THE MIRRORED RETURN OF DESIRE: COURTLY LOVE EXPLORED THROUGH LACAN'S MIRROR STAGE

Emily Renee Eikost

A Thesis

Submitted to the Graduate College of Bowling Green State University in partial fulfillment of

the requirements for the degree of

MASTER OF ARTS

April 2022

Committee:

Erin Labbie, Advisor

James Pfundstein

© 2022

Emily Eikost

All Rights Reserved

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ABSTRACT

Erin Labbie, Advisor

Images have always played an integral role in the formation of identity throughout

courtly love literature. This can be seen through the first look between the servant and his Lady

as it becomes the foundation for their mutual identities both in relation to one another and apart.

They become centered around only truly knowing the self once they have known one another.

This initial moment of recognition, following the path of the Hegelian master-slave dialectic, is

the moment when self-consciousness is formed by a confrontation with the other (Hegel 541-

547). The first look is a pivotal moment that sets the stage for the way the subject perceives the

world as he now views himself as merely a part with the image reflected back being the

promised ‘whole’ he has come to anticipate. When this becomes the central driving force behind

the servant’s motivations, it becomes a phenomenon that must be examined to better understand

the characters and the possible implications of their actions. This thesis investigates the role that

identity formation plays within courtly love literature using Jacques Lacan’s mirror stage theory

and a new framework designed to assist in literary criticism. I engage W. J. T. Mitchell and

Michael Camille’s debate surrounding images, objects, and desire as a foundation for my

examination. The primary texts that I engage are Dante Alighieri’s Vita Nuova and Commedia as

well as the unknown poet’s “Sir Orfeo.” For Dante, I examine his desire for the identity of the

servant and his missteps in attempting to reach this goal. In my analysis of “Sir Orfeo,” I shift the

focus to an examination of mourning within identity formation, with an emphasis on Sir Orfeo’s

grief over the loss of Heurodis. Through this engagement, I suggest that the first look between

the servant and the Lady is pivotal to the servant’s retroactive and anticipated identity.

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For my mother who has always pushed me to follow my dreams and sacrificed so much for me

to get here.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost, I would like to thank my thesis advisor, Dr. Erin Labbie, for her

guidance that made this thesis possible. It would not exist in this form without her. Although I

have always been fascinated by courtly love, it was her passion for psychoanalysis that sparked

the flames for my own. The resulting wildfire produced this thesis as I sought to join the two

areas together. Additionally, I would like to thank her for something she told me early on that

stuck with me as I started this journey: the box does not exist. It helped me let my thoughts run

wild and create connections that I might have otherwise overlooked.

I would also like to thank my second reader, Dr. James Pfundstein, for his assistance in

guiding this thesis into its final form. I greatly appreciate the time he took to read through this

thesis given the lengthy form it has taken.

Finally, I would like to thank my family and friends for bearing with me as I worked

through this thesis. Their continuous support and understanding has been invaluable. Mom, Dad,

Tyler, Mia, Haley, and Meghan, thank you for always listening when I would burst into sporadic

explanations of what I was working on, even when you were busy with other things. You acted

as excellent springboards, and I am grateful for every single second.

I would not have been able to do this without any of the people listed here. Once more,

thank you all.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS Page

INTRODUCTION .................................................................................................................... 1

CHAPTER I. SETTING THE SCENE OF DESIRE: AN INTRODUCTION TO THE

METHODOLOGY OF THE IMAGE OF THE OTHER ......................................................... 13

Introduction…............................................................................................................... 13

Desiring the Lady’s Image............................................................................................ 15

The Lady as Object ....................................................................................................... 26

Conclusion…... ............................................................................................................. 37

CHAPTER II. THE TWISTING OF DESIRE: DANTE'S OBSESSION AND

RECTIFICATION…... ............................................................................................................. 39

Introduction…............................................................................................................... 39

Vita Nuova: Setting the Scene ...................................................................................... 42

Vita Nuova: Desiring Divinity ...................................................................................... 47

Vita Nuova: Dante and His Lord .................................................................................. 51

Vita Nuova: Shifting into Obsession............................................................................. 57

The Commedia: Reinvention of the Scene.................................................................... 62

The Commedia: To Love Without Sin.......................................................................... 67

The Commedia: The Promise of Beatrice Herself ........................................................ 73

Conclusion…… ............................................................................................................ 79

CHAPTER III. TAKING A STEP BACK FROM DESIRE: “SIR ORFEO” AND

IDENTITY…………................................................................................................................ 82

Introduction…............................................................................................................... 82

Sir Orfeo and Heurodis: Two Halves of a Whole......................................................... 85

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Heurodis: Object of Desire Once More ........................................................................ 88

Sir Orfeo’s Re-fragmentation ....................................................................................... 93

Pathological Grief and Image Theory........................................................................... 100

Sir Orfeo’s Reunification of Self .................................................................................. 111

Conclusion……………………. ................................................................................... 123

CONCLUSION……................................................................................................................. 126

WORKS CITED……... ............................................................................................................ 132

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INTRODUCTION

Love is a certain inborn suffering derived from the sight of and excessive meditation upon the

beauty of the opposite sex,1 which causes each one to wish above all things the embraces of the

other and by common desire to carry out all of love's precepts in the other's embrace.

— De Amore (The Art of Courtly Love), Andreas Capellanus, 28

Love at first sight has been a common trope in literature for centuries; yet, despite the

plethora of scholarship about it, the process of desire and recognition remains a mystery. The

inability to properly name and record a history of this fascination lauded within tales of courtly

love affords it further allure. The subject longs for it, though this longing cannot always be

articulated. However, this fascination provokes a series of questions that draw a focus towards

the human element at the center of the equation. Why does the subject long for love at first sight?

Furthermore, why is this moment so important that it must be written? The answer to this first

question begins with the concept of courtly love, and as that is examined throughout this thesis, I

propose an answer to the second question through the role of identity formation within this

phenomenon.

Courtly love is the center of many debates.2 Any conversation surrounding it is equally

subject to debate as a result. For the purposes of this thesis, I focus on Barbara Tuchman’s list of

1 Capellanus writes this as heteronormative, but courtly love itself is not; often, courtly love is an affair between men, and the Lady is a device that allows the men to be in relation to each other. Homosociality is a common element. See Lacan’s Seminar VII: Ethics of Psychoanalysis and Seminar XX: Encore — for the latter, see “A love letter (une letter d’amour)”; Burns’ “Courtly Love: Who Needs it? Recent Feminist Work in the Medieval French Tradition”; Kristeva’s Tales of Love, particularly “The Troubadours: From ‘Great Courtly Romance’ to Allegorical Narrative”; Ingham’s “Homosociality and Creative Masculinity in the Knight's Tale.”

2 It is impossible to list all the debates within courtly love. As a result, there is not one singular, accepted view of courtly love’s existence, the intentions of it, and its possible impact. One major point of contention within the surrounding debates is whether a potential consummation of the love (sex) was considered acceptable and, if so,

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courtly love stages as a general guide with W. J. T. Mitchell, Michael Camille, and Jacques

Lacan as my framework and methodology. Hegelian dialectics are also central to this thesis to

bridge discussions of courtly love, Lacan, and identity formation, although at times, I challenge

his approach to recognition and desire. I am offering another method of examining courtly love

rather than setting a definitive rule; however, in doing so, I highlight the integral role of identity

within courtly love overall.

In the scene of courtly love, this first look is the initial moment of recognition in one

another that initiates the dynamic between the servant and the Lady. They cannot enter the scene

before this moment. According to the Hegelian master-slave dialectic, self-consciousness is

formed in this moment through a confrontation with the other (541-542). As a result, identity

formation occurs simultaneously because the two must confront the other — each other — to

understand themselves. Lacan examines the inability for the subject to know the self as a whole

until confronted with an image within his essay, “The Mirror Stage as Formative of the Function

of the I as Revealed in Psychoanalytic Experience.” In his example, he explores an infant’s

formation of identity through his mirrored reflection. In both instances, the first look is a pivotal

moment that sets the stage for the way the subject perceives the world and his surroundings. He

views himself as merely a fragmentary part with the image reflected back being the promised

whole he has come to anticipate.

under what circumstances. Some poets seek to keep their expression of love as pure while others allow themselves to slip into the erotic. Tuchman argues that it was only considered illicit because love was seen as separate from marriage; however, expressions of courtly love were often contradictory (67). Andreas Capellanus, on the other hand, claims within his De Amore (The Art of Courtly Love) that only modest physical affection as purer expressions of love are allowable for courtly love. Courtly love’s juxtaposition to divine love complicates this matter further, though some scholars attribute this to the church’s perpetuation of love as a solely spiritual experience; others see it as separate and the Lady herself as the servant’s religion. John C. Moore explores this through his essay “‘Courtly love’: A Problem of Terminology” and makes it clear that even those who take these stances shift. C.S. Lewis’s The Allegory of Love, for example, treats courtly love as a “rival religion,” according to Moore (623). For a deeper look into courtly love and the aforementioned debate, see Irving Singer’s The Nature of Love, Volume 2: Courtly and Romantic; James A. Schultz’s Courtly Love, the Love of Courtliness, and the History of Sexuality.

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Why is this moment so important that it must be written? The answer to this question is

ultimately tied to the answer of the first, and I argue that it is critical in understanding the way

the two questions relate to one another. To understand the dynamic between these two questions,

the second question is engaged within the thesis through an examination of what Lacan’s mirror

stage might offer to the poet and their characters. The juxtaposition of Hegel and Lacan allows

for a deeper look at this internal phenomenon between the servant and Lady.3 The framework

created through this juxtaposition shows how identification — or, in certain cases, the desire for

identification — results in writing. I argue that if the subject longs for tales of love at first sight,

when faced with reality, they seek to create their own reality in which it persists, often through

their own writing. The poet within courtly love is the epitome of this, resituating this moment of

love at first sight within the Real through the Symbolic and, in doing so, creating their own

reality where they can explore their own fantasies of the world. Thus, the purveyors of literature

become the new poets further perpetuating these tales.

While the Hegelian dialectic is often used to examine and understand the dynamics at

play within courtly love literature, it still offers a rather limited view into the way the creation of

self and identity affects the actions and motivations of the subject throughout the text. To combat

this and better understand the role identity plays within courtly love, I examine how Lacan’s

work on the three dimensional classifications of the psyche, specifically the mirror stage within

the Imaginary, helps to elucidate the situation. Lacan’s examination of the mirror stage as a

pivotal moment in identity formation is a crucial piece of the puzzle to understanding courtly

love literature. From a psychoanalytic point of view, the mirror stage assists in bridging the gap

3 There is a longstanding coupling present in understandings of desire. See Judith Butler’s Subjects of Desire: Hegelian Reflections in Twentieth Century France; Alexandre Kojève’s Introduction to the Reading of Hegel: Lectures on the Phenomenology of Spirit.

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between the servant and his Lady (even if no distance is ever truly covered). I then follow Jane

Gallop’s exploration of Lacan’s mirror stage in her essay “Lacan's ‘Mirror Stage’: Where to

Begin” to delve deeper into the mirror stage’s revision of a person’s past and future through

anticipation and retroaction once they have assumed an image into their identity.

Before I can discuss the mirror stage and its role within my framework, it is important to

acknowledge the three dimensional classifications of the psyche that Lacan explores throughout

his works: the Real, the Imaginary, and the Symbolic. The Real cannot be represented or it

ceases to be the Real and becomes real.4 It is “that which is impossible to represent” (Labbie 12).

To put it simply, the Real is the fantasy. It cannot be spoken aloud because the moment the

words are spoken, they cannot be taken back and the circumstances themselves become reality

(or real).

This battle between the Real and the real is clearest within poetry. Traditionally, writing

is part of the Symbolic. The kernel of the real cannot be articulated without destroying the

fantasy built up within the Real.5 The impossibility of this discussion creates an inarticulable

lack. In her book Lacan’s Medievalism, Erin Labbie states that, “The Real (or the real) refers to

the element of the unconscious desire and fantasy that exceeds articulation and knowability”

(13). Poets take on the challenge of this lack through their writing as they search for a way to

articulate it. Poetry is born as a result, standing as a mediation between the two within the

Symbolic. Courtly love poetics then are a byproduct of this. The poet, often taking on the role of

4 This differentiation is integral to understanding what Lacan is attempting to say about language and the way the Real/real factors into it.

5 Žižek divides the Lacanian Real into three parts: the symbolic Real, the imaginary Real, and the real Real. He characterizes the real Real as something that “is not an external thing that resists being caught in the symbolic network, but the fissure within the symbolic network itself… [F]or Lacan the Real—the Thing—is not so much the inert presence that curves symbolic space (introducing gaps and inconsistencies in it), but, rather, an effect of these gaps and inconsistencies” (72-73).

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the servant, seeks to address the relationship (or lack thereof) between himself and the Lady.

However, he can only do so through a careful distance that prevents the real from being revealed.

The servant’s silent perpetuation of this narrative surrounding himself and the Lady must not be

threatened; if it is broken, the reality of the Lady — her existence as a flawed human being —

will tear it asunder. This distance acts as a barrier that lets the servant build up their own image

of the Lady within the Real. From this distanced position, the poet can examine the Real through

its relation to the Imaginary and the Symbolic.

In Lacan’s explanation of the mirror stage, the infant’s identity is formed through its own

reflection when language is not yet a part of their nature. Because of this, they perceive more

about who they are and who they will be than is actually present from their reflection; when they

connect it back to themselves, they view this misconception as an absolute and grow to anticipate

it. Despite Lacan’s focus on the infant as his subject, examinations of the mirror stage are not

limited to it. His examination of the infant merely acts as a structure to explain the mirror stage

and the way it shifts towards the Symbolic. The mirror stage itself dwells within the Imaginary.

The Imaginary involves the relationship between the subject and the image that the subject is

seeing projected back to him, though it can only exist where speech does not, much like with the

Real (Lacan, “The Mirror Stage” 1164). Why is there still this separation from speech and, as a

result, language? The reason why it must exist without speech is because the subject will view

the reflection in the mirror and assume its image as his own. However, reflections are imperfect

images that only give a glimpse rather than the entire picture, which results in only an imitation

of totality (Lacan, “The Mirror Stage” 1164-1165). For the servant, this imitation causes an

obsession with space (or distance).

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In his introduction to Lacan’s works, Leitch et al. grants additional insight into this

moment by focusing on this totality that the subject is perceiving. “The self-image that causes

identification and recognition is a fiction ‘over there,’ dictating the efforts of the subject (“I”)

toward a totality and autonomy it can never attain. Through an external medium (a mirror), the

child’s fragmented body is made whole” (1159). The idea of the fragmented body needs to be

highlighted to understand the formation of the I — the formation of oneself and ego – within this

process. The subject misguidedly believes that he has found a wholeness in this image being

presented to him because he is finding himself through an aesthetic recognition that Lacan likens

to being a mirage (“The Mirror Stage” 1165). In the case of the servant, this wholeness is

through a recognition of the Lady — the epitome of the aesthetic. The image itself is not the

mirage. The mirage is the subject’s perception of the image along with the idea that his

wholeness is linked to it; the promise of the image then gives the subject a false idea of his own

position in relation to it.

The servant will always be in a state of anticipation for the promise of it, even after he

has left this stage, because it has now become a part of his ego. Jane Gallop, in her essay

“Lacan's ‘Mirror Stage’: Where to Begin,” asserts that this anticipation is founded in an illusion,

causing any future rooted in it to be a part of said illusion as well (121). While the servant is

rooted within the dreamlike Imaginary, a relation between himself and the Lady’s image is a

fiction that can never be observed up close. Lacan claims that “every truth has the structure of

fiction” (“Outline of the Seminar” 12). ‘Truth’ itself is subjective in nature; as a result, he

emphasizes that the essence of the fictitious is found in the Symbolic. It is only through

understanding this that one “understands the function of reality” (Lacan, “Outline of the

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Seminar” 12-13). The interlocked nature of the three dimensional classifications must be

acknowledged to examine the way they work together in practice.

Lacan describes the mirror stage as a drama that makes the shift from the fragmented

body to a wholeness or totality (“The Mirror Stage” 1166). This perceived totality results in the

“assumption of the armour of an alienating identity,” which leaves a lasting imprint on the

mental development of the subject (“The Mirror Stage” 1166). When approaching this from a

literary perspective, it is the assumption of predetermined roles, such as the development of the

subject into the servant whose sole focus becomes the Lady he cannot reach. This idea is only

given to him as Gestalt (“form, pattern, wholeness”); speech would force an immediate

objectification of the image and restore it to whatever its own function as a subject might be

(Lacan, “The Mirror Stage” 1165).6 We arrive at the importance of the poet, as well as the

written word, once more. In simpler terms, when the poet-subject uses writing to try and put into

words the actual relation between the two, he shifts out of the Imaginary and into the Symbolic;

here, the Real can be crafted and examined while trying to avoid the risk of the real.

The Symbolic can risk the real, but it can also put the Real into perspective for the subject

since it allows a speech that focuses on articulation rather than attributing a specific naming. It is

a structure of relations that forms in an attempt to place meaning on the image. For the infant in

Lacan’s examination, the Symbolic is the infant’s jubilant reaction at their reflection and their

conscious attempt at maintaining their gaze in the mirror. This is a physical reaction that can be

examined from within the Imaginary. Leitch et al. refers to this shift into the Symbolic and what

6 When discussing the relationship between the servant and the Lady, the word objectification must be examined closely here. This objectification of the image the Lady presents the servant with could be the traditional definition of objectification which is the degradation of someone into an object. Yet, another definition of objectification, specifically dealing with images, suggests another possible interpretation: “The expression of something abstract in a concrete form” (“Objectification”).

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the Symbolic then must perform as, “The human being’s body, to the extent that he or she begins

to speak, must translate itself” (1159). The subject is now attempting to understand the

wholeness it is presented with, recognize it as such, and further examine how they exist in

relation to one another. In fact, Lacan later connects a deeper meaning to this moment through an

examination of desire and sexual desire, separating desire into two separate positions as the

mirror stage comes to an end and a potential shifting into the Symbolic occurs (“The Mirror

Stage” 1168). As a result, the mirror stage invokes that desire for wholeness that can be

translated into varying situations to varying degrees of impact on one’s identity. If poetry is a

mediation between the real and the Real within the Symbolic, then it can be traced within it as a

physical manifestation of the poet’s longing and desire for the Lady. However, how does the

mirror stage situate itself into this examination of courtly love?

The mirror — the external medium that Lacan examines at length — will henceforth be

considered the reflective glass that produces the reflected image. The structure itself will be

referred to as the mirror apparatus because it serves a particular purpose in both Lacan’s essays

and here in examining the way courtly love poetics can be examined through the concept of the

interlocked three dimensions. The mirror apparatus can be both a pathway and a barrier to the

Lady, though it is also highly dependent upon the way the writer approaches courtly love. When

you look into the mirror, a reflection — the image that Lacan speaks of that promises an illusion

of wholeness — is looking back at you. By placing courtly love within this scene, the servant

takes on the role of the subject and is gazing upon the Lady through the mirror. Due to the way

reflections work, there is then an image of the Lady ‘gazing back’ at the servant through the

mirror.

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This initial gaze is crucial for the Hegelian dialectic since this is where that mutual

recognition first occurs. Before this moment, the servant was unaware of his fragmentation, so it

is a moment of exuberance for him much like with the infant in Lacan’s example. The infant

stares at the reflection with awe and excitement as he recognizes and identifies himself, causing a

transformation to occur because he “assumes an image” by forming a relation between himself

and what he sees (“The Mirror Stage” 1164). Likewise, the servant takes on such a role upon

first gaining sight of his Lady. It, in Lacan’s words, “establish[es] a relation between the

organism and its reality” (“The Mirror Stage” 1166). However, while the servant might find what

he views as a whole self — a full identity — through her that he can then hold onto outside of

their dynamic, the image reflected has no autonomy or real presence. She is merely an image

being presented to the servant. Yet, the Lady must be an active participant within the scene of

courtly love and needs to be able to form that recognition for herself. As a result, it becomes

clear that the Lady cannot be a mere reflected image.

When courtly love is approached correctly, the Lady is both the mirror apparatus and the

image being reflected back. Only the Lady can be the true pathway to herself. A reflected image,

per Lacan, is “empty” (“The Mirror Stage” 1164). By placing the Lady as the mirror apparatus,

she is given agency over who she recognizes herself within and vice versa. She acts as the

structure that the servant creates himself around. While she will always remain that structure —

her identity bound, per the Hegelian dialectic, to being this structure — she is still in control of

the scene as the master. The question might arise of how she is able to reside as both the image

and the mirror apparatus, though it can be explained by the reflected image enveloping the

promise of her as the servant’s wholeness should the servant prove his worthiness.

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Through this shift, the focus becomes the mirror stage as a turning point that is both

anticipatory — as seen in the subject’s assumption of the role of the servant to reach for the Lady

— and retroactive. The recognition has caused that stage of self-consciousness that allows for the

servant to suddenly understand himself both now and in the past (Gallop 121). It can be argued

that everything begins to make sense about oneself once the self has been recognized and formed

through this exchange. A separation of identity is still allowed to be within the scene as well.

Their identity is formed around one another, but the servant can find himself outside of this

relation after this first look, although he will be missing what he views as a piece of himself

since the Lady is the promise of a totality he is desperately seeking. The mirror apparatus can

then be said to facilitate this recognition of self within one another so long as the Lady is

juxtaposed onto it; this prevents the experience from being an empty, one-sided one with only an

illusion of wholeness. The servant’s desire is actually for the promise of the Lady — the

reflected image — that the Lady herself is facilitating. Because of this, the reflected image still

offers an abstract idea of completion that can be found from outside of this stage as well.

However, as already stated, this is dependent upon courtly love being approached correctly

through that mutual recognition between the servant and the Lady.

The framework explored throughout this introduction is central to understanding the

course of the rest of this thesis. In this thesis, I develop an understanding of the mirror stage’s

role in identity formation within courtly love. Alongside this, I examine the debate regarding

images and objects, explore how this framework remains applicable in differing moments of

identity formation, and consider its dependence on the writer’s own approach to courtly love.

The primary texts that I engage are Dante Alighieri’s Vita Nuova and Commedia as well as the

unknown poet’s “Sir Orfeo” through Lacan’s mirror stage.

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In “Chapter I. Setting the Scene of Desire: An Introduction to the Methodology of the

Image of the Other,” I approach the question of love at first sight broached in this introduction

and lay the foundation for the rest of my thesis by examining courtly love and desire through W.

J. T. Mitchell and Michael Camille’s debate regarding images and objects. It is here that I take

on the challenge of the Lady’s place within courtly love. Numerous different perspectives

regarding the role the Lady plays and perceptions of her are considered. The desire for her and

the fear of what the real reveals about her are not mutually exclusive; however, attempts at

understanding the connection between the two has resulted in mixed explanations. I juxtapose

Mitchell and Camille’s arguments against the problematic nature of Slavoj Žižek’s view of the

Lady to illustrate this and prepare for the differing approaches taken by Dante and the unknown

poet of “Sir Orfeo” in the following two chapters.

In “Chapter II. The Twisting of Desire: Dante’s Obsession and Rectification,” I examine

the battle between the Real and the real through Dante Alighieri’s Vita Nuova and Commedia as

his desire — as well as his fear of it — results in a failed attempt at courtly love in the former

and a rectification of the scene in the latter. This battle between the real and the Real, as well as

what this then says about the mirror stage, produces three primary questions that will be

addressed throughout the course of this chapter. 1) How can Dante form a scene of courtly love

within the Vita Nuova when Beatrice is not a part of the scene? 2) How does Dante’s failure

influence his creation of the Commedia? 3) As a result of the first two questions, how and why

does Dante form his identity around that of the servant? Because Dante the character is a

representation and self-insert of Dante Alighieri the poet, this failure and later rectification play

vital roles in the establishment of identity at play through Lacan’s mirror stage as the image of

Beatrice within the reflective glass of the mirror becomes one he cannot separate from himself.

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In “Chapter III. Taking a Step Back from Desire: ‘Sir Orfeo’ and Identity,” I examine

through “Sir Orfeo” the struggle of identity itself as the sudden loss of Sir Orfeo’s wife Heurodis

results in a re-fragmentation of his sense of self. Sir Orfeo’s inability to grapple with this loss

results in him throwing away his identity. As a result, he finds himself at a crossroads where the

Real, the real, the Symbolic, and the Imaginary converge. This convergence is centered around

Sir Orfeo’s fear of looking back to who he was before Heurodis and his refusal to find an identity

for himself outside of his relation to her, resulting in three primary questions that will be

examined throughout the course of the chapter. 1) What role does the backwards gaze — and,

through it, Gallop’s discussion of the mirror stage’s retroactivity — have on Sir Orfeo’s identity

crisis? 2) What role does grief play in Sir Orfeo’s inability to move forward towards a new

identity? 3) How does the Symbolic help to shape this alongside the mirror stage? Sir Orfeo’s

grief plays an important role on his struggle with identity. By analyzing the disruption caused by

pathological grief in his decision-making process, Sir Orfeo’s actions can be examined within the

Symbolic as he attempts to translate the “impossibility” of his own identity within his

fragmentation.

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CHAPTER I. SETTING THE SCENE FOR DESIRE: AN INTRODUCTION TO THE METHODOLOGY OF THE IMAGE OF THE OTHER

Plotinus urges the mirror as an allegory for the critical dialogue between the ideal forms

produced in the soul and the disparate, contradictory bites of information about the self fed to

the memory and sense perception by the eyes and ears as visual and verbal images. The body

serves as the ground for the mirror that reflects not so much the inner on the outer, but rather

shows obverse and reverse, the continuum of being and consciousness.

— “Picture, Image, and Subjectivity in Medieval Culture,” Nichols, 635

Introduction

The concept of love at first sight pervades medieval romances and religious iconography,

visually and textually focused on the image of the Lady and the divine (as well as the Lady as the

divine.) While the literal sense of the phrase “love at first sight” is important to examining

courtly love,7 it would be irresponsible to dismiss it as just a desire for love itself. Plotinus

situates sight as the act of image-making that can be traced back to the soul and a desire for some

degree of wisdom (Nichols 635-636). The first look shared between the servant and the Lady sets

the former down the path of trying to put meaning to the images the latter presents to him from

within the mirror stage and outside of it. Norman Klassen ties it back to enlightenment, citing

love at first sight as the cause of love and knowledge’s hostility (75). Much like love,

enlightenment is broad by nature as both a word and a category. They are too interwoven within

courtly love literature for desire (and love) for the Lady and a desire for enlightenment to be

7 Despite the surrounding debates, it is generally agreed that distance between the servant and the Lady plays a key role; this distance furthers the servant’s desire and longing for the Lady. The servant’s desire spurs him into becoming worthy for her, often seeking to prove himself and — more importantly — the nature of his love.

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separated. The servant seeks salvation from his Lady; he seeks to understand himself in relation

to her through his Symbolic renderings.

Enlightenment is still the goal even through the lens of romance. As a result, courtly love

is commonly juxtaposed with divine love in a quest to put to meaning what exists around them,

although it cannot find definitive meaning even here, according to Klassen. Klassen establishes

the relationship between love, knowledge, and sight as one that “creates awareness of the realm

of the intellect even as it patently fails to point to a univocal meaning” (76). The quest for a

singular answer to love at first sight is an impossibility then. It is a return to articulating that

which can never be articulated. Thus, the poet can only hope to find enlightenment through their

own Symbolic examination of courtly love and the images born from it that haunt and inspire

them.

What is the importance of an image? Such a broad question has an equally broad range of

answers. As a result, the subject needs to be tied to this question for a more narrow and refined

answer. What is the importance of an image to the subject? If the subject is the servant, the

image is undeniably that of the Lady’s, so the root of the question is grounded in desire. W. J. T.

