Toleration and Tolerance in Medieval European Literature

by Albrecht Classen

  For the present context, I want to consider a rather unusual case that does not necessarily lend itself to the topic of toleration and yet promises to support our global claim that literary texts were meaningful media to explore alternative conditions, relationships, and ideas, especially with respect to non-Christians. In the Middle English The King of Tars (ca. 1330), we are confronted with the surprising story line that a Christian princess, daughter of the King of Tars, ‘voluntarily’ marries the Muslim king, ruler of Damas (Damascus), in order to stop further fighting and killing.47 Subsequently, however, she succeeds in producing a miracle that convinces her husband that his own gods are not worth the name, so he turns to Christianity. Before we turn to some of the plot details, it deserves to be mentioned that scholars have so far paid relatively little attention to this verse narrative because it seems to defy most generic criteria and comprises hagiographic, romance elements, and those from miracle tales. The central motif also found interest by later poets, such as John Gower when he projected the figure of Genius in his Confessio Amantis and Geoffrey Chaucer in his Man of Law’s Tale (in his Canterbury Tales, ca. 1400).48

  The sultan has heard of the princess’s beauty and demands her hand in marriage, but because of the differences in religion, her father, the king of Tars, refuses the request, which results in a bloody warfare that threatens to lead to the king of Tars’s utter defeat. Even though the princess demonstrates her strong Christian faith, she is prepared to make the sacrifice to accept the Sultan as her husband. The latter, however, suddenly refuses to marry her until she has converted to Islam. She submits to this request, especially because in a dream, she is instructed that things will turn out well for her. Soon she becomes pregnant and then delivers a baby boy, but at that point, he is nothing but a lump of flesh to the horror of the parents. The sultan realizes that this is a sign of god and serves as a test as to what religion can prove its truth. When he places the infant on the altar and prays to his gods, nothing happens; subsequently, she begs her husband to release a priest from his prison so that he can baptize the child. Indeed, upon the priest’s prayer, the lump assumes human form, which the sultan recognizes as a sign of the Christian God, so he converts and later forces his people to follow this example. God intervenes then even further and makes the sultan turn from black to white upon his own baptism.49

  There is no doubt about the poet’s religious perspective, which fully feeds into an essentializing Europeanism predicated on the Christian religion. There is little to nothing that might indicate a certain strand of toleration, especially since the sultan eventually converts and is transformed into a white person. Nevertheless, we need to pause and reflect more carefully about the narrative strategies and the projections of the sultan, who is partly portrayed as a typical Oriental despot, but partly also as a serious negotiation partner. When he learns of the princess’s beauty, he is immediately inflamed and sends messengers to his neighbor, the king of Tars, requesting her hand in marriage, but he also warns him seriously that he would use all of his military might if her father were opposed to his proposal (32). Considering the many different bridal-quest romances in which a Christian ruler endeavors to win a Saracen princess as his wife, such as in King Rother (ca. 1180),50 this does not seem to be a very unusual approach, except that here a Muslim ruler approaches a Christian king. There are no mentions about religious differences; instead, the King of Damas promises to treat his future wife splendidly (29–30), which does not make us forget the military threat, of course, which he had used to force her father to relinquish his daughter.

  The king of Tars is aghast about this proposal, but only because the suitor is a Muslim, whereas he has nothing to say about the wooer in terms of his character or social status. Nevertheless, he inquires with his daughter about her wishes, but he puts her immediately into the odd quandary by warning her about turning away from Christianity, as if the one aspect would automatically lead to the other (55–7). But she is a dutiful daughter and a devout Christian woman, assuring her father that she would never even consider marrying the sultan, but the refusal to accept the suit for the princess’s hand in marriage soon enough leads to massive battles and a terrible loss of men. In light of the brutal slaughter of thousands of men, the princess can convince both her parents that this must not continue and that she should be allowed to do the sultan’s bidding (271–73). This then quickly makes everyone experience general joy, and this on both sides, although the religious controversy has not been overcome or even been addressed, but the recovery of peace pleases also the king of Tars (310–12). Moreover, the sultan resorts to all the traditional diplomatic rituals, sending messengers, gifts for the parents, and, thus, meets, as we may say, the expectations of a noble wooer, as the princess’s mother acknowledges herself (339). At the same time, she is deeply grieved losing her daughter to a Saracen king (346–48), but she cannot help it.

  Once the princess has been taken to the foreign court, she is splendidly dressed and treated with great respect, but the narrator disapproves of this marriage and calls the sultan “so foule a mett” (390). Nevertheless, the situation then becomes rather problematic, and the narrator seems to have difficulties differentiating between the Christian and the Muslim perspective insofar as the sultan does not want to complete the wedding until she has fully forsworn her Christian faith and converted to Islam. But the narrator emphasizes that a Christian man would be equally loath to marry a Muslim woman, “That leved on fals lawe” (408; who believed in the wrong law/faith), projecting, hence, significant parallels and warning in general about forcing a person to convert to another faith. Nevertheless, he can calm his audience’s concerns with a clear indication that the princess remained steadfastly a Christian in her heart and suffered badly as a result of her dissimulation. Although the sultan then forces her to accept the Muslim faith, at least formally, she successfully masks her conversion and deceives her husband completely so that she can keep Christ truly in her heart (504).

