The Lais of Marie de France

“I thought of lays which I had heard and did not doubt, for I knew it full well, that they were composed, by those who first began them and put them into circulation, to perpetrate the memory of adventures they had heard. I myself have heard a number of them and do not wish to overlook or neglect them.” 

The narrator Marie explains and defends her choice of subject matter: the Breton lays. She twice emphasizes having “heard” the lays, thus establishing her proximity to the oral source of the works. She claims that she “did not doubt” the lays in her collection, signaling that she believes them to be authentic and that there were other inauthentic lays that she discarded. However, the fact that her sources have also “heard” the works from elsewhere indicates that the origin of the authentic lays is inaccessible. Rather than positively affirm that the lays are worthwhile and worth the reader’s time, she opts for the modest assertion that she does “not wish to overlook or neglect them.” Arguably, this understatement is a performance of humility, designed to flatter the king to whom the collection is dedicated. 

“Hear, my lords, the words of Marie, who, when she has the opportunity, does not squander her talents. Those who gain a good reputation should be commended, but when there exists in a country a man or woman of great renown, people who are envious of their abilities frequently speak insultingly of them in order to damage this reputation […] But just because spiteful tittle-tattlers attempt to find fault with me I do not intend to give up. They have a right to make slanderous remarks.” 

At the start of “Guigemar,” Marie addresses the issue of sharing her talents, despite the attempts of envious others to try to defame her. In boldly accepting that others “have a right to make slanderous remarks,” Marie reinforces her narrative power by implying that the defamatory remarks of her critics do not have to be obscured—her talent is enough to prove them wrong.

“Love is an invisible wound within the body, and, since it has its source in nature, it is a long-lasting ill. For many it is the butt of jokes, as for those ignoble courtiers who philander around the world and then boast of their deeds. That is not love, but rather foolishness, wickedness and debauchery. A loyal partner, once discovered, should be served, loved and obeyed.” 

This commentary stands apart from the tale of Guigemar and explains the narrator’s view of the noblest form of love. The idea of love as an “invisible wound within the body” references the classical motif of Cupid’s arrow, whereby the god of love struck his victims with an arrow, debilitating them until they secured the object of their affections. Unlike in modern Western culture, where romantic love is associated with positive feelings and well-being, in the culture of the lays it is a disease which will cause great suffering. The narrator chastises those who view romantic love and sex as a game and who disloyally trade partners in pursuit of pleasure. Instead, the nobility of a person can be determined by their loyalty and devotion to a single object. 

“Stepping back a pace, he said: ‘Is this my sweet friend, my hope, my heart, my life, my beautiful lady who loved me? Where has she come from? Who brought her here? But I have been indulging in very foolish thoughts. I know it is not she; women look very much alike. My mind has been disturbed for nothing, but since she resembles the woman for whom my heart sighs and trembles I shall gladly speak to her.” 

This passage casts a shadow on Guigemar’s thoughts of being reunited with a woman who resembles his beloved. The catalog of epithets, such as “my sweet friend, […] my heart, my life,” display his longing to be reunited with the woman. However, he feels that after so many women have tried to untie the knotted fabric on his arm and failed, he cannot trust his sight, noting that “women look very much alike.” While the original woman he fell in love with was singularly beautiful, at this stage in the lay the woman must distinguish herself from the rest through her particular skill of tying and untying knots. This is how he will know he has his real beloved and not an impostor. 

“He adored pleasure and amorous dalliance: for this he upheld the principles of chivalry.” 

Here, the narrator illustrates that the lay’s protagonist, Equitan, is a cad without explicitly insulting him. Equitan’s hedonism causes him to put “pleasure” and “amorous dalliance”—meaning sexually-charged flirtation— at the root of his chivalric principles. This makes him a base character, rather than a noble one. The narrator’s understatement, as she juxtaposes the pronouncement of Equitan’s pleasure-seeking with the glib reasoning that “for this he upheld the principles of chivalry,” is a source of humor, which would lead the listener to expect a bawdy tale where a voluptuary is brought to justice in a comic way. 

