SOURCE: Matulka, Barbara. “The Main Source of Scudéry's Le Prince Déguisé: The Primaleon.” The Romanic Review XXV (January-March 1934): 1-14.

[In following essay, Matulka explores in detail the possible sources that inspired Scudéry's Le Prince déguisé and analyzes the themes of the play.]

The sources of Scudéry's popular Prince déguisé offer an intriguing problem for the genesis of the romanesque tragi-comedy at the time of Corneille's Cid.¹ In a previous publication,² I have pointed out that for his “belle intrigue” he had amalgamated motives from many sources: from Juan de Flores he took the law condemning the more guilty of two lovers, from the Orlando Furioso he adopted the final duel, from Sorel's Francion he borrowed comic scenes, and he did not disdain the commonplace literary motives disseminated in the literature of his day. Furthermore I showed,—and this is perhaps more important from the esthetic point of view,—that he elaborated a variation of the courtly Cid theme, which he might have known through various sources as, for instance, Feliciano de Silva's Florisel de Niquea of the Amadís series, where the theme of Love versus Hatred is already clearly developed.³ Scudéry's heroine, the Princess Argénie, passes through the same psychological crisis as Chimène.⁴ The Prince déguisé drew upon one of the intermediaries of the courtly Cid theme,—possibly upon the Florisel de Niquea romance,—although I made sure to state that this novel should be considered only a link in the evolution of the Cid tradition, an example of the combination of motives that led to Guillén de Castro's masterpiece, and consequently to Corneille's triumph.⁵ This caution was justified: this embellished Cid theme of romance is already found amply elaborated in a Spanish novel of chivalry, the Primaleón of 1512. There we find the main theme of the Prince déguisé, the episode of a high-born prince disguised as a humble gardener in order to win the lady of his choice,—the central situation as well as the principal parts of the plot of Scudéry's play. He has reproduced so closely all the main and subsidiary themes and situations of this romance of chivalry, that there can be no doubt that it is the principal and direct source of the Prince déguisé, though for some details he borrowed color from other works within his reach.

For the sake of clarity the complicated plot of Scudéry may be analysed as follows: 1) the main plot, consisting of the disguised prince-gardener theme, based on the Primaleón as I shall explain further on; 2) a related episode from the Primaleón grafted on it,—the Cid theme, according to which the lady, to avenge her father's death, offers her hand in marriage to the one who brings her the head of his killer.⁶ This “adored enemy” himself offers her his head, and at the same time hands her his sword, so that she might appease her wrath by beheading him;⁷ and 3) the secondary sources:—the borrowings from Juan de Flores, Ariosto, the Francion, and several other themes of lesser importance.⁸ The present study deals with the hitherto unnoticed main source of the Prince déguisé,—the chivalric novel Primaleón.

SUMMARY OF THE PRINCE DéGUISé

To bring out the close parallel between the Prince déguisé and the Primaleón, we may briefly recall the outline of Scudéry's play, so typical of the 1629-1635 period in France: The Prince Cléarque of Naples, disguised as a gardener, attempted to win the hand of the Princess Argénie, daughter of Rosemonde, Queen of Sicily. This ambition, however, was difficult to achieve, for he was reputed to be the murderer of Argénie's father. This unfortunate king had been defeated in battle by Cléarque's father and, as a prisoner, had died of a broken heart. It was rumored, without any foundation, that he had been poisoned by Cléarque, and therefore, upon the king's death, the Queen had put a price on his head. In spite of the danger which he thus courted when he entered his enemies' land, he could not live without seeing the Princess. Instructing his followers to remain in hiding with costly jewels and arms in a near-by village, the Prince donned the humble costume of a peasant, and boldly offered his services to Rutile, the Queen's gardener. Playing upon his avarice, Cléarque (who now assumed the name of Policandre) feigned that he knew the secret of rich treasures buried in the royal garden and that, at night, he could unearth these with incantations under favorable auspices. He offered to share these jewels, and the gullible Rutile eagerly welcomed him.

Now, Cléarque had sought entrance to the royal garden because he knew that it was Argénie's favorite haunt. He soon attracted her attention for she was amazed at his bearing and at his gallant speech. Who but a courtier could tell her that “the flowers display their colors only to please the most beautiful eye in the world?” When she turned to the fountain to drink from its limpid water, Cléarque-Policandre begged her to accept a beautiful goblet encrusted with gems which he promptly brought her. Again surprised that such a lowly gardener could possess so costly a cup, she was satisfied only when she learned of its origin:—how he had won it as a prize at a poetic contest. In obedience to her wish, he recited the Stances which had crowned him victor, veiling in his verses his own love plaints.

