Beasts of Love: Richard de Fournival's Bestiaire d'amour and the Response 9781442671195

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
CHAPTER ONE. Love and Reason
CHAPTER TWO. Love and the Senses
CHAPTER THREE. Remedies for Love
CHAPTER FOUR. Love for Women
CHAPTER FIVE. The Woman's Response
CHAPTER SIX. Later Developments
APPENDIX 1. 'De quoi li home est fais, et de sa nature'
APPENDIX 2. Prologue to the Response
Notes
Bibliography
General Index
Index of Animals

Citation preview

BEASTS OF LOVE Richard de Fournival's Bestiaire d'amour and a Woman's Response

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BEASTS OF LOVE Richard de Four nival's Bestiaire d'amour and a Woman's Response

JEANETTE BEER

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

www.utppublishing.com c

University of Toronto Press Incorporated 2003 Toronto Buffalo London Printed in Canada ISBN 0-8020-3612-0

Printed on acid-free paper

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Beer, Jeanette M.A. Beasts of love : Richard de Fournival's Bestiaire d'amour and a woman's response /Jeanette Beer. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-8020-3612-0 1. Richard de Fournival, fl. 1246-1260. Bestiaire d'amour. 2. Love in literature. 3. Bestiaries. I. Title. PQ1461.F64B43 2003

844'. 1

C2002-903636-4

The photographs of MS Douce 308 are published by permission of the Bodleian Library. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP).

To my husband

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Contents

Acknowledgments ix Introduction

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chapter one Love and Reason

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chapter two Love and the Senses 45 chapter three Remedies for Love chapter four Love for Women

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85

chapter five The Woman's Response chapter six Later Developments

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149

VIII

Contents

Appendix 1: 'De quoi li home est fais, et de sa nature' 171 Appendix 2: Prologue to the Response Notes 177 Bibliography

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General Index 201 Index of Animals 213 Illustrations follow p. 86

175

Acknowledgments

I have received much help and encouragement during the preparation of this book. First to be thanked is the small enthusiastic group of undergraduates who, when I was in the process of launching Fordham University's Medieval Studies Program around 1969, suggested LeBestiaire d'amouras a challenging text for interdisciplinary study. The suggestion was productive, leading to many stimulating discussions at Fordham and beyond. Gratitude is owed also to many anonymous discussants who provided stimulating insights after several lectures and seminars, most notably after the Cornelius Loew Lecture in Medieval Studies, Western Michigan University; the Seminar for Medieval and Renaissance Studies at the University of Western Ontario; a talk to the Oxford University Medieval Graduate Seminar; and a talk to the Princeton University Medieval Studies Program. Special thanks are due to F.R.P. Akehurst for sharing his bibliographical and translative expertise on Provencal with me; to Dr Bruce C. Barker-Benfield in the Department of Special Collections and Western Manuscripts, Bodleian Library, Oxford; to the staff of the Department of Manuscripts at the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York; to Robert S. Freeman, Foreign Languages Bibliographer at Purdue University; and to Deborah Starewich for her technical expertise in the final preparation of the manuscript. Aspects of the book have been explored in my articles in Reinardus 1 (1988) and 4 (1991), Romance Philology 42, 5 (Feb. 1989), Medieval Translators and Their Craft, ed. Jeanette Beer (Kalamazoo, 1989), Beasts and Birds of Middle Ages: The Bestiary and Its Legacy, ed. W. Clark and M. McMunn (Philadelphia, 1989), and the Journal of Romance Studies 3 (1994-5).

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Acknowledgments

My research was aided by a gracious invitation from St Hilda's College, Oxford, to reside there as a Visiting Fellow in the summers of 1994 and 1995, and by my election (1995) to the status of associate of the Senior Common Room at my old college, Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford, in 1995. A Fellowship from Purdue University's Center for Humanistic Studies (1994) greatly advanced the project. And I should like to express my special appreciation to the University Seminars of Columbia University, New York, of which I am an associate. Material drawn from this work was presented to the University Seminar on Medieval Studies, providing a valuable forum for discussion, and also, in 2001, the University Seminars gave me a Leonard Hastings Schoff award for assistance in the preparation of the manuscript for publication. Finally, I should like to thank Suzanne Rancourt, Barbara Porter, and the readers and staff at University of Toronto Press for their valuable help and encouragement. Beasts of Love has been long in the making, but the making has been pleasurable at every step of the journey.

BEASTS OF LOVE

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Introduction

Richard de Fournival, who wrote Le Bestiaire d'amour (The Bestiary of Love) in the middle decade of the thirteenth century, was successively deacon, canon, and chancellor of the Amiens chapter of Notre Dame; also canon of Rouen, chaplain to Cardinal Robert de Sommercote, and licensed surgeon by the authority of two successive popes;1 also bibliophile,2 astronomer/astrologer,3 and author of crystalline and sometimes impenetrable lyrics;4 also translator of several Ovidian love treatises.5 The work is ostensibly addressed to an anonymous bele tres douce amie, requesting her love, but its superficial courtliness masks profound complexities. The tradition of courtly love literature was already richly ironic. And when it was exploited in the form of a love bestiary by a professional churchman - a chancellor of the Amiens chapter of Notre Dame, no less — the ambivalent tradition acquired new ambiguities. These ambiguities would not have been lost upon Richard's public, and it is informative to note the works that he cited: his own poems and the Consaus d'amour, Aristotle's Metaphysics, Ovid's erotic poems and Metamorphoses, various troubadour and trouvere lyrics, the bestiary genre, and historical romance. He also took care to mention the visual effects created by illustrators of romance. 'Car quant on voit painte une estoire, ou de Troies ou d'autre, on voit les fais des preudommes ki cha en ariere furent, ausi com s'il fussent present' (p. 5, lines 3-5; For when one sees the depiction of a history of Troy or of some other place, one sees the deeds of those past heroes as if they were present).6 Visual and verbal effects, 'painture' and 'parole,' were thus underscored as important means to inscribe a didactic message upon the memory.7 Not surprisingly, the complexity of these processes has in modern centuries elicited a variety of responses. Unaware of its rich profundity,

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Beasts of Love

some of the work's early modern readers have been negative. In Paul Meyer's opinion, for example, Le Bestiaire d'amour was 'un badinage litteraire qui nous semble froid et monotone, qui toutefois a etc apprecie, car on possede au moins douze copies' ('Les Bestiaires,' p. 389; a piece of literary banter which in our view is cold and monotonous but which has been appreciated, nevertheless, since at least twelve copies of it are extant). Lauchert characterized Richard's iconoclastic bestiary as 'eine der abgeschmacktesten Ausgeburten einer innerlich verlogenen rein conventionellen Liebespoesie' (Geschichte des Physiologus, p. 187; one of the most fatuous monstrosities of a totally mendacious and quite conventional love poetry). Even its first editor found 'fadeurs' (insipidities) in its 'fleurs de 1'histoire naturelle rassemblees en bouquets a Chloris' (flowers of natural history gathered into bouquets for Chloris).8 The work was more fortunate in its recent editor, Cesare Segre, whose excellent edition prepared the reader for Richard's complexities thus: Ma risalendo direttamente al prolifico archetipo, il Physiologus, Richart operava, originalmente, un collegamento fra la didattica amorosa e la didattica scientifica, miniera di ispirazioni proprio allora valorizzata. Ed e traccia di questo allacciamento - con la lieve ironia che ad esso presiedette 1'alternanza di momenti austeri e di momenti brillanti nel tono del Bestiaire. (pp. viii-ix) (But going back directly to the prolific archetype, the Physiologus, Richard was setting up, originally, a connection between amorous didacticism and scientific didacticism, a mine of inspiration truly valorized by then. And it is a trace of this interweaving - with the light irony that preceded it - the alternation of austere moments and brilliant moments in the tone of the bestiary.)

Working from Segre's exemplary edition, readers and critics have continued to comment diversely on the work. The variety of their comments is instructive in itself. Fauchet, one of its earliest commentators (c. 1581), chose to emphasize Richard's 'savoir' - 'Ce Fournival fut homme de scavoir' (p. 146; That Fournival was a man of learning). Hult commented on its courtly didacticism and its 'documentary status' (p. 22, n. 9, and p. 71). Huot mentioned its theatricality (p. 3), Biancotto its lyricism (p. 117). For McCulloch, it was a 'different sort of bestiary,' 'light and clever,' and 'totally secular in nature' (pp. 46 and 49). It has also been described as 'un plaidoyer amoureux aux accents courtois'

Introduction

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(Maurice, p. 80; a love plea with courtly accents) and 'a standard love letter dedicated to one privileged lady-reader' (Solterer, 'Letter-Writing,' p. 131). One thing is clear: Le Bestiaire d 'amour has been 'difficult to get a handle on.' The present study is intended to recontextualize Le Bestiaire d'amourand to confront its ambiguities. Not that they will automatically resolve themselves in the process - they were, after all, highly contrived and served a purpose. But to register their possibilities as Richard's contemporaries registered them is worth the candle. Once the work's extensive play upon its main source is fully documented, Richard's love bestiary emerges as one of the most detailed - and damning - statements about courtly love literature that a practitioner of it ever formulated. Borrowing the successful format of the bestiary and riding that great wave of contemporary love literature that was still producing lyrics and romances, Richard made it clear nevertheless that Le Bestiaire d'amour was to transcend generic limitations. By the definition in his introduction it was an 'escrit' (p. 6, line 5 and also line 6; a work) and also a 'contreescrit' (p. 14, line 4; a counter-work) written against his previous writings, with all the ambiguity that the preposition implies: point counterpoint. It was his final work, 'son darrain escrit' (p. 8, line 3), his farewell to arms. Except that it was also a call to arms because Richard alternated love idealism with satire, waxing nostalgic then cocking a snook at all the favourite subjects of his past. His most significant categorization of his new/old work employed a uniquely belligerent metaphor: it was his 'ariereban.' 'Et pour chu ke cis escris est mes arierebans, et ausi ke mes darrains secours ke je puisse mander, si covient ke je i parole plus forment k'en tous les autres' (p. 8, lines 7—9; And because this composition is my ariereban as well as the last hope I can muster, I must speak more forcefully in it than I did in all the others). To emphasize the importance of the unusual ariereban designation, Richard repeated it four times, and even spelled out the metaphor for his public.9 An ariereban is, he explained, a royal proclamation which summons every last retainer of the king for an all-out attack. As a king waging war outside his kingdom takes with him a group of his best men, leaving an even greater part behind to guard his territory, but, seeing that he has not taken enough men for his needs, summons all of those he left behind, and makes his ariereban, 'so / must do,' he said, thus personalizing the royal metaphor. 'Ausi comme uns rois, quant il va guerroier fors de son roialme, il en maine de ses melleurs hommes une partie, et s'en lasse encore gringnor partie a sa terre garder; mais quant il voit qu'il ne se puet soufire a tant de gent com il a mene, si parmande

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Beasts of Love

tous chiax qu'il a laissies et fait son ariereban: ausi me covient il faire' (p. 7, line 8-p. 8, line 1). The resources that 'the king' had found inadequate were his love poems: 'je vous ai maint bel mot que dit que envoie, et il ne m'ont mie tant valut ke mestiers me fust' (p. 8, lines 1-2; I have spoken and sent you many a beautiful word, and they have not served me as much as I needed). His final tactic now to rout the enemy was LeBestiaire d'amour. A farewell to arms, then, or a call to arms? That is the question. Like those ambiguous figures (Wittgenstein's 'duck-rabbit,' for example) which cannot be perceived in more than one way at a time, Le Bestiaire d'amour presents a formidable challenge to the modern reader, who will surely attempt to resolve Richard's contraries, to smooth out his ambivalences, or to impose a consistent theoretical reading upon his ambivalence. Yet without appreciation of Richard's 'double-think,' Le Bestiaire d'amour loses its richness and becomes two-dimensional and flat. The ariereban was a sustained exercise in double-think, a precarious tightrope act in which Richard attempted to bring two contradictory traditions counterbalanced against each other to the finish line. For the idea that love was war and woman a prize whose subjugation required extreme strategies there were important precedents. The earliest contributor to the love = war equation was Ovid, classical master of the medieval maitre. In Ovid's introduction to the Amores (I, 1, 1-4), conventions of the military epic blended parodically with conventions of the love elegy: 'Arma gravi numero violentaque bella parabam / edere, materia conveniente modis. / Par erat inferior versus; risisse Cupido / dicitur atque unum surripuisse pedem' (I was winging up to produce a / Regular epic, with verse-form to match - / Hexameters, naturally. But Cupid [they say] with a snicker / Lopped off one foot from each alternate line; Ovid, Erotic Poems, trans. Green, p. 86). Even more memorable was Ovid's quip in Amores 1, 9: 'Militat omnis amans, et habet sua castra Cupido; / Attica, crede mihi, militat omnis amans' (Every lover is on active service, believe me, / And Cupid has his headquarters in the field; ibid., p. 166). Richard, steeped as only a translator can be in the style of his master, continually used an Ovidian blend of charm and satire, plaintiveness and irony, adoration and cruelty. Ovid is the only author cited by name throughout Le Bestiaire d'amour, and if Richard did not categorically proclaim, 'Ego sum praeceptor Amoris' (Ars amatoria I, 17; I am Love's preceptor), the medieval chancellor nevertheless assumed that same Ovidian stance. He too was love's ironic magisterand love's victim. He too

Introduction

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was the quintessential misogynist. And when he called his 'darrain escrit' (last work) his 'contreescrit' (counter-work), it is impossible not to recall Ovid's Remedia amoris, written against his earlier Amores, and his Tristia and Epistulae ex Ponto, which disavowed their 'three book brothers.'10 It was no coincidence that Tristia and Ex Ponto were among the books that Richard had commissioned to be copied for his library,11 or that Ovid was the only author cited by name throughout the whole of Le Bestiaire d'amour. Richard was mimicking Ovid when, as an act of repentance for his past homage to profane love, he presented his ariereban as a recantation which combined the resinging of old songs with their retraction. Besides Ovid, other suggestive precedents enriched the work. Guillaume de Lords had recently (c. 1230) posed as poet-lover in a battle against woman's defences, and Guillaume's Roman de la Rose had ended with the lover standing outside fortifications built by Jealousy to imprison Fair Welcome (lines 3799ff.). Within the recent memory of Richard's public, a learned Abelard had renounced love and had written in documentary mode to his Heloise, reasoning with her about human love's ephemeral nature. Andreas Capellanus, updating Ovid, had in De arte honeste amandi formulated a guide to courtly loving which in its final chapter demoted profane love to a position of unworthiness in comparison with an eminently higher divine love. Aristotle, and various Provencal and French writers of romances and lyrics, were formative also upon Le Bestiaire d 'amour. In the category of lyric poets, it should not be forgotten, was Richard himself. In a work that, by its own admission, was a recantation of past lyricism, self-referentiality was not surprising, and Richard was a poet of some standing. Lyrics attributed to him survive in fourteen manuscripts (L'Oeuvre lyrique, ed. Lepage, p. 22), a respectable if not startling number. And if some modern readers find the lyrics opaque - several contain passages which defy all but the most intrepid explicator12 - in the thirteenth century lyric opaqueness was a virtue, intentionally cultivated in imitation of trobar clus as practised by the most sophisticated of the Occitan troubadours. One must not assume, therefore, that Richard's complaints about the inefficacy of lyricism or his renunciation of that medium in Le Bestiaire d'amour reflected any dissatisfaction with his lyrics per se or even with their reception by the public. Despite his introductory lament about the ineffectiveness of his love poetry, Le Bestiaire d amowrwas resonant with lyricism. It took up, for example, themes from Chanson vii: his youthful arrogance toward love, his excessive boldness with his lady, his repentance, and the bondage of his love-hate relationship with his lady.

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Beasts of Love

Also echoed in LeBestiaire d'amourwas the Consaus d'amour,1^ Richard's didactic treatise in prose addressed to an unnamed woman, his 'Bele tres douce suer' (McLeod, p. 5; Beautiful sweetest sister), who had requested that Richard tell her all about love. There was visible influence in the Consaus from the auctores (Ovid, Cicero, Horace, Vergil, Lucan, Isidore, and, of course, Scripture), as well as an echo of several unnamed moderns (Abelard and Heloi'se, Andreas Capellanus, and Guillaume de Lorris). But the Consaus promoted the priceless worth of love, that 'lofty and noble virtue whose power is inestimable': '[a]mours est bien cose sans pris, car amours est si haute et si noble vertus et tant vaut que nous [sic] le porroit prisier ne dire bien expresseement le pooir de li' (McLeod, p. 7). Only in Le Bestiaire d'amour does Richard expose, with all the unforgiving explicitness of which prose is capable, the love that he had previously hymned and extolled with such enthusiasm. Not to be overlooked in his structuring of Le Bestiaire d'amour is the influence of his professional - i.e., ecclesiastical - environment. The Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 had set in motion a set of changes in the art and practice of preaching, and a new vogue for preaching by exempla was fully established by the 1250s when Le Bestiaire d 'amour was written. Collections of exemplary material suitable for sermons ad status were in use by that decade, and Richard, bridge between Church and laity, could not have been unfamiliar with the success of such materials to render difficult concepts palatable.14 The same council had decreed confession obligatory for all Catholics once a year. Whether one views this as a landmark decision that effected a major shift in the practice and ritual of the medieval Church15 or a formalization of penitential practices used for centuries (possibly with intent to identify heretics), there is no doubt that confession provided an ideal model for Richard's penitentially didactic bestiary. As for his utilization of the medium of prose for the new didactic task, that choice was almost inevitable.16 Prose had for centuries been associated with a host of prestigious and serious contexts,17 and it had credibility through this long association. Prose was therefore the obvious choice now for Richard's didacticism, and it would ultimately bring him more attention for Le Bestiaire d 'amour than for any of his previous works. Thus, summoning up a range of Aristotelian, Ovidian, lyric, and romance allusions in his prose bestiary, Richard made a declaration of love that was intended to double as a declaration of war on love. A new offensive was about to be launched against the glorification of profane love and of women.

Introduction

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The all-important source of his allusions has not yet been mentioned, the bestiary genre. Bestiary material was already centuries old. Its early sources were anonymous: the fund of animal anecdotes which existed in Eastern Mediterranean folk literature, preserved and perpetuated endlessly by oral tradition. Eventually some sources were written down in a more permanent form by such compilers as Bolos of Mendes, Herodotus, Ctesias, Aristotle, Ovid, Plutarch, and Aelian. The most influential compilation for the Middle Ages was the Physiologus ('The Naturalist'),18 which was written in Greek around the second century AD near Alexandria.19 This pseudo-scientific work contained much material that was identical with, and probably taken from, the compilers mentioned above. The facts and anecdotes about plants, animals, and precious stones were then given a didactic application. Each particular property or 'nature' was shown to have allegorical importance as the illustration of a higher truth. The creatures of Creation thus acquired a new significance in the early centuries of the Christian Church. The Greek Physiologus was undoubtedly compiled by a Christian. Many authors have been suggested: Ambrose, Athanasius, Basil, Epiphanius, Jerome, John Chrysostom, and Peter of Alexandria. It was much used by several of the Church Fathers and was, moreover, translated into the various appropriate languages of the Greek Christian Church (Arabic, Armenian, Ethiopian, and Syriac). But the most significant translations were made into Latin, and their popularity was widespread. The first known reference to the Latin Physiologus was in AD 496 when it appeared on the first official Index of the Church of Rome. The Gelasian interdict condemned the Physiologus us apocryphal (St Ambrose having been cited as its alleged author) and heretical (for its Gnostic tendencies): 'Liber Physiologus, qui ab haereticis conscriptus est, et bead Ambrosii nomine praesignatus, apocryphus.'20 Latin versions of the Physiologus multiplied nevertheless, differing from one another as a result of many variables: dissimilar Greek originals, accretions of new or old materials, reordering, excision, and metrical rehandling. The oldest versions were classified by M.R.James (TheBestiary) and later, in more detail, by Florence McCulloch (Medieval Latin and French Bestiaries). One of the early versions deserves specific mention here because of its relevance to Richard. It is the eleventh-century Dicta Chrysostomi?1 so called because of its incipit (Tncipiunt dicta Johannis Crisostomi de naturis bestiarum'). 'The Chrysostom Version' omitted lapidary elements, thereby becoming the first bestiary in the strictest sense of the word. Also it reordered the animal material according to logical categories,

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Beasts of Love

and was influential upon several vernacular versions, most notably that of Pierre de Beauvais. Because of the continuing and widespread interest in the genre, the bestiary eventually moved beyond the Latin-literate; in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries several French translations made it accessible to the wide audience it deserved. The earliest extant bestiary in the French vernacular was that of the Anglo-Norman poet Philippe de Thaun. He wrote it between 1121 and 1135, and dedicated it to Aelis of Louvain, queen of England. Philippe used the word bestiaire for his work, even though its contents ranged over beasts, birds, and stones. This broad use of the term was found also in several other early compilations. Philippe stated his source to be a 'livre de grammaire' (i.e., a Latinbook): 'Philippes de Taun / En franceise raisun / At estrait Bestiaire, / Un livre de grammaire.' Later in the work he identified his source more precisely as the Physiologus. His bestiary contains also some Isidorean material which he probably translated from the Etymologiae. The scientific, theological, and literary contribution of Philippe's work is limited and, as its editor frankly admits, 'la valeur poetique du Bestiaire est minime.'22 Guillaume le Clerc's Bestiaire diving written early in the thirteenth century, also contained Isidorean interpolations. The religious significance of the material was elucidated with particular care, for Guillaume's prologue emphasized that he was providing his animal exempla to benefit the soul ('essamples por le preu a 1'ame'). He did, however, add an occasional political or literary allusion, and his medium of rhyming octosyllabic couplets allowed him slightly more expansiveness and stylistic freedom than had Philippe's hexasyllabic straitjacket. But his primary purpose throughout was the edification of the faithful. Around the same time, Gervaise made a French translation of a Latin version, which he attributed to John Chrysostom: 'Celui qui les bestes descrist / Et qui lor natures escrit / Fu Johanz Boche d'or nommez, / Crisothomus rest apelez.'24 The work was short (1280 octosyllabic couplets) and, like the source it cited, omitted lapidary material from its contents. But it was a vernacular translation of the Physiologus, done by Pierre de Beauvais (called Pierre le Picard by his first editor because the oldest extant manuscript of Pierre's bestiary was in the Picard dialect),25 that became the predominant source bestiary for Le Bestiaire d'amour. Pierre's fascinating bestiary, extant in both a long (about seventy-one chapters) and a short (about thirty-eight chapters) version, is the key that unlocks the full meaning of Le Bestiaire d'amour. Above all the Aristotle, the lyric

Introduction

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poetry, and the Ovid quotations, Pierre's bestiary was the work from which Richard chose to draw the didactic material to educate his lay audience. Neglected today, this particular bestiary provided the animal exempla upon which he played and with which he constantly interacted, even when he was not quoting them verbatim. Pierre's version of Physiologus had the advantage of being a local product from a local churchman: Pierre had been commissioned by his bishop, Philippe Cuer,26 to prepare a translation of the Physiologus for the edification of the faithful, using prose for the important new vulgarization.27 Richard, dedicated to the education of the lay population of Amiens, saw the rich possibilities of this latest28 translation of the best-known work of popular didacticism in medieval Christendom. The familiar exempla had their own appeal, and that appeal could be extended by applying them prescripdvely or proscriptively to love. The result would be a collection of implied lessons which would be infinitely more memorable than Capellanus's thirty-one rules for 'honest loving.' For Richard's bestiary was expressly intended to be memorable. When each of the features of love that he described was symbolized as a familiar animal property, and each was reinforced by a visual representation of the animal in question, the finished product would appeal both to the eye and to the ear through its 'painture' (depiction; lit. painting) and its 'parole' (description; lit. word). In sum, by imprinting the imagery of love upon a menagerie of animal properties, Richard expected to fix it indelibly in the memory of his public. His continual exploitation of the source's ipsissima verba was not simple repetition but an elaborate process of imitation and adaptation, perhaps the most systematic exercise in intertextuality that the thirteenth century had ever attempted. Out of Pierre's Bestiaire Richard selected a wide range of passages that he found suggestive for their relevance to profane love. He then used them in a variety of ways, quoting, paraphrasing, alluding, and reordering to make from them a new sort of allegory. Guillaume de Lorris had personalized the abstractions of a young girl's emotions; Richard personalized animal behaviours. Guillaume had arranged his abstractions within a garden, 'Le Jardin de Deduit' (The Garden of Delight), ruled by Love with his fateful arrows; Richard constructed a zoo of warring behaviours in which Love, a crow, sucked out a man's brain through his eyes. Thus, by inventio the traditional bestiary was created anew without the new product ever impinging upon the ultimate authority of the old. Behind Le Bestiaire d'amour stood Le Bestiaire, the impetus for Richard's erotic analysis as well as its vehicle.

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Beasts of Love

Pierre de Beauvais's nineteenth-century editor, Charles Cahier, did not understand this and had no sympathy for the love bestiary, judging it hostile to its source and calling it 'une sotte imitation du vrai Bestiaire, qui n'a guere de valeur que comme temoin du role joue par le Physiologus au Xllle siecle' (PBS, p. 230; a foolish imitation of the real Bestiary, the true value of which is only to provide evidence of the Physiologus's role in the thirteenth century). Pace Cahier, however, there was nothing foolish about Richard's shrewd exploitation of Pierre's bestiary, nor was Richard parodying Pierre's values. He was, if anything, reinforcing them and extending the popularity of an old didactic genre. The public to which Le Bestiaire d'amourappealed was diverse. Familiarity with the animal properties of the Physiologus stimulated interest both in audiences dedicated to the casuistry of love and in the conservatively devout. Among the former one can envisage the new bestiary serving even as a literary game, with a reader eliciting guesses at the erotic interpretation of the various animal properties before Richard's 'answer' was given. And in a context of profounder didacticism it had equally great possibilities because the new/old symbolism was a guaranteed currency. The pungency of Richard's sardonic complexity added spice without detracting from the original message. The present volume analyses the chancellor's use of quotation as creative affirmation. Pierre provided the spotlight of divine love by which Richard could reveal, dark against light, the bathos of human love as he led across his stage a parodic procession of BEASTS OF LOVE. An anonymous response was appended to four manuscripts of Le Bestiaire d'amour?9 The rubrics read variously: 'C'est li response du bestiaire' (This is the response to the bestiary); 'Ici endroit comence li prologues a la response sour 1'arriereban Maistre Richart de furnival. Ensi come sa dame s'escuse si come vous porres oir ci apries' (Here begins the prologue to the response on the ariereban of Master Richard of Fournival. How his lady excuses herself as you shall hear hereafter); 'Response du bestiaire' (Response to the bestiary); 'Chi cowmence li prologues de la response dou bestiaire qu^la dame fist contre la reqw^ste qug maistres Richars de Fournival fist, sour Nature des biestes' (Here begins the prologue of the response to the bestiary that the lady made against the request that Master Richard of Fournival composed, on the nature of beasts). Thus, two of the four manuscripts made no attribution except by implication and labelled the work merely 'The Response,' and two attributed the response directly to the woman for whom Richard had written his love bestiary.

Introduction

13

In our time, when the redefinition of authority and the rewriting of the literary canon are commonplaces, those rare instances in the Middle Ages when women writers attempted such redefinitions have been all but eclipsed. Occasionally, however, a medieval text will be found to contain material so unusual that it merits analysis by its very rarity, quite apart from its intrinsic merits. The Response is one such work. It opens with a rebuke. The author gives no indication that she recognizes a classical source for Richard's initial sententia. Instead her first sentence undermines the raison d'etre of Le Bestiaire d'amourand substitutes a new set of priorities, displacing 'li anchien' and the great auctor Aristotle himself in favour of the edification and nurturing of the 'non sachans' (the unlearned). Richard-cferc, the woman frankly says, should have known better, and she attempts to correct his dangerous bestiary. Stating that she herself is a 'non-sachans' in comparison with Richard, she claims as a woman to know something he does not. Vaguely citing 'certain authorities,' she then provides a startlingly heterodox narrative of Eve's creation and Adam's responsibility for original sin. Her attitude thereafter as she sifts out what will best serve her purpose is one of polite obeisance, but her manipulation of Richard's exempla to her own advantage belies the stance of humility. As she reinterprets Richard's animal symbolism, rewords his descriptions, and draws conclusions from her selective retellings, she undermines the very structure of Le Bestiaire d 'amour as she caiques upon it. The present volume, Beasts of Love, bases its analysis seriatim upon the same sequence of exempla. Chapter 1 is entitled 'Love and Reason.' Reason was the faculty that set man, fashioned 'ad imaginem Dei,' above the other animals. But man's delight in knowledge makes him vulnerable. Richard moves from an introductory eulogy of reason to a rupture with it. Chosen exempla serve to parody the posturings of love. Chapter 2, 'Love and the Senses,' examines what supplanted reason in the first place, man's vulnerability to the senses. Richard quotes extensively from one of Pierre's scientific chapters, personalizing the borrowings when he recounts to his lady the degree to which he himself has been subject to the senses' power. Where parody dominated his initial imagery, guilt now emerges. Richard tentatively proposes an egalitarian distribution of that guilt between the woman and himself. But with the exemplum of the siren, a legacy of patristic attitudes quickly undermines his generosity and makes it impossible to conclude anything else than 'IT WAS THE WOMAN.'

Richard claims that he has been lured to his death by love, and

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debates the question as a quaestio 'Can there be remedies for love?' The subject may appear to be a re-presentation of Ovid's Remedia amoris, but the material is far from Ovidian. In chapter 3, 'Remedies for Love,' animal symbols for foresight, healing, and regeneration are seen to be wishful thinking; they offer no real help or inspiration. The only possible cure for love is love itself, yet love is both the remedy and the malady. Chapter 4, 'Love for Women,' is titled ambiguously to reflect the double-think of Richard's advice. He presents apparently objective recommendations to ensure that his lady experience real love. But like the auctor whom he mimics - Ovid had dedicated the third book of the Ars amatoria to 'Penthesilea and the girls' and had delivered a carpe diem message which masqueraded as altruism - Richard remains obsessed with his own love behaviour. His temporary switch to a devoted concern for hers is illusory. Unconvincingly he combines a plea for love with clerical warnings: may his 'amie' not demonstrate the traits of the siren daughters of Eve! His love imagery is savagely ambivalent and destructive. Serpents, wivres, hydras, and dragons succeed one another in a sado-masochistic sequence. Love is death, and Le Bestiaire d'amourends with a cry for mercy. Chapter 5, 'The Woman's Response,' analyses the Response and the manner in which a mysterious Anonyma counters Richard's maleoriented interpretations of Pierre's exempla, animal by animal. The spearhead of her counter-attack is her unique version of Genesis's Creation story from which woman emerges as the nobler creation. Her perception of love as threat is as strong as Richard's, although different in kind. After constant admonitions to herself and to all women about the need to be vigilant, she ends her work, as had Richard, with a cry for mercy. Chapter 6 outlines later developments. Separately, Le Bestiaire d'amour and the Response were the inspiration for a wide range of works that exploited various of their possibilities. Together they constitute the first gendered dispute of its kind in the European vernacular, creating a climate for such discourses in the future.

CHAPTER ONE

Love and Reason

Toutes gens desirent par nature a savoir

Richard begins his bestiary of love with the generalization 'All men by nature desire to know' (Aristotle, The Metaphysics I, 1). This universal statement is an unlikely introduction to a declaration of love, transcending as it does any specifics of lover courting lady in favour of an Aristotelian sententia. It must not, however, be dismissed as a truism, for it is Richard's first hint to his public of the paradox that will be dramatized in Le Bestiaire d'amour. Man's desire for knowledge is the distinctive, Godgiven feature that from the beginning establishes his superiority over other animals. However, this same desire for knowledge makes man vulnerable. Eve persuaded Adam to sin by offering him fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, and their actions brought death to mankind. The fact that Richard now introduces a love bestiary dedicated to a woman with a statement of mankind's desire for knowledge ('savoir') is, therefore, highly significant. Le Bestiaire d'amour \s characterized by complexity and ambivalence from its beginning. Woman figured in Richard's theological patrimony as a dangerous object of man's cupiditas, Adam's curse and nemesis whose baleful influence had been potentially undone only when the angel Gabriel's AVE symbolically reversed the name of EVA and hailed a virgin's consecrated womb. Consequently, although the principal subject of Richard's writing is profane love, the homage he offers to womankind is ambivalent. The ambivalence will soon turn to an aggressive didacticism. Lest the importance of his 'savoir'-introduction be lost upon his public, Richard takes care to embellish the knowledge-theme to the fullest. In an elaborate flourish of annominatio, he expatiates: all men by nature

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desire to know ('toutes gens desirent par nature a savoir}; no man can know everything ('nus ne puet tout savoir') although everything may be known ('ja soil che ke cascune cose puist estre seiie}; so it is fitting that every man should know something ('si covient il ke sacuns sache aucune cose') and what one does not know ('et che ke li uns ne set mie') may another know ('ke li autres le sache}; with the result that everything is known 'si ke tout est sen) in such a manner that it is not known by anyone on his own ('en tel maniere qu'il n'est sen de nullui a par lui') but it is known by all together ('ains est sen de tous ensamble'). Those who were our forebears knew what no living man could possible acquire by his own intelligence ('cil ki ont este cha en ariere ont sen tel cose ke nus ki ore endroit vive ne le conquerroit de son sens'), and it would not be known ('ne ne seroit sen) were it not known by the ancients (Yon ne le savoit par les anchiiens') (p. 1, lines 1-9). This rhetorical flourish serves important purposes. The mention of the ancients, however vague, is a certification of authority, incorporating the new bestiary into the seamless web of knowledge woven by ancients and moderns, regardless of individual identities. The quotation from Aristotle was also topical. The University of Paris had just lifted its ban on Aristotle's scientific writings, prescribing all Aristotle's known works to the Faculty of Arts.1 Consequently, the authority of the Stagirite had never been greater. Richard now moves briefly to another Aristotelian theme, memory. In his new Gospel according to Aristotle, God so loves man and wants to provide for his every need that he has given him the unique faculty of memory. 'Diex, ki tant aime 1'omme qu'il le velt porveoir de quant ke mestiers lui est, a donne a homme une vertu de force d'ame ki a non memoire' (p. 4, lines 1-3). He further explains how one can reach the visual and aural pathways to the house of memory ('repairier a le maison de memoire,' p. 4, line 7) through the faculties of sight and hearing, because memory has these two doors ('ceste memoire [si] a .ij. portes, veir et oi'r,' p. 4, lines 3-4). The gates to these two pathways are 'painture' (picture) and 'parole' (word), both of which will serve his didactic purpose in LeBestiaire d'amour. The first, 'painture,' includes not only the illustrations that will combine with the text of his bestiary to make it memorable, but also the visual pictures produced by the imagination in response to the word. Using as his example a type of literature that is well loved by his public, romance, he mentions both the illustrations and the mental images resulting from the words. 'Car quant on voit painte une estoire, ou de Troies ou d'autre, on voit les fais des preudommes ki cha

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en ariere furent, ausi com s'il fussent present' (p. 5, lines 3-5; For when one sees the depiction of a story about Troy or some other place, one sees the deeds of those past heroes as if they were present). The same thing happens with words. 'Car quant on ot .i. romans lire, on entent les aventures, ausi com on les vei'st en present' (p. 5, lines 6-7; For when one hears a romance read out loud, one hears the adventures as if one saw them in the present). And now Richard-classicist-and-admirer-of-Aristotle abruptly personalizes the Aristotelian explanations and transforms himself into Richardlover. Intellectually 'dead' through love, he says he cannot escape from the memory of his lady, and therefore wishes to utilize memory's two pathways of access to engrave himself on her memory byword ('parole') and image ('painture'): 'et jou, de qui memoire vous ne poes partir ... valroie ades manoir en la vostre memorie, s'il pooit estre ... pour che ke, quant je ne serai presens, ke cis escris par sa painture et par sa parole me rende a vostre memoire comme present (p. 5, line 11-p. 6, line 8; And I, from whose memory you cannot depart... would like to remain forever in your memory, if that were possible ... so that when I am not in your presence this composition will by its picture and its word restore me to your present remembrance). The explanation, woven into the beginning of his love narrative to a lady in whose memory he wants to live forever, is strategically placed to legitimize Richard's use of the bestiary format for a love treatise. But despite the ostensibly personal dedication to his bele tres douce amie, Richard's love bestiary is intended for a much wider public, namely those who enjoy romance. The wish that his bestiary's interplay of word and image will keep him in his lady's memory is a pretty compliment, but it is superficial. The seriousness of his commitment to her (as opposed to his enthusiasm for his audio-visual project) can be gauged by the fact that after his wish for eternal love from her, he immediately banishes her to the margins, declaring dismissively that, regardless of her reactions to what he has written, the work is anyway memorable. His new bestiary is something in which the eye is bound to delight, the ear bound to hear, and the memory to remember. 'Car ja ne m'amissies vous, si sont che coses la ou iels se doit molt deliter a veoir et orelle a oi'r et memoire a remenbrer' (p. 8, lines 5-6; For even if you never loved me, these are things which the eye must take much delight in seeing, the ear in hearing, and the memory in remembering). The ambiguous verb 'amissies'2 is a harbinger of many ambiguities to follow, and the early marginalization of the lady, however temporary, is an indication of the

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indignities that are to come. For the moment, however, Richard has established the intrinsic worth of Le Bestiaire d'amour, if not his lady. The first animal images by which he chooses to inscribe himself upon his lady's remembrance are cautionary and self-parodic. What began with a few lines of philosophical theorizing has turned to human caricature. Richard-lover represents himself as the cock crowing loudly at midnight, the wild ass braying in the last extremes of hunger, the wolf who becomes petrified when surprised by man (i.e., here, woman!), the cricket who sings its summer away in futility, and the swan whose best song is its last. Superficially, each image demonstrates Richard's urgent need for his woman's reciprocation of his love, for her 'mercy,' but in this work, which began so significantly with man's desire for savoir, each image simultaneously presents love as remedy and malady. Love threatens human reason. His first choice of animal exploits the dramatic value of surprise. Richard opens the memorable procession of love beasts with an animal from the farmyard, the cock ('gallus'). The closer it is to twilight or to daybreak, the more frequently the cock sings. The closer it is to midnight, the more forcefully it sings and the more it amplifies its voice. Richard's choice of a cock to introduce his bestiary is bathetic. Conventional bestiaries always gave pride of place to the lion, king of the beasts and symbol of the Lion of Judah. Pierre de Beauvais, Richard's textual source, had done no differently, explaining that because the lion is the king of all the beasts, it is good to hear, understand, and remember its various natures: 'Si parole ci premierement et commence du lion, par coi il est rois de totes les bestes. Si font bon a olr et a entendre et a retenir les natures de li' (PB2, p. 106). Breaking with tradition, then, by his cockcrow at midnight, Richard differentiates his Bestiaire d'amour from all previous bestiaries. Pierre be Beauvais may have sparked the idea. Le Bestiaire contains an unobtrusive mention in its opening section on LEO of the fact that, although the lion is king of all other beasts and all fear it, nevertheless the lion fears the white cock ('Et jasoit ce que li lions est rois de tous autres bestes, et que tous le criement, ne quedent si crient il le blanc coc' [PB2, p. 110]). Here possibly is the reason that Richard, having first designated the ariereban as a king's enterprise, arranges a gallic usurpation, putting the king of beasts to flight by a crowing bird that figures almost nowhere.3 With the real king displaced, Richard-lover now heads up a carnival of the animals, a Feast of Fools in which he will play 'The King.' The ridiculousness of his situation will be highlighted at each step along the via amorosa

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by citations from Pierre's bestiary, which will force a constant contrast between the derivative bestiary and its source. A wealth of other associations enrich the cock to make it an appropriate herald of Richard's symbolic procession. The cock had an infallible ability to distinguish the hours between dawn and midnight. This was interpreted throughout the Middle Ages as a sign of its great intelligence. What better symbol for Richard, the brilliant scholar who was so brilliantly self-aware of his scholarship? Also, the cock was a traditional symbol for the priesthood. Isidore of Seville had explained 'gallus' as a derivative of 'castratio': 'Gallus a castratione vocatus' (Etymologiae XII, vii, 50; It is called 'gallus' after 'castratio'). And although Isidore's 'castrati' in the Etymologies were priests of Cybele, thirteenth-century clergie was rich in castration satire. Richard was even a practitioner of such satire himself if, as is possible, he was the author of De Vetula, in which a detested priestly contemporary was derided.4 Lingering in Richard's priest = cock equation also is the cautionary fate of Abelard-lover. What more persuasive disincentive against profane love than Abelardus castratus! The cock, legendary protector against the dreaded basilisk, king of the serpents, had further Christian associations. Its crowing had served as an accompaniment to Peter's betrayal of Jesus and his subsequent repentance. Cockcrow was therefore interpreted as a warning voice, and the cock itself was symbolic of Christ/the Church Fathers rousing sinners from the sleep of death. Further, Richard's contemporaries, whether Latin-literate or not, would know the cock by its Latin name, and 'gallus' signified both 'cock' and 'French.' All this facilitated a marvellously rich joke as Richard, classical scholar and clerc in the Roman Church, chose vernacular French to put across his/the Church's views about love. His 'Galli cantus' is the song of a Frenchman/French chant/French song/priest's chant/priest's song not to mention a French priest's chanting/singing of another French priest's chant/song (since Richard was recycling his fellow priest's Picard translation of the Physiologus). The ludic aspects of a respected cancellarius posing as a rooster to ask his lady for, and teach his lady about, love contributed gloriously to his didactic message. Returning to the surface meaning, a courtly declaration of love, the rooster's midnight crowing was of course an erotically correct activity for a pathetic suitor who, after a lifetime of unrequited love, was now near despair. His poetic dawn song had once been more frequent, he says, but now he can only 'do it louder' ('plus effordement,' p. 9, line 2; 'plus forment,' p. 9, lines 10-11). Persistently, therefore, he continues to 'rea-

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Beasts of Love

son' patiently with his unreasonable lady, abandoning his past lyricism to/about her in order to 'crow' loudly to her in didactic prose. The stage is set and the preliminary 'oyez' is over. Richard is now ready to proceed with his carnival of the animals. The description of the next player is borrowed almost verbatim from Pierre. It is the wild ass ('onager'). Of all the beasts in the world, the wild ass puts the most effort into its braying and has the ugliest, most horrendous voice. Such is its nature that it never brays until it is ravenously hungry and cannot find the wherewithal to satisfy itself. But then it puts such effort into braying that it explodes with the effort. Continuing the theme of voice, Richard exchanges his attention-getting 'crowing' for 'braying,' self-parodically transforming himself from cock to wild ass,5 and using Pierre's description of its ultimate braying word for word. 'Li asnes salvages ... si est la beste del monde qui plus s'esforce de braire, et qui plus a laide vois et orible. Car sa nature est tels que il ne racane onques, fors quant il a tres esragie fain, et que il ne poet trover en nule maniere de coi il se puist saoler. Mais adont met il si grant paine a racaner, que a poi que il ne se deront trestot' (PBS, p. 224). Now Richard, bursting with unrequited love and finding no mercy in his lady, is similarly desperate, and because the desperate man has the loudest voice ('li desessperes a plus fort vois,' p. 10, line 1), he resolves to stop his loud singing and to direct his final efforts toward forceful, penetrating speech: 'me covient il ... ne mie a forment canter, mais a forment et atangnamment dire" (p. 10, lines 8-9; my emphasis). (The invasive adverb 'atangnamment,' suggestive of either mental or physical penetration, reveals the aggressive, even hostile, intent of the ariereban.) It was not the first time diat loud braying had been associated with the priesthood. The best-known example in earlier vernacular literature occurred in Le Roman de Renart, where Bernart the Ass exercised his priestly office in King Lion's court with asinine pomposity. But there were also significant details in Pierre's bestiary that made this animal an appropriate choice for Richard. The ass had the ability to discern the hours, suggesting Richard's unusual arithmetical and numerological powers,6 not to mention his priestly function of observing the 'hours.' The ass also had the ability to recognize the equinox, and Richard presents himself in Le Bestiaire d'amouras being at a turning-point in the seasons of his life. At life's turning-point,7 Richard's progression from youthful lyricism to despair at midnight is accompanied by a sense of threat. The threat is both explicit and implicit. Erotically speaking, Richard faces imminent

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death from love's singing as surely as the ass 'se deront' (bursts) from braying. The linkage of Eros with Thanatos represents the perceived threat to Richard himself. But that is merely the overt message. Love threatens to be fatal to both man and woman as it had brought spiritual and physical death to Adam and Eve through the agency of the Devil, a figure with whom the wild ass had long been associated. Pierre explains: li asnes salvage a la figure al deable.... Et quant li poples qui maint en la nuit de cest monde se tient es oevres Deu, et se retraient des delis del monde; dont brait et crie li asnes salvages, que lors pert il sa pasture. C'est li diables qui crie et brait parce qu'il voit que horn se reconnoist qu'il quida ben avoir pasture en lui. Dont Job dist:/a li asnes salvages ne criera s'il ne desire pasture. En autre liu dist S. Piere del diable: Nostre aversaire nos avirone si comme li lions qui quiert que il devort. (PBS, p. 224) (The wild ass is a figure of the Devil. ... And when the people who live in the darkness of this world start to do God's works and turn away from the pleasures of this world, then the wild ass cries and brays, for it now it is losing its food. That is the Devil crying and braying because he sees that man realizes that he expected to devour him. This is why Job says: 'The wild ass will never cry out if it does not desire food.' Elsewhere St Peter says of the Devil: 'Our enemy surrounds us like a lion seeking whom it may devour.') Regardless of whether the overt or the covert message of the ariereban was uppermost in the public's mind, therefore, the menace of 'onager' was unmistakable. Richard, by urging love upon his lady, was quite literally playing Devil's advocate. Sensitized to the dangers of love, Richard now presents another of its hazards: loss of voice. He finds his illustration in a property of the wolf. If a man sees the wolf before the wolf sees the man, the wolf will lose all its force and courage. But if the wolf sees the man first, the man will lose his voice and be powerless to say a word. With this example, Richard's love narrative goes beyond the particular to make a statement about love in general, 'amour d'omme et de feme' (p. 11, line 5). Just as the wolf becomes transfixed if surprised by man and, conversely, man becomes transfixed if surprised by the wolf, love gives the initiative to whichever partner has certain knowledge of the other's feelings. Hence the importance of knowing who has said 'I love you' first. The man who perceives first that the woman loves him, and knows how to make her aware of it, is

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from that moment dominant because she will have lost the courage to refuse him. Unfortunately, Richard is 'the wolf while (significantly) his woman is 'the man.' He blurted out his love before he could ascertain his lady's state of mind, and at that moment he lost the initiative. Now he is bound to lose his voice: 'puis ke je sui primerains veus ... j'en doi bien perdre le vois' (p. 12, lines 1-2; since I was the first to be seen ... I must lose my voice). That is why, he quips, 'cis escris n'est mie fais en cantant mais en contanC (p. 12, line 3; my emphasis). Solterer's feminist reading of Richard's motivation misrepresents the sense of this passage. Translating the past tense ('puch') as a present frame of mind, and the verb 'eschiver' (escape) as 'reject,' she renders the sentence 'Mais pour chu ke jou ne me puc[h] tenir ne souffrir de vous dire men corage avant ke je seuse riens del vostre, m'aveis vous eschive' (p. 11, lines 8-10) as 'But since I cannot bear and fail to tell you my intimate feelings before I know of yours, you have rejected me.' She then concludes: The wolf, described as a timorous creature paralyzed by a man's gaze, is introduced to represent the first phases of attraction. Following bestiary tradition, the master considers the animal feminine, thus highlighting her silence. ... Claiming a feminine type of speechlessness for himself can be a self-serving gesture. The master is quick to assume 'feminine' silence insofar as it contributes to his own self-reflection. By adopting the weaker, feminine position, the master also tries to persuade the woman to follow suit. Yet at the same time, playing the she-wolf is a gamble for the master. His conversion of a 'feminine' trait into a 'masculine' one unsteadies his authority. The fact that the master is suspended by such specular moments suggests that his own control is weakening. At times the game of feminizing the self is more fascinating to the master than the task of taking charge of the woman reader. He is caught also by a self-canceling gesture. (The Master and Minerva, pp. 84-5)

Not only does this reading obscure Richard's regret for that past moment when foolishly he poured out his love and must now reinvent himself; it also reverses the gender roles as Richard presents them, his lady being 'the man' and he 'the wolf.' Incidentally, it is also inaccurate to suggest that Richard is here 'following bestiary tradition' by reading the wolf as feminine. Physiologus and Pierre treat both 'lupus' (for the wolfs generic properties) and 'lupa' (for the maternal properties of the she-wolf when it whelps). Thus in Pierre's comment that if 'she' can

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breathe on the man and see his mouth open, he loses his voice - ' [s] 'ele puet sor un home alener et veir sa boce ovrir, il en pert la vois' (PB4, p. 71) - the pronoun subject is feminine ('ele') because Pierre, like Physiologus, is here describing the properties of 'la louve,' not 'le loup.' The only possible citation validating Solterer's comment that bestiary tradition l read[s] the wolf as feminine' is Pierre's brief comment that because the word for wolf comes from the word for ravaging, prostitutes are sometimes called 'wolves' because they ravage their lovers' possessions. 'Phisiologes nos dist que leus, cis mos, vient de ravisement. Et por ce sont apelees les foles femes louves, qe'eles degastent les biens de lor amans' (PB4, p. 71). This is merely an incidental comment, however, and prostitutes are not in question in Richard's bestiary. It is Pierre's explanation and not the traditional bestiary's supposed 'feminizing' of the wolf that provides the key. The wolf, like the wild ass, signified the Devil (and now Love!) who paralyses (wo)man and deprives her/him of the ability to cry out for help. Didactically, Richard is here taking on love itself. And if Richard's male feelings appear to have primacy over his lady's - he is often more interested in Love's effects upon Everyman than upon Everywoman - this particular warning has, nevertheless, a universal application. The urgent danger for both man and woman is the paralysing, deadening power of love. After these three voice-related images of the shrill cock at midnight, the mortally braying ass, and the transfixed, voiceless wolf, Richard's equation of love wish with death wish and his sense of impending doom become even more explicit. He borrows three death-related exempla from Pierre's bestiary because these exempla, he says, made him pay much attention ('dont je me sui molt pris garde,' p. 12, line 5) and instilled in him a fear of death 'por le paour ke j'oi de la mort' (p. 14, line 1). For the three descriptions he quotes Pierre almost verbatim from the chapters entitled 'D'une Bestelette qui est apelee Trisnon' and 'Li Chines.' The cricket is of such a nature that it delights in singing and because of that the poor creature neglects to eat or search for food, delighting so much in its singing that it dies of song. It is fear of death, says Richard, that prompts him to pay attention to the cricket. The erotic message is hardly novel; Hippeau (see p. 4 above) would surely have called it 'fade.' It is the conventional lover's complaint that all past efforts to please the lady have been futile. Despite the exquisiteness of Richard's lyric performance - for Richard never intimates dissatisfaction with any of his lyrics - his singing has effected nothing. He notes, in fact, that when his

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song was at its best, things were at their worst with his lady, 'a 1'eure ke je miex cantai et ke je miex dis en can tan t, adont me fu il pis' (p. 13, lines 1-2). Now he sees that the very fact of singing could constitute his selfdestruction: 'li chanters m'a si pau valu ke je m'i puisse tant fier ke j'en perdisse nis moi, si ke ja li chanters ne m'i socourust' (p. 12, lines 8-9; singing has served me so little that to trust myself to song might mean even my self-destruction: song would never rescue me). Like the cricket, Richard has sung away life's summer, yet the object of his adoration remains obdurate. The loss of a lady is not the only 'death' he envisages. A comparison with Pierre's bestiary is particularly important for this exemplum because of Richard's telling addition of the single word 'kaitis' ('captive,' or, by synecdoche, 'wretched') to Pierre's description. Pierre's information for the cricket is: 'une petite bestelete qui est apelee trisnon. Physiologes nos dist que sa nature est tele qu'il aime tant le canter qu'il en pert son mangier; et qu'il s'entroblit tot en chantant, et s'en laise aporcachier, et muert tot en chantant' (PB2, p, 155; a tiny beastie called a cricket. Physiologus tells us that its nature is such that it so loves singing that it foregoes eating for song; and it loses itself in singing, does not provision itself and dies lost in song). Pierre's cricket is a model to emulate; it is not wretched. The song of the cricket symbolizes the pure joy of the righteous man, the 'ange orrant' (praying angel; the phrase was a favourite of St Louis) who, because of his total preoccupation with the delights of the hereafter, is oblivious to the temporal details of this earth. The cricket's song is a product of man's spirituality, a hymn to all that is truly meaningful in life, and a recognition that 'death' is to be welcomed as a new beginning. Pierre concludes: 'Par le trisnon prendons example del juste home qui ades est en benfaits et en penanche; et met totes les choses del monde et tos delis del cors en obli, et pense por la joie pardurable, et est ades en orison, et muert tot en orrant: c'est a dire qui ensi muert qu'il muert tot en cantant, alsi comme li trisnon' (PB2, 155; From the cricket let us draw an example of the just man who devotes himself to good works and penance, is completely oblivious to the things of this world and all the delights of the flesh, has thought only for the joy everlasting, is always in prayer, and dies praying all the while; that is to say that the man who dies thus dies in song, like the cricket). In the transfer of the cricket's song from a context of divine love to a context of human love, Richard's cricket has become 'wretched.' The mental bondage or wretchedness of Richard-lover-cricket derives from the fact that his past singing was a token of his carnality, his physicality.

