The Gargantuan Polity: On The Individual and the Community in the French Renaissance 9781442688155

Table of contents :
Contents
Illustrations
Acknowledgments
Introduction
1. Bottom-Up vs Top-Down Polities: The Council and the Pope
2. The Representation of Basel in Chants Royaux Written for the Puy de Rouen
3. Late-Medieval Polity and Poetics: Jean Molinet’s Ressource du petit peuple
4. The King’s Two Portraits in Claude de Seyssel and Guillaume Cretin
5. Barthélemy de Chasseneuz and the Top-Down Polity
6. Rabelais and the Ideal Imperfect Polity
7. The Death of Consensual Politics and the Individual in Agrippa d’Aubigné
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

T H E G A R G A N T U A N P O L I T Y: ON T HE IN DI VI DU AL AN D TH E C OMM UNI TY IN TH E F R EN CH REN AISSAN CE

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MICHAEL RANDALL

The Gargantuan Polity: On the Individual and the Community in the French Renaissance

U N I V E R S I T Y O F T O R O N TO P R E S S Toronto Buffalo London

© University of Toronto Press Incorporated 2008 Toronto Buffalo London www.utppublishing.com Printed in Canada ISBN 978-0-8020-9814-6

Printed on acid-free paper

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Randall, Michael, 1953– The gargantuan polity : on the individual and the community in the French Renaissance / Michael Randall. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8020-9814-6 1. Individualism – France – History – 16th century. 2. France – Intellectual life – 16th century. 3. France – Civilization – 1328–1600. 4. French literature – 16th century – History and criticism. 5. France – Politics and government – 1328–1589. 6. Renaissance – France. DC33.3.R35 2008

944c.028

C2008-902853-8

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).

For Emma

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Contents

List of Illustrations Acknowledgments Introduction

ix xi

3

1 Bottom-Up vs Top-Down Polities: The Council and the Pope 2 The Representation of Basel in Chants Royaux Written for the Puy de Rouen 41 3 Late-Medieval Polity and Poetics: Jean Molinet’s Ressource du petit peuple 84 4 The King’s Two Portraits in Claude de Seyssel and Guillaume Cretin 121 5 Barthélemy de Chasseneuz and the Top-Down Polity 6 Rabelais and the Ideal Imperfect Polity 169 7 The Death of Consensual Politics and the Individual in Agrippa d’Aubigné 201 Conclusion Notes

253

Bibliography Index

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363

341

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Illustrations

Figure 1 Seal of Council of Basel, Archives Nationales, Service des Sceaux xiii Figure 2 Seal of Gallican Church, plaster mould (1867), Archives Nationales, Service des Sceaux. This nineteenth-century mould was made from a master die in bronze believed to be from the fifteenth century xiv Figure 3 Nicole Osmont, ‘Le grand evesque en leglise Rommaine,’ Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 1537, 73v xv Figure 4 Raoul Parmentier, ‘Sur un beau champ ou gerbes sont a tas,’ Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 379, 24r xvi Figure 5 Jean Marot, ‘Lors que au palais de la cite de basle,’ Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 379, 1v xvii

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Acknowledgments

This book has been a long time in the making and it is difficult to remember all those who have contributed to it through their comments, corrections, and questions. The comments, questions, and bewilderment of undergraduate students at Brandeis University over the last several years, and of graduate students at the University of California, Berkeley, during a seminar in 2003, have helped me to understand and to explain better the issues I bring up in this study. Among those whose observations have influenced this study are Sue Farquhar, Elizabeth McCartney, the late Michel Simonin, the late Gérard Defaux, Jan Miernowski, Ullrich Langer, Hope Glidden, Ziad Elmarsafy, François Rigolot, and Michel Jeanneret. An NEH seminar I participated in at Princeton University in 1996 under the direction of Thomas Pavel also helped me understand some of the modern ramifications of the concepts from the Middle Ages and the Renaissance dealt with in The Gargantuan Polity. More recently, during the final stages of writing, the comments of the two anonymous readers who vetted the manuscript for University of Toronto Press have made this study much clearer and more coherent. The editorial advice and suggestions of Violet Halpert, Anthony Di Battista, Alice Jarrard and Emrys Bell-Schlatter also helped make it a much better read. Finally, the librarians and archivists at the Houghton and Law School Libraries at Harvard, the Bibliothèque Nationale de France and the Archives Nationales in Paris, the Bibliothèque Municipale in Rouen, and all the other libraries I have used in the researching of this book, helped me locate, identify, and understand the texts and images I have used. Thanks to all these people, as well as to Brandeis University for its generous support.

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Acknowledgments

Parts of The Gargantuan Polity have appeared in scholarly journals and proceedings from colloquia. Sections of chapters 1 and 2 appeared in ‘La Représentation du concile de Bâle dans des chants royaux écrits au puy de Rouen ou la correction politique d’une figure poétique,’ in Première poésie de la Renaissance: Autour des puys poétiques normands, ed. JeanClaude Arnould and Thierry Mantovani, 349–71 (Paris: Champion, 2003). Chapter 4 appeared in a somewhat different form in ‘Un Roi, deux portraits, et trois freins: “L’Apparition du mareschal sans reproche, feu messire Jacques de Chabannes” de Guillaume Cretin et La Monarchie de France de Claude de Seyssel,’ in La Génération Marot, ed. Gérard Defaux, 131–53 (Paris: Champion, 1997). Much of the material in the Du Haillan section in chapter 7 appears in ‘Sword and Subject in Du Haillan’s Histoire de France,’ in Meaning and Its Objects: Material Culture in Medieval and Renaissance France, ed. Margaret Burland, David Laguardia, and Andrea Tarnowski, 170–87, Yale French Studies 110 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006). A word of thanks is owed these editors and publishers for their editorial help, and for allowing me to use material here that appeared first in their publications. Thanks also to my editors, at University of Toronto Press, Suzanne Rancourt and Barb Porter, as well as my copy editor Miriam Skey, whose efforts have been crucial in bringing this work to print.

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1 Seal of Council of Basel, Archives Nationales, Service des Sceaux.

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2 Seal of Gallican Church, plaster mould (1867), Archives Nationales, Service des Sceaux. This nineteenth-century mould was made from a master die in bronze believed to be from the fifteenth century.

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3 Nicole Osmont, ‘Le grand evesque en leglise Rommaine,’ Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 1537, 73v.

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4 Raoul Parmentier, ‘Sur un beau champ ou gerbes sont a tas,’ Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 379, 24r.

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5 Jean Marot, ‘Lors que au palais de la cite de basle,’ Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 379, 1v.

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T H E G A R G A N T U A N P O L I T Y: O N T HE I N DI V I DU A L A N D T H E C OM M U N I T Y IN TH E F R EN CH REN AISSAN CE

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Introduction

Today it has almost become a psychological tic to think of the modern individual as coming into being during the Renaissance.1 However, if the sixteenth century was the midwife of the modern individual, understood as an autonomous and subjective agent, it was also the gravedigger of another, less subjectively defined one. In literary and political texts of the period, traces of a premodern individual, understood less in terms of interior consciousness than in terms of political consciousness defined by bonds of mutual obligation, abound. Throughout such texts, individuals of this kind are seen playing a very important role in the polis. This kind of contractual individualism is the heritage of the Middle Ages. In order for the new subjective individual to be born, this older more politically defined individual needed to be destroyed. It is thus possible to talk of the French Renaissance as the period when the individual died as well as when he was born. It is just a question of deciding which individual. Is the individual defined in terms of interior subjectivity or rather in terms of contractual obligation that turns outward to the community? Literary and political texts offer abundant evidence of the death of this latter kind of individual as the political paradigm shifted during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries towards a more monarchical and absolute kind of power. As absolutism replaced a politics in which sovereignty was based on an underlying contract of mutual obligation at the end of the sixteenth century, the rivers of France filled both symbolically, and in all too real terms, with the bodies of individuals who defined themselves in terms of mutual obligation. The basic difference between the new and the older forms of individualism concerns political consciousness. Even if the premodern individual can be understood

4 The Gargantuan Polity

as having very little subjective awareness, what Montaigne would later characterize at the end of the sixteenth century as an ‘arrière-boutique,’ he was endowed with a strong political consciousness.2 These medieval individuals turned outward, towards the public space of the community. In fact, the Middle Ages was marked by a form of individualism that was to become the guarantor of modern human rights.3 It was this form of outwardly directed individualism that would disappear during the Renaissance as a more inwardly directed form of individualism replaced it. The turn inward noted in Montaigne is a cornerstone of much criticism devoted to the development of the modern individual.4 Ernst Cassirer associated Petrarch’s lyric virtuosity and Descartes’s philosophical importance with the same principle of interiorization in The Individual and the Cosmos in Renaissance Philosophy.5 Yet, even if this creation of an interior, subjective space did play a role in the creation of modern individualism, it is possible that the development happened in response to a restriction of the public political sphere; with the advent of monarchical absolutism, the public space in which individuals could decide about what was just or unjust was greatly reduced. Individuals had to turn inward to find a place of true freedom since they could not turn outward. As Jacob Burckhardt magisterially demonstrated in his The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy, modern individualism often corresponded to the development of political regimes in which power was held by one person.6 The advent of private space corresponded to a political development that isolated political power in the hands of one person, the king, and made public space increasingly inhospitable to political opinion. Montaigne lays the foundation for these ideas when he distinguishes between the inauthentic public space and a more authentic private space in which personal opinion could be developed without fear of public reprimand.7 If modern political freedoms are often associated with introspection and consultation of interior and more authentic states, it can be asked if this development might not be viewed more as a symptom of a political development rather than its cause. It could be that subjectivity, or the ability to understand the universe in terms of a universal self, might not be synonymous with individualism. It might be that the uomo universale described by Burckhardt as the manifestation of the modern individual may not be the only way of understanding the question. Treatises and literary texts throughout the fifteenth century, and well into the sixteenth century, allow us to see an individual who was defined much

Introduction 5

less by his independence than by his obligation to the community. Since this premodern individual was not defined through any sense of interiority or of political independence, it can sometimes be thought not to exist. However, if it is considered in terms of obligation and communal interest, it is possible to see how a certain kind of individualism might well have existed before the subjective kind that we know today came into being. This premodern political individual was able to open a critical space in which to comment on, and even to admonish, the king; there was a public space in which at least a relative political freedom could be exercised. In order to understand the Renaissance as the period in which the modern individual was born, it has sometimes seemed necessary to see the Middle Ages as a period that was collectivist in nature and in which singularity and individualism were absent.8 Burckhardt claimed that, in the Middle Ages, reality was enveloped in a veil of faith, illusion, and childish prepossession.9 Human beings only knew themselves under this veil as ‘a race, people, party, family, or corporation,’ or some other collective form.10 It was only with the coming of the Italian Renaissance, Burckhardt explained, that this veil was torn apart. He claimed that it was only in Italy that Dante could have written The Divine Comedy since everywhere else the medieval state was defined by a collectivist spirit.11 More recent studies of individualism depend on this kind of understanding. For instance, Louis Dumont explained that the development of the modern individual depended on an evolution from an organically based community (universitas), which gave little weight to individual or singular will, to a more contractual one (societas) founded on the consensus of individual wills.12 Such generalizations about the Middle Ages are, to put it mildly, widespread. As Brian Tierney explains, even highly educated historians specializing in later periods tend to stay with their preconceived notions of the Middle Ages as a period lost in universals, essences, and other forms of ‘fuzzy thinking.’13 A related reason for this understanding of the Middle Ages is the ingrained habit of looking solely at the ‘abstract-theoretical’ texts from the early Middle Ages that emphasize a theocratic system of government in which power descended from the top down. According to this ‘descending theme of government and law,’ the individual was treated as mere subject without any means of resisting the ruler’s will.14 Yet, much of medieval society functioned according to a very different, ‘ascending theme of government and law.’ As Walter Ullmann explained, the entire feudal polis became a ‘practical system of govern-

6 The Gargantuan Polity

ment in which the individual was accorded some considerable standing.’15 At the heart of the feudal system was a contract or bond tying lord and vassal together, and this simple legal relationship between two individuals became the substratum from which other equally strong social bonds would grow.16 In other words, the concept of individual wills tied together through consensus was at the heart of much of medieval society.17 If medieval society was ‘contractual’ then it is not illogical to understand the medieval world as dominated by individuals. This in no way presumes that a state of democracy existed in the late Middle Ages; it simply shows that a state of consensual or contractual politics existed during this time.18 And, as Dumont points out, such a polis meant that some form of political individual necessarily existed. The spirit of consensus is everywhere in the later Middle Ages, from the councils that brought an end to the schism that divided the Catholic Church in the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries to the Estates General of 1484 at which members of the Estates insisted that sovereignty was shared by them with the king. It was manifested in legal concepts such as the maxim ‘quod omnis tangit ab omnibus tractari et approbari debet’ (what affects all must be treated and approved by all). This maxim, which effectively guaranteed the principle of consensus, was found in works throughout the fourteenth century. William of Ockham’s Dialogue between Imperial and Papal Power describes this principle as one of the fundamental precepts not only of moral and political questions, but of social life more generally.19 Ockham insisted that it was a natural right for the members of a collectivity to elect the rulers of their society.20 His nominalist philosophy, which attributed reality only to individuals, naturally led to a doctrine of individual rights.21 Most important, Ockham identified right (ius) not as something inherent in the external order of things but specifically as a subjective power (potestas) of individuals.22 Durand of Saint-Pourçain (c. 1275–1334) alludes to this concept of popular representation based on the natural rights of individuals in his On the Origin of Power and Jurisdiction by which the People are Governed (Circa originem potestatum et iurisdictionum quibus populus regitur) (1329), when he explains that the church councils had jurisdictional superiority over all other authorities, both ecclesiastical and secular. At the heart of Durand’s understanding of government lies the concept of consensus. He says that there are two ways of acquiring the right to rule the people: by heredity or by election. Logically, he explains, heredity cannot be considered as coming first since one cannot inherit something from nothing. Therefore, power was first ac-

Introduction 7

quired by election, either by God or by man. If election by God was extremely rare, according to Durand, power through election or consent of the people is very common. All other means of acquiring the authority of rulership, either through violence or through fraudulent ruse, was illicit.23 Far from being a society in which power descended uniquely in one direction from the top down, making the individual a powerless subject, the late Middle Ages were, as these texts by Ockham and Durand suggest, irrigated by a politics of consensus and contract in which individuals played an important role.24 It was not that late medieval philosophers, theologians, and jurists were democrats in a modern sense. They accepted the fact that the monarch had power but they often believed that the power of the king, like that of the feudal lord, was given to him by his people (populus) and could be taken back by them if the monarch abused the contract on which his power was based.25 This right of resistance was an old idea and went back to mythic Frankish tribes in prefeudal Germany. It also meant that medieval society, in the words of the historian Fritz Kern, was ‘not a congenial soil for any Roi Soleil.’26 In the fourteenth century, John Buridan’s treatise, Questions on Eight Books of Aristotle’s Politics (Quaestiones super octo libros politicorum Aristotelis) professed that monarchy was the best form of government. Buridan added, however, that this was true only if the monarch accepted the collaboration of prudent men because the king alone would not know how to be more powerful, wise and incorruptible than an aristocratic government.27 If the monarch should decide to rule without the counsel of wise and prudent men, Buridan saw no problem with having the people depose him.28 In the fifteenth century, Jean de Terre Rouge’s Contra Rebelles suorum regum (1418–19) depicted the French state as both a corpus mysticum in which the will of the king was the sole motor, and as a constitutionally minded polis in which multiple wills were the motors of governmental decision. In the first two books of this treatise, Terre Rouge explained that the king of France could not make a constitution or even a law regarding his succession since custom decreed the necessary ‘consent’ of the Three Estates and the whole civil or mystical Body of the Realm to the king’s institution and election.29 If, in the third tract of this treatise, Terre Rouge adulterated his constitutional understanding of French political organization by submitting the body politic to the sole will of the king, his first two tracts give the concept of consent a substantial role.30 Later, in the sixteenth century, commentators such as Charles Du Moulin and François Hotman, writing about the power of the king,

8 The Gargantuan Polity

would make numerous allusions to Terre Rouge’s treatise on this question.31 As opposed to what happens in a ‘descending-theme’ type of government, this culture of consensus implied that the people had the right to criticize the monarch. In the political and theological context of fifteenth-century France, no one individual was capable of overcoming original sin and the Fall of mankind, not even the king. Jean Gerson’s Vivat Rex, an oration given before King Charles VI and his court in 1405, proclaimed the right and necessity of subjects to criticize the king when he abused his power.32 One of the prime reasons for this need to advise, counsel, and admonish the king was his all too human nature. Throughout this period, writers admonished the king for forgetting his fallen nature. Gerson wrote, for example, that the king was a ‘poor, miserable creature ... a sack full of shit, earth, ashes, and rottenness.’33 Later in the same century, the Burgundian court poet, Jean Molinet, would explain that the king was born not in heaven, but rather from a very human mother.34 And Philippe de Commynes would describe kings as being like anyone else: ‘Ilz sont hommes comme nous.’35 God alone was perfect. In all these cases, it was the responsibility of the king’s subjects to correct him if he attempted to jeopardize the delicate equilibrium of the polis by exercising his will in an uncontrolled manner. As Molinet explained in his Chroniques, it was his responsibility to criticize the unworthy as well as to praise the worthy.36 These texts constantly reiterate the necessity of controlling the ‘volonté désordonnée’ of the king. If the princeps did abuse his power, the common man as well as the constituted authority was under obligation to the law, and required to help restore it.37 Another means of exercising control over the king was customary law. The importance of customary law in late medieval society has long been noted by historians. It was of far greater importance for the ordinary men and women than the isolated legislative enactments by popes, kings, and emperors.38 This unwritten legal tradition largely excluded the monarch from the legislative process, and helped ensure that individual wills other than that of the monarch played a crucial role in the law’s formation. Customary law, the result of usages and practices based on common consent and tacit agreement, was used for most legal practices in the north of France through the sixteenth century. In later years, it was made by a tourbe, a group of individuals, or by the Estates. Consensual in nature, customary law was a kind of ‘second nature,’ or ius gentium, which knew no single author or authority,

Introduction 9

but was grounded in social practice.39 It was, finally, one of the chief forms of resistance to the lord’s tyrannical will.40 As so often happened in the Middle Ages, many political events had roots in the ecclesiastical realm.41 Perhaps one of the greatest forces of constitutional resistance to absolute power was to be found in the conciliar movement of the fifteenth century, which contested the power of the pope.42 At the end of the fourteenth century, the Catholic Church had three different popes: one in Rome, one in Avignon, and even a third pretender to the papal throne. The Council of Constance was called in 1414 in order to put an end to this schism and to reform the church both in head and members. This council, like the one that followed it in Basel, grounded its authority in the power of Jesus Christ, which was, the council fathers claimed, passed to all the apostles directly and not to Peter alone. The ability to represent the church was anchored in the plural authority of the council rather than in the monarchical power of the pope. The council fathers, such as Jean Gerson, dug deeply not only into the philosophical tradition of William of Ockham’s Dialogue between Papal and Imperial Power and Marsilius of Padua’s Defensor pacis, which contested the temporal power of the pope, especially in relation to that of the emperor, but also into the larger canonical tradition.43 Edicts issued at Constance such as Haec sancta and Frequens established that the power to represent the church lay not in the hands of the pope, but rather in that of the council members, who were bishops, prelates, and theologians as well as other clergy. The importance of the ideas forged at the councils for later constitutional theories of government in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries cannot be overemphasized. Throughout the sixteenth century, the institutions that represented impediments to the pope’s will were demolished or rendered powerless. The process initiated in the Councils of Constance and Basel was questioned by papal apologists such as Thomas de Vio, Cardinal Cajetan. Against the members of the council, who understood themselves as the descendants of the apostles with the ability to ‘represent the church,’ Cajetan brought the authority of the church back to the descendants of Peter alone. The anarchistic and diffused theories of power that were symbolized in the language of the conciliar edicts were relegated to the dustbin of history as Cajetan reversed the flow of power both symbolically and in real terms. If the edicts of the councils and the Pragmatic Sanction, which was written by many of the French members of the Council of Basel in 1438, described power as standing

10

The Gargantuan Polity

on the pillars and columns which were the bishops and prelates of the church, Cajetan’s treatises attacking the councils, and documents such as the Concordat of Bologna (1518), saw power flowing down from a single source. In the same way that Francis I and the Popes Leo X and Julius II used the Concordat of Bologna to reduce the power of the councils and the Gallican church, the monarchs of the sixteenth century would use Roman law to diminish the power of customary law. Beginning in the midfifteenth century, French kings and Burgundian dukes began to redact the myriad and often confusing local customs in order to simplify and shorten laborious legal proceedings. Simply writing down the customary changed its spontaneous character and shifted the voice in which it was enunciated. If its voice in the Middle Ages had been anonymous and plural, it now began to reflect the name of the power, either royal or ducal, that had ordered its redaction. The commentaries of customary law in the mid-sixteenth century often shifted that enunciation even further. By contrast with political commentators in the Middle Ages such as Nicole Oresme, who had explained that the power of the prince was moderated by, and was actually less important than, that of his people, many of the jurists in the sixteenth century convinced the king that he was above the law and had ‘la plenitude de poste.’44 In his Le Livre de Politiques d'Aristote (1370), Oresme had argued that the Roman people became decadent after they voted to give full powers to the king by virtue of the lex regia.45 The lex regia as it was interpreted in the sixteenth century tended to be used to accord absolute power to the king. Where the entire maxim in Justinian’s Institutes (‘But also the will of the Emperor has the force of law since, by the lex regia which regulated his imperium, the people conceded to him and conferred upon him all their authority and power’) implied that the emperor only had power because the Roman people had accorded it to him, it is only the first part of the maxim that seemed to get much play in these treatises and commentaries.46 In many juridical treatises of the sixteenth century, the lex regia was interpreted as giving the king absolute power; it forgot that the king’s power was anchored in this initial agreement between populus and princeps. Little by little, the flow of judicial power was reversed so that the king ended up being not only a roi justicier but also a roi législateur. As Jean Bodin explained in 1576 in his Six Livres de la république, the process by which the monarch became a roi législateur played a crucial part in the development of absolute power in the sixteenth century.47

Introduction 11

This process was especially noteworthy in the works of jurists such as Barthélemy de Chasseneuz. Chasseneuz, who was trained in the tradition of Roman law, wrote both a Consuetudines ducatus burgundiae (1517), and a compilation of the rights and privileges of the French king, the Catalogus gloriæ mundi (1529). In these works the multiple voices of customary law and the contractual basis of late feudal traditions are supplanted by a much stronger monarchical voice. Chasseneuz transformed the French king into a form of lex animata, or living law, unto himself.48 He became both symbolically, and in real terms, the ‘fountain of justice, from which all right and all jurisdiction is directed.’ The nightmare of medieval jurists like Oresme, whose greatest fear was an absolute monarch with an uncontrolled will, was well on its way to becoming a reality.49 And perhaps most important, the king was no longer subject to the laws that he made; he had become a princeps legibus solutus. All of the fifteenth-century admonitions about the king’s submission to the law disappeared as the king ruled his people from above, detached from them, unable even to enter into a contractual relation of the sort that founded his power at the end of the Middle Ages. Within the context of the king’s increasingly absolute power, it was inevitable that the power of the public assemblies would be called into question. Throughout the sixteenth century, the ability of the Estates General, and even of Parlement, would be whittled away until there would be little counterweight to the king’s uncontrolled will. There are myriad examples of this development.50 At the end of the fifteenth century, Charles the Bold, duke of Burgundy, tried to abolish the Estates of Burgundy as well as customary law, replacing them with a Parlement in Malines totally in his control, and with a Roman law much more amenable to his desire for absolute power. In 1518, Francis I forced the Parlement of Paris to accept the Concordat of Bologna, which did away with the Pragmatic Sanction despite the Parlement’s unmistakable lack of support. His chancellor Duprat even used the occasion to remind the members of Parlement that they were not like the Roman Senate and did not have the ability to challenge the king’s will.51 Towards the end of the century, apologists for a strong monarchical government would argue time and again against the validity of the Estates. For example, Pierre de Sainct-Julien explained in his De L’Origine des Bourgongnons et antiquité des estats de Bourgongne (1581), that even if the Frankish tribes had originally elected their first king, things had changed so dramatically since then that the people no longer had the right to depose the king.52 The Frenchman, once an autonomous individual with the ability

12

The Gargantuan Polity

to elect and to depose the king, became a ‘naturally obedient subject.’53 By the beginning of the seventeenth century, the power of the Estates would wither away, only to return with the coming of the Revolution at the end of the eighteenth century. When these earlier forms of contractual politics, based on the participation of individuals exercising their will as forms of counterweight to that of the monarch or lord disappear, the individuals implicated in this politics of consensus necessarily also disappear. Whether it is the councils, the Gallican church, the Estates General, or even the Parlement, few of the forms of contractual or consensual politics have the vitality they had in the preceding century. In this light, the claim that the modern individual was born in the Renaissance seems a little optimistic. Undoubtedly a new form of individualism does come into being during the sixteenth century in France, where it is exemplified in the strongly subjective voice of Montaigne’s Essais. What then is the relationship between this new, more subjective individual and the more contractual individual of the late Middle Ages? Literary texts offer a fertile ground in which to investigate the relationship of the individual and power since they often offer a more ambiguous and less explicit portrait of the polis of the Renaissance than political or juridical texts offer. In novels and poems written during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, as the nature of political discourse shifts, so too does the appearance of the polis reflected in symbolic discourses shift. If in Montaigne’s Essais the arrière-boutique identified a private space as the locus of ‘true freedom’ and political judgment, in earlier periods, those kinds of judgments were described as necessarily happening in a much more public sphere. The turn inward, the centring of the Essais in a library removed from the strife of the city streets, is a phenomenon unknown at the end of the fifteenth century. Works from this period, such as Jean Molinet’s poem La Ressource du petit peuple (1481), are marked by a plethora of voices speaking to each other in often discordant dialogue. Even the personal voice of the narrator of Molinet’s poem is refracted through a character called Acteur rather than through that of an Autheur. The narrative voice is not anchored in a sense of interior and subjective presence but rather in an external and objective one. These works from the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries reveal what might be called an objective individual, as opposed to the later subjective individual. Their individualism is marked by resistance rather than subjectivity. Molinet’s poems, anchored in the spirit of crit-

Introduction

13

icism described by Jean Gerson in his Vivat Rex, raise a constant barrage of criticism addressed at the rulers of the polis, whether Burgundian dukes or Austrian emperors. The Ressource du petit peuple, like so many texts from the period, assails the prince for having become a tyrant. Almost as if giving literary life to the principles and practices of Gerson, the Estates of 1484, and the Council of Basel, Molinet’s poem exemplifies the concept of resistance to power. It is filled with voices raised in opposition to the will of the prince: the plaintive voice of an abused mother, Justice, cries out for succour for herself and for her child, the Petit Peuple; and Conseil is called in to diagnose her illness and to advise a treatment that will bring back the necessary political equilibrium. While perhaps lacking the genius of Montaigne’s Essais, Molinet’s prismatic poem depicts a world in which both poets and rulers are like other individuals in the polis; they have functional identities but little internal depth. Where Montaigne plunges into a richly ornamented interior space, Molinet’s poems are all in an equally rich public space. Molinet criticizes the prince because neither poet nor prince exists as a private or subjective individual, both are public individuals tied together by a highly public contract that cannot be abused by either party. When abuse happens, the havoc described by the poet results.54 Other poems from the sixteenth century also show how an objective individual gives way to a more subjective one. Poems written about the Virgin Mary for the puy de Rouen at the beginning of the sixteenth century exemplify this process as the diffused authority of the Councils of Constance and Basel was destroyed and power accumulated in the hands of the pope. These poems, which refer to the Council of Basel because that is where the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception was promulgated in 1439, illustrate how the multiple voices of conciliar power were superseded by the monarchical voice of the pope. The poems offer abundant proof of how objective individualism, based on a consensual politics, was fast disappearing in the early sixteenth century. Where the symbols of the Councils of Constance and Basel and of the Gallican church had emphasized the consensual nature of ecclesiastical power, these poems rewrite the Council of Basel so that it ends up resembling the very sort of church it was intended to eradicate. The voices of consensus that had reduced the pope to one among many bishops are replaced by that of the pope who ends up ruling over the very council that had deposed him in the name of consensual ecclesiastical power. As power shifted increasingly into the hands of the monarch, the role of the writer changed accordingly, both in function and in voice. If

14

The Gargantuan Polity

Molinet’s poetic voice was subjectively and lyrically weak, it was at least highly politically conscious. If Molinet only rarely lamented his wounded inner being, his characters often spoke out politically. As power centralized in the person of the king during the reign of Francis I, the poet’s role and voice also shifted accordingly. In a poem written by Guillaume Cretin in 1526, L’Apparition du mareschal sans reproche, feu messire Jacques de Chabannes (The Apparition of the Marshall without Reproach, the late Jacques de Chabannes), just after the defeat of Francis I at the Battle of Pavia, the voice of the poet is double. In the first part of the poem it functions much as it had in Molinet’s Ressource, criticizing the bellicose foreign policy of the defeated king. The narrator claims that it is the king’s fault that he lost the battle and was captured by Charles V.55 Like Molinet, Gerson, and so many authors from the Middle Ages, Cretin exercised the right to criticize the lord to whom he was bound through a form of mutual obligation. The criticism of the king is sharp and the narrative presence of the poet weak in the first half of the poem. In the second half of the poem, Cretin changes registers and extols the king as absolutely necessary for the well-being of the polis. Instead of criticizing the king, Cretin paints a eulogistic picture of him as the divinely inspired saviour of the realm. In its seemingly contradictory presentations of the French king, Cretin’s poem is typical in many ways of the evolving conception of political organization during the early years of Francis I’s reign. As Claude de Seyssel explained in his La Monarchie de France, a book presented to Francis I at his coronation in 1515, and then republished as La Grant’ Monarchie de France in 1519, the king’s power at this time was both absolute and constrained. The king’s will was still bridled by the age-old constraints of feudal power, and at the same time it was increasingly defined as absolute. Cretin’s poem perfectly reflects this confusing situation as he both criticizes the king for having abused his power by making unnecessary military campaigns into Italy, and hails him as the absolutely necessary piece without which the rest of the realm could not hold together. In many ways, the poem seems to describe two different political regimes, just as Seyssel’s Monarchie seems to: one based on an underlying and implicit contract of mutual obligation and the other based on the uncontrolled and uncontrollable will of the king. In Cretin’s poem, at least in the first part, the poet has a very strong critical voice whose force is grounded in the contractual politics linking him to his ruler. When monarchical power is construed as excluding the individual, the poet’s function and voice change. His purpose now is to

Introduction

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make a portrait of the king as a necessary and almost holy person without whom the state cannot exist. The critical voice is lost as the epideictic voice replaces it. The poet’s identity shifts accordingly from contractual partner to subservient flatterer. François Rabelais’s novels provide perhaps the most complex portrait of the sixteenth-century polis. In the early novels, the king is described as a highly imperfect human, susceptible to all the foibles of his subjects. He is counselled and educated in order to be a good king. Rabelais’s literary polises are chock-full of individuals all exercising their will for the common good. The ethical and political centre of these novels is anchored in the contractual uniting of private interests into a common good. Pantagruel (1532) and Gargantua (1534) are laboratories in which the impetus of individual will, expressed perhaps most fully in the rule of the Abbey of Thelema, ‘Do as you will’ (Fay ce que vouldras), is transformed into the common good, reflecting an ethos found throughout the political treatises of the late Middle Ages just discussed. The rule of the Abbey of Thelema is less a question of totalitarian control than of social practice; the Thelemites agree or consent to alienate their individual will as part of what was called an ius gentium, a law of nations or universal law.56 Everyone in the abbey agreed to conform to the dictates of the abbey not through animal-like submission but rather through common accord. Power and meaning in Gargantua are anchored in this concept of ius gentium. No one person imposes his will on the others; this would be tyrannical, the narrator explains. Rather authority is established through the consent of all people. This consensual polis contrasts strongly with those forms of government that the Pantagruelians discover during their travels in the Quart Livre (1552). The countries and governments that they discover on the islands of their voyage while looking for a solution to the question of the Tiers Livre (should Panurge get married?) are frequently despotic regimes in which individuals have no power whatsoever. This is particularly true in the case of the regime of Messere Gaster who rules over a kingdom in which all free will has been denied his subjects. Gaster rules over his subjects so despotically that they can no longer even be considered political animals; they are quite literally irrational animals who respond to his summons as frightened animals do to a lion’s roar. Gaster’s rule becomes the binary opposite of the riotous voices of the Estates General of 1484 and the Councils of Constance and Basel. In his kingdom, no one has the ability to question his will and all conceptions of free will or political consciousness are discarded.

16

The Gargantuan Polity

The imagined universe of Rabelais’s novels offers abundant evidence of how the sixteenth century was effectively burying the individual implicated in a politics of mutual obligation. As many critics have explained, the Gaster episode can be interpreted as a symbolic parody of the monarchical power of the Italian papacy.57 It is also a parody of a more general kind of power that denied individuals the ability to participate in the governance of the polis. The contrast between the voluntaristic ‘Fay ce que vouldras’ of the Abbey of Thelema and the Pavlovian stimulus-response operative in Gaster’s kingdom demonstrates how the individual of the late medieval polis in which king and subject were tied together in mutual obligation was threatened by a new concept of power that did not consider him as participating in the polis at all. In Agrippa d’Aubigné’s Tragiques, written at the end of the century, the conflict between these two different conceptions of political organization can be understood as coming to a close. D’Aubigné clearly stated as late as 1620 in his treatise Du Debvoir mutuel de roys et des subjects that sovereignty was shared by prince and subject. The rhetorical passion of the Tragiques is grounded in the moral outrage of the author at the abandonment of this principle by the king, Charles IX. Instead of recognizing the bond that tied him to his subject, the king disregarded that connection and ruled as though he could obligate his subjects as he wished without ever being obligated in return. Like the more political and juridical works of his contemporaries, such as the Francogallia by François Hotman and Du Droit des magistrats by Théodore de Bèze, d’Aubigné’s Tragiques insisted that the king could not impose his will on his subjects without their consent, and that he himself was subject to the laws he made. The portrait of the kingdom in d’Aubigné’s Tragiques is devastating. Instead of being peopled by individuals tied to their king through bonds of mutual obligation, the poem is filled with the corpses of those individuals that the king had killed; they literally stain the rivers of France with their blood. These people were thrown into the rivers not simply through the sadistic urge of some modern Nero, but because the king understood his sovereignty in a very different way than d’Aubigné and those who believed in mutual rights and privileges did. Using the new political imaginary found in texts written by defenders of an absolute monarchical sovereignty, the French king in d’Aubigné’s poem did not share his sovereignty with his subjects. With the king now elevated above his subjects, like the morning star above the clouds, he no longer needed to listen to them.58 Where their voices had

Introduction

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played a crucial role in the polis described by Gerson or Commynes in the sixteenth century, these voices now simply became a form of seditious opinion that could be, and even had to be, eliminated for the wellbeing of the state. Texts such as d’Aubigné’s Tragiques show that at the same time that the wonderful, subjective individual of Montaigne’s Essais was coming into being in a way that would have been unimaginable a hundred years earlier, another perhaps equally wonderful, but much less subjective individual was being destroyed. The public and noisy polis described by Gerson, Commynes, and others in the late Middle Ages had become much less noisy and much less public. The move ‘indoors,’ into the library, and into the ‘arrière-boutique’ took place at a time when the sort of public critique practised by Molinet and Gerson was no longer possible. Montaigne might be the ‘king of the material’ (roy de la matiere) that he treated in ways that Molinet, Gerson, and the earlier writers were not, but this sovereignty came at a price.59 In the same essay, De l’art de conférer, in which he proclaimed himself ‘king’ of his material, Montaigne also made an important distinction between private and public thought. He claimed that he bent his knee, but not his mind, to the king.60 The public person might have to bend down before the authority of the monarch, but not the private person, who reserved his real thoughts for his ‘arrière-boutique.’ Although Gerson, Molinet, Cretin, and others could not exert their will over their material in quite so ‘monarchical’ a fashion as Montaigne, in the sense that their narrative voices did not command the poem with such force, they did not have to keep their thoughts to themselves either. Their thoughts were public in a way that Montaigne claims his were not. The cultural and political evidence of the sixteenth century suggests that the modern subjective individual was perhaps less a cause of modern political autonomy than the result of the loss of the politics of consensus that typified the late medieval state. If modern individual rights result from the medieval concept of contractual politics and the right to resist the king’s or lord’s abusive power, as historians such as Sidney Painter have claimed, then it would seem likely that the demise of this politics at the end of the Renaissance also brought with it the loss of a premodern individual whose sense of self was located less in a consciousness of subjective autonomy than in mutual obligation.61 The late-medieval individual was defined in relation to the person with whom he was contractually bound. When that bond of mutual obligation was destroyed, the subject who had contracted with the prince no

18

The Gargantuan Polity

longer existed as an individual possessed of a political consciousness. He had become the equivalent of an animal in Gaster’s kingdom in Rabelais’s Quart Livre, or one of the bodies tossed in the river in d’Aubigné’s Tragiques. As public discourse was no longer practicable in these conditions, it was necessary to turn inward, to a more subjective understanding of the state which grounded awareness not in relation to another individual but in the awareness of the self. The ‘I’ was constructed in relation to this ‘self’ as a ‘myself,’ where earlier it had been constructed in relation to a ‘you’ with whom it interacted in a public discourse. The ‘me’ generation in some ways was born when the ‘us’ generation could no longer exist.

1 Bottom-Up vs Top-Down Polities: The Council and the Pope

Congregatio fidelium: The Councils of Constance (1414–18) and Basel (1431– 49) The Councils of Basel and Constance were among the most important examples of an ‘ascending-theme’ type of government in the Middles Ages. Both of these councils clearly anchored ecclesiastical sovereignty in an assembly of the faithful, or congregatio fidelium. Constance, which was convened in 1414 in order to bring an end to the schism that had divided the church between Rome and Avignon since 1378, and Basel, convened in 1431, insisted on the consensual nature of ecclesiastical politics. According to the council fathers of Constance and Basel, the ecclesiastical polity was made up of a congregation of the faithful whose members ‘represented the church.’ Constance and Basel, both in form and content, constituted a firm resistance to the organic or ‘descendingtheme’ scheme of governance that would come to characterize the Roman Catholic Church by the mid-sixteenth century. The high point of conciliar politics was probably reached on 25 June 1439 when the council fathers at Basel deposed the pope, Eugenius IV, and named their own pope, Felix V, on 4 November 1439. Perhaps the most graphic symbolic manifestation of conciliar politics is found in the expression ‘apostolica sede vacante’ (the apostolic throne being empty), that can often be found at the end of bulls and decrees published by the council between the time Eugenius IV was deposed and Felix V was elected.1 Both in metaphoric and political terms, these two councils conceive of ecclesiastical power as resting on the support of its members. It was precisely because they believed that Jesus Christ accorded power not only to Peter but to all the apostles and their descendants that eccle-

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The Gargantuan Polity

siastical sovereignty was depicted as being invested in the multitude of bishops and prelates rather than in one person who would rule over the members of the church like a shepherd over a flock of sheep. By the beginning of the sixteenth century, however, the supreme pontiff and his allies had roared back into power and destroyed the foundations of conciliar power, as embodied in texts such as the Pragmatic Sanction (1438), which had been written by many of the French prelates and theologians who had participated at Basel. The Pragmatic Sanction established the power and validity of the Gallican church, based on the political notions coming out of Basel and Constance, but was overturned in the Concordat of Bologna (1516), a text written with the mutual support of the French king, Francis I, and the pope, Leo X. The Roman Catholic pope found himself once more at the top of the ecclesiastical polis in this document, ruling over it with unquestioned power. Political individuals, manifested in the consensual power of the council’s congregatio fidelium, found themselves in the role of sheep or lambs, without the ability or the language to question the power of their ‘shepherd.’ The withering away of objective individualism that would characterize much of sixteenth-century secular culture had its roots in this fifteenthcentury ecclesiastical milieu. The quarrel between the pope and the councils in the fifteenth century was a simple one and revolved around the question: who represents the church? The party that could claim most legitimately to represent the church would also have the most power since its members would be the ones enunciating the truth common to all parties – the belief that Jesus Christ was the son of God and had passed his power to Peter and the other apostles. The answer to this question depended on how the church as a political entity was imagined. The conciliarists thought that Jesus Christ’s authority was passed to Peter and all of the apostles, viewing the political organization of the church as largely consensual in nature. Ecclesiastical power arose from the consensus of the descendants of the apostles (the members of the council). For the believers in a strong papacy, who thought that Jesus Christ’s authority was passed directly and uniquely to Peter, political organization was much more organic in nature. Ecclesiastical power arose not from a consensus of the many, but from the authority of the one who ruled over the rest like a shepherd over his flock. These two different viewpoints would have radically different effects on how the church was governed and how individuals within it were considered. The Council of Constance was called essentially to resolve the schism

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21

that saw three popes, John XXIII, Gregory XII, and finally Peter de Luna (Pope Benedict XIII), claim to lead the Catholic Church at the beginning of the fifteenth century. In order to overcome the power of any one of the popes who disputed the church’s authority, the Council of Constance established the theory of conciliar supremacy as the arbiter of ecclesiastical authority in 1415. From now on, it was decided, the pope’s power would be mediated by the council.2 The council fathers at Constance and later at Basel considered the authority of Jesus Christ as passing through their collective body rather than through the person of the pope alone. It was thanks to this diffused conception of ecclesiastical authority that they were able to resolve the crisis that the schism created for the church. Their collective power was greater than that of the pope, who had to acquiesce to their will. The concept of consensual power at the heart of the conciliar movement was perhaps best expressed in two decrees promulgated at Constance and referred to by almost all those writers dealing with the question of conciliar power, whether for or against. These two edicts both interpreted the church as an assembly of the faithful, as a congregatio fidelium.3 The first of these edicts, Haec sancta, issued in 1415, claimed that if the council wanted to put an end to the schism caused by the existence of three competing popes, it needed to reinforce its own dogmatic authority. The decree proclaimed that the Council of Constance was legitimately assembled in the Holy Spirit forming an ecumenical council representing the entire church militant. Everyone, even the pope, had to obey the council in matters concerning faith, the suppression of the schism, and the reform of either the head or the members of the church.4 The second decree, Frequens, issued in 1417, declared that in order to ensure that the council’s power over the pope was permanent, the council needed to be convened at regular intervals. Frequens established that the next council should be called in five years, the third ten years later, and then every ten years afterwards.5 Hæc sancta and Frequens establish the power of the church on the basis of the consensus of the assembly of the faithful who must meet at frequent intervals. Both of these decrees represent a version of a polis according to an ascendingtheme paradigm: power rose from below, from the assembly, rather than descended from above, from the pope. These two decrees were essential to the conciliar movement since they diffuse the power of Christ throughout the church. Their syntax exemplifies how power is articulated by consensus at the council. The council is described as having been assembled in order to wipe out the

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The Gargantuan Polity

schism destroying the church and no one, not even the pope, can escape their authority. When Hæc sancta promulgates the decree itself, saying that it ‘ordains, defines, establishes and declares as follows,’ it channels the unmediated power of Christ to the members of the council. The church is represented by this assembled group and not by the pope whose power is dependent on the will of the council. In Frequens, it is the plural voice of the assembly that roots out the ‘briars,’ ‘thorns,’ and ‘thistles’ of heresy. The verbs ‘erase,’ ‘correct,’ and ‘reform’ are all enunciated in the collective voice of the council. And it is the neglect of councils that encourages these pernicious weeds to grow in the Lord’s vineyard. Frequens also grounds the enunciative voice used in its own proclamation in the plural voice of the assembly. The pope’s singular voice is clearly subordinate to the council’s assembled one: the ‘supreme pontiff is bound to nominate and assign ... with the approval and consent of the council’ (summus pontifex ... approbante et consentiente concilio ... deputare et assignare teneatur). Although the pope might convene the council, he does so because he has been required to do so by the authority of the council. The decree’s enunciation enacts the kind of consensual power it defines: the authority of Christ was passed to the council which is composed of multiple wills. These decrees will be cited in almost all of the important documents pertaining to ecclesiastical power during the next seventy years, both by those defending the councils in works such as the Pragmatic Sanction, which established the Gallican church as a separate entity within the Catholic hierarchy, and in works by those such as Thomas de Vio, Cardinal Cajetan, one of the chief proponents of strong pontifical rule, who will criticize them. The events leading to the deposition of the pope by the Council of Basel follow the same kind of logic or syntax found in the decrees Haec sancta and Frequens. By the logic of Frequens, Pope Martin V was obligated to convene the Council of Basel. Unfortunately Martin died on 20 February 1431, shortly after he wrote the bull opening the council, and his successor, Eugenius IV, had to accept the council as a fait accompli. The following November, Eugenius tried to transfer the council to Bologna, but the fathers of the council would not let him.6 On 20 January 1432, the council reconfirmed the decrees of the Council of Constance regarding the superiority of the council over the pope. At the third session of the council on 29 April 1432, the council fathers denied Eugenius the ability to dissolve the council and summoned him to Basel within three months, or failing that to send persons with plenary powers to act in his stead.7 At the sixth session of the council in September 1432, the

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23

huissiers (process servers) would ask if any one were there to answer for Eugenius who had been cited for refusal to appear before the council. The four pontifical ambassadors at the session responded that they had already submitted their credentials and four days later they left to report to Eugenius the increasingly obstinant position of the council fathers.8 At the tenth session in February 1433, the council finally decided to name judges to convict the pope for refusing to appear before the council.9 Eugenius never came to Basel but sent ‘presidents’ who acted in his name at the council. They were admitted into the council on 26 April 1434.10 The animosity between pope and council was such that it was impossible for Eugenius to come to Basel. The final showdown between pope and council would take place over Eugenius’s desire to move the council to Ferrara, an Italian city more amenable to himself and to the Greeks with whom he was negotiating a union of Eastern and Western churches.11 The council, showing its power over the pope, insisted that the pope did not have the power to move the council without their approval and deposed Eugenius on 25 June 1439. They elected Amedeus of Savoy as Pope Felix V on 5 November 1439.12 The decision to depose Eugenius was grounded in a horizontal notion of power. Few high-ranking clerics attended the Council of Basel; only three bishops and fourteen abbots were present, for example, on the day that Eugenius confirmed his predecessor Martin’s bull opening the council. In 1437, when the initial moment of rupture with Pope Eugenius arrived, there were fewer than one hundred ‘mitres’ in attendance out of more than five hundred council fathers.13 At Basel, the concept of the church as an assembly of the faithful dominated. The maior pars, or greater part, was opposed to the sanior pars, or healthier or more reasonable part.14 When eventually the break with the papacy became official, it was the sanior pars, representing a more hierarchical understanding of ecclesistical power that would depart with Eugenius for Ferrara. The seal of the Council of Basel manifests in visual form the idea of assembly so essential to its philosophy and political practice (see fig. 1). The very notion of making such a seal symbolizes the council’s superiority over the pope since it was the exclusive privilege of popes to make a bull or stamp of lead in their own image like kings and tyrants. At the top of the seal, God is seen blessing the heavens while below, under the image of the dove of the Spirit, the pope, a cardinal, bishops, doctors, and the faithful are all depicted on the same level.15 The pope, clearly identifiable by the huge key he is holding, is depicted among the assem-

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The Gargantuan Polity

bled council. He is one among many and not hierarchically distinct from the others, who are just as fully affected by the dove representing the Holy Spirit as the pope is. The council’s thirty-fourth session in 1439, at which Eugenius was deposed, is rich in terms expressing a contractual versus an organic understanding of power. When Eugenius attempted to move the council to Ferrara, the council fathers deposed him for ignoring their representational authority. They grounded their argument in Christ’s words: ‘Wherever two or three are gathered in my name, I am among them.’ They then referred to the findings of the Council of Constance, which decreed that the power of the council representing the church came directly from Christ and that all members of the church, including the pope himself, were to submit to the councils’ authority. They cited Haec sancta: [The Council of Constance] moved by the Holy Spirit to make a declaration of truth regarding the Catholic faith explained that the council, representing the universal church, receives its power directly from Jesus Christ. Anyone, of whatever rank, even the pope, is held to obey the council in things touching on faith, the rooting out of schism and the general reform of the church in head and members.16

The council fathers repeated what was an obsessive litany at Basel: the council’s power is not mediated through the pope but comes directly from Christ to the many.17 Because this authority was dispersed among the many members of the council it needed to be expressed through consensus and the agreement of discreet individual wills. Based on this collective authority, the council proceeded to depose the pope for disobedience. Anyone, of whatever rank, even that of the pope, had to bend to their will.18 The council fathers eventually found Eugenius guilty of disobedience to the precepts of the universal church and of being in open rebellion, persistent violation, and assiduous contempt of canons of the sacred synods and of peace and unity of the church of God.19 They then voted to ‘remove, depose, and deprive’ Eugenius of all papal power.20 The Council of Basel’s deposition of the pope thus provides one of the most notable examples of the ascending-theme kinds of government that Ullmann describes as characteristic of medieval individualism. At the council’s thirty-seventh session, which met on 24 October 1439, the fathers decided that in the event that the apostolic seat should be

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made empty while a council was being held, which had just happened, they should elect a new pope.21 This was a clear and direct contravening of the monarchical power of the pope and of the aristocratic power of the College of Cardinals. And as usual, the council fathers forbade any other authority, even papal, ‘etiam si papali,’ to contravene theirs.22 They then devised an oath of loyalty that the new pope had to make. The language of this oath emphasizes the direction of ecclesiastical power. Besides promising to hold to the tenets of the Catholic faith according to the tradition of the general apostolic councils and of the other holy fathers, the new pope specifically had to mention eight different councils, including those of Constance and Basel. He also had to promise to preach the faith defended at those councils: In the name of the holy and indivisible Trinity of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, I [name] am chosen as pope of all powerful God, whose church I protect and whose rule I support. And in the name of holy Peter the first of the apostles who with heart and mouth I recognize as long as I shall exist in this fragile life, I believe firmly and hold the Catholic faith according to the tradition of the general apostolic councils and of the other holy fathers ... And I devote my soul and blood to confirm, defend, and preach the faith defended at these councils. And I promise equally to follow and observe in all ways the rite of the sacraments handed down by the ecclesiastical church, and to work faithfully for the defence of the Catholic faith and the rooting out of heresy and error through the reformation of morals, through the execution and observation of the decretals of the Councils of Constance and Basel and in peace with the Christian people. I swear to observe the celebration of the general councils and the confirmation of the elections added to the decretals of the sacred council of Basel.23

The wording of this decree grounded the pope’s power within the council’s bailiwick. His authority was formulated as inferior to the council’s. Having deposed Eugenius, the council then proceeded to name a new pope. In the thirty-ninth session, they elected Amedeus of Savoy as the new pope, Felix V, and made him swear the oath of loyalty formulated at the earlier session.24 Eugenius, of course, did not accept the council’s decision to depose him and immediately picked up and left for Ferrara with the sanior pars, those clerics believing in a more hierarchical church. The atmosphere of the Council of Basel had become so unpleasant for Dominicans, who made up a good number of the sanior pars, that Juan de Torquemada eventually dropped his initial desire for a balanced mix

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The Gargantuan Polity

of papalism and conciliar reform and adopted a much more vociferous opposition to conciliarism. 25 When these Dominicans left with Eugenius for Ferrara, the Council in Basel, largely in the control of French theologians, was dominated by an increasingly horizontal understanding of ecclesiastical power. The opening move in Eugenius’s campaign against the council was the bull Moyses vir Dei (4 September 1439), which compared the assembly at Basel to Dathan, Abiram, and Korah, who had led the opposition to Moses during Israel’s years in the wilderness.26 The Council of Ferrara, which Eugenius called, denounced the ‘anarchy’ of Basel as an ‘assembly without any authority’ (congregatio absque auctoritate).27 In defence of his own regime, Eugenius denounced the supposed truths of the faith promulgated at Basel by denying the validity of their foundational proclamation, the decree Haec sancta of the Council of Constance. The situation would remain blocked for almost seventy years until the Fifth Lateran Council would invalidate the Council of Basel’s decrees and resolve the schism Felix V’s election had created. It would also end the conciliar era and mark the advent of the new monarchical papacy that would come to characterize modern Catholicism. The Pragmatic Sanction (1438): A Polity of Columns and Pillars Not coincidentally, many of the participants at Constance and Basel were French and partisans of a strong Gallican church. On 7 July 1438, these French conciliarists, building on the groundwork formed by the Councils of Constance and Basel, issued the Pragmatic Sanction as the cornerstone of the nearly autonomous Gallican church. This document had an enormous impact on later developments in French political and ecclesiastical history. In the sixteenth century it was the target of Julius II’s and Leo X’s enmity as they reaffirmed the power of the papacy in regards to the French church. The Concordat of Bologna, signed by both the pope Leo X and the French king Francis I in 1516, would effectively put an end to the autonomy of the Gallican church as it was established in the Pragmatic. The Concordat will be discussed later. For the moment, what is important to note is how the Pragmatic reprised almost in toto what the Council of Basel had decreed and replicated much of its imagery, which depicted a horizontal understanding of ecclesiastical polity. Both decentralizing and nationalistic, it was pronounced in the name of the French king, Charles VIII, ‘Roy des francoys.’28 Not only did it diffuse the powers of the pope throughout the church, but it also used that

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diffused conception of power to establish a truly French church, free of Rome’s tentacular reach. The conciliar origins of its language are unmistakable. It placed itself clearly in the reformist wake of the Council of Basel, saying: And thus as it has pleased the Divine Pity to inspire in our time in the hearts of loyal Christians that the holy synod or council of the universal church was and has been assembled in the city of Basel. It has been celebrated by the decrees and rulings of the immediately preceding general councils of Constance and of Siena as well as by the solemn convocation and approval of two popes, meaning the departed Martin V, and the recent Eugenius IV. This was done in order to cultivate the field of our Lord’s flock that is the militant church and to reform dutifully in head and in members the ecclesiastical state which needs it so much at present because of the many and abundant iniquities and sins which now exist, and because of the lack of charity and love between men.29

Although its immediate concern is the Gallican church, the Pragmatic was also meant to be part of the movement to reform the church in head and members. The Pragmatic’s ostensible aim was to extirpate vice from the church. This immoral conduct had been protected and abetted by papal abuses which, its authors claimed, maintained dishonest and incompetent prelates in French churches through ecclesiastical privileges.30 The French church viewed these papally appointed clerics as mercenaries or carpetbaggers who often did not even understand the language of those whose souls they were supposed to protect.31 The Pragmatic, adopting many of the decrees of the Council of Basel, intended to repair these improprieties.32 Some of these decrees and statutes from Basel were accepted as they were (‘simplement comme ilz gisent’) and others were modified (‘les aultres avec certaines modifications’).33 By and large, the Pragmatic remains true in spirit and in letter to the councils. The decrees Frequens and Haec sancta are critical features of the Pragmatic. Frequens is cited as essential to the good government of the church and the Pragmatic declares that ‘frequent celebration of the general councils is the principal and most useful culture and labour of the militant church of our lord.’34 Haec sancta is cited as a means of contravening the pope’s power. The general council is also recognized as representing the church with its power coming directly from God. Everyone, including the pope, is held to obey the council in matters con-

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cerning faith, the extirpation of the schism, and the general reformation of the church.35 The Pragmatic explicitly links the Gallican church to the concept of the representative power of the council, saying that its authors and others representing the Gallican church accept these decrees as they are.36 The Gallican church thus becomes inextricably linked with the concept of a consensual and diffused ecclesiastical politics. As goes the conciliar movement, so goes the Gallican church. When the pope and the Roman church finally defeat the conciliar movement they do it through the Gallican church. When the Concordat of Bologna abrogated the Pragmatic in 1516, some seventy years later, it destroyed the conciliar theories underlying it. Both the councils and the Pragmatic grounded their notion of ecclesiastical power in the notion of contract: the very idea of congregatio implies that power is diffused through the multiple wills of the members of the church. The assembly of these multiple wills is necessary for the church’s governance. Frequency is crucial to this concept since it implies that this kind of assembly is necessary for decisions to be taken. The Gallican church both geographically and temporally distinguishes itself from Rome. The church is wherever two or three faithful find themselves and as a result power increases from their consultation over time. The notion of one power being valid in all places and all times is completely repudiated. The conciliar conception of the church’s structure is especially notable in the Pragmatic’s language and metaphors. In the section devoted to the election of prelates, the authors of the Pragmatic cast the council as a labourer who must make sure that the ‘foundation of the building remains solid forever’ (faire si bon fondement que l’edifice dure ferme perpetuelement).37 Its politics is organized around a bottom-up, rather than a top-down model. Power is in the church’s pastors and prelates, symbolized as columns and pillars holding up its rectory of doctrine and good conduct: pastors and prelates should devote and give themselves to the church which they firmly hold up and support like columns and pillars by the virtues of doctrine and good morals.38

Metaphoric representations of the church such as these are extremely important in trying to understand its political organization because they reflect how the members of the church understand the concept of

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political representation. These columns and pillars, both literally and metaphorically, represent an ascending-theme understanding of political organization. The weight of the church is supported from below; power therefore is localized in these pillars of support. The seal of the Gallican church reveals the close relationship between the Pragmatic Sanction and the conciliar politics of Basel and Constance. It is remarkably similar to the seal of the Council of Basel in its horizontal arrangement of bishops and other participants. The only real difference is the total absence of the pope. If the pope was figured as being on the same plane as other participants in the seal of the Council of Basel, he is absent from the seal of the Gallican church (see fig. 2). Both seals symbolize the politics of columns and pillars seen in the Pragmatic and in decrees from the councils. As Brian Tierney explains, there are three different meanings of the word ‘representation’: symbolic or personification, mimetic, and delegation or authorization.39 A papal understanding of ecclesiastical power often uses personification to explain that the church is represented by the pope as the ‘head’ of the church. Pope Boniface VIII’s Unam Sanctam (1302) expressed this idea: ‘One holy church ... which represents one mystical body, the head of which is Christ.’ As will be seen shortly, papal apologists such as Thomas de Vio, Cardinal Cajetan, will attack the Council of Basel precisely because it was ‘acephalic,’ or lacking a head. In the Pragmatic, the image of the pillars and columns functions as a different sort of metaphor, a mimetic one: the prelates of the church function like pillars and columns; they hold up the edifice of the church. Tierney’s third meaning, delegation, would seem less important in this context since it implies that a community confers on an individual the right to act in its name, as when a representative acts for a congressional district or a lawyer represents the interests of clients. The mimetic function of the image conveys how the Gallican church and the councils understood the political organization of the church. Since it is the descendants of the apostles who have received the power of Christ directly, it is up to them to support the institution of the church. The political church exists as an institution that includes and surrounds its members, but its political structure resembles that of a physical church; its foundation depends on multiple points of support. Priests and prelates support the church in the same way as the columns and pillars support the edifice the worker labours on. Instead of naming prelates from Rome, the Gallican church opted for a decentralized power structure with ‘each church, college or convent electing its prelate’ (cha-

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cune Eglise college ou couvent, eslise son prelat).40 The Pragmatic’s metaphors of columns and pillars represent the diffused nature of the Gallican and conciliar church. Power is local and the logic of the decentralized structure is reflected in the Pragmatic’s symbolic representations. The power of the church rests on these multiple points of support instead of flowing from a single source downward. The logic implied in the metaphor of columns and pillars allows the authors of the Pragmatic Sanction to use very strong language to limit the power of the pope. After advocating local benefices, the authors of the Pragmatic dramatically exclude any and all hierarchical meddling in these affairs: And if anyone, of whatever rank he might be, either cardinal, patriarchal, or pontifical, or any other, sets out a provision against the said order and qualifications designated as it has been said, or to be designated, of these benefices, positions, offices, and administrations in whatever way, such provision will be without deliberation nullified and with no effect.41

The accumulation of terms used to qualify ‘whatever rank he might be, either cardinal, patriarchal, or pontifical, or any other,’ and the subjunctive mood that permeates this passage underline the authors’ need to establish the diffused form of power they defend. If power is based on these pillars and columns then all those whose power depends on them must submit to the authority that these multiple points of support represent. Persons such as cardinals, patriarchs, and even popes must logically submit to this power that comes from beneath them. Authority in the church comes from below, from the assembly of those within it, and not from an outside or natural force. The general meaning of the Pragmatic is clear. Building on the consensual theory of ecclesiastical power formulated at Constance and Basel, the authors of the Pragmatic intend power and money to remain in France. They do this through general statements such as those enunciated in Haec sancta and in Frequens and through specific acts such as stipulating that all canon law cases involving parties living more than four days travel from Rome must be tried in the local country.42 This prevented French clerics from losing money and property at trials in Rome which they could only attend at great cost and effort. In the same way, in order to restrict the power of the Italian cardinals, the number of cardinals was limited to twenty-four, of which no more than a third could come from any one country.43 And perhaps most important, the pay-

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ment of ‘annates’ to Rome for the confirmation of all customs, privileges, or statutes was formally forbidden.44 In every case, these specifics reversed the flow of both power and money between Rome and France. Where power flowed from Rome to France, and money in the opposite direction, under the preconciliar administration, now power flowed from the local churches and from the council to Rome, and money stayed in France. It is not coincidental that many of the council fathers, such as Jean Gerson, were influenced by the theological and political ideas of William of Ockham.45 Singularity was the basis of Ockham’s theology and of his politics. Understanding of universals and institutions such as the church was based on an abstraction from the individual experience of singular phenomena. At the heart of the conciliar movement lay this singular understanding of the world and of human beings’ relationship with God. Faithful Christians, acting through their imperfect wills, made acts of personal volition to deserve God’s saving grace; council fathers acting in consort as the congregatio fidelium decided church business based on their shared sovereignty. Singularity rather than essentialistic universality created the basis of ecclesiastical sovereignty. Power was construed as being mediated through the deliberation of multiple wills. The conciliar church was the perfect example of a community understood as a societas. Power in the church is based on the consensus of many wills. No one person, even the pope, can impose his will on that of the others. Just as significantly, the semantic field associated with the council clearly places authority on individual wills and voices. Terms such as assembly (congregatio) and metaphors such as pillars and columns ground ecclesiastical power in the consciousness of individuals, who need to cooperate in order for the church to stand up. It is the assembly of wills and the combined efforts of independent prelates that constitute the foundations of the church. None of these individuals can be considered as modern individuals, which are defined by subjective autonomy. Yet council members can be considered objective individuals in the sense that they participate individually in community governance. They do not express any subjective depth since the space in which the council’s authority is articulated remains resolutely public. The Fifth Lateran Council (1512–17): A Polity of Head and Fountain The Council of Basel and the Pragmatic Sanction are the high-water mark

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of consensual conciliar power in the church. During the rest of the fifteenth century, and throughout the sixteenth century, more organic forms of power replaced, little by little, the institutions and concepts of the early fifteenth century. Just as Francis I’s death in 1547 marks a significant moment in the evolution of absolutist monarchy, the Council of Trent, at approximately the same time, would mark the culmination of ecclesiastical power in the pope’s hands. The pope would use this council not to establish or reestablish his power, but simply as a means of exercising his unquestioned authority in the face of the Protestant revolt. Just as the beginning of Francis I’s reign held the key to the eventual development of monarchical absolutism by the end of his life, so too in ecclesiastical matters, the key to the sort of power exercised by the pope at the Council of Trent is found in developments from the years around 1510 to 1520. A key moment in this evolution of ecclesiastical power to a more monarchical form was the Fifth Lateran Council, begun in 1512. Held in Rome, it would allow the popes Julius II and Leo X to remedy one of the most pernicious results of fifteenth-century conciliarism: the Pragmatic Sanction.46 Thomas de Vio, Cardinal Cajetan, on whose advice Julius II had convoked the Lateran Council, wrote very powerful essays there defending the advantages of a strong papacy. In his De comparatione autoritatis Papæ & Concilii, written the year before the beginning of the Fifth Lateran Council, Cajetan had already compared a strong papacy with the views of Constance, Basel, and their intellectual inheritors. For Cajetan, first and above all else, the power of the pope had to be superior to that of the councils. The very first chapter heading of the first treatise in the first volume of Cajetan’s Opuscula omnia explains that the pope must have the highest power in God’s church (‘Quod Papa habeat supreman potestatem in ecclesia Dei’).47 Where the conciliarists had understood their own power coming directly from the Holy Spirit and from Jesus Christ, and the pope’s power as mediated through the council, Cajetan saw the opposite. Since the pope’s power came immediately from God, the power of the church could be said also to come directly from God. The power of the councils was severely limited by Cajetan’s understanding.48 Cajetan’s argument was the mirror image of that of the conciliarists at Basel; for Cajetan, when Christ gave the keys of the church to Peter, he gave them to Peter alone and not to the apostles as a whole. The power of Christ was entrusted to one man and not to the multitude. The saviour, he says, could have chosen any number of ways of governing the Christian res publica:

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however, he wanted and ordered a government that was based not on popularity, nor on money, nor on power, nor on the choice of the many, nor of the least, but rather of one, saying to Peter alone, as Matthew 16 says: ‘I give you the keys, etc.,’ and making the promise to him alone, committing the care of all his sheep, as the last chapter of John says: ‘Look after my sheep.’49

By introducing this metaphor, Cajetan also went further. He insisted that Peter was made shepherd of all the sheep and not part of them. He was supposed to look after all of them without distinction (‘factus est Petrus pastor universalis, dum dictum est in praesenti, Pasce oves meas: non has vel illas, sed indistincte’).50 The ‘indistincte’ in Cajetan’s argument clearly denies the individual sheep the ability to deliberate since they have no numerical distinction. This metaphoric distinction is of a piece with the philosophical and theological underpinnings of the argument, which Cajetan grounded in Aquinas’s defence of a monarchical papacy, saying ‘that one is a better cause of unity than [are] many’ (quod melius est causa unitatis unus, quam multi).51 All of Christ’s sheep should be included within the care of the pope alone since this was what would best ensure the unity of the church. The structural relationship of the two competing systems of ecclesiastical power penetrates Cajetan’s argumentation. In order to define the unitary nature of papal power he refers to the Council of Florence where Eugenius met with the sanior pars immediately after they had left Ferrara. If decrees from Basel were marked by the absence of the pope in the expression apostolica sede vacante, the pope was making his presence felt very strongly in Ferrara and then in Florence. Cajetan reprises the very words Eugenius used to describe power in the church when the Council of Basel was about to elect Felix V as their own pope, saying that the pope was the ‘successor of holy Peter, the first of the Apostles.’52 It was Peter, and his successors, who were the heads of the church and who had the power of shepherding and governing the church. The sheep themselves could not deliberate among themselves as an ‘assembly.’ Using another kind of imagery, Cajetan takes on what is probably the most crucial part of the conciliarists’ agenda, the Haec sancta decree from Constance. He repeats word for word the decree and draws three conclusions from its arguments with which he will disagree: (1) the general council holds its power directly from Christ; (2) the pope must obey the council; and (3) the council has a coactive power over the pope.53 He then refutes these conclusions in no uncertain terms. He begins by describing three kinds of council or church: (1) ‘a church or council

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The Gargantuan Polity

without a head’ (ecclesia seu consilium sine capite); (2) ‘a church or council with a head in person’ (ecclesia seu consilium cum capite personaliter); and (3) ‘a church or council authorized by the pope’ (ecclesia seu consilium autorizatum a Papa).54 Cajetan denies that the first kind of council or church is really possible since it represents an ‘acephalic’ church. He even uses the logic of the Council of Constance against the decree Haec sancta. When the fathers of the Council of Constance, including notables such as Jean Gerson, had condemned Jean Huss, the medieval Bohemian heretic, they did it because he had stated that it was not necessary to have a head of the church. Cajetan cites their example and claims that to have no one in the apostolic seat was not to have a real church or council since this would be like having a body without a head: And if it should happen that the apostolic seat is empty and the universal church finds that it is without a head, meaning the pope, it must guarantee that the church does not find itself any more imperfect. And it is this imperfection that breaks apart the universal church, just as happens to the truncated body apart from the whole entire body which cuts itself off from the wholeness of the official members, the most important of which is the head. Whence then the church is acephalic, being without the most important part and power. And whoever denies this, falls into the error of Jean Huss who denied the need of the head of the church on earth (condemned by St Thomas and Martin V with the Council of Constance, as it has been said).55

Cajetan’s use of a personification metaphor (acephalic church) necessitates a much more organic understanding of the church than that found in the Pragmatic Sanction or in Hæc sancta or Frequens. The church’s perfection is grounded in the pope’s presence, without which the rest of the body is destroyed. The ability to reason is wholly within the person of the pope and does not extend to other parts of the church as it had in texts from the councils. The mimetic metaphor of pillars and columns which represented the political church as a real building obviously excluded an organic understanding of political organization. Cajetan’s personification, on the other hand, excludes the multiple parts of the building metaphor and makes the political church a single, organic entity. The pope and Peter are to the church what the head is to the human body: absolutely necessary. A church without a head is not a church at all since the power invested by Jesus Christ, and which autho-

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rizes the church’s function, is located in the head from where it is distributed. For the conciliarists, it had been invested in a more diffused fashion throughout the edifice of the church, hence their pillars and columns metaphors. Cajetan wastes little time in his discussion of those who insist that the church is a democratic or popular regime in which authority does not reside in one person but in the assembly of all the people.56 Those people, he claims, want ecclesiastical power to be like that of Rome in which the Senate and the people were superior to the emperor. Cajetan reverses this populist imagery, showing that the pope is the rector of the universal church and the shepherd of the Lord’s flock. He makes a distinction between oves (sheep) and ovile (sheepfold), saying that when Christ gave Peter the authority to rule over the church, he meant the church to function as a sheepfold which contained the individual sheep. The church metaphorically becomes something that contains animals rather than an assembly of the faithful who govern it.57 When Peter was told by Christ to ‘pasce oves meas’ he was considered the sole shepherd and the church must be considered as a structure that keeps individual sheep from escaping more than a building whose members function metaphorically as its pillars and columns. This effectively limits the ability of any church member to exercise any power that would be placed uniquely in the hands of the pope, who moves the church as an indivisible entity. Cajetan logically rejected any decrees issued at the acephalic councils of Basel or Constance. As a result, neither council was accepted as valid.58 The multitude without authority was opposed to the pope as sole possessor of ecclesiastical power. Cajetan was especially hard on those who deposed the pope, and he accused Gerson, one of the principal participants at Constance, of blindness.59 He finally declared the power of the pope divine and stated that if anyone should say differently, that person was guilty of creating a ‘fantasm.’ As Cajetan’s essay makes clear, without a head the church is nothing but a dead body. One of the chief matters undertaken at the Fifth Lateran Council concerned the elimination of the Pragmatic Sanction.60 Following Cajetan’s logic, the pope needed to undo the document that had put into practice the decentralizing theory of the Councils of Constance and Basel. The pope needed to reverse the metaphorical flow of power described in the Pragmatic so that it flowed from a single source in Rome. Against the earlier councils’ architectural metaphor, the Lateran Council understood the role of bishops and metropolitans to be natural:

36

The Gargantuan Polity That primitive church was founded on the corner stone by our saviour Jesus Christ, spread by the preaching of the Apostles, consecrated and enlarged by the blood of the martyrs. When it began to move its muscles throughout the world, first by the aid of the Lord, it saw clearly, remarking how heavy a load it would have to shoulder, how many sheep it would have to lead, and in how many very remote places it would need to turn its eyes. Through divine council it was decided that it would be necessary to establish parishes, set up dioceses, create bishops, and name metropolitans. It governed [them] according to its will like so many obedient members joined to the head, and like so many rivulets from its perennial Roman fountain, clearly descending from the church, lest indeed a corner of the field of the Lord be left unirrigated.61

Power descended from this one source to the many parts of the church instead of remaining in the parts themselves. Julius II and Leo X converted this metaphorical language into stone with the construction of the Vatican where the popes would move immediately after the Lateran Council. Michelangelo’s basilica would be seen as a symbol of a new image of pontifical power. The new popes would exert their power in a monarchical fashion from their new palace across the Tiber. Where the old Lateran Palace had been one grand palace among many others, the new Vatican palace would dominate the imagination of the Catholic world as the source of ecclesiastical sovereignty. And the popes would reign assuredly, deploying their absolute power downward and outward like a river rushing from a single surging source. Even as the grand basilica took shape, the days of ‘columns and pillars’ power were over.62

The Concordat of Bologna (1516): The End of Consensus The Concordat of Bologna, the treaty drawn up between Leo X and Francis I officially abrogating the Pragmatic Sanction, is an astonishing document, not least of all for the expressions of mutual love and admiration that Leo X and Francis I make to each other. These two men, who had loathed one another and who had proven this hatred on the battlefield, pushed the limits of Realpolitik to new extremes with expressions of love and admiration.63 Both men needed to create a political alliance, however, and the revocation of the Pragmatic Sanction would become the cement that bound this alliance. Francis’s victory at the Battle of Marig-

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nano had made Leo more amenable to a pact with the French king, whose military ambitions in the Italian peninsula seemed to match those of his predecessors Charles VIII and Louis XII.64 Francis, for his part, needed to create an alliance with the pope to counteract the growing power of the emperor Charles V. The time was right for a dissolution of conciliar and Gallican ideals in the crucible of modern politics, which was transferring power more and more into the hands of powerful monarchs. The Concordat marked a turn in pontifical politics since it established the tradition of bilateral relations between popes and secular kings.65 In this document, the pope decided to reach a political settlement to the formerly theological and purely ecclesiastical dilemma posed by the Gallican church.66 The political power recognized as residing in the person of a secular ruler was seen as a means of resolving the problem of sovereignty within the church. Instead of trying to impose his will through the institutions of the church in France, Leo X decided to use the French king’s secular power to bear on his French subjects within the church. The Concordat, like the Pragmatic Sanction which it did away with, marks a step in the development of the French nation-state. Unlike the Pragmatic, it does so in ways that consolidate political power in the hands of the king and the pope. The Concordat is divided into two unequal sections, the first a preamble written in the name of Francis, and the second, the document itself, written in the name of Leo. In the preamble, Francis gets to the heart of the matter very quickly: money. He says that before the Pragmatic Sanction was written ‘money which is like the nerve of the state’ had been ‘extracted’ from the French church.67 He enumerates the problems answered by the Pragmatic Sanction such as the inability of the bishops and priests to confer benefices. He also cites the problem of expectative apostolic bulls that allowed the pope to name a priest to a church even before the death of the person currently holding the job. Likewise, he raised the problem of canonical trials held in Rome that caused members of the French church to lose cases and often their livelihood when they could not get to Rome for the trial.68 The French king humbly asks the Holy Father to establish laws and regulations that would apply to these problems in France.69 The preamble states that the Concordat’s regulations have been arranged in such a way as to ensure and confirm most of the chapters of the Pragmatic Sanction.70 In point of fact, quite the opposite happens, since the authority to name bishops and priests passes to the French king, and ecclesiastical benefits return to Rome.

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The Concordat places the final nail in the coffin of the conciliarly dominated church. Its contents and style are firmly grounded in a monarchical understanding of power; it adopts almost word for word the description of the church’s power found in Cajetan’s De comparatione autoritatis Papæ et Concilii. Just as in Cajetan’s essay, the metaphorical structure is altered and power moves from one source towards a multitude of ‘rivulets.’71 In the confrontation between the horizontal and contractual understanding of church polity favoured by the councils and the more vertical and organic notion favoured by Cajetan, we can see in miniature the future direction of sixteenth-century politics as the monarchical bureaucracy would supplant the crumbling feudal hierarchy. Power moves from the ‘members’ to the ‘head’ in such a way that the notion of the body politic drastically changes. Instead of understanding the members of the body politic as working consensually towards a collective authority, the members of the body politic were here understood as working downstream of the head and receiving their orders as body parts do in relation to the brain. With the accretion of power in the hands of the pope or king, the locus of power detached itself from the people who became subject to that power. The local political community became less interconnected as the power relationship between bishop and diocese, or between priest and parish became less integrated. With the ability to nominate prelates securely assumed by king and pope, the base was cut off from power: the very foundations of conciliar and Gallican theology crumbled. The bishops, as successors of the apostles, no longer ‘represented’ the church since their power came from the pope. It was he ultimately who ‘represented’ the church.72 The pleasure of the pope when the Concordat was signed makes a distinct contrast with the obvious embarrassment of the French clerics who were present at Bologna. While some of the French bishops only agreed to consent in secret for fear of displeasing the prelates back in France, the pope expressed his pleasure gleefully. When all of those present signified their agreement to the abrogation of the Pragmatic Sanction by saying placet, or ‘yes, that pleases,’ the pope added, ‘not only does that please, but that pleases much, and indeed that pleases greatly’ (non solum placet, sed multum placet, et perplacet).73 The picture of French bishops hiding in the corners while the Italian pope was barely able to contain his pleasure gives a good idea of the meaning and result of the Concordat: it was the end of the Gallican church as it had been conceived in 1438. The Concordat was not readily accepted by the French legislators,

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who saw it as an encroachment of royal power on what had been heretofore beyond the king’s prerogative. The Paris Parlement fought Francis tooth and nail over the Concordat, and, although it was signed by Leo X on 15 September 1516, it would not become law in France until nearly two years later on 12 April 1518. The members of Parlement only agreed to sign the agreement under extreme duress as the expression ‘de expresso mandato regis iteratis vicibus facto,’ which they insisted be attached to the document, shows.74 The forced passage of the Concordat, with a grand showdown between Francis’s chancellor Duprat and members of Parlement, represented an important development not only in the context of pontifical politics but also in the development of the French nation-state. Just as ecclesiastical power was being concentrated in the hands of the pope, secular sovereignty was increasingly centralized in the hands of the king, and the bridles on the monarch’s power were becoming less and less effective. To make this point particularly clear, Duprat, during his discussions with members of the Paris Parlement, reminded them that they were not a modern ‘Roman Senate’ with powers equal to or superior to those of the king or emperor. It was the king in the end who had the final word. The evolution of ecclesiastical power in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries shows how social organization in France was moving from a consensual or contractual form to a more organic one. As already mentioned, this does not mean to say that the fifteenth-century councils were a form of modern democracy or that its members were modern individuals. What it does suggest, however, is that the church at this time was organized in such a way that some form of political individualism was possible. If modern individualism depends on the development of a contractual form of social organization, then, paradoxically, the example of the Councils of Constance and Basel shows that a form of contractual government existed in the church that was then replaced by a more organic understanding of political organization. By the beginning of the sixteenth century, Cajetan’s natural metaphor of shepherd and sheep largely replaced the consensual metaphor of assembly and columns and pillars. Cajetan’s form of political structure is perhaps best described as being ‘organic,’ in that it does not allow for individual agency, but rather, both metaphorically and concretely, treats individuals within the fold as sheep who must be contained by the edifice of the church. They live within the church rather like sheep within a sheepfold. They react to the orders of the pope the way sheep react to the orders of their shepherd.

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Rather than seeing a movement towards a government of consensus in which individualism could thrive, one sees quite the opposite in the fifteenth-century church. An organic form of governance replaced a more consensual or contractual one. The status of the individual could not help but be affected by this development. By the time of the Concordat of Bologna, Christians in France had lost a lot of individual autonomy vis-à-vis the pope. Although the kind of individualism witnessed in the Councils of Basel and Constance cannot be understood as modern, in that the individuals there were not construed in terms of interiority, it was nonetheless a form of individualism by dint of the contractual nature of conciliar polity. And just as unmistakably, that contractual form of individualism was greatly reduced by the time of the early sixteenth century.

2 The Representation of Basel in Chants Royaux Written for the Puy de Rouen

Words and images can give explicit shape and meaning to the ideas developed by writers such as Cajetan and the authors of the edicts at the Councils of Constance and Basel. Poems written to extol the glory of the Virgin Mary for a literary competition in Rouen during the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries show how the perception of the church polity shifted from one that reflected the somewhat cacophonous reality of Basel to one that reflected the more organic conceptions of Cajetan. These poems, and their manuscript illuminations, often refer to Basel since this is where the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin was promulgated in 1439. Often these poems refer specifically to a debate that took place in 1436 between Franciscans and Dominicans about the validity of this doctrine. These poems show how, as ecclesiastical power shifted to a much more organic model of the type promoted by Cajetan, the role of individuals in the formation and proclamation of the doctrine also shifted. The Confraternity of the Immaculate Conception in Rouen Quite independently and probably in complete ignorance of all the ins and outs of ecclesiastical politics described in the first chapter, a confraternity that organized poetry competitions devoted to the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary was flourishing in Rouen.1 The Confrérie de l’Immaculée Conception had been in existence for centuries and had only taken on a decidedly literary character in the 1480s.2 Its members began to sponsor poetic competitions during which poets would write chants royaux, ballades, and rondeaux about a single and obsessive subject: the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary.3 In chants royaux,

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the preferred poetic form of these competitions, writers vied with each other to compose the best poem based on a common refrain or palinod imposed by the organizers. These chants royaux were addressed to a prince du puy, who was a local notable appearing as the sponsor of the event. These addresses indicate how this was not a confrérie des poètes, but rather of merchants, notaries, senators, and prelates.4 Notables paid for the competition, and to be named prince du puy was a highly visible feather in their social cap. Although it would be impossible to deny the genuine piety that is everywhere manifest in all the written accounts of the confrérie, it would be just as impossible to ignore its commercial and political dimensions. Over the course of the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, when poets taking part in these competitions refer to Basel as the origin of the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, their representations of the council reveal changing notions of papal power. They show how the political imaginary of the Catholic Church evolved in the early sixteenth century as a monarchical political point of view replaced that of the councils. As the historian John O’Malley explains, over the course of the sixteenth century, the papacy, which was not even mentioned in medieval catechisms, ‘became almost the essence of Catholic self-definition.’5 Little by little the pope, in these poems, begins not only to appear at this council from which he was deposed, but also to figure as the ‘voice’ that promulgated the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception. The evolution of these symbolic representations during the early sixteenth century offers proof of just how strong the gravitational pull of papal power was. Little by little the voices that made up the conciliar understanding of church power are silenced and disappear as the voice of the pope becomes the sole proprietor of the authority of Christ. Given the nature of manuscript compilations and book printing in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, it is difficult to give exact dates to all the chants royaux presented in Rouen that mention the Council of Basel. We can, nonetheless, give precise dates for some of these poems or at least date them as appearing before or after such or such a year. Although it is impossible to make any causal argument about the relation of conciliar politics and these poems, the picture that emerges when these poems are looked at over a period of time is curious. As the power of Rome increases in the sixteenth century because of the Fifth Lateran Council and the Concordat of Bologna, the frequency with which the pope begins to appear in poems most often dealing with the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception also increases. A few poems

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that can be dated with some degree of certainty to the end of the fifteenth century maintain the spirit and the appearance of the Council of Basel in their allusions and references. However, once the political winds begin to blow more favourably in the direction of Rome, these poems about the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception begin to paint the pope into their depictions of the Council of Basel. As this happens, the enunciation of the doctrine undergoes a change that indicates how the plural voices of the Council of Basel itself are silenced and replaced with the singular voice of the pope. Far from being empty, in these poems and especially in the illustrations accompanying them, the apostolic throne was occupied by a large and all-powerful pope and it is through his voice and not that of the plural voices of the council that the doctrine is enunciated. One of the most common images from Basel found in these poems represents the debate that took place in 1436 regarding the validity of the doctrine itself. Discussions about the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin took place during various sessions in March, April, May, June, and July of 1436 and the doctrine itself was promulgated three years later in 1439, during a period when there was no pope on the apostolic throne from 25 June 1439, when the council fathers deposed Eugenius IV, to 5 November 1439, when Felix V was named the new pope.6 The pope was absent from the discussions regarding the Immaculate Conception and also from the session at which the doctrine was promulgated. Thomas de Vio, Cardinal Cajetan, personally rejected this doctrine precisely because it was promulgated during the period when the council was without a pope.7 Eugenius had departed for Ferrara where he would hold a council which would reaffirm papal authority; the maior pars was in full control of the Council in Basel. It would seem that the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception and conciliar politics are victims of coincidence since their only apparent connection is the fact that the doctrine was discussed at Basel and promulgated during a period when the council had deposed the pope. It is possible, however, that the connection between this doctrine and conciliar politics might be less coincidental than it first seems, since the same Dominicans who had fought against the doctrine had also supported the papalist point of view and followed Eugenius to Ferrara. For instance, Juan de Torquemada and Jean de Segovia not only rejected the Scotist arguments of the Franciscans regarding the Immaculate Conception, but they also rejected the council’s arguments against a strong papal authority. In both arguments, the Dominicans followed Thomas

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Aquinas. Aquinas’s arguments regarding the monarchical power of the papacy and the Immaculate Conception would later be taken up by Cardinal Cajetan around the time of the Fifth Lateran Council. Aquinas’s position on the Virgin’s conception, which would come to be that of the Dominicans for centuries, was straightforward. He believed that it was blasphemous to think that Mary was excluded from the taint of original sin since this would lessen her son Jesus’ act of redemption. If Jesus had been sent by God to redeem all sinners, his act necessarily also saved and redeemed his own mother. The Dominicans, following Aquinas, believed that God saved Mary moments after she was touched by the taint of original sin. Her conception, however, was inevitably stained by the sin which contaminates us all and from which Jesus’ death redeems us. By contrast, the Franciscans, following Duns Scotus, believed that Mary had been saved from the stain of original sin since the beginning of time. For them, Mary was never touched by the sin of Eve. It was this position that became doctrine at the Council of Basel. The doctrine’s ramifications are of less interest here than the conditions of its enunciation. When the council promulgated this doctrine they used the same language that marked the other conciliar decrees and the Pragmatic Sanction. How much the papalist politics of the Dominicans condemned the maculist position is impossible to say. It is clear, however, that the doctrine was initially presented in terms that underlined the conciliar nature of the decree’s origin. When the authors of the bull begin, they couch their authority in the council, which had been assembled in the Holy Spirit representing the universal church (‘ecclesiam representans’).8 To what extent can the council’s anti-Dominican leanings have influenced this doctrine? Obviously reticent to support the papalist policies of the Dominicans in general, the council fathers continued the tradition of Jean Gerson, who not only had been a fervent opponent of Dominican papalism at Constance but who had also, as chancellor of the University of Paris, ordered that the Immaculate Conception be taught as the only valid doctrine at the University of Paris. The maculist position was given short shrift in the bull promulgating the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, which quickly dismissed such premises and established the preordained saving of Mary from sin.9 The bull uses the exact wording that the Franciscan Duns Scotus used (‘numquam actualiter subiacuisse originali peccato ...’), and orders that the Feast of the Immaculate Conception be celebrated in every church, monastery, and

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convent. A copy of the bull dated 15 October 1439, issued at the end of the 36th session of the Council of Basel, one month after the promulgation (17 September 1439), was marked by the coda ‘apostolica sede vacante’ added by the council to indicate that the bull was decreed while there was no one on the apostolic throne between 25 June 1439 and 5 November 1439.10 If conciliar politics cannot be related causally to the promulgation of the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, the two issues are inextricably linked. The Dominicans who fought the doctrine were the same who defended a papalist conception of ecclesiastical power and those who defended the doctrine were the same ones who deposed the pope. The imprint of the conciliar authority is stamped on the bull from beginning to end: it is the council, representing the church, that issues the decree. The empty apostolic throne stands like a negative synecdoche of conciliar power. The Pope Returns to Basel: Chants Royaux in Rouen (1489–1520s) Although few of the poems alluding directly to the Council of Basel can be dated accurately as being written before 1500, two that can be dated to the fifteenth century with confidence remain true to Basel’s conciliar nature both in image and language. One of these poems, by Richard Bonneannee, written in 1489, represents the Council of Basel as a headless and polyphonic authority. The council’s consensual authority is reflected in the use of the indefinite pronouns to enunciate the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception: A basle fust ung consille notable Pour decider mainte grande matiere Ou lon parla de la Vierge honorable Qui en concept neut aucun vitupere Et forma loy que onq le faulx vipere En elle neust autrement residence Nulz fust derve par tres meure sentence Veu quelle estoit vaissaiu delection Où dieu le filz print incarnacion Que onq peche ny peust sa place faire En concluant quelle est, sans fiction, Temple dhonneur du paraclit sacraire. ... On allega le biau dit treslouable

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The Gargantuan Polity Que Salomon es Quantiques refere La denommant tres doulce et amyable Belle en tout sans quelque tache amere. ... A son propos fust dit maint bien notable Par les docteurs que leglise prefere En declarant son concept venerable Trespur et nect sans quelquonque misere Prince du puy en la nomminacion De son concept mainte solution Per ce feust que ne puys refaire La declarant par nommincacion Temple dhonneur du paraclit sacraire.11 In Basel a notable council was held To decide many great matters, Where the honorable Virgin was much spoken of, She, who in conception knew no blame. And a law was passed that never the evil snake Ever took up residence in her in any way. No one was unreasonable by too prompt judgment Seeing that she was the vessel of election In whom God’s son was made incarnate. No sin can take pleasure Concluding that she is, without lie, The temple of honour of the vase of the holy spirit. ... They cited the beautiful and praiseworthy saying To which Salomon in the canticles referred, Calling her gentle and lovable, Beautiful in all senses without any bitter stain. ... Many noteworthy things were said about her By the doctors whom the church prefers, Declaring her conception most worthy Most pure and clean without the slightest misery. Prince of the puy, in the naming Of her conception, so many resolutions

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For her were made that I cannot recount, Declaring her title: Temple of honour of the vase of the holy spirit.

The representation of Basel in Bonneannee’s poem is close to the historical record. The enunciative voice of the council in this poem is clearly plural. It is the indefinite plural pronoun ‘on’ that enunciates the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception. In French, the ‘on’ can take the active voice more easily than in English, but this ‘on’ needs to be translated in English as the plural demonstrative pronoun ‘they’ and given a passive voice. The identity of this ‘on’ is never made clear, except perhaps in the next to last stanza when it is said that ‘many ... things were said about her [the Virgin Mary]/By the doctors whom the church prefers.’ Whether ‘doctors’ refers to the council members themselves, or to the authorities whom they cite, is not clear. Such enunciative ambiguity underlines the fact that the voice of the council of Basel is represented as plural and consensual in Bonneannee’s poem. The doctrine of the Immaculate Conception results from the consensus of many individual voices, as at the Council of Basel itself.12 The explicit reference to Basel as the authority of the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception and the implicit allusion to the pluralistic nature of conciliar authority through the use of indefinite pronouns such as ‘on’ reflect a particularly ‘acephalic,’ to use Cajetan’s term, understanding of church politics. The council can be construed in this poem as representing the church, since it is their collective power and voice that enunciates the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception.13 In 1498 another little-known poet, Nicole Faulvel, also makes metaphoric use of the conciliar motif in his encomium of the Virgin Mary. Faulvel, like Bonneannee, depicts the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception as being issued by several voices: Ung jour passe en mon entendement Je vys Raison sur le mont de syon Qui assembloit et mettait doulcement Toutes vertus en congregacion De marie faisantes mencion. Comme elle fut sans quelque iniquite Lors previent Raison par equite Quelle tint court en ordre politique Pour abolir murmure sophistique.

