The Wicked Stepmother

3.1 Settings and characters

Setting. The Book of Syntipas is set at the Persian court of Cyrus the Great^[12] and features one of Cyrus’ concubines (unnamed), his son (unnamed), the philosopher–teacher Syntipas, and seven advisors. Dolopathos is situated during the reign of Augustus, at the court of Sicily, with its protagonists comprising the fictional king Dolopathos, his second wife (identified as ‘Agrippa’s daughter’), his son Lucinius, the poet-philosopher Virgil (a poet-magician during the Middle Ages) from Mantua (in the story situated near Palermo), the seven sages and the royal retinue. Neither story contains references to the historical personalities of Cyrus and Augustus and their temporal contexts; their names thus imbue the story with an exotic feel, placing it in a remote time and place. This technique can be considered a functional element of wisdom literature: a distant story world more easily invites an audience to reflect upon its own ethical values.^[13]

King. King Cyrus is introduced very briefly compared to king Dolopathos. The characterisation of both kings is positive, but they have a temper. Although Cyrus appears to be very distressed about the silence of his only son, he is infuriated and immediately condemns him upon hearing the concubine’s accusation. His seven advisors suggest that his grief caused him to act too hastily; moreover, they fear the king will ultimately regret his rash decision and blame them. In contrast, King Dolopathos receives a lengthy introduction. He is depicted as a righteous king, but when faced with injustice, he turns into “a wild animal, more like a tiger than a man” (4.33–5.2).^[14]

Concubine/Wife. In the Book of Syntipas, the female protagonist is not the biological mother of the prince (the mother is mentioned only once, § 9, 10.1 μήτηρ)^[15] but one of Cyrus’ concubines and the prince’s stepmother (§ 9, 10.3 μητρυιά, cf. Mousos’ introduction below). She has a certain power over the king: she accuses her stepson of rape, appeals to Cyrus’ emotions by threatening suicide, and plays an active role as a convincing storyteller in the subsequent juridical battle. By contrast, king Dolopathos is monogamous: his first (beloved) wife dies, and he marries a second time. His second (wicked) wife also accuses her stepson of rape, but despite her successful attempts to influence Dolopathos with dramatic appeals for justice, she is not once permitted to partake in an actual battle of (embedded) stories, which is quite exceptional since in other versions of the story, the queen is a verbally active participant in the debate.

Prince. In both versions of the tale, the king’s only son is a handsome boy and an excellent pupil. The primary narrators describe him throughout their stories as innocent and with a clear conscience. The oath of silence, while originating from different motivations in each of the stories, is a liminal test before the prince can fulfil his adult role at court.^[16] In Dolopathos, for example, Lucinius’ silence is attributed to sadness: he mourns the death of his mother and the absence of his teacher. After seven days have passed, with each day bringing the imminent risk of execution (in the case of Lucinius, by fire), the young prince is allowed to speak and defends his case. In the Book of Syntipas, he evidences his brilliant education extensively, while in a long epilogue in Dolopathos, the prince converts to Christianity. Both characterizations seem appropriate to the cultural context in which each particular version circulated: the Byzantine court of Melitene and the monastic setting of the Haute-Seille, respectively.

Teacher. Syntipas is bound by a self-made oath to raise the prince to perfection by educating him in six months and two hours, promising that he may be beheaded if he does not deliver. He educates the prince by painting all his knowledge on the walls of his pupil’s room. Prior to the boy’s return to the court, an astrological consultation forces him to remain silent for seven days. Virgil, meanwhile, takes care of Lucinius’ education in Rome, handing his pupil a highly secret handbook of wisdom which the teacher himself wrote (14.27–15.5).^[17] Virgil teaches Lucinius to ‘give to every age, sex or condition the proper justice and desire to be loved rather than feared’ (20.9–20.11). When the son is about to return to his father’s court, Virgil tells him to remain quiet for seven days (21.14ss), offering no further explanation. In both versions, the teacher returns to the court after seven days to resolve the situation, although Virgil’s entrance is a real coup de théâtre: he arrives on a bird from the sky.

