TEMPORAL PATTERNS IN THE TWELFTH CENTURY CHANSON DE GESTE

According to Adam Mendilow, “Every work has its own temporal patterns and values and acquires its originality by the adequacy with which they are conveyed or expressed” (63). For Mendilow, all the devices and techniques of fiction emanate from the treatment of time. When the conception of time changes, so do the temporal patterns of a work.

In this paper I would like to focus on the change in the conception of time which takes place from the early to the later Middle Ages and on the way in which this change manifests itself in the temporal patterns of a specific corpus: the French epic. By analyzing the temporal patterns in the twelfth-century chanson de geste and the fifteenth-century prose epic, I will attempt to demonstrate that the later prose epic is characterized by a “prise de conscience du temps” which transforms the literary heritage of the preceding centuries.^[1] For the chanson de geste, I will draw my examples from La chanson de Roland, La chanson de Guillaume, Le couronnement de Louis, Le charroi de Nîmes, and La prise d’Orange. For the later prose epic, I will refer primarily to Weber’s edition of the prose versions of Le couronnement de Louis, Le charroi de Nîmes and La prise d’Orange, with occasional references to other works.

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Until mechanical clocks were invented in the mid-fourteenth century, little attention was paid to the passage of time, primarily because there were limited means of measuring it. As Bloch remarks: “. . . les horloges à l’eau n’existaient qu’à un très petit nombre d’exemplaires. Les sabliers semblent avoir été d’usage médiocrement courant. L’imperfection des cadrans solaires, surtout sous des ciels facilement brouillés, était flagrante” (117). In the early Middle Ages, people measured their days by the Church bells, which announced the canonical hours.^[2] Their lives were organized around religious rites and festivals which marked their participation in the eternal scheme of things, and even more importantly, their subordinate relationship to an all-powerful God. In his book, The Renaissance Discovery of Time, Quinones notes: “For the Middle Ages time could be abundant, because behind the chances and changes of events man could sense a higher directing order. His life still had religious associations with the universe, his beginnings and ends were in the hands of a providential and concerned divinity” (7).

During this period, changes indicating the passage of time went unheeded and stasis was lauded as the ideal state of being. Burke remarks that students of physics in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries considered the state of rest to be the natural condition of everything in the universe. He reminds us that the great thinkers of the period, such as Hugh of St. Victor (ca. 1141), conceived of change in history as a decline from the stability of Paradise and that historical accounts were written by monks primarily concerned with the timeless (19). In the twelfth century, the metaphysical thirst for the ontic and the static, for an ontology uncontaminated by time and becoming, encompassed what Eliade has called “the eternal return,” a mode of being in which the world stands still and things perpetually revert to the same state. In this world, time is characterized by cyclic periodicity and evolving or becoming in time is implicitly annulled (89).

This static notion of time is reflected in the temporal patterns of the early chansons de geste. In these poems, there is little attempt to measure secular time. There are few temporal adverbs, and even fewer transitions or explanatory connectives which might serve to indicate a linear temporal sequence. In La chanson de Guillaume, for example, the main indicators of the passage of time are the vague refrain-like references to the days of the week which are interspersed in the narrative: “lunsdi al vespre” (31 times), “joesdi al vespre” (7 times), and “lores fu mecresdi” (3 times).” Although these formulae appear to provide a chronological framework, they have no connection with the duration of events. “Lunsdi al vespre” is repeated nineteen times (10-1083) before the refrain changes to “joesdi”; yet within the first three references the text makes it very clear that at least one night has passed. The time which transpires under each of these headings varies greatly, encompassing anywhere from a period of days or weeks to twenty-four hours or less.^[3]

Other types of temporal markers found in these early poems take the form of references to religious holidays, to the seasons, and to daybreak and nightfall, but none of these serve to establish a chronology of events (Grunmann-Gaudet 1980, 79). As Guidot points out, “. . . dans la société épique, fondamentalement religieuse, les grandes dates de l’année chrétienne sont des repères commodes, d’un usage spontané, mais dépourvus de signification réelle pour ce qui est de la chronologie” (56). In the chanson de geste adventures may begin or end on religious holidays, “for they are commemorative in nature and mark the ritualistic time of beginnings and endings” (Grunmann-Gaudet 1980, 80). Likewise, allusions to the seasons and to the rising and setting of the sun mark the commencement or conclusion of an event without providing any sense of temporal continuity (Grunmann-Gaudet 1980, 80). Such references serve symbolically to create atmosphere, not to pinpoint events in time. They act as constant reminders of the eternal dimensions of the poems and of the aesthetics of stasis.