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The Gargantuan Polity Laquelle estoit par faulsete deceue Affin quil tint la fleur aromatique Vierge mere sans macule conceue Adonc Raison fist ung commandement Quon appellast faulse obstinacion Puis charite charga semblablement Pour les vertus Dame devocion Pour soposer a murmuracion Et faulx blason par son peche cite Qui tournerent vers une autre cite Mais non obstant leur absence et traffique Devocion pour marie saplique Leur suppliant sa cause estre receue Pour la monstrer en propos et replique Vierge mere sans macule conceue. Ainsi Raison pensant profundement Son droit escript et sa perfection Dist a la foy quon vuide promptement De ce blason la faulse objection Adonc la foy meue en dilection Devant toutes a dame purite Dist haultement confessez verite A vous laisse la mere dieu pudique Par aucuns temps soubz quelque loy inique Nenny nenny car je l’ay aperceue Et la soustiene devant tous en publique Vierge mere sans macule conceue. Grace survint a ce sainct parlement Quant il ouyt leur disputacion Qui leur monstra tantost facilement Comme elle fust belle en creacion Croyez dist il par revelacion Que dieu me fist par son auctorite La preserver de toute obscurite Pour lexalter sur nature angelique Comme garde de la foy catholique Car il lavoit pour son filz preeslue

The Representation of Basel in Chants Royaux Devant quil fist la mansion celique Vierge mere sans macule conceue. Quant Raison eut ouy son argument Incontinent contre Detraction Par equite dist en plain jugement Devocion pour approbacion Vous publierez en toute nation Pour marie ceste sollemnite En deffendant blasmer sa dignite Qui exorde tout humaine pratique Car je la tiens hor de ruine [?] antique Et la conceue pour vertus impollue La denommant pour ung tiltre authentique Vierge mere sans macule conceue. Envoy Prince au partir de ce mont deiffique Je prins conge de la court magnifique Pour vous narrer lordre que sa javoie veue Pour honnorer la royne pacifique Vierge mere sans macule conceue.14 One day lost in thought, I saw Reason on the Mount of Sion Who was gathering and putting together All the virtues who made mention of Mary. Because she was without any iniquity, Reason explained that in fairness She would hold court in political forum So as to abolish quibbling grumblers. She also explained that she had been deceived by falsity That in the end he might hold the aromatic flower, The Virgin Mother conceived without stain. Then Reason ordered That False Obstination should be called. Then ordered Charity likewise to come. Dame Devotion was called to defend the Virgin’s virtues Against Grumblers.

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The Gargantuan Polity False Coat of Arms, who was cited for his sins, and the Grumblers departed for another city. But despite their absence and double-dealing, Devotion, applying herself to the cause of Mary, Begged that her case be heard, In order to show that she was in words and replies, The Virgin Mother conceived without stain. Thus Reason, considering profoundly His written law and the Virgin’s perfection, Said flat out at the same time that False objection to this blazon Should be thrown out. Then Faith moved by love, Before all those pure in soul Said loudly ‘Confess the truth: To you I state that the chaste mother, Was never subject to iniquitous law. Nay, nay, because I have seen her And therefore I proclaim before all in public, The Virgin Mother conceived without stain.’ Grace arrived suddenly in the holy parliament, And when he heard their dispute He easily showed them How beautiful she was in creation. ‘Believe,’ he said, ‘by revelation, That god made me, by his authority, Preserve her from all darkness To exalt her angelic nature As a guardian of the Catholic faith Because he had preordained her for his son Before he made the heavenly mansion, The Virgin Mother conceived without stain.’ When Reason had heard Grace’s argument Straightaway against Disparagement Said in all fairness and in plain judgment: ‘Devotion, as a mark of approval, You will announce in all nations,

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In the name of Mary this solemn ceremony, Making it unlawful to offend her dignity Which surpasses all human practice, Because I hold her apart from ancient ruin And conceived her for virtue unsullied Giving her an authentic title, The Virgin Mother conceived without stain.’ Prince, from this godly mount I bid farewell to the magnificent court So that I could relate for you what I had seen In order to honour the peaceful queen The Virgin Mother conceived without stain.

Like Bonneannee’s poem, Faulvel depicts the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception as promulgated by multiple wills. The group that is to debate the qualities of the Virgin gathers in an assembly, much like the conciliar assembly of the faithful (congregatio fidelium). Even more important, the poem stages the doctrine as resulting from a deliberative process: two different parties have very different understandings of the doctrine. The virtues gather to oppose the sophistry and the false emblem of those who disagree with them. ‘Charity’ then pleads with the assembled virtues to oppose ‘Grumblers’ and ‘False Coat of Arms’ who have turned away to ‘another city.’ Notwithstanding their absence and ‘double-dealing,’ Charity convinces the other virtues to show that the Virgin was conceived without stain. Although it is impossible to claim that Faulvel refers specifically to the debate between the Franciscans and the Dominicans who rejected the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception at the Council of Basel, the deliberative nature of the setting is unmistakable. One party, those who grumbled and made false proclamations about the Virgin Mary, left the assembly and went to another city. Like the Dominicans Torquemada and Jean de Segovia, who left with Eugenius IV for Ferrara, the supporters of the ‘misleading emblem’ leave for another city, while those who stay formulate the doctrine that the Virgin was conceived without stain. Other elements also tie the poem to a conception of the council that is close to that represented in the decrees and bulls from Basel. The last lines refer to both ‘grace’ and ‘parlement’ which would seem to allude directly or indirectly to issues intimately involved with the collective nature of the council. The issue of grace was at the heart of the Haec

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sancta decree since it was claimed that the council was assembled by the Holy Spirt and did not need the blessing of the pope. And it was the parliamentary nature of the council that would be the target of Cajetan’s critique of conciliar power. For Cajetan, the very fact that such assemblies were parliaments was what prevented them from being authoritative. Ecclesiastical power according to Cajetan was reserved for the pope alone. In both of the poems by Bonneannee and Faulvel, the contractual nature of the councils is at least implicitly apparent. It is through the deliberation of the assembly’s members that the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception is brought into being. In metaphor and in enunciation, these poems reflect a conception of eccesiastical structure that is multiple and based on support from below. This understanding of the church undergoes rapid evolution in poems composed in the early sixteenth century. Very quickly, the council of Basel begins to take on an increasingly papal ‘stature’ in the early years of the century. The poem that is perhaps most emblematic of this development is Jean Marot’s chant royal, ‘Lors que au palais de la cite de Balle,’ which was written in the early years of the sixteenth century, and which would later be illuminated by the image of the pope mentioned at the beginning of this chapter. This poem thematizes the debate between Franciscans and Dominicans about the Immaculate Conception and represents the Council of Basel as more centralized in nature than earlier poems, yet still does not put the pope in the picture: Lors que au Palais de la Cité de Balle L’Empereur tint court ouverte et planiere, Ung homme armé vint arriver en salle, Le glayve au poing, parlant en tel’ maniere: Le Chevallier je suys aux grises armes, Dit Noble cueur, qui contre tous gensd’armes, Veulx soustenir ma Maistresse et ma Dame, Tige d’honneur, belle de corps, & d’ame. Car des l’instant de sa prime facture Elle a esté sans quelque tache infame, Pure en concept oultre loy de nature. Ung Chevallier errant sans intervalle, De blanc et noir armé à la legiere, Se lieve sus, et d’une façon malle Va profferer, C’est chose mensongiere

The Representation of Basel in Chants Royaux Q’ung corps produict par nature et ses germes Naisse tout pur car sainct Paul dit ces termes: Ceulx d’Adam naiz, ou tissuz de sa lame, Seront conceupz d’originelle flame. Or est ainsi qu’elle est par geniture Fille d’Adam, par quoy je ne la clame Pure en concept oultre loy de nature. L’autre respond, o bouche desloyalle, Tu entends mieulx que ne diz la matiere. Car ains que Dieu par grace specialle Eust faict le ciel, il la preveut entiere Estre créée à fondemens si fermes Qu’onques peché ne les rendit enfermes. Recongois donc ton erreur et diffame, Ou autrement (pour son honneur et fame) Voilà mon gand. Et l’errant s’aventure, De le lever, disant qu’onc ne fut femme Pure en concept oultre loy de nature. Lors l’Empereur soubz guyde imperialle Le camp ordonne à leur grande priere. Puys deux coursiers d’une puissance egalle Leur a transmis en ordre singuliere. Chascun adonc aux belliqueux vacarmes Se veult monstrer: prennent lances, guisarmes Crye à l’errant, Lasche remply de blasme, Monstrer te veuil que celle creature, Dont tu mesdis, odore plus que basme, Pure en concept oultre loy de nature. Fouldre ne part, plus soubdain ne devalle Que l’assaillant, quant eut donné carriere, Si que du choc il jecte triste et palle Le povre errant, envers jambes arriere, Lequel portoit une Pye en ses armes D’argent & sable. Aux yeulx il eut les larmes Quant noble cueur qui d’or portoit une M En champ d’asur, luy ravyt une lame De son harnoys pour la desconfiture

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The Gargantuan Polity Mieux approuver à la belle qu’il ame, Pure en concept oultre loy de nature. Prince du puy, plus qu’eschellé bigame Il fut hué, dont de douleur se pasme, Disant, JESUS, raison veult et droicture Qu’en tout honneur ta mere je reclame Pure en concept oultre loy de nature.15 When in the Palace of the City of Basel, The Emperor held open and plenary court, A man with arms at hand arrived in the room, Holding his sword, he spoke in this manner: ‘I am the knight in grey arms, Called Noble Heart, who against all soldiers Desires to defend my Mistress and my Lady, Stem of honour, beautiful of body, and of soul, Since from the moment of her first making She was without any infamous stain, Pure in conception, beyond the law of nature.’ A Knight Errant without delay In black and white, dressed in light armour, Rises and in a virile fashion Says: ‘It is untrue That a body produced by nature and its seeds, Is born all pure; because Saint Paul says in these terms, ‘Those of Adam born, or woven from his soul, Will be conceived from the original flame.’ And it is thus that she is by birth Daughter of Adam, for which I do not claim that she was Pure in conception beyond the law of nature.’ The other knight replies: ‘O unfaithful mouth! You understand this better than you say: Since it was thus that God by special grace Made the heavens, he foresaw her whole, She was created on foundations so firm, That no sin could ever make them infirm; Recognize therefore your error and slander

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Or otherwise (for her honour and fame) There’s my glove.’ And the Errant Knight adventures To pick it up, saying that never was there a woman Pure in conception beyond the law of nature. Then the Emperor under imperial guide Ordered the camp to pray. Then two horses of equal might He gave to them by singular order. Each then with warlike noise Desires to prove himself: they take up lances, halberds; The First Knight cries to the Errant Knight, ‘Coward filled with blame, I want to show you that this creature Of whom you speak so poorly smells sweeter than balm, Pure in conception, beyond the law of nature.’ Lightning does not strike quicker Than the assailant runs forth, when he let himself go, So much so that from the shock he throws, sad and pale, The poor Errant Knight on his tail, his legs in the air, With a silver and black magpie on his arms, In his eyes he had tears When Noble heart who wore an ‘M’ in gold On a field of blue, grabbed a blade From his harness, better to prove His defeat to the Beauty he loves, Pure in conception beyond the laws of nature. Prince of the puy, more than a pilloried bigamist, He was reviled; swooning from pain Saying, JESUS, reason and rightness demand That in all honour your mother I proclaim Pure in conception, beyond the law of nature.

The allusion to the emperor as holding forth over the Council of Basel is perhaps one of the oddest in all of these poems. Although Emperor Sigismond supported the council, and was solemnly received at the council in January 1433, he did not oversee it as Marot’s poem claims.16 Absent at the sessions in 1436 during which the Immaculate Conception was discussed, Sigismond was dead by the time the doctrine was pro-

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mulgated in 1438; the imperial Electors, like the French king, would keep their distance from the council and adopt a policy of neutrality when the council deposed Eugenius in 1439.17 It would be difficult in any case to understand the emperor as overseeing the council in such a dominant role. Marot’s allusion is striking in how it shifts the centre of power away from the conciliar concept of diffused authority to a much more centralized authority, without, however, ever implicating the pope’s authority. The poem remains Gallican and anti-papal but reflects an evolution in the popular understanding of the structure of the church. Jean Marot was ferociously Gallican. He wrote a highly passionate diatribe against the papacy in 1511, and it seems unlikely that, in this poem, he would place the pope at Basel where his power had been the most imperilled.18 And yet, Marot was closely attached to the court of the French king Louis XII, and his politics were naturally monarchical. Despite the peculiar allusion to the emperor, this poem does follow some of the conciliarist tendencies of the earlier poems. In keeping with Marot’s anti-papal beliefs, the pope is nowhere mentioned and doctrinal issues are debated by participants of the council. The doctrine actually results from the dialogue between the Franciscan and the Dominican and not from the emperor, who simply presides over the debate. The winner of the dispute is also the ‘knight with grey arms’ who represents those who defended the collective leanings of the Council of Basel. By placing the responsibility for the correct doctrinal interpretation in the voice of the Franciscan ‘knight,’ Marot’s poem conserves the consensual character of the Council of Basel: an individual was capable of exercising his will to convince the assembly of the rightness of his argument through deliberative rhetoric. The deliberative and consensual nature of the congregatio fidelium is maintained in Marot’s poem despite the presence of the emperor who presides over the proceedings but without actually imposing his will on the doctrinal debate. In Guillaume Cretin’s ‘Apres fonder universelle estude’ (1520), the imagery used to figure doctrinal authority becomes even more centralized. Cretin, who was the king’s chaplain (aumonier) and closely involved in court politics, places the promulgation of the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception under the authority of a ‘university rector’: Aprez fonder universelle estude Le principal regent et directeur Des facultez ayant solliciture

The Representation of Basel in Chants Royaux Acte exercer de souverain recteur A ordonne au couvent et chappelle De ce beau mont que du carme on appelle Hommes scavans fondez en charitez Pour exaulser dentiere verite Certaine rigle aux escolles trouvee Escripte ainsi quelle a bien merite Reigle [sic] infaillible en tous cas approuvee En preferant la haulte magnitude De theologie ou maint devot docteur Secretz divins traicte soubz lhabitude De ce premier escripvant et aucteur La faculte commect a ce que expelle Erreur au loing et disciples compelle De leurs escriptz gecter austerite Et que ung lysant allegue auctorite Ioincte et unye a rayson bien prouvee En exposant par singularite Reigle [sic] infaillible en tous caz appouvez La rigle en droict tient bonne certitude Sur le proces du prevaricateur Ou droict divin loblige en rectitude Serf pour le fruict dont fut usurpateur Se droict civil le voyant si rebelle Le repudie en forme de libelle Et droict canon par sa temerite Le rend de vie et biens desherite Sy nest du tout sa grace reprouvee Car pour luy faict et sa posterite Rigle infaillible en tous cas approuvee A cest rigle afferment valitude Vrays medecins Le maling seducteur Nul signe y vit dancienne egritude Dont le premier parent fut producteur Rigle commune au tribut de gabelle Ne lasservit car saine et toute belle Sans tache avoir de vile obscurite

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The Gargantuan Polity Faicte et formee en pure integrite Par main douvrier fut a temps reservee Pour estre veue en necte purite Rigle infaillible en tous cas approuvee La rigle entendz marie en plenitude De toute grace au gre du createur Delle contemple en sa beatitude Maint philozophe eloquent orateur Disant que cest la simple columbelle Que le dragon plutonique debelle Cest ceste rigle ou la divinite Limpression forma dhumanite Celle en concept de vice preservee Celle que esleut la saincte trinite Rigle infaillible en tous cas approuvee Envoy Prince tous artz tiennent comme verite Doppinion rigle en communite Povoir faillir. Mais ceste cy graveee En table dor est par eternite Rigle infaillible en tous cas approuvee.19 After founding universal study The principal regent and director Having care of universities And having been made the sovereign director, Ordered wise men grounded in charity, In convent and chapel, From this lovely hill called Carmel, To grant as the entire truth A certain rule found in the schools Written thus that she well deserved, The infallible rule in all cases approved. Preferring the highest level Of theology in which many a devout doctor Treats divine secrets following the example Of this first writer and author,

The Representation of Basel in Chants Royaux The faculty decides that they should expel Error far away and compel their disciples By their writings to promote austerity. And that a reader should admit as authority, Joined and united to well proved reason, Exposing its singular nature, The infallible rule in all cases approved. The rule as law is quite certain; Regarding the case of the prevaricator Divine law makes him by rightness A serf for the fruit which he had stolen. Civil law seeing him so rebellious Repudiates him with a document, And canon law for his temerity Disinherits him of life and goods. Her grace [the Virgin’s] is not disapproved at all Because for her and her posterity is made The infallible rule in all cases approved. True doctors affirm the validity of this rule. The evil seductor Sees no sign there of the ancient bitter taste Which the first parent produced. She is not subject to a law like the salt tax Because [she is] healthy and beautiful, Without stain of vile obscurity, Made and formed in pure integrity She was saved from all time by the worker, In order to be seen in clean purity, The infallible rule in all cases approved. The rule understands Mary is full Of grace accorded by the will of the creator. Many a philosopher, an eloquent orator, Contemplates her in her beatitude Saying that it is the simple dove That vanquishes the dragons from hell. It is this rule in which the divinity Formed the imprint for humanity,

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The Gargantuan Polity She who in conception was preserved from sin, She whom the Holy Trinity chose, Infallible rule in all cases approved. Envoy Prince all arts hold as a truth That a common rule can be fallible. But this one is engraved In the table of gold for all eternity The infallible rule in all cases approved.

Written in 1518, two years after the signing of the Concordat of Bologna, Cretin’s poem emphasizes how a strong centralized authority was responsible for the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception; he places his poem in a university setting in which the ‘recteur’ establishes the ‘rigle infaillible.’ Cretin might well be referring to the decree issued by the University of Paris in 1496 which declared that only the immaculist doctrine could be taught in the Paris faculties, but it is difficult to understand the decision of the University of Paris as a foundational moment in the history of the doctrine and it certainly cannot be construed as a ‘rigle infaillible.’ Cretin could also be referring to Sixtus IV’s bull from 1486 establishing the immaculist doctrine, but as already mentioned (see page 266, note 12), there is no record of Sixtus actually issuing such a bull or decree. There are only references to it, such as Gabriel Biel’s allusion in 1500. The doctrine was not declared infallible until the nineteenth century and so it is unclear just what avatar of the doctrine he is referring to. What is clear, in any case, is the use of a strong monolithic and authoritarian voice in the poem. As the illumination accompanying this poem in Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 2205 shows, a central figure, representing the ‘principal regent and director,’ dominates an assembly of clerics. Even if the faculty is given a certain authority, since it is they who ‘decide that they should expel/ Error far away’ the contractual nature of the Council of Basel is not present. Understood within the context of relations between council and pope described by Cajetan, this might be understood as an authorized council, one in which the pope as head of the church is present. Where Bonneannee’s poem, for example, had grounded the doctrine in the authority of ‘les docteurs,’ and Marot staged it as a debate, Cretin leaves the ‘rigle infaillible’ in the hands of the rector. The council of Basel is quickly assuming a very dominant ‘head’

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and the ‘contractual’ context in which the doctrine was promulgated is becoming more ‘organic.’ The slight change in the voice enunciating the doctrine to the rector means that the participants in the debate lose their deliberative roles and become mere supernumeraries, with little ability to influence the debate or the organization of the church. Another poem written in 1520, by Nicole Lescarre, also refers to the ‘rector’ who, in this poem, is patently a metaphor, if not a confused one, for God or Jesus Christ. The ‘rector’ orders the doctrine to be printed as a book. The theme of printing becomes the metaphoric ground of the poem: Le grand recteur qui desolez console De verite pacifique regent Voyant jadiz en la mundaine escole Les sens humain de salut indigent Preordonna icelluy negligent Avoir utile et bonne instruction Pour mectre a fin et a destruction Le mal quil scait. Car pour bien luy apprendre Sans plus le voir dignorance opprime Il luy donna pour son salut comprendre Le doctrinal sans macule imprime Scavoir divin chef du hault capitolle Vint imprimer ce volume excellent Lequel couvrist ce cypre qui se extolle Au haultain mont de syon redolent Et sans les mains du brouillon violent En fist la pure et belle impression Sans faire tache et vile oppression Au bon papier quil feist en forme estendre Par hault povoir lequel a comprime Et assemble les lectres pour nous rendre Le doctrinal sans macule imprime Le correcteur qui si nomme erreur folle Ny a veu reigle en faulx enseignement Son texte est vray. foy partout le recole Sans faulse glose et errone comment Parquoy sensuit que humain entendement

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The Gargantuan Polity Ny peult trouver de vice inflexion Car le hault verbe y print complexion Dhumaine chair pour en grace humains prendre Dont le brouillon fut du tout reprime Qui par erreur ny sceust iamais reprendre Le doctrinal sans macule imprime Lors sens humain voyant erreur frivole Ainsy confuz fut ioyeux et content De le veoir cloz par divine parolle Des sept sermans que dessus grace estend Dont limprimeur qui le scayt et entend Et qui le fist par sa protection Exempt de vice et de correction Luy commanda mettre en feu et en cendre Le correcteur vaincu et deprime Lequel pensoit aux heretiques vendre Le doctrinal sans macule imprime Comparaison a luy ne se equipolle Gerre tient noble et regime innocent Sa quantite passe le haultain pole Construction de vertus y descend Leglise chante aprez son doulx accent Theologie y voit exception De rigle humaine et pour perception Avoir de ces figures font entendre Quil est es cieulx et en terre exprime Que sens humain a pour tout bien attendre Le doctrinal sans macule imprime Envoy Prince entendez par contemplation Ce livre exempte de putrefaction Tant que sa force a faict crever et fendre Le noyr brouillon aux enfers abisme Dont vous pouvez en tout honneur deffendre Le doctrinal sans macule imprime.20 The great rector who, unconsoled himself, consoles,

The Representation of Basel in Chants Royaux Regent of peaceful truth, Seeing how in olden times in the school of life, Human understanding was without salvation, Preordained that even he who was remiss Would have useful and good instruction In order to put an end to, and to destroy The evil that he knew. To teach him well Without seeing him oppressed by ignorance He gave to him, so that he might understand his salvation, The doctrinal printed without stain. Divine knowledge, head of the lofty capital, Came to print this excellent volume Which is protected by the cypress which grows On the heights of fragrant Mt Sion. And without a hand violating the draft, Made a pure and true imprint, Without stain or unclear stamp, On good paper that he stretched to size. By his great power he compressed And assembled the letters to give us The doctrinal printed without stain. The corrector who is called mad error Saw no false rule in this teaching. His text is true. Faith everywhere receives it Without misleading gloss or erroneous commentary. That is why human understanding Can find no sinful inflexion, Because the mighty word takes on human form and flesh So that it might bring humans grace. The draft was corrected in all points; Error never could lay claim to The doctrinal printed without stain. Then human reason, seeing frivolous error So confused, was joyous and content, Seeing him shut off by the divine word, By the seven oaths that grace extends. The printer [of the doctrine] who knows and understands,

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The Gargantuan Polity And who made it by his protection, Exempt from vice and correction, Ordered [human reason] to put on the fire and ashes The vanquished and depressed corrector Who had thought to sell to heretics The doctrinal printed without stain. Nothing can be compared with her, Nothing equals her nobility and innocence, Her quantity surpasses the highest degree. From her flows all virtue. The church sings according to her sweet voice. Theology finds in her exception From the human rule, and in order to perceive her, These figures make us understand That she is in the heavens, and that on earth, Human sense has for all purposes to await The doctrinal printed without stain. Envoy Prince, understand through contemplation This book cannot lose its purity, So that its power is broken and split The black draft in the abyss of hell, As such you can in all honour defend The doctrinal printed without stain.

Here, authority for the doctrine is even more monolithic. As in Cretin’s poem, it is the ‘great rector’ who assumes authority for the doctrine, and the debaters become mere ornamental bystanders. Even more important, the doctrine is now issued from a single voice that bypasses completely the Council of Basel. Lescarre’s poem, like Cretin’s, tightens the enunciative voice for the doctrine from the plural of the Council of Basel to that of a rector without, however, ever having recourse to the pope.21 The rhetorical mode also clearly shifts from deliberative to doctrinal. Discussion happens only after the doctrine has been enunciated and not before. Instead of resulting from the assembly’s debate, the doctrine is anchored in the will of the rector who then imposes it almost as a natural law. This evolution towards a more monolithic doctrinal voice becomes

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even more notable in poems presented at the puy in the 1520s and 1530s. In a manuscript including the fifty best chants royaux presented at the puy from 1519 to 1528, virtually all of the imagery concerning the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception is papal. This manuscript (Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 1537) stands as a sort of end point in the literary representation of a papal presence at the Council of Basel. The council’s reversal of fortune is especially noteworthy in the metaphors used to depict the foundation of the doctrine. A poem by Nicole Osmont, written in 1524, exemplifies these chants royaux. Gone are the representations of the ‘doctors’ like those in Bonneannee, or the mentions of a rector presiding over disciples, or of an emperor presiding over kings as in Marot, Cretin, or Lescarre. Here the pope is shown in full control of the council and its doctrine. The incipit of Osmont’s poem gives the game away right from the start: Le grand evesque en leglise Rommaine Souverain pretre et grand legislateur Pour ordre mectre en ceste vie humaine Contre peche et son fier inventeur Feist au conseil de eternel consistoire Le grand decret escript au hault pretoire Du doy [?] de dieu par justes pactions Dont les prelatz aux constitucions Ont cueilly Rigle et celeste doctrine Et approuve en leurs conventions Le grand decret dauctorite divine. Ung livre en troys duquel sourt la fontaine De droict divin a tout scavant docteur Faict ce decret et sa Rigle certaine Sans faulte admectre ou errant correcteur Droict naturel fonde en vielle hystoire Ioincte a nouvelle et coustume notoire En ce decret font les distinctions Ou nous trouvons par les instructions Que loy de grace en leglise latine Separe a part des aultres sanctions Le grand decret dauctorite divine. Lautre et second contient en paige plaine

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The Gargantuan Polity Causes en droict pour pugnir l’infracteur Et pour donner grace en terrestre plaine Et gloire aux cieulx au bon observateur Le pape y damne en notable auditoire Les temoings faulx livre diffamatoire Contre heresie et ses positions Il satisfaict en toutes questions Le sainct esprit en ce point le illumine Soubz qui fut faict par inspirations Le grand decret dauctorite divine. Le tiers enseigne en ce mortel demaine Les sacremens du benoist createur Dedens escripts par qui grace ramaine Pecheurs reprins du grand reformateur Leglise y prend le moyen meritoire Pour dieu louer et pour faire offertoire Du pain de vie aux consecrations Sept sacremens plains damirations Prins pour sept dons que au decrect dieu assigne Font soustenir vers faulces actions Le grand decret dauctorite divine. Lauctorite de dieu qui loeuvre maine Tient ce decret contre laccusateur Verite rompt toute parolle vaine Crestien cueur en est vray zelateur Justice y tient le glayve de victoire Foy piteable en faict son repertoire Leglise y faict ses contestations Et grace iointe aux operations Du createur qui salut nous resigne Par feist aux biens de toutes nations Le grand decret dauctorite divine. Envoy A ce decret ny a point frustratoire Aussy ny a vice contradictoire En ceste la que par restrictions Dieu crea stable en humaine ruyne

The Representation of Basel in Chants Royaux Dicte en concept doue exemptions Le grand decret dauctorite divine.22 The great bishop in the Roman church Sovereign priest and great legislator To create order in this human life, Against sin and its proud inventor, Made the great decree to the highest court, In the council of the eternal assembly From the levy[?] due god by just conventions, From which the prelates in their constitution Have received the Rule and heavenly doctrine, And approved in their conventions, The great decree of divine authority. A book in three parts, from which flows the fountain Of divine law to all wise doctors, Makes this decree and its sure rule Without mistakes or error-prone corrector. Natural law, founded in old history, Joined to the new, and well-known custom Make the distinctions in this decree Where the instructions tell us That the law of grace in the Latin church Separates from all other penalties The great decree of divine authority. The other and second part contains in full page The cases in law for punishing the offender, And for giving grace on the earthly plain And glory to the heavens to the good observer. The pope damns, in notable hearing, False witnesses [and] the defamatory book, Against heresy and its positions. He satisfies in all questions, The holy spirit enlightening him on this Point made by inspiration, The great decree of divine authority. The third part teaches

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The Gargantuan Polity The sacraments of the blessed creator In this mortal life, In the writings by which grace brings back The sinners from the great reformer. The church finds the worthy means To praise God and to make an offering Of the bread of life to the consecrated, Seven sacraments full of admiration Taken as seven gifts that God assigns to the decree To uphold it against untrue actions The great decree of divine authority. The authority of God who directs the work Holds this decree against the accuser. Truth breaks all vain words, The Christian heart is its great caretaker Justice holds the sword of victory Piteous faith makes it its repertory The church takes its disputes there, And grace joined to the works Of the creator who gives us salvation Orders for the good of all nations The great decree of divine authority. Envoy This decree has no vain or fruitless point Nor any contradictory defect By way of restriction. God created in her a stable place among the human ruins, Said to be graced by exemptions in conception, The great decree of divine authority.

The conciliar reality of Basel has been completely forgotten in this poem. Here it is the pope himself, the ‘souverain pretre’ who makes the decree promulgating the Immaculate Conception to the ‘prelatz’ who gather its ‘Rigle’ and ‘celeste doctrine’ which they then approve. The ascending movement of power, so crucial to Haec sancta, from council to pope, is completely inverted. The illumination accompanying the poem offers an even more egregiously revisionist depiction of the Council of Basel. It shows two figures in cardinals’ robes debating in the foreground (see

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fig. 3).23 In the background, the pope presides over the scene with three other cardinal-like characters and two mitred figures. The explanation of these figures in the original manuscript reads: ‘The Council of Basel composed of the Pope with two assistants, three cardinals in red, two in violet, and two bishops’ (Le Concile de Basle composé du Pape avec deux assistans, trois Cardinaux en rouge, deux en violet, deux Evesques).24 Both in image and meaning this poem and its illustration put a papal spin on the Council of Basel, a spin that undermines the entire concept of the conciliar politics so crucial to the Gallican church. The Pragmatic Sanction and the acts of the Councils of Constance and Basel refer to, and depend on, a consensual and diffused concept of power. The pope was absent from the thirty-sixth session of the Council of Basel since he had attempted to enforce his will over that of the council. At Basel at least, the decentralized power of all the apostles was superior to the centralized power of Peter. The pope’s appearance in this poem marks the revenge of Peter, so to speak, against the collective pretensions of his apostolic inheritors. In Osmont’s poem, power flows from the pope to the prelates who are in an entirely passive and receptive position. This power arrangement is notable both in vocabulary and imagery: the word ‘authority’ is repeated four times and the image of the fountain is used to depict how power moves downward to the other members of the church. It is the pope who ‘makes’ the council and who ‘writes’ the decree promulgating the Immaculate Conception and the prelates who approve it. It is the pope who ‘damns’ the defenders of the maculist cause. The pope is illumined by the Holy Spirit and it is under his inspiration that he makes ‘Le grand decret dauctorite divine.’ This line of thinking is notable in light of the pages and pages written by the conciliarists regarding the Holy Spirit’s authorizing presence at their assemblies. As represented on the seal of the Council of Basel, the dove descends on all of the council fathers, including the pope; its presence authorized the decree regarding the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception. Osmont’s poem effectively cuts the council out of the picture, and by making the pope’s decree divine through the presence of the Holy Spirit, erases the council and the Gallican church’s reason for being. With the pope fully ensconced in these poems and in their illustrations, the consensual philosophy of the Gallican church disappears. Symbolically, no longer made up of individuals who help support it, the church now becomes much more like the sheepfold described by

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Cajetan. The shift to papal control of the church is perhaps nowhere more complete than in a chant royal by Nicole Lescarre in 1525, whose palinodic refrain reads: ‘Romme ou se tient saint pape innocent.’ Indulgences and influence are located in Rome, and in complete disregard for all the principles of the Pragmatic Sanction, it is necessary to make a pilgrimage to Rome to receive the spiritual benefits of the church. Chant royal ou desir humain Pour le dur mors faict a la pomme Tenant ung bourdon en sa main Veult estre pelerin de romme Que la vierge saincte ie nomme Et le pape de ce sainct lieu C’est iesus christ le filz de dieu. Par le serpent qui feist du fruict menger. Desir humain ce jourdhuy fait record. Quil est vers dieu si loingtain estranger. Et pelerin quil ne vit quen discord. Mais pour vers luy estre en grace et daccord. Aller pretend a romme en diligence. Chercher amour donc sans craindre indigence. Dhumilite il a lescherpe ceincte. Tenant bourdon despoir qui luy consent. Daller tost voir la cite pure et saincte Romme ou se tient le saint pape innocent. Saint Pierre y voyt sa puissance eriger Tant que aux pecheurs remission en sort. Saint pol docteur ne lentend obliger. Au mors antique ayant sur nous ressort. Symon Magus par art maqique et sort. Ny volle point pour mettre en decadence. Foy catholique y tenant residence Car heresie est par elle destaincte. Dont saincte eglise et tout droit condescend. Que erreur ne voyt de lhumain vice attaincte. Romme ou se tient le saint pape innocent. Ce pelerin y prend se purger.

The Representation of Basel in Chants Royaux Puissantz mandatz derogantz a leffort. De ce serpent le poursuyvant plonger. En phlegeton le lac de desconfort. Le chancelier est bening reconfort. Qui luy confere ample bulle et dispense. Davoir salut pour digne recompense. Vesta y voyt virginite enceincte. Par feu divin qui par grace y descend. Dont ne puelt estre en purite destaincte. Romme ou se tient le saint pape innocent. Son noble poste et loyal messager. Est gabriel archange digne et fort. Luy annoncant que le divin bergier. Tymbre de grace y faict fluer tresfort. Lange de dieu tenant glaive en son fort. Ny voyt regner mortelle pestilence. Qui vint du mors commis par violence. Car loy humaine estoit de dieu restraincte. Pour elle seulle aussy verite sent. Que a vice infect ne fut jamais estraincte. Romme ou se tient le saint pape innoncent. Hystoriens elle a pour rediger. Que ce serpent soubz sa puissance est mort. Fors chevaliers soustient pour corriger. Le mal vueillant qui diniure la mord. Quand pelerin envers dieu se remord Davoir commys mortelle negligence. Clefz y obtient de planiere indulgence. Et vray pardon pelerin donc sans craincte. Aller y peult portant habit decent. Pour soustenir que a tribut nest contraincte. Romme ou se tient le saint pape innocent. Envoy Romme ou sathan a trouve resistence. Romme ou victoire et paix font assistence. Romme ou vertu cardinale est empraincte. Romme ou sont faictz triumphes plus de cent.

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The Gargantuan Polity Nommer te doy a bon droit et sans faincte. Romme ou se tient le saint pape innocent.25 Chant royal in which human desire, Because of the bitter bite from the apple, Holding a pilgrim’s staff, Desires to make a pilgrimage to Rome, Which place I call the Holy Virgin. And the pope of this holy place Is Jesus Christ the son of god. On account of the serpent who made him eat the fruit, Human desire today takes note That he is a distant stranger from God. And a pilgrim who only lives in discord. But in order to be in his good grace and accord, He desires to go to Rome with good speed. To look for love without fear of indigence, He girds his waist with humility. Holding the staff of hope that he is granted To see the pure and holy city as quickly as possible, Rome where the holy and innnocent pope is found. There Saint Peter sees his power built So that sinners might receive remission [of their sins]. Saint Paul, the holy doctor, does not intend him to be subject To the antique bite that has force over us. Simon Magus cannot instill decadence there, by magic and spells; The Catholic faith has its residence there Because heresy is extinguished by her, By whom the holy church and all its laws are consented, So that she is not in error stained by human sin, Rome where the holy and innocent pope is found. This pilgrim who means to purge himself there, Takes powerful mandates to make his task easier. This causes the serpent following him to dive In Phlegeton, the lake of affliction. The chancellor, Benign Comfort, who confers on him Great bulls and dispensations,

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So that he might have salvation as a worthy recompense. Vesta, who sees her virginity enclosed By divine fire, and whose purity cannot be stained, Descends there by grace, Rome where the holy and innocent pope is found. His noble aid and loyal messenger, Gabriel, the worthy and powerful archangel, Announces to him that the divine shepherd Transmits there with great force his voice of grace; The angel of God, who holds the sword in his sheath, Sees no mortal disease reign there, Which comes from the bite made by violence. Because human law was restrained by God. For her [Rome] alone, he [Gabriel] feels the truth That [Rome] was never touched by stinking vice, Rome where the holy and innocent pope is found. She has historians to recount That the serpent by her force is dead. Powerful knights vie to correct The evil wanting to bite her with insults. When the pilgrim repents to God For having committed mortal negligence. Keys are obtained there by plenary indulgence, And true pardon. The pilgrim then without fear Goes there wearing worthy clothes To show that he is not constrained by debt, Rome where the holy and innocent pope is found. Envoy Rome where Satan was resisted. Rome where victory and peace are present. Rome where the cardinal virtue is imprinted. Rome where there are more than one hundred triumphs. I must name you rightly and without dissembling Rome where the holy and innocent pope is found.

The ability to represent the church has clearly shifted to the pope’s advantage here. In Lescarre’s poem, ‘Romme,’ symbolizes the Virgin

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Mary and the pope symbolizes Jesus Christ. Rome is also where the Holy Spirit’s power descends. The city gives birth to the pope in the same way that the Virgin Mary gave birth to Jesus. Where the Pragmatic Sanction had sought to dilute ecclesiastical power throughout the church, this poem places it uniquely in one place: Rome. The accompanying illumination is described as ‘Un pelerin qui va à Rome et qui est à ses portes.’26 Even if the city in the illustration doesn’t look anything like Rome, the meaning is clear: in order to gain indulgences it is necessary to go to Rome, which is now a symbolic figure of the Virgin herself. The pilgrim in the illumination has no political autonomy, but is, rather, a powerless subject, submitting himself to the authority of the pope. Pontifical absence and Marial presence at Basel had exemplified conciliar theology and Gallican politics. In Lescarre’s poem, the figurative appearance of the Virgin Mary in the city of Rome stands as the logical complement to the pope’s appearance at the Council of Basel. If in the Gallican and conciliar context of the fifteenth century, the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception was associated with the collective nature of the church, it is now clearly associated with the monarchical nature of the post concordat church. Where the plural and collective voice of the council could be discerned in the earlier poems by Bonneannee and Faulvel, the monarchical voice of the pope increasingly dominates poems produced in Rouen. A final example dating from after 1520, written by Raoul Parmentier, also shows ecclesiastical power represented by the pope. In this poem, the church, depicted in papal array, is shown as settling a debate between Labeur and Noblesse regarding the Virgin’s birth. Parmentier’s description unmistakably shows the new understanding of church authority in relation to the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception: Sur un beau champ ou gerbes sont a tas En reposant ma debile nature Advis me fut que je vey deux estats En gros estrif pour une creature Laquelle estoit en grande prelature Intronisee en repos assure En ame et corps sur ciel azure En tel degre que sans aucun desroy Elle excedoit seraphin et archanges Et obtenant pres le souverain roy

The Representation of Basel in Chants Royaux Throsne sacre par dessus tous les anges De cet estrif sans user dadvocatz Je vey labeur en faire louverture Ainsi disant en remonstrant le cas Par plusieurs poinctz de la saincte escripture Que dieu son filz ou il peust couverture Par son moyen ce iour beneure La faict monter en habit decore Sans que Sathan luy ayt faict quelque effroy En luy donnant par un divin octroy Throne sacre par dessus tous les anges Lors declara mot a mot par compas Que ceste dame en esuyvant droicture Pour nous donner consolatif repas Avoit porte en sa saincte closture Le bon fourment de paix et nourriture En concluant par maint dict avere Que son sainct corps sur tous saincts revere Par labourer en ce mondain terroy Est exalte et hors des basses fanges Ou il recoit en glorieux arroy Throne sacre par dessus tous les anges Noblesse apres par maniere desbatz Se leva sus en pompeuse ornature En luy disant: Labeur plus nen debatz Car tu commets trop grande forfaicture Nest elle pas de noble geniture Et qui plus [est] n’a elle pas [?] repare Au monde paix et discord separe En confutant par la lance de foy Ses ennemys et privez et estranges Parquoy je dy que elle obtient de par moy Throne sacre par dessus tous les anges Incontinent ie vey sur ces debatz Venir leglise en papalle stature En leur disant ames freres parler bas

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The Gargantuan Polity Et escoutez ma tressaincte lecture De veoir ung corps en si digne structure Si pres de dieu en ung siege dore Danges et sainctz dignement adore Cela transcende ainsi comme ie croy Voz arguments car ce iourdhuy pour changes [?] Ila receu en triumphant convoy Throne sacre par dessus tous les anges Labeur voyant que son dict estoit vray Noblesse et luy feirent maintes louenges Disantz marie avoir sans dessarroy Throne sacre par dessus tous les anges.27 While resting my weakened nature In a lovely field where hay had been baled, I realized that two estates Were involved in a great debate about a creature Of the highest rank. Enthroned in sure repose In soul and body above the blue sky To such degree that there was no confusion That she exceeded seraphim and archangels Receiving near the sovereign king The sacred throne above all the angels. In this quarrel, I saw Labour make an opening, Without lawyers, Citing as proof of his case Several points from holy scripture: That God, through his son, By this means on that happy day Made her rise in beautiful dress, And without Satan having done her any violence By giving her divine authorization, Sacred throne above all the angels. Then he declared word by word exactly That this lady, by fortifying rightness, Had brought to her holy enclosure,

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To give us joyous sustenance, The good wheat of peace and nourishment. Concluding by many wise sayings That her holy body above all the saints is revered For having laboured in this earthly terrain And is exalted and beyond the lowly mire Where he receives in glorious magnificence, Sacred throne above all the angels. Nobility, in manner of debate, Rose with pompous air Saying to him: ‘Labour, debate no more Because you commit too great a crime Is she not from noble birth And even more, hasn’t she repaired Peace on this earth and separated discord, By refuting, with the spear of faith, Her enemies both familiar and foreign; This is why I say that she deserves, according to me, The sacred throne above all the angels.’ Then suddenly I saw the church in papal array come towards these debates, Telling them ‘Brother souls, lower your voices, And listen to my holy reading. To see a body in so worthy a structure So close to God on a golden throne Worthily adored by angels and saints – This transcends, I believe, Your arguments because today [?] He has received with triumphant escort, The sacred throne above all the angels. Labour, seeing that what he said was true, With Nobility sang her many praises Saying Mary must have without further ado, The sacred throne above all the angels.

The illumination accompanying this poem shows a figure dressed in a papal tiara and robe behind two other figures (see fig. 4).28 Parmen-

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tier’s poem effectively eliminates the Council of Basel altogether and transforms the debate about the Virgin’s conception from that of the Franciscans and Dominicans at the council into a quarrel between social classes. The doctrine itself, as in all the chants royaux written since the Concordat of Bologna (1516), is considered as arising from the authority of the pope. The meaning of the expression representans ecclesiam has changed entirely. The church is now represented as the ecclesia romana, personified by the pope, and not as a congregatio fidelium. Doctrinal authority is enunciated by the pope’s voice and not that of the assembly. Parmentier’s poem also transforms the deliberative nature of the debate into a quarrel that needs to be resolved by a monarchical power, much like the Roman king Tulle does at the end of Corneille’s Horace. Debate is seen as a negative means to understanding, and doctrine is grounded in the pope’s authority. The pope’s ‘holy reading’ establishes the doctrine, not the dispute between Noblesse and Labeur.29 The opinions of the two participants in the debate are seen more as impediments to understanding than as grounding for it. It is the more perfect understanding of the papal figure that finally decides the issue, overcoming the wills of the two debaters. The culminating point in the evolution of the Council of Basel’s depiction in poems written for the competition at the puy in Rouen is most probably reached in an illumination (fig. 5) accompanying Jean Marot’s chant royal ‘Lors que au palais de la cite de basle’ in the same manuscript as Raoul Parmentier’s.30 This manuscript, which most probably dates from the second quarter of the sixteenth century, depicts the pope as presiding over the very council at which he had been deposed. If Marot’s poem had placed the council under the aegis of the emperor, this illustration places it firmly under papal control. In this depiction, the debate between the Franciscan and the Dominican knights takes place before a person wearing a papal tiara and cape who can only be the pope. The appearance of other characters at the debate is just as surprising. To the pope’s left is a figure in a cape studded with fleur-de-lys and bordered with ermine, the French king. To the pope’s left, a figure with a closed crown and holding an orb in his right hand would seem to be the emperor. The presence of so many cardinals in this illumination also changes dramatically the complexion of the Council of Basel where the number of cardinals was in reality never very high. This illumination stands in complete opposition to the reality represented in the phrase ‘apostolica sede vacante’ added to the bull promulgating the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception. This was the case in

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many of the bulls made at the Council of Basel between 25 June 1439, when the council deposed Eugenius IV, and 5 November 1439, when they elected Amadeus of Savoy as Pope Felix V. This illumination expresses perhaps most fully just how far the conception of ecclesiastical polity had come since the time of the Council of Basel. If the empty papal seat expressed in the phrase ‘apostolica sede vacante,’ can be understood as a metonymic symbol of the power of the councils, the presence of the pope in this illumination can be read equally well as a symbol of the renewed power of the papacy. Just as the council’s power had been symbolized by that empty seat, the papacy’s renewed power was symbolized in this image of the pope presiding over a council which he had not only never attended, but at which he had actually been deposed. This new imagery also implies a new understanding of how individuals functioned within the church polity. Where the pope was figured as being one among many bishops on the seal of the Council of Basel, he was now seen lording over the other bishops. Where the seal of the Council of Basel empowered the members of the council through the general inspiration of the Holy Spirit, the later depiction of the council in the sixteenth-century illumination effectively disempowered those members of the council. They became more supernumeraries meant to fill up space in the picture than actual agents responsible for the promulgation of the doctrine. Far from offering meaningful opinion, the participants in the debate now act as witnesses to the pope’s power, much as they did in Parmentier’s chant royal. In the ecclesiastical world, following the Concordat of Bologna and the Fifth Lateran Council, there was little room for the sort of deliberative process depicted in Bonneannee’s chant royal from 1498 in which it was the ‘docteurs’ who enunciated the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception. Now it is the pope, and the pope alone, who gives voice to the doctrine. A Polity and A Poetics of the Non-Subjective ‘I’ Throughout these poems from Rouen, the poet is figured within his own work as an objective character dissociated from any strong subjective presence. The narrative ‘je’ does not command the poem and structure it around a subjective presence. For the most part, the narrators of these poems, except perhaps in the final poem written by Parmentier, express a subjective presence only in the final envoy which is addressed to the prince of the puy. And even in the envoy, the referential

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weight of the ‘je’ is as impersonal as the prince’s. Like the prince, the narrator does not play a strong role in these chants royaux; both exist as functional identities in the poem but do not have any strong subjective presence. It is in the ornate and complicated images of the chant royal’s allegory that a presence is most highly felt. In the competitive poetic contests staged by the confraternity, the poet responds to a given subject and his worth is decided by how well he develops this common, shared material. The worth of the poem is less due to the originality of the poet’s vision than to his ability to manipulate familiar material that belongs to the community of poets and readers. Since the arguments for and against the Immaculate Conception were well known, poems were judged more on how the theme was treated than on the poet’s ability to find new material. In many ways, the poetic voice in these chants royaux is characteristic of what I refer to in the introduction as a non-subjective individual. These poets all exercise their will and literary skills in order to distinguish themselves from each other, yet their poems are marked by very little lyric subjectivity of the sort that characterizes so much later poetry. The author of the chant royal is like the participants at the councils or the carver of ornate decorations in a late Gothic church. Although perhaps better known than the anonymous carver, or the participant at the council, the poet’s voice is rarely, if ever, ‘lyrical.’ He never sings of himself and the ‘je’ of the envoy, either implicit or explicit, merely allows the narrator to address the poem to the prince. The poem does not articulate a personal identity other than that of a grammatical person. This is in many ways typical of the statute of the individual in the premodern period. The poet exists as a grammatical person but not as a source of subjective understanding and expression.31 Much like the plural identity of the Council of Basel, this narrative ‘je’ belongs to a society in which power and identity are plural and collective. Just as no one person can claim to represent the church, no one person has the literary sovereignty to stake out a completely individual and personal voice or vision. Individuality exists as a question of singularity but not as a form of subjectivity. The symbolic shift noticeable in these poems and in their illustrations demonstrates how images, both literary and visual, reflect political developments. Political documents such as the Concordat of Bologna and the Pragmatic Sanction express very explicit ideas about the organization of the polis, and these poems show how the political imaginary shifts correspondingly. This is not to say that it is only the political that deter-

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mines the artistic. It is just as obvious from the metaphors and images from the councils, the Pragmatic Sanction, and the Concordat that a political imaginary was necessary even to conceive of the political ideas explicitly expressed in these treatises. Both political and literary works exhibit a similar shift from a horizontal and diffused understanding of the church towards a vertical and hierarchical understanding of ecclesiastical organization. The symbolic images used to depict the reality of the council, from the metaphors of columns and pillars in the Pragmatic Sanction, to the acephalic council in Cajetan, and the pope in a commanding position in the illustrations from the 1520s are all situated within a political context that gives them shape and helps determine their meaning. The human mind needs these symbols to figure and understand political reality since that reality is, by nature, figurative and conceptual. As the conceptual nature of the polis shifts, so too do the metaphors and symbols used to signify it. Whether sheep, flocks, council fathers, pastors, rivulets, columns, pillars, or monks, the shape and meaning of these figures is determined by the political configuration they depict. At the same time, these symbolic shapes are used to configure that political reality. Without them, it would be impossible to express any political reality whatsoever. Both determined and determining, these symbols of power are crucial to understanding political reality. The metaphors in the edicts of the Councils of Constance and Basel and in the Pragmatic Sanction all suggest a society similar to that described by Dumont as a form of societas. The assemblies and multiple sources of power actually involved in the governance of the church are symbolic manifestations of a contractual society. Many voices were necessary for the well-being of the church. These voices are apparent in poems such as Bonneannee’s chant royal from 1498. The ‘docteurs’ all participate in the formulation of the doctrine. No one voice was capable of overruling the collective authority of the council. The very form of the chant royal exemplifies a similar understanding of poetic voice, for the poet’s voice is subsumed in the general structure of the poem. No one voice or will dominates, and the voice of the poet is refracted in the mouths of those participants in the debate about the Immaculate Conception. The chant royal, like the Council of Basel, is full of diverse voices, none of which, not even that of the poet, is able to dominate all the others. It is only when these images representing a horizontal understanding of church polity disappear that a singular voice appears to enunciate the

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doctrine of the Immaculate Conception in the chants royaux of the sixteenth century, especially those written after 1518. In these poems, the voices that had been so important to the governance of the church are silenced. The authority of the doctrine shifts from the council to the pope. When the pope enunciates the doctrine he does not use the deliberative rhetoric of the councils or of the earlier chants royaux. He defends a doctrine rather than deliberates. Authority rather than opinion is the dominant mode and the deliberative rhetoric of the Franciscans and Dominicans becomes more doctrinal as in Parmentier’s poem in which Noblesse and Labeur discuss the Immaculate Conception but have no real input. Power is becoming much more like that described by Dumont as ‘organic.’ As in Cajetan’s description of ecclesiastical power, order is in nature and the members of the church are likened to animals such as sheep which follow orders but do not participate as political agents. Power flows from a source as water from a fountain and the church functions as a sheepfold which is used to contain the undifferentiated animals within it. All these poems show an evolution from an ascending-model of power to a more top-down approach. The individual voices that had been a vital and explicit element in the conciliar church disappear in the monarchical vision of Cajetan, Julius II, and Leo X. Although not explicitly a question of individualism, the quarrels between the councils and the papacy theatricalize the distinction between societas and universitas. Following the logic of Dumont, it is clear as a result that a premodern individual must have predated a later, more modern, one. The disappearance of the conciliar voices in the illustration of the Council of Basel accompanying Jean Marot’s poem, mentioned at the beginning of the chapter, offers graphic proof of how individuals ‘disappeared’ in the construction of the modern church. These individuals were not subjective individuals in a modern sense in that they exhibit very little trace of interior states, of an ‘arrièreboutique,’ to use Montaigne’s term. They were nonetheless individuals in the sense that they exerted some form of political autonomy in the management of the church. Turned outward to the community, with little subjective depth, these individuals were much like the authors of the chants royaux in the sense that they could be understood as objective voices within a community that they themselves were trying to describe. Objective individuals, they thrived in a polis in which sovereignty was diffused throughout the church, which was held up by the columns and pillars of their strength. It was only when they were con-

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verted to ‘sheep’ that the pope was able to exert his will over the church. The silence of the lambs in this new church contrasted starkly with the noisy, boisterous, and anarchic church at Basel. Modern individualism will only be born from the turning inward of these newly silenced subjects.

3 Late-Medieval Polity and Poetics: Jean Molinet’s Ressource du petit peuple

One of the great differences between modern ‘subjective’ individualism and its older, more ‘objective’ form concerns voice. When a poet speaks in a modern lyrical poem, he or she is thought to express a strong internal or subjective feeling. But what happens when a poet does not have that kind of interior state to begin with? This is a question that could be asked of the Burgundian court poet, Jean Molinet, who was the indiciaire, or official historiographer, for Charles the Bold and his Austrian successor, Maximilian. Molinet’s poems are resolutely turned outward, towards the community in which he wrote. His ‘self’ is almost always described as being akin to that of an ‘actor’ in a work of which he himself is the ‘author.’ The fact that the terms ‘acteur’ and ‘autheur’ are used interchangeably throughout his works to refer to what we would understand today as an author bears witness to the sort of objective individualism alluded to in the introduction.1 In the late fifteenth century, political and poetic voices are similar. If poetic identity shows little interior presence, political identity also seems defined much more in terms of exterior relationships. Both politics and poetics are close to the definition of the political used by Hannah Arendt who explains that the political concerns the ‘space between individuals.’2 For Arendt, no political essence can transcend this space. Similarly, the political and poetic literature of the fifteenth century suggests that neither poetry nor politics knew a transcendent subjectivity that would overcome the differences between individuals. Politically and poetically, individuals were actors more than they were authors. The polis of late fifteenth-century Burgundy and France was constructed of a complicated skein of ties between ruler and subject, what Philippe de Commynes calls a patchwork of counterweights or oppo-

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sites.3 This idea had already been sketched out by Nicole Oresme in his translation and commentary on Aristotle’s Politics (c. 1370) in which he explained that a universal monarchy was to be rejected because it was more fitting if government were ‘mixed’ and made up of ‘all the citizens’ because each would be ‘tempered’ and ‘restrained’ by the other.4 Political justice was often a question of maintaining an equilibrium considered inherent in the polis rather than of bringing change to an already existing system. In the existent social paradigm in France, power was so widely diffused through the body politic that no one, not even the prince, could claim too much for himself without endangering the body as a whole. As Machiavelli noted, French kings were much less powerful than other monarchs because they were surrounded by others who could contradict their will.5 Political theorists throughout the fifteenth century repeated the belief that the king could not ignore the contract of obligation tying him to his subjects like a litany.6 Based on an age-old belief that sovereignty had been transferred to the ruler of Frankish tribes from the people through a popular election, power was construed as being held by the French king solely through the good will of the people.7 The author of the Songe du Vergier, written near the end of the fourteenth century, and the chancellor of the University of Paris, Jean Gerson, who wrote at the beginning of the fifteenth century, both insisted that the king of France held the realm by title of hereditary succession out of the original consent of his subjects.8 This contractual form of sovereignty created a highly static political sphere. Tied together in a complex set of contractual ties, many of which were laden with symbolic gestures and meaning, neither prince nor subject could express his political independence without destroying the polis as a whole.9 These sermons and contracts defined the constitutional framework in which the dialogue between prince and country took place.10 As Ullmann explains, this sort of bottom-up political organization not only reduced the power of the king, it also increased the power of individuals throughout the polis. The greatest danger in the fifteenth-century polis was that the unbridled will of an individual would create a disequilibrium in the highly static relationship between king and subject. The greatest potential for this disequilibrium resided in the ruler, who could easily become a tyrant. In order to prevent this from happening there needed to be a counterweight to his power, as Commynes explained.11 Tyranny’s corollary danger, popular sedition, also represented a potential menace to the political equilibrium, as political treatises from throughout the fif-

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teenth century attest.12 Political well-being was achieved through a balancing of these dangers. Molinet’s poetic representations of the Duchy of Burgundy are of a piece with the political practice of his time, reflecting the recognition of individual wills held in equilibrium by contractual agreements. One of the most important marks of this individual will was the ability to criticize the neglectful ruler.13 This critical voice appears strongly in treatises of the fifteenth century, like those of Jean Gerson, when so many rulers were adopting more monarchical positions and attempting to separate themselves from the skein of political obligations that had previously both given them power and limited their political ambition. Jean Gerson: Politics of Mutual Consent and Vivat Rex (1405) On 7 November 1405, Jean Gerson, the chancellor of the University of Paris (and one of the chief proponents of conciliar politics at the Council of Constance) criticized the king, Charles VI, in no uncertain terms for forgetting the mutuality of his relationship with his subjects.14 In his Harengue faicte au nom de l’université de Paris, devant le roy Charles sixiesme, et tout le conseil, contenant les remonstrances touchant le gouvernement du roy, et du royaume, known more commonly as Vivat Rex, Gerson reminded the king that the first ‘truth’ of political rule was this bond of mutual obligation: The first truth, and thus the first lesson of nature, is that all the members in a true body expose themselves for the well-being of the head, in the same way true subjects must be to the lord in a mystical body. But on the other hand, the head must direct and govern the other members. Otherwise this would mean destruction, because a head without a body cannot exist. This truth is raised against the horror of those who have said that a lord is in no way held or obliged by his subjects, which is against divine law and natural equity, and the true faith of lordship. Because, just as the subjects owe faith, subsidy, and service, the lord also owes faith, protection, and defence to his subjects. One good requires the other according to the doctors.15

As the title of Gerson’s Harengue suggests, the author saw his task as a rhetorical one – to persuade the king to act wisely. The Harengue represents a form of deliberative rhetoric in which the chancellor of the university advised the king to rule in a certain way so as to ensure the

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realm’s future well-being. As in earlier sermons he had written, the truth that Gerson imparted to the king was a simple reminder that even if the king’s authority was almost total, it relied on a mutual agreement and obligation between the king and his subjects.16 Gerson reminds the king that all kings and princes were named by the common accord of subjects and needed to be mindful of the contractual nature of their authority if they wished to remain in power. He contextualizes his remarks about the bonds of mutual obligation by reminding the king that he, and all princes, owe their power to an original agreement with his people: I always report and refer all my remarks without thought of gain, by whatever word I use, that the king must live, live, I say, not only as a physical body as it is said but also a civil and mystical one, which is held together and defended by its unity as the head or leader with his subjects who are like the body having different members according to the different offices and states in their realm. However, a king, since he is not a singular person, but is a public power commanded by the well-being of all the common people, must [as happens in a human body] extend life to all the body from the head down. And the kings and princes were ordered to do this from the beginning by the common accord of all; they must continue in such a manner.17

The king’s power did not emanate from his person but from the common accord of all. The head of the body politic could no more ignore the other parts of his body than a real head could. The head might lead the body, but it could not separate itself from it, and must rule by the common agreement of all. Once again, this does not mean to say that fifteenth-century Europe knew a kind a premodern version of democracy; it simply means that power or sovereignty was understood to be diffused throughout the body politic in a way that allowed individuals a certain control or limit on the prince’s power.18 Fifteenth-century political theorists did not consider the safeguarding of power in the hands of the prince as an infringement of personal liberty in a modern sense, but, rather, as a safeguarding of corporate liberties on which the body politic depended.19 The prince was less an absolute ruler above the law than a defender of the body politic of which he was a part. The prince and his subjects were all responsible for making sure that the body politic was not torn apart by either party trying to function at the expense of any other part of the body. The second truth that Gerson

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spells out to the king directly addresses this question of the body’s dismemberment: The second truth: Just as there is nothing more cruel, horrible, and hideous than to see a human or natural body rip itself apart, or dismember itself by biting or otherwise in the physical world, similarly, in a spiritual regard of reason, it is no less cruel. Yet it is even more cruel to the mystical body, if the parts are varied and divided and persecute each other, as lords in regards to their subjects, and subjects in regards to their lords, as when one seizes the right and office from the other. Naturally, everything defends its right, and responds act by act, violence by violence. Vim vi repellere licet. (Force is allowed to repel force.) It appears that they are wrong, those who say to Princes that everything is theirs, and that they can dispose of all things according to their own device and will, and take everything and give to themselves what belongs to their subjects without other title. What does it mean that the strong can take all? What can follow? Such inconvenience follows that it is as if the head wanted to attract to itself all the blood, humour, and substance from the other members of the body. What would this be like? There is no doubt that this would mean the body’s own destruction. A head without a body cannot last. A body without sustenance perishes in little time.20

For Gerson, a head without a body could not exist and the king should not attempt to act according to his own ‘devise & volunté’ since he is part of the same body as his subjects. Gerson’s understanding of the politics of mutual obligation was of a piece with that of other political theorists of the late Middle Ages. Terre Rouge, in the first two tracts of his Contra Rebelles Suorum Regum (1418– 19), also said that the political body was not under the control of a single will, but of several.21 Nicole Oresme, citing Marsilius of Padua’s Defensor pacis in his translation and commentary of Aristotle’s Politics, also said that the multitude must have the power since ‘the whole is greater than the part.’22 The prince needed therefore to be subservient to the legislator; he could do nothing that would restrain or change the law without the consent of the people.23 Oresme, most importantly, located the fulcrum of political sovereignty in the individual, saying that laws needed to be judged not by ‘légistes’ subject to misunderstood precepts of Roman law, which gave absolute power to the king, but rather by the individual ‘who has in himself political prudence.’24

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Commynes: A Politics of contrepoids (1480s) To adopt Gerson’s terms, the king might be the most important actor on the political stage, but he was far from being its sole author. His will was counted as one of many, none of whom could exert itself to the detriment of the whole. In the 1480s, Philippe de Commynes elaborated a political theory of counterweights (contrepoids) which was similar to these other theories of restrained sovereignty that restricted the will of the king. Just as Gerson had earlier tried to articulate a system that could prevent the princes from doing ‘everything according to their pleasure and will,’ Commynes conceived of a political system that would provide a means of restraining the uncontrolled will of the prince. Commynes explained that the divisions and oppositions of the world were necessary in order to prevent a bad prince from exerting his will over the rest of society: It would seem then that these divisions were necessary everywhere in the world, and that the goads and contrary things that God gave and ordered for each Estate and for almost every person, as I said earlier, are also necessary. And, at first glance, speaking as an uncultivated person, who does not want to have the opinion that we should all have, it seems to me to be thus, and principally because of the bestiality of several princes, and also for the evilness of others who have sufficient sense and experience, but who want to use it badly.25

Multiplicity was the crucial term in political organization. Even if Commynes hints at the difficulty of holding opinions, they had to be voiced to ensure that an equitable government was brought into effect. For Commynes, the principal counterweight to monarchical abuse, and source of ‘goads and countering things’ was the Estates General.26 The Estates General of the Middle Ages were the direct ancestors of our modern parliamentary assemblies, which are the basis of representative powers.27 One of the most important duties of the Estates was to raise taxes, and all taxes in the Middle Ages were, in principle, supposed to be approved by the Estates. But this was not the only reason why the Estates were called. The Estates of Burgundy met very frequently; from 1356 to 1500, they met at least 234 times.28 Often they were called to address serious political problems. For example, in 1480 they were convened to advise on the establishment of the Parlement of Burgundy, and

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then again in 1482 to advise on the Peace of Arras concluded with Archduke Maximilian.29 According to Commynes, the Estates General allowed the king, among other things, to raise taxes without resorting to tyranny and violence, since it allowed his subjects to voice their approval.30 He explained that the French king had to depend less than all other kings on the expression: ‘I have the privilege of raising whatever taxes I please on my subjects’ (J’ay privileige de lever sur mes subgectz ce qu’il me plaist).31 The French king, thanks to the Estates General, was able to say not only that he had good and loyal subjects, but also that he was more feared, obeyed, and served by his subjects than any other prince who lived on earth.32 The Estates General, within the context of Commyne’s contractual politics of ‘goads and contrary things’ did not represent an infringement on the king’s power so much as a means of authorizing it. Commynes disagreed with those who believed it a crime of high treason to speak about assembling the Estates or to say that they were only called in order to diminish the authority of the king (‘lèze majesté que de parler d’assembler Estatz et que c’est pour diminuer l’auctorité du roy’).33 For Commynes, those who viewed the Estates General as a diminishment of the king’s power were guilty of a crime against God: and it is they who commit a crime against God, against the king, and against the republic. It is they who used, and use, these words with those who are in authority and have esteem without having deserved it in the slightest. And it is they who are the least qualified to be in that position. And it is they who are only too accustomed to whispering in the ear [of the king] and who fear large gatherings, out of fear that they might not be recognized and that their works might be criticized.34

Good governance came from frequent and honest consultation with the institution of the Estates General since the king’s power was grounded in the contract tying king and people together. Those who feared these ‘grandz assemblées’ really had nothing to be afraid of. Commynes specifically cited the Estates of 1484 as a good political example.35 These Estates allowed the king, said Commynes, to raise more taxes than he ever could possibly have done through his own means. The only other way of raising these taxes would have been coercively, through the exercise of ‘volonté désordonnée.’36 This royal disorderly will was synonymous with tyranny and the diffusion of authority in the Estates General

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actually increased the power of the prince since his will needed to be counter-balanced by those of his subjects. The Estates General of 1484: Consensual Politics at Work The power of the Estates was a hotly debated subject at the Estates General of 1484, not only between representatives of the king and representatives of the Estates, but also among the members of the Estates themselves. When they were called after the death of Louis XI in 1483, public opinion was largely hostile to the monarchy. Louis’s son, Charles VIII, was only thirteen years old, and many of the nobles wanted to take back some of the influence they had lost under Louis XI.37 Charles, who was considered to have reached legal majority under the law of Charles V, was weak in spirit and body and was incapable of exercising power by himself. Louis XI had ostensibly left the care and government of the prince with his son-in-law, the Lord of Beaujeu, and in reality with his daughter, Anne. Once her brother was in power, she immediately tried to take control.38 This was the context for many of the discussions at the Estates concerning the power of the Estates, which assembled on 5 January 1484. These Estates are particularly important to the history of representative government since it was at Tours that they were transformed from a meeting of feudal perspective into an assembly representative of the nation.39 In order to designate the representatives who would go to Tours, elections were held all over the kingdom of France according to the administrative districts then in use, ‘bailliages’ and ‘sénéchaussées.’ Besides an enlarged number of nobles, and the inclusion of country priests who had not heretofore participated in them, the Estates in Tours in 1484 also included the Third Estate. Some districts did hold separate elections for the three different Estates, but in general, the deputies were named by a meeting of the electors of the Three Estates. This meant that each deputy appeared to hold his powers from an election of the Three Estates and not only from one of them. The clergy and the nobles therefore had to be considered as representatives of the people. The assembly itself was organized around geographical principles into six sections, rather than according to the traditional Three Estates. The ‘cahier général’ which resulted from the consultations of these sections had to be approved by the entire assembly before it could be presented to the king’s counsel.40 There were many debates about the Estates’ authority at Tours. Some

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of the members claimed that the highest authority of the kingdom fell to the Estates and that they need not have recourse to supplications to the king. Rather, they said, decrees and commands were their purview. Others, however, felt that the princes of royal blood were responsible for the governance of the state and that the princes did not need the consent of the Estates except in order to raise taxes. For them the assembly of the Estates was simply a favour made to their subjects by the princes.41 Philippe Pot, le Seigneur de la Roche, a representative of Burgundy, voiced perhaps the most overt claim for a completely consensual notion of power in the fifteenth century.42 Pot, whose eloquence was legendary – he was known as the ‘mouth of Cicero’ – made a remarkable oration which underlined the contractual nature of his politics. He began by addressing the assembly: ‘If I didn’t know, most illustrious assembly, that the purest and the best part of those among you had enough intelligence to understand and defend the free power of the Estates, I would not have dared nor would I have come forward to speak about it with you.’43 Pot went on to state that anyone who would take control of the government without the agreement of others in the polis would be proclaimed an ‘invader of royal power, a disturber of the peace and a tyrant.’44 He grounded his critique in the same political theory mentioned by Gerson, Oresme, and the others, which conceived of royal power as being rooted in a purely conventional and non-hereditary tradition: I say in support of my opinion that royalty is a dignity and not a heredity, and that it must not in any way, like a heredity, be always passed on to the natural tutors, meaning, to the nearest members by blood. What then, you will say to me, is the public thing (commonwealth) to remain without a director, and exposed to anarchy? Certainly not, because it would be first referred to the assembly of the Estates General, less to be administered by them than to put people in charge that they consider worthy ... As history tells us, and as I learned from my ancestors, in the beginning of things concerning lordly power, the sovereign people created kings by suffrage, and they particularly preferred men who were superior to others in virtue and industry. In effect, each people elected a king for its utility. Yes, princes are such, not in order to profit from the people and make themselves rich at their expense, but, while forgetting their own interests, to enrich and to lead it as best they can. If they, sometimes, do otherwise,

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certainly they are tyrants, and evil shepherds, who, eating their own sheep, acquire the habits and name of wolves, rather than the habits and name of shepherds.45

Pot limits the king’s power by referring to the same elective tradition to which Gerson and the others had also referred. Because of this initial suffrage, the power of princes was rooted in the will of his subjects. Princes, therefore, were not supposed to enrich themselves at the expense of the people, but were to enrich the people at their own expense. If they did otherwise, they were nothing but tyrants and wolves who, disguised as shepherds, ate their own sheep. In his lengthy oration, Pot insisted time and again on the consensual and conventional nature of the king’s power.46 He did not contest the right of the king to rule; he simply wanted to assert the right of the Estates General to administer the kingdom for a time, specifically, in this case, until the king reached his legal majority.47 The fact that Pot’s opinions met with approval at the Estates and did not lead to his political disgrace suggests just how ordinary these ideas were.48 Charles VIII not only named him governor of Burgundy, but also later entrusted him with the education of his son Orland.49 Members of the Estates would also continue to bring the grievances of the people to the attention of the king even after the end of the Estates. In 1498, Jean Masselin would once again bring the poverty of his subjects to the attention of the king, now Louis XII, and remind him that he had been made aware of this at the last Estates.50 In general, the members of the Estates General in 1484 were remarkably generous in their fealty to the king and recognized his importance within the body politic. They cited St Jerome, Aristotle, and John of Salisbury in favour of a single monarch.51 But, they insisted, the head of the state could not exist without the consent and well-being of the rest of the body. Even the king’s chancellor recognized that at the ‘heart’ of this healthy body lay the concept of ‘mutual obligation.’ As the chancellor, Rochefort, speaking before the king, exclaimed near the end of the meeting of the Estates: What is a body without the head? A cadaver lying on the ground, deprived of feeling, of movement, and of a soul. But here it is necessary not to see a mutilated trunk, a swollen head detached from the parts that held it together: it is important to consider the members of the state har-

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This passage makes a crucial distinction between a dead and a living body. When the body and head are separated, the body is simply a cadaver. What binds head and body together is right counsel, mutual obligation, and benevolence. After the heated and sometimes radical speeches by Philippe Pot and others, the chancellor’s speech would seem to promise a somewhat more limited understanding of consensual government, but even here, the notion of sovereignty is clearly anchored in a tradition of contractual authority. The Estates of Burgundy and Charles the Bold: Consensus and the Tyrant Just as the Estates General did in relation to the king of France, the Estates of Burgundy articulated their power in relation to the duke. Throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the Estates of Burgundy formed a very real representative assembly whose authority represented the ‘populus.’53 As with the Estates General of France, there have been many debates concerning their actual power. However, it is unquestionable that these Estates represented a conception of power in the Burgundian polis that is of a piece with the philosophy of Gerson, Commynes, and others. Time and again one sees the principles of government by consensus in the workings of the Estates. In a ‘memoire ou petit advertissement’ from 1460, the Estates brought to the duke’s attention the complaints of the Burgundian people. This advertissement, addressed to the ambassadors sent to the duke by the Estates, asked them to bring up several questions with the duke. Paragraph five of this advertissement recounts how unethical business practices had affected the Burgundian people. It complains about what it claims are the immoral practices of merchants who stockpile large quantities of wheat which they then sell in the Low Countries at higher prices while Burgundian people are starving, thus causing the depopulation of the duchy. Other merchants who were given the right to transport peas on the Saône River when they could not transport wheat use that privilege to transport large quantities of wheat despite the fact that they did not have the right. The authors of the advertissement ask that no more permits be given because it would be a great pity to enrich ‘6, 10, 12, or 20 merchants’ when it means impoverishing and starving a whole coun-

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try.54 Other complaints of an economic nature, such as abusive taxes, were also raised.55 The members of the Estates were most eager to make sure that the duke recognized the liberties and freedoms that his subjects were supposed to enjoy, sometimes to the detriment of other ‘non-Burgundian’ residents. One of these ‘franchises,’ called the ‘menue conduite,’ consisted in making ‘Lombards’ and other foreigners pay a river tax. By paying this tax, the foreigners’ safety was guaranteed in Burgundy and they were offered reparations for any damages caused by ‘brigands,’ when this should happen. Most importantly, perhaps, this tax was never supposed to be imposed on the subjects of the above-mentioned lord.56 This advertissement, like many other documents produced by the Estates, shows how the Estates functioned as a counterweight by reminding the duke of his obligations. The populus of Burgundy was supposed to enjoy certain rights and privileges, and the duke was held not only to respect these privileges but also to protect his subjects in the event that they were importuned by the unethical behaviour of dishonest merchants. Perhaps one of the most dramatic moments in the complex relationship of ruler and Estates occurred in July 1476, following the Burgundian duke Charles the Bold’s defeat at the Battle of Morat. According to various accounts, when Charles came to the Estates of Burgundy to try to bail himself out of trouble, two Burgundian noblemen who were the ‘orators of the Estates,’ Georges de la Trémoille and Antoine de Luxembourg, responded vigorously to Charles’s request for more money and troops: Tell Monsieur that we are his very humble and obedient subjects and servants; but, regarding what you have proposed to us in his name, it has never been done, it cannot be done, and it never will be done.57

According to Pierre de Saint-Julien, writing a century later, ‘men of little rank would never have dared use such language’ (petits compagnons n’eussent pas osé tenir ce langage).58 Other accounts of the exchange between the duke and the Estates composed by Swiss and Italian diplomats do not depict the Estates in quite such heroic terms, though they too emphasize the duke’s dependence on the will of the Estates to wage his war.59 In all of these examples, whether Gerson’s Vivat Rex and Philippe Pot’s speech at the Estates of 1484, or the exchange between Charles the Bold and the Burgundian Estates in 1476, terms such as ‘commun

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accord de tous’ (Gerson), ‘grandz assemblées’ (Commynes), and ‘suffragio’ (Pot) all bear witness to the primitive contract that, at least nominally, underlay so much of premodern political theory. Power did not issue forth from the person of the ruler, but was the result of an underlying contract between subjects and ruler. Perhaps one of the most significant steps in the evolution of diffused sovereignty during the fifteenth century took place when Charles the Bold attempted to impose a Parlement in Malines in the 1460s.60 Charles imposed the Parlement of Malines as a replacement of the mobile collateral court and abolished all local tribunals. At the same time, he imposed Roman law with no regard for the long tradition of customary law which had placed the ability to legislate beyond the power of the prince (as will be discussed in chapter 5). A fifteenth-century painting of the Parlement of Malines represents both the power of this institution and its hierarchical understanding of power. It depicts a large governing body overseen by the duke himself with his principal aides Hugonet and Humbercourt in his entourage. The duke saw this body as imposing power so that all authority would remain in his hands.61 It is just as important, symbolically at least, that on 11 February 1477, following the ignominious death of Charles at the Battle of Nancy, a charter, dictated by the Estates General of the Low Countries, and which the duchess Mary of Burgundy was forced to sign, abolished all limitations on customary law that her father had imposed.62 Even more important, the same Hugonet and Humbercourt depicted in this painting were hanged by the guilds (métiers) in arms on the central market square in Gand four months later, on 3 April 1477.63 These two events, the imposition of the Parlement of Malines by Charles, and the charter of the Estates General forced on Mary of Burgundy (and the subsequent execution of Hugonet and Humbercourt), represent one of the final confrontations of the two political systems that were in opposition throughout the fifteenth century. The executions represented the temporary victory of the bottom-up form of polity over the top-down form, but this event is but a bump in the road in the evolution of power that is heading resolutely towards a more top-down understanding. If the logic of much modern criticism concerning modern individualism is applied to the texts discussed here, it becomes obvious that the societies these texts refer to were marked by a form of political individualism. Gerson, Oresme, Commynes, the Estates of 1484, and the Burgundian Estates all offer proof of how critical voices were part of the political picture at this time. In all of these cases, individualism can be

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determined not by states of internal authenticity, but, rather, by acts of political will. The resistance to the single will of the king or the duke marked this ‘objective individualism,’ which was defined by public rather than private space. Literature of Consent: Jean Meschinot (after 1461) Fifteenth-century and early sixteenth-century literature bears the mark of this politics of consensual sovereignty and objective individualism. Jean Meschinot pleaded for a limited monarchical power, subject to the law, in his Les Lunettes des princes (after 1461), a poem which was part of a long tradition of ‘miroirs des princes.’ Meschinot, who was present at the Estates General of 1484, as representative of the Third Estate of the senechalsy of Saintonge, explained that the prince’s health, as head of the body, depended on the health of the rest of the body. The prince and the people were, finally, recognized as being of the same ‘alloy’:64 Le prince est gouverneur et chief Des membres du corps politique: Ce seroit bien doulant meschief S’il devenoit paraliticque Ou voulsist tenir voye oblicque A l’estat pourquoy il est faict. Tout se pert fors que le bien faict. Seigneurs, pas n’estes d’aultre aloy Que le povre peuple commun: Faites vous subgetz a la loy ...65 The prince is governor and head Of the members of the body politic: It would be a painful misdeed If the body were to become paralyzed Or were made to take a path Different from that which was intended. Everything is lost except that which is well made. Lords, you are made of the same alloy As the poor common people: Submit yourself to the law ...

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Meschinot’s prince was not the perfect image of God on earth as the apologists for later absolutist monarchs would claim. He was part of the body politic in a very real way that precludes him from putting himself above the law. Meschinot’s poem is emblematic of ‘medieval constitutionalism,’ which viewed kings as having power within and not above some great order of things that came into being by a god-inspired popular acclamation.66 Instead of being a ‘princeps legibus solutus’ like later sixteenth-century monarchs, Meschinot’s prince was subject to the laws that governed the other members of the body politic. By submitting the king to the laws of the land, Meschinot shows his familiarity with the idea of the prince’s submission to the law, an idea that occurs regularly in works by Marsilius of Padua, Nicole Oresme, Gerson, and others.67 In a series of highly political ballades that he composed around poetic envoys written by Georges Chastellain, Meschinot repeatedly came back to the commonality of prince and subjects. In the eighth ballad of this collection, he says: Car qui est chef de beau corps politique Le doit traicter en paix seure & unique Et le garder diniures et molestes Cest commencer dasia vie angelique Quant le seigneur nest gourmant ne lubrique Et ne fait pas les dissolus festes ...68 Because he who is the head of the handsome body politic Must treat it to sure and exclusive peace And protect it from injury and pain It is already the beginning of angelic life When the lord is neither gourmand nor lustful And makes no dissolute feasts ...

Meschinot’s political world is held together by the mutually dependent prince and subject. In Ballad 23, he once again insists on the commonality of prince and people, but he uses a different, and unexpected metaphor: Comme lon voit quen lumiere et chaleur Le beau soleil par excelent valeur Tout aultre corps celestiel prefere Le prince aussi doit soy trouver milleur

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Que ses subgectz, gardant eulx & le leur Car son estat des daultres ne differe Fors la fin que son peuple console ...69 In the same way that the beautiful sun Is preferred in regard to light and heat to all other bodies because of its excellent value, The prince must also be better Than his subjects, providing for them and theirs, Because his state is no different from theirs, Except for the fact that he consoles his people.

In order for the prince to be better than his people, in order for him to be their ‘sun,’ he must make an effort to look out for their well-being since his own ‘estat’ is no different from theirs. Far from being a ‘roi-soleil’ à la Louis XIV, Meschinot’s monarch is described as being of the same ‘state’ as his subjects. He needs to make an effort ‘to be better’ than them because of this common frailty. Power is not something that comes from above or from outside the community, but arises from the agreement of king and people. The king did not have the right to abuse that underlying agreement. Literature of Consent: Jean Bouchet, Epistres morales et familières du traverseur Jean Bouchet, who was one of the last rhétoriqueur poets and also a procureur in Poitiers, wrote a long disquisition to both king and subject in which he describes a political equilibrium that is similar to that described by Meschinot. In these Epistres morales et familières du traverseur (published in 1545 but often written much earlier), Bouchet addresses a letter to the French king, Louis XII, in which he lays out a politics of limited monarchical power. He begins, as does Gerson in his Vivat Rex, by praising the king who, he says, does not really need such a didactic letter seeing that he has in himself such ‘great wisdom’ (grand sapience).70 Nonetheless, he adds, he will write the king a letter in which the king’s powers are very much limited by his subjects’ will. Bouchet begins by underlining the elective nature of the monarchy at its origins.71 In the beginning, he says, the title of prince and king was given to a single person who would be able to govern five hundred people by means of his own virtue.

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Even if the king was not, in Bouchet’s letter, subject to the laws of the country, he had, nonetheless, to observe them if he wanted his subjects to be lawful: le prince (dist il [Solon]) Les loix observe, aultrement inutil Est aux pays s’il n’accomplist & garde Les loix qu’il faict en ce qui le regarde, Et nonobstant qu’a ce subiect ne soit Par droict civil, touteffois se deceoit S’il ne le faict, & en encourt reproche Par devant Dieu, & offense son proche ...72 the prince (Solon says) should Observe the laws. Otherwise he is useless For the country if he doesn’t carry out and defend The laws that he makes which concern him, And notwithstanding that he is not subject to them By civil law he lets himself down If he does not do it, and risks reproach Before God, and offends those close to him ...

The king, according to Bouchet, must make himself subject to the laws of his country if he wants others to obey them. Even if it is possible to perceive the beginnings of a more absolutist politics in these Epistres, to place oneself above the law as later monarchs in the sixteenth century did would be the height of folly to Bouchet since this would not be practical and would also risk incurring God’s disfavour. The king, in practice, finds himself limited in Bouchet’s polis in ways that are close to those found in Gerson and Commynes. Bouchet finally draws a distinction between the just king and the tyrant regarding the question of will. The just king differs from the tyrant finally in simply not following his own desires: Le juste Roy du tyrant differe en ce, Car le tyrant faict tout sans difference Ce qui luy plaist, & pour toute raison A volunté pleine de desraison.73 The just king differs from the tyrant in this, Because the tyrant does all without regard,

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What he pleases, and instead of reason, Has a will full of irrationality.

Bouchet’s admonition of the ruler who rules according to what pleases him marks a crucial difference from the absolute monarchy of the later sixteenth century when the maxim defining the lex regia, ‘quod placuit regis habit vigorem legis,’ came to define sovereignty. In Bouchet, regal power depended on the respect of the underlying contract binding king and subject. Jean Molinet: Praising the Worthy and Criticizing the Guilty The world described by Jean Molinet is of a piece with that of Gerson, Meschinot, Commynes, and others. Perhaps the most crucial resemblance between these earlier writers and Molinet concerns the critical role he cuts out for himself. Just as Gerson saw it as his duty to criticize the French king in his Vivat Rex, Molinet gives himself a critical as well as an encomiastic role in the Duchy of Burgundy.74 In the Chroniques, he declares that the modern indiciaire had the responsibility to criticize his feudal lord: L’on prononchoit anciennement aux imperateurs tiltre de divinité. Le saint docteur veult innuer que nous debvons rendre aux princes, ministres de Dieu, gloire et honneur. Et saint Pol nous admoneste d’obeir à eux, soyent bons ou mauvais. Pour tant de ce qui sera digne de recort que je pouray parcevoir à l’oeul, et qui me sera recité par gens dignes de foy ou escripture authentique, je moulleray ma plume veritable en suavité de clère faconde, pour collauder les condignes, et en aigreur de bonne invective pour redarguer les coulpables, à la louange de mon Dieu pardurable, à l’honneur de mon prince et proufit et salut de mon ame.75 In olden days, emperors were called divine. The holy doctor wanted to imply that we must render to princes, as ministers of God, glory and honour. And Saint Paul admonished us to obey them, whether good or evil. However, what I have seen with my eyes and what has been told to me by people worthy of being believed, or in authentic writings, is worth being recorded. I will moisten my true pen with the suavity of productive clarity to praise the worthy, and with the bitterness of good invective to blame the guilty, in honour of my everlasting God and my prince, and for the profit and salvation of my soul.

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If in the olden days it was required to do nothing but praise the prince, given his divine power, in modern, fifteenth-century Burgundy Molinet had the duty to criticize his prince when he felt the prince was wrong. He needed to reprimand the guilty (‘redarguer les coulpables’) as well as to praise the worthy (‘collauder les condignes’).76 Obviously Molinet gained rhetorically by saying that he would blame as well as praise since this meant that his dithyrambic ‘louanges’ would seem the product of an impartial witness. Yet it is also clear that Molinet’s criticism was not merely a form of Machiavellian self-preservation, but represented a true form of constraint on the unbridled will of the prince in the tradition of Gerson and Meschinot.77 So long as there were individuals such as Molinet, a voice, however faint, could be raised in protest of the ruler’s uncontrolled will. Such a critique positioned Molinet’s enunciative voice as independent from that of the duke. Like the Estates General of 1484, he saw his role as being critical as well as epideictic. His criticism of the prince is of a piece with his equally acerbic comments elsewhere about the unruly people whose seditious acts also endangered the body politic.78 Molinet’s prose and poetry can be construed as being a constant critique of those who would disrupt the delicate balance of power found in such a static political state. Any deviation on anyone’s part risked upsetting the balance of power. As Jean Devaux has eloquently shown, Molinet also lofted a constant barrage of criticism at Burgundian nobles who deserted their duke through treason or simple disloyalty.79 As Devaux points out, works such as Molinet’s Le Roman de la rose moralisé and Le Naufrage de la pucelle are remarkable in this regard. During the last years of Charles the Bold’s reign, the nobility frequently deserted the weakened Burgundian dukes in favour of the French or Austrian causes. Molinet depicts Burgundy as a late feudal society in a state of mortal disrepair as a monarchical and centralized form of power rapidly destroyed the old ties of obligation from without and within. It represents a society in which individuals were called upon to exercise their political will at a time when that very form of political organization was being destroyed, largely by the tyrannical activities of Duke Charles the Bold and his advisors. Perhaps one of the most notable moments in Molinet’s œuvre is the description in the Chroniques of Charles the Bold’s increasingly mad behaviour leading up to his final defeat at the Battle of Nancy in 1477. Molinet describes Charles’s melancholia and anger following the defeat at Granson.80 He recounts how the duke had shut himself in and, in a fit

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of anger, ‘pulled out his hair, cried uncontrollably, became untwisted, while making the most anguished cries and groans that had ever been heard’ (par grand couroux, tiroit cheveulx, et se destordoit, en faisant les plus angoisseux regretzs et plainctis qui jamais furent oys).81 Charles’s advisors, in Molinet’s description, all feared telling the duke that things were not going well, and when a loyal follower, the count of Chimay, finally told the duke how dire the situation was, in a fit of anger Charles denied what the count was telling him (‘par grand courroux: J’os ce que vous dittes’).82 Far from being a subservient spin doctor, intent on giving only the most virtuous description of his Burgundian and Austrian lords, Molinet offers a most damning portrait of one of them. Later, in his Arbre de Bourgogne, written ten years after Charles’s death, Molinet explicitly laid the blame for Burgundy’s demise at the duke’s feet, saying that Burgundy had come to its tragic end because of Charles’s need to cover himself with glory.83 Framing his critique in the natural metaphors of the garden, Molinet describes how the ruinous decadence of this tall and sumptuous tree had left the garden of Burgundy in a piteous state, with its hedges smashed, ditches filled in, meadows without flowers, sheepfolds dilapidated, and its plants stolen.84 As Gerson had done in his Vivat Rex, Molinet identified the danger to the polis that a tyrannical will represented. Though Molinet painted eulogistic portraits of his Burgundian and Austrian rulers, these did not stop him from also rising to criticize them when their actions endangered the well-being of the polis. The Emotional Poetics of Molinet’s Ressource du petit peuple (1481) The Ressource du petit peuple (1481) like Gerson’s Vivat Rex or Alain Chartier’s Quadriloge Invective is a description of a country that has been destroyed, or nearly destroyed, by tyrannical rule.85 Any schematic rendering of this prosimetrium (partly in prose partly in verse) fails to do it justice, since it would necessarily fail to portray the richness of Molinet’s poetic image, and of his political consciousness; however, it is necessary to sketch out the work’s basic shape, which is rather complicated. The Ressource begins with an allegorical mise en scène in which the narrator (Acteur) has a vision in which he sees a half-dead young woman (Justice) fainting at the feet of a hideous satrap (Tirannie).86 A young child (Petit Peuple) cries anxiously at Justice’s dry breast while another young woman (Verite) comes out to see the horrible situation in which Justice, her sister, finds herself. This scene sets the stage for the

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rest of the poem which can be divided into five parts, approximately. After the initial scene (1), the young woman Verite accuses Tirannie of abusing Justice (2), and Justice laments her plight (3), after which Verite introduces another figure called Conseil who offers a remedy for Justice’s ailment (4), and finally Justice makes an address to the various lords and rulers who have influence over Burgundy (5). These parts are not of equal length nor of equal importance and it has been necessary, for the sake of clarity, to abridge somewhat the poem’s plot here.87 The opening scene is both politically and poetically significant. The images used to depict the characters offer a hyperbolic vision of a state in which the contractually regulated equilibrium has been thrown out of joint. The description of Tirannie is poetically fabulous and politically of a piece with the tradition of those fifteenth-century writers who had admonished the ruler for not respecting limitations on his power. Justice and tyranny are structurally opposed and the portrait of Tirannie is a masterpiece of rhétoriqueur poetics. The accumulation of nouns and adjectives into a Boschian netherworld produces an effect whose like can perhaps only be found in modern horror films. Acteur describes what he saw when he went out for a walk one day to throw off a fit of melancholy: se vis ung tres parfond abisme, duquel, aveuc feu, flame et fumee qui premiere en sailli, sourdi sur piez une tres laide, espoentable satrape, fille de perdicion, fiere de regard, horrible de face, difforme de corpz, perverse de coeur, robuste de bras et ravissant des mains: elle avoit le chief cornu, les oreilles pendans, les yeux ardans, la bouche moult tortue, les dens agus, la langue serpentine, les poings de fer, la pance boursouflee, le dos velu, la queue venimeuse et estoit puissamment montee sur ung estrange monstre a maniere de leuserve fort et corageux a merveilles, jettant feu par la gueule, chaulx et soufre par les narines, chargie a letz d’espees, couteaulx, dolequins, rasoirs, soyes, faulx, dagues, planchons, passus, picques pinces, pouchons, forches, fourches, ars, dars, hars, licolz, chaines, cordes et cagnons, ensemble pluseurs instrumens convenables a son office et portoit sus la crupe ung bariseau plain d’escorpions, riagal, arsenic ... 88 he saw a very deep pit, out of which rose, with fire, flame, and smoke, a most ugly, horrible, thief, daughter of perdition, proud in looks, horrible to envisage, deformed in body, perverse in her heart, robust in arms and ravishing in hands. She had horns on her head, drooping ears, burning eyes, twisted mouth, sharp teeth, snakelike tongue, iron fists, swollen stomach,

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furry back, and venomous tail. She was mounted on a strange monster, like a strong and marvellously courageous lynx, throwing fire from her mouth, lime and sulphur from her nostrils, loaded down on each side with swords, knives, hatchets, surgeon’s knives, saws, scythes, daggers, picks, crosses, spears, sacks, gallows, garrots, bows, nooses, ropes, and small dogs, together with several instruments proper to her office, and carried on the animal’s croupe a barrel full of scorpions, poisons, arsenic ...

