Roman epitaph to Julia Galbina

Roman epitaph to Julia Galbina

Above is a photograph of a Roman epitaph from the second century GC.  Translated from Latin, it states: “To the sacred memory of Julia Galbina; she lived 45 years. Gnaeus Haius Iustus, to his most devoted wife.”

In the U.S. in 1790, expected lifespan at birth was 44 years for white females and white males.  Now it’s 79 years for females and 74 years for males.  You can now expect to live longer than Julia Galbina.  But will you be remembered 1800 years from now?

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[image] My photograph of marble stone on display at the Portland Art Museum.  Sally Lewis Collection of Classical Antiquities 26.68.

anisogamy and sex inequality: the communicative connection

Evolution of sexual reproduction has consistently generated a size dichotomy in gametes.  That’s called anisogamy.  The larger-size gamete is called the female gamete (“egg”).  The smaller-sized gamete  is called the male gamete (“sperm”).[1]  Because sperm are typically much smaller than eggs, sperm are biologically less costly to produce and move.

Anisogamy — sex dichotomy in gamete size — does not imply that the sperm must assume responsibility for moving to the egg.  Sperm typically are more numerous and more mobile than eggs.  However, reproductive competition generally is most significant at the level of the organism.  For organisms of different sexes (organisms differentiated by egg production and sperm production), relative organism value and relative mobility doesn’t necessarily follow from the relative production costs and relative mobility of eggs and sperm. Anisogamy isn’t destiny.

Communication has high value for sexually reproducing organisms.  Sexually reproducing organisms must solve the problem of getting male and female gametes physically together.[2]  Organisms must also solve other problems, such as securing food and avoiding predators.  In addition, the time and place of the union of the male and female gametes greatly affect the probably of generating reproductively successful offspring.  Behavior that brings male and female gametes together at a relatively good time and place, while imposing relatively weak constraints on solutions to other problems that organisms must solve, provides an evolutionary advantage.  Communication is a powerful tool for bringing male and female gametes together propitiously.  Sexual reproduction drives the development of communication capabilities.

sex differences in family portrait

Anisogamy provides little insight into sex differences in communication.  One scholar described the situation thus:

Sexual selection theory also teaches that because eggs are larger and more expensive to produce, females must conserve this resource by playing hard to get.  Conversely, because sperm are small and easy to manufacture, males can spread them around with little loss on investment.  But in fact, sperm are not cheap.  The relevant comparison is not between individual sperm and egg, but between ejaculate and egg.  An ejaculate often has a million sperm, making the mating investment of both male and female about the same. [3]

More broadly influential is a different view expressed in a recent scholarly review of sex in evolution:

At the biological heart of sex differences lies anisogamy – the vastly unequal size (and consequent energetic cost) of gametes contributed by male and female in sexual reproduction.  As Williams (1996, p. 118) points out, anisogamy marks the start of male exploitation of females.  “When egg-producers reproduce, they must bear the entire nutritional burden of nurturing the offspring.  By contrast, the sperm-makers reproduce for free.  A sperm is not a contribution to the next generation; it is a claim on contributions put into the egg by another individual.  Males of most species make no investments in the next generation, but merely compete with another for the opportunity to exploit investments made by females.”  When combined with internal fertilization, the stage is set for an even greater inequality in parental investment [4]

In the next paragraph of the quoted text, Williams, a leading evolutionary theorist, declared that ethnic and religious traditions, which are built upon human communication capabilities, reverse the ultimate sex inequality:

The biology of reproduction forms a basis for ethnic and religious traditions that facilitate the oppression of women by men and of children by both, with everything arranged so that the men end up the biggest losers. [5]

That’s an important insight.  Anisogamy and other figures of female disadvantage get magnified in social discourse to obscure the reality of over-all male disadvantage.  That explains lack of concern about the gender protrusion in mortality.  It explains why men have no reproductive rights and are incarcerated for having consensual sex and being poor.  It explains why enormous sex discrimination against men in child custody and child support attracts little concern.  Sex differences in communication, not anisogamy, are the biological root of sex inequality.