In the Old French epic certain motifs also serve to link the secular and the eternal. Suard cites la prière du plus grand péril as an example of such a motif, precisely because it associates different temporal perspectives, both within the text and outside of it. In la prière du plus grand péril, which is often quite lengthy, the supplicant reinvokes biblical history, taking examples from both the Old and the New Testaments. Among these examples are stories of the Creation, Original Sin, the Incarnation, the Passion and Resurrection of Christ and the Last Judgment. An example is Guillaume’s prayer in the twelfth-century Couronnement de Louis (695-784); the prayer begins with Guillaume’s calling into memory important moments in divine history which illustrate the power of God and ends with Guillaume’s beseeching God to protect him. The prayer situates the supplicant in a repeated cycle in which God’s power is reenacted. Suard describes la prière du plus grand péril as the “fruit d’une situation déterminée—la détresse dans laquelle est plongé un combattant chrétien,” and concludes that this motif “lie à cet instant du texte le souvenir de la geste divine, inscrite dans le temps et cependant perdurable” (Suard 1979, 168).

A similar motif is the planctus, where the knight laments the mortal wounding or death of one of his peers. As Combarieu du Grès points out, the content of the planctus “. . . renvoie généralement non pas à l’individu singulier qui vient de mourir mais à un archétype idéal auquel il est assimilé” (I, 10). An excellent example of this occurs in La chanson de Roland, when Roland bemoans the death of the Archbishop Turpin. In his planctus, Roland compares Turpin to the apostles: “Dés les apostles ne fut hom tel prophete / Pur lei tenir e pur humes atraire” (2255-56). The planctus also functions to obliterate time by linking the present to the past and the future. Thus, when Roland dies, Charlemagne recalls his valiant past and predicts the future suffering which will be incurred by his death (laisses 207-09).

Motifs such as the description of the provenance of the knight’s arms in various battle scenes and ceremonies of knighthood function in a similar manner by linking the prowess of the knight to a prestigious legendary past which transcends time. The knight’s arms, and in particular, his sword, often contain sacred relics which are tangible signs of God’s protection (Combarieu du Gres I, 41). Charlemagne’s sword, Joyeuse, contains the point of the lance which pierced Christ on the cross (2501-08). Embedded in the hilt of Roland’s sword, Durendal, are Saint Peter’s tooth, Saint Basil’s blood, the hair of Saint Denis, and bits of clothing from Saint Mary (2345-49). Also, these arms are very often of divine origin. Roland’s sword, Durendal, was a gift from God. In his farewell to his sword prior to his death, Roland cites its origin:

Carles esteit es vals de Moriane,

Quan Deus del cel li mandat par sun angle

Qu’il te dunast a un cunte cataignie:

Dunc la me ceinst li gentilz reis, le magnes. (2318-21)

Guillaume’s shield, though not a gift from God, is also linked to a legendary past. In the Enfances Guillaume, we are told that the shield which Charlemagne bestows upon the young Guillaume was a gift of King Alexandre, brought by a fairy from across the seas (2703-08). As Suard notes, these and other motifs common in the Old French epic “. . . élargissent tout à coup à l’infini le registre temporel dans lequel se situe tel ou tel événement, et lui donne les dimensions d’un éternel présent” (171).

