rem ipsam sub modis significandi qui repugnant
proprietatibus ipsius rei" (Notices, p. 123).
Definition represents, then, an important point of convergence be-
tween the language arts and the physical sciences. For language, which,
to a much greater extent than today, was considered an integral part of
the physical universe, also shares in the properties of things. Words and
word classes themselves have properties, as Priscian makes clear in his
definition of the principal parts of speech: "Proprium est nominis sub-
stantiam et qualitatem significare .... Proprium est verbi actionem ...
significare .... Proprium est pronominis .... Proprium est adver-
bii ... " (Priscian, p. 55). The ninth-century grammarian Remigius of
Auxerre will turn the process of definition by difference upon the partes
orationis.
71
And, by the time of Hugh of Saint-Victor, property rules even
syntax. The notion of the proper has become the equivalent of all that is
correct: "Igitur proprietas est que regulam sequitur" (Notices, p. 83). Not
only is the property of a thing the key to verbal imposition ("illo a quo
nomen imponitur") and the guiding principle of approximation, but the
proper is synonymous with a following of rules, with rectitude.
Here we hit upon the property-the unique quality-of grammar itself,
which is that of straightness. Martianus Capella maintains that the
Greeks used fpaJ .. q.t.aTLKTJ "since -ypaJ.LJ.LTJ means 'line' and -yp&J.LJ.LaTa
means 'letters,' and the attribute of letters is to make straight (lineare) the
forms according to properties."
72
Isidore adopts a similar derivation
("grammatica autem a litteris nomen accepit") as well as the conventional
definition of grammar as "the science of correct or straight speech"
("grammatica est scientia recte loquendi" [Etym., l:v, i]). Isidore also
insists upon the connection between the straightness of letters and of
roads ("Litterae autem dictae quasi legiterae, quod iter legentibus praes-
tent" [ibid., l:iii, iii]), which will become a theme of the High Middle
Ages. John of Salisbury, for example, maintains that grammar is a high-
way from which a certain amount of distance constitutes the field of
rhetorical figure, and which, when abandoned altogether, is tantamount
to a loss of intelligibility.
73
Grammar is not only the art of straight speech
and writing (recte loquendi scribendique), but the science of literal meaning:
Grama enim littera uellinea est, et inde litteralis, eo quod litteras doceat;
quo nomine tam simplicium uocum figure quam elementa, id est uoces
figurarum, intelliguntur; aut etiam linearis est. ... [Metalogicon, p. 31]
Grama means a letter or line, and as a result grammar is "literal," in that it
teaches letters, namely both the symbols which stand for simple sounds,
and the elementary sounds represented by the symbols. It is also [in a
way]linear.
Early Medieval Grammar 53
The function of early medieval grammar is thus the delineation of straight
paths, the creation oflinear links between symbols, sounds, and letters as
well as between words and the physical properties of things.
If grammar is conceived as the science of the literal and the straight--of
orthography (literally "straight writing"), rectitude, and regularity, this
linearity is defined more by the field of semantics than by that of syntax.
Here lies another important feature of the linguistics of this early period.
Before the twelfth century, grammarians were primarily concerned with
the status of the individual word and with its relation to that which it
represents. Grammar was in this respect heavily oriented toward prob-
lems of signification and of lexicon. Donatus, for example, maintains that
words belong to grammarians ("ad grammaticos lexos"), while figures of
speech and of sense belong to rhetoricians.
74
And as late as the turn of the
thirteenth century, Alexander of Villedieu stakes out for rhetoric the
domain of eloquence, for logic that of truth, and for grammar that of
signification: "Si ordinetur [sermo] ad significandum, sic est gramatica"
(Notices, p. 470). He invests the Donatian dictum with a logical ring:
Scema lexeos primo et principaliter et per se est de consideratione grama-
tici, qui primo et per se intendit sermonem rectum in scribendo et profe-
rendo ad manifestandum intellectum .... [Notices, p. 471]
A verbal figure is first, chiefly and by its very nature, the subject of the
grammarian's examination, for by his own very nature his primary aim is
to lead correct speech in writing and oral delivery toward the clarification
of meaning ....
Within the grammar of the early Middle Ages, a word is more important
in relation to its nonlinguistic point of reference than in relation to other
words. It is classified according to meaning and the reason of its inven-
tion (causa inpositionis) and not according to syntactic function: "Non
enim sunt iudicande uoces secundum actum constructionis, sed secun-
dum propriam naturam inuentionis."
75
This may seem like a subtle dis-
tinction; it should nonetheless be borne in mind, since the full implica-
tions of such an "atomistic" emphasis upon semantics and property will
become increasingly apparent when compared to the "holistic" grammar
of the later Middle Ages, and, further, when both are assimilated to the
modes of kinship characteristic of the postfeudal era.
Strategies of Return
We began the preceding section with an allusion to a fundamental split
between what medieval philosophers knew about the nature of verbal
signs and what they desired to believe about them. More precisely, we
saw how the linguistics of this early period was dominated by the myth of
a prescient first namer and by the primacy of beginnings; this despite
52 Chapter One
repulsed by a name that does not respect its referent": "Nee est gramatica
pure a voce hominis; sed regulatur impositor a proprietatibus rerum, ut
non possit significare rem ipsam sub modis significandi qui repugnant
proprietatibus ipsius rei" (Notices, p. 123).
Definition represents, then, an important point of convergence be-
tween the language arts and the physical sciences. For language, which,
to a much greater extent than today, was considered an integral part of
the physical universe, also shares in the properties of things. Words and
word classes themselves have properties, as Priscian makes clear in his
definition of the principal parts of speech: "Proprium est nominis sub-
stantiam et qualitatem significare .... Proprium est verbi actionem ...
significare .... Proprium est pronominis .... Proprium est adver-
bii ... " (Priscian, p. 55). The ninth-century grammarian Remigius of
Auxerre will turn the process of definition by difference upon the partes
orationis.
71
And, by the time of Hugh of Saint-Victor, property rules even
syntax. The notion of the proper has become the equivalent of all that is
correct: "Igitur proprietas est que regulam sequitur" (Notices, p. 83). Not
only is the property of a thing the key to verbal imposition ("illo a quo
nomen imponitur") and the guiding principle of approximation, but the
proper is synonymous with a following of rules, with rectitude.
Here we hit upon the property-the unique quality-of grammar itself,
which is that of straightness. Martianus Capella maintains that the
Greeks used fpaJ .. q.t.aTLKTJ "since -ypaJ.LJ.LTJ means 'line' and -yp&J.LJ.LaTa
means 'letters,' and the attribute of letters is to make straight (lineare) the
forms according to properties."
72
Isidore adopts a similar derivation
("grammatica autem a litteris nomen accepit") as well as the conventional
definition of grammar as "the science of correct or straight speech"
("grammatica est scientia recte loquendi" [Etym., l:v, i]). Isidore also
insists upon the connection between the straightness of letters and of
roads ("Litterae autem dictae quasi legiterae, quod iter legentibus praes-
tent" [ibid., l:iii, iii]), which will become a theme of the High Middle
Ages. John of Salisbury, for example, maintains that grammar is a high-
way from which a certain amount of distance constitutes the field of
rhetorical figure, and which, when abandoned altogether, is tantamount
to a loss of intelligibility.
73
Grammar is not only the art of straight speech
and writing (recte loquendi scribendique), but the science of literal meaning:
Grama enim littera uellinea est, et inde litteralis, eo quod litteras doceat;
quo nomine tam simplicium uocum figure quam elementa, id est uoces
figurarum, intelliguntur; aut etiam linearis est. ... [Metalogicon, p. 31]
Grama means a letter or line, and as a result grammar is "literal," in that it
teaches letters, namely both the symbols which stand for simple sounds,
and the elementary sounds represented by the symbols. It is also [in a
way]linear.
Early Medieval Grammar 53
The function of early medieval grammar is thus the delineation of straight
paths, the creation oflinear links between symbols, sounds, and letters as
well as between words and the physical properties of things.
If grammar is conceived as the science of the literal and the straight--of
orthography (literally "straight writing"), rectitude, and regularity, this
linearity is defined more by the field of semantics than by that of syntax.
Here lies another important feature of the linguistics of this early period.
Before the twelfth century, grammarians were primarily concerned with
the status of the individual word and with its relation to that which it
represents. Grammar was in this respect heavily oriented toward prob-
lems of signification and of lexicon. Donatus, for example, maintains that
words belong to grammarians ("ad grammaticos lexos"), while figures of
speech and of sense belong to rhetoricians.
74
And as late as the turn of the
thirteenth century, Alexander of Villedieu stakes out for rhetoric the
domain of eloquence, for logic that of truth, and for grammar that of
signification: "Si ordinetur [sermo] ad significandum, sic est gramatica"
(Notices, p. 470). He invests the Donatian dictum with a logical ring:
Scema lexeos primo et principaliter et per se est de consideratione grama-
tici, qui primo et per se intendit sermonem rectum in scribendo et profe-
rendo ad manifestandum intellectum .... [Notices, p. 471]
A verbal figure is first, chiefly and by its very nature, the subject of the
grammarian's examination, for by his own very nature his primary aim is
to lead correct speech in writing and oral delivery toward the clarification
of meaning ....
Within the grammar of the early Middle Ages, a word is more important
in relation to its nonlinguistic point of reference than in relation to other
words. It is classified according to meaning and the reason of its inven-
tion (causa inpositionis) and not according to syntactic function: "Non
enim sunt iudicande uoces secundum actum constructionis, sed secun-
dum propriam naturam inuentionis."
75
This may seem like a subtle dis-
tinction; it should nonetheless be borne in mind, since the full implica-
tions of such an "atomistic" emphasis upon semantics and property will
become increasingly apparent when compared to the "holistic" grammar
of the later Middle Ages, and, further, when both are assimilated to the
modes of kinship characteristic of the postfeudal era.
Strategies of Return
We began the preceding section with an allusion to a fundamental split
between what medieval philosophers knew about the nature of verbal
signs and what they desired to believe about them. More precisely, we
saw how the linguistics of this early period was dominated by the myth of
a prescient first namer and by the primacy of beginnings; this despite
54 Chapter One
certainty of the conventional or socially determined origin of all human
discourse. Grammarians stress the originality-the determining effi-
ciency-of the signified over its signifier. The notions of property and of
propriety are, among the rhetoricians, synonymous with an original
meaning. And the logician's technique of definition, transformed into the
handmaiden of grammar, makes it possible to locate through language
the proper significations that are rooted in (determined by) the properties
of things. To signify properly is, within the recuperative, semantically
oriented grammar of the period between Donatus and Abelard, to recap-
ture the essence of things before the Fall. The science of straight connec-
tions enables those who practice it to undo the dislocations-obliquities,
circumlocutions, distortions-of sense that characterize the history of
human speech, and hence to restore to each altered articulation its proper
or original meaning. This is why the practice of etymology is so important
and, in fact, constitutes a branch of scientific knowledge until the four-
teenth century.
Etymology
In Classical rhetoric, etymology is one of the intrinsic arguments or
topics developed out of the meaning of a word and translated from Greek
to Latin by veriloquium (true speech) because, in the phrase of Cicero and
Quintilian, "words are the tokens [notae] of things."
76
Here, both the
notion of intrinsic and that of topic are crucial. All arguments are, for the
rhetorician, intended to persuade within the context of judicial dispute.
But an intrinsic plea is one which is not dependent upon outside author-
ity. As in the example of Biblical names, the word is considered to contain
the sign of its own force. The notion of topic (tapas), which Cicero
inherited from Aristotle, denotes a proper place from which to speak, or a
place from which arguments can be made. Rhetoric is the topology of the
various arguments which found or ground speech.
77
The tapas defines the
final product of the etymological process. End point of the attempt to
reverse linguistic chronology--the loss of the proper and dispersion of
meaning, it implies a place where arguments end, where sound gives
way to silence, motion to rest, and where words begin to border on
meaning and meaning on things.
The positing of a place at which words and things both meet and come
to a standstill serves to transform etymology-the history of words
through time-into geography, a series of spatially defined relations
between fixed meanings; and it accounts for the disproportionate role
which geography plays in early etymologies. Varro, in whom the princi-
ple of etymology reaches it Classical apogee, depicts the rooting of words
in things in terms of territorial relations between neighboring properties:
Early Medieval Grammar 55
Sed qua cognatio t;ius quae radices egerit extra fines suas, perse-
quemur. Saepe emm ad hmitem arboris radices sub vicini prodierunt
segetem. [Varro, p. 13]
sha.ll fo.llow them [etymologies] to wherever the kin of a word under
discussion IS, even if it has .dri'-:en its roots beyond its own territory. For
often the roots of a tree which IS close to the line of the property have
gone out under the neighbor's field.
the his words is coterminous with the geography of the
yarro msists, for example, that since the source (caput) of
the Tiber lies outside of Latinium and "the name as well flows from
there mto. language, .it d.oes not concern the Latin etymologist."78
maJonty of the denvahons contained in the surviving fragments of
the IJ_e Latina involve the names of places, the loci, which Varro
associates with the first property of things, location. The notion of a
typolo?y is subsumed by that of locus, the first of the four truly
umversal categories of the real equated with physical fixation:
Locus IS where be locatum 'placed,' or as they say nowa-
?ays, collocatum established. . .. Where anything comes to a standstill
IS a locus 'place.' "
79
Speech is thus rooted in the zone where all
sou.rce comes to a rest, where meaning is immutable-"Loqui
to talk' IS s.ard from locus 'place"'; and "he who speaks [loquitur] with
puts each word in its own place .... "
80
Varro's convic-
tion words are spatially rooted, and meaning therefore collocatum or
established, accounts for his reliance upon etymology as the touchstone
of grammar. And if the tedium of reading his Latin roots is matched only
by that attached to Jerome's alphabetical catalogue of Hebrew names
small. com?ensation .lies in fact that so many of the
con tamed m the De Lmgua Latma border on the delirious, as well as in the
fact arro goes as far as anyone before Isidore in establishing a purely
verbal epistemology based upon the principle of etymological return. s1
Et.ym?logiarum sive originum libri XX, etymology becomes the
defmmg pnnople of both grammar and rhetoric, the basis of all practical
knowledge of the world, and, in the phrase ofP. Zumthor, "the exclusive
source of an. entire learned culture."
82
Isidore pushes the technique
beyon? what It had to philosophers, a grammatical means of
assessmg. the propnety of terms; he pushes it beyond the ken of most
grammanans and for whom it stood as a means of assessing
the correctness of expression. J. Fontaine claims that Stoic and medieval
exegetical traditions culminate in Isidore, since only the former's rooting
of the elements of speech in the body and only the latter's implicit faith in
H:brew.roots can compare with the Bishop of Seville's search for the
pnmordial forms of language, its absolute beginning.
83
Like Cicero's
54 Chapter One
certainty of the conventional or socially determined origin of all human
discourse. Grammarians stress the originality-the determining effi-
ciency-of the signified over its signifier. The notions of property and of
propriety are, among the rhetoricians, synonymous with an original
meaning. And the logician's technique of definition, transformed into the
handmaiden of grammar, makes it possible to locate through language
the proper significations that are rooted in (determined by) the properties
of things. To signify properly is, within the recuperative, semantically
oriented grammar of the period between Donatus and Abelard, to recap-
ture the essence of things before the Fall. The science of straight connec-
tions enables those who practice it to undo the dislocations-obliquities,
circumlocutions, distortions-of sense that characterize the history of
human speech, and hence to restore to each altered articulation its proper
or original meaning. This is why the practice of etymology is so important
and, in fact, constitutes a branch of scientific knowledge until the four-
teenth century.
Etymology
In Classical rhetoric, etymology is one of the intrinsic arguments or
topics developed out of the meaning of a word and translated from Greek
to Latin by veriloquium (true speech) because, in the phrase of Cicero and
Quintilian, "words are the tokens [notae] of things."
76
Here, both the
notion of intrinsic and that of topic are crucial. All arguments are, for the
rhetorician, intended to persuade within the context of judicial dispute.
But an intrinsic plea is one which is not dependent upon outside author-
ity. As in the example of Biblical names, the word is considered to contain
the sign of its own force. The notion of topic (tapas), which Cicero
inherited from Aristotle, denotes a proper place from which to speak, or a
place from which arguments can be made. Rhetoric is the topology of the
various arguments which found or ground speech.
77
The tapas defines the
final product of the etymological process. End point of the attempt to
reverse linguistic chronology--the loss of the proper and dispersion of
meaning, it implies a place where arguments end, where sound gives
way to silence, motion to rest, and where words begin to border on
meaning and meaning on things.
The positing of a place at which words and things both meet and come
to a standstill serves to transform etymology-the history of words
through time-into geography, a series of spatially defined relations
between fixed meanings; and it accounts for the disproportionate role
which geography plays in early etymologies. Varro, in whom the princi-
ple of etymology reaches it Classical apogee, depicts the rooting of words
in things in terms of territorial relations between neighboring properties:
Early Medieval Grammar 55
Sed qua cognatio t;ius quae radices egerit extra fines suas, perse-
quemur. Saepe emm ad hmitem arboris radices sub vicini prodierunt
segetem. [Varro, p. 13]
sha.ll fo.llow them [etymologies] to wherever the kin of a word under
discussion IS, even if it has .dri'-:en its roots beyond its own territory. For
often the roots of a tree which IS close to the line of the property have
gone out under the neighbor's field.
the his words is coterminous with the geography of the
yarro msists, for example, that since the source (caput) of
the Tiber lies outside of Latinium and "the name as well flows from
there mto. language, .it d.oes not concern the Latin etymologist."78
maJonty of the denvahons contained in the surviving fragments of
the IJ_e Latina involve the names of places, the loci, which Varro
associates with the first property of things, location. The notion of a
typolo?y is subsumed by that of locus, the first of the four truly
umversal categories of the real equated with physical fixation:
Locus IS where be locatum 'placed,' or as they say nowa-
?ays, collocatum established. . .. Where anything comes to a standstill
IS a locus 'place.' "
79
Speech is thus rooted in the zone where all
sou.rce comes to a rest, where meaning is immutable-"Loqui
to talk' IS s.ard from locus 'place"'; and "he who speaks [loquitur] with
puts each word in its own place .... "
80
Varro's convic-
tion words are spatially rooted, and meaning therefore collocatum or
established, accounts for his reliance upon etymology as the touchstone
of grammar. And if the tedium of reading his Latin roots is matched only
by that attached to Jerome's alphabetical catalogue of Hebrew names
small. com?ensation .lies in fact that so many of the
con tamed m the De Lmgua Latma border on the delirious, as well as in the
fact arro goes as far as anyone before Isidore in establishing a purely
verbal epistemology based upon the principle of etymological return. s1
Et.ym?logiarum sive originum libri XX, etymology becomes the
defmmg pnnople of both grammar and rhetoric, the basis of all practical
knowledge of the world, and, in the phrase ofP. Zumthor, "the exclusive
source of an. entire learned culture."
82
Isidore pushes the technique
beyon? what It had to philosophers, a grammatical means of
assessmg. the propnety of terms; he pushes it beyond the ken of most
grammanans and for whom it stood as a means of assessing
the correctness of expression. J. Fontaine claims that Stoic and medieval
exegetical traditions culminate in Isidore, since only the former's rooting
of the elements of speech in the body and only the latter's implicit faith in
H:brew.roots can compare with the Bishop of Seville's search for the
pnmordial forms of language, its absolute beginning.
83
Like Cicero's
56 Chapter One
notion of topos or Varro's concept of locus, Isidore in
letters, word classes, or literary genres-the places where language
comes to a standstill, where meaning becomes intrinsic, where, to adopt
his own phrase, the first parts of language, the primogenia, "do not draw
their origin from somewhere else."
84
Isidore's definition of etymology as "origo vocabulorum, cum vis verbi
vel nominis per interpretationem colligitur" is traditional;
85
he himself
equates it with Aristotle's and Cicero's "nota" (Etym., l:xxix, i).
The distinction that Isidore draws between natural and conventional
etymologies is the necessary extension of the belief that some names were
originally imposed according to the qualities of things, others according
to whim (see above, pp. 45--47). Thus the strategies for uncovering
etymologies include all that we have seen-reference to property (the
cause of imposition), origin, logical contrariety, nominal derivation, and
sound.
86
What is remarkable in Isidore's concept of etymology is, in fact,
the equation of the qualities of things and their origin, the conflation of
logical and chronological categories (a tendency attested throughout the
Etymologiae by the numerous causal connectives causa, ratio, quia, quod
used interchangeably alongside of the prepositions ex, a, ab). Relations
assumed to exist in nature (e.g., that man springs from earth) become the
equivalent of those which are a function of language (e. g., the derivation
_of prudens from prudentia), and even of language's lowest common de-
nominator, sound (e.g., an etymology ex vocibus). Such a mixture is the
product neither of a confused mind nor of inattention to traditionally
important categories of thought. On the contrary, for Isidore there can be
no distinction between speech and its referent, between the arts of
language and the physical sciences.lfis ontology is essentially an ontol-
ogy of words. Things come into being with names, and without them
consciousness would vanish: "Nisi enim nomen scieris, cognitio rerum
perit" (Etym., l:vii, i).
87
Whether or not Isidore's faith in the essentially verbal nature of cogni-
tion represents an extreme (and ample evidence for such a belief can be
found throughout the Middle Ages), the fact remains that in an age which
believed words to represent a merely tarnished mirror of the universe,
knowledge of the world is essentially lexical. The more we know about
the sources of words, the faster we can penetrate the nature of things
("Nam dum videris unde ortum est nomen, citius vim eis intellegis"
[Etym., l:xxix, ii]). Etymology represents a basis for the intelligibility of
the earthly realm and the defining principle of all scientific inquiry. As a
tool of inference its domain is by no means restricted to the disciplines of
grammar and rhetoric but extends virtually everywhere-to metallurgy,
geography, gardening, law, the arts of war, navigation, and agriculture.
Even astronomy is ruled by etymology according to Isidore's practice of a
mode of knowledge in which the causes of physical events matter less
Early Medieval Grammar 57
than the cause of their designation: "Nam Astronomia caeli conver-
sionem, ortus, obitus motusque siderum continet, vel qua ex causa ita
vocentur."
88
AsP. Zumthor points out, the great etymologist and ency-
clopedist is oriented toward the practical rather than the speculative
sciences. His discourse is more descriptive than analytic, "richer in
'hows' than in 'whys."'
89
Nonetheless, such a lack of conformity to the
norms of post-Renaissance scientific criteria should not blind us to the
radical effects of Isidore's intellectual temper; nor should it lead us to
mistake his monumental importance for the later Middle Ages. The
ultimate consequence of the Etymologiarum sive originum libri XX is the
recuperation of all philosophy by grammar, and even by a lexicology
which takes on metaphysical proportions. Isidore's role as the transmitter
of practically all that was known scientifically (though not theologically)
from the late Classical to the medieval world places his verbal epistemol-
ogy, based upon lexical derivation, at the threshold of at least five centu-
ries of culture sometimes considered a dark and derivative
We will have occasion to examine in some detail the shift in the status
and concept ot etymology that accompanied the reemergence in the
twelfth century of philosophy alongside of theology and the privileging
of dialectics over both rhetoric and grammar. Let it suffice for the moment
merely to emphasize the tenacity with which Isidore's reliance upon the
history of words survives even as the principle of temporal priority cedes
to that of logic in the construction of etymological explanations. The
twelfth-century grammarian Peter Helias demonstrates a belief in the
primacy of chronology in his definition of etymology as "true speech,
because he who finds the true etymology, that is the first, can point to the
original word. "
91
The first utterance, once discovered, stands as a point of
organic conjunction between the properties of things and the appearance
of letters.
92
John of Salisbury equates etymology with eloquence and with
control over verbal intention.
93
Among the Latin poets of the High Middle Ages, etymology is treated
as a figure of speech and represents a constant source of fascination.
Mathew of Vendome, in the Ars Versificatoria, includes "argumentum
sive locus a nomine" among the epithets appropriate to the description of
people and offers examples from Ovid.
94
Mar bod dabbles in the mysti-
cism of letters, finding mors, for example, a harsh sound because death is
and vita pleasant because of its meaning.
95
Both Marbod and
Hildebert maintain that truth is to be found in the name of things:
"Nomen enim verum dat definitio rerum."% Sigebert, Acerbus Morena,
Henry of Avranches, and Richard of Venosa all indulge in the most
outlandish etymological speculation, which can be found in Goliardic
verse as well.
97
Even Dante, who repeats the traditional dictum "Nomina
sunt consequentia rerum," infers in the Vita Nuova that Beatrice's name
corresponds, "for those who do not know her," to the truth of her being.
56 Chapter One
notion of topos or Varro's concept of locus, Isidore in
letters, word classes, or literary genres-the places where language
comes to a standstill, where meaning becomes intrinsic, where, to adopt
his own phrase, the first parts of language, the primogenia, "do not draw
their origin from somewhere else."
84
Isidore's definition of etymology as "origo vocabulorum, cum vis verbi
vel nominis per interpretationem colligitur" is traditional;
85
he himself
equates it with Aristotle's and Cicero's "nota" (Etym., l:xxix, i).
The distinction that Isidore draws between natural and conventional
etymologies is the necessary extension of the belief that some names were
originally imposed according to the qualities of things, others according
to whim (see above, pp. 45--47). Thus the strategies for uncovering
etymologies include all that we have seen-reference to property (the
cause of imposition), origin, logical contrariety, nominal derivation, and
sound.
86
What is remarkable in Isidore's concept of etymology is, in fact,
the equation of the qualities of things and their origin, the conflation of
logical and chronological categories (a tendency attested throughout the
Etymologiae by the numerous causal connectives causa, ratio, quia, quod
used interchangeably alongside of the prepositions ex, a, ab). Relations
assumed to exist in nature (e.g., that man springs from earth) become the
equivalent of those which are a function of language (e. g., the derivation
_of prudens from prudentia), and even of language's lowest common de-
nominator, sound (e.g., an etymology ex vocibus). Such a mixture is the
product neither of a confused mind nor of inattention to traditionally
important categories of thought. On the contrary, for Isidore there can be
no distinction between speech and its referent, between the arts of
language and the physical sciences.lfis ontology is essentially an ontol-
ogy of words. Things come into being with names, and without them
consciousness would vanish: "Nisi enim nomen scieris, cognitio rerum
perit" (Etym., l:vii, i).
87
Whether or not Isidore's faith in the essentially verbal nature of cogni-
tion represents an extreme (and ample evidence for such a belief can be
found throughout the Middle Ages), the fact remains that in an age which
believed words to represent a merely tarnished mirror of the universe,
knowledge of the world is essentially lexical. The more we know about
the sources of words, the faster we can penetrate the nature of things
("Nam dum videris unde ortum est nomen, citius vim eis intellegis"
[Etym., l:xxix, ii]). Etymology represents a basis for the intelligibility of
the earthly realm and the defining principle of all scientific inquiry. As a
tool of inference its domain is by no means restricted to the disciplines of
grammar and rhetoric but extends virtually everywhere-to metallurgy,
geography, gardening, law, the arts of war, navigation, and agriculture.
Even astronomy is ruled by etymology according to Isidore's practice of a
mode of knowledge in which the causes of physical events matter less
Early Medieval Grammar 57
than the cause of their designation: "Nam Astronomia caeli conver-
sionem, ortus, obitus motusque siderum continet, vel qua ex causa ita
vocentur."
88
AsP. Zumthor points out, the great etymologist and ency-
clopedist is oriented toward the practical rather than the speculative
sciences. His discourse is more descriptive than analytic, "richer in
'hows' than in 'whys."'
89
Nonetheless, such a lack of conformity to the
norms of post-Renaissance scientific criteria should not blind us to the
radical effects of Isidore's intellectual temper; nor should it lead us to
mistake his monumental importance for the later Middle Ages. The
ultimate consequence of the Etymologiarum sive originum libri XX is the
recuperation of all philosophy by grammar, and even by a lexicology
which takes on metaphysical proportions. Isidore's role as the transmitter
of practically all that was known scientifically (though not theologically)
from the late Classical to the medieval world places his verbal epistemol-
ogy, based upon lexical derivation, at the threshold of at least five centu-
ries of culture sometimes considered a dark and derivative
We will have occasion to examine in some detail the shift in the status
and concept ot etymology that accompanied the reemergence in the
twelfth century of philosophy alongside of theology and the privileging
of dialectics over both rhetoric and grammar. Let it suffice for the moment
merely to emphasize the tenacity with which Isidore's reliance upon the
history of words survives even as the principle of temporal priority cedes
to that of logic in the construction of etymological explanations. The
twelfth-century grammarian Peter Helias demonstrates a belief in the
primacy of chronology in his definition of etymology as "true speech,
because he who finds the true etymology, that is the first, can point to the
original word. "
91
The first utterance, once discovered, stands as a point of
organic conjunction between the properties of things and the appearance
of letters.
92
John of Salisbury equates etymology with eloquence and with
control over verbal intention.
93
Among the Latin poets of the High Middle Ages, etymology is treated
as a figure of speech and represents a constant source of fascination.
Mathew of Vendome, in the Ars Versificatoria, includes "argumentum
sive locus a nomine" among the epithets appropriate to the description of
people and offers examples from Ovid.
94
Mar bod dabbles in the mysti-
cism of letters, finding mors, for example, a harsh sound because death is
and vita pleasant because of its meaning.
95
Both Marbod and
Hildebert maintain that truth is to be found in the name of things:
"Nomen enim verum dat definitio rerum."% Sigebert, Acerbus Morena,
Henry of Avranches, and Richard of Venosa all indulge in the most
outlandish etymological speculation, which can be found in Goliardic
verse as well.
97
Even Dante, who repeats the traditional dictum "Nomina
sunt consequentia rerum," infers in the Vita Nuova that Beatrice's name
corresponds, "for those who do not know her," to the truth of her being.
58 o Chapter One
One final example from the fourteenth-century Leys D' Amors is irres-
istible in its extravagance. The author of this compilation of the rules of
language and love explains that etymologies are based either on letters or
on syllables according to the individual example ("segon la natura de la
cauza"). If by letters, each written character represents a word:
r Femna. per. f. fenestra. per. e. enverenada. per. m. mortz. per. n. nostra. per.
a. aparelhada o ayzinada. et en ayssi femna. fenestra enverenada. mortz nostra.
ayzinada o aparelhada. E si voletz far ethimologia per Ia mayre de Dieu.
podetz dire. fenestra ellumenada mayres nostra advocada!"
In femna, one understands by f, fenestra [window]; bye, enverenada
[poisoned]; by m, mortz [death]; by n, nostra [our]; by a, aparelhada or ayzi-
nada [bringing]. Thus femna signifies poisoned window bringing our death. If,
however, you want to make this etymology work for the mother of God,
you must say fenestra ellumenada mayres nostra advocada [shining window,
mother our defender].
Though Molinier may pretend to imitate the exegetical practice of sacred
etymologies, he recognizes implicitly a certain ironic arbitrariness in the
imposition of proper names. The same word, depending upon its refer-
ent, can have radically different etymologies, as interpretation seems to
depend more on the person named than on ontologically and historically
grounded Hebrew roots. The proper is purely a function of the signified
and expresses neither, as for Jerome, an original and fixed relation be-
tween words and things nor, as for Isidore, the preestablished relations in
language that are the equivalents of things. Derivation is displaced by
"understanding." And yet, the significance of a passage like that found
above lies in the fact that long after the basic assumptions governing
etymology have given way to the playfulness of pastiche, a nostalgia for
the letter joined to meaning is complemented by a formal strategy of
etymological return.
Sacramental Theology
Among the early Church Fathers, attitudes toward the practice of
etymology are necessarily ambiguous because of conflicting attitudes
toward language in general. Origen, for example, correctly situates the
source of etymological thinking in Stoic doctrine, and he summarizes
succinctly the relation between linguistic determinism and etymology:
"The problem is whether, as Aristotle thinks, names were given by
arbitrary determinations; or, as the Stoics hold, by nature, the first utter-
ances being imitations of the things described and becoming their names
(in accordance with which they introduced certain etymological princi-
ples) .... "
99
Augustine's position is attenuated by his distrust of all verbal
signs; yet he distinguishes between a belief in the continuity of linguistic
evolution and the originally motivated quality of signs. Words change
Early Medieval Grammar o 59
according to regular laws of resemblance (analogy), proximity (meton-
ymy), and contrariety (antinomy). And though it is not always possible to
retrace their history, to arrive at the "resemblance of sound to things,"
such a quest can, in the best of cases, lead to a fuller knowledge of the
earthly realm.
100
It is, once again, within the realm of Biblical exegesis that the conflict
between a knowledge of the degraded and illusory status of verbal signs
as opposed to the regularity of their development along with the exis-
tence of an original text "sprung from a single tongue"
101
will partially be
resolved. According to Augustine, the solution to the dilemma of the loss
of intelligibility lies in a limited recourse to philology. The exegete,
"armed with the science of languages," becomes capable of restoring the
diminutions of sense implicit to translation and thus of discovering the
proper meaning of the divine will inherent to Biblical discourse:
Contra ignota signa propria magnum remedium est linguarum cognitio. Et
latinae quidem linguae homines, quos nunc instruendos suscepimus,
duabus aliis ad Scripturarum divinarum cognitionem opus habent, hebraea
scilicet et graeca; ut ad exemplaria praecedentia recurratur, si quam dubita-
tionem attulerit latinorum interpretum infinita varietas.
102
The great remedy against ignorance of proper signs is a knowledge of lan-
guages. In fact, those of the Latin tongue, whom I have undertaken to in-
struct, need two other languages in order to understand the holy Scrip-
tures, namely Greek and Hebrew. These will permit them to appeal to
older examples in cases where the infinite variety of Latin translators
places them in doubt.
Bo.oks 2 and 3 of the De Doctrina Christiana contain a series of philological
prmciples by which to distinguish literal from figural expression and thus
recuperate Biblical allegory within the realm of the proper. And if Augus-
tine's immediate goal in interpreting Genesis is, as he states, "to under-
stand all these passages not in their figural but in their proper sense," his
final aim is a recuperation-through philology-of the laws of linguistic
evolution, a reversal-through charity-of the history of humanity, and,
ultimately, a restoration of man to God (see below, pp. 60-62).
Augustine remains keenly aware of the impropriety of Biblical transla-
tion-an alienation of sense implying an estrangement from God. It is,
however, Jerome, the translator, who most systematically exploits ety-
mology as a principle of exegesis. Jerome announces at the beginning of
the Hebraicae Quaestiones in Libras Geneseos that his purpose in writing is to
restore the lost (translated) truth, hence the authority, of the Bible; and
this through a study of the sources of things, names, and places:
Studii ergo nostri erit uel eorum, qui in libris hebraicis uaria suspicantur,
errores refellere uel ea, quae in latinis et graecis codicibus scatere uidentur,
auctoritati suae reddere, etymologias quoque rerum, nominum atque re-
58 o Chapter One
One final example from the fourteenth-century Leys D' Amors is irres-
istible in its extravagance. The author of this compilation of the rules of
language and love explains that etymologies are based either on letters or
on syllables according to the individual example ("segon la natura de la
cauza"). If by letters, each written character represents a word:
r Femna. per. f. fenestra. per. e. enverenada. per. m. mortz. per. n. nostra. per.
a. aparelhada o ayzinada. et en ayssi femna. fenestra enverenada. mortz nostra.
ayzinada o aparelhada. E si voletz far ethimologia per Ia mayre de Dieu.
podetz dire. fenestra ellumenada mayres nostra advocada!"
In femna, one understands by f, fenestra [window]; bye, enverenada
[poisoned]; by m, mortz [death]; by n, nostra [our]; by a, aparelhada or ayzi-
nada [bringing]. Thus femna signifies poisoned window bringing our death. If,
however, you want to make this etymology work for the mother of God,
you must say fenestra ellumenada mayres nostra advocada [shining window,
mother our defender].
Though Molinier may pretend to imitate the exegetical practice of sacred
etymologies, he recognizes implicitly a certain ironic arbitrariness in the
imposition of proper names. The same word, depending upon its refer-
ent, can have radically different etymologies, as interpretation seems to
depend more on the person named than on ontologically and historically
grounded Hebrew roots. The proper is purely a function of the signified
and expresses neither, as for Jerome, an original and fixed relation be-
tween words and things nor, as for Isidore, the preestablished relations in
language that are the equivalents of things. Derivation is displaced by
"understanding." And yet, the significance of a passage like that found
above lies in the fact that long after the basic assumptions governing
etymology have given way to the playfulness of pastiche, a nostalgia for
the letter joined to meaning is complemented by a formal strategy of
etymological return.
Sacramental Theology
Among the early Church Fathers, attitudes toward the practice of
etymology are necessarily ambiguous because of conflicting attitudes
toward language in general. Origen, for example, correctly situates the
source of etymological thinking in Stoic doctrine, and he summarizes
succinctly the relation between linguistic determinism and etymology:
"The problem is whether, as Aristotle thinks, names were given by
arbitrary determinations; or, as the Stoics hold, by nature, the first utter-
ances being imitations of the things described and becoming their names
(in accordance with which they introduced certain etymological princi-
ples) .... "
99
Augustine's position is attenuated by his distrust of all verbal
signs; yet he distinguishes between a belief in the continuity of linguistic
evolution and the originally motivated quality of signs. Words change
Early Medieval Grammar o 59
according to regular laws of resemblance (analogy), proximity (meton-
ymy), and contrariety (antinomy). And though it is not always possible to
retrace their history, to arrive at the "resemblance of sound to things,"
such a quest can, in the best of cases, lead to a fuller knowledge of the
earthly realm.
100
It is, once again, within the realm of Biblical exegesis that the conflict
between a knowledge of the degraded and illusory status of verbal signs
as opposed to the regularity of their development along with the exis-
tence of an original text "sprung from a single tongue"
101
will partially be
resolved. According to Augustine, the solution to the dilemma of the loss
of intelligibility lies in a limited recourse to philology. The exegete,
"armed with the science of languages," becomes capable of restoring the
diminutions of sense implicit to translation and thus of discovering the
proper meaning of the divine will inherent to Biblical discourse:
Contra ignota signa propria magnum remedium est linguarum cognitio. Et
latinae quidem linguae homines, quos nunc instruendos suscepimus,
duabus aliis ad Scripturarum divinarum cognitionem opus habent, hebraea
scilicet et graeca; ut ad exemplaria praecedentia recurratur, si quam dubita-
tionem attulerit latinorum interpretum infinita varietas.
102
The great remedy against ignorance of proper signs is a knowledge of lan-
guages. In fact, those of the Latin tongue, whom I have undertaken to in-
struct, need two other languages in order to understand the holy Scrip-
tures, namely Greek and Hebrew. These will permit them to appeal to
older examples in cases where the infinite variety of Latin translators
places them in doubt.
Bo.oks 2 and 3 of the De Doctrina Christiana contain a series of philological
prmciples by which to distinguish literal from figural expression and thus
recuperate Biblical allegory within the realm of the proper. And if Augus-
tine's immediate goal in interpreting Genesis is, as he states, "to under-
stand all these passages not in their figural but in their proper sense," his
final aim is a recuperation-through philology-of the laws of linguistic
evolution, a reversal-through charity-of the history of humanity, and,
ultimately, a restoration of man to God (see below, pp. 60-62).
Augustine remains keenly aware of the impropriety of Biblical transla-
tion-an alienation of sense implying an estrangement from God. It is,
however, Jerome, the translator, who most systematically exploits ety-
mology as a principle of exegesis. Jerome announces at the beginning of
the Hebraicae Quaestiones in Libras Geneseos that his purpose in writing is to
restore the lost (translated) truth, hence the authority, of the Bible; and
this through a study of the sources of things, names, and places:
Studii ergo nostri erit uel eorum, qui in libris hebraicis uaria suspicantur,
errores refellere uel ea, quae in latinis et graecis codicibus scatere uidentur,
auctoritati suae reddere, etymologias quoque rerum, nominum atque re-
60 o Chapter One
gionum, quae in nostro sermone non resonant, uernaculae linguae expla-
nare ratione.
103
Therefore, it will be my task either to prove the errors of those men who
are suspicious of various things in the Hebrew books, or to restore to their
original authority those things which seem to abound in the Latin and
Greek codices; furthermore, to explain by means of the vernacular the ety-
mologies of things, names, and places which are not transparently obvious
in my speech.
Jerome's Liber Interpretationis Hebraicorum Nominum is nothing more than
an alphabetical list of the etymologies of Biblical names, which makes it
clear that the search for linguistic beginnings and the mysticism of He-
brew roots are merely two sides of the same coin: in one, meaning is read
through the history of the name; and in the other, the name is read in
terms of the historical genesis it prospectively prescribes.
The etymological search for first words-primogenia-is also expressed
theologically in the doctrine of the Incarnation, which, within a Christian
economy of salvation, is experienced as a drama of language and lineage.
There is, first of all, much in Classical sign theory to suggest the inter-
penetration of paternal and linguistic functions. The notion of the logos is
associated with paternity; and, according to a certain hermeneutic tradi-
tion, it is Hermes, the son and messenger of the gods, who lends his voice
hermeneutikos) to Zeus, the father (!..6-yos, logos).
104
Fur-
thermore, the Christian notion of the Word is, regardless of variations in
trinitarian doctrine, also conceptualized in genealogical terms. The New
Testament designation of Christ the Son as the Word made flesh is
echoed among the Church Fathers. The Apologist Justin calls the Chris-
tian Word the "first-born of God"; Origen's pupil Denys of Alexandria
claims that "the Father, who is divine and universal mind, has primarily
the Son for his Word, his revealer and messenger."
105
Eusebius maintains
that "the Father murmurs in the ear of man by means of his only son."
106
"Vox est Filius Dei, ut in Psalmis: 'Vox Domini super aquas,' quod Filius
Dei in carne locutus est ad homines" -so reads the Allegoriae in Sacram
Scripturam.
107
But even more important, it is Christ, the voice of the Father,
who permits a return to pure origin. As the "perfect expression" and
source of knowledge of God, Christ the Word restores man to Him.
The drama of return to the Father through the Son is crucial for Augus-
tine's theology of history, which is indissociable from a theology of
sacramental signs. Augustine thus distinguishes between the undiffer-
entiated, immaterial, divine Word which, "engendered by the Father, is
coeternal with Him," and corporeally articulated human speech. In some
extended sense, however, words always refer to the Word.
10
" All lan-
guage thus harks back to an origin synonymous with the Father who
remains present in the objects of his Creation (see above, pp. 35, 50).
Early Medieval Grammar o 61
The desire to return to the Father accounts for the centrality of memory
and illumination in Augustine's verbal theology. And though, as we have
seen, words per se cannot lead to truth in the first instance, memory
functions in cognition to bind the individual words perceived separately
through time, and thus to create "a kind of artificial simultaneity" re-
sembling God's coeternally present Word.
109
God dwells in memory
which is essentially of God. So too, the truth that does not belong
formally to memory because it has always been there, the truth accessible
only to the intelligence, points to the "Word of God coeternal with the
Father." The Augustinian apotheosis-the transcendence of the illusory
world of the senses-is, finally, a journey through perception and cogni-
tion toward the intellectio that he associates with a union between parent
and child:
In hac igitur distributione cum incipimus a specie corporis, et pervenimus
usque ad speciem quae fit in contuitu cogitantis, quattuor species reperiun-
tur quasi gradatim natae altera ex altera; secunda, de prima; tertia, de
secunda; quarta, de tertia. A specie quippe corporis quod cernitur, exoritur
ea quae fit in sensu cernentis, et ab hac, ea quae fit in memoria; et ab hac,
ea quae fit in acie cogitantis. Quapropter voluntas quasi parentem cum
prole ter copulat. ...
110
In this arrangement, therefore, when we begin with the species of the
body, and finally arrive at the species which is formed in the gaze of the
thinker, four species are found; they are born, as it were, step by step, one
from the other: the second from the first, the third from the second, and
the fourth from the third. For the species of the body, which is perceived,
produces the species which arises in the sense of the percipient; this latter
gives rise to the species in the memory; finally the species which arises in
the gaze of the thinker. Hence, the will thrice unites, as it were, the parent
with its offspring ....
To transcend the body, to attain the inner truth beyond the temporal and
beyond language, is to reverse an ontological genealogy whose highest
term is God. It is to reunite the Father with the Son, the Speaker with the
Word.
Augustine's goal, which is indistinguishable from the sacrament itself,
is a convergence of the form of knowledge with its object, a recuperation
of the names which are "the images of things." "Everyone," he affirms,
"seeks a certain resemblance in his ways of signifying such that signs
themselves reproduce, to the extent to which it is possible, the thing
signified."
111
And not only does this doctrine of the Incarnation and of the
sacrament justify the identification of etymology with genealogy, but it
serves/as a guide to Augustine's theological version of the Eusebius-
Jerome model of universal history. The will for union between speaker
and voice, sign and meaning, is, at bottom, linked to the dream of
neutralizing the linguistic dispersion that characterizes the degenerative
60 o Chapter One
gionum, quae in nostro sermone non resonant, uernaculae linguae expla-
nare ratione.
103
Therefore, it will be my task either to prove the errors of those men who
are suspicious of various things in the Hebrew books, or to restore to their
original authority those things which seem to abound in the Latin and
Greek codices; furthermore, to explain by means of the vernacular the ety-
mologies of things, names, and places which are not transparently obvious
in my speech.
Jerome's Liber Interpretationis Hebraicorum Nominum is nothing more than
an alphabetical list of the etymologies of Biblical names, which makes it
clear that the search for linguistic beginnings and the mysticism of He-
brew roots are merely two sides of the same coin: in one, meaning is read
through the history of the name; and in the other, the name is read in
terms of the historical genesis it prospectively prescribes.
The etymological search for first words-primogenia-is also expressed
theologically in the doctrine of the Incarnation, which, within a Christian
economy of salvation, is experienced as a drama of language and lineage.
There is, first of all, much in Classical sign theory to suggest the inter-
penetration of paternal and linguistic functions. The notion of the logos is
associated with paternity; and, according to a certain hermeneutic tradi-
tion, it is Hermes, the son and messenger of the gods, who lends his voice
hermeneutikos) to Zeus, the father (!..6-yos, logos).
104
Fur-
thermore, the Christian notion of the Word is, regardless of variations in
trinitarian doctrine, also conceptualized in genealogical terms. The New
Testament designation of Christ the Son as the Word made flesh is
echoed among the Church Fathers. The Apologist Justin calls the Chris-
tian Word the "first-born of God"; Origen's pupil Denys of Alexandria
claims that "the Father, who is divine and universal mind, has primarily
the Son for his Word, his revealer and messenger."
105
Eusebius maintains
that "the Father murmurs in the ear of man by means of his only son."
106
"Vox est Filius Dei, ut in Psalmis: 'Vox Domini super aquas,' quod Filius
Dei in carne locutus est ad homines" -so reads the Allegoriae in Sacram
Scripturam.
107
But even more important, it is Christ, the voice of the Father,
who permits a return to pure origin. As the "perfect expression" and
source of knowledge of God, Christ the Word restores man to Him.
The drama of return to the Father through the Son is crucial for Augus-
tine's theology of history, which is indissociable from a theology of
sacramental signs. Augustine thus distinguishes between the undiffer-
entiated, immaterial, divine Word which, "engendered by the Father, is
coeternal with Him," and corporeally articulated human speech. In some
extended sense, however, words always refer to the Word.
10
" All lan-
guage thus harks back to an origin synonymous with the Father who
remains present in the objects of his Creation (see above, pp. 35, 50).
Early Medieval Grammar o 61
The desire to return to the Father accounts for the centrality of memory
and illumination in Augustine's verbal theology. And though, as we have
seen, words per se cannot lead to truth in the first instance, memory
functions in cognition to bind the individual words perceived separately
through time, and thus to create "a kind of artificial simultaneity" re-
sembling God's coeternally present Word.
109
God dwells in memory
which is essentially of God. So too, the truth that does not belong
formally to memory because it has always been there, the truth accessible
only to the intelligence, points to the "Word of God coeternal with the
Father." The Augustinian apotheosis-the transcendence of the illusory
world of the senses-is, finally, a journey through perception and cogni-
tion toward the intellectio that he associates with a union between parent
and child:
In hac igitur distributione cum incipimus a specie corporis, et pervenimus
usque ad speciem quae fit in contuitu cogitantis, quattuor species reperiun-
tur quasi gradatim natae altera ex altera; secunda, de prima; tertia, de
secunda; quarta, de tertia. A specie quippe corporis quod cernitur, exoritur
ea quae fit in sensu cernentis, et ab hac, ea quae fit in memoria; et ab hac,
ea quae fit in acie cogitantis. Quapropter voluntas quasi parentem cum
prole ter copulat. ...
110
In this arrangement, therefore, when we begin with the species of the
body, and finally arrive at the species which is formed in the gaze of the
thinker, four species are found; they are born, as it were, step by step, one
from the other: the second from the first, the third from the second, and
the fourth from the third. For the species of the body, which is perceived,
produces the species which arises in the sense of the percipient; this latter
gives rise to the species in the memory; finally the species which arises in
the gaze of the thinker. Hence, the will thrice unites, as it were, the parent
with its offspring ....
To transcend the body, to attain the inner truth beyond the temporal and
beyond language, is to reverse an ontological genealogy whose highest
term is God. It is to reunite the Father with the Son, the Speaker with the
Word.
Augustine's goal, which is indistinguishable from the sacrament itself,
is a convergence of the form of knowledge with its object, a recuperation
of the names which are "the images of things." "Everyone," he affirms,
"seeks a certain resemblance in his ways of signifying such that signs
themselves reproduce, to the extent to which it is possible, the thing
signified."
111
And not only does this doctrine of the Incarnation and of the
sacrament justify the identification of etymology with genealogy, but it
serves/as a guide to Augustine's theological version of the Eusebius-
Jerome model of universal history. The will for union between speaker
and voice, sign and meaning, is, at bottom, linked to the dream of
neutralizing the linguistic dispersion that characterizes the degenerative
62 o Chapter One
evolution of mankind. The desire for association between Father and Son
represents a nostalgia for origins tied to the hope of undoing genealogical
dispersion-to abolish history altogether, or to replace world chronology
by eschatology. Though the Bishop of Hippo remains skeptical about the
power of words-or of etymology-ever to attain to the higher truth
which only the intellect can provide, he nonetheless assimilates a reversal
of the laws of language and of lineage that brings man closer to God.
Thus, early medieval history, grammar (both internal and external),
and sacramental theology are informed by a common underlying pattern
defined by the determining effect of what is considered as an absolute
beginning, by the unified nature of that origin with respect to a subse-
quent multiplicity, and by a relative emphasis upon the organic and
continuous relations of the multiple parts to an ontogenetic whole. His-
tory, grammar, and theology are, further, conceived in genealogical
terms; and, where concept is translated into practice, they also can be said
to participate in a global strategy of origins. The universal chronicle traces
the lineage of man through successive generations from an original set of
parents to the families of man; the assumption being that the long-range,
linear history of the race will be redeemed at the end of time by a return to
the wholeness of the outset. The dominant internal order of contempora-
neous grammatical theory reveals a similar development from sound, to
letters, to parts of speech, and to syntax, which, extended to the domain
of historical linguistics, assumes a progression from an undifferentiated
primal utterance to a maternal language (Hebrew), to, eventually, the
most divergent tongues of mankind. Grammar takes as its basic premise a
founding act of signification and evolution through Hebrew, Greek, and
Latin to the present verbal sign which, though debased, still contains a
piece of the original essence of its referent. Here, however, the nostalgia
for beginnings can be seen in the fact that the second part of grammar,
syntax, is overshadowed by its first part, etymology, which finds its
equivalent within exegetical tradition in the mysticism of Hebrew roots.
Finally, on the level of doctrine, the longing for the lost wholeness of a
lineal and linguistic origin is transformed into a theology of history in
which the union of Son and Father is identified with the sacramental
union of signifier and signified.
The anthropological dream of wedding the laws of kinship to those of
language is thus historically realized in the so-called high culture of the
Middle Ages. So pervasive, in fact, is the idealization of the discourses of
history, linguistics, and sacramental theology in terms of an essential
family type that it is difficult not to identify in the principle of genealogy
what M. Foucault might term an "episteme" of this early period. But
what is the relation of such a genealogically defined representation of the

i
Early Medieval Grammar o 63
rules of representation to the historical families whose own permutations
are neither fully reflected in nor governed by it? What, in short, is the
relation between social structure and ideological superstructure, or be-
tween the representation of the family and the family as representation?
It is to these questions that we now turn in the chapter that follows.
62 o Chapter One
evolution of mankind. The desire for association between Father and Son
represents a nostalgia for origins tied to the hope of undoing genealogical
dispersion-to abolish history altogether, or to replace world chronology
by eschatology. Though the Bishop of Hippo remains skeptical about the
power of words-or of etymology-ever to attain to the higher truth
which only the intellect can provide, he nonetheless assimilates a reversal
of the laws of language and of lineage that brings man closer to God.
Thus, early medieval history, grammar (both internal and external),
and sacramental theology are informed by a common underlying pattern
defined by the determining effect of what is considered as an absolute
beginning, by the unified nature of that origin with respect to a subse-
quent multiplicity, and by a relative emphasis upon the organic and
continuous relations of the multiple parts to an ontogenetic whole. His-
tory, grammar, and theology are, further, conceived in genealogical
terms; and, where concept is translated into practice, they also can be said
to participate in a global strategy of origins. The universal chronicle traces
the lineage of man through successive generations from an original set of
parents to the families of man; the assumption being that the long-range,
linear history of the race will be redeemed at the end of time by a return to
the wholeness of the outset. The dominant internal order of contempora-
neous grammatical theory reveals a similar development from sound, to
letters, to parts of speech, and to syntax, which, extended to the domain
of historical linguistics, assumes a progression from an undifferentiated
primal utterance to a maternal language (Hebrew), to, eventually, the
most divergent tongues of mankind. Grammar takes as its basic premise a
founding act of signification and evolution through Hebrew, Greek, and
Latin to the present verbal sign which, though debased, still contains a
piece of the original essence of its referent. Here, however, the nostalgia
for beginnings can be seen in the fact that the second part of grammar,
syntax, is overshadowed by its first part, etymology, which finds its
equivalent within exegetical tradition in the mysticism of Hebrew roots.
Finally, on the level of doctrine, the longing for the lost wholeness of a
lineal and linguistic origin is transformed into a theology of history in
which the union of Son and Father is identified with the sacramental
union of signifier and signified.
The anthropological dream of wedding the laws of kinship to those of
language is thus historically realized in the so-called high culture of the
Middle Ages. So pervasive, in fact, is the idealization of the discourses of
history, linguistics, and sacramental theology in terms of an essential
family type that it is difficult not to identify in the principle of genealogy
what M. Foucault might term an "episteme" of this early period. But
what is the relation of such a genealogically defined representation of the

i
Early Medieval Grammar o 63
rules of representation to the historical families whose own permutations
are neither fully reflected in nor governed by it? What, in short, is the
relation between social structure and ideological superstructure, or be-
tween the representation of the family and the family as representation?
It is to these questions that we now turn in the chapter that follows.

Kinship
What, it may be asked, does either the ongmary, diachronic, and
"etymological" grammar of the early Middle .or theol-
ogy have to do with the constitution of actual five to seven
centuries later? Apparently little, if we expect to fmd tangible
feudal magnates-heads of household-knew Isidore, Augustme, Pns-
cian, or Donatus. And apparently a great deal, when examine
some of the implicit ways in which grammar, the basiC disoplme of the
early medieval language arts, served to ground. a world view in
social institutions. More precisely, the connection between lmgmshc and
lineal orders becomes compelling when we seek to understand how such
an idealized vision of earthly lineage served to mediate a radical reorga-
nization of the aristocratic family of twelfth-century France. For it can be
shown that an essentially verbal model, which lay at the center of a
prevailing epistemological mode, worked not only to define the family
ideologically but to found a more global pattern of social relations and to
64
Kinship 65
bolster a strategy of political hegemony operative until the time of the
Revolution. And if the goal of the previous chapter was to demonstrate
the degree to which a grammatical model was dominated by a familial
one, our purpose at present is to show the extent to which the patterns of
late medieval kinship were, in turn, molded by those of grammar.
The question of what "actually" happened in "real" medieval families
is one of the most difficult areas of European historiography-difficult,
first of all, because of the embryonic state of our knowledge of medieval
kinship. Despite the survival of numerous canonical precepts-synodal
rulings, papal bulls, and interdictions, we still know relatively little about
living arrangements, and sexual habits of the consan-
guineal group. We are particularly ill-informed about those families (the
so-called quiet communities) whose less-than-aristocratic origin or rural
isolation left such a meager trace. Moreover, in the era before the
Church's hegemony over family law, this sphere was largely a private
affair and, as such, entered only tangentially upon the public stage of
history. To this blindness are added the difficulty of assessing the differ-
ence between what texts prescribe and what men actually did as well as a
number of complicating factors specific both to the historical era and the
family as an institution. There is, for example, an enormous variation in ,
the structure of kin groups according to region, period, and social class;
and such diversity is compounded by the personality of law in the
centuries following the invasions as well as by the overlapping of jurisdic-
tions-ecclesiastical, seigneurial, municipal, royal-when law becomes
more territorially defined. We find, in addition, a serious problem of
"negativity" haunting all of medieval legal studies-that is, the fact that
family history tends to become most explicit only when the standard
prescriptions of permissible conduct are transgressed as in cases of pro-
hibited marriages, disputed inheritances, bigamy, incest, and divorce. It
is precisely the routinely accepted norms of everyday life that, because
they are perceived as natural, pass unnoticed and are in some sense
systematically "refused" by history.
Due to a general decline in literacy and the official uses of writing, the
period between the collapse of Carolingian sovereignty and the reign of
the late Capetians represents an especially obscure point within an
already dim field. Nonetheless, the image of the noble family that
emerges from this "dark" age is of a legal community reduced to its
simplest terms, a conjugal unit sometimes prolonged after the death of
the parents by an association of brothers (a frereche). This loosely defined
grouping of relatives and retainers, "friends" and neighbors, gravitated
around the residence of a lord, who was, above all, a patron, a distributor
of gifts and land, the spoils of war or exchange.
1
Within such an extended
relatively undifferentiated crowd of all living family members, there was

Kinship
What, it may be asked, does either the ongmary, diachronic, and
"etymological" grammar of the early Middle .or theol-
ogy have to do with the constitution of actual five to seven
centuries later? Apparently little, if we expect to fmd tangible
feudal magnates-heads of household-knew Isidore, Augustme, Pns-
cian, or Donatus. And apparently a great deal, when examine
some of the implicit ways in which grammar, the basiC disoplme of the
early medieval language arts, served to ground. a world view in
social institutions. More precisely, the connection between lmgmshc and
lineal orders becomes compelling when we seek to understand how such
an idealized vision of earthly lineage served to mediate a radical reorga-
nization of the aristocratic family of twelfth-century France. For it can be
shown that an essentially verbal model, which lay at the center of a
prevailing epistemological mode, worked not only to define the family
ideologically but to found a more global pattern of social relations and to
64
Kinship 65
bolster a strategy of political hegemony operative until the time of the
Revolution. And if the goal of the previous chapter was to demonstrate
the degree to which a grammatical model was dominated by a familial
one, our purpose at present is to show the extent to which the patterns of
late medieval kinship were, in turn, molded by those of grammar.
The question of what "actually" happened in "real" medieval families
is one of the most difficult areas of European historiography-difficult,
first of all, because of the embryonic state of our knowledge of medieval
kinship. Despite the survival of numerous canonical precepts-synodal
rulings, papal bulls, and interdictions, we still know relatively little about
living arrangements, and sexual habits of the consan-
guineal group. We are particularly ill-informed about those families (the
so-called quiet communities) whose less-than-aristocratic origin or rural
isolation left such a meager trace. Moreover, in the era before the
Church's hegemony over family law, this sphere was largely a private
affair and, as such, entered only tangentially upon the public stage of
history. To this blindness are added the difficulty of assessing the differ-
ence between what texts prescribe and what men actually did as well as a
number of complicating factors specific both to the historical era and the
family as an institution. There is, for example, an enormous variation in ,
the structure of kin groups according to region, period, and social class;
and such diversity is compounded by the personality of law in the
centuries following the invasions as well as by the overlapping of jurisdic-
tions-ecclesiastical, seigneurial, municipal, royal-when law becomes
more territorially defined. We find, in addition, a serious problem of
"negativity" haunting all of medieval legal studies-that is, the fact that
family history tends to become most explicit only when the standard
prescriptions of permissible conduct are transgressed as in cases of pro-
hibited marriages, disputed inheritances, bigamy, incest, and divorce. It
is precisely the routinely accepted norms of everyday life that, because
they are perceived as natural, pass unnoticed and are in some sense
systematically "refused" by history.
Due to a general decline in literacy and the official uses of writing, the
period between the collapse of Carolingian sovereignty and the reign of
the late Capetians represents an especially obscure point within an
already dim field. Nonetheless, the image of the noble family that
emerges from this "dark" age is of a legal community reduced to its
simplest terms, a conjugal unit sometimes prolonged after the death of
the parents by an association of brothers (a frereche). This loosely defined
grouping of relatives and retainers, "friends" and neighbors, gravitated
around the residence of a lord, who was, above all, a patron, a distributor
of gifts and land, the spoils of war or exchange.
1
Within such an extended
relatively undifferentiated crowd of all living family members, there was
66 Chapter Two
little distinction between the lineage of husband and wife. Both agnatic
and cognatic lines were of equal importance, as were relatives linked by
marriage (propinquii) and by blood (consanguinei).
From what we know about the post-Carolingian kin group, several
defining principles are of paramount relevance to the present discussion:
(1) The noble family of the ninth and tenth centuries seems to have been
articulated "spatially," that is to say, as a "horizontal" grouping, spread
out in the present, without fixed or precise limits.
2
Though its members
may descend from a common ancestor, the family had little conscious-
ness of itself as a temporally defined entity, a succession of generations, a
lineage, or genealogy; nor does it emerge from existing documentation
that ancestors were privileged over relatives. Descent was a less potent
force of family cohesion than affiliation with living relatives, just as
within the economic sphere, benefices (lifetime grants) were more impor-
tant than fiefs, which were not heritable, and which, theoretically at least,
reverted to the lord upon the grantee's death. (2) The noble family of this
period had no fixed residence. Though its members may have lived in a
common region and held land in common, they had little sense of self-
definition in terms of a "family seat." (3) Until the eleventh century the
clan had no family name. Individuals had a single Christian name, and
indeed certain families seemed to have had proprietary rights over certain
of these; but they had no cognomen or surnom (see below, pp. 78-79).
There were no dynastic houses and no patronyms. Evidence shows, in
fact, a relative inattentiveness to the mixing of names from either the
maternal or the paternal lines. (4) Finally, because the institutions of the
Carolingian state were, for a long time after its disintegration, still intact,
the family had not yet assumed what would become its role in the
keeping of the public peace. This means that the family holding was not
yet attached to a system of heritable military tenure and that women, as a
rule, enjoyed relative economic independence. In theory, a woman could
inherit land, was free to manage her own marriage part, and, if widowed,
could pass the property of her deceased husband to the children of a
"second bed."
3
In the light of what we know about the kin groups of the post-
Carolingian era, it is difficult not to dramatize the startling transformation
in the internal makeup of the noble family beginning in the eleventh
century. This change varied according to date, region, and social status. It
occurred earlier in the North and the West of France, later in the South;
earlier among great feudal magnates (counts and dukes) than among
simple knights. And though the causes of such a shift are difficult to
assess, there is general agreement among historians of the medieval
family that what happened to the aristocratic clan happened in response
Kinship 67
to its own relation to the primary source of wealth in a pro-
foundly agranan age-land. G. Duby (Macon the No th) R F
(
p d , . ' r , . oss1er
1car y), L. Gemcot (Namur), R. Hajdu (Poitou), D. Herlihy (the South)
Musset a.nd P. Bonnassie (Catalonia) all point to a dis
swn of endem1c to the "horizontal" clan.
4
Given the capacity of
women to mhent as well as the relative equality of heirs (male and femal
?lder younger), there a tendency for familial holdings to
fragmented. Th1s trend was, in the period under considera-
exacerbated by a resurgence of pious donation, gifts inter vivos
":'h1ch furthered the process of by irrevocably channeling con-
siderable amounts of property m the d1rection of the Church
of land division across successive
and 1ts cesswn to the ecclesmshcal see (which was not, it must be noted
plagued by partition by inheritance) contributed to the gradual
of the clan. Nor did the "horizontal family" develop a coherent
management. On the contrary, its patrimoine was continu-
d1m1mshed by the centrifugal erosion of territory, which was often
crossed by parcels belonging to others, abandoned, or,
m e p of one southern witness, "confused. "
5
In fact, such a
demo?raph1c state affai:s had deep social implications, for it is the sign
an mfrastructure m wh1ch personal ties of dependence between indi-
VIdual men are more important than the rights and duties attached to
land. another :he .authority of those with the power of com-
hke the legal ms:1tuhons at their disposal, were not territorially
defmed. A lord those under his protection, he might
con_trol those hvmg on h1s domam; but he did not yet dominate a unified
reg1on.
Was their relative newness to the areas settled a factor in the incoher-
ency. o.f policy? What was the effect of a lack of agricultural and
admm1strahve experience on the part of those who had b 1
d
. . . een pnman y
nom.a 1c warnors? D1d the Germanic people lack the notion of full own-
ership so dear to Roman legal mind? These hypotheses have been
advanced to exp!am the seeming inconsistency of the clan regarding the
management of 1ts and they are to some degree relevant and just.
The search for causes 1s, however, less pertinent to the present discussion
than the fact that: beginning in the 1000s, the relation of noble families to
land be?an to sh1ft, and this shift accompanied a fundamental change in
the famlly' s definition of itself.
can. littl.e doubt tha: time alone favored the sense of geo-
stab1hty wh1ch charactenze the families of what M. Bloch termed
first feudal age." Implantation on a specific piece of land increas-
mgly regarded as a familial possession, a developing patrilocal sense of
66 Chapter Two
little distinction between the lineage of husband and wife. Both agnatic
and cognatic lines were of equal importance, as were relatives linked by
marriage (propinquii) and by blood (consanguinei).
From what we know about the post-Carolingian kin group, several
defining principles are of paramount relevance to the present discussion:
(1) The noble family of the ninth and tenth centuries seems to have been
articulated "spatially," that is to say, as a "horizontal" grouping, spread
out in the present, without fixed or precise limits.
2
Though its members
may descend from a common ancestor, the family had little conscious-
ness of itself as a temporally defined entity, a succession of generations, a
lineage, or genealogy; nor does it emerge from existing documentation
that ancestors were privileged over relatives. Descent was a less potent
force of family cohesion than affiliation with living relatives, just as
within the economic sphere, benefices (lifetime grants) were more impor-
tant than fiefs, which were not heritable, and which, theoretically at least,
reverted to the lord upon the grantee's death. (2) The noble family of this
period had no fixed residence. Though its members may have lived in a
common region and held land in common, they had little sense of self-
definition in terms of a "family seat." (3) Until the eleventh century the
clan had no family name. Individuals had a single Christian name, and
indeed certain families seemed to have had proprietary rights over certain
of these; but they had no cognomen or surnom (see below, pp. 78-79).
There were no dynastic houses and no patronyms. Evidence shows, in
fact, a relative inattentiveness to the mixing of names from either the
maternal or the paternal lines. (4) Finally, because the institutions of the
Carolingian state were, for a long time after its disintegration, still intact,
the family had not yet assumed what would become its role in the
keeping of the public peace. This means that the family holding was not
yet attached to a system of heritable military tenure and that women, as a
rule, enjoyed relative economic independence. In theory, a woman could
inherit land, was free to manage her own marriage part, and, if widowed,
could pass the property of her deceased husband to the children of a
"second bed."
3
In the light of what we know about the kin groups of the post-
Carolingian era, it is difficult not to dramatize the startling transformation
in the internal makeup of the noble family beginning in the eleventh
century. This change varied according to date, region, and social status. It
occurred earlier in the North and the West of France, later in the South;
earlier among great feudal magnates (counts and dukes) than among
simple knights. And though the causes of such a shift are difficult to
assess, there is general agreement among historians of the medieval
family that what happened to the aristocratic clan happened in response
Kinship 67
to its own relation to the primary source of wealth in a pro-
foundly agranan age-land. G. Duby (Macon the No th) R F
(
p d , . ' r , . oss1er
1car y), L. Gemcot (Namur), R. Hajdu (Poitou), D. Herlihy (the South)
Musset a.nd P. Bonnassie (Catalonia) all point to a dis
swn of endem1c to the "horizontal" clan.
4
Given the capacity of
women to mhent as well as the relative equality of heirs (male and femal
?lder younger), there a tendency for familial holdings to
fragmented. Th1s trend was, in the period under considera-
exacerbated by a resurgence of pious donation, gifts inter vivos
":'h1ch furthered the process of by irrevocably channeling con-
siderable amounts of property m the d1rection of the Church
of land division across successive
and 1ts cesswn to the ecclesmshcal see (which was not, it must be noted
plagued by partition by inheritance) contributed to the gradual
of the clan. Nor did the "horizontal family" develop a coherent
management. On the contrary, its patrimoine was continu-
d1m1mshed by the centrifugal erosion of territory, which was often
crossed by parcels belonging to others, abandoned, or,
m e p of one southern witness, "confused. "
5
In fact, such a
demo?raph1c state affai:s had deep social implications, for it is the sign
an mfrastructure m wh1ch personal ties of dependence between indi-
VIdual men are more important than the rights and duties attached to
land. another :he .authority of those with the power of com-
hke the legal ms:1tuhons at their disposal, were not territorially
defmed. A lord those under his protection, he might
con_trol those hvmg on h1s domam; but he did not yet dominate a unified
reg1on.
Was their relative newness to the areas settled a factor in the incoher-
ency. o.f policy? What was the effect of a lack of agricultural and
admm1strahve experience on the part of those who had b 1
d
. . . een pnman y
nom.a 1c warnors? D1d the Germanic people lack the notion of full own-
ership so dear to Roman legal mind? These hypotheses have been
advanced to exp!am the seeming inconsistency of the clan regarding the
management of 1ts and they are to some degree relevant and just.
The search for causes 1s, however, less pertinent to the present discussion
than the fact that: beginning in the 1000s, the relation of noble families to
land be?an to sh1ft, and this shift accompanied a fundamental change in
the famlly' s definition of itself.
can. littl.e doubt tha: time alone favored the sense of geo-
stab1hty wh1ch charactenze the families of what M. Bloch termed
first feudal age." Implantation on a specific piece of land increas-
mgly regarded as a familial possession, a developing patrilocal sense of
68 Chapter Two
the kin group bound by reference to a common residence, a castle and
cradle of the paternal alodium (free holding)-these were important fac-
tors in the passage from personal to territorial control. But, most of all, it
was the transformation of the fief into a heriditary right, a phenomenon
perhaps linked to feudalism itself, that marked a radical break with the
"horizontal" clan. From the second half of the eleventh century on, the
family began increasingly to receive its fortune by inheritance rather than
from a patron. Access to the holdings which had once depended upon the
discretion of a lord became at first automatically renewable and then an
integral part of a transmissible patrimoine. The knight, in turn, was less a
retainer than the heir to a domain, function, and title. Chivalry itself,
transformed from a relatively open class into a closed and
caste, was no longer merely an indication of economic status but a
hereditary sign of superiority.
6
Henceforth, nobility represented a quality
of birth, and a man was powerful because his ancestors, sometime
around the year 1000, were already in command.
Such a shift carried enormous consequences; in particular, the tie to
heritable land changed the shape of the family in two important ways:
1. There occurred, first of all, a shrinking of the extended clan. This is a
phenomenon that remains hard to measure but that is nonetheless
reflected (with an obvious delay with respect to actual practice) in Church
doctrine. Before the thirteenth century, the endogamic field within which
marriage was officially prohibited extended not only to the seventh
canonical degree but included prohibitions against marriage to those
whose relationship was defined by secondary and tertiary categories of
affinity. For example, the afftnitas secundi generis produced a
impediment up to the third degree of kinship between relatives of the
second wife of a widower and those of his deceased wife. It even-
mirabile dictu!-applied in cases where fornication without marriage had
occurred. Thus, when a man successively had sexual relations with two
women, the relatives to the third degree of the first could not marry the
second. The even more arcane afftnitas tertium genus provided for the
inclusion of relatives of the second marriages of the dead spouses of the
affines of the secundi generis, which, again, also applied in cases of extra-
marital intercourse.
7
What this means is that the legal definition of such a
family was inordinately large. This is obvious in the exaggerated calcula-
tion of the degrees of paternity within which marriage was prohibited, or
within which sexual relations were considered incestuous-the factors,
in short, which define the rules of exogamy coterminous with the bounds
of the family itself. And-this is essential within the medieval setting-it
is also visible in the excessively wide limits within which property could
be inherited, within which loyalty in blood feuds was required, and
within which the family was responsible economically for each of its
Kinship 69
members, and shared, in case of his death, in the distribution of com-
pensatory payment.
The enormous extension of the clan-a breadth beyond the reckoning
of most of its members and accessible only to those with canonical
training-was severely attenuated by the Lateran Council of 1215. Under
the direction of Innocent III, both the secundum and the tertium genus
afftnitatis were eliminated along with the rule concerning suboles ex secun-
dis nuptiis. Even more important, the degrees of consanguinity within
which marriage was prohibited were reduced from seven to four. This
may seem like an academic distinction within a marital system whose
margins are so broad as to appear hopelessly vague. But here again, it
must be remembered that more was at stake than merely the establish-
ment of new conjugal cells. Attenuation of the interdiction against mar-
riage also implied an attenuation of the capacity to inherit and the legal
responsibility for military aid. Later in the same century, Beaumanoir,
evoking the ancient rule of auxilium, will remind his readers that the duty
of a kinsman to participate in the wars of another is, like the rule of
marriage, now restricted to the fourth degree.
8
2. Alongside the narrowing of the outer limits of the noble family there
occurred an internal restriction whose consequences reached beyond the
quantitative extension of the marital prohibition, along with mutual
military and economic obligations, toward a substantive redefinition of
the concept of family itself. For, beginning in the eleventh century, and at
different times in different regions, historians detect the onset of a
marked preference for consanguineal over affinal kin. That is, the trans-
formation of fiefs into heritable patrimoines was accompanied by a grow-
ing consciousness of blood relations in distinction to those by marriage. ,
The kin group as a spatial extension was displaced from within by the
notion of the blood group as a diachronic progression: the power of
feudal princes, once established geographically, produced a correspond-
ing sense of the family through time. And not just any sense, since the
"horizontal" clan, loosely and spatially conceived, took on, through
increased emphasis upon time and blood, a necessarily tighter and more
"vertical" slanU Nobility became, in the period under consideration,
synonymous with race (sanguine nobilitatis), as the undifferentiated bi-
lateral mixture of agnatic and cognatic kin ceded to the enhanced prestige
of a unilateral descent group.
Here we touch upon the central axiom of twelfth-century aristocracy.
For the family, narrowed around its outer edges, temporalized and ren-
dered vertical, also underwent a reorientation, an axial shift, such that its
articulation of itself acquired the dimensions of a straight line. Linearity is
the defining principle of the noble house, dynasty, and-the partial
homonymy is striking-of lineage. Henceforth, nobility was no longer ,
68 Chapter Two
the kin group bound by reference to a common residence, a castle and
cradle of the paternal alodium (free holding)-these were important fac-
tors in the passage from personal to territorial control. But, most of all, it
was the transformation of the fief into a heriditary right, a phenomenon
perhaps linked to feudalism itself, that marked a radical break with the
"horizontal" clan. From the second half of the eleventh century on, the
family began increasingly to receive its fortune by inheritance rather than
from a patron. Access to the holdings which had once depended upon the
discretion of a lord became at first automatically renewable and then an
integral part of a transmissible patrimoine. The knight, in turn, was less a
retainer than the heir to a domain, function, and title. Chivalry itself,
transformed from a relatively open class into a closed and
caste, was no longer merely an indication of economic status but a
hereditary sign of superiority.
6
Henceforth, nobility represented a quality
of birth, and a man was powerful because his ancestors, sometime
around the year 1000, were already in command.
Such a shift carried enormous consequences; in particular, the tie to
heritable land changed the shape of the family in two important ways:
1. There occurred, first of all, a shrinking of the extended clan. This is a
phenomenon that remains hard to measure but that is nonetheless
reflected (with an obvious delay with respect to actual practice) in Church
doctrine. Before the thirteenth century, the endogamic field within which
marriage was officially prohibited extended not only to the seventh
canonical degree but included prohibitions against marriage to those
whose relationship was defined by secondary and tertiary categories of
affinity. For example, the afftnitas secundi generis produced a
impediment up to the third degree of kinship between relatives of the
second wife of a widower and those of his deceased wife. It even-
mirabile dictu!-applied in cases where fornication without marriage had
occurred. Thus, when a man successively had sexual relations with two
women, the relatives to the third degree of the first could not marry the
second. The even more arcane afftnitas tertium genus provided for the
inclusion of relatives of the second marriages of the dead spouses of the
affines of the secundi generis, which, again, also applied in cases of extra-
marital intercourse.
7
What this means is that the legal definition of such a
family was inordinately large. This is obvious in the exaggerated calcula-
tion of the degrees of paternity within which marriage was prohibited, or
within which sexual relations were considered incestuous-the factors,
in short, which define the rules of exogamy coterminous with the bounds
of the family itself. And-this is essential within the medieval setting-it
is also visible in the excessively wide limits within which property could
be inherited, within which loyalty in blood feuds was required, and
within which the family was responsible economically for each of its
Kinship 69
members, and shared, in case of his death, in the distribution of com-
pensatory payment.
The enormous extension of the clan-a breadth beyond the reckoning
of most of its members and accessible only to those with canonical
training-was severely attenuated by the Lateran Council of 1215. Under
the direction of Innocent III, both the secundum and the tertium genus
afftnitatis were eliminated along with the rule concerning suboles ex secun-
dis nuptiis. Even more important, the degrees of consanguinity within
which marriage was prohibited were reduced from seven to four. This
may seem like an academic distinction within a marital system whose
margins are so broad as to appear hopelessly vague. But here again, it
must be remembered that more was at stake than merely the establish-
ment of new conjugal cells. Attenuation of the interdiction against mar-
riage also implied an attenuation of the capacity to inherit and the legal
responsibility for military aid. Later in the same century, Beaumanoir,
evoking the ancient rule of auxilium, will remind his readers that the duty
of a kinsman to participate in the wars of another is, like the rule of
marriage, now restricted to the fourth degree.
8
2. Alongside the narrowing of the outer limits of the noble family there
occurred an internal restriction whose consequences reached beyond the
quantitative extension of the marital prohibition, along with mutual
military and economic obligations, toward a substantive redefinition of
the concept of family itself. For, beginning in the eleventh century, and at
different times in different regions, historians detect the onset of a
marked preference for consanguineal over affinal kin. That is, the trans-
formation of fiefs into heritable patrimoines was accompanied by a grow-
ing consciousness of blood relations in distinction to those by marriage. ,
The kin group as a spatial extension was displaced from within by the
notion of the blood group as a diachronic progression: the power of
feudal princes, once established geographically, produced a correspond-
ing sense of the family through time. And not just any sense, since the
"horizontal" clan, loosely and spatially conceived, took on, through
increased emphasis upon time and blood, a necessarily tighter and more
"vertical" slanU Nobility became, in the period under consideration,
synonymous with race (sanguine nobilitatis), as the undifferentiated bi-
lateral mixture of agnatic and cognatic kin ceded to the enhanced prestige
of a unilateral descent group.
Here we touch upon the central axiom of twelfth-century aristocracy.
For the family, narrowed around its outer edges, temporalized and ren-
dered vertical, also underwent a reorientation, an axial shift, such that its
articulation of itself acquired the dimensions of a straight line. Linearity is
the defining principle of the noble house, dynasty, and-the partial
homonymy is striking-of lineage. Henceforth, nobility was no longer ,
70 o Chapter Two
dependent upon the bestowal of function or benefice but was a quality of
those whose origin can be traced along a continuum of descent. "To be
noble," as G. Duby notes, "is to be able to refer to a genealogy."
10
From clan to lineage, the phrase is all too facile and broad to account for
the characteristic development of specific regions. And yet, regional
studies seem not only to confirm-without naming-the timeworn cliche
but to suggest something beyond an apparently unconscious, historically
determined change in family focus-something that borders on the realm
of intention: that is, the radicalness of aristocracy's lineal "reorientation"
lies less in the notion of race, dynastic order, or house than in the growing
consciousness with which it began to manage what can only be described
as a "biopolitics" of lineage.
The Biopolitics of Lineage
1. The genealogical family implies, first of all, the exercise of a certain
discipline with respect to marriage, more precisely, the restriction of
unions to the minimum necessary to assure the continuity of the family
line. This was not always easy given the high rate of infant mortality in
such uncertain times. Nonetheless, as Duby has demonstrated for the
regions of Macon and the Northwest, noble families permitted the estab-
lishment of only one or two new households per generation, the rest of
the unmarried sons being housed in monasteries and chapters, or simply
remaining unattached and disenfranchised.
11
Bonnassie finds the same to
be true of Catalonia; and Hajdu calculates that in twelfth-century Poitou
the number of married eldest sons exceeds that of their younger brothers
by a factor of two.
12
When younger siblings were allowed to marry, the
family frequently tried to find a wealthy mate, or, that failing, to protect
the familial patrimoine by a limited endowment (droit de viage). Similarly,
the marriage of daughters, part of family policy aimed at the deliberate
creation of a "network of alliances," often involved a restriction of inheri-
tance to the dowry or marriage portion (maritagium).
13
2. Implicit to the production of sufficient progeny to insure dynastic
continuity without a surplus to deplete its wealth is a model of marriage
essential to the transmission of the fief and to the organization of feudal
society as a series of alliances between landholders with mutual obliga-
tions to each other. Marriage represented, above all, a treaty (pactum
conjugale) to be negotiated between families; and it has often been said
that the chivalric houses of twelfth-century France were so closely con-
nected through common ancestry, matrimony, and collateral relation
(not to mention fictive forms of kinship like adoption and participation in
certain sacraments) that the nobles of the realm must have seemed like
one big family. So complex a web of kinship depended upon careful
surveillance of marital ties. More precisely, it assumed a matrimonial
system involving early betrothal (often at the age of seven to ten), early
Kinship o 71
marriage (often at puberty), and, above all, the choice of partners to be
made by the family or feudal lord. A marriage was, under normal cir-
cumstance_s, concluded by the head of household (caput mansi) or the
elders (senzores) of the lineage; in their absence, by the relatives-the amis
charnels-mother, brother, sister, or uncle; and, when the potential
spouse was an orphan, by the lord who exercised the right of wardship.
14
this "lay aristocratic model of marriage" (Duby), the consent of
parhes mattered little, while that of parents and guardians was the sine
qua non of a legal union. The question of who may marry whom was-
based upon a c_ertain respect for canonical impediments and upon a
paternal fief in accordance with an interlocking
senes of m1htary, pohhcal, and social ties. J
3. The biopolitics of lineage cannot be separated from a system of
property rights and practices designed to insure the integrity of the
ancestral domain. These include: the laudatio parentum, by which relatives
participated in the alienation of family lands; the proisme, an offer to
in the first instance to kin; and, eventually, the retrait
lzgna?er (redemptw, retractus) by which a member of the lineage retained
the nght, even after sale to an outsider had been concluded, to substitute
himself for the original purchaser.
15
__
7
A general prohibition against the division of noble fiefs served to
reinforce the ties between those whose sense of cohesion was increas-
ingly tied to land. The Tres Ancien Coutumier, transcribed around 1200 in
the region (Normandy) where the force of lineage was stronger than
anywhere else, forbids the dismemberment of large holdings: "Ne fiez de
hauberc, ne sergenterie qui apartiegne a Ia segnorie au due, ne baronie ne
sera pas partie. "
16
Compiled three-quarters of a century later and in a less
seigneurial spirit, the Etablissements de Saint Louis displays nonetheless a
similar interdiction: "Baronie ne depart mie entre freres .... "
17
The trend
agains_t was also reflected in the property arrangements sur-
ro_undmg marnage, for here the economics of the conjugal couple was
tmlored to affect minimally the rights of lineage. Gifts between spouses
were prohibited where inherited property was concerned.
18
Even when
sanctioned, as in the case of dowries and marriage offerings,
these still retained the qualities of a loan. More important, husband and
wife did not inherit from one another. Upon the death of either, the
surviving spouse reserved control of the dead partner's marriage portion;
but at the time of his or her death, and in the absence of descendants, this
prop_erty rever_ted to the lineage of its origin. The devolution of family
holdmgs was, mother words, coterminous with blood, a principle which
Beaumanoir puts succinctly as follows:
Se j'ai eritage de par_ mon pere et mes peres muert et a pres je muir sans oir
de_ mon mes entages de par mon pere ne revient pas a rna mere, ain-
.;ms esch1et au plus prochien qui m'apartient de par le pere; neis s'il estoit
70 o Chapter Two
dependent upon the bestowal of function or benefice but was a quality of
those whose origin can be traced along a continuum of descent. "To be
noble," as G. Duby notes, "is to be able to refer to a genealogy."
10
From clan to lineage, the phrase is all too facile and broad to account for
the characteristic development of specific regions. And yet, regional
studies seem not only to confirm-without naming-the timeworn cliche
but to suggest something beyond an apparently unconscious, historically
determined change in family focus-something that borders on the realm
of intention: that is, the radicalness of aristocracy's lineal "reorientation"
lies less in the notion of race, dynastic order, or house than in the growing
consciousness with which it began to manage what can only be described
as a "biopolitics" of lineage.
The Biopolitics of Lineage
1. The genealogical family implies, first of all, the exercise of a certain
discipline with respect to marriage, more precisely, the restriction of
unions to the minimum necessary to assure the continuity of the family
line. This was not always easy given the high rate of infant mortality in
such uncertain times. Nonetheless, as Duby has demonstrated for the
regions of Macon and the Northwest, noble families permitted the estab-
lishment of only one or two new households per generation, the rest of
the unmarried sons being housed in monasteries and chapters, or simply
remaining unattached and disenfranchised.
11
Bonnassie finds the same to
be true of Catalonia; and Hajdu calculates that in twelfth-century Poitou
the number of married eldest sons exceeds that of their younger brothers
by a factor of two.
12
When younger siblings were allowed to marry, the
family frequently tried to find a wealthy mate, or, that failing, to protect
the familial patrimoine by a limited endowment (droit de viage). Similarly,
the marriage of daughters, part of family policy aimed at the deliberate
creation of a "network of alliances," often involved a restriction of inheri-
tance to the dowry or marriage portion (maritagium).
13
2. Implicit to the production of sufficient progeny to insure dynastic
continuity without a surplus to deplete its wealth is a model of marriage
essential to the transmission of the fief and to the organization of feudal
society as a series of alliances between landholders with mutual obliga-
tions to each other. Marriage represented, above all, a treaty (pactum
conjugale) to be negotiated between families; and it has often been said
that the chivalric houses of twelfth-century France were so closely con-
nected through common ancestry, matrimony, and collateral relation
(not to mention fictive forms of kinship like adoption and participation in
certain sacraments) that the nobles of the realm must have seemed like
one big family. So complex a web of kinship depended upon careful
surveillance of marital ties. More precisely, it assumed a matrimonial
system involving early betrothal (often at the age of seven to ten), early
Kinship o 71
marriage (often at puberty), and, above all, the choice of partners to be
made by the family or feudal lord. A marriage was, under normal cir-
cumstance_s, concluded by the head of household (caput mansi) or the
elders (senzores) of the lineage; in their absence, by the relatives-the amis
charnels-mother, brother, sister, or uncle; and, when the potential
spouse was an orphan, by the lord who exercised the right of wardship.
14
this "lay aristocratic model of marriage" (Duby), the consent of
parhes mattered little, while that of parents and guardians was the sine
qua non of a legal union. The question of who may marry whom was-
based upon a c_ertain respect for canonical impediments and upon a
paternal fief in accordance with an interlocking
senes of m1htary, pohhcal, and social ties. J
3. The biopolitics of lineage cannot be separated from a system of
property rights and practices designed to insure the integrity of the
ancestral domain. These include: the laudatio parentum, by which relatives
participated in the alienation of family lands; the proisme, an offer to
in the first instance to kin; and, eventually, the retrait
lzgna?er (redemptw, retractus) by which a member of the lineage retained
the nght, even after sale to an outsider had been concluded, to substitute
himself for the original purchaser.
15
__
7
A general prohibition against the division of noble fiefs served to
reinforce the ties between those whose sense of cohesion was increas-
ingly tied to land. The Tres Ancien Coutumier, transcribed around 1200 in
the region (Normandy) where the force of lineage was stronger than
anywhere else, forbids the dismemberment of large holdings: "Ne fiez de
hauberc, ne sergenterie qui apartiegne a Ia segnorie au due, ne baronie ne
sera pas partie. "
16
Compiled three-quarters of a century later and in a less
seigneurial spirit, the Etablissements de Saint Louis displays nonetheless a
similar interdiction: "Baronie ne depart mie entre freres .... "
17
The trend
agains_t was also reflected in the property arrangements sur-
ro_undmg marnage, for here the economics of the conjugal couple was
tmlored to affect minimally the rights of lineage. Gifts between spouses
were prohibited where inherited property was concerned.
18
Even when
sanctioned, as in the case of dowries and marriage offerings,
these still retained the qualities of a loan. More important, husband and
wife did not inherit from one another. Upon the death of either, the
surviving spouse reserved control of the dead partner's marriage portion;
but at the time of his or her death, and in the absence of descendants, this
prop_erty rever_ted to the lineage of its origin. The devolution of family
holdmgs was, mother words, coterminous with blood, a principle which
Beaumanoir puts succinctly as follows:
Se j'ai eritage de par_ mon pere et mes peres muert et a pres je muir sans oir
de_ mon mes entages de par mon pere ne revient pas a rna mere, ain-
.;ms esch1et au plus prochien qui m'apartient de par le pere; neis s'il estoit
72 o Chapter Two
ou quart degre de lignage, car rna mere est estrange de l'eritage qui me
vient de par le pere, et aussi est mes peres estranges de l'eritage qui me
vient de par rna mere.
19
If I have an inheritance from my father and my father dies and I die heir-
less after him, my inheritance from my father does not revert to my
mother, for it escheats to my closest relative on my father's side; even if
this means going as far as the fourth degree of paternity, since my mother
is a stranger to the inheritance that comes to me from my father, and, like-
wise, is my father a stranger to the inheritance that comes to me from my
mother.
Beaumanoir's prescription does not cover goods acquired during the
course of marriage, but it does provide categorically that noble property
belonging originally to one lineage cannot pass to another. The rule of
paterna paternis, materna maternis as stated above served, moreover, to
stress the ephemeral nature of marriage itself. The conjugal couple repre-
sented a temporary coupling of two separate kin groups for the purpose
of procreation and did not constitute an independent economic unit.
20
The rules governing indivision and the separation of property would
have had little effect if it were not for the inauguration, at about the same
time, of the practice of primogeniture. Whether primogeniture repre-
sented, as some have suggested, the aristocratic appropriation of a royal
model, or, as others have held, a return to Roman notions of property, is
less important than the fact that beginning in the eleventh century the
privileging of one heir over all others became the law of noble
succession.
21
Here again, there is a certain amount of variation according
to region-earlier in Macon and Normandy than in Poitou and Pro-
vence-and according to status-earlier among great feudal chiefs than
among lesser knights. In addition, the actual techniques of primogeniture
reflected local legal usage-customary in the North and by testament in
the romanized South. Be these differences as they may, primogeniture
implied inheritance by the oldest male of the most profitable and prestigi-
ous domains, usually the castle and the central family fief; this accompa-
nied by the distribution of marginal holdings among younger siblings.
The Tres Ancien Coutumier provides that "li chevaliers ainznez avra le fie
de hauberc tout entier"; and this prescription is echoed in the Grand
Coutumier, whose author elaborates a line of succession by sex and age:
Unde notandum est quod primogenitus filius patri succedit, et omnes ei
debent succedere qui primo nati sunt in eadem linea consanguinitatis.
22
Whence let it be noted that the first born son succeeds to the father, and
all should succeed to him in the same blood line by order of birth ....
According to Beaumanoir, the oldest son gets the principal manor and
two-thirds of all the fiefs, while the rest of the family inheritance is to be
Kinship o 73
divided equally among younger sons and the daughters, who become
vassals of their b_rother. Saint Louis concurs, specifying that, "gentis hom
ne puet doner a ses anfans, a ces qui sont puisne que le tiers de son
heritaige. "
23
The practice _of primogeniture represented the keystone of a familial
that much to foster lineage's vertical, agnatic, patrilinear
Itself. Through it property descended in a straight vertical
lme, l_Ike, m the words of E. LeRoy Ladurie, "sap flowing downward,
accordmg to some mysterious force, to nourish the lower limits and
of_ a tall tree."
24
The stress placed not only upon the uni-
but upon the unidirectionality of lineage is significant and
will seem even more so when we examine other systems of inheritance
and other kinds below, pp. 163-174). Paternal property is
transferred only m one direction-downward (quasi ponderosum quid); in
the phrase of a popular adage found in the customary material, "fiefs ne
remontent pas."
4. Primogeniture and the law of paterna paternis, materna maternis
assu_mes that each piece of property follows, according to origin, its own
particular course of descent-has, so to speak, its own genealogy. Here,
however, we must not forget that the notion of property refers to a
mode of wealth and that the rule of primogenital
mhentance apphes to It alone. Noble property is, above all, immobile, real
estate, which at in theory, also unsalable. The vagueness of
such an associative nexus IS, m fact, itself significant. The term immeuble
still reflected in the French word for real estate, is, as customary material
clear, primarily a res soli characterized by its fixity. "We call an
Immobile possession," states the Grand Coutumier, "one that cannot be
from place to place, as a field, a meadow and all possessions
mherent to the soil."
25
And Beaumanoir's definition of "l'immeuble" as
fixed choses qui ne peuvent etre mues"), as producing
( annees"), and as permanent ("heritage ne
peut_fallhr ) IS telhng m two Important ways.
26
First, immobile property is
considered generally to be inalienable. Creditors could not touch a
debtor's immobilier; nor could the husband who controlled his wife's
her of it. Second, and this is but a corollary of the
fust, the tmmeuble, because of its inalienability, is the equivalent of a
:'herita?e"; and in its association with inheritance, the concept of an
good becomes synonymous with the propre, or with property
Itself.
The Barbarian codes had distinguished between marked and un-
marked property, which, in Frankish law, amounted to a difference
between personal (temporary) and familial (perpetual) modes of

27
To the former category belonged individually owned ac-
qmsitions (comparatus, conquisitum), while to the latter belonged inalien-
72 o Chapter Two
ou quart degre de lignage, car rna mere est estrange de l'eritage qui me
vient de par le pere, et aussi est mes peres estranges de l'eritage qui me
vient de par rna mere.
19
If I have an inheritance from my father and my father dies and I die heir-
less after him, my inheritance from my father does not revert to my
mother, for it escheats to my closest relative on my father's side; even if
this means going as far as the fourth degree of paternity, since my mother
is a stranger to the inheritance that comes to me from my father, and, like-
wise, is my father a stranger to the inheritance that comes to me from my
mother.
Beaumanoir's prescription does not cover goods acquired during the
course of marriage, but it does provide categorically that noble property
belonging originally to one lineage cannot pass to another. The rule of
paterna paternis, materna maternis as stated above served, moreover, to
stress the ephemeral nature of marriage itself. The conjugal couple repre-
sented a temporary coupling of two separate kin groups for the purpose
of procreation and did not constitute an independent economic unit.
20
The rules governing indivision and the separation of property would
have had little effect if it were not for the inauguration, at about the same
time, of the practice of primogeniture. Whether primogeniture repre-
sented, as some have suggested, the aristocratic appropriation of a royal
model, or, as others have held, a return to Roman notions of property, is
less important than the fact that beginning in the eleventh century the
privileging of one heir over all others became the law of noble
succession.
21
Here again, there is a certain amount of variation according
to region-earlier in Macon and Normandy than in Poitou and Pro-
vence-and according to status-earlier among great feudal chiefs than
among lesser knights. In addition, the actual techniques of primogeniture
reflected local legal usage-customary in the North and by testament in
the romanized South. Be these differences as they may, primogeniture
implied inheritance by the oldest male of the most profitable and prestigi-
ous domains, usually the castle and the central family fief; this accompa-
nied by the distribution of marginal holdings among younger siblings.
The Tres Ancien Coutumier provides that "li chevaliers ainznez avra le fie
de hauberc tout entier"; and this prescription is echoed in the Grand
Coutumier, whose author elaborates a line of succession by sex and age:
Unde notandum est quod primogenitus filius patri succedit, et omnes ei
debent succedere qui primo nati sunt in eadem linea consanguinitatis.
22
Whence let it be noted that the first born son succeeds to the father, and
all should succeed to him in the same blood line by order of birth ....
According to Beaumanoir, the oldest son gets the principal manor and
two-thirds of all the fiefs, while the rest of the family inheritance is to be
Kinship o 73
divided equally among younger sons and the daughters, who become
vassals of their b_rother. Saint Louis concurs, specifying that, "gentis hom
ne puet doner a ses anfans, a ces qui sont puisne que le tiers de son
heritaige. "
23
The practice _of primogeniture represented the keystone of a familial
that much to foster lineage's vertical, agnatic, patrilinear
Itself. Through it property descended in a straight vertical
lme, l_Ike, m the words of E. LeRoy Ladurie, "sap flowing downward,
accordmg to some mysterious force, to nourish the lower limits and
of_ a tall tree."
24
The stress placed not only upon the uni-
but upon the unidirectionality of lineage is significant and
will seem even more so when we examine other systems of inheritance
and other kinds below, pp. 163-174). Paternal property is
transferred only m one direction-downward (quasi ponderosum quid); in
the phrase of a popular adage found in the customary material, "fiefs ne
remontent pas."
4. Primogeniture and the law of paterna paternis, materna maternis
assu_mes that each piece of property follows, according to origin, its own
particular course of descent-has, so to speak, its own genealogy. Here,
however, we must not forget that the notion of property refers to a
mode of wealth and that the rule of primogenital
mhentance apphes to It alone. Noble property is, above all, immobile, real
estate, which at in theory, also unsalable. The vagueness of
such an associative nexus IS, m fact, itself significant. The term immeuble
still reflected in the French word for real estate, is, as customary material
clear, primarily a res soli characterized by its fixity. "We call an
Immobile possession," states the Grand Coutumier, "one that cannot be
from place to place, as a field, a meadow and all possessions
mherent to the soil."
25
And Beaumanoir's definition of "l'immeuble" as
fixed choses qui ne peuvent etre mues"), as producing
( annees"), and as permanent ("heritage ne
peut_fallhr ) IS telhng m two Important ways.
26
First, immobile property is
considered generally to be inalienable. Creditors could not touch a
debtor's immobilier; nor could the husband who controlled his wife's
her of it. Second, and this is but a corollary of the
fust, the tmmeuble, because of its inalienability, is the equivalent of a
:'herita?e"; and in its association with inheritance, the concept of an
good becomes synonymous with the propre, or with property
Itself.
The Barbarian codes had distinguished between marked and un-
marked property, which, in Frankish law, amounted to a difference
between personal (temporary) and familial (perpetual) modes of

