For those not familiar with the text, the title Tales of a Minstrel of Reims in the Thirteenth Century (translated from Récits d'un ménestrel de Reims au treizième siècle) might give the impression that this book comprises small unrelated stories, maybe charming and provincial in character; perhaps a selection of moral anecdotes scribed or even sung by a wizened yet witty vagabond. It is true that a bit of that flavour is present. However, the text more often than not reads like a traditional prose chronicle. The text chronicles, above all, the deeds of the French royal family from the time of Louis VII to about 1226, offering praise of their victories and regret at their shortcomings. And while Reims features prominently in many of its episodes, the story has a much larger geographical breadth, following the crusading French and English kings all the way to Outremer and back. The Récits, in fact, have long been an important source for historians of the period, and is particularly famous for recounting dramatic interactions between Philip II, Richard I, and Saladin. This new translation by Samuel N. Rosenberg will encourage anglophone readers to discover or rediscover this key text, both inside and outside academia, and this project receives a boost from William Chester Jordan’s introduction and Randall Todd Pippenger's thorough footnotes. (Sadly, Rosenberg passed away in 2020. Jordan and Pippenger dedicate the book to his memory.)

Jordan begins by exploring the text's reputation for new readers and heading off potential objections caused by that reputation from returning readers. He recognizes the crucial contribution of Natalis de Wailly, who created the definitive Old French edition from a dozen manuscripts in 1876. Though an 1837 edition by Louis Paris titles the text La chronique de Rains, de Wailly’s more fanciful title, and speculations about the text’s authorship, have survived to the present day. Jordan acknowledges that modern scholarship cannot confirm the vocation, gender, or even number of the text’s author or authors--the words “An Anonymous Work” hover above the title (which is set in satisfyingly shiny red foil) on the front cover, almost like a disclaimer. Neither the introduction nor the notes spend too much time on the authorship issue, though, calling the author “the Minstrel” and using male pronouns for him only out of convention, without ignoring scholarship that challenges the assumed maleness of anonymous authors. Rather, Jordan justifies this new translation by criticizing the style of the two earlier English translations, one by Edward Noble Stone in 1939 (reprinted in 2011) and another by Robert Levine in 1990, and expressing the need for something closer to the flow of the original.

Jordan also differentiates his commentary from that of other critics who, he says, are keen to distance themselves from the Minstrel’s many likely inventions or exaggerations. Jordan says, instead,

“the intention of this introduction is not to assess the accuracy

of the Minstrel’s historical observations or to explain how

deviations or distortions arose...Rather, its aims are, first,

to describe the period in which the author wrote...and second,

to provide a historical framework for the events--whether real,

poorly reconstructed, or invented--that he claimed to be

recounting.” (xx)

The rest of the introduction therefore summarizes the Récits and often, but not always, leaves it to the readers to draw their own conclusions, which, after all, can be adjusted once they read Pippenger’s notes alongside the translation itself. In contextualizing a tendency for some medieval writers to see Saladin as the height of chivalry, for example, Jordan trusts that the book’s modern audience will see through the obvious wish-casting behind the Minstrel’s story of Saladin’s supposed deathbed conversion to Christianity. Jordan’s summary of the historical episodes is a broad enough way that sets a floor of undeniability about the basics, without endorsing the Minstrel’s opinions or dialogue. The introduction also provides an interpretation of the Récits, presenting readers with an idea that they can embrace or challenge: Jordan frequently draws attention to the moralizing tendency of the text, and argues that this factors into which episodes the Minstrel chooses to discuss.

Jordan does take the time to mention a key omission from the Récits, namely how Louis IX oppressed Jews. The description and context Jordan provides about this, even briefly, addresses a crucial area of interest for modern audiences, so this is welcome.

On the whole, the introduction is accessible and informative, which is crucial for a book that is, I feel, partially aimed at a wider audience. One of the first things I ever learned about medieval (pseudo-)history was the legend of Blondel, the childhood friend of Richard I, who identifies the captive king by singing a song that they both knew in their youth. But I only learned that this legend originated in the Récits after reading Jordan’s introduction. The editors also added headings for each chapter, which does help the readability when it comes to complicated events with new casts of characters, such as when Emperor Frederick and those associated with him appear halfway through the book.

Pippenger’s work on the notes is as vital as Jordan’s introduction. Many of these notes provide guidance to further reading. On the very first page of the translation, Pippenger suggests no fewer than five books for readers who want to know more about the First Crusade and Godfrey of Bouillon. The notes allow readers to contextualize the Minstrel’s text alongside what they already know about medieval history and culture. The notes also provide an opportunity to clarify inaccuracies or ambiguities in the Minstrel’s account. Just one example of this is when the Minstrel is apparently reluctant to call the Battle of Lincoln (in 1217) a loss for the French, but Pippenger says “it was a decisive defeat” on page 127.

In fact, I wish that the notes had intervened a bit more. The Minstrel claims the famous trebuchet named “Bad Neighbour” (“Male Voisine”) belonged to Philip II, though I have otherwise only ever heard it attached to Richard I. This kind of trivia is the sort that could fascinate non-specialist enthusiast readers, who would appreciate authoritative guidance. I also wonder how readers new to Old French literature would react to the Minstrel’s talk of “Saracens” and their “pagan” practices. Jordan touches on medieval Christian ideas about Muslims alongside his discussion of Saladin, and the notes and end-of-book References section have plenty of readings that would clarify the cultural context of these terms. Of course, long-time readers of medieval literature encounter this language all the time, but new readers may be surprised to hear the term “Saracen” and wonder at the connotations of “pagan,” especially if they skip the introduction.