In the Old French epic, the typological presentation of characters also reflects a preoccupation with the eternal. Patriarchal figures like Charlemagne and Guillaume d’Orange are cast in a biblical tradition of longevity in which advanced age in no way impedes strength and vigour; they remain in a state of suspended animation unaffected by the flow of time. La chanson de Roland relates that Charlemagne is over 200 years old (524) and La chanson de Guillaume describes Guillaume as 350 years old (1334). Even the younger knights represent archetypal figures ranging from Christlike defenders of the faith to reincarnations of Judas Iscariot. What is most important, however, is the heavy sense of fatality, which prevents these types from growing or changing.^[4] They are frozen in time by certain standard epithets, even before the occasion arises to actualize the character traits attributed to them. The most striking example of this occurs in La chanson de Roland where Ganelon is labelled as “li traitres” from the outset, well in advance of his plotting any betrayal of Roland and the rear guard. Similarly in the twelfth century Charroi de Nîmes, in the very scene where Guillaume chides King Louis for his weakness and ingratitude and calls him a “mauvés roi” (276), the narrator persists in qualifying the king as: “Looÿs le ber,” (278), “Looÿs li fran,” (294), and “Looÿs li prou” (300). Such inconsistencies are common in the Old French epic where the symbolic mentality is an obstacle to causal thought. As the Dutch historian Johan Huizinga has suggested, “Causal and genetic relations must needs look insignificant by the side of symbolic connections” (213). In these works little attention is paid to evidence, causality, or verisimilitude, since events are seen primarily as reflections of the eternal.

In the early chanson de geste, causal relations are weakened by irregular tense usage. Announcements of what is to come are not always in the future, but are sometimes in the present or the preterit.^[5] Likewise, past action is often related by an inconsistent mixture of past and present tenses. This movement backwards and forwards in time, in which past, present, and future are relegated to the same plane, weakens a listener’s or reader’s sense of chronological and causal progression.

Causal progression is also weakened at the level of syntax by the use of laisses similaires and laisses parallèles. An illustration of this may be found in laisses 7, 8, 9, and 10 of La prise d’Orange. In laisse 7, Gillebert, who has just escaped from prison in Orange, identifies himself to Guillaume and describes his capture and captivity in Orange. The laisse ends with his description of the city and the beautiful wife of its Pagan ruler, Orable. At the beginning of laisse 8, Guillaume asks Gillebert for details of his imprisonment, which he dutifully reiterates. Laisse 9 begins with: “Amis beau frère, dit Guillelmes le ber, / Est tele Orange comme tu as conté?” (239-40). Gillebert elaborates on his previous description of the city and Orable, and the laisse ends with Guillaume’s exclamation that he will never bear lance nor shield again until he has won the city and its lady. In laisse 10, Guillaume reiterates his question: “Amis, beau frère, est Orange si riche?” (v.267), Gillebert repeats for the third time his description of Orange and Orable, and Guillaume elaborates on his prior vow by saying that he will neither eat nor drink until he has seen the city and its lady. These repetitions serve to underline Guillaume’s love-struck state as he hears of Orable for the first time. Although each laisse provides additional details, there is always a return to the point of departure: Guillaume’s desire for the lady and the city. The repetitive movement backwards in time at the beginning of each laisse creates a sort of lyric pause, halting the forward movement of the narrative and causing time to stand still.^[6] The rupture in temporal sequence characteristic of such reprises épiques is also present to a lesser degree in the normal laisse, which represents a self-contained moment in time. Each laisse is juxtaposed to the next without any temporal connectives, and it is in the mind of the reader or listener that temporal continuity is achieved.^[7]

This temporal disjunction is echoed in the paratactic sentence structure of the chanson de geste in which we find a series of independent clauses, juxtaposed to one another with little attempt to subordinate or link one idea to the next. This paratactic principle extends to the disjunctive arrangement of grammatical elements in each verse, each word representing a separate entity distinct from the one that follows, thus obstructing the linear movement of the narrative.

