Le lai del
Freisne vus dirai sulunc le cunte que jeo sai.
En Bretaigne jadis maneient
dui chevalier ; veisin esteient.
Riche hume furent e manant,
e chevalier pru e vaillant.
Prochein furent, d’une cuntree.
Chescuns femme aveit espusee.
L’une des dames enceinta.
Al terme qu’ele delivra,
a cele feiz ot dous enfanz.
Sis sire en est liez e joianz.
Pur la joie que il en a,
a sun bon veisin le manda,
que sa femme a dous fiz eüz,
de tanz enfanz esteit creüz ;
l'un li rametra a lever,
de sun nun le face nomer
Il lai del Frassino io vi dirò
secondo il racconto che so.
a
C'erano una volta in Bretagna due cavalieri, che erano vicini;
furono uomini ricchi e potenti
e cavalieri fieri e valenti.
Erano vicini, della stessa terra
e tutti e due avevano una moglie.
Una delle dame rimase incinta;
e quando fu il tempo di partorire,
lei fece due gemelli.
Il suo signore è lieto e gioioso;
per la gioia che gliene viene
manda a dire al suo buon vicino che la sua donna ha avuto due figli,
tanti
bambini le erano cresciuti
gliene mandava uno da allevare,
col suo nome per farlo battezzare.
I'll tell you the lai of the Ash Tree now, Le
Fresne, as a story goes I know.
In Brittany lived, yesteryear,
Two knights - they were neighbors, near,
Rich men, the sort who do what they want
Noble knights, bold, proud, valiant.
They'd lived near each other all their life,
And each had married himself a wife.
Soon one lady grew big with child;
When her nine months was fulfilled,
In one birth she produced two boys.
Her good lord could not count his joys -
Then, to add to his joys' savor
He sent word to his good neighbor
His wife's had not one son, but two!
So many children
inside her grew -
He'll give one boy to his friend to raise,
And with his own name to baptize.
Li riches huem sist al mangier ;
a tant es vus le messagier !
Devant le deis s’agenoilla,
tut sun message li cunta.
Li sire en a deu mercié ;
un bon cheval li a doné.
La femme al chevalier s’en rist,
ki juste lui al mangier sist ;
kar ele ert feinte e orguilluse
e mesdisanz e enviüse.
Ele parla mult folement,
e dist oant tute sa gent :
’Si m’aït deus, jo m’esmerveil,
u cist prozdum prist cest cunseil,
qu’il a mandé a mun seignur
sa hunte e sa grant deshonur,
que sa femme a eüz dous fiz.
E il e ele en sunt huniz.
Nus savum bien qu’il i afiert :
unques ne fu ne ja nen iert
ne n’avendra cele aventure,
qu’a une sule porteüre
une femme dous enfanz ait,
se dui hume ne li unt fait.’
Sis sire l’a mult esguardee,
mult durement l’en a blasmee.
At his table sits the
rich man -
Look! here comes his friend's footman;
In front of the high table he kneels;
His message, word for word, he tells.
The lord thanked God for the news, of course,
And gave the messenger a fine horse.
The knight's wife smiled just a little
(She sat right beside him at table)
For she was full of envy and pride;
She loved saying cruel things; she lied.
This time she really lost her head: Right
in front of everyone, she said
"So help me God, I do wonder
Where this gentleman found the advisor
Who told him to ask my lord to foster
A child born of shame and dishonor.
For his wife bore two boys, not one,
To his dishonor, and her own.
It's quite true, as we all know well,
That never was, nor will we hear tell,
Nor could it happen on this earth
That one woman in a single birth
Had two separate sons, except where
Two separate men had put them there." Her
lord looked her over, long and hard,
Then scolded her
for what he'd heard:
’Dame’,
fet il,’laissiez ester !
Ne devez mie issi parler !
Veritez est que ceste dame
a mult esté de bone fame.’
La genz ki en la maisun erent
cele parole recorderent.
Asez fu dite e coneüe,
par tute Bretaigne seüe.
Mult en fu la dame haïe ;
puis en dut estre mal baillie.
Tutes les femmes ki l’oïrent,
povres e riches, l’en haïrent.
Cil ki le message ot porté
a sun seignur a tut cunté.
Quant il l’oï dire e retraire
dolenz en fu, ne sot que faire ;
sa prude femme en enhaï
e durement la mescreï,
e mult la teneit en destreit,
senz ceo qu’ele nel deserveit.
"Lady," he said, "let it drop!
You shouldn't say such things, so stop!
The truth is that, all her life,
That lady's been a faithful wife."
Everyone in the house heard
And remembered every word.
It was talked about and repeated
Until all Brittany had heeded.
The lady was hated for her slur
(Later, worse will come to her) -
Poor wife or rich wife, every and each
Who heard it hated her for her speech.
The messenger went back to his lord
And told him the story, every word.
When he'd heard it told and explained,
He suffered, was confused and pained.
His good wife, his children's mother,
He mistrusted now altogether,
And he guarded her, almost in prison,
Though she had given him no reason.
La
dame ki si mesparla
en l’an meïsmes enceinta.
De dous enfanz est enceintiee :
ore est sa veisine vengiee !
Desqu’a sun terme les porta.
Dous filles ot : mult li pesa.
Mult durement en est dolente ;
a sei meïsmes se demente.
The
lady who'd come up with this smear
Got pregnant herself within the year,
And pregnant, in fact, with twins.
Now her neighbor, the good wife, wins!
And bore two daughters. It hurts too
Much - she suffers awful torments.
To herself now she laments:
’Lasse’,
fet ele, ’que ferai ?
Ja mes pris ne honur n’avrai !
Hunie sui, c’est veritez.
Mis sire e tuz mis parentez
certes ja mes ne me crerrunt,
des que ceste aventure orrunt ;
kar jeo meïsmes me jujai,
de tutes femmes mesparlai.
Dunc dis jeo que unques ne fu
ne nus ne l’aviüm veü,
que femme dous enfanz eüst,
se dous humes ne coneüst.
Ore en ai dous ; ceo m’est a vis,
sur mei en est turnez li pis.
Ki sur altrui mesdit e ment,
ne set mie qu’a l’ueil li pent ;
de tel hume puet l’um parler,
ki mielz de lui fet a loër.
Pur mei defendre de hunir
un des enfanz m’estuet murdrir.
Mielz le vueil vers deu amender
que mei hunir ne vergunder.’
"Alas!"
she says, "What shall I do?
I'll never regain my honor, it's true!
"Alas!" she says, "What
shall I do?
I'll never regain my honor, it's true!
My good name! No, shame thrives and lives.