Anisogamy does not necessarily imply the social devaluation of men.  A leading biological anthropologist has declared:

our species possesses the capacity to carry sexual inequality to its greatest known extremes, but we also possess the potential to realize an unusual social equality between the sexes should we choose to exercise that potential. [6]

Another scientist concerned about sex inequality has pointed out:

the most distinctive genetic trait of homo sapiens – the source of their greatest evolutionary advantage – is their ability to intentionally and radically change their environments. [7]

Overcoming sex inequality requires changing the environment of social communication.  Men need to start speaking up about the reality of their lives as demonized men.

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Notes:

[1] The primary advantage of combining DNA from separate organisms via sexual reproduction is an issue of lively research and debate. By creating genetic diversity across offspring, sex might allow better exploitation of different local resources.  It might limit the effects of harmful genetic mutations.  Alternatively, genetic diversity might produce faster adaptation to changing environments or to rapidly evolving parasites and diseases.  Among multi-cellular organisms, sexual reproduction is much more common than asexual reproduction.

[2] Bringing male and female gametes together doesn’t necessarily require bringing male and female organisms together.  For example, marine broadcast spawners use water current to carry sperm to eggs.

[3] Roughgarden (2005) p. 3.

[4] Campbell (2006) p. 70, quoting from the original British edition of Williams (1997).  The original British edition was published in 1996 and entitled Plan and purpose in nature.

[5] Williams (1997) p. 84.

[6] Hrdy (1981) p. 14.

[7] Alison Gopnik, comments, in Re: The Science of Gender and Science — Pinker vs. Spelke — A DebateEdge: The Reality Club, 2005.

[image] McGinnis famly in Laird, Colorado, 1899.  Thanks to the Denver Public Library.

References:

Campbell, Anne. 2006. “Feminism and Evolutionary Psychology.” Pp., 63-100 in J.H. Barkow, ed. Missing the revolution: Darwinism for social scientists. Oxford, Oxford University Press.

Hrdy, Sarah Blaffer. 1981. The woman that never evolved. Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press.

Roughgarden, Joan.  2005.  “The Myth of Sexual Selection.” California Wild. Summer edition.

Williams, George C. 1997. The pony fish’s glow: and other clues to plan and purpose in nature. New York, NY: BasicBooks.

Teodoro sets men free and returns them home happily

Boccaccio’s Decameron tells the epic history of Teodoro.  That history combines strands from the life of Joseph, as reported in the biblical book of Genesis; the union of Dido and Aeneas, from Virgil’s Aeneid;, and recognition scenes from ancient Greek novels.  The history of Teodoro creates a new future.  Men will be freed from brutal captivity and will live long, happy lives in love with women.

Teodoro overcomes punishment for sex

Teodoro was born of high parentage among an ancient Christian people living in Cilicia, just north of the Holy Land.  Italian pirates captured Teodoro and sold him into slavery to the wealthy Amerigo household in the Sicilian town Trapini.  As a slave, Teodoro was renamed Pietro.  Teodoro experienced personally the institutional capture of god’s service by corrupt successors of Peter, the first bishop of Rome.  Yet hope remained for Teodoro, because what happened to him was like what happened to Jacob’s son Joseph, sold into slavery and taken west to Egypt.  Amerigo freed Pietro and put Pietro in charge of all Amerigo household’s affairs.  God was with Teodoro as he followed the experience of Joseph.

Through the happy fault of Amerigo and the actions of Fortune, Pietro secured the love of Amerigo’s beautiful young daughter Violante.  Amerigo did not hurry to arrange a marriage for Violante when she became eligible.  As a result, Violante happened to fall in love with Pietro.  Pietro was already in love with her.  Fortune acted according to the plot that brought together Dido and Aeneas in the Aeneid.  While Pietro and Voilante were out in the countryside, a sudden, heavy storm compelled the pair to take shelter in an old, abandoned church.  Huddling together there under a roof, they expressed their love to each other and became physically intimate.