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The conception of time as stasis changes in the late Middle Ages, largely because of the rise of the bourgeoisie and the corresponding growth of the secular spirit. As Quinones notes:

It was to fill the needs of the growing bourgeois sector that the mechanical clock and its associated uniform and regular means of time computation were brought into being. In the course of the fourteenth century, the older way of temporal reckoning . . . , which derived from the canonical hours of the monasteries, was replaced by an hourly system of time-telling. The older means could no longer satisfy the multifarious needs of a bustling commercial city, whose many activities required a more regulated and ordered frame of life. (6)

A definite shift takes place from what Le Goff calls “le temps de l’église” to “le temps du marchand,” where time and money are closely associated (Le Goff 55). Accurate measurement of time becomes increasingly important for the success of business. One might even say that time becomes a synonym for money and he who can best exploit both can make himself the master of all things (Quinones 7). A change thus occurs in the late Middle Ages from a preoccupation with the eternal to a concern for earthly time and its economy, a need to order and observe time, not merely to experience it.

In the fifteenth century prose epic, time is conceived as a quantitative and measurable series of units, points, and sections, a calculable entity over which one has some control.^[8] This new awareness of time and one’s ability to control it is reflected in the prose narrative by an increased number of formulae relating to “haste.” In the prose Couronnement de Louis, for example, Guillaume answers the Pope’s demand for aid by offering his services. The immediate response of the Pope’s messenger is to urge Guillaume to make haste: “ ‘. . . et pençons de nous haster, car saichiés veritablement que ja a Romme ne vendrons guieres plus tost que le jour de la bataille ne soit fort aprouchié’ ” (47). Likewise, when the French nobles are debating whether or not to make Louis their king, they send an envoy to the Pope. Much emphasis is put on the fact that he “se parti hastivement pour diligenter le terme durant” (54). This growing insistence upon hurrying to meet temporal demands is a concern which is more or less absent in the older verse epics. One has only to think of the response of Charlemagne and his troops to Roland’s sounding of the olifant. Although there is great sadness and lamenting, there is no need to hurry, for it is beyond question that Roland and the rear guard must perish. In the universe of the Chanson de Roland, events are preordained and even though Charlemagne has privileged foreknowledge of the impending disaster, he is powerless to prevent it.

The need to make haste in the prose epic also reveals itself in a greater frequency of brevity topoi, which demonstrates the prose writer’s concern that the slow passage of narrative time not result in his audience’s boredom (Doutrepont 473-74). Although brevity topoi such as “ne vous vueil faire long compte” do occur in the twelfth century poems, they are comparatively rare. In the fifteenth century prose versions, they take on much greater importance, partly because they are so numerous, and partly because they are sometimes linked to numerical precisions indicating how fast the abridged or deleted matter took place.

In addition to demonstrating concerns about the pace and duration of the narrative act, the prose writer assumes the freedom to delete or add certain details in the interests of verisimilitude, a matter which was of little interest to his epic predecessors who viewed the real world in terms of Christian symbols. Additions often take the form of explanations indicating the motives of characters or the whys and wherefores of events.

Explanations of why characters act as they do are frequently provided in the prose epic. The fact that greater attention is paid to psychology and to the role of the individual in shaping his or her destiny indicates a less fatalistic notion of time than is found in the chanson de geste. This is well illustrated by a comparison of character portrayal in the fifteenth century prose version of the Prise d’Orange and its twelfth century antecedent. In the earlier poem, Guillaume’s inability to control his own life is so exaggerated that he becomes a kind of comic anti-hero. He is first depicted as a passive love-sick knight, so obsessed with desire for a woman he has never seen that he is completely unable to perform his chivalric duties (366-75). When finally he encounters Orable, he is likewise unable to perform as a lover and reverts to dreaming passively of “la douce France” and the life he has left behind (laisse 43). The approach-avoidance conflict in which he finds himself leads to a kind of paralysis; he becomes completely immobile, capable only of prayers and laments. This ridiculous posture becomes all the more evident when he is chided by his nephew Guielin for reacting to events rather than acting upon them (laisses 43, 54, 55).^[9]

A similar view of Guillaume is provided in the even earlier Charroi de Nîmes, where most of the decision-making process involving the capture of the city is relegated to others. It is not Guillaume’s idea to demand Nîmes as a fief, but his nephew Bertrand’s (450-59). Nor is it his inspiration to commandeer the chariots and take the city by surprise. He merely responds, once again, to the suggestion of another: this time, the noble warrior, Garnier (922-27).