Mitchell and Michael Camille take on the challenge of this question and situate it within the

framework of desire. Camille’s moderate Freudian (and, therefore, Lacanian)8 approach mediates

on the subject to ease the concept of lack (7). Mitchell’s approach is more blended. While he

leans heavily on a more Deleuzian9 approach early on in his examination, he complicates this

through joining the two. In short, he crafts an analysis on how the parts form together to create a

8 Lacan and Freud are both focused on the subject desiring something they lack as will be seen through Camille’s examination.

9 Deleuze complicates the notion of desire by shifting it into a focus of assemblages. Mitchell states: “The anti-Freudian, Deleuzian picture of desire is interrupted by pleasure, not driven by it” (61). As will be seen, Mitchell expands on this to offer his own interpretation of how it fits into his perception of images.

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whole that rejects lack but later requires it so that mediation can occur (Mitchell 61). The divide

between Camille and Mitchell becomes centered around the constraints of viewing the aspects,

the very images and what they represent, entangled within desire as fragmented rather than

whole.

Desiring the Lady’s Image

Before the Lady’s image can be addressed, the Hegelian master-slave dialectic’s10 (often

debated) place within courtly love needs to be considered. As mentioned previously, the

perspective it offers is rather limiting (and tends towards the extreme), which is why it needs to

be mediated into a more moderate position through Lacan’s mirror stage. It examines how self-

consciousness can only be formed when confronted by the other. The look must be a shared

recognition of the self within one another to form that sense of selfhood (541-542). Without it,

one cannot understand themselves singularly let alone in relation to the other. The importance of

the Hegelian master-slave dialectic here is that it offers a foundational pathway into the mirror

stage for the servant and Lady, and it helps to put them in relation with one another. However,

the foundation of Hegel’s discussion is that this then leads to a life-or-death struggle over this

recognition and subsequent identification (543).

The identity of the master becomes dependent upon the slave through their attempts in

mastering them whereas the slave is not bound similarly (Hegel 541-542). Likewise, it can be

argued that the Lady is bound by her definition as an object of desire to her faithful servant and

cannot possess an identity outside of that objectification despite her faithful servant possessing a

10 There is an alternate translation of this to the lord-bondsman dialectic instead, but in the case of courtly love, I prefer the translation of master-slave solely because the servant is often depicted as the slave of love who seeks the Lady’s mastery.

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sense of self from without the equation. That might seem out of place in a discussion of courtly

love; for some, it is and the perpetuation results in a distorted view of it (as will be explored

through the problematics of Žižek’s perspective). Yet, the life-and-death struggle does not seem

inevitable, and it is only through the poet’s approach that the Lady holds no sense of self. When

the Lady is also an active participant within the scene, the inevitability of this can be challenged.

The servant longs for the Lady’s mastering and wishes to define himself continually in relation

to her. As a result, the setup that Hegel offers is integral, but the outcome he lists is debatable.

Through a mediation of the two, it offers an introspective look at the way one’s sense of self is

dependent on others and, through his illustration of the life-or-death struggle, the fear of this

dependence. In short, the fear is mutual. The servant, often the poet but not always, fears losing

the Lady’s recognition since he cannot measure his worthiness or showcase his devotion without

it; the Lady fears losing the servant’s recognition because she builds herself around being an

object of desire since her meaning within the text is dependent on her relation to him.

Camille makes the claim within his book The Medieval Art of Love: Objects and Subjects

of Desire that the concept of desire has always been a paradox, both in the Middle Ages and

today. He classifies it as “a longing for some object that can never be satisfied” (Camille 7).

Desire, then, is something that is not meant to be satisfied. Rather, its purpose is in its

prolonging. It is a seemingly straightforward claim; yet, as Camille unpacks it through an

analysis of artwork and literature, he complicates it to reveal his closer examination of the

motivations behind their creations. For Camille, the object and the image are one and the same as

he does not differentiate between the two. In his preface, he cements his working definition of

desire. He states that satisfaction causes the death of desire, resulting in “the pleasure of desire

[lying] in its perpetual deferral” (7). Camille is embracing the traditional view of courtly love,

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which thrives upon the absence between the servant and the Lady that distance causes. In doing

so, he leans into the Lacanian belief that the closing of said distance is a disastrous outcome; yet

this does not stop Camille from attempting to answer the question of desire and its purpose.

While some might view desire as a dangerous entity,11 Camille asserts that love is

dependent upon desire to exist — another common trait of courtly love literature. However, the

first step towards forming this desire is to risk looking. Camille points out that this was

considered “an act charged with danger as well as pleasure” within medieval optics (29).12

Therefore, the act of simply looking can be inferred to be active rather than passive. Love at first

sight then — that moment spoken of through the Hegelian dialectic —can be considered a

mutual rebellion where the servant and the Lady both actively participate in the risk of finding

themselves in one another and opening themselves up to the threat of desire. What is the place of

desire within this exchange, though?

Camille argues that “the medieval art of love,” perhaps his naming for courtly love, was

created to stand against the Church’s teachings (21). However, he also states that religious art

was still influenced by it since it stood as something to avoid, thus resulting in the further

perpetuation of it.13 Despite this claim, Camille seems to contradict himself in his discussion of

an overlap between the two in which the profane and sacred can be the same. Klassen also states

that “on its own, the concept of sight transfers readily from the realm of human love language to

11 See Chapter II for Dante Alighieri’s (sometimes contradictory) perception of desire.

12 Klassen also notes the danger of looking. Using the biblical Song of Songs as an example, he draws attention to the servant gazing on the Lady. “Hiddenness is an important component of this activity. The eyes provide a link to the heart; they also spur him on to keep seeking that which he knows eludes his understanding” (78). The servant gains pleasure from looking at his Lady. It fills his heart with love and encourages him to continue to search for enlightenment, whether that enlightenment is spiritual, physical, or emotional.

13 Dante turns this on its head by using it in support of the Church, primarily within his Commedia where he continues with Camille’s perspective of the Church believing that “sex equals death” (21).

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that of divine love” (76). If there is overlap between the profane and the sacred as well as human

love and divine love, what does this mean for Camille’s argument?

The role of the mirror itself within the mirror stage must be considered. The framework

developed within the Introduction splits the mirror into two sections: the mirror apparatus and

the reflective glass of the mirror that produces the image’s reflection.14 The latter is of particular

importance here. In his examination of speculums within medieval artwork and literature,

Herbert Kessler considers reflective objects to play a critical role within theological creations.

According to Kessler, it was believed that mirrors allowed one to perceive God without being

blinded by His radiance (14-15).15 The servant views the Lady as divine, so the mirror becomes a

necessity to gaze upon her; if she is the mirror apparatus creating a pathway to herself, the

reflected image of her is a further mirroring of herself. The servant can look on the image safely

since it is not the Lady in her entirety. Similarly, the Lady is a mirror for the divine. Kessler

asserts that crystal orbs, not mirrors, are shown as the primary reflective objects within

theological artwork more frequently and are often in the hands of angels, “to suggest celestial

visions,” or demons, “to evoke the dangers of carnal seeing” (10). The vast divide between the

two supports what at first might seem like a contradiction on Camille’s part but is, in actuality,

an examination of the root and liminality of desire.

Camille’s seeming contradiction supports the liminality of courtly love and offers up the

possibility of love itself being its own religion where both parties must transgress the sacred with

the profane to properly perceive it. Love at first sight naturally fits into this moment given

14 The Lady is the mirror apparatus and the reflected image, facilitating a relationship between herself and the servant.

15 Kessler uses the example of the pinnacle of Giotto’s Baroncelli Altarpiece and its image of the angels approaching God with mirrors in front of their faces (14-15).

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medieval perceptions of what the eyes themselves represented.16 However, if love at first sight is

a result of both parties taking the risk of looking, then it would imply that the effect is mutual:

the servant’s love and the Lady’s love both born from this first look that gives desire room to slip

in. Yet, Camille only addresses the servant’s love and desire. Quoting Andreas Capellanus’ De

Amore, Camille states, “For when a man sees some woman fit for love and shaped according to

his taste, he begins at once to lust17 after her in his heart; then the more he thinks about her, the

more he burns with love, until he comes to a fuller meditation” (29). Desiring from afar becomes

a key component within the exchange for the servant, though it brings forth more questions than

it does answers without the Lady’s part being considered.

Perhaps the question of desire and the emptiness of the Lady can be addressed through

the idea of that desire for what she represents, as empty as Lacan might consider that to be,18

being what motivates the servant to try and cross that divide to truly know her to go beyond just

the emptiness. Desire is the motivator that allows the servant to seek to learn more and love the

Lady for her rather than the ideal of her that was given to him at the beginning of his quest. As a

result, the Lady can be more than just an empty vessel and desire can shift to love. Thus, love at

first sight would be born from desire rather than actual love, though it remains prudent for love

itself to bloom thereafter. This allows for the exchange between the servant and the Lady to be

mutual. However, Camille focuses on the need for the Lady (or object) to be empty within art

and literature. Labbie states that love, for Lacan, might be an inadequate attempt at fulfilling

16 Klassen uses an example from the Song of Songs to demonstrate this: “Thou hast wounded my heart, my sister, my spouse: thou hast wounded my heart with one of thy eyes” (85).

17 It must be noted that despite the conversation around desire that Capellanus and Camille are both contributing to, the specific word that is used is ‘lust’ rather than desire. However, while it can mean a sexual desire, it must be noted that it can also be a strong desire. The word itself holds Old English and Germanic roots, meaning, “pleasure, delight” (“Definition of Lust”).

18 In “Courtly love as anamorphosis,” Lacan claims that the Lady is “emptied of all substance” (149).

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desire, which would imply the need to continually perpetuate distance between the servant and

the Lady as Camille suggests (127). The Lady becomes merely an image or object to be reached

for, but since she is an active participant within courtly love, what of her desire?

At the beginning of his book What Do Pictures Want?, W. J. T. Mitchell establishes his

working definition of images and objects. An image is “any likeness, figure, motif, or form that

appears in some medium or other” (Mitchell xiii). An object is “material support in or on which

an image appears, or the material thing that an image refers to or brings into view” (Mitchell

xiii). Using these definitions, he creates an argument centered around the power of images and

objects. He makes the claim that art holds its own desires, even if it is as simple as being

observed and admired (48-50). Perhaps unintentionally, he creates a foundational explanation for

the dichotomy of the servant and the Lady in connection with that first look because it allows for

desire to be as simple or complex as the owner of it chooses. An argument can then be made that

there is nothing wrong if the Lady’s desire within the scene is as simple as being worshiped by

the servant. However, that would also imply that it could be just as complex as the servant’s,

including a similar need for the divide between them to be crossed, even if only temporarily.

The painting’s desire, in short, is to change places with the beholder, to transfix or

paralyze the beholder, turning him or her into an image for the gaze of the picture in what

might be called “the Medusa effect.” This effect is perhaps the clearest demonstration we

have that the power of pictures and of women is modeled on one another, and that this is

a model of both pictures and women that is abject, mutilated, and castrated. The power

they want is manifested as lack, not as possession. (Mitchell 36)

The Lady desires the ability to desire that the servant shows. Mitchell offers a deeper look at this

desire throughout his book. Although most of his discussion is used to explore literal pictures

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and physical objects, it holds an integral part in understanding the Lady as both an image and an

object, which is how she is often treated within scholarly conversations and examinations.

According to Mitchell, any discussion of desire must first address the contradictory

depictions of desire within such conversations. Mitchell states that because human desire’s

depiction is often contrary — “associated with the dark passions, appetites, and ‘lower nature’ of

the brutes on the one hand and idealized as the aspiration to perfection, unity, and spiritual

enlightenment on the other” — it should not be a surprise that the desires of pictures can be

showcased similarly (61). A singular definition for desire is as impossible as a singular answer

for the goal of love at first sight. With Mitchell’s claim in mind, it is of no surprise that the

depictions of desire within courtly love are just as contradictory.19 Yet, the importance that

desire plays even behind the scenes within both examples cannot be argued against.

First, however, the perception of the Lady as an image must be addressed. The Lady as

an image is tied to the servant’s desire. Mitchell complicates the question of desire by flipping

the question around and asking, “Is desire a symptom (or at least a result) of image-making, and

the tendency of images, once made, to acquire desires of their own, and provoke them in

others?” (57). When centered around this question, the relation between Mitchell and courtly

love can be traced, though allow me to rephrase the question into a series. Does desire for the

image of what the Lady should be cause the actual desiring of the physical Lady? In other words,

does the projection of the Lady as an ideal cause a desire for her in the first place? As a result,

does proximity then allow the image of the idealized Lady to form its own desires in relation to

19 In Chapter II, Dante views desire as a dangerous entity that might threaten Beatrice’s purity. In Chapter III, for Sir Orfeo, desire and the motivation sparked by it are necessary to reach Heurodis once more. However, in others, it might just be a tool meant to draw the attention of the servant in the first place. Examples of this can be seen throughout the romances. The lais of Marie de France are an excellent example of this as is Chaucer’s “The Knight’s Tale” within his larger The Canterbury Tales. There are other numerous examples of this such as the works of Thomas Malory as well as Guillaume de Lorris and Jean de Meun’s Roman de la Rose.

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the servant, allowing for a further perpetuation of the servant’s desires?20 The idealized Lady

cannot be empty then if her desires are meant to influence the servant’s as well.

The need for the Lady to hold as equal of a place as the servant rather than being emptied

out further can be seen through the Deleuzian picture of desire that Mitchell uses to support his

argument for an image’s desire. Referencing Gilles Deleuze’s essay “What is Desire?,” Mitchell

contrasts the Freudian and Deleuzian pictures of desire, characterizing the latter as a

“‘constructed assemblage’ of concrete elements” (61). There are numerous moving pieces that

are not fixed in one specific place that must be examined together rather than apart. The

implications of the Deleuzian perspective would mean that a desire for just the image of the Lady

would be an empty desire; it would allow a one-dimensional fixation on a specific part of her

rather than a viewing of what the Lady represents as a whole.

Breaking the Lady into fragmentary pieces would leave any desire or love for her as

equally fragmentary. It is also problematized by the concept of the impossible object of desire.

Referencing William Blake’s piece There is No Natural Religion, Mitchell expands on this

concept: “If any could desire what he is incapable of possessing, despair must be his eternal lot”

(61). Suffering for love is not a foreign concept within courtly love, yet the goal of reaching the

Lady and an inevitable consummation never changes. The servant must possess a chance at

reaching the Lady by some means, even if the process itself causes suffering and is temporary in

nature, or else suffering is all he will know. It relegates the servant as short-sighted in such

situations, as seen in Blake’s example of the man reaching for the moon instead of viewing the

moon in relation to the stars and the sky itself (61). The servant needs to consider the entire

20 In following Mitchell’s description of images, the answer would be yes to all three questions posed here. It is something that can be traced within courtly love literature, even when the Lady is a more distanced figure.

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picture to place himself in relation to her. Therefore, the focus lies in correcting this

misconception to allow the servant to reach the image and object of his desire.

While Blake’s example would also be an impossible situation, it can be forgiven because

the desire becomes centered around a whole instead of a fragment. “The mistake,” according to

Mitchell, “lies in the fetishistic fixation on a single signifier or part object, the failure to demand

totality: not just the moon but the sun and the stars — the whole assemblage — as well” (61).

The image of the Lady can be what induces desire, but the strengthening of desire would not

come from lack and absence then; instead, it would come from knowing the Lady in her entirety.

It is here where the similarities between Mitchell and Camille can be noted as well as where they

diverge. Desire is necessary for the formation of love for both, yet Camille still believes in the

need for distance while Mitchell views distance as something to be (temporarily) overcome.

Distance is still part of the equation, however, and Mitchell states that he only seeks to delay lack

rather than stave it off entirely.

While Mitchell uses Deleuzian desire to showcase the proper way to desire the image, he

views the Freudian view of desire as integral to understanding the way desire works for the

image itself. Lack must be acknowledged in time. However, to do so, he further complicates the

issue by creating a divide between the terms picture and image when before they were treated as

synonymous.

One way to frame this issue would be to contemplate the difference between the still and

moving image, the singular and the serial image, or (as we will see) between the picture

(as a concretely embodied object or assemblage) and the image (as a disembodied motif,

a phantom that circulates from one picture to another across media). (Mitchell 72)

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It is here that he begins to situate the picture and the image as two separate entities with the

former desiring to hold onto the latter, only for that desire to drive it towards repeating the

motions in its quest to replicate itself as images (Mitchell 72). In other words, the picture wishes

to form itself around an ideal to become the ideal. It realizes a lack. The two are still

synonymous with one another with the picture teaching us the roots of desire and the image as its

guide. Mitchell even refers to images as “models and constitutive schematics for the visual

process itself” (72). Through this attempt at forming around the image, the picture will either be

relegated to another replica carrying on the heart of the image or it will give birth to a new image

altogether.21

Mitchell argues that the picture itself is a convergence of Lacan’s classifications of the

Symbolic, Imaginary, and Real. “There are no pictures without language, and vice versa; no

pictures without real things to represent, and a real object in which to make them appear”

(Mitchell 73). At the center of it all is the Imaginary where Lacan’s mirror stage dwells. Courtly

love therefore stands as a representation of this convergence with the real standing as something

to reach for instead of being feared when the scene is approached correctly. Mitchell

characterizes the Imaginary as an expansive realm that goes beyond its traditional borders and

boundaries to permeate the Symbolic through writing, causing it to be “an intersection of drive

(repetition, reproduction, mobility, unbinding) and desire (fixation, stabilizing, binding)” (74). In

both the mirror stage and courtly love, drive and desire must work alongside one another;

otherwise, they risk passivity acting as a barrier from the goal. However, the matter is

complicated by the fact that identification occurs within the mirror stage. The drive and desire

21 Mitchell uses Anne-Louis Girodet-Trioson’s engraving The Origin of Drawing as an example of this. Regarding the depicted scene, Mitchell states, “There the outline drawing, the fatherly potter who will materialize and fix the image in three dimensions, the youth himself, and his shadow are all co-present in the scene of the birth of an image. The drive of pictures… is here captured within a single, still image” (72).

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for the Lady become synonymous with the drive and desire to be the servant, even if she is a

multifaceted individual outside of the image being projected. The two are not always

irreconcilable and can happen within the same space given the complexity of desire itself.

Mitchell’s argument regarding the need for Freudian theory culminates in his discussion

of idols, fetishes, totems, and iconoclasm. With Žižek as reference, he sets up the foundation for

his discussion of objects by using these four categories to establish how to relate to libidinal

objects when visual elements — such as pictures and images — are introduced. “Love belongs to

the idol, desire to the fetish, friendship to the totem, and jouissance to iconoclasm, the shattering

or melting of the image” (Mitchell 74). The idol and the fetish are central to understanding

courtly love and the role images (or pictures) and objects play within it. A picture is considered

an idol when it wants or demands love; similarly, the Lady within courtly love wants and even

demands love, even when she is a silent presence. Pictures and images can continue to be treated

synonymously within courtly love since the ideal or image of the Lady is what forms the picture

that she represents and vice versa.22 Mitchell adds an additional nuance to this concept of

idolatry present by stating that despite their wants and demands, the idol can exist without love

since they have no need for it, and they have no desire to return that love either (74). This calls to

mind the representation of the cruel and distant Lady that Žižek supports and perpetuates,

although this inadvertently relegates images and pictures into a two-dimensional role.

Mitchell elaborates on this further with his discussion of fetishes, drawing on Žižek once

more in his statement that when the picture “is the object of fixation, compulsive repetition, the

gap between articulated demand and brute need, forever teasing with its fort-da23 of lack and

22 In many ways, it seems reminiscent of the chicken vs. egg argument.

23 Fort = gone, da = there. Ian Buchanan’s A Dictionary of Critical Theory examines the importance of the fort-da game illustrated by Freud within the latter’s essay, “Beyond the Pleasure Principle,” regarding it as a

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plenitude, its crossing of drive and desire, it is the fetish” (75). The integral takeaway from this is

what the fetish represents, which he relegates to a coping mechanism born from anxiety, often

revolving around the loss of the object (Mitchell 75). Yet, Mitchell still strays away from

Camille’s perception of the role as a passive one despite the implications the words idol and

fetish bring to mind. The picture-image is fully conscious of its desires once they are formed, yet

the potential for anxiety still lingers both in their creation and their conception of self. This

anxiety can be considered both retroactive and anticipatory, though its exact role here requires us

to return to Mitchell’s question of what pictures — and images by default — want.

Through a consideration of Mitchell’s question, the Lady’s projection as an image could

be a way to grant her more power over herself within a patriarchal sphere. Both the Lady and the

servant must be mutually active within the scene since desire itself, according to Mitchell, is a

mutual exchange that is resemblant of the origination question seen in the chicken-egg metaphor.

“It seems the question of desire is inseparable from the problem of the image, as if the two

concepts were caught in a mutually generative circuit, desire generating images and images

generating desire” (58). Desire produces the image, and the image produces desire. They are

mutually exclusive, meaning the Lady holds equal sway in the scene rather than being the

passive object that Camille establishes her.

The Lady as Object

Unlike Mitchell, Camille negates the idea that the image and object possess any desires

of their own due to the subject-object relationship. His first step towards this is to focus on the

transformative scene with “the child transforming an unhappy situation, one in which they have no control over the presence of their parents, into a happy one in which the parents are at the beck and call of the child” (174). The parents are repeatedly called back into the room due to the child. Mitchell might be teasing something similar about pictures (and images) pulling the viewer back and forth.

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divide between the two. He recognizes the common definition of subject as one who is under the

control of another as one might infer would be the place of the servant within courtly love, but he

complicates it through the use of psychoanalysis and, predominantly, the Hegelian dialectic (7).

The servant, according to Camille, would fall into the definition of “a self-possessed mind” that

psychoanalysis attributes to the subject; yet this is not enough since the subject must be

contrasted with an object, resulting in the further perpetuation of the Lady as an undefined object

of desire (7). Object is a critical word here since for Camille, it cannot exist beyond what it

means to someone else. It is empty and centered around a “mute passivity” that implies it has no

desire or motivation of its own, which he contrasts with the idea of the subject, who possesses

the capability for “internal self-motivation and will” (7). The picture created from this contrast is

what Camille’s argument becomes centered around.

Within the preface of his book, Camille claims that artists and poets within the Middle

Ages would have been aware of the differing definitions of the word subject and would have

sought to meet both to put themselves in relation to their Lady through their own creation and

control of the scene (7). As a result, the poet creates his own subjectivity.24

The object, by contrast, was where he projected his desire, on to the beautiful, empty,

and isolated beloved, the distant, static, and unattainable body of the woman who became

increasingly identified with the work of art. (7)

The Lady within courtly love art and literature becomes a place to project one's own desires in a

space outside of reality; in that sense, desire is treated through the Symbolic. The argument can

be made then that the Lady is never meant to be as three-dimensional as her servant counterpart.

24 Camille’s full quote here: “The two senses of the word subject were available to the lover in the Middle Ages, allowing him to present himself as both subject to his lady and at the same time the creator of his own sensational and long-suffering subjectivity” (7). The lover/servant/subject forces himself into the role of the subject and maintains it.

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She is an idealized image, whether she is created through the written word or visual art, that

exists for the subject and servant to long for and nothing more.

Yet, Camille does actively state that love at first sight is something that can also be seen

from women, calling upon images of Lavinia in artwork staring out at Aeneas longingly from her

tower and women observing jousting knights with more than a passing interest (34). Camille

introduces the term fin’amors to further contextualize the perception of the Lady within art.

Before Hegel’s 1807 introduction of the master-slave dialectic, the term fin’amors was used in

Southern France to describe a similar hierarchical form. Camille notes that it “described a

fictional form of love in which the lady could be referred to as mi dons25 — ‘my lord’” and was

placed in a position above the servant who wanted to reach her (12). Representations of this can

be found on numerous pieces from the area, such as caskets and seals.26 While one might assume

that this meant a medieval audience perceived the Lady’s position as a powerful one as one of

the few pathways to display feminine strength within an otherwise patriarchal society, Camille

disagrees.

He claims that this is an attempt on the creator’s part to further elevate themselves

through the Lady’s elevation, relegating her role in this to being nothing more than a device at

perpetuating the creator’s own idealized self-image and desires (12). “By investing his mistress

with the power of judgment and control over his desire, the man was simultaneously elevating

his own subjectivity and negating that of the lady, whose desire is ignored” (12). Camille

showcases this belief throughout his text with the use of various artwork and literary references,

25 It should be noted that even in this fiction, the Lady cannot have power as a feminine figure and must be referred to as ‘my lord’ instead.

26 This brings me back to my point that the Hegelian master-slave dialectic should be focused on as a pathway to understanding the first look between the servant and Lady and as a pathway into the mirror stage. It presents a method of explaining the conception of selfhood; the hierarchical portions that are considered by some as controversial had already been established.

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claiming that it all comes back to an image and the illusion held within it because it was the Lady

who was bound in reality while the poet merely longs to be bound by her.27 Camille claims that

this why the Lady is often shown in a tower or high up on a castle (87). It supports the fantasy,

the Real, that the poet has crafted through a visual model. The Lady is to be seen as a powerful

figure superior to those around her — positioned high above everyone else — despite the scene

also showcasing the reality, which was the isolated and limited position Camille states that she

likely held in reality (87-88). Thus, it could be considered a convergence between the Real, the

real, and the Symbolic. Artwork and literature take on the challenge of showcasing through the

Symbolic the intersection between the Real and the real, drawing attention to the images situated

at their core.

Due to her positioning as an object, the Lady’s image used within these creations

becomes a distorted prisoner who can only be what her creator chooses; even if that creator seeks

to be subjugated by her, he is the one creating the scene. Following Camille’s thought process

here, this is a trait of courtly love poetics because the creator (the poet) is seeking his Lady

through the Symbolic rather than within the real, so a two-dimensional image is all that can be

left behind. For the former, all one must do is look towards Dante Alighieri’s Vita Nuova and

Commedia with the prior being his attempt at treating the Real through the Symbolic and the

latter being his own insertion into a narrative where Beatrice is equally reaching for him. The

problematic nature of this regarding what desires and motivations Beatrice is truly allowed to

express will be explored throughout Chapter II. Dante becomes the type of creator Camille

speaks of who creates an image of the Lady that she is then constrained by within his works,

resulting in objectification.

27 “Although the male poet longs to become a prisoner of his beloved, trapped in the chains of love, it was in reality the lady who was physically and spatially bounded and constrained” (Camille 87).

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Despite this, Camille refers to this in his own words as being “the most important irony

of the medieval art of love on both the verbal and visual registers” (25). Referencing the poem

“Suspice, flos, florem” from Carmina Burana, he highlights the lover’s realization within it that

what is captured within a picture is not the true image of the intended object.28 Only a fragment

of the object is captured through their image. It is impossible to capture the whole through it. If

the fragment is all that is known to the lover, then the lover does not truly know the object. The

lover must confront that the creation is as illusory as his desire, yet it also plays an integral part

in that desire’s very construction with Camille referring to the image as an “indispensable prop”

in the way desire is constructed (25). This image, according to him, is responsible for the

existence of love itself. Situating love as being tied to images seems reminiscent of Capellanus’

statement that you cannot fall in love if you are blind, yet in this instance, an image is only ever

an image.

Following this line of thought, courtly love’s true focus is on the servant himself rather

than any mutual love. However, this is not a trait of all incidents of courtly love. The poet does

not always insert himself into the text in the way that Dante clearly does. The poet also does not

always use his otherwise named servant as a representation of himself even when identifying

details that could be used to trace the similarities have been muddied. In such cases, even if the

Lady is considered an image or object, her own desires are built outside of the poet’s desire to

possess her. After all, “Sir Orfeo” is a rendition of the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. The

unknown poet himself plays no part within the verse and cannot be placed over the image of Sir

Orfeo. Both the servant, Sir Orfeo, and the Lady, his wife Heurodis, are able to grow into their

characterizations through one another instead of image-making leaving her as lesser.

