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'Love and Marriage: Fictional Perspectives' (1999)

'Love and Marriage: Fictional Perspectives'

(1999)–Annelies van Gijsen–rechtenstatus Auteursrechtelijk beschermd

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Love and Marriage: Fictional Perspectives

Annelies van Gijsen

Love, marriage and social position are represented and discussed in many, and varied, literary sources from the medieval Low Countries. For this contribution I have selected a couple of texts from different genres in which love and social position play a part. Ideas about love's causes and the degrees of freedom in choosing a lover, wife or husband are discussed. Narrative fiction and drama will provide fictional material.

But first, I will touch upon a crucial question. Can we ever understand the meaning of fiction as seen by its original audience, since we can only observe it through the screen of our own preconceptions and preferences? Cases from fictional sources usually cause problems of interpretation. It is often difficult to decide whether a story is ‘realistic’ or to what extent it should be taken seriously. Sometimes it is not at all clear to us whether the words and actions of a character deserve approval or censure. Especially when love comes into play, our spontaneous reactions may be the very opposite of what the author intended them to be.

As Stearns and Stearns observe: ‘We live in a society that places an unusually high value on romantic love. It is proper and illuminating to seek the origins of this attitude. But we must also beware of how our own strong assumptions can obscure our view of the past.’1 As one of these assumptions is the idea that love is a natural phenomenon and is therefore as unalterable as ‘human nature’ itself is supposed to be, it may be wise to consider some of these strong assumptions first: forewarned is forearmed.

The preface to the collected contributions to a Louvain colloquium on love and marriage in the twelfth century (1978) opens as follows: ‘Love, the mightiest feeling that can inspirit human beings, and Marriage, the institution which, if not animated by this feeling, loses its sense and its soul, form the topics of this book [...].’2 This solemn statement finds a more popular expression in a song from the fifties: ‘Love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage.’3 C.S. Lewis even described love stories as ‘stories how a man married, or failed to marry, a woman’.4

Sarsby has drawn attention to the fact that, at present, ‘love is also the almost prescribed condition for marriage in most of Europe and the United States. Any other motive for marrying, such as money, social position or to get an heir, would be regarded as mercenary or calculating, while love is supposedly unmotivated by self-interest’.5 In a comparison of present-day and medieval ideas on love, Trilling points out many differences, but still there is at least this common belief ‘that the lovers must freely choose each other and that their choice has the highest sanctions and must not be interfered with’.6

However objective, liberal or otherwise enlightened we may try to be, these ideas and ideals are so strongly installed in our minds that we often take them for granted. They tend to obscure our interpretation and judgement of medieval fiction.

Love, Life and Fiction

In western society, love is still a favourite theme in fiction. Representations of erotic love can vary greatly, as they are rooted in very divergent

traditions. ‘There is happy, socially acceptable love [...] which leads to marriage and families, and there is unhappy, unattainable love, coupled in literature with suffering or death, the antisocial, engulfing passion, which sets people at odds with the world and their own social interests.’7 In medieval fiction, both variants occur; this illuminates how the Great Passion and the Perfect Idyll both became indispensable for True Love, so that nowadays the ideal love relationship would require both, either at the same time, or successively. To complicate things further, literary tastes have changed to the extent that happy-ending love stories have gradually become ‘gesunkenes Kulturgut’, limited to, and flourishing in, trivial and popular forms of fiction. Authors with serious literary aspirations generally shun them. This development has influenced our perception and aesthetic judgement of medieval fiction.

‘The prose romances of the Middle Ages are closely related to earlier heroic literature. Some [...] are retellings of heroic legend in terms of the romantic chivalry of the early Renaissance, a combination of barbaric, medieval, and Renaissance sensibility which, in the tales of Tristran and Iseult and Launcelot and Guinevere, produced something not unlike modern novels of tragic love.’8 For this very reason, Tristran and Lancelot are at present considered paragons of the perfect lover of medieval fiction. Romantic preferences for Great Passion and Tragedy have made their stories, though successful enough in the Middle Ages, more popular than they ever were in the past.9 Yet, these stories were once considered controversial and provocative.

The story of Tristran and Iseult is ‘a desperate tale of forbidden love in which much that is dubious was excused’; in Gottfried's version, ‘the characters of Tristran and Isolde [...] oscillate between the ideal, if judged by amatory standards, and the criminal, if judged by others.’10

The theme inspired a whole body of literature that comprises both ‘neo-’ and ‘anti-Tristrans’. Chrétien de Troyes, whose version of the tale of

Tristran is lost, not only wrote a ‘neo-Tristran’ (Le chevalier de la charrette, c. 1180, in which Lancelot is first pictured as Queen Guinevere's lover), but also an ‘anti-Tristran’ (Cligès). This great innovator also contributed substantially to the ‘mise en roman’ of marriage,11 by presenting, in his Erec and Yvain, the new concept of ‘amour courtois conjugal’, in which love and social obligations, passion and domestic happiness eventually attain a perfect harmony.

Chrétien's Charrette gave a flying start to Lancelot's literary career; it was adapted in the ‘Lancelot-propre’ part of the so-called Lancelot en prose. This cycle shows a ‘double esprit’; ‘at first it would seem that love of a woman, even when it involved adultery, deceit and disloyalty, was the source of all good [...]. This attitude gives way more and more to the doctrine that adulterous love is sin and the cause of calamity, but until we reach the Queste [del Saint Graal] there is ambiguity.’12

The main issue in question was not, I think, the acceptability of adultery, but the acceptability of ‘immoral’ fiction.13 ‘Le Tristran de Gottfried contribue à la discussion littéraire sur minne et mariage dans le roman courtois de son époque’ (my italics).14 So did the disseminations of Lancelot. In a famous scene in his Inferno (c. 1308), Dante describes a conversation with Francesca da Rimini who is in hell with her brother-in-law and lover Paolo. Their adultery was inspired by their reading of the episode in the story of Lancelot and the queen where Galeotto acted as a pander - as the book does to Paolo and Francesca.15 Dante apparently thinks this kind of literature morally dangerous,16 possibly especially for young people.

Parody is a different and effective way of criticizing fashionable literature.17 At the ducal court of Brabant, an unknown poet wrote a long continuation to an earlier translation of parts of the old French Geste des Loherains.18 Though the poet, quite in style with the original, claims historical veracity, he made up considerable additions. He inserts a curious episode about an adulterous escapade of Yoen, King of the Loherains, and Helena, Queen of Cologne.19 Van der Have, who thinks this passage a bit out of style, has assumed the influence of the courtly literary tradition.20 I would rather suggest that the poet satirizes courtly love stories by a deliberate confrontation with norms from everyday life and from the chanson de geste. In this light, the behaviour of Yoen and Helena is not only immoral, but also ridiculous. Some details may indicate that the poet more specifically meant to make fun of the stories of Lancelot and Tristran.21 In this way, he may have taken a position in a lively competition between poets and genres differing radically in outlook and pretensions.