This exaggerated portrayal of Guillaume, apparently comic in intent, does not appear in the fifteenth century prose rendition of the Charroi de Nîmes. On the contrary, all such humorous and paralysing contradictions are eliminated. In the prose version Guillaume is described as an extremely decisive figure who demands and gets what he wants. He does not wait to be humiliated by King Louis’ distribution of fiefs, but demands at the outset that he be given the fiefs of Nîmes, Orange, Beziers, Carcassonne, Montpellier, and the territory surrounding Narbonne (68). His wish granted, he demands 6000 warriors from the king and heads off to conquer the city of Nîmes (70). Shortly thereafter he is portrayed lecturing his men on the necessity of disguising themselves as merchants and taking the city by ruse. The prose writer emphatically indicates that this idea is Guillaume’s by pointing out that Guillaume thus declared his will: “Ainssy declaira Guillaume sa voulenté . . .” (71). In the prose version, Guillaume is not figured in a reactive stance; he originates actions and events mentally, then realizes them physically. He is thus depicted as a fluid and dynamic human being, capable of shaping his own future and not merely as a pawn manipulated by a higher Providential will.

This same image is conveyed in the prose rendition of La prise d’Orange. Here the incapacitating conflict between love and chivalry is totally eliminated. Guillaume does not flee Orable mentally once he is with her, nor does he dream of being elsewhere. Unlike his epic predecessor, he is able to integrate the roles of lover and warrior and to make full use of his capacities in both domains.

The prose epic is marked by greater consistency in characterization and in plot. The prose writer attempts to eliminate the contradictions and confusions inherent in the early poems and to render them more logical. He does this by filling in gaps and creating new episodes to construct a complete biography of the hero, Guillaume d’Orange (Doutrepont 539). Since he has before him all of the legends pertaining to Guillaume, he can order the events of his life logically and succinctly and thus put some unity into the cycle. He accomplishes this task by omitting certain poems, by regrouping those which he does utilize (thus changing their chronological order), by suppressing or adding episodes or characters, and finally by providing explanations which link one moment to the next (Doutrepont 644-46).

Examples of such narrative manipulation in the interests of temporal ordering and verisimilitude abound in the prose Prise d’Orange where the remanieur is faced with the arduous task of rendering plausible the incongruous behaviour of the hero. Rather than rely upon the love from afar topos utilized in the twelfth century poem, the prose writer refers to an episode from the prose Enfances Guillaume where Guillaume as a youth, meets and falls in love with the Pagan princess. (In the thirteenth century verse Enfances this meeting never takes place, their only contact being through messages sent and received.) Thus Guillaume’s motivation to take the city and the woman is of long duration. The prose writer also concerns himself with keeping this desire alive by sustaining contact between the two lovers in the interim. He thus adds an episode to the section which corresponds to the Couronnement de Louis, in which Guillaume sends a message to Orable via his chamberlain and secretary Ysaac, to inform her of his departure for Rome (48). Ysaac then remains with Orable, serving her faithfully in the place of his master, and thus acting as a constant reminder of his presence (79).

This link between Orable and Guillaume is further maintained by the reappearance of Ysaac in the opening scenes of the prose Prise d’Orange. Here Orable is credited with contributing to Guillaume’s capture of Orange by sending Ysaac to inform him of conditions within the city propitious to its capture (79). Ysaac then accompanies Guillaume and his small party to the gates of Orange, where he arranges entry by revealing his own identity as Orable’s servant and by claiming ironically that his companions are “palmiers” in pilgrimage who were eye-witnesses to Guillaume’s taking of Nîmes, and who can thus provide valuable information about the enemy forces (82).

In the prose epic, references to the long-standing bond between Guillaume and Orable provide the necessary psychological motivation for the final betrothal. Also, to remove a possible cosmetic obstacle to Guillaume’s courtship of Orable, the prose adaptation drops the title of “Guillaume au Cort Nez” and relegates the cutting off of Guillaume’s nose to the later Siège de Barbastre episode. This presents a direct contradiction to the information provided in the twelfth century Prise d’Orange, where Guillaume is already labelled “au cort nez,” the mutilation having taken place earlier at the hands of the giant Corsolt in the Couronnement de Louis.