In the meanwhile, the gardener had so overcome the Princess by his grace that she could no longer find rest. One night, after making sure that none of her ladies-in-waiting perceived it, she went out into the garden with a single confidante, Philise. There the gardener was waiting to see her, pretending to be searching for treasure. So wan had she grown, so sad in mood, that her maid now begged her to reveal the cause of her malady. After many sighs and vacillations, the Princess confessed that she had fallen hopelessly in love with that “squire of low degree.” Philise, though startled at the news, nevertheless approved of her mistress' choice; she was convinced that he was a prince in disguise. As Argénie debated whether to confess her love to him, Cléarque himself, who had been listening to this conversation, came forward to reveal part of his secret: she was right in believing him of high rank, for his parents were to leave him nothing less than a scepter. He continued that he had travelled there only to win her love, and that “he was hoping while fearing, and living while dying.” Afraid of staying longer, Argénie promised to see him again on the following night.

In the meanwhile, however, the wife of the gardener had also fallen a victim to Cléarque's charms, but when he only spurned her, she spied upon him to learn his secret. She was thus present to overhear their conversation, and to avenge herself, reported it to the Queen. Greatly angered, she ordered the lovers to be seized at their rendez-vous the following night, and had them cast in prison to await punishment. They were to be judged according to a law which decreed that if a princess loved beneath her station, the more guilty of the two lovers in arousing that illicit passion should suffer death; if both claimed guilt, the dispute would have to be settled by a tourney. Both managed to escape from their prison by bribing the jailors, each fighting as the champion of the other without the other's knowledge. Cléarque of course overcame his adversary, and his victory thus saved Argénie.

But now Cléarque-Policandre had two death sentences on his head: the first as the murderer of the former king, and the second as the lover of the Princess, since his champion had been defeated. However, the first decree had also provided to bestow the hand of the Princess on the man who brought her the head of Cléarque. He therefore revealed that he himself was the supposed murderer, but professed his innocence, nevertheless offering his head to satisfy her vengeance. The Queen remained in a dilemma, caught in her own decree. She was honor-bound to give her daughter's hand to the very enemy she had been seeking, since he had fulfilled the terms. Touched by their constant and magnanimous love, she found a verbal solution for her difficulty: she sentenced the fictitious Policandre to death, and bestowed her daughter's hand on the valiant Cléarque.

Before comparing this plot to that of the Primaleón, its principal source, it may not be superfluous to point out that Scudéry must of necessity have been acquainted with this Spanish novel of chivalry. It appeared in 1512⁹ as a sequel to the popular Palmerín de Oliva, and soon became widely diffused in France, so that the romanesque preferences of Scudéry found ample resources on which to draw from it. In 1550 the First Book was translated, and three issues appeared in Paris. The successive publication of the Second and Third Books probably preceded the reprinting of the entire work. At least twenty-five editions, either partial or complete, were issued in French between 1550 and 1618,¹⁰ whereas at the same time at least ten Italian editions helped to popularize the work.¹¹ It is even remarkable that the number of French printings surpassed the number of editions in Spain itself.¹²

Towards the end of the First Book of the Primaleón, and running all through the Second and Third, there are interwoven the two stories that furnished Scudéry his model: 1) the disguise of the prince, Don Duardos, into a gardener for the sake of Flérida, an enemy princess, and 2) the decree by which the hand of the Duchess Gridonia is offered as a reward to the man who brings her the head of Primaleón, guilty of her father's death. Scudéry telescoped these two tales into a single plausible plot. He adopted its two heroes, focussing them into one: his Clérque-Policandre combines the rôles of Primaleón and Don Duardos; while similarly his heroine, Argénie, is a composite of the gentle Flérida and the vengeance-seeking, Gridonia. I shall discuss these two episodes of the Primaleón separately in order to show the extent of Scudéry's debt to each in their just proportion.

THE DON DUARDOS-GARDENER THEME

In the Primaleón, Don Duardos, son of the King of England, disguised himself as a gardener for the love of Flérida, daughter of the Emperor Palmerin de Oliva, and won her in spite of his apparently humble station by his gallantry and grace. This valiant knight had come to challenge Primaleón, but had been so struck with the beauty of his sister. Flérida, that he was glad to stop his combat for her sake. He was now unable to live without at least beholding the object of his love, and grew disconsolate, for he was in despair of ever winning so fair a lady, against whose blood he had raised his lance. While he was thus pining away, an enchantress, whom he had formerly succored, brought him aid: she gave him a golden goblet “guarnida con piedras preciosas,” which had the virtue of making anyone who drank of it fall passionately in love with the giver. Heartened by this talisman, Don Duardos stationed a few of his trusted men in a neighboring village to guard his arms and jewels, while he returned to Constantinople alone, disguised as a humble toiler, to execute the plan suggested by the enchantress.

