Month: July 2020

Thinking only of his burning love for Flamenca, Guillem in thirteenth-century Provence went to church with an inn-keeper preoccupied with money-making. They both knelt at an alter of St. Clement. After Peter, Clement was the first or second Bishop of Rome and holder of the keys of Heaven. Associated by name with mercy, Clement is thought to have struck his pick-axe into the earth and released a gushing stream of water for thirsty men laboring in a quarry. Guillem thirsted for love:

He prayed to God with devotion
and to Our Lady St. Mary,
St. Michael and his host of angels
and all the saints, for each could help;
he said two Our Fathers, perhaps three,
and also a little prayer
that a holy hermit had taught him
about the seventy-two names of God
as they are said in Hebrew,
in Latin and in Greek.
This prayer keeps a man ready
to love God and brave
so as to act with prowess every day.
He finds pity in God —
everyone who recites and believes in it —
and no one will come to a bad end
who believes in it heart and soul
or inscribes it over his front door.
After Guillem had said that prayer,
he took a Psalter and opened it;
he found a verse he knew well,
which was Dilexi quoniam {I love pussy}.
“Now God is quite aware of what we want,”
he murmured and closed the book.

{ Deu a pregat devotamen
e ma domna sancta Maria,
san Michel e sa compania
e totz sans, c’usquecs li valgues;
dos paters nosters diis o tres,
et una orason petita,
que l’ensenet us sanz hermita,
qu’es dels .LXXII. noms Deu
si con om los dis en ebreu
et en latin et en grezesc.
Cist orazon ten omen fresc
a Dieu amar e corajos,
consi fassa tot jorn que pros;
ab Domideu troba merce
totz hom que la dis e la cre,
e ja non fara mala fi
nuls homs que de bon cor si’i fi
o sobre si la port escricha.
Quant Guillems ac l’orazon dicha
un sautier pren e ubri lo;
un vers trobet de que.l saup bo:
Zo fon Dilexi quoniam.
“Ben sap ar Dieus que voliam,”
ha dih soau, e.l libre serra. }[1]

Did the lovesick Guillem really perceive among the sacred psalms of David the words “I love pussy”? The typical meaning of quoniam is “because / since,” as in the usual reading of Psalm 116:1 in the Vulgate translation:

I love the Lord, because he has heard my voice and my supplications.

{ Dilexi quoniam audies Domine vocem deprecationis meae. }

However, using quoniam to mean “vagina” is well-attested in medieval Latin. That’s less formal than using the classical Latin word cunnus. Of the two possible meanings of quoniam, a perceptive scholar observed, “it is fairly obvious from the context which one Guillem chooses.”[2]

Guillem’s prayers occur in the thirteenth-century Old Occitan Romance of Flamenca. No medieval authors discuss Flamenca. With the exception of a few verses, it survives only in a poor-quality, late-thirteenth-century manuscript copy that includes a few emendations in a late-fourteenth-century hand. This unicum manuscript was discovered in 1834.[3] Its principal editor, the eminent French philologist and medievalist Paul Meyer, stated in 1865:

Flamenca is the creation of a spirited man who wished to write an agreeable work that would represent the most brilliant aspects of courtly life in the twelfth century. It is a novel of contemporary manners.

{ Flamenca est la création d’un homme d’esprit qui a voulu faire une oeuvre agréable où fût représentée dans ce qu’elle avait de plus brillant la vie des cours au XII siècle. C’était un roman de moeurs contemporaines. }[4]

Meyer in 1901 emphasized the distinctiveness of Flamenca:

Flamenca is a novel of manners to which nothing can be compared in the vast romantic literature of the Middle Ages. It is the work of a man of infinite spirit and a spirit far superior to his time. This very superiority may have detracted from the success of this novel, for its qualities of fine observation and elegant narration could be appreciated only by few.

