[In the following essay, Nunn examines Scudéry's adaptations of Livy's story of the rape of Lucretia, both in Les femmes illustres and in Clélie. The critic finds that Scudéry's presentation of the rape is restrained by the culture of polite society that suffuses her historical novels.]

The rape of Lucretia by Sextus Tarquin and her subsequent suicide is one of the most well-known legends of antiquity. Over the centuries it has inspired numerous works of art and literature throughout Europe. In seventeenth-century France, Madeleine de Scudéry treated the story twice, the first time in 1642, when she and her brother George devoted one of their Harangues des femmes illustres to a speech addressed by Lucretia to her husband Collatinus, and the second, in an episode of her novel Clélie (1654-1660). Both draw heavily on the version of the story we find in Livy, yet these two Lucretias are quite different women. While the first retains all of the severity Lucretia has come to stand for, the second, the fictionalized one, is only barely recognizable as a Roman matron. It is the transformation of the fictionalized Lucretia that I shall treat here.

Livy relates (I: lvii-lvix) that Sextus Tarquin, as host of a drunken banquet for his fellow soldiers, hears his guests sing the praises of their respective spouses. To show his confidence in his wife's virtue, Collatinus offers to take the others to his house and surprise her. This they do, and Collatinus finds himself vindicated: Lucretia, surrounded by her servants is engaged in spinning. It is at that moment, Livy tells us, that Sextus, excited by her beauty and her proven virtue, conceives the idea of raping her. A few nights later, armed with a knife, he returns to her house threatening to kill her if she does not submit to his desires. She steadfastly refuses. But Sextus then threatens to destroy her reputation by killing a slave along with her, making it appear she had an adulterous relationship with an inferior. She reluctantly acquieces. After Sextus leaves, she summons her father and her husband from camp. They arrive, accompanied by a certain Lucius Junius Brutus. After demanding she be avenged, she stabs herself, Brutus then seizes the weapon and vows to drive the Tarquins from Rome. The others are surprised by this sudden show of intelligence since up to now Brutus had been considered dull witted. In fact, he has only been feigning stupidity, while biding his time to strike against Tarquin. Brutus then leads a popular rebellion which results in the expulsion of the Tarquins.

In the harangue devoted to her by the Scudérys, Lucretia, having undergone the rape, addresses her husband, Collatinus, in the presence of her father and Lucius Junius Brutus. She now considers herself guilty, having chosen “la renommée à la véritable glorie,” but stresses the ambiguity of her situation. “Oui, Lucrèce,” she says, “il faut aujourd'hui, pour ta justification et pour ton châtiment, que tu sois, tout ensemble, ton accusateur, ton témoin, ta partie, ton défenseur et ton juge” (122). She implores her husband to avenge her by delivering Rome from the Tarquins. This harangue retains all of the severity and dignity associated with the legendary Roman matron. How different is the fictional heroine of Scudéry's novel.

Scudéry's version of this episode in Clélie is clearly inspired by her source yet the story is significantly transformed. In a military camp outside Rome, Sextus has instituted “une espece de vie plus voluptueuse qu'à Rome” (II: 1402). Sextus is host to a banquet, but his guests, rather than coarse soldiers, are all gentlemen, heroes of the novel. Scudéry tells us they compose “une Troupe enioüée,” and the atmosphere seems hardly menacing. Nevertheless, she writes, “comme Sextus mesloit tousiours l'amour à toutes les choses, les conversations qui suivaient ces Festins estoient ou de la beauté, ou de l'humeur des Femmes” (II: 1403). That night, after dining, the men begin to tease Collatin—although his wife has the reputation of being the most beautiful woman in Rome, she is rarely seen in public. They accuse Collatin of being a jealous husband. The tone of the conversation is quite unlike the one imagines from Livy's account; these accusations are made “en riant.” The conversation then turns to the question “Can a wife be one's mistress as well?” (II: 1406-08). The friends of Aronce and Clélie have their own agenda here; they are trying to interest Sextus in Lucrèce so that he will forget his obsession with Clélie. Finally, just as in Livy's version, Collatin invites the group to go home with him to meet his wife. Lucrèce, receives her guests cordially and her apartment becomes a kind of ruelle. During the evening she defends her preference for solitude with wit and charm. Sextus is so taken with her, that he no longer knows whether it is Clélie or Lucrèce who interests him most. Sextus is now motivated by love, rather than pure lust. As for the rape scene itself, Scudéry omits it entirely. Sextus is later seen skulking away from Collatin's house, but we learn of the crime only from Lucrèce herself as she says to her husband, her father and Brutus. And she remains discreet:

si le malheur qui m'est arrive se pouvait dire, il ne seroit pas aussi grand qu'il est: mais tout ce que la modestie peut souffrir que ie vous en die, c'est que l'infame Sextus est venu dans ma Chambre, qu'il est le plus criminel le plus insolent des hommmes & que ie suis la plus mal heureuse Personne de mon sexe, quoy ie sois la plus innocente. Après cela (poursuivit-elle les larmes aux yeux) ne m'en demandez pas davantage.

(IV: 1377)

Here is none of the ambiguity expressed by the Lucretia of the harangue. Lucrèce in no way feels guilty. And the motivation for her suicide would seem less clear.