  The sultan’s efforts ultimately fail, as the narrator indicates and as we know from the outcome of the romance. But apart from his religious conversion efforts, he demonstrates how much he conforms to all the ideals and values of a European knight and ruler, calling for a tournament, for instance (514–25), to honor his wife (525). In fact, if we did not keep the sultan’s official title in mind, we could forget that the events take place in the Middle East. Nobles from all stations, goliards, and other entertainers appear; valuable gifts are handed out; and the guests are treated with food and drinks in a splendid fashion (560–61).

  The subsequent events—the princess becoming pregnant, giving birth only to a lump of flesh, the competition between the Sultan’s useless efforts in appealing to his gods, and the Christian priest’s successful prayer have already been mentioned. The sultan allows his wife to have a priest brought from the prison, who, through his prayer, indeed achieves the miracle, and the child is finally taking shape as a human being, which convinces the sultan that his own gods are useless and that he better turn to the Christian God, which subsequently happens (823–34), which all leads fairly quickly to a happy end, with the sultan and the king of Tars joining forces and helping the Christians win victory over their enemies.

  Who is this sultan, then? How does the poet characterize and portray him? Are we confronted with a stereotypical image of a despotic ruler who turns into a peaceful and benevolent ruler once he has embraced Christianity? When he urges his own followers to accept the new faith, he happily embraces the converts but has everyone else decapitated (1048–50). Any Christian ruler, as depicted in medieval crusader epics, might not act much differently. More importantly, however, the sultan does not act dictatorially, is willing to engage in this curious competition about whose god/s might be more effective, then he is prepared to accept the new faith because the Christian God granted him that the lump of flesh took on human shape. He always treats his wife most politely and with great respect, although he forces her to learn t
he Muslim rules and to convert to Islam. Is he, thus, cast as a ‘good heathen’?

  If we compare him with the Castellan Stranmûr in Rudolf von Ems’s Der guote Gêrhart or with the Persian prince in the anonymous Reinfrid von Braunschweig, we encounter a rather different situation and a different personality in the sultan. Nevertheless, it would be inappropriate to cast him as a brutal, ruthless leader of his people who abuses his wife or other family members. He emerges as any Christian ruler would within medieval literature, except that he adheres to the wrong faith, at least according to the narrator and the poet, and, hence, according to the audience expectations. There is virtually nothing Oriental in the sultan, apart from the official title and the Islamic faith. The fact that he ardently desires to marry the daughter of the king of Tars ennobles him, although he then uses military force to realize his desire. Otherwise, there is hardly anything negative about him, and we have virtually no reason to criticize him, as seen from a Christian-European perspective, because he proves to be a worthy character after all, especially open-minded enough and ready to listen when his own gods do not help him in the case of his unshaped infant boy.

  Admittedly, this does not amount to critical mass to observe, here, a case of explicit toleration since the lines between the two religions are drawn clearly. But the anonymous poet signals how important it is for the princess to accept the marriage suit in order to prevent further killing on the battlefield. He also portrays the sultan as a worthy ruler who is generous and kind to his wife, whom he apparently loves dearly. Granted, he loses his temper and acts violently when he first learns that the king of Tars is adamantly opposed to the marriage proposal (97–112), but he continues to rely on messengers to keep the diplomatic channels open. And once he has married the princess, he does not simply enslave her and make her into his sex object. He can only complete the marriage process once she has converted to Islam, which forces the narrator to acknowledge that he embraces the same religious ideals as any Christian ruler would who might intend to marry a heathen woman.

  The King of Tars is not necessarily the clearest or most explicit example of toleration, but the narrator does not hesitate to project the sultan as a worthy ruler, as a noble character, and as a mighty military leader. Considering the strong Christian paradigm in the Middle Ages, this, thus, proves to be a worthwhile example of an approximation toward toleration, especially because the sultan subsequently converts to Christianity. He acts rationally and accepts consequences as they emerge, in this critical case with the lump of flesh. Undoubtedly, the narrator transforms him from a hostile figure to a good heathen because of his willingness at the end to accept the Christian faith. For us, however, it matters most that the poet here projects a Muslim ruler who performs very much like any Christian knight or king and is only viewed negatively because of his different faith. Critical theory would call this, of course, colonizing, but within the broader framework of religious discourse in the Holy Land it deserves to be mentioned that the sultan gains much of our respect even though he is a Saracen, forces the king of Tars to hand over his daughter, and makes her convert to Islam. All this only underscores the princess’s superior character strength and the triumph of Christianity. Nevertheless, this sultan operates very similar to the way most kings would have done, perhaps exerting just a little more military force to win his future bride than other medieval rulers.