28 “A flower in a picture is not a flower, / just a figure; / whoever paints a flower, paints not the / fragrance of a flower” (Camille 25).

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The conversation of images cannot be separated from objects and vice versa. Mitchell’s

entrance into the discussion of objects is through the rather straightforward claim that images

“are always embodied in material objects, in things, whether stone, or metal, or celluloid, or in

the labyrinth of the lived body and its memories, fantasies, and experiences” (108). Mitchell’s

perception of image-making paves the way for a closer look at courtly love by examining the

integral part objects play in this process. He views image-making as irrevocably tied to objects

overall and, as a result, it is necessary for them to be examined alongside one another instead of

apart. In doing so, he focuses on Melanie Klein’s examination of good objects and bad objects,

quoting her stance that they are just “imagos, which are a fantastically distorted picture of the

real objects upon which they are based” (108). Similarly, the image that the servant creates of the

Lady is often a distorted image of the actual woman he is seeking to woo, and this is often the

ultimate barrier that the servant must either cross or refuse to acknowledge all together due to a

fear of the real.

Yet, these conflicting conversations around just what an image might mean has

significant implications and consequences on the way courtly love is approached. If an image,

whether good or bad, is just a distorted reflection of an object, how can it possess its own

desires? How does it hold the level of sentience necessary to desire? Mitchell argues that this can

be seen in the two primary beliefs that surround offending images. “The first is that the image is

transparently and immediately linked to what it represents. Whatever is done to the image is

somehow done to what it stands for” (Mitchell 127). Although Mitchell is not discussing courtly

love, the transferability of it is clear. If the image is affected, the object is affected; if the image

of the Lady is somehow tarnished, the Lady herself is tarnished. The idealized image is

something to be protected. He is situating the importance of the fantasy the idealized image

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creates against the threat of the reality of the object. They cannot be viewed separately by the

subject because they are tied together. Mitchell expands on this through his second point, stating

that “the image possesses a kind of vital, living character that makes it capable of feeling what is

done to it. It is not merely a transparent medium for communicating a message but something

like an animated, living thing, an object with feelings, intentions, desires, and agency” (127). The

image itself might be a fragmented piece that adds to the totality of the Lady, but it is still a part

of her, the perpetuated image living between the Real and the Symbolic.29

Mitchell approaches totems, fetishes, and idols once more, now as objects capable of

desiring rather than just images. He juxtaposes them with Lacan’s dimensional classifications,

associating totemism with the Symbolic and law, fetishism with the Real and trauma, and

idolatry with the Imaginary and iconographic identification (192).30 They all produce some

additional consideration when thinking of courtly love. A large portion of this comes from their

subjective natures. One person’s fetish might be another’s totem or idol, as Mitchell explains,

which is why they must be viewed in a broader sense through how they connect and relate to one

another as well as differing perspectives (193). Totemism is “the use of an object to prohibit

incest and to regulate marriage, social identities, and proper names” (Mitchell 192). Mitchell

designates the totem’s sign-type as a symbol, which is unsurprising since it acts a representative

construct for order (195). It structures the relationship within an acceptable frame. When

juxtaposed with courtly love, the Lady as a totem assists the servant in structuring a relationship

with her and his own identity as well.

29 This is why the Lady, as an active participant within the scene of courtly love, takes on the role of the mirror apparatus. She facilitates the servant’s relationship with her image because they are bound.

30 For more on totems, fetishes, and idols, see the table on p. 195 of Mitchell’s What Do Pictures Want? for a list of distinctions between them.

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For a fetish, the spectator is private with a focus leaning towards obsession; given this, it

is interesting that Mitchell connects it with trauma (192-195). It suggests a possible subversion

of the servant’s longing for the Lady within the Real as a traumatic occurrence or, perhaps, the

trauma involved in longing for the impossible object of desire overall. Mitchell refers to it as

“the sign by cause and effect, the trace or mark” (192). The idol is linked to imagery and

identification through the concept of the icon. It stands as “the graven image or likeness that

takes on supreme importance as a representation of a god or a god in itself” (Mitchell 192-193).

The fact that the Lady can be placed easily in this position as well given her position as the

divine or a symbol of the divine supports Mitchell’s claim that the three terms are

interchangeable since they are ultimately subjective.

It comes down to the subject or spectator placing meaning on something else. The

meaning placed upon images and objects mirrors the meaning that the poet places on the servant,

whether he positions himself as the servant or not, and the Lady.

We find, then, both analytic and narrative, synchronic and diachronic relations among the

concepts of totemism, fetishism, and idolatry. One can tell stories about their relations, or

one can think them as triangulating a kind of symbolic space in their own right, as if our

relations with object-image assemblages — with ‘pictures,’ as I have been calling them,

or ‘things,’ as Bill Brown would insist — had certain limited logical possibilities that are

named by these categories of ‘special’ object relations. For that is what totems, fetishes,

and idols are: special things. (Mitchell 193)

The focus becomes creating a space for object-images overall. Object-image is preferable to

thing in this regard since thing is an emptied word meant to represent something else while

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object-images can encompass an innumerable amount of concepts and figures.31 When returning

to the discussion of how the Lady can be both an image and an object, the term object-image

embodies an acceptable compromise.

For Mitchell, images and objects cannot be separated because they are one and the same.

Mitchell states that they are often “treated as pseudopersons,” which once more lends to the idea

of the Lady as an ideal (127). The servant desires her and, through this desiring, falls in love with

the Lady in her entirety. If the image is a pseudoperson,32 whether in essence or solely in

treatment, then it also holds the characteristics of a person. For the purposes of courtly love

literature, this image-making becomes a rhetorical strategy on the poet’s part. “Images of this

sort seem to look back at us, to speak to us, even to be capable of suffering harm or of magically

transmitting harm when violence is done to them” (Mitchell 127). Mitchell’s two points are not

as separate as they might appear at a first glance. In fact, it can be implied through them that an

image becomes an object just as an image is based off of a preexisting one. However, to

complicate the issue further, Mitchell presents an additional distinction: objects versus things.

Much like with images, objects and things are more similar than they are different. A thing takes

the place of an object when identification for the object has been lost (Mitchell 156). The

importance of this is foundational to courtly love because it approaches and addresses a

controversial issue within it albeit unintentionally: the Lady as thing.

31 Mitchell further elaborates on this at the end of the chapter: “Totems, fetishes, and idols are not just objects, images, or even uncanny “things” that defy our modes of objectivity. They are also condensed world pictures, synecdoches of social totalities ranging from bodies to families to tribes to nations to monotheistic notions of metaphysical universality” (196).

32 “…not merely as sentient creatures that can feel pain and pleasure but as responsive social beings” (Mitchell 127).

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Slavoj Žižek’s essay “Courtly Love, or, Woman as Thing” presents a problematic view of

courtly love through the juxtaposition of it with the Lady as the Thing.33 The Lady is projected

into thinghood almost immediately by Žižek. When describing who the Lady is, he strips her of

anything remotely resembling goodness — warmth, compassion, kindness, generosity — and

reduces her to a “cold, distanced, inhuman partner” (2407). While the Lady has always been the

Other, divine either in her relation to God or as a deity of her own, Žižek twists that Otherness

into a monstrosity. The Lady cannot possess any warmth in Žižek’s eyes because her Otherness

centers her as a cruel and demanding automaton that cares little for the servant save to humiliate

him in a way of his choosing (2408-2409).

He makes the argument that scholars have only been able to begin to understand the

“libidinal economy of courtly love” in more recent years because masochistic relationships have

more clearly entered the public perception (2407). His argument, however, hinges on the nature

of the Lady herself — or, rather, his perception of the Lady. As a result, he twists the relationship

between her and the servant. He situates the servant as a masochist seeking the attentions of the

cold Lady, shifting courtly love itself into a fictional scene of masochism that he argues models

the structure of relationships (primarily sexual ones) today (2410). Disregarding his

misconception of courtly love, he showcases a misconception of his own setup. If the Lady is

cruel and makes “meaningless demands at random,” as he suggests, then it can be assumed she

obtains some element of satisfaction from the servant’s humiliation, making her a sadist (2408).

That alone would suggest a sadomasochistic relationship instead, although that distinction

matters little when it is irrelevant alongside courtly love. Instead, the Lady’s place itself matters

little save for what the servant asks it to be. Despite her demanding nature, she lacks agency and

33 Of note, Žižek uses the Freudian term das Ding — the Thing — in this instance, referring to it as “the Real that ‘always returns to its place,’ the hard kernel that resists symbolization” (2408).

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her cruelness is a creation of the servant. Situating it once more alongside masochism, Žižek

notes, “The man-servant establishes in a cold, businesslike way the terms of the contract with the

woman-master: what she is to do to him, what scene is to be rehearsed endlessly, what dress she

is to wear, how far she is to go in the direction of real, physical torture…” (2410). The servant

uses the Lady to perpetuate his own suffering. He creates the cause of suffering instead of the

Lady since the Lady herself does not matter.

The Lady has no real place within the scene since her agency is controlled despite the

goal of the poet seemingly being to earn her attentions albeit from afar. Naturally given his

stance, Žižek disagrees and states that the poet does not elevate the Lady and make the process of

earning such attentions difficult to “raise the price of the object,” his hardships meant as proof of

her desirability and position (2414). Žižek views the actual intention of the poet is rendering the

object to “the level of the Thing, of the ‘black hole,’ around which desire is organized” (2414).

He does not split the Lady up between the ideal and the Lady herself, although an argument

could be made that the ideal is a structure desire might be organized around. Instead, the Lady

can never be more than a Thing. Under Žižek’s problematic view, courtly love becomes less a

romance and more a masochistic fantasy.

Mitchell states that things are “sensuously concrete and vague” because of their ability to

take the place of an identified object; they fill the space of the object but are not it (156). It does

not have its own place, adapting to fit the mold and ideal of the moment rather than expanding

on an identification. It merely exists. Mitchell’s distinction between things and objects adds

another layer to the possibilities of this.

The thing appears as the nameless figure of the Real that cannot be perceived or

represented. When it takes on a single, recognizable face, a stable image, it becomes an

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object; when it destabilizes, or flickers in the dialectics of the multistable image, it

becomes a hybrid thing (like the duck-rabbit) that requires more than one name, more

than one identity. The thing is invisible, blurry, or illegible to the subject. It signals the

moment when the object becomes the Other… (Mitchell 156)

Thinghood is something to avoid since it reduces the Lady’s role within the scene of courtly

love. Perhaps, Mitchell’s distinction of the thing as the amorphous being taking the place of a

concrete, identifiable being can be seen as the concept of the Lady — the broader, general sense

of what the Lady within courtly love is — against the Lady herself — the portrayal of her, such

as Beatrice and Heurodis. The abstract concept of the Lady is the thing, but once the poet puts

the Lady to paper, she becomes a being of her own — whether that is the object-image Mitchell

references or something else entirely. However, different portrayals complicate this when the

Lady’s ability to craft her own identity is considered, as will be seen in the next chapter.

Conclusion

There are numerous books dedicated to examining courtly love, which is why looking

elsewhere to focus on the perception of images and objects was essential in establishing a

relevancy between them and courtly love literature. Within the mirror stage, identity is formed

from the image being reflected, so the role of the image needs to be considered. However,

images are integral to the study of courtly love regardless since it is the Lady’s image that first

draws the poet’s attention. The image is what allows the poet to desire, and the image can then

find their own desire within this exchange. Mitchell’s guiding question that he later uses as the

title of his book What Do Pictures Want? cannot be answered succinctly. In the case of the Lady,

it could be to desire and be desired; it could also be the same elevation the poet seeks. The

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possible answers are innumerable, particularly once you start comparing similar texts and

contrasting them with differing ones. The goal of the poet for each piece must be considered as

well; just as scholars have varying opinions on what is and is not proper courtly love so did the

poets. The Lady stands in a liminal position of power that is simultaneously concrete and

abstract. The fact that the poet is the one who dictates her every move within the text is not

something that should be focused on since the same could be said for any literary character. The

importance of the Lady lies in what and who she represents. She is also the poet’s muse. The

poet wants her to be viewed as desirable as he views her. In elevating her, he can elevate himself

in relation to her; however, he cannot do this if she is construed as a cold, distanced figure.

Camille and Mitchell both offer unique perspectives around the perception of images and

objects that are critical to a foundational look at courtly love. Their positions allow courtly love

to be explained as a convergence between the real, the Real, the Imaginary, and the Symbolic,

allowing it to stand as an outlier within Lacan’s dimensional classifications of the psyche.

Similarly, the duality of an image as an image and an object also stands as a convergence with

the Lady. Whether it is her image that is focused on or her position as an impossible object of

desire, the Lady can still have an active agency within the text. Desire leads to love, and love is

born of desire. The end of desire would mean attainment since you cannot desire that which you

already have. Courtly love itself is centered around the prolonging of this moment. Perhaps there

is an answer here to the paradox of desire that Camille discusses throughout his book. Perhaps it

is in itself paradoxical in nature.

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CHAPTER II. THE TWISTING OF DESIRE: DANTE’S OBSESSION AND RECTIFICATION

We only have to understand the mirror stage as an identification, in the full sense that

analysis gives to the term: namely, the transformation that takes place in the subject

when he assumes an image — whose predestination to this phase-effect is sufficiently

indicated by the use, in analytic theory, of the ancient term imago.

— “The Mirror Stage,” Lacan, 1164.

Introduction

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and nowhere is this cliché more evident than

within the scene of courtly love. Through absence, desire creates a foundation between the

servant and his Lady as the servant continually longs for a place at his Lady’s side and within her

affections. Yet, scholars continue to debate whether courtly love remains an entirely spiritual and

pure love that rejects all physicality, or an eventual consummation is necessary to complete the

triangular configuration of desire and is purely a literary device.34 This is the difference between

the cult of the virgin and courtly love, and it also indicates the ways that amor de longh35 is

narrated. Such narration determines the ways that we interpret the implications of the

representation of courtly love. When placed within this critical debate, through an examination

of his desire for Beatrice within the Vita Nuova Dante Alighieri argues that a consummation

would only sully both the Lady and what they share between them, relegating a true love as

34 Due to the vast field of Dante studies, for the purposes of this thesis, I present a very close reading of his Vita Nuova and Commedia with limited engagement of outside sources to illustrate how the theoretical framework created within the Introduction influences my understanding of courtly love. Dante is being read here as a theorist of desire in his own right rather than just a topic of literary application.

35 The troubadour’s concept of “distant love” that has been attributed to courtly love (Labbie 111). See Brittany Asaro’s “Unmasking the Truth about Amor de Lonh: Giovanni Boccaccio’s Rebellion against Literary Conventions in Decameron I.5 and IV.4” for an alternate perspective of it.

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being reached only through distance. Despite this continual argument on his side, it becomes

clear that this fear of sullying Beatrice is actually centered around what the real might reveal if

he were to ever close the distance between them, resulting in the text itself being a representation

of Dante’s struggle with the real intruding on his fantasy within the Real. Dante needs Beatrice

to be synonymous with the divine. If she is divine, his lack of relation to her becomes a noble

sacrifice that he uses as the foundation for the identity he attempts to project through his writing.

Yet, in doing so, he removes the chance for the proper courtly love scene he is striving for within

his poetic verses because Beatrice does not realize that she is within this scene of courtly love

and, therefore, cannot be a true participant within it.

Any desire within the Vita Nuova is coming solely from Dante. It never truly reaches her

because out loud, he publicly conceals the knowledge that she is the object of his desire; he does

not conceal this within his writing, however, but the Symbolic has always been a place for poets

to explore their desires. In addition, he likely did not intend for anyone to read it for some time,

so he was less concerned with concealing his longing for Beatrice. Throughout the text, he

discusses poems he wrote and sent out publicly about others for the sole purpose of keeping

Beatrice’s place within his affections hidden, which is why this seems likely. Because of this

public concealment, from even Beatrice herself, he enters the mirror stage alone and is denied

the servant identity he is striving to obtain.36 Dante does not allow this to stand because he has

centered his own sense of self around being the servant to the Lady Beatrice. For Dante, losing

that identification would be the equivalent of losing the image he has built up of himself. Jane

36 As established in the Introduction, the servant acts as the subject within the mirror stage and the reflection shown back is the promise of the Lady. What the promise represents can vary depending on the text and interpretation. The Lady is given agency by being placed in the role of the mirror apparatus, which allows her to facilitate any relationship with her and/or the promise of her shown in the mirror. Therefore, the Lady must be an active participant within the scene. Courtly love also demands mutual recognition.

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Gallop states that this retroaction is a common consequence of the mirror stage within her essay,

“Lacan's ‘Mirror Stage’: Where to Begin” (122). Yet, how can Dante continue to identify

himself as the servant and Beatrice as his Lady throughout the course of the Vita Nuova if no

scene of courtly love is actually at play? What might this mean for the creation of his Commedia

if it stands as a rectification of his past mistake?

The answer to this question can be found through Lacan’s discussion of morphological

mimicry and anamorphosis, which I engage here and develop into a reading that places the Vita

Nuova in context with the Commedia. Dante reinvents the scene of courtly love within both texts

to combat the truth that he cannot be the servant in real life without Beatrice’s participation.

Dante’s reinvention of the scene through his prose puts him in a critical position to still situate

his desire for Beatrice within the courtly love realm despite this lack of recognition. Within the

Vita Nuova, he reinvents the scene of courtly love using the personification of Love as a physical

character within the text so that he can still situate his desire for Beatrice within this realm.

However, in doing so, he accidentally situates Love as his object of desire. Love takes over the

role of the mirror apparatus in Beatrice’s place, resulting in only an imitation of courtly love.

Dante can rectify even the ultimate imposition on the scene he is attempting to create, Beatrice’s

death, through a reinvention of the scene into its more traditional dynamic within the Commedia.

Dante’s continual reinvention to ensure he can hold onto the identity of the servant brings up a

rather pressing question regarding the state of the poet: at what point does the desire to represent

themselves as part of the courtly love scene turn into an obsession that ignores the Lady rather

than celebrates her?

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Vita Nuova: Setting the Scene

In creating the scene for courtly love within his verses, Dante finds himself loosely

following the different stages of courtly love that Barbara Tuchman establishes as common

(though not necessarily always applicable) to much of medieval literature. Of these stages, the

most important to Dante is worshipping from afar via both his verses — his silent “declaration[s]

of passionate devotion” — and the male gaze (taking the place of a mutual gaze between them)

(Tuchman 67). From the onset of his poetic longings for Beatrice, Dante establishes himself

firmly as an outside observer who can never be anything more than that despite his desires.

Dante cites Homer’s description of Helen of Troy upon his meeting of Beatrice, proclaiming that

“she seemed to be the daughter not of a mortal, but of a god” (2.8).37 By beginning his

discussion of Beatrice with a comparison to Helen of Troy, Dante brings into the conversation

another Lady who was also caught within the bounds of courtly love. He does so to set up the

concept of desiring Beatrice from afar while ensuring his intentions towards her are clear.

However, unlike the quest for Helen’s hand, he keeps himself removed from the situation

permanently; he longs for her, but he never reaches out for her.

All his longing for her outside of the verses that he writes occurs from gazing at her from

this removed position he has attempted to craft for himself. “It happened one day that this most

gracious of ladies was sitting in a place where words about the Queen of Glory were being

spoken, and I was where I could behold my bliss” (5.1-4). Rather than mourning the distance

between them, Dante celebrates it as a necessary function for him to enjoy the bliss just her sight

invokes. Andreas Capellanus, in his satiric examination of the appropriate ways to approach

courtly love within his treatise De Amore (The Art of Courtly Love), affirms this as the only true

37 The translation used is by Mark Musa, Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1965. It is available both in print and through the online Princeton Dante Project.

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way to attain the sort of pure love that Dante seeks. He refers to it as the kind of love that one

“ought to embrace with all his might” because it is a neverending form of love that will only

continue to grow without the interference of the “delights of the flesh” (Capellanus 122).

However, Capellanus also allows for purer physical expressions of love — such as kisses and

modest embraces — within this dynamic whereas Dante views any such physicality as tainting

not only his desire for her but her essence itself (122).

Dante placing her on this pedestal also establishes a reason for why their love cannot

exist. He is creating an additional barrier where there is not one to further the courtly love

dynamic he is trying to enact within the Vita Nuova. His actions allow him to avoid the reality

that Beatrice was likely of a higher station and already married by the time he saw her again

outside of their youth. As a result, Dante’s inability to obtain her becomes rooted in a refusal to

sully her purity and perfection, resulting in a more noble image for himself. His continued

worship of Beatrice from afar invokes the next stage of courtly love that he aspires to, his

declaration, yet this “declaration of passionate devotion” never occurs out loud (Tuchman 67).

“And when people would ask: "Who is the person for whom you are so destroyed by Love?" I

would look at them and smile and say nothing” (4.3).38 While Dante defends his silence

throughout the text, claiming that Beatrice would be sullied by such an association, his defensive

attitude ties back to his fear of Beatrice being any less than what he has built up within his head.

In short, Dante’s fear is that of the Real giving way to the real.

By purposefully keeping Beatrice outside of the dialectic, Dante uses the anticipated

image from the mirror stage to protect his narrative from the real. Beatrice is unattainable

38 For more on Dante’s sighs and suffering, see Nicola Masciandaro’s “Miracle of the Sigh,”; Franco Masciandaro’s “Dante's Sighs/Sigh,”; Peter Booth’s “Sigh.” All three essays can be found in: Franco Masciandaro and Peter Booth’s Dante | Hafiz Readings on the Sigh, the Gaze, and Beauty.

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because of her divinity and not because she is married to another; her divinity is the reason why

he cannot speak to her with more than a passing greeting (rather than speaking to her revealing

the truth of both her nature and her unattainability). The real — the truth of Beatrice — is an

imposition on his fantasy of her, the image that he has anticipated all this time, and cannot be

allowed as a result. Lacan expands on this rationale by establishing the fear of the real as the fear

of truth itself: “We get used to reality. The truth we repress” (“The Instance of the Letter in the

Unconscious” 433). For Dante, the truth he avoids is that she is not divine. She is as human as he

is. However, acknowledging this would shatter his entire illusion, causing the Real to become the

real. To combat this, Dante detaches Beatrice from the realm of man, positioning her instead

within his writing where he can still safely long for her as long as he forces her to resemble the

anticipated image.

Dante’s shift into morphological mimicry within his writing — what Lacan refers to as

“an obsession with space in its derealizing effect”39 – begins here (“The Mirror Stage” 1165-

1166). The word derealizing is key to understanding how Dante takes morphological mimicry

and inverts it to suit his perspective of Beatrice. WebMD lists derealization as a mental state that

causes a feeling of detachment from one’s surroundings (Slivinski). The Merriam-Webster

dictionary takes it a step further, describing it as a “feeling of altered reality in which one’s

surroundings appear unreal or unfamiliar.” However, Dante views the altered reality he has

crafted as the familiar one while he is detached from his actual reality.

The point of inversion then is Beatrice herself. He detaches her from reality within his

prose and situates her instead in this altered reality he has come to prefer. The space she occupies

— or, rather, the space he allows her to occupy away from him — then becomes the focal point

39 Lacan attributes this to Roger Caillios.

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of his obsession. As a result, his function within the scene of courtly love differs from the norm

in the fact that he never actually tries to woo his Lady, Beatrice, even from afar. When Dante is

confronted about this much later in the text, he states that he finds bliss through “those words

that praise my lady” (18.6). The Beatrice he is writing about is vastly different from the reality

because his Beatrice exists only within his writing. His relationship is with the image he

perpetuates in his writing and keeps a distance out of fear from the true Beatrice. This deliberate

distance he creates showcases the absence that desire depends on. It also lends to the belief that

Dante is in love with the idea of Beatrice and what she represents as this untouchable paragon he

can only worship from afar rather than the person she is herself. From this point, Dante’s first

steps into the mirror stage can be traced.

The mirror itself creates a welcome barrier between himself and Beatrice since he can

only view her image but never touch it. However, outside of this distance also comes the

problem of her lack of recognition. Courtly love within this framework is dependent on the Lady

as an active part of the process. Only the promise of Beatrice and her favor can allow Dante to

endeavor to reach her as the servant. Dante desires the traditional confines of the courtly love

dynamic, but he struggles within it because it creates a seemingly impossible barrier to

overcome. He can only achieve the role of the servant when the process is being facilitated by

the Lady, but he cannot allow Beatrice to have a part in this.

When Dante first views Beatrice, he forms what Lacan and Gallop refer to as the “root

stock” of a secondary identification (the servant) that can only be born during the mirror stage

(122). Upon meeting her, he proclaims that the vital spirit deep within him — perhaps an early

iteration of Love or an extension of Dante himself — spoke, saying, “Ecce deus fortior me, qui

veniens dominabitur michi” or “Behold a god more powerful than I, who, coming, will rule over

Eikost 46

me” (2.4; Kline). In this moment, Dante seemingly becomes the servant. Dante’s past

identifications become centered around this new identity as it forms the base of who he is or,

more precisely, who he is alongside Beatrice. Lacan, quoted by Gallop, states, “What realizes

itself in my history, is not the past definite of what was since it is no longer, nor even the present

perfect of what has been in what I am, but the future anterior of what I will have been for what I

am in the process of becoming” (122). Lacan’s statement here and Gallop’s assertion that

anticipation and retroaction occur simultaneously help to clarify Dante himself within the Vita

Nuova. Dante is projecting himself into a future distanced relationship where he will always

view Beatrice from afar, as is his preference. However, every aspect of his identity from

childhood onward also becomes wrapped around this idea of Beatrice. He equates his current

passions as being the passions of his nine-year-old self as well as if he understood the full extent

of his desire even then when it is more likely this came later to him (2.1). Yet, once more,

Beatrice is completely unaware of this recognition and cannot participate in the mirror stage or

the conception of the retroactive self.

She does not enter the mirror stage with Dante. Instead, the moment Dante first looks

upon her and transitions into the mirror stage, he enters without her, meaning all that is shown

within the reflective glass of the mirror is an empty image. It is stripped of anything that might

resemble Beatrice save for the aesthetic image of her. Without Beatrice able to knowingly

facilitate the relationship, his own reflection cannot be found within her mirrored image, leaving

him without even the illusion of wholeness that the mirror stage presents. Beatrice’s role within

the Vita Nuova is a relatively silent one because Dante is concerned with what she represents for

him rather than who she is. Love is depicted as a relentless battle within him, and the sight of

Beatrice as the only mercy from the onslaught. “…I would go, pale and haggard, to look upon

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this lady, believing that the sight of her would defend me in this battle, forgetting what happened

to me whenever I approached such graciousness” (16.4). Beatrice is the unknowing muse situated

so that Dante’s poetic identity can continue to be focused on that of the servant. The resulting

emptiness of the image causes the Beatrice that Dante obsesses over within the rest of the text to

be nothing more than an abstract ideal since she cannot facilitate the relationship. She cannot be

the pathway to herself if she is unaware of the desire for such a pathway. She becomes an ideal

rather than a human being, yet through looking in the mirror, Dante can trick himself into

believing that she is looking back at him as well, Lacan’s concept of méconnaissance40 coming

into play (“Mirror Stage” 1168). Because of this, Dante can only focus on her beauty and his own

perception of what that beauty means for her nature within his prose.

Vita Nuova: Desiring Divinity

Despite his professions of her perfection as the ideal embodiment of a woman, he only

ever refers to her beauty41 and the mercy she grants him through her rare, brief greetings in

passing (11.1-4). Dante lists these moments as examples of her kindness since by merely greeting

him from a distance, he would be filled with immense charity towards all those around him

(11.1-4). Lacan describes this as the unfortunately common occurrence of the Lady being

“emptied of all substance” since she only holds the meaning that the poet writing her grants her

(“Courtly love as anamorphosis” 149). Throughout the Vita Nuova, Dante only comments on the

aesthetic that he has crafted for Beatrice within his prose rather than any substance she might

40 Misrecognition. From Lacan’s “Mirror Stage,” “But unfortunately that philosophy grasps negativity only within the limits of a self-sufficiency of consciousness, which, as one of its premises links to the méconnaissances that constitute the ego, the illusion of autonomy to which it entrusts itself” (1168).