My lord and all his relatives
Will never believe me now, for sure,
Once they hear of this adventure,
For I have judged myself a criminal;
I spoke ill of all women, all $-
For didn't I say that it's never been
Nor have we ourselves ever seen
A woman who bore two children
Unless she had known two men?
Now I have two; it's plain to see,
The worst of it's turned back on me.
You can slander others and lie
But not know it'll hit you in the eye;
A person may speak ill of a person
Who's more worth praising than the first one.
Now, to avoid castigation
I must kill one of these children.
I'd rather make it up to
God
Than live in shame, under a cloud."
Celes
ki en la chambre esteient
la cunfortouent e diseient
qu’eles nel suferreient pas ;
d’enfant ocire n’est pas gas.
The
women in the room there with her
Comforted her but they told her
They couldn't let her act as she spoke -
Killing people is no joke.
La
dame aveit une meschine,
ki mult esteit de franche orine ;
lung tens l’ot guardee e nurrie
e mult amee e mult cherie.
Cele oï sa dame plurer,
durement pleindre e doluser ;
anguissusement li pesa.
A li vint, si la cunforta.
’Dame’, fet ele, ’ne valt rien.
Laissiez cest duel, si ferez bien !
L’un des enfanz me bailliez ja !
Jeo vus en deliverrai ja,
si que honie n’en serez
ne que ja mes ne la verrez.
A un mustier la geterai,
tut sein e salf l’i porterai.
Alcuns prozdum la trovera,
se deu plest, nurrir la fera.’
La dame oï que cele dist.
Grant joie en out ; si li promist,
se cel servise li faiseit,
bon gueredun de li avreit.
En un chief de mult bon cheinsil
envolupent l’enfant gentil
e desus un paile roé ;
The
lady kept a damsel; she
Came from the best kind of family.
She'd brought her up with great care
And loved her and held her dear.
She heard how the lady cried,
Wept and mourned and piteously sighed.
This tormented the poor maid; she
Came to comfort her dear lady.
"Madame," she said, "Now there's no need -
Stop mourning so - listen, heed
Me! Give one of these babes to me -
I'll take it and you will be free.
I'll see you never feel shame or pain,
Or ever have to see her again.
I'll dump her somewhere on church ground
(I'll carry her there safe and sound).
Some holy man'll find her in the church;
God willing, he'll find her a nurse."
She spoke thus, and the lady heard
With greatest joy; she gave her word
If the girl carried this task forward
She'd give her a rich reward.
In a fine linen scarf they lapped
The noble babe, then gently wrapped
Her in a wheel -stitched silk brocade.
sis sire li ot aporté
de Costentinoble u il fu ;
unques si bon n’orent veü.
A une piece d’un suen laz
un gros anel li lie al braz.
De fin or i aveit une unce ;
el chastun out une jagunce ;
la verge en tur esteit letree.
La u la meschine iert trovee,
bien sacent tuit veraiement
qu’ele est nee de bone gent.
La dameisele prist l’enfant ;
de la chambre s’en ist a tant.
La nuit quant tut fu aseri,
fors de la vile s’en eissi.
En un grant chemin est entree,
ki en la forest l’a menee.
Par mi le bois sa veie tint.
Od tut l’enfant ultre s’en vint ;
unques del grant chemin n’eissi.
Bien loinz sur destre aveit oï
chiens abaier e cos chanter :
iluec purra vile trover.
Cele part vet a grant espleit,
u la noise des chiens oeit.
En une vile riche e bele
est entree la dameisele.
En la vile out une abeïe
durement riche e bien guarnie ;
A gift from her lord, it was made
In Constantinople - he'd been there;
No-one ever saw a cloth so fair.
With a piece of bodice-string
She tied on Baby's arm a ring,
A big ring, pure gold, an ounce heavy,
Set with a fine rosy ruby,
And letters engraved all around.
Wherever the baby might be found,
Anyone would know, at once and truly,
She had been born to good family.
The damsel picked up the infant
And left the lady's room that instant.
That night, after the sun was down,
She slipped quietly out of town.
She took her way along a high road
Which led her into the wild wood.
She keeps to the path through the forest shade
To the other side, still holding the babe;
Off the main road she never veers.
Far away, to the right, she hears
Dogs bark, cocks crow to call the dawn.
That way, she knows, she'll find a town.
Quick as she can she makes her way
In the direction she heard dogs bay.
In a town of beauty and wealth
This young woman finds herself.
In the town is an abbey
Richly endowed in every way;
mun
esciënt noneins i ot
e abeesse kis guardot,
La meschine vit le mustier,
les turs, les murs e le clochier.
Hastivement est la venue.
Devant l’us s’est aresteüe.
L’enfant mist jus qu’ele porta ;
mult humblement s’agenuilla.
Ele comence s’oraisun.
’Deus’, fait ele, ’par tun seint nun,
sire, se te vient a plaisir,
cest enfant guarde de perir ! ’
Quant sa preiere aveit finee,
ariere sei s’est reguardee.
Un fraisne vit, le e branchu
e mult espés e bien ramu ;
en quatre furs esteit quarrez ;
pur umbre faire i fu plantez.
Entre ses braz a pris l’enfant,
des i qu’al fraisne vint corant.
Desus le mist ; puis le laissa ;
a deu le veir le comanda.
La dameisele ariere vait ;
sa dame cunte qu’ele a fait.
I
happen to know, here live some nuns
And a prudent abbess runs
It. The maiden spots the steeple, tall,
Sees the abbey towers and wall.
She goes there at her quickest rate
And stops before the abbey gate.
She lays down the child she's borne all night
And kneels down, humble in God's sight.
She begins her prayer this way:
"God, by your holy name I pray
If it please you, please, dear Lord,
Protect this child, be its safeguard."
When she'd finished all her prayer
She happened to look behind her.
She saw an ash tree thick and wide
With boughs and branches on every side;
At its fork it branched in four.
Shade is what it was planted for.
She picked the baby up again
And ran to the ash tree - "fresne."
She put the child up, left her there;
God watch over you, was her prayer.
Now the maiden goes back home
To tell her lady what she's done.
En
l’abeïe ot un portier ;
ovrir suleit l’us del mustier,
de fors par unt la genz veneient
ki le servise oïr voleient.
Icele nuit par tens leva.
Chandeiles, lampes aluma,
les seins sona e l’us ovri.
Sor le fraisne les dras choisi ;
quida qu’alkuns les eüst pris
en larrecin e iluec mis
d’altre chose nen ot reguard.
Plus tost qu’il pot vint cele part ;
taste, si a l’enfant trové.
Il en a deu mult mercié,
e puis l’a pris, si ne l’i lait.
A sun ostel od tut s’en vait.
Une fille ot ki vedve esteit ;
sis sire ert morz, enfant aveit
petit en berz e alaitant.