  Aucassin et Nicolette

  Literature has often also much to do with play, experimentation, entertainment, and joyfulness. Many times in the late Middle Ages love poets dismissed the traditional theme of painful longing and outlined fairly simple erotic scenes filled with joy and hopefulness that the two lovers could soon unite again.51 Already in the Middle Ages we find numerous literary examples that were more playful than serious, more erotic than religious, and more carefree than concerned with ethical issues, although it would be erroneous to confuse entertaining narratives with shallowness and meaninglessness. One of those examples would be the anonymous chantefable Aucassin et Nicolette, which has survived in only one manuscript, Bibliothèque National, Fonds français 2168,52 but which has attracted much scholarly attention, probably because of its often rather parodic character, transgressive elements, and musical features.53 The diversifying strategy to mingle prose with verse sections has led to numerous performances both past and present, and the hilarious travesty of the courtly world in the kingdom of Torelore has entertained also modern audiences.54

  The range of themes addressed in this text is impressive, and behind the numerous facetious elements, we can easily identify serious comments, criticism, and challenges of social, religious, military, gender, and ethical issues. The relationship between father and son proves to be extremely problematic, but this then turns into the essential springboard for Aucassin to free himself from his father’s repressive regime. Centrally, he is in love with the former slave girl Nicolette, and he pursues her for a long time until, at the end, both can join forces and gain their happiness. Most of the details of this chantefable do not concern us here, whereas we can draw much insight from the basic information about Nicolette provided throughout the narrative that will contribute to our understanding of how much toleration or tolerance there might have existed in medieval and early modern literature.

  Irrespective of the fact that she was baptized as a small child, there is no clear indication of her religious background, except, as we learn later in the tale, that she originated from Saracen parents and so must have been a Muslim before her capture and transformation into a slave. The son of Count Garin of Beaucaire, Aucassin, has deeply fallen in love with Nicolette, which incenses his parents to no end because of her low social status. Despite many challenges, particularly his parents’ opposition, the young man pursues his love and never deviates from his desire to be with this Arab woman. He would happily forgo the empress of Byzantium, or of Germany, or the queen of France or England, as long as he could win the hand of Nicolette, whom he describes in highly exalted terms: “so noble is she, so courteous and debonair, and gracious in all good graces (3), or, in the original: “entecie de toutes bones teces” (46). Aucassin recognizes in her the most wonderful woman of the world and entirely disregards the fact that she had been a slave girl originating from Carthage (3). Her owner, who operates somewhat like a foster father, upon the count’s urging, puts her away in a prison cell, but her disappearance upsets all the people (5), and especially Aucassin. We learn from his conversion with the Viscount that he had bought that girl a long time ago and plans on marrying her off to someone appropriate for her social status, but certainly not to the young prince. He urges him to abandon his dreams about Nicolette since his soul might otherwise end up in hell.

  Aucassin’s love, however, has grown already so much that he dismisses the idea of paradise since he would rather prefer to end up in hell with his beloved than be in paradise with aged clerics and old cripples (6–7), which could be read as an outright spoof of the Church’s teaching. But there is no doubt that the young man truly loves this foreign woman and is willing to abandon the safeguard of his soul if only he could be united with her. The narrator never engages in any discussions about racial or religious differences and portrays Aucassin as a truly dedicated lover. At the same time, Nicolette is presented in virtually idealistic terms: Beautiful, skillful in many different ways, crafty, a good strategist, able to get out of the worst prison through her courage, and cunning (14–15). The text relates a brief comment about her prayer to God (19), but religion does not matter in the present context. Instead, the real conflict rests, once again, in the tension between father and son, while the love between the two young people proves to be pure, strong, and entirely absorbing.

  Eventually, they both get away from their society and find each other in a forest, from where they depart together until they embark on a ship, although we do not learn their destination. As to be expected, they are soon driven to a distant country, Torelore, where everything is upside down, opposite
to the traditional ways, and hilariously confusing, with the king lying in bed pretending to be pregnant while his wife is out in the field battling the opponents with foodstuff as weapons (51–4).55 After this humorous interlude in the so-called ‘Country of Cockaigne’, the two lovers are captured by Saracens who conquer the castle of Torelore and put the two protagonists separately on two ships. Storms drive them apart, and there is a major shipwreck, but Aucassin survives and arrives surprisingly back home at Beaucaire, where he is placed on the vacant throne since his parents have passed away. The situation with Nicolette, however, deserves more attention since she is transported to Carthage where her father, the local king, and twelve brothers reside.56 After a while, she recognizes the country again, which she had not seen since the time when she had been a little child, although the narrator does not go into any details. There is a great and joyous family reunion, once Nicolette has been recognized as the long-lost daughter, and soon they try to marry her to a prince, but she refuses all attempts for several years during which she learns to play the viol, which subsequently makes it possible for her to employ the next strategy to find her beloved. Although she has come home, so to speak, has returned to her family in biological and ethnic terms, she departs again never to return because she wants to be with Aucassin, irrespective of his skin color or religion.