The accumulation of nouns and adjectives: ‘feu, flame, fumee/ cornu, pendans, ardans, tortue/ agus/ serpentine/ boursouflee’ used to describe Tirannie are the poetic equivalents of Gerson’s and the Estates General’s political rhetoric.89 If Gerson and orators at the Estates had pulled out all the rhetorical stops to chastize kings who overreached their power, Molinet does the same on a poetic register. Tirannie and her troops, Crudelité, Famine, Fraude, etc., laid siege to the Low Country spilling blood, burning churches, mutilating innocents, deflowering virgins, roasting little children, and worse. The prince becomes monstrous when he ignores the principles of good government and adopts power without adequately providing for his subjects. His rule was one of ‘painful vassaldom’ (dolent vasselage) and not one of mutual obligation and trust.90 The consequences of the abuse of power are represented in the emotionally charged characters Justice and her child Petit Peuple: une jeusne dame, selon la dicque d’une foriere, gisant comme pasmee, a demy morte et durement foullee, eschevellee et despoullie de ses nobles royaulx atours et auprés d’elle un petit enfant de l’age de deux ans, criant angoisseusement, plongiet en lermes, oppressé de famine, querant les tetins de sa mere pour y trouver sa nourriture ... L’enfant moult hault crioit par destresse de faim, la mere se taisoit par traveil inhumain, l’enfant queroit sa vie ou sain de sa nourrice, la mere queroit mort et derrenier supplice, l’enfant plourant succhoit une wide mammelle et la mere enduroit plaine doleur mortelle.91 a young woman, lying as if she had fainted along the dike at the edge of woods, half dead and badly tired, with dishevelled hair, her royal clothing ripped half off, and next to her a small child about two years of age, anxiously crying, plunged in tears, oppressed by famine, seeking his mother’s breasts looking for nourishment ... The child cried loudly from hunger, its mother silenced by inhuman labour, the child sought life in the

106 The Gargantuan Polity breast of his wet-nurse, the mother sought death and final execution, the child crying sucked on a dry breast and the mother endured terrible mortal pain.

Justice and Petit Peuple’s wretchedness is equal to Tirannie’s abuse of power. Justice is half dead, dishevelled, and nearly naked because of Tirannie’s injustice. Her breasts are dry, offering no sustenance for her child. The tyrannical abuses of the prince have drained all the body politic’s strength, leaving the people without succour or force. Unjust justice in Molinet, as it was for Gerson, Chartier, Commynes, and the later Estates of 1484, was caused by the imbalance of political power. When Verite makes her accusation about tyranny in the passage following the opening scene, she does not address it to Tirannie but rather to those who could be tyrants but who are still, at least in name, princes: Princes puissans, qui tresors affinez Et ne finez de forgier de grans discors Qui dominez, qui le peuple aminez ... Que faites vous, qui perturbés le monde92 Powerful princes, who abuse your treasures And lie with great speeches Who dominate and ruin the people ... What do you do, you, who bring trouble to the world?

The passage’s underlying tone, like that of the poem as a whole, is conservative. Tyrants bring disorder to an already existent and benevolent order. Molinet appeals to the duke to recognize his human imperfection. He begins by asking whether kings are ‘gods or demi-gods or Arguses, full of eyes or angels?’ The answer to this question reveals an important aspect of the limited sovereignty his poem seems to extoll. Molinet emphasizes that monarchs, like all human beings, are indelibly stained by the sins of the human condition: ‘You are created, both noble and lowly,/ From human hosts, in these earthly places,/ and born not of the heavens, but of mothers.’93 Recognition of the prince’s human imperfection was a crucial part in

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the politics of mutual obligation. If the prince was an imperfect human being and not possessed of divine powers, and if he were a man like us (‘tous de mere nez’) he could not assume absolute powers. All of the authors discussed above who defined the king’s power as being limited by laws and counsel also defined him as an imperfect individual. Gerson, for instance, underlined the king’s human imperfection and the resulting need to govern by consent, explaining that the king was ‘a miserable creature subject to all the trials and tribulations of other human beings’: Qui estes vous, je vous pry? respond verité: Tu es une pouvre miserable creature subjiecte à toute angoisse et tribulation, à froid et chaud, à douleur, à maladie et necessité inevitable de mort: Tu est un sac plein de fiens, terre et cendre, et pourriture: quelque robe que tu ayes, quelque or ou argent, ou pierre precieuse, ou pompeuse famille soit environ toy: quelle chose (je te prie) est ta chair qui tost ou tard deviendra charongne, voire trop puante viande à vers?94 Pray tell me, who are you? Verité replies: ‘You are a poor, miserable creature subject to anguish and trouble, to cold and heat, to pain, to sickness and to the inevitable necessity of death. You are a sack full of shit, earth, ash, and decay. Whatever clothes, gold or silver, or precious stone, or pompous family that you may have, of what thing (I beg you) is your flesh that sooner or later it will not become a stinking carcass, or even an overpoweringly stinking slab of meat full of worms?’

Generally speaking, in Gerson’s theological and political writings, human beings, including the king, are described as existing in a remarkably fallen world. No one, not even the king, was exempt from the repercussions of original sin and no one, not even the king, could claim to possess divine powers. Since earthly participation in divine perfection was strictly forbidden and all human beings were subject to error, good counsel was crucial.95 In his poetry, Molinet explores the human nature of earthly power and the concomitant need to make sure that no one person, not even the prince, has absolute power. That is God’s alone. His stanza describing monarchs as ‘born of a mother’ (de mere nez) demarcates a crucial distinction in late medieval society: the difference between the divine and the human. Absolute power was forbidden since only gods had the Arguslike wisdom and knowledge that absolute power would necessi-

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tate. Given the imperfect and ephemeral nature of human existence, all such powers were by definition forbidden to human princes. Not only did all human beings share a common origin (de mere nez), they all also shared a common end: within a hundred years they all would be dead (Dedens cent ans vous serez tous pourris).96 Human power had to be like human existence, both transitory and imperfect. Absolute power would only be permissible in the hands of the absolutely perfect, and tyranny was the blasphemous undertaking of divine and absolute power. Molinet then paints a rhetorically splendid portrait of the Burgundian common people under just rule. The illustration of Burgundian life in this passage is an almost purely oral and verbal rendition of late-medieval buon governo: Chartreux, chartiers, charetons, charpentiers, Moutons, moustiers, manouvriers, marissaux, Villes, villains, villages, vivendiers, Hameaux, hotiers, hospitaulx, hosteliers, Bouveaux, bouviers, bocquillons, bonhommeaulx, Pouchins, pourceaux, pelerins, pastoureaulx, Fourniers, fourneaulx, feves, foins, fleurs et fruitz Par vos gens sont indigens ou destruis.97 Monks, writers, cart drivers, carpenters, Sheep, millers, workers, blacksmiths, Towns, townspeople, villages, grocers, Hamlets, basket carriers, hospitals, innkeepers, Young bulls, cattlemen, lumberjacks, good men, Chicks, piglets, pilgrims, shepherds, Bakers, stoves, beans, hay, flowers, and fruits, By your men are made indigent or destroyed.

Molinet’s vibrant catalogue of urban life is truncated by the verbs of the last line. The compression achieved by accumulation and alphabetic or phonetic resemblance underlines the poet’s central role in late medieval political life. The phonic resemblance of consonants persuades the reader through affective pleasure as much as the meaning of the words convinces through intellective instruction. Although Commynes and Gerson speak eloquently of the problem of tyranny, Molinet moves the reader in ways that these other writers cannot. Molinet’s poem, especially those parts attributed to characters such

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as Verite and Justice, functions according to a rhetoric of emotion (movere) rather than of rational persuasion (docere).98 The reader empathizes with Justice because he has been moved by the poignant image of the mother and child rather than by a moral or didactic lesson. Molinet’s persuasive rhetoric is of a piece with his politics in the sense that the poem’s emotional rhetoric persuades individual readers of the validity of its political concept. He does not have recourse to a didactic rhetoric in defence of an authoritative doctrine. At the end of the fifteenth century, the dominant political rhetorical mode was still emotional. The poem’s underlying political equilibrium between the duke and his people is illustrated in a speech made by Verite explaining that the prince needed the common folk since it was they who fed him. Its performative aspect is of a piece with its contents; it is one of the many voices necessary to enunciate the truth of the poem. Here, Verite explains how the prince who ignores the pact binding him to his people becomes their worst enemy: Il [the petit peuple] vous nourrit, vous ne le gardez pas Des maulvais pas, mais se treuve plus las Dedens vos las que prins des ennemis.99 They feed you, you do not keep them from harm, They only find themselves more careworn, In your care than if taken by enemies.

The contract by which the ‘petit peuple’ fed the prince normally would obligate him to protect them. By neglecting his part of the deal, he created a situation that was worse for his people than if the country were invaded by an enemy. In the following lines, Verite contrasts the ‘tyrannical deed’ (fait tirannicque), including the pillage of churches, with the ‘powerless voices of the people’ (voix des pouvres gens) and ends her plea by calling on kings and dukes to bring justice back to life and to regard their subjects with pity.100 The political equilibrium vaunted by Verite brings into play the issue at the heart of the political texts already mentioned from throughout the fifteenth century: the need for counsel. Since no human being is capable of divine knowledge, all rulers need good counsel. The Acteur describes how Verite picked out a man who had been listening to her lamentation for Justice. This man, whom she describes as wise and of grave demeanour, is Conseil. Verite clearly associates Conseil with forms of

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government that acted as counterweights to the power of the monarch. She also associates the notion of council with the Roman Senate: et souverainement la triumphant monarchie des Romains, car, par la tres noble industrie d’armes ou ils estoyent habilitez, aveuc le cler engin, sens et praticque de vos samblables qui lors ou senat flourissoyent, touttes les nations du monde, mansuetes et barbaricques, se vindrent rendre tributaires en l’ombre de leur Capitole.101 and most especially the triumphant monarchy of the Romans, because, by the most noble use of arms in which they were most capable, with their clear understanding, sense, and practice, all the civilized and barbaric nations of the world came to render tribute to your peers who flourished at that time in the senate in the shadow of the Capitol.

Such allusions to the Roman Senate were far from neutral during this period. Philippe Pot alludes to it in his diatribe against monarchical abuse of power, directly associating it with a restrained notion of sovereignty and the ability of the people to share in governmental decision making.102 When Cajetan wanted to praise a monarchical form of papal power, he contrasted it with the Roman Senate as a popular and anarchic form of rule. And when Duprat, Francis I’s chancellor, attempts to make the Parlement of Paris accept the Concordat of Bologna in 1516, he reminds them that they were not like the Roman Senate but were entirely dependent on the king’s will (see below, pages 126–8). Molinet’s allusion to the Roman Senate cannot, therefore, be taken lightly. Many voices and many opinions were necessary for the poem to be enunciated and for the polis to be well governed. Poetic and political truth were not the result of any one dominant consciousness, but were rather the result of many voices. Perhaps most important is the fact that Conseil represented the best and the most vocal form of political restraint. Before resorting to violence to rid the community of tyrannical abuse, it was first necessary to listen to ‘wise philosophers, jurists, legists, theologians, and other people of natural prudence and great experience.’ Conseil, like the Estates General and the Estates of Burgundy, offered a means for wills other than that of the monarch to enter into the sphere of power. Conseil establishes a direct link between this Gersonian concept of good government and the political genealogy of Burgundy.103 Counsel had always best served the Burgundian people, especially at a time when

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the political and military ambitions of the duchy’s leaders were leading them to ruin: Qui esse qui soubz la chevalereuse baniere du duc Philippe, prince de glorieuse memoire, a debrisié les pointes des guerres apparentes, humilié les rebelles et nourri le petit peuple du fruit de la paix, d’amour et de leesse? Conseil. Qui esse qui soubz la tres flamboyant espee du tres illustre duc Charles, que Dieu absoile, a soustenu Justice haultement auctorisie en parlement honourable et en audience publicque, concordé le riche et le povre? Conseil.104 Who was it under the chivalrous banner of Duke Philip, prince of glorious memory, that broke the points of civil wars, humiliated the rebels and nourished the little people with the fruits of peace, love, and happiness? Counsel. Who was it under the most flamboyant sword of the most illustrious Duke Charles, that God might absolve him of his sins, who supported Justice most highly authorized through honourable negotiation, and made her strong in public forum and brought together rich and poor? Counsel.

Molinet’s literary and political ruses create a metonymic association between the dukes and war, which brings destruction to the peaceful polis, while associating Conseil with the defence of that polis. Molinet praises the Burgundian dukes, Philip and Charles, as being of ‘glorious memory’ and ‘illustrious,’ even while he criticizes them for ignoring wise counsel. He describes the dukes as detainers of Burgundian sovereignty, as the ones who led the state to ruin with their flaming swords. And he praises Conseil as having done the most to save both the state and its subjects through honourable negotiation, public consultation, and alliance of rich and poor. Molinet’s rhetoric once again enacts the political concepts of Gerson, Commynes, and others who extolled the ruler (Long live the king!) at the same time that they admonished him for abusing his power. At the end of her praise of Conseil, Verite offers a slight but very noteworthy grammatical change that inserts a political will more directly into the poem. Where Verite spoke in the past tense when discussing the Burgundian dukes Philip and Charles, she slips into the present tense to talk about the Austrian Duke Maximilian: Qui esse qui soubs la tres victorieuse main du duc Maximilien peult sus-

112 The Gargantuan Polity citer Justice en convalescence, corrigier les delinquans, subvenir aux oppressez et conduire le petit peuple au bien heuré temple de paix? Conseil.105 Who is it who under the most victorious hand of Duke Maximilian can bring Justice to life, correct the delinquent, help the oppressed, and lead the little people to the happy temple of peace? Counsel.

Molinet drops the veil of poetic distance and, by using the present tense, shows the real addressee of his poem: Duke Maximilian. The present tense permits the reader to understand that such questions regarding politics are not simply vague or abstract questions, but of immediate concern. The double register of this passage also shows how Molinet was able to praise the person of the duke at the same time that he criticized his political doings. Maximilian as a person was metonymically described as a ‘victorious hand’ (victorieuse main) but at the same time he was accused of allowing Justice to fall ill and the ‘petit peuple’ to suffer as a result. Molinet also functions on two registers as poète de cour, who must praise his patron as the embodiment of Burgundian power, and as a critic of the way that power is deployed by the duke, separate from and independent of the duke’s person. Molinet and the duke both exist as individuals with weak subjective identities, and yet both have strong functional identities. Molinet speaks as a critic of the duke’s functional identity when he attacks Maximilian’s politics at the same time as he speaks as a poète à gage praising the person of the duke. Perhaps this poem does not express much lyric subjectivity, and the poet’s narrative presence is extremely weak in the person of the Acteur, and yet it is the very same weak subjective presence that allows Molinet to criticize his ruler and also makes the ruler guilty. No one, whether prince or poet, could exert his will to the point that the polis or the poem was determined solely in terms of his will. The poet as individual was turned outward to the community that he described; the duke or emperor likewise could not exert his will to the point where his people’s well-being was endangered. Prince and poet were objective individuals within a larger whole in which neither could break the balance of power without changing the state and the poem in new and unknown ways. Because Molinet’s emotional rhetoric is not turned inward it does not tap into inner states. In a style very different from modern poetry, the most heartfelt lines are expressed with great rhetorical flourish. After

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Conseil criticizes Tirannie’s abuse of power, he examines Justice’s sick body, feels her pulse, inspects her urine, and asks her to speak of her pains so that he might know the cause of her illness. Justice’s lamentation is a virtuoso display of rhétoriqueur eloquence; often the most extreme emotion in rhétoriqueur poetry is expressed in the most extreme forms of rhetorical artifice.106 Perhaps nothing is more artificial to modern ears than a long list of equivocal rhymes, yet moments of great feeling are often translated through these rhymes in Molinet’s poetry. Justice throws herself into a moving disquisition which expresses less an interior state than an external political realty: Justice suis, privee de solas, Ez las helas! De fausse tirannie, Car j’ai perdu, par guerres et debas Esbas; Au bas Est ma grant baronnie.107 I am Justice, deprived of solace In the nets Alas Of deceitful tyranny, Because I’ve lost, through wars and lowly Quarrels: Broken Is my great barony.

The emotive force of this passage is grounded in its aural nature. It is more affective than intellectual poetry. The rhymes ‘solas/ Ez las/ Helas’ and ‘debas/ Esbas/ Au bas’ might offend a modern reader’s sensibility as overly ornate, given Justice’s supposed anguish. In terms of rhétoriqueur poetics, nonetheless, this sort of complicated word play is the linguistic correlative of an agitated emotional state.108 It is important to understand how emotion in Molinet’s poetry is not tied to an interior state but to an external reality. The poem’s power is less a question of objective correlatives that translate an internal state, than of an emotion emanating from a person who knows very little interior space. The feeling is just as deep and genuine as it might be in a

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modern poem in which a poet expresses his soul’s deepest longings, but deep inner longing is absent and emotion instead moves outward in verbal virtuosity. In Molinet’s poetics, Justice tears her hair out at the same time that she expresses her pain in highly contrived rhymes. Once again, emotion is not expressed in terms of psychological depth but in terms of rhetorical mastery. True feeling motivates the most flamboyant word play. Instead of becoming dumbstruck as her grief overwhelms her, Justice gives vent to ever more dexterous and virtuoso displays of rhetoric. The individual exists in Molinet less as a repository of emotional depth than as a function whose peace or disquiet are rendered through linguistic and external display. The deep disquiet of the Burgundian state is rendered in much the same terms. Here, Justice describes her well-being under benevolent and malevolent rulers using the same rhyme scheme that structured the earlier passage about her distress. In his poetic structure, Molinet thus expresses the political equilibrium that governs when all parties respect the terms of the mutual obligation, and the disequilibrium that results when too much power was assumed by one party. First Justice describes herself under just rule: Quand j’eux en main roy, roc, regne et regent, Argent Et gent Qui regenter volloyent, Mettre je fis, je vous ay en convent, Souvent Au vent Les hars qui harceloyent; Laboureurs labouroyent, Recepveurs recevoyent, Pastoreaux pastouroyent Joyeusement, Chevaucheurs chevauchoyent Navieurs navioyent Et marchans marchandoyent Paisiblement.109 When I had in hand, king, tower, realm and regent, Money And the many

Jean Molinet’s Ressource du petit peuple 115 Who wanted to reign, I placed, I did, you all in the convent. Often In the wind The stags which harried[?]; The labourers laboured, The tax receivers received, The shepherds shepherded, Joyously, Riders rode, Sailors sailed, And merchants merchandized Peacefully.

And then she describes herself under unjust rule: Par les debas et les crueulx desroix Des roix Trop roidz Le monde se desroye, Tout est ravi par ravace ou par roitz; Parois, Terrois Sont mis au bout de roye; L’ung ronge, l’autre roye, L’ung froisse, l’autre froye, L’ung charbon, l’autre croye; Char et charoy L’ung brise, l’autre broye; L’ung fiert, l’autre fourdroye, L’ung pille et l’autre proye: C’est povre arroy.110 By the quarrels and cruel disorders Of kings Too hard The world is disrupted, Everything is carried away by theft or by force; Walls, Lands,

116 The Gargantuan Polity Are subject to dispute; One gnaws, the other cuts down, One wounds, the other inflicts pain, One makes coal, the other chalk. One breaks, the other grinds Cart and chariot. One commits violence, the other strikes down, One pillages, and the other preys, It is an unfortunate order.

Like Verite’s, Justice’s lament is conservative in nature, praising the preexisting state in which harmony prevailed before the tyrant’s destruction. It is less a question of reforming an unjust state than of returning to a harmonious one. The first stanza is marked by an almost tautological harmony: the labourers laboured and the merchants sold their goods. Through this equitable reign, productivity was high and the realm was awash in cash. Linguistic resemblance indicates political connectedness: ‘regent,’ ‘argent,’ and ‘gent’; and ‘laboureurs’ and ‘labouroyent’ are the literary correlates of political balance. Good things come to a well ruled realm. The passage depicts in words the concept of Burgundian political harmony in much the same way that the colours and shapes of Ambrosio Lorenzetti’s mural in Siena depict the same notion in that Italian city-state. But again, unlike Lorenzetti’s mural, the political concept is grounded in an aural rather than a visual experience. Voice is of utmost importance here. Harmony and lack of harmony are sounded in the words as well as understood conceptually through the words’ meaning. And the poem is enunciated through many voices, all adding to the general shape and texture of the poem. No one voice is capable of dominating the others. The second stanza contrasts sharply with the first in that the terms united through linguistic resemblance symbolize political disunity. ‘Roix,’ ‘roidz,’ and ‘desroye’ are the mirror images of ‘regent,’ ‘argent,’ and ‘gent.’ Where one assembles and unites, the other destroys and disunites. The line ‘Tout est ravi par ravace ou par roitz’ underlines the disruptive and chaotic nature of tyrannical rule and sets the stage for the following series of lines which reflect that chaos. Where harmony of just rule allowed individuals to work together productively in the first stanza, in the second, political disequilibrium prevents this sort of productive cooperation. Here the political economy is as disjunctive as the language used to describe it: ‘One gnaws, the other cuts down/ One

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wounds, the other inflicts pain.’ Morphological resemblance draws attention to the semantic difference between the words. And once again, this poetry is a question of political space and not of interior states. Tyrannical rule pitted one Burgundian against another and destroyed their common bond since it destroyed the contract which connected the various parts. Once that common bond was broken nothing could hold the country together except the unbending will of the tyrant. When the ‘too rigid kings’ replaced the ‘many who wanted to reign,’ justice and the common people are bound to suffer. Political disequilibrium was the danger, and preservation of the equilibrium of the contract of mutual obligation was the aim of the poem. Molinet’s polyphonic poetics of individual voices can be understood as the literary equivalent of Commyne’s ‘politique de contrepoids.’ In both Molinet’s poem and in Burgundy more generally, the polis was a construction of parts in counterbalance whose mottled quality ensured literary and political stability. No one part could impose its voice on the others, and even the author’s presence in the poem was filtered through the character of an ‘acteur.’ Through the materiality of the words he uses, Molinet’s poem literally expresses the political balance Chartier, Commynes, and Gerson had expressed as an idea.111 Where these other authors offered the image of a state in which political equilibrium has been abandoned as an idea, Molinet inscribed that balance and imbalance in words. When the body politic was in correct alignment, its health was reflected in its tautological logic: everything did what it should be doing. When the equilibrium was lost, due to tyrannical or seditious self-interest, the body politic’s health was reflected in the brisure of the poem’s words: one ‘gnawed’ and the other ‘ploughed.’ The natural order of the ‘commun salut’ of the country was destroyed by the ‘men born with only their own needs in mind.’ Far from mere ludic vanity, Molinet’s rhymes and puns are rhetorical enactments of political ideas.112 Alphabetic resemblance was the literary equivalent of Burgundian identity which was united or disrupted by rhetorical or political will. After Justice’s lamentation, Conseil proposes a remedy for her political ailments. First he tells Justice that her pain is not mortal (‘doleur n’est pas mortele’).113 Justice does not have an open wound and her head is in good shape, as is her heart. Her members however have failed her by their bad government.114 The cure for Justice’s ailment is a ‘blood letting.’115 As in current political bodies, blood in the Ressource was actually money.116 The blood, as is to be expected, was that of the people

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since the nobles were exempt from tax levies. Molinet recommends a technique that is similar to that described by Commynes and other writers of the period who advised moderation when it came to taxes and other fiscal impositions. Conseil explains that if it is necessary to tax the commoners, it is best not to tax them too much.117 The poem’s final section is composed of an ‘address’ to the powers that had control of the petit peuple. Justice invokes God, the French king Louis XI, the English king, and also the ladies and young women from Austria and the imperial country (‘dames et damoiselles/ D’Austrice et du pays romain’).118 This final section of Molinet’s poem works much like an envoy in a chant royal addressed to a prince of the puy. Here the poet, still using the persona of Justice, makes the only lyrically subjective enunciation of the poem. And it is not really subjective since the narrative voice is not even that of the Acteur, but belongs to Justice. The poet’s voice exists as a fiction, like that in the chant royal’s envoy. In this final passage, as in the chant royal’s envoy, a subjective presence is hinted at but the emotional and critical centre of the poem is elsewhere: it is in the central passages constructed around paronomasia, accumulation, and equivocity. The Ressource: The Demise of the Contractual Polity The poem’s form and the social structure it critiques are inextricably intertwined. The Ressource portrays a state in which power has been taken over by a tyrannical individual. Burgundy was, by definition, a feudal state: a duchy and a comté in vassalic obedience to the French king. Yet feudal states were disappearing within the gravitational pull of the emerging nation state.119 The political and literary moment represented in the Ressource was a curious one in the evolution of the modern state and of the individual within that state. No one in the poem, including the narrator, has what we would call a subjective identity. The poet, like all the individuals described in the poem, is depicted as a function rather than as a fully constituted subjective individual in the modern sense. His identity is determined by his role within the community rather than through some internal state. His political and poetic voice depends on this lack of subjective presence. Molinet rarely writes poems expressing lyrical individuality. His poetic voice is like Masselin’s in his Journal. Masselin almost never speaks in the first person singular voice and almost always refers to himself as ‘Masselin’; his voice exists as a function within the text but not as a subjective presence. Molinet’s

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poetic voice is similar in the Ressource. His subjective presence is refracted through his work as a voice that is not his own. He speaks through the voice of an Acteur, and only refers to himself elusively through puns on the word ‘moulin’ (mill). Though criticized during much of the twentieth century for his lack of lyricism and for the artificiality of his poetry, Molinet did not write in a social structure in which such a subjective presence could express itself.120 There is a parallel between a prince’s inability to exert his own presence strongly within a society based on a mutual obligation, and the poet’s inability to express his interiority through strong lyrical subjectivity. Interiority in Molinet’s poems and prose is quickly transformed into a religious space that emphasizes the vertical axis.121 To look inward was to look upward towards God, since that is where interior space leads. As Paul Zumthor noted, the ‘je’ in medieval poetry was often only grammatically personal and expressed a singular but not a subjective presence.122 For either prince or poet to express a strong sense of subjectivity meant that the careful balance of mutual obligation was in danger of being disrupted. The lack of strong subjective space makes Molinet’s critique of the prince possible. It was the prince’s functional role within the community that Molinet criticized in the Ressource, not a specific individual, in much the same way that Gerson and Commynes criticized the prince in their political essays. So long as the prince remained a part of the political body he could be criticized. It was only when he became tyrannical that it became dangerous to criticize him since his political identity was confused with his personal identity. Like the tyrannical prince, the lyrical poet would develop a subjective viewpoint that construed the world as ‘his.’ The Ressource describes the demise of a contractual society and enacts that demise in its very enunciation. Molinet tried to depict the Burgundian state as a cohesive entity with its various members fighting to protect the state from external danger at a time when that state no longer existed. And it was not only the tyrannical presence of the Burgundian prince, the traitorous nobles, or the seditious plebs that destroyed the polis of mutual obligation; it was also the doubling of the poet himself within his own poem that augured the end of that state. The muted narrative presence manifest in the Acteur is typical of the functional identity found in the late medieval political model. It was only with the rising monarchical system of power that both prince and poet could appropriate their own sovereignty over their subjects and poems. The

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subjective individuality of both prince and poet would only flourish in a society that saw itself and the universe from a subjective point of view. The modern individual, as Burckhardt explained, needed to come into being in a society in which the monarch held absolute power.123 Otherwise, as Machiavelli put it, there would always be somebody there to thwart the monarch’s will.124 The duke’s tyranny was due to his personalization of what should have been a functional role. He was not supposed to be able to exert his will to the point that his personality became distinct from that of the society over which he reigned. In the context of Molinet’s poetry, the ruler’s power was grounded in a notion of shared sovereignty. Individuals existed as objects within a larger whole, but this whole was not organic. It was a whole by consensus. It was only within a society that was much more subjective that such political power could be understood as issuing from one person. And it was only in such a society that the poet would be able to overcome his objective presence as an ‘Actor’ (Acteur) and become a full-blown subjective presence as an ‘Author’ (Auteur). For the moment, the limits of a contractual social organization prevented either prince or poet from exerting his subjective will, either politically or poetically, without upsetting the boat. Molinet’s poems conserved a status quo that allowed him and others like him to make a critique of the Burgundian duke; in order for this to happen, he, like the duke, needed to restrain his own subjective individualism. It was only when this mosaic of objective individuals was broken up that a more modern individualism would be possible, but that for the moment was still in the future.125

4 The King’s Two Portraits in Claude de Seyssel and Guillaume Cretin

As political organization shifted from a contractual to a more organic model in the sixteenth century, the evolution of an objective individual into a more subjective one affected prince and poet in similar ways. A little-known poem written by Guillaume Cretin after the humiliating defeat of the French forces at the Battle of Pavia in 1525 offers two very different understandings of the evolving power of the king and the role of the poet. The poem, L’Apparition du mareschal sans reproche, feu messire Jacques de Chabannes (1525), represents the king first as being a party to a contractual relation with his subjects.1 In this part of the poem, the king can, and must, be criticized if he abuses his contractual obligations with his subjects. The second portrait depicts the prince above the law, as a princeps solutus legibus, and beyond criticism. This ambivalent view of the king is compatible with the contemporary political conception of monarchical power. If, in the fifteenth century, writers such as Gerson and Commynes considered it necessary to control the will of the king, political theory and practice in the sixteenth century would increasingly understand the king’s power as absolute and uncontrollable. Cretin’s poem, which at first might seem odd in its seemingly contradictory portraits of the king, can be understood in relation to this paradoxical conception of political power. This curious poem has little to say about the dead maréchal indicated in the poem’s title, and much to say about the king, who oddly is never mentioned by name. The identity of the king is both functional and personal. When he is understood as a function he is criticized. When his power is personalized he is lionized. This work is part of a large corpus of poems written following the capture of the French king, Francis I, at the Battle of Pavia in 1525 when he was ignominiously taken prisoner

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by the emperor, Charles V, and held hostage in Madrid.2 The two different kinds of state alluded to in the poem also implicate different understandings of how the poet as individual functions within the polis. In the first part of the poem, the poet has a critical function that is not dissimilar to that found in Molinet’s Ressource. This part of the poem shows little lyrical presence, but also allows the poet to maintain a critical identity that allows him to offer a pointed and not always laudatory portrait of the king. Despite being written by the king’s chaplain (aumonier), the Apparition is distinguished by a very lively critique of the French monarch.3 The poem’s critical stance cannot be dissociated from its narrative voice, which is expressed through a character called Autheur. Although the poet does not refer to himself as acteur, as in Molinet’s poetry, he still adopts a third-person identity that allows him to cast his criticism in the person of an autheur. Neither truly subjective, because of his identity as Autheur, nor truly objective because of Autheur’s use of the first-person singular pronoun, ‘je,’ this voice wavers between the third-person autheur and the first-person ‘je.’4 In the second part of the poem, the poet drops his critical pose and launches into a highly eulogistic portrait of the king as an epic hero. The king’s person becomes a necessary part of the natural order of the state, and when he is taken prisoner the entire structure of the polis is imperilled. If in the first part of the poem the king was depicted as an imperfect individual capable of being criticized, in the second part he is much closer to the perfect being associated with later French kings in the seventeenth century. The role of the poet shifts accordingly as his critical function shifts. Although there is very little subjective or lyrical presence in this poem, the poet’s presence as creator of the work is much more strongly felt in the second part in which he specifically alludes to his role as poet and the necessity of the poet in the transformation of the heroic deeds of the battlefield into epic and written accounts that glorify the king. The critical function noted in Molinet’s Chroniques shifts into a much more epideictic one. The ambiguous appearance of the double portrait is anchored in the contemporary conception of sovereignty.5 It was not really a question of whether or not the king was the source of power at the beginning of the sixteenth century in France. Monarchy was recognized as the most efficacious and reliable political system, even perhaps the most equitable.6 Democracy and aristocracy were rejected as impracticable. At the end of the century, in part as a result of the confusion and the tumult of the wars of religion, a more absolutist conception of monarchy would

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evolve in Jean Bodin’s La République (1576). The principle of sovereignty promoted by Bodin would assume that in every ‘republic’ there would be a single and sole centre of supreme authority and that this authority would necessarily be absolute.7 But even Bodin would come to this absolutist conception rather late. It has been said that in his Methodus ad facilem historiarum cognitionem from 1566, absolutist conceptions of power are not only absent, they are deliberately repudiated.8 It is only following the religious troubles that Bodin loses his reticence concerning absolutist power in the République and royal sovereignty is described as perpetual and absolute.9 It is only in the République that Bodin finally says that no human, individual, state, or feudal lord may have any power that is above that of the true and unique sovereign. The only powers higher than those of the absolute sovereign were those of divine and natural law.10 Claude de Seyssel: Bridling the King (1515/1519) As Roland Mousnier explained, a kind of revolution of the human spirit, and perhaps even a political revolution, would be necessary between the time of Francis I and that of Louis XIV, in order to arrive at a truly absolutist conception of monarchical power.11 At the beginning of the century, sovereignty was still considered a mix of three political systems: monarchical, aristocratic, and democratic. This combination enjoyed the support and participation of the nobles and of the common people according to early sixteenth-century political theory. If the role of the common people was small, both in theory and in practice, juridical and political institutions bore witness to sovereignty’s mixed nature.12 As noted earlier in chapter 3, even Machiavelli recognized the importance of sharing power, declaring in The Prince that France was a country in which monarchical power was strong since it was widely shared.13 The theorist who best expressed the mixed and paradoxical character of French monarchy at the beginning of the reign of Francis I is Claude de Seyssel, whose Monarchie de France represents the power of the king as a phenomenon that was both absolute and restrained.14 In its embrace of both a restrained and an unlimited understanding of monarchical power, Seyssel’s treatise marks an important moment in the evolution from the late medieval state based on a contractual understanding of power to the more absolutist understanding found in Bodin and other apologists of monarchical absolutism at the end of the sixteenth century.

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The Monarchie de France, written in 1515 and published four years later with the title La Grant’ Monarchie de France, was initially presented to Francis I at the moment of his accession. This treatise describes the king’s power in relation to other juridical institutions. It is neither a utopia à la Thomas More, nor a pedagogical work like the Education of a Christian Prince (1516) by Erasmus, or Le Livre de l’Institution du Prince (1547) by Budé.15 As the work of a jurist who knew the political reality of his time, it gives an idea of what the monarch and his role really are. If Budé and Erasmus considered the prince as an image of ‘God on this earth,’ Seyssel gave him a human face.16 The humanness of the king made it easy for Seyssel to talk of him critically. Unlike seventeenth-century writers such as Félibien, who would claim that they could not speak of ‘the greatest king in the world,’ Seyssel considered it a duty to speak critically of the monarch.17 In this critical understanding of monarchy, Seyssel clearly followed in the footsteps of Gerson, Commynes, Meschinot, and other political writers of the fifteenth century. Though the medieval principle that the king must govern by consent was still widely recognized in early sixteenth-century France, it was undoubtedly not always accepted by the kings themselves.18 In periods of conflict with their Parlements, kings (or their chancellors) often made the argument that the function of institutions such as the Estates General was purely administrative and that strong princes such as Francis I or Henry II could sometimes act despite these constraints. It is important to note, nonetheless, that the limitation of royal power continued to be recognized as legitimate by most jurists of the period. From the end of the fifteenth century through 1572, the underlying concept of political power was favourable to a form of constitutionality.19 French ‘constitutionalists,’ following the lead of Gerson and Commynes, considered the political body as being defined not only by the king, or ‘chef,’ but rather by the king with the aid of a council or Parlement.20 For jurists of this period, the crown, just like the church, was not simply a person or a building but the entire body of the res publica. For them, Parlement was actually a part of the body of the prince or king, a pars corporis principis or regis.21 The political power of the monarch was shared by institutions such as the Parlement, the Estates General, and various councils.22 The monarchical pluralism found in Seyssel was not new when he published his Monarchie de France in 1515, but was part of a well-rooted tradition in French politics. Yet Seyssel’s Monarchie de France also represents a new understanding of monarchical power as absolute. His principal thesis was that the

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king’s power was absolute but constrained by three ‘bridles,’ or ‘freins’ which prevent him from becoming a tyrant. Seyssel explains: To speak of the disorder that can arise from the imperfections of Leaders and Monarchs, there are several remedies to bridle their absolute authority, if they are unhinged and wilful, and even more of those who might have the handling of the realm, if they are imbecile by lack of age or otherwise. And nonetheless the dignity and royal authority remain complete, neither too restrained, but regulated by good laws, ordinances, and customs, which are established in such a way that they can hardly be broken or destroyed (even if at certain times and in certain places, it happens through some infraction or violence ). And speaking of these aforesaid bridles by which the absolute power of kings of France is controlled, I find three principal ones: the first is Religion, the second, Justice, and the third, Police.23

Seyssel leaves the absolute power of the monarch intact but considers it ‘réglée’ by these bridles. The king is not a princeps solutus legibus; he is all powerful but subject to the laws and customs of the country. The bridles of religion, justice, and custom help the monarch to maintain his political power by preventing him from doing something unreasonable or against the country’s customs.24 Seyssel’s subsequent explanation of these bridles brings into focus the voices or individuals needed to maintain a good political balance. It is these voices that are opposed to the king’s uncontrollable and possibly irrational will. The first bridle, Religion, imposes a moral or religious constraint on the king, and brings individuals such as simple priests into the political arena as voices of constraint: And, if the king lives according to the Law and the Christian Religion, he cannot do anything tyrannical. And if he should do something tyrannical, it is permissible for every prelate or religious man living honestly and enjoying the respect of the people, to reprimand him and to make known their reproaches about him, and for a simple preacher to take him to task and to argue in public and before him.25

Every honest priest or bishop is held responsible for the conduct of the king and must reproach him if he should be diverted from the way of Christ. The crown’s power is shared in this way even with the lowliest priests since they can, potentially, criticize royal abuse of power.

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The second bridle is Justice, which Seyssel emphasizes is embodied in the Parlements: The second is Justice: which, without doubt is more authorized in France than in any other country in the world, especially because of the Parlements which have been established principally for this reason and in order to bridle the absolute power which the Kings would like to use.26

For French jurists such as Seyssel, the Parlement was not simply a rubber stamp for the monarchical will, but a means of controlling the king’s will. Even if the power of the king was absolute, the Parlement had the right to control monarchical excesses. Royal power was held in check by individuals by both juridical and ecclesiastical bridles. The third bridle, Police, which we might understand in modern terms as ‘custom,’ was made up of ordinances that had proven their effectiveness and worth over many years. Seyssel accords the king more power in the creation of these ordinances than the tradition of customary law usually allowed, but the effect is the same; the king’s power is bridled by the power of tradition: The third bridle is that of Police: meaning several Ordinances which have been made by the Kings themselves, and afterwards confirmed and approved from time to time, which help preserve the kingdom as a whole and in particular cases.27

Although Seyssel explains that these statutes were made originally by the king, it is the repetitive nature of this custom that ensures its efficacy as a bridle on the monarchical will. Kings cannot, or at least do not dare, to inflict changes to long-standing customs for fear of alienating the subjects of the kingdom and fomenting public revolt. The delicate balance between the king and these other institutions, which Seyssel describes, is true to the actual political reality of the period. Francis I’s foreign policy shows how the power of the king was a mix of absolutism and of institutional pluralism. As mentioned in chapter 1, Francis I, needing to increase France’s power in relation to the emperor Charles V, allied himself with the papacy and revoked the Pragmatic Sanction in the Concordat of Bologna.28 As the first chapter explained, the Pragmatic had allowed the Gallican church to elect its own bishops, abbots, and priors. It had also declared that the General Council was superior to the pope.

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After signing the Concordat of Bologna with Leo X, Francis I sent his chancellor Duprat to the Parlement of Paris in order to convince its members of the necessity of accepting the Concordat. Parlement threw out Duprat since it considered the revocation of the Pragmatic Sanction as a form of foreign interference in French affairs.29 Duprat finally imposed the king’s will and made Parlement accept the Concordat, explaining to its members that their authority was not like that of a senate but that it depended on that of the king, and on him alone. It was the duty of the Parlement to obey him. Finally, the Parlement of Paris had to accept the Concordat and give in to the royal will, but only with the proviso that the terms ‘de expresso mandato regis iteratis vicibus facto’ were added to the formula of registry as a proof of the constraint they were under when they accepted it.30 The power of the king, as Seyssel says, was certainly absolute, but the king had nonetheless to battle with institutions such as the Parlement in order to get his way. The power of those institutional forces was also, however, on the wane in relation to that of the king. Emblematic of this evolution of power is the speech made by the president of the Parlement, Guillart, on 24 July 1527, and the king’s response to it. In this speech, given before the king and Parlement, Guillart exposed a parliamentary theory of government according to which, although the king might rule according to the grace of God, it was thanks to his ‘union’ with his subjects that the king held his authority. In order to endure, the monarchy needed to be controlled. We do not want, said Guillart, to dispute the king’s absolute power, but we do mean to say that ‘you cannot desire to have all that you wish, but only that which is good and equitable by reason.’31 Even this rather timorous critique of the king’s power contrasts sharply with the much more vigorous critique of royal power in the fifteenth century in which the king was considered as the same stuff (alloy) as his people and subject to his laws.32 Francis wasted little time in responding to Guillart’s rather softly voiced reminder of the limits of his power. He called his ‘conseil étroit,’ made up of eleven people (but not including any members of Parlement), which wrote a reply strictly limiting the powers of Parlement.33 If the use of remonstrations was tolerated, ‘no limits, modifications, or restrictions on the king’s orders, edicts, or charters’ was allowed.34 The king effectively subordinated the Parlement to the chancellor, who was simply a representative of the king. The king had the humiliating edict read to the officers of the Parlement by Jean Robertet, Secretary of Finances and member of the king’s ‘conseil étroit.’ When the king saw that the

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presidents of Parlement were getting ready to respond, he got up and left with the members of his council.35 He simply got up and left. In both symbolic and real terms, the power of the king had ultimately trumped that of those members of the polis who felt that their voices still played an important role in the governance of the state. One of the most crucial areas covered by the Monarchie de France, which concerns foreign military invasions, brings to light the delicate balance between the need to restrain the will of the king and the obvious fact that that power was increasingly uncontrollable. Although finally describing in detail how a French king should or might conduct himself when carrying out foreign military campaigns, Seyssel counselled the king very strongly to reflect deeply before leading a military campaign on foreign soil. These actions, he points out, had always led the country to its ruin.36 Seyssel explained that even foreign wars that were ‘bien fondées,’ legitimate in law and deed, proved themselves in the long term harmful to the state: and all in all, the realm has been the object of more shame and damage by losing them than all the honour and profit it would have acquired by winning them – it seems very much required to be aware of and to know the mistakes that have been made in the past in order to avoid them in the future, if it is a question of recovering what has been lost, or of making a new conquest ...37

Princes and others having control of states should reflect deeply and consider all the reasons and arguments against such an invasion. They must think about it a lot, and consult wisely, and debate all the reasons and quarrels that they claim concerning the lands which they want to recover or conquer in order to know if they are just and worthy before God and before the world. Because to do otherwise, would be to believe that God, who is infallible Justice and Truth, will not come to the aid of those who undertake it ...38

Council is necessary to determine military actions; the king’s will should not be the ultimate arbiter. Seyssel’s advice was decidedly on the side of non-interference, especially if no eminent danger threatened the state. The responsibility of the prince was to stay in his own country since the risk he took by going into foreign territory was too great:

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anyway, when it is a question of conquering or performing some wilful enterprise, to which one has not been constrained (unless for profit) one should look very hard and never place things at great risk if it does not seem very likely to arrive at the desired end.39

It is better, he concluded, to put off a foreign conquest for ten years than to hurry it by one day.40 Seyssel’s reasons against going to war were similar to the sort of critique Molinet made of the duke’s military aspirations in the Ressource and in his Chroniques. The ruler cannot act according to his own will when his actions risk bringing danger to the common weal. Without these critical voices, the state was put at great risk. Once the monarch decided to go to war, his power was absolute. The person in charge of conducting the war, whether monarch or general, had the obligation to make sure that no one in the army had any knowledge that was greater than his own and that all the soldiers obeyed him, ‘because if the chief is such that the captains and soldiers from all ranks obey him as they should, there is no doubt that all will go well.’41 The distinction between the king’s power which is normally bridled (but still theoretically absolute) and the military ruler’s power is telling. In time of war, all the soldiers must obey their ruler, and submit their will to him. In time of peace, the ruler’s will must be constrained by that of his subjects. The ‘bridles’ of the Monarchie lose their political autonomy in time of war. The Monarchie de France marked a step in the evolution of political practice by explicitly carving out a critical space in regards to monarchical power at the same time that it identified the king’s power as absolute and unconstrained by any other will. It described a society that was both a societas and a universitas, a society in which the prince had a very different role according to whether his power was construed as contractual or organic. In a contractual society, the king needed to have his will controlled by the community, since political equilibrium demanded that no one part of the body politic take too much power. The contract of mutual obligation underlying this political organization depended on multiple voices or wills to restrain the will of the king. These wills or voices cannot be understood as subjective presences, but they can be understood as objective presences within the state, and, as Seyssel describes them, are critical to its well-being. It is these voices that constitute the three bridles placed on the king’s will. Seyssel’s voice itself, as Author, remarks on the unhappy recent experience of France in times of war. The need to listen to other voices before any foreign war is

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undertaken also offers proof of how other wills exist if only implicitly in this kind of polis organized around a limited monarchical will. Guillaume Cretin’s Two Portraits of the King (1525) The Critical Portrait The apparent contradiction between the two portraits of Francis I in Cretin’s poem about the Battle of Pavia can be read as a similar manifestation of monarchical power. As in Seyssel’s treatise, the monarch is treated as a sovereign with limited power who must be criticized, and as an absolute monarch whose power is unquestioned. In the first part of the poem, the king can, and must, be criticized since his power, although absolute, is ‘réglée’ by juridical and ecclesiastical institutions. Within this political paradigm, the poet has to criticize the king when he develops a disastrous foreign policy. Cretin has a political role that he must fulfil much in the same way that Molinet had. Both Cretin and Molinet needed to criticize the guilty and praise the worthy as part of this political function. Yet, at the same time, Cretin was also called upon to glorify the same prince that he criticized. When the king was considered as part of the polis of monarchical absolutism, of unlimited sovereignty, the poet needed to glorify him for the very same act for which he had criticized him. The seemingly contradictory portraits of Francis I in Cretin’s poem can be understood as corresponding to Seyssel’s picture of a polis in which the king’s power was both absolute and bridled. The poem is organized around a dialogue staged between the Autheur and the ghost of a commander killed at Pavia who appears to him in a dream. Jacques II de Chabannes, commander of advance-guard troops at the Battle of Pavia, was killed on 24 February 1525. He had earlier distinguished himself during the Italian campaigns of Charles VIII to Naples and of Louis XII to Milan, taking part in the siege of Genoa and being wounded at the Battle of Agnadel.42 In 1515, he received the rank of field marshal from Francis I and forced the High Constable of Bourbon to evacuate Provence in 1524. Chabannes is exemplary in many ways of the humanist cult of the warrior who died for the fatherland, which was replacing the cult of the martyr who died for Christ.43 Politicians in the sixteenth century began to remotivate religious sentiment by submitting it to political ends in the emergent monarchical nation-state.44 For Seyssel, Chabannes represents the same values that

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the miles christianus, the soldier of Christ, represented for the church. Chabannes appears on the very same day as Francis’s defeat, in a dream, to inform the Autheur of the French debacle at Pavia. In the dream’s complex narration, it is possible to distinguish a twopart structure. The first ‘panel’ of this diptych is formed by the sharp critique made by Chabannes of the king’s Italian wars. The second ‘panel’ is made up of an epic description of the Battle of Pavia and the capture of the French king by the emperor’s troops. At the beginning of this second section, Chabannes and the Autheur discuss the validity of rhetoric. In this dialogue, the Autheur proclaims that a poet or artist, such as himself, must transform the unfortunate or painful actions of the monarch into heroic and memorable events (‘Par mon escript tournent au souvenir/ Des nobles cueurs ces choses doloreuses’).45 The poet becomes an essential part of the monarchical state whether it is understood as having limited or unlimited sovereignty. It is notable, in the beginning of this second section, how the poet loses his critical role in order to adopt a much more propagandistic one. The poet qua poet comes to the fore but loses the critical edge he had in the first part of the poem. Although not perhaps a form of modern subjective lyricism, the poet’s new role as herald of the king’s glory does deepen his artistic consciousness at the same time as it lessens his political consciousness. The critique of the king, in the first section of the poem, begins with an invective that the poet makes about the city of Milan when he learns of the king’s defeat at Pavia. The narrator pulls out all the stops in his plainte, placing the blame for the king’s defeat on the Italians, especially the Milanese, calling Milan the ‘sepulchre or cemetery of Europe, an evil city’ (sépulchre ou cymetiere de l’Europe).46 This is where the actual criticism of the French king begins, and it is stated in the voice of the knowedgeable ghost of Chabannes. He reproaches the Autheur for his hard words regarding Milan, explaining that fault is less attributable to the Italians than to the French prince. The ghost leaves little doubt about who is responsible for the present disaster: Que peult mes Lombardie a ce que princes ont Cupidité hardie, et ambicieux sont, Se grosse guerre font, et ardeur les attise? Maint homme se morfond au feu de convoitise.47 What can my Lombards do when princes Are greedy, bold, and ambitious,

132 The Gargantuan Polity If they make huge wars and ardour enflames them? Many men are burned by the fire of covetousness.

Chabannes’s critique of Francis I’s military campaign in Italy lays blame pointedly on Francis’s greed. Chabannes explains that just as in a civil trial that is resolved judiciously, a prince who has lost a province is fully justified in reclaiming it. A prince must certainly protect his country, but he must not in any case put the res publica in danger.48 The limits of justice are clearly defined, and the French king has, according to Chabannes, not recognized them. Like Seyssel, Chabannes here also describes the country’s borders as the limit of the king’s powers: Nostre mere nature a mys le contrepoinct Des Alpes pour closture et limites a poinct; Desir maint homme espoinct passer les montz en ordre Qui retourne en pourpoinct sans apporter a mordre.49 Our mother nature has explicitly made the Alps a counterweight, barrier, and boundary; The desire to go over the mountains in order touches many men Who return in their shirtsleeves with nary a bite to eat.

Going beyond this natural topographic limit could cost the country and the prince very dearly; history teaches us that those who have tried have come back not only penniless but vanquished.50 Chabannes deplores the military ambitions of the king who, with his Italian conquests, has denatured himself by wanting to cross the Alps: Entre la Lombardie et France y a murs seurs. Parquoy fut cornardie a noz predecesseurs, Voulans estre agresseurs, rompre telles murailles, Veu qu’ont les transgresseurs piteuses funerailles.51 Between Lombardy and France there are solid walls. This is why our predecessors were made fools, Wanting to be aggressors, to break down these walls, Seeing that the transgressors have such pitiful funerals.

Chabannes’s message is difficult to misunderstand. To go beyond France’s natural borders means to become ‘aggressors’ and ‘trangres-

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sors.’ Francis I’s Italian campaigns were difficult to countenance in this critical context. Cretin does something remarkable at this point. He has Chabannes refer to the ancient example of Brennus, the Gallic duke who suffered a memorable defeat when he tried to lay siege to Rome in the fourth century. Brennus is cited as an example of the kind of aggressor who returned home in his undershirt (‘en pourpoinct’) after having tried to transgress the natural limits imposed by the Alps. This portrait of a French prince who invades Italy at the expense of his realm is remarkable for two reasons. First, it is clear that in this portrait it is the king who is being painted. Second, it shows the legend of Brennus in a resolutely anti-Gallic fashion.52 In the Middle Ages, especially thanks to Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Britanniae, Brennus was considered a victorious soldier.53 His invasion was perceived as a deserved victory for the Gauls and a defeat for the Romans. At the end of the Middle Ages, with the rediscovery of Livy’s Roman Histories, the French had to resign themselves to a less glorious version of Brennus.54 Livy, and Plutarch in his Life of Camillus, had depicted the Gauls, with Brennus as their leader, as a troop of barbarians incapable of taking advantage of their booty after the sack of Rome since they had been massacred by Camillus on the Via Gabinia. Nonetheless, even if the French propagandists during the Italian wars knew the Roman versions of the Brennus legend, they rewrote them to make Brennus into a glorious example of military victory. Cretin, taking the opposite tack, used the ancient version to make a very negative portrait of Francis I. Chabannes recounts in detail how Brennus’s adventure was against nature and doomed to failure: Brennus duc des Gauloys, selon l’escript antique, N’eut bon regard aux loix de nature autentique, Premier fut qui praticque Alpes passer emprint, Enfin fut fantastique, et tres mal luy en print.55 Brennus, duke of the Gauls, according to olden books, Paid little attention to the laws of true nature, He was the first to try to go over the Alps, In the end this was fantastical, and he ended up badly.

Finally, Cretin says, though Brennus might have been able to destroy all the houses of Roman notables, ‘Nature transformed his wealth into pov-

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erty, travail, and calamity, thus taking vengence on him’ (Nature a limité son bien en indigence,/ Peine et calamité, prenant de luy vengeance).56 The allusion to Francis I’s unfortunate defeat at Pavia is difficult to miss in Chabannes’s remarks about Brennus’s unhappy fate. Brennus’s end is ‘fulgurante’ and directly imputable to his desire to pillage the temples of the Roman gods: Tost apres luy aux champs en bataille rengee Fut de glaives trenchans l’injure aux dieux vengee, Pour avoir main plongée au sang d’iceulx Rommains Sa vie eut abregee de ars plus divins qu’humains.57 Soon after in the battle field Cutting swords avenged the insult made to the gods, For having plunged his hand in the blood of the Romans His life was cut short by arts more divine than human.

Apollo fires an arrow from the skies and it is this arrow which finally kills Brennus. If the Roman version insisted on the valour of Camillus, who ultimately killed Brennus, in Cretin’s version, Brennus dies from having transgressed the natural limits of his power. His retribution is divine. Peace will only come when princes learn to govern and when the French learn not to go beyond the limits of their territory: Quant force, yre et fureur de Dieu appaiseront, Et princes sans erreur ensemble paix avront, Quand des exces seront purgez les sodomites, Françoys lors cesseront transgresser leurs limites.58 When might, anger, and fury of God diminish, And princes live together peacefully without error, When the excesses of the sodomites are purged, The French will then cease transgressing their limits.

Chabannes’s critique of Brennus for having ignored the natural limits of his power ends on an unmistakably negative note. In much the same way that Seyssel had demonstrated, the prince who crosses the borders of his own country always does it at the expense of the state that he is supposed to protect.59

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Cretin’s portrait of the French king through the mouth of the dead war hero Chabannes is an eloquent and powerful critique of the king’s abuse of his power. He should have known not to attempt to go beyond the natural borders of his realm and when he did he inevitably brought ruin to himself and to his country. The portrait of the French king as a transgressor who does not respect the natural limits of his sovereignty can be understood as representing just the sort of bridle that Seyssel explained was necessary to prevent the king’s absolute power from making him into an unjust tyrant. This part of the poem is a continuation of the tradition of limited sovereignty found in Gerson, Commynes, and the Estates General of 1484. Cretin plays a necessary political function in the polis, acting as a gardefou against the uncontrolled will of the king. The voice of the poet, refracted through the curious narrator, the Autheur, and through the heroic Chabannes, is sharply critical. Cretin, though possessing very little subjective presence in this part of the poem, exercises a sharply political role. His voice, cast through that of the Autheur and through that of Chabannes, plays a crucial and necessary role in the state. The deliberate and non-traditional use of the Brennus legend is emblematic of how Cretin’s individual will is exerted in this poem. Not only does he critique the French king, he also uses the Brennus legend from the Roman point of view in order to carry out his criticism. Francis I’s power might be increasingly absolute, yet he is still surrounded by voices such as those of the Autheur and of Chabannes in this poem. The king is an imperfect individual who can, and even must, be criticized. The criticism necessarily comes from another individual whose role it is to carry out this function. Long Live the King In the second, encomiastic section of the poem, Cretin gives voice to a dithyrambic description of Francis I at the Battle of Pavia. From a forensic judgment of the king’s earlier actions, the rhetoric now shifts to an epideictic register. Here the ghost of Chabannes now praises the heroic actions of the king, whose very person is understood as vital for the well-being of the state. Where the critical voice of the first part of the poem performed a role similar to the bridles described by Seyssel, the laudatory part of the poem silences critical comments and replaces them with voices of praise. Individual voices function very differently in this political context; instead of rising in opposition to the monarch’s abuse

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of power, they silence themselves, claiming that they are incapable of understanding or expressing the reality of the Battle of Pavia. This second section of the poem also vaunts the eloquence and the persuasive powers of the poet. It shows how much these qualities are necessary in the creation of the image of power. If, during his critique of Francis I in the first section of the poem, Chabannes’s ghost had alluded to historical and mythological figures such as Brennus, Romulus, Hercules, Apollo, and Delphos, the Autheur now says he is astonished that a soldier of Chabannes’s renown could have learned so much about literature.60 Now Chabannes’s ghost denigrates the power and usefulness of literature; he mocks the Autheur, casting aspersions on the role of orators and writers in the state, claiming that their persuasive powers are damaging to the state, and professing that the princes who listen to the flattery and adulation of orators can only turn bad.61 Chabanne’s speech clearly reduces the number and importance of voices other than the king’s in the good governance of the state. Good government becomes more a question of the king’s own reason and less a matter of other voices. Where his own voice had fulfilled a critical function in the first part of the poem, Chabannes now denies the need for critical voices in the state. Attributing his eloquence and intelligence only to the fact that he is dead, Chabannes then lists the heroes who had died for their country – La Trémouille, Admiral Bonnivet, the Duke of Suffort, and the Maréchal de Foix – and recounts the circumstances of their deaths.62 Where Chabannes had most eloquently enunciated his critique of the king in the earlier part of the poem, he is now described as incapable of expressing the reality of the Battle of Pavia. It is at this point that Cretin, as poet, places himself in the center of the poem and praises the eloquence of the artist compared with the failure of the soldier who does not know how to transform the emotion of his life into a memorable form: Disant ces mots gecta souspirs et crys Que de grant temps n’avroye au long escriptz; Pour ce luys dis: ‘Ceste desconfiture, Fors en regret d’amaire confiture, N’avez pouoir narrer ...’63 Saying these words he sighed and cried That for such a long time he wouldn’t write this down; I said to him: ‘This defeat,

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With strong regrets of a bitter defeat, You will not be able to tell...’

The Autheur asks Chabannes for his permission to put into writing the soldier’s exploits so that they might become historical narratives worthy of being remembered by readers: Je vous supply ceste grace me faire Tout reciter, ad ce que a l’advenir, Par mon escript tournent au souvenir Des nobles cueurs ces choses doloreuses, Et en suyvant armes chevaleureuses De vous et ceulx que avez icy nommez Acquierent loz pour estre renommez, Tout est si fort, qu’on employe escriptoires Pour leurs beaux faictz racompter aux histoires.64 I beg you to do me this favour To recite everything, so that in the future, By my writing noble hearts might turn To the memory of these painful things, And by following the knightly arms Of you and those that you have here named Might acquire praise for having been so renowned, All is so strong, that writings are used So that their beautiful feats are recounted as stories.

This passage displaces Chabannes as a voice of witness and critique, and returns the author to the centre of a process which transforms the fact into history. The Battle of Pavia loses its historical aspect and becomes a ‘lieu de mémoire,’ which is used to increase the power of the king. Thanks to the writer’s rhetorical skills, the Battle of Pavia is now transformed into an epic account. The defeat of Francis, which otherwise would have been as pitiful as that of Brennus, is transformed by the poet into a heroic epic. This section of the poem puts both the soldier and the poet on stage and questions their relationship to historical truth. The scene begins with Chabannes explaining that it is impossible for him to recount the truth of the battle. Chabannes asks the Autheur if he thinks that he can recount the events that had transpired from the fragmentary accounts of

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the combatants.65 The Autheur replies that he will certainly have difficulty remaining faithful to the facts, but, at worst, he will have less difficulty than the soldier who thinks only of killing and defending his life: Mais penses tu que souldars en combat, Sur l’heure estans au mesme endroit que on bat, Où l’on s’efforce a grans coups tout pourfendre, Pensent ailleurs sinon a eulx deffendre?66 But do you think that soldiers in combat, At the same time in the same place where they do battle, Where they make such an effort to fend off great blows, Can think of anything but to defend themselves?

The Autheur explains that he will be able to transform the subjective experience of the soldier into a larger truth. As Chabannes loses his powers of eloquence, the function of the poem evolves. Instead of functioning as a mouthpiece for a critical voice, the poem now becomes a means of praising Francis I and converting a humiliating defeat into an epic account of monarchical grandeur. The value of Chabannes as an eye-witness at the Battle of Pavia also shifts. His critique of Francis I was grounded in his experience of the battle itself; this experience was opposed to the Autheur’s less direct account which had immediately cast blame on the Lombards for the defeat. Now Chabannes’s experience of the battle is deemed insufficient: Car il est tant empesché a son faict, Que alors n’entend se par prouesse on faict Ample devoir ...67 Because he is so taken with his task, That he cannot understand if by prowess His great duty has been done ...

The role of the writer in the creation of an image of monarchical might is incomparably greater than that of the soldier. The Autheur says that not even the eyes of an Argus or a lynx would know how to recount everything and that no eye would be large enough to express everything that the poet can say.68 The soldier needs the poet to universalize

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his personal experience. The noise of the battle – trumpets, horses, horrible cries – influences the perception of the participant in such a way that his narratives can only have the most distant relationship with the truth. The very thing that had validated Chabannes’s critique of the king in the first part of the poem, his experience at Pavia, is now invalidated. Personal experience is rejected as insufficient and fragmentary. Now, the poet’s alchemy is deemed necessary to convey the ‘truth’ of the battle. This more universal understanding is superior to the accounts of those newly arrived from the battle, which are often used by writers in their narratives, since they are often erroneous. As Chabannes says, ‘l’œil ne peult par tout estre estendu.’69 It is only thanks to the poetic powers of the Autheur that this fragmentary vision can be overcome.70 After this discussion, which solidifies the poet’s omniscient position, Cretin anchors the second portrait of the king in the Autheur’s query ‘And what was the part played by the king?’ (En quelle part et ordre estoit le Roy?).71 Here, the epic description of Francis I stands in sharp contrast to the negative portrait of Brennus in the first part. Francis I is here described as the very model of honour with a ‘pure heart enamoured of an ardent fire’ (franc cœur espris de feu ardant).72 The king does not even look at the peril in which he places himself since he wanted to ‘give an example of great prowess.’73 Here Hannibal is offered directly as an example who inspired Francis: Et en ce cas s’essaya prendre exemple A Hannibal de Carthage, attentif Aux coups donner ...74 And in this case he tried to take as an example Hannibal of Carthage who was so careful To give blows ...

Chabannes also adds Alexander the Great, who is described as a ‘monarque universel,’ and Julius Caesar, ‘de Romme dictateur,’ to the list of Francis’s bellicose ancestors.75 The adjectives that the poet uses in this description form an antithesis to the adjectives used in the portrait of Brennus. Hannibal, who successfully crossed the Alps, is juxtaposed with Brennus who was massacred undertaking the same action. As Keohane explains, the rise of absolute power in the sixteenth century necessitated an ‘intense personalization of kingly power, an incarnation of

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pure authority in a single human individual to be adored and obeyed’ as well as ‘an abstraction from any human qualities in the intangible symbol of the state ... without human frailty.’76 Cretin’s portrait of Francis I in the second part of the poem would seem to fulfil such a function: it was necessary to produce images of him that would help make him seem to correspond to the ideal of monarchical valour his subjects required. The portrait of Francis in the second part of the poem presents him as a model of regal behaviour. The presence of the king in the battle is described as being necessary, since, just as Julius Caesar had, Francis knew that a king’s presence was worth ten thousand soldiers of good size (‘ung roy par presence en bataille/ Valloir dix mil souldars de bonne taille’).77 The king had an emblematic quality that went well beyond that of good or bad strategist. The role of the king as head of the body politic is manifest in the allusions that Chabannes makes to the soldier as a ‘member’ and to the king as ‘chief’: Trop ruyneux et caduque est le membre Qui subvenir au chef ne se remembre Quant voit son sang d’affluence courir, Et promptement ne le va secourir.78 Too ruinous and useless is the member Who does not remember to come to the aid of the chief When he sees his blood flow, And does not go quickly to help him.

The soldier’s individual will is entirely subservient to that of his king who represents the state as an ideal. The king is not simply an imperfect individual who can be criticized but acts as a perfect being without whom the rest of the body politic would fall into anarchic chaos. The parallel of Cretin’s description of the king in combat with Seyssel’s description of the commander of an army at war is striking (see pages 128–9). In both cases the individual soldier’s will is described as in complete subservience to the king or commander’s will. The individual person endowed with a will loses his autonomy in a body politic at the top of which rules the king. The portrait of the king in this part of the poem reverses the political order and makes the institutions that had represented bridles on the king in Seyssel subservient to the monarch’s will. Without the king, the

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country literally and metaphorically loses its head. The king is necessary for the safekeeping of order. When France is deprived of its head following Francis’s capture, it becomes poor and weak.79 The Autheur remarks that in the absence of the king no one would be able to wipe out the heresy that was threatening the Catholic Church or be able to carry out the reforms necessary within the church: Qui soubstiendra ta debile foiblesse, Et punira l’erreur qui ta foy blesse?80 ... Qui mettra hors l’Esglise Perversité qui tant nous scandalise?81 Who will uphold your sickly feebleness, And punish the error that wounds your faith? ... Who will throw out of the church The perversity that scandalizes us?

Where the church was considered a principal bridle on the king’s will in Seyssel’s Monarchie, the king is now seen as playing a necessary role in the governance of the church. The perversion that Chabannes notes in the church also is present in Justice: Ou trouverras pilliers et bons appuys, En la justice ayant grand zele, puys Qu’on pervertit son ordre ...??82 Where will you find pillars and good supports, In justice having great zeal, since His order is perverted...?

The second bridle on the king’s sovereignty in Seyssel’s Monarchie de France is here submitted to the king’s will. The king alone can consider himself sufficiently disinterested to ensure the good health, and the harmonious and efficacious functioning, of the res publica. Neither the people, nor the aristocracy, nor the church can ensure public order. Once again, Burckhardt’s analysis of the development of absolutism and individualism in Italy could be applied to this second half of Cre-

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tin’s poem. Burckhardt explained that, unlike their northern contemporaries, Italian princes were not reduced to living with a noble class that could impose its influence on them.83 The prince ruled alone. In France during the Middle Ages this had not been the case, as Machiavelli noted. Now, in the sixteenth century, France was becoming more like the Italy described by Burckhardt. The king increasingly ruled alone and excluded from power those other voices that had previously bridled his will. The modern historian Roland Mousnier’s summary of the Seysselian critique of democracy and aristocracy might just as well have been made of Cretin’s poem. Mousnier explains that, for Seyssel, a democratic system of government would necessarily suggest that ‘the general interest would be forgotten and because it was impossible to govern, the state would be reduced to disorder and paralysis.’84 He also explains that for Seyssel, aristocracy would also inevitably lead to ‘disagreements, particularisms, hatred, revolts, bitter seditions, mutinies, violence, and finally to murder, expulsions, banishments, persecutions and even to open civil war.’85 All the members of the state, except the king, would be too caught up in their own interest to think of the wellbeing of the state as a whole. Cretin’s poem reflects a similar sentiment: Ou trouverras soit clerc ou seculier, Trop moins aymant son bien particulier Que publique?86 Where will you find cleric or layman, Loving less his private good Than that of the public?

Again, it is the king alone who is capable of rising above his own selfinterest to maintain order in the country. For Cretin, the monarch literally was the kingpin without which the other parts of the body politic could not exist. The nobility and the people cannot provide adequate ‘contrepoids,’ one for the other, without the king. Without the king, the polis became an anarchic mess of seditious individual wills. The sort of diffused power described by Gerson or by Commynes became impossible to contemplate: Qui remettra la noblesse en son ply, Ayant le peuple oultreemment assouply?

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Qui rengera aussi le populaire Servir à Dieu, et aux seigneurs complaire? Qui ostera les bombans dissoluz De tous estatz?87 Who will put the nobility back in its place, Having made the people even more docile? Who will make the people Serve God and please their lords? Who will rip the dissolute in fancy dress From all the estates?

Left to their own devices, the nobles will pay attention only to their own needs, just as the people would. Only the king can act; and Cretin describes the state in terms of order that can only come from the power of a king: pour brief motz absoluz, Ordre n’y voy; car on ne met pas tente Au grand peril de ruyne patente.88 and in brief absolute words, Order I don’t see; because you cannot put the tent In great peril of great ruin.

The tension between the absolute power of the king and the bridles on his power dominates these lines. Since the state cannot or should not be put in danger it is incumbent on the king to impose his will on those of his subjects. Order is lacking in the realm and only the power of the king can resolve the problem. The king in this part of the poem ascends to become an absolute sovereign without whom the rest of the state cannot function. The dual nature of the king’s portrait in Cretin’s Apparition raises the problem of the poem’s addressee. On the one hand, it is addressed to the king whose foreign policy is criticized by the poet. The portrait of Francis in the form of Brennus and the use of Chabannes as a critical interlocutor allow Cretin to develop his critique in an oblique fashion. Even if the critique is transparent, Cretin never directly addresses the king himself; it is the ghost of Chabannes who voices this critique. On the other hand, the poem is also addressed to the French people at a

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moment when they are deprived of the presence of their king. Cretin represents for them the ideal of a monarchical power so necessary to public order. The epic portrait of Francis helps the country to overcome the trauma of his capture and his absence. Louis Marin’s analysis of portraiture in the court of Louis XIV could also be applied to Cretin’s poem. Marin explained that it really did not matter if the body of the king was present in his true being so long as the image of the king ensured the happiness and the peace of his people.89 Cretin’s poem offers up the image of the absent king to his people. Like the effigy that would accompany the body of Francis after his death in 1547, the epic image guarantees the continuity of power.90 It should not be forgotten that the expression ‘le roi est mort, vive le roi’ was used for the first time at Francis’s death. The king’s person was dead but the king as mystical body continued in the person of his son Henry II. The interregnum no longer existed. The dignitas of the king, his immortal power, was incarnate in his son.91 The image of the heroic king, as presented in Cretin’s poem, ensured the same continuity during Francis’s sojourn in prison in Madrid. The dignitas of the king persisted in his image, even when his body was absent. Despite the critical character of the first portrait, the second offers itself as a guarantor of political stability even in the absence of the king himself. It is thanks to portraits such as this one that the monarch could transcend the singularity of his own body and transform himself into a univeral and absolute concept. The portrait became, to appropriate Louis Marin’s metaphor, the host in the political liturgy, which took up the themes and images of the religious eucharist.92 It represented the real presence of the king even when he was absent. Like the king himself, the poet plays a double role in this poem. In the first section of the poem, he writes a critique of the king who has abused his power by invading Italy. In the second section of the text, the poet takes the worst French defeat since Agincourt and transforms it into an epic portrait and helps to construct the image of absolute power.93 It is a transformation worthy of a modern spin doctor. In the second section of L’Apparition, Francis I becomes an intangible symbol of power without human weakness. The poet very consciously plays a key role in this symbolic creation. Thanks to him, the lived experience of the Battle of Pavia can be transformed into a representation of pure authority.94 The defeat of the king at Pavia, thanks to the poet, becomes a symbol of glory and power. Cretin’s poetics, like Seyssel’s definition of power in La Monarchie de

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France, is both monarchically absolute and feudal. On the one hand in the first part of the poem, Cretin works much as Molinet, Meschinot, and Bouchet did, within the critical context of the politics of mutual obligation. He is able to criticize the king when he abuses that contract and puts the res publica at risk. Just as Gerson criticized Charles VI in his Vivat Rex, or as Molinet criticized the Burgundian dukes and duchesses in the Ressource, L’Apparition represents a critique of a tyrant whose ‘volonté désordonnée’ has abused the mutual obligation he shared with his people. In the second part of the poem, Cretin functions much more clearly as a propagandist for the French king. He participates very actively in the fabrication of the image of the king, which, as Louis Marin described in relation to Louis XIV, was necessary for the public order of the realm. The portrait of Francis I in the epic description of the Battle of Pavia functions as a symbol of the missing king, ensuring his presence at the head of the kingdom even during his imprisonment in Madrid. Cretin’s poetic involvement in this process is made clear in his exchange with Chabannes. He is placed at the very centre of both panels of the portrait of the king. In the first part of the poem it is through the Autheur that Chabannes’s criticism of Francis I is made known. And in the second part, when Chabannes is described as incapable of expressing the reality of the battle, it is thanks to the Autheur that the feats of battle are transformed into histoires (stories) used to extoll the glory of the king. It is thanks to him that the ‘choses douleureuses’ (painful things) of the field of battle are remembered (‘tournent au souvenir’). It is thanks to his ‘escriptoires’ (writings) that the ‘beaux faictz’ (beautiful feats) can be retold as histoires.95 The critique and the praise of the king are due to the poet’s ability to manipulate language in a political sphere. If in the first part of the poem the poet functions as a political animal using language in order to make judgments about right and wrong, in the second part of the poem his role is more epideictic. In this second part of the poem, the ability to judge right and wrong through language is greatly decreased in favour of a rhetoric that praises the king as sole representative of power. The Autheur’s éloge of the poet just before the epic depiction of Francis I marks a significant shift in the poet’s function both in the poem itself and in sixteenth-century France more generally. In the first part of the poem, the critique of the king’s invasion of Italy was grounded in the soldier’s actual experience at the Battle of Pavia. It was because Chabannes had been there that he could make the critique that he does. The

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poet’s function is to relate those facts. He functions as a historian in the sense that his fiction depicts an actual event. The authority of his critique is grounded in the veracity of the image. In the éloge of the poet, that sort of historical understanding is deemed insufficient. What is needed is a more global or poetic expression of the facts. The poet’s function shifts from ‘historian’ to that of creator of a ‘lieu de mémoire.’ In this part of the poem, the poet says quite clearly that he can serve the king’s political cause by moulding the actions of the battle into a literary image of which he is the absolute master. The soldier, as participant in the battle, was unable to overcome his own partial viewpoint. He was unable to see the whole since he was so caught up in his function as defender of the king. It is only the artist in full control of his literary material, says Cretin, who can successfully transform the soldier’s act into a heroic image by imagining and expressing the act from a more universal viewpoint. Cretin breaks out of the limited role of acteur found in Molinet’s poems and in his own chant royal, and becomes an auteur in full control of his literary canvas. He can represent the entirety of the battle and its political import since he is in absolute control of it. He is not in it and of it when he makes his epic portrait of Francis. The poet’s ability to universalize the particular act plays a crucial role in the universalization of the king as political symbol. In conclusion, at the time of Francis I, or at least at the beginning of his reign, it is still necessary to speak of portraits of the king and not of the singular portrait as Louis Marin does in relation to Louis XIV. In Cretin’s poem, the portrait must be double, since the monarchy had not yet reached the ‘pure’ absolutism of Louix XIV. Francis I remained subject to the bridles described by Seyssel, and the poet could allow himself to criticize the king. Francis I risked ripping apart the political fabric of the country by his military campaigns in Italy, and the poet had to reproach him for these dangerous military ambitions. But, at the same time, the portrait that Cretin made represents the growing power of the absent monarch. The absolute power of the king is described by Cretin in clear and distinct terms: without the heroic king, the country risks falling into chaos and anarchy. The figure of the king, hero of the Battle of Pavia, represents the centralization of power in the hands of one individual who is responsible for maintaining order.96 Cretin’s poem is written on two registers and allows us to see why two portraits were necessary to describe monarchical power, a power which was in this era both constrained and absolute. The double register also demanded that the poet as individual exist doubly, both as

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restrained presence in his critique and as a stronger presence in the epic portrayal of the king. The poet, like the king, had both restrained and more absolute presence. It is almost as if in the critical first half of the poem, he was still an acteur/auteur, subject to the intellectual constraints of the rapidly fading late Middle Ages, while in the second half of the poem, the poet was able to express himself as an artist creating an image of power that would augment the power of the king he had earlier criticized. The theatricalization of power later noted in the seventeenth century can be discerned in Cretin’s poem. The king emerges from his more limited political function to become an emblem of the state whose power knows no bounds. The poet’s role in relation to this shift also evolves. If in the first part of the poem he has a limited narrative presence, in the second it is his consciousness that is necessary for the evocation of the king’s glory. His political agency might be lessened in that he has less of a critical role but his poetic presence increases. His presence, like that of the king in his realm, becomes more universal.

5 Barthélemy de Chasseneuz and the Top-Down Polity

One of the most crucial steps in the creation of the modern individual, according to scholars such as Dumont, was the development of a contractual society from an older, more organic one. It will be remembered that Dumont, alluding to Otto Gierke, explained that modern society is based on a contractual model of social organization, what he called societas, which is opposed to a more organic society, which he called universitas. In this later kind of society, the kind of personal autonomy which is used to distinguish the modern individual was not possible. Paradoxically, since much of the political theory seems more organic than contractual in the sixteenth century than it had been in the late Middle Ages, it would appear that the Middle Ages were perhaps more individualistic than the Renaissance. As in the ecclesiastical realm, when the conciliar model of ecclesiastical politics was replaced by a more monarchical or pontifical one in the fifteenth century, a transformation of juridical theory in the mid-sixteenth century shows a marked shift away from an understanding of law as resulting from the agreement of diverse and discreet wills towards one in which laws were construed as resulting from a more immutable and universal form of reason. Logically, as a result, individualism of the contractual sort gets lost in the shuffle. Sixteenth-century legal commentaries show how this evolution might have taken place. These commentaries, in which jurists, often trained in the tradition of Roman law, analyse the customary law which dominated legal practice in the north of France throughout the Middle Ages, and they show a remarkable shift in how the ability to make law was construed. Customary law was a form of ius gentium, ‘second nature,’ which grounded legislative authority in usage and repetition;

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no one person was responsible for the creation of law, not even the king.1 Sixteenth-century commentaries of customary law were often written by apologists for strong monarchical power, who sought to shift the authority to make law from the populus to the king.2 The role and meaning of the individual also shifts as power shifts from the populus to the monarch; as power centralized in the person of the king, the weight of the individuals who took part in the creation of law as part of the social practice of customary law necessarily lessened. These individuals were, of necessity, cut out of the polis, or at least their political role was greatly weakened. Their voices, which enunciated the customary law, are silenced in these commentaries. In some ways, these voices are the invisible matter that helps make up the mid-sixteenth-century polis: they exist, yet their presence is felt less and less as the gravitational pull of the monarch increases. Commentators such as Charles de Grassaille, Pierre Rebuffi, André Tiraqueau, and Barthélemy de Chasseneuz, while concentrating on the legal niceties of customary law, often ended up extolling the centralized power of the sixteenth-century monarchy and Roman law.3 Even if their ostensible subject was the diffused political discourse of unwritten medieval law, the real object of discussion in these commentaries was often the demise of just such a system and its replacement with a kind of juridical system that gave more power to the king. Like the chants royaux from the 1520s which re-imagine the decentralized Council of Basel as though it were presided over by the pope, these commentaries often redefine the diffused nature of customary law to reflect the much more centralized political reality of the sixteenth century. These writers take the diffused power of the customaries and centralize it in the hands of the king who can impose his will on that of the res publica. They corral the discourse of the customary law into a new and often antithetical context in which the meaning of the old feudal power structure is purely and absolutely subsumed by the new discourse of monarchical and centralized power.4 Consciously or not, the evolution of power towards a more regalian state helped reduce the importance of the tradition of the unwritten customary law that had long been used in the north of France.5 For centuries the north of France had been governed by the unwritten loi coutumière, which had grounded its authority in repetition, ‘one time does not make custom’(une fois n’est pas coutume), and traditional consensus, ‘proof by the group’ (preuve par la tourbe).6 Customary law was especially marked by its spontaneous nature.7 As opposed to legislative

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law, customary was a social practice; if no one could remember something being done differently or if a tourbe, a group composed of several people, had agreed collectively, the customary had force of law.8 An example of this kind of diffused authority is found in the first gloss of André Tiraqueau’s De legibus connubialibus (1513). Tiraqueau begins the gloss by saying that wives were in the power of their husbands according to the custom of the Poitou, and in France more generally, even if Roman law says that they were in the power of their fathers. This custom, he says, ‘which had almost always been true generally in Gaul ... came from the mores of the ancient Gauls.’9 As Tiraqueau’s comment suggests, custom is what comes from social practice (‘perpetua & generalis in Gallia’ and ‘à veteri Gallorum more defluxit’) whereas law arises from the will of a person or an institution. During the sixteenth century a profound shift is noted in the origin of law as the sovereign authority takes on more and more legislative power. As Jean Bodin would later remark in the Six Livres de la République (1576), the transformation of the king from a roi justicier into a roi législateur played a vital role in the development of absolute royal power.10 Where the customary had founded its authority on multiple and anonymous wills, Roman law found its force in the will of the emperor. In order to achieve this sort of power, in sixteenth-century France it was also necessary to reconfigure the polity so that the ruler found himself naturally in a position above or beyond his subjects. Even if the customary never completely disappeared from France, the imposition of a strong royal will in these commentaries was unmistakable. From the diffused authority of the tourbe and of repetition, legislative control ended up, by the last years of the sixteenth century, being characterized by the sort of highly centralized authority exemplified in maxims such as ‘All justice emanates from the king’ (Toute justice émane du roi), ‘What the king wants, the law wants also’ (Qui veut le Roi, si veut la Loi), or ‘All the people in his kingdom are his subjects’ (Tous les hommes de son royaume lui sont sujets).11 Throughout the commentaries of customary law made in the sixteenth century, the discussion thus moves between an in-depth analysis of the history of the customary tradition in French legal history and a recognition of the primacy of Roman law in modern French times. Writing during the reign of Francis I, Charles Du Moulin, for example, who in his Commentarii in consuetudines parisienses (1539) connects the predominance of the customary law in France to the feudal tradition, explains that it was necessary to adopt a legal system better adapted to

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modern life and commerce.12 Du Moulin explains that the French were changed by written Roman law, which was more equitable and better for trade. Du Moulin goes on to say that although customary law would still have some importance, especially in matters concerning inheritances, it would by and large be supplanted by Roman law since the latter coincided more fully with reason.13 The diffused nature of customary law with its roots deeply imbedded in the feudal structure of society was finally co-opted by Roman law with its roots just as deeply imbedded in the imperial system of power. Du Moulin gives the coup de grâce to the customary law’s autonomy by saying that the customary only becomes law by the will of the kings who want and command its execution.14 Another commentator, Pierre Rebuffi, also remarks in his Commentaria in constitutiones seu ordinationes regias (1554–5) on the evolution of the customary into royal law. Royal law, according to him, could even be considered the ‘filia et alumna’ of customary.15 Nonetheless, Rebuffi continued, the value of these customary laws was increased when they were confirmed by the king.16 The customary law became royal law only after having received the authority of the king.17 Rebuffi’s distinction between customary and royal law as being due solely to the king’s approval shows clearly how monarchical control was imposed on diffused feudal custom. As these examples from Tiraqueau, Du Moulin, and Rebuffi show, customary law lost its spontaneity and became something much more regimented and centrally controlled in the sixteenth century. Chasseneuz: Consuetudines ducatus burgundiae (1517) Among these commentators, Barthélemy de Chasseneuz is one of the most important. He is particularly important for this study since his work shows so clearly how sovereignty, which is expressed as diffused both metaphorically and in very real terms in customary, becomes much more centralized in these sixteenth-century commentaries.18 Trained in the Roman legal tradition, he was an intermediary between the Bartolists, jurists who glossed the Institutes and Digests in the manner of Bartolus of Saxoferrato, and the more humanistically minded French jurists who would follow him. For the Bartolists, Justinian’s codification of law represented an eternal and immutable truth that was true for any and all circumstances. For the French humanists such as Budé and Charles Du Moulin, Justinian’s code was written at a specific historical

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moment and needed emendation to comply with the necessities of other historical contexts. Although most of the Bartolists, or partisans of the mos italicus, were Italian, and most of the partisans of the mos gallicus were French, the lines were not always clearly drawn, even in the works of one author. For instance, the historical method actually began in Italy in the works of jurists such as Alciati. Chasseneuz was a Bartolist by his training, style, and understanding of the law, but he did tip his hat on occasion to the more elegant style and historical consciousness of the mos gallicus. Chasseneuz’s Consuetudines (1517) offers almost archaeological evidence of how the diffused discourse of customary was lost under the increasing dominance of the monarch’s will.19 As Chasseneuz’s Consuetudines shows, at each step of the process by which custom was written down, redacted, and commented on, the number of individuals involved in formulating law becomes smaller and smaller. The deepest and oldest level of this archaeological investigation of the transformation of law in sixteenth-century France found in Chasseneuz’s Consuetudines is the unwritten Burgundian customary law, established in institutions such as the Estates General, which by the fifteenth century had replaced the earlier tourbes. On top of this level lies the Burgundian duke Philip’s compilation of the unwritten customary in 1458–9. The next level of legal sedimentation is constituted by Chasseneuz’s wordby-word commentary on the duke’s compilation. The final layer of legal sedimentation, which ultimately buries the customary’s original diffused nature, is found in Chasseneuz’s later Catalogus gloriæ mundi (1529) in which the king gathers around his person the political will of the entire polis. At each step of the way, the subterranean and diffused branches of power are eradicated and replaced by new lines of power that spread outward and downward from a unique source, the prince.20 The customary at the end of the Middle Ages emerged from conditions that might be characterized as a primitive form of communism.21 A fourteenth-century gloss of the customary of Burgundy gives a good idea of how power was diffused in the customary tradition prior to Chasseneuz’s analysis of it: For another reason, the land of Burgundy is very noble and makes the prince who has domination over it very noble, because the very noble land of Burgundy is governed in every jurisdiction by the customs of the said land, which are law in Burgundy, and are valued as law, and have the force of law. The fact that these customs are valued as law and have the force of

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law proves that the customs of Burgundy were better approved than were the laws because they were approved not only by the emperors and their counsellors, whose laws were made and ordered in favour of the emperors, of the princes of the countries, of the nobles, of the ladies, by the counsellors who had the favour of these persons. The customs of Burgundy are made, approved, and corrected by three kinds of ordinary judges, by great councils and long deliberations, and are confirmed by the very noble dukes and princes of Burgundy, by the consent of the religious, the nobles, and the bourgeois, and by three kinds of ordinary judges, as well as by the mayors of Dijon, of Talen, and of Beaune, and the vié of Ostun, the mayors of Semur, of Monbar, of Chaumont, and of Chasteillon. The actions represented in these cases that have been brought are first debated by aforesaid people, and then completed, and sentenced by them. These sentences are brought by bailiffs before the judge in the bailiwick that has jurisdiction. They are confirmed by the bailiff before whom they were made, and appealed and confirmed by the auditors, and brought before the very noble duke and prince of Burgundy. These sentences, confirmed by the prince, with the counsel of the wise men of the people, and these definitions and sentences are said to be approved customs, and as such are equal to law and have the force of law in Burgundy. All the forbidden laws shown favour (en faveur) are inferior in Burgundy to the customs without favour (sanz faveurs) because the very noble prince, the prelates, and the nobles and the bourgeois are governed by the said customs without favour and without regard.22

This passage is noteworthy both in form and content. Formally, the enunciation of customary is multivocal: many different people (three kinds of judges, great councils, etc.) are necessary for it to be valid. Perhaps most important, the customary’s superiority to law is grounded in the multiple voices necessary to enunicate it. Law, on the other hand, is made in the name of the prince alone. The constant repetition of the words ‘custom’ and ‘law’ underlines this basic distinction; custom’s basis is plural while law’s is singular. If law is made in the name of the prince, custom is made in the name of the people. The nobility of Burgundy depends on customary. Even the prince himself becomes more noble because of it. As custom became fixed and institutionalized, political approval came to outweigh popular consent, but the principle remains the same: the ability to make custom remained with the populus. And perhaps most important, this fourteenth-century customary explicitly submits

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the prince, the prelates, and others to the authority of custom: ‘the very noble prince, the prelates ... are governed by the said customs.’ Duke Philip’s compilation of 1458–9 changes the nature of the customary if only by its becoming written law. The act of writing it down cannot help affecting the customary’s spontaneous and social nature.23 The preface of this 1458–9 compilation begins with Duke Philip recognizing, through the grace of God, the desire of the Three Estates to write down the customary in order to make life easier. Simply by proclaiming that this redaction was done in the name of the prince, the enunciative authority shifts from the multitude of the Customary of Burgundy itself to a much more restrained, ducal one: Philip, by the grace of God, Duke of Burgundy, of Lothier, of Brabant, and Lembourg: Count of Flanders, of Artois, of Burgundy: the Palatine of Haynault, of Holland, of Zeeland, and of Namur: Marquis of the Holy Empire, Lord of Frisia, of Salins, and of Malines. We announce to all those present and to come: we have received the entreaty of our very dear and well loved people of the Three Estates of our Duchy of Burgundy: containing, as having recently been shown by the aforesaid Three Estates the great inconvenience and complications of trials, which happen every day among our subjects of the said Duchy and County of Charolais, because the general and local customs of our said country were not edited and written down.24

The staging of this preface is crucial. It is the ‘people of the Three Estates’ who asked the duke to write down the customary, yet the voice actually carrying out this task is nonetheless that of the duke. The royal ‘we’ enunciates the customary and ultimately arbitrates power. By placing this enunciation in the duke’s voice, the customary’s meaning is subtly yet profoundly altered. The multiple voices implied in the ‘people of the Three Estates’ are subsumed by the ducal ‘we’ which imposes the strength of the ‘one’ on the diffused strength of the ‘many.’25 Chasseneuz’s commentary in 1517 of the duke of Burgundy’s compilation of 1459 accentuates this shift by moving power away even more from the populus and towards the prince. Chasseneuz begins by defining customary law and its superiority to written law. Customary, Chasseneuz states, is a non-written law rooted in the mores and usages of the people which has the power of law.26 Repeating what many other jurists and commentators such as Bartolus of Saxoferrato had said, Chasseneuz explains that power under the customary arose not from any

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one will, but from the mores and usage of the people. Its authority is grounded in this plural and repetitive tradition that was bigger than any one person. Although Chasseneuz begins by asserting the diffused basis of customary, much as the fourteenth-century gloss had done, he soon shifts power away from that base to the prince. Chasseneuz says that although Philip, through his direct lineage to the king of France, has the right to make laws and constitutions, he cannot say that he is duke of Burgundy ‘by the grace of God.’ Only the French king, he says, has the right to say that he has his power by the grace of god.27 Chasseneuz’s commentary effectively moves the nexus of power away from the Burgundian duke who had already moved it away from the diffused source it had known in the customary itself. The articulation of power narrows and the voices enunciating that power necessarily become even fewer. According to Chasseneuz’s Consuetudines, the duke cannot claim to have his power through the grace of God since he owes his power also to the French king. The authority of the customary, which is the subject matter treated, is radically reduced by the treatment of the enunciative voice that shifts first from the people to the duke, and then from the duke to the French king. At each remove, power is made less plural and more singular.28 Chasseneuz’s treatment of who has the right to make a customary law in his Consuetudines demonstrates just how fluid and confusing the conduits of power were becoming in the sixteenth century. In his gloss of the expression ‘Ausquels nous avons ottroyé de les nommer’ (To whom we have given the power to name them) in the preface, Chasseneuz asks whether it was necessary for the Three Estates to have the approval of the duke or not to make a customary law.29 He turns to Jean Fabri, who, he says, at first seems to hold that the people can bring into effect a customary law without the consent of their superior.30 This would seem to be the case, asserts Chasseneuz, since it was not necessary for the prince to concede power to those attending the Estates. Chasseneuz then appears to conclude in a logical flourish that the populus can by itself make customary law without the prince, and can commit delegates to inform them without the permission of the prince.31 However, as has been noted by Church, Chasseneuz often finishes a statement that at first seems to ground juridical power in the customary by attributing it to the king.32 Chasseneuz continues his analysis of the expression ‘To whom we have given the power to name them’ by referring to the medieval commentator Alberic of Rosata. Alberic had come up with a rather ambiguous response to the question of whether Roman

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citizens had the right to make law. After reminding readers that it is a question of interpretation, Alberic says that it does seem that the Roman people would have the right of making law. However, he goes on, seeing that Teutons rather than Romans were currently in charge of Rome, the Roman people did not, in fact, have the right to make law.33 Chasseneuz uses the ambiguity in Alberic to cast doubt on his foregoing conclusion that the people did have the right to make law without the king’s consent. ‘Whatever may be,’ he finishes, alluding to the aforementioned claims regarding the populus’s ability to make customary law without the prince, ‘the truth is to the contrary.’34 Whether Chasseneuz wants to destroy outright the people’s ability to make law or simply to muddy the waters, the end result is that the people end up both having and not having the right to make customary without the king. This passage manifests the ambiguous nature of power in the Consuetudines. The discourse of the customary clearly places the ability to make law in the people’s voice, and the enunciative starting point of the commentary denies them this power and gives it to the king. Chasseneuz ends his commentary of the preface of the Customary of Burgundy by asking a question: ‘Can the power of making customary be transferred to the prince?’35 He quotes the fourteenth-century jurist Bartolus of Saxoferrato, who clearly states that the prince does not have the ability to make custom since it arises from the consent of the people (‘ex tacito consensu populi’). The people of Rome in that day could make customary law and the prince had to accept it. Chasseneuz’s treatment of the preface to the customary of Burgundy indicates how the power to make customary itself was highly diffused even if the voice enunciating it was becoming ever more narrowly defined. The state of the individual is troubled in Chasseneuz’s Consuetudines. As part of the tourbe, or as part of the Estates, which gave customary the force of law, the individual had a functional identity. Even if this individual did not have anything that we could call a subjective or personal identity, his voice played a necessary role in the creation of law. The fact that Charles the Bold was so keen on destroying the use of customary and replacing it with Roman law when he imposed his Parlement of Malines in the 1460s bears witness to the potency of these voices.36 The ability to make custom, which had clearly been associated with the populus in the Customary of Burgundy, itself shifts in Chasseneuz’s Consuetudines. In Chasseneuz, the creation of law was both a question of social practice and of royal will. The ius gentium or ‘second nature’ of the customary was increasingly replaced by a more monarchical will.37 Where

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the fourteenth-century gloss of Burgundian customary had clearly placed the ability to make law in the hands of the populus, and made the king subject to the custom that resulted from their consent, the later commentary begins to shift that ability to the king. Little by little, the king becomes less subject to the custom and more and more responsible for making law. Emblematic of the shift from the discursive and social customary to a less discursive understanding of law is the tower of justice that Chasseneuz constructs in his commentary of the first article of the customary, ‘Des justices et droicts d’icelles.’ In juxtaposition to the spontaneous tradition of customary law, Chasseneuz now describes justice as something perpetual and immortal.38 He quotes Psalm 84, saying that if truth is born of the earth, then justice comes from the heavens; he also cites Moses and Plato to this effect. The ‘art of the good and the just’ (ars boni et æqui) perpetuates the rule of monarchs; a just king who judges the poor truthfully will be established on the throne of eternity, whereas kings who are unjust will bring down their houses and their injustice will be felt for generations.39 The metaphoric representation of this kind of justice in the Consuetudines is a tall, vertical one, a tower that distinguishes it from the horizontal discourse of the customary itself. Referring to the medieval jurist Baldus who thought that Justinian’s Digest represented an immutable and perfect understanding of the law, as well as to scholastic authorities such as St Thomas Aquinas and Isidore of Seville, and to classical authors like Cicero, Chasseneuz describes justice in terms of a tower made of metaphorical stones, walls, and doors.40 The tall, immobile and ideal nature of Chasseneuz’s tower represents a perfect monument to justice as an ideal and immutable object. Chasseneuz’s silent and immutable tower of justice is a conceptual locus in which human opinion would seem to have no place. Locked in silence, high above the rest of humanity, strong and unbending as a lion, Chasseneuz’s metaphoric justice stands in stark opposition to the very human and verbal customary that depended on human practice and experience. Chasseneuz: Catalogus gloriæ mundi (1529) The ideal tower of justice, created by Chasseneuz in the Consuetudines, becomes the dominant symbolic form in the Catalogus gloriæ mundi published twelve years later, in which Chasseneuz does away with the ambiguities alluded to in the Consuetudines to accord full and absolute

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power to the king. As its title suggests, the Catalogus is a list of all the honours and privileges in the world, all of which have the purpose of reinforcing and increasing the authority of the French king. The political nature of this work is alluded to in the extremely long title given a later edition, which indicates that the author intends to treat all the dignities, honours, prerogatives, and excellences of spiritual, human, animal, and all things in the heavens, the sea, the earth, and in hell.41 The work is supposed to be of public utility; it is to help people, of whatever order, status, nationality, or profession to direct their actions and resolve the most pressing questions. Its encyclopedic nature allows readers to understand these problems in relation to other countries and times. The Catalogus was a perfect example of the sort of work written by regalian legists who ransacked history for precedents with which to legitimize the power and privileges of the French monarchy in the mid-sixteenth century. Although most of the authors cited in the work itself are jurists such as Bartolus or Accursius, Chasseneuz refers constantly to literary authors such as Virgil and Ovid to ground the Catalogus both ethically and esthetically. He seems to want to position his work in relation to the debate between the tenents of the mos gallicus, jurists taught in the French tradition who largely considered Justinian’s Digest and Institutes as historically determined texts that needed to be interpreted according to historical context, and the followers mos italicus who tended to see Justinian’s treatises as immutably true. These French jurists were also in favour of an elegantly written law, which was opposed to the barbarous Latin of the Bartolists. Chasseneuz, clearly associated with the mos italicus by his training and uses of Bartolus in his own legal thought, cannot hope, as he himself admits, to compete with the elegance of Alciati and Budé (see below), but again he says that he does not want to use their high-falutin’ language. He claims that he writes like this on purpose, saying that he will not use old, unused, or obsolete words that would confuse the reader.42 Yet Chasseneuz definitely does not see the Catalogus as simply a juridical text, for the preface insists on the literary and the philosophical nature of the work. Among many other classical authors, Virgil (incorrectly) and Ovid are cited on the iniquity of honours, and Cicero, Horace, and Martial are used to make the case for moderation.43 Although decidedly legal and juridical in nature, the Catalogus uses the literary and rhetorical tradition to amplify its ethical and legal aims.