41 Capellanus states the sight of beauty sparks the suffering that creates love (28).

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have actually possessed while living. The emptied existence of the Lady means that Beatrice is

“never characterized for any of her real, concrete virtues, for her wisdom, her prudence, or even

her competence” (Lacan “Courtly love as anamorphosis” 150). Despite the lack of interaction or

acknowledgment, Dante creates a symbolic scene of courtly love for himself through his writing.

The Vita Nuova gives him a place where he can explore his feelings for Beatrice so that his

desire for her can grow stronger, particularly when their distance keeps her from his gaze.

The writing itself is the enactment of his desire through a more spiritual setting,

complying with a more Catholic ideology of the time regarding love as a solely spiritual

connection rather than anything remotely related to the sexual.42 In that sense, writing is a

symptom born from the Lady. “The Middle Ages and the Lady represented in troubadour poetics

both function as the impossible object of desire that produces the symptom of writing (critical or

poetic)” (Labbie 109). This desire for a spiritual connection — one that is, once again,

unattainable due to it being entirely one-sided — further exemplifies the divinity that Dante

continually places upon Beatrice, adding additional constraints to his ability to be in her

presence. After seeing her again, he claims that his natural spirit was impaired “because my soul

had become wholly absorbed in thinking about this most gracious lady” (4.1). Dante’s mediation

on his love for Beatrice occurs largely through this guise. It is the soul that offers mediation

rather than the heart, although he does make rare references to the heart. His emphasis on the

soul ties back to a more spiritual connection that would keep his love pure.

42 Capellanus, in The Art of Courtly Love, references this in a rather tongue in cheek type of way within Book Three. After establishing all of these rules for the correct way to approach courtly love, he then says that none of it matters because you will want to refrain from all of this if you wish to reach God and only through knowing of everything in very specific detail would you be able to appreciate the temptation. “Now for many reasons any wise man is bound to avoid all the deeds of love and to oppose all its mandates” (187).

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Much like the mirror, these constraints are a welcome barrier that model the scene of

courtly love he desires. Dante’s entrance into the Symbolic further showcases this; it is only

through his writing that he and Beatrice can be juxtaposed alongside one another. Dante uses this

juxtaposition to examine the necessity of this distance from Beatrice; the Vita Nuova then is a

justification to himself as much as it to others for his lack of a relationship with Beatrice within

reality. He is taking the lead to structure the relationship between them for his audience and

translating why things must remain as they are by equating it back to this divinity he perceives

Beatrice as bearing. In short, Dante is beginning to theorize how desire might be able to work

within this symbolic setting without it being an imposition on his distanced position. He cannot

quite get around the need to discuss desire in relation to her divinity despite his preference to

leave it outside of his discussion given its multiple connotations. Dante does not want to risk his

carefully crafted symbolic dynamic being questioned, so he attempts to craft his desire as

acceptable while still managing to abstain from it in its entirety.

Dante frequently discusses throughout the Vita Nuova how he showcases his desire for

Beatrice primarily through his gaze; however, even his gaze is dangerous to her purity. Dante

cannot risk anyone knowing that Beatrice is the object of such a passionate gaze because doing

so would sully her, though he does not share this same consideration towards other women.

When another woman is mistaken as the object of his gaze, he latches onto the opportunity to

divert attention away from Beatrice. “At once I thought of making this lovely lady a screen to

hide the truth, and so well did I play my part that in a short time the many people who talked

about me were sure they knew my secret” (5.3). Dante is once more demonstrating his need for a

spiritual setting for his desire to exist because it alleviates him of any perceived failure in

obtaining her. While one could assume that their mutual gaze could also be found within a

Eikost 50

spiritual connection, Dante disputes this before it can be mentioned by emphasizing his relief for

the mistaken object of affection. “Then I was greatly relieved, feeling sure that my glances had

not revealed my secret to others that day” (5.3). Even within his borderline pathological desire to

situate Beatrice within a spiritual setting through a divine association, he continues to incorporate

elements of a traditional courtly love structure. His feelings for Beatrice must remain secret,

resembling Tuchman’s final stage in the courtly love tradition: “Endless adventures and

subterfuges to a tragic denouement” (67). Dante can only engage in a conversation of desire from

this removed place because of the spiritual setting. The setting validates the position he is taking

on desire; it also gives him a place to trace the development of his love for Beatrice from the

beginning.

From the moment Dante introduces Beatrice, he establishes her as a divine being. It is

important to note that his introduction to Beatrice is simultaneous to his introduction to Love

because Dante emphasizes this moment as the one in which his desiring began. “Often he [Love]

commanded me to go and look for this youngest of angels” (2.8). She is divine from the moment

he meets her. Throughout the numerous verses that follow this initial meeting, Dante establishes

the following as truth: to know Beatrice is to know God and to have received his salvation

(19.10). Dante views all men, including himself, as undeserving of such a mercy, which further

cements her as an untouchable paragon; in doing so, he further clings to the Real. However, the

problem of Beatrice’s agency comes into question. How can she exist within this discussion as

her own entity when she herself has no true place within this discussion? For Dante, this is only a

temporary roadblock that he soon finds — or, perhaps, creates — an answer for to ensure the

validity of his symbolic scene.

Eikost 51

Dante’s roadblock is rooted within the Hegelian master-slave dialectic. As the servant or

slave, he should be able to find an identity through Beatrice and outside of her; likewise,

Beatrice should be able to find an identity through her position as the Lady or master. However,

Dante’s repeated refusal to make his desire known to Beatrice eliminates her from the scene of

courtly love, despite his need for her to be a part of it, due to the dialectic’s dependence on

recognition. Dante even states that she is entirely unaware of the dynamic that he views to be at

play. Beatrice is unable to reach that stage of self-consciousness without that recognition

available, which seemingly makes it impossible for Dante to achieve the servant identity he has

been trying to create. He attempts to create a solution to this dilemma by situating the

embodiment of Love within the dialectic with him. His master is not Beatrice then but Love

himself.

Vita Nuova: Dante and His Lord

In trying to create the scene for courtly love throughout his Vita Nuova, Dante creates an

imitation of it instead that only pretends to imitate the real thing. With Love taking on the space

that Beatrice cannot, Dante acquires a Lord through Love rather than a Lady through Beatrice

despite the Lord being, for Dante, a pathway to the Lady. This is a return to the problem of the

morphological mimicry that Dante situated his experience within the mirror stage around. When

obsessing over a space, as Dante obsesses over the space (or lack thereof) that Beatrice holds in

relation to him, there also risks the realization of the emptiness of that space, which Dante also

refuses. In doing so, he finally arrives at the problem of the mirror apparatus. He knows that to

be alone within this moment would mean the courtly love scene he is attempting to depict would

not exist. Although he persists in leaving Beatrice outside of the scene, he is also persistent in

Eikost 52

situating his distanced love for her alongside other courtly love texts to create an impression of

nobility in his approach to love. Therefore, the possibility of anamorphosis must be addressed.

The interest of anamorphosis is described as a turning point when the artist completely

reverses the illusion of space, when he forces it to enter into the original goal, that is to

transform it into the support of the hidden reality — it being understood that, to a certain

extent, a work of art always involves encircling the Thing. (Lacan 141)

Dante is relying on anamorphosis to try and seek the creation of a new dynamic through this

pretending by establishing the object of his desire — Beatrice — as outside of the realm of

desire. However, it still leaves him locked into the master-slave dialectic with Love instead

since, by his own account, there cannot exist a true pathway to Beatrice without risking her

purity.43 Perhaps unintentionally, what Dante is establishing through this new dynamic is the

existence of Love as the object of desire he is working towards rather than Beatrice.

Love is the one commanding him to long for Beatrice, and it is Love who Dante states he

dedicates himself to forevermore from the moment that he first lays eyes on her (2.7). Dante

focuses on fixing the problem of the mirror stage through resituating the past within his writing.

When he first enters as a child, he is no longer alone despite Beatrice being nowhere within the

scene. Instead, Dante gazing upon her allows Love to complete this new dynamic and enter with

him. “And though her image, which remained constantly with me, was Love's assurance of

holding me, it was of such a pure quality that it never allowed me to be ruled by Love without

the faithful counsel of reason, in all those things where such advice might be profitable” (2.9).

Love becomes the key to Dante’s idealized version of courtly love.

43 Later within the Vita Nuova, Dante refers to Love as his lord and himself as Love’s slave directly. “So long a time has Love kept me a slave and in his lordship fully seasoned me, that even though at first I felt him harsh, now tender is his power in my heart” (27.3).

Eikost 53

By personifying Love within his verses, Dante creates him as an actual character that can

exist within this dynamic without such a positioning being too abstract. “Let me say that, from

that time on, Love governed my soul, which became immediately devoted to him” (2.7). Even

now, Dante calls on a spiritual setting for his desire. He specifies that it is his soul that

immediately devotes itself to Love rather than his heart (a claim that he also makes regarding

Beatrice). He also purposefully designates Love as male to alleviate any potential confusion

regarding their relationship that might be caused by his proclamation of devotion to him.44 He

traces Love back to the beginning of his writing so that he can argue that Love has been guiding

him from the start. He becomes focused on ensuring his verse shows Love’s pivotal role in

guiding him in correct behavior, illustrating Love’s dictation of what he should write:

Let your words themselves be, as it were, an intermediary, whereby you will not be

speaking directly to her, for this would not be fitting; and unless these words are

accompanied by me, do not send them anywhere she could hear them; also be sure to

adorn them with sweet music where I shall be present whenever this is necessary. (12.8)

Any interaction with Love becomes acceptable as both a pathway and an obstacle in reaching

Beatrice since this allows him to take on the role of the mirror apparatus in the Lady’s place.

Dante attributes him as being his Lord: someone he can fear and worship from up close rather

than the impossible distance set between him and Beatrice. “I seemed to see a cloud the color of

fire and, in that cloud, a lordly man, frightening to behold, yet he seemed also to be wondrously

44 Capellanus also personifies Love as a masculine figure. “...if love were so fair as always to bring his sailors into the quiet port after they had been soaked by many tempests, I would bind myself to serve him forever. But because he is in the habit of carrying an unjust weight in his hand, I do not have full confidence in him any more than I do in a judge whom men suspect” (32).

Eikost 54

filled with joy” (3.3). Dante gives Dante a space within his writing to become his own character,

so Love’s own agency is what facilitates the distant relationship between Dante and Beatrice.

When returning to the moment of the mirror stage, Beatrice is still the reflected empty

image. Her image cannot be anything else because Dante’s depiction of her is a falsity that he

conceived within the Real. He does not view this as a problem though because it allows Love to

stand between himself and the reflection. As a result, he can view Beatrice without risking her

entering that stage of self-consciousness that would truly bring her into the scene. While any

attempts at showcasing Beatrice as the object of his desire are weakened by his fixation on Love

as his Lord and governance, it does allow for an ambivalence to form. Dante uses this

ambivalence to reject the traditional notion of desire, which he denotes as an animal spirit, early

on within his writing. He situates it through its own words to him as something that comes from

outside of the pure love that he wishes to demonstrate (2.5). When the animal spirit speaks, it

situates Beatrice as an object to be had, saying, “Apparuit iam beatitudo vestra” or “Now your

blessedness appears”45 (2.5; Kline). To push desire away, Dante allows it to be synonymous with

possession in his text, thus situating a battle between desire, which he rejects, and pure love.

By designating pure love as one that can only come from distance, he never has to risk

“the closeness of reality” that would project him into the real (Labbie 98). Dante can avoid it

undoing everything he has so far believed or crafted about Beatrice, allowing for this

consideration of a pure love to remain at the forefront. Rather than the presence of Love being an

inadequate attempt at fulfilling desire, as Labbie suggests regarding the fragmentation of

45 See for further translations: Kline, A. S., translator. “La Vita Nuova.” By Dante Alighieri, Poetry in Translation, 2001, www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Italian/TheNewLifeI.php.

Eikost 55

desire,46 Dante relegates desire as an inadequate attempt at fulfilling love (127). Because of this,

desire itself is an imposition on Dante’s fantasy instead of the other way around as Labbie

references (127). However, this rejection of desire creates a lack that Love as Dante’s Lord must

fill.

Within courtly love, the servant seeks to woo his Lady by fulfilling her every wish,

devoting himself to her. For Dante, it is Love he promises dedication and devotion to, not

Beatrice. “He reigned over me with such assurance and lordship, given him by the power of my

imagination, that I could only dedicate myself to fulfilling his every pleasure” (2.7). Dante

utilizes Love as a being who helps him to navigate his impossible relationship with Beatrice. He

wants to reach for her, but he knows that he cannot; it is through this embodiment of Love that

he is able to hold onto reason and stay above lust because Love, by acting as the master, is

reeling him in and grounding him. Thus, he sets himself up as Love’s faithful servant in a way

that he cannot with Beatrice due to his own rules that he has placed upon their nonexistent

relationship. However, Dante does not seem to realize this accidental centering of Love as his

true object of desire. Despite him repeatedly claiming that Love has conquered him, influencing

his every decision to become closer to him, he still views this fixation on Love as a pathway to

Beatrice. “Joyous, Love seemed to me, holding my heart within his hand, and in his arms he had

my lady, loosely wrapped in folds, asleep” (3.12). In Dante’s dreams, Love brings him to

Beatrice, yet even here, she is unaware of their proximity. Only Love is aware and, as an

established character, capable of recognizing himself within Dante and Dante within him.

Love gives Dante the ability to identify himself and his love for Beatrice as a pure,

spiritual experience. Dante states that Love’s spirits drive away the “feeble spirits of sight” and

46 See Erin Labbie’s chapter, “Dialectics, Courtly Love, and the Trinity” in Lacan's Medievalism for more on this.

Eikost 56

allows for Love to take their place before him (11.2). Dante continues to set up a pattern for

Love occupying the position of sight throughout the rest of the prose, stating a little bit later,

“Then my spirits were so disrupted by the strength Love acquired when he saw himself this close

to the most gracious lady, that none survived except the spirits of sight; and even these were

driven forth, because Love desired to occupy their enviable post in order to behold the marvelous

lady” (14.5). Because Love has taken the place of sight, he influences Dante's perception of the

world since he can only view the world through Love. Subsequently, Love has become subject to

Dante's gaze much in the way Beatrice has as well. Capellanus states that blindness is a barrier to

love and cannot exist from it; by allowing Love to fill his sight, Dante is able to love Love and

properly serve him (28). He cannot look at Beatrice without Love filling his sight, stating that

Love is “depicted on her face, there where no one dares hold his gaze too long” (19.12). Dante is

only able to look at Beatrice without harming her purity because Love stands between them.

Love becomes the object of Dante’s gaze that Beatrice can then be viewed through.

Love, by accepting Dante's gaze upon him and gazing back, becomes part of the master-

slave dialectic. He is as active of a participant as Dante himself through his role as Dante’s Lord

within the scene of courtly love. Dante explicitly states that Love is directly within his sights,

implying throughout the course of his prose that to know Love is to look into his own eyes47 (and

why he must shield them frequently). Love helps make Dante a man who can hold onto reason

and stay above baser emotions, showcasing his previously mentioned “faithful counsel of

reason” (2.9). These actions assist Dante in reaffirming his own expression of love, as well as the

being of Love himself, as a pure emotion that, because of its purity, continually brings about

pain. “[T]he lordship of Love is not good because the more fidelity his faithful one shows him,

47 “And if anyone had wished to know Love, he might have done so by looking at my glistening eyes” (11.2).

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the heavier and more painful are the moments he must live through” (13.3). His depiction of

suffering is almost identical to the description of suffering that the servant must undergo via

trials and tribulations to be worthy of his Lady (Tuchman 67). Dante ties these threads together,

noting Beatrice as, “the lady through whom Love makes you suffer” (13.5). Despite centering

Love as his Lord, Dante is still trying to craft a pathway to Beatrice through him.

As a result, Dante further situates Love as his counterpart within the Hegelian and courtly

love stage of self-consciousness by continuing through the stages of courtly love with Love as

Beatrice’s proxy. It is only through Love’s intervention that he can recognize himself as the

servant. Likewise, Love can only recognize himself as the Lord once he is placed directly

opposite of Dante. They can only recognize themselves with one another at play. Dante is able to

idealize Love as much as he idealizes Beatrice due to this mutual recognition, allowing Love to

take the place of both the Other and the guide in Dante’s examination of his relation to him.

Vita Nuova: Shifting into Obsession

This recognition problematizes Dante’s perception of how love exists within the real

outside of the fantasy since his master and Lord, Love, is dependent upon Dante per the master-

slave dialectic. It allows him to reject desire despite desire’s prominent position within courtly

love by placing Love in its place. However, in doing so, Dante inadvertently causes a further

objectification of his intended object of desire, Beatrice, who can never fully form her own sense

of self in Dante’s writing. The Beatrice that Dante knows is a fiction because he is viewing her

through Love instead of viewing her through herself. His attempt at fixing this by recreating the

scene around Love as a participant falls flat of its purpose. By placing these images on her that

she herself cannot recognize from outside of the dialectic, he is in fact taking on the role of the

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master within his mind despite the inability for such a dynamic to exist without her recognition.

Dante is pretending a recognition on her part of their impossible proximity to one another so that

his prose might still be considered amongst others in courtly love literature. He is only able to do

so within his mind, however, because Love is standing as his Other, which he perceives once

more to be an acceptable pathway to Beatrice. As a result, Dante crafts the image of Beatrice and

the very existence he deigns worthy of her through his verses by allowing Love to guide him

along their own paradigm of courtly love. He pretends a relation to Beatrice while

simultaneously affirming Love’s position as his Lord who made such an imitation possible.

Dante’s anticipatory and retroactive formation of his identity must now be reexamined in

this new light since what he has actually built himself around is not Beatrice but Love instead.

Beatrice’s emptied image within the mirror is not as simplistic as the promise of Beatrice herself.

Instead, the image is the promise of the type of love that Dante wants to center his verses around

within his writing. At this juncture, Gallop’s argument regarding the temporality of the mirror

stage and one’s development through it needs to be considered. She argues, “Since the entire past

and present is dependent upon an already anticipated maturity — that is, a projected ideal one —

any “natural maturation” (however closely it might resemble the anticipated ideal one) must be

defended against for it threatens to expose the fact that the self is an illusion done with mirrors”

(123). When Dante first meets Beatrice, he references that it had been nine years since he had

been born (2.1).48 As a child, his view of desire is more simplistic. It makes sense then that he

relegates it to its purest form as a longing for love. His fear of a more physical desire and the

threat they represent against Beatrice would not have formed until he was older. His childhood

anticipation alters the way he retroactively looks back at his childhood and his first stirrings of

48 “Nine times already since my birth the heaven of light had circled back to almost the same point” (Vita Nuova 2.1).

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love for Beatrice. Therefore, his anticipation was for the purer love that he felt upon first seeing

her as a child, and he is subsequently caught by the impending natural maturation — the

development of a deeper desire.

According to Lacan, this is the moment where the mirror stage comes to an end because

language must now be put to it as Dante shifts out from the Imaginary and is threatened by the

real standing before him.

It is this moment that decisively tips the whole of human knowledge into mediatization

through the desire of the other, constitutes its objects in an abstract equivalence by the co-

operation of others, and turns the I into that apparatus for which every instinctual thrust

constitutes a danger, even though it should correspond to a natural maturation — the very

normalization of this maturation being henceforth dependent, in man, on a cultural

mediation as exemplified, in the case of the sexual object, by the Oedipus complex. (“The

Mirror Stage” 1168).

Despite the reference to the Oedipus complex, which comes with it the weight of numerous

debates, Leitch et al. argues that Lacan’s reference to it is meant to emphasize that “human desire

is not natural: it is shaped by fictions and prohibitions” (1168). When juxtaposed with Dante’s

longing for Beatrice, it becomes clear that the threat to human desire is the real itself since desire

is built on fantasies. Since Dante’s desire for Beatrice began as a young child, natural maturation

threatens to undo what he has built himself around. Natural maturation brings with it the

realization that by working towards the ideal that Love presents him with, he is not truly

discussing the real Beatrice; he is only discussing his image of her. “The significance of his past

is dependent upon revelation in the future” (Gallop 123). As a result, he must defend himself

against this fact, but in doing so, he clings tighter to his personification of Love.

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By crafting this pretend relation to Beatrice, Dante is trying to create a scene where they

can be united in spirit. Yet, he reacts in horror to such an idea because Beatrice would then

recognize herself within him, which goes against the image he is projecting on her. He models

this through a shared look with another woman after Beatrice’s death that showcases this fear

coming to life. “Then I became aware that you had seen into the nature of my darkened life, and

this aroused a fear within my heart of showing in my eyes my wretched state” (35.1-8). This

proves that, despite his prior attempts at imitation before her death, Beatrice’s recognition is the

last thing that Dante wants. It is only through the barrier that his Lord Love gives him that she is

protected from such a recognition when their eyes happened to meet during their very brief

greetings with one another. “And when she was about to greet me, one of Love's spirits,

annihilating all the others of the senses, would drive out the feeble spirits of sight, saying to

them, "Go and pay homage to your mistress," and Love would take their place” (11.2). Dante’s

faith in Love and Love’s teachings are what allowed these past events to occur safely without

threat to her.

Dante showcases that even after Beatrice’s death, Love is still seeking to master him

through guidance and protection. He takes away Dante’s strength due to his sweet presence,

turning his very spirits into “ranting beggars” (27.4). Love gives Dante the ability to reflect and

mediate on Beatrice’s memory; equally important, however, is that Love himself consumes him

as his Lord. The precarious position of Love’s Lordship continues its slow unravelling. After

Dante admits his burgeoning desire for this new young woman, he devotes himself to creating

sonnets in Beatrice’s memory. His pain at Beatrice’s memory is so great that Love himself is

negatively impacted. “…Love, who dwells there, faints, he is so tortured; for on those thoughts

and sighs of lamentation the sweet name of my lady is inscribed, with many words relating to her

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death” (39.10). Unfortunately for Dante, his past dependence on Love prevents the actual

manifestation of any understanding of love outside of this written space; without it, he goes back

to where he was before.

In short, Dante’s need for Love to be its own entity within this impossible exchange

between him and Beatrice causes him to misrecognize love itself. He is unable to recognize true

love because he is fixated on the imitation that he has crafted. When coming back to the

Hegelian master-slave dialectic, this can be explained as the result of Love’s dependence on

Dante for identity as the master. Dante’s unwavering perception of what he views as Love’s true

nature hampers what love can actually become, circumventing Love’s lordship and relegating

Love as the true slave within this exchange. Through forcing Love to fit a role he does not, Dante

misconstrues love itself. As a result, Dante’s feelings for Beatrice are more akin to obsession

than the pure love he strives for.

Dante’s love for Beatrice is dependent on the image that he has crafted for her rather than

the reality of Beatrice herself. In removing what he perceives as the negative connotations of

desire such as lust, all that is left behind is an empty love for an empty object. Dante’s need to

continually justify not only the absence between them but the absence of a true recognition as

well distorts his verses. It causes his frequent discussions of Beatrice to seem less the lovesick

longing of a man whose heart has been utterly ensnared and more the ramblings of a man who

refuses to consider Beatrice in a light that does not also include her relation — or the

impossibility of her relation — to him.

Possession of the object is at the forefront of his mind, even when she is unattainable,

which follows with past pursuers within the scene of courtly love. However, in situating her as

his unattainable object of desire, he also situates her as such for all men because if he cannot be

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worthy of her, no other man shall ever come worthy enough to be within her proximity much like

no man shall ever be worthy to be within God’s presence. While they might seek salvation from

her much as one would God, her purity cannot withstand such a possession. No sole person may

possess her. It is through this thought process that obsession begins to overtake and shadow his

consideration of Love. While Dante seeks to rectify this mishap within his Commedia, the Vita

Nuova stands as a testament to his failed attempt at creating the scene of courtly love within the

fantasy that he perceives as reality.

The Commedia: Reinvention of the Scene

While Dante is still focused on the purer expressions of love within the Commedia, he

shifts into a more traditional study of courtly love. Distance is still at the forefront of the text,

but he adds an additional nuance to it by allowing himself to quest to overcome it while still

refraining from that ultimate physicality that he fears. To fix the problems that he encountered

within his Vita Nuova, he enters the Symbolic. Through the Symbolic, he creates a pathway into

the Imaginary once more so that he can re-enter the mirror stage. However, in doing the former,

he is also bridging both to the Real.

Dante’s entry into the Symbolic is the Commedia49 itself. He begins to reimagine and

restructure his relationship with Beatrice into one where her recognition of the scene and of him

would not sully her purity. Dante is undertaking the challenge of symbolically creating a

situation where the Real can be explored as its own fantasy of truth without risking the real.

While it resembles his goal within the Vita Nuova, the Commedia stands apart due to Dante’s

restructuring. Dante still needs Beatrice to be the divine love he has been perpetuating so far, so

49 Translated by Robert Hollander and Jean Hollander, Anchor, 2002. It is available in print and via the online Princeton Dante Project.

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he creates a fantasy within the text where she proves to be exactly who he has perceived her to

be. Since this is also contingent on a return to the mirror stage, the Commedia for both Dante the

poet and Dante the character must be a bridging of the Real to the Symbolic and from the

Symbolic into the Imaginary.

Dante needs Beatrice to represent his perception of her formed in his first dalliance with

the mirror stage. According to Gallop, this is a form of narcissism that forms upon seeing the

completed self within the mirror and desiring nothing else above it (121). It is his obsession

demanding to be made reality. Much like Lacan, he turns towards the idea of praxis as a

“...concerted human action, whatever it may be, which places man in a position to treat the real

by the symbolic” (“Excommunication” 6). The direct result of praxis is a confrontation with the

Imaginary. Dante’s confrontation within the text is a descent into hell (and from there, a quest

into purgatory and heaven) where he can resituate his longing for Beatrice on a grander scale of

past literature. In doing so, Dante once more reasserts the nobility of both his writing and his

quest within it; this time, he does so through the poet Virgil50 who Dante has Beatrice send him

as a guide at the start of Inferno.

Virgil’s arrival occurs right as Dante’s fear of the unknown is at its highest. Having

barely escaped death, although still caught within the starting ground of a literal hellish

landscape, his desperation is at its peak when Virgil makes himself known. Upon this

appearance, Dante elucidates the importance of the poet by bringing up the deceased’s

achievements and his past creations so that he can juxtapose his own beginning journey

50The poet Virgil wrote the epic poem Aeneid, which follows the former prince of Troy, Aeneas, who makes his way with other refugees to Italy where Rome will one day be. Virgil’s Aeneid bolstered and influenced Roman nationalism, and Roman magisters often used it to teach their students how to read. Dante, having been raised and educated in Italy, would have been exposed to Virgil’s works at an early age. See for more information “About Virgil” from the Academy of American Poets.

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alongside it51 (Inferno 1.67-90). He takes this a step further by reaching for Ancient Greek

literature; his second canto begins with a call to the muses and memory much in the way

Homer’s Odyssey begins. “O Muses, O lofty genius, aid me now! / O memory, that set down

what I saw, / here shall your worth be shown” (Inferno 2.7-9).52 Considering Odysseus’ journey

was a seemingly endless one, Dante is setting up his own beginning journey similarly. However,

at this stage, the character of Dante is unaware of what exactly he is journeying towards until

Virgil brings Dante once more to the subject of Beatrice.