Li prozdum l’apela avant.
’Fille’, fet il, levez, levez !
Fu e chandeile m’alumez !
Un enfant ai ci aporté,
la fors el fraisne l’ai trové.
De vostre lait le m’alaitiez ;
In
the abbey there was a porter
Who used to open the church door -
The gate through which the people pass
When they come to hear the Mass.
That night he was up betimes,
Lit lamps and candles, rang the chimes,
Opened the church, ready for Mass.
He glimpsed the cloth up in the ash.
He supposed it was some loot, seized
By a robber, hidden in the trees.
He had no other theory.
Quickly he went to the tree,
Felt around, and found the child.
Now he thanks God's mercy mild.
He doesn't leave the babe in the boughs,
But takes it right home to his house.
He has a daughter; she's a widow -
Her lord died leaving her a little
One in the cradle, still at her breast.
The good man calls her from her rest:
"Get up, get up, my dear daughter -
Light fire and candles, bring some water!
I've got a child, newborn, you see.
I found it outside, in the ash tree.
With your own milk you will nurse it.
Eschalfez
le e sil baigniez ! ’
Cele a fet sun comandement.
Le feu alume e l’enfant prent,
eschalfé l’a e bien baignié,
puis l’a de sun lait alaitié.
En tur sun braz trueve l’anel ;
le paile virent riche e bel :
bien sorent cil a esciënt
qu’ele est nee de halte gent.
El demain aprés le servise,
quant l’abeesse ist de l’eglise,
li portiers vet a li parler.
L’aventure li vuelt cunter
de l’enfant cum il le trova.
L’abeesse li comanda
que devant li seit aportez
tut issi cum il fu trovez.
A sa maisun vet li portiers.
L’enfant aporte volentiers,
si l’a a la dame mustré,
e el l’a forment esguardé,
e dit que nurrir le fera
e pur sa niece la tendra.
Al portier a bien defendu
qu’il ne die cument il fu.
Ele meïsmes l’a levee.
Pur ceo qu’el fraisne fu trovee,
Warm
it up now, gently wash it!"
She does just as he
commands -
Lights fire, takes the child in her hands,
Bathes the baby, gets it warm, Nurses it
with her own milk.
She finds the ring tied on its arm;
They see the rich, fine piece of silk.
They understand and both agree
This child is of the nobility.
The next day, when the good abbess
Leaves church after hearing Mass,
The porter comes to speak to her.
He wants to tell the adventure
Of the baby he found in the tree.
The abbess commands that he
Bring this foundling child around
To her, just as it was found.
The porter goes home quickly,
Brings the baby back gladly,
Shows my lady abbess the child.
She looks it over for a while;
She herself will have someone raise
This child as her niece, so she says.
She sternly forbids the porter
Ever to tell just how he brought her.
So the abbess brings the girl up now.
Because she was found in the ash-tree bough
Le
Fraisne li mistrent a nun,
e Le Fraisne l’apelë hum.
La dame la tint pur sa niece,
Issi fu celee grant piece ;
dedenz le clos de l’abeïe
fu la dameisele nurrie.
Quant ele aveit passé.vii. anz,
de sun aé fu bele e granz.
Des qu’ele pot raisun entendre,
l’abeesse l’a faite aprendre ;
car mult l’amout e cherisseit
e mult richement la vesteit.
Quant ele vint en tel eé
que nature furme belté,
en Bretaigne ne fu si bele
ne si curteise dameisele.
Franche esteit e de bone escole
e en semblant e en parole.
Nuls ne la vit ki ne l’amast
e merveille ne la preisast.
Li riche hume veeir l’alouent.
A l’abeesse demandouent,
sa bele niece lur mustrast
e que sufrist qu’a els parlast.
(Ash is "fresne"), they called her
"Le Fresne,"
And Le Fresne is her name among men.
The lady tells folk she's
her niece;
Thus a long time hidden, in peace,
Dwelling within the abbey close,
Gently brought up, the damsel grows.
When she reaches that age and stature
Where beauty is formed by nature,
There's no lovelier girl in Brittany,
No young lady more versed in courtesy.
Her noble nature was easy to teach
Good manners and gentleness of speech.
All who saw her loved this damsel,
Admired her, prized her as a marvel.
versi
mancanti nella traduzione inglese
A
Dol aveit un bon seignur :
unc puis ne einz n’i ot meillur.
Ici vus numerai sun nun :
el païs l’apelent Gurun.
De la pucele oï parler ;
si la cumença a amer.
A un turneiement ala ;
par l’abëie returna.
La dameisele a demandee ;
l’abeesse li a mustree
Mult la vit bele e enseigniee,
sage, curteise e afaitiee.
Se il nen a l’amur de li,
mult se tendra a mal bailli.
Esguarez est, ne set coment ;
kar se il repairout sovent,
l’abeesse s’aparcevreit ;
ja mes des uiz ne la verreit.
D’une chose se purpensa :
l’abeïe creistre voldra,
de sa terre tant i durra,
dunt a tuz jurs l’amendera ;
kar il i volt aveir retur
e le repaire e le sejur.
Pur aveir lur fraternité
la a grantment del soen doné ;
mult i aveit altre achaisun
The
lord of Dol was a noble prince -
No better lived before or since.
I'll tell you his name before I'm done:
His subjects called their lord Gurun.
He heard tell of this hidden maiden,
And began to love her unbidden.
He went jousting to a tourney,
And returned by way of the abbey.
He asked for the damsel fair;
The abbess showed her to him there.
He saw her,
so beautiful, wisely ruled
By prudence, polite, well-bred and -schooled.
If he can't have her love, he mused,
He will curse Fate and feel abused.
He's lost; how to do it? If he went
Too often to visit the convent,
The abbess'd think what might occur,
And he'd never get to set eyes on her.
He comes up with one strategy:
He resolves to endow the abbey;
He'll give land with such generosity
The abbey will benefit in perpetuity.
As benefactor, his only request
Is a room there, just a place to rest.
To join their brother- and sisterhoods
He's donated plenty of worldly goods;
It seems his purpose ends and begins
que
de receivre le pardun.
Soventes feiz i repaira.
A la dameisele parla ;
tant li preia, tant li premist,
qu’ele otria ceo que il quist.
Quant a seür fu de s’amur,
si la mist a raisun un jur.
’Bele’, fet il, ’ore est issi,
de mei avez fet vostre ami.
Venez vus ent del tut od mei !
Saveir poëz, jol quit e crei,
se vostre ante s’aparceveit,
mult durement li pesereit,
s’en tur li fussiez enceintiee ;
durement sereit curuciee.
Se mun cunseil creire volez,
ensemble od mei vus en vendrez.