Violante and Pietro’s love led to the threat of violent death.  The natural effect of sex became a serious problem:

things went on until the girl became pregnant, much to the dismay of both parties, and although she took a number of measures to resist the course of Nature and produce a miscarriage, none of them had any effect.

Afraid for his life, Pietro made up his mind to flee and told her so.  But on hearing this, she said, “If you leave, I’m going to kill myself for sure.”

To this remark, Pietro, who was deeply in love with her, replied: “O my lady, how can you possibly want me to stay here?  Your pregnancy will reveal our offense, and although you may be easily forgiven for it, I’m the poor wretch who’ll have to pay the penalty for both your sin and my own.”

Just as the social punishment for the pregnancy would be directed at Teodoro, so too today the socially constructed punishment for unplanned parenthood falls heavily on men.  Violante promised not to reveal that Teodoro was the father of the child.  Fictional claims about fatherhood have long been socially sustained.  In response to Violante’s promise, Teodoro agreed to stay.

Violante’s mother accepted her fictional story of fatherhood, but Violante’s father reacted violently.  When Violante began to show her pregnancy, she told her mother “a tall tale containing a disguised, garbled version of the truth.”  Her mother accepted that tale and hid Violante away in a country estate for the remaining duration of her pregnancy.  Just as Violante was about to give birth, her father happened to stop at the estate.  Her mother told her father the pregnancy tale and tried to persuade him to believe it.  But her father, enraged by the fictional story, demanded to know the truth:

Drawing out his sword, he rushed over in a towering rage toward the girl, who had, in the meantime, while her mother was talking with her father, given birth to a baby boy.  “Either tell me who fathered this child,” he exclaimed, “or you’re going to die right now.”

Violante told of her affair with Pietro.  Because Pietro had the status of a freed slave, Violante’s father, the noble Amerigo, did not want Pietro to marry Violante.  Pietro having sex with Violante was socially interpreted as a crime that Pietro committed against Amerigo.  Amerigo immediately reported that crime to the head of the local militia.  That official tortured Pietro and extracted a full confession.  He sentenced Pietro “to be whipped through the city and then hanged by the neck.”

Having Pietro executed wasn’t enough to satisfy Amerigo.  He ordered that his daughter Violante choose suicide by dagger or by poison, or be publicly immolated.  Amerigo also ordered one of his servants to “take the child she gave birth to a few days ago, smash its head against a wall, and throw it away to be eaten by dogs.”  This extravagant, fanciful brutality came with the new ending.

Pietro being recognized by his true, long-lost father saved him and Violante from violent deaths.  Pietro’s father Fineo, traveling to Rome as an ambassador from the Armenian King of Cilicia, just happened to be in Trapini.  Fineo recognized the red birthmark on Pietro’s chest as Pietro walked by being whipped.  Fineo called out to him, “O Teodoro!”  After a brief exchange in Armenian, the two were certain that they were father and son.  That was a recognition scene like recognition scenes in ancient Greek novels.  Overjoyed to find his son who had been lost, Fineo took off his silk cloak and wrapped it around Pietro.  That was just as the father had done upon the return of the prodigal son.  Fineo went to the official who had sentenced Pietro and declared:

the person you’ve condemned to death as a slave is actually my son, a free man, and he’s ready to marry the girl he is said to have robbed of her virginity.  Therefore, I beg you to delay his execution until we can find out whether she’ll accept him as her husband, because that way, if she does want him, you won’t find that you yourself have gone and broken the law.

Pietro apparently was falsely accused of raping Violante, just as Joseph was falsely accused of raping Potiphar’s wife.  Teodoro’s re-union with Fineo encompassed more human difficulties than the prodigal son’s re-union with his father in the Gospel of Luke.  The re-union of Teodoro and Fineo was also more conditional.  Fineo said to Amerigo:

I fully intent to have my son marry your daughter.  And if he doesn’t want to, then let them carry out the sentence that has been passed upon him.