27
To the former category belonged individually owned ac-
qmsitions (comparatus, conquisitum), while to the latter belonged inalien-
74 Chapter Two
able, unseizable, collectively owned land-terra paterna or proprietas. The
affiliation between the proper and the paternal strikes to the core of the
medieval concept of property, for land that is inherited-whether over
the course of many generations or only once-becomes a propre, the
possession of ancestors (terra aviatica, avitins).
28
A propre is an immeuble
owned by one partner at the time of marriage, or that is inherited after
marriage. It belongs, in essence, to a lineage rather than to the individuals
through whom it descends. And not only is the propre the equivalent of
heritage, but it is synonymous with ancestry (nobility) itself. Property and
genealogy are superimposed upon each other, as the order of proper
descent is identified with the descent of the proper. This is why bastards
cannot accede to propres-because, as Saint Louis states, "they have no
lineage" ("Bastard n'a point de lignage"); and why, as Louis also pre-
scribes, it is sufficient, in order to prove possession by parage, merely to
"recount one's lineage."
29
The history of the noble family is, at bottom,
the history of its land.
The association of paternity and property is nowhere more evident
than in the Latinized term alod (alodis, alodium, OF alleu). Whether or not
alod derives etymologically from the Scandinavian 6dal-and there has
been much discussion-the two words are, as A. Guerevic has convinc-
ingly argued, conceptually identical.
30
The root odal refers to a family
possession or to property which has been transmitted from generation to
generation. Old Norwegian texts speak of land that "can trace its gene-
alogy back to the sepulchral grounds and to paganism. "
31
The odal embod-
ies the combined idea of pater or patria, the paternal and the geographic
locus of origin-a place of birth and of hereditary life. In the Germanic
tongues this notion is expressed by the term epel (adal, aepel), meaning
"inheritance," "possession," and "country," from which is derived aepe-
ling, adaling (Scand. arborinn, aettborinn), meaning "a man born of an
ancient clan" or "belonging to high lineage." In any case, from the
common radical Adal, signifying "father" and "paternal," spreads the
family of Icelandic adal ("innate quality," "substance," "lineage"); the
High German adal, uodal; Old Saxon adal, edili, odil; and Old English epel,
opel, aepel. The nuances of each may vary, but the general semantic range
includes "nobility of race," "high birth," and "innate quality."
And yet, there is another and even more compelling sense in which the
progeny of odal is crucial to an understanding of the medieval concept of
property, since the term alod also contains the notion of "free holding"-
full possession. The alod designates land which belongs exclusively to the
family and which, unlike that held in fief, neither depends on anyone
outside the kin group nor n ~ u r s obligations of service or dues. By the
twelfth century there may be, practically speaking, little difference be-
tween the de facto heritability of many fiefs and succession to the au ton-
Kinship 75
omous alod. But the latter still remains less subject to alienation than other
modes of possessory concession-use, benefice, saisine, viager, or parage.
Transmitted along patrilinear lines, the allodial holding stands as the
fullest expression of the interpenetration of property and genealogy. The
devolution of terra propria remains indissociable from that of lineage.
The Aristocratic Practice of Signs
We began from the premise that there occurred, beginning in the
eleventh century, a fundamental change in the nature of the family, a
change whose ultimate cause may lie beyond the ken of historians in
regions as mysterious and as historically undetermined as a long-range
shift of climate.
32
Nonetheless, we accepted as a viable-not wholly
arbitrary, minimally "grounded"-point of departure the phenomenon
of geographic implantation along with the transformation of provisional
benefices into heritable fiefs. With the fixation of the noble family upon its
own soil came a certain narrowing of its peripheral limits and a reorienta-
tion of its conceptual base-from the spatialized "horizontal" clan to the
more vertically and temporally conceived lineage. This process repre-
sented more than a mere institutional shift; it implied, in fact, an impor-
tant "prise de conscience" on the part of the aristocratic kin group of the
necessity for biopolitical management of its own resources, both human
and material. More precisely, it involved: restriction and control of mar-
riage in consonance with social, military, and economic interests; adop-
tion of a system of succession that assured the integral transmission of
family holdings; and certain awareness of a specifically aristocratic mode
of wealth, real property (proprietas), which is connatural-both histori-
cally and ideologically-with the primogenital articulation of lineage
itself. !
These are the symptoms of institutional change and of a change in the
consciousness of a caste, if not a class. We would, however, ourselves be
guilty of practicing a kind of diachronically descriptive history of "men-
talites," and, ultimately, of a lapse of consciousness of our own historical
moment were we to fail to realize that the institutional signs of a shift in
the limits and internal structure of the clan represented, above all, a shift
in its relation to signs. This idea cannot be overstressed. It is really the
essence and the keystone of our discussion. Given that much of what a
family-any family-is depends upon how it is represented, we must, if
we are to understand the evolution of medieval kin groups, look first to
their constitution of themselves through certain symbols. More impor-
tant, we must look to the various modes and strategies of symbolic
production-to what might be termed the family's "practice of signs."
For then it becomes increasingly evident that when the noble family of the
twelfth century became conscious of itself as a sign-producing organism,
74 Chapter Two
able, unseizable, collectively owned land-terra paterna or proprietas. The
affiliation between the proper and the paternal strikes to the core of the
medieval concept of property, for land that is inherited-whether over
the course of many generations or only once-becomes a propre, the
possession of ancestors (terra aviatica, avitins).
28
A propre is an immeuble
owned by one partner at the time of marriage, or that is inherited after
marriage. It belongs, in essence, to a lineage rather than to the individuals
through whom it descends. And not only is the propre the equivalent of
heritage, but it is synonymous with ancestry (nobility) itself. Property and
genealogy are superimposed upon each other, as the order of proper
descent is identified with the descent of the proper. This is why bastards
cannot accede to propres-because, as Saint Louis states, "they have no
lineage" ("Bastard n'a point de lignage"); and why, as Louis also pre-
scribes, it is sufficient, in order to prove possession by parage, merely to
"recount one's lineage."
29
The history of the noble family is, at bottom,
the history of its land.
The association of paternity and property is nowhere more evident
than in the Latinized term alod (alodis, alodium, OF alleu). Whether or not
alod derives etymologically from the Scandinavian 6dal-and there has
been much discussion-the two words are, as A. Guerevic has convinc-
ingly argued, conceptually identical.
30
The root odal refers to a family
possession or to property which has been transmitted from generation to
generation. Old Norwegian texts speak of land that "can trace its gene-
alogy back to the sepulchral grounds and to paganism. "
31
The odal embod-
ies the combined idea of pater or patria, the paternal and the geographic
locus of origin-a place of birth and of hereditary life. In the Germanic
tongues this notion is expressed by the term epel (adal, aepel), meaning
"inheritance," "possession," and "country," from which is derived aepe-
ling, adaling (Scand. arborinn, aettborinn), meaning "a man born of an
ancient clan" or "belonging to high lineage." In any case, from the
common radical Adal, signifying "father" and "paternal," spreads the
family of Icelandic adal ("innate quality," "substance," "lineage"); the
High German adal, uodal; Old Saxon adal, edili, odil; and Old English epel,
opel, aepel. The nuances of each may vary, but the general semantic range
includes "nobility of race," "high birth," and "innate quality."
And yet, there is another and even more compelling sense in which the
progeny of odal is crucial to an understanding of the medieval concept of
property, since the term alod also contains the notion of "free holding"-
full possession. The alod designates land which belongs exclusively to the
family and which, unlike that held in fief, neither depends on anyone
outside the kin group nor n ~ u r s obligations of service or dues. By the
twelfth century there may be, practically speaking, little difference be-
tween the de facto heritability of many fiefs and succession to the au ton-
Kinship 75
omous alod. But the latter still remains less subject to alienation than other
modes of possessory concession-use, benefice, saisine, viager, or parage.
Transmitted along patrilinear lines, the allodial holding stands as the
fullest expression of the interpenetration of property and genealogy. The
devolution of terra propria remains indissociable from that of lineage.
The Aristocratic Practice of Signs
We began from the premise that there occurred, beginning in the
eleventh century, a fundamental change in the nature of the family, a
change whose ultimate cause may lie beyond the ken of historians in
regions as mysterious and as historically undetermined as a long-range
shift of climate.
32
Nonetheless, we accepted as a viable-not wholly
arbitrary, minimally "grounded"-point of departure the phenomenon
of geographic implantation along with the transformation of provisional
benefices into heritable fiefs. With the fixation of the noble family upon its
own soil came a certain narrowing of its peripheral limits and a reorienta-
tion of its conceptual base-from the spatialized "horizontal" clan to the
more vertically and temporally conceived lineage. This process repre-
sented more than a mere institutional shift; it implied, in fact, an impor-
tant "prise de conscience" on the part of the aristocratic kin group of the
necessity for biopolitical management of its own resources, both human
and material. More precisely, it involved: restriction and control of mar-
riage in consonance with social, military, and economic interests; adop-
tion of a system of succession that assured the integral transmission of
family holdings; and certain awareness of a specifically aristocratic mode
of wealth, real property (proprietas), which is connatural-both histori-
cally and ideologically-with the primogenital articulation of lineage
itself. !
These are the symptoms of institutional change and of a change in the
consciousness of a caste, if not a class. We would, however, ourselves be
guilty of practicing a kind of diachronically descriptive history of "men-
talites," and, ultimately, of a lapse of consciousness of our own historical
moment were we to fail to realize that the institutional signs of a shift in
the limits and internal structure of the clan represented, above all, a shift
in its relation to signs. This idea cannot be overstressed. It is really the
essence and the keystone of our discussion. Given that much of what a
family-any family-is depends upon how it is represented, we must, if
we are to understand the evolution of medieval kin groups, look first to
their constitution of themselves through certain symbols. More impor-
tant, we must look to the various modes and strategies of symbolic
production-to what might be termed the family's "practice of signs."
For then it becomes increasingly evident that when the noble family of the
twelfth century became conscious of itself as a sign-producing organism,
76 Chapter Two
it did so around the notion of dynasty or lineage as well as through the
mediatory semiotic fields of heraldry, patronymics, the plastic arts, and
historical narrative. Above all, the organization of family lines coincides
with the appropriation of vernacular literary forms.
Heraldry
The phenomenon of heraldry or blazonry is the most obvious Euro-
pean example of a universal totemic activity by which a particular sign or
logos is, within a differentiated system of similar interrelated symbols,
associated with a particular family or clan. But such generalizations,
despite the convincing anthropological identification of totemism and
cultural order, remain too broad and ahistorical for this stage of an
already historically engaged discussion. More germane is the fact that
before the twelfth century there is little evidence of systematic heraldic
display. In fact, much of what we know about the use of military insignias
points to the contrary. The banners that appear in the Bayeux Tapestry,
for example, resemble crude armorials, yet none can be identified with
post-Conquest bearings; and a seemingly internal incoherence in their
attribution shows even the same warrior carrying different devices in
different embroidered sequences. There is, in other words, no necessary
"totemic" link between a particular figure and his heraldic sign, much
less between his coat of arms and family.
This begins to change in the 1100s as shown by the inventory of the
Norman seals and numerous other examples from high princely and
royal courts.
33
John of Marmoustier' s description of the marriage of Geof-
frey of Anjou (died 1151) and Maude the Empress, daughter of Henry I,
speaks of the king' s having suspended around his son-in-law's neck a
shield of golden "lioncels." This is significant because we know, from his
tomb at Salisbury, that Henry II's bastard son (and Geoffrey's grandson)
William with the Long Sword bore arms of six golden lions in a blue field.
We also know that the arms of the King of France consisted of a blue
shield with scattered leurs-de-lis. Louis VII, at the crowning of Philip
Augustus, is supposed to have ordered the young prince clad in a blue
dalmatic and blue shoes, sewn with golden "Fleurs-de-Loys," the floral
name playing upon his own epithetic name of "Florus." Among the great
feudal magnates, Philip of Alsace, Count of Flanders, is said to have been
the first to bear family arms (1164). And there is from the twelfth century,
also in a playful vein, the example of Enguerrand of Candavene, Count of
Saint Pol, whose shield shows a horseman uncharged and sheaves of
oats, symbols which, perhaps because of the pun involved, become the
bearing of the Candavenes when that house came to display arms.
It is worth recalling that the heraldic signs of this period were, above
all, personal devices that had not developed into full armorial charges.
Kinship 77
Nonetheless, they demonstrate a close, even a necessary, connection
between the individual and his insignia. We are tempted even to speak of
property or propriety in the relation of figures like Philip Augustus or
Enguerrand and the devices unique to them alone; and here the logician's
concept of physical property as that which distinguishes an object from
all others in its class along with the rhetorician's notion of correct imposi-
tion are both pertinent to the particularized relation between the prince,
his family, and its singular sign. The propriety of heraldic signs will
become even more elaborate in the thirteenth century when the system of
ordinaries, tinctures, and identifying objects (still referred to in French as
"meubles") became so refined as to offer to each household, each family
attached to a piece of property, its own distinctive-proper-design.
These early armorial examples also show that the family insignia, like
its land, was, from about 1150 on, transmitted lineally; and in this it
constituted an integral part of the primogenital patrimoine. First used for
military purposes, in tournaments and battles, and first connected only
loosely to individuals, certain banners and pennants came to belong
exclusively to certain families and to represent, as Duby notes, "a mem-
ory of common agnatic origin."
34
The inherited heraldic sign was an
important expression of the continuity of lineage-of its origin in prop-
erty, attachment to a distinct locus, and to a logos that was the sign of
place. And if, as we have seen, rhetoric is the science of topoi, or of proper.
p l c ~ s from which to speak, heraldry constituted the rhetoric of aristo-
cratic possession-a differential system of signs guaranteeing the propri-
ety (discreteness) of the family in relation to similar groups, in relation to
its land, and even in relation to its separate subbranches.
The diachronic heraldic progression by agnation within the context of a
more synchronic pattern of difference among identically constituted
lineages was doubled by a system of armorial signs internal to the family
and indicative of its most basic inner relations. Thus, only the primogeni-
tal heir had the right to the "whole coat," the undifferenced "full" arms,
which were, in turn, inherited in toto by his eldest son. The insignias of
younger brothers and their (cadet) lines were "differed" by a change in
color, a variation in the number of charges, a bend over the shield, a
border, etc. The difference customarily reserved for illegitimate sons was
a "baston," a stripe whose homonymy with the civil status of its bearer
could not have escaped the eye of even the least playful heraldist. Then \
too, once the use of armorial signs had generalized beyond its original
military function, the case of women's bearings became especially intri-
cate. Sometimes an heiress, for example, bore the undifferenced shield of
her father. A married woman often adopted a parted or "impaled"
double shield to express both her consanguineal origin and her marital
affiliation. And, in some exaggerated instances, a woman who had been
76 Chapter Two
it did so around the notion of dynasty or lineage as well as through the
mediatory semiotic fields of heraldry, patronymics, the plastic arts, and
historical narrative. Above all, the organization of family lines coincides
with the appropriation of vernacular literary forms.
Heraldry
The phenomenon of heraldry or blazonry is the most obvious Euro-
pean example of a universal totemic activity by which a particular sign or
logos is, within a differentiated system of similar interrelated symbols,
associated with a particular family or clan. But such generalizations,
despite the convincing anthropological identification of totemism and
cultural order, remain too broad and ahistorical for this stage of an
already historically engaged discussion. More germane is the fact that
before the twelfth century there is little evidence of systematic heraldic
display. In fact, much of what we know about the use of military insignias
points to the contrary. The banners that appear in the Bayeux Tapestry,
for example, resemble crude armorials, yet none can be identified with
post-Conquest bearings; and a seemingly internal incoherence in their
attribution shows even the same warrior carrying different devices in
different embroidered sequences. There is, in other words, no necessary
"totemic" link between a particular figure and his heraldic sign, much
less between his coat of arms and family.
This begins to change in the 1100s as shown by the inventory of the
Norman seals and numerous other examples from high princely and
royal courts.
33
John of Marmoustier' s description of the marriage of Geof-
frey of Anjou (died 1151) and Maude the Empress, daughter of Henry I,
speaks of the king' s having suspended around his son-in-law's neck a
shield of golden "lioncels." This is significant because we know, from his
tomb at Salisbury, that Henry II's bastard son (and Geoffrey's grandson)
William with the Long Sword bore arms of six golden lions in a blue field.
We also know that the arms of the King of France consisted of a blue
shield with scattered leurs-de-lis. Louis VII, at the crowning of Philip
Augustus, is supposed to have ordered the young prince clad in a blue
dalmatic and blue shoes, sewn with golden "Fleurs-de-Loys," the floral
name playing upon his own epithetic name of "Florus." Among the great
feudal magnates, Philip of Alsace, Count of Flanders, is said to have been
the first to bear family arms (1164). And there is from the twelfth century,
also in a playful vein, the example of Enguerrand of Candavene, Count of
Saint Pol, whose shield shows a horseman uncharged and sheaves of
oats, symbols which, perhaps because of the pun involved, become the
bearing of the Candavenes when that house came to display arms.
It is worth recalling that the heraldic signs of this period were, above
all, personal devices that had not developed into full armorial charges.
Kinship 77
Nonetheless, they demonstrate a close, even a necessary, connection
between the individual and his insignia. We are tempted even to speak of
property or propriety in the relation of figures like Philip Augustus or
Enguerrand and the devices unique to them alone; and here the logician's
concept of physical property as that which distinguishes an object from
all others in its class along with the rhetorician's notion of correct imposi-
tion are both pertinent to the particularized relation between the prince,
his family, and its singular sign. The propriety of heraldic signs will
become even more elaborate in the thirteenth century when the system of
ordinaries, tinctures, and identifying objects (still referred to in French as
"meubles") became so refined as to offer to each household, each family
attached to a piece of property, its own distinctive-proper-design.
These early armorial examples also show that the family insignia, like
its land, was, from about 1150 on, transmitted lineally; and in this it
constituted an integral part of the primogenital patrimoine. First used for
military purposes, in tournaments and battles, and first connected only
loosely to individuals, certain banners and pennants came to belong
exclusively to certain families and to represent, as Duby notes, "a mem-
ory of common agnatic origin."
34
The inherited heraldic sign was an
important expression of the continuity of lineage-of its origin in prop-
erty, attachment to a distinct locus, and to a logos that was the sign of
place. And if, as we have seen, rhetoric is the science of topoi, or of proper.
p l c ~ s from which to speak, heraldry constituted the rhetoric of aristo-
cratic possession-a differential system of signs guaranteeing the propri-
ety (discreteness) of the family in relation to similar groups, in relation to
its land, and even in relation to its separate subbranches.
The diachronic heraldic progression by agnation within the context of a
more synchronic pattern of difference among identically constituted
lineages was doubled by a system of armorial signs internal to the family
and indicative of its most basic inner relations. Thus, only the primogeni-
tal heir had the right to the "whole coat," the undifferenced "full" arms,
which were, in turn, inherited in toto by his eldest son. The insignias of
younger brothers and their (cadet) lines were "differed" by a change in
color, a variation in the number of charges, a bend over the shield, a
border, etc. The difference customarily reserved for illegitimate sons was
a "baston," a stripe whose homonymy with the civil status of its bearer
could not have escaped the eye of even the least playful heraldist. Then \
too, once the use of armorial signs had generalized beyond its original
military function, the case of women's bearings became especially intri-
cate. Sometimes an heiress, for example, bore the undifferenced shield of
her father. A married woman often adopted a parted or "impaled"
double shield to express both her consanguineal origin and her marital
affiliation. And, in some exaggerated instances, a woman who had been
78 Chapter Two
married more than once might display, as in the late English example of
Beatrice Stafford (1404), a shield charged with her ancestral arms between
those of both her husbands. Finally, the practice of marshaling by quar-
ters, increasingly popular from the time of Edward I on, reflected in the
separate quadrants of the shield a complete pedigree. Isabel of France,
wife of Edward II, took as her seal a shield in whose four quarters were
placed the arms of England, France, Navarre, and Champagne. The
history of the family, which remains inseparable from the history of its
feudal holdings, is in this way inscribed in the logos that was a kind of
map-a grammar-both of lineage and of land.
35
Patronymics
The aristocratic family's constitution of itself through certain represen-
tational practices goes hand in hand with a grouping around a family
name, a cognctmen. In the era preceding the formation of the great feudal
lineages, there were no formal patronyms. The usual single baptismal or
Christian name did not function as a designator of the kin group; and
although Carolingian onomastics, for example, showed dynastic and
tribal preferences for certain names, these were, even at the upper levels
of society, only loosely hereditary.
36
Nor do historians of this "middle
period" of the Middle Ages detect a marked preference for the privileged
names of the paternal over the maternal line; the single name seems to
have been taken indiscriminately from the most prestigious side.
37
The process of patronymic doubling, like that of the formation of
lineages itself, occurred at different times according to region and social
status-earlier in the South than in Picardy, and earlier among high
aristocrats than among the squireen. Most of all, however, it occurred in
different ways according to what can only be characterized as the discrete
social spaces of city and countryside, which, in the French case, corre-
sponds maximally to class. And whereas in urban areas family names
were often derived from town or country of origin, profession, or nick-
name, the aristocratic surnom represented an unmistakable marker of
genealogical and territorial attachment. As early as in the last decade of
the tenth century, certain southern charters contain patronyms (e.g.,
Rainaldus filius Novilongi [979], Isanarus filius Rangardae [989]); and the
practice will in the succeeding century generalize throughout the Midi,
spreading also to the North. Often too, and again first in the region of
Roman occupation, filiation is expressed by suppression of the filius in the
formation ille filius illius and by the adoption of the genitive of paternity
(e.g., Ingelbertus Pitacis, Guillelmus Hibrini, Hugo Bardulfi).
38
Alongside of the patronymic (or matronymic) cognomen indicating
genealogical filiation stood the toponymic cognomen which served to fuse
metonymically the family name with its hereditary property rights.
39
i.
Kinship 79
Mu.ch of the in this particular area of onomastics pertains to the
Allemama. The group around K. Schmid, in particular, has
convmcmgly shown the degree to which "Staufen" and other aristocratic
derive from what Schmid calls the "house seat" (Stammsitz).
40
Withm the French setting there is also much evidence to indicate that
of a family name identical to the name of the paternal castle or
fief was prevalent among the chatelains of the South as early as the last
decade of century and that the practice spread throughout the
nobihty m the eleventh. Duby maintains that in twelfth-century
Macon 90 percent of noble family names were identical to that of the
castle. R. Fossier makes a similar claim for Picardy, showing how be-
tween 1050 and 1110 those with the power of the ban, which was practi-
cally synonymous with possession of a castle, took surnames.
41
These
oscillated between the names of fiefs and of alods but were fixed some-
time between_ 1125 and 1175,. by which time even simple knights bore
patronyms, htles attached directly to a baptismal name without any
necessary link to the function of the chatelain.
What is to be retained from such a cursory glance at onomastic trends of
High Middle.Ages? Above all, that the noble family name passed from
a title of and dominance, the name of a geographically rooted
and a fiXed locus of power, to a designator of lineage which, along
the land, and heraldic sign, formed part of the noble patri-
mome. In this passa?e from topology to genealogy the aristocratic cogno-
came to constitute a central symbol of the unity of lineage, an
mdicator of race, and a mnemonic key to genealogical consciousness.
Genealogical Narrative
If the nob.le produced heightened awareness of the family as
an umfied group, the integral transmission of patronym
title to its articulation as a transtemporal continuum-a
hnear senes of homonymic figures at whose source the name of the father
(pater) fuses with that of the land (patria, proprietas). Nor is it possible to
s.eparate the eru_rtion of the family into history from the early accounts of
htular progressiOn, the genealogical records of a succession of names
form early I am referring to the numerous genealogies
edited at the time great lmeages came to power and stemming no doubt
a gener.al to preserve the memory of ancestors also expressed
m the orgamzahon of ancestral burial grounds and renewed interest in
epitaphs. The family chronicles which began to appear as early as the
tenth century were first written by domestic clerics in the high princely
courts or private monasteries of northern and western France. But like the
heraldic sign and the cognomen, they too gradually permeated all echelons
of aristocracy as the twelfth century drew to a close. Included among
78 Chapter Two
married more than once might display, as in the late English example of
Beatrice Stafford (1404), a shield charged with her ancestral arms between
those of both her husbands. Finally, the practice of marshaling by quar-
ters, increasingly popular from the time of Edward I on, reflected in the
separate quadrants of the shield a complete pedigree. Isabel of France,
wife of Edward II, took as her seal a shield in whose four quarters were
placed the arms of England, France, Navarre, and Champagne. The
history of the family, which remains inseparable from the history of its
feudal holdings, is in this way inscribed in the logos that was a kind of
map-a grammar-both of lineage and of land.
35
Patronymics
The aristocratic family's constitution of itself through certain represen-
tational practices goes hand in hand with a grouping around a family
name, a cognctmen. In the era preceding the formation of the great feudal
lineages, there were no formal patronyms. The usual single baptismal or
Christian name did not function as a designator of the kin group; and
although Carolingian onomastics, for example, showed dynastic and
tribal preferences for certain names, these were, even at the upper levels
of society, only loosely hereditary.
36
Nor do historians of this "middle
period" of the Middle Ages detect a marked preference for the privileged
names of the paternal over the maternal line; the single name seems to
have been taken indiscriminately from the most prestigious side.
37
The process of patronymic doubling, like that of the formation of
lineages itself, occurred at different times according to region and social
status-earlier in the South than in Picardy, and earlier among high
aristocrats than among the squireen. Most of all, however, it occurred in
different ways according to what can only be characterized as the discrete
social spaces of city and countryside, which, in the French case, corre-
sponds maximally to class. And whereas in urban areas family names
were often derived from town or country of origin, profession, or nick-
name, the aristocratic surnom represented an unmistakable marker of
genealogical and territorial attachment. As early as in the last decade of
the tenth century, certain southern charters contain patronyms (e.g.,
Rainaldus filius Novilongi [979], Isanarus filius Rangardae [989]); and the
practice will in the succeeding century generalize throughout the Midi,
spreading also to the North. Often too, and again first in the region of
Roman occupation, filiation is expressed by suppression of the filius in the
formation ille filius illius and by the adoption of the genitive of paternity
(e.g., Ingelbertus Pitacis, Guillelmus Hibrini, Hugo Bardulfi).
38
Alongside of the patronymic (or matronymic) cognomen indicating
genealogical filiation stood the toponymic cognomen which served to fuse
metonymically the family name with its hereditary property rights.
39
i.
Kinship 79
Mu.ch of the in this particular area of onomastics pertains to the
Allemama. The group around K. Schmid, in particular, has
convmcmgly shown the degree to which "Staufen" and other aristocratic
derive from what Schmid calls the "house seat" (Stammsitz).
40
Withm the French setting there is also much evidence to indicate that
of a family name identical to the name of the paternal castle or
fief was prevalent among the chatelains of the South as early as the last
decade of century and that the practice spread throughout the
nobihty m the eleventh. Duby maintains that in twelfth-century
Macon 90 percent of noble family names were identical to that of the
castle. R. Fossier makes a similar claim for Picardy, showing how be-
tween 1050 and 1110 those with the power of the ban, which was practi-
cally synonymous with possession of a castle, took surnames.
41
These
oscillated between the names of fiefs and of alods but were fixed some-
time between_ 1125 and 1175,. by which time even simple knights bore
patronyms, htles attached directly to a baptismal name without any
necessary link to the function of the chatelain.
What is to be retained from such a cursory glance at onomastic trends of
High Middle.Ages? Above all, that the noble family name passed from
a title of and dominance, the name of a geographically rooted
and a fiXed locus of power, to a designator of lineage which, along
the land, and heraldic sign, formed part of the noble patri-
mome. In this passa?e from topology to genealogy the aristocratic cogno-
came to constitute a central symbol of the unity of lineage, an
mdicator of race, and a mnemonic key to genealogical consciousness.
Genealogical Narrative
If the nob.le produced heightened awareness of the family as
an umfied group, the integral transmission of patronym
title to its articulation as a transtemporal continuum-a
hnear senes of homonymic figures at whose source the name of the father
(pater) fuses with that of the land (patria, proprietas). Nor is it possible to
s.eparate the eru_rtion of the family into history from the early accounts of
htular progressiOn, the genealogical records of a succession of names
form early I am referring to the numerous genealogies
edited at the time great lmeages came to power and stemming no doubt
a gener.al to preserve the memory of ancestors also expressed
m the orgamzahon of ancestral burial grounds and renewed interest in
epitaphs. The family chronicles which began to appear as early as the
tenth century were first written by domestic clerics in the high princely
courts or private monasteries of northern and western France. But like the
heraldic sign and the cognomen, they too gradually permeated all echelons
of aristocracy as the twelfth century drew to a close. Included among
80 Chapter Two
these early family histories are: a tenth-century genealogy of the Count of
Flanders, Arnoulle Grand, composed by Vuitgerius between 951 and
959; a notice concerning the ascendance of Arnoulle Jeune edited in the
monastery of Saint-Pierre-au-Mont-Bertin, a genealogy of the counts of
Vendome, one of the counts of Boulogne, and six of the counts of Anjou,
all produced between the mid-eleventh century and 1109; two new
genealogies (first third of the twelfth century) of the counts of Flanders,
one composed at Saint Bertin and the other inserted by Lambert de Saint
Orner in the Liber Floridus, along with the earliest-preserved Geste of the
counts of Anjou attributed to Thomas of Loches; a revision (ca. 1160) of
the Flemish and Angevine genealogies (e.g., Flandria generosa), a rework-
ing of the Gesta consulum andegavorum, two new ancestral sketches com-
posed at Saint Aubin d' Angers, and, in this flowering period of genea-
logical production, texts dedicated to the sires d' Amboise, the counts of
Angouleme and of Nevers, these in addition to numerous local histories
whose authors are increasingly attentive to family questions.
42
Finally,
two texts from the end of the twelfth century are exemplary in their
genealogical focus-Lambert de Wattrelos's Genealogia antecessorum
parentum meorum and Lambert d' Ardres's Historia comitum Ghisnensium
(History of the Counts of Guines).
What these early chronicles show is that when aristocratic families
began to write their own history, they did so, first of all, in terms of a
heroic foundation in a mythic past. The invention of ancestral heroes
increased the prestige of the lineage and was the sine qua non of genea-
logical consciousness which took the shape of "a tree rooted in the person
of the founding ancestor."
43
Moreover, there is a tendency in these
in-house fabrications of houses not only to push back the moment of
origin as far as possible (sometimes through successive revisions) but to
equate social status with antiquity. As Duby observes, the genealogical
memory of small aristocrats does not go back beyond the mid-eleventh
century, that of chatelains reaches as far as the first third of the eleventh,
and that of counts extends in some instances all the way to the Carolin-
gian period.
44
The second notable characteristic of these private family histories is
that of attachment to land and castle, a rooting of the family tree in its own
soil. In fact, this aspect of family fiction is related to the myth of founda-
tion since the progenitor of the line is often also the Cator of the land and
the builder of the castle. In any case, both serve as structuring principles
of genealogical memory, which crystallizes concretely around family real
estate. "The origin of the lineage coincides exactly with the institution of
autonomous power around a fortress with the titles and rights incumbent
upon owning a castle."
45
Kinship 81
Finally, aristocracy's representation of itself confirms what we have
already deduced from other sources concerning the importance of the
family cognomen, which is also the name of the land and castle, and
concerning the biopolitics of lineage. For here the noble family is depicted
as a linear progression along a vertical axis. The early family chronicles
organize the kin group, and are themselves organized, according to a
pattern of primogenital inheritance and according to the straightforward
narrative presentation of a series of successions.
46
The image that emerges
from these histories is of a family which, geographically im-
planted, begms to temporalize itself in terms of a lineal descent from the
founding ancestor-the original possessor of land, castle, and name-
toward the present holder of all three.
What the family chronicle tells us about lineage is elaborated within the
more "literary" genealogical works from the same period, or a little later.
In these the invention of ancestors takes the guise of pseudohistorical
fantasy, and fanciful genealogies doubly defy the imagination. Nonethe-
less, the implicit discursive strategy remains the same: to establish the
most ancient ancestry possible and to create the most coherent continuity
between this mythic beginning and the present. As early as Nennius's
compilation grouped under the heading of the Historia Brittonum (seventh
to mid-ninth century), it is possible to detect a turning away from univer-
sal ecclesiastical history and a tendency to situate the origin of Britain
within the secular context of the Graeco-Roman as well as the Judaic past. y
The Historia Brittonum is filled with genealogies-of the Britons, Saxons,
an.d Welsh. Manuscript MN2 even contains a section entitled "De origine
Bnttonum de Romanis et Grecis trahunt ethimologiam" (Concerning the
origin of the Britons, who derive their origin from the Romans and
Greeks).
47
This chapter traces the lineage of Brutus, one of the founders of
Rome and the conqueror of Britain, to Trous, the builder of Troy. Geof-
frey of Monmouth presents, in the Historia regum Britanniae, an even more
secular vision of history than that of the Historia Brittonum, dispensing
entirely with Nennius's Biblical trappings in favor of Trojan origins. In
fact, Geoffrey's account of Brutus's arrival in Albion (Britain) offers as fine
an illustration as can be found of the eponymic fusion of names, land, and
language:
colere domos aedificare, ita ut brevi tempore terram ab aevo
censeres. Demque Brutus de nomine suo insulam Britanniam, sociosque
suos Bntones appellat; volebat enim ex derivatione nominis memoriam ha-
bere perpetuam. Unde postmodum loquela gentis, quae prius Trojana sive
curvum Graecum nuncupabatur, Britannica dicta est.
48
They began to till the fields, and to build houses in such a way that after a
brief time you might have thought it inhabited from the beginning. Then,
80 Chapter Two
these early family histories are: a tenth-century genealogy of the Count of
Flanders, Arnoulle Grand, composed by Vuitgerius between 951 and
959; a notice concerning the ascendance of Arnoulle Jeune edited in the
monastery of Saint-Pierre-au-Mont-Bertin, a genealogy of the counts of
Vendome, one of the counts of Boulogne, and six of the counts of Anjou,
all produced between the mid-eleventh century and 1109; two new
genealogies (first third of the twelfth century) of the counts of Flanders,
one composed at Saint Bertin and the other inserted by Lambert de Saint
Orner in the Liber Floridus, along with the earliest-preserved Geste of the
counts of Anjou attributed to Thomas of Loches; a revision (ca. 1160) of
the Flemish and Angevine genealogies (e.g., Flandria generosa), a rework-
ing of the Gesta consulum andegavorum, two new ancestral sketches com-
posed at Saint Aubin d' Angers, and, in this flowering period of genea-
logical production, texts dedicated to the sires d' Amboise, the counts of
Angouleme and of Nevers, these in addition to numerous local histories
whose authors are increasingly attentive to family questions.
42
Finally,
two texts from the end of the twelfth century are exemplary in their
genealogical focus-Lambert de Wattrelos's Genealogia antecessorum
parentum meorum and Lambert d' Ardres's Historia comitum Ghisnensium
(History of the Counts of Guines).
What these early chronicles show is that when aristocratic families
began to write their own history, they did so, first of all, in terms of a
heroic foundation in a mythic past. The invention of ancestral heroes
increased the prestige of the lineage and was the sine qua non of genea-
logical consciousness which took the shape of "a tree rooted in the person
of the founding ancestor."
43
Moreover, there is a tendency in these
in-house fabrications of houses not only to push back the moment of
origin as far as possible (sometimes through successive revisions) but to
equate social status with antiquity. As Duby observes, the genealogical
memory of small aristocrats does not go back beyond the mid-eleventh
century, that of chatelains reaches as far as the first third of the eleventh,
and that of counts extends in some instances all the way to the Carolin-
gian period.
44
The second notable characteristic of these private family histories is
that of attachment to land and castle, a rooting of the family tree in its own
soil. In fact, this aspect of family fiction is related to the myth of founda-
tion since the progenitor of the line is often also the Cator of the land and
the builder of the castle. In any case, both serve as structuring principles
of genealogical memory, which crystallizes concretely around family real
estate. "The origin of the lineage coincides exactly with the institution of
autonomous power around a fortress with the titles and rights incumbent
upon owning a castle."
45
Kinship 81
Finally, aristocracy's representation of itself confirms what we have
already deduced from other sources concerning the importance of the
family cognomen, which is also the name of the land and castle, and
concerning the biopolitics of lineage. For here the noble family is depicted
as a linear progression along a vertical axis. The early family chronicles
organize the kin group, and are themselves organized, according to a
pattern of primogenital inheritance and according to the straightforward
narrative presentation of a series of successions.
46
The image that emerges
from these histories is of a family which, geographically im-
planted, begms to temporalize itself in terms of a lineal descent from the
founding ancestor-the original possessor of land, castle, and name-
toward the present holder of all three.
What the family chronicle tells us about lineage is elaborated within the
more "literary" genealogical works from the same period, or a little later.
In these the invention of ancestors takes the guise of pseudohistorical
fantasy, and fanciful genealogies doubly defy the imagination. Nonethe-
less, the implicit discursive strategy remains the same: to establish the
most ancient ancestry possible and to create the most coherent continuity
between this mythic beginning and the present. As early as Nennius's
compilation grouped under the heading of the Historia Brittonum (seventh
to mid-ninth century), it is possible to detect a turning away from univer-
sal ecclesiastical history and a tendency to situate the origin of Britain
within the secular context of the Graeco-Roman as well as the Judaic past. y
The Historia Brittonum is filled with genealogies-of the Britons, Saxons,
an.d Welsh. Manuscript MN2 even contains a section entitled "De origine
Bnttonum de Romanis et Grecis trahunt ethimologiam" (Concerning the
origin of the Britons, who derive their origin from the Romans and
Greeks).
47
This chapter traces the lineage of Brutus, one of the founders of
Rome and the conqueror of Britain, to Trous, the builder of Troy. Geof-
frey of Monmouth presents, in the Historia regum Britanniae, an even more
secular vision of history than that of the Historia Brittonum, dispensing
entirely with Nennius's Biblical trappings in favor of Trojan origins. In
fact, Geoffrey's account of Brutus's arrival in Albion (Britain) offers as fine
an illustration as can be found of the eponymic fusion of names, land, and
language:
colere domos aedificare, ita ut brevi tempore terram ab aevo
censeres. Demque Brutus de nomine suo insulam Britanniam, sociosque
suos Bntones appellat; volebat enim ex derivatione nominis memoriam ha-
bere perpetuam. Unde postmodum loquela gentis, quae prius Trojana sive
curvum Graecum nuncupabatur, Britannica dicta est.
48
They began to till the fields, and to build houses in such a way that after a
brief time you might have thought it inhabited from the beginning. Then,
82 Chapter Two
at last Brutus called the island Britain, and his companions Britons, after
his own name, for he was insistent that his memory should be preserved
in the derivation of the name. Whence afterward the country speech,
which had been called Trojan or crooked Greek, was called British.
The Historia regum Britanniae can only be understood within a nationalist
context since there is little doubt that it was intended to serve the
ideological interests of the Angevine monarchy as against the of
France. And yet, even here, what remains most important, especially m a
passage like that above, lies beyond the specifics of a struggle between
opposing dynastic houses. It resides in the region of a deep,
, historically determined, mental structure that assumed power to be legih-
, mated through recourse to .origins. . . , .
This originary principle IS equally evident m Wace. s translation. of
Geoffrey (Le Roman de Brut) and in his Roman de Rou, the first part of which
contains a chronologically reversed genealogy from Henry II, through
William the Conqueror, all the way back to William Long Sword, the son
of Rou (Rollo) and the heroic originator of the lineage:
Guillaume fu fiz Rou, au bon conquereour
au vassal, au hardi, au bon combateour
qui fist mainte bataille et souffri maint estour;
de lignage le claimment le chief et Ia flour.
49
William was the son of Rollo, the great conqueror
the brave, hardy, and great warrior
who fought many a battle and settled .many a
and whom they claim as head of the hneage and Its flower.
The rest of the Roman de Rou is a chronological telling of a tale of succes-
sions, as the order of lineage determines the order of the text.
The Chronique des dues de Normandie is, in many ways, the most .striking
twelfth-century example of literary chronicle-all the more so smce Be-
noit de Sainte Maure explicitly recognizes the role of Isidore's etymolo-
gies in the generation of his own story:
Qui cuidera que bien ne die
Si lise en I' etimologie
Que fait Ysidorus, li proz,
Qui plus en parla bel sor toz.
50
He who believes I am telling lies
Can read it in the etymologies
Of Isidore, the wise,
Who told the truth about all.
Following the model of universal history, Benoit traces the lineage of
mankind from Creation to the early Germanic ancestors of the Normans;
he even links the etymology of "Germania" to the act of generation:
De ce nos dit Isidorus
-Qu'autor n'en fait a creire plus-
Que por si fait engendrement
Est dit Jermaine dreitement,
Et d'enjendrer Jermaine est dite,
Eisi mo dit Ia letre escrite.
51
This is what Isidore tells us
-And no author is more worthy of trust-
That for such copious generation
Was named the Germanic nation,
And from engendering was Germania proclaimed,
As the written letter does maintain.
Kinship 83
What remains most significant, however, is not so much Isidore's status
as the guarantor of truth but that this truth, like the mythic ancestors of
the private chronicle, is itself invented. In the Etymologiae the name
"Germania" is derived from "the immoderate body size and frigid cli-
mate of this people" (Etym., 9:ii, iiic). Isidore has, in other words, come to
play for Benoit that founding role which the seventh-century bishop had
reserved for sacred scripture and for Adam himself. The authority of a
false etymology is assured merely by reference to a prior text (la letre
escrit), as philological accuracy cedes to a literary strategy of origins.
Grammar and Lineage
Benoit's association of the etymology of racial names and the genealogy
of the dukes of Normandy, like Nennius's and Geoffrey's conflation of
the origin (ethimologia) of the Britons and their tongue, points in the
direction that we have been moving all along: and that is, stated simply,
that early medieval grammar and lineage are, despite the chronological
hiatus which separates them, part and parcel of a common representa-
tional model and of a similar set of representational practices, which can
be characterized by:
1. Linearity. The founding moment of the family, situated in a mythic
time beyond memory, is synonymous with attachment to land and castle.
The kin group is unified by the property which establishes it both at a
place and as a place within a differential typology of similarly grounded
groups. Each family has its proper locus, its own territory, which remains
indissociable from its proper name and from its proper place within the
social hierarchy. Property is, moreover, transmitted patrilinearly from
the original possessor of land, castle, and name to their present bearer. '
Thus a linear contiguity is preserved in the succession of family chiefs-
the firstborn of the line-and in the metonymic relation of lineage to the
symbols of traditional power. For just as the current heir retains meto-
nymically a part of the essence of his original ancestor, both name and
heraldic emblem, integral parts of the noble patrimony, are the synec-
82 Chapter Two
at last Brutus called the island Britain, and his companions Britons, after
his own name, for he was insistent that his memory should be preserved
in the derivation of the name. Whence afterward the country speech,
which had been called Trojan or crooked Greek, was called British.
The Historia regum Britanniae can only be understood within a nationalist
context since there is little doubt that it was intended to serve the
ideological interests of the Angevine monarchy as against the of
France. And yet, even here, what remains most important, especially m a
passage like that above, lies beyond the specifics of a struggle between
opposing dynastic houses. It resides in the region of a deep,
, historically determined, mental structure that assumed power to be legih-
, mated through recourse to .origins. . . , .
This originary principle IS equally evident m Wace. s translation. of
Geoffrey (Le Roman de Brut) and in his Roman de Rou, the first part of which
contains a chronologically reversed genealogy from Henry II, through
William the Conqueror, all the way back to William Long Sword, the son
of Rou (Rollo) and the heroic originator of the lineage:
Guillaume fu fiz Rou, au bon conquereour
au vassal, au hardi, au bon combateour
qui fist mainte bataille et souffri maint estour;
de lignage le claimment le chief et Ia flour.
49
William was the son of Rollo, the great conqueror
the brave, hardy, and great warrior
who fought many a battle and settled .many a
and whom they claim as head of the hneage and Its flower.
The rest of the Roman de Rou is a chronological telling of a tale of succes-
sions, as the order of lineage determines the order of the text.
The Chronique des dues de Normandie is, in many ways, the most .striking
twelfth-century example of literary chronicle-all the more so smce Be-
noit de Sainte Maure explicitly recognizes the role of Isidore's etymolo-
gies in the generation of his own story:
Qui cuidera que bien ne die
Si lise en I' etimologie
Que fait Ysidorus, li proz,
Qui plus en parla bel sor toz.
50
He who believes I am telling lies
Can read it in the etymologies
Of Isidore, the wise,
Who told the truth about all.
Following the model of universal history, Benoit traces the lineage of
mankind from Creation to the early Germanic ancestors of the Normans;
he even links the etymology of "Germania" to the act of generation:
De ce nos dit Isidorus
-Qu'autor n'en fait a creire plus-
Que por si fait engendrement
Est dit Jermaine dreitement,
Et d'enjendrer Jermaine est dite,
Eisi mo dit Ia letre escrite.
51
This is what Isidore tells us
-And no author is more worthy of trust-
That for such copious generation
Was named the Germanic nation,
And from engendering was Germania proclaimed,
As the written letter does maintain.
Kinship 83
What remains most significant, however, is not so much Isidore's status
as the guarantor of truth but that this truth, like the mythic ancestors of
the private chronicle, is itself invented. In the Etymologiae the name
"Germania" is derived from "the immoderate body size and frigid cli-
mate of this people" (Etym., 9:ii, iiic). Isidore has, in other words, come to
play for Benoit that founding role which the seventh-century bishop had
reserved for sacred scripture and for Adam himself. The authority of a
false etymology is assured merely by reference to a prior text (la letre
escrit), as philological accuracy cedes to a literary strategy of origins.
Grammar and Lineage
Benoit's association of the etymology of racial names and the genealogy
of the dukes of Normandy, like Nennius's and Geoffrey's conflation of
the origin (ethimologia) of the Britons and their tongue, points in the
direction that we have been moving all along: and that is, stated simply,
that early medieval grammar and lineage are, despite the chronological
hiatus which separates them, part and parcel of a common representa-
tional model and of a similar set of representational practices, which can
be characterized by:
1. Linearity. The founding moment of the family, situated in a mythic
time beyond memory, is synonymous with attachment to land and castle.
The kin group is unified by the property which establishes it both at a
place and as a place within a differential typology of similarly grounded
groups. Each family has its proper locus, its own territory, which remains
indissociable from its proper name and from its proper place within the
social hierarchy. Property is, moreover, transmitted patrilinearly from
the original possessor of land, castle, and name to their present bearer. '
Thus a linear contiguity is preserved in the succession of family chiefs-
the firstborn of the line-and in the metonymic relation of lineage to the
symbols of traditional power. For just as the current heir retains meto-
nymically a part of the essence of his original ancestor, both name and
heraldic emblem, integral parts of the noble patrimony, are the synec-
84 Chapter Two
dochic expressions of race and of land. The individual member of the
continuous descendance maintains a genetic, organic, and participatory
relation both to the property that passes through him and to its sacred
signs.
Early medieval grammar is, as its exponents are quick to note and its
name implies, the science of the straight-of letters (lines), rectitude
(correctness), and literal (true) interpretation. Here again, a founding
linguistic moment is posited in illo tempore. And whether this primal
eponymous event is conceived to have been the result of Adam's divine
inspiration or of the acumen of an original impositor, it is both determined
by and expresses an adequation between words and the physical prop-
erties of things. Through it meaning is established, or, as in the phrase of
rhetoricians and grammarians, a proper place (locus, topos) from which to
speak is identified. From such places words then evolve lineally-by
catastrophe, translation, poetry, and use, through Hebrew, Greek, and
Latin-to the present set of terms which is bound metonymically both to
meaning and to source. Despite change, the verbal sign still retains a part
of the essence of that to which it refers; and, through time, it conserves
something of the elements (semblance) of the original word from which it
derives.
2. Temporality. Consciousness of lineage implies an awareness of the
family as a diachronic sequence of relations as opposed to the less tem-
poralized notion of a clan extended in space. Ancestry supersedes affilia-
tion within the noble kin group articulated as a series of successions, a
race of heirs with a common past. In fact, antiquity is lineage's chief claim
to legitimacy; and the older the genealogy, the more prestigious and
powerful that claim becomes.
Similarly, the grammar of the early Middle Ages represents a dia-
chronic system in which the roots of words, their etymology, authorizes
meaning. The further back one can trace the history of a particular lexical
term, the closer one gets to the primal linguistic elements whose sense
borders on the stuff of things. And while internal grammar is character-
ized by emphasis upon the sources of words (etymology) and the causes
of their imposition (definition), external grammar is dominated by a
genealogically defined historical linguistics that subtends the dominant
model of history itself.
3. Verticality. A corollary of the emphasis upon temporal definition is a
tendency to stress the autonomy of each lineal strand. Blood ties are more
important than affinal relations within a system of kinship which privi-
leges descent-and even the consanguineal bonds between oldest
males-while precluding any broader sense of horizontal integration.
The verticality of the noble family is especially visible in the range of
i
~
Kinship 85
customs-laudatio parentum, maritagium, retrait lignager-which assure
the independence of property within marriage. According to the general
rule of paterna paternis, materna maternis, the patrimony descended from a
common ancestor is programmed to devolve exclusively to those who are
genetically related. Property, like blood, flows downward in a straight
line.
To the economic autonomy of noble proprietas corresponds the lexical
independence of the individual term within a semantically oriented
grammar centered more upon words and classes than their interrelation.
Not only is the study of syntax obscured by an insistence upon etymol-
ogy, the history of single words, but even within the field of semantics we
can detect an insistence upon extrinsic meaning (the relation of a word to
its extralinguistic referent) as opposed to contextual definition (the mod-
alized relation of words to other words).
4. Fixity. Along with the linearity, temporality, and verticality of
lineage is a general sense of fixity both in the family's relation to property
and in relation to other families. A dynasty or house is rooted in the soil of
its ancestral home; it is grounded by a sacred bond to the land and castle
which define it as a cohesive group, provide a source of income, and
afford the means of strategic domination. The organic, inalienable quality
of the tie to the family patrimoine is reflected in the terms "alod," designat-
ing both paternity and property, and "immeuble," the immutable real
estate that constitutes the ancestral holding. Thus fixed once and for all,
property rights remain relatively stable despite the introduction through
marriage of some "new men." Social relations between various dynastic
houses as well as between aristocracy and other levels of society tend to
be perceived as inflexible, "grounded," permanent.
52
Within the confines
of such a fixed hierarchy, those with access to the sole source of power-
immobile wealth-govern because their ancestors have always governed.
Social movement is reduced to a minimum, and nobility, not mobility, is
the defining social rule.
In early medieval grammar the truth of words is assumed to have been
fixed once and for all in a primal instance of signification. The proper
meaning is both the true and original one, as the status of words-literally
their establishment or foundation-is equated with the ontological sta-
tus-the existence-of things. An original order of language expressed
an original order of the world and continues, despite linguistic change, to
reflect it. What this means is that language does not so much determine as
uncover the earthly reality it transmits. As a tool used primarily in the
quest for first meanings, grammar retains a somewhat passive character
more suited to the chronological restoration of a lost and ontologically
fixed origin than to the creation of meaning through logical deduction.
84 Chapter Two
dochic expressions of race and of land. The individual member of the
continuous descendance maintains a genetic, organic, and participatory
relation both to the property that passes through him and to its sacred
signs.
Early medieval grammar is, as its exponents are quick to note and its
name implies, the science of the straight-of letters (lines), rectitude
(correctness), and literal (true) interpretation. Here again, a founding
linguistic moment is posited in illo tempore. And whether this primal
eponymous event is conceived to have been the result of Adam's divine
inspiration or of the acumen of an original impositor, it is both determined
by and expresses an adequation between words and the physical prop-
erties of things. Through it meaning is established, or, as in the phrase of
rhetoricians and grammarians, a proper place (locus, topos) from which to
speak is identified. From such places words then evolve lineally-by
catastrophe, translation, poetry, and use, through Hebrew, Greek, and
Latin-to the present set of terms which is bound metonymically both to
meaning and to source. Despite change, the verbal sign still retains a part
of the essence of that to which it refers; and, through time, it conserves
something of the elements (semblance) of the original word from which it
derives.
2. Temporality. Consciousness of lineage implies an awareness of the
family as a diachronic sequence of relations as opposed to the less tem-
poralized notion of a clan extended in space. Ancestry supersedes affilia-
tion within the noble kin group articulated as a series of successions, a
race of heirs with a common past. In fact, antiquity is lineage's chief claim
to legitimacy; and the older the genealogy, the more prestigious and
powerful that claim becomes.
Similarly, the grammar of the early Middle Ages represents a dia-
chronic system in which the roots of words, their etymology, authorizes
meaning. The further back one can trace the history of a particular lexical
term, the closer one gets to the primal linguistic elements whose sense
borders on the stuff of things. And while internal grammar is character-
ized by emphasis upon the sources of words (etymology) and the causes
of their imposition (definition), external grammar is dominated by a
genealogically defined historical linguistics that subtends the dominant
model of history itself.
3. Verticality. A corollary of the emphasis upon temporal definition is a
tendency to stress the autonomy of each lineal strand. Blood ties are more
important than affinal relations within a system of kinship which privi-
leges descent-and even the consanguineal bonds between oldest
males-while precluding any broader sense of horizontal integration.
The verticality of the noble family is especially visible in the range of
i
~
Kinship 85
customs-laudatio parentum, maritagium, retrait lignager-which assure
the independence of property within marriage. According to the general
rule of paterna paternis, materna maternis, the patrimony descended from a
common ancestor is programmed to devolve exclusively to those who are
genetically related. Property, like blood, flows downward in a straight
line.
To the economic autonomy of noble proprietas corresponds the lexical
independence of the individual term within a semantically oriented
grammar centered more upon words and classes than their interrelation.
Not only is the study of syntax obscured by an insistence upon etymol-
ogy, the history of single words, but even within the field of semantics we
can detect an insistence upon extrinsic meaning (the relation of a word to
its extralinguistic referent) as opposed to contextual definition (the mod-
alized relation of words to other words).
4. Fixity. Along with the linearity, temporality, and verticality of
lineage is a general sense of fixity both in the family's relation to property
and in relation to other families. A dynasty or house is rooted in the soil of
its ancestral home; it is grounded by a sacred bond to the land and castle
which define it as a cohesive group, provide a source of income, and
afford the means of strategic domination. The organic, inalienable quality
of the tie to the family patrimoine is reflected in the terms "alod," designat-
ing both paternity and property, and "immeuble," the immutable real
estate that constitutes the ancestral holding. Thus fixed once and for all,
property rights remain relatively stable despite the introduction through
marriage of some "new men." Social relations between various dynastic
houses as well as between aristocracy and other levels of society tend to
be perceived as inflexible, "grounded," permanent.
52
Within the confines
of such a fixed hierarchy, those with access to the sole source of power-
immobile wealth-govern because their ancestors have always governed.
Social movement is reduced to a minimum, and nobility, not mobility, is
the defining social rule.
In early medieval grammar the truth of words is assumed to have been
fixed once and for all in a primal instance of signification. The proper
meaning is both the true and original one, as the status of words-literally
their establishment or foundation-is equated with the ontological sta-
tus-the existence-of things. An original order of language expressed
an original order of the world and continues, despite linguistic change, to
reflect it. What this means is that language does not so much determine as
uncover the earthly reality it transmits. As a tool used primarily in the
quest for first meanings, grammar retains a somewhat passive character
more suited to the chronological restoration of a lost and ontologically
fixed origin than to the creation of meaning through logical deduction.
86 Chapter Two
5. Continuity. The lineal family model is predicated upon the principles
of partial resemblance, contiguity, and, above all, continuity. Thus the
son reproduces the father, accedes to the paternal name, title, heraldic
sign, and land. He represents an essential link in a genealogical chain,
each part of which shares certain common traits with all others, and
which, at least in theory if not in practice, remains unbroken from the first
ancestor to the current heir.
Likewise, early medieval grammar functions according to an assumed
continuity not only between the original properties of things and of
words but between the components of original words and their succes-
sive phonetic and morphological stages. Such an assumption lies at the
center of etymological thought, for without the survival of some recogniz-
able element through each lexical change it would be impossible to retrace
the history of a word. The importance of at least partial identity also
accounts for the insistence upon analogy both as a principle of linguistic
evolution and as a technique of definition. The attempt to move by
resemblance from that which is certain to that which is less certain, and
thus to arrive at the proper definition of things and of words, is, in a very
real sense, the cornerstone of etymological grammar. A true etymology is
the equivalent of a correct definition; and any break in the etymological
chain linking a term to its origin threatens to upset the entire process.
6. Inherence of value. One consequence of our argument is that within
the lineal family social value remains a quality internal to those who have
it. Nobility becomes, in the centuries during which lineages were formed,
a relatively closed caste. Aristocrats are born, and noble status is, by
definition, inherited; it cannot, in principle, be earned or acquired. "To be
noble," again, "is to be able to refer to a genealogy"; and to be able to refer
to a genealogy is to affirm automatically one's place in the upper echelons
of a highly hierarchized social network.., .
Like the social worth of the aristocrat, semantic value remains, within a
system of grammar based upon etymology as well as an exegetical tradi-
tion based upon the mysticism of Hebrew names, an inherent quality of
the word itself. It is, in fact, the inherence of meaning in its sign that
allows etymology to function as an epistemological tool: the word ab-
stracted from its referent represents the primary vehicle and the agent of
first recourse in the recuperation of the meaning of the physical world.
Even the end product of the search for etymological roots transmits the
specifically political sense of domination, since, as Isidore asserts, "the
more we know about the source of words, the faster we can understand
the 'nature' or 'force' (vim) of things" (Etym., l:xxix, ii).
But what is the relation of genealogy as a means of naturalizing lineage
to etymology as a means of naturalizing language? Where can we locate
this relation? And what do we call it? Social infrastructure? Global homol-
Kinship 87
ogy? Subconscious crystallization? Collective unconscious? Mental struc-
ture?
I not convinced that we can situate it in the sense of the early
a speech stops. Nor is it possible to identify
positively such a conJunctiOn. There is no recognizable point of which we ,_,
can the coin.cidence of the laws of kinship and of language-no
has treated consciously the family, no canon-
Ist who deals With family matters in explicitly grammatical terms. What
is that the discourse of the family and the discourse gov-
ermng somewhere deep in the zone where language,
etched m grammatical reflex, shapes perception, and where ties of
inscribed in something resembling taboo, program the social
attitudes that become manifest in institutions. Here the term "manifest"
is all we possess of such a relation are the external symptoms
that pomt hke vectors to a point of convergence where more direct
connec_tio.n becomes elusive. Or, can it be that we have conceptualized
only partially the problem of location, looked too directly to linguistics
and to family history for answers that are to be found elsewhere? I think a
rapid .look at another kind of manifestation may serve to clarify our
phrasmg of the question, and, ultimately, may steer us toward the locus
of mediation par excellence, which lies neither in the realm of grammar
nor of kinship, but in that of poetry. .
The Tree of Jesse
One area in which representation of the family as lineage makes a
startling appearance in the late eleventh and twelfth centuries is that of
art.
53
.I am referring to the numerous stained glass and manu-
scnpt Illustrations of .the Tree of Jesse, which was also the subject of
sculptural and dramatic treatment. The original reference of all of these is
the passage from Isaiah 11:1-3, in which it is prophesied "that there shall
come forth a rod (uirga) out of the stem of Jesse (radice !esse), and a branch
grow out of its roots. And the spirit of the Lord shall rest upon
him .... "
54
From Isaiah's prophecy or signification of what was inter-
preted to be the Incarnation stems a long exegetical tradition. According
t? Eusebius, Jerome, and Rabanus Maurus, for example, the
of Chnst stretches from Jesse through David to Mary. The word
mrga was even taken to be the equivalent of the Virgin; and some
commentators point to the homonymic resemblance of "Jesse" and its
"Jesus" as combined proof of etymological and genealogical
connection.
The of Jesse constituted a virtual topos alongside of other
genealogical forms late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages-the
Roman stemma, Arabic tables of consanguinity, and the canonical arbor
86 Chapter Two
5. Continuity. The lineal family model is predicated upon the principles
of partial resemblance, contiguity, and, above all, continuity. Thus the
son reproduces the father, accedes to the paternal name, title, heraldic
sign, and land. He represents an essential link in a genealogical chain,
each part of which shares certain common traits with all others, and
which, at least in theory if not in practice, remains unbroken from the first
ancestor to the current heir.
Likewise, early medieval grammar functions according to an assumed
continuity not only between the original properties of things and of
words but between the components of original words and their succes-
sive phonetic and morphological stages. Such an assumption lies at the
center of etymological thought, for without the survival of some recogniz-
able element through each lexical change it would be impossible to retrace
the history of a word. The importance of at least partial identity also
accounts for the insistence upon analogy both as a principle of linguistic
evolution and as a technique of definition. The attempt to move by
resemblance from that which is certain to that which is less certain, and
thus to arrive at the proper definition of things and of words, is, in a very
real sense, the cornerstone of etymological grammar. A true etymology is
the equivalent of a correct definition; and any break in the etymological
chain linking a term to its origin threatens to upset the entire process.
6. Inherence of value. One consequence of our argument is that within
the lineal family social value remains a quality internal to those who have
it. Nobility becomes, in the centuries during which lineages were formed,
a relatively closed caste. Aristocrats are born, and noble status is, by
definition, inherited; it cannot, in principle, be earned or acquired. "To be
noble," again, "is to be able to refer to a genealogy"; and to be able to refer
to a genealogy is to affirm automatically one's place in the upper echelons
of a highly hierarchized social network.., .
Like the social worth of the aristocrat, semantic value remains, within a
system of grammar based upon etymology as well as an exegetical tradi-
tion based upon the mysticism of Hebrew names, an inherent quality of
the word itself. It is, in fact, the inherence of meaning in its sign that
allows etymology to function as an epistemological tool: the word ab-
stracted from its referent represents the primary vehicle and the agent of
first recourse in the recuperation of the meaning of the physical world.
Even the end product of the search for etymological roots transmits the
specifically political sense of domination, since, as Isidore asserts, "the
more we know about the source of words, the faster we can understand
the 'nature' or 'force' (vim) of things" (Etym., l:xxix, ii).
But what is the relation of genealogy as a means of naturalizing lineage
to etymology as a means of naturalizing language? Where can we locate
this relation? And what do we call it? Social infrastructure? Global homol-
Kinship 87
ogy? Subconscious crystallization? Collective unconscious? Mental struc-
ture?
I not convinced that we can situate it in the sense of the early
a speech stops. Nor is it possible to identify
positively such a conJunctiOn. There is no recognizable point of which we ,_,
can the coin.cidence of the laws of kinship and of language-no
has treated consciously the family, no canon-
Ist who deals With family matters in explicitly grammatical terms. What
is that the discourse of the family and the discourse gov-
ermng somewhere deep in the zone where language,
etched m grammatical reflex, shapes perception, and where ties of
inscribed in something resembling taboo, program the social
attitudes that become manifest in institutions. Here the term "manifest"
is all we possess of such a relation are the external symptoms
that pomt hke vectors to a point of convergence where more direct
connec_tio.n becomes elusive. Or, can it be that we have conceptualized
only partially the problem of location, looked too directly to linguistics
and to family history for answers that are to be found elsewhere? I think a
rapid .look at another kind of manifestation may serve to clarify our
phrasmg of the question, and, ultimately, may steer us toward the locus
of mediation par excellence, which lies neither in the realm of grammar
nor of kinship, but in that of poetry. .
The Tree of Jesse
One area in which representation of the family as lineage makes a
startling appearance in the late eleventh and twelfth centuries is that of
art.
53
.I am referring to the numerous stained glass and manu-
scnpt Illustrations of .the Tree of Jesse, which was also the subject of
sculptural and dramatic treatment. The original reference of all of these is
the passage from Isaiah 11:1-3, in which it is prophesied "that there shall
come forth a rod (uirga) out of the stem of Jesse (radice !esse), and a branch
grow out of its roots. And the spirit of the Lord shall rest upon
him .... "
54
From Isaiah's prophecy or signification of what was inter-
preted to be the Incarnation stems a long exegetical tradition. According
t? Eusebius, Jerome, and Rabanus Maurus, for example, the
of Chnst stretches from Jesse through David to Mary. The word
mrga was even taken to be the equivalent of the Virgin; and some
commentators point to the homonymic resemblance of "Jesse" and its
"Jesus" as combined proof of etymological and genealogical
connection.
The of Jesse constituted a virtual topos alongside of other
genealogical forms late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages-the
Roman stemma, Arabic tables of consanguinity, and the canonical arbor
Tree of Jesse from the Ingeborg Psalter. . . .
Ms. 1695 Musee Conde, Chantilly, France. (Printed wtth permtsswn.)
Kinship 89
iuris. But the idealized family trees that began to appear around the time
of the organization of France's feudal lineages betray a remarkable
change in focus, which is, as A. Watson claims, best understood by
reference to a Carolingian text. The ninth-century poem De Septem Libe-
ralibus Artibus in quadam Pictura depictis by Theodolph of Orleans portrays
a disk out of which grows a tree: "Discus erat tereti formatus imagine
mundi, I Arboris unius quem decorabat opus."
55
At the base of the tree
stands the figure of Grammar:
Huius Grammatica ingens in radice sedebat,
Gignere earn semet seu retinere monens.
Omnis ab hac ideo procedere cernitur arbos,
Ars quia proferri hac sine nulla ualet.
56
Mighty Grammar was sitting at its root,
Counseling it to produce and yet to keep her, Grammar, fast.
Thus every tree is seen to grow from Grammar,
Because no art has the strength to arise without her.
The central position of Grammar within an allegory of learning was no
doubt inspired by Martianus Capella and again attests to the inter-
penetration of genealogy and etymology. Yet, Theodolph's originality
consists in the modification of the paradigm of the liberal arts into a
progression from the most basic toward the highest. As articulated by the
motif of the tree, the De Septem Liberalibus Artibus (which was intended as
a guide for painters) transforms the linguistic and practical disciplines
into a graded scale. "It only remained," as A. K. Porter notes, "to
substitute Jesse for Grammar, the Kings of Judah and the Virgin for the
other arts."
57
This is exactly what happened in the trees of the High Middle Ages,
which include: several doubtful identifications like the Canterbury Can-
delabrum, the Tree of the University of Prague (Vy sehrad MS xiv), and a
twelfth-century copy of Jerome's Explanatio in Isaiam (Dijon MS 129); a
number of simple trees depicting David and Solomon, for example, that
of a Premonstratensian Missal (Bibliotheque nationale MS Lat. 833), that
of a mid-twelfth-century Psalter in Latin and French from Winchester
Cathedral (British Museum MS Nero C. iv), the Huntingfield Psalter (Mor-
gan MS 43), and a Bible of Saint Bertin de Saint Orner (Bibliotheque
nationale MS Lat. 16746); and, finally, complete illustrations of the de-
scendance of Jesse-through David, Solomon, and other kings-toward
Mary and Christ. These full-blown Trees of Jesse, including the famous
windows at Saint Denis and Chartres as well as the elaborate ceiling of
Saint Michaels, Hildesheim, portray kinship (and kingship) as a complex
and complete genealogical series. History is thus inscribed in the Tree of
Jesse, which, unlike Theodolph's allegory of the Arts, transforms pater-
Tree of Jesse from the Ingeborg Psalter. . . .
Ms. 1695 Musee Conde, Chantilly, France. (Printed wtth permtsswn.)
Kinship 89
iuris. But the idealized family trees that began to appear around the time
of the organization of France's feudal lineages betray a remarkable
change in focus, which is, as A. Watson claims, best understood by
reference to a Carolingian text. The ninth-century poem De Septem Libe-
ralibus Artibus in quadam Pictura depictis by Theodolph of Orleans portrays
a disk out of which grows a tree: "Discus erat tereti formatus imagine
mundi, I Arboris unius quem decorabat opus."
55
At the base of the tree
stands the figure of Grammar:
Huius Grammatica ingens in radice sedebat,
Gignere earn semet seu retinere monens.
Omnis ab hac ideo procedere cernitur arbos,
Ars quia proferri hac sine nulla ualet.
56
Mighty Grammar was sitting at its root,
Counseling it to produce and yet to keep her, Grammar, fast.
Thus every tree is seen to grow from Grammar,
Because no art has the strength to arise without her.
The central position of Grammar within an allegory of learning was no
doubt inspired by Martianus Capella and again attests to the inter-
penetration of genealogy and etymology. Yet, Theodolph's originality
consists in the modification of the paradigm of the liberal arts into a
progression from the most basic toward the highest. As articulated by the
motif of the tree, the De Septem Liberalibus Artibus (which was intended as
a guide for painters) transforms the linguistic and practical disciplines
into a graded scale. "It only remained," as A. K. Porter notes, "to
substitute Jesse for Grammar, the Kings of Judah and the Virgin for the
other arts."
57
This is exactly what happened in the trees of the High Middle Ages,
which include: several doubtful identifications like the Canterbury Can-
delabrum, the Tree of the University of Prague (Vy sehrad MS xiv), and a
twelfth-century copy of Jerome's Explanatio in Isaiam (Dijon MS 129); a
number of simple trees depicting David and Solomon, for example, that
of a Premonstratensian Missal (Bibliotheque nationale MS Lat. 833), that
of a mid-twelfth-century Psalter in Latin and French from Winchester
Cathedral (British Museum MS Nero C. iv), the Huntingfield Psalter (Mor-
gan MS 43), and a Bible of Saint Bertin de Saint Orner (Bibliotheque
nationale MS Lat. 16746); and, finally, complete illustrations of the de-
scendance of Jesse-through David, Solomon, and other kings-toward
Mary and Christ. These full-blown Trees of Jesse, including the famous
windows at Saint Denis and Chartres as well as the elaborate ceiling of
Saint Michaels, Hildesheim, portray kinship (and kingship) as a complex
and complete genealogical series. History is thus inscribed in the Tree of
Jesse, which, unlike Theodolph's allegory of the Arts, transforms pater-
90 Chapter Two
nity into a pictorial narrative in which story line and family line coincide.
Also, unlike the spatially organized Roman and canonical tables of con-
sanguinity, which are paradigms of possible relation to be used to deter-
mine who may marry whom and who may inherit what, the Tree of Jesse
stands as the iconographic equivalent of the lineal family and an idealized
representation of lineage: it organizes visual space such that the eye is
forced to read paternity through time. Based upon a contiguous relation
of ancestor to heir, it is, again unlike the tabula consanguinitatis, an organic
tree ordered vertically from the roots up as a graded continuity of being, a
participation of elements within an ascending whole.
Art historians have posed a number of in relation to
the historical status of the Tree of Jesse. At what point, for instance, does
a diagram become a tree? Did Suger invent the genre in its final form? Do
the series of conjoined figures refer in the first instance to a Biblical
succession or to the line of Capetian monarchs? And yet, no art historian
to my knowledge has attempted to associate the Tree of Jesse with the
contemporaneous articulation of the noble family as lineage; nor has
anyone posed the question that led us to it in the first place-namely, the
problem of situating the mediatory locus between grammar and the lineal
kin group.
Indeed, the uirga !esse raises an issue that responds in part to our
original inquiry. For the portrayal of Jesse's line did not, in its fullest
expression, originate in the family circles that produced the genealogical
chronicle or even the "literary" genealogy. It was not intended explicitly
to serve in the invention of ancestors and hence in the legitimation of
family power; nor did its Biblical roots encourage those who saw it to
experience anything but a temporally distant, mythically removed vision
of the family surrounded by the trappings of legend. No particular
dynasty, with the possible exception of the kings of France, could identify
with the line of Christ. This is because the Tree ofJesse remains, above all,
a model, an idealization, that, unlike both the wholly specific private
chronicle and the wholly abstract arbor iuris, tells a story of paternity with
no direct relation to the noble houses of feudal France. It narrates lineage
without narrating a definite lineage. Neither paradigm nor event, the
uirga !esse retains the ambiguous status of fact cloaked in fiction and of
fiction grounded in fact. It is, moreover, precisely this equivocal position
between form devoid of content and pure manifestation that speaks to
r- the issue of convergence. What we are suggesting is that early medieval
grammar, the formal discourse on discourse, and family structure, a set of
formalized precepts governing marriage and inheritance, coincide most
intensely in the area of cultural superstructure, of which the Tree of Jesse
Lis but one relatively minor example. This amounts to asserting that the
J
Kinship 91
two poles that have dominated our discussion up until now, language
theory and paternity, meet neither in the social infrastructure nor in any
deep "mentalite," but in the forms of expression ruled by grammar which
also served, as we shall see in the following chapter, to articulate the
elementary laws of kinship-that is to say, in the poetic forms whose
appearance coincided almost exactly with the advent of lineage.
90 Chapter Two
nity into a pictorial narrative in which story line and family line coincide.
Also, unlike the spatially organized Roman and canonical tables of con-
sanguinity, which are paradigms of possible relation to be used to deter-
mine who may marry whom and who may inherit what, the Tree of Jesse
stands as the iconographic equivalent of the lineal family and an idealized
representation of lineage: it organizes visual space such that the eye is
forced to read paternity through time. Based upon a contiguous relation
of ancestor to heir, it is, again unlike the tabula consanguinitatis, an organic
tree ordered vertically from the roots up as a graded continuity of being, a
participation of elements within an ascending whole.
Art historians have posed a number of in relation to
the historical status of the Tree of Jesse. At what point, for instance, does
a diagram become a tree? Did Suger invent the genre in its final form? Do
the series of conjoined figures refer in the first instance to a Biblical
succession or to the line of Capetian monarchs? And yet, no art historian
to my knowledge has attempted to associate the Tree of Jesse with the
contemporaneous articulation of the noble family as lineage; nor has
anyone posed the question that led us to it in the first place-namely, the
problem of situating the mediatory locus between grammar and the lineal
kin group.
Indeed, the uirga !esse raises an issue that responds in part to our
original inquiry. For the portrayal of Jesse's line did not, in its fullest
expression, originate in the family circles that produced the genealogical
chronicle or even the "literary" genealogy. It was not intended explicitly
to serve in the invention of ancestors and hence in the legitimation of
family power; nor did its Biblical roots encourage those who saw it to
experience anything but a temporally distant, mythically removed vision
of the family surrounded by the trappings of legend. No particular
dynasty, with the possible exception of the kings of France, could identify
with the line of Christ. This is because the Tree ofJesse remains, above all,
a model, an idealization, that, unlike both the wholly specific private
chronicle and the wholly abstract arbor iuris, tells a story of paternity with
no direct relation to the noble houses of feudal France. It narrates lineage
without narrating a definite lineage. Neither paradigm nor event, the
uirga !esse retains the ambiguous status of fact cloaked in fiction and of
fiction grounded in fact. It is, moreover, precisely this equivocal position
between form devoid of content and pure manifestation that speaks to
r- the issue of convergence. What we are suggesting is that early medieval
grammar, the formal discourse on discourse, and family structure, a set of
formalized precepts governing marriage and inheritance, coincide most
intensely in the area of cultural superstructure, of which the Tree of Jesse
Lis but one relatively minor example. This amounts to asserting that the
J
Kinship 91
two poles that have dominated our discussion up until now, language
theory and paternity, meet neither in the social infrastructure nor in any
deep "mentalite," but in the forms of expression ruled by grammar which
also served, as we shall see in the following chapter, to articulate the
elementary laws of kinship-that is to say, in the poetic forms whose
appearance coincided almost exactly with the advent of lineage.

Literature and Lineage
In the preceding chapter we traced what might be described broadly as
the constitution of lineage as a principle of noble family order in eleventh-
and twelfth-century France. This movement away from the horizontally
and spatially defined kin group toward the notion of dynasty or house
was sparked internally by the menacing dispersion of family lands alien-
ated by division and pious donation; and it was catalyzed by geographic
implantation along with the transformation of benefices (fiefs by conces-
sion) into hereditary rights. Where the boundaries of kinship are con-
cerned, the clan underwent a process of "narrowing" visible in a relaxa-
tion of the extremely wide impediments to marriage of an earlier age and
in a shift of focus away from affinal and toward consanguineal relations.
The organization of noble family lines was inseparable from a biopolitics
of lineage: a restriction and control of marriages, a husbanding of family
property through such practices as the laudatio parentum, the retrait ligna-
ger, and indivision. Then too, lineage was practically synonymous with
92
Literature and Lineage 93
modes of wealth (the immeuble, real estate, propre)
and of mhentance (pnmogeniture).
We saw that su_ch a transformation was furthered by a change in
the relation of noble hneages to the signs of nobility. In particular, the
family's appropriation of a heraldic emblem, a patronymic name, and a
historical discourse by which to articulate its own genealogical past
to_ mediate the thrust toward lineal arrangement. And alongside
the shift m legal, economic, and social institutions there occurred a less
visible but equally important shift in the nature of certain key familial
symbols as well as in their practice. Such a transformation would not have
been so significant, however, were it not for the fact that it also repre-
as we in. Chapter 1, the assimilation of an essentially gram-
matical modelimplymg an epistemological one as well. Early medieval
grammar, based upon the principle of etymology, and lineage, predi-
cated _upon that of genealogy, participate in a common representational
by linearity, temporality, verticality, fixity, con-
tinUity, the of semantic and social value. The attempt to
locate this rapport remams, however, problematic, since linguistic and
paternal models converge neither in the realm of linguistics nor in that of
the we hypothesized after a consideration of contempora-
neous figurations of the Tree of Jesse that the most promising line of
inquiry lies in the area of cultural superstructure; and for that reason, it is
to poetry that we now turn. -'
The Epic
. Fra.nc_e's earliest :pic is deeply implicated in the strategy of
lingmstic and familial ongms that we have outlined thus far. In the
de geste more than anywhere else lineage serves to organize an
entire hterary mode. Not only are these heroic poems (which Duby thinks
have served as sources of inspiration for family chronicles) filled
with catalogues of noble families whose origins are fixed in the Carolin-
gian past, but they are themselves disposed in groups according to the
nature of dynastic association:
A Seint Denis, en la mestre abai:e,
trovon escrit, de ce ne doute mie,
dedanz un livre de grant encesorie,
n'ot que trois gestes en France la garnie.
1
At Saint Denis, in the great abbey,
we find written, in a book of high ancestry,
of this there can be no doubt or chance,
that there are only three gestes in richest France.
Thus the author of Girart de Vienne lays the foundation for classification of
the epic into separate cycles by reason of family relation. The term