Certes ja mes ne vus faldrai,
richement vus cunseillerai.
Cele ki durement l’amot
bien otria ceo que li plot.
Ensemble od lui en est alee ;
a sun chastel l’en a menee.
Sun paile en porte e sun anel :
de ceo li puet estre mult bel.
L’abeesse li ot rendu
With
obtaining remission of his sins.
Often he goes there to stay,
Talking to the girl all day.
With prayers and promises he haunts
Her till she gives him what he wants.
When he's sure of her affection,
He one day makes this proposition:
"Beauty," he says, "before this is over
Truth will out: you've made me your lover.
Now come live with me! Come, leave!
You know, as I think and believe,
If your aunt discovers our affair,
It'll be so hard for her to bear,
And if you should get pregnant here
She'd be so angry, having you near.
If you will just take my advice,
You'll come home with me - don't think twice.
For I will never fail or hurt you -
I will tell you what's best to do."
She, whose love always increases,
Gives in and does whatever pleases
Him. She goes off with him alone;
He takes her to his castle home.
She brings her ring and silk brocade,
Hoping they'll someday be of aid.
The abbess had given them to her,
e
dit coment ert avenu,
quant primes li fu enveiee.
Desus le fraisne fu culchiee ;
le paile e l’anel li bailla
cil ki primes li enveia ;
plus d’aveir ne receut od li ;
come sa niece la nurri,
La meschine bien les guarda ;
en un cofre les enferma.
Le cofre fist od sei porter,
nel volt laissier ne ubliër.
Li chevaliers ki l’en mena
mult la cheri e mult l’ama,
e tuit si hume e si servant ;
n’i out un sul, petit ne grant,
pur sa franchise ne l’amast
e ne cherist e honurast.
Lungement ot od lui esté,
tant que li chevalier fiefé
a mult grant mal li aturnerent.
Soventes feiz a lui parlerent,
qu’une gentil femme espusast
e de cele se delivrast.
Lié sereient, s’il eüst heir
ki aprés lui peüst aveir
Telling
her the whole adventure
How she had been sent to the abbey,
How she was found lying in the ash tree.
The silk and ring were her only present
From whoever it was who first sent
Her; she had no other legacies;
But she had raised her as her niece.
The girl looked them carefully over,
Then shut them up in a little coffer.
Now she brings this coffer along;
To leave or forget it would be wrong.
The knight who took her from the abbey
Loves and cherishes her dearly,
And his servants and the men of his hall -
There isn't one, big man or small,
Who doesn't love her noble ways,
And honor her as worth all praise.
Long had she lived with him this way
When his vassal knights one day
Began to treat this as a grievance.
Often and often they spoke to advance
Their plan: he'll take some noble bride,
And send this other from his side;
If he had an heir, they'd be glad,
Who'd have from him, as he had had,
sa
terre e sun grant heritage
Trop i avreient grant damage,
se il laissast pur sa suignant
que d’espuse n’eüst enfant.
Ja mes pur seignur nel tendrunt
ne volentiers nel servirunt,
se il ne fait lur volenté.
Li chevaliers a graanté
qu’a lur cunseil femme prendra.
Ore esguardent u ceo sera.
’Sire’, funt il, ’ci pres de nus
a uns prozdum parlé a nus.
Une fille a, si n’a plus d’eir :
mult poëz terre od li aveir.
La Coldre a nun la dameisele ;
en tut cest païs n’a si bele.
Pur le Fraisne que vus larrez
en eschange la Coldre avrez.
En la coldre a noiz e deduiz, li fraisnes ne porte unkes
fruiz,
La pucele purchaceruns :
se deu plest, si la vus durruns.’
Cel mariage unt purchacié
e de tutes parz otrié.
His
title, lands, and property.
What a crime - what a pity
If, because of this concubine,
He had no child in the legal line.
From now on, he loses his feudal rights;
He won't be lord of his vassal knights
Unless he does what they want him to.
The knight grants them their due:
He'll take a wife, with their advice.
Have they looked into a likely choice?
"My lord," they said, "Near our manor
Lives a nobleman, your equal in honor;
His one daughter's his heir, as it stands -
With her you could get vast lands.
She's called La Codre, the Hazel Tree,
No damsel for miles is so lovely.
Leave the Ash now lying there,
And trade her for the Hazel fair.
The Hazel gives sweet nuts and pleasure;
Barren Ash, fruitless, is no treasure.
We'll try to arrange to get this bride
To give you, if God's on our side."
They do what they can to attract
This marriage; soon they have a contract.
Alas
! cum est mesavenu,
que li prudume n’unt seü
l’aventure des dameiseles,
ki esteient serurs gemeles.
Le Fraisne cele fu celee ;
sis amis a l’altre espusee.
Quant ele sot que il la prist,
unkes peiur semblant n’en fist :
sun seignur sert mult bonement
e honure tute sa gent.
Li chevalier de la maisun
e li vadlet e li garçun
merveillus duel pur li faiseient
de ceo que perdre la deveient.
Al jur des noces qu’il unt pris
li sire i mande ses amis,
e l’erceveskes i esteit,
cil de Dol ki de lui teneit.
S’espuse li unt amenee.
Sa mere i est od li alee.
De la meschine aveit poür,
vers qui li sire ot tel amur,
que a sa fille mal tenist
vers sun seignur, s’ele poïst.
De sa maisun la getera ;
a sun gendre cunseillera
qu’a un produme la marit ;
si s’en deliverra, ceo dit.
Alas!
fate strikes a cruel blow
For none of these good men even know
These two damsels' past adventure:
Each is the other one's twin sister!
Her sister's hidden from Le Fresne -
Her lover marries the other one.
When she learns another's in her place,
She never makes an ugly face,
But serves her lord with sweet patience,
And treats his court with deference.
The knights of the lord's household,
Squires, servants young and old,
They all mourn for Le Fresne,
For now they'll never see her again.
The wedding day comes; her lord sends
Invitation to all his friends,
Dol's archbishop especially,
Who owes him feudal loyalty.
Now they present him with his bride.
Her mother's come there, at her side.
She fears that young girl, for her part,
Who, they say, holds this lord's heart;
She'd make mischief, surely, if she could,
Between her daughter and her lord.
They'll have to dump her, get her out,
She'll talk to her son-in-law about
Marrying her off to some gentleman -
He'll be free of her then. That's her plan.
Les
noces tindrent richement ;
mult i out esbaneiement.
La dameisele es chambres fu ;
unques de quan qu’ele a veü
ne fist semblant que li pesast
tant que ele s’en curuçast.
En tur la dame bonement
serveit mult afaitieement.
A grant merveille le teneient
cil e celes ki la veeient.