But there is actually much more going on in this scene. We have already learned through an intercalated story, “L'Histoire de Brutus” (III: 167-601), which precedes this episode, that Lucrèce and Brutus were in love. Here Lucrèce is no longer the severe matron described by the historians but rather a young woman who enjoys fully the amusements of polite society. Brutus is no longer merely the stoic founder of the Republic (who would later be forced to condemn his own sons to death for treason) but a passionate lover, a galant fond of jeux de société. Following Livy at first, Scudéry explains how Brutus, fearing for his life after the murder of his father by Tarquin, adopts a pose of stupidity, hence his nickname. As an adult he marries but his wife dies, leaving him with two sons. Scudéry then invents a love story. At one of the many social gatherings in Rome, Brutus meets Lucrèce and falls in love with her. But how can he make his declaration without revealing his intelligence? The occasion arises when Lucrèce proposes a puzzle to her assembled guests. She gives them a list of apparently unrelated words which Brutus immediately recognizes as two lines of a poem by Phoclides. He then composes an answer based on words from another poem by the same poet. Lucrèce is amazed and charmed. Seeing through Brutus' feigned stupidity, falls in love with him. A secret courtship then follows with clandestine meetings and exchanges of love letters. The lovers are ultimately thwarted however by Lucrèce's father, who forces her to marry his friend, the rather stuffy Collatin. But in spite of a final plea on the part of Brutus, Lucrèce believes she must obey her father, and the two lovers separate in despair. They do not meet again until just after the rape.

Scudéry's transformation of these ancient Romans into characters more like those of her contemporary audience conforms to the author's theory of historical fiction. In a long conversation on this subject, which is included in her novel (VIII: 1118-49), Scudéry argues that the story will be more vraisemblable if the reader is already familiar with the characters through history. The choice of period is critical; the author should select “un siecle qui n'est pas si esloigné qu'on n'en sçache presque rien de particulier, ni si proche qu'on sçache trop ce qui s'est passé” (1134-35). Moreover, the novelist must research the period in order to represent it accurately. Clélie is set against the background of the expulsion of the Tarquins and the founding of the Roman Republic. For her main plot, as well as two of the intercalated stories, “L'Histoire de Tarquin” and “L'Histoire de Brutus,” Scudéry made meticulous and extensive use of a number of historical sources, including Dionysius of Halicarnasus and Plutarch, but she is particularly indebted to Livy. In both the ordering of events and in numerous details, she reproduces entirely, albeit with much elaboration, Books I and II of Livy's Ab Urbe Condita (Nunn 40). Yet it is important to point out that Livy, in these early books, is presenting legendary, rather than documented history. His heroes and vilains are larger than life. Among the former we find Horatius Cocles, defending single handedly the Sublician Bridge, Mutius Scaevola burning his own right hand to prove his courage before his enemy Porsenna and Clélie, leading her fellow captives in a daring escape across the Tiber, as well as Lucretia and Brutus. Among the villains, we find Tarquin the Superb, who rose to power through the murder of his predecessor, his wife Tullia, who drove her chariot defiantly over the corpse of her father, and Sextus, who ravished Lucretia. Livy himself, in relating these events, seems at times unsure of the their authenticity, notably when speaking of the exploit of Cocles. But Livy's goal was not that of the impartial historian. G. Walsh explains that the tradition in which Livy is writing sees “history as a medium for moral instruction” and “the great heroes of history symbolize the qualities which he believes made Rome great” (39). It is not surprising then that Livy's heroes seem larger-than-life. While such characters may well be suited to the stage, they are less easily adapted to the novel. Here the reader must be able to imagine the characters behaving in ways which seem “normal.” There is clearly tension here in the case of the historical novel. How then can the novelist reconcile archaic modes of thought with those of the contemporary reader? In the conversation cited above she allows that certain details might be modified in order to “les accomoder un peu à l'usage du siecle où l'on vit, afin de plaire davantage” (VIII: 1136). It was for this practice of course that Scudéry incurred the hostility of such critics as Boileau. Her characters were said to seem more like seventeenth-century galants than ancient Romans, a judgment which is hard to ignore. Scenes of violence, where her characters behave as ancient heroes, are followed by passages in which these same characters behave in the manner of seventeenth-century polite society. Not all of the violence stems from her use of historical sources however. In the tradition of Heliodorus, the author makes her heroine undergo multiple abductions, and in fact (as is true for Aronce as well) Clélie remains a prisoner throughout much of the novel. But even while captive she is not deprived of society, her prison most often becomes a kind of ruelle where her friends join her for polite conversation. Although she is often in danger, we are somehow sure that in the end Clélie will prevail. The rape of Lucretia however is a different sort of violence. Here Scudéry is dealing with an act which can in no way be considered an “adventure.” But she certainly cannot omit the episode; it is central to the historical plot. All she can do is divert our attention from it, first by suppressing the details of rape as they are known to the traditional version of the story and second by incorporating it into one of the many love stories which make up much of the novel.

Works Cited

Primary Sources

Livy. Works I. Books I and II. Ed. B.O. Foster. New York: Putnams, 1919.

Scudéry, Madeleine de. Clélie, histoire romaine. 10 vols. Paris: Courbé, 1654-60. Genève: Slatkine Reprints, 1973.

———. Les Femmes illustres. Paris: Côté-Femmes, 1991.

Critical Works

Nunn, Robert. «Mlle de Scudéry's Clélie». Diss. Columbia University, Ann Arbor: UMI, 1966.

Walsh, G. Livy, His Historical Aims and Methods. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1961.