While in his previous text, Dante was forced to create an imitation of courtly love by

using Love in Beatrice’s place since she was unaware of the scene, he rectifies that from the

onset of his Commedia to ensure he can set the stage for courtly love once more. Virgil’s

appearance is due to the sweet mercy and salvation that Beatrice has always represented to

Dante. At the beginning of the Inferno, Virgil was beseeched by Beatrice — an angel referred to

as the “true praise of God,” once more emphasizing Dante's need for her continued expression as

divine — to reach out to Dante to rescue and guide him from his current plight (2.103). Although

she pleads with Virgil to save Dante, she notes that she was first given knowledge of his situation

by Saint Lucy who was given this knowledge by a “gracious lady in Heaven” 53 (Inferno 2.94-

102). Saint Lucy’s involvement in the scene must be considered since she is the patron saint of

the blind and thus plays an important role in how the mirror stage and the master-slave dialectic

51 Virgil has a rich history behind him from crafting a poem about a refugee, a pilgrim if you will, trying to traverse all of these trials — essentially going through hellish experiences — to finally reach his own “paradise” in the form of a new homeland. The Aeneid even begins with Aeneas in a dark forest just as Dante’s Inferno begins. In many ways, it seems that Dante is trying to recreate Virgil’s epic with himself at the forefront. See Robert Fitzgerald’s The Aeneid of Virgil for more.

52 “Speak, Memory — / of the cunning hero, / the wanderer, blown off course time and again / after he plundered Troy’s sacred heights” (Homer 1-4). Memory, in this case, stands in the place of her daughters, the muses.

53 See Ralph McInerny’s Dante and the Blessed Virgin Mary. McInerny explores Dante’s perception of the Virgin Mary, equating it back to Beatrice’s own devotion to her when alive.

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are able to function across such a distanced recognition (“Saint Lucy”). Their distance leaves

them blind to one another. Normally, they would not be able to reenter the mirror stage without

sharing that first look in this new setting. Since blindness is a barrier to love per Capellanus,

Saint Lucy is there to assist in Beatrice’s recognition within Dante despite the distance between

them (Capellanus 28). Currently, Beatrice can only observe Dante from afar where his sin cannot

taint her, and she has long since passed from Dante’s physical sight.

Through Beatrice’s request to Virgil, she situates herself as the temporary unattainable

object of desire by establishing Dante’s inability to reach her so long as he still bears his sins on

his soul. She tells Virgil, in her explanation of why she cannot be the one to seek out and lead

Dante herself, that “I am made such by God's grace / that your affliction does not touch, / nor can

these fires assail me” (Inferno 2.91-93).54 She is not able to come to him herself, but Virgil can

work between them to bridge the divide. Dante is attempting anamorphosis once more to help

him translate his relation to Beatrice born from the mirror stage (Lacan, “Courtly love as

anamorphosis” 141). Although it had failed to do anything save for support an imitation before in

the Vita Nuova, it now works as he intended since Beatrice (with the assistance of Saint Lucy) is

helping to guide it.

For Dante, the most important part of what Beatrice tells Virgil is that she is more

concerned with the state of his soul than his current predicament in hell or even her own love for

him. She refers to him as someone who has been led astray and once more needs set on the path

towards Heaven which, as a result, is a path towards her as well (Inferno 2.58-66). As a result,

their connection can still be centered around the spiritual rather than the physical despite the

54 Beatrice’s beauty is also used in support of her divinity. For more on the role of beauty within Dante’s Commedia, see Franco Masciandaro’s “Beauty in Dante’s Divine Comedy”; Peter Booth’s “Beauty”; Nicola Masciandaro’s “Lines on Beauty.” They can be found in: Franco Masciandaro and Peter Booth’s Dante | Hafiz Readings on the Sigh, the Gaze, and Beauty.

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journey forward being a temporary closing of the physical distance between them. The fact that

this is only a temporary solution is important to Dante. Although he is rectifying his past

missteps within the Vita Nuova by trying to reach Beatrice and, through her, Heaven, his

eventual reunion with her can only be fleeting. Beatrice is an angel — she has long passed on

from the mortal realm and into that of God’s — while Dante is still living and will return to the

mortal realm once his journey is at its end.

By juxtaposing their impossibility for permanence, Dante is working further with

anamorphosis by taking the space between them, bridging it, and then reversing it as he places it

back into the “hidden reality” that he has been in support of from the beginning which is the need

for a continued distance even under the illusion of bridging it (Lacan, “Courtly love as

anamorphosis” 141). Therefore, the connection between them will always be centered around the

argument Dante is attempting to make regarding the necessity for a pure love to be another name

for a divine love. He can only do so through Beatrice and his perception of her. To showcase

further proof of the compassion Dante previously bestowed upon her within the Vita Nuova, he

makes a point of having Virgil confess the tears Beatrice shed for him during her pleas, though

with it comes something that is integral for him that was lacking in the past (Inferno 2.115-117).

Through it all, Beatrice is the one that begins the scene. He does not make the first move towards

her; she makes the first move towards him.

She is the first to extend a (distanced) recognition to him. She fixes the empty space

previously filled by Love and enters the mirror stage as the mirror apparatus, joining him in a

way that she could not before. Despite their distance, Dante had already found his recognition in

her when she was alive, so Beatrice is merely completing the dialectic as she observes him from

a safe distance. While distance is what causes desire to grow, the servant quests (often

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fruitlessly) to close that distance to reach his Lady. Within Inferno, Beatrice is the one who takes

the first steps towards bridging this distance rather than Dante. Having recognized his past

mistake, he is attempting to make it clear that this Beatrice is not lacking in agency and is,

instead, an active participant within the dialectic. Capellanus claims that while women are fallen

in love with due to their beauty, this beauty cannot be all there is to her; otherwise, that beauty is

emptied it (28). She must have a good character as well, and while Dante has attempted to show

Beatrice’s character in the past, the only true way to showcase this is through giving her an

actual part in the scene. Since she is now able to facilitate the relationship between them as the

mirror apparatus, she creates for Dante a pathway to herself through Virgil that he did not have

before. However, much like in the tradition of courtly love, he must first undergo several trials

to reach her.

The Commedia: To Love Without Sin

The treacherous journey through hell allows him to see various examples of those who

approached love wrongly.55 Particularly of note, Helen and Paris are found within the second

circle of hell where lust is the predominant sin. Those who are trapped here are “carnal sinners…

they who make reason subject to desire” (Inferno 5.38-39). As mentioned previously, Helen was

once the impossible object of desire much like Beatrice; however, as Virgil points out to Dante,

she was also the cause of much strife (Inferno 5.64-69). Helen and Paris approached courtly love

incorrectly by ignoring the barrier her marriage to Menelaus presented (Homer). Instead of

allowing distance between them to strengthen their love and desire for one another, they ignored

the rules of courtly love. Rather than keep their love secret and hidden, an acceptable barrier that

55 Canto V in particular focuses on lovers such as Helen, Paris, Cleopatra, Lancelot, etc. so that Dante might learn from their mistakes.

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would have allowed them to still be in close proximity to one another, they run away together.

As a result, their selfishness and lust for one another caused hardships for everyone else. Dante

pays particularly close attention to this moment, treating it as a warning that he must continue to

approach love as he has thus far rather than succumbing to the deepest parts of desire.

Dante uses this to craft a further justification for his likening of Beatrice to the divine

and, through the divine, to God Himself. He states through Virgil as a mouthpiece within Canto

XI that “Fraud against the trusting fails to heed / not only natural love but the added bond / of

faith, which forms a special kind of trust” (61-63). He is once more asserting the entanglement of

love and faith, which he can then link back to his journey towards Beatrice and what she

represents for him. Her faith in him is what causes him to push forward because what he craves

is to meet her approval. His faith in her has never changed from the start and is what centers her

still as a paragon. Later, once he has passed into purgatory, this theme is continued as Virgil tells

him, “...As far as reason may see in this, / I can tell you. To go farther you must look / to

Beatrice, for it depends on faith alone” (Purgatorio 18.46-48).56 The solution to reaching

Beatrice is Beatrice herself, so he must have faith and look towards her and her alone if he

wishes to reach her. Everything, as always, comes back to the role Beatrice plays as the Lady

and, through this position, Dante’s salvation. He is nothing if not persistent and dedicated to his

portrayal of his love for Beatrice despite now bringing her into the scene of recognition.

However, there still exists the problem of Beatrice’s purity. It would still be tainted by this

closing of their physical distance, which is where the second part of the Commedia —

Purgatorio — comes into play.

56 Translated by Robert Hollander and Jean Hollander, Anchor, 2004. It is available in print and via the online Princeton Dante Project.

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Beatrice is waiting for him near the end of this purgatory he has risen into once leaving

hell, but he must become worthy of being in her presence. As already mentioned, courtly love

requires that the servant undergo numerous differing trials to prove his worthiness to the Lady

(Tuchman 67). For Dante, the greatest trial he must surpass is that of his own sin. Purgatorio is

focused on Dante becoming worthy to stand in her presence. He undergoes a purification process

that forces him to confront his own sins that he bears deep in his soul so that he might rise above

them. His purification combats the barrier caused by her divinity and purity; it expunges the taint

he is afraid of spreading to her. It is also why she is allowed to recognize herself within him now

when before it was a point of terror for Dante. It no longer poses a threat to her, so the physical

distance between them is allowed to close at last. Yet, it must be noted that it is Beatrice herself

who helps to facilitate his purification.

In Canto IX, Dante arrives at a gate where an angel stands guard as its keeper. As he

approaches the gate, Dante the poet interrupts to inform his audience of what he is doing within

his writing: “Reader, you surely understand that I am raising / the level of my subject here. Do

not wonder, / therefore, if I sustain it with more artifice” (Purgatorio 9.70-72). He acknowledges

that he is attempting to be clever in how he elevates not only Beatrice — his primary subject

matter — but also the barrier between them. The gate is both a physical and a figurative barrier

between Dante and Beatrice. The barrier is representative of the scene of courtly love. There

must be a series of obstacles in the way of reaching the Lady. Although there have been several

throughout these first two canticas, sin the most notable of them, Dante creates a physical barrier

within the text to ensure the audience does not get lost in the journey and forget the tradition he

is reinventing through his Commedia. He must pass this gate to continue his journey towards

Beatrice, but he does not through any action of his own. Instead, it is Saint Lucy who is still

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helping to guide him towards Beatrice. She comes to Virgil in the middle of the night while

Dante’s soul rests and instructs him on how to help Dante proceed (Purgatorio 9.55-63).

Since Beatrice is not within his sights, Saint Lucy is integral for keeping her image in

front of him as she works through his ‘blindness.’ If Beatrice is the mirror apparatus facilitating

the recognition between them, she should also be facilitating the promise of her, shown through

the reflective image in the mirror, to Dante. The only way this is possible despite Beatrice not

having looked upon Dante in person since before her death is because of Saint Lucy. It is

undeniable that Dante has achieved motivation through mirror stage. Saint Lucy has taken hold

of the reflective image to facilitate the projected image back to Dante until he is able to once

more be in Beatrice’s presence. She is allowing him to view the promise of Beatrice even when

the actual sight of her is impossible at present. Virgil speaks to the keeper, stating that they had

been told to approach this gate and continue on by “a lady from Heaven” (Purgatorio 9.88). By

proxy, since Saint Lucy is helping to guide Dante along the pathway to Beatrice, it can be argued

that the promise of Beatrice herself is what allows Dante to ascend.

The keeper beckons Dante to approach at this point, and the latter’s attention is caught by

the first three steps in front of him. Scholars have debated the meaning of these three steps for

centuries without finding one, unified answer given the ambiguity of the moment.57 In his

analysis of the debates surrounding this moment, Bugbee states that a small minority view the

steps as “a process in the mind (or heart) of the penitent” (1024). For Dante, his establishment of

these steps right after admitting to his elevation of his subject is very much a process that he has

carefully crafted. The first step, “clear white marble,” is of particular interest since Dante claims

his image “was reflected in true likeness” (Purgatorio 9.94-96). The wording implies that it

57 See John Bugbee’s “Dante’s Staircase and the History of the Will” for a brief examination of this debate and his own analysis of what the first step means for Dante.

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captures Dante’s very nature. It is his true likeness rather than just a reflection. If his past

rhetorical choices are once more considered, it is possible that Dante is using this moment to

signify his first step towards reaching that totality he has thus far denied. His true likeness —

born from the promise of Beatrice in mirror — is that of the servant. He is showing that he is at

last on the correct path for courtly love. For the small minority that Bugbee refers to, this first

step “symbolizes a self knowledge that allows recognition of sins” (1024). Dante’s recognition of

his sin does play an important part in the promise of his true likeness. It is only once he has

acknowledged his past missteps and dedicated himself to improving himself that this true

likeness is shown to him.

The second step is shattered, “looking as if it had been burned, / cracked through its

length and breadth” (Purgatorio 9.98-99). If the first step is Dante’s true likeness, this second

step represents the missteps he has made in moving towards Beatrice. It is his contrition for his

perceived sins against her in life and in death; however, it also shows the hardships he has

weathered and pushed through. Ultimately, it stands as proof of his work towards becoming

worthy of her. The first step is his true likeness. The second step is what he must endure for the

first. Temporality and typical progression of forwards and backwards does not matter here. The

steps of a staircase are dependent on one another, regardless of which comes first or last, to

maintain the structure of it. Bugbee’s minority claims that the second step “indicates the

resulting contrition or compunction” (1024). His guilt and grief over his past sins is evident in

the dedication he shows to Virgil’s — and, through Virgil, Beatrice’s — counsel. It is what

allows him to weather his hardships. The two remain interconnected rather than separate.

The third step is the most interesting of the three given its likening to blood, and with it,

Dante’s purposeful word choice must be considered once more. It is “as flaming red / as blood

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that spurts out from a vein” (Purgatorio 101-102). Blood is the tangible essence of a person. If

each of these steps is part of Dante’s journey towards Beatrice, then this step represents the way

his love for her grows after his experience with the second step’s hardship. His love “spurts out

from a vein” (Purgatorio 102). His love for her knows no bounds and will survive even the worst

of barriers. The fact that this is the third and final step to reaching the angel is integral with

Bugbee’s minority stating that it “stands for the fervent love that rises up in the sinner’s heart

after contrition” (1024). His likeness, his hardships, and his love for Beatrice allow him to start

the process of purification.

Once he has taken those three steps, Dante encounters the angel who traces seven P’s —

representative of the seven sins — on his forehead that he must wash away during his journey if

he wishes to reach Beatrice (Purgatorio 9.112-114). However, he is also warned: “Enter, but I

warn you / he who looks back must then return outside” (Purgatorio 9.131-132). If he wishes to

reach Beatrice, he cannot focus on the past and his own failings at reaching her. He must forget

all that he has crafted within the Vita Nuova and live within what has been crafted since the start

of Inferno and Beatrice’s recognition of him. He can only focus on this current moment and his

desire to purify his desire into that purer love that he has been questing for (and failing to reach)

since the Vita Nuova.

The pathway past the gate is also important in Dante’s attempt at situating to his reader

what he is attempting to do here. He designates this pathway as one that is “not used by souls

whose twisted love / tries to make the crooked way seem straight” (Purgatorio 9.1-3). Dante is

reminding his audience that even though he is seeking out Beatrice as she wishes, his audience

must not forget that a spiritual love is superior to an earthly, physical love. He is situating those

who seek a consummation of love as ones who twist love and pretend it to be the correct way. As

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a result, it also serves a commentary for other traditional courtly love texts since an eventual

consummation of some manner is often one of the end results (even if said consummation must

remain secret). Dante illustrates this through the siren in his dreams. She approaches him,

seeking to pull him under her spell much as she had Ulysses58 (Purgatorio 19.7-33). She

represents a reminder of the dangers of the erotic and of physical desire. Where Beatrice is

juxtaposed alongside divine love, the siren is juxtaposed alongside danger. To be worthy of

Beatrice, Dante must remain above such temptations of the flesh. Dante uses this reminder to

push throughout the rest of the trials, endeavoring to successfully purify all of his sins. At last, he

reaches the final barrier between himself and Beatrice: a wall of fire that stands as his rebirth into

Beatrice’s proximity (Purgatorio 27.35-60). Yet, once he has passed this trial and is at last ready

to close the distance between them by being in the same vicinity, that old fear from the Vita

Nuova resurfaces once more. He is struck with the reminder that Beatrice’s love is tantamount to

the love of God.

The Commedia: The Promise of Beatrice Herself

Dante is now being faced with the threat of his gaze to Beatrice once more as well as the

magnitude of her own gaze. That fear of her recognizing herself in someone such as himself

when she represents divine love overwhelms him. Referring to the love as an “ancient flame,” he

likens his reaction to it as that of a child running to his mother; as he turns to Virgil for guidance

in how to approach this matter, he realizes that Virgil is no longer there (Purgatorio 30.43-48).

When he turns to Beatrice, she reproaches him immediately, demanding, “'Look over here! I am,

I truly am Beatrice. / How did you dare approach the mountain? / Do you not know that here

58 Here, Dante is attempting to show that he is stronger-willed and purer of heart than Ulysses (Odysseus) since he does not succumb to the siren (although this only occurs thanks to Saint Lucy and Virgil).

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man lives in joy?'” (Purgatorio 30.73-75). There is no longer a go-between for Dante and

Beatrice. The latter, now that she is present, takes control of the scene. She takes over the issue

of his guidance with the stern love of a mother, per Dante’s description of the moment; when he

averts his gaze, he is forced to witness his own reflection within the water (Purgatorio 30.76-81).

Unlike the true likeness he found in the first step, he feels shamed at the sight. Immediately, he

changes the focus of his gaze again. His own distorted reflection within the clear water is a

shameful reminder of his own imperfection compared to the reflective image of the mirror stage

and Beatrice herself. He might be near Beatrice at last, but his journey is not over.

The nymphs question her treatment of him, but Beatrice dismisses it as warranted. She

references the earthly influence she had on him when they were young. “For a time I let my

countenance sustain him. / Guiding him with my youthful eyes, / I drew him with me in the right

direction” (Purgatorio 30.121-123).59 Dante retroactively revises the past detailed in the Vita

Nuova.60 No longer was she ignorant of his affections. Instead, she was aware and actively

seeking to guide him into being better. No longer was Love his teacher; it was Beatrice all along.

However, he turns away from this path after her death. “Once I had reached the threshold of my

second age, / when I changed lives, he took himself from me / and gave himself to others”

(Purgatorio 30.124-126). She chastises that he dared to recognize himself in another and desire

them. Dante uses Beatrice’s chastisement to reinforce the role of the servant.

59 For more on the role of Beatrice’s eyes and what they represent, see Darrell Falconburg’s “Following the Gaze: Beatrice’s Eyes and Beauty in The Divine Comedy.”

60See Claudia Marie Champagne’s dissertation Lacan's Mirror and Beyond: Dante, Spenser, and Milton ("La Divina Commedia," "The Faerie Queene," "Paradise Lost," Psychoanalysis). Champagne claims similarly that Dante’s desire for Beatrice is what allows him to create his own identity as a poet. (Thus, his identity as poet is rooted in his identity as the servant.) She also produces an intriguing reading of the mirror stage and psychic journeys within epic poetry.

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The servant’s sole loyalty should be to the Lady even after the Lady is no longer in his

sights. In his revision of the past, Beatrice was part of the mirror stage from the start. The

reflected image — the promise of her — should have remained as his guidance even after she

was gone. However, Dante strayed from this, as he even acknowledged within the Vita Nuova.

Beatrice then plays a part in his own critique of himself.

He set his steps upon an untrue way,

pursuing those false images of good

that bring no promise to fulfillment—

‘useless the inspiration I sought and won for him. (Purgatorio 130-133)

Dante’s desire for a spiritual connection over a physical one within courtly love is strengthened

by this acknowledgment of his past wrongdoing. He could never entertain these other images

because he had centered his identity around Beatrice. As a result, all images are false, regardless

of his intentions towards them. Once Beatrice has gotten to the root of Dante’s past failings, she

can help him cross that final divide of that lingering sin through her own guidance (Purgatorio

30.106-145).

It is only once he has crossed this divide that he might not fear meeting her gaze any

longer, yet he cannot quite let go of it at first. The nymphs chide him for this, saying, “'Do not

withhold your gaze. / We have placed you here before the emeralds / from which, some time ago,

Love shot his darts’” (Purgatorio 31.115-117). He no longer has to fear the missteps he made in

situating Love as his master or the way Love had twisted the love that he had for her into an

obsession. Instead of Love filling his gaze, Beatrice can take her rightful place within his sight,

and she can meet his gaze in-person rather from the safety of afar.

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However, he loses himself in the moment briefly, caught up in his newfound freedom to

freely gaze upon Beatrice without fear of what she might see if she were to look back, and

becomes temporarily blinded from the intensity of his own gaze, which he is swiftly, albeit

lightly, reprimanded for (Purgatorio 32.1-12). Richard Pearce argues that the experience is

ultimately underwhelming for Dante.

It is not that Dante has projected his own romantic fancies onto her and that now, meeting

the woman herself, he is disillusioned; Beatrice — the heavenly and the earthly — does

have a genuine love for Dante, is leading him to salvation, but this necessarily obliges her

to draw Dante’s attention to his and humanity’s short-comings. Dante reels at the shock

of such a true meeting. (Pearce 408)

The scene that Dante crafts throughout the Commedia ensures that closing this distance does not

risk the real. Beatrice is still an idealized version of herself, but she has her own agency in the

text; when shifting from looking at the text as Dante the character, as opposed to Dante the poet,

it fits the traditional mode of courtly love. However, it is also a moment of enlightenment. By

meeting the heavenly Beatrice, his attention is drawn to the fact that he is still undeserving

despite the hardships he undertook to reach this point.

True to form for a Lady within the scene of courtly love, her mercy is Dante’s salvation.

Love is no longer his teacher but Beatrice herself. Once he has accepted her as his teacher, his

true likeness — promised by both the mirror stage and the first step — enters his reach. There is

only one lesson for her to teach him though: the salvation of God. In reaching this point, Dante

brings his audience back to his primary goal within the Vita Nuova: a spiritual setting for his

relationship with Beatrice. As already noted, he continues to reinforce the superiority of a pure,

spiritual love throughout the Commedia. His journey does not end here despite temporarily

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bridging the gap between himself and his object of desire, however. Beatrice and his love for her

help him to ascend towards paradise in the final arc of the Commedia, Paradiso.

Throughout this journey, Dante’s anticipation of Beatrice grows, though the promise of

her that he sees within the reflective glass — the image being projected — also becomes the

promise of God’s love as he situates Beatrice, then, as a pathway to God Himself. Labbie

touches on this moment briefly by examining it alongside Lacan’s concept of jouissance.61

“…Dante’s Beatrice is the object of a projected longing for a union with God that, through an

unfair twist of events, only the woman can have” (Labbie 110). Dante’s desire for God and

Beatrice are one and the same; they mirror one another throughout his writing. Together, Dante

is able to elaborate on the impossibility of being with Beatrice while he is still living. In addition,

Beatrice, as both a woman and the Lady, embodies what Labbie describes as “sexual difference

becom[ing] loaded with the impossibility of a union, with God or with an other” (110). Any

joining is temporary. A union with Beatrice is equally as impossible as a union with God.

Even as he gazes upon her fervently and finds himself changing for the better due to the

mere sight of her, he begins to realize that she shines brighter the more they ascend. After a

certain point, he struggles to look at her much as one would struggle to look upon God despite

his recently won freedom to gaze upon her. “But she so blazed upon my sight / at first my gaze

could not sustain her light…” (Paradiso 3.128-129).62 Dante begins to explore how his desire for

her might also be a desire for God. He also considers that the sight of her is what sparks a desire

61 In the preface of An Introductory Dictionary of Lacanian Psychoanalysis, Dylan Evans states that it is common practice in Lacanian discourse and English translations of Lacan to leave jouissance untranslated (xiii). Jouissance translates to orgasm, though Lacan uses it in a more abstract fashion. For more on this, see Lacan’s On Feminine Sexuality, the Limits of Love and Knowledge, 1972-1973: Encore - The Seminar of Jacques Lacan Book XX. In it, he introduces the idea of a feminine jouissance.

62 Translated by Robert Hollander and Jean Hollander, Anchor, 2008. It is available in print and via the online Princeton Dante Project.

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for God due to her divinity. He is “projecting [him]self into the unthinkable of an absolute

subject” and attempting to use symbolic reduction63 in order to understand Beatrice through God

and God through Beatrice (Lacan, “The Mirror Stage” 1167). Yet, he finds himself so

overwhelmed by God’s love that he even begins to lose sight of Beatrice as the unattainable

object, his thoughts of her becoming “eclipsed” by the very idea of God:

[A]nd all my love was so set on Him

that it eclipsed Beatrice in forgetfulness.

This did not displease her. Instead, she smiled,

so that the splendor of her smiling eyes

divided my mind's focus among many things. (Paradiso 10.59-63)

He is also situating the path to God being the path to Beatrice because following God and

allowing Him to fill his sight means that he will be able to return to Heaven (and Beatrice) upon

his death. When he allowed Love to fill his sight, the human realm was a barrier that could not

be circumvented even before her death. He has found a solution at last to his spiritual setting for

pure love.

Pearce argues that Dante uses Beatrice as a reflection of Christ himself given the pathway

she grants him to salvation and God (410-411). While Dante does not outright state this, she

plays a similar role to Christ within the Commedia, though particularly within Purgatorio and

Paradiso. It is only once that distance has been closed that Dante can see through her “the

humanity and divinity of Christ reflected” (Pearce 410). If Pearce’s argument is correct, then

Dante validates his past fear of her presence prior to his purification. However, the word

reflection must be emphasized. She is reflecting Christ’s mercy, embodying it, but never creating

63 Leitch et al. defines symbolic reduction as “isolating the experience being described” (1167n8).

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it. It is granted to her instead to bestow on others, and it is through her that Dante can see what

mankind could be.

Pearce seemingly problematizes the idea of courtly love being at play. He claims that

Dante’s growth and mastering of poetry forces him into a realization: “Beatrice does not radiate

her own glory, her own virtue and nobility of character (unlike those ladies of the troubadour

tradition). All that she is (all her perfections that is) she receives from another; she reflects a

received glory” (Pearce 410). Rather than this problematizing Dante’s scene of courtly love, it

bolsters it instead. Since the Vita Nuova, he has quested to prove Beatrice’s divinity. The fact

that she might be a reflection of Christ’s — and, as a result, God’s — glory and perfection grants

further reason to his prior distanced worship of her. In fact, Dante’s past descriptor of her as an

angel is made even more true if Pearce’s consideration of the angel as mediator between “angelic

perfections” and “the lower orders if creation” is kept in mind (410-411). Dante’s reinvention of

Beatrice as a pathway to God is not quite a reinvention then. Instead, it is a clarification that

ensures his perception of Beatrice cannot be misunderstood. For Dante, Beatrice and God have

to be linked — especially here within the Commedia — so that his journey towards Beatrice does

not end in his death. Rather, his eventual death will be his salvation since he will be able to be

within her sight as well as God’s.

Conclusion

Even at the end of the Commedia, Dante proves Gallops’ point that “the mirror stage is a

fleeting moment of jubilation before an inevitable anxiety sets in” (123). After all, through

approaching courtly love correctly, he has been able to enter the mirror stage with Beatrice and

bridge the divide between them. Yet, for Dante, this is only temporary, and so the anxiety of

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being able to return to her side once more begins to envelope him. This anxiety causes the

necessity for Beatrice to be a pathway to God since a pathway to God means an eventual

pathway to Beatrice in Heaven after his death. Love, according to Lacan, is able to make up for

the lack of a sexual relationship because the Other is the “locus of truth” that can be given the

name of “divine being” or God (“Love and the signifier” 45). In his discussion of the

inadequacies of language, he circles around to this point to showcase the need to supplement the

sexual relationship rather than just displacing it within writing, which is what Dante has done

(“Love and the signifier” 45). Regardless, Dante accomplishes the goal he began in the Vita

Nuova through his Commedia. He successfully displaces the physical relationship with a

spiritual, distanced one to create his own model of courtly love. However, the question of Dante

the poet and Dante the character becomes even more present as a result.