As he was walking about the city, pondering on a way to win access to the Princess, he chanced to pass by the royal garden, and through the momentarily open door he caught a glimpse of the dazzling beauty of Flérida. Overjoyed to learn of her pastime, he approached the gardener Julián, who was standing at the gate, and offered his services. He confided that he knew of certain treasures hidden in the royal park, and that through magic arts he could unearth them. When the old gardener heard that he would share these riches, he gladly took him in. In order to avoid suspicion, he pretended that he was his own son, just returned from a long journey.

In his humble disguise, Don Duardos now called himself Julián, like the gardener. As in the Prince déguisé, he had his faithful servitors bring him part of his treasures which he was to feign to unearth at night. With such costly gifts he won the gardener's confidence and aroused his greed for more of this buried wealth. Proud of his guest, he presented him as his son to the Princess and her ladies-in-waiting, who all marveled at his beauty and stateliness, so unsuited to his gardener's attire. They were still more astonished when they heard his courtly and gallant speech. Soon after, Don Duardos found occasion to use his magic charm. Flérida (like Scudéry's Argénie) said that she would like to drink of the clear water of the fountain, and Don Duardos quickly brought her the magic cup. The Princess and all her ladies admired its workmanship, and inquired where so humble a youth could have obtained so kingly a treasure. He replied that he had carried it off as a prize at a tourney (as in a similar way Cléarque had mentioned a poetic contest). The Princess then drank, and felt a new and strange emotion; she became passionately fond of this handsome newcomer, but could not explain her feelings. Debating with herself, and ashamed of such an uncontrollable love for one so base, she absented herself from the park in order to forget him. But to no avail, for she could find no peace when she was not in his company.

Don Duardos, of course, was greatly perturbed when his lady did not visit the park any longer. But no less tortured was Flérida who, in the meanwhile, had become so pale that her favorite attendant, Artada, begged her mistress to reveal to her the cause of her sorrow. Flérida (like Scudéry's Argénie), debated between her princely duty and her base love, and finally yielded to the pleas of her confidante, disclosing her unrestrainable passion for the newly-arrived gardener. Artada (like Scudéry's Philise) was at first startled by the news, but she was convinced that he was no humble “villano,” but of high station, for otherwise he would not be so bold as to aspire to the love of so mighty a princess. The day following this nocturnal confession, Flérida went out into the royal park, looking more joyous than she had been for several days. Don Duardos (like Scudéry's Cléarque) entertained her with a sorrowful song, expressing his superhuman love and his despair of ever winning her, as well as his fear of being separated from her. All the ladies were astonished at this courtly lyric, filled with amorous subtleties. He amazed them still more, however, when, in reply to Flérida's question as to where he had learned it, he declared that Love itself had taught it to him. Again as in the Prince déguisé, Flérida noticed the beautiful hands of the pretended gardener, and because of them judged that he could not be of lowly station.

But as her affection grew deeper and deeper, so also did her shame and anxiety. To justify her passion, she asked him who he was. Gently he replied that he could not tell her without incurring her anger, but he assured her that her premonitions were well founded: that he was not of the lowly station he seemed to be, but of the highest nobility. He promised to prove this by deeds of knightly valor. He instructed his squire to bring him his arms, and engaged in a combat, defeating a boastful knight who had, until then, overcome all his adversaries. When she saw his valor and prowess, the Princess loved him still more passionately, and declared that she would always remain faithful to him, no matter whether he were base or noble.

After his encounters for her sake, during which he won fame as the bravest knight at the court, Don Duardos returned to the royal garden, and begged the Princess to grant him an interview that very night. She consented after much hesitation. Impatiently she waited until her ladies were fast asleep, and went down into the garden with only the faithful Artada, to meet her lover. Don Duardos explained how he was striving to win her through personal merit rather than by glory of rank or name. The Princess thus found her conviction that he was noble verified, and again pledged him her lasting love. The dénouement of this episode is a happy one: Don Duardos performed many feats of valor, wandering far and wide. He finally returned to elope with Flérida who was ashamed to remain longer at her father's court. They fled, but were brought back to the Emperor who, having learned Don Duardos' identity, pardoned the lovers and celebrated a magnificent wedding. Now, instead of employing this simple dénouement, Scudéry switched to the interlinked episode of Primaleón and Gridonia of the romance, as we shall see presently.

The main theme of Scudéry's Prince déguisé thus corresponds exactly and in detail to the adventures of Don Duardos: the sudden and insurmountable love with which the Princess smites an enemy Prince; his disguise as a gardener in order to be able to approach her and win her love by his real worth; the entrance into the royal garden by the subterfuge of buried treasure, by which an avaricious and gullible gardener is readily deceived. We find the same costly goblets; the same jewels supplied by faithful followers, so that the Prince might keep his promise of sharing the gems with the rustics. Moreover, both Princes meet their ladies frequently in the garden, and find occasion to recite a poem of their own composition, expressing their hidden sentiments; both ladies are encouraged in their love by a lady-in-waiting who is certain that the gardener is a prince in disguise; both heroes subtly intimate that they are not of the lowly rank they seem to be, and they win their ladies by courtly gallantry. All these episodes in the development of the love plot are practically identical, and step by step constitute a parallel in the novel and in Scudéry's play.