Sa mere l’a mult esguardee,
en sun quer preisiee e amee.
Pensa e dist, s’ele seüst
la maniere e que ele fust,
ja pur sa fille ne perdist
ne sun seignur ne li tolist.
La nuit al lit apareillier,
u l’espuse deveit culchier,
la damisele i est alee.
De sun mantel s’est desfublee.
Les chamberleins i apela ;
The
wedding feast was richly laid;
Music, games of all sorts were played.
The damsel had gone to the bedroom.
For all she'd seen, no sign of gloom
Hinted feelings deeply troubled,
Or, by a little anger, ruffled.
In the bride's entourage, sweetly,
She'd served everyone politely.
They marveled at her lack of venom,
All who saw her, men and women.
Her mother too had looked her over;
Her heart began to prize and love her.
She thought, and said, if she had known
What she was like, this other one,
She'd never have lost out to her daughter -
She'd not have taken her lord and master.
So, that night, to help prepare The
wedding bed for the bridal pair, The damsel went to the bridal
chamber;
She doffed her cloak (to disencumber
Herself for work), called servants there,
la
maniere lur enseigna
cument sis sire le voleit ;
kar meinte feiz veü l’aveit.
Quant le lit orent apresté,
un covertur unt sus jeté.
Li dras esteit d’un vieil bofu.
La dameisele l’a veü.
N’ert mie bons, ceo li sembla ;
en sun curage l’en pesa.
Un cofre ovri, sun paile prist,
sur le lit sun seignur le mist.
Pur lui honurer le faiseit :
kar l’erceveskes i esteit
pur els beneïstre e seignier ;
ceo afereit a sun mestier,
Quant la chambre fu delivree,
la dame a sa fille amenee.
Ele la volt faire culchier,
si la cumande a despoillier.
Le paile esguarde sur le lit,
que unkes mes si bon ne vit
fors sul celui qu’ele dona
od sa fille qu’ele cela.
Idunc li remembra de li ;
tuz li curages li fremi.
Le chamberlenc apele a sei.
’Di mei’, fait ele, ’par ta fei,
Showed
them exactly how and where
Her lord liked things done and set;
For she had often noticed it.
When they'd prepared the wedding bed
On top they tossed an old bedspread.
The cloth was just some thin, worn stuff;
The girl saw it - she'd seen enough
To know it's no good, not suitable;
It weighed down her heart with trouble.
She opened her coffer, took her brocade,
On her lord's bed this silk she laid.
She did this to honor the pair,
Since the archbishop would be there
To sign them with the cross and bless
Them - it's his job, he can't do less.
When everyone had left the chamber,
The lady brought in her daughter.
She wants to put her to bed; best
Begin, she says, by getting undressed.
She sees the silk brocade spread there;
She's never seen a cloth so fair
Except the one in which she wrapped her
Baby daughter when she hid her.
Now she remembers that lost child;
Her heart trembles, she grows wild.
She calls in the head chamberlain.
"Tell me, as you're a Christian, when
u
fu cist bons pailes trovez ! ’
’Dame’, fait il, ’bien le savrez !
La dameisele l’aporta,
sur le covertur le geta ;
kar ne li sembla mie boens.
Jeo quit que li pailes est soens.’
La dame l’aveit apelee,
e cele est devant li alee.
De sun mantel se desfubla,
e la mere l’araisuna :
’Bele amie, nel me celez !
U fu cist bons pailes trovez ?
Dunt vus vint il ? Kil vus dona ?
Kar me dites kil vus bailla ! ’
La meschine li respundi :
’Dame, m’ante ki me nurri ;
l’abeesse kil me bailla
a guarder le me comanda.
Cest e un anel me baillierent
cil ki a nurrir m’enveierent’
’Bele, puis jeo veeir l’anel ? ’
’Oïl, dame, ceo m’est mult bel.’
L’anel li a dunc aporté,
e ele l’a mult esguardé.
El l’a tresbien reconeü
e le paile qu’ele a veü.
And
where did you find this fine brocade?"
"Madame," he answered, "that's easily said;
The damsel brought it, for the bed;
She dumped it on top of the old spread,
An ugly one - she saw that in a wink.
The brocade belongs to her, I think."
Next the lady called her in;
She came and stood before her, then
Respectfully she doffed her cloak.
Finally the mother spoke.
"Beauty, dear, don't hide the truth!
Where did you find this fine silk cloth?
Where'd it come from? How'd you get it? Who,
If it was a gift, gave it to you?"
The girl answers, "Madame, please,
My aunt, the abbess - I'm her niece -
Who raised me, she gave this to me
And told me to keep it carefully.
I was given this and a golden ring
By those who sent me, a foundling."
"Beauty, may I see the ring?"
"Yes, ma'am, that's an easy thing."
She brought the ring to the mother,
Who very carefully looked it over.
Identification was easily made;
She knew the ring and the silk brocade.
Ne
dute mes, bien set e creit
que li Fraisnes sa fille esteit.
Oiant tuz dit, ne ceile mie :
’Tu iés ma fille, bele amie ! ’
De la pitié que ele en a
ariere chiet, si se pasma.
E quant de pasmeisuns leva,
pur sun seignur tost enveia ;
e il i vient tuz esfreez,
Quant il est en la chambre entrez,
la dame li cheï as piez,
estreitement li a baisiez :
pardun li quiert de sun mesfait.
Il ne sot niënt de cel plait.
’Dame’, fet il, ’que dites vus ?
Il n’a se bien nun entre nus !
Quan que vus plest, seit parduné !
Dites mei vostre volunté ! ’
’Sire, quant parduné l’avez,
jel vus dirai ; si m’escultez !
Jadis par ma grant vileinie
de ma veisine dis folie.
De ses dous enfanz mesparlai :
vers mei meïsmes mesdit ai.
Veritez est, jeo enceintai,
dous filles oi, l’une en celai.
She
doubted no more, she knew, believed,
That this girl was her daughter indeed.
She can't hide it; so all can hear,
"You are my daughter, beauty dear!"
She cries. From pain and pity she fell
Back in a faint, and lay there a spell.
When she's revived from her swoon,
She calls her lord to the bedroom.
He comes, worried, full of fears.
The moment her husband appears,
She falls at his feet, clasps his knees,
Lets her kisses mix with her pleas,
Begging pardon for her sin.
He can't make out the case she's in.
"Lady," he said, "What do you mean?
There's only ever been good will between
Us. Whatever you did, I forgive it!
Say what you want; I will give it!"
"Lord, since you grant me pardon,
I'll tell you all, so now listen!
Once, long ago, my evil nature
Let me speak nonsense of my neighbor:
I vilified her for having twins -
I blackened myself, for my sins.
