Note how hard it is to get a fix on Charlemagne’s character – particularly looking back. He’s a man of such incredible extremes that he’s very hard to judge. Naymon is the first one he asks for advice, of course; the unusual thing is that he refused to listen. At first this seems like a blatant, emotion-driven mistake. The King himself seems to think so later on, but once his word’s been given he can’t turn back. And yet – had the King not been so foolish and headstrong, would they ever have rescued Oliver at all? Was this the hand of Providence at work through its chosen tool? Nothing is ever clear about Charlemagne.
It’s also worth looking at the parallels between the two Kings. They send essentially identical messages! What a fascinating non-coincidence.
Their contrasts are interesting too. Charlemagne may be headstrong, but he rules by love and respect. The Admiral, foams, spits, turns colors, and rules by rage and intimidation.
As the chapter progresses, other characters emerge, Duke Naymon in particular. He thinks their way past the bridge warden, Galafer, despite everything Roland does to make that almost impossible. (What a clever way to get rid of those heads). But he’s not soft; when they arrive at Aygremore he puts his words in the Admiral’s ear as sharply as a dirk, and when he “plays at the coal” with Lucifer in Chapter 3, he hits the man so hard that his eyes pop out and roll around the floor.
Floripas and the Misogyny that Wasn’t. During this chapter, three or four separate people repeat the same line:
“You should not trust such tasks to a woman. They are changeable, inconstant, and not to be trusted in such affairs. Just think of all the men who have been led astray by the doings of women.”
Every time it’s said, the man ignores the message and the woman (Floripas) does exactly the opposite of what he expected. At least one of the scholarly texts I’ve read characterized this as an example of “medieval misogyny.” Bunk.
As a storyteller, my first thought was, “Repeating line? It’s got to be meant as a joke.” Having studied it now in some detail, I’m morally certain that’s true.
Every one of the men who quoted that line was a Saracen; i.e., a bad guy. One of them was a jailer who promptly got brained with his own keys.[1] By contrast, the good guys do not say such things. To the contrary, they treat Floripas as if she were made of gold. And far from betraying the people who treat her well, she’s directly responsible for saving their lives in half a dozen different spots – most of which required a quick wit and steady head under pressure. How can you call that an example of a “boy’s story” that teaches disdain for the girls?
One could argue that Floripas’ secret devotion to a Christian knight is an example of “female treachery”, but not with real success. The woman who falls helplessly in love at first sight (with a hero, of course) is nothing more than a stereotype. It’s not particularly complimentary, but neither is the one about the man who glimpses a bit of hair from afar and spends the next twelve years on a tortuous quest to earn a pat on the head.
How did the scholars miss what I think is so patently plain? In my opinion, it’s because they’re scholars rather than performers. If you only look at the words on the page, something like this could easily slip past. When you’re looking to tell the story, however – to perform it in the same spirit as your counterpart would have done a thousand years ago – something extra comes to the table. It’s not so much that you see new truths, as you see what’s there in a different light.
Do I know this story better than the experts who wrote those books? Not a chance. But I do know it in a different way, and every once in a while that angle can reveal a wonderful truth the experts may have missed.