It seems at least conceivable that an aristocratic audience, though perfectly aware that adultery is a sin and that wives should obey their husbands (apart from the question of the extent to which they practised what they heard preached),22 still appreciates ‘immoral’ fiction. The

imaginary ‘other world’ dominated by True Love with all its joys and sorrows has many charms: it provides aesthetic experience, pleasant entertainment, liberating escape and edifying, lofty ideals.

It has been pointed out that the kind of love described by Andreas Capellanus would have been impossible in reality, both within and without marriage.23 Neither did the new literary ideal of love-marriages abruptly change the ways in which marriages were arranged. ‘Chrétien's solution of the problem raised by the romance of Tristran and Iseult could be realized only in a poetic universe. Given the enormous compulsive powers possessed by the family and the Church, there was in most cases, when Chrétien wrote, no possibility of free choice.’24

Theories: Four Views on Love's Causes

In the Roman van Heinric en Margriete van Limborch, a long romance written after 1288 for the ducal court of Brabant, love theory is built into the narrative.25 At the end of the story, a company of young and noble people play the game of le roi qui ne ment: they choose a leader who asks and answers questions on love matters.26 Some of the questions under discussion are: ‘Why are some people more prone to fall in love than others? And why do I fall in love with one particular person rather than with someone else?’ The explanation given by the queen of the game, Margriete van Limborch, is mainly astrological. The constellation at one's birth, especially the position and aspects of the planet Venus, indicate one's

predisposition to love, and the quality and duration of one's feelings. As people greatly prefer their equals in nature, they feel most strongly attracted to someone who is born under the same constellation. After this information, Margriete voluntarily adds that people who are inclined to love unfortunately do not realize the importance of social equality between partners, but recklessly indulge natural attraction. So it may even happen that a king's daughter loves a poor manservant. For this reason love is called blind. Though this is folly, it is caused by the force of nature. Nonetheless, it would be wrong to cry shame upon women who are in love with their social inferiors or to accuse them of unchastity, as some women have fallen in love from hearsay only. Apparently, this case excludes physical attraction as a cause of love. Information about someone's person, character and virtues may prove that he or she is your ‘twin soul’ and, therefore, your destined partner.27 The astrological explanation seems to fit in well with the preceding definition of love as ‘the bond that joins two pure hearts’. Though planetary influence is a natural cause of love and attraction, its effect seems to be more mental than physical.28 Still, natural inclination in no way excludes a wise choice of partner, which amounts to choosing an equal in rank.

 

In Van der feesten; een proper ding (‘About the feast; a choice bit’), a so-called Minnerede, both the setting and the theory recall the Limborch.29 At a splendid party, a clerk meets a young lady who is interested in love theory, on which he is an expert. He answers all her questions on the nature and cause of love, and explains how love can be won, preserved and lost. Some slight but important differences from the Limborch deserve attention.

The definition of love is, again, the union of two hearts and minds. The lady wants to know why we prefer one person to all the others. The clerk

explains that this depends on temperaments: everybody belongs to one of the four temperaments, and as people of the same temperament share a common nature, they will certainly prefer one another to people of different temperaments. It therefore even happens that a lady loves a poor man so much that it makes her hazard her reputation, while she rejects handsome and wise suitors. If her temperament had not been the same as that of the poor man, this misfortune would never have occurred.

The lady is very well pleased with this answer and wishes that all the world would know this, because, she concludes, ladies cannot help falling in love at all, as nature recognizes her equal (in temperament). On her further enquiry as to whether love has the same strength in all lovers, the clerk answers that a sanguine humour is most suited to love, followed by the choleric; the phlegmatic and melancholic hardly ever love at all.

In general, this is very much like the Limborch theory. Love has a natural cause; temperament to me suggests a more physical and possibly more modern explanation than planetary influence.30 Love for someone of a lower social class can be explained, but is called an ‘ongheluc’ (accident/misfortune). The case of a lady who loves her social inferior is a very extreme proof of the force of natural love. In Van der feesten marriage is never mentioned at all; the conversation is limited to definitions and causes of love, courtship and love etiquette.

 

An interesting variant of the temperament-theory is found in the so-called Haagse liederenhandschrift (c. 1400), in a poem where Venus herself, on her sick-bed, confesses her many sins to a priest (Venus' biecht).31 She pleads guilty to robbery, theft, arson, homicide and betrayal. Yet she claims to be innocent of some abuses. She classes people according to the four elements; as air is greatly superior to fire, water and earth everybody wants an ‘airy’ partner. This is wrong, as such love is quite hopeless, and Venus denies responsibility. Everyone should be content with an equal, if

he wants to be loved in return, which means: his equal in nature, not in wealth. On the other hand, Venus confesses that she has caused ladies to marry an ‘unequal’, without the advice of their relatives. These ladies disregarded sin or shame, friends, honour and property, and had someone according to their fancy. In this case, ‘unequal’ clearly means: ‘unequal in social rank’, or rather, ‘socially inferior’.32 Another of Venus's crimes is that she has made people who were engaged to be married with the approval of their relatives fall very much in love with someone else.33 People are often deceived by the tricks that Venus plays on them. As a penance, Venus is henceforth obliged to help all true and faithful lovers. In an epilogue, the poet explains that he intended to show the present ‘diseases’ of love. Many people nowadays mock love or are false and indiscreet. A wise lover hides his love; a fool spoils it by divulging it.

Venus' biecht shows the same inconsistency as the Limborch: on the one hand, true love has natural causes; on the other hand, it is foolish to follow your inclinations regardless of rank, especially if you are a lady. Marriage requires compatibility of temperament, equality in social rank, and approval of relatives. Eventually, the poet, possibly for the sake of completeness, mentions love of a kind that requires secrecy. On the whole, he has squeezed a lot of divergent ideas on love into a relatively short text, some of which look more ‘literary’, some more ‘practical’.34

 

In a booklet called Tghevecht van minnen (‘The combat of love’), printed in Antwerp in 1516,35 a young man is harassed by the arrows of the ladies Minne, Ghestadicheyt, Onghestadicheyt and Jalozije (Love, Constancy, Inconstancy and Jealousy). We might expect Ghestadicheyt to mean faithfulness or loyalty towards the beloved; here it apparently means self-control, emotional stability and forethought. It is Ghestadicheyt who warns the youth not to waste his sense or his money, but to use both in an

honourable way. She expressly recommends the young man to pay due attention to property and rank. He should carefully adapt his behaviour and his choice of company to his own social position; this will save him from embarrassment.36 The text gives a humorous description of the torments and behaviour of lovers, interspersed with lyrical complaints by love's victims. Finally, the reader is advised to reject foolish and dangerous carnal love; he had much better contemplate Christ's passion instead.37

From Imaginative Theory to Fictional Practice

Of the four texts discussed, Limborch and the Haagse liederenhandschrift are usually considered court literature. Van der feesten is more problematic: though its frame story describes a ‘courtly’ setting, both its theory and the origin of the manuscripts are mixed. Tghevecht seems to be attractive and instructive for a young urban elite with a taste for poetry.