I gave birth; truth is, when I did,
I bore two daughters - one I hid,
A
un mustier la fis geter
e vostre paile od li porter
e l’anel que vus me donastes,
quant vus primes a mei parlastes.
Ne vus puet mie estre celé :
le drap e l’anel ai trové.
Nostre fille ai ci coneüe,
que par ma folie oi perdue.
E ja est ceo la dameisele
ki tant est pruz e sage e bele,
que li chevaliers a amee,
ki sa serur a espusee.’
Li sire dit : ’De ceo sui liez ;
unkes mes ne fui si haitiez.
Quant nostre fille avum trovee,
grant joie nus a deus donee,
ainz que li pechiez fust dublez.
Fille’, fet il, ’avant venez ! ’
La meschine mult s’esjoï
de l’aventure qu’ele oï.
Sis pere ne volt plus atendre ;
il meïsmes vet pur sun gendre
e l’erceveske i amena,
cele aventure li cunta.
Li chevaliers quant il le sot,
unkes si grant joie nen ot.
L’erceveskes a cunseillié
que issi seit la nuit laissié ;
Had
her dumped in a church by my maid.
I sent with her our silk brocade
And the gold ring you gave to me
When first you spoke of love to me.
I can no longer hide anything:
I've found the brocade and the ring!
I recognize this girl, our daughter.
Through my folly we almost lost her!
And this is the same demoiselle
(Beautiful, wise and good as well)
Who was so loved by that knight
Who has married her sister tonight!"
The lord replied, "I am glad of this!
Never before have I known such bliss!
Now we've found our girl who was lost,
God has given us joy rejoiced,
Before we could double the treachery.
Daughter," he said, "Come here to me!"
The girl rejoiced at heart, for sure,
When she heard this adventure.
Her father won't wait; from the room
He goes himself to fetch the groom
(His son-in-law) and archbishop,
And tell the tale from start to finish. Up
The knight's heart rejoicing flew,
At this adventure, when he knew.
The archbishop said it'd be all right
To leave things as they were that night.
el
demain les departira,
lui e celi espusera.
Issi l’unt fet e graanté.
El demain furent desevré.
Aprés a s’amie espusee,
e li pere li a donee,
ki mult ot vers li bon curage.
Par mi li part sun heritage.
Il e la mere as noces furent
od lur fille si cum il durent.
Granz noces refunt de rechief ;
a un riche hume sereit grief
d’esligier ceo qu’il despendirent
al grant convive que il firent.
Pur la joie de la meschine,
ki de belté semble reïne,
qu’il unt sifaitement trovee,
unt mult grant joie demenee.
Quant en lur païs s’en alerent,
la Coldre, lur fille, en menerent.
Mult richement en lur cuntree
fu puis la meschine donee.
Tomorrow
he'll divorce or divide
The knight from his espoused bride.
They all agreed on this good plan.
Thus separated was wife from man
And he married his dear, next day,
And her father gave the bride away,
For his heart was warm toward her;
He made her his half-inheritor.
He and his wife and their daughter
Stayed till the wedding-feast was over.
versi mancanti nella
traduzione inglese
Then they returned to their own country,
Taking La Coudre, the Hazel Tree;
They found her a fine rich groom
And married her off nearer home.
Quant l’aventure fu seüe
coment ele esteit avenue,
le lai del Fraisne en unt trové :
pur la dame l’unt si numé.
When this story got around,
Just as it happened, people found
A lai of it, Le Fresne, the Ash Tree;
The named the lai after the lady.
Traduzione inglese
di Judith P. Shoaf, 1996,
http://www.english.ufl.edu/exemplaria/marie/fresne.pdf,
ultimo accesso 24/10/2016
Right in
front of everyone, she said
Marie gives the
title only in French (Le Fresne), not in English
or Breton (compare the endings of Chevrefoil and
Laustic). "Fresne" is simply a masculine noun,
the name of the ash tree; I have retained the
French form for the girl's name and included
both English and French for the tree's name in
my translation. Le Fresne's sister's name, La
Codre, means "the hazel," and is (mostly) a
feminine noun - the same tree that the
honeysuckle twines around in Chevrefoil. The
grammatical/sexual gender contrast in Le
Fresne's name extends an ambiguity that begins
when she's born - throughout her infant
adventures she's mostly referred to as
"l'enfant" (the baby), a masculine noun
requiring masculine pronouns; I've used "it"
instead of "he" but in French the baby is "he"
most of the time.
Nurses it with her own milk
In Marie’s lai
Milun, which is also the story of a baby
abandoned at birth, she makes particular note of
the provision of nurses for the baby as it is
transported to the mother’s sister’s house. Here
it is coinciedence [sic!] that provides little
Fresne with milk.
Her
lord
Another interesting
ambiguity derives from Marie's use of the word
"sire/seigneur" (here, “Her lord”). The
word means "lord" but also "husband" and could
certainly be translated "husband" many times -
that is what it means in the opening story about
Le Fresne’s parents. But as Le Fresne's story
develops, the double meaning gains force: Gurun
is her "seigneur," her lord and master, yet he
is not her legal husband. After leaving the
abbey, she is no longer a "damoiselle" or young
lady, but a "meschine" or servant-girl
(translated just “girl”); she is certainly not
his bride or wife, the role reserved for her
sister. Her intensification of the
master-servant relationship finally brings it
about that her "seigneur" really becomes her
"seigneur," and a wifely (!) attitude triumphs
over the technicalities of marriage contracts. I
might add that, as in the other lais, the lovers
are called "ami-amie," friend or lover, as well
as "her lord" and "that girl." But Le Fresne's
mother also addresses her as "belle amie"
("Beauty,vdear"), a loverlike phrase.
The wedding bed for the bridal
pair
The story is
related to the
"patient Griselda" legend (retold by
Petrarch and then immortalized by Chaucer in his
Clerk's Tale), in which a husband gets carried
away playing God to his Job-like wife. Marie's
Gurun, though, seems morally weak rather than
tyrannical and cruel like Griselda's husband
Walter. I can't resist citing Graham Greene's
portrait of a jealous lover, which seems to owe
something to Marie's story or an analogue of it
(the first speaker is the woman):
It angered me that she
didn't make any claim.
"Of course. You may be right. I'm only saying
I want you to be happy. I hate your being
unhappy. I don't mind anything you do that
makes you happy."
"You just want an excuse. If I sleep with
somebody else, you feel you can do the same -
any time."
"That's neither here nor there. I want you to
be happy, that's all."
"You'd make my bed for me?"
"Perhaps."