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Chasseneuz’s writing style, despite his disclaimers and allusions to classical authors and to humanists such as Budé and Alciati, is full of elaborate references to obscure medieval jurists. Lost in labyrinthine dialectical exchanges and devoid of Ciceronian eloquence, the Catalogus corresponds to the type of legal treatise much mocked by writers such as Valla, Rabelais, Erasmus, and Tiraqueau. It indeed seems that he was providing comic material for Rabelais’s disputations between Baisecul and Humevesne.44 His allusions to Alberic of Rosata and Jean Fabri in the Consuetudines, cited earlier, offer all too eloquent evidence of this kind of style in which authors are cited to defend positions pro and contra before laboriously arriving at an answer. Unlike the ‘weighty and severe’ style of Budé or Alciati, Chasseneuz says that he will use ‘clear and friendly reeds’ in order to address deeds and meanings rather than words.45 It is better for people to understand easily (unlike the Grammarians who speak obscurely) and for prudent doctrine to be made clear. A ‘low style’ will speak of these ‘deeds and meanings’ better than the more eloquent style of the humanists. By contrasting Senecan ethics with humanistic eloquence, Chasseneuz turns the tables on the humanists who so often criticized medieval jurists, and on their Renaissance followers, for having lost the meaning of the law in barbaric dialectic. Now it is the humanist orators who are accused of losing the true meaning of the law in their wordy eloquence. The Catalogus represents a global political imaginary that situates each individual within the universal polis that is both natural and political. Every person, thing, and animal has a place, and by understanding that place in relationship to the rest of the world, political subjects will be able to live happier and more useful lives. Chasseneuz underlines that his treatise’s moral worth depends on each and every individual understanding his or her proper place in the hierarchy.46 Like treatises of other regalian legists, the Catalogus places the French king at the top of that hierarchy.47 All power, offices, and dignities flow from his person. As in Cajetan, and in the Fifth Lateran Council’s abrogation of the Pragmatic Sanction, where ecclesiastical power was symbolized as descending in rivulets from a common source to the different fields in the church, secular power now descends from the person of the king down through a hierarchically controlled kingdom. In Chasseneuz, as in Cajetan, it is the organic structure of the state or the church that determines the shape of the polis and not the will of the individuals within it. At the top of this structure sits the king who rules over his subjects as

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the artifex does in Plato’s Timaeus. This is very close to the descendingtheme model of government that Ullmann describes as often being construed, incorrectly, as dominating medieval government. In the first part of the twelve-part Catalogus, Chasseneuz treats the heraldic arms and insignia about which Bartolus had written in De insigniis et armis. Lorenzo Valla, in one of the more well-known humanist fits of pique against medieval ‘ignorance,’ lambasted Bartolus for his treatment of this subject.48 Chasseneuz repeats Bartolus’s mistake about the meaning of colours, explaining that gold rather than white represents light.49 Valla uses Bartolus’s error as a way of promoting the humanistic cause because, as he says in no uncertain terms, only a fool would make this kind of mistake. Because of his use of Bartolus’s text, and especially because of his repetition of Bartolus’s mistake, Chasseneuz finds himself on the wrong side of history, or at least of history as it is currently written. Chasseneuz uses Bartolus’s discussion of colours in heraldic devices as part of his much larger hierarchical cataloguing of all things in the world. Different colours have different values, as do all things in God’s creation. Everything in Chasseneuz’s Catalogus has an inherent value that places it higher or lower in the hierarchy. For example, Chasseneuz cites Isidore of Seville saying that ‘gold’ (aurum) comes from light (aura), and that by the nature of things gold is to bodies what the sun is to stars. According to this logic, the sun is said to be the king of the stars and their light. Thus gold is the king and measure of corporeal things, just as light is the measure of heavenly ones.50 The same sort of distinction that is made between colours is also made between animals. For example, it is claimed that since terrestrial animals are more perfect than birds and fish, it is only fitting that heraldic arms depicting terrestrial animals be more worthy than those depicting birds or fish. And birds are more worthy than fish since they participate in the elements of air and fire, which are more worthy than earth and water. Birds therefore are more worthy than fish.51 Again following the maxim that art imitates life as much as possible, Chasseneuz says that birds must be depicted in their natural state and therefore must be figured screeching and flying or resting in places as they would in nature. A counterexample of this principle is found in the arms of Lord of Folet in the province of Poitou which incongruously shows a falcon on top of a lily. Since this is impossible in nature it should not be represented on heraldic arms.52 The same hierarchical system that governs the meaning of colours

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and animals also applies to more contingent phenomena such as lances and flags being carried into battle. Again repeating very closely what Bartolus had said in his De insigniis et armis, Chasseneuz says, for example, that when a flag and lance are carried together, and when the lance precedes the flag, the animals depicted on the flag should follow the direction of the lance, since according to nature, the face should always come first.53 The animals should always be facing the lance; otherwise they would seem to be going backwards. When faces of animals, such as those of bulls or lions or cocks, are used as heraldic devices, they cannot be placed facing the lance but must be placed next to it.54 In the orderly universe of the Catalogus, the lance must always precede the flag. The difficulty of maintaining this order on a field of battle simply underlines how impracticable the Catalogus’s polis really is. Yet, the logic of the hierarchy, which gives both power and meaning to phenomena by their position in the chain of being, is insurmountable. Both power and meaning are locked into a very rigorous way of seeing the world in which everything and everyone has a place. Following this logic, if two animals are shown facing each other on a shield or flag, the more important one should be on the right. If a lion and a dog, for instance, are depicted on the same shield, the lion needs to be on the right, or superior side.55 This order allots a position to even the lowliest creatures. The universe of the Catalogus even overcomes human contingency. The author raises the problem posed by arms seen back to front on a person’s clothing. When an insignia is seen on the back of a person’s clothing, that which is more noble (on the right side) would seem to be on the left side of the person. In order to correct this problem it is necessary to reverse the order of left and right, and to place the more noble elements on the left side of the person wearing them, since they would then be perceived by the person viewing the image as being on the right. Chasseneuz cites Bartolus, who had analysed this problem in relation to writing. It would seem, Chasseneuz says, repeating what his predecessor had explained, that it would make more sense to write from right to left the way the Hebrews did since the beginning of movement and action is on the right.56 As the Hebrews themselves said, to start on the left would upset the order of things. Chasseneuz refers to the first argument Bartolus makes about this problem which posited that it was equally reasonable to say that the purpose of intellectual operations was to arrive at an end as much as it was to establish a beginning. By this line of reasoning, our way of writing, from left to right, was not more unreasonable than that of the Hebrews.

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Chasseneuz even refers to a distinction Bartolus made between seeing and writing in order to show how, in fact, we do not really ‘write’ from left to right. To read means first to see, and in the process of seeing, the writing that we see acts on our eyes. Since the beginning of all motion and action is on the right, the action of seeing must begin on the right. It is as when, he continues, a man turns his face to me directly, the right side of his face is on my left. In the same way, it is implied that the writing we see as being written from left to right, is actually the other way around, because the act of seeing is primary. Thus, it is we who act most rationally when we begin at the end (which is really the beginning), and it is the Hebrews who act irrationally and begin on the left. Chasseneuz concludes, along with Bartolus, that it is more rational to place arms or insignia on the more dominant or ‘superior’ part of a person’s clothes. Chasseneuz also refers to another solution proposed by Bartolus which entailed writing with a mirror, which, without doubt, would begin on the left but be read from the right. Lorenzo Valla mocked Bartolus brutally for this kind of thinking in his In Bartholi de Insigniis et Armis libellum ad Candidum Decembrem epistola.57 This sort of hierarchical understanding has a remarkable effect on Chasseneuz’s notion of political power and the position of the French king. In the fifth section of the Catalogus, Chasseneuz describes the French king as imperfect. In answer to the question of how, in the beginning, kings and other princes got their power, he claims that political domination was rooted in the desire to exalt oneself over others, the sin which had led to the downfall of Lucifer.58 He then traces this usurped power through Cain, Cham, Nembroth, Belus, Nineva, right up to Roman kings such as Herod and Nero, emphasizing how the Tower of Babel was raised at Cham’s recommendation in order to dominate others. By raising the tower higher and higher in the heavens the builders of Babel incurred the wrath of God who divided them by languages. All the kings in this analysis are stained with the sin of Cain and Lucifer, the desire to dominate. At this point, Chasseneuz would seem to share the rather sceptical attitude of Gerson regarding the nature of kings and princes. He says that, like all human beings, kings will suffer a ‘cruel death and their days will come to an end’ (mala morte perierunt, ac dies suos finierunt), echoing Molinet’s maxim that all kings are simply human and will end up feeding the worms within one hundred years.59 Only the Prince Chasseneuz does not stay with this negative understanding of power

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for very long since it really does not correspond with the rest of his hierarchical universe. The nature of power shifts very quickly to reflect the glory of the French king; even if the ambition to dominate others is odious to God, Chasseneuz explains, there is a need nonetheless for rulers, and God has provided for this need in his usual benevolent fashion.60 Since it is necessary to restrain human beings from evil, to keep them in the ways of justice, and maintain civic harmony, God provided for domination. By connecting this political need to God, Chasseneuz in effect eliminates the stain of the Fall from the king. From these very humble beginnings, Chasseneuz then starts to construct a vision of regal prerogatives that can only be described in terms of pure unadulterated power. The logical argumentation shifts from one of human fallenness to a much more lofty explanation of human existence and royal power through Thomistic participation in God. Chasseneuz explains that God has provided rulership through the nature of 1) being, 2) motion, and 3) ends. All things participate in being (ens) on their own, but those who possess the power to rule (dominium) enjoy a fuller participation in being than do simple private individuals.61 The Catalogus’s description of royal power breaks entirely with the earlier analysis of kings as fallen individuals, and now claims that they are worthy of near divine honours. It is through the influence of divine reason that kings participate in God’s perfect being. This can be seen in the French king’s ability to cure sickness. The Spanish king also manifests this essential superiority in his ability to dislodge demons from human bodies. These examples, and others, are proof that princes are to be preferred and honoured over others since their power has been established by God. Kings and princes not only participate in God’s perfection, they are also the ‘motores Orbis,’ bringing motion to their kingdoms just as first motion, in the physical universe, can be brought back to God.62 Furthermore, following a teleological argument, it is proven that to resist the power of the king is also to resist the commandment of God since it was God who placed kings on earth.63 Chasseneuz argues that princes are rulers of the world and agents of God, just as Paul called the rulers (‘rectores’) God’s helpers (‘coadiutores Dei’).64 In less than a page and a half, Chasseneuz has removed Cain’s sin from the secular rulers of the world and given them divine status. Not only is the king not stained with the sin of ambition, he is now due honours and divine glory as reward for his kingship and administration.65 The shift of imagery is striking. Where in the earlier and much briefer treatment of the sinful nature of rulership, human ambition led to the

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tower of Babel, honours, glory, and power now properly descend on the king from God. Repeating the distinction from Psalm 84 between truth, which is born of the earth, and justice, which comes from the heavens, alluded to in the Consuetudines, Chasseneuz offers a historical sampler of proofs of the divine nature of justice.66 Homer, for example, showed that justice was first learned by the disciples of Jupiter and then attended to by mortals, while Plato, ‘the greatest of the philosophers,’ said that justice was the greatest of all good things, and is ‘given to human beings by God.’67 Following these examples, Chasseneuz explains that it then becomes the very property of the king to make justice.68 The general intent of his discussion is clear: both the power of the king and the power of justice come from the heavens. Once the king’s power has been associated with the heavens, Chasseneuz eliminates his previously human qualities. In the 24th consideratio, a list of 208 royal privileges and qualities completely effaces the earlier allusions to the king’s imperfections. These aphorisms and proverbs all enunciate very clearly just how separate the prince is from the rest of the polis in juridical terms. The sheer number and diversity of these privileges is overwhelming, and many of them are distinguished by the common expression ‘only the prince’ (solus princeps).69 This phrase limits power to the king himself. For example, only the prince can name lawyers or give the power to name them; only the prince can approve doctors and give the power of healing the ill; and only he can make a universal law. Only he can judge according to his conscience or increase a prison sentence or any other punishment established by law, or legitimate children born out of wedlock. This section of the Catalogus elevates the king above the people and their laws, so much so that to dispute his power is considered a crime of sacrilege.70 No one can say to the prince, ‘Why are you doing that?’71 Since he is not subject to positive laws, he can undo them, and can even be the judge in his own trial whereas a more inferior person could not since he would have to recognize a superior power.72 All these proverbs and adages show how power has centralized around the figure of the prince in a way that reverses the schema found in treatises emphasizing the consensual nature of political organization. The repetition of the expression ‘solus princeps’ throughout the list of regal prerogatives underlines the fact that this is a polis in which power is placed uniquely in the person of the king. Uncontrolled and total, the king’s position in the polis can only be construed as above, beyond contact with his subjects.73 As was the case with Bartolus, the direct role of God in the trans-

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mission of power has been exalted to such a point that the role of all other individuals has been suppressed or eliminated.74 All forms of contractual power have been done away with. The enunciative voice of law and justice has lost its earlier diffused character. Where earlier, the Tower of Babel had been used as a symbol of the illegitimate desire to dominate, the prince is now placed in a lofty, distant place high in the sky where his superiority, both moral and intellectual, make him a deific figure. Graphically located above his people, unrestrained by any law, the French king particularly is described as reigning over other kings in perfect wisdom like the morning star over low lying clouds: The art of prophecy is in the king’s lips and his heart cannot err in judgment. Proverbs 16. In fact, he is thought to act with the will of God. Curtius. Consi. 49. column 21. And, because he is so elevated he cannot be made subject to the law in his realm, as Curtius says in consil. 65. col. 6. This is especially true in the king of the French, who is above all kings since he shines like the morning star amid the southern clouds, and as he himself in his realm is like an earthly God, so Baldus says ... In the same way it can be said of the pope who has the duty of a god living on earth.75

The transformation to royal status from the earlier description as stained by the sins of Cain and Lucifer is now complete. The king is here defined in divine terms, providing perfect justice and existing above the law of his own realm. The French king is specifically singled out as being above all other kings, shining among them like the morning star among the clouds so that he becomes an ‘earthly God.’ Like the pope, he has the duty of a god living on earth.76 The revolution in French understanding of monarchical power alluded to by Mousnier is seen as well under way in this passage. Although not yet a Sun King à la Louis XIV, Chasseneuz’s image of the French king as a morning star marks a distinct difference, both in metaphorical and in real terms, from earlier images that emphasized the king’s human and imperfect nature. Much of the discourse used in the creation of the French king’s absolute power in the Catalogus and other texts like it comes from Roman law, which accorded absolute power to the emperor.77 The French kings had always been reluctant to use Roman law in the north of France because of the power it accorded the emperor. The problem was how to get the emperor’s power without the troublesome presence of the emperor himself. The Catalogus does this with great dexterity and dia-

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lectical reasoning.78 Chasseneuz begins his discussion of imperial versus monarchical power by saying that the ‘emperor seems to be the first among all secular princes.’79 Describing the glories of the emperor and his three crowns, Chasseneuz asks whether the kings of France and Spain are inferior to the emperor if he is truly the ‘dominus totius orbis.’ In true dialectical fashion, Chasseneuz begins by citing the opinion of the Italians, according to whom the emperor was the ‘dominus totius orbis,’ and then gives the opinion of the ‘doctores Citramontani,’ according to whom the emperor had never been the lord of all the globe.80 Not surprisingly, he follows the French jurists lead by explaining that the Bible and other ancient texts offer abundant proof that there were other kings who had dominion in all other times according to divine, natural, and civil law. After a long historical analysis of Biblical, Christian, and Roman kings, Chasseneuz explains that all this proves that the opinion of the Citramontani was correct; at least since the time of Julius Caesar, there had always been other princes, kings and ‘powers’ (dominationes) in various parts of the world.81 His synthesis is dialectically perfect: yes, Chasseneuz says, the emperor might be the ‘dominus totius orbis,’ but only of that part of it that had been subjugated by the Roman people.82 He wasn’t really lord of all of the world, but only of ‘almost all of the world’ (fere totum).83 By historicizing and contextualizing the emperor’s universal power, Chasseneuz was able to conclude that the Roman emperor could be considered as the ‘universal’ power at the same time that the French king was able to be ‘imperator in suo regno.’84 In this case, this expression would seem to imply that the French king has the same uncontested sovereignty, imperium, as the emperor.85 Chasseneuz has successfully transferred imperial glory and power to the French king who shines above all the rest of humanity with unerring wisdom; he is the lex animata, justice personified, just as the emperor had been.86 Just twelve years after his Consuetudines, which itself had kept power from being subject to the will of one person and maintained its consensual and repetitive nature, Chasseneuz’s Catalogus places power at the top of a hierarchical polis which descends downward; all power and law now come from the person of the king and all notions of ‘mutual obligation’ are lost.87 In this hierarchical world, happiness for political subjects, as Chasseneuz explains in the preface, consists of understanding one’s position and living within the limits imposed by this order. It is remarkable how closely Chasseneuz’s use of Plato resem-

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bles the ‘abstract-speculative’ thought of the early Middle Ages, which reduced the individual to a powerless subject. In both systems, the individual could not try his hand in the making of law.88 The abrupt switch from the brief and early description of the king as an imperfect human being to the later description of him as an oracular source of law is typical of this process by which the late medieval polity is consumed by the emergent monarchical state in which power, concentrated in the will of the king, destroys the previous and underlying diffused power which permitted individuals to criticize the king’s behaviour. The ability to listen to the remonstrations and advice of the people, so essential to the politics of a contractual society, is replaced by a more organically organized one. The shift from the contractual and consensual practice of the customary to the eternal and perfect justice of the Catalogus means that the voices involved in the creation of law are no longer as vibrant as they were.89 The erection of the tower of Justice in Chasseneuz’s Consuetudines and the elevation of justice in the Catalogus to an immutable and eternal sort of wisdom is emblematic of this evolution. In the Catalogus, metaphors used to describe the universe indicate that the sort of understanding of law found in customary will not be of much use any longer. All human beings, and all creatures, have a place and everything must conform to the hierarchical design of the universe. When they do not, they are forced to do so, as in Chasseneuz’s recourse to Bartolus’s description of language. Because the natural hierarchy depends on the right side of things to be the beginning of movement, it is necessary for writing to begin there; if it does not it should be made to conform to the hierarchy. Bartolus and Chasseneuz are literally forced to reverse the course of nature for this to happen. All things human lose their contingency in this design and the social practice of the customary is replaced by the eternal and immutable truth of an ideal justice. The French king, through his more complete participation in the goodness of God, is most highly qualified to do justice since he is, by nature, a better and wiser human being than others. Justice ceases to be a question of the agreement of multiple opinions and becomes a question of oracular judgment. Power descends from above rather than coming from below. Individuals are defined less in terms of political will and more in terms of a natural hierarchy in which they all have a place. The world is ruled by a natural order and human contingency is reduced commensurately. As Chasseneuz explains in the pref-

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ace, the utility of the Catalogus is in its ability to help individuals to know the order and end of their ‘rang’ (status). It would be difficult to find a more organic understanding of political organization than this. Human agency is restricted to a strict minimum and a natural or supernatural hierarchy overrules human will.

6 Rabelais and the Ideal Imperfect Polity

François Rabelais describes many types of society in his novels, from the benevolent and highly human kingdoms of Pantagruel in Pantagruel (1532) and of Grandgousier and Gargantua in Gargantua (1534), to the much more problematic realms of the Papimanes and the Papefigues in the Quart Livre (1552). Though it is difficult to describe what a Rabelaisian society is, we can surmise two contrasting models of social organization in the novels.1 On the one hand, there are the old-fashioned, yet forward-thinking, realms of Grandgousier, Gargantua, and Pantagruel, in which individuals work constantly for the betterment of the public good. On the other hand, there are the other, less benevolent reigns of tyrants such as Gaster, who appears in the Quart Livre. In these different kinds of society, the role and meaning of the individual changes drastically. In the societies ruled by Grandgousier and his descendants, individuals play a crucial role in the governance of the polis, while in the fearsome realm of Gaster, individuals cease to have any role whatsoever in governance. Like the voices in Chasseneuz’s Consuetudines and Catalogus, individuals in these novels range from having an important function in the commonweal to playing a much less vital role in a society in which power is retained by one person alone, who rules over them like a mad demiurge. Gargantua: The Imperfect Monarch The realm of Grandgousier in Gargantua is a limited, hereditary monarchy that recognizes the king’s foibles, and is much concerned with the tyrannical abuse of power.2 The prince is depicted as an imperfect being sharing the same ‘alloy’ as his subjects, much as Meschinot and

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Molinet described the ideal monarch. Gargantua’s genealogical history, described in chapter 1 of the novel, expressly underlines the commonality he shares with his subjects.3 The narrator, Alcofribas Nazier, explains that Pleust à Dieu q’un chascun sceust aussi certainement sa genealogie, depuis l’arche de Noe jusques à cest eage! Je pense que plusieurs sont aujourd’huy empereurs, Roys, ducz, princes et Papes, en la terre, lesquelz sont descenduz de quelques porteurs de rogatons et de coustretz. Comme au rebours plusieurs sont gueux de l’hostiaire, souffreteux et miserables: lesquelz sont descenduz de sang et ligne de grandz roys et empereurs.4 Would to God everyone could know as much about his genealogy, from Noah’s ark down to today! I think there are lots of emperors walking the earth these days, and kings and dukes and princes and popes, too, who are descended from peddlers of indulgences and grape baskets. And just as the other way around, there are lots of people down at the heel, suffering and miserable, who are descended by blood in a direct line from the greatest kings and emperors.

Alcofribas Nazier goes on to say that he himself felt sure that he was descended from some ‘rich king or prince of olden times –because you’ll never see anyone who’d rather be king, and rich, than me.’5 The provenance of Gargantua’s genealogy is as uncertain as its meaning. It was found in a goblet inside a bronze tomb dug up in a field owned by a certain Jean Audeau. On the bottle, written in Etruscan letters was the expression ‘Drink this’ (Hic bibitur).6 The genealogy itself, written in invisible ink, translated by the narrator, can be read in the ‘gestes horrificques de Pantagruel.’7 The genealogy in Pantagruel, published two years earlier in 1532, is equally fantastic, including invented figures such as Flysnatcher (Happemousche), Haychewer (Maschefain), and Ironburner (Bruslefer).8 These genealogies, far from connecting Gargantua and Grandgousier to some biblical divinity, ground them in human imperfection. Much in the vein of the monarchs in late medieval treatises, Rabelais’s king is of the same stuff as his subjects. Just as Meschinot, Gerson, and Commynes emphasized the prince’s imperfection, so too Rabelais emphasizes the king’s human nature.9 Rabelais’s intent might have been less overtly political than that of these other writers, but the end result is nearly the same; Grandgousier and his queen are described in terms

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that emphasize their human imperfection. Grandgousier and Gargamelle are far from being perfect monarchs who reign above their subjects like the sun shining over the world. The imperfection of Rabelais’s royalty runs like a leitmotif throughout the novel. For example, in the following passage, in chapter 4, just before the queen goes into labour, the narrator describes Grandgousier in familiar terms and Gargamelle with indecorous anatomical attention: Le bon homme Grandgousier y prenoit plaisir bien grand: et commendoit que tout allast par escuelles. Disoit toutesfoys à sa femme qu’elle en mangeast le moins, veu qu’elle aprochoit de son terme, et que ceste tripaille n’estoit viande moult louable. ‘Celluy (disoit il) a grande envie de mascher merde, qui d’icelle le sac mangeue.’ Non obstans ces remonstrances: elle en mangea seze muiz, deux bussars, et six tupins. O belle matiere fecale, que doivoit boursoufler en elle.10 Good old Grandgousier, relishing the occasion, ordered double portions for everyone. But he was careful to warn his wife not to eat too much, since she was nearing her time and this tripe was not the best meat in any case: ‘You’ve really got to love chewing on shit,’ he said, ‘to swallow all these bowel pipes.’ But in spite of these cautionary words she ate sixteen barrels, two casks, and six pots besides. Oh, the lovely load of shit that must have swollen up inside her.

Passages such as this one mark the human and fallen nature of Rabelais’s monarchs. Like those described by fifteenth-century writers, Rabelais’s monarchs are imperfect human beings who were born through sin, are full of excrement, and most likely to meet the same end we all will. Excrement and death are the common lot of all human beings, even the king and his wife. Grandgousier, Gargamelle, and Gargantua are literally and figuratively replicas of the topoi used by Gerson, Molinet, and others to ground their political critiques of the king. Gargamelle is full of feces, and will shortly die; Gargantua is ‘de mere nez’ (born of a mother); and Grandgousier’s genealogy ties him to the fallen human condition. In chapter 28, when Grandgousier is described in all his domestic splendour at the beginning of the Picrocholine war, warming his privates before the fire and telling stories to his wife and family, Rabelais in effect describes a political organization in which the king is understood as a fallen individual who is far from divine:

172 The Gargantuan Polity Or laissons les là, et retournons à nostre bon Gargantua qui est à Paris bien instant à l’estude de bonnes lettres et exercitations athletiques, et le vieux bon homme Grandgousier, son pere, qui aprés souper se chauffe les couiles à un beau clair et grand feu et attendent graisler des chastaines, escript au foyer avec un baston bruslé d’un bout, dont on escharbotte le feu: faisant à sa femme et famille de beaulx contes du temps jadis.11 So we will leave them there, for the moment, and return to our good Gargantua who was in Paris studying hard both at humane letters and athletically. And good old Grandgousier, his father, warming his balls after supper in front of a good, clear big fire, watching the chestnuts roast, sat drawing on the hearth with a broken stick – it had been used for stirring up the fire, and so was nicely charred at one end – and telling stories of the old days to his wife and family.

Grandgousier and his wife exist within a comical and imperfect milieu. The king’s balls, like his wife’s ‘fecal matter,’ place Grandgousier and Gargamelle in a political reality grounded in human imperfection. Less a reversal of a noble ‘high’ position than a symbolic recognition of the royal family’s human frailty, the description of Gargantua and his parents can be understood as representing the human and therefore imperfect constitution of the king. Grandgousier is not only human by his corporeal imperfection, he is also very much a part of the human community of which he is ruler. In chapter 5, after they have copiously dined together, Grandgousier and his subjects are described as dancing on a meadow to the joyous sound of flutes and bagpipes: Aprés disner tous allerent (pelle melle) à la saulsaie: et là sus l’herbe drue dancerent au son des joyeux flageolletz et doulces cornemuses: tant baudement que c’estoit passe-temps celeste les veoir ainsi soy rigouller.12 After dinner they ran, all helter-skelter, down to the willow grove and there, on the thick, tough grass, they danced to the happy sound of flutes and the gay piping of bagpipes, and it was absolutely celestial to see them having such a grand time.

This literary image can be understood as making the same political point as that made by more theoretically explicit texts. Grandgousier is depicted as moving amongst his people and literally being one with them. In the chapter immediately following this scene, the king and his

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subjects are depicted as a group existing in a state of imperfect and somewhat inebriated coexistence.13 In this chapter, called the ‘Propos des bienyvres,’ the king and his subjects exchange ribald jokes and comments in such a way that any separation of king and subjects is clearly difficult to imagine. Although it is not explicitly stated that the king takes part in the ‘propos des bienyvres,’ the context implies that Grandgousier was a participant in the discussion, or very close by. These voices, all related in direct discourse, exemplify an imaginary polis in which subjects and kings are in such close proximity that their inebriated remarks are fused into a polyphonic noise. They imply a connection between the various participants since so often one ‘propos’ equivocates the former.14 Although the remark might not have any overt political meaning, the proximity of the ruler to his people and the melding of his voice and his person with theirs indicates, if only by inference, that this is a polity in which the king’s fallenness and human imperfection keeps him among his subjects. As Molinet says of the duke or prince in the Ressource, he is of the same ‘alloy’ as his people. Gargantua is born into this utopically imperfect and joyous polis when in chapter 6, in the midst of the ‘propos’ of the drunkards, Gargamelle goes into labour. Eulx tenens ces menuz propos de beuverie, Gargamelle commença se porter mal du bas. Dont Grandgousier se leva dessus l’herbe, et la reconfortoit honestement.15 While they were chattering away on the subject of drinking, Gargamelle began to feel sick in her lower parts. So Grandgousier rose from his seat on the grass and courteously tried to cheer her up.

Gargamelle’s remarks to her husband that she wished he had cut off his ‘membre’ so she wouldn’t have to go through the pain of labour also underlines the king’s imperfect and human nature: Mais pleust à Dieu que vous l’eussiez coupé. – Quoy? dist Grandgousier. – Ha (dist-elle) que vous estes bon homme, vous l’entendez bien. – Mon membre (dist il)? Sang de les cabres, si bon vous semble faictes apporter un cousteau. – Ha! (dist-elle) jà Dieu ne plaise. Dieu me le pardoient, je ne le dis de bon cueur: et pour ma parolle n’en faictes ne plus ne moins. Mais je auray prou

174 The Gargantuan Polity d’affaires aujourd’huy, si dieu ne me ayde, et tout par vostre membre, que vous feussiez bien ayse.16 ‘But I wish to God you’d cut it off!’ ‘What?’ said Grandgousier. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you’re a fine one, you are. You know exactly which one.’ ‘My tool?’ said he. ‘Blood of my fathers! If that’s what you want, tell them to bring me a knife.’ ‘Ha!’ she said. ‘God forbid. May He forgive me! I didn’t really mean it, so don’t do it just for me. But I’ll have plenty on my hands, today, without God’s good help, and it’s all because of that tool of yours, which makes you feel so good.’

The king, just as Molinet makes clear in his Ressource, is ‘de mere nez.’ These scenes are not utopian in the sense that Thomas More’s Utopia was, in that they exaggerate the all too human imperfections of the individual members who eat too much, drink too much, fart too much, and tell bad jokes. It is utopian, however, in its depiction of a polis in which the king’s person and power is not above that of the members of his kingdom. The imperfect, but still gigantic, king is surrounded by the noise and bustle of his kingdom.17 Common and Private Interest in Gargantua Much like the monarchs in Gerson, Meschinot, and Molinet, Grandgousier and Gargantua are tied to their subjects through a contract of mutual obligation. The question of counsel also plays a crucial role in the Gargantuan polis. When Grandgousier decides, finally, to make war on the neighbouring king, Picrochole, he does it after having been well counselled. He does it since he recognizes his obligation to protect his subjects who have supported him. At first he is shocked by Picrochole’s military ambition because of the effect it will have on the equilibrium of his kingdom. His concern for the well-being of his people is directly related to his own understanding of his power as being tied through a bond of obligation to them. He has, he says, always worked to protect and guarantee the safety of his ‘pauvres subjects.’ He depends on them as much as they do on him; if he owes them protection, they owe him their labour: et en ma main tremblante je preigne la lance et la masse, pour secourir et

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guarantir mes pauvres subjectz. La raison le veult ainsi, car de leur labeur je suis entretenu, et de leur sueur je suis nourry moy, mes enfans et ma famille.18 and in my trembling hand I must take up my lance and all the weight of battle, in order to help and protect my poor subjects. Reason and justice demand it, for it is my people’s labour which sustains me, and their sweat which feeds me – me, my children, and all my family.

At the heart of Grandgousier’s polity is his recognition of the common bond tying him to his people and they to him. He has power since it is he who takes up the lance to protect his subjects and the final action depends on his will. Yet his power is based on his recognition that he owes them this protection due to their contribution to his own wellbeing. Grandgousier commands according to what pleases him, but his power is tempered by the awareness that he is bound to his subjects by an obligation of mutual support. His power resides in his subjects’ happiness and well-being. The opposition between the ‘private authority’ (autorité privée) of the tyrant and a more public interest, which is at the ethical heart of Gargantua, is clearly enunciated in chapter 46, titled ‘How Grandgousier treated Toucquedillon humanely taken prisoner’ (Comment Grandgousier traicta humainement Toucquedillon prisonnier). In this chapter, the opposition between private and public interest is used to distinguish between just and unjust government. A war has broken out between Grandgousier and his neighbour, Picrochole, with whom he had until then been on friendly terms.19 Often construed as an allegorical representation of François I and Charles V, the Picrocholine war more generally demarcates the boundaries between just rule, based on wellcounselled altruism, and unjust rule, based on ill-counselled egotism.20 Grandgousier follows Erasmian principles and initially resists making war on Picrochole even after his people have been unjustly attacked by Picrochole’s soldiers. After winning the war, he admonishes his enemy’s captain, Toucquedillon, for the poor counsel he had given his prince. Grandgousier says: Allez vous en au nom de dieu: suyvez bonne entreprinse, remonstrez à vostre roy les erreurs que congnoistrez, et jamais ne le conseillez, ayant esgard à vostre profit particulier, car avecques le commun est aussy le propre perdu.21

176 The Gargantuan Polity You are free to leave as you will, in the name of God. Try to do good. Tell your king his errors, which now you understand, and never advise him to think what may be good only for your own private interest, because when the common interest is lost the individual interest disappears too. (My emphasis)

This passage marks the political heart of Rabelais’s novel: the imposition of individual will precludes the interest of the community and is necessarily harmful to both the polis and to the individual. The commonality of all individual interests accomplishes the greatest good. The polis of Grandgousier and his subjects flourishes because all these individual wills function for the benefit of the whole. No one person, even the king, is capable of imposing his will to the exclusion of the others. As in Gerson’s Vivat Rex or Molinet’s Ressource, in this society, based on an implicit contract binding all the members together, the greatest risk is the imposition of a tyrannical will that would create a disequilibrium forcing the whole system to collapse. As Grandgousier’s speech to Toucquedillon illustrates, the Gargantuan polity is one in which the ruler cannot exercise his will to the detriment of his subjects. Sovereignty does not reside in any one person, but is diffused throughout individuals in the body politic. It is the sum of these individuals who represent the will of the realm, and the king, even if he possesses power, cannot exercise his will on that of the others without taking into account their well-being. If he does, he disrupts the delicate equilibrium of power which reflects the original contract of mutual obligation tying the parts of the body politic together. No one individual can say that his will is greater than that of the group as a whole. The Gargantuan commonweal is made up of individuals all striving to better the collective will, including the king. The subsequent demise of both Toucquedillon and Picrochole represents a practical application of this adage, and once again, brings comically, but gruesomely, to life the nightmarish image Gerson used to show what happens to a polis when the common good is given up and individual needs predominate: it is like watching a body rip itself to shreds. When Picrochole’s military commander Toucquedillon tries to present Gargantua’s peace proposal upon his return home, he is prevented from doing so by another advisor, Hastiveau, whom he immediately kills. Picrochole then orders his archers to have Toucquedillon torn and quartered for having killed Hastiveau. Picrochole himself comes to an unhappy end at the hands of his own millers who ‘beat

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him black and blue, destroying his clothing in the process, so to cover his nakedness they gave him a torn and dirty peasant shirt.’22 By working for the sake of their private interest they imperilled that of the common good, and, inevitably, destroyed their own private interest in the bargain. Gargantua and his troops, who employ the opposite sort of logic, deploying their own efforts for the ‘profit commun,’ all end up much to the better. In the chapters leading up to Grandgousier’s admonishment of Toucquedillon for having thought first of his own profit, Gargantua and his allies all make acts of personal bravery and sacrifice for the common good. The example of Frère Jean, who does so much to save the abbey of Seuilly, is exemplary of this ethos. The tyrannical and self-serving attitude of Picrochole ends, of course, with the destruction of his kingdom and his own humiliation at the hands of his millers. In chapter 50, Gargantua, on the other hand, receives much by refusing to exercise his right to exact a painful penalty on his defeated enemies. Gargantua cites the example of his father Grandgousier who, when he defeated Alpharbal, king of Canarre, refused to exercise his right to war booty. Grandgousier could have ‘not very tyrannically’ (peu tyrannicquement) demanded ‘two million gold pieces and his [Alpharbal’s] oldest children as hostages for its payment’ (vingt foys cent mille escutz et retenir pour houstaigers ses enfants aisnez).23 Alpharbal, out of gratitude, ends up paying Grandgousier many times over what he could have asked for. Following his father’s example, Gargantua also absolves and delivers his prisoners, making them ‘free and liberated’ (francs et liberes) as they were before the war.24 The generosity of Gargantua and his allies stands in dramatic opposition to the selfishness of Picrochole and his companions. As Grandgousier had explained to Toucquedillon, the ‘common interest’ (profit commun) cannot be ignored in favor of ‘private interest’ (profit particulier). Long-term benefits result from concern for the general well-being of one’s people, even those conquered in war. As was the case in Seyssel, Grandgousier is an imperfect human being depending on the approbation of his people with whom he is tied by a bond of obligation.25 And yet Grandgousier’s power is very unlike that found in the customary of Burgundy, in Gerson, or in Seyssel in the sense that there is no institution or person that can bridle his power should he decide to exert his will in a disorderly fashion as Picrochole does.26 No one in Rabelais’s novels has the ability to tell the king that he is embarking on a course that is dangerous for the res publica. There are

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no Estates General or Parlement in Gargantua. In many ways Rabelais’s kings are like the monarch described in Chasseneuz’s Consuetudines. They evolve in a society based on a diffused notion of sovereignty, but their own power is beginning to be defined more in terms of their own monarchical will.27 This is not a problem, since Rabelais’s kings are heroic and endowed with all the virtues their human imperfection can allow. Yet there is no real structural difference between Grandgousier’s government and that of Picrochole. The only reason why Grandgousier is a better ruler is that he is a better person. The prime reason why he would be is due to the education he receives. While Seyssel, the Customary of Burgundy, and Commynes had all argued for the need of an institution such as the Estates General to bridle the king’s irascible will, in Gargantua the most efficacious way to control the king’s will and to ensure the commonweal’s well-being is to educate him so that his reign will be a reasonable one. The role of the writer in the polis evolves as a result. Having the Ear of the Prince: Ponocrates When the bridle on the king’s irascible will was institutional, the intellectual was able to portray the prince in a literary portrait that was impersonal and critical as Molinet or Cretin had done. With the personalization of power in the sixteenth century described by Keohane, the intellectual’s relationship to power shifts away from the deliberative to the pedagogical. Humanist writers such as Erasmus and Budé are obviously typical of this new approach. Even if Erasmus makes an analogy between the mutual balance of natural elements and the political balance of mixed political states, he and other humanists sided increasingly with the growing absolutist monarchy of Francis I who offered protection against the ‘docteurs’ of the Sorbonne and the ecclesiastical orthodoxy.28 Their ideal of classical polity was not Athenian democracy but rather the strongly authoritarian states described by Xenophon, Plato, and Aristotle.29 In this largely autocratic society, the best way of guaranteeing an equitable reign was through education. As Erasmus says in his Education of the Christian Prince (1516): when the prince is born to office, not elected which was the custom among some barbarian peoples in the past (according to Aristotle) and is also the practice almost everywhere in our own times, then the main hope of getting a good prince hangs on his proper education, which should be man-

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aged all the more attentively, so that what has been lost with the right to vote is made up for by the care given to his upbringing.30

Guillaume Budé also underlines the importance of education as the sole bridle on his powers in his Livre de l’Institution du prince (1547). He says that ‘science (knowledge) is more necessary for those who are like the great princes and monarchs such as the kings of France’ (la science est plus necessaire à ceulx ... comme sont les grans princes et monarches ... comme sont les les roys de France).31 In Erasmus’s polity, the preceptor plays as important a role in controlling the prince’s behaviour as counsel did in Gerson’s Vivat Rex, the Estates General did in Commyne’s Mémoires, or the bridles of justice, religion, and custom did in Seyssel. For Erasmus, a bad preceptor can do as much damage to the state as a madman who poisons the water supply.32 Erasmus answers an imagined courtier’s complaint that he is making a philosopher rather than a prince by citing Plato’s adage that the state will be blessed only if and when either the rulers take up philosophy or the philosophers take over the government.33 The best way of making the king into a philosopher is of course to ensure that he is in the care of ‘intellectuals’ like Erasmus and Budé. Just as Cretin extolled the artist’s role in the evocation of princely deeds and thus argued for his own position in the court of Francis I, so too Erasmus and Budé place people much like themselves in positions of responsibility vis-à-vis the prince. They become the guarantors of the body politic’s good health. In Rabelais, too, education becomes the best way of ensuring that the king will be a good ruler. The sole guarantor of the well-being of the res publica hangs therefore on the choice of the prince’s preceptor. The care with which Grandgousier selects a preceptor for Gargantua brings to mind what Budé said about this task.34 Ponocrates, Gargantua’s preceptor, is supposed to make his ward a perfect king. The king must listen to his subjects if the public good is to be respected; the preceptor’s voice steers Gargantua’s power towards good or evil. Where the polyphonic voices of Gerson’s or Commyne’s polis brought reason and counsel to the king, in Gargantua it is the voice of the teacher who guarantees that the king works for the well-being of his subjects. Power and education are apparent in the early chapters devoted to Gargantua’s education. When Gargantua proves his intelligence with the invention of an ingenious ‘asswiper’ (torchecul), his father Grandgousier draws a parallel with Alexander the Great. The narrator explains that just as Philip, the king of Macedonia, decided to entrust his

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son’s education to Aristotle, Grandgousier decides that his son will be ‘keen, subtle, profound, and serene, and will reach a sovereign degree of knowledge,’ if he is ‘well taught’ (agu, subtil, profund et serain. Et parviendra à degré souverain de sapience, s’il est bien institué).35 The various preceptors who continue to use the sophist methods of ‘Gothic’ education are all rejected as being incapable of creating a modern prince. These outmoded methods are incapable of creating the sort of eloquent prince endowed with a clear sense of right and wrong that a modern, sixteenth-century prince needed to be. It is only when Gargantua is placed in the care of a modern pedagogue, Ponocrates, that he acquires the ‘wisdom’ (sapience) necessary to be a good prince. Perhaps the most revealing indication of the importance of education in the Gargantuan polity is the fact that the only reform Grandgousier makes in Picrochole’s polis is making sure that Ponocrates oversees the education of Picrochole’s son and his counsellors.36 Ponocrates, the symbol of modern education, is placed at the nexus of political power in the same way that institutional bridles were in Seyssel’s Monarchie de France, or the tourbe in the Customary of Burgundy. The Gargantuan polity still ensures that someone has the king’s ear, but now it is the preceptor rather than an institution as symbolized in the figure of Conseil in Molinet’s Ressource. Nonetheless, in both Gargantua and in the Ressource, monarchical power is bridled or corrected by a voice of reason and counsel. Thelema: A Perfect Polity? Perhaps one of the most troubling phenomena in Gargantua, as regards the opposition of private and public good, is the Abbey of Thelema whose ethics would seem to be organized round its only rule: ‘Fays ce que vouldras.’ The contradiction between the novel’s overarching ethical concept of common interest and the abbey’s maxim regarding private interest is not as evident as it at first appears. In fact, it is possible to understand how the ethos of common interest and Thelema’s rule are part and parcel of a distinctly early modern understanding of both the state and the individual. The key, perhaps, is to understand both Grandgousier’s advice to Picrochole regarding the common good, and Thelema’s rule, in the context of a contractual society in which individual will plays a crucial role in establishing the common good. In this light, the contradiction between private will (Thelema) and common good (Grandgousier’s advice to Picrochole) disappears.

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Like customary law, the rule of the abbey is contractual in nature. Just as the customary does, the abbey’s rule ‘obligates contractually’ (ex contractu). The rule, which is in fact a non-rule since all rules (règles) are forbidden in the abbey, is not imposed through tyrannical will but through common agreement. Unlike a traditional abbey in which the will of the monks is subject to the will of the abbot, here, individual will is contractually alienated in favour of the communal good. The opposition between law, statute, or rule and personal freedom underlies the abbey’s politics, as seen in chapter 55, which begins: ‘Their lives were not ordered and governed by laws and statutes and rules, but according to their own free will’ (Toute leur vie estoit employée non par loix, statutz ou reigles, mais selon leur vouloir et franc arbitre).37 As this passage and the very name of the abbey – thelema means ‘will’ in Greek – itself make clear, free will is at the very heart of this polis.38 The Thelemites’ conduct depends entirely on that initial act of individual will. They get out of bed when they feel like it, they drink, eat, work, and sleep when the desire moves them.39 If ‘Fays ce que vouldras’ was their only rule, then no one had the right to make them do what they did not want to do. The abbey, however, is not an entropic community of individual egos. As Marie-Luce Demonet points out, this first moment of thelema is alienated in a second act of free will.40 The initial free will Thelemites are invested with is given up in favour of a more uniform general will. This alienation is not imposed by an outside force; it is relinquished by an act of individual will. Free will, motivated by Pauline charity, is the starting point of personal salvation in the abbey, but this individual free will must be relinquished in favour of a more general will.41 The community is construed as a series of independent wills working together for the general interest. Even if the instinct that pushed them towards virtue and away from vice was grounded in nature, that desire needed to be made part of social practice.42 As Aristotle explains, the transformation of individual desire is what defines the social. The abbey, which has no abbot, needs to transform this desire into societal behaviour. This natural instinct to turn to others, the synderesis or spark, which motivates the Thelemites, also makes them give up their underlying freedom so that they can live as a community. It is because they enjoy this freedom that they are able to create their utopian society: Par ceste liberté entrerent en louable emulation de faire tous ce que à un seul voyoient plaire. Si quelqu’un ou quelcune disoit ‘beuvons,’ tous

182 The Gargantuan Polity buvoient. Si disoit ‘jouons,’ tous jouoient. Si disoit ‘allons à l’esbat es champs,’ tous y alloient.43 By this freedom they decided by worthy emulation all to do what was pleasing to every one. If someone said ‘Let’s drink,’ they all drank, if someone said: ‘Let’s play,’ they all played; if someone said ‘Let’s go frolic in the fields,’ they all went together.

By giving up individual free will, the Thelemites create the social norm according to which they all dress and act alike. These social norms arose not from edict or from nature but from moral virtue and will. Natural instinct motivated the individual to be virtuous, but the actual act of living in the abbey was determined by a social practice.44 The Ius Gentium: Power and Meaning in Gargantua Erasmus’s conception of ‘self-allegorization’ helps us to understand the ideas of ‘common interest’ and ‘individual will.’45 As he claims, sometimes obscure passages of scripture can be explained by reading them in light of other, clearer, passages. In Gargantua, a key to understanding the seeming contradiction of common interest and ‘Fay ce que vouldras’ is found perhaps in chapters 9 and 10 which describe the clothes that the gigantic baby wore just after his birth. While describing the colours of these clothes, the narrator, Alcofribas Nazier rises in anger at the tyranny of the author of the Blason des couleurs who had decided upon the meaning of the colour white. The private authority of the author of the Blason des couleurs, a work on the use of colours in medieval heraldry, is likened to that of a tyrant who would impose his will (arbitre) instead of reason in order to give the colours meaning. The narrator sarcastically ‘admires’ Son oultrecuidance, qui, sans raison, sans cause, et sans apparence, a ausé prescripre de son autorité privée quelles choses seroient denotées par les couleurs: ce que est l’usance des tyrans qui voulent leur arbitre tenir lieu de raison: non des saiges et sçavans qui par raisons manifestes contentent les lecteurs.46 His arrogance, which without reason or cause or any likelihood of sense or accuracy, has laid down prescriptions (founded only on his own personal authority) for what the various colours mean: this is the method used by

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tyrants who want what they say to take the place of good sound reason and not the method of wise men and scholars, who satisfy their readers strictly by reasonable argument.

The opposition between the ‘autorité privée’ of the author of the Blason and of the tyrant and the ‘raison’ of the ‘saiges et sçavans’ is characteristic of the ethos of Rabelais’s novel as a whole. In Gargantua, ideally, neither political power nor linguistic meaning should be due to the will of one person: it should not be private, but should rather be the effect of a more public will. The narrator contrasts this private authority with the ius gentium, or law of the peoples, that allows us to understand that black signifies grief and white joy. According to Alcofribas Nazier, this understanding is not due to a single human will but to general agreement: Et n’est poinct cette signifiance par imposition humaine institué, mais receue par consentement de tout le monde, que les philosophes nomment ius gentium, droict universel, valable par toutes contrées.47 And this meaning is not made by human imposition, but is agreed to by the consent of everyone, which the philosophers call ius gentium, universal law, which is valid in all countries.

All people, in all places, are capable of understanding the meaning of such words. To impose a private meaning on them is to act tyrannically. Meaning cannot be imposed by one person, but must rather be understood as the result of social practice, ‘par consentement.’ It is this social practice that gives the colour white its meaning and not private authority. For Rabelais, meaning and justice are closely related. Rabelais was aware of the debates regarding the meaning of colours as Alcofribas Nazier’s allusion to Lorenzo Valla’s critique (1433) of Bartolus of Saxoferrato’s De insigniis et armis (c. 1358) (already mentioned in the previous chapter) during his attack on the author of the Blason des couleurs shows. The narrator alludes to Valla’s critique in his explanation of the meaning of the colour white, but goes beyond Valla’s critique in saying the evidence from the Gospel will convince the reader.48 Alcofribus Nazier says that Christ’s clothes were ‘white as light’ as the Gospel (Matthew 17) said. Valla’s attack was not limited to correcting a philological mistake; the main point of his criticism was Bartolus’s nonsensical understanding of the relationship between words and things.49 Valla declared

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that it was only normal for Bartolus to say that gold signifies light since there is nothing more noble than light, but called Bartolus an ass for saying that the rays of the sun were only golden.50 Common sense, Valla implies, tells us that colours cannot be understood under this hierarchical system developed by Bartolus.51 The meaning of colours, or any other object, can only be had through consensual agreement. Valla and Rabelais seem to share a common vision regarding the meaning of words: they depend on a ius gentium or consensus. Where Bartolus saw colours as part of a hierarchical system in which everything had its place and resultant meaning, Valla understood meaning as a product of custom. Following Quintilian’s lead, Valla insisted, in another critique, on the primacy of custom (consuetudo) in language.52 Language itself, according to Valla, was the product not of nature but of human custom. The ferocious bite of Valla’s critique of Poggio Bracciolini in this, and other works that were part of their exchange, is very similar to that adopted by Rabelais for the voice of Alcofribas Nazier in the Blason des couleurs episode. Rabelais’s allusion to a ius gentium in the Blason des couleurs episode makes the same point made by Valla: law and meaning are both the products of usage and custom (consuetudo).53 The ideal community in Gargantua is represented by the kind of community described by Alcofribas Nazier in his praise of the ius gentium. In this world, no one person would be able to exert his will over another with regard to either language or law. This society, organized around a notion of consensus and diffused sovereignty, can be read as a sort of ideal community in which all the inhabitants of the state would participate in the creation of meaning and law. This concept of law as ‘second nature’ hovers over the horizon of the novel, even if that horizon is rapidly darkening as another, more centralized power is making itself felt. If the ideal power in the novel was grounded in a ius gentium, the political reality is slightly different. The society of ‘second nature,’ which was founded ‘ex contractu,’ was rapidly being transformed into a community organized around a much more organic model of power.54 The ideal of a ius gentium infuses the novel with a desire for a community in which all its members contribute towards the common good, with no one member imposing his will over the others to the point where the common good is imperilled. The political reality of the novel cannot hope to achieve this kind of ideal, but the desire for a state in which the ‘volonté générale’ is composed of independent and vital voices determines the overarching ethical framework of Rabelais’s book.

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The politics of the Abbey of Thelema can be read as representing the sort of consensual understanding of political organization that had a long history in France, especially in relation to religious institutions. As early as the first years of the fourteenth century, in his On Royal and Papal Power, John of Paris declared that the secular state was the outcome of individuals’ ‘natural instinct’ to form themselves into a community, and that citizens had it in their own power to shape the destiny of their own state.55 In order to live well, citizens should choose rulers appropriate for the sort of community in question. In John of Paris, as Walter Ullmann explains, the totality of the life of the state was made the matter of the citizens’ own legislation. The idea of the individual as a recipient of orders, decrees, and laws was no longer pertinent, and the state’s well being was guaranteed by the citizens’ own insight.56 When human beings chose monarchy as the best form of government, John explained that this was done via a form of ius gentium or law of the nations, writing that ‘once thus brought together, individuals were bound by definite laws to live communally, and those laws were called the law of nations (ius gentium).’57 William of Ockham even considered this form of consensual politics as a form of natural law. In Ockham’s political philosophy, the common good was constructed on the basis of the rights of single persons but only as they were connected as a social entity. The common good was not considered as a disinterested and ordered result of a constituted authority, but as the result of a morally correct practice grounded in the liberty of individuals. It combined both freedom and solidarity.58 Whether or not Rabelais was consciously thinking of John of Paris or of Ockham when he wrote the Abbey of Thelema chapters, his novel Gargantua shares a common trait with these medieval political treatises. In all of these works individual liberty is transformed into a common good as part of a consensual process that allows both to thrive at the same time. Very different from what the modern philosopher André Glucksmann explains in the prologue to his Maîtres penseurs, Thelema is not a precursor of a modern totalitarian state. Contrary to what Glucksmann claims, there is no one will, or ‘appareil d’état,’ that is imposed on the Thelemites in order to make them behave as one.59 The individual in the abbey is not a ‘modern individual’ as Glucksmann claims; he is decidedly premodern in the sense that he exists in a society in which sovereignty is not in the hands of one person or party. Glucksmann draws a parallel between Thelema and Bentham’s panopticon studied by Foucault in Surveiller et Punir, but there is a tremendous difference

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that he does not seem to appreciate. Although Glucksmann’s example might seem anachronistic in this discussion, it does help to underline how different early modern individualism is from that often described by modern writers. The Thelemites give up their initial free will in another act of will that owes nothing to totalitarianism and everything to tacit agreement among themselves. The ethics of the common interest that dominate the novel also dominate the abbey and there is no place for any one person or power to tell the others what to do. The paradox of the abbey is that it is full of individual wills yet no one will is strong enough to dominate the others so they all end up doing as everyone else does. Just as in Molinet’s Ressource or Gerson’s Vivat Rex or the Customary of Burgundy, the multitude of wills prevents any one will from dominating the community.60 The abbey represents a form of anti-tyrannical social organization since there is no place in it for any one will, whether the king’s or anyone else’s, to impose itself on the community as a whole. All wills are equal and must be balanced through cooperation. Almost as in a form of Christian soteriology, the Thelemite is obligated to make an act of free will in the state of nature in order to achieve saving grace through an act of cooperative grace. By cooperating with his fellow Thelemites, pushed by an ‘instinct’ and an ‘aiguillon’ (goad), the individual achieves a state of political grace by working towards the common interest that continues to dominate the ethical heart of Gargantua.61 There is no break between Gargantua’s admonition of Toucquedillon and the Abbey of Thelema. In both cases, it is necessary for the individual members of the polis to overcome their private interest to work for the good of the society as a whole, even if the maxim ‘Fays ce que vouldras’ makes it possible for private interest to motivate personal behaviour. Throughout the novel, the individual’s interest and power must be subservient to that of the community at large.62 The king’s power and image are very much part of this contractual understanding of the relationship of individual and community. His power is based on a mutual contract with his subjects or, more likely, vassals. He must go to war, not for his glory or that of his country, but because he is held to it by the contract of ‘mutual obligation’ that binds him to them and they to him.63 He is part of the whole and sovereignty cannot be construed as residing wholly within his hands. He, like the prince described by Gerson, is part of a larger whole and his role is strictly defined and delineated. And as happens in the Customary of Burgundy, power, like meaning, is grounded in a ius gentium rather than in either legislative edict or natu-

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ral law. Politics, like knowledge and linguistic meaning in Gargantua, is a question of social practice. Gargantua learns how to be a good ruler by practice, and through Ponocrates’ training. In the same way, Gargantua’s clothes needed to be understood through the tacit agreement of many people or through a ius gentium. And finally, sovereignty in the Abbey of Thelema is decided by contractual agreement among its inhabitants. Power and meaning are inextricably grounded in a consensus of opinions and not in a unique tyrannical will. Gaster: The Tyrant’s Song Sitting obdurately above his subjects on an inaccessible peak, Messere Gaster dominates the Quart Livre (1552) like some malevolent force hovering over a community in a horror film. Gaster, who appears in chapters 57–62 of this book, is the topographical opposite of Grandgousier who danced in the moonlight with his subjects. He is a figure of tyrannical power as exaggerated and terrible as that of Tyrannie in Molinet’s La Ressource du petit peuple. Gaster actually does exercise the sort of power that Charles the Bold had attempted to impose on his subjects through institutions such as the Parlement of Malines. High above his people, separated from them physically and politically, Gaster symbolizes a political power totally unbridled by any of the constraints described by Seyssel or by any notion of a mutual obligation. Gaster’s power is total and inalienable; he listens to no one and rules his subjects not through language but through animalistic impulses. An ironic version of the Hesiodic mount of Virtue, as Terence Cave has pointed out, Gaster’s kingdom is one in which human hunger has been elevated to a transcendental state and which is configured around the ruler’s single will, which remains inaccessible to the opinions of his subjects.64 Perhaps better than any other example in French Renaissance literature, Gaster’s realm represents an organic society of the type described by Louis Dumont. Gaster’s subjects do not share sovereignty with him, and he certainly owes them no obligation. Power is a question not of debate and counsel but of animalistic will. Nothing, in fact, could be further from Alcofribas Nazier’s earlier encomium of a ius gentium than Gaster’s kingdom. This kind of power was of the sort all too common in mid-sixteenth-century France as the French kings sought to bring more and more of the sprawling and diffused power of the late medieval city into their own hands. The Pantagruelians finally arrive at Gaster’s island in search of the

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Divine Bottle (Dive Bouteille) which was thought to be able to resolve Panurge’s dilemma about whether to get married or not; this had been left undecided at the end of the Tiers Livre. The various islands they visit on this voyage represent, through a thin allegorical veil, many of the opposing camps in the gathering storm of political unrest that was brewing and that would finally erupt in the wars of religion. Framed as a tale of adventure, of travel to a ‘new world,’ with obvious parallels to the voyages of Cartier and the cosmographes, the Quart Livre is also a cautionary tale about the dangers of utopian political desires.65 Time and again, the common sense wisdom of the voyaging Pantagruelians is opposed to the ideal visions of the inhabitants of the islands they visit, who represent grotesque versions of contemporary ideologies. And just as often, these ideal versions of political organization crumble before the reader’s eyes while the limited but solid good sense of the Pantagruelians remains intact. Upon the Pantagruelians’ arrival, the narrator describes Gaster’s island as an arid, rocky, infertile, and generally unpleasant place, difficult of access.66 The top of this mount is nonetheless described as a locus amoenus of paradisiacal dimension (‘a true earthly garden and paradise’).67 Gaster himself is a figure of hideous dimensions possessing absolute power to whom all his subjects owe blind and unquestioning obedience; he is the polar opposite of the good king as defined by Gerson, Molinet, and others. He is a ruler whose power knows absolutely no constraint, and who certainly sees no mutual obligation binding him to his subjects. The narrator describes him as follows: A ce chevalereuz Roy force nous feut faire reverence, jurer obeissance et honneur porter. Car il est imperieux, rigoureux, rond, dur, difficile, inflectible. A luy on ne peult rien faire croyre, rien remonstrer, rien persuader. Il ne oyt poinct. Et comme les Ægyptiens disoient Harpocras Dieu de silence, en Grec nommé Sigalion, estre astomé, c’est à dire, sans bouche, ainsi Gaster sans aureilles feut creé: comme en Candie le simulachre de Juppiter estoit sans oreilles. Il ne parle que par signes. Mais à ses signes tout le monde obeist plus soubdain que aux edictz des Præteurs, et mandemens des Roys. En ses sommations, delay aulcun et demeure aulcune il ne admect. Vous dictez que au rugissement du Lyon toutes bestes loing à l’entour fremissent, tant (sçavoir est) que estre peult sa voix ouye. Il est escript. Il est vray. Je l’ay veu. Je vous certifie que au mandement de messere Gaster tout le Ciel tremble, toute la Terre bransle. Son mandement est nommé faire le fault, sans delay, ou mourir.68

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We of course paid our respects to this chivalric king, swearing to obey and honour him. And indeed he is haughty, hard, blunt, inflexible, difficult, and unyielding. You can’t convince him of anything, or show him anything, or persuade him: he doesn’t hear you at all. And just as the Egyptians said that Harpocras, God of silence (called in Greek Sigalion) was astomé, meaning without mouth, so Gaster was created without ears – like the simulacra of Jupiter in Candia. Gaster speaks only through signs. But the whole world is quicker to obey his signs than the edicts of the Praetors and the instructions of the Kings. His summons allow for no delay of any kind. You say that when a lion roars all the animals for miles around tremble, as far as his voice can be heard. It’s written, and it’s true. I’ve seen it myself. But I can tell you that at Master Gaster’s command the very sky trembles and the whole world shakes. The name of his command is: do as I say, and at once, or die.

Two related elements in the description of Gaster are important to underline here. First is Gaster’s lack of ears. Without ears, Gaster cannot listen. No one can convince him of anything. He is totally impervious to the opinions or desires of his subjects. ‘Haughty, hard, blunt, inflexible, difficult, and unyielding,’ Gaster commands near religious reverence, obedience, and honours. Without ears, the ruler cannot listen to his subjects and power necessarily emanates solely from his person. Second, his power is like that of a lion, whose roar sends shivers through all who hear it. The entire world trembles before Gaster’s command just as animals do when they hear the lion’s roar. Gaster’s lack of ears and his bestial means of rule clarify that this is not a polis at all, but a truly apolitical realm. A mutual bond is impossible here since the ruler cannot even hear the remonstrations of his people. All the elaborate ceremonies of investiture from the Middle Ages, based on an oral and symbolic exchange between lord and vassal, between prince and subject, are unimaginable in Gaster’s kingdom. Where orality and symbolic exchange had characterized the polis of limited monarchy, silence and non-linguistic communication characterize Gaster’s rule. Animalistic cries rather than human language are the only means of communication possible. With the ruler positioned high above his subjects, cut off from them in every way possible, Gaster’s realm is an inhuman place in which roar and impulse rather than reasoned discourse are the political coins of the realm. Gaster’s unnatural character lends force to the horrific depiction Rabelais makes of this sort of tyrannical power constructed around the

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will of one person. The antiphrastic character of Gaster’s rule is unmistakable. Gaster, ‘the master of the arts of the world,’ has power that goes beyond mere art and extends to nature itself. Gaster, the narrator explains, even teaches wild animals ‘arts denied by Nature’ (ars desniées de Nature).69 Crows, blue jays, and parrots are all made poets by Gaster since ‘they all sing and talk for food’ (Et tout pour la trippe). The narrator’s description of the creatures in Gaster’s kingdom is a bestiary of exotic and predatory creatures, including birds, elephants, lions, rhinoceros, bears, fish, whales, and all sorts of marine monsters, as well as foxes, wolves, and snakes. Although it is obvious that Gaster represents base material hunger, he also has another more immediate meaning in the sixteenth century: to ravage, to destroy, to pillage.70 Gaster lays waste to everything in his realm; as the narrator says; ‘Briefly, he is so enormous that in his rage he eats everything and everyone, beasts and people’ (Brief est tant enorme, que en sa rage il mange tous bestes et gens).71 His realm is an insane version of Plato’s Timaeus in which he lords over his subjects in a government grounded not on ideal models but on base material hunger. With his regent, Penie (famine), he rules over his people with unquestioned authority. Her power is described as being subject to no law: Quand Penie sa regente se mect en voye, la part qu’elle va, tous parlemens sont clous, tous edictz mutz, toutes ordonnances vaines. A loy aulcune n’est subjecte, de toutes est exempte.72 When his regent, Penie, is seen abroad, everywhere she goes Parlements are closed, all laws struck dumb, all ordinances useless. She is subject to no law, exempt from them all.

The absolute assimilation of power by Penie cuts off all means of counsel and protest, just as Gaster’s lack of ears does. Like her consort, Penie’s power is exempt from any and all bridles. All parlements are closed, edicts muted, and ordinances rendered null and void by her power. Structurally, by both their power and their position within the polis, Gaster and Penie represent the most complete form of absolute power. High, removed, and unlistening, Gaster and Penie rule over a mad hierarchy in which the low and base are high and the elevated and divine are absent. Critics have emphasized how Gaster in particular, and the Quart Livre in general, represent a vociferous critique of the Roman Catholic

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Church.73 There is little doubt that Gaster, Homenaz, and Quaresmeprenant are all grotesque allegories of the sort of power incarnated by the Roman Catholic hierarchy. It is also possible to understand Gaster and these other monsters as being, like the Roman Catholic hierarchy, part of a larger more general evolution of power in the mid-sixteenth century. The sombre tones with which Rabelais paints Messere Gaster are those of a French humanist increasingly disillusioned with a politics of Italian origin that was very different from the kind vaunted in Gargantua’s encomium of the ius gentium. His virulent depiction of Messere Gaster seems fed by the same sort of venomous anger that nurtured the pamphlets of monarchomaque authors later in the sixteenth century, treatises that attack the absolute power of both the king and the pope. Although Rabelais was closer to Erasmus in his politics and theology, the Gaster chapters’ polemical punch is not very different from that found in the pamphlets of later writers such as Hotman, who attacked the absolutism of both the king and the pope since it laid waste to the constitutional tradition.74 For them, Roman law was simply a poor excuse for the imposition of a royal will on the voices of the populus and institutions such as the Estates General.75 The lack of political voices in the Gaster episode stands as a literary variant of the same critique, and the Gaster chapters can be read not only as a specific attack on the Roman Catholic papacy, but also, more generally, as a Gallican parody of the political philosophy that gave both monarch and pope absolute power.76 Gaster and Chasseneuz: A Perfect Polity without Individuals It is possible to understand Gaster in the context of mid-sixteenth-century politics, when jurists in the employ of Francis I and Henry II, such as Chasseneuz, were actively employed in the transformation of the French monarchy into a much more absolutist form. Both Rabelais’s Gaster and Chasseneuz’s Catalogus are rooted in, at least in part, and can be read as surface structures of a deeper and less highly formulated level of discourse. Chasseneuz’s Catalogus provides a different version of the same model of power found in the Gaster episode; their common point is a singular will that rules the world of things and words. All the creatures described in Gaster’s kingdom obey his material will just as all people in Chasseneuz’s Catalogus are under the power of the king who rules with divine perfection. The political power of the Catalogus is exaggerated in the literary nightmare Rabelais describes, yet the concept of

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‘solus princeps’ found in the list of regal prerogatives in the Catalogus is the same. Both Gaster and the king in the Catalogus are the sole sources of power in their polises. It would seem that both Rabelais and Chasseneuz react to the same development later described by Mousnier, who, it will be remembered, explained that a revolution in the human spirit was necessary to go from the limited monarchy of the late fifteenth century to the absolute monarchy of the seventeenth century. However, Rabelais and Chasseneuz react differently. Chasseneuz can be seen explicitly helping to make it possible, while Rabelais can be understood as rising, at least implicitly, in eloquent opposition to this revolution. The underlying change, however, is the same. In both Chasseneuz and Rabelais, the noisy and imperfect polis governed by a diverse consensus of individual wills is replaced by a centralized and all-powerful will that denies these other wills the ability to be heard. The contrast that Gaster makes with the earlier monarchs in Rabelais’s novels typifies the revolution described by Mousnier.77 To get from Grandgousier dancing on the meadow with his subjects to Gaster reigning silently and despotically above his subjects demands a radical and violent change in the way the polis is construed. Where the same kind of change is treated as a matter of course in the Catalogus, it arouses Gargantuan anger and spite in Rabelais. In both Chasseneuz and Rabelais, an imperfect genealogy tying the kings of their day to their imperfect origins is abruptly broken and the monarch is given a divine status. The miraculously divinized king in Chasseneuz is able to overcome the underlying stain of political ambition in his new divine status; in Rabelais this process does not happen without sarcasm and bilious rebuke. Where Grandgousier, Gargantua, and Pantagruel are connected with an imperfect origin through their genealogies, Gaster, like the divinized king in the Catalogus, rules like a god on earth. The difference, of course, is that in Rabelais this kind of development is the source of political anger and literary parody. If it is possible to place an imperfect human being on the celestial throne of eternal justice in Chasseneuz, in Rabelais, the imperfections of the monarch multiply along with his power. A comparison of Gaster’s realm with the Abbey of Thelema, which has often been construed as a form of tyrannical rule, illustrates just how different their political systems are. Where the Thelemites are defined in terms of political will, Gaster’s subjects have none. The rule of the abbey, ‘Fay ce que vouldras,’ guarantees that the abbey was a highly political place in the sense that the Thelemites had the ability to make

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moral judgments. When the Thelemites alienated their political will in favour of a more uniform general will, it was not imposed from without through natural order or tyrannical will, but was done through their own agency. Gaster’s kingdom, very differently, knows no will but the tyrant’s. Gaster and Penie obligate their subjects, but are not obligated themselves. Like the monarch described by Chasseneuz, they rule without challenge and submit everything in their realm to their will. Gaster’s sycophantic subjects, the Engastrimythes and Gastrolatres, obey him blindly, as do all those under his power. Rendered powerless in the political void created by Gaster’s absolute power, the Engastrimythes and the Gastrolatres turn on each other. They make no decisions about right or wrong or just or unjust. They are like the other animals in Gaster’s state, that all sing and dance for food: ‘tout pour la trippe.’ Their discourse, such as it is, has no bearing on political matters of just and unjust. In this realm, the question of individual political will does not arise. If Gaster himself is a paradoxical symbol of absolute power, then the materialist impulses that function as law in his realm can be viewed as parodying another immutable law. Chasseneuz explains in the Catalogus that the law is not an art but a science and that, in fact, it is a more worthy and noble science than others since it comes to human beings from God.78 If the law itself is taken away, the reason or order (ratio) of the law remains.79 All laws, whether natural, universal, or divine, are considered immutable.80 Even civil law is defined as a science superior to others; like all sciences it was born from God. The deliberative nature of law found in some of the late-medieval treatises already discussed has become a question of immutable truths. For partisans of the mos gallicus, who understood the law as a historically contingent phenomenon, such a conclusion would seem difficult to entertain.81 For them, Justinian’s Digest was a socially circumscribed event that needed to be interpreted in the light of historical context.82 Messere Gaster, ‘maistre es ars,’ can be understood as offering a biting satire of this kind of legal structure from a French point of view. The immutable power parodied in Gaster’s kingdom and described in the Catalogus is diametrically opposed to the contingent and historical nature of power in Grandgousier’s kingdom, notable especially in his genealogy. Throughout his novels, Rabelais mocks Bartolus and other legal scholars who argued for a form of power that does not take into account human difference and imperfection.83 His critique echoed those

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of humanists such as Lorenzo Valla (already discussed in this and the preceding chapter) and jurists such as André Tiraqueau.84 Tiraqueau attacks Chasseneuz several times in his De legibus connubialibus for having stolen chunks of his book without giving him credit and for general stupidity.85 Obviously, Chasseneuz and Rabelais react very differently to the legal and political ideas of Bartolus and others of his ilk: where Chasseneuz uses these texts to give the French monarch divine and perfect power, the same sort of understanding of the polis becomes the butt of Rabelais’s ironic wit in the Quart Livre as well as in the Blason des couleurs episode of Gargantua. In the Tiers Livre, Judge Bridoye exemplifies the sort of human imperfection that makes law an art and not a science. In this episode, the judge decides court cases by rolling dice.86 Some cases surpass the most rational analyses, as when Bridoye gives the example of a woman living in Smyrna who had killed her second husband, who had murdered her son by a previous marriage. How is a judge to make sense of such a convoluted and ever so human predicament? Bridoye’s inability to judge this kind of case is perhaps less an indication of his stupidity and of the failings of the legal system, than a sign of his humanity. Human reality in Rabelais’s novels is always complex and messy, and the legal system is unwieldy and inefficient. Utopian visions in the novels are rarely happy ones, and law and government would seem very much arts rather than sciences. Gaster’s ability to apply his will to the natural world shows how sarcastic his title is. Power and law in the rest of Rabelais’s polis are never perfect or eternal but instead are always historically determined and imperfect. The ‘maistre es ars’ is a symbol of how imperfect human reality is when elevated to transcendent status. Power and Language in Gaster’s Kingdom Perhaps even more than he represents the sort of political nightmare described by Gerson, Gaster represents a horrific parody of an Aristotelian polis. Aristotle defined human beings as political animals due to their need to live in society and particularly to their ability to discern between the just and the unjust. For Aristotle, in the Politics, a necessary part of this ability is language, since it is what provided human beings with the ability to express judgments about the useful and the injurious, the good and the bad. Language is, said Aristotle, part of the very nature of human beings and what distinguishes them from other animals that can only use sounds to express sensations of pleasure and pain.87 The

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distinction that Aristotle makes between the sounds of animals and the words human beings use is crucial for his definition of the polis.88 Language is what allows human beings to distinguish between the useful and harmful and the just and the unjust. Political society is in language and apolitical society lies outside of it.89 Such insistence upon the importance of language in a political state also appears in Cicero’s De inventione, where the author explains that the art of eloquence arose from the need to convince human beings to organize themselves in law-abiding communities. There was a time, Cicero states, when ‘men wandered at large in the fields like animals and lived on wild fare; they did nothing by the guidance of reason, but relied chiefly on physical strength.’90 In Cicero’s tale, at this juncture a great and wise person became aware of the power latent in man and the possibilities of his mind for great achievement if only one could develop this power and improve it by instruction. This person took individuals who were living in fields and hidden in sylvan retreats and transformed them from wild savages into a kind and gentle folk. Most importantly, he did it through ‘reason and eloquence.’ Cicero insists that it was not possible for a mute and voiceless wisdom to have convinced them to make this great a change. In order for men to keep faith, to observe justice, to become accustomed to obeying others voluntarily, and to work for the common good, they need to be persuaded by eloquence. According to Cicero, eloquence thus first came into being for political reasons.91 Such classical texts have obvious relevance for understanding the deeper political implications of the Gaster episode. This is not simply a passage that shows how the ‘low’ overpowers the ‘high’ in Rabelais; quite the opposite, the Gaster episode is highly political in nature.92 Gaster’s kingdom is a world without eloquence since no one can talk and all of Gaster’s subjects react to him physically and intuitively, without reason. They have in fact been reduced to the state of non-rational animals like those described by Cicero before the advent of language and eloquence. The importance of meaningful language in Rabelais cannot be overstated. From Eudemon’s ability to express himself at the expense of Gargantua to Pantagruel’s promise to pronounce the Gospel truth in clear and simple language, the role of meaningful language in these novels is impossible to miss. The animals, such as the birds and fish that ‘speak’ in Gaster’s kingdom, are like those used by the Italian humanist Sperone Speroni to distinguish between dumb creatures who use ‘sounds’ to communicate and human beings who use ‘words.’93 Language among human beings,

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or at least among Gaster’s subjects, is understood as an ‘affect,’ like the sounds used by birds and other animals to express pain or pleasure. Gaster’s command is like a lion’s roar. It is not understood rationally so much as felt intuitively. His polis is a remarkably apolitical place in the sense that language cannot be used to make distinctions between just and unjust. His subjects respond to his signs as animals do to the lion’s roar: without recourse to reason. The two principal types of people in the court of this ‘grand maistre Ingenieux,’ the Engastrimythes and the Gastrolatres, have been reduced to the state of sycophantic boot lickers who obey their master without question. These subjects do not make any distinction between good and evil, just and unjust, but only obey automatically their despotic ruler.94 Besides the speaking birds and fish, the only kind of language mentioned during the Gaster episode is that of the evil spirit Crespelu who ‘spoke’ from the stomach of an Italian woman, Jacobe Rodogine. Like the Engastrimythes themselves, who were the descendants of ancient peoples called ‘Ventriloques,’ Crespelu spoke from the stomach and responded to questions with a loud fart.95 Given the lack of meaningful language in Gaster’s kingdom, any distinction between just and unjust, between good and evil, becomes impossible. Not a single word is heard during the entire Gaster episode. All of the direct discourse is that of the Pantagruelians themselves, or of the ship’s pilot who describes the actions of the Gastrolatres and the Engastrimythes. In a land in which the ruler has no ears, language serves no political function and political subjects respond like animals to basic, material impulses without reflection. The distinction Aristotle makes between human beings and bees, with the former political animals and the latter non-political animals, is invalid in Gaster’s land. His subjects have been reduced to the state of bees who make noise but do not use language to judge between the just and the unjust, between good and evil. They are no longer ‘political animals,’ but are simply animals who make noise expressing pain and pleasure, without moral judgment. Conclusion The geography of Rabelais’s novels creates a map on which to chart not only the routes which the cosmographes took during their discovery of the New World, but also that of political regimes in sixteenth-century France. The shift from political to non-political societies in Rabelais’s novels is perhaps more than coincidental and can be read in relation to

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the developments in the polis of French society itself. Meaningful sound is omnipresent in Gargantua in which language and power are shared by king and subjects. Grandgousier recognizes the mutual obligation binding him to his people, and meaning is determined by a ius gentium, or ‘second nature,’ based on consensus and usage. Just as in customary law, it is this social practice that decides power and meaning. The king might have the power, but that power does not emanate from his person and is instead accorded him through an underlying contract by which the populus gave the princeps sovereignty. Kings and subjects are all imperfect and language is used to persuade the ruler to act wisely. Unlike the limits described in Gerson, Commynes, or Seyssel, there is no institutional bridle on Grandgousier or Gargantua and it is through the role of the preceptor, Ponocrates, that good rule is guaranteed. What is most important here is the role of language and communication: the king is forced to listen to those around him for counsel. These individuals, whether through institutions such as the Estates General in the Customary of Burgundy, or through preceptors such as Ponocrates in Gargantua, literally ‘have the ear’ of the king. The metaphorical ear might be reduced as seen in Chasseneuz’s analysis of customary law in his Consuetudines, or in the lack of institutional bridle in Gargantua, but the principle of individuals engaged in political deliberation is still operative. In the Quart Livre, and in the Gaster episode especially, sovereignty has shifted entirely into the hands of the king who rules absolutely over his subjects. Gaster is not only an allegory about material hunger and idealism, he is also a political allegory about the lack of voice or opinion. The noisy but meaningful polis of Grandgousier has been replaced by the squawking but meaningless polis of Gaster. The birds and other animals can make noises, but it is always Gaster who decides when to make them fall from the sky, or perform just about any other action. There is no relationship between the sounds they make and Gaster’s behaviour. This marks a brusque break with the polises described in earlier literary and political works in which communication provided a way to overcome the fallen and imperfect condition of all human beings, even the king himself. The tradition of Gerson, Molinet, Meschinot, and others is characterized by discursive exchange due to the imperfect nature of human existence. Even humanists such as Erasmus and Budé, who advocated a much stronger monarchical power, literally had the king’s ear in their defence of education as the best means of controlling the king’s ‘volonté désordonnée.’ Gaster’s rule, unlike all these earlier political societies, is grounded in his will alone and there is no exchange with

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his subjects. If they speak, he cannot hear them; their words are simply sounds. Two very different kinds of polis are envisaged. Gargantua and his companions are a remarkably verbal bunch, always talking and interacting through vibrant and plentiful language. Even the inhabitants of the Abbey of Thelema are highly discursive, much like those in Castiglione’s Cortigiano. The Pauline charity of Gargantua and his companions is matched by the Pauline fullness of their language. Their charitable community is in language, just as was Grandgousier’s. Panurge’s increasingly marginal place within this novelistic community parallels his increasingly meaningless speech. By the end of the Quart Livre, he sits shitting himself in fear, babbling while others work towards furthering the ‘bien commun’ despite their human fallenness. Panurge becomes ‘penateless,’ or apolitical, in Aristotelian terms. The inefficacy of language in Gaster’s realm manifests the lack of a real polis in his kingdom. Language is reduced to sounds and no real community is imaginable beyond Gaster’s will. The uncontrolled royal will is the nightmare vision of a dead political body. Gaster, as the earless head no longer listening to his subjects, has reduced the body politic to a lifeless body, the trunk separated from the head. In Gargantua and Pantagruel, individuals thrive as they cooperate to improve the common good. No one individual is able to impose his will on any of the others and law and meaning are anchored in a social practice, the ius gentium. The ‘Fay ce que vouldras’ of the Abbey of Thelema is perhaps the most eloquent emblem of the spirit of individualism that dominates the novel, and yet that individualism never destroys the equilibrium of the common good. Perhaps no other early modern literary work demonstrates better how the spirit of a contractually minded society functions. Perhaps no novel of the sixteenth century is so full of distinctive individuals: the eponymous heroes, and their companions, Epistemon, Frère Jean, Ponocrates, and even Panurge. None is simply a type, but all constitute a distinct and autonomous identity. Perhaps as important, none of these heroes can be understood as representing a subjective point of view. The notion of interiority is nearly unknown and all of these characters remain resolutely turned outward to the community. The ethical centre of the novel, exemplified in the command to Toucquedillon to tell his master not to act for his private interest, is unmistakably public and political. There is no need in the novel to turn away from the public sphere in order to find an authentic space in which to make choices about the good and the just. These were issues that were judged by political individuals cooperating in their

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efforts to achieve the greatest public good. The only character who might be considered a modern individual, Panurge, has not yet begun to exercise his will for his own good, as he will in the Tiers Livre and the Quart Livre. For the moment, in Garguantua, the characters’ activities are still absorbed by the ethics of common good that bind all of the companions of Gargantua. Instead of being subjective individuals, these characters might be best understood as objective individuals in the sense that they express their individuality within the context of a larger community. Their individuality is determined by their participation in that community through obligation and social practice and not through an awareness of subjective consciousness. In the Quart Livre, Gaster’s kingdom represents the total collapse of such a community. Power and sovereignty are totally and absolutely retained by the ruler and the subjects are reduced to a state of animallike stupidity. Where the joyous and noisy streets and fields of Pantagruel and Gargantua irrigated the novels with songs, jokes, and wordgames, all of these meaningful sounds are absent in Gaster’s kingdom. Farts and animal-like sounds express hunger and pleasure, but do not allow Gaster’s subjects to make meaningful political decisions regarding just and unjust. These subjects have been reduced to a non-political status since the public sphere has been vitiated by Gaster’s all-powerful rule. The public sphere as it existed in Gargantua is totally absent and instead of making jokes and even nonsensical scholastic arguments, Gaster’s subjects merely make noise. They are obligated to fit into the hierarchical scheme of the universe; they have given up their ability to reason and react as human beings and end up being animals. And as Dumont explained, in this kind of organic social system individualism is nigh on impossible. The creation of meaning and law by a ius gentium in Gargantua guaranteed that individuals had to turn outward in order to understand the world. The public space was vibrant and utopically imperfect. Consensual, noisy, and disputatious, it was a world in which meaning and power were arrived at through the consensus of opinions. All of that disappears in Gaster’s kingdom in which meaning and power were taken out of the hands of individuals who lost their ability to express themselves as human beings. They were reduced to an animalistic state that does not augur well for the political future of France in the midsixteenth century. As political power became ever more centralized in France, the public sphere necessarily shrank and subjects would necessarily turn inward, to that private space that Montaigne would call the

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‘back shop’ (arrière-boutique) in order to be able to find authentic meaning. The contrast between the noisy and opinion-filled world of Gargantua and the noisy but opinion-less world of Gaster offers a telling example with which to compare the state of the French polis during the latter half of the sixteenth century. As the public sphere contracted and the private necessarily increased, the modern individual, turned inward and self-centred, appears all too logical a possibility. The question remains, however, which society would we care to live in?

