The highest living authority on French Literature--Professor George
Saintsbury--has said:
“The _Cent Nouvelles_ is undoubtedly the first work of literary prose in
French, and the first, moreover, of a long and most remarkable series of
literary works in which French writers may challenge all comers with the
certainty of victory. The short prose tale of a comic character is the
one French literary product the pre-eminence and perfection of which it
is impossible to dispute, and the prose tale first appears to advantage
in the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_. The subjects are by no means new.
They are simply the old themes of the _fabliaux_ treated in the old way.
The novelty is in the application of prose to such a purpose, and in the
crispness, the fluency, and the elegance, of the prose used.”
Besides the literary merits which the eminent critic has pointed out,
the stories give us curious glimpses of life in the 15th Century. We get
a genuine view of the social condition of the nobility and the middle
classes, and are pleasantly surprised to learn from the mouths of the
nobles themselves that the peasant was not the down-trodden serf that we
should have expected to find him a century after the Jacquerie, and 350
years before the Revolution.
In fact there is an atmosphere of tolerance, not to say _bonhommie_
about these stories which is very remarkable when we consider under what
circumstances they were told, and by whom, and to whom.
This seems to have struck M. Lenient, a French critic, who says:
“Generally the incidents and personages belong to the _bourgeoisée_;
there is nothing chivalric, nothing wonderful; no dreamy lovers,
romantic dames, fairies, or enchanters. Noble dames, bourgeois, nuns,
knights, merchants, monks, and peasants mutually dupe each other. The
lord deceives the miller’s wife by imposing on her simplicity, and the
miller retaliates in much the same manner. The shepherd marries the
knight’s sister, and the nobleman is not over scandalized.
“The vices of the monks are depicted in half a score tales, and the
seducers are punished with a severity not always in proportion to the
offence.”
It seems curious that this valuable and interesting work has never
before been translated into English during the four and a half centuries
the book has been in existence. This is the more remarkable as the work
was edited in French by an English scholar--the late Thomas Wright. It
can hardly be the coarseness of some of the stories which has prevented
the _Nouvelles_ from being presented to English readers when there are
half a dozen versions of the _Heptameron_, which is quite as coarse as
the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_, does not possess the same historical
interest, and is not to be compared to the present work as regards
either the stories or the style.
In addition to this, there is the history of the book itself, and
its connection with one of the most important personages in French
history--Louis XI. Indeed, in many French and English works of
reference, the authorship of the _Nouvelles_ has been attributed to him,
and though in recent years, the writer is now believed--and no doubt
correctly--to have been Antoine de la Salle, it is tolerably certain
that Prince Louis heard all the stories related, and very possibly
contributed several of them. The circumstances under which these stories
came to be narrated requires a few words of explanation.
At a very early age, Louis showed those qualities by which he was later
distinguished. When he was only fourteen, he caused his father, Charles
VII, much grief, both by his unfilial conduct and his behaviour to the
beautiful Agnes Sorel, the King’s mistress, towards whom he felt an
implacable hatred. He is said to have slapped her face, because he
thought she did not treat him with proper respect. This blow was, it is
asserted, the primary cause of his revolt against his father’s authority
(1440). The rebellion was put down, and the Prince was pardoned, but
relations between father and son were still strained, and in 1446, Louis
had to betake himself to his appanage of Dauphiné, where he remained
for ten years, always plotting and scheming, and braving his father’s
authority.
At length the Prince’s Court at Grenoble became the seat of so many
conspiracies that Charles VII was obliged to take forcible measures.
It was small wonder that the King’s patience was exhausted. Louis, not
content with the rule of his province, had made attempts to win over
many of the nobility, and to bribe the archers of the Scotch Guard.
Though not liberal as a rule, he had also expended large sums to
different secret agents for some specific purpose, which was in all
probability to secure his father’s death, for he was not the sort of man
to stick at parricide even, if it would secure his ends.
The plot was revealed to Charles by Antoine de Chabannes, Comte de
Dampmartin. Louis, when taxed with his misconduct, impudently denied
that he had been mixed up with the conspiracy, but denounced all his
accomplices, and allowed them to suffer for his misdeeds. He did not,
however, forget to revenge them, so far as lay in his power. The fair
Agnès Sorel, whom he had always regarded as his bitterest enemy, died
shortly afterwards at Jumièges, and it has always been believed, and
with great show of reason, that she was poisoned by his orders. He was
not able to take vengeance on Antoine de Chabannes until after he became
King.
Finding that his plots were of no avail, he essayed to get together
an army large enough to combat his father, but before he completed his
plans, Charles VII, tired of his endless treason and trickery, sent an
army, under the faithful de Chabannes, into the Dauphiné, with orders to
arrest the Dauphin.