Despite the unfeminist (and, I
think, unironic) message that humility triumphs
and a good wife is a good slave, the lai depicts
a world in which power - to legitimize children
and to save or slay them, to slander, to confer
social dignity and to educate, to solve the
mystery and make all things right - is in the
hands of women. Le Fresne's mother, who seems
unpromising moral material at the outset, turns
out to be a good mother after all; instead of
being punished at her abused daughter's wedding
like the stepmothers in many fairy tales, she is
allowed to grow out of her youthful rage and
spite, to reform and be forgiven.
NOTE DI A.G.
Il Frassino, tr. di Adalinda
Gasparini
Non ho trovato una
traduzione italiana online, la metterò appena
possibile, per ora ho tradotto solo i primi
versi, tanto per non lasciare completamente
vuota la colonna della lingua italiana.
Gioco su frassino e
nocciolo, Fresne e Codre: Fresne è accusata di
essere sterile così come nell'Augel Belverde è
accusata di aver generato un mostro. In ogni
caso si tratta della (mancata) legittimazione
della donna come tale, così come è Fresne è
mancante della legittimazione paterna. Nel caso
della fiaba, come nel caso di Griselda, si
tratta di mancanza di nobiltà, e viene detto che
l'ostilità della suocera regina madre dipenda da
questa origine umile.
the
"patient Griselda" legend
Consultato nel
2015, datato 1996, il saggio dimentica
di citare Boccaccio, autore, non rinarratore,
della fiaba/novella di Griselda, delle sue pene,
del suo trionfo. Cita Petrarca, di cui abbiamo
la nota che afferma di aver tradotto in latino
l'ultima novella del Decameron dell'amico
Boccaccio, a lui pervenuto, dicendo che era un rinarratore
- reteller - per affermare che la storia
fu resa immortale - immortalised - da
Chaucer. Il fatto che nel Clerk's Tale il
padre della letteratura inglese non
abbia in alcun modo mascherato la sua funzione
di rinarratore/traduttore, mantenendo i nomi dei
protagonisti - citiamo solo Griselidis - non
importa. Se il furto e la menzogna continuano
dopo secoli nel mondo dei critici letterari,
come sperare che i governanti e i fabbricanti di
armi preferiscano l'onestà e il rispetto della
realtà delle persone?
Ma c'è un altro aspetto legato a questo da
citare brevemente, un vizio che introduciamo
ricordando l'apologo del lupo e dell'agnello: il
lupo afferma il suo diritto di mangiare il
piccolo inerme affermando che bevendo nello
stesso ruscello sporca l'acqua che lui, il lupo,
sta bevendo. All'obbiezione dell'agnello, che si
trova a valle rispetto al lupo, e che quindi il
lupo beve a monte, il lupo replica che allora
dev'essere stato il nonno dell'agnello, e
senz'altro lo mangia. Allo stesso modo si
ipotizza che la novella di Griselda come
archetipo esistesse prima di Boccaccio, e se
nessuno finora è mai riuscito a trovarla, e
nemmeno il nome della protagonista figura in
nessun documento, non si rinuncia alla propria
convinzione, che cerca di togliere qualcosa al
più grande genio della letteratura europea, e si
afferma che doveva esistere in forma orale. In
questo modo ci si comporta come il luopo, e si
morde Boccaccio. Il quale di morsi ne ha sentiti
tanti, per capirlo basta leggere il suo
intervento diretto prima della quarta giornata
del Decameron, quando, con un passo che avrebbe
potuto commuovere Freud, racconta che nessuna
educazione repressiva toglierà all'essere umano
il suo desiderio erotico, con la storia delle
donne che il padre chiama papere al figlio
cresciuto nell'ignoranza, che avendole viste per
la prima volta chiede al padre di comprarne
qualcuna perché vorrebbe nutrirle. Io non
voglio; tu non sai donde elle s'imbeccano -; e
sentì incontanente più aver di forza la natura
che il suo ingegno. Anche la forza rivoluzionaria di Boccaccio,
pur dovendoci attenere al solo Decameron, e in
particolare a Griselda, ovvero a un centesimo
dell'opera, ha più forza della disonestà, del
campanilismo e della miopia degli studiosi come
di coloro che scrivono i programmi di studio per
le scuole medie, anche superiori. Come il
giovane delle papere scopre con uno sguardo solo
quanto il padre con gli sforzi di tre lustri ha
cercato di nascondergli, così la circolazione
orale - ma in questo caso anziché ipotetica
molto ben documentata - della storia di
Griselda, e la sua immensa diffusione nel
melodramma, nel teatro, nella pittura, riconosce
a Boccaccio la paternità del motivo che porta la
donna - umile, povera, incolta, plebea - allo
stesso livello e anzi al di sopra dell'uomo -
orgoglioso, ricco, istruito, nobile. Compimento
dello Stil Novo medievale e apertura ai secoli
della scienza galileiana, ipotetico-deduttiva, o
sperimentale, tutta l'opera di Boccaccio, il
Decameron in particolare, e segnatamente la
novella sulla quale concentriamo il nostro
lavoro, si offre allo sguardo disincantato e
disilluso del secondo millennio al quale abbiamo
la fortuna o la sfortuna di prender parte, come
un'occasione preziosa senza pari per riflettere
sulla nostra ricchezza, i nostri debiti, le
nostre ambivalenze. Forse solo ora possiamo
vincere la paura di scoprire che nulla e nessuno
garantisce la nostra presenza nel mondo, né la
nostra bontà, né la nostra cattiveria - questa
se dimostrata sarebbe fondante quando la bontà,
come la fase depressiva corrisponde a quella
maniacale. Da psicoanalista, o forse da essere
umano innamorato della psicoanalisi perché
privilegia lo sguardo che non si ritrae né sulla
bellezza - come quella dei fiori alpini
celebrati da Freud in Caducità o quella di
Leonardo del saggio del 1910 - sono attratta da
Boccaccio, poco studiato a scuola, perché vi
ritrovo l'alleanza con lo stesso sguardo. La
tenerezza non disdegna la compagnia con la
lucidità, e l'umor nero dei giorni in cui
sentiamo la vanità della nostra vita non
contraddice la gioia di una scoperta, di un
incontro, di uno spettacolo.
Se da una parte concordiamo col prezioso
contributo di Raffaele
Morabito, che pare chiudere la vana
pretesa di togliere a Boccaccio la natura di
primo narratore se non di inventore di Griselda,
dall'altra non pensiamo che la centesima novella
del Decameron sia la matrice delle fiabe che nel
nostro lavoro andiamo accostando, sia quelle del
tipo dell'Augel Belverde, sia quelle del tipo
Contadina saggia, che a volte hanno una
protagonista di nome Griselda, senza che per
questo l'attante maschile abbia un nome legato
al Gualtieri o sia ambientata nel Marchesato di
Saluzzo.