Even within this new Symbolic situation Dante has crafted, he is still bound by his initial

retroactive gaze born from seeing Beatrice when they were both children, as shown within his

Vita Nuova. Desire was a danger taking root that he attempted to circumvent; however, since his

vision of love could not be reached in the real world even if Beatrice was still alive, this

misconception within the mirror stage was one he had to address within his Commedia. In doing

so, this misconception was only furthered since Beatrice still remains, in many ways, an ideal

untouchable save for in death. The love he conceived upon first sight of her is not one that can

realistically make the transition from childhood to adulthood in the same manner as Dante

wished. Because of this, the image of wholeness gained through the mirror stage continues to

remain an abstract illusion, even when the Lady has been reached by the servant, because it is

either later corrected by the real or forced to remain within the Real by way of the Symbolic.

Dante’s true goal within these works is less reaching Beatrice. Instead, he is trying to claim the

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servant identity. His misstep in the Vita Nuova is born from an ignorance in how to attain the

identity; his rectification in the Commedia comes only after he better understands how to enter

himself into the canon of courtly love.

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CHAPTER III. TAKING A STEP BACK FROM DESIRE: “SIR ORFEO” AND IDENTITY

Just as the subject cannot simply mature, cannot advance into the future which he

anticipated as his birthright, neither can he inalienably possess his past. He can never

simply fall back on some accomplishment, rest on some laurels already won, since the

“past” itself is based upon a future, which is necessarily an uncertainty.

— “Lacan's ‘Mirror Stage’: Where to Begin,” Gallop, 123.

Introduction

Often in courtly love literature, the servant desires what amounts to a fairytale happy

ending in which he has gained his ultimate reward: a lifetime with his love and Lady. This is no

different for Sir Orfeo who, at the start of the lai of the same name, has been happily married to

his wife Heurodis for many years. Continuing with the framework for the mirror stage and

courtly love developed in the Introduction,64 he has long since entered and exited the mirror

stage with his wife throughout their unspecified courtship with Heurodis actively facilitating the

relationship between them. This is a stark contrast to the relationship between Dante and

Beatrice depicted within the Vita Nuova as seen in Chapter II. Due to this progression, Sir Orfeo

has already assumed the image within the mirror and constructed himself around the false

identification of a “wholeness” that can only be met when his image and Heurodis’ are joined

(Lacan, “The Mirror Stage” 1164). Sir Orfeo has found his other half in Heurodis and she in him,

64 As established in the Introduction and showcased in Chapter II, the servant acts as the subject within the mirror stage and the reflection shown back is the promise of the Lady. What the promise represents can vary depending on the text and the interpretation. It can be the establishment of the servant identity with the Lady the distant muse (as seems to be the case in Dante). It can also be the promise of unity with the Lady i.e. marriage. Following along those latter lines comes the more romantic notion seen from “Sir Orfeo.” The Lady is given agency by being placed in the role of the mirror apparatus, which allows her to facilitate any relationship with her and/or the promise of her shown in the mirror.

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resulting in the formation of his identity as servant, king, and husband being tied to her as well.

However, once you have attained that which you desire the most, the fear of losing it all becomes

present. When she is removed from the scene through her abduction by the Fairy King, Sir Orfeo

is forced to face an empty image within the mirror. He is then forced to recognize himself as

fragmented since Heurodis, due to the illusion of the mirror stage, is considered necessary for

him to be whole. Yet, this does not account for Sir Orfeo’s loss of identity because the servant

can form an identity outside of the Lady.

Sir Orfeo has the tools in front of him to realize the illusion of the mirror stage and how

he fits into it. However, in order to confront this illusion, he must confront the retroactivity of it,

which he will not do.65 Throughout her article, “Lacan's ‘Mirror Stage’: Where to Begin,” Jane

Gallop argues that the mirror stage is tied to the temporal dialectic of what is and what will be

through anticipation and retroaction (120). Because of this, the mirror stage can be seen as a

turning point that is both anticipatory — as seen in the subject’s assumption of the role of the

servant to reach for the Lady — and retroactive since the recognition has caused that stage of

self-consciousness that allows for the servant to suddenly understand himself both now and in

the past (Gallop 121). With Heurodis no longer within the mirror stage to facilitate the promise

of her shown through her image, the retroactivity that defined his past by her can be challenged.

If he were to look back, he would be able to find himself again separate from her. Because his

identity as king and husband is centered around Heurodis as his queen and wife, he must

confront that he can be those still without her at his side, but he will not due to his grief at her

65 Lacan states that “the mirror function… is defined in the narcissistic relation” (“Courtly love as anamorphosis” 151). While this can be the case at times, as seen in Dante’s structuring of a relationship with Beatrice, I do not believe it always is. The longing for the totalized body-image and identification of self that the mirror stage teases the subject with can be born from other emotions that get tangled within the process. In Sir Orfeo’s case, it is his faithful love for Heurodis.

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loss. As a result, he cannot look back without losing what Heurodis has come to mean to him,

which is everything. If he were to look back, he risks seeing nothing where she once was. Yet, he

cannot move forward either so long as he is trapped by what lies in the past.

In her discussion on the falsity of mastering the self, Gallop states, “No ground is ever

definitively covered, and one always risks sliding all the way back. Hence the effect of

anticipation is anxiety” (123). For Sir Orfeo, this is synonymous with the fear of looking back

and seeing nothing, which models the fear of the backwards gaze from the traditional Orpheus

myth. The fear of looking back, for him, is the fear of moving backwards to a life before (and

without) Heurodis, and it is an anxiety he never realized he had until the loss of her essentially

cripples him. The following decade of grief and solitude showcases Sir Orfeo’s inability — and

outright refusal — to confront his loss to avoid this risk looking back offers, leaving him lost in

the present with a fragmented identity. Throughout the course of “Sir Orfeo,” Sir Orfeo struggles

with accepting an identity outside of one that is forever linked to Heurodis due to his inability

and outright refusal to deal with his grief at her loss. This struggle manifests itself as a fear of

looking backwards due to his fixation on the possible emptiness behind him rather than looking

forward towards a possible reclamation of both Heurodis and his previous identity; as a result,

Sir Orfeo is left in a passive state that he can only move out of when he takes the first step

towards the women in the woods, allowing Heurodis to reenter the scene as both the Lady and

the facilitator to his identity as husband and king.

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Sir Orfeo and Heurodis: Two Halves of a Whole

While marriage has often been used as an obstacle for another suitor in courtly love,66

this is not the case for “Sir Orfeo.”67 Instead, Sir Orfeo and Heurodis are both happily wed to one

another, and their love is not impeded by a lack of distance or desire. They are also well situated

into their identities and have been for many years by the start of the story. The poet emphasizes

this throughout the first several stanzas of the lai, no doubt so that the tragedy that will soon

strike seems more devastating. When introducing Sir Orfeo, the poet proclaims that there is “a

better harpour in no plas” (line 32). He continues in his description after, adding, “In Inglond an

heighe lording, /A stalworth man and hardi bo; / Large and curteys he was also” (40-43). From

the onset, Sir Orfeo’s identity is situated as first, that of a skilled harper and second, that of a

stalwart and courteous68 king. Soon after comes the addition of husband into his collection of

identity markers, which enters the lai as Heurodis does. Heurodis is described in the same vein as

the other women of courtly love. Not only does it help to situate her as still being the Lady

within the scene despite her happy marriage to Sir Orfeo, but it is also of particular importance

for the scene that the poet is setting.

The fairest levedi, for the nones,

That might gon on bodi and bones,

Ful of love and godenisse -

Ac no man may telle hir fairnise. (53-56)

66 Lancelot and Guinevere’s relationship in Le Morte d’Arthur is an example of this.

67 The version of “Sir Orfeo” used here is edited by Anne Laskaya and Eve Salisbury within The Middle English Breton Lays and available on the University of Rochester TEAMS Middle English Text Series site as well as in print.

68 Editors Laskaya and Salisbury expand on the definition of courteous for a medieval audience by stating, “curteys, or courteous, in medieval texts does mean "polite," but it carries a much weightier meaning that includes courtly, elite, valuable, upper class, and cultured behaviors as well as generosity” (n42).

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Her beauty and good nature are used here to support this happy ending because it implies that

they both have all that they could ever want out of life given his honorable nature and her good

nature.69 The Lady has long since been established as the muse of the poet and the musician, and

with this juxtaposition of Heurodis as a former object of desire, it becomes clear that she is as

integral to current events as she was before her marriage. It is Heurodis herself that inspires Sir

Orfeo in all that he does and who he has built himself around.

Sir Orfeo is at peace with his life and identity because he views himself as whole with

Heurodis. However, the problem of the mirror stage explored in the previous chapter is that it

only gives an illusion of wholeness since the subject’s desire for what they see in the mirror

results in the perception of a fragmented body-image (Lacan, “The Mirror Stage” 1165). This

anticipation for the mirror’s promised image causes them to mistakenly believe that they are not

whole without it, leaving the subject to believe that their own identity and existence is a

fragmented one.70 As a result of this anticipation and retroaction, Sir Orfeo’s past and future is

bound to Heurodis. He cannot imagine a life without her because from the moment they entered

the mirror stage long before the start of the lai, he as the subject and servant of the equation

formed his identity (and ego) around Heurodis as his Lady (and, later, wife). She is not the

unattainable Other or an object of desire at the beginning because he already ‘has’ her; however,

she also ‘has’ him as well.

Unlike Beatrice within the Vita Nuova, Heurodis is an active and knowing participant

within the lai, which allows her to be the facilitator of the mirror stage. This relationship is not

69 These are traditional markers of the servant and the Lady within courtly love.

70 Lacan refers to the mirror stage as “...the succession of phantasies that extends from a fragmented body-image to a form of its totality that I shall call orthopaedic — and, lastly, to the assumption of the armour of an alienating identity, which will mark with its rigid structure the subject’s entire mental development” (“The Mirror Stage” 1166).

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one-sided, and the reflection within the mirror is not a trick of the light brought about by the

servant’s desires.71 This desire and love is born from Heurodis as much as it is from Sir Orfeo,

which she proves when she proclaims, “Bot ever ich have yloved the / As mi liif and so thou me”

(123-124). When Sir Orfeo and Heurodis first laid eyes on one another, they entered the mirror

stage jointly with Heurodis taking the place of the mirror apparatus and Sir Orfeo that of the

subject. The image within the mirror, the promise of her, showed the promise of who Sir Orfeo

could be with her and who she was to him. This image within the mirror — or imago72 — allows

him to “establish a relationship between the organism and its reality — or, as they say, between

the Innenwelt and the Umwelt”73 (Lacan, “The Mirror Stage” 1166). Because Heurodis accepts

him as her husband, the mirage shown within the mirror stage seemingly has no impact at this

point. He would not have thought to fear any longer the shift from the Real74 into the real before

the events within the lai. After all, his reality is better than any fantasy because he does not have

to fantasize about having Heurodis. There is no distance between them, so he knows her in and

out, yet that has not acted as an imposition on his love for her. The fantasy, for him, could not

compare to his reality. However, he soon finds this reality threatened when distance between

himself and Heurodis is threatened.

71 Although méconnaissance does play a role here too in Sir Orfeo’s misrecognition of Heurodis as a part of him.

72 “Likeness” (Leitch et al. 1164n8).

73 Leitch et al. translates the Innenwelt and the Umwelt into “the inner world and the outer world” (1166n1). In other words, the likeness within the mirror (the image) allows the subject to form connections between this psychological phenomenon illustrated here and actual events outside of it in reality.

74 See Introduction. The Real allows for a fantasy surrounding the Lady. She is the divine itself who can do no wrong. This becomes ruined once the real is spoken into existence and reveals that the Lady is as flawed as everyone else. Sir Orfeo seems to be under no such misconception.

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Heurodis: Object of Desire Once More

Heurodis is suddenly forced back into the role of object of desire one beautiful spring day

in May. Having fallen asleep beneath the shadow of a tree while out enjoying the morning with

her ladies-in-waiting, she suddenly finds herself approached in this dream world by two knights

that tell her their king requests her presence (131-138). Further proving her loyalty and good

character, she refuses, saying in her later explanation, “Y durst nought, no y nold”75 (140). Soon,

the Fairy King himself comes to greet her, bringing with him a procession that he bandies about

as a silent show of status while forcing Heurodis to ride with him into his kingdom (142-156).

And brought me to his palays,

Wele atird in ich ways,

And schewed me castels and tours,

Rivers, forestes, frith with flours,

And his riche stedes ichon. (157-161)

Once in his kingdom, he proceeds to show off his possessions to her as if attempting to woo her

much as the servant might attempt to woo the Lady, which showcases the start of this shift into

Heurodis becoming the object of desire once more. However, he ends his proposition to her with

a threat of bodily harm and death should she not come to meet him the following day to be taken

away, departing from the typical path of the servant (163-172).

In her essay “Fairy Magic, Wonder, and Morality in Sir Orfeo,” Tara Williams quotes

Helen Cooper’s discussion of fairies to explain the nature of the Fairy King, stating, “Fairies

occupy that dangerous borderland that cannot be controlled by human will and is not susceptible

to the normal operations of prayer” (540). This is clear in the way that the Fairy King seeks to

75 Editors Laskaya and Salisbury translate it as, “dared not, nor did I want to.”

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take his object of desire76 instead of trying to win her through the more proper courtly love

tradition. Williams goes on to situate the fairies as an unknown even to the reader, arguing that

the fairies are neither human, divine, or demonic, which results in a “mirroring effect between

the two worlds” (540). The introduction to the Fairy King plays an essential role in setting up the

lai. The poet uses it to illustrate that the fairies are operating by a different set of rules that are

entirely unknown to the humans involved. However, this also sets the breeding ground for horror

for both Heurodis and Sir Orfeo.

Heurodis’ anxieties surrounding being pushed back into the role of the object of desire

manifest immediately upon waking from her dream confrontation with the Fairy King. She

wishes to reject this role, so she attempts to destroy the physical markers that would have drawn

the Fairy King’s attention in the first place. In this case, her beauty.

Sche crid, and lothli bere gan make;

Sche froted hir honden and hir fete,

And crached hir visage - it bled wete -

Hir riche robe hye al to-rett

And was reveyd out of hir wit. (78-82)

Ellen Caldwell likens this reaction to that of cloistered women who would mutilate themselves in

order to protect themselves from invaders; the tragedy of Heurodis, however, is that “in whatever

condition, either beautiful or dismembered and disfigured, she will be taken from her husband.”

While Caldwell argues that this is still an attempt on Heurodis’ part to protect her chastity, it

76 While Dante compares Beatrice to Helen of Troy early on within the Vita Nuova, it is Heurodis who more closely resembles her. She was the object of desire for Sir Orfeo before they married, resulting in a more three-dimensional role for herself as she facilitated his advances (mirroring Helen’s marriage to Menelaus). Yet, she soon finds herself the object of desire for another (Paris in Helen’s case, the Fairy King in Heurodis’). Once she is taken away, she once more becomes the object of desire for Sir Orfeo.

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seems to instead be a combination of two primary emotions welling up within Heurodis: defiance

and, beneath that, grief. She defiantly attempts to destroy her beauty since it was what drew the

Fairy King to her. However, it also signifies her entering the Symbolic as she searches for a way

to translate her feelings about the Fairy King’s advances and what it might mean for her without

risking putting it into words. Leitch et al. clarifies the Symbolic as a moment of symbolism itself

where “the human being’s body, to the extent that he or she begins to speak, must translate

itself” (1159). By entering the Symbolic through this self-mutilation, she bears her feelings on

her flesh to prevent the Real from slipping into the real and acknowledging the impossibility of

escape. The moment she voices her despair, the moment she puts it into words, is the moment the

threat of abduction becomes real and with it the threat of identity itself appears.

Upon seeing the state that his wife is in, Sir Orfeo forces Heurodis to put to words what

she has tried to show wordlessly through the Symbolic. In doing so, he allows the threat of the

real in for the both of them without realizing it. There is a clear shift here when Heurodis begins

to speak. “Ac now we mot delen ato; / Do thi best, for y mot go” (125-126). She tells him that

they will have to be apart because she must go. When she speaks, it is no longer with the hysteria

of despair; instead, it is with resignation. She can no longer ignore what is happening and has

seemed to accept it. However, she must also accept the alien nature of her new identity apart

from Sir Orfeo.

It must be considered that in tearing her from her position within the mirror stage,

Heurodis is also experiencing a loss and change in identity. Caldwell, much like the poet of the

lai himself, ties Heurodis’ identity to her husband’s and vice versa. “Not only rule is central in

the relationship of husband and wife, but identity itself. In fact, the disfiguring and subsequent

abduction of Heurodis mark the loss of identity that had once shaped both husband and wife”

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(Caldwell). Not only is she losing the identity she found through the master-slave dialectic with

Sir Orfeo, but she is being thrust into a new world where she cannot be the mirror apparatus any

longer because the Fairy King is taking control. There is no facilitation — only the threat of

violence. However, as Caldwell mentions, Sir Orfeo’s own identity is also under threat.

Sir Orfeo’s anxieties are centered around the potential loss of Heurodis since the illusory

image presented in their past experience within the mirror stage has caused him to view the two

of them as irrevocably linked. Upon hearing of this threat of abduction, he declares that wherever

she goes, he will follow (127-130). Intentionally or not, he is attempting to use language to

showcase his rebellion against the real of the situation, but in doing so, he further invites it in.

There is no avoiding the fact that the Fairy King is going to take Heurodis to a place that he

supposedly cannot follow. Upon this realization, despair begins to set in: “"O we!" quath he,

"Allas, allas! / Lever me were to lete mi liif / Than thus to lese the quen, mi wiif"” (176-178). He

would rather lose his own life than Heurodis; not only because he loves her, but everything that

he is has been centered around her.77

He has long since passed the turning point that Gallop situates the mirror stage as in her

discussion of its retroaction and anticipation.

After it [the mirror stage] the subject's relation to himself is always mediated through a

totalizing image which has come from outside. For example, the mirror image becomes a

totalizing ideal which organizes and orients the self. But since the "self" is necessarily a

totalized, unified concept — a division between an inside and an outside — there is no

"self" before the mirror stage. (Gallop 120-121)

77 For a look at how this then influenced Tolkien’s conception of Aragorn and Arwen’s relationship, see Thomas Honegger’s, “Fantasy, Escape, Recovery, and Consolation in Sir Orfeo: The Medieval Foundations of Tolkienian Fantasy.”

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Due to the retroactive effects of the mirror stage, Sir Orfeo does not know himself without

Heurodis because everything from before he met her has been overwritten by that moment.

Similarly, the servant seeks to win his Lady by transforming himself into the epitome of virtue

and honor. The anticipation of the Lady and being one with her alters who the servant perceives

himself as in his past and who he wants to be in his future. As a result, Sir Orfeo’s fear of losing

the defining marker of his identity — Heurodis herself — becomes a fear of sliding back into the

unknown of who he was before her. With this comes a need to understand how Hegel’s master-

slave dialectic comes into play within this instance of courtly love.

While the debate on how the Hegelian master-slave78 dialectic works within courtly love

was touched on in Chapter I, it must be broached again here. It presents a particularly important

function79 within this attribution of the mirror stage’s identity formation to the formation of

courtly love itself. Heurodis as the master within this dialectic allows her to exist for herself.

“Rather, it is a consciousness existing for itself which is mediated with itself through another

consciousness, i.e. through a consciousness whose nature it is to be bound up within an existence

that is independent, or thinghood in general” (Hegel 544). The master’s identity is considered

dependent on the independent existence of the slave, but that is solely because in trying to

understand themselves, they look for a relation to their surroundings. As has already been

discussed, the recognition process within that first look is a joint one. Heurodis as the Lady was a

facilitator of her identity80 and Sir Orfeo’s, but without him there to help situate herself, she

78 See Chapter I.

79 It is important to note, as will be seen, that “Sir Orfeo” plays fast and loose with the traditional reading of the Hegelian dialectic since Heurodis remains the one in control of their relationship and identifying factors, even after the Fairy King has stolen some aspects of it from them.

80 See E. Jane Burns’ “Courtly Love: Who Needs it? Recent Feminist Work in the Medieval French Tradition.” In it, Burns produces a feminist reclamation of the Lady within medieval French literature through a reading of the

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becomes threatened with returning to thinghood as the Fairy King’s ‘object’ to own. Her self-

mutilation is her rejection of this truth she cannot avoid; however, this is also proof of her

attempting to possess herself and her own identity outside of the usual constraints of the master,

even if she cannot quite reach it.

Sir Orfeo, on the other hand, would not be bound similarly per the Hegelian dialectic

since the slave can find an identity from outside this exchange, yet he wishes to be. Thus,

Williams’ suggestion that “fairies both are drawn to suffering and produce it” becomes the

center point for the rest of the lai (545). After her abduction, not only is Heurodis forced into a

role she refuses to recognize as her own, but her image is forcibly ripped from Sir Orfeo and

taken into the Otherworld. This violent abduction forces the mirror itself and the acceptable

distance it represents to become a barrier81 between Sir Orfeo and Heurodis, yet this mirrored

realm is not one Heurodis can facilitate through. With the Fairy King taking over the role of the

mirror apparatus, the mirror once more becomes one-way and, save for his will, so does the

Otherworld.

Sir Orfeo’s Re-fragmentation

While it can be argued that it is impossible to reenter the mirror-stage traditionally,82 in

its juxtaposition with courtly love, it becomes more reasonable to assume that each time the

Hegelian dialectic first comes into play, so does this moment. Heurodis is dependent on Sir

Orfeo to identify herself. Sir Orfeo, if he is willing to look back beyond the retroactivity of the

position as liminal with this liminality giving women within these texts the ability to subvert the traditional hierarchy of gender even from a silenced position.

81 Lacan later notes within “Courtly love as anamorphosis” that the mirror also acts a limit — or boundary — between the subject and the inaccessible object (151). It must be noted that while Lacan makes a brief comparison here, he never takes it a step further into full examination.

82 The Imaginary is formed before language exists.

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mirror stage to find himself separately from her, is not similarly dependent on her. However, the

keyword that must be focused on is ‘willing.’ Unlike Dante’s attempts within the Vita Nuova to

create an imitation of a pathway to Beatrice, Sir Orfeo does not look for a new pathway to his

wife despite her becoming his object of desire once more. He might long to regain her, but he

does not seek her out. Instead, he succumbs to his grief and swears never to see another woman

for so long as he lives. “For now ichave mi quen y-lore, / The fairest levedi that ever was bore, /

Never eft y nil no woman se” (209-211). If he cannot see Heurodis again, a belief that he has

already become resigned to, then he does not want to risk ever entering the mirror stage with

another woman. For Sir Orfeo, his heart will always belong to Heurodis and Heurodis alone. Yet,

this resignation regarding what he views as the impossibility of regaining her causes him to give

up on everything around him as well. He does not even wish to figure out who he is apart from

her now that her image is no longer something he must define himself by. Rather, he cannot look

back without risking it.83

It can be argued that he is forced into a pseudo mirror stage at this moment where he

must acknowledge the impossibility of the anticipated image within the mirror. However, it

could also be argued that once one has gone through the mirror stage, they can never truly leave

it. Instead, the images from it will follow them to engage their sense of self through both

retroaction and anticipation. “In other words, the self is constituted through anticipating what it

will become, and then this anticipatory model is used for gauging what was before. For example,

the anticipatory totalized body images produces the retroactive phantasy of the body in bits and

pieces” (Gallop 121). Yet, when the Hegelian dialectic is considered, the servant should be able

83 See Andrea G. Pisani Babich’s “The Power of the Kingdom and the Ties that Bind in Sir Orfeo.” Pisani suggests that the Fairy King’s true aim was to make Sir Orfeo appear weak and defenseless against fairy magic to destabilize his power and the kingdom as a whole.

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to overcome this to regain who he is outside of it. To do so, all Sir Orfeo would have to do is

look back.

If Sir Orfeo looks back, in time, he would be able to find where he ended and Heurodis

began. It would break the fantasy of the Real that Heurodis is a part of him and he, her, but it is

possible to combat the mirror stage’s retroactivity. While the subject within the mirror stage

centers itself around the anticipated image within the mirror, Gallop asserts that if retroaction

and anticipation are viewed separately, they can eventually be sorted out (122). What came

before could be understood and viewed separately from the identity formation within the mirror

stage. However, this requires for Sir Orfeo to not only look back at his past but to also try to find

who he is without Heurodis, which he clearly refuses to do. If he depends on her in order to

define his own identity, then his obsession with the space that she no longer occupies within his

life and his refusal to accept it could be an example of the same morphological mimicry84

explored in Chapter II. The derealization that defines morphological mimicry allows him to

reject the reality of the situation in favor of the Real he formed through the mirror stage.

Sir Orfeo’s focus on Heurodis’ absence allows him to ignore the reality of his loss. As a

result, he can avoid what the real might say regarding Heurodis’ true role in his life as being just

that of his love rather than his other half. This is also where his identity as a harper and minstrel

comes into play with his current struggle. With the minstrel identity comes the implication that

he possesses the same romanticism as that of other minstrels. It also implies a similar propensity

for exaggeration. “Still, romance rewards to minstrels generally exaggerate real life, and this may

reflect a performance convention” (Zaerr 64). Sir Orfeo loves Heurodis to such a degree that he

plays a role in rewriting the scene of their love into that of halves of a singular whole. His

84 “An obsession with space in its derealizing effect” (Lacan, “The Mirror Stage” 1165).

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position proves Lacan’s point regarding the situation of one’s ego85 through the mirror stage.

Lacan states that the mirror stage and the images formed within it directly affect the ego’s

agency, placing it in a “fictional direction86 which will always remain irreducible for the

individual alone, or rather, which will only rejoin the coming-into-being (le devenir) of the

subject asymptomatically,87 whatever the success of the dialectical syntheses of which he must

resolve as I his discordance with his own reality” (“The Mirror Stage” 1165). Sir Orfeo clings to

this fiction. The force of his grief dominates his view of the world around him, and instead of

confronting and dealing with his loss, he dwells within it. Thus, Sir Orfeo’s true fear of the

backwards gaze is approached.

Sir Orfeo’s fear of moving backwards, of acknowledging his loss, paralyzes him. His

immediate reaction in the face of Heurodis’ abduction is to fall apart and shun the idea of

moving forward. Falling immediately into grief, the poet offers a look into Sir Orfeo’s mind,

telling the reader, “That neighe his liif was y-spent - / Ther was non amendement” (199-201). He

considers his life to have ended at that moment, and if his life has ended, then a future cannot

reasonably exist for him. He cannot even look back because that risks the fear of seeing nothing

85 Likely based on Freud’s own definition, the Lexico-Oxford dictionary defines ego as “[t]he part of the mind that mediates between the conscious and the unconscious and is responsible for reality testing and a sense of personal identity” (“Definition of Ego”). If the ego is being directly affected, the subject’s personal identity is as well. Freud expands on this definition, stating that the ego is influenced by the external world; through this influence, it mediates the desires of the id and superego within the boundaries of societal norms and expectations. It seeks pleasure and avoids pain much like the id, though it operates according to the reality principle and problem-solves to reaches these mediated desires. It helps to make sense of the subject’s thoughts and the world around them (Freud 15-37).

86 Gallop situates the temporal dialectic as more important to focus on here rather than the fictional direction the ego is set towards (121). This is likely due to the fact that the retroaction and anticipation of the temporal dialectic showcase the fictionality of the mirror stage more clearly by giving a reason for how this fictionality is able to persist.

87 Leitch et al. note this as “coming ever closer but never reaching” (1165n2). Therefore, the passage once more affirms the impossibility of the image being presented.

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in regard to his relation to Heurodis.88 By avoiding looking back, he can pretend that

retroactivity is not working against him and that something beyond it does not exist. “It produces

the future through anticipation and the past through retroaction. And yet it is itself a moment of

self-delusion, of captivation by an illusory image. Both future and past are thus rooted in an

illusion” (Gallop 121). Sir Orfeo is caught up within the self-delusion of the mirror stage, but

rather than being ignorant of it the way Dante is, he embraces it. He breaks apart not because

Heurodis is merely an image to him but because he truly loves her and actively rejects any

existence that does not have her in it.89 Without her to look toward to guide him forward, and

with his fear of looking back, the question of his identity itself at this stage cannot be ignored.