No doubt, there are minor differences,—largely exigencies for dramatic purposes, since in the play the possible number of incidents had to be far more sparing than in an involved, slow-moving chivalric novel, which appealed to the popular fancy largely because of its exhaustive enumeration of details. So, for example, the many meetings of the Prince and his lady in the garden at night in the Primaleón are limited to two in the Prince déguisé; the many combats in which Don Duardos wins the crown of victory to prove his worth to his lady, are necessarily omitted in the play; the two cup and song incidents are combined in a single garden scene in the Prince déguisé, although in the Primaleón they occur at a week's interval. The magic and the giants are, of course, entirely suppressed by Scudéry, who in his attack on Corneille was to set up “vraisemblance” as the primary requisite of a well-constructed play.¹³

Paradoxically enough, his romanesque plot springs largely from the rationalization of the fantastic supernatural scenes of the late chivalric tradition. To give a striking example, let us take the episode of the goblet, which can be fully understood only when its source is borne in mind. In the Primaleón the cup had magic powers, making the Princess unwittingly fall in love with a rustic, without understanding how such a change could come about. But Scudéry, by eliminating the magic, converted the scene into a courtly one, using it to mark a contrast between the richness of the chalice and the humble state of the giver. Thus, in the Prince déguisé the episode loses much of its original effectiveness and raison d'être, for it becomes merely an unmotivated accident and embellishment. Scudéry has suppressed the magic, but not the scene.¹⁴

THE PRIMALEóN EPISODE: THE CID THEME

After making full use of this idyllically romantic love of a great prince disguised as a gardener to win a princess' hand, Scudéry switched for his dénouement to the principal plot of the Primaleón, to one closely interwoven with the Don Duardos episode. It is the meandering story recounting the love of the high-born and invincible Primaleón for the fair Duchess Gridonia, which constitutes the earliest courtly Cid theme¹⁵ in Spanish literature thus far discovered.¹⁶ In his Prince déguisé Scudéry makes but little use of the dramatic possibilities of these embellished knightly attitudes which are worked out at considerable length in the Primaleón. It remained for Guillén de Castro to employ so effectively in his Mocedades these highly dramatic motives comprising the struggle of Love versus Hatred, the seeking of a lover's head in expiation of a father's life, the desire of the heroine to kill herself, once she had restituted the family honor, the victorious return of the unconquered hero who himself offers her his head, and fearing the unflinching severity of his beloved, hands her his sword to end his suffering.¹⁷ All of these intense situations are so minimized by Scudéry that they only serve to yield unexpected romanesque turns, instead of being the nucleus of powerful dramatic situations. This meagre treatment is, perhaps, the most conclusive sign of the inferiority of Scudéry as a playwright, since he did not perceive the possibilities of just those themes, embodied in the love of a high-born lady for the paragon of chivalry, shattered by a rightful duel, which lead to so dramatic a climax in Guillén de Castro and Corneille.¹⁸

This Primaleón episode narrates how Nardides, the Duke of Ormedes, had been vanquished by the Emperor Palmerín de Oliva. His wife, upon the birth of a daughter, whom she called Gridonia to symbolize her sorrow, took an oath never to marry her to anyone but the man who should avenge her husband's death. At fifteen years of age, Gridonia was so beautiful that many knights came to court her. One of these suitors, her cousin Perequín de Duaces, son of the King of Poland, was determined to win the Duchess by avenging her. He decided to go to Constantinople where Primaleón, the worthy son of his noble father, was holding a tournament. He there planned to kill Primaleón, but instead he himself met with death at the hands of the hero. However, it was rumored that he had overcome Perequín by treachery, and Gridonia made a vow to avenge the death of both her father and her suitor by pursuing him relentlessly: she swore to bestow her hand on any man who should lay his head at her feet.

Now it happened that, on the mere report of her beauty, this very abhorred Prince fell in love with her. He was sorely grieved at her anger against him, and would gladly have laid at her feet not only his head, but the whole empire of Constantinople. He was especially pained at the false report to which she gave credence, that he had overcome Perequín by treachery, whereas he had slain him in honorable combat, and according to all the rules of knightly conduct. Under the assumed name of the “Caballero de la Roca Partida” (the very name of Gridonia's castle), he went to her court, where she was pining away in despair of ever being avenged, and desiring nothing so much as Primaleón's head: “… Muy ledo fuera mi coraçon con la cabeça de Primaleón, y esta vengança no espero yo haver segun la ventura me es esquiva.”