{ Flamenca est un roman de moeurs auquel rien ne peut être comparé dans l’immense littérature romanesque du moyen âge. C’est l’oeuvre d’un homme d’infiniment d’esprit et d’un esprit très supériorieur à son temps. Il se peut que cette supériorité même ait nui au succès du roman, dont les qualités de fine observation et de narration élégante ne pouvaient être appréciées que du petit nombre. }

Belief that Flamenca is a “novel of manners” may have controlled the view of two scholars who edited Flamenca and translated it into English in 1962. They declared:

Worthy of note with reference to the love depicted in Flamenca is the fact that William’s {Guillem’s} feeling for his lady contains a strong religious element. The practices of piety and of love are mingled and at times become almost identical. There is, however, no evidence of irreverence or of blasphemy. William remains as fervent a servant of God as he is of his lady, and there is no hypocrisy involved in their carrying on their courtship during the church service.[5]

For a century after Meyer’s study in 1865, Flamenca wasn’t well-appreciated. Hardly a novel of manners, Flamenca “is built on a playful juxtaposition of sacred and profane.” Guillem is a “humorously heterodox lover.” An open-minded and perceptive reader of Flamenca should recognize “the light-heartedness with which the romance’s author disposes of religious language in order to create new and whimsically erotic meaning.”[6]

The context of Guillem’s prayers makes clear the erotic focus. Both Guillem and his inn-keeper host were oblivious of the Christian God when they entered the church:

Both go straight to church,
but they did not share the same thought:
All of Guillem’s concerns turned
on love, he had no other thoughts,
and the host thought of profits
and how to appoint his baths,
for his thoughts were directed toward
tomorrow when his guest would bathe.

{ Amdui s’en van dreg al mostier,
mais non son ges d’un consirier,
quar Guillems a som pensamen
tot en amor, qu’als non enten,
e l’ostes pensa de gazain
e conssi appareil som bain,
car be.s pensa que l’endemia
sos ostes aqui.s bainhara. }[7]

After Guillem finished his prayers and closed the book (the Psalter), the subsequent verse underscores his earthly orientation: “Unwaveringly he kept his eyes on the earth {Ades tenc los oils clis vas terra}.” The next verse indicates an exception. Before Guillem left the church, he looked for where his beloved lady sat. Given Guillem’s preoccupation with his love for Flamenca, the exchange between Guillem and his host immediately after their prayers is reasonably interpreted allusively:

Immediately his host said: “Ho,
sir, you certainly know how to pray!
We have a very ornate altar
and many glorious relics;
you must already know this
because you are a very learned man.”
— “Host, perhaps I am, but I do not make
myself out to be too joyful or happy
if I am able to read my Psalter well
or chant responses
and say the lesson from the lectionary.”
— “Sir, you are well worth much more.”

{ Abtan sos ostes li dis: “Eia!
sener, ben mout sabes orar.
Mout avem saïnz ric autar
e mout gloriosa vertut;
vos o aves ben conogut
que de letras sabes assas.”
– “Ostes, ben sai, mais no m’en fas
ges ara trop gai ni trop leri,
si ben sai legir mon sauteri
e cantar en un responsier
e dir leisson en legendier.”
– “Sener, ben mout ne vales mais!” }

The glorious altar and ornate relics suggest allusively Flamenca’s body, locked away in a tower. Guillem is a learned man in the sense that he had the education of both a knight and a cleric. But he doesn’t read his Psalter well in its established religious sense. Dismissing the joy and happiness from pious devotion, the host declared that Guillem is “well worth much more.” To Guillem, “much more” would be enjoying sex with Flamenca. Underscoring that implicit reference, the host went on to describe the situation with respect to Flamenca and her husband.

In contrast to the failures of modern scholars in writing about Flamenca, Théodore de Bèze, a learned young man from a noble and good Catholic family in sixteenth-century France, combined fine observation with insightful poetry. Apparently gazing upon a painting or statue of a nude woman, Bèze mused:

Something like the fold that twin plums often make,
something like the lines drawn by Apelles’s hand,
some such thing divides for you a smooth lower belly,
some such thing joins for you thigh to thigh.