Teodoro wanted to marry Violante.  Violante wanted to marry Teodoro.  Fineo’s recognition of Teodoro enabled Teodoro and Violante to marry within the prevailing social order.  Amerigo reversed his order of death for Violante and her son, and gave Violante in marriage to Teodoro.  Along with their newly born son, Teodoro and Violante returned to Cilicia with Fineo.  Using the happy ending of recognition plots in ancient Greek novels, there they lived in peace and tranquility for the rest of their days.

Joseph did not return alive to the Holy Land.  Dido did not enjoy a long, happy marriage with Aeneas.  Ancient Greek novels weren’t historical.  The epic history of Teodoro solved those historical problems.

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Notes:

The history of Teodoro occurs as Day 5, Story 7 (told by Lauretta) in the Decameron.  All the quotes above are from that story, as translated in Rebhorn (2013) pp. 437-44.  Teodoro is a Greek name meaning “gift of God.”  The life of Joseph is in Genesis 37-50.  The story of Dido and Aeneas’ union is in Virgil’s Aeneid, 4.105-172.  The most famous identifying bodily mark in Greek literature is Odysseus’s scar in Homer’s Odyssey, Bk. 19.  Recognition scenes are common in the ancient Greek novels.  For analysis, Montiglio (2013).  On Boccaccio’s knowledge of myths and his use of them in constructing new social understanding, see Gittes (2008) and Lummus (2012).

[image] Virgil and Dante entering the eighth circle, holding adulterers, seducers, and flatterers.  Illustration of Dante’s Commedia, Inferno, Canto XVIII.  Painted by Priamo della Quercia between 1442 and 1450 in north Italy for an edition of Dante’s Commedia. Folio 32, Yates Thompson 36, held in the British Library.

References:

Gittes, Tobias Foster. 2008. Boccaccio’s naked muse: eros, culture, and the mythopoeic imagination. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Lummus, David. 2012. “Boccaccio’s Poetic Anthropology: Allegories of History in the Genealogie deorum gentilium libri.” Speculum. 87 (03): 724-765.

Montiglio, Silvia. 2013. Love and providence: recognitions in the ancient novel. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Rebhorn, Wayne A., trans. 2013. Giovanni Boccaccio. The Decameron. New York : W.W. Norton & Company.

questioning masculinities: medieval chantefable Aucassin et Nicolette

Literary criticism of the social erection of gender has complicated sexual/textual scenarios of hegemonic negative images of the masculine. Lack of attention to masculine difference has contributed to a dry gap in medieval literary studies directed toward overcoming traditional forms of gender domination. I want to situate my work in readings that validate the multiplicity of voices within the fluid system of gender that throughout history has always been a long hard shaft on men’s bodies. Unpacking the complicated rhetoric that has always oppressed men requires questioning overdetermined universalizing claims of idyllic innocence, ideologically (im)posed. Meninist study of the singular medieval French chantefable Aucassin et Nicolette can contribute to complicating the essential ambiguity of gender. It serves as a necessary first step to opening the question of masculinities and heteronormativity, not just to secure better public appreciation for medieval literature, but also to advance the more general literary project of human emancipation.

Aucassin et Nicolette signifies the merely titular social position of men with its ironic epideictic gesture of supporting class hierarchy through social titles. In contrast to the obvious performative context of the text, when the parole became the embodied langue in the manuscript materiality, it acquired the title C’est d’Aucasin et de Nicolete {This is of Aucasin and Nicolet}. The acquisition of titles participates in the social process of generating and supporting class structures. The Lacanian deictic “this” slips the signifier of the manuscript materiality into longer chains of social domination. The body of the text reveals the inscribed marking of socially constructed gender order in the separate circuit of social performance quite apart from the commodified circulation of textual artifacts:

Of two small, fair children,
Nicolette and Aucassin.