“Those who are fickle in love and resort to trickery end up becoming a laughing-stock and are deceived in their turn.”

As Equitan woos his seneschal’s wife, he chances upon what will turn out to be the moral of their romance. Having listened to the lay and seen Equitan and the lady’s cunning plan to boil her husband in the bath backfire, Marie’s audience would recognize the irony in Equitan’s early statement. While at this stage in the lay he pledges to be an un-fickle lover, the lady is already fickle in removing her affections from her husband and placing them onto another man. 

“Whoever slanders and lies about others does not know what retribution awaits him. One can speak ill of someone who is more praiseworthy than oneself. To ward off shame, I shall have to murder one of the children: I would rather make amends with God than shame or dishonor myself.”

These are the words of the woman who spreads the rumor that her neighbor’s male twins are the fruit of two fathers and who is alarmed when she herself conceives twins. The lesson she learns fits in with the lays’ general denunciation of slanderers and the moral that pain awaits those who inflict defamation on others. Her extreme decision to murder one of her daughters in order to save her reputation indicates the high price of a woman’s reputation and the value of female sexual continence in medieval Breton society. The evil of slander is reinforced, as the woman’s original defamation of her neighbor leads to ensuing chaos. 

“When the truth of this adventure was known, they composed the lay of Le Fresne. It was given this title on account of its heroine.” 

Le Fresne is the only lay to be named after a female protagonist. This suggests that the Bretons were comfortable making a woman the subject rather than the object of a love story. It is the heroine’s decisions and attitude that inform the outcome of this tale, not a hero’s. In Old French, le fresne means an ash-tree, and the abandoned twin received this name because she was found at the foot of an ash tree with the brocade and gold ring that marked her origins. Rather than having a name afforded to her by a patriarchal society, Le Fresne is rooted to a place in nature. Unbeknownst to her, her twin sister La Codre is also named after a tree, despite having grown up with her family. This sets up the interchangeability of the two sisters. 

“In days gone by one could hear tell, and indeed it often used to happen, that many men turned into werewolves and went to live in the woods. A werewolf is a ferocious beast which, when possessed by this madness, devours men, causes great damage and dwells in vast forests. I leave such matters for the moment, for I wish to tell you about Bisclavret.” 

In this passage, the narrator begins by relating the general legend of the werewolf, which “in days gone by” was the subject of many tales. She thus appeals to the ancientness of her subject matter and lavishes a veneer of authenticity over her rendition. However, following her definition of the stereotypical werewolf, she “leave(s) such matters” because she personally wishes to tell a unique tale about a werewolf called Bisclavret, whom she sets up as an exception from the norm. This builds suspense for her audience.

“There was a golden eagle placed on the top, the value of which I cannot tell, nor of the ropes or the poles which supported the walls of the tent. There is no king under the sun who could afford it, however much he might give. Inside this tent was the maiden who surpassed in beauty the lily and the new rose when it appears in summer.” 

Rich in hyperbole, this passage illustrates the wealth and beauty of Lanval’s fairy, which no earthly king can rival. This is a radical supposition in a patriarchal society, as it puts this feminine fairy at the top of the power hierarchy. The narrator’s feigned coyness when she “cannot tell” the value of the mere ropes and poles that support the tent walls augments the impression of the fairy’s splendid wealth. The fact that no amount given by a king could enable him to afford the tent implies that the fairy deals in a magical currency. Her supernatural radiance is further enforced in her beauty, which transcends the acknowledged perfection of the medieval period’s preferred flowers, the lily and the rose. 

“The lady was dressed in a white tunic and shift, laced left and right so as to reveal her sides. Her body was comely, her hips low, her neck whiter than snow on a branch; her eyes were bright and her face white, her mouth fair and her nose well-placed; her eyebrows were brown and her brow fair, and her hair curly and rather blond.” 