7 The Death of Consensual Politics and the Individual in Agrippa d’Aubigné

As France descended into a seemingly endless spiral of heartless savagery during the wars of religion in the 1570s, the question of political violence became increasingly important and ever more difficult. What did it mean for the king to apply violence to his subjects? The question divided those who believed in a contractual form of government, in which sovereignty was diffused throughout the body politic, and those who believed in a monarchical polis organized around the will of the king. In literary texts and political treatises from the period, the meaning of this political violence and the rhetoric used to defend it changed radically according to which kind of political environment the violence was carried out in. If the polis was understood as being organized around a contract of obligation tying king and people together, the elimination of a partner in the relation of contractual obligation was a tragic mistake that imperilled the well-being of the body politic. If the polis was understood as being akin to a flock of sheep or storks, the elimination of a sick member of the flock to save the rest was simply a matter of good sense. The use of political violence brings the status of the early modern individual into even tighter focus since the ability to bring violence to the human body is perhaps the defining moment in any society. Violence defines, in the most graphic terms, the limits of individual rights. The individual was construed very differently according to the two paradigms described above, since the conception of political violence is understood so differently in each. Violence to an individual, which is unimaginable in a polis in which an individual shares sovereignty, becomes all too imaginable in one in which that sovereignty is not shared. The ability to inflict the pain of the sword on a political subject

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defines more than anything else the limits of what might be called the individual. According to those who construed power as diffused through the body politic, the ability to bring violence to individuals was highly circumscribed since sovereignty rested on the participation of those very individuals. For those who understood power as being held uniquely by the king, this kind of violence was much easier to entertain since sovereignty had little or nothing to do with individuals. The Silence of the Lambs? Agrippa d’Aubigné’s Tragiques (published in 1616) offers a case study in political violence and its meaning. In the Fers section of the Tragiques, devoted to the sufferings of the French people during the wars of religion, d’Aubigné describes how, following the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre, the rivers of France carried the bodies of martyred Huguenots to the sea.1 These corpse-filled rivers represent the agonistic denouement of the différend separating contractual and absolutist politics alluded to throughout this study.2 These corpses raise a question crucial to understanding what it meant to be an individual in the sixteenth century. Do individuals represent the unfortunate but inevitable result of a necessary blood-letting that would ensure the well-being of the body politic, or are they tragic victims of a royal will gone mad? The way this question is answered depends largely on whether the polis in which the ‘fer’ (sword) was applied to these loyal subjects is considered as akin to the ‘flock-ofsheep’ model, which confined sovereignty to the person of the king, or according to the ‘pillars-and-columns’ model which extended sovereignty to individuals in the polis. D’Aubigné’s overwhelmingly Protestant point of view privileges the latter interpretation. The Tragiques depicts the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre, when large numbers of Protestants were killed by Catholic ‘henchmen’ (bourreaux) during the night of 17 August 1572, as a tragic act of political suicide carried out on the body of France. However, it is also necessary to understand not only how d’Aubigné arrived at this interpretation, but also how the king, Charles IX, might have viewed the same bloody act in an entirely different way. Understanding how these different systems of political organization might have affected events such as the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre might help modern readers to get beyond d’Aubigné’s personal obsessions and it might help to explain the ‘collective obsession’ of a community that seemed fascinated with

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its own blood and that it spilled without restraint.3 Although the Tragiques deals specifically with religious issues, it is impossible, as Gilbert Schrenck explained, to talk of the religious in d’Aubigné without referring to the political.4 In some ways it is this insurmountable and mutually inexplicable political difference that makes the tragedy both possible and inevitable; without it, the violence and horror of the poem would simply be the result of hatred and weakness. This would be tragic perhaps but it would not be a tragedy. If this poem is considered, however, as part of the historical development described throughout this study, then its tragedy becomes both clearer and more horrifying. The actors in this tragedy rush towards their own unhappy end just as inexorably as Oedipus or Antigone rushed towards theirs. Their own individual actions appear pitiful when compared with the blind forces of political destiny that led them to their deaths. Both parties in this tragedy might try to defend themselves, but both henchmen and victims merely fulfil the roles the historical process seems to give them. By the time of the Tragiques, the two understandings of political sovereignty and political individualism portrayed throughout this study were inalterably separate and incapable of coexisting. The political individual as described by Gerson, Molinet, and Rabelais was no longer possible as sovereignty became more and more a question of the king’s absolute power and less and less one of shared social practice. It was because they understood the same political sphere in such diametrically different ways that the henchmen and their victims were so blind to each other’s swords. Because neither saw the sword doing the same thing, neither saw it coming or even saw what damage it did after they had finished using it; where one saw a political will destroyed, the other simply saw a necessary cleansing of the body politic. The silencing of the lambs, a necessary act of public hygiene for the one side, was the illegitimate massacre of innocent individuals for the other. Shared vs Absolute Sovereignty in the 1570s The two political imaginaries at stake in the 1570s were the same as those that had been developing since the council fathers and Cajetan had debated about the political structure of the church. On the one hand, there were those who believed that power must be held by the king in the face of the rising political chaos of the wars of religion. On the other, there were those who believed that sovereignty necessarily

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included other individuals in the body politic. D’Aubigné construed the polis as being akin to that described by Meschinot in his Lunettes des princes, as a place where the king and his people were locked into a contract of mutual obligation and if the people were good, the king would also be good. As late as 1620, in Du Debvoir mutuel des roys et des subjects, he defended ideas that were the same as those defended by Gerson, Seyssel, and others. For d’Aubigné, the king could not do violence to his subjects because they were bound by a contract of mutual obligation and to do violence to the one, necessarily implied doing violence to the other. Unfortunately, Charles IX, the king at the time of the massacre of St Bartholomew’s Day in 1572, did not see the polis in the same way. He did not see himself locked into this political stasis but rather saw himself fully able to exercise his will on his people as he saw fit without having to consider their opinion in the slightest. In the 1570s, the somewhat flexible and ill-defined conflict between those who believed in a limited form of monarchy based on some degree of mutual obligation and those who believed in a more strongly monarchical government crystallized more clearly around the question of sovereignty. In his Six Livres de la République (1576), Jean Bodin defined sovereignty as absolute power unfettered by any constraint; the prince was above all laws, he was ‘absous de la puissance des loix.’5 For Bodin, the power of the king was subject to no conditions: sovereignty given to a Prince with terms and conditions is not strictly speaking sovereignty, nor is it absolute power except for the conditions imposed in the creation of the Prince either by the law of God or of nature.6

Bodin’s definition of royal sovereignty as unconstrained by any contractual connections with the rest of the body politic put an end to the kind of argument defended by Gerson, Commynes, and Seyssel. From now on, the king’s power would be unbridled and subject to no one else’s will. The absolute character of the prince’s power exempted him from the laws of his predecessors and even from his own laws. With the arrival of each new king, all the ‘colleges,’ ‘communities,’ ‘parlements,’ and ‘sovereign courts’ had to ask to have their privileges and jurisdictions reconfirmed. The king, being exempt from the laws of his predecessors, was not held to obey their orders.7 Bodin explained in the most plain terms that sovereignty was a question of the prince’s personal will:

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The sovereign Prince cannot tie his hands, even if he wanted to. Also we find at the end of edicts and ordinances these words ‘SINCE SUCH IS OUR PLEASURE’ in order to make known that the laws of the sovereign Prince, once they are founded on good reason, depend solely on his pure and free will.8

Bodin pronounced the crucial word, ‘will,’ which had been at the heart of the argument of Commynes and Seyssel. For Bodin, power had to be held in the hands of one person, whose will could be imposed on all his subjects. This freedom to act according to his own will released the king from the complicated skein of mutual obligations that had constrained his power in Gerson, Commynes, Meschinot, Molinet, and others. Now, the connection that had distinguished the French king from the Turkish tyrant in Machiavelli disappeared. If Bodin’s Six Livres de la République placed the will of the king at the centre of the French polity, monarchomaque writers who wrote strongly partisan attacks on the absolute power of the French king, such as François Hotman, followed directly in the footsteps of Commynes and Seyssel. In his Francogallia (1573), Hotman proposed a much more limited form of monarchy than Bodin would in the République: The works of Froissart, Monstrelet, Gaguin, Commines, Gilles and all the other historians indicate that the authority of the public council was in all respects virtually no less under the Capetians than it was under the two preceding dynasties. Moreover that precept which can never be repeated too often or vehemently – ‘LET THE WELFARE OF THE PEOPLE BE THE SUPREME LAW’ – continued to be effective under their rule. It is my view that no kind of tyrannical government has ever existed while men have been men, unless it be that of the Turks, where the Citizens are treated like cattle rather than human beings. Nor can I be sufficiently astonished at the ignorance of those men who had some elementary acquaintance with Roman Law and derived the opinion from our records that under the lex regia the people of the Roman empire conceded all its authority and power, and who approve of a perpetual, free and unlimited power in all kings, which they call by the barbarous and inappropriate word ‘absolute.’9

Where Bodin proposed an absolute and perpetual power, Hotman offered a limited power under the control, at least in part, of the people. Hotman established the origin of sovereignty in the people and specif-

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ically ruled out the ability to claim ‘absolute’ power. As the title of the Francogallia indicates, this work meant to prove the Frankish lineage of the French monarchy in order to show how the power of the French king was elective, just like that of the Germanic tribes who elected their kings and had the right to depose them when they were inept.10 Hotman’s critique of tyrannical government linked it to the sort of Turkish government Machiavelli had opposed to the limited French feudal government. Hotman’s critique of the lex regia is important because it alludes to the différend separating absolutists and constitutionalists in the sixteenth century. The fact that both absolutists and constitutionalists were able to use the lex regia to defend their concept of sovereignty underlines how seriously divided these parties were: the same term could be used to very different purposes in their highly polemical hands. The concept of lex regia, first found in Ulpian (170–228 CE), clearly states ‘power and authority were originally transferred from the people to the emperor.’ The crucial term here is ‘transferred’; the Institutes say that the will of the prince has force of law since the populus had transferred power to him: ‘But also the will of the Emperor has the force of law since, by the lex regia which regulated his imperium, the people conceded to him and conferred upon him all their authority and power.’11 Throughout the Middle Ages, the lex regia was interpreted both as having given the prince power without conditions, and, very differently, as having restrained that power by right of the underlying agreement by which the people gave the emperor his power. For jurists such as Christophe Porcius, the people maintained the ability, after the initial transfer of power, to depose the emperor because they had not ‘transferred’ all their power to the emperor, but had only ‘conceded’ it to him.12 This meant that they had transferred the usage of power (usus) but not its ownership (dominium). Other jurists and commentators, such as Bartolus, held that the Roman people had abdicated all their power, in particular their legislative power, when they had transferred it to the princeps.13 Throughout the sixteenth century, jurists would adopt one or the other of these two positions. Guillaume Budé, for example, understood the lex regia as having made the emperor free of any legal constraints after the Roman Senate had conceded power to him.14 Alciati, on the other hand, sided with the interpretation according to which the lex regia did not accord absolute power to the king as many absolutists believed.15 All of this would become a moot point in the seventeenth century since the lex regia was rejected, as Henri Morel explains, when absolutism was finally established unconditionally.16

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Hotman was not alone in his opposition to monarchical absolutism. Many other political writers from the period also placed sovereignty in the populus and not solely in the hands of the prince. Like Hotman’s Francogallia, the Vindiciae contra tyrannos (1579), located sovereignty in all the people; it was from the people that the king derived his sovereignty, his authority, and his power.17 The Vindiciae thus gave a new dimension to the term ‘subject’ for subjects were, as a result, neither slaves nor serfs but, rather, the ‘brothers’ of the king with whom they formed a political body.18 Power was not given to any one person but to the body politic as a whole, according to the Vindiciae.19 No one individual could exert his will, be it the prince or an individual acting against the prince. All those who represented the body of the people of the kingdom had to be involved in political decisions. The political leanings of the Vindiciae are unmistakable. Neither the prince nor any individual could ‘uncover his sword’ without the permission of the collective authority of those who represent the body of the people; for the author of the Vindiciae, these representatives were the Estates General, and to a lesser degree, lower magistrates.20 Political power did not emanate from the person of the king, but resulted from a shared sovereignty that included the people. Confirming the continued importance of the Councils of Constance and Basel, the author of the Vindiciae aligned his notion of collective sovereignty on the conciliar tradition. The power of the group was always superior to that of the individual who possessed its nominal power: Since as the Councils of Basel and of Constance have determined (and determined well) that the universal Council was above the Bishop of Rome, in the same way that the Chapter is above the Bishop, the University above the Rector, the Court above the President, briefly he to whom an entire company gives authority is always inferior to the company, even if he is above each one of the members of it [the company] ...21

As in the Pragmatic Sanction, the company that gave the power remained superior to the individual who wielded it. Sovereignty did not flow from one source downward à la Cajetan, but resided in the wills of those who accorded it to the ruler, whether pope, king, rector, or duke. The author of the Vindiciae, tweaking the corporeal metaphor, explains: ‘Since it is the people who elects the Kings, it follows that the body of the people is above the king’ (Or puis que le peuple eslit et establit les Rois, il s’ensuit que le corps du peuple est par dessus le

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Roy).22 Power was diffused throughout the body politic and no one person, king or otherwise, had the right to act in his own interest to the detriment of the common good. Besides alluding to the councils, the Vindiciæ also refers back to the nodal point of feudal sovereignty, the oath of mutual obligation that king and subjects made to one another: All in all, no one can deny that a contract of mutual obligation exists between the King and his subjects. The substance of this contract is that the people must obey loyally the Prince who will command as it is necessary, and the oath is made first by the Prince, then confirmed by the people.23

The text underlines that it is the prince who swears the oath first, which is then confirmed by the people. This means, the author says, that the people therefore are absolved of their own oath of loyalty to the prince when the prince abuses his oath since he is tied to them before they are tied to him.24 The king is beholden to his people as much as they are to him. The weight of the people is as important as that of the king in the political equilbrium that holds the kingdom together; a people without a king will always remain a people but a king without a people is not a king at all.25 Like Hotman’s Francogallia and the Vindiciae contra tyrannos, Théodore de Bèze’s Du Droit des magistrats (1573) viewed sovereignty as diffused throughout the body politic. For Bèze, the Estates General and lower magistrates provided the best ways of resisting a prince’s tyrannical usurpation of power. He believed in the superiority of the lower magistrates since at certain moments the Estates could not be assembled and at times of real tyranny they would not have enough power to offer any real resistance.26 By lower magistrates, Bèze meant two kinds of officers: 1) hereditary nobles of ‘noble blood’ (haut sang), such as dukes, marquises, counts, viscounts, barons and ‘castle owners’ (chatelains), who took part in the government of the kingdom at large or in its provinces; and 2) elected magistrates who governed a great number of cities in France.27 Bèze’s politics of diffused sovereignty, like that of Hotman or of the Vindiciæ, was grounded in the feudal oath tying lord and vassal into a bond of ‘mutual obligation.’ Just as the feudal lord could lose his fief should he commit a felony against his vassal, so too the modern king could lose his fief should he commit a felony against his subjects.28 This

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did not mean that the subjects could judge the king, but simply that the representatives of the people, the Estates and the lower magistrates, could. This theory of justice rested upon the principle of natural equality, which existed between lord, king, and subject.29 When this kind of justice was abused by someone who was bound by a ‘very explicit oath’ (serment tres-expres) it was considered a felony, and the person could be deposed.30 The pluralist principles of power argued by Hotman, the Vindiciae, and Bèze were taken up by d’Aubigné at least implicitly in the Tragiques and explicitly in Du Debvoir mutuel des roys et des subjects (1620), where he cites the Francogallia in the first paragraph. D’Aubigné was less monarchomaque than partisan of a royalty protected by the safeguards that would prevent the king from becoming a tyrant.31 But he was firmly attached to the tradition of limited monarchy of Gerson, Commynes, Seyssel, and Hotman, insisting that the power of the prince proceeds from that of the people (‘la puissance du Prince procède de celle du peuple par lequel il est Prince’).32 The power of the king was limited by that of the people and could not, in any case, surpass it. As d’Aubigné said, the prince ‘cannot have more power than that given him by the people.’33 The prince could not take more than he was given: he existed within a community that was defined in terms of multiple wills expressed through institutions such as the Estates General and the judiciary. The two different understandings of sovereignty sketched out here create two understandings of the political individual. According to Bodin, there were no political individuals since no one could enter into a contractual relation with the prince qua prince. The prince reigned above his people, as Keohane explains, separate from them. According to Hotman, Bèze, d’Aubigné, and others, the subjects of the king still existed as individuals who were necessary to the governance of the community since sovereignty arose from their participation. It is they who gave the king his power and this simple fact gave them an undeniable ontological status. For Bodin, the mutuality of power found in d’Aubigné’s Du Debvoir mutuel and in Hotman’s pamphlet is impossible in a truly monarchical state since the prince was ‘above the laws’ and could not, as such, enter into a contract with his subjects. A contract of the type vaunted by d’Aubigné or by Hotman was not possible in Bodin’s analysis since it would not be entered into by individuals of equal weight. Bodin makes a distinction between ‘law’ and ‘contract’:

210 The Gargantuan Polity It is necessary therefore not to confuse law and contract since the law depends on he who has the sovereignty, and who can obligate all his subjects, and who cannot obligate himself. And the convention is mutual between the Prince and his subjects which obligates the two parties reciprocally and neither of the parties can contravene it to the detriment of, and without the consent of, the other, unless the justice of the law which he has sworn to uphold ceases, in which case he is not held to his promise, as we have said. The subjects cannot do this among themselves unless they have been released by the Prince.34

Where Hotman and others defined sovereignty through mutual obligations, Bodin defined it as the ability to obligate others to oneself yet not be obligated oneself. For Bodin, the contractual relationship, which depended on an equality between partners to the contract, did not define sovereignty since power emanated not from the contract between king and subject, but from the king alone. There could be no equality between the two parties and, as such, no contractual individual could exist. As the title of his treatise Du debvoir mutuel des roys et des subjects indicates, d’Aubigné saw the relationship between prince and subjects in a very different light than Bodin. For d’Aubigné, this relationship between the king and his subjects was ‘mutual,’ each needing to respect his obligations.35 The king could be obligated by his subjects. As in Gerson, the king could ignore this fact only at the risk of hurting the body politic to which he was mutually bound. Despite his insistence on the mutuality of the relationship between king and subject, d’Aubigné recognized the difference that existed between the two parties of the contract. In order for the contract to have real meaning, the king had to be of good faith. Without this good faith, it would be impossible for a subject to enter into a contractual relation with the king. It was the lack of this good faith that tarnished the relation between king and subject in the Tragiques; when the king exceeded the limits of power granted him by the people, he was guilty of bad faith. D’Aubigné explained that ‘there is no explicit clause which exempts the prince from what he has contracted’ (ainsi il n’y a clause si expresse, qui puisse exempter le Prince de ce qu’il a contracté).36 The contractual nature of this power could not be made clearer; king and subject both played crucial roles in the creation of power. As in the Francogallia, the king, in d’Aubigné’s Du debvoir mutuel, could not take more power than was granted by the people.37 The orig-

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inal transfer of power from people to king represented an implicit check on the monarch’s power. It was the populus who had the power initially and who gave it to the king. The people gave the king his power as a gift in the same way that the Estates General gave the king the monies he needed to wage war and run his kingdom. Power resided in the people who alienated it in a contractual agreement, and they had the right to annul that contract should the other party to it, the king, break its terms and conditions. Unlike Bodin’s absolutist conception, d’Aubigné’s contractual conception of power accorded weight to the individual members of the populus. Where Bodin’s definition of sovereignty as the ability to obligate without being obligated oneself cut out, necessarily, the wills of the subjects, d’Aubigné’s definition of sovereignty bound these wills into the groundwork of political power. The Estates General: A Crucible of the Individual Will? In d’Aubigné’s day, as a century before, the most obvious manifestation of these somewhat abstract principles in real-world political institutions remained the Estates General. In the last quarter of the sixteenth century, the Estates became the litmus test of political sovereignty.38 Whether one views them as ‘decadent’ in actual practice or not, their place in the system remained crucial in defining the individual’s role in the polity. For Bodin, the king was naturally the sole possessor of political sovereignty and the Estates General had no power.39 Bodin, like many other commentators in the late sixteenth century, referred specifically to the Estates General of 1484, underlining the continued importance of this seminal event. In Bodin’s hands, these Estates took on a radically different appearance from that which Commynes had given them. Describing the speech that Jean de Rély made to the Estates, he makes use of Rély’s own words to prove his point that the Estates had a merely advisory role:40 also ones sees that in the assembly of the Estates of this Kingdom held in Tours, when King Charles VIII was a child, when the Estates had more power than ever before, the orator Relli, speaking for all the Estates, began in this way: Very high, very powerful, and very Christian King, our sovereign lord, your humble and very obedient subjects, etc., here by your command ... I have been authorized by this entire noble assembly to expose to you, the good will, cordial affection, the firm and fixed promise

212 The Gargantuan Polity that they have made to serve and obey you, and to provide for you in all affairs, orders, and pleasures. In a word, all the speeches and orations of the Estates are full of nothing but subjugation, service and obedience. The same is true at the Estates of Orléans.41

If Rély’s discourse is polite, like Gerson’s Vivat Rex or Philippe Pot’s oration at Tours in 1484, this is far from proving that ‘all the speeches and orations at the Estates bear nothing but subjugation, service, and obedience.’ Philippe Pot’s long oration, discussed in chapter 3, shows that just the opposite was true. It will be remembered that Pot’s disquisition proclaimed that sovereignty was in the hands of the Estates and was only bequeathed to the king as a gift. Bodin’s emphasis on the structural aspects of Rély’s oration rather than its content indicates his own position regarding the political power of the Estates. For Bodin, the Estates did not have any power to counteract the will of the king. Bodin’s position regarding the relationship of power between Estates and king is shared by many other jurists of his period. Michel de l’Hospital (1505–73), the moderate politique in the increasingly venomous quarrel between Protestants and Catholics, also stressed the Estate’s consultative status in his Discours d’Orléans, which he made before the Estates of Orléans on 13 December 1560. L’Hospital says: Undoubtedly early kings used to hold the Estates often, which were assembled by all their subjects, or by their deputies. And holding the estates was nothing else except an opportunity for the king to communicate with his subjects regarding his most important affairs, to take their counsel and advice, to hear also their complaints and grievances, and to take care of them within reason.42

Just as Bodin would in 1576, L’Hospital insisted on the merely consultative nature of the Estates. The Estates were viewed as a place where the king could ask for the advice, or the counsel, of his subjects, but L’Hospital never accorded them any juridical power. It was an occasion for the king to keep himself current about his subjects’ condition but not to submit himself to their authority.43 In order to clarify his point, L’Hospital had recourse to an image that came up frequently in the arguments of those who believed in a strong king: the seal of France, which showed the king seated on a throne making and meting out justice.44 Even in the middle of a speech before the Estates General, it was the figure of the king who held the power and made justice. The Estates General might be called, but it was still the king who did the calling.

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L’Hospital’s image of the king on the throne, rendering and making justice is important also since it showed how the king did not only mete out justice (rendant) but also made law (faisant). The roi législateur had become a political reality that could not be ignored any longer. Power was securely in the hands of the prince and those, like the Estates General, who wanted to impose their sovereignty on the king would have to submit to him. Huguenots were not the only ones who favoured the power of the Estates; the Catholic Leaguers also adopted an extremely positive view of the Estates General when the Protestant king, Henry IV, came to sit on the throne.45 Henry IV’s political skills, combined with a change in public attitude towards the Estates, eventually brought an end to the reforms of the earlier Estates and nullified the concessions that Henry III had been forced to make.46 Another apologist for an absolutist monarch, Louis Le Roy, went further in fragmenting the body politic when he complained about the presence of the uncouth Third Estate in the Estates General. Le Roy contrasts their ‘uncouthness’ with the dignity of the king in his De L’Excellence du gouvernement royal (1575). For Le Roy, a ‘worthy and pious’ king would necessarily be more powerful than the commoners of an Estates General. Would not the king, he asked, be more revered by his subjects and feared by foreigners than the councils made up of ‘vile artisans going from their shops to council, with barely time to change their clothes?’47 Le Roy’s arguments were direct and logical: popular councils would never be able to overcome the particular interests of their members who often spent most of their time in private business while in council and often argued among themselves rather than advising about the common good.48 Le Roy’s vision of the Estates effectively cut the voices of political individuals from the governance of the polis. His understanding of monarchy is important since it explains that the common interest was best represented by the king rather than by individuals. Returning to an argument present in the second half of Cretin’s poem about the emprisonment of Francis I at the Battle of Pavia, as well as in other texts such as Chasseneuz’s Catalogus, the king alone could resist the seditious temptation to think of his own private interest. Countries like France in which nobles, with feudal tenants, have influence over justice, do better under a monarch, who rules by absolute power and force, when it is necessary, restraining the great and the small, preventing the insolence of the ones, and the oppression of the others. Otherwise, recognizing no sover-

214 The Gargantuan Polity eign lord, to whom the common good of all is conferred and the care of preserving the civil union, they divide themselves by bands, not bringing to a good and even final end their actions, and are constantly afflicted by personal interests, invaded by foreigners, and oppressed on all sides.49

Only the strong king could protect the ‘civil union.’ The common interest was not considered as represented by the counterweights of king and subject, but by the king alone. If the power was passed to the subjects, France would end up the ‘mère affligée’ of particular interests described by d’Aubigné in the Tragiques and by Cretin in L’Apparition. Le Roy explained that the Estates had to be limited to a consultative role and power had to remain in the hands of a single person: It is a wonderful thing to hear the complaints and grievances of subjects, and to provide for them within reason, so long as their deputies, considering their conditions, needs, and practices, do not go too far, getting mixed up in important affairs they do not understand, to give their advice and counsel. They should be happy with the luck they have of approaching their king, and presenting to him their requests, and obtaining the necessary remedies and provisions.50

Le Roy knocked the stuffing out of the deliberative nature of the Estates General and made them purely consultative. Instead of representing a party to a contract, the Estates simply became an appendage to the king’s person who had all the power. The central argument of the absolutists was that the members of the Third Estate would not be able to overcome their private interest and would not be able to think of the common interest. Estienne Pasquier explained in perhaps one of the most important historical works of the sixteenth century, Les Recherches de la France, that the Estates General was incapable of governing for this reason. Pasquier sees the Parlement instead of the Estates General as the principal bridle on the king’s power.51 The difference between the parliamentarism of Pasquier and the politics based on the Estates General of Hotman was articulated around the question of the origin of the king’s power.52 For Hotman, this power came from the Estates, while for Pasquier royal power came from God and was only subsequently limited by human institutions.53 Hotman’s understanding of the polis, like that of Gerson, Meschinot, Commynes, Molinet, and others construed sovereignty as shared by king and people. Pasquier was more modern in the sense that, like

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Chasseneuz in the Catalogus, he claimed that power emanated from the person of the king and did not need to incorporate the populus. Where in Hotman the individual represented by the Estates General played a crucial role in constraining the king’s will, for Pasquier Parlement played that constraining role, but did not constitute a conflict with the king’s power. For Pasquier, it was necessary to reduce the role of the Third Estate. Although he admitted that the kings had called the Estates during the history of Gaul, he insisted that the ‘menu peuple’ were never included in these assemblies: And even more since some people, who think [the Estates] have played an important role in the Histories of France, see the Assembly of the Estates as part of an ancient tradition, considering even that the liberty of the people is built on it [the Estates]; in any case neither one nor the other is true. I know and am willing to recognize that in the earliest days in Gaul, and before the conquest of Julius Caesar, that Diets and general assemblies were held, and were continued by him [Julius Caesar] (with a hypocrisy common to the Romans) in order to make it seem that they [the Romans] kept for us our old freedoms and liberties. Yet in all these deliberations you will never see that the common people, about whom they cared no more than the number ‘O,’ were part of them.54

Pasquier’s Recherches clearly excluded the ‘menu peuple,’ who had been defended by Justice in Molinet’s Ressource, from any part of political power, and contrasted the nobility of modern Parlements with the vulgarity of the Estates.55 Even if the ancient ‘general assemblies’ of the Franks had been convened to help guarantee the ‘old freedoms and liberties’ they never included the ‘common people’ which, as he remarks, were called in sixteenth-century France, the ‘Third Estate.’ The common nature of the Third Estate renders it incapable of good governance; only the well born of the Parlement were capable of counselling the king’s God-given power. If in Hotman, as in Gerson and Molinet, individuals played a contrastive and complementary role to that of the king in order to control his will, in Pasquier that role was significantly reduced. Pasquier’s Parlement represented a control from within rather than from without – something like the cardinals as opposed to the councils in Cajetan. Power remained resolutely in the person of the king and emanated from his person. Members of Parlement represented a caution to that power, but did not constitute a counterweight to it as did the members of Hotman’s Estates.

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There is at least a tacit recognition of the will of the political subject in Pasquier’s description of the Estates General. It was because they defended their own interests to the detriment of that of the king that they proved themselves uninterested in defending the common interest, which was better represented by the monarch. Pasquier explains that the Estates had always proved expensive for the king. He remarks that ‘no one had ever called a General Assembly of the three Estates in this France without increasing the Finances [expenses] of our Kings as opposed to the diminution of those of the people’ (jamais on ne fit Assemblée generale des trois Estats en cette France, sans accroistre les Finances de nos Roys à la diminution de celles du peuple).56 Pasquier completely rejects the principle of the Estates General and advises the king never to call them. He reminds the king of the example of Charles VIII, who he claimed ended up having to give in to too many demands in his dealings with the Estates.57 Hotman also placed the Estates General at the very centre of the Francogallia’s politics. For Hotman, the elective tradition of French kings with its roots in Germanic councils, proved that kings did not have ‘unlimited, free and uncontrolled authority.’58 Hotman pleaded in favour of the Estates General, using the precedent of the Frankish tribes. Just as the Frankish tribes had avoided tyranny through their councils, which had the ability to depose a bad king, so too modern France was able to do this through the Estates General.59 Hotman explained that the annals prove that the people had the supreme power of deposing kings. The formal public council of the Frankish tribes was called, he claimed, the assembly of the Three Estates in later times.60 The Estates had the highest administrative power in the kingdom of Francogallia and the prince had to be named by this institution which could depose him according to its members’ will. The king’s sovereignty could not be greater than that given to him since he, as an individual, could not exist beyond or above this group.61 The Estates General become the real-world proving ground finally for the political theories espoused in works like Hotman’s Francogallia or Bodin’s République. How one viewed the question of sovereignty tended to determine how the Estates General were considered. Those who felt that sovereignty was extended throughout the body politic through the age-old tradition of contractual monarchy were prone to extol the virtues of the Estates, while those who thought sovereignty was uniquely held by the monarch tended to disavow them. Most important, at least for this discussion, is the value placed on the indi-

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vidual will in the various interpretations of the role of the Estates. If they were viewed as playing a merely remonstrative role, as they did in the analyses of Bodin, L’Hospital, or Pasquier, then the individual weighs little in the political balance. If the Estates were viewed as playing an advisory role in relation to the king, as they were in Hotman, then the individual weighs much more in this political balance. The relative political weight of the individual witnessed in these interpretations of the Estates will feature very prominently in perhaps the most important question regarding individual or human rights in the sixteenth century: how much violence could the state exert on the individual? The Rhetoric of Political Violence One of the most sensitive and telling points in any state concerns the ability of the government to inflict pain and suffering on an individual. Political violence had a very different meaning in the political states imagined by Bodin and by Hotman. If power was diffused through the Estates General and through mutual obligation, violence done to the individual by the prince could or had to be construed as violence done to the body politic itself since sovereignty was created by the agreement between various parts of the polis. The violence was an act of self-mutilation, much like that described by Gerson in his Vivat Rex; when the prince did violence to a member of the body politic, he did violence to his own power since his power was shared by the other person. If, on the other hand, power was understood as being held by one person, the prince, then political violence done to an individual had a very different meaning. It is not, by definition, self-mutilation since the king’s power was not shared by the other individual. The reaction, therefore, to the same act of violence, when it was defined as self-mutilation or as a necessary political act was very different. If, for those who believed in a diffused sovereignty, political violence exercised on a member of the body politic was ‘tragic,’ for an absolutist, such violence was, by definition, of a necessary and much less tragic nature. Believers in a more monarchical form of government, even the more moderate among them, saw little inconvenience in the elimination of sick parts of the body. Michel de l’Hospital adopted a didactic rhetoric in his Discours d’Orléans when he explained that it sometimes was necessary to cut off an infected limb to save the body:

218 The Gargantuan Polity Because if we are all like a body of which the king is the head, it is much better to cut off the rotten member than to allow it to spoil and corrupt the others and make them suffer death. If there were a man infected with the plague or with leprosy, you would chase him from your town; there is even more reason to chase the seditious.62

L’Hospital understood the elimination of an ‘infected’ part of the body as a question of public health; the cutting off of a part of the body politic was a reasonable act that good thinking and good rule understood as necessary. He counselled the king in his Ample Discours au roy sur le faict des quatre estats du royaume de France (1567) to ‘cut off the large and heavy members/ who are only an encumbrance to him’ (retrencher les membres gros et lourds/ Qui ne luy font qu’encombre).63 From L’Hospital’s point of view, the king had to act to protect not only his wellbeing but also that of the rest of the political body by eliminating a sick member. L’Hospital’s images of political amputation taught that this act, much like a painful inoculation, was good in the long term, even if it was disagreeable at the moment. Rhetorically, L’Hospital’s argument operated on a rational level and not on an emotional one. The historian and royal historiographer François de Belleforest (1530– 83) also defended the need to remove threats to the body politic with considerable vigour, but instead focused on unnatural bodies. In his Warning about the Rebellions (Advertissement sur les rébellions auquel est contenu qu’elle est la misere qui accompaigne les Traitres, seditieux, et rebelles et les recompenses qui les suivent selon leurs merites) (1569), both imagery and tone are considerably more emotional than in L’Hospital’s argument.64 The madness for Belleforest stems from the ‘furious venom’ of treason. Instead of seeing it as madness to harm the body, Belleforest saw it as a sign of reason to eliminate the hydra-like monster of sedition: It is not enough to begin a good work which is not carried out to its end: and never the heads of the Hydra stop growing back until fire and flame smothered all of this cursed monster. Heresy is a strange Serpent, treason is a furious venom, the desire of vengeance is a strange evil: but a good remedy is to be quick to cut, ruin, and wipe out everything, because once the head and the roots have been removed, it is no longer necessary to fear that the beasts will come back to life.65

In both Belleforest and L’Hospital, political violence is necessary in order to reestablish good public health. It was a good remedy for what

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ailed the public body to cut, ruin, annul, and cut off the head and roots of its unnatural cousin heresy. Once again, the basic concept was to save the health of the patient through necessary violence. Writers on the other side of the political divide tended to see the question very differently. Hotman and his allies were firmly against the king being able to harm the other parts of the body politic in order to save the whole. Following in the tradition of Gerson, the individual was considered such an integral part of the whole that to destroy the one was to destroy the whole. Hotman cited the speech which Louis the Pious made to the Estates of his kingdom in support of the inviolability of all parts of the body politic: ‘Although the highest authority in the government of the kingdom seems to reside in our person, it may be discerned that by divine authority and human ordinance it is so divided into parts that each one of you in his own place and rank may be recognized as possessing a share in our government.’ The same point is made in the twelfth chapter: ‘Each one of you is seen to possess one share among many in the government of the kingdom.’66

Sovereignty was so diffused in the entire body of the nation that it would be impossible to harm any one part of the body without doing egregious damage to the body as a whole. If each of the king’s subjects were construed as possessing a share in the government then any act of political violence brought to a subject would necessarily mean it was a form of political self-mutilation. It was unthinkable for the king to do violence to the body politic since he would be doing himself harm. Is it possible to talk of ‘an individual’ in the sixteenth century when each of these political contexts construed the inviolability of the political person so differently? If one of the most important rights of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen (1793) was the ability to avoid having the state bring harm to the individual, then what is to be made of the individual in these treatises who gives the king precisely these powers? And yet, once again, it is the more modern view here that diminishes the rights of the individual. It is in the treatises such as Hotman’s, anchored in the tradition of Gerson, the Estates General of 1484, and the Councils of Basel and Constance, that the greatest protection for the individual is accorded. Is it possible then to say that a modern individual was being born at this time? Bernard de Girard, seigneur Du Haillan, who was the historiogra-

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pher of Charles IX, wrote a work that brings into focus these two different approaches to power and political violence. His Histoire de France (1576) stages a debate in its first chapter between a defender of monarchy and a defender of an aristocratic republic that was supposed to have taken place at the time of Pharamond, the legendary Gallic king.67 Although the monarchical position sketched out in this debate and developed in the work itself is far from being an absolutist one (d’Aubigné refers to Du Haillan’s conception of monarchy as a just one), the opposition, both in language and in meaning, between the monarchical and the aristocratic regimes is helpful here since it shows how literary symbols and political structures sometimes are rooted in the same deep but hidden concepts. Although Du Haillan belittles rhetoric in his defence of history in the preface, the first chapter of the Histoire is a rhetorical tour de force.68 The rhetorical nature of the debate is clearly enunciated from the very start, despite Du Haillan’s protestations about the fallaciousness of rhetoric in the preface. In his ‘fabulous beginning,’ as Pierre Bayle would later note, Du Haillan staged a very believable debate between imaginary characters, Charamond and Quadrek, who argue about the superiority of monarchical versus aristocratic republicanism.69 Charamond, who defends monarchy, and Quadrek, who defends an aristocratic republic, debate in front of a public assembly that is to decide what kind of government the Gallic nation is to adopt. It seems, reading the Histoire, that Du Haillan wanted to give a textbook-perfect example of the deliberative rhetorical mode that traditionally placed two individuals debating about a future action in front of a public assembly.70 Charamond begins by defending monarchy since it most resembles what happens in nature. He cites examples from the natural world which support his claim: And have no doubt that this monarchical government is the only tool and instrument of your peace, like that which most resembles the government of the gods and the effects of Nature, who by her own will in all her works made a king, and a thing who commands and presides over all the others of his kind. If we want to follow her [Nature’s] example, we will see all around her the example of the government of monarchy. Honey bees have a king, the storks choose one among them who goes first, and makes the point of their triangular squadron. The flocks of animals have their own head, like the billy among the goats, the ram among the sheep, and other flocks have a Shepherd. If we want to look to the heavens, there

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is a sovereign God, who commands all the other gods, and who governs the universe. Among these creatures, man presides, among the beasts, the lion presides, among the birds, the eagle presides ... all things, made by the Creator of the universe, and by nature who is his servant minister, have been made in the form of a monarchy, in which one commands all the others ...71

Just as storks, bees, and sheep all have one leader so too human beings should also have one leader. Natural order is the metaphor that Charamond uses to construct his argument for monarchical power.72 He explains that to live under a republic with several heads, literally, on one body, would be unnatural.73 He concludes the first part of his argument by saying that these examples from nature prove that reason and experience resist living under anything but a monarchy.74 In his refutation of Charamond’s argument, Quadrek defends an aristocratic republican ideal by placing political organization in the will of individuals whose opinions are necessary for the good governance of the state: Lords, since what we are debating consists more in matters of fact than in examples, I will not bother to respond to those [examples] from nature that Charamond has proposed. I want, however, to maintain by reason that we must choose an aristocratic government rather than a monarchical one. In order to govern, to decide, and to resolve important things, the opinions of several wise people who have met and agreed are much better, and assure a better remedy, than the opinion of one alone, since it is difficult for one person to have so much wisdom that he might do this.75

Where Charamond’s argument had relied upon examples from nature as the best model of government, Quadrek’s theory of multiple opinions places sovereignty firmly in the hands of the people as the result of multiple wills.76 It is remarkable how both Quadrek and Charamond’s arguments deploy metaphors of power similar to those found in political treatises from throughout the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The multiplicity of opinions in Quadrek’s argument are like those used by the Councils of Constance and of Basel, and those of Molinet’s Ressource, etc., while the natural examples in Charamond’s argument are like those in Chasseneuz’s Catalogus and in the Concordat of Bologna. Power that issues from individual human voices (and opinions) is multiple, while power that issues from one person echoes the relationship of ani-

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mals in nature. Quadrek’s argument places power firmly in the deliberative opinion of several people.77 In order to prove how dangerous and unjust a monarchical government is, Quadrek makes an enthymeme, a rhetorical syllogism, that proves that it is madness for an individual to put himself in the power of someone who has the power of life or death over him: I will turn to you Frankish Lords and tell you that to live under a Royalty similar to that one under which several of our neighbours live is to live in a perpetual and cruel servitude, and that to live under a republic is to live in freedom. Those who can live in freedom and want to submit themselves to servitude, you will agree that they are not only mad, but frantic. If you, Frankish Lords, who are the nation among all the other nations, who are the most free and the most used to living in freedom, and who have felt the yoke of servitude the least, if you, I say, throw yourselves without being constrained, into this condition, which is Royalty ... there will be no one who does not think you mad and rabid ...78

The syllogistic nature of this argument is nearly perfect. To live under a royal monarchy is a cruel servitude; to submit oneself to servitude is madness; therefore, it is madness to submit oneself to a monarchical government.79 Madness, voluntary servitude, and monarchical government are linked in a spiralling fall into death, destruction, and loss. It is difficult not to be moved by the force of his logic. It is also notable that Quadrek’s argument depends on individual ratiocination or logic rather than natural order. His argument is of a piece with his politics; individual will is necessary for the pluralistic kind of power he defends, and individual arguments are used to persuade other individuals through the power of the mind. The issue of political violence is brought up in Quadrek’s amplification of his argument. The dates of Du Haillan’s work are noteworthy: it was published just a few years after the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre (1572) and during some of the worst political violence ever carried out in France during the wars of religion. Whether one believed the king was a part of, or above, the body politic changed the meaning of the king’s turning the sword on his people. Quadrek illustrates his argument with the figure of someone who turns his sword against himself. He clearly sides with those who think that the king does not have the right to turn the sword on his people:

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he who submits the power of his life and death to the mercy and the violence of another is no less rabid and commits no less a crime than he who draws and turns his sword against himself.80

The image refers in particular to the minor term of his earlier argument, that to submit oneself to servitude is madness. The figure of the person turning the sword on himself symbolizes that kind of madness and, by extension, becomes the symbolic equivalent of monarchical government in Quadrek’s argument. The sword is a remarkably powerful trope since, as Bodin explains in his Methodus, it was the symbol of ‘merum imperium,’ of sovereignty.81 It figures the sovereign right to extend violence to the individual. According to Quadrek, to relinquish that sovereignty to the monarch was as criminal as turning one’s sword on oneself. This image of the monarchical subject as someone turning his sword on himself represents the high point of Quadrek’s argumentation. It leads very quickly to an indignant peroration in which Quadrek, dropping the use of conditional propositions, passes judgment on the gathered public assembly, which he accuses of being mad, and promises to flee in voluntary exile to avoid having to participate in the demise of French liberty.82 Charamond’s proleptic response to Quadrek quickly extinguishes the flames brought to life by Quadrek’s indignatio. Saying quite specifically that he needs to stop the people from being moved (‘pour empescher que le peuple ne n’esmeust’), Charamond immediately downplays the image of madness that Quadrek has associated with monarchical government.83 Attempting to bring Quadrek’s syllogistic figures within the bounds of his own topos of natural order and unity, Charamond says that it is a mistake to call monarchical government a form of servitude.84 He adds that the ‘factions and civil seditions’ that have troubled their nation are born of the ambition of several parties who want to govern and command. This is why, following the example of the Gods who obeyed the Royal Empire of Jupiter, the Frankish people had resolved to elect a king who would be able to ‘bridle and refrain the fury and insolence of some people.’85 He repeats his assertion that Quadrek’s remonstration had only aimed at ‘moving’ (esmouvoir) the people in order to stir up the state. Charamond begins his refutation, which appropriates Quadrek’s figure of the person taking the sword to himself as a metaphor of madness, by attacking the minor term of Quadrek’s enthymeme, implying

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that it is not necessarily madness to abandon some of one’s freedom in order to save one’s life. Charamond says: He who places his hands or the sword on different parts of his body, or who has it done by another, in order to cut off the defective parts of the body, from which putrefaction or gangrene is feared, that person, I say, is not at all evil or mad or furious, as it seems to you, but is rather prudent and well advised, and takes care of his body and his health.86

By doing this he takes the wind out of Quadrek’s conclusion. If it is prudent to cut off a sick member to save the body as a whole, it is not mad to choose monarchy as a form of government. Now the person taking the sword to himself becomes a figure of good government. To take the sword to oneself, or have someone else do it, is no longer madness but prudent and shows that the person is trying to take care of his body and of his health. The rhetoric of political violence is integrally related to the kind of political imaginary used to conceive of the state. For Quadrek, who understood the state as depending on the assembly of multiple voices, the sword was a sign of madness and gave rise to an indignant oration. For Charamond, whose examples from nature gave the state a much more organic structure, the sword was a sign of political health and reason and was enunciated as part of a political lesson. Politics and rhetoric are of a piece. As Francis Goyet has so eloquently shown, rhetoric evolved from an emotional form (movere) to a more didactic form (docere) throughout the sixteenth century.87 As power became more unified it was less a question of convincing political partners than of explaining a doctrine. This distinction is clearly evident in the debate from the Histoire in which Quadrek attempts to move his listeners to revolt against an act of monarchical violence which Charamond explains as a necessary if not painful act of public hygiene. Opinion and emotional rhetoric are countered by examples from nature and didactic rhetoric. For the defender of a political system in which opinions were important, it was only natural that the elimination of a member of the body politic would represent a form of political suicide. For a defender of a political system in which power was wielded by one person and the subjects were construed as similar to animals with no political will, an act of political violence was not a form of madness, but a form of political reason. The reaction to the sword was also radically different

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depending on whether the political subject was considered metaphorically as an animal, or as a source of necessary opinion. For the person who believed he lived in a state in which his voice was important, the reaction to the sword could only be emotional. For the person who believed he lived in a state in which he was considered as a member of a flock, or of a herd, the reaction would be very different. The meaning of the silencing of the lambs would also be very different. For the monarchical apologist, the silencing of the sick animal had no meaning since that animal had no voice in the running of the flock or herd. His elimination could only be considered beneficial to the health of the other animals. For the defender of an aristocratic republic, such a silence could only mean the death of the state since an important party in the structure of shared sovereignty had been eliminated. Du Haillan’s image of the person putting the sword to himself becomes in many ways one of the ultimate representations of the premodern individual. The well-being of the polis in which this reasoning individual had a role depended on the exercise of his will. Perhaps the best term to describe him would be ‘deliberative’ in the sense that his will or opinion was crucial to the well-being of the state. Power was dependent on deliberation, and without it mal governo was inevitable. Whether in Gerson’s Harengue, Pot’s speech before the Estates of 1484, Commyne’s Mémoires, or Seyssel’s Monarchie, premodern politics depended on these voices of contestation. To relinquish that ability and that freedom was a form of suicide, which is what submitting to Charamond’s monarchy meant. That premodern individual literally put himself to death in the new political paradigm in which power descended from above like rain from the sky. D’Aubigné’s Tragiques (1616): The Death of the Premodern Individual The tragedy of d’Aubigné’s Tragiques relies, at least in part, on the same basic disagreement found in many of these texts dealing with political organization. Taking the sword to a sick member of the flock of which he was the shepherd was simply a matter of good sense for Charles IX and the proponents of a strong, absolutistic monarchy. For d’Aubigné and the other ‘victimes’ of this violence, the same act was a sign of madness. For d’Aubigné, if the king attacked one part of the body, he inevitably imperilled the health of the rest since sovereignty was shared by them all. At the emotional and rhetorical heart of the Tragiques lies the

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political conception of king and subject, head and member, inextricably related. As d’Aubigné explains in the second book of the Tragiques: Le peuple estant le corps & les membres du Roy, Le Roy est chef du peuple, & c’est aussi pourquoy La teste est frenetique & pleine de manie Qui ne garde son sang pour conserver sa vie, Et chef n’est plus chef quand il prend ses esbats A coupper de son corps les jambes et les bras.88 The people being the body and the members of the King, The King is the head of the people, and it is also why The head is frenetic and full of madness Which does not take heed to protect his blood in order to preserve his life, And the head is no longer head when it takes pleasure In cutting from its body the legs and the arms.

Like Gerson and Du Haillan’s Quadrek, d’Aubigné could only understand the king’s brutalizing his own political body as a form of madness and self-destruction. The whole was composed of individual parts and the destruction of any one part was necessarily dangerous for the whole. D’Aubigné’s great poem about the suffering of the Huguenots at the hands of the French king is a memorial to the premodern understanding of individualism in which the individual was defined through obligation and not by subjectivity. The Tragiques can be read as a long indignatio fleuve, and its dominant rhetorical mode is emotional.89 The indignation that moves so much of the work is rooted in the belief that the king and his subjects are tied together through a bond of mutual obligation. For d’Aubigné, the relationship between the king and his people was undeniably a contractual one, and when the king committed violence on his people he did them egregious harm. It is the silencing of the voices of those subjects bound to the king through the contract that provides the truly tragic part of this most rhetorical work. Written from the viewpoint of the victims of the king’s violence, the Tragiques’s rhetorical mode is resolutely emotional. The narrative frame tightens the focus of the horror by never bringing the henchmens’ point of view into the picture. In the Fers section of the poem, the prince’s ‘sword’ is applied to an ailing part of the body. In one extremely moving scene, the narrator

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describes how two of the bodies floating in the Seine were put there by the king’s ‘unjust justice.’ He describes how the hair of one of the women thrown into the Seine by the king’s men during the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre has caught on the bulwark of the Pont-auxMeuniers in Paris. To the narrator, the woman’s eyes seem to rise from the river water looking for justice: Mais qu’est-ce que je voy? un chef qui s’entortille, Par les volans cheveux, autour d’une cheville Du pont tragique, un mort qui semble encore beau, Bien que pasle et transi, demi caché en l’eau; Ses cheveux, arrestans le premier precipice, Levent le front en haut qui demande justice. Non ce n’est pas ce poinct que le corps suspendu Par un sort bien conduict a deux jours attendu; C’est un sein bien aimé, qui traine encor en vie, Ce qu’attend l’autre sein pour chere compagnie. Aussi voy-je mener le mari condamné, Percé de trois poignards aussi tost qu’amené, Et puis poussé en bas, où sa moitié pendue Receut l’aide de lui qu’elle avoit attendue: Car ce corps en tombant des deux bras l’empoigna, Avec sa douce prise accouplé se baigna, Trois cent precipités, droit en la mesme place, N’ayant peu recevoir ni donner cetter grace. Appren, homme de sang, & ne t’efforce point A desunir les corps que le ciel a conjoint.90 But what do I see? A head entangled, By its flowing hair, around a bolt Of the tragic bridge, a dead person, still lovely, If only pale and perished with cold, half hidden in the water, Her hair, caught by the precipice, Raises up her forehead which looks for justice. No it is not this point that the hanging body By a well led fate has awaited for two days, It is a well loved breast, which struggles still in life, That the other breast awaits for dear company. Also I see the condemned husband led, Pierced by three knives as soon as he arrives,

228 The Gargantuan Polity And then tossed below, where his other half lying in the water, Receives the aid of him she had awaited: Because this body while falling, grasped it With two arms, And coupled with his soft hold floated away, Three hundred thrown, right in the same place, Able neither to receive nor give any grace. Learn, man of blood, and do not try To disunite the bodies which the heavens joined.

The justice the young woman looks for is rooted in a politics that would recognize her as part of the mutual contract of king and subject; her dead body symbolizes the demise of that contract. Her dead body is a metonymic symbol of the lack of respect paid her personal well-being that was supposed to be guaranteed by the contract linking her to her king. The irony in this scene is reflected in the woman’s empty gaze. Since her voice has been silenced, her voiceless eyes can only look hopelessly for justice. Her eyes are dead since power has been taken from her and consolidated in the hands of the prince who can, and does, rule according to his own will. This scene depends on the reader’s understanding that justice is based on the woman’s contractual relationship to the king; as part of that contract, he was supposed to have protected her. Just as in Molinet’s Ressource, the emotional power of the work is rooted in the lack of justice accorded the aggrieved individual and explained only by the king’s madness. The emotion of the scene is directly related to the voicelessness of the victim. It is because the dead woman cannot speak of her loss that the narrator is obligated to speak for her. She represents a polis in which the opinion of the subject has been violently silenced. The voiceless woman can in some ways be considered, at least from d’Aubigné’s point of view, as the symbolic equivalent of Gaster’s lack of ears. If the king does not listen to his subjects, they cease to exist as human beings and can be eliminated as easily as sheep from a flock. The emotion of the scene is rooted in the injustice of such a political state. The woman’s right to exist as an individual has been eradicated by the shift in power away from the contract binding the king to her and towards his own person. The emotional impact of d’Aubigné’s text always brings the reader’s

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gaze back to the victim’s point of view. The sword of political violence having pierced it, the body of the state loses life and blood flows from it. The bodies of the victims are carried away by the current of the river, which are the ‘blood vessels and arteries’ of France. The body politic is emptied of its blood as the contract of mutual obligation lies broken and useless; there is nothing to prevent the king from bleeding the body since he is no longer, according to his own lights, dependent on the blood or political approval of his subjects. Now the king can and does exercise his will on his subjects without having to worry about their approbation. The king can and does cut out the parts of the body politic that do not obey his will. The tragedy is, of course, that the victims do not understand that he can do this; for them the king is still obligated to respect the contract binding them together. The viewpoint in this passage is clearly that of the victims who look to the king for a justice that he no longer understands the same way they do. His power, his ability to exercise his will through the sword, emanates entirely from his person. Cut off from the king, the body of the woman floating in the Seine does not exist as an individual possessed of a will, but rather she exists as an impediment to the good governance of the state which is controlled entirely by the will of the king. The narrative point of view and the emotional rhetoric give a very partisan vision of the king and his entourage. At the same time that the young woman at the Pont-aux-Meuniers looks with dead eyes towards an absent justice, women in the king’s court at the Louvre look down at the bodies floating by in the Seine. The lack of concern in the eyes of the king’s entourage adds to the emotional force of the image of the victims floating lifelessly in the river: quand fenestres, creneaux Et terraces servoyent à contempler les eaux, Si encores sont eaux. Les dames mi-coiffees A plaire à leurs mignons s’essayent eschauffees, Remarquent les meurtris, les membres, les beautés, Bouffonnent salement sur leurs infirmités. A l’heure que le ciel fume de sang et d’ames, Elles ne plaignent rien que les cheveux des dames.91 when windows, crenellations, And terraces were used to contemplate the waters,

230 The Gargantuan Polity If they are still waters. The ladies, with hair half undone, To please their little darlings they wear themselves out, Making remarks about the bruises, the members, the beauties, of the dead, Joking cruelly about their infirmities. At the moment when the sky smokes with blood and souls, Their only regret is for the coiffures of the ladies.

There is less wilful cruelty in the ladies’ gaze upon the bodies in the Seine than horrifying indifference. The only thing that moves them is the unkempt hair of the women’s bodies floating past. The hair shares the synecdochic quality of the dead woman at the Pont-aux-Meuniers. In both cases, it is the lack of moral justness that fuels d’Aubigné’s anger. They, like the murdered subjects, have lost their political status. They have been reduced to animalistic indifference to human suffering. More concerned with pleasing their ‘little darlings’ than with the tragedy before them, they reduce these dead bodies to objects devoid of human meaning. Although the ladies in the Louvre have voices, they do not use language to judge the morality of this scene. They are not political animals in the sense used by Aristotle since they are incapable of making a judgment regarding the just or unjust nature of the scene. They notice the bodies and laugh at their infirmities. D’Aubigné wants the king and his ladies to see the injustice done to these bodies. The tragedy for d’Aubigné lies in the prince’s inability to understand his obligation to protect his subjects which had been as important for Grandgousier as it had been for Gerson. Like Charles IX himself, the ladies in the Louvre are ‘animals’ because they have lost the ability to understand how immoral their actions are. It is because they have become animal-like that the consciousness of the woman tossed in the river has been extinguished. If the ladies in the Louvre had been able to appreciate the horror of what they had done the tragedy would be lessened, but it is because they have lost the ability to judge morally that the state is no longer ‘political.’ It is the selfishness of the ladies and their ‘mignons’ that shocks; they have no empathy for the victims since they are concerned only with their private affairs. The portrait of the king, Charles IX, is as colourful and pitiful as that of his betrayed subject. As the ladies in the Louvre watch the bodies floating by, d’Aubigné depicts Charles IX shooting at them with his cross-bow. This brutal act is viewed as a form of madness, of the sort that Quadrek attributed to monarchy in the Histoire:

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Nostre Sardanapale. Ridé, hideux, changeant, tantost feu, tantost pasle. Spectateur, par ses cris tous enroüés servoit De trompette aux maraux; le hasardeux avoit Armé son lasche corps; sa valeur estonnee Fut, au lieu de conseil, de putains entournee; Ce Roy, non juste Roy, mais juste harquebusier, Giboyait aux passans trop tardifs à noyer!92 Our Sardanopolis. Wrinkled, hideous, capricious, now flame, then pale. Spectator, his hoarse cries were Trumpets for his rogues; his values shaken, Surrounded by whores instead of counsel; This King, this unjust King, but quite just archer, Shot at those taking too much time to drown passing below.

The transformation of Charles IX from king into hunter of his people, like the portrayal of his ladies indifferent to the suffering of the victims, points once again to how the polis has been reconfigured. The king views his subjects not as human beings with whom he shares sovereignty, but as animals he can hunt down and kill. It is a mad extrapolation of the sort of natural metaphors of power from Du Haillan’s Histoire. The subjects viewed as animals have lost their political status as the mad king assumes the power that was supposed to have been his only through their consent. From the point of view of the victims, Charles IX is the picture of the tyrant himself. ‘Capricious,’ ‘badly counselled,’ and cruel, he could not be more evil. He emits sounds (cris) rather than words. The antithetical pairings ‘conseil/putains’ and ‘non juste Roy/ juste arquebusier’ reveal the essential corruptness of this unjust king. He is everything that writers such as Commynes, Seyssel, Hotman, Bèze, and the author of the Vindiciae had tried to prevent. His ‘disorderly will’ is uncontrolled and he ends up shooting at the bodies of his subjects. The relationship of mutual obligation could not be more radically abused than in this image, which represents the ultimate in bad faith. The king, instead of recognizing his debt to his subjects, fires on them. It would seem that nothing could justify more strongly a rebellion on the part of the king’s subjects.

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There is a cruel irony is this passage nonetheless. The moral outrage that nourishes the image is grounded in the sense of betrayal the king’s actions arouse in the victims. The king should not be doing these things: he should not be capricious, he should not be weak, he should be well counselled, he should not surround himself with prostitutes, and finally, he should not be firing his cross-bow at his subjects. The sense of betrayal is anchored in the sense of mutual obligation that the king has ignored but which the subjects have continued to respect. This is where the irony becomes tragic, since it is only the subjects who continue to see the relationship between king and subject as one of ‘mutuel debvoir.’ It is obvious that these bodies are not tragic for the king in the same way they were for d’Aubigné. For the king, these bodies represent the necessary elimination of a seditious danger to the state. The king’s sovereignty is not tied to these bodies and he can, and perhaps must, eliminate them. Monarchy represents, after all, at least in the king’s mind, and in that of his followers, a hierarchical state of nature in which the king’s subjects must obey him the way animals obey their leaders or that the universe obeys its creator. Power emanates from his person and does not depend on an underlying contract with his subjects. To obey the king, as Charamond explained in Du Haillan’s Histoire, is not a form of servitude; it is the most natural and efficacious means of existence. As Ronsard says in his Continuation du discours des miseres de ce temps à la Royne (1562), it is the seditious rebels who are tyrannical and who endanger the body politic: Mais ces nouveaux Tyrans qui la France ont pillée, Volée assassinée, à force dépouillée, Et de cent mille coups le corps lui ont batu.93 But these new Tyrants who have pillaged, robbed, assassinated, and forcefully stripped France bare, And beaten her with a hundred thousand blows.

Though the corps politique is the same, it is the rebels who tyranically impose their will. Power is not shared between king and subjects, but emanates from the king and to go against that power is to go against nature. Like the critics of the Estates General who saw a strong king as a protection from ‘les volontés désordonnées’ of the people, Ronsard sees the seditious subjects as a plural entity which imperils the

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natural order of the state. They represent an affront to the hierarchical order: Cela desplait à Dieu, cela déplait au Prince, Cela n’est qu’un appas qui tire la province A la sedition, laquelle sous toy Pour avoir liberté, ne vouldra plus de Roy.94 That is displeasing to God, and to the Prince, That is nothing but a lure which drags the province To sedition, which under you In order to have liberty, no longer wants a king.

The emphasis is placed on the displeasure that this seditious activity creates for God and for the prince. The power is clearly on the prince’s side and all attempts to achieve ‘liberté’ are understood as an indication that the seditious subject does not want to put up with the yoke of servitude any longer. For Ronsard, as for Du Haillan’s Charamond, ‘douce servitude’ under a prince is eminently preferable to ‘les volontés désordonnées’ of the ‘chose publique.’ Where opinion represented a crucial part of the political spectrum for Gerson and for Quadrek in Du Haillan’s Histoire, for Ronsard, opinion is the source of political unrest.95 Ronsard explains in his Remonstrance au peuple de France (1562) that human beings lose their ability to reason when opinion, ‘daughter of fantasy,’ leads them to seditious riot: La seule opinion fait les hommes armer, Et frere contre frere au combat animer, Perd la religion, renverse les grands villes, Les couronnes des Roys, les pollices civilles, Et apres que le peuple est soubs elle abbatu, Lors le vice et l’erreur surmontent la vertu. Or cette opinion fille de fantasie Outre-volle l’Afrique et l’Europe et l’Asie, Sans jamais s’arrester, car d’un vol nompareil Elle atteinct un en jour la course du Soleil.96 Opinion alone makes men take up arms, She makes brother fight with brother, She makes them lose religion, destroy great towns,

234 The Gargantuan Polity Knock down kings’ crowns, and abolish civilized customs, And once the people have been cut down by her, Then vice and error overcome virtue. And now this opinion, daughter of fantasy, Flies over Africa, and Europe, and Asia, Without stop, her unequalled flight allows Her to reach the course of the Sun in a day.

Although Ronsard recognizes the fallibility of the king, power also shifts in his ‘address’ (discours) to the monarch.97 A diffused sovereignty of the type described by Gerson or Quadrek in the Histoire only leads to sedition and the break-up of the polis. The hierarchical order of Chasseneuz’s Catalogus or of Du Haillan’s Charamond would seem closer to his political ideal. Obviously, the power of individual wills is greatly diminished in this more regalian polis. The individual wills of the king’s subjects must be brought under control in the same way that the king’s ‘disorderly will’ was thought to have been brought under control by Commyne’s counterweights or Seyssel’s bridles. The bridle is simply now in the hands of the king and is used to control the state instead of the other way around. If d’Aubigné’s steadfastness (fermeté) allowed him to make the vehement and unforgettable portraits of the Tragiques, it also prevented him from realizing, even as late as 1620, in his Du Debvoir mutuel des roys et des subjects, how anachronistic a limited view of monarchical power was in the early seventeenth century. D’Aubigné continued to believe in a contractual or limited form of monarchical power long after the absolutist paradigm had become a political reality.98 The emotional impact of the Tragiques depends on the narrative voice always being that of the victims on the business end of the sword. His own irony is addressed at those who do not understand the consensual nature of sovereignty. In his Du Debvoir mutuel, he sarcastically alludes to an ambassador who had asked for equity or fairness, and to whom a secretary had replied: Laissons ce mauvais mot, on ne mene pas ainsi les Roix: ce mot d’équité n’est que de pareils à pareils. Il faut parler aux Rois comme aux Roix, et pleust à Dieu que les Cours de Parlement n’eussent point appris comme souveraines à ne s’attacher plus au terme du droit en jugeant (comme ils disent) ex æquo et bono.99

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Leave this evil word, one does not treat Kings this way: this word equity only applies to those of equal rank. It is necessary to speak to Kings like Kings, and thanks to God that the Parlements have never learned, as sovereigns have, to no longer submit themselves to the terms of law by judging (as they say) ex aequo et bono.

The implied irony is clear: the king should not be able to place himself above his subjects. For d’Aubigné, the irony is that this secretary does not understand that subjects (or at least some of them) should be able to speak on an equal basis with the king. The king should be able to hear his subjects. The tragic irony is in d’Aubigné’s own blindness; he cannot see that what he describes ironically is the political reality of his time. In the Tragiques, the tragedy of the poem turns finally on the phrase that demarcates the French political spectrum of the sixteenth century: ‘car tel est mon plaisir.’ It appears in d’Aubigné’s portrayal of Charles IX as a Nero watching his country burn: Ainsi l’embrasement des masures de France Humilie le peuple, esleve l’arrogance Du tyran, car au pris que d’impuissance naist, Au pris peut-il pour loy prononcer: Il me plaist. Le peuple n’as des yeux à son mal; il s’applique A nourrir son voleur en cerchant heretique.100 Thus the burning of the hovels of France Humiliates the people, increases the arrogance Of the tyrant, because despite being born with no power, He can, for a price, pronounce as law: It pleases me. The people cannot see its own illness; it wears itself out Feeding the thief by looking for heretics.

Despite being born, the same as other men, without power, d’Aubigné’s Charles IX, like Chasseneuz’s king, can exert his will absolutely, if only for a very steep price. If for d’Aubigné and Hotman, this formula ‘Il me plaist’ is the mark of the tyrant’s abuse of power, for the king, as Bodin explains, it is the very essence of his power.101 These words indicate that the laws of the sovereign prince depend on his ‘pure et franche volonté.’ For the king, these words offer a guaranty of the rightness of

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his power. For d’Aubigné, they are the proof of his moral decrepitude. The king looks out on the burning houses of France and sees something far different from what d’Aubigné sees. D’Aubigné sees a capricious tyrant who does not submit himself to the laws of the country. The narrator, like the people ‘qui n’a des yeux à son mal’ cannot understand that the king, in his own eyes, is a prince à la Bodin, above the laws and absolutely incapable, by his own status, of entering into a contractual relation with his subjects. His subjects, or at least those described by d’Aubigné, continue to do themselves harm by believing that the prince cannot be indifferent to their plight, since they were, in their own minds at least, part of a contract of power tying them to their king. They are blind to the political abyss separating them from their ruler who understood power emanating solely from his own person. The conclusion of Fers brings this tragic différend to its culminating point and offers a stark image of the development of a modern political identity. Here, at last, after so many passages in which the difference between the henchmen and the victims has been explicit, we find an ‘us’ (nous) which refers to both ‘bourreaux’ and ‘victimes’ who are locked in a bloody and ambiguous embrace. Both those who held the sword and those who felt its pain are combined in this terrible image. The tragedy lies in the awful irony of the enunciative voice: Nous sommes pleins de sang, l’un en perd, l’autre en tire, L’un est persecuteur, l’autre endure martyre: Regardez qui reçoit ou qui donne le coup, Ne criez sur l’agneau quand vous criez au loup.102 We are full of blood, yet while one loses, the other only gets more, One is persecutor, the other martyr: Look at who is hit, and who hits, Do not yell at the sheep when you yell at the wolf.

This scene represents a terrible conclusion to the evolution of political individuals in the sixteenth century since the terms used to describe this ‘nous’ no longer mean the same thing to the different parties involved. For those such as d’Aubigné, the ‘nous’ represents the basis of political sovereignty through the contract of mutual obligation. It is because the king ignored that contract that the rivers of France are filled with the blood of the king’s subjects. To spill the blood of these political individuals was tragic and suicidal since they formed a necessary part

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of the polis. As in Gerson’s Vivat Rex, when the king took the sword to a part of the body politic he necessarily killed himself since his sovereignty was shared with that of his subjects. The subject and the king had a common interest in maintaining their common sovereignty. The opinion, or voice, of the subject played a necessary role in the governance of the state. For the king, the ‘nous’ represented two distinct entities: himself and his powerless subjects. It was because he had ‘merum imperium,’ because he could rule according to his own will, that his subjects had become sheep. When their blood was spilled, it was not sovereignty that was lost but merely the vital substance of a sickly animal who endangered the health of the body politic which is understood totally in relationship to the king’s well-being and will. The ‘opinion’ of the subjects is no more important or meaningful than the bleating of the sheep which is being cut from the flock. The institution of power is meant to control the flock and is not meant to be understood as being made up of the voices or wills of the individuals within it. It is, of course, the king’s interpretation that is the correct one and the emotional power of d’Aubigné’s poem is rooted in the sad realization of this truth. In the king’s version, the one that construes the king’s subjects as sheep that can be eliminated at the will of the king, political individuals no longer exist. They have been reduced to the status of non-political animals who cannot understand themselves as individuals within a polis. The political space in which individuals could function has been severely limited. By reducing them to sheep under the control of a single shepherd, the new political organization effectively eliminated them as political subjects. When their voices are eliminated, it has no more importance than would the silencing of a sick lamb whose voice would express pain or pleasure but not political judgment. For the king it is expedient to eliminate those members of the body politic who endanger its health. In the king’s understanding of this ‘nous,’ sovereignty was not something that connected lord and vassal through bonds of obligation, but a force, a power, which was absolute and undivided. Its very absoluteness denied its division or pluralization. The bonds of justice through mutual obligation that characterized Molinet’s Ressource du petit peuple, Meschinot’s Les Lunettes des princes, and Commyne’s Mémoires no longer existed. The absoluteness of power, its dependence on the ‘franche volonté du roi,’ has ruptured the bonds that bound the body politic together. The right of the ‘people,’ as the initiators of the king’s power through the ancient election of Frankish

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kings, has disappeared as the king ruled without constraint. The fact that the Tragiques was published nearly at the same time as the Estates General disappeared was not perhaps a coincidence. It was during the period from 1614 to 1789 when the Estates General were not held that monarchical politics was at its most absolute.103 The bodies of French subjects floating in the rivers of France represent the antithesis of the sort of state found in Rabelais’s Gargantua or dreamed of by Gerson. The mutuality of obligation and the ethos of common interest made this sort of tragedy unimaginable in Grandgousier’s kingdom. Picrochole had led his people to a sad end since he had ignored the principle of common interest and thought only of his own. It was inevitable then that he also come to a sorry end along with his people. The noisy and linguistic vibrancy of Grandgousier’s kingdom offered a dramatic contrast with the animal-like cries of Gaster’s kingdom. Now, the silent and dead eyes of the woman thrown into the Seine bear witness to Charles IX’s tyrannical abuse of power.104 The woman’s dead eyes look for justice because the king had not listened to her plea for equitable treatment. The moral outrage of the Tragiques is grounded in the sense that there must be some form of divine punishment – the same sense of moral reckoning that irrigated the political and literary texts of the fifteenth century.105 Charles IX’s firing on his subjects like so many fowl is structurally similar to Gaster’s reacting to his people through non-linguistic cries. In both cases, the political subject has been reduced to the status of a non-political animal. In one case the non-political tyrant communicates with his subjects by emitting non-linguistic sounds, and in the other, the king shoots at them as though they were wild fowl. In both cases, the political subject is not capable of playing a role in the polis. The irony of Rabelais’s novel and the tragic rhetoric of d’Aubigné’s epic poem both hinge on this depoliticizing of the monarch’s subjects. D’Aubigné’s Tragiques can be considered the end point of the political tradition that saw king and subject locked into a contract of shared power. The ripping apart of the body politic in the Tragiques, in which France is described as a ‘mère affligée’ whose two children clamour in order to get milk from her dry breasts, can be understood as the actualization of the nightmare imagined by Gerson in 1405. It was by ignoring the contract of mutual obligation tying him to his people that Charles IX had wreaked such havoc on his country. But it is the rhetoric, especially of the Tragiques, that makes it so startling. Each party to the unfolding tragedy has its own rhetorical mode that is both politically

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and psychologically determined. The outrage of the victims is closely associated with their own sense of moral wrong committed by the king. It is literally unthinkable for them that the king should exercise his will against them since in their understanding of the polis, the king does not have the ability to do this. For him to exercise his will as he does is an act of political, and very real, suicide. To bring his sword against them was to bring it to himself. Their mental landscape is organized around a polis in which the king simply cannot do this sort of thing. For the king, it is completely natural for him to exercise his will as he has since it is morally and politically justifiable to do so. His rhetoric is naturally one of doctrinal persuasion rather than moral outrage. He has nothing to get outraged about, except for his subject’s unintelligible and seditious behaviour. The Tragiques is an eminently political poem in the sense that the stories take place in a public rather than a private space. There are undoubtedly theological issues at stake in the poem, but the anger and indignation have to do with politics more than theology. That indignation is not directed towards God or towards the devil, nor is it consigned to a private space; it is directed towards the king. The stage on which the Tragiques takes place is vast and public; there are very few moments of private introspection in the poem, despite d’Aubigné’s outsized ego. He, like Molinet, has the duty to blame the guilty as well as to praise the worthy even though there are very few of the latter in this poem. Yet the Tragiques also represents a major break with the poetic tradition of the Ressource du petit peuple. Just as there was no room in the static polis of the Ressource for an absolute monarch like Charles IX, there was also little room for an author as imposing as d’Aubigné. No one, whether king or poet, could exercise his will to the point where it imperilled the well-being of the whole. Works such as the Ressource represented an almost artisanal understanding of the poet’s work. The Tragiques on the other hand is the work of a immense ego, a genius imposing his imagination on the world. The small scale of Molinet’s poem was the equivalent of a late medieval miniature while d’Aubigné’s is the equivalent of a gigantic, epic depiction of the creation of the world. In the seventeenth century, artistic representation of the political would move to the stage in the plays of Corneille and Racine, but the space of the individual would be very different in a polis in which power was understood as emanating solely from the person of the king. And the introduction of more private space in the Essais of Montaigne

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would mark an important shift in the understanding of modern subjective individualism as the scope of the political individual becomes ever smaller. The Tragiques marks the end of that public space as power in the polis shifts to the king. Now the political individual finds himself literally washed away as the contract between king and subject is dissolved in favour of a sovereignty which excludes all individuals except the king. D’Aubigné, inheritor of a long tradition of political literature, remains firmly turned outward to the community of which he is a part. He is, to use the terminology of Dumont, an individual in the world, but he is not a private individual, turned inward, looking to a hidden interiority as a place of truth and justice. Likewise, justice for d’Aubigné is still in the world and his indignation is aroused by the king’s abuse of that justice. The space for public indignation is rapidly decreasing, as the poem itself makes clear, and the emotional charge of the poem is all the greater. The modern, subjective individual, turned inward towards a private, more authentic space is developing in Montaigne’s Essais at virtually the same time that d’Aubigné is describing the ladies in the Louvre turning their eyes away from the victims floating by in the Seine. The Tragiques describes the death of the old individual determined by his engagement with others in the polis. Charles IX’s ability to bring violence to his subjects with impunity as he does marks the end of the old paradigm of shared sovereignty as it was expressed in texts such as Commyne’s Mémoires, Seyssel’s Monarchie, and Hotman’s Francogallia. The indifferent gaze of the ladies in the Louvre watching the bodies float by in the Seine marks the death of the old individual who was defined precisely by a public and very interested gaze. It was that public gaze that defined the old individual who turned outward to the community. Now, with that understanding rendered so perilous, the modern individual needed to turn inward in order to find an authentic space. The premodern, objective or public individual was effectively dead.

Conclusion

So the question remains: can we talk about the birth of the individual in the Renaissance? The answer would seem to depend on how the term ‘individual’ is understood, both by scholars in the twenty-first century, and by men and women in the early modern period. The texts studied here would seem to suggest that there was a shift in how the individual was understood during this period in France. In the fifteenth century, the individual understood himself as an object in, or as part of, a community made up of a vast and often complicated series of relationships with others in the polis. By the end of the sixteenth century, those relationships had either disappeared or been rendered much less vital, and the individual understood himself less in terms of ties of obligation and more as a subject in relation to his monarch. With sovereignty located in the king, the individual found himself subject to that merum imperium in much the same way as members of the church found themselves subject to papal authority. With the demise of representative assemblies such as the Estates, and other bridles on the royal will, the individual found himself in a radically different polis than he had been less than two hundred years earlier. Instead of situating himself in relation to these other members of the community, the individual now situated himself in relation to the state; the state now took on the moral and institutional authority these other members of the community used to enjoy. Commynes’s counterweights or Seyssel’s bridles disappeared and were replaced by a sovereignty that now emanated from the monarch outward and downward. Without these ties through which sovereignty was thought to extend, and through which individuals were connected with others within the community, the individual now had to find other means of expressing

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his political self. And as we see in Montaigne’s Essais, this political space was rapidly becoming a private rather than a public sphere. Texts such as Molinet’s Ressource, Rabelais’s novels, and d’Aubigné’s Tragiques suggest that another kind of individual, one not defined by interiority, also disappeared during the course of the sixteenth century. Throughout these literary texts, and in juridical and political treatises composed during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, a movement from a contractual to an organic society can be discerned, reversing the movement identified by Louis Dumont. If, as Dumont notes, Ockham’s nominalism implicitly marked the birth of a society in which individual liberty replaces the notion of community in the fourteenth century, and if the conciliar movement of the fifteenth century also represented the application of the doctrine of the sovereignty of the people to the church, then the return movement back to papal monarchy (which Dumont only treats very briefly) represented a return to a much more organic form of social organization.1 Cajetan’s rejection of the nominalistic leanings of the conciliar movement depended to a great degree on the ‘realist’ theology of St Thomas Aquinas, which Dumont uses as an example of an organic community.2 The movement from holistic and organic to individual and contractual was not as clear-cut as it might sometimes seem. The reality of the sixteenth century, and its reaction to conciliarism in the church, in particular, and to contractual politics in general, would seem to express a very different understanding of political organization. If the conciliar movement of the fifteenth century marked a high point of contractual political theory in the church, the reaction to conciliarism by apologists of papal monarchy such as Cajetan left the conciliarist boats high and dry as the political tide changed. Instead of moving from an organic to a contractual state, the movement from conciliarism to papal monarchy marked a development in the opposite direction. This ecclesiastical example would be emblematic of a similar shift in secular politics throughout the sixteenth century. Throughout this period, literary, juridical, and political texts leave a trace of the slow but resolute extinction of an individual defined not by autonomy and subjectivity but by obligation. Throughout the texts studied in this book a premodern individual is called upon to exercise his will in maintaining the political equilibrium of prince and subject. In the same texts, an emergent monarchical power denies that individual the right to participate in the sovereignty of the realm. The metaphors and underlying images from political, juridical, and

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literary texts suggest that the evolutionary flow of social organization was not in the direction of a contractual kind of societas. Often the metaphors of power indicate that the evolution tends in the opposite direction, towards a more organic form of power, in which there is less and less room for a political individual. The empty apostolic seat alluded to at the end of the bulls promulgated at the Council of Basel bore eloquent witness to the contractual nature of the church’s social organization in the fifteenth century. Because ecclesiastical power was invested in all the descendants of the apostles, the Council of Basel was able to depose the pope and leave his seat empty. The contractual nature of the councils could not be made clearer than in the notion of the congregatio fidelium that underlay the edicts Haec sancta and Frequens. It was because ecclesiastical authority was anchored in the many members of the assembly of the faithful that they had to meet at regularly scheduled times. Usage and consensus were means by which power was deployed through the body politic, not as some organic bond but through contracts and social practice. The very fact that ecclesiastic sovereignty was invested in many voices necessitated a more contractual and consensual approach to church governance. The pillars and columns metaphors of the Pragmatic Sanction depicted the church as supported on these multiple bases. When the power of the church was transferred to the papacy alone, the metaphor of power descending like water from a single source painted a very different understanding of social organization in which individual voices or wills had no role. The discourse used to express power in organic and contractual societies was also different from that used in more organically defined ones. The rhetorical mode of the councils was deliberative, and law was made by a consensus of the council fathers. The characters debating about the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin in the manuscript poems and illustrations from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries reflect this kind of discourse. The doctrine arose from their debate and not from the pope. The appearance of the pope in the chants royaux from the early sixteenth century shifted that kind of legislative or doctrinal power to the pope and transformed the rhetorical function of the participants in the debate. When the papal figure in Parmentier’s chant royal tells the characters Noblesse and Labeur to ‘parler bas,’ and proffers the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception as evolving from his own authority, the discursive voice of authority shifted. The individuals who had participated in the debate no longer had any power and simply became decorative figures adorning the portrait of the pope

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who became the voice of power and doctrine. The pope’s discursive mode was much more didactic or doctrinal. Just as regularly scheduled assemblies were no longer needed since power was now in the hands of one person, so too the means of enunciating law had changed. Doctrinal authority demanded a rhetoric of docere rather than movere. In a more secular domain, literary texts bear rhetorical and political witness to a similar evolution. Molinet’s Ressource du petit peuple is full of people arguing back and forth about the plight of the downtrodden in Burgundy. These characters all use various forms of rhetoric yet the basic mode is emotional. Law and judgment are a question of the opinion of the many. Molinet’s poem enacts the politics of mutual obligation. His duty as ‘indiciaire,’ as he describes it in his Chroniques, was to blame the guilty as well as to praise the worthy. When he addressed the king of France, the king of England, and the duchesses ruling Burgundy in 1481, he was effectively, if somewhat obliquely, exercising his will within the polis of which he was a part. He played the part of a ‘contrepoids’ to the rulers’ power, much as Commynes had explained in his Mémoires. And most important, he did this as an actor within his own poem. He could no more exercise his subjective will on the poem than the prince could on his realm. Both prince and poet were locked into a system in which no one individual could exercise his will over those of the others without putting at risk country and poem. A strongly subjective, lyrical presence in Molinet’s poem would destroy the poem’s equilibrium just as surely as Charles the Bold’s imposition of his power had in Burgundy. However, it was because he was an ‘acteur’ rather than an ‘auteur’ that Molinet could make his critique. His identity as an ‘acteur’ opened up a critical space for him, just as it had for Gerson in his Vivat Rex. Seyssel’s bridles on the king’s absolute power also offer clear metaphoric proof of how an underlying contract tying king to people still played a crucial role at the beginning of the reign of Francis I. The populus needed to call the princeps to order when he attempted to exercise his will in a disorderly fashion. The contract between king and subjects still accorded the latter a role in the governance of the realm. It was the people who held the reins or bridles on the horse that was the king. Control remained with the populus through the underlying contract by which the people gave the king his power. Yet, at the same time, the definition of the king’s power as absolute in this text also indicates how the contractual nature of power was being replaced by another model that construed authority as emanating from the person of the king

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alone. The poet’s role in Cretin’s poem about Francis I’s defeat at Pavia shifts dramatically according to which kind of power was considered. On the one hand, the poet could blame the king’s imperial ambitions for creating this messy situation. On the other, the poet could praise the king as the element without which the state could not exist. The shift from contractual to organic power structure can be seen graphically both in Seyssel’s political treatise and in Cretin’s poem. This shift becomes ever more obvious during the mid-sixteenth century. The evolution from customary law, based on usage and repetition, to a more regal law based on the will of the king in Chasseneuz’s Consuetudines and in his Catalogus offers a good example. As the fourteenth-century version of the customary shows, power to make law in the customary of Burgundy was clearly associated with the populus. The tradition of usage and repetition at the base of the customary was given a subtle but profound shift in Chasseneuz’s commentary as legislative power moves towards the king who becomes a roi législateur as well as a roi justicier. Chasseneuz’s Catalogus shifts sovereignty even more clearly towards the king using a highly organic political model, describing the world as a hierarchy with all things and peoples fitting in according to their degree of perfection. The king ruled absolutely and perfectly above his people because he participated more fully in the perfection of God. Both symbolically and functionally, this hierarchical and vertical image was at odds with the consensual politics of the customary and of mutual obligation. No longer imperfect and subject to the laws of his land, the French king had a near Godlike status, ruling like a sun over the clouds. The ‘second nature’ of customary that kept law away from the will of the king was replaced by the king himself, who became the centre of the judicial universe. The hierarchical nature of Chasseneuz’s Catalogus put human beings and all other creatures in their place: they no longer existed as individuals exercising their will, but rather as elements within a system in which they had a place but played no role. Perhaps, no word better describes the hierarchical system of the Catalogus than organic. The parallel evolution in Rabelais’s novels is equally evocative of this development. In Gargantua, law and the meaning of words were determined by a ius gentium. The abuse of this principle by the author of the Blason des couleurs was likened to that of an abusive tyrant. Language and power in Gargantua, like law in the customary, were contractual in nature; both result from the consensus of many individuals. The king had the power in Gargantua, but Grandgousier recognized the obliga-

246 The Gargantuan Polity

tion tying him to his people. Since it was they who fed him and his family through their efforts, he was obligated to protect them from Picrochole’s attack. The king and his subject coexisted in a world aloud with language; as the Blason des couleurs episode makes clear, language was shared by all and no one person, even the king, could decide the meaning of a word. The imperfect king, virtually born from his mother in a sea of words, was always within earshot of his subjects. The image of the king dancing with his subjects after the verbal volley of the propos des bienyvres is the perfect metaphor of a utopian but imperfect society, all the members of which exercised their will individually and differently for the common interest of the community. In Gaster’s kingdom in the Quart Livre, the ruler’s power was so great that he didn’t even need ears to hear his subjects. Language had been so denatured there that it was more akin to the noises made by animals expressing pain and pleasure than to meaningful sermones used to make judgments about just and unjust. Gaster and Penie, ruling high above their subjects through impulse and fear, represent the nightmare version of Chasseneuz’s divinely inspired king from whose lips comes immutable truth. In Gaster’s kingdom, the political individual had no place to express his will at all. The Engastrimythes and the Gastrolatres had regressed to an animal-like status, more like the birds and the other creatures, who sang and made noises for base material causes. The shift from the noisy and linguistically meaningful nature of political space in Gargantua to the noisy but linguistically meaningless nature of political space in Gaster’s kingdom emblematized the shift in political theory underlying these novels. In one, the imperfect polis was full of imperfect individuals who contributed to the common interest of the community; in the other, the political subjects made noise in a kingdom in which the ruler literally could not hear them. D’Aubigné’s Tragiques can be understood as a swan song of a politics of mutual obligation and of the ascending theme of government. The tragedy stems from the inability of the king and his people to understand that they shared the same kind of government. While d’Aubigné and the Protestant martyrs saw the king as a cruel tyrant callously ignoring his contractual obligations, the king simply saw himself exercising his right to rule according to his own pleasure. D’Aubigné saw power ascending from an underlying contract when the king saw it as flowing from his person. The blood of the martyrs flowing in the rivers of France is the final metonymic symbol of the demise of the contract of mutual obligation. The nightmare image of a

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person attacking himself was the metaphorical and rhetorical high point of Gerson’s Vivat Rex. Now, in the Tragiques, that image was brought to life. When the king brought the knife to his subjects, it was as if he had simply culled an ailing lamb from his flock. The indignation fuelling d’Aubigné’s poem is grounded in the fact that these were political individuals who had been attacked by the king. When the woman thrown in the river looks for justice with dead eyes, the pathos is due to the fact that she was a human being whose ability to take part in the polis had been destroyed. These are not the dead eyes of a lamb or a sheep, but of a person – a political animal. The king, according to d’Aubigné’s understanding, should also have died since he had broken the pact tying him to his people. But there was no justice, at least of the kind found in Molinet’s Ressource, and the king can walk away from this tragedy since the power was his and he owed his subjects nothing. The political role of the individual had been reduced to nothing; far from committing political suicide, the king had, according to the new political game, committed a painful but necessary act of public hygiene. The primacy of the royal power and its absolute nature had changed the position of the individual, who was now the subject of a person to whom all were obligated, but who could not be obligated in return.3 The modern individual, who could not obligate his king, turned towards his interiority as a place of authenticity since the public space was so vitiated. The public space of the premodern individual, though small, had been completely wiped away in the new polis organized around the unquestionable might of the king. Once the contractual relationship of power had been destroyed in favour of one in which all power, legislative, judicial, and military, flowed from the king, the political individual disappeared. Unable to bind himself contractually with the monarch, the new individual could bind himself much more easily to other economic agents. The individual paradoxically lost much of his ‘difference’ at the same time that he was supposedly developing his ‘subjectivity.’ José Antonio Maravall notes that there is a profound difference between the art of the Quattrocentro, with its concern for the characteristic and individualized aspects of reality, and the classical, idealistic vision introduced by the sixteenth-century masters in their search for the generic and supra-individual. This would, adds Maravall, correspond to the difference between a communal and democratic fifteenth-century and the antidemocratic, antinaturalist, and monarchical reaction of the sixteenth century. Maravall takes note of the retreat of

248 The Gargantuan Polity

liberty and individualism in the face of the revival of the principles of political hierarchy.4 With the demise of this earlier, more political individual, another more subjective, and less political, individual comes into being. Since public space became less free, private space was necessarily privileged. When Montaigne created his ‘back-shop’ (arrière-boutique) as a private space he created a clear distinction from a public space, saying that we must use this ‘arrière-boutique’ as a place where we can ‘establish our true liberty and principal retreat and solitude.’ Elsewhere, he says (in ‘De La Coutume et de ne changer aisément une loi reçue’), in fact, that ‘public society has nothing to do with our thoughts.’5 The contrast between private interiority as a place of value and truth and the public space as a place of deceit and lack of political will could not be clearer. The Essais are a response to the generic and supra-individual society depicted by the sixteenth-century masters. A new homo œconomicus was born in the new law; unable to bind himself contractually with the monarch, the political subject was now able to bind himself more easily with other economic agents.6 Ethical judgment shifted from public to private interest in a parallel and perhaps not purely coincidental manner. The development under the influence of Roman law of a rational system of law, based on purely formal criteria and administered by bureaucrats, was a sine qua non for the development of modern capitalism, and was, in any case, an essential feature of the modern state.7 In ‘De La Solitude,’ Montaigne privileged the private interest in a way that shows that the polis was rapidly being reconfigured so that public interest was no longer considered preceding private interest.8 The contrast between the private space carved out in the Essais also makes a marked contrast with Molinet’s poetry in which everything transpired in a public space and practically no attention was paid to an interior space. Poems such as the Ressource du petit peuple depict purely public and political spaces. Truth does not come from an individual or universal will, but arrives from the consensus of multiple wills, of multiple opinions. Poems such as the Ressource feature individuals trying to persuade each other of the validity of their opinion with emotional rhetoric. No one bends a knee and no one has an arrière-boutique. In Montaigne, very differently, it is in the back room of individual consciousness that questions of right and wrong are decided since the public space allows for no such discussion. This does not mean to say that Molinet’s world represented a form of democratic freedom that would contrast with Montaigne’s more constrained freedom. It is just that the

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locus of political engagement changes as the individual’s place in the polis shifts from public, but limited, to more private and subjective. If Molinet’s poem was filled with characters making judgments about just and unjust in a very public arena, that discussion in Montaigne’s Essais was described as happening in a much more private space. Opinion, by the end of the sixteenth century, had become a matter of sedition and divisiveness rather than good governance, as texts such as Montaigne’s Essais, Ronsard’s Continuation des misères de ce temps, and Peter Ramus’s Dialectique demonstrate.9 The modern individual that we know today as both subjective presence and economic agent undoubtedly came into being during the Renaissance. Yet, what is just as clear is the fact that in order for this subjective individual to be born another less subjective and more political individual needed to die. This premodern individual was defined more by political obligation than by subjectivity or economic interest. The premodern individual was immersed in a community that gave him his identity. The medieval ‘state’ was made up of this community of obligations and reciprocal relationships. It is only with the advent of a more absolutist form of government that the modern state and the modern individual came into being. The density of these medieval relationships was lost in the new state in which sovereignty was held in the hands of one person alone, the king. The communal individual could no longer exist since he no longer had the ability to contract with the sovereign who became the state, as in the expression, ‘L’Etat c’est moi.’ Power descended from the king so that the individual was denied all autonomy. The modern turn inward was, at least in part, the result of this lack of autonomy in the public sphere. The modern subjective individual can be understood as having been born from political powerlessness. As the political space of the individual in the sixteenth century was reduced, it was only logical for the individual to turn inward to create a space in which to be free to make judgments about just and unjust. In our modern era, that move inward has become an obsession as we look to our interiority as a place of truth and value that can only be sullied by the outside world. Where the creation of the self was perhaps once a political necessity and a cultural boon, too often today interiority becomes a bottomless hole of narcissistic need. Narcissism and self-interest have led not to individual diversity but to monotonous sameness as the economic machine, which our modern consumer societies have become, produces ever more, and evermore similar, products that quench, but for

250 The Gargantuan Polity

only a short moment, our notions of specialness and subjectivity. Instead of becoming a place away from the strife and pressure of life, from the public space, our interiority has become an all-consuming maw into which we gaze and endlessly ponder ourselves. Where the self of Montaigne was genial and truly individual, the modern self has become as monolithic and tyrannical as the authorities against whom Montaigne reacted in the late sixteenth century. When the modern individual looks inward, he does not hope to find God as St Augustine did, but a self that is grounded in subjectivity and thwarted desire rather than in transcendence.10 What does this mean for the confused citizen at the beginning of the twenty-first century? Maybe nothing, but it could also help us understand how our modern subjective individuality has been created and how it might be adjusted to help create a better and more just community for the next generation. Perhaps a look backward at another kind of individualism might help us understand how the ‘inner being,’ as a place of truth and authenticity, might be a fictional telos motivating the desire to consume, which drives our society and which seems to be leading inevitably to its collapse. Not that we would want to return to a feudal concept of mutual obligation, but perhaps we might learn how to create a contractual society that defines individualism as a form of obligation to others rather than as a form of subjective liberty. Perhaps we can reevalute our own individualism as a form of responsibility. Some writers have seen modern society as being torn by a conflict between what Alain Renaut calls autonomy and independence.11 Autonomy, he explains in his response to what he considers Dumont’s confusion between subjectivity and individualism, is the ability to found law on individual consciousness, and independence is freedom without rules. Renaut associates autonomy with subjectivity and independence with individualism. Autonomy, grounded in subjectivity, would be a constitutive part of democracy, and independence would lead to a pure and simple affirmation of égoïté unconstrained by any idea of normativité.12 Yet the example of the texts studied here suggests that subjectivity might, in fact, result more from the loss of political obligation than from a sense of political autonomy, and that independence might only be a too limited response to that loss of obligation.13 There is no proof that subjectivity is related to the ability to make laws, and in many ways this seems counterintuitive. To be aware of the self is necessarily to turn away from the other whose relationship to me reduces my subjectivity and makes me exist as object within a larger

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framework, much like a character in Molinet’s Ressource. Subjectivity might, rather, arise from the loss of the ability to make law; when individuals in the late Middle Ages were still able to be part of the legislative process, they showed little awareness of self or of autonomy. Political involvement was a question of loss of autonomy and what we might call ‘independence.’ The ‘I’ became obligated to another. Today, the relationship between subjectivity and politics would seem to suggest that the care of the self, the obsessive interest in the self, is a form of nonpolitical discourse. We as individuals have become so enamoured of our freedom to act as economic agents, as consumers, that we have lost our political selves that connect us to others; we consume to assuage the overpowering desire that ‘inner needs’ produce. If we turn to a political model that predated the birth of the modern subjective individual we might find a model of individualism that does not depend on feeding the voracious appetite of our ‘inner being.’ When, in 1961, John F. Kennedy said, ‘Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country,’ he was in some ways simply repeating what Grandgousier told Toucquedillon in Gargantua: think of the common good before your own since when the common interest is destroyed so too inevitably private interest is also lost. The individual exists not as a subjective presence aware of itself as a quivering and often obese complex of needs and desires, but as a consciousness of others and of a context that gives the individual an awareness of itself as an object within a larger community to which it is bound through ties of obligation. This individual is bound to the community the same way that the characters in Gargantua were bound to the common good. In both Kennedy’s speech and in Rabelais’s novel, it is social practice, a ius gentium, that allows the individual to understand this. No one has to tell him or her to do this. It is a question one asks oneself because the individual does not exist as a subjective and inward self. That individual is at the service of the community of which he or she is a part and which gives him or her shape and awareness. When, in 2001, George W. Bush asked Americans to go shopping following the attacks on the World Trade Center to get the economy back on track, he had recourse to another political model, that of the invisible hand of private interest. According to Bush, the common good could be bettered by the individual’s attention to his private and subjective needs. Where Kennedy’s speech located the individual in an ethical and political sphere, Bush’s speech created an economic context for that individual whose subjective needs were the motor for national renewal.