The idea that love has a natural cause is generally accepted; ideally lovers are twin souls, or they share a common nature or temperament. This strong attraction may cause socially undesirable alliances. The example of a lady in love with a social inferior is ambiguous: it is a proof of the power of natural attraction, but at the same time a warning to ladies. This might suggest the extra vulnerability of either ladies' hearts, or, more probably, of ladies' reputations. Only in Venus' biecht is marriage mentioned at all; ideally, one should marry one's equal in nature and in rank, but secret love also seems an option.

After these more or less informative or instructive fragments we now turn to fictional cases. These will take us diachronically from court to city.

First we return to the Limborch, where love is a central theme in the narrative. This text was probably intended for oral delivery to a court audience; most of the characters in the story belong to the higher nobility. Then I will discuss the play Lanseloet van Denemerken, in which most of the characters are noble, but which was probably intended for a city audience. Finally, Colijn van Rijssele's Spiegel der minnen will be considered: an ‘amorous play’ in an urban setting, which was also written for urban performance.

Limborch: Margriete and Echites

As Schnell has pointed out, the idea of love generated by natural causes seems to conflict with the courtly ideal of love as an ennobling force, inspiring the virtue, service and merit for which the lover is eventually loved in return.38 Yet, this concept of love put to the test and in the end rewarded is central in the narrative part of the Limborch. It is most prominent in the love between Echites, son of the count of Athens, and Margriete, daughter of the duke of Limborch. Margriete had become lost on a hunting party, and after many adventures, perils and abductions she is lodged with Echites's parents; she passes for a merchant's daughter.39 This does not keep Echites from falling passionately in love with her. She refuses to love him in return. Her present situation makes a proper marriage, with the consent of Echites's parents, impossible; she would not be anybody's mistress for anything. Even his offer to run off with her or to marry her in secret is rejected: she does not want to be ungrateful toward his parents. Echites, still very young and untried, as is proved by his uncontrolled emotions and his carelessness towards his social duties, needs both experience and instruction to become a worthy knight and husband. He is put to the test for many years, and during his quest he discovers Margriete's true identity. Eventually they can get married in due state. As Janssens stated, a central theme in the Limborch is the force of mutual love that is integrated in society.40 Love should have marriage as its goal; marriage must be socially acceptable. Several of the marriages are

proposed and arranged by the authorities concerned, even though the partners have long been in love.41

Three further observations might be relevant. The poet of the Limborch is very much conscious of the fact that he writes fiction. He never claims to tell a true story, and his main intention is to offer pleasant entertainment.42 The poet is very well read; he certainly knows the Lorreinen and writes for the same court. He contributes to the discussion on ‘immoral fiction’ in an episode on Evax and Sibilie, a story of adulterous love that is both an anti-Tristran and a neo-Cligès.43 He seems very much aware that this theme might give offence, and does all he can to make Sibilie's behaviour acceptable. At first, she indignantly rejects Evax's love, as she does not want to deceive her husband, the king of Aragon. Evax instantly falls gravely ill. To save the country, which has been attacked by Saracens, Sibilie cures Evax by granting him hope. Eventually, she feels morally obliged to fulfil her promise. The poet took a lot of trouble to make it quite clear that she did not act from passion or even inclination.44 After many adventures, the lovers can get married and become king and queen of Aragon.

The Limborch mirrors the usual sexual double standard. As can be seen from the stories of Margriete and Sibilie, a noble heroine is also very chaste. When the story focuses on a male hero, the tables are silently turned to fit more masculine forms of prowess. Heinric, in his search for his sister, champions the rights of Europa, the young duchess of Milan, whose heritage is usurped by her uncle. She falls passionately in love with him and pays him a night visit, during which he gets her pregnant. The episode

serves mainly to display Heinric's courage, attractiveness and virility.45

Upward social mobility within the aristocracy is a recurrent theme in the Limborch. Heinric, a duke's son, becomes emperor of Constantinople; Echites and Margriete become king and queen of Armenia; Echites's foster brother, Evax, will be king of Aragon, and the squire Jonas wins a princess and a crown by slaying a dragon. Combined with many educational elements, this suggests an intended audience of ambitious young people.

Lanseloet van Denemerken

The Van Hulthem manuscript (Brabant, c. 1399-1410) includes a collection of secular dramas, among which are four serious secular plays announced as abele spelen.46 The subjects of three of these, Esmoreit, Gloriant and Lanseloet van Denemerken, were probably inspired by earlier chivalrous literature. Though most of the personages belong to the high nobility, the plays may have been performed for urban audiences, possibly by professional actors. Lanseloet van Denemerken is by far the most successful; it is the only one of these plays of which a number of early printed editions have survived.47

Lanseloet van Denemerken is very much in love with Sanderijn, but his mother disapproves because Sanderijn is of inferior birth and poor. He tries in vain to seduce her: Sanderijn, knowing that marriage is impossible, refuses to be his mistress. Lanseloet's mother reprimands him; Lanseloet defends his love. His mother then offers to let him enjoy the girl on a blind condition, which he accepts; she demands a promise that he must insult her afterwards. After some hesitation he gives in. His mother laughs in her sleeve; she makes Sanderijn believe that Lanseloet is dangerously ill, and asks her to go and visit him in his room. Lanseloet then treats Sanderijn,

‘whom he seduces by force and without her consent’,48 as bluntly as his mother had made him promise: he tells her in effect that he is now sick and tired of her, turns away and falls asleep.49

Sanderijn, shocked and distressed, flees the country; she never wants to see Lanseloet again. In a forest, she meets an anonymous knight who is out hunting, and who instantly feels attracted to this fair prey. Sanderijn begs him to treat her properly. He is well pleased by her beauty and her speech and asks her to marry him. When he asks her who she is, she informs him that her father was a well-born squire in a king's service, which much pleases him. He repeats his offer, which she gratefully accepts. By way of an allegory (would he think ill of a blossoming tree, if a falcon had robbed it of a single flower?) she explains what has happened to her. The knight understands her meaning, and reassures her.

Meanwhile, Lanseloet is desperate because of Sanderijn's disappearance. He now wants to marry her despite anybody's objections. Lanseloet sends his servant Reinout out to look for Sanderijn; Reinout finds her, but Sanderijn refuses to return to Denmark, as she is happily married to a good and noble husband. Reinout does not dare tell Lanseloet the truth; instead, he tells him that Sanderijn died while he was with her. Lanseloet dies of sorrow, cursing his mother; he hopes to see Sanderijn in heaven.