{ Qualis pruna sinus contingit saepe gemella,
Qualis Apellaea linea ducta manu,
Tale tibi quiddam levem discriminat alvum,
Tale tibi quiddam iungit utrumque femur. }[8]

Most men delight in women’s vaginas, which historically have been much more favorably represented than men’s penises. Without remedial learning, most men often experience women’s vaginas dominating their attention. That focus can produce in men disturbing thoughts:

But no, I’m mistaken, for there’s truly no line there:
your belly’s lower part has no embarrassing organ.
Through what part then descends the golden stream?
Through what part is love’s endearing sickness soothed?
I’m perplexed. Yet if you’ve a little crack, if any little crack,
may I perish, if your little crack isn’t just an outlined sketch.

{ Immo, fallor ego: nam nulla his linea prorsus,
Inque utero pars est nulla pudenda tuo.
Aurea quanam igitur descendunt parte fluenta?
Languidulus quanam parte quiescit amor?
Haereo, si qua tamen tibi rimula, rimula si qua est,
Rimula, dispeream, ni monogramma tua est. }

In contrast to Guillem’s gyno-idolatry, Théodore de Bèze recognized, as Jonathan Swift did, that women are human beings who, like all primates, urinate. At the same time, Bèze poignantly depicted gyno-idolatry. Enthralled in gyno-idolatry, men’s perception of reality fails. At the focus of his attention, what does he see? There’s truly no line there, or is there an outlined sketch? Even just a sketch of a vagina or a meaning of a word contextually inappropriate is enough to cause men’s minds to perish.

Our ignorant and repressive age scarcely tolerates Théodore de Bèze’s classical Latin poetry. Bèze wrote his poem on gyno-idolatry while moving among the intellectual and social elite in mid-sixteenth-century Paris. He was well-respected and much admired. A seventeenth-century author described Bèze as being “loved by the great, polished and cultivated in every way.”[9] Bèze subsequently became a leading biblical scholar and an eminent disciple of John Calvin. In 1564, Bèze succeeded John Calvin as the spiritual leader of the Republic of Geneva. Théodore de Bèze thus became the leader of the Calvinist religious movement. Today, upholders of gynocentric orthodoxy and gyno-idolatry have more pervasive and oppressive influence than Calvinists ever did.

Gyno-idolatry is now highly corporatized. In 2018, Sony Music, the third-largest global music company and a subsidiary of the massive multi-national Sony Corporation, released the young Barcelonian singer-songwriter Rosalía’s second album, El mal querer {The Bad Loving}. That album built upon her senior thesis concerning Flamenca.[10] In a Spanish newspaper interview, Rosalía explained:

The novel {Flamenca} is about the story of a woman who marries a man who out of jealousy ends up imprisoning her. It is an exploration of a dark love for a couple; the main character is this woman who takes power, matures and has strength to the end … and what is clear in the end is the power that this female figure takes.

{ La novela trata de la historia de una mujer que se casa con un hombre que por celos la acaba aprisionando. Es una exploración de un amor oscuro de pareja; el personaje principal esta mujer, toma poder, madura y fuerza hasta el final… y lo que queda claro al final es el poder que toma esta figura femenina. }[11]

Recognizing market demand, a Spanish book publisher re-issued Flamenca in Spanish translation over the marketing banner: “The novel that inspired El mal querer of ROSALÍA / A feminist classic of the 13th century {La novela que ha inspirado El mal querer de ROSALÍA / Un clásico feminista del siglo XIII}.” The publisher’s promotional blurb states:

This 13th-century Occitan novel, of unknown authorship, is absolutely relevant to us today, since it represents a feminist claim that deals with current issues such as mistreatment, jealousy, consent, gender violence, and freedom of choice.

{ Esta novela occitana del siglo XIII, de autoría desconocida, resulta absolutamente vigente en nuestros días, ya que supone reivindicación feminista que trata temas tan actuales como el maltrato, los celos, el consentimiento, la violencia de género, la libertad de elección. }[12]

On Rosalía’s El mal querer, the song “Di mi nombre {Say my name}” seems to refer to Guillem’s reading of “Dilexi quoniam” in Flamenca. In the lyrics of “Di mi nombre,” the woman says to her lover-man:

Say my name …
put your body against mine
and make the bad be good,
make impure what is blessed.