The elimination of material which is contradictory to the logical development of the narrative becomes a priority in the prose epic. We no longer find a juxtaposition of events whose coherence resides in an atemporal symbology. Instead we perceive a rational-causal ordering of events, both within a work and between works, which indicates a linear and developmental notion of time.

Linearity is also created by a greater use of hypotaxis. In the fifteenth century prose epic there is an abundance of subordinating conjunctions and syntactic connectives which propel the narrative forward in a continuity of movement. Sentences are longer and more complex, and it is not unusual to find a combination of subordinating and coordinating conjunctions such as: “Quant . . . et . . . lor . . . à ce que,” or “Et quant . . . lors . . . et . . . tant fit que,” as well as more frequent use of the gerundive and the present participle, which serve to render succession more rapid. Even though the values of some of these conjunctions are not yet fixed and some causal connections remain vague, we can still perceive the growth of a hypotactically richer and more periodic syntax and a language which is far more elastic and mobile than that which characterizes the twelfth century chanson de geste.

Logical sequence also arises from the development of a more modern syntax. The syntactical order subject, verb, object, begins to impose itself, with great emphasis being placed on the verb and the movement it conveys. In addition to this there is less use of the historical present, a tense which is largely responsible for the stylized and illogical form of the older verse epic (Suard 1979, 206). In the prose cycle, the principle narrative tense is the past definite (Suard 1979, 204), and there is much less confusion at the level of tense usage.

In the temporal patterns of the fifteenth century prose epic, we perceive a growing awareness of time as a creative and destructive force. Time is conceived of as movement and change, as a linear sequence in which each action propels the next; there is no going backwards, and no standing still. This presents a dramatic contrast to the aesthetics of stasis in the early chanson de geste. These early poems are characterized by a kind of spatial and temporal atomism, ranging from the disjunctive disposition of the words in each sentence to the abrupt breaks between the laisses themselves. This paratactic principle applies to content as well as form. The events of one moment have no propulsive force which demands the next moment. There are few transitions or explanatory connectives to link one scene to the next and thus no continuous movement or flow between scenes. The poet juxtaposes in space, self-contained, non-sequential units in time. The association of contiguities is the job of the reader or listener.

Works Cited

Bloch, Marc. La société féodale. Paris: Albin Michel, 1968.

Burke, Peter. The Renaissance Sense of the Past. London: Edward Arnold, 1969.

Combarieu du Gres, Micheline de. L’idéal humain et l’expérience morale chez les héros des chansons de geste—des origines à 1250. 2 vols. Aix-en-Provence: Publications de l’Université de Provence, 1979.

Doutrepont, Georges. Les mises en prose des épopées et des romans chevaleresques du XIV au XVI^e siècle. Académie Royale de Belgique, Mémoires, 2ème série, Classe des Lettres 40. Liège: G.Thone, 1940.

Eliade, Mircea. Cosmos and History: the Myth of the Eternal Return. Trans. W. R. Trask. New York: Harper and Row, 1959.

Glasser, Richard. Time in French Life and Thought, trans. C. G. Pearson. Manchester: Manchester UP, 1972.

Goldin, Frederick. “Le temps de chronique dans La chanson de Roland.” VIII Congreso de la Société Rencesvalles. Navarra: Diputacion Foral de Navarra, 1978.

Grunmann, Minnette. “Temporal Patterns in the Chanson de Guillaume.” Olifant 4.1 (1976): 49-62.

Grunmann-Gaudet, Minnette. “From Epic to Romance: The Paralysis of the Hero in the Prise d’Orange.” Olifant 7.1 (1979): 22-38.

___. “The Representation of Time in La chanson de Roland.” The Nature of Medieval Narrative. Ed. Minnette Grunmann-Gaudet and Robin F. Jones. Lexington, Kentucky: French Forum, 1980. 77-97.