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The problem was not any intrinsic inferiority in the singing but in its object (woman) and its reward (death). Whatever the expected joy in love, whatever the 'ioi' hymned by the lyricists, it is not Pierre's 'joie perdurable.' It is, in fact, the contrary, and the 'penance' Richard has been mouthing to his lady (significantly called 'midons' - 'my lord' - by love lyricists) is both futile and demeaning. His real penance begins with Le Bestiaire d 'amour, which dissociates him from his past productions and allows him to devote his skill to decrying love. Only in this way can the threat implied in the Eros = Thanatos equation be dissolved and the death of the 'captive' cricket become an escape from captivity. Song, beauty, and death are again linked in the next verbatim borrowing from Pierre's bestiary, the exemplum of the swan. There is a country where the swans sing so well and so naturally that when a harp is played to them, they harmonize their song to it just like the tabor to the flute, particularly in their death year. So one says, when hearing a swan in full song, 'That swan will die this year,' just as one says also of a child who shows particular brilliance that he is not long for this world. The swan, whose song is at its most exquisite in the year of its death, becomes for Richard an image for his own experience at the end of his life. Indeed, there is a symbolic switch in the middle of the description from plural to singular: 'il est uns pais la ou li cingne can tent si bien et si volentiers, ke quant on harpe devant aus il s'acordent a le harpe tout en tel maniere comme li tamburs s'acorde au flagoil, et nommeement en 1'an qu'zV doit [sic] morir' (p. 13, lines 4-7; my emphasis). One cannot rule out the possibility that this discrepancy was a scribal mistake precipitated by 'li tamburs,' but the change is not inapposite. The subject of the animal exemplum has become Richard, not the swans. This is not the only occasion in Le Bestiaire d'amour when the syntactic subject will be displaced by the real subject. Like the swans, Richard is abandoning singing at the peak of his perfection and, through fear of dying the same death as the swans or the cricket, he is turning to the ariereban 'por le paor ke j'oi de la mort au chine, quant jou cantai miex, et de la mort au crisnon, quant jou le fis plus volentiers, por chou lassai jou le canter a cest arriereban faire' (p. 14, lines 1-4; because of my fear of the swan's death when I sang my best, and of the cricket's death when I sang most easily, I abandoned song to make this ariereban}. Included also in Pierre's section on the swan is the brief mention of a precocious child whose brilliance presages its demise. 'Tot altresi comme on dit de un joene enfant quant on le trueve de bon engien; si dit on: "Cist enfes ne vivra pas longement" ' (PBS, p. 233; Just as one says of a

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Beasts of Love

young child when one finds he has brilliance, 'This child is not destined for long life'). It is significant that for all Richard's eclecticism as he flits through Pierre's garden of animal properties, he retains this apparently insignificant reference intact. One must presume that it has pertinence to his own experience. He believes that if he does not immediately put away the 'bon engien' of his youth, 'cist enfes ne vivra pas longement.' It is time for Richard, 'brilliant child,' to adopt the recantation of St Paul, who confessed that when he was a child he 'spake as a child, understood as a child, thought as a child' (1 Corinthians 13:11), but as a man must put away childish things. Richard's ariereban is, by his own description, his recantation. It is also his 'penanche' to his lady and/or to a more significant deity. Caritas must replace Eros, otherwise death will ensue. Rupture with the lyric register is effected by a metaphor that is disagreeable to the point of offensiveness. Richard compares his past words of love to vomit of the dog. The dog's nature is such that when it has vomited, it returns to its vomit and re-eats it. The selection of regurgitation from among the various canine properties is already shocking, but its effect is intensified when Richard develops the metaphor, expressing the wish that after his love prayer had flown out through his teeth, he could have reswallowed it, not only once but one hundred times: jou eiise volentiers me proiere rengloutie cent fois, puis k'ele me fu voice des dens' (p. 15, lines 1-2). Pierre had executed his translation of this particular canine habit, one among many, with much greater delicacy: 'II est de tel nature quant il rent par la bouche, qu'il y repaire et le remangue' (PB4, p. 75; The dog is of such a nature that when it renders by mouth, it returns there and re-eats it). Richard concentrates expressly upon canine regurgitation, launches the word 'vomir' into his narrative with explosive force, repeats it with insistence, then elaborates upon the metaphor. This is not the first time in his life that he has written of his 'sin' and would-be 'repentance.' The first two stanzas of his Chanson vii, for example, anticipate the confessional language of the ariereban when Richard says ruefully: Lone tans me sui escondis C'onques par amours n'amai, Mais or me sui enhardis Qu'en tel lieu parle en ai, Dont je me repentiroie

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Volentiers, se je pooie, Car trop sui hardis, Qant par desdaig m'acointai A ma mortel anemic. (For a long time I held back from giving myself to love, but now am become so bold as to speak of it in such a place. Of that I would happily repent if I could, for I am too bold when I confront my mortal enemy with disdain.) De folie m'entremis Et laidement m'enpirai, Qant devant ma dame dis C'onqes feme ne trouvai, Ne trouver ne la cuidoie, Que ne vausise avoir moie, Se m'i fuisse mis; Mais pour che pas n'en cuidai Faire mortel anemic. (L'Oeuvre lyrique, ed. Lepage, p. 60, lines 1-18) (I engaged in folly and worsened my status grievously when I said in front of my lady that I never found, nor ever thought to find, a woman whom I would have wanted as mine if I had so decided; but I did not expect to make a mortal enemy because of it.)

In its original lyric register, the situation is acceptable and even courtly. Transferred from that register to the context of Richard's new bestiary, it becomes dubious. Its erotic message is almost unacceptable from the woman's point of view because of the 'vomir' metaphor - not the most suitable lexical choice for a declaration of love. (At least it is not 'fade'!) And there is more offensiveness toward the lady because of the forced comparison Richard has just initiated between human love (which is 'kaitis') and divine love (which brings eternal 'ioi'). The terrain has shifted significantly in another way also. For Pierre the dog's vomiting represented the sins to which foolish sinners always returned, even after being shriven.8 'Et ce que li chiens repaire a ce que il a rendu, senefle eels qui repairent folement a lor pecies dont il erent devant confes' (PB4, p. 75; And the fact that the dog returns to what it has rendered up signifies those who foolishly return to their sins of which previously they

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had made confession). Those sinners had, of course, the certain knowledge that they could again be shriven. Richard has no such luck. He remains in suffering because of the haughty silence of his overbearing lady, who, however 'divine,' persists in her implacable wrath. Erotically speaking, his 'sin' against her is his admission of love, but Pierre's original message remains potent here. As for the lady's future forgiveness, it remains to be seen whether she will accede to his cries for mercy. The significance of the eventual ending for Le Bestiaire d'amour - closure or lack of closure? - cannot be overemphasized. Despite the apparent futility of the exercise, Richard-lover continues to express his regret for constantly 'sinning' against his lady. Employing the lexicon of religious devotion ('repentis,' 'proie,' and 'proiere'), he prays and offers repentance to his lady - who habitually treats all these 'prayers' as 'sin.' The situation exposes all that is exaggerated, idolatrous, and ridiculous in profane love. The eternally angry recipient of the male's prayers, confessions, and adoration is, after all, unworthy. She is a mere woman. Thus, the voice that can violently characterize his love pleas as vomit is unmistakably a male and not a female voice. Richard 'confessions' of love were crimes against himself, not against his lady. And his recidivism into that 'sin' is at last producing a desire to undo it. As a reflection of his revulsion, he employs several more unpleasant exempla in which it is difficult to detect any courtly or erotic homage, only misogyny. His ingenious balancing of contraries is by now teetering precariously when he demonstrates woman's bestial nature more acridly through three more properties of the wolf. When Richard returns to the wolf, it is not this time illustrative of love between a man and a woman (cf. p. 21 above) but of a woman's love. Anticipating surprise at the transference, he takes time to justify it, urging his public not to be surprised if he now uses the wolf in this way it has so many natures that have a greater resemblance to woman than to man: 'Et ne vous mervellies mie se j'ai 1'amor de feme compare a le nature del leu. Car encore a li leus molt d'autres natures par quoi il i a molt grengnor samblance' (p. 15, lines 3-5). The first of these is a rigidity of structure that makes it impossible for the wolf to turn its neck without swivelling its whole body around. This Richard interprets as a woman's lubricity. Dominated by her senses and by lust, she cannot give herself in any other way than physically: 'elle ne se poet doner, se toute ensamble non' (p. 16, lines 4—5). The second property is that the she-wolf after whelping hunts for food far from its lair. Ignoring the nurturing features of this property, Richard

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interprets it, tortuously, as woman's inconsistency. A woman is so temperamental that she can love a man with the utmost passion when he is far away from her, yet when he is nearby, she will never show any visible sign of love: 's'il avient k'elle aime un homme, quant il ert loins de li si 1'amera trop durement, et quant il ert pres, si n'en fra ja samblant' (p. 16, lines 6-8). The third property is that the she-wolf, when hunting for food in a sheepfold, will, if it snaps a twig under foot, punish its paw with a vicious bite. Richard interpets this as a woman's desire to conceal and her capacity for reversing herself. Her faux semblant enables her to talk her way out of any situation, and if she is so precipitate with her words that she lets the man realize she loves him, she knows how to use words to disguise and undo the fact that she has gone too far: 's'elle va si avant de parolle ke li homme se perchoive k'ele 1'aint, tout ausi ke li leus se vaingne par sa bouce de son pie, si set elle trop bien par force de paroles recovrir et ramanteler chu k'ele a trop avant alei' (p. 16, line 9-p. 17, line 2). The misogyny is unmistakable, and Richard adds a gratuitous coda that ensures that the Ovidian message is unequivocally articulated. Under the guise of a psychological observation, he asserts that a woman is very ready to learn about someone else what she does not want known about her, and she knows how to protect herself when she believes a man loves her. 'Car volentiers voet savor d'autrui chu k'ele ne veut mie c'on sache de lui, et d'omme k'elle quide k'il 1'aint se set elle tres fermement garder' (p. 17, lines 2-4). The affirmation presents woman both as man's enemy and, by necessity therefore, as man's prey. Her desire for self-preservation is at best provocation, at worst wilful hostility. Man will need all his strength to counter it. Richard is so convinced of the striking resemblances between wolves and women that he here overturns Pierre's gender markers. Pierre had first described the behaviour of 'li leus,' then had moved to 'la louve,' solicitous for its whelps after giving birth to them in May. 'Li leus ... est de tel nature que il ne puet flecir son cief ariere por sen col qu'il est tant roit. Et ... il torne tot son cors ... La louve faone el mois de mai ... et ... quant elea. faons, elene querraja proie pres ... Et s'il avent si quVfemarce sor un rainselet, et il brise; ne sor nule altre cose qui noise face: ele s'en venge sor son pie, et si le mort moult durement' (PB4, p. 71; my emphasis). Richard is notably uninterested in behaviour differences between male and female wolves, but supremely interested in any lupine property that can be made applicable to the human female. Having assembled these properties together, the accumulated evidence of his

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zoological description leads inevitably to an acrid indictment of women. Pierre's theological expositions obviously moved Richard halfway in this direction with his symbolic equation that WOLF = THE DEVIL, 'li leus senefie li diables meisme' (PB4, p. 71). Behind Richard's emotions of fear and hatred stand Pierre's dire warnings against the arch-enemy of man's soul. But Richard has taken the symbolism one step further, incorporating an additional term into the well-known symbolism to make the equation WOLF = THE DEVIL = WOMAN. The three-item formula was hardly revolutionary and his public would perhaps find it acceptable, given Eve's long association with the serpent and her reputation as the Tempter's mouthpiece. So the greatest novelty of Richard's WOLF = THE DEVIL = WOMAN was perhaps his attempt to package it for that same romance-oriented public as a declaration of love. In an apparently abrupt transition Richard turns, by means of a token syntactic connection 'ausi comme,' from wolf to viper: wolf = woman = viper. A woman is very clever at protecting herself from a man she thinks loves her, like the viper, '[a]usi comme li wivre' (p. 17, line 4), whose nature is such that it takes fright when it sees a naked man yet will attack if it sees him clothed. The description of the viper and the key to its interpretation come from Pierre's bestiary: 'Une beste est que on apele woutre. Ele est de tel nature que quant ele voit I home nu, si en a mult tres grant paor; et ele le fuit quan qu'ele puet san se soi aseurer de nient. Et se ele le voit vestu, si le cort sus; ne ne le prise noient; ains fait tote sa volente de lui' (PB2, p. 143; There is a creature called a viper. Its nature is such that it is frightened and insecurely flees when it sees a naked man, yet it attacks him and has nothing but contempt for him if it sees him clothed. Instead it has its way with him). A clarification in Richard's terminology is here in order, since in Cahier-Martin's edition of Pierre's bestiary the viper's fear of a naked man is attributed to the 'woutre,' not the 'wivre.' Indeed, there is 'woutre'/ 'wivre' confusion in many of the Physiologus manuscripts. Cahier comments: La troisieme nature pretee au serpent par 1'auteur quelconque du troisieme livre De Bestiis attribue a Hugues de Saint-Victor ... et par le manuscrit A, pourrait faire croire que woutre est ici pour wivre. Si telle est 1'origine, il semble que le miniateur n'en a rien soupconne; car rien ne ressemble moins a un serpent que 1'animal trace en tete de cet article dans le Bestiaire de 1'Arsenal. Raban Maur ... parle a peu pres comme le livre De Bestiis. Les bestiaires rimes, assez fideles au texte latin, n'ont rien de cela. Rien ne rappelle cet article dans R ni dans S. (PB2, p. 143, n. 1)

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(The third nature attributed to the serpent by whoever was the author of De Bestiis 3, attributed to Hugh of St Victor ... and by manuscript A would suggest that 'woutre' here should be 'wivre.' If this is its origin, the miniaturist seems not to have suspected it, for nothing is less like a serpent than the animal drawn at the beginning of this article in the Arsenal mansucript. Rhabanus Maurus ... says approximately the same as the De Bestiis volume. The rhymed bestiaries, which are fairly faithful to the Latin text, have nothing of that. There is nothing resembling this article in R or in S.)

One thing is clear: in the manuscript Richard was using (a 'wivre' not a 'woutre' manuscript) he was interested only in the application of the 'wivre'/'woutre' exemplum to woman. Unravelling discrepancies in the manuscript tradition was clearly irrelevant to that purpose. Pierre's theological symbolism provides the underlying link between wolf and viper. The common denominator is the Devil, of which both are symbols. The 'vipre'/'woutre,' a.k.a. the Devil, fears the naked man but attacks the man who is clothed with sin, strangling him and killing him in his vices. God, on the other hand, consistently delivers his servants from devils and their powers. 'Li hom qui est vestu de covoitise et de luxure, et d'envie et des autres mal vices del siecle, la woutre 1'asaut, ce est deables; et ne le prise rien, si 1'estrangle et ocist en ses pecies dont il est vestu' (PB2, p. 143). The symbolism appears to have been richly suggestive, since Richard's exposition of it is unusually long - almost six times the length of the description itself. In it woman is once more part of a diabolical equation the imagery of which is lapsarian, harking back to Eve. The superficially erotic message to the woman is that she should love Richard now that he is decked out with the trappings of love for her. Underlying that erotic message is, however, a bitter warning of the entrapping dangers of profane love, an Adam's lament for his lost nakedness, i.e., innocence: La novelle acointance si est comparee a 1'homme nu, et 1'amours confremee a rhomme vestu. Car ausi com li hom naist nus, et puis se vest quant il est parnorris, ausi est il nus d'amours en le primierre acointance et decovers, si k'il li ose bien dire tout son corage. Mais apres, quant il aime, il est si envelopes k'il ne s'en set issir. (p. 18, line 6—p. 19, line 1) (New acquaintance is like the naked man, and confirmed love like the clothed man. For as a man is born naked and then clothes himself when he is grown, so is he naked of love at the first encounter and exposed, so that

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Beasts of Love he dares to speak his heart fully to the woman. But later, when he is in love, he is so enveloped that he cannot disengage himself.)

Pierre's 'naked man' represents the man who has no love for worldly possessions, while the 'clothed man,' because he loves worldly goods, is covered with cupiditas, luxuria, and other vices of this world. Richard takes this symbolism, substituting love of woman for Pierre's cupiditas and luxuria, then argues that his lady should surely favour the man who is 'clothed' with love for her. The compliment is dubious at best, as is the erotic inspiration. Despite the ostensible love plea, Richard here speaks primarily as a clerc and only secondarily as a man. Man, although born naked (prelapsarian Adam), is entrapped when he trusts himself to woman. And it is highly significant that Richard articulates man's fear of woman here as a fear not of entrapment, but of re-entrapment: 'se doute ades c'on ne le puist neprendre' (p. 19, lines 2-3; my emphasis; he is in constant fear of being re-entrapped). Man's primordial entrapment occurred in the Garden of Eden when, in his naked purity, he listened to woman, and the Viper then attacked him. Now every new Adam has a fear of re-entrapment by the Devil through the agency of every new Eve. This interpretation, while it would be self-evident in the Middle Ages, is not the first interpretation that occurs to the modern, psychoanalytically oriented reader, for whom Richard's 'naked man' has unmistakably sexual connotations. Our post-Freudian age will inevitably interpret the suggestion that a naked man is preferable to a man who has lost his identity through the convolutions of love as phallocentric. They may even read it as elemental brutality, or as legitimation of rape.9 After all, when Richard claims that, naked of love for her, he feels free and safe but when enveloped by love he feels unable to escape; that he is enmeshed, and closed in upon himself: 'se coevre del tout, si k'i n'ose riens dire de son pense' (p. 19, lines 1-2), this is an explicit admission of fear. Before interpreting it merely as obvious neurosis, impotence, and male fear, however, a caveat is necessary. Richard's symbolism is bound to elicit this limited response if its source, the Physiologus, is no longer recognizable. But however productive for rich, new readings, Le Bestiaire d'amour (like any work) merits initial analysis of its original signification. After that any reader who is unsympathetic to the symbolism will at least be equipped to interpret Richard's psyche with insight. And, however perverse it may seem, Richard's concern in Le Bestiaire d'amour is not to promote the sentiment he claims to want, but to wage war against it. After this sternly anti-love didacticism, any personal address to his bele

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tres douce amie is obviously problematic, but Richard manages somehow to repersonalize the narrative through a direct attack. He accuses his lady of the same aggression as the viper's. 'Tout en tel maniere aves vous fait de moi, bele tres douce amie' (p. 18, lines 1-2; You acted just that way with me, my sweetest beautiful love). The narrative thread is thus restored, albeit flimsily, and an ensuing anecdote serves both as a reproachful reminiscence and also as a lesson in female deportment. Her shyness in their early friendship was appropriate, he says; her later arrogance was not. Nostalgically, he reminisces: 'quant je m'acointai a vous, si vous trovai d'une douce maniere a un poi de vergoingne telle com il convient, ausi com se vous me resongnissies' (p. 18, lines 2-4; when I met you I found you to be of a gentle disposition, as if you were a little shy of me, as is fitting with new acquaintance). This is an articulation in autobiographical terms of Guillaume de Lorris's narrative of the initial stages of love. The lover, drawn to the rose, is encouraged by Bel Accueil to approach, but is soon confronted by a series of hazards represented allegorically as Dangier, Male Bouche, Honte, Peur, and Jalousie, not to mention Raison, who descends from her tower to persuade the lover of the foolishness of his enterprise. Similarly in Le Bestiaire d'amour, Richard provides a wistful description of the girl's first shy - and oh so becoming! - timidity, only to shift abruptly to an expression of his cowering fear at her present aggressiveness. The lady's fair welcome has been only a brief ally, and has quickly given place to Dangier. Interestingly, however, Dangier has now become a representation of the man's state of mind rather than the woman's. Man appears more threatened by love than woman in Le Bestiaire d'amour: 'quant vous seiistes ke je vous amoie, si me fuistes si fierre com vous volsistes, et me corustes auques sus de paroles' (p. 18, lines 4—6; when you knew I loved you, you became as proud as you wished toward me and attacked me as it were with your words). This presentation of a young woman's behaviour is more hostile than the complex and sympathetic analysis in Guillaume's Roman de la rose. This is consonant with Richard's purpose for his ariereban, which provides an analysis of love in order to decry it. As for Richard's openly expressed fear of woman, that was a product of moral authority and of an underlying conviction that virginity represents mature wholeness (Bloch, p. 94). Man in love is a captive of Adam's bondage. As if by self-fulfilling prophecy, Richard's fear of love proves justified. The new Adam has expressed a fear of 'rgprendre,' then, without any preparatory transition, his dread of 'rgprendre' becomes the syntactic

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reality of 'pris.' Richard is trapped by his love like the monkey with shoes on, 'pris comme li cinges cauchies' (p. 19, line 3; my emphasis). The nature of the monkey is such that it tries to imitate whatever it sees. Thisiologes nos dist de sa nature que il est tels que il velt contrefaire ce qu'il voit faire devant lui' (PBS, p. 230). Monkey see, monkey do. Clever hunters who want to capture it by ruse find a place where the monkey can see them, and go through the motions of putting on and taking off their shoes. Then they depart to hide themselves, leaving behind a pair of shoes for the monkey. When the monkey emerges and puts on the shoes, the result is immediate. The monkey is captured, rendered powerless by the hunters' (i.e., love's) shoes. Pierre's rubric for this section is merely 'li singes'; Richard's catch-phrase 'le singes cauchies' (the monkey-withshoes-on) is his own addition.10 By the insertion of the ludicrous participle 'cauchies,' Richard emphasizes proleptically the property that is for him crucial in Pierre's description of the monkey: its propensity for mindless imitation and its capacity for trapping itself in the process. The shoes highlight the absurdity of the monkey's imitative behaviour, and they add another graphic detail to Richard's images of self-parody. Richard's previous espousal of love literature and his contributions to that literary vogue now seem to him risible to the point that the scholar-c/m; now satirizes himself, the amant ridicule, as an ape which 'velt contrefaire quanques il voit faire.' The word 'contrefaire' contains a reminder of the prologue's use of 'centre,' when Richard expressed the desire to write against his previous love trivia in a 'contre-escrit.' Interestingly, the nineteenth-century editor of Pierre's bestiary (whose principal interest was understandably Pierre de Beauvais rather than Richard de Fournival) condemned Le Bestiaire d'amour precisely because it was a contre-escrit, although of a different sort, aping not love literature (as Richard intended) but Pierre; in other words, it was a counterfeit. Cahier's comment on Richard's 'sotte imitation,' which he made while pointing out a lacuna in several manuscripts of the Physiologus, is the following: R singes. Phisiologes dit que li singes a la figure du deable. Sicomme li singe a chief et nient de queue. ... Tout autresi, etc. Voila tout d'un coup neuf ou dix lignes retranchees sans que 1'article y perde rien de ce qui mene au but. S. en fait autant; et c'est egalement la marche que suit Richard de Fournival dans son Bestiaire d'amour, sotte imitation du vrai Bestiaire, qui n'a guere de valeur que comme temoin du role joue par le Physiologus au XHIe siecle. (PBS, p. 230, n. 2)

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(R monkey. Physiologus says that the monkey has the face of the devil. As the monkey has a head and no tail ...Just as, etc. Here suddenly nine or ten lines are omitted without the article's losing anything vital. S. does similarly; and this is exactly the route that Richard de Fournival follows in his Bestiary of Love, a foolish imitation of the true Bestiary which has almost no other value than to demonstrate the role played by the Physiologus in the thirteenth century.)

Cahier had no reverence either for manuscript R or for what he dubbed Richard de Fournival's 'foolish imitation' of it. He did not realize that Richard's innovative use of Pierre was made with appreciatory rather than depreciatory intent. Given the subsequent incomprehension also of Richard's first editor, Hippeau, one realizes that the complexity of Le Bestiaire d'amour is more readily apparent to our own complex age than it was to the nineteenth century. At least Cahier's comment (itself a sottisel) provides a possible clue to the particular family of manuscripts used by Richard as his source. Richard's parodic portrait of himself as a monkey-with-shoes-on forces his public back to his introduction, with its idealization of 'savoir' and of man's reason. It is by his reason that man bears the imprint of the Creator who chose to make man 'ad imaginem et similitudinem nostram.' Guillaume de Lorris, allegorizing the faculty as Dame Reason, echoed the same language (from Genesis, 1: 26) in his description of her: Sachiez, se la letre ne ment, que Dex la fist ou firmament a sa semblance et a s'image et li dona tel avantage qu'ele a pooir et seignorie de garder home de folie, por tant qu'il soil tex qu'il la croie.

(Rose, lines 2973-8)

(Know, if the letter does not lie, that God made her in the firmament in his likeness and his image and gave her such advantage that she has power and lordship to keep man from folly, provided he be such that he believe her.)

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It was Reason, personification of the divine attribute, who warned Guillaume's lover of the destructive effects of love and deplored his folly. Now Richard bestializes the lover who has dismissed reason: he is an ape with shoes on. The etymology for 'ape' recorded11 by Isidore of Seville is operative. An ape is called 'simian' because of its 'similitude' of human reason: 'Alii simias Latino sermone vocatos arbitrantur, eo quod multa in eis similitude rationis humanae sentitur' (Etymologiae XII.ii.31; Some think they are called 'simiae' in Latin because there is felt to be a great similitude of human reason in them). But the appearance is a parody, just as a man in love also is a parody, a mere similitude of the creature whom God originally gifted with reasoning powers (in Richard's case, brilliant reasoning powers!) to distinguish him from the other animals. Richard-inlove now has only the similitude of reason. He is an ape. Worse, he is an ape who has been captured by a hunter, i.e., woman, and every man in love with a woman is just such a 'monkey-with-shoes-on.' The animal image is a satiric condemnation of the effects of love on man, leading him away from reason into mindless captivity. He has been entrapped, a monkey with shoes on. And the woman, instead of nurturing his love for her, has become aggressive, a viper scornful of the man who has remade himself in her image. The examples of the viper and the ape 'confirm' each other. Love, far from ennobling, is bathetic. Resentment, reproach, and admonition colour the next few animal exempla as Richard analyses the nature of love, the nature of woman's love, and, by contrast, the nature of ideal love. With each implied comparison between that ideal love and woman's love, it becomes increasingly unlikely that his lady - or mere woman — will be able to meet Richard's expectations. Selecting first a model of male nurturing, he urges that his lady emulate the crow. The crow's nature is such that while its babies are unfledged their father will not look at them or feed them, because they are not black and because they bear it no resemblance. Thus they live on dew until they are covered with feathers and resemble their father.12 But when the father crow recognizes them by their plumage, it feeds them. Richard poses as a newly feathered fledgling, and, elaborating upon the idea that he is 'clothed with love,' pleads with his lady that she nurture him in all his fledgling vulnerability. He begs her to be as maternal to him as the male crow is to its babies, because the male crow's nature should 'conquer' the nature of the viper and the ape: 'quant je ... portasse un escuchon de vos armes, si me deusies chierir et nourir en vostre amour quoi k'ele fust tenre et novelle, si com on norrist .i. enfant au doit. Et miex deust vaintre en amour la nature del corbel ke

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cele de le wivre, ne cele del cinge (p. 22, line 6-p. 23, line 2; when ... I would carry an escutcheon of your arms, you should have cherished me and nurtured me in your love, however new and tender, as one handrears a baby). In this pathetic request there is a curious blending of military and maternal metaphors that is typical of the ariereban. Richard begs to play the baby at his lady's breast because he is wearing an escutcheon of her arms. Typical also is the blending of gender roles. Richard argues that his woman should have been as nurturing in her love as the male crow. His preferred parental model is male and derives from Pierre's bestiary, where the male crow is symbolic of God the Father, who made man to conform to his image and ignores those who have not clothed themselves in his feathers. Quant Dex fist 1'homme, il le fist et forma a sa samblance; dont devons avoir de ses plumes et li resanbler de plumes; ou il ne nos conoistra nient plus, ne ne fera nient devant ce qu'il nos en verra vestu: c'est a dire que nos soions vestu d'aumones, de humilite, de pitie, de pacience et de soffrance encontre nostre proisme. Dont nos conistra Dex por ses fils par ces plumes, si comme li corbaus fait ses corbelles quant il les voit en plumes et li resambler. (PB2, p. 156) (When God made man, he made and shaped him in his image; therefore we must have his feathers and resemble him in our plumage; or he will no longer recognize us and will do nothing until he sees us clothed with them: that is to say, we should be clothed with alms, humility, pity, patience, and longsuffering toward our neighbour. Then God will recognize us for his sons and see that we resemble him by these feathers, as the crow recognizes its young when it see them in its plumage and likeness.) Richard says that the woman should have behaved in this divine fashion when she saw that Richard was 'clothed in her love': 'Ensi m'est il avis ke vous deusies avoir fait, bele tres douce amie' (p. 22, line 4; This is what you should have done, fair sweetest love). Given the divine competition she faces, that is a vain hope: weighed against the model of God the Father, the lady is bound to be found wanting. Richard's anger at her is patent nevertheless. In comparison with his divine parent - male parent, of course, since it it would not have occurred to the chancellor of Amiens to gender the Divinity as anything else - he finds the nurturing capacity of a mere woman pathetically inadequate. His anger leads him from his allegorization of Love as

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hunter to a more menacing allegorization of Love as predator. He bases this upon a second, more sinister property of the crow. This other nature of the crow is, according to Richard, the one that 'above all others resembles the nature of love' ('sor toutes riens resamble a nature d'Amour,' p. 23, lines 3-4). When the crow finds a dead man, the first thing that it eats of him is the eyes, and from the eyes the crow draws out the brain. The more brain that it finds there, the more easily it extracts it. The description is drawn without change from Pierre: 'Et si sont encore d'une autre nature: se il truevent I home mort, la premiere cose qu'il en mangue ce sont li oeil. Et par iluec en trait la cervele; et com plus en trueve miels en trait' (PB2, p. 156). Here Richard progesses from personal parody to generic truth, and his presentation of love, although Ricardo-centric, is no longer Ricardo-specific. A man in love is a dead man, Eros being another form of Thanatos. He is vulnerable through his eyes, from which love drains him of his most noble quality, reason. The more brain the man has (a qualification that is of supreme relevance to Richard), the more easily his brain will be sucked out by love. In this animalization of the God of Love, who in more conventional contexts pierces lovers through their eyes with arrows,13 the allegory is exclusively male-oriented. Love does not attack a generic person: it attacks the man in order to suck out his reason, the quality of reason being, of course, associated in the Middle Ages with the male rather than the female. Pierre's explanation, although tortuous, had a positive outcome: Li corbaus qui trait les ex del omne qu'il trueve mort, c'est a entendre li bon pechieres qui s'anme a trovee morte par les ex de son cors, par la covoitise des teriens biens; et puis regarde o les ex de son cuer et o les ex de 1'ame, la grant merchi de nostre Segnor; et vait a confession et fait vraie penance, et despit tous les delis del monde. Cis trait les ex de le morte anme, et le fait revivre et veir les biens que Dex pramet a ses amis: c'est la vie permanable et joie pardurable. Phisiologes dit que confession et penance trait les ex de covoitise tot fors del cief, alsi ben com li corbaus fait al mort home. (PB2, p. 156) (The crow that extracts the eyes from the dead man it finds signifies the good sinner who has found his soul dead because of his earthly eyes, his coveting of earthly things; then he gazes with the eyes of his heart and of his soul, merciful thanks to our Lord; and he goes to confession and is truly penitent, and spurns all the pleasures of this world. This man extracts the eyes out of his dead soul, and brings it back to life again, and causes it to see the benefits that God promises to those who love him, that is eternal life and joy everlasting.)

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Unfortunately, human love does not operate like divine love, and the dead man goes not from death to life but from life to death because of woman. Richard's exposition is therefore the converse of Pierre's, and it is overwhelmingly negative. Love is the crow; love of woman is nothing but a travesty; man's confession and penance to her are futile; and there will be no redemption because woman has no power to absolve. Richard's confessions and penances, re-enacted over and over, have been empty words. The lover's desire for human 'ioi' is irreversibly fatal, and Richard's love death is a real death. Writing contrastively against Pierre's bestiary, Richard has nothing but bitterness for the crow of love and for his bele ires douce amie. Since the love of woman has disappointed Richard's desire for nurture, he imposes upon it another predatory symbol, the lion. When the lion is devouring prey it will attack any man who looks at it, but will never attack the man who keeps his glance averted. The eyes are the thematic link between Richard's two metaphors for Love here: the crow scavenges through the eyes of a corpse, and the lion attacks the man who looks at it. Richard's description is taken from Pierre, who, incidentally, was responsible for the addition of this particular property to the established description of the lion.14 Et quant il avient que li lions mangue sa proie et s'il avient que home passe d'en coste lui qui le regarde, - por ce que figure d'ome porte alsi com une segnorie, de tant com il est fais a la figure et a la semblance del segnor des segnors, - si convient que li lions resoigne son vis et son regard. Et por ce qu'il a naturel et [sic] hardement, si a honte d'avoir paor; si cort sus a 1'ome, si tost come il le regarde. Et cent fois poroit passer li horn en coste le lions, ne se moveroit por que li horn nel regardast ancois. (PB2, p. 110) (And when the lion is eating its prey and a man happens to pass by it and look at it - because man's face is imprinted with a sort of lordship inasmuch as man is made in the image and likenes of the Lord of Lords - it is fitting that the lion should fear his face and his gaze. And because it has a natural boldness, and is ashamed of being afraid, it attacks the man as soon as he looks at it. The man could pass by the lion a hundred times and the lion would not move provided that the man did not glance at it.) It should be noted that Richard here retains both Pierre's description and Pierre's theological explanation, demonstrating that Richard's new bestiary is not inimical to the theological message of the old. On the contrary (pace Cahier), Richard reinforces Pierre in nearly every

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exemplum, not least here with the lion's all-important regal imagery. And although Pierre's reminder that man was created in the image of God has no relevance to the surface meaning of Le Bestiaire d'amour Richard's erotic journey - it is of supreme importance to its underlying message; human love is a pathetic substitute for divine love. Le Bestiaire d 'amour remains bound to its source. One feature of Pierre's description of the lion holds no interest for Richard, namely Pierre's switch from theological into social moralizing. Pierre comments that it is part of the lion's noble nature that it is not angered unless wounded or shamed; it spares the poor and humble; and it has self-restraint unless provoked. This should be an example to the nobility, who should do likewise: ' [Li lions] espargne les povres et laisse aller en pais les menus ... Ceste example de misericorde doivent avoir en els li halt home qui doivent espargner les pauvres' (PB2, p. 110; The lion will not get angry unless it is wounded or shamed ... it spares the poor and does not pursue the weak. ... This should be an example of mercy to noblemen who must show mercy to the poor). This particular area of didacticism clearly holds little interest for Richard as he pursues his priority of an allegory of/against love. His only conclusion from the lion is that man, if he is not in love with woman and has not been deprived of reason, is the noblest of God's creatures. He should retain that divine nobility by avoiding love. He will remain safe from it providing he takes care never to look on it: 'ne keurt Amours sus a nullui, s'il ne le regarde' (p. 24, line 8; Love will not attack him, if he does not look at Love). With the mention of the brain, seat of intelligence, reason, and understanding, Richard provides a brief scientific explanation. Life, giving movement, resides in the heart; warmth, giving nourishment, resides in the liver; and intelligence ('sens'), bestowing understanding ('entendement'), resides in the brain — a man's brain, that is. The lion exemplum serves above all as a warning to man not to lose his brain through love of a woman, because man's brain gives him a semblance of divinity. The comparison between men's brains and women's brains (an oxymoron!) is not left implicit. Returning briefly to the crow and viper exempla to emphasize this point, he comments that it would be logical to expect a woman to love the man who was 'clothed' with her love rather than the man who was 'naked' of it: 'miex devroit le feme amer 1'omme ki seroit de s'amour vestus ke celui ki en seroit nus' (p. 26, lines 2—4). But a woman is not logical. She is like the weasel. The weasel was an unclean animal ('moult est orde beste,' PB2, p. 148). This filthy creature was decreed in the Old Testament to be unfit

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for human consumption. The weasel's conception was unusual: 'ele rechoit semence de malle par la bouce et quant ce vient que ele doit faonner, si s'en delivre par 1'oreille' (PB2, p. 148; it receives seed from the male in its mouth and when it comes to give birth, it delivers through its ear). This conception was in Pierre's bestiary symbolic of the faithful who receive and retain God's word. 'Autre tel si sont li feel en Dieu, qui volentiers rechoivent la semenche de la parole Deu. Mais s'il devienent puis inobedient, et il entrelaisent ce qu'il ont 01 de Deu, cil ne samblent mie la mostoile, mais le serpent qui est apele aspis' (PB2, p. 148; This is what God's faithful are like. They willingly receive the seed of God's word. But if they afterward become disobedient and neglect what they have heard from God, they do not resemble the weasel, but the serpent). When Richard transfers the divine seed of God's word to an erotic context, God's words are necessarily converted to man's words, which women are expected to receive and properly process. Unfortunately, women have inherited Eve's flaw. Having received the good word, they fail to act upon it. Women will hear a proposition that will convince them logically to love, then will perversely refuse to give themselves. Instead, they deliver themselves of a refusal, like the weasel which conceives by ear but gives birth by mouth. [I]l en i a de tellies ki ont les testes perchies, si ke quanques leur entre par 1'une oreille, si leur 1st par 1'autre, et la ou elles aiment s'escondisent elles. Ausi com li mustoile, ki par le orelle cone[h]oil et par la bouce enfante. En tel maniere font tes15 femes ja, ke quant elles ont oi' tant de biax mos, k'i leur sanle k'eles doivent amer et k'eles ont ausi com conceii par 1'oreille, si s'en delivrent par le bouce a .i. escondit, et salent volentiers en autres paroles par costume, ausi com c'eles se doutassent d'estre prises, (p. 26, line 5-p. 27, line 4) (There are some women who have holes pierced in their heads so that whatever goes in one ear comes out of the other. Where they love they also refuse to give themselves, like the weasel, which conceives through its ear and gives birth through its mouth. Such women really act in that way, for when they have heard so many fair words that they feel bound to grant their love (and have thus conceived by ear as it were), they then deliver themselves by mouth of a refusal, and out of habit jump readily to other words as if frightened of being captured.)

Reason is not an essential characteristic of a woman's nature in Le

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Bestiaire d'amour. It is an unusual accident that Richard has not yet been fortunate enough to experience in the second sex. Generously he states his belief, against all the evidence, that there could be exceptions. There may be some women who behave rationally (i.e, who accept men who proposition them; the paraphrase is mine). 'Etje quit ke si font aucunes femes' (p. 26, line 5; And I believe some women do). The odds in favour of this are, however, slim, and the possibility is presented tentatively. When the chancellor says: T do believe (against all the evidence) that some women behave rationally,' the words 'je quit' indicate that the assertion is not a product of Richard's (or the ancients') savoir. It is more like a bold leap of faith on his part. His public is invited to wonder with him whether his bele tres douce amie will be one of the few women who do not have holes where their brains could have been. But they will be quickly disabused. The lady shows no indication that she is anything but a flawed receptacle for masculine 'biax mots.' The male arrogance of Richard's transmutation of God's words into men's propositions is obvious - the erotic use of the weasel exemplum is, by any interpretation, disparaging to women. Richard weaves to and fro between weasels and women, inextricably intertwining their behaviour and finding another point of resemblance: the weasel protects its litter from the hunter by moving them from place to place. Pierre calls this characteristic of the weasel 'wisdom' and says the weasel is 'sage' both in its nurturing and also in its resurrective powers: 'et se ce fust cose que on trovast sa fosse, ele remuerois [sic] son lieu et enporterroit ses faons aillors. Et se on li presist ses faons, et tuast, ele est tant sage de sa nature que ele le sussiteroit se ele eust son faon' (PB2, p. 148; if its lair were to happen to be discovered, it would move its location and carry its young elsewhere. And if its young were captured and killed, it is by nature so wise that it would revive its baby if it had it). Richard is so preoccupied with the non-nurturing human beast that he has lost sight of the original model. He apparently does not find it inappropriate to use a supremely nurturing property to symbolize woman's skittishness and her inability to nurture him. Women listen to men's words of love, then react as if they feared to be captured, 'ausi com c'eles se doutassent d'estre prises' (p. 27, lines 3-4). And since Richard claims to be the woman's baby, he complains that his 'inner child' is not being nurtured. In fact, women are incapable of responding to men appropriately. Their perpetual diverting of the subject away from love to something else is infuriating. Such weaseling out is, says Richard, 'une des grans desesperances d'amours' (p. 27, line 8; one of

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love's greatest despairs). The erotic narrative remains oriented toward male interests. Richard's criticism of woman's evasiveness extends beyond the verbal context to the visual. He complains that his lady has averted her gaze from him, like the caladrius. When the caladrius is brought into the presence of a sick man, that man will live if the caladrius looks him full in the face. But if the bird turns away from him, the sick man is surely doomed. Richard's lady has refused to look at Richard, so he proclaims himself as dead, and his death is a despairing love-death without hope of mercy. If only woman had the restorative powers of the pure-white caladrius, symbol of the sinless Christ! But woman has no such redemptive powers. Indeed, Richard, a casualty of love, 'mors d'amors,' is dead because o/the woman. She is doubly guilty. In this he follows Pierre's exposition in which the caladrius's gaze is both predictive and also causative of death. Christ, the caladrius, refused to look upon the Jews because of their infirmity. He averted his glance from them, dying in their unbelief, and instead, bestowed his healing glance upon the Gentiles, taking away their infirmities and restoring them from death to life: 'II torna d'els sa face pour la mescreance, et torna ses ex a nos Gens, et osta totes nos enfermetes et nos pechies quand il fu leve en crois' (PB2, p. 129; He turned away his face from them because of their miscreance, and turned his eyes to our people, and took away all our infirmities and our sins when he was on the cross). When Richard's lady averts her gaze from him, her averted gaze also is both death-warrant and death-wound, and the situation is at an impasse. Richard-lover has arrived, like Guillaume's Amant, at the stage where love has defeated reason. This defeat constitutes the abnegation of the one faculty that exalts man above the other animals. Atant Reson s'est departie, qu'el voit bien que por sarmoner ne me porroit de ce torner.

(Rose, lines 3080-2)

(Thereupon Reason left, For she saw that by sermonizing She could not turn me from my love.)

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CHAPTER TWO

Love and the Senses

Li horn a . v. sens: veir, oir, flarier, gouster et touchier.

With the overthrow of reason by love, Richard 'mors d'amour' categorizes himself as love's victim. The question for analysis now is responsibility for the death. The theological debate about guilt was hardly new. Ambrose, whom Richard frequently echoes, had pondered the degree of the first woman's responsibility when she did not process instructions appropriately. There were after all attenuating circumstances concerning Eve's disobedience, namely, that God's instructions about the dangerous Tree of Knowledge were given to Adam before Eve's creation and came to her only indirectly through Adam. Without actually endorsing heretical views, Ambrose obviously had difficulty in reconciling foreknowledge with human responsibility for sin. Did God instruct man, knowing all the while that Adam would sin against the instruction? Ambrose reported the thorny debate as follows: Tterum hinc aliam faciunt quaestionem ... [Deusn]overat, inquiunt, hominem peccaturum qui creavit eum, et has opiniones boni et mali impressit, an non noverat? (De Paradiso 1, p. 293; Hence again they pose this question. ... They say, 'had God, who created man and imposed these views of good and evil, known that man would sin, or had he not known?'). Gnostics, like the author of The Testimony of Truth, went even further: What kind of God is this? First, he envied Adam that he should eat from the tree of knowledge. ... And secondly he said, 'Adam, where are you?' And God does not have foreknowledge, since he did not know this from the beginning. And afterwards, he said, 'Let us cast him [out] of this place lest

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Beasts of Love he eat of the tree of life and live forever.' Surely he has shown himself to be a malicious envier. And what kind of God is this?1

The thorny issue of predestination, which Augustine carried to its logical conclusion, was implicit in this discussion. Richard does not expatiate upon that theological debate, since it was not germane to his purpose, but the issue of guilt in Paradise resonates throughout the ariereban, and woman's guilt is taken for granted. Vernacular writers contemporary with Richard were just as unequivocal on that subject. The anonymous clerical translator ofLiFetdesRomains, an encyclopaedic translation of Caesarean history with which Richard was surely familiar, blamed Cleopatra exclusively for the CaesarCleopatra affair, even though the medieval Cleopatra and the medieval Caesar slept together by Caesar's suggestion. The translator laced his description of the ways in which Cleopatra inflamed Caesar's lust with a dire warning: no man could have protected himself from the woman once he was in her toils, and 'tant 1'eschaufa cele nuit et embraca, que il otroia quanque ele li quist. ... Car tant estoit plesanz et solaceuse et enlacanz, que nus huem ne se poist gaitier ne delivrer de li puis que il fust une nuit chaoiz en ses liens' (LiFet des Romains, p. 638, lines 9-11; That night she so aroused him and embraced him that he granted her whatever she asked of him. ... For she was so charming, so full of solace, so clinging, that no man could have guarded against or freed himself from her after he had for one night fallen into her bondage).2 Richard thought no differently. At this juncture in the ariereban Richard's balancing act between courtliness and clerical didacticism is precarious. Fortunately, a certain love-hate ambivalence in the lover is psychologically convincing, and a demonstration of the power of woman is a compliment within a romantic context although insulting in a theological. Employing the sophisticated lexicon of romance for his erotic message, then, but echoing also the theological disputations on Genesis by Ambrose and Augustine, Richard begins with the given, that he is 'dead.' 'Dont sui je mors, c'est voirs.' The quaestio, which doubles as an inquest, must determine who is responsible. Cui culpa? 'Et ki m'a mort?' (p. 29, line 7). Of the answer to this question Richard claims ignorance, then gives an inconclusive statement that they are jointly responsible: nostra culpa: 'Jou ne sai, ou vous ou jou' (p. 29, lines 7-8). His profession/ confession of shared guilt is immediately undermined, however, when he chooses as his first exemplum on the subject not an animal but that treacherous female symbol of temptation, the siren.

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Taking Pierre's description of the mythological creatures, he explains that there are three sorts of siren. Two are half-woman and half-fish; and the third is half-woman and half-bird. All three make music; the first with trumpets, the second with harps, and the third with straight voices. The melody is so pleasing that, however far away, no man can hear them without being induced to approach. When he is near the siren, he falls asleep, and when she finds him sleeping, she kills him. Ill manieres de seraine sont, dont les II sont moitie feme moitie poisson; et 1'autre moitie feme moitie oiseax. Et chantent totes III, les unes en buisines et les autres en herpes, et les autres en droite vois. ... La seraine a si dous chant qu'ele dechoit eels qui nagent en mer; et est lor melodic tant plaisant a oir, que nus ne les ot, tant soil loing, qu'il ne li conviegne venir. Et la seraine les fait si oblier quant ele les i a atrait, que il s'endorment; et quant il sont endormi, eles les asaillent et ocient en traison que il ne s'en prennent garde. (PB2, pp. 172-3) Pierre had begun his siren section with Isaiah's prophecy of the monstrous creatures, including sirens, who would one day cohabit with the Devil in Babylon (Isaiah 13:21-2). Richard omits Isaiah's dire prophecy together with Pierre's explanation that the sirens signify women who attract men to them by their blandishments and deceits, then lead them to poverty and death. 'Les seraines senefient les femes qui atraient les homes par lor blandissemens et par lor dechevemens a els, de lor paroles; que eles les mainent a poverte et a mort' (PB2, p. 173). But his attribution to women of diabolically inspired guilt is unequivocal nevertheless. He even follows Pierre's syntactic switches between plural 'sirens' and a generalized singular that clearly signifies woman: 'il sont trois manieres de seraines. ... Si me samble ke le seraine i a grans coupes quant elle 1'ocist en tra'ison' (p. 29, line 9 and p. 30, lines 5—6; There are three sorts of siren ... And it seems to me that the siren has great guilt for her treacherous killing of the man). Underlying this change from plural 'seraines' to the generalizing 'la seraine' is the conviction that, since the siren is half-beast and half-woman, and since the siren signifies woman, therefore woman is half-beast. Pierre's moralizing exposition, although suppressed, has been formative. The real subject of the siren description in the work of both clerics is Everywoman, against whose aggressive sensuality every male victim is passively helpless. There is ambivalence as Richard moves from a love narrative that begs for nurture from an unresponsive woman to an indictment of the woman's aggressive sensuality. The ancestor for

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Richard's bele tres douce amie is, of course, Eve. Since that primal temptress killed Adam by her 'trai'son,' there is a predetermined answer to Richard's question cui culpa ? Richard, like Adam, knows IT WAS THE WOMAN, despite his earlier profession of joint culpability, 'as with the man whom the siren killed' ('ambedoi i avons coupes. Ausi com de celi cui le seraine ocist,' p. 29, lines 8-9). Thus the self-questioning monologue skilfully combines a love-court investigation with a soul-searching confessional, from its introductory 'Et ki m'a mort?' (p. 29, line 7) to its inconclusive conclusion. Richard does not dare to accuse his lady of 'trai'son' or put the blame for his death on anyone but himself, he says (p. 31, lines 2-3). But his chivalrous mea culpa has no resonance. Not only has the woman been no caladrius-Saviour to him; she has actually been a siren causing his destruction. The mythological siren's power has melded with Eve's fatal tempting of her mate. In medieval thinking phylogenesis implies ontogenesis, and Eve's sins have now been passed on to her descendants as their genetic inheritance. They are now innate. Woman continues to exercise irresistible power over man by appealing to his senses. No man, however distant from the siren's song, can do anything else but approach when he hears her. And when nearby, he then falls asleep; and when the siren finds him sleeping, she kills him: 'nus horn ne les ot, tant soit loins, k'il ne lui conviengne venir. Et quant il est pres, si s'endort; et quant la seraine le trove endormi, si 1'ocist' (p. 30, lines 3—5). Richard has unquestioningly established guilt for woman. And for man he has established it to this degree: that Richard/Everyman should not have listened to the woman's voice and been charmed by it. Woman was/is the active, man the passive offender. What a pity, Richard laments post-factum, that he did not have the wisdom of the asp. This serpent, which guards the balm-giving tree, never falls asleep because it stops up its ears against those who would charm it with harps and other instruments. 'I should have done the same,' says Richard. 'Ausi deuse jou avoir fait' (p. 32, lines 5-6). By this admission Richard assumes responsibility at least for his sin of omission. He regrets that he did not have the good sense ('sens') of the asp when the woman first spoke to him. He lacked foresight. Interestingly, the asp precipitated a social commentary from Pierre: the asp signifies the rich who with one ear listen to their desires and stop up the other ear with their sins so that they cannot hear God's commandments. 'D'itel nature sont li rice home qui 1'oreille metent as desirs, et 1'autre estopent de lor pechies ... si qu'il n'ont oreille dont il

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voelent oiir les commandemens de Dieu' (PB2, p. 148; Rich men are like this. They put one ear to their desires and stop up the other with their sins ... so that they have no ear willing to hear God's commandments). Richard, on the other hand, wishes he had emulated the asp. He would have been wise ('sage') if he had stopped up his ear, because the source of the directing voice was a woman. If the words a man blocks out are a woman's words, then the stopped-up ear becomes a virtue. The asp exemplum is redolent with Creation imagery, and Richard's comment reflects the traditional view that the serpent was the wisest of all the animals God created.'Serpens autem erat sapientior omnium bestiarum quae erant super terram, quas fecit Dominus Deus (Ambrose, De Paradiso 1, quas p. 301). Ambrose had explained that he serpent is to be understo d as our

adversary, whose 'wisdom' is the wisdom of this world: 'Cum dicit sapientiorem serpentem, intelligis quem loquatur, id est, ilium adversarium nostrum qui tantum habet hujus sapientiam mundi. (Vid. S. Aug. lib. II contra Jul. Pel., c.5, n. 15)'; and had further clarified that wisdom as a wisdom of the flesh, in opposition to the wisdom of God: 'Sed et voluptas atque delectatio bene sapiens dicitur, quia et sapientia carnis appellatur sapientia, sicut habes: Quia sapientia carnis inimica est Deo (Rom. viii, 7)' (ibid.). Richard provides no theological explanation, although the theological underpinnings of his narrative are obvious. Conveying his didactic message through personal example, he tells the woman that if he had had the wisdom of the serpent, he would not have been vulnerable to her voice. Remembrance of woman's (i.e., Eve's) guilt dominates when, with apparent intimacy, Richard directly accuses her of manipulating him: h eim r Si qui je ke vous bien jou com por a envisjou m'en alai de ausi vouscom a la primiere fois. Etseiistes si ne savoie quoi c'estoit, forsacointer ke che fu une pronostike del mal ke puis m'en est avenus. Mais toutes voies i alai jou et m'endormi au cant de la seraine, ce fu a la douc[h]our de vostre acointance et de vostre biel parler a qui oir je fu pris. (p. 32, line 6-p. 33, line 2) je et r de (I believe very wellwhy howthis reluctantly I went meetlike youa prognosthat first time. And you yet Iknew did not know was, except thattoit was ticationof the evil/sin/misfortune that afterwards befell me. At all events, I went and lulled myself with the siren's song, that is with the sweetness of your acquaintance and of your fair words. When I heard them I was captured.) acqai

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By addressing the woman directly here and by claiming to know her mind, Richard appears to understand female psychology, but the psychological analysis is suspect. The motivation Richard attributes to the woman is nothing but his male accusation lvous seustes ...' (you knew ...) versus 'ne savoiejou por quoi c'estoit' (/did not know why this was; my emphasis). Such hypotheses cannot represent the woman's truth, even though she is blamed on their account. The ecclesiastically learned phrase 'pronostike del mal ke puis m'est avenu' (prognostication of the evil/ sin/misfortune that afterwards befell me) is a telling indicator of Richard's thought processes. The narrative construct is Richard's, but it has theological referents that go beyond its immediately personal context. In his apportioning of blame, in the attribution of fundamental guilt to the woman, and in his lament over his lack of foresight, Richard is reenacting the allegory of love outlined in Genesis, the first 'prognostication of the evil' that would subsequently befall man because of woman. The chancellor's public would register the erotic/mythological/theological complexity of this section, which conveys an emotionally charged compliment to the woman-rfowna, a mythologically based warning against the siren-woman, and a clercs nostalgic look at the primal innocence of both man and woman before Adam listened to Eve's voice. His public was familiar with the love pun 'mors d'amours' in all its variants from Adam's first love-bite when he bit into death through love of a woman in the Garden of Eden3 to a love-death theme recognizable by all, whether male or female, clerical or lay, religious or profane. The notion of guilt was not an unfamiliar notion to the Middle Ages. Continuing in the same mode of love court/confessional upon the themes of voice and guilt, Richard summarizes his self-defence as it now stands, beginning with another leading question, 'Fu che merveille se je fui pris?' (p. 33, line 3; Was it surprising if I was captured?) and answering emphatically 'Nenil' (Absolutely not). His first witness, the siren, has established woman's guilt. His second witness, the asp, has embodied the worldly wisdom he should have had. Now with special pleading he explains, using as his witness the blackbird, that the power of voice 'excuses' many bad things: 'escuse maintes coses ki sont desavenans' (p. 33, line 4). The blackbird is completely black, but its beak is bright yellow and it has very beautiful eyes. Its song is astonishingly melodious. It sings only for a short period of the year, the months of April and May, but its song is so delightful that people love to hear it, and for this reason it is often kept in captivity: 'Li merles est uns oiseax tos noirs, mais il a le bee tot jaune et moult tres beax ex. II est de tel nature que il chante

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merveilles haul, et si ne chante que I petit termine 1'an, le mois d'avril et de mai. Mais ses chans est si delitables que on 1'aime moult a oir, et por che le tient on volentiers en jaiole' (PB4, p. 81). With this exquisitely voiced blackbird, Richard forces his public away from a literal (i.e., erotic) interpretation. The courtly 'compliment' is, after all, dubious because ugliness is the blackbird's hallmark. Already in Pierre's bestiary it is described as 'not as beautiful as other birds.' Richard makes it even uglier - so ugly, in fact, that it is 'the ugliest of all birds in captivity.' Since here he is supposedly referring to a particular woman, the homage is his clumsiest yet. By transferring the symbolism of the blackbird's voice to an earthly woman, he has of course removed the redemptive feature of its voice. In Pierre's bestiary the exquisitely melodious song of the 'ugly' blackbird was used as a token that a poor man can merit 'la joie perdurable' (everlasting joy), for however ugly and deformed he may be, his soul will become like the blackbird's voice, 'alsi clere et ausi bele que d'un prince de terre' (PB4, p. 82; as clear and beautiful as the voice of an earthly prince). God will delight in it. But when Richard juxtaposes siren and blackbird, then regenders the blackbird as woman, there is no redeeming message or even any enduring compliment, only a love/hate of the woman. Delightful as her siren voice may once have been, he now finds no delight in her evanescent song. If it is no wonder that he was captured by his lady's voice, it is also no wonder that he finds no glory in that fact for either of them. The same bitter-sweet regret that marked his earlier deployment of the theme of voice - his own voice - again reveals itself, this time for woman's voice Love-death 'au cant de la seraine' has not yet been played out as a theme, and Richard continues to pursue it with intensity through the didactic ploy of his quaestio. The crime has been exposed, the guilt has been apportioned, the key argument of the defence is about to be produced: the irresistible power of the senses. Its formulation is Pierre's, and it occurs just before Pierre's section on the blackbird in a long chapter entitled 'De quoi li home est fais et de sa nature' (What constitutes man, and concerning the nature of man). The chapter is Pierre's own addition to the Physiologus,4 and Richard's extensive use of it, although made without acknowledgment, is consonant with his respect for inherited knowledge. Pierre begins with the unity and perfection of God's creation: heaven, earth, the four elements, the creatures associated with those elements, and the numerical symbolism of the firmament. Richard concentrates

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on the power of the senses to answer the question 'Fu che merveille se je fui pris?' (p. 33, line 3; Was it any wonder that I was captured?), borrowing as follows: Et si a encore vois molt d'autres forces dont li communs de la gent ne set mot. Une de ses forces si est ke nature recoivre par vois une des griengeurs defautes ki soil en rien vivant. Car les coses ki vivent si sentent de .v. sens, che sont velrs, oirs, flairiers, gousteirs et touchiers. Et quant che avient ke li uns faut a aucune cose vivant, si restore nature son damage a miex k'ele puet par aucun des autres sens. Dont il avient ke nus horn ne voit si isnelement comme sours de nature, ne nus horn n'ot si cler com avules, ne nus horn n'est si lechierres comme li punais. Car li nerf ki vienent del cervel as narines et al palais, par ou les virtus de sentir passent, de tant com il ont mains a faire, de tant conoissent il plus parfaitement chu dont il s'entremetent. Et en tel maniere est il des autres sens. Mais entre tous les autres sens n'est nus si nobles comme veoirs. Car nus des autres ne fait conoistre tant de coses, et on ne le recuevre fors par vois. Si com la taupe ki goute ne voit, ains a les iels desous le cuir, mais il ot si cler ke riens ne le puet sosprendre k'ele ne le perchoive, por tant ke sons en isse. Dont li restore nature se defaute par vois. Car vois sert a oie et coulours a veiie et odours a flair et savours a goust. Mais au tast servent pluseurs coses, car on en sent caut et froit et moiste et sech et aspre et suef et molt d'autres coses. Et si li restore nature sa defaute par vois, et si parfaitement ke nule riens ki vive n'ot si cler; ains est une des .v. bestes ki sormontent toutes les autres des .v. sens. Car de cascun sens est il une beste ki toutes les autres en sormonte, si comme li liens de veoir - c'est uns petis vers blans ki voit parmi les parois - et la taupe d'oir et li voltoirs de flariers - car il sent bien au flair une caroingne de .iij. jornees loing - et li singes de gouster et li araingne de touchier. Et si a encore li taupe autre esspecialite. Car c'est une des .iiij. bestes ki vivent de purs elimens. Car il sont .iiij. element dont li mondes est fais: fus, airs, aigue et terre. Li taupe vit de pure terre, ne nule riens ne mangue se pure terre non, et herens de pure aigue, et ploviers de pur air, et salamandres de pur fu - c'est uns blans oiseaus ki de fu se nourist et de qui plumes on fait les dras c'on ne leve s'en fu non. Ces esspecialites a le taupe, et en 1'une est esprovee force de vois. Et si n'est chu pas si grant merveille de chu ke vois puet restorer defaute de veue par le sens a qui elle sert. (p. 33, line 8-p. 37, line 7) (And voice has many other powers of which ordinary folk know nothing. One of its powers is that by voice nature covers up one of the greatest

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defects in a living creature. For living things experience sensation with five senses, namely, sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. And when it happens that a living thing lacks one of these, Nature repairs her damage to the best of her ability by one of the other senses. Thus it happens that no man is as quick to see as a man who is naturally deaf; no man hears as distinctly as a blind man; and no man is as lecherous as the stinking man. For the nerves from the brain to the nostrils and the palate, along which the faculties of sensation pass, realize their functions more perfectly in proportion as they have less to do. And so it is with the other senses. But among all the other senses none is as noble as sight. For none of the others brings knowledge of so many things, and it is repaired only by voice, as with the mole, which cannot see at all, for its eyes are under its skin. However, its hearing is so acute that nothing, provided it emits some sound, can go unperceived and surprise the mole. So Nature repairs her defect through voice. For voice serves hearing, colours sight, odours smell, and flavours taste. But many things serve touch, for with it one feels hot, cold, moist, dry, rough, smooth, and many other things. And Nature thus restores the mole's defect through voice so perfectly that no living thing can hear as clearly: rather, the mole is one of the five animals which supersede all others with the five senses. Because for each sense there is an animal that supersedes all others,5 like the 'line' (a little white worm which sees through walls) for sight, the mole for hearing, the vulture for smell (for it senses by smell a carcass that is three days'journey distant), the monkey for taste, and the spider for touch. And the mole has another peculiarity also: it is one of the four beasts which live on pure elements. Because there are four elements from which the world is made: fire, air, water, and earth. The mole lives on pure earth and eats nothing but pure earth, the herring pure water, the plover pure air, and the salamander (a white bird which is nourished by fire and whose feathers serve to make those materials that are cleansed by fire only) pure fire. The mole has these peculiarities, and in one of them the power of voice is demonstrated. And it is not surprising that voice can compensate for lack of sight by the sense it serves (namely, hearing), or likewise that it compensates for the very defect of the sense it serves. That is a power that is found in nothing else but voice.)