Pensiamo alla novella il cui primo narratore è
Boccaccio come a un attrattore, non un genitore,
piuttosto una specie di nutrice, di
finanziatore, che grazie alla sua immensa e
ininterrotta circolazione europea, sia in forma
di novella, sia in forma di opera teatrale, sia
opera figurativa, sia quadro, affresco o cassone
nuziale, ha protetto e favorito la diffusione
altrettanto ampia, estesa fino al Medio Oriente,
dei due tipi di fiaba che vedono una sposa umile
messa alla prova. Nel caso della fiaba
dell'Augel Belverde all'attante femminile viene
chiesto l'impossibile, e pur soddisfacendo la
richiesta la giovane sposa viene calunniata e
considerata bugiarda, i figli le vengono
sottratti come se dovessero morire, prima che,
alla fine, la sua innocenza e i suoi meriti
vengano finalmente riconosciuti. La differenza
strutturale fra questa fiaba e la centesima
novella del Decameron è che mentre le prove
vengono imposte dal nobile potente sposo - il
re, quasi sempre - ma la persecuzione è agita da
figure femminili - regina madre, sorelle gelose,
streghe prezzolate - totalmente assenti nella
novella di Boccaccio. Anche nel caso della
contadina saggia, dove come si diceva l'attante
femminile ha lo stesso nome della centesima
novella del Decameron, manca la persecutrice
femminile, è presente come nell'Augel Belverde
il ripudio della sposa, mentre la parità di
intelligenza, se non una superiorità delal
fiabesca Griselda rispetto al regale sposo, è
accostabile al pieno riconoscimento di Boccaccio
alla donna che sceglie di non farsi sottomettere
dallo sposo, al quale vuol essere pari, che non
esita a gabbare se pensa che se lo meriti.
Ricordando brevemente le interpretazioni - prima
fra tutte quella di Francesco Petrarca - che
vedono Griselda come l'anima, e Gualtieri come
Dio che mette alla prova la fede dell'essere
umano, accostando quindi Griselda al biblioco
Giobbe, ci basta per ora richiamare
l'interpretazione dottrinale del Cantico dei
Cantici come un dialogo fra Cristo e la Chiesa,
come se fosse facile convincerci che sia
plausibile che la Chiesa chieda a Cristo di
baciarla coi baci della sua bocca, perché il suo
amore è migliore del vino, e superiore a quella
degli aromi la sua fragranza. Ma ancora meno
dell'accostamento di Griselda a Giobbe ci
convince quello di Gualtieri a Dio, per quando
il Dio di Giobbe paia altrettanto indifferente
ai suoi dolori.
Quel che l'Augel Belverde non presenta è la
crudeltà agita da Gualtieri contro il sentimento
materno di Griselda: i figli vengono dati alle
acque dalla suocera e dalle sorelle invidiose e
l'ira dello sposo, quando si manifesta, si basa
sull'ingannevole convinzione che la sposa invece
dei meravigliosi figli promessi abbia dato alla
luce degli animali.
Come sembra sapere Boccaccio, la pena più grande
che un uomo può infliggere alla sua donna è
ferirla nella sua maternità, che nella fiaba
dell'Augel Belverde accade perché il re, andando
in guerra, affida la sposa proprio a sua madre e
alle sorelle di lei. Si tratta di una mancanza
di potenza maschile, che anziché proteggere la
sposa la pone in balia delle invidiose, possesso
dal quale nemmeno la giovane regina è in grado
di difendersi.
Crediamo che l'immenso ininterrotto successo di
Griselda, e dei due tipi di fiabe accostabili
alla novella di Boccaccio, dipoenda dalle
ambiguità dell'idealizzato e sacralizzato patto
matrimoniale fra uomo e donna. Come se queste
strutture narrative permettendo l'emergere sia
della grazia che della disgrazia del matrimonio
e della filiazione, fenomeni idealizzati e
sacralizzati quanto nessun'altra relazione fra
esseri umani, consentissero una fluidificazione,
sulla soglia fra coscienza e inconscio, luogo
sottile e vastissimo dove abitano le favole o
novelle o storie che dir le vogliamo, della
nostra adesione incondizionata come della nostra
altrettanto feroce distruzione di queste
istituzioni universali, irrinunciabile quanto
conflittuali.
Così, accingendoci a raccontare il nostro
viaggio con Griselda, l'Augel Belverde e la
Contadina saggia, che implica l'attraversamento
di mille anni di storia letteraria e non solo, e
la visita a ogni paese del mondo dove la storia
è arrivata e ha germogliato, sentiamo di servire
gli interessi della psicoanalisi, che sono gli
interessi di quanto in noi stessi, e di quanti
nella società, resta escluso, emarginato nella
migliore delle ipotesi, condannato come capro
espiatorio a morte o alla reclusione dietro le
mura del manicomio o al muro imvisibile dei
trattamenti farmacologici. Ne vale la pena? O
siamo irrimediabilmente sessantottini, incapaci
quindi di rinunciare al progetto sia cattolico
sia comunista sia psicoanalitico, di far
dissolvere queste mura? Quelle fisiche dei
manicomi sono state sostituite da quelle
invisibili dei farmaci e del perbenismo del
political correct, ma non è che noi esseri umani
non possiamo vivere se non emarginando o
sacrificando qualcuno, come non possiamo
sentirci normali se non classifichiamo come malato qualcun
altro.
Quesito che resta come un monito ineliminabile,
ma non impedisce di ascoltare la protesta che da
dentro e da fuori di noi chiede ascolto e cura.
Le voci che ascoltiamo sono quelle di chi sembra
falso, e forse non si emenda per lasciare
intatto il sentimento di giustizia di chi lo
condanna o lo esclude, come il capro espiatorio
che si offre alle frecce del carnefice come
Sebastiano alle frecce dei persecutori romani.
Durante una visita agli Uffizi mio figlio
bambino, guardando un martirio di San Sebastiano
mi chiese dov'era legato, e quando io gli
risposi che non lo era, mi cheise: E allora,
perché ci sta?
Ci si può allontanare, se si vuole, se si
accetta il rischio che né Dio, né il genitore,
né altro ci garantisca. Sospesi e vorticando,
come il nostro pianeta, non abbiamo garanzia che
sia una situazione garantita, e non sappiamo chi
ci fa girare come una bilia fra le dita di un
bambino. Ma finché giriamo senza soccombere alla
confusione che a volte ci umilia dalla nostra
stessa testa, possiamo rileggere Boccaccio, e
quanto di intimamente connesso ci capita di
osservare, per condividerlo con chi ha gusti
simili ai nostri.
PSICOANALISI E FAVOLE