Literature and Lineage
In the preceding chapter we traced what might be described broadly as
the constitution of lineage as a principle of noble family order in eleventh-
and twelfth-century France. This movement away from the horizontally
and spatially defined kin group toward the notion of dynasty or house
was sparked internally by the menacing dispersion of family lands alien-
ated by division and pious donation; and it was catalyzed by geographic
implantation along with the transformation of benefices (fiefs by conces-
sion) into hereditary rights. Where the boundaries of kinship are con-
cerned, the clan underwent a process of "narrowing" visible in a relaxa-
tion of the extremely wide impediments to marriage of an earlier age and
in a shift of focus away from affinal and toward consanguineal relations.
The organization of noble family lines was inseparable from a biopolitics
of lineage: a restriction and control of marriages, a husbanding of family
property through such practices as the laudatio parentum, the retrait ligna-
ger, and indivision. Then too, lineage was practically synonymous with
92
Literature and Lineage 93
modes of wealth (the immeuble, real estate, propre)
and of mhentance (pnmogeniture).
We saw that su_ch a transformation was furthered by a change in
the relation of noble hneages to the signs of nobility. In particular, the
family's appropriation of a heraldic emblem, a patronymic name, and a
historical discourse by which to articulate its own genealogical past
to_ mediate the thrust toward lineal arrangement. And alongside
the shift m legal, economic, and social institutions there occurred a less
visible but equally important shift in the nature of certain key familial
symbols as well as in their practice. Such a transformation would not have
been so significant, however, were it not for the fact that it also repre-
as we in. Chapter 1, the assimilation of an essentially gram-
matical modelimplymg an epistemological one as well. Early medieval
grammar, based upon the principle of etymology, and lineage, predi-
cated _upon that of genealogy, participate in a common representational
by linearity, temporality, verticality, fixity, con-
tinUity, the of semantic and social value. The attempt to
locate this rapport remams, however, problematic, since linguistic and
paternal models converge neither in the realm of linguistics nor in that of
the we hypothesized after a consideration of contempora-
neous figurations of the Tree of Jesse that the most promising line of
inquiry lies in the area of cultural superstructure; and for that reason, it is
to poetry that we now turn. -'
The Epic
. Fra.nc_e's earliest :pic is deeply implicated in the strategy of
lingmstic and familial ongms that we have outlined thus far. In the
de geste more than anywhere else lineage serves to organize an
entire hterary mode. Not only are these heroic poems (which Duby thinks
have served as sources of inspiration for family chronicles) filled
with catalogues of noble families whose origins are fixed in the Carolin-
gian past, but they are themselves disposed in groups according to the
nature of dynastic association:
A Seint Denis, en la mestre abai:e,
trovon escrit, de ce ne doute mie,
dedanz un livre de grant encesorie,
n'ot que trois gestes en France la garnie.
1
At Saint Denis, in the great abbey,
we find written, in a book of high ancestry,
of this there can be no doubt or chance,
that there are only three gestes in richest France.
Thus the author of Girart de Vienne lays the foundation for classification of
the epic into separate cycles by reason of family relation. The term
94 Chapter Three
"geste" refers generally to events or deeds, to the family and to the
chronicle of family deeds (e.g., the geste Francor of the Chanson de Roland);
2
and here it designates specifically the three main houses of France as well
as the series of legends surrounding each. Nor can the legitimating
antiquity of the livre de grant encesorie, like Benoit's reliance upon la letre
escrit, be divorced from the authority conferred by ancestors (see above,
pp. 82-83). Family relations are coterminous with literary relations; the
songs of the deeds of Charlemagne, Doon de Maience, or Garin de
Monglane engender poems about the other members of their lineages, as
even Ganelon becomes the focus of a family geste:
Et ausin furent li parant Ganelon,
qui tant estoient riche et de grant renon,
se il ne fussent si plain de trai"son
De ce lingnaje, qui ne fist se mal non,
fu Ia seconde geste.'
And thus were the relatives of Ganelon,
who were so rich and of great renown,
if they had not been so full of treason.
Of this lineage which only had evil done,
was the second geste.
Lineage and geste are synonymous, as the epic cycle constitutes itself
according to a pattern of affiliation between families of heroes and fami-
lies of poems.
The close connection of genealogy and poetic groupings can partially
be explained by the technique of elaboration of the chansons de geste,
which were, like the private chronicle, composed in keeping with a
reverse chronology pointed always toward the origin of the family line.
This is another way of saying that the thematic sequence that links the
various separate texts of what seems often like a simple enormous cyclical
poem is the opposite of the sequence of composition of its interrelated
parts. The earlier a character or event can be situated chronologically
within the global cycle, the later, generally speaking, the date of its
addition to the whole. This is true even of the more biographically
organized gestes such as the Cycle of Charlemagne or of the King. The
Chanson de Roland, a saga of old age, can be dated approximately a century
and three-quarters before Adenet le Roi's Berte aus grans pies (ca. 1275),
which contains the story of the emperor's youth and parents; two other
poems which form a kind of minicycle of the "Enfances Charlemagne"-
the Chanson de Mainet and the Chanson de Basin (only known in a Scandina-
vian version)-also belong to this later period. The composition of the
stories about the emperor's mature exploits as narrated in the Pelerinage de
Charlemagne and Aspremont fall chronologically in between those of the
deeds of his youth and old age.
I
f
Literature and Lineage 95
The Cycle of Garin de Monglane or of William offers, in many respects,
the most complete assimilation of genealogy and intertextuality. Here,
however, the question of cyclical extension is complicated by the simul-
taneous development of direct and lateral familial and textual branches.
The earliest work in the direct group is the Chanson de Guillaume, which is
roughly contemporaneous with the Roland. From Guillaume the order of
composition stretches back to poems about William's parents, grand-
father, and great-grandfather, Garin, the founding ancestor and origina-
tor of the line. Where William's affines are concerned, the order of textual
elaboration follows a natural chronology: La Chanson de Renier, which
narrates the deeds of the grandson of William's brother-in-law
(Rainouart), was composed at about the same time as the poems attached
to Garin.
Altogether the Cycle of William comprehends seven generations, in-
cluding both consanguineal and affinal relations; and the lineage whose
history it recounts remains indissociable from a series of literary succes-
sions. Thus, Garin de Monglane and the Enfances Garin deal with the early
history of the family, Garin's father and mother, as well as the capture of
the fief of Monglane. The next poem in the generational sequence, Girart
de Vienne, tells of the exploits of Garin's four sons who leave the paternal
castle in search of their own lands, and, in particular, of the war of Garin's
lineage against that of Charlemagne. A third epic, Aymeri de Narbonne,
narrates the capture of Narbonne by Garin's grandson, his marriage, and
battles against Saracen invaders. Two other texts in the group attached to
Aymeri are particularly significant: the dramatic interest of Les Narbonnais
is generated by the father's privileging of one heir (in this case the
youngest) and the struggle of the disinherited sons to obtain their own
holdings; La Mort Aymeri de Narbonne depicts the hero's final exploits and
death.
As we move to the texts associated with the fourth generation of
Garin's lineage, the field thickens. Two works each portray the deeds of
Aymeri's sons Beuve (Le Siege de Barbastre, Beuvon de Commarchis) and
Guibert (Guibert d'Andresnas, La Prise de Cordres et de Sebille). No less than
six epics recount the life of their brother William (Les Enfances Guillaume,
Le Couronnement Louis, Le Charroi de Nfmes, La Prise d'Orange, La Chanson de
GuillaJme, Le Moniage Guillaume). There are, in addition, three works
attached collaterally to William's nephew Vivien (Les Enfances Vivien, La
Chevalerie Vivien, Aliscans); these in addition to the poems based upon the
life of his affinal kin (La Bataille Loquifer, Le Moniage Rainouart, La Chanson
de Renier). The Cycle of Garin de Monglane thus appears, from the
perspective of the literary historian, as an enormous reverse genealogy in
which, to quote J. Frappier, "sons have engendered fathers."
4
On the
level of theme, and certain manuscript collections specify the thematic
94 Chapter Three
"geste" refers generally to events or deeds, to the family and to the
chronicle of family deeds (e.g., the geste Francor of the Chanson de Roland);
2
and here it designates specifically the three main houses of France as well
as the series of legends surrounding each. Nor can the legitimating
antiquity of the livre de grant encesorie, like Benoit's reliance upon la letre
escrit, be divorced from the authority conferred by ancestors (see above,
pp. 82-83). Family relations are coterminous with literary relations; the
songs of the deeds of Charlemagne, Doon de Maience, or Garin de
Monglane engender poems about the other members of their lineages, as
even Ganelon becomes the focus of a family geste:
Et ausin furent li parant Ganelon,
qui tant estoient riche et de grant renon,
se il ne fussent si plain de trai"son
De ce lingnaje, qui ne fist se mal non,
fu Ia seconde geste.'
And thus were the relatives of Ganelon,
who were so rich and of great renown,
if they had not been so full of treason.
Of this lineage which only had evil done,
was the second geste.
Lineage and geste are synonymous, as the epic cycle constitutes itself
according to a pattern of affiliation between families of heroes and fami-
lies of poems.
The close connection of genealogy and poetic groupings can partially
be explained by the technique of elaboration of the chansons de geste,
which were, like the private chronicle, composed in keeping with a
reverse chronology pointed always toward the origin of the family line.
This is another way of saying that the thematic sequence that links the
various separate texts of what seems often like a simple enormous cyclical
poem is the opposite of the sequence of composition of its interrelated
parts. The earlier a character or event can be situated chronologically
within the global cycle, the later, generally speaking, the date of its
addition to the whole. This is true even of the more biographically
organized gestes such as the Cycle of Charlemagne or of the King. The
Chanson de Roland, a saga of old age, can be dated approximately a century
and three-quarters before Adenet le Roi's Berte aus grans pies (ca. 1275),
which contains the story of the emperor's youth and parents; two other
poems which form a kind of minicycle of the "Enfances Charlemagne"-
the Chanson de Mainet and the Chanson de Basin (only known in a Scandina-
vian version)-also belong to this later period. The composition of the
stories about the emperor's mature exploits as narrated in the Pelerinage de
Charlemagne and Aspremont fall chronologically in between those of the
deeds of his youth and old age.
I
f
Literature and Lineage 95
The Cycle of Garin de Monglane or of William offers, in many respects,
the most complete assimilation of genealogy and intertextuality. Here,
however, the question of cyclical extension is complicated by the simul-
taneous development of direct and lateral familial and textual branches.
The earliest work in the direct group is the Chanson de Guillaume, which is
roughly contemporaneous with the Roland. From Guillaume the order of
composition stretches back to poems about William's parents, grand-
father, and great-grandfather, Garin, the founding ancestor and origina-
tor of the line. Where William's affines are concerned, the order of textual
elaboration follows a natural chronology: La Chanson de Renier, which
narrates the deeds of the grandson of William's brother-in-law
(Rainouart), was composed at about the same time as the poems attached
to Garin.
Altogether the Cycle of William comprehends seven generations, in-
cluding both consanguineal and affinal relations; and the lineage whose
history it recounts remains indissociable from a series of literary succes-
sions. Thus, Garin de Monglane and the Enfances Garin deal with the early
history of the family, Garin's father and mother, as well as the capture of
the fief of Monglane. The next poem in the generational sequence, Girart
de Vienne, tells of the exploits of Garin's four sons who leave the paternal
castle in search of their own lands, and, in particular, of the war of Garin's
lineage against that of Charlemagne. A third epic, Aymeri de Narbonne,
narrates the capture of Narbonne by Garin's grandson, his marriage, and
battles against Saracen invaders. Two other texts in the group attached to
Aymeri are particularly significant: the dramatic interest of Les Narbonnais
is generated by the father's privileging of one heir (in this case the
youngest) and the struggle of the disinherited sons to obtain their own
holdings; La Mort Aymeri de Narbonne depicts the hero's final exploits and
death.
As we move to the texts associated with the fourth generation of
Garin's lineage, the field thickens. Two works each portray the deeds of
Aymeri's sons Beuve (Le Siege de Barbastre, Beuvon de Commarchis) and
Guibert (Guibert d'Andresnas, La Prise de Cordres et de Sebille). No less than
six epics recount the life of their brother William (Les Enfances Guillaume,
Le Couronnement Louis, Le Charroi de Nfmes, La Prise d'Orange, La Chanson de
GuillaJme, Le Moniage Guillaume). There are, in addition, three works
attached collaterally to William's nephew Vivien (Les Enfances Vivien, La
Chevalerie Vivien, Aliscans); these in addition to the poems based upon the
life of his affinal kin (La Bataille Loquifer, Le Moniage Rainouart, La Chanson
de Renier). The Cycle of Garin de Monglane thus appears, from the
perspective of the literary historian, as an enormous reverse genealogy in
which, to quote J. Frappier, "sons have engendered fathers."
4
On the
level of theme, and certain manuscript collections specify the thematic
96 Chapter Three
rapport between texts, the reconstructed narrative gives the impression
of a continuous series of intertextual relations determined by an un-
broken genealogical chain.
5
The antiheroic traitors of the geste of Doon de Maience belonged,
according to the author of Girart de Vienne, to the "family of Ganelon."
And though such a claim is not justified by a pattern of textual interrela-
tion as comprehensive as that of the Cycle of William, it is nonetheless
indicative of the degree to which action, within this more loosely linked
body of poems, is a function of familial affiliation. Here, as elsewhere,
lineage functions as a principle of internal organization. The hero's situa-
tion, along with the limits of his freedom, are determined by duty to clan;
even character seems to be inherited. The numerous wars chronicled in
the Cycle of the Rebellious Barons are fought strictly along family lines,
sometimes across several generations. In Raoul de Cambrai, for example,
an initial quarrel over the heritability of fiefs devolving to a minor erupts
into a full-scale conflict between Raoul's lineage and the sons of Herbert
de Vermandois.
6
Despite numerous truces, an expiatory pilgrimage, and
even marriage between the two kin groups, the great-grandsons of Her-
bert continue to battle their own maternal grandfather, Raoul's uncle
Guerri. In Renaut de Montauban the sons of Aymon de Dordogne are pitted
against the forces of Charlemagne as Aymon himself, like Bernier of Raoul
de Cambrai, is obliged to choose between loyalty to lord and to family.
Other works of this series present less elaborate portrayals of kinship, but
the law of affiliation remains the same. La Chevalerie Ogier depicts an
extended series of encounters between Charlemagne and Ogier over the
death of the latter's son; Girart de Roussillon narrates the wars between
Charles Martel and the hero whose geste (family and poem) bears his
name/
What is to be learned from such a long litany of chansons de geste? Not
simply that a model of the family as lineage determines a textual geneal-
ogy. Nor that lineage is an important thematic component of epic poetry.
These are already commonplaces of medieval literary studieJ. What has
been less explored-or ill-defined-is the relation which our discussion
of language theory, family, and poetic cycle suggests between genea-
logical succession and narrative structure. For if the disposition of epic
families of poems functions according to the paradigm of human genera-
tion, it is because the epic is, at bottom, a genre which breeds according to
the nature of narrative itself. Rather, the Old French chanson de geste
conforms, in its broad macrostructure, to what was considered through-
out the Middle Ages to constitute a historical or natural order of events;
and such an order, as we shall see, remains indistinguishable from that of
lineage.
Literature and Lineage 97
Classical rhetoricians distinguished generally between a natural ex-
position (ordo naturalis) in which an argument follows the prescribed
order of presentation (exordium, narratio, partes argumentationis, peroratio),
and an artificial one (ordo artificialis) in which the traditional arrangement
is altered to suit a particular purpose. This distinction focused, in turn,
exclusively upon the narratio or statement of facts. Cicero, for example,
defines the narrative as "an exposition of events that have occurred or
that are supposed to have occurred"; and he further discriminates be-
tween its three types--fabula, argumentum, and historia, the last of which is
characterized as "gesta res, ab aetatis nostrae memoria remota."
8
Quin-
tilian distinguishes between "fictitious narrative ... which is not merely
not true but which has little resemblance to the truth," "realistic narrative
... which has a certain verisimilitude," and "historical narrative, which
is an exposition of actual fact" ("historiam, in qua est gestae rei
expositio").
9
Priscian too separates narratio fictilis, "the stuff of tragedies
or comedies," and narratio historica, "which pertains to events" ("ad res
gestas exponendas").
10
But it was really with the Carolingian grammarian
Alcuin that the conformity of presentation to what is perceived as a
natural historical order, and not the order of rhetorical argument or the
verisimilitude of discourse, determines the status of narrative: "Omnis
ordo naturalis aut artificilis est. Naturalis ordo est si quis narret rem
ordine quo gesta est."
11
A natural narrative order is, then, one that
corresponds to the "order of events."
Alcuin' s distinction was adopted by rhetoricians and even philo-
sophers of the High Middle Ages. Conrad ofHirschau (1070-1150) claims
that, "naturalem noveris ordinem cum liber juxta gestae rei seriem
incipitur."
12
In the tradition of Virgil's medieval commentators, he also
cites as an example of artificial order the placement of the fall of Troy in
the second book of the Aeneid instead of at the beginning where it belongs
according to the natural course of historical events. Hugh of Saint-Victor
maintains that:
Ordo ... attenditur ... in narratione secundum dispositionem, quae du-
plex est: naturalis, scilicit quando res eo refertur ordine quo gesta est, et
artificialis, id est quando in quod postea gestum est prius narratur, et quod
prius postmodum dicitur ....
13
Order . . . is determined . . . in narration according to disposition, which is
double: natural, that is to say when an affair is presented in the order in
which it happened, and artificial, that is, when a subsequent event is nar-
rated first, and a previous event is narrated after ....
The thirteenth-century rhetorician Geoffrey of Vinsauf concurs. The
order of presentation, he claims, is a "double path": sometimes artificial,
othertimes "it follows the way of nature" ("Tum sequitur stratam na-
96 Chapter Three
rapport between texts, the reconstructed narrative gives the impression
of a continuous series of intertextual relations determined by an un-
broken genealogical chain.
5
The antiheroic traitors of the geste of Doon de Maience belonged,
according to the author of Girart de Vienne, to the "family of Ganelon."
And though such a claim is not justified by a pattern of textual interrela-
tion as comprehensive as that of the Cycle of William, it is nonetheless
indicative of the degree to which action, within this more loosely linked
body of poems, is a function of familial affiliation. Here, as elsewhere,
lineage functions as a principle of internal organization. The hero's situa-
tion, along with the limits of his freedom, are determined by duty to clan;
even character seems to be inherited. The numerous wars chronicled in
the Cycle of the Rebellious Barons are fought strictly along family lines,
sometimes across several generations. In Raoul de Cambrai, for example,
an initial quarrel over the heritability of fiefs devolving to a minor erupts
into a full-scale conflict between Raoul's lineage and the sons of Herbert
de Vermandois.
6
Despite numerous truces, an expiatory pilgrimage, and
even marriage between the two kin groups, the great-grandsons of Her-
bert continue to battle their own maternal grandfather, Raoul's uncle
Guerri. In Renaut de Montauban the sons of Aymon de Dordogne are pitted
against the forces of Charlemagne as Aymon himself, like Bernier of Raoul
de Cambrai, is obliged to choose between loyalty to lord and to family.
Other works of this series present less elaborate portrayals of kinship, but
the law of affiliation remains the same. La Chevalerie Ogier depicts an
extended series of encounters between Charlemagne and Ogier over the
death of the latter's son; Girart de Roussillon narrates the wars between
Charles Martel and the hero whose geste (family and poem) bears his
name/
What is to be learned from such a long litany of chansons de geste? Not
simply that a model of the family as lineage determines a textual geneal-
ogy. Nor that lineage is an important thematic component of epic poetry.
These are already commonplaces of medieval literary studieJ. What has
been less explored-or ill-defined-is the relation which our discussion
of language theory, family, and poetic cycle suggests between genea-
logical succession and narrative structure. For if the disposition of epic
families of poems functions according to the paradigm of human genera-
tion, it is because the epic is, at bottom, a genre which breeds according to
the nature of narrative itself. Rather, the Old French chanson de geste
conforms, in its broad macrostructure, to what was considered through-
out the Middle Ages to constitute a historical or natural order of events;
and such an order, as we shall see, remains indistinguishable from that of
lineage.
Literature and Lineage 97
Classical rhetoricians distinguished generally between a natural ex-
position (ordo naturalis) in which an argument follows the prescribed
order of presentation (exordium, narratio, partes argumentationis, peroratio),
and an artificial one (ordo artificialis) in which the traditional arrangement
is altered to suit a particular purpose. This distinction focused, in turn,
exclusively upon the narratio or statement of facts. Cicero, for example,
defines the narrative as "an exposition of events that have occurred or
that are supposed to have occurred"; and he further discriminates be-
tween its three types--fabula, argumentum, and historia, the last of which is
characterized as "gesta res, ab aetatis nostrae memoria remota."
8
Quin-
tilian distinguishes between "fictitious narrative ... which is not merely
not true but which has little resemblance to the truth," "realistic narrative
... which has a certain verisimilitude," and "historical narrative, which
is an exposition of actual fact" ("historiam, in qua est gestae rei
expositio").
9
Priscian too separates narratio fictilis, "the stuff of tragedies
or comedies," and narratio historica, "which pertains to events" ("ad res
gestas exponendas").
10
But it was really with the Carolingian grammarian
Alcuin that the conformity of presentation to what is perceived as a
natural historical order, and not the order of rhetorical argument or the
verisimilitude of discourse, determines the status of narrative: "Omnis
ordo naturalis aut artificilis est. Naturalis ordo est si quis narret rem
ordine quo gesta est."
11
A natural narrative order is, then, one that
corresponds to the "order of events."
Alcuin' s distinction was adopted by rhetoricians and even philo-
sophers of the High Middle Ages. Conrad ofHirschau (1070-1150) claims
that, "naturalem noveris ordinem cum liber juxta gestae rei seriem
incipitur."
12
In the tradition of Virgil's medieval commentators, he also
cites as an example of artificial order the placement of the fall of Troy in
the second book of the Aeneid instead of at the beginning where it belongs
according to the natural course of historical events. Hugh of Saint-Victor
maintains that:
Ordo ... attenditur ... in narratione secundum dispositionem, quae du-
plex est: naturalis, scilicit quando res eo refertur ordine quo gesta est, et
artificialis, id est quando in quod postea gestum est prius narratur, et quod
prius postmodum dicitur ....
13
Order . . . is determined . . . in narration according to disposition, which is
double: natural, that is to say when an affair is presented in the order in
which it happened, and artificial, that is, when a subsequent event is nar-
rated first, and a previous event is narrated after ....
The thirteenth-century rhetorician Geoffrey of Vinsauf concurs. The
order of presentation, he claims, is a "double path": sometimes artificial,
othertimes "it follows the way of nature" ("Tum sequitur stratam na-
98 Chapter Three
turae"). In this case "an extended line serves as guide, since the thing and
words follow the same course" ("Linea stratae est ibi dux, ubi reset verba
sequuntur eumdem cursum"); "nor does language veer from the order of
things" ("nee sermo declinat ab ordine rerum").
14
This extraordinary conjunction of nature, narrative, linearity, and his-
tory is significant for our understanding of the discourse of the epic. Not
only does the chanson de geste stand as the presentation of historical
events, but the sequence of such a presentation follows a natural-that is,
chronologically consecutive-order. In its overall design the epic pursues
Geoffrey's "path of nature" and is the literary equivalent of a straight line
along which "things and words follow the same course." As a genre of
origins always situated in historical time, the Old French heroic poem
thus assumes, as a condition of its own possibility, a discursive progres-
sion in which the literary text and history function side by side; and,
further, in which both are implicated in the discourse of the noble family.
Narratio (ordo) naturalis, the natural sequence of events (gestae rei), and the
order of familial succession converge in the chanson de geste, which is the
poetic form of family history. Like the Tree of Jesse, however, the epic
only vaguely narrates the genealogy of any historically identifiable clan;
rather, it provides a global model of the type of kinship we associate with
dynastic order. And if the linearity of its own poetic process rests on a
chronological connection of supposedly factual events that remains in-
separable from the sequential linking of ancestors, it is because the epic
stands both as the poetic transposition of a straight line and the literary
equivalent of lineage.
Here we touch upon another rich and revealing semantic nexus along-
side the term "geste." In fact, to the extent to whichgeste-family, deeds,
and the story of family deeds-came to mean the straightforward narra-
tive presentation of events, it also tended to fuse with the word "estoire,"
which, as Zumthor points out, represented a generic marker of diverse
narrative types, including those later classified under the separate head-
ings of history and fiction.
15
There was, for example, no distinction until
the fourteenth century between "estoire" and "roman." But, more im-
portant, this last term also enjoyed the resonance-and indeed was
employed as a synonym-of "lineage." Geste refers to deeds, the natural
order of their presentation, family and the family of heroic p9ems, while
its analogue estoire captures much of the same semantic field. When, for
instance, Wace seeks to "recount and record the geste of Rou" ("La geste
voil de Rou et des Normanz cunter I Lur faiz et lur proesce dei i<;o bien
recorder"), he conflates the reference to Rollo's ancestors, their story, and
his own narrative. Nor does the Anglo-Norman poet distinguish between
geste and estoire: "Longue est la geste des Normanz ... I Se 1' on demande
qui <;o dist, I Qui ceste estoire en romanz mist."
16
Ancestry, deeds,
I
(
'i
Literature and Lineage 99
history, and narrative are allied as Wace makes clear from the very
beginning of the Roman de Rou. Such an association is even the defining
goal of poetic performance:
Por remembrer des ancesurs
les feiz e les diz e les mors . . .
deit l'um les livres e les gestes
e les estoires lire a festes.
17
To remember our ancestors of days gone by
One must read at holiday time
What the book and the geste and the history say
About their deeds and their sayings and their ways.
WaC'e's investment of the synonyms geste and estoire with the double
meaning of narratio and family is hardly unique. The Turin manuscript of
Richard li biaus ("Dist la dame: je ne puis croire I Que chilz ne soit de haute
estoire"), Aye d'Avignon ("Ganor li Arrabi fu de moult grant estoire"), Les
Loherains ("Doz li venerez fu molt de_Qone estoire"), and the Life of Saint
Margaret ("D'aveir sor icels la victoire I qui sont de la d!able estoire") all
underscore-and this is essential-the imbrication of history, narrative,
and lineage.
18
Just as the epic cycle seems to breed-to proliferate-
genealogically, even primogenitally, the individual chanson de geste is
generated according to a discursive pattern in which dynastic and textual
order are combined.
And yet, there is still another and even more compelling sense in which
the associative proximity-even the identity-of a lineal definition of
family and epic discourse is manifest. It can be found in the final reso-
nance of the termgeste, which also refers to "action," "deed," or "event,"
and whose tenor of "factuality" functions, again, to link kinship to
grammatical theory and to the manifestation of theory in poetic practice.
What I am is that France's earliest heroic poetry can be situ-
ated precisely at the point of convergence between a model of the noble
family, whose legitimacy is rooted in the soil and is perceived to be part of
an immutable soFial order, and a model of representation implicit to early
medieval grammar and according to which language is assumed to be
grC>:.;nded in an original order of things. Here lies the crux of the matter:
the hanson de geste is a genre which, despite the exaggeration that is its
hallLark, maintains at least the illusion of its own powers of reference.
The pretends to reproduce in language something outside of lan-
gue e that is taken, in keeping with the Classical definition of historical
na1 dtive, for an "exposition of actual fact" ("in qua est gestae rei exposi-
tio [Quintilian]). As in the medieval "science of the straight," where
verbal signs lead through etymological (and genealogical) ascent toward
a primal moment of meaning to the essence of things, the "genre of the
98 Chapter Three
turae"). In this case "an extended line serves as guide, since the thing and
words follow the same course" ("Linea stratae est ibi dux, ubi reset verba
sequuntur eumdem cursum"); "nor does language veer from the order of
things" ("nee sermo declinat ab ordine rerum").
14
This extraordinary conjunction of nature, narrative, linearity, and his-
tory is significant for our understanding of the discourse of the epic. Not
only does the chanson de geste stand as the presentation of historical
events, but the sequence of such a presentation follows a natural-that is,
chronologically consecutive-order. In its overall design the epic pursues
Geoffrey's "path of nature" and is the literary equivalent of a straight line
along which "things and words follow the same course." As a genre of
origins always situated in historical time, the Old French heroic poem
thus assumes, as a condition of its own possibility, a discursive progres-
sion in which the literary text and history function side by side; and,
further, in which both are implicated in the discourse of the noble family.
Narratio (ordo) naturalis, the natural sequence of events (gestae rei), and the
order of familial succession converge in the chanson de geste, which is the
poetic form of family history. Like the Tree of Jesse, however, the epic
only vaguely narrates the genealogy of any historically identifiable clan;
rather, it provides a global model of the type of kinship we associate with
dynastic order. And if the linearity of its own poetic process rests on a
chronological connection of supposedly factual events that remains in-
separable from the sequential linking of ancestors, it is because the epic
stands both as the poetic transposition of a straight line and the literary
equivalent of lineage.
Here we touch upon another rich and revealing semantic nexus along-
side the term "geste." In fact, to the extent to whichgeste-family, deeds,
and the story of family deeds-came to mean the straightforward narra-
tive presentation of events, it also tended to fuse with the word "estoire,"
which, as Zumthor points out, represented a generic marker of diverse
narrative types, including those later classified under the separate head-
ings of history and fiction.
15
There was, for example, no distinction until
the fourteenth century between "estoire" and "roman." But, more im-
portant, this last term also enjoyed the resonance-and indeed was
employed as a synonym-of "lineage." Geste refers to deeds, the natural
order of their presentation, family and the family of heroic p9ems, while
its analogue estoire captures much of the same semantic field. When, for
instance, Wace seeks to "recount and record the geste of Rou" ("La geste
voil de Rou et des Normanz cunter I Lur faiz et lur proesce dei i<;o bien
recorder"), he conflates the reference to Rollo's ancestors, their story, and
his own narrative. Nor does the Anglo-Norman poet distinguish between
geste and estoire: "Longue est la geste des Normanz ... I Se 1' on demande
qui <;o dist, I Qui ceste estoire en romanz mist."
16
Ancestry, deeds,
I
(
'i
Literature and Lineage 99
history, and narrative are allied as Wace makes clear from the very
beginning of the Roman de Rou. Such an association is even the defining
goal of poetic performance:
Por remembrer des ancesurs
les feiz e les diz e les mors . . .
deit l'um les livres e les gestes
e les estoires lire a festes.
17
To remember our ancestors of days gone by
One must read at holiday time
What the book and the geste and the history say
About their deeds and their sayings and their ways.
WaC'e's investment of the synonyms geste and estoire with the double
meaning of narratio and family is hardly unique. The Turin manuscript of
Richard li biaus ("Dist la dame: je ne puis croire I Que chilz ne soit de haute
estoire"), Aye d'Avignon ("Ganor li Arrabi fu de moult grant estoire"), Les
Loherains ("Doz li venerez fu molt de_Qone estoire"), and the Life of Saint
Margaret ("D'aveir sor icels la victoire I qui sont de la d!able estoire") all
underscore-and this is essential-the imbrication of history, narrative,
and lineage.
18
Just as the epic cycle seems to breed-to proliferate-
genealogically, even primogenitally, the individual chanson de geste is
generated according to a discursive pattern in which dynastic and textual
order are combined.
And yet, there is still another and even more compelling sense in which
the associative proximity-even the identity-of a lineal definition of
family and epic discourse is manifest. It can be found in the final reso-
nance of the termgeste, which also refers to "action," "deed," or "event,"
and whose tenor of "factuality" functions, again, to link kinship to
grammatical theory and to the manifestation of theory in poetic practice.
What I am is that France's earliest heroic poetry can be situ-
ated precisely at the point of convergence between a model of the noble
family, whose legitimacy is rooted in the soil and is perceived to be part of
an immutable soFial order, and a model of representation implicit to early
medieval grammar and according to which language is assumed to be
grC>:.;nded in an original order of things. Here lies the crux of the matter:
the hanson de geste is a genre which, despite the exaggeration that is its
hallLark, maintains at least the illusion of its own powers of reference.
The pretends to reproduce in language something outside of lan-
gue e that is taken, in keeping with the Classical definition of historical
na1 dtive, for an "exposition of actual fact" ("in qua est gestae rei exposi-
tio [Quintilian]). As in the medieval "science of the straight," where
verbal signs lead through etymological (and genealogical) ascent toward
a primal moment of meaning to the essence of things, the "genre of the
100 Chapter Three
straight" both presents events in their natural (chronological) order and
maintains always an assumed continuity between words and their refer-
ent-or between language and the possibility of representation. It is, in
fact, this epistemological integrity that simultaneously legitimates a
strategy of origins and permits narration. For not only is the epic filled
with relics, but its characteristic discourse functions according to a "rel-
iquary" presence of things in signs that works to join genealogy to overall
narrative design.
Recent studies of the technique of epic composition tend to substanti-
ate the implicit thrust toward congruity of the poetic sign and its mean-
ing. M. Parry, J. Rychner, A. Lord, S. Nichols, and J. Duggan have
demonstrated with considerable rigor the extent to which the Old French
chanson de geste consists of a discrete set of narrative formulas, the formula
here defined as "a group of words which is regularly employed under the
same metrical conditions to express a given, essential idea."
19
A. Parry
and E. Vance, inspired possibly by E. Auerbach's essay on Roland, have
used the work of their predecessors (though J. Duggan's book is chrono-
logically later) to explore the very special world view which such a mode
of elaboration implies.
20
What they show is that texts constructed out of a
limited number of linguistic formulas are based upon the assumptions
that language is an epistemologically adequate vehicle, that a finite set of
word groups is sufficient to describe reality as all men commonly perceive
it, and that words, in fact, are linked in some rigid-even participatory-
way to that which they represent. The early chanson de geste in particular
implies a great communality of experience and social interest subtended
by the pervading presence of an essentially uncontested linguistic field.
Even one-word formulas like the Christian and pagan battle cries (e.g.,
"Muntjoie" and "Precieuse") affirm not only the unity of the group but
the integrity of all linguistic expression. In a poem like the Chanson de
Roland, as in Homer, there is little effort to look beyond appearances, to
explore the gap between illusion and reality, to quibble about the mean-
ing of words, much less about the limits of language as a referential
system. On the contrary, the chanson de geste pretends to reproduce the
subsistent world beyond the text and to reproduce it accurately. Within
this universe of the collective and the integral, words are assumed to
mean what they say and the world to be as it seems. .
This referential integrity also accounts for the fragmented quality of a
poem like the Chanson de Roland. For not only is Roland divided into
autonomous units of narration, or strophes, but, as Auerbach observes,
an "assonant strophic pattern gives every line the appearance of an
independent unit, ... as though sticks or spears of equal length and with
similar points were bundled together."
21
Within the individual line we
Literature and Lineage 101
also find a notable independence of formulaic units joined, as Auerbach
insists, primarily by the conjunction et. One consequence of such a
"paratactic" style is, as J. Rychner has shown and as I have also main-
tained elsewhere, t ~ low expressivity of logical causality at the level of
syntax.
22
In a poem like Roland, juxtaposition functions in the absence of
subordination to preserve the autonomy of the basic narrative units that
are only weakly conjoined. When added to the considerable mass of
utterances, which, like war cries, have no syntactic context, or whose
context is, like the catalogues of proper names, battle ranks, or insults,
severely attenuated, the overall effect is one of extreme discreteness,
even atomism. What this means is that the representational universe of
Roland is one in which the independent relation of autonomous elements
to their external referents is stressed above the interrelation of conjoined
parts. Again like the lexically defined grammar of the early Middle Ages, --r
the importance of signification-meaning determined by the fixed rela-
tion between words or stock phrases and their extralinguistic attribute-
overshadows the contextually defined production of meaning through
the surface play of self-signifying terms. For the Roland poet; mannerism
is not an operative principle. Ambiguity, where present, appears unin-
tentional, ascribable to the conditions of oral performance, scribal error,
or manuscript corruption. The only exception occurs at the very end of
the poem where the issue of multiple meaning-whether the word
"vengeance" or "treason" is proper to describe Ganelon's misdeed-is
debated in the course of trial.
23
And here, the poet's solution seems to be
the collective expulsion of those who contest the power of words to
signify univocally that which-beyond language-is experienced as a
single event. Even metaphor within this "vertically" pitched world of )<
isolated presences is reduced to the barest minimum. There are only two
in its entire 4,002 verses. The epic is, then, more than merely a genre of
origins, a historical narrative of "events (gesta res) removed from our
time" (Cicero). It is the literary form of the proper-of individual ("spe-
cial" in the etymological sense of pertaining only to one) and appropriate
relation between things and their signs.
This is not to suggest that the improper use of linguistic signs is not an
important characteristic of the Old French chanson de geste. On the con-
trary, verbal impropriety abounds and seems often to spark dramatic
interest. Sacrilegious oaths (e.g., Isembart's apostasy), exaggeration
(e.g., Aalais's curse of Raoul), blasphemy (e.g., Raoul's boast that even
God could not save him), broken promises (e.g., Charles Martel's grant of
an alod to Girart de Roussillon), impossible situations (e.g., Louis's be-
stowal of the Vermandois fief upon Raoul, the expiatory ordeal which
Charlemagne imposes upon Huon de Bordeaux), lies (e.g., Ganelon'sj
100 Chapter Three
straight" both presents events in their natural (chronological) order and
maintains always an assumed continuity between words and their refer-
ent-or between language and the possibility of representation. It is, in
fact, this epistemological integrity that simultaneously legitimates a
strategy of origins and permits narration. For not only is the epic filled
with relics, but its characteristic discourse functions according to a "rel-
iquary" presence of things in signs that works to join genealogy to overall
narrative design.
Recent studies of the technique of epic composition tend to substanti-
ate the implicit thrust toward congruity of the poetic sign and its mean-
ing. M. Parry, J. Rychner, A. Lord, S. Nichols, and J. Duggan have
demonstrated with considerable rigor the extent to which the Old French
chanson de geste consists of a discrete set of narrative formulas, the formula
here defined as "a group of words which is regularly employed under the
same metrical conditions to express a given, essential idea."
19
A. Parry
and E. Vance, inspired possibly by E. Auerbach's essay on Roland, have
used the work of their predecessors (though J. Duggan's book is chrono-
logically later) to explore the very special world view which such a mode
of elaboration implies.
20
What they show is that texts constructed out of a
limited number of linguistic formulas are based upon the assumptions
that language is an epistemologically adequate vehicle, that a finite set of
word groups is sufficient to describe reality as all men commonly perceive
it, and that words, in fact, are linked in some rigid-even participatory-
way to that which they represent. The early chanson de geste in particular
implies a great communality of experience and social interest subtended
by the pervading presence of an essentially uncontested linguistic field.
Even one-word formulas like the Christian and pagan battle cries (e.g.,
"Muntjoie" and "Precieuse") affirm not only the unity of the group but
the integrity of all linguistic expression. In a poem like the Chanson de
Roland, as in Homer, there is little effort to look beyond appearances, to
explore the gap between illusion and reality, to quibble about the mean-
ing of words, much less about the limits of language as a referential
system. On the contrary, the chanson de geste pretends to reproduce the
subsistent world beyond the text and to reproduce it accurately. Within
this universe of the collective and the integral, words are assumed to
mean what they say and the world to be as it seems. .
This referential integrity also accounts for the fragmented quality of a
poem like the Chanson de Roland. For not only is Roland divided into
autonomous units of narration, or strophes, but, as Auerbach observes,
an "assonant strophic pattern gives every line the appearance of an
independent unit, ... as though sticks or spears of equal length and with
similar points were bundled together."
21
Within the individual line we
Literature and Lineage 101
also find a notable independence of formulaic units joined, as Auerbach
insists, primarily by the conjunction et. One consequence of such a
"paratactic" style is, as J. Rychner has shown and as I have also main-
tained elsewhere, t ~ low expressivity of logical causality at the level of
syntax.
22
In a poem like Roland, juxtaposition functions in the absence of
subordination to preserve the autonomy of the basic narrative units that
are only weakly conjoined. When added to the considerable mass of
utterances, which, like war cries, have no syntactic context, or whose
context is, like the catalogues of proper names, battle ranks, or insults,
severely attenuated, the overall effect is one of extreme discreteness,
even atomism. What this means is that the representational universe of
Roland is one in which the independent relation of autonomous elements
to their external referents is stressed above the interrelation of conjoined
parts. Again like the lexically defined grammar of the early Middle Ages, --r
the importance of signification-meaning determined by the fixed rela-
tion between words or stock phrases and their extralinguistic attribute-
overshadows the contextually defined production of meaning through
the surface play of self-signifying terms. For the Roland poet; mannerism
is not an operative principle. Ambiguity, where present, appears unin-
tentional, ascribable to the conditions of oral performance, scribal error,
or manuscript corruption. The only exception occurs at the very end of
the poem where the issue of multiple meaning-whether the word
"vengeance" or "treason" is proper to describe Ganelon's misdeed-is
debated in the course of trial.
23
And here, the poet's solution seems to be
the collective expulsion of those who contest the power of words to
signify univocally that which-beyond language-is experienced as a
single event. Even metaphor within this "vertically" pitched world of )<
isolated presences is reduced to the barest minimum. There are only two
in its entire 4,002 verses. The epic is, then, more than merely a genre of
origins, a historical narrative of "events (gesta res) removed from our
time" (Cicero). It is the literary form of the proper-of individual ("spe-
cial" in the etymological sense of pertaining only to one) and appropriate
relation between things and their signs.
This is not to suggest that the improper use of linguistic signs is not an
important characteristic of the Old French chanson de geste. On the con-
trary, verbal impropriety abounds and seems often to spark dramatic
interest. Sacrilegious oaths (e.g., Isembart's apostasy), exaggeration
(e.g., Aalais's curse of Raoul), blasphemy (e.g., Raoul's boast that even
God could not save him), broken promises (e.g., Charles Martel's grant of
an alod to Girart de Roussillon), impossible situations (e.g., Louis's be-
stowal of the Vermandois fief upon Raoul, the expiatory ordeal which
Charlemagne imposes upon Huon de Bordeaux), lies (e.g., Ganelon'sj
102 o Chapter Three
report of the Algalife' s departure, his false interpretation of Roland's
horn), and jokes (e.g., the gabs of the Pelerinage) all serve as catalysts to
thematic development. The "straight" narratives generated by such dis-
locations of the proper constitute, in fact, potent dramas of language. Yet
despite the detachment of words from meaning through blasphemy,
boasts, lies, and jokes, the inherent contradiction of representing such
, . linguistic transgression is never really explored. Impropriety is expressed
at the level of theme, but it is not experienced as a crisis of representation
itself. And though the epic poet may periodically assert his superiority to
other composers or jongleurs, he does not question the premises or the
limits either of narration or of reference. Where language seems to break
down we find instead a strong desire for recuperation, a certain quantita-
tive stretching of prescribed poetic bounds, and an uneasiness about the
future which can, as we shall see, be understood in specifically linguistic
terms.
Recounted from the unassailable, supposedly objective perspective of
a detached third party, the implicit discursive mode of the epic is one of
linguistic integrity. That failing (and again such failures are only manifest
upon the level of theme) the dominant strategy is essentially recupera-
tive-an attempt to recover that which has been lost, or to translate
improper words into proper deeds and thus to restore their propriety
(e.g., Isembart's punishment, Girart's and Raoul's struggles to regain
their lands, Charlemagne's vengeance, his voyage to the Middle East,
-Huon's exaggerated quest). In this respect, the epic stands midway
between the genealogical chronicle, where such varied possibilities of
disjunction are not explored at all, and the romance, where they become a
defining principle. Transgression of the proper is, within the assumed
universe of epic discourse, an abundant source of dramatic tension; but it
does not produce-as in both the novel and the lyric-true dialectical
structure.
In the absence of formal transgression-a transcendence of limits gen-
erative of form, we do find a tendency toward the quantitative stretching
of poetic boundaries, which, again, is best understood by comparison
with the family chronicle or "literary" genealogy. In the genealogical
history, family and story line coincide to such a degree that the uninter-
rupted sequence of ancestors compels the uninterrupted transcription of
the tale.
24
K. Schmid even suggests that the essential formula of paternal
succession (e.g., "Fredericus genuit Fredericum de Buren, Fredericus de
Buren genuit ducem Fredericum, qui Stophen condidit") prescribes
through its progressive nature a consciousness both of race and of histor-
ical process.
25
Then too, there is in the chronicles discussed by Duby a
definite sense that an order of consanguineal relations-a primogenital
Literature and Lineage o 103
series-determines the order of narrative sequence, which is another way
of saying that a linear and continuous model of inheritance serves to
define a linear textual mode. In the epic, however, the straight narrative
economy that is equivalent to, and even synonymous with, lineage is
problematized; and this primarily through repetition. The repetition of
geographic and climatic formulas, catalogues of families, arms and
armies, rhetorical questions, and even whole laisses serves to slow the
pace of narration and thus to threaten the progression. both of the text and
of lineal family. Yet, such a quantitative fetishizing of language is never
completely disruptive of poetic sequence, genealogy, or, ultimately, of
representation. Here the central issue is really that of continuity: narra-
tive continuity that, despite repetition, still preserves what is conceived
to be the natural order of events; and representational continuity that,
despite the thematization of rupture, fails to transform the problem of ,
referentiality into form.
The most tangible sign of an underlying tension in the narratively
sequential and representationally integral universe of the epic is to be
found in a certain closure to its own posterity. Indeed, so wholly fixated
upon the past is the Old French chanson de geste as to produce a blindness
to (repression of?) any possibility of the future. The hint of such an
exclusion is present from the very beginning. It is significant, for exam-
ple, that the incident in the Chanson de Roland which most threatens to
interrupt the narrative-that is to say, Roland's initial refusal to blow his
horn and thus to engender the second half of the poem-is also the
moment that precludes any future for his lineage: "Par ceste meie barbe, I
Se puis veeir rna gente sorur Alde, I Ne jerreiez ja mais entra sa brace!"
says Olivier to his ex-future-brother-in-law.
26
And it is a meditation upon
Roland's only legacy, his sword, that serves to articulate explicitly the
problem of succession:
Rollant ferit en une perre bise
Plus en abat que jo ne vos sai dire.
L'espee cruist, ne fruiset ne se brise,
Cuntre ciel amunt est resortie.
Quant veit li quens que ne la freindrat mie,
Mult dulcement la pleinst a sei me1sme:
"E Durendal, cum es bele e seintisme!
En l'oriet punt asez i ad reliques,
La dent seint Perre e del sane seint Basilie
E des chevels mun seignor seint Denise;
Del vestement i ad seinte Marie:
II n' en est dreiz que paiens te baillisent;
De chrestiens devez estre servie.
Ne vos ait hume ki facet cuardie!
Mult larges teres de vus avrai cunquises,
102 o Chapter Three
report of the Algalife' s departure, his false interpretation of Roland's
horn), and jokes (e.g., the gabs of the Pelerinage) all serve as catalysts to
thematic development. The "straight" narratives generated by such dis-
locations of the proper constitute, in fact, potent dramas of language. Yet
despite the detachment of words from meaning through blasphemy,
boasts, lies, and jokes, the inherent contradiction of representing such
, . linguistic transgression is never really explored. Impropriety is expressed
at the level of theme, but it is not experienced as a crisis of representation
itself. And though the epic poet may periodically assert his superiority to
other composers or jongleurs, he does not question the premises or the
limits either of narration or of reference. Where language seems to break
down we find instead a strong desire for recuperation, a certain quantita-
tive stretching of prescribed poetic bounds, and an uneasiness about the
future which can, as we shall see, be understood in specifically linguistic
terms.
Recounted from the unassailable, supposedly objective perspective of
a detached third party, the implicit discursive mode of the epic is one of
linguistic integrity. That failing (and again such failures are only manifest
upon the level of theme) the dominant strategy is essentially recupera-
tive-an attempt to recover that which has been lost, or to translate
improper words into proper deeds and thus to restore their propriety
(e.g., Isembart's punishment, Girart's and Raoul's struggles to regain
their lands, Charlemagne's vengeance, his voyage to the Middle East,
-Huon's exaggerated quest). In this respect, the epic stands midway
between the genealogical chronicle, where such varied possibilities of
disjunction are not explored at all, and the romance, where they become a
defining principle. Transgression of the proper is, within the assumed
universe of epic discourse, an abundant source of dramatic tension; but it
does not produce-as in both the novel and the lyric-true dialectical
structure.
In the absence of formal transgression-a transcendence of limits gen-
erative of form, we do find a tendency toward the quantitative stretching
of poetic boundaries, which, again, is best understood by comparison
with the family chronicle or "literary" genealogy. In the genealogical
history, family and story line coincide to such a degree that the uninter-
rupted sequence of ancestors compels the uninterrupted transcription of
the tale.
24
K. Schmid even suggests that the essential formula of paternal
succession (e.g., "Fredericus genuit Fredericum de Buren, Fredericus de
Buren genuit ducem Fredericum, qui Stophen condidit") prescribes
through its progressive nature a consciousness both of race and of histor-
ical process.
25
Then too, there is in the chronicles discussed by Duby a
definite sense that an order of consanguineal relations-a primogenital
Literature and Lineage o 103
series-determines the order of narrative sequence, which is another way
of saying that a linear and continuous model of inheritance serves to
define a linear textual mode. In the epic, however, the straight narrative
economy that is equivalent to, and even synonymous with, lineage is
problematized; and this primarily through repetition. The repetition of
geographic and climatic formulas, catalogues of families, arms and
armies, rhetorical questions, and even whole laisses serves to slow the
pace of narration and thus to threaten the progression. both of the text and
of lineal family. Yet, such a quantitative fetishizing of language is never
completely disruptive of poetic sequence, genealogy, or, ultimately, of
representation. Here the central issue is really that of continuity: narra-
tive continuity that, despite repetition, still preserves what is conceived
to be the natural order of events; and representational continuity that,
despite the thematization of rupture, fails to transform the problem of ,
referentiality into form.
The most tangible sign of an underlying tension in the narratively
sequential and representationally integral universe of the epic is to be
found in a certain closure to its own posterity. Indeed, so wholly fixated
upon the past is the Old French chanson de geste as to produce a blindness
to (repression of?) any possibility of the future. The hint of such an
exclusion is present from the very beginning. It is significant, for exam-
ple, that the incident in the Chanson de Roland which most threatens to
interrupt the narrative-that is to say, Roland's initial refusal to blow his
horn and thus to engender the second half of the poem-is also the
moment that precludes any future for his lineage: "Par ceste meie barbe, I
Se puis veeir rna gente sorur Alde, I Ne jerreiez ja mais entra sa brace!"
says Olivier to his ex-future-brother-in-law.
26
And it is a meditation upon
Roland's only legacy, his sword, that serves to articulate explicitly the
problem of succession:
Rollant ferit en une perre bise
Plus en abat que jo ne vos sai dire.
L'espee cruist, ne fruiset ne se brise,
Cuntre ciel amunt est resortie.
Quant veit li quens que ne la freindrat mie,
Mult dulcement la pleinst a sei me1sme:
"E Durendal, cum es bele e seintisme!
En l'oriet punt asez i ad reliques,
La dent seint Perre e del sane seint Basilie
E des chevels mun seignor seint Denise;
Del vestement i ad seinte Marie:
II n' en est dreiz que paiens te baillisent;
De chrestiens devez estre servie.
Ne vos ait hume ki facet cuardie!
Mult larges teres de vus avrai cunquises,
104 Chapter Three
Que Carles tent, ki Ia barbe ad flurie.
Et li empereres en est ber e riches."
[Roland, v. 2338]
Roland struck a dark stone,
He whacks off more than I can say.
The sword grates, but neither shatters nor breaks,
It rebounds upward toward heaven.
The Count, seeing that he cannot smash it,
Laments over it softly to himself:
"0 Durendal, how beautiful you are and how very holy!
Your golden pommel is full of relics,
Saint Peter's tooth, some of Saint Basil's blood,
Some of my lord Saint Denis's hair,
Some of Saint Mary's clothing.
It is not right for the pagans to own you,
You must be served by Christians.
May no coward ever possess you!
With you I conquered many vast lands
Over which white-bearded Charlemagne rules,
And the Emperor is powerful and mighty as a consequence."
27
The above passage, perhaps better than any other contained in the early
epic, demonstrates how early medieval sign theory is translated into
poetic practice-more precisely, how a mode of symbolizing, a way of
representing, becomes more important than the symbols themselves or
that which is represented.
Saint Peter's tooth, Saint Basil's blood, Saint Denis's hair, and Saint
Mary's robe all bear a vestigial relation to the sacred history which is
.subsumed in Roland, who is, by extension, also a vestige, relic-or
heir-of those whose body parts and clothing are imbedded in his sword.
Roland's thought is, in fact, about such continuities, about the ways in
which Biblical history prefigures the present within a Christian economy
of salvation, and about the way in which the New Testament legacy
contained in his sword might constitute a proper succession. The relic,
vestigially linked to an origin that authorizes because it is original, stands
at the source of a doubly constituted lineage of objects and of men; and
the anxiety that Roland expresses concerning the interruption of this line
is also an anxiety about human genealogy. The sword, whose inwrought
parts link it to sacred history and whose only past parallels that of the
hero, rhetorically fuses his own ancestry with that of Roland. It repre-
sents the hero's only legacy, and its future is his only bequest.
Roland's sword thus functions metonymically in the legitimation of
Christian history and of the hero's own relation to the metonymized past.
Each relic maintains a contiguous relation not only to the saint whose
body part it contains but to the weapon in its entirety; it represents part of
a preexisting corporeal whole and is contained in the existing total object.
Literature and Lineage 105
Durendal, in turn, maintains a rapport of propriety with respect to
Roland. As the sign which here expresses his essence, it functions as a
totemic projection of his soul. It is, in fact, this proper relation to the hero
which prevents it from belonging to anyone else. Such a transfer, as
Roland's fear of loss betrays, would constitute precisely what we have
defined linguistically as a lack of appropriateness-an inadequation be-
tween a word and the property of the thing it alone signifies. Moreover,
both the hero and his sword are bound through the fetishized object to a
point of origin at which reified body parts become the real men whose
participation in the founding events of Christian history was, through
prefiguration, both a repetition of all that had preceded (Old Testament
history) and a legitimation of that which was to follow. Roland's spiritual
genealogy stretches, then, not only back to Christ, whose martyrdom he
repeats analogically and metonymically, but to Mary, and, according to
the lineage of Jesus through Jesse, back to David and Adam. No matter
how distant and precarious the tie, Roland represents a vestige of all who
have gone before, just as his sword is the vestigial reminder of its illustri-
ous (beaause original) ancestry.
The richness of Roland's heritage, of the heritage of his property, and
of the propriety of his relation to it, should not, however, blind us to the
fact that he remains a terminal figure. Childless, a hero so thoroughly
defined by the past that both he and his sword are excluded from the
future, Roland embodies the fear that haunted France's feudal aristoc-
racy-that is to say, the prospect of interruption. Ironically, the conse-
quences of such a genealogical break are not evident until the very end of
the poem. There the emergence of Thierry, a man not only delicate, even
graceful, in build, but refined in his handling of the emperor's legal
defense, drives home the point that Roland's champion and spiritual
is as unlike him as Ganelon himself. Further, the poem concludes with
two subtle but significant linguistic events which bear directly upon the
termination of Roland's family line. The first, the baptism of Marsilie's
wife Bramimonde, takes as its emblem the change of a name:" As banz ad
Ais mult sunt granz les c .... I La baptizent le rei:ne d'Espaigne: I li
unt le num de Juliane."
28
The imposition of a name, as opposed to Its
inheritance, not only raises the specter of a voluntary change in family
status but carries the possibility of a certain linguistic mobility as well.
More important, Bramimonde's conversion and the loosening of the
proper attached to her name and to her status as queen are eclipsed by
final strophe in which the limits of the linguistic universe of Roland are m
some definitive sense transgressed:
Quant l'emperere ad faite sa justice
E esclargiez est Ia sue grant ire,
En Bramidonie ad chrestientet mise,
104 Chapter Three
Que Carles tent, ki Ia barbe ad flurie.
Et li empereres en est ber e riches."
[Roland, v. 2338]
Roland struck a dark stone,
He whacks off more than I can say.
The sword grates, but neither shatters nor breaks,
It rebounds upward toward heaven.
The Count, seeing that he cannot smash it,
Laments over it softly to himself:
"0 Durendal, how beautiful you are and how very holy!
Your golden pommel is full of relics,
Saint Peter's tooth, some of Saint Basil's blood,
Some of my lord Saint Denis's hair,
Some of Saint Mary's clothing.
It is not right for the pagans to own you,
You must be served by Christians.
May no coward ever possess you!
With you I conquered many vast lands
Over which white-bearded Charlemagne rules,
And the Emperor is powerful and mighty as a consequence."
27
The above passage, perhaps better than any other contained in the early
epic, demonstrates how early medieval sign theory is translated into
poetic practice-more precisely, how a mode of symbolizing, a way of
representing, becomes more important than the symbols themselves or
that which is represented.
Saint Peter's tooth, Saint Basil's blood, Saint Denis's hair, and Saint
Mary's robe all bear a vestigial relation to the sacred history which is
.subsumed in Roland, who is, by extension, also a vestige, relic-or
heir-of those whose body parts and clothing are imbedded in his sword.
Roland's thought is, in fact, about such continuities, about the ways in
which Biblical history prefigures the present within a Christian economy
of salvation, and about the way in which the New Testament legacy
contained in his sword might constitute a proper succession. The relic,
vestigially linked to an origin that authorizes because it is original, stands
at the source of a doubly constituted lineage of objects and of men; and
the anxiety that Roland expresses concerning the interruption of this line
is also an anxiety about human genealogy. The sword, whose inwrought
parts link it to sacred history and whose only past parallels that of the
hero, rhetorically fuses his own ancestry with that of Roland. It repre-
sents the hero's only legacy, and its future is his only bequest.
Roland's sword thus functions metonymically in the legitimation of
Christian history and of the hero's own relation to the metonymized past.
Each relic maintains a contiguous relation not only to the saint whose
body part it contains but to the weapon in its entirety; it represents part of
a preexisting corporeal whole and is contained in the existing total object.
Literature and Lineage 105
Durendal, in turn, maintains a rapport of propriety with respect to
Roland. As the sign which here expresses his essence, it functions as a
totemic projection of his soul. It is, in fact, this proper relation to the hero
which prevents it from belonging to anyone else. Such a transfer, as
Roland's fear of loss betrays, would constitute precisely what we have
defined linguistically as a lack of appropriateness-an inadequation be-
tween a word and the property of the thing it alone signifies. Moreover,
both the hero and his sword are bound through the fetishized object to a
point of origin at which reified body parts become the real men whose
participation in the founding events of Christian history was, through
prefiguration, both a repetition of all that had preceded (Old Testament
history) and a legitimation of that which was to follow. Roland's spiritual
genealogy stretches, then, not only back to Christ, whose martyrdom he
repeats analogically and metonymically, but to Mary, and, according to
the lineage of Jesus through Jesse, back to David and Adam. No matter
how distant and precarious the tie, Roland represents a vestige of all who
have gone before, just as his sword is the vestigial reminder of its illustri-
ous (beaause original) ancestry.
The richness of Roland's heritage, of the heritage of his property, and
of the propriety of his relation to it, should not, however, blind us to the
fact that he remains a terminal figure. Childless, a hero so thoroughly
defined by the past that both he and his sword are excluded from the
future, Roland embodies the fear that haunted France's feudal aristoc-
racy-that is to say, the prospect of interruption. Ironically, the conse-
quences of such a genealogical break are not evident until the very end of
the poem. There the emergence of Thierry, a man not only delicate, even
graceful, in build, but refined in his handling of the emperor's legal
defense, drives home the point that Roland's champion and spiritual
is as unlike him as Ganelon himself. Further, the poem concludes with
two subtle but significant linguistic events which bear directly upon the
termination of Roland's family line. The first, the baptism of Marsilie's
wife Bramimonde, takes as its emblem the change of a name:" As banz ad
Ais mult sunt granz les c .... I La baptizent le rei:ne d'Espaigne: I li
unt le num de Juliane."
28
The imposition of a name, as opposed to Its
inheritance, not only raises the specter of a voluntary change in family
status but carries the possibility of a certain linguistic mobility as well.
More important, Bramimonde's conversion and the loosening of the
proper attached to her name and to her status as queen are eclipsed by
final strophe in which the limits of the linguistic universe of Roland are m
some definitive sense transgressed:
Quant l'emperere ad faite sa justice
E esclargiez est Ia sue grant ire,
En Bramidonie ad chrestientet mise,
106 Chapter Three
Passet li jurz, la nuit est aserie.
Culcez s'est li reis en sa cambre voltice.
Seint Gabriel de part Deu li vint dire:
"Carles, sumun les oz de tun emperie!
Par force iras en la tere de Bire,
Reis Vivien si succuras en Imphe,
A la citet que paien unt asise:
Li chrestien te recleiment e crient."
Li emperere n'i volsist aler mie:
"Deus", dist li reis, "si pen use est rna vie!"
Pluret des oilz, sa barbe blanche tiret.
Ci fait la geste que Turoldus declinet.
[Roland, v. 3988]
When the Emperor has dispensed his justice,
And his great wrath has been appeased,
He has Bramimonde christened.
The daylight fades away, night has fallen,
The King has gone to bed in his vaulted room.
Saint Gabriel came from God to tell him:
Charles, summon the armies of your Empire!
You shall invade the land of Bire,
You shall aid King Vivien at lmphe,
The city the pagans have besieged,
The Christians implore and cry out for you."
The Emperor would rather not go there:
"God!" said the King, "my life is so full of suffering!"
His eyes are brimming with tears, he tugs his white beard.
Here ends the story that Turoldus tells.
29
As we saw above (pp. 100-102), the language of the epic-its vocabulary,
metrical form, and texture-serves to affirm the shared values of the
community of warrior knights, and even to crystallize the aspirations of
an entire class. The formulaic discourse of the early chanson de geste in
1
- particular was ideally suited to express the unity of the group. With the
possible exception of Ganelon' s clever use of words to betray and the
exception of Charlemagne's final complaint, there is, in a work
like Roland, no genuine discourse of interiority to legitimize, or even to
render public, the experience of the individual. Two notable moments of
iconographic individuation are not accompanied by a corresponding
linguistic individuation: (1) Roland, alone before death, addresses the
field of dead knights as if they were still alive; he eulogizes Durendal as if
his sword were an animate and interested listener. The language of
Roland's solitary last stand thus retains an essentially communicative
function. (2) The Charlemagne of the four previous dreams attains icon-
ographic individuation through sleep, but he remains incapable of re-
sponding to Gabriel's earlier prophecy of future battles. The visual isola-
tion of the sleeping dreamer produces no verbal response comparable to
that of the final strophe.
Literature and Lineage 107
The Charlemagne of laisse 291 uses language not as a communicative or
ritualistic tool-to affirm the unity of the community-but to express a
profound disharmony between the individual and the external forces
brought to bear upon him. Stated simply, he pronounces what remains
the only wholly private verbal utterance within the poem. He inaugurates
a discourse intended for no one but himself. In the meeting with Gabriel,
Charles initiates a seemingly personal dialogue with the self, the subtle
start of an inner monologue, which violates the premises of the universe
of which he seems--alone at the end-to be the sole survivor. And
though the outcome of this inner struggle is apparent, the emperor is
henceforth a divided being, aware, like Ganelon of the first part of the
poem, of conflicting commitments to himself and to an imperative out-
side of the self.
Charlemagne's removal of language from its public status is tanta-
mount to the isolation of the individual from the group. The conclusion of
Roland thus constitutes a relation between terms unlike any that has
preceded: the keenly felt tension between war-weariness and the pros-
pect of further crusade sets in opposition a sensing consciousness per-
ceived as inner and personal, on the one hand, and an external order
perceived as objective and distinct, on the other. Moreover, the sugges-
tion of a loss of the proper, symptomized by the appropriation of a
language of the self (self-contained and self-directed), and by the struggle
of individual and community, signals an interruption analogous to Ro-
land's lack of progeny. Both preclude any future for the linguistically and
socially integral world of the chanson de geste. Put another way, the early
epic possesses no discourse by which to assimilate the meaning either of
Charles's verbally determined experience of isolation or of the termina- ,
tion of Roland's family line.
30
The foregoing discussion changes somewhat our original designation
of epic as the literary form of linguistic and genealogical continuity.
More precisely, the chanson de geste represents from its inception the J(
disruption of an essentially continuous past. Just as Roland, deprived of
offspring, can only meditate upon his heritage, the earliest heroic poems
are so completely turned toward the past that their sequels can only
reverse historical chronology, engendering ancestry and moving back-
ward through time. Even the oldest text begins with the extinction of a
family line and of a linguistic order. Nor is La Chanson de Roland unique in
the impossibility of its own future. The chanson de geste is avir!YalJKLme
for the aged childless, just as the novel will become a school for orphans.
Charlemagne loses not only his spiritual son at Roncevaux, but his sons
Bertolai and Lohier are killed in Renaut de Montauban, his son Charlot in
Huon de Bordeaux. Ogier's son Baudoinet is murdered in La Chevalerie
Ogier, as are Girart's two sons in Girart de Roussillon. The childless William
witnesses his nephew Vivien's death in La Chanson de Guillaume; and
106 Chapter Three
Passet li jurz, la nuit est aserie.
Culcez s'est li reis en sa cambre voltice.
Seint Gabriel de part Deu li vint dire:
"Carles, sumun les oz de tun emperie!
Par force iras en la tere de Bire,
Reis Vivien si succuras en Imphe,
A la citet que paien unt asise:
Li chrestien te recleiment e crient."
Li emperere n'i volsist aler mie:
"Deus", dist li reis, "si pen use est rna vie!"
Pluret des oilz, sa barbe blanche tiret.
Ci fait la geste que Turoldus declinet.
[Roland, v. 3988]
When the Emperor has dispensed his justice,
And his great wrath has been appeased,
He has Bramimonde christened.
The daylight fades away, night has fallen,
The King has gone to bed in his vaulted room.
Saint Gabriel came from God to tell him:
Charles, summon the armies of your Empire!
You shall invade the land of Bire,
You shall aid King Vivien at lmphe,
The city the pagans have besieged,
The Christians implore and cry out for you."
The Emperor would rather not go there:
"God!" said the King, "my life is so full of suffering!"
His eyes are brimming with tears, he tugs his white beard.
Here ends the story that Turoldus tells.
29
As we saw above (pp. 100-102), the language of the epic-its vocabulary,
metrical form, and texture-serves to affirm the shared values of the
community of warrior knights, and even to crystallize the aspirations of
an entire class. The formulaic discourse of the early chanson de geste in
1
- particular was ideally suited to express the unity of the group. With the
possible exception of Ganelon' s clever use of words to betray and the
exception of Charlemagne's final complaint, there is, in a work
like Roland, no genuine discourse of interiority to legitimize, or even to
render public, the experience of the individual. Two notable moments of
iconographic individuation are not accompanied by a corresponding
linguistic individuation: (1) Roland, alone before death, addresses the
field of dead knights as if they were still alive; he eulogizes Durendal as if
his sword were an animate and interested listener. The language of
Roland's solitary last stand thus retains an essentially communicative
function. (2) The Charlemagne of the four previous dreams attains icon-
ographic individuation through sleep, but he remains incapable of re-
sponding to Gabriel's earlier prophecy of future battles. The visual isola-
tion of the sleeping dreamer produces no verbal response comparable to
that of the final strophe.
Literature and Lineage 107
The Charlemagne of laisse 291 uses language not as a communicative or
ritualistic tool-to affirm the unity of the community-but to express a
profound disharmony between the individual and the external forces
brought to bear upon him. Stated simply, he pronounces what remains
the only wholly private verbal utterance within the poem. He inaugurates
a discourse intended for no one but himself. In the meeting with Gabriel,
Charles initiates a seemingly personal dialogue with the self, the subtle
start of an inner monologue, which violates the premises of the universe
of which he seems--alone at the end-to be the sole survivor. And
though the outcome of this inner struggle is apparent, the emperor is
henceforth a divided being, aware, like Ganelon of the first part of the
poem, of conflicting commitments to himself and to an imperative out-
side of the self.
Charlemagne's removal of language from its public status is tanta-
mount to the isolation of the individual from the group. The conclusion of
Roland thus constitutes a relation between terms unlike any that has
preceded: the keenly felt tension between war-weariness and the pros-
pect of further crusade sets in opposition a sensing consciousness per-
ceived as inner and personal, on the one hand, and an external order
perceived as objective and distinct, on the other. Moreover, the sugges-
tion of a loss of the proper, symptomized by the appropriation of a
language of the self (self-contained and self-directed), and by the struggle
of individual and community, signals an interruption analogous to Ro-
land's lack of progeny. Both preclude any future for the linguistically and
socially integral world of the chanson de geste. Put another way, the early
epic possesses no discourse by which to assimilate the meaning either of
Charles's verbally determined experience of isolation or of the termina- ,
tion of Roland's family line.
30
The foregoing discussion changes somewhat our original designation
of epic as the literary form of linguistic and genealogical continuity.
More precisely, the chanson de geste represents from its inception the J(
disruption of an essentially continuous past. Just as Roland, deprived of
offspring, can only meditate upon his heritage, the earliest heroic poems
are so completely turned toward the past that their sequels can only
reverse historical chronology, engendering ancestry and moving back-
ward through time. Even the oldest text begins with the extinction of a
family line and of a linguistic order. Nor is La Chanson de Roland unique in
the impossibility of its own future. The chanson de geste is avir!YalJKLme
for the aged childless, just as the novel will become a school for orphans.
Charlemagne loses not only his spiritual son at Roncevaux, but his sons
Bertolai and Lohier are killed in Renaut de Montauban, his son Charlot in
Huon de Bordeaux. Ogier's son Baudoinet is murdered in La Chevalerie
Ogier, as are Girart's two sons in Girart de Roussillon. The childless William
witnesses his nephew Vivien's death in La Chanson de Guillaume; and
108 Chapter Three
Raoul de Taillefer' s direct line is ended with the death of his son, Raoul de
Cambrai. The Old French epic is the genre of the continuous but Ol!ly in
the sense of a negative progression. Genealogically sterile because of an
almost universal lack of progeny, it proliferates continuously in the
direction of ancestry; linguistically sterile because of the formal impossi-
bility of assimilating the loss of the proper, it mobilizes none of the playful
potential of such a loss.
31
On the contrary, it remains obsessively obedient
to the recuperation-through narrative and representational continu-
ity-of verbal proprietas.
Thus, we are faced with a significant conjunction of narrative poetry,
early medieval linguistics, and the economics of the lineal family. It is
difficult, if not impossible, to separate literary discourse from grammati-
cal theory and from the biopolitics of lineage. These three areas of sym-
bolic activity and social practice all imply a special relation to the idea of
property, an investment in the principle of continuity, and a deep ideo-
logical attachment to origins. Early medieval grammar, founded upon the
' - notion of a proper relation between words and the properties of things,
also assumes a continuous evolution of signs which permits the etymo-
logical recovery of an original order of language and being. Similarly, the
noble family is predicated upon a sacred attachment to property which is
transmitted by uninterrupted primogenital succession; like the metadis-
course of language theory, lineage derives its own legitimacy from an
abiding connection to origins. In the epic an assumed (though violable)
linguistic propriety combines with a realized narrative coherence to pro-
duce the somewhat unidimensional universe which proliferates, accord-
ing to a genealogical modet in the direction of ancestry. There can be no
distinction between the narrative and referential continuity of the epic,
the biological continuity of lineage, or the economic continuity of noble
family property. The "science of the literal" (straight), the linear family,
and the literary genre of the continuous are, furthermore, united by a
common conservative streak. Implicit to an etymological grammar is the
assumption that linguistic change can only represent corruption, a fur-
ther distancing from the proper. Latent in the (unconscious?) political
strategy of nobility is the presupposition that only ancestry legitimates
and that social change transgresses this natural law of antiquity. And,
finally, the epic exclusion of the future is the premise that no
present can rival the past.
The Poetics of Disruption
If the association of early medieval grammar, lineage, and epic verse
seems too neat, too globally comprehensive and contained, it is because
up until now we have focused somewhat narrowly upon a much broader
cultural whole. As we have defined them, these three fields of discursive
Literature and Lineage 109
practice represent but one dimension of a more complicated nexus of
symbolic and social relations, the other dimensions of which can no
l?nger be ignored. We have thus reached the midpoint of our investiga-
a watershed that permits--even solicits-what may seem like a
cunous reversal of the logic of presentation, henceforth the opposite of
our Since, in addition, it is no longer necessary to justify the
connection between language theory, kinship, and poetry, we will move
from literary form to family structure and linguistics with the understand-
ing that the of distinguishing internal from external causality
renders the pnmacy of poetic discourse increasingly apparent.
The Love Lyric
the lyric poets of the twelfth century none is more concerned
with lineage and language than the troubadour Marcabru, who is ob-
sessed by family trees of a particular sort:
Cossiros suy d'un gran vergier
Ont a de belhs plansos mans lues;
Gent sont l'empeut e 1 frugs bacucs,
Selh qu' esser de gran sordegier
Fuelhs e flors paron de pomier,
Son al fruchar sautz' e saucs,
E pus lo caps es ba[da]lucs,
Dolen(s) son li membr' estremier.
Mort(z) son li bon arbre primier,
El(s) viu(s) son ramils e festucs, ...
Doncx no pairejon li derrier;
En totz bos sens ab los faducs ....
[Marcabru, p. 9]
I dream of an where there are beautiful shrubby trees in many
places; the graftmgs are large and the pulpy fruit smells sweet to those of
low degree. One expects apple leaves and flowers; but when the fruit
comes it is only willow and elder. And given that the head is empty, the
members are sorrowful at their extremities.
are the good old trees, and those that live are only branches and
sticks .... Thus the most recent (living trees) do not resemble their fathers
in all the good ways.
As we have seen from the beginning, the tree was a potent symbol or
structuring vehicle of genealogy in the High Middle Ages. What is special
about Macabru's presentation, however, is that the family tree, never
whole, is always grafted. The "good old trees," or the "good old days,"
which he associates elsewhere with the positive values of valor, pretz,
joven, and joia, have been supplanted at their upper extremities by sor-
row: "Dolen(s) son li membr' estremier." What has been broken, in fact,
is a paternal series; and the apple tree which yields willow and elder
108 Chapter Three
Raoul de Taillefer' s direct line is ended with the death of his son, Raoul de
Cambrai. The Old French epic is the genre of the continuous but Ol!ly in
the sense of a negative progression. Genealogically sterile because of an
almost universal lack of progeny, it proliferates continuously in the
direction of ancestry; linguistically sterile because of the formal impossi-
bility of assimilating the loss of the proper, it mobilizes none of the playful
potential of such a loss.
31
On the contrary, it remains obsessively obedient
to the recuperation-through narrative and representational continu-
ity-of verbal proprietas.
Thus, we are faced with a significant conjunction of narrative poetry,
early medieval linguistics, and the economics of the lineal family. It is
difficult, if not impossible, to separate literary discourse from grammati-
cal theory and from the biopolitics of lineage. These three areas of sym-
bolic activity and social practice all imply a special relation to the idea of
property, an investment in the principle of continuity, and a deep ideo-
logical attachment to origins. Early medieval grammar, founded upon the
' - notion of a proper relation between words and the properties of things,
also assumes a continuous evolution of signs which permits the etymo-
logical recovery of an original order of language and being. Similarly, the
noble family is predicated upon a sacred attachment to property which is
transmitted by uninterrupted primogenital succession; like the metadis-
course of language theory, lineage derives its own legitimacy from an
abiding connection to origins. In the epic an assumed (though violable)
linguistic propriety combines with a realized narrative coherence to pro-
duce the somewhat unidimensional universe which proliferates, accord-
ing to a genealogical modet in the direction of ancestry. There can be no
distinction between the narrative and referential continuity of the epic,
the biological continuity of lineage, or the economic continuity of noble
family property. The "science of the literal" (straight), the linear family,
and the literary genre of the continuous are, furthermore, united by a
common conservative streak. Implicit to an etymological grammar is the
assumption that linguistic change can only represent corruption, a fur-
ther distancing from the proper. Latent in the (unconscious?) political
strategy of nobility is the presupposition that only ancestry legitimates
and that social change transgresses this natural law of antiquity. And,
finally, the epic exclusion of the future is the premise that no
present can rival the past.
The Poetics of Disruption
If the association of early medieval grammar, lineage, and epic verse
seems too neat, too globally comprehensive and contained, it is because
up until now we have focused somewhat narrowly upon a much broader
cultural whole. As we have defined them, these three fields of discursive
Literature and Lineage 109
practice represent but one dimension of a more complicated nexus of
symbolic and social relations, the other dimensions of which can no
l?nger be ignored. We have thus reached the midpoint of our investiga-
a watershed that permits--even solicits-what may seem like a
cunous reversal of the logic of presentation, henceforth the opposite of
our Since, in addition, it is no longer necessary to justify the
connection between language theory, kinship, and poetry, we will move
from literary form to family structure and linguistics with the understand-
ing that the of distinguishing internal from external causality
renders the pnmacy of poetic discourse increasingly apparent.
The Love Lyric
the lyric poets of the twelfth century none is more concerned
with lineage and language than the troubadour Marcabru, who is ob-
sessed by family trees of a particular sort:
Cossiros suy d'un gran vergier
Ont a de belhs plansos mans lues;
Gent sont l'empeut e 1 frugs bacucs,
Selh qu' esser de gran sordegier
Fuelhs e flors paron de pomier,
Son al fruchar sautz' e saucs,
E pus lo caps es ba[da]lucs,
Dolen(s) son li membr' estremier.
Mort(z) son li bon arbre primier,
El(s) viu(s) son ramils e festucs, ...
Doncx no pairejon li derrier;
En totz bos sens ab los faducs ....
[Marcabru, p. 9]
I dream of an where there are beautiful shrubby trees in many
places; the graftmgs are large and the pulpy fruit smells sweet to those of
low degree. One expects apple leaves and flowers; but when the fruit
comes it is only willow and elder. And given that the head is empty, the
members are sorrowful at their extremities.
are the good old trees, and those that live are only branches and
sticks .... Thus the most recent (living trees) do not resemble their fathers
in all the good ways.
As we have seen from the beginning, the tree was a potent symbol or
structuring vehicle of genealogy in the High Middle Ages. What is special
about Macabru's presentation, however, is that the family tree, never
whole, is always grafted. The "good old trees," or the "good old days,"
which he associates elsewhere with the positive values of valor, pretz,
joven, and joia, have been supplanted at their upper extremities by sor-
row: "Dolen(s) son li membr' estremier." What has been broken, in fact,
is a paternal series; and the apple tree which yields willow and elder
110 Chapter Three
refers to a world in which sons no longer resemble fathers: "Non cuich
que 1 segles dar gaire I Segon qu'escriptura di I Qu' eras failllo fills al paire
I El pair' al fill atressi" (Marcabru, p. 71).
32
There can be no doubt concerning the cause of grafted trees and broken
genealogies:
Moillerat, ab sen cabri
Atal paratz lo coissi
Don lo cons esdeven laire;
Que tals ditz: "Mos fills me ri"
Que anc ren no i ac a faire:
Gardatz sen ben bedol
[Marcabru, p. 73]
Carel n'a Ia clau segonda
Per qe I segner, so us afin,
Porta cape! cornut conin,
Cab sol un empeu[t] redonda
Si donz, lo ditz Marcabrus.
[Marcabru, p. 50]
Married people, in the lascivious sense of goats, you prepare the cushion
in such a way that the cunt becomes a rascal. And such a one says: "My
son laughs at me," who never had anything to do with his birth.
There is a second key; that is why the lord (husband), I assure you, wears
a horned hat coming from the cunt [lit. "of rabbit fur"]. For it is only
through a grafting that his wife becomes round (pregnant), according to
Marcabru.
Lineage is disrupted by the deleterious effects of adulterous desire, which
reaches epidemic proportions; and this in two ways. First, husbands
participate in their own cuckoldry through a generalized exchange of
wives, "for he who rubs the cunt belonging to another sends his own to
market, and he who wants to feel one that does not belong to him makes
others covetous of the one that does and he places it in the public
domain."
33
And, alongside of the "wife-swapping," the "common folly"
that Marcabru equates with widespread civil chaos, stands the cuckoldry
of great lords "from below" by those who are supposed to serve them:
D'autra manieira cogossos,
Hi a rics homes e baros
Qui las enserron dinz maios
Qu' estrains non i posca intrar
E tenon guirbautz als tisos
Cui las comandon a gardar.
E segon que ditz Salamos,
Non podon cill pejors lairos
Acuillir d' aquels compaignos
t
I
Qui fant Ia noirim cogular,
Et aplanon los guirbaudos
E cujon lor fills piadar.
Literature and Lineage 111
[Marcabru, p. 135; see also pp. 147-148]
There are some powerful and great barons who imprison their wives in
houses so that no stranger can enter, and who at the same time entertain
the rogues to whom they give the orders to guard them.
But according to the wisdom of Solomon these lords could not offer hospi-
tality to worse thieves than this bunch that bastardizes the race; and the
husbands caress little rogues thinking they are covering their sons with
affection.
If the "horizontal" exchange of wives within the ranks of nobility
obscures genealogy and makes fathers say of their sons, "I think he is
mine," the "vertical" disappropriation of paternity produces a bastard-
ization of the race indissociable from a general decline in courtly values-
the withering of great family trees at their upper extremities. _J
What remains significant in Marcabru' s obsession is not so much the
poet's awareness of the biological consequences of extramarital inter-
course as the fact that adultery, whose effects involve a hiding of lineage,
cannot be separated from the deceptive effects of poetic language. First of
all, the lies that adultery entails seem to produce misconceptions leading
directly to conception: "Ladies for their part are deceptive, and they
know how to trick and lie; this is why they provide for and nourish the
children of others."
34
Furthermore, the bastardization of the race that
Marcabru laments repeatedly and in varying modes remains virtually
indistinguishable from the poet's role as a defiler of language.
Much has been written about Marcabru's status as a troubadour of the
"closed," "dark," "difficult," or "obscure" style, and the debate concern-
ing the roots of the medieval hermetic tradition is of special interest to the
literary historian. Here, however, sources are ofless importance than the
fact that for Marcabru ?f. "My
fief," he claims, "is so well protected that no one except I have access to it.
.. I am gifted and filled with an infinity of artifices, with a hundred means
of achieving my goal (or harming). On the one side, I carry fire, and on the
other, I carry the water to put it out."
35
The poet, like the adulterer, is a
deceiver, a disrupter of linguistic lines alongside the usurpers of noble
family lines:
Per sa vi I tenc ses doptanssa
Cel qui de mon chant devina
So que chascus motz declina,
Si cum Ia razos despleia,
Qu'ieu mezeis sui en erranssa
D' esclarzir paraul' escura.
110 Chapter Three
refers to a world in which sons no longer resemble fathers: "Non cuich
que 1 segles dar gaire I Segon qu'escriptura di I Qu' eras failllo fills al paire
I El pair' al fill atressi" (Marcabru, p. 71).
32
There can be no doubt concerning the cause of grafted trees and broken
genealogies:
Moillerat, ab sen cabri
Atal paratz lo coissi
Don lo cons esdeven laire;
Que tals ditz: "Mos fills me ri"
Que anc ren no i ac a faire:
Gardatz sen ben bedol
[Marcabru, p. 73]
Carel n'a Ia clau segonda
Per qe I segner, so us afin,
Porta cape! cornut conin,
Cab sol un empeu[t] redonda
Si donz, lo ditz Marcabrus.
[Marcabru, p. 50]
Married people, in the lascivious sense of goats, you prepare the cushion
in such a way that the cunt becomes a rascal. And such a one says: "My
son laughs at me," who never had anything to do with his birth.
There is a second key; that is why the lord (husband), I assure you, wears
a horned hat coming from the cunt [lit. "of rabbit fur"]. For it is only
through a grafting that his wife becomes round (pregnant), according to
Marcabru.
Lineage is disrupted by the deleterious effects of adulterous desire, which
reaches epidemic proportions; and this in two ways. First, husbands
participate in their own cuckoldry through a generalized exchange of
wives, "for he who rubs the cunt belonging to another sends his own to
market, and he who wants to feel one that does not belong to him makes
others covetous of the one that does and he places it in the public
domain."
33
And, alongside of the "wife-swapping," the "common folly"
that Marcabru equates with widespread civil chaos, stands the cuckoldry
of great lords "from below" by those who are supposed to serve them:
D'autra manieira cogossos,
Hi a rics homes e baros
Qui las enserron dinz maios
Qu' estrains non i posca intrar
E tenon guirbautz als tisos
Cui las comandon a gardar.
E segon que ditz Salamos,
Non podon cill pejors lairos
Acuillir d' aquels compaignos
t
I
Qui fant Ia noirim cogular,
Et aplanon los guirbaudos
E cujon lor fills piadar.
Literature and Lineage 111
[Marcabru, p. 135; see also pp. 147-148]
There are some powerful and great barons who imprison their wives in
houses so that no stranger can enter, and who at the same time entertain
the rogues to whom they give the orders to guard them.
But according to the wisdom of Solomon these lords could not offer hospi-
tality to worse thieves than this bunch that bastardizes the race; and the
husbands caress little rogues thinking they are covering their sons with
affection.
If the "horizontal" exchange of wives within the ranks of nobility
obscures genealogy and makes fathers say of their sons, "I think he is
mine," the "vertical" disappropriation of paternity produces a bastard-
ization of the race indissociable from a general decline in courtly values-
the withering of great family trees at their upper extremities. _J
What remains significant in Marcabru' s obsession is not so much the
poet's awareness of the biological consequences of extramarital inter-
course as the fact that adultery, whose effects involve a hiding of lineage,
cannot be separated from the deceptive effects of poetic language. First of
all, the lies that adultery entails seem to produce misconceptions leading
directly to conception: "Ladies for their part are deceptive, and they
know how to trick and lie; this is why they provide for and nourish the
children of others."
34
Furthermore, the bastardization of the race that
Marcabru laments repeatedly and in varying modes remains virtually
indistinguishable from the poet's role as a defiler of language.
Much has been written about Marcabru's status as a troubadour of the
"closed," "dark," "difficult," or "obscure" style, and the debate concern-
ing the roots of the medieval hermetic tradition is of special interest to the
literary historian. Here, however, sources are ofless importance than the
fact that for Marcabru ?f. "My
fief," he claims, "is so well protected that no one except I have access to it.
.. I am gifted and filled with an infinity of artifices, with a hundred means
of achieving my goal (or harming). On the one side, I carry fire, and on the
other, I carry the water to put it out."
35
The poet, like the adulterer, is a
deceiver, a disrupter of linguistic lines alongside the usurpers of noble
family lines:
Per sa vi I tenc ses doptanssa
Cel qui de mon chant devina
So que chascus motz declina,
Si cum Ia razos despleia,
Qu'ieu mezeis sui en erranssa
D' esclarzir paraul' escura.
112 Chapter Three
Trobador, ab sen d'enfanssa,
Movon als pros atahina,
E tornon en disciplina
So que veritatz autreia,
E fant los motz, per esmanssa,
Entrebeschatz de fraichura.
[Marcabru, p. 178]
I consider to be wise the one who can decipher what each word in my
song means, how its theme develops, because I myself am subject to error
when it comes to explaining an obscure word.
Troubadours with childish minds cause trouble for those of great worth,
turn into difficulty what truth grants, and purposefully make words full of
breaks.
The poet is a "mixer of words," of meanings, and, by implication, an
obscurer of etymologies through the dislocation of linguistic property.
Similarly, the adulterer is a mixer of races, of noble fortunes, an obscurer
of genealogy through the dislocation of family property. Semantic and
genealogical discontinuity go hand in hand. And the disruption of mean-
ing that the love lyric occasions, a "making of words full of breaks," is,
ultimately, the same as the disruption of lineage inherent to adulterous
L- desire.
Marcabru's love lyrics contain the most conscious and sustained treat-
ment of the relation between erotic and poetic deception. He is not,
however, alone in the association of poetry, adultery, and bastardy.
Raimbaut d' Aurenga, for instance, claims to be capable of "making a little
poem easy to sing," but he prefers "to make it so it hides its meaning, ...
since love must be hidden."
36
Elsewhere he brags of "intertwining rare,
dark, and obscure words" ("Cars, bruns et tenhz motz entrebesc!"), and,
like Marcabru, he links such lies to genealogical disruption.
37
Raimbaut
offers, further, what stands as an emblematic recognition of the affinity
between paternal and poetic dislocation:
Tal cug'esser cortes entiers
Qu'es vilans dels quatre ladriers,
Et a 1 cor dins mal ensenhat;
Plus que feutres sembla sendat
Ni cuers de bou escarlata
Non sabon mais que n'an trobat-
E quecx quos pot calafata.
38
One thinks he is a perfect gentleman who is baseborn on all four sides (of
his family) and who has a churlish heart within him; no more than felt re-
sembles taffeta or ox-hide good scarlet woolen cloth do they (the scandal
mongers) know anything except what they have invented about it, and
each one caulks (fills in) as best he can.
In a false perception of filiation lies the beginning of fiction. The losengiers
or spreaders of scandal misperceive true genealogy; and this mispercep-
Literature and Lineage 113
tion-an invention synonymous with the troubadour's art ("Non sabon
mais que n' an trobat")-creates the conditions of the possibility of poetry
itself. The love lyric or canso is a "caulking" of an unbridgeable gap in
"true" paternity, a "filling-in" of an irrecuperable distance between lan-
guage and meaning.
The troubadour Bernart Marti also boasts of "breaking lines" and of
"mixing words" ("C'aisi vauc entrebescant I Los motz e 1 so afinant");
and he equates the confusion of tongues--linguistic and lingual-with
the interpenetration of a kiss ("Lengu'entrebescada I Es en Ia baizada").
Inspired possibly by Marcabru, he too underscores the link between
verbal obfuscation and the bastardization of noble family lines.
39
Bernart
Marti equates, in fact, the lies of the slanderers with the disinheritance of
rightful heirs:
Mas fezautat fan carzir,
Quar no volon lo ver dir
Tant si fizon en l'auzir
De caitius desheretar ....
Lengua forquat traversan,
Si 1 metetz deniers denan,
Far vos a de gossa can
E d' eyssa guiza levar
Lo dia tro l' endeman,
Tan son savi del mesclar.
40
But they raise price of faithfulness with their lies. They
are so confident m their reputation that they even dare to disinherit the
unfortunate ....
A forked lying tongue, if you offer it money, will transform a bitch into a
sire and in the same way will raise today until tomorrow (?), so crafty are
they in the art of mixing things.
Bernart's "art of mixing things" (mesclar) is the equivalent of Raimbaut's
"motz entrebesc" and Marcabru' s "motz entrebeschatz de fraichura." All
three phrases are, within the semantic field of the early vers, used in
opposition to lassar (to link). Each assumes, moreover, that the intertwin-
ing of words, their isolation from fixed, received categories of meaning,
occasions a jumbling of reality-"a world upside down,"
41
in Bernart's
phrase, in which the natural difference between genders (bitch and sire)
as well as the natural law of time (today and tomorrow) are reversed. This
linguistic rupture and loss of discreteness is associated with a break in an
uninterrupted sequence of paternity: bastardy, or the dislocation of a
genealogical line, combined with disinheritance, or the dislocation of
property.
Thus we find among lyric poets of the difficult style, like Marcabru,
Bernart Marti, or Raimbaut d' Aurenga, a discourse which seems not only
to refuse any representational function but to revel in such a refusal. The
112 Chapter Three
Trobador, ab sen d'enfanssa,
Movon als pros atahina,
E tornon en disciplina
So que veritatz autreia,
E fant los motz, per esmanssa,
Entrebeschatz de fraichura.
[Marcabru, p. 178]
I consider to be wise the one who can decipher what each word in my
song means, how its theme develops, because I myself am subject to error
when it comes to explaining an obscure word.
Troubadours with childish minds cause trouble for those of great worth,
turn into difficulty what truth grants, and purposefully make words full of
breaks.
The poet is a "mixer of words," of meanings, and, by implication, an
obscurer of etymologies through the dislocation of linguistic property.
Similarly, the adulterer is a mixer of races, of noble fortunes, an obscurer
of genealogy through the dislocation of family property. Semantic and
genealogical discontinuity go hand in hand. And the disruption of mean-
ing that the love lyric occasions, a "making of words full of breaks," is,
ultimately, the same as the disruption of lineage inherent to adulterous
L- desire.
Marcabru's love lyrics contain the most conscious and sustained treat-
ment of the relation between erotic and poetic deception. He is not,
however, alone in the association of poetry, adultery, and bastardy.
Raimbaut d' Aurenga, for instance, claims to be capable of "making a little
poem easy to sing," but he prefers "to make it so it hides its meaning, ...
since love must be hidden."
36
Elsewhere he brags of "intertwining rare,
dark, and obscure words" ("Cars, bruns et tenhz motz entrebesc!"), and,
like Marcabru, he links such lies to genealogical disruption.
37
Raimbaut
offers, further, what stands as an emblematic recognition of the affinity
between paternal and poetic dislocation:
Tal cug'esser cortes entiers
Qu'es vilans dels quatre ladriers,
Et a 1 cor dins mal ensenhat;
Plus que feutres sembla sendat
Ni cuers de bou escarlata
Non sabon mais que n'an trobat-
E quecx quos pot calafata.
38
One thinks he is a perfect gentleman who is baseborn on all four sides (of
his family) and who has a churlish heart within him; no more than felt re-
sembles taffeta or ox-hide good scarlet woolen cloth do they (the scandal
mongers) know anything except what they have invented about it, and
each one caulks (fills in) as best he can.
In a false perception of filiation lies the beginning of fiction. The losengiers
or spreaders of scandal misperceive true genealogy; and this mispercep-
Literature and Lineage 113
tion-an invention synonymous with the troubadour's art ("Non sabon
mais que n' an trobat")-creates the conditions of the possibility of poetry
itself. The love lyric or canso is a "caulking" of an unbridgeable gap in
"true" paternity, a "filling-in" of an irrecuperable distance between lan-
guage and meaning.
The troubadour Bernart Marti also boasts of "breaking lines" and of
"mixing words" ("C'aisi vauc entrebescant I Los motz e 1 so afinant");
and he equates the confusion of tongues--linguistic and lingual-with
the interpenetration of a kiss ("Lengu'entrebescada I Es en Ia baizada").
Inspired possibly by Marcabru, he too underscores the link between
verbal obfuscation and the bastardization of noble family lines.
39
Bernart
Marti equates, in fact, the lies of the slanderers with the disinheritance of
rightful heirs:
Mas fezautat fan carzir,
Quar no volon lo ver dir
Tant si fizon en l'auzir
De caitius desheretar ....
Lengua forquat traversan,
Si 1 metetz deniers denan,
Far vos a de gossa can
E d' eyssa guiza levar
Lo dia tro l' endeman,
Tan son savi del mesclar.
40
But they raise price of faithfulness with their lies. They
are so confident m their reputation that they even dare to disinherit the
unfortunate ....
A forked lying tongue, if you offer it money, will transform a bitch into a
sire and in the same way will raise today until tomorrow (?), so crafty are
they in the art of mixing things.
Bernart's "art of mixing things" (mesclar) is the equivalent of Raimbaut's
"motz entrebesc" and Marcabru' s "motz entrebeschatz de fraichura." All
three phrases are, within the semantic field of the early vers, used in
opposition to lassar (to link). Each assumes, moreover, that the intertwin-
ing of words, their isolation from fixed, received categories of meaning,
occasions a jumbling of reality-"a world upside down,"
41
in Bernart's
phrase, in which the natural difference between genders (bitch and sire)
as well as the natural law of time (today and tomorrow) are reversed. This
linguistic rupture and loss of discreteness is associated with a break in an
uninterrupted sequence of paternity: bastardy, or the dislocation of a
genealogical line, combined with disinheritance, or the dislocation of
property.
Thus we find among lyric poets of the difficult style, like Marcabru,
Bernart Marti, or Raimbaut d' Aurenga, a discourse which seems not only
to refuse any representational function but to revel in such a refusal. The
114 Chapter Three
assumed linguistic universe of the early trobar clus is, as its name implies,
closed upon itself, self-referential, disruptive of linguistic integrity-a
world which, to cite Zumthor, "is its own subject without object."
42
Raimbaut is characterized by his biographer as a poet gifted in making
rich and closed rhymes ("caras rimas e clusas"). Peire d' Alvernha claims
to enjoy singing "tight and closed words" ("motz alqus serratz e clus").
The troubadour Marcoat brags of creating a poem out of "los motz cluz"
and of being able to insert into his contradictory verses ("vers contra-
dizentz") "three words of different meanings" ("tres motz de divers
sens").
43
Nor is the phenomenon of linguistic closure restricted to those
poets traditionally characterized as trobar clus. When fir_st
troubadour, proposes "to compose a poem about nothmg, he IS, m
effect, denying the purchase of language upon the world.
44
From the
beginning the vers represents a symbolic closure of language upon itself,
its substitution for action and constitution as event.
Though William IX is not among the poets who, like Marcabru, pretend
continually to expose the generalization of adultery, along with the loss of
linguistic integrity, he establishes the framework for such an association.
In the poem "Campanho, faray un vers ... covinen" William sets as his
announced goal the mixing of meanings: "I will put in it (my vers) more
folly than wisdom, and one will find there mixed pele-mele love, joy, and
youth" ("Et er totz mesclatz d'amor e de joy e de joven'' [William IX, p.
1 ]). William's intentional jumbling of words expresses implicitly a certain
arbitrariness of verbal signs. The interpretative possibilities of such a
doctrine lead, moreover, not only to his oft-remarked social exclusivity
but to sexual confusion as well: "E tenguatz lo per vilan qui no 1' en ten I 0
dins son cor voluntiers [qui] non l'apren; I Greu partir si fa d'amor qui la
trob'a son talen" (ibid.).
45
The loss of directness in speech, of linguistic
property, is the result of poetic "mixing"; and it becomes the equivalent
of sexual indiscretion. The refusal of univocal meaning is tantamount to a
condemnation of monogamy:
Dos cavalhs ai a rna selha ben e gen;
Bon son e adreg per armas e valen;
Mas no Is puesc amdos tener que I' us I' autre non cossen.
[Ibid.]
I have for my saddle two horses, and this is well and good; both are good,
well trained for combat, and valiant; but I cannot have them both together,
because one cannot stand the other.
Even the thinly veiled equestrian metaphor captures the movement of
William's doctrine of language and love. A plurality of meanings, irrecon-
cilable with each other except within the confines of the vers, are iden-
tified with the balance of mutually exclusive erotic preferences. Linguistic
'
1
:
M
l
1!
'{I
Literature and Lineage 115
infidelity, the failure to choose words whose meaning is plain and dis-
tinct, cannot be divorced from sexual infidelity, as the pres-
ence of "folly and sense" which marks the poem's beginning is echoed in
the closing inability "to choose between Agnes and Arsen": "Ges non sai
ab qual mi tengua de N'Agnes ode N'Arsen" (ibid., p. 2).
46
A similar expression of the relation between language and sexuality can
be found in William's problematic "Poem of the Red Cat," which opens
with a comparable linguistic gratuity: "I will make avers since I am asleep,
and walking, and standing in the sun" ("Farai un vers, pas mi sonelh, I
E m vauc em' estauc al solelh" [William IX, p. 8]). The initial affirmation
of a logical impossibility is in this instance, however, accompanied by the
degeneration of language beyond the point of recognition; for when the
wives of Sir Garin and Sir Bernard try to get the poet to speak, he
responds with nonsense syllables: "I didn't say but or bat to them, didn't
mention a stick or a tool, but only this: 'Babariol, babariol, babarian.' "
47
In
William's babble ("Babariol"), sound is detached entirely from meaning
(except for the homophonic resonance with barbarism), which is pre-
cisely what, in this drama of refused language, permits fornication:
So diz n' Agnes a n'Ermessen:
"Trobat avem que anam queren.
Sor, per amor Deu, I' alberguem,
Qe ben es mutz,
E ja per lui nostre conselh
Non er saubutz."
[William IX, p. 10]
Then Agnes said to Ermessen: "We've found what we are looking for.
Sister, for the love of God let us take him in, he is really mute; with this
one our conduct will never be known.
Thus, it is not only-as in Marcabru, Bernart, and Raimbaut-the "mix-
ing of words," the concealment of meaning, that fosters adultery, but
silence, the abolition of both terms of the semiological equation: "I fucked
them, as you shall hear, one hundred and eighty-eight times" ("Tant las
fotei com auzirets: I Cen e quatre vint e ueit vetz" [ibid., p. 12]).
Metaphor and the "Closed" Style
William is, of course, excessive in his transgression both of semantic
and sexual bounds. But this exaggerated parable of secrecy and seduction
points to a more general resistance on the part of the trobar clus not so
much to speech as to the idea of linguistic property. Alongside of a
concealed-because socially inappropriate-polygamous desire stands a
polysemous play with words, a fornicating with language that stretches
meaning to its limits, and sometimes beyond. Whether such a testing of
114 Chapter Three
assumed linguistic universe of the early trobar clus is, as its name implies,
closed upon itself, self-referential, disruptive of linguistic integrity-a
world which, to cite Zumthor, "is its own subject without object."
42
Raimbaut is characterized by his biographer as a poet gifted in making
rich and closed rhymes ("caras rimas e clusas"). Peire d' Alvernha claims
to enjoy singing "tight and closed words" ("motz alqus serratz e clus").
The troubadour Marcoat brags of creating a poem out of "los motz cluz"
and of being able to insert into his contradictory verses ("vers contra-
dizentz") "three words of different meanings" ("tres motz de divers
sens").
43
Nor is the phenomenon of linguistic closure restricted to those
poets traditionally characterized as trobar clus. When fir_st
troubadour, proposes "to compose a poem about nothmg, he IS, m
effect, denying the purchase of language upon the world.
44
From the
beginning the vers represents a symbolic closure of language upon itself,
its substitution for action and constitution as event.
Though William IX is not among the poets who, like Marcabru, pretend
continually to expose the generalization of adultery, along with the loss of
linguistic integrity, he establishes the framework for such an association.
In the poem "Campanho, faray un vers ... covinen" William sets as his
announced goal the mixing of meanings: "I will put in it (my vers) more
folly than wisdom, and one will find there mixed pele-mele love, joy, and
youth" ("Et er totz mesclatz d'amor e de joy e de joven'' [William IX, p.
1 ]). William's intentional jumbling of words expresses implicitly a certain
arbitrariness of verbal signs. The interpretative possibilities of such a
doctrine lead, moreover, not only to his oft-remarked social exclusivity
but to sexual confusion as well: "E tenguatz lo per vilan qui no 1' en ten I 0
dins son cor voluntiers [qui] non l'apren; I Greu partir si fa d'amor qui la
trob'a son talen" (ibid.).
45
The loss of directness in speech, of linguistic
property, is the result of poetic "mixing"; and it becomes the equivalent
of sexual indiscretion. The refusal of univocal meaning is tantamount to a
condemnation of monogamy:
Dos cavalhs ai a rna selha ben e gen;
Bon son e adreg per armas e valen;
Mas no Is puesc amdos tener que I' us I' autre non cossen.
[Ibid.]
I have for my saddle two horses, and this is well and good; both are good,
well trained for combat, and valiant; but I cannot have them both together,
because one cannot stand the other.
Even the thinly veiled equestrian metaphor captures the movement of
William's doctrine of language and love. A plurality of meanings, irrecon-
cilable with each other except within the confines of the vers, are iden-
tified with the balance of mutually exclusive erotic preferences. Linguistic
'
1
:
M
l
1!
'{I
Literature and Lineage 115
infidelity, the failure to choose words whose meaning is plain and dis-
tinct, cannot be divorced from sexual infidelity, as the pres-
ence of "folly and sense" which marks the poem's beginning is echoed in
the closing inability "to choose between Agnes and Arsen": "Ges non sai
ab qual mi tengua de N'Agnes ode N'Arsen" (ibid., p. 2).
46
A similar expression of the relation between language and sexuality can
be found in William's problematic "Poem of the Red Cat," which opens
with a comparable linguistic gratuity: "I will make avers since I am asleep,
and walking, and standing in the sun" ("Farai un vers, pas mi sonelh, I
E m vauc em' estauc al solelh" [William IX, p. 8]). The initial affirmation
of a logical impossibility is in this instance, however, accompanied by the
degeneration of language beyond the point of recognition; for when the
wives of Sir Garin and Sir Bernard try to get the poet to speak, he
responds with nonsense syllables: "I didn't say but or bat to them, didn't
mention a stick or a tool, but only this: 'Babariol, babariol, babarian.' "
47
In
William's babble ("Babariol"), sound is detached entirely from meaning
(except for the homophonic resonance with barbarism), which is pre-
cisely what, in this drama of refused language, permits fornication:
So diz n' Agnes a n'Ermessen:
"Trobat avem que anam queren.
Sor, per amor Deu, I' alberguem,
Qe ben es mutz,
E ja per lui nostre conselh
Non er saubutz."
[William IX, p. 10]
Then Agnes said to Ermessen: "We've found what we are looking for.
Sister, for the love of God let us take him in, he is really mute; with this
one our conduct will never be known.
Thus, it is not only-as in Marcabru, Bernart, and Raimbaut-the "mix-
ing of words," the concealment of meaning, that fosters adultery, but
silence, the abolition of both terms of the semiological equation: "I fucked
them, as you shall hear, one hundred and eighty-eight times" ("Tant las
fotei com auzirets: I Cen e quatre vint e ueit vetz" [ibid., p. 12]).
Metaphor and the "Closed" Style
William is, of course, excessive in his transgression both of semantic
and sexual bounds. But this exaggerated parable of secrecy and seduction
points to a more general resistance on the part of the trobar clus not so
much to speech as to the idea of linguistic property. Alongside of a
concealed-because socially inappropriate-polygamous desire stands a
polysemous play with words, a fornicating with language that stretches
meaning to its limits, and sometimes beyond. Whether such a testing of
116 o Chapter Three
poetic discourse is expressed as a "mixing of words," a "making of words
full of breaks," or silence, it represents, for the poet of the "difficult
style," a refusal of the proper.
Here lies an important difference between the chanson de geste and the
love lyric. For while the discourse of the epic serves either to affirm or to
recuperate linguistic property, that of the "closed" canso radically denies
property, functioning instead according to a more contextually defined
poetic model. Where one is originary, historical, governed by a temporal
law of contiguity, combination, and sequence, the other is disruptive of
sequence, ahistorical, and governed by a more spatially organized law of
juxtaposition, similarity and dissimilarity, and supplementarity. If the
first depends upon a metonymic grounding of language in things (words
in the proper), the second is ruled by a freer game of metaphoric substitu-
tions. This polarity is crucial, since the opposite of a proper signification
was, throughout the period in question, a metaphoric one.
Late Classical and early medieval rhetoricians distinguished between:
simple linguistic abuse, unintentional errors of diction, vices (vitii) like
barbarism and solecism; metapla.IDns, or changes in a word for the sake of
ornament; schemes, figures of diction or thought; catachresis, "the inex-
act use of a like and kindred word in the place of a precise and proper
one" (Cicero); and tropes, an expression intentionally altered from its
signification. The author of the Rhetorica ad Herennium claims, for
example, that "metaphor" occurs when a word applying to one thing is
transferred to another, because the similarity seems to justify this trans-
ference." Quintilian specifies that "a trope means the artistic alteration of
a word or phrase from its proper meaning to another." The notion of
deviation from the norm of conventional meaning is assimilated by Au-
gustine, who equates metaphor with verbal usurpation: "Translata sunt
(signa), cum et ipsae res quas propriis verbis significamus, ad aliud
aliquid significandum usurpantur .... "
48
Isidore concurs in the standard
definition of a trope ("Fiunt autem a propria significatione ad non pro-
priam similitudinem" Etym., l:xxxvii, i), which is passed on to the rhetori-
cians and poets of the High Middle Ages.
The idea of metaphor connotes alienation, denaturalization, transloca-
tion, or usurpation of linguistic property. But it also serves as a principle
of stylistic elaboration. And the opposition between the proper and
the metaphoric is doubled by that between the proper and the ornate. The
late Classical grammarian Diomedes, for example, distinguishes-under
the rubric of virtutes orationis generales-between "property, which is a
straight kind of speech" associated with proportion and brevity, and
"ornate speech," which includes tropes.
49
The Carolingian grammarian j
Notker Labeo discriminates between plain or simple discourse (plane
dicere, locutio simplex), which "accords the proper words to things" (pro-
Literature and Lineage o 117
pria. verba rebus and ornate or figurative discourse (locutio figurata),
which, for Dwmedes, consists of word figures (compositio artificiosa) as
well as figures of thought and tropes (significatio aliena).
50
The anonymous
of a rhetoric written sometime prior to the year 1000 adopts the
Classical theory of three styles (Cicero, Horace) according to the degree
.of elaboration. Thus the humble mode of speech "uses the word
itself" ("proprio nomine nominavit"), the middle "casts light upon its
subject," and the heavy style casts its subject in a "golden light" ("aureos
lychnos").
51
In the second half of the eleventh century, Albert of Monte
Cassino distinguishes between stilus simplex and stilus mixtus, and he
extends the concept of property beyond the use of the individual word to
cover the correctness of the copulatio verborum.
52
It is, however, only
among the rhetoricians of the thirteenth century that the opposition
between simple and difficult style receives systematic treatment.
53
Simple style implies, as Geoffrey of Vinsauf specifies in the Poetria
Nova, use of colors of rhetoric: either "figures of words" involving a play
on the. m?rphological structure of a single verbal term (e.g., repetitio,
annommatzo, conversio, exclamatio), or "figures of thought," which seem to
involve both logical and lexical alteration (e.g., diminutio [litote], accumu-
latio of praise or blame], demonstratio [vivid description]). Orna-
tus difficzlzs, on the other hand, implies the use of tropes, which, as we
transfer (translatio, transsumptio) of a proper mean-
mg toward a flgurahve; but nonetheless recognizable, one.
54
Mathew of
Vendo.me, John of and Evrard the German all follow roughly the
same yne. of thought with regard to the question of stylistic elaboration.
There are difficulties attached to the equation of the so-called dark,
obscure, style of the trobar clus and the rhetorical category of
ornatus difficzlzs. Moreover, the association of poetic practice and rhetori-
cal is by no means intended to imply logical (or even chronologi-
cal) pnonty. But even so brief an excursion into medieval manuals of
poetry offers as contemporaneous as possible a framework for the under-
standing of the "difficult" lyric. And before we move on to a considera-
tion of the "easy" or "light" canso and to the social implications of both
"open" and" closed" verse, it might prove worthwhile to summarize and
to situate the question of poetic closure within the context of the issues
concerned us up until now. For not only does the ornatus
difficzlzs, or poetry characterized by the extensive use of tropes, serve to
negate linguistic property, but it throws radically into question many of
the fundamental principles of early medieval grammar; and this in the
following terms:
. 1. Spatial. loci or proper places of speech associated with a ground-
of words m the physical properties of things are, in metaphoric
discourse, geographically displaced toward a foreign or alien locus. Geof-
116 o Chapter Three
poetic discourse is expressed as a "mixing of words," a "making of words
full of breaks," or silence, it represents, for the poet of the "difficult
style," a refusal of the proper.
Here lies an important difference between the chanson de geste and the
love lyric. For while the discourse of the epic serves either to affirm or to
recuperate linguistic property, that of the "closed" canso radically denies
property, functioning instead according to a more contextually defined
poetic model. Where one is originary, historical, governed by a temporal
law of contiguity, combination, and sequence, the other is disruptive of
sequence, ahistorical, and governed by a more spatially organized law of
juxtaposition, similarity and dissimilarity, and supplementarity. If the
first depends upon a metonymic grounding of language in things (words
in the proper), the second is ruled by a freer game of metaphoric substitu-
tions. This polarity is crucial, since the opposite of a proper signification
was, throughout the period in question, a metaphoric one.
Late Classical and early medieval rhetoricians distinguished between:
simple linguistic abuse, unintentional errors of diction, vices (vitii) like
barbarism and solecism; metapla.IDns, or changes in a word for the sake of
ornament; schemes, figures of diction or thought; catachresis, "the inex-
act use of a like and kindred word in the place of a precise and proper
one" (Cicero); and tropes, an expression intentionally altered from its
signification. The author of the Rhetorica ad Herennium claims, for
example, that "metaphor" occurs when a word applying to one thing is
transferred to another, because the similarity seems to justify this trans-
ference." Quintilian specifies that "a trope means the artistic alteration of
a word or phrase from its proper meaning to another." The notion of
deviation from the norm of conventional meaning is assimilated by Au-
gustine, who equates metaphor with verbal usurpation: "Translata sunt
(signa), cum et ipsae res quas propriis verbis significamus, ad aliud
aliquid significandum usurpantur .... "
48
Isidore concurs in the standard
definition of a trope ("Fiunt autem a propria significatione ad non pro-
priam similitudinem" Etym., l:xxxvii, i), which is passed on to the rhetori-
cians and poets of the High Middle Ages.
The idea of metaphor connotes alienation, denaturalization, transloca-
tion, or usurpation of linguistic property. But it also serves as a principle
of stylistic elaboration. And the opposition between the proper and
the metaphoric is doubled by that between the proper and the ornate. The
late Classical grammarian Diomedes, for example, distinguishes-under
the rubric of virtutes orationis generales-between "property, which is a
straight kind of speech" associated with proportion and brevity, and
"ornate speech," which includes tropes.
49
The Carolingian grammarian j
Notker Labeo discriminates between plain or simple discourse (plane
dicere, locutio simplex), which "accords the proper words to things" (pro-
Literature and Lineage o 117
pria. verba rebus and ornate or figurative discourse (locutio figurata),
which, for Dwmedes, consists of word figures (compositio artificiosa) as
well as figures of thought and tropes (significatio aliena).
50
The anonymous
of a rhetoric written sometime prior to the year 1000 adopts the
Classical theory of three styles (Cicero, Horace) according to the degree
.of elaboration. Thus the humble mode of speech "uses the word
itself" ("proprio nomine nominavit"), the middle "casts light upon its
subject," and the heavy style casts its subject in a "golden light" ("aureos
lychnos").
51
In the second half of the eleventh century, Albert of Monte
Cassino distinguishes between stilus simplex and stilus mixtus, and he
extends the concept of property beyond the use of the individual word to
cover the correctness of the copulatio verborum.
52
It is, however, only
among the rhetoricians of the thirteenth century that the opposition
between simple and difficult style receives systematic treatment.
53
Simple style implies, as Geoffrey of Vinsauf specifies in the Poetria
Nova, use of colors of rhetoric: either "figures of words" involving a play
on the. m?rphological structure of a single verbal term (e.g., repetitio,
annommatzo, conversio, exclamatio), or "figures of thought," which seem to
involve both logical and lexical alteration (e.g., diminutio [litote], accumu-
latio of praise or blame], demonstratio [vivid description]). Orna-
tus difficzlzs, on the other hand, implies the use of tropes, which, as we
transfer (translatio, transsumptio) of a proper mean-
mg toward a flgurahve; but nonetheless recognizable, one.
54
Mathew of
Vendo.me, John of and Evrard the German all follow roughly the
same yne. of thought with regard to the question of stylistic elaboration.
There are difficulties attached to the equation of the so-called dark,
obscure, style of the trobar clus and the rhetorical category of
ornatus difficzlzs. Moreover, the association of poetic practice and rhetori-
cal is by no means intended to imply logical (or even chronologi-
cal) pnonty. But even so brief an excursion into medieval manuals of
poetry offers as contemporaneous as possible a framework for the under-
standing of the "difficult" lyric. And before we move on to a considera-
tion of the "easy" or "light" canso and to the social implications of both
"open" and" closed" verse, it might prove worthwhile to summarize and
to situate the question of poetic closure within the context of the issues
concerned us up until now. For not only does the ornatus
difficzlzs, or poetry characterized by the extensive use of tropes, serve to
negate linguistic property, but it throws radically into question many of
the fundamental principles of early medieval grammar; and this in the
following terms:
. 1. Spatial. loci or proper places of speech associated with a ground-
of words m the physical properties of things are, in metaphoric
discourse, geographically displaced toward a foreign or alien locus. Geof-
118 o Chapter Three
frey of Vinsauf even associates such a shift with a change of residence:
"Noli semper concedere verbo I In proprio residere loco: residentia talis I
Dedecus est ipsi verbo; loca propria vitet I Et peregrinetur alibi sedemque
placentem I Fundet in alterius fundo: sit ibi novus hospes."
55
Thus the
trope implies a verbal dislocation (displacement of locus) conceived still
in spatial terms.
2. Temporal. The place to which speech is displaced-a figure of
speech-can itself constitute a proper locus as long as the similitude of the
elements conjoined is preserved. At a secondary level there are, then,
proper figures-those, as Peter Helias states, "where the transfer of a
word from a proper signification to an alien one is appropriate"-and
improper ones in which the place to which meaning is transferred is
inappropriate ("Vitiosa est locutio ubi est translatio inconveniens").
56
In
neither case, however, is the metaphoric expression an original one in the
first instance. "Words," as Quintilian states, "are proper when they bear
their original meaning, metaphorical when they are used in a sense
different from their natural meaning."
57
It is the pristine quality of first
words that endows them with the qualities of naturalness and wholeness;
and metaphor represents always a less than, newer than, original in-
stance of meaning. This is a point of paramount importance since through
tropes language is cut loose from an overweening dependence upon the
propriety of origins.
58
Unlike the futureless discourse of the proper as
typified by the Chanson de Roland, the metaphoric discourse of the trobar
clus both severs (through novel use) and affirms (through similitude) its
attachment to the past.
3. Linear. Early medieval grammar is, as we have seen, the "science of
the literal" -of straight and correct locution. The use of tropes, however,
is synonymous with "circular speech" or circumlocution. We have
already seen that John of Salisbury associates grammar with a highway or
straight path and that errors of speech are the equivalent of "forsaking the
proper thoroughfare" (see above, pp. 52-53). Among the rhetoricians
and grammarians of the thirteenth century, it is impossible to separate
the ornatus difficilis from the general technique of amplification by
peri phrase, which Geoffrey characterizes as follows: "In order to make a
work longer, do not use the name of things; but use other signifiers. Do
not show a thing openly, but indicate it by small details. Do not let your
discourse go directly to the thing, but circumscribe with long circling
phrases that which you could say briefly .... "
59
Elaborate poetic ornament
is thus equated not with "straight writing" (orthography) but with
"circular writing" (circumscription). Alexander of Villedieu is even more
explicitly geometrical in his definition of metaphor, which, he claims,
combines the rectilinearity (rectitude) of proper speech with the curva-
ture of a dislocated meaning:
Literature and Lineage o 119
Item dicitur quod figura sumitur hie ad similitudinem figure semicircularis
super dyametralem lineam vel rectam determinate disposite tali modo,
quoniam, sicut in tali figura est aliquid rectum, sicut est dyametralis linea,
... et aliquid est ibi oblicum, sicut est circonferentia cum semicirculo ... ,
sic est in omni sermone figurativo aliquid rectum, et hoc est intrinsecus
respiciendo ad intellectum, et aliud oblicum, et hoc est extrinsecus respi-
ciendo ad vocem vel ad primum contextum dictionum vel ad primam sig-
nificationem. [Notices, p. 460]
Likewise a figure is said to have a dual likeness here, that of a semicircular
figure over a diagonal or straight line, arranged in such a way since, as in
this figure, the diagonal line corresponds to the straight part, and the cir-
cumference with the semicircle corresponds to the curved part there ... ,
so in all figurative speech there is a straight part which is seen to lie within
when one looks toward the basic meaning, and there is a curved part
which is seen to lie outside when one looks toward the sound or the pri-
mary context of the words or their initial signification.
Alexander's highly geometric comparison assumes the mind's ability to
judge independently (intrinsically) a straight or literal meaning, and it
takes for granted the deviation (extrinsic) of the voiced expression from
its original sense (primam significationem). But, more important, it ac-
counts for figural speech as a semicircle superimposed upon a diagonal
straight line. The Janus-faced trope seems both to respect and to trans-
gress the linearity of its own origin. As Albert of Monte Cassino specifies,
metaphor is a means of speech turned away from property in such a way
as to innovate: " ... est metaphorae modum locutionis a proprietate sui
quasi detorquere, detorquendo quadammodo innovare. "61J
"Easy Verse"
The trobar clus offers the most striking example of a radical break with
all that we associate with early medieval grammar, and, in particular,
with the notion of linguistic property. Such a departure is achieved
through a spatially conceived translocation, a temporally conceived de-
nial of origins, and a distortion of the geometrically conceived linear
attachment of words to things. In this, however, the "difficult" Proven<;:al
lyric represents only one aspect of a broader pattern of disruption that is
also evident in poetry of the "open" or "light" style. And if the trobar clus
produces an obfuscation of sense through the interruption of intelligibil-
ity, the poet of "easy verse" achieves a similar effect through an insis-
tence upon contradictory clear meanings. What the trobar leu repeatedly
presents, in fact, are spatially organized paradigms of feeling between
which the poet oscillates because of the impossibility of progression. The
"easy" love song exists as a static map of conflicting images, emotions,
and states held in constant tension with each other, but without the
prospect of resolution. The numerous individual poems that often seem
118 o Chapter Three
frey of Vinsauf even associates such a shift with a change of residence:
"Noli semper concedere verbo I In proprio residere loco: residentia talis I
Dedecus est ipsi verbo; loca propria vitet I Et peregrinetur alibi sedemque
placentem I Fundet in alterius fundo: sit ibi novus hospes."
55
Thus the
trope implies a verbal dislocation (displacement of locus) conceived still
in spatial terms.
2. Temporal. The place to which speech is displaced-a figure of
speech-can itself constitute a proper locus as long as the similitude of the
elements conjoined is preserved. At a secondary level there are, then,
proper figures-those, as Peter Helias states, "where the transfer of a
word from a proper signification to an alien one is appropriate"-and
improper ones in which the place to which meaning is transferred is
inappropriate ("Vitiosa est locutio ubi est translatio inconveniens").
56
In
neither case, however, is the metaphoric expression an original one in the
first instance. "Words," as Quintilian states, "are proper when they bear
their original meaning, metaphorical when they are used in a sense
different from their natural meaning."
57
It is the pristine quality of first
words that endows them with the qualities of naturalness and wholeness;
and metaphor represents always a less than, newer than, original in-
stance of meaning. This is a point of paramount importance since through
tropes language is cut loose from an overweening dependence upon the
propriety of origins.
58
Unlike the futureless discourse of the proper as
typified by the Chanson de Roland, the metaphoric discourse of the trobar
clus both severs (through novel use) and affirms (through similitude) its
attachment to the past.
3. Linear. Early medieval grammar is, as we have seen, the "science of
the literal" -of straight and correct locution. The use of tropes, however,
is synonymous with "circular speech" or circumlocution. We have
already seen that John of Salisbury associates grammar with a highway or
straight path and that errors of speech are the equivalent of "forsaking the
proper thoroughfare" (see above, pp. 52-53). Among the rhetoricians
and grammarians of the thirteenth century, it is impossible to separate
the ornatus difficilis from the general technique of amplification by
peri phrase, which Geoffrey characterizes as follows: "In order to make a
work longer, do not use the name of things; but use other signifiers. Do
not show a thing openly, but indicate it by small details. Do not let your
discourse go directly to the thing, but circumscribe with long circling
phrases that which you could say briefly .... "
59
Elaborate poetic ornament
is thus equated not with "straight writing" (orthography) but with
"circular writing" (circumscription). Alexander of Villedieu is even more
explicitly geometrical in his definition of metaphor, which, he claims,
combines the rectilinearity (rectitude) of proper speech with the curva-
ture of a dislocated meaning:
Literature and Lineage o 119
Item dicitur quod figura sumitur hie ad similitudinem figure semicircularis
super dyametralem lineam vel rectam determinate disposite tali modo,
quoniam, sicut in tali figura est aliquid rectum, sicut est dyametralis linea,
... et aliquid est ibi oblicum, sicut est circonferentia cum semicirculo ... ,
sic est in omni sermone figurativo aliquid rectum, et hoc est intrinsecus
respiciendo ad intellectum, et aliud oblicum, et hoc est extrinsecus respi-
ciendo ad vocem vel ad primum contextum dictionum vel ad primam sig-
nificationem. [Notices, p. 460]
Likewise a figure is said to have a dual likeness here, that of a semicircular
figure over a diagonal or straight line, arranged in such a way since, as in
this figure, the diagonal line corresponds to the straight part, and the cir-
cumference with the semicircle corresponds to the curved part there ... ,
so in all figurative speech there is a straight part which is seen to lie within
when one looks toward the basic meaning, and there is a curved part
which is seen to lie outside when one looks toward the sound or the pri-
mary context of the words or their initial signification.
Alexander's highly geometric comparison assumes the mind's ability to
judge independently (intrinsically) a straight or literal meaning, and it
takes for granted the deviation (extrinsic) of the voiced expression from
its original sense (primam significationem). But, more important, it ac-
counts for figural speech as a semicircle superimposed upon a diagonal
straight line. The Janus-faced trope seems both to respect and to trans-
gress the linearity of its own origin. As Albert of Monte Cassino specifies,
metaphor is a means of speech turned away from property in such a way
as to innovate: " ... est metaphorae modum locutionis a proprietate sui
quasi detorquere, detorquendo quadammodo innovare. "61J
"Easy Verse"
The trobar clus offers the most striking example of a radical break with
all that we associate with early medieval grammar, and, in particular,
with the notion of linguistic property. Such a departure is achieved
through a spatially conceived translocation, a temporally conceived de-
nial of origins, and a distortion of the geometrically conceived linear
attachment of words to things. In this, however, the "difficult" Proven<;:al
lyric represents only one aspect of a broader pattern of disruption that is
also evident in poetry of the "open" or "light" style. And if the trobar clus
produces an obfuscation of sense through the interruption of intelligibil-
ity, the poet of "easy verse" achieves a similar effect through an insis-
tence upon contradictory clear meanings. What the trobar leu repeatedly
presents, in fact, are spatially organized paradigms of feeling between
which the poet oscillates because of the impossibility of progression. The
"easy" love song exists as a static map of conflicting images, emotions,
and states held in constant tension with each other, but without the
prospect of resolution. The numerous individual poems that often seem
120 Chapter Three
indistinguishable because of the homogeneity of self-canceling opposites
function according to a rhetoric of contradiction: joy/pain, good/evil,
life I death, laughter I tears, sweetness/bitterness, consolation/ anguish,
hope I despair, rest/ movement, sanity I insanity, wisdom I folly, gain I
loss, sleep/waking, courage/timidity (cowardice), strength/weakness,
freedom/ enslavement, intelligence/ stupidity, sight/blindness, silence/
speech, right I wrong, abundance I dearth, wealth I poverty, etc.
It would, of course, be impossible within the confines of the present
study to analyze adequately each of the above contradictory clusters. I am
not even sure that such an analysis would prove useful, consisting as it
would of little more than a catalogue of polarities. Nor does it seem more
feasible to attempt to treat a large number of individual texts each of
which participates only partially in the poetics of opposition; such an
endeavor poses the prospect of mere summary next to the already un-
satisfactory possibility of concordance. What I propose instead is a close
look at one lyric by the master of contradiction, Bernard de Ventadorn, for
whom the type of vacillation of which we are speaking is so persistent as
to render the choice of canso almost arbitrary (see Appendix A for transla-
tion):
I
En cossirer et en esmai
sui d'un' amor que m lass' e m te,
que tan no vau ni sai ni lai
qu'ilh ades no m tenh' en so fre,
c' aras m' a dat cor e talen
qu' eu enqueses si podia
tal que se 1 reis 1' enqueria
auria faih gran ardimen.
II
Ai las, chaitius, e que m farai
ni cal cosselh penrai de me?
Qu' ela no sap lo mal qu' eu trai
ni eu no lh a us damar merce.
Fol nesci, ben as pauc de sen,
qu' ela nonca t' amaria
per nom que per drudaria
c' ans no t laisses levar al ven.
III
E doncs pois atressi m morrai
dirai li l'afan que m'en ve?
Verses c'ades lo li dirai-
no farai ala mia fe
si sabia c' a un tenen
en fos tot' Espanha mia;
mais volh morir de feunia
car anc me venc en pessamen.
IV
Ja per me no sabra qu'eu m'ai
ni autre no l'en dira re.
Arnie no volh ad aquest plai,
ans perda Deu qui pro m'en te,
qu' eu no n volh cozi ni paren;
que mout m'es grans cortezia
c' amors per midons m' aucia,
mais a leis non estara gen.
v
E doncs ela cal tort m'i fai
qu'ilh no sap, per que s'esdeve?
Deus devinar degra oimai
qu'eu mor per s'amor, eta que?
Al meu nesci chaptenemen
et a la gran vilania
per que lh lenga m' entrelia
can eu denan leis me prezen.
VI
Negus jois al meu no s'eschai
Literature and Lineage 121
can rna domna m garda ni m ve,
que 1 seus bels douz semblans me vai
al cor, que m'adous' e m reve.
E si m durava lonjamen
sobre sainhz li juraria
qu'el mon mais nulhs jois no sia.
Mais al partir art et encen.
VII
Pois messatger no lh trametrai
ni a me dire no s cove,
negu cosselh de me no sai.
Mais d'una re me conort be:
ela sap letras et enten
et agrada m qu' eu escria
los motz, e s' a leis plazia
legis los al meu sauvamen.
VIII
E s' a leis autre dols no n pren,
per Deu e per merce lh sia
que 1 bel solatz que m' a via
no m tolha ni 1 seu parlar gen.
61
Like many of Bernart's cansos, "En cossirer et en esmai" takes as its
central axis the polarity of pain (II) and joy (VI).
62
Within the confines of
the negative and positive sensations, which frame the poem at beginning
and end, stand a series of secondary oppositional pairs between which
the poet oscillates freely and seemingly without end: for example, invisi-
bility, "she does not know" (II) versus visibility, "No joy matches mine
120 Chapter Three
indistinguishable because of the homogeneity of self-canceling opposites
function according to a rhetoric of contradiction: joy/pain, good/evil,
life I death, laughter I tears, sweetness/bitterness, consolation/ anguish,
hope I despair, rest/ movement, sanity I insanity, wisdom I folly, gain I
loss, sleep/waking, courage/timidity (cowardice), strength/weakness,
freedom/ enslavement, intelligence/ stupidity, sight/blindness, silence/
speech, right I wrong, abundance I dearth, wealth I poverty, etc.
It would, of course, be impossible within the confines of the present
study to analyze adequately each of the above contradictory clusters. I am
not even sure that such an analysis would prove useful, consisting as it
would of little more than a catalogue of polarities. Nor does it seem more
feasible to attempt to treat a large number of individual texts each of
which participates only partially in the poetics of opposition; such an
endeavor poses the prospect of mere summary next to the already un-
satisfactory possibility of concordance. What I propose instead is a close
look at one lyric by the master of contradiction, Bernard de Ventadorn, for
whom the type of vacillation of which we are speaking is so persistent as
to render the choice of canso almost arbitrary (see Appendix A for transla-
tion):
I
En cossirer et en esmai
sui d'un' amor que m lass' e m te,
que tan no vau ni sai ni lai
qu'ilh ades no m tenh' en so fre,
c' aras m' a dat cor e talen
qu' eu enqueses si podia
tal que se 1 reis 1' enqueria
auria faih gran ardimen.
II
Ai las, chaitius, e que m farai
ni cal cosselh penrai de me?
Qu' ela no sap lo mal qu' eu trai
ni eu no lh a us damar merce.
Fol nesci, ben as pauc de sen,
qu' ela nonca t' amaria
per nom que per drudaria
c' ans no t laisses levar al ven.
III
E doncs pois atressi m morrai
dirai li l'afan que m'en ve?
Verses c'ades lo li dirai-
no farai ala mia fe
si sabia c' a un tenen
en fos tot' Espanha mia;
mais volh morir de feunia
car anc me venc en pessamen.
IV
Ja per me no sabra qu'eu m'ai
ni autre no l'en dira re.
Arnie no volh ad aquest plai,
ans perda Deu qui pro m'en te,
qu' eu no n volh cozi ni paren;
que mout m'es grans cortezia
c' amors per midons m' aucia,
mais a leis non estara gen.
v
E doncs ela cal tort m'i fai
qu'ilh no sap, per que s'esdeve?
Deus devinar degra oimai
qu'eu mor per s'amor, eta que?
Al meu nesci chaptenemen
et a la gran vilania
per que lh lenga m' entrelia
can eu denan leis me prezen.
VI
Negus jois al meu no s'eschai
Literature and Lineage 121
can rna domna m garda ni m ve,
que 1 seus bels douz semblans me vai
al cor, que m'adous' e m reve.
E si m durava lonjamen
sobre sainhz li juraria
qu'el mon mais nulhs jois no sia.
Mais al partir art et encen.
VII
Pois messatger no lh trametrai
ni a me dire no s cove,
negu cosselh de me no sai.
Mais d'una re me conort be:
ela sap letras et enten
et agrada m qu' eu escria
los motz, e s' a leis plazia
legis los al meu sauvamen.
VIII
E s' a leis autre dols no n pren,
per Deu e per merce lh sia
que 1 bel solatz que m' a via
no m tolha ni 1 seu parlar gen.
61
Like many of Bernart's cansos, "En cossirer et en esmai" takes as its
central axis the polarity of pain (II) and joy (VI).
62
Within the confines of
the negative and positive sensations, which frame the poem at beginning
and end, stand a series of secondary oppositional pairs between which
the poet oscillates freely and seemingly without end: for example, invisi-
bility, "she does not know" (II) versus visibility, "No joy matches mine
122 Chapter Three
when my lady looks at me or sees me" (VI); fear, "I dare not" (II), "great
cowardice" (V) versus courage, "Yes, I shall tell her at once" (III); hesita-
tion, "Yes, I shall ... No, I shall not" (III) versus resolve, "She will never
learn [it] from me" (IV) (and which is broken by the contradictory resolu-
tion of the end of VII); hope, "heart and desire to court" (I), "And if she
stayed with me a long time" (VI) versus despair, "I take fire and burn"
(VI), "I see no help for myself" (VII), "She will never love you" (II);
despair versus consolation, "she knows and understands letters" (VII);
communication, "It pleases me to write the words" (VII) versus silence or
confusion, "foolish behavior and a great cowardice which binds my
tongue" (V); kindness of the lady (VIII) versus her cruelty, "she does not
know what wrong she does me" (V); and, finally, death, "I could die of
chagrin" (III), "I am dying for her love" (V) versus resurrection, "her fair
sweet image ... refreshes me" (VI).
63
The impact of such an accumulation of self-negating polarities is rein-
forced by the overall weakness of the canso's verbal system. Bernart draws
heavily upon a series of verbs designating: mental or emotional state
(perplex, confuse, burn, console, dare, love); perception or cognition
(understand, realize, learn, look, see); communication (read, tell, re-
quest, swear, speak, write); possession (have, want). "En cossirer et en
esmai" contains, however, no verbs expressive of strong action; and
those that do signify events are as mildly actantial as possible (help,
please, befall; the clusters bind, allow, confine, hold; give, take, send;
enter, depart). The most operative verb by far is the copulative "to be,"
which only reinforces the static general effect. When added to the high
density of passive constructions of which the poet is an object and the
numerous reflexive forms, the overall impression is one of extreme still-
ness and fixity-a heightened awareness of the present ("now," "at
once") on the part of a mind in dialogue with itself. Here lies the key to
Bernart' s canso, which presents the wholly internal struggle of a psyche so
in conflict that all possibility of action is denied. The sole hint of resolution
is, in fact, the poem itself ("It pleas-es me to write the words" [VII]),
which, ironically, also stands both as a vehicle of seduction ("let her read
them for my deliverance" [VII]) and as a sign of poetic closure.
The syntax of "En cossirer et en esmai" again confirms what its verbal
system suggests. For not only does Bernart punctuate this drama of
immobility with numerous questions, but the internal logic of his affirma-
tive phrases adds to the pervasive atmosphere of passivity. Despite the
presence of many logical terms (of hypothesis and condition), these
remain wholly nominal, more descriptive than deductive. Sentences like
"if she stayed with me a long time, I would swear ... "(VI); "Since I will
not send a messenger to her, and since for me to speak is not fitting, I see
I
i.
f
1
I
1
:;,
'
'
Literature and Lineage 123
no help for myself. But I console myself ... "(VII); "if it pleases her, let her
them [my words] for my deliverance" (VII) all give the impression of
logical coordination which, in fact, represents more a juxtaposition of
surface phenomena than the reflection of logical process.
64
The "sinces"
and "but" are constative rather than causal; the "if" is symptomatic of
temporal sequence and not of hypothesis.
Even more revealing than Bernart' s pliant syntax, which again works to
transform the poet into the object of an on-going course of mental events
beyond his control, is the poem's strophic disposition. The order of
strophes of "En cossirer et en esmai" -and this is essential-remains
wholly arbitrary. The macrometric units of the canso are interchangeable.
Just as there can be no resolution of permanently conflictual states, there
is, with the exception of the poet's parting decision to commit himself to
the words that we have just read, no progression. The final strophe only
a return to the beginning whose message has to do precisely with
confmement and the impossibility of movement: "I am perplexed and
confused about a love which binds me and confines me so that there is no
place I can go ... " (I).
Thus a poem of the trobar leu style like "En cossirer et en esmai" is in its
o':n way as hermetically sealed as any of the so-called closed love lyrics.
It IS, however, shut off from that which is assumed to exist outside the
text not by the disruption of signification, of intelligibility, but by the
creation of a system of meaning that is purely contextual. Bernart's canso
refers only indeterminately to the lady who is never named, to the
amor which tortures him, or to the vague fiascos of meeting
and partmg. We cannot say that the meaning of the poem depends upon
the strength of such external references. Rather, it lies, if anywhere, in the
interplay of the polarities discussed above and in the copresence of
oppositional elements whose juxtaposition generates meaning. "En cos-
can be said to signify only insofar as its key constituent terms-joy/
pam, hope/despair, resolve/hesitation, courage/fear, etc.--consignify
each other. The trobar leu does not effect a dislocation of the "vertical"
bonds of language and meaning. It does not disrupt the proper but works
to strip poetry of meaning by a "horizontal" textualizing of its
traditional terms. The "easy" style takes as its point of departure not the
"making of new words full of breaks" but the overconventionalizing of a
familiar and limiteq vocabulary-words like amor, cor, talen, merce, corte-
zia, jois, solatz which, within the individual canso, are self-referential and
serve, at their outer semantic limits, only to situate the poem within a
broader intertextual spectrum of similar terms.
What this means is that the love lyric's self-contained system for the
production of sense is, in effect, its deepest meaning. Poetic closure and
122 Chapter Three
when my lady looks at me or sees me" (VI); fear, "I dare not" (II), "great
cowardice" (V) versus courage, "Yes, I shall tell her at once" (III); hesita-
tion, "Yes, I shall ... No, I shall not" (III) versus resolve, "She will never
learn [it] from me" (IV) (and which is broken by the contradictory resolu-
tion of the end of VII); hope, "heart and desire to court" (I), "And if she
stayed with me a long time" (VI) versus despair, "I take fire and burn"
(VI), "I see no help for myself" (VII), "She will never love you" (II);
despair versus consolation, "she knows and understands letters" (VII);
communication, "It pleases me to write the words" (VII) versus silence or
confusion, "foolish behavior and a great cowardice which binds my
tongue" (V); kindness of the lady (VIII) versus her cruelty, "she does not
know what wrong she does me" (V); and, finally, death, "I could die of
chagrin" (III), "I am dying for her love" (V) versus resurrection, "her fair
sweet image ... refreshes me" (VI).
63
The impact of such an accumulation of self-negating polarities is rein-
forced by the overall weakness of the canso's verbal system. Bernart draws
heavily upon a series of verbs designating: mental or emotional state
(perplex, confuse, burn, console, dare, love); perception or cognition
(understand, realize, learn, look, see); communication (read, tell, re-
quest, swear, speak, write); possession (have, want). "En cossirer et en
esmai" contains, however, no verbs expressive of strong action; and
those that do signify events are as mildly actantial as possible (help,
please, befall; the clusters bind, allow, confine, hold; give, take, send;
enter, depart). The most operative verb by far is the copulative "to be,"
which only reinforces the static general effect. When added to the high
density of passive constructions of which the poet is an object and the
numerous reflexive forms, the overall impression is one of extreme still-
ness and fixity-a heightened awareness of the present ("now," "at
once") on the part of a mind in dialogue with itself. Here lies the key to
Bernart' s canso, which presents the wholly internal struggle of a psyche so
in conflict that all possibility of action is denied. The sole hint of resolution
is, in fact, the poem itself ("It pleas-es me to write the words" [VII]),
which, ironically, also stands both as a vehicle of seduction ("let her read
them for my deliverance" [VII]) and as a sign of poetic closure.
The syntax of "En cossirer et en esmai" again confirms what its verbal
system suggests. For not only does Bernart punctuate this drama of
immobility with numerous questions, but the internal logic of his affirma-
tive phrases adds to the pervasive atmosphere of passivity. Despite the
presence of many logical terms (of hypothesis and condition), these
remain wholly nominal, more descriptive than deductive. Sentences like
"if she stayed with me a long time, I would swear ... "(VI); "Since I will
not send a messenger to her, and since for me to speak is not fitting, I see
I
i.
f
1
I
1
:;,
'
'
Literature and Lineage 123
no help for myself. But I console myself ... "(VII); "if it pleases her, let her
them [my words] for my deliverance" (VII) all give the impression of
logical coordination which, in fact, represents more a juxtaposition of
surface phenomena than the reflection of logical process.
64
The "sinces"
and "but" are constative rather than causal; the "if" is symptomatic of
temporal sequence and not of hypothesis.
Even more revealing than Bernart' s pliant syntax, which again works to
transform the poet into the object of an on-going course of mental events
beyond his control, is the poem's strophic disposition. The order of
strophes of "En cossirer et en esmai" -and this is essential-remains
wholly arbitrary. The macrometric units of the canso are interchangeable.
Just as there can be no resolution of permanently conflictual states, there
is, with the exception of the poet's parting decision to commit himself to
the words that we have just read, no progression. The final strophe only
a return to the beginning whose message has to do precisely with
confmement and the impossibility of movement: "I am perplexed and
confused about a love which binds me and confines me so that there is no
place I can go ... " (I).
Thus a poem of the trobar leu style like "En cossirer et en esmai" is in its
o':n way as hermetically sealed as any of the so-called closed love lyrics.
It IS, however, shut off from that which is assumed to exist outside the
text not by the disruption of signification, of intelligibility, but by the
creation of a system of meaning that is purely contextual. Bernart's canso
refers only indeterminately to the lady who is never named, to the
amor which tortures him, or to the vague fiascos of meeting
and partmg. We cannot say that the meaning of the poem depends upon
the strength of such external references. Rather, it lies, if anywhere, in the
interplay of the polarities discussed above and in the copresence of
oppositional elements whose juxtaposition generates meaning. "En cos-
can be said to signify only insofar as its key constituent terms-joy/
pam, hope/despair, resolve/hesitation, courage/fear, etc.--consignify
each other. The trobar leu does not effect a dislocation of the "vertical"
bonds of language and meaning. It does not disrupt the proper but works
to strip poetry of meaning by a "horizontal" textualizing of its
traditional terms. The "easy" style takes as its point of departure not the
"making of new words full of breaks" but the overconventionalizing of a
familiar and limiteq vocabulary-words like amor, cor, talen, merce, corte-
zia, jois, solatz which, within the individual canso, are self-referential and
serve, at their outer semantic limits, only to situate the poem within a
broader intertextual spectrum of similar terms.
What this means is that the love lyric's self-contained system for the
production of sense is, in effect, its deepest meaning. Poetic closure and
I
/
124 Chapter Three
psychic closure work hand in hand to create a pervasive atmosphere of
entrapment, which Bernart expresses so succinctly elsewhere: "The bet-
ter off I am, the worse I feel" ("On melhs m' estai, et eu peihz trai").
65
The
psychological "double bind" of "En cossirer" depends, finally, upon a
series of contradictions whose most radical consequence is the freeing of
language from reference. And the end point of such a detachment is an
interpretative license-as Bernart says, "One can put the wrong inter-
pretation on anything" -that breeds paranoia:
66
Garit m'agra si m'aucizes,
c' adoncs n' agra faih son voler;
mas eu no ere qu' ela fezes
re c'a me tomes a plazer.
Agra n esglai e penedera s' en?
ja no creirai no m' am cubertamen
mas cela s' en vas me per plan essai.
67
She would have cured me if she had killed me, for then she would have
accomplished her will. But I do not believe that she would do anything
that would bring me pleasure. Would she be afraid and would she repent
of it? I shall never believe that she does not secretly love me, but she hides
it from me simply to test me.
The passivity of the poetic personality is the logical outcome of a language
suspended by contradiction. Trapped by its own inability ever to achieve
unpolarized-proper-meaning, the singing voice remains incapable of
knowing, and hence of acting within a universe in which song is the only
form of action and even time is denied:
Lo terns vai e ven e vire
per joms, per mes e per ans,
et eu, las, no n sai que dire,
c' a des es us mos talans.
Ades es us e no s muda,
c'una n volh e n ai volguda
don anc non aic jauzimen.
68
Time comes and goes returning through days, through months, and
through years, and I, alas, know not what to say, for my longing is ever
one. It is ever one and does not change, for I want and have wanted one
woman, from whom I have never had joy.
Just as the order of strophes is irrelevant to the meaning of the canso, the
succession of days, months, and years does nothing to change the poet's
desire, which is coterminous with the regularity of his singing. Without
origin or terminus, the love lyric begins and ends at random points along
a uniform chronological-but only vaguely biographical-scale. Thus,
the scrambling of time among the trobar clus-for example, Bernart Mar-
I
Literature and Lineage 125
ti's "raising today until tomorrow"-finds its analogue in the
homogenization of time on the part of the trobar leu.
If our analysis of the lyric has focused upon the South, it is because the
appearance of Proven<;:al verse roughly coincided with that of the earliest
epics and because it demonstrates so explicitly the contrast between
contemporaneous literary discourses. Such a choice is not intended to
suggest that the problema tics of language and love developed among the
troubadours is geographically limited to the region of Languedoc and
Poitou. On the contrary, practically all of the elements that we have
traced with respect to the canso are also to be found in the chansons of the
trouveres.
69
There is little need, in fact, to belabor the relation of the
southern and northern lyric, which, when posed in general terms, tends
to short-circuit history through poetics, and, when posed in terms of
specific influence, tends to ignore poetics in favor of historical anecdote.
More interesting are the questions of how they differ, of how their
resemblance relates to the epic, and of how such a juxtaposition of
concurrent poetic forms ties in to the broader issues of linguistics, poetics,
and the family.
Where the love lyric of the troubadours and that of the trouveres
resemble each other the least is in the consciousness among the southern
poets of the process of verse-making itself. The explicitness with which
the trobar clus in particular speculates about the relation between lan-
guage and poetry seems lacking in the North. Where they are most
similar, however; is in a common opposition to all that we have associ-
ated with the Old French chanson de geste. Both the "open" and "dosed"
styles, both the troubadours and the trouveres are united in their subver-
sion of the representational, narrative, historical, originary, genealogi-
cal-and essentially aristocratic-discourse of the epic.
The radicalness of the trobar clus lies in a refusal of linguistic property
which also posits the possibility of an alienation of the real property
specific to nobility. Here there is no more telling document than the
debate between Raimbaut d' Aurenga and Girart de Bornelh over the
relative merits of "dosed" and "open" verse:
Giraut, sol que 1 miels appareil
E 1 dig' a des e 1 trag' enan,
Mi non cal sitot non s' espan,
C' anc granz viutaz
Non fon denhtatz;
Per so prez'om mais aur que sal,
E de tot chant es atretal.
Lingnaura, fort de bon conseill
Es fis amans contrarian!
I
/
124 Chapter Three
psychic closure work hand in hand to create a pervasive atmosphere of
entrapment, which Bernart expresses so succinctly elsewhere: "The bet-
ter off I am, the worse I feel" ("On melhs m' estai, et eu peihz trai").
65
The
psychological "double bind" of "En cossirer" depends, finally, upon a
series of contradictions whose most radical consequence is the freeing of
language from reference. And the end point of such a detachment is an
interpretative license-as Bernart says, "One can put the wrong inter-
pretation on anything" -that breeds paranoia:
66
Garit m'agra si m'aucizes,
c' adoncs n' agra faih son voler;
mas eu no ere qu' ela fezes
re c'a me tomes a plazer.
Agra n esglai e penedera s' en?
ja no creirai no m' am cubertamen
mas cela s' en vas me per plan essai.
67
She would have cured me if she had killed me, for then she would have
accomplished her will. But I do not believe that she would do anything
that would bring me pleasure. Would she be afraid and would she repent
of it? I shall never believe that she does not secretly love me, but she hides
it from me simply to test me.
The passivity of the poetic personality is the logical outcome of a language
suspended by contradiction. Trapped by its own inability ever to achieve
unpolarized-proper-meaning, the singing voice remains incapable of
knowing, and hence of acting within a universe in which song is the only
form of action and even time is denied:
Lo terns vai e ven e vire
per joms, per mes e per ans,
et eu, las, no n sai que dire,
c' a des es us mos talans.
Ades es us e no s muda,
c'una n volh e n ai volguda
don anc non aic jauzimen.
68
Time comes and goes returning through days, through months, and
through years, and I, alas, know not what to say, for my longing is ever
one. It is ever one and does not change, for I want and have wanted one
woman, from whom I have never had joy.
Just as the order of strophes is irrelevant to the meaning of the canso, the
succession of days, months, and years does nothing to change the poet's
desire, which is coterminous with the regularity of his singing. Without
origin or terminus, the love lyric begins and ends at random points along
a uniform chronological-but only vaguely biographical-scale. Thus,
the scrambling of time among the trobar clus-for example, Bernart Mar-
I
Literature and Lineage 125
ti's "raising today until tomorrow"-finds its analogue in the
homogenization of time on the part of the trobar leu.
If our analysis of the lyric has focused upon the South, it is because the
appearance of Proven<;:al verse roughly coincided with that of the earliest
epics and because it demonstrates so explicitly the contrast between
contemporaneous literary discourses. Such a choice is not intended to
suggest that the problema tics of language and love developed among the
troubadours is geographically limited to the region of Languedoc and
Poitou. On the contrary, practically all of the elements that we have
traced with respect to the canso are also to be found in the chansons of the
trouveres.
69
There is little need, in fact, to belabor the relation of the
southern and northern lyric, which, when posed in general terms, tends
to short-circuit history through poetics, and, when posed in terms of
specific influence, tends to ignore poetics in favor of historical anecdote.
More interesting are the questions of how they differ, of how their
resemblance relates to the epic, and of how such a juxtaposition of
concurrent poetic forms ties in to the broader issues of linguistics, poetics,
and the family.
Where the love lyric of the troubadours and that of the trouveres
resemble each other the least is in the consciousness among the southern
poets of the process of verse-making itself. The explicitness with which
the trobar clus in particular speculates about the relation between lan-
guage and poetry seems lacking in the North. Where they are most
similar, however; is in a common opposition to all that we have associ-
ated with the Old French chanson de geste. Both the "open" and "dosed"
styles, both the troubadours and the trouveres are united in their subver-
sion of the representational, narrative, historical, originary, genealogi-
cal-and essentially aristocratic-discourse of the epic.
The radicalness of the trobar clus lies in a refusal of linguistic property
which also posits the possibility of an alienation of the real property
specific to nobility. Here there is no more telling document than the
debate between Raimbaut d' Aurenga and Girart de Bornelh over the
relative merits of "dosed" and "open" verse:
Giraut, sol que 1 miels appareil
E 1 dig' a des e 1 trag' enan,
Mi non cal sitot non s' espan,
C' anc granz viutaz
Non fon denhtatz;
Per so prez'om mais aur que sal,
E de tot chant es atretal.
Lingnaura, fort de bon conseill
Es fis amans contrarian!
126 Chapter Three
E pero si m val mais d' affan
Mos sos levatz,
C'us enraumatz
Lo m deissazec e .1 diga mal!
Que no 1 deing ad home sesal.
70
Giraut, only provided that I prepare what's best, express it there and then,
and bring it forth, I'm not concerned if it's not spread far and wide, for a
thing of great cheapness was never a dainty morsel; that's why one prizes
gold more than salt, and with any song it's just the same.
Lignaura, of right good advice is the argumentative noble lover! And yet if
my piping tune costs me any more effort, then let some croaker garble and
sing it badly! for I deem it not fit for a man of property.
In this tenso dominated by the parallel closed economies of price and
poetic expression, Girart uses the word "sesal" to designate property.
Moreover, he grasps the bivalent significance of such a term and the
consequences of its transgression. The interruption of meaning through
"garbling" and the interruption of real property (and, by extension, of
lineage) are equated. As Girart affirms, the difficult lyric associated else-
where with bastardy and disinheritance is, in its disruptive disregard for
linguistic property, ill-suited for men of noble birth.
We will have occasion later to return to the relationship in this period
between real property and the advent of an economy of exchange (see
below, pp. 161-170). Let it suffice for the present merely to signal the
close connection between the nominalizing lyric based upon a never-
ending series of metaphoric substitutions and the type of conversion
implicit to money, or metaphoric property. The word translatio, as M.
Shell has pointed out, can be applied both linguistically to the act of
translation or economically to that of exchange.
71
Geoffrey of Vinsauf
sums up the metaphoric potential of words by the term convertibilitas,
their potential for semantic conversion. And Albert of Monte Cassino, in
a passage already quoted in part (see above, p. 119), adds to the reso-
nances of dislocation and innovation attached to metaphor those of price
and sale:
Suum autem est metaphorae modum locutionis a proprietate sui quasi de-
torquere, detorquando quadammodo innovare, innovando quasi nuptiali
amictu tegere, tegendo quasi praecio dignitatis vendere.
72
However, it is the function of metaphor to twist, so to speak, its mode of
speech from its property; by twisting, to make some innovation; by in-
novating, to clothe, as it were, in nuptial garb; and by clothing, to sell,
apparently, at a decent price.
There can be little doubt that the love lyric, "the making of words full of
breaks," represents a disjunction of the linguistic property that we have
associated both with the epic and with early medieval grammar. Nor can
Literature and Lineage 127
such disengagement of words from their conventional and proper
meamng be separated from the disruption that the reintroduction of
money within the circuit of human affairs represented for the great
lineages, the "men of property," of twelfth-century France. The social,
economic, linguistic, philosophical, and theological dimensions of that
disruption, which thus far we have read only through poetry, constitute
the subject of the chapters which follow.
126 Chapter Three
E pero si m val mais d' affan
Mos sos levatz,
C'us enraumatz
Lo m deissazec e .1 diga mal!
Que no 1 deing ad home sesal.
70
Giraut, only provided that I prepare what's best, express it there and then,
and bring it forth, I'm not concerned if it's not spread far and wide, for a
thing of great cheapness was never a dainty morsel; that's why one prizes
gold more than salt, and with any song it's just the same.
Lignaura, of right good advice is the argumentative noble lover! And yet if
my piping tune costs me any more effort, then let some croaker garble and
sing it badly! for I deem it not fit for a man of property.
In this tenso dominated by the parallel closed economies of price and
poetic expression, Girart uses the word "sesal" to designate property.
Moreover, he grasps the bivalent significance of such a term and the
consequences of its transgression. The interruption of meaning through
"garbling" and the interruption of real property (and, by extension, of
lineage) are equated. As Girart affirms, the difficult lyric associated else-
where with bastardy and disinheritance is, in its disruptive disregard for
linguistic property, ill-suited for men of noble birth.
We will have occasion later to return to the relationship in this period
between real property and the advent of an economy of exchange (see
below, pp. 161-170). Let it suffice for the present merely to signal the
close connection between the nominalizing lyric based upon a never-
ending series of metaphoric substitutions and the type of conversion
implicit to money, or metaphoric property. The word translatio, as M.
Shell has pointed out, can be applied both linguistically to the act of
translation or economically to that of exchange.
71
Geoffrey of Vinsauf
sums up the metaphoric potential of words by the term convertibilitas,
their potential for semantic conversion. And Albert of Monte Cassino, in
a passage already quoted in part (see above, p. 119), adds to the reso-
nances of dislocation and innovation attached to metaphor those of price
and sale:
Suum autem est metaphorae modum locutionis a proprietate sui quasi de-
torquere, detorquando quadammodo innovare, innovando quasi nuptiali
amictu tegere, tegendo quasi praecio dignitatis vendere.
72
However, it is the function of metaphor to twist, so to speak, its mode of
speech from its property; by twisting, to make some innovation; by in-
novating, to clothe, as it were, in nuptial garb; and by clothing, to sell,
apparently, at a decent price.
There can be little doubt that the love lyric, "the making of words full of
breaks," represents a disjunction of the linguistic property that we have
associated both with the epic and with early medieval grammar. Nor can
Literature and Lineage 127
such disengagement of words from their conventional and proper
meamng be separated from the disruption that the reintroduction of
money within the circuit of human affairs represented for the great
lineages, the "men of property," of twelfth-century France. The social,
economic, linguistic, philosophical, and theological dimensions of that
disruption, which thus far we have read only through poetry, constitute
the subject of the chapters which follow.
FOUR
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire
In the preceding chapter we explored some of the ways in which the
Proven<;:allove lyric can be said to stand in opposition to the discourse of
the Old French epic and thus the ways in which it seems to undermine an
essentially agnatic and aristocratic family model. The trobar clus creates a
breach in the continuity of lineage through a break in the continuity of
language, a severance with both economic and linguistic property. The
trobar leu achieves a similar subversive effect through the creation of a
static, taxonomic theater of the self which prescribes oscillation between
conflicting states, but which at the same time precludes action, denies
time, renders futile narration and history, and implicitly obstructs a
continuous genealogical progression. If the trobar clus fornicates with
words, extending their semantic range to the point of illegitimacy, the
trobar leu provokes an incestuous relativizing of meaning through the
closure of language upon itself. Both undercut in different ways the
128
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 129
patrilineal discourse of the noble geste-the family and the songs that are
sung about it.
And yet, there is another sense in which the subversiveness of the lyric
is even more compelling. We spoke earlier of a biopolitics oflineage based
upon the close surveillance of family marriage policy (see above pp.
70-75). The question of who may marry whom is, at bottom, that of the
future of the paternal fief, of lineal proprietas and the propriety of lineage.
This is why anything resembling the notion of romantic love-of desire
belonging exclusively to an individual-represented such a threat. The
prospect of individuals loving freely implies the possibility of their mar-
rying freely; and this eventuality entails a concept of marriage in which
the future of great family fortunes is increasingly removed from direct
family control. Desire, hypostatized, constitutes a menace to the aristo-
cratic houses of feudal France; and the canso/chanson is the genre of pure
desire.
To present fully the crucial question of the relative importance of nature
versus culture in the determination of social status would be to risk an
unnecessary detour in our discussion; all the more so since this subject
has been masterfully summarized by E. Kohler.
1
Let us pass, then, to the
poets and "theoreticians" of courtly love for whom the socially disruptive
effects of sexual desire are directly linked to the destruction of genealogy.
It is here that the notion of autonomous desire is linked to an implied
equalization of social difference, and hence, where desire might lead to
marriage, to the disruption of lineage. Andreas Capellanus, for example,
senses, even revels in, this threat in the De Amore, which takes as its basic
premise the equality of all who serve in "Love's army":
Nam quum omnes homines uno sumus ab initio stipite derivati unamque
secundum naturam originem traximus omnes, non forma, non corporis cul-
tus, non etiam opulentia rerum, sed sola fuit morum probitas, quae primi-
rus nobilitate distinxit homines ac generis induxit differentiam.
Cognosco igitur manifeste, quod amor non consuevit homines discretionis
stilo discernere, sed omnes pariter angit in suo, id est, amoris exercitu mili-
tare, non excipiens formam, non genus, neque sexum, neque sanguinis in-
aequalitatem distinguens, sed hoc solum discernens, an aliquis sit aptus ad
amoris arma ferenda.
2
For since all of us human beings are derived originally from the same stock
and all naturally claim the same ancestor, it was not beauty or care of the
body or even abundance of possessions, but excellence of character alone
which made a distinction of nobility among men and led to differences of
class.
Therefore I am confident that love is not in the habit of differentiating men
with titles of distinction, but he obligates all equally to serve in his army,
FOUR
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire
In the preceding chapter we explored some of the ways in which the
Proven<;:allove lyric can be said to stand in opposition to the discourse of
the Old French epic and thus the ways in which it seems to undermine an
essentially agnatic and aristocratic family model. The trobar clus creates a
breach in the continuity of lineage through a break in the continuity of
language, a severance with both economic and linguistic property. The
trobar leu achieves a similar subversive effect through the creation of a
static, taxonomic theater of the self which prescribes oscillation between
conflicting states, but which at the same time precludes action, denies
time, renders futile narration and history, and implicitly obstructs a
continuous genealogical progression. If the trobar clus fornicates with
words, extending their semantic range to the point of illegitimacy, the
trobar leu provokes an incestuous relativizing of meaning through the
closure of language upon itself. Both undercut in different ways the
128
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 129
patrilineal discourse of the noble geste-the family and the songs that are
sung about it.
And yet, there is another sense in which the subversiveness of the lyric
is even more compelling. We spoke earlier of a biopolitics oflineage based
upon the close surveillance of family marriage policy (see above pp.
70-75). The question of who may marry whom is, at bottom, that of the
future of the paternal fief, of lineal proprietas and the propriety of lineage.
This is why anything resembling the notion of romantic love-of desire
belonging exclusively to an individual-represented such a threat. The
prospect of individuals loving freely implies the possibility of their mar-
rying freely; and this eventuality entails a concept of marriage in which
the future of great family fortunes is increasingly removed from direct
family control. Desire, hypostatized, constitutes a menace to the aristo-
cratic houses of feudal France; and the canso/chanson is the genre of pure
desire.
To present fully the crucial question of the relative importance of nature
versus culture in the determination of social status would be to risk an
unnecessary detour in our discussion; all the more so since this subject
has been masterfully summarized by E. Kohler.
1
Let us pass, then, to the
poets and "theoreticians" of courtly love for whom the socially disruptive
effects of sexual desire are directly linked to the destruction of genealogy.
It is here that the notion of autonomous desire is linked to an implied
equalization of social difference, and hence, where desire might lead to
marriage, to the disruption of lineage. Andreas Capellanus, for example,
senses, even revels in, this threat in the De Amore, which takes as its basic
premise the equality of all who serve in "Love's army":
Nam quum omnes homines uno sumus ab initio stipite derivati unamque
secundum naturam originem traximus omnes, non forma, non corporis cul-
tus, non etiam opulentia rerum, sed sola fuit morum probitas, quae primi-
rus nobilitate distinxit homines ac generis induxit differentiam.
Cognosco igitur manifeste, quod amor non consuevit homines discretionis
stilo discernere, sed omnes pariter angit in suo, id est, amoris exercitu mili-
tare, non excipiens formam, non genus, neque sexum, neque sanguinis in-
aequalitatem distinguens, sed hoc solum discernens, an aliquis sit aptus ad
amoris arma ferenda.
2
For since all of us human beings are derived originally from the same stock
and all naturally claim the same ancestor, it was not beauty or care of the
body or even abundance of possessions, but excellence of character alone
which made a distinction of nobility among men and led to differences of
class.
Therefore I am confident that love is not in the habit of differentiating men
with titles of distinction, but he obligates all equally to serve in his army,
130 Chapter Four
making no exceptions for beauty or birth and making no distinctions of sex
or of inequality of family, but considering only this, whether a person is fit
to bear the arms of love.
The second of the two above examples occurs within the rhetorical
context of a middle-class man's attempt to seduce a woman of the nobil-
ity. Nonetheless, even the possibility of such a seduction serves to sub-
vert what for the early Middle Ages was conceived as a natural histori-
cal-and genealogical-model. It suggests, in fact, an inversion of the
Eusebius-Jerome conception of world history such that the original unity
of mankind becomes an argument in favor of sexual equality as opposed
to the fixity of rank. Whether or not he actually believed it, Andreas here
articulates the superiority of an acquirable nobility of soul-spiritual
nobility-over nobility of birth. I say "articulates" because the issue of the
authorship of the De Amore is far from resolved. But the question of the
person to whom the "he" actually refers is less significant than the fact
that the De Amore is dominated by the question of the appropriateness of
love between those of different classes (cf. the dialogues between men
and women of nobility, high nobility, and middle class).
3
And the deci-
sions of the supposed Court of Love turn more often than not around the
disputed claims of those who, because of the equality that love allows,
become capable of desiring the same thing.
Among the lyric poets, love is no less a leveler of the human condition.
Bernart de Ventadorn observes that love "makes poor and rich of the
same rank." And he claims to have personal experience in that domain:
"Beautiful and graceful, she made me into a rich man from nothing."
4
Conon de Bethune takes up the same problem in a debate between a
younger, lesser knight and an older and nobler woman, who has refused
his love in the past but who now seeks it. To the belated attempt at
seduction, based upon riches and race, the uninterested lover replies:
"On n'aime pas dame por parent, I Mais cant ele est bele et cortoise et
sage. Vos en savres par tens la verite!"
5
This consciousness of the equaliz-
ing effects of love is expressed at its most extreme as an inversion of social
status and the ability to love. The troubadour Guilhem de Montanhagol,
for example, asks his lady to love not because of his exalted rank but
because of his low condition, "for the poorer one is, the more worthy."
6
The famous partimen between Girart de Bornelh and Alphonse II even
seems to imply that the powerful are incapable of fin' amors:
Senher, molt pren gran mal domneis,
Can pert Ia cud' e I bon esper;
Que trop val enan del jazer
L'afars del fin entendedor,
Mas vos, ric, car etz plus maior,
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 131
Demandatz lo jazer primer
E domn' a I cor sobreleuger
Cama celui que noi enten.'
Lord, the service ?f ladies suffers a gr.eat wrong whenever it loses patience
and good hope; smce before the nuptials are concluded noble suitors of
great worth request, as they are powerful, their pleasure first; and the lady
who loves he who does not woo her has a frivolous heart.
Girart' s affirmation, which poses the interesting issue of the relation
between deferral of sexual gratification and social status, also attests to
the fact that, within the increasingly differentiated levels of aristocracy
(and even within the middle class), love offers at least the illusion of a
meritocracy. As the rhetorician Mathew of Vendome, citing Claudianus,
notes, "we are distinguished by virtue, not blood; and nobility of soul is
the only virtue. "
8
Rhetoric and Desire
This leads to the question of the relation between rhetoric and desire.
We have seen that where desire is adulterous it tends to falsify geneal-
ogy-to obscure true paternity-just as "difficult" language tends to hide
meaning (as well as to incite desire). More important, the desire of those
who are as yet unmarried opens almost infinite possibilities of recombina-
tion, of (mis)match. It represents an even greater threat to the aristocratic
family through the abrogation by a desiring individual of the choice that
once belonged to-and assured the integrity of-lineage. Thus romantic
love as it was invented in the twelfth century introduces a potential
obliqueness of family line that remains intimately tied to the process of
linguistic deflection. Rhetoric, which by this period had shed its original
epideictic function and had come to embrace the art of poetry, consti-
tutes, in fact, the map of such potential digressions.
The connection between desire and figurative language is nowhere
more apparent than in the Leys D'Amors, a manual of rhetoric and love.
Here the doubly ambivalent status of the poetic figure and of illusory
descent-Alexander of Villedieu's "semicircle imposed upon a diagonal
line" (seep. 119) and John of Salisbury's "wandering from the straight
grammatical path" (seep. 52)-is presented through a highly ambiguous
genealogy occasioned by a series of mock-epic wars between the three
kings of linguistic vice (Barbarism, Solecism, and Allebolus) and the three
queens of rectitude (Diction, Oration, and Sentence). After much
fighting, hostilities are finally ended by Lady Rhetoric who arranges
marriages between the three kings and the sisters of the three queens:
En tan que Barbarismes hac per molher Na Methaplasmus sor de Na
Dictio.
130 Chapter Four
making no exceptions for beauty or birth and making no distinctions of sex
or of inequality of family, but considering only this, whether a person is fit
to bear the arms of love.
The second of the two above examples occurs within the rhetorical
context of a middle-class man's attempt to seduce a woman of the nobil-
ity. Nonetheless, even the possibility of such a seduction serves to sub-
vert what for the early Middle Ages was conceived as a natural histori-
cal-and genealogical-model. It suggests, in fact, an inversion of the
Eusebius-Jerome conception of world history such that the original unity
of mankind becomes an argument in favor of sexual equality as opposed
to the fixity of rank. Whether or not he actually believed it, Andreas here
articulates the superiority of an acquirable nobility of soul-spiritual
nobility-over nobility of birth. I say "articulates" because the issue of the
authorship of the De Amore is far from resolved. But the question of the
person to whom the "he" actually refers is less significant than the fact
that the De Amore is dominated by the question of the appropriateness of
love between those of different classes (cf. the dialogues between men
and women of nobility, high nobility, and middle class).
3
And the deci-
sions of the supposed Court of Love turn more often than not around the
disputed claims of those who, because of the equality that love allows,
become capable of desiring the same thing.
Among the lyric poets, love is no less a leveler of the human condition.
Bernart de Ventadorn observes that love "makes poor and rich of the
same rank." And he claims to have personal experience in that domain:
"Beautiful and graceful, she made me into a rich man from nothing."
4
Conon de Bethune takes up the same problem in a debate between a
younger, lesser knight and an older and nobler woman, who has refused
his love in the past but who now seeks it. To the belated attempt at
seduction, based upon riches and race, the uninterested lover replies:
"On n'aime pas dame por parent, I Mais cant ele est bele et cortoise et
sage. Vos en savres par tens la verite!"
5
This consciousness of the equaliz-
ing effects of love is expressed at its most extreme as an inversion of social
status and the ability to love. The troubadour Guilhem de Montanhagol,
for example, asks his lady to love not because of his exalted rank but
because of his low condition, "for the poorer one is, the more worthy."
6
The famous partimen between Girart de Bornelh and Alphonse II even
seems to imply that the powerful are incapable of fin' amors:
Senher, molt pren gran mal domneis,
Can pert Ia cud' e I bon esper;
Que trop val enan del jazer
L'afars del fin entendedor,
Mas vos, ric, car etz plus maior,
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 131
Demandatz lo jazer primer
E domn' a I cor sobreleuger
Cama celui que noi enten.'
Lord, the service ?f ladies suffers a gr.eat wrong whenever it loses patience
and good hope; smce before the nuptials are concluded noble suitors of
great worth request, as they are powerful, their pleasure first; and the lady
who loves he who does not woo her has a frivolous heart.
Girart' s affirmation, which poses the interesting issue of the relation
between deferral of sexual gratification and social status, also attests to
the fact that, within the increasingly differentiated levels of aristocracy
(and even within the middle class), love offers at least the illusion of a
meritocracy. As the rhetorician Mathew of Vendome, citing Claudianus,
notes, "we are distinguished by virtue, not blood; and nobility of soul is
the only virtue. "
8
Rhetoric and Desire
This leads to the question of the relation between rhetoric and desire.
We have seen that where desire is adulterous it tends to falsify geneal-
ogy-to obscure true paternity-just as "difficult" language tends to hide
meaning (as well as to incite desire). More important, the desire of those
who are as yet unmarried opens almost infinite possibilities of recombina-
tion, of (mis)match. It represents an even greater threat to the aristocratic
family through the abrogation by a desiring individual of the choice that
once belonged to-and assured the integrity of-lineage. Thus romantic
love as it was invented in the twelfth century introduces a potential
obliqueness of family line that remains intimately tied to the process of
linguistic deflection. Rhetoric, which by this period had shed its original
epideictic function and had come to embrace the art of poetry, consti-
tutes, in fact, the map of such potential digressions.
The connection between desire and figurative language is nowhere
more apparent than in the Leys D'Amors, a manual of rhetoric and love.
Here the doubly ambivalent status of the poetic figure and of illusory
descent-Alexander of Villedieu's "semicircle imposed upon a diagonal
line" (seep. 119) and John of Salisbury's "wandering from the straight
grammatical path" (seep. 52)-is presented through a highly ambiguous
genealogy occasioned by a series of mock-epic wars between the three
kings of linguistic vice (Barbarism, Solecism, and Allebolus) and the three
queens of rectitude (Diction, Oration, and Sentence). After much
fighting, hostilities are finally ended by Lady Rhetoric who arranges
marriages between the three kings and the sisters of the three queens:
En tan que Barbarismes hac per molher Na Methaplasmus sor de Na
Dictio.
132 Chapter Four
E Soloecismes hac per molher Na Scema estiers dicha Alleotheca, sor de na
Oratio.
Et Aile bolus hac per molher Na Tropus, sor de Na Sentensa.
9
Barbarism marries Metaplasm, sister of Diction.
Solecism takes as a wife Schematismus, otherwise known as Alleotheca,
sister of Oration.
Allebolus weds Trope, sister of Sentence.
From the offspring of the three couples begins the genesis of the entire
range of rhetorical figures, that is, "Barbarism had with his wife Meta-
plasmus fourteen daughters: Prothesis, Epitimesis, Paragoge, Augerese
(?), Syncope, Apocope, Extasis, Systole, etc .... Solecism had with his
wife Schematismus twenty-two daughters: Prolepsis, Zeugma,
Hypozeuxis, Syllepsis, Anadiplosis, Anaphora, Epizeuxis, Paronomasia,
etc .... Allebolus had with his wife Trope thirteen daughters: Metaphor,
Catachresis, Metalepsis, Metonymy, Autonomasia, Epithet, Synec-
doche, Onomatopoeia, Periphrasis, Hyperbaton, Hyperbole, Allegory,
Omozeuxis. "
10
Nor does the tedious, cacophonous genealogy end there, but stretches
instead across several generations. "Three of these daughters," we are
told, "married": "Hyperbole married Trouble [?] and they had five
daughters: Hysterologia, Anastrophe, Parenthesis .... Allegory wed
Alexis, which means 'foreign language,' and they had seven daughters:
Irony, Antiphrasis, Enigma, Sarcasm .... Omozeuxis married Clarity
from whom came three daughters: Icon [Image], Parable, and Paradigm.
And since Aile bolus was always on good terms with his wife Trope ... ,
Lady Rhetoric blessed some of their daughters and grand-daughters with
the flowers [of rhetoric] of diverse colors gathered in her garden."
11
What is striking about the above passage is not only the dissonance of
the rhetorical catalogue but the fact that the lineage of rhetoric, in
defiance of all genetic probability, consists entirely of females. In what
must have seemed a nightmare for the aristocratic family of the High
Middle Ages-the production of nothing but daughters, the descendance
of the flowers of rhetoric poses the specter of a massive interruption of
primogenital sequence. Just as the figure of speech disrupts "normal and
proper usage," to invoke once again John of Salisbury's phrase, the reign
of daughters disrupts the normal devolution of family property. Put
another way, the lack of a male heir forces a transfer of the paternal
holding by affiliation as opposed to filiation and thus serves to destabilize
that which was heretofore considered to be sacred, inalienable, and
immobile (see above, pp. 73-75). At the same time, the use of poetic
figure works to detach language from fixed meaning, its fixation in the
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 133
proper, and thus to mobilize-through the very kind of alliances con-
tained in the Leys D' Amors-its playful potential.
12
Poetry and Perversion: Alain de Lille
No one is more aware of the close connection between adultery, false
genealogy, and poetry than Alain de Lille, whose De Planctu Naturae
reads like a virtual casebook of all that has concerned us up until now.
13
Alain thus associates the "lawful path of sure descent" with Nature, who
in turn delegates the task of assuring genealogical continuity. "I stationed
Nature confesses, "so that she ... might weave together the
lme of the human race in unwearied continuation, to the end that it
should not suffer violent sundering at the hands of the Fates."
14
Venus's
J?ath "the straight way," and the means of achieving her ends bespeaks
hneanty. Nature has endowed her handmaiden with two instruments of
rectitude-orthography, or straight writing, and or1:bQ_Qox coition, or
straight sexuality:
etiam nobiles officinas ejusdem artificio deputavi, praecipiens ut
malleos adaptando rerum effigiationi fideliter indulgeret,
ne .a? mcu?Ibus aliqua exorbitatione peregrinari permitteret. Ad
etiam calamum praepotentem eisdem fueram elargita,
ut m competenhbus schedulis ejusdem calami scripturam poscentibus,
quarum meae largitionis beneficia fuerat compotita juxta meae ortho-
genera figuraret, ne a propriae descriptionis
sem1ta m fals1graph1ae dev1a eundem devagari minime sustineret. Sed cum
ipsa genialis concubitus regula, ordinatis complexionibus, res diversorum
sexuum oppositione dissimiles ad exequendam rerum propaginem connec-
tere teneretur .... [De Planctu, p. 475]
Also, I appointed for her work anvils, noble instruments, with a command
that she would apply these same hammers to them, and faithfully give her-
self up to the forming of things, not permitting the hammers to become
strangers to the anvils. For the office of writing I provided her with an
especially potent reed-pen, in order that, on suitable leaves that desire the
writing of the pen and that she had taken possession of thanks to my
generosity, she might, according to the rules of my orthography, trace the
nature of things, and might not suffer the pen to stray at all in the track-
diversion of style away from the path of proper description. But
smce for the production of progeny the rule of marital coition, with its law-
ful embraces, was to connect things unlike in their opposition of sexes. . . .
Licit intercourse thus preserves the continuity of lineage and is indisso-
ciable from correct writing, or grammar, which excludes diversion from
"the path of proper description," that is to say, the proper. Nouns and
adjectives copulate according to the rules of heterosexual combination;
15
and people conjugate according to the precepts of regular construction:
Praeter hoc adjunxi, ne Dyonea conjunctio in transitivae constructionis
habitum uniformem, vel informem, vel reciprocationis circulum, vel retran-
132 Chapter Four
E Soloecismes hac per molher Na Scema estiers dicha Alleotheca, sor de na
Oratio.
Et Aile bolus hac per molher Na Tropus, sor de Na Sentensa.
9
Barbarism marries Metaplasm, sister of Diction.
Solecism takes as a wife Schematismus, otherwise known as Alleotheca,
sister of Oration.
Allebolus weds Trope, sister of Sentence.
From the offspring of the three couples begins the genesis of the entire
range of rhetorical figures, that is, "Barbarism had with his wife Meta-
plasmus fourteen daughters: Prothesis, Epitimesis, Paragoge, Augerese
(?), Syncope, Apocope, Extasis, Systole, etc .... Solecism had with his
wife Schematismus twenty-two daughters: Prolepsis, Zeugma,
Hypozeuxis, Syllepsis, Anadiplosis, Anaphora, Epizeuxis, Paronomasia,
etc .... Allebolus had with his wife Trope thirteen daughters: Metaphor,
Catachresis, Metalepsis, Metonymy, Autonomasia, Epithet, Synec-
doche, Onomatopoeia, Periphrasis, Hyperbaton, Hyperbole, Allegory,
Omozeuxis. "
10
Nor does the tedious, cacophonous genealogy end there, but stretches
instead across several generations. "Three of these daughters," we are
told, "married": "Hyperbole married Trouble [?] and they had five
daughters: Hysterologia, Anastrophe, Parenthesis .... Allegory wed
Alexis, which means 'foreign language,' and they had seven daughters:
Irony, Antiphrasis, Enigma, Sarcasm .... Omozeuxis married Clarity
from whom came three daughters: Icon [Image], Parable, and Paradigm.
And since Aile bolus was always on good terms with his wife Trope ... ,
Lady Rhetoric blessed some of their daughters and grand-daughters with
the flowers [of rhetoric] of diverse colors gathered in her garden."
11
What is striking about the above passage is not only the dissonance of
the rhetorical catalogue but the fact that the lineage of rhetoric, in
defiance of all genetic probability, consists entirely of females. In what
must have seemed a nightmare for the aristocratic family of the High
Middle Ages-the production of nothing but daughters, the descendance
of the flowers of rhetoric poses the specter of a massive interruption of
primogenital sequence. Just as the figure of speech disrupts "normal and
proper usage," to invoke once again John of Salisbury's phrase, the reign
of daughters disrupts the normal devolution of family property. Put
another way, the lack of a male heir forces a transfer of the paternal
holding by affiliation as opposed to filiation and thus serves to destabilize
that which was heretofore considered to be sacred, inalienable, and
immobile (see above, pp. 73-75). At the same time, the use of poetic
figure works to detach language from fixed meaning, its fixation in the
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 133
proper, and thus to mobilize-through the very kind of alliances con-
tained in the Leys D' Amors-its playful potential.
12
Poetry and Perversion: Alain de Lille
No one is more aware of the close connection between adultery, false
genealogy, and poetry than Alain de Lille, whose De Planctu Naturae
reads like a virtual casebook of all that has concerned us up until now.
13
Alain thus associates the "lawful path of sure descent" with Nature, who
in turn delegates the task of assuring genealogical continuity. "I stationed
Nature confesses, "so that she ... might weave together the
lme of the human race in unwearied continuation, to the end that it
should not suffer violent sundering at the hands of the Fates."
14
Venus's
J?ath "the straight way," and the means of achieving her ends bespeaks
hneanty. Nature has endowed her handmaiden with two instruments of
rectitude-orthography, or straight writing, and or1:bQ_Qox coition, or
straight sexuality:
etiam nobiles officinas ejusdem artificio deputavi, praecipiens ut
malleos adaptando rerum effigiationi fideliter indulgeret,
ne .a? mcu?Ibus aliqua exorbitatione peregrinari permitteret. Ad
etiam calamum praepotentem eisdem fueram elargita,
ut m competenhbus schedulis ejusdem calami scripturam poscentibus,
quarum meae largitionis beneficia fuerat compotita juxta meae ortho-
genera figuraret, ne a propriae descriptionis
sem1ta m fals1graph1ae dev1a eundem devagari minime sustineret. Sed cum
ipsa genialis concubitus regula, ordinatis complexionibus, res diversorum
sexuum oppositione dissimiles ad exequendam rerum propaginem connec-
tere teneretur .... [De Planctu, p. 475]
Also, I appointed for her work anvils, noble instruments, with a command
that she would apply these same hammers to them, and faithfully give her-
self up to the forming of things, not permitting the hammers to become
strangers to the anvils. For the office of writing I provided her with an
especially potent reed-pen, in order that, on suitable leaves that desire the
writing of the pen and that she had taken possession of thanks to my
generosity, she might, according to the rules of my orthography, trace the
nature of things, and might not suffer the pen to stray at all in the track-
diversion of style away from the path of proper description. But
smce for the production of progeny the rule of marital coition, with its law-
ful embraces, was to connect things unlike in their opposition of sexes. . . .
Licit intercourse thus preserves the continuity of lineage and is indisso-
ciable from correct writing, or grammar, which excludes diversion from
"the path of proper description," that is to say, the proper. Nouns and
adjectives copulate according to the rules of heterosexual combination;
15
and people conjugate according to the precepts of regular construction:
Praeter hoc adjunxi, ne Dyonea conjunctio in transitivae constructionis
habitum uniformem, vel informem, vel reciprocationis circulum, vel retran-
134 Chapter Four
sitionis anfractum reciperet, solius transitionis recta directione
contenta .... [De Planctu, p. 477]
Besides this, I added that the Dionean conjugation should not admit into
its uniform use of transitive construction either a defective use, or the cir-
cuity of reflexiveness, or the crookedness of double conjugation since it is
content with the direct course of single conjugation ....
Alain's veiled references to masturbation, "the circuity of reflexiveness,"
and to adultery, "double conjugation," raise the combined possibility of
linguistic deviation and sexual derogation. He mythologizes, in fact, the
former in terms of the latter. ParVenus, bored with licit intercourse with
her husband Hymen (marriage), seduces Antigamus (Antimarriage) and
conceives Jocus, or Mirth.
16
In this way the satirist envisages two types of
language coterminous with two principles of descent. The first is natural
and correct, since Nature, Hymen's brother, is the guardian of grammar,
the proper, and the paternal; the second, in contrast, transgresses the
rule of natural genealogy and of grammatical rectitude. It poses the
possibility of a discourse divorced from property, and, as its name sug-
gests, inscribed in the illegitimacy of play. According to Alain, then,
adultery is both a sexual and a linguistic act: Venus, "destroying herself in
grammaticarCOn5trud1ons;-and-pe1Verting herself in dialectical conver-
sion, changes her art by the gaudy ornament of rhetoric into artifice, and
her artifice into viciousness."
17
Grammatical deflection and marital derogation are further subsumed
in the principle of sexual deviation. And if adultery or fornication with
words represents both a genetic and a verbal illegitimacy, it remains the
least serious of sexual and linguistic transgressions. All rhetoric is, for
Alain, the equivalent of deviance: --------
Sicut autem quasdam grammaticae dialecticaeque observantias inimicantis-
simae hostilitatis incursus volui a Veneris anathematizare gymnasiis; sic
metonymicas rhetorum positiones, quas in suae amplitudinis gremio rhe-
torica mater amplectens, multis suas orationes afflat honoribus, Cypridis
artificiis interdixi, ne si nimis durae translationis excursu, a suo reclamante
subjecto, praedicamentum alienet in aliud, in acinus facetia, in rusticitatem
urbanitas, tropus in vitium, in decolorationem color nimis convertatur. [De
Planctu, p. 478]
Furthermore, just as it has been my purpose to attack with bitter hostility
certain practices of grammar and logic, and exclude them from the schools
of Venus, so I have forbidden to the arts of Cypris those metonymic pos-
tures of rhetoricians which Mother Rhetoric embraces in her wide bosom,
thereby gracing her speeches with many fine touches; for I feared lest if, in
the pursuit of too strained a metaphor, she should change the predicate
from its protesting subject into something wholly foreign, cleverness would
be too far converted into a blemish, refinement into grossness, a trope into
a fault, ornament into a show.
I
I
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 135
Grammatical and sexual prohibitions work hand in hand to prevent the
use of "too strained a metaphor," which is the equivalent of verbal and
moral vice. Viciousness, which, it will be recalled, is also a rhetorical
concept designating incorrect usage (barbarism and solecism), carries the
bivalent resonance of a confusion of active and passive functions-a
"retaining under the letters of the passive the nature of the active," that
is, "an assumption of the law of the deponent"-and a confusion of
genders. The homosexual, for example, is thus "both predicate and
subject, he becomes likewise of two declensions, he pushes the laws of
grammar too far. He barbarously denies that he is a man. Art does not
please him, but rather artifice; even that artificiality cannot be called
metaphor; rather it sinks into vice."
18
The association of sophistry-
linguistic artifice, excessive ornament, show-and sodomy lies at the core
of Alain's own tricky (because satirical) thought; and it leads syllogisti-
cally to the identification of poetry with perversion. Those who "push the
laws of grammar too far" and defy Nature's rule of straightness find
themselves, as in Dante's placement of Brunetto Latini, among the
sodomiteS.
19
The poet belongs to the line of Jocus, those who embrace-
through simulacrum instead of rectitude-the art of gai saber.
Even here, however, it seems that Alain is more perturbed by the
notion of irregularity than by any specific linguistic or sexual derogation:
Eorum siquidem hominum qui Veneris profitentur grammaticam, alii
solummodo masculinum, alii femininum, alii commune, sive genus promis-
Ct_IUm, amplexantur. vero, quasi heterocliti genere, per
htemem m femmmo, per aestatem m masculino genere, irregulariter decli-
nantur. Sunt qui, in Veneris logica disputantes, in conclusionibus suis sub-
praedicationisque legem relatione mutua sortiuntur. Sunt qui
vtcem gerentes suppositi, praedicari non norunt. Sunt qui solummodo
praedicantes, subjecti termini subjectionem legitimam non attendunt. Alii
etiam Diones regiam ingredi dedignantes, sub ejusdem vestibulo ludum
lacrimabilem commentantur. [De Planctu, p. 463]
Of such of _these men as profess the of love, some embrace only
the masculme gender, some the femmme, others the common or indiscrim-
inate. Indeed, _some: as if of gender, are declined irregularly,
through the wmter m the femmme, through the summer in the masculine.
Some, in the pursuit of the logic of love, establish in their conclusions the
law of the subject and the predicate in proper relation. Some who have the
of the subject have not learned how to form a predicate. Some only
predtcate and do not await the proper addition of the subject's end.
Others, scorning to enter into the court of Dione, devise a miserable sport
below its vestibule.
As in our analysis of the Leys D'Amors, it is, ultimately, the mobility of
poetic language and of sexual identity ("the heteroclite gender") that
represents for Nature the most potent threat to the
134 Chapter Four
sitionis anfractum reciperet, solius transitionis recta directione
contenta .... [De Planctu, p. 477]
Besides this, I added that the Dionean conjugation should not admit into
its uniform use of transitive construction either a defective use, or the cir-
cuity of reflexiveness, or the crookedness of double conjugation since it is
content with the direct course of single conjugation ....
Alain's veiled references to masturbation, "the circuity of reflexiveness,"
and to adultery, "double conjugation," raise the combined possibility of
linguistic deviation and sexual derogation. He mythologizes, in fact, the
former in terms of the latter. ParVenus, bored with licit intercourse with
her husband Hymen (marriage), seduces Antigamus (Antimarriage) and
conceives Jocus, or Mirth.
16
In this way the satirist envisages two types of
language coterminous with two principles of descent. The first is natural
and correct, since Nature, Hymen's brother, is the guardian of grammar,
the proper, and the paternal; the second, in contrast, transgresses the
rule of natural genealogy and of grammatical rectitude. It poses the
possibility of a discourse divorced from property, and, as its name sug-
gests, inscribed in the illegitimacy of play. According to Alain, then,
adultery is both a sexual and a linguistic act: Venus, "destroying herself in
grammaticarCOn5trud1ons;-and-pe1Verting herself in dialectical conver-
sion, changes her art by the gaudy ornament of rhetoric into artifice, and
her artifice into viciousness."
17
Grammatical deflection and marital derogation are further subsumed
in the principle of sexual deviation. And if adultery or fornication with
words represents both a genetic and a verbal illegitimacy, it remains the
least serious of sexual and linguistic transgressions. All rhetoric is, for
Alain, the equivalent of deviance: --------
Sicut autem quasdam grammaticae dialecticaeque observantias inimicantis-
simae hostilitatis incursus volui a Veneris anathematizare gymnasiis; sic
metonymicas rhetorum positiones, quas in suae amplitudinis gremio rhe-
torica mater amplectens, multis suas orationes afflat honoribus, Cypridis
artificiis interdixi, ne si nimis durae translationis excursu, a suo reclamante
subjecto, praedicamentum alienet in aliud, in acinus facetia, in rusticitatem
urbanitas, tropus in vitium, in decolorationem color nimis convertatur. [De
Planctu, p. 478]
Furthermore, just as it has been my purpose to attack with bitter hostility
certain practices of grammar and logic, and exclude them from the schools
of Venus, so I have forbidden to the arts of Cypris those metonymic pos-
tures of rhetoricians which Mother Rhetoric embraces in her wide bosom,
thereby gracing her speeches with many fine touches; for I feared lest if, in
the pursuit of too strained a metaphor, she should change the predicate
from its protesting subject into something wholly foreign, cleverness would
be too far converted into a blemish, refinement into grossness, a trope into
a fault, ornament into a show.
I
I
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 135
Grammatical and sexual prohibitions work hand in hand to prevent the
use of "too strained a metaphor," which is the equivalent of verbal and
moral vice. Viciousness, which, it will be recalled, is also a rhetorical
concept designating incorrect usage (barbarism and solecism), carries the
bivalent resonance of a confusion of active and passive functions-a
"retaining under the letters of the passive the nature of the active," that
is, "an assumption of the law of the deponent"-and a confusion of
genders. The homosexual, for example, is thus "both predicate and
subject, he becomes likewise of two declensions, he pushes the laws of
grammar too far. He barbarously denies that he is a man. Art does not
please him, but rather artifice; even that artificiality cannot be called
metaphor; rather it sinks into vice."
18
The association of sophistry-
linguistic artifice, excessive ornament, show-and sodomy lies at the core
of Alain's own tricky (because satirical) thought; and it leads syllogisti-
cally to the identification of poetry with perversion. Those who "push the
laws of grammar too far" and defy Nature's rule of straightness find
themselves, as in Dante's placement of Brunetto Latini, among the
sodomiteS.
19
The poet belongs to the line of Jocus, those who embrace-
through simulacrum instead of rectitude-the art of gai saber.
Even here, however, it seems that Alain is more perturbed by the
notion of irregularity than by any specific linguistic or sexual derogation:
Eorum siquidem hominum qui Veneris profitentur grammaticam, alii
solummodo masculinum, alii femininum, alii commune, sive genus promis-
Ct_IUm, amplexantur. vero, quasi heterocliti genere, per
htemem m femmmo, per aestatem m masculino genere, irregulariter decli-
nantur. Sunt qui, in Veneris logica disputantes, in conclusionibus suis sub-
praedicationisque legem relatione mutua sortiuntur. Sunt qui
vtcem gerentes suppositi, praedicari non norunt. Sunt qui solummodo
praedicantes, subjecti termini subjectionem legitimam non attendunt. Alii
etiam Diones regiam ingredi dedignantes, sub ejusdem vestibulo ludum
lacrimabilem commentantur. [De Planctu, p. 463]
Of such of _these men as profess the of love, some embrace only
the masculme gender, some the femmme, others the common or indiscrim-
inate. Indeed, _some: as if of gender, are declined irregularly,
through the wmter m the femmme, through the summer in the masculine.
Some, in the pursuit of the logic of love, establish in their conclusions the
law of the subject and the predicate in proper relation. Some who have the
of the subject have not learned how to form a predicate. Some only
predtcate and do not await the proper addition of the subject's end.
Others, scorning to enter into the court of Dione, devise a miserable sport
below its vestibule.
As in our analysis of the Leys D'Amors, it is, ultimately, the mobility of
poetic language and of sexual identity ("the heteroclite gender") that
represents for Nature the most potent threat to the
136 Chapter Four
ness, regularity, orthodoxy-of grammar and to the continuity of lineage.
The lack of definition-and it will be remembered that the grammar of
this early period is based upon the search for rectitude of definition-is
tantamount to the dissolution of paternal relations, the transgression of
Nature's and of society's most sacred law.
20
To the modern dictum "Na-
ture abhors a vacuum" the Doctor Universalis might have preferred
"Natura abhorret hermaphroditos," with the understanding that the
poet is himself the polyvalent figure who, in the words of Bernart Marti,
"will transform a bitch into a sire and raise today until tomorrow" (see
above, p. 113).
For Alain, undefined sexuality or hermaphroditism represents an ex-
treme form of the sterile perversions (masturbation, homosexuality,
sodomy) as well as the fecund but transgressive diversion of adultery.
Nor can marital infidelity be separated from adulterated language-
words which do not respect the rules of definition, of class, conjugation,
gender, the "law of subject and predicate," or the limits of ornamental
expression. Here, in fact, the twelfth-century satirist seems to articulate
theoretically that which the lyric poets express more implicitly: that
desire-free-floating, indiscriminate, and disruptive of hierarchy-and
poetic ambiguity-the mixing of meanings and the break with intelligibil-
ity-are coterminous principles which effect the subversion of a
traditional semantic and social order. The most apparent manifestation of
this loss of linguistic and genealogical determinacy is the unbounded and
directionless proliferation of verbal discourse and of family.
In the Leys D'Amors each rhetorical marriage, instead of producing one
male heir and thus guaranteeing primogenital continuity, gives rise to a
cacophonous plethora of offspring-a surfeit of figures of speech which
replicate geometrically. Each new combination, according to the catalytic
potential of rhetoric for making heretofore unanticipated connections
(verbal marriages), only multiplies the seemingly limitless possibilities of
semantic "conversion." In the De Planctu Naturae, the disruption of social
order through the transgression of marriage, literally the cuckolding of
Hymen, produces the boundless free play of Jocus-game, artifice, simu-
lacrum, the discourse of fiction. And in the courtly lyric, whether of the
"open" or "closed" style, Alain's allegorical Jocus is made flesh through
the circular practice of self-reflexive word play, poerry-a8agame and as
the endless repetition of an unchanging drama of suffering and joy. Thus,
in each case, a dispersion of seed-against the grain of the biopolitics of
lineage-implies and is implicated in semantic dispersion. The disper-
sion of family line parallels the dissemination of meaning in a nexus
which sets linguistic and genealogical continuity (affirmation of the
proper and of legitimate generation through coition in marriage) against
sexual impropriety and the diffusion-strewing, radiation, dissipation,
uncontrolled distribution-of genealogy inherent to poetry and rhetoric.
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 137
Poetry and Castration: Jean de Meun
Among the vernacular allegorists, none is more aware of the relation
between poetry, desire, procreation, and signification than Jean de
Meun, who derives much from Alain. Jean's Nature, like that of the De
Planctu, is the earthly agent of generational continuity, the guarantor of
the species despite the death of individuals.
21
Nature's confessor, Genius,
is the "god and master of places and of property. "
22
If Nature assures the
survival of the human race, its continuity, her vicar preserves the proper
places (Zeus) of speech or the order of representation itself. Genius em-
bodies the figure of the writer, the scribe of that arch-text of the Middle
Ages-the Book of Nature:
Devant Nature la deesse,
Li prestres, qui bien s'acordoit,
En audience recordoit
Les figures representables
De toutes choses corrumpables,
Qu'il ot escrites en son livre,
Si cum Nature les li livre.
[Rose, v. 16278]
Sitting in audience before Goddess Nature, the willing priest recorded the
images (representational figures) of all corruptible things, which he had
written in his book, as Nature gave them to him.
Proper writing (the discreteness of place) and proper generation (the
uninterrupted devolution of things according to their nature or property)
are, through Nature and Genius, combined.
Nature remains, however, an ambiguous figure as her role as "forger"
suggests: the measure of which she is the guarantor is itself a forgery, the
product of an always already operative corruption.
23
And in what
amounts to an exemplary adaptation of a Classical theme to the medieval
concern with signs, Jean recasts the story of the end of the Golden Age in
the mold of contemporaneous language theory. He participates, along
with his traditional sources (Hesiod through Ovid, Claudian, Macro-
bius), in the myth of era before the existence of desire,
private property, social i ference, or the linguistic difference brought
about by Reason's imposition of names on things.
24
Jean's version of the
fall from an original unity into multiplicity involves neither perversion
nor marital diversion but a family drama emphasizing the connection of
semiotics, economics, social status, and sexual desire:
Justice qui jadis regnoit
Au temps que Saturnus vivoit,
Cui Jupiter copa les coilles
Son fis, cum ce fussent andoilles,
Puis les geta dedens la mer,
(Mout ot ci dur filz et amer)
136 Chapter Four
ness, regularity, orthodoxy-of grammar and to the continuity of lineage.
The lack of definition-and it will be remembered that the grammar of
this early period is based upon the search for rectitude of definition-is
tantamount to the dissolution of paternal relations, the transgression of
Nature's and of society's most sacred law.
20
To the modern dictum "Na-
ture abhors a vacuum" the Doctor Universalis might have preferred
"Natura abhorret hermaphroditos," with the understanding that the
poet is himself the polyvalent figure who, in the words of Bernart Marti,
"will transform a bitch into a sire and raise today until tomorrow" (see
above, p. 113).
For Alain, undefined sexuality or hermaphroditism represents an ex-
treme form of the sterile perversions (masturbation, homosexuality,
sodomy) as well as the fecund but transgressive diversion of adultery.
Nor can marital infidelity be separated from adulterated language-
words which do not respect the rules of definition, of class, conjugation,
gender, the "law of subject and predicate," or the limits of ornamental
expression. Here, in fact, the twelfth-century satirist seems to articulate
theoretically that which the lyric poets express more implicitly: that
desire-free-floating, indiscriminate, and disruptive of hierarchy-and
poetic ambiguity-the mixing of meanings and the break with intelligibil-
ity-are coterminous principles which effect the subversion of a
traditional semantic and social order. The most apparent manifestation of
this loss of linguistic and genealogical determinacy is the unbounded and
directionless proliferation of verbal discourse and of family.
In the Leys D'Amors each rhetorical marriage, instead of producing one
male heir and thus guaranteeing primogenital continuity, gives rise to a
cacophonous plethora of offspring-a surfeit of figures of speech which
replicate geometrically. Each new combination, according to the catalytic
potential of rhetoric for making heretofore unanticipated connections
(verbal marriages), only multiplies the seemingly limitless possibilities of
semantic "conversion." In the De Planctu Naturae, the disruption of social
order through the transgression of marriage, literally the cuckolding of
Hymen, produces the boundless free play of Jocus-game, artifice, simu-
lacrum, the discourse of fiction. And in the courtly lyric, whether of the
"open" or "closed" style, Alain's allegorical Jocus is made flesh through
the circular practice of self-reflexive word play, poerry-a8agame and as
the endless repetition of an unchanging drama of suffering and joy. Thus,
in each case, a dispersion of seed-against the grain of the biopolitics of
lineage-implies and is implicated in semantic dispersion. The disper-
sion of family line parallels the dissemination of meaning in a nexus
which sets linguistic and genealogical continuity (affirmation of the
proper and of legitimate generation through coition in marriage) against
sexual impropriety and the diffusion-strewing, radiation, dissipation,
uncontrolled distribution-of genealogy inherent to poetry and rhetoric.
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 137
Poetry and Castration: Jean de Meun
Among the vernacular allegorists, none is more aware of the relation
between poetry, desire, procreation, and signification than Jean de
Meun, who derives much from Alain. Jean's Nature, like that of the De
Planctu, is the earthly agent of generational continuity, the guarantor of
the species despite the death of individuals.
21
Nature's confessor, Genius,
is the "god and master of places and of property. "
22
If Nature assures the
survival of the human race, its continuity, her vicar preserves the proper
places (Zeus) of speech or the order of representation itself. Genius em-
bodies the figure of the writer, the scribe of that arch-text of the Middle
Ages-the Book of Nature:
Devant Nature la deesse,
Li prestres, qui bien s'acordoit,
En audience recordoit
Les figures representables
De toutes choses corrumpables,
Qu'il ot escrites en son livre,
Si cum Nature les li livre.
[Rose, v. 16278]
Sitting in audience before Goddess Nature, the willing priest recorded the
images (representational figures) of all corruptible things, which he had
written in his book, as Nature gave them to him.
Proper writing (the discreteness of place) and proper generation (the
uninterrupted devolution of things according to their nature or property)
are, through Nature and Genius, combined.
Nature remains, however, an ambiguous figure as her role as "forger"
suggests: the measure of which she is the guarantor is itself a forgery, the
product of an always already operative corruption.
23
And in what
amounts to an exemplary adaptation of a Classical theme to the medieval
concern with signs, Jean recasts the story of the end of the Golden Age in
the mold of contemporaneous language theory. He participates, along
with his traditional sources (Hesiod through Ovid, Claudian, Macro-
bius), in the myth of era before the existence of desire,
private property, social i ference, or the linguistic difference brought
about by Reason's imposition of names on things.
24
Jean's version of the
fall from an original unity into multiplicity involves neither perversion
nor marital diversion but a family drama emphasizing the connection of
semiotics, economics, social status, and sexual desire:
Justice qui jadis regnoit
Au temps que Saturnus vivoit,
Cui Jupiter copa les coilles
Son fis, cum ce fussent andoilles,
Puis les geta dedens la mer,
(Mout ot ci dur filz et amer)
138 Chapter Four
Dont Venus la deesse issi,
Car li livres le dit issi. . . .
[Rose, v. 5535]
Justice used to reign in the age of Saturn whose balls cut off by his.
son Jupiter as if they were sausages; then he threw them mto the sea, this
cruel and bitter son, from which Goddess Venus sprang forth, as the book
recounts ....
Thus the break in genealogy that castration implies, the physiological
disruption of the continuity of lineage, is directly associated with a radical
problematizing of the nature of verbal signification. In Saturn's the
dismemberment of the family becomes synonymous not only With the
birth of desire-Venus issued from the foam around the father's dis-
carded member-but with the dismemberment of meaning.
Jean is obsessed by the question of how properly to name that which
Saturn lost at the time of his castration. The debate between Reason and
the Lover, itself set within a drama of desire and seduction,
explicitly upon the issue of linguistic propriety, as Amant reproaches his
seductress her directness of speech:
Si ne vous tienz pas a cortoise
Que ci m'aves coilles nomees,
Qui ne sont pas bien renomees
En bouche a cortoise pucele.
Vous, qui tant estes sage et bele,
Ne sai comment nommer l'osates,
Au mains que le mot ne glosates
Par quelque cortoise parole,
Si cum prodefame parole.
[Ibid., v. 6928]
I do not hold you to be courteous because you have just used the :word
"balls" which are not of good repute in the mouth of a courtly maid. I _do
not know how you, who are so wise and beautiful, dare name th_em With-
out at least glossing the word with some more courteous expressiOn as a
noble woman should speak.
Here, the playful hint of nonreproductive sexuality (oral
which Jean, unlike Alain, seems to encourage rather than proscnbe-Is
linked to non direct language or gloss ("Au mains que le mot ne glo-
sates"). What is more, the charge of impropriety tied to Reason's use of
direct speech is countered by a general defense of linguistic property:
25
since everything in God's creation partakes of his divinity, there can be no
harm in the designation of a created object by its proper name:
Se je nomme les nobles chases
Par plain texte, sanz metre gloses,
Que mes peres en paradis
Fist de ses propres mains jadis,
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 139
Et touz les autres instrumens
Qui sont piliers et argumens
A soutenir nature humainne,
Qui fust sans eus et casse et vainne.
Car volentiers, non pas envis,
Mist Diex en coilles et en vis
Force de generacion
Par merveillouse entencion,
Por l'espece avoir toute vive
Par renouvelance nayve,
Par quoi Diex les fait tant durer
Que la mort ne puet endurer.
[Rose, v. 6957]
If I call noble things by their proper name, without glossing, it is because
my father in heaven once made them with his own hands, along with all
the other instruments which serve as pillars and arguments to sustain hu-
man nature, which without them would be broken and vain. For willingly,
not begrudgingly, did God with marvelous understanding place in balls
and in prick the force of generation in order that the species might survive
through innocent renewal, through which God made them live so that
death might not triumph.
The above example points as poignantly as any to the close identification
of the directness of a proper appellation and the continuity of generation.
The nominative "balls" possesses grammatical rectitude and is the very
instrument of generation; the straightness of proper signification and of
linear descent are conjoined. Further, just as human genealogy would
collapse without sexual organs (the "force of generation in balls and
prick"), human nature-that which is proper to man, or Reason itself-
would dissolve in the absence of proper speech. The linearity of logic
(" argumens") would literally be broken ("casse et vainne") were it not for
straight speech ("plain texte").
Thus we are faced with a potent paradox: through castration both
genealogy and meaning are interrupted; yet through the severed member
and the word which names it the integrity of lineage and of language are
restored. This contradiction is only resolvable if we bear in mind that
Reason is herself a highly ambiguous figure. On the one hand, she
affirms the importance of linguistic property: "Comment, por le cors saint
Homer! I N'osere je mie nomer I Proprement les euvres mon pere?" And,
on the other hand, she maintains the contingent nature of all verbal signs:
"Que, tout ait Diex faites les choses, I Au mains ne fist il pas le non."
26
It is
a matter of habit, then, whether "balls" are called "coilles" or
"reliques."
27
Reason, the namer, thus simultaneously espouses both a
doctrine of property and what looks like that of pure convention:
Se fames nes nomment en France,
Ce n'est fors de acoustumance.
138 Chapter Four
Dont Venus la deesse issi,
Car li livres le dit issi. . . .
[Rose, v. 5535]
Justice used to reign in the age of Saturn whose balls cut off by his.
son Jupiter as if they were sausages; then he threw them mto the sea, this
cruel and bitter son, from which Goddess Venus sprang forth, as the book
recounts ....
Thus the break in genealogy that castration implies, the physiological
disruption of the continuity of lineage, is directly associated with a radical
problematizing of the nature of verbal signification. In Saturn's the
dismemberment of the family becomes synonymous not only With the
birth of desire-Venus issued from the foam around the father's dis-
carded member-but with the dismemberment of meaning.
Jean is obsessed by the question of how properly to name that which
Saturn lost at the time of his castration. The debate between Reason and
the Lover, itself set within a drama of desire and seduction,
explicitly upon the issue of linguistic propriety, as Amant reproaches his
seductress her directness of speech:
Si ne vous tienz pas a cortoise
Que ci m'aves coilles nomees,
Qui ne sont pas bien renomees
En bouche a cortoise pucele.
Vous, qui tant estes sage et bele,
Ne sai comment nommer l'osates,
Au mains que le mot ne glosates
Par quelque cortoise parole,
Si cum prodefame parole.
[Ibid., v. 6928]
I do not hold you to be courteous because you have just used the :word
"balls" which are not of good repute in the mouth of a courtly maid. I _do
not know how you, who are so wise and beautiful, dare name th_em With-
out at least glossing the word with some more courteous expressiOn as a
noble woman should speak.
Here, the playful hint of nonreproductive sexuality (oral
which Jean, unlike Alain, seems to encourage rather than proscnbe-Is
linked to non direct language or gloss ("Au mains que le mot ne glo-
sates"). What is more, the charge of impropriety tied to Reason's use of
direct speech is countered by a general defense of linguistic property:
25
since everything in God's creation partakes of his divinity, there can be no
harm in the designation of a created object by its proper name:
Se je nomme les nobles chases
Par plain texte, sanz metre gloses,
Que mes peres en paradis
Fist de ses propres mains jadis,
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 139
Et touz les autres instrumens
Qui sont piliers et argumens
A soutenir nature humainne,
Qui fust sans eus et casse et vainne.
Car volentiers, non pas envis,
Mist Diex en coilles et en vis
Force de generacion
Par merveillouse entencion,
Por l'espece avoir toute vive
Par renouvelance nayve,
Par quoi Diex les fait tant durer
Que la mort ne puet endurer.
[Rose, v. 6957]
If I call noble things by their proper name, without glossing, it is because
my father in heaven once made them with his own hands, along with all
the other instruments which serve as pillars and arguments to sustain hu-
man nature, which without them would be broken and vain. For willingly,
not begrudgingly, did God with marvelous understanding place in balls
and in prick the force of generation in order that the species might survive
through innocent renewal, through which God made them live so that
death might not triumph.
The above example points as poignantly as any to the close identification
of the directness of a proper appellation and the continuity of generation.
The nominative "balls" possesses grammatical rectitude and is the very
instrument of generation; the straightness of proper signification and of
linear descent are conjoined. Further, just as human genealogy would
collapse without sexual organs (the "force of generation in balls and
prick"), human nature-that which is proper to man, or Reason itself-
would dissolve in the absence of proper speech. The linearity of logic
(" argumens") would literally be broken ("casse et vainne") were it not for
straight speech ("plain texte").
Thus we are faced with a potent paradox: through castration both
genealogy and meaning are interrupted; yet through the severed member
and the word which names it the integrity of lineage and of language are
restored. This contradiction is only resolvable if we bear in mind that
Reason is herself a highly ambiguous figure. On the one hand, she
affirms the importance of linguistic property: "Comment, por le cors saint
Homer! I N'osere je mie nomer I Proprement les euvres mon pere?" And,
on the other hand, she maintains the contingent nature of all verbal signs:
"Que, tout ait Diex faites les choses, I Au mains ne fist il pas le non."
26
It is
a matter of habit, then, whether "balls" are called "coilles" or
"reliques."
27
Reason, the namer, thus simultaneously espouses both a
doctrine of property and what looks like that of pure convention:
Se fames nes nomment en France,
Ce n'est fors de acoustumance.
140 Chapter Four
Car le propre non lor pleiist,
Qui acoustume lor eiist. ...
Chascune qui les va nommant
Les apelle ne sai comment,
Borces, hemois, riens, piches, pines ....
[Rose, v. 7131]
If women never say such words in France, it is by lack of habit. For the
proper name which was customary pleased them. But they run about nam-
ing them I don't know what-pouches, harnesses, nothings, pots,
apples ....
Reason's nature, in contrast with the consistency of logic, is that of a
paradox. She incarnates both abstinence and desire, encouraging the
Lover to renounce love while at the same time attempting to seduce him.
In the linguistic quarrel she supports both the primacy of the proper and
the arbitrariness of signs. She is, in short, a contradictory figure, the very
opposite of a fixed, univocal, even obsessional, allegorical sign. The
inconsistency of her behavior and her thought raises, in fact, the horrify-
ing specter, so dear to Alain, of the indeterminate-the hermaphroditic
simulation of the true sign whose extreme expression in Le Roman de larose
is Faux-Semblant: "Je sai bien mon habitchangier, I Prendre l'un et I' autre
estrangier. I ... Or sui princes et or sui pages, I Or sai parler tretouz
langages."
28
In the loss of a proper language and the refusal of a single
identity, Faux-Semblant exploits the social consequences of Reason's
linguistic theory-that is, the close connection between the rejection of
property, antisocial desire, and, ultimately, of poetry. He/She completes
the cycle of linguistic, familial, and poetic dissemination beginning with
castration and terminating in the Roman itself.
Saturn's mutilation entails a break in genealogical continuity, a disrup-
tion of lineage, that is indissociable from semiological dispersion, a break
with the fixity of signs implying, in turn: (1) the breakdown of character
and even logic (e.g., Reason acting incoherently and desiring what she
denounces); (2) indiscriminate sexuality, manifested in Jean's portion of
the poem in the constant denunciation of the insatiable lust of women
(first that of seductive Reason and later that of Nature, whose role is
supposedly the preservation of the propriety [linearity] of descent); (3)
indeterminate sexuality, embodied in the figure of Faux-Semblant who
keeps as his/her companion Lady Abstinence Constraint, in order to
seduce more freely; (4) and, finally, the allegorical poem itself.
The proliferation of desire inherent in the dissemination of proper
meaning is articulated poetically as a break with the hierarchical order of
true allegory (i.e., Guillaume's portion of the Rose), implying a refusal of
the univocity of the true allegorical sign. Problematizing simultaneously
the notions of proper signification and of proper genealogical succession,
l,r
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 141
Jean's poem ultimately transgresses its own familial or generic form. The
second half of the Roman de la rose is a directionless, never-ending,
ever-supp.lemental, seemingly tumorous, multiform, "hermaphroditic"
text that, like Faux-Semblant, is difficult to pin down because it incarnates
the of semiotic and sexual indeterminacy, free-
floatmg desrre, the abrogation of the rule of family and of poetic form.
Philosophy and the Family: Abelard
The great medieval drama of letters and castration is, of course, that of
whose unlike that of Saturn, does not give birth to
desire but stems It. Actually, the cycle of Abelard's calamities is more
still, since letters produce pride, and pride engenders desire.
m fact, the act of regarding himself" as the only philosopher remain-
mg m whole world" that leads Abelard, in his own phrase, "to loosen
the on his desires," despite a lifetime of continence.
29
Desire, in
turn, Is augmented by letters, which become the vehicle of seduction:
Que cum per faciem non esset infima, per habundantiam litterarum erat
sl!-p.rema .... Tan.to au tern. facilius hanc mihi puellam consensuram ere-
did!, quanto earn scientiam et habere et diligere no-
veram; nosque eham absentes scnptis intemuntiis invicem liceret
presentare .... [Historia, p. 71]
Of no mean beauty, she stood out above all by reason of her abundant
knowledge of letters .... The more I came to recognize that she lovingly
.a knowledge of letters, the more easily nonetheless I believed
this gul would be. at one with so, even if we were parted, we
might yet be together m thought with the aid of written messages.
The instrument of passion is the book which, as Abelard admits, repre-
sents a deflection of letters: "Our speech was more of love than of the
books which lay open before us; our kisses far outnumbered our reasoned
words. Our hands sought less the book than each other's bosoms; love
drew our eyes together far more than the lesson drew them to the pages
of An to the formal principles of language
associated With rhetonc was, since the early Church Fathers, couched in
the essentially erotic terms of a fixation upon the flesh. And the Middle
Ages are filled with lovers whose desire is crystallized-mediated-
through books.
31
But, with the possible exception of Augustine, no one
more than Abelard explores the consequences of such a fetishizing of the
letter (or the body) to the detriment of its spirit. For desire, pushed
the capacity of signs, leads to the immediacy of ful-
fulfillment leads to castration, castration to philosophy ("a devo-
to the study of letters in freedom from the snares of the flesh"), and
philosophy, finally, to another kind of book: "Accidit autem mihi ut ad
ipsum fidei nostre fundamentum humane rationis similitudinibus dis-
140 Chapter Four
Car le propre non lor pleiist,
Qui acoustume lor eiist. ...
Chascune qui les va nommant
Les apelle ne sai comment,
Borces, hemois, riens, piches, pines ....
[Rose, v. 7131]
If women never say such words in France, it is by lack of habit. For the
proper name which was customary pleased them. But they run about nam-
ing them I don't know what-pouches, harnesses, nothings, pots,
apples ....
Reason's nature, in contrast with the consistency of logic, is that of a
paradox. She incarnates both abstinence and desire, encouraging the
Lover to renounce love while at the same time attempting to seduce him.
In the linguistic quarrel she supports both the primacy of the proper and
the arbitrariness of signs. She is, in short, a contradictory figure, the very
opposite of a fixed, univocal, even obsessional, allegorical sign. The
inconsistency of her behavior and her thought raises, in fact, the horrify-
ing specter, so dear to Alain, of the indeterminate-the hermaphroditic
simulation of the true sign whose extreme expression in Le Roman de larose
is Faux-Semblant: "Je sai bien mon habitchangier, I Prendre l'un et I' autre
estrangier. I ... Or sui princes et or sui pages, I Or sai parler tretouz
langages."
28
In the loss of a proper language and the refusal of a single
identity, Faux-Semblant exploits the social consequences of Reason's
linguistic theory-that is, the close connection between the rejection of
property, antisocial desire, and, ultimately, of poetry. He/She completes
the cycle of linguistic, familial, and poetic dissemination beginning with
castration and terminating in the Roman itself.
Saturn's mutilation entails a break in genealogical continuity, a disrup-
tion of lineage, that is indissociable from semiological dispersion, a break
with the fixity of signs implying, in turn: (1) the breakdown of character
and even logic (e.g., Reason acting incoherently and desiring what she
denounces); (2) indiscriminate sexuality, manifested in Jean's portion of
the poem in the constant denunciation of the insatiable lust of women
(first that of seductive Reason and later that of Nature, whose role is
supposedly the preservation of the propriety [linearity] of descent); (3)
indeterminate sexuality, embodied in the figure of Faux-Semblant who
keeps as his/her companion Lady Abstinence Constraint, in order to
seduce more freely; (4) and, finally, the allegorical poem itself.
The proliferation of desire inherent in the dissemination of proper
meaning is articulated poetically as a break with the hierarchical order of
true allegory (i.e., Guillaume's portion of the Rose), implying a refusal of
the univocity of the true allegorical sign. Problematizing simultaneously
the notions of proper signification and of proper genealogical succession,
l,r
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 141
Jean's poem ultimately transgresses its own familial or generic form. The
second half of the Roman de la rose is a directionless, never-ending,
ever-supp.lemental, seemingly tumorous, multiform, "hermaphroditic"
text that, like Faux-Semblant, is difficult to pin down because it incarnates
the of semiotic and sexual indeterminacy, free-
floatmg desrre, the abrogation of the rule of family and of poetic form.
Philosophy and the Family: Abelard
The great medieval drama of letters and castration is, of course, that of
whose unlike that of Saturn, does not give birth to
desire but stems It. Actually, the cycle of Abelard's calamities is more
still, since letters produce pride, and pride engenders desire.
m fact, the act of regarding himself" as the only philosopher remain-
mg m whole world" that leads Abelard, in his own phrase, "to loosen
the on his desires," despite a lifetime of continence.
29
Desire, in
turn, Is augmented by letters, which become the vehicle of seduction:
Que cum per faciem non esset infima, per habundantiam litterarum erat
sl!-p.rema .... Tan.to au tern. facilius hanc mihi puellam consensuram ere-
did!, quanto earn scientiam et habere et diligere no-
veram; nosque eham absentes scnptis intemuntiis invicem liceret
presentare .... [Historia, p. 71]
Of no mean beauty, she stood out above all by reason of her abundant
knowledge of letters .... The more I came to recognize that she lovingly
.a knowledge of letters, the more easily nonetheless I believed
this gul would be. at one with so, even if we were parted, we
might yet be together m thought with the aid of written messages.
The instrument of passion is the book which, as Abelard admits, repre-
sents a deflection of letters: "Our speech was more of love than of the
books which lay open before us; our kisses far outnumbered our reasoned
words. Our hands sought less the book than each other's bosoms; love
drew our eyes together far more than the lesson drew them to the pages
of An to the formal principles of language
associated With rhetonc was, since the early Church Fathers, couched in
the essentially erotic terms of a fixation upon the flesh. And the Middle
Ages are filled with lovers whose desire is crystallized-mediated-
through books.
31
But, with the possible exception of Augustine, no one
more than Abelard explores the consequences of such a fetishizing of the
letter (or the body) to the detriment of its spirit. For desire, pushed
the capacity of signs, leads to the immediacy of ful-
fulfillment leads to castration, castration to philosophy ("a devo-
to the study of letters in freedom from the snares of the flesh"), and
philosophy, finally, to another kind of book: "Accidit autem mihi ut ad
ipsum fidei nostre fundamentum humane rationis similitudinibus dis-
142 o Chapter Four
\
Scene of Castration, from the Customal of Toulouse, Bibliotheque Nationale,
ms. lat. 9187. (Printed with permission.)
serendum primo me applicarem, et quendam theologie tractatum 'De
Unitate et Trinitate divina' scolaribus nostris componerem."
32
Like his own truncated psychic, moraL and philosophical develop-
ment, the Abelardian biographical circle-from pride in philosophy to
philosophy, and from letters to letters-is informed by the principle of
closure. Despite its narrative structure, the Historia Calamitatum fails to
enunciate any progression other than its own genesis; it is, in this respect,
a castrated story-Historia "castrata." Even the book of philosophy con-
tained in the autobiography suggests such a reading. Offering to the
faculty of understanding "rational and philosophical explanations" in-
stead of obeisance to authority, the De Unitate et Trinitate divina men-
tioned in the passage above is both occasioned by castration and itself
castrates an entire theological tradition. In it Abelard's appeal to reason-
" human understanding" -poses the possibility of interpretation inde-
pendent not only of the exegetical past, but of doctrine itself. The book on
the Trinity, based upon explanation rather than tradition, constitutes a
heresy of reading; and when, in the trial which follows its publication,
Abelard offers "to explain," his accuser, Albert of Rheims, pretends to
"care nothing for human explanation or reasoning in such matters, but
only for the words of authority."
33
The essence of Abelard's heresy is,
then, the substitution of the "logic of words" for authority. Rather, the
setting of one authority against another implicit to the Sic et Non opens a
Pandora's box by which doctrine is no longer the product of a long,
. I
1
'
I
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire o 143
uncontested, received tradition but of a self-generating, dynamic, and
relative process creative of its own value and truth. Through dialectic
Abelard manages to liberate theology from blind obedience to the past-
from an overwhelming attachment to origins-as well as to make it
accessible to all who can read and reason. Such a liberation, like that of the
poetic sign, signals the heretical possibility of a doctrinal proliferation
(analogous to the Roman de larose) which will find its own form in the
scholastic summa.
Abelard's disruption of an exegetical line, the heritage of a theology for
which theology was heritage, becomes even more compelling in light of
the book which is condemned. For if the appeal to reason, understand-
ing, or the "logic of words" served to castrate the authority of preexisting
doctrine, the actual treatment of the Trinity contained in the heretical
tract sustains a similar conclusion. Abelard is, in fact, tried for denying
that "although God had begotten God, He had begotten Himself, since
there is only one God."
34
The Trinity was, throughout the Middle Ages, the archetype of the
ideal family whose metaphysical terms offered an abstract-universal
and eternal-representation of human kinship. As we have seen, Augus-
tine's expression of the trinitarian desire of the Son for the Father betrays
a deep-seated wish to escape not only time but the contingency inherent
to paternity-in fine, to escape difference (see above, pp. 58--62). And
while Abelard pretends to follow Augustine's teachings on the Trinity, he
nonetheless inserts into its internal dynamic a profound shift that is not
without significance for the present discussion. His insistence upon the
oneness of God serves to collapse the Trinity as a genealogical grouping-
a genetic relation of engenderer and engendered. Abelard minimizes the
etio!gy of the paternal rapport through a denial of the possibility of the
parturition of the One and a rejection of the objective or substantial
diversity of any tripartite division. This is another way of saying that he
formulates trinitarian doctrine in terms of a grammatical problem, and
not merely in the line of the Augustinian attempt to escape verbal and
genealogical difference, which ultimately preserves the hierarchy of
paternity in both linguistic and familial domains, but more in the mold of
Anselm's search for a proper name for God.
35
Abelard reasons elsewhere that the diversity of the three persons of the
Trinity must exist either in language or in that to which the word persona
refers.
36
If in language, then the Trinity cannot be eternal since words exist
only by human imposition and since, in that case, the Trinity would be
infinite because of the infinity of names applicable to God. If, on the other
hand, triune diversity exists substantially, then God is not one. Abelard's
eventual solution provides for diversity according neither to substance
142 o Chapter Four
\
Scene of Castration, from the Customal of Toulouse, Bibliotheque Nationale,
ms. lat. 9187. (Printed with permission.)
serendum primo me applicarem, et quendam theologie tractatum 'De
Unitate et Trinitate divina' scolaribus nostris componerem."
32
Like his own truncated psychic, moraL and philosophical develop-
ment, the Abelardian biographical circle-from pride in philosophy to
philosophy, and from letters to letters-is informed by the principle of
closure. Despite its narrative structure, the Historia Calamitatum fails to
enunciate any progression other than its own genesis; it is, in this respect,
a castrated story-Historia "castrata." Even the book of philosophy con-
tained in the autobiography suggests such a reading. Offering to the
faculty of understanding "rational and philosophical explanations" in-
stead of obeisance to authority, the De Unitate et Trinitate divina men-
tioned in the passage above is both occasioned by castration and itself
castrates an entire theological tradition. In it Abelard's appeal to reason-
" human understanding" -poses the possibility of interpretation inde-
pendent not only of the exegetical past, but of doctrine itself. The book on
the Trinity, based upon explanation rather than tradition, constitutes a
heresy of reading; and when, in the trial which follows its publication,
Abelard offers "to explain," his accuser, Albert of Rheims, pretends to
"care nothing for human explanation or reasoning in such matters, but
only for the words of authority."
33
The essence of Abelard's heresy is,
then, the substitution of the "logic of words" for authority. Rather, the
setting of one authority against another implicit to the Sic et Non opens a
Pandora's box by which doctrine is no longer the product of a long,
. I
1
'
I
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire o 143
uncontested, received tradition but of a self-generating, dynamic, and
relative process creative of its own value and truth. Through dialectic
Abelard manages to liberate theology from blind obedience to the past-
from an overwhelming attachment to origins-as well as to make it
accessible to all who can read and reason. Such a liberation, like that of the
poetic sign, signals the heretical possibility of a doctrinal proliferation
(analogous to the Roman de larose) which will find its own form in the
scholastic summa.
Abelard's disruption of an exegetical line, the heritage of a theology for
which theology was heritage, becomes even more compelling in light of
the book which is condemned. For if the appeal to reason, understand-
ing, or the "logic of words" served to castrate the authority of preexisting
doctrine, the actual treatment of the Trinity contained in the heretical
tract sustains a similar conclusion. Abelard is, in fact, tried for denying
that "although God had begotten God, He had begotten Himself, since
there is only one God."
34
The Trinity was, throughout the Middle Ages, the archetype of the
ideal family whose metaphysical terms offered an abstract-universal
and eternal-representation of human kinship. As we have seen, Augus-
tine's expression of the trinitarian desire of the Son for the Father betrays
a deep-seated wish to escape not only time but the contingency inherent
to paternity-in fine, to escape difference (see above, pp. 58--62). And
while Abelard pretends to follow Augustine's teachings on the Trinity, he
nonetheless inserts into its internal dynamic a profound shift that is not
without significance for the present discussion. His insistence upon the
oneness of God serves to collapse the Trinity as a genealogical grouping-
a genetic relation of engenderer and engendered. Abelard minimizes the
etio!gy of the paternal rapport through a denial of the possibility of the
parturition of the One and a rejection of the objective or substantial
diversity of any tripartite division. This is another way of saying that he
formulates trinitarian doctrine in terms of a grammatical problem, and
not merely in the line of the Augustinian attempt to escape verbal and
genealogical difference, which ultimately preserves the hierarchy of
paternity in both linguistic and familial domains, but more in the mold of
Anselm's search for a proper name for God.
35
Abelard reasons elsewhere that the diversity of the three persons of the
Trinity must exist either in language or in that to which the word persona
refers.
36
If in language, then the Trinity cannot be eternal since words exist
only by human imposition and since, in that case, the Trinity would be
infinite because of the infinity of names applicable to God. If, on the other
hand, triune diversity exists substantially, then God is not one. Abelard's
eventual solution provides for diversity according neither to substance
144 Chapter Four
nor to number, but according to definition or property. God does not
represent three separate essences; rather, he is triune with respect to
persons. This is comparable to saying, for example, that man is also one
with respect to the uniquely human properties, for example, capacity for
laughter, for philosophy, or for grammar (see above, pp. 50-51). At the
same time it poses the problem of what it means to predicate a property of
a subject. For Abelard, the tres and personae of the Trinity are joined in an
accidental predication which, in fact, escapes the determination of the
dialecticians. The names "Father," "Son," and "Holy Ghost" express
only approximately the internal relation of the substantially and numer-
ically identical parts of a unique res. By way of example, Abelard invokes
the common metaphor of the Trinity as a seal (signum) consisting of the
bronze which seals, the image in wax, and the seal itself.
Thus Abelard seems to abstract the Trinity from a genetic or genealogi-
cal rapport; he defamiliarizes family difference-paternity, or even the
logical priority of engenderer over engendered. In this his trinitarian
doctrine is, once again, of a piece with the biographical narrative, for the
conflation of genealogy inherent to the Abelardian Trinity is the doctrinal
reproduction of the drama of interrupted lineage central to the Historia.
Here we should bear in mind that the philosopher-lover is castrated not
so much because of desire, seduction, or even his subsequent marriage,
but for removing Heloi:se from her family.
37
His sin is less one of con-
cupiscence than of having bastardized a noble line, having tampered with
the biopolitics of lineage.
Abelard is at once the one whose genealogy has been irrevocably
interrupted and the archetypal interrupter. Even the name which he
chooses for his son-Astrolabe-represents a curiously scientific break
with theology and with philosophy.
38
And the lack of attention paid to
this progeny of illicit desire suggests something even more basic to the
constitution of the persona presented in the Historia Calamitatum: namely,
that Abelard, irrespective of his mutilation, remains incapable of playing
the role of father. This is abundantly clear during the course of his abbacy
at Saint Gildas, portrayed in terms of a violent generational struggle:
. . . et multo periculosior et crebrior persecutio filiorum sevit
quam hostium. Istos quippe semper presentes habeo, et eorum msidias
jugiter sustineo. Hostium violentiam in corporis mei periculum video,_ a
claustro procedam; in claustro autem filiorum, id est monachorum, m1h1.
tanquam abbati, hoc est patri, commissorum, tam violenta quam dolosa m-
cessanter sustineo machinamenta. [Historia, p. 105]
. . . for the persecution carried on by my sons rages against me more per-
ilously and continuously than that of my open. enemies, !or my so?s I have
always with me, and I am ever exposed to treachenes. Th_e vwlence
of my enemies I see in the danger to my body If I leave the cloister; but