Though realizing that he was in a land where discovery would mean his death, Primaleón nevertheless engaged in battle, and drove out the enemies who were besieging the Duchess' lands. Without revealing his identity, he was brought in triumph, after his victory, to Gridonia's castle. During their conversation, Primaleón confessed his love for her, and to his delight she responded to his affection. However, bound as she was by her oath of revenge, she immediately requested him to bring her the head of her enemy as a token that would seal their happiness.

In spite of the renewed demands of Gridonia that he fulfill his promise, Primaleón did not, of course, reveal that he was the beloved enemy whom she was pursuing with so cruel a vengeance. Finally, after ever-mounting proofs of his devotion and valor, he led her to his father's court in Constantinople. There, in the presence of all the nobility (as in the court of Argénie's mother in the Prince déguisé), he disclosed that he was the long-sought Primaleón, and knelt before his lady. Bowing his head, he offered it to her in fulfillment of his vow, and handed her his sword, begging her to behead him with her own hands. Like Argénie, she was torn between paroxysms of grief, love, and desire of revenge, and in despair tried to draw the sword against herself in order to end her anguish,—for she could not strike the man she loved in spite of the guilt she imputed to him. Here again love triumphed, but in the Primaleón it was helped by a supernatural event: a sweetly scented dew of rain trickled over the whole gathering, washing away enmity and replacing it by love and reconciliation. Again as in Scudéry, the revengeful Queen was softened by the insurpassable constancy of the lovers, and sealed their marriage with her blessing.¹⁹

Even in this final climax the parallel between the Primaleón and the Prince déguisé is exact even in detail: in both the hero enters the country where a price has been set on his head, because of his love, and in both he is accused of having murdered treacherously a relative of the damsel. In Scudéry's play, Cléarque was said to have poisoned her father; in the Primaleón the hero was rumored to have slain her lover unawares, while at the same time he was to expiate the death of her father; in both works mother and daughter take a vow to avenge these deaths, and in both the hand of the lady is offered as a reward to the knight who would bring back the head of the accused Prince. In both, the hero swears he is innocent of the death imputed to him; he finally wins forgiveness, and is married by the mother who had been pursuing him so vengefully. Even many of the details are similar as, for example, the church ceremony during which the hero is publicly declared an enemy and responsible for the death of the ruler, or again the war between the two families, during which the lady's father is killed.

It is true that from this Cid episode, as from the Don Duardos story, Scudéry selected only the essential features, modifying and omitting what was irrelevant to his purpose. For instance, he made his Argénie far sweeter and less revengeful than the violent Gridonia. His heroine continued to love the brave Cléarque, and secretly hoped for his victory; she sacrificed her heart only because of filial duty. This struggle did not arise in Gridonia, because she had never set eyes on Primaleón before his arrival at her court.²⁰ But the main outline is identical, and the incidents succeed one another in the same order.

The Prince déguisé thus remains an amalgamation of several themes, though the sustaining framework is derived from the Primaleón,—that of the prince disguised as a gardener who wins a lady's heart by his poetry and gallant speech, and by his complicity with a rustic to whom he offers treasures supposedly unearthed by magic arts. To this he added the fundamental Cid motive,—that of the lady who promises her hand as a reward for the head of her father's slayer, yet marries this invincible enemy and lover. This Scudéry found in the Primaleón (1512), but it must also have been known to him as it had filtered through Feliciano de Silva's continuation of the Amadís (1532.) His indebtedness to the Primaleón is further confirmed by the number of details that seem accidental and unmotivated in the Prince déguisé, and thus betray their derivation. On the other hand Scudéry omitted much that seemed irrelevant or improbable for his plausible “intrigue.” His romanesque tragi-comedy clearly indicates how the fantastic motives of the romances of chivalry had gradually become rationalized, and this very omission of the numerous supernatural elements makes this play take on a significant rôle in the development of the doctrine of the Vraisemblable in the early decades of the seventeenth century.

But even the complex Primaleón plots did not entirely satisfy Scudéry. They do not account for the secondary themes with which he abundantly diversified them: the law and the combat of generosity of the lovers, derived from Juan de Flores and Ariosto, the treachery of the gardener's wife, although this was intimated in the Don Duardos episode, nor the comic gardener-magician episode that seems largely reminiscent of Sorel's Francion, etc. These and other commonplace literary motives Scudéry grafted on the main branch of his “intrigue”, thus lending his highly-lauded tragicomedy a semblance of novelty,—a newness of assortment of well-worn popular themes, rather than of original invention. He delighted his courtly audience by carrying it back to the romances of chivalry on which it had been nurtured, and through this retrograde appeal awakened sympathy for the well-known in a new and clever disguise.

