The Delightfully Gruesome "Confessio Amantis"
We have already discussed the morbid nature of our section of Confessio Amantis. Therefore, I will waste no great space in rehashing our earlier discussion. However, there is one quote I would like to mention. I was a little irritated with Rosemounde when her husband said to her "'Drink with thi fader, dame', he seide./And sche to his biddinge obeide" (Lines 153-154). The woman doesn't even question her husband as to what she is drinking from. Certainly she can see she is drinking from a golden skull. Does she not even question if this is a real skull or not?
All right, here is the real topic of my blog. C. S. Lewis said that "the artistry of the Confessio Amantis has not always been recognized. Gower has told us that his design was to 'go the 'middel weie/And wryte a bok betwen the tweie,/Somewhat of lust, somewhat of lore'—that is, in a more familiar critical language, to combine 'profit with delight'" (The Allegory of Love 198).
First of all, I love that Lewis uses the word 'artistry'. It gives me a sense that I am reading something wonderful, and not just another story about someone at war who killed someone's loved one.
Secondly, I have to admit, for myself, that I am usually one to shy away from the morbid. Yet I found that I was strangely fascinated, or if you will, delighted, by the story, especially during the more gruesome sections. I found the skull business to be rather interesting. It makes me wonder if the writer has anything to do with that feeling.
Therefore, I pose the following questions. Is Gower successful in combining 'profit with delight'? Also, do the more gruesome scenes seem to be the more delightful to read, or is that just me? Finally, do you feel that the use of 'confession' makes a greater impact than if the story had been written with a narrator, as Lewis suggests in his book?
All right, here is the real topic of my blog. C. S. Lewis said that "the artistry of the Confessio Amantis has not always been recognized. Gower has told us that his design was to 'go the 'middel weie/And wryte a bok betwen the tweie,/Somewhat of lust, somewhat of lore'—that is, in a more familiar critical language, to combine 'profit with delight'" (The Allegory of Love 198).
First of all, I love that Lewis uses the word 'artistry'. It gives me a sense that I am reading something wonderful, and not just another story about someone at war who killed someone's loved one.
Secondly, I have to admit, for myself, that I am usually one to shy away from the morbid. Yet I found that I was strangely fascinated, or if you will, delighted, by the story, especially during the more gruesome sections. I found the skull business to be rather interesting. It makes me wonder if the writer has anything to do with that feeling.
Therefore, I pose the following questions. Is Gower successful in combining 'profit with delight'? Also, do the more gruesome scenes seem to be the more delightful to read, or is that just me? Finally, do you feel that the use of 'confession' makes a greater impact than if the story had been written with a narrator, as Lewis suggests in his book?
posted by Coley | 6:08 AM
2 Comments:
I agree with you on all three of the questions that posed. First, Gower does combine profit with delight. I find it to be a cautionary tale that nonetheless entertains and "delights" the reader. After all, what good is the holiest of warnings if it is too dull to be read? I also agree about the "gruesome" sections: there seems to be a sense of perfect justice with the punishment fitting - or being made conformable to - the crime, much like Dante (with nod to Jana). And finally, the "confession" lends a certain dramatic impetus that I feel would not have been found with a narrator. We are in a sense taken into a "holy of holies" - the priestly confessional. The sense of horror and desire to know more reminded me of the ghost stories my friends and I used to terrify each other with at slumber parties. We are given a sense of "you are there."
Does Gower combine “profit with delight”? I think so, if the small section we have read is any indication of the greater work. He certainly gets his point across—after hearing this story, I find myself pretty reluctant to boast, particularly in the type of circumstances described by the Confessor. Yikes. And yet the experience by no means feels didactic. I am drawn into the tale; I gasp with horror when I realize what the king has made the queen do; I cheer a little, inwardly, when I see the queen’s retaliation. I care about the characters, and I find myself reading with rapt wonder, anxious to see what happens next. As for the gruesome scenes…well, if you know me at all by now, you know that I have a bit of a fascination with all the hacking and intrigue, etc., so I’m pretty much a fan as long as it all has a proper place in the story and isn’t simply gratuitous. As for the mode of “confession,” I think I like it, but I don’t feel qualified to judge based only on the small segment we read. It provides a good setting for a lot of random stories to be thrown together, and I think that’s useful. It’s also a good teaching mode: the older, wiser priest instructing the young lover. I think, however, that I might get tired of it if I were reading the entire Confessio Amantis.
Going back to something I said in the previous paragraph, I want to state again that I cheered for the queen and, admittedly, supported her actions against the king (emotionally, if not morally). Contrary to what Nicole said in her blog, I got the impression that the cup was so overlaid in gold and jewels that a person couldn’t tell that it was made from a skull. The note in the textbook says, “Gower vividly imagines an ornate contemporary cup, in which the skull, like the eggshell in a ‘griffin’s egg’, would be heavily overlaid. Hence Gower’s Rosemounde, more plausibly than Godfrey’s, can drink from it in ignorance of its origin and significance” (note on line 147). So it’s not like she knew what she was getting herself into; she was probably oblivious to the whole deal. In fact, and this is absolutely my own conjecture, she probably didn’t know that it was her husband who personally slew her father on the battlefield. Considering the fact that boasting about something like that is not the way to a woman’s heart (as we see later), I highly doubt King Albinus told Rosemounde that he personally killed her father. They seemed too happy together for that piece of information to exist between them.
Anyway, I think Albinus was a moron for (a) making his wife drink from her father’s head, (b) revealing that he conquered not just her father but her, and (c) humiliating her in front of all the banquet guests. Are people really that stupid? He was asking for it, if you ask me. . . .
I felt a little guilty—you know, rooting for the queen. But then I thought about Hamlet and wondered if maybe we’re a little too hard on Rosemounde (or too easy on Hamlet). Let’s recap Hamlet’s dilemma: He finds out that his father has been murdered by his uncle, who has also happened to woo his mother, the queen. Sound familiar? What does he do in response (other than brood on his mortality)? He avenges the death of his father. How are Rosemounde’s actions any less justifiable than Hamlet’s? Father murdered. Woman wooed by murderer. Revenge taken. It seems about the same to me, except Claudius didn’t make Hamlet stand up in front of the entire court at Elsinore and drink a toast to his dearly departed father from a cup that was made from his recently-chopped-off head!
I don’t know if the Hamlet comparison actually alleviates my moral dilemma, but at least I feel like I’m in good company.
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