252 The Gargantuan Polity

This appeal to the homo œconomicus had recourse to the desire to consume, to respond to the needs of oneself and one’s own. It called upon a very different kind of polity than the one Kennedy’s speech had earlier. It is a paradox of our age, or perhaps more rightly of our age’s understanding of history, that the president normally thought to be more progressive seems to have offered the more medieval outlook. The literary and political works from the sixteenth century studied here offer a prism through which to analyse and understand such modern interpretations of the individual. In some ways, we can look at Rabelais’s novels as offering a political model of an ideal, but imperfect, polis in which individuals strive to better the common good and at the same time their individuality is paramount. Perhaps by looking at models such as Rabelais’s we can avoid the twin dangers represented by the nostalgia for an organic society, which, as Dumont points out, leads inevitably to a totalitarian society, and by the atomization of modern subjective individualism, which drives human beings further and further apart. Modern subjective individualism also destroys cultural differences as the objects produced by human activity simply become fodder for the desiring machines we are all becoming.14 We can deepen, and develop, notions of autonomy as political and ethical responsibility while we try not to drown in false concepts of the independence of the true, inner self. Perhaps we can learn from Gargantua and his friends how to create a society made up of individuals all striving to maintain a common interest. Neither a neoliberal ‘invisible hand’ of private interest, nor a totalitarian rejection of personal will, a Gargantuan polis emphasizes the very visible hand of the private will working for the common good. Both private interest and common good are recognized as the aim of political will. Perhaps as postmodern Rabelaisians we can learn to be individuals not because we turn inward and away from others, but because we turn outward to them and make our polis a skein of rights and obligations that tie us together and protect our differences at the same time.

Notes

Introduction 1 This is the thesis of Jacob Burckhardt’s magisterial study The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy, and of other studies such as Cassirer, The Individual and the Cosmos in Renaissance Philosophy. Modern studies that have looked into this question include Dumont, Essais sur l’individualisme; Lipovetsky, L’Ere du vide; Renaut, L’Ere de l’individu; and Ferry and Renaut, 68–86: Itinéraires de l’individu. 2 ‘Il se faut réserver une arrière-boutique toute nôtre, toute franche, en laquelle nous établissons notre vraie liberté et principale retraite et solitude,’ Montaigne, Essais, I, 39, 345. 3 See Painter, Feudalism and Liberty, 259, quoted in Ullmann, The Individual and Society, 151. As Painter points out, these liberties are basically restricted to the nobles in the Middle Ages. They would be, states Painter, the same rights that the middle and lower classes would struggle for in later periods. 4 Burckhardt, The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy, 81. 5 Cassirer, The Individual and the Cosmos in Renaissance Philosophy, 123, 128, 143. 6 ‘Despotism, as we have already seen, fostered in the highest degree the individuality not only of the tyrant or Condottiere himself, but also of the men whom he protected or used as his tools – the secretary, minister, poet, and companion.’ Burckhardt, The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy, 82. 7 ‘Chacun peut avoir part au batelage et représenter un honnête personnage en l’échafaud, mais au-dedans et en sa poitrine, où tout nous est loisible, où tout est caché, d’y être réglé, c’est le point.’ Montaigne, Essais, III, 2, 48–9. 8 See Tierney, ‘Religion and Rights,’ 170. 9 Burckhardt, The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy, 81.

254 Notes to pages 5–7 10 Ibid. 11 Ibid., 81–2. 12 ‘La conception de l’universitas, c’est-à-dire du corps social comme un tout dont les hommes vivants ne sont que les parties, appartient évidemment aux conceptions traditionnelles de la société. (Mais elle est ici englobée dans l’individualisme chrétien, cf. HAE I, p. 24.) A partir de ce stade, l’évolution va consister dans un affaiblissement progressif de cette conception en faveur d’une autre, celle de societas, ou association pure et simple.’ Dumont, Essais sur l’individualisme, 71. Dumont is referring to the distinction between universitas and societas developed by Gierke, Natural Law and the Theory of Society, and Political Theories, 10, 89–90. 13 See Tierney, ‘Hierarchy, Consent, and the “Western Tradition.”’ 14 Ullmann, The Individual and Society, 12. See also Gierke, Political Theories, 22, 28, 30. 15 Ullmann, The Individual and Society, 63. 16 See Kern, Kingship and Law in the Middle Ages. See also Dhondt, Estates or Powers, 27, note 1. 17 Ullmann, The Individual and Society, 63–4. 18 There were, however, a limited number of incidents of some forms of ‘direct government’ by the people in what is now Belgium in the fifteenth century. See Dhondt, ‘Les Assemblées d’Etats en Belgique avant 1795,’ 219. 19 See Marongiu, ‘Q.o.t.,’ 2:107; and Tierney, Religion, Law and the Growth of Constitutional Thought, 21–8. 20 See Marongiu, ‘Q.o.t.,’ 2:107. Michel Villey states: ‘Nous avions déjà recontré dans le Dialogus, à propos de l’élection du pape, cette affirmation de principe que toute autorité procède du consentement originel des assujettis ... C’est là le vrai contrat social individualiste, qui n’était pas chez Marsile, mais en germe au moins chez Duns Scot et qu’exigeait, à vrai dire, le nominalisme.’ La Formation de la pensée juridique moderne, 224. See also ibid., 216. 21 Tierney, ‘Religion and Rights,’ 165. 22 See Michel Villey, La Formation de la pensée juridique moderne, 258–62. See also Tierney, ‘Ius and Metonymy in Rufinus,’ 550. Tierney sees a subjective understanding of ius naturale in the canonist Rufinus, well before Ockham. 23 See Vanderjagt, Laurens Pignon, OP, 66. See also Durand of Saint Pourçain, Durandus episcopus meldensis ordinis predicatorum de origine iurisdictionum, aii. 24 It is curious that although Gierke begins by calling medieval political organization a form of universitas, he spends a considerable amount of time explicating the contractual theories of Ockham, Marsilius of Padua, Nicolas of Cusa, and the church councils. See his Political Theories, 34–67. It is also

Notes to pages 7–9

25

26 27

28 29 30 31 32

33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

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notable that Gierke explains that the individual plays a considerable role in the medieval polis. See ibid., 81–2, 87, 90–1, 94, 99–100. On diffidatio, or repudiation of feudal contract, see Ullmann, The Individual and Society, 64. Marc Bloch notes: ‘L’hommage vassalique était un vrai contrat, et bilatéral. Le seigneur, s’il manquait à ses engagements, perdait ses droits. Transportée, comme il était inévitable, dans le domaine politique – puisque les principaux sujets du roi étaient en même temps ses vassaux – rejointe d’ailleurs sur ce terrain par les très antiques représentations qui, tenant le chef du peuple pour mystiquement responsable du bien-être de ses sujets, le vouaient au châtiment en cas de malheur public, cette idée devait exercer une influence profonde.’ La Société féodale, 617. Kern, Kingship and Law in the Middle Ages, 68. See Grignaschi, ‘Un Commentaire nominaliste,’ 129; Buridan, Quaestiones super octo libros politicorum Aristotelis, Liber III, quaestio III, conclusio IV, art. 1, fol. 34r. See Grignaschi, ‘Un commentaire nominaliste,’ 129–30. See Giesey, ‘The French Estates,’ 159. See ibid., 163. See ibid., 158. See Gerson, Harengue, 18v. This text is commonly referred to as Vivat Rex as these words are repeated three times at the beginning of the text. See also Ullmann, The Individual and Society, 64, on right of resistance. For a good short analysis of feudal contract, see Bloch, ‘European Feudalism.’ For a longer and much more detailed analysis, see Bloch, La Société féodale. Gerson, Harengue, 25r. See Molinet, La Ressource du petit peuple, in Les Faictz et les dictz de Jean Molinet, 1:141. Commynes, Mémoires, 1:1. Molinet, Chroniques, 2:595; see Devaux, Jean Molinet, 359. See Kern, Kingship and Law in the Middle Ages, 150. Ullmann, The Individual and Society, 59. See Kelley, ‘“Second Nature.”’ See Ullmann, The Individual and Society, 60; and Lebigre, La Justice du roi, 21. On the relationship of diffused sovereignty and ecclesiastical politics, see Lagarde, ‘Les Théories représentatives du XIVe – XVe siècle et l’Eglise.’ Figgis explains: ‘Probably the most revolutionary official document in the history of the world is the decree of the council of Constance asserting its superiority to the Pope, and striving to turn into a tepid constitutionalism the Divine authority of a thousand years. The movement is the culmination of medieval constitutionalism.’ Political Thought From Gerson to Grotius, 41.

256 Notes to pages 9–16 43 See Tierney, Religion, Law, and the Growth of Constitutional Thought, esp. 92–7. 44 See Grignaschi, ‘Nicolas Oresme,’ 1:117. See also Oresme, Le Livre des Politiques d’Aristote, CC iii r–iiii v. 45 See Grignaschi, ‘Nicolas Oresme,’ 117; Oresme, Le livre des politiques d’Aristote, CC iiii v. 46 Justinian, The Institutes, Book 1 (Title II, 6) 5. See also Salmon, ‘The Legacy of Jean Bodin.’ 47 See Piano Mortari, Cinquecento giuridico francese, 29. 48 ‘Princeps est lex animata in terris ut est tex. in authen. de consulibus. circa finem.’ Chasseneuz, Catalogus gloriæ mundi, 1529, fol. 17v. All citations are from this edition. Relevant variants are noted in Catalogus gloriæ mundi (1546), and Catalogus gloriæ mundi (1579). 49 See Grignaschi, ‘Nicolas Oresme,’ 118; Oresme, Le livre des Politiques d’Aristote, CC iiii v. 50 I have used ‘Parlement’ throughout this book instead of trying to distinguish between the French institution, parlement, and a more general notion of parliament. 51 See Knecht, Renaissance Warrior and Patron, 97. 52 Sainct-Julien, De L’Origine des Bourgongnons, 58. 53 Ibid., 74. 54 Molinet’s example shows how a form of individualism can be found even in courtly society. Michel Zink has shown how individualism was present in an urban, non-courtly society in the thirteenth century. He explains: ‘Ainsi, le XIIIe siècle voit naître une littérature dans laquelle le réel cesse d’être le reflet emblématique d’une idée, mais où il façonne les conditions de chacun et où il est à lui-même son propre sens, ou sa propre absurdité. Sa multiplicité désordonnée est évoquée de préférence par l’espace urbain dans cette nouvelle littérature, celle d’Arras et de Paris, celle de la poésie personnelle, des fabliaux et plus tard des nouvelles, des farces et même des mystères. Les masses urbaines ont donc suscité en littérature des voix individuelles qui se définissent par rapport à elles, sont immergées en elles, désesperées par elles, sans le secours, le point de référence, le modèle de la cour princière et de sa hiérarchie.’ La Subjectivité littéraire, 22. 55 Cretin, ‘L’Apparition du Mareschal sans reproche, feu messire Jacques de Chabannes,’ in Œuvres poétiques, 161. 56 André Glucksmann uses the Abbey of Thelema as an example of a totalitarian regime in which the Thelemites’ behaviour is controlled by a ‘state apparatus.’ See Les Maîtres Penseurs, 11–35. 57 See Defaux, Rabelais Agonistes, 521.

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58 See Chasseneuz, Catalogus gloriæ mundi, quinta pars, 16v. See chapter 5, pp. 164–6 below for treatment of this elevation of the French king. 59 Montaigne, Essais, III, 8, 210. 60 Ibid., 8, 201. 61 ‘Through it [the Magna Carta] fundamental features of the feudal system passed into our political tradition.’ Painter, Feudalism and Liberty, 253; see also Ullmann, The Individual and Society, 68. 1. Bottom-Up vs Top-Down Polities: The Council and the Pope 1 See Copia bulle. One reads at the end of the document: ‘Datum in tricesimasexta sessione nostra publica in maiori ecclesia Basiliensi solemniter celebrata .xv. kal. octobris. Anno a nativitate domini. M. CCCC. XXXIX. Apostolica sede vacante.’ 2 See De Vooght, Les Pouvoirs du concile, 21, 25. See also Dupront, Les Conciles; and Landi, Concilio et papato. 3 This concept had been gathering force for some time in the church, especially since the beginning of the schism in 1378. See Cracco, ‘Giovanni Dominici e un nuovo tipo di religiosità,’ 5. Not everyone, of course, accepted the concept of the church as a congregatio fidelium. See Figgis, ‘Respublica christiana,’ 74. C.N. Sidney Woolf disagrees with Figgis. See his Bartolus of Sassoferrato, 101–2. 4 Council of Constance, session 5, 6 April 1415: ‘In nomine sanctae et individuae Trinitatis, Patris et Filii et Spiritus sancti. Amen. Haec sancta synodus Constantiensis generale concilium faciens, pro exstirpatione praesentis schismatis, et unione ac reformatione ecclesiae Dei in capite et in membre fienda, ad laudem omnipotentis Dei in Spiritu sancto legitime congregata, ad consequendum facilius, securius, uberius et liberius unionem ac reformationem ecclesiae Dei ordinat, diffinit, statuit, decernit, et declarat, ut sequitur. Et primo declarat, quod ipsa in Spiritu sancto legitime congregata, generale concilium faciens, et ecclesiam catholicam militantem repraesentans, potestatem a Christo immediate habet, cui quilibet cuiuscumque status vel dignitatis, etiam si papalis exsistat, obedire tenetur in his quae pertinent ad fidem et exstirpationem dicti schismatis, ac generalem reformationem dictae ecclesiae Dei in capite et in membris. Item, declarat, quod quicumque cuiuscumque conditionis, status, dignitatis, etiam si papalis exsistat, qui mandatis, statutis seu ordinationibus, aut praeceptis huius sacrae synodi et cuiuscumque alterius concilii generalis legitime congregati, super praemissis, seu ad ea pertinentibus, factis, vel

258 Notes to pages 21–3

5

6

7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

faciendis, obedire contumaciter contempserit, nisi resipuerit, condignae poenitentiae subiiacatur, et debite puniatur, etiam ad alia iuris subsidia, si opus fuerit, recurrendo.’ Tanner, Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, 409. See also Dupront, Les Conciles, 24. Ibid., 438–9, session 39, 9 October 1417: ‘Frequens generalium conciliorum celebratio, agri dominici praecipua cultura est, quae vepres, spinas, et tribulos haeresium, errorum et schismatum exstirpat, excessus corrigit, deformata reformat, et vineam Domini ad frugem uberrimae fertilitatis adducit, illorum vero neglectus praemissa disseminat atque fovet. Haec praeteritorum temporum recordatio et consideratio praesentium ante oculos nostros ponunt. Propter hoc edicto perpetuo sancimus, statuimus, decernimus atque ordinamus, ut amodo concilia generalia celebrentur: ita quod primum a fine huius concilii in quinquennium immediate sequens, secundum vero a fine illius immediate sequentis concilii in septennium, et deinceps de decennio in decennium perpetuo celebrentur, in locis quae summus pontifex per mensem ante finem cuiuslibet concilii, approbante et consentiente concilio, vel in eius defectu ipsum concilium, deputare et assignare teneatur.’ See Dupront, Les Conciles, 25. Eugenius was ill, having had a form of stroke, and was not able to come to Basel. From the very beginning he sent legates such as the Cardinal Cesarini. Eugenius himself never came to Basel, for reasons of health and especially because of the strongly antipapal leaning of the council. See Gill, Constance et Bâle-Florence, 133–7. Council of Basel, session 3, 29 April 1432, in Tanner, Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, 458. Gill, Constance et Bâle-Florence, 139. Ibid., 141. Council of Basel, session 17, 26 April 1434, in Tanner, Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, 476. See sessions 1 to 4 of Council of Ferrara, 8 January, 10 January, 15 February, and 9 April 1438, in ibid., 513–22. See Decreta et acta, clxxxi v–clxxxiiii r and ccxii r. Dupront, Les Conciles, 33. Dupront explains this distinction thus: ‘A la major pars va s’opposer la sanior pars. Au brut majoritaire, i.e. à la décision quantitative dans une assemblée égalitaire, va s’opposer la minorité de ceux qui sont sûrs d’être les plus sains, c’est à dire les plus sensés, les plus sages. Réflexe d’hommes de raison, dira-t-on, par rapport à une anarchie croissante. Naturellement la sanior pars bâloise retrouvera le pape et le concile de Ferrare-Florence.’ Les Conciles, 36; see also Tierney, Religion, Law and the Growth of Constitutional Thought, 23.

Notes to pages 23–5

259

15 Gill, Constance et Bâle-Florence, 225. See also Dupront, Les Conciles, 35. 16 ‘[The Council of Constance] excitauit per spiritumsanctum ut declarationem veritatis fidei catholice toti orbi explicaret dicente quod concilium generale universalem ecclesiam representans potestatem a christo immediate habet: cui quilibet cuiuscumque dignitatis etiam si papalis existat obedire tenetur in his quae pertinent ad fidem extirpationem scismatis & reformationem generalem ecclesiaæ in capite & in membris.’ Decreta et acta, clxxxii r. All translations are mine unless otherwise indicated. The policy followed throughout the book is to cite literary works, basically poems and novels, in both the original language and in an English translation. For nonliterary works, such as legal documents, an English translation is given in the text and the original is presented in the notes. 17 ‘Ils [the conciliarists] pensent tous que les promesses d’infaillibilité et d’indéfectibilité ont été faites par le Christ, non pas à une personne ou à une fonction déterminée, mais à l’Eglise dans son ensemble. C’est à la communauté des croyants tout entière qu’a été confié le dépôt de la foi, et tout pouvoir réside fondamentalement en elle. Il s’ensuit que l’instance suprême dans l’Eglise est l’organisme qui la représente le plus parfaitement: le concile général.’ De Vooght, Les Pouvoirs du concile, 27. 18 Decreta et acta, clxxxii v. 19 Ibid., clxxxiii r. 20 Ibid., clxxxiii r. 21 ‘Hec sancta synodus decerit statuit atque diffinit quod in eventu vacationis sedis apostolice hoc sacro concilio durante electio summi pontificis in loco istius sacri concilii fiat.’ Decreta et acta, cxciiii v. 22 Ibid., cxciiii v. 23 ‘In nomine sancte & individue trinitatis patris & filii & spiritusancti Ego N. electus in papam omnipotenti deo: cuius ecclesiam suo præsidio regendam suscipio. Et beato Petro apostolorum principi corde & ore profiteor quamdiu in hac fragili vita constitutus fuero: me firmiter credere & tenere fidem catholicam secundum traditionem apostolorum generalium conciliorum & aliorum sanctorum patruum: maxime autem sacrorum octo conciliorum universalium ... & illarum fidem usque ad animam & sanguinem confirmare: defensare & predicare: ritumque pariter sacramentorum ecclesiasticorum ecclesie traditum omnimode prosequi & observare polliceor etiam fideliter laborare pro tuitione fidei catholice & extirpatione heresum & errorum reformatione morum: executione & observatione decretorum Constan. & Basilien. conciliorum generalium ac pace in populo xpiano. Iuro etiam prosequi celebrationem conciliorum ac confirmationem electionum iuxta decreta sacri Basilien. Concilii.’ Ibid., cxcviii v–cxcix r. 24 Ibid., ccxiii v.

260 Notes to pages 26–8 25 Izbicki, ‘The Council of Ferrara-Florence,’ 431–2; Dupront, Les Conciles, 38–9. 26 Izbicki, ‘The Council of Ferrara-Florence,’ 438. The pope had officially transferred the council to Florence on 10 January 1439 with the bull ‘Decet oecumenici concilii.’ See Manna, ‘L’Autorità del Papa,’ 451. 27 The Council of Ferrara-Florence was heavily attended by the hierarchy of the Western church. At the first sessions in Ferrara, there were not only more than 360 Latin clerics, with bishops’ mitres, cardinals’ beanies, and monastic tonsures, but also the pope, the emperor of Byzantium, and the patriarch of Constantinople (Dupront, Les Conciles, 39). The ‘virevoltements’ of participants at the councils are often astonishing. Enea Silvio Piccolomini, who would one day go on to become Pope Pius II himself, had begun as a ‘conciliarist’ at Basel. When he repented and tried in 1445 to get back into Eugenius’s good graces, he would have begun with the most abject terms of submission to the very person whom he had vilified only a few years before. See Totaro, ‘Gli scritti di Enea Silvio Piccolomini sul Concilio,’ 47. 28 Pragmatique Sanction, 1r. 29 ‘Comme ainsi soit donc quil ait pleu à la divine pitié inspirer de nostre temps aux cœurs des loyaulx Chrestiens que le sainct Senne ou consile de leglise universelle fust & ait esté assemblé en la cité de Basle, et ait esté celebré tant par la continuation des decretez et ordonnances des immediats precedens concilz generaulx de Constance et de Sienne, que par la solennelle convocation & approbation de deux Papes: c’est à sçavoir de feu de bonne memoire, Martin cinquiesme et Eugene quatriesme, moderne, à fin de cultiver le champ du troupeau de nostre Seigneur qui est en l’Eglise militante, et de deuement reformer en chef & en membres l’estat ecclesiastique, qui tant de besoing en a de present, pour la multitude et abondance d’iniquité et peché qui regne, et refroidissement de charité et bonne amour des hommes.’ Ibid., 1r–1v. 30 Ibid., 4r. 31 Ibid., 4r. 32 Ibid., 5v–6r. 33 Ibid., 5v. 34 Ibid., 6r. 35 Ibid., 7r–v. 36 ‘Lesquels decrets, comme ils gisent icelle congregation desdits prelats & aultres gens ecclesiastiques representans icelle Eglise gallicane a acceptez et accepte.’ Ibid., 8r. 37 Ibid. 38 ‘Pasteurs & prelats soient prefectz & ordonnez à l’Eglise qui fermement la

Notes to pages 29–33

39 40 41

42 43 44 45

46 47 48

49

50 51 52

261

substantent et soustiennent comme colomnes et piliers par vertus de doctrine et bonne meurs.’ Ibid. Tierney, ‘The Idea of Representation,’ 25–6. See also Benedetto, ‘Nota su taluni aspetti della Struttura delle assemblee mediœvali,’ 74–5. Pragmatique Sanction, 8r. ‘Et si aucun de quelque estat que il soit,/ de dignité soit cardinale/ patriarchale/ pontificale, ou autre dispose contre ledict ordre & qualifications designees, comme dit est ou à designer diceulx benefices, dignitez personnats, offices, et adminstrations en quelque maniere que ce soit, telle provision soit sans aultre deliberation irrite & de nul effect.’ Ibid., 15r. Ibid., 21r. Ibid., 24v–5v. Ibid., 25v–8r. Despite the influence of his ideas on the councils, Ockham was not a great believer in the power of councils since he was not convinced that the community was a better judge than a single person. See Lagarde, ‘Ockham et le concile général,’ 1:86. Yet he spent a considerable amount of time in his political writings defending the ability of temporal powers and prelates to question the power of the pope. He explains, for example, that ‘it is commendable to dispute about the pope’s power to refute those who err by extending it dangerously far.’ A Short Discourse on the Tyrannical Government, 7; see also his Il Filosofo e la politica; and John Trevisa’s translation of Dialogue between a Soldier and a Cleric in Dialogus inter Militem et Clericum, which has been attributed to Ockham and Pierre du Bois. On Lateran V, see Catholicisme hier, aujourd’hui, demain), 15; and Minnich, ‘Paride de Grassi’s Diary of the Fifth Lateran Council,’ 374–88. Cajetan, De comparatione autoritatis Papæ & Concilii, in Opuscula omnia, 5. Cajetan argued that ‘quòd quia autoritas Pape immediatè est à Deo, et revelata in sacra Scriptura, et autoritas ecclesiæ universalis immediatè dicitur esse à Deo.’ Opuscula omnia, 5. ‘voluit tamen et statuit ut non populare, non diutium, non potentum, non optimatum multorum, aut paucorum esset regimen: sed unius tantùm: promittens soli Petro, Matthaei decimosexto, Tibi dabo claves, etc., et eidem soli promissionem exhibens, curam omnium ovium suarum committens, Ioannis ultimo, Pasce oves meas.’ Ibid. Ibid. See also Ockham, A Short Discourse on the Tyrannical Government, 25–6. Cajetan, Opuscula omnia, 6. ‘In concilio quoque Aecumenico Florentino, sub Eugenio quarto (ubi unio Graecorum et Armenorum cum Romana ecclesia facta est) habentur haec verba, Diffinimus sanctam apostolicam sedem et Romanum pontificem in

262 Notes to pages 33–6

53

54 55

56 57 58 59 60

61

universum orbem tenere primatum, et ipsum Romanum pontificem successorem esse beati Petri principis Apostolorum, et verum Christi vicarium, totiusque ecclesiae caput, et omnium Christianorum patrem ac doctorem existere, et ipsi in beato Petro pascendi, regendi et gubernandi universalem ecclesiam, à Domino nostro Iesu Christo plenam potestatem traditam esse.’ Ibid. ‘Fundant igitur hi constitutionem dictam primo in actis concilii Constaniensis sub Ioanne 23 anno Domini 1415, ubi in sessione quinta habita die 6 mensis Aprilis sic legitur, Hec sancta synodus declarat quod ipsa in Spiritu sancto legitime congregata, concilium generale faciens, et ecclesiam catholicam repræsentans, potestatem a Christo immediate habet: cui quamlibet cuiuscumque status vel dignitatis, etiam si papalis existat, obedire tenetur, in his quae pertinent ad fidem, et extirpationem dicti schismatis, et reformationem dictæ ecclesiæ in capite et in membris.’ Ibid., 9. Ibid., 9–10. ‘Et si instetitur quod apostolica sede vacante invenitur universalis ecclesia, et tamen sine capite, quod est Papa, respondetur quod non invenitur universalis ecclesia nisi imperfecta: ita quod imperfectio ista est conditio diminuens ly Universalis ecclesia, sicut corpus truncum diminuit a corpore integro universale eum universitatem claudit in se membrorum officialium: quorum praecipuum est caput. Unde tunc ecclesia est acephalia: est absque eius suprema parte et potestate. Et qui hoc negat, in errorem Ioan. Huss negantis necessitatem capitis ecclesiae in terris (damnatum a S. Thom. et Martino 5. cum concilio Constantiensi, ut dictum est) incidit.’ Ibid., 10. Ibid., 7. Ibid., 10–11. Ibid., 13. Ibid., 13 and 20. See Minnich, ‘Paride de Grassi’s Diary of the Fifth Lateran Council,’ 376. The pope obviously meant serious business since he had issued a bull more than a year earlier announcing his intention to discuss the issue and asking all ‘Prelatos Gallice nationis tam Clericos quam Laicos etiam Nobiles ac alios illis faventes’ to be prepared to come to Rome. He promises them safe conduct passes and requires them to be in Rome by October the next year (1516). If they do not show up the discussion will take place without them in the following session in December. See Leo X, Bulla super materia pragmatice sanctionis, bull dated 4 May 1515, no page numbers. ‘Primitiva illa ecclesia in angulari petra a Salvatore nostro Ihesu christo fundata Apostolorum preconiis elata Martiriumque sanguine consecrata & aucta ubi primum iuuvante domino per orbem terrarum lacertos movere

Notes to pages 36–7

62

63 64 65

66

67 68 69

263

cepit pervide attendens quantum oneris humeris impositum haberet quot oves pascere quot custodire ad quot etiam remotissima loca oculos intendere oporteret divino quedam consilio parrochias instituit dioceses distixit Episcopos creavit & Metropolitanos prefecit ut tanquam membra capiti obsesquentia cuncta secundum eius voluntatem salubriter in domino gubernaret & tanquam rivuli a perenni fonte Romane videlicet ecclesia derivantes ne angulum quidem dominici agri irrigatum.’ Ibid., bull dated 14 January 1516, aii. Cajetan’s prefatory remarks to Leo X in his edition of Thomas Aquinas’s Opera omnia are exemplary of the new configuration of ecclesiastical politics: after the Fifth Lateran council, power is back firmly in the pope’s court. Cajetan’s remarks show how Leo X had eradicated the power of the Pragmatic Sanction and returned it to the Apostolic Seat: ‘... sedis Apostolicæ auctoritatem supra Synodum statuendam esse tanta firmitate sanxisti ut Lateranensis ipsa Synodus veterum Conciliorum vestigia imitari ac se Pontificiae auctoritati subditam esse confiteri non erubuerit; dumque ineodem Concilio, Pragmatica Sanctione extincta, integrum Sedi Apostolicae ius suum restituisti.’ Preface to Sancti Thomae Aquinatis doctoris angelici opera omnia, 8:3. On the relationship of Leo X and Francis I, see Knecht, ‘The Concordat of 1516,’ 109–11. See Nitti, Leone X, 68. Dupront, Les Conciles, 42. The bull abrogating the Pragmatic insists on the bilateral relationship of pope and king: ‘Franciscus Francor. Rex xpianissimus personaliter nobis perstitit hec cum Maiestate sua coram discutere eumque que paternis hortari monitis ut ad laudem dei & sui honore prompto animo libens ac volens dicte Pragmatice sanctioni abrenuntiare & secundum canones & Constitutiones. S.R.E. quemadmodum ceteri xpiani vivere mandatis apl.cis & provisionibus que a sede apl.ica pro tempore emanarent parere & obedire vellet.’ Leo X, Bulla S.D.N. Leonis.X, aiii v. Dupront’s remarks on the importance of the Concordat are especially noteworthy: ‘A Bologne, l’autorité de l’unité spirituelle et le monarque nationale s’entendaient pour se passer respectivement et du Concile et de l’Eglise nationale. “Concordat” qui était renforcement singulier d’autorité du pape et du prince, une libération, pour la vie de l’Eglise, des assemblées délibérantes, et l’une des assiettes les plus solides, dans l’histoire de la religion d’Occident, de l“absolutisme” moderne.’ Les Conciles, 54. Pragmatique Sanction, 37v. Ibid., 38r. Ibid., 38v.

264 Notes to pages 37–41 70 Ibid. 71 ‘Leon Evesque serf des serfs de Dieu pour perpetuelle memoire de la chose. La primitive Eglise fondee par nostre sauveur Iesuchrist en la pierre angulaire elevee par les predications des apostres, consacree & augmentee du sang des martyrs. Lors que iadis premierement elle commença à esmouvoir ses bras par l’universelle terre, prudentement considerant les grans faix & charge pondereuse mis sur ses epaules combien de brebis il luy falloit paistre, & combien garder & à combien & divers lieux prochains & loingtains elle estoit contrainte gecter sa veue, par divin conseil institua les paroisses, partit & separa les dioceses: crea les Evesques, & par dessus eux prefist & establist les metropolitains. A ce que par eux correspondans & coadjuteurs comme membres au chef, elle gouvernast selon sa volunté salutairement toutes choses. Et à ce qu’eux comme ruisseaux derivans de l’eternele & perpetuele fontaine l’Eglise Rommaine, ne laissaissent un seul coing de tout le divin & dominique champ, qui ne fut arrousé de doctrine salutaire.’ Ibid., 40r–v. 72 The same submission to the pope’s authority takes place in monasteries and priories. See ibid., 42r–v. The only exceptions are those churches, convents, monasteries, and priories that have obtained the privilege from the holy see to elect their own prelates. See ibid., 42v–4v. 73 ‘Oratores autem Franciæ duo episcopi in urbe præsentes noluerunt adesse concilio quia nolebant consentire revocationi pragmaticae sanctionis ne displicerent prælatis et nationi, sed consenserunt secreto. Deinde episcopus cavalicensis acceptam de manu Papae minutam legit, quae erat revocatoria et abrogatoria sanctionis pragmaticae in Francia, et omnes responderunt absolute placet et inter omnes Papa dixit non solum placet, sed multum placet, et perplacet’ (11th session of the council, December 1516) in Grassi, Il Diario di Leone X di Paride de Grassi, 39–40. Emphasis mine. 74 Knecht, Renaissance Warrior and Patron, 99. 2. The Representation of Basel in Chants Royaux Written for the Puy de Rouen 1 For more on these confréries in Normandy, see Vincent, Des Charités bien ordonnées, and Les Confréries médiévales. Vincent remarks on the communal nature of these confréries: ‘L’élaboration d’une définition précise de la confrérie s’avère difficile hors d’un contexte chronologique et géographique bien déterminé. Cependant, ce type de d’association, quelle qu’en soit la nature, s’inscrit comme toute structure collective au sein du mouvement communautaire dont le développement, au Moyen Age, n’est plus à

Notes to pages 41–4

2 3

4

5 6

7

8

265

démontrer. La société médiévale intègre l’individu, dès sa naissance et tout au cours de son existence, dans de multiples groupes: communauté familiale d’abord, puis communauté d’habitants dans les villages, les bourgs ou les cités, communautés professionnelles pour la plupart artisanales, communautés religieuses enfin, tels les monastères, les couvents ou les paroisses.’ Des Charités bien ordonnées, 25. See also Les Confréries médiévales, 13–29, 30–3, 185–9. Ballin, Notice historique, 9. For the Confrérie de l’Immaculée Conception de Rouen and other puys marials, see Gros, Le Poète, la vierge et le prince du puy: étude sur les puys; and Hüe, La Poésie palinodique à Rouen. For more on this confrérie see Ballin, Notice Historique; Gautier, Dictionnaire des confréries, 185–90; and Newcombe, ‘The Puy at Rouen.’ The commercial nature of the confrérie is alluded to in the ‘envoy’ of a chant royal that seems to be composed by Osmont, in which the addressee is not the familiar prince du puy: ‘Marchans croyez que pour bien prouffiter / Il vous convient ceste mer frequenter / Et sans argent aurez en quantite/ Marchandises de toute qualite / Huylle ble vin azur et or en masse / Car dieu la fist pour vostre utilite / Mer qui recoit et donne toute grace.’ Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 2205, 7v. O’Malley, Trent and All That, 136. See Manna, ‘L’Autorità del Papa,’ 449. The council did not hold any sessions during the period when the Immaculate Conception was discussed. Gill explains in Constance et Bâle-Florence: ‘Du 14 avril 1436 au 7 mai 1437, Bâle ne tint plus de sessions mais s’épuisa en un grand nombre de mesquines et ridicules querelles et en discussions vaines sur le lieu du concile avec les Grecs, question sur laquelle Eugène avait fait alerter les Pères par Albergati et Cervantès,’ (160). During this time, Eugenius was in Bologna (163–1). Nevertheless, he leaves the decision regarding the Immaculate Conception to the pope. He says that the council during this period had the authority of a ‘Satanic Synagogue’: ‘Sed isthæc determinatio multò minus prodest, quàm prima: tum quoniam congregatio illa Basilien. tunc temporis non erat synodus, nec concilium, sed erat schismatica: ut potesscissa à capite ecclesiæ Eugenio quarto: ut patet ex ordine sessionum: nam in 34 sessione, 7 Cal. Iulii deposuerunt de facto Eugenium, & post in sessione 36. quintodecimo Calen. Octobris sequentis determinarunt de conceptione. Unde hinc non nisi synagogæ Satanæ autoritas afferri potest ...’ Cajetan, Tractatus primus de conceptione beatæ Mariæ virginis ad Leonem decimum pontif. maximum. in quinque capita divisus, in Opuscula omnia 2:164. ‘Sacro sancta synodus Basiliensis in spiritusancto legittime congregate uni-

266 Notes to pages 44–7

9

10 11

12

13

versalem ecclesiam representans.’ Copia bulle, 1r. The title of the bull itself reflects the same conciliar bias. See Bibliography, 343. See also Decreta et acta, cxci r–cxcii v. ‘Maria prevemente et operante divini muneris gratia singulari numquam actualiter subiacuisse originali peccato et actuali culpe semperque sanctam et immaculatam tanqum piam et consonam cultui et ecclesiastico fidei catholice Recte rationi et sacro scripture ab omnibus catholicis approbandam fore et tenendam & amplectendam diffinimus decernimus et declaramus. Nullique de cetero licitum esse in contrarium predicare seu docere.’ Copia bulle, 2r. See also Decreta et acta, cxcii r–v. Copia bulle, 2v. Richard Bonneannee, ‘A basle fust ung consille notable,’ Bibliothèque municipale de Rouen, ms. Y 18, 6v–8r. See Gros, Le Poete, 182, 238–9; and Hüe, La Poésie palinodique, 916–17. This poem won the concours of the puy in 1489. It is important to note how Bonneannee specifically refers to the edict promulgated at Basel, despite the fact that Sixtus IV had written a papal edict in 1486 promulgating the same doctrine. No copy of this papal edict exists and there is some doubt as to its existence. It is mentioned nonetheless in Gabriel Biel’s analysis of the doctrine, published in 1501. Biel tells those who do not believe that the doctrine is ‘kosher’ since the Council of Basel was not ‘legitime congregatum’ that they also have Sixtus IV’s word for it: ‘Et si qui impudentes, ut suam defenderent temeritatem, dominam nostram inhonorantes dicere ausi sint Basiliense concilium non fuisse legitime congregatum et ideo constitutiones suas nullas fore, contra acceptationem earum in concordatis principum, attendant auctoritatem summi pontificis Sixti papae quarti, qui historiam de hoc festo sua ordinatione editam, in qua expresse continetur sine originali conceptam, repetitis vicibus approbavit et omnibus eam in festo conceptionis in ecclesiis publice cantantibus, dicentibus, aut interessentibus indulgentias largas largitus est.’ Biel, Collectorium circa quattuor libros Sententiarum, dis. 3, quaestio 1, 88–9. Other documents also attest to the plural authority of the council. See, for example, a letter written from Rouen to the council fathers in July 1434. This letter recognizes in its initial address to the council that the council represents the church: ‘Reverendissimis et honoratissimis ac metuendissimis Patribus sacrosanctam Synodam Ecclesiam universalem repræsentatem Basileæ tenentibus, humiles vestri filiali subjectione subditi Consules et Cives Civitatis Rotomagensis.’ It also constantly refers to the council through the plural: ‘Reverendissimi ac honoratissimi, ac in timore Domini sancto Reverendissimi Patres, Considerantes apud nos nihil esse quod adeo

Notes to pages 49–64

14 15

16

17 18

19

20 21

267

indignationem provocet Altissimi sicut ingratitudo; ipsa enim est provocatio malorum, beneficiorum exinanitio, et extinctio meritorum: quapropter miserationum, quas in Ecclesia sancti Audoëni Rotomagensis per literas vestras magnificastis, pro quo qua vicibus repetitis ausi fuimus sanctitatis vestræ congregationis dudum rescribere, iugem habentes firmamque memoriam ...’ Epistola Rotomagensium ad Concilium Basileense, 303. Nicole Faulvel, in Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms.fr. 1538, microfilm 5017, 38v–9v. See Gros, Le poète, 184. Marot, Les Deux Recueils, 53–6. See also Œuvres, Nouvelle Edition, 218–20. This poem was popular in the early years of the sixteenth century and it appears in several manuscripts such as Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 19369, 35r–6v; Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 2205, 35r–6r; Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 379, 1v–2r. See also Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. n. acq. fr. 1253, note 33, for an allusion to this poem in eighteenth-century correspondence between Haillet de Couronne and the Abbot Guiot. See also Hüe, La poésie palinodique, 495. Sigismund supported the council in April 1432 since it offered him the chance of recovering Bohemia. In the course of being crowned emperor by the pope he mediated between Eugenius and the council. See Crowder, Unity, Heresy and Reform, 187. He was received very solemnly at the ninth session of the council on 22 January 1433. See Tanner, Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, 465; see also Gill, Constance et Bâle-Florence, 147. See Crowder, Unity, Heresy and Reform, 188; and Dupront, Les Conciles, 40. See Jean Marot, ‘Epître d’un complaignant l’abusif gouvernement du pape,’ which appears in an article by J.B. Colbert de Beaulieu: ‘L’“Epître d’un complaignant l’abusif gouvernement du pape” de Jean Marot (1511),’ Scriptorium 3 (1949): 91–109. Other anti-papal works from this period include Jean Lemaire de Belges, Traité de la différence des schismes et des conciles de l’Eglise (1511) and Jean Bouchet, La Déploration de l’Eglise militante (1512). Guillaume Cretin, ‘Aprez fonder universelle estude,’ in Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 2205, 56r–7r. This poem also appears in Rouen Y 18, 88v–90r. See Gros, Le Poète, 188; Hüe, La Poésie palinodique, 463. Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 2205, 57v–8v. See Gros, Le Poète, 188; Hüe, La Poésie palinodique, 463. Other literary works from the time, such as a mystère, La Dame a l’agneau, written by Guillaume Thybault in 1521, also refer to Basel and the pope. In order to remain within the context of the chants royaux written for the puy de Rouen, texts such as this mystère will not be discussed here, although they do reflect the same sort of problem found in the chants royaux. This mystère is also strategically located in the manuscript in which it is found

268 Notes to pages 67–84

22

23 24

25 26 27

28 29 30 31

(Rouen Y18) being placed immediately after the ‘lettre d’approbation’ written for the Confrérie de l’Immaculée Conception de Rouen. Thybault’s play associates the doctrine with Basel but it also brings the pope clearly into the picture for the first time. See also Tasserie, Le Triumphe des Normands, 77–104, 111–13, 114. Nicole Osmont, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 1537, microfilm 2036, 74r–5r. Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 1537 was previously numbered 7584 in the Bibliothèque du Roi. The ‘Table des Chants royaux sur la conception contenus dans le ms. 7584 de la Bibliothèque du Roy’ explains that chant royal no. 28 ‘Le grand Evesque en l’Eglise Romaine’ with the refrain ‘Le grand decret d’auctorite divine’ is by Nicole Osmont. See 5r. See Hüe, La Poésie palinodique, 464, for date. Hüe indicates that this poem was by Jacques Fillastre. Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 1537, 73v. See Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 1537, 11v. The illumination and the poem are preceded by the following description: ‘Chant Royal sur le grand decret / Que le pape ordonna pour lhomme / Contre peche comme diseret [?] / Cest Marie en concept sans somme / De vice que grace consomme’ (73r). Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 1537, 85r–6v. For date and identification of author, see Hüe, La poésie palinodique, 464. Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 1537, 84v. The explanation of the illustration is on 11v. Raoul Parmentier, ‘Sur un beau champ ou gerbes sont a tas,’ in Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 379 (microfilm 393), 24r. Gros says that this manuscript was compiled most probably in the second quarter of the sixteenth century, see Gros, Le poète, 225. See also Hüe, La poésie palinodique, 926, n. 3. Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 379 (microfilm 393), 24r. On allegorizations of the Three Estates, see Dumont, ‘Recherches sur les ordres dans l’opinion française sous l’ancien régime.’ Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms. fr. 379 (microfilm 393), 1v. See Paul Zumthor who says of medieval chansons: ‘[l]’aspect subjectif de la chanson (le sens du je qui la chante) n’a pour nous d’existence que grammaticale.’ Essai de poétique médiévale, 192.

3. Late-Medieval Polity and Poetics 1 See Brown, Poets, Patrons, and Printers, for a discussion of the distinction between acteur and auteur in the rhétoriqueurs, 197–246. She says, for example, about Throsne d’honneur: ‘At the same time that Molinet’s name marks

Notes to pages 84–5

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the text a work he created, the metaphorical association of the word “molinet” with a small mill draws attention away from the author to the object, which has a function in the text. In fact, the writer fragments himself into a grammatical and concrete object, a big mill (gros molinet), and a human subject described in the third person (limeur). Through the third person stance of his acteur-narrator, he seems on the one hand to deride his accomplishment by qualifying it in derogatory terms as a “gros rimage” and by asking the reader’s forgiveness for any flaws (1:58, vv. 44–46)’ (217). ‘C’est précisément là qu’est la difficulté; l’homme est a-politique. La politique prend naissance dans l’espace-qui-est-entre-les hommes, donc dans quelque chose de fondamentalement extérieur-à-l’homme. Il n’existe donc pas une substance véritablement politique. La politique prend naissance dans l’espace intermédiaire et elle se constitue comme relation. C’est ce que Hobbes avait compris.’ Arendt, Qu’est-ce que la politique? 33. Commynes, Mémoires, 2:207–16. See also Keohane, Philosophy and the State in France, 29. ‘aucuns dient que a tresbonne policie il convient que elle soit mixte et composee de toutes ou de tous citoiens.’ Gloss: ‘Car une policie est attrempee et refrenee par l’autre. Et aussi quant presque tous les citoiens ont aucune dominacion, il ont moins matiere de sedicion, si comme se le peuple a auctorité en aucune chose et les grans en une autre et le roi en une autre.’ Oresme, Le Livre de Politiques d’Aristote, Book II, chap. 10, p. 90. See Grignaschi, ‘Nicolas Oresme et son commentaire,’ 115–16. For a more recent analysis of Oresme’s commentary of Aristotle’s Politics, see Babbitt, Oresme’s Livre de Politiques. See also Lyon, ‘Medieval Constitutionalism.’ Machiavelli compares Turkish and French monarchies: ‘Tutta la monarchia del Turco è governata da uno signore; gli altri sono sua servi; e, distinguendo il suo regno in Sangiachi, vi manda diversi amministratori, e li muta e varia come pare a lui. Ma il re di Francia è posto in mezzo d’una moltitudine antiquata di signori, in quello stato riconosciuti da’ loro sudditi e amati da quelli; hanno le loro preeminenzie; non le può il re tòrre loro sanza suo pericolo.’ Il Principe, 99. ‘Certes, à la fin du Moyen Age, le citoyen responsable commence à percer sous le sujet passif, la nécessaire collaboration du prince et du pays apparaît de meiux en mieux, l’idée d’un contrat liant à égalité le prince et le pays s’impose de plus en plus, les XIVe et XVe siècles sont vraiment le temps du dualisme.’ Guenée, L’Occident, 157. Guenée notes nonetheless that the dialogue is not equal between the subject who is beginning to be conscious of itself and this prince supported by centuries-old conviction. See Kern, Kingship and Law. See Giesey, The Juristic Basis of Dynastic Right to the French Throne, 11–12. See

270 Notes to pages 85–8

9

10 11 12 13 14

15

16 17

18 19 20

also Songe du Vergier, book I, c. 78, 127–9; and Gerson, Liber de vita spirituali animae, 33. Guenée explains that ‘[a]insi les princes d’Occident acceptèrent peu à peu d’être liés à leurs sujets, et non plus simplement à leurs vassaux, par un véritable contrat aux clauses précises dont le non-respect pouvait justifier leur déposition.’ L’Occident, 245. Ibid. See below (89–91) for a discussion of Commyne’s theory of contrepoids. See Lewis, ‘Jean Juvenal des Ursins,’ 111–15. Guenée explains: ‘Même si le sceptre est tenu d’une main firme, les sujets ont encore à donner au prince leurs avis.’ L’Occident, 153. For the context and influence of Gerson’s political writings, see Guillon, De Johanne Gersonio, Tierney, ‘Origins of Natural Rights Language,’ 624–5 and Carstens, The Medieval Antecedents of Constitutionalism, 59–71. ‘La premiere verité, ainsi que par l’enseignement de nature tous les membres en un vray corps s’exposent pour le salut du chef, pareillement doibt estre au corps mistic des vrais subjectz à leur seigneur. Mais d’autre part le chef doibt addresser & gouverner les autres membres, autrement ce feroit la destruction: car chef sans corps ne peut durer. Ceste verité est contre l’horreur de ceulx qui ont voulu dire, qu’un seigneur n’est de rien tenu ny obligé à ses subiects, qui est contre droict divin & naturele equité, & la vraie foy de seigneurie. Car comme les subiects doibvent foy, subside & service, aussi le seigneur doibt foy, protection & defence à ses subjectz. Une bonté l’autre requiert, selon les docteurs.’ Gerson, Harengue, 18v. See Guillon, De Johanne Gersonio, 37. ‘Ie raporte et refere tousiours à discretion tout mon propos, par quelque mot ie l’expose, c’est que le Roy vive, vive dis je de vie non pas seulement corporele comme dict est, mais civile & misticque. Laquelle se tient & garde par unité de luy comme du chef avecq’ ses subjects, qui sont comme le corps ayant divers membres selon diverses offices & estats qui sont en ce Royaume. Pourtant un Roy comme il n’est pas personne singuliere mais est une puissance publicque ordonnee par le salut de tout le commun, ainsi comme du chef descent, & l’espand la vie par tout le corps. Et à ce furent ordonnez les Rois & les princes du commencement par commun accord de tous, & tellement doibvent persever en telle maniere.’ Harengue, 18r. On the deposing of tyrants, see Guenée, L’Occident, 156. Boulet-Sautel, ‘La Liberté au moyen age,’ 285. ‘La deuxième verité. Quant au regard corporel, comme il n’est chose plus cruelle, horrible & hideuse, que veoir un corps humain, ou naturel se deschirer, ou se desmembrer par morsure ou autrement. Semblablement au

Notes to pages 88–9

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regard spirituel de raison, n’est pas moindre cruauté: mais trop plus grande au corps mistiq’, si les parties sont diverses et divisées, & se persecutent l’une l’autre comme seigneurs leurs subiects, ou les subiects leurs seigneurs, comme persecutent en ce que l’un oste l’office & droict de l’autre: car naturelement toute chose defend son droict, & reboute faict par faict, violence par violence. Vim vi repellere licet. Si appert que ceux errent qui disent aux Princes, que tout est leur, & qu’ils peuvent faire du tout à leur devise & volunté en prenant tout & attribuant à soy ce que les subiects ont sans autre titre. Qu’est ce à dire cecy fors prenez tout, & que s’ensuit il? Il s’en ensuit tel inconvenient, comme si le chef vouloit attraire à soy tout le sang, l’humeur, & la substance des autres membres: que seroit ce? n’est point de doubte, ce seroit sa propre destruction: chef sans corps ne peut durer: corps sans soustenance perit tantost.’ Harengue, 19v–20r. See Giesey, ‘The French Estates and the Corpus Mysticum Regni,’ 158–9. ‘En un livre intitulé Defensor pacis ceste raison est alleguee a monstrer que lays humaines positives doivent estre faictes, promulgees, corrigees ou muees de l’auctorité et consentement de toute la communité ou de la plus vaillant partie.’ Oresme, Le Livre de Politiques d’Aristote, Livre III, chap. 14, p. 137. ‘Et donques appert que, selon Aristote, puisque le prince est sous la lay et par ce que dit est devant en cest chapitre, il ne peut la lay enfreindre ne muer sans l’assentement du peuple.’ Ibid., Livre III, chap. 14, pp. 137–8. ‘Et apres, selon ce l’en doit jugier non pas comme legiste sousmis a celle lay, mes comme celu qui a en soy prudence politique.’ Ibid., Livre V, chap. 25, p. 244. ‘Il pourroit doncques sembler que ces divisions fussent necessaires par le monde et que ces esguillons et choses opposites que Dieu a données et ordonnées à chascun Estat et presque à chacune personne que j’ay parlé dessus qu’elles sont aussi necessaires. Et, de prime face, en parlant comme homme non litteré, qui ne veulx tenir oppinion que celle que nous devons tenir, le me semble ainsi, et principallement pour la bestialité de plusieurs princes et aussi pour la mauvaistié d’autres qui ont sens assez et experience, mais ilz en veulent mal user.’ Commynes, Mémoires, 2:211. See Blanchard, Commynes l’Européen, 286–97, for an insightful analysis of Commynes’s relationship and understanding of the role of the Estates General. Blanchard notes of Commynes, and other late-medieval intellectuals such as Philippe de Mézières, Juvenal des Ursins, and Nicole Oresme, that ‘[t]ous restent fidèles à une conception aristotélicienne d’une monarchie paternelle, où le prince, soucieux du bien public, se voue à la défense de ses sujets et à la conservation de leurs biens. Le consentement des Etats à la

272 Notes to pages 89–90

27

28 29

30 31 32

33 34

levée des impôts est, comme on l’a noté, une question beaucoup plus éthique qu’institutionnelle’ (289). The scholarly criticism on popular assemblies in the Middle Ages and the early-modern period is immense. For an extensive overview of this scholarship through the 1950s see Cam, Marongiu, and Stökl, ‘Recent Work.’ See also Guenée, ‘Espace et Etat dans la France du Bas Moyen Age’; Myers,‘The English Parliament and the French Estates-General in the Middle Ages’; Lyon, ‘Medieval Constitutionalism’; Charnay, ‘Naissance et développement de la ‘vérification des pouvoirs’ dans les anciennes assemblées françaises’; Lewis, ‘The Failure of the French Medieval Estates.’ Billioud, Les Etats de Bourgogne, 101. On Burgundian Estates, see also Cam, Marongiu, and Stökl, ‘Recent Work,’ 55–6. Billioud, Les Etats de Bourgogne, 106–7; 292–8. The role and importance of the Estates is a hotly debated subject among modern historians. It is beyond the limits of this study, and the competence of the author, to get into these debates; here, we will simply try to follow some of the arguments presented by supporters and detractors of Estates throughout the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Some historians, such as J. Russell Major, see the Estates as having increasing importance throughout the sixteenth century as France went through a decentralizing process. Others, such as Salvo Mastellone, explain that the French royalty depended less on representative assemblies than on a powerful band of devoted officers and the creation of Parlements and other administrative provincial organs. For Mastellone, this was an avowal of the impotence of the feudal powers in the face of a strong centralized power. See Major, Representative Government, 160; and Mastellone, ‘Osservazioni sulla “Renaissance Monarchy” in Francia.’ Bernard Guenée says the high point of the Estates came in 1484 and that they seem to lose their importance greatly during the sixteenth century as the royal bureaucracy grows ever more powerful. See his L’Occident, 251–63, esp. 261–3, and 302–8. See also Cam, Marongiu, and Stökl, ‘Recent Work,’ 8. Commynes, Mémoires, 2:217. Ibid., 218. ‘J’ay les subgectz si très bons et loyaulx qu’ilz ne me reffusent chose que je leur demande et suys plus crainct et obéy et servy de mes subgectz que nul aultre prince qui vive sur terre et qui plus patientement endurent tous maulx et toutes ruddesses et à qui moins il souvient de leurs dommaiges passez.’ Ibid., 218–19. Ibid., 219; see Major, Representative Government, 47. ‘et sont ceulx qui commectent ce cryme envers Dieu et le roy et la chose publicque; mais servoyent ces parolles et servent à ceulx qui sont en auc-

Notes to pages 90–2

35 36 37 38 39 40

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torité et credit sans en riens l’avoir merité, et qui ne sont point propices d’y estre et n’ont accoustumé que de fleureter en l’oreille et parler de choses de peu de valleur et craignent les grandz assemblées, de paour qu’ilz ne soyent congneüz et que leurs œuvres ne soyent blasmées.’ Commynes, Mémoires, 2:219–20. Ibid., 2:221–2. Ibid., 2:222. See Lewis, ‘Jean Juvenal,’ 103–4. See Picot, Histoire des Etats Généraux, I:348–9. See Basin, Histoire de Louis XI, for a remarkable and telling account of Louis XI’s reign. Picot, Histoire des Etats Généraux, 349. Marongiu, ‘Les Etats de Tours de 1484,’ 20. Ibid., 21. The ‘cahiers’ of the Estates General of 1484 were redacted by Jean Masselin. For Masselin at the Estates of Tours, see Beaurepaire, Notice sur Maître Jean Masselin, 8–23. Picot explains that Masselin was an obscure canon from Rouen who became, thanks to the Estates in Tours, one of the great French political orators. Histoire des Etats Généraux, 353. Jean Masselin, who kept the journal of the Estates of Tours, writes: ‘Cette question: Quel est le pouvoir des états? suscita mille débats durant toutes nos séances et dans toutes les discussions publiques. Quelques-uns opinaient qu’alors l’autorité suprême du royaume était échue aux états, qu’ils ne devaient point recourir aux supplications, si ce n’est pour la forme, et parce que chacun des députés est estimé individuellement inférieur à un prince; mais qu’il fallait plutôt décréter et commander, du moins jusqu’à ce que les états eussent institué le conseil qui recevrait d’eux la souveraine puissance. D’autres soutenaient au contraire que ce n’était pas aux états, que c’était aux princes du sang, comme à des tuteurs légitimes, que la loi remettait le gouvernment du royaume; que, dans la rigueur du droit, il n’était pas nécessaire de demander le consentement des états, sinon pour lever des impôts; et que si l’on accorde davantage, c’est pure faveur des princes et complaisance de leur part.’ Journal, 139–41. I have given all quotes from the Journal in French since many of them are direct quotes from speeches that were made in French. Philippe Pot, Lord of La Roche, was born in 1428, in Burgundy. See Picot, who says: ‘Philippe Pot prononça un grand discours où l’on trouve résumés dans un magnifique langage les principes et les idées de souveraineté nationale qui ne devaient triompher que trois siècles plus tard.’ Histoire des Etats Généraux, 364–5; see also Level-Pot, Petite Biographie de Philippe Pot; Level-Pot and Pot, Philippe Pot, esp. 24; and Major, Representative Government, 183–4. Pot, quoted in Masselin, Journal, 141.

274 Notes to pages 92–3 44 ‘Mais, je vous le demande, qui ne proclamerait audacieux et envahisseur du pouvoir royal, perturbateur de la paix et tyran, et devant être frappé de la loi contre la brigue, l’homme qui sans demander le consentement de personne, s’emparerait, de son chef, du gouverment de l’état, envié de chacun, et que ne lui accorde point un titre regardé généralement comme très-clair et incontestable?’ Pot, quoted in Masselin, Journal, 147. 45 ‘J’appelle encore à l’appui de mon opinion ce motif, que la royauté est une dignité et non une hérédité, et qu’elle ne doit aucunement, comme les hérédités, passer toujours aux tuteurs naturels, savoir, aux proches parents. Quoi donc? me dira-t-on, est-ce que la chose publique restera dépourvue de directeur, et exposée à l’anarchie? Non, certes; car elle sera d’abord déférée à l’assemblée des états généraux, moins pour qu’ils l’administrent par euxmémes, que pour mettre à la tête les gens qu’ils jugeront les plus dignes. ... Comme l’histoire le raconte, et comme je l’ai appris de mes pères, dans l’origine le peuple souverain créa des rois par son suffrage, et il préféra particulièrement les hommes qui surpassaient les autres en vertu et en habilité. En effet, chaque peuple a élu un roi pour son utilité. Oui, les princes sont tels, non afin de tirer un profit du peuple et de s’enrichir à ses dépens, mais pour, oubliant leurs intérêts, l’enrichir et le conduire du bien au mieux. S’ils font quelquefois le contraire, certes, ils sont tyrans et méchants pasteurs, qui, mangeant eux-mêmes leurs brebis, acquièrent les mœurs et le nom de loups, plutôt que les mœurs et le nom de pasteurs.’ Ibid., 147. 46 ‘Et, préalablement, je veux que vous conveniez que l’état est la chose du peuple, qu’il l’a confiée aux rois, et que ceux qui l’ont eue par force ou autrement, sans aucun consentement du peuple sont censés tyrans et usurpateurs du bien d’autrui.’ Ibid., 149. Dora Bell adds: ‘Philippe Pot, seigneur de la Roche et député de Bourgogne prit la parole ... L’orateur cristallisa la pensée du parti de la réforme. D’un geste brusque, il renversa les formules élaborées en faveur de l’abolutisme et déclara que l’ascendant de la couronne sur la volonté nationale n’était qu’une fiction basée sur les fondements illusoires de la tradition. Le peuple est le vrai, le seul détenteur de l’autorité publique. Le roi règne par la volonté de la nation.’ L’Idéal éthique, 165. 47 ‘Loin de moi pourtant l’intention de dire que la capacité de régner ou la domination passe à tout autre qu’au roi! Je me borne à prétendre que l’administration du royaume et la tutelle, non le droit ou la propriété, sont accordées légalement pour un temps au peuple ou à ses élus.’ Pot, quoted in Masselin, Journal, 149. 48 Masselin points this out: ‘Ce discours fut écouté de toute l’assemblée très favorablement et très-attentivement.’ Journal, 157.

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49 Nouvelle Biographie générale, 886–7. 50 Procacci points this out in Classi Sociali, 22: ‘E nel 1498, quando Luigi XII saliva al trono, era ancora Jehan Masselin a rimostragli le gravi condizioni in cui versava il popolo “dont il estoit assez adverti, car le peuple du pais s’estoit plaint à luy aux derrains Etats. Les ungs n’ont pas de pain, lit ne couche”’ (And in 1498, when Louis XII ascended to the throne, it was Jehan Masselin who showed him once again the difficult conditions in which the people lived, ‘of which he was very aware, because the people of the country had complained to him about them at the last Estates. Some didn’t have bread, bed nor even a place to lie down). 51 Jehan de Rély, president of the section from Paris, explains: ‘Raison aussy naturèle enseigne la nécessité pourquoy on doit ceste subjection. Car, comme dit Aristote, en la fin de sa métaphysique, les choses veulent estre bien régies et ordonnées, ce que ne se pourroit faire par multitude de princes: pourquoy il fault obéir tous à ung prince. Saint Jérôme dit, en escrivant à Rusticum, et est allégué VII, q. I, que les mouches, faisans le miel, ont ung roy qui les régist et ordonne; et les grues, en volant, en mettent une première, et la suyvent à grant ordre. Pareillement, Romme, construicte par deux frères, ne peut estre gouvernée par deux roys, car l’ung occist l’autre, Romulus occist Remum. Et aussi expérience monstra, à l’encommencement de ce royaume de France, ou temps de Clotaire, Chilpéric et Brunichilde, comment plusieurs princes ne peurent régir sans estre subjectz à ung roy.’ See Masselin, Journal, 175. See also Jerome, Select Letters of St. Jerome, 422. 52 ‘Quel est le corps sans la tête? un cadavre gisant à terre, privé de sentiment, de mouvement et d’âme. Mais ici il ne faut point voir un tronc mutilé, une tête enflée et détachée des parties qui la portaient: il importe de considérer en ce lien les membres de l’état harmonieusement unis, au moyen de sages avis, de mutuels services et de bienveillance, autant que dans notre organisation les lois de la nature ont assorti et enchaîné étroitement la tête au corps. Or le roi est la première portion et la tête du corps politique, il est le principe du sentiment et de la vie. Pourquoi s’est -il toujours ainsi présenté à vous, aujourd’hui et précédemment? Afin que, dans tous les actes de l’assemblée, je veux dire ses séances et ses délibérations, il puisât comme un souffle de vie, et qu’il le fît circuler depuis la tête jusqu’aux pieds, ce qui signifie depuis votre premier acte jusqu’à l’acte actuel.’ Rochefort, quoted in Masselin, Journal, 601–3. 53 On the Estates of Burgundy, see Major, Representative Government, 207–12. 54 Billioud, Les Etats de Bourgogne, 446: ‘§ 5. – Item soit aussi remonstré comment oudit duchié, et aussi par tout le païs de Bourgoingne, y a peu de bled, et si y a pluseurs merchans qui en font grans greniers et en lievent et

276 Notes to page 95

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amassent tout ce qu’ilz pevent finer, en entencion de le revendre au plus hault pris qu’ilz pourront, et les pluseurs de le fere avaler et descendre aval la riviere de Soone et conduire ou païs bas, qui a esté cy en arriers et encorres pourra estre cause de affamer et depopuler le païs de Bourgoingne; et soit aussi touchié que aulcuns, ausquelz l’en a cy en arriers donné congié de avaler par ladicte riviere des poiz, quand ilz ne povoient avaler blef, ont, soubz umbre desdits poiz, en secret, et tellement que l’on ne s’en povoit appercepvoir, avalé grans quantitez de bledz. Si soit requis que desdiz bledz ne poiz l’on ne donne plus licence, etc., mesmement en temps de sterilité, car ce seroit grant pitié de enrichir VI, X, XII, ou XX merchans pour appouvrir et affamer ung païs, etc.’ Ibid.: ‘§ 6. – Item voyent nosdits sgrs. advertiz, et en parlent entre eulx, s’il leur plait, que pluseurs habitans dudit duchié sont fort travailliez en ce que l’en leur demande et vueilt on lever LX livres t. sur chacun appellant en France des juges ou sergens de mondit sgr, quand il est dit mal avoir esté appellé.’ Ibid., 447: ‘§ 9. – Item, et car mondit sgr. a adez de sa grace voulu entretenir les habitans de son duchié de Bourgoigne en leurs libertez et franchises, et fait de present plus que oncques mais, luy pourra estre remonstré que certain droit qui anciennement fut mis sus, appellé la menue conduite, lequel droit fut introduit pour le lever sur les lombars et aultres merchans estrangés admenans denrées de l’Empire oudit duchié ou les conduisans hor icellui, et parmi paiant lequel droit mondit sgr. Les tenoit en sehurté en ses païs et leur rendoit tous dommaiges de destrousse faicte en sesdits païs, quand le cas advenoit, et ne se levoit ledit droit sur aulcuns des subgez de mondit sgr ...’ Ibid., 150: ‘Dictes à Monsieur que nous luy sommes très humbles et obeyssans subjects et serviteurs; mais, quant à ce que vous nous avez proposé de sa part, il ne se fit jamais, il ne se peut faire, il ne se fera pas.’ See Sainct-Julien, De l’origine des Bourgongnons, 68 (cited in Billioud, Les Etats de Bourgogne, 150). Modern authors such as Michelet have included this version in their histories. The ambassador from Milan to Burgundy, Joanne Pietro Panigarola, recounts in his diplomatic dispatches back to Milan how Charles called the Estates of Burgundy in order to ask them for more subsidies to carry on his military campaigns. He recounts how Charles had to make a speech, something that was very rare for a king or reigning duke to do, to remind his subjects of past historical examples of kings being saved by their subjects. The Estates then proceeded to raise more taxes in order to defend the borders of the country. The duke declared himself ready to die for the mem-

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bers of the Estates and promised to behave himself better in the future. He would, of course, die the next year at the Battle of Nancy. See Gingins la Sarra, Dépeches des ambassadeurs milanais (Geneva: 1856), 346 and 454, cited in Billioud, Les Etats de Bourgogne, 146. In another account by the clerk of the city of Basel, Thüring Fricker, Charles’s behaviour is much less rational. According to Fricker, Charles had arrived at dawn on the morning of 12 July with two thousand men. He gave a violent speech to the members of the Estates and threatened to take refuge in Holland, leaving them [the members of the Estates and their families] at the mercy of the Swiss, the Lorrains, and Louis XI, all of whom would soon crush them. According to Fricker’s account, the members of the Estates then voted to raise funds to pay for 3000 men for the defence of the borders. Charles was delighted in any case and wrote to Claude de Neufchatel, the governor of Luxemburg: ‘They paid us not only what they owed us, but they also freely granted us and offered to pay on their own of their own accord to guard the country and to place garrisons, at their expense, on the borders of France, of Lorraine, and of Germany and to maintain them, especially during two months in summer.’ See Wilhelm Wischer, Basler Chroniken, vols 2 and 3 (Leipzig, 1880–7) die Beilage XI, 445, cited in Billoud, Les Etats de Bourgogne, 147–9. Both the Milanese and the Swiss accounts portray the Burgundian Estates as being on relatively good terms with the duke, and yet, in both, the duke is seen as depending on their benevolence. In Panigarola’s account, the duke reminds the members of the Estates how the subjects had saved kings in the past, and in Fricker’s account, Charles underlines how the Estates had acted ‘freely and of their will.’ Other accounts represent the position of the Estates as even more autonomous and independent of the duke. See Frédéricq, Essai sur le rôle, 182–7; and Gachard, Note sur le jugement. See Frédéricq, Essai sur le rôle, 183–7. See Prevenier and Boone, ‘Le Rêve d’un Etat urbain,’ 103; and Devaux, ‘Le Rôle politique de Marie de Bourgogne.’ For accounts of this see Molinet, Les Chroniques, vol. 1 (1474–1488), 209–14; Commynes, Mémoires, 2:192–201; Gachard, Note sur le jugement, 32–8; Devaux, ‘Les Soulèvements urbains de 1477’; and Santucci, ‘Gand et les Gantois.’ Molinet depicts this revolt in his Le Naufrage de la pucelle (1477). Jean Meschinot’s name (Jehan Meschineau) appears in the list of participants at the Estates. See Masselin, Journal, 733. On contemporary understanding of tyranny, see Lewis, ‘Jean Juvenal,’ 107. Meschinot, Les Lunettes des princes, lines 803–12.

278 Notes to pages 98–101 66 See Giesey, Dynastic Right, 16. 67 Oresme, Le Livre de Politiques d’Aristote, Livre III, chap. 14, p. 137. See Mario Grignaschi, who cites Oresme in ‘Nicolas Oresme et son commentaire à la ‘Politique’ d’Aristote,’ 112. 68 Meschinot, Les Lunettes des princes avec aulcunes balades, stanza 3, ballade 8. 69 Ibid., stanza 1, ballade 23. In ballade 15, he also insists on the mutuality of the relationship between prince and subject: ‘Tout prince bon cest raison entende / Que ses biens sont affin quil les despende / Comme le chief qui les membres soustient / Car sil est tel quen avarice tende / Tant qua chascun en equite ne rende / Tout par raison ce que leur appartient / Cest a monstrer par tresevident signe / Quen ses espris vice abonde & domine ...’ n.p. 70 Bouchet, ‘A Tresredoubtable, Tres-puissant, Et Felicissime Prince Loys de Valoys, douziesme de ce nom, invincible roy et empereur des Francoys & des Gaules, Iehan Bouchet procureur a Poictiers son pauvre & obeissant subiect rend treshumble salut,’ in Epistres, 1r. 71 ‘Et le premier moyen dont on donna / Tiltre de prince, & Roys on ordonna / Ce fut vertu, car en l’aage premiere / Voyans les gens la vertu singuliere / D’un homme seul qui tant avoit de sens / Que gouverner povoit hommes cinq cens / Le feirent Roy pour la sienne prestance / De cleres meurs, aussi pour sa constance.’ Ibid., 1v. 72 Ibid. 73 Ibid. 74 The best and most exhaustive analysis of the relation of politics and poetics in Molinet is undoubtedly Jean Devaux’s Jean Molinet, indiciaire bourguignon. Although my book sometimes takes different directions than Devaux’s study, like any other study devoted to politics in Molinet, it cannot help but stay in the shadow of his Jean Molinet. Regarding the critical role of the indiciaire, Devaux states: ‘Si l’application du titre d’indiciaire à l’historiographe de la maison de Bourgogne visait à “consacrer la dignité de cette fonction,” pareil néologisme témoigne en outre de la volonté manifeste de marquer la spécificité de cet office ducal.’ Jean Molinet, 33. See also his comment ‘Nous demeurons en effet résolument convaincu que seule une pleine et entière réhabilitation du discours panégyrique de Jean Molinet nous permettra de comprendre et d’apprécier en toute équité l’œuvre historique accomplie par l’indiciaire’ (92). On Burgundian dukes more generally, see Calmette, Les Grands Ducs de Bourgogne. 75 Molinet, Chroniques, 2:595. This description of the indiciaire’s critical role appears in a prologue that is included in several but not all manuscript versions of the Chroniques. See Chroniques, vol. 2:589, for an explanation. See

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also Chroniques de Jean Molinet (ed. 1827–8), 25–6. Devaux sees a good part of the criticism noted in this prologue as addressed to the nobility: ‘Le double objectif poursuivi par l’indiciaire – collauder les condignes et redarguer les coulpables – trouve sans nul doute sa meilleure application dans l’abondant discours qu’il consacre à une noblesse partagée entre lustre et décripitude.’ Jean Molinet, 359. Ullrich Langer emphasizes the contractual nature of epideictic discourse in the sixteenth century. Regarding the relationship of Clément Marot and François I, Langer explains that ‘l’acte de louer est le constat d’une obligation; tout manquement à l’obligation est une rupture de contrat, la rupture d’une promesse, de la fides qui est la base de la justice commutative.’ Vertu du discours, 37–8. It would seem that Molinet’s promise both to praise and to blame his leader is based on the same sort of contractual relationship. 76 Molinet’s predecessor as indiciaire, Georges Chastellain, also played a critical role at Charles the Bold’s court. In some of the last words of his Chroniques, he says: ‘nonobstant que je soie [sic?] au duc nourriture et de ses bienfaits, sy ne me honté-je point pourtant d’escrire vérité contre luy, là où nécessité l’expète’ (5:457), cited in Delclos, ‘“Je doncques, Georges Chastellain ...”’ de l’histoire commandée au jugement personnel,’ 78. As Delclos remarks: ‘De fait, Chastellain n’est pas tendre avec le nouveau duc’ (78). On Molinet’s critical attitude towards Charles the Bold, see also Devaux, ‘La Fin du téméraire.’ Ullrich Langer explains that ‘le poète qui loue est aussi le conseiller, et le conseiller est aussi la voix de l’humanitas.’ Vertu du discours, 48. In this light, Molinet’s desire to praise and to blame his prince is part and parcel of the larger deliberative rhetoric of which poems such as La Ressource du petit peuple are manifestations. 77 Dora Bell, who takes note of the anti-Machiavellian politics of Molinet’s predecessor, Georges Chastellain, could also have been talking about Molinet: ‘A une époque de l’histoire où le souverain employait la politique accomodante d’un Machiavel, Chastellain lui opposa son instransigeance morale, et avant-coureur lointain du grand Pascal, formula les premières attaques contre la casuistique complaisante qui venait du côté de la ville de Florence. Chastellain dépouilla l’homme de tous les atours d’une grandeur illusoire et ne prisa que son cœur mis à nu.’ L’Idéal éthique, 173–4. Machiavelli is an obvious counterexample for many scholars analyzing the politics of late fifteenth-century France and Burgundy. Joseph Calmette, in the introduction to Commynes’s Mémoires, remarks that Sainte-Beuve was abusive (Causeries du lundi, 7 janvier 1850) in calling Commynes ‘un Machiavel en douceur.’ See Commynes, Mémoires, ed. Calmette, 1:xvii, n. 1. Calmette says that V.-L. Bourilly was more equitable in seeing Commynes as a realis-

280 Notes to pages 102–3

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79 80 81 82

83

84 85

tic politician but not ‘Machiavellian’ (Ibid.). See Bourilly, ‘Les Idées politiques de Commynes.’ For experience of Machiavelli in France, see BarberiSquarotti, ‘Machiavelli in Francia.’ See Ung Dictier sur ceux de Gand (July 1485) in which an example of the Ghentish rebels is given as a warning to other ‘mutins’: ‘Tremblés, mutins, mamelus et Liegois, / Gourés, vollés que bougrons empennés, / Tremblés, cités, villes, chasteaux et tois, / Prenés exemple aux orguilleux Gantois, / Comment ils sont riflés et ramonnés.’ Molinet, Les Faictz et dictz, 1:231, lines 177–81, and Le Jeu de Palme (after July 1492) in which the poet criticizes Ghent’s ‘vaine follie:’ ‘Gand, endurcy en sa vaine follie, / A tant esté frotté et manïet / Qu’il s’est trouvé la peau fort amollie.’ Faictz et dictz, 1:255, lines 9–11. See also Devaux, Jean Molinet, 432. Devaux, Jean Molinet, 394–429. Molinet, Chroniques, 1:164. Ibid. Ibid. Molinet goes on to ascribe Charles’s bad reputation to some particularly bad advice about some heavy and inopportune taxes placed on ecclesiastical revenues: ‘Riens ne dénigra tant la renommée du duc Charles que de ajouster credence à aucuns malvais esperitz enflamméz d’ardant convoitise, qui l’enortèrent et soufflèrent en l’oreille de prendre sur les benefices, chapelles et cantuaires non amortis, les revenues de. III. années pour subvenir à ses affaires. Et, durant ceste espace, cessa le service de Dieu en aucuns lieux contre l’intention des fondateurs ...’ Ibid., 169. Molinet, L’Arbre de Bourgogne sus la mort du duc Charles (after April 1486), in Les Faictz et dictz, 1:234. Devaux explains: ‘En effet, conscient de l’ampleur de la débâcle, Jean Molinet n’hésita point à reporter sur le défunt duc Charles l’entière responsabilité de ce terrible échec.’ Jean Molinet, 253. Molinet, Les Faictz et dictz, 1:235 and 236. The third ‘verité’ of Gerson’s ‘harengue’ is the evil of tyranny: ‘La tierce verité. Comme venin ou poison occist le corps humain, pareillement tirannie est le venin, la poison, la maladie qui met à mort toute vie politique et Royale. Pourquoy? pource que tirannie veult tout tirer à son propre prouffit, & à conditions denatureles, toutes contraires à bonne vie civile, desquelles parla longuement Aristote au cinquiesme livre des ses Politiques, & se raportent à trois, Pauca scientia, de se diffidant, sint & egeni: Sic rege subjectos dire tiranne tuos. Le tiran veult que ses subiects puissent peu: sçachent peu, & se entraiment peu.’ Harengue, 21r. Molinet’s Ressource, found in his Faictz et dictz, 1:137–61, also bears an uncanny organizational resemblance to the ‘cahier’ that the Estates General presents to the king in 1484. The ‘cahier’ presented to the king by the Estates enumerating their

Notes to pages 103–5

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87

88 89

90

91

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complaints is divided into chapters that correspond very closely to the characters and themes in the Ressource. They are 1) Chapitre de l’église, 2) Chapitre de noblesse, 3) Chapitre du Commun, 4) Chapitre de Justice, 5) Chapitre de la marchandise, 6) Chapitre du conseil. The ‘cahier’ presenting the Three Estates’ complaints introduces the section devoted to the Third Estate as follows: ‘Pour le tiers estat, remonstrent lesdictes gens desditz troys estatz, que ce royaume à présent est comme ung corps qui a esté évacué de son sang par diverses seignées, et tellement que tous ses membres sont vuydez. Et comme ainsi soit que le sang est le soustenement de la vie corporelle, aussi sont les finances du royaume le soustenement de la chose publique.’ Masselin, Journal, 669. On the connection with Chartier’s Quadriloge invectif, see Devaux, Jean Molinet, 197. For a good discussion of political aspects of the Ressource, see Devaux, Jean Molinet, 189–200. See pages 190–1 for a description of the different parts of the poem. See Zumthor, Essai de poétique médiévale, 64–8; 88–94; and Gordon, ‘La Ressource du petit peuple.’ Christine de Pisan also writes on tyranny in a similar vein: ‘Or nous touche quant au premier point sur quoy la bonté du prince doit estre principalement fondee. Si nous convient parler de second point, qui est qu’il doit tressingulierement aimer le bien publique et l’accroissement d’icellui plus que le sien propre, selon la doctrine de Aristote en son livre de Politiques, qui dit que tirannie est quant le prince quiert plus que c’est contre seigneurie royale qui doit plus soignier du proffit de son peuple que du sien mesmes.’ Le Livre du corps de policie, 23–4. Molinet, Faictz et dictz, 1:137–8. Gerson says that it would be better to be without a prince than to suffer the abuses of a tyrant: ‘Trop mieulx vauldroit estre sans prince comme les fables disent des raines, ausquelles fut baillé pour Roy un serpent qui les devoreroit, de ce vient que le Tiran opprime le peuple par gens d’armes estranges, par tailles, corvees, par exactions, par meurtissemens secretz, il empesche estudes pour sciences non acquerir, il deffend toutes assemblees honnestes & nourrit divisions par raports faulx & envie.’ Harengue, 21v. Molinet, Les Faictz et dictz, 1:139, line 48. Bouchet describes the difference between the just prince and the tyrant in ways that are very similar to Molinet’s: ‘Le juste Roy du tyrant differe en ce, / Car le tyrant faict tout sans difference / Ce qui luy plaist, & pour toute raison/ A volunté pleine de desraison. // Et le vray Roy jamais ne se gouverne / Par son vouloir seulement, mais discerne / Tout au compas ce qu’il veult, & ne veult, / Par ce ne faict chose dont il se deult.’ Epistres, 1v. Molinet, Les Faictz et dictz, 1:139. Molinet’s image seems like a rhetorically

282 Notes to pages 106–9

92 93

94 95

96 97 98

99

embellished version of that of France in Chartier’s Quadrilogue invectif: ‘Or me fut advis en sommeillant que je veisse en ung païs en fresche une dame dont le hault port et seigneury maintien signifioit sa tresexcellente extraction, mais tant fut dolente et esplouree que bien sembloit dame decheue de plus hault honneur que pour lors son estat ne demonstroit’ (6). Instead of being accompanied by one child, as Molinet’s Justice is, Chartier’s France is accompanied by her three children: le peuple, le chevalier, et le clergié (10). See also Masselin’s Journal, 673, 674. Molinet, Faictz et dictz, 1:140, lines 1–3, 9. Estes vous dieux, estes vous demi dieux, Argus plain d’yeux, ou anglez incarnez? Vous estes fais, et nobles et gentieux, D’humains hostieux, en ces terrestres lieux, Non pas es chieulx, mais tous de mere nez.’ Ibid., 1:141, lines 17–21. Gerson, Harengue, 25r. Gerson enacted this adage in a sermon called De nativitate domini that he made in 1400 in front of the king and his court. In this sermon, Gerson told the king that he should follow the advice Saint Louis had given his son and surround himself with those who could give him good counsel. See Guillon, De Johanne Gersonio, 38. Gerson was still in favour of a strong monarch and attacked Jean Petit’s assassination of the duke of Orleans, which had been ordered by the duke of Burgundy (see ibid., 69–76). Nicole Oresme also vaunts good counsel in his Livre de Politiques d’Aristote. See Guenée, L’Opinion publique, 111–21. Alain Chartier also vaunts the need for good counsel. See his Quadriloge invectif, 64. The Conseil de Dijon is also described in terms that recall Conseil in the poem. See Billioud, Les Etats de Bourgogne, 306–8. Molinet, Faictz et dictz, 1:141, line 32. Ibid., 1:142, lines 65–72. Alex Gordon explains: ‘Celui [the speech] de Vérité vise à toucher, à movere selon le terme de la rhétorique ancienne. Les discours de Conseil cherchent, par contre, à raisonner, à docere.’ ‘La Ressource du petit peuple,’ 59. Molinet, Faictz et dictz, 1:143, lines 83–5. See also Meschinot: ‘Le commun est par le prince destruit / Du quel il a bled, vin, rentes, pecune,’ ballade 4 in Les Lunettes des princes avec aulcunes balades. Bouchet adds that the king should destroy the body politic simply to protect his own: ‘Car il ne doit pour son corps conserver/ Le corps publique affoller & destruire.’ Epistres, 5r. In Chartier’s Quadriloque invectif, ‘Le Peuple’ says: ‘Le labour de mes mains nourrist les lasches et les oyseux et ilz me persecutent de fain et de

Notes to pages 109–13

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101

102

103

104 105 106 107

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glaive. Je soustien leur vie a la sueur et travail de mon corps et ils guerroient la moye par leurs outraiges dont je suys en mendicité. Ilz vivent de moy et je meur pour eulx. Ilz me deussent garder des ennemis, helas, helas, et ilz me gardent bien de menger mon pain en sceurté’ (18). Molinet, Faictz et dictz, 1:144–5, lines 105–44. This would seem to replicate the fourth ‘verité’ of Gerson’s Harengue which insists on the need for the king and his subjects to find a peaceful union together: ‘La quatriesme verité, Puis que le Roy sans subiects, & subiects sans Roy, ne peuvent longuement durer, & raisonnablement un accord est necessaire union paisible ensemble par connexion des quatres vertus dessus nommees ...’ (22v). Ibid., 1:146. Chartier also vaunts the power of royal council in his Quadriloque invectif: ‘Sy dy que en la loiaulté des conseilleurs gist la sceurté du prince et le salut de la chose publique et la devons cerchier le fons de toutes noz difficultez et la solution de noz debas’ (57). See also Gerson, Harengue, 25r–6v. Pot, cited in Masselin, Journal, 147–9: ‘Est-ce que chez les Romains chaque magistrat n’était pas nommé par élection? est-ce qu’une loi y était promulguée avant que d’abord, rapportée au peuple, elle eût été approuvée de lui?’ Zumthor remarks: ‘Molinet, dans la Ressource, se montre passionnément bourguignon et antifrançais, mais son discours dit cette passion comme un attachement inconditionnel à l’ordre aristocratique, d’où procèdent à ses yeux, si un prince vertueux le gouverne, vérité et justice.’ Essai de poétique médiévale, 51. Molinet, Faictz et dictz, 1:147. Ibid. For the most complete and most convincing analysis of the poetics of the rhétoriqueurs, see Cornilliat, ‘Or ne mens,’ 35–84; 173–264. Molinet, Faictz et dictz, 1:148, lines 1–8. A possible parallel could be drawn with Chartier’s Quadriloque invectif in which Le Peuple cries: ‘Ilz me deussent garder des ennemis, helas, helas, et ilz me gardent bien de menger mon pain en sceurté’ (18). For another example of this sort of emotional rhetoric see Le Trosne d’honneur in which the poet expresses sadness at the death of Philip the Good through complicated ‘rimes léonines’ and ‘équivoques’: ‘Pleure mon oeul, qui es sans solas, las, / Es lacz, hellas! ou mort patente tente; / Fiere Atropos, attrapant agrippas, / Quand tu tuas joye, doeul suscitas; / Tué tu as mon cœur, pulente lente; / Regente gente, en la presente sente, / N’attente attente, or n’ay je en ta morsure, / Par ta laidure, qu’ardure dure, dure,’ in Molinet, Faictz et dictz, 1:43, lines 153–60.