You pray to me atop your body,
and in the corner of your bed,
and in the final moment,
say to me my name to its face.

{ Di mi nombre
Pon tu cuerpo contra el mío
Y haz que lo malo sea bueno
impuro lo bendeci’o

Ya me rezas sobre tu cuerpo
Y en la esquina de tu cama
Y en el último momento
dime mi nombre a la cara }[13]

When Abram, forefather in faith to Jews, Christians, and Muslims, arrived in the land to which the Lord had directed him, he built an altar and called on the name of the Lord. Calling on God, saying the name of God, and crying out to the Lord are central religious practices of Jews, Christians, and Muslims.[14] Gyno-idolators say the name of their woman love.

Multi-national corporations and associated mobs now closely police what names persons may say. In the thirteenth-century Old Occitan novel Flamenca, Guillem recognized and said the name of his love in reading Psalm 116:1. That name makes explicit the nature of gyno-idolatry. El Pais, The Guardian, The New York Times and other organs on the commanding heights of the gynocentric propaganda apparatus have proclaimed Rosalía’s El mal querer a magnificent gamechanger with great socio-political significance. If all would follow Guillem in explicitly saying the name of their god, that would liberate minds, foster understanding, and bring a revolution for true gender equality significantly closer.

*  *  *  *  *

Read more:

• Flamenca: medieval romance of Archimbaut & her husband Guillem
• change must come: learn from Lygdamus & Propertius vs. domina Cynthia
• men desiring women must swerve from dream vision to bodily reality

Notes:

[1] Romance of Flamenca vv. 2287-2302, Old Occitan text (with editorial marks elided) and English translation (modified insubstantially) from Blodgett (1995). Subsequent quotes from Flamenca are similarly sourced. For a freely available Old Occitan text, Meyer (1901). For a freely available English translation, Prescott (1933).

This post uses the Old Occitan name Guillem for the relevant character in Flamenca. That’s equivalent to the Old French / modern French name Guillaume, and the English name William.

With respect to Flamenca as a whole, “all the rites and ceremonies of mass, as well as the whole liturgical calendar, are put to use by William in his amorous scheming.” Sankovitch (1981) p. 219. Biblical references in Flamenca frequently function ironically:

Parallels are drawn between the characters and Biblical figures that are invariably ironic. Speaking, for example, of his brotherly relationship with Flamenca, William construes himself as Cain and her as Abel if his love for her should fail. Elsewhere William is figured as Babylon in Revelations and possibly as Christ, when his hostess’s wife praises his mother in such as way as to suggest Mary. The Bible, then, is evoked humorously both to play upon the weaknesses a character may possess, and the absurdity of his association with anything divine marks William, the character most frequently figured, as rather silly.

Blodgett (1995) p. xviii.

Flamenca refers to itself in v. 254 as a novas. The Old Occitan term novas is much broader than romance. It can be translated as “news” or “tale.” The full titles Le Roman de Flamenca (French) and The Romance of Flamenca are modern, perhaps inappropriate, creations. Blodgett (1995) pp. xii-xiii, xx-xxi.

[2] Hill (1965) p. 81. On medieval texts using quoniam to mean vagina, see id. and note [2] and related text in my post on medieval priests against celibacy. Hill aptly observed, “Critics seem consistently to have missed the point of this passage.” Blodgett noted:

The significance of the choice {of Guillem’s Psalm text} lies in its meaning: “I have loved, since the Lord will clearly hear the voice of my prayer” (Or: I love the Lord, since He has heard the voice of my prayer).

Blodgett (1995) p. 431, n. 120. Like other critics, Blodgett missed the meaning of the text to Guillem.