Identity assumes that the subject is whole and has found a true, perfected and finalized

self-identity when, as Lacan points out, this is not the case. “Would that it were so!” (Lacan,

“The Subversion of the Subject” 675). It is here that the beginning threads for Sir Orfeo’s grief

can be seen as well as its impact on his fear of there being nothing behind him. Whereas Orpheus

gave in to this fear and looked, Sir Orfeo does not. However, while Orpheus at least attempted to

look forward, although ultimately failing due to his fear of what did or did not lay behind him,90

Sir Orfeo cannot do this either. When Sir Orfeo loses his wife, he undergoes a re-fragmentation

because all he can see within the mirror is his own fragmented self; it is devoid of Heurodis’

image.

88 This is similar to Orpheus’ fear of looking back and seeing nothing in the place of Eurydice.

89 That, in many ways, is what cements the difference between Dante and Sir Orfeo. While Dante has always taken as a challenge the emptiness between him and Beatrice, even when he notes Beatrice’s passing within the Vita Nuova and showcases some manner of grief over it, Dante still never actually attained his object of desire. There was a removed distance there that lessened the devastating impact of loss from crippling him.

90 See “Book X: 1-85” of A.S. Kline’s translation of Ovid’s The Metamorphoses for the Orpheus myth.

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With Heurodis no longer in the role of the mirror apparatus, the Fairy King denies him

her visage. The Fairy King has violently taken hold of the role so that he might pull Heurodis out

of the scene entirely. As a result, the reflection in the mirror denies Sir Orfeo a reflection of the

abstract wholeness that he gained through gazing at her. “Only by an effect of retroaction from

the anticipated identifications do we understand that what happens in the mirror stage is the

formation of a ‘root stock’” (Gallop 122). The term root stock is integral to understanding Sir

Orfeo’s struggle with identity. Root stock is defined as “a primary form or source from which

offshoots have arisen” (“Root Stock”). In other words, his relation to Heurodis has become the

foundation for all other identities that might have formed later. For Sir Orfeo, this includes that

of king.

Because of this re-fragmentation, he loses his sense of self and his identification. Shortly

after Heurodis’ abduction, he gathers his steward and the other lords of the kingdom to announce

that he is casting away his identity as king. “Al his kingdom he forsoke; /Bot a sclavin on him he

toke” (227-228). He must throw away his position as king if he is to lose her as his wife because

he sees the two as bound.91 They cannot stand as separate identifying markers because then he

must face the fact that he is a king without a queen. In her article “Sir Orfeo: The Otherworld vs.

Faithful Love,” Rosalind Clark compares Sir Orfeo’s rejection of kingship in the wake of losing

Heurodis to Tochmarc Étaíne’s The Wooing of Etain where Eochaid Airem is not considered a

real king until he acquires for himself a queen (77). Clark argues that certain rules or traditions

must be followed for the kingdom to prosper, so Sir Orfeo and Heurodis’ relationship might be

91 Felicity Riddy states that there is a mirroring here between Heurodis’ abduction and Sir Orfeo’s self-exile in the reactions of those closest to them (Sir Orfeo for the former and his people in the latter). She then focuses on the grief that is displayed in both instances, saying, “In both instances there is less emphasis on the actual moment of parting than on the grief of those left behind” (7). This seems to define the lai overall as well as Sir Orfeo’s struggle with identity.

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considered an analogy for the kingdom itself (77). If Sir Orfeo is not willing to rescue his wife,

then he would not be willing to do the same for his kingdom and, as a result, is not worthy of

being king.92 He, however, views any such rescue of his wife as being impossible. As a result,

his rejection of kingship holds an equal place between duty and grief. In his grief, he cannot look

forward, and if he cannot look forward, then he cannot guide his kingdom into the future.

He forsakes his own identity and runs off to live in the woods as a beggar with only his

harp. The harp is the sole marker left of his identity that he cannot quite rid himself of despite his

attempt at ridding himself of all other remnants of his past identification. Even his clothes are

discarded as a symbol of who he once was in place of the nothing that he now views himself to

be. “He no hadde kirtel no hode, / Schert, ne no nother gode” (229-230). His appearance is no

longer that of King Orfeo or even Sir Orfeo; he is now the beggar, Orfeo. Similar to Heurodis’

reaction to the Fairy King’s threat, he turns towards the Symbolic for a way to translate his

current self. In trying to figure out who he is without Heurodis, he is trying to translate through

his own perceived fragmentation rather than acknowledging that he is a whole person without

her. Because of this, he is still bound by that fragmentation and comes back to the answer that he

is nothing without her. He then takes on the identity of a beggar who is, in many ways, a physical

embodiment of nothingness. His refusal to look back means that he is stuck in a perpetual,

passive state of mourning; in essence, he is making himself functionally blind to himself and to

Heurodis.

Capellanus claims that love cannot reach those who are blind, and Orfeo’s situation

cements this clearly (28). As long as he is allowing himself to be afraid of the backwards gaze,

his enemy and the reminder of what was, he cannot look forward. In Amy Louise Morgan’s

92 For more on the potential role that kingship plays, see Oren Falk’s, “The Son of Orfeo: Kingship and Compromise in a Middle English Romance.”

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examination of Orfeo and Heurodis as queer beings, she refers to the impact of this deep loss as a

madness that overtakes him (114). However, unlike Heurodis’ ‘hysterical’ madness seen after

her first encounter with the Fairy King, Orfeo’s madness is “quiet and very, very dangerous”

(Morgan 114). For Morgan, the best exploration into the sheer force of Orfeo’s grief as he deals

with this sudden loss comes from his initial reaction after Heurodis’ abduction.

The king into his chaumber is go,

And oft swoned opon the ston,

And made swiche diol and swiche mon

That neighe his liif was y-spent - (196-199)

Morgan pays particular attention to the word ‘swoned’ and the way this singular word helps to

identify the depths of what Orfeo is feeling. She calls on Barry Windeatt’s examination of how

swooning is distinguished from other typical reactions within Middle English literature, noting

the importance of its distinction. Swooning is distinguished “by being such an absolute response

that further ability to think and feel is temporarily overpowered” (Windeatt qtd. Morgan 132).

The sheer force of Orfeo’s grief is overpowering his ability to think and strategize to regain

Heurodis. Orfeo’s grief is what powers his fear of looking back and finding himself from outside

of his relation to her. However, the intensity of it as well as its chronic nature imply that his

grief is pathological.

Pathological Grief and Image Theory

In his 1984 study of his patients, Dr. George Gort outlines the difference between what

he views as normal mourning and pathological grief. Mourning, according to Gort, is “sadness

appropriate to a real loss” and is a necessary function of dealing with loss (915). The keyword

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that Gort focuses on to make this distinction is ‘appropriate.’ Everything within measure and

according to the degree of the loss. For someone who has lost their spouse, the mourning process

is particularly challenging because it is meant to help them unravel themselves from their lost

one (Gort 915). Gort takes it a step further by referring to it as freeing them from any lingering

ties. However, Orfeo does not want to start the process of grief work that comes with mourning a

loss, particularly since the loss that he is facing is multi-faceted. According to Gort, “Loss occurs

in many ways. There can be a real loss when a significant person is lost. Threatened losses are

situations where we deal with impending loss. Symbolic losses are the loss of an ideal, belief,

way of life, or country. Another major loss involves physical health” (915). First, Orfeo is facing

the loss of his wife, whom he expected to share the rest of his life with. While Heurodis is still

alive, she is functionally dead. If anything, her being dead might be considered preferable since it

can combat the grief surrounding her unknown fate. At least death is finite and unchanging.

However, because he ties himself to her so irrevocably, Sir Orfeo must die along with her, which

is why he must become a nameless beggar to dwell within the forest. If one half of him is dead,

then all of him must be dead.

In his grief, he attempts to revise recent events, allowing Orfeo to join Heurodis in a

metaphoric death. His mourning coincides with the stages of courtly love despite — or, rather,

because of — his rejection of the future; it mirrors what Tuchman calls “moans of approaching

death from unsatisfied desire” (67). He is faced with the impending loss of how he perceives

himself with the threat on the horizon showing that he can be whole without her. Then, there is

his symbolic loss, which directly follows his impending loss as he grapples with the loss of his

own identity as both king and husband. Finally, there is the loss of his physical health as the ten

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years within the forest weigh heavily on his visage.93 Orfeo does not possess the motivation to

do anything save for dwell within his grief and his own despair at what he has lost. A decade

passes by, and yet, he is no further in the mourning process than he was at the start.

Using pathological mourning as synonymous with pathological grief, Gort calls upon a

quote from Simons and Pardes’ examination of human behavior, stating, “In pathological

mourning ‘the individual has been unable to come to terms with the loss, either to acknowledge

it consciously, or to give up yearning for the person” (915). Orfeo remains in the same static

position and goes about the same static routine. He will eat what little the forest provides, play

his harp for the animals that might listen, sleep, and then allow the day to start over again (255-

280). He holds no real motivations towards anything and instead seeks to hold onto Heurodis by

not coming to terms with his past. His fear of acknowledging the truth of his fragmentation and

allowing his reality to be shattered is a common one amongst patients dealing with pathological

grief. Gort showcases this through an unidentified patient who, upon her mother’s death, felt as if

she could not speak about her loss out loud without “breaking into pieces” (915). He further

defines those dealing with chronic grief as often being faced with feelings such as guilt and self-

blame (916). Without psychiatric help, they are trapped in this cycle because they do not feel as

if they are allowed to move forward; if they do, they will — as in the case of Gort’s patient —

break. Orfeo attempted to keep the Fairy King from abducting Heurodis, including situating an

army around her, and yet he still could not save her from such a fate.94 If he views himself as

having failed her, the knowledge of this failure could be holding him back, and his refutation of

an identity without her is his penance.

93 “His here of his berd, blac and rowe, / To his girdel-stede was growe” (265-266) 94 “And Orfeo hath his armes y-nome, / And wele ten hundred knightes with him, /Ich y-armed, stout and grim”

(182-184).

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Orfeo’s body soon becomes a physical representation of this over the years as he deals

with starvation and a rough, unforgiving living environment. “Al his bodi was oway dwine / For

missays, and al to-chine95” (261-262). His body is beginning to dwindle away from what it once

was as new miseries are inflicted upon it, resulting in a drastically altered appearance. “His here

of his berd, blac and rowe, / To his girdel-stede was growe” (265-266). Through it all, his

relationship with grief never changes. If his disfigurement is seen as a rejection of all that he

once was, it becomes eerily reminiscent of Heurodis’ earlier self-mutilation. Caldwell states that

this could be an attempt to “share the same kind of altered state, a pseudo-death, in which his

wife dwells,” which is consistent with the way that Orfeo has been living — or barely living —

over the past decade. He wishes to suffer because he has lost Heurodis, yet it is this suffering that

allows him to stay within the traditional courtly love scene without her being within his sight.

Despite Capellanus’ argument that love cannot survive without sight, Orfeo’s love for

Heurodis has never faltered, even if it is his grief over their shared love that leaves him in this

passive state. He is intentionally holding onto his suffering in order to hold onto what he can of

her. “The emphasis on what Orfeo has given up and the harsh reality indicates his desire to

suffer” (Morgan 135). Morgan’s claim that Orfeo deliberately chooses this suffering rather than

it being forced upon him further showcases the deliberate decisions he is making despite those

decisions being based on a refusal to handle that grief. Everything in life is a series of decisions;

even surrendering yourself to grief is a decision, albeit often one that most have less control over

than anyone would like to admit. To better understand this fear of looking back and this inability

to move forward that Orfeo is facing after Heurodis’ abduction, it is important to understand

95 Caldwell translates “to-chine” to scarring and juxtaposes it with Heurodis’ own attempts at scarring her face, the signifier of her beauty.

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Orfeo’s decision-making throughout this. In particular, it is important to understand how his

grief is impacting it, which can be done through an examination of image theory.

In their article “Image Theory: Principles, Goals, and Plans in Decision Making,” Lee

Roy Beach and Terence R. Mitchell establish the idea of image theory as a decision-making

process based around the images presented to the individual and the information those images

might represent. There are two specific definitions that they call on in the beginning to set the

foundation for the way images interact within decision-making. First, they state that image

theory is “[a] descriptive theory of how decisions, usually personal decisions of more than

routine importance, are made by individual, unaided decision makers” (Beach and Mitchell 201).

Their definition makes it clear that image theory cannot be used for all decisions; rather, it can

only be used for important personal decisions made by a singular entity. Their second definition

situates images within the conversation, stating that image theory is “[a] descriptive theory of

decision-making… proposed in which decision makers represent information as images” (Beach

and Mitchell 201). While their proposal is an interesting one, the question might arise of its

importance in a discussion of Orfeo’s inability to pull himself out of his grief and his decision to

purposefully cling to it. Courtly love, the mirror stage, and the Hegelian dialectic are centered

around this idea of images forming a person. For courtly love, it is the image of the Lady for the

servant. For the mirror stage, it is the anticipated promise of a false totality provided by the

mirror’s reflection. For the Hegelian dialectic, it is the basis of identity found in the eyes of

another in order to find it within themselves. Images are a defining factor in different ways, and

when the three are combined, images become an integral part in understanding what is at stake as

well as the motivations themselves of the characters.

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Throughout the course of their research, Beach and Mitchell examine the way that a

person might use images to guide their decisions. They also clarify and expand on the various

mediums these images might be translated into, such as physical, visual, and abstract images.

Although their examination and discussion is primarily on the psychological effect of images it

in the real world, this does not mean it cannot be used to examine the decision-making process of

literary characters such as Orfeo. In fact, utilizing image theory to examine Orfeo’s inability to

move past loss — and, as a result, his fear of looking back and seeing nothing due to the

retroactivity of the mirror stage — allows us to better understand why when Orfeo succumbs to

loss, he also succumbs to passivity. Within image theory, there are four specific images that play

a role in the decision-making process. “One image consists of principles that recommend pursuit

of specific goals. A second image represents the future state of events that would result from

attainment of those goals. A third image consists of the plans that are being implemented in the

attempt to attain the goals. A fourth image represents the anticipated results of the plans” (Beach

and Mitchell 201). Each represents a different moment within this process and, as a result, are

directly linked to one another. Therefore, every moment in Orfeo’s decision-making process and

every image he bases it around has an impact on the next.

The first image is known as the self-image since the guiding principles behind the goals

that we set are dependent upon the self (Beach and Mitchell 202). What information does the

self-image represent, however? It is, quite simply, exactly how it sounds. It is what makes up the

self. More specifically, it “consists of the personal beliefs, basic values, morals, ethics, etc. that

one unquestioningly regards as self-evidently and imperatively desirable and true” (Beach and

Mitchell 202). As a result, the principles formed from the self that assist in the creation of goals

is also the primary force behind the governance of the actions one might take to achieve such

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goals. “Principles serve both to generate new goals and actions, and to audit externally

introduced potential goals and actions (called candidates) prior to their acceptance or rejection”

(Beach and Mitchell 202). In other words, the self-image sets the groundwork for all aspects of

decision-making. Why is this relevant to a discussion of Orfeo’s grief, however?

Once more, it all comes back to identity. Beach and Mitchell state that the goals within

the decision-making process can be concrete, such as “landing a job,” or abstract in the sense of

“something that can be progressed or improved” (202). The latter includes skills as well as

factors, such as self-confidence, that contribute to how you perceive yourself (202). They can

also be both since they are “desired states of being that are identifiable but transient,”96 which is

where Orfeo falls (Beach and Mitchell 202). Orfeo is suddenly faced with a fragmented self that

he does not recognize because he refuses to look back at who he once was before Heurodis. As a

result, this is where everything starts for Orfeo’s stagnant passivity.

For Orfeo, this first image can be represented by the aesthetic image of Heurodis herself.

It is the image of her and what she represents that sets all his future goals. When Heurodis is

taken, Orfeo loses sight of any goals he might have had. His self-image is distorted and since he

does not know who he is, does not recognize his own image, he cannot make any decisions that

lead him towards the future. He cannot look forward. Since she is the foundation of his goal

formation as the first image, he finds himself stuck in place. Returning to the issue of kingship,

he can no longer serve the kingdom without her guiding him. She was not only the root stock for

his own identification but also the model for him to rule the kingdom through. This is later

confirmed when seeing Heurodis in the woods for the first time since her abduction allows Orfeo

96 “Goals also can be a mix of these two — desired states of being that are identifiable but transient, such as being happy, being reasonable, feeling successful” (Beach and Mitchell 202).

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to fully reject the passivity he has been clinging. The sight of her grants him the foundation of a

new goal once more, though this will be explored in more detail shortly. Without Heurodis, he

has no motivation and, as a result, is essentially as lost and without agency as she herself is.

Beach and Mitchell refer to the second image as the trajectory image. As mentioned

before, this image focuses on what attainment of the goals from the first image might lead to and

is referred to as the “strategic blueprint for where one is going, the end one elects to pursue in

light of one’s self image, the landmarks one foresees along one’s idealized life course” (202). In

other words, while the first image showcases what sets the goals, the second image showcases

the potential promises of the future as the goals themselves. If the image of Heurodis is what first

situates Orfeo on the decision-making path, then it is the promise of the Lady and the scene of

courtly love that defines the second image. Heurodis has taken over the role of the mirror

apparatus through that initial aesthetic image that defines the path Orfeo wants to seek, and now

her position as the Lady within courtly love and the trials that must be met to reach for her must

be considered. The goal of every courtly love scene is the Lady, and for Orfeo, this is no

different. Heurodis inspires him from the start of their unmentioned courtship to reach for her

and enter the scene; the trajectory image in this case resembles the promise of the Lady within

the mirror’s reflection. She continues to be his goal, but as the Lady and the mirror apparatus,

she is also helping to guide him towards her. His “idealized life course” is one where he is with

her forevermore (Beach and Mitchell 202). He proves this in his initial reaction to the Fairy

King’s threat. Even after the loss of her and his inability to set forth to reclaim her, she remains

his object of desire. However, she loses her place as his goal since his self-image impacts his

goal creation, and since he finds himself to be nothing, he relegates himself to needing nothing

but solitude and suffering.

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It is here where we begin to note a disruption in the decision-making process due to his

grief. He wants to be happy and whole with the “identifiable but transient” goal that he is seeking

through Heurodis, but he is so overwhelmed by his grief that he cannot look forward any more

than he can risk looking backwards (Beach and Mitchell 202). However, if an image must be

considered amidst this breakdown, the woods might stand as the new trajectory image taking

over for the loss of the Lady. It represents a barrier between Orfeo and Heurodis that he does not

believe he can overcome. Morgan, when referencing a study by Corrinne Saunders in the book

The Forest of Medieval Romance, reinforces this theory. She states that forests and woods are

often used as a physical barrier within medieval romances between our world and “the

supernatural Otherworld that ‘exists neither above nor below ours, but rather in another parallel

reality’” (Morgan 35). The woods conceal him and his vision much in the way that grief might

cloud one’s perception of the world around them. In this way, the woods represent both a

physical and an abstract barrier for the way Orfeo’s decision-making process is breaking down

from his grief. It is also the end that he is choosing to elect in light of or, more specifically,

because of the self-image created from that initial aesthetic image of Heurodis.97 This poses the

question of how this can stand given the definition of a trajectory image as a blueprint for where

one wishes to go might arise. However, it can be easily resolved when Orfeo’s refusal to move

forward or backwards is considered once more.

He wishes to go nowhere, and the woods allow him to stay trapped in this in-between

state. Lewis Owen states that Orfeo “resigned himself to passive endurance” (251). He does not

wish to push forward or move backward. He just keeps existing in a liminal space between the

two worlds: the Otherworld and the mortal realm represented by his kingdom. He is trapped

97 “...the end one elects to pursue in light of one’s self image...” (Beach and Mitchell 202).

Eikost 109

between the Otherworld, which lays on one side of the woods, and the kingdom he has left

behind on the other side. As long as he wishes to prolong his grief, the very factor that is

inhibiting his ability to properly make decisions for the future, he is able to because of the cover

the woods give him.

He [Sir Orfeo] abandoned his kingdom and retired to the wilderness — not, it should be

observed, to search for his wife (as the Orpheus legend would lead us to expect) but

simply as a commemorative act in honour of the lost Heurodis, in honour of love. No

word suggests that he hoped to find her or even intended to look for her. And so long as

he remained passive, the faery world remained remote and mysterious; as we have just

seen, he could not understand it or enter it. (Owen 251)

The Otherworld — or faery world as Owen refers to it — is a seemingly impossible barrier to

overcome. Orfeo resigns himself to the fact that it simply cannot be and chooses this death of self

to honor his lost love in the only way that he feels is available to him. Without Heurodis as the

foundation of his goals and as the Lady helping him to map out a pathway to her, Orfeo would

prefer to exist outside of the known world than be a part of it. Therefore, the woods offer him the

perfect opportunity to fulfill his newfound ‘goal’ of passivity. It allows him both the concrete

and abstract idea of being lost in the woods so that he will not find anything or be found himself.

The third and fourth images are more easily addressed here since they are both in similar

positions in the wake of Orfeo’s inability to deal with his loss. Much like the first two images,

they hold a direct impact on one another and cannot be viewed separately but, rather, as a series

of events. The third image, known as the action image, represents the specific plans in place that

are meant to propel the decision maker towards achieving their goals (Beach and Mitchell 202).

This is the active portion that Orfeo is unable to meet at present, though a shift will be seen here

Eikost 110

shortly. They are “the activities that one foresees as being involved in ‘trying to’ that constitute

the plan” (Beach and Mitchell 203). The action image is made up of two parts: the plan and the

tactics. If the plan is the idea, such as actively trying to regain Heurodis, then the secondary part

to it that supplies the steps towards this is tactics, such as searching for her. However, once more,

Orfeo’s failure at holding onto a self-image continues to impact him even here.

His fear of understanding who he is apart from Heurodis so that he can better understand

how to move forward — either towards her or away from her into a new life — is continuing to

get in the way. As long as he remains in this state, regaining her is impossible. “When a new goal

is adopted or when progress toward goal attainment is insufficient, a new plan must be adopted

for the action image. To be adopted a candidate plan must be both compatible with the self image

(not violate the decision maker’s principles) and offer promise for goal attainment” (Beach and

Mitchell 204). While this is Orfeo’s current problem, a new plan cannot be adopted because it

would violate the principles he has chosen to live by: a life of nothingness. Once more, this is a

metaphoric death of his own self to match the loss of Heurodis. The third image is, as a result, a

blank slate for him at present. Regaining Heurodis cannot be his plan since, in his grief, he has

resigned himself to the permanent loss of her. He does not want to search and risk seeing more

than he wants to. As a result, he cannot actively search for her either. In other words, grief’s

disruption of his decision-making process leaves him stuck in this moment. The fourth and final

image is left in a similar state because of this.

The fourth and final image — the projected image — is, much like the trajectory image,

focused on future events. However, unlike the trajectory image, it centers around the adoption

and rejection of plans in order to reach the goal by examining the possible events they can cause

(Beach and Mitchell 204). “This anticipation, the projected image, is compared with the

Eikost 111

trajectory image’s goals to see if the latter reasonably might be achieved if one adopts the plan

in question, or if one continues with one’s current plan” (204). It once more comes back to the

incompatibility of the images set before Orfeo. Particularly, an incompatibility between the

trajectory and projected images since this implies an ineffective plan, requiring introspection to

trace one’s steps back to create a new pathway towards one’s goals.98 Introspection remains

impossible for Orfeo so long as he refuses to look back and risk the chance of finding himself

from outside of Heurodis. Orfeo taking a step back would also put him firmly back in the realm

of his kingdom and into an identity that came from before her. However, this incompatibility is

soon fixed upon his silent reunion with Heurodis in the woods.

Sir Orfeo’s Reunification of Self

It is the breaking of his vow to never see another woman again for the rest of his life that

ultimately guides Orfeo out of his grief and into a more active role within the lai once more. The

first woman that he sees is not Heurodis. Instead, it is the multitude of women that come riding

through the woods — “sexti levedis on hors ride” — that first draws his attention and allows

him to find his lost wife among their host (304). Within his article, Owen focuses on this specific

moment to showcase how Orfeo’s passivity worked against him until this moment when he

decided to act rather than just exist. He points out that the violation of Orfeo’s vow comes first

before he ever lays eyes on Heurodis again. “Suffering,” Owen says, “was important but it was

98 For more information, see “Image Theory: Principles, Goals, and Plans in Decision Making” by Lee Roy Beach and Terence R. Mitchell in its entirety. When continuing past this current stage, there are more elements to the decision-making process — such as adoption and progress decisions as well as evaluative criteria for the compatibility overall — but they are irrelevant to the discussion of Orfeo due to the disruption in his decision-making process.

Eikost 112

not enough; it would not in itself win back Heurodis” (251). In accordance with courtly love, the

servant must brave the trials set before him.

Orfeo’s grief and refusal to reclaim his identity left him unable to set forth before this

moment. However, he now actively decides to break his vow and join the ladies he has seen

riding through the woods. Why is Orfeo able to push himself to act here when he could not

before? After all, he has yet to see Heurodis, so she cannot be considered a motivator at this

time. This also is not the first time that the Fairy King’s people have passed through the woods

with Orfeo noting their periodic passage though he never desires to figure out where they come

from or where they return to (281-302). Therefore, there must be something particular within this

scene that has not existed since her abduction.

In short, he allows himself to long for something more in this moment than the life he has

been living thus far. Because he happens upon the sight of the ladies with their falcons, he begins

to feel nostalgic regarding falconry and hunting as the falcons take their prey from the water.

“"Parfay!" quath he, "ther is fair game; / Thider ichil, bi Godes name; / Ich was y-won swiche

werk to se!"” (315-317). This nostalgia for an old life that he has so far rejected convinces him to

approach the ladies despite his vow. It is a break from the cycle he has been trapped within for

the past decade as he allows himself to stray from his isolation, even if the intention may have

been only momentarily with a planned return to isolation. Owen likens Orfeo’s decision to act as

the gradual dissolvement of an unseen enchantment that reacts “in proportion to Orfeo’s growing

firmness of spirit” (251). Despite being afraid of moving forward due to what it might reveal that

is unseen behind him, Orfeo takes that first baby step forward. As a result, he is rewarded with

the sight of Heurodis.

Eikost 113

Owen’s claim that Orfeo’s vow and his actions thereafter acted as an initial response to

the loss of Heurodis becomes integral to understanding the mental barrier that Orfeo

unknowingly overcomes by taking this first step (251). He states that Orfeo centered his life

around “renunciation, withdrawal, ascetic self-denial” (251). As a result, the help Orfeo needed

to move forward came from within rather than from without, which allows him to shift back into

the proper grieving process and towards what Gort refers to as “grief work” where he can begin

to properly address his own loss99 (915). Just as suddenly as his grief work starts, it also ends

since a solution to it is quickly found when he finds Heurodis among the ladies.

Their eyes meet in this moment with Orfeo recognizing his wife and Heurodis

recognizing her husband, thrusting them once more into the mirror stage. With this reunion

within the mirror stage, the impossibility of avoiding the image of her and what she represents

for Orfeo is returned to him. Her image crafts a position within the Real as the fantasy and ideal

of her is also returned. The past and future are no longer things to fear but, rather, barriers to

overcome. It is notable that there is no speech in this moment, which is why they can reenter the

scene of courtly love and, through it, the mirror stage. “Yern he biheld hir, and sche him eke, /

Ac noither to other a word no speke” (323-324). The Imaginary, where the mirror stage dwells,

exists outside of language and speech. If a single word passed between them in this moment, it

would jar them out of the mirror stage and force them into the real, but for these brief seconds of

time, they are able to find who they are through one another once more.