The forces which Louis had at his disposal were numerically so much
weaker, that he did not dare to risk a battle.
“If God or fortune,” he cried, “had been kind enough to give me but half
the men-at-arms which now belong to the King, my father, and will be
mine some day, by Our Lady, my mistress, I would have spared him the
trouble of coming so far to seek me, but would have met him and fought
him at Lyon.”
Not having sufficient forces, and feeling that he could not hope for
fresh pardon, he resolved to fly from France, and take refuge at the
Court of the Duke of Burgundy.
One day in June, 1456, he pretended to go hunting, and then, attended
by only half a dozen friends, rode as fast as he could into Burgundian
territory, and arrived at Saint Claude.
From there he wrote to his father, excusing his flight, and announcing
his intention of joining an expedition which Philippe le Bon, the
reigning Duke of Burgundy was about to undertake against the Turks. The
Duke was at that moment besieging Utrecht, but as soon as he heard the
Dauphin had arrived in his dominions, he sent orders that he was to
be conducted to Brussels with all the honours befitting his rank and
station.
Shortly afterwards the Duke returned, and listened with real or
pretended sympathy to all the complaints that Louis made against
his father, but put a damper on any hopes that the Prince may have
entertained of getting the Burgundian forces to support his cause, by
saying;
“Monseigneur, you are welcome to my domains. I am happy to see you here.
I will provide you with men and money for any purpose you may require,
except to be employed against the King, your father, whom I would on no
account displease.”
Duke Philippe even tried to bring about a reconciliation between Charles
and his son; but as Louis was not very anxious to return to France, nor
Charles to have him there, and a good many of the nobles were far from
desiring that the Prince should come back, the negotiations came to
nothing.
Louis could make himself agreeable when he pleased, and during his stay
in the Duke’s domains, he was on good terms with Philippe le Bon, who
granted him 3000 gold florins a month, and the castle of Genappe as a
residence. This castle was situated on the Dyle, midway between Brussels
and Louvain, and about eight miles from either city. The river, or a
deep moat, surrounded the castle on every side. There was a drawbridge
which was drawn up at night, so Louis felt himself quite safe from any
attack.
Here he remained five years (1456-1461) until the death of his father
placed him on the throne of France.
It was during these five years that these stories were told to amuse his
leisure. Probably there were many more than a hundred narrated--perhaps
several hundreds--but the literary man who afterwards “edited” the
stories only selected those which he deemed best, or, perhaps, those he
heard recounted. The narrators were the nobles who formed the Dauphin’s
Court. Much ink has been spilled over the question whether Louis himself
had any share in the production. In nearly every case the author’s name
is given, and ten of them (Nos. 2, 4, 7, 9, 11, 29, 33, 69, 70 and
71) are described in the original edition as being by “Monseigneur.”
Publishers of subsequent editions brought out at the close of the 15th,
or the beginning of the 16th, Century, jumped to the conclusion that
“Monseigneur” was really the Dauphin, who not only contributed largely
to the book, but after he became King personally supervised the
publication of the collected stories.
For four centuries Louis XI was credited with the authorship of the
tales mentioned. The first person--so far as I am aware--to throw any
doubt on his claim was the late Mr. Thomas Wright, who edited an edition
of the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_, published by Jannet, Paris, 1858. He
maintained, with some show of reason, that as the stories were told in
Burgundy, by Burgundians, and the collected tales were “edited” by a
subject of the Duke (Antoine de la Salle, of whom I shall have occasion
to speak shortly) it was more probable that “Monseigneur” would mean the
Duke than the Dauphin, and he therefore ascribed the stories to Philippe
le Bel. Modern French scholars, however, appear to be of opinion that
“Monseigneur” was the Comte de Charolais, who afterwards became famous
as Charles le Téméraire, the last Duke of Burgundy.
The two great enemies were at that time close friends, and Charles was a
very frequent visitor to Genappe. It was not very likely, they say, that
Duke Philippe who was an old man would have bothered himself to tell
his guest indecent stories. On the other hand, Charles, being then only
Comte de Charolais, had no right to the title of “Monseigneur,” but they
parry that difficulty by supposing that as he became Duke before
the tales were printed, the title was given him in the first printed
edition.
The matter is one which will, perhaps, never be satisfactorily settled.
My own opinion--though I claim for it no weight or value--is that Louis
appears to have the greatest right to the stories, though in support of
that theory I can only adduce some arguments, which if separately weak
may have some weight when taken collectively. Vérard, who published
the first edition, says in the Dedication; “Et notez que par toutes les
Nouvelles où il est dit par Monseigneur il est entendu par Monseigneur
le Dauphin, lequel depuis a succédé à la couronne et est le roy Loys
unsieme; car il estoit lors es pays du duc de Bourgoingne.”
