is apparently less effective than you might think.
I was struck in my reading by the two instances of beautiful young wives being stowed away from society by their husbands so they would not be seen by other men who would seduce them. In both Guigemar and Yonec, the initial captivity of the women is seen as an inevitable byproduct of their unhappy marriages: the lord in Guigemar is old, and “all old men are jealous and hate to be cuckolded” (46), while the rich old man in Yonec locks his lady in a tower to “watch over her” (86). Both women are given limited female companionship and some access to religion in their prisons, but little else. Their beauty and sexuality, though attractive, is also threatening to their husbands, who believe they must physically contain it in order to control their households.
Given the social conventions and views of female sexuality at the time, I expected the men who safeguarded their wives’ chastity and Christianity to be seen as the heroes, the non-monstrous figures. Instead, Marie de France seems to ask us to sympathize with these women and their lovers, despite their association with the supernatural, either through ever-bleeding wounds and prophecies, or transforming into birds. The lover in Yonec is even implicitly granted to the woman in response to her prayer, implying that their affair, though technically adultery, is sanctioned by God. The lines between the monstrous and the divine in both these tales seem decidedly blurry.
One final note: both of these women end up escaping their imprisonment shockingly easily. Why did the woman in Yonec not jump out the window earlier in her seven year captivity? Sure, it was a high jump, but she does it so easily when motivated. Is seems the sexual female is not only easily (though understandably, seduced, even within captivity, but also impossible to truly contain, tower, or no tower.
Rose... I'm glad you brought up the issue of why the woman in Yonec didn't jump sooner. One thing that both fascinates and frustrates me in these stories is the sometimes strange logical leaps the reader has to make for the convenience of the story. I think it's been suggested that that might be to preserve the brevity of the Lais and I also realize it's a function of its era. Nonetheless, as a reader I still find it a little jarring. I have a much easier time accepting a knight that can turn into a hawk, than I do a son who doesn't question his mother when she tells him to kill the man he believes is his father.
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