This rare detailed physical description of a character in the Lais sets up Lanval’s fairy as a superlative example of 12th century feminine beauty. While her clothing is luxurious, it is her bodily beauty that stands out in the tunic that daringly—by the standards of the time—reveals her sides. The dazzling whiteness of her skin and the blondness of her hair exaggerates the contemporary preference for fairness, while the details of brown eyebrows and a “well-placed” nose make her a concrete figure rather than an airy fantasy. Although she is a fairy, she can also pass as a woman who can rival the queen’s claims to beauty; therein lies her power, both in the tale’s narrative and in her appeal to the reader. 

“Because of what happened to these two young people, the mountain is called The Mountain of the Two Lovers. The events took place just as I have told you, and the Bretons composed a lay about them.” 

Here, the narrator sets her lay in a tangible location, thereby testifying to the tale’s authenticity and importance. The love between these two doomed lovers, who made it to the top of the mountain only to die, was important enough for a mountain and subsequently a lay to be named in their honor. The narrator’s emphasis that “the events took place just as I have told you” is an appeal to the truthfulness of her narrative. 

“Lady, do not be afraid! The hawk is a noble bird. Even if its secrets remain a mystery to you, be assured that you are safe, and make me your beloved!” 

Muldumarec’s ability to change from a human knight into a hawk enables him to fly into the tower where his desired lady is imprisoned. When the knight implores her not to be afraid, citing the hawk’s nobility, he refers to the medieval understanding that the hawk’s moltings symbolize the relinquishment of an earthly life for a nobler, more spiritual one. The knight’s injunction to accept and revere that which is mysterious echoes the requirement of Christians to embrace the miraculous and non-quotidian aspects of their faith.

“She escaped through a window, but it was a wonder she did not kill herself, for she had to jump a good twenty feet. Naked but for her shift, she followed the trail of blood which flowed from the knight on to the path she was taking and to which she kept until she came to a hill. In this hill there was an opening, all covered in his blood, but she could see nothing beyond and therefore assumed that her beloved had entered there.”

This forms part of the description showing how the lady escapes her tower and follows Muldumarec’s trail. Supernatural elements include the survival of a 20-foot drop and the long trail of the sacrificed knight’s blood. Given that the knight was killed in his tiny, hawk form, the amount of blood he leaves is unusual. The blood also serves as a map for the lady. Her near nudity symbolizes that it is her essential self, rather than her courtly self, which is guided to the knight. The bloody opening in the hill is a gruesome image, but it promises to lead the lady to the knight she craves and to ease her pain.

“They were so resourceful that day or night they managed to speak to each other and no one could prevent their coming to the window and seeing each other there […] Both he and the lady made the greatest possible effort with their words and with their eyes.”

This passage describes the nature of the longing caused by witnessing one’s beloved while being prohibited from touching them. Love and longing make the knight and the lady “resourceful” as they find as many ways as possible to love each other without ever meeting. The statement that “no one could prevent” them from going to the window and looking out onto their beloved alludes to the free nature of the will and the heart, which decide on their own course regardless of the restrictions imposed on them. The repetition of “with their” in reference to words and eyes conveys the wearying effect of the lovers’ efforts to communicate with each other without touching, indicating that this situation will soon become untenable. 

“He gave a spiteful, angry laugh and devised a plan to ensnare the nightingale. Every single servant in his household constructed some trap, net or snare and then arranged them throughout the garden. There was no hazel tree or chestnut tree on which they did not place a snare or bird-lime, until they had captured and retained it.” 

This is a vivid description of the husband’s enthusiastic malice in capturing the nightingale that represents his wife’s illicit love. The narrator conveys the grandness and intensity of the husband’s operation by specifying that every servant was employed in the endeavor and by describing the various types of trees and traps involved. His sadistic and overt display of power contrasts with the relative meekness and powerlessness of the would-be-lovers. 

“Anyone who intends to present a new story must approach the problem in a new way and speak so persuasively that the tale brings pleasure to people.” 