ll
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 145
within it I am compelled incessantly to endure the crafty machinations as
well as the open violence of those monks who are called my sons, and
who are entrusted to me as their abbot, which is to say their father.
If Abelard suppresses (castrates?) through neglect his genetic offspring,
he is in turn overwhelmed by the spiritual sons who put poison in his
chalice and "bribe bandits," as he contends, "to waylay and kill him."
The monk who in the beginning functions well as a brother among
brethren, then as a lover, and eventually as a guide to the nuns of the
Paraclet, fails utterly to experience paternity as anything other than
absolute rupture. Abelard represents, at bottom, a profound disruption
of the continuity of lineage.
Abelard's status as the arch-interrupter of genealogy is obvious in the
association with castration, in his attitude toward authority, in his doc-
trine of the Trinity, and both in his refusal of and difficulty with actual
paternity. And yet, it surfaces in other ways as well: in, for instance, his
highly personalized notion of sin and penance stressing the primacy of
individual responsibility and remorse rather than the heritability of origi-
nal sin and of collective guilt
39
; in his choice of the biographical genre
which, in view of its relative rarity in the twelfth century, served to
valorize the events of an individual life-a self not unlike the je of the
troubadours and later Guillaume de Lorris-in isolation from either
ancestry or progeny; and, finally, in the practice of philosophy itself.
One of the constant themes of the Historia is the incompatibility of
philosophy and paternity:
Que enim conventio scolarium ad pedissequas, scriptoriorum ad cunabula,
librorum sive tabularum ad colos, stilorum sive calamorum ad fusos? Quis
denique sacris vel philosophicis meditationibus intentus, pueriles vagitus,
nutricum que hos mittigant nenias, tumultuosam familie tam in viris quam
in feminis turbam sustinere poterit? [P. 76]
What possible concord could there be between scholars and domestics, be-
tween scriptoria and cradles, between books or tablets and distaffs, be-
tween the stylus or the pen and the spindle? What man, intent on his reli-
gious or philosophical meditations, can possibly endure the whining of
children, the lullabies of the nurse seeking to quiet them, or the noisy con-
fusion of family life?
The perfect philosopher is thus the castrato, he who, because he is
beyond desire, escapes the contingent and illusory world of the senses.
All of which changes somewhat Abelard's own relation to the narrative of
his misfortunes. It makes him appear, in fact, less the mutilated victim of
his own lust than the heroic mutilator of a long exegetical, doctrinal,
discursive, and, most of all, semiological tradition.
Abelard's rejection of a paternally present auctoritas in favor of dialec-
tics, his conflation of the Trinity, legitimation of biography, and refusal of
144 Chapter Four
nor to number, but according to definition or property. God does not
represent three separate essences; rather, he is triune with respect to
persons. This is comparable to saying, for example, that man is also one
with respect to the uniquely human properties, for example, capacity for
laughter, for philosophy, or for grammar (see above, pp. 50-51). At the
same time it poses the problem of what it means to predicate a property of
a subject. For Abelard, the tres and personae of the Trinity are joined in an
accidental predication which, in fact, escapes the determination of the
dialecticians. The names "Father," "Son," and "Holy Ghost" express
only approximately the internal relation of the substantially and numer-
ically identical parts of a unique res. By way of example, Abelard invokes
the common metaphor of the Trinity as a seal (signum) consisting of the
bronze which seals, the image in wax, and the seal itself.
Thus Abelard seems to abstract the Trinity from a genetic or genealogi-
cal rapport; he defamiliarizes family difference-paternity, or even the
logical priority of engenderer over engendered. In this his trinitarian
doctrine is, once again, of a piece with the biographical narrative, for the
conflation of genealogy inherent to the Abelardian Trinity is the doctrinal
reproduction of the drama of interrupted lineage central to the Historia.
Here we should bear in mind that the philosopher-lover is castrated not
so much because of desire, seduction, or even his subsequent marriage,
but for removing Heloi:se from her family.
37
His sin is less one of con-
cupiscence than of having bastardized a noble line, having tampered with
the biopolitics of lineage.
Abelard is at once the one whose genealogy has been irrevocably
interrupted and the archetypal interrupter. Even the name which he
chooses for his son-Astrolabe-represents a curiously scientific break
with theology and with philosophy.
38
And the lack of attention paid to
this progeny of illicit desire suggests something even more basic to the
constitution of the persona presented in the Historia Calamitatum: namely,
that Abelard, irrespective of his mutilation, remains incapable of playing
the role of father. This is abundantly clear during the course of his abbacy
at Saint Gildas, portrayed in terms of a violent generational struggle:
. . . et multo periculosior et crebrior persecutio filiorum sevit
quam hostium. Istos quippe semper presentes habeo, et eorum msidias
jugiter sustineo. Hostium violentiam in corporis mei periculum video,_ a
claustro procedam; in claustro autem filiorum, id est monachorum, m1h1.
tanquam abbati, hoc est patri, commissorum, tam violenta quam dolosa m-
cessanter sustineo machinamenta. [Historia, p. 105]
. . . for the persecution carried on by my sons rages against me more per-
ilously and continuously than that of my open. enemies, !or my so?s I have
always with me, and I am ever exposed to treachenes. Th_e vwlence
of my enemies I see in the danger to my body If I leave the cloister; but