Philosophers/Sages. The seven philosophers (φιλόσοφοι, σύμβουλοι) presented at the court of Cyrus and acting as advisors and storytellers are motivated by fear for their position. They first believe the queen and then try to pacify the king, advising him to examine the evidence and ascertain the truth before passing judgement on his only son based on the concubine’s accusation. In Dolopathos’ court, the role of advisor and storyteller is distributed over two different groups: the local kings and noblemen on the one hand and the seven sages of Rome (the sapientes from the title of the most current Latin version, Historia Septem Sapientum), who come travelling from far away, on the other. The latter sages materialise one by one out of nowhere every time Lucinius is about to be thrown into the fire, and they disappear in the same manner.^[18]

Extras. In Dolopathos, the courtiers – that is, the advisors, as well as the retinue of the king and the retinue of the queen, are described extensively (reges, principes, etc.). King Dolopathos and prince Lucinius both suffer assaults on their lives from jealous noblemen, and a handmaiden (absent in the Book of Syntipas) offers the queen bad advice. After hesitating out of pity and fear, the advisors in Dolopathos tell the king that the prince should be burned alive (according to Roman law). The entire city brings wood and straw to a plain outside the city but refuses to obey the king’s orders.

3.2 Paratext, frame story, and embedded stories

Both versions of the story contain paratextual material with a presentation of the translator/author/adapter, a frame story with a primary narrator–focaliser and secondary narrators–focalisers, and embedded stories told by the latter (which, in turn, can contain other narrators–focalisers), each with its own respective audience.

5.1 In the bedroom

In the Book of Syntipas, when the prince does not speak upon his return to the court, the king is distraught: why is his son silent? The king and the philosophers attempt to make the prince speak – but to no avail. One of the king’s concubines proposes to heal his son since, in the past, the prince used to tell more secrets to her than to his biological mother. The king willingly accepts her offer, encouraging her to take the prince to her bedroom^[27] and use as much flattery as she can (§ 9, 10.4 ὡς δυνατὸν θωπευτικῶς αὐτῷ προσομίλησον).^[28] “The wicked woman” (ἡ πονηρά) does as she is told; she takes the king’s son by the hand and leads him to her bedroom, where she engages in sweet talk (§ 9, 10.7 and 8, ὁμαλῶς, τοῖς μειλιχίοις λόγοις). She does not, however, succeed in making him speak and consequently infers he is afraid of something unexpected. The concubine thus proposes a plan: the prince should overthrow the old and weak king and take her as his wife. The prince flies into such a rage that he forgets his oath, telling her that he will answer her words not now but after seven days.

The entire scene is described in no more than 228 words. The brevity leads to a series of questions about the reason why the concubine acted as she did. Why did she infer the prince was afraid? Why did she suggest overthrowing the king? It could be argued that she was merely provoking the prince in order to make him speak but may have pushed her luck in doing so. It may, however, also be inferred that the concubine was aspiring to change her position by marrying the only legal heir to the throne. Or did her proposal perhaps stem purely from desire for the beautiful youth?

The bedroom scene is described in much greater detail in Dolopathos, and there are several contrasting elements. When Lucinius arrives amidst lavish festivities (28.16ss.), nobody notices his silence. The following day, the king offers his son half of his kingdom, but the prince remains obstinately silent (32.10ss.). The king’s friends suggest all manner of distractions, including music, girls, food and drink. Finally, the queen voluntarily (ultro) offers to receive Lucinius in her room (in suis […] thalamis)^[29] and to heal him with her proposed remedies (34.15–34.18). The king thanks the queen, promising her half of his kingdom as a reward (this echoed promise is notable: which half would the king bestow upon the queen – the half that has already been promised to his son?).

What follows is a comprehensive description of the queen and her selection of the most beautiful girls imaginable in the bedroom, covering ca. six pages. Here, the primary narrator is playing with the amorous literary topoi prevalent in the literature of the Western Middle Ages. He presents different stages of love, from seduction to lovesickness.^[30] The bedroom scene is a textbook example of the male gaze at work to satisfy the curious reader (among which would surely be found Cistercian clergymen).^[31] The primary narrator, however, counterbalances this explicit eroticism with a fierce condemnation of the lustful queen and her girls (35.13–35.23): according to him, the women are all vipers (colubras […] quas merito colubras dixi), and the wickedness of woman is like the slyness of the snake (non enim est astucia super astuciam serpentis nec malicia super maliciam mulieris).