To the reader who has no knowledge of Richard's interaction with Pierre's bestiary, the passage has every appearance of being an Aristotelian digression. Indeed, my own conclusion before I had examined the full extent of Richard's debt to Pierre was that it was a 'post-1255 reac-

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tion of an enthusiastic classicist to Aristotle' (The New Naturalism,' p. 17). But Richard's expatiation upon the senses is not from Aristotle. It borrows directly from Pierre, then adds additional facts on animals that have been culled both from Pierre and from other sources. In fact, nowhere in the ariereban does Richard indulge in gratuitous transmission of material from the ancients, despite his classical scholarship. This is not, then, a digression but serves an important structural purpose, paralleling and counterbalancing Richard's introductory exposition on 'savoir.' Then he highlighted the faculty that distinguished man, made in God's image, from the other animals. That faculty was reason, 'le sens' in the singular. Now, after the 'fall' through love, Richard provides a disquisition on, even a hymn to, lles sens.' They may not equal the divine faculty of reason, but they have an irresistible beauty, life, and power of their own. The description of the senses and their workings in the animal kingdom proceeds uninterrupted for six pages, as if Richard, like Adam, is naming - and marvelling at - the animals. At the end of the information from Pierre's chapter on the nature of man, Richard could have terminated his explanation. Instead he departs from the Aristotelian hierarchy of the senses as presented by Pierre, and focuses upon voice, a principal theme that has had primacy from the beginning. This is a recantation in the fullest sense as Richard remembers the singing and simultaneously regrets it by resinging a homage to song. Thus he moves from voice to music. His 'defence' here, rising originally from the blackbird's magnificent singing, is implicit rather than explicit: the senses are God-given, and the art that supremely satisfies the senses is music. He reinforces his argument with material on the behaviour of bees and their response to song. It is worth noting here that, despite Richard's scientific and medical expertise, he makes no attempt to comment upon or correct the scientific information here or anywhere in LeBestiaire d'amour. Even if he had the scientific information to do so, it was not his intention to argue with any of his sources, whether the subject was sirens, bees, or unicorns. Thus, the apiary 'facts' he narrates are inaccurate, as the modern reader, whose scientific knowledge no longer derives from Pliny and 'les anchiens,' will realize. Singing/whistling/hissing is irrelevant to swarm behaviour, which is initiated through pulse-code exchanges ('hooting'/ 'quacking')6 between the old queen and her potential successors. Swarming is then precipitated by a specific buzzing signal from the frenzied workers). But that is irrelevant to the circumstances. Each source description from Pierre is, quite literally, Richard's pretext. Thus, Richard

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narrates that bees have no hearing. Nevertheless, whenever a hive of bees has swarmed, they are led by whistle and by song. This is not because they can hear it but because, given the noble and well-ordered nature that is apparent in the mastery of their accomplishments, good and perfect order cannot pass them without being perceived by them. There is no order so perfect or so exquisite as in song. Richard identifies this material on bees as having been written in 'the natures [of things]' ('II estescrites natures,' p. 37, line 10). It is not clear whether his public would have registered this attribution as Bartholomaeus Anglicus's recent De proprietatibus rerum, Pliny's Naturalis historia, or (what is most likely, given Richard's vagueness) neither. In his thumbnail sketch of bee behaviour, Pliny is conflated with Isaiah,7 and the passage serves less as a homage to bees than as Richard's homage to the power of music. For his eulogy of the art which he so admired he adduces as witnesses 'cil ki ont leiit et entendu les hautes philosophies' (p. 38, lines 5-6; those who have read and understood the high philosophies). They know the power of music: 'sevent bien combien musike puet, et a chiax ne puet mie estre chele qu'en toutes les coses ki sont n'a si parfaite ordenance comme en chant, ne si esquise' (p. 38, lines 5—8). They know that the order of song is so perfect and powerful that it can change the heart, and that the ancients exploited this power to the full. In this homage to song, Richard's appeal for confirmation is, as usual, to clergie and not to the courtly contemporaries who share his enjoyment of music and of lyric poetry. Yet his contemporaries were in no way different from the ancients in their desire for joyful songs appropriate for weddings, mournful songs to inspire tears for the dead, and songs that hovered between the two moods. By distancing himself from this courtly public in his affirmation of clergie, however, and by citing the authority of 'li anchiien' to prove his point, he is able to speak to his contemporaries more authoritatively against the seductive pleasures of the senses. Here is Richard clerc at his most professional. And, significantly, it is here for the first time that Richard provides no erotic interpretation. Indeed, he provides no interpretation at all. His sudden change of pattern and his blatant omission of any sort of conclusion are immediately shocking, especially since his source, Pierre, had spelled out an optimistic message, beginning with this rallying apostrophe to Everyman: Et tu horn qui es el monde, crestiens ou juis ou paiens, qui que tu es, pense a ce que Dex te forma a s'ymage; et pus fus tu perdu par Adan nostre pere premerain, par le conseil de la feme qui prist la pomme devee. Pense que

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Beasts of Love Dex te rachata et ne volt soffrir que tu fuses perdus. Si dona son precious cors por toi salver. (PB4, p. 79) (You, man, living in this world, Christian, Jew, or pagan, whoever you are, consider the fact that God formed you in his image; and afterwards you were lost because of Adam our first father, by the counsel of the woman who took the forbidden apple. Consider that God redeeemed you and would not allow you to be lost. And gave his precious body to save you.)

There was, in Pierre's bestiary, a redemptive outcome after Adam's fall because of a woman's voice ('par le conseil de la feme'), namely, the promise of 'joie pardurable' if man turned from his joy in the senses to love of God.8 Not so in Le Bestiaire d'amour. Richard promises nothing, because human love ultimately promises nothing. Thus, the paradoxical effect of Richard's omissions is to reinforce Pierre's didacticism. Woman by the power of the senses and by her words/voice ('conseil') had lured Adam/Richard to his love-death. That love-death was inevitable and was directly attributable to 'la feme' (the woman). Through her, man was lost ('perdu') because the woman's voice was too strong. Now Richard, from his narrative of the senses, concludes - nothing, and the fatalistic silence is more potent for his human allegory than any newly erotic explication would have been. Man is a creature of the senses; he is love-dead; paradise is lost. For the new Adam profane love brings only nostalgia for lost innocence. Continuing to disregard the conventional ordering of the senses9 because voice is his main theme, he concludes that his 'sin' and subsequent death occurred when he listened to the woman's voice, found it to be beautiful, and disobeyed God's command. Interesting theological issues are raised here, although not explored. At what moment did/does sin occur and what was/is the nature of the sin? At what moment was Eve perceived through all his senses to be desirable? Love at first bite, not love at first sight? Whose fault was it? What was the nature of the knowledge contained in the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge? Carnal knowledge? Did sexual gratification depend on the self-awareness the First Couple acquired after Eve talked Adam into eating the 'apple'?10 The questions are not addressed, let alone answered, because suddenly and unceremoniously Richard terminates his long theoretical development with a curt abridgment: 'molt d'autres forces a encore vois, et en virtu de parole et en virtu de cant, dont il n'est ore mie lieus de parler; mais tant vous en souffise ore selonc nostre matire' (p. 40, lines

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2-5; voice has many other powers by virtue both of speech and of song, of which there is no longer place to speak. Let that suffice you now in accordance with our subject matter). It is as if Richard realizes how far his predisposition to the subject of voice has diverted him from his supposed addressee: his bele tres douce amie. Also, with the theme of voice his attempt to maintain two conventions simultaneously, the lyric topos of the unattainable lady and the clerical topos of the seductive siren Eve, has by now become so problematic that an abrupt termination is inevitable. The mention of 'nostre matire' and the return to his addressee effect a repersonalization of the narrative: 'let that suffice you now in accordance with our subject matter.' Richard tells her, not without ambivalence, that 'se vois a si grant force, dont ne fu chu pas mervelle se jou m'endormi a force de vois. Car che ne fu mie vois com autre, ains fu de la plus bele rien ke jou onques eiise veii a mon jugement' (p. 40, lines 58; If voice has such power, it was no wonder I was put to sleep - not only was hers a voice unlike any others, but also it was the voice of the most beautiful creature I had ever seen in my judgment). The flattery is fulsome but the last three words nuance Richard's compliment, a sting in the tail of an otherwise flawless piece of hyperbole. In the final analysis, his 'amie' is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen11 - but only in his judgment: beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What a pity, then, that (as Richard has made abundantly clear) this beholder is judgmentally 'challenged,'judgmentally impaired, even, through love! Charmed by the woman's voice (and thus departing from the sensual hierachy which would have induced love at first sight rather than at first sound), Richard now moves to the sense that would ordinarily have had primacy. He says he was more captured by his faculty of sight than the tiger in the mirror. The tiger, even if it is searching for its lost cubs, will be transfixed if a mirror is put in its path. Delighted by its own beauty, it will remain staring at the mirror, cubs forgotten. This exemplum explores male rather than female guilt, since Richard equates himself with the tiger, asking himself, 'M'aida dont le veiie a prendre?' (Did sight help to capture me?), then answering his own question with the positive assertion 'Oil, miex fu je pris par mon veoir ke tigres n'est al mireoir' (p. 40, lines 9-10; Yes, I was captured by my sight more truly than the tiger in the mirror). In the phrase 'par mon veoir' that personal pronoun 'mon' is at once subjective and objective (T was captured by my faculty of seeing or I was captured by the sight of myself) - a brilliantly complex piece of legal doublespeak, as two-sided as the guilt debate and the

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ariereban itself. The equivocal nature of Richard's love is apparent here, as in the whole self-reflexive exemplum. Pierre had given useful clarifications for the interpretation of the tiger and its neglected offspring. These were understood in the Physiologus as man's soul. The soul's entrapping mirrors were 'les grands viandes, les grans deduis del monde que nous desirons, de robes, de cevals, de beles femes, de tos altres pecies' (PB2, p. 141; my emphasis; the exquisite dishes, the great worldly delights that we covet: clothes, horses, beautiful women, and all other sins). And of all those self-reflexive mirrors mentioned, the most dangerous was woman. In the Garden of Eden, Adam's Fall occurred when he fell in love with Eve, who had been created from him, was in fact himself. She diverted his gaze from God, in whose image man was made, so that instead of mirroring himself in the only proper mirror, Adam looked instead to woman, made in the image of mere man. This was a self-relexive love, and ever since man's love of woman has been self-reflexively fatal. For, as both Pierre and Richard make clear, woman's incitement to disobedience continues: Tamor des femes, par coi li pechies commencha des le commencement, des Adam de ci aore, [rend] les cuers des homes inobedient' (PB2, p. 125; love of women, which from the beginning was the cause of sin from Adam until now, makes the hearts of men disobedient). Adam's love of Eve, who was made from him and was literally 'flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone,' was auto-eroticism at its most profound. Entranced with his own image, the lover adores the creature who projects his own image back to him. He is like the tiger self-absorbed before a mirror. When Richard compares himself to the tiger, therefore, and regrets his narcissism, the real circumstances of his biography are not irrelevant, and one is obliged to consider an additional personal interpretation — perhaps the most obvious interpretation in its own day - of the tiger exemplum. The tiger in the mirror signifies the chancellor with a past career of self-absorption in front of the wrong mirrors, to the detriment of the 'faons' that were his priestly, i.e., 'maternal' responsibility. Guillaume de Lorris's Roman de la rose further enriches the exemplum with its sense of danger, young arrogance, and death through a 'miroers perilleus, / ou Narcisus, li orgueilleus, / mira sa face et ses ieuz vers, / dont il jut puis mors toz envers' (Rose 1, lines 1569-72; that perilous mirror in which the arrogant Narcissus mirrored his face and his green eyes, then, lying down prostrate, died of it). The tiger-in-the-mirror exemplum lends itself to analysis also from a variety of modern perspectives. Lacan could be adduced, especially since

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Richard seeks from his lady a mother-child relationship. Like the Lacanian child, lacking as yet a firm ego-identity, he is drawn to a mirror where he can view a coherent image of himself. Freudian and feminist theorists will also find the mirror symbolism richly suggestive. Solterer comments: 'Like the Freudian subject fascinated with women depicted as "beasts of prey," the master-narrator exhibits his own feminine weakness: his attraction to an expression of his feminized narcissistic impulses. Drawn toward what he is trying desperately to overcome, the Bestiaire narrator exemplifies the male subject enthralled and repulsed by the selfabsorbed, indifferent woman' (Master and Minerva, p. 84). When Richard identifies with the tigress who forgets her cubs, Solterer sees his gendering of himself as female as a male strategy: 'Each time he shifts from an exemplum detailing masculine traits to one exemplifying those that are feminine, we glimpse the master-narrator working to ordain the woman's response. If he can use his gendered learning to dictate to her, then his intellectual mastery will be confirmed in the process' (p. 83). Such analyses are psychologically credible. Their only hazard lies in their exclusivity, which threatens to ignore the real complexity of Richard's mirror imagery, including its most obvious interpretation: Richard genders himself here as female because of his nurturing role as priest. Richard's real strategy is not 'to ordain the woman's response' but to teach his public and to charm them into reading his allegory in all its multi-level richness, a process which necessarily began with a direct comparison of it with its source. After that strategy he would have demonstrated that profane love reduces man to the level of beasts and was therefore ignoble. The significant conclusion of the tiger episode is a planctus that he (like Adam) has suffered a deformation of his nobler self ('perdi mon sens e ma memoirie,' p. 42, line 3), even though the deformation was accomplished through 'the two noblest of the senses.' His next statement reminds the public of his introduction, where he hoped to replace the seductive aural appeal of his past lyricism with a memorable and newly didactic appeal through 'peinture-parole': 'Car o'irs et veoirs sont les .ij. portes de memorie, si com il a este devant dit' (p. 42, lines 3-4). It is noteworthy that in this restatement of his introduction he reverses his correctly hierarchical 'veoirs et oirs' to 'oi'rs et veoirs.' This continues his recent preoccupation with the power of voice, especially woman's voice, and his personal re-enactment of the Fall ('par le conseil d'une feme'). His admission/confesson/criminal defence/warning is that, captured through 'les sens,' albeit the two noblest, he has lost 'le sens' and

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'la memorie.' Behind the narcissistic tiger is Pierre's imagery of woman as the soul's entrapping mirror. By playing against that source imagery, Richard is once again reinforcing it. It would be the ultimate irony, therefore, to let the source be overlooked in favour of some newly restrictive interpretation, whatever the focus. Descending a step down the sensual hierarchy, Richard confesses that he was captured 'even' by his sense of smell ('par le flairier meisme fui je pris,' p. 42, line 7), like the unicorn. No beast is as hard to capture as the fierce unicorn. It has a horn in the middle of its forehead which can penetrate all armour. No one dares to attack it, and it can be ambushed only by a young virgin. When the unicorn senses a virgin by her smell, it kneels in front of her and gently humbles itself as if to be of service. Clever hunters who know its nature therefore place a maiden in its path, and it falls asleep in her lap. When it is asleep the hunters who have not the courage to pursue it while awake come out and kill it. If on a narrative level Richard's confession of auto-eroticism in the tiger exemplum was delicate, this next admission is, by its sensuality, even more hazardous for a known ecclesiastical persona. The fierce unicorn can be captured only by the smell of virginity. Discreetly, Richard refrains from borrowing the precise details of Pierre's visually oriented description: Une beste est qui est apelee en grieu monoceros, c'est en latin unicorne. Phisiologes nos dist de sa nature qu'ele est mout bele de cors, et si n'est mie grant beste. Si a cors de ceval et pies d'olifant, et teste de cerf, et halte vois et clere, et coe torte comme porcel; et une corne enmi le front, qui de longor a IIII pies, droite et ague. Et de cele corne deront et depece parmi quanqu'ele ataint devant lui quant ele est iree. (PB2, p. 220) (It is a creature called in Greek 'monoceros,' which in Latin means 'unicorn.' Of its nature Physiologus tells us that it is very beautiful of body, and is not a large beast. It has the body of a horse, the feet of an elephant, the head of a stag, a high shrill voice, and a curly tail like a piglet; and it has a horn in the middle of its forehead, straight, pointed, and four feet in length. With this horn it tears up and shreds through anything in its path when it is angry.)

Richard avoids also the down-to-earth realism of Pierre's description, which could have been counter-productive to a stance of 'fin'amors.' Pierre had narrated that 'Si tost comme li unicornes le voit, il vient a lui;

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et la mescine li oevre son giron. Et la beste flecist ses jambes devant la mescine, et met son cief en son giron tot simplement' (ibid.; As soon as the unicorn sees her, it comes to her; and the maiden opens her lap to it. And the beast bends its legs in front of the maiden and puts its head in her lap). A bent-legged chancellor crouching in a posture of servitude before an odoriferous maiden who has opened her lap to him would be more dangerous self-parody than the love narrative could stand. Also, it would undermine the intertextual referents that were so important to the sensual imagery; for example, Guillaume de Lorris's rosebud, whose fragrant beauty captured the lover in the 'Jardin de Deduit.' Bathos is not the only hazard threatening the flimsy erotic thread that binds the ariereban together. The contradictory notions of a receptive and an entrapping virgin have to be handled with care. To preserve any semblance of narrative, the contradictory representations of the bele tres douce amie as 'pucele' and hoyden gateway-to-Hell must somehow be held in balance. The narrative - in so far as it is a narrative - is in jeopardy. It is rescued just in time by Richard's change of focus from the bait (the maiden) and the hunted (Richard) to the hunter (Love). Love, Richard testifies, was the 'sages venerres' who, by putting a maiden in his path, avenged himself for Richard's youthful arrogance: Tout ensi s'est Amours vengie de moi. Car j'avoi este li plus orguelleux horn vers Amours ki fust de mon cage, et me sambloit ke je n'avoie onques veii feme ke je vausisse mie avoir tout a ma volente par si ke jou 1'amasse ausi durement comme j'ai oi dire c'on amok. Et Amors, ki est sages venerres, me mist en mon cemin une pucele a qui douc[h]our jou me sui endormis et mors de tel inort com a Amor apartient, c'est desperance sans atente de merci. (p. 43, line 10—p. 44, line 5) (That is just how Love avenged itself on me. For I had been the haughtiest young man of my generation toward Love, and I thought I had never seen a woman that I would want for my own, a woman I would love as passionately as I had been told one loves. Then Love, who is a clever hunter, put a maiden in my path and I fell asleep at her sweetness and I died the sort of death that is appropriate to Love, namely despair without expectation of mercy.)

Guillaume de Lorris's God of Love who demands his toll ('peage') from arrogant young men (Rose, line 22) is not the only inspiration here. Richard's Consaus d'amour had ended with an anecdote of youthful

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arrogance toward love and subsequent 'conversion' which anticipated Le Bestiaire d'amour: 'II avint que quantje fui nouvelement chevaliersj'estoie li plus orguelleus horn envers amours ki onques fust, n'onkes n'avoie veue dame ne demoisele, tant fust bele ne de si haut pris, que je vaisisse metre mon cuer en li amer (McLeod, p. 19; It came about, when I was fresh as a knight, that I was the most arrogant man that ever existed in regard to love. I had never seen a woman or girl that I would have wanted to give my heart to loving, no matter how beautiful or how estimable she was). Love's revenge for Richard's youthful arrogance has been to capture him through his senses: first through the sensual attraction of a woman's voice, then through her visual beauty, and finally through her fragrance. Richard abandons his own will to obey hers, like the beasts who, after they have experienced the scent of the panther, follow it to the death for the sweet fragrance that emanates from it. For once, Richard's animal reference is presented as a brief simile, not an exemplum: 'ai me volente lassie por le suie suir. Ausi com les bestes ke puis k'eles ont une fois sentie au flair le pan there, ja puis ne le lairont, ains le sievent de si a le mort por le douce alaine ki de lui ist' (p. 44, line 7-p. 45, line 3; my emphasis; I have abandoned my will in pursuit of hers, like the beasts that, after they have sensed the odour of the panther, will not abandon it). The simile serves as a contrastive reminder of the hallowed symbol for Jesus Christ, the real panther: 'Nostre Sire Jhesu Crist, il est vraie pantere' (PBS, p. 256), a symbol that was too well known to need further description. 'Ausi com les bestes' contains a reminder also of the underlying message of Le Bestiaire d'amour, that through love of woman man is reduced to the level of the beasts. Fragrance serves as the link between the panther simile and the unicorn exemplum. More important still, the animals are linked by their underlying significance, symbols of Jesus Christ's redemptive healing. Both comparisons are therefore invidious for the woman because her power is vitiated in advance. Richard, wretched 'kaitis' and misguided, claims he does not yet know whether the bele tres douce amie will have healing powers for him, and he is following after her as if she had. The only proven result of his love for woman so far has been 'death' from love, yet he still chooses to abandon his own will for hers, like the beasts which follow the panther 'a la mort' (to the death). Self-parody is once more in evidence. But could it be that reports of his death have been somewhat exaggerated? Richard interrupts the narration for a moment of gratitude and self-

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congratulation. His siren woman has managed to lull to sleep only three of his five senses, hearing, sight, and smell. But he remains a virgin in that he never touched or tasted her. HE NEVER HAD SEXUAL RELATIONS WITH THAT WOMAN. '[S]e je parfusse pris as autres .ij. sens: a gouster en baisant et a touchier en acolant, dont parfusse jou a droit endormis' (p. 45, lines 5-6; If I had been completely captured by the other two senses, taste by kissing and touch by embracing, then I would truly have been put to sleep). Narrative demands as well as personal and professional reasons surely contributed to this disclaimer. Whatever the facts of his past, a love narrative that appeared to reflect his own persona as a churchman could be injurious to his professional health - and to the spiritual well-being of his flock, those 'faons' he has so belatedly remembered. It is time for him to explore the suggestion of possible healing that was skilfully injected into the narrative with the brief mention of the panther.

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CHAPTER THREE

Remedies for Love

Dont suije mors, c'est voirs. I a il point de recovrir? Ne sai. Jou ne sai quele la mededne est, fors tant ke par la nature d 'une beste saice on le nature d 'une autre.

Love, which operates through 'les sens,' has been shown to undermine the proper functioning of 'le sens.' Confessing his sensual vulnerability, Richard affirms he has become love's victim. Now Le Bestiaire d'amour veers in a new direction: possible remedies for love. An obvious influence is Ovid's Remedia amoris, although Richard never replicates the satiric mood of Ovid's 'all love is a con.' Ovid spoke a language of happy cynicism to the lover. If a man has been imprudent enough to cross love's threshold, love can still be cured by resisting and delaying; by replacing it with other diversions (gambling, drinking, farming, travel); by satiating it; or by fixating on the beloved's most unattractive physical feature. 'Usus' is the key. The cultivation of a feigned lack of interest quickly brings a raz/lack of interest, restoring the lover to health: 'intrat amor mentes usu, dediscitur usu; qui peterit sanum fmgere, sanus erit' (Remedia, lines 503-4). Even more influential is the final section of Andreas Capellanus's De amore in which, with an outburst of misogyny and a very detailed denigration of women, the author advises Walter to reject love altogether. But Richard's treatment of love is more fatalistic. It emerges, moreover, that his 'remedies' are not remedies at all. They are, in order of presentation, foresight, erasure, redemptive nurturing, healing, and vengeance. The most obvious solution for Richard's 'mal' (pain/sickness/evil) would have been prevention, which presupposes foresight. Before his

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first meeting with the woman, he had felt foreboding ('pronostike') the Greek learnedism injects a medical/theological note into the love narrative - 'com une pronostike del mal ke puis m'en est avenus' (p. 32, lines 8-9; like a prognostication of the evil/sin/misfortune that afterwards befell me). Unfortunately, prognostication is not foresight, and it provides no protection against the mortal perils that emanate from siren maidens. At the moment when he could best have protected himself he did not, and his lack of 'porveance' was a sin of omission1 for which he now reproaches himself. He should have been like the crane. When cranes group together, one of them is always watching while the others sleep. The crane that is on watch prevents itself from sleeping by clutching little pebbles in its feet so that it cannot stand firm or sleep soundly. Pierre's zoological description is la ou auques en a ensamble, il i a tos dis une qui les autres gaite, et veille tot ades quant les autres dorment; et si font la gaite cascune a son tor. Et cele qui gaite, por ce que ele ne vieut pas dormir, si prent petites pieretes en ses pies; porce que ele ne se poet fermement ester, ne que se poet fermement endormir. (PB2, p. 142) (where they are grouped together, there is always one who watches over the others, and keeps constant vigil when the others are sleeping; and each takes its turn to watch. And the one that is watching, in order to resist the urge to sleep, takes little pebbles in its feet, so that it cannot stand firmly, nor can it sleep soundly.) Richard takes this description with only small changes and, what is more unusual for him, takes Pierre's theological exposition with it: la grue qui les autres gaite est porveance, que on doit garder tous les autres vertus de 1'ame; et li pie sont les volentes. Car alsi com on va par les pies, alsi va 1'ame par la volente, d'une pensee en autre; et li horn d'un bienfait en autre. Dont met la grue la piere en ses pies porce qu'ele ne puist fermement ester et porce ne s'endorme, quand la porveance tient si corte la volente que li autres sens ne fient mie tant qu'il soient decheu. (PB2, p. 142) (the crane that guards the others is Foresight, for one must guard all the other virtues of the mind; and the feet are the Will. For as one moves by one's feet, so the mind moves by the will from one thought to another; and man moves from one good deed to another. So the crane puts stones in its

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feet to prevent its sleeping when foresight so holds the will in check that the senses do not have enough free play to be deceived.)

Richard's only modification is his change of the word 'bienfait' (good deed) to 'fait' (p. 47, lines 6-7; deed) - he is in a confessional not a selfcomplimentary mode. He regrets that he did not behave like the leader of the crane flock. Erotice, the message to his lady is superficial. He did not foresee that he would fall in love; he should have been more watchful. But there is a profounder signification to this self-accusatory mea culpa that differentiates it from Ovid's recantations, which were games at best. The crane responsible for the flock is an unmistakable signifier of Richard's professional responsibilities as the Church's custodian of souls. His lack of foresight was a sin both against himself and against the faithful. Deploring his lack of caution, he turns in self-flagellation to another exemplum featuring the bird that symbolizes vanity, the peacock. Richard provides no animal description for the peacock, thus suppressing mention of one of its principal properties, its habit of waking in the night and crying for its lost beauty ('il est de tel nature que quant il dort par nuit, et il s'esveille soudainement, qu'il crie; por ce qu'il quide avoir sa beaute perdue,' PB2, p. 161). His omission is sensible. The image of Richard-lover wakeful and weeping for beauty he believes he has lost, although pertaining to the theme of voice and of despair through love, would have been counter-productive. It would have detracted from the credibility of the erotic narrative and plunged it into bathos. Instead, Richard follows Pierre's exposition closely: li hom qui n'a porveance en soi est moult povre cose, et valt autre tant mains, come li paons enlaidist de sa keue perdre. Car keue de paon senefie porveance, por ce que keue, de tant qu'ele est par deriere, senefie ce qui est a avenir. Et por che senefie la keue de paon porveance; ne autre cose n'apele on porveance que de prendre garde ce qui est a avenir. (PB2, p. 161) (the man who lacks foresight is a very wretched object, worth as little as the peacock that is made ugly by the loss of its tail. For the peacock's tail signifies foresight because a tail, inasmuch as it is behind, signifies what is to come. So the peacock's tail signifies foresight, the term foresight meaning nothing other than taking care for the future).

The explanation now appears contrived, ridiculously precious even, but it would have appealed to Richard's public by its word play, tantaliz-

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ing them into seeking hidden profundities. And Pierre's description of the peacock's nocturnal crying for lost beauty continues to resonate as Richard-peacock delivers his planctus for the irrevocably lost. The tortured peacock 'senefie 1'ame qui en la nuit de cest monde doit tos tans cremir qu'ele ne perde les biens et la grasse que Dex li a donee. Si doit crier a grant destroit en lermes et en orisons, quant ele sent alcune oscurte de pechie en soi; et doit soi meisme conoistre, et en chercher a bone foi totes ses defautes' (PB2, p. 161; signifies the soul which in the night of this world must be always fearful of losing the benefits and grace that God has given it. It must cry out in distress, tears, and prayers when it feels some darkness of sin within, and must know itself, and seek out in good faith all its defects). Pierre's remedy was self-examination and confession. These modes now dominate LeBestiaire d'amour. Richard's earlier aviary images (the cock and the swan) had parodied the man of 'savoir' metamorphosed into pathetic poet-lover. For such parody it is again profitable to note precedents in the Aviarium, which uses the peacock to ridicule the preacher, horrendous of voice as he threatens sinners with the fires of hell, or ridiculous in vainglory when he does not carry his tail lowered and exposes his rear end (Clark, Medieval Book of Birds, pp. 248-51). Richard, obsessed now with death through woman from Adam's down to his own, labels the tailless peacock as flawed, damaged, ruined ('empirics') (cf. Pierre's 'moult povre cose,' a very poor thing). Richard's language is post-lapsarian, a reminder of the spiritual taint that man inherited after Adam's loss of Paradise. It was the most serious loss ever occasioned by a woman, and now Richard issues a last call to remember 'last things' and, belatedly, to cultivate foresight. At this point the ariereban almost crosses the divide from love allegory to straight moralizing. Since past opportunities for foresight have been lost, the next remedy to be tried is erasure of the past, as seen in a property of the lion. Richard's transition from the tail of the peacock to the tail of the lion is copied from Pierre, who 'confirmed' the exemplum of the peacock's foresight with that of the lion: Et si est conferme par une des natures del lion qui, quant on le cace por prendre, et il doit fuir, li cuevre les traces de ses pies del train de sa keue; por ce que on nel sache ou suir. Alsi fait sages horn qui a porveance, quant il li covient alcune cose [mucer'?] dont on le blasmeroit s'on le savoit. II se porvoit si al faire que on nel saura ja; si que sa porveance cuevre les traces de ses pies. (PB2, pp. 161-2)

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(And this is confirmed by one of the natures of the lion, which, when it is hunted for capture, must flee. It covers the tracks of its feet with its tail; so that it cannot be followed. The wise man who has foresight acts similarly, when he has to hide something for which he would be blamed if it were known. He takes precautions so that it will never be known; thus his foresight covers the tracks of his feet.)

When the lion's erasing spoor is applied to the love narrative, the immediate message is far from chivalrous: preserve your reputation by wiping away the evidence, as the lion's spoor erases its tracks. The jarringly sardonic note is not improved by Richard's exposition, which is certainly not courtly. He urges the wise man to avoid the publicity, whether good or bad, that may result from his works ('ses oevres'): Et ausi fait sages hom ki a porveiance: quant il lui convient faire aucune cose dont on le blasmeroit s'on le savoit, il se porvoit si au faire c'on ne le savra ja; si ke sa pourveance cuevre les traces de ses pies, c'est a dire la renomeee ou bone ou malvaisse ke de ses oevres poet issir. (p. 49, lines 4-8; my emphasis) (This is what a wise man who has foresight does. When he must perform an action that would bring him blame if it were known, he makes provision as he does it that it will never be known, so that his foresight covers the tracks of his feet, that is to say the publicity, whether good or bad, that may result from his works.)

The dangers posed by 'malvaise renommee'/'fama' (rumour) and by the gossip spread by the lovers' enemies, the 'losengiers,' were well known. The risk of Tama' necessitated prudence, but only in order to avoid bad publicity. Worth ('los') and personal exploits, on the other hand, were necessary accompaniments to courtly loving, and lovers were not enjoined to prudence or to secrecy in that regard. Thus a favourable reputation could never be 'aucune cose dont on le blasmeroit.' But Richard remains in confessional mode, and he has internalized Pierre's stern instruction: 'Tu hom, qui es fors et delivres, or te porvoi qu'ele [ton anme] ait mire a ses plaies garir ains qu'ele soit morte; c'est a entendre confession et penance en ta vie, et vraie repentance devant que li cop de la mort vient a toi' (PB2, p. 162; You, man, who are strong and free, make sure now that [your soul] have a doctor to cure its wounds before it dies, that is to say, hear confession and penance in your life-

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time, and true repentance before death comes to strike you). The ariereban derives from Richard's conviction that his previous love writings, however badly or well received, are now to be repudiated. Le Bestiaire d 'amour is his lion's tail. The transference of the lion symbolism to himself is not devoid of arrogance. Christ, the spiritual lion, disguised his deity when he descended to earth: 'Altresi est li Saveres nostre esperitels lions de la lignie Juda, rachine de Jesse, fils de David, envoies del souverain Pere; covri as entendans les traces de sa deite' (PB2, p. 108). This is the divine model that Richard finds appropriate for himself as Christ's representative on earth. By substituting the phrase 'ses oevres' for Pierre's non-specific 'coses' (things), he tailors Pierre's exemplum to himself. Dissatisfaction with his previous writings resonates, and at the end of his life the 'bone renomee' from them is as unacceptable as their 'malvaisse renomee' would have been. Wishing to transcend anything that has brought possible harm to himself as well as to 'the flock,' he again laments his lack of foresight, the importance of which has been triply confirmed now by the crane, the peacock, and the lion. The dialectical-confessional exploration of love's remedies is proving to be a powerful means to formulate a discourse of self. Wrestling with love's inevitability, Richard returns to the theme of voice and excuses himself with a fatalistic exemplum, the tale of Argos. The original myth told the story of lo, priestess of Hera and daughter of Inachus, who was transformed by her lusty lover Zeus into a heifer. Hera admired the beast and was given it by the reluctant Zeus. Hera put the heifer in the charge of Argos-with-the-hundred-eyes, but Zeus sent Mercurius to charm Argos to sleep with music and with story telling. Argos was then killed, lo was returned to Zeus, and the furious Hera placed Argos's eyes upon the tail of her favourite bird, the peacock. Richard knew Ovid's narration of the myth (Metamorphoses 1, 583ff.) and had quoted from the Metamorphoses in his Consaus. Nevertheless, he uses Pierre's Physiologus version without any mention of lo, the names of her powerful relatives, or Ovid's Metamorphoses. His purposes in Le Bestiaire d'amourhave moved away from those of 'li maistres' (McLeod, p. 13) to Pierre's (although he does not credit Pierre or Pierre's immediate source the Physiologus).2 Instead he invents the patently untrue attribution 'j'ai 01 conter .1. conte d'une dame ki ..." (p. 50, lines 5-6; I heard tell of a woman who had a magnificent cow). The ostensibly first-person reporting is at several removes from Richard's own experience, but the fictive opening gives directness. It is a narrative trick that directly reflects the

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practices of popular preaching, where an exemplum would be introduced into a sermon by a personal authenticator, usually the transmitter,3 as here. In this way Richard personalizes the narrative without departing in any other way from Pierre's sanitized version of the myth. His choice of Pierre over Ovid is a significant one. He could have played upon the exemplum from a classical scholar's perspective, commenting, for example, that even the queen of the gods with her manyeyed guardian had insufficient foresight when it was most needed. But Richard-cferr no longer has an interest in preserving classical material per se in a work intended to be memorable for its serious didacticism. He, like Pierre and Pierre's commissioning bishop, allies himself instead with Isidore of Seville, who saw the behaviour of the pagan gods as a disgrace and a negative example: 'turpe erat tales deos credi, quales homines esse non debeant' (Etymologiae VIII, xi, 36; belief in gods who presented such negative examples of behaviour to men was disgraceful). The politically correct myth now has popular appeal and just enough exoticism to lend attraction to Richard's didacticism. 'The story goes,' according to the newly improved version, that there was a woman who owned a magnificent cow. She loved it so much that she could not bear to lose it for anything, so she gave it to the care of her cowherd Argos. This Argos had a hundred eyes, and never slept in more than two eyes at a time. All the others kept guard and watched the cow. Yet with all that, the cow was lost. For a man who had grown fond of the cow sent over one of his sons, Mercurius, who was marvellously skilled at making melody on a long, hollow reed he owned. Mercurius talked to Argos about this and that, playing all the while on his reed. He so turned around him, playing and talking, that Argos's eyes fell asleep pair by pair until he slept in all hundred of them. Then Mercurius cut off Argos's head, and led the cow away to his father. Thus in Pierre's/Richard's exemplum Hera/Juno is now simply a woman ('une dame'), a woman who owns a cow; Zeus/Jupiter is just a man ('un homme'), a man who wants the cow; Argos is just a cowherd, 'un vacher'; and Mercurius is nothing but a cattle-thief with musical talent (p. 50, line 5-p. 51, line 8).4 With the Argos myth came Pierre's moral that we are the cowherd, the fine cow is our soul, the eyes that remain awake are our good deeds, and the master who receives the cow after Argos falls asleep is the Devil ('Nos somes sicomme Argus le vachier: la bone vache est example de 1'ame que nos devonts gaitier et garder; li oeil del cief, ce sont li oeil qui dorment; li bienfait, ce sont li oeil qui 1'ame gaitent et gardent. Li hom qui envoia son fil por la vache avoir, nos senefie diable qui envoie son

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message por 1'ame engingnier par luxure, par covoitise, par orgoeil, par envie, par haine et par tot altre maniere de pechies; tant qu'il engingne 1'ome'; PB2, p. 181). Richard's allegory against love is once more strengthened by that diabolical residual: for the man who loses his soul to love of a woman has surrendered his soul to the Devil. The remedy of past prevention has been declared impossible. Erasure of the past is desirable, but problematic. Can there be any recovery after a love death? Richard says that if there is a remedy, he does not know what it is, and adduces two animals in swift succession for their resuscitative and nurturing powers, the swallow and the weasel. The swallow has the power to cure her babies if they have had their eyes gouged out, although no one knows how she does this: 's'il avenist que nus les arondeax presist, et crevast a cascun les ex; et maintenant les remesist el ni ariere, et en laissast la mere covenir tant qu'il peussent voler; 1'aronde set tant de sens de sa nature, qu'ele avroit fait ses arondeax veir tot clerement. Mais nus ne set comment ele le fait, ne par coi' (PB2, p. 145). The weasel also is wise enough to restore life to its babies that have been killed: 'se on li presist ses faons, et tuast, ele est tant sage de sa nature que ele le sussiteroit se ele eust son faon' (PB2, p. 148). Richard hopes there may be a similar remedy for him, but he does not know what it could be unless one were, hypo the tically, able to extrapolate from one animal to another: 'Ausi di jou de moi, bele tredouce amie, ke jou croi ke aucune medicine est par quoi vous me poes resusciter, mais jou ne sai quele la medecine est, fors tant ke par la nature d'une beste saice on le nature d'une autre' (p. 54, lines 1-4; my emphasis; So I say of myself, fair sweetest love, that I believe there is some medicine by which you can resuscitate me, but I do not know what the medicine except in so far as one may be able to learn the nature of one animal from another). His direct appeal to his lady and his affirmation of faith in her healing powers are vitiated by that sting in the tail. Not only is woman reduced to the level of the other beasts, but also the subjunctive verb 'saice' in the second part of the sentence expresses the dubiousness of the proposition that one animal (here, woman) may learn from the nature of another (here, the weasel). If Richard had chosen the indicative 'set,' the sentence would be naturalistic but otherwise unextraordinary: 'one can know the nature of one animal from another.' If only it were possible for woman to emulate those species not corrupted by the Fall! Clearly it is not. In a work that initially made the search for knowledge man's distinguishing characteristic, Richard's advice to emulate the nurturing properties of lower classes in the animal hierarchy is in itself demeaning. He

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is urging his woman to give him 'amor naturalis,' that is the parental love instinctive to all animal species, preserving and perpetuating them. Here he anticipates Jean de Meun and de-intellectualizes man's love activities in favour of their naturalistic function. Dame Nature would preach no other message to the lover. Of all the variants of love that Aristotle had defined, this 'natural' love in parenting was most inimical to courtly loving, Andreas Capellanus's 'passio quaedam innata.' Yet according to Richard, the love demonstrated by animals from the lower species is superior to the profane love between a man and a woman, even the seemingly ideal 'amor de lonh' of the Provencal lyricist who never possesses his beloved. If Richard, playing now at being a baby, a nestling chick, a tiny 'pouchin,' discovers that his lady cannot be nurturing, she is effectively demoted to a lower rank than that of the humblest animal in the natural kingdom. In Pierre's bestiary there was a cure to be had: the swallow's fledgling represented man's soul blinded by devils, and the cure for the sinner's blindness was confession. 'Li arondel qui a creve les ex, c'est li ame de ton cors par le pechie que tu as fait. Cist qui li a 1'oeil creve, ce sont diable ... Ce que 1'aronde porchase la medichine a son arondel... c'est a dire que nos guerpisons nos max, et en alons a confesse' (PB2, p. 145; The soul in your body is the swallow's fledgling with its eyes dug out from your past sin. The Devil is the one who has done the blinding ... when we abandon our sins and go to confession, that is the swallow getting healing for its young). In human love, however, things are different. Richard has demonstrated an inability to abandon his sickness, and his lady has demonstrated an inability to heal him. His confession to her has been an exercise in futility, a totally negative experience, a disaster without any redeeming feature. The lady will never be able to transpose from the animal kingdom to hers the secrets of the swallow's curative powers. She is not and will never be able to cure her wounded baby of his love death. If there are remedies for love, she does not know the nature of 'la medecine' any more than he does. She cannot even imitate that 'mout orde beste' (filthiest of beasts), the weasel. The 'love bestiary' cannot therefore be a positive bestiary. Because of the triviality of its inspiration, it is actually a bestiary manque. So far the woman has failed every one of the animal tests Richard has set for her, and his search for remedies has been futile. If a remedy is impossible and the victim is dead, can he be resuscitated? For an exploration of that question, the ariereban turns to representations of resuscitation in Pierre's bestiary: the lionand the pelican. The

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life-giving father lion brings its dead cub to life by roaring over it with the breath of life on the third day ('al tiers jor vient li lions et si 1'alaine, et demaine grant ruiement sor lui; et tant li vait entor et ruit et alaine sor lui, que li met vie par son alener, et le resuscite que par son alener que par la vois'; PB2, p. 108). Richard's woman has failed to do the same for him, preferring him to 'die' of love. 'Amor naturalis' in those species uncorrupted by the Fall shows itself once again to be superior to her love. It supplies no viable solutions. Furthermore, the model of the male lion carries with it the daunting analogue of God the Father, who revived his Son from the dead: 'li poissans Pere resuscita de mort al tierc jor son saint fils nostre Segnor Jhu Crist' (PB2, p. 108; the powerful Father resuscitated his Holy Son Our Lord Jesus Christ on the third day). When Richard recommends that his lady be nurturing in accordance with that example, he sets her up for inevitable failure. Thus, however tempting a psychoanalytic approach to baby Richard begging nurture from a dominant but uncaring mother may be, it must be noted that the chancellor no less than the post-Freudian reader finds his male posturing as unbecoming as the woman's female cruelty. Viewed against Pierre's bestiary, the recommendation that woman imitate the superior capacities of various paternal models is not pathological, merely reflective of a different set of values. Nor is it automatically revelatory of gender confusion, only of bitterness that the love game as it is played in contemporary literature has become to him a joke. It is not impossible, however, that Richard's complaint concerning his lady's superior attitude reflects also a reality he has personally experienced. Since he knows the disadvantages of a less than aristocratic origin, he is acting out Andreas Capellanus's second dialogue, in which a man of the middle class speaks with a woman of the nobility. Whether because of a reality or a courtly topos (or both), he becomes accusatory. The woman should have behaved like the pelican. The pelican loves its babies wondrously, and loves to play with them. When the babies see this, they become confident and also dare to play. They fly frequently in front of its face and strike its eyes with their wings. The proud bird cannot endure such injury. It becomes angry and kills them. Repentant then, it lifts its wing, pierces its side with its beak, and sprinkles the babies with the blood that it draws from its side. In this way it brings them back to life. The cruelty of the 'bele tres douce amee,' on the other hand, adds insult to Richard's love injury. The change in his terminology for her, from 'amie' to merely 'amee,' reflects lexically the disappointment of his expectations. 'Loved' by him, she is not in fact his 'love.'

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When they first met, he complains, she was so nice to him that he felt confident. He trusted her enough to confide his love to her and became her little chicken: 'la nouveletes de 1'acointanche m'avoit fait aussi com vostre pouchin' (p. 56, lines 6-7; the newness of the acquaintance made me as it were your chicken). But the reward she gave was not commensurate with the love he gave. She valued him so little in comparison with herself that she became cold to him. This exemplum involves a regendering of the source. In Pierre it was the female pelican which, finding her babies dead on the third day, opened her side and sprinkled the babies with her blood. Pierre's symbolism distinguished angry (male) Father from healing (female) Christ, here separating out the Godhead. 'Et la mere est de tel nature que ele vient al ni al tierc jor, et s'acoste sor ses oiseles mors, et ele oevre son coste de son bee, et en espant son sane sur ses oiseles ... monta Jhesu Crist en la crois, et sofrit a ovrir son saint coste, dont sans et aighe issi por nostre salu en vie perdurable' (PB2, p. 136). Now, however, the sacrificial model of love and resuscitation is unequivocally gendered as male. Confronted with the male exempla of the lion and the pelican, which typologically figure the resuscitative powers of two members of the Godhead, the lady's task of emulation becomes impossible. Richard's disappointment with her is a foregone conclusion. Even if she wants to be 'nice' - which clearly she does not - she will never open her 'sweet side' (the adjective of 'dou[c]h coste' is about as complimentary as the 'eu' in the 'Eumenides'!), or wash him with her 'bonne volente,' or give him her 'cuer.' Richard's gendered presuppositions, real-life experiences, and the Physiologus's original allegory have all contributed to the hostility of the imagery. In the midst of it, his expression of exaggerated affection for her highlights the anger and the frustration. There is no chance that the 'sweet side' of a mere woman can be redemptive physically, spiritually, or in any way at all. She is incapable of nurturing behaviour. Since profane love has perverted the purity of God's original male/ female creation, not the least symptom of this perversion being man's infantile posturing to woman, is there any possible cure for this love? Richard moves from his wish for the heart from that sweet side to another impossible request, it too accompanied by a mention of the 'sweetness' of his bele tres douce amie. She should castrate herself, like the beaver, which is valued only for its member (as Richard so delicately describes it). 5 The beaver's genitals have curative powers ('medechine'). When therefore the beaver is being hunted and can go no further, it rips off its genitals with its teeth and drops its prize in the path of the hunters.

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Richard equates the beaver's genitals with his lady's heart and argues that, since his requests are a nuisance to her and he wants only her heart, why not throw it to him and be rid of the aggravation ('pour estre delivre de mon anui,' p. 57, line 8)? The synecdochic request to 'vostre cuer avoir' (have your heart) and the elegant annominatio of his plea to be resuscitated from 'tel mort com est la mors d'amors dont je sui mors' (p. 55, lines 2-3; such a death as the love death I have died) do not mesh with the brutality of the sexual explicitness. Adding further insult to this fantasized injury of his beloved, he concludes the exemplum with the assumption that, if she does imitate the beaver, she will automatically be abandoned by him once her heart has been won. Possession is all he wants: 'quar ge ne vous sieuc[h] se pour c[h]ou non' (p. 58, line 8; because I follow you only for that). The love narrative has now taken a disturbingly pathological turn. The castrating bitch is being urged to castrate herself; gender roles and the identity of victim/victimizer are inextricably confused. Once more the Freudian reader, like the beaver's eager hunter, inevitably fixates upon the beaver's 'member' as a key to the patent hostility and self-pity. Male-oriented logic dominates: if the beaver's member, a.k.a. the woman's 'cuer,' is all the hunter, a.k.a. victim, wants, it would be rational for her to surrender it, especially since this is 'la sovrainne medecine' to rescue the man from his love death. But when read against its original backdrop — the male member being symbolic of vices which must be thrown to the Devil in order to be spiritually fruitful - the allegorical message of the self-castrating regains its original complexity. Pierre explains, 'Tot altresi cil qui veil garder le commandement de Deu, et vivre netement, il doit trenchier soi meisme de tos mals vices et de tos mesaaisies fois, et jeter les el visage del veneor; c'est del diable qui tous jours le cache (PB2, p. 228; In just such a manner the man who wishes to keep God's command and live a clean life must cut himself off from all evil vices and from all wrong deeds, and must throw them in the face of the hunter, that is the Devil who is forever pursuing him). When Richard adds the personal observation that, once successful, he will no longer want the woman, the underlying erotic message of the exemplum is salutory to all, although not redemptive to anyone. His male desire is ephemeral, gone as soon as it is satisfied, and 'fin'amors' is nothing but a fantasy. Actualization would bring boredom. It would also bring an abrupt termination to the lover's posturing and to the work embodying it, but Richard's balancing act of allegorizing for/against love is not reaching closure. He proposes another solution.