ll
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 145
within it I am compelled incessantly to endure the crafty machinations as
well as the open violence of those monks who are called my sons, and
who are entrusted to me as their abbot, which is to say their father.
If Abelard suppresses (castrates?) through neglect his genetic offspring,
he is in turn overwhelmed by the spiritual sons who put poison in his
chalice and "bribe bandits," as he contends, "to waylay and kill him."
The monk who in the beginning functions well as a brother among
brethren, then as a lover, and eventually as a guide to the nuns of the
Paraclet, fails utterly to experience paternity as anything other than
absolute rupture. Abelard represents, at bottom, a profound disruption
of the continuity of lineage.
Abelard's status as the arch-interrupter of genealogy is obvious in the
association with castration, in his attitude toward authority, in his doc-
trine of the Trinity, and both in his refusal of and difficulty with actual
paternity. And yet, it surfaces in other ways as well: in, for instance, his
highly personalized notion of sin and penance stressing the primacy of
individual responsibility and remorse rather than the heritability of origi-
nal sin and of collective guilt
39
; in his choice of the biographical genre
which, in view of its relative rarity in the twelfth century, served to
valorize the events of an individual life-a self not unlike the je of the
troubadours and later Guillaume de Lorris-in isolation from either
ancestry or progeny; and, finally, in the practice of philosophy itself.
One of the constant themes of the Historia is the incompatibility of
philosophy and paternity:
Que enim conventio scolarium ad pedissequas, scriptoriorum ad cunabula,
librorum sive tabularum ad colos, stilorum sive calamorum ad fusos? Quis
denique sacris vel philosophicis meditationibus intentus, pueriles vagitus,
nutricum que hos mittigant nenias, tumultuosam familie tam in viris quam
in feminis turbam sustinere poterit? [P. 76]
What possible concord could there be between scholars and domestics, be-
tween scriptoria and cradles, between books or tablets and distaffs, be-
tween the stylus or the pen and the spindle? What man, intent on his reli-
gious or philosophical meditations, can possibly endure the whining of
children, the lullabies of the nurse seeking to quiet them, or the noisy con-
fusion of family life?
The perfect philosopher is thus the castrato, he who, because he is
beyond desire, escapes the contingent and illusory world of the senses.
All of which changes somewhat Abelard's own relation to the narrative of
his misfortunes. It makes him appear, in fact, less the mutilated victim of
his own lust than the heroic mutilator of a long exegetical, doctrinal,
discursive, and, most of all, semiological tradition.
Abelard's rejection of a paternally present auctoritas in favor of dialec-
tics, his conflation of the Trinity, legitimation of biography, and refusal of
146 Chapter Four
family are the most apparent gestures of a life conceived from the
as a saga of interruption. What remains less apparent, however, IS the
extent to which the Abelardian drama, which will haunt the High and late
Middle Ages, is itself determined by a radicalized sign theory. The lan-
guage arts are central to his philosophical vision-so much so that the
deeper one delves, the more difficult it becomes to distinguish biography,
linguistics, and theology. For here, perhaps more than else,
the legendary castrato severs his own attachment not only to an mtellec-
tual past but to a philosophy of signs based upon origins.
Abelard's departure from the originary grammar of the early Middle
Ages can be seen, first of all, in his skepticism toward etymology. Names,
he maintains, are imposed upon things according to physical property,
but a given appellation only expresses one essential aspect of a
complex reality; the etymology of the word leads therefore to a partial
perception of the thing. To be made of earth (humo), to take the example
dear to Isidore, reflects only part of what it is to be a man (homo). Hence
the fractional nature of even a proper etymology makes it dangerous to
generalize on that basis; as Abelard notes, not all Bretons are brutes as
their name implies, "even though the majority are."
40
Then, too, just as
the character expressed by an etymology may not be present in all of its
referents, it may not be reserved exclusively for the beings designated by
the name. This inadequation between signs and signified in fact can
prevent the etymology from revealing true proprietas, since a propre is by
definition attributable to the whole of the species. According to Abelard,
language and the ontological categories of the real are no longer cotermi-
nous principles, and the etymological effort to arrive at the nature even of
physical reality is severely compromised. In contrast to Isidore's faith that
"knowledge of the source of names leads more quickly to an understand-
ing of things," Abelard is convinced that such knowledge reveals more
about "the composition of the name than about the substance of the
thing."
41
Etymology cannot, therefore, be used to demonstrate proposi-
tions having to do with the real: "Huiusmodi interpretatio, quia solius
nominis compositionem sequitur nee rei potius proprietatem exprimit,
nullam probabilitatem exigit. "
42
Abelard's distrust of etymology has far-reaching implications for the
essentially verbal epistemology of the early Middle Ages. More precisely,
the attenuation of faith in the power of etymological thought to recuper-
ate an original order of the world relegates to the realm of the contingent,
relative, and historically determined that which once partook of the
necessary, absolute, and eternal. Through the castrated castrator, lan-
guage is, as J. Jolivet observes, "deprived of that ontological foundation
which less enlightened, or more mystical, ages accorded it."
43
Abelard
incarnates the drama both of Eden and of Babel in an archetypal cycle of
desire, satisfaction, and exile which ends in a fall from linguistic grace.
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 147
Abelard's break with the linguistic past, which implies a break in the
semantic integrity of the individual word, also extends to larger grammat-
ical constructions. And just as the noun whose function is to signify
substance with a quality can signify a nonqualified substance, more than
one substance, or an accident instead of substance, the constructio of the
phrase or proposition based upon such an appellation does not conform
to the apparent reality of things. The rules of language do not necessarily
follow the laws of nature; and in misrepresenting dialectical truth, gram-
mar also betrays that which dialectics acknowledges to be true. But
beyond the appellative anomaly and syntactic imperfection lies a more
pervasive, systemic inadequation: that is to say, words never designate
things in the first instance; they refer instead to a third set of terms
(sermones) or intellections, which again do not always parallel the verbal
constructio. The same intellection can be the object of different expressions
as in the example of "running" and "he runs" (cursus and currit). The
mind, in addition, can conceive of absence, inexistence, or intellections
without objects (e.g., "rational stones"). Language is, then, always medi-
ated by the meaning of words which, bearing an immediate rapport only
with human intelligence and not with reality, offer a more faithful image
of the psyche than of the world.
44
For Abelard, linguistics and psychology
are intertwined to such a degree that the notion of mental structure-
language as a map of the mind-supplants the supposedly objective and
universal categories of the real.
In the question of the status of universals, sign theory and ontology
seem to merge; and it is here more than anywhere else that Abelard's
disruptive presence makes itself felt. He grants that exemplary forms
exist in divine understanding, and he acknowledges the resemblance of
things in nature; but he denies the claim of universals or ideas to indepen-
dent existence-to substance, since such a claim contradicts physics (i.e.,
if the individual members of a same species express a common nature that
is external to them and if the distinction between them is merely
accidental, then there is, in the example dear to the philosopher, no way
of proving as real the difference between Socrates and Plato, or between
Plato and an ass). More important, Abelard shifts the question of the
reality, the subsistence, of universals toward a general theory of signs,
with the result that the ontological family model of genres and species
passed from Aristotle to the Middle Ages through Porphyry and Boethius
fuses with the discipline of grammar. Abelard transforms Porphyry's
three questions concerning the independence, the corporeality, and the
inherence of universals into an essentially linguistic problem. What, he
asks, for example, does a word like "man" have to signify in order to be
joined to an individual like Socrates by the verb "to be"? When one
asserts that both Socrates and Plato are men, where and what is the
nature of such a conjunction?
146 Chapter Four
family are the most apparent gestures of a life conceived from the
as a saga of interruption. What remains less apparent, however, IS the
extent to which the Abelardian drama, which will haunt the High and late
Middle Ages, is itself determined by a radicalized sign theory. The lan-
guage arts are central to his philosophical vision-so much so that the
deeper one delves, the more difficult it becomes to distinguish biography,
linguistics, and theology. For here, perhaps more than else,
the legendary castrato severs his own attachment not only to an mtellec-
tual past but to a philosophy of signs based upon origins.
Abelard's departure from the originary grammar of the early Middle
Ages can be seen, first of all, in his skepticism toward etymology. Names,
he maintains, are imposed upon things according to physical property,
but a given appellation only expresses one essential aspect of a
complex reality; the etymology of the word leads therefore to a partial
perception of the thing. To be made of earth (humo), to take the example
dear to Isidore, reflects only part of what it is to be a man (homo). Hence
the fractional nature of even a proper etymology makes it dangerous to
generalize on that basis; as Abelard notes, not all Bretons are brutes as
their name implies, "even though the majority are."
40
Then, too, just as
the character expressed by an etymology may not be present in all of its
referents, it may not be reserved exclusively for the beings designated by
the name. This inadequation between signs and signified in fact can
prevent the etymology from revealing true proprietas, since a propre is by
definition attributable to the whole of the species. According to Abelard,
language and the ontological categories of the real are no longer cotermi-
nous principles, and the etymological effort to arrive at the nature even of
physical reality is severely compromised. In contrast to Isidore's faith that
"knowledge of the source of names leads more quickly to an understand-
ing of things," Abelard is convinced that such knowledge reveals more
about "the composition of the name than about the substance of the
thing."
41
Etymology cannot, therefore, be used to demonstrate proposi-
tions having to do with the real: "Huiusmodi interpretatio, quia solius
nominis compositionem sequitur nee rei potius proprietatem exprimit,
nullam probabilitatem exigit. "
42
Abelard's distrust of etymology has far-reaching implications for the
essentially verbal epistemology of the early Middle Ages. More precisely,
the attenuation of faith in the power of etymological thought to recuper-
ate an original order of the world relegates to the realm of the contingent,
relative, and historically determined that which once partook of the
necessary, absolute, and eternal. Through the castrated castrator, lan-
guage is, as J. Jolivet observes, "deprived of that ontological foundation
which less enlightened, or more mystical, ages accorded it."
43
Abelard
incarnates the drama both of Eden and of Babel in an archetypal cycle of
desire, satisfaction, and exile which ends in a fall from linguistic grace.
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 147
Abelard's break with the linguistic past, which implies a break in the
semantic integrity of the individual word, also extends to larger grammat-
ical constructions. And just as the noun whose function is to signify
substance with a quality can signify a nonqualified substance, more than
one substance, or an accident instead of substance, the constructio of the
phrase or proposition based upon such an appellation does not conform
to the apparent reality of things. The rules of language do not necessarily
follow the laws of nature; and in misrepresenting dialectical truth, gram-
mar also betrays that which dialectics acknowledges to be true. But
beyond the appellative anomaly and syntactic imperfection lies a more
pervasive, systemic inadequation: that is to say, words never designate
things in the first instance; they refer instead to a third set of terms
(sermones) or intellections, which again do not always parallel the verbal
constructio. The same intellection can be the object of different expressions
as in the example of "running" and "he runs" (cursus and currit). The
mind, in addition, can conceive of absence, inexistence, or intellections
without objects (e.g., "rational stones"). Language is, then, always medi-
ated by the meaning of words which, bearing an immediate rapport only
with human intelligence and not with reality, offer a more faithful image
of the psyche than of the world.
44
For Abelard, linguistics and psychology
are intertwined to such a degree that the notion of mental structure-
language as a map of the mind-supplants the supposedly objective and
universal categories of the real.
In the question of the status of universals, sign theory and ontology
seem to merge; and it is here more than anywhere else that Abelard's
disruptive presence makes itself felt. He grants that exemplary forms
exist in divine understanding, and he acknowledges the resemblance of
things in nature; but he denies the claim of universals or ideas to indepen-
dent existence-to substance, since such a claim contradicts physics (i.e.,
if the individual members of a same species express a common nature that
is external to them and if the distinction between them is merely
accidental, then there is, in the example dear to the philosopher, no way
of proving as real the difference between Socrates and Plato, or between
Plato and an ass). More important, Abelard shifts the question of the
reality, the subsistence, of universals toward a general theory of signs,
with the result that the ontological family model of genres and species
passed from Aristotle to the Middle Ages through Porphyry and Boethius
fuses with the discipline of grammar. Abelard transforms Porphyry's
three questions concerning the independence, the corporeality, and the
inherence of universals into an essentially linguistic problem. What, he
asks, for example, does a word like "man" have to signify in order to be
joined to an individual like Socrates by the verb "to be"? When one
asserts that both Socrates and Plato are men, where and what is the
nature of such a conjunction?
148 Chapter Four
Abelard's solution to the problem of universals focuses, in keeping
with the grammatical distinction between proper and common nouns,
upon the general terms which alone are endowed with universal status:
"restat ut huiusmodi universalitatem solis vocibus adscribamus."
45
Vox,
sermo, or nomen, the universal is a sign and a word, and, as such, it can be
inserted into the grammatical model of predication. Abelard is even more
precise: "The universal is a word [vocabulum] which has been formed for
the purpose of serving as a predicate to several terms taken individually,
as, for example, the noun 'man,' which one can connect to the names of
particular men according to the nature of the subjects [subjectarum rerum]
to which it is imposed."
46
A genre, then, is a word to which one can join
other words to express, ultimately, the particular, which, in Abelard's
view, is alone endowed with existence. For the independence which is
attributed to things denies the thingness of universals; a thing is entirely
and only itself and cannot be invested with the universality reserved for
words or common terms. This is the same as saying that genres and
species designate the same thing and that each designates the same as the
individual. A collective category is essentially coextensive with its consti-
tuent parts, and the difference between them merely verbal. To the
question of where two men like Socrates and Plato meet in order for us to
call them both homo, Abelard responds that it is in their status as men,
"which is not a real thing, but is the common cause of the imposition of
the same name to each one taken separately."
47
Thus, linguistics offers both a paradigmatic and syntagmatic solution
to the central ontological issues of a profoundly metaphysical age: the
status of universal categories and of general nominal terms. The common
vox identical to a common intellection as a statue is to a stone, is less the
pr;duct of a subsistent third entity between words and things than of a
socially determined gesture of verbal imposition reflecting observable
resemblances in nature. The relation between such voces is that of a more
universal category predicated of a less universal one. Semantics and
syntax are for Abelard more "real" -more satisfactory tools of explana-
tion-than blind faith in the genres and species of early medieval Real-
ism. Even here, however, the relation of nouns and verbs enjoys only
approximate status, since verbal propositions, as he emphasizes, remain
rooted in contingent and not subsistent reality. The chain of intellections
corresponding to the copula of noun and verb expresses "the comport-
ment of things among themselves, that is to say, whether they agree or
not" rather than any necessary objective rapport. The value of the prop-
osition is more logical than ontological. As Jolivet again notes, the closest
modern equivalent is the phenomenological term "Sachverhalt," a "state
of things" corresponding to Abelard's "quidam rerum modus habendi
se."
48
I
. I
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 149
If I have insisted upon Abelard's denial of the reality of universals and
his redirection of metaphysics toward problems of signification, it is
because this aspect of his thought is of a piece with the legend of his
castration; and it points, once again, to the monumental role of the
whose genealogy is supposedly disrupted in the disruption
of an mtellectual genealogy itself predicated on such linguistic and onto-
logical continuities. He to whom paternity is denied, and who becomes
the _central of such a denial, is, ironically, the one whose ruptured
_of rupture-will prevail. For Abelard's theory of signs
pomts m the direction of, and in fact sets the tone for, the radical reorien-
tation of linguistics of the High Middle Ages.
Nominalist and Modal Grammar
The first manifestation of this break appeared with the early if some-
what isolated articulation of Nominalism by Roscelin of Compiegne,
whose thought, known primarily through Anselm and Abelard, was
more extreme than that of any of his successors before the fourteenth
century. Roscelin asserted the nonexistence of universals, which repre-
sent for him mere names (nomina) and even "empty noises" (flatus vocis).
He is unwilling to grant even a loose, approximate relation between the
resemblances observable in nature and general linguistic terms, which
represent only arbitrary meanings. This position will be modified
throughout the period in question: by Abelard who, as we have seen,
considers universal grammatical expressions to be "confused general
images" extrapolated from particular things; by Thomas Aquinas for
whom the order of language no longer transmits directly the order of the
world, since words as conventional signs refer in the first instance to
concepts (mental abstractions); by William of Ockham in whom Nominal-
ism will, two and a half centuries after Roscelin, reach its apogee.
. Ockham takes up many of the central issues of Abelard's theory of
signs, but_ his Nominalism is more extreme. Thus, he too, in seeking to
rescue an mdependent conceptual order from confusion with that which
exists only in the mind, substitutes logic for metaphysics. For Ockham,
cognition comes first in the order of being; and there is little difference, he
maintains, between intellect and cognition. The multilayered distinctions
that give his writing the appearance of a spectacular hall of logical mirrors
are, moreover, oriented toward marking the difference between knowl-
edge and being. Different ways of signifying being do not necessarily
connote different levels of being, whether the mode of reference is, like
that of Aquinas's version of Aristotle's categories, defined in terms of
actuality versus potentiality, or in terms of the Augustinian opposition
immaterial essences and their determinate states.
49
Rather, they
constitute terms that may in propositions be substituted for each other. In
148 Chapter Four
Abelard's solution to the problem of universals focuses, in keeping
with the grammatical distinction between proper and common nouns,
upon the general terms which alone are endowed with universal status:
"restat ut huiusmodi universalitatem solis vocibus adscribamus."
45
Vox,
sermo, or nomen, the universal is a sign and a word, and, as such, it can be
inserted into the grammatical model of predication. Abelard is even more
precise: "The universal is a word [vocabulum] which has been formed for
the purpose of serving as a predicate to several terms taken individually,
as, for example, the noun 'man,' which one can connect to the names of
particular men according to the nature of the subjects [subjectarum rerum]
to which it is imposed."
46
A genre, then, is a word to which one can join
other words to express, ultimately, the particular, which, in Abelard's
view, is alone endowed with existence. For the independence which is
attributed to things denies the thingness of universals; a thing is entirely
and only itself and cannot be invested with the universality reserved for
words or common terms. This is the same as saying that genres and
species designate the same thing and that each designates the same as the
individual. A collective category is essentially coextensive with its consti-
tuent parts, and the difference between them merely verbal. To the
question of where two men like Socrates and Plato meet in order for us to
call them both homo, Abelard responds that it is in their status as men,
"which is not a real thing, but is the common cause of the imposition of
the same name to each one taken separately."
47
Thus, linguistics offers both a paradigmatic and syntagmatic solution
to the central ontological issues of a profoundly metaphysical age: the
status of universal categories and of general nominal terms. The common
vox identical to a common intellection as a statue is to a stone, is less the
pr;duct of a subsistent third entity between words and things than of a
socially determined gesture of verbal imposition reflecting observable
resemblances in nature. The relation between such voces is that of a more
universal category predicated of a less universal one. Semantics and
syntax are for Abelard more "real" -more satisfactory tools of explana-
tion-than blind faith in the genres and species of early medieval Real-
ism. Even here, however, the relation of nouns and verbs enjoys only
approximate status, since verbal propositions, as he emphasizes, remain
rooted in contingent and not subsistent reality. The chain of intellections
corresponding to the copula of noun and verb expresses "the comport-
ment of things among themselves, that is to say, whether they agree or
not" rather than any necessary objective rapport. The value of the prop-
osition is more logical than ontological. As Jolivet again notes, the closest
modern equivalent is the phenomenological term "Sachverhalt," a "state
of things" corresponding to Abelard's "quidam rerum modus habendi
se."
48
I
. I
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 149
If I have insisted upon Abelard's denial of the reality of universals and
his redirection of metaphysics toward problems of signification, it is
because this aspect of his thought is of a piece with the legend of his
castration; and it points, once again, to the monumental role of the
whose genealogy is supposedly disrupted in the disruption
of an mtellectual genealogy itself predicated on such linguistic and onto-
logical continuities. He to whom paternity is denied, and who becomes
the _central of such a denial, is, ironically, the one whose ruptured
_of rupture-will prevail. For Abelard's theory of signs
pomts m the direction of, and in fact sets the tone for, the radical reorien-
tation of linguistics of the High Middle Ages.
Nominalist and Modal Grammar
The first manifestation of this break appeared with the early if some-
what isolated articulation of Nominalism by Roscelin of Compiegne,
whose thought, known primarily through Anselm and Abelard, was
more extreme than that of any of his successors before the fourteenth
century. Roscelin asserted the nonexistence of universals, which repre-
sent for him mere names (nomina) and even "empty noises" (flatus vocis).
He is unwilling to grant even a loose, approximate relation between the
resemblances observable in nature and general linguistic terms, which
represent only arbitrary meanings. This position will be modified
throughout the period in question: by Abelard who, as we have seen,
considers universal grammatical expressions to be "confused general
images" extrapolated from particular things; by Thomas Aquinas for
whom the order of language no longer transmits directly the order of the
world, since words as conventional signs refer in the first instance to
concepts (mental abstractions); by William of Ockham in whom Nominal-
ism will, two and a half centuries after Roscelin, reach its apogee.
. Ockham takes up many of the central issues of Abelard's theory of
signs, but_ his Nominalism is more extreme. Thus, he too, in seeking to
rescue an mdependent conceptual order from confusion with that which
exists only in the mind, substitutes logic for metaphysics. For Ockham,
cognition comes first in the order of being; and there is little difference, he
maintains, between intellect and cognition. The multilayered distinctions
that give his writing the appearance of a spectacular hall of logical mirrors
are, moreover, oriented toward marking the difference between knowl-
edge and being. Different ways of signifying being do not necessarily
connote different levels of being, whether the mode of reference is, like
that of Aquinas's version of Aristotle's categories, defined in terms of
actuality versus potentiality, or in terms of the Augustinian opposition
immaterial essences and their determinate states.
49
Rather, they
constitute terms that may in propositions be substituted for each other. In
150 Chapter Four
fact, the question of suppositio, how the terms of logic and grammar may
stand for each other as cognates, constitutes the crux of Ockham' s
thought. Hence, the distinctions: between terms taken significantly and
nonsignificantly; between natural and conventional signs; between terms
of first intention (a natural sign that does not stand for another sign) and
of second intention (signs of signs or of concepts such as genus and
species); between terms of first imposition (conventional signs for all
terms of first and second intention, i.e., the names of natural signs) and of
second imposition (names imposed to signify conventional signs, i.e.,
grammatical categories like "noun," "verb," etc.); between terms having
real definition (an absolute term standing for a real thing completely and
individually) and nominal definition (a connotative term having only
indirect, relative, or negative signification); between concrete terms en-
countered through direct cognition (e.g., white, hot) and abstract terms
requiring real or nominal definition. Such categories for understanding
the terms which may be substituted for each other are, further, merely a
necessary prelude to the categories of actual supposition. In the substitu-
tion of one term of a proposition for another, Ockham also discriminates
between: personal supposition (when a term stands for what is signified)
in the affirmation of an ontological truth; simple supposition (when a
term stands for a concept but not significantly) in the affirmation of a
conceptual truth; and material supposition (when a term stands gram-
matically for another term) in the affirmation of a semantic truth. Within
personal supposition, Ockham further distinguishes discrete supposi-
tion (when a proper name or demonstrative pronoun is signified) from
common supposition (when an appellative stands as the subject of a
proposition); and within common supposition, he separates determinate
from confused supposition, etc.
These diverse classes of terms and modes of supposition are aimed at
establishing the proper conditions for a supplemental exchange within
the confines of a logical proposition. And lest their complexity seem
gratuitous, it must be remembered that Ockham's ultimate goal is a
precision synonymous with unity. He seeks, first of all, perceptual sim-
plicity; and this by shifting what in the early Middle Ages was taken for
real distinction emanating from differences in nature or kind toward
logical distinction between terms. To this end, he detaches what is con-
sidered to be a false perception of real property-the investment of
abstractions with objective status-from the conditions or properties of
words and signs. The reductive thrust of such a strategy also tends to
simplify the referent. For if different terms do not signify substantially
different entities, then they must signify the same entity in different
ways, or under different aspects. (We will return shortly to this modaliza-
tion of truth.) Finally, Ockham' s terrninist linguistics simplifies the realist
1
K
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 151
ontology of an earlier era by eliminating the mediatory role of ideas
between the universe of perception and of being. Ockham does away
with the need for anything even resembling a species between the know-
ing conscience and the object known. Abstract knowledge, he grants,
does require something beyond the intellect and knowledge, but that
supplement or excess represents a mental habit (habitus) with no claim to
subsistence. General ideas are mere ficta, constructions (but not fictions),
abstracted from the individual things which alone exist. While the univer-
sal is a concept, the natural sign of an act of real knowledge and an object
known in the mind, it is not the essence of another substance in which it
inheres, at once distinct from individual things and from other univer-
sals. The genera and species of Porphyry's ontological tree can be defined
only by virtue of their greater or lesser universality in signifying more or
fewer particular things.
50
Thus, the categories of the real which Abelard
castrates by reduction to more or less general predicable intellections are
further mutilated-yea, eliminated-by Ockham's mentalist, empirical,
nominalist "razor. "
51
The second radical break with and redefinition of traditional medieval
grammar occurred in the second part of the thirteenth century and
the fourteenth among the modistae or speculative grammar-
Ians for whom the object of grammar is expanded to universal-even
cosmic-proportions.
52
For thinkers like John and Martin of Dacia, Michel
de Marbais, Siger de Courtrai, and Thomas of Erfurt, the goal of language
study is the establishment of general linguistic laws. Up until the thir-
teenth century there were as many grammars as there were languages.
!he ?f a of distinguishing between the function of a sign and
Its ongm m a foundmg moment of imposition precluded any discourse on
language abstracted from particular tongues; and it meant that linguistics
and historical linguistics were indissociably allied (see above, pp. 37-44).
As early as the second half of the twelfth century, however, the distinc-
tion began to be drawn between individual languages and the rules of
!anguage. Dominicus Gundissalinus (died after 1180) divides grammar
mto two parts, the "science of observing and considering that which one
speech means among the people whose language it is, and the science of
observing the rules of those words."
53
And while the former, determined
by usage, can only lead to the particular, "according to the diversity of
tongues," the latter is "the same among all peoples according to the
similarity of rules."
54
A universal grammar, made possible by "immutable
and identical conditions and based upon immutable principles" (Nicho-
las of Paris), comes increasingly to characterize the grammar of the later
Middle Ages.
55
What happened, in fact, is that the universality which had been consid-
ered to exist separately in the subsistent world of things was displaced
150 Chapter Four
fact, the question of suppositio, how the terms of logic and grammar may
stand for each other as cognates, constitutes the crux of Ockham' s
thought. Hence, the distinctions: between terms taken significantly and
nonsignificantly; between natural and conventional signs; between terms
of first intention (a natural sign that does not stand for another sign) and
of second intention (signs of signs or of concepts such as genus and
species); between terms of first imposition (conventional signs for all
terms of first and second intention, i.e., the names of natural signs) and of
second imposition (names imposed to signify conventional signs, i.e.,
grammatical categories like "noun," "verb," etc.); between terms having
real definition (an absolute term standing for a real thing completely and
individually) and nominal definition (a connotative term having only
indirect, relative, or negative signification); between concrete terms en-
countered through direct cognition (e.g., white, hot) and abstract terms
requiring real or nominal definition. Such categories for understanding
the terms which may be substituted for each other are, further, merely a
necessary prelude to the categories of actual supposition. In the substitu-
tion of one term of a proposition for another, Ockham also discriminates
between: personal supposition (when a term stands for what is signified)
in the affirmation of an ontological truth; simple supposition (when a
term stands for a concept but not significantly) in the affirmation of a
conceptual truth; and material supposition (when a term stands gram-
matically for another term) in the affirmation of a semantic truth. Within
personal supposition, Ockham further distinguishes discrete supposi-
tion (when a proper name or demonstrative pronoun is signified) from
common supposition (when an appellative stands as the subject of a
proposition); and within common supposition, he separates determinate
from confused supposition, etc.
These diverse classes of terms and modes of supposition are aimed at
establishing the proper conditions for a supplemental exchange within
the confines of a logical proposition. And lest their complexity seem
gratuitous, it must be remembered that Ockham's ultimate goal is a
precision synonymous with unity. He seeks, first of all, perceptual sim-
plicity; and this by shifting what in the early Middle Ages was taken for
real distinction emanating from differences in nature or kind toward
logical distinction between terms. To this end, he detaches what is con-
sidered to be a false perception of real property-the investment of
abstractions with objective status-from the conditions or properties of
words and signs. The reductive thrust of such a strategy also tends to
simplify the referent. For if different terms do not signify substantially
different entities, then they must signify the same entity in different
ways, or under different aspects. (We will return shortly to this modaliza-
tion of truth.) Finally, Ockham' s terrninist linguistics simplifies the realist
1
K
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 151
ontology of an earlier era by eliminating the mediatory role of ideas
between the universe of perception and of being. Ockham does away
with the need for anything even resembling a species between the know-
ing conscience and the object known. Abstract knowledge, he grants,
does require something beyond the intellect and knowledge, but that
supplement or excess represents a mental habit (habitus) with no claim to
subsistence. General ideas are mere ficta, constructions (but not fictions),
abstracted from the individual things which alone exist. While the univer-
sal is a concept, the natural sign of an act of real knowledge and an object
known in the mind, it is not the essence of another substance in which it
inheres, at once distinct from individual things and from other univer-
sals. The genera and species of Porphyry's ontological tree can be defined
only by virtue of their greater or lesser universality in signifying more or
fewer particular things.
50
Thus, the categories of the real which Abelard
castrates by reduction to more or less general predicable intellections are
further mutilated-yea, eliminated-by Ockham's mentalist, empirical,
nominalist "razor. "
51
The second radical break with and redefinition of traditional medieval
grammar occurred in the second part of the thirteenth century and
the fourteenth among the modistae or speculative grammar-
Ians for whom the object of grammar is expanded to universal-even
cosmic-proportions.
52
For thinkers like John and Martin of Dacia, Michel
de Marbais, Siger de Courtrai, and Thomas of Erfurt, the goal of language
study is the establishment of general linguistic laws. Up until the thir-
teenth century there were as many grammars as there were languages.
!he ?f a of distinguishing between the function of a sign and
Its ongm m a foundmg moment of imposition precluded any discourse on
language abstracted from particular tongues; and it meant that linguistics
and historical linguistics were indissociably allied (see above, pp. 37-44).
As early as the second half of the twelfth century, however, the distinc-
tion began to be drawn between individual languages and the rules of
!anguage. Dominicus Gundissalinus (died after 1180) divides grammar
mto two parts, the "science of observing and considering that which one
speech means among the people whose language it is, and the science of
observing the rules of those words."
53
And while the former, determined
by usage, can only lead to the particular, "according to the diversity of
tongues," the latter is "the same among all peoples according to the
similarity of rules."
54
A universal grammar, made possible by "immutable
and identical conditions and based upon immutable principles" (Nicho-
las of Paris), comes increasingly to characterize the grammar of the later
Middle Ages.
55
What happened, in fact, is that the universality which had been consid-
ered to exist separately in the subsistent world of things was displaced
152 Chapter Four
toward the mind and could be located more specifically in grammar.
Grammar, which formerly dealt only with contingent entities (voces or
material sounds), is transformed into a metalanguage as comprehensive
in its abstraction as it once was limited in its specificity. By the 1200s it had
passed from an auxiliary pedagogical art preparatory to the study of
Classical or Biblical texts to an independent branch of speculative phi-
losophy.
Grammar's elevation to the status of universal method was, in fact, a
symptom of its merger with logic. We have already seen the degree to
which Ockham' s attempt to distinguish various types of word use for the
purpose of supposition represents a permeation of grammar by dialectic.
Among the modistae a reliance upon scholastic principles is also much in
evidence. The rapport between grammar and language, for example, is
conceived variously as analogous to the relation of substance to accident,
matter to difference, potentiality to actuality, the general idea to its
particular manifestation. Hence the diverse tongues of mankind are to
the rules of grammar as individual features-and concrete instances-of
speech to formal principle.
56
The speculative grammarian assumes that
since the nature of things and of intelligibles are the same to all men, their
modes of signifying-that is, the basic categories of speech-must be the
same. Where difference exists, it is accidental, nonsignificant; in the
words of Robert Kilwardby, "it is not the proper subject of grammar."
57
Grammar discovers through logic unified and eternally true laws. It is
disengaged from the vicissitudes of time and, in fact, constitutes itself, as
Kilwardby maintains, in terms of an abstract-universally applicable,
immaterial-science equivalent in rigor to geometry:
Dicendum quod sicut geometria non est de magnitudine linee neque de
magnitudine enee neque de aliqua contracta ad materiam specialem, sed de
magnitudine simpliciter, ut abstrahit ab unaquaque tali, sic gramatica sim-
pliciter non est de oratione congrua secundum quod concernit linguam lati-
nam vel grecam et huiusmodi, sed hoc accidit; ymo est de constructione
congrua secundum quod abstrahit ab omni lingua speciali. [Notices, p. 127]
Just as we can say that geometry does not consist of the greatness of a line
or the greatness of a weight or of anything limited to a specific substance,
but consists simply of greatness disengaged from each of these specifics, so
grammar does not consist simply of speech that is fitting because it deals
discriminately with the Latin language or Greek and so on, but this is acci-
dental; in truth, it simply consists of a construction that is fitting because it
is disengaged from every specific language.
Not only is grammar one, but its laws are necessary and, again like
geometric theorems, permit deductive demonstration.
58
This is because the speculative grammarian believes deeply that
though the individual words of a particular tongue may not-because of
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 153
their nature-reflect reality, the parts of speech considered in
abstra,chon are the correlates of ontological truth
59
That whi"ch
. . . Is accessi-
ble to the as Siger de Courtrai claims, can be indicated by
partes "rerum proprietatibus partes orationis invicem dis-
tmguuntur. considered categorically and in isolation from
concrete expresswn, stands as a counterpart of that which truly exists or
has substance. the two primordial elements of being, stability or
permanence (habztus) and becoming (fieri), are expressed respectively in
the artd pronoun (matter and form of stability) and the verb and
participle (matter and form of becoming).
The goal ?f grammar is to establish a congruity between the
of bemg of a_ mind's mode of understanding it, and the
s mode_ of_ It. A sign (sound or vox), if understood,
a ratz_o to signify), thereby becoming a dictio
then from the mind a modus significandi by
m turn Is transformed mto a pars orationis, which, in its ultimate
hngmshc state, acquires power to consignify (ratio consignificandi) or to
syntax as a unit. A metaphysical series
(bemg, understandmg, sigmfymg) exists alongside of a linguistic series
(sound, word, part of speech) and serves, where the question of the
status of univ_ersals is concerned, to place the modistae somewhere be-
tween the and the nominalist: realist or objectivist in that words are
not mere figments of the mind with no external correlate; and nominalist
to the degree_ that word must, in the phrase of R. Bursill-Hall, "pass
the filter of mtellectual apprehension" which imparts to it some-
of the subject.
61
Even here, however, the categories of genre and
s.feCies endowed by early medieval metaphysics with subsistence are, as
equally to general and specific modes of significa-
tion ... Sicut. ad conshtuhonem speciei concurrent genus et differentia
speCifica, SIC ad constitutionem partis concurrent modus significandi
generalis et specificus. "
62
the and the modistae in different ways displace the
of ongms from the center of grammatical speculation and hence
disrupt the between words and things characteristic
of early medieval hngmshcs. This break is situated for the nominalist
between the word and its intellection, since, in Ockham's precept, "the
or movement of the soul, signifies naturally [essentially J all that
It _sigmfles, but the spoken or written term only signifies as a result of
WI!Iful convention."
63
Among the modistae, language, thought, and being
exist to but not _with each other. Each linguistic,
psychological, _and stage Is self-contained and complete, as
':ord mtellechons, and things, despite their homologous rela-
tion, remam hermetically sealed from one another. Nor do any of their
152 Chapter Four
toward the mind and could be located more specifically in grammar.
Grammar, which formerly dealt only with contingent entities (voces or
material sounds), is transformed into a metalanguage as comprehensive
in its abstraction as it once was limited in its specificity. By the 1200s it had
passed from an auxiliary pedagogical art preparatory to the study of
Classical or Biblical texts to an independent branch of speculative phi-
losophy.
Grammar's elevation to the status of universal method was, in fact, a
symptom of its merger with logic. We have already seen the degree to
which Ockham' s attempt to distinguish various types of word use for the
purpose of supposition represents a permeation of grammar by dialectic.
Among the modistae a reliance upon scholastic principles is also much in
evidence. The rapport between grammar and language, for example, is
conceived variously as analogous to the relation of substance to accident,
matter to difference, potentiality to actuality, the general idea to its
particular manifestation. Hence the diverse tongues of mankind are to
the rules of grammar as individual features-and concrete instances-of
speech to formal principle.
56
The speculative grammarian assumes that
since the nature of things and of intelligibles are the same to all men, their
modes of signifying-that is, the basic categories of speech-must be the
same. Where difference exists, it is accidental, nonsignificant; in the
words of Robert Kilwardby, "it is not the proper subject of grammar."
57
Grammar discovers through logic unified and eternally true laws. It is
disengaged from the vicissitudes of time and, in fact, constitutes itself, as
Kilwardby maintains, in terms of an abstract-universally applicable,
immaterial-science equivalent in rigor to geometry:
Dicendum quod sicut geometria non est de magnitudine linee neque de
magnitudine enee neque de aliqua contracta ad materiam specialem, sed de
magnitudine simpliciter, ut abstrahit ab unaquaque tali, sic gramatica sim-
pliciter non est de oratione congrua secundum quod concernit linguam lati-
nam vel grecam et huiusmodi, sed hoc accidit; ymo est de constructione
congrua secundum quod abstrahit ab omni lingua speciali. [Notices, p. 127]
Just as we can say that geometry does not consist of the greatness of a line
or the greatness of a weight or of anything limited to a specific substance,
but consists simply of greatness disengaged from each of these specifics, so
grammar does not consist simply of speech that is fitting because it deals
discriminately with the Latin language or Greek and so on, but this is acci-
dental; in truth, it simply consists of a construction that is fitting because it
is disengaged from every specific language.
Not only is grammar one, but its laws are necessary and, again like
geometric theorems, permit deductive demonstration.
58
This is because the speculative grammarian believes deeply that
though the individual words of a particular tongue may not-because of
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 153
their nature-reflect reality, the parts of speech considered in
abstra,chon are the correlates of ontological truth
59
That whi"ch
. . . Is accessi-
ble to the as Siger de Courtrai claims, can be indicated by
partes "rerum proprietatibus partes orationis invicem dis-
tmguuntur. considered categorically and in isolation from
concrete expresswn, stands as a counterpart of that which truly exists or
has substance. the two primordial elements of being, stability or
permanence (habztus) and becoming (fieri), are expressed respectively in
the artd pronoun (matter and form of stability) and the verb and
participle (matter and form of becoming).
The goal ?f grammar is to establish a congruity between the
of bemg of a_ mind's mode of understanding it, and the
s mode_ of_ It. A sign (sound or vox), if understood,
a ratz_o to signify), thereby becoming a dictio
then from the mind a modus significandi by
m turn Is transformed mto a pars orationis, which, in its ultimate
hngmshc state, acquires power to consignify (ratio consignificandi) or to
syntax as a unit. A metaphysical series
(bemg, understandmg, sigmfymg) exists alongside of a linguistic series
(sound, word, part of speech) and serves, where the question of the
status of univ_ersals is concerned, to place the modistae somewhere be-
tween the and the nominalist: realist or objectivist in that words are
not mere figments of the mind with no external correlate; and nominalist
to the degree_ that word must, in the phrase of R. Bursill-Hall, "pass
the filter of mtellectual apprehension" which imparts to it some-
of the subject.
61
Even here, however, the categories of genre and
s.feCies endowed by early medieval metaphysics with subsistence are, as
equally to general and specific modes of significa-
tion ... Sicut. ad conshtuhonem speciei concurrent genus et differentia
speCifica, SIC ad constitutionem partis concurrent modus significandi
generalis et specificus. "
62
the and the modistae in different ways displace the
of ongms from the center of grammatical speculation and hence
disrupt the between words and things characteristic
of early medieval hngmshcs. This break is situated for the nominalist
between the word and its intellection, since, in Ockham's precept, "the
or movement of the soul, signifies naturally [essentially J all that
It _sigmfles, but the spoken or written term only signifies as a result of
WI!Iful convention."
63
Among the modistae, language, thought, and being
exist to but not _with each other. Each linguistic,
psychological, _and stage Is self-contained and complete, as
':ord mtellechons, and things, despite their homologous rela-
tion, remam hermetically sealed from one another. Nor do any of their
154 Chapter Four
constituent elements manifest themselves adequately in words or
sounds. Speculative grammar is analogical, taxonomic, and paradigmatic
to such an extent that it deals only with universal categories with no
material expression in any actual tongue.
64
Once again, there is no way of
passing from an instance of speech to the original and necessary order of
the world.
The diminishing importance of origins in late medieval linguistics can
be seen in a turning away from philology, from grammar as mere ex-
planation or gloss of preexisting texts, and, along with the rediscovery of
Aristotle, in a triumph of logic over both Biblical exegesis and the auctores
of Classical and late Roman Antiquity. Within the economy of the
medieval language arts, dialect comes to dominate both rhetoric, which
passes into the field of poetics, and grammar, which becomes progres-
sively localized. Such a trend is, of course, important for a general history
of linguistics and of ideas; but it has special relevance for the originary,
participatory, and metonymic grammar of the early Middle Ages-and,
in particular, for the concept and role of etymology, which, like the notion
of origin itself, is rendered increasingly marginal.
We have seen that Abelard considers etymology to represent a partial
truth and rejects it as a principle of argument in the establishment of
syllogistic propositions (see above, p. 146). More important, beginning in
the second half of the twelfth century, etymologies are defined less and
less by the chronological history of a word; and they are increasingly
motivated by logical connection. Witness the explanation by one of the
glossa tors of Priscian, associated with the school of Ralph of Beauvais, of
the words "formosus" and "morosus":
Item invenitur quod dictio, que deberet significare plenitudinem rei signifi-
cate a qua sumitur dictio, non notat nisi plenitudinem rei illius quod est
inferius, ut formosus dicitur non qui habet formam, sed qui bonam habet
formam, et morosus non qui mores habet, sed qui malos habet mores!'
Likewise we find that a word which ought to signify the full meaning of
that thing from which it is derived does not mark apart from the full mean-
ing of that thing anything that diminishes its scope; for example,
"shapely" does not mean having a shape, but having a handsome shape,
and "willful" does not mean having a will but having an evil will.
Among the modistae logical analysis takes precedence over lexical evolu-
tion. Thomas of Erfurt, for example, justifies a derivation of the word
"albus" from" albedo" on the basis of the logical priority of the latter over
the former term. "Whiteness," he reasons, "must exist before the quality
'white' can be obtained."
66
This s!J:!f!J!:Q!!!Eiachronic to synchronic or criteria
was accompanied by a general m6vemenTaway1rom the first part of
grammar-etymologia-toward diasynthetica or syntax.
67
The key to such a
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 155
trend lies in changing status-limits and power-of the parts of
In Classical grammar, word classes were defined as partes ora-
and syn:ax played the role merely of clarifying the division of parts
withm the_ umt. of the sentence. Accordingly, the grammarian sought
to Identify the group to which each pars belonged in order to
defme Its proper role in the dispositio of the phrase. The modistae how-
ever, consider the partes oration is with their synthetic function inclu'ded as
a latent factor. More than isolated words or even word classes, they are
the potential constructibilia of sentences. Grammar too can no longer be
as "the of speaking and writing correctly," but, according to
Siger, grammatica ... est propter expressionem conceptus mentis per
sermonem congruum."
68
In effect, grammarians found grammatical analysis
upon synthetic cntena mstead of upon the autonomous relation of the
word t? which it signifies. This preference for the pars
oratwms over the dzctw and for the sermo congruus over the sermo significati-
vus amounts to an obscuring of the early medieval identification of gram-
mar and semantics or simple signification. For, in the phrase of Bursill-
the_word to_have "not only a notational or semantic meaning
which will be hnked to Its essence and is thus its essential meaning, but
also a meaning which enables it to function by means of a
substantial, verbal or other meaning which will derive from its essence. "69
Concerned less with the origin of words than with their relation within a
universal grammar which parallels a universal cognition, which, in turn,
reality, the modistae conceive of the word less as part of a greater
thmg than as part of a relation in language that reproduces a similar
relation in the mind and in the world. And if their grammar can no longer
be defined as "the art of speaking and writing correctly," neither can it be
said to be synonymous with etymology, definition, or rectitude in the
imposition of names. The individual word, cut off from its autonomous
power to signify, is rendered powerless; it is "castrated," as the isolating
of _medieval grammar has been supplanted by a more
honzontal textuahzmg of terms. What this means is that linguistic value is
n?t of an inherent rapport between words and things but of the
dzctw relative to other similar units of meaning. The semantic links that
once were conceived to have been established by an original moment of
verbal foundation or by the prescience of a knowledgeable namer can no
longer the meaning of the contextually determined signifier.
Among the modzstae, even the basic word categories are reduced to the
status of an accident whose mode-not essence-depends upon their
relative function within the phrase.
This_yalorization of consignification or syntax over signification or
semantics served to dissipate what appeared in this earlier period as an
overemphasis of object over subject. Such a tendency is to be found in a
154 Chapter Four
constituent elements manifest themselves adequately in words or
sounds. Speculative grammar is analogical, taxonomic, and paradigmatic
to such an extent that it deals only with universal categories with no
material expression in any actual tongue.
64
Once again, there is no way of
passing from an instance of speech to the original and necessary order of
the world.
The diminishing importance of origins in late medieval linguistics can
be seen in a turning away from philology, from grammar as mere ex-
planation or gloss of preexisting texts, and, along with the rediscovery of
Aristotle, in a triumph of logic over both Biblical exegesis and the auctores
of Classical and late Roman Antiquity. Within the economy of the
medieval language arts, dialect comes to dominate both rhetoric, which
passes into the field of poetics, and grammar, which becomes progres-
sively localized. Such a trend is, of course, important for a general history
of linguistics and of ideas; but it has special relevance for the originary,
participatory, and metonymic grammar of the early Middle Ages-and,
in particular, for the concept and role of etymology, which, like the notion
of origin itself, is rendered increasingly marginal.
We have seen that Abelard considers etymology to represent a partial
truth and rejects it as a principle of argument in the establishment of
syllogistic propositions (see above, p. 146). More important, beginning in
the second half of the twelfth century, etymologies are defined less and
less by the chronological history of a word; and they are increasingly
motivated by logical connection. Witness the explanation by one of the
glossa tors of Priscian, associated with the school of Ralph of Beauvais, of
the words "formosus" and "morosus":
Item invenitur quod dictio, que deberet significare plenitudinem rei signifi-
cate a qua sumitur dictio, non notat nisi plenitudinem rei illius quod est
inferius, ut formosus dicitur non qui habet formam, sed qui bonam habet
formam, et morosus non qui mores habet, sed qui malos habet mores!'
Likewise we find that a word which ought to signify the full meaning of
that thing from which it is derived does not mark apart from the full mean-
ing of that thing anything that diminishes its scope; for example,
"shapely" does not mean having a shape, but having a handsome shape,
and "willful" does not mean having a will but having an evil will.
Among the modistae logical analysis takes precedence over lexical evolu-
tion. Thomas of Erfurt, for example, justifies a derivation of the word
"albus" from" albedo" on the basis of the logical priority of the latter over
the former term. "Whiteness," he reasons, "must exist before the quality
'white' can be obtained."
66
This s!J:!f!J!:Q!!!Eiachronic to synchronic or criteria
was accompanied by a general m6vemenTaway1rom the first part of
grammar-etymologia-toward diasynthetica or syntax.
67
The key to such a
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 155
trend lies in changing status-limits and power-of the parts of
In Classical grammar, word classes were defined as partes ora-
and syn:ax played the role merely of clarifying the division of parts
withm the_ umt. of the sentence. Accordingly, the grammarian sought
to Identify the group to which each pars belonged in order to
defme Its proper role in the dispositio of the phrase. The modistae how-
ever, consider the partes oration is with their synthetic function inclu'ded as
a latent factor. More than isolated words or even word classes, they are
the potential constructibilia of sentences. Grammar too can no longer be
as "the of speaking and writing correctly," but, according to
Siger, grammatica ... est propter expressionem conceptus mentis per
sermonem congruum."
68
In effect, grammarians found grammatical analysis
upon synthetic cntena mstead of upon the autonomous relation of the
word t? which it signifies. This preference for the pars
oratwms over the dzctw and for the sermo congruus over the sermo significati-
vus amounts to an obscuring of the early medieval identification of gram-
mar and semantics or simple signification. For, in the phrase of Bursill-
the_word to_have "not only a notational or semantic meaning
which will be hnked to Its essence and is thus its essential meaning, but
also a meaning which enables it to function by means of a
substantial, verbal or other meaning which will derive from its essence. "69
Concerned less with the origin of words than with their relation within a
universal grammar which parallels a universal cognition, which, in turn,
reality, the modistae conceive of the word less as part of a greater
thmg than as part of a relation in language that reproduces a similar
relation in the mind and in the world. And if their grammar can no longer
be defined as "the art of speaking and writing correctly," neither can it be
said to be synonymous with etymology, definition, or rectitude in the
imposition of names. The individual word, cut off from its autonomous
power to signify, is rendered powerless; it is "castrated," as the isolating
of _medieval grammar has been supplanted by a more
honzontal textuahzmg of terms. What this means is that linguistic value is
n?t of an inherent rapport between words and things but of the
dzctw relative to other similar units of meaning. The semantic links that
once were conceived to have been established by an original moment of
verbal foundation or by the prescience of a knowledgeable namer can no
longer the meaning of the contextually determined signifier.
Among the modzstae, even the basic word categories are reduced to the
status of an accident whose mode-not essence-depends upon their
relative function within the phrase.
This_yalorization of consignification or syntax over signification or
semantics served to dissipate what appeared in this earlier period as an
overemphasis of object over subject. Such a tendency is to be found in a
156 Chapter Four
confusion of the categories of meaning and being, and in the subservi-
ence of the signifier to the physical property of the thing signified; it is
expressed, in Augustinian semiotics, as a certain transparency of signs, a
tendency for language, regardless of its particular form, to find automati-
cally the unique object of meaning, which is God (see above, pp. 49-50).
In this manner the specificity of language is either overdetermined or
radically denied in favor of that to which it refers. Among the nominal-
ists, however, the signifier has no necessary connection to the signified;
and for the modistae that relation is attenuated by an emphasis upon the
modes of verbal signification as opposed to its object. Meaning derives
from a part of the word and constitutes a property belonging to it rather
than to its referent.
Actually, the distinction between that which a word signifies and the
way in which it signifies had become an important concern from the
mid-llOOs on. Abelard wonders, for example, if tense, which constitutes
the specific difference of the verb, does not also apply to nouns: "quod
itaque tempus verbis accidit, hoc etiam nominibus congruit ... ?" And he
concludes that the verb differs from the noun less in its designation of
time than in its mode of reference: "Non tam igitur in significatione
temporis nomen a verbo recedere videtur quam in modo significandi. "
70
In keeping with such a theoretical distinction Abelard will also differenti-
ate the verbal form currit from the nominal form cursus according to
diverse conceptual modes (diversus modus concipiendi): "cursus is desig-
nated in its being, currit in its adjunction with a subject and with distinc-
tion of time."
71
In the generation following Abelard, Peter Helias shifts
the traditional definitions of the parts of speech in a similar direction, that
is, away from meaning perceived as objective or essential and toward its
modalization. A noun, for instance, not only designates substance with a
quality, but it is "unus modus significandi in locutione significare sub-
stantiam cum qualitate"; and a verb is "alius modus significandi signifi-
care actionem vel passionem."
72
Robert Kilwardby, still later, maintains
that "the partes orationis are not distinguished according to the distinct-
ness of things, but according to the distinctness of the modes of
signification."
73
For the modistae, it matters less what a word signifies than how it
signifies. An object may possess several properties which elicit multiple
modes of reference.
74
Words with different consignificatio may have the
same meaning, just as different consignifications of the same word may
signify the same object with different accidental qualities. Thomas of
Erfurt offers, in his Grammatica speculativa, an excellent example of such
modalization: the dictiones "albedo" and "dealbo" possess the same root
alb-, but separate accidental possibilities (rationes) of consignification.
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 157
They have, therefore, not different essential meanings, but diverse essen-
tial modes of meaning, that is, a mode of permanent being (modus entis
permanentis) for "albedo" and a mode of becoming and flux (modus esse et
fluxus) for "dealbo." Despite their common signification, the two terms
display different consignifications because they signify different prop-
erties by means of modes of signifying that are essential to different partes
orationis.
75
In Thomas's emphasis upon the role of the mind in the determination
of meaning according to how its object is understood (consideretur), the
knowing intelligence is freed from the fixed-perceived as external, uni-
versal, and permanent-categories of early medieval grammar (and phi-
losophy). More generally, this deviation away from origins and toward
logic produced, along with an investment of the subject with meaning and
with a responsibility for meaning, a corresponding liberation from the
monolithic stability (and passivity) of a grammar considered merely to
reflect an original ontological order and, in addition, to represent the
product of a continual process of linguistic erosion. Grammar was,
through nominalist and modalist thought, transformed into an energetic
tool of analysis, constitutive as well as reflective of reality. It was, in a
word, mobilized-charged with an active role in the creation of a system
of value and truth at once inclusive, relative, and dynamic. Unlike the
"passive" sign theory prevalent until the twelfth century, the linguistics
of this subsequent period represented an aggressive, even imperialistic,
science g e n e r ~ v e of its own arguments-a dynamic model capable of
integrating any of its constituent parts.
These elements, again in contrast to the fixed categories subserviently
glossed since late Antiquity and in consonance with any genuine meta-
discourse, are articulated in such a way as to be interchangeable. The
modalized, accidental, and mobile properties of the partes orationis are
considered less as unidirectional global projections of the stable prop-
erties of things than as transposable semiological categories divested of
positive meaning. Their hylomorphism is expressed among the nominal-
ists in the theory of suppositiaand among the modistae in the doctrine of
consignificatio. In both cases, linguistics takes as its central project the
identification and classification of common terms favoring the reduction
of any element of such a closed system to any other. Essentially commuta-
tive and multidimensional, terminist and modal grammar assume the
currency of their discrete parts; valorize a constant verbal reciprocity;
work, in fact, to maximize the possibilities of substitution and exchange.
They stand as mobile models of conversion whose dynamism is, of
course, not only contemporaneous with but permeated by late medieval
dialectics. Like the scholastic method generally, they represent totalizing
156 Chapter Four
confusion of the categories of meaning and being, and in the subservi-
ence of the signifier to the physical property of the thing signified; it is
expressed, in Augustinian semiotics, as a certain transparency of signs, a
tendency for language, regardless of its particular form, to find automati-
cally the unique object of meaning, which is God (see above, pp. 49-50).
In this manner the specificity of language is either overdetermined or
radically denied in favor of that to which it refers. Among the nominal-
ists, however, the signifier has no necessary connection to the signified;
and for the modistae that relation is attenuated by an emphasis upon the
modes of verbal signification as opposed to its object. Meaning derives
from a part of the word and constitutes a property belonging to it rather
than to its referent.
Actually, the distinction between that which a word signifies and the
way in which it signifies had become an important concern from the
mid-llOOs on. Abelard wonders, for example, if tense, which constitutes
the specific difference of the verb, does not also apply to nouns: "quod
itaque tempus verbis accidit, hoc etiam nominibus congruit ... ?" And he
concludes that the verb differs from the noun less in its designation of
time than in its mode of reference: "Non tam igitur in significatione
temporis nomen a verbo recedere videtur quam in modo significandi. "
70
In keeping with such a theoretical distinction Abelard will also differenti-
ate the verbal form currit from the nominal form cursus according to
diverse conceptual modes (diversus modus concipiendi): "cursus is desig-
nated in its being, currit in its adjunction with a subject and with distinc-
tion of time."
71
In the generation following Abelard, Peter Helias shifts
the traditional definitions of the parts of speech in a similar direction, that
is, away from meaning perceived as objective or essential and toward its
modalization. A noun, for instance, not only designates substance with a
quality, but it is "unus modus significandi in locutione significare sub-
stantiam cum qualitate"; and a verb is "alius modus significandi signifi-
care actionem vel passionem."
72
Robert Kilwardby, still later, maintains
that "the partes orationis are not distinguished according to the distinct-
ness of things, but according to the distinctness of the modes of
signification."
73
For the modistae, it matters less what a word signifies than how it
signifies. An object may possess several properties which elicit multiple
modes of reference.
74
Words with different consignificatio may have the
same meaning, just as different consignifications of the same word may
signify the same object with different accidental qualities. Thomas of
Erfurt offers, in his Grammatica speculativa, an excellent example of such
modalization: the dictiones "albedo" and "dealbo" possess the same root
alb-, but separate accidental possibilities (rationes) of consignification.
Poetry, Philosophy, and Desire 157
They have, therefore, not different essential meanings, but diverse essen-
tial modes of meaning, that is, a mode of permanent being (modus entis
permanentis) for "albedo" and a mode of becoming and flux (modus esse et
fluxus) for "dealbo." Despite their common signification, the two terms
display different consignifications because they signify different prop-
erties by means of modes of signifying that are essential to different partes
orationis.
75
In Thomas's emphasis upon the role of the mind in the determination
of meaning according to how its object is understood (consideretur), the
knowing intelligence is freed from the fixed-perceived as external, uni-
versal, and permanent-categories of early medieval grammar (and phi-
losophy). More generally, this deviation away from origins and toward
logic produced, along with an investment of the subject with meaning and
with a responsibility for meaning, a corresponding liberation from the
monolithic stability (and passivity) of a grammar considered merely to
reflect an original ontological order and, in addition, to represent the
product of a continual process of linguistic erosion. Grammar was,
through nominalist and modalist thought, transformed into an energetic
tool of analysis, constitutive as well as reflective of reality. It was, in a
word, mobilized-charged with an active role in the creation of a system
of value and truth at once inclusive, relative, and dynamic. Unlike the
"passive" sign theory prevalent until the twelfth century, the linguistics
of this subsequent period represented an aggressive, even imperialistic,
science g e n e r ~ v e of its own arguments-a dynamic model capable of
integrating any of its constituent parts.
These elements, again in contrast to the fixed categories subserviently
glossed since late Antiquity and in consonance with any genuine meta-
discourse, are articulated in such a way as to be interchangeable. The
modalized, accidental, and mobile properties of the partes orationis are
considered less as unidirectional global projections of the stable prop-
erties of things than as transposable semiological categories divested of
positive meaning. Their hylomorphism is expressed among the nominal-
ists in the theory of suppositiaand among the modistae in the doctrine of
consignificatio. In both cases, linguistics takes as its central project the
identification and classification of common terms favoring the reduction
of any element of such a closed system to any other. Essentially commuta-
tive and multidimensional, terminist and modal grammar assume the
currency of their discrete parts; valorize a constant verbal reciprocity;
work, in fact, to maximize the possibilities of substitution and exchange.
They stand as mobile models of conversion whose dynamism is, of
course, not only contemporaneous with but permeated by late medieval
dialectics. Like the scholastic method generally, they represent totalizing
158 Chapter Four
systems aimed at creating the isomorphic logical distinctions by which
concepts can engage with-be converted into--one another. And, as we
shall see in the following chapter, they are also the linguistic equivalents
of a closed monetized economy in which substitution is catalyzed by the
mediatory presence of a modalized measure to which the value of goods
and services can be referred-and for which they can be exchanged.
F I V ~
The Economics of Romance
In the preceding chapters we traced the copresence of two seemingly
contrary grammatical discourses. The first, inherited from late Roman
grammarians and encyclopedists, was transmitted through Carolingian
commentators to the glossators of the postfeudal age. It can be character-
ized in terms of the rhetorical principle of metonymy, though this is
merely an insufficient abbreviation for a grammar defined by: a privileg-
ing of the notion of temporality, diachronic word evolution or etymology,
and more generally, of origins; an assumed attachment of the meaningful
units of language-words and word classes-to physical property and
thus a deep investment in the propriety of terms (i.e., insistence upon
definition and signification as well as upon the continuity and isolated
verticality of linear semantic relations); a valorization of the object of
reference to the detriment of formal principle, which appears, as a result,
unidimensional, fixed, and "passive." The second grammatical dis-
course, initially articulated by Roscelin and Abelard, was later refined by
159
158 Chapter Four
systems aimed at creating the isomorphic logical distinctions by which
concepts can engage with-be converted into--one another. And, as we
shall see in the following chapter, they are also the linguistic equivalents
of a closed monetized economy in which substitution is catalyzed by the
mediatory presence of a modalized measure to which the value of goods
and services can be referred-and for which they can be exchanged.
F I V ~
The Economics of Romance
In the preceding chapters we traced the copresence of two seemingly
contrary grammatical discourses. The first, inherited from late Roman
grammarians and encyclopedists, was transmitted through Carolingian
commentators to the glossators of the postfeudal age. It can be character-
ized in terms of the rhetorical principle of metonymy, though this is
merely an insufficient abbreviation for a grammar defined by: a privileg-
ing of the notion of temporality, diachronic word evolution or etymology,
and more generally, of origins; an assumed attachment of the meaningful
units of language-words and word classes-to physical property and
thus a deep investment in the propriety of terms (i.e., insistence upon
definition and signification as well as upon the continuity and isolated
verticality of linear semantic relations); a valorization of the object of
reference to the detriment of formal principle, which appears, as a result,
unidimensional, fixed, and "passive." The second grammatical dis-
course, initially articulated by Roscelin and Abelard, was later refined by
159
160 Chapter Five
Peter Helias, Priscian' s twelfth-century commentators, nominalist phi-
losophers, and, in particular, the speculative grammarians of the thir-
teenth and fourteenth centuries. For the sake of contrast, this body of
grammatical thought can be rhetoricized in terms of metaphor, though
here again the label represents only partially a linguistics that is: spa-
tially-even geometrically-organized around synchronic categories;
more committed to logical distinctions than to chronological sequence,
continuity, and origins; less oriented toward the "verticality" of the
single word-etymology or definition-than toward "horizontal" prob-
lems of syntax and consignification; disruptive of any naturalized attach-
ment of word to physical property (and tending, therefore, toward a
supplemental play of substitutions); and, finally, this second principfe of
grammar proffers a linguistics in which the relativizing mobility of the
subject, which has become the arbiter of semantic value, gives the im-
pression of a multidimensional dynamic verbal model.
In terms of literary types we have identified metonymic grammar with
the epic. As a genre of origins always set in historical time, the chanson de
geste demonstrates a narrative linearity, a representational contiguity, a
paratactic independence of discursive and dramatic units, a diminished
interiority of tfle subject, and a fixity of objectified values that are thor-
oughly consonant with the grammar of the early Middle Ages. The
troubadour lyric, on the other hand, maintains an analogous relation to a
nominalist or modal grammar. Situated in an eternal present outside of
temporality or events, the canso in particular consists of spatially con-
ceived taxonomies of joy and pain that serve not only to delineate but to
valorize a self-creating subject. The language of the lyric has lost its
purchase upon the world. And if the trobar clus affects a semantic rupture
equivalent in its underlying assumptions to the nominalist assertion of
the arbitrariness of signs, the trobar leu functions according to a mode of
textualization equivalent to the modist insistence upon consignification.
Nonrepresentational or confusing, the lyric refuses to signify or scram'-
bles meaning by maintaining its own distance, under the regime of
rhetoric itself, from linguistic property.
Where kinship is concerned, we have equated metonymic grammar
and the epic with the family conceived as lineage. Here the seemingly
organic attachment of words to things finds its analogue in the noble kin
group's attachment to land, castle, and patronym; and the etymological
devolution toward the current term finds a parallel in the genealogical
devolution of a family patrimoine toward the present scion of the house.
Both language and lineage are articulated as trans temporal models whose
function is the preservation of the continuity between each of its ele-
ments--morphological and biological-and a mythologized origin. To
the isolating verticality of a grammar fixated at the level of the word
!'
,+
The Economics of Romance !61
definition) corresponds the verticality of lineage with its
discreteness not only of maternal and paternal lines but of every line in
relation to all others.
Household
copresence of radically different literary types alongside of con-
trasting models of the discourse on discourse, or grammar, would have
less .were i.t not for existence of a similar opposition between
the conceived genealogically and a contemporaneous
notion of to what we think of as the conjugal unit. For
the genealogical paradigm was, throughout the period in question,
threatened pattern of.family relations which may have been a vestige
of way nobihty once pictured itself (as a spatially ordered grouping of
rela.tives, see above, p. 66), but which coincides more readily with the
notion of household or menage as opposed to lineage or maison. This
second model of kinship, more in keeping with the living arrangements
of a nascent is characterized by:
1: A concept of marriage closer to ecclesiastical doctrine according to
which the consent of partners and not the decision of family or feudal lord
makes a legal conjugal bond.
1
Actually, the importance of the consent of
parties can be traced back to the Roman prescription "Nup-
tias non cucubitus sed consensus facit" (Digest 35, 1, 15) and to some of
the early patristic thinkers, for example, Augustine but not Jerome. It is
the twelfth. century, that the Church, in extending its
JUnsdiction over all Issues havmg to do with marriage, also asserted the
po':er of to choose; and this in two distinct ways associated
agam both With different ecclesiastical discourses and with distinct geo-
graphical loci.
In the discourse of theology as it developed in the region of Paris, there
appeared a marked preference for what might best be described as a
of "pure consensualism," that is to say, for the belief that
other than the assent of parties is necessary to a valid bond.
EffiCiens autem causa matrimonii est consensus" -so states Peter Lom-
bard, who also stipulates that the words of consent must be stated in the
present tense ("nee futuro sed de praesenti") because marriage is above
an of words."
2
The agreement of parents is not
either at hme of the betrothal or at the time of the actual wedding.
of th: theological fixation upon consent there developed at
Bolo?na-m the .discourse canon law and especially in the writings of
Grahan-a doctrme accordmg to which both consent and consummation
are required to make a matrimonial tie.
3
Here the model invoked is that of
the of Christ with the Church, as applied to the
domam of matnmony, IS not complete without both free choice and
160 Chapter Five
Peter Helias, Priscian' s twelfth-century commentators, nominalist phi-
losophers, and, in particular, the speculative grammarians of the thir-
teenth and fourteenth centuries. For the sake of contrast, this body of
grammatical thought can be rhetoricized in terms of metaphor, though
here again the label represents only partially a linguistics that is: spa-
tially-even geometrically-organized around synchronic categories;
more committed to logical distinctions than to chronological sequence,
continuity, and origins; less oriented toward the "verticality" of the
single word-etymology or definition-than toward "horizontal" prob-
lems of syntax and consignification; disruptive of any naturalized attach-
ment of word to physical property (and tending, therefore, toward a
supplemental play of substitutions); and, finally, this second principfe of
grammar proffers a linguistics in which the relativizing mobility of the
subject, which has become the arbiter of semantic value, gives the im-
pression of a multidimensional dynamic verbal model.
In terms of literary types we have identified metonymic grammar with
the epic. As a genre of origins always set in historical time, the chanson de
geste demonstrates a narrative linearity, a representational contiguity, a
paratactic independence of discursive and dramatic units, a diminished
interiority of tfle subject, and a fixity of objectified values that are thor-
oughly consonant with the grammar of the early Middle Ages. The
troubadour lyric, on the other hand, maintains an analogous relation to a
nominalist or modal grammar. Situated in an eternal present outside of
temporality or events, the canso in particular consists of spatially con-
ceived taxonomies of joy and pain that serve not only to delineate but to
valorize a self-creating subject. The language of the lyric has lost its
purchase upon the world. And if the trobar clus affects a semantic rupture
equivalent in its underlying assumptions to the nominalist assertion of
the arbitrariness of signs, the trobar leu functions according to a mode of
textualization equivalent to the modist insistence upon consignification.
Nonrepresentational or confusing, the lyric refuses to signify or scram'-
bles meaning by maintaining its own distance, under the regime of
rhetoric itself, from linguistic property.
Where kinship is concerned, we have equated metonymic grammar
and the epic with the family conceived as lineage. Here the seemingly
organic attachment of words to things finds its analogue in the noble kin
group's attachment to land, castle, and patronym; and the etymological
devolution toward the current term finds a parallel in the genealogical
devolution of a family patrimoine toward the present scion of the house.
Both language and lineage are articulated as trans temporal models whose
function is the preservation of the continuity between each of its ele-
ments--morphological and biological-and a mythologized origin. To
the isolating verticality of a grammar fixated at the level of the word
!'
,+
The Economics of Romance !61
definition) corresponds the verticality of lineage with its
discreteness not only of maternal and paternal lines but of every line in
relation to all others.
Household
copresence of radically different literary types alongside of con-
trasting models of the discourse on discourse, or grammar, would have
less .were i.t not for existence of a similar opposition between
the conceived genealogically and a contemporaneous
notion of to what we think of as the conjugal unit. For
the genealogical paradigm was, throughout the period in question,
threatened pattern of.family relations which may have been a vestige
of way nobihty once pictured itself (as a spatially ordered grouping of
rela.tives, see above, p. 66), but which coincides more readily with the
notion of household or menage as opposed to lineage or maison. This
second model of kinship, more in keeping with the living arrangements
of a nascent is characterized by:
1: A concept of marriage closer to ecclesiastical doctrine according to
which the consent of partners and not the decision of family or feudal lord
makes a legal conjugal bond.
1
Actually, the importance of the consent of
parties can be traced back to the Roman prescription "Nup-
tias non cucubitus sed consensus facit" (Digest 35, 1, 15) and to some of
the early patristic thinkers, for example, Augustine but not Jerome. It is
the twelfth. century, that the Church, in extending its
JUnsdiction over all Issues havmg to do with marriage, also asserted the
po':er of to choose; and this in two distinct ways associated
agam both With different ecclesiastical discourses and with distinct geo-
graphical loci.
In the discourse of theology as it developed in the region of Paris, there
appeared a marked preference for what might best be described as a
of "pure consensualism," that is to say, for the belief that
other than the assent of parties is necessary to a valid bond.
EffiCiens autem causa matrimonii est consensus" -so states Peter Lom-
bard, who also stipulates that the words of consent must be stated in the
present tense ("nee futuro sed de praesenti") because marriage is above
an of words."
2
The agreement of parents is not
either at hme of the betrothal or at the time of the actual wedding.
of th: theological fixation upon consent there developed at
Bolo?na-m the .discourse canon law and especially in the writings of
Grahan-a doctrme accordmg to which both consent and consummation
are required to make a matrimonial tie.
3
Here the model invoked is that of
the of Christ with the Church, as applied to the
domam of matnmony, IS not complete without both free choice and
162 o Chapter Five
physical unitas carnis. In reality, what Gratian meant was not that consent
did not make a marriage, since he states explicitly that "the consent of
those between whom the marriage is made is sufficient according to the
law," but that the bond only became indissoluble once the commixtio
sexuum had occurred.
4
Here we enter the realm of the scholasticism
"avant Ia Iettre" of the difference between a valid and a wholly licit tie,
which for Gratian resides in the difference between nuptials (conjugium
initiatum) and their confirmation in the conjugium consummatum or ratum.
Only in the mingling of the flesh is the contract transformed into a bond
whose sacramental status cannot be revoked.
Much of the debate about what constitutes a marriage culminated in
the so-called Alexandrian synthesis of 1163.
5
According to Pope Alexan-
der1fi, as long as a vow is pronounced in the present tense (per verba de
praesenti) or in the future tense (per verba de futuro) followed by a con-
summation, it is legally binding. Even a marriage contracted in the
absence of witnesses takes precedence over a subsequent one celebrated
publicly and with progeny. Alexander's ruling thus subordinates every-
thing-the approval of parents, the formal request and negotiations
between families, the betrothal, publishing of the bans, dowry, inter-
course, eccelesiastical ceremony-to what F. Pollock and F. Maitland so
elegantly term "a formless exchange of words."
6
This priority of consent
over contract will lead, of course, to the legendary abuses of clandestine
marriage which, both before and after their prohibition at the Council of
Trent (1575), were a source of interest to dramatists like Shakespeare and
Webster as well as to novelists as recent as Thomas Hardy.
7
The social implications of consensualism were profound indeed. From
the perspective of the persistent medieval struggle between secular and
eccelesiastical power, Alexander's ruling tended to extend the jurisdic-
tion of the Church and the canonical courts as against that of local lords
and the feudal judiciary. Seen in generational terms, it bolstered the
claims of children against And where the noble family was
concerned, it signaled a catastrophic short-circuiting of the biopolitics of
lineage. The choice of partners was, for the aristocratic families of feudal
France, a collective matter, since it carried with it a host of military, social,
and economic considerations: obligations to vengeance and to armed
service, political alliance, legal and financial responsibility. But, as we
have seen, the question of who may marry whom was synonymous with
the question of the future of the fief; and its removal from the hands of
those whose role it was to husband the family patrimoine represented a
threat to the noble lineage's economic strength which cannot be sepa-
rated from nobility's definition of itself. More precisely, the displacement
of the marriage decision away from those invested with the maintenance
of genealogy, its continuity free from interruption or the cumbersome
dispersion of lateral branches, meant that the family could no longer
The Economics of Romance o 163
constitute itself with the same minimal economy-one male heir per
generation-as a line. Instead, the autonomy of the individual to deter-
mine the biological course of lineage, which remained coterminous with
its economic course, posed the possibility of overmultiplication and divi-
sion-fragmentation and diffusion of race as well as of lands.
2. The notion of household assumes a system of inheritance in which
goods are divided more or less equally among heirs as opposed to a
system of strict agnatic succession or primogeniture.
8
This represents one
of the most complicated areas of medieval family history-complicated
because much of what we know about nonfeudal inheritance patterns is
culled from late customary material and because even these fourteenth-
and fifteenth-century records of practice are marked by enormous re-
gional, demographic, and class differences. There is, nonetheless, a
tendency to distinguish between: the customs of the Romanized South,
the West, and what E. Le Roy Ladurie refers to as the "Capetian open
field area"; the law of towns and that of the countryside, and, above all,
between noble holdings and "fiefs roturiers."
9
As we have seen, inequal-
ity of inheritance (generally a preference for firstborn sons) was the rule
for transfer of the aristocratic central holdings--the castle and chief pater-
nal fief or alod (see above, pp. 73-75). Even in southern France, where the
eldest male was not as strictly favored, testamentary practice still rein-
forces the superiority of one descendent over his (or her) siblings. This is
not the case, however, for nonnoble possessions for which the rule was
that of equality among heirs.
The modes of such equality again vary greatly, and it has only been in
the last fifteen or so years that, thanks to the monumental work of J. Yver,
we have been able systematically to detect regional patterns.
10
Thus Nor-
mandy (and the West in general) is characterized as a region of "strict
equality" since, where nonnoble or lesser noble holdings were con-
cerned, an equal division took place at the time of the death of the
parents. This meant that married sons and daughters were not excluded
from inheritance and, in fact, "brought back" their dowries to the pater-
nal estate which was then redistributed, even against paternal stipula-
tion, in equal portions. "Se li peres depart en sa vie Ies parties a ses
emfanz e chascuns a tenue sa part longuement e en pes el vivant au pere,
les parties ne seront pas tenables a pres sa mort" -so prescribes the Tres
Ancien Coutumier de Normandie.
11
The rule of "rappel" also meant that
children whose parents predeceased them before themselves inheriting
were eligible to inherit from their grandparents. This preference for direct
descendants over collaterals, sometimes referred to as the "rule of infinite
representation," again points to the emphasis in the western area upon
the maximum distribution of the family patrimoine to all members of the
same lineage. Lineal, egalitarian, and highly partible, the law of Nor-
mandy tended to stress, among nonnobles and nobles alike, bonds of
162 o Chapter Five
physical unitas carnis. In reality, what Gratian meant was not that consent
did not make a marriage, since he states explicitly that "the consent of
those between whom the marriage is made is sufficient according to the
law," but that the bond only became indissoluble once the commixtio
sexuum had occurred.
4
Here we enter the realm of the scholasticism
"avant Ia Iettre" of the difference between a valid and a wholly licit tie,
which for Gratian resides in the difference between nuptials (conjugium
initiatum) and their confirmation in the conjugium consummatum or ratum.
Only in the mingling of the flesh is the contract transformed into a bond
whose sacramental status cannot be revoked.
Much of the debate about what constitutes a marriage culminated in
the so-called Alexandrian synthesis of 1163.
5
According to Pope Alexan-
der1fi, as long as a vow is pronounced in the present tense (per verba de
praesenti) or in the future tense (per verba de futuro) followed by a con-
summation, it is legally binding. Even a marriage contracted in the
absence of witnesses takes precedence over a subsequent one celebrated
publicly and with progeny. Alexander's ruling thus subordinates every-
thing-the approval of parents, the formal request and negotiations
between families, the betrothal, publishing of the bans, dowry, inter-
course, eccelesiastical ceremony-to what F. Pollock and F. Maitland so
elegantly term "a formless exchange of words."
6
This priority of consent
over contract will lead, of course, to the legendary abuses of clandestine
marriage which, both before and after their prohibition at the Council of
Trent (1575), were a source of interest to dramatists like Shakespeare and
Webster as well as to novelists as recent as Thomas Hardy.
7
The social implications of consensualism were profound indeed. From
the perspective of the persistent medieval struggle between secular and
eccelesiastical power, Alexander's ruling tended to extend the jurisdic-
tion of the Church and the canonical courts as against that of local lords
and the feudal judiciary. Seen in generational terms, it bolstered the
claims of children against And where the noble family was
concerned, it signaled a catastrophic short-circuiting of the biopolitics of
lineage. The choice of partners was, for the aristocratic families of feudal
France, a collective matter, since it carried with it a host of military, social,
and economic considerations: obligations to vengeance and to armed
service, political alliance, legal and financial responsibility. But, as we
have seen, the question of who may marry whom was synonymous with
the question of the future of the fief; and its removal from the hands of
those whose role it was to husband the family patrimoine represented a
threat to the noble lineage's economic strength which cannot be sepa-
rated from nobility's definition of itself. More precisely, the displacement
of the marriage decision away from those invested with the maintenance
of genealogy, its continuity free from interruption or the cumbersome
dispersion of lateral branches, meant that the family could no longer
The Economics of Romance o 163
constitute itself with the same minimal economy-one male heir per
generation-as a line. Instead, the autonomy of the individual to deter-
mine the biological course of lineage, which remained coterminous with
its economic course, posed the possibility of overmultiplication and divi-
sion-fragmentation and diffusion of race as well as of lands.
2. The notion of household assumes a system of inheritance in which
goods are divided more or less equally among heirs as opposed to a
system of strict agnatic succession or primogeniture.
8
This represents one
of the most complicated areas of medieval family history-complicated
because much of what we know about nonfeudal inheritance patterns is
culled from late customary material and because even these fourteenth-
and fifteenth-century records of practice are marked by enormous re-
gional, demographic, and class differences. There is, nonetheless, a
tendency to distinguish between: the customs of the Romanized South,
the West, and what E. Le Roy Ladurie refers to as the "Capetian open
field area"; the law of towns and that of the countryside, and, above all,
between noble holdings and "fiefs roturiers."
9
As we have seen, inequal-
ity of inheritance (generally a preference for firstborn sons) was the rule
for transfer of the aristocratic central holdings--the castle and chief pater-
nal fief or alod (see above, pp. 73-75). Even in southern France, where the
eldest male was not as strictly favored, testamentary practice still rein-
forces the superiority of one descendent over his (or her) siblings. This is
not the case, however, for nonnoble possessions for which the rule was
that of equality among heirs.
The modes of such equality again vary greatly, and it has only been in
the last fifteen or so years that, thanks to the monumental work of J. Yver,
we have been able systematically to detect regional patterns.
10
Thus Nor-
mandy (and the West in general) is characterized as a region of "strict
equality" since, where nonnoble or lesser noble holdings were con-
cerned, an equal division took place at the time of the death of the
parents. This meant that married sons and daughters were not excluded
from inheritance and, in fact, "brought back" their dowries to the pater-
nal estate which was then redistributed, even against paternal stipula-
tion, in equal portions. "Se li peres depart en sa vie Ies parties a ses
emfanz e chascuns a tenue sa part longuement e en pes el vivant au pere,
les parties ne seront pas tenables a pres sa mort" -so prescribes the Tres
Ancien Coutumier de Normandie.
11
The rule of "rappel" also meant that
children whose parents predeceased them before themselves inheriting
were eligible to inherit from their grandparents. This preference for direct
descendants over collaterals, sometimes referred to as the "rule of infinite
representation," again points to the emphasis in the western area upon
the maximum distribution of the family patrimoine to all members of the
same lineage. Lineal, egalitarian, and highly partible, the law of Nor-
mandy tended to stress, among nonnobles and nobles alike, bonds of
164 Chapter Five
consanguinity over alliance: to wit, even after a marriage had been con-
cluded, the property relations it entailed remained fluid-subject to re-
negotiation-until the death of the parents.
12
The departure of a son or
daughter represented more of a temporary arrangement than a definitive
economic break with the household of his or her birth; one was, in other
words, not fully married until his parents were dead.
Norman practice contrasts with that of the South, where the stability of
wills and of limited inter vivos gifts permitted a degree of inequality, as
well as with that of the Paris-Orleans basin, where the firmness of dotal
exclusions had a similar effect. But, most of all, it differs from the couple-
oriented practices of the urbanized North, for example, the customs of
Artois, Arras, the Cambresis and Hainaut, French Flanders, Wallon,
Douai, and Tournai.
13
In these centers of demographic density
household was stressed over lineage. Not only did children participate in
the management of family property, but, more important, that which
belonged to the group was conceived to represent a genuine community
of goods. Once a marriage had been concluded, a fundamentally new
patrimoine was created. The alienations on both sides became stable in
such a manner that the newly formed conjugal couple, definitively sepa-
rated from the lineage of birth, was free to dispose of them without fear of
a "rappel" for redivision at the time of their parents' death. Furthermore,
children of successive marriages inherited according to the "bed of
birth," and husband and wife could inherit from each other. This is a fact
of considerable significance, since it will be remembered that the rule of
aristocratic inheritance, in accordance with the biopolitics of lineage,
provided for a strict agnatic autonomy of maternal and paternal lines.
Within the space of the town, however, the precept of discreteness-
materna maternis, paterna paternis-is abrogated so as to effect the con-
tinual cognatic alienation of that which, among nobles, was considered
the inalienable right, the proper, of dynastic succession. Thus the house-
hold cannot be defined "vertically" as those through whom ancestral
property devolves but consists of a more "horizontal" fusion of only
temporarily independent lines. The urban family, as to some degree the
peasant household, represents a genuine economic entity and not merely
the coupling of descent groups for the purpose of procreation.
3. The household presupposes a mode of property which, because of
the necessity of division, is necessarily more partible. Such property-
alienable, personal, salable, constitutive of the principle of exchange
itsElf-corresponds to the reintroduction into the circuit of human affairs
of the mobile form of wealth par excellence: money.
Money
Economic historians have, since the nineteenth century, characterized
the "first feudal age" as a natural or closed economy as opposed to the
The Economics of Romance 165
monetized, market economy of a later era. More recent studies have
shown, however, that even during this earlier period the exchange of
goods and for money did not cease altogether; it merely slowed.
In any case, It IS not our purpose here to summarize or to try to negotiate
between the excellent social and institutional histories of what was surely
a formative era in of the early modern economy. What
concerns us more drrectly IS the fact that medieval economics-how men
thought about money in distinction to what or how efficiently actual
money may have circulated-is, from all that we have learned about
linguistics, assimilable to a general theory of signs. This is an intellectual
gesture is by no means given. Accustomed as we are to the dynamic
ec?nomic models tha_t have d?minated since the eighteenth century, we
thmk of as a SI?n only m the narrow sense of its relation to goods,
and Itself. That is, money maintains a symbolic rapport
with that which It can be converted into (commodities and services); with
other moneys (as well as with the other fixed denominations within a
single currency); and, to the degree that the face of a coin stands as a
figurative representation of the metal contained therein, with its own
constitution. The medievals, on the contrary, had no dynamic economic
model, perhaps, it has been suggested, precisely because "problems of
money were perceived within the much more comprehensive context of
problems of signification."
14
The subordination of economics to semiotics is fundamental to medie-
val monetary theory. For while we assume that economics constitutes a
metalanguage to which even linguistics is subordinate, those who specu-
lated about money between the time of the Patristics and the Renaissance
envisag:d an as a subcategory of the study of signs.
Augustine pomts out m the De Ordine that the birth of letters occurred
simultaneously with the discovery of accounting and that both "the art of
writers and of calculators together constitute the childhood of
grammar."
15
Isidore claims that "money is so called because it warns
[ ], lest any !raud should enter into its composition or weight. The
piece of money IS the coin of gold, silver, or bronze, which is called
nomisma because it bears the imprint of the name [nomen], and the like-
prince" 16: xviii, viii). Though the etymology is false,
Its and Oresme testifies nonetheless to the recup-
eration of numismatics by general sign theory.
If economics belongs to the field of semiotics, it is because coins were
held to be analogous to verbal symbols. The tendency, especially amdJng
theologians of the early Middle Ages, to condemn commerce on doctrinal
was, in fact, rooted in a distrust of money in keeping with the
suspicion of all earthly-contingent, illusory, corruptible-signs. More
_the question of how money signifies was articulated along
hngmshc hnes. Albert the Great, for example, incorporated the central
164 Chapter Five
consanguinity over alliance: to wit, even after a marriage had been con-
cluded, the property relations it entailed remained fluid-subject to re-
negotiation-until the death of the parents.
12
The departure of a son or
daughter represented more of a temporary arrangement than a definitive
economic break with the household of his or her birth; one was, in other
words, not fully married until his parents were dead.
Norman practice contrasts with that of the South, where the stability of
wills and of limited inter vivos gifts permitted a degree of inequality, as
well as with that of the Paris-Orleans basin, where the firmness of dotal
exclusions had a similar effect. But, most of all, it differs from the couple-
oriented practices of the urbanized North, for example, the customs of
Artois, Arras, the Cambresis and Hainaut, French Flanders, Wallon,
Douai, and Tournai.
13
In these centers of demographic density
household was stressed over lineage. Not only did children participate in
the management of family property, but, more important, that which
belonged to the group was conceived to represent a genuine community
of goods. Once a marriage had been concluded, a fundamentally new
patrimoine was created. The alienations on both sides became stable in
such a manner that the newly formed conjugal couple, definitively sepa-
rated from the lineage of birth, was free to dispose of them without fear of
a "rappel" for redivision at the time of their parents' death. Furthermore,
children of successive marriages inherited according to the "bed of
birth," and husband and wife could inherit from each other. This is a fact
of considerable significance, since it will be remembered that the rule of
aristocratic inheritance, in accordance with the biopolitics of lineage,
provided for a strict agnatic autonomy of maternal and paternal lines.
Within the space of the town, however, the precept of discreteness-
materna maternis, paterna paternis-is abrogated so as to effect the con-
tinual cognatic alienation of that which, among nobles, was considered
the inalienable right, the proper, of dynastic succession. Thus the house-
hold cannot be defined "vertically" as those through whom ancestral
property devolves but consists of a more "horizontal" fusion of only
temporarily independent lines. The urban family, as to some degree the
peasant household, represents a genuine economic entity and not merely
the coupling of descent groups for the purpose of procreation.
3. The household presupposes a mode of property which, because of
the necessity of division, is necessarily more partible. Such property-
alienable, personal, salable, constitutive of the principle of exchange
itsElf-corresponds to the reintroduction into the circuit of human affairs
of the mobile form of wealth par excellence: money.
Money
Economic historians have, since the nineteenth century, characterized
the "first feudal age" as a natural or closed economy as opposed to the
The Economics of Romance 165
monetized, market economy of a later era. More recent studies have
shown, however, that even during this earlier period the exchange of
goods and for money did not cease altogether; it merely slowed.
In any case, It IS not our purpose here to summarize or to try to negotiate
between the excellent social and institutional histories of what was surely
a formative era in of the early modern economy. What
concerns us more drrectly IS the fact that medieval economics-how men
thought about money in distinction to what or how efficiently actual
money may have circulated-is, from all that we have learned about
linguistics, assimilable to a general theory of signs. This is an intellectual
gesture is by no means given. Accustomed as we are to the dynamic
ec?nomic models tha_t have d?minated since the eighteenth century, we
thmk of as a SI?n only m the narrow sense of its relation to goods,
and Itself. That is, money maintains a symbolic rapport
with that which It can be converted into (commodities and services); with
other moneys (as well as with the other fixed denominations within a
single currency); and, to the degree that the face of a coin stands as a
figurative representation of the metal contained therein, with its own
constitution. The medievals, on the contrary, had no dynamic economic
model, perhaps, it has been suggested, precisely because "problems of
money were perceived within the much more comprehensive context of
problems of signification."
14
The subordination of economics to semiotics is fundamental to medie-
val monetary theory. For while we assume that economics constitutes a
metalanguage to which even linguistics is subordinate, those who specu-
lated about money between the time of the Patristics and the Renaissance
envisag:d an as a subcategory of the study of signs.
Augustine pomts out m the De Ordine that the birth of letters occurred
simultaneously with the discovery of accounting and that both "the art of
writers and of calculators together constitute the childhood of
grammar."
15
Isidore claims that "money is so called because it warns
[ ], lest any !raud should enter into its composition or weight. The
piece of money IS the coin of gold, silver, or bronze, which is called
nomisma because it bears the imprint of the name [nomen], and the like-
prince" 16: xviii, viii). Though the etymology is false,
Its and Oresme testifies nonetheless to the recup-
eration of numismatics by general sign theory.
If economics belongs to the field of semiotics, it is because coins were
held to be analogous to verbal symbols. The tendency, especially amdJng
theologians of the early Middle Ages, to condemn commerce on doctrinal
was, in fact, rooted in a distrust of money in keeping with the
suspicion of all earthly-contingent, illusory, corruptible-signs. More
_the question of how money signifies was articulated along
hngmshc hnes. Albert the Great, for example, incorporated the central
166 Chapter Five
issue of language theory, that of nature versus convention, into an
explanation of the origin of money; if co_mes
he maintains, it is because coins, like names, Sigmfy non
natura est, sed positione; hoc igitur nomisma vocatur."'
6
Just as linguists
acknowledge that the meaning of words originates by imposition accord-
ing to the properties of things, coins signify, despite inherent
by social convention. Like the verbal terms that are considered to consti-
tute the unity-the common speech or koine--of the community, mone-
tary signs embody the principle of oneness. To invoke another _fal_se
etymology, again more truthful in its logic than a true etymology m Its
philological accuracy, Augustine attributes the Latin root of the word
"coin" to "co-uneus" instead of to its actual source "cuneus," wedge; and
he compares the unifying effects of coinage to the social fabric itself.'
7
Falsifying coinage was, throughout the period in question, a crime
against public authority since the right to mint was a princely
counterfeiting and currency manipulation were also, however, cnmes
against language. Nicholas Oresme, whose De Moneta is the most sys-
tematic treatise on minting of the Middle Ages, compares such acts to
lying; and when "the coin is inscribed with the name of God o_r of some
saint and with the sign of the cross," they become the eqmvalent of
blasphemy:
Si ergo princeps sub ista inscriptione materiam siue
uidetur tacite mendacium et periurium committere, et falsum testimomum
perhibere, ac edam preuaricator fieri illius legalis precepti quo dicitur: Non
assumes nomen Domini Dei in uanum.
18
If the prince, then, despite this inscription, _should change or
the weight, he would seem to be silently and forsweanng himself
and bearing false witness, and also transgressmg that commandment
which says: "Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain."
Of the legal means of altering numismatic value Oresme strictly forbids
simple changes of denomination because any shift in the name of a
falsifies its relation to other monetary units, and, above all, because It
represents an improper verbal imposition: would be a
pound which really was not a pound, which IS, as we have said,
improper.'''
9
What, it may be asked, constitutes a proper appellation? One, Oresme
replies, in which the sign printed on the face of the coin corresponds to its
actual weight:
Quod autem impressio talis instituta sit nummis in signum ueritatis materie
et ponderis, manifeste nobis ostendunt antiqua no';llina m_onetaru?' cog-
noscibilium ex impressionibus et figuris, cuiusmodi sunt hbra, sohdus, de-
narius, obolus, as, sextula et similia, que sunt nomina ponderum appro-
priata monetis ....
20
The Economics of Romance 167
And that the stamp on coins was instituted as a guarantee of fineness and
is clearly proved by the ancient names of coins distinguishable by
their stamp or. design: such as pound, shilling, penny, half-penny, as, sex-
tula, and the hke, which are the names of weights applied to coins ....
All other names, Oresme contends, are improper, that is to say, not
derived from the essence of the signifier; they are "accidental or
denominative."
21
Here it is obvious that monetary theory shares in the
key concerns of early medieval grammar, that is, the question of rectitude
of imposition and of proper signification. Moreover, it is difficult not to
recognize that Oresme's idealized ancient coinage, in which the sign
participates in the property of its referent, smacks of an "economic
realism" analogous to the linguistic realism of the period between Augus-
tine and, for example, Abelard.
The phrase "economic realism" is not original. E. Bridrey, in a long
book on fourteenth-century coinage, maintains-unsuccessfully, as we
shall see-that Oresme is a monetary realist living in a nominalist age. M.
Bloch refers in his Esquisse d'une histoire monetaire de l'Europe to the eco-
nomic realism of early feudalism as opposed to the economic nominalism
of the second feudal age. Within the context of the sign theory of medie-
val economics the former term applies to:
1. A concept of value that has independent and universal existence
regardless of the particular cost of things. Oresme's perfect coin testifies,
in fact, to an abiding faith in the subsistence of universal weights and
measures which merely inhere in the coins bearing their names. More
generally, however, it is worth recalling that until the thirteenth century,
when gold was minted for the first time since the Carolingian era, mone-
tary units like the livre and the sou existed primarily as account or" ghost"
moneys-that is to say, as fixed values of which there were no material
representations or actual coins.
22
Pure monetary instruments, these
monetary "ideas" were used as standard measures of value for payment
of taxes, debts, or rent in goods or services. They served to quantify the
actual objects of exchange in transactions in which no money actually
changed hands; and though obligations might be stipulated in terms of
monetary abstractions, they were acquitted in equivalent amounts of
commodities or labor. It was assumed, furthermore, that "ghost" de-
nominations were as fixed and eternal as an ideal ontological form. The
value of account moneys did not change; rather, the quantity of goods or
services varied according to stable monetary criteria (e.g., in a given year
one pound might be worth nine bushels of grain and in the next year
eleven bushels). Thus, alongside the Platonism of early medieval philoso-
phy and, to a degree, of linguistics, stood a certain economic Platonism
determining everyday practice.
2. The expression "economic realism" refers to the fixed relation of
account money to the denier, which was the only indigenous coin in
166 Chapter Five
issue of language theory, that of nature versus convention, into an
explanation of the origin of money; if co_mes
he maintains, it is because coins, like names, Sigmfy non
natura est, sed positione; hoc igitur nomisma vocatur."'
6
Just as linguists
acknowledge that the meaning of words originates by imposition accord-
ing to the properties of things, coins signify, despite inherent
by social convention. Like the verbal terms that are considered to consti-
tute the unity-the common speech or koine--of the community, mone-
tary signs embody the principle of oneness. To invoke another _fal_se
etymology, again more truthful in its logic than a true etymology m Its
philological accuracy, Augustine attributes the Latin root of the word
"coin" to "co-uneus" instead of to its actual source "cuneus," wedge; and
he compares the unifying effects of coinage to the social fabric itself.'
7
Falsifying coinage was, throughout the period in question, a crime
against public authority since the right to mint was a princely
counterfeiting and currency manipulation were also, however, cnmes
against language. Nicholas Oresme, whose De Moneta is the most sys-
tematic treatise on minting of the Middle Ages, compares such acts to
lying; and when "the coin is inscribed with the name of God o_r of some
saint and with the sign of the cross," they become the eqmvalent of
blasphemy:
Si ergo princeps sub ista inscriptione materiam siue
uidetur tacite mendacium et periurium committere, et falsum testimomum
perhibere, ac edam preuaricator fieri illius legalis precepti quo dicitur: Non
assumes nomen Domini Dei in uanum.
18
If the prince, then, despite this inscription, _should change or
the weight, he would seem to be silently and forsweanng himself
and bearing false witness, and also transgressmg that commandment
which says: "Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain."
Of the legal means of altering numismatic value Oresme strictly forbids
simple changes of denomination because any shift in the name of a
falsifies its relation to other monetary units, and, above all, because It
represents an improper verbal imposition: would be a
pound which really was not a pound, which IS, as we have said,
improper.'''
9
What, it may be asked, constitutes a proper appellation? One, Oresme
replies, in which the sign printed on the face of the coin corresponds to its
actual weight:
Quod autem impressio talis instituta sit nummis in signum ueritatis materie
et ponderis, manifeste nobis ostendunt antiqua no';llina m_onetaru?' cog-
noscibilium ex impressionibus et figuris, cuiusmodi sunt hbra, sohdus, de-
narius, obolus, as, sextula et similia, que sunt nomina ponderum appro-
priata monetis ....
20
The Economics of Romance 167
And that the stamp on coins was instituted as a guarantee of fineness and
is clearly proved by the ancient names of coins distinguishable by
their stamp or. design: such as pound, shilling, penny, half-penny, as, sex-
tula, and the hke, which are the names of weights applied to coins ....
All other names, Oresme contends, are improper, that is to say, not
derived from the essence of the signifier; they are "accidental or
denominative."
21
Here it is obvious that monetary theory shares in the
key concerns of early medieval grammar, that is, the question of rectitude
of imposition and of proper signification. Moreover, it is difficult not to
recognize that Oresme's idealized ancient coinage, in which the sign
participates in the property of its referent, smacks of an "economic
realism" analogous to the linguistic realism of the period between Augus-
tine and, for example, Abelard.
The phrase "economic realism" is not original. E. Bridrey, in a long
book on fourteenth-century coinage, maintains-unsuccessfully, as we
shall see-that Oresme is a monetary realist living in a nominalist age. M.
Bloch refers in his Esquisse d'une histoire monetaire de l'Europe to the eco-
nomic realism of early feudalism as opposed to the economic nominalism
of the second feudal age. Within the context of the sign theory of medie-
val economics the former term applies to:
1. A concept of value that has independent and universal existence
regardless of the particular cost of things. Oresme's perfect coin testifies,
in fact, to an abiding faith in the subsistence of universal weights and
measures which merely inhere in the coins bearing their names. More
generally, however, it is worth recalling that until the thirteenth century,
when gold was minted for the first time since the Carolingian era, mone-
tary units like the livre and the sou existed primarily as account or" ghost"
moneys-that is to say, as fixed values of which there were no material
representations or actual coins.
22
Pure monetary instruments, these
monetary "ideas" were used as standard measures of value for payment
of taxes, debts, or rent in goods or services. They served to quantify the
actual objects of exchange in transactions in which no money actually
changed hands; and though obligations might be stipulated in terms of
monetary abstractions, they were acquitted in equivalent amounts of
commodities or labor. It was assumed, furthermore, that "ghost" de-
nominations were as fixed and eternal as an ideal ontological form. The
value of account moneys did not change; rather, the quantity of goods or
services varied according to stable monetary criteria (e.g., in a given year
one pound might be worth nine bushels of grain and in the next year
eleven bushels). Thus, alongside the Platonism of early medieval philoso-
phy and, to a degree, of linguistics, stood a certain economic Platonism
determining everyday practice.
2. The expression "economic realism" refers to the fixed relation of
account money to the denier, which was the only indigenous coin in
168 Chapter Five
circulation until the thirteenth century. The sou equaled twelve deniers,
one pound equaled twenty sous; a pound was therefore the equivalent of
two hundred and forty deniers throughout the period under considera-
tion.
3. Finally, the term "realism" applied to economics implies that the
essence of early medieval money was that it contained its own worth.
This is especially true of the goods with use value and that were ,not only
exchanged but employed as money, for example, arms, jewelry, serving
platters, cloth, food, liturgical objects, etc.; but it is true of metallic money
as well. It was assumed that the face value of a coin corresponded to the
weight of the metal contained therein. Money represented in this respect
a "printed lingot" (M. Bloch) which in times of political order and mone-
tary stability was minted into coins, which in more chaotic times was
recast into usable objects, and which, as this fluid circuit between the
coin's use and exchange status implies, was frequently put to the test on
scales. As a signifying system we can speak, then, of the already abstract
notion of early medieval coinage in "realist" terms, or in terms of a
relatively direct and fixed rapport between face value and contents.
Oresme's hypothetical conformity of volume to denomination is the
monetary expression of the wish for union between the signified and its
sign, a wish, moreover, thoroughly in keeping with Augustine's desire
for semiotic and sacramental union (see above, pp. 60-62).
It was only beginning in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries that we
can detect the symptoms of an economic shift of such major proportions
as to justify the label of "economic nominalism." In this case, the linguis-
tic analogy indicates the massive appearance of particular pieces of
money, which were the manifestation-the realization-of pure mone-
tary ideas and which possessed autonomous value. In short, the indi-
vidual coin exists, or, to invoke the medieval philosopher's terminology,
it "has substance." No longer is money merely an instrument of measure,
but it began, against ecclesiastical opposition, to stand as a commodity in
its own right. At the same time, the fixity of "ghost" denominations was
relaxed, while their relation to articles of exchange was inverted. Hence-
forth, the value of goods was measured according to variable amounts of
money, thus divested of universal value. Money became free to float-a
floating signifier-according to prevailing market price. In fact, the
tion of what constitutes a just price stood at the very center of economic
debate among canonists, romanists, and theologians.
23
And in practice
not only did money come to constitute a mobile measure displacing the
former mobility of goods, but the fixed equivalences between different
coins became increasingly mutable from the thirteenth century onward.
Such a trend was, of course, attached to the reinsertion of the state into
monetary policy, the reconstitution of a public authority with the power
The Economics of Romance 169
to guarantee and deliberately to alter rates of exchange.
24
Finally, this
pep.od witnessed a gradual loosening of the relation between the face
value and the metallic value of coins. As M. Bloch notes, "the resumption
of gold minting, the appearance of large silver coins, and the whittling
down of the denier ( ... ) succeeded in separating the intrinsic value of
money from money of account."
25
The reign of the late Capetians inaugu-
rated the era of monetary mutation-devaluation and revaluation; for
this age was marked by the periodic recall of coins and their reissue in
equal weight and alloyed substance or in decreased weight despite
maintenance of the original face value.
26
Oresme' s treatise is, in fact, less a
nostalgic attempt to recapture the realism of ancient coinage than a guide
to the legal limits-the conditions, techniques, and quantitative
bounds-of currency manipulation.
Thus a species can be altered in form alone by the inscription of a new
name upon an existing currency which is maintained. Oresme specifies,
however, that such "making of new money and demonetizing of the old"
is justified only when the prince's money has already been counterfeited
or when it has become worn.
27
Money can also be modified by a change in
the bimetallic ratio of its denominations, that is, the value of gold coins
relative to that of silver ones. Or, it can be manipulated by a shift in name,
which requires readjustment of the internal dynamic of the entire system:
"It is necessary, then, that if the proportion is to remain unchanged, and
one coin changes its denomination, the others should be changed in
proportion so that if the first coin is called two pence, the second shall be
two shillings and the third two pounds."
28
Similarly, a deviation in weight
should be accompanied by a revision of face value, as should any change
of material. Oresme even spells out the guidelines to be followed in the
making of alloyed pieces:
Si autem in tali materia sit mixtio, ipsa debet fieri solum in minus precioso
metallo per se monetabili, . . . et in nigra moneta, ut cognoscatur purum a
mixto. Hec edam mixtio debet esse secundum certam proporcionem, sicut
decem de argento contra unum, uel contra tria de alio metallo ....
29
But if the material be mixed, it should be so only in the less precious of the
metals which are coined pure ... , and in black money, that the pure
may be distinguished from the mixed. And the mixture must be made in
fixed proportion, such as ten parts of silver to one, or to three of another
metal. ...
In addition to the simple changes of form, ratio, denomination, weight,
and material, any of these may be combined as long as the traditional
proportion of the elements of the overall system is preserved.
Historically, the type of mutation that Oresme legitimates by legisla-
tion reached its culminating point in the fifteenth century with the
of the first paper money-a purely symbolic promise, in the
168 Chapter Five
circulation until the thirteenth century. The sou equaled twelve deniers,
one pound equaled twenty sous; a pound was therefore the equivalent of
two hundred and forty deniers throughout the period under considera-
tion.
3. Finally, the term "realism" applied to economics implies that the
essence of early medieval money was that it contained its own worth.
This is especially true of the goods with use value and that were ,not only
exchanged but employed as money, for example, arms, jewelry, serving
platters, cloth, food, liturgical objects, etc.; but it is true of metallic money
as well. It was assumed that the face value of a coin corresponded to the
weight of the metal contained therein. Money represented in this respect
a "printed lingot" (M. Bloch) which in times of political order and mone-
tary stability was minted into coins, which in more chaotic times was
recast into usable objects, and which, as this fluid circuit between the
coin's use and exchange status implies, was frequently put to the test on
scales. As a signifying system we can speak, then, of the already abstract
notion of early medieval coinage in "realist" terms, or in terms of a
relatively direct and fixed rapport between face value and contents.
Oresme's hypothetical conformity of volume to denomination is the
monetary expression of the wish for union between the signified and its
sign, a wish, moreover, thoroughly in keeping with Augustine's desire
for semiotic and sacramental union (see above, pp. 60-62).
It was only beginning in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries that we
can detect the symptoms of an economic shift of such major proportions
as to justify the label of "economic nominalism." In this case, the linguis-
tic analogy indicates the massive appearance of particular pieces of
money, which were the manifestation-the realization-of pure mone-
tary ideas and which possessed autonomous value. In short, the indi-
vidual coin exists, or, to invoke the medieval philosopher's terminology,
it "has substance." No longer is money merely an instrument of measure,
but it began, against ecclesiastical opposition, to stand as a commodity in
its own right. At the same time, the fixity of "ghost" denominations was
relaxed, while their relation to articles of exchange was inverted. Hence-
forth, the value of goods was measured according to variable amounts of
money, thus divested of universal value. Money became free to float-a
floating signifier-according to prevailing market price. In fact, the
tion of what constitutes a just price stood at the very center of economic
debate among canonists, romanists, and theologians.
23
And in practice
not only did money come to constitute a mobile measure displacing the
former mobility of goods, but the fixed equivalences between different
coins became increasingly mutable from the thirteenth century onward.
Such a trend was, of course, attached to the reinsertion of the state into
monetary policy, the reconstitution of a public authority with the power
The Economics of Romance 169
to guarantee and deliberately to alter rates of exchange.
24
Finally, this
pep.od witnessed a gradual loosening of the relation between the face
value and the metallic value of coins. As M. Bloch notes, "the resumption
of gold minting, the appearance of large silver coins, and the whittling
down of the denier ( ... ) succeeded in separating the intrinsic value of
money from money of account."
25
The reign of the late Capetians inaugu-
rated the era of monetary mutation-devaluation and revaluation; for
this age was marked by the periodic recall of coins and their reissue in
equal weight and alloyed substance or in decreased weight despite
maintenance of the original face value.
26
Oresme' s treatise is, in fact, less a
nostalgic attempt to recapture the realism of ancient coinage than a guide
to the legal limits-the conditions, techniques, and quantitative
bounds-of currency manipulation.
Thus a species can be altered in form alone by the inscription of a new
name upon an existing currency which is maintained. Oresme specifies,
however, that such "making of new money and demonetizing of the old"
is justified only when the prince's money has already been counterfeited
or when it has become worn.
27
Money can also be modified by a change in
the bimetallic ratio of its denominations, that is, the value of gold coins
relative to that of silver ones. Or, it can be manipulated by a shift in name,
which requires readjustment of the internal dynamic of the entire system:
"It is necessary, then, that if the proportion is to remain unchanged, and
one coin changes its denomination, the others should be changed in
proportion so that if the first coin is called two pence, the second shall be
two shillings and the third two pounds."
28
Similarly, a deviation in weight
should be accompanied by a revision of face value, as should any change
of material. Oresme even spells out the guidelines to be followed in the
making of alloyed pieces:
Si autem in tali materia sit mixtio, ipsa debet fieri solum in minus precioso
metallo per se monetabili, . . . et in nigra moneta, ut cognoscatur purum a
mixto. Hec edam mixtio debet esse secundum certam proporcionem, sicut
decem de argento contra unum, uel contra tria de alio metallo ....
29
But if the material be mixed, it should be so only in the less precious of the
metals which are coined pure ... , and in black money, that the pure
may be distinguished from the mixed. And the mixture must be made in
fixed proportion, such as ten parts of silver to one, or to three of another
metal. ...
In addition to the simple changes of form, ratio, denomination, weight,
and material, any of these may be combined as long as the traditional
proportion of the elements of the overall system is preserved.
Historically, the type of mutation that Oresme legitimates by legisla-
tion reached its culminating point in the fifteenth century with the
of the first paper money-a purely symbolic promise, in the
170 Chapter Five
absence of any metal content, to pay what its printed face says. This
rivalry of printing press and mint represented, however,. end product
of a process begun much earlier: that is to say, tll_e of
as an autonomous commodity to be traded agamst other species m
opposition to the early medieval sense of money as an abstract measure of
the value of goods or as a relatively immobile good to be but not
exchanged. Cut off from its roots in physical property or weight, .the
economic sign was, by the 1300s, conceived to be as much voczs as
its verbal equivalent. Oresme simply establishes the modalities of altera-
tion alongside of Ockham who, earlier in the same century, had estab-
lished the modalities of grammatical substitution. Not only does the
articulation of the social institution lag chronologically behind that of its
appropriate linguistic model (in this case but economics
appears, again, as a subbranch of the artes sermocmales ..
Oresme's attempt to do for coinage what Ockham did for grammar
attests to the penetration of both linguistics and monetary theory by the
logical techniques of scholastic analysis. The rise of scholasticism as an
integral part of the urban revival of the High Middle Ages was even
accompanied by what might be termed a "scholasticism of exchange."
Canonists and theologians struggled, against a long anticommercial
tradition, to make the kinds of distinctions and connections by which
profit could be justified and by which even fraud might be exculpated.
30
As in the areas of sin, penance, and criminal responsibility, intention
became the basis of business ethics. And alongside of the plethora of texts
devoted to the question of the just price (see above, n. 23, p. 265), there
appeared numerous treatments of usury matched in subtlety only by the
Jesuitical casuistry of the seventeenth and eighteenth centurieS.
31
The
1
application of logic to business served to oil the rusty ideological ma-
chinery of a relatively inert economy, to mobilize a system heretofore
oriented precisely around the idea of l'immobilier. It created, according to
a dynamic dialectical model, the conditions under which concepts and
l techniques essential to effective .
To dwell upon the logicization of profit, pnce, or mterest IS also to
recognize that money is an always already modalized form of
whose purpose is to catalyze substitution-a kind of metalanguage akm
to logic itself.
32
Here, in fact, is where late medieval monetary theory and
linguistics seem to merge. It will be recalled that we defined nominalist
and speculative grammar in terms of a comprehensive, dynamic, and
reductive system capable of assimilating any of its integral parts to any
other (see above, pp. 150-158). Indeed, such a description of the strategy
of the field of logic is equally applicable to any monetary system, as the
Aristotelian economics of the scholastics seem to suggest.
:
I
j
The Economics of Romance 171
According to Aristotle, the unequal division of natural goods and of
labqr created the necessity of money, a third term by which such inequali-
ties might be measured in order that the diverse sectors of society might
interact.
33
Human needs require a scale according to which everything is
commensurable; and money, for Aquinas, Bonaventure, and Albert the
Greafas well as for Aristotle, represents just such a commutative sign
capable of rendering naturally dissimilar objects equal. This is why it is
properly classified as a subset of justice and why its laws are considered to
function in keeping with the natural law of mathematical proportion. All
transactions, for example, are governed by a proportionality of value to
be arrived at through the ratio of the arithmetic mean. What this means is
that the Aristotelian concept of money as uniform measure, a standard of
value facilitating exchange, represents an economic version of dialectics.
Put otherwise, monetary exchange and dialectics mirror each other. Both
are dynamic-one furthering reciprocity through the substitution of a
circulating medium, for inapposite objects, the other maximizing the
substitution of grammatical terms. Both are reductive-one of dissimilar
goods, the other of contrasting ideas. (The sale and the syllogism are 1
coequal operations; one oriented toward the reduction of asking price
and bid to selling price, and the other toward the reduction of thesis and
antithesis to synthesis or sentence.) Finally, both money and logic pre-
sent themselves as universal systems-one as the quantifier of all com-
modities (even itself), and the other of all concepts as well as their verbal
expression.
Do we then posit money as the economic equivalent of intellectual
currency? Or logic as the intellectual equivalent of economic currency?
Indeed, they are so implicated in each other that neither can be said truly
to be primary. Their equivalence indicates, moreover, that the nominaliz-
ing of economic thought by Oresme and its modalization among the
scholastics are but secondary (meta-) articulations of the already modal-
ized language of money, articulations that are also coextensive with the
identical__trends in the logicized science of grammar. Such an assertion
suggests that the revival of monetary exchange in the twelfth century
stands in relation to the relatively low-keyed rural economy of the early
Middle Ages much as a nominalist or modal grammar stands in relation to
the fixed grammatical principles of the same earlier period. To the im-
mobile grammar of proprietas and an economy of immobile wealth based
upon proprietas correspond a mobilized grammar of suppositio and an
economy of exchange.
In fact, not only does money represent modal property but through it
real property is also modalized. The history of noble wealth is, from the
twelfth century on, one of a gradual conversion of landed estates into
170 Chapter Five
absence of any metal content, to pay what its printed face says. This
rivalry of printing press and mint represented, however,. end product
of a process begun much earlier: that is to say, tll_e of
as an autonomous commodity to be traded agamst other species m
opposition to the early medieval sense of money as an abstract measure of
the value of goods or as a relatively immobile good to be but not
exchanged. Cut off from its roots in physical property or weight, .the
economic sign was, by the 1300s, conceived to be as much voczs as
its verbal equivalent. Oresme simply establishes the modalities of altera-
tion alongside of Ockham who, earlier in the same century, had estab-
lished the modalities of grammatical substitution. Not only does the
articulation of the social institution lag chronologically behind that of its
appropriate linguistic model (in this case but economics
appears, again, as a subbranch of the artes sermocmales ..
Oresme's attempt to do for coinage what Ockham did for grammar
attests to the penetration of both linguistics and monetary theory by the
logical techniques of scholastic analysis. The rise of scholasticism as an
integral part of the urban revival of the High Middle Ages was even
accompanied by what might be termed a "scholasticism of exchange."
Canonists and theologians struggled, against a long anticommercial
tradition, to make the kinds of distinctions and connections by which
profit could be justified and by which even fraud might be exculpated.
30
As in the areas of sin, penance, and criminal responsibility, intention
became the basis of business ethics. And alongside of the plethora of texts
devoted to the question of the just price (see above, n. 23, p. 265), there
appeared numerous treatments of usury matched in subtlety only by the
Jesuitical casuistry of the seventeenth and eighteenth centurieS.
31
The
1
application of logic to business served to oil the rusty ideological ma-
chinery of a relatively inert economy, to mobilize a system heretofore
oriented precisely around the idea of l'immobilier. It created, according to
a dynamic dialectical model, the conditions under which concepts and
l techniques essential to effective .
To dwell upon the logicization of profit, pnce, or mterest IS also to
recognize that money is an always already modalized form of
whose purpose is to catalyze substitution-a kind of metalanguage akm
to logic itself.
32
Here, in fact, is where late medieval monetary theory and
linguistics seem to merge. It will be recalled that we defined nominalist
and speculative grammar in terms of a comprehensive, dynamic, and
reductive system capable of assimilating any of its integral parts to any
other (see above, pp. 150-158). Indeed, such a description of the strategy
of the field of logic is equally applicable to any monetary system, as the
Aristotelian economics of the scholastics seem to suggest.
:
I
j
The Economics of Romance 171
According to Aristotle, the unequal division of natural goods and of
labqr created the necessity of money, a third term by which such inequali-
ties might be measured in order that the diverse sectors of society might
interact.
33
Human needs require a scale according to which everything is
commensurable; and money, for Aquinas, Bonaventure, and Albert the
Greafas well as for Aristotle, represents just such a commutative sign
capable of rendering naturally dissimilar objects equal. This is why it is
properly classified as a subset of justice and why its laws are considered to
function in keeping with the natural law of mathematical proportion. All
transactions, for example, are governed by a proportionality of value to
be arrived at through the ratio of the arithmetic mean. What this means is
that the Aristotelian concept of money as uniform measure, a standard of
value facilitating exchange, represents an economic version of dialectics.
Put otherwise, monetary exchange and dialectics mirror each other. Both
are dynamic-one furthering reciprocity through the substitution of a
circulating medium, for inapposite objects, the other maximizing the
substitution of grammatical terms. Both are reductive-one of dissimilar
goods, the other of contrasting ideas. (The sale and the syllogism are 1
coequal operations; one oriented toward the reduction of asking price
and bid to selling price, and the other toward the reduction of thesis and
antithesis to synthesis or sentence.) Finally, both money and logic pre-
sent themselves as universal systems-one as the quantifier of all com-
modities (even itself), and the other of all concepts as well as their verbal
expression.
Do we then posit money as the economic equivalent of intellectual
currency? Or logic as the intellectual equivalent of economic currency?
Indeed, they are so implicated in each other that neither can be said truly
to be primary. Their equivalence indicates, moreover, that the nominaliz-
ing of economic thought by Oresme and its modalization among the
scholastics are but secondary (meta-) articulations of the already modal-
ized language of money, articulations that are also coextensive with the
identical__trends in the logicized science of grammar. Such an assertion
suggests that the revival of monetary exchange in the twelfth century
stands in relation to the relatively low-keyed rural economy of the early
Middle Ages much as a nominalist or modal grammar stands in relation to
the fixed grammatical principles of the same earlier period. To the im-
mobile grammar of proprietas and an economy of immobile wealth based
upon proprietas correspond a mobilized grammar of suppositio and an
economy of exchange.
In fact, not only does money represent modal property but through it
real property is also modalized. The history of noble wealth is, from the
twelfth century on, one of a gradual conversion of landed estates into
172 o Chapter Five
money rents. The substitution of payment in species for feudal service
and payment in kind was, for all but the most powerful princes, who
themselves acquired many alienated holdings, a means of raising the
liquid capital necessary to survival in an economy of the marketplace.
34
Such a trend carried with it a depersonalization of possession that ran
counter to the very notion of property as we have defined it. For the
transformation of the fiefs that were coterminous with ties of personal
dependence between particular men into rents emanating from own-
ership coupled with mortgage divests the once inalienable (unsalable)
noble holding of all that is proper-that is to say, unique to it alone (see
above, pp. 73-75).
This short-circuiting of the feudal exchange of armed duty for land is
also reflected in a corresponding depersonalization of military service.
Thus, beginning in the thirteenth century armies were increasingly com-
posed of salaried soldiers--mercenaries-as opposed to enfeofjed
knights. Where economic relations were once determined by the agree-
ment of specific individuals (or their heirs), where property, military, and
political relations were once indissociable, the monetization of land and
defense worked to deny the personality of both function and status. To
wit, office becomes more important than the personality of its holder,
which is increasingly a matter of indifference; the source of a tax, toll,
rent, or salary counts less than the fact of its discharge, since rentiers, like
soudoiers, are interchangeable. The noble's p.roper name is-through
money-detached from its roots in family property precisely at the mo-
ment when the word "property" is divested of its proper name.
Historically, in France at least, the importance of money and of its
institutional possibilities-long-range trade; a salaried bureaucracy;
modalized business techniques such as partnership, banking, double-
account bookkeeping, insurance, and credit-constituted a threat to
lineage whose social and demographic effects are writ large upon our
reconstitution of the High Middle Ages. For the gradual intrusion of a
system of mobile wealth alongside of the relatively fixed forms of the
early feudal period implies a system of value in which worth is created not
so much by origin as by relative position within a more fluid whole.
Especially with the revival of towns the question of origins becomes, in
fact, less and less the sine qua non of status. The city, as the German
proverb attests ("Stadtluft macht frei"), is the locus of personal freedom,
the place to which everyone at first comes from somewhere else and the
social space in which origin as the determinant of value leaves its least
trace. With the advent of money, of seemingly originless fortunes next to
those that are inherited, "the clever and the courageous took their place
alongside of heirs."
35
Bourgeois property is, in fact, secretive and almost
can be defined in terms of goods that escape the view, and therefore the
. .j
I
J
The Economics of Romance o 173
of !ineage, for money, merchandise, jewelry, clothes,
linen, servtng vessels, hngots, etc. The town is an economic zone in
moveables, chattel, personal property are more important than the
Immoveable real estate of the countryside, where even l'immobilier is
salable, and where propres are eclipsed by acquets; "nowhere else," as
Duby notes, inheritance have so little a place."
36
And indeed, no-
where else did the kindred, as opposed to the conjugal unit
composed of _a marned couple and their immediate descendants, play
less of a role m the management of family fortunes.
effect monetization upon the noble family is by now
a chche of medieval studies amply discussed elsewhere. Money repre-
sented the great disruptor of lineage and of all that a landed aristocracy
stood for. Less evident, perhaps, is the degree to which contempo-
schola_stic-economic theory offers ideological con-
firmation of what the social historian reconstitutes in retrospect as a
supposedly "objective" phenomenon. That is, many of the canonical and
theological arguments against usury focused upon the fact that interest
is, for a variety of reasons, unnatural: it represents the sale of time, which
belongs only to God; the usurious transaction both sells and loans the
same object; two different values placed upon a single sum runs counter
natural law since money does not multiply or deteriorate; money as an
mstrument of measure is neither vendable nor consumable. These last
two criteria are particularly significant since they are based upon the
belief, originating with Aristotle and prevalent throughout the Middle
that money. is dead, unproductive, sterile, an unfruitful good
,?f that is, of profit.
37
"For money," says
Anstotle, was mtended to be used m exchange, but not to increase at
interest. And this term interest [tokos, literally 'offspring'], which means
the birth of money from money, is applicable to the breeding of money
because the offspring resemble the parent. Wherefore of all modes of
getting wealth this is the most unnatural."
38
Aristotle, who elsewhere contrasts the sterility of money with the
organic generation of the fruits of nature, thus specifically couches the
question of usury in terms of human reproduction, a setting of the
problem that will not be lost upon medieval thinkers. Saint Bonaventure
affirms its inherent infertility: "pecunia quantum est de se per seipsam
non fructificat." Saints Albert and Aquinas follow Aristotle, insisting
upon money's purely formal character; he who seeks its increase com-
mits, in other words, an act against nature. The specialists of the late
thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, Giles of Lessines and Alexan-
der Lombard, adopt the Aristotelian dictum: "nummus non parit num-
mos." Oresme too claims that the one who employs money other than for
exchange "misuses it against the natural institution of money, for he
172 o Chapter Five
money rents. The substitution of payment in species for feudal service
and payment in kind was, for all but the most powerful princes, who
themselves acquired many alienated holdings, a means of raising the
liquid capital necessary to survival in an economy of the marketplace.
34
Such a trend carried with it a depersonalization of possession that ran
counter to the very notion of property as we have defined it. For the
transformation of the fiefs that were coterminous with ties of personal
dependence between particular men into rents emanating from own-
ership coupled with mortgage divests the once inalienable (unsalable)
noble holding of all that is proper-that is to say, unique to it alone (see
above, pp. 73-75).
This short-circuiting of the feudal exchange of armed duty for land is
also reflected in a corresponding depersonalization of military service.
Thus, beginning in the thirteenth century armies were increasingly com-
posed of salaried soldiers--mercenaries-as opposed to enfeofjed
knights. Where economic relations were once determined by the agree-
ment of specific individuals (or their heirs), where property, military, and
political relations were once indissociable, the monetization of land and
defense worked to deny the personality of both function and status. To
wit, office becomes more important than the personality of its holder,
which is increasingly a matter of indifference; the source of a tax, toll,
rent, or salary counts less than the fact of its discharge, since rentiers, like
soudoiers, are interchangeable. The noble's p.roper name is-through
money-detached from its roots in family property precisely at the mo-
ment when the word "property" is divested of its proper name.
Historically, in France at least, the importance of money and of its
institutional possibilities-long-range trade; a salaried bureaucracy;
modalized business techniques such as partnership, banking, double-
account bookkeeping, insurance, and credit-constituted a threat to
lineage whose social and demographic effects are writ large upon our
reconstitution of the High Middle Ages. For the gradual intrusion of a
system of mobile wealth alongside of the relatively fixed forms of the
early feudal period implies a system of value in which worth is created not
so much by origin as by relative position within a more fluid whole.
Especially with the revival of towns the question of origins becomes, in
fact, less and less the sine qua non of status. The city, as the German
proverb attests ("Stadtluft macht frei"), is the locus of personal freedom,
the place to which everyone at first comes from somewhere else and the
social space in which origin as the determinant of value leaves its least
trace. With the advent of money, of seemingly originless fortunes next to
those that are inherited, "the clever and the courageous took their place
alongside of heirs."
35
Bourgeois property is, in fact, secretive and almost
can be defined in terms of goods that escape the view, and therefore the
. .j
I
J
The Economics of Romance o 173
of !ineage, for money, merchandise, jewelry, clothes,
linen, servtng vessels, hngots, etc. The town is an economic zone in
moveables, chattel, personal property are more important than the
Immoveable real estate of the countryside, where even l'immobilier is
salable, and where propres are eclipsed by acquets; "nowhere else," as
Duby notes, inheritance have so little a place."
36
And indeed, no-
where else did the kindred, as opposed to the conjugal unit
composed of _a marned couple and their immediate descendants, play
less of a role m the management of family fortunes.
effect monetization upon the noble family is by now
a chche of medieval studies amply discussed elsewhere. Money repre-
sented the great disruptor of lineage and of all that a landed aristocracy
stood for. Less evident, perhaps, is the degree to which contempo-
schola_stic-economic theory offers ideological con-
firmation of what the social historian reconstitutes in retrospect as a
supposedly "objective" phenomenon. That is, many of the canonical and
theological arguments against usury focused upon the fact that interest
is, for a variety of reasons, unnatural: it represents the sale of time, which
belongs only to God; the usurious transaction both sells and loans the
same object; two different values placed upon a single sum runs counter
natural law since money does not multiply or deteriorate; money as an
mstrument of measure is neither vendable nor consumable. These last
two criteria are particularly significant since they are based upon the
belief, originating with Aristotle and prevalent throughout the Middle
that money. is dead, unproductive, sterile, an unfruitful good
,?f that is, of profit.
37
"For money," says
Anstotle, was mtended to be used m exchange, but not to increase at
interest. And this term interest [tokos, literally 'offspring'], which means
the birth of money from money, is applicable to the breeding of money
because the offspring resemble the parent. Wherefore of all modes of
getting wealth this is the most unnatural."
38
Aristotle, who elsewhere contrasts the sterility of money with the
organic generation of the fruits of nature, thus specifically couches the
question of usury in terms of human reproduction, a setting of the
problem that will not be lost upon medieval thinkers. Saint Bonaventure
affirms its inherent infertility: "pecunia quantum est de se per seipsam
non fructificat." Saints Albert and Aquinas follow Aristotle, insisting
upon money's purely formal character; he who seeks its increase com-
mits, in other words, an act against nature. The specialists of the late
thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, Giles of Lessines and Alexan-
der Lombard, adopt the Aristotelian dictum: "nummus non parit num-
mos." Oresme too claims that the one who employs money other than for
exchange "misuses it against the natural institution of money, for he
174 Chapter Five
causes money to beget money. And besides, in these changes by which
profit accrues it is necessary to call something which is not a penny, a
penny, and which is not a pound, a pound."
39
Oresme's warning participates in a long tradition according to which
money is excluded from reproduction. What remains to be articulated,
however, is that such an exclusion is tantamount to identifying money
with the disruption of genealogy. Because it cannot generate, monetary
weaHh represents an absolute rupture in the continuity of both fortune
and lineage. This point cannot be emphasized enough. Nor can it be
divorced from Oresme's equation of the usurious act with grammatical
imprecision. To use money as if it were fertile is to risk an improper
designation-"to call something which is not a penny, a penny, and
which is not a pound, a pound." If money serves to interrupt genealogy,
that interruption, once again, implies an analogous break in definition or
etymology, the use of a word in a sense other than its proper sense. The
usureris in many ways the colleague of the poet-fellow disruptors of
genealogy through monetary and linguistic impropriety, interest, and
metaphor.
40
The Courtly Novel
,_ Seen synchronically, the discourse of the family as lineage stands in
relation to that of the family as household as the etymological discourse of
early medieval grammar stands in relation to nominalist and modal
grammar, and, further, as the genealogical discourse of the epic stands in
relation to the lyric disruption of genealogy. Here, however, the example
of the canso, strategically selected, remains extreme in its refusal of history
and of the narrative and representational integrity that we have identified
with lineage. The bulk of the literary production of the High Middle Ages
does not break so radically with the nexus of ideas and strategies that we
have also associated with an epistemology of origins but serves, rather, to
problematize that which the canso presents as absolute disjunction. It is,
in fact, in the earliest chansons de geste that the esthetic consequences of the
genealogical paradigm are most operative. Many epics from the late
twelfth century onward tend both to thematize a certain tension among
consanguineal relations and to lose their generic specificity. The Bernier
of Raoul de Cambrai, for example, is forced to choose between loyalty to
family and to lord; and even at the end of several generations of warfare,
the great-grandsons of Herbert de Vermandois continue to battle their
own maternal grandfather, Raoul's uncle Guerri. The Aymon of Les
Quatre filz Aymon must choose between his seigneur and his sons. In Huon
de Bordeaux brothers struggle against each other. More important, the
eruption of conflict within the lineal group is accompanied by a tendency
for the lineally defined epic to trail off into a roman d'aventure, as kinship
The Economics of Romance 175
and poetic In turn, there are many lyric
foffi'lS{e.g., tfie tenso, joe partit, sirventes, alba, pastorela, chanson de croisade,
de toile) that are to varying degrees narratively or historically
mclmed-that can be situated either in historical time or in repeated daily
moments, that narrate a temporally defined "story," and that pretend to
r.epresent a reality other than that of the singing voice. The contraposed
hterary types that we have articulated are, in fact, more often than not
implicated in each other. And if the possibility of such a generic mixing
seems to exceed th.e neatness of paradigmatic boundaries, it is precisely
such an excess which allows our own critical discourse to function, and
which impels it henceforth toward the privileged locus of "contamina-
tion"-the romance.
To understand how the novel serves as a point of juncture between
contrasting familial, linguistic, economic, and literary principles, we turn
to Aucassin et Nicolette, a work which in its variegated form both exagger-
ates and exposes forcefully the ideational tension that has concerned us
thus far.
41
The thirteenth-century chantefable is eminently "readable"
according to the critical apparatus that we have developed, and it works,
at the same time, to push our analysis even further toward a mediatory
third be.tween the canso and the chanson de geste. Thematically,
Aucasszn et Nzcolette begins with an expression of anxiety concerning
lineage: "Li quens Garins de Biaucaire estoit vix et frales .... II n' avoit nul
oir, ne fil ne fille, fors un seul vallet: cil estoit tex con je vos dirai."
42
It is a
to the continuity of family line ("nul oir") that creates the possi-
bility of a story line ("con je vos dirai"). The imbrication of generation and
narration is subtended, moreover, by the archetypal novelistic drama of a
marriage imposed against the will of the parties involved. Aucassin loves
Nicolette and refuses to defend the paternal castle if he cannot have her:
"Ja Dix ne me doinst riens que je li demant ... se vos ne me dones
Nicholete me douce amie que je tant aim." Garin, on the other hand,
claims to reserve his son-and the future of his lands-for a richer match:
"Et se tu femne vix avoir, je te donrai la file a un roi u a un conte."
43
Dramatically speaking, Aucassin et Nicolette turns, then, around a gener-
ational conflict-the desire of young lovers versus the menace, in the
poem's own terms, of being desiretes.
More important, this drama of love against parental sanction is trans-
lated into a dr?,J!la s>f language that is nowhere more evident than in the
passage directly following Nicolette's escape from prison and preceding
Aucassin's own flight to join her (see Appendix B for translation):
XVIII. Or Dient et Content et Fabloient
Nicolete se dementa molt, si con vos aves oi"; ele se conmanda a Diu se
erra tant qu'ele vint en le forest. Ele n'osa mie parfont entrer por les
sauvaces et por le serpentine, si se quatist en un espes buisson; et soumax
174 Chapter Five
causes money to beget money. And besides, in these changes by which
profit accrues it is necessary to call something which is not a penny, a
penny, and which is not a pound, a pound."
39
Oresme's warning participates in a long tradition according to which
money is excluded from reproduction. What remains to be articulated,
however, is that such an exclusion is tantamount to identifying money
with the disruption of genealogy. Because it cannot generate, monetary
weaHh represents an absolute rupture in the continuity of both fortune
and lineage. This point cannot be emphasized enough. Nor can it be
divorced from Oresme's equation of the usurious act with grammatical
imprecision. To use money as if it were fertile is to risk an improper
designation-"to call something which is not a penny, a penny, and
which is not a pound, a pound." If money serves to interrupt genealogy,
that interruption, once again, implies an analogous break in definition or
etymology, the use of a word in a sense other than its proper sense. The
usureris in many ways the colleague of the poet-fellow disruptors of
genealogy through monetary and linguistic impropriety, interest, and
metaphor.
40
The Courtly Novel
,_ Seen synchronically, the discourse of the family as lineage stands in
relation to that of the family as household as the etymological discourse of
early medieval grammar stands in relation to nominalist and modal
grammar, and, further, as the genealogical discourse of the epic stands in
relation to the lyric disruption of genealogy. Here, however, the example
of the canso, strategically selected, remains extreme in its refusal of history
and of the narrative and representational integrity that we have identified
with lineage. The bulk of the literary production of the High Middle Ages
does not break so radically with the nexus of ideas and strategies that we
have also associated with an epistemology of origins but serves, rather, to
problematize that which the canso presents as absolute disjunction. It is,
in fact, in the earliest chansons de geste that the esthetic consequences of the
genealogical paradigm are most operative. Many epics from the late
twelfth century onward tend both to thematize a certain tension among
consanguineal relations and to lose their generic specificity. The Bernier
of Raoul de Cambrai, for example, is forced to choose between loyalty to
family and to lord; and even at the end of several generations of warfare,
the great-grandsons of Herbert de Vermandois continue to battle their
own maternal grandfather, Raoul's uncle Guerri. The Aymon of Les
Quatre filz Aymon must choose between his seigneur and his sons. In Huon
de Bordeaux brothers struggle against each other. More important, the
eruption of conflict within the lineal group is accompanied by a tendency
for the lineally defined epic to trail off into a roman d'aventure, as kinship
The Economics of Romance 175
and poetic In turn, there are many lyric
foffi'lS{e.g., tfie tenso, joe partit, sirventes, alba, pastorela, chanson de croisade,
de toile) that are to varying degrees narratively or historically
mclmed-that can be situated either in historical time or in repeated daily
moments, that narrate a temporally defined "story," and that pretend to
r.epresent a reality other than that of the singing voice. The contraposed
hterary types that we have articulated are, in fact, more often than not
implicated in each other. And if the possibility of such a generic mixing
seems to exceed th.e neatness of paradigmatic boundaries, it is precisely
such an excess which allows our own critical discourse to function, and
which impels it henceforth toward the privileged locus of "contamina-
tion"-the romance.
To understand how the novel serves as a point of juncture between
contrasting familial, linguistic, economic, and literary principles, we turn
to Aucassin et Nicolette, a work which in its variegated form both exagger-
ates and exposes forcefully the ideational tension that has concerned us
thus far.
41
The thirteenth-century chantefable is eminently "readable"
according to the critical apparatus that we have developed, and it works,
at the same time, to push our analysis even further toward a mediatory
third be.tween the canso and the chanson de geste. Thematically,
Aucasszn et Nzcolette begins with an expression of anxiety concerning
lineage: "Li quens Garins de Biaucaire estoit vix et frales .... II n' avoit nul
oir, ne fil ne fille, fors un seul vallet: cil estoit tex con je vos dirai."
42
It is a
to the continuity of family line ("nul oir") that creates the possi-
bility of a story line ("con je vos dirai"). The imbrication of generation and
narration is subtended, moreover, by the archetypal novelistic drama of a
marriage imposed against the will of the parties involved. Aucassin loves
Nicolette and refuses to defend the paternal castle if he cannot have her:
"Ja Dix ne me doinst riens que je li demant ... se vos ne me dones
Nicholete me douce amie que je tant aim." Garin, on the other hand,
claims to reserve his son-and the future of his lands-for a richer match:
"Et se tu femne vix avoir, je te donrai la file a un roi u a un conte."
43
Dramatically speaking, Aucassin et Nicolette turns, then, around a gener-
ational conflict-the desire of young lovers versus the menace, in the
poem's own terms, of being desiretes.
More important, this drama of love against parental sanction is trans-
lated into a dr?,J!la s>f language that is nowhere more evident than in the
passage directly following Nicolette's escape from prison and preceding
Aucassin's own flight to join her (see Appendix B for translation):
XVIII. Or Dient et Content et Fabloient
Nicolete se dementa molt, si con vos aves oi"; ele se conmanda a Diu se
erra tant qu'ele vint en le forest. Ele n'osa mie parfont entrer por les
sauvaces et por le serpentine, si se quatist en un espes buisson; et soumax
176 Chapter Five
li prist, si s' endormi dusqu' au demain a haute prime que li pastorel iscirent
de la vile et jeterent lor bestes entre le bos et la riviere, si se traien d'une
part a une molt bele fontaine qui estoit au cief de la forest, si estendirent
une cape, se missent lor pain sus. Entreusque il mengoient, et Nicolete
s'esveille au cri des oisiax et des pastoriax, si s'enbati sor aus.
"Bel enfant, fait ele, Damedix vos i ai:t!
- Dix vos benie! fait li uns qui plus fu enparles des autres.
- Bel enfant, fait ele, conissies vos Aucassin, le fille conte Garin de
Biaucaire?
- Oi'l, bien le counis.;ons nos.
- Se Dix vos ai't, bel enfant, fait ele, dites li qu'il a une beste en ceste
forest et qu'i viegne cacier, et s'ill'i puet prendre, il n'en donroit mie un
menbre por cent mars d'or, non porcine cens, ne por nul avoir."
Et cille regardent, se le virent se bele qu'il en furent tot esmari.
"Je li dirai? fait cil qui plus fu enparles des autres; dehait ait qui ja en
parlera, ne qui ja li dira! C'est fantosmes que vos dites, qu'il n'a si ciere
beste en ceste forest, ne cerf, ne lion, ne sengler, dont uns des menbres
vaille plus de dex deniers u de trois au plus, et vos paries de si grant avoir.
Ma dehait qui vos en croit, ne qui ja li dira! Vos estes fee, si n'avons cure
de vo conpaignie, mais tenes vostre voie.
- Ha! bel enfant, fait ele, si feres. Le beste a tel mecine que Aucassins
ert garis de son mehaing; et j'ai ci cine sous en me horse: tenes, se li dites;
et dedens trois jors li covient cacier, et se il dens trois jors ne le trove, ja
mais n'iert garis de son mehaig.
- Par foi, fait il, les deniers prenderons nos, et s'il vient ci, nos li
dirons, mais nos ne l'irons ja quere.
-De par Diu! fait ele.
Lor prent congie as pastoriaus, se s'en va. [Aucassin, p. 19]
Nicolette's meeting with the shepherds occurs in the margins of distinct
geographic zones: she has just left the town of Beaucaire and is about to
enter the forest. It represents a juxtaposition of discrete social spaces, one
the locus of the law (through a justice that would punish her), and the
other, a realm inhabited by wild animals (les bestes sauvaces) where only
the law of the strongest prevails. At an extreme lurk the Wild Men-half
human/half animal, completely unsocialized beings, to which the
ploughman, whom Aucassin later encounters, bears a certain
resemblance.
44
Finally, Nicolette's exchange with the shepherd stands as
a meeting of two social classes and of the discourses appropriate to each.
Nicolette, a captured slave whose noble identity is as yet unknown,
speaks the artificial language of courtly poetry. She uses difficult orna-
ment according, in fact, to Geoffrey of Vinsauf' s definition of one kind of
metaphor: "the transfer of the meaning of a word from man to things or
from things to man" (see above, p. 117). In the veiled speech to the
shepherd Nicolette substitutes an animal (beste) for herself, a hunt for the
experience of love, Aucassin's sickness or mehaing (from Ovidian tradi-
tion?) for love-sickness, a cure (mecine) for fulfillment in love by joining
her in the forest. The shepherd, on the other hand, rejects Nicolette's
The Economics of Romance 177
artificial use of language, insisting instead upon the literal meaning of her
words: "C'est fantosmes que vos dites, qu'il n'a si ciere beste en ceste
forest ... et vos paries de si grant avoir."
Nicolette's discussion with the shepherd over the value of words can
in fact, be reduced to a question of the value of value, revolving as it
around the issue of price. And what began as a meeting of distinct social
spaces (town and countryside), of distinct classes (noble and nonnoble),
and even of distinct languages (an elevated, metaphoric discourse and a
simpler, more literal one) ends as a meeting of separate economic orders
disparate linguistic mediums. Nicolette's troped speech nomi-
nahzes Its referent through, in the rhetorician's phrase, "the transfer of a
word from its proper sense to another." And this dislocation of linguistic
prop.erty can be neither from the dislocation of paternal prop-
erty mherent to NIColette as the object of Aucassin's desire nor from her
of p.rice. monetary signs are, for the potentially
disruptive affine of Gann s lmeage, mutually mobile concepts which, in
the light of our discussion of economic nominalism, seem even to entail
each other. The shepherd, in contrast, demonstrates a marked distrust of
the inflated detachment of value from intrinsic worth, and thus he
appears to favor a certain economic realism contrary to Nicolette's ma-
nipulation of words and of cost.
45
Aucassin et Nicolette contains, then, a meeting of geographic zones, of
social classes, of discourses appropriate to each, of economic orders, and,
finally, of literary genres. In its mixed form the chantefable can be classified
neither with the epic nor with the lyric. It combines narrative elements
subsumed in the act of telling (indicated by the marker "conter") and
assimilable to its prose sections, along with lyric elements subsumed in
the act of singing (indicated by "chanter") and associated with the verse
portions of the whole. This polarity has been statistically substantiated by
S. Monsonego who, in a painstaking study of the vocabulary of Aucassin
et !'licolette,. demonstrates that within such a stylistic dynamic poetry
enJoys a wider range of expression than prose.
46
The vocabulary of the
verse sections is richer in the area of words occurring only once, a lexical
wealth which lies, moreover, in substantives and adjectives and which
contrasts with a proportionate strength in verbs and adverbs within the
prose passages. What this means is that the verse portions of the chante-
fable "proffer," as E. Vance notes, "a world that is static and removed,
where nominalizing language constitutes its own action"; the prose, by
comparison, "proffers a world that is temporal and spatial, in which
movement and action are compulsory."
47
In the mixture of generic modes Aucassin et Nicolette merely makes
explicit that which is less evident, less formally marked, in earlier, more
"generically uniform" romances. That is, that the courtly novel repre-
176 Chapter Five
li prist, si s' endormi dusqu' au demain a haute prime que li pastorel iscirent
de la vile et jeterent lor bestes entre le bos et la riviere, si se traien d'une
part a une molt bele fontaine qui estoit au cief de la forest, si estendirent
une cape, se missent lor pain sus. Entreusque il mengoient, et Nicolete
s'esveille au cri des oisiax et des pastoriax, si s'enbati sor aus.
"Bel enfant, fait ele, Damedix vos i ai:t!
- Dix vos benie! fait li uns qui plus fu enparles des autres.
- Bel enfant, fait ele, conissies vos Aucassin, le fille conte Garin de
Biaucaire?
- Oi'l, bien le counis.;ons nos.
- Se Dix vos ai't, bel enfant, fait ele, dites li qu'il a une beste en ceste
forest et qu'i viegne cacier, et s'ill'i puet prendre, il n'en donroit mie un
menbre por cent mars d'or, non porcine cens, ne por nul avoir."
Et cille regardent, se le virent se bele qu'il en furent tot esmari.
"Je li dirai? fait cil qui plus fu enparles des autres; dehait ait qui ja en
parlera, ne qui ja li dira! C'est fantosmes que vos dites, qu'il n'a si ciere
beste en ceste forest, ne cerf, ne lion, ne sengler, dont uns des menbres
vaille plus de dex deniers u de trois au plus, et vos paries de si grant avoir.
Ma dehait qui vos en croit, ne qui ja li dira! Vos estes fee, si n'avons cure
de vo conpaignie, mais tenes vostre voie.
- Ha! bel enfant, fait ele, si feres. Le beste a tel mecine que Aucassins
ert garis de son mehaing; et j'ai ci cine sous en me horse: tenes, se li dites;
et dedens trois jors li covient cacier, et se il dens trois jors ne le trove, ja
mais n'iert garis de son mehaig.
- Par foi, fait il, les deniers prenderons nos, et s'il vient ci, nos li
dirons, mais nos ne l'irons ja quere.
-De par Diu! fait ele.
Lor prent congie as pastoriaus, se s'en va. [Aucassin, p. 19]
Nicolette's meeting with the shepherds occurs in the margins of distinct
geographic zones: she has just left the town of Beaucaire and is about to
enter the forest. It represents a juxtaposition of discrete social spaces, one
the locus of the law (through a justice that would punish her), and the
other, a realm inhabited by wild animals (les bestes sauvaces) where only
the law of the strongest prevails. At an extreme lurk the Wild Men-half
human/half animal, completely unsocialized beings, to which the
ploughman, whom Aucassin later encounters, bears a certain
resemblance.
44
Finally, Nicolette's exchange with the shepherd stands as
a meeting of two social classes and of the discourses appropriate to each.
Nicolette, a captured slave whose noble identity is as yet unknown,
speaks the artificial language of courtly poetry. She uses difficult orna-
ment according, in fact, to Geoffrey of Vinsauf' s definition of one kind of
metaphor: "the transfer of the meaning of a word from man to things or
from things to man" (see above, p. 117). In the veiled speech to the
shepherd Nicolette substitutes an animal (beste) for herself, a hunt for the
experience of love, Aucassin's sickness or mehaing (from Ovidian tradi-
tion?) for love-sickness, a cure (mecine) for fulfillment in love by joining
her in the forest. The shepherd, on the other hand, rejects Nicolette's
The Economics of Romance 177
artificial use of language, insisting instead upon the literal meaning of her
words: "C'est fantosmes que vos dites, qu'il n'a si ciere beste en ceste
forest ... et vos paries de si grant avoir."
Nicolette's discussion with the shepherd over the value of words can
in fact, be reduced to a question of the value of value, revolving as it
around the issue of price. And what began as a meeting of distinct social
spaces (town and countryside), of distinct classes (noble and nonnoble),
and even of distinct languages (an elevated, metaphoric discourse and a
simpler, more literal one) ends as a meeting of separate economic orders
disparate linguistic mediums. Nicolette's troped speech nomi-
nahzes Its referent through, in the rhetorician's phrase, "the transfer of a
word from its proper sense to another." And this dislocation of linguistic
prop.erty can be neither from the dislocation of paternal prop-
erty mherent to NIColette as the object of Aucassin's desire nor from her
of p.rice. monetary signs are, for the potentially
disruptive affine of Gann s lmeage, mutually mobile concepts which, in
the light of our discussion of economic nominalism, seem even to entail
each other. The shepherd, in contrast, demonstrates a marked distrust of
the inflated detachment of value from intrinsic worth, and thus he
appears to favor a certain economic realism contrary to Nicolette's ma-
nipulation of words and of cost.
45
Aucassin et Nicolette contains, then, a meeting of geographic zones, of
social classes, of discourses appropriate to each, of economic orders, and,
finally, of literary genres. In its mixed form the chantefable can be classified
neither with the epic nor with the lyric. It combines narrative elements
subsumed in the act of telling (indicated by the marker "conter") and
assimilable to its prose sections, along with lyric elements subsumed in
the act of singing (indicated by "chanter") and associated with the verse
portions of the whole. This polarity has been statistically substantiated by
S. Monsonego who, in a painstaking study of the vocabulary of Aucassin
et !'licolette,. demonstrates that within such a stylistic dynamic poetry
enJoys a wider range of expression than prose.
46
The vocabulary of the
verse sections is richer in the area of words occurring only once, a lexical
wealth which lies, moreover, in substantives and adjectives and which
contrasts with a proportionate strength in verbs and adverbs within the
prose passages. What this means is that the verse portions of the chante-
fable "proffer," as E. Vance notes, "a world that is static and removed,
where nominalizing language constitutes its own action"; the prose, by
comparison, "proffers a world that is temporal and spatial, in which
movement and action are compulsory."
47
In the mixture of generic modes Aucassin et Nicolette merely makes
explicit that which is less evident, less formally marked, in earlier, more
"generically uniform" romances. That is, that the courtly novel repre-
178 Chapter Five
sents a combination of the distinct literary discourses that we have iden-
tified with the epic and the canso, and, further, that the implications of
such a commingling extend to the social, familial, economic, and gram-
matical models appropriate to each. To the degree that Aucassin's father
favors an imposed marriage, he stands on the side of aristocracy, lineage,
and real property. He reminds Aucassin repeatedly of the importance of
retaining the family patrimoine, urging him at the same time to pursue an
inherited war by "acting" like a hero of a chanson de geste:
Ha! fix, fait il, con pares caitis et maleurox, que tu vois c'on asaut ton cas-
t ~ tot le mellor et le plus fort; et saces, se tu le pers, que tu es desiretes.
FIX, car pren les armes et monte u ceval et defen te tere .... [Aucassin,
p. 8]
Ha! son, he said, how unfortunate you are, when you see that your best
and the strongest castle is attacked; and know that if you lose it, you will
be disinherited. Son, take up your arms and mount your horse and defend
your land ....
Garin's concern for genealogical continuity and for military vigor situates
him within the thematic field of the epic; and where such concerns are
assimilable to an implicit doctrine of language, it serves to ally him with
the determining possibilities of narration and representation. Most of the
action of Aucassin et Nicolette does, in fact, occur in the prose or narrative
sections.
Conversely, to the extent that Aucassin resists the paternal pressure to
enter battle and to continue the family line that migpt have constituted its
geste, his position is antiaristocratic, disruptive of lineage, and heedless of
inherited family fortunes. Put another way, both Aucassin and
Nicolette-those who desire and sing rather than fight and legitimately
procreate-can be identified with the lyric portions of the chantefable,
which tend to interrupt narrative sequence and to reduce representation
to repetition. The spatially and temporally defined tale recounted in the
prose sections is quite literally punctuated by verse interludes reserved
primarily for the expression of the internal states of the protagonists or for
the re-presentation of events that have already occurred. Hence the
self-reflexive status of these "lyric pearls on an epic string" permits not
only the identification with the reflexive natures of the passive young
lovers, as against the paternal invocation to (epic) action, but solicits the
comparison with the similarly static and closed generically independent
love song.
Aucassin et Nicolette stands, then, both as an affirmation and a contesta-
tion of the principles of genealogy and of noble property that are captured
in the chantefable's mixed form. Where the oppositional paradigm seems
most poignant is, furthermore, precisely where the potential tragedy of
The Economics of Romance 179
an imposed genealogical succession turns into farce. The episode of
T?relore is characterized by the fantasy of a kingdom in which men give
b1rth and women lead the wars that have degenerated quite literally into
food fights (Aucassin, pp. 29-33). With the complete loss of procreative
determinacy, narration too is condemned; and the epic integrity of lineal
and story line trails off into what looks awfully like some of the more
"dadaist" medieval nonsensical genres, for example, the fatras or the
resverie. This may seem like a minor incident within the larger whole, but
the episode of Torelore stands nonetheless as a negative proof that the
break with reproduction, as we have insisted again and again, entails a
concomitant break with representation.
What I am suggesting is not only that contrasting familial, linguistic,
and generic modes are contained within a single form, but that their
contra position constitutes a form distinct from both the canso and the epic
whose traits it shares. This is not true, for example, of the lyric types
which may display narrative elements and which seem less hermetic than
the canso, since that difference is not marked at the level of structure. Even
the dialogued tenso, joe partit, pastorela, and debat remain thoroughly cast
within the lyric mold. Epic narrative, on the other hand, may often give
the impression of a dissolution of the story line and of a certain poetic
closure, for example, in the more static, less actantially defined laisses
similaires and juxtaposees. But even here, despite the slackening of action,
the epic only simulates through repetition a certain lyric stasis in the
absence of the formal attributes of song. The difference between such
passages and the rest of a poem like La Chanson de Roland remains purely
quantitative. Aucassin et Nicolette, however, displays a genuinely dialogic
structure whose thematic components (a conflict between love and war)
are indissociable from a generic opposition (lyric and narrative) whose
separate elements also remain formally distinct. Such a paradigm is
rooted in discrete orders of family and, as we shall see, constitutes the
very essence of courtly romance.
If called upon to localize a point of origin of the antigenealogical
narrative of which the chantefable is a shining example, one would have to
turn to an unlikely source-the abundance of hagiographic texts dealing
specifically with the conflict between a family imposed marriage and the
future saint's desire for spiritual purity. Here, the Old French Vie de Saint
Alexis (second half of the eleventh century) serves as a prime illustration.
Thus Alexis's father, like Garin, is haunted by the fear of genealogical
interruption, and he also seeks to arrange an appropriate marriage for his
only heir:
Quant veit li pedre que mais n'avrat enfant,
Mais que eel soul cui il amat tant,
178 Chapter Five
sents a combination of the distinct literary discourses that we have iden-
tified with the epic and the canso, and, further, that the implications of
such a commingling extend to the social, familial, economic, and gram-
matical models appropriate to each. To the degree that Aucassin's father
favors an imposed marriage, he stands on the side of aristocracy, lineage,
and real property. He reminds Aucassin repeatedly of the importance of
retaining the family patrimoine, urging him at the same time to pursue an
inherited war by "acting" like a hero of a chanson de geste:
Ha! fix, fait il, con pares caitis et maleurox, que tu vois c'on asaut ton cas-
t ~ tot le mellor et le plus fort; et saces, se tu le pers, que tu es desiretes.
FIX, car pren les armes et monte u ceval et defen te tere .... [Aucassin,
p. 8]
Ha! son, he said, how unfortunate you are, when you see that your best
and the strongest castle is attacked; and know that if you lose it, you will
be disinherited. Son, take up your arms and mount your horse and defend
your land ....
Garin's concern for genealogical continuity and for military vigor situates
him within the thematic field of the epic; and where such concerns are
assimilable to an implicit doctrine of language, it serves to ally him with
the determining possibilities of narration and representation. Most of the
action of Aucassin et Nicolette does, in fact, occur in the prose or narrative
sections.
Conversely, to the extent that Aucassin resists the paternal pressure to
enter battle and to continue the family line that migpt have constituted its
geste, his position is antiaristocratic, disruptive of lineage, and heedless of
inherited family fortunes. Put another way, both Aucassin and
Nicolette-those who desire and sing rather than fight and legitimately
procreate-can be identified with the lyric portions of the chantefable,
which tend to interrupt narrative sequence and to reduce representation
to repetition. The spatially and temporally defined tale recounted in the
prose sections is quite literally punctuated by verse interludes reserved
primarily for the expression of the internal states of the protagonists or for
the re-presentation of events that have already occurred. Hence the
self-reflexive status of these "lyric pearls on an epic string" permits not
only the identification with the reflexive natures of the passive young
lovers, as against the paternal invocation to (epic) action, but solicits the
comparison with the similarly static and closed generically independent
love song.
Aucassin et Nicolette stands, then, both as an affirmation and a contesta-
tion of the principles of genealogy and of noble property that are captured
in the chantefable's mixed form. Where the oppositional paradigm seems
most poignant is, furthermore, precisely where the potential tragedy of
The Economics of Romance 179
an imposed genealogical succession turns into farce. The episode of
T?relore is characterized by the fantasy of a kingdom in which men give
b1rth and women lead the wars that have degenerated quite literally into
food fights (Aucassin, pp. 29-33). With the complete loss of procreative
determinacy, narration too is condemned; and the epic integrity of lineal
and story line trails off into what looks awfully like some of the more
"dadaist" medieval nonsensical genres, for example, the fatras or the
resverie. This may seem like a minor incident within the larger whole, but
the episode of Torelore stands nonetheless as a negative proof that the
break with reproduction, as we have insisted again and again, entails a
concomitant break with representation.
What I am suggesting is not only that contrasting familial, linguistic,
and generic modes are contained within a single form, but that their
contra position constitutes a form distinct from both the canso and the epic
whose traits it shares. This is not true, for example, of the lyric types
which may display narrative elements and which seem less hermetic than
the canso, since that difference is not marked at the level of structure. Even
the dialogued tenso, joe partit, pastorela, and debat remain thoroughly cast
within the lyric mold. Epic narrative, on the other hand, may often give
the impression of a dissolution of the story line and of a certain poetic
closure, for example, in the more static, less actantially defined laisses
similaires and juxtaposees. But even here, despite the slackening of action,
the epic only simulates through repetition a certain lyric stasis in the
absence of the formal attributes of song. The difference between such
passages and the rest of a poem like La Chanson de Roland remains purely
quantitative. Aucassin et Nicolette, however, displays a genuinely dialogic
structure whose thematic components (a conflict between love and war)
are indissociable from a generic opposition (lyric and narrative) whose
separate elements also remain formally distinct. Such a paradigm is
rooted in discrete orders of family and, as we shall see, constitutes the
very essence of courtly romance.
If called upon to localize a point of origin of the antigenealogical
narrative of which the chantefable is a shining example, one would have to
turn to an unlikely source-the abundance of hagiographic texts dealing
specifically with the conflict between a family imposed marriage and the
future saint's desire for spiritual purity. Here, the Old French Vie de Saint
Alexis (second half of the eleventh century) serves as a prime illustration.
Thus Alexis's father, like Garin, is haunted by the fear of genealogical
interruption, and he also seeks to arrange an appropriate marriage for his
only heir:
Quant veit li pedre que mais n'avrat enfant,
Mais que eel soul cui il amat tant,
180 Chapter Five
Done se porpenset del siecle ad en avant:
Or vuelt que prenget moillier a son vivant;
Done li achetat fille ad un noble franc.
48
When the father realized he would have no more children other than the
one that he loved so much, he began to think of the future: Now he would
like him to take a wife while he is still alive; and he negotiated for him the
daughter of a noble.
Alexis's own choice of virginity over marriage is, in direct opposition to
the paternal concern for lineal continuity, a willful disruption of the
family line and, in particular, of the family patrimoine. His initial refusal
coincides, in fact, with the partial disbursement of family funds-"Tot
son aveir qu'o sei en at portet, I Tot le depart, que giens ne luin remest";
and his death bespeaks, as his father's lament betrays, an absolute inter-
ruption of ancestral property: "0 filz cui ierent mes granz ereditez, I Mes
larges terres dont jo aveie assez, I Migrant palais en Rome la citet?"
49
In
keeping with the ecclesiastical model of marriage, Alexis thus chooses
freely, which, in hagiographic literature at least, is synonymous with the
rejection of lineage altogether: "He loved God more," the anonymous
poet tells us, "than all his kinsmen combined."
50
The election of God over family is a common theme of twelfth- and
thirteenth-century saints' lives. The life of Edward the Confessor, who
marries but preserves his chastity, is known in numerous Latin versions
and in at least one Old French rendering from the Vita Sancti Edwardi Regis
et Confessoris by Ailred of Rielvaux. Likewise, Saint Evroul, whose Old
French biography stems from the second part of Orderic Vitalis's Historia
Ecclesiastica, resists paternal pressure to marry, just as the orphaned Saint
Gilles, whose life was recounted in nine complete and several abridged
Latin versions as well as in numerous vernacular texts, withstands the
influence of his barons. A thirteenth-century life of Saint Juliane, whose
rejection of marriage received both Anglo-Saxon and Middle English
treatment, is attributed to Nicholas Bozon, the author of the similarly
antigenealogicallife of Saint Lucy. Comparable stories of resistance char-
acterize the lives of Saints Osith, Simon of Crecy, and Cecilia. In addition,
a sub genre of these archetypal refusals of family can be found in a series
of works depicting the simultaneous vows of virginity undertaken by
both members of the affianced or married couple (e.g., the lives of Saints
Chrysanthus and Dacia, Henri and Cunegonde, Julian and Basilissa).
The most developed rendering of the refusal motif is the Latin Life of
Christine of Markyate. The anonymous author of this text, written, accord-
ing to its editor, between 1255 and 1265, dramatically "fleshes out" the
Alexis story, recasting it in a contemporaneous setting and providing
elaborate detail concerning both the motivation and the social implica-
tions of the withdrawal of a potential heiress from her' obligation to
The Economics of Romance 181
family. In this case, a persistent suitor, in conjunction with the Bishop of
Durham, "gained, against Christine's will, the parents' consent for her to
be betrothed to Burthred."
51
The bride's subsequent reluctance to con-
summate the union is not in and of itself unusual in spite of the lengths to
which her parents go in order to force her to comply-entreaty, gifts,
drink, love potions, and even rape. What remains extraordinary, how-
ever, is the explicitness with which her role in what we have termed the
"biopolitics" of lineage is articulated:
Insuper inerat ei tantum acumen in sensu. talis providencia in gerendis. ea
efficacia in deliberatis. ut si seculi rebus tota vellet incumbere crederetur
non se tantum suamque familiam. sed reliquum genus suum posse diviciis
et honoribus ampliare. Hue accessit quod speraverunt ex ilia nepotes proles
matri non dissimiles. Et hos fructus intendentes vitam ei celibem invider-
unt. Quippe si propter Christum casta permaneret. metuebant quod et
ipsam et quod per ipsam haberi possent, una perderent.
52
Furthermore, she was so intelligent, so prudent in affairs, so efficient in
carrying out her plans, that if she had given her mind to worldly pursuits
she could have enriched and ennobled not only herself and her family but
also her relatives. To this was added the fact that her parents hoped she
would have children who would be like her in character. So keen were
they on these advantages that they begrudged her a life of virginity. For if
she remained chaste they feared that they would lose her and all they
could hope to gain through her.
Christine's refusal to marry represents an abrogation of the feudal famil-
ial right to "husbal)d" its offspring so as to insure both the continuity of
the genealogical line and of the ancestral fief. And nowhere is the hagiog-
rapher more conscious of the saint's infidelity to lineage as a class issue
than in the Life of Christine of Markyate. Her father laments becoming "the
laughing stock" of his neighbors; and he fears that his daughter's actions
will disgrace all aristocrats: "Why," he asks, "must she depart from
tradition? Why should she thus bring dishonor upon her father? Her life
of poverty will bring the whole of the nobility into disrepute. Let her do
now what we want and she can have all that we possess."
53
There is little doubt that the archetypal hagiographic reluctance to take
one's proper place in a genealogical succession serves to affirm the
ecclesiastical over the lay matrimonial model. After all, Alexis dies a saint,
and Christine's marriage is, through a second intervention of the bishop,
annulled. The investment of the individual with a certain sexual auton-
omy-as against the biopolitics of lineage-transforms this "virginity
cycle" into the direct expression of official doctrine and of a less official
strategy aimed at diversion of family fortunes (through the enlistment of
family scions) in the direction of the Church. Less apparent perhaps is the
resemblance between such possibilities of lineal interruption and the
disruptive thrust of the love lyric. This is less a case of superficial similar-
180 Chapter Five
Done se porpenset del siecle ad en avant:
Or vuelt que prenget moillier a son vivant;
Done li achetat fille ad un noble franc.
48
When the father realized he would have no more children other than the
one that he loved so much, he began to think of the future: Now he would
like him to take a wife while he is still alive; and he negotiated for him the
daughter of a noble.
Alexis's own choice of virginity over marriage is, in direct opposition to
the paternal concern for lineal continuity, a willful disruption of the
family line and, in particular, of the family patrimoine. His initial refusal
coincides, in fact, with the partial disbursement of family funds-"Tot
son aveir qu'o sei en at portet, I Tot le depart, que giens ne luin remest";
and his death bespeaks, as his father's lament betrays, an absolute inter-
ruption of ancestral property: "0 filz cui ierent mes granz ereditez, I Mes
larges terres dont jo aveie assez, I Migrant palais en Rome la citet?"
49
In
keeping with the ecclesiastical model of marriage, Alexis thus chooses
freely, which, in hagiographic literature at least, is synonymous with the
rejection of lineage altogether: "He loved God more," the anonymous
poet tells us, "than all his kinsmen combined."
50
The election of God over family is a common theme of twelfth- and
thirteenth-century saints' lives. The life of Edward the Confessor, who
marries but preserves his chastity, is known in numerous Latin versions
and in at least one Old French rendering from the Vita Sancti Edwardi Regis
et Confessoris by Ailred of Rielvaux. Likewise, Saint Evroul, whose Old
French biography stems from the second part of Orderic Vitalis's Historia
Ecclesiastica, resists paternal pressure to marry, just as the orphaned Saint
Gilles, whose life was recounted in nine complete and several abridged
Latin versions as well as in numerous vernacular texts, withstands the
influence of his barons. A thirteenth-century life of Saint Juliane, whose
rejection of marriage received both Anglo-Saxon and Middle English
treatment, is attributed to Nicholas Bozon, the author of the similarly
antigenealogicallife of Saint Lucy. Comparable stories of resistance char-
acterize the lives of Saints Osith, Simon of Crecy, and Cecilia. In addition,
a sub genre of these archetypal refusals of family can be found in a series
of works depicting the simultaneous vows of virginity undertaken by
both members of the affianced or married couple (e.g., the lives of Saints
Chrysanthus and Dacia, Henri and Cunegonde, Julian and Basilissa).
The most developed rendering of the refusal motif is the Latin Life of
Christine of Markyate. The anonymous author of this text, written, accord-
ing to its editor, between 1255 and 1265, dramatically "fleshes out" the
Alexis story, recasting it in a contemporaneous setting and providing
elaborate detail concerning both the motivation and the social implica-
tions of the withdrawal of a potential heiress from her' obligation to
The Economics of Romance 181
family. In this case, a persistent suitor, in conjunction with the Bishop of
Durham, "gained, against Christine's will, the parents' consent for her to
be betrothed to Burthred."
51
The bride's subsequent reluctance to con-
summate the union is not in and of itself unusual in spite of the lengths to
which her parents go in order to force her to comply-entreaty, gifts,
drink, love potions, and even rape. What remains extraordinary, how-
ever, is the explicitness with which her role in what we have termed the
"biopolitics" of lineage is articulated:
Insuper inerat ei tantum acumen in sensu. talis providencia in gerendis. ea
efficacia in deliberatis. ut si seculi rebus tota vellet incumbere crederetur
non se tantum suamque familiam. sed reliquum genus suum posse diviciis
et honoribus ampliare. Hue accessit quod speraverunt ex ilia nepotes proles
matri non dissimiles. Et hos fructus intendentes vitam ei celibem invider-
unt. Quippe si propter Christum casta permaneret. metuebant quod et
ipsam et quod per ipsam haberi possent, una perderent.
52
Furthermore, she was so intelligent, so prudent in affairs, so efficient in
carrying out her plans, that if she had given her mind to worldly pursuits
she could have enriched and ennobled not only herself and her family but
also her relatives. To this was added the fact that her parents hoped she
would have children who would be like her in character. So keen were
they on these advantages that they begrudged her a life of virginity. For if
she remained chaste they feared that they would lose her and all they
could hope to gain through her.
Christine's refusal to marry represents an abrogation of the feudal famil-
ial right to "husbal)d" its offspring so as to insure both the continuity of
the genealogical line and of the ancestral fief. And nowhere is the hagiog-
rapher more conscious of the saint's infidelity to lineage as a class issue
than in the Life of Christine of Markyate. Her father laments becoming "the
laughing stock" of his neighbors; and he fears that his daughter's actions
will disgrace all aristocrats: "Why," he asks, "must she depart from
tradition? Why should she thus bring dishonor upon her father? Her life
of poverty will bring the whole of the nobility into disrepute. Let her do
now what we want and she can have all that we possess."
53
There is little doubt that the archetypal hagiographic reluctance to take
one's proper place in a genealogical succession serves to affirm the
ecclesiastical over the lay matrimonial model. After all, Alexis dies a saint,
and Christine's marriage is, through a second intervention of the bishop,
annulled. The investment of the individual with a certain sexual auton-
omy-as against the biopolitics of lineage-transforms this "virginity
cycle" into the direct expression of official doctrine and of a less official
strategy aimed at diversion of family fortunes (through the enlistment of
family scions) in the direction of the Church. Less apparent perhaps is the
resemblance between such possibilities of lineal interruption and the
disruptive thrust of the love lyric. This is less a case of superficial similar-
182 Chapter Five
ity of theme and spirit than of a profound identity of effect. For the refusal
of sexuality is, in its disruption of the continuity of lineage, as potent a
threat to the hegemony of noble families as the antigenealogical prolifera-
tion of adulterous desire.
It is, however, not so much in the adulterous canso as in the marital
romance that the "monstrous" secular reformulation of the principle of
free choice defines an entire literary mode. The courtly novel is essentially
about marriage and seems always to involve a conflict between a consen-
sual attachment and a contractual bond, to problematize succession, and
to combine structurally elements both of narrative progression and of
lyric closure; and this from the very beginning. The Tristan story, for
example, is motivated by Marc's barons' fear of a lateral succession and
consequently their insistence upon his marriage to Iseult. In this respect
Marc resembles a failed saint, one who gives in to the pressure to marry.
54
Be that as it may, the tension between Tristan and the barons, which
serves dramatically to shape the entire poem, can be reduced to a conflict
between the two components of the global warrior group-between true
paternity, Tristan as nephew, and fictive paternity, or vassalage. Adul-
tery stands merely as the wedge by which the barons share Marc's favor.
Each time they manage to convince him of his wife's infidelity, they rise in
his estimation; and with each discovery of her faith, Tristan regains the
upper hand. Nor can such a cycle of jealousy be separated from the
legend drama_ of For the adulterous usurpation of
paternity is predicated upon the necessity of hiding, of lies; and action is
defined, within the illusory world of Beroul's text, by the attempt to
understand the constantly shifting appearances of a universe of half-
truths. This applies, for instance, as Marc descends from the pine tree.
55
It
is apparent in the episode of Iseult's exculpation at the Gue Aventuros.
But it is especially characteristic of the problematic episode of the sleeping
lovers in Morrois Forest. As Marc stumbles upon the apparently adulter-
ous couple he fails to act because he fails to comprehend the copresent
signs of both innocence and guilt:
Quant vit qu' ele avoit sa chemise
Et q'entre eus deus avoit devise,
La bouche o I' autre n'ert jostee,
Et qant il vit la nue espee
Qui entre eus deus les desevrot,
Vit les braies que Tristan out:
"Dex!" dist li rois, "ce que puet estre?
Or ai veii tant de lor estre,
Dex! je ne sai que doie faire,
Ou de l'ocire ou du retraire .... "
56
When he saw that and that between them there was a
space and their lips did not touch, and when he saw the naked sword
separating them and that Tristan was wearing pants, he thought: "God!
,
The Economics of Romance 183
What can this mean? Now I have seen enough of how they are together
that-my God!-! no longer know what to do, whether to kill them or
withdraw .... "
Like the reader of the novel itself, Marc is paralyzed by the impossibility
of reconciling the hopelessly contradictory message -of the lovers' situa-
tion versus the attributes of their intentions; and the necessity of inter-
pretation prevents him from achieving the vengeance that was not only
his right but, as I have maintained elsewhere, his obligation. 5
7
The king's uncertainty about adultery, which is, at bottom, an uncer-
tainty about the integrity of lineage, is directly connected to one kind of
narrative disruption characteristic of the romance in
the inner monologue. For with his inability to read the signs which have
lost their determinacy, reflection intrudes upon action, as the exteriorized
universe of compulsory activity and objectified events that we have
associated with the epic cedes to a more psychologically defined world of
compunction and thought. Such a reading is not wholly our own, but was
originally suggested by Gottfried von Strassburg's rendering of the Mor-
rois episode (ca. 1205) in which the dilemma of interpretation intimated
by Beroul seems to generate a dynamic model of the mind.
58
In both
instances, Marc's renunciation of vengeance, which is tantamount to a
shedding of his epic or feudal self, serves to constitute a language of the
self with all that such a concept entails in the way of genealogical,
grammatical, and literary interruption.
The Marc of Beroul' s Tristan essentially where the Charle-
magne of the final strophe of Roland leaves off (see above, pp. 105-107);
and the overall narrative romance is punctuated,
like Aucassin et Nicolette, by multiple moments of self-reflection, of repre-
sentational closure, similar to independent lyric pieces. But the mode of
interruption most particular to Beroullies elsewhere-in the fragmenta-
tion of his presentation according to a subjectively defined, dovetailed
pattern of interlace. Superficially, Tristan consists of a series of loosely
linked episodes of varying lengths. From the encounter under the pine
tree (vv. 1-319), to Frocin's flight (vv. 320--338), to the scene of reconcilia-
tion in Iseult' s bedroom (vv. 339-380), to the two years of adultery at court
(vv. 573-642), these relatively independent dramatic tableaux resemble,
except for the use of rhymed couplets instead of assonance, the epic laisse.
Upon a deeper level of structure, however, the global tableaux are com-
posed of equally independent subunits, some of which contribute to the
narrative progression of Beroul's tale and others of which refer either to
preceding subunits or anticipate subsequent ones. The scene in Iseult' s
bedroom, for instance, can be broken down in the following verses:
59
339-347 The queen returns to her room.
*348--369 Iseult recounts to Brengain what has transpired in the pine tree
scene (1-319).
182 Chapter Five
ity of theme and spirit than of a profound identity of effect. For the refusal
of sexuality is, in its disruption of the continuity of lineage, as potent a
threat to the hegemony of noble families as the antigenealogical prolifera-
tion of adulterous desire.
It is, however, not so much in the adulterous canso as in the marital
romance that the "monstrous" secular reformulation of the principle of
free choice defines an entire literary mode. The courtly novel is essentially
about marriage and seems always to involve a conflict between a consen-
sual attachment and a contractual bond, to problematize succession, and
to combine structurally elements both of narrative progression and of
lyric closure; and this from the very beginning. The Tristan story, for
example, is motivated by Marc's barons' fear of a lateral succession and
consequently their insistence upon his marriage to Iseult. In this respect
Marc resembles a failed saint, one who gives in to the pressure to marry.
54
Be that as it may, the tension between Tristan and the barons, which
serves dramatically to shape the entire poem, can be reduced to a conflict
between the two components of the global warrior group-between true
paternity, Tristan as nephew, and fictive paternity, or vassalage. Adul-
tery stands merely as the wedge by which the barons share Marc's favor.
Each time they manage to convince him of his wife's infidelity, they rise in
his estimation; and with each discovery of her faith, Tristan regains the
upper hand. Nor can such a cycle of jealousy be separated from the
legend drama_ of For the adulterous usurpation of
paternity is predicated upon the necessity of hiding, of lies; and action is
defined, within the illusory world of Beroul's text, by the attempt to
understand the constantly shifting appearances of a universe of half-
truths. This applies, for instance, as Marc descends from the pine tree.
55
It
is apparent in the episode of Iseult's exculpation at the Gue Aventuros.
But it is especially characteristic of the problematic episode of the sleeping
lovers in Morrois Forest. As Marc stumbles upon the apparently adulter-
ous couple he fails to act because he fails to comprehend the copresent
signs of both innocence and guilt:
Quant vit qu' ele avoit sa chemise
Et q'entre eus deus avoit devise,
La bouche o I' autre n'ert jostee,
Et qant il vit la nue espee
Qui entre eus deus les desevrot,
Vit les braies que Tristan out:
"Dex!" dist li rois, "ce que puet estre?
Or ai veii tant de lor estre,
Dex! je ne sai que doie faire,
Ou de l'ocire ou du retraire .... "
56
When he saw that and that between them there was a
space and their lips did not touch, and when he saw the naked sword
separating them and that Tristan was wearing pants, he thought: "God!
,
The Economics of Romance 183
What can this mean? Now I have seen enough of how they are together
that-my God!-! no longer know what to do, whether to kill them or
withdraw .... "
Like the reader of the novel itself, Marc is paralyzed by the impossibility
of reconciling the hopelessly contradictory message -of the lovers' situa-
tion versus the attributes of their intentions; and the necessity of inter-
pretation prevents him from achieving the vengeance that was not only
his right but, as I have maintained elsewhere, his obligation. 5
7
The king's uncertainty about adultery, which is, at bottom, an uncer-
tainty about the integrity of lineage, is directly connected to one kind of
narrative disruption characteristic of the romance in
the inner monologue. For with his inability to read the signs which have
lost their determinacy, reflection intrudes upon action, as the exteriorized
universe of compulsory activity and objectified events that we have
associated with the epic cedes to a more psychologically defined world of
compunction and thought. Such a reading is not wholly our own, but was
originally suggested by Gottfried von Strassburg's rendering of the Mor-
rois episode (ca. 1205) in which the dilemma of interpretation intimated
by Beroul seems to generate a dynamic model of the mind.
58
In both
instances, Marc's renunciation of vengeance, which is tantamount to a
shedding of his epic or feudal self, serves to constitute a language of the
self with all that such a concept entails in the way of genealogical,
grammatical, and literary interruption.
The Marc of Beroul' s Tristan essentially where the Charle-
magne of the final strophe of Roland leaves off (see above, pp. 105-107);
and the overall narrative romance is punctuated,
like Aucassin et Nicolette, by multiple moments of self-reflection, of repre-
sentational closure, similar to independent lyric pieces. But the mode of
interruption most particular to Beroullies elsewhere-in the fragmenta-
tion of his presentation according to a subjectively defined, dovetailed
pattern of interlace. Superficially, Tristan consists of a series of loosely
linked episodes of varying lengths. From the encounter under the pine
tree (vv. 1-319), to Frocin's flight (vv. 320--338), to the scene of reconcilia-
tion in Iseult' s bedroom (vv. 339-380), to the two years of adultery at court
(vv. 573-642), these relatively independent dramatic tableaux resemble,
except for the use of rhymed couplets instead of assonance, the epic laisse.
Upon a deeper level of structure, however, the global tableaux are com-
posed of equally independent subunits, some of which contribute to the
narrative progression of Beroul's tale and others of which refer either to
preceding subunits or anticipate subsequent ones. The scene in Iseult' s
bedroom, for instance, can be broken down in the following verses:
59
339-347 The queen returns to her room.
*348--369 Iseult recounts to Brengain what has transpired in the pine tree
scene (1-319).
184 Chapter Five
*370-380 Brengain reacts to what she has heard.
*381-384 Tristan recounts the pine tree scene to Govemal who comments,
in tum, upon what he has heard.
385--387 Marc comes to his wife's bedroom.
388-399 Marc asks Iseult if she has seen Tristan.
*400-458 Iseult recounts the pine tree scene to Marc.
459-468 Reconciliation of Marc and Iseult.
469-475 Marc informs the queen of Frocin' s role in the pine tree episode
and she asks him if he were present.
*476-492 The king reveals how touched he was by Tristan's meeting with
the queen.
493-504 Iseult further justifies her behavior at court.
505--526 Marc sends Brengain to fetch Tristan.
t527-546 Brengain informs Tristan of the exchange between Iseult and
Marc.
547-568 Reconciliation of Tristan and Marc.
:f:569-572 Evocation of the couple's subsequent life at court.
From the above schematic summary it is evident that we are dealing
with a narrative that advances slowly and hesitantly, that both progresses
and resists progression. Relatively few new givens are introduced within
a long sequence of events: the queen returns to her room, Marc arrives,
husband and wife, and then uncle and nephew, are reconciled. All other
exchanges either hark back to the previous scene in the royal garden or to
a preceding phase of the scene under scrutiny (e.g., vv. 527-546), the only
exception being the prefiguration of the two years of adulterous leisure
(vv. 569-572). Thus, Beroul's text seems to dissociate itself from a con-
tinuous logical development; it moves, as the following diagram indi-
cates, even somewhat gratuitously.
c=-L0\11 )
* * *
* * t :j:
Bedroom Denunciation Adultery pine tree Frocin
The halting progression of Tristan is also evident within the epic where
some laisses within a single text may contribute to the dramatic action
while others may, on the other hand, slow it down. But with two fun-
damental differences: the repeated epic strophe continues to advance the
dramatic action somewhat, even though this progression occurs more
slowly than elsewhere. The passages of Tristan that recall what has
already happened do not promote the telling of the tale except insofar as
they function to transmit information to those not originally present.
Thus, while the double, triple, or quadruple epic laisse may tend toward a
I
! .
w
jj
J
,l!
.
The Economics of Romance 185
moment of lyric stasis within a rapidly moving linear narrative, the
novelistic reference to past events fulfills a purely mimetic role. The novel
contains the embryonic seeds both of a closed text reflecting at certain
points only upon itself and of a world which, unlike the lyric, does not
consist exclusively of words but in which words have come to constitute a
form of action.
More important, where the epic narrative presents a multiplicity of
episodes from a single point of view, Beroul's text presents a limited
number of episodes from multiple points of view. The retelling of the
encounter in the royal garden is, in this respect, a classic example of
shifting group dynamics. For with each repetition of the same event it
becomes ever more apparent that the speaker and his listener-Iseult and
Brengain, Brengain and Iseult, Tristan and Governal, Governal and Tris-
tan, Iseult and Marc, Marc and Iseult---create successive realities whose
re-presentational form is potentially subject to infinite recombination.
Here again, we might just as well have selected the scene of the sleeping
lovers which serves, in fact, to thematize precisely the process of percep-
tual dovetailing operative throughout. For Marc's own difficulty compre-
hending that which he witnesses and his decision to "leave a sign of his
presence in the forest" instead of slaying necessitates a second act of
reading, or misreading: "He left us in order to betray us," says Tristan
upon discovering his uncle's sword in the place of his own; "By this
exchange we can see that he wants to deceive us," he adds in observing
Marc's ring on Iseult' s finger.
60
Tristan's miscalculation, as we have seen,
depends neither upon a personal trait of character nor upon any particu-
lar situation. Rather, it is of a piece with a universe increasingly defined
by a personal language of the self as opposed to the public discourse of
the epic. For Beroul, perception becomes a function of who one is, what
one knows, and what one wants to believe, as the subject comes to
determine the shape of a reality whose fragmented nature also emanates
from a narrative built of overlapping partial truths. Not without sacrifice,
however; for Beroul's self-creating narrative transforms all who are
seduced by it into Mares and Tristans--that is to say, into misreaders. The
final casualty of such an open-ended process of textual elaboration is,
from the perspective of the last repetition (that of the poet for his audi-
ence), the presumably objective reality toward which each repetition
aspires, but which none attains.
If the interruption of narrative continuity seems to determine a defini-
tive rupture with the assumed possibility of perceptual coherence and of
ontological totality, it also signals a break with the possibility of repre-
sentation itself. Indeed, the collective struggles of the epic presented
under the impartial guise of authorial omniscience are transformed
within the early romance into a struggle of the author against his text.
I
l I
I
I
184 Chapter Five
*370-380 Brengain reacts to what she has heard.
*381-384 Tristan recounts the pine tree scene to Govemal who comments,
in tum, upon what he has heard.
385--387 Marc comes to his wife's bedroom.
388-399 Marc asks Iseult if she has seen Tristan.
*400-458 Iseult recounts the pine tree scene to Marc.
459-468 Reconciliation of Marc and Iseult.
469-475 Marc informs the queen of Frocin' s role in the pine tree episode
and she asks him if he were present.
*476-492 The king reveals how touched he was by Tristan's meeting with
the queen.
493-504 Iseult further justifies her behavior at court.
505--526 Marc sends Brengain to fetch Tristan.
t527-546 Brengain informs Tristan of the exchange between Iseult and
Marc.
547-568 Reconciliation of Tristan and Marc.
:f:569-572 Evocation of the couple's subsequent life at court.
From the above schematic summary it is evident that we are dealing
with a narrative that advances slowly and hesitantly, that both progresses
and resists progression. Relatively few new givens are introduced within
a long sequence of events: the queen returns to her room, Marc arrives,
husband and wife, and then uncle and nephew, are reconciled. All other
exchanges either hark back to the previous scene in the royal garden or to
a preceding phase of the scene under scrutiny (e.g., vv. 527-546), the only
exception being the prefiguration of the two years of adulterous leisure
(vv. 569-572). Thus, Beroul's text seems to dissociate itself from a con-
tinuous logical development; it moves, as the following diagram indi-
cates, even somewhat gratuitously.
c=-L0\11 )
* * *
* * t :j:
Bedroom Denunciation Adultery pine tree Frocin
The halting progression of Tristan is also evident within the epic where
some laisses within a single text may contribute to the dramatic action
while others may, on the other hand, slow it down. But with two fun-
damental differences: the repeated epic strophe continues to advance the
dramatic action somewhat, even though this progression occurs more
slowly than elsewhere. The passages of Tristan that recall what has
already happened do not promote the telling of the tale except insofar as
they function to transmit information to those not originally present.
Thus, while the double, triple, or quadruple epic laisse may tend toward a
I
! .
w
jj
J
,l!
.
The Economics of Romance 185
moment of lyric stasis within a rapidly moving linear narrative, the
novelistic reference to past events fulfills a purely mimetic role. The novel
contains the embryonic seeds both of a closed text reflecting at certain
points only upon itself and of a world which, unlike the lyric, does not
consist exclusively of words but in which words have come to constitute a
form of action.
More important, where the epic narrative presents a multiplicity of
episodes from a single point of view, Beroul's text presents a limited
number of episodes from multiple points of view. The retelling of the
encounter in the royal garden is, in this respect, a classic example of
shifting group dynamics. For with each repetition of the same event it
becomes ever more apparent that the speaker and his listener-Iseult and
Brengain, Brengain and Iseult, Tristan and Governal, Governal and Tris-
tan, Iseult and Marc, Marc and Iseult---create successive realities whose
re-presentational form is potentially subject to infinite recombination.
Here again, we might just as well have selected the scene of the sleeping
lovers which serves, in fact, to thematize precisely the process of percep-
tual dovetailing operative throughout. For Marc's own difficulty compre-
hending that which he witnesses and his decision to "leave a sign of his
presence in the forest" instead of slaying necessitates a second act of
reading, or misreading: "He left us in order to betray us," says Tristan
upon discovering his uncle's sword in the place of his own; "By this
exchange we can see that he wants to deceive us," he adds in observing
Marc's ring on Iseult' s finger.
60
Tristan's miscalculation, as we have seen,
depends neither upon a personal trait of character nor upon any particu-
lar situation. Rather, it is of a piece with a universe increasingly defined
by a personal language of the self as opposed to the public discourse of
the epic. For Beroul, perception becomes a function of who one is, what
one knows, and what one wants to believe, as the subject comes to
determine the shape of a reality whose fragmented nature also emanates
from a narrative built of overlapping partial truths. Not without sacrifice,
however; for Beroul's self-creating narrative transforms all who are
seduced by it into Mares and Tristans--that is to say, into misreaders. The
final casualty of such an open-ended process of textual elaboration is,
from the perspective of the last repetition (that of the poet for his audi-
ence), the presumably objective reality toward which each repetition
aspires, but which none attains.
If the interruption of narrative continuity seems to determine a defini-
tive rupture with the assumed possibility of perceptual coherence and of
ontological totality, it also signals a break with the possibility of repre-
sentation itself. Indeed, the collective struggles of the epic presented
under the impartial guise of authorial omniscience are transformed
within the early romance into a struggle of the author against his text.
I
l I
I
I
186 Chapter Five
Thomas, in particular, thematizes the limiting conditions of the poetic
act, betraying a constant self-doubt and obsession with the adequacy of
his own partial presentation of the tale which he acknowledges to be
incomplete, scattered, and "diverse":
Seignurs, cest cunte est mult divers,
E pur 1' uni par mes vers
E di en tant cum est mester
E le surplus voil relesser.
Ne vol pas trop en uni dire:
lei diverse la matyre.
61
Lords, this tale has many parts, and for this reason I have gathered it in
my poem and told as much as is necessary, leaving off the rest. I did not
want to say too much at once, and so I have divided the material.
The Tristan legend is, then, at once a genealogical and a semiological
drama: a tale of lost paternity, of adultery bordering on incest, of an
aborted lateral and an impossible direct succession coupled with a
scrambling of the narrative sequence and the representational integrity
that we have associated with lineage. The poet's effort to assure the
progress of the tale that seems, as Thomas admits, to exceed and elude
him is mirrored in the struggle of his protagonists to interpret the baffling
signs of a world of supplementary half-truths. Both, finally, are identi-
fiable with the desire for genealogical continuity within the archetypal
story of adulterous interruption.
Chretien de Troyes is no less haunted than the Tristan poets by prob-
lems of matrimony, desire both within and outside of marriage, and
succession. Cliges presents itself, in fact, as an "anti-Tristan." Its prologue
contains allusions to Ovid and to King Marc; its unhappily married
heroine, Fenice, claims to prefer dismemberment to the "solution of
Iseult."
62
Of Chretien's three "matrimonial" romances, poems concerned
either with the consummation or with the internal dynamics of marriage,
Cliges reads like a virtual casebook of medieval marriage. The episode of
Fenice' s broken betrothal to the Duke of Saxony poses the question of the
legal status of the sponsalia (vv. 2528-2915). Her legally contracted but
unconsummated union with Alis raises the hotly debated contempora-
neous issue of intention versus ratification (see above, pp. 161-162). But,
most of all, the dramatic interest of Cliges turns around a tale of succession
and around the conflict between an elective affinity and an imposed
contractual obligation. Both Alis and Fenice are forced, respectively by
barons and by family, into a marriage that neither desires: Alis, in conso-
nance with the biopolitics of the royal Greek dynasty, has promised never
to marry; and Fenice loves Cliges.
The opposition between two models of marriage, seen in the struggle
of family (or feudal retinue) against lovers, is formally expressed in Cliges
as a tension between the dominant story line and the long lyric interludes
The Economics of Romance 187
disruptive of the poem's And where the mode of
textual interference is for Beroul one of dovetailing coupled with a pur-
posefully unresolved jumbling of perception, Chretien seems to establish
discrete textual "zones" that can again be equated with distinct poetic as
well as familial principles. Cliges is a genealogically determined tale in
which, already in the amorous anguish of the hero's parents, love is
associated with the inner monologues that become the privileged loci of
Fenice' s and Cliges' s desire.
63
Though they are too long to quote in
extenso, each of these set pieces serves to dislocate the discursive se-
quence of an otherwise linear narrative progression. What is more, the
inner monologue marks within Chretien's text a break with referentiality
equivalent to the canso's closure of language upon itself or to the reflexiv-
ity of the verse portions of Aucassin et Nicolette. "A li seule opose et
respont"-thus begins Fenice's extended dialogue with herself, which
bears, excluding the stanzaic form, all the earmarks of the love lyric:
64
,.-
Par sa lobe et par sa losenge
Mes cuers de son ostel s'estrenge,
Ne ne vialt o moi remenoir,
Tant het et moi et mon menoir.
Par foi, done m' a cil maubaillie
Qui mon cuer a en sa baillie,
Ne m'aimme pas, ce sai je bien,
Qui me desrobe et tost le mien.
Jel sai? Por coi ploroit il dons?
Por coi? Ne fu mie an pardons,
Asez i ot reison de quoi.
65
By its betrayal and trickery my heart is estranged from its home; nor does
it want to remain with me, it so hates both me and my being. By faith,
that one has so mistreated me who has my heart in his power; he does not
love me, that I know well, the one who robs me and carries it away. Do I
know it? Why does he cry then? Why? It is not at all for pardon, for which
there is ample cause.
Likewise, Cliges's own planctus is couched in a language divested of
communicative function, that seems to turn only upon itself:
M'amie est morte, et je sui vis.
Ha! dolce amie, vostre amis
Por coi vit, et morte vos voit?
Or porroit an dire par droit,
Quant mortes estes par mon servise,
Que je vos ai morte et ocise.
Arnie, don sui je la morz,
Qui morte vos ai-n'est ce torz?-,
Qui rna vie vos ai tolue,
Si ai la vostre retenue.
66
My beloved is dead, and I am alive. Ha! sweet love, why does your friend
live who sees you dead? Now one could say rightly that when you died
186 Chapter Five
Thomas, in particular, thematizes the limiting conditions of the poetic
act, betraying a constant self-doubt and obsession with the adequacy of
his own partial presentation of the tale which he acknowledges to be
incomplete, scattered, and "diverse":
Seignurs, cest cunte est mult divers,
E pur 1' uni par mes vers
E di en tant cum est mester
E le surplus voil relesser.
Ne vol pas trop en uni dire:
lei diverse la matyre.
61
Lords, this tale has many parts, and for this reason I have gathered it in
my poem and told as much as is necessary, leaving off the rest. I did not
want to say too much at once, and so I have divided the material.
The Tristan legend is, then, at once a genealogical and a semiological
drama: a tale of lost paternity, of adultery bordering on incest, of an
aborted lateral and an impossible direct succession coupled with a
scrambling of the narrative sequence and the representational integrity
that we have associated with lineage. The poet's effort to assure the
progress of the tale that seems, as Thomas admits, to exceed and elude
him is mirrored in the struggle of his protagonists to interpret the baffling
signs of a world of supplementary half-truths. Both, finally, are identi-
fiable with the desire for genealogical continuity within the archetypal
story of adulterous interruption.
Chretien de Troyes is no less haunted than the Tristan poets by prob-
lems of matrimony, desire both within and outside of marriage, and
succession. Cliges presents itself, in fact, as an "anti-Tristan." Its prologue
contains allusions to Ovid and to King Marc; its unhappily married
heroine, Fenice, claims to prefer dismemberment to the "solution of
Iseult."
62
Of Chretien's three "matrimonial" romances, poems concerned
either with the consummation or with the internal dynamics of marriage,
Cliges reads like a virtual casebook of medieval marriage. The episode of
Fenice' s broken betrothal to the Duke of Saxony poses the question of the
legal status of the sponsalia (vv. 2528-2915). Her legally contracted but
unconsummated union with Alis raises the hotly debated contempora-
neous issue of intention versus ratification (see above, pp. 161-162). But,
most of all, the dramatic interest of Cliges turns around a tale of succession
and around the conflict between an elective affinity and an imposed
contractual obligation. Both Alis and Fenice are forced, respectively by
barons and by family, into a marriage that neither desires: Alis, in conso-
nance with the biopolitics of the royal Greek dynasty, has promised never
to marry; and Fenice loves Cliges.
The opposition between two models of marriage, seen in the struggle
of family (or feudal retinue) against lovers, is formally expressed in Cliges
as a tension between the dominant story line and the long lyric interludes
The Economics of Romance 187
disruptive of the poem's And where the mode of
textual interference is for Beroul one of dovetailing coupled with a pur-
posefully unresolved jumbling of perception, Chretien seems to establish
discrete textual "zones" that can again be equated with distinct poetic as
well as familial principles. Cliges is a genealogically determined tale in
which, already in the amorous anguish of the hero's parents, love is
associated with the inner monologues that become the privileged loci of
Fenice' s and Cliges' s desire.
63
Though they are too long to quote in
extenso, each of these set pieces serves to dislocate the discursive se-
quence of an otherwise linear narrative progression. What is more, the
inner monologue marks within Chretien's text a break with referentiality
equivalent to the canso's closure of language upon itself or to the reflexiv-
ity of the verse portions of Aucassin et Nicolette. "A li seule opose et
respont"-thus begins Fenice's extended dialogue with herself, which
bears, excluding the stanzaic form, all the earmarks of the love lyric:
64
,.-
Par sa lobe et par sa losenge
Mes cuers de son ostel s'estrenge,
Ne ne vialt o moi remenoir,
Tant het et moi et mon menoir.
Par foi, done m' a cil maubaillie
Qui mon cuer a en sa baillie,
Ne m'aimme pas, ce sai je bien,
Qui me desrobe et tost le mien.
Jel sai? Por coi ploroit il dons?
Por coi? Ne fu mie an pardons,
Asez i ot reison de quoi.
65
By its betrayal and trickery my heart is estranged from its home; nor does
it want to remain with me, it so hates both me and my being. By faith,
that one has so mistreated me who has my heart in his power; he does not
love me, that I know well, the one who robs me and carries it away. Do I
know it? Why does he cry then? Why? It is not at all for pardon, for which
there is ample cause.
Likewise, Cliges's own planctus is couched in a language divested of
communicative function, that seems to turn only upon itself:
M'amie est morte, et je sui vis.
Ha! dolce amie, vostre amis
Por coi vit, et morte vos voit?
Or porroit an dire par droit,
Quant mortes estes par mon servise,
Que je vos ai morte et ocise.
Arnie, don sui je la morz,
Qui morte vos ai-n'est ce torz?-,
Qui rna vie vos ai tolue,
Si ai la vostre retenue.
66
My beloved is dead, and I am alive. Ha! sweet love, why does your friend
live who sees you dead? Now one could say rightly that when you died
188 Chapter Five
through my service it was I who killed you. Beloved, then I am dead
man who slayed you-Is that not right?-the one who took my hfe away
from you and kept yours.
In the emotive "stations" in the progress of erotic desire, all other action
seems suspended, as words .. __
E. Vance maintains that such outpourings or "lyric cores" are actually
generative of broader narrative structure; and this assertion, substanti-
ated by Dante's preference for poetry over prose, is well-taken.
67
What I
am suggesting, however, is that the dialectical relationoFlhe narrative
and lyric passages is more important than the issue of primacy; and,
further, that the exclamatory and constative components of romance are
assimilable thematically as well as formally to the distinct discourses of
the canso and the epic. Cliges combines the themes of love and war proper
to the chanson d'amour and the
framework-fntegratiilgailtiiJietTcardiscursive r.nodes .whose cql!!esence
permits if the thrust toward narrative con-
Chretien's efforts beyond the limits of the relatively short
and static love song, it is the monologued lament that endows the ex-
tended and objectified narrative of deeds and events with depth suf-
ficient to produce that which is denied in the epic-closure.
The question of how Chretien's text relates to our two models of family
is somewhat tricky. It would appear that