At first (phase 1: 34.24–36.10), the girls try to seduce Lucinius, offering him music and song, sweet talk and embraces, aiming to provoke happiness and ludum Veneris, even “by touching with shameless hands his private parts” (35.5–35.6 impudicarum manuum circa loca pudenda attactibus). Their attempts are nonetheless in vain: while the prince permits their caresses to a certain extent, he is unmoved when it comes to lovemaking and, ultimately, speaking. As a result, the queen herself steps in, angry and desirous to obtain what she wants (36.3–36.5 magis […] semetipsam exponere quam quod cuperet non expleret). At this stage, it is, interestingly, unclear whether the queen desires the prince to be healed, the reward offered by the king, or perhaps both.

Eventually (phase 2: 36.11–37.16), the queen dismisses the girls. As irresistible as Helen of Troy, the queen turns the love play into a militia amoris, complete with the metaphorical language associated therein (e. g., a besieged citadel, darts, catapults, etc.). She licks, kisses and sucks Lucinius’ lips (36.17–36.18 propria lambendo, comprimendo, sugendoque labellula) but, in so doing, she falls desperately in love with him (36.30 ceco insanoque capta cupidine tot in amorem Lucinii flagrat). With love-talk and embraces and by “touching his manhood”, she “violently and shamelessly demands debauchery” (37.1–2 attractatione verendorum violenter impudenterque stuprum exigit). However, no matter what she says or does, and despite her addition of charms, drugs, prayers and tears, Lucinius resists, stronger than even the wisest philosopher.

The militia amoris now becomes a love elegy in prose (phase 3: 37.17–40.4). The physically lovesick queen calls for her handmaidens, who know her secrets. In a passionate confession, she describes what happened in the bedroom. According to the queen, she was dragged down to the deep while trying to save a drowning man out of pity and because of her promise (37.24–37.25). She recounts her methods (except the physical elements), her all-consuming passion, and her longing for death if her wish is not granted (38.15–38.16 aut enim mori michi aut potiri voto necesse est). At this juncture, the queen’s initial pity for the boy is transformed into downright passion.

One of the handmaidens, out of jealousy for her mistress, encourages the queen to change course.^[32] By depicting the prince as an unwanted ruler who will disinherit the queen’s potential offspring, the handmaiden persuades the queen to accuse her stepson of rape to save face: ‘we shall say that the son of the king tried to pollute the bed of his father by raping you’ (39.6–39.7, cf. 62.18 where the king says paterni thori invasorem), she conspires. The queen is convinced. There is no more mention of the king’s promised reward, which is, by now, out of the queen’s reach.

The primary narrator does not plead female weakness in mitigation but rather condemns her action and those of all women along with her: “This is the insanity of woman. This is her audacity. When she cannot overcome, she goes mad and dares to commit any crime” (40.3–4: Hec est insania mulieris, hec audatia; cum vincere non potest, furit audetque omne nefas perpetrare).

5.2 About the bedroom

While the primary narrator’s description of the bedroom scene itself is brief in the Book of Syntipas, the scene – and its consequences – is later referred to several times by different characters: the reader witnesses the perspectives of the concubine, the prince, and two philosophers. The concubine panics and decides upon a “wicked plot and destructive scheme against the boy” (§ 10, 11.5–11.8), tearing up her clothes and face and crying out loud. She tells the king (§ 10, 11.10–11.15) that she talked to the boy patiently (ἐμπονῶς) in an attempt to make him speak but that he suddenly attempted to rape her (ἐκεῖνος δὲ αἰφνιδίως ἐπιπεσών μοι ἐνυβρίσαι μου τῷ σώματι ἐπειρᾶτο); she laments that she knew he was suffering but “never expected him to be sick with such perversity” (τοιοῦτον δὲ αὐτὸν νενοσηκέναι ἀτόπημα οὐδόλως ὑπετόπαζον). Upon hearing this, the furious king condemns his son to death, and thus, the battle of stories between the philosophers and the concubine begins. The concubine repeats the accusation of rape several times^[33] and is systematically portrayed as “(very) wicked” by the primary narrator.^[34] The tension increases day by day, reaching its climax towards the seventh day.