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If the remedy for love is not to be provided by the woman herself, i.e., if she will not voluntarily open her 'douch coste' to him, perhaps there is a remedy which can be employed from the outside, like the herb that is employed by the woodpecker. The woodpecker's nature is such that it builds its nest in a hollow tree with a small opening. People who want to see the bird's amazing feat stop up its nest, then it searches for a herb it knows that has loosening properties and touches the plugged-up nest with it. The plug jumps out immediately: 'quant il trueve I arbre cruese et a petite entree, il fait son ni par dedens le crues.... Et quant il avient al arbre, et il troeve 1'entree en tel maniere estopee si fort que sa force n'i poroit soffire ... conoist de sa nature I herbe qui a pooir de desfermer totes les coses qui sont fermees ... la ceville saut fors et troeve 1'entree tote delivre' (PB2, p. 160). Richard explains the metaphorical 'hole' that must be unstopped as the woman's heart, which has been locked away 'en une [si] fort serure' (p. 59, line 4; with such a strong lock), and complains that he is unable to find the woodpecker's remedy. The physiological suggestiveness of his 'arbre crues a petite entree ... estoupee' (hollow tree with small entryhole ... blocked up) is unmistakable, especially after the genital explicitness of the beaver symbolism. He continues to elaborate upon the metaphor. The mystery herb to unlock the woman's heart is not mercy, as Richard has discovered from his ineffectual prayers to 'ovrir son coste' (p. 57, line 1; p. 59, line 5; p. 60, line 7; p. 61, line 11; p. 62, line 1; p. 62, line 2; open her side). Yet he insists (p. 61, line 11-p. 62, line 6) that her 'ovrir' (opening) will be his 'recovrir' (recovery). Might the key, the much-desired remedy, be a dose of that estimable product, reason? Q]e ne sai quel herbe chu est, se che n'est raisons. Raisons nenil: raisons n'est chu mie. Car il ne sont ke .ij. manieres de raison: 1'une est de paroles et 1'autre est de coses. Raisons de paroles n'est chu mie. Car encore ait raisons tel pooir c'on puist a une damoisele proveir par raison k'ele doie amer, por chu ne li puet on mie prover k'ele aint, ains ne li ara on ja si bien prove k'ele ne puist dire, s'i li siet, k'ele n'en veut rien faire. Ne raison de coses n'est chu mie. Car ki prendroit garde a raison et a droit, la verites si est ke je vail si pau envers vous ke je aroie tout perdu; ains ai gringnour mestier de merci ke de raison. (p. 60, line 8-p. 61, line 8) (I do not know what herb it is, unless it be Reason. No, not Reason! Reason it is not. For there are only two sorts of reason: the one is of words and the other is of things. It is not the reason of words. For although Reason has

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such power that one can prove by reason to a young girl that she should love, one cannot for all this prove that she does love. On the contrary, however well it may be proved to her, she may still say, if it suits her, that she wants nothing of it. Nor is it the reason of things. For if one paid attention to reason and justice, the truth is that I am worth so little in comparison with you that I should have lost everything; but I need mercy more than reason.)

In this passage the word 'raison' is employed in two different senses. 'Raison de paroles' signifies argumentation, the reasoning by which Richard was attempting to persuade his lady with words. To this type of reason, he complains, young women ('damoiseles') are impervious, the proof being that they greet a logical demonstration that they should love with a determination not to love! Given this female inability to draw logical conclusions, the desired remedy is not then 'raison de paroles.' Could it then be 'raison de coses,' 'the reason of things' or the logic of circumstances? Unfortunately, that 'reason' also works against a lover like Richard. The truth is that Richard's actual worth ('savoir' aside!) is inferior to his lady's and is therefore bound to work against him. Thus, reason dooms Richard to double failure, first because of his lady's unresponsiveness to 'raison de paroles' and then because of his own lack of social merit. He at least can understand the logic of circumstances, from which he concludes a third time that he is 'mors sans recovrir' (dead without hope of recovery) — that is the only 'aperte cose' (lit. 'open thing'). This conclusion is fortified twice with a truth guarantee, 'c'est voirs' (this is true).6 Upon the realization that recovery is impossible and that he has no recourse for his death from love, consolation is his next thought. Still in the category of remedies, but under the subheading now of consolation, the question now at issue is whether 'de chu ke on a perdu sans recouvrir se puet on en aucune maniere reconforter. Comment?' (p. 62, lines 6-7; it is possible to find consolation of sorts in total desolation. How?). A new approach is necessary; vengeance. A declaration of vengeance is inimical to a declaration of love, and Richard's direct address to his 'amie' switches to a third-person commentary about her. That plaintive 'tant ke j'aie vostre cuer' (p. 62, lines 2-3; until I have your heart) is supplanted within five lines by the vengeful 's'ele n'amoit ausi qui ke soil ki de lui n'eust cure' (if she too loved someone or other who had no care for her). The persona of the woman he originally addressed in the prologue

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as 'vous' has again been eclipsed, replaced by 'ele.' This is not her first, nor will it be her last, marginalization. The switch effectively distances her and allows Richard free expression for several caustic observations about women. 'Ele' becomes Everywoman, the convenient whipping-post and recipient of his clerical fury. She is a token woman standing in for the first female who brought death to her man. Soliloquizing still, Richard ponders a possible objection to his proposed vengeance by the agency of uncaring lovers: 'Ostes! et qui seroit si hors del sens ki n'en eust cure?' (p. 62, lines 9-10; Stop right there! Who would be so crazy that he did not care about her?). Answering his own question, he concludes, 'Nus, se che n'estoit d'une maniere de gent ki sont de la nature de 1'aronde' (p. 62, lines 10-11; No one unless it were a type of person which has the nature of the swallow). To punish her, he wishes upon her many transitory affairs with just such persons, lovers who dart in and out like the swallow. The swallow's nature is such that it always eats, drinks, and feeds its young in flight. Consequently, it fears no bird of prey because no other bird can catch it: 'ele quiert sa pasture tot en volant; et si est tres isnele qu'ele n'a garde de nul oisel de proie que il le prenge' (PB2, p. 145). There is a type of person like that, doing everything, even making love, on the wing, then passing on: 'nes amer ne font il s'en trespassant non' (p. 63, lines 4-5). As long as their love is in sight, it has meaning for them. Beyond that, nothing: 'tant com il le voient, tant lour en est, et ni'ent plus' (p. 63, lines 5-6). Richard wishes upon his unresponsive lady just such a lover. If vengeance is the remedy, the flighty swallow will be an ideal solution. This interpretation of the swallow's flightiness as a delight in ephemeral pleasures comes from Pierre, who mentions also that the swallows' constant motion makes them safe from birds of prey (PB2, p. 145). Richard's new slant upon the exemplum makes male lovers the swallows and women the birds of prey, women thus doubling as victim and victimizer. His resentment is so acrid at this point that there is even implied congratulation for the male swallow-lovers who manage to get away from the petulant, ever-demanding female sex: 'ne sont pris de nul oisel de proie, car il nest amurs de dame ne de damoisele ki les tenist mie (p. 63, lines 6-7; my emphasis; they are captured by no bird of prey, for there is no love of woman or girl that could hold them). Another plundering animal that fears no capture is the hedgehog. The hedgehog is covered with spines that protect it. Those same spines allow

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it also to plunder. It rolls itself into a spiny ball and impales apples on the spines. Transformed back from predator to prey, the female victims, impaled apples, win no sympathy. All interest is focused upon those invincible hedgehogs which 'puent de cascune part prendre et si ne puent de nule part estre pris' (p. 64, lines 4-5; can take from every place and cannot be taken in any place). Pierre surely contributed to Richard's vengeful relish by a joyful description of the rollicking hedgehog (a.k.a. the Devil) which returns home singing when laden with its spoils. 'Et tot dis quant il va cargies a ses faons, si va chantant' (PB2, p. 198; And always when it returns home laden to its young, it sings along the way). Despite the hedgehog's singing, Pierre's warning about the spoiler is abundantly clear, however: 'Et tu, hom de Deu, garde toi del herichon, c'est del deable ... que il ne te face viande as bestes, et que t'ame ne soit mie nue et vaine et wide si comme la vingne qui ... remaint sans grape' (PB2, p. 198; You, man of God, beware of the hedgehog, that is, the Devil... lest he feed you to the beasts and make your soul as stripped, denuded, and empty as the grapeless vineyard). If Richard's hedgehog symbolism is both confused and confusing with his pretended solicitousness for the woman, the sadistic suggestions implicit in the predator/prey relationship become unequivocal in the next animal: the crocodile. No choice of beast could convey more graphically woman's threat to man and man's fear of vagina dentata. Universal folklore saw the crocodile as menace personified. The bestiary read it as symbolic of the Jaws of Hell: 'Enfers porte la figure de la cocodrille' (PBS, p. 242). And since patristic literature portrayed woman as the symbolic gateway to the Devil, and called for her repentance,7 the equation of crocodile with woman was not a difficult one. Richard's 'mors d'amour,' already redolent with imagery from Eden, is now tainted with the zoological realism of a different sort of love-bite, and for it Richard demands vengeance. Woman should weep all the days of her life, as should his woman now that she has 'killed' him. 'Ausi valroie jou qu'il vous avenist de moi, bele tredouce amie (p. 66, line 3; This is what I want to happen to you because of me, beautiful, sweetest love; my emphasis). Terms of endearment are yet again inserted in a context where they are shockingly inappropriate. Richard calls this vengeance 'courteous.' 'Car une courtoise maniere de vengnance si est repentance, et bel se venge de son anemi ki le maine dusques al repentir' (p. 65, lines 4-6; For repentance is a courtly type of vengeance, and he is well avenged on his enemy who can lead him to

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repentance). His introduction of the word 'courtois' - its only occurrence in Le Bestiaire d'amour — is obviously parodic, not only because Richard has made every effort to challenge the courtliness touted by contemporary romance, but also because the 'courteous' vengeance he envisages is that woman be brought to proper humility. There can be no place for adulation of a human domna. And there can be no suggestion that love ennobles its 'victims.' Love merely undermines 'le sens.' And now, because love is equated with death, the guiltier party must be brought to 'repentance.' But he is addressing himself to a courtly public. The exemplum even begins with the reminder that he and his audience are not mere 'commonfolk' who speak a different language: 'cocodrilles ... est uns serpens euvages ke li communs de la gent apellent cocatris' (p. 65, lines 7-8; my emphasis; [The crocodile] is a water serpent that commonfolk call a cockatrice). Richard, now wrapped in courtesy, embellishes his bitterly sardonic message with courtly rhetoric and indulges his courtly audience with courtly word-games. His soliloquy about love cases is calculated to be an audience-pleaser: 'Ke vauroie je dont? Ke elle n'amast an [c]hois ne moi ne autrui? Comment en porroie dont estre vengies? Jou ne sai, se che n'estoit par che k'ele se repentist del mal k'ele m'aroit fait' (p. 65, lines 1-4; So what would I like? Rather that she did not love me or anyone else. How then could I be avenged? I do not know, unless it were that she repented of the harm which she had done me). He muses alliteratively, wondering whether the 'cocodrille' vengeance will bring more 'courous' than 'confers' (p. 64, lines 7-8). He employs chiasmus and annominatio (je ameroiemiex. k'elle fust morteetje mors, k'ele amast autrui,' p. 64, line 8), and plays upon the underlying love paradox of 'm'amie' = 'm'enemie.' But the courtliness is a mask. The arierebans fantasies of vengeance upon woman are becoming increasingly violent. The chancellor's earnest wish that she repent and weep 'with the eyes of her heart' is coupled with his realization that such behaviour from her may be impossible because of her corrupt nature: 'volroie bien, s'ilpooit estre, ke vous vous en repentissies et me plorissies des iex de vostre cuer' (p. 66, lines 7-8; my emphasis; I would like you to repent of that, if it were possible, and weep tears for me from the eyes of your heart). In fact, it is easier for a woman who has sent away 'son loial ami' to grant her body to another than to repent. Like the crocodile, she no longer cares what she eats, women being so prone to lust and lubricity. However, this very propensity may bring about the vengeance Richard so desires. Full of resent-

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ment, he wishes her death, which could be accomplished by the animal irrevocably tied to the crocodile in an epic drama of destruction, the hydra.8 The hydra is a serpent with many heads. If someone cuts off one, then two more grow back. The hydra hates the crocodile with a natural hatred, and when it sees that the crocodile has eaten a man and is so repentant that it now no longer wants to eat another, it thinks in its heart that the crocodile is now easy to deceive because it no longer cares what it eats. So the hydra rolls itself in mud as if it were dead, and when the crocodile finds it, it devours the hydra and swallows it down whole. And when the hydra finds itself inside the crocodile's stomach, it tears the crocodile's entire bowel to pieces and emerges with great jubilation at its victory (p. 67, line 6-p. 68, line 5). The hydra, bent on the destruction of its natural enemy, is thus willing to be eaten in order to destroy its host. Richard foresees that his vengeance upon his lady could come through one of her lovers. As the hydra covers itself with mud and feigns death in order to be swallowed by the crocodile, then, shattering the crocodile's bowel, bursts forth 'a grant joie de sa victorie' (p. 68, line 5; in great joy at its victory), one of her courtly lovers will profess love to her falsely then will abandon her in joyful triumph. Richard has used the word 'courtois' only once - and in most uncourtly circumstances - for the fantasized suffering of woman. Now he invokes courtly 'ioi,' that transcendent and transforming ecstasy which for Bernart de Ventadorn turned ice to flowers and inspired lovers to run naked in the snow. Ominously, however, exhilaration comes with the woman's, not the man's, suffering. Within the erotic narrative, joy at the anticipation of the beloved's destruction is unadulterated sadism. But Richard's 'grant joie' at the symbolic death of his crocodile is even more complicated, drawing intensity from Pierre's theological explanation that the crocodile is Hell and the hydra is Jesus Christ bursting forth from Hell: Enfers porte la figure de la cocodrille; 1'ydre senefie nostre Salvere. Car nostre sire Jhesu Crist, quant il prist char en la virge Marie, il fu penes en la crois; lors entra il en la cocodrille, ce fu enfers, et desronpi tot, et en jeta tot [sic] ses amis. Dont li ewangelistres dist: Enfers je serai tes mors. (PBS, p. 242) (The crocodile is a figure for Hell; the hydra signifies our Saviour. For our Lord Jesus Christ, when he became incarnate in the Virgin Mary, was tortured on the cross; then he entered into the crocodile, that is Hell, which

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he completely shattered and from which he cast all those he loved. Wherefore the Evangelist said: 'Hell, I shall be thy death.')

After his planctus over his (and Everyman's) love death through woman, the hydra exemplum is, with its Messianic symbolism, Richard's hymn of triumph: AVE not EVA. Rescuing the love narrative just in time, Richard becomes solicitous. He turns directly to his 'amie' and assures her not merely once but twice that he would not want the hydra's vengeance to befall her (p. 67, line 2 and p. 68, line 7). To prove it, he will now address a series of exempla to his 'amie' for the correction of her behaviour.

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CHAPTER FOUR

Love for Women

Mais il me samble ke vous aveis plus ke mestiers ne me fust de cest orguel ki avoec amors ne puet demorer.

When Richard initiates a series of prescriptive exempla for the edification of 'la dame,' the new direction is reminiscent, structurally at least, of Ovid's dedication of the third book of his Ars amatoria to Penthesilea and her girls. However, Ovid's advice to women was sheer tongue-in-cheek playfulness. Citing various females, divine and otherwise, for their less than successful relationships with their men, Ovid asserted that the women's problems could have been avoided with a little bit of finesse. Cosmetics, jewellery, clothing, hygiene, street smarts, table manners, holding one's liquor, the socially advantageous skills of reading (reading Ovid, of course!), singing, dancing, and playing table-games were among Ovid's lessons to the ladies in the cause of keeping their men happy. Richard brings Ovid's metaphor of love's-a-game into the thirteenth century with a warning label. His advice to the weaker sex is clerically sombre and includes repeated warnings against flirtatiousness, lubricity, loquacity, pride, and unwillingness to nurture. In this pessimism about love and women Le Bestiaire d'amour is different from its predecessor, the Consaus d'amour, although the latter anticipates many other features of Richard's final work. Like Le Bestiaire d'amour, the Consaus is addressed to a young 'demoisele.' It too addresses her memory in faintly derogatory terms: Richard wants her to remember his didacticism and will therefore speak briefly - (woman's) memory tends to become overloaded: 'pour ce ke memore est une cose molt escourlourgans et trop li grieve [quant] on le carge de plente de coses, je vous

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dirai briement ce que je vous doi dire' (McLeod, p. 6; because memory is a very variable thing which is overburdened when it is loaded with an abundance of things, I shall tell you briefly what I have to tell you). Classical references and intertextuality characterize both works, but the Consaus assimilated such material into the whole less skilfully. Ovid, sometimes called merely 'li maistres' in the Consaus, is formative in both works. Both give similar advice: woman should love while she has the opportunity: 'Et je vous lo, si con Ovides dist que vous jues endementiers que vous aves le tans de juer' (p. 11). Both lovers should have foresight ('pourveance') and avoid talking too much ('trop parlers'). Humility is recommended, not pride. Ovid says, 'Orguix et amours ne se puent acorder ensamble' - the Ovidian dictum is used in both works. And the woman should not inflict long waits upon the man: Sacies que c'est une cose molt laide et molt anieuse et pecies de faire languir si longement son ami. ... Et meismement de faire[s] ces longues atendances sont avenu et pueent avenir molt de perius, comme de metre son ami en despoir et perdre le, u, par aventure, endementiers que ciex fait ses prieres les gens s'apercoivent de son afaire. (p. 17) (Know that it is a very ugly, very annoying thing, and a sin to make one's sweetheart languish so long. ... And many dangers have happened and can happen just from causing these long waiting periods, like casting one's sweetheart into depair and losing him perhaps, while people come to perceive what is with him while he is doing his pleading.)

Both works use the same reproductive metaphors for love: the conception of love; 'li concevemens d'amour' (p. 10); the 'retaining' of the lover: 'si vous pri, dame, pour Diu, que vous me retenes pour vostre ami et pour vostre serf (p. 16); and the 'death' that can result from love: 'autrement la grans valours de vous et haute amours qui s'est en moi herbegie m'ont mis a le mort' (p. 16; otherwise your great worth and the deep love that has lodged in me have put me to death). Richard, firstperson narrator of both works, makes the same confession of past arrogance toward love: II avint que quant je fui nouvelement chevalers j'estoie li plus orguelleus horn envers amours ki onques fust, n'onkes n'avoie veue dame ne demoisele, tant fust bele ne de si haut pris, que je vausisse metre mon cuer en li amer. Car je prisoie amours si peu que ce me sambloit uns niens et me sambloit

The ariereban. Ms Douce 308 fol. 87r lower

Didacticism through painture and parole. Fol. 86v top left detail

Reading a roman d'aventures of past heroes. Fol. 86v lower left

The cock. Fol. 87v left detail

The wild ass. Fol. 87v right detail

The dog vomiting. Fol. 89r top left

The wivre and the naked man. Fol. 89v right detail

The monkey with shoes on. Fol. 89v left detail

The unicorn. Fol. 94r right detail

The cranes. Fol. 95r left detail

The crocodile eating a man. Fol. 99r left detail

The begging suitor. Fol. lOOr

The dragon's tongue. Fol. 104v right detail

The elephant. Fol. 105r left detail

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uns drois fantosmes et une gaberie de ces amans que je ooi'e plaindre qu'il moroient d'amours. (p. 19) (It happened that when I was a newly minted knight I was the proudest man toward love that ever existed, nor had I ever seen woman or maiden, however beautiful or noble, that I would have wanted to set my heart to love. For I prized love so little that it seemed to me a nothing, a veritable fantasy, and a joke to hear those lovers complaining that they would die of love.) Most striking of all, the Consaus anticipates three of the animal exempla that are later used in Le Bestiaire d 'amour. Men who make a habit of love resemble the nature of the swallow. aucunes gens sont qui prient d'amours par usage, ne il ne sevent faire autre contenance deles les dames ne les demoiseles fors que prier les tantost d'amours. Et ceus gens ont d'amours autant comme d'acointances et sont aussi comme de le nature de 1'aronde ki ne mengue ne ne boit fors en volant; aussi il n'aiment fors k'en volant, car il n'asserrontja leur cuers nule part et cascune part u il s'acointent il font a entendre qu'il i metent leur cuers et, certes, je vauroie qu'a teus gens li cor lor partesissent du ventre a tertes. ... De ceus gens se fait boin garder ki puet. (p. 17) (And there are some men who beg for love out of habit; they do not know how to assume any other posture with women and maidens than to beg them immediately for love. And these men have as many affairs as acquaintances, and they resemble the nature of the swallow, which eats and drinks only in flight; also they love only in flight, for they will never settle their hearts anywhere, and wherever they touch down they claim to be planting their hearts there and certainly I wish on such men that their hearts leave their bellies for good and all.... It is good to beware of such men if possible.) Those who feign love are like the fox: ciaus ki ont samblance de bien et sont mauvais dechoivent tantost les gens, si sont li houpiex ki se faint estre mort et se couce en mi la voie comme mors, le langue traite, et les pies ki le cuident mort viennent a lui et li cuident mengier le langue et il giete les dens et en prent aucune et 1'estrangle. (pp. 17-18) (Those who have the appearance of good and are evil quickly deceive

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Some women have the behaviour of the wolf: ne soies pas de le maniere d'aucunes femes ki sont de le maniere du leu. Li leus a une maniere k'il prent sa proie plus volentiers loins de la taisniere ke pres. Aussi sont li aucunes femmes ki aiment plus tost un estrange homme k'un prive k'eles connoissent. (p. 18) (do not be like those women that are like the wolf. The wolf has a habit of preferring to capture its prey far away from its lair rather than nearby. Some women are like this. They more readily love a strange man than a familiar one they know.) But the Consaus figures among the writings that Richard is now wanting to erase, as the lion covers its tracks. After all, the premise of the Consaus was that love between a man and a woman is the root of all other loves, because love between a man and a woman was the first love God created: 'La proprietes de ceste amour ki est racine des autres si est entre malle et femele, et que ce soit voirs on le puet apercevoir. Car le premiere amours que Dix mist en terre si fu entre homme et femme' (p. 9). Le Bestiaire d'amour has no such premise and is much more complex. Reflecting Richard's ambivalence, it invites a double reading for its allegory: for and against love. As for courtly loving, Richard's advice to the woman is overwhelmingly negative. To illustrate the triviality of courtly love pursuits, he prefaces his animal choices on this subject with ludic symbolism from the court, and, specifically, from the sexually suggestive game of brichoir. In this game a baton ('brichoart') is offered to various players in jest, but is never actually surrendered by the teaser. Richard damns the stupid pretences and charades of contemporary romances as so many games of brichoir, and expresses the fear that his 'amie' may be fooled by offers of love from her dime-a-dozen chevaliers. They proclaim empty cliches of courtliness from the rooftops, but are like cil ki porte le brichoart, ki a tous 1'offre et a nullui ne le laie. Car au mains le devroit il laissier en .i. lieu, s'il voloit droit faire. Mais quant il veut son

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compangnon faire parfaitement muser, si le porte. Ensi servent tel gent les dames et les damoiselles de lour cuers. Et neporquant s'il en laissoient ore en cascun lieu une partie, si ne quideroi je mie qu'il en peusent bone besonge faire: ausi com on dist de celui ki s'entremet de tant de mestiers, c'on dist qu'il ne chevira ja. (p. 69, line 5-p. 70, line 5) (the one who holds the baton in the game of brichoirand offers it to all but leaves it with nobody. If he wished to be fair, he should at least leave it in one place. But when he wants to fool his companion totally, he carries it with him. That is how such men serve women and maidens with their hearts. And even if they left a part in every place, I shall not believe they could do any good by that, as one says of a man who, as jack of all trades, will be master of none.)

Ovid had recommended a multiplicity of love games, and, homo ludens, the love professor had expended much creative energy upon the joys of the game. Not so Richard, who is as censorious as a moral tutor about seductio ad absurdum. Dripping with sarcasm, he expresses mock surprise at the great-heartedness of men who can so happily subdivide their hearts. So many little pieces to be shared out to so many women! Ostes! com grant sengnourie, et com tel maniere de gent sont de grant cuer, ki tant en puent faire de parties! Car sacune ne le puet tout avoir, et encore se sacune en avoit se viaus .i. morselet1 de cuer de si grant affaire, si s'en fesissent toutes lies. (p. 68, line 9-p. 69, line 3) (Stop there! What masterful authority and what a magnificent heart such men must have when they can break it up into so many pieces! For no one woman can possess it totally, but if each had even a fragment of such a magnificent heart, they would all then be happy.)

Under attack is the chivalric behaviour portrayed in scores of contemporary romances - and Richard's own love lyrics. Its most reprehensible element, in his view, is the posturing: all those phony displays of chivalry, all those false protestations of humility, all that jousting for display, all that public trumpeting of one's own worth ostensibly for love of a woman. The man who says most often, 'Lady, help me to prove my worth,' and who says, 'Lady, let me be your knight,' is the very man of whom the woman should be most wary. Such a man will not believe he is her knight unless he gives her knightly service even while he laces up his

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leggings or is on his way to joust, and in front of such a host of people that any one of them may spread the news. He will not believe that she has helped him prove his worth unless he has shouted her identity for all to hear while spurring on his horse. What is more - and what is worse he seems to think that he must have a minstrel shouting from the parapets that his lord is performing each and every act of generosity and prowess solely for the love of that sweet creature whom the entire world must adore (p. 72, lines 1-6). Having condemned the stupid pretences and charades of contemporary romance as so many games of brichoir, Richard issues an imprecation, wishing, with unusual vehemence, that the hearts of all chivalric philanderers may shatter once for all into their bellies, 'ke li cuer lor partesissent es ventres tout a chertes' (p. 70, line 8). His previous imagery of the belly-shattering hydra is potent in that imprecation, and he returns to the predator again, this time for its regenerative properties. Having lost one of its heads, this many-headed dragon ('draco multorum capitum') 2 has the capacity to grow several in its place. In both Pierre and the Physiologus, the hydra 'serpens,' symbol of regeneration, is gendered as a male, but Richard designates it with shifting gender markers: 'L'autre cose de 1'ydre si est ke quant il a perdu une de ses testes, ke elle en gainge pluseurs, et qu'ek s'acroist de son damage' (p. 70, lines 9-10; The other thing about the hydra is that when it has lost one of its heads, it gains several others and increases from its loss). Since Le Bestiaire d'amour makes no distinction between the hydrus and the hydra (see p. 184 note 8), the regendering is not etymological. When the creature's powers are presented as vicious, the attribution of blame induces Richard to shift its gender. As Richard interprets the symbolism, the hydra-woman initiates a process of trickery. After her initial encounter with a man, the deceit multiplies exponentially, for if a woman tricks a man he will then trick seven women; if she tricks him once, he in turn will trick seven times, 'se li une 1'engingne, il engingnera .vij., ou s'ele 1'engingne une fois, il rengingnera .vij. fois' (p. 71, lines 1-2). Thus, even though the hydra exemplum is presented as Richard's warning to his lady against male 'faux amis' (false lovers) and against 'chiax ki plus font 1'umeliance' (p. 71, lines 3—4; those who pretend the most subservience), it is obvious that she ultimately is to blame because she initiated the trickery. Woman, being weak, fickle, and unfaithful, turns readily to promiscuity, and that makes her responsible for male promiscuity as well. In the beginning Eve. ... The hydra is the first of several exempla featuring savage imagery and bizarre reproductive symbolism, and in all of them the magisterial wrath

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of Richard-e/m: is directed against woman's inadequate nurturing and against male chivalric loving. The next chosen symbol in this series of cruel allegories designed for 'the fairer sex' is the viper? The viper comes into this world by killing its father and its mother. The female viper conceives by mouth. The male puts his head inside the female's jaws, she bites off its head with her teeth and swallows it. From this she conceives and the male dies. When she comes to term, she gives birth through her side, bursts, and she too dies. The symbolism is ominous. Cross-gendering and confusion had long characterized the viper exemplum. In some versions of the Physiologus, the male viper resembles a man, while the female viper, although woman above the waist, sports a crocodile tail below. But since the female viper conceives by biting off and swallowing the head of the male, then dies in her turn from the birth process, any possible moral for the exemplum was ultimately unsympathetic to both guilty parties. Pierre concluded the exemplum with a warning not to covet. And although both genders, 'li wivre' and 'la wivre,' figured in the description, gender was not an issue in this section of Pierre's bestiary. Both generations of vipers were doomed to die for their greed: [DJist Phisiologes que envieus muert en tel maniere comme la wivre ... quant li envieus horn a envie de son proisme, et il en parole a autrui, et enorte les biens [et] les riceces de son proisme, tant que cis en est tos plains d'envie par 1'enortement que cil li a dit. Si a conchut par la bouche, si come li wivre. Cil qui a 1'autre ce enorte, il est pere a le wivre, cist est mors d'envie; et li autres qui a concheu par sa bouce, mora de che qu'il a concheu, si comme la femele. Car qui envie a, ele ne puet morir se cist ne muert avant qui le porte. For ce muerent tot envious si comme la wivre. (PB2, p. 134) (Physiologus says that the envious man dies in the same manner as the viper. ... When the envious man envies his neighbour, and talks of him to another, and lauds his neighbour's goods [and] riches until the other is full of envy because of the envious man's laudatory words, he has conceived by mouth like the viper. The man who has urged this upon him is the father of the viper, he is dead from envy; and the other who has conceived by mouth will die of what he has conceived, like the female viper. For the envious person can only die after the person bearing her has died. And so every envious person dies like the viper.)

Richard chooses to use the exemplum as a personal warning to his

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lady, who may be wanting other lovers. The bek tres douce amie has already swallowed up the head (intellectual capacities) of her mate and left him 'dead.' It is now her turn, and Richard looks beyond his own plight to warn that disaster will eventuate for her if she valorizes losers who 'ne puent.. venir a lor valeur ... fors par depupli'er celes ki les aident a valoir' (p. 73, lines 9-10; cannot attain worth ... except by noising abroad the women who make them worthy). It is worth noting that Richard omits any suggestion of pleasure in the vipers' coupling. Pierre tells the story in a much more lively fashion: 'li malles li boute sa teste en la goule, et en deme[n] tiers que il se delite en sa goule; la femele li trence tote la teste as dens, et 1'engloute; et de ce conchoit, et li malles demore mors' (PB2, p. 134; the male thrusts his head in her throat, and while he is pleasuring himself in her throat, the female snaps off his head with her teeth, and swallows it; from this she conceives and the male is left dead). Sado-masochistic fantasizing haunts Richard's didacticism as he imagines his lady's destruction at the hands of lying, hypocritical chevaliers. Importunate males feign love and boast of it in order to achieve public worth at the expense of women. The victimization is actually two-sided, for Love has the viper's fatal propensity to destroy both sexes. Ostensibly concentrating upon the woman, however, Richard's urgent warning to her is that if she has welcomed any such self-absorbed suitor and been duped by chivalric display, she should let that lover fall away from her, as the pampered baby falls from the arms of the mother-ape. In the Physiologus the simian mother has two babies: the favourite is clutched in her arms while the less favoured is thrown on to her shoulders. However, when the mother is pursued and becomes tired, she is forced to drop her favourite offspring, while her less-favoured baby remains with her, clinging relentlessly on her back. Pierre mishandles the narrative, narrating blandly that the mother-ape so loves one of the babies that she continues to hold it, leaving the other baby behind (PB3, p. 230). Pierre's version is without punch, having lost the ironic outcome of the original, which Richard restores in a hyper-meticulous description and equally meticulous exposition. He hypothesizes that his 'amie' is a simian mother with two babies. She clutches her favourite in her arms while Richard is slung behind. Poor Richard, the less-favoured ape, continues to cling to his 'amie,' wishing perdition on any other man who is so favoured that the 'amie' will hold onto him. Richard is destined ultimately to survive triumphant. His explanation for survival hangs on a preposition in the phrase 'tenir

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a,' which he carefully distinguishes from 'tenir': 'cil ki elle aime ne se tient pas a li, ains le dent elle, et celui ki elle heit ne tient elle mie, ains se tient il a lui' (p. 75, line 8-p. 76, line 2). By this somewhat precious emphasis upon prepositional difference, Richard, ever the teacher, insists on contrasting woman's unworthiness with his own fidelity. He is tenaciously holding onto her while she is holding his rival. Richard probably did not need to consult other versions of the Physiologus to restore the point of the original anecdote for his public. The Physiologus was well known before Pierre produced his rendering of it, and Richard nowhere else demonstrates any interest in correcting Pierre's translation qua translation. After the modification has been made, he goes back to his usual borrowing of Pierre's material, as Pierre's editor notes with some amusement.4 One last admonitory exemplum about the unworthy loves that his 'amie' might be harbouring derives from Pierre's description of the serra (sawfish). The serra is a winged sea-monster, a cross between a bird and a fish, which races against ships but, when it tires, lowers its wings and sinks to the sea-bottom. Richard makes an analogy between the serra and his lady's lovers, and uses it as another warning against hypocritical chivalry. He equates the serra's short spurt of effort with the insincere show of homage that his lady's (other) admirers will put on for her, only to abandon her at the first quarrel. The analogy derives from Pierre's interpretation of the sawfish as a symbol of those who rely on good works then sink into many vices. 'La serre qui volt nagier centre le nef senefie eels qui comencent a manoir en bones oevres, et en apres sont vencu de plusors vices: c'est de covoitise, d'orgoil, de luxure, et de plusors altres vices qui les plongent en enfer' (PB2, p. 122; The serra which tried to swim against the ship signifies those who begin by dwelling in good works, and afterwards are vanquished by a multiplicity of sins, namely covetousness, pride, luxuria, and various other vices that plunge them into Hell). Like good-works Christians, Richard's rivals will tire of their spurts of effort. (Possibly he wishes they will plunge eventually to Hell!) Not so faithful, long-suffering Richard. He, despite the many occasions when his lady has angered him, continues to love her 'outre mesure' (beyond measure) and 'parfaitement' (perfectly; p. 80, line 7). He would not take another love any more than would the turtledove. The turtledove was celebrated for its love and fidelity even to death: la tortre aime mout son malle et vit chastement avec lui, et a lui seul garde sa foi. S'il avient que li malle soil pris d'ostoir ou de faucon, ele ne se joint ja

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The original mourning turtledove was female. Thus, Richard's representation of himself as the mourning dove involves another gender switch, which serves as a reproachful reminder to the woman of the superiority of his male devotion ('je vous aim parfaitement,' p. 80, line 7). It should teach her appropriate behaviour ... if only she were capable of it! Add to that burden of reproach the weight of the original symbolism which saw the turtledove's constancy as an analogue for Holy Church's chaste love for her Saviour, and once more his lady has been set up. No woman can measure up to such ideal standards. But self-reproach also is implicit in Richard's comparison. At the beginning of his love bestiary, the cock-priest crowed his human love and saw it and himself as ridiculous. Now the representative of Holy Church portrays himself as a dove mourning inconsolably for - mere woman. The image is not admirable, and its underlying emotion is less love than hatred. With clerical urbanity nevertheless, Richard proclaims his perfect love for her despite the many times she has deserved his wrath: 'Father forgive them [women], for they know not what they do.' After his prescriptive examples warning his woman of the dangers of love (i.e., her love of any other man but him), Richard turns to prescriptiveness and to an exposition of what constitutes proper loving. A woman must above all be nurturing. The belief that good nurturing constitutes ideal love is reinforced by his religious formation, and by the growing reverence in his century for the Mother of God, nurturer par excellence. Even without that supremely influential model, however, the lesson would have been an appropriate tactic to persuade a gender for whom nurturing was presumed to be both instinct and destiny. For these reasons, then, Richard begins to woo his lady with the forthright reproductive imagery of Pierre's bestiary. The maternal attitudes that Richard attempts to inculcate are selfserving. He is her egg, her nestling, and her baby. Not surprisingly, he

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makes no mention of the actual reproductive consequences that might result from her metaphorical 'nursing' of the chancellor - the procreation of children was never part of any fashionable allegory of love, and appears never to impinge upon Richard's thoughts. Instead, Richard is the baby who is not being nurtured and who needs his 'mother.' To demonstrate the difference between his enduring love and hers, he uses the exemplum of the partridge. The partridge (usually signifying the Devil) is a deceitful bird that often steals the eggs of another partridge and hatches them. However, the baby partridges, even if stolen and raised by an alien mother, will always recognize the call of their real mother, and will abandon the false mother to follow their real mother for the rest of their life. The didacticism is expository then prescriptive for the woman, and its prescription hangs on the premise which Richard takes pain to re-explain, that 'laying' and 'hatching' are relevant to human love. Li ponres et li covers sont compare a .ij. coses c'on trove en amour, che sont prendres et retenirs. Car ausi com li oes est puns sans vie, et ne vit devant chu qu'il est coves, ausi li horn quant il est pris d'amours si est ausi comme mors, et ne vit devant chu qu'il est retenus come amis. Et pour chu di jou ke li prendres est li pundres et li covers est li retenirs. Et por che di jou ke puis ke vous m'aveis puns, c'est pris, il n'est feme, s'elle me covoit, c'est retenoit, k'il ne me perdist, et ke jou ne me reconeusse a vous ades et ke je ne vous suisse tous jors. (p. 82, line 8-p. 83, line 7) (Laying and rearing are to be compared with two things that are found in love: capturing and keeping. For as the egg is without life when it is laid, and does not live until it is hatched, so the man, when captured by love, is as if dead and he does not live until he is retained as lover. Wherefore I say that, since you have laid (that is captured) me, there is no woman, if she were to hatch (that is, retain) me, who would not lose me. There is no woman who could prevent me from recognizing I am yours forever and from following you all the days of my life.)

This argument is calculated to appeal to a 'real woman' and to put a burden of guilt and responsibility on her. Because she has 'laid' Richard as her 'egg,' he is destined to recognize her as his 'vraie mere,' even if 'hatched' by another. To prove it he constructs hypothetical rivals now for his affection, then happily rejects them hypothetically: 's'il avenoit c'une autre ki me volsist fesist tant por moi com on fait pour ami, ne me

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porroit elle faire flechier de vostre amour' (p. 81, line 7-p. 82, line 1; if it happened that another woman who wanted me should behave toward me as one does toward a lover, she would not deflect me from my love of you). The woman's only appropriate response to such circumstances is obviously to 'hatch' the egg of Richard's love. Her responsibility toward it (i.e., him) is presented as a moral imperative. Indeed, failure to nurture it/him would constitute murder of her would-be nestling. 'Mais puis qu'ensi est que vous ne autre ne voles cest euf couver, il puet bien estre perdus par longue demouree' (p. 85, lines 6-7; But since it is the case that neither you nor another wishes to hatch this egg, it may well be lost through long delay). This is powerful rhetoric in the arierebans arsenal of weapons to convince/convict woman. But what happens even if the woman is nurturing? That situation is a double-bind because of the implied comparison with the ' vrai bestiaire' in which the partridge chicks are 'les generations del soverain Criator' (the offspring of the Almighty Creator), the false mother is the Devil, who leads astray 'les nonsachans' (uneducated/foolish), and the wings under which 'li petit pochin ... qui sont sans tricerie ... sont nori' (the little chicks who are without guile are nourished) are the faithful who, when they hear 'la parole de Dieu' (the word of God), 'volent a lor pere - c'est a Deu' (PBS, p. 247; they fly to their Father, i.e. God). To grant mere woman the divine right to create man in her image is to urge hubris upon her, since there can be no transference of the unique 'Faciamus hominem ad imaginem et similitudinem nostram' (Let us make man in our image and likeness) to a proxy, female or otherwise. Consequently, the man who is 'pris' (captured) by love for a woman is as good as dead. For Richard clerc, woman inevitably is a usurper of men's souls, just like the Devil. If she actually tries to rival the Creator and only true nurturer, she cannot succeed, and any expectation of life or happiness for a man created in woman's image is destined to failure. Most vulnerable to her wiles are the 'nonsachans' and those without 'sens.' Fortunately for Richard, he is not in this category, which is presumably why he has not succumbed totally. Human and flawed, woman, the enemy of man, cannot even summon the natural nurturing love that is found in the animal kingdom. As for Richard, he says he is like the egg of the ostrich. The ostrich abandons its egg in the sand, and the egg could easily perish without the sun, which brings it to life. The ostrich's parental behaviour is therefore the antithesis of nurturing, and Richard complains that he is the ostrich's

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egg, laid in the sand and never again tended by its mother: 'sui li oeus qui de nului n'est couves' (p. 86, line 3; I am the egg hatched by nobody). Deploring his lady's ostrich-like callousness, he indulges in a little self-congratulation, wondering where he would be and how he would have survived woman's love without the warmth of his own sunny disposition. He is kept alive by '.i. pau de jolivete de cuer qui me soustient et qui est ausi coume solaus. Quar c'est li coumuns confers dont cascuns a sa part selonc c[h]ou que Dex 1'en a donne (p. 86, lines 4-6; a little jollity of heart that sustains me and is like the sun. For it is the universal comfort of which each man has his share according as God has given it to him). This comment echoes Pierre, and its full sense is understood when read against the original allegory. Pierre eulogizes the man who lives 'en carite' (in charity) and whose virtues 'escaufent 1'ame et le mainent a vie; c'est en joie perdurable et permanable sans fin' (PB2, p. 197; warm the soul and bring it to life, that is to durable and everlasting joy). If Richard's love had been on the higher plane of'carite,' his independent hatching would have led to that joie perdurable.' But human 'ioi' is, although ecstatic, not 'joie perdurable.' Man's love of woman brings not life but death. The situation is at an impasse. Le Bestiaire d'amour explicitly requests woman's love, yet implicitly and explicitly condemns it. Whether interpreted as an erotic message of chevalerie or on the higher plane of clergie, the creation imagery of the ostrich egg has ominous implications for women. The most 'natural' warmth is under a mother's wing, the best nourishment for a child is his mother's milk: 'il n'est nule si naturele calleurs com desous 1'ele sa mere, ne si bonne nourreture a enfant come del lait de sa mere meisme' (p. 86, lines 7-8). Richard is receiving only ostrich love from the bele tres douce amie. The maternal attitudes that Richard attempts to inculcate in his lady are visibly self-serving. Still begging for love, he turns his prescriptive advice into fact by prolepsis, calling her his 'bele tres douce amee mere' (p. 86, line 9; beautiful very sweet beloved mother). Since the narrative thus far has conveyed little of this beauty, sweetness, and motherly love, one is bound to conclude that Richard's public would have judged this appellation to be a phrase of bitter irony, intended to be read per contrarium. Certainly, by contrast with the mother par excellence whom Richard was bound to call 'la vraie mere,' his new 'bele tres douce amee mere' is risible. At all events Richard in anticipation of her love plays the game of her beloved son, and proposes this bribe to the mortal beloved: if she will abandon her pride enough to

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'nurture' him now, he promises that he in turn will be a nurturing son to her when she is old - like the babies of the screech-owl and the hoopoe. When young screech-owls mature, they devote the same time to nurturing their mother as she once spent on them. So do the young hoopoes. When their mother is in poor plumage and would never moult by herself, they pull out her old feathers with their beaks and brood over her until she is completely covered with new plumage. They spend as much time grooming and nourishing her as she spent on them when she hatched them. Richard's selection of these birds as an expression of his devotion to his lady is not without its unpleasantness. The two species are associated with filthy nests, raucous cries, and piled-up excrement. To illustrate his carpe diem message with such models conjures up a suggestive portrait of female decrepitude from the clerc & perspective, foreshadowing the disagreeable discourse of Jean de Meun's 'La Vieille.' The insulting nature of Richard's imagery becomes even more apparent if one accepts the information Richard has provided that his 'amie' is very much his junior - nowhere close to being the tatty, helpless old bird he might convincingly promise to care for in her time of need. The 'filial' piety promised by an old clerc to a young demoiselle as he envisages her future dotage is, to say the least, incongruous. There is even a malicious glee in Richard's promise to emulate those young birds whose beaks 'tear out' ('esrachent') old feathers from their ancient, ragged mother, who would otherwise die. The hoopoe section in Pierre's bestiary was prefaced by the Old Testament commandment 'Honour thy father and thy mother' ('II est dit en la Loi: Honore ton pere et ta mere,'1 PB2, p. 177). To insist that Richard's (younger) 'amie' assume the role of his mother (the 'erotic' message) is insulting. It assumes that as she ages, their roles of superiority/inferiority will inevitably be reversed. Woman's present dominance will with age become man's. Richard here withholds from his lady even the homage conventionally accorded in romance to la belle dame sans merci, turning it instead into gruesome parody. The situation is no less ominous if one remembers the distinction Richard has just made in the partridge exemplum between a 'vraie mere' and a 'fausse mere.' For the clerc who reverenced the Mother of God and her unrealizable example of virginity and motherhood, youth and maturity, purity and understanding, there was only one true mother. All other women must inevitably be 'fausse meres' whom he must abandon. His 'bele tres douce amee mere,' when placed contrastively against his Real Mother,5 can be nothing but 'the other woman.'

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The situation remains at an impasse. Richard calls his 'amie' his mother but simultaneously denies her the title. His screech-owl proposition is unrealizable and adds insult to injury, a uniquely disagreeable version of'gather-ye-rosebuds.' Neverthless, with this maternal (im) aging of his 'amie' Richard has evidently reached the climax of his love aspirations, and now turns to carping accusations. Claiming that his love is more perfect and more nurturing than hers, he assumes bitterly that she will still reject it because of her misguided preconceptions about 'nourreture' (social upbringing/inherited class). This section could be a 'homo ait' ('the man says') speech from one of Capellanus's dialogues, perhaps the dialogue entitled 'Loquitur plebeius nobiliori feminae' (A lower-class man speaks with a woman from the upper nobility). The word 'nourreture' is pivotal. Making a clever play upon its double signification of maternal nurturing and social upbringing, Richard moves directly from his offer of nurture to her anticipated objections to nurturing him on grounds of his inferior social status. He presumes that his non-nurturing 'amie' will find his 'nurture' in all senses less valuable than hers. 'Mais se vous ne prisies tant ma nourreture come la vostre, et qu'il vos sanlle que ge ne vous aroie mie asses guerredonne6 por vostre amour se ge vous avoie doune la moie, a chou respont jou qu'il n'est riens c'amours ne face ivel' (p. 88, lines 5-9; But if you do not value my nurture as much as your own, and if it seems that I would not have rewarded you enough for your love if I had given you mine, I respond that there is nothing that is not equalized by love). By positing equality through love as an ideal, he makes a fresh attack upon contemporary love literature with its dowma-vassal posturing. His new stance suggests again (cf. above, p. 74) the possibility that, in the hierarchical society of thirteenth-century France, Richard's high rank of chancellor at Amiens did not adequately compensate in his own mind for his less than aristocratic origins. (Adlerians would label his frustrated desires to manipulate a non-nurturing woman a manifestation of his 'inferiority complex.') Whether or not such psychological pressures played a role in his new attack upon contemporary love conventions, there is no doubt that to the modern psychologically oriented reader his blisteringly sardonic remarks to his 'amie' appear hypersensitive, even neurotic. First he posits a negative response from her to his requests for sympathy, then bitterly responds to this anticipated snobbishness of hers. Feigned obeisance is obviously not a preferred posture of the chancellor who by clergie had long since transcended the social class into which he was born,7 but is now brought back through love of a woman to the rank

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that was his by birth. Little wonder that he is reluctant to accept the courtly convention that service in the order of love brings an enhancement of one's moral worth. And when the lady refuses to nurture because she despises his upbringing, Richard counter-attacks by rejecting the courtly notion of female superiority altogether. He argues that love should be the great equalizer, for in love there is neither hill nor valley; it should be consistent like a smooth, unruffled sea ('en amours n'a ne val ne tertre, ains est aussi ounnie coume mers sans ondes,' p. 88, lines 9-10). In this section he has moved outside his usual frame of reference, Pierre's bestiary, to quotations from contemporary lyricists. Using the same procedure as the Pseudo-Augustinian Sermo contraJudaeos, which condemned the behaviour of the Jews through citations from their own prophets, Richard pursues his condemnation of love with paraphrases of, and quotations from, Provencal troubadours pleading for a reduction in their lady's haughtiness. The intertextuality depends for its effect upon the prestige of Provencal lyricism with his public, aficionados of 'fin'amors' who would respect the voice of 'a Poitevin' who says that fluctuating love is worthless ('riens ne vaut 1'amours qui ensi ondoie,' p. 88, line 11); of 'the Poitevin who, following Ovid, said that pride cannot coexist with love' ('Non pot 1'orgueill od 1'amour remanoir,' p. 89, line 3); and 'the other [poet]' who for his part said, 'I cannot mount if she does not descend' ('Non pos poiar s'el non descen,'8 p. 89, line 4). Their appeals are personalized when Richard states categorically (p. 88, line 10-p. 90, line 8) that if his lady were to consent to his love, they would then, 'as the Poitevin said,' both be of equal nobility ('ingaus de parage,' p. 90, line 4), for, despite his lesser status ('encore ne vaille je mie orendroit autretant comme vous,' p. 90, line 6), her love would 'amend' him ('m'amenderoit a vostre mesure,' p. 90, line 7) and make him her equal. His witness for this argument is 'un poitevins' (p. 88, lines 10-11), who is clearly Bernart de Ventadorn complaining of inconsistent, undulating love and seeking equalization: 'c'atressi-m ten en balansa / com la naus en Fonda' (Pillet and Carstens 070 044-037-38; For she keeps me rising and falling like a boat on the waves).9 Bernart, who, Richard says, is 'following Ovid in this' (li poitevins qui en sievi Ovide,' p. 89, line 2), states categorically that love and pride cannot coexist: 'pauc pot amors ab ergolh remaner, / qu'ergolhs dechaiu e fin'amors capdolha' (PC 070 042 020-21; love and pride cannot remain long together for pride is cast down and fin'amors prevails).10 'Li autres' ('the other' poet) who cannot mount if his lady does not descend is Guilhem Magret, who says,

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'Quar ses lieys non ay guerimen / ni puesc polar s'il non dissen' (PC 223 003 029-30; For without her I have no healing, nor can I rise if she does not come down) and 'q'umilitatz deu tot orguelh dissendre' (PC 223 003 034; for humility should reduce all pride).11 The auctor who is credited with providing the inspiration to this miscellany of lyricists is Ovid, the only named source in Le Bestiaire d'amour. The quotation from Ovid - 'dist Ovides que amours et segnourie ne puent demourer ensanlle en une caiere' (p. 89, lines 1-2; Ovid said that love and mastery cannot remain together on a single throne) - deserves closer scrutiny. Richard is citing Ovid's Metamorphoses II, lines 844—6: 'ubi magni filia regis / ludere virginibus Tyriis comitata solebat. / non bene conveniunt nee in sede morantur / maiestas et amor' (where the daughter of the great king was accustomed to play with her Tyrian maidens. It is not fitting, nor is it possible that majesty and love can dwell together in the same seat). His translation of the two lines is excellent (although one wonders whether the full significance of this intertextual reference would be comprehensible to any but the most informed literati). Whether or not he is talking only to himself and a few cognoscenti, the reference transcends the other fashionable but conventional troubadour posturings in its sardonic richness. It is Richard's snidest attack yet upon love and love's practitioners - including himself. Ovid described the animal antics of Jupiter, who to win the royal princess Europa disguised himself as an amorous bull - not just any bull but a bull of superior physical attributes as befitted the supreme god of all the gods, 'ille pater rectorque deum' (that father and rector of the gods). The description is at first subtly parodic then blatantly ridiculous as Jove, 'gravitate relicta' (abandoning all dignity), sports on the grass, lies down beside Europa, and eventually charms her on to his back and kidnaps her from among her Tyrian maidens. In the Metamorphoses, then, the observation that maiestas and amor cannot coexist is a humorous expose of ridiculously animal antics in a divine personage who is in love. Jove amorous does not become human, he becomes less than human. When transferred to its new context of a 'bestiary of love,' the Ovidian quote is, for those 'in the know,' a delightful snatch of sardonic humour. It incongruously mingles divine authority and human eroticism. Jove the bull is as self-parodic as Richard's introductory cock crowing love songs. Making his intentions explicit, then, Richard brings Ovid's maiestas/amor into the context of medieval clergie/chevalerie with a contemporary dictum, 'c[h]ou est uns meismes chemins qui va de Saint Denis a Paris et qui vient de Paris a Saint Denis [e]' (p. 89, lines 7-9; it is one and the

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same road that goes from St Denis to Paris as comes from Paris to St Denis[e]). The interchangeable coming/going of the journey is neatly represented by the chiasmus St Denis-Paris; Paris-St Denis. And, like the St Denis-Paris road, which represents the parity between France's prime seats of secular and ecclesiastical authority, the symbolism goes both ways to link aristocratic values and clerical values. Richard cites that parity to press his love suit and prove his social equality with 'la dame.' While courtship behaviour conventionally presupposed female superiority and male subordination, Richard urges his lady to reject such nonsense. In so doing, he spells out in prose the poetic message of the Provencal poets he has cited, a message that is as sincere and as ironic as the lyric genres themselves.12 For those of his public who chose to ignore the irony and to receive only the erotic message, this whole section could perhaps pass for conventional chevalerie — male suitor wooing socially superior domna to obtain remission of her haughtiness. But the Ovidian reference and, of course, Richard's declared love-war purpose in his ariereban lift it above the conventions. His bitterly gendered didacticism continues when he returns to the bestiary and instructs his lady that she has too much pride. Pride cannot coexist with love and, for her own happiness, she should get rid of it. 'Mais il me samble ke vous aveis plus ke mestiers ne me fust de cest orguel ki avoec amors ne puet demorer, si le vous coverroit brisier, ou vous ne gousteries de la joie d'amors' (p. 91, lines 3—5; it seems to me that you have more than might be helpful to me of that pride that cannot coexist with love. You should smash it, otherwise you would not savour the joy of love). Female haughtiness must be blunted ruthlessly like the sharp beak of the eagle. The eagle shatters and pares down its overgrown beak, and the timely self-mutilation prevents it from dying of starvation. It has been suggested (Lauchert, p. 10) that this property, which was not mentioned in early descriptions of the eagle from antiquity - Aristotle has the eagle dying of starvation from its overgrown beak - may be a development from Psalm 102:5's 'Renovabitur ut aquilae iuventus tua' (Thy youth is renewed like the eagle's). At all events, the property is associated with saving or restoring life. This is the second time Richard has urged self-mutilating symbolism upon his lady. In the beaver exemplum, he urged her metaphorically to castrate herself. Now she must break that overgrown beak of pride and humble herself enough to unlock the 'fortress' guarding the tongue, thus freeing it to acknowledge surrender. Richard's demand that she be 'douce comme il faut' (sweet as pie) is conveyed in bellicose love-war imagery: 'brise,' 'humelie,' 'deferme le forteresce,' 'reconoistreetotroier.'