The internal social configuration of this play has given rise to divergent opinions. Older scholars have seen the conflict of rank as a central theme. Some even assumed a contrast between nobility (Lanseloet) and bourgeoisie (Sanderijn). One of the ideas the play is supposed to express is: ‘true nobility is nobility of character, not of birth’.50

Van Mierlo, who discusses the problem, concludes that social inequality is relatively unimportant: both Lanseloet and Sanderijn belong to the nobility, though Lanseloet is superior in birth and wealth.51 The play intends to show how Lanseloet, by his uncourtly behaviour, loses his love and his life, whereas the foreign knight wins it by his courtliness. The play does not advocate social mobility through marriage.52

The internal social setting of the play and its probable relation to earlier chivalrous literature have traditionally made it a ‘courtly drama’. Recently, new perspectives were opened by considering the possibility of an urban origin for the play, involving new ideas and ideals on love and marriage. These deserve further attention.53

In his argument with his mother, Lanseloet defends his love by referring to love's causes; he has often heard read that true love is caused by essential similitude, and does not regard rank or wealth. Orlanda Lie has stated that Lanseloet's ideas bear a striking resemblance to Van der feesten, which view is adopted by Van Dijk and Beckers.54 But even if we assume an allusion to Van der feesten in this scene,55 its implications for

the interpretation of the play are questionable. As we have seen, Van der feesten never speaks of marriage at all, and yet considers a lady's love for her social inferior as an ‘ongheluc’. Moreover, Lie and Beckers apparently take Lanseloet's explanation of love's causes as a normative statement on love and marriage: true love, which automatically implies the choice of a partner in marriage, should not take account of differences in class or wealth.56 Van Dijk even accuses Lanseloet of hypocrisy: ‘Lanseloet betrays the fact that his courtliness is not genuine and does not stem from his heart, when, in the conversation with his mother, he invokes external authorities as being the origins of his arguments: Ic hebbe dicke wel horen lesen (l. 214) (I have often heard read).’57 Van Dijk refers to the prologue, which announces that Lanseloet defends his love with courtly words against his mother. In my opinion, that is exactly what he does: in a polite reply to her angry reproaches, he claims that he cannot help being in love with Sanderijn; his experience confirms the well-documented fact that this is how love works.58

The deliberate contrast between Lanseloet and the foreign knight is obvious. Attempts to specify this contrast in terms of the moral of the play lead to rather diverging opinions. Van Dijk, in 1988, supported Van Mierlo's analysis: ‘The play is, in the first instance, a lesson in courtly behaviour. Lanseloet shows how one should not behave, the foreign knight

how one should.’59 In his recent edition, Van Dijk shares the views of Lie and Pleij, who interpret the play against an urban background: Lanseloet represents an old-fashioned concept of love, which is criticized; the foreign knight serves as a model of a modern concept of love.60

According to Lie, Lanseloet's old-fashioned attitude is essentially his ‘traditional courtly concept of love’; he tries to win Sanderijn's love in a courtly way, and does not regard marriage as a condition for love.61

Van Dijk makes Lanseloet represent an attitude in which marriage is first of all a way to preserve a dynasty.62 Both think that Lanseloet's clinging to these outdated ideas causes his ruin; the play thus shows the perishing of old, aristocratic views and values. In contrast, Sanderijn and the foreign knight represent and propagate a new attitude toward love and marriage.

Though, in my opinion, the assumed urban setting of Lanseloet van Denemerken is indeed very likely, some of the arguments furnished by Lie, Van Dijk and Pleij seem questionable; a couple of them could be revised or even reversed.

Lie has described Sanderijn's attitude toward love and marriage as new, and essentially different from that of ‘an Isolde, a Guinevere, a Blanchefleur, or a Chatelaine de Vergi’. In courtly love stories, love may lead to marriage, but marriage is clearly not seen as a condition for love.63 We might note that Blanchefleur is the only one of the quartet who marries her lover, and honourably survives the affair. More important is the fact that Sanderijn's attitude is essentially the same as that of Margriete, Judith and

Beerte in earlier court literature.64 In contrast to the fictional ‘love heroines’ mentioned by Lie, these exemplary noble young ladies would not be deflowered outside marriage for all the gold in the world. After many tribulations, all three become queens.65 It is their ideals, or rather the ideas on literature and morality reflected in the description of these characters, that are for some interesting reason continued in Lanseloet. The concept of love, sex and marriage in itself, as represented by Sanderijn, is anything but new; princesses in earlier court literature, when put on the pea of an indecent proposal, may respond in the same way as Sanderijn does.66

Urban Drama and Morality: Lanseloet and the Miracles de Nostre Dame

Lanseloet's character and behaviour have been interpreted as representing old-fashioned and reprehensible views on love and marriage. He fails as a courtly lover because of his uncourtly behaviour, and at first he accepts the idea that he must preserve his dynasty by marrying an equal in birth. I would prefer to suggest that the very way in which Lanseloet is pictured does evoke a modern, urban view of love, sex and marriage, but one in which dynastic, aristocratic or courtly issues hardly play any part at all.

Supporting evidence for this view might be derived from the Miracles de Nostre Dame par personnages, a series of forty miracle plays sponsored by the goldsmiths' guild in Paris from 1339 to 1382.67 These plays have in the past been connected with the abele spelen;68 both their subject matter - a substantial number of the Miracles dramatize earlier secular literature69 - and the stage conventions of these plays, particularly the treatment of time and distance, are parallelled in the abele spelen.70 In spite of the considerable ‘divergence in tenor’ that Van Dijk attributes to the Miracles,71 a closer comparison might yet be fruitful. As the date, the setting and the sources of the abele spelen are uncertain, the Miracles may provide valuable evidence of the way in which earlier secular sources are adapted for dramatic performance to a fourteenth-century city audience, quite apart from the possible connection between the collections.72

As luck will have it, love, sex and marriage are very important elements in many of the Miracles; Tarr has found that in as many as twenty-four of them ‘love and marriage appear as direct or indirect factors in the development and resolution of dramatic conflict’.73 Tarr's classification and analysis clearly show how closely the kinds of ‘human love’ he

distinguishes in the Miracles resemble those in the abele spelen. Human love, defined as ‘human affective relationships involving (or implying) sexual attraction between partners of the opposite sex’, is distinguished from purely sexual impulses on the one hand, and from devotion to supernatural objects on the other; it has a human, personal object. Several types of human love are classed in order of ‘increasing spirituality’; amour-passion ranks lowest, followed by premarital jeune amour and conjugal love.74