The beginning of Milun is one of several occasions where the Lais’ narrator claims that the style of the narration is as important as the content. The emphasis on persuasiveness and pleasure indicates that suspense, emotional appeals, and aesthetic details are as important as plot and morality. She thus draws attention to the carefully crafted aspects of her poetry and subtly asks that her readers appreciate them. The use of “new” in this passage is deceptive, as the “new story” with the “problem” that must be approached “in a new way”, is likely an old, well-known story, which must be refashioned for the audience to find something new in it.

“But hear now what happened next. Using her ingenuity she got hold of ink and parchment. She was able to write whatever she pleased, and seal the letter with a ring. Having let the swan go without food, she hung the letter round its neck and released it. The bird was famished and eager for food: swiftly it returned home.” 

The opening statement of this extract, “but hear now what happens next,” allows the narrator to build suspense before she reveals the marvel of Milun and his lady’s communication via a swan. The specification that the lady is “able to write whatever she pleased”, indicates the freedom of their communication, which contrasts with the societal obligations that keep the couple physically separate. The technique of starving an animal so that it returns home where it is fed is one that an agrarian society would have been familiar with, as the supernatural feat of swan-communication is paired with a naturalistic truth about rearing animals. 

“No one can be so imprisoned or so tightly guarded that he cannot find a way out from time to time.” 

This comment applies to Lais other than “Milun.” Marie de France’s imprisoned heroines find ingenious ways out of oppressive marriages “from time to time” in order to enjoy the pleasures of love. The narrator’s observation may also apply to the situation of women as a whole in her society. While they are constrained—if not in towers then in roles that confine them to obedient wifehood and motherhood—she testifies that they find ways of escaping. As a woman poet, she too has escaped society’s expectations. 

“It would be less dangerous for a man to court every lady in an entire land than for a lady to remove a single besotted lover from her skirts, for he will immediately attempt to strike back.” 

This comment precedes the lay about the lady who finds it impossible to choose between four suitors—an act that results in the death of three and the injury of the fourth. However, this citation, which specifies that the lady would face danger and some vague form of retaliation were she to reject any “single besotted lover,” indicates that whatever decision the lady makes is fated to end in violence. The contrast between the ease with which a man could court all the ladies in the land, and the danger faced by a lady who rejects any suitor, highlights the gender inequality present in the narrator’s society. 

“I loved these four knights and desired each one for his own sake. There was a great deal of good in them all and they loved me above everything […] I do not know which of them to mourn the most, but I can no longer disguise my feelings.” 

The equality with which the lady loves her four knights in Chaitivel is unusual amongst the lais. While most of the female protagonists are passionately in love with one man, this lady is neutrally aware of the merits of all and desires “each one for his own sake.” Death and injury are no clarifiers, as the lady continues to mourn them as equally as she loved them.

“On account of the joy he had experienced from the sight of his beloved and because of what he had written, Tristam, a skilful harpist, in order to record his words (as the queen had said he should), used them to create a new lay.” 

Chevrefoil is commonly reported as being a customized summary of a famous Arthurian legend. However, in this passage, which links a personal romantic adventure and the composition of a lai, the narrator attests to the authenticity and lyricism of the form. Chevrefoil is thus one of numerous stories in which the creative act of writing a lai is likened to the act of winning the heart of one’s beloved.

“He was still distracted by the love that had taken him unawares, and he displayed no joyful or friendly mien, whatever he saw, nor would he indeed be joyful until he saw his beloved. He behaved most secretively and his wife was sad in her heart because of this, not knowing what it meant.” 

This passage, which describes the reunification of husband and wife upon Eliduc’s return to his native land, is moving for its psychological realism. Eliduc is depressed owing to the love abroad “that had taken him unawares” and made him its victim. Meanwhile, his wife is quietly sad, knowing that he is keeping something from her. While the belief that one will never be “joyful” until one is reunited with one’s beloved is common to many of the lais, the absence of jealous raging in the wife’s reaction in favor of a quiet determination to learn the truth is uniquely realistic and rational.