Notes

1. Part of a paper read before the Modern Language Association at Yale University, December, 1932.

2. Georges de Scudéry, “Le Prince déguisé,” Republished with an Introduction, N. Y., Publications of the Institute of French Studies, 1929; The Novels of Juan de Flores and Their European Diffusion. A Study in Comparative Literature, Idem, Comparative Literature Series, 1931, pp. 203-211.

3. The composite nature of Scudéry's sources as to detail has since been corroborated: Professor M. Schlauch has pointed out that Scudéry may well have had in mind John Barclay's novel, Argenis, while composing his play: “From Barclay's romance Scudéry seems to have taken the heroine's name (Argenis: Argénie) and the localization in Sicily; possibly also the hero's name (Poliarchus: Cléarque) and his appearance in disguise” (Romanic Review, XXII, No. 3, 1931, p. 238). This suggestion was expanded by Professor A. Steiner, who pointed out that “Policandre,” the assumed name of the hero, was directly reminiscent of Barclay's novel, and that the name of the high-priest, Anthenor, was borne by a character in the Argenis (Juan de Flores, Barclay, and Georges de Scudéry, Romanic Review, XXII, No. 4, 1931, pp. 323-324). Professor H. C. Lancaster has suggested that Scudéry may have derived minor details of his plot from the Astrée, “where he could find parallels for the fact that the hero is a Gaulois, for the snoring gouvernante (III, 5), the bribing of the jailor, the heroine's escape from prison by the help of an attendant who takes her place, and the claiming of a reward for offering up one's self as a criminal” (A History of French Dramatic Literature …, Baltimore, 1929, II, p. 482).

4. Professor R. Bray has stressed, and rightly so, that to the audience the supposed murder of a father and the real murder of a father are quite different; that the innocent supposed murderer commands sympathy, whereas Scudéry, at least, might have thought that the real killer of his beloved's father was hardly excusable in pushing his suit. Historically I agree fully with Professor Bray, for Scudéry felt himself justified to criticize the morality of Corneille's Chimène, calling her “impudique, prostituée, parricide, monstre.” Nevertheless, may I not suggest that artistically,—a point of view which Professor Bray evidently shares,—the audience had the same sympathy for Rodrigue as for Cléarque, the “Prince déguise”? Dramatically, the pathos of the Cid was greatly heightened by the dire expiation of the hero, who killed only out of a sense of duty and honor, and in order to feel worthy of his lady. His torments both before and after the deed, his complete abnegation of self for a social code superior to any individual, resulted in an intense human tragedy, of beings at odds with superior forces, Love and Duty, whereas Scudéry's imbroglio remains only a pleasing disentanglement of misunderstandings of which the audience could foresee the outcome from the start. The interest here lies rather in the superficial “inside information” of the spectators, who await with curiosity the effects of the “mystery solution” on the supposedly unwitting actors, whereas in the Cid it rises from the inevitable internal conflict of the protagonists. Cf. Professor Bray's review of Georges de Scudéry, “Le Prince déguisé,” in the Revue d'Histoire littéraire de la France, XXXVII, 1930, pp. 448-449; H. C. Lancaster, A History of French Dramatic Literature …, Part II, Vol. I, p. 143, note 2; Professor Bray's review of this work in the Revue d'Hist. lit., XL, 1933, pp. 126-127.

5. B. Matulka, The Cid as a Courtly Hero: from the Amadís to Corneille, N. Y., Publications of the Institute of French Studies, 1928.

6. In this case, the “killer” is the son of the knight who had engaged in the fatal combat, for we have here a transmission of blood guilt. See the more detailed discussion of the Cid theme following.

7. Cf. the Head and Sword Motives in Guillén de Castro and Corneille.

8. These secondary sources should by no means be minimized, for they are precisely the innovations in the main theme that lent the play its novelty in the estimation of Scudéry's contemporary audiences. They all contributed to the “well-constructed” plot of which the author was so proud.

9. Libro segundo del Emperador Palmerín en que se recuentan los grandes e hazañosos fechos de Primaleón e Polendos sus hijos e otros buenos cavalleros estranjeros que a su corte venieron. At the end: “Fué trasladado este segundo libro de Palmerín llamado Primaleón y ansimesmo el primero llamado Palmerín de griego en nuestro lenguaje castellano y corregido y enmendado en la muy noble ciudad de Ciudad Rodrigo por Francisco Vázquez. Emprimido en la muy noble y leal ciudad de Salamanca a tres días del mes de Julio. MVXII años.” It has been attributed to an anonymous woman writer of Burgos, who is said to have been assisted for the descriptions of battles by her son, and also to Francisco Vázquez of Ciudad Rodrigo. Cf. H. Thomas, Spanish and Portuguese Romances of Chivalry, London, 1920, pp. 96-100. Many Spanish editions followed the first: Salamanca, 1516, Sevilla, 1524, Toledo, 1528, Ciudad del Senado Veneciano, 1534, Sevilla, 1540, Medina del Campo, 1563, Lisboa, 1566, Bilbao, 1585, another, 1588, Lisboa, 1598. Cf. Palau; H. Vaganay, Les Romans de Chevalerie italiens d'Inspiration espagnole, in La Bibliofilia (Firenze), vol. IX, 1908, pp. 121-131; vol. X, 1909, pp. 121-134, 161-167; H. Thomas, op. cit.