The characteristic traits of amour-passion in the Miracles, as described by Tarr, appear to fit Lanseloet's state of mind like a glove.75 ‘In amour-passion there is a mixture of carnality and spirituality [...]. The loving person has suddenly or over a long period developed a strong emotional attachment for a particular individual, to the exclusion of others. But added to this spiritual attachment is the carnal aspect which, by the definition used in this thesis, invariably (and usually openly) seeks sexual intercourse outside of marriage. Typically, the demand for coitus is shown as an immediate and expected consequence of love. In addition, amour-passion, like the amour-passion of secular love literature, compels the lover and impairs the will; but contrary to that love pattern, it is viewed as a deadly and sinful compulsion forcing the lover into crime and ignominy. In short, amour-passion is an exalted and personalized but sinful compulsion desiring immediate extramarital coitus.’76

An interesting trait of this kind of love is its preference for ‘courtly’ language. Or rather: the victims of amour-passion express their feelings in the vocabulary of earlier courtly love literature, but in substance their meaning does not answer the earlier concepts at all. When, in La marquise de la Gaudine (XII), her husband's uncle attempts to seduce the marquise, his passion, ‘though it is communicated in the lofty language of amour courtois, it is called [by the marquise] precisely what these plays consider it to be - shameful lust.’77 As the uncle's love is both adulterous and

incestuous, this is not surprising. But even premarital coitus is condemned as an ignoble instance of amour-passion-as-shameful-lust; the mere intention, though not carried out, leads to crime and murder in La Femme du Roy de Portigal.78

Tarr points out the verbal likeness and the conceptual difference between amour courtois and amour-passion as follows: ‘The passion is virtually always expressed by the words, images, and motifs of courtly love, but the substance of that system is lacking. The basic relationships are too realistic, the love is too sinful and destructive, and the importance of the sex act is too obvious. Apparently the poets took real or legendary love stories and retold them by means of the only erotic style they knew. In all of these stories then the poets are condemning the examples of crime and sexual sin which are found in the sources. In addition, they are censuring “excessive passion” as found in the tales of secular love literature.’79

On the whole, the Miracles propagate a well-defined and consistent moral attitude toward love, sex and marriage. Sexual desire is dangerous in itself, as it may overwhelm reason and thus impair the sense of right and wrong. Coitus is only allowed within the bonds of marriage; ideal marriage is based on a personal affection between the partners. The importance of premarital virginity in women (not in men) is stressed in seven of the Miracles. The good women in the plays display purity, humility, charity, modesty and willing submission to their husbands. Among the bad women there are liars, traitors and two wicked queen mothers.80

Though the plays come under spiritual drama, their representation of love, sex and marriage seems adapted to the needs and interests of an urban, secular audience. A closer comparative study of this theme in the abele spelen and the Miracles looks very promising.81 At least, it might reveal more solid reasons to connect the ideas on love, sex and marriage in Lanseloet to city culture than the rejection of extra- and premarital sex expressed by Sanderijn, who in this respect is pictured as a traditional ‘chaste heroine’. If we consider Lanseloet's feeling to be essentially wicked amour-passion, we might as well, and for better reasons, make him

represent as ‘modern’ a concept as Sanderijn.82 If so, ‘courtliness’ is not an issue at all;83 the play demonstrates the contrast between right, correct or decent, and wrong, incorrect or indecent ways to manage lust. We might even wonder to what extent the usual description of the play as a ‘love story’ is adequate.

There is another point of contact between the Miracles and the abele spelen: the ‘internal social setting’ of the plays. The three ‘romantic’ abele spelen, and at least ten of the Miracles, are situated in upper-class circles: high nobility and royalty. This may indicate that an urban audience had a preference for these circles or enjoyed seeing rich costumes. Yet, their tastes are more ‘modern’ and possibly more ‘vulgar’ than those ascribed by Prevenier to the ‘patricians of the thirteenth-century cities of the Low Countries’, who imitated the patterns of life of the nobility. ‘We can easily imagine that this type of urban patriciate flirted snobbishly with the romances of chivalry, made accessible to them by increasing use of the vernacular’.84 In contrast, the ‘noble’ setting in the abele spelen is little more than Dutch foil; the values and style of the plays are not those of earlier aristocratic literature.

It can hardly be a coincidence that Lanseloet bears the name of the

famous Lancelot of the Lake. It has been argued that, as Lancelot is the courtly lover par excellence, the poet deliberately wanted to evoke the great contrast between the namesakes; ‘The mere fact that the stage character bears a name that, when it comes to love, has favourable connotations makes his behaviour all the more striking and despicable’.85 Given the ideas on sex and marriage in the play, we might as well think that the poet intentionally evokes the character of a knight who has a reputation for sexual immorality.86

On the whole, both Lanseloet in particular and ‘his’ abel spel in general might owe a great deal of their high valuation in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries to romantic and anachronistic judgements. If Lanseloet's love for Sanderijn is valued as a Great Passion, ‘the mightiest feeling that can inspirit human beings’, the play demonstrates ‘how uncourtliness, or if one might say lust, causes the loss of true love and the destruction of the life of an otherwise noble, and therefore appealing, passionate lover.’87 Only if Lanseloet endears himself by the great merit of being in love at all, can he be seen as a truly tragic hero, whose moral weakness and wicked mother cause his piteous downfall. As far as the beauty of the play depends on Lanseloet's role as a noble and tragic hero, it may first of all have been in the romantic eye of the beholder.

Interpretations of Lanseloet might provide interesting material for future studies of nineteenth- and twentieth-century preferences and values. Poor Lanseloet has recently, and for good reasons, sunk in our estimation. On the other hand, his character has, possibly unfairly, suffered from changing attitudes toward sexual violence. As recently as forty years ago, Trilling could suppose, in a rhetorical exclamation, that ‘we naturally incline to be lenient toward a rapist [...] who eventually feels a deathless devotion to his victim!’88 At present, this statement would be either impossible, or extremely provocative. It is obvious that Lanseloet's treatment of Sanderijn is severely censured, and his death well-deserved. All the same, Sanderijn,

like her model Tamar, explicitly says that Lanseloet's speech and behaviour afterward dismayed her more than anything else. The first words of her complaint do not even concern Lanseloet; she expresses first of all her indignation at the mother's false lie, which brought her into Lanseloet's power. It should be remembered that this text is not an ‘authentic’ reaction to a real rape, but a speech put into a player's mouth by a poet who wants to picture her as a blameless victim. Still, there is no reason to accuse Lanseloet of the conscious intention to destroy Sanderijn both physically and mentally, as a proof of a rapist's hatred toward his victim,89 for we can hardly expect the poet to entertain, and refer to, late twentieth-century views on the causes and effects of sexual violence. Lanseloet is driven neither by love nor by hatred, but by lust impure and simple; Sanderijn's self-respect need not be affected at all, as she was forced against her will.90

The foreign knight is portrayed in a rather humorous style. When he meets Sanderijn, his ill success in hunting has greatly sharpened his hunting instinct. In their conversation, Sanderijn is gradually raised in his esteem. At first sight, he expects (as many of his fellow-fictional-knights would) that, like any girl alone in a forest, she must be sexually available for a fee or for free.91 When he discovers that she is too beautiful and well-bred to

be either a cheap prostitute or a wanton shepherdess, he presumes she must be more expensive: mistress of a very important person? In that case, prudence and ‘hunting etiquette’ would forbid him to touch her.92 When it eventually dawns upon him that she is not only beautiful and civilized, but also honourable and single, he realizes that he can only possess her by marrying her. And this he is prepared to do. A fine climax.