{ De deus biax enfans petis,
Nicholete et Aucassins }

The bodily characterization of stature, widely mis-interpreted as essentially a biological measurement, floats dialectically against the textual construction of “Nicholete” and “Aucassins” as young adults. That complicating of representation signifies the ensuing inversion of titular positions of Aucassin and Nicolette, refashioned with the violent transformation and displacement of the soft breathing h into the coronal-dental stopped t and terminated with the slippery, unitary-marked s. These transformations, suppressed in non-meninist ethics of reading subservient to the capitalist production of standard texts from the multiplicity of individual, particularistic manuscripts, represent the negative and positive fetishizations of gender polarity and the material imbrications of gyno-primacy.

The displacement and Othering of men as persons to be attacked and laid low, represented in the cultural violence of naming, is embodied in men’s captivity in sickness to be cured only at the effortless whim of the master-woman. Consistent with the history of oppressive displacement of men from their homes and alienation of men from their children, Aucassin is named as a Muslim Other to be driven from the European home and subject to violent attack. He is permitted within the home only within conditions of cultural-colonial subservience that produce human psycho-somatic sickness. That, like everything else, is gendered. The unknowable gender domination, so difficult to extirpate precisely because of its liminal ontological status in non-meninist discourse, is evident in the Kristeva-Irigaray reversal of abnegation merely through the presence of the master-woman Nicolette:

This I saw some yesterday,
how a pilgrim on his way —
Limousin his land was — lay
fevered on a bed within.
Grievous had his sickness been,
great the fever he was in.
By his bedside Nicolette
passing, lifted skirt and let —
beneath her pretty ermine frock,
beneath her snowy linen smock —
just a dainty ankle show.
Lo, the sick man healed, and lo,
felt himself as not before.
From his bed he rose once more,
and to his own land did flit,
whole and sound, not sick a bit.

{ L’autr’ ier vi un pelerin,
nes estoit de Limosin,
malades de l’esvertin.
si gisoit ens en un lit,
mout par estoit entrepris,
de grant mal amaladis;
tu passas devant son lit,
si soulevas ton traïn
et ton peliçon ermin,
la cemisse de blanc lin,
tant que ta ganbete vit:
garis fu li pelerins
et tos sains, ainc ne fu si;
si se leva de son lit,
si rala en son païs
sains et saus et tos garis. }

This ideological cure, figured as a brief displacement of Nicolette’s material wealth in attire, parallels the racist coloring of European racism historically and textually linked to the straight-jacket of heteronormativity ideologically constructed as healing. The meninist work of loosening the tightly bound bindings of these representations is the liberating task of the critical scholar confronting the horrors of imaginative literature. Much work remains to be done.

The wounding of men is wound within the clash of subordinated signified and signifier in men-on-men violence institutionalized as war. In Aucassin et Nicolette, war is mediated through universal gender signifiers obscure to the unknowing masculine observers:

“Sir,” said Aucassin, “now take me to where your wife is with the army!” “Sir, willingly!” said the King. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his, and Nicolete remained behind in the queen’s chambers. And the King and Aucassin rode on till they came to where the Queen was, and they found the battle was with roasted crab-apples, and eggs, and fresh cheeses.

{ “Sire,” fait Aucassins, “or me menés la u vostre femme est en l’ost.” “Sire, volentiers,” fait li rois. Il monte sor un ceval, et Aucassins monte sor le sien, et Nicolete remest es canbres la roine. Et li rois et Aucassins cevaucierent tant qu’il vinrent la u la roine estoit, et troverent la bataille de poms de bos waumonnés et d’uetis et de fres fromages; et Aucassins les conmença a regarder, se s’en esmevella molt durement. }

Separated from Nicolette who has been left behind in a traditional position of gender power, Aucassin’s request, “take me,” and the King’s response, “willingly,” show the promise of non-hierarchical affiliation among men, underscored in the King’s rejection of his gender-normative role as subject and object of violence in war. But that gesture is complicit with dominance as seen through the reversed plot trajectory and the symbolic media of war: roasted crab-apples, indicating the expulsion of Adam from Eden and the gender structure of mass incarceration; eggs, implicitly subordinating male homosexual affiliation with a socially constructed signifier of male biological insufficiency; and fresh cheese, which of course is made with richly gendered milk. Institutional and representational support for violence against men is woven throughout the imaginative terrain of the stories we tell ourselves, reproducing our selves and our reality, as Foucault has shown, in accordance with micro-structures of power and gender oppression.

