In the first half of “Cligés,” Chrétien presents two distinct spheres of royal power—the political, as controlled by Arthur; and the private/amatory, as controlled by Guinevere. His equal depiction of these two spheres sets this tale apart from earlier Arthuriana (at least from what we’ve read) by showing both the limits of Arthur’s power, and the extent of his queen’s. Guinevere’s power, which is hinted at in “Erec and Enide,” is made explicit in “Cligés” during the scene in which she confronts Soredamors and Alexander about their love. This scene acknowledges both the queen’s power over Soredamors’ body, as well as the queen’s unique ability to hasten the union of the two lovers:
The queen embraced them both and gave them to one another.
Cheerfully she said: ‘To you, Alexander, I entrust your sweetheart’s body, for I know that you already have her heart. No matter whether others like it or not, I give you to one another. Now, Soredamors, receive what is yours; and you, Alexander, receive your lady.’ Thus she had what was hers, and he what was his; she was his entirely, and he entirely hers. (151)
Guinevere, as the empowered agent of Love, contrasts sharply from her depiction as passive queen in “Erec and Enide,” and from her near non-existence in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s tale. In “Cligés,” she acts to shape her immediate social environment and thus maps out a direction for the Arthurian court. While Guinevere’s actions might be more subtle than land grabs or chopping heads off traitorous barons, they provide more happiness and substance for these characters than do the seemingly endless material possessions of Arthur. After Guinevere unites Alexander and Soredamors, Chrétien writes:
On that one day at Windsor, Alexander experienced all the honour and happiness he could want. His honours and joys were threefold: one was in capturing the castle; another was the reward promised him by King Arthur for having ended the hostilities: the finest kingdom in Wales, of which he was made king that day in Arthur’s halls; but the greatest joy was the third: that his sweetheart was queen of the chess-board where he was king. (ibid.)
Chrétien’s revelation of this private/amatory sphere of power introduces new complications to the Arthurian legend. We begin to see Guinevere as a person invested with a great power of her own who will at times even challenge the king (like hiding the prisoners on page 139); and we see Arthur’s power as extending only to particular aspects of his kingdom. These developments further elaborate upon Arthurian divisions between “armes” and “amors,” and the gendered spheres of public and private politics, which Tara and Amanda, respectively, pointed to in earlier posts.
How does the introduction of this private/amatory sphere of power change our conception of the Arthurian tradition? Does it make Arthur more human and less god-like? Does it provide us with a more satisfactory picture of Guinevere? What could have motivated Chrétien to include this?
Lenny, I agree with you that this Guinevere is almost shockingly different from her counterpart in the other romances we've read. I was surprised that she hid the prisoners you mentioned, and I was also surprised that Alexander went straight to her with his prisoners rather than to the king; it's like going to one parent when you know the other will refuse what you want, but it implies some equality of power between Arthur and Guinevere. I've wondered why the women in Cliges are so much more powerful than in the other romances; Chretien mentions a female patron at the beginning of The Knight of the Cart (which has its own, but somewhat lesser, strong female characters), but no such shout-out in Cliges.
ReplyDeleteThe idea of the private sphere in these stories interests me since so many of the elements revolve around privacy or concealment. Young lovers fear revealing their true emotions, so they keep love close (like a secret). The sea and potential seasickness allow Alexander and Soredamors to hide their emotions and if the queen had not discovered the truth the couple might have gone on in angst indefinitely. Cliges & Fenice and Lancelot & Guinevere also keep their romances guarded -- hiding in towers, sneaking through windows -- of course, they have adultery charges to worry about.
ReplyDeleteThese characters don't want to expose themselves publicly by revealing their loves. "And if Reason had not subdued these foolish thoughts and this love-madness, everyone present would have understood her feelings. O, height of folly" (de Troyes, 291)! Love is a vulnerability and ladies and their knights must don a tough public exterior to protect themselves (sure, they might faint, fast, and grow pale, but they will rarely admit outright that true love is the cause).
In a similar fashion, a knight's armor serves to protect the body and conceal identity (side note: contrasting this, armor can also identify as the audience recognizes tournament fighters by the colors and designs on their shields). I'm having a hard time reckoning why so many of our heros -- whom we're told are praiseworthy -- need to conceal their identities behind armor. Cliges changes armor like costumes in order to keep Arthur's court in the dark; Lancelot, the protagonist of "Knight of the Cart," is not even identified to the reader until at least half way through the story when he encounters Guinevere.
Are these characters trying to protect their reputations (by concealing their identities) until they prove themselves? Or, is it that an unproven self isn't worthy of acknowledgment? Could there be other reasons for all this concealment?
On a final note I recently saw the collection of Medieval armes at the Cleveland Museum of Art and, a closer venue, the National Gallery's current exhibit of Spanish Armor. It's interesting to see these elaborate pieces up close and think about how transforming a suit of armor could be (kind of like how nobody knows who Bruce Wayne is once he puts the Batman costume on).
Coming back to Megan's post after the story of Perceval her question of reputation and fame becomes one that is all the more interesting, as fame is the source of much bad blood as well as celebration in the world of Chretien de Trois. Perceval's fame grows, and he becomes a knight without peer, a paragon of the martial virtues by simple fact that the tales of his deeds are told individually and made into a catalogue/ his reputation. So too with Gawain, though in his case, on an individual level, the families of those he has defeated respond poorly, claiming injustice on the part of Gawain, and seek to do him harm as a result.
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