these eail)rmati'imonial iomarices-Cliges, Erec et Enide, Yvain-do end in
marriage and that the outpourings of desire indentifiable with the inner
monologue lead in that direction. In Cliges, moreover, the interruption of
lineage is never really a problem, since Alis and Cliges' s father are
brothers and the union of either would preserve the family line. What is at
stake, rather, is the issue of matrimonial models-the right of individual
decision-evident in the crucial choice between two members of the same
descent group. Fenice recognizes, in fact, that consummation of the
marriage to Alis would mean disinheritance of his nephew and the man
she loves: "Garder cuide son pucelage I Por lui sauver son heritage."
68
Cliges, like the life of Alexis and that of Christine of Markyate, seems,
then, to affirm the ecclesiastical model of matrimony. Fenice's preserva-
tion of her virginity despite the forced marriage to Alis makes her a
"semi-saint." But, more important, it posits the possibility, within a
synthetic literary mode, of something akin to an accommodation with
feudal family practice. In Cliges the threat to lineage is attenuated by the
ultimate triumph of an elective affinity thoroughly in keeping with the
biopolitics of a dynasty which had originally privileged the line of Alexan-
der over that of Alis. Thus, where the Tristan story and the saint's life
The Economics of Romance 189
stand (in different ways) as parables of absolute interruJJ.tion, Qjges
--- --o-,...., - .. --"" ......
comes the
and of desire.

