From the Preface. The "Roman de Flamenca" occupies a unique place in Provencal literature. "It has," says Meyer, "nothing in common with the old Carolingian and Breton traditions; its subject is not borrowed from the legends transmitted by antiquity to the middle ages; nor would it be possible to see in it one of those popular narratives which are to be found in practically every literature, and whose impersonal character renders it impossible to determine their origin. "Flamenca" is the creation of a man of talent who wished to write an agreeable work representing the most brilliant aspects of courtly life in the twelfth century. It is a novel of manners." As such it has affinities with certain "romans d'aventure," in the northern idiom, which sim1ilarly combine a sentimental intrigue with the representation of a particular milieu. "Flamenca," however, is far superior to any of these in its delicacy, in its verve, in its richness, in the truthful delineation of its characters, and in the bold originality of its conception. Thus it stands alone, not only in Provencal literature, but in medieval literature generally, and may be called, without exaggeration, the first modern novel. The unique manuscript of "Flamenca" is incomplete. Among the pages missing are the first and last. Hence we have no knowledge of the author or of the date of composition. The latter has been placed approximately in the first half of the thirteenth century. At that time the splendour of the little courts south of the Loire had waned; but the poet shows us the largeness and liberality that had reigned there, while his lightness of tone reflects that relaxing of the old restraints in a sophisticated and pleasure-loving society, which stern moralists would, no doubt, hold responsible for the ensuing swift decadence. Love was the one real religion of the upper classes, and the code of lovers, hardened into a vast, complicated system, constituted the sole effective morality. Flamenca and Guillem are characteristic products of this system, and its perfect exponents. Their acceptance of it is complete. Never does any doubt enter the mind of either as to the sovereignty of the rights conferred by mutual love. Both regard themselves as accomplishing a sacred duty in going directly-or as directly as possible-to the goal of their desire. At the same time, there are forms to observe, and our two lovers are so scrupulous in their observance that they may occasionally seem engaged much more in going through an elaborate ritual than in pursuing dangerously a passionate adventure. Yet the danger was there, and Flamenca never forgets that if, in a sense, she is playing a game, it is a game the stake of which is death.
What a delightful thing to read in the lead up to Valentine's Day.
Being both thrifty and impatient, I actually read the online copy for free at The Hathi Trust digital library, as the original came out in 1922 and is yet unavailable for e-reader. Since I've been listening to Rosalia's El Mal Querer on constant repeat these past few weeks, I wanted to experience the text that had inspired this terrific flamenco-fusion album, or at least the most conveniently accessible English translation.
After reading the quite short novel(la?) I was genuinely surprised it isn't more widely known. Perhaps because it was originally written in Occitan and is thus less accessible than other, more famous romances. Of course, it isn't devoid, at least in this somewhat abridged translation by William Aspenwall Bradley, of the problems that plague other stories of the time. But even writers of our era trade in insta-love and in the diminishing of the seriousness of sexual assault. Flaws like these are almost easier to forgive in older works, because the choices of the authors and translators can be more clearly viewed through the lens of the intervening years.
Anyway, this is the story of the beautiful Flamenca, whose father, Count Guy of Nemours, would rather she live as a nearby chatelaine rather than become the monarch of a far-flung court. So he decides to marry her to Archambaut, lord of Bourbon and one of the best knights of the age. Flamenca and Archambaut meet and are impressed by what they see, so consent to marry. After a days-long wedding feast in Nemours, Archambaut rushes to Bourbon to prepare another feast to welcome his new bride home. He asks the King and Queen of France themselves the honour of escorting, with their many knights, Flamenca on her journey to him.
Unfortunately, the King proceeds to show a little too much favour to Flamenca, and by the time the royal party have left Bourbon, Archambaut has worked himself into a right fervor of jealousy. Over the next few weeks, anything she does or says is fuel for his paranoia. Soon, he has her cloistered in a tower with her two ladies-in-waiting, Alis and Margarida, letting them out only for church services. The years pass and no one does anything to help her or her ladies (thanks, Dad!) till a young knight named Guillem learns of her plight. Struck by the idea of Love, he travels to Bourbon and puts in motion a plan to meet her and win her love.
This version of the tale ends with the lovers happily fooling the awful husband. The original text in verse continues a little longer before petering out abruptly, though not before granting Flamenca a little more freedom. I understand Mr Bradley's choice to end his adaptation cleanly, tho I still rather wish I had greater access to the original. Fortunately, Mr Bradley's introduction is quite good, explaining his choices and scholarship, as is the story overall. The problematic bits actually stand out less than the progressive bits, with at least one really terrific part considering the nature of Fear, Shame and Love. I was honestly prepared for something much more depressing, given the themes of Rosalia's album, but each work of art is good, and deeply satisfying, in its own way. You could do much, much worse than to check out either.
Flamenca is a young and very beautiful woman. As such, she has a horde of suitors. She could have a king if she pleased. Or rather, if her father pleased. Which he does not. No, he decides he'd rather have her closer to home so he may visit her, so he marries her off to some guy he knows who instantly becomes infatuated with her.
Two issues, immediately: 1) her loving(?) father never does end up visiting her, and 2) her new husband is a little too obsessed with her. When a king shows too much affection for her (actually he assaults her), her husband becomes so jealous that he locks her and her ladies in a tower with only one window. There she stays for years, growing bitter and resentful of her tyrannical husband.
Still, her father does not visit her. No one tries to save her until a young and equally beautiful knight from another country hears of her plight and comes to her aid. He promptly acquires the role of a priest's clerk so that he may exchange a few words with Flamenca each church service--the only time she's allowed to leave her tower. Of course, compared to her awful husband and with no other real option, she falls in love with Guillem. And good thing, too, because I'm not sure he'd help her escape her tower for any amount of time otherwise. He'd probably just leave or...die of grief or something.
Anyway, though the hero isn't exactly selfless in his motives, I still enjoyed this story and am surprised it isn't more well-known to readers.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
a cute fairy tale-esque love story, just kinda overly melodramatic (like a fairy tale usually is, i guess). i’ll cut some slack for the first modern novel, though.
i thought the whole back and forth between guillem and flamenca was adorable. seeing the trope of a naive, all-encompassing infatuation from a text written in the 13th century is a beautiful reminder of its universality.
i’m gonna go listen to el mal querer now with this story in mind.
One of the few times I can say the album was better than the book. El Mal Querer should have won a Grammy. It’s not a bad story, but Rosalia brought it to life.