Having discussed the scholarly support for the translation, now it is time to turn to the translation itself. Although I should leave the question of accuracy to Old French readers with greater expertise, from what I could find, the only interpretations that I would consider even slightly unexpected were clearly meant to make the text more understandable to a modern audience. On the whole, the translation follows the spirit, tone, and where justified, the syntax of the original text.

Unfortunately, it is beyond the scope of this review to compare Rosenberg’s translation to the two previous English efforts. Nevertheless, an examination of one scene from the Récits should give an idea of Rosenberg’s approach to the translation. Here is a quotation from Chapter IX of the Récits, alongside Rosenberg’s version and Levine’s version, which I include not so much to evaluate it against Rosenberg’s, but rather to highlight the choices Rosenberg made with regard to the Old French:

Natalis de Wailly’s edition:

“Adonc fist li rois Richarz atourneir ses neis, et monta sour

meir ; et s'adreça au mieuz qu'il pot vers Alemaingne, et prist

port. Et s'en ala par terre à privée mesnie, et tant erra qu’il

vint en Osteriche ; et fu espiez et conneuz. Quant il se perçut,

si prist la robe à un garçon, et se mist en la cuisine à tourneir

les chapons. Une espie l'ala conteir au duc, et quant li dus le

sot, si envoia tant de chevaliers et de mesnie que la force en

fu leur. Et fu pris li rois et envoiez en un fort chastel[.]” [1]

Robert Levine’s translation:

“King Richard prepared his ships and embarked upon the sea,

heading as best he could, in the direction of Germany, and he

reached port. With his own entourage he went overland,

travelling as far as Austria, where, when he realized that he had

been noticed and recognized, he disguised himself as a servant,

and went into the kitchen to prepare capons. A spy went and

told the duke who, when he had been informed, sent many

knights from his own entourage to overwhelm him. The king

was captured and placed in a strong castle[.]” [2]

Samuel N. Rosenberg’s translation:

“Then King Richard prepared his ships and set out to sea. He

headed as well as he could to Germany and landed. From there

he went by land with a company of trusted men. He travelled all

the way to Austria, where he was spied on and recognized.

When he realized that, he put on the clothes of a servant boy and

went into the kitchen to prepare chickens on the spit. A spy went

to report this to the duke and, when he heard the news, he sent in

so many knights and men that their strength was overpowering.

King Richard was taken to a well-fortified castle[.]”

(chapter IX, section, 65, page 32)

Rosenberg’s translation is literal, without sacrificing flow or comprehensibility. Neither translator turns “prist port” into the unidiomatic “took port,” but Rosenberg loses nothing significant by saying “landed” instead of “reached port.” Unlike Levine, he does not turn “mesnie” into “entourage,” which has light-hearted connotations after the 2004-2011 HBO TV series, and while this compromises the parallel between both Richard and the duke having a “mesnie,” that is surely not meaningfully important to the scene. Levine perhaps gives Richard the Lionheart unearned credit by collapsing his being recognized and his learning that he has been recognized into one phrase, whereas Rosenberg’s preserved syntax gives the impression of a struggling king who must react to circumstances beyond his control. Both translators clarify for modern readers that “garçon” implies “servant,” but only Rosenberg retains the full extent of the humiliating demotion. I am sad to lose the charmingly pathetic image of Richard preparing “capons,” my favourite moment in all of Levine’s translation, and Rosenberg’s “prepare chickens on the spit” is a more masculine image than the scene deserves. Still, “capons,” the most direct translation of “chapons,” is an unfamiliar word to most English readers, and Rosenberg’s translation is sensitive to that. Rosenberg does not inevitably change specific French words when even an archaic English translation exists, but he ensures that modern audiences should always understand his text.

So, while I do not take any issue with Levine’s version (and cannot speak to Stone’s), with Rosenberg’s, we have a more modern, widely-available, and affordable translation that will likely be the new standard for both experts and students. All in all, Rosenberg’s text is highly readable and has a lot of appeal for a modern, general audience. Medieval chronicles can easily tax twenty-first-century attention spans with large casts of characters and inconsistent areas of focus, but the Minstrel’s eager interest in the French royal family grants unity to the narrative, and shifting the storytelling gaze to other well-known figures such as Richard I, King John, and Saladin does not hurt this effect. The Minstrel’s other main interest, the politics of the city of Reims, may bore modern readers, but this does not take up too much of the book. Also, at times, the narrative features concise and self-contained episodes, such as Saladin’s deeds related by his uncle to King John or a moralizing episode taken from the Roman de Renart, which the Minstrel applies to a familial power-struggle in Flanders. Though these episodes disrupt unity in the text, modern readers would appreciate them for what they are or at least feel comfortable skimming them.

If you are looking to assign your students a fascinating primary source on crusade or medieval French history, or if you are craving an entertaining read, then Rosenberg’s new translation is a great choice.

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Notes:

1. Natalis De Waily, ed. Récits d'un ménestrel de Reims au treizième siècle (Paris: Librarie Renouard, 1876), chapter IX, section 65, pages 34-35.

2. Robert Levine, trans. A Thirteenth-Century Minstrel’s Chronicle (Récits d’un ménestrel de Reims) (Queenston: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1990), chapter IX, page 25.