His reaction to the allegory of the falcon may prove that he understands that Sanderijn has been raped and therefore is innocent.93 In his tactful answer, he proves that his original sexual impulse has taken on a ‘legitimate’ intention. He is not only willing to provide the proper context by marrying her first, he also explicitly intends to put his lust - please God - to its proper purpose: procreation.94

As seen by Pleij, social inequality is, in the abele spelen, one of the ‘nearly unsurmountable obstacles to true love, the basis of starting family life’; but on these points, ‘the city envisions a more practical approach’. The gist of Lanseloet is ‘that in principle everything is possible within the framework of the new marriage morals observed in the city.’95 We might object that the play does not very convincingly advocate social mobility through marriage and that true love has little to do with it; instead, the gist of the play comes closer to the view that in principle it is wise to practise self-control and to observe

conservative ideas on sex and marriage.

Pleij's reasons for saddling the foreign knight with ‘an extremely practical bent’ and modern, businesslike ‘ideas about work and investment’96 have failed to convince me. It is not a truth universally acknowledged that a single knight must be in want of a wife, nor that Sanderijn's loss of virginity would have been ‘an insurmountable problem for continuing her career in a courtly milieu’.97 As the knight himself proposes never to mention the subject again, there is no reason at all to think Sanderijn's reputation stained.98 Pleij, who supposes that Sanderijn is still in tears when the knight finds her, thinks that a true knight would have

offered to help or defend her.99 He further makes the knight refer to the girl as an article of trade, when saying that Sanderijn, as a wife, would be more valuable than a wild boar, even one made of solid gold.100 This takes the boar-comparison out of context. It is one of the knight's first lines to Sanderijn, when he mistakes her for a quarry, and a boar is first of all big game, not an article of trade. The gold is an extra bid. If taken at its value on the gold market, we might as well suppose that all heroines in court literature and urban drama who value their virtue higher than a great sum (usually a hundred thousand marks) in gold see their virtue as an article of trade. The comparison is intended to stress the view that the ‘article’ under discussion is priceless.

Yet I think Pleij is quite right when he characterizes the setting of the abele spelen as ‘a fantasized world of chivalry’, in intention focused on ‘the ambitions of the rising urban elite’, even though I would rather call it ‘an urban audience's ideals and ideas on wise and proper behaviour’.

Earlier scholars have gone out of their way to argue that, on Sanderijn's side, her marriage is not at all, or at least not exclusively, a marriage of convenience. They have supposed that the knight's honourable conduct inspired her spontaneous and sincere affection.101 This reflects the notion that ‘it is mildly shameful to marry without being in love with one's intended spouse.’102 I think this puts the cart before the horse: when Sanderijn later expounds her great love for her husband, she only proves that she feels as a good wife should. Possibly, ‘conjugal love’ is rated much higher than ‘being in love’, especially if one is a virtuous female. The poet certainly did not share future obsessions with ‘sincerity’ or ‘spontaneity’ as the necessary and exclusive traits that make an emotion true and valid. Sanderijn is a model of feminine virtue; her moral attitude and conduct

reflect purity, a praiseworthy self-control and sense of propriety. Her moral integrity may have been qualified later as ‘sincerity’ because this is presently valued as the more attractive merit.103 On the other hand, her response to Lanseloet's attempts to seduce her has recently been called ‘sober’ and ‘level-headed’, which is, I think, a rather poor compliment.104

On the whole, Lanseloet seems to propagate a moralistic view of sex and marriage. The internal setting of the play, ‘fictional nobility’, probably increased its attraction for a middle-class audience. If we were to try tentatively to locate the play against the background of opinions on ‘fiction and morality’, it could be classed as a continuation of a ‘conservative’ view of ‘immoral fiction’. In court literature, this was certainly an option; still, a literate audience would be mentally equipped to enjoy ‘immoral’ literature because they could recognize its values while realizing that it was ‘only’ fiction. Possibly a city audience would be in greater danger of being confused or corrupted by fiction; they might also prefer the kind of poetic justice that would suit and mirror their own ideas of right and wrong. The originally ‘fictional’ ideal of love and marriage, an important topic in court texts like the Limborch, takes on a more realistic and moralistic form; emotions are potentially dangerous. Possibly, stage performances as such require a high degree of conformism; as Booth points out, ‘A play is likely to depend for its success on a consensus established immediately and without reflection; without some sort of community gathered together in one spot, the theatre cannot survive, and even the most disturbing plays are almost always built upon easily grasped, commonly accepted norms.’105 The poet of Lanseloet may have found just the right balance between exotic and erotic drama and serious morality that makes the play both exciting and satisfying.106

De spiegel der minnen

De spiegel der minnen (‘The mirror of love’) is a serial play in six parts, written in Brussels in about 1500 by Colijn van Rijssele.107 In the prologue of the first part, the story is presented as having recently occurred in Middelburg and Dordrecht. It is the sad-ending love-story of Dierick den Hollander, a rich merchant's son, and Katherina Sheermertens, a poor linen seamstress. Much reduced, the story amounts to the following:

(1-2) Katherina and Dierick meet and fall in love, but they both realize that marriage is impossible for reasons of rank. Yet nature is stronger than reason, and they declare their feelings. Dierick's parents find out and reprimand him; Dierick denies. Still, they decide to send him away to cure him. Katherina is warned by her father and a kinsman to guard her reputation; she denies loving Dierick. Dierick must go to Dordrecht. The lovers are much distressed; Katherina gives Dierick a lock of her hair in exchange for his promise to return after one month.

(3-4) In his uncle's inn in Dordrecht Dierick falls seriously ill from lovesickness. His parents, when informed, decide that he had better stay away from Middelburg for the time being. On the appointed day, Katherina vainly waits for Dierick's return; she gets suspicious. Her kinsman proposes to pretend to go on a pilgrimage to find out what has kept Dierick; Katherina will dress in men's clothes. They meet Dierick in his uncle's inn; he looks very pale and weak. Katherina's kinsman now tries to make Dierick confess his love. He strongly denies it:

 
Ick en droegher seker noyt liefde toe;
 
Al sprack icker teghens, ick wast haest moe.
 
Merckt by u selven: al isse schoone,
 
Sy ware mi te snoode van persoone.108

He concludes: as such love would be humiliating, he prefers to stay single.

Though he only meant to conceal his love - he had promised secrecy - Katherina takes his words at face value and is outraged. At night she steals

the girdle in which Dierick keeps her hair-lock; she and her kinsman return to Middelburg. Dierick wakes up, misses his girdle and is desperate. He urgently bids his uncle to take him back to Middelburg.