284 Notes to pages 114–18 109 Ibid., 1:150–1, lines 81–96. 110 Ibid., 1:151, lines 97–112. Gerson, Harengue, 33v, said: ‘Et n’est ce pas chose plus intolerable aux subiects que quand rien n’est seur, ne en corps, ne en meubles, ne en conscience: car le paoureux soucy, langoisseuse doubte continuelle d’estre pillez par princes, ou par gens d’armes, leur fait tresgriefz, tresimpatiens, & douleureux tourmens: tant que de nostre temps plusieurs sont cheuz en desespoir, & se sont occis.’ 111 This represents, of course, a glaring refutation of Sartre’s condemnation of poetry as not being capable of expressing political ideas in its emphasis on the word as ‘chose.’ 112 ‘Somme toute, rhétorique et thématique doivent être ici perçues, non en termes d’opposition, mais bien plutôt de support mutuel.’ Devaux, Jean Molinet, 101. For more on rhetoric in Molinet and the other rhétoriqueurs, see also Jodogne,’La rhétorique dans l’historiographie bourguignonne.’ 113 Molinet, Faictz et dictz, 1:152, line 2. 114 Ibid., 1:153, line 6. 115 Ibid., line 23. 116 See Masselin, Journal, 669. 117 ‘En oultre, se vous souffrez taillier le petit peuple, il est perdu a tousjours mais, de dix il n’en eschape deux, puisqu’il sont touchiez du rasoir; apres rere n’y a que tondre; il est tant jus, tant povre et tant debile qu’il n’a que le pel et les os’ (What is more, if you tax too deeply the common people, they are lost forever; out of ten only two escape alive, once they’ve been cut with the razor. Afterward, there are few left to sheer. He is so low so poor and so weak, that he is only skin and bones) (Molinet, Faictz et dictz, 1:154, lines 40–5). Bouchet devotes long passages to the need for fiscal moderation: ‘Et s’il survient quelque necessité / Dont le Roy soit par contraincte excité / nouvel impostz, vectigal, & subside / Sur ses subiectz lever par loy solide, / Qu’il soit asis non sur bledz, vins, ne chairs, / Mais sur les draps de soye qui sont chers, / Semblablement dessus l’espicerie, / Et sur vendeurs de fines pierrerie, / Car n’y aura que les riches chargez, / De telz impostz pauvres gens deschargez / Se trouveront, & n’en auront oppresses’ (Epistres, 6v); and: ‘Et quend ils ont deffaillance de fruictz / Doyvent les Roys, de ce premier instruictz, / Les sublever de leurs impostz & tailles / Qu’on prend sur eulx pour fraier aux batailles / En leur donnant ou le tiers, ou le quart’ (ibid., 7r). Gerson says: ‘Las un poure homme aura il payé son imposition, sa taille, sa gabelle, son fouage, son quatriesme, les esprons du Roy, la saincture de la Royne, les truages, les chaucees, les passages: peu luy demeure: puis

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viendra encores une taille qui sera creee, & sergens de venir & de engager pots et poilles. Le pauvre homme naura pain à manger, sinon par adventure aucun peu de seigle ou d’orge, sa pauvre femme gerra, & auront quatre ou six petits enfans au fouyer, ou au four, qui adventure sera chauld, demanderont du pain, crieront à la rage de faim.’ Harengue, 32v; see also 40v–1r. One of the primary complaints of the Burgundian people, especially in Flanders, was the harsh taxes levied on them by the Burgundian dukes, especially by Charles the Bold. As of 1473, the Duchy had to pay 42,000 francs annually. Charles the Bold also managed to obtain 500,000 francs from the Low Countries during this period. Under Philip the Hardy, from 1371–1403, the annual average for Burgundy had been 21,000 francs a year. From 1438–50, under Philip the Good, the annual rate fell to 10,000 francs. However, in relation to what subjects in France and Brittany were paying this was little. In Franche Comté, customary law had kept fiscal powers within the Estates General. Billioud, Les Etats de Bourgogne, 118–21. In the Ressource, Conseil informs Justice that what she needs now, even after the ‘saignee,’ is a good dose of ‘puissance,’ which must be accompanied by ‘or et argent.’ Molinet, Faictz et dictz, 1:155, lines 80–1. 118 Molinet, Faictz et dictz, 1:159–60, lines 1–51. Devaux remarks on the audacity of Molinet’s critique of the political leaders of Burgundy: ‘L’on ne peut manquer, dès lors, d’apprécier toute l’audace dont témoigne ici l’indiciaire de Bourgogne. Jean Molinet prend garde, il est vrai, à ne pas désigner nommément l’archiduc Maximilien; de tous les princes puissans auxquels il s’adresse, seul le roi Louis de France est formellement incriminé. Cependant, l’appel collectif lancé par l’écrivain laisse assez entrevoir que le monarque capétien n’est pas seul concerné. C’est bien d’ailleurs par ses propres amis qu’est tourmenté le peuple bourguignon.’ Jean Molinet, 196. 119 Dora Bell notes that the age of Louis XI and Charle le Téméraire was the end of one age and the beginning of a new one: ‘Le règne de Louix XI fut à la fois fin et commencement. Crépuscule de la féodalité, aurore de l’âge moderne [...] L’histoire presenta comme tableau final du drame médiéval, une lutte à mort entre deux adversaires remarquables, tous les deux symboles, l’un du passé, l’autre de l’avenir. Charles le Téméraire, premier chevalier, avec sa cour magnifique, ses tournois, ses fêtes éblouissantes, ses guerres aventureuses, jouta contra un roi, le plus bourgeois d’entre ses bourgeois, archi-fin politique, passé maître dans l’art de la ruse et de duperie, pénétré d’une seule ambition: unifier la France; s’identifier avec la nation; régner seul, en roi absolu. Combat inéluctable, prédéterminé dès le

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121 122 123 124 125

triomphe de Philippe-Auguste à Bouvines en 1214. Charles le Téméraire, dernier des grands feudataires succomba.’ L’Idéal éthique, 150. See, for example, what Henry Guy says about him: ‘Plus il est grave, plus il est mauvais, et cela revient à dire à l’avance que ce qu’il a laissé de moins faible, ce sont encore ses vers facétieux.’ Histoire de la poésie française, 1:169. See Molinet, Oraison a la Vierge Marie, Oraison à Madame sainte Anne, L’Oraison sur Maria, in Faictz et dictz, vol. 2. For Zumthor, see page 268, note 31. See page 253, note 6. See page 269, note 5. Jan Dhondt explains that the history of the Estates in Flanders is marked by two periods: in the first, the Estates are economic and political entities so strong that the prince had to take them into account. In the second period, which starts in the sixteenth century, no ‘power’ is capable of ‘counter-balancing’ the authority of the prince. See his ‘“Ordres” ou “puissances,”’ 47. Molinet’s poem seems to have been written right at the moment when the power of the Estates was disintegrating and the power of the prince was becoming ever stronger.

4. The King’s Two Portraits in Claude de Seyssel and Guillaume Cretin 1 This poem was published in 1525 in a recueil comprised of poems by Cretin, Lemaire de Belges, Jean Molinet, Georges Chastellain, and a few others: Traictez singuliers contenus au present opuscule (Paris: Galliot du Pré, 1525 [1526 new system]). See Cretin, Œuvres poétiques, xciii. The poem must have been written between February, when the Battle of Pavia took place, and November 1525 when Cretin died. 2 See Thiry, ‘L’Honneur et l’empire.’ 3 Thiry also underlines the critical nature of this poem, saying that Cretin ‘se livre à une critique assez sévère de la manière dont la campagne a été menée et, plus généralement, des guerres d’Italie.’ Ibid., 315. 4 See Brown, Poets, Patrons, and Printers, 204: ‘By at least the 1530s autheur, or auteur, was replacing acteur, as suggested by the use of autheur to identify the narrator in the rubrics of Guillaume Cretin’s Apparition du mareschal sans reproche ... Jacques de Chabannes (1525) and in Clément Marot’s editions of his Adolescence clémentine (1532) and Villon’s poetry (1533).’ 5 Roland Mousnier defines sovereignty as ‘le caractère suprême d’un pouvoir, qui n’en a pas de supérieur.’ Etat et société, 4. 6 Keohane, Philosophy and the State, 3–4, 15. See Jacques Poujol whose intro-

Notes to pages 123–5

7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

287

duction to La Monarchie de France emphasizes the ambiguous character of royal power at the beginning of the sixteenth century: ‘On imagine Louis XII [in the Prohème en la Translation d’Appien (1510)] écoutant avec ravissement ces longues phrases un peu pompeuses qui évoquent ses mérites et décrivent le “grand ordre” du royaume. Or le translateur d’Appien a enveloppé en style dithyrambique les vérité suivantes: la Monarchie est le meilleur régime “à tout prendre”; comme tous les autres la corruption et la mort le guettent; le pouvoir du Roi est limité, dans certains cas, on ne lui obéit pas; un prince “volontaire,” si ‘détravé’ qu’il fût, n’oserait pas enfreindre les règles qui modèrent son pouvoir; l’exemple de l’empire romain montre à quoi aboutit le gouvernement des princes “tyrans et imbéciles” qui ont négligé ces règles ... Dans la Monarchie de France, le Prohème de circonstance mis à part, les revendications ont presque entièrement remplacé les louanges.‘ La Monarchie de France, 32–3. Bodin, La République, 128; and Franklin, Jean Bodin, 23. Franklin, Jean Bodin, 23. Bodin, La République, 122–34, 148. Ibid., 128, 133. See chapter 8 of the first book, 122–61. Mousnier, Etat et société, 11. Keohane, Philosophy and the State, 7. See above, page 269, note 5, and Machiavelli, Il Principe, 100. On Seyssel, see Caviglia, Claudio di Seyssel; Dufayard, De Claudii seisseli; Mombello, ‘Claude de Seyssel’; and Poujol, prefatory notes to Seyssel, Monarchie de France, 11–64. See Poujol, prefatory notes to Seyssel, Monarchie de France, 33–4. See chapter 6, below, 178–80, for more on Erasmus, education, and tyranny. Poujol, prefatory notes to Seyssel, Monarchie de France, 33. On Félibien, see Marin, Le Portrait du roi, 252. See Pignot, Un Jurisconsulte, 98. Franklin, Jean Bodin, 5–6, 21. Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies, 225. See ibid., 154, 417–18. See Jurmand, ‘L’Evolution du terme de Sénat au XVIe siècle.’ ‘Car pour parler du désordre qui peut advenir par l’imperfection des Chefs et Monarques, il y plusieurs remèdes pour réfréner leur autorité absolue, s’ils sont détravés et volontaires; et plus encores de ceux qui pourraient avoir le maniement du royaume; s’ils sont du tout imbéciles par faute d’âge ou autrement. Et néantmoins, demeure toujours la dignité et autorité royale en son entier, non pas totalement absolue, ni aussi restreinte par trop, mais réglée et réfrénée par bonnes lois, ordonnances et coutumes, lesquelles sont

288 Notes to pages 125–8

24 25

26

27

28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

38

établies de telle sorte qu’à peine se peuvent rompre et annihiler (jaçoit qu’en quelque temps et en quelque endroit, y advienne quelque infraction et violence). Et pour parler desdits freins par lesquels la puissance absolue des rois de France est réglée, j’en trouve trois principaux: le premier est la Religion; le second, la Justice; et le tiers, la Police.’ Monarchie de France, 115. All citations are from the Poujol edition; translations are mine. See Mousnier, Etat et société, 19. ‘Or, vivant le Roi selon la Loi et Religion chrétienne, ne peut faire choses tyranniques. Et s’il en fait quelqu’une, il est loisible à un chacun prélat ou homme religieux bien vivant et ayant bon estime envers le peuple, le lui remontrer et l’incréper, et à un simple précheur le reprendre et arguer publiquement et en sa barbe.’ Ibid., 116. ‘Le second est la Justice: laquelle, sans point de difficulté est plus autorisé en France qu’en nul autre pays du monde que l’on sache, mêmement à cause des Parlements qui ont été institués principalement pour cette cause et à cette fin de réfréner la puissance absolue dont voudraient user les Rois.’ Ibid., 117. For justice and its ability to limit royal power in the Middle Ages, see Cheyette, ‘La Justice et le pouvoir royal.’ ‘Le tiers frein est celui de la Police: c’est à savoir de plusieurs Ordonnances qui ont été faites par les Rois mêmes, et après confirmées et approuvées de temps en temps, lesquelles tendent à la conservation du royaume en universel et particulier.’ Seyssel, Monarchie de France, 119. See Knecht, Renaissance Warrior, 93–100. On the reaction of Parlement to the Concordat, see Doucet, Etude sur le gouvernement, 104, 117–56, 220. Knecht, Renaissance Warrior, 98–9. Doucet, Etude sur le gouvernement, 252. See Lewis, ‘Jean Juvenal,’ 108. Doucet, Etude sur le gouvernement, 254–5. Ibid., 255–6. Ibid., 257. Seyssel, Monarchie de France, 203. ‘et à tout prendre, le royaume a reçu autant ou plus de honte et de dommage en les perdant qu’il n’avait acquis d’honneur et de profit en les gagnant – semble être moult requis d’aviser et connaître les fautes qui ont été commises par le passé, pour y obvier ci-après, s’il est question de recouvrer ce qu’a été perdu, ou de faire nouvelle conquête.’ Ibid., 203–4. ‘y doivent bien penser, et la consulter mûrement, et faire débattre toutes les raisons et querelles qu’ils prétendent aux terres qu’ils veulent recouvrer ou conquérir pour savoir si elles sont justes et soutenables devant Dieu et

Notes to pages 129–32

39

40 41

42 43 44 45 46 47 48

289

devant le monde. Car si on le fait autrement, est à croire que Dieu, qui est la Justice et la Vérité infaillible, ne sera point à l’aide de ceux qui la font.’ Ibid., 204. Erasmus also advises kings to be prudent when they want to start wars: ‘The good prince will never start a war at all unless, after everything else has been tried, it cannot by any means be avoided.’ Education, 282. Grandgousier will apply the same advice in his letter to Gargantua in Rabelais’s Gargantua. ‘toutefois, quand il est question de conquérir et faire entreprise volontaire, à laquelle n’y a point de contrainte (sinon pour le profit), l’on y doit avoir plus grand regard et ne mettre jamais les choses en tel hasard que l’apparence ne soit grande pour parvenir à son atteinte ...’ Seyssel, Monarchie de France, 204–5. Ibid., 205. ‘Car, si le chef est tel qu’il appartient et les capitaines et soudards de tous états lui obéissent comme ils doivent, ne fait à douter que tout n’aille bien ...’ Ibid., 175. Jean Marot makes reference to the courage of Chabannes in Le Voyage de Venise, 88, 101. See Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies, 248. See Ibid., 249. Cretin, Œuvres poétiques, 170, lines 860–1. All citations are from the Chesney edition. Ibid., 158, line 487. Ibid., 161, lines 577–80. ‘Quant ung vouloir lasche ose en royaulme ou empire Divis faire a la chose, en sorte qu’elle empire, Il se soubzment en pire accident mortel que oncques; Jamais donc nul aspire abolir lieux quelzconques.’ Ibid.,161, lines 601–4. When a weak will dares in realm or empire To destroy the thing [res publica], so that it is worse, It places itself in the worst mortal accident; Never therefore should one aspire to destroy any places. Francis I effectively found nothing illicit in his military actions at Pavia, seeing rather a legitimate defence of his realm. In his ‘Epistre du roy traictant de son partement de France en Italie et de [sa] prise devant Pavie,’ he writes: ‘... Que je marchasse estoit pour verité / Je m’advançay, deffendant mon pays / Des ennemys, à bon droit trop hays.’ See Poésies du roi François Ier, 28.

290 Notes to pages 132–7 49 Cretin, Œuvres poétiques, 162, lines 609–12. An intertextual relationship exists here with Clément Marot’s translation of ‘Jugement de Minos’ (1513– 14). In this poem, Hannibal explains that he broke the wall that Nature had made to protect Italy: ‘... et les Alpes treshaultes/ Minay, et mis les Roches en rompture,/ Qui sont haultz murs massonez par Nature,/ Et le renfort de toutes les Itales.’ Œuvres poétiques complètes, 1:45, lines 59–62. 50 Erasmus also repeats what Seyssel says about military campaigns in Italy: ‘The kingdom of France is by far and in every way the most prosperous of all; but she would have been still more prosperous had she refrained from invading Italy.’ Education, 277. 51 Cretin, Œuvres poétiques, 162, lines 613–16. Francis I does not see the Alps as a natural barrier between his country and Italy: ‘En ne craignant des grandz montz la haultesse, / Vous asseurant sur ma foy et promesse / Que si premier sommes en Italie, / Que sans combat guerre sera finie.’ ‘Epistre du roy traictant de son partement de France en Italie et de [sa] prise devant Pavie,’ in Poésie du roi François Ier, 29. 52 Thiry comments: ‘l’histoire de Brennus ... prend valeur d’exemplum et provoque un inévitable rapprochement avec celle de François, roi des François.’ ‘L’Honneur et l’empire,’ 317. 53 Beaune, ‘L’Image du fondateur,’ 1:38. 54 Ibid., 1:41. 55 Cretin, Œuvres poétiques, 163, lines 633–6. 56 Ibid., 164, lines 663–4. 57 Ibid., 164, lines 681–4. 58 Ibid., 165, lines 697–700. 59 Clément Marot, differing from historiographers like his father and André de La Vigne who praised the actions of the kings in their Voyages, also criticizes the king’s military ambitions. The ‘épîtres,’ ‘rondeaux,’ and ballades that Clément Marot wrote about the king’s campaigns in the Hainaut are often eloquent pleas for peace. See especially ‘épître’ IV: Epistre en prose à la dicte dame touchant l’armée du roy en Haynault: ‘Et en telle miserable façon ceste impitoiable Serpente la Guerre a obscurcy l’air pur, et nect, par pouldre de terre seiche, par salpestre, et pouldre atricielle, et par fumée causée de boys mortel ardant en feu (sans eaue de grâce) inexinguible.’ Œuvres poétiques complètes, 1:83, and notes on 458. 60 Cretin, Œuvres poétiques, 166, lines 716–39. 61 Ibid., 166–7, lines 740–68. 62 Ibid., 167, lines 756–63; 169, lines 813–14; 170, lines 845–50. 63 Ibid., 170, lines 851–5. 64 Ibid., 170–1, lines 858–66.

Notes to pages 138–9 65 ‘Homme ayant cueur afflict, Extimes tu avoir de tel conflict Rapport au vray par ceulx qui au combatre Taschent l’orgueil de leurs hayneux abatre?’

66 67 68 69 70

71 72 73 74 75

291

Ibid., 171, lines 867–70.

Man with a heart so afflicted Do you think that you have of such a conflict A truthful report from those who in combat Are stained with the pride of their hateful battles? Ibid., 170, lines 871–4. Ibid., 171, lines 879–81. Ibid., 171, lines 883–7. Ibid., 172, line 916. The defeat of the French at Pavia described by Cretin contrasts strikingly with the description Jean Marot makes of the French victory against Genoa in 1507 in Le Voyage de Gênes: ‘Et si Romains pour leurs faitz ont eu gloire, / Françoys, ce jour, trop mieulx l’ont desservy, / Car jamais roy ne fut si bien servy’ (and if the Romans received glory for their deeds / Frenchmen, this day, have served it even more / Because never was a king so well served) (103, lines 587–9). Francis I presents a much more self-serving version of these events in his ‘Epistre du roy traictant de son partement de France en Italie et de [sa] prise devant Pavie.’ He says: ‘A Naples droit j’envoyay une bande. / La dilligence alors leur recommande; / Mais au rebours ilz furent negligens, / De tost aller trop paresseurs et lentz’ (To Naples I sent a band straight away / And recommended them all good haste / But to the contrary, they did not take care / They were too lazy and slow to go early); and ‘Sans raison nulle alors la nostre gent / Se refroidist, s’excusant sur argent’ (Without reason then our people / Froze up, excusing themselves because of money) (32); and ‘ Trop tost je veiz ceux-là qu’avoys laissez / De tout honneur et vertu delaissez; / Les trop meschans s’enfuyoient sans combat’ (Too early I saw those that I had left / Stripped of all honour and virtue / the miserable wretches fled without fighting) (34). Cretin, Œuvres poétiques, 174, line 976. Ibid., line 983. Ibid., line 985. Ibid., lines 986–8. Ibid., lines 990–4. In ‘Le Jugement de Minos,’ by Clément Marot, Alexander and Hannibal are used as positive paradigms, but Scipio is preferred because of his moderation. See Œuvres poétiques, 1:53–4. See also the ‘Ballade de Paix, et de Victoire,’ in which Clément Marot anchors his pleas for

292 Notes to pages 140–9

76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94

95 96

peace in an evangelical pacifism (Ibid., 1:120–1). See also the notes on 511– 12. Cretin is not a pacifist; in the ‘Invective against the Papal War’ (1511), the refrain proclaims the right of military defence: ‘La loy permet se deffendre a l’espee.’ Œuvres poétiques, 58–9. Keohane, Philosophy and the State, 17. Cretin, Œuvres poétiques, 175, lines 997–8. Ibid., 175, lines 1005–8. Ibid., 176, lines 1033–6. Ibid., lines 1037–8. Ibid., 177, lines 1045–6. Ibid., 176–7, lines 1039–41. Burckhardt, Civilization, 60–1. Mousnier, Etat et société, 20. Seyssel, Prohèmes d’Appien, 77. See Mousnier, Etat et societé, 21. Cretin, Œuvres poétiques, 177, lines 1043–5. Ibid., lines 1047–52. Ibid., lines 1052–4. See Marin, Le Portrait du roi, 254. For Francis I’s funeral, see Giesey, The Royal Funeral Ceremony. On the dignitas of the king never dying, see Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies, 423. Marin, Le Portrait du roi, 255. On French losses at Pavia, see Knecht, Renaissance Warrior, 224. Louis Marin, speaking about Louis XIV, explains that the absolutist image depends especially on the narrative representation which transforms the act of the prince into a memorial, into an eternalized present. See Le Portrait du roi, 13. See Cretin, Œuvres poétiques, 170–1, lines 858–66. See Doucet, Etudes sur le gouvernement, 300–7, on the reduction of the power of Parlement during Francis’s reign.

5. Barthélemy de Chausseneuz and the Top-Down Polity 1 See Kelley, ‘“Second Nature,”’ 131. Arlette Lebigre explains that ‘elle [customary] s’impose à tous ... [it is] le frein le plus efficace à l’arbitraire seigneurial.’ La Justice du roi, 21. See also Kelley, ‘De origine feudorum,’ and ‘Civil Science in the Renaissance’; and Michel Villey, La Formation de la pensée, 358–63. 2 See Guenée, L’Opinion publique, on the various meanings of the term populus at the end of the Middle Ages. Guenée states that populus can mean pop-

Notes to page 149

3

4

5

6

293

ulation, but that most often in the Chronique de Charles VI (1380–1420) by Michel Pintoin, it means ‘people’ (81). Pierre Petot explains: ‘La réformation des coutumes a permis l’introduction d’idées et d’institutions nouvelles étrangères au vieux fond coutumier, presque toujours sous l’influence de théories romaines inteprétées plus ou moins exactement.’ Histoire du droit privé français, 89–90. ‘Imperial, royal, and papal ideologists tended normally to argue that law, which was the exclusive monopoly of the sovereign, always superseded custom; but judicial doctrine inclined to the opposite view, which was that, according to the authoritative Accursian Gloss, ‘Custom abolishes law’ (Consuetudo vincit legem), or in the words of Baldus, ‘Later custom annuls earlier law.’ Kelley, ‘“Second Nature,”’ 136. André Gouron notes that in the south of France, ‘libertas ou franquesias, comme disent les textes en langue romane, sont partout assimilées aux consuetudines, aux coutumes: l’équation persistera jusqu’à la fin du Moyen Age, et on la jalonnera par les chartes de Montauban, concédée en 1195, d’Albi (1220), de Pradère (1281), de Peyrissas (1300), de Villaudric encore (1470),’ ‘Libertés et liberté,’ 182. Robert L. Benson notes that in medieval Lombardy, ‘the Lombards based their libertas on the authority of custom as a juridical principle.’ ‘Libertas in Italy (1152–1226),’ 199. See Petot, Histoire du droit privé français, 89–90. See also Church, who notes: ‘It is evident at once from the tenor of these statements that the ideas of the Romanists marked a drastic diminution of Seyssel’s check of la police. The fundamental law these writers retained in its essentials, but they subordinated the customary law – by far the greater portion of the constitution – to the royal authority.’ Constitutional Thought, 64. These proverbs and maxims from the customary are prevalent throughout the sixteenth century. See, for example, the sentences or proverbs of Antoine Loysel: ‘Une fois n’est pas coutume,’ and ‘Coutume se doit vérifier par deux tourbes, et chacune d’icelles, par dix témoins.’ Loysel, Institutes coutumières d’Antoine Loysel, 2:155, 159; for tourbe, see Petot, Histoire du droit privé français, 87, and Olivier-Martin, Histoire du droit français, 419. Claude de Ferrière’s definition of customary clearly opposes it to Roman Law and emphasizes its repetitive and consensual nature: ‘La Coutume est un Droit non écrit que l’usage a introduit, qui n’a pas moins de force que la Loy pour être observée; car qu’importe que le peuple Romain fasse connoistre sa volonté par son suffrage ou par un consentement exprés, ou par effet? l.32.h.t. Elle abroge et détruit la Loy, lors qu’elle s’y trouve contraire, quoy qu’elle ne soit pas redigée par écrit, l. 36, eod. C’est pourquoy le Juge n’est pas moins obligé de la suivre & de l’observer que la Loy même, autrement

294 Notes to pages 149–50 il seroit responsable de ses jugemens, & pourroit en être poursuivy par celuy qu’il auroit lezé par ce moyen; & même ses jugemens seroient nuls, ipso iure Authent. iubemus.’ La Jurisprudence, 8. Ferrière also remarks on how, in the seventeenth century, the king’s power superseded that of the customary: ‘Il n’y a que le Roy seul qui puisse expressement déroger aux Coutumes par ses Ordonnances.’ La Jurisprudence, 6. See also Petot, Histoire du droit privé français, 11–12, 65, 87; Piano Mortari, Cinquecento giuridico francese, 10, 56–7; Olivier-Martin, Histoire du droit français, 112–18, 419; and Giffard and Villers, Droit romain et ancien droit français (obligations). 7 ‘ La coutume, usus, consuetudo, est un usage juridique de formation spontanée, accepté par le groupe social intéressé.’ Olivier-Martin, Histoire du droit français, 112. Mousnier emphasizes both the spontaneous and consensual nature of customary: ‘Les constitutions telles que nous les connaissons à travers l’histoire, les constitutions les plus fréquemment répandues, ce sont les constitutions “coutumières” – comme le disait un de nos anciens auteurs, “la constitution gravée dans le cœur des citoyens,” et qui résulte d’un “consensus,” c’est-à-dire d’un accord spontané des volontés, et le plus souvent d’un accord tacite, qui reconnnaît la nécessité de l’Etat, et de la forme de l’Etat et du gouvernement, tel qu’il est organisé.’ Etat et société, 6. 8 See Journès, introduction to La Coutume et la loi, 7, ‘Afin de mieux cerner notre objet, précisons, au moins provisoirement, le sens des termes utilisés. L’usage est une pratique sociale normalisée par son ancienneté ou sa fréquence; la coutume comporte outre l’élément de répétition un caractère d’obligation pouvant constituer une sorte de droit subjectif pour son bénéficiaire. Donc l’usage coutumier serait une pratique sociale obligatoire ou en tout cas conforme au droit. Le droit législatif, lui, consisterait dans des règles imposées établies par l’autorité souveraine d’une société et régulant les pratiques sociales. Par delà l’opposition entre une source du droit ancienne et une source moderne issue de l’Etat, le conflit entre les usages coutumiers et un droit législatif révèle une contradiction entre deux conceptions de la propriété, l’une admettant les démembrements, l’autre exclusive et individualiste.’ 9 ‘Vides igitur, Candidissime Lector, ex Pictavorum consuetudine, uxorem esse in potestate viri, non patris. Eáque ferè perpetua est & generalis in Gallia. Ex Romanorum verò legibus, uxor contrà in potestate patris est, non viri ... Et sanè hæc Franciæ consuetudo, fortassis è curriculo, ut alia pleraque, à veteri Gallorum more defluxit, quem huiusmodi fuisse Cæsar lib. vj. Comment. refert, ut viri in uxores sicuti in liberos, vitæ necisque haberent potestatem.’ Tiraqueau, Andreæ Tiraquelli regii in curia parisiensi senatoris ... sectio de legibus connubialibus, 1 and 2.

Notes to pages 150–1

295

10 See Piano Mortari: ‘Ma la differenza più profonda tra il re medievale ed il nuovo re va vista nel passagio avvenuto nel Cinquecento dall’idea del re giustiziere a quella del re legislatore ... Infatti i giuristi francesi del secolo XVI elaborarono la figura del sovranno assoluto sopratutto sulla base dell’esperienza giuridica giustinianea e Jean Bodin indicò nel potere legislativo il nucleo sostanziale della potestà sovrana, la sintesi più espressiva di tutti i suoi poteri’ (But the greatest difference between the medieval king and the new king will be seen in the transition which took place in the sixteenth century from the idea of a king with judicial powers to a king with legislative powers ... In fact, the French jurists of the sixteenth century will elaborate the figure of the absolute sovereign especially on the basis of Justinian judicial experience and Jean Bodin suggested that the legislative power formed the substantial nucleus of sovereign power, the most expressive synthesis of all his powers). Cinquecento giuridico francese, 29; Church, Constitutional Thought, 55. See also Cohen, The Crossroads of Justice, 7. On royal legislative power in the Middle Ages, see Bongert, ‘Vers la formation d’un pouvoir législatif royal.’ 11 Loysel, Institutes, 1:4, 26, and 35. For more on customary and law, see Goujon, ‘Législation’; Journès, ‘L’Utilisation d’une forêt’; Michel, ‘Marx et la loi’; Cremer, ‘La Protection’; Poujol, ‘1515: Cadre idéologique.’ See also Petot, Histoire du droit privé français, 60–2; Olivier-Martin, Histoire du droit français, 216; and Piano Mortari, Cinquecento giuridico francese, 29–30. 12 ‘Franci & Galli semper habuerunt consuetudines quasdam generales & communes, præsertim in successionibus herediis, & lucris nuptialibus, feudis, censibus, retractibus, prorsus discreptantes à iure communi Romanorum, cui Franci nunquam subditi fuerunt.’ Du Moulin, Commentarii, 18 v. Then: ‘Ultimo vero loco è iure scripto Romano mutuamur, Quod & æquitati consonum & negotio quo de agitur aptum congruumque invenitur, non quod unquam fuerimus subditi Iustianiano magno, aut successoribus eius: sed quia ius illo authore à sapientissimis viris ordinatum, tam est æquam, rationabile, & unde quaque absolutum, ut omnium fere Christianarum gentium usu, & approbatione commune sit effectum, ut dixi super in proœ. in glo. I. nu. 150.’ Ibid., 19r. See Filhol, ‘The Codification of Customary Law,’265, 280; Olivier-Martin, Histoire du droit français, 159. On Du Moulin, see Thireau, Charles Du Moulin; Petot, Histoire du droit privé français, 94–5; and Giesey, Dynastic Right, 26–9. 13 ‘Quarto & ultimo, ius commune Romanum sub Iustiniano magno redactum quatenus rationi congruit, nec receptis moribus repugnat, debet attendi.’ Du Moulin, Commentarii, 19r. Doucet notes: ‘Ainsi, le grand jurisconsulte Ch. Du Moulin, en publiant son Commentaire sur la coutume de Paris, telle

296 Notes to pages 151–3

14

15 16 17

18

19

20 21 22

qu’elle avait été rédigée en 1511, en démontra les insuffisances et la nécessité de recourir au droit romain pour combler ses lacunes, en lui donnant le support d’une doctrine logique.’ Les Institutions de la France, 64. ‘Les Coutumes ne font loy qu’entant que c’est la volonté des Rois qui veulent & ordonnent qu’elles soient executées ...’ Du Moulin, Les Notes, 73. See Piano Mortari, Cinquecento giuridico francese, 272. On Roman law in the south and north, see Olivier-Martin, Histoire du droit français, 427–8. Rebuffi, Commentaria, 3:633. ‘Et hoc est utile ad consuetudines huius patriæ, in qua maximè vigent, & sunt à Rege confirmatæ.’ Ibid., 634. ‘Et sic hodie leges Regiæ consuetudinariæ post confirmationem vocari poterunt, licet antea simpliciter consuetudines, quia omnia nostra facimus, quibus auctoritatem impartimur.’ Ibid., 634. See also Morel, ‘La Place de la lex regia.’ On Chasseneuz, see Pignot, Un Jurisconsulte au seizième siècle. See also Kelley, ‘Civil Science,’ 263. Church sees Chasseneuz as representing a stage ‘between the Bartolists and the developed ideas of the sixteenth century.’ Constitutional Thought, 56. Chasseneuz, Consuetudines. On the Ordonnance of Montils-lès-Tours (1453) that Charles VIII issued ordering the compilation and writing down of the customaries, see Piano Mortari, Cinquecento giuridico francese, 57–8; Petot, Histoire du droit privé français, 84–6; and Olivier-Martin, Histoire du droit français, 420–1. See Reulos, ‘La Naissance d’une théorie politique en France.’ Kelley cites Marc Bloch to this effect. See ‘“Second Nature,”’ 149. ‘Par autre raison, la terre de Bourgoingne est trés noble et fait trés noble le prince qui de li a la domination, car la trés noble terre de Bourgoingne se gouverne à toute juridicion et est gouvernée par les costumes de la dite terre, qui sont lois en Bourgoingne et valent lois et emportent force de lois. Que icelles coustumes valent lois et emportent force de lois, il puet apparoir que les coustumes de Bourgoingne furent mieulx aprovées que ne furent les lois, car elles ne furent aprovées tant seulement par les empereurs et leurs conseilliers: les aucunes furent constituées et ordonnées en la faveur des empereurs, des princes des païs, des nobles, des dames, selon ce que les conseilliers avoient faveur des personnes; mais les coustumes de Bourgoingne sont faites, aprouvées et corrigées par trois manieres de juges ordinaires, par leur grans conseilz et deliberacions longuées, conformées par les trés nobles dux et princes de Bourgoingne, par le consentement des religieux, nobles et bourgois, par III manieres de juges ordinaires, comme la maierie de Dijom, les maieries de Talent et de

Notes to page 154

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Beaune, le vié d’Ostun, la maierie de Semur et de Monbar, les maieries de Chaumont, de Chasteillon. Car touz les faiz dont les causes sont eues demenées par devant aucuns d’eulx et terminées et sentenciées par eulx, icelles sentences sont eues appellées à l’audience des bailliz, par devant cellui en quel bailliage le juge estoit; et icelles sentences conformées par eulx audicteurs, et par le bailli appellées à l’audience des audicteurs et conformées et par le bailli appellées à l’audience du trés noble duc et prince de Bourgoingne; icelles sentences, conformées par ledit prince au conseil des sages du peuple, icelles definicions et sentences sont dites coustumes aprovées, qui valent lois et emportent force de lois en Bourgoingne; toutes lois interdites en faveur sont ramenées en Bourgoigne par les coustumes sanz faveurs, car le trés noble prince, les prelatz et les nobles et les bourgois sont gouvernéz par les dites coutumes sanz faveurs et sanz emport.’ Le Coutumier bourguignon glosé, 60. 23 Cohen notes: ‘The writing of custom, therefore, was a contradiction in terms.’ Crossroads of Justice, 10. See also 28–9. 24 The preface reads (in part): ‘Philippes, par la grace de Dieu, Duc de Bourgogne, de Lothier, de Brabant, et Lembourg: Conte de Flandres, d’Artoys, de Bourgongne: Palatin de Haynault, de Hollande, de Zelande, et de Namur: Marquis du S. Empire, Seigneur de Frize, de Salins, et de Malines. Sçavoir faisons à tous presens et advenir: Nous ayans receu la supplication de nos treschers et bien amez, les gens des trois estats de nostre Duché de Bourgongne: Contenant, comme puis n’agueres, apres ce que par lesdicts des trois estats nous eussent esté remonstrez les grands inconveniens et involutions de procez, qui survenoyent iournellement entre nos subjects de nostredict Duché et Conté de Charrolays, à l’occasion de ce que les coustumes generales et locales de nostredict pays n’estoyent redigées par escrit.’ Chasseneuz, Consuetudines, 9–10. 25 The relationship of the Burgundian dukes and the Estates was complicated. Billioud explains that the monarch did not address the Estates directly very often in order not to seem to lower his status by making a request directly to his subjects. However, Charles the Bold, for one, did make a speech to the Estates in 1476 after his defeat at the Battle of Morat in order to remind them of all the historical precedents of subjects rescuing their kings. See Billioud, Les Etats de Bourgogne, 91. René Filhol cites a lawyer, Claude Mangot, who said in 1566 that it was necessary that the Three Estates ‘soient d’un accord, car la loi ne peut être introduite sans le consentement des trois, veu qu’ilz sont egaux non subjectz, sans pouvoir, authorité et juridiction l’un sur l’autre.’ ‘Procès en parlement,’ 315. Other documents issued by the

298 Notes to pages 154–5 Estates of Burgundy at this time indicate how their authority was enunciated in a plural voice. A ‘memoire ou petit advertissement’ sent by the Estates to the ambassadors representing them before the duke between 29 March and 21 May 1460 is clearly enunciated in a plural voice. This memoire notes, for example, that the ambassadors and deputies of the Estates have always been received and listened to by the duke ‘most meekly and indulgently.’ It also remarks that these ambassadors have always obtained all that they had demanded and that the duke had also shown himself ready to be reasonable, useful, and profitable for the well-being of the common good of his country and his subjects. See Billioud, Les Etats de Bourgogne, 444–51. 26 ‘consuetudo est ius non scriptum, moribus et usibus populi, vel majoris partis ipsius rectè initiatum, continuatum et introductum, habens vim legis.’ Chasseneuz, Consuetudines, 1. 27 ‘Philippus, id est, Philippe. Hic Philippus fuit filius Ioannis Ducis Burgundiæ, qui quidem Ioannes fuit filius Philippi le Hardy, qui fuit filius Ioannis regis Franciae. Cui quidem Philippo le Hardy fuit datus ducatus Burgundiæ pro se et suis masculis, et iste Philippus erat de sanguine et prosapia regum Francie Qui quidem habuit in se justitiam, et fuit justitiae observator, maximè (ut hîc patet) in statuendo leges et constitutiones, insequendo Lycurgum principem Lacedæmoniorum.’ Chasseneuz, Consuetudines, 13. ‘... Dei grata, i. Par la grace de Dieu ... Et hoc modo solent scribere reges Franciae: cùm neminem in temporalibus recognascant. c. per venerabilem. qui. filii sint legi. dicam infrà plenius. ... Cum ergo hic dicat: Dei gratia, par la grace de Dieu, videtur quod solum Deum recognoscit, nec aliquem in temporalibus recognescere velit: quod non credo verum, cùm recognescere debeat Christianissmum regem Franciae in superiorem, cùm sit unus ex Paribus Franciae et ratione paritatis debet adesse in coronatione regis Franciae. Imò etiam in toto ducatu tempore suo de regalibus non recognoscebat, et in jurisdictione per ressortum erat subditus parlamento Parisien. Ex quo non debebat ponere in suis titulis, quod esset Dux Burgundiæ gratia Dei simpliciter, cùm alium in superiorem recognosceret.’ Ibid., 14. On the relation of the Burgundian dukes and royal power in France, see Richard, Les Ducs de Bourgogne. Chasseneuz’s argument is close to that which Bartolus uses to distinguish between civitates that acknowledge a superior and those that do not. 28 The justice of the Estates is not always better than that of the duke. The duke promised, at the request of the Estates, to expel Jews and Lombards from Burgundy in 1382. He consents, however, ‘sans enthousiasme.’ See Billioud, Les Etats de Bourgogne, 322.

Notes to pages 155–6

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29 ‘Quæritur an ad faciendum hujusmodi consuetudines, et eas in hanc formam redigendum, fuerit necesse quòd princeps consenserit, et sic quòd tres status patriæ prædictas consuetudines fecerint de consensu superioris.’ Chasseneuz, Consuetudines, 29. 30 ‘Ioa. Fabri in §. ex non scripto. in 3. colum. ibi, sed nunquid requiritur consensus superioris. Instit. de iure nat. gen. et civili, quærit de hac quæstio. Et primò videtur tenere quòd populus potest inducere consuetudinem sine consensu superioris, per glossam ibi.’ Ibid. 31 ‘Sicut ergo populus potest ipsam consuetudinem facere sine principe, sic potuit committere delegatos ad se informandum sine licentia principis.’ Ibid., 30. 32 Church notes: ‘The medieval tradition of respect for custom was strong in his [Chasseneuz’s] thought. In one passage he outlined any apparently iron-clad argument derived from the older concepts and binding the king to observe customary law. The customs of Burgundy, he said, have been approved by the king; he was sworn to observe them as laws. They were ordered in the assembly of the three estates of the province and with their consent, and after approval by the prince they ought not to be broken by him, even with a non obstante. But at that point, Chasseneuz brought in the king’s plenitudo potestatis which, as we have seen, permitted the ruler to quash all positive law.’ Constitutional Thought, 64. 33 Alberic of Rosata, Alberici de rosate bergomensis, 42v. 34 ‘Sed quicquid sit, veritas est in contrarium: et satis colligi potest ex dictis Alber. de Rosa. in Rub. Co. quæ sit long. consue.’ Consuetudines, 30. Church also notes of Chasseneuz’s discussion of monarchical obligations that ‘As in his consideration of the customary law, he began with principles very medieval but ended with ideas highly absolutistic.’ Church, Constitutional Thought, 68. 35 ‘Sed an principem sit translata potestas condendi consuetudinem? dicendum est secundum Bart. in dict. L. consuetudis. circa princip. quòd non, quia in eum non potuit transferri, cùm procedat ex tacito consensu populi, argum. l. si patronum. §. qui fideicommiss. ff. ad Treb. & sic dicit hodie populum Romanum posse facere consuetudinem generalem, cum potestas legis consuetudinariæ non sit translata in principem, sed eam patiendo videtur eam quandoque indulgere. ut Digest. de his qui notant. infam. l. quid ergo §. 5. etc. l. cùm plures. §. locatur ff. loc. & de exer. l. 1. § magistratum. & constat principem indulgere ex speciali privilegio posse. C. de test. leg. si non speciali.’ Chasseneuz, Consuetudines, 51–2. 36 See chapter 3, page 96 on this. 37 ‘I princìpi della tradizione romanistica erano richiamenti per dare maggiore

300 Notes to page 156 forza alle potestà del monarca. Imperium et potestas del re di Francia erano identici a quelli trasmessi all’imperatore romano con la lex regia ... Il riconoscimento del carattere illimitato della sua potestà di legiferare rappresentava, infine, un elemento assai significativo della concezione assolutistica di Chasseneuz. Ecco perché anche la redazione in iscritto delle coutumes balzava in primo piano, dato che il procedimento ufficiale prevedeva sia una manifestazione di volontà degli ordini riuniti nelle assemblee locali, sia la sanzione regia, l’espressione, cioè, del volere del re di stabilire definitavamente il testo del diretto consuetudinario. In linea di principio non poteva quindi essere negato al monarca il potere di modificare il contenuto originario delle norme consuetudinarie, sebbene, in pratica, venisse considerato molto raro l’esercizio di tale potestà e l’obbligo del mutamento sembrasse necessario solo nel caso di una difformità di esse dal diritto divino e da quello naturale’ (The principles of the Roman tradition were needed to give greater force to the powers of the monarch. The imperium and potestas of the king of France were identical to those transferred to the Roman emperor with the lex regia ... The recognition of the unlimited character of his power to legislate represented, in the end, a very significant element in Chasseneuz’s absolutist conception. That is why even writing down custom became of such importance, given that the official procedure provided for either a manifestation of the will of the orders brought together in local assemblies, or the royal sanction, that is to say the expression of the king’s desire to definitively stabilize the text of customary law. As a basic principle, the power to modify the originary content of customary norms could not be denied to the king, although in practice the exercise of such a power came to be considered very rare and the obligation to make changes seemed necessary only in case of a deviation from divine and natural law). Piano Mortari, Cinquecento giuridico francese, 262–3. Petot says: ‘Dans la première moitié du XIIIe siècle, on rencontre plusieurs ordonnances relatives à des questions de droit privé dont la liste, très brève, s’arrête en 1246. Depuis lors, le roi n’intervient plus directement dans ce domaine, dont il laisse le soin à la jurisprudence ... Mais ces interventions de l’autorité royale, si notables qu’aient été parfois leurs résultats, ne ressemblaint guère à de véritables actes législatifs. Pour voir reparaître ceux-ci dans le domaine du droit privé, il faut descendre jusqu’au XVI siècle’ (In the first half of the thirteenth century, we come across several regulations concerning the question of civil law; the list of these regulations, which is very brief, comes to an end in 1246. Since then, the king no longer intervenes directly in this domain, the care of which he leaves to jurisprudence (case law) ... But these interventions by royal authority, as notable as their

Notes to pages 157–8

38 39

40

41

42 43

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results sometimes were, hardly resemble true legislative acts. In order to see these reappear in the domain of civil law, it is necessary to wait until the sixteenth century). Histoire du droit privé français, 91–2. ‘Iustitia est constans & perpetua voluntas, jus suum unicuique tribuens.’ Chasseneuz, Consuetudines, 51. ‘Et ex opposito propter injustitias & iniquitates non solùm reges & principes privantur dignitate, & officio dominandi: sed plerunque ex hoc ruunt regiæ domus, atque clarissimorum principium familiæ ac generationes extinguuntur.’ Ibid., 52–3. The concept of law as being an ‘ars boni et æqui’ is an old one; Ulpian quotes it as coming from Celsus. ‘Et dicit Bald. in proœemio Greg. incip. Rex pacificus, in fin. compræhendens prædicta, quòd iustitia quodam triangulo continetur, veluti quadam turri fortissima triangulari: unus angulus est honestè vivere, alius, alterum non lædere, tertius, ius suum unicuique tribuere. Cuius quidem turris iustitiæ sex sunt partes principales, seu lapides secundum Ciceron. libro 2. de Inventione, videlicet religio, pietas, observantia, veritas, gratia, & vindicatio. Quas quidem sex partes videtur etiam tribuere iustitiæ beatus Thom. 2.2 quæst. 80. art. I.’ Ibid., 54. See Catalogus gloriæ mundi, D. Bartholomæi cassenæi, furguni, apud aquas sextias in senatu decuruæ præsidis ac viri clarissimi, in quo doctissime simul et copiossimè de dignitatibus, honoribus, prægogativis, & excellentia, spiritum, hominum, animantium, rerumqué, cæterarum omnium, quæ Cœlo, Mari, Terra, Infernoque, ipso continentur, ita disseritur ... (Frankfurt-on-Main: Feyerabend, 1586) Chasseneuz, Catalogus, preface iiii r. Chasseneuz says he is citing from Virgil: ‘Et quia etiam honores quis interdum consequitur ex fortuna, & non ex virtute, sicut vere dicere possumus cum Virgilio in suo Opusculo de Fortuna: “Fortuna immeritos auget honoribus, / Fortuna innocuos cladibus afficit” (Fortune provides the unworthy with honours, and puts the innocent in chains).’ However, this quote actually comes from a poem called ‘Fortuna’ by Asclepiadius (c. 400 A.D.). See The Oxford Book of Latin Verse, 405–6 and introduction, xl. This mistake is not corrected in editions from 1546 and 1579. Thanks to Emrys Bell-Schlatter for having noticed this. Chasseneuz goes on to quote from, among others, Ovid: ‘Curia pauperibus clausa est, dat census honores’ (The senate is closed to the poor, property gives honours), from De Arte amandi, book 2; then he quotes from Cicero and Horace: ‘Est modus in rebus, sunt certi denique fines, / Quos ultra, citraque, nequit consistere rectum’ (It is necessary to be moderate in things, limits are indeed fixed, / Those beyond, and those short of, do not know to stay in the middle), from Cicero, Rhetorica

302 Notes to pages 159–60

44

45

46

47

48

nova, and Horace, Liber Sermonum; as well as Martial, ‘Illud quod medium est, atque inter utrumque, probatur, / Nec volo quod cruciat, nec volo quod satiat’ (That which is in the middle, and between both [extremes] is approved, / I do not want that which torments, I do not want that which gratifies).’ All quotes are from Catalogus, preface iii r–v. See Piano Mortari on the ‘giurisprudenza elegante’ of Budé and other partisans of the mos gallicus. Cinquecento giuridico francese, 197. For Alciati, see ibid., 217. J. Duncan M. Derrett explains that Rabelais supported the new legal commentators who attempted to edit the texts of the Corpus Juris Civilis [Roman law] without the ‘accretions’ of the Bartolists: ‘Rabelais was wholeheartedly with the Alciatists: to him the ancient methods in which Bridoye was supposed to have been trained were crude, ignorant, and sources of chicanery and costly pedantry.’ ‘Rabelais’s Legal Learning,’ 124–5. ‘Ideo claro & familiari calamo intelligibilibusque & inelaboratis sermonibus (insequendo Senecam in lib. 5. Epist. 38. Epist.) procedemus. Adeo quod elementarii iuvenes in dicendorum cognitionem deveniant. Non autem graviore aut severo stylo ut noster Budeus, aut Alziatus (quibus audeo elogentie bravium asciscere.) Quia nos factis & sententiis potius quam verbis intendimus.’ Chasseneuz, Catalogus, preface iiii r. ‘Merito ergo & absque reprehensione ad opus hoc condendum elaboravi, quod mea quidem opinione eiusmodi est, quod lectores ad bonum, ac ad omnem vite honestatem excolendam [extollendam, 1546, 1579], & turpitudinem abiiciendam inuitare, unumquemque in suo statu informare, cupidos & ambitiosos honorum, magistratuum, aut officiorum refrenare, deterrere, dissuadere, suiipsiusque notionem habere, ad virtutem incitare, adhortari, ac inflammare poterit: & cognitio suo statu, bene recteque vivere valeant contenti suis finibus, & hoc solum bene agitur, ut vita hominum corrigatur.’ Ibid. See Church, Constitutional Thought, 53: ‘All jurisdiction, said Chasseneuz, pertains to the supreme authority of the prince; no man may have jurisdiction except through the ruler’s concession and permission. The authority to create magistrates thus belongs to the prince alone; all offices and dignities flow and are derived from him as from a fountain ... Thus the Renaissance jurists, through denying to any man but the king a right in governmental authority, reached the logical conclusion of regarding all officers, feudal and royal, merely as agents of the king and holding office largely at his discretion.’ For similar treatment of royal prerogatives, see also Grassaille, Regalium franciæ. Chasseneuz seems unaware of Lorenzo Valla’s cruel mocking of Bartolus

Notes to pages 160–1

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for this sort of abusive understanding in his In Bartholi de Insigniis et Armis libellum ad Candidum Decembrem epistola in his Opera omnia, 1:633–43. He is aware of other humanists’ writings such as those of Budé and Alciati, and specifically points out that his text is not as eloquent as theirs. Chasseneuz repeats Bartolus’s philological mistake criticized by Valla, calling Bartolus’s text ‘De insigniis.’ Catalogus, 10r. In later editions of the Catalogus, this mistake is corrected, and the title of Bartolus’s text is given as De insignibus et armis and not De insigniis et armis. See the 1579 edition, 11r for this correction. The 1546 edition retains the ‘De insigniis et armis’ spelling. Lorenzo Valla’s criticism of Bartolus is biting: ‘Verum dic rogo iterum, quis titulus libri, ne forte errem, non planè intellexi. De insigniis, inquit, ille, & armis. Nova & non pervagata, inquam, debet esse materia, quæ novum titulum habet. Et vere, inquit ille, nova materia est, & à Bartolo inventa, & accuratissime tractata, sed non est obscurus & novus titulus. Quid ni, inquam, ego qui non penitus abhorreo ab intelligentia verborum, quid hoc est, de insigniis, non intelligo, de armis intelligo ...’ In Bartholi de Insigniis et Armis libellum ad Candidum Decembrem epistola, in Opera Omnia, 1:634. ‘Ex metallo quod aurum dicitur, quia preciosissimum est fit color aureus, qui est nobilior ceteris respectu rei quam representat secundum se. Per eum enim representatur lux.’ Chasseneuz, Catalogus, prima pars, 28r. ‘Unde secundum Isidorum aurum dicitur ab aura: id est splendore, ut dicit lib. 16. c. 17. vel habetur de natura rerum: quod aurum est in corporibus sicut sol inter stellas. Sol autem dicitur rex stellarum, & lumen earum. Sic aurum est rex corporalium rerum, & mensura omnium.’ Ibid. ‘Cum animalia terrestria sint avibus & piscibus perfectiora, ut dicam inf. in 7. par. in 78. consideratione ubi scripsi de animalibus. Ideo videtur dicendum quod arma ex talibus animalibus sint digniora illis que sunt ex avibus seu piscibus data paritate nobilitatis. Et que fiunt ex avibus digniora sunt, quam ex piscibus. Cum aves, ex quo magis participant de aere, & igne, quam de aqua & terra, ideo videntur digniora. Cum aer sit dignius elementum aqua & terra, ut in dicta parte in 7. consideratione dixi. quod facit etiam pro armis ex avibus quod sint digniora, quam si essent ex aliis animalibus ut sunt arma Imperatoris, que sunt aliis digniora.’ Ibid., 33v. Ibid. ‘Et ideo cum hasta in vexillo precedat, & vexillum sequatur, si sit aliquod animal in ipso vexillo depictum, debet respicere hastam. Cum de natura & inclinatione naturali faciei sit antecedere: et dicit Bar. in d. tracta. de armis. in 3. col. ibi: de natura autem vexilli. quod idem est in omni re et figura, que habet partes quæ denotantur per ante & post: tunc semper anterior debet

304 Notes to pages 161–2

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55 56

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esse, & vergere versus hastam: alias videretur retrocedere tanquam monstrum, & non esset bene compositum vexillum.’ Ibid., 34r. ‘Dicit tamen ibi Barto. quod si sit alicuius rei pars anterior, que solum portetur pro armis: ut sunt multi qui faciem arietis, vel bovis, vel caput leonis, aut galli gallinacei pro suo signo & armis portant: tunc non potest pars anterior respicere hastam sed a latere.’ Ibid. Ibid. ‘Idem Bar. super hoc dubio ad illud magis elucidandum ponit questionem de modo scribendi apud nos, qui cum scribimus incipimus a latere sinistro & tendimus ad dextrum. Apud Iudeos autem fit econverso; quoniam cum scribunt incipiunt a latere dextro & tendunt ad latus sinistrum: quis istorum modos sit equior & rationabilior. Videretur dicendum quod modus iudeorum. Dicunt enim iudei quod modus seu mos noster non est rationabilis: eo quia illud quod debet esse principium motus & actionis est terminus & finis, & illud quod debet esse terminus est principium, & sic perturbatur ordo rerum, & per consequens modus eorum scribendi est rationabilior: cum incipiant scribere a latere dextro & traducunt versus sinistrum.’ Ibid., 34v. See Valla, Opera omnia, 640–3. ‘Prima ergo consideratio, ut intelligatur id de quo est questio erit quomodo a principio reges, & alii principes dominia habuerunt. Nam ab initio post peccatum ex quodam fastu superbie dominium per usurpationem [usucapionem 1579] incepit, sicut in lucifero volente super alios exaltari. Ezechie. 38. & de penitem. dist. 2. c. principium, & Esaie, 14. Et hoc argumento notorio demonstratur, quoniam [quomodo 1579] soli reprobi in principio mundi dominium acceperunt: ut ante diluvium primus dominus inter omnes homines fuit Cayn, ut dicit Augusti. lib. 15 de civitate dei. c. 20. qui civitatem edificavit, ut dominaretur in ea: que fuit prima civitas in mundo, quam nomine filii sui vocauit Enoch: ut habetur Gen. 4. Post diluvium vero qui dominium acceperunt fuerunt de maledicto [malefacto 1546, 1579] genere Cham, filio Noe, ut habetur Gen. 9. c. & ut dicit Josephus, in lib. I. antiquitatum. Primus accipiens dominium fuit Nembroth de genere Cham. Gen. 9 & dis. 6. §. fi. Cuius consilio edificata est turris Babel, ut historie tradunt ad dominandum. In cuius signum legitur Gen. 9. quod volebant quod cacumen eius in celum ascenderet, ignorantes altitudinem celi innumerabilem, ad significandum cordis ambitionem in preeminendo aliis: propter quod deus ad suam displicentiam ostendendam scissuram eorum dominii confundendo, eorum linguas divisit: cum unius labii omnes essent, ut predicto c. Genes. 11.’ Catalogus, quinta pars, 2r. ‘Multi alii reges & principes & fere omnes mala morte perierunt, ac dies

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suos finierunt. Unde paucos videmus sanctos reges, et hoc est ex eo: quia ut dictum est faciliter delinquunt propter eorum ambitionem dominandi quam habent: ut fiant non solum reges et principes et in statu eorum permaneant: sed ut fiant maiores, ex quo in eis est tam magna et tam execrabilis ambitio dominandi et dominationes eorum ampliandi et augmentandi q. totus populus sub eis cruciatur.’ Ibid., 2v. Interestingly, the 1546 and 1579 editions insert the following passage after the first sentence quoted here. This passage cast doubt on the precept that bad kings would come to an evil end given contemporary kings’ habits of abusing their subjects: ‘Ex quo dubitandum est de Regibus nostri temporis. Qui tot & tanta crudelia committere permittunt suis armigeris & satellitibus seu avantureriis. Ita quod non potest aliud dici, nisi quod mundus cruciatur inauditis & mirabilibus cruciatibus istorum militum & peditum: qui vulgo dicuntur Avanturiers: Quod Principes permittunt, & sub silentio pertranseunt, & plusquam insupportabilibus exactionibus, talliis, subsidiis, & impositionibus novis, & inauditis excoriantur homines. Ex quo dubitandum est, quod non pereant, & dies suos finiant, prout alii Principes & Reges, qui malè vixerunt, ac suos subditos malè rexerunt.’ Ibid., 105v (1546) [123r 1579]. ‘Dici tamen potest quod quamvis ambitio dominandi deo esset odiosa, dominorum tamen ambientium regimen ad refrenandam hominum malitiam et ad conservandum unumquemque in sua iustitia et ad disponendum cives in concordia, permissum est a deo dominium & provisum.’ Ibid., 2v. ‘Provisum etiam est a deo dominium sive considerata natura entis, sive motus, sive finis. Primo ratione entis: quia omnis res per participationem habet se ad ens per se: sed illi qui habent dominium plus vigent in natura entis quam private persone: quia gerunt vices quasi totius entis cui presunt. unde & bene presidentes & regentes [gerentes 1579] merentur quasi divinos honores & duplicatos secundum Augustinum. propter quod dicit Apostolus. 1 ad Timoth. 5.’ Ibid. Ibid., 2v–3r. Ibid. ‘Ad hunc ergo finem consequendum et si homo adiuuetur a divine lucis gratia, maxime vero manutenetur per mundi gubernatores, tum per bone vite exempla: tum per quotidiana documenta, tum per correctionem continuam. qua ratione Paulus vocat rectores coadiutores dei dicens 1. ad Corin.3: Dei enim adiutores sumus. Sunt enim rectores mundi & principes sicut instrumenta dei principaliter agentis.’ Ibid., 3r. ‘Tertia consideratio. Non solum premium regis est gloria & honor mundanus, sed etiam gloriam a deo consequuntur reges pro premio regiminis & administrationis. conveniens enim est & fidele: ut rex bene regens expectet

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a christo rege regum & domino dominantium premium. Apoc. 19. Minister & cuius est merces magna nimis. & Gen. 15. & Mat. 5. ibi, Merces vostra copiosa est in celis. unde August. quod deus preparavit diligentibus se non capitur, spe non accingitur, charitate non comprehenditur, & vota transgreditur: acquiriri potest, optimari [opinari 1579] non potest. Rex autem populum gubernando minister dei est, ad Roma. 13. Omnis potestas a domino deo est. 22 q. I. c. movet. 23. q. I. c. quid culpatur. & demum in apostolo.‘ Ibid., 3v. ‘Veritas de terra orta est: et iustitia de celo prospexit.’ Ibid., 4r. ‘Ex quibus satis demonstratur quod justitia celestis virtus esse demonstratur. & hoc satis ostendit Homerus cum ait. Reges discipulos summi regis Iovis esse. a quo iustitiam imprimis edificant, quam deinde inter mortales observent, & eam omni studio omnique diligentia tueantur. Plato etiam philosophorum summus. Iustitiam bonorum omnium maximum esse ait, a deo hominibus datum.’ Ibid. ‘Quequidem iustitia maxime est in principe necessaria, cum per eam regnent reges: ut habetur in epistola, inter claras. C. de summa trini. & habetur Esa. 31. Ecce in iustitia regnabit rex & principes eius preerunt. Proprium enim regis officium est facere iudicium & iustitiam. 23, q. 5. c. regis est. Unde dicitur. 3. reg. 10. de Salomone: Constitui te regem ut faceres iudicium & iustitiam: & honor regis iudicium diligit.’ Ibid. Privilege no. 24: ‘Solus Princeps creat advocatus, aut concedit potestatem creandi, ut in l. quisquis. §. ulti. ibi: quos agere permissimus. C. de postulando. & in l. nemo. C. de advocatis diversorum iudicium’; privilege no. 25: ‘Solus Princeps approbat medicos, & dat eis potestatem curandi egros: ut voluit Lucas de penna. in l. contra publicam. versicu. 10. C. de re militari. lib. 12. ubi dicit de hoc esse constitutionem in regno Sicilie, ubi fuit consiliarius: & (ut credo) cancellarius regis Sicilie ...’; privilege no. 27: ‘Solus princeps universalem legem condere potest. l. fi. §. pe. & fi. C. de legibus ipse enim supra ius est, ac solutus legibus princeps. ff. de legi.’ Ibid., 11r. Privilege 59: ‘Disputare de potestate principis incurritur crimen sacrilegii l. 2. C. de crimine sacrilegii & an dignus sit quem ipse elegerit d. l. 2. & ibi glo. fi. & l. restituende, in fine. ibi: nam qui nobis digni iudicati sunt. cum ibi notatis in glo. ult. C. de advocatis diversorum iudicum.’ Ibid., 12r. Privilege 62: ‘Nemo potest dicere principi cur ita facis: ut habetur Ecclesi. 43. & in c. in memoriam. 19. distin. do. meus Iason plura ad hoc allegat. in l. rescripta. col. I. C. si contra ius vel utiltatem publicam. & in l. I. ff. de constit. principium.’ Ibid., 12v. Privilege 135: ‘Princeps potest tollere leges positivas: quia non subiicitur illis, sed ille sibi. c. 2. extra de concessio. prebende. Alexan. consilio suo 2.

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73

74 75

76

77

78

307

col. 5. versicu. comprobatur’; privilege 136: ‘Princeps potest esse iudex in causa propria, sed non inferior qui recognoscit superiorem.’ Ibid., 15v–16r. This was a basic doctrine of medieval popes who proclaimed that they ‘judged all and could be judged by no one.’ See Strayer, On the Medieval Origins of the Modern State, 8. As Strayer explains, the turning point in the establishment of sovereign power is found in the recognition of the need for a final authority of this nature (9). Keohane talks of this process in Bodin: ‘In Bodin’s succinct definition of sovereignty – ‘the most high, absolute, and perpetual power over the citizens and subjects in a commonwealth’ – the little word ‘over’ is among the most important. Unless there is some body for the sovereign to be sovereign over, he cannot exist.’ Philosophy, 70. See Morel, ‘La Place de la lex regia, 546–7. Privilege 160: ‘Divinatio in labiis regis est, & in iudicio non errabit cor eius. Prover. 16. Nutu enim dei agere presumitur. Curtius consi. 49. colum. 21. Et ideo tanta est eius celsitudo , quod non potest ei imponi lex in suo regno. ut dicit Curtius in consi. 65. col. 6. ad finem. Maxime in rege francorum, qui super omnes reges est, quia tanquam stella matutina in medio nebule meridionalis imminet, & cum ipse sit in regno suo, tanquam quidam corporalis deus. verba sunt Baldi in c. l. in § fi. in fi. de prohibita feudi alien. per Federicum in usibus feudorum. Sicut dicitur de papa qui obtinet vicem dei viventis in terris. c. inter hec hyrcum. de peni. distin. 3.’ Chasseneuz, Catalogus, quinta pars, 16 v. On absolute power of pope and Roman law, see Ourliac, ‘La Notion de loi fondamentale,’ 127–8. On divine monarchy, see also Olivier-Martin, Histoire du droit français, 338. On the power of the emperor, Petot says: ‘Pour les glossateurs de l’école de Bologne, la légitimité du droit romain ne se limitait pas à son application à la pratique journalière du droit privé. Elle avait un aspect politique, et ce n’était pas le moins important. Aux yeux des docteurs bolonais, la toute puissance en matière législative appartenait à l’empereur, sans aucun partage.’ Histoire du droit privé français, 68. See also 70, 76; and Olivier-Martin, Histoire du droit français, 122, 286–7, 335. As usual, Chasseneuz takes his argument from Bartolus who wanted to explain how the emperor could rule totius mundi when not all the world was subject to the emperor’s authority. Bartolus explains that the emperor ruled de jure as dominus totius mundi even if, de facto, his sovereignty was not universal. Chasseneuz alters Bartolus’s argumentation to increase the power of the French king, which was not the intent in Bartolus. On Bartolus’s treatment of this question, see Woolf, Bartolus of Sassoferrato, 21–53,

308 Notes to page 166

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80

81 82

83

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85 86

113–15, 373–83. On the relation of French kings with the emperors, see also Ullmann, ‘Medieval Idea of Sovereignty,’ 7–9. ‘Imperator inter omnes principes seculares mundi videtur esse primus, cuius magna est authoritas & preeminentia, cum sit vicarius dei in temporalibus.’ Catalogus, quinta pars, 19r. ‘Prima opinio est Italorum qui tenent quod imperator est dominus totius orbis, maxime glossatorum: ut est glo. in l. bene a zenone ... Hanc opinionem sequuntur canoniste, videlicet Hostiensis, Io. and. & Ant. de butrio. in d. c. per venerabilem. qui filii sint legitimi ... Hanc opinionem tenuit Bar. & omnes Itali, & ultramontani. in l. i. C. de summa trini. & fide catholica.’ Ibid., 20r; and then: ‘Alia est opinio contraria quam doctores citramontani tenuerunt: videlicet quod imperator nunquam fuit dominus totius orbis: & ita tenuerunt Iacob. de ravenna, Petrus & Iohannes fabri.’ Ibid. Regarding Spain’s understanding of the emperor’s power, Maravall notes that ‘the Spanish Middle Ages – with their Hispanic imperial motto roughly equivalent to ‘rex est imperator in regno suo’ – were hostile to the political concept of a European Empire, whose jurisdiction was rejected by our canon lawyers and chroniclers at a very early date.’ ‘Origins of the Modern State,’ 793. Chasseneuz, Catalogus, quinta pars, 22r. ‘Ex quibus constat responsio generalis ad omnia iura dicentia quod imperator est dominus totius orbis & habet monarchiam: est verum orbis scilicet subiecti romano imperio. Cum tempore quo translatum fuit imperium per populum in principem transtulerunt ei omne imperium, quod habebant in toto orbe.’ Ibid., 23r. ‘Hec tamen regna preter romanorum dicuntur monarchie, non quia aliquod istorum fuerit generale ad totum orbem sed ad magnam partem: immo etiam romani nunquam habuerunt totum sed fere totum: ut dicit Zabarel.’ Ibid., 22r. ‘Potest tamen dici quod adhuc rex Francie ita potest dici imperator in suo regno: prout infra dicam. prout rex romanorum in suo regno dicitur imperator, & quod tale imperium est ita in rege francorum sicut in rege romanorum.’ Ibid., 24r. On the history of this expression which dates from 14th century, see Olivier-Martin, Histoire du droit français, 302. See also Gouron, ‘Législateur et droit privé dans la France médiévale’; Ullmann, ‘Medieval Idea of Sovereignty’; and Doucet, Institutions, 75. See Bossuat, ‘Le Roi est empereur en son royaume,’ esp. 377. Chasseneuz, Catalogus, quinta pars, 17v. Kantorowicz says that ‘the doctrine of the lex animata, practically unknown in the West during the earlier Middle Ages, was revived through the revival of scientific jurisprudence and the literary style of Bologna.’ The King’s Two Bodies, 128–9. See also

Notes to pages 166–70

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Ullmann, ‘Medieval Idea of Sovereignty,’ 3; and Gierke, Political Theories, 77–8. 87 Ullmann notes the difference between practitioners of English common law and their colleagues in France and Germany: ‘This juristic professionalism produced, of course, important political and social consequences and implications in both France and Germany: its adoption accounted also for the social no less than for the purely legal influence of Roman and Canon law in both countries. This is only another way of saying that both the society and the individual assume a complexion fundamentally different from that of, say, feudal England, in which this Roman-canonical influence was so conspicuously absent.’ The Individual and Society, 92. 88 ‘Plato’s personification of this idea was the philosopher king who became the embodiment of the nomos. This was a sure sign that in this system the individual citizen had receded from a position which would have enabled him to take part in the finding and formulating of the law. The individual became, so to speak, objectivized, no longer fit, because of insufficient qualification – notably lack of knowledge – to try his hand in the making of the laws.’ Ibid., 102. 89 Ullmann notes how the ‘element of consent’ that was so crucial to English common law played an important role in the seventeenth century in the defense of individual liberties against the irrepressible monarchic aspirations of the kings. See ibid., 96. In Chasseneuz’s Catalogus it is obvious that this protection of individual liberty is crushed. 6. Rabelais and the Ideal Imperfect Polity 1 The Tiers Livre and the Cinquiesme Livre obviously offer even more views of a possible Rabelaisian polity. The Tiers Livre is especially rich in political perspectives as the description of the relationship of Pantagruel and his ‘feaulx subjects’ shows in chapters 1 and 2. Mostly due to constraints of space and time, only Gargantua and the Quart Livre will be discussed in this chapter. 2 For description of good monarchical reigns during the period, see OlivierMartin, Histoire du droit français, 331–2. 3 As Ligier notes: ‘La Royauté se trouve dépouillée, en un tour de main, de son prestige.’ La Politique de Rabelais, 49. 4 Rabelais, Œuvres complètes, ed. Mireille Huchon, 9. All citations are from this edition. Translations are from Gargantua and Pantagruel, trans. Burton Raffel. They have been adapted and altered on occasion. 5 Rabelais, Œuvres complètes, 10.

310 Notes to pages 170–5 6 7 8 9

10 11 12 13 14

15 16 17

18

19

Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 220–1. Ligier also draws a parallel between Rabelais and Commynes. Even more important, he connects Rabelais not only with Commynes, but also with the Estates General of 1484. See La Politique de Rabelais, 28–9. Rabelais, Œuvres complètes, 17. Ibid., 82. Ibid., 17. On the ‘Propos des bienyvres,’ see Chatelain, ‘Autour du proverbialisme des bienyvres.’ For example: ‘Quelle difference est entre bouteille et flaccon? grande, car bouteille est fermée à bouchon, et flac con à viz.’ Rabelais Œuvres complètes, 18. ‘What’s the difference between a bottle and a flask? Tremendous: you close a bottle with a plug, but a flask you stopper by screwing.’ Ibid., 20. Ibid., 21. It is perhaps important to remember that Rabelais was less concerned with building a theory than he was with recommending a human and practical conduct. See Bichon: ‘Mais Rabelais n’écrit pas avec la rigueur du mathématicien qui démontre un théorème! Humaniste, il saisit l’occasion de faire le portrait d’un monarque traditionnel accueillant, à l’orée des temps nouveaux, toutes les lumières de l’humanisme (c’était d’ailleurs là aussi de la propagande, et pour l’humanisme et pour François Ier.’ ‘Rabelais et la vie “œconomique,” 115. Rabelais, Œuvres complètes, 83. Nicole Aronson says: ‘Sur ce point Rabelais semble rester à mi-chemin entre les deux penseurs [Plato and Aristotle]. Ses rois géants ne sont soumis à aucune loi formulée, mais cependant l’idée d’un contrat existe; ce contrat tacite soustend leurs relations avec leurs sujets.’ Les Idées politiques de Rabelais, 31. Lote notes: ‘La Guerre Picrocholine est remplie d’allusions au grand duel qui oppose le roi de France et le César germanique.’ ‘La Politique de Rabelais,’ 345. He also says that ‘[i]l [Picrochole] est donc l’enemi de tout le monde, et tout le monde doit le considérer comme un ennemi, tandis que Grandgousier, champion du droit, modèle de la modération et de justice, défend la liberté de l’univers. Charles-Quint qu’il y prenne bien garde, a tout à redouter du roi de France.’ Ibid., 346.

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20 Critics such as Abel Lefranc have attempted to show that Picrochole represents Charles V and Grandgousier Francis I. Lefranc explains: ‘Comment, en effet, ne pas apercevoir, au cours de la guerre picrocholine, l’épisode principal de ce livre, des institutions nettement satiriques à l’égard de Charles-Quint, rival-né de François Ier.’ ‘Rabelais et le pouvoir royal,’ 194. Lefranc probably goes further than other critics in seeing Rabelais as working almost solely within a propagandistic context. He reads Gargantua as being written as a ‘French’ reply to Thomas More’s Utopia: ‘Retournant habilement contre l’Empereur, la scène et le dialogue satiriques de l’Utopie, il inaugura par un coup de maître son rôle de publiciste national que ses ouvrges postérieurs ne feront que rendre plus manifeste.’ Ibid., 196. See also Léon Daudet who also sees Rabelais as an ardent propagandist for the French king. He attacks the opinion of critics from the period of the French Revolution who saw Rabelais as an early revolutionary: ‘Rien n’est plus faux: Rabelais était, en politique, essentiellement traditionnel et a été employé, à bonnes fins et à bon escient, par le Souverain de France, dans toutes les directions de son universel génie.’ Flambeaux, 76. Georges Lote also remarks: ‘Bien évidemment, le roi selon le cœur de Rabelais a été François Ier, prince au tempérament aventureux sans doute, mais doué des qualités les plus brillantes.’ La Vie et l’œuvre de François Rabelais, 269. Elsewhere Lote also explains: ‘C’est dans cette lignée d’écrivains patriotes que prend place Rabelais, et c’est l’honneur de l’anciennce monarchie d’avoir compris à quel point le concours des polémistes et des poètes pouvait lui concilier l’opinion publique et lui apporter une aide efficace dans les luttes qu’elle poursuivait.’ ‘La Politique de Rabelais,’ 334. Lote says that Rabelais was ‘Avocat de la monarchie française,’ 346. Pierre Villey sees Rabelais as very consciously seeking the favour of the king: ‘Rabelais veille surtout à se pousser auprès des grands. Toujours il avait ménagé le pouvoir royal. Au temps de ses hardiesses contre la Sorbonne, il était contre elle du parti que tenait le roi. Dans la liste des personnages qu’il avait placés dans son Enfer figuraient trois rois de France: tous trois disparaissent dans l’édition de 1534, sans nul doute par un scrupule de déférence envers François Ier.’ Marot et Rabelais, 232. Nicole Aronson notes the ambiguous nature of Picrochole’s character saying: ‘Il est intéressant de noter cependant, que Picrochole n’est pas simplement l’aspect négatif des qualités correspondantes que posséderaient les géants. Ce n’est pas un mécréant, ou un roi qui n’écoute pas ses conseillers. Non, il les écoute, et pour son malheur, car ils ont été mal choisis.’ Les Idées politiques, 80. 21 Rabelais, Œuvres complètes, 125. Ullrich Langer has examined in great depth the importance of the notion of the Aristotlelian concept of the ‘common

312 Notes to pages 177–8

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26 27

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good’ in Renaissance literature in his Vertu du discours. See in particular, in relation to issues related to Rabelais discussed here, Vertu du discours, 100–6, 125–6, 169–73. Thomas Aquinas likewise says: ‘Et ideo omnis lex humana ad bonum commune ordinatur.’ Summa theologiæ, 1a2æ qu. 90, 2, 10. Rabelais, Œuvres complètes, 131–2. Ibid. Ibid. See Poujol: ‘Tous deux [Seyssel and Rabelais], loin de présenter comme un modèle à suivre le gouvernement autoritaire, guerrier et fastueux qui s’instaure en 1515, lui opposent une monarchie patriarcale, simple et familière; la royauté de Grandgousier (dans Gargantua) et celle de Gargantua (dans Pantagruel) baignent dans une atmosphère un peu surannée.’ La Monarchie de France, 49, cited in Aronson, Les Idées politiques, 47. Church notes that in the mid-sixteenth century ‘Seyssel’s checks of la justice and la police were fast disappearing.’ Constitutional Thought, 72. Janeau notes: ‘Rabelais reste désespérement vague. Et le plus probable, après ce que nous avons vu des fondements de son pouvoir royal, est que son roi est seul législateur. Mais, s’il veut faire de bonnes lois, aisément acceptées et appliquées, il sera sage de s’éclairer largement avant de légiférer: des Assemblées de notables, peut-être, mais pas d’Etats généraux: ‘Nec protinus lex est quod principi placuit, sed quod sapienti, bonoque principi placuit,’ avait écrit Erasme dans son Institution du prince chrétien; ou encore: ‘Ita principis est curare ut eas feret leges quae bonis omnibus placeant.’ ‘La Pensée politique de Rabelais,’ 27–8. ‘If it happens that your prince is complete with all the virtues, then monarchy pure and simple is the thing. But since this would probably never happen, although it is a fine ideal to entertain, if no more than an ordinary man is presented (things being what they are nowadays), then monarchy should preferably be checked and diluted with a mixture of aristocracy and democracy to prevent it breaking out into tyranny; and just as the elements mutually balance each other, so let the state be stabilized with a similar control. For if the prince is well disposed to the state, he will conclude that under such a system his power is not restricted but sustained. But if he is not, it is all the more necessary as something to blunt and break the violence of one man.’ Erasmus, Education of the Christian Prince, 231. Aronson, Les Idées politiques, 25–6. Keohane notes: ‘The most important lesson of the Institution du Prince, reiterated in a variety of ways, is that the monarch must remain in full control of his own government, and not share too much power with his underlings. Only he has the princely capacities

Notes to pages 179–81

30 31 32 33 34

35 36

37 38 39 40

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that make for good ruling, and all other officers in the state must be firmly subordinated to his own will.’ Philosophy and the State, 59–60. Erasmus, The Education of a Christian Prince, 206. Budé, Le Livre de l’Institution du Prince, 136. Erasmus, The Education of a Christian Prince, 211. Ibid., 213–14. ‘Or a ceulx, qui ont desir de scavoir et apprendre, il est besoin d’avoir bon maistre qui ayt la maniere de bien instruire ses disciples et les rendre attentifz et dociles a doctrine percevoir, et qui veult avoir tel maistre, il luy convient de chercher par grand cure et sollicitude, a quelque pris qu’il couste, et mesment aux grans princes, comme vous estes Sire.’ Budé, Le Livre de l’Institution du Prince, 162. Rabelais, Œuvres complètes, 43. See Ligier, La Politique de Rabelais, 73, 132–5. Pierre Villey says, as have other critics, that Grandgousier’s reluctance to go to war is the result of having read Erasmus: ‘Grandgousier a lu évidemment la Querela Pacis d’Erasme, et il a médité du même auteur l’Institution du prince chrétien où il a vu duement établi que “bonus princips nunquam omnino bellum suscipiet, nisi cum, tentatis omnibus, nulla ratione vitari poterit.”’ Marot et Rabelais, 220. This would follow of course the trajectory described here in which Rabelais’s intellectual context would be as much Erasmian as Seysselian. Rabelais, Œuvres complètes, 148. See Per Nykrog on the etymology of thelema as ‘volonté.’ Rabelais, Œuvres complètes, 148. See Demonet, Les Voix du signe, 281. Demonet explains: ‘Il [the ‘geste naturel’] consiste d’abord dans la transformation de l’arbitraire individuel, thelema, en arbitraire collectif (Thélème) ... la volonté se manifeste alors selon trois degrés: dans le geste transparent, dans celui de la thélélemie individuelle et enfin dans la décision commune’ (281). Philippe Desan explains that this is a radical form of individualism: ‘Le système politique des Thélémites est fondé sur un principe démocratique poussé à l’extrême, de sorte que chaque individu se sente libre de ses actes tout en conformant ceux-ci avec ceux de ses semblables. L’inscription sur la grande porte de l’abbaye insiste sur le déterminisme individuel. ‘Fay ce que vouldras’ évacue la possibilité de tout conflit entre l’homme et la société. Mais à quel prix?’ L’Imaginaire économique de la Renaissance, 62–3. It might be that this kind of individualism was impossible within the society Rabelais described. See also Janeau, La Pensée politique de Rabelais, 33. On Christian, or more specifically, Pauline, charity in the Abbey of Thelema, see Weinberg, The Wine and the Will, 107–34. See also Jan Miernowski who empha-

314 Notes to pages 181–4

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43 44 45

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47 48

49

50

sizes the Augustinian intertext in ‘In Search of a Context for Rabelaisian Hermeneutics,’ 72–3. ‘En leur reigle n’estoit que ceste clause. Fays ce que vouldras. Par ce que gens liberes, bien nez, et bien instruictz, conversans en compaignies honestes ont par nature un instinct, et aguillon, qui tousjours les pousse à faictz vertueux, et retire de vice, lequel ilz nommoient honneur.’ Œuvres complètes, 149. Pierre Villey explains: ‘En humaniste, Rabelais réplique par un acte de confiance dans la bonté essentielle de la nature humaine. Puisque la nature est bonne, il faut laisser l’homme libre, du moins quand il est éclairé par l’instruction. Le sentiment de l’honneur, “l’instinct et aiguillon” donné par la nature, suffit à le “pousser à faits vertueux” et à le “retirer du vice.” Crédit fait à la nature et foi dans la liberté, voilà, au fond, le grand principe de l’humanisme, celui qui nous conduira à Montaigne, à Rousseau, à l’individualisme de la Révolution.’ Marot et Rabelais, 227. See also Janeau, La Pensée politique de Rabelais, 33. Rabelais, Œuvres complètes, 149. See Kelley on custom as social practice in ‘“Second Nature,”’ 136. In texts such as Ratio theologiae, Erasmus reprises the Augustinian notion that ‘clear places’ in scripture provide a key to obscure ones. See Terence Cave, The Cornucopian Text, 82–4. The narrator also ‘admires’ the ‘besterie’ of the author of the Blason des couleurs ‘qui a existimé que sans aultres demonstrations et argumens valables le monde reigleroit ses devises par ses impositions badaudes,’ Rabelais, Œuvres complètes, 28. Ibid., 30. Ibid., 31. For more on this passage, see Screech, ‘Emblems and Colours,’ 76– 8; see also Defaux, Rabelais Agonistes, 444–5; on Bartolus, see Woolf, Bartolus of Sassoferrato, 18, n. 1. See Bartolus of Saxoferrato: ‘ Primo modo color aureus dicitur nobilior, per eum enim representatur lux.’ A Grammar of Signs, 117; De insigniis et armis, 34. ‘Color aureus est, inquit, nobilissimus colorum, quod per eum figuratur lux. Si quis enim vellet figurare radios solis, quod est corpus maxime luminosum, non posset commodius facere quàm per radios aureos, constat autem luce nihil esse nobilius. Animadvertite stuporem hominis, stoliditatemque pecudis. Si aureum colorem accipit eum solum, qui ab auro figuratur, sol quidem non est aureus. Si aureum pro fulvo, rutilo, crocco, quis unquam ita cæcus atque ebrius fuit, nisi similis ac par Bartolo, qui solem croceum dixerit: Sustolle paulisper oculos asine: solent enim aliquando asini, præsertim quum dentes nudant, ora attollere.’ Valla, In Bartholi de Insigniis et Armis libellum ad Candidum Decembrem epistola, in Opera omnia, 1:640.

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51 The editors of a recent edition of Bartolus’s De insigniis et armis have proposed that Bartolus was not responsible for writing the second part of the treatise and that Valla’s bitter irony should not have been addressed to Bartolus himself. Rather, it should have been addressed to Nicola Alessandri, Bartolus’s son-in-law, who compiled the treatise. See Cavallar, Degenring, Kirshner, in A Grammar of Signs, 80–7. 52 ‘Hoc ille non sentit, sed melius esse, latine quam grammatice loqui, hoc est, ex consuetudine peritorum, quam ex artis analogia: cum tota sit illa Quintiliani disputatio de laude consuetudinis loquendi aversus analogiam, de quarum utraque ita ait: Consuetudo vero certissima loquendi magistra, utendumque planè sermone, ut nummo, cui publica forma est.’ Valla, Laurentii Vallæ in eundem pogium libellus secundus, in Opera omnia, 385. See also Antidoti in pogium, books 1–3, in Opera omnia, 253–366. 53 Michel Villey emphasizes how the ius gentium is opposed to the spirit of natural law: ‘Mettre l’accent sur le jus gentium c’est trahir complètement l’esprit de la doctrine du droit naturel. Ce n’est plus tant de la nature qu’on croirait pouvoir tirer le droit, que de l’initiative de l’homme; le poids se déplace de l’observation objective du cosmos comme source du droit, vers la souveraineté des principes subjectifs de notre raison; dèjà donc, du droit naturel au droit rationnel.’ La Formation, 362–3. 54 See Kelley, ‘“Second Nature,”’ 143. 55 John of Paris, On Royal and Papal Power, 85; see also Ullmann, The Individual and Society, 132–3. J. Leclerq dates this work to the end of 1302 or the beginning of 1303. See L’Idée de la royauté du Christ au moyen âge, 10–14. 56 Ullmann, The Individual and Society, 133. 57 John of Paris, On Royal and Papal Power, 79. 58 ‘iure enim naturae omnia sunt communia et communis est omnium possessio, et omnium una libertas, di. I, Ius naturale.’ Ockham, Octo quaestiones de potestate papae, in Il Filosofo e la politica, 378. 59 See Glucksmann, Les Maîtres Penseurs, 11–35. 60 The connection between Rabelais and a discussion of the commentaries of customary has been made by Ligier, who quotes Augustin Thierry’s Essais sur l’histoire du tiers-état in his study of Rabelais’s politics: ‘On y sent “la prépondérance du Tiers-Etat, de son esprit et de ses mœurs ... A ce genre d’altération, que les coutumes subirent presque toutes, se joignit pour les transformer la pression que le droit romain exerçait de plus en plus sur elles et qui, à chaque progrès de notre droit national, luit faisait perdre quelque chose de ce qu’il tenait de la tradition germanique.” C’était en effet le droit romain qui devait finir par prévaloir. Il avait eu pour lui les rois, dont il favorisait le pouvoir. Il charmait, par son caractère et simplicité et de grandeur, par la langue même dans laquelle il était écrit, les esprits cultivés,

316 Notes to pages 186–8

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63

64

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nourris des lettres classiques.’ La Politique de Rabelais, 98–9. See also Aronson, Les Idées politiques de Rabelais, 221. See Paul Smith, Voyage et écriture, 203–5. It is extraordinary how close Rabelais’s understanding of the common good is to Ockham’s. The editor of Ockham’s Il Filosofo e la poetica, Francesco Camastra, notes: ‘Nella filosofia politica di Ockham, inoltre, il bene commune, che è il fine della politica, si costruisce a partire dalle esigenze e dai diritti delle singole persone in quanto entità socialmente correlate. Il bene commune, pertanto, non è visto come disinteressata e ordinata dispensa dei potenti e dell’autorità costituita, ma come il risultato di una prassi moralmente corretta, socialmente ovvero universalmente solidale, e giuridicamente orientata a riconoscere e a valorizzare l’autonomia decisionale, le capacità di critica ovvero di motivata obbedienza, e la libertà degli individui’ (In Ockham’s political philosophy, moreover, the common good, which is the aim of politics, is created from the needs and rights of single persons in so much as they are socially related. The common good, therefore, is not seen as the disinterested and ordered dispensation of the powerful and of the established authority, but as the result of morally correct general rule, socially or universally joined and juridically inclined to recognize and to valorize the autonomy to make decisions, and the ability to criticize, or rather to obey when there is reason to do so, and the liberty of the individual) (54). Pouilloux says: ‘L’intérêt de telles formules [such as ‘leur bon vouloir’ or ‘le désir leur venoit’] réside dans l’assimilation de pluriels marquant nécessairement une distribution entre des individualités distinctes, et de singuliers témoignant de l’existence unique d’une collectivité. Cette assimilation pose le problème de la volonté générale; selon les théoriciens politiques du contrat, et ils existent au XVIe siècle, même à l’époque de Rabelais, toute existence collective résulte d’un accord soit de droit, soit de fait, entre deux parties distinctes dont chacune engage dans la convention une sorte de bien en échange d’un autre bien. A Thélème, les ‘moines’ ne procèdent à aucune convention réelle; en revanche, leur entrée dans l’abbaye, par une sorte de mutation brusque, subvertit tout désir individuel pour en faire une volonté générale.’ ‘Notes sur l’abbaye de Thélème,’ 203. Cave, ‘Reading Rabelais’; and Marichal,’ Quart Livre: commentaires.’ See also Jeanneret, ‘Quand la fable se met à table,’ esp. 149–52; and Harp, The Portrayal of Community in Rabelais’s Quart Livre, 68–76, 83–5. Edwin M. Duval explains: ‘While each island may satirize some specific institution, class, custom, or idea of mid-sixteenth-century Europe, the mechanism of the satire consists in nearly every case in presenting the

Notes to pages 188–91

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68 69

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island as a utopia, a paradise, an ideal, an absolute value, or the source of some transcendent truth, and then revealing a very different reality behind that utopian façade.’ The Design of Rabelais’s ‘Quart Livre de Pantagruel,’ 20. On the idea of voyage to diverse islands, see Lestringant, ‘L’Insulaire de Rabelais.’ ‘En icelluy jour Pantagruel descendit en une isle admirable, entre toutes aultres, tant à cause de l’assiete, que du gouverneur d’icelle. Elle de tous coustez pour le commencement estoit scabreuse, pierreuse, montueuse, infertile, mal plaisante à l’œil, tresdifficile aux pieds et peu moins inaccessible que le mons du Daulphiné, ainsi dict, pource qu’il est en forme d’un potiron, et de toute memoire persone surmonter ne l’a peu.’ Œuvres complètes, 671. Rabelais: ‘Surmontant la difficulté de l’entrée à peine bien grande et non sans suer, trouvasmes le dessus du mons tant plaisant, tant fertile, tant salubre, et delicieux, que je pensoys estre le vray Jardin et Paradis terrestre: de la situation duquel tant disputent et labourent les bons Theologiens. Mais Pantagruel nous affermoit là estre le manoir de Areté (c’est Vertus) par Hesiode descript, sans toutesfoys prejudice de plus saine opinion.’ Ibid., 671–2. Duval explains: ‘Messere Gaster’s island is thus a kind of summum of every island encountered thus far. It is a utopia and an earthly paradise, the realization of an ideal and an absolute value, the seat of a supreme authority and a god.’ The Design of Rabelais’s ‘Quart Livre de Pantagruel,’ 41. He also says: ‘According to the Judeo-Christian version of this myth [of the golden age], the garden we were led to expect at the top of Gaster’s island is the “paradisum voluptatis” in which Adam and Eve originally needed no “arts” of any kind because they knew no need and could “freely eat of every tree of the garden”’ (42). See also Paul Smith, Voyage et écriture, 128. Rabelais, Œuvres complètes, 672. ‘Mesme es animans brutaulx il apprent ars desniées de Nature. Les Corbeaulx, les Gays, les Papeguays, les Estourneaux, il rend poëtes. Les Pies il faict poetrides: et leurs aprent languaige humain proferer, parler, chanter. Et tout pour la trippe!’ Ibid., 673. See Huguet: ‘Gaster: Ravager, dévaster, piller. Ledit Attyla entre comme foudre et tempeste dedens les provinces de Gaule, là où il gasta ... un grand nombre de citez et grosses villes,’ Lemaire de Belges, Illustr. III, 2 (II, 395). François Rabelais, ‘Les Dipsodes estoyent yssus de leurs limites, et avoyent gasté un grands pays de Utopie, II, 23,’ in Dictionnaire 4:276. Rabelais, Œuvres complètes, 673. Ibid. Gérard Defaux identifies the Gaster episode as an unmistakable attack on

318 Notes to pages 191–3

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the papacy: ‘Gaster, à son tour, y prend la place du pape; il devient Dieu. Le règne de la Tripe, la complaisance pour tout ce qui est concupiscence et satisfaction grossière des appétits, la chute dégradante – de Dieu au Ventre – dans le monde de la matière, y trouvent la plus désespérante confirmation. La réification du spirituel et son corrélat, le littéralisme, s’y épanouissent finalement en ridicule et monstrueux amour de soi.’ Rabelais Agonistes, 521. See, for example, Hotman’s reply to the attack by Pope Sixtus V on Henry of Navarre and the Prince of Condé. The wording of the pope’s attack represents a hierarchical ecclesiastical polity very similar to that described by Cajetan. Hotman’s response undermines the authority of the pope because of his much less hierarchical understanding of the structure of the church. See Francisci Hotomanni IC, 68–123. For his thoughts on Roman law and absolute power, see Francogallia (treated in the following chapter). Church explains: ‘Whether the Roman law was responsible for their absolutist opinions, or whether the fact of strong personal rule by the monarch was of prior importance in shaping their modes of thought is not for us to determine; but it is certain that there was entire harmony between the expressions of opinion and the policies of the government.’ Constitutional Thought, 43. See Ligier on Rabelais’s reaction to the Concordat of 1516 and the Pragmatic Sanction. He explains: ‘Voilà ce qui excite, et non sans motif, la verve de Rabelais.’ La Politique de Rabelais, 88. These questions, of course, are not new. See V.L. Saulnier, who, writing of the political context of French Renaissance literature, says: ‘C’est aussi le siècle où se constitute la monarchie absolue. Les assemblées modératrices s’effacent: Etats généraux, Etats provinciaux; le Parlement de Paris dispose du droit d’enregistrement (sanction nécessaire à valider les principaux actes royaux) et du droit de remontrance (observation sur les actes royaux présentées à cette occasion); il prétend jouer comme corps législatif et sauvegarder une tradition monarchique contre le roi lui-même: mais le roi passe outre (enregistrement forcé du concordat, 1516). L’absolutisme est renforcé par la concentration du pouvoir ... et la multiplication du nombre des fonctionnaires ... La société féodale du Moyen Age fait place à la société aristocratique et monarchique moderne.’ La Littérature française de la renaissance, 11; emphasis in original. ‘Posito ergo pro firmo quod ius civile sit scientia excellere debet & excellit omnes alias scientias: & debet inter omnes scientias dici nobilior & dignior: quoniam multa sunt ex quibus scientie sublimitas commendari potest: videlicet origo, effectus, & finis: in quibus comprehendimus subiectam utilitatem, conditorem, & necessitatem ... Et licet dici possit generalem omnem

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scientiam fuisse a deo ortam cum omnis ratio superne scientie, vel terrene creature in eo est qui est caput earum & author ... Origo iuris est a deo immortali quam alii dixerunt Iovem, alii Apollinem, alii Mercurium ... Leges a deo optimo processisse dicemus.’ Chasseneuz, Catalogus, decima pars, 10v. Chasseneuz, as usual, is very close to Bartolus on this point. In his Tractatus Testimoniorum, Bartolus attempted to show that civil law could be called a ‘sapientia,’ a ‘scientia,’ and an ‘ars.’ See Woolf, Bartolus of Sassoferrato, 12–13. ‘Et si tollatur lex, semper remanet ratio legis cui subiicimur. l. I. cum glos. ff. de coniungen. cum emancipato liberis. gloss. in ca. fuerunt. 7. distinct. Barb. in ca. clerici in 9. colum. ibi. 21. de iud. extra.’ Chasseneuz, Catalogus, decima pars, 9v. ‘Respondetur quod illud dictum ita simpliciter dictum est falsum. Nam quantum ad ius naturale vel gentium attinet: probatur ut in §. sed naturalia. insti. de iure natu. gen. & civili. ubi dicit quod talia sunt immutabilia. Et idem de iure divino ut ibidem notatur, & in l. ex hoc iure. de iusti. iur. ff.’ Ibid., 10r. See Piano Mortari: ‘In base ai suoi criteri di indagine doveva farsi strada sempre più una valutazione del Corpus juris diversa da quella dei Glossatori e dei Commentatori: l’idea di vedere nell’opera di Giustiniano un patrimonio che era l’espressione di un momento particolare della storia dell’umanità, un opera il cui valore non era affatto indiscutibile ed eterno, come si era ritenuto fino al Quattrocento, ma relativo comme tutte le opere dell’uomo che sono il prodotto ed il riflesso di una fase e di un ambiente determinati della civiltà’ (The criteria he used in his research led towards an appreciation of the Corpus juris different from that of the glossators and the commentators: the idea of seeing in the work of Justinian a heritage that was the expression of a particular moment in human history, a work whose value was not entirely unquestionable and eternal, as had been maintained until the fifteenth century, but relative, as are all human works that are the product and the reflection of a period and of an environment determined by civilization). Cinquecento giuridico francese, 207. See also Kriegel, La Politique de la raison, 89–91, 173–5. See also Nardi: ‘Nel campo del diritto il cultismo francese, sulla scia del lombardo Andrea Alciato divenuto professore a Bourges, sostiene un “mos gallicus docendi,” o metodo storico critico nell’insegnamento del diritto romano, contro il risalente “mos italicus,” o metodo dogmatico astorico perchè basato sulla considerazione delle norme giustinianee quale diritto tuttora vigente’ (In the field of law, the French tradition, in the wake of the Lombard Andrea Alciati, who had become a professor in Bourges, upholds

320 Notes to page 193 a mos gallicus docendi (a French way of teaching), which is a critical historical method of teaching Roman law, as opposed to the prominent mos italicus (Italian way), an ahistorical dogmatic method based on the consideration of the law in force from Justinian standards). Rabelais e il diritto romano, 3–4. Petot underlines the ahistorical nature of law for the defenders of the mos italicus: ‘Pour comprendre les réactions qu’a suscité en France le droit romain retrouvé, il faut d’abord préciser la portée de ce droit dans l’esprit des maîtres bolonais. D’aucune manière ils n’ont entendu faire œuvre d’historiens. Pour eux, le droit de Justinien n’était pas une législation morte que l’on peut étudier comme le témoignage d’un passé révolu. Le droit romain leur apparaissait comme le droit par excellence, égal, dans sa pérennité, au droit canonique, une sorte de vérité révélée et éternelle’ (In order to understand the reactions that the recently rediscovered Roman law provoked in France, it is necessary first of all to explain more precisely the scope of this law in the spirit of the Bolognese masters. In no way did they mean to do the work of historians. For them, the law of Justinian was not dead legislation that could be studied as a witness to a long gone past. Roman law appeared to them as law par excellence, equal in its eternal nature, to canon law, a kind of revealed and eternal truth). Histoire du droit privé français, 68. 83 Many critics see Rabelais as wholeheartedly supporting the ‘new legal learning.’ Barbara Bowen states: ‘Rabelais undoubtedly sides with the jurists of what is known as the mos gallicus school, of whom Alciati is considered the leader, who wanted to remove all glosses from both civil and canon law, whereas the more old-fashioned mos italicus jurists were as likely to accord authority to the gloss as to the text.’ Enter Rabelais Laughing, 169. J. Duncan M. Derrett says that Rabelais supported the new legal commentators who attempted to edit texts of the Corpus Juris Civilis [Roman law] without the ‘accretions’ of the Bartolists: ‘Rabelais was wholeheartedly with the Alciatists: to him the ancient methods in which Bridoye was supposed to have been trained were crude, ignorant, and sources of chicanery and costly pedantry.’ ‘Rabelais’s Legal Learning and the Trial of Bridoye,’ 124–5. Ligier says that ‘[c]e qui est certain, c’est qu’il professe des maximes entièrement semblables à celles du maître milanais.’ La Politique de Rabelais, 99. Interestingly Robert Marichal notes how Rabelais’s convictions as a jurist and as a ‘romaniste’ ‘l’emportent sur sa prédilection pour la noblesse rurale dépossédée d’un de ses droit les plus anciens.’ ‘Rabelais et la réforme de la justice,’ 191. Rabelais’s heart and mind, so to speak, were torn between an allegiance to a diffused law based on rural ‘patrimoine’ and a more modern and centralized law based on individual rights. See also Kriegel, La Politique de la raison, 174–5.