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The purpose of the ariereban was never clearer. Love is a war which should lead to surrender. But not indiscriminate surrender! Some women 'deferment le forteresce a rebors' (unlock the fortress the wrong way). They withdraw when they should reveal themselves, and reveal themselves when they should withdraw. They take solace indiscriminately with anyone they meet. For an illustration of those foolish women Richard turns back to an animal he has already gendered as female, the crocodile. The crocodile was thought to be unique in that supposedly it kept its lower jaw immobile when it ate, moving only its upper jaw. This reversal of the norm is described by Richard as 'a rebors' (contrary), and with this phrase he imputes destructive and inappropriate behaviour to talkative women who always open their mouths in the wrong way. Having already imposed the equation that crocodile = woman = predatory man-eater with horrendous jaws, he now condemns those jaws for their indiscrimimate chatter. Jawing women talk about their love to all and sundry, but are regrettably silent about it to their 'amis.' To recommend the quality of discretion in courteous loving was nothing new, but some of Richard's advice suggests a comportment book for young ladies, serving the interests of men more than women. His justification for this recommendation is obviously demeaning: some women just do not have the judgment to distinguish the worthless from the trustworthy. Suspecting that his 'amie' is one of these undiscerning females, he tries to impress upon her that the person who gives the greatest impression of being loyal may emerge as full of treachery. And there is an even worse danger for the indiscreet babbler. People who have no active desire to betray her will nevertheless not respect her secrecy just because she has revealed all. If she sees no reason to withhold anything from them, why should they not follow her example? They will not think to hide from another what she does not hide from them. Those people are like the dragon. The dragon was a symbol of danger because of its venomous tongue. In an erotic context, the dragon with the poisonous tongue is the losengier (slanderer). Like the dragon, which does not actually bite its enemy but spreads venom with its tongue, the lovers' slandering enemies attack them indirectly with gossip and harmful rumour. Richard's recommendation to his lady is that she be discreet, 'car ausi ligierement com il ont 01 de vous, ausi ligierement le font il a autrui oir' (p. 94, lines 7-8; they spread your news to someone else as easily as they heard it from you). The proliferation of images involving mouth, jaws, beaks, and poisonous tongues suggests that women are badly in need of cautionary

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advice to curb themselves in that area. What began with Richard's, recommendation that the woman be nurturing has become bitterly reproachful. Woman's contribution to man's destiny has been less than nurturing. Thanks to the Devil's tongue, a morsure of fatal fruit and a mors d'amors have resulted from her indiscretion. The theological underpinnings for Richard's advice to women become even clearer as he moves his cautionary advice to the symbolism of an animal that has much to fear from the dragon, the elephant. The dragon is the only creature that the elephant fears, and between elephant and dragon there is a natural hatred. Consequently, when the female elephant reaches term, she goes into the water of the Euphrates, a river of greater India, to give birth. This is because if the dragon happened upon the young elephants it would lick them and poison them, but the dragon is of such an ardent nature that it cannot tolerate water. And for fear of the dragon, the male elephant watches by the water on the riverbank. Richard refuses to abandon the subject of womanly nurturing and, lest the erotic interpetation of giving birth be too far removed for his lady to remember it, he repeats what he said previously: 'li enfanters senefie le retenirs d'amours' (p. 95, lines 8-9; giving birth signifies retaining in love). To retain an 'ami' is to make him her baby ('faon'). He like her must be protected from the venomous tongues of dragons. She should therefore cultivate prudence, should emulate in fact the prudence of the elephant, who fears the dragon and who actively strives to protect her young from the fiery predator by surrounding herself with water. The underlying symbolism of this exemplum is particularly significant. The reproduction of the male and female elephant, which in Richard's bestiary is made symbolic of human love, signified in Pierre's bestiary the first couple, their eating from the Tree of Knowledge, and the Fall. Pierre explained: Gil doi olifant, de male et de femele, portent la samblance de Eve et d'Adam qui erent en paradis devant le mors de la pomme: avironne de gloire, nient de mal sachant, ne desirant de covoitise ne d'asamblement. Quant la moiller manga de la pomme del devee arbre, ele en dona a Adam. Si tost com il en orent mangie, il furent jete fors de paradis, etjete an 1'estanc palui de moutes aighes. (PB4, p. 56) (These two elephants, male and female, are like Eve and Adam, who were in Paradise before they ate the apple, surrounded by glory, knowing no evil,

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lust of desire or intercourse. When the woman ate the apple from the forbidden tree, she gave some of it to Adam. As soon as they had eaten, they were cast out of Paradise, and hurled into the marshy lake of many waters.)

The immediate message of the elephant pair in Le Bestiaire d 'amour is a recommendation for prudence and foresight. l[A]igue,' Richard explains, 'senefie porveance' (p. 96, line 7; water signifies foresight), and his lady must protect both of them from the dragons' venom. But the ultimate relevance of the exemplum transcends that simple advice to become part of Richard's nostra culpafor the human condition generally. Mindful of his own advice about loose lips, he has of course taken care not to implicate himself personally in all the sensual sins of Adam and has already made it clear that he never progressed beyond the first three senses. Touching and tasting were not involved in his desire for 'savoir.' Foresight through the symbolism of water remains the theme in the exemplum of the dove. The dove likes to sit on water because, if a goshawk approaches to capture it, the dove is alerted from a distance by the goshawk's shadow, which it sees in the water. Forewarned of the danger, it then has time to flee to safety. This property of the dove, although well known,13 is not mentioned in Pierre, who concentrates upon the diverse colours of the dove and their theological significance. It is easy to see why Pierre's allegorical interpretations for gold (for the diversity of the apostles), blue (for the sky which ravished Elisha), red (for the blood of St Stephen and the Passion), and ash-white (for repentance) would not be immediately useful in the context of Richard's love advice to women. Instead, he turns again to the admirable quality of foresight. 'Porveance' in a male context is man's antidote if not his cure for the foolishness of love. Richard wishes he had possessed it before it was too late. When the same quality is recommended to his lady, however, his advice is more pragmatic. Foresight will allow her to guard against those liable to harm her (and Richard!). The lesson is impressed upon her memory when, as usual, he replays the group of exempla he has just narrated, dragon, elephant, and dove, and extracts from them more specific recommendations that will help women to behave appropriately to their men. Giving birth in the water to avoid the dragon signifies that if a woman wishes her love to be hidden she must retain and nurture her 'ami.' Otherwise, his excessively long wait for love could make him so despairing that he will commit a mischief which will draw attention to his love: 'elle doit a tel porveance retenir son ami ke trop longe demoree ne le mete en desesperance teile

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par quoi il face meschief dont on se puist percevoir de s'amour' (p, 96, line 9-p. 97, line 2). Just as important, she herself must not be induced to seek solace with just anyone, joking about it all the while - 'qu'il ne le coviengne lui misme querre por li sollachier qui ke soit a qui elle en voille border endementiers' (p. 97, lines 3-4). Here, then, is Richard's personal interpretation of the courtly code of secrecy in this vital section of his 'book for the ladies.' A woman must desire concealment in love, and must avoid long delay in granting herself. Such delays can result in a suicidal behaviour in the man that will draw attention to his love. She must not take solace herself with some unworthy character and (heaven preserve Richard!) chatter lightly to him about Richard's love. Unfortunately, he says, it is impossible for a woman to know whom to trust, as is illustrated by the whale. There is a sort of whale, 'lacovie' in Pierre, which by its size and by its sandy-looking skin resembles an island. The 'island' soon proves fatal, however, to the hapless mariners who land on it and stay there several days, searching for food on its back. When they light a fire on it, the whale plunges itself and them into the depths of the sea. Pierre compares their fate to the fate of all who put their trust in the Devil: 'cil qui metent lor esperance en lui, il salent en ses oevres si comme cil firent qui lierent lor nes sor la beste; et sont plonges el pardurable fu d'infer' (PBS, p. 252; those who put their faith in him leap to his works like those who anchored their ships on the beast; and they are plunged into the eternal fire of Hell). Taking the exemplum into an erotic context, Richard warns his lady that the things that seem most solid are in fact the least trustworthy: 'on se doit le mains fier en le cose del monde que plus seure sanle' (p. 99, lines 4—5; one must trust least whatever in the world appears most trustworthy). Caution is recommended with the men who claim to be her 'amis': 'ausi avient il del plus de chiax ki amis se font' (p. 99, lines 56; for this is what happens with most men who proclaim themselves to be 'amis'). Unafraid, apparently, that the woman will here include her maitre among the likely suspects, he warns her against all would-be suitors. Fundamentally unreliable, they deceive 'la bone gent' (good folk) as the fox deceives the magpies. When the fox is hungry and finds nothing to eat, it will roll in the red-earth mud and will lie down with its jaws hanging open and its tongue out, as if it had bled to death. Then the magpies come, thinking the fox is dead, and try to eat its tongue. The fox bares its teeth, seizes them by the head, and devours them. This is the racy anecdote of Brer Fox playing dead, and it is told with the narrative detail it deserves by

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Pierre: Une beste est qui est apeles goupils. Phisiologes nos dist que il est moult trechiere, et plain d'enging; ne nule ore ne va droite voie. II est de tel nature, que quant il a fain, et il ne truevc que mangier, il se volope en rouge tere si qu'il pert estre sanglans. Puis s'estent envers a terre, si comme il fust mors, et retient s'alaine; et enfle soi si que il ne soffle ne pou ne grant, et laisse sa langhe pendre dehors sa bouce. Et li oisel qui le voient issi gesir goule baee, estendu a la terre si laidement en boe, et enfle, il quident que il soil mors. I ,ors voient li oisel a lui, et s'asient sor lui; si li quident mangier la langhe el la char de lui. Et al si tost que li oisel sont sou [sic] lui asis, ou si pres que il les puet aerdre, il les prent maintenant as dens et as pies, et les estrangle et mangue. (PBS, pp. 207-8) (There is an animal called the fox. Physiotogus tells us that it is very deceitful and full of trickery; it never moves in a straight line. Its nature is such that when it is hungry and finds nothing to eat, it covers itself in red earth so that it appears to be bloody. Then it stretches out on the ground as if dead, and holds its breath; and it swells up so that it does not breathe at all, and lets its tongue hang out of its mouth. And the birds which see it lying like this with its mouth gaping open, stretched out in such an ungainly fashion in the mud, think it is dead. Then the birds fly to it, and settle on it with the intention of eating its tongue and its flesh. And as soon as the birds are perched on it or close enough that it can attack them, it snatches them with its leeth and feet, and strangles them and eats them.)

As usual Richard takes from Pierre only what serves his didactic purpose and narrates the bare minimum needed for comprehension. Now that his bestiary is reaching its end, the last few exempla are dwarfed by his own comments. He warns his lady to beware of the man who pretends constantly to be overcome with love, who 'fait molt le tresvase d'amours' (p. 100, line 3; acts most lovelorn). That man's only thought is treachery. Disingenuously, perhaps, Richard comments that perhaps she will put him in this category: 'Mais par aventure ausi dires vous de moi misme' (p. 100, lines 4-5; But perchance you will say the same of me). Having anticipated the eventuality, he defends himself with a military metaphor by discussing the motivation of men who 'follow the army.' The metaphor is a reminder of the arierebaris purpose - love is war - but the manner in which he explains himself includes some individual selfrevelation. Some men follow the army for profit - 'por leur preu,' he

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says; others to do their lord's work - 'por le besongne lor sengnor faire'; and the rest because they have no set goal and are going to see the world - 'por chu k'i ne sevent ou aler, si vont le siecle veoir' (p. 100, lines 6-8). Presumably because he knows that his extensive usage of Pierre's bestiary has already given the right message to his public, who will surely 'get it,' he does not consider it necessary to spell out that his reason is the second one. The first and third types of male predator are like the vulture. The vulture follows the armies because it lives on corpses, and it knows by its nature that there will be dead men or slaughtered horses there. The description is from Pierre with the omission of a few details that remain latent beneath the surface of the love narrative. For example, according to Pierre's bestiary, the vulture likes to eat men's eyes and then extract the brain through the eye-sockets: 'il en mangue volentiers les ex, et puis en trait tote la chervele par les ex' (PB2, p. 146). Since Richard has already used this description to good purpose in his allegorization of love as a crow (p. 38 above), he does not repeat it here, although the echo resonates. Being a very filthy bird ('moult ort oisel'), the vulture often eats flesh which it can smell at three days' distance, and it will never taste anything either clean or good. The vulture is the symbol of the Devil. In an erotic context, the diabolical bird of prey that follows the armies is readily translatable into those men who hunt women with a predatory motive: 'voltoirs senefie cheaus ki sievent les dames et les damoiseles por faire leur preu d'eles' (p. 101, lines 4-5; those who follow women and maidens to take advantage of them). In his interpretation of the vulture's prey, that unclean flesh, as women and girls, Richard prudently refrains from further explicitness. By now he is anyway so preoccupied with his warnings about male predators and his explanations of his own motives that he is ready to leave actual beasts behind. His concluding lines concentrate upon the human applications of his bestiary. The men who go to the army because they do not know where to go and want to see the world signify those who do not love anyone ('senefient chaus ki nullui n'aiment'; p. 101, lines 6-7). They are not to be trusted because they speak of love to everyone they meet, and they cannot speak of love without begging for it. This is not really treachery, says Richard, it is just habit. But the men who go to war in their lord's service signify the loyal lovers, 'les loiax amis' (p. 102, line 1). The love = war metaphor has been brought full circle from a royal ariereban to carrion-hunting after the army, and Richard claims he is not a

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vulture, following woman through habit. Words can never explain what she quickly would have realized if only she had 'retained' him in her service, namely, 'ke je vous sui por la besonge ma dame faire' (p. 102, lines 5-6; that I am following you to do the service of M/my L/lady).14 Having explained himself to the extent that words are capable of explaining anything to her, he resigns himself now, like a troubadour, to a final request. His last plea to his belle dame sans merci is for her mercy. 'Si ne vous requier nule riens fors merci' (I seek from you nothing but mercy). The conclusion does not bring closure, which would have been unrealistic, given the didacticism of Le Bestiaire d'amour, which is based upon the premise that love of woman is the root of the world's evils, including death. It was Adam's love of a woman that perverted the purity of God's original creation. Man's distinctive property of reason was then subverted to the unreason of love. The only possible exempla for love behaviour, if only one were able to learn from them, are therefore exempla from the animal species that remain uncorrupted by the Fall. Instead of moving upward from the lower stages of organic life that live, reproduce, and have sensation to the highest stage that lives, reproduces, has sensation, and has reason, Le Bestiaire d'amour moves downward to the fundamental functions of the lower stages. Ostensibly employing the conventional code of courtliness, Richard effectively demotes woman from any position of superiority because, in a hierarchy where man's glory over the other animals is his reason, reason turns out to be the one quality to which she is unresponsive. Going through the motions of adoration and homage to her, Richard simultaneously undermines his own posturing. He asks from his lady a love that is maternal, nurturing, and protective. He wants to be, is, in fact her child in all his fantasies. But woman is unable to respond to his ideals and to be nurturing. She is a descendant of Eve. Le Bestiaire d'amour therefore ends upon a paradox. Richard, knowing that he is 'dead' from love, persists to the end in begging for what is unattainable: mercy. Love of woman cannot bring satisfaction or transform Richard's liaison with his lady into a 'happily ever after' narrative. Lack of closure is the only viable ending for Le Bestiaire d 'amour. QUOD ERAT DEMONSTRANDUM.

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CHAPTER FIVE

The Woman's Response

Horn qui sens et discretion a en soi ne doit metre s 'entente ne son tans a cose nule dire nefairepar coi nus ne nule soit empiries; anchoisfait chil bonne oevre qui aucune chose puet dire etfaire qui puist porter pourfit as non sachans. Nous sommes plus noblement criees que vous, biaus maistres. A response to Richard's love bestiary appears in four manuscripts.1 One of them (Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek 2609, f. 32r) begins ['Chi coumence li prologues de] la response dou bestiaire que la dame fist centre la requeste que maistres Richars de furnival fist sour nature des biestes' ([Here begins the prologue of] the response to the bestiary, composed by the lady against the request that Master Richard of Fournival made on the nature of the animals). Another (Paris, BN f.fr. 412, f. 236v) begins ['Ici endroit comence li prologues a] la response sour 1'arriere ban Maistre Richart de furnival, ensi come sa dame s'escuse si come vous porres oi'r ci apries' ([Here begins the prologue] of the response to Master Richard of Fournival's ariereban, how the lady refuses as you will now be able to hear). The other two manuscripts lack a title or a rubric. The vague designation of 'la dame' raises more questions than it answers, and the mysterious identity of the woman who figures anonymously in Le Bestiaire d 'amour and Response poses a perplexing challenge. The designation 'la dame' is, of course, ambiguous: one particular woman or a generic representative of womankind? The codicological evidence adds little, and the dating of the manuscripts of both works is at best imprecise. A terminus ante quern of 1252 can be posited for Le Bestiaire d'amour, since a version of the Miroir des dames, dedicated to Blanche of Castille, who died in 1252, contains a citation from it. The Response poses

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more problems. All that can be established is that the extant manuscripts which first featured it originated in the last two decades of the thirteenth century, and that these extant manuscripts are derivatives of a lost original. It is useful to review the textual information that both Richard and 'the lady' provide.2 They are not the usual hackneyed topoi. Richard says he was initially reluctant to meet the woman he now calls 'his lady' ('vous seiistes bien com a envis jou m'en alai acointer de vous a la primiere fois. Et si ne savoie jou por quoi c'estoit, fors ke che fu ausi com une pronostike del mal ke puis m'en est avenus'; p. 32, lines 6-9). Their first meeting involved no effort or initiative on her part ('je sui li horn ke vous aves trove, et voirement trove. Car ausi c'on a sans traval chu ke on trove, ausi sui jou en tel maniere vostres ke vous m'aves por noient'; p. 66, lines 4-6). At that first encounter she was shy and appropriately modest ('quant je m'acointai a vous, si vous trovai d'une douce maniere a un poi de vergoingne telle com il convient, ausi com se vous me resongnissies .i. petit pour la novelte'; p. 18, lines 2-4; see also p. 56, lines 5-8). She was also a virgin ('Amors ... me mist en mon cemin une pucele'; p. 44, lines 3—4). He was immediately charmed, especially by the beauty of her voice ('vous seustes bien com a envis jou m'en alai acointer de vous a la primiere fois ... Mais toutes voies i alai jou et m'endormi au cant de la seraine, ce fu a le douc[h]our de vostre acointance et de vostre biel parler a qui oi'r je fu pris'; p. 32, line 6-p. 33, line 2). Her later manner with him was arrogant ('quant vos seustes ke je vous amoie, si me fuistes si fierre com vous volsistes'; p. 18, lines 4-5; also p. 56, lines 5-10, and p. 91, lines 3-4). He confided his feelings to her often, both in writing and in their conversations about love ('cis escris est ausi com 1'arierebans de tous chaus ke je vous ai envoie dusques a ore,' p. 7, lines 7-8; '[S]e je vous ai maint bel mot que dit que envoie, et il ne m'ont mie tant valut ke mestiers me fust, il me convient en cest darrain escrit faire men ariereban,' p. 8, lines 1-3; 'tantes fois vous ai proie et merchi criei,' p. 61, line 10). She would have been willing to be friends, but she found his constant appeals for love annoying ('ge vous ai aucune fois 01 dire k'il vous anuioit de c[h]ou que ge vous prioie, et que volentiers me tenissies compaingnie se ce ne fust,' p. 57, lines 5-7; also p. 28, line 6-p. 29, line 1, and p. 58, lines 6-7). She often annoyed him also, but his anger did not alter his love for her ('tantes fois m'aveis corechiet la vostre merci, ke si jou por corous me deusse partir de vous, je ne vous amasse mie si outre mesure com je fais,' p. 80, lines 4-6). Her behaviour was haughty, and a

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difference in social status is implied ('il me samble ke vous aveis plus ke mestiers ne me fust de cest orguel ki avoec amors ne puet demorer, si le vous coverroit brisier,' p. 91, lines 3-5; 'se vous ne prisies tant ma nourreture come la vostre, et qu'il vos sanlle que ge ne vous aroie mie asses guerredonne por vostre amour se ge vous avoie doune la moie, a chou respont jou qu'il n'est riens c'amours ne face ivel... chu seroit une misme amors de vous a moi et de moi a vous, et tout d'autretel lignage seroit 1'une comme 1'autre,' p. 88, lines 6-9 and p. 90, lines 1-2). He never kissed or held her ('jou fui pris a ces .iij. sens: a oir, a veir et a flarier; et se je parfusse prise as autres .ij. sens: a gouster en baisant et a touchier en acolant, dont parfusse jou a droit endormis,' p. 45, lines 4-7). He was attracted and held by the sound of her voice, her appearance, and her smell ('ne fu chu pas mervelle se jou m'endormi a force de vois. Car che ne fu mie vois com autre,' p. 40, lines 5-7). Their acquaintance was of long standing, but at the time of writing he was sufficiently distant from her to be unsure whether she had taken a lover ('se ma dame en a nul acuelli, jou valroie k'i li avenist de lui et de moi ausi com il avient a la singesse de ses .ij. faons,' p. 74, lines 3—5). Also he sent rather than gave her his writings ('Et jou, de qui memoire vous ne poes partir ... valroie ades manoir en la vostre memorie. ... Et pour chu vous envoi je ces .ij. coses en une ... pour che ke, quant je ne serai presens, ke cis escris ... me rende a vostre memoire comme present,' p. 5, line 11-p. 6, line 8). The context in which she lived was aristocratic in its entertainments and its atmosphere of homage ('molt valroie ke ma dame s'en gardast, et nommeement de chiax ki plus font 1'umeliance,' p. 71, lines 3-4; 'il ne quidera mie estre ses chevaliers, s'il ne le soushaide a ses cauches lachier et a son aler joster devant tant de gent que ki que soit li redie ... il li samble k'il lui convient avoir un menestrel ki crie a le bretesce ke ses sire ne fait ne largesce ne proesce fors por 1'amour a cele bele douce ke tous li mons doit aourer,' p. 72, lines 1—7). The author of the Response challenges only one of these biographical details: the circumstances of her first encounter with Richard. She says: 'vous m'aves dit du leu, que se nature si est tele que se li horn le voit premierement que li leus lui, il en pert se forche et son hardement, et se li leus voit I'omme premiers, li horn en devient raus et en pert aussi comme le parole ... ;je fui premierement veuede vous, que je doi par cesti raison apeler leu (p. 110, lines 12-17; my emphasis; you have told me concerning the wolf that its nature is such that, if a man sees it before it sees the man, it loses its strength and its courage, but that if the wolf sees the man

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first, the man becomes hoarse and loses as it were the power of speech ... I was first seen by you whom I must therefore call the wolf). It is doubtful whether, as she makes this correction, she has fully understood Richard's admittedly contorted symbolism. For him the wolf was the woman who has 'seen him,' i.e., heard his admission of love, before he could know her mind. His premature revelation of himself to his lady (the wolf!) had cost him his voice. She, on the other hand, says that he must be the wolf because she is speechless, a statement, by the way, that is as untrue for her as it was for him. She is surely not saying, as he was, that she revealed her love to him early in the relationship. Her primary concern, here and elsewhere, is to reject unwelcome favours -just say no! - and to neutralize material that might be harmful to herself and/or to womankind. Since she argues with only this biographical item, the reader inevitably interprets her silence as tacit acceptance of the other biographical details of Richard's love narrative. There is acquiescence also in the tutorial role assumed by Richard, whom she addresses - not without irony sometimes - as 'biaus sire, chiers maistres.' She professes a desire to to learn from him: 'ne tenes mie a vilenie se je m'ai'e de vostre sens, selonc che que je en ai retenu' (p. 106, lines 12-13; do not interpret it as villainy if I aid myself with your intelligence, according as I have retained some of it). She boasts of no particular learning, expresses concern for the 'nonsachans,' and presumably writes for such an unlettered audience rather than for the Latin-literate. Her timidity and caution are repetitively apparent in variants upon 'je doi estre seur me garde' (p. 112, line 12; I must be on my guard). Similarly thematic is her desire to preserve her honour ('mout doi amer .i. tant d'onneur pour coi vous estes si engrans de 1'avoir; si me couvient prendre warde,' p. 112, lines 2—3; I am bound to treasure the amount of honour I have, since you are so covetous to get it; and I must take care) and her fearful preoccupation with conception and its responsibilities ('conchoivres si est une cose que mout fait a douter que on ne conchoive chose dont on ait au faonner a souffrir cose qui grieve,' p. 115, lines 13-15; conception is something which involves great fear of initiating what will give grievous suffering when one gives it birth). Acknowledging the existence of pride in herself, she nevertheless interprets it as her ally in self-preservation ('je di vraiement que se je voi aucun qui me porche compaignie et fache biau sanlant pour aucune chose qu'il voeille avoir de moi, ou que il li sanle que de moi tenir compaignie soit tant amendes que il le voeille faire, et raisons me moustre que je n'en peusse mie amender, mais anchois empirier, se je

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ne metoie devant une roque de cruaute que li auquant apelent orgueil,' p. 128, lines 14-19; For I say truly that if I see someone who keeps me company and pretends to be charming for something he wants from me, or it seems that by keeping company with me he will attain such improvement as he wishes to attain, reason shows me that I would not be improved thereby but rather damaged if I did not interpose a tower of cruelty, which some call pride). It is possible that we have been shown the type of man she would consider marrying, although in the context of Le Bestiaire d'amour marriage is never mentioned. Richard promises only 'amour,' 'nourreture,' and 'la besonge ma dame faire.' The author of the Response finds herself unready to accept the implications of the latter, presumably because her youth makes her doubt its necessity - 'encore ne sui je mie la menee que je le doive faire' (p. 128, line 6; I am not yet reduced to the point where I feel bound to do this) - and because, as she frankly says, being nurtured by him would mean being raised in a school of filth: 'A, sire maistres, comme je cuit que se je m'afioie en vous aussi comme li ostrisses s'afie ou soleil, que vous le me couveries de pute escole' (p. 127, lines 10-12; Ah lord master, how strongly I believe that if I put my trust in you as does the ostrich in the sun, you would rear me abominably [lit. in a school of filth]). She goes even further when she castigates clerics 'qui sont simple en maniere, si sanle que bien s'i puet on fier, et maintenant s'aerdent a escouter leur paroles, et s'i delitent tant que li uns et li autres est pris et se metent du tout au desous. Li clers em pert a estre pourveiis de sainte Eglise, ou il seroit canoinnes ou vesques, et li demoisele aroit j. chevalier gentil home dont ele seroit a honneur et deportee plus que de chelui qui tel riqueche n'a mie' (p. 134, line 20-p. 135, line 5; who are simple in their manner and it seems that they are worthy of complete trust, and the women come to hang on their words and delight in them until one and the other are caught and completely undone. For the cleric loses a prebend from Holy Church, where he could be canon or bishop, and the maiden could have had a knightly gentleman who would give her more happiness and honour than the cleric, who has no comparable wealth). Whether or not she herself intended to marry such a knightly gentleman as she describes, her distaste for Richard is explicit: 'Cuidies vous que je vous doie coure sus pour che que vous dites que vous estes vestus de che que vous m'ames? Ne vous ai je mie vestu de m'amour, anchois en estes encore bien nus' (p. 113, lines 2-4; Do you think I am bound to attack you because you say you are clothed with your love for me? I have

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not clothed you with my love, rather you are quite naked of it). She therefore urges upon him the irreconcilable differences in their styles of living, 'puis que je seroie contraire a vostre volente et vous a le moie, et que nous nous descorderiens d'abit et de volente, je ne me porroie acorder a vostre volente comment que vous vous acordissies a moi' (p. 113, lines 17-20; because I would be contrary to your disposition and you to mine, and we would be in conflict both in habit and in will, I could not concur with your will, however much you might concur with mine). Such argumentation is its own illustration of the author's temperament, impassioned and self-aware, able to make subtle distinctions and to draw logical conclusions, and not without Christian devotion. The constant appeals for help from God and from the Holy Cross to preserve her virtue reveal a respect for the Church Richard represented: 'Ajeue Dieus, ajeue! Comment seroie je tele que je vois chi disant? Par sainte crois, ja se Diex plaist ne m'avenra!' (p. 126, lines 8-9; Help me, God, help me! How could I ever be that sort of woman I am talking about? By the Holy Cross, if God please, it will never happen to me). The Responses rejection of Richard was personal and without relevance to the author's religious faith. Her religious devotion is our author's most enigmatic feature, especially since the Response is remarkable for its heterodox, if not heretical, theology. Citing 'certain authorities' ('aucuns actours'), the author claims to know something which Richard, cleric and Church dignitary, does not know. This item of womanly information is a version of the Creation narrative in which Adam, dissatisfied with the wife God first created for him, killed that wife and demanded another: Eve. The woman author makes it clear that Richard is not the authority or inspiration for her version of Creation. Thus, despite the magisterial tone of Le Bestiaire d'amour and the respectful homage, not unmixed with irony, of the Response, the pupil-teacher relationship between the aging cleric and 'la dame' is not without its complications. In view of this complexity, I have found it useful initially to adopt a stance of belief in the existence of 'la dame' as she presents herself, namely, the woman for whom Richard wrote his lyric poetry and Le Bestiaire d'amour, and who responded to them. A good editor prefers the lectio diffidlior over the lectio fadlior. The cogency of the Responses arguments in defence of women, the audacity of its author's attacks upon clerics and clerical misogyny, and the rarity of similar proto-feminist texts make 'her' unusual in her time, but they do not necessarily make her a man. Besides, in such disputes over anonymous texts from the

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Middle Ages, the argument for male authorship is usually circular: 'Medieval women did not write polemical works; here is a polemical work; therefore it was not written by a woman.' It is usually helpful to give the benefit of the doubt, therefore, to the 'woman author' until her identity is proved to be otherwise. The woman's response is impassioned as she challenges Richard on two fronts, rejecting his view of woman as a snare and an entanglement, and rewriting his erotic symbolism from a woman's point of view. The task is not a simple one, given the ambivalent nature of Le Bestiaire d'amour, but the Response is unequivocal in its rejection of Richard's tendentious symbolism, animal by animal. In so doing, the woman makes no attempt to restore the traditional symbolism of the bestiary genre. It appears even that Pierre's bestiary may have been unknown to her as she launches her own bestiary, the structure of which is based upon Richard's. Remarkably, then, her reinterpretation is not a restoration of traditional values, but a reorientatation of Richard's symbolism in favour of the female gender. An initial sentence establishes her priorities. 'Horn qui sens et discretion a en soi ne doit metre s'entente ne son tans a cose nule dire ne faire par coi nus ne nule soit empirics; anchois fait chil bonne oevre qui aucune chose puet dire et faire qui puist porter pourfit as non sachans (p. 105, lines 1-4). This sentence is more complex in the original language than it would now appear. (Richard is not the only one capable of ambiguity!) It means either 'A man who has intelligence and discretion must not employ his time or his attention saying or doing anything by which any man or woman may be damaged, but he who is able to say or do something that is profitable to the ignorant is accomplishing good work' or 'Man, who has intelligence and discretion, must not employ his time or his attention saying or doing anything by which any man or woman may be damaged, but he who is able to say or do something that is profitable to the ignorant is accomplishing good work' (my emphasis). The first constitutes a direct attack upon Richard. The second sets up an opposition between man and the non-sachans, among whom the woman is not ashamed to include herself. Syntax and the woman's subsequent development of the material suggest that both meanings should be entertained simultaneously. But no matter how wide-ranging the general application, there is no doubt that the sentence is a rebuke to Richard, displacing 'li anchien' and the great auctor Aristotle himself to give priority to the edification and nurturing of the unlearned. Moving to Richard's statement that there is a shared stock of human

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knowledge, the woman expresses gratitude to Richard, who has taught her this good lesson: that she cannot be wise ('sage') in everything that could be useful to her. That blatantly personal rewrite of his general dictum, although offered with appropriate humility, makes its own lexical contribution to Richard's annominatio mind-games by substituting for his 'savoir' (knowledge) her 'estre sage' (to be wise/good), and her even more outrageously personal 'estre sage de tout che qui bien mestier me porroit avoir' (p. 106, lines 4-5; to be wise in all that could well be of use to me). Her pragmatic womanly definition of usefulness immediately delimits, even deactivates, Richard's priorities. It also allows her to mould the nature of her response to that pre-established definition. Having acknowledged her inability to attain the amount of knowledge that Richard has acquired, the woman author now makes a highly original claim for herself in an ingenious female variant of 'the inadequacy topos.'3 Her inferiority is her superiority. She asserts boldly that although she cannot be as knowledgeable as he, she knows something that he does not because she is a woman. The piece of womanly knowledge that she now insists upon telling him is a heterodox version of Genesis 2, which, by its daring implications, overturns traditional patristic theology. According to her, Adam, created out of a material that was less than totally satisfactory ('d'une matere qui n'est mie des plus souffissans des autres,' p. 107, lines 4-5) murdered the first woman, who was created simultaneously with him, giving as his reason, 'She was nothing to me and therefore I could not love her.' God then tried again and produced a woman out of Adam's own flesh. Adam fell immediately in love with this extension of himself, for Eve was the 'nobler creation,' according to the author of the Response: 'nous sommes plus noblement criees que vous, biaus maistres, n'aies este' (p. 108, lines 21-2; we are more nobly created than you were, fair master). Through his auto-eroticism Adam, besotted by Eve, became the author of original sin. This startling reformulation of the Genesis story, which is substituted for Richard's homage to 'savoir' and for his Aristotelian discussion of memory, is narrated in a dignified style which has all the apparent authority of the more traditional scriptural narrative. It begins:4 Dieus, qui par se digne poissanche tout le mont estauli, et premierement fist chiel et terre et quanques il est ordene en 1'un et en 1'autre, apres fist home pour le plus noble creature qu'il peust faire; et li plot qu'il le feist d'une matere qui n'est mie des plus souffissans des autres. Et de cheli matere, selonc aucuns actours, fourma il une feme tele qui mie ne pleut a 1'omme

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que il devant avoit fait. Dont il avint que quant Diex eut 1'un et 1'autre donne vie, Adans ochist se feme, et Diex li demanda pour coi il avoit che fait. II respondi: 'Ele ne m'estoit rien, et pour che ne le pooie je amer.' Dont apres vint nostre Sires a Adam ou il dormoit, et prist 1'une de ses costes, et en fourma Evain dont nous sommes tout issu. Dont li aucun voelent dire que se le premiere feme fust demouree, Adam ne se fust acordes au pechiet pour coi nous sommes tout en paine; mais pour le tres grant amour qu'il eut a cheli qui faite estoit de lui, 1'ama il tant comme il parut. Car li amours de li seurmonta le commandement de nostre Seigneur, si comme autre fois aves ol comment il mengerent le fruit qui leur avoit este devees. (p. 107, line 1p. 108, line 6) (God, who by his dignity and power created the whole world and first made heaven and earth and all that is established in the one and in the other, afterward made man to be the noblest creature he could devise. And it pleased God to make man out of a substance that is not among the most suitable of substances, and from this substance, according to certain authorities, he formed such a woman as did not please the man whom he had previously made. Then it came to pass that when God had given life to the one and to the other, Adam killed his wife, and God asked him why he had done this. He replied, 'She was nothing to me and therefore I could not love her. So Our Lord came then to Adam where he slept, and took one of his ribs, and from it fashioned Eve, whence we are all descended. Wherefore some maintain that if that first woman had remained, Adam would never have yielded to the sin for which we are all in pain. But for the very great love Adam had for the woman who was made from him, he loved her in the way that became apparent. For that love for her took precedence over the commandment of Our Lord, as you have heard on another occasion how they ate the fruit that had been forbidden them.) This narration is already provocative in many regards with its affirmation that God did the best he could to make Adam the noblest creature he could devise - woman was, of course nobler; its narration of God's first, inferior creation in which he used less than suitable material, i.e., mud; its humorous characterization of God as a bumbling parent who indulgently pacified his petulant male child by abandoning mud pies for a better medium and cleverly producing a creature, flesh of Adam's flesh, that the male could love to distraction; its attribution of blind selflove to Adam who killed God's first attempt at a female, but immediately fell in love with Eve, the extension of himself. The narrative becomes

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even more daring when the author articulates the view that Adam, by his slaying of the woman God had intended for him, was guilty of original sin by his disrespect for God's providential plan for humanity, his disobedience, murder, and (by medieval standards) bigamy. She cites as her authority for this view 'li aucun' and, later, 'aucuns actours,' designations which could, of course, have been a cover for the woman herself. Thus she calmly and without fanfare challenges the orthodox view, whether Jewish or patristic, that 'from a woman did sin originate and because of her we must all die' (Ecclesiasticus 25:24). IT WAS THE MAN! The notion of a Dual Creation was unacceptable to the medieval Church, which condemned it as Jewish error, a misrepresentation of Adam's words that 'now' he had a woman who was bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh: 'Qui ait: Hoc nunc os ex ossibus meis et caro de carne mea. Hoc adverbium "nunc" Judaeos traxit in errorem, ut dicant aliam prius factam ... et nunc secundam, quasi dicat Adam: Prior mulier facta est de limo terrae mecum, sed haec nunc de carne mea' (Petrus Comestor 1:17-18). One well-known variant of this 'error' was the Lilith-Eve legend, according to which Adam's first wife, Lilith, the Wind-Spirit, deserted him and still wanders the world wreaking cruelty and vengeance upon male babies. Another analogous Creation narrative is preserved in L. Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews: 'God had created a wife for Adam before Eve, but he would not have her, because she had been made in his presence. Knowing all the details of her formation, he was repelled by her. But when he roused himself from his profound sleep, and saw Eve before him in all her surprising beauty and grace, he exclaimed: 'This is she who caused my heart to throb many a night!"' (I, 68). But the Response narrative corresponds neither to the Ginzberg retelling nor to the Lilith narrative. Its version of Genesis 2:23 is, as far as I know, unique. It is not the only originality in the Response. The author's characterization of God is whimsical. Indeed, in this it bears an uncanny resemblance to the anonymous woman known as J, recently posited by Bloom and Rosenberg to have been the author of the oldest strand in the Pentateuch.5 The extraordinary J' (as Bloom and Rosenberg call her) refused to follow the Jewish Hellenists and allegorize away a Yahweh who had human attributes. Her Yahweh molds the clay, not as the potter does, but in the manner of a child making mud pies, freestyle with his own hands. J does not tell us whether Yahweh blows his breath through his own nostrils, or by his own mouth, into the

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newly formed mouth of the moistened red clay creature, but either way the image is powerfully grotesque. Perhaps even more original, and more ironic, is the uniqueness of the creation of woman, since there is absolutely no other story of the forming of a human female in all of the surviving literature of the ancient near east. That J gives six times the space to the woman's creation as to the man's may well reflect J's gender ... J had no heroes, only heroines. (The Book ofj, pp. 28 and 32)

The creation story in the Response shares also J's dramatic/tragic irony, which Bloom defines as 'the incongruity between what develops in a drama or narrative and the effect of what develops on adjacent words and actions that are more fully apprehended by the audience or readers than by the characters' (The Book ofj, p. 25). The author of the Response does not hesitate to draw attention to this incongruity (as she sees it), namely that man, although less noble than woman by the fact of his origins, has been given mastery over every creature, even over woman, whom God had made of more satisfactory material than man. She insists upon exploring the paradox, and her ratiocination exercises that very 'raison de paroles' of which Richard thought women incapable. (She pointedly uses the word 'raison' four times! ) Acknowledging that her status is subordinate to Richard's (thus paralleling Richard's assertion of his inferiority to her through 'raison de koses'), she eventually concludes that 'Scripture' gives a 'somewhat/quite good' (i.e., not totally satisfactory?) reason for woman's subservience. This scriptural reason is never in fact provided in her narrative, however. Instead, continuing to exercise 'raison de paroles,' she extracts this rationalization from the paradox: it is fitting that everything should obey the source from which it came; woman should obey man, man the earth, and the earth God (p. 109, lines 8-11). In this way she puts Richard firmly in his place in the divinely ordained hierarchy, and that place is not much more elevated than hers. In all of her female reasoning, the woman's most enterprising move is to enlist God as woman's ally. It was Richard's — and Physiologus's — assumption that God created 'man' in his own image and likeness, but that that 'man' did not necessarily include woman, despite the explicit mention of both sexes in 'Et creavit Deus hominem ad imaginem suam; ad imaginem Dei creavit ilium, masculum et feminam creavit eos' (Genesis 1:27). Howard Bloch has maintained that the suppression of this understanding of Creation has had far-reaching implications for the history of sexuality in the West. 'One of the great facts of cultural

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amnesia, which has only recently begun to creep back into memory, is that the Bible contains not one but two stories of Creation. ... Who knows? If the spirit of this "lost" version of Creation had prevailed, the history of the relation between the genders, beginning for example with the Fall, might have been otherwise' (pp. 22-3). The author of the Response is clearly not responsible for this Western 'amnesia.' She imposes female nobility and male guilt upon her version of Creation. Unlike Richard, who had used John 3:16's 'Sic Deus dilexit mundum ...' to assert that 'God, who so loves man that he wants to provide for his every need, has given him a particular faculty of mind called Memory' (p. 4, lines 1-3), the woman author's thesis is that God so loves woman that he has made her out of superior substance to man. Throughout the Response she addresses her divine ally, exclaims to him personally ('Ha, vrais Diex!'; 'Ha Dieu sire!' 'Biaus dous Dieus!'); invokes his help ('Ajeue Dieus, ajeue!'); and swears by the faith she owes him ('par le foi queje doi Dieu'). Indeed, God is treated more intimately than Richard, who is addressed respectfully but never reverentially as 'maistres,' 'biaus maistres,' or 'sire maistres.' The conclusion the author draws from her conviction of woman's innate nobility is courageously independent. For her, obedience involves exercising her reason and judgment upon what Richard has presented to her, sifting out what is good for her purposes, and leaving the remainder behind unless/until it proves useful either for her or for someone else. 'Et pour cheli raison, sire et maistres, je, qui feme sui, doi obei'r a vous qui estes horn: c'est a savoir que che qui bon me sanle je le voeil metre a oevre, et s'autre chose i a, si demeurt de si adont que il ait mestier soit a mi soit a autrui' (p. 109, lines 8-11; For which reason, lord and master, I who am a woman must obey you who are a man, which is to say that I intend to put to use what seems good to me, and if there be anything else remaining, let it wait until it can be useful either to me or to another). Ironically, in this she is following the advice of Richard's earliest love work addressed to a woman, the Consaus. In that little treatise on love, 'racine de toutes vertus et matere de tous biens' (root of all virtues and all good things), Richard had advised the recipient (was it the author of the Response?) to listen to, and learn about, all things. 'Car Salemons dist: "Tant plus ot li horn et plus est sages." Et Sainte Escriture commande: "Esprouves toutes coses et retenes ce que boin vous samblerd" (McLeod, p. 9; my emphasis; For Solomon said: 'The more man hears, the wiser he is.' And Holy Scripture commands: 'Test all things and retain what will seem

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good to you'). This is precisely what the author of the Response intends to do. Her only concern is that she may not be sufficiently wise ('sage') to sift through all the information he has fed her 'a savoir': 'pour che que ke je ne sui mie sage, que che me puist avoir mestier que vous me faites asavoir (p. 110, lines 6-7; my emphasis; because I am not wise enough to make use of what you tell me). Her priorities supersede his because of her fear that his bestiary threatens her very identity. She is shocked by his assertion that she is alone in his memory. Beginning with the first of his metaphors, the ariereban, she therefore shapes his bestiary to her needs. She not he is desperate for an ariereban. Her prime concern must be the rejection of every one of Richard's advances as symbolized through his beasts of love. The superficially erotic message of each is thus given primacy in her response. It is possible that she is ignorant of Richard's intertextuality. Ignorant or not, her intention would surely not have been altered, namely, to bring the underlying misogyny of Le Bestiaire d'amourto the surface and attack it in the frankest manner possible. The stylistic result of her policy to gainsay every male-oriented exemplum is that all details she judges irrelevant are swept aside. Her treatment of each animal is starkly direct. Some are even denied an explanatory description. Beginning ruthlessly with Richard's allusively rich cock, the woman has no hesitation in suppressing both its description and the simile that derives from it. She assumes without argument that the cock is Richard, and conveys the human menace of that realization by her adjective 'ataignans,' i.e., 'piercing'/'penetrating': 'vousm'aves dit paroles ataignans qui bien vous sanlent necessaires a vo volente acomplir' (p. 110, lines 5—6; you have spoken penetrating words to me which are in your view necessary to accomplish your will). That well chosen 'ataignans' conveys the personal thrust6 of Richard's exemplum, omitting all other complexities. With his symbolism of the wild ass and the wolf she shifts the terrain. Not he but she is the one who is threatened. She is the wild ass needing to bray for aid. She has difficulty finding the words to oppose him, because he is the wolf who saw her before she saw him: je puis mauvaisement dire cose qui puist contrester a vous' (p. 110, line 17-p. Ill, line 1). But she accepts the surface meaning of some of his self-parodic portrayals. He is a wasted cricket and a dying swan. Ignoring their underlying message, she goes to battle with that surface meaning, asking why, if the cricket ultimately dies of its song, should she listen to Richard's words, which seem to put her in his power? '[N]e m'est il mie grans mestiers que je prengne warde a vos paroles, qui ont sanlanche de moi mestre a vostre

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volente' (p. Ill, lines 6-8). And why listen to a dying swan? Obedience to futility is an exercise in futility. Better to accept Richard's parodic assessment of himself and reject his advances. For his brutal characterization of his past love lyricism as dog-vomit she takes a new tack, rewriting his description, then substituting an interpretation of her own. She introduces her description with the phrase 'j'ai entendu,' suggesting that Richard's bestiary may have been read aloud to her, and she now is summarizing the animal properties from memory. Certainly this description, like so many in the Response, gives the impression of a paraphrase of half-remembered words rather than citation from a text in front of her. Her new version is: 'j'ai entendu qu'il est de tel nature que quant il est en lieu ou il a viande a se volente, il en prent che que mestiers li est, et du seurplus fait garnison et le womist en j. lieu secre; puis quant fains li ceurt sus, si le remengue' (p. Ill, lines 15-18; I have heard that when the dog is in a place of abundant food, it garners what it needs, then gathers the rest and vomits it in a secret place against a time of hunger). After her retelling of the exemplum, the dog emerges as an ideal model for women's behaviour. She intends to emulate its ability to guard itself and to provide for its time of need. Its propensity to vomit, store the food, then re-eat it is for her a symbol of female selfpreservation, and the excess food a symbol of her honour, a precious store of sustenance that she is bound to cherish because Richard is so eager to get it. Her attitude will be, quite literally, that of the 'dog in the manger': 'mout doi amer .i. tant d'onneur pour coi vous estes si engrans de 1'avoir' (p. 112, lines 2-3; truly I am bound to treasure the amount of honour I have, since you are so covetous to get it). Clearly she will guard whatever good she has, although her subsequent promise is more ambiguous. If there is any surplus honour left she will use it to help herself in a situation of need, if God pleases: 'si me couvient prendre warde ... che de bien que je porrai avoir a warder moi meisme. Et se remanant i a, je nel lairai mie aler, anchois en ferai garnison ... et m'en aiderai a mon pooir au besoing, se Dieu plaist' (p. 112, lines 3-6). The import of this piously expressed intention to use up any surplus honour to her advantage is not altogether clear. But the accompanying invocation to God as an ally in the process helps to neutralize any possible cynicism. Honni soit qui maly pense! Her treatment of the wolf properties to which Richard had given such a misogynistic application reveals her personal dislike for Richard as well as her fear of him. He had read the wolfs total body involvement when it turns its head as woman's lubricity: the female body inevitably responds

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with physicality, whatever the circumstance. Disappointingly (from a feminist viewpoint!), the woman author does not argue with his interpretation but instead concludes that because of this vulnerability she must be even more on her guard: 'bien me moustre que je doi estre seur me garde' (p. 112, line 12; this shows me I must be on my guard). She would be crazy ('fole') to grant her person to him when she has neither the will nor the heart to do so. She does not deign to mention the other two properties of the wolf that Richard used so tendentiously to demonstrate female inconsistency and female mendacity. 'En garde' is and has been her call from the beginning of this duel of bestiaries. She concludes from the wild ass je ne sai a quel confort envoier, se je ne prenc[h] warded. 1'asne sauvage' (p. 110, lines 8-9); from the wolf 'je de vous ai este veiie premiers: dont je me doi bien warder, seje sui sage' (p. Ill, lines 2-3); from the dog'prenderai gardeau chien' (p. Ill, line 15) and 'si me couvient prendre warde, selonc le nature du chien, che de bien que je porrai avoir a warder moi meismes' (p. 112, lines 3-4); and from the wolf again 'li leus a une autre nature, qui bien me moustre que je doi estre seur me garde (p. 112, lines 11-12; my emphasis in all quotations). As for his perception of threat and his need to be on guard, she finds this ridiculous, a reversal of reality. With a touch of humour she asks whether he thinks she, like the viper, is about to attack him ('coure sus'; lit. run upon him) because he is clothed with her love. The fact is, anyway, that she has not clothed him with her love, he is quite naked of it: 'en estes encore bien nus' (p. 113, line 4). Nor can she believe that anyone would be so crazy ('faus') as to model themselves on the monkey, which imitates everything it sees. It does not realize the danger of putting on the hunter's shoes. If she were to see that Richard or another person was setting a trap to catch her, she would be 'crazy' (she repeats the word again in 'je seroie fole} to come near. It is good to be barefoot, i.e., without trappings: 'bon fait estre nus pies' (p. 113, lines 10-11), and she accuses him directly of setting snares to catch her: 'vous aves vos las tendus pour moi prendre' (p. 113, lines 13-14). Because of the danger she perceives from him, she will be like the crow, which refuses to feed its young until it recognizes that they have its plumage and are made in its likeness. She rejects Richard's claim that he is clothed with her colours, and states categorically that there is no resemblance between them. He can never resemble her, so she can never nurture him. Disparate in everything, she would be contrary to his disposition and he to hers. They would be different in their habit ('abit'), and she could never concur with his will, however much he might

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concur with hers. Her affirmation of difference and discord is triply emphatic. At this point in the animal procession, Richard's love bestiary had moved to generalization. His parodic presentation of love, for all its apparent Ricardo-centricity, had not remained Ricardo-specific when he allegorized Love as a crow extracting man's brain. The more brain a man has, the more easily Love extracts it. Love is destructive of man's reason. The Response contests this sinister animal conversion of the God of Love into a brain-draining crow: 'il me sanle que ... il est contraires a che que vous dites. Car encore prengne Amours 1'omme et le feme par les iex, ne s'en sieut il mie pour cesti raison que li corbaus resanle Amour, anchois di que on le doit comparer des iex del cuer a hame' (p. 113, line 22p. 114, line 5; it seems to me that... it is the opposite of what you say. For although Love captures man and woman through the eyes, it does not follow that the crow resembles Love. I say, rather, that one must with the eyes of the heart compare it to Hate). The logic of her argumentation is impeccable as she attacks Richard's syllogism: 1) although Love captures man and woman through the eyes and 2) although the crow captures man through the eyes, that does not signify to me 3) that the Crow is Love. The crow looks more like Hate, seen with the eyes of the heart ('des iex del cuer'). (The modern reader who wishes to interpret this insistence of heart over head as exclusively female might remember Pascal's 'Le coeur a ses raison que la raison ne connait point.') Her shrewd assessment that Richard's real feeling toward women is not love but hate leads her to a second refusal in which her subtle use of pronouns reveals an unease about Richard's intentions. Her words are 'devant che que je sarai que vous vous acorderes a moi' (before I know that you will grant yourself to me), 'je ne m'acorderai ja a vostre requeste' (p. 114, lines 12-13; I will never grant your request). The question is whether his request for her is anything but a pose. Unless it involves his whole person, body and soul, she will not accede to it. Beyond the refusal of the immediate message is an echo of her prologue, in which she used the word 's'acorder' when Adam's love for Eve caused him to 's'acorder au pechie.' If Adam had not killed the first woman God made for him, and if Adam had not fallen in love with the woman that was created out

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of his own body, he would not have 'yielded' ('ne se fust acordes') to the sin for which we are all now in pain. Now the roles are reversed. Man is the tempter and woman, made of superior substance, must be virtuous. When Richard tempts her with love, the new Eve says a virtuous 'no.' Her insistence upon woman's feelings as well as, and as opposed to, man's is once again remarkable. Love should be experienced by both Tomme et le feme.' It does not restrict itself to one gender, and she will not allow woman's love to be marginalized or subverted.7 But she also makes it clear that she is not rejecting love itself by rejecting the cleric Richard. She does not rule out the possibility of feeling love in the future, but it will be on her terms. His equation of love with the death of reason is propelled by hatred of, not love for, women. In her view, reason and intelligence are not gender-specific, and she mischievously misquotes Richard, who had portrayed Love as an attacker of a man (the quality of reason conventionally being associated with the male rather than the female): 'je entenc[h] de vous, sire et maistres, que li sens de 1'home et de le feme gist en cervele' (p. 114, lines 7-9; my emphasis; I understand from you, lord and master, that the intelligence of man and woman resides in the brain). In this way she corrects his exclusively male gendering and attributes a new, all-inclusive statement to him when in fact the male-oriented Richard had said no such thing. Her snide use of the phrase 'je entenc de vous' for material that in fact owes nothing to Richard occurs again when Richard continues his predatory symbolism for love, this time through the lion. Love, he had said, is like the lion, which attacks everyone who looks at it. Predictably, this aggressive imagery is interpreted in the Response as a reason not to look at anything that could hurt her. But she goes further, making a significant addition which not only undermines Richard's male-oriented reproductive symbolism but also defines her role as a woman writer rather than a nurturer of Richard. 'Dont di je seurement que je ne regarderai mie che qui grever me porroit ne qui pourfit ne me porroit porter, anchois me trairai de chele part ou je sarai que mes avantages iert, a che que je fournierai et meterai a point, se je puis, che que bien n'est mie dit ou pense' (p. 114, line 16-p. 115, line 1; I will not look at what might hurt me or at what might not be profitable to rne. Rather I shall go where I know my advantage lies, to mould and perfect, if I can, what has not been well said or well conceived). She then introduces a property of the lion that Richard had not mentioned (attributing it again to him, however, with another obsequious nod in the phrase 'si comme j'entenc de vous').8 The passage is

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worth quoting in full, since it contains her justification for the Response and her formulation of intentions for Tecriture feminine' as she conceives it: li lions ... giete, si comme j'entenc[h] de vous, une pieche de char quant il faonne, et dont li sanle que par raison n'est mie bien maullee a s'ymage; dont va entour et le fourme a le langue tout autel comme il doit estre. Aussi bee je a faire, sire maistres, que s'il avient que dire me couvient aucune cose que je n'aie mie bien conchut, c'est pense, que je voise entour et le meche a sens et a raison par bonne doctrine que je puisse aprendre en vos dis. (p. 115, lines 2-8) (the lion, as I understand from you, ejects a piece of flesh when giving birth, and that piece of flesh does not seem in the lion's judgment to be properly moulded in its image. So the lion goes around, shaping it with its tongue to its proper form. I long to do the same, lord master. If it happens that I must say something which I have not properly conceived, that is, thought out, I should like to go around it, moulding it to sense and reason through the good doctrine which is available to me in your words.) Her selection of this particular leonine property has further significance. Not only is it her own addition - Richard had not mentioned it but it compensates for the leonine property that she omits: the male lion's resuscitation of its dead cub on the third day. Like her Creation story and her female-gendered pronouns, the interpolation and the omission serve as a corrective to Richard's male-oriented discourse. Her ideal of reproduction - the moulding and shaping of her writing - is substituted for Richard's self-centred ideal that she 'conceive' and 'nurture' him. Her idealization of the lion's reproductive behaviour as the creative process of writing does not derive from Richard's argumentation. It does, however, anticipate his next move when he compares women with weasels to illustrate their (lack of) intellect. Having shifted the notion of conception to the higher plane of her intellect, she is now able to expose his contorted imagery and, as a woman, to insist upon the seriousness of conception and birth. This discussion is among her most passionate as she rejects his gendered insults and expresses horror that any man or woman would not regard their writing seriously. (Her insistence upon gendering writers as both male and female is particularly unusual, given her century.)