10. The numerous French translations were apparently based on both the Spanish version and the Italian translation, as we may gather from the title of the first French translation of 1550: L'Histoire de Primaleon de Grece continuant celle de Palmerin d'Olive Empereur de Constantinople son Pere, naguere tirée tant de l'Italien comme de l'Espagnol et mise en nostre vulgaire par François de Vernassal Quercinois. A Paris …, Estienne Groulleau, 1550. In the same year the translation was issued with two other imprints: “Paris, Vincent Sertenas,” and “Paris, Ian Longis.” It was republished in Orléans, Paris and Lyon in 1572; Lyon, Pierre Rigaud, Lyon, Iean Beraud, Anvers, and Paris, 1577; Lyon, 1580, 1600, and 1618. The Second and Third Books, which largely contain the stories upon which Scudéry drew, were frequently issued separately. Book II was thus issued in 1576: Second livre de l'histoire de Primaleon de Grece, traduict nouvellement d'espagnol en françois par Guillaume Landré d'Orléans, Paris, Galliot du Pré, 1576, and reissued in Lyon, Paris and Anvers in 1577. Still another French translation was made of this volume by Gabriel Chappuis Tourengeau, Lyon, 1588 and re-issued in 1612. The same Gabriel Chappuis also translated Le Troisième livre de Primaleon de Grece …, Lyon, 1579, reissued in Lyon, 1587. An edition “corrigé et augmenté” appeared in Paris, 1587. This Third Book also appeared in Lyon, 1597, 1600 and 1609. Following the Italian, even a Fourth Book was translated into French (1583 and 1597). To attest still further the extraordinary popularity this novel enjoyed in France, I may also mention the curious Petit discours d'un chapitre du livre de Primaleon autrefois envoyé par le seigneur des Essars, N. de Herberay … a une damoiselle espagnolle, belle, et de meilleure grace, Paris, Vincent Sertenas, 1549. A Dutch translation of Book II, by Samuel Minel, based on Gabriel Chappuis' French rendering, was published at Rotterdam, Jan van Waesberghe, 1621.

11. The first Italian translation appeared in 1548: Primaleone nel quale si narra a pieno l'historia de' suoi valerosi fatti et di Polendo suo fratello. Nuovamente tradotto della lingua Spagnuola nella nostra buona Italiana. In Venegia, Michael Tramezzino, 1548, 3 parts. The translation is anonymous, but has been ascribed to Mambrino Roseo. Other editions appeared in 1556, Vinegia, 1559, Venetia, 1563, 1573, 1579, 1584, 1597, 1608, and even a Fourth Part was invented: La quarta parte del libro di Primaleone, nuovamente ritrovata & aggiunta, 1560. In 1566 Pietro Lauro issued a supplement to the first twenty chapters of the Primaleón (Cf. Thomas, p. 187). Besides, Ludovico Dolce versified the novel (1562). There appeared even an English translation, based on the Italian and French renderings: Part I, attributed to Antony Munday, was issued in 1595, Book II in 1596, while in 1619 all three parts were published in London by Thomas Snodham.

12. There appeared in Spain several dramatizations of the very episodes of this novel that Scudéry employed: the early Tragicomedia he sóbre os amores de D. Duardos, Principe de Inglaterra, com Flerida filha do Imperador Palmeirim de Constantinopla, by Gil Vicente, (Cf. Obras de Gil Vicente, ed. Mendes dos Remedios, Coimbra, 1914, III, pp. 145-199). There exists, however, no reason for believing that Scudéry would have made direct use of this comparatively unknown play instead of the very well-known French translation of the Primaleón. This is substantiated by the lack of verbal parallels, and the fact that several episodes of the Primaleón are found in the Prince déguisé, though not in Don Duardos. The prince disguised as a gardener is, of course, found in other Spanish plays as, for example, in Torres Naharro's Comedia Aquilana. The possible relation between this work and Gil Vicente's and the Primaleón has been pointed out by Professor J. P. W. Crawford, Spanish Drama Before Lope de Vega, Philadelphia, 1922, p. 98. However, this play shows little similarity, outside of this theme, with the Prince déguisé. The highly fantastic and gongoristic play of Fray Hortensio Félix Paravicino, La Gridonia o Ciclo de Amor vengado, based on part of the Primaleón, apparently did not appear until 1641, after Scudéry's play. During the Siglo de Oro, the theme of the lover disguised as a gardener was frequently employed in the drama, though interwoven with so many other comedia de capa y espada motives, that its source can hardly be determined. Examples of this disguised gardener theme are found in Tirso de Molina's La fingida Arcadia, his La Huerta de Juan Fernández, Calderón's La Selva confusa, etc. Cf. G. T. Northup, La Selva confusa de Don Pedro Calderón de la Barca, in the Revue hispanique, XXI, 1909, p. 176.