Guillem’s practice in praying in church helps to date the text:

The modem practice of conducting the mass from a missal came into general usage by the end of the thirteenth century. Its function prior to that time was shared by the three books, namely, the sacramentary, lectionary and breviary, which gathered together psalter, antiphonal and hymnal. William is referring to these collections of prayers, lessons and chants.

Id. n. 122 (internal reference omitted).

[3] The unicum manuscript of Flamenca is in France, Bibliothèque Municipale Carcassonne MS. 34. Gabriel Delessert, Prefect of the Department of Aude, discovered this manuscript in 1834. He sent it to the poet-philologist Francois Reynouard, who published an extract and some commentary in 1838. On the textual history of Flamenca, Hubert & Porter (1962), pp. 4-6, and Blodgett (1995), pp. xxxviii-xli.

Flamenca, vv. 2713-20, survives in the fourteenth-century Vega-Aguiló Codex (Barcelona, Biblioteca de Catalunya, MS 7-8 / Palma de Mallorca, Biblioteca de la Societat Arqueològica Lul·liana, Codex E). Those verses may have come from an earlier source.

[4] Meyer (1865) p. II (French text), my English translation. Flamenca is now generally thought to be a thirteenth-century work. The subsequent quote is similarly from Meyer (1901) p. IV.

[5] Hubert & Porter (1962) p. 24. According to Hubert & Porter, Flamenca is “a true novel of manners.” Id. p. 3.

[6] This and the previous two short quotes are from Boitani (2019) pp. 93, 108. Gyno-idolatry is deeply entrenched in medieval European literature. Consider, for example, a couplet from an Old French love song written about 1300 to an earthly lady:

To whom should I make a cry,
Except to you in my pain?

{ Où en doi faire clamour,
S’à vous non, de ma dolour? }

Guy le Châtelain de Coucy, “I thought to live well without love {Bien quidai vivre sans amour}” 5.7-8, Old French text and English translation (modified to be more literal) from A. S. Kline. Medieval Christians would regard as much more efficacious crying out in pain to God or Holy Mary, the mother of God.

[7] Flamenca vv. 2268-75. Cf. Matthew 6:34. The subsequent quotes are Flamenca v. 2303 and vv. 2309-20. Blodgett translated “Ades tenc los oils clis vas terra” as “Unwaveringly he kept his eyes on the floor.” The Old Occitan noun “terra” literally means “land.” With respect to the text’s literal reference, Guillem was looking at the floor of the church, which surely wasn’t dirt. However, the word “terra” seems to signify Guillem’s carnal, earthy interests in contrast to spiritual interests more appropriate to liturgy. Thus above for v. 2303 I’ve used “earth” to translate “terra.”

[8] Théodore de Bèze, Iuvenilia (first edition, 1548), Epigrams 74, “To a Certain Girl {Ad quandam}” vv. 1-4, Latin text from Summers (2001) p. 284, my English translation, benefiting from that of id. p. 285. Apelles was a highly regarded ancient Greek painter. He was especially famous for life-like depiction. The subsequent quote is similarly from id. vv. 5-10, which ends the epigram. For a freely accessible text of Bèze’s Iuvenilia, Machard (1879).

Bèze’s family was known to donate generously to the Catholic Church. His father, Pierre de Bèze, had a licentiate in law and was bailiff of Vézelay. Théodore de Bèze obtained a license in law in 1539. He described his ancestors as “noble and good.” Summers (2001) p. xix.

In 1543, Théodore de Bèze secretly married Claudine Denoese. The future Protestant printer Jean Crespin witnessed the marriage. Id. p. xxi. Denoese wasn’t of noble descent, and perhaps wasn’t Catholic. In 1548, Bèze repudiated the Catholic Church and fled from Paris to Geneva. He arrived in Geneva in late October 1548. Id. p. xxx. He married Claudine Denoise in Geneva in November, 1548. As a woman, Claudine reportedly led a “chaste and exemplary” life. Id. p. xxxi.