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conchevoirs par 1'oreille et faonners par le bouche est grans senefianche. Car je di que conchoivres si est une cose que mout fait a douter que on ne conchoive chose dont on ait au faonner a souffrir cose qui grieve. Ha Dieu sire! comme li auquant i deveroient miex prendre warde qu'il ne font! Car teus i a qui conchoivent par aus aucune chose qu'il oent, dont li enfanters est si gries et si perilleus. Car li aucun gietent tel parole hors qui miex venroit qu'il le portassent tant qu'il crevassent9 a fines certes. Car verites est que pis ne puet li hom et lefemefaire que de son faonner. (p. 115, line 12p. 116, line 1; my emphasis) (Conceiving through the ear and giving birth through the mouth has great significance. For I say that conception is something that involves great fear of initiating what will cause grievous suffering when one gives it birth. Ah, Lord God! some people should be more careful than they are! For through them some people will conceive a thing they hear, and to give it birth is so terrible and so dangerous! Some people throw out a word which they should have carried with them till their dying day. For truly man and woman can do no worse than to give birth to it.)

To be avoided is what will damage; to be desired is what will bring advantage. With these two criteria in mind, she will mould and perfect to the best of her ability what has not been well said or well conceived (whether by Richard or by her). She expresses horror at the possibility that she might hear something by ear and utter the poison by mouth (an intentional misreading of Richard's women-are-weasels exemplum). Together with her fear of damaging any man or woman, 'nus ne nule,' comes a fear for the potentially serious consequences of writing. Any harm that results from writing cannot be undone because she cannot, like the weasel, resuscitate. When the weasel's babies are taken away from her, killed, and restored to the burrow, the mother knows by nature how to resuscitate them. 'But I know I could not do this. I have not learned how' (je ne 1'ai apris,' p. 116, line 9). Having shifted the subject of conception to her writing, and insisted upon the deadly seriousness of the material, she moves to an explicit condemnation of Richard's love bestiary. His writing is, she believes, both destructive to him and destructive to his audience. It is unfortunate that it was ever conceived, and it certainly should never have been brought to term. She rejects both his aims in writing a love bestiary and his images of that bestiary as a conquest of women. Insisting on the seriousness of the metaphor with which he, in her view, has been play-

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ing, she reveals that she writes in fear and trembling because of her womanly awareness of the awesomeness of the creative act. She invokes God's protection against the dangers, mishaps, damages, and even death that could result from any careless words. This is not only a poignant reminder of a writer's responsibility; it is also a vindication of her own authority as a woman writer. Her writing is a function of the procreative potential God has given her: she knows something that he does not because she is a woman. The passage in its entirety is a thinly veiled reproof to Richard for his triviality (as she sees it) and his clerkly rhetoric. By virtue of her sex, she claims to have a more serious view of writing through her proper appreciation of conception, pain, birth, and death. The passage contains repeated expressions of fear and inadequacy, for if her 'offspring' did prove to be tainted with death or deserve to die, would she have the healing powers necessary to resuscitate them? Repeating just enough of Richard's caladrius narrative to deny its relevance to her, she restates her perception of threat. If she really were as wise ('sage') as the caladrius, she would not have this terrible fear of birth and conception. Her only recourse is again to be on her guard. She must not be so 'crazy' as to listen to the sweet song of the siren, whom, it should be noted, she regenders as a man, Richard, while the siren's song is now interpreted as Richard's fair but fatally deceiving words ('vos biaus dis et ... vostre bele decevanche,' p. 117, lines 3-4). To protect herself she, like him, wishes for the wisdom of the asp, which chooses to stop up its ear against the lulling power of music. 'Si me couvient prendre garde a 1'aspis dont vous m'aves fait sage' (p. 117, lines 4-5). Hissing onomatopaeically, she exclaims, 'sages est et soutieus li serpens, et soingneus! Si doi je bien prendre warde a lui' (p. 117, lines 10-11). Missing, significantly, is the dangerous 's'-word that was Richard's theme here: 'les sens.' Missing also, coincidentally or otherwise, is his comparison of her to the blackbird, which he had unflatteringly labelled as 'the ugliest bird in captivity.' An awareness of sexual danger had pervaded Richard's bestiary here. The threat for him lay in the senses, and in woman's irresistible appeal to the senses. In the Response, however, Richard's long explanation of the five senses has been suppressed, together with his demonstrations of man's vulnerability to them. The sense of danger that pervades the Response is more personal. Richard's words are the threat, a very personal threat, and the overall preoccupation of the woman is to be on her guard. Visibly striving toward 'sens' in the singular (presumably to counter Richard's accusation that women lack that quality) and assiduously avoid-

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ing any mention of the word in the plural, she ignores Richard's elaborate exposition of the workings of man's five senses. The exempla of the tiger, the panther, and the unicorn are now reduced to her own powerful but simplistic message: she feels danger listening to Richard's words. As hunters cast mirrors in front of the tiger, he casts before her his 'beles paroles' in which she is supposed to see herself and be transfixed. 'Car je voi bien et sai que tout aussi que on giete les miroirs devant le tigre pour lui aherdre, tout aussi faites vous pour mi vos beles paroles qui plus delitaules sont a o'ir que tigres a veoir' (p. 117, lines 12-15; For I clearly see and know that just as mirrors are strewn in front of the tiger to transfix it, so you produce for me your beautiful words, which are more delectable to hear than the tiger is to see). The unicorn, for which she gives no description, merely assimilating that beast to Richard, is much to be feared because there is nothing as penetrating as fair speech: 'Car je sai vraiement qu'il n'est beste qui tant fache a douter comme douche parole qui vient en dechevant. Et si cuic[h] bien que centre li se puet on peu warder, nient plus c'on fait de 1'unicorne. Car je sai bien que si trenchans cose n'est comme de bel parler, car, au droit dire, nule chose ne puet si perchier j. dur cuer comme douche parole, bien assise' (p. 118, lines 6-12; I know of a truth that there is no beast to be feared like the soft word that comes deceiving. And I truly believe that against the soft word one can have little protection, any more than one can against the unicorn. For I know well that there is nothing as cutting as fair speech, for truly nothing can pierce a hard heart like a soft, well-placed word). As in a nightmare, Richard's words have taken on a life of their own. They could take her against her will: 'Car vos paroles ont mains et pies, et sanle vraiement que nule raison ne doi avoir de vous escondire cose que vous voeillies' (p. 118, lines 15—16; for your words have hands and feet, and it truly seems that I must have no reason to deny you anything you want). Were she to yield to his 'fair speech,' she would desperately need the healing power of the real panther, 'la vraie pantere,' which can cure sick animals with its fragrant breath. The adjective 'vraie' serves as a reminder that the woman is rejecting Richard's new allegory of love. To her it has no validity and her only reaction to his symbolism is her perception of her own very real need. Thus, the panther is much to be loved because it has healing power. 'Par Dieu, chi a souveraine medecine, et bien fait tel beste [la pantiere] a amer' (p. 118, lines 5-6). Continuing to omit Richard's theologically oriented definitions, taken from Pierre, she ignores the allegorical explanation that, as the cranes feet clutching pebbles to keep the bird awake represent man's will to resist the sleep of death, so foresight guards the rest of the soul's virtues.

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The woman merely exclaims at such nobility of sense which can induce beasts to embrace pain for a greater good. 'Certes mout font a prisier bestes ou il a si noble sens, qui si se pourvoient de che qui grever leur puet' (p. 119, lines 1-2; Certainly animals that possess such noble intelligence that they provide themselves with what can be painful to them are highly to be respected). The crane teaches her not to put any trust even in the most trustworthy thing in the world, in this case the chancellor of Amiens. Richard is the threat, and because his very words have hands and feet, she ignores all but that threat, resolving to keep vigil. On the subject of vigilance, at least, and the need for foresight, she and Richard are in harmony. Using the watchwords 'pourveanche' and 'seur me warde,' she expands the symbolism of the peacock'?, many eyes, urging that one needs to be more than just 'forward-looking': it is necessary also to see above, below, beside, and across, or suffer the consequences (p. 119, line 16). For her, foresight is a desiderandum for the present and the future. (Richard's foresight had been first and foremost a regret for the past when he had fallen asleep at the voice of the siren/maiden. That regret was of course inextricably linked with the fate of the first human couple.) Similarly, her woman's fear is different from Richard's. Blind to Eve's guilt because of Adam's egregious sin as narrated in her womanly prologue, the threat for her is predominantly a male threat, relevant to the present moment. Once more forcing woman into the equation, she expresses her admiration for 'the man and the woman,'' Tomme et lefeme (p. 119, line 3; my emphasis), who know how to make provision against the obvious dangers that immediately confront them and also against the dangers hidden in their future. Having rejected Richard's explanation of the manner in which the crane is foresight in favour of this personalized directive to be on guard, her laicized definition of foresight through the symbolism of the peacock's tail exchanges Pierre's/Richard's theological commentary for more pragmatic advice. 'Ha Dieus, quele est ceste pourveanche? En non Dieu, bien me moustre chele keue de paon ou il a tant d'ieus que il se couvient en plus d'une maniere pourvir' (p. 119, lines 12-14; Oh, God, what is this providence? In God's name, that peacock's tail which has so many eyes that it is bound to look ahead in more than one way demonstrates providence well to me). She then notes that those who travel are never completely secure from evil men, and the person who wants to guard against them should not travel alone, but should travel with every provision to avoid surprise. In this

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situation, there is no better way to be 'seur sa warde' (p. 119, line 18) than to have eyes facing in all directions. The lion too has 'sens' which induces 'the noble beast' to erase its tracks when hunted. Its prudent behaviour elicits from her an emphatic exclamation of admiration: 'Biaus dous Dieus, comme chi a noble beste qui che set faire de son sens!' (p. 120, lines 3-4). And as usual her immediate application of the exemplum is to herself. If by chance she were induced through some defect of hers or through the faculty of speech to say or do something unreasonable, she could right it before anyone perceived it. That should be considered good sense ('sens') on her part. To wait until recovery is impossible is to repent too late. se il avenoit par aucune defaute qui en moi fust, on par forche de parole qui me seurportast a dire ou faire chose qui desrainaule fust me deveroit on tourner a sens, se je faisoie chose qui bonne ne fust, que avant que je i perdisse le meisse a point, et avant c'on s'en percheiist. Car a tart se repent qui tant atent qu'il n'i a point de recouvrier. (p. 120, lines 4—14)

The comment has unmistakable relevance not only to her own words but also to Richard's, being a thinly veiled criticism of Le Bestiaire d 'amour. In her view, that work was 'not good' and should have been erased before it was too late. And if the comment reflects the author's sincere conviction, it unfortunately also reflects her superficial comprehension of Richard's lion. Le Bestiaire d'amour was in fact the lion's tail. Before 'il n'a point de recovrier' his work of recantation would erase the past in the nick of time. This is not the only occasion when the Response skims the material in the ariereban shallowly and with imperfect understanding. The woman author does not comprehend the next exemplum with its mythological reference to 'chil Argus' (p. 120, line 20). The pronominal adjective denotes unfarniliarity - unless, of course, she is wilfully distancing herself from the material. At all events, uninterested in Richard's demonstration of the power of music over Argos, she restricts her comments to Argos's hundred eyes in this pragmatic observation: Et sans faille je croi que se chil Argus eust este aussi sages cornme li aronde, qui est de tel nature qu'ele rent a ses arondiaus leur veue, quant il est aucuns qui leur crieve, si fust il mors selonc che qu'il estoit peu songneus. Car bien est apparant que par che qu'il veoit que chil 1'endormoit des iex

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deus a deus, qu'il 1'endormiroit de tous chent. Dont par cesti raison veoirs n'i a mestier sans autre cose: ... curieusites, c'est que on soit soingneus de metre a oeuvre che que mestier puet avoit au besoing. (p. 120, line 20p. 121, line 7) (And I believe without a doubt that if this Argos had been as wise as the swallow, which is of such a nature that it restores vision to its babies when someone has robbed them of it, he would still have been killed according as he was careless. For it is very clear, because he saw that man was putting his eyes to sleep two by two, that he would put him to sleep in all his hundred eyes. Thus for this reason sight is no use without something else: ... carefulness, that is taking care to use what can serve in time of need.)

This less than profound remark linking Argos with the swallow exemplum is reinforced, not surprisingly, with a truth formula, the device so often associated with triteness and lack of substance (cf. above, p. 78 and p. 184, n. 6). All Richard's didacticism about the power of the senses, of music, and of voice is thus supplanted by the non-theological virtue of 'curieusites,' taking care of one's needs. A further lay(wo)man's definition follows, introduced by yet another rhetorical question: 'Dieus, ques est li besoins?' (p. 121, line 8; God, what is this need?). The need is to protect oneself from 'death,' which she, as a woman, defines as the loss of her honour. After this sort of 'death,' there can be no recovery, for not everyone, she says wryly, is a weasel's baby or a pelican's chick. The woman's treatment of foresight differs from Richard's, then, in that the woman provides a positive goal for herself and for all women in the future. Instead of Richard's lament for his (Adam's) lack of this crucial quality, she urgently stresses the need for foresight in the future: be on guard against men. And while she copies/parodies some of Richard's rhetorically didactic methods, she employs in addition several ploys that that are more personal with her devoutly correct interjections, divine invocations, and truth guarantees. The theme of foresight - 'Biaus dous Diex, que che me sanle bonne chose de parfaite pourveanche!' (p. 121, lines 16-17; Fair, sweet God, how excellent a thing total providence seems to me!) - is now joined to that of resuscitation, following Richard's sequence of the swallow, weasel, pelican, and woodpecker. It is noteworthy that she makes no mention, here or anywhere, of Richard's sexually explicit exemplum, the self-castrating beaver. This is not the only instance where she refuses to respond to

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Richard's mutilation imagery. Instead, foresight continues as her priority as she swiftly - sometimes too swiftly - progresses through Richard's exempla. Since not everyone has resuscitating weasels or pelicans as parents, total foresight remains the desiderandum, and she enthusiastically echoes Richard's admiration of the woodpecker. Her praise of the bird's sens and sagesse is followed by a scornful sideways swipe at Richard's self-confessed helplessness. He is not, she hisses, sufficiently 'sage qui de son sens se sauroit reskeure.' 'Je aie dehe, sire maistres, se mout ne fait ore chis oisiaus a prisier, que il de son sens set chele herbe connoistre, et se je d'autre part ne tenoie chelui a sage qui de son sens se saroit reskeure quand il li avenroit cose descouvignaule' (p. 122, lines 7-10; May I be damned, lord master, if this bird is not to be valued highly, since by its intelligence it knows that herb, and if I, for my part, did not value as wise the man who, by his intelligence, knew how to save himself when something untoward happened to him). Richard is not that 'chelui.' Intending not to allow her 'nest' ever to be disturbed by gawping idiots ('musars'; the derisive word echoes her earlier fear that her writing may expose her to some 'musars ne musarde'), she treats seriatim the dangers as she sees them. There are swallows who, when they engage themselves in one place, do it in such a way as never really to approach. They want to know everything (cf. Richard's first theme of savoir) and learn everything, but one can never learn anything from them: 'veulent de tout savoir et aprendre; ne ja d'aus ne porra on nient savoir' (p. 122, lines 15-16). They cannot be taken by any bird of prey, except by 'souspresure': literally, by capture from beneath, i.e., by 'surprise.' This curious phrase becomes more explicit in the next exemplum. The hedgehog is so spiny that it sticks out in all directions and cannot be caught and retained except by spines ('par espines').10 The woman hopes spitefully that the 'hedgehogs' of the world will be taken by 'souspresure' in the following manner: 'Si vaurroie bien que chil et cheles qui teus gens tienent, qu'il fussent si fort tenu que leur aguillon et leur espines leur rentrassent ou cors, par coi il morussent a fines certes' (p. 123, lines 810; my emphasis; may such folk be held so tightly by the men and women who hold them that their needles and spines enter their own bodies, which will kill them for good and all). This wish for male and female vengeance against sexual aggressors is an interesting fantasy, which, it must be said, has more psychological than zoological credibility. Here the author adds a threatening example of her own, the cat, gendering it surprisingly as male. A man ('teus') may have 'sweet words'

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('douches paroles') in him, but these sweet words become harsh and cutting ('aspres et taillans') if thwarted and refused what he wants. 'Tout aussi comme li cas qui a ore mout simple chiere, et du poil au defers est il mout soues et mout dous. Mais estraingnies li le keue: il getera ses ongles fors de ses .iiij. pies, et vous desquirra les mains se vous tost ne le laissies aler' (p. 123, lines 12-16; just like the cat, which at one moment has the sweetest face and softest, smoothest fur on the outside. But pull its tail, then it will show you its claws on all four feet and tear your hands to shreds unless you quickly let it go). This simple description of a domestic animal that normally has no place in a bestiary appears to be from her own observation. Lest her graphic addition is unclear, its author re-explains it in human terms: 'Par Dieu, je cuit aussi que teus se fait ore mout dous, et dist paroles de coi il vauroit estre creus et avoir se volente, que se il en estoit au deseure et on ne li faisoit du tout se volente, qui pis feroit que li cas ne puist faire. Et bon se feroit de teus gens waitier qui porroit' (p. 123, lines 16-20; By God, I believe that a man also may for the moment behave very gently and say words to win confidence and to get his way, and yet he would do far worse than the cat can do, if he were on top and were not given all he wanted. It would be good to look out for such people). She then returns briefly to Richard's examples, the swallow and the hedgehog, misquoting (or misremembering) them to give them a new message of her own. In Richard's bestiary these exempla of nonvulnerable animals were used as cautionary tales to the woman, who was, he surmised, flirting with such creatures. The woman's response eliminates those hypothetical lovers as, presumably, unthinkable. The sequence of her thought here is not crystal clear, but appears to be: since even the swallow and the hedgehog can be captured (a contradiction of Richard's statements about them), I must fear very much that I may be captured, however well I have made provision. So I fear that cockatrice about which you have told me: 'si me douc[h] mout que je ne soie prise comment que je soie pourveue. Car jou ai doute de eel cocatris dont je vous ai 01 parler' (p. 124, lines 3-4). Richard's mention of the crocodile had elicited an explanatory comment on learned/lay usage in the naming of this creature. Wishing passionately that his woman would repent after the fashion of the crocodile, he explained that the crocodile is an aquatic animal which common folk (i.e., the non-lettered) call 'cockatrice' (p. 65, lines 6-8). Sure enough, the author of the Response without hesitation calls it a 'cockatrice,' allying herself with the illiterati. Illiterate, but not low born, of course.

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Within the same exemplum of the cockatrice, the woman author reveals her own high status when she expresses fear of what would happen if she were deceived into letting a man have his way with her: 'teus me tient ore en grant honneur et en grant reverense, qui adont se moqueroit de moi' (p. 124, lines 12-14; he who now holds me in great honour and in great reverence would then make fun of me). 'Honour' and 'reverence' are not customarily given to the low- or even medium-born! The role reversal of the crocodile in her exemplum is notable. Richard had wished to have 'courtly' vengeance on his 'crocodile' and see her weep her crocodile's tears. But now Richard is the crocodile, and the crocodile tears are his, not hers. Yet what use, she says pragmatically, are those tears to her if her honour is dead and gone? The loss would drive her heart from her body and bring death more surely than does the hydra, because the desperate person is more readily deceived than the person who still retains his wits ('sens'). She is not the hydra and she does not have its regenerative powers. Her honour, once lost, would never be restored to her. If dishonoured, she would have to act like the serra - another role reversal. She implicitly rejects those hypothetical male serra-lovers Richard had imagined for her and projects herself hypothetically into the serra's despairing situation. Her new interpretation presents a realistic although not flattering assessment of female psychology when she hypothesizes that if she were captured - 'as many are' (p. 125, line 9) - she would at first pour scorn on the other fallen women as a cover for her wrongdoing, to make herself believable. Eventually, however, the truth would have to come out and she would have to put down her 'false wings.' She explains that one must understand pride (a female trait of which he is highly critical), and one must also understand life as it really is, good or bad: 'savoir couvient 1'orgueil des gens et la vie quele ele est, bonne on mauvaise' (p. 125, lines 18-19). The reality of life is that if she lost her honour, she would be as confused ('abaubi') as the serra, which plunges to the bottom of the sea. She would have to act like the poor turtledove that resigns itself never to take another mate. No further 'jolivete' (the word Richard had used for the natural jollity of heart that kept him going). Her psychological reasoning is perspicacious although again somewhat unflattering as it pertains to women, since she appeals only to their fear of humiliation. She reports what people would say if, after losing her honour and happiness once from her life, she decided to try for it again. The embarrassing public response would be: 'Vees ore comment chele fole

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se revenderoit s'ele trouvoit a. cui!' (p. 126, lines 6-7; Just look how that foolish woman would sell herself again if she found a taker!). And so, amid devout exclamations and prayers to God, she vows to be good: 'serai sage et me garderai de mesprendre' (p. 126, line 10; I shall be good and shall take care not to make a mistake). She will not be like the partridge. She is harshly critical of that lazy female bird ('perecheuse') which, through some defect ('defaute') in herself, cannot endure the pain of hatching her own eggs. Perhaps she thinks she cannot lose them because they always return to their true mother, but there can be no good surrogates for what she herself should hatch. The woman vows, therefore, to keep herself in check and to curb those dispositions and desires which are not good, in order to preserve her 'eggs.' Rejecting Richard's erotic interpretation of eggs as his love, she intellectualizes them as 'the good words which she has heard from the natures of certain animals teaching her to guard what she has to guard,' 'les bonnes raisons que je ai entendues des natures d'aucunes bestes, qui bien m'aprendent que jou garde che que je ai a warder' (p. 126, line 22-p. 127, line 2). For the female partridge, there may be recovery of its eggs. For her, however, no amount of complaining woul ever bring recovery of her honour, once lost. But the partridge is notas crazy ('fole') as the ostrich. TTmJfemale bird, when it has laid its egg, never looks at it again. The Responses author attributes 'grant courtoisie' (great courtesy)'' to the sun for hatching the accursed ostrich egg. And in case Richard deludes himself that he is such a courtly nurturer, she attacks ad hominem. She observes that if she were to trust herself to Richard as the ostrich trusts to the sun, her trust would be misplaced, for he would rear her in a 'school of filth': 'se je m'afToie en vous aussi comme li ostrisses s'afie au soleil, [que] vous le me couveries de pute escole' (p. 127, lines 10—12). Thus, she rejects Richard's metaphor that he is her 'egg,' redefines her 'eggs' as the good thoughts that have been planted in her by his animal exempla; and reminds him yet again of his magisterial responsibilities. The idea that the ostrich's eggs signify school pupils is found, incidentally, in the aviarium (see Clark, Medieval Book of Birds, p. 193). But the Responses accusation concerning a 'pute escole' is crass indeed, and the question arises how literally the phrase is to be understood. Is it, for example, an attack upon the actual school maintained by Amiens's cathedral chapter for the education of laypeople,12 or a personal attack upon Richard, the scholar-cfercwho had made a large contribution to the propagation of culture in the city? Certainly anti-clericalism was rampant

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in the region. Stephen Murray reports that in the 1230s a struggle between king and clergy in the diocese of Reims had affected nearby centres of urban population. A violent manifestation of anti-clericalism had erupted in a neighbouring town at a time when work was proceeding on the upper nave of Amiens cathedral. The clergy and the secular magnates in the region were at odds, with the result that the barons had formed a series of anti-clerical leagues in 1225, 1235, and 1247. There were anti-clerical manifestations in Amiens in the 1240s and 1250s. In 1244, for example, a number of clerics were accused of theft, imprisoned by the secular authorities, and strangled - and it was Richard's halfbrother, Bishop Arnoul, who reasserted ecclesiastical authority by excommunicating the officers responsible. In 1258 municipal officers actually set fire to the unfinished cathedral of Amiens, stealing charters that confirmed the rights and privileges of the clergy.13 When, therefore, the Response fulminates about Richard's 'pute escole' and curses anyone who ever puts their trust in Richard, however sincerely he behaves ('Mau dehait ait qui ja en vous s'en affiera, encore vous fachies vous si vrai,' p. 127, lines 12-13), it may be an intimation of local disillusion with the clergy. For the moment, this insult is sufficient and, as if fearful that she has overstepped the boundaries for a woman, the author appends a selfjustification, if not an apology, for the vehemence with which she has expressed herself. She realizes that she has not been courteous to say so much when so far she is not in his debt at all (i.e., has agreed to nothing as yet). She realizes also that there are few things as foolish as foolish talk: 'peu sont de si grant folies comme de folement parler' (p. 127, lines 15—16). But she remains riled at his promise of good nurturing. His attempt to persuade her to love him by promising to behave like her baby screech-owl (the bird that grooms its tatty old mother) arouses her indignation and her suspicion. Even if the need were to occur, 'se li mestiers en estoit' (p. 128, lines 4-5), would he truly nurture her? Fortunately, she has not yet been reduced to such dire circumstances, but even if she were, she doubts that she could ever accept his offer. It would be craziness ('folie') to promise something one may abjure. Everyone has pride. His criticism of her pride leads her to analyse that emotion also. Stressing her point of view with two truth affirmations, she says emphatically that pride, when it protects something valuable, is a virtue. Her formulation is long, syntactically involved, and almost surely reflects her spoken words rather than a composition in writing.

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Et sans faille je di pour voir que encore est orgieus bons tant que on en warde che c'on doit. ... Car je di vraiement que se je voi aucun qui me porche compaignie et fache biau sanlant pour aucune chose qu'il voeille avoir de moi, ou que il li sanle que de moi tenir compaignie soil tant amendes que il le voeille faire, et raisons me moustre que je n'en peusse mie amender, mais anchois empirier, se je ne metoie devant une roque de cruaute que li auquant apelent orgueil. (p. 128, lines 10-19) (And certainly I say of a truth that pride is good as long as through pride one guards what should be guarded. ... For I say truly that if I see someone who is keeping me company and being nice to me for what he can get out of me, or if he thinks that by keeping me company he will be bettered in whatever way he wants to be bettered, reason tells me I could only lose unless I put up a rock of cruelty which some call pride.)

Judging from what she has learned from him, she has no more pride than is good for her. There is a reason that the crocodile eats the way it does: that is its nature. The passion with which she expresses her personal reactions to Richard's bestiary has all but pushed animals out of the narrative by now, and most of the remaining names are becoming mere allusions. The eagle is actually omitted, perhaps through incomprehension of Richard's reference to its overgrown beak or, more probably, because of her reluctance to respond in any way to Richard's mutilation imagery (see pp. 134—5 above). Four other animals are forced into the next section without even the pretence of a description. The woman's concentration upon her own reactions rather than upon Richard's symbolism makes for difficult reading here. At least the woman's personal feelings, if not the animal properties, are made absolutely explicit. If she were really in love, she says, 'according to the nature of the wolf (p. 129, line 5), she would tell it passionately to the man who wanted to come close to her. But only if she were not in danger of being captured like the monkey. To blab to the whole world a piece of information that is best kept secret, that, not woman's chattering, is to misuse speech like the crocodile. By the crocodile she means Richard and all hypocritical 'lovers' who profess to be 'dying' of love. But, judging by the nature of the shod monkey, she says she would prefer a man who cannot express himself. Men who put on a tragic performance and flail around with their tongues to deceive and subjugate poor wretched females can truly 'par droite raison' (p. 130, line 9) be called dragons. With passion, she

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wishes upon the fearful dragon's female victims the wisdom of the elephant. This animal captures her attention for its 'sage' behaviour during parturition and, as she has done previously with exempla involving birth and reproductive function, she expends extra attention upon the uncharacteristically lengthy narration: En non Dieu, je vaurroie qu'eies fussent toutes aussi sages comme je entenc.[h] que li femiele de 1'olifant est. Car je ai bien entendu 14 qu'ele se doute mout de chel dragon, si que, quant ele doit faonner, ele se met en une yaue mout grant ou il a aucune illete, et la endroit faonne pour le doute qu'ele a de chel dragon. Car je entent que se nature si est si caude que nient plus que li fus ne puet grant plente d'iaue souffrir, ne puet chis dragons. Et pour che que la femiele le doute se met ele la; et encore n'est ele mie asseur se li marles n'est a le rive pour lui deffendre la voie, s'il i venoit et il i voloit entrer. Tout aussi vaurroie je vraiement que toutes se vardassent aussi comme fait cele olifande, que quant j. venroit qui si feroit le destrave, et puis si li deist on une cose que il feroit le plus a envis et dont mains de damages seroit. (p. 130, line 14—p. 131, line 5) (In God's name, 1 wish women could be as prudent as I understand the female elephant is, who, when she is about to give birth, will place herself in a large stretch of water where there is an islet, and she will give birth there because of her fear of the dragon. For I understand that the dragon's nature is so ardent that it cannot endure a lot of water any more than fire can. So because the female elephant fears the dragon, she places herself in the water, and she is still not secure unless the male is on the bank to stop the dragon if it were to come there and try to enter the water. I would truly like all women to guard themselves as does the female elephant so that when a man comes and acts despairingly, he would then be told something which he would do with the utmost reluctance, and from which least harm would ensue.) lr> The dove too, with its wisdom to sit on the water watching for the reflection of its enemies, wins her praise for its foresight, but she returns almost immediately to the enemy of the female elephant, the dragon, which occasions a fearful diatribe first against lying suitors, then against lying clerics. For her, the dragon is the man who feigns love, claiming that he is dying of it. Women should refuse to listen to that envenomed tongue. Instead they behave credulously and are taken in. Posing a

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rhetorical question to the maitre, she asks 'A maistres, en avons nous nul entre nous16 de teus dragons?' (p. 132, line 1; Ah master, do we have such dragons among us?), then answers her own question in the affirmative. Not only are there the dragons whose tongues utter words of love they are already calamitous. But there are worse dragons who spread the word of what they want, then circulate the filthy rumour that they have actually had it with a woman. The woman's language for these dragons becomes more impassioned with each accusation: 'chil faus menterres fait entendant par s'orde vieus17 langue envenimee che dont il vaurroit avoir se volente de cheli que il couvoite, combien qu'ele en fust empiric' (p. 132, lines 9—13; this false liar with his filthy, venomous old tongue spreads what he hopes will get him his way with the woman he covets, no matter how she may be damaged by it). He will go even farther, claiming to have succeeded, and ruining the woman's reputation. Unfortunately, the damage from the dragon is not restricted to the woman he has destroyed. After the man has flaunted his success, the victimized woman is at first in despair, then swears she will not be the only woman deceived. With a psychological realism that is as unflattering to women as it is to men, the author narrates how the woman will now take vengeance - on another woman! Resolute in the determination not to be the only one deceived, she will initiate a chain of disasters that is self-perpetuating, each woman contributing to the downfall of the next ad infinitum. In the end there are few women who have not been deceived, one through another. For this chain reaction the author provides her own imagery. The first deceived woman is like the decoy of those hunters of wild birds who capture one, then use it as a lure to capture others. And all this happens because of one male dragon who brought this about ('chel dyable de dragon qui a che les amaine que teus sont menees'; p. 133, lines 9-10). The dragon is only the first of such male predators. A second is the devilish bird of prey, 'cis dyables oisiaus de proie' (p. 133, lines 11-12), the cleric. In one sentence the woman moves quickly from a vicious pun in the singular, 'oisiaus de proie' (preying/praying bird), to a plurality of clerics 'qui s'afaitent en courtoisie et en leur beles paroles, qu'il n'est dame ne demoisele qui devant eus puist durer qu'il ne veullent prendre' (p. 133, lines 13-15; those clerics who are so decked out with courtesy and fine words that there is no woman or maiden who can withstand them, whom they do not wish to take). Her fury knows no bounds as she fulminates against clerics, who of all men are the handsomest and most devious in malice.

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To castigate the deceitful and deceiving clercs, she piles Richard's final animal exempla one on top of another in an accumulation where the rage is palpable and all logical sequence has been abandoned. He Diex, de coi se porroit on garnir centre leur malisse, aussi com li coutons qui se garnist de che que aidier li puet? En non Dieu, che est prendre warde a 1'aspit qui warde le basme. Car encore n'i voi je riens qui miex i vaille: car qui les escoutera, il couvient qu'il conchoive par 1'oreille, ensi que li moustoile dont devant est dit. Mais chis conchevoirs si vaut pis que nus autres. Car de li ne faonne on mie par le bouche, ains en couvient morir en le fin, aussi con du dragon dont deseure est dit. Et qui aussi en vorroit faire, autel fianche i porroit il avoir comme on puet avoir en le balaine. (p. 134, lines 1-10) (Oh God, how could one find a source of protection against their malice as the dove protects itself with a source of succour. In God's name, one could pay attention to the asp which guards the balm. I still see nothing that can be more useful. For anyone who listens to the clerics must conceive by ear, like the weasel which has been mentioned above. But this conception is worse than any other, because from it one does not give birth by mouth, but one must eventually die of it, like the dragon mentioned above. Anyone wanting to act like this could have as much confidence in clerics as can be had in the whale.)

In an interesting sociological comment whch extends beyond her personal situation to a general observation about women and clercs, she remarks that unfortunately women are as apt to seek refuge in the clergy as weary mariners are to seek repose on the back of the whale. They foolishly hang on the clercs words, and are taken in by their apparent sincerity. The results of such relationships are disastrous. The cleric could have a prebend from Holy Church and become a canon or a bishop; the woman could have a knightly husband and be properly supported and held in honour by '.j. chevalier gentil home dont ele seroit a honneur' (p. 135, lines 3-4). Instead both the man and the woman are lost. She adds an ending of her own to the whale narrative to prove it. The wounded whale plunges to the bottom of the sea, drowning all who had trusted themselves to it, but it dies itself also. Salt water has entered its wounded flesh, making it beach on shore, where it is captured (p. 134, lines 15-19). Having convincingly utilized this series of ominous examples to con-

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demn clerics who 'sousprendent18 les non-sachans' (take the ignorant by surprise), she switches to personal invective. Her prologue had begun this with its initial criticism of the man of sense and discretion who did not use his intellect to edify the 'non-sachans.' Now she follows through with direct address and personal invective: 'Ore, biaus maistres' (p. 135, line 6; Now, fair master), asking whether he could possibly expect her to trust the falcon, which swoops down so fast upon its prey. Substituting 'Renart' for the name 'Richart,' she exclaims how far out his tongue is hanging ('Ahi Renart, con vous aves le langue traite'; p. 135, lines 9-10). She contradicts his final assertion that he is not a vulture, believing indeed, that he is: 'cuitje que vous soies de se nature' (p. 136, line 2). Then citing God's courtesy in making women no less good than men, she, as had Richard, terminates her work with a plea for mercy. The mercy she begs for is, however, a mercy deriving from the power of reason, to-reason: 'pour che que j'ai entendu par vous que on ne set qui bons est ne qui mauvais, si couvient que on se gart de tous. Et je si ferai, tant que par raison merchis ara son lieu, dont il m'est avis que qui le cose ne veut faire mout i a de refuis. Et che souffisse a bon entendant' (p. 136, lines 15-19; my emphasis; because I have heard from you that one cannot know who is good and who is evil, it is expedient to guard against all men. And this I shall do until, through reason, mercy shall find its place. In my view, when someone does not wish to do a thing, there are multiple refusals. Let that suffice for good understanding). Thus, in the encounter between Le Bestiaire d'amourand the Response, reason plays a pivotal role. In the first, reason presented a conventionally misogynistic, male face, as the lover, lost in a fog of unreason, reasoned endlessly with his beloved, serenely convinced of the logic of his own fair speech. Reason in woman was there equated with the woman's proper acquiescence in the man's desires, and her negative response demonstrated her unreason: his words bypassed her brain, going in through a hole in her head then out to foolish responses that bore no relation to the propositions formulated by the male. Mercy, meaning the woman's submission, was for Richard the only happy outcome. In the Response the woman author provides a demonstration of the 'raison de paroles' of which, in Richard's jaundiced view, women are incapable. Now reason is no longer reasonable acquiescence but 'multiple refusals.' Mercy, the only happy outcome for the woman also, will come for her if Richard proves reasonable enough to accept her logic. But she, like Richard, appears not to envisage any possibility of this 'mercy par raison,' however strenuously it has been requested.

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The regendering in the Response has not been accomplished without losses. By concentrating upon what is threatening to woman, its author has obliterated Richard's attempts to reveal the dangers of love generally. By concentrating upon the surface message, his declaration of love, she has not dealt with (or has underestimated) Richard's psychological complexities, just as he underestimated woman. And ironically, where she sees most disagreement between them, there is often the most agreement. Thus closure is not and will never be achieved. The polarities between the man and the woman are irreconcilable. The question remains, who was 'la dame'? It is not surprising that the author of 'La response dou bestiaire que la dame fist contre la requeste que maistres Richars de furnival fist sour natures des biestes'19 would choose anonymity rather than challenge in her own name Chancellor Richard, living embodiment of authority. But could 'la dame' have been other than she presents herself? The possibilities are as follows: that the literary information provided represents reality in all respects - in other words, Richard wrote lyrics, then a bestiary of love, for a particular woman, and that same woman wrote a Response in return; that Richard did not write the bestiary for a particular woman - in that case the Response is the work of a woman/man who may/may not have known Richard personally; that Richard wrote the Response. A possible identification was suggested by Paulin Paris early as 1840. Concerning a 'dit' that was common to several manuscripts in the Bibliotheque du Roi, believed to have been written by Richard, he wrote: I.c meme dit sc rctrouve dans d'autres manuscrits, entre les autres, dans le numero 428 du Supplement francois; mais, au lieu des vers de cette autre lecori: Mais pour le tres gentil contesse De Pontieu cui j'en fis promesse Le vueil romancier sans contendre ...

la notre porte: Mais pour la tres gentil contesse Cui Kicharsen fist la promesse, Li plot cest ouvraigne a enprendre. Richard de Fournival peut done bien etre 1'auteur de ce petit poeme

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ascetique. Quant a la comtesse de Ponthieu, ce seroit alors Marie, qui avoit succede a son frere Jean, en 1220, et qui mourut en 1250. Richard de Fournival est le brillant auteur du Bestiaire d'Amours; nous reporterons longuernent de lui dans le Tome quatrieme. (Paris, Les Manuscrits, pp. 247-8) (But for the most noble countess of Ponthieu to whom I promised this, without taking on the old writer of romance ... But for the very noble countess to whom Richard promised this it pleased him to undertake this work. Richard de Fournival may well be, therefore, the author of this ascetic little poem. The Countess of Ponthieu would then be Marie, who had succeeded her brother Jean in 1220 and died in 1250. Richard de Fournival is the brilliant author of the Bestiary of Love; we shall speak of him at greater length in volume 4.)

P. Zarifopol in his 1904 edition of Richard's lyrics also found the possibility of a relationship between Richard and the countess credible (see Lepage, p. 4, n.33), and letters written by her c. 1240 were given to Richard's church at Amiens by her husband, Simon, after her death. And there is no doubt that if the name of 'la dame' really was 'Marie,' this adds real significance to Richard's implied comparisons between 'la dame' and 'Nostre Dame' Marie to whom his Amiens church was dedicated. However, the identification remains inconclusive, and even if Countess Marie de Ponthieu was an inspiration for the lyrics, she certainly could not have written the Response because she died in 1250. Another context that could have produced 'la dame' is a seigneurial family in which Richard had tutorial, devotional, or other responsibilities;20 or a community of religious where he had served in a confessional or advisory capacity. In favour of the latter provenance is the fact that the Consaus d'amourwas written for the author's 'bele tres douce suer.' The Consaus could of course have been inspired solely by Abelard and Heloise, but Richard's 'sweet beautiful sister' had to denote a spiritual family rather than a physical family relationship. The clues suggesting religious and/or racial difference in the prologue to the Response cannot be forgotten either. Unless the prologue's unique version of the Dual Creation arose ex nihilo, there is every indication that 'la dame' was influenced by Jewish teaching about the origins and responsibilities of man and woman. If Richard did not write Le Bestiaire d'amour for a particular woman, a new set of possibilities must be envisioned. He would then have been

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dedicating himself solely to the production of an effective didactic work to warn of the dangers of love and to attack its more ridiculous expressions in the courtly literature of the day. In that case, the author of the Response misunderstood or pretended to misunderstand its referentiality, and used the pretext to write a defence of women coupled with a critique of Richard personally and clerics generally. This could have been done by a woman or a man. It could even have been a scholarly exercise or an imitation of a Provencal joc-partit (although it is Le Bestiaire d'amour rather than the Response that shows most familiarity with Provencal lyricism). Perhaps in the Middle Ages it would have been somewhat more difficult than it is today to write convincingly in a style putatively generated by a woman, given the dearth of written examples in prose, but it would not have been impossible. The parodic enterprise might involve emotive exclamations; a conversationally oral style; regendered pronouns; a concentration upon the personal; and perhaps bitter invective against men or a man. The Response has all these features, although in other respects it remains challengingly disparate. How would the prologue's message of the 'nobler creation of woman' have been received in its own time? After all, what our brave, new twentyfirst-century world now deems courageously female might in its own day have seemed preposterous! Was the Response viewed as a mythical fantasy about Houyhnhnms that was so patently untrue that it must be parodic? Was it intended as a demonstration of woman's unorthodox ideas about theology and therefore just one more trick in some male author's misogynistic arsenal? With the latter explanation, one would at least understand why its author inserted various pledges of allegiance to male dominance. She was a male in drag all the time! And, of course, there remains the hypothesis that Richard might have written the Response. This to me is the most unlikely of all the hypotheses. Quite apart from the codicological evidence which puts the four versions of the Response distinctly later than Le Bestiaire d'amour, after Richard's death in fact, there are other problems. Its author so misrepresents and undermines Richard's bestiary, is so single-mindedly anti-clerical, and so vilifies Richard as a person that the enterprise would seem an unusual venture for him, to say the least. But this must be left for the reader to decide. As for the codicological facts, some twenty manuscripts of Le Bestiaire d'amour survived beyond the Middle Ages (despite the Responses conviction that it was dangerous and deserved to die!). Of these manuscripts, seventeen remain extant in our own time, and of these seventeen only

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four contain the Response. Perhaps the fact that Richard was a figure of authority while the author of the Response remained anonymous contributed to the Responses early erasure. Certainly, it is only now that both sides in this gendered debate are receiving their due, and the Response is at last offering up its unique perspectives on woman, writing, and authority in the Middle Ages.

CHAPTER SIX

Later Developments

Le Bestiaire d'amour survives in some 20 manuscripts.1 Of these three appear to be survivals of an Italian archetype: Florens, Laur. Plut. 76, 79; Florens, Laur. Ashb. 123; and Pierpont Morgan 459. The first two are fragments, but PM459 contains a complete Bestiaire d'amour, although not the Response. The manuscript was compiled and illuminated in northern Italy, most probably in Lombardy, and postdates Richard's original bestiary by about one hundred years. It was obviously produced for a public that had no knowledge either of the context that produced the love bestiary or of the bestiary's original author.2 The anonymity of the lovers appears to have spurred the Lombard scribe toward inventio, as he acclimatized Le Bestiaire d'amour to northern Italian tastes. Following the precedent of Provencal vidas, those half-factual half-fictional biographies that provided context for a canso, he prefaced his manuscript with a concocted biography of the by now forgotten lovers. Its appeal to the Italian public can only be surmised, but it provides interesting information about the scribe's conception of the work and about the literary traditions to which he thought it belonged. The biography is as follows: II doit estre au cuer de chascun que la noblesce et la puissance d'amo ... n granz que nus de li ne se poroit deffandre ni eschaper la ou ele vouxist desploier son enseigne. Et por ce ne se doit nus merveillier de chose qui par amors se face. II avint chose en la contree de France que uns philosophes del ordre des Jacobins qui ert apelez danz Helyes et ert uns des plus sages gentils horn dou monde, si s'enamora d'une dame qui ert apelee Yselt. Et ert une des plus beles gentilz et renomee de tote cele contree. Et amee 1'avoit longement de merveilleus amor, demorant en la religion souffrant por li poines innumerables. Mes, por la tres grant amors que il vers li avoit si

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ne pot demorer por riens. Ainz issi hors de son ordre por achaison de li solement et devint puis un ... et fist por li maintes chanconetes et lays et pastoreles; et autres paroles ausi com aparoit a lui li mandoit par maintes foiees, et se dona travail et peines en toutes manieres a ce que il poist estre por li amez; ni onques ne li valoit riens qu'il poist faire ne dire chose por quoi il poist avoir de li aucun plaisir dont fermement poist conoistre que il fust amez de li; et por tot ce de li amer ne pooit son cuer partir en aucune maniere. Et voiant il que les soes amors einsi aloient et que il aroit sa paine perdue, si pensa et mist tote s'entence a faire cest livre que il fist en leu de son arriere ban, ce est a dire en leu de son derain secors a conquerre la soe amor. Et quant il 1'ot p ... que tout fet, si 1'envoia ... par arriere ban de tout ce que il avoit onques fet ne done ne dit ne envoie. Et la gentix debonaire le prist et le list et endendant la raison si veoit que il n'ert acomplis; et pensoit quex choses i avoit mestier a aconplir; et adoci son cuer et li faisoit depuis plus doz ... plist bel et plus ... ore ... a chief de ... horn s'en aloit a li et usoit li sa raison ensi com a lui aparoit. Et com li afaires desclaira une partie au fenir et trovoit la de douce acointance et d ... orosete maniere d'amors sorprise, et enqueroit la ce que li aparoit dou livre. Et ele li dist molt bien, mes que 'il ne me semble pas acomplis.' 'Voirs n'est il fet ne sera ja se par vostre comandement non.' Que sanz voloir ne se porroit il ras roitemen ... complir. Par ... s'acomplir a ... t. Mes quendi ... s aloit da tel maniere que li feiz ot compliment com vos orois a la fin, par lequel compliment et par le bel semblant qu'ele depuis li faisoit son creu quel i eust son plaisir endroit d'amors. Mes je qui cest prologue ai fet ne ne sai fors que par oie de eels qui ce cuidon savoir.

This translation is an approximation, since the manuscript has several lacunae which obsure the meaning: (It must be in the heart of every man whom the nobility and the power of lo ... great that no one could defend himself from her, or escape when she might wish to plant her banner there. And for this reason no one should marvel at anything that is brought about by love. It came about in the country of France that a philosopher of the Jacobin order who was called Lord Helyes, one of the finest gentlemen in the world, fell in love with a lady called Yselt. She was one of the most beautiful and renowned noblewomen in the whole country. He had loved her with a wondrous love for a long while, remaining in his religion and enduring innumberable sufferings for her. But because of the very great love he had for her, nothing could make him remain there. Instead he left his order solely for her and became a...

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and composed for her many little songs, lays, pastourelles, and other ditties. On many occasions as it occurred to him, he would send them to her, and he imposed all manner of toil and troubles on himself in order to win her love. But nothing he could do or say succeeded in extracting from her any pleasure that would assure him he was loved by her. Seeing that his affections were in this condition and his suffering would be for nought, he had the idea and put all his effort to write this book, which he produced as his ariereban, that is to say his last resource to win her love. And when he had ... all done, he sent it to her ... as a last summoning of all he had done, given, said, or sent. And the noble lady took it, read it, and, understanding the intent, saw it was not finished, and pondered what things were needed to finish it. She softened her heart and made ... more ... and more ... now ... head ... man went to her and addressed her as it seemed appropriate to him. And since at the end, part of the matter became clear and he found her kindly receptive and ... surprised by love, he asked her what she thought of the book. And she told him it was very good but 'it doesn't seem finished to me.' 'Truly it is not and never will be except by your command.' For without the desire, he would not be able ... finish. But... was proceeding in such a way that ... was complimented, as you will hear at the end, and by this compliment and the fair welcome she afterwards gave him, he was assured what her pleasure was in respect to love. But 1 who have composed this prologue know this only by hearsay from those who think they know.)

The scribe's initial dictum sets the tone for the whole Lombard bestiary by establishing the universality of love and by extolling its nobility and power. Richard would not have denied the latter. It is the new combination of 'noblesce et puissance' that is a departure from his message. Nowhere in the original of Le Bestiaire d'amour is love presented as ennobling, unless exception is made for Aristotelian amor naturalis, which induces a parent animal to shape, nurture, and heal its young. Otherwise love is irrational, destructive, menacing as a black crow picking out a man's brain through his eye-sockets. The man captured by love is like a dead man: 'li horns quant il est pris d'amors si est ausi com mors.' Richard concluded his bestiary with an appeal for mercy. When the concocted biography turns from love's ennobling power to the lovers, its description of Richard, chancellor of the chapter of NotreDame in Amiens, as a philosopher of the Jacobin order ('philosophes del ordre des jacobins') and one of the wisest gentlemen in the world ('uns des plus sages gentils horn dou monde') reveals the oblivion into which the author of Le Bestiaire d'amour had fallen. Richard's all-impor-

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Cant role as chancellor in the chapter of Notre-Dame in Amiens is only vaguely remembered. As for the bold female adapter of Old Testament scripture, her defence of womankind has been lost along with her work. The newly imposed names of 'Yselt' and 'Helyes' provide a new/old glamour by attaching the lovers to the Tristan-Yseut legend and the Abelard-Heloise story. This ploy to win recognition and sympathy for them from a fourteenth-century public is a drastic change. A further change is made to the relationship itself. In Bestiaire and Response a magisterial bond had existed between chancellor and 'pucele.' Richard's declarations and promises were never devoid of didacticism, and his use of animal properties was prescriptive rather than descriptive as he sought to mould the girl's behaviour. She should have the healing powers of the weasel to ease his love anguish; the habits of the viper to allow familiarity with the man who is clothed with her love; the foresight of the elephant which gives birth in the Euphrates' waters to protect its young from dragons. She must not trust love's foxes, vultures, or poisonous dragons. She should confide only in Richard, the man who loves her. The response to this counselling had been respectful but ironic. The 'pucele'/"dame' addressed Richard constantly as 'chiers maistres,' courteously accepting his didactic manner but not his interpretation of the animal exempla. The age difference between the elderly cleric and the young woman was obvious. The new biography converts the 'pucele' to the conventional courtly 'dame' who has been in circulation long enough to be recognized as 'une des plus beles gentilz el renomee de tote cele contree.' The conversion destroys the complexity of Richard's misogynistic work. Its imagery mingled violence with nostalgic reminiscence as, for example, Richard urged her to be rid of the nuisance of his pursuit, as the beaver, weary of fleeing the hunters, castrates itself and flings its genitals to its pursuers to be rid of them. Richard's tantalizing 'pucele' embodied a conflicting set of patristic ideals: maiden cum mother, a beautiful 'nourrice,' an intacta from whom he craved abundant love. The inspiration for such fantasizing was inevitably the Prime Nurturer, Mary Mother of Christ, die patroness of his cathedral, and nofYseut, as Richard's coupling of the maiden and the unicorn made clear. Tristan and Yseut would have had no such theologically oriented delusions! The psychological complexity of Richard's woman also has been diminished by the disguise. She was, throughout both Bestiaire and Response, an unwilling recipient of Richard's attentions. If they never kissed or embraced (a fact that both of them assert), it was her reluctance and no mere sword that kept them apart. She was constantly

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irritated by his frequent declarations of love, and refused to appreciate the logic of his self-serving imagery. His efforts to persuade induced a change in her from 'pucele' sweetness — which he says was fitting ('couvcnoit') - to unyielding pride. The fourteenth-century Yseut shows a reverse progression from unyielding coldness to a softening of her heart. In the new Lombard context of requited rather than unrequited love, her ultimate bestowal of the rose is a foregone conclusion. The stubborn dignity of the author of the Response has been lost without trace. Next in the biography comes a mention of Richard's literary activity. Most of the information is an extrapolation from Richard's own prologue, where he spoke of his lyric ventures. The scribe interprets this as 'changonet.es et lays et pastoreles et autres paroles' (little songs and lays and pastourelles and other words), thus trivializing complexity. Richard's lyric production, at least as we know it today, is economical to the point of hermeticism, and his unconventional, opaque chansons are not well served by diminutives. The genesis of Le Bestiaire d'amour as an ariereban is, however, accurately rendered because the word is taken from Richard's own prologue. The only change needed is a simpler explanation for the sake of his Italian public. The scribe explains Richard's royal description with minimal detail: 'ce est a dire en leu de son derain secors a conquerre la soe amor' (that is to say, as his last aid to win her love). The literary activity of the author of the Response has left one memory in the fourteenth century. PM459 narrates that, dissatisfied with the Hestiaireas first written, 'Yselt' undertakes its correction out of the kindness of her heart ('adoci son cuer'). Her advice apparently entailed the addition of more material (an ingenious cover for the Italian scribe's own expansions!). Predictably, the expanded version proved highly satisfactory thanks to Yseut's/the scribe's editorial acumen, and the scribe warns in the biography that there will be a happy ending (instead of Richard's inconclusive plea for mercy). The scribe cum editor cum author appears to have had some scruples about his invented elaborations, and is sufficiently frank to append a warning concerning their authenticity: 'mes je qui cest prologue ai fet ne ne sai fors que par oie de eels qui ce cuidon savoir' (but I who composed this prologue know this only by hearsay from those who believe they know). He then proceeds into the text proper with the self-bestowed entitlement to supplement it as he sees fit. After the prologue, the modifications are only minor until Richard's bestiary exempla have been completed. Then, since the new 'Yselt' finds

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that the bestiary was 'molt bien' but that 'il ne me semble pas acomplis,' the scribe takes on the task of completing the love bestiary properly. His first addition occurs during Richard's ruminations about his love death: 'dont est chu aperte cose ke je sui mors sans recovrir, c'est voirs. Dont ne me covient il plus penser a recouvrir' (Segre, p. 62, lines 3-4). Providing a continuation for the soliloquy about recovery, the scribe adds: Mes par foi de ce que Ten a perdu sanz recouvrir se puet Ten legierement reconforter. Oil, ce me semble. Coment? Ausinc com il avient a 1'ome qui s'eschaufe au feu por la froidure de la noif, et puis avient que de cele meisme noif naist le cristal de que il trait le feu la ou il s'eschaufe. Puis ainsinc li avient que ce que li rendoh avant grant froidor li rent puis grant chalor. (ff. 14v-15r) (But in truth there is some slight comfort to be had from an irreparable loss. Yes, I think so. How can this be? In the same way as happens to the man who warms himself at the fire against the cold of the snow: it then comes about that from that very snow is born the crystal whence he draws down the fire at which he warms himself. Thus it happens that what previously gave him great cold subsequently gives him great warmth.) The addition, while neither disruptive nor illogical, departs from Richard's bestiary exempla with a disparate lapidary item, the fire-catching crystal. Disparate or not, as part of the scribe's preparation for a happy ending its usefulness is obvious - glacial cold can give birth to fire! No further expansion occurs until folio 22v, but as Richard's text reaches its conclusion and Richard, abandoning all rational arguments, is about to plead for 'merci,' the scribe replaces the ignominious uncertainty of Richard's humble request with a few more exemplary demonstrations to reinforce Richard's case. He launches first into the story of 'un chien qui porte un fromage en sa bouche et quant il avient a le rive d'une aigue il garde et voit en 1'aigue 1'ombre del fromage qu'il porte. Et lors laisse cheoir celui qu'il porte en 1'aigue, por 1'autre prendre' (a dog carrying a cheese in its mouth, and when it comes to a river bank it looks and sees in the water the shadow of the cheese which it is carrying. Then it drops into the water the cheese it is carrying in order to capture the other cheese). The symbolism of this added fable is explained as pertaining to the 'covoiteus en amour' who want all they see but ultimately hold on to nothing. More exempla are adduced to demonstrate the power of Richard's

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love. Rejecting the image of the bird of prey, the scribe makes Richard (i.e., Helves) liken himself to the hen who defends its chicks from the fox. Then follow three types of falcons, a phoenix renascent from the flames, an eagle training its young to stare into the sun, a sunflower, a compass fixed on the pole-star, ocean treasures, a thirsty horse drinking water, a stag hunt, a man walking toward the receding sun, a helpless elephant, a generous lion, a hawk and a partridge, a scratching hen, men at dice, a savage waiting out a storm, a barren tree, and a fire-spouting rock. Obviously disparate, these unusual choices hang together (tenuously!) on the connecting thread of Helyes's inalienable love for Yselt. Their cumulative effectiveness can be gauged when Helyes finally takes positive action: Lois me levai en piez maintenant et dis a mon cuer: 'He! cuer gentiz, sages, de grant porveance, loiaus, debonaire, pardone moi ce que jc ai tant mesdit vers toi et me fai conpaignie a gaaignier tel paradis come tu m'as promis et alons tost et apertement au chastel de la bele por s'amor conquerre.' (f.28r) (Then I got to my feet forthwith and said to my heart: 'Ah, noble, good, provident, true, and generous heart, forgive me for slandering you so and come with me to take possession of that paradise you promised me. Let us go quickly, boldly, to the lady's castle to win her love.') A happy ending is inevitable.