Such a reading is also sustained by Erec et Enide which takes as its initial
premise the consent theory of marriage, but which at the same time
explores the difficulties of achieving even within wedlock a viable balance
between sexual desire and social obligation. Again, the dialectical relation
of the two principles is formally manifested in the tension between
opposing discursive modes. So perfect, in fact, is the blend of form and
theme that the long inner monologues which punctuate the event-filled
narrative tend to mirror the protagonists' dilemma: Erec is a hero at first
obsessed by desire to the exclusion of action, then by an unremitting
dedication to activity excluding all nonenergetic pursuits, even speech. It
is, moreover, in the explicit prohibition of speech that the inner mono-
logue is born (v. 2764). Enide's inability to communicate in the face of
grave danger gives rise to the significant interruptions of narrative se-
quence through which, as in Cliges, a static and nominalizing d!alqgue
with the self holds in abeyance a sequence of events.
69
Thus the drama
which pits an active self against a desiring (and thinking) self becomes
manifest in the tension between a language of action and events and a
language serving to disengage the subject from both. The hero's attempt
to reconcile the active and passive components of his own nature is
reflected in the synthesis of constative (narrative) and exclamatory (lyric)
discursive modes. Here, the notion of synthesis is crucial, for Erec, the
hero who is initially too passive in his erotic attachment to Enide and then
too active in his quest for honor, eventually manages to integrate both;
and Enide, excluded at first from action, similarly learns to mobilize a
more energetic self.
The resolution of "LaJoie de la Cour" is in this respect paradigmatic.
Not only is the couple trapped in the marvelous garden related by blood
to the central figures of Chretien's romance (the lady is Enide's cousin),
but Maboagrains bears a certain "family resemblance" to Erec's former
self. Like the hero, Maboagrains has been overly given to sexual desire
and as a result finds himself trapped by a senseless obligation to action.
Erec's conquest of his alter ego-first with speech (entreaty) and then by
arms-represents an assimilation of both sides of a newly integrated
persona which also prepares the way for his own succession (v. 6452). For
the synthesis of both poles of this psychological dilemma, which coin-
cides with the death of the father, is again duplicated in the fusion of
discursive modes: the hero who accedes to the paternal becomes
at the same Hm'e tfle'rather
Quant apeisiez fu li murmures,
Erec ancomance son conte:
188 Chapter Five
through my service it was I who killed you. Beloved, then I am dead
man who slayed you-Is that not right?-the one who took my hfe away
from you and kept yours.
In the emotive "stations" in the progress of erotic desire, all other action
seems suspended, as words .. __
E. Vance maintains that such outpourings or "lyric cores" are actually
generative of broader narrative structure; and this assertion, substanti-
ated by Dante's preference for poetry over prose, is well-taken.
67
What I
am suggesting, however, is that the dialectical relationoFlhe narrative
and lyric passages is more important than the issue of primacy; and,
further, that the exclamatory and constative components of romance are
assimilable thematically as well as formally to the distinct discourses of
the canso and the epic. Cliges combines the themes of love and war proper
to the chanson d'amour and the
framework-fntegratiilgailtiiJietTcardiscursive r.nodes .whose cql!!esence
permits if the thrust toward narrative con-
Chretien's efforts beyond the limits of the relatively short
and static love song, it is the monologued lament that endows the ex-
tended and objectified narrative of deeds and events with depth suf-
ficient to produce that which is denied in the epic-closure.
The question of how Chretien's text relates to our two models of family
is somewhat tricky. It would appear that

these eail)rmati'imonial iomarices-Cliges, Erec et Enide, Yvain-do end in
marriage and that the outpourings of desire indentifiable with the inner
monologue lead in that direction. In Cliges, moreover, the interruption of
lineage is never really a problem, since Alis and Cliges' s father are
brothers and the union of either would preserve the family line. What is at
stake, rather, is the issue of matrimonial models-the right of individual
decision-evident in the crucial choice between two members of the same
descent group. Fenice recognizes, in fact, that consummation of the
marriage to Alis would mean disinheritance of his nephew and the man
she loves: "Garder cuide son pucelage I Por lui sauver son heritage."
68
Cliges, like the life of Alexis and that of Christine of Markyate, seems,
then, to affirm the ecclesiastical model of matrimony. Fenice's preserva-
tion of her virginity despite the forced marriage to Alis makes her a
"semi-saint." But, more important, it posits the possibility, within a
synthetic literary mode, of something akin to an accommodation with
feudal family practice. In Cliges the threat to lineage is attenuated by the
ultimate triumph of an elective affinity thoroughly in keeping with the
biopolitics of a dynasty which had originally privileged the line of Alexan-
der over that of Alis. Thus, where the Tristan story and the saint's life
The Economics of Romance 189
stand (in different ways) as parables of absolute interruJJ.tion, Qjges
--- --o-,...., - .. --"" ......
comes the
and of desire.

Such a reading is also sustained by Erec et Enide which takes as its initial
premise the consent theory of marriage, but which at the same time
explores the difficulties of achieving even within wedlock a viable balance
between sexual desire and social obligation. Again, the dialectical relation
of the two principles is formally manifested in the tension between
opposing discursive modes. So perfect, in fact, is the blend of form and
theme that the long inner monologues which punctuate the event-filled
narrative tend to mirror the protagonists' dilemma: Erec is a hero at first
obsessed by desire to the exclusion of action, then by an unremitting
dedication to activity excluding all nonenergetic pursuits, even speech. It
is, moreover, in the explicit prohibition of speech that the inner mono-
logue is born (v. 2764). Enide's inability to communicate in the face of
grave danger gives rise to the significant interruptions of narrative se-
quence through which, as in Cliges, a static and nominalizing d!alqgue
with the self holds in abeyance a sequence of events.
69
Thus the drama
which pits an active self against a desiring (and thinking) self becomes
manifest in the tension between a language of action and events and a
language serving to disengage the subject from both. The hero's attempt
to reconcile the active and passive components of his own nature is
reflected in the synthesis of constative (narrative) and exclamatory (lyric)
discursive modes. Here, the notion of synthesis is crucial, for Erec, the
hero who is initially too passive in his erotic attachment to Enide and then
too active in his quest for honor, eventually manages to integrate both;
and Enide, excluded at first from action, similarly learns to mobilize a
more energetic self.
The resolution of "LaJoie de la Cour" is in this respect paradigmatic.
Not only is the couple trapped in the marvelous garden related by blood
to the central figures of Chretien's romance (the lady is Enide's cousin),
but Maboagrains bears a certain "family resemblance" to Erec's former
self. Like the hero, Maboagrains has been overly given to sexual desire
and as a result finds himself trapped by a senseless obligation to action.
Erec's conquest of his alter ego-first with speech (entreaty) and then by
arms-represents an assimilation of both sides of a newly integrated
persona which also prepares the way for his own succession (v. 6452). For
the synthesis of both poles of this psychological dilemma, which coin-
cides with the death of the father, is again duplicated in the fusion of
discursive modes: the hero who accedes to the paternal becomes
at the same Hm'e tfle'rather
Quant apeisiez fu li murmures,
Erec ancomance son conte:
190 Chapter Five
ses avantures li reconte
que nule n'en i antroblie.'
0
When the crowd quieted down, Erec began the tale of his adventures,
which he recounted without forgetting a single one.
Both the inner drama and the distinct modes of its poetic presentation are
resolved in Erec' s retelling of his own saga, in the achievement of a
successful consensual union, and, presumably, in the completion of a
continuous genealogical line.
Chretien's Yvain follows a pattern similar both thematically and for-
mally to that of Erec. Hence an initial overcommitment to sexual desire
within marriage leads to the recuperative effort to redress the imbalance,
again within the framework of a series of lyric interludes bound by a
strongly narrative story line. And again, though marriage is problema-
tized along the way, it triumphs in the end. Lancelot stands, in this regard,
as an exception, since Chretien, despite the traditional amalgam of con-
stative and exclamatory "zones," seems to opt for a definitive adulterous
interruption, or at least for a lack of resolution comparable, even in its
unfinished state, to the Tristan motif. Finally, Chretien's last work,
Perceval, presents special interests and difficulties; and we will have
occasion to return to it shortly in discussing the family of Grail romances
(see below, pp. 198-212).
Though Chretien seems to espouse differing views of the relation
between desire and marriage-and thus to affirm radically opposed mat-
rimonial as well as textual models, the Lais of Marie de France demon-
strate the most nuanced and sustained of familial issues to be
found a;e-the
and-atfituoesthat she portrays that it is almost impossible to charactenze
them generally. Nonetheless, these short pieces offer a glimpse of feudal
marriage practice as it is determined by the same concern for genealogical
continuity that we have encountered elsewhere. Equitan, for example,
in love with his seneschal's wife, but finds himself pushed to marry by h1s
followers who are anxious about the royal succession.
71
In Eliduc the Lord
of Exeter tries to procure a husband for his daughter because of the lack of
a male heir, just as in Yonec the aged Lord of Chepstow marries in order to
insure the future of his "heritage": "Pur ceo k'il ot bon heritage, I Femme
prist pur enfanz aveir, I Qui apres lui fussent si heir." The dramatic
interest of Lanval is sparked by the exclusion of the hero from Arthur's
distribution of wives and land: "Femmes et tere departi I Par tut, fors un
ki l'ot servi."
72
And the issue of parental control is complexly thematized
in Les Dous Amanz where a father's capricious fixation upon his daughter
not only prevents her marriage but causes her death.
On balance, parents, old men, and feudal barons appear to prevail
when it comes to the question of whether or not to marry and to the choice
The Economics of Romance 191
of mate. Where the lay matrjmanjal model seems to break down is in the
everyday reality of conjugal life; and Marie is ultimately more interested
in fnenegaJive consequences oi forceamarrla'ge5111an1n1he contraCfual
Tms-i:s"Whfl1iei.alsgiVeTiie1inpress1on oravrrfuaTgalfery of
unhappily married women (and sometimes men, e.g., Eliduc, Le Laustic)
and why adultery occupies such an important place in their the1patic
unfolding (e.g., Guigemar, Lanval, Milun, Yonec, Equitan, Eliduc, Blsdavret,
Le Liiitstic, Chevrefoil). Even here, however, the marital infidelity emanat-
ing from arranged marriages is by no means simple, since not all spouses
are presented unsympathetically; and a number of these miniromances
work out to the favor of the young lovers in the end (e.g., Milun, Guige-
mar, Lanval).
Among the Lais, none offers a more impressive picture of the lived
experience of an imposed union than Guigemar, which also deals explic-
itly with the role of the literary text in an archetypal drama of marital
constraint and adulterous desire. Thus, as Guigemar lies wounded and
adrift, the boat which carries him away from home and youth enters a
mysterious city whose character is emblematized in the conjugal situation
of its lord:
Li sires ki la mainteneit
Mult fu velz humme, et femme aveit
Une dame de haut parage,
Franche, curteise, bele e sage;
Gelus esteit a desmesure,
Kar ceo purporte la nature
Ke tut li veil seient gelus,
(Mult hiet chascun ke il seit cous!)
73
The lord who looked over it was an old man; and he had a wife of great
nobility-simple, courteous, beautiful, and wise. He was jealous beyond all
bounds, for nature prescribes that all old men are jealous, since no one
likes to be cuckolded.
In the effort to prevent adultery, the jealous husband has imprisoned his
wife in a tower guarded by his niece and a castrated priest:
Li sire out fait dedenz le mur,
Pur mettre sa femme a seiir,
Chaumbre: suz ciel n'aveit plus bele.
A l'entree fu la chapele,
La chaumbre ert peinte tut entur;
Venus, la deuesse d'amur,
Fu tres bien mise en la peinture:
Les traiz mustrez e la nature,
Cument hom deit amur tenir
E lealment e bien servir.
Le livre Ovide, ou il enseine
Comment chascun s'amur estreine .... '
4
190 Chapter Five
ses avantures li reconte
que nule n'en i antroblie.'
0
When the crowd quieted down, Erec began the tale of his adventures,
which he recounted without forgetting a single one.
Both the inner drama and the distinct modes of its poetic presentation are
resolved in Erec' s retelling of his own saga, in the achievement of a
successful consensual union, and, presumably, in the completion of a
continuous genealogical line.
Chretien's Yvain follows a pattern similar both thematically and for-
mally to that of Erec. Hence an initial overcommitment to sexual desire
within marriage leads to the recuperative effort to redress the imbalance,
again within the framework of a series of lyric interludes bound by a
strongly narrative story line. And again, though marriage is problema-
tized along the way, it triumphs in the end. Lancelot stands, in this regard,
as an exception, since Chretien, despite the traditional amalgam of con-
stative and exclamatory "zones," seems to opt for a definitive adulterous
interruption, or at least for a lack of resolution comparable, even in its
unfinished state, to the Tristan motif. Finally, Chretien's last work,
Perceval, presents special interests and difficulties; and we will have
occasion to return to it shortly in discussing the family of Grail romances
(see below, pp. 198-212).
Though Chretien seems to espouse differing views of the relation
between desire and marriage-and thus to affirm radically opposed mat-
rimonial as well as textual models, the Lais of Marie de France demon-
strate the most nuanced and sustained of familial issues to be
found a;e-the
and-atfituoesthat she portrays that it is almost impossible to charactenze
them generally. Nonetheless, these short pieces offer a glimpse of feudal
marriage practice as it is determined by the same concern for genealogical
continuity that we have encountered elsewhere. Equitan, for example,
in love with his seneschal's wife, but finds himself pushed to marry by h1s
followers who are anxious about the royal succession.
71
In Eliduc the Lord
of Exeter tries to procure a husband for his daughter because of the lack of
a male heir, just as in Yonec the aged Lord of Chepstow marries in order to
insure the future of his "heritage": "Pur ceo k'il ot bon heritage, I Femme
prist pur enfanz aveir, I Qui apres lui fussent si heir." The dramatic
interest of Lanval is sparked by the exclusion of the hero from Arthur's
distribution of wives and land: "Femmes et tere departi I Par tut, fors un
ki l'ot servi."
72
And the issue of parental control is complexly thematized
in Les Dous Amanz where a father's capricious fixation upon his daughter
not only prevents her marriage but causes her death.
On balance, parents, old men, and feudal barons appear to prevail
when it comes to the question of whether or not to marry and to the choice
The Economics of Romance 191
of mate. Where the lay matrjmanjal model seems to break down is in the
everyday reality of conjugal life; and Marie is ultimately more interested
in fnenegaJive consequences oi forceamarrla'ge5111an1n1he contraCfual
Tms-i:s"Whfl1iei.alsgiVeTiie1inpress1on oravrrfuaTgalfery of
unhappily married women (and sometimes men, e.g., Eliduc, Le Laustic)
and why adultery occupies such an important place in their the1patic
unfolding (e.g., Guigemar, Lanval, Milun, Yonec, Equitan, Eliduc, Blsdavret,
Le Liiitstic, Chevrefoil). Even here, however, the marital infidelity emanat-
ing from arranged marriages is by no means simple, since not all spouses
are presented unsympathetically; and a number of these miniromances
work out to the favor of the young lovers in the end (e.g., Milun, Guige-
mar, Lanval).
Among the Lais, none offers a more impressive picture of the lived
experience of an imposed union than Guigemar, which also deals explic-
itly with the role of the literary text in an archetypal drama of marital
constraint and adulterous desire. Thus, as Guigemar lies wounded and
adrift, the boat which carries him away from home and youth enters a
mysterious city whose character is emblematized in the conjugal situation
of its lord:
Li sires ki la mainteneit
Mult fu velz humme, et femme aveit
Une dame de haut parage,
Franche, curteise, bele e sage;
Gelus esteit a desmesure,
Kar ceo purporte la nature
Ke tut li veil seient gelus,
(Mult hiet chascun ke il seit cous!)
73
The lord who looked over it was an old man; and he had a wife of great
nobility-simple, courteous, beautiful, and wise. He was jealous beyond all
bounds, for nature prescribes that all old men are jealous, since no one
likes to be cuckolded.
In the effort to prevent adultery, the jealous husband has imprisoned his
wife in a tower guarded by his niece and a castrated priest:
Li sire out fait dedenz le mur,
Pur mettre sa femme a seiir,
Chaumbre: suz ciel n'aveit plus bele.
A l'entree fu la chapele,
La chaumbre ert peinte tut entur;
Venus, la deuesse d'amur,
Fu tres bien mise en la peinture:
Les traiz mustrez e la nature,
Cument hom deit amur tenir
E lealment e bien servir.
Le livre Ovide, ou il enseine
Comment chascun s'amur estreine .... '
4
192 Chapter Five
The lord had a room built within the wall in order to keep his wife se-
curely; there was no more beautiful one on earth. At the entrance was a
chapel. The room was painted all around; and Venus, the goddess of love,
was well represented: it showed her traits and her nature, and how a man
should conduct himself in love, by serving loyally. The book of Ovid,
where it teaches how each one carries on his love affairs ....
Dramatically, the family prison bears a certain resemblance to the situa-
tion of the frustrated wife and the jealous husband-the gilos-of the love
lyric. More interesting, however, is the proximity of the cha el, the locus
of communion, to the tower, the locus o excommunication, as well as the
juxtaposition of the -
The opposition of the sacred text and the profane book-le livre Ovide-
suggests a tension between the universe of love ("Cument hom deit amur
tenir") depicted on the walls and that which the walls are designed to
exclude. In other words, the prison remains insufficient to shut out that
which enters through the images of the book which both undermines the
effectiveness of the walls and thwarts the strategy of an old man's
lineage. Guigemar contains perhaps the first vernacular manifestation of
the book intended as a vehicle of allurement. As in Dante's portrayal of
the temptation of Paolo and Francesca by the "Romance of Lancelot" (see
above, p. 141), Marie's lovers are lured by a text which, in refusing a
directly mimetic function, merely reflects a prior text (in this case Ovid)
which itself belongs to a preexisting erotic and literary tradition.
The images on the wall are the opposite of the evangelical book, and
they attest to that moment in which the words of men, subject to a process
of infinite sequential substitution, replace the divine and transcendent
Word of God. Because one book only leads through a process of infinite
regress to another, the book itself becomes a tool of seduction rather than
redemption. Marie thus transforms what looks like a strategy of literary
origins into a complex articulation of the relation between medieval love
poetry, sexual desire, and the threat of desire to lineage that we have
identified all along with the antigenealogical courtly lyric. Moreover,
what remains essential is not so much the poet's consciousness of his or
her own place in a long line of seductions, which includes that of the
reader (listener or viewer), but the fact that in the romance both elements
of our sexual ilnd textual equation are intertwined. The walls designed to
preserve the purity of lineage are also catalysts to its disruption.
Are the images which supposedly reproduce the book also intended to
suggest a pattern of poetic dislocation-a reduction of discursive se-
quence to spatial (visual) presence-akin to the canso? Perhaps. Yet Marie
seems to
imposed _!() . and
desire to the fantas_y which, from the episode of Guigemar's encounter
-------T--'"' - ' oo '
The Economics of Romance 193
with the white stag onward, is regularly interfaced with the harshly
realistic givens of the heroine's situation. For if Beroul's mode of textual
interruption entails a certain narrative scrambling, and if that of Chretien
involves the punctuation of story line by lyric (and descriptive) inter-
ludes, Marie achieves an analogous break with representation
. recourse to fantasy. It is impossi-
ble in the case at hand to discern whether Gu!gemar has actually traveled
to another land, or whether, in fact, the oetess has merely departed from __
the-_""_ ------- . !..beginning-whether, in other words, the dis-
plaCement which the text announces has been
A similar ambigultji- cFiaradenz-es'Lanval' s daydream (?) of the fairy
queen who later materializes, the other-worldly voyage of the frustrated
wife in Yonec, the metamorphoses of lovers and husbands in Le Laustic
and Bisclavret, and the false death recounted at the end of Eliduc. In each
case, the constraint of marria e vokes anima ned (or real) break with
lineage that is translated poetically into with the rea er s_gpec a-
tions ol tfie narrow!Jmlmetic text. Through the seductive integration of
themarvelous:rvlarie.createsllieimpression of narrative continuity while
at the same time distancing herself from the credible.
Like the epics of the Cycle of the Rebellious Barons, several Anglo-
Norman works often grouped under the heading of "ancestral ro-
mances" depict the heroic struggle to preserve or to recuperate a lost
inheritance and thus to restore the continuity of a threatened lineage
(e.g., Boeve de Haumtone, Guide Warewic, Waldef, Fouke le Fitz Waryn)/
5
Similarly, a number of Old French verse romances from the late twelfth
and thirteenth centuries revolve so wholly around issues of marriage and
succession that they seem to constitute an independent matrimonial cycle
(e.g., Hue de Roteland's Ipomedon, Raoul de Houdenc's Meraugis de
Portlesguez, Renaut de Beaujeu's LeBel Inconnu, Gautier d' Arras's Ille et
Galeron, and the anonymous Partonopeu de Blois and Amadas et Ydoine).
76
These are difficult poems whose length and diffuseness are often discon-
certing. Yet they do at times offer important insight into the problema tics
under discussion. In almost every case, we are privr the inner work-
ings of the feudal model of marriage; and, in some instances, the kind of
conflict between opposing models implicit to Marie's novellas gives way
to open debate. In Ipomedon, Lafiere's men, like those of King Marc and
Equitan, force her to marry, and they even discuss at the highest baronial
level the issue of free choice (vv. 1927-2380). The Melior of Partonopeu is
faced with a similar situation also accompanied by a quarrel over the
limits of consent (vv. 1484, 6589); and Partonopeu's mother and uncle
attempt to compel him to wed a niece of the King of France (vv. 4040,
4381, 5331). The King Arthur of LeBel Inconnu presses Guiglains to marry
Blonde Esmeree despite the hero's passion for La Pucele as Blances Mains
192 Chapter Five
The lord had a room built within the wall in order to keep his wife se-
curely; there was no more beautiful one on earth. At the entrance was a
chapel. The room was painted all around; and Venus, the goddess of love,
was well represented: it showed her traits and her nature, and how a man
should conduct himself in love, by serving loyally. The book of Ovid,
where it teaches how each one carries on his love affairs ....
Dramatically, the family prison bears a certain resemblance to the situa-
tion of the frustrated wife and the jealous husband-the gilos-of the love
lyric. More interesting, however, is the proximity of the cha el, the locus
of communion, to the tower, the locus o excommunication, as well as the
juxtaposition of the -
The opposition of the sacred text and the profane book-le livre Ovide-
suggests a tension between the universe of love ("Cument hom deit amur
tenir") depicted on the walls and that which the walls are designed to
exclude. In other words, the prison remains insufficient to shut out that
which enters through the images of the book which both undermines the
effectiveness of the walls and thwarts the strategy of an old man's
lineage. Guigemar contains perhaps the first vernacular manifestation of
the book intended as a vehicle of allurement. As in Dante's portrayal of
the temptation of Paolo and Francesca by the "Romance of Lancelot" (see
above, p. 141), Marie's lovers are lured by a text which, in refusing a
directly mimetic function, merely reflects a prior text (in this case Ovid)
which itself belongs to a preexisting erotic and literary tradition.
The images on the wall are the opposite of the evangelical book, and
they attest to that moment in which the words of men, subject to a process
of infinite sequential substitution, replace the divine and transcendent
Word of God. Because one book only leads through a process of infinite
regress to another, the book itself becomes a tool of seduction rather than
redemption. Marie thus transforms what looks like a strategy of literary
origins into a complex articulation of the relation between medieval love
poetry, sexual desire, and the threat of desire to lineage that we have
identified all along with the antigenealogical courtly lyric. Moreover,
what remains essential is not so much the poet's consciousness of his or
her own place in a long line of seductions, which includes that of the
reader (listener or viewer), but the fact that in the romance both elements
of our sexual ilnd textual equation are intertwined. The walls designed to
preserve the purity of lineage are also catalysts to its disruption.
Are the images which supposedly reproduce the book also intended to
suggest a pattern of poetic dislocation-a reduction of discursive se-
quence to spatial (visual) presence-akin to the canso? Perhaps. Yet Marie
seems to
imposed _!() . and
desire to the fantas_y which, from the episode of Guigemar's encounter
-------T--'"' - ' oo '
The Economics of Romance 193
with the white stag onward, is regularly interfaced with the harshly
realistic givens of the heroine's situation. For if Beroul's mode of textual
interruption entails a certain narrative scrambling, and if that of Chretien
involves the punctuation of story line by lyric (and descriptive) inter-
ludes, Marie achieves an analogous break with representation
. recourse to fantasy. It is impossi-
ble in the case at hand to discern whether Gu!gemar has actually traveled
to another land, or whether, in fact, the oetess has merely departed from __
the-_""_ ------- . !..beginning-whether, in other words, the dis-
plaCement which the text announces has been
A similar ambigultji- cFiaradenz-es'Lanval' s daydream (?) of the fairy
queen who later materializes, the other-worldly voyage of the frustrated
wife in Yonec, the metamorphoses of lovers and husbands in Le Laustic
and Bisclavret, and the false death recounted at the end of Eliduc. In each
case, the constraint of marria e vokes anima ned (or real) break with
lineage that is translated poetically into with the rea er s_gpec a-
tions ol tfie narrow!Jmlmetic text. Through the seductive integration of
themarvelous:rvlarie.createsllieimpression of narrative continuity while
at the same time distancing herself from the credible.
Like the epics of the Cycle of the Rebellious Barons, several Anglo-
Norman works often grouped under the heading of "ancestral ro-
mances" depict the heroic struggle to preserve or to recuperate a lost
inheritance and thus to restore the continuity of a threatened lineage
(e.g., Boeve de Haumtone, Guide Warewic, Waldef, Fouke le Fitz Waryn)/
5
Similarly, a number of Old French verse romances from the late twelfth
and thirteenth centuries revolve so wholly around issues of marriage and
succession that they seem to constitute an independent matrimonial cycle
(e.g., Hue de Roteland's Ipomedon, Raoul de Houdenc's Meraugis de
Portlesguez, Renaut de Beaujeu's LeBel Inconnu, Gautier d' Arras's Ille et
Galeron, and the anonymous Partonopeu de Blois and Amadas et Ydoine).
76
These are difficult poems whose length and diffuseness are often discon-
certing. Yet they do at times offer important insight into the problema tics
under discussion. In almost every case, we are privr the inner work-
ings of the feudal model of marriage; and, in some instances, the kind of
conflict between opposing models implicit to Marie's novellas gives way
to open debate. In Ipomedon, Lafiere's men, like those of King Marc and
Equitan, force her to marry, and they even discuss at the highest baronial
level the issue of free choice (vv. 1927-2380). The Melior of Partonopeu is
faced with a similar situation also accompanied by a quarrel over the
limits of consent (vv. 1484, 6589); and Partonopeu's mother and uncle
attempt to compel him to wed a niece of the King of France (vv. 4040,
4381, 5331). The King Arthur of LeBel Inconnu presses Guiglains to marry
Blonde Esmeree despite the hero's passion for La Pucele as Blances Mains
194 Chapter Five
(v. 6168). In Amadas, Ydoine's father marries her against her will; and in
Ille et Galeron, the Duke of Brittany arranges a union for his sister and Ille,
just as the Emperor of Rome will later conclude a similar match for his
daughter.
Love notwithstanding, this series of matrimonial romances proffers the
general impression of a world filled with matchmakers-vassals,
sovereigns, parents, and guardians-who seek to marry off those from
whom they hold land, those who hold land from them, or those who will
inherit. And yet, even here, where the lay aristocratic model of marriage
prevails, it is often tempered by an enlightened seigneurial, baronial, or
parental hand; and this both through an exploration of the negative
consequences of imposed unions as well as through the assertion of what
looks like the principle of meritocracy in the collective determination of
conjugal choice. The authors of Ipomedon, Partonopeu, and LeBel Inconnu,
for example, adopt the motif of the tournament in order to demonstrate
the true worth of the already beloved hero whose genealogy may be
somewhat obscure. Thus they seem to suggest a natural accommodation
between desire and descent. As the author of Partonopeu maintains, "a
good son born in sin is worth more than a bad one conceived in
wedlock."
77
Elsewhere, the feudal matrimonial model is condemned out-
right: Ydoine's father admits his mistake in having married her to a rich
but detested spouse (v. 7477); and Galeron gracefully withdraws to a
convent in order to allow her husband to marry Ganor, who affirms
succinctly the rule of consent: "Grans est, si con moi samble, I De
metre feme et orne ensamble, I Des que on set qu'il s'entreheent."
78
As we have seen throughout, the question of marriage is, ultimately,
indissociable from that of land, of inheritance, and, in particular, of
cognatic succession. Here the status of fiefs accruing to women is crucial,
for if this group of romances is filled with those anxious for others to
marry, those others are almost always heiresses (or heirs who have inher-
ited from their mother) who, in some instances, succeed to entire realms.
Ipomedon's as well as Lafiere's fiefs come from the distaff side. The
daughter of the king of Great Britain inherits his lands (Meraugis). Melior
is heiress to the Eastern Empire (Partonopeu), the Pucele as Blances Mains
to L'Ile d'Or (LeBel Inconnu), Ydoine to Burgundy (Amadas), Galeron to
Brittany, and Ganor to Rome (Ille et Galeron). Furthermore, the repeated
motifs of the hero's obscure lineage and of marriages contracted below
the bride's station, the emphasis upon merit as well as birth, and espe-
cially the frequence of cognatic succession all suggest that these are
novels of social ascension. To a much greater extent than the romances of
Beroul, Chretien, or Marie, they stand as almost perfect illustrations of
what E. Kohler and G. Duby have identified as the historical phe-
nomenon of the juvenes: unmarried knights (bacheliers), who also may be
The Economics of Romance 195
younger sons, in pursuit, irrespective of the lineages involved, of an
advantageous marriage.
79
I say "almost perfect" because of the lack of
evidence for the existence of older brothers of these social climbing heroes
who seem, if anything, to be only sons, and because of the importance of
the holdings which devolve to ,those who seem-by race, prowess, and
love-to deserve them.
One final remark is in order concerning the mode of textual interrup-
characteristic of the late twelfth- and thirteenth-century matrimonial
romance. In fact, these works participate to varying degrees in all of the
modes that we have delineated: scrambling, lyric intrusion (description,
inner monologue), and the merveilleux. And yet they are also character-
ized by what can best be described as a certain narrative attrition. They
are long romances (in some cases over ten thousand lines), ana the clarity
with which they focus in places upon issues like marriage choice and
inheritance is more than undermined by a general loss of narrative
coherence. Plots and subplots are complexly intertwined, innumerable
secondary characters share the stage with the principal protagonists,
action ranges freely over Eastern and Western Europe, thus contributing
to a general sense of disorientation. Such narrative confusion, implicating
the estoire both as story and as lineage, is sometimes thematized as a
failure to recognize true genealogy and other times as a search for pater-
nity. In this the matrimonial romance resembles the equally disoriented
and disorienting corpus of contemporaneous verse and prose romances
surrounding Chretien's Perceval.
In concluding this brief overview of the courtly novel, we mention in
passing a work so rich as alone to justify a full-length study: Le Roman de
Silence. This little known poem (thirteenth century) thematizes many of
the issues we have encountered in the lyric, epic, and romance-war
concluded by marriage, public debate of matrimonial policy, the econom-
ics of the bacheliers. Its author, who twice identifies himself as Heldris de
Cornualle (vv. 1, 6682), is, moreover, obsessed by the question of inheri-
tance, which not only shapes this "romance of succession" but is linked
explicitly to such broader concerns as the relation between nature and
culture, poetry, erotic desire, and sexual difference. Superficially, the
central dramatic focus of Heldris' s text is prepared by an almost incidental
subplot in which a quarrel between two counts over which one will marry
the eldest of two sisters, and therefore inherit the largest of two holdings
(la maisnee), results in the death of both and a royal prohibition of cognatic
succession. "Never again," proclaims King Ebain, "will a woman inherit
in the realm of England, as long as I hold land."
80
The exclusion of femak...._l\dlich angers .those anxjqus to endow _youn-
ger .. (cf. v. 314), foundation for an
elaborate biopolitical drama q(the
. " ,_'. """ ,u,, '!-"'',._ . '
194 Chapter Five
(v. 6168). In Amadas, Ydoine's father marries her against her will; and in
Ille et Galeron, the Duke of Brittany arranges a union for his sister and Ille,
just as the Emperor of Rome will later conclude a similar match for his
daughter.
Love notwithstanding, this series of matrimonial romances proffers the
general impression of a world filled with matchmakers-vassals,
sovereigns, parents, and guardians-who seek to marry off those from
whom they hold land, those who hold land from them, or those who will
inherit. And yet, even here, where the lay aristocratic model of marriage
prevails, it is often tempered by an enlightened seigneurial, baronial, or
parental hand; and this both through an exploration of the negative
consequences of imposed unions as well as through the assertion of what
looks like the principle of meritocracy in the collective determination of
conjugal choice. The authors of Ipomedon, Partonopeu, and LeBel Inconnu,
for example, adopt the motif of the tournament in order to demonstrate
the true worth of the already beloved hero whose genealogy may be
somewhat obscure. Thus they seem to suggest a natural accommodation
between desire and descent. As the author of Partonopeu maintains, "a
good son born in sin is worth more than a bad one conceived in
wedlock."
77
Elsewhere, the feudal matrimonial model is condemned out-
right: Ydoine's father admits his mistake in having married her to a rich
but detested spouse (v. 7477); and Galeron gracefully withdraws to a
convent in order to allow her husband to marry Ganor, who affirms
succinctly the rule of consent: "Grans est, si con moi samble, I De
metre feme et orne ensamble, I Des que on set qu'il s'entreheent."
78
As we have seen throughout, the question of marriage is, ultimately,
indissociable from that of land, of inheritance, and, in particular, of
cognatic succession. Here the status of fiefs accruing to women is crucial,
for if this group of romances is filled with those anxious for others to
marry, those others are almost always heiresses (or heirs who have inher-
ited from their mother) who, in some instances, succeed to entire realms.
Ipomedon's as well as Lafiere's fiefs come from the distaff side. The
daughter of the king of Great Britain inherits his lands (Meraugis). Melior
is heiress to the Eastern Empire (Partonopeu), the Pucele as Blances Mains
to L'Ile d'Or (LeBel Inconnu), Ydoine to Burgundy (Amadas), Galeron to
Brittany, and Ganor to Rome (Ille et Galeron). Furthermore, the repeated
motifs of the hero's obscure lineage and of marriages contracted below
the bride's station, the emphasis upon merit as well as birth, and espe-
cially the frequence of cognatic succession all suggest that these are
novels of social ascension. To a much greater extent than the romances of
Beroul, Chretien, or Marie, they stand as almost perfect illustrations of
what E. Kohler and G. Duby have identified as the historical phe-
nomenon of the juvenes: unmarried knights (bacheliers), who also may be
The Economics of Romance 195
younger sons, in pursuit, irrespective of the lineages involved, of an
advantageous marriage.
79
I say "almost perfect" because of the lack of
evidence for the existence of older brothers of these social climbing heroes
who seem, if anything, to be only sons, and because of the importance of
the holdings which devolve to ,those who seem-by race, prowess, and
love-to deserve them.
One final remark is in order concerning the mode of textual interrup-
characteristic of the late twelfth- and thirteenth-century matrimonial
romance. In fact, these works participate to varying degrees in all of the
modes that we have delineated: scrambling, lyric intrusion (description,
inner monologue), and the merveilleux. And yet they are also character-
ized by what can best be described as a certain narrative attrition. They
are long romances (in some cases over ten thousand lines), ana the clarity
with which they focus in places upon issues like marriage choice and
inheritance is more than undermined by a general loss of narrative
coherence. Plots and subplots are complexly intertwined, innumerable
secondary characters share the stage with the principal protagonists,
action ranges freely over Eastern and Western Europe, thus contributing
to a general sense of disorientation. Such narrative confusion, implicating
the estoire both as story and as lineage, is sometimes thematized as a
failure to recognize true genealogy and other times as a search for pater-
nity. In this the matrimonial romance resembles the equally disoriented
and disorienting corpus of contemporaneous verse and prose romances
surrounding Chretien's Perceval.
In concluding this brief overview of the courtly novel, we mention in
passing a work so rich as alone to justify a full-length study: Le Roman de
Silence. This little known poem (thirteenth century) thematizes many of
the issues we have encountered in the lyric, epic, and romance-war
concluded by marriage, public debate of matrimonial policy, the econom-
ics of the bacheliers. Its author, who twice identifies himself as Heldris de
Cornualle (vv. 1, 6682), is, moreover, obsessed by the question of inheri-
tance, which not only shapes this "romance of succession" but is linked
explicitly to such broader concerns as the relation between nature and
culture, poetry, erotic desire, and sexual difference. Superficially, the
central dramatic focus of Heldris' s text is prepared by an almost incidental
subplot in which a quarrel between two counts over which one will marry
the eldest of two sisters, and therefore inherit the largest of two holdings
(la maisnee), results in the death of both and a royal prohibition of cognatic
succession. "Never again," proclaims King Ebain, "will a woman inherit
in the realm of England, as long as I hold land."
80
The exclusion of femak...._l\dlich angers .those anxjqus to endow _youn-
ger .. (cf. v. 314), foundation for an
elaborate biopolitical drama q(the
. " ,_'. """ ,u,, '!-"'',._ . '
196 o Chapter Five
verse romance. For when King Ebain then seeks to marry off the only
daughter of the Duke of Cornwall and to invest the dead duke's son-in-
law with the paternal duchy, that investiture, according to Ebain's own
decree, depends upon the production of a male heir (vv. 1295, 1455,
1588). The subsequent birth of a daughter to Eufemie and Cad or poses the
dilemma of absolute interruption, which Heldris conceives simul-
taneously in genealogical and semiological terms: that is, a lack of pri-
mogenital continuity entailing a loss of ancestral property is recuperated
by an improper act of naming that itself hides its own occurrence. Cador
to Eufemie:
Sel faisons apieler Scilense ....
Que Jhesus Cris par sa poissance
Le nos doinst celer et taisir,
Ensi com lui est a plaizir!
Mellor consel trover n'i puis.
Il iert nomes Scilenscius;
Et s'il avient par aventure
Al descovrir de sa nature
Nos muerons cest -us en -a,
S' avra a non Scilencia.
Se nos li tolons dont cest -us,
Nos li donrons natural us,
Car cis -us est contre nature,
Mais 1' altres seroit par nature.
81
We will call her "Silence." ... Jesus Christ in his infinite power gave us
the ability to hide and to remain quiet, as is his pleasure! We will never
find a better solution. She will be named "Scilencius"; and if it happens by
chance that her true nature is discovered, we will change this -us into -a,
and his name will be "Scilencia." If we remove then this -us, we restore to
her her natural law; for this -us is imposed against nature, but the other is
by nature.
The above passage better than any other establishes the complex network
of associations that serves as an interpretative key to the whole. Hence,
nature is linked to the propriety of names, sexual difference, and the rule
of primogenital inheritance; artifice or hiding ("celer et taisir"), on the
other hand, is bound to the transgression of grammatical property, sexual
inversion, and the deflection of a proper succession. The dramatic struc-
ture of Le Roman de Silence turns, in fact, around the imbalance introduced
within just such a paradigm by the reversal of its terms, that is, a false
appellation and a nominal sexual difference maintained in the interest of
a true and real inheritance.
How, then, is such a direct series of ideas and their seeming reversal
rhetoricized within Heldris' s text? Here there can be no simple response,
since the particular misnomer which lies at the core of textual elaboration
The Economics of Romance o 197
itself Would not, for instance, the discovery of the
of Silence s name put a quick end to all possibility of further
narrative progression? _or is it_ not, rather, a correct understanding of her
name, proper Is to hide, that motivates a discursive sequence
by the the nature (property) of its referent?
The denotative impropriety of the
herome s_name from Its 1S fundamental to this
drama of language and lineage; and it points in the direction of Heldris' s
own identification of such ambiguity with eroticism and with the nature
of poe.try Earlier, he expressly links writing with desire, which can
lead either to mterruptive silence (v. 1172), or, if fecund, to Silence, and
the narrative prolongation of a tale (v. 984). Even the latter case remains
however: for the monster of generic and linguistic
illusiOn il_lustrahon of Alain de Lille' s principle of sexual and
grammatical (see pp. 134-136), is drawn to poetic
performance_ and m the end escapes m the company of two jongleurs (v.
3117). More 1mportant, as the product of pure artifice, Silence embodies
the respresentational order of simulacrum that both Alain and Heldris
hold to be. the equival_ent of tricky and perverse poetic invention. Le
Roman de Szlence reads, m places, like a vernacular version of the Planctus
Naturae in which it is no longer possible to discern the difference between
Nature and Noreture, between "straight writing" and invention, be-
tween sexes, or between the suffixes (-us and -a) and the customs (us)
appropnate to
82
Ultimately, the poet identifies profoundly with the
double nature of the difficulty attached to "representing"
the IS, at bottom, a difficulty of succession catalyzed
by the mfimte of artifice, yet menaced by empty simulation.
In blendmg of these two poetic principles indissociable from
their appropnate laws of property and of inheritance, Le Roman de Silence
embodies the bivalent, mediatory essence of romance.
196 o Chapter Five
verse romance. For when King Ebain then seeks to marry off the only
daughter of the Duke of Cornwall and to invest the dead duke's son-in-
law with the paternal duchy, that investiture, according to Ebain's own
decree, depends upon the production of a male heir (vv. 1295, 1455,
1588). The subsequent birth of a daughter to Eufemie and Cad or poses the
dilemma of absolute interruption, which Heldris conceives simul-
taneously in genealogical and semiological terms: that is, a lack of pri-
mogenital continuity entailing a loss of ancestral property is recuperated
by an improper act of naming that itself hides its own occurrence. Cador
to Eufemie:
Sel faisons apieler Scilense ....
Que Jhesus Cris par sa poissance
Le nos doinst celer et taisir,
Ensi com lui est a plaizir!
Mellor consel trover n'i puis.
Il iert nomes Scilenscius;
Et s'il avient par aventure
Al descovrir de sa nature
Nos muerons cest -us en -a,
S' avra a non Scilencia.
Se nos li tolons dont cest -us,
Nos li donrons natural us,
Car cis -us est contre nature,
Mais 1' altres seroit par nature.
81
We will call her "Silence." ... Jesus Christ in his infinite power gave us
the ability to hide and to remain quiet, as is his pleasure! We will never
find a better solution. She will be named "Scilencius"; and if it happens by
chance that her true nature is discovered, we will change this -us into -a,
and his name will be "Scilencia." If we remove then this -us, we restore to
her her natural law; for this -us is imposed against nature, but the other is
by nature.
The above passage better than any other establishes the complex network
of associations that serves as an interpretative key to the whole. Hence,
nature is linked to the propriety of names, sexual difference, and the rule
of primogenital inheritance; artifice or hiding ("celer et taisir"), on the
other hand, is bound to the transgression of grammatical property, sexual
inversion, and the deflection of a proper succession. The dramatic struc-
ture of Le Roman de Silence turns, in fact, around the imbalance introduced
within just such a paradigm by the reversal of its terms, that is, a false
appellation and a nominal sexual difference maintained in the interest of
a true and real inheritance.
How, then, is such a direct series of ideas and their seeming reversal
rhetoricized within Heldris' s text? Here there can be no simple response,
since the particular misnomer which lies at the core of textual elaboration
The Economics of Romance o 197
itself Would not, for instance, the discovery of the
of Silence s name put a quick end to all possibility of further
narrative progression? _or is it_ not, rather, a correct understanding of her
name, proper Is to hide, that motivates a discursive sequence
by the the nature (property) of its referent?
The denotative impropriety of the
herome s_name from Its 1S fundamental to this
drama of language and lineage; and it points in the direction of Heldris' s
own identification of such ambiguity with eroticism and with the nature
of poe.try Earlier, he expressly links writing with desire, which can
lead either to mterruptive silence (v. 1172), or, if fecund, to Silence, and
the narrative prolongation of a tale (v. 984). Even the latter case remains
however: for the monster of generic and linguistic
illusiOn il_lustrahon of Alain de Lille' s principle of sexual and
grammatical (see pp. 134-136), is drawn to poetic
performance_ and m the end escapes m the company of two jongleurs (v.
3117). More 1mportant, as the product of pure artifice, Silence embodies
the respresentational order of simulacrum that both Alain and Heldris
hold to be. the equival_ent of tricky and perverse poetic invention. Le
Roman de Szlence reads, m places, like a vernacular version of the Planctus
Naturae in which it is no longer possible to discern the difference between
Nature and Noreture, between "straight writing" and invention, be-
tween sexes, or between the suffixes (-us and -a) and the customs (us)
appropnate to
82
Ultimately, the poet identifies profoundly with the
double nature of the difficulty attached to "representing"
the IS, at bottom, a difficulty of succession catalyzed
by the mfimte of artifice, yet menaced by empty simulation.
In blendmg of these two poetic principles indissociable from
their appropnate laws of property and of inheritance, Le Roman de Silence
embodies the bivalent, mediatory essence of romance.

Grail Family and Round Table
No issue in the study of Old French literature has invited greater
interpretative license than the question of the sources of Chretien de
Troyes' s Conte du Graal.
1
Some explanations are indeed difficult to be-
lieve. Take the following, for example: that the episode in which Perceval
visits a mysterious castle, meets an invalid king, sees a graillike dish and
bleeding lance, forgets to ask what they mean, and awakens to find that
both castle and king have vanished-that this aventure is: part of early
Aryan literature, derived from an ancient Babylonian cult, the survival of
an archaic Indian vegetation ritual or of an esoteric Islamic initiation
ceremony; or, that the mysterious meal is, in reality, a Sephardic Jewish
Passover seder, that the old king is a secret emissary of the Cathar faith, a
medieval version of the Egyptian god Thoth, or a historical image of
Baldwin IV afflicted with elephantiasis; or, finally, that the graillike dish
represents a "sex symbol of immemorial antiquity," the pearl of Zoroas-
trian tradition, a talisman of heretical Albigensians worshipped in caves
198
,,
' '
Grail Family and Round Table 199
in the Pyrenees, a secret religious relic originating in Hellenic Greece (and
preserved in the medieval corpus hermeticum), or a genuine "Great Sap-
phire" kept in the sacristy of Glastonbury Abbey.
2
And, further, we are
asked by the scholarly workers at this building site of Babel to believe that
all of the above sources of Chretien's tale reached the medieval poet
without leaving any visible trace.
Such to explain the obscurus per obscuriorem seem to err in two
directions. They tend either to universalize their object to such an extent
that, within the context of assumed thematic archetypes, everything is to
be found everywhere and meaningful difference vanishes; or, they tend
to be overly genetic, to seek the positive traces of tradition where no
evidence exists-to mistake analogy for influence. They point, in any
case, to the extreme difficulty of establishing for Chretien's poem definite
origins (which were most likely Celtic and liturgical). More serious
perhaps, they are blind to the fact that LeConte du Graal, irrespective of
Aryan, Babylonian, Indian, Egyptian, Islamic, Greek, Judaic, Cathar, or
Zoroastrian tradition, is about the problem of origins; and this from the
very beginning:
Ki petit semme petit quelt,
Et qui auques requeillir velt,
En telliu sa semence espande
Que Diex a cent doubles li rande;
Car en terre qui riens ne valt,
Bone semence seche et faut.
Cresti"ens semme et fait semence
D'un romans que il encomence ....
[Perceval, v. 1]
who little reaps little; and he who wants to harvest well must put
hts seed m such a place that God will increase it a hundredfold, since in
worthless land good seed dries and dies. Chretien plants and conceives a
romance that he begins ....
In his insistence upon the homophonic couple semmer!semence, Chretien
articulates a nexus of issues, not only germane to the present study but
suggestive of a virtual program for the reading of this and other Grail
texts.
.The first of these, emanating from the Latin root semina, "to sow," and
semen, "seed," plunges us from the outset into the thematics of agricul-
tural production. Perceval, like the lyric (cf. in particular the reverdie),
begins in the spring; and the sowing of seed mirrors the rebirth of nature
as well as of the poetic voice:
Ce fu au tans qu'arbre foillissent
Que glai et bois et pre verdissent,
Et cil oisel en lor latin

Grail Family and Round Table
No issue in the study of Old French literature has invited greater
interpretative license than the question of the sources of Chretien de
Troyes' s Conte du Graal.
1
Some explanations are indeed difficult to be-
lieve. Take the following, for example: that the episode in which Perceval
visits a mysterious castle, meets an invalid king, sees a graillike dish and
bleeding lance, forgets to ask what they mean, and awakens to find that
both castle and king have vanished-that this aventure is: part of early
Aryan literature, derived from an ancient Babylonian cult, the survival of
an archaic Indian vegetation ritual or of an esoteric Islamic initiation
ceremony; or, that the mysterious meal is, in reality, a Sephardic Jewish
Passover seder, that the old king is a secret emissary of the Cathar faith, a
medieval version of the Egyptian god Thoth, or a historical image of
Baldwin IV afflicted with elephantiasis; or, finally, that the graillike dish
represents a "sex symbol of immemorial antiquity," the pearl of Zoroas-
trian tradition, a talisman of heretical Albigensians worshipped in caves
198
,,
' '
Grail Family and Round Table 199
in the Pyrenees, a secret religious relic originating in Hellenic Greece (and
preserved in the medieval corpus hermeticum), or a genuine "Great Sap-
phire" kept in the sacristy of Glastonbury Abbey.
2
And, further, we are
asked by the scholarly workers at this building site of Babel to believe that
all of the above sources of Chretien's tale reached the medieval poet
without leaving any visible trace.
Such to explain the obscurus per obscuriorem seem to err in two
directions. They tend either to universalize their object to such an extent
that, within the context of assumed thematic archetypes, everything is to
be found everywhere and meaningful difference vanishes; or, they tend
to be overly genetic, to seek the positive traces of tradition where no
evidence exists-to mistake analogy for influence. They point, in any
case, to the extreme difficulty of establishing for Chretien's poem definite
origins (which were most likely Celtic and liturgical). More serious
perhaps, they are blind to the fact that LeConte du Graal, irrespective of
Aryan, Babylonian, Indian, Egyptian, Islamic, Greek, Judaic, Cathar, or
Zoroastrian tradition, is about the problem of origins; and this from the
very beginning:
Ki petit semme petit quelt,
Et qui auques requeillir velt,
En telliu sa semence espande
Que Diex a cent doubles li rande;
Car en terre qui riens ne valt,
Bone semence seche et faut.
Cresti"ens semme et fait semence
D'un romans que il encomence ....
[Perceval, v. 1]
who little reaps little; and he who wants to harvest well must put
hts seed m such a place that God will increase it a hundredfold, since in
worthless land good seed dries and dies. Chretien plants and conceives a
romance that he begins ....
In his insistence upon the homophonic couple semmer!semence, Chretien
articulates a nexus of issues, not only germane to the present study but
suggestive of a virtual program for the reading of this and other Grail
texts.
.The first of these, emanating from the Latin root semina, "to sow," and
semen, "seed," plunges us from the outset into the thematics of agricul-
tural production. Perceval, like the lyric (cf. in particular the reverdie),
begins in the spring; and the sowing of seed mirrors the rebirth of nature
as well as of the poetic voice:
Ce fu au tans qu'arbre foillissent
Que glai et bois et pre verdissent,
Et cil oisel en lor latin
200 Chapter Six
Cantent doucement au matin
Et tote riens de joie aflamme,
Que li fix a Ia veve fame
De Ia gaste forest soutaine
Se leva ....
II pensa que veoir iroit
Herceors que sa mere avoit,
Qui ses avaines li semoient.
[Perceval, vv. 69, 80]
It was at the time that trees blossom and flowers and woods and fields
turn green, and birds in their tongue sing sweetly in the morning, and the
whole world is aflame with joy, that the son of the widow of the distant
waste forest awoke .... He thought he would go see his mother's farmers,
who were sowing seed for her.
The joyous harmony of nature's creatures and of nature and man is,
however, double; and the geographic situation of Chretien's beginning
belies its temporal setting. For the seeds of springtime fall on the soil of
the waste forest ("la gaste forest soutaine") whose resonance for the
medieval audience introduces a tension that will shape not only the rest
of the poem but the entire Grail cycle.
The Wasteland
The root gaste refers to an isolated, distant, or marginal area; or, to
uncultivated woodland as opposed to the arable plain.
3
More important,
it means "destroyed" or "ravaged" land. In the Perlesvaus, for example, a
hermit explains to Perceval the inhospitality of the surrounding country-
side in which "there used to be a giant who was so large and cruel and
horrible that no one dared to live within the realm; and he so destroyed
the land and wasted [gastoit] it as you saw today."
4
Distant land, fallow
land, destroyed land-the Arthurian Wasteland constitutes a landscape
and a relation of men to their natural environment characterized by
depopulation, the infertility of nature, and a crisis of social order.
The Wasteland implies, first of all, a shortage of people with respect to a
preceding moment of sufficient manpower. In the earliest full-blown
rendering of the motif, that found in Geoffrey's Historia, Merlin predicts
that "Death shall snatch away the people and all
nations shall be made void." For the author of the Perlesvaus, the terre
gaste is "tot voit de gent." And as the dust settles on the final battle of the
Arthurian age, that which pits Arthur against Mordret, the author of La
Mort Artu laments the decimation of the noble population: "seen reme-
strent apres leur mort les terres gastes et essilliees, et soufreteuses de
bans seigneurs."
5
The Wasteland implies, second, the infertility of the countryside, a
disruption, as the Elucidation poet observes, of natural order, and, in
I
Grail Family and Round Table 201
particular, of the cycle of fertility characteristic of springtime in Chretien's
"gaste forest soutaine": "Li roiames si agasti I K'ains puis n'i ot arbre
fueilli; I Li pre et les flor(s) essecierent I Et les aiges apeticierent."
6
The
author (or authors) of the Queste del Saint Graal and the Estoire del Saint
Graal o.ffer similar descriptions of nature's failure to produce
the fruits by which men are sustained: "li arbre ne porterent fruit, ne en
ne fu trove poisson, se petit non. "
7
The theme of nature's sterility is,
m fact, almost synonymous with the Wasteland which is, in some ver-
sions, coextensive with Arthur's realm:
Logres est uns nons de dolour,
Nommes en larmes et en plour.
Bien doit iestre en dolour nommes,
Car on n'i seme pois ne bles, ...
Ne abres fueille n'i porta,
Ne nus pres n'i raverdi:a,
Ne nus oysiaus n'i ot naon
Ne se n'i ot beste faon ....
8
Logres a name of sorrow, uttered in tears and cries; it is fitting that it be
named m sorrow, for here is sown neither peas nor wheat, the trees bear
no leaves, the meadows never turn green, no bird bears young there no
beast a foal. . . . '
The above passage from the Sane de Nansay underscores the extent to
which the Wasteland means the disruption of gathering culture ("Ne
arbres n'i porta"), of pastoral culture ("Ne nus pres n'i raverdi:a"),
of huntmg cu.lture oysiaus n'i ot naon"); and yet it also points to
a correspondmg cnsis m the arts of cultivation, the dissolution of agricul-
ture ("Car on n'i seme pais ne bles"), and of animal husbandry ("Ne se n'i
ot beste faon"). Both the fruits of the earth and of human labor have
process of decline.
If and reproductive disorder are the symptoms of crisis,
they are not Its cause, which lies in the transgression of human law and
more precisely,. in the deliberate destruction of the means of
that war. The campaign which the Brutus of Geoffrey's
pseudochromcle leads through Aquitania has all the earmarks of a
"scorched-earth policy." And as the Saxon kings of the Estoire Merlin
Arthur's they burn, loot, and destroy everything in
sight.
9
So too, Chretien's" gaste forest soutaine" originates in the series of
wars following Arthur's father's death. Perceval's mother to her son:
Vostre peres, si nel savez,
Fu parmi Ia jambe navrez
Si que il mehaigna del cors.
Sa grant terre, ses grans tresors,
Que il avoit come preudom,
200 Chapter Six
Cantent doucement au matin
Et tote riens de joie aflamme,
Que li fix a Ia veve fame
De Ia gaste forest soutaine
Se leva ....
II pensa que veoir iroit
Herceors que sa mere avoit,
Qui ses avaines li semoient.
[Perceval, vv. 69, 80]
It was at the time that trees blossom and flowers and woods and fields
turn green, and birds in their tongue sing sweetly in the morning, and the
whole world is aflame with joy, that the son of the widow of the distant
waste forest awoke .... He thought he would go see his mother's farmers,
who were sowing seed for her.
The joyous harmony of nature's creatures and of nature and man is,
however, double; and the geographic situation of Chretien's beginning
belies its temporal setting. For the seeds of springtime fall on the soil of
the waste forest ("la gaste forest soutaine") whose resonance for the
medieval audience introduces a tension that will shape not only the rest
of the poem but the entire Grail cycle.
The Wasteland
The root gaste refers to an isolated, distant, or marginal area; or, to
uncultivated woodland as opposed to the arable plain.
3
More important,
it means "destroyed" or "ravaged" land. In the Perlesvaus, for example, a
hermit explains to Perceval the inhospitality of the surrounding country-
side in which "there used to be a giant who was so large and cruel and
horrible that no one dared to live within the realm; and he so destroyed
the land and wasted [gastoit] it as you saw today."
4
Distant land, fallow
land, destroyed land-the Arthurian Wasteland constitutes a landscape
and a relation of men to their natural environment characterized by
depopulation, the infertility of nature, and a crisis of social order.
The Wasteland implies, first of all, a shortage of people with respect to a
preceding moment of sufficient manpower. In the earliest full-blown
rendering of the motif, that found in Geoffrey's Historia, Merlin predicts
that "Death shall snatch away the people and all
nations shall be made void." For the author of the Perlesvaus, the terre
gaste is "tot voit de gent." And as the dust settles on the final battle of the
Arthurian age, that which pits Arthur against Mordret, the author of La
Mort Artu laments the decimation of the noble population: "seen reme-
strent apres leur mort les terres gastes et essilliees, et soufreteuses de
bans seigneurs."
5
The Wasteland implies, second, the infertility of the countryside, a
disruption, as the Elucidation poet observes, of natural order, and, in
I
Grail Family and Round Table 201
particular, of the cycle of fertility characteristic of springtime in Chretien's
"gaste forest soutaine": "Li roiames si agasti I K'ains puis n'i ot arbre
fueilli; I Li pre et les flor(s) essecierent I Et les aiges apeticierent."
6
The
author (or authors) of the Queste del Saint Graal and the Estoire del Saint
Graal o.ffer similar descriptions of nature's failure to produce
the fruits by which men are sustained: "li arbre ne porterent fruit, ne en
ne fu trove poisson, se petit non. "
7
The theme of nature's sterility is,
m fact, almost synonymous with the Wasteland which is, in some ver-
sions, coextensive with Arthur's realm:
Logres est uns nons de dolour,
Nommes en larmes et en plour.
Bien doit iestre en dolour nommes,
Car on n'i seme pois ne bles, ...
Ne abres fueille n'i porta,
Ne nus pres n'i raverdi:a,
Ne nus oysiaus n'i ot naon
Ne se n'i ot beste faon ....
8
Logres a name of sorrow, uttered in tears and cries; it is fitting that it be
named m sorrow, for here is sown neither peas nor wheat, the trees bear
no leaves, the meadows never turn green, no bird bears young there no
beast a foal. . . . '
The above passage from the Sane de Nansay underscores the extent to
which the Wasteland means the disruption of gathering culture ("Ne
arbres n'i porta"), of pastoral culture ("Ne nus pres n'i raverdi:a"),
of huntmg cu.lture oysiaus n'i ot naon"); and yet it also points to
a correspondmg cnsis m the arts of cultivation, the dissolution of agricul-
ture ("Car on n'i seme pais ne bles"), and of animal husbandry ("Ne se n'i
ot beste faon"). Both the fruits of the earth and of human labor have
process of decline.
If and reproductive disorder are the symptoms of crisis,
they are not Its cause, which lies in the transgression of human law and
more precisely,. in the deliberate destruction of the means of
that war. The campaign which the Brutus of Geoffrey's
pseudochromcle leads through Aquitania has all the earmarks of a
"scorched-earth policy." And as the Saxon kings of the Estoire Merlin
Arthur's they burn, loot, and destroy everything in
sight.
9
So too, Chretien's" gaste forest soutaine" originates in the series of
wars following Arthur's father's death. Perceval's mother to her son:
Vostre peres, si nel savez,
Fu parmi Ia jambe navrez
Si que il mehaigna del cors.
Sa grant terre, ses grans tresors,
Que il avoit come preudom,
202 Chapter Six
Ala tot a perdition,
Si chal en grant povrete.
Apovri et deshirete
Et escillie furent a tort
Li gentil home apres Ia mort
Uterpandragon qui rois fu
Et peres le bon roi Artu.
Les terres furent escillies
Et les povres gens avillies,
Si s' en ful qui fulr pot.
[Perceval, v. 435]
Your father, if you do not know it, was wounded in the leg so that his
whole body suffered. His great lands, his great treasure, that he held as a
brave knight were all lost and fell into ruin. After the death of Uterpan-
dragon, who was king and King Arthur's father, noblemen were wrongly
impoverished, disinherited, and exiled. So too were the lands wasted and
poor people despoiled; those who could flee fled.
Even more important than the theme of war and decline, however, is the
fact that the retreat to the Wasteland and the disruption
is -first the death of
Uterpanaragon and then, along witn tne aeath of Perceval's two older
brothers, the loss of his father as well: "Del doel del fil morut li pere."
10
The lapse of procreation among birds and animals, the infertility of trees
and fields, are, ultimately, linked to the interruption of human geneal-
ogy, a disinheritance and privation of the paternal function.
Here a second resonance of the root semmelsemence comes into focus-
namely, the cluster of meanings connected to the idea of origin and
stemming from the Latin semina, "to beget," "engender," "bring forth,"
or "procreate." Again, the beginning of Chretien's tale contains a polyva-
lent series of paternal relations whose rhetorical presentation sets into
play an elaborate strategy of reading. For the origin of the tale is itself
bound up in the genealogy of a prince ("Cest li quens Phelipes de
Flandres, I Qui valt mix ne fist Alixandres") and in the genealogy of a
book ("Ce est li Contes del Graal I Dont li quens li bailla le livre I Oez
coment il s' en delivre").
11
There can, in fact, be no distinction between li
contes and li quens, a literary and princely lineage stretching from Alexan-
der to Philip, to Chretien, and to the reader, since the act of writing, also
cast as a sowing, engenders that of reading or reaping: "E si le seme en si
bon leu I Qu'il ne puet [estre] sanz grant preu."
12
The Count of Flanders is,
above all, a successful reader ("Li quens est teus que il n' escoute I Vilain
g[ap] ne parole estoute");
13
and the homonymic identity of his title and
the process of narration binds the status of nobility to a determined mode
of understanding. To fail to read as Chretien prescribes (literally "pre-
writes") is to lack the nobility which is as much a part of the book as it is an
attribute of the book's princely patron.
.J
..

: I
:'
Grail Family and Round Table 203
The rhetorical strategy of Chretien's beginning-and of beginnings-
points to the close connection between the dynamics of the tale and a
thematics of perception (or of reading), which reveals yet another dimen-
sion of the radical seme. From the Greek semalsemantikos (sign [mark] and
significant) the couple semmelsemence elicits a wealth of meanings having
to do with understanding and beS,!;ns with
body" of
text rs de1ined to
reacrtlle culture. Here, our three levels of meaning seem
to ftise: seme (to sow) calls into question an economics of war versus
agriculture; seme (to beget) binds the process of destruction and decline to
the death of the father; and seme (to signify) situates both natural and
paternal functions within the context of a drama of meaning.
Grail Quest and the Quest for the Name of the Father
Perceval's youth in the wasted margins of society is, as we have seen,
synonymous with a loss of the father that can also be equated with an
ignorance of the signs of knighthood. In this his mother stands as the
agent of interruption, since her horror of her husband's fate leads her to
shield the son from knowledge of the father, who, had he lived, would, as
she acknowledges, have preserved the continuity of lineage: "Chevaliers
estre deiissiez, I Biax fix, se Damedieu pleiist, I Qui vostre pere vos eiist I
Garde et vos autres amis."
14
Perceval's first contact with the world of the father is set within the
frame of a series of misreadings based not only upon ignorance but upon
misinformation:
Molt se merveille et dist: "Par m'ame,
Voir se dist rna mere, rna dame,
Qui me dist que deable sont
Les plus !aides choses del mont;
Et si dist por moi enseingnier
Que por aus se doit on seingnier
Mes cest ensaing desdaignerai,
Que ja voir ne m'en seignerai."
[Perceval, v. 113]
He marveled greatly and said: "By my soul, it is true that my mother told
me that they are devils and the ugliest things in the world. And she told
me by way of instruction that one should cross oneself before them; but I
will disregard such teaching and will not cross myself."
The neophyte's meeting with the knights underscores the extent to which
his mother, in seeking to deny a proper inheritance, also undermines the
property of perception, of meaning, and, as the play upon enseingner,
seingnier, ensaing suggests, the extent to which Perceval's attempt to come
202 Chapter Six
Ala tot a perdition,
Si chal en grant povrete.
Apovri et deshirete
Et escillie furent a tort
Li gentil home apres Ia mort
Uterpandragon qui rois fu
Et peres le bon roi Artu.
Les terres furent escillies
Et les povres gens avillies,
Si s' en ful qui fulr pot.
[Perceval, v. 435]
Your father, if you do not know it, was wounded in the leg so that his
whole body suffered. His great lands, his great treasure, that he held as a
brave knight were all lost and fell into ruin. After the death of Uterpan-
dragon, who was king and King Arthur's father, noblemen were wrongly
impoverished, disinherited, and exiled. So too were the lands wasted and
poor people despoiled; those who could flee fled.
Even more important than the theme of war and decline, however, is the
fact that the retreat to the Wasteland and the disruption
is -first the death of
Uterpanaragon and then, along witn tne aeath of Perceval's two older
brothers, the loss of his father as well: "Del doel del fil morut li pere."
10
The lapse of procreation among birds and animals, the infertility of trees
and fields, are, ultimately, linked to the interruption of human geneal-
ogy, a disinheritance and privation of the paternal function.
Here a second resonance of the root semmelsemence comes into focus-
namely, the cluster of meanings connected to the idea of origin and
stemming from the Latin semina, "to beget," "engender," "bring forth,"
or "procreate." Again, the beginning of Chretien's tale contains a polyva-
lent series of paternal relations whose rhetorical presentation sets into
play an elaborate strategy of reading. For the origin of the tale is itself
bound up in the genealogy of a prince ("Cest li quens Phelipes de
Flandres, I Qui valt mix ne fist Alixandres") and in the genealogy of a
book ("Ce est li Contes del Graal I Dont li quens li bailla le livre I Oez
coment il s' en delivre").
11
There can, in fact, be no distinction between li
contes and li quens, a literary and princely lineage stretching from Alexan-
der to Philip, to Chretien, and to the reader, since the act of writing, also
cast as a sowing, engenders that of reading or reaping: "E si le seme en si
bon leu I Qu'il ne puet [estre] sanz grant preu."
12
The Count of Flanders is,
above all, a successful reader ("Li quens est teus que il n' escoute I Vilain
g[ap] ne parole estoute");
13
and the homonymic identity of his title and
the process of narration binds the status of nobility to a determined mode
of understanding. To fail to read as Chretien prescribes (literally "pre-
writes") is to lack the nobility which is as much a part of the book as it is an
attribute of the book's princely patron.
.J
..