Guidot, Bernard. “Mesure du temps et flou chronologique dans quelques chansons de geste du XIII^e siècle.” Le temps et la durée dans la littérature au Moyen Age et à la Renaissance. Ed. Yvonne Bellenger. Paris: Nizet, 1986. 55-70.

Henry, Patrick, ed. Les enfances Guillaume. Paris: S.A.T.F., 1935.

Huizinga, Johan. The Waning of the Middle Ages. Garden City, New York: Doubleday Anchor Books, 1954.

Langlois, Ernest. Le couronnement de Louis. Paris: Champion, 1965.

Le Goff, Jacques. “Au Moyen Age: Temps de l’Eglise et temps du marchand.” Pour un autre Moyen Age. Temps, travail et culture en Occident: 18 essais . Paris: Gallimard, 1977. 46-79.

McMillan, Duncan, ed. Le charroi de Nîmes, chanson de geste du XII^e siècle, éditée d’après la redaction AB. Paris: Klincksieck, 1972.

Mendilow, Adam. Time and the Novel. London: Peter Nevill, 1952.

Moignet, Gérard, ed. La chanson de Roland. Paris: Bordas, 1969.

Poirion, Daniel. “Le temps perdu et retrouvé au XV^e siécle.” Revue des Sciences Humaines 183 (1981): 71-84.

Quinones, Ricardo. The Renaissance Discovery of Time. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard UP, 1972.

Régnier, Claude, ed. Les rédactions en vers de la “Prise d’Orange.” Paris: Klincksieck, 1966.

Ruelle, Pierre. “Le temps, la vie, la mort dans la conception médiévale.” Bulletin de l’Académie Royale de Langue et de Littérature Françaises 43.2 (1985): 103-21.

Suard, François. “L’épopée française tardive (XIV^e - XV^es).” Etudes de philologie romane et d’histoire littéraire offertes à Jules Horrent. Ed. Jean Marie d’Heur et Nicoletta Cherubini. Liègé Tournai: GEDIT, 1980. 449-60.

___. Guillaume d’Orange. Etude du roman en prose. Paris: Champion, 1979.

___. “La tradition épique aux XIV^e et XV^e siècles.” Revue des Sciences Humaines 183 (1981): 95-102.

Vance, Eugene. Reading the Song of Roland. Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1970.

Wathelet-Willem, Jeanne. Recherches sur “La chanson de Guillaume.” Etudes accompagnées d’une édition. 2 vols. Paris: “Les Belles Lettres,” 1975.

Weber, C., ed. Die Prosafassungen des “Couronnement de Louis,” des “Charroi de Nîmes” und der “Prise d’Orange.” Inaugural Dissertation. Halle: 1912. 44-128.

^[1]Poirion, uses the term “prise de conscience” to characterize the greater attention paid to time thematically by the fifteenth-century poets.

^[2]Ruelle reminds us that the church bells were not a reliable indicator, for the sacristan, himself, had no reliable measure of the passage of time. “Quant au sacristain sonneur de cloches, il estimait l’écoulement des heures d’après le nombre de Pater ou d’Avé qu’il récitait, d’après le niveau de l’huile dans une lampe ou d’après la hauteur restante des chandelles qu’il brulait. Voilà pour le temps journalier” (108).

^[4]According to Vance, “. . . the characters of the Song of Roland enter the poem with an established identity. In contrast with the heroes of modern literature . . . the hero of french epic does not discover the meaning of life by creating his own role in the world; rather he enters a world of fixed truths with a fixed identity to be tested by the spears and swords of outrageous Fortune. In other words, the unfolding of time in the Song of Roland does not bring progressive states of awareness in its hero; it measures human constancy and not change. Roland does not grow qualitatively during his ordeals, but only becomes more like himself as the tale advances” (11).

^[5]For a discussion of the ‘epic anticipatory preterit,’ see Grunmann (1976), 57-61. For a comparison of the uses of the ‘epic anticpatory preterit’ and the future tense in La chanson de Roland, see Goldin, 175.

^[6]For an analysis of the temporal effects of such reprises épiques in La chanson de Roland, see Grunmann-Gaudet (1980), 92.