A purist might argue that the fourteenth-century scribe's resort to romantic vogues has betrayed both romance and bestiary. The launching of the testy chancellor and the opinionated 'pucele' into an 'Yselt''Helves' love affair should have been unthinkable. Their temperaments were disparate, the lady was unwilling, and the man was in years more like King Marc than a young adoring lover. Some of the changes were, of course, the inevitable products of distance — temporal as well as geographical. But intentionality did play a role. Clearly the Lombard scribe knew his Italian public well. It was a public whose disregard for their own literary products was criticized by Dante in Convivio I, 9: 'Gli malvagi tiomini d'ltalia, che commendono lo vulgare altrui, e lo proprio dispregiano' (The noxious Italian men who praise another's vulgar tongue and despise their own). For these Francophiles the scribe fashioned Le Bestiaire d'amourinto a French-flavoured romance with a happy ending. Significantly, PM459 is the only manuscript that changes Richard's de-

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scription of his work from a 'centre escrit' to a 'conte escrit.' In the newly idealized 'conte escrit,' the lovers are brought together through the device of a male lover's unsatisfactory manuscript and a feminine (although not feminist) literary critic, Yselt. The triumphant end justifies, and is justified by, the means. Helyes exclaims: 'Dont tot jor serai fresc et jolis por loiaument amer. Ci fenist le livre de li arriere banz' (f. 29v; I shall be forever young and handsome through my faithful love. Here ends the book of the arierebari). It was not surprising that the Lombard scribe of PM459 had no knowledge of the Response. It survives today in only four manuscripts, one3 of which is unique by occasional explanatory expansions and a brief continuation of the male-female debate under the rubrics 'Ici respont amis a amee apries la response de la dame' (ff. 41b-43b) and 'Ichi respont la Dame centre la response au maistre' (ff. 43b—52b). Not one of the four extant Response manuscripts is as early as the earliest extant Bestiaire d'amour manuscript- which was to be expected if it was an actual response. And not one of the four is later than the fourteenth century, which was also to be expected for other reasons: it was almost inevitable that the material in the Response would be eliminated by a male compiler/scribe if he found it idiosyncratic, unappealing to his public, tendentious, or detrimental to the male-oriented bestiary that preceded it. It was all of those things, and, presumably for that reason, there was a favourable survival rate for the male bestiary over the female. By the late fourteenth century when, as we have just seen, Le Bestiaire d'amour travelled to Lombardy, the female bestiary had been erased from the manuscript tradition. Le Bestiaire d'amour, however, was further perpetuated in translation: into the dialect of Pisa;4 Middle Low Franconian;5 Flemish,*5 Provengal,7 and Welsh,8 for example. A conversion of Richard's Le Bestiaire d'amour to rhyming octosyllabic couplets has survived also.9 Translation of verse into prose was not unusual in the Middle Ages. Individual works and, in some decades, whole genres, most notably romance, were formally transformed in this way. The reasons that dictated a verse to prose conversion were various: popular demand, the anticipated reactions of a given audience, the instructions of an influential patron, didactic intent, and distaste for the formal metrics of the source. The reverse process, prose to verse, was more unusual. Its isolated occurrences therefore deserve particular attention. BN ms. 25.545 dates from the fourteenth century, but the fragment

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now entitled Le Bestiaire d'amour en vers states in both title and text that it is Richard's own translation: MAIS i RES RICHARS DE FORMVAL

Maistres Richars ha, por miex plairc, Mis eri rime le Bestiaire ... (Master Richard, to give more pleasure, I las put the Bestiary into rhyme ...)

If that attribution is correct, Le Bestiaire d'amour en vers would have been composed between 1255 and 1260, perhaps in the last year of Richard's life. His motivation for reworking the original prose bestiary is not immediately clear, and the modern reader must sympathize with Paul Meyer's bewilderment: 'Cette redaction en prose, qui paratt etre 1'original, a etc tres souvent copicc.... Mais on ne voit pas pourquoi Richard de Fournival, ayant d'abord redige son ouvrage en prose, 1'aurait plus tard repris en vers, et sous line forme un peu plus longue' ('Les Bestiaires,' 362; This prose redaction, which appears to be the original, has been very frequently copied. But it is not apparent why Richard de Fournival, who originally composed his work in prose, would later have redone it into verse and at slightly greater length). Its editor, Arthur Larigfors, is less inclined to rule out the possibility of Richard's authorship, although he cautiously suggests that the Richard de Fournival of the verse translation need not necessarily be the Richard de Fournival who authored Le Bestiaire d'amour. 'II faudrait examiner si toutes les mentions d'un Richard de Fournival se rapportent reellement a un seul et meme personnage' (p. 297; It would be necessary to examine whether ever)' time a Richard de Fournival is mentioned, all references are to one and the same person). The reason for this hesitation on the part of an eminent bestiary scholar is undoubtedly the pedestrian quality of the verse translation, which has lost all the cynical ambiguities of the original by its platitudinous over-statement. The switch to verse was furthermore an abrupt volte-face for Richard. His original prologue had renounced lyricism and he had satirized his performance as poetlover through images of impotent futility: crowing rooster, braying ass, summer cricket, dying swan, and vomiting dog. Reasons for the production of a new version can, however, be found if

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one examines the intellectual climate of the 1250s. Le Bestiaire d'amour was the product of a decade that had witnessed the University of Paris's prescription of the whole Aristotelian corpus as required reading in the Faculty of Arts. Richard had even borrowed a sentence from Aristotle for his paradoxical opening, 'All men naturally desire knowledge.' But acceptance of Aristotelian ideas and techniques had not been achieved just because the University of Paris had removed all ecclesiastical let and hindrance. Conflict marked the decade of 1255-65 (and beyond). That conflict had at least one effect upon the reception of Le Bestiaire d'amour, as has been seen: it quickly acquired a combative Response. Richard's decision to attempt a metric version of Le Bestiaire d'amour could have represented another stage in the debate, his response to the Response. His introduction to Le Bestiaire en vers could have been a topical comment, tinged with bitterness, about his audience and its literary preferences. Its opening lines are: Maistres Richars ha, por miex plaire, Mis en rime le Bestiaire, Por ce que on en ait un peu, Puis en rost et puis en esceu; 5 Si praingn'on le quel c'on vaurra Et qui a o'ir miex plaira. Bien sera chascuns escoutez, Car je vos di; c'est veritez, Toutes gens a savoir desirrent 10 Les fais que li encien escrirent. (Master Richard, to give more pleasure, Has put the Bestiary into rhyme, So that it may be sampled now First roasted, and next boiled; Thus one may take one's pick, Whichever one wants to hear. Each will have a good audience Because, I tell you truly, Everyone wants to know The facts recorded by the ancients.) Le Bestiaire d'amour en vers courts those of Richard's contemporaries who still preferred the entertainment of love literature to Aristotelian exposes. With imagery that is curiously modern Richard compares his

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bestiary to a consumer product (meat!) whose presentation is a variable. The content, however, cannot fail to please if its different packaging caters to all tastes. The determining factor for the formal aspects of the work is its public. The fact that prose had been the medium of the Metaphysics, of the Physiologies, and of at least one recent bestiary (Pierre's) is of little relevance. Richard wishes to address 'por miex plaire' a public that still enjoyed the octosyllabic couplet of romance. Medieval translation, even self-translation, had its own necessities of which the principal was audience appropriateness. That audience is addressed with a platitude about the universality of the ancients (lines 9-10 above). The new dictum is a retreat from the magisterial 'Toutes gens desirent par nature a savoir.' Aristotle's introduction is circumscribed and rendered innocuous, and the Metaphysics has lost ground to the Physiologus, which more properly than Aristotle qualifies as 'les fais (facts/feats) que li ancien escrirent.' The equally platitudinous truth assertion of line 8, commonly used in noniiitellectual contexts, confirms the suitability of the material for a nonAristotelian public. Lines 11 and 12 are also explanatory additions: Par nature et par les .v. sens Pent on apenre mout de sens. (From Nature and the five senses One can learn a lot of sense.)

This new stress upon didacticism rather than knowledge could be a rebuttal of the Responses criticism that /,« Bestiaire d'amour was deleterious. The homophonic end-rhyme 'sens'-'sens' emphasizes Richard's awareness of his duties as 'horn qui sens et discretion a en soi' (Response, line 1; my emphasis). The new eight-line prologue promises both instruction and entertainment. The subject matter of the original begins at line 9. (The original is given in the left-hand column for purposes of comparison.) Toutes gens desirent par nature a savoir. Et pour chu ke nus ne puet tout savoir, ja soil che ke cascune cose puist estre seue, si covient il ke sacuns sache aucune cose, et che ke li uns ne set mie, ke li autres le sache; si ke tout est seu en tel maniere qu'il n'est .seu

Toutes gens a savoir desirrent Les fais que li encien escrirent. Par nature et par les .v. sens 12 Peut on apenre mout de sens, Et por ce que nus hon qui soit Par lui savoir tout ne porroit, Ja soit que puist estre seiie

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de nullui a par lui, ains est seu de tous ensamble. Mais il est ensi ke toutes gens ne vivent mie ensamble, ains sont li un mort avant ke li autre naissent, ct cil ki ont este cha en ariere ont seu tel cose ke nus ki ore endroit vive ne le conquerroit de son sens, ne ne seroit seu, s'on ne le savoit par les anchiiens. (All men naturally desire knowledge. And inasmuch as no one can know everything but everything has the capacity to be known, it behooves everyone to know something, then what one man does not know another will. Thus everything is known in such a manner that it is not known by one man for himself, but rather it is known by all in common. But all men do not coexist together. Some die and others then are born. Our forebears knew what no one now alive could find out by his own intelligence, and it would not be known unless it were known from the ancients.)

16 Chascune chose et conneue, Si convient que aucune rien Sache chascuns ou mal ou bien, Et se que li uns ne set mie, 20 Qu'au savoir 1'autre s'estudie; Si que tout est aperceii En itel meniere et seii, Si qu'il n'est seii de nului. 24 Ce sachiez bien, tout a par lui, Ains est seu de tous ensamble. Mais il est einsi, ce me samble, Que toutes gens ne vivent pas 28 Ensamble ne a un compas, Ains sont li un mort et fine Ains que li autre soient ne, Et cil qui ont este jadis 32 Tel chose ont seii, ce m'est vis, Que nus hon qui soit orendroit DC son sens ne le troveroit Ne ne seroit seii por riens, 36 Se n'estoit par les enciens.

The most obvious difference between the prose and verse versions is that of length: 124 words in the original as against 167 in the metric and, overall, 1,438 as against 1,641. The expansion derives almost entirely from repetitive emphasis and chevilles, while substantive material is preserved to a remarkable degree, as might be expected in a translation by the author himself. The translation unit, as was customary in literary translation, is the sentence rather than the individual word. Since the translation unit and the metric unit (the octosyllable) rarely mesh, expansional phrases serve to bring the octosyllable to closure, for example, in the above passage, 'et conneue' (line 16); 'ou mal ou bien' (line 18); 'et fine' (line 29); and 'por riens' (line 35). A further difference between the versions is that of emphasis within the translation unit. Metric translation necessarily imposes different foci,

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notably at the end-rhyme, as a comparison of the second sentence of the original with its metric translation (lines 14-25) will demonstrate. The original prose sentence was a synthetic fugue which elaborated upon the Aristotelian theme of 'savoir' after its appearance as the initial sententia Toutes gens desirent par nature a savoir.' Richard had symbolized the different phases of human knowledge through the forms 'savoir,' 'savoir,' 'estre seu,' 'sache,' 'set,' 'sache,' 'est seii,' and in the next sentence 'n'est seu,' and 'savoit.' The metric translation, needing no such means of emphasis, disperses the device, first by a cheville, 'nus hon qui soit,' then by the positioning of porroit' rather than 'savoir' at the end-rhyme, and finally by the extension of meaning of 'est seii' in the synonymic binomial 'seii et conrieu.' The use of different stylistic devices for prose and verse is not in itself surprising. Interestingly, then, in Richard's two bestiaries the prose version has a recognizable poetic resonance from annominatio's variations upon a theme, while the metric version has balanced its poetic rhythms with the colloquialisms of prose. Some of the expansions could be judged unfortunate if the criterion were appropriateness to content. Magisterial assertions have been attenuated by such tentative phrases as V.e me samble,' 'ce m'est vis,' or 'ou mal ou bien.' In the exposition of the auditory and visual accesses to memory (lines 37-70) the superfluity continues: Ki pour chu Diex, ki tant aime 1'omnie qu'il le velt porvcoir de quent ke mestiers lui est, a donne a homme unc vertu de force d'ame ki a non memoire. vertu (Wherefore God, who so loves man that he wants to provide for his every need, has given him a particular faculty of mind called Memory.)

Et por ce Dex, qui tant ainime homme Que il le veut a la parsomme Porveoir si que il li prest 40 Trestout ce que mestiers li est, Dex donne a homme une vertu De force d'ame, et revestu I,'en a, ce devons nos tuit croire; La vertus a a voir'° memoire.

In the above, the adverbial phrase 'a la parsomme' has little theological significance. There is meaningless bifurcation of the verb 'a donne' into both 'prest' (lends) and 'donne' (gives). An added metaphor 'a revestu' (has clothed) sheds no possible light on memory function. Aristotelian science is not clarified by the assertions that God-given memory (a) is a matter of belief: 'ce devons nos tuit croire'; (b) is known by all instinctively: 'si les set chascuns par nature,' line 49; (c) is observ-

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able if one gives attention to it: 'c'est bien apparent, s'en I garde,' line 57; and (d) is analogous to the wind: 'on peut... a memoire ... repairier, si tost con vens vole' (lines 53-5). That weather simile, especially, has little relevance to Aristotle's graphic view of memory as the recapturing of a series of visual images. Not all the chevilles are inappropriate to context. A substantial increase of truth affirmations in the passages declaring love ('sans menconge retraire,' 'voire,' 'sachiez,' "'ce sachiez,' and 'sachiez bien') contributes to the message. Frequent chevilles serve overall to stress the uncontroversial nature of the new bestiary for Richard's public. And that public is defined unambiguously now by two small additions. The prose bestiary had spoken generically about the reconstructive powers of imagery: 'Quant on voit painte une estoire ou de Troies ou d'autre, on voit les fais des preudommes ki cha en ariere furent, ausi com s'il fussent present' (p. 5, lines 3-5; When one sees the depiction of a history of Troy or of some other place, one sees the deeds of those past heroes as if they were present). Richard now adds the specification of where his public saw those romances, namely, on their walls and on their ceilings: 'Quant on voit / Paint une hystoire en la paroit / Ou de Troie ou d'autre en dais' (lines 66-7). That same public's taste for hunting and falconry is reflected in another minor modification in the description of a bestiary. 'Cis escris est de tel sentence k'il painture desire. Car il est de nature de bestes et d'oisiaus ke miex sont connissables paintes que dites' (This composition is of such a nature as to need pictures, for animals and birds are naturally more recognizable when depicted than when described) now mentions 'birds and various swift animals': Cis escris qui est en present D'itel sentence est, par saint Sire, Que il la peinture desire. Qu'il est de nature d'oisiax El de pluseurs bestes ysniax:

Paintes sont mout miex connuisables Que dites, et mout miex veables.

(lines 122-8; my emphasis) Significantly, however, the new prologue makes no change in Richard's renunciation of lyric poetry (for example, in lines 148-9, 196-7, 220-1, and 276-80). Richard still conceives of his new metric version as

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non-lyric narrative: 'Cis escris ici en chantant / N'est mie fait, mais en contant' (lines 259-60; This composition is not made in lyric form but as a narrative); 'Me veil je de chanter retraire' (line 303; I wish to desist from singing). The present tenses of 'est' and 'veil' confirm the relevance of these statements of intent to the metric version of Le Besliaire d'amour as well as to its source. There is, in fact, little resemblance between Richard's early chansons and Le Bestiaire d'amour en vers, and the construction of a poetic profile for him would be difficult with such variable evidence. His twenty-one chansons reveal a preference for five strophes (in twelve out. of twenty-one), for a unissonans rhyme scheme (in thirteen out of twenty-one), arid for strophes of fewer than ten lines (in seventeen out of twenty-one). Most important of all, crystalline brevity characterizes Richard's often hermetic lyrics, while henneticism is hardly useful for expository popularization. Thus the only common quality of all Richard's verse writings is their preference for masculine rhyme. Masculine rhymes outnumber feminine by about 72 to 28 per cent in the chansons. In Le Bestiaire d'amour en vers, there are 116 masculine as against 64 feminine rhymes. It is important, to avoid value judgments implied by the modern rhyme hierarchies of 'pauvre,' 'riche,' 'leonine,' etc., which have most relevance in a printed context that serves both eye and ear. The observation may, however, be made that Richard's frequent homophonic rhymes are rarely used to full potential in Le Bestiaire d'amour en vers, since they do not always emphasize the focal points of individual sense-units (see, for example, 'garde'-'garde' in lines 57-8, 'om'-'on' in lines 63-4, and 'fait'-'fait' in lines 75-6 - but compare 'sens'-'sens' discussed above). An occasional enjambment eases the transition from prose to verse. 'Ceste memoire si a .ij. portes, veir et oir, et a cascune de ces portes si a un cemin" (p. 4, lines 3-5) is restructured as: La vertus a a voir memoire. .II. portes ceste vertus a: Veoir, o'ir, et chacune a Un chemin, a briement parler.

(lines 44-7)

The linkage 'a/Uri' cleverly moves the homophonically rhyming couplet in a new direction, while symbolizing the uninterrupted pathways that lead to memory. Word order is exploited more as the bestiary progresses; for example, 'I.'amour dont on n'adel tout esperance ne del tout desesperance' (p. 9,

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lines 5-6; the love where one has neither complete confidence nor complete despair) becomes 'L'amour de coi en esperance / N'a del tout ne desesperance' (lines 183-4). The rendering is successful in that it has positioned the two key words of the sense-unit at the end-rhyme, thus giving them emphasis. Equally successful is the reordering of 'Car le canter doi jou bien avoir perdu' (p. 10, line 9; For I am bound to have lost my singing) to 'Car je le chanter avoir doi / Perdu (lines 223-4). That fragmentation of the lines symbolizes stylistically the halting failure of the poet's song. There is little doubt that Richard's renunciation of past lyricism continues into Le Bestiaire d'amour en vers. It is important not to overlook Richard's anonymous lady, author of the Response. If it was to counter her criticisms that Richard now stresses the edifying nature of his bestiary, then even his chevilles have new significance. The seemingly otiose 'par Saint Sire' of line 123 may be genuinely useful, mimicking the frequent invocations of the Deity in the Response. And the repetitive male plus female pronouns 'car sachent bien toutes et tuit' (line 169) may be a parody of her insistence that 'man' not automatically embrace 'woman' (cf. the 'mis ne mile' of her prologue). Similarly, Le Bestiaire d'amour en vers adds several new adjectives to the phrases by which Richard addressed his lady. The original 'bele tres douce amie' (p. 5, line 11) had been blandly formulaic. It appears in its appropriate place (line 81) in the metric version, but is supplemented by 'biax tres dous cuers frans' (line 129), 'douce debonnaire' (line 146), and 'biaus dous cuers savourous et dous' (line 165). The appropriateness of 'frans' to the free-spirited author of the Response cannot be disputed, and the designation 'savourous' is undeniably piquant. Neither occurred in the original, suggesting an evolving situation or, at least, debate. Even the apparent Till-in' phrases 'sans rancune' and 'sans mespresure' in 'Car je vous envoi sans rancune / En cest escrist, sens mespresure' (lines 99-100) become meaningful if Le Bestiaire d'amour en vers is a specific response to the vehemently anti-clerical, anti-Richard sentiments of the lady's Response. And are Richard's newly tentative qualifications such as 'si senefie, se me samble' (line 182, my emphasis) mere line-fillers, or do they reflect a psychological realignment after attack? Ultimately, then, Le Bestiaire d'amour en vers still contains ambiguities. Substantively, its fidelity to its original is absolute; stylistic alterations occur primarily through repetitive expansion; and no new lexical choices displace the source-vocabulary. Yet shifts toward a new public create new

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problems. Was Richard's expressed desire to please a romance-loving public genuine? In that case, it could be the reason for the fragment's brevity. Ovidian misogyny was not calculated 'por miex plaire,' and the fragment appears to have been terminated just before Richard's crucial characterization of women as lubricious, false, and fickle. There is another possibility, however: that the prologue was motivated not by a real desire to please but by bitter irony. The phrase 'un peu' in 'por ce que on en ait un peu / Puis en rost puis en esceu' (so that one may have a small sample of it, first roasted and then boiled) would then be literally true and not a mere cheville. The fragment was intended to be fragmentary as a demonstration of disrespect for a certain public or, of course, a certain person. If so, Richard's metaphoric description of his bestiary as roasted or boiled meat and his lady as 'savourous' is profoundly complex; the prologue is to be interpreted per contrarium. Richard's love bestiary generated many imitations. A Bestiaire d'amour rime11 appeared at the end of the thirteenth or beginning of the fourteenth century, using many of Richard's animal exempla. Bernier de Chartres wrote La vraie medetine d'amours. The 'Cambrai Bestiary'12 is an extract from Le Bestiaire d'amourm which the love applications have been eliminated from the descriptions of animal properties. Le Bestiaire marial, composed between 1328 and 1337 as part of the Rosarius compilation,13 incorporated many of Richard's exempla but used them to religious purpose. In this rosary in honour of the Virgin, Mary is addressed as 'dame' ('la bele dame gracieuse,' III, 324); is the new Eve who gives birth to the new Adam ('En la vierge est ne un homme / Etrait d'Adam qui mort la pomme, / Diex haul assis en la montee; / Sa mere il meismes a fondee,' IV, 35-8); and has all the nurturing, redemptive, and resuscitating powers that Richard sought in his lady ('Marie resuscite les mors, / Marie redresse clos et tors, / Marie si fait net des ors,' IV, 295-8). Nicole de Margival's Le Dit de la panthere d'amour^4 is a dream allegory of love inspired by Le Bestiaire d'amour's and Responses treatment of the panther. Jehan Acart expands upon Richard's conception of love as a hunt in the Prise amoureuse,^3 and L'Arriereban d'Amours^ takes over the unusual metaphor Richard used for Le Bestiaire d'amour with its ambivalent equation of love with warfare. Many works - for example, the Miroir des dames and Brunetto Latini's Livre del tresor- extract isolated passages from Le Bestiaire d'amour. Richard surely contributed to Jean de Meun's naturalistic treatment of love in the continuation of the Roman de la Rose. In Italy the influence of Richard's bestiary combined with that of religious bestiaries to produce a plethora of new works. 17 Even as late as the

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sixteenth century, Le Bestiaire d'amour would remain productive, inspiring Pierre Gringoire's Menus propos des amoureux.18 Beyond such specific works, the gendered discourse of Le Bestiaire d'amour coupled with the Response created a new climate. It paved the way, for example, for the celebrated 'Querelle de la rose' in which Christine de Pizan took Jean de Meun to task for his sexist attitudes.19 There were striking similarities between Jean and Richard. In the first place, they were virtually contemporaries. Richard wrote his love bestiary just a few years before Jean de Meun wrote the second part of the Roman de la Rose. Both men were scholars of unusual erudition and of similar formation who had inherited the same patrimony of attitudes. Both reflected the philosophic vogues of their century. Both were translators of Latin auctoreswith a predilection for Ovid. And both were taking up a pre-existing allegory as pretext for a love commentary of their own. In Richard's case, the pre-existing work was the Physiologus-based bestiary. In Jean's case, it was Guillaume de Lorris's Roman de la Rose. The particular provocation that aroused the indignation of our women authors was the clercs' less than veiled assumption that a woman's nature was sub-human. Reacting to Genius's advice to flee venomous women, Christine blasted both Jean and his Latin source with the following volley of rhetorical shots: Ha! livre mal nomme L'Art d'amours\ Car d'amours n'est il mie! mais art de faulse malicieuse Industrie de decepvoir fanmes puet il bien estre appelles! C'est belle doctrine! Est ce dont tout gaaignie que de bien decepvoir ces fames? Qui sont fames? Qui sont elles? Sont ce serpens, loups, lyons, dragons, guievres ou bestes ravissables devourans et ennemies a nature humaine ... ? (Hicks, pp. 138-9) Ha! book badly named The Art of Love. For it is not an art of love! But it certainly can be called the art of false, malicious intent to deceive women! Fine teaching! So is everything now won by such fine deception of these women? Who are women? Who are they? Are they serpents, wolves, lions, dragons, wivres, or ravishing, devouring beasts and enemies of human nature?

Richard de Fournival before Jean's Genius chose to analyse woman's love with images from the animal kingdom, and indeed is promoting Genius's advice each time he portrays woman as animal in Le Bestiaire d'amour. Man, made in the image and likeness of God, has descended

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through his love of woman to a lower level of existence, her level. Man's reason has become unreason, causing woman to appear to him divine although she is really devil. Serpents, dragons, wivres, and wild predatory beasts all convey the threatening message that woman's love is by nature flawed, vicious, and even bestial. Rosalind Brown-Grant makes the perceptive comment that Christine realizes 'that the Rose conceives "human nature" to be male rather than something which is common to both sexes' (p. 14). The same realization inspired the author of the Response in her attempt to restore woman's dignity. She, like Christine, confronted those formidable bastions of male superiority, authority and clergie, using identical strategies, admitting her obvious disadvantage as a female, then claiming that disadvantage as an advantage. The author of the Response claimed that, by virtue of her gender, she knew something that Richard did not. Her female knowledge was not only different from Richard's; it was actually superior - strength out of weakness - and she begged him, with mock humility, not to interpret it as 'villainy' if she aided herself with his intelligence in so far as she had retained any of it. Christine similarly exaggerated her lack of formal education, joking to Pierre Col that in comparison with the other elegant birds of learning who find Le Roman de la Rose dangerous, she was nothing but 'la voix d'ung petit grisillon qui toute jour bat ses elettes et fait grant noise' (Hicks, p. 146; The voice of a little cricket that beats its little wings every day and makes a big noise). The crucial issue for both women was not the dens' lack of clergie, but their lack of the moral responsibility that should be its concomitant. In her very first sentence, the author of the Responselaid down for Richard the principle of'do no harm' (see above, p. 117). Christine said nothing different when she called Le Roman delaRose 'oysivete,' explaining 'toute chose sens preu, non-obstant soit traittee, faicte et accomplie a grant labeur et paine, puet estre appellee oyseuse ou pis que oyseuse de tant come plus mal en ensuit' (Hicks, p. 13; Everything that lacks worth, regardless of whether it has been handled, fashioned, and completed with great labour and trouble, can be categorized as useless or worse than useless in proportion as evil results from it). In short, both women believed that clerical triviality, with its mingling of chevalerieand clergieto dubious effect, was deleterious to the non-sachans- a category in which both women put themselves. If there was a commonality in their subservience (mock or otherwise) arid their humility (feigned or otherwise), there was surely a profounder reason than mere game-playing for their pride in ignorance. If knowledge corrupts, absolute knowledge corrupts absolutely. Christine found

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Jean's multiplicity of philosophical viewpoints dangerously amoral, and before her, 'la dame' of the Response showed the same mistrust of Richard's writing. She omitted every learned reference beyond the animal exempla, whether it be Ovid, Provencal poetry, or the lengthy borrowed disquisition about the senses. Then, having dropped all of Richard's clergiefor the explicit message, love, she made her objections to Richard and to all people who possessed clergie unmistakably clear. Li [seconde] cose qui mout fait a resongnier c'est cis dyables oisiaus de proie qui si vient en seursaut que a paines est nus que il ne sousprende, che sont chil clerc qui si s'afaitent en courtoisie et en leur beles paroles, qu'il n'est dame ne demoisele qui devant aus puist durer qu'il ne veullent prendre. (p. 133, lines 11-15) (The [second] thing that is much to be feared is that diabolical bird of prey that arrives so suddenly that there is scarcely anyone whom it does not surprise. I am speaking of those clerics who are so decked out with courtesy with all their fine words that there is not a woman or maiden who can withstand them whom they do not wish to take.) An important issue in Christine's quarrel with the Rose was Jean's sexist language, especially in his notorious hymn to the testicles. Whether or not one views Christine's reluctance to call a 'coillori' a 'coillon' as prudishness, an accusation that has been made by several noted medievalists past and present,20 it is difficult to disagree with Christine that Nature's sexist language does not enhance the dignity of women. That particular provocation does not occur so explicidy in Le Bestiaire d'amour. Richard is not interested in testicular glory, and if he shares Jean's enthusiasm for the supreme beauty and naturalistic function of the male genitalia, he does not actually say so. Au contraire, he is the only 'baby' he wants his 'amie' to nurture. But the language of several of his exempla may be seen as analogous to Jean's frank mention of testicles, notably his use of the self-castrating beaver's genitalia. Equating the beaver's member with the woman's heart, he invites her to castrate herself, beaver fashion, to put him out of his misery. The suggestion is indelicate, and, understandably, the lady not only prefers not to 'castrate' herself but also omits the beaver exemplum entirely. She does the same with his invitation to self-mutilation in the exemplum of the eagle. These are significant omissions, since they depart from her usual procedure of responding to each of Richard's beasts of love.

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In two respects 'la dame' and Christine are dissimilar. The Response stands alone as the author's only work, whereas Christine devoted many writings to the defence of woman, most notably the Livre de la Cite des Dames, the Dieu d'Amours, the Epistre Othea, and the Livre des Trois Vertus. Also, writing in Richard's lifetime or just after his death, 'la dame' chose to remain anonymous rather than confront in her own name Richard, chancellor of Notre Dame at Amiens, licensed surgeon to two monarchs, and half-brother to a bishop. It was a measure of Christine's self-confidence, not to mention the societal differences that 150 years had brought in France, that she on the other hand attacked one of the vernacular 'greats' in her own persona. Possibly the Response, for all its anonymity, was an enabling factor. And today the gendered discourse of Richard and 'la dame' is undergoing further transformation. The neglected woman's voice that previously appeared so idiosyncratic has acquired a new potency, some would even say dominance.

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APPENDIX 1

'De quoi li home est fais, et de sa nature'

From Pierre de Beauvais, Le Bestiaire, ed. Cahier and Martin, vol. 4, pp. 77-80. Phisiologes nos dist que li mondes est une cose tot ensamble, qui est de ciel et de terre, et de HII elements; si nos mostre chi que li horn porsient as IIII elemens, et si est fait des IIII elemens. Li premiers elements est li fus, dont totes les estoilles luisent. De celui element vit purement la salemandre, et de nule autre cose; que ele ne puet vivre se de f'u non, et en fu; si comme poisson en aighe. Cele beste si porte un toisson si cornme brebis, mais nus ne puet savoir quel cose ce est; que ce n'est ne plume, ne soie, ne lin, ne laine. Si ne puet laver sans fu non. Si en fait-on dras el pai's oii [ele est], ce est en une partie des desers d'Ynde. Li airs est It secons elemens dont totes les coses cha aval qui sont vivaiis ont aspiremens. De celui element vit I oisel que on apele gamalien, il vit de pur vent; il est plus grant de corneille, si a les plumes com d'ostoir. Li aighe est li tiers elemens, qui la terre avironne et tresperche et arouse et garnist. De celui element vit purement li herens, et de nule altre cose car il ne vit se de pure aighe non. La terre est li quars elemens, qui est enmi le firmament; et pent ilueques, avironees des ewes et del air. La forme del monde puet on veoir en un oef: li moiels est la terre; li aubruns est li blans qui avironne le moiel, et est com li airs entor la terre; 1'escaille qui est en tor par defers, est li Firmarnens qui tot enclot et air et terre. Mondes sone altretant come nete cose, et est ensi apeles por son bel atornement. La terre est li daerains elemens des HII, si com j'ai devant dit. De la terre vit la talpe purement, et de nule altre cose se de pure terre non. Cele beste

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ele ot si cler que nule rien ne le puet sosprendre pur que sons en isse; et si a les ex desous le quir. Dont Phisiologes nos dit que totes les coses qui vivent, si sentent de V sens: se est veoirs, oirs, flairiers, gosters, et touchiers; et quant ce avient que li uns faut a alcune riens vivant, si restore nature son damage al mieus qu'ele puet por alcun des autres sens. Dont il avient que nus horn ne voit si isnelement comme sours de nature, ne nus horn n'est si lechieres comme li pusnais. Gar li ners qui vienent del chervel as narines et al palais, par u les vertus del sentir passe, de tant com il ont mains a faire, de tant conoissent il plus parfetement ce dont il s'entremetent. Et alsi est des autres sens. Mais en trestos les autres sens, n'est nus si nobles com li veoirs; car nus des autres ne fait conoistre tant de coses, et on ne les recoevre fors par vois. Si com il est devant dit de la talpe, qui oncques ne voit et si a les ex desous le quir, et ot si cler. Dont li restore nature par defaute de vois. Car vois serf a ole, et odors a flair, et savors a goust. Mais al tast servent plusors coses. Car on en sent caut et froit, et moiste et sec, et aspre et soef, et mult d'autres coses. Et se li restore nature sa defaute par vois. Et si parfaitement que nule riens qui vive n'ot si cler; et si vit del pur element si com il est devant dit. Et tu horn quels qui tu es, crestiens, juis ou paiens, tu es fais des IIII elemens; et li mondes des IIII elemens, et si a IIII parties: orient, miedis, Occident et septemtrion. Et la complexions del home est des IIII elemens, la char d'ome est en liu de terre, li sans en liu d'aighe, li alaine li vient del air, la cole de lui est en liu de fu, li suens chies est ensement reons comme li firmamens. Et si a II ex comme li ciels a II lumieres: ce est la lune et le soleil; et tot altresi comme li ciels a en soi VII planetes, si a li horn en soi VII pertuis. Et tot ensement com li airs a en soi VII vens et les tonoires, tot ensement a li horn al pis les grans alaines. Tot ensement comme la mer rechoit totes les aighes, si rechoit li ventre totes les puties. Altresi comme la terre sostient totes les coses, si sostient li cuers tot le cors del home. Li oie del home li vient del plus haut air, et del plus has li vient le sofflement; et de 1'aighe le goustement, et de la terre le tochement. Li fus est cans et ses, li airs caus et moistes, li aighe froide et moiste, la terre froide et seche; et de ces IIII elemens est la complexion del home, si comme il est devant dit. D'une partie de la tere et de la durte des pieres a li horn les os; la verdor as arbres, es ongles; la beaute as herbes es chevels. Et tu horn qui es el monde, crestiens ou juis ou paiens, qui que tu es, pense a ce que Dex te forma a s'ymage; et pus fus tu perdu par Adan nostre pere premerain, par le conseil de la feme qui prist la pomme devee. Pense que Dex te rachata et ne volt soffrir que tu fuses perdus. Si

'De quoi li home est fais, et de sa nature'

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dona son precious cors por toi salver, et se laisa metre en crois ou il rechut mort et passion por tos hommes oster des mortels paines de enfer qui en lui ont esperance et vraie creance. Quant Juis orent crucefies Jhesu Crist, il pendi par pies et par mains en la crois, et la il ensi pendi por toi en crois. II fu ferus d'une glaive en son saint coste, si que li sans en vint aval le glaive corant. Si aresta li sans sor la main al cevalier qui 1'ot ferus; si fu nomes Longis, et il fut awegle de nature. Quant il send le sane, il ne sot que ce fu, si tocha sa main a ses ex; et il vit maintenant Nostre Segnor en crois, et ciel et terre. Si sot bien qu'il ot meffait. II s'en repenti qu'il 1'ot feru, et cria merci, et bad sa cope. Nostre sire Dex li pardona por ce que il le vit vrai repentant. Puis li donerent Jui a boivre flel et aisil, quant il dist: J'ai soif; et la soif qu'il ot, ce fu por ses amis oster d'inf'er si comme il fist quant de Jhesu Fame parti. Diable le gaitoient, si le quidoient avoir saisie; et al tiers jor quant il resussita de mort a vie, s'en traist fors tos ses amis qui en lui creirent et qui esperance et fiance orent en lui. Lors furent mis en repos et en joie. Tu horn, pense que tot ce a Dex fait por toi, et que il covient que tu faces por lui. Et pense en ton cuer que amors est de corte duree qui tot vient d'une part. C'est a entendre que il te covient pur lui faire, ou il ne rnetra pas s'amor en toi. Garde toi de pechies, et fui tos les mals visces del monde. Si poras herbergier en lajoie pardurable et permanable sans fin en la compaignie de ses amis.

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APPENDIX 2

Prologue to the Response

From Richard de Fournival, Li Bestiaires d'amours, ed. Segre, pp. 105-9. Horn qui sens et discretion a en soi ne doit metre s'entente ne son tans a cose mile dire ne faire par coi nus ne nule soil empirics; anchois fait chil bonne oevre qui aucune chose puet dire et faire qui puist porter pourfit as non sachans. Car ensi que jou ai entendu, biaus sire, chiers maistres, en vostre prologue le quel vous m'aves envoie en vostre requeste d'amours, du quel souffissaument je me tieng apaie, car mout m'a grant mestier que je prengne premiers warde a chel prologue qui me moustre que je ne puis mie legierement estre sage de tout che qui bien mestier me porroit avoir. Et voirs est que par raison m'aves moustre que nus ne puet tout savoir, ja soil che cose que chascune cose puist estre seue; si me couvient a ceste response faire metre grant paine que je ne die ne ne fache cose dont musars ne musarde se lobe de moi, quant che venra au paraler. Car quant vous et. moi arommes tant fait que nous deverons, li morsiaus d'Amours rendera a chascun son loier. Et pour che, biaus maistres, vous proi je que selonc che que vous m'aves dit ne tenes mie a vilenie se je m'a'ie de vostre sens, selonc che que je en ai retenu. Car encore ne puisse je savoir tout che que vous saves, si sai je aucune chose que vous ne saves mie. Dont il m'est bien mestiers que je m'en ale selonc che que li besoins en est grans a moi, qui feme sui selonc che qu'il plaist a nostre Seigneur, qui mie de mains souffissant matere ne me vaut faire comme il fist vous. Si me plaist que je le vous die comment, tout n'en aies vous fait mention en vostre escrit. Dieus, qui par se digne poissanche tout le mont estauli, et premierement fist chiel et terre et quanques il est ordene en Fun et en 1'autre, apres fist home pour le plus noble creature qu'il peust faire; et li plot qu'il le feist

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Appendix 2

d'une matere qui n'est mie des plus souffissans des autres. Et de cheli matere, selonc aucuns actours, fourma il une feme tele qui mie ne pleut a 1'omme que il devant avoit fait. Dont il avint que quant Diex cut Tun et 1'autre donne vie, Adans ochist se feme, et Diex li demanda pour coi il avoit che fait. II respond!: 'Ele ne m'estoit rien, et pour che ne le pooie je amer.' Dont apres vint nostre Sires a Adam ou il dormoit, et prist 1'une de ses costes, et en fourma Evain dont nous sommes tout issu. Dont li aucun voelent dire que se le premiere feme fust demouree, Adam ne se fust acordes au pechiet pour coi nous sommes tout en paine; mais pour le tres grant amour qu'il eut a cheli qui faite estoit de lui, 1'ama il tant comme il parut. Car li amours de li seurmonta le commandement de nostre Seigneur, si comme autre fois aves oi comment il mengerent le fruit qui leur avoit este devees. Mais ceste matere me couvient abregier et metre a che que je le commenchai. Dont, puis qu'il est ensi que nostre sires Diex donna a home le segnerie seur toute creature, meisme seur le feme que il avoit faite de plus souffissant matere que il n'avoit fait 1'ome, dont li Escriture i met auques bonne raison pour coi il le fist. Et nepourquant chil qui sires estoit de tous fourma omme de coi que che fust; dont il prist de 1'omme meisme, si que devant a este dit, et en fist le feme et fourma. Dont je di que de tant que li horn en avoit este fais de si noble ouvrier, que li matere en fu mout amendee. Dont par ceste raison fu feme faite d'aussi souffissant mairien, ou plus, comme li horn est. Et de che ne me voist nus au devant que ceste cose ne soit voire: que se la grace de nostre Segneur n'eiist este si grans, pour coi il vaut que li horn eiist segnerie seur toute humaine creature, que nous sommes plus noblement criees que vous, biaus maistres, n'aies este, tout soit il ensi qu'il nous couviegne obeir a vous par le commandement de nostre Souvrain. Mais Dieus ne fist riens sans raison, car il couvient que chele cose qui vient de 1'autre soit obeissans a li. Dont doit li feme obeir a 1'home, et li horn a le terre, et le terre a Dieu, dont il fu crieres et souvrains de toute creature. Et pour che doit chascuns savoir qu'il doit obeir a che dont il est venus, et principaument a chelui qui tout fist, si comme deseure est dit. Et pour cheli raison, sire et maistres, je, qui feme sui, doi obeir a vous qui estes horn: c'est a savoir que che qui bon me sanle je le voeil metre a oevre, et s'autre chose i a, si demeurt de si adont que il ait mestier soit a mi soit a autrui.

Notes

Introduction 1 Gregory IX and Innocent IV. 2 His Biblionorma, which he compiled around 1250, lists the books he had inherited, acquired, or commissioned. Their philosophical, theological, legal, mathematical, astronomical, and medical range is astounding. Biblionomia has been edited by L. Delisle in Cabinet des manuscrits de la Bibliotheque National* 2:518-35, and also by H.J. Vlceschauwer, La 'Biblionomia' de Richard de Fournival du manuscrit 636 de la Sorbonne, Mousaion 62 (1965). See also Aleksandcr Birkenmajer, Kiblwieka Ryszarda de, Fournival, Krakow, 1922, translated as 'La bibliotheque de Richard de Fournival, poete et erudit francais du debut du Xllle siecle et son sort ulterieur,' Etudes d'histoire des sciences et de La philosophie du Moyen Age, Sludia Copernica 1 (1970): 117—215; P. Gloricux, 'Etudes sur la "Biblionomia" de Richard de Fournival,' Recherches rla theolagie andenne et medievaleSO (1963): 205-31; 'La bibliotheque de Gerard d'Abbeville,' Recherches de, theologie andenne et medievale 36 (1969): 48— 83; E. Seidler, 'Die Medizin in der "Biblionomia" des Richard de Fournival,' Sudhoff's Archiv 51 (1967): 44-54; and R.H. Rouse, 'Manuscripts Belonging to Richard de Fournival,' Revue d'histoire des textes 3 (1973): 253-69. 3 In Nativilas, lor which see Aleksander Birkenmajer, 'Pierre de Limoges, commentateur de Richard de Fournival,' fa's40 (1949): 18-31. 4 The most recent edition of the various poems attributed to Richard is 1,'Oeuvre lyriq-ue de Richard de Fournival, ed. Yvan G. Lepage (Ottawa, 1981). 5 Cunsaus il'amours, Puissance d'amours, Bestiaire d'amouren vers. He may also have composed Comment d'amour, De Vetula, and Amistie de vraie amour. 6 References to I.? Resliaim d'amourarc by page and line number to Li Bestiains d'amours di Maislre Richart de Fournival et li Response du bestiaire, ed.

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8 9 10

11

12 13 14 15 16

17 18

19

Notes to pages 3-9

Cesare Segre (Milan and Naples, 1957). See also Master Richard's 'Hestiary of Love'and 'Response,' translated and introduction byjeanette Beer (1986; West Lafayette, 2000). Translations are my own unless otherwise stated. The words 'aussi com s'il fussent present' contain an incidental affirmation of the medieval practice of adapting past material to be relevant to the present. What more natural process than that the heroes of antiquity should take on the familiar guise of medieval 'preudommes,' and that the medieval public should engage and even identify with them as if they were contemporaries! Richard de Fournival, LeBestiaire d'amour, edited by Charles Hippeau (Paris, 1860), p. iv. P. 7, lines 7 and 12, p. 8, lines 3 and 7, and p. 14, line 3. ' [S]iquis erit, quia sis meus, esse legendum / non putet, e gremio reiciatque suo, / "inspice" die "titulum": non sum praeceptor amoris; / quas meruit, poenas iam dedit illud opus' (Tristia 1, 65-8; If there be any person who might think you are not fit to be read because you are mine, and might throw you off his lap, say 'look at the title': I am not the professor of love. That work has paid its dues). 'From the group of books written for Fournival ... B.N. lat. 8239 II, ff. 57— 169 (Plate XXI), containing Ovid's Tristia and his Ex Ponto, is written by the same scribe who copied the Leiden Propertius and the Paris Tragedies for Fournival' (Rouse, p. 255). Significantly, P. Zaripofol's Kritischer text der Lieder Richards de Fournival (Halle, 1904) contains neither translation nor notes nor glossary. References to the Cnnsausare to W.M. McLeod, 'The Consaus d'amoursde Richard de Fournival,1 Studies in Philology 31, 1 (Jan. 1935): 1-21. See Jean-Claude Schmitt, ed., Precher d'exemples, and R.H. Rouse, Preachers, Flarilegia and Sermons. For example, Jerry Root, 'Space to Speke, 'and Peter Brooks, Speaking Guilt in Law and Literature. Thirty years later, however, his successor in naturalism and irony, Jean de Meun, still opted for verse, a function no doubt of Jean's assumed role as continuator of Guillaume de Lorris. See Jeanette Beer, Early Prose in France, pp. 1-10 and passim. Two modern editions are Physiologus, ed. F. Sbordone (Milan, 1936) and Physiologus: The Very Ancient Book of Beasts, Plants, and Stones, trans. F.J. Carmody (San Francisco, 1953). Cf., however, Max Wellmann, 'Der Physiologus, eine religiongeschichtlichnaturwissenschaftliche Untersuchung.' Wellmann placed its date of composition as late as the fourth century and posited Syria as its place of origin, but F. Lauchert believed the Physiologus was available to the Church Fathers

Notes to pages 9-12

20

21

22 23 24 25

26

27

28 29

179

as early as the first half of the second century AD (Geschichte des Physiologus, p. 68). Although the text of the proscription, found in the Decrelum Gelasianum, is generally considered to have been an authentic ecclesiastical proclamation, there have been other views about its date and origin; see F.L. Cross and E.A. Livingstone, eds., The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, p. 385. Dicta Chrysostomi, Miinchener Texle, Heft 8 b (Kommentar) (1916): 13-52. The earliest manuscript of the Dicta Chrysostomi in existence is Harleianus 3093, dating from the late eleventh or early twelfth century. References are to Philippe de Thaun, I^e Bestiaire, ed. E. Walberg (1900; Geneva, 1970), lines 1-4 and p. xxii. Guillaume le Clcrc, 1>Bestiaire, ed. Charles Hippeau (1852; Geneva, 1970). Gervaise, Le Bestiaire de Gervaise, ed. Paul Meyer, Romania 1 (1872): 420, lines 37-40. Le Bestiaire, ed. Charles Cahier and A. Martin, Melanges d'archeologie, d'histoire, el de litterature, vols. 2, 3, 4 (Paris, 1851, 1853, 1856), henceforth abbreviated as PB, followed by the volume and page numbers. Guy R. Mermier has edited the short version of Pierre's bestiary as f^e Bestiaire, de Pierre de Beauvais (Paris, 1977).. Some of the corrections needed by the edition have been noted by C. Re buffi, Medioevo Romanzo 5 (1978): 34—65. Mermier has also translated the short version as A Medieval Book of Beasts: Pierre de Beauvais's Bestiary (Lewiston, 1992). Cahier identifies this 'Philipon Cuer' as Philippe de Dreux. He surmises that the name 'Cuers' may have derived from the bishop's martial qualities (PB2, p. 106, n. 4). 'Et porce que rime se velt afaitier de mos concueillis hors de verite, volt li evesques que cist livres fust fait sans rime tot selonc le latin que Fisiologes uns des bons clers d'Athenes traita' (PB2, p. 106; And because rhyme tends to deck itself with words that have been gathered together outside the realm of truth, the bishop wanted this book to be composed without rhyme, following exactly the Latin of Physiologus, one of the good clerks of Athens). Paul Meyer placed it between 1180 and 1217 (Notice el ExlraitsW, 1 [1890]: 9-49). BN f.fr. 25566; BN f.fr. 412; Bib. mun. Dijon 526; Osterreichische Nationalbibliothck 2609. 1: Love and Reason

1 Previously, papal proscriptions had forbidden the University of Paris to use 'those [of Aristotle's] books of natural philosophy which were with good

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4

5 6 7 8 9

10

Notes to pages 16-34

reason prohibited in a provincial council.' This 1231 bull of Pope Gregory IX was one of several warnings against the Stagirite. See Jeanette Beer, 'The New Naturalism of Le Bestiaire d'amour.' The subjunctive refers either to future or to past time: 'even if you were to refuse to love me (in the future)' or 'even if you never did love me (in the past).' The cock does appears briefly in one manuscript of Pierre's bestiary: Bern 318. Pierre's editor, Charles Cahier, says of the insignificant section entitled 'galli cantus' (chant of the cock) and 'caballus' (horse): '[ce] qui suit ne se trouve dans aucun autre bestiaire vraiment ancien que je connaisse. C'est "Galli cantus" et "Caballus," compilation sans valeur' (PB2, p. 95; What follows - 'The Song of the Cock' and 'Horse' - is found in no other genuinely old bestiary that I know). It also features in some aviaries; for example, Hugh of Fouilloy's Aviarium, in which, interestingly, certain aspects of the cock's behaviour are used humorously to parody preaching behaviour. (Hugh's aviariumwas written in the middle of the twelfth century, probably during Hugh's tenure as prior of St-Nicolas de-Regny, a dependency of St-Laurent-au-Bois, an Augustinian house near Amiens.) According to P. Klopsch, editor of Pseudo-Ovidius De Vetula, the target of Richard's satire was Gerard de Conchy, who succeeeded Richard's halfbrother as bishop of Amiens in 1246. For this progression, see Christopher Lucken, 'Du Ban du coq a 1'ariere-ban de Pane.' In the preamble to his Bihlionomia, he calls himself'vir unus exercitatus in mathematicis' (a man expert in mathematics). His half-brother, Bishop Arnoul, died in 1246, Arnoul's successor is unsympathetic, and Richard is in the last decade of his life. The original source of the interpretation for the dog returning to its vomit is scriptural: Proverbs 26:11 and 2 Peter 22. The risks attendant upon applying modern theories unreflectively, mechanically, or anachronistically are discussed by Evelyn Vitz. She says: 'Scholars do well to keep in mind that most theoretical works - especially those with a clear ideological or political agenda - are deeply culture-bound, and that their truth value is, at the very best, open to serious dispute' (p. 25). McCulloch notes: 'An amusing addition to the account of the ape appears in Richard de Fournival's Bestiaire d'amour. ... and because of its popularity deserves telling here. The wise hunter, knowing the monkey's penchant for imitation, puts on and takes off his boots where a monkey can see the action. Departing and hiding, the hunter leaves a boot, which the animal immediately tries on, but before it can be removed, the monkey is caught.

