It’s been interesting to see that the
strain possible in relationships was just as applicable during the Middle Ages as
it is today. We’ve got two lovebirds who are positively infatuated with each
other (and we all know at least one
couple that’s like that). As per the norm, their love quickly enters the deadly
“Honeymoon Phase,” where the relationships basically end up alienating everyone
around them; however, unlike in reality, once Erec alienates his equivalent of
a modern squad, Enide tries to convince him that he’s being dishonorable.
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| Probably exactly what the other knights felt. |
The
resulting struggle and the events leading up to it are perfect examples of how
both characters drive the plot. Erec is the prime mover during the first part
of the story, doing combat with the rude knight over who has the fairest
maiden. Enide soon joins him in equal importance, since she is the maiden who
Erec is trying to defend. Importantly, he sees Enide praying, and “his strength
[increases]” (de Troyes 12), making his success partly dependent upon her.
Later,
after the marriage scene upon which George R. R. Martin apparently patterned
all of his lengthy descriptions, Enide becomes the driver of the plot once she tries to
convince Erec to return to his knightly duties, which results in the
aforementioned conflict.
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| Thank heaven you've explained sixteen times what a brocade doublet looks like. |
Whereas the narrative's focus follows Erec for much
of the story, here it switches to Enide, again making her of equal importance.
Of course, Erec worsens things by keeping himself separated from Enide, both
physically and emotionally: “And yet I realized how little respect you have for
me” (de Troyes 38). This returns him to the forefront as a second driver
of the conflict alongside Enide. Finally, Enide’s plans to assassinate him and
subsequent rejection of those plans yet again designate her as a crucial character.
Perhaps
the most thought-provoking quality of Erec’s and Enide’s dual importance is
what it means for gender roles. In the beginning of the story, Erec derives
much of his strength from Enide, which empowers her as a character by giving her power over him. During the
later murder plot, Enide controls Erec’s life, literally deciding whether he’ll
live or die. If that isn’t a form of empowerment, I don’t know what is. Even if Enide’s
power alongside Erec’s can be debated, her power over Chrétien de Troyes' narrative
cannot. Because she is so crucial to the plot, she is already empowered in a
way that cannot be stripped from her.
Still,
that doesn’t mean the romance is an appeal for women’s empowerment. It’s not a
feminist text; it’s not even a proto-feminist text (although now I’m
approaching a cultural quagmire I’d rather not enter). However, it’s important
to remember that Chrétien wrote in a sexist era, so any points scored in the area of female
empowerment shouldn’t be dismissed easily.
Is
Chrétien a table-flipping gender revolutionary? No, but he does seem to
recognize that women can be just as important as men.