On the sixth and seventh days (§ 81–82, 59.3–60.8), the concubine is terrified and wants to throw herself into a fire. She is afraid her scheme will be discovered, knowing that disgrace and death are awaiting her “for the utterly improper way in which she had talked to the boy” (ἐφ᾽οἷς πάντως τῷ παιδίῳ ἀτόπως λελάληκε). Nevertheless, she manages to convince the king for a final time. The executioner is already brandishing his sword above the prince when the seventh advisor arrives and convinces the king to set his son free.

On the eighth day (§ 96–98, 71.12–75.12), the prince finally speaks out and presents his version of the story, first to the chief philosopher (who briefly reports to the king “all that he had heard from the boy”) and then to the king himself. To the advisor, he reveals (§ 96.72.7–96.72.16, first in indirect discourse and then in direct discourse) “all that the wicked concubine had imprudently said to him” (ἀνακαλύπτει […] ὅσα πρὸς τὸν ἡ πονηρὰ τοῦ βασιλέως παλλακὴ ἀφρόνως λελάληκε); he claims that God and the advisors saved him from an unjust death and “from the danger that came from the wicked woman’s intrigues against my father the king” (τοῦ κινδύνου τῶν πρὸς τὸν βασιλέα καὶ πατέρα μου σκαιωριῶν τῆς μοχθηρᾶς γυναικός). His report to the king is more extensive and slightly different (§ 98, 74.11–75.8, in direct discourse): he explains that he was silent because Syntipas had told him to be and alleges that after being led to the women’s quarters, the concubine, licentious, as it appears (ἀκόλαστος, ὡς ἐῴκει), had tried to have sex with him (πρὸς συνουσίαν ἑαυτῆς με διηρέθιζε καὶ ᾑρεῖτο συγγενέσθαι με αὐτῇ). The prince tells the king that he had been furious about the impropriety (ἐπὶ τῷ ἀτόπῳ τοῦ πράγματος, cf. the concubine’s wording above); he had angrily told the queen that he would defend himself properly after seven days against “what she had said” and “what pleased her”, and, out of fear and because she sensed danger, the wicked woman had wanted the king to condemn his son to death. Strikingly, the prince not only passes over the coup against the king but also admits that out of confusion, he forgot about his vow (evidently, without any consequence). Indeed, he refers only to the sexual advances forced upon him by the concubine.

The king believes his young son upon his word, rejoices and calls for an assembly of the philosophers, courtiers and noblemen, including Syntipas (who has finally returned to the court). He asks them (§ 100, 76.10–76.14) who would be to blame if he had executed his son within seven days. One philosopher points to Syntipas for abandoning the boy; a second points to the king for condemning his son to death. A third blames the concubine because women convince men to do as they wish: she provoked the king with a false accusation. A fourth philosopher points to the boy, claiming that the wife was the victim of involuntary temptation by lust or love and noting the boy’s broken oath and harsh and intimidating words. Nevertheless, he relies upon the weaker female nature as circumstantial mitigation: no woman can resist a beautiful boy, especially when they are frequently in each other’s company.

Syntipas disagrees and declares the boy not guilty since nothing is greater than the truth, and a real wise man cannot be mistaken about the truth: otherwise, he is a liar and hypocrite (§ 102, 78.12–79.2). By telling various stories, the boy now proves that he is, indeed, such a wise man.