13. Observations sur le Cid, in A. Gasté, La Querelle du Cid, Paris, 1898.

14. On the other hand, Scudéry did not only eliminate certain chivalric and magic elements so indispensable to a popular narrative of the time, but he amplified certain of its suggestions by grafting on this main theme striking scenes from other works. So, for example, he makes his gardener a comic character, gullible and superstitious, frightened by a false necromancer in a scene similar to one in the Francion of Sorel. Similarly, he makes the gardener's wife fall in love with the disguised prince, and his spurning of her affection makes her jealously spy upon him and betray his secret. Now, even this episode may have been suggested by the Primaleón, for there also the gardener's wife is curious to know why the youth remains in the garden at night, and discovers the lovers at their rendezvous. When her husband comes out on hearing his wife's cries, he thinks at first that she is unfaithful to him, and reproaches himself for his folly in taking into his house so young and gallant a helper. Scudéry thus probably derived his original inspiration for his treacherous-Melanire episode from the Primaleón itself, but for the details of working it out, he must have remembered similar situations in other works, such as the Francion, where a scene like his is developed in the same way. Moreover, he joined the rôle of vengeance-seeking for injured pride with the betrayal rôle in Juan de Flores' novel, Grisel y Mirabella, and thus his character of Melanire seems to be a composite one, skillfully combining several converging tendencies, which harmonized to form a plausible villain-motive for his play.

15. By the courtly Cid theme I mean those characteristics, attitudes and actions which differentiate the Cid of Guillén de Castro and Corneille from that of the chronicles and ballads.

16. The novel of Loubayssin de La Marque, Les Advantures heroyques et amoureuses du conte Raymond de Thoulouze, et de don Roderic de Vivar, Paris, 1619, and Seconde partie des Avantures heroyques et amoureuses des braves et excellens princes, Raymond comte de Thoulouze, et de don Roderic de Vivar, Paris, 1619, although dealing with the historical figure of the Cid, does not at all treat of the courtly Cid as he was to appear in Guillén de Castro's Mocedades. This mediocre Gascon author stayed entirely true to the chivalric tradition, and made but few excursions into the sentimental and courtly realm from which the Cid of Guillén de Castro and Corneille was to derive his glorification as a hero both supremely brave and incomparably gallant. Loubayssin's Cid romance is but an amalgamation of nondescript incidents from the romances of chivalry without any psychological deepening or analysis, whereas the value of the character of the Cid and Jimena as conceived by Castro and Corneille consists primarily in their psychological conflict. The entire absence of such struggles in Loubayssin de La Marque's unfinished romance stamps his work as retrograde in comparison with his contemporaries. Cf. G. Reynier, Le Cid en France avant “Le Cid,” in Mélanges Lanson, Paris, 1922, pp. 217-221, and M. D. Lorch, The Cid and Raymond of Toulouse, Heroes of a Novel of Chivalry, Revue de Littérature comparée, XIII, No. 3, 1933, pp. 469-486.

17. I am not here concerned with the relation of this Cid theme to that occuring in Feliciano de Silva's continuation of the Amadís, that in the Mocedades, nor that in Corneille's Cid. I intend to work out these relationships in a forthcoming study.

18. It should be well understood that I am not here concerned with isolated Cid motives, such as those of head or sword, etc., since these occur very early, and are scattered all through European literature.

19. Du Perier's La Hayne et l'Amour d'Arnoul et de Clairemonde of 1600, is a transposition into contemporary life of this romanesque story, with the elimination of the magic. De Sallebray's play, L'Amante ennemie, is similarly based upon it. Cf. Professor G. L. van Roosbroeck, The Cid Theme in France in 1600, Minneapolis, Pioneer Printers, 1920, and his study, The Source of De Sallebray's ‘Amante ennemie’, in Modern Language Notes, XXXVI, No. 2, 1921, pp. 92-95.

20. Again, in order not to complicate his play unduly, he omitted the whole sub-plot of Zerfira, the lady-in-waiting of Gridonia, as well as the countless adventures of the Duchess with her malicious cousins, or the incidents of the faithful lion guarding her, gentle to Primaleón but savage to all others, etc.