Continuing along the reversed plot trajectory, the reader immediately recognizes the violence that supports the traditional gender hierarchy within the capillaries of men subordinated into the position of the Other as subject-object of violence. The King was in bed, having rejected war and instead embracing labor to give birth to a new social order of non-violence, non-subordination, and communal production. But under the capitalistic order already well-developed in the commercial society of medieval France through to the present, men’s work isn’t recognized as work if it doesn’t serve the traditional gynocentric order of violence against men and alienation of men from their children and homes. Aucassin, with the false consciousness endemic among oppressed classes exposed through meninist theory, responds violently to the King’s initiative to overturn the traditional gender order:

When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he nearly killed him. “Ah, fair sir,” said the king, “what do you demand of me? Have you lost your wits, you who beat me in my own house?” “By God’s heart,” said Aucassin, “foul son of a whore, I will kill you, if you do not promise me that never again shall any man in your land lie in bed to give birth!”

{ Quant Aucassins oï ensi le roi parler, il prist tox les dras qui sor lui estoient, si les houla aval le canbre; il vit deriere lui un baston, il le prist, si torne, si fiert, si le bati tant que mort le dut avoir. “Ha! biax sire,” fait li rois, “que me demandés vos? Avés vos le sens dervé, qui ers me maison me batés?” “Par le cuer Diu!” fait Aucassins, “malvais fix a putain, je vos ocirai, se vos ne m’afiés que ja mais hom en vo tere d’enfant ne gerra.” }

Aucassin strips the King naked to present as text the male biology that traditionally has justified men’s subordination and the social system of violence against men, including domestic violence, that denies men even their homes as safe places. A new social order that liberates men from gender will not be born until men recognize that they as a gender must take the lead in producing that liberating birth. That means rejecting the hatred of men coded within the gender-educational system that colonizes men’s self-consciousness and even directs them to violence against themselves at the service of gynocentric social values. The non-meninist alternative is continuing the regime of personal and civilizational self-destruction resulting from obliteration of men’s independent self-worth:

Once you’ve been in bed with another man, don’t think I’ll wait until I find a knife with which I might stab myself in the heart and kill myself. No, truly, I wouldn’t wait that long. I would fling myself toward wherever I might see a wall or a grey stone. There I would dash my head against it so hard that I would make my eyes spurt out, and I’d beat my brains out completely.

{ puis que vos ariiés jut en lit a home, s’el mien non, or ne quidiés mie que j’atendisse tant que je trovasse coutel dont je me peusce ferir el cuer et ocirre. Naie voir, tant n’atenderoie je mie; ains ’esquelderoie de si lonc que je verroie une maisiere u une bisse pierre, s’i hurteroie si durement me teste que j’en feroie les ex voler et que je m’escerveleroie tos: encor ameroie je mix a morir de si faite mort que je seusce que vos eusciés jut en lit a home, s’el mien non. }

This reversed micro-plot trajectory in Aucassin et Nicolette is the historically situated master narrative that meninist literary understanding, or any literary understanding, must confront.

The question(s) of masculinities should no longer be questioned. Meninist literary criticism can push beyond complicating the ambiguities that protrude from the textual body of Aucassin et Nicolette. Moistening the ground of literary receptivity and planting seeds of literary understanding amid a multiplicity of texts and interpretations is necessary to reproduce a literary civilization and to emancipate men from traditional gender domination in the long history of gynocentrism. That’s a responsibility that everyone should enjoy.