Finally, the stepmother is called upon to confess (§ 129, 105.4) and takes full responsibility. Her report (§ 129, 105.8–106.10) largely coincides with the initial version of the primary narrator: she says she acted on the king’s command, managing by all kinds of questions, flattery, and sweet words (παντοιοτρόποις πεύσεσι καὶ θωπείαις, μειλιχίοις τοῖς λόγοις) to make the boy utter one sentence.^[35] She claims that the prince’s anger and brusqueness scared her and made her feel endangered, thereby causing her to act as cunningly as she did: urged on by a satanic power, she lied deceitfully. She declares, “I understand my sin and confess it openly, and I do not deny it at all” (τὸ ἁμαρτηθέν μοι ἐπίσταμαι καὶ φανερῶς τοῦτο καθομολογῶ μὴ κατά τι τόδε ἀπαρνουμένη). She does not consider her actions as motivated by lust or love, and understandably, she omits her audacious proposal against the king. In completing her mission to please the king (convincing the boy to speak), she digs her own grave (she had to accuse him).

The philosophers respond to the stepmother’s confession by suggesting ripping out her heart or cutting off her tongue, but the concubine, by telling another story (§ 131, 107.5–110.10), proposes a less cruel punishment. The prince agrees that she has spoken honestly and fittingly, “for intelligent men of sound mind should not subject the failures of women to excessive blame and accusation” (§ 134, 110.12–111.2). Instead of being condemned to death, the queen is ‘only’ submitted to a public parade of shame through the town, seated backwards on a donkey, with a shaven head, soot on her face, a bell around her neck, and two heralds proclaiming her wicked deeds – a very light punishment compared to Dolopathos.

In Dolopathos, the queen, emerging with her maidens and with tangled hair, a torn face, and bloodstained clothes ripped to the navel, accuses Lucinius before the king and the court. She adopts the version suggested to her by the deceitful handmaiden, adding that the boy spoke pleasantly and dined with them (40.23 iucunde et loqui et epulari nobiscum). Her story coincides only partly with the primary narrator’s description: Lucinius did join them in merry-making up to a certain point, but he never broke his oath of silence by speaking. According to the queen, his silence was not caused by grief for his mother or his teacher; rather, it had been a scheme (40.25 dolus) borne out of his desire to rape her (40.28–40.29 volens me violenter stupro illico maculare), first by pleading, then by force, and finally by violence against her and her handmaidens, ‘like an unbridled stallion’. She demands justice and judgement for this terrible crime. The king roars like a lion (the reader has already been informed how wild he can be) and condemns his son – although he is torn by his position as both husband and father.

For seven days, the prince, naked, hands tied to his back, like an innocent sacrificial lamb, risks being burned alive. However, he is saved day after day by the arrival of the seven sages, who tell their stories in his defence and incriminate the queen. Tension rises as each sage tells his story. When the seventh sage has spoken, the queen pleads one last time (87.10–87.14). She describes the king’s injustice and repeats that she is the victim of the prince’s lust (libidinem filii tui; filio tuo criminoso; impudicum filium). She is prepared to throw herself into the flames. Again, the king is convinced by his wife.

Dolopathos is already lifting his son with his own hands to burn him alive when Virgil arrives, just in time, like a deus ex machina. Virgil utters a furious invective against the queen and womanhood in general (87.31–88.15, ending with “a woman is a great evil”, grande malum mulier) and tells another story. According to him (90.1–90.3), the queen only pretended to be helpful but was, in reality, lustful, and the queen’s claim that Lucinius attacked her (sibi violentiam intulisse) stemmed only from the prince’s refusal to yield to her lust (sue […] libidini). Virgil adds that the trial is invalid because the prince has not yet defended himself. Finally, the boy speaks up, albeit briefly (90.14–90.17), confirming Virgil’s discourse on how the queen and her handmaidens had tried to incite him to lust (ad libidinem inclinare) and how they had conspired against him, pretending to be attacked. As in the Book of Syntipas, the boy is believed upon his word. However, contrary to the Book of Syntipas, the trial in Dolopathos is finalised within a few sentences (90.17–90.25). The crowd, including family and friends, turns against the queen and her handmaidens, and throws them into the fire. Thus, “they received a punishment worthy of their crime” (90.21–90.22, dignam satis maleficiis suis receperunt penam). Whereas the queen is not permitted any reply, the prince is absolved and crowned.