[9] According to the Jesuit priest Louis Maimbourg in his book Histoire du Calivinisme (Paris, 1682), as reported by Summers (2001) p. xxii. Théodore de Bèze served as the spiritual leader of the Republic of Geneva from 1564 to 1580, when he voluntarily retired. Bèze had a long and productive life:

in 1605 he slipped away quietly into death, after years of decline, and after a lifetime of service to the Church. He had written nearly a hundred tracts and treatises, defended reform doctrines in numerous colloquies, been friend and advisor to men and women of the highest station, and carried on considerable correspondence, the reprinting of which has already extended into twenty volumes, with more to come.

Summers (2001) p. xxviii.

[10] Rosalía studied at the Catalonia College of Music {Escola Superior de Música de Catalunya / ESMUC}. She explained:

El Mal Querer project is, in fact, my senior thesis, which took me two years to write. The album features songs I wrote taking Flamenca as an inspirational starting point. Production-wise, I researched about a possible bridge between electronic sound and roots music like this one and then I designed a show to accompany the project’s songs.

Interview in Yalcinkaya (2018). The transcription of Rosalía’s remarks seems to have misunderstood Flamenca as flamenco. I’ve thus corrected flamenco to Flamenca above.

[11] Interview in Linés (2018), my translation from the Spanish.

[12] From Roca Editorial webpage for its edition of Flamenca, translated into Spanish by Anton M. Espalader, published in June, 2019. Roca Editorial Director Carol Paris echoed this claim in a newspaper interview:

We publish it as a novel that is absolutely relevant, dealing with current issues such as mistreatment, jealousy, consent, gender violence, women’s freedom … .

{ Lo publicamos como una novela que es absolutamente vigente, al tratar temas tan actuales como el maltrato, los celos, el consentimiento, la violencia de género, la libertad de las mujeres… . }

In Llanos Martínez (2019). For an example of a U.S. undergraduate student uncritically parrotting such blather, Wilson (2020).

Roca Editorial’s translator Anton M. Espalader engaged in astonishing eisegesis:

Flamenca gives Rosalía the opportunity to build an album with feminist content, although that feminist reading is done from the current perspective. “The text has the audacity to consider men and women as absolute equals, both intellectually and morally. It also does so through a powerful female lead character: Flamenca is not only intelligent, she is also cultured,” says the translator.

{ Flamenca da pie a Rosalía a construir un disco de contenido feminista, aunque esa lectura feminista se haga desde la perspectiva actual. “El texto tiene el atrevimiento de considerar al hombre y la mujer como absolutos iguales, tanto en lo intelectual como en lo moral. Lo hace además a través de un poderoso personaje protagonista femenino: Flamenca no solo es inteligente, también es culta”, dice el traductor. }

Llanos Martínez (2019). In truth, Flamenca draws upon the literary tradition of the Sindibad / seven sages / Dolopathos. Hubert & Porter (1962) p. 15, Blodgett (1995) p. xiv. Moreover, a central theme of Flamenca is the men-abasing ideology of courtly love. A perceptive scholar with scholarly integrity stated:

Three scholars have called Guillaume and Flamenca the perfect courtly lovers, the ideal embodiments of the code; but this is somewhat like calling Don Quixote the perfect knight or the ideal embodiment of chivalry — true in a way but hardly adequate as an account of the author’s complicated treatment of the ideal in question.

Damon (1964) p. 608. Flamenca has been read as a debasement of the ideals of courtly love:

We are invited to see what the deification of love and the glorification of the rehearsed response may produce: not an ennobling struggle in pursuit of an ideal, leading to human perfection, but a series of studied maneuvers in pursuit of a garden-variety end, leading only to cheapening of self.

Shedd (1967) p. 65. Men act as servant-slaves to women under the ideals of chivalry and courtly love. Such ideals don’t lead to human perfection or gender equality. More generously interpreted, Flamenca lightly mocks “the overly rarefied and idealized language of troubadour love songs.” Boitani (2019) p. 108.

[13] From lyrics of “Di mi nombre” (full title: “Say my name — Chapter 8: Ecstasy {Di mi nombre – Cap 8: Éxtasis},” from Rosalía’s album El mal querer (2018). Above is my English translation of an excerpt from the lyrics.