The critics may have good reason for throwing doubt on Vérard’s
statement, but unless he printed his edition from a M.S. made after
1467, and the copyist had altered the name of the Comte de Charolais to
“Monseigneur” it is not easy to see how the error arose, whilst on the
other hand, as Vérard had every facility for knowing the truth, and some
of the copies must have been purchased by persons who were present when
the stories were told, the mistake would have been rectified in the
subsequent editions that Vérard brought out in the course of the next
few years, when Louis had been long dead and there was no necessity to
flatter his vanity.
On examining the stories related by “Monseigneur,” it seems to me that
there is some slight internal evidence that they were told by Louis.
Brantôme says of him that, “he loved to hear tales of loose women,
and had but a poor opinion of woman and did not believe they were all
chaste. (This sounds well coming from Brantôme) Anyone who could relate
such tales was gladly welcomed by the Prince, who would have given all
Homer and Virgil too for a funny story.” The Prince must have heard many
such stories, and would be likely to repeat them, and we find the
first half dozen stories are decidedly “broad,” (No XI was afterwards
appropriated by Rabelais, as “Hans Carvel’s Ring”) and we may suspect
that Louis tried to show the different narrators by personal example
what he considered a really “good tale.”
We know also Louis was subject to fits of religious melancholy, and
evinced a superstitious veneration for holy things, and even wore
little, leaden images of the saints round his hat. In many of the
stories we find monks punished for their immorality, or laughed at
for their ignorance, and nowhere do we see any particular veneration
displayed for the Church. The only exception is No LXX, “The Devil’s
Horn,” in which a knight by sheer faith in the mystery of baptism
vanquishes the Devil, whereas one of the knight’s retainers, armed
with a battle-axe but not possessing his master’s robust faith in the
efficacy of holy water, is carried off bodily, and never heard of again.
It seems to me that this story bears the stamp of the character of
Louis, who though suspicious towards men, was childishly credulous in
religious matters, but I leave the question for critics more capable
than I to decide.
Of the thirty-two noblemen or squires who contributed the other stories,
mention will be made in the notes. Of the stories, I may here mention
that 14 or 15 were taken from Boccaccio, and as many more from Poggio or
other Italian writers, or French _fabliaux_, but about 70 of them appear
to be original.
The knights and squires who told the stories had probably no great skill
as _raconteurs_, and perhaps did not read or write very fluently. The
tales were written down afterwards by a literary man, and they owe “the
crispness, fluency, and elegance,” which, as Prof. Saintsbury remarks,
they possess in such a striking degree, to the genius of Antoine de la
Sale. He was born in 1398 in Burgundy or Touraine. He had travelled much
in Italy, and lived for some years at the Court of the Comte d’ Anjou.
He returned to Burgundy later, and was, apparently, given some sort
of literary employment by Duke Philippe le Bel. At any rate he was
appointed by Philippe or Louis to record the stories that enlivened the
evenings at the Castle of Genappe, and the choice could not have fallen
on a better man. He was already known as the author of two or three
books, one of which--_Les Quinze Joyes de Mariage_--relates the woes
of married life, and displays a knowledge of character, and a quaint,
satirical humour that are truly remarkable, and remind the reader
alternately of Thackeray and Douglas Jerrold,--indeed some of the
Fifteen Joys are “Curtain Lectures” with a mediaeval environment, and
the word pictures of Woman’s foibles, follies, and failings are as
bright to-day as when they were penned exactly 450 years ago. They show
that the “Eternal Feminine” has not altered in five centuries--perhaps
not in five thousand!
The practised and facile pen of Antoine de la Sale clothed the dry bones
of these stories with flesh and blood, and made them live, and move.
Considering his undoubted gifts as a humourist, and a delineator of
character it is strange that the name of Antoine de la Sale is not held
in higher veneration by his countrymen, for he was the earliest exponent
of a form of literary art in which the French have always excelled.
In making a translation of these stories I at first determined to adhere
as closely as possible to the text, but found that the versions differed
greatly. I have followed the two best modern editions, and have made as
few changes and omissions as possible.
Three or four of the stories are extremely coarse, and I hesitated
whether to omit them, insert them in the original French, or translate
them, but decided that as the book would only be read by persons of
education, respectability, and mature age, it was better to translate
them fully,--as has been done in the case of the far coarser passages of
Rabelais and other writers. This course appeared to me less hypocritical
than that adopted in a recent expensive edition of Boccaccio in which
the story of Rusticus and Alibech was given in French--with a highly
suggestive full-page illustration facing the text for the benefit of
those who could not read the French language.