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Notes:

The surviving manuscript of Aucassin and Nicolette is Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Fonds Français 2168, ff 70-80. The Umilita website has an excellent page on Aucassin and Nicolette. That page includes the Old French source text (from the late-twelfth or early-thirteenth century) and a modernized version of the English translation of Lang (1895). Bourdillon (1887) includes the Old French text, an English translation, and a glossary of relevant Old French terms. Above I’ve used Bourdillon’s translation, with some changes. Other English translations freely available on line are Lang (1895), Mason (1910), and Kline (2001).

Bourdillon (1887), writing after proliferation of (realistic) novels and widespread commercialization of photography, lamented “these photographic days” in describing Aucassin and Nicolette:

we occasionally turn with relief from the wit and insight and subtlety of our modern novelists to the old uncomplicated tales of faerie or romance, and find them after all more moving, more tender, even more real, than all the laboured realism of these photographic days. And here before us is of all pretty love-stories perhaps the prettiest.

Lang (1895) hints at mixed genre in Aucassin and Nicolette:

charming medley of sentiment and humour, of a smiling compassion and sympathy with a touch of mocking mirth. … What lives in it, what makes it live, is the touch of poetry, of tender heart, of humorous resignation

Mason (1910) describes Aucassin and Nicollete as a lyrical flower of love that miraculously bloomed within the Dark Ages:

The most lyric and lovely of early French romances is preserved to us by a single copy in the National Library of Paris. Without that one ill-written manuscript the world would have been poorer by how exquisite a dream! Had not this unique bloom remained, it would have been impossible to imagine so rare and delicate a flower could have sprung in the unsheltered fields of mediaeval France. … in it he has caged his dream of love, and has revealed so delicate a sense of beauty, as would not have seemed possible to a strolling player of mediaeval France.

Aucassin and Nicolette seems to me to have some similarities with the story of Aziz and Aziza in 1001 Nights. Harden (1966) and Sargent (1970) provide insightful literary analysis. In considering Aucassin and Nicolette, Gilbert (1997) describes the dominant, “generally accepted” view of gender among literary scholars:

It has been pointed out repeatedly in recent decades that our society grounds its folk conceptions of gender in a notion of “sexual biology”. Foucault showed how the modern western concept of sex as “before and beyond” culture – untouchable, unchanging, universal – is only a mythologisation of our native notions of gender. In other words, the old distinction between biological Sex and cultural Gender is an unsustainable ideological construction: the whole notion of biological sex is itself a product of the modern West, designed to shore up our gender system. We cannot, therefore, expect other cultures to join us, either in recognising the same “biological facts” of sex as we do, or in giving those “facts” any particular cultural significance.

Gender scholarship within this dominant ideology has utterly failed to understand men being incarcerated for doing nothing more than having consensual sex and being poor, the overturning of the French Revolution’s promise of planned parenthood for men, the naturalization of men’s lifespan shortfall, the social construction of objective measurements of sexism, and many other significant aspects of our gender system.

References:

Bourdillon, Francis William, ed. and trans. 1887. Aucassin et Nicolete: an old-French love story. London: Kegan Paul, Trench & Co. (revised English translation)

Gilbert, Jane. 1997. “The practice of gender in Aucassin et Nicolette.” Forum for Modern Language Studies. 33 (3): 217-228.

Harden, Robert. 1966. “Aucassin et Nicolette as Parody.” Studies in Philology. 63 (1): 1-9.

Kline, A.S., trans. 2001. Aucassin and Nicolette. Poetry in Translation, online.

Lang, Andrew, trans. 1895. Aucassin & Nicolette. Portland, Me: T.B. Mosher.

Mason, Eugene, trans. 1910. Aucassin & Nicollete, and other mediaeval romances and legends. London: J.M. Dent & Sons. (more accessible pdf of translation)

Sargent, Barbara Nelson. 1970. “Parody in Aucassin et Nicolette: Some Further Considerations.” The French Review. 43 (4): 597-605.