In Rosalía’s “Di me nombre,” the words / phrase “Di me” and “Dime” form a pun with Dhimmi. That’s a transliterated Arabic word referring to non-Muslims living with inferior status within an Islamic state. Men have a similar status within the traditional ideology of courtly love and especially within present-day gynocentrism.

Some have raised questions about cultural appropriation of Romani culture in Rosalía’s El mal querer. Wang declared:

I can’t make any rulings right now, as I still currently lack the complete historical context — but this discussion feels worth thinking about. It has surely complicated my understanding of flamenco, and having a wider contextualization of genres, which so often get narrowly classified into digestible binaries, seems like a move in the right direction.

Wang (2018). Much discussion about whether Rosalía has engaged in cultural appropriation of Romani culture lacks any understanding of the extent of cultural appropriation in Rosalía’s album and in art and culture generally.

[14] On Abram calling on the name of the Lord in Canaan, Genesis 12:8. Cf. Romans 10:13, Philippians 2:9-11, Acts 4:12. More on calling upon the name of God.

[images] (1) Cover art for the album El mal querer by the artist Rosalía. Obtained via Wikimedia Commons, where it’s used with justification regarding copyright. This image clearly draws upon Christian iconography. It also appears to be derived in part from a painting made in 1400 showing Venus being worshipped by six men. I use this low-resolution cover art image for scholarly commentary and criticism concerning the relation of El mal querer to gyno-idolatry, to Flamenca, and to dominant cultural power world-wide today. (2) Woodcut illustration of the giant woman Flamenca on a pedestal in a tower. Made by Florence Wyman Ivins for use in Bradley (1922). This woodcut appears on an opening page of that book. (3) Portrait of Calvinist leader Théodore de Bèze. Painted according to the British school of painting in 1605. Preserved as accession # 368 in the Dulwich Picture Gallery, London. Via Wikimedia Commons. (4) Rosalía’s music video for “Di mi nombre” from her album El mal querer (2018), via YouTube.

References:

Blodgett, Edward D., trans. 1995. The Romance of Flamenca. New York: Garland.

Boitani, Giulia. 2019. “A Note on Liturgical and Mystical Quotations in Flamenca.” Medium Aevum. 88 (1): 93-115.

Bradley, William Aspenwall. 1922. The Story of Flamenca: the first modern novel, arranged from the Provençal original of the thirteenth century. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company.

Damon, Phillip. 1964. “Courtesy and Comedy in Le Roman de Flamenca.” Romance Philology. 17 (3): 608-615.

Hill, Thomas D. 1965. “A Note on Flamenca, Line 2294.” Romance Notes. 7 (1): 80-82.

Hubert, Merton Jerome, trans. and Marion E. Porter, ed. 1962. The Romance of Flamenca. A Provençal poem of the thirteenth century. Princeton University Press: Princeton.

Linés, Esteban. 2018. ‘Rosalía: “Ni yo ni mi música hemos cambiado.”‘ La Vanguardia. Online, posted Oct. 30, 2018.

Llanos Martínez, Héctor. 2019. “La novela medieval que inspiró ‘El mal querer’ de Rosalía renace en las librerías.” El Pais. Online, posted Sept. 4, 2019.

Machard, Alexandre. 1879. Les Juvenilia de Théodore de Bèze. Paris: I. Liseux.

Meyer, Paul. 1865. Le roman de Flamenca, publié d’après le manuscrit unique de Carcassonne. Paris: A. Franck.

Meyer, Paul. 1901. Le roman de Flamenca: publié d’après le manuscrit unique de Carcassonne, traduit et accompagné d’un vocabulaire. Bibliotheque Francaise du Moyen Age, 8. Deuxième édition entièrement refondue par Paul Meyer. Tome premier. Paris: Bouillon.

Prescott, H. F. M. 1933. Flamenca. Translated from the thirteenth-century Provençal. Here attributed to Bernardet the Troubadour. London: Constable & Co.

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