(5-6) Dierick's parents fear that he will die. They hope a ‘croonspel’ (a dancing party)109 in front of their house will cheer him. Dierick watches; when he at last sees Katherina, she is wearing his girdle. Now he is very much upset and wants to speak to her. His parents reluctantly promise to fetch her. Katherina, however, refuses to visit Dierick: it would affect her reputation, and she cannot believe that he really cares for her at all.

Dierick dies, after asking his parents' forgiveness. He finally realizes that he should not blame Katherina for his death: it is his own fault, caused by his intemperate love. Going to church next morning, Katherina overhears two men discussing Dierick's death. She faints, is taken home, and dies after acknowledging her faults and praying to Our Lady. Dierick and Katherina are buried in one grave.

The social and geographical setting of this play is surprising, as all contemporary ‘amorous plays’, possibly as modern successors to the abele spelen, have mythological subjects.110 The choice of subject matter is discussed in the first prologue, where mythological material is rejected in favour of a story that happened nearby and in the recent past. Love's causes and development are carefully analyzed. Dierick and Katherina were both conceived under Saturn (with Phoebus, the sun, in Scorpio), which explains their common melancholic temperament. They were born under Venus, when Phoebus was in Leo. These planets and the sign exert their influence by means of so-called sinnekens,111 who embody the semi-

demonical astral influences to which Dierick and Katherina are subjected by their temperament and birth. Two of these are Leo's children: Begheerte van Hoocheden (Desire of High Position) and Vreese voor Schande (Fear of Disgrace). The third, Jalours Ghepeyns (Jealous Thought) is cooked up by Saturn in the course of the play from the ‘ketel der memorien’ (kettle of memory).112 Details like these indicate that the play is a very ambitious piece of work, not only in its innovative setting, but also in its endeavour to reveal the universal forces behind the visible, material world.

Class-consciousness plays an important role. Both Dierick and Katherina realize from the very start that the class difference is a very real obstacle to marriage. Dierick even decides to hide his love from Katherina, of which Desire of High Position and Fear of Disgrace make him feel ashamed. Katherina, though held back by Fear of Disgrace, is encouraged by Desire of High Position. These traits of character are not quite negative in themselves, though they cause pride, ambition and hypocrisy. The sinnekens maliciously incite the lovers' weaknesses; in the end, it is these faults combined with uncontrolled and immoderate love within the given social constellation that lead to the death of the lovers.

Katherina is a linen seamstress; her social environment is hardly pictured at all. In her first scene she is not sewing, but making a wreath of roses. Her father is a simple and naive man. When he is warned by his more perceptive kinsman that Katherina often meets Dierick, he is distressed at the great peril to her reputation, as nobody would ever marry a penniless girl. He and his kinsman advise Katherina to be modest, prudent and obedient. Poor girls should practise the virtues appropriate to their class and sex.

Dierick's parents are pictured as living in grand style, and much concerned with their honour, which they value more than anything else. They cherish the wish that Dierick will marry a nobleman's daughter. On the whole, we get a rather positive image of the class and its high values and ambitions. Dierick himself considers the possibility of marrying into the nobility, or rather, Desire of High Position suggests that he might find a well-born bride who is as beautiful and virtuous as Katherina into the bargain. At that stage, Dierick is so much in love that he rejects the idea and defends his love; natural love, caused by natural affection and equality of temperament, disregards wealth and rank. The sinnekens conclude that

Dierick is so blinded by love that his Desire of High Position and his Fear of Disgrace are impaired.

On the whole, the play not only shows a double standard for men and women, but also for social classes. For high-class people, an honourable pride is acceptable, or even a virtue, while lower-class people should be humble.

Upward social mobility through marriage is a dream cherished by poor Katherina, but it never comes true; marrying so far below his social class would disgrace Dierick. On the other hand, both Dierick and his parents assume that his great wealth and high style of living entitle him to marry a knight's daughter. As Dierick's parents appear more often in the play and have many more lines than Katherina's father, we get the impression that the ideas and thoughts of their class on the subject are the more important or the more authoritative.

In contrast, there is an outspoken quantitative and qualitative equivalence in the roles of Dierick and Katherina. They share the same physical temperament, and were at birth equipped with the same mental makeup. Their psychology is presented with very subtle artistry. But even though all the causes for their mutual attraction and further development are explained, the play is very explicit about the fact that no fatality compels them to fall in love, as everyone, by his own free will, is basically responsible for the way in which he handles his natural inclinations.

The overall interpretation of this complex play is not clear at first sight. A central question is, whether, or to what extent, it advocates social mobility through marriage. I will discuss this issue from the very first extant document.

De spiegel der minnen was first printed in 1561 with an epilogue by Dierick Volkertsz Coornhert, humanist, publisher and author of the first treatise on ethics in Dutch. Van Eeghem was convinced that Coornhert had personal reasons for his warm appreciation of the play: his own first name was Dierick, and he was from Holland; furthermore he married a poor girl in 1540, when he was only nineteen, for which reason he was disinherited by his rich mother. He must have strongly sympathized with poor Dierick.113

Coornhert himself added an epilogue, in which he defends the play against presumed objections. He states that ‘de dolinghe deser twee minnaren niet te verschoonen en is/ ten waer men de gemeen menschelijke

brooscheid tot een vijgheblad wilde gebruycken’ (‘the error of these two lovers cannot be excused, unless one would wish to use mankind's common frailty as a fig leaf’).114 Yet chronicles and books on history, which are full of crimes and violence, are generally valued and praised. This is because evil must be known if it is to be avoided. Especially young people very much need, but generally despise, proper moral instruction. The merit of the play is that its amorous subject matter will surely attract young people, but that its sad end will strongly discourage them from a love like that of Dierick and Katherina, which is ‘een ontsinnige ende dolle sotheyt’ (‘a senseless and mad folly’). Moreover, this play is morally greatly superior to Terence and Plautus, as it shows only chaste, honourable and true love. Readers need not take offence at the lovers' disregard of their parents' disapproval, as this is justly punished by the piteous end.

Coornhert expresses a sympathetic understanding of worried parents with marriageable children, who are in constant fear that their sons and daughters will mismarry without their knowledge and consent. On the whole, Coornhert takes De spiegel der minnen as a warning against love ties between young people of unequal social position, and because of this tendency he warmly recommends it as a piece of pleasant and profitable education for young people.