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84 Rabelais’s knowledge of law was profound. See Nardi, Rabelais e il diritto romano; and Plattard, L’Œuvre de Rabelais, esp. 94–126 (chapter 4: ‘Le Droit, les études juridiques et les légistes’). For a curious and somewhat sceptical analysis of Rabelais’s knowledge of the law, see Heulhard, Rabelais Légiste. 85 Tiraqueau complains several times in later editions about how Chasseneuz had ripped off the first edition of his De legibus without citing him: ‘Hæc autem duo postrema capita, ut erant in prima editione, integra, suppresso meo nomine transposuit Bartole. Chasseneus in suo Catalogo gloriæ mundi, parte xi. in 8. consideratione, de qua re alibi dicam plenius.’ Andreæ Tiraquelli, 15. See also pages 46, 47, 50, 130, 131, 157, and elsewhere. Tiraqueau also refers to Chasseneuz’s commentary on the rights of wives whose husbands have died. Tiraqueau disagrees with Chasseneuz who defended the Roman position that the woman returned to the authority of her father on the death of her husband (‘quòd mortuo viro, pater reassumit, aut saltem retinet potestatem’). Tiraqueau believed that the widow remained within the power of the dead husband’s family (‘filiam quæ matrimonio collocatur, non iam esse in familia patris, sed mariti, & illius forum & domicilium sequi’). See ibid., 378–9; and Chasseneuz, Consuetudines, 570–9. Tiraqueau also chides Chasseneuz for the churlishness of his attacks (see page 410). Michael Screech has noted Rabelais’s rather fluid understanding of the relationship of ‘old’ and ‘modern’ social structures and their legal manifestations. He writes, for example, regarding Rabelais’s reading of Tiraqueau’s L. Si unquam, c. de revoc. donat.: ‘This section [Susceperit liberos] is in many ways very much after Rabelais’s heart, seeking to explain the true import of the Ancient Laws in the most humanist of ways, with the consequent downgrading of the ‘barbarous’ glossists of Medieval times. This is of course very much the attitude of Rabelais himself at this period – an attitude he probably owed directly to Tiraqueau. Later, of course, both Tiraqueau and Rabelais are much more respectful, showing a much deeper appreciation of these very glossists, some of whom Rabelais can later call ‘nos antiques Jurisconsultes.’ ‘Eleventh-Month Pregnancies,’ 99. The literature on Rabelais and Tiraqueau is voluminous; see also W.-F. Smith, ‘Tiraqueau et Rabelais’; Plattard, ‘Tiraqueau et Rabelais,’ and ‘Une Mention de Tiraqueau en 1546’; Perrat, ‘Autour du juge Bridoye’; and Barat, ‘L’Influence de Tiraqueau sur Rabelais,’ and ‘L’Influence de Tiraqueau sur Rabelais (Fin).’ 86 For this episode, see, among many other texts, Plattard, François Rabelais, 249–52. Charles Perrat explains that Rabelais doesn’t seem bothered by the use of dice to judge cases like these. See his ‘Autour du juge Bridoye,’ 52. J. Duncan M. Derrett sees Bridoye as exemplifying Bartolist tendencies, ‘Rabelais’s Legal Learning,’ 124–5.

322 Notes to pages 194–5 87 ‘That man is much more a political animal than any kind of bee or any herd animal is clear. For, as we assert, nature does nothing in vain; and man alone among the animals has speech. The voice indicates the painful or the pleasant, and hence is present in other animals as well; for their nature has come this far, that they have a perception of the painful and pleasant and indicate these things to each other. But speech serves to reveal the advantageous and the harmful, and hence also the just and the unjust. For it is peculiar to man as compared to the other animals that he alone has a perception of good and bad and just and unjust and other things [of this sort]; and partnership in these things is what makes a household and a city.’ Aristotle, The Politics, trans. Carnes Lord, 37. See also Marie-Luce Demonet, who cites B. Varchi’s ‘reprise’ of Aristotle’s Politics: ‘seul l’homme peut exprimer par la parole le profitable, le nécessaire, le juste, l’injuste, l’honnête, le bon, le passé et le futur: bref, la voix animale n’a pas de dimension éthique, pas plus que les cris et gémissements des hommes.’ Les Voix du signe, 493–4. Gérard Defaux refers to Rabelais’s distinction between ‘sounds’ and ‘meaningful and non-meaningful voices’ in the Paroles dégelées chapters. He shows how the distinction comes directly from Aristotle’s Categories. See Defaux, Rabelais Agonistes, 526. Some of the most helpful comments regarding meaning in the paroles dégelées are found in Miernowski, ‘Literature and Metaphysics.’ See also Jeanneret, ‘Les Paroles dégelées.’ 88 See Demonet, Les Voix du signe, 285–6. 89 John of Paris used this argument also in his On Royal and Papal Power, 79. 90 Cicero, De Inventione, I (2–3), 6–7; see also Orosius, Histoires 1.2, pp. 10–11. 91 See Tierney on this passage and its importance in John of Paris, in Religion, Law, and the Growth of Constitutional Thought, 35. 92 Mikhail Bakhtin notes Gaster’s complicated and political nature. See Rabelais and His World, 300–1. 93 Sperone Speroni’s Dialogo delle lingue is particularly interesting in that it distinguishes between the very animals that are esteemed as ‘subjects’ in Gaster’s kingdom and human beings: ‘Gli augelli, i pesci e l’altre bestie terrene d’ogni maniera, ora con un’suono, ora con altro, senza distinzione di parole, i loro affetti significare; molto meglio dover ciò fare noi uomi, ciascuno con la sua lingua; senza ricorrere all’altrui ...’ (The birds, the fish, and the other earthly animals of all sorts, now with one sound, then with another, without ever distingushing words, signify their feelings; we human beings must do much better, each with his own language, without having recourse to those of others ...), cited in Demonet, Les Voix du signe, 492, note 19.

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94 For Gastrolatres, see Krause, ‘Idle Works in Rabelais’s Quart Livre.’ 95 ‘Les Engastrimythes soy disoient estre descenduz de l’antique race de Eurycles, et sur ce alleguoient le tesmoinnaige de Aristophanes, en la comedie intitulée les Tahons, ou mousches guespes. Dont anciennement estoient dictz Eurycliens, comme escript Plato, et Plutarche on livre de la cessation des Oracles. Es sainctz Decretz, 26, quest. 3 sont appellez Ventriloques: et ainsi les nomme en langue Ionicque Hippocrates, lib. 5. Epid., comme parlans de ventre. Sophocles les appelle Sternomantes. C’estoient divinateurs, enchanteurs, et abuseurs du simple peuple, semblans non de la bouche, mais du ventre parler et respondre à ceulx qui les interrogeoient.’ Rabelais, Œuvres complétes, 674. 7. The Death of Consensual Politics and the Individual in Agrippa d’Aubigné 1 D’Aubigné, Les Tragiques, ed. Garnier and Plattard, Book V, 163–84, lines 865–1099. All citations are from this edition. 2 Lyotard, in Le Différend, describes a ‘différend’ as arising when two parties to an argument cannot agree on what it is that they disagree about. 3 See Lestringant, La Cause de martyrs, 15; Mathieu-Castellani, Agrippa d’Aubigné; Fragonard, La Pensée religieuse d’Agrippa d’Aubigné, and Essai sur l’univers religieux; and Randall Coats, Subverting the System. 4 Schrenck, ‘Agrippa d’Aubigné et la liberté de conscience,’ 153. See also Bailbé, ‘Les Mythes.’ 5 Bodin, La République, 131. On sovereignty in the sixteenth century, see Kriegel, The State and the Rule of Law, 15–32. 6 ‘la souveraineté donnée à un Prince sous charge et conditions, n’est pas proprement souveraineté, ny puissance absolue si ce n’est que les conditions apposees en la creation du Prince, soyent de la loy de Dieu ou de nature.’ Bodin, La République, 128. 7 ‘tous les colleges et communautés demandent confirmation de leurs privileges, puissances, et jurisdictions: et mesmes les Parlemens et Cours souveraines, aussi bien que les officiers particuliers. Si donc le Prince souverain est exempt des loix de ses predecesseurs, beaucoup moins serait-il tenu aux loix et ordonnances qu’il fait: car on peut bien recevoir loy d’autruy, mais il est impossible par nature de se donner la loy, non plus que commander à soy-mesme chose qui depende de sa volonté.’ Ibid., 132. See also Doucet, Institutions, 83. On absolutism in Spain, see Maravall, ‘The Origins of the Modern State,’ 800–1. 8 ‘le Prince souverain ne se peut lier les mains, quand ores il voudroit. Aussi

324 Notes to pages 205–6 voyons nous à la fin des edicts et ordonnances ces mots. CAR TEL EST NOSTRE PLAISR, pour faire entendre que les loix du Prince souverain, ores qu’elles fussent fondees en bonnes vives raisons, neantmoins qu’elles ne dependent que de sa pure et franche volonté.’ Bodin, La République, 132–3. 9 Hotman, Francogallia, Latin Text by Giesey, trans. Salmon, 415. See also Franco-Gallia, ed. Leca. The notes by Leca are especially useful (i–xxxvi). See Giesey’s comment, 89–90: ‘The impression of greater vehemence, and consequently of greater tension between the political concept of the a priori rights of the national assembly and the historical account of its corruption, is strengthened by a number of other additions to the 1576 version. A striking change is the insertion in capitalized print of the Ciceronian maxim “SALUS POPULI SUPREMA LEX ESTO.” This occurs on six occasions, usually in contrapuntal relationship with additions describing the tyranny of the Turks, whose subjects are said to live like cattle. The insertions are placed strategically in such key chapters as those describing the form of the ancient constitution, the authority of the council, and its challenge to Louis XI. The authority of Budé and Du Moulin is invoked in a new passage giving the public council control of monetary affairs, while the distinction between the king and the kingdom is given fresh emphasis by reference to the practice of naming the great officers of state as officers OF FRANCE, in contrast with officials of the royal household. Moreover, approval for armed resistance to the king in the name of the estates is underlined by the insertion of the words “by force” in the quotation from Commines describing the defiance offered by Louis XI by the League of the Common Weal.’ See also Giesey, The Juristic Basis of Dynastic Right, 30; and Franklin, Constitutionalism and Resistance. 10 There were a number of studies of this genre in the sixteenth century. See what Bernard de Girard, Seigneur Du Haillan said: ‘Aussi coustumierement les histoires qui traictent des commencemens et origines des Estatz, et des Princes & seigneurs d’iceux, et mesmement celles qui parlent de l’origine de ce Royaume, sont si pleines de fables et de mensonges, qu’elles semblent plustost estre des Romans traictans les adventures de Lancelot du lac, de Tristan le Leonnois, d’Amadis de Gaule, et autres telz Chevaliers qui ne furent oncques, que veritables histoires.’ Promesse et desseing de l’histoire de France, 3v. This kind of genealogical research was quite common in the sixteenth century and offered a corrective to the mythical histories of Lemaire de Belges and of Ronsard which tried to prove the Trojan heritage of France. See also Major, Representative Government, 184–7. 11 Justinian, The Institutes, Book 1 (Title II, 6), 5. See also Morel, ‘La Place de la lex regia,’ 545.

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12 See Morel, ‘La Place de la lex regia,’ 547. 13 ‘Ego credo quod populus Romanus et senatus non possunt facere legem, ratio est, postquam populus Romanus transtulit potestatem in principem ... hodie omnis potestas imperii est abdicata ab is.’ Bartolus, Comm. in Codicem, I, 14, 12, cited in Morel, ‘La Place de la lex regia,’ 547. 14 ‘Et ceste Maiesté fut premierement au Senat, et au peuple. Et depuis fut translatée en la personne des Empereurs, après Auguste Cesar. Et de là, est venu le crime de lese Majesté ...’ Budé, De l’Institution du Prince (1547 edition), 154, cited in ibid., 550. 15 ‘hallucinantibus theologis, adulantibus jurisconsultis, persuadentibusque omnia principibus licere, summamque eorum et liberam esse potestatem. Quod certe in Italia verum non est: Romani enim caeteris Italis foedere in societatem attractis in Augustam lege regia non nisi ius transferre potuerunt, quod ipsi ex foedere habebant.’ Alciati, cited in ibid., 550. 16 Ibid., 552. 17 Junius Brutus, Vindiciæ contra tyrannos, xxviii. Often attributed to Philippe Duplessis-Mornay (1549–1623) and Hubert Languet (1518–81), this work was published using the pseudonym Etienne Junius Brutus. 18 Ibid. 19 ‘Dieu ni le peuple n’ont pas mis le glaive en la main des particuliers: parquoy s’ils le desgainent sans commandement, c’est faire sedition, quoy que la cause semble juste. Davantage ce ne sont pas les privez et particuliers qui font le Prince, ains tous en general et considerez en un corps: dont s’ensuit qu’ils sont tenus d’attendre le commandement de tous, c’est à dire de ceux qui representent tout le corps du peuple en un Royaume, province ou ville, ou pour le moins de l’un de ceux-là, avant rien entreprendre contre le Prince.’ Ibid., 236–7. 20 Ibid., xxix. 21 ‘Car commes les Conciles de Basle et de Constance ont determiné (et bien determiné) que le Concile universel estoit par dessus l’Evesque de Rome, tout ainsi que le Chapitre est par dessus l’Evesque, l’Université par dessus le Recteur, la Cour par dessus le President, brief celuy à qui toute une compagnie donne autorité est tousjours inferieur à la compagnie, encores qu’il soit par dessus un chascun des membres d’icelle ...’ Ibid., 63. 22 Ibid., 105. 23 ‘Somme, personne ne sauroit nier qu’il n’y ait contract mutuellement obligatoire entre le Roy et les sujets: dont la substance est que le peuple obeisse fidelement au Prince qui commandera comme il faut: et le serment est presté premierement par le Prince, puis confermé par le peuple.’ Ibid., 192.

326 Notes to pages 208–10 24 ‘n’est-il pas plus raisonnable que le peuple soit absous du serment de fidelité presté au Roy, si le Roy qui a le premier (comme le procureur à celuy qui le constitue) rompu sa foy, vient à l’enfreindre.’ Ibid., 193. 25 ‘Davantage il y a infinis peuples qui vivent sans Roy: mais on ne sauroit imaginer un Roy sans peuple.’ Ibid., 106–7. 26 See Bèze, Du Droit des magistrats, ed. Kingdom, xxxix (Kingdom’s note). 27 Ibid., xxxix. 28 ‘Je di donc au cas où nous sommes, qu’un Roi ou mesmes un Empereur, relevant de la souveraineté, commettant felonnie contre ses vassaux, assavoir ses subjects (ce que jamais ne puisse advenir), perd son fief, non pour estre adjugé aux vassaux, mais pour y estre pourveu par ceux qui representent la souveraineté.’ Ibid., 52. 29 ‘Et pourtant ce que j’ai dit qui s’observe contre eux quand ils commettent felonnie contre leurs vassaux, n’est fondé sinon sur ceste seule raison d’equité naturelle, qui s’entend assez d’elle mesme sans qu’on en ait fait expresse mention.’ Ibid., 52. 30 ‘A plus forte raison donc, que sera-ce de celui qui commet felonnie contre ses subjets, ausquels il se seroit adstreint par serment tres-expres.’ Ibid. 31 ‘Or avant sortir du palais de la conscience, je leve la main à Dieu, que nonobstant ces choses, je tien l’estat de la Royauté le plus honorable et excellent de tous, quand elle est appuyee des correctifs qui l’empeschent de tomber en Tirannie.’ D’Aubigné, Du Debvoir mutuel, 2:45. See Bailbé, ‘Agrippa d’Aubigné et les pamphlets,’ 1:191, 196. Marie-Madeleine Fragonard notes the very political nature of the Tragiques, but also adds: ‘Il ne faut cependant pas s’attendre à trouver dans Princes une méditation systématique sur le pouvoir. Les questions abordées par d’Aubigné demeurent trop disparates pour pouvoir constituer un “traité” politique.’ Fragonard, Lestringant, and Schrenck, La Justice des Princes, 104. 32 D’Aubigné, Du Debvoir mutuel, 48. Schrenck comments: ‘D’Aubigné ne se sent pas seulement un témoin privilégié de la dynastie corrompue des Valois, un de ces intimes des puissants, qui, comme Commynes, ont “faict leur chevet au pied du lit des rois.” Son dessein porte plus loin, car dès la préface “Aux Lecteurs,” il s’attache à souligner la liaison étroite entre son œuvre et sa réception idéologique. Les Tragiques et Princes, en particulier, risquaient de prêter à son auteur une pensée dangereuse sur la nature du pouvoir, notamment qu’il “affectoit [préférait] plus le gouvernement aristocratique que monarchique, de quoy if fut accusé envers le Roy Henry quatriesme estant Roy de Navarre.”’ La Justice des Princes, 100–1. 33 D’Aubigné, Du Debvoir mutuel, 48. 34 ‘Il ne faut donc pas confondre la loy et le contrat: car la loy depend de celuy

Notes to pages 210–11

35

36 37

38

39

40

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qui a la souveraineté, qui peut obliger tous ses subjects, et ne s’y peut obliger soy mesme: et la convention est mutuelle entre le Prince et ses subjects, qui oblige les deux parties reciproquement et ne peut l’une des parties contrevenir au prejudice, et sans le consentement de l’autre, et le Prince en ce cas n’a rien par dessus le subject: sinon que cessant la justice de la loy qu’il a iure de garder, il n’est plus tenu de sa promesse, comme nous avons dit: ce que ne peuvent les subjects entre’eux, s’ils ne sont relevés du Prince.’ Bodin, La République, 135. See Mathieu-Castellani, Agrippa d’Aubigné, 64: ‘Analogue à celui qui lie le Prince à ses sujets dans le traité politique du Debvoir mutuel, un réseau de devoirs mutuels oblige Dieu et le croyant, la maitresse et l’amant. L’insistance mise à établir un pacte, ou une convention, à distribuer dettes et créances, dévoile une obsession du lien juridique, une quête compulsive de l’obligation.’ D’Aubigné, Du Debvoir mutuel, 48. ‘sur quoy disent les maistres: “Non potuit populus plus iuris dare principi in populum quam ipse habeat, numquam autem licuit populo jus naturale aut gentium violare; jura enim naturæ sunt æterna, perpetua et immutabilia.”’ Ibid. Doucet insists on the decadence of the Estates General in the sixteenth century: ‘Si le XVIe siècle ne nous fait pas assister à la disparition des assemblées nationales, il nous laisse cependant prévoir la décadence de cette institution qui, depuis trois siècles, était un des traits les plus saillants de l’organisation monarchique.’ Les Institutions, 312. Marguerite Boulet-Sautel explains, much differently, that: ‘En bref, dans la lumière du XVIe siècle, le Moyen Age aurait connu le règne d’une liberté conçue comme la règle harmonieuse de la vie de tous les Français, liberté garantie par les Etats Généraux et explicitée par la coutume.’ ‘La Liberté au moyen âge,’ 278. ‘car si le Prince souverain est subject aux estats il n’est ny Prince, ny souverain: et la Republique n’est ny Royaume, ny Monarchie, ains une pure Aristocratie de plusieurs seigneurs en puissance egale, où la plus grande partie commande à la moindre en general, et à chacun en particulier: il faudroit donc que les edicts et ordonnances fussent publiees au nom des estats, et commandees par les estats, comme en seigneurie Aristocratique, où celuy qui preside n’a puissance aucune, et doit obeyssance aux mandements de la seigneurie, qui sont toutes choses absurdes et incompatibles ...’ La République, 138. Bodin says that Jean de Rély was the chancellor. In fact Rély was elected by the ‘bureau’ representing Paris as their president. There were two other presidents for Burgundy (the abbot of Citeaux) and Normandy (Masselin); see Picot, Histoire des Etats Généraux, 1:358, notes. The chancellor, Guil-

328 Notes to page 212

41

42

43

44

laume, Lord of Rochefort, had been the chamberlain of the Burgundian duke, Philip the Good, and had been made Chancellor on 12 May 1483 by Louis XI; see ibid., 353–4, notes. ‘aussi void on que en l’assemblee des estats de ce Royaume tenus à Tours, alors que le Roy Charles VIII estoit en bas aage, et que les estats estoyent plus autorisés que iamais, Relli orateur portant la parolle pour tous les estats commence ainsi: Treshaut, tres-puissant, tres-Chrestien Roy, nostre souverain et naturel seigneur, vos humbles et tres-obeyssans subiects, etc., venus icy par vostre commandement ... Et m’est enchargé de par toute cest noble assemblee vous exposer le bon vouloir, l’affection cordiale, le ferme et arresté propos qu’ils ont à vous servir et obeyr, et subvenir en toutes vos affaires, commandements et bons plaisirs. Bref, tout le discours et narré des estats ne porte rien que subiection, service et obeyssance. On void le semblable aux estats d’Orléans.’ Bodin, La République, 138. ‘Il est certain que les anciens rois avoient coustume de tenir souvent les estats, qui estoient l’assemblée de tous leurs sujets, ou des desputez par eux. Et n’est autre chose tenir les estats que communiquer par le roy avec ses sujets de ses plus grand affaires, prendre leur advis et conseil, oyr aussi leur plaintes et doleances, et leur pourvoir ainsi que de raison.’ L’Hospital, Le Discours d’Orléans, 73. See also Picot, Histoire des Etats Généraux, 2:182–6. See Giesey, editor of Hotman, Francogallia, 27: ‘He [L’Hospital] argued that, while certain fundamental laws were immutable, there was a wide area where the king alone could make and unmake law for the changing needs of his people. Although L’Hospital had advocated the calling of the estates at Orléans, he had made it clear in his speech to that assembly that its function was merely to petition and advise. The King, he had declared, did not hold his authority from the nation, but from God and the ancient laws of the realm.’ ‘Aussi, dedans le Seel de France, n’est emprainte la figure du roi armé et a cheval, comme en beaucoup d’autres patries, mais seant en son throne royal, rendant et faisant la justice.’ L’Hospital, Le Discours d’Orléans, 74. See also Du Haillan: ‘Ie feray aussi observer que noz Roys ont esté si amateurs de la Iustice qu’au lieu que tous les autres Princes sont en leurs seelz armez à cheval, tenans l’espée au poing, comme Conquerans, le nostre seul est assi sur un throsne fleurdelisé, affublé d’un grand mantel Royal semé de Fleurdelis, la Couronne sur la teste, le Sceptre de Iustice en une main, et le Royal en l’autre. Voulans par là monstrer qu’ilz estiment la Iustice, non les armes, estre le lien des Royaumes, et qu’il est plus convenable à un Roy d’estre Iusticier que vaillant.’ Promesse et desseing, 17v–18r. See also Picot, Histoire des Etats Généraux, 2:182.

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45 See Baumgartner, Radical Reactionaries, 83–100. 46 Ibid., 98. 47 ‘plus reveré des siens, et redoubté des estrangers, que les viles artisans allans de leurs boutiques au conseil, ayons à peine loisir de changer de robbe: ou qu’aucuns Seigneurs de moyenne qualité, tantost officiers, tantot desmis de leurs offices, et charges?’ Le Roy, De L’Excellence du gouvernement royal, 10r. 48 ‘perdent souvent les occasions, consommans la pluspart du temps en leurs negoces privez: et tenants conseil debattent plus volontiers entr’eulx qu’ils nadvisent au prouffit commun ...’ Ibid., 10v. 49 ‘soubs un Monarque, lequel par puissance absoluë et force, quand il en est besoin, retienne les grands avec les petits, empeschant l’insolence des uns, et retenant les autres d’oppression. Autrement ne recognoissans aucun seigneur souverain, auquel le commun profit de tous soit recommendé, et le soin de conserver l’union civile, ils se divisent par bandes, ne rapportans à une bonne et mesme derniere fin leurs actions, et sont continuellement affligez de partialitez, envahis par estrangers, et oppressez de tous costez.’ Ibid., 14v. 50 ‘C’est belle chose d’ouir les plaintes et doleances des subiects, et leur pouveoir ainsi que de raison: pourveu aussi que les deputez d’iceulx, considerans leurs conditions, suffisances et exercices, ne passent outre, s’entremettans és grands affaires incognus, pour en dire advis, et donner conseil. Ils se doivent contenter de l’heur qu’ils ont en cela, d’approcher de leur Roy, de luy presenter leurs requestes, et obtenir les remedes et provisions necessaires.’ Ibid., 27v. Le Roy’s royal prejudice is notable, especially in relation to the monarchomaque texts of Hotman, Bèze, d’Aubigné, and others. Where d’Aubigné conceived of Catherine de Medici as a Jezabel, Le Roy praises ‘l’illustre maison de Medicis.’ Le Roy, Considération sur l’histoire française, 6r. 51 ‘Tous ceux qui ont voulu fonder la liberté d’une Republique bien ordonnée, ont estimé que c’estoit lors que l’opinion du souverain Magistrat estoit atrempée par les remonstrances de plusieurs personnes d’honneur, estant constituées en estat pour cet effet: et quand en contr’eschange, ces plusieurs estoient controllez par la presence, commandement et Majesté de leur Prince. Et vrayment qui voudra sainement discourir sur le fait de nostre Monarchie, il semble que cet ordre ait esté quelques-fois tresestroitement observé entre nous par le moyen du Parlement. Qui est la cause pour laquelle quelques estrangers discourans dessus nostre Republique, ont estimé que de cette commune police, qui estoit comme metoyenne entre le Roy et le peuple, dépandoit toute la grandeur de la France.’ Pasquier, Les Recher-

330 Notes to pages 214–16

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53

54

55

56 57

ches de la France, 1:325–6. See Huppert, ‘Les “Recherches” d’Estienne Pasquier.’ Giesey, editor of Hotman’s Francogallia, 58, explains that ‘the exaltation of the parlement in Pasquiers’ Recherches was anathema to Hotman.’ Huppert seems to see Pasquier as only slightly more ‘constitutionalist’: ‘On ne peut pas déduire de ses Recherches une théorie constitutionnelle que par implication, qu’en juxtaposant diverses observations particulières et en notant le degré d’importance qu’il attache aux choses.’ ‘Les “Recherches” d’Estienne Pasquier,’ 86. ‘Grande chose veritablement, et digne de la Majesté d’un Prince, que nos Roys (ausquels Dieu a donné toute puissance absoluë) ayent d’ancienne institution voulu reduire leurs volontez sous la civilité de la loy: et en ce faisant, que leur Edits et Decrets passassent par l’alambic de cét ordre public. Et encores chose pleine de merveille, que deslors que quelque ordonnance a esté publiée et verifiée au Parlement, soudain le peuple François y adhere sans murmure: comme si telle compagnie fust le lien qui noüast l’obeyssance des sujets avec les commandemens de leur Prince.’ Pasquier, Les Recherches de la France, 361. ‘Encores que quelques-uns qui pensent avoir bonne part aux Histoires de la France, tirent l’Assemblée des Estats d’une bien longue ancieneté, voire sur elle establissent toute la liberté du peuple, toutesfois ny l’un ny l’autre n’est veritable. Je sçay et veux reconnoistre qu’anciennement en la Gaule, et avant la conqueste de Jules Cesar, l’on faisoit des Diettes et Assemblées generales, qui furent par luy continuées (par une hypocrisie familiere aux Romains) pour faire paroistre qu’il nous entretenoit en nos anciennes franchises et libertez: mais en toutes ces deliberations vous ne verrez point que le menu peuple y fust appellé, duquel l’on ne faisoit non plus d’estat, que d’un O en chiffre.’ Ibid., 397. ‘Or en nos Assemblées des trois Estats, non seulement on y appelle le menu peuple, avec le Clergé et la Noblesse, mais qui plus est, il en fait la plus grande et meilleure part: Et comme tel, ceux qui mirent les premiers cette invention en avant, le voulurent reblandir d’un mot plus doux et moins bas, que nous disons Tiers Estat.’ Ibid. Ibid., 400. ‘C’est un secret que nos Roys doivent apprendre, de ne faire jamais ouvrir nos Estats, quand il y a un Prince, qui pour avoir le vent en poupe au milieu d’un peuple, se rend chef de part: Mais qu’eust fait en cecy Charles Regent? Il tenoit proprement le Loup par les oreilles, la necessité presente le convioit de trouver argent pour le defroy et soustenement de la guerre. S’il eust donné congé aux Estats, c’estoit quitter la partie: D’un autre costé de les

Notes to pages 216–18

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59

60 61

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63 64 65

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continuer, il ne pouvoit rien obtenir d’eux qu’il acquiesçast à une infinité de demandes et injustes et tortionnaires ... Le premier advis que prit ce jeune Prince fut de licentier l’Assemblée, et la remettre à une autre fois, esperant obtenir d’eux en un autre temps, ce qu’il ne pouvoit adoncques: Conseil sage, mais defavorisé par la raison qui estoit disposée à sedition.’ Ibid., 404. ‘It is to be noted, and this is not a point to be lightly passed over, that, in the first place, these kingdoms were not hereditary but conferred by the people on someone who had a reputation for justice; and, in the second place, the kings did not possess an unlimited, free and uncontrolled authority, but were so circumscribed by specific laws that they were no less under the authority and power of the people than the people were under theirs.’ Hotman, Francogallia, 155. See Franklin, Constitutionalism, 24. ‘It is to be understood that, in as much as it was the right and power of the estates and the people to constitute and maintain kings, so, if at least all our annals do not lie, the supreme power of deposing kings was also that of the people. The very first man to be made king of Francogallia offers us a remarkable proof of this power. When the people discovered that he was given to shameful acts and libidinous behaviour, spending his time in debauchery and fornication, they removed him by public consent and expelled him from Gaul.’ Ibid., 235. Ibid., 291–3. Bèze also very clearly sees the Estates as a way of ‘bridling’ the king’s power: ‘Je respon premierement qu’il appert par ce que dessus, que les peuples et Estats se sont ordinairement reservé la puissance de refrener les souverains, à laquelle reserve nulle ancienneté ni prescription ne peut prejudicier.’ Du Droit des magistrats, 50. ‘Car si nous tous sommes comme un corps duquel le roy est chef, il est beaucoup meilleur couper le membre pourri que permettre qu’il gaste et corrompe les autres et leur face souffrir mort. S’il y avoit un homme pestiferé ou infect de lepre, vous le chasseriez de vostre ville: il y a plus grande raison de chasser les seditieus.’ L’Hospital, ‘Harangue prononcé à l’ouverture de la session des Etats généraux à Orléans le 13 décembre 1560,’ in Discours pour la majorité de Charles IX et trois autres discours, 88. L’Hospital, Ample Discours au roy, 8v. On François de Belleforest, see Simonin, Vivre de sa plume. On the Advertissement, see Vivre de sa plume, 243–4, 258. ‘Ce n’est assez de commencer un bon oeuvre qui ne le conduit à sa fin: et iamais les testes de l’Hidre ne cesserent de regermer; jusqu’a tant que le feu et fumée estouferent du tout ce maudit monstre. C’est un estrange Serpent que l’Heresie c’est un furieux venin que la trahison, et un estrange mal que

332 Notes to pages 219–20 le desir de vengeance: mais c’est un bon remede que la hastiveté à tout couper, ruiner et anuller, car osté la teste, et les racines il ne fault plus craindre que les bestes revivent.’ Belleforest, Advertissement sur les rébellions, 46v. 66 Hotman, Francogallia, 347. 67 Originally composed in 1571, first published in 1576 as L’Histoire de France par Bernard de Girard, Seigneur Du Haillan, Historiographe de France. It was amended with the author’s additions in 1585 as L’Histoire de France: Reveue, et Augmentee depuis les precedentes Editions faictes tant en ce Royaume, qu’aux pays estrangers, par Bernard de Girard, Seigneur Du Haillan, Conseiller du Roy, Secretaire de ses Finances, & de sa Chambre, & Historiographe de France. The Histoire was also significantly enlarged with a second author’s additions in 1615, as Histoire générale des roys de France, contenant les choses memorables, advenues tant au Royaume de France qu’és Provinces estrangeres sous la domination des François, durant douze cens ans. Escrite par Bernard de Girard Seigneur Du Haillan, Conseiller du Roy, Secretaire des Finances, & de sa Chambre, Historiographe de France, iusques à Charles septiesme. et continuée de la Chronique de Louys XI. des escrits d’Arnaud le Ferron, & de quelques autres Autheurs, iusques à Louys XIII. aujourd’huy regnant, vol. 1. Volume 2 is from the same publisher but was published in 1629. The first chapter, which is the only part of the Histoire studied here, was printed separately in 1789 under the title Conditions sous lesquelles les François se sont donné un Roi: ou Origine de la monarchie françoise. Citations, unless otherwise indicated, are from this publication. For Du Haillan, see Kelley, Foundations of Modern Historical Scholarship, 233–8; Bonnefon, ‘L’Historien Du Haillan,‘ and ‘L’Historien Du Haillan, Lettres et documents inédits’; Simonin, ‘Le Recueil des triumphes et magnificences (1564),’ esp. 420–4, and Vivre de sa plume, esp. 204–11; and Bayle, Dictionnaire historique et critique, 682–3. 68 Du Haillan states in the preface to the 1615 edition of the Histoire that history is a kind of degree zero of discourse: ‘Mais l’Histoire assise au plus haut Theatre d’honneur sur toutes les autres sciences comme la plus noble & excellente, n’a besoin de l’ayde & secours d’aucun art, ny mesmes des lettres & caracteres, pour ce que la seule narration que la langue de celuy qui raconte quelque chose fait couler dedans les aureilles des escoutans, elle est de langues & d’aureilles les unes aux autres, & d’aage en aage des uns aux autres hommes laissee à posterité, comme un droit hereditaire.’ Histoire, aiii r–aiii v. He accuses all other arts and sciences of being pernicious or useless. ‘Car l’une a esté blasmée de desguiser la verité, & de mentir, comme la Rethorique, l’autre de donner trop de plaisir avec peu d’utilité, comme la Poësie, l’autre d’obscurcir & brouiller les matieres par les disputes comme la Dialectique.’ Ibid., aiiii r.

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69 Pierre Bayle remarks about Du Haillan: ‘On luy peut reprocher d’avoir donné un commencement fabuleux à son Histoire, qui est entierement de son invention, ayant fait tenir un Conseil entre Pharamond & ses plus fidelles Conseillers, pour sçavoir si ayant la puissance en main il devoit reduire les François au Gouvernement Aristocratique ou Monarchique, & faisant faire une Harangue à chacun d’eux pour soustenir son opinion. On y voit les noms de Charamond & de Quadrek, personnages imaginaires. C’est une chose fort surprenante; On est fort peu asseuré si Pharamond fut jamais au Monde, & quoy qu’on sçache qu’il y ait esté, c’est une terrible hardiesse d’en raconter des choses qui n’ont aucun appuy.’ Dictionnaire historique et critique, 2:682–3. 70 On deliberative rhetoric, see Aristotle, The Art of Rhetoric, Book I, ii. 22, 33; Melancthon, Elementa rhetorices, in Philippi Melanthonis opera quæ sunt omnia, 13:445. 71 ‘Et ne doutez pas que ce gouvernement monarchique ne soit le seul outil & instrument de notre repos, comme celui qui est du tout ressemblable à celui des dieux, & aux effets de la nature, qui de son bon gré en tous ses œuvres a fait un Roy, & une chose qui commande & préside à toutes les autres de son espèce. Si nous la voulons suivre, nous verrons de tous côtez en elle l’exemple de l’empire de la Monarchie. Les mouches à miel ont un Roy, les grües choisissent une d’entre elles qui va la premiere, & qui fait la pointe de leur escadron triangulaire. Les troupeaux de bétail ont un chef, comme entre les chevres le bouc, & entre les moutons le belier va devant, & les uns & les autres troupeaux ont un Pasteur. Si nous voulons aller au ciel, il y a un souverain Dieu qui commande aux autres Dieux & qui gouverne cet univers. Entre ses créatures l’homme préside, entre les bêtes le lion, entre les oiseaux l’aigle ... toutes choses instituées par le Facteur de l’univers, & par la nature qui est sa ministre servante, ont été faites en formes de Monarchie, en laquelle une seule commande à toutes les autres.’ Du Haillan, Histoire, 6–8. 72 Charamond’s argument is very close to one found in Bodin’s Methodus, which seems to be a model for many of the arguments found here. Bodin states: ‘Nam si naturam propius inspiciamus, monarchiam ubique intueri licebit. Videmus enim, ut à minus auspicer, in apibus regem, in armentis ducem, in gregibus hircum aut arietem sectarium (ut inter grues ipsas unam reliquæ sequuntur) & in singulis rerum naturis unum aliquid excellere’ (288). Bodin and Du Haillan would both seem to be citing from the same letter from St Jerome to the Monk Rusticus, cited in Jehan de Rély’s oration at the Estates General in Tours in 1484. See Masselin, Journal, 175, and page 275, note 51 above. Du Haillan was well known for citing large chunks of other people’s works without citing them. Estienne Pasquier

334 Notes to page 221 alludes to Du Haillan and others in the Recherches de France, in which he says that certain other historians had borrowed or even transcribed ‘mot apres mot des clauses entieres de moy sans en faire estat’ (252). Du Tillet’s family also alludes to this kind of intellectual theft in a posthumous edition of his Chroniques des rois de France. See Bonnefon, ‘L’Historien Du Haillan,‘ 476, and ‘L’Historien Du Haillan, Lettres et documents inédits.’ Du Haillan refers to these accusations in the 1585 edition of the Histoire saying that the book had met with some pretty negative criticism from people jealous of his success (e v). He does own up, nonetheless to having taken some large chunks of other people’s work, saying that he had taken up to ‘a half page, sometimes two or three entire pages, sometimes with changes – of a few words, and sometimes whole sentences and of the narrative direction of the discourse’ (J’ay prins demie page, quelquefois une, deux, ou trois entieres, quelquefois avec changement, de quelques parolles, & quelquefois des sentences, & de fil de discours). Histoire, eiii r. 73 ‘Si nous voulons vivre sous une chose publique qui est composée de plusieurs chefs, nous pervertirons l’ordre de nature: car ce seroit mettre plusieurs chefs sur un corps, plusieurs âmes en icelui, plusieurs maistres en une famille, plusieurs pilottes sur une nef, plusieurs rois sur les abeilles, plusieurs gardiens sur un troupeau & plusieurs Dieux à l’empire souverain & universel du Ciel & de la terre.’ Du Haillan, Histoire, 8. This passage is very close to examples given by Bodin: ‘Convertat igitur Plato rerum naturam, & plures in eadem familia dominos, plura in eodem corpore capita, plures in nave gubernatores, plures denique in apibus, in gregibus, in armentis (si modo rustici) duces constituat ...’ Methodus, 289. 74 ‘puisque la nature y contrarie, que par ses exemples elle le nous dissuade, que la raison s’y oppose, & que l’expérience des autres nations y résiste; il vaut mieux, ce me semble, Seigneurs, choisir la Monarchie que le gouvernement de plusieurs ...’ Du Haillan, Histoire, 8. On monarchical arguments based on order threatened by chaos, see Goyet, Le Sublime, 56–7. 75 ‘SEIGNEURS, pour ce que nous avons à débattre consiste plus en faict qu’en exemples, je m’arresterai point à répondre à ceux de la nature que Charamond a mis en avant, ains seulement par raison je veux maintenir que nous devons plutot choisir le gouvernement aristocratique, que le monarchique. Pour gouverner, décider & resoudre les choses grandes, les opinions de plusieurs sages bien unis, & s’accordans, sont beaucoup meilleures, & apportent meilleur remede que l’opinion d’un seul: car il est bien difficle qu’un seul ait tant de sagesse qu’il le puisse faire.’ Du Haillan, Histoire, 18. The arguments deployed throughout the debate are found in rhetorical treatises of the period. François Desrues, for example, provides many of the

Notes to pages 221–3

76

77

78

79

80

335

same ‘lieux’ found in this debate in his La Suitte des marguerites françoises. See, for example, ‘Le chemin des preceptes est long: mais celuy des exemples est court et persusif’ (76); ‘L’une des causes de nos maux est que nous vivons par exemples: de sorte que nous ne sommes pas reglez par la raison, mais emportez par la coustume’ (75). Desrues’s sentences concerning ‘opinion’ are as diversified as those for ‘exemple.’ He gives the following for opinion: ‘Les desirs naturels sont limitez, ceux qui laissent de l’opinion, n’ont ni fin ni mesure’ (164); ‘Les opinions, & affections sont diverses, comme aussi sont les affaires humaines’ (164); ‘Nous sommes bien souvent affligez & malades par opinion, & par fantasie: & autant miserable est chacun, comme il pense l’estre’ (165). For refutation, see Quintilian, Institutio oratoria, 183–200. For use of examples, see Aristotle, The Art of Rhetoric, Book II, xix. 25–xx. 2 , 273–9, xxv. 1–xxv. 7, 335–7; Rhétorique à Herennius, Book IV, 62, 212 (and elsewhere); and Quintilian, Institutio oratoria, Book V, 11, 162–76. ‘En une chose publique qui composee de plusieurs testes, il est mal-aisé que parmi les diverses opinions d’icelles (quand bien la moitié auroit mauvais advis d’une affaire) l’autre moitié ne l’ait bon, & que la vérité ne se trouve plutost en la dispute de plusieurs personnages, qu’en la cervelle & sensualité d’un seul, qui le plus souvent ne veut croire que sa fantaisie.’ Du Haillan, Histoire, 18–19. ‘Je me tournerai vers vous, Seigneurs Francs, & vous dirai que de vivre sous une Royauté semblable à celle sous laquelle quelques-uns de nos voisins vivent est vivre en une perpétuelle & cruelle servitude, & que vivre sous une chose publique, est vivre en liberté. Ceux qui peuvent vivre en liberté, & se soubmettent à la servitude, vous me confesserez qu’ils sont nonseulement fols, mais aussi forcenez. Si vous, Seigneurs Francs, qui estes la nation entre toutes les autres nations, la plus libre & la plus accoustumée à vivre en liberté, & qui le moins avez senti le joug de la servitude, si vous, dis-je, vous précipitez de vous-mêmes sans aucune contraincte à icelle, qui est la Royauté... il n’y a personne qui ne vous estime fols & enragez.’ Ibid., 30. The allusion to La Boétie’s Discours de la servitude volontaire is clear. See this in La Boétie, Œuvres complètes, esp. 77. See also Desrues, La Suitte des marguerites francoises, 211, who offers maxims such as ‘Toute nostre vie est une servitude: il faut donc s’accoustumer à sa condition, & ne se plaindre nullement d’icelle, & apprehender toutes les incommoditez qui l’environnent,’ or ‘Il n’y a servitude plus vilaine ny plus deshonneste que la volontaire,’ or ‘La malice n’a rien de commun avec la vertu, ni la servitude avec la liberté.’ ‘celui qui soubsmet à la discrétion & violence d’autruy la puissance de sa

336 Notes to pages 223–33

81

82

83 84 85 86

87 88 89 90 91 92

93 94 95

vie & de sa mort, il n’est moins enragé & ne commet pas moindre crime, que celui qui contre soy-mesme dégaigne & tourne la pointe de son épée.’ Du Haillan, Histoire, 31. ‘Sed hæc quæstio ab hypothesi ad thesin revocari debet, ut planius intelligatur: est enim merum imperium in sola gladii potestate, ut ex ipso Ulpiano interpretantur.’ Bodin, Methodus, 176. ‘Vous estes assemblez en ce lieu, en intention d’adviser à l’établissement de l’Estat des Francs & leur salut & repos: mais je voy bien que voulans suivre l’exemple de nos voisins, vous allez conjurer contre votre Estat & vos vies, que vous vous allez jetter en vos malheurs, & soubsmettre vos libertez & vos testes à la subjection & puissance de Pharamond. Je voy bien que vous avez perdu l’entendement, car vous n’auriez pas ceste opinion ny desir, si vous n’estiez poussez de quelque fureur.’ Du Haillan, Histoire, 31–2. Ibid., 33. Ibid. Ibid., 34. ‘Celui qui met les mains ou le fer sur quelques parties de son corps, ou qui le fait faire par un autre, pour couper les parties vicieuses, d’icelui, desquelles on craint une putrefaction, ou une cangrenne, celui-là, dis-je, n’est point meschant, ny fol, ny furieux, comme il te semble, ains est prudent & advisé, & a soing de sa personne & de sa santé.’ Ibid., 35. Goyet, Le Sublime, 441–92. D’Aubigné, Tragiques, II, 33, lines 467–72. See Goyet, Le Sublime, 484. D’Aubigné, Tragiques, V, 167–8, lines 901–20. Ibid., 169, lines 931–8. Ibid., 170–1, lines 945–52. Balzac writes: ‘Il a été matériellement impossible à Charles IX de tirer du Louvre de Henri II sur une barque de Huguenots traversant la rivière, encore qu’il pût bien voir la Seine des fenêtres aujourd’hui condamnées de ce louvre.’ Sur Catherine de Médicis, cited in Simonin, Charles IX, 11. See pages 275–369 for a discussion of Charles IX’s part in the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre. Ronsard, ‘Continuation du discours des miseres de ce temps à la Royne,’ in Ronsard: Discours des misères de ce temps, 78, lines 23–5. Ibid., 84, lines 123–6. The connection between ‘opinion’ and political unrest is made clear by Ramists such as Philippe Canaye who said: ‘Que si les conciles, colloques, & disputes tenues cy devant sur le faict de la Religion n’ont pas esté propres pour guerir notre furieux mal de l’opinion, que diray-je de nos violences les plus barbares, par lesquelles nous nous entremordons &

Notes to pages 233–42

96 97

98 99 100 101 102 103 104

105

337

deschirons comme bestes farouches, au lieu de discourir ensemble comme hommes raisonnables.’ ‘Aux Lecteurs,’ in L’Organe, no page number. Peter Ramus was very hard on ‘opinion’ also; see Dialectique, 62. Ronsard, Remonstrance au peuple de France, 118–19, lines 249–58. In his Institution pour l’adolescence du roy treschretien charles neufviesme de ce nom, Ronsard remarks on the human imperfection of the king and the tyrant’s ignorance of this imperfection: ‘Aussi, pour estre Roy, vous ne devés penser / Vouloir comme un Tyran vos subjects offencer, / Car comme nostre corps vostre corps est de boüe.’ Ronsard: Discours des misères de ce temps, 57, lines 111–13. See Lestringant, Agrippa d’Aubigné, 8. D’Aubigné, Du Debvoir mutuel, 51. D’Aubigné, Tragiques, V, 174–5, lines 985–90. Bodin, La République, 132–3. D’Aubigné, Tragiques, V, 224, lines 1545–8. See Cam, Marongiu, and Stökl, ‘Recent Work,’ 49–50. The fact that Charles IX protected Du Haillan whose theory of limited monarchy was admired by d’Aubigné himself raises a question. If Charles IX protected Du Haillan could the French king have been as tyrannical as d’Aubigné depicts him in the Tragiques? See Lewis, ‘Jean Juvenal,’ 110–11.

Conclusion 1 ‘Parler de nominalisme d’une part, de l’autre de positivisme et de subjectivisme juridiques, c’est tout simplement marquer la naissance de l’Individu dans la philosophie et dans le droit. Lorsqu’il n’y a plus rien d’ontologiquement réel au-delà de l’être particulier, lorsque la notion de ‘droit’ s’attache non à un ordre naturel et social, mais à l’être humain particulier, cet être humain particulier devient un individu au sens moderne du terme,’ 73. In the same discussion he adds: ‘En général, et au plan social proprement dit, il n’y a plus de place pour l’idée de communauté. Elle est supplantée par la liberté de l’individu, qu’Occam étend du plan de la vie mystique à celui de la vie en société. Implicitement au moins, nous avons quitté la communauté pour une société, et les racines religieuses de cette première transition, aussi décidée que décisive, sont évidentes.’ Louis Dumont, Essais sur l’individualisme, 74. For his discussion of conciliarism and the return of papal monarchy, see 78. 2 See Michel Villey on the return of Thomism in the sixteenth century, Formation, 343–5.

338 Notes to pages 247–50 3 See Maravall, ‘The Origins of the Modern State,’ 797. 4 Ibid., 798. 5 ‘le sage doit au-dedans retirer son âme de la presse, et la tenir en liberté et puissance de juger librement des choses; mais, quant au-dehors, qu’il doit suivre entierement les façons et formes reçues. La société publique n’a que faire de nos pensées ...’ Essais I, 23, 185. As Timothy J. Reiss so eloquently states: ‘The freedom of the individual resides in keeping a space for the private while at the same time lending oneself to the social order, to the requirements of the law – which moreover is the condition sine qua non for maintaining this private freedom.’ ‘Montaigne and the Subject of Polity,’ 134. 6 See Ourliac and De Malafosse, Histoire du droit privé, 111–14. 7 Maravall, ‘The Origins of the Modern State,’ 803. 8 ‘Laissons à part cette longue comparaison de la vie solitaire à l’active, et quant à ce beau mot de quoi se couvre l’ambition et l’avarice: que nous ne sommes pas nés pour notre particulier, ains pour le public, rapportonsnous-en hardiment à ceux qui sont en la danse; et qu’ils se battent la consience, si, au rebours, les états, les charges, et cettre tracasserie du monde ne se recherche plutôt pour tirer du public son profit particulier.’ Essais I, 39, 341. 9 ‘Si me semble-t-il, à le dire franchement, qu’il y a grand amour de soi et présomption, d’estimer ses opinions jusque-là que, pour les établir, il faille renverser une paix publique et introduire tant de maux inévitables et une si horrible corruption de mœurs que les guerres civiles apportent, et les mutations d’état, en chose de tel poids; et les introduire en son pays propre.’ Essais I, 23, 187; ‘Je prise peu mes opinions, mais je prise aussi peu celles des autres.’ Essais III, 2, 56; see also Ronsard, Remonstrance au peuple de France, in Discours des misères de ce temps, 105–47; Ramus, Dialectique, 62 (see pages 336–7, note 95 above). 10 See Cassirer, who cites Augustine in relation to Petrarch, in Individual and Cosmos, 144. 11 Renaut, L’Ere de l’individu, 83–6. 12 Ibid., 85. 13 Ullrich Langer remarks in relation to modern society: ‘Le privilège accordé au moi libéré de tout lien social, de toute définition substantielle (ressentie comme contraignante), enlève du même coup tout pouvoir au discours moral.’ Vertu du discours, Discours de la vertu, 27. Langer insists throughout his Discours de la vertu on the difference between modern concepts of justice, based on individual rights, and those of the Renaissance, based on Aristotelian and Ciceronian notions of the common good. He says, for

Notes to page 252

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instance, that ‘[n]ous trouvons ainsi chez Cicéron une différence fondamentale par rapport à l’individu: la préservation du bien commun précède toute reconnaissance et récompense du mérite individuel’ (125). 14 On the dangers of nostalgia for a holistic society in a modern individualistic world, see Louis Dumont, Essais sur l’individualisme, especially 132–63. He says, notably: ‘J’écrivais naguère que le totalitarisme est une maladie de la société moderne qui “résulte de la tentative, dans une société où l’individualisme est profondément enraciné, et prédominant, de le subordonner à la primauté de la société comme totalité”’ (141). He is citing from Homo aequalis, I: Genèse et Epanouissement de l’idéologie économique (Paris: Gallimard, 1977) 21–2.

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Index

Accursius, 158 acteur versus auteur, 84, 120, 122, 145– 6, 147, 244, 268–9n1, 286n4 Advertissement sur les rébellions (Belleforest), 218 Alberic of Rosata, 155–6, 159 Alciati, Andrea, 152, 159, 206, 319– 20n82, 320n83, 325n15 Ample Discours au roy sur le faict des quatre estats du royaume de France (l’Hospital), 218 ‘apostolica sede vacante,’ 19, 33, 78– 9, 243, 257n1 L’Apparition du mareschal sans reproche (Cretin), 14–15, 121–3, 130–47, 213– 14 Aquinas, Thomas, 33, 44, 157, 242, 312n21 Arendt, Hannah, 84, 269n2 aristocracy, 122, 142 Aristotle, 93, 178, 181, 194–5, 196, 280n85, 310n18, 322n87, 333n70, 335n76 Aronson, Nicole, 310n18, 311n20 Asclepiadius, 301n43 Aubigné, Agrippa d’, 6–17, 18, 202– 11, 214, 220, 242, 246–7, 326nn31, 32

Augustine, 250 Babbitt, Susan M., 269n4 Bakhtin, Mikhail, 322n92 Baldus, 157, 293n4 Ballin, Amand-Gabriel, 265nn2, 3 Balzac, Honoré de, 336n92 Barberi-Squarotti, Giorgio, 280n77 Bartolists. See mos italicus Bartolus of Saxoferrato, 151, 154, 156, 158, 160, 161, 162, 167, 183, 193, 206, 298n27, 307n78, 314n49, 315n51, 319n78, 325n13 Basin, Thomas, 273n37 Battle of Pavia (1525), 121–2; portrayal of in Cretin’s L’Apparition du mareschal sans reproche, 130–47 Bayle, Pierre, 220, 333n69 Beaurepaire, Charles de, 273n40 Bell, Dora, 274n46, 279n77, 285– 6n119 Belleforest, François de, 218, 331– 2n65 Benson, Robert L., 293n4 Bèze, Théodore de, 16, 208–9, 326nn28, 29, 30, 331n61 Bichon, Jean, 310n17

364 Index Biel, Gabriel, 60, 266n12 Billioud, Joseph, 297n25 Blanchard, Joël, 271–2n26 Bloch, Marc, 255nn25, 32 Bodin, Jean, 10, 123, 150, 204–5, 209– 10, 211–12, 217, 223, 235, 307n73, 323nn6, 7, 323–4n8, 327n39, 328n41, 333n72, 336n81 Bongert, Yvonne, 295n10 Boniface VIII (pope), 29 Bonneannee, Richard, chant royal of, 45–7, 60, 65, 74, 81, 266n12 Bouchet, Jean, 99–101, 145, 267n18, 278nn70, 71, 281n90, 282n99, 284n117 Bourilly, V.-L., 279–80n77 Bowen, Barbara, 320n83 Bracciolini, Poggio, 184 Brennus, 133; portrayal of in Cretin’s L’Apparition du mareschal sans reproche, 133–4 Brown, Cynthia J., 268–9n1, 286n4 Budé, Guillaume, 124, 151, 159, 178, 179, 197, 206, 313n34, 325n14 Bulla super materia pragmatice sanctionis (4 May 1515) (Leo X), 35–6, 262n60, 262–3n61, 263n65 Burckhardt, Jacob, 4, 5, 120, 141–2, 253nn1, 6, 9 Buridan, John, 7, 255n27 Bush, George W., 251–2 Cajetan, Cardinal. See Vio, Thomas de Vio, Cardinal Cajetan Calmette, J., 278n74, 279–80n77 Cam, H.M., 272nn27, 28 Camastra, Francesco, 316n62 Canaye, Philippe, 336–7n95 Carstens, R.W., 270n14 Cassirer, Ernst, 4, 253nn1, 5, 338n10

Castiglione, Baldassare, 198 Catalogus gloriæ mundi (Chasseneuz), 11, 152, 157–68, 213, 215, 221, 234, 245; comparison of to Rabelais’s Gaster, 191–4; distinction of animals in, 160, 303n51; distinction of colours in, 160, 303n50; on the power of emperor and French king, 308nn79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84; view of kings as worthy of near divine honours, 163–8, 256n48, 257n58, 304n58, 304–5n59, 305nn61, 64, 306nn67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 307n75 Cave, Terence, 187 Caviglia, Alberto, 287n14 Chabannes, Jacques II de, 130; representation of in Cretin’s L’Apparition du mareschal sans reproche, 130–47 chants royaux, 13; and the poet as non-subjective ‘I’ ( je), 79–83; and the prince du puy, 42; representation of the Council of Basel in, 41–79, 149 Charles V (emperor), 37, 121–2 Charles VI (king), 86 Charles VIII (king), 26, 37, 91, 93, 216, 296n19, 328n41 Charles IX (king), 16, 202, 204, 336n92, 337n104; in d’Aubigné’s Tragiques, 225–40 Charles the Bold (duke), 11, 102–3, 156, 187, 285–6n119, 297n25; and the Estates of Burgundy, 94–7, 276– 7n59; increasingly mad behaviour, 102–3 Chartier, Alain, 117, 282nn91, 95, 282–3n99, 283nn101, 107 Chasseneuz, Barthélemy de, 11, 149, 178, 191–4, 197, 213, 215, 221, 234,

Index 245, 256n48, 296n18, 319nn79, 80; and the centralization of sovereignty, 151–68, 298nn26, 27, 299nn29, 30, 31, 35, 302nn45, 46, 303nn49, 50, 51, 303–4n53, 304nn54, 56, 58, 304–5n59, 305nn60, 61, 64, 305–6n65, 306nn66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 306– 7n72, 307n75, 308nn80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 318–19n78; citations from classical authors, 301–2n43; and the tower of justice metaphor, 157, 167, 301nn38, 39, 40 Chastellain, Georges, 98, 279nn76, 77 Chatelain, François, 310n13 Cheyette, Frédéric, 288n26 Chroniques (Molinet), 8, 101, 102–3, 122, 129, 244, 278–9n75, 279n76 Church, William Farr, 155, 293n5, 296n18, 299nn32, 34, 302n47, 312n26, 318n75 Cicero, 157, 158, 195, 301n43 Cinquiesme Livre (Rabelais), 309n1 Cohen, Esther, 297n23 Commentaria in constitutiones seu ordinationes regias (Rebuffi), 151 Commentarii in consuetudines parisienses (Du Moulin), 150–1 common good, 15, 174–8, 198–9, 316n62 Commynes, Philippe de, 8, 17, 84–5, 108, 111, 119, 121, 124, 135, 170, 178, 179, 197, 204, 205, 214, 225, 237, 240, 272n32; and the politics of contrepoids (counterweights), 85, 89– 91, 117, 234, 271n25, 272–3n34 conciliar movement, 9, 19–21, 242, 255n42; understanding of the world and of human beings’ rela-

365

tionship with God, 31. See also specific councils Concordat of Bologna (1516), 10, 11, 20, 26, 28, 36–40, 42, 80–1, 126, 127, 221, 263nn65, 66, 264n71; preamble of, 37 Confraternity of the Immaculate Conception (Confrérie de l’Immaculée Conception) in Rouen, 41 confréries médiévales, 42, 264–5n1; commercial nature of, 42, 265n4. See also Confraternity of the Immaculate Conception (Confrérie de l’Immaculée Conception) in Rouen congregatio fidelium, 19, 20, 21, 31, 51, 56, 243, 257n3 consensus, in medieval society, 5–8, 39–40, 56, 182–7, 309n89. See also conciliar movement ‘constitutionalists’/‘constitutionalism,’ 98, 124 Consuetudines ducatus burgundiae (Chasseneuz), 11, 151–7, 167, 178, 245, 297n24, 298nn26, 27, 299nn29, 30, 31, 31, 34, 35, 301nn38, 39, 40 Continuation du discours des miseres de ce temps à la Royne (Ronsard), 232– 3, 249 Contra Rebelles suorum regum (Terre Rouge), 7, 88 contract, 28, 39–40, 85, 95–6; compared to law, 209–10; demise of contractual politics, 118–20; repudiation of a feudal contract (diffidatio), 255n25 Copia bulle, 257n1, 265–6n8; on the preordained saving of Mary from sin, 266n9 Cornilliat, François, 283n106

366 Index Cortigiano (Castiglione), 198 Council of Basel (1431–9), 9, 13, 19– 26, 33, 39, 47, 69, 79, 80, 207, 221, 243, 265n6, 325n21; consensual character of, 56; deposition of Eugenius IV, 24; and the maior pars versus the sanior pars, 23, 25, 258n14; papal oath of loyalty devised by, 25, 259n23; plural authority of, 37, 266–7n13; representation of in chants royaux written for the puy de Rouen, 41–79; seal of, 23–4. See also Immaculate Conception, doctrine of Council of Constance (1414–18), 9, 19–26, 34, 39, 69, 80, 207, 221, 255n42. See also Frequens; Haec sancta Council of Ferrara-Florence, 26, 33, 260n27 Council of Trent, 32 counsel, 7, 107, 109–11, 128–9, 283n101, 288–9n38 Cremer, Albert, 295n11 Cretin, Guillaume, 14–15, 17, 121–3, 130–47, 178, 179, 213, 214, 289n48, 290n51, 291n65; chant royal of, 56–61; illumination accompanying chant royal, 60 customary law, 8–9, 126, 148–51, 178, 181, 197, 293nn1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 294nn7, 8, 9, 295n12, 296nn14, 16, 17, 19, 296–7n22, 297nn23, 24, 298n26, 299nn29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 315n60; the customary of Burgundy, 151–7, 178, 180, 245, 296– 7n22. See also ius gentium; law; mos gallicus; mos italicus Dante Alighieri, 5

Daudet, Léon, 311n20 De comparatione autoritatis Papae & Concilii (Cajetan, Thomas de Vio), 32, 38 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils (Tanner, ed.), 257–8n4, 258nn5, 7, 10, 11 Decreta et acta concilii basiliensis, 258n12, 259nn18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24 Defaux, Gérard, 314n48, 317–18n73, 322n87 Defensor pacis (Marsilius of Padua), 9, 88 De insigniis et armis (Bartolus of Saxoferrato), 161, 183 Delclos, Jean-Claude, 279n76 De legibus connubialibus et iure connubialibus (Tiraqueau), 150, 194 De L’Excellence du gouvernement royal (Le Roy), 213–14 De L’Origine des Bourgongnons et antiquité des estats de Bourgongne (Sainct-Julien), 11 democracy, 122, 142 Demonet, Marie-Luce, 181, 313n40, 322n87 La Déploration de l’Eglise militante (Bouchet), 267n18 Derrett, J. Duncan M., 302n44, 320n83, 321n86 Desan, Philippe, 313n41 Descartes, René, 4 despotism, 4, 253n6 Desrues, François, 334–5n75, 335n79 Deveaux, Jean, 102, 278n74, 279nn75, 76, 280n83, 281nn85, 86, 285n118 De Vooght, Paul, 259n17 Dhondt, Jan, 286n125

Index Dialogue between Imperial and Papal Power (Ockham), 6, 9 différend, 202, 323n2 Digest (Justinian), 151, 158, 193 Discours de la servitude volontaire (La Boétie), 335n79 Discours d’Orléans (l’Hospital), 212– 13, 217–18 Dominicans, rejection of the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, 43– 4, 45 Doucet, Roger, 288n29, 292n96, 295– 6n13, 327n38 Du Debvoir mutuel de roys et des subjects (d’Aubigné), 16, 204, 209–11, 234–5 Du Droit des magistrats (Bèze), 16, 208–9 Dufayard, Charles, 287n14 Du Haillan, Seigneur. See Girard, Bernard de, Seigneur Du Haillan Dumont, Louis, 5, 6, 81, 82, 148, 187, 199, 240, 242, 252, 253n1, 254n12, 268n29, 337n1, 339n14 Du Moulin, Charles, 7–8, 150–1, 295nn12, 13, 296n14 Duprat, Antoine, 11, 110, 127 Dupront, A., 258n14, 263n66 Durand of Saint-Pourçain, 6 Duval, Edwin M., 316–17n65, 317n67 Education of a Christian Prince (Erasmus), 124, 178–9 Epistres morales et familières du traverseur (Bouchet), 99–101, 278nn70, 71 Erasmus, 124, 159, 178–9, 182, 197, 289n38, 290n50, 312n28, 313n36, 314n45 Essais (Montaigne), 12, 13, 239–40, 242, 248–9

367

Estates General, 6, 11, 12, 89–90, 124, 152, 208, 318n77, 330n54; of 1484, 90, 91–4, 102, 135, 178; decadence of in the sixteenth century, 327n38; disappearance of (1614–1789), 238; as the litmus test of political sovereignty, 211–17; role and importance of, 272n29 Estates of Burgundy, 89–90, 296– 7n22; and Charles the Bold, 94–7; ‘memoire ou petit advertissement’ (1460), 94–5, 275–6n54, 276nn55, 56, 57, 298n25; relationship of the Burgundian dukes with, 297–8n25 Estates of Flanders, 286n125 Eugenius IV (pope), 19, 22–3, 25, 33, 43, 258n6, 265nn6, 7 Fabri, Jean, 155, 159 Faulvel, Nicole, chant royal of, 47–51, 74 Félibien, André, 124 Felix V (pope), 19, 23, 25 Ferrière, Claude de, 293–4n6 Ferry, Luc, 253n1 Fifth Lateran Council (1512–17), 26– 36, 42, 264n73; elimination of the Pragmatic Sanction, 35–6, 159 Figgis, J.N., 255n42 Filhol, René, 295n12, 297n25 Foucault, Michel, 185 Fragonard, Marie-Madeleine, 326n31 Francis I (king), 10, 11, 20, 26, 32, 36– 9, 121–2, 124, 126, 127, 178, 279n75, 289n48, 311nn20, 21, 330nn54, 55, 330–1n57; contradictory portraits of in Cretin’s L’Apparition du mareschal sans reproche, 130–47; effigy of, 144 Franciscans, acceptance of the doc-

368 Index trine of the Immaculate Conception, 44 Francogallia (Hotman), 16, 205–6, 216, 240, 318n74 free will. See thelema Frequens (1417), 9, 21–2, 27, 30, 243, 258n5 Gallican church, 10, 12–13, 20, 22, 26– 30, 37–8, 56, 69, 74, 126, 260n36 Gargantua (Rabelais), 15, 197, 198, 199, 238, 245–6, 251; Abbey of Thelema as the perfect polity in, 15, 180–2, 185–7; Blason des couleurs episode in, 246; common and private interest in, 174–8; emphasis on the importance of education in a polity, 178–80; and the ethos of common interest, 180–2; genealogy in, 170; portrayal of the imperfect monarch in, 169–74; power and meaning in, 182–7 Geoffrey of Monmouth, 133 Gerson, Jean, 8, 9, 13, 17, 34, 35, 85, 98, 99, 101, 102, 103, 111, 119, 121, 124, 145, 162, 170, 171, 176, 177, 179, 186, 188, 197, 203, 204, 205, 212, 214, 215, 225, 244, 284n110; on counsel, 282n95; influence of Ockham on, 31; on opinion, 233; opposition of to Dominican papalism, 44; and original sin, 107; on the politics of mutual consent, 86–8, 117, 135, 210, 217, 219, 234, 237, 270nn15, 17, 270–1n20, 283n100; on taxation, 284–5n117; on tyranny, 105, 108, 280n85, 281n89 Gierke, Otto, 148, 254n12, 254–5n24 Giesey, Ralph E., 271n21, 292n90, 295n12, 324n9, 328n43, 330n52

Gill, Joseph, 265n6 Girard, Bernard de, Seigneur Du Haillan, 219–25, 231, 232, 233, 234, 324n10, 328n44, 332n68, 334nn72, 73, 74, 75, 335nn77, 78, 335–6n80, 336nn82, 86 Glucksmann, André, 185–6, 256n56 Gordon, Alex, 282n98 Goujon, Pierre, 295n11 Gouron, André, 293n4 Goyet, Francis, 224, 334n74 Grassaille, Charles de, 149, 302n47 Great Schism (1378–1415), 20–1 Grignaschi, Mario, 256nn44, 45, 49, 278n67 Gros, Gérard, 265n3, 268n27 Guenée, Bernard, 269n6, 270nn9, 13, 18, 272n29, 292–3n2 Guillart, Charles, 127–8 Guillon, E., 270nn14, 16 Guy, Henry, 286n120 Haec sancta (1415), 9, 21–2, 24, 26, 27– 8, 30, 33, 52, 243, 257–8n4, 259n16 Harengue faicte au nom de l’université de Paris. See Vivat Rex Henry II (king), 124, 144 Henry III (king), 213 Henry IV (king), 213 Heulhard, Arthur, 321n84 Histoire de France (Girard, Seigneur Du Haillan), 220–5, 230, 231, 232, 233, 234; publishing history of, 332n67 Homer, 164 homo œconomicus, 248, 252 Horace, 158, 301n43 Hotman, François, 7–8, 16, 191, 205– 6, 209, 210, 214, 215, 216, 217, 219, 235, 240, 318n74, 331nn58, 59

Index Hüe, Denis, 265n3 Huguenots, 213; in d’Aubigné’s Tragiques, 225–40, 336n92 Huguet, Edmond, 317n70 humanists, 159, 178, 310n17 Huppert, George, 330n52 Huss, Jean, 34 Immaculate Conception, doctrine of, 41; debates over the validity of, 43–4, 51, 266n12; Dominicans’ rejection of, 43–4, 45; Franciscans’ acceptance of, 44 In Bartholi de Insigniis et Armis libellum ad Candidum Decembrem epistola (Valla), 162 indiciaire, 84, 101–2, 244, 278n74, 278– 9n75 individualism, 3–5, 250; in courtly society, 256n54; the death of the premodern individual, 225–40, 249; as a form of responsibility, 250, 252; and independence, 250; the modern individual (Renaissance), 4, 5, 247, 249; the non-subjective ‘I,’ 79–83; the political individual, 96– 7, 203, 209; the premodern individual (Middle Ages), 4, 5, 247; and private versus public, 4, 12, 17, 175–6, 199–200, 248, 253n7 injustice, 106, 114–16 Institutes (Justinian), 10, 158 Isidore of Seville, 157 ius gentium, 15, 182–7, 197–9, 315n53. See also customary law; law Janeau, Hubert, 312n27 je (‘I’), 18, 119, 122; and the poet as non-subjective ‘I’ (je) in the chants royaux, 79–83

369

Jerome, Saint, 93, 333n72 Jodogne, P., 284n112 John of Paris, 185, 322n89 John of Salisbury, 93 Journal des états généraux (Masselin), 118. See also Rély, Jean de; Rochefort, Guillaume de Journès, Claude, 294n8, 295n11 Julius II (pope), 10, 26, 32, 36 justice, 85, 104, 114–16, 126, 157, 164, 288–9n38, 328n44; Chasseneuz’s concept of, 157, 167–8, 301nn38, 39, 40; ideal justice, 167; modern concept of, 339n13; Renaissance concept of, 339n13. See also injustice Justinian, 10, 151, 158, 193, 319n81, 319–20n86 Kantorowicz, Ernst H., 292n91, 308n86 Kelley, Donald R., 296n21, 314n44 Kennedy, John F., 251–2 Keohane, Nannerl, 139–40, 178, 209, 307n73, 312–13n29 Kern, Fritz, 7 king: compared to an emperor, 166, 307–8n78, 308n84; dignitas of, 144; as lex animata, 11, 166, 256n28, 308n86; as princeps legibus solutus, 11; as roi législateur, 10, 150, 213, 245, 295n10; as roy justicier, 10, 150, 245, 295n10; royal prerogatives of, 302n47; as solus princeps, 164–5 Knecht, R.J., 263n63, 292n93 Krause, Virginia, 323n94 Kriegel, Blandine, 323n5 La Boétie, Estienne de, 335n79 Lagarde, Georges de, 255n41

370 Index Langer, Ullrich, 279nn75, 76, 311– 12n21, 338n13 language, 246, 322n87; importance of in a political state, 194–6, 197 La Vigne, André de, 290n59 law: as ‘ars boni et aequi,’ 157, 197, 301n39; compared to contract, 209– 10, 326–7n34; immutability of, 193, 318–19n78, 319n79; Roman law, 10, 88, 148, 150, 151, 165, 248, 295n12, 295–6n13, 302n44, 307n77, 315– 16n60, 318n75. See also customary law; ius gentium; lex regia; mos gallicus; mos italicus Lebigre, Arlette, 292n1 Leclerq, J., 315n55 Lefranc, Abel, 311n20 Lemaire de Belges, Jean, 267n18 Leo X (pope), 10, 20, 26, 32, 36–9, 262n60, 263n62, 264n71 Le Roy, Louis, 213–14, 329nn48, 49, 50; royal prejudice of, 329n50 Lescarre, Nicole, chants royaux of, 61–5, 70–4; illumination accompanying, 74 lex regia, 10, 206, 300n37, 325nn 13, 15; maxim defining, 101 L’Hospital, Michel de, 212–13, 217– 18, 328nn42, 43, 44, 331n62 Life of Camillus (Plutarch), 133 Ligier, Hermann, 309n3, 310n9, 315– 16n60, 318n76, 320n83 Lipovetsky, Gilles, 253n1 Le Livre de l’Institution du Prince (Budé), 124, 179 Le Livre de Politiques d’Aristote (Oresme), 10 Livy, 133 Lorenzetti, Ambrosio, 116 Lote, Georges, 310n19, 311n20 Louis I (Louis the Pious), 219

Louis XI (king), 91, 285–6n119, 324n9 Louis XII (king), 37, 93 Louis XIV (king), 145 Loysel, Antoine, 293n6 Les Lunettes des princes (Meschinot), 97–9, 204, 237 Luxembourg, Antoine de, 95 Lyotard, Jean-François, 323n2 Machiavelli, Niccolò, 85, 120, 123, 142, 205, 206, 269n5, 279n77 Magna Carta, 257n61 Major, J. Russell, 272n29, 275n53 Mangot, Claude, 297n25 Maravall, José Antonio, 247–8, 308n80 Marichal, Robert, 320n83 Marin, Louis, 144, 146, 287n17, 292n94 Marongiu, A., 272nn27, 28 Marot, Clément, 290nn49, 59, 291– 2n75 Marot, Jean, 56, 279n75, 289n42, 290n59, 291n70; chant royal of, 52–5, 55–6, 78, 82, 267n15 Marsilius of Padua, 9, 88, 98 Martial, 158, 302n43 Martin V (pope), 22 Mary of Burgundy, 96 Masselin, Jean, 93, 118, 273nn40, 41, 274n48, 275n 50 Mastellone, Salvo, 272n29 Mathieu-Castellani, Gisèle, 327n35 Maximilian (duke), 111–12 Melanchthon, Philipp, 333n70 Mémoires (Commyne), 179, 225, 237, 240 Meschinot, Jean, 97–9, 102, 145, 169, 170, 197, 204, 205, 214, 237, 277n64, 278nn69, 74, 282n99

Index Methodus ad facilem historiarum cognitionem (Bodin), 123, 223 Mézières, Philippe de, 271n26 Michel, Jacques, 295n11 Michelet, Jules, 276n58 Middle Ages: ‘ascending’ versus ‘descending’ theme of, 5–6, 82; historians’ misconceptions of, 5–6; and the politics of consensus and contract, 6–7 Miernowski, Jan, 313–14n41, 322n87 Minnich, Nelson H., 261n46 Molinet, Jean, 8, 12–13, 14, 17, 84, 86, 101–20, 129, 130, 145, 162, 170, 171, 173, 176, 178, 180, 186, 188, 197, 203, 205, 214, 215, 221, 228, 237, 242, 244, 247, 248–9, 256n54, 277n63, 278–9n75, 280nn78, 82, 282n93, 283n108, 285n118; critical attitude towards Charles the Bold, 279n76 Mombello, Gianni, 287n14 La Monarchie de France (republished as La Grant’ Monarchie de France) (Seyssel), 14, 123–30, 180, 225, 240; and the three bridles (freins) metaphor, 125–6, 234, 244–5 monarchy, 7–8, 149, 329n51, 333n71; and absolute power, 10–12; control over, 8–9; early sixteenth-century conception of, 122; late sixteenthcentury conception of, 122–3. See also king Montaigne, 4, 12, 13, 17, 82, 199–200, 239–40, 242, 248, 250, 253nn2, 7, 338nn5, 8, 9; and the arrière-boutique (‘back-shop’) concept, 4, 12, 17, 82, 200, 248, 253n2 More, Thomas, 124, 174 Morel, Henri, 206 Moses, 157

371

mos gallicus, 151–2, 158, 193, 319– 20n82, 320n 83 mos italicus, 151–2, 158, 319–20n82, 320n83 Mousnier, Roland, 123, 142, 165, 192, 286n5, 294n7 Moyses vir Dei (4 September 1439), 26 Nardi, Enzo, 319–20n82, 321n84 Le Naufrage de la pucelle (Molinet), 102, 277n63 Newcombe, Charles B., 265n3 nominalism, 6, 242 Nykrog, Per, 313n38 Ockham, William. See William of Ockham Olivier-Martin, François, 293n6, 294n7, 296nn14, 19, 307n76, 309n2 O’Malley, John, 42 On Royal and Papal Power (John of Paris), 185 On the Origin of Power and Jurisdiction (Durand), 6–7 opinion, and political unrest, 233–4, 249, 336–7n95 Opuscula omnia (Cajetan), 32 Oresme, Nicole, 10, 11, 85, 88, 98, 269n4, 271nn22, 23, 24, 26, 282n95 original sin, 107, 171–2 Osmont, Nicole, chant royal of, 65–9, 265n4; illumination accompanying, 68–9 Ourliac, Paul, 307n76 Ovid, 158, 301n43 Painter, Sidney, 17, 253n3, 257n61 Pantagruel (Rabelais), 15, 169, 198, 199; genealogy in, 170 papacy, 9; sixteenth-century view of,

372 Index 42; submission to the pope’s authority, 38, 264n72, 317–18n73 Parlement, 11, 124, 215, 288n26, 323n7, 329n51, 330n52; fight with Francis I over the Concordat of Bologna, 39; as a pars corporis principis/ regis, 124 Parlement of Malines, 96, 156, 187 Parmentier, Raoul, chant royal of, 74– 8, 82; illumination accompanying, 78 Pasquier, Estienne, 214–16, 217, 329– 30n51, 330nn53, 54, 55, 330–1n57, 333–4n72 Perrat, Charles, 321n86 Petot, Pierre, 293nn3, 6, 300–1n37, 307n77 Petrarch, Francesco, 4 Philip the Good (duke), 152, 154, 155 Piano Mortari, Vincenzo, 295n10, 296n19, 299–300n37, 302n44, 319n81 Piccolomini, Enea Silvio (later Pope Pius II), 260n27 Picot, Georges, 273nn40, 42 Pignot, J.-Henri, 296n18 Pintoin, Michel, 293n2 Pisan, Christine de, 281n87 Plato, 157, 160, 164, 166–7, 178, 179, 190, 309n88 Plattard, Jean, 321n86 Plutarch, 133 political, the, 84, 269n2 political violence, 217–25 Politics (Aristotle), 194–5 populus, 7, 292–3n2 Porcius, Christophe, 206 Pot, Philippe, 92–3, 94, 110, 212, 225, 273n42, 274nn44, 45, 46, 47, 283n102

Pouilloux, Jean-Yves, 316n63 Poujol, Jacques, 286–7n6, 287n14, 295n11, 312n25 power, absolute, 3, 107–8 Pragmatic Sanction (1438), 9–10, 11, 20, 22, 26–31, 69, 74, 80–1, 126, 260nn29, 36, 261n41; and the columns and pillars metaphors, 28–30, 81, 243, 260–1n38 Prince, The (Machiavelli), 123 Procacci, Giuliano, 275n50 Quadrilogue invectif (Chartier), 282n91 Quart Livre (Fourth Book) (Rabelais), 15, 18, 169, 197, 198, 199, 246; comparison of Gaster to Chasseneuz’s Catalogus, 191–4; portrayal of tyrannical power in, 187–91; power and language in, 194–6 Questions on Eight Books of Aristotle’s Politics (Buridan), 7 Quintilian, 184, 335n76 Rabelais, François, 15–16, 18, 159, 169–200, 203, 238, 242, 245–6, 302n44, 314n42, 317nn66, 67, 69, 323n95 Ramus, Peter, 249, 337n95 Rebuffi, Pierre, 149, 151, 296nn16, 17 Les Recherches de la France (Pasquier), 214–16 Reiss, Timothy J., 338n5 religion, 125 Rély, Jean de, 211–12, 275n51, 327n40. See also Journal des états généraux Remonstrance au peuple de France (Ronsard), 233–4 Renaut, Alain, 250, 253n1 representation, meaning of, 29

Index La Ressource du petit peuple (Molinet), 12–13, 122, 129, 145, 173, 176, 180, 186, 215, 221, 228, 237, 239, 242, 244, 247; and the demise of the contractual polity, 118–20; emotional poetics of, 103–18; organization of, 280–1n85; parts of, 104; public space in, 248–9 rhetoric, 224; rhétoriqueur poetics, 104, 105, 108, 113 Richard, Jean, 298n27 rights, 4, 6, 17, 253n3, 254n22 Robertet, Jean, 127–8 Rochefort, Guillaume de, 93–4, 275n52. See also Journal des états généraux Le Roman de la rose moralisé (Molinet), 102 Roman Senate, 110 Ronsard, Pierre de, 232–4, 249, 337n97 Rufinus, 254n22 Sainct-Julien, Pierre de, 11, 95 St Bartholomew’s Day massacre, 202 Sainte-Beuve, Charles Augustin, 279n77 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 284n111 Saulnier, V.L., 318n77 Schrenck, Gilbert, 203, 326n32 Scotus, Duns, 44 Screech, Michael, 314n48, 321n85 Segovia, Jean de, 43, 51 Seyssel, Claude de, 14, 123–30, 142, 146, 178, 179, 180, 187, 197, 204, 205, 225, 234, 240, 244, 245, 287– 8n23, 288nn25, 26, 27, 37, 288–9n38, 289nn39, 41 Sigismond (emperor), 55–6, 267n16 Simonin, Michel, 331n64

373

Six Livres de la république (Bodin), 10, 123, 150, 204, 205 Sixtus IV (pope), 60, 266n12 Sixtus V (pope), 318n74 society: contractual (societas), 5, 31, 39, 82, 129, 148, 254n12, 327n1; organic (universitas), 5, 82, 129, 148, 159–60, 187, 242, 245, 252, 254n12, 327n1 Songe du Vergier, 85 sovereignty, 204, 245, 307n73; contractual, 85; shared, 120, 176; shared versus absolute (1570s), 203–11; the sword as a symbol of, 223, 336n81 Speroni, Sperone, 195, 322n93 state, the: feudal, 118; nation-state, 118 Stökl, G., 272nn27, 28 subjectivity, 122–3, 250–1, 286n5; and autonomy, 250; and politics, 251 taxes/taxation, 95, 118, 284–5n117 Terre Rouge, Jean de, 7, 88 thelema, 180–2 Thierry, Augustin, 315n60 Thireau, Jean-Louis, 295n12 Thiry, Claude, 286n3, 290n52 Thybault, Guillaume, 267–8n21 Tierney, Brian, 5, 29, 253n8, 254nn13, 21, 22, 270n14, 322n91 Tiers Livre (Rabelais), 194, 199, 309n1 Timaeus (Plato), 160, 190 Tiraqueau, André, 149, 150, 159, 194, 294n9; on Chasseneuz’s plagiarism, 321n85 Torquemada, Juan de, 25–6, 43, 51 Tragiques (d’Aubigné), 16–17, 18, 202– 11, 214, 242, 246–7; and the death of the premodern individual, 225–40;

374 Index as an indignatio fleuve, 226; portrayal of Charles IX as a Nero, 235– 6 Traité de la différence des schismes et des conciles de l’Eglise (Lemaire de Belges), 267n18 Trémoille, Georges de la, 95 tyranny, 85–6, 100–1, 104–9, 117, 187– 91, 281n87, 89, 90 Ullman, Walter, 5–6, 24, 85, 160, 185, 254n17, 255n32, 308n78, 309nn87, 88, 89 Ulpian, 206, 301n39 University of Paris, 60 Ursins, Juvenal des, 271n26 Valla, Lorenzo, 159, 160, 162, 183–4, 194, 302–3n48, 314n50, 315n52 Vatican, 36 Villey, Michel, 254n22, 311n20, 315n53, 337n2 Villey, Pierre, 311n20, 313n36, 314n42 Vincent, Catherine, 264–5n1 Vindiciae contra tyrannos, 207–8, 325nn19, 21, 23, 326nn24, 25; authorship of, 325n17 Vio, Thomas de, Cardinal Cajetan, 9– 10, 22, 29, 32–5, 38, 39, 41, 44, 47, 81,

82, 110, 159, 215, 261n49, 261–2n52, 262nn53, 55, 263n62; on the Council of Basel, 265n7; critique of conciliar power, 52, 242, 261n48; and the personification metaphor (acephalic church), 34–5, 81; rejection of the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, 43; and the shepherd/sheep/sheepfold metaphor, 33, 35 Virgil, 158, 301n43 Vivat Rex (Gerson), 8, 13, 86–8, 99, 101, 103, 145, 176, 179, 186, 212, 217, 225, 237, 244, 283n100, 284n110; chapters of, 281n85; etiology of title, 255n32 Weinberg, Florence M., 313–14n41 William of Ockham, 6, 7, 9, 31, 185, 242, 254–5n24, 261nn45, 50, 315n58, 337n1; on the common good, 316n62 Woolf, C.N. Sidney, 257n3, 307n78, 314n48 Xenophon, 178 Zink, Michel, 256n54 Zumthor, Paul, 119, 268n31, 283n103