: I
:'
Grail Family and Round Table 203
The rhetorical strategy of Chretien's beginning-and of beginnings-
points to the close connection between the dynamics of the tale and a
thematics of perception (or of reading), which reveals yet another dimen-
sion of the radical seme. From the Greek semalsemantikos (sign [mark] and
significant) the couple semmelsemence elicits a wealth of meanings having
to do with understanding and beS,!;ns with
body" of
text rs de1ined to
reacrtlle culture. Here, our three levels of meaning seem
to ftise: seme (to sow) calls into question an economics of war versus
agriculture; seme (to beget) binds the process of destruction and decline to
the death of the father; and seme (to signify) situates both natural and
paternal functions within the context of a drama of meaning.
Grail Quest and the Quest for the Name of the Father
Perceval's youth in the wasted margins of society is, as we have seen,
synonymous with a loss of the father that can also be equated with an
ignorance of the signs of knighthood. In this his mother stands as the
agent of interruption, since her horror of her husband's fate leads her to
shield the son from knowledge of the father, who, had he lived, would, as
she acknowledges, have preserved the continuity of lineage: "Chevaliers
estre deiissiez, I Biax fix, se Damedieu pleiist, I Qui vostre pere vos eiist I
Garde et vos autres amis."
14
Perceval's first contact with the world of the father is set within the
frame of a series of misreadings based not only upon ignorance but upon
misinformation:
Molt se merveille et dist: "Par m'ame,
Voir se dist rna mere, rna dame,
Qui me dist que deable sont
Les plus !aides choses del mont;
Et si dist por moi enseingnier
Que por aus se doit on seingnier
Mes cest ensaing desdaignerai,
Que ja voir ne m'en seignerai."
[Perceval, v. 113]
He marveled greatly and said: "By my soul, it is true that my mother told
me that they are devils and the ugliest things in the world. And she told
me by way of instruction that one should cross oneself before them; but I
will disregard such teaching and will not cross myself."
The neophyte's meeting with the knights underscores the extent to which
his mother, in seeking to deny a proper inheritance, also undermines the
property of perception, of meaning, and, as the play upon enseingner,
seingnier, ensaing suggests, the extent to which Perceval's attempt to come
Chapter Six
to terms with the world of the father is an attempt to assimilate its signs.
15
The gap between the mother's misinformati?n and the h.ero' s perception
accounts for the irony of the passage, that IS, the crossmg of one.self, a
second misreading of the mother's devils (deables) as angels, and, fmally,
their relegation to the status of gods.
16
Nor should Chretien's ironic intent
blind us to the fact that for Perceval knowledge of the world is essentially
a knowledge of the names associated with. the the
"knight" itself ("'Qui estes dont?' -'Chevaliers sm ), then the leXIcon
of knightly weapons: "'Que est or che que vas tenez?' ... 'Sel te dirai, ce
' 'V 11 t ' t h b ' "
17
est rna lance'";" 'Escu a nonce que je port ; a e , c es mes au ers. .
Le Conte du Graal is, in effect, an one m
whTcl1Teamli'lg1se5Sentiallya processofiinlearning-an undoing of the
obfuscating signs of the mother, her "protective" sens, and, eventually,
the teaching of the spiritual father, Gornemanz.
18
Even once s
mother has accepted the inevitable attraction. of her u:struc-
tions are no less misleading, no less productive of the senes of misread-
ings that can be said to shape Chretien's tale. For example, Perceval's
"sex education"-the directives to serve women ("Dames et puceles
servez"), to kiss them but to "leave off the rest," to accept the gift ring
(v. 553)-leads directly to the encounter with the mistress of
de la Lande, as Perceval's actions, in keeping with his mother's teachmgs
("Que rna mere le m'ensaigna," v. 696), only provoke a series of further
misunderstandings.
19
Orgueilleux cannot believe any ':oman
"leaving off the rest"/
0
and the disfiguring abuse to which he submits his
beloved merely confirms this belief, since, when Perceval the
couple again, he fails to recognize them. Thus we have come full Circle. A
first misreading (the maternal enseignement) gives rise to a second (t.he
initial encounter with the victimized woman), the second to a third
(Orgueilleux's misinterpretation), and the third. a fourth (Perceval's
failure to recognize his victims because of the disfigurement caused by
Orgueilleux's original mispriion). .
A similar pattern is to be found in Perceval's relation to the substitute
father Gornemanz de Gorhaut. The older knight initiates the neophyte to
the use of arms and to the chivalric code, thus reversing the maternal
preaching. To the mother's warning not to travel a
without first learning his name, Gornemanz counters with an InJunction
against speaking too much.
21
And it is, of course, this rule that to
Perceval's celebrated lapse of speech in the presence of the Grall mys-
teries:
Si s' est de demander tenus
Coment ceste chose avenoit,
Que del chasti li sovenoit
Celui qui chevalier le fist,
1;
Grail Family and Round Table 205
Que li ensaigna et aprist
Que de trop parler se gardast.
Et crient, se ille demandast,
Qu' en le tenist a vilonie;
Porche si nel demanda mie.
[Perceval, v. 3204]
22
He kept himself from asking how this thing came about, since he remem-
bered the warning of the one who made him a knight and who taught him
to refrain from speaking too much. And he feared, if he were to ask, that
one would hold him in scorn; and for this reason he asked nothing.
The failure to speak, the interruption of language altogether, stands,
then, as the prolongation of the mother's attempted interruption; for, as
his cousin later attests, the right question at the right time would have
restored the maimed king' s health, the prosperity of the Wasteland, and
the integrity of lineage. The rest of Chretien's unfinished text represents,
in fact, an attempt to return to the Grail Castle in order to undo the
misreading, interpreted through Gornemanz, of the mother's original
invocation to speech.
Le Conte du Graal focuses poignantly upon the issue of nature versus
culture, which seems to be resolved in favor of a certain genetic continu-
ity. Perceval's mother's effort to shield him from the world of the father is
as ineffective against the urge toward knighthood as Silence's parents'
attempt to hide her sex (see above, pp. 195-197). And the son's deaf ear to
the mother's obfuscation ("Li valles en tent molt petit I Ache que sa mere
li dist") is transformed, upon contact with the outside world, into a desire
for that which has remained hidden ("Molt m' en iroie volentiers I Au roi
qui fait les chevaliers").
23
Perceval desires instinctively the inherited-
natural-status of the father, as that which is intuitive and innate
triumphs over that which is learned. Upon further examination, how-
ever, there is in Perceval's assumption of knighthood no contradiction of
the principle of culture, for that which impels him naturally is precisely
the desire for social status despite the father's death and the mother's
attempt at interruption.
What I am suggesting, first of all, is that the socialization that Perceval1
undergoes is indistinguishable from the process of learning the signs that
make him capable of reading knightly culture. To play one's "natural"
role in society and to be sene, to be endowed with signs, are connatural
concepts. And not only is the ingenu, referred to initially as "cil qui petit fu __ \
senez," equivalent to "one who is ignorant of the law" ("'Sire, que vas
dist cist Galois?' I-'ll ne set pas totes les lois .... Que Galois sont tot par
nature I Plus fol que bestes en pasture'"), but Chretien's equation of
savagery, ignorance of signs and of the law has deep roots in the etymo-
logical connection of lex and lectio.
24
He who is conversant with the law is
Chapter Six
to terms with the world of the father is an attempt to assimilate its signs.
15
The gap between the mother's misinformati?n and the h.ero' s perception
accounts for the irony of the passage, that IS, the crossmg of one.self, a
second misreading of the mother's devils (deables) as angels, and, fmally,
their relegation to the status of gods.
16
Nor should Chretien's ironic intent
blind us to the fact that for Perceval knowledge of the world is essentially
a knowledge of the names associated with. the the
"knight" itself ("'Qui estes dont?' -'Chevaliers sm ), then the leXIcon
of knightly weapons: "'Que est or che que vas tenez?' ... 'Sel te dirai, ce
' 'V 11 t ' t h b ' "
17
est rna lance'";" 'Escu a nonce que je port ; a e , c es mes au ers. .
Le Conte du Graal is, in effect, an one m
whTcl1Teamli'lg1se5Sentiallya processofiinlearning-an undoing of the
obfuscating signs of the mother, her "protective" sens, and, eventually,
the teaching of the spiritual father, Gornemanz.
18
Even once s
mother has accepted the inevitable attraction. of her u:struc-
tions are no less misleading, no less productive of the senes of misread-
ings that can be said to shape Chretien's tale. For example, Perceval's
"sex education"-the directives to serve women ("Dames et puceles
servez"), to kiss them but to "leave off the rest," to accept the gift ring
(v. 553)-leads directly to the encounter with the mistress of
de la Lande, as Perceval's actions, in keeping with his mother's teachmgs
("Que rna mere le m'ensaigna," v. 696), only provoke a series of further
misunderstandings.
19
Orgueilleux cannot believe any ':oman
"leaving off the rest"/
0
and the disfiguring abuse to which he submits his
beloved merely confirms this belief, since, when Perceval the
couple again, he fails to recognize them. Thus we have come full Circle. A
first misreading (the maternal enseignement) gives rise to a second (t.he
initial encounter with the victimized woman), the second to a third
(Orgueilleux's misinterpretation), and the third. a fourth (Perceval's
failure to recognize his victims because of the disfigurement caused by
Orgueilleux's original mispriion). .
A similar pattern is to be found in Perceval's relation to the substitute
father Gornemanz de Gorhaut. The older knight initiates the neophyte to
the use of arms and to the chivalric code, thus reversing the maternal
preaching. To the mother's warning not to travel a
without first learning his name, Gornemanz counters with an InJunction
against speaking too much.
21
And it is, of course, this rule that to
Perceval's celebrated lapse of speech in the presence of the Grall mys-
teries:
Si s' est de demander tenus
Coment ceste chose avenoit,
Que del chasti li sovenoit
Celui qui chevalier le fist,
1;
Grail Family and Round Table 205
Que li ensaigna et aprist
Que de trop parler se gardast.
Et crient, se ille demandast,
Qu' en le tenist a vilonie;
Porche si nel demanda mie.
[Perceval, v. 3204]
22
He kept himself from asking how this thing came about, since he remem-
bered the warning of the one who made him a knight and who taught him
to refrain from speaking too much. And he feared, if he were to ask, that
one would hold him in scorn; and for this reason he asked nothing.
The failure to speak, the interruption of language altogether, stands,
then, as the prolongation of the mother's attempted interruption; for, as
his cousin later attests, the right question at the right time would have
restored the maimed king' s health, the prosperity of the Wasteland, and
the integrity of lineage. The rest of Chretien's unfinished text represents,
in fact, an attempt to return to the Grail Castle in order to undo the
misreading, interpreted through Gornemanz, of the mother's original
invocation to speech.
Le Conte du Graal focuses poignantly upon the issue of nature versus
culture, which seems to be resolved in favor of a certain genetic continu-
ity. Perceval's mother's effort to shield him from the world of the father is
as ineffective against the urge toward knighthood as Silence's parents'
attempt to hide her sex (see above, pp. 195-197). And the son's deaf ear to
the mother's obfuscation ("Li valles en tent molt petit I Ache que sa mere
li dist") is transformed, upon contact with the outside world, into a desire
for that which has remained hidden ("Molt m' en iroie volentiers I Au roi
qui fait les chevaliers").
23
Perceval desires instinctively the inherited-
natural-status of the father, as that which is intuitive and innate
triumphs over that which is learned. Upon further examination, how-
ever, there is in Perceval's assumption of knighthood no contradiction of
the principle of culture, for that which impels him naturally is precisely
the desire for social status despite the father's death and the mother's
attempt at interruption.
What I am suggesting, first of all, is that the socialization that Perceval1
undergoes is indistinguishable from the process of learning the signs that
make him capable of reading knightly culture. To play one's "natural"
role in society and to be sene, to be endowed with signs, are connatural
concepts. And not only is the ingenu, referred to initially as "cil qui petit fu __ \
senez," equivalent to "one who is ignorant of the law" ("'Sire, que vas
dist cist Galois?' I-'ll ne set pas totes les lois .... Que Galois sont tot par
nature I Plus fol que bestes en pasture'"), but Chretien's equation of
savagery, ignorance of signs and of the law has deep roots in the etymo-
logical connection of lex and lectio.
24
He who is conversant with the law is
206 Chapter Six
essentially a reader, just as he who is mad-forcene-remains essentially
excluded from the law. To be outside of signs, insanus, is to be outside of
society (Perceval, vv. 319, 933, 4187, 4197).
Second, Perceval's quest for knighthood is, at bottom, a quest for the
father that is indistinguishable from a quest initially for the proper names
of the father's profession and, ultimately, for his own proper name. The
drive toward mastery of the signs of chivalry uncovers bit by bit the traces
of a lineage scattered-by the dispersion (the dissemination) associated
with the Wasteland itself-throughout the Arthurian countryside. It is,
for example, during the meeting with his cousin shortly after the visit to
the Grail Castle that Perceval remembers his own name which, merely
repressed, inhered in his "lineal subconscious" all along: "Et cil qui son
non ne savoit I Devine et dist que il avoit I Perchevax li Galois a non."
25
Later, in the course of another fortuitous encounter, this time with the
hermit who will remind him of his (the hermit's) sister (who is also the
hero's mother), Perceval learns that the Grail King is his uncle and the
Fisher-King his cousin: "Cil qui l'en en sert est mes frere, I Ma suer et soe
fu ta mere; Et del riche Pecheor croi I Qu'il est fix a icelui roi."
26
The\
attempt to return to the Grail Castle becomes, then, an attempt to relocate
and thus to restore the integrity of a lineage that is from the beginning
unrecognizably fragmented-and, at the same time, to restore a lost
plenitude of meaning situated beyond signs. In the quest for union with-ll
the lost father lies the wish to unite the signifier with its signified.
What this suggests, finally, is an
able from_ the of again, Le
Conte du Graaffalls within the romance mode of a simultaneous problem-
atization of paternity and of narration. Perceval's origins are shrouded in
mystery; he does not know his own name (though he later recalls it); he
fails to recognize the cousin with whom he has been raised, just as later he
remains ignorant of the identity of his maternal uncles. Even more signifi-
cant, Perceval is most cut off from a proper reading of familial signs at the
very moment that he is closest to his lineage, that is to say, at the Grail
Castle and later at the hermitage.
27
The dispersal of his lineage, its loss of
property, and of intelligibility, these, along with their attempted recuper-
ation, serve to inform the text to such a degree that there is, finally, no
adequate means of differentiating the hero's estoire-his genealogy-
from Chretien's estoire, or tale. The various paths (sentiers) which the
fatherless protagonist follows in pursuit of a lost paternal presence associ-
ated with chivalric signs, holistic meaning, and health (enseignement, sens,
sante) are the paths of the tale itself:
Et tote jor sa voie tint,
Qu' il n' encontra rien teriene
Grail Family and Round Table 207
Ne crestien ne crestlene
Qui li seiist voie ensaignier.
[Perceval, v. 2976]
And all day long he kept on his way such that he encountered no Chris-
tian, man or woman, who could instruct him in his way.
The above passage is significant for what it tells us both about the
wandering Perceval and about the poet. Just as the hero can find no one to
guide him through the disorienting Wasteland (cf. v. 2959), neither is
Chretien ("Christian, man or woman") capable of orienting him anew.
The here the level of theme
as spatial i!:ldistinguishable from the
a lost Chretien, like
Perceval, hlmself seeks a poetic rectitude that is, in the telling of the tale,
constantly disseminated-scattered and partial; and that accounts, ulti-
mately, for the increasing incoherence of a bifurcated romance which
cannot end. The unfinished state of this last tale of adventure (and the
word is itself suggestive of a certain textual erring) can be understood,
then, less as the product of biographical anecdote than as the logical
consequence of an unresolvable drama of language, lineage, and literary
form. Le Conte du Graal is the story of a quest within a linear narrative
mode for that which-beyond words-is perceived as total or whole but
which bears only an asymptotic relation to the process of search. Perce-1
val's own impossible quest for the paternal presence that will restore the
integrity of lineage is, finally, doomed by the impossibility of totalizing
meaning-of a transcendence identifiable with the Grail itself-within
the romance mold.
This mingling of paternal, semiological, and textual issues is even more
pronounced in the thirteenth-century Perceval Continuations: the Perles-
vaus, Didot-Perceval, and Vulgate Cycle. Here again, the Grail Quest,
which provides both the internal coherence of individual works and their
common denominator, represents a desire to return to the father and to
reunite a dispersed genealogical grouping, expressed in each instance as
a tendency toward (will for) dramatic unity and formal closure within the
confines of an increasingly fragmented textual tradition. In the less bio-
graphical works the drama of lineal return and semiological transcen-
dence is posited in collective terms. Thus Robert de Boron's Roman de
l' Estoire dou Graal and the Estoire del Saint Graal proffer a genealogy of the
Grail family, its successions and transfer to Great Britain, that is belied by
the extraordinarily disjointed narrative of the search of the Quest Knights
(La Queste del Saint Graal) not only for the holy vessel but for each other.
Those works bearing Perceval's name and defined by his attempt to
rediscover the Grail Castle as well as to recapture his lost inheritance
206 Chapter Six
essentially a reader, just as he who is mad-forcene-remains essentially
excluded from the law. To be outside of signs, insanus, is to be outside of
society (Perceval, vv. 319, 933, 4187, 4197).
Second, Perceval's quest for knighthood is, at bottom, a quest for the
father that is indistinguishable from a quest initially for the proper names
of the father's profession and, ultimately, for his own proper name. The
drive toward mastery of the signs of chivalry uncovers bit by bit the traces
of a lineage scattered-by the dispersion (the dissemination) associated
with the Wasteland itself-throughout the Arthurian countryside. It is,
for example, during the meeting with his cousin shortly after the visit to
the Grail Castle that Perceval remembers his own name which, merely
repressed, inhered in his "lineal subconscious" all along: "Et cil qui son
non ne savoit I Devine et dist que il avoit I Perchevax li Galois a non."
25
Later, in the course of another fortuitous encounter, this time with the
hermit who will remind him of his (the hermit's) sister (who is also the
hero's mother), Perceval learns that the Grail King is his uncle and the
Fisher-King his cousin: "Cil qui l'en en sert est mes frere, I Ma suer et soe
fu ta mere; Et del riche Pecheor croi I Qu'il est fix a icelui roi."
26
The\
attempt to return to the Grail Castle becomes, then, an attempt to relocate
and thus to restore the integrity of a lineage that is from the beginning
unrecognizably fragmented-and, at the same time, to restore a lost
plenitude of meaning situated beyond signs. In the quest for union with-ll
the lost father lies the wish to unite the signifier with its signified.
What this suggests, finally, is an
able from_ the of again, Le
Conte du Graaffalls within the romance mode of a simultaneous problem-
atization of paternity and of narration. Perceval's origins are shrouded in
mystery; he does not know his own name (though he later recalls it); he
fails to recognize the cousin with whom he has been raised, just as later he
remains ignorant of the identity of his maternal uncles. Even more signifi-
cant, Perceval is most cut off from a proper reading of familial signs at the
very moment that he is closest to his lineage, that is to say, at the Grail
Castle and later at the hermitage.
27
The dispersal of his lineage, its loss of
property, and of intelligibility, these, along with their attempted recuper-
ation, serve to inform the text to such a degree that there is, finally, no
adequate means of differentiating the hero's estoire-his genealogy-
from Chretien's estoire, or tale. The various paths (sentiers) which the
fatherless protagonist follows in pursuit of a lost paternal presence associ-
ated with chivalric signs, holistic meaning, and health (enseignement, sens,
sante) are the paths of the tale itself:
Et tote jor sa voie tint,
Qu' il n' encontra rien teriene
Grail Family and Round Table 207
Ne crestien ne crestlene
Qui li seiist voie ensaignier.
[Perceval, v. 2976]
And all day long he kept on his way such that he encountered no Chris-
tian, man or woman, who could instruct him in his way.
The above passage is significant for what it tells us both about the
wandering Perceval and about the poet. Just as the hero can find no one to
guide him through the disorienting Wasteland (cf. v. 2959), neither is
Chretien ("Christian, man or woman") capable of orienting him anew.
The here the level of theme
as spatial i!:ldistinguishable from the
a lost Chretien, like
Perceval, hlmself seeks a poetic rectitude that is, in the telling of the tale,
constantly disseminated-scattered and partial; and that accounts, ulti-
mately, for the increasing incoherence of a bifurcated romance which
cannot end. The unfinished state of this last tale of adventure (and the
word is itself suggestive of a certain textual erring) can be understood,
then, less as the product of biographical anecdote than as the logical
consequence of an unresolvable drama of language, lineage, and literary
form. Le Conte du Graal is the story of a quest within a linear narrative
mode for that which-beyond words-is perceived as total or whole but
which bears only an asymptotic relation to the process of search. Perce-1
val's own impossible quest for the paternal presence that will restore the
integrity of lineage is, finally, doomed by the impossibility of totalizing
meaning-of a transcendence identifiable with the Grail itself-within
the romance mold.
This mingling of paternal, semiological, and textual issues is even more
pronounced in the thirteenth-century Perceval Continuations: the Perles-
vaus, Didot-Perceval, and Vulgate Cycle. Here again, the Grail Quest,
which provides both the internal coherence of individual works and their
common denominator, represents a desire to return to the father and to
reunite a dispersed genealogical grouping, expressed in each instance as
a tendency toward (will for) dramatic unity and formal closure within the
confines of an increasingly fragmented textual tradition. In the less bio-
graphical works the drama of lineal return and semiological transcen-
dence is posited in collective terms. Thus Robert de Boron's Roman de
l' Estoire dou Graal and the Estoire del Saint Graal proffer a genealogy of the
Grail family, its successions and transfer to Great Britain, that is belied by
the extraordinarily disjointed narrative of the search of the Quest Knights
(La Queste del Saint Graal) not only for the holy vessel but for each other.
Those works bearing Perceval's name and defined by his attempt to
rediscover the Grail Castle as well as to recapture his lost inheritance
208 o Chapter Six
(especially the Perlesvaus) are largely extensions or elaborations of Chre-
tien's poem.
The prose romances which focus specifically upon Lancelot present a
similar pattern. Like Perceval, Lancelot is, as he explains to the maid of
the "Castel de la Charete," both fatherless and disinherited: "Car iou
perdi en vne matinee man pere qui moult estoit preudoms ... et fui
desherites de toute rna terre." Raised by the Lady of the Lake, he remains
uncertain about his own lineage: "Ensi fu lancelos .iij. ans en la garde ala
damoisele a trap grant aise. & bien quidoit pour voir que ele fust sa
meire."
28
The search for his own name along with that of his father
occupies as much of that enormous portion of the Vulgate Cycle known
as the Lancelot Propre as the adultery with Guinevere or the forgotten Grail
Quest. In fact, as a messenger of the Lady of the Lake predicts, Lancelot
will learn the name of his parents precisely at the moment that he
recaptures his lost inheritance:
Lors le trait a vne part a conseil si li dist que sa dame del lac lenuoie a li &
demain fait ele saurois vostre non. & le non vostre pere & vostre mere. Et
che sera la sus en chel castel dont vous seres sires ains que vespres soient
sounees.
29
Then she took him aside and told him that her Lady of the Lake sent her
to him and that tomorrow she would make known your name and the
name of your father and your mother. And that it will take place up in that
castle of which you will be lord by vespers time.
And in lifting the tombstone, part of the ritual ordeal of repossession of
the propre of "La Douloureuse Garde," Lancelot encounters the sepul-
chral writing informing him simultaneously of the name of the father and
of his own death: "Et lors voit les lettres qui dient. Chi gerra lancelos del
lac le fiex au roi ban de benoyc. & lors remet la lame ius & bien seit que
chest ses nons qu'il a veu."
30
Where family relations are concerned, the Grail corpus gives the im-
pression of an immense genealogical confusion emanating not only from
the wealth of Arthurian figures but from a certain (purposeful?) textual
inconsistency as well. Consanguineal ties vary within a single tradition
like that of the Perceval story. The Fisher-King, for example, is at once the
hero's cousin (Chretien), his maternal uncle (Manessier, Perlesvaus),
paternal uncle (second Continuation), grandfather (Robert de Boron,
Didot-Perceval), and father (Bibliotheque nationale MS 768).
31
Even within
an individual text, bonds of kinship may seem fluid or obscure. In the
Lancelot Propre and La Queste, for instance, it is almost impossible to
determine the relation between King Pelles, the Fisher-King, the Maimed
King, and Galahad. Galahad speaks of his uncle King Pelles and of his
Grail Family and Round Table o 209
ancestor (aiol) the rich Fisher-King, thus indicating that they are separate
individuals and that Pelles is the Fisher-.King's son.
32
Yet Bohart has just
reminded us that Galahad is the son of Lancelot and the daughter of the
"Riche Roi Pescheor," just as later, upon Lancelot's entry into the Castle
of Corbenic, Pelles informs him of "the news of his beautiful daughter
who was dead, the one in whom Galahad was conceived." In addition,
the author(s) of the Lancelot Propre speaks of Galahad as the son of "the
best knight in the world [Lance lot] and of the daughter of the rich
Fisher-King. "
33
The extreme complexity of kinship ties, the lack of stability of paternity
where it appears evident, the superimposition of the family of those
through whom the Grail descends upon those united by blood-all of
these factors have led J. Roubaud to posit a hidden incest within the clan
of the Grail Knights, an incest which remains unverifiable, and, more-
over, whose obfuscation is the basic function of the text: "Done, si
l'inceste est cache, c'est par le recit meme."
34
We will have occasion shortly
to return to Roubaud' s masterful articles on the Grail corpus in relation to
the textual strategies of familial scrambling. Let it suffice for now to
suggest that Roubaud' sown obsession with incest seems to blind him to a
range of issues which, within the Perceval and Merlin as well as the
Vulgate cycles, pose more broadly the question of the continuity and the
limits of lineal affiliation. Incest is a key concern in Arthurian literature,
but it is not alwars hidden. It remains, further, more attached to the
notion of finality than to that of mysteriously incestuous origins,
Roubaud's "primal Grail scene." Arthur's relationship to his sister stands
as the determining cause of the end of Arthurian kinship, of kingship,
and of further poetic production: "Adont conut li freres carneument sa
serour et porta la dame chelui qui puissedi le traist a mort et mist a
destruction et a martyr la terre, dont vous porres air viers la fin dou
livre."
35
In the incestuous termination of a family line is the end of an era
and of a book; for the Wasteland occasioned by war, associated with
Perceval's origins and especially the loss of the father, is also connected to
the slaying of the father:
Car a eel tens estoient si desreez genz et si sanz mesure par tout li roiaume
de Gales que se li filz trovast le pere gisant en son lit par achaison d'enfer-
mete, ille tresist hors par la teste ou par les braz efToce1sl erranment, car
a viltance li fust atorne se ses peres moreust en son lit. Mes quant il ave-
noit que li filz ocioit le pere, ou li peres li filz, et toz li parentez moroit
d'armes, lors disoient cil del pai"s qu'il estoient de haut lignage.
36
For at the time there were so crazed and lacking in measure throughout
the Kingdom of Wales that if a son found his father lying in bed because of
some sickness, he pulled him out by his head or arms and killed him on
208 o Chapter Six
(especially the Perlesvaus) are largely extensions or elaborations of Chre-
tien's poem.
The prose romances which focus specifically upon Lancelot present a
similar pattern. Like Perceval, Lancelot is, as he explains to the maid of
the "Castel de la Charete," both fatherless and disinherited: "Car iou
perdi en vne matinee man pere qui moult estoit preudoms ... et fui
desherites de toute rna terre." Raised by the Lady of the Lake, he remains
uncertain about his own lineage: "Ensi fu lancelos .iij. ans en la garde ala
damoisele a trap grant aise. & bien quidoit pour voir que ele fust sa
meire."
28
The search for his own name along with that of his father
occupies as much of that enormous portion of the Vulgate Cycle known
as the Lancelot Propre as the adultery with Guinevere or the forgotten Grail
Quest. In fact, as a messenger of the Lady of the Lake predicts, Lancelot
will learn the name of his parents precisely at the moment that he
recaptures his lost inheritance:
Lors le trait a vne part a conseil si li dist que sa dame del lac lenuoie a li &
demain fait ele saurois vostre non. & le non vostre pere & vostre mere. Et
che sera la sus en chel castel dont vous seres sires ains que vespres soient
sounees.
29
Then she took him aside and told him that her Lady of the Lake sent her
to him and that tomorrow she would make known your name and the
name of your father and your mother. And that it will take place up in that
castle of which you will be lord by vespers time.
And in lifting the tombstone, part of the ritual ordeal of repossession of
the propre of "La Douloureuse Garde," Lancelot encounters the sepul-
chral writing informing him simultaneously of the name of the father and
of his own death: "Et lors voit les lettres qui dient. Chi gerra lancelos del
lac le fiex au roi ban de benoyc. & lors remet la lame ius & bien seit que
chest ses nons qu'il a veu."
30
Where family relations are concerned, the Grail corpus gives the im-
pression of an immense genealogical confusion emanating not only from
the wealth of Arthurian figures but from a certain (purposeful?) textual
inconsistency as well. Consanguineal ties vary within a single tradition
like that of the Perceval story. The Fisher-King, for example, is at once the
hero's cousin (Chretien), his maternal uncle (Manessier, Perlesvaus),
paternal uncle (second Continuation), grandfather (Robert de Boron,
Didot-Perceval), and father (Bibliotheque nationale MS 768).
31
Even within
an individual text, bonds of kinship may seem fluid or obscure. In the
Lancelot Propre and La Queste, for instance, it is almost impossible to
determine the relation between King Pelles, the Fisher-King, the Maimed
King, and Galahad. Galahad speaks of his uncle King Pelles and of his
Grail Family and Round Table o 209
ancestor (aiol) the rich Fisher-King, thus indicating that they are separate
individuals and that Pelles is the Fisher-.King's son.
32
Yet Bohart has just
reminded us that Galahad is the son of Lancelot and the daughter of the
"Riche Roi Pescheor," just as later, upon Lancelot's entry into the Castle
of Corbenic, Pelles informs him of "the news of his beautiful daughter
who was dead, the one in whom Galahad was conceived." In addition,
the author(s) of the Lancelot Propre speaks of Galahad as the son of "the
best knight in the world [Lance lot] and of the daughter of the rich
Fisher-King. "
33
The extreme complexity of kinship ties, the lack of stability of paternity
where it appears evident, the superimposition of the family of those
through whom the Grail descends upon those united by blood-all of
these factors have led J. Roubaud to posit a hidden incest within the clan
of the Grail Knights, an incest which remains unverifiable, and, more-
over, whose obfuscation is the basic function of the text: "Done, si
l'inceste est cache, c'est par le recit meme."
34
We will have occasion shortly
to return to Roubaud' s masterful articles on the Grail corpus in relation to
the textual strategies of familial scrambling. Let it suffice for now to
suggest that Roubaud' sown obsession with incest seems to blind him to a
range of issues which, within the Perceval and Merlin as well as the
Vulgate cycles, pose more broadly the question of the continuity and the
limits of lineal affiliation. Incest is a key concern in Arthurian literature,
but it is not alwars hidden. It remains, further, more attached to the
notion of finality than to that of mysteriously incestuous origins,
Roubaud's "primal Grail scene." Arthur's relationship to his sister stands
as the determining cause of the end of Arthurian kinship, of kingship,
and of further poetic production: "Adont conut li freres carneument sa
serour et porta la dame chelui qui puissedi le traist a mort et mist a
destruction et a martyr la terre, dont vous porres air viers la fin dou
livre."
35
In the incestuous termination of a family line is the end of an era
and of a book; for the Wasteland occasioned by war, associated with
Perceval's origins and especially the loss of the father, is also connected to
the slaying of the father:
Car a eel tens estoient si desreez genz et si sanz mesure par tout li roiaume
de Gales que se li filz trovast le pere gisant en son lit par achaison d'enfer-
mete, ille tresist hors par la teste ou par les braz efToce1sl erranment, car
a viltance li fust atorne se ses peres moreust en son lit. Mes quant il ave-
noit que li filz ocioit le pere, ou li peres li filz, et toz li parentez moroit
d'armes, lors disoient cil del pai"s qu'il estoient de haut lignage.
36
For at the time there were so crazed and lacking in measure throughout
the Kingdom of Wales that if a son found his father lying in bed because of
some sickness, he pulled him out by his head or arms and killed him on
210 Chapter Six
the spot, for it would have shamed him if his father had died in bed. But
when it came about that the son killed the father, or the father the son,
and all the great families perished by arms, then they said that those from
this land were of high lineage.
Infraction of the incest taboo is, ultimately, the general-
___ .. .. _?n_
W as both the transgressor and the progeny of transgression
transform the law of paternity into a simultaneous patri- and infanticide:
"Einsi commenc;a la bataille es pleins de Salebieres, dont li roiaumes de
Logres fu tornez a destrucion ... ; si en remestrent apres leur mort les
terres gastes et essilliees et soufreteuses de bons seigneurs .... Einsi ocist
li peres le fill, et li filz navra le pere a mort."
37
In the obfuscation of
within of absolute hneaTand
textual interruption. 38 - - " '" ... - --------.
If incesrortl1eCo1lapse of the rule of minimal distance within the kin
group spells its termination, the consequences of a transgression of its
outer limits are hardly milder. Within the Grail corpus bastardy is an even
more pressing concern than incest. Lancelot's brother Hector, Bohart's
son, the false Guenivere, even Arthur are the illegitimate offspring of
adulterous desire. But, more important, Galahad, the "perfect knight,"
embodies the principle of an interruption implicit to his perfection. As the
last member of the line of David, he represents a disruption of lineage
extending beyond the paternal confusion of illegitimacy so evident else-
where. His conception occurs in the absence of sexual desire-Lancelot is
drugged, and Pelles daughter "did not do it because of his beauty or out
of hotness of flesh."
39
Galahad, alone capable of completing the Grail
adventure, has himself transcended desire, since his perfection consists
in a chastity precluding even the wish for union.
40
Thus, where Percevar!
seeks unsuccessfully to find the father, the Grail, and to escape the
contingent nature of signs, Galahad, himself the product of an almost
immaculate conception and a second Christ in Christ's line, eludes
genealogy altogether. His is a faultless self-sufficiency connatural with
the identity of engenderer and engendered as well as with the coinci-
dence of signifier and signified. In the achievement of the Grail Quest,
Galahad transcends paternal and linguistic difference, penetrating-
beyond language-to "that which can neither be thought nor said" (" ce __!
que langue ne porroit descrire ne cuer penser").
41
Grail corpus is playe_5!_?ut
of _ .Pater!!!tytra,nsgressive of
its outerl)oi.lnds':tflis is;;,o tospeak, the anthropological theater or space
in which-the drama of language and of lineage takes place. Where the
textualization of such a dynamic is concerned, we can point, first of all, to
a characteristic mixing of proper names equivalent in their homophonic
Grail Family and Round Table 211
resemblance to the conflation of family difference. Here it is perhaps
worth recalling that in Arthurian literature the proper name is synony-
mous with-a kind of map of-lineage, and there is no more common v'
epithet than its patronymic evocation, for example, "Lancelot, fils de Ban
de Benoyc," "Yders, fils de Nut," etc.
42
Hence the significance of
seemingly free-floating prefixes and suffixes like Bran- (e.g., Brandales,
Brandus, Brangor, Brangemner, Bron, He[bron]) and the similarity of
whole names (e.g., Gauvain's brothers Gaheriet, Guerrehes, and Agra-
vains; Guinevere and the false Guinevere; Yvain, son of King Urien and
Yvain li Avoltres; Galehot and Galahad; Nasciens li Hermites, Nascien
[Mordrain's brother-in-law], Nascien [son of Narpus]; Mordrain, Mor-
dret; Pelles, Pellinor, Pellehan; Balaain, Balaan; Morgue, Morgain; etc.).
The case of Lancelot is, in this respect, particularly revealing. Not only is
his mother's name, Elaine, similar to that of her sister, Evaine, but the
daughter of Pelles is named Helaine. There is, in other words, no phonic
difference between Galahad's mother and grandmother, just as there is
none between Lancelot and his grandfather, or between Lancelot and his
son. "Lancelot" is merely a nickname, hiding the hero's true baptismal
roots: "auoit non lancelos en sournon. mais il auoit non en baptesme
galahos."
43
The similarity of family names is even further complicated by
the background of nameless kings, knights, and hermits whose ill-
defined relation to the named but homophonically enmeshed protag-
onists as well as to each other makes it impossible to discern with cer-
tainty the genealogical lines of the Arthurian corpus. The absence of
phonetic definition along with the collapse of phonetic difference is
tantamount to a loss of lineal discreteness assimilable, ultimately, to a loss
of the proper and of a proper story line.
44
This onomastic mixing is also accompanied by a more
general formalscramoTingpra"d!caily synonymous with the prose ro-
mance's overall narrative design. I am referring to the technique of
dovetailing by which the successive episodes of the enormous Lancelot-
in-Prose are so thoroughly imbricated in one another as to give the
impression of a continually overlapping discursive grid. of
interruptioE.JY.ithin the of interlace_
("'entrelacement"), a progressive interpenetration of distinct elements of
independent plots that move simultaneously along different narrative
fronts and whose components are gradually woven into a whole.
45
Thus,
where in Chretien's Perceval the estoire that is the equivalent both of
lineage and of story stands disrupted by a loss of coherence, and where in
the Perceval Continuations this lack of cohesion is compounded by the
impossibility of closure, in the prose romance we find an intricately
conceived system of overlay by which the main narrative thrust is con-
stantly deferred by the introduction of new elements and the superim-
210 Chapter Six
the spot, for it would have shamed him if his father had died in bed. But
when it came about that the son killed the father, or the father the son,
and all the great families perished by arms, then they said that those from
this land were of high lineage.
Infraction of the incest taboo is, ultimately, the general-
___ .. .. _?n_
W as both the transgressor and the progeny of transgression
transform the law of paternity into a simultaneous patri- and infanticide:
"Einsi commenc;a la bataille es pleins de Salebieres, dont li roiaumes de
Logres fu tornez a destrucion ... ; si en remestrent apres leur mort les
terres gastes et essilliees et soufreteuses de bons seigneurs .... Einsi ocist
li peres le fill, et li filz navra le pere a mort."
37
In the obfuscation of
within of absolute hneaTand
textual interruption. 38 - - " '" ... - --------.
If incesrortl1eCo1lapse of the rule of minimal distance within the kin
group spells its termination, the consequences of a transgression of its
outer limits are hardly milder. Within the Grail corpus bastardy is an even
more pressing concern than incest. Lancelot's brother Hector, Bohart's
son, the false Guenivere, even Arthur are the illegitimate offspring of
adulterous desire. But, more important, Galahad, the "perfect knight,"
embodies the principle of an interruption implicit to his perfection. As the
last member of the line of David, he represents a disruption of lineage
extending beyond the paternal confusion of illegitimacy so evident else-
where. His conception occurs in the absence of sexual desire-Lancelot is
drugged, and Pelles daughter "did not do it because of his beauty or out
of hotness of flesh."
39
Galahad, alone capable of completing the Grail
adventure, has himself transcended desire, since his perfection consists
in a chastity precluding even the wish for union.
40
Thus, where Percevar!
seeks unsuccessfully to find the father, the Grail, and to escape the
contingent nature of signs, Galahad, himself the product of an almost
immaculate conception and a second Christ in Christ's line, eludes
genealogy altogether. His is a faultless self-sufficiency connatural with
the identity of engenderer and engendered as well as with the coinci-
dence of signifier and signified. In the achievement of the Grail Quest,
Galahad transcends paternal and linguistic difference, penetrating-
beyond language-to "that which can neither be thought nor said" (" ce __!
que langue ne porroit descrire ne cuer penser").
41
Grail corpus is playe_5!_?ut
of _ .Pater!!!tytra,nsgressive of
its outerl)oi.lnds':tflis is;;,o tospeak, the anthropological theater or space
in which-the drama of language and of lineage takes place. Where the
textualization of such a dynamic is concerned, we can point, first of all, to
a characteristic mixing of proper names equivalent in their homophonic
Grail Family and Round Table 211
resemblance to the conflation of family difference. Here it is perhaps
worth recalling that in Arthurian literature the proper name is synony-
mous with-a kind of map of-lineage, and there is no more common v'
epithet than its patronymic evocation, for example, "Lancelot, fils de Ban
de Benoyc," "Yders, fils de Nut," etc.
42
Hence the significance of
seemingly free-floating prefixes and suffixes like Bran- (e.g., Brandales,
Brandus, Brangor, Brangemner, Bron, He[bron]) and the similarity of
whole names (e.g., Gauvain's brothers Gaheriet, Guerrehes, and Agra-
vains; Guinevere and the false Guinevere; Yvain, son of King Urien and
Yvain li Avoltres; Galehot and Galahad; Nasciens li Hermites, Nascien
[Mordrain's brother-in-law], Nascien [son of Narpus]; Mordrain, Mor-
dret; Pelles, Pellinor, Pellehan; Balaain, Balaan; Morgue, Morgain; etc.).
The case of Lancelot is, in this respect, particularly revealing. Not only is
his mother's name, Elaine, similar to that of her sister, Evaine, but the
daughter of Pelles is named Helaine. There is, in other words, no phonic
difference between Galahad's mother and grandmother, just as there is
none between Lancelot and his grandfather, or between Lancelot and his
son. "Lancelot" is merely a nickname, hiding the hero's true baptismal
roots: "auoit non lancelos en sournon. mais il auoit non en baptesme
galahos."
43
The similarity of family names is even further complicated by
the background of nameless kings, knights, and hermits whose ill-
defined relation to the named but homophonically enmeshed protag-
onists as well as to each other makes it impossible to discern with cer-
tainty the genealogical lines of the Arthurian corpus. The absence of
phonetic definition along with the collapse of phonetic difference is
tantamount to a loss of lineal discreteness assimilable, ultimately, to a loss
of the proper and of a proper story line.
44
This onomastic mixing is also accompanied by a more
general formalscramoTingpra"d!caily synonymous with the prose ro-
mance's overall narrative design. I am referring to the technique of
dovetailing by which the successive episodes of the enormous Lancelot-
in-Prose are so thoroughly imbricated in one another as to give the
impression of a continually overlapping discursive grid. of
interruptioE.JY.ithin the of interlace_
("'entrelacement"), a progressive interpenetration of distinct elements of
independent plots that move simultaneously along different narrative
fronts and whose components are gradually woven into a whole.
45
Thus,
where in Chretien's Perceval the estoire that is the equivalent both of
lineage and of story stands disrupted by a loss of coherence, and where in
the Perceval Continuations this lack of cohesion is compounded by the
impossibility of closure, in the prose romance we find an intricately
conceived system of overlay by which the main narrative thrust is con-
stantly deferred by the introduction of new elements and the superim-
212 Chapter Six
position of secondary, tertiary, quaternary, quinary, senary, and sep-
tenary subplots upon one another. If the verse Grail works seem to
disorient the reader through a certain narrative inconsistency, the prose
corpus achieves a similar effect through an intricacy of design so complex
as to overwhelm the reader with a finally unassimilable abundance of
finely fitted parts.
What this means is that the text, beyond the lexical confusion of its
proper names, works less to hide an original act of incest, as Roubaud
insists, than consistently the continuity of the that we
have identified with genealo_gical continuity. The Lancelot Prose-eyae,,
no lesSlllail-'tristaJl,Chretfen'sroli'lances, or those of Marie, expresses a
tension between directness of narration (and filiation) and its disruption.
And though the mode of interruption differs, marked as it is by a system
of interlace, the conflicting principles of continuous versus discontinuous
paternal and narrative sequence remain the same. Behind Perceval's
Lancelot's quest for the father and the Arthurian knights' quest for the
Grail stands the author's search for the tale that is the equivalent of
lineage and that constantly eludes him: "Mes a tant se test ore li contes.
... Or dist li contes"; "Mes atant lesse ore li contes .... Or dit li contes";
"Mes a tant se test ore li contes .... Or dit li contes."
46
Genealogy of the Book and the Book of Genealogy
The Romance is characterized, then, by a constant tension between the
possibility of a certain filial and narrative continuity as against its inter-
ruption. Here the body of texts which focus either wholly or in part upon
the figure of Merlin are crucial to an understanding of the relation be-
tween paternal and authorial filiation. So explicit, in fact, is the Merlin
legend with which we began that it alone might have served as guide to
the present study; and it is to the Huth manuscript that we now turn for
the light which it sheds on the problem of genealogical and textual
production.
Merlin is, it will be remembered, not only the inventor of writing and
the custodian of letters within the Arthurian world but the god of pater-
nity as well (see above, pp. 1-3). The magician's omnivalent powers are,
in fact, most acute in the area of succession. He is the guardian of
genealogy; and his peregrinations around Great Britain are accompanied
by a series of revelations concerning illusory paternal bonds-first those
of the judge who accuses his (Merlin's) mother of commerce with the
Devil (Huth, 1:27); then of the dead child whose true priestly father
officiates at his burial (1:51); ofMordret (1:154); of the peasant Tor (2:112);
and, finally, of Arthur. Merlin's role where fatherhood is concerned is
that of a reformer. His perfect perception of lineal relations allows him to
demystify false kinship and thus to undo the genealogical illusions in-
duced by fornication, adultery, and incest, while serving, simulta-
Grail Family and Round Table 213
neously, as a source of dramatic interest. f'1_erlin is a spoiler of
fictions and an embodiment of the principle of fiction itself.
Nor can Merlin's commanaoTpaternity be separated from the link
which the Huth text establishes between such mastery and writing. Each
act of generation is accompanied by an act of transcription suggesting a
deeper tie to the process of romance production. The antihero's own birth
is no exception. Upon hearing the story of Merlin's conception, his
mother's confessor Blaise "is greatly surprised, and he recorded the night
and the hour."
47
The boy wizard pleads his mother's defense on the basis
of the written record, just as after her disculpation he reveals to the
judge's own mother that her lover had "put into writing each time he
slept with you out of fear you might sleep with another."
48
Similarly, the
mastermind of paternity, who engineers Uter's union with Ygerne,
assures him of the exact hour of Arthur's conception: "Et si fai mettre
l'eure et la nuit en escrit que tu l'engenras."
49
If Merlin demonstrates a visionary control of paternal relations, it is
because he is an expert at written calculation, a patron saint of letters. He
is, moreover, indistinguishable from the author of the text which bears
his name. Here is where the magician's relation to writing becomes most
interesting. For Merlin's poetic powers are also bound to the issue of his
own ancestry. The master-calculator of genealogy has, in reality, two
fathers, each of which imparts to him a particular kind of knowledge.
From the Devil or physical father Merlin enjoys a perfect vision of the ]
past; and from God, the spiritual father who usurps true paternity after
his mother's confession, he gains insight into the future.
50
These two
paternal principles are, further, textualized in terms of discrete orders of
human discourse each implying the possibility of a book. The two modes
of knowledge approriate to Merlin's two fathers-les chases faites and les
chases a venir-are the subjects of separate written accounts.
The first is a book of origins and events dictated at periodic intervals by
Merlin to Blaise-a documentary rendering of Arthurian prehistory, the
Passion, Grail transfer, and Merlin's own birth:
Et Merlins dist: "Or quier dont enche et parchemin asses, que je te dirai
moult de choses que tu metras en ton livre." Et quant il ot tout quis, si li
conta Merlins les amours de Jesucrist et de Joseph tout ensi comme eles
avoient este, et d' Alain et de sa compaignie tout ensi comme il avoit ale, et
comment Joseph se dessaisi dou vaissiel et puis devia, et comment dy-
able(s) apries toutes ces choses qui furent avenues prisent conseil qui il
avoient perdu lour pooir que il soloient avoir seur les hommes, et se li
conte comment li prophete lor avoient mal fait, et pour chou (s')estoient
(accorde) ensamble comment il feroient un homme. [Huth, 1:31]
And Merlin said: "Take up now enough ink and parchment so that I might
tell you many of the things you will put in your book." And when he had
gathered all that was necessary, Merlin recounted to him the of .
Jesus Christ and of Joseph exactly as they took place, and of Alam and h1s
212 Chapter Six
position of secondary, tertiary, quaternary, quinary, senary, and sep-
tenary subplots upon one another. If the verse Grail works seem to
disorient the reader through a certain narrative inconsistency, the prose
corpus achieves a similar effect through an intricacy of design so complex
as to overwhelm the reader with a finally unassimilable abundance of
finely fitted parts.
What this means is that the text, beyond the lexical confusion of its
proper names, works less to hide an original act of incest, as Roubaud
insists, than consistently the continuity of the that we
have identified with genealo_gical continuity. The Lancelot Prose-eyae,,
no lesSlllail-'tristaJl,Chretfen'sroli'lances, or those of Marie, expresses a
tension between directness of narration (and filiation) and its disruption.
And though the mode of interruption differs, marked as it is by a system
of interlace, the conflicting principles of continuous versus discontinuous
paternal and narrative sequence remain the same. Behind Perceval's
Lancelot's quest for the father and the Arthurian knights' quest for the
Grail stands the author's search for the tale that is the equivalent of
lineage and that constantly eludes him: "Mes a tant se test ore li contes.
... Or dist li contes"; "Mes atant lesse ore li contes .... Or dit li contes";
"Mes a tant se test ore li contes .... Or dit li contes."
46
Genealogy of the Book and the Book of Genealogy
The Romance is characterized, then, by a constant tension between the
possibility of a certain filial and narrative continuity as against its inter-
ruption. Here the body of texts which focus either wholly or in part upon
the figure of Merlin are crucial to an understanding of the relation be-
tween paternal and authorial filiation. So explicit, in fact, is the Merlin
legend with which we began that it alone might have served as guide to
the present study; and it is to the Huth manuscript that we now turn for
the light which it sheds on the problem of genealogical and textual
production.
Merlin is, it will be remembered, not only the inventor of writing and
the custodian of letters within the Arthurian world but the god of pater-
nity as well (see above, pp. 1-3). The magician's omnivalent powers are,
in fact, most acute in the area of succession. He is the guardian of
genealogy; and his peregrinations around Great Britain are accompanied
by a series of revelations concerning illusory paternal bonds-first those
of the judge who accuses his (Merlin's) mother of commerce with the
Devil (Huth, 1:27); then of the dead child whose true priestly father
officiates at his burial (1:51); ofMordret (1:154); of the peasant Tor (2:112);
and, finally, of Arthur. Merlin's role where fatherhood is concerned is
that of a reformer. His perfect perception of lineal relations allows him to
demystify false kinship and thus to undo the genealogical illusions in-
duced by fornication, adultery, and incest, while serving, simulta-
Grail Family and Round Table 213
neously, as a source of dramatic interest. f'1_erlin is a spoiler of
fictions and an embodiment of the principle of fiction itself.
Nor can Merlin's commanaoTpaternity be separated from the link
which the Huth text establishes between such mastery and writing. Each
act of generation is accompanied by an act of transcription suggesting a
deeper tie to the process of romance production. The antihero's own birth
is no exception. Upon hearing the story of Merlin's conception, his
mother's confessor Blaise "is greatly surprised, and he recorded the night
and the hour."
47
The boy wizard pleads his mother's defense on the basis
of the written record, just as after her disculpation he reveals to the
judge's own mother that her lover had "put into writing each time he
slept with you out of fear you might sleep with another."
48
Similarly, the
mastermind of paternity, who engineers Uter's union with Ygerne,
assures him of the exact hour of Arthur's conception: "Et si fai mettre
l'eure et la nuit en escrit que tu l'engenras."
49
If Merlin demonstrates a visionary control of paternal relations, it is
because he is an expert at written calculation, a patron saint of letters. He
is, moreover, indistinguishable from the author of the text which bears
his name. Here is where the magician's relation to writing becomes most
interesting. For Merlin's poetic powers are also bound to the issue of his
own ancestry. The master-calculator of genealogy has, in reality, two
fathers, each of which imparts to him a particular kind of knowledge.
From the Devil or physical father Merlin enjoys a perfect vision of the ]
past; and from God, the spiritual father who usurps true paternity after
his mother's confession, he gains insight into the future.
50
These two
paternal principles are, further, textualized in terms of discrete orders of
human discourse each implying the possibility of a book. The two modes
of knowledge approriate to Merlin's two fathers-les chases faites and les
chases a venir-are the subjects of separate written accounts.
The first is a book of origins and events dictated at periodic intervals by
Merlin to Blaise-a documentary rendering of Arthurian prehistory, the
Passion, Grail transfer, and Merlin's own birth:
Et Merlins dist: "Or quier dont enche et parchemin asses, que je te dirai
moult de choses que tu metras en ton livre." Et quant il ot tout quis, si li
conta Merlins les amours de Jesucrist et de Joseph tout ensi comme eles
avoient este, et d' Alain et de sa compaignie tout ensi comme il avoit ale, et
comment Joseph se dessaisi dou vaissiel et puis devia, et comment dy-
able(s) apries toutes ces choses qui furent avenues prisent conseil qui il
avoient perdu lour pooir que il soloient avoir seur les hommes, et se li
conte comment li prophete lor avoient mal fait, et pour chou (s')estoient
(accorde) ensamble comment il feroient un homme. [Huth, 1:31]
And Merlin said: "Take up now enough ink and parchment so that I might
tell you many of the things you will put in your book." And when he had
gathered all that was necessary, Merlin recounted to him the of .
Jesus Christ and of Joseph exactly as they took place, and of Alam and h1s
214 Chapter Six
band and how they went forth, and how Joseph obtained the vessel and
then wandered, and how the demons after all that had happened realized
that they had lost their power that they used to have men; and
recounted how the prophets had done them in, and that It was for this
reason that they decided they would make a man.
Blaise's chronicle is, as the author of the Huth version suggests, genea-
logically rooted in Robert de Boron's Roman .do.u Graal; it all;
book of genealogies: "Si sera Joseph [et h hvres des hgmes que Je t a1
amenteues] avec le tien et le mien."
51
The historical book supposedly contains a record of that which has
occurred-"les choses dites et faites et alees." It stands as the transforma-
tion of theme into predicate, events into language, by which we
privy to Arthurian history. 5
2
Blaise's chronicle is, in a narrative
account of human history based upon the generational sequence of
Joseph's line, "ses ancisseurs," "ses hoirs,"
0
SOn li?nage" (Huth, 1:47).
Meaning within it is assumed to be nonproblematical: the transparent
words of the dictated text require no interpretation and are held to
maintain a direct relation to the world beyond. This is not to suggest that
the discourse of human history is necessarily true. On the contrary,
because it is grounded in the contingent universe of a.nd
the fact that it can be understood without interpretatiOn, the first book 1s
also subject to corruption, trickery, misrepresentation. Before
to transcribe Merlin's words, Blaise elicits a promise not to be dece1ved:
"Je ferai volentiers le livre, mais jete conjure el non del pere et.le fil .. :
tune me puisses dechevoir ni engingnier." History, as Merhn admlt.s, 1s
the Devil's terrain: "Je sai les choses dites, faites et alees, et [ ... ] Je le
tieng par nature d'anemi."
53
The second book, Merlin's words transcribed by the counselors at the
court of Uter and Pendragon, is composed of a language according to
which events will shape themselves.
54
This is a prophetic text whose
oscures paroles, without explanation, remain empty signs. Its .instigation
coincides with Merlin's withdrawal from the world of events mto that of
"covert speech"; and the discourse of this "livre de prophecies" can, in
fact, only be understood once the events it foretells have already oc-
curred: "Ne je ne(n) parlerai plus devant le siecle se si oscurement non
que il ne saveront que je dirai devant que ille voient."
55
Unlike Blaise's
record, the text originating at court is not biographical in nature but
stands as a spontaneously generated, autonomous cut off
discernible origins: "ne dist pas chis livres qui Merhns est ne dont 11
vint."
56
It is composed of a series of speech acts realized as events, of
predication transformed into theme. As Merlin assures Arthur, "I will
pronounce no obscure word the truth of whose meaning you will not
know before passing out of this world."
57
The book without origin is an
original book: nonmimetic; beholden to nothing, not even the "text of
Grail Family and Round Table 215
history"; always true because consistently self-referential. Since it exists
independently of external meaning, its self-generating and self-
determining language is situated beyond the limits of truth and false-
hood. The book of the future contains only words-"il ne metoient en
escrit fors que chou que il disoit," words, moreover, whose supposed
source is not the Devil, but God: "Et nostre sires qui est poissans sour tout
m'a donne sens de savoir toutes choses qui sont a avenir en partie."
58
Merlin's two books embody the two principal poetic modes which, as
we have seen, are associated with conflicting family models. The histor-
ical narrative of events, representational and organized internally accord-
ing to the order of lineal succession, offers a potent illustration of the
discourse of the epic, the literary form of genealogy. cyclically
to family groups, the chanson de geste of origins wl_lich
also preserves a and ..
_
this aespite its vulnerabihty, as Blaise suggests, to 'trickery and decep-
tion" (see above, pp. 97-102). The self-contained and unintelligible book
of prophecies is, on the other hand, much closer to the exclamatory
discourse of the love lyric. The prophet's "obscure words," comparable
to the "closed style" of the trobar clus, are disruptive of representation,
meaning, and the narrative sequence that we have identified with
genealogical progression. Its textualizing thrust is, finally, assimilable to
a gra111mar emphasizing mode over lexical origin and to a model of the
family in which alliance is more important than lineage (see above, pp.
109-127).
This juxtaposition of poetic, grammatical, and paternal principles
within a single form speaks directly to the issues posed at the outset. That
is: the question of the status of the subject at the end of the Dark Ages; the
relation of the literary text to the interior-psychological-space that we
designate as subjective; and the place of both a changing notion of the
subject and its poetic articulation in the social transformation of the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Here there is no more instructive guide
to the reading of culture than La Queste del Saint Graal with which we
began Chapter 1.
As Bohort wanders aimlessly in search of the Grail, he comes upon one
of the numerous hermits whose role as the guardians of a certain kind of
knowledge is to explain to those with the power bestowed by lineage-
knights-the meaning of the sensible world. Once Bohort has identified
himself by revealing his name and paternity ("il dit qu'il a non Boort de
Gaunes et fu filz le roi Boort"), the holy man makes an obvious case for
the inherence of social worth among those of noble birth:
"Certes, Boort, se la parole de l'Evangile ert en vos sauvee, vos seriez bons
chevaliers et verais. Car, si com Nostre Sires dit: 'Li bons arbres fet le bon
214 Chapter Six
band and how they went forth, and how Joseph obtained the vessel and
then wandered, and how the demons after all that had happened realized
that they had lost their power that they used to have men; and
recounted how the prophets had done them in, and that It was for this
reason that they decided they would make a man.
Blaise's chronicle is, as the author of the Huth version suggests, genea-
logically rooted in Robert de Boron's Roman .do.u Graal; it all;
book of genealogies: "Si sera Joseph [et h hvres des hgmes que Je t a1
amenteues] avec le tien et le mien."
51
The historical book supposedly contains a record of that which has
occurred-"les choses dites et faites et alees." It stands as the transforma-
tion of theme into predicate, events into language, by which we
privy to Arthurian history. 5
2
Blaise's chronicle is, in a narrative
account of human history based upon the generational sequence of
Joseph's line, "ses ancisseurs," "ses hoirs,"
0
SOn li?nage" (Huth, 1:47).
Meaning within it is assumed to be nonproblematical: the transparent
words of the dictated text require no interpretation and are held to
maintain a direct relation to the world beyond. This is not to suggest that
the discourse of human history is necessarily true. On the contrary,
because it is grounded in the contingent universe of a.nd
the fact that it can be understood without interpretatiOn, the first book 1s
also subject to corruption, trickery, misrepresentation. Before
to transcribe Merlin's words, Blaise elicits a promise not to be dece1ved:
"Je ferai volentiers le livre, mais jete conjure el non del pere et.le fil .. :
tune me puisses dechevoir ni engingnier." History, as Merhn admlt.s, 1s
the Devil's terrain: "Je sai les choses dites, faites et alees, et [ ... ] Je le
tieng par nature d'anemi."
53
The second book, Merlin's words transcribed by the counselors at the
court of Uter and Pendragon, is composed of a language according to
which events will shape themselves.
54
This is a prophetic text whose
oscures paroles, without explanation, remain empty signs. Its .instigation
coincides with Merlin's withdrawal from the world of events mto that of
"covert speech"; and the discourse of this "livre de prophecies" can, in
fact, only be understood once the events it foretells have already oc-
curred: "Ne je ne(n) parlerai plus devant le siecle se si oscurement non
que il ne saveront que je dirai devant que ille voient."
55
Unlike Blaise's
record, the text originating at court is not biographical in nature but
stands as a spontaneously generated, autonomous cut off
discernible origins: "ne dist pas chis livres qui Merhns est ne dont 11
vint."
56
It is composed of a series of speech acts realized as events, of
predication transformed into theme. As Merlin assures Arthur, "I will
pronounce no obscure word the truth of whose meaning you will not
know before passing out of this world."
57
The book without origin is an
original book: nonmimetic; beholden to nothing, not even the "text of
Grail Family and Round Table 215
history"; always true because consistently self-referential. Since it exists
independently of external meaning, its self-generating and self-
determining language is situated beyond the limits of truth and false-
hood. The book of the future contains only words-"il ne metoient en
escrit fors que chou que il disoit," words, moreover, whose supposed
source is not the Devil, but God: "Et nostre sires qui est poissans sour tout
m'a donne sens de savoir toutes choses qui sont a avenir en partie."
58
Merlin's two books embody the two principal poetic modes which, as
we have seen, are associated with conflicting family models. The histor-
ical narrative of events, representational and organized internally accord-
ing to the order of lineal succession, offers a potent illustration of the
discourse of the epic, the literary form of genealogy. cyclically
to family groups, the chanson de geste of origins wl_lich
also preserves a and ..
_
this aespite its vulnerabihty, as Blaise suggests, to 'trickery and decep-
tion" (see above, pp. 97-102). The self-contained and unintelligible book
of prophecies is, on the other hand, much closer to the exclamatory
discourse of the love lyric. The prophet's "obscure words," comparable
to the "closed style" of the trobar clus, are disruptive of representation,
meaning, and the narrative sequence that we have identified with
genealogical progression. Its textualizing thrust is, finally, assimilable to
a gra111mar emphasizing mode over lexical origin and to a model of the
family in which alliance is more important than lineage (see above, pp.
109-127).
This juxtaposition of poetic, grammatical, and paternal principles
within a single form speaks directly to the issues posed at the outset. That
is: the question of the status of the subject at the end of the Dark Ages; the
relation of the literary text to the interior-psychological-space that we
designate as subjective; and the place of both a changing notion of the
subject and its poetic articulation in the social transformation of the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Here there is no more instructive guide
to the reading of culture than La Queste del Saint Graal with which we
began Chapter 1.
As Bohort wanders aimlessly in search of the Grail, he comes upon one
of the numerous hermits whose role as the guardians of a certain kind of
knowledge is to explain to those with the power bestowed by lineage-
knights-the meaning of the sensible world. Once Bohort has identified
himself by revealing his name and paternity ("il dit qu'il a non Boort de
Gaunes et fu filz le roi Boort"), the holy man makes an obvious case for
the inherence of social worth among those of noble birth:
"Certes, Boort, se la parole de l'Evangile ert en vos sauvee, vos seriez bons
chevaliers et verais. Car, si com Nostre Sires dit: 'Li bons arbres fet le bon
216 Chapter Six
fruit', vos devez estre bons par droiture, car vos estes le fruit del tres bon
arbre. Car vostre peres, li rois Boors, fu uns des meillors homes que je
onques veisse, 'rois piteus et humbles; et vostre mere, la reine Eveine, fu
une des meillors dames que je veisse pie<;a. Cil dui furent un sol arbre et
une meisme char par conjonction de mariage. Et puis que vos en estes fruit
vos devriez estre bons quant li arbre furent bon."
59
"Certainly, Boort, if the word of the scripture works to your advantage,
you will turn out to be a good and true knight. For since Our Saviour says,
'A good tree gives good fruit,' you should be good by rights; for you are
the fruit of a very good tree. Your father, King Boors, was one of the best
men whom I ever saw-a pious and humble king; and your mother Queen
Eveine was one of the best ladies that I have seen in a long time. These
two made a single tree and were of one flesh through marriage. And since
you are the fruit of this marriage, you must be good because the trees were
good."
Bohort, however, responds by questioning the hermit's assessment of
lineage:
"Sire, fet Boors, tout soit li hons estrez de mauves arbre, ce est de mauves
pere et de mauvese mere, est il muez d'amertume en dol<;or si tost come il
re<;oit le saint cresme, la sainte onction; por ce m'est il avis qu'il ne vet pas
as peres ne as meres qu'il soit bons ou mauves, mes au cuer de l'ome."
60
"My lord, said Bohort, even though a man may come from a bad tree, that
is from a bad father and bad mother, he can be turned from bitterness into
sweetness as soon as he receives the holy oil; for this reason, it is my feel-
ing that it is neither a question of father or mother, whether or not a man
is good or bad, but of his own heart."
The model of kinship which the hermit espouses is predicated upon the
notion of continuity-"li bons arbres fet le bon fruit" -and it serves to
legitimate an essentially aristocratic model of power. The claim to hege-
mony of France's feudal aristocracy rested, as we have seen, upon the
claim to an uninterrupted link to the past. Nobility is, in principle,
inherited and cannot be acquired. Social hierarchy is thus fixed and
mobility extremely limited. The model which Bohort proposes is, in
contrast, directly subversive of that proffered by the hermit, questioning
as it does the importance of origins. Next to the guiding tenet of inherited
aristocratic power, Bohort' s rejection of the mother and father in favor of
"the heart of a man" affirms what looks like the rule of meritocracy
according to which status can be acquired, hierarchy is not fixed, and
mobility-as opposed to nobility-is the name of the game.
Neither Bohort's nor the hermit's position can be taken to be repre-
sentative of secular or ecclesiastical attitudes, since another hermit, con-
tradicting the first, assures Lancelot that "where mortal sins are con-
cerned, the father carries his own and the son his own; the son does not
participate in the iniquities of the father, nor the father in those of the son;
..
1
.:
!
,l
'
i
''
.f:.'

I
Grail Family and Round Table 217
but each is rewarded according to what he deserves."
61
There is little
doubt that such a doctrine can be traced back to the New Testament rule
of personal responsibility. But the question of source remains anecdotal
next to the antithesis established between the independence of the indi-
vidual and the rule of lineal succession. What the author(s) of La Queste
means by the "cuer de I' orne" as opposed to the order of lineage ("un sol
arbre et une meisme char") is precisely that realm of inner intention
synonymous with the autonomous subject. The notions of interiority and
of genealogy are conceived to be mutually exclusive.
Round Table and the Politics of Intention
The opposition which the text maintains, and'which also defines its
innermost law, strikes to the very heart of the Arthurian corpus. It
implicates both the Grail and the Round Table and poses, ultimately, the
question of relation between the individual and the broader social
community.
Merlin is alleged by the author(s) of La Queste to be the founder of the
"third table":
Vos savez bien que puis l'avenement Jhesucrist a eu trois principaus tables
ou monde. La premiere fu la Table Jhesucrist ou li apostre mengierent par
plusor foiz. Ce fu la table qui sostenait les cors et les ames de la viande
dou Ciel. ... Apres cele table fu une autre table en semblance et en re-
membrance de lui. Ce fu la Table dou Saint Graal. ... Et il [Joseph] des-
pe<;a les pains et les mist <;a et la et mist ou chief de la table le Saint Graal,
par qui venue li douze pain foisonerent si que toz li pueples, dont il avoit
bien quatre mile, en furent repeu et rasaziez trop merveilleusement. ...
A pres cele table fu la Table Reonde par conseil Merlin.
62
You know that since the coming of Jesus Christ there have been three prin-
cipal tables in the world. The first was the Table of Jesus Christ, where the
apostles ate several times. This was the table which sustained the body and
the soul of the flesh of heaven. . . . After this table came another table like
it and in remembrance of it. This was the Table of the Holy Grail. ... And
he [Joseph] cut up the bread and distributed the pieces, and at the head of
the table he put the Holy Grail, which caused the twelve loaves to multiply
so that all the people, of which there were a good four thousand, were fed
and satisfied marvelously well. ... After this table came the Round Table
by the counsel of Merlin.
What stands out in this conflation of apostalic, apocryphal, and Arthu-
rian tables is, first of all, their association with the spontaneous produc-
tion of food in direct contrast to the mythology of dearth synonymous
with the Wasteland (see above, pp. 200-203). The Grail, of course, is
portrayed generally as a food-bearing dish. The contents of Chretien's
Grail nourish the invalid king. In Robert de Boron's Roman dou Graal, the
Estoire Merlin, Estoire del Saint Graal, and La Queste, the Grail has the
216 Chapter Six
fruit', vos devez estre bons par droiture, car vos estes le fruit del tres bon
arbre. Car vostre peres, li rois Boors, fu uns des meillors homes que je
onques veisse, 'rois piteus et humbles; et vostre mere, la reine Eveine, fu
une des meillors dames que je veisse pie<;a. Cil dui furent un sol arbre et
une meisme char par conjonction de mariage. Et puis que vos en estes fruit
vos devriez estre bons quant li arbre furent bon."
59
"Certainly, Boort, if the word of the scripture works to your advantage,
you will turn out to be a good and true knight. For since Our Saviour says,
'A good tree gives good fruit,' you should be good by rights; for you are
the fruit of a very good tree. Your father, King Boors, was one of the best
men whom I ever saw-a pious and humble king; and your mother Queen
Eveine was one of the best ladies that I have seen in a long time. These
two made a single tree and were of one flesh through marriage. And since
you are the fruit of this marriage, you must be good because the trees were
good."
Bohort, however, responds by questioning the hermit's assessment of
lineage:
"Sire, fet Boors, tout soit li hons estrez de mauves arbre, ce est de mauves
pere et de mauvese mere, est il muez d'amertume en dol<;or si tost come il
re<;oit le saint cresme, la sainte onction; por ce m'est il avis qu'il ne vet pas
as peres ne as meres qu'il soit bons ou mauves, mes au cuer de l'ome."
60
"My lord, said Bohort, even though a man may come from a bad tree, that
is from a bad father and bad mother, he can be turned from bitterness into
sweetness as soon as he receives the holy oil; for this reason, it is my feel-
ing that it is neither a question of father or mother, whether or not a man
is good or bad, but of his own heart."
The model of kinship which the hermit espouses is predicated upon the
notion of continuity-"li bons arbres fet le bon fruit" -and it serves to
legitimate an essentially aristocratic model of power. The claim to hege-
mony of France's feudal aristocracy rested, as we have seen, upon the
claim to an uninterrupted link to the past. Nobility is, in principle,
inherited and cannot be acquired. Social hierarchy is thus fixed and
mobility extremely limited. The model which Bohort proposes is, in
contrast, directly subversive of that proffered by the hermit, questioning
as it does the importance of origins. Next to the guiding tenet of inherited
aristocratic power, Bohort' s rejection of the mother and father in favor of
"the heart of a man" affirms what looks like the rule of meritocracy
according to which status can be acquired, hierarchy is not fixed, and
mobility-as opposed to nobility-is the name of the game.
Neither Bohort's nor the hermit's position can be taken to be repre-
sentative of secular or ecclesiastical attitudes, since another hermit, con-
tradicting the first, assures Lancelot that "where mortal sins are con-
cerned, the father carries his own and the son his own; the son does not
participate in the iniquities of the father, nor the father in those of the son;
..
1
.:
!
,l
'
i
''
.f:.'

I
Grail Family and Round Table 217
but each is rewarded according to what he deserves."
61
There is little
doubt that such a doctrine can be traced back to the New Testament rule
of personal responsibility. But the question of source remains anecdotal
next to the antithesis established between the independence of the indi-
vidual and the rule of lineal succession. What the author(s) of La Queste
means by the "cuer de I' orne" as opposed to the order of lineage ("un sol
arbre et une meisme char") is precisely that realm of inner intention
synonymous with the autonomous subject. The notions of interiority and
of genealogy are conceived to be mutually exclusive.
Round Table and the Politics of Intention
The opposition which the text maintains, and'which also defines its
innermost law, strikes to the very heart of the Arthurian corpus. It
implicates both the Grail and the Round Table and poses, ultimately, the
question of relation between the individual and the broader social
community.
Merlin is alleged by the author(s) of La Queste to be the founder of the
"third table":
Vos savez bien que puis l'avenement Jhesucrist a eu trois principaus tables
ou monde. La premiere fu la Table Jhesucrist ou li apostre mengierent par
plusor foiz. Ce fu la table qui sostenait les cors et les ames de la viande
dou Ciel. ... Apres cele table fu une autre table en semblance et en re-
membrance de lui. Ce fu la Table dou Saint Graal. ... Et il [Joseph] des-
pe<;a les pains et les mist <;a et la et mist ou chief de la table le Saint Graal,
par qui venue li douze pain foisonerent si que toz li pueples, dont il avoit
bien quatre mile, en furent repeu et rasaziez trop merveilleusement. ...
A pres cele table fu la Table Reonde par conseil Merlin.
62
You know that since the coming of Jesus Christ there have been three prin-
cipal tables in the world. The first was the Table of Jesus Christ, where the
apostles ate several times. This was the table which sustained the body and
the soul of the flesh of heaven. . . . After this table came another table like
it and in remembrance of it. This was the Table of the Holy Grail. ... And
he [Joseph] cut up the bread and distributed the pieces, and at the head of
the table he put the Holy Grail, which caused the twelve loaves to multiply
so that all the people, of which there were a good four thousand, were fed
and satisfied marvelously well. ... After this table came the Round Table
by the counsel of Merlin.
What stands out in this conflation of apostalic, apocryphal, and Arthu-
rian tables is, first of all, their association with the spontaneous produc-
tion of food in direct contrast to the mythology of dearth synonymous
with the Wasteland (see above, pp. 200-203). The Grail, of course, is
portrayed generally as a food-bearing dish. The contents of Chretien's
Grail nourish the invalid king. In Robert de Boron's Roman dou Graal, the
Estoire Merlin, Estoire del Saint Graal, and La Queste, the Grail has the
218 Chapter Six
Grail Table, from a fourteenth-century Lancelot del Lac,
Bibliotheque Nationale, ms. fr. 120. (Printed with permission.)
power to provide food in as abundant a quantity "as the hearts of men
may desire." According to Manessier, no one can name a food, however
exotic, that it does not contain. And Helinand de Froidmont' s chronicle
(1204) describes the Grail as a "wide and somewhat deep dish in which
tasty meats in their rich juices are placed by degree, one after the other,
according to rank. "
63
Thus both the Grail and the Round Table are associated with the notion
of abundance; and, further, Helinand links the cornucopia motif specifi-
cally to that of social order. The hierarchical arrangement of tasty meats in
the "wide and somewhat deep dish" mirrors the ranks of society itself, as
the Grail and Round Table seem to render apparent that which the
Wasteland only suggests: namely, if dearth and famine are the wages of
strife, sufficiency can only be recovered through the restoration of peace.
The Arthur of the Historia Regum Britanniae is a peacemaker; and yet
there is no mention of the Round Table, which first appears in Wace's
translation of Geoffrey. Here we are told that Arthur, having conquered
Ireland and Iceland, establishes the Round Table to insure domestic
peace:
Pur les nobles baruns qu'il out
Dunt chescuns mieldre estre quidout,
Chescuns se teneit al meillur,
Ne nuls n'en saveit le peiur,
Fist Artur la Roiinde Table
T
Grail Family and Round Table 219
Dunt Bretun client mainte fable.
Illuec seeient il vassal
Tuit chevalment et tuit egal;
A la table egalement seeient
Et egalment servi esteient
Nul d'els ne se poeit vanter
Qu'il sei:st plus halt de sun per,
Tuit esteient assis meain,
Ne n'i aveit nul de forain."'
For his noble barons--each of whom believed himself to be outstanding
and held himself to be the best, and none of whom would admit to being
the worst-Arthur made the Round Table, of which the Bretons tell many
a tale. Here sit the vassals, all chivalrous and all equal; at the table they are
equally seated and equally served. None of them could boast that he was
seated higher than his peer; all were seated hand-in-hand, and none was
excluded.
Layamon will expand upon Wace's version, presenting the Round Table,
which can feed sixteen hundred, as the architectural solution to a quarrel
of precedence. And though this is only inferred in the passage above, it
stands nonetheless as an adequate response to the conflicts which bring
on the Wasteland. In fact, the Round Table is, in almost every respect, the
polar opposite of la terre gaste: it represents a food-producing vehicle of
plenty around which men eat to satisfaction as part of an innate fel-
lowship whose peace is guaranteed by a healthy king at the height of his
ruling powers. It not only serves as a spatial ratification of the pax
arthuriana, but it points in the direction of a fundamentally new order of
relations between individual, king, and state. As the structural embodi-
ment of a social contract according to which "all are equal," "none are
excluded," and "all sit hand-in-hand," Arthur's table posits the possibil-
ity of a community so radically different from that of an earlier historical
era-and reflected most clearly in the epic-that the limits of our conclu-
sion permit only the barest outline.
The community of the Round Table offers, first of all, the possibility of
reversing the geographic dispersion characteristic of the Wasteland. At
the time of its creation Merlin promises Arthur's father that "those who
sit around it will never want to return to their own lands nor leave this
place."
65
And if the terre gaste means a scattering of men-their isolation
throughout the countryside-the Round Table serves as a catalyst to their
unification, a coming together for permanent settlement in one place. The J
"third table" renders feasible a lococentric community, the foundation of
a fixed geographic center which implies, in turn, a recuperation of the lost
or "wasted" margins:
Car en ce qu'ele est apelee Table Reonde est entendue la reondece del
monde et la circonstance des planetes et des elemenz el firmament; . . .
218 Chapter Six
Grail Table, from a fourteenth-century Lancelot del Lac,
Bibliotheque Nationale, ms. fr. 120. (Printed with permission.)
power to provide food in as abundant a quantity "as the hearts of men
may desire." According to Manessier, no one can name a food, however
exotic, that it does not contain. And Helinand de Froidmont' s chronicle
(1204) describes the Grail as a "wide and somewhat deep dish in which
tasty meats in their rich juices are placed by degree, one after the other,
according to rank. "
63
Thus both the Grail and the Round Table are associated with the notion
of abundance; and, further, Helinand links the cornucopia motif specifi-
cally to that of social order. The hierarchical arrangement of tasty meats in
the "wide and somewhat deep dish" mirrors the ranks of society itself, as
the Grail and Round Table seem to render apparent that which the
Wasteland only suggests: namely, if dearth and famine are the wages of
strife, sufficiency can only be recovered through the restoration of peace.
The Arthur of the Historia Regum Britanniae is a peacemaker; and yet
there is no mention of the Round Table, which first appears in Wace's
translation of Geoffrey. Here we are told that Arthur, having conquered
Ireland and Iceland, establishes the Round Table to insure domestic
peace:
Pur les nobles baruns qu'il out
Dunt chescuns mieldre estre quidout,
Chescuns se teneit al meillur,
Ne nuls n'en saveit le peiur,
Fist Artur la Roiinde Table
T
Grail Family and Round Table 219
Dunt Bretun client mainte fable.
Illuec seeient il vassal
Tuit chevalment et tuit egal;
A la table egalement seeient
Et egalment servi esteient
Nul d'els ne se poeit vanter
Qu'il sei:st plus halt de sun per,
Tuit esteient assis meain,
Ne n'i aveit nul de forain."'
For his noble barons--each of whom believed himself to be outstanding
and held himself to be the best, and none of whom would admit to being
the worst-Arthur made the Round Table, of which the Bretons tell many
a tale. Here sit the vassals, all chivalrous and all equal; at the table they are
equally seated and equally served. None of them could boast that he was
seated higher than his peer; all were seated hand-in-hand, and none was
excluded.
Layamon will expand upon Wace's version, presenting the Round Table,
which can feed sixteen hundred, as the architectural solution to a quarrel
of precedence. And though this is only inferred in the passage above, it
stands nonetheless as an adequate response to the conflicts which bring
on the Wasteland. In fact, the Round Table is, in almost every respect, the
polar opposite of la terre gaste: it represents a food-producing vehicle of
plenty around which men eat to satisfaction as part of an innate fel-
lowship whose peace is guaranteed by a healthy king at the height of his
ruling powers. It not only serves as a spatial ratification of the pax
arthuriana, but it points in the direction of a fundamentally new order of
relations between individual, king, and state. As the structural embodi-
ment of a social contract according to which "all are equal," "none are
excluded," and "all sit hand-in-hand," Arthur's table posits the possibil-
ity of a community so radically different from that of an earlier historical
era-and reflected most clearly in the epic-that the limits of our conclu-
sion permit only the barest outline.
The community of the Round Table offers, first of all, the possibility of
reversing the geographic dispersion characteristic of the Wasteland. At
the time of its creation Merlin promises Arthur's father that "those who
sit around it will never want to return to their own lands nor leave this
place."
65
And if the terre gaste means a scattering of men-their isolation
throughout the countryside-the Round Table serves as a catalyst to their
unification, a coming together for permanent settlement in one place. The J
"third table" renders feasible a lococentric community, the foundation of
a fixed geographic center which implies, in turn, a recuperation of the lost
or "wasted" margins:
Car en ce qu'ele est apelee Table Reonde est entendue la reondece del
monde et la circonstance des planetes et des elemenz el firmament; . . .
220 Chapter Six
dont len puet dire que en la Table Reonde est li mondes senefiez a droit.
Car vous poez veoir que de toutes terres ou chevalerie repere, soit de cres-
tiente ou de paiennie, viennent a la Table Reonde li chevalier.
66
For by the Round Table is understood the roundness of the world and the
spheres of the planets and the elements in the firmament; ... thus one
can say with reason that the Round Table properly signifies the world. For
as you see, knights come to the Round Table from all countries where chiv-
alry is practiced, whether in Christendom or pagandom.
Thus, for the author of La Queste, the centripetal attraction of the Round
Table takes on universal and even cosmic proportions.
What this means in terms of family relations is that the Arthurian court,
like the renascent urban centers of the twelfth century, represents a stable
locus toward which men will gravitate. Even more important, it is marked
by the integration of something resembling the nuclear family within the
lococentric community. For not only do knights, once having been
seated, not desire to leave, but they send for their wives and children as
well:
Et quant vint que li baron prisent congie et que il s'en departirent, si vin-
rent as preudommes qui seoient ala table. Et li rois meismes lour demanda
qu'illour estoit avis. Et il respondirent: "Sire, nous n'avons (jamais) talent
de mouvoir ja mais de chi, ains ferons venir nos femes et nos enfans en
ceste vile, et ensi viverons au plaisir nostre signuor; car teuls est nostres
corages." [Huth, 1:97]"
And when it was time for the barons to take leave of each other and de-
part, they came to the knights who were sitting at the table. And the king
himself asked them what they wanted to do. And they replied: "Sire, we
have no desire ever to leave this place, but will have our wives and chil-
dren come to this city and, with the grace of God, will dwell here; for this
is our desire."
r The assimilation of the family into a larger political in contrast to its
isolation in the wasted countryside, entails a weakening of the autonomy
both of lineage and of vassalage. The Arthurian community of the Round
Table consists of a loose federation of families with reciprocal obligations
to each other as opposed to either kinship ties, or the independently
contracted, personal bonds of allegiance that have for so long been
Lassociated with the phenomenon of European feudalism.
It is by now a commonplace of medieval studies that one of the failures
of feudal institutions was the direct tie between lord and vassal compared
to the relative weakness of lateral social bonds between vassals of the
same lord. That the Arthurian Round Table reverses this equation can be
seen in the texts dealing with its formation, which read like a program for
the consolidation of intervassalic interests. Those who frequent Arthur's
Grail Family and Round Table 221
court come, above all, as equals ("Iluec seeient li vassal I Tuit chevalment
et egal") and are equally seated and served ("Ala table egalement seeient I
Et egalement servi esteient"). Such a notion represents a radical depar-
ture from anything resembling a vertically organized hierarchical chain of
command based, as in the epic, upon precise obligations between vassal
and lord or between consanguineal relations. On the contrary, the Arthu-
rian community, at its inception, is predicated upon the depth of feeling
that the individual knights experience for each other ("Tuit esteient assis
meain I Ne n'i aveit nul de forain"). In contrast with the crisis of difference
that plagues the Wasteland-a nondifferentiation that produces even
within the family the violent encounter of fathers and sons-the equality
of the Round Table implies a purgation of the inclination toward violence
along with an assumed affiliation of all the members of the same feder-
ated group:
Et li rois _dell_landa: aves vous tout tel corage?" Et il respon-
?ent tout: Oil, SI nous esm1erv1llons moult comment che puet estre. Car il
1 a de teuls de nous que onques mais ne virent li uns I' autre, et peu i a de
nous dont li uns fust acointes de I' autre, et ore nous entramons autant ou plus
comme fieus seut amer pere. Ne nous ja mais, chu me samble, ne ferons des-
assamblee ne departirons, se mors ne nous depart." [Huth, 1:97]
And the king asked them: "Sires, do you all have this desire?" And they
all responded: "Yes, and we are quite astonished that it is so. For there are
some of us who have never seen each other before, and only a few of us
were heretofore .acquainted, and now we love each other as much or more than
a son should love his father. And we will never, it seems to me, disband or
separate, unless death parts us.
Herein lies the radical nature of the Arthurian state: against the cata-
strophic struggle of one against all typified in the Wasteland motif, the
Round Table equidistant relation of each to each and to an
immovable center. Thus it nuUinesq_uarrelsoi-precedence within a. so-
ciety for which the question of difference-of hierarchy-has become
problematic.
Lococentric, centralized, and based upon assumed feelings of fel-
lowship, Arthurian polity is also organized according to a radically differ-
ent principle of integration of the individual within the broader commu-
nity. Rather, the place of feelings-of interiority in general-becomes the
focal point, the binding mediatory thread, of all possible integration.
Already in Robert's Roman dou Graal the Grail stands not only as a
food-producing vessel but as a vehicle for the exposition of inner feelings.
In the absence of any external means of distinguishing those who respect
the law from those who transgress it, the holy relic functions as a sort of
moral divining rod:
220 Chapter Six
dont len puet dire que en la Table Reonde est li mondes senefiez a droit.
Car vous poez veoir que de toutes terres ou chevalerie repere, soit de cres-
tiente ou de paiennie, viennent a la Table Reonde li chevalier.
66
For by the Round Table is understood the roundness of the world and the
spheres of the planets and the elements in the firmament; ... thus one
can say with reason that the Round Table properly signifies the world. For
as you see, knights come to the Round Table from all countries where chiv-
alry is practiced, whether in Christendom or pagandom.
Thus, for the author of La Queste, the centripetal attraction of the Round
Table takes on universal and even cosmic proportions.
What this means in terms of family relations is that the Arthurian court,
like the renascent urban centers of the twelfth century, represents a stable
locus toward which men will gravitate. Even more important, it is marked
by the integration of something resembling the nuclear family within the
lococentric community. For not only do knights, once having been
seated, not desire to leave, but they send for their wives and children as
well:
Et quant vint que li baron prisent congie et que il s'en departirent, si vin-
rent as preudommes qui seoient ala table. Et li rois meismes lour demanda
qu'illour estoit avis. Et il respondirent: "Sire, nous n'avons (jamais) talent
de mouvoir ja mais de chi, ains ferons venir nos femes et nos enfans en
ceste vile, et ensi viverons au plaisir nostre signuor; car teuls est nostres
corages." [Huth, 1:97]"
And when it was time for the barons to take leave of each other and de-
part, they came to the knights who were sitting at the table. And the king
himself asked them what they wanted to do. And they replied: "Sire, we
have no desire ever to leave this place, but will have our wives and chil-
dren come to this city and, with the grace of God, will dwell here; for this
is our desire."
r The assimilation of the family into a larger political in contrast to its
isolation in the wasted countryside, entails a weakening of the autonomy
both of lineage and of vassalage. The Arthurian community of the Round
Table consists of a loose federation of families with reciprocal obligations
to each other as opposed to either kinship ties, or the independently
contracted, personal bonds of allegiance that have for so long been
Lassociated with the phenomenon of European feudalism.
It is by now a commonplace of medieval studies that one of the failures
of feudal institutions was the direct tie between lord and vassal compared
to the relative weakness of lateral social bonds between vassals of the
same lord. That the Arthurian Round Table reverses this equation can be
seen in the texts dealing with its formation, which read like a program for
the consolidation of intervassalic interests. Those who frequent Arthur's
Grail Family and Round Table 221
court come, above all, as equals ("Iluec seeient li vassal I Tuit chevalment
et egal") and are equally seated and served ("Ala table egalement seeient I
Et egalement servi esteient"). Such a notion represents a radical depar-
ture from anything resembling a vertically organized hierarchical chain of
command based, as in the epic, upon precise obligations between vassal
and lord or between consanguineal relations. On the contrary, the Arthu-
rian community, at its inception, is predicated upon the depth of feeling
that the individual knights experience for each other ("Tuit esteient assis
meain I Ne n'i aveit nul de forain"). In contrast with the crisis of difference
that plagues the Wasteland-a nondifferentiation that produces even
within the family the violent encounter of fathers and sons-the equality
of the Round Table implies a purgation of the inclination toward violence
along with an assumed affiliation of all the members of the same feder-
ated group:
Et li rois _dell_landa: aves vous tout tel corage?" Et il respon-
?ent tout: Oil, SI nous esm1erv1llons moult comment che puet estre. Car il
1 a de teuls de nous que onques mais ne virent li uns I' autre, et peu i a de
nous dont li uns fust acointes de I' autre, et ore nous entramons autant ou plus
comme fieus seut amer pere. Ne nous ja mais, chu me samble, ne ferons des-
assamblee ne departirons, se mors ne nous depart." [Huth, 1:97]
And the king asked them: "Sires, do you all have this desire?" And they
all responded: "Yes, and we are quite astonished that it is so. For there are
some of us who have never seen each other before, and only a few of us
were heretofore .acquainted, and now we love each other as much or more than
a son should love his father. And we will never, it seems to me, disband or
separate, unless death parts us.
Herein lies the radical nature of the Arthurian state: against the cata-
strophic struggle of one against all typified in the Wasteland motif, the
Round Table equidistant relation of each to each and to an
immovable center. Thus it nuUinesq_uarrelsoi-precedence within a. so-
ciety for which the question of difference-of hierarchy-has become
problematic.
Lococentric, centralized, and based upon assumed feelings of fel-
lowship, Arthurian polity is also organized according to a radically differ-
ent principle of integration of the individual within the broader commu-
nity. Rather, the place of feelings-of interiority in general-becomes the
focal point, the binding mediatory thread, of all possible integration.
Already in Robert's Roman dou Graal the Grail stands not only as a
food-producing vessel but as a vehicle for the exposition of inner feelings.
In the absence of any external means of distinguishing those who respect
the law from those who transgress it, the holy relic functions as a sort of
moral divining rod:
222 Chapter Six
Ainsi ha Joseph perceii
Les pecheeurs et conneii
Ce fu par le demoustrement
De Dieu, le roi omnipotent.
Par ce fu li veissiaus amez
Et premierement esprouvez.
68
In this way Joseph knew and recognized the sinners; this happened
through the revelation of God the Almighty. Thus was the vessel loved
and first tested.
If "none are excluded" from the Arthurian Table, it is because, as Robert
claims, that exclusion has already occurred-"Cil dient: 'Par ce veissel ci I
Summes nous de vous departi' "-and because the prime function of the
Grail is, as the author(s) of the Estoire Merlin concurs, that separation:
"Par eel vaissel departi compaignie des boins des maluais."
69
r The Arthurian community of the elect, like the modern state, is orga-
nized around the principle of accountability-of the recountability of the
"feelings" which the Grail initially elicits and which the Round Table
endows with coherence. Joseph's Grail Table inaugurates the rule by
which inner states of worth become apparent; the Round Table serves, in
turn, to establish the regular mechanism by which the individual be-
comes periodically accountable to the center of power and of writing at
i Camelot.
....
Already in the romances of Chretien we find a steady cycle of departure
from court, quest, and return accompanied by the telling of adventures
while away. In the thirteenth-century prose renderings such accounts
receive prescriptive formulation and are transformed into a normative
system of accountability. The Lancelot Prose Cycle is filled with the
transcription by Arthur's clerks of the adventures of the knights who, as
the guardians of social order, regularly convert their victories over a
chaotic Other World beyond the law (and court) into the tale that we
supposedly read, for example, "Et quant il orent mangie. si fist li rays
uenir auant ses clers si mist on en escrit les auentures si com lancelot les
conta. Et par che lez sauons nous encore."
70
In the Estoire Merlin we are
told that Arthur "will not sit down to dinner, no matter where he is, until
he has heard some tale of adventure"; and he appoints four scribes "to
put into writing all that happens to those within."
71
It is, however, in the
Huth text that Merlin exposes to Arthur-precisely at the moment of the
bestowal of the Round Table-the means by which every knight becomes
responsible for himself to an increasingly efficient machine of state:
" . . . il convient, che ses tu bien connoistre les bons des mauvais et
hounerer chascun selont chou qu'il est, pour chou te loc jou que si tost que
chevaliers se metera en queste des armes que on li fache jurer si tost
coume il s'en partira de court qu'il dira voir au revenir de toutes les choses
i
~
'
I
Grail Family and Round Table 223
qui li seront avenues et qu'il avra trouve en sa queste, ou soit s'ounour ou
soit sa honte. Et par chou porra on connoistre le proueche de chascun; car
je sai bien qu'il ne se parjurront en nulle maniere." "En non Dieu," fais li
rois, "Merlins, vous m'aves bien ensegniet. Et je vous creant que ceste
coustume sera tenue en mon ostel tant coume je vivrai." [Huth, 2:98]
" ... it is fitting, as you know, to discern the good from the bad and to
honor each accordingly; for this I tell you that whenever a knight sets out
on a quest of arms, you should have him swear before he leaves that he
'":ill tell the truth wh_en he o ~ e s back about everything that happens to
him and all that he fmds on his quest, whether it be to his honor or
shame. And in this way, you'll know the prowess of each one, for I know
that they will not perjure themselves." "By the name of God," said the
king, "Merlin, you have advised me well, and I promise you that this cus-
tom will be honored in my house for as long as I live."
The Round Table takes on, then, the function of the Grail-to separate the
good from the bad ("il convient ... connoistre les bans des mauvais"). It
is the vehicle by which a hidden truth, the truth concerning that which
occurs outside of the direct purview of the court, becomes regularly and
infallibly exposed: "il dira voir au revenir ... ; car je sai bien qu'il ne se
parjurront en nulle maniere."
For the feudal oath of unswerving loyalty between vassal and lord-a
promise of mutual aid and protection-the Arthurian state substitutes
the knight's oath "to tell the truth concerning all that he has found in the
course of his quest," that is to say, concerning the private deeds of a
private self which is, in the telling, both integrated to and governed more
fully by the group. And if all who sit at the Round Table are equal and
none are excluded, it is because all have become equally liable to recount a
truth that makes them equally accountable to the Arthurian law of
accounts.
I have maintained elsewhere that Merlin's power as detailed in the
apparatus of governance that he prescribes to Arthur is part of a broader
contemporaneous shift of legal institutions.
72
More precisely, the Arthu-
rian quest for adventure, which is always a quest to bring those outside of
the law under its pale, exists only insofar as it can be transformed into a
periodic narration. And not just any narration. For this sworn deposition
of the "truth" of each knight's quest closely resembles the increasingly
important thirteenth-century procedure of judicial inquest which stands
as the organizational principle of a state of self-governing subjects (and
eventually citizens) as opposed to a state consisting primarily of indepen-
dently contracted feudal rights.
The traditionally positivist thrust of medieval studies has tended to
consider any expression of an inner self, like that prescribed by Merlin,
within the context of a general legitimation-even "liberation" -of the
individual evident across a broad cultural spectrum: in the revival of
222 Chapter Six
Ainsi ha Joseph perceii
Les pecheeurs et conneii
Ce fu par le demoustrement
De Dieu, le roi omnipotent.
Par ce fu li veissiaus amez
Et premierement esprouvez.
68
In this way Joseph knew and recognized the sinners; this happened
through the revelation of God the Almighty. Thus was the vessel loved
and first tested.
If "none are excluded" from the Arthurian Table, it is because, as Robert
claims, that exclusion has already occurred-"Cil dient: 'Par ce veissel ci I
Summes nous de vous departi' "-and because the prime function of the
Grail is, as the author(s) of the Estoire Merlin concurs, that separation:
"Par eel vaissel departi compaignie des boins des maluais."
69
r The Arthurian community of the elect, like the modern state, is orga-
nized around the principle of accountability-of the recountability of the
"feelings" which the Grail initially elicits and which the Round Table
endows with coherence. Joseph's Grail Table inaugurates the rule by
which inner states of worth become apparent; the Round Table serves, in
turn, to establish the regular mechanism by which the individual be-
comes periodically accountable to the center of power and of writing at
i Camelot.
....
Already in the romances of Chretien we find a steady cycle of departure
from court, quest, and return accompanied by the telling of adventures
while away. In the thirteenth-century prose renderings such accounts
receive prescriptive formulation and are transformed into a normative
system of accountability. The Lancelot Prose Cycle is filled with the
transcription by Arthur's clerks of the adventures of the knights who, as
the guardians of social order, regularly convert their victories over a
chaotic Other World beyond the law (and court) into the tale that we
supposedly read, for example, "Et quant il orent mangie. si fist li rays
uenir auant ses clers si mist on en escrit les auentures si com lancelot les
conta. Et par che lez sauons nous encore."
70
In the Estoire Merlin we are
told that Arthur "will not sit down to dinner, no matter where he is, until
he has heard some tale of adventure"; and he appoints four scribes "to
put into writing all that happens to those within."
71
It is, however, in the
Huth text that Merlin exposes to Arthur-precisely at the moment of the
bestowal of the Round Table-the means by which every knight becomes
responsible for himself to an increasingly efficient machine of state:
" . . . il convient, che ses tu bien connoistre les bons des mauvais et
hounerer chascun selont chou qu'il est, pour chou te loc jou que si tost que
chevaliers se metera en queste des armes que on li fache jurer si tost
coume il s'en partira de court qu'il dira voir au revenir de toutes les choses
i
~
'
I
Grail Family and Round Table 223
qui li seront avenues et qu'il avra trouve en sa queste, ou soit s'ounour ou
soit sa honte. Et par chou porra on connoistre le proueche de chascun; car
je sai bien qu'il ne se parjurront en nulle maniere." "En non Dieu," fais li
rois, "Merlins, vous m'aves bien ensegniet. Et je vous creant que ceste
coustume sera tenue en mon ostel tant coume je vivrai." [Huth, 2:98]
" ... it is fitting, as you know, to discern the good from the bad and to
honor each accordingly; for this I tell you that whenever a knight sets out
on a quest of arms, you should have him swear before he leaves that he
'":ill tell the truth wh_en he o ~ e s back about everything that happens to
him and all that he fmds on his quest, whether it be to his honor or
shame. And in this way, you'll know the prowess of each one, for I know
that they will not perjure themselves." "By the name of God," said the
king, "Merlin, you have advised me well, and I promise you that this cus-
tom will be honored in my house for as long as I live."
The Round Table takes on, then, the function of the Grail-to separate the
good from the bad ("il convient ... connoistre les bans des mauvais"). It
is the vehicle by which a hidden truth, the truth concerning that which
occurs outside of the direct purview of the court, becomes regularly and
infallibly exposed: "il dira voir au revenir ... ; car je sai bien qu'il ne se
parjurront en nulle maniere."
For the feudal oath of unswerving loyalty between vassal and lord-a
promise of mutual aid and protection-the Arthurian state substitutes
the knight's oath "to tell the truth concerning all that he has found in the
course of his quest," that is to say, concerning the private deeds of a
private self which is, in the telling, both integrated to and governed more
fully by the group. And if all who sit at the Round Table are equal and
none are excluded, it is because all have become equally liable to recount a
truth that makes them equally accountable to the Arthurian law of
accounts.
I have maintained elsewhere that Merlin's power as detailed in the
apparatus of governance that he prescribes to Arthur is part of a broader
contemporaneous shift of legal institutions.
72
More precisely, the Arthu-
rian quest for adventure, which is always a quest to bring those outside of
the law under its pale, exists only insofar as it can be transformed into a
periodic narration. And not just any narration. For this sworn deposition
of the "truth" of each knight's quest closely resembles the increasingly
important thirteenth-century procedure of judicial inquest which stands
as the organizational principle of a state of self-governing subjects (and
eventually citizens) as opposed to a state consisting primarily of indepen-
dently contracted feudal rights.
The traditionally positivist thrust of medieval studies has tended to
consider any expression of an inner self, like that prescribed by Merlin,
within the context of a general legitimation-even "liberation" -of the
individual evident across a broad cultural spectrum: in the revival of
224 Chapter Six
Classical studies; renewed interest in autobiography and letter writing;
the personalization of portraiture and scupture; altered notions of inten-
tion, sin, and penance; the popularity of mystical religious experience;
the appearance of the singular heroes of the late epic as well as satirical
n
nd courtly forms.
73
What is perhaps less obvious is that this "discovery of
he individual," which was an important part of the "renaissance" of the
twelfth century, also suited the ideological as well as the long-range
/ political interests both of a nascent urban class and of monarchy.
74

Monarchic policy during the period under consideration was directed
toward the weakening of the power of the feudal clan-the power of
lineage-through the destruction of its legal autonomy. Chief among its
tactics (conscious or not) was the substitution of direct ties of allegiance
between each inhabitant of the royal domain and royalty itself for the
intermediate ties binding lord to vassal, or fathers to sons. Beginning in
the twelfth century, the individual assumed a distinct economic and legal
personality by which he became less and less responsible to family or
clan, which was, in turn, less liable to and for him. Where the warrior
group was once responsible for defending the rights of each of its mem-
bers, avenging their deaths, making sure they were not involved in faulty
causes, and paying reparation when they were, the individual grew
evermore accountable to the state only for himself. The fragmentation of
legal responsibility, its focus upon the individual as opposed to his kin
group, thus served (intentionally?) to undercut the power of noble fami-
lies by encouraging loyalty to a more global central authority.
Some of the ecclesiastical signs of this tendency can be seen in the
regularization of penitential practice: emphasis upon intention as the
basis of ethical theory; the doctrine of Contritionism by which external
proof of repentence must become evident in order for penance to be
efficient; and, most of all, a shift away from the once-in-a-lifetime solemn
confession in extremis toward yearly confession to the same confessor.
Here, in fact, is where Merlin the devil, trickster, and enchanter begins to
resemble Merlin the prophet with divine powers; for the technique of
regular deposition that he prescribes for Arthur's knights resembles so
closely the techniques of confession mandated by the Fourth Lateran
Council (1215) that there can be no distinction between the sacred and the
satanic exercise of a common regulatory power. Within the less strictly
canonical sphere, Merlin's advice to those who sit at, venture from,
return to, and eventually account for the Round Table can be seen in the
renewed historical importance of the notion of self-knowledge, which
became one of the dominant themes of the age.
75
In the legal sphere, the most important manifestations of the trend
toward the progressive accountability of the individual to the state in-
Grail Family and Round Table 225
elude the reserved right of intervention in special judicial cases, the right
of appeal to the Parlement de Paris, the individuation of the notion of
criminal responsibility, and, in particular, the suppression of aristocra-
cy's traditional prerogative of settling its differences internally through
recourse to trial by combat and private war. In the place of the violence of
the champ clos and the battlefield, monarchy sought to impose the Frank-
ish and canonical procedure of trial by inquest-an inquiry into the
circumstances of transgression and judgment of individuals instead of
the family as a whole. With the advent of inquest, the dynamic of the
judicial encounter shifted from a conflict between opposing families to a
contest between individual and the broader body politic.
76
But, more
important, it was transformed from a physical match into a more abstract
verbal contest based upon investigation, debate, and, as in the Arthurian
court, the obligation "to tell the truth." The technology of the inquisitory I
state not only substituted a battle of wits for armed conflict but placed at
the center of the judicial process a system of sworn testimony not unlike
Merlin's program for the surveillance of the Round Table Knights. Thus,
the institutions that came to characterize an inquisitional and confes-
sional model of social regulation, and which assumed the existence of
direct ties between self-governing individuals and an ever-widening and
abstract (universal and occulted) political center, stand in direct opposi- J
tion to the traditional hereditary power of lineage.
The place of the literary text in such a process of global social trans-
formation is analogous to Merlin's own invisible and ubiquitous power.
Analogous, first of all, because the rule which the "third table" imposes
functions only so long as it cannot itself be seen. Merlin's transparence,
his absence and withdrawal into "obscure speech," coincide both with
the initiation of the prophetic book and with his role as an active force in
the organization of the Arthurian state: "il m' en convient par force, par
fies, eskiver de la gent."
77
Similarly, the courtly novel works to obscure its
deepest social function, to hide its own effect behind the mythic veil of a
temporally distant fairylike king. The text appears always to operate in
the margins of genuine political power; it pretends to be irrelevant-
frivolous, entertaining, "pleasurable" -precisely when its unrecognized
force becomes most valid.
The work of "romance" and Merlin also resemble each other because of
the omniscience of a shared universal authorial regard. Under the system
of surveillance which the "enchanteor" outlines, nothing escapes the
watchful eye of the inquisitory wizard. Merlin's multiple forms, his
ability to perceive both outer reality and inner intention, and his ubiqui-
tous presence in every corner of the realm correspond to the specter of an
all-powerful, all-seeing authority that, abstracted, becomes inescapable.
224 Chapter Six
Classical studies; renewed interest in autobiography and letter writing;
the personalization of portraiture and scupture; altered notions of inten-
tion, sin, and penance; the popularity of mystical religious experience;
the appearance of the singular heroes of the late epic as well as satirical
n
nd courtly forms.
73
What is perhaps less obvious is that this "discovery of
he individual," which was an important part of the "renaissance" of the
twelfth century, also suited the ideological as well as the long-range
/ political interests both of a nascent urban class and of monarchy.
74

Monarchic policy during the period under consideration was directed
toward the weakening of the power of the feudal clan-the power of
lineage-through the destruction of its legal autonomy. Chief among its
tactics (conscious or not) was the substitution of direct ties of allegiance
between each inhabitant of the royal domain and royalty itself for the
intermediate ties binding lord to vassal, or fathers to sons. Beginning in
the twelfth century, the individual assumed a distinct economic and legal
personality by which he became less and less responsible to family or
clan, which was, in turn, less liable to and for him. Where the warrior
group was once responsible for defending the rights of each of its mem-
bers, avenging their deaths, making sure they were not involved in faulty
causes, and paying reparation when they were, the individual grew
evermore accountable to the state only for himself. The fragmentation of
legal responsibility, its focus upon the individual as opposed to his kin
group, thus served (intentionally?) to undercut the power of noble fami-
lies by encouraging loyalty to a more global central authority.
Some of the ecclesiastical signs of this tendency can be seen in the
regularization of penitential practice: emphasis upon intention as the
basis of ethical theory; the doctrine of Contritionism by which external
proof of repentence must become evident in order for penance to be
efficient; and, most of all, a shift away from the once-in-a-lifetime solemn
confession in extremis toward yearly confession to the same confessor.
Here, in fact, is where Merlin the devil, trickster, and enchanter begins to
resemble Merlin the prophet with divine powers; for the technique of
regular deposition that he prescribes for Arthur's knights resembles so
closely the techniques of confession mandated by the Fourth Lateran
Council (1215) that there can be no distinction between the sacred and the
satanic exercise of a common regulatory power. Within the less strictly
canonical sphere, Merlin's advice to those who sit at, venture from,
return to, and eventually account for the Round Table can be seen in the
renewed historical importance of the notion of self-knowledge, which
became one of the dominant themes of the age.
75
In the legal sphere, the most important manifestations of the trend
toward the progressive accountability of the individual to the state in-
Grail Family and Round Table 225
elude the reserved right of intervention in special judicial cases, the right
of appeal to the Parlement de Paris, the individuation of the notion of
criminal responsibility, and, in particular, the suppression of aristocra-
cy's traditional prerogative of settling its differences internally through
recourse to trial by combat and private war. In the place of the violence of
the champ clos and the battlefield, monarchy sought to impose the Frank-
ish and canonical procedure of trial by inquest-an inquiry into the
circumstances of transgression and judgment of individuals instead of
the family as a whole. With the advent of inquest, the dynamic of the
judicial encounter shifted from a conflict between opposing families to a
contest between individual and the broader body politic.
76
But, more
important, it was transformed from a physical match into a more abstract
verbal contest based upon investigation, debate, and, as in the Arthurian
court, the obligation "to tell the truth." The technology of the inquisitory I
state not only substituted a battle of wits for armed conflict but placed at
the center of the judicial process a system of sworn testimony not unlike
Merlin's program for the surveillance of the Round Table Knights. Thus,
the institutions that came to characterize an inquisitional and confes-
sional model of social regulation, and which assumed the existence of
direct ties between self-governing individuals and an ever-widening and
abstract (universal and occulted) political center, stand in direct opposi- J
tion to the traditional hereditary power of lineage.
The place of the literary text in such a process of global social trans-
formation is analogous to Merlin's own invisible and ubiquitous power.
Analogous, first of all, because the rule which the "third table" imposes
functions only so long as it cannot itself be seen. Merlin's transparence,
his absence and withdrawal into "obscure speech," coincide both with
the initiation of the prophetic book and with his role as an active force in
the organization of the Arthurian state: "il m' en convient par force, par
fies, eskiver de la gent."
77
Similarly, the courtly novel works to obscure its
deepest social function, to hide its own effect behind the mythic veil of a
temporally distant fairylike king. The text appears always to operate in
the margins of genuine political power; it pretends to be irrelevant-
frivolous, entertaining, "pleasurable" -precisely when its unrecognized
force becomes most valid.
The work of "romance" and Merlin also resemble each other because of
the omniscience of a shared universal authorial regard. Under the system
of surveillance which the "enchanteor" outlines, nothing escapes the
watchful eye of the inquisitory wizard. Merlin's multiple forms, his
ability to perceive both outer reality and inner intention, and his ubiqui-
tous presence in every corner of the realm correspond to the specter of an
all-powerful, all-seeing authority that, abstracted, becomes inescapable.
226 Chapter Six
Likewise, the courtly text operates to expose and explore every aspect of
public and private life-to render it, in direct opposition to the interests of
lineage, accessible to an imagined all-encompassing regard of the public
sphere. Here it is worth remembering that the genealogical epic, based!
upon events, deeds, and gesture, also excludes--at least in its earliest
examples--interiority; the chanson de geste contains no language by which
to render public the deeds of a self perceived as inner and personal (see
above, pp. 105-107). The love lyric, on the other hand, and this from the
very beginning, represents a privileged locus for the articulation of the
subject. I have maintained elsewhere that courtliness is in many ways J
synonymous with a of reality-the conversion of
a set of reciprocal social relations;senSed as external and objective, into
moral qualities, for example, the terms salaire, saisine, guerredon, heritage,
droit, tort, honor, foi, servise, homage, largesce, pretz, valor, joven, courtois,
etc.
78
What I am suggesting at present is that, among the distinct courtly
forms, th_t love lyric an authorized
mode.lan<f the _ot. its srea-
tion. As a kind of map of that which is perceived to be internal and
subjective, the loci of the mind designated by the canso are the very ones
outlined earlier in terms of a rhetoric of contradiction: joy, pain, consola-
tion, anguish, hope, despair, timidity, courage, reason, folly, and, in
particular, sexual desire (see above, pp. 119-125).
79
More important, the
lyric does not merely uncover hypostatized inner states assumed to have
always existed but is directly productive-inventive-of them in accord-
ance with an investment of the "courtly" individual with a moral respon-
sibility for the governance of himself in relation to the increasingly "in-
ner-oriented" inquisitory/confessional monarchic state.
If the lyric charts the terrain of what is conceived to be a hidden self, the
romance serves as a virtual guide book, a manual of instruction, for its
integration within the public sphere. The romance hero is precisely he
who, having lived through a series of internal crises, either achieves--like
Erec, Yvain, Cliges--a balance between personal desire and social neces-
sity, or who-like Tristan-is excluded from society altogether. The ma=t
jor locus of expression of the autonomy of the chivalric hero is, of course,
the inner monologue which we have already associated with the presence
of a lyric disruption within the romance narrative (see above, pp. 186-
191). But the inner monologue, which is often accompanied by a prise de
conscience of a social imperative, is more than just the expression of interior-
ity. It is symptomatic of an investment of the individual with the necessity
of choice in the governance of himself, again in consonance with an
inferred pattern of social organization that not only conflicts with the
clannish interests of feudal nobility but that is thoroughly consistent with
the political strategy of monarchy-that is to say, with the creation of a
i
I
.
'
Grail Family and Round Table 227
nation of self-governing citizens responsible for themselves as opposed
to a loosely linked federation of lineages accountable only to each other . ._J
Both the courtly lyric and the romance can be said to constitute a forum in
which the traditional power of genealogy found itself transformed in
what was the first in a series of stages in the naturalization of the idea of
the self and of the development of the early modern state. It is in this
sense that Old French literature can be said to occupy a truly anthropolog-
ical space within the culture of the High Middle Ages. Medieval :p_Qftry
served to found a vision of man that will for centuries to come inform his
As the hermit
says to Bonort m relation to confession, but which might just as easily be
applied to the text itself, "by that door ... it is necessary to embark upon
that Quest and to change the being of each one .... "
226 Chapter Six
Likewise, the courtly text operates to expose and explore every aspect of
public and private life-to render it, in direct opposition to the interests of
lineage, accessible to an imagined all-encompassing regard of the public
sphere. Here it is worth remembering that the genealogical epic, based!
upon events, deeds, and gesture, also excludes--at least in its earliest
examples--interiority; the chanson de geste contains no language by which
to render public the deeds of a self perceived as inner and personal (see
above, pp. 105-107). The love lyric, on the other hand, and this from the
very beginning, represents a privileged locus for the articulation of the
subject. I have maintained elsewhere that courtliness is in many ways J
synonymous with a of reality-the conversion of
a set of reciprocal social relations;senSed as external and objective, into
moral qualities, for example, the terms salaire, saisine, guerredon, heritage,
droit, tort, honor, foi, servise, homage, largesce, pretz, valor, joven, courtois,
etc.
78
What I am suggesting at present is that, among the distinct courtly
forms, th_t love lyric an authorized
mode.lan<f the _ot. its srea-
tion. As a kind of map of that which is perceived to be internal and
subjective, the loci of the mind designated by the canso are the very ones
outlined earlier in terms of a rhetoric of contradiction: joy, pain, consola-
tion, anguish, hope, despair, timidity, courage, reason, folly, and, in
particular, sexual desire (see above, pp. 119-125).
79
More important, the
lyric does not merely uncover hypostatized inner states assumed to have
always existed but is directly productive-inventive-of them in accord-
ance with an investment of the "courtly" individual with a moral respon-
sibility for the governance of himself in relation to the increasingly "in-
ner-oriented" inquisitory/confessional monarchic state.
If the lyric charts the terrain of what is conceived to be a hidden self, the
romance serves as a virtual guide book, a manual of instruction, for its
integration within the public sphere. The romance hero is precisely he
who, having lived through a series of internal crises, either achieves--like
Erec, Yvain, Cliges--a balance between personal desire and social neces-
sity, or who-like Tristan-is excluded from society altogether. The ma=t
jor locus of expression of the autonomy of the chivalric hero is, of course,
the inner monologue which we have already associated with the presence
of a lyric disruption within the romance narrative (see above, pp. 186-
191). But the inner monologue, which is often accompanied by a prise de
conscience of a social imperative, is more than just the expression of interior-
ity. It is symptomatic of an investment of the individual with the necessity
of choice in the governance of himself, again in consonance with an
inferred pattern of social organization that not only conflicts with the
clannish interests of feudal nobility but that is thoroughly consistent with
the political strategy of monarchy-that is to say, with the creation of a
i
I
.
'
Grail Family and Round Table 227
nation of self-governing citizens responsible for themselves as opposed
to a loosely linked federation of lineages accountable only to each other . ._J
Both the courtly lyric and the romance can be said to constitute a forum in
which the traditional power of genealogy found itself transformed in
what was the first in a series of stages in the naturalization of the idea of
the self and of the development of the early modern state. It is in this
sense that Old French literature can be said to occupy a truly anthropolog-
ical space within the culture of the High Middle Ages. Medieval :p_Qftry
served to found a vision of man that will for centuries to come inform his
As the hermit
says to Bonort m relation to confession, but which might just as easily be
applied to the text itself, "by that door ... it is necessary to embark upon
that Quest and to change the being of each one .... "
Appendix A
I
I am perplexed and confused about a love which binds me and con-
fines me so that there is no place I can go where it does not hold me
in its reins. For now love has given me the heart and the desire to
court, if I might, such a one that courting her, even if the king him-
self were her suitor, would be an act of great daring.
II
Alas, wretch, what shall I do; and what counsel shall I take for my-
self, since she does not know the pain I bear, and I dare not cry out
for mercy. Ignorant fool, you have little sense, if you have not hanged
yourself before now, for she will never love you in name or fact.
III
And so, since I shall die anyway, shall I tell her of the suffering I
undergo? Yes, I shall tell her at once. No, I shall not do it, by my
229
230 Appendix A
faith, even if I knew all Spain would forthwith be mine for the telling.
Indeed, I could die of chagrin for having allowed such a thought to
cross my mind.
IV
She will never learn from me what is wrong, nor will another tell
her anything about it. I want no friend, cousin or kinsman in this
affair. May whoever helps me be forever damned. It would seem a
very honorable act for love to kill me for my lady's sake, but for her
to do it would not be seemly.
v
And since she does not know what wrong she does me, why does
it happen? God, she should realize now that I am dying for her love,
and why? Because of my foolish behavior and great cowardice which
binds my tongue when I am with her.
VI
No joy matches mine when my lady looks at me or sees me. Then
her fair sweet image enters my heart and sweetens and refreshes me.
And if she stayed with me a long time, I would swear by the saints
that there would be no greater joy in the world. But at parting, I take
fire and burn.
VII
Since I will not send a messenger to her, and since for me to speak
is not fitting, I see no help for myself. But I console myself with one
thing: she knows and understands letters. It pleases me to write the
words, and if it pleases her, let her read them for my deliverance.
VIII
If no other ill may befall her on that account, for God's sake let her
not take away the kindness nor the beautiful words she had for me.
AppendixB
XVIII. Now One Speaks, Tells, and Recounts
Nicolette lamented greatly as you have heard; she commended her-
self to God and walked so far that she came to the forest. She did not
dare penetrate too deeply into it because of the wild beasts and ser-
pents; she hid herself in a thick wood, and sleep overtook her. She
slept until 8 o'clock the next morning when young shepherds came
out of town and sent their animals to pasture between the woods and
the river; they withdrew to one side next to a very beautiful fountain
that was at the entrance to the forest; they spread out a large cape
and put their bread on it. While they ate Nicolette woke to the cries
of birds and the shepherds and fell upon them.
"Dear children, she said, may God be with you.
- And God bless you! said the one who was more articulate than the
others.
- Dear children, she said, do you know Aucassin, the son of Count
Garin of Beaucaire?
231
230 Appendix A
faith, even if I knew all Spain would forthwith be mine for the telling.
Indeed, I could die of chagrin for having allowed such a thought to
cross my mind.
IV
She will never learn from me what is wrong, nor will another tell
her anything about it. I want no friend, cousin or kinsman in this
affair. May whoever helps me be forever damned. It would seem a
very honorable act for love to kill me for my lady's sake, but for her
to do it would not be seemly.
v
And since she does not know what wrong she does me, why does
it happen? God, she should realize now that I am dying for her love,
and why? Because of my foolish behavior and great cowardice which
binds my tongue when I am with her.
VI
No joy matches mine when my lady looks at me or sees me. Then
her fair sweet image enters my heart and sweetens and refreshes me.
And if she stayed with me a long time, I would swear by the saints
that there would be no greater joy in the world. But at parting, I take
fire and burn.
VII
Since I will not send a messenger to her, and since for me to speak
is not fitting, I see no help for myself. But I console myself with one
thing: she knows and understands letters. It pleases me to write the
words, and if it pleases her, let her read them for my deliverance.
VIII
If no other ill may befall her on that account, for God's sake let her
not take away the kindness nor the beautiful words she had for me.
AppendixB
XVIII. Now One Speaks, Tells, and Recounts
Nicolette lamented greatly as you have heard; she commended her-
self to God and walked so far that she came to the forest. She did not
dare penetrate too deeply into it because of the wild beasts and ser-
pents; she hid herself in a thick wood, and sleep overtook her. She
slept until 8 o'clock the next morning when young shepherds came
out of town and sent their animals to pasture between the woods and
the river; they withdrew to one side next to a very beautiful fountain
that was at the entrance to the forest; they spread out a large cape
and put their bread on it. While they ate Nicolette woke to the cries
of birds and the shepherds and fell upon them.
"Dear children, she said, may God be with you.
- And God bless you! said the one who was more articulate than the
others.
- Dear children, she said, do you know Aucassin, the son of Count
Garin of Beaucaire?
231
232 Appendix B
-Yes, we know him well.
- May God be with you, dear children, she said, tell him that in this
forest there is an animal that he should come hunt; and if he can take it,
he would not sacrifice one of its members for 100 mares of gold, nor for
500, nor for any price."
And they looked at her and saw her to be so beautiful that they were
stunned.
"I tell him that? said the one who was more articulate than the others; a
curse on the one would talk to him of it or tell him! What you say is a lie
because there is not so expensive an animal in this forest-neither stag, nor
lion, nor wild boar--of which one of the limbs is worth more than two de-
niers or three at the most; and you speak of such great sums. A curse on
the one who believes you, or will tell him! You're a fairy, and we do not
care for your kind; be gone now.
- Ha! dear children, she said, you will do it. The animal has a medicine
such that Aucassin will be cured of his sickness; and I have here five sous
in my purse. Take them and tell him; he must go hunting within three
days, and if within three days he does not find it, he will never be cured
of his ill.
- By faith, he said, we will take the deniers, and if he happens along,
we will tell him, but we will never seek him out.
-With God's blessing," she said.
Then she took leave of the young shepherds and withdrew. [Aucassin,
p. 19]
Notes
Introduction
1. The first several pages of this Introduction appeared under the title "Merlin
and the Modes of Medieval Legal Meaning," Colloques de Cerisy, Archeologie du
signe au moyen age, ed. E. Vance and L. Brind-Amour (Toronto: Pontifical Institute,
1982).
2. ["And Merlin went to Blaise in Northumberland and told him everything;
and Blaise put it into writing, and by his book we know it still"] Huth, 1:90.
3. ["And our Lord who is all-powerful gave me the intelligence to understand
partially things to come"] Ibid., 1:94.
4. See Geoffrey of Monmouth, Vita Merlini, ed. J. J. Parry (Urbana: University
of lllinois Press, 1925), p. 62; and Didot-Perceval, ed. W. Roach (Philadelphia:
University of Pennsylvania Press, 1941), p. 278; P. Zumthor, Merlin le prophete: un
theme de la litterature polemique, de l'historiographie et des romans (Lausanne: Payot,
1943), p. 166.
5. Cited Zumthor, Merlin, p. 58.
6. "ne savoient mie que Merlins peust prendre autre forme que la soie ne autre
samblance" (Huth, 1:64); "cest gent qui me cuident connoistre ne sevent riens de
mon estre" (ibid., 1:68).
233
232 Appendix B
-Yes, we know him well.
- May God be with you, dear children, she said, tell him that in this
forest there is an animal that he should come hunt; and if he can take it,
he would not sacrifice one of its members for 100 mares of gold, nor for
500, nor for any price."
And they looked at her and saw her to be so beautiful that they were
stunned.
"I tell him that? said the one who was more articulate than the others; a
curse on the one would talk to him of it or tell him! What you say is a lie
because there is not so expensive an animal in this forest-neither stag, nor
lion, nor wild boar--of which one of the limbs is worth more than two de-
niers or three at the most; and you speak of such great sums. A curse on
the one who believes you, or will tell him! You're a fairy, and we do not
care for your kind; be gone now.
- Ha! dear children, she said, you will do it. The animal has a medicine
such that Aucassin will be cured of his sickness; and I have here five sous
in my purse. Take them and tell him; he must go hunting within three
days, and if within three days he does not find it, he will never be cured
of his ill.
- By faith, he said, we will take the deniers, and if he happens along,
we will tell him, but we will never seek him out.
-With God's blessing," she said.
Then she took leave of the young shepherds and withdrew. [Aucassin,
p. 19]
Notes
Introduction
1. The first several pages of this Introduction appeared under the title "Merlin
and the Modes of Medieval Legal Meaning," Colloques de Cerisy, Archeologie du
signe au moyen age, ed. E. Vance and L. Brind-Amour (Toronto: Pontifical Institute,
1982).
2. ["And Merlin went to Blaise in Northumberland and told him everything;
and Blaise put it into writing, and by his book we know it still"] Huth, 1:90.
3. ["And our Lord who is all-powerful gave me the intelligence to understand
partially things to come"] Ibid., 1:94.
4. See Geoffrey of Monmouth, Vita Merlini, ed. J. J. Parry (Urbana: University
of lllinois Press, 1925), p. 62; and Didot-Perceval, ed. W. Roach (Philadelphia:
University of Pennsylvania Press, 1941), p. 278; P. Zumthor, Merlin le prophete: un
theme de la litterature polemique, de l'historiographie et des romans (Lausanne: Payot,
1943), p. 166.
5. Cited Zumthor, Merlin, p. 58.
6. "ne savoient mie que Merlins peust prendre autre forme que la soie ne autre
samblance" (Huth, 1:64); "cest gent qui me cuident connoistre ne sevent riens de
mon estre" (ibid., 1:68).
233