Coornhert's opinion did not meet with the approval of later scholars. In her edition of De spiegel der minnen, Immink disagrees with Coornhert on the moral of the play. In her opinion, the poet intends to show that love is endangered by the lovers' listening to the sinnekens. According to Immink, the only message that an unprejudiced reader can derive from the play is: if the lovers had been more trusting, they would not have died; distrust, denial and Katherina's misplaced sense of honour were their only sins. Though Colijn elsewhere blames love itself and teaches ‘Mint by maten’ and ‘mint uus ghelijcke’ (‘Love in proper moderation’ and ‘love your equal’), these are only practical instructions that do not agree with the poet's true and innermost convictions. The condemnation of love itself must therefore be seen as a concession to the usual prosaic view of life of his fellow-authors.115 In short: apart from Colijn's false or true intentions, Coornhert's opinion obviously does not agree with Immink's innermost convictions.

More recently, Mak took the message of the play to be a warning, not

for young people, but for their parents and other relatives, who are instructed not to spoil a pure love.116 Van der Meulen agrees with Mak and Immink. He suggests two moral tendencies: parents should not restrain their children when these strive after their own happiness, and: do not listen to the promptings of the sinnekens, have more confidence in love. Van der Meulen wonders why Coornhert admired and published the play at all, as his own dramas are quite devoid of passionate love. Typical of him, Coornhert attributes a moral and didactic value to the play, more specifically the dangers of disobedience toward parents. According to Van der Meulen, Coornhert is too sober and objective to appreciate the tendencies that to ‘us’ seem obvious.117

Prevenier and De Hemptinne, discussing affection and love as a basis for choice of partner, mention De spiegel der minnen as a play that advocates love and erotic attraction as the basis of a good marriage, even between socially unequal partners.118 This view is more radical than that of an earlier publication, on which this opinion apparently is founded.119

A valuable find is the relation between the Spiegel and number 26 of the Cent nouvelles nouvelles. In the nouvelle, a young and noble lady called Katherine is pressed to marry against her wish. She visits her beloved (whom her family will not accept, as he is of slightly inferior birth) in disguise, only to discover that he is unfaithful. The travesty clearly inspired the fourth play of the Spiegel. However, the social setting and the story differ considerably. The nouvelle seems to discourage free choice of partner, as Katherine, disillusioned, in the end marries her parents' candidate. At her wedding, she refuses to dance with her former lover, who now repents.

Still, Prevenier et al. have argued that the Spiegel reflects new and more democratic ideas on love and rank. They think the poet intends to show that lower-class people can also experience a fine and subtle erotic love. They point out that Katherina expresses her erotic fantasy in the same words as a

goddess in another play does.120 As a further proof, they refer to a scene in which Katherina's dress and looks are criticized by the sinnekens; Katherina would defend her sensuality by claiming a right of erotic seduction.121 On closer inspection, Katherina's claims put her motives in a very different light. It is Desire of High Position, not her sensuality, that makes her adorn herself, as she fears to lose Dierick to more beautiful competitors. The same Desire had earlier in the play encouraged Katherina to try and hook the rich Dierick; as love is blind, her beauty will do the trick.122

Prevenier et al. do quote the unequivocal ‘Mint uus ghelijcke’ (‘Love your equal’) from the epilogue, but its speaker is condescendingly referred to as ‘een van de zedeprekers’ (‘one of the moralizers’).123 This rather betrays both an anachronistic dislike of moralizers and a romantic resistance towards his advice. As the speaker, Jonstighe Sin (‘Well-disposed Mind’, both as a poet and as a lover) embodies the ‘fictional poet’ of the play, he is certainly one of the more reliable mouthpieces of the author's judgements.

In my opinion, Coornhert's interpretation not only comes closest in time, but also in intention. In our eyes, the story of Dierick and Katherina may be a touching love story with a shocking conclusion, perfectly satisfying our taste for Romance and Tragedy. To a contemporary audience - probably a patrician elite with rather grand intellectual and social aspirations - the love between Dierick and Katherina must have been much more shocking than we are able or willing to imagine; their deaths more touching. The lively and very convincing depiction of love and its tortures does not advertise a free choice of partner; on the contrary, it shows the great dangers of giving free rein to one's passions. Seen in this light, the poet does not waver between the roles of a conformist, moralizing rederijker and that of a gently undermining, tender anarchist,124 however much we would prefer the latter.

Conclusion

A general statement on the subject ‘the development of ideas and images of love and marriage in medieval Low Countries literature’ would, of course, require much more material and a more ambitious scale. Still, some elements in the few texts I discussed may be typical. In theory, love has a natural cause and does not regard wealth or rank. Yet, such ‘spontaneous’ love is not a virtue; it might even be an ‘accident’. A lover needs self-control and instruction to practise the art of love in a proper way. Just ‘falling in love’ is never seen as a sufficient condition for marriage.

Fiction can tell us a lot about the needs, dreams and preferences of its audience where love is concerned. As long as it lasts, the play or story presupposes a temporary belief, which can either offer an escape from reality, or confirm ideas and values, or do both at the same time. In the fictional other world, love can be pictured in a way that would not be possible in real life. As a literate court audience could probably recognize the genre of a text after a few lines, they knew from experience what to expect, and how to estimate the story.

None of the fictional texts I discussed seems to approve of social mobility by marriage. The relation between love and marriage is certainly not self-evident. In the Limborch, Echites' love for Margriete starts as a blind and wild obsession; it takes a lot of time and effort to acquire its proper shape. The discovery of Margriete's true identity is necessary to remove a strong obstacle to their marriage, which is also the end of their adventures. Lanseloet's love is a dangerous passion, that leads to crime and ends in death; the ‘good’ knight shows how a decent man should manage his lust. The love between Katherina and Dierick in De spiegel der minnen comes closest to our ideas of love, and their marriage would indeed have been a love-match, had it been possible. As it was not, their love brings only misery and destruction.

On the whole, I get the impression that interpretations of medieval texts are usually too romantic. Basically, the problem is not the association of love and marriage, but the qualities and value attributed to love. Whatever we find in medieval fiction - ‘courtly love’, conjugal love, amour-passion, true love, etc., - we always and naively tend to colour and judge the concepts with our own ideas and standards of romantic love, which is a far more modern invention. It is difficult to realize the great density of the smokescreen that separates our feelings and sentiments, and therefore our reaction to literature, from those of a past age. But even if we try to reduce

the danger of anachronism by choosing more recent and therefore more congenial fiction as a backward stepping stone, it can hardly be eliminated.

This may be illustrated by criticism on the writings of Jane Austen, whose novels display very romantic views on love and marriage. Still, Jane Austen does consider practical matters. Her opinion on wealth and marriage has been summed up as: ‘It was wrong to marry for money, but foolish to marry without it.’125 She has been much reproached for being mercenary and businesslike by considering the point at all. As she wrote her novels less than two centuries ago, this should make us think.

When we boldly tackle fictional - or any - texts from a much earlier age, we should realize that we enter a different and alien world, in which our ‘knowledge’ of what love ‘really’ is or should be like is irrelevant or even fictional, and a great handicap. A more open-minded approach to historical fiction might at least raise our consciousness of present-day assumptions. After all, all the world is not a stage.126


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