Notes to pages 34-50

11

12

13 14

15

181

The catching of the ape by shoes weighted with lead is found in Aelian (xvii, 25); Pliny and Solinus mention boots and also the fact that hunters leave bird lime for the ape to rub in its eyes' (Medieval Latin and French Bestiaires, p. 87, n. 20). Recorded but not necessarily guaranteed, since Isidore thought the etymology was erroneous. His verdict was, however, without relevance to its continued currency. McCulloch says: 'A chapter on the crow is not found in all Latin bestiaries, and never in French bestiaries' (Medieval Latin and French Bestiaries, p. 108). However it is from Pierre, as usual, that Richard takes the crow's description: 'Uns oiseax est qui est apeles corbel. Phisiologes nos dist que sa nature est tele que tant que si corbellot sont sans plume, et porce qu'il ne sont noir et qu'il nel resamblent mie, ja ne les gardera ne paistera; ains ne vivent se de rosee non, dusca dont qu'il sont vestu de plume qu'il resamblent lor pere' (l'B2, p. 156; There is a bird called a crow. Physiologus tells us that its nature is such that as long as its fledglings are without plumage, and because they are not black and do not resemble it, it will never watch or feed them; instead they live on nothing but dew, until they are clothed with plumage and resemble their father). See, tor example, Ije Roman de- la Rose, lines 1679-93. 'PB (II, 110) has a full account of the lion. ... He develops the point, which is continued in later bestiaries, that if a man should look at the lion while it is eating, because the man is made in the image of the Lord of Lords, it fears his face and glance. Since it is naturally bold, the lion is afraid of its fears and thus leaps upon the man. Had the man not gazed, he would not have been harmed' (McOulloch, Medieval Latin and French Bestiaries, p. 139). 'Tcs' is surely the demonstrative adjective derived from 'tales' rather than a second-person possessive adjective 'tuae feminae' (your women), however scathingly appropriate the latter might seem in the context. Other manuscripts have 'tels,' 'aucunes,' or 'elles,' confirming this interpretation. 2: Love and the Senses

1 Testimony of Truth 45.30-47.10, in the Nag Hammadi Library, 406-16; quoted by Pagels, Adam, Eve, and the Serpent, p. 69. 2 For further comment on this medieval presentation of Julius Caesar's relationship with Cleopatra, see Beer, A Medieval Caesar, chapter 10. 3 See the following selected entries for more in Toblcr-Lommatzsch: 'Mors, qui venis dc mors de pome Primes en feme et puis en home' (Thib. d. Marly);

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8

9

10 11

Notes to pages 50-71

'Joe creit mult bien al creatur, Ki nus geta de la tristur U Adam nus mist, nostre pere, Par le mors de la pume amere' (MFce Lais Y, 156); 'Adans nous a par un seul mors Si malement honnis et mors Que ne poons pechie fuir Et que tous nous convient morir' (Mahom. Z707); 'Par li [NostreDame] vout Dius a soi retraire Chou k'Eve perdi par mestraire, Par le mors de la pome amere1 (Rend. C. 174, 12) (Altfranzosisches WorterbuchT, p. 292). McCulloch comments: 'An unusual addition to the traditional bestiary material is first found in PB's chapter (IV, 77) entitled "De quoi li home est fais et de sa nature" (Medieval iMtin and French Bestiaries, p. 201). The full text of Pierre's chapter is provided in appendix 1. This association of one particular sense with one particular animal is Richard's, not Pierre's. See James Gould, Ethology, pp. 121 and 393. Pliny, Naturalis historiaXI, iii-xxiv; and Isaiah 7:18: 'SibilabitDommus / Muscae quae est in extremo fluminum Aegypti, / Et api quae est in terra Assur' (The Lord shall hiss for the fly that is in the uttermost part of the rivers of Egypt, and for the bee that is in the land of Assyria). I am grateful to Willene Clark for pointing me to the source of Richard's mysterious 'whistling,' i.e., 'hissing,' reference. 'Garde toi de pechies, et fui tos les mals visces del monde. Si poras herbergier en la joie pardurable et permanable sans fin en la compaignie de ses amis' (PB4, 80; Keep yourself from sin, and abandon all the wicked vices of this world. Then you will be able to dwell in lasting, durable, and eternal joy in the company of his [God's] friends). Pierre had discussed the Aristotelian hierarchy in their proper order. 'Veoirs,' the noblest of the senses, is placed first, then follow 'oirs, flairiers, gosters, et touchiers' (PB4, p. 77). Richard, while registering this hierarchy (p. 42, lines 5-6) here concentrates upon voice and the sense of hearing ('oirs'), one of the ariereban's important themes from the beginning. For further treatment of these issues, see Elaine Pagels, Adam, Eve, and the Serpent, especially pp. 27-8. Adam inevitably thought similarly, faute de mieux. 3: Remedies for Love

1 Unlike his love-lyrics, which were sins of commission. 2 Pierre introduced the myth with 'Physiologes nos raconte chi d'un home qui ot cent ex' (PB2, p. 181; Physiologus tells us here about a man who had a hundred eyes). 3 Schmitt provides the following useful analysis: 'Yexemplum s'apparente a

Notes to page 71

183

d'autres types de recits, qu'il capte souvent a son profit pour les soumettre a ses propres regies de fonctionnement: ce sont la fable, le conte, la parabole, le proverbe, le dit, le cas juridique, le recit de miracle, etc. On reconnatt ici certaines des "formes simples" distinguees par A. Jolles. Des recouvrements plus ou moins parfaits existent, notamment avec la similitude fondee sur la comparaison de deux termes qu'articulent les adverbes 'sicut..., ita ...,' 'de meme que ..., de meme. ...' Mais Vexemplum n'en presente pas moins des traits specifiques qui 1'isolent dans le fil du discours. Au Xllle siecle au moins est mentionne generalement le mode de transmission ou de reception de Finformation qui est a 1'origine de Vexemplum: si le recit precede d'une experience personnelle du predicateur, il est introduit par des expressions telles que "memini," "je me souviens," ou "vidi," "j'ai vu"; si le predicateur tient le recit de la bouche d'un informateur, il 1'indique par "audivi," "j'ai entendu"; si la source est livresque, on trouve en general "legiturin," "on lit dans," suivi du titre de 1'ouvrage. Une fable utilisee comme exemplum est souvent introduite par "dicitur," "on dit." Cette indication de la source ou du canal d'information joue avant tout un role d'authentication de Vexemplum: celui-ci, pour etre efficace, doit etre presente comment une histoire vraie ou du moins vraisemblable; meme dans le cas d'une fable, recit par definition fictif, il est admis que si 1'histoire devait se derouler reellement, elle ne le ferait pas autrement. ... La personne qui fait autorite n'est plus, comme dans 1'exemplum antique, le heros du recit: c'est 1'informateur, le colporteur de 1'exemplum dont Vauctoritas rejaillit sur le recit lui-meme: 1'exemplum par ce moyen devenait une auctoritas susceptible d'agir efficacement' (pp. 20—1; The exemplum is affiliated with other types of narrative, which it often appropriates to its own advantage, imposing on them its own functional rules: the fable, conte, parable, proverb, dit, legal case, miracle tale, etc. Certain of the 'simple forms' identified by A. Jolles are recognizable here. There are more of less perfect overlaps, notably with the similitudo based upon comparison of two terms articulated by the adverbs 'sicut... , ita,' 'in the same way ... similarly.' But the exemplum nonetheless presents specific features that distinguish it from the narrative thread. In the thirteenth century at least the mode of transmission or reception of the information from which the exemplum is derived is generally mentioned: if the story derives from a personal experience of the preacher, it is introduced by expressions like 'memini,' 'I remember,' or 'vidi,' 'I saw'; if the preacher gets the story from the lips of an informant, he indicates that by 'audivi,' 'I heard'; if the source is from a book, one generally finds 'legitur,' 'one reades in,' followed by the title of the work. A fable used as an exemplum is often introduced by 'dicitur,' 'it is said that.' This indication of the source or channel of infor-

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Notes to pages 71-82

mation plays primarily an authenticating role for the exemplum: the latter, to be useful, must be presented as a true or at least plausible story; even in the case of a fable, a story that is by definition fictive, it is admitted that the story were really to happen, it would not happen otherwise ... The authoritative person is no longer, as in the exemplum of antiquity, the hero of the narrative: it is the informant, the pedlar of the exemplum whose authority spills over to the story itself: by this means the exemplum became an authority capable of acting with efficacy). Cahier notes that the section 'Argus li Vachier' is absent in mss R and S, then comments (with some indignation?) on the medieval reduction of the myth in the manuscripts which contain it: 'Argus change en vacher est tout a fait en harmonic avec la marche de cet article ou la nymphe lo devient une simple vache, Junon une sorte de nourisseuse, et Mercure un voleur de bestiaux' (PB2, p. 181, n. 1; Argos transformed into a cowherd is typical of the way this article proceeds: the nymph lo becomes just a cow, Juno as sort of cowkeeper, and Mercury a cattle rustler). Cf. Pierre's more specific 'testicles': 'Physiologes dist que ses coillesoni grant medecine en els' (PB2, p. 228; my emphasis; Physiologus tells us that its testicles contain powerful medicine). For the medieval use of truth guarantees for emphasis in dubious circumstances, see Beer, Narrative Conventions, p. 17 and passim. ' [E]t Evam te esse nescis? Vivit sententia Dei super sexum istum, in hoc saeculo: vivat et reatus necesse est. Tu es diaboli janua, tu es arboris illius resignatrix, tu es divinae legis prima desertrix, tu es quae eum persuasisti, quern diabolus aggredi non valuit. Tu imaginem Dei, hominem, tarn facile elisisti: propter tuum meritum, id est mortem, etiam Filius Dei mori habuit' (Tertullian, De cultu foeminarum 1, p. 1505; And do you not know you are Eve? God's sentence upon that infamous sex of yours lives on to this day: and it is necessary that the impeachment should live on too. You are the gateway to the Devil, you are the one who handed over that divine tree, you are the first one who deserted God's divine law, you are the one who persuaded the man over whom the Devil was not strong enough to prevail. You so easily destroyed the image of God, man. Because of what you deserve, namely death, even the Son of God had to die). No distinction is made in LeBestiaire d'amourbetween the hydrus (enemy of the crocodile) and the many-headed hydra. McCulloch notes: 'Influence flowing in the opposite direction from the French miniatures to the Latin, might explain certain illustrations in two Latin manuscripts to which James attributes a non-English origin, Perrin 26 and Sion College L40.2 over L28.... In the latter the Hydrus-Hydra confusion, found often in the illustrations of Le Bestiaire d'Amour of Richard de Fournival, appears with a

Notes to pages 82-99

185

multi-headed creature protruding from the side of a bear-like Crocodile' (Medieval Latin and French Bestiaries, p. 76, n. 19). 4: Love for Women 1 Even in this serious context, Richard exploits every opportunity for wordplay as he ridicules those pathetic little bits of heart, those tempting little morsels, 'morselets,' which cannot compare with the whole-hearted intensity of Richard's love, for his is a real 'mors d'amour.' 2 Isidore of Seville in Etymologiaexii, iv, 23 explains that 'hydra' derives from the many-headed Lernaean dragon, which, when losing one of its heads to Hercules' sword, grew three more in its place. Isidore calls this mythological etymology 'fabulosum,' commenting that 'hydra' was originally a place which vomited forth waters. 'Nam Hydra ab aqua dicta est.' When stopped up at one place, the waters would burst forth at another, hence the hydra's regenerative symbolism. 3 Most of the mss. of Pierre's bestiary call this animal 'wivre.' Cahier notes: 'guivre, vipere: J'aurais peut-etre mieux transcrit en mettant vuivre (PB2, p. 134, nl; wuivre, viper: I should perhaps have been better to transcribe this putting vuivre.} 4 Some versions of 'li singe' in Le Bestiaire appear to be flawed in other respects also, actually dropping another nine or ten lines from the Physiologus. Cahier notes the lacuna in mss R and S, then comments sardonically that Richard de Fournival follows Pierre, lacuna and all: 'Voila tout d'un coup 9 ou 10 lignes retranchees sans que 1'article [dans R] y perde rien de ce qui mene au but. S. en fait autant, et c'est egalement la marche que suit Richard de Fournival dans sa sotte imitation du vrai Bestiaire' (PBS, p. 230; Now suddenly nine or ten lines are cut in R without the article losing anything vital to its conclusion. S does the same, and this is also the procedure followed by Richard of Fournival in his foolish imitation of the real Bestiary). It has already been noted that Cahier was no fan of Le Bestiaire d'amour. 5 It is important to remember that the chapter of Amiens of which Richard was chancellor was dedicated to 'Notre Dame.' 6 The significant double-entendre of 'guerre-donne' is to be noted for its relevance to the love-war context of the ariereban. 7 Capellanus explains in his chapter on love of the clergy that the clerc belongs to the noblest class, but only by virtue of his calling. If he should choose to apply himself to the service of human love, he is obliged to do so in accordance with the rank he inherited from his parents (De amore, chapter 7).

186

Notes to pages 100-1

8 The double-entendreof'poiar' (to mount) should not be overlooked. Like Ovid, Richard is given to seeing the ridiculous aspects of love. 9 Analagous examples of sea imagery are Folquet de Lunel's 'E pren m'en cum al marinier, / quant s'es empenhs en auta mar / per esperansa de trobar / lo temps que mais dezir'e quier, / e quant es en mar prionda, / mals temps e braus sa nau sobronda / tant que-1 perilh non pot gandir, ni pot remaner ni fugir' (PC 154 005 009-16; And it affects me like the sailor, when he is on the high seas, in the hopes of finding the weather he most seeks and desires, and when he is on the deep sea, bad and stormy weather overcomes his boat so that he cannot avoid the danger, nor can he stay away from it or flee from it); Ponz d'Ortafa's 'Enaissi cum la naus en mar, / destrecha d'ondas e de vens' (PC 379 001 001-2; like a ship at sea, tossed by the waves and wind); and the beginning lines of an anonymous poem to the Virgin Mary 'Verges, aiudar / me vulhatz; Qu'en la onda / que-m fa balansar / jus en la mer preonda / soy, que amparar / no-m puesc si no m'abonda / la vostre merces' (PC 461 123 166; Virgin, be pleased to help me, for I am on the waves, that make me sink down in the deep sea, so that I cannot help myself unless your mercy abounds for me). This latter example is of particular interest, given the ariereban 's frequently implied comparisons between the Virgin Mary and the bele tres douce amie (to the detriment always of the latter!). For another example of levelling imagery, see Bertran D'Alamano's 'e bon' amor de tot son cumunal, / qe nuls trazaurs a senor tan no val' (PC 076 0005 007-8; they are completely united in good love, for no treasure is worth as much to a lord); and cf. Luke 3: 5: 'omnis vallis implebitur: et omnis mons, et collis humiliabitur: ... et videbit omnis caro salutare Dei' (every valley shall be filled and every mountain and hill shall be brought low ... and all flesh shall see the salvation of God [King James Version] - a useful reinforcement to Richard's argument that all pride (including woman's!) should be levelled. 10 Cf. also his '... Amors sap dissendre / lai on li ven a plazer' (PC 070 004 0256; Amor knows how to make fewer demands, when he wants to); and his 'Orguelh, si montas, plus dissens' (PC 071 003 037; Pride, if you rise, you fall farther). 11 Segre suggests the identification of 'li autres' as Folquet de Marselha with his 'aissi quom sel qu'e mieg de 1'albr' estai, / qu'es tan poiatz que no sap tornar jos, / ni sus no val, tan li par temeros' (PC 155 018 018-20; like someone halfway up a tree, who has climbed so high he cannot get down, but who climbs no farther, so dangerous does it seem to him), but the ironic context seems inappropriate. For further examples of 'pojar'/'montar' see Bertolome Zorzi's 'que no-1 poja ni-1 dissen un boto' (PC 074 014 026; for it

Notes to pages 101-20

187

neither raises him nor lowers him one whit); Cadenet's 'en bon pretz 1'avia / pojad'. Era dissen' (PC 106 020 015-16; I had raised her reputation. Now it's on the way down); Cercamon's 'malvestatz puej' ejois dissen' (PC 112 002a005; evil is rising and joy is going down); Esperdut's 'que dompna non pot plus montar, / anz a del dissendre paor' (PC 142 003 018-19; a lady can rise no higher, but is afraid of going down); Rambertino Buvalelli's 'que poiar pois e no dessendre / d'amor' (PC 281 005 006-7; for I can rise in love, but not go lower); Raimon de Miraval's 's'ie-us pugei aut, bas vos farai dissendre' (PC 406 021 040; I lifted you high, I will make you go low down); Folquet de Marselha's 'qu'on plus deissen plus poi' Humilitatz / et orguoills chai on plus aut es poiatz' (PC 155 016 012-13; for Humility rises the lower it goes, and Pride falls when it has climbed highest); and his 'qu'en la valor poia-il colp' e deissen' (PC 155 016 012; blame goes up and down according to worthiness). 12 For an interesting discussion of this subject, see Simon Gaunt, Troubadours and Irony, pp. 1-37. 13 It is found in various versions of Isidore of Seville and in chapter 11 of the Aviarium, for example. 14 It is not inapposite here to suggest that at this juncture the patroness of his cathedral is also in his mind. 5: The Woman's Response 1 Paris, BN f.fr. 25566; Paris, BN f.fr. 412; Dijon, Bibliotheque Municipale, 526; Vienna, Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek 2609. 2 This biographical summary is taken from my article 'Richard de Fournival's Anonymous Lady.' It is reprinted by permission of the Regents of California. 3 For the conventional use of this topos, see E. R. Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, pp. 83—5 on affected modesty. 4 The full text of the woman's prologue can be found in appendix 2. 5 ' 'The Book of J" is used here as the title for what scholars agree is the oldest strand in the Pentateuch, probably composed at Jerusalem in the tenth century B.C.E. ... J stands for the author, the Yahwist, named for Yahweh (Jahweh, in the German spelling; Jehovah in a misspelling), God of the Jews, Christians, and Muslims. The later strands in Genesis, Exodus, and Numbers are all revisions or censorings of J, and their authors are known as E, or the Elohist, for "Elohim," the plural name used for Yahweh in that version (} always uses "Elohim" as a name for divine beings in general, and never as the name of God); P, for the Priestly Author or School that wrote

ttt8

6 7

8

9

10 11 12

13 14 15

16

Notes to pages20-42

nearly all of Leviticus; D, for the author or authors of Deuteronomy; and R, for the Redactor, who performed the final revision after the Return from Babylonian Exile' (TheBook ofj, p. 5). The word is used here advisedly, as it is in the Response, for its sexual connotations. For various male-authored texts in which woman's love/sexuality is problematized, see Roberta L. Krueger, Woman Readers and the Ideology of Gender in Old French Verse Romances, chap. 2 and passim. Her description is simple and generalized, so that one need assume no other source than popular folklore. The lion's supposed ability to lick a cub into shape is not in fact mentioned either by Richard or by Pierre, and presumably originated in Pliny (quoting Aristotle), who noted that lion cubs are born small and shapeless (see McCulloch, Medieval Latin and French Bestiaries, p. 137). But neither Pliny nor Aristotle needs to be credited with our woman author's description, let alone its personalized interpretation. The depreciatory word 'crever' conveys the woman's anger against those who misuse words. They deserve not only to die ('morir'), but to die an animal death. In Richard's bestiary, the hedgehog is invulnerable. This echoes Richard's use of the word 'courtois,' which he used to describe himself when wishing a 'courtly sort of vengeance' upon his 'crocodile.' 'The chapter maintained a school that, although it did not rival the schools of Paris, provided the elements of education for layfolk, especially children of local bourgeois, who, increasingly, were learning to read. A lay culture was emerging, propagated to some extent, by representatives of the Church, such as the canon Richard de Fournival (1201-60), the half-brother of Bishop Arnoul de la Pierre, author of several treatises on courtly love' (Murray, p. 25). For these struggles and further discussion of them, see Stephen Murray, Notre Dame, pp. 62 and 76. This phrase suggests that her description is a paraphrase from memory or is even her own composition, sources unknown. Cf. pp. 124 and 127 above. The sense of this vague but impassioned wish is not absolutely clear, but the reader may want to compare it with the woman's equally impassioned wish, after the hedgehog exemplum, that predatory 'hedgehog' men go [fuck] themselves or, as she more politely expresses it, impale themselves and die on their own needles and spines. The phrase 'entre nous' suggests a particular context with which she and Richard are both familiar, whether Amiens or an even more restricted context. It may be relevant to note that Richard's Consauswas addressed to his 'very sweet sister,' from which one can only presume a 'sister in Christ.'

Notes to pages 142-65

189

17 This specification of age is perhaps worth noting, in view of the probable age difference between Richard and the 'pucele.' 18 Cf. 'souspresure' on p. 135 above. 19 The opening rubric of ms. 2609, Vienna, Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek. 20 I have discovered several possibilities in William Mendel Newman, Les Seigneurs de Nesle en Picardie, but hesitate to formalize them without further documentation. 6: Later Developments 1 See Segre's edition of LeBestiaire d'amour, pp. xxxiii-lxxv. 2 For some of the later additions to manuscripts of Le Bestiaire d'amour, see Grundriss der romanischen Literaturen des Mittelalters 7,2 (1970): 170-81. 3 Vienna, Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek 2609 (Eug. f. 124). 4 Una versionepisana inedita del 'Bestiaire d'amours, 'ed. Roberto Crespo (Leiden, 1972). 5 Eine mittelnieder-frdnkische Ubertragung des Bestiaires d'amours, ed. J. Holmberg (Uppsala, 1925). 6 'Notice sur deux fragments manuscrits thyoises de la fin du XHIe siecle (le Bestiaire d'amours et I'Art d'am^rd'Ovide),' ed. M. Bormans, Bulletin de I'Academie Royale des sciences, des lettres et des beaux-arts de Belgique 2.27 (1804): 488-506. 7 Edited by Carl Appel, in Provenzalische Chrestomathie, 6th edition (Leipzig, 1930; repr. Hildesheim and New York, 1971). 8 A Welsh Bestiary of Love, ed. Graham C.G. Thomas (Dublin, 1988). 9 BN ms 25.545 (anc. Fonds Notre-Dame 274 bis), ff. 89-92; edited by A. Langfors as Le Bestiaire d'amour en vers par Richard deFournival'm Memoires de la Societe neophilologique de Helsingfors 7 (1924): 291—317. Some of the material on this fragment appeared first in my chapter 'Le Bestiaire d'amour en vers' in Medieval Translators and Their Craft, ed. Jeanette Beer, pp. 285-96. 10 The substitution of 'voir' for 'non' was presumably made by the copyist rather than the translator. See Langfors's edition, p. 304, n. to line 44, and p. 317 in the glossary under 'voir.' 11 Edited by A. Thordstein (Lund and Copenhagen, 1941). 12 Edited by E.B. Ham, in Modern Philology 36 (1939): 225-37. 13 L£ Bestiaire marialtire du Rosarius, Paris ms. BN f.fr. 12483, ed. Angela Mattiaci. Diss. University of Ottawa, 1996. 14 Edited by H. Todd (Paris, 1883; repr. London-New York, 1966). 15 Edited by E. Hoepffner (Dresden, 1910).

190

Notes to pages 165-8

16 Edited by A. Langfors (Uppsala, 1943). 17 For which see Segre, pp. xxii-xxiv, and Crespo's Una versione pisana, pp. 3-4, nn. 3-5. 18 McCulloch, 'Richard de Fournival's Bestiaire d'amour,' 150-9. 19 References to the debat are from Eric Hicks, LeDebat sur k Roman de la rose. See also Joseph L. Baird and John R. Kane, La Querelle de la rose: Letters and Documents. I presented some of this material as a paper entitled 'A Predecessor to "La Querelle de la Rose"' at the Fourth International Colloquium on Christine de Pizan, Glasgow 2000. 20 D.W. Robertson, A Preface to Chaucer, John W. Fleming, 'The Moral Reputation of the Roman de la Rose before 1400,' 430; David Hull, 'Words and Deeds in Jean de Meun's Romance of the Rose and the Hermeneutics of Censorship.'

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General Index

Abelard, 7,8, 19, 146, 152 abridgment, 9, 56-7, 123, 140, 165 Adam, 15, 50, 55-6, 68, 104-5, 134, 182nnlO, 11; the Fall, 21, 132, 181-2n3; God's instructions to, 45; lament for lost innocence, 31—3; love for Eve, 50, 58, 88, 109, 126-7; naming the animals, 54; responsible for original sin, 13, 116, 11822; tempted by Eve, 48 addition, 128, 134, 135-6, 149-55, 162, 188n8 Adler, 99 Aelian, 9, 180-lnlO Aelis of Louvain, 10 aggression, 14, 16, 22, 33, 36-7, 40, 42-4,47,53, 125, 127, 135 Alexandria, 9 allegory, 7, 9, 11, 33, 35-40, 50, 56, 59, 61-2, 68, 72, 76, 88, 91,125, 131,166 alliteration, 81 allusion, 6-11, 20, 43, 61-2, 108, 140, 164 ambiguity, 3-5, 6, 17, 57, 117, 124, 164, 180n2 ambivalence, 3, 6, 14, 15, 46-7, 57, 75-6,88,97-9,117

Ambrose, 9, 45-6, 49 Amiens, 3, 11, 37, 99, 132, 138-9, 146, 151-2, 169, 180n3, 185n5, 187nl4,188nl6 Amistie de vraie amour, 177n5 amor naturalis, 73—4, 151 Amores. See Ovid anachronism, I78n7, 180n9 ancients, 16, 54-5, 117-18, 159 Andreas Capellanus, 7, 8, 11, 65, 73, 74,99, 185n7 anger, 37, 40, 60, 74-6, 79, 90, 93, 112, 142 annominatio, 15, 76, 118, 161 Anglo-Norman, 10 anti-clericalism, 138-9, 142-3, 147, 164, 167-9 apostrophe, 55, 116, 144 Arabic, 9 Argos, 70-1, 133-4, 184n4 ariereban, 5-6, 18, 20-1, 25, 26, 33,

37, 46, 57-8, 61, 68, 70, 81, 96, 102,107-8,123,133,153,156, 185n6 Aristotle, 3, 7, 8, 9, 10, 15-17, 53-4, 73,117-18,151,158-9,161,17980nl,182n9, 188n8 Armenian, 9

202

General Index

Arnoul, Bishop, 139, 169, 180nn4, 7, 188nl2 Arriereban d'Amours, 165, 189nl6 arrogance, 7, 33, 42, 58, 61-2, 70, 867,102-3,112 arrow, 11,38 Athanasius, 9 auctor, 8, 14, 15-16, 101, 116-17, 120, 166, 168. See also Aristotle; Ovid Augustine, 46, 49 authority, 11, 13,16, 33, 116-18, 120, 130,145,147, 182-4n3 Aviarium, 68, 138; aviary, 162, 180n3, 187nl3 baby, 36-7, 42, 57-8, 72-5, 92, 94-5, 104, 129, 168 Baird, Joseph L., 190nl9 Bartholomaeus Anglicus, 55 Basil, 9 bathos, 12, 18, 34, 36, 61,67 beauty, 25, 57, 67-8,97 Beer,Jeanette, 177-8nnl6, 17, 17980nl, 181n2, 184n6, 187n2, 189n9 BelAccueil, 33 belparler, 49, 130-1,144 bele tres douce amie, 3, 17, 32-3, 37, 42, 48, 57, 62, 74, 75, 80, 92, 97, 164, 186n9 Bernart de Ventadorn, 82,100, 186n9 Bernier de Chartres, 165 Bertolome Zorzi, 186-7nll Bertran d'Alamano, 186n9 Bestiaire d 'amour en vers, 156-65, I77n5 Bestiaire d'amour rime, 165, 189nll Bestiaire marial, 165, 189nl3 Biancotto, Gabriel, 4 bibliophile, 3, 7, I77n2

Biblionomia, I77n2,180n6 bigamy, 120 birth, 41, 91, 104-6, 114, 128-30, 141, 143 bishop, 11,71,143, 179n26, 180nn4,7 Blanche of Castille, 111 Bloch, Howard, 121-2 blood, 74-5 Bloom, Harold, 120-1, 187-8n5 Bolos of Mendes, 9 Book 0/7,120-1,187-8n5 brain, 38, 40, 42, 52, 92, 108, 126-8, 144,151 brichoir, 88-9 brichouart, 88-9 Brooks, Peter, 178nl5 Brown-Grant, Rosalind, 165 Brunetto Latini, 165 Cadenet, 186-7nll Caesar, Julius, 46, 181n2 Cahier, Charles, 12, 30-1, 34-5, 39, 93, 179nn25, 26, 185n3 'Cambrai bestiary,' 165, 189nl2 canon, 3, 13, 143 captivity, 24-5, 33-6, 42, 50 capture, 42, 57-60, 68-70, 96, 137, 140, 142, 189nl8 cardinal, 3 caritas, 26, 97 Carmody, FJ., I78nl6 carpediem, 14,86,98-9 castration, 19, 75-6, 102, 134-5,152, 168 casuistry, 12 Cercamon, 186-7nll chancellor, 3, 6, 19, 37, 42, 50, 58, 60-1, 74, 95, 99,132, 145, 151-2, 169, 185n5

General Index chevalier, 62, 86-93, 102, 143; chevalerie,97, 113, 115, 167 cheviUe, 160, 161, 162, 164 chiasmus, 81, 102 child, 25-6, 36-7, 72-5, 95, 109 Chloris, 4 Chrysostom.John, 9, 10, I79n21 Church, 3, 8, 19, 67, 94, 102, 115-16, 138-9, 143, 188nnl2, 13. See also confession; preaching Church Fathers, 9, 10, 19, 46, 49, 178-9nl9,179n21, 184n7 Cicero,8 Clark, Willene, 68, 138, 182n7 Cleopatra, 46, 181 n2 clerc, 3, 14, 50, 85, 147, 185n7; as cock, 19; misogyny of, 47, 57, 79, 166; Richard, 3, 8, 14, 32, 37, 46, 58, 63, 67, 70, 91, 94, 96, 102, 127; translator of Li Fet des Romains, 46, 181n2; warning against, 115, 130, 138-9, 141-4, 168 clergie, 55, 97, 99, 138-9, 166-7, 185n7, 188nnl2, 13 closure, 109, 145 Col, Pierre, 167 colour, 36, 105, 125, 151, 181nl2 Commens d 'amour, 177n5 complexity, 3-5, 15, 59, 116-17, 123, 145, 152, 153, 163 conception, 41-2, 86, 91-2, 114, 1289, 143 confession, 8, 26-8, 38-9, 46, 48, 50, 59, 67-70, 73, 86 Consaus d'amour, 3, 8, 61-2, 70, 85-8, 122-3, 146, I77n5, 188nl6 conte escrit, 156 contre-escrit, 5, 7, 34, 156 contrefaire, 34 courtly, 50-1, 101-9, 113, 146, 152,

203

188nll; courtesy, 139, 142,144; games, 74, 88-93; literature, 3-8, 12, 46; loving, 60-2, 69-70, 73-6, 98-100, 102,106; lyric, 26-8,100, 102, 168, public, 55; romance, 1617, 46, I78n7; vengeance, 80-2, 137, 188nll;rehandlingofZ^ Bestiaire d'amourin Italy, 149-56 creation, 9, 13, 14; dual, 120; God's plan in, 45-6, 109; man in God's image, 35, 37, 55-6, 58, 96, 166; serpent wisest animal in, 49-50; theocentric view of, 9, 51; woman's nobler, 14, 116, 118-22, 144, 146, 147; writing as, 127-30 Crespo, Roberto, 189n4, 190nl7 Cross, F.L., I79n20 cruel, 6, 19, 24, 41, 47, 74-5, 90-1, 98-9, 115, 140, 151 Ctesias, 9 Cupid, 6 cupiditas, 15, 31, 46, 91, 93 Curtius, E.R., 187n3 Cybele, 19 danger, 21, 33, 66-7, 103-4, 125, 130-2, 145, 146 deacon, 3 De arte honeste amandi, 7, 11, 65 death, 14, 15, 19; in the Garden of Eden, 45-6, 181-2n3; as loss of honour, 134, 137; love and, 14, 21, 23, 24-5, 38-9, 86-7, 91-2, 108-9, 154; love until, 93-4; regeneration from, 43, 72; Richard's words as, 123,129, 130-1, 143, 188n9; through woman, 46-8, 50-1, 55-6, 58, 61-3, 68, 79, 97; vengeance for, 181-3 De Bestiis, 30-1

204

General Index

Decretum Gelasianum, 9, 179n20 De Paradiso, 45

De proprietatibus rerum, 55 despair, 20,42-3,67,105,137,141, 142 DeVetula, 19,177n5, 180n5 Devil, 21, 23, 30, 32, 35, 47, 71-3, 76, 80, 82, 95, 96,104, 106,108, 167 Dieu d'Amours, 169 discretion, 104-6, 111, 117, 144, 159 disobedience, 45, 56, 58,120 dit, 145-6,165, 189nl4 Dit de la panthere d 'amour, 165, 189n 14 doctrine, 128, 147 double-think, 6, 14, 57, 61, 97,185n6, 186n8

Etymologiae. See Isidore of Seville evasiveness, 42-3 Eumenides, 75 Euphrates, 104, 152 Europa, 101 Eve, 21, 41, 45, 48-50, 55-7, 79, 83, 90,104-5,118-22,132,165,1812n3,182nnlO, 11; creation of, 13, 14, 88, 116, 118-22,126-9; gateway to the Devil, 80; tempting Adam, 15, 30, 31-2, 68 exclamation, 122,133-4,141,147, 166 excuse, 50, 54 ExPonto. See Ovid eye, 3,11,16-17, 38-9, 40, 52-3, 57, 59, 71-3, 81, 108,126, 132-3, 151, 182n2

ear, 3, 11, 16-17, 41, 47-53, 57, 59, 63, 124, 129. See also hearing ecriture feminine, 128, 133, 138, 147, 188nl4 Eden, 32, 45-6, 48, 50, 54, 58, 68, 80 elements, 52-3 enemy, 27, 29, 49, 81-3, 96, 141-2, 166, 184-5n8 England, 10 enjambment, 163 entrapment, 31-4, 58-63, 96 Epiphanius, 9 Epistre Othea, 169 equality, 100-2, 121 equinox, 20 erasure, 65, 68-70, 72, 88, 133,147. See also omission Eros, 21,26, 38 escrit, 5, 7, 156 Esperdut, 186-7nll Ethiopian, 9

faith, 42, 116 Fall, the, 31-2, 45, 48, 50, 54-6, 58, 59, 68, 72, 74, 79, 90, 104-5, 109, 122,181-2n3 father, 36-7, 74-5, 98 Fauchet, C., 4 faux-semblant, 29 fear, 32-3, 42, 104, 124, 130, 137, 141 feminism, 22-3, 32, 59, 116, 118, 121, 125 Fet des Romains, Li, 46, 181n2 fidelity, 93-4,108,137 fin'amors, 76, 100. See also courtly Fleming, John, 190n20 Flemish, 156,189n6 folk literature, 9,188n8 Folquet de Lunel, 186n9 Folquet de Marselha, 186-7 foolishness, 135,138, 139,144 foreknowledge, 45-6, 65-7

defence, 50, 54-5, 59,146, 152 Delisle, L., I77n2

General Index foresight, 14, 48, 65-8, 70-1, 86, 1056, 131-2,134-5,141,152 forgiveness, 28, 94 Franconian, 156, 189n5 French, 10, 19 Freud, Sigmund, 32, 59, 74, 76 Gabriel, 15 game, 74, 81, 85, 88-9, 97, 167 Gaunt, Simon, 187nl2, 104 gender, 22-3, 29, 37, 38, 50, 59, 74-6, 90-1,94, 102, 117, 122, 127-8, 130, 132, 136, 137, 144, 145, 147, 166-9, 188n7 Genesis, 14, 35, 46, 49-50, 54, 68, 109, 118-22. See also ¥-d\\ genitals, 75-7, 80, 152, 168, 184n8 Genius, 166-7 Gentile, 43 Gerard de Conchy, 180n4 Gerard d'Abbeville, I77n2 Gervaise, 10, I79n24 Ginzberg, L., 120 Glorieux, P., I77n2 Gnostic, 9, 45 God, 16, 31, 68; Creator, 35-8, 45-6, 49, 51, 88, 109, 118-22, 144; delivers his people, 38, 181-2n3; Father, 74-5; invocation of, 116, 133, 134, 141; man in his image, 40, 54-6, 58, 88, 96; woman's view of, 118-22, 126, 144; word of, 41-2, 48-9 Gould, James, 182 Greek, 9, 120, I79n27 Green, Peter, 6 Gringoire, Pierre, 166, 190nl8 guard, 125, 130-3, 138, 141 Guilhem, Magret, 100 Guillaume de Lorris, 7, 8, 11, 33, 356,43,58,61, 166, I78nl6

205

Guillaume le Clerc, 10, I79n23 guilt, 13, 43, 45-52, 57, 67, 81, 90, 91, 122, 132 hatch, 95-8 hate, 82, 104, 126, 127 healing, 14, 43, 62, 65, 72-6, 130-1 hearing, 63, 105, 130, 182n9. See also ear heart, 40, 62, 75-8, 81, 86, 89-90, 126, 137, 155, 168, 185nl Hell, 61,80, 82-3, 93, 106 Heloise, 7, 8, 146, 152 Helyes, 149-52, 155 Hera, 70-1, 184n4 herb, 77-8 Hercules, 185n2 heresy, 8, 45, 116, 120, 146-7 Herodotus, 9 Hicks, Eric, 190nl9 hierarchy, 56-60, 74, 78, 86, 99-102, 109, 113, 121, 167, 182n9 Hippeau, C., 4, 23, 35, 178n8, I79n23 Holmberg.J., 189n5 honour, 114, 124, 134, 137, 143 Horace, 8 horn, 60 hours, 19, 20 Hugh of Fouilloy, 180n3 Hugh of St Victor, 30-1 Hull, David, 4, 190n20 humility, 86, 89, 90, 99-103, 114, 118, 154, 167, 186-7nll humour, 18-19, 20, 86-7, 101, 119, 120, 125, 186n8 hunter, 34-6, 38-9, 42, 60-3, 68, 756, 79-80,125, 131-2, 142, 152,162, 180-lnlO Huot, Sylvia, 4 hyperbole, 57, 75

206

General Index

ignorance, 46,114,117,167 imitation, 11, 34—5 Inachus, 70 inadequacy, 118, 130 inconsistency, 29 India, 104 inferiority, 118, 121 innocence, 50, 56 intertextuality, 11, 61, 85, 101, 123 inventio, 11,70, 149-53 lo, 70-1, 184n4 irony, 3, 6, 12, 60, 92, 97, 116,121, 152, 165, I78nl6,187nl2 Isaiah, 47, 55, 182n7 Isidore of Seville, 8, 10, 19, 36, 71, 181nll,185n2 Italy, 149-53,156, 165, 189n4 Jacobin, 149-51 James, M.R., 9 Jardin deDeduit, 11, 33, 61 jealousy, 7, 33 Jean de Meun, 73, 98, 165, 166-8, 178nl6, 190n20 Jehan Acart, 165, 189nl5 Jerome, 9 Jesus Christ, 19, 43, 62, 70, 74-5, 81, 94 Jew, 43, 100, 120, 146, 187-8n5 joc-partit, 147 joke, 18-19, 20, 86-7,101, 120 Jove. See Jupiter joy, 24-5, 27, 38-9, 51, 55-6, 82, 97 Judah, 18, 70 Juno. See Hera. Jupiter, 71, 101, 184n4 kaitis, 24, 27, 62 Kane, John, 190nl9 king, 5, 18, 20, 39-40, 139, 169

Klopsch, P., 180n4 knowledge, 15-16, 35, 54, 72, 135, 159, 161; idealization of, 35, 51; man's desire for, 13, 35, 54, 71; Richard's, 68, 78, 105, 123; Tree of, 45-6, 56, 104-5; woman's view of, 167 Krueger, Roberta, L., 188n7 Lacan, Jacques, 58-9 Langfors, Arthur, 157, 189nn9, 10 lapidary, 9,10,154,155 Latin, 9,10, 36, 71, 86,114, I79n27 Lauchert, F., 4, 102, !78-9nl9 law, 48, 50-1,81, 177n2 lay, 95-8, 116, 134, 136, 138, 188nl2 Lepage, Yvan G., 7,146,177n4 library, 3,7, 177n2 lie, 33, 141-3 Lilith, 120 literate, 10, 101, 114, 136, 159, 167 liver, 40 Livingstone, E.A., 179n20 Livre de la Cite des Dames, 169 Livre del tresor, 165 Livre des trois vertus, 169

logic, 41-2, 77-8, 116, 126, 143,144 los, 69-70, 88-9, 92, 142 losengier, 103—4

Louis, 24 love-hate, 7, 46, 51, 75-6, 81-2 lubricity, 28, 81, 85, 90,124-5, 165 Lucan,8 Lucken, Christopher, 180n5 Luke, 186n9 luxuria, 32, 93 lyric poetry, 5, 7, 8, 10-11, 55; Richard's, 19-20, 23-7, 89,116,145-6, 150-1, 162-3, I77n4, 182nl. See also Provencal

General Index McCulloch, Florence, 4, 9, 180-lnlO, 181nnl2, 14, 182n4, 184-5n8, 188n8, 190nl8 mattre, 6, 70, 86, 90, 93, 106, 111, 114-16,121,122,138,142,152, 161 maiestas, 101 mal, 65-6, 81 malady, 14, 18, 43, 65-6, 72-4 Male Bouche, 33 Marc, King, 155 marginalization, 17, 78-9, 127 marriage, 115 Mary, 15, 82-3, 94, 97, 146, 152, 165 mastery, 121 maternal, 22, 28, 36-7, 42, 74, 94-8, 109 mathematics, 20, 177n2, 180n6 Maurice, Jean, 4-5 McLeod, W.M., 8, 178nl3 medicine, 72-3, 75-7, 131, 177n2 memory, 3, 11, 16-18, 59-60, 85-6, 122, 123, 124, 161-3, 188nl4 Menus propos des amoureux, 166 Mercurius, 70-1, 184n4 mercy, 14, 18, 40, 43, 77-8, 98, 109, 144, 151, 153, 154 Mermier, Guy R., I79n25 Metamorphoses. S^Ovid metaphor, 5, 26, 60, 75-6, 77-8, 81, 85,95,107-8,123,129,138 Metaphysics, 3, 15, 158-9 Meyer, Paul, 4, 157, 179nn24, 28 Miroir des dames, 111, 165 mirror, 57-60, 131 misogyny, 7, 28-30, 42, 65, 79-82, 85,

103-4,116-17,123,124,144,147, 152, 165. See also Ovid mors, 50, 68, 76, 78, 80-3, 104-51, 181-2n3, 185nl

207

mother, 22, 28, 74-5, 94-8,109, 139 mouth, 41, 85, 91, 103-4, 129,140 music, 47-8, 54, 70-1, 130, 133-4 murder, 118-20 Murray, Stephen, 139, 188nl2 mutilation, 102, 140, 168. See also castration mythology, 46-8, 70-1, 133-4,182n4, 185n2 naked, 30-2, 40, 125 Narcissus, 58-60 Nativitas, I77n3 Naturalis historia, 55, 182n7 naturalism, 54, 73,168, I78nl6 nature, 52-3, 73, 97 Newman, William Mendel, 189n20 Nicole de Margival, 165, 189nl4 nobility, 14, 39-40, 55, 59, 74, 99, 111,113,118-19,121-2, 132-3, 136-7, 151, 185n7 non-sachans, 13, 96, 111, 114, 117, 136, 144, 159, 167 nostalgia, 5, 33, 50, 56, 152 Notre Dame, 3, 94, 146, 151, 152, 169, 185n5, 187nl4. See also Amiens; Mary number, 47, 130-1 nurture, 36-7, 42, 47, 59, 65, 72-5, 78, 85, 91, 94-9,104-6, 109, 115, 125, 127-8, 138-9,151,165,168 obedience, 45, 62, 99, 121, 122, 124, 144, 147 old, 98-9,142, 189nl7 omission, 67, 123, 125, 127-8, 130-1, 134,140,145,152,168,185n4 onomatopeia, 130 orality,9, 70,139, 147, 182 Ovid, 3, 6-8,9,11,14, 29, 65, 67,

208

General Index

70-1, 85-6, 89,100-1,165,166, 168, 186n8; Amores, 3, 6; Ars amatoria, 6,14, 85, 166; ExPonto, 7, I78nll; Metamorphoses, 3, 70-1, 101; Remedia amoris, 7, 14, 65; Tristia,7, I78nnl0, 11 oyez, 20 Pagels, Elaine, 181nl, 182nlO painture,3, 11, 16-17, 59 paradise, 45-6, 56, 68 paradox, 16, 56, 81,109,121 paraphrase, 11, 100, 124, 188nl4 Paris, 101-2, 188nl2; University of, 158,179-80nl Paris, Paulin, 145-6 parody, 18-21, 34, 36, 68, 101, 147, 180n3; of courtly, 13, 34, 81, 98, 126, 186n8; of Pierre de Beauvais, 12, 34; Richard's self-, 18-21, 38, 61, 62, 68, 123-4; of Richard, 134 parole, 3, 11, 16-17, 41, 56, 59, 78, 96, 121,123, 130-1, 133, 136 Pascal, Blaise, 126 paternal, 74—5 patroness, 156. See also Notre Dame Paul, 26 penance, 25-6, 38-9, 69-70 penitence, 8, 25-6, 38-9, 69-70 Penthesilea, 14, 85 personal, 140-2 Peter, 19, 180n8 Peter of Alexandria, 9 phallocentric, 32 Philippe Cuer, 11, 179n26 Philippe de Thaun, 10,179n22 Physiologus, 4, 9, 10, 19, 32, 34, and passim Picard, 10,19,189n20

Pierre le Picard. See Pierre de Beauvais Pierre de Beauvais, 10-12,18-20, 22, and passim Pierre de Limoges, I77n3 Pisa, 156, 189n4 plaintive, 6, 37, 74-6, 78, 96-7 planctus, 59, 68, 83 Pliny, 54-5, 180-lnlO, 182n7, 188n8 Plutarch, 9 Poitevin, 100 Ponthieu, Marie Countess of, 145-6 Ponz d'Ortafa, 186n9 pope, 3,177nl, l79-80nl power, 46, 123-4, 151 prayer, 26-8, 68, 77-8 preaching, 8, 68, 71, 178nl4, 180n3, 182-4n3 predator, 90-1, 103,105, 108-9, 125, 135, 142,153, 167-8 predestination, 45-6 prevention, 65, 68-70, 72 prey, 29, 79-80, 92, 93-4, 103, 108-9, 135, 142, 155, 168 pride, 33, 85-6, 93, 97, 100-2, 114, 137, 139-40, 153, 167, 186n9, 1867nll priesthood, 19, 20, 58-9, 67, 94, 101, 138-9. See also clerc; churchman Prise amoureuse, 165, 189nl5 profundity, 3, 68 prognostication, 49-50, 66-7 pronoun, 57, 78-9, 127-9, 147,184 prose, 8,11,20, 102, 157, 161, I78nl7, 179n27 prostitute, 23, 47 Provencal, 7, 73, 100-2, 147,149, 156,168, 186n8,186-7nll, 187nl2, 189n7 psychology, 50, 59, 74, 99,137, 142

General Index public, 3, 5, 7, 10, 11,12, 17, 50, 59, 67, 81, 138, 152-5, 156, 159, 162, I78n7 publicity, 69-70, 89-90 Puissanced'amours, I77n5 quaestio, 14, 46—58 Querelle de la rose, 166, 190nnl9, 20 quotation, 11, 12, 100 Raimon de Miraval, 186-7nll Rambertino Buvalelli, 186-7nll rape, 32 realism, 60-1, 142 reason, 13, 33, 35-6, 38, 40-3, 45, 778, 109, 121-2, 126, 127-8, 140, 144, 167 Rebuffi, C., I79n25 rebuke, 36-7, 117, 130, 141 recantation, 7, 26, 54, 67, 70, 133 recidivism, 28 recover, 72, 77-8, 133 redemption, 62, 75, 80 refusal, 78, 115-16, 125, 126, 141, 144 regeneration, 14, 42, 90-1, 137, 185n2 regret, 22, 28, 31, 48, 51, 132 Reims, 139 Remedia amoris. See Ovid remedy, 14, 18,65-83 Renart, 144 reordering, 9, 11, 161, 163-4 repentance, 7, 19, 26-8, 69-70, 80-2, 133, 136-7 reproach, 36-7, 69-70, 85, 94, 104 reproduction, 94-7, 104-5, 127-30 response, 3-5, 111-47, 156, 158 resuscitation, 42, 72-6, 127, 129-30, 135

209

retain, 86, 89-90, 104 rhyme, 10, 157-67 rivals, 92-4, 95-6 Robert de Sommercote, 3 Robertson, D.W., 190n20 romance, 3-5, 7, 8, 16-17, 33, 46, 61, 81, 88-90, 153, 156, 159,162,165 Roman de la rose, 7, 33, 58, 61, 165-8, 181nl3, 190nnl9, 20 Roman de Renart, 20 Root, Jerry, I78nl5 Rosarius, 165, 189nl3 rose, 33, 61, 153, 165, 166-8, 189nl3, 190nnl9, 20 Rosenberg, David, 120, 187-8n5 Rouen, 3 Rouse, R.H.,l77n2,l78nll rubrics, 12, 111 rumour, 69-70, 103-4 sado-masochism, 14, 76, 80-2, 92, 134-5,151 sage, 42, 49, 61, 68-9, 72, 118, 123, 130, 135, 138, 141 St-Denis, 101-2 sarcasm, 89-90, 144 satire, 5, 6, 19, 36, 65, 180n4 savage, 155 savoir. See knowledge Sbordone, F., I78nl8 Schmitt, Jean-Claude, I78nl4, 1824n3 science, 13, 54 Scripture, 8, 40, 98, 102, 118-22, 152, 180n8,186n9,187-8n5 secrecy, 69, 103-4 Segre, Cesare, 4, !77-8n6, 186-7nll, 189nl,190nl7 Seidler, G., I77n2 self-congratulation, 62-3, 97

210

General Index

self-love, 58-60,118-19 self-preservation, 29, 68-70 self-referentiality, 7, 61-2 self-reflexive, 58, 67-8 sens, 54, 65, 81,92, 96, 111, 117,128, 130, 133, 135, 137, 144, 159 senses, 13, 45-63, 65, 81,105, 130-1, 134, 182n5 sententia, 13, 15, 161, 167 Sermo contra Judaeos, 100 sermon, 8, 68, 71, I78nl4 sex, 56, 63, 76, 88, 92, 121, 130,1345, 166-7, 188n6 shoe, 34-6,125 shyness, 33, 112 side, 74-6 sight, 63, 103, 112-13, 182n9. See also visual sin, 27, 31-2, 43, 45, 49, 56, 68, 76, 93, 181-2n3,182nn8, 1; Adam's responsibility for, 13, 56, 118-22, 127; against 'la dame,' 26-8; Eve tempts Adam to, 15, 46, 48, 56, 132 siren, 13-14, 46-8, 56, 57, 66, 130, 132 sleep, 19, 47-8, 57, 60-3, 66, 131-4 song, 18-20, 23-5, 46-8, 54-5, 80, 130, 163-4 smell, 52-3, 60-3,131 society, 40, 48, 137 soliloquy, 79-81 Solinus, 180-1 nlO Solomon, 122 Solterer, Helen, 5, 22-3, 59 soul, 58, 67-9, 71-3, 86,131 stone, 9,10, 66-7. See also lapidary subjunctive, 72,180n2 sunflower, 155 superiority, 118, 121-2, 127, 167 surgeon, 3, 169

sweetness, 75-6, 97, 102,153. See also bele tres douce amie synecdoche, 24, 76 Syriac,9, I78nl9 tail, 67-70, 91,132-3,136 taste, 52-3,195,113,182n9 temptation, 45-8,127 tense, 22 Tertullian, 184n7 Testimony of Truth, 45, 181nl thanatos. See death threat, 14, 20-1, 33,123, 125, 130-1, 145 Tobler-Lommatzch, 181-2n3 tongue, 103-4, 140-2, 144 topos, 112, 118, 187n3 touch, 63, 105, 113, 182n9 translation, 3, 6, 46, 92-3,101, 15965, 166 treachery, 46-8, 87-8, 103-4, 107 tree, 45-6, 48, 56, 104, 155 trick, 90, 106-7 Tristan, 152 Tristia. See Ovid trobar clus, 7 troubadour, 3, 101. See also Provencal Troy, 3, 16-17, 162 truth, 46, 65, 78,134,137, 139,159, 162, 184n6 ugliness, 51, 67,130 University of Paris, 16 usus, 65 vanity, 67-8. See also Narcissus vengeance, 61-2, 65, 78-83,135-6, 142, 188n8 verbal, 3, 42-3, 78, 85-6, 103-5, 131, 182n9 Vergil, 8

General Index vernacular, 10, 14, 21, 169 verse, 6-8, 156-65, 178nl6, I79n27 victim, 6, 45, 65, 79-83, 92, 142 Vieille, La, 98-9 Virgin, 61-2, 82-3, 98, 112, 151, 186n9. See also Mary; Notre Dame virginity, 33, 60-3, 82-3 virtue, 8, 49, 66, 97, 127, 131, 139 visual, 3, 11, 16, 43, 52-3, 57, 59, 60, 63, 105, 182n9 Vitz, Evelyn, 180n9 Vleeschauwer, H.J., I77n2 voice, 18-21, 47-8, 50-7, 59, 67, 70, 112, 132, 134 vomit, 26-8, 124-5, 185n2 Vraie mededne d 'amours, La, 165 Walberg, E., 179n22 Walter, 65

211

war, 5, 6, 8, 32, 37, 96, 102-3, 107-8, 185n6 warning, 18, 19, 23, 47-8, 59, 91-2, 94, 103-4, 106-8, 136, 141-2 watchfulness, 114, 131, 141-2 Welsh, 156, 189n8 will, 66, 131 wisdom, 49-50. See also sage Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 6 word, 3, 11, 16-17, 41, 49, 78, 85-6, 106,109,131,139,140 word play, 15-16, 67, 118, 130, 142, 161,185nnl,6, 186n8 Yseut, 149-56 Zaripofol, P., 146, I78nl2 Zeus, 70-1

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Index of Animals

ape, 34-7, 92-3, 180-lnlO, ISlnll, 185n4 asp, 48-50, 130, 143 ass, 18-21, 123, 125, 157, 180n5 basilisk, 19 beaver, 75-7, 102, 134, 152, 168 bees, 54-5 Bernart the Ass, 20 blackbird, 51,54, 130 bull, 101

dragon, 14, 103-5, 140-3, 152, 166-7, 185n2 eagle, 102, 140, 155, 168 elephant, 104-6, 141, 152, 165 falcon, 93, 144, 155, 167 fox, 87-8, 106-7, 152, 155 gallus. See cock

hawk, 155 hedgehog, 79-80, 135-6, 188nnlO, 15 hen,155 herring, 52-3 hoopoe, 98-9 horse, 155, 180n3 hydra, 14, 82-3, 90, 137, 184n8, 185n2 hydrus. See hydra

caladrius, 43, 130 cat, 135 chick, 74-6, 96-8, 134, 155 cock, 18-20, 68, 94, 101, 123, 157, 180n3,180n5 cockatrice. See crocodile cow, 70-1, 184n4 crane, 66-7, 70, 131-2 cricket, 18, 23-5, 123, 157, 167 crocodile, 80-3, 103, 136-7, 140, 184-5n8, 188n8 crow, 11, 36-40, 108, 125-7, 151, 181nl2

liens, 52-3 lio 133, 166, 188n8

dog, 26-8, 124-5, 154, 157, 180n8 dove, 94, 105, 141, 143, 187nl3

magpie, 88, 106-7 mole, 52-3

214

Index of Animals

monkey, 34-7, 52-3, 125, 140,185n4

tiger, 57-60,131 turtledove, 93-4,137

ostrich, 96-7,138 unicorn, 54, 60-2, 131, 152 panther, 62-3, 131 partridge, 95-6, 138,155 peacock, 67-8, 70, 132 pelican, 74-5, 134-5 phoenix, 155 plover, 52-3 salamander, 52-3 sawfish, 93,137 screech-owl, 98-9,138 serpent, 14,19, 30, 31-2, 41, 48-9, 166 serra. See sawfish swallow, 72-3, 79, 87,134-6 swan, 18, 25, 68,123,157

viper, 14, 30-3, 36, 40, 91-2,125,152, 166,185n3 vulture, 108-9,144,152 weasel, 40-2, 72-3,128-9,134-5, 143,152 whale, 106,143 ivivre, 14, 30-3, 36-7, 91, 125, 152, 166,185n3 wolf, 18, 21-3, 28-30, 88,114,123, 124,126,140,166-7 woodpecker, 77-8,134-5 woutre, 30-1