They reorient themselves around one another in this moment, but they do not reenter the

stage as they once were despite resuming their prior positions as subject/servant and mirror

apparatus/Lady. They have both been changed by their own experiences throughout the past

99 “The treatment of pathological grief follows the same principles as those for the treatment of grief. The bereaved person must be helped to overcome the blocks that have interfered with the grieving process” (Gort 924).

Eikost 114

decade and none more than Orfeo himself. His renunciation of his identity is borne in his flesh,

and as the two recognize themselves within one another once more, Heurodis is moved by

Orfeo’s suffering. “For messais that sche on him seighe, / That had ben so riche and so heighe, /

The teres fel out of her eighe” (325-327). A tear falls from Heurodis’ eyes at the change that she

can see in Orfeo from his suffering as she juxtaposes this fallen image with the one she

remembers of a lord “so heighe” (326). Orfeo is no longer who he once was.

Although Heurodis is not described as having outwardly changed, it can be assumed that

she has experienced some manner of inward change throughout the decade as she adjusted to life

as the Fairy King’s prisoner. Yet, even though they both have changed, they can still find

themselves within one another, causing that desire from before to once more form. The other

ladies must step in at this moment to whisk Heurodis away; otherwise, they fear she will never

leave Orfeo’s side again. “The other levedis this y-seighe / And maked hir oway to ride - / Sche

most with him no lenger abide” (328-330). However, the damage has already been done.

Heurodis has once more filled Orfeo’s sight and taken over the role of the mirror apparatus,

allowing him to find a pathway to her, both literally and metaphorically.

With Heurodis acting as a guide for him again, Orfeo — now donning the identity of Sir

Orfeo once more although his countenance is still that of a beggar’s — can overcome what

Orpheus could not. While there is still that anxiety in looking back, he has found salvation in

confronting what lays behind him in order to push forward to reach for his Lady once more. He

knows that he will need all of him in order to rescue her, but he can only accept what was behind

him to move forward once Heurodis has returned to his sight. With her once more in the scene

with him, he no longer has to fear finding an identity outside of her. It no longer matters if his

past were to reveal otherwise once he shifts through the retroactivity of the mirror stage. The

Eikost 115

very moment of reentering the mirror stage with her allowed this second entrance to retroactively

reclaim the past for both of them. In essence, the promise of Heurodis allows him to overcome

the threat of his loss and grief while also allowing him to keep his identity centered around her.

No longer is he afraid of the mirror stage’s retroactivity being revealed and the truth of

the possible nothingness behind him being confirmed since she is now within his reach. His

identity can become whole once more through her reclamation. Heurodis plays an integral role in

her own reclamation as well. Recalling Heurodis’ own mutilation and disfigurement before the

Fairy King stole her away, Caldwell claims that “Heurodis’s fidelity and compassion became the

model of Orfeo’s own behavior. The king mirrors the actions and attitudes of his wife, the image

of marital and political fidelity.” Sir Orfeo is only able to be Sir Orfeo with his wife’s guidance.

The fact that Caldwell refers to it as a mirroring is also essential. Sir Orfeo is viewing what is

within the mirror — that promise of wholeness that he lost without Heurodis but that he stands to

regain now that she is facilitating the relationship once more — and allowing his anticipation of

what he sees there to alter his actions and attitudes.

In many ways, despite the images found in the mirror stage being illusory, Sir Orfeo is

using them to teach himself how to act. He sees what he is anticipating, but rather than just

waiting for it to happen and allowing that to color his perceptions of the world, he focuses on the

idea of attainment. Much like with Orpheus, the backwards gaze is his enemy; however, unlike

with Orpheus,100 it is an enemy he can overcome by resituating his gaze forward onto the still

living Heurodis. Since Sir Orfeo can look forward now, the action and projected images shift to

100 Clark argues that Orpheus can reach the Underworld swiftly because of the rashness of his love, but it is because of that rashness that he gives in to the urge to look back. She contrasts this with Sir Orfeo, who she argues has a continuing faith in his wife despite their separation, and states that his love is steadfast (77). I agree that Sir Orfeo’s love for Heurodis is steadfast, but this is also what holds him back. He does not have faith in regaining his wife; rather, he has resigned himself to the impossibility of it. Yet, he desires to remain faithful to her memory, and in doing so, he rejects any other possible identity outside of her.

Eikost 116

showcase his ability to form goals and work around them. Immediately upon Heurodis’ being

whisked away by the other ladies, Sir Orfeo bemoans the situation. He does not give into the

paralyzing power of grief this time, though. The sight of his wife spurs him to tackle what he

viewed to be the impossible. “Whiderso this levedis ride, / The selve way ichil streche - / Of liif

no deth me no reche” (340-342). Whether he lives or dies does not matter so long as he at least

tries to rescue his beloved. This was a thought process that he could not work through without

Heurodis in his sight, but the long years of suffering and the initial step forward he made on his

own grant him the ability to once more push through. Because Heurodis is now in her role of

mirror apparatus to facilitate their relationship, she is the pathway into the Otherworld and, as a

result, to herself as she once was.

Sir Orfeo can follow her and find his way into the Otherworld because he is no longer

blindly staying in place. Just by looking forward and following the path Heurodis has set, he is

able to find it. This journey into the Otherworld is also integral for Sir Orfeo’s reclamation of his

old identity. According to Clark, the use of the Otherworld within Celtic tales was often to

establish the worth of a true king (76). Sir Orfeo refused his kingship previously upon the loss of

his wife because he would not entertain the idea of an identity not tied to her; as already

discussed, this was also likely penance for him. If he could not protect his wife, he could not

protect his kingdom. However, he is now able to rescue his wife, which creates a pathway to

regaining his kingship as well. After all, according to Clark, “[a] journey to the Otherworld can

be in itself a testing of kingship” (76). Sir Orfeo soon realizes that the problem is less in finding

the Otherworld and more in leaving it with Heurodis.

The journey into the Otherworld is surprisingly simple for Sir Orfeo who faces no real

barrier in reaching it now that he is actually looking rather than being afraid of what he might

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see. Unlike the dark Underworld that his namesake Orpheus journeyed into, the Otherworld of

“Sir Orfeo” is deceptively bright.101 In fact, a literal darkness seems to be an impossibility within

the Otherworld.

Al that lond was ever light,

For when it schuld be therk and night,

The riche stones light gonne

As bright as doth at none the sonne. (369-372)

However, this is soon contrasted with a more gruesome sight. Sir Orfeo’s journey leads him to

seeing others whom the Fairy King has abducted over the years. Some, like Heurodis, are

sleeping peacefully beneath a tree and seemingly in one piece. Others are exceedingly mutilated

to the point of having numerous wounds, missing limbs, and missing a head (though still living)

with some having clearly been drowned or burned multiple times (390-408). It seems to be a

dichotomy between those who obeyed (as Heurodis did by journeying back to the tree even with

Sir Orfeo’s army accompanying her) and those who did not, who then had to be taken more

violently.

Williams explores this possibility as well throughout her article. She claims that

something darker seems to be hidden by the beauty and wonder of the fairies since they do not

operate under the same morality102 that humans do (538). There also appears to be a mirroring

between the fairies and humans that matches the mirroring of the Otherworld103 as a dreamlike

101 For more on the fairy realm itself and what it can represent, see Julian Goodare’s “Boundaries of the Fairy Realm in Scotland.”

102 In her article, Williams also explores the possible relationship between magic and morality, making it an interesting read to further understand the nature of the beings that Sir Orfeo is dealing with here at the lai's climax.

103 The very name of it, the Otherworld, must be addressed as well. The name itself implies an alternate world to our own. Those who dwell within it, then, are further othered since they are not what we might expect from humans.

Eikost 118

realm — first situated through Heurodis’ visit there within her dream — and the human realm as

a physical one. While the horror of Orpheus’ Underworld could be relegated to the fear of loss

itself, this Otherworld’s horror can be considered the fear of the unknown. However, the primary

similarity between the two remains centered around the ease of entering and the near

impossibility of leaving. The real trial that Sir Orfeo must now meet is not as simple as stealing

Heurodis back from the Fairy King; it is being allowed to leave the Otherworld with Heurodis at

his side.

The key to rescuing Heurodis is what damned her in the first place: the aesthetics of an

image being presented. While aesthetics have largely remained in the background until this

point, they require a closer look when considering Sir Orfeo’s quest to win his wife back from

the Fairy King. Williams makes the argument that the Fairy King’s abduction of Heurodis was

more for the aesthetic image of her rather than a physical or spiritual desire (547). He did not

seek to desire her; rather, he sought to own. Any perceived desire for her is empty. To the Fairy

King, her image is just one that is aesthetically pleasing. On the other hand, for Sir Orfeo, her

image is only one facet of the woman he claims as his other half.

Juxtaposed alongside Williams’ further argument for the gallery of abducted humans

being a “museum of human suffering” formed due to the Fairy King’s fascination with visual

appearances, this crafts a better understanding of the events that will soon follow (547). The

Fairy King has no interest in Heurodis as anything more than a piece of his collection.104 His

interest in Heurodis can be argued to be like Dante’s interest in Beatrice within the Vita Nuova.

The Fairy King wants Heurodis for what she represents rather than who she is. Much like

Rather, the fairies are displayed as apathetic and contrary creatures who act upon their wants without regard to others whereas humans are supposed to behave with a bit more morality.

104 Clark asserts that there is no way to truly understand the motivations of the fairies because of their otherness (72).

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Beatrice initially was, the Fairy King views her as “emptied of all substance” because it is her

aesthetic that matters rather than Heurodis herself (“Courtly love as anamorphosis” 149). If the

overall aesthetic image is truly what the Fairy King is focused on, his revulsion at Sir Orfeo’s

request to take her becomes understandable to the reader.

Now that he has regained his prior identity and been changed by his more recent

experiences, Sir Orfeo utilizes both to trick the Fairy King into giving Heurodis to him. When

the Fairy King first rejects his appearance within the aesthetic he has created through his court,

Sir Orfeo uses his appearance to his advantage, claiming to be a poor minstrel who merely

wishes for the chance to play his harp for him (430-434). The minstrel disguise is one that is

common within folklore and literature.105 “...[B]y disguising as a wandering minstrel or even a

beggar minstrel, the hero could become in some measure invisible, while still ensuring his

admittance to the innermost circles” (Schultz 6). However, it is important to note that this both is

and is not a disguise considering Sir Orfeo’s proficiency with the harp. He is using this facet of

his identity, shielded by a partial truth, and his current appearance, a showcasing of his suffering,

to conceal his true goal.

With Heurodis in his sights once more, the horror of his appearance becomes evidence of

his love and dedication to her since he has suffered for his love as the servant must do within

courtly love. Without waiting for further permission, Sir Orfeo begins to play his harp and

enthralls the Fairy King easily through his music. “The minstrel's art is at once subject to the

forces of change and capable of compelling change — as all art can be both the fragile victim of

and the potent victor over the dissolution wrought by reality upon illusion or by things upon the

appearance of things” (Longsworth 6). The Fairy King, enthralled by the music, promises Sir

105 For more on this, see Jerrianne Schultz’s dissertation, Creativity, the Trickster, and the Cunning Harper King: A Study of the Minstrel Disguise Entrance Trick in “King Horn” and “Sir Orfeo.”

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Orfeo whatever he wishes; predictably, Sir Orfeo requests Heurodis as his prize. However, he

purposefully does not mention that Heurodis is his stolen wife.

Sir Orfeo abides by rules like others within the courtly love tradition by keeping his

relation to Heurodis secret. Capellanus claims that “when made public love rarely endures,” and

Sir Orfeo is not going to take that risk (185). Instead, he keeps his relation a secret so that he

might earn the Fairy King’s favor. Now that he is active once more, Sir Orfeo continues to fall in

line with the expectations of courtly love, fitting within Tuchman’s final stage of “endless

adventures and subterfuges to a tragic denouement” (67). However, tragedy already struck once;

Sir Orfeo is not going to let it happen again and uses this subterfuge to avoid it. He has carefully

planned out this moment and has taken his future into his own hands. Since the ways of the

fairies are foreign to him, he does not want to risk the Fairy King going back on his word if he

were to find out that Sir Orfeo has planned this encounter.

Through this careful omission, Sir Orfeo’s shows that that he can appropriately work

through the process of decision-making once more. Regaining Heurodis is still his plan, but that

elusive and blank image for tactics has now been filled by his harp, acting as a tool to regain

Heurodis as long as he approaches the situation carefully. “...every event leading to the final

recovery of Heurodis seems to result from a decision by Orfeo to confront or defy the faery

world” (Owen 253n8). It is important to note, as Owen does at the end of his article, that Sir

Orfeo is able to win back his wife here at the end not because of divine mercy or pity but, rather,

his own cunning and intelligence (253n8). What he had lacked before was merely motivation,

and Heurodis’ return to his sight was the kick that he needed to resituate himself. However,

taking it a step further, it is music that allows Sir Orfeo to reclaim his wife rather than his

kingship or his marital relation to her.

Eikost 121

It is art itself that assists in crafting a pathway to the Lady, although Heurodis still plays

an integral role in this facilitation.106 To reclaim Heurodis, Sir Orfeo is forced to look back at

who he was before she came into his life. With or without Heurodis, he was always a harper.

Even her loss did not dispel this singular facet of his identity although it disallowed all others. It

is this central part of him, one that is removed from Heurodis, that allows him to gain the Fairy

King’s favor. However, although it is removed from Heurodis, this does not mean it is entirely

separate from her. Heurodis’ facilitation of the scene allows Sir Orfeo’s love for her to return her

to the role of his muse. It is his love for her that inspires him to play in this moment, and it is this

demonstration of it that allows him to hold fast against the fear of being without her since as long

as he can play the harp, he can call upon his love for her.

The Fairy King is immediately repulsed at the idea of fulfilling his word and giving

Heurodis to Sir Orfeo due to his appearance and has no reservations in telling him so. The Fairy

King calls to attention Sir Orfeo’s haggard and loathsome appearance and compares it to that of

Heurodis’ continuing beauty107 and charm before declaring that, “[a] lothlich thing it were,

forthi, / To sen hir in thi compayni” (461-462). The Fairy King does not care if he loses Heurodis

to another because she was merely an emptied aesthetic he wished to possess; no, his true horror

is the idea of her beauty being in the company of someone with Sir Orfeo’s loathly

106 Longsworth argues that “Sir Orfeo” stands as a work of art that is about art itself. Given the fact that love and art were often inseparable in courtly love literature, I believe that Sir Orfeo’s love for his wife is an art form in and of itself, and Longsworth’s discussion of the contradictory nature of the art presented in the text seems to support this.

107 In her examination of “Sir Orfeo,” Morgan examines at one point the peculiarity mentioned here regarding Heurodis’ appearance. Realistically, she should have had some measure of scarring from his self-mutilation, yet it is implied that she looks as fair as she did before her first encounter with the Fairy King. Morgan argues that this might be representative of a liminality that Heurodis herself now possesses in the wake of a prior symbolic death; I agree since this — and the rest of her argument — showcases that Heurodis is as changed by her experiences as her husband is (147).

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appearance.108 The Fairy King attempts to deny Sir Orfeo’s request, but the mortal swiftly

reminds him that he gave him his word. “Yete were it a wele fouler thing / To here a lesing of thi

mouthe!” (464-465). The admonishment leads to the Fairy King keeping to his word,109 and he

allows them to leave the Otherworld.

After overcoming his fear of the backwards gaze and reclaiming Heurodis, Sir Orfeo is

once more worthy of being king. He returns with her to his kingdom, but while he has earned the

right to be king again, he cannot take on the identity of it until he has cemented his place

amongst his lords. However, he cannot take Heurodis with him to the palace just yet. He has

already reformed his identity around her, and this reformation of his old self along with his

recent years of suffering allows him to see himself apart from her without the actual risk of

losing her as he had feared in the years after her abduction. This is a task he must take upon

himself as the final marker of his identity, so he leaves her nearby while he ventures into his old

city. Because of his changed appearance, he is still utterly unrecognizable to his people. “Hou

long the here hongeth him opan! / Lo! Hou his berd hongeth to his kne! /He is y-clongen also a

tre!” (506-508). Even now, Sir Orfeo is still a spectacle. Much like his encounter with the Fairy

King, he embraces it as another facet of himself and meets with the lords and his old steward in

the guise of exactly what they see: a poor minstrel.

108 Williams states that the Fairy King sees the two together as a horrifying spectacle since Sir Orfeo, at this time, resembles more the mutilated members of the court rather than those forever preserved like Heurodis (547).

109 The exact reason why the Fairy King must keep to his word is left for debate. Williams ties it back to the aesthetic once more, claiming that going back on one’s word was more unsightly than his union with Heurodis (548). She also hints at a possible tie between magic and chivalry that helps to set the scene and make the Fairy King honorbound to keep his word (547). However, in most literature surrounding the fey (fairies), there are two commonalities that pop up regarding them: 1) they cannot lie and 2) they are bound by their word. It is impossible to know if the unknown poet of “Sir Orfeo” was merely drawing on these fey beliefs or if something more was intended, although I am of the inclination that they are not mutually exclusive and could, in fact, both have a place within the lai.

Eikost 123

Because of this new aspect of his identity, he can test the steward’s faithfulness. He

claims that Sir Orfeo is long since dead and watches for the steward’s reaction, which does not

disappoint. He swoons in his grief, lamenting the loss of his lord, and it is only here that Sir

Orfeo can reveal the not quite deception he has been playing at (530-555). It is not quite a

deception though because the Sir Orfeo that the steward knew years before did die; the one in

front of him has been greatly changed by hardship, loss, and redemption. When finally revealing

himself, Sir Orfeo references all the markers of his identity. Notably, he claims his suffering and

his reclamation of Heurodis as part of it. These final markers are what created a pathway for him

back to kingship and his old life.

Conclusion

“Sir Orfeo” is less a lai about regaining a lost love — although that certainly plays an

integral part of it — and more about the constant struggle with identity that is born out of the

mirror stage. It has all of the makings of a tragedy but ends on a happier note, yet the character

of Sir Orfeo himself is embroiled in tragedy to the very end of the lai. Perhaps Clark put it best:

“Instead of the tragic gloom of the classical story, we have a happy ending. But the brightness is

frightening” (72). While Clark’s main point of focus with this claim was fairy enchantment, it

reiterates that despite the happy ending, everything cannot be the way it once was because Sir

Orfeo and Heurodis have both changed. Throughout the course of the lai, Sir Orfeo struggled

with accepting an identity outside of one that is forever linked to Heurodis, which manifested

itself as a fear of the backwards gaze and, through it, an inability to cope with his grief.

The grieving process is not the same for anyone, but the point of the process is to build

the strength to move forward with life even if that grief always stays with you. Yet, Sir Orfeo’s

Eikost 124

refusal to allow the grieving process to work, preferring to stay in the midst of his grief, is a

result of that very same love that is causing him to grieve so strongly in the first place. Through

using the mirror stage as the foundation for how his love for Heurodis has deeply affected him to

reach this point of refusing all identity, it becomes clear that he knows this idea of wholeness is

an illusion, but he views his love for her as making up for that. Once image theory comes into

play, this need for the illusion is clarified as a result of the immense grief Sir Orfeo does not have

the strength to tackle. The resulting fixation on the possible emptiness behind him heightens this

struggle with identifying one’s self when identity has become something that should be feared

rather than claimed.

Because of this pathological grief, his decision-making processes are disrupted, and

without outside assistance, he is too deep within his own pain and loss to deal with it in a healthy

manner. facilitator to his identity as husband and king. However, as with everything in life, the

first step must come from within the person in question. It is only once he has taken the first step

towards meeting this loss — his desire to follow the ladies within the woods that is less about the

ladies themselves and more about his need for human interaction — that he is able to handle his

grief and move forward. By taking that small step for himself rather than for Heurodis, he is able

to reach her once more, and seeing her gives him the strength to fully push through his grief and

into action instead. This change in perception causes the mirror stage to no longer be his enemy

since it is no longer showing him a believed to be lost anticipated image that he could not fight

for out of the fear of what it might reveal. Rather, it has once more become an ally in his own

identification as Heurodis once more takes over as the mirror apparatus and facilitates a pathway

to herself, even if she does not realize that Sir Orfeo’s own grief had been acting as a barrier

before this moment. The lai, then, takes on a different meaning in light of this. It becomes

Eikost 125

centered around a journey of self-discovery through the pain of loss. While Sir Orfeo is content

to retake his identity only when regaining Heurodis becomes a true possibility, this does not

mean he has not been changed. Sir Orfeo is not who he once was and his journey towards finding

Heurodis has become synonymous with finding himself.

Eikost 126

CONCLUSION

…courtly love is a doctrine of paradoxes, a love at once illicit and morally elevating, passionate

and disciplined, humiliating and exalting, human and transcendent.

— The Meaning of Courtly Love, Francis X. Newman, vii

If courtly love is a paradox, much like the desire that Camille describes, then any identity

formed from it is equally paradoxical. Identity is a fluid concept that is constantly changing, but

when one’s identity becomes the foundation for another’s, comparison is inevitable. The servant

can only be the servant if there is the Lady he wishes to worship and desire from afar; the Lady

can only be the Lady if there is the servant to worship and desire her. Although the servant can

form an identity outside of the Lady due to the Hegelian master-slave dialectic, the servant

identity itself is tied to this exchange. Arguably, the Lady cannot form an identity of her own

outside of this because of a dependence on the servant to identify her as such, but this does not

feel as if it is an indisputable fact. Perhaps, much like the servant, there is an identity to be found

outside of this exchange. It would never be as the Lady, the servant and Lady identities are tied

to the courtly love dialectic, but if she is able to possess a sense of self outside of the servant,

what would that mean for the way scholars perceive the dynamic between the two?

It suggests that there is additional room for examination of the Lady’s role and identity

within these texts. Although this thesis has not reclaimed the Lady, it sets the foundation for her

own reclamation where she might exist as an entity both for and outside of the poet. Her identity

is as important as the servant’s even when it is more obscured than her counterpart’s. After all,

his identification hinges on her as much as hers hinges on his. While her position in some texts is

within the margins, a prominent though sometimes silent figure, that does not mean she is empty.

Eikost 127

E. Jane Burns argues that even seemingly misogynistic examples of courtly love can still be

places of hidden power for female protagonists:

A number of courtly texts contain subtexts of women’s mastery that undermine

conventionally gendered terms of knowledge and wisdom. Others stage an important

tension between the display of female sexuality as a form of symbolic capital in the

aristocratic household and the function of women as authoritative literary patrons. (26)

The way women are portrayed within medieval texts, particularly the French texts that Burns

focuses on, is far more complex than scholars might assume at a first glance. As a result, it

would be irresponsible to dismiss them as impossible spaces for female power.

As mentioned within Chapter I, what use is she for the poet if there is nothing that

distinguishes her from other objects of desire? The poet is required to create a space for her to

justify his desire for her. For the poet, the inspiration that her image offers is what matters.

However, this does not mean that the Lady the poet writes of is empty. Like other literary

characters, she does not need to be based on a real woman like Dante bases his on Beatrice. The

poet might interject himself into the scene as a Sir Orfeo-esque character or he might write love

verses similar to Dante’s in the Vita Nuova. In short, the poet takes on the challenge of proving

why he wants to be the Lady’s servant; thus, the poet takes on the challenge of his own identity.

The purpose of this thesis has been to examine the role identity formation plays within

courtly love. As a result, I chose to focus on three specific texts where identity played a deeper

role within the narrative. However, it was also important to pick texts that examined identity in

different ways to ensure the full range of the mirror stage’s role could be understood.110 Dante’s

110 Other texts had been considered at length, such as Guillaume de Lorris and Jean de Meun’s Roman de la Rose, but the journey of the lover within it resembled Dante’s journey within the Commedia. As a result, it would not offer enough of a contrast to fully explore the role of identity formation through the mirror stage; however, it does offer another unique perspective at the allegorical use of personification within courtly love texts.

Eikost 128

quest to join the courtly love tradition and obtain recognition as the servant resulted in the Vita

Nuova and Commedia. Throughout the former, his attempts at justifying his position as the

servant are clear, causing his desire for that identification to stand out rather than his longing for

Beatrice. Even once this has been rectified within the latter, his own identification as both the

poet and the servant remains at the forefront. In many ways, Beatrice is a means to an end for

Dante; through her, he can position himself within a nobler tradition and craft an additional

nuance to his role as the poet. Beatrice, as a result, remains an abstract concept throughout both

works even once she is allowed to have her own identity.

Would this perspective of Beatrice be different if the Vita Nuova was excluded from this

examination? It might be. Beatrice would still be an abstract concept meant to represent

something else, the divinity of Heaven and God, but the way Dante positions himself in relation

to her would seem nobler, as he intends. After all, the Commedia is his rectification of his

missteps in creating the scene of courtly love in the Vita Nuova. When read together, Beatrice is

a symbol rather than the goal itself. It is only through reaching her within the Commedia, albeit

temporarily, that Dante can cement his identity as the servant and elevate his works. As a result,

an examination of Dante’s work with courtly love produces the question of the role of the poet.

“Sir Orfeo” offers a distinctive contrast to this since the poet himself is absent from the

text. The reader is faced with Sir Orfeo and Heurodis as literary characters rather than literary

representations of actual people. The poet is not attempting to project himself into the existing

canon surrounding courtly love literature; he is inconsequential to the story itself and remains a

distanced narrator. “Sir Orfeo” resembles a more traditional romance one might expect from a

courtly love text. The mirror stage’s work is evident earlier on, as are the consequences of it, due

Eikost 129

to their established relationship. Unlike with Dante and Beatrice, identification plays a key role

for both Sir Orfeo and Heurodis.

Instead of being an untouchable paragon, Heurodis possesses her own fears and desires.

Although Sir Orfeo’s grapple with identity is still at the forefront of the text, she is still given

space to examine and come to terms with her own. Because the goal of the text is less about

acquiring the servant identity and more about dealing with a disruption in identity caused by

grief, a deeper examination of the mirror stage is available. For Heurodis to be linked to Sir

Orfeo to the degree that he refuses any identity not attached to her, the Hegelian dialectic’s ties

to courtly love are shifted into a perception of the mirror stage as both a psychological

phenomenon as well as a potential literary tool. In such a position, it offers a better

understanding of how something as seemingly simple as love can vastly alter the way we

perceive ourselves — or, more specifically in Sir Orfeo’s case, the way we wish to perceive

ourselves. The contrast it presents to Dante’s works is startling. It further illustrates the question

of the poet that Dante introduces given the absence of the poet as a physical presence within the

text.

It troubles the identity of the poet as well. Although largely referred to in the masculine

throughout this thesis, the poet has been female as well. At times, the female poet plays a similar

role as Dante, inserting herself into the narrative and relation to her object of desire; in others,

she plays the role of “Sir Orfeo’s” unknown poet as the keeper of the story rather than the

subject. Understanding the role of identity formation within courtly love is key to understanding

the poet and the contradictory positions that can be taken through the role. Does our perception

of “Sir Orfeo” change if we consider the unknown poet to be a woman? Would our perception of

Dante shift if he were a woman? Our ability to perceive power within the margins might be

Eikost 130

limited by our assumptions of authorial intent. Objectively, the story would remain the same, so

what has been examined here would not change. The way the mirror stage has impacted their

identity would remain the same.

I do not ask this question to challenge these narratives but to instead draw attention to the

biases that are brought into these readings given the servant’s singular focus on the Lady and

drive to put himself (or herself) in relation to her. Challenging these preconceived notions allows

us to examine the way we are affected by the images presented in these texts, the way we

approach them, and how we ourselves craft our identities around this understanding. Returning

to Burns’ examination of the medieval French courtly love tradition, she states, “…courtly love

offers a number of amorous scenarios that represent gender in more unpredictable terms, staging

complex love relations that push productively against the boundaries and expectations of

normative heterosexuality” (27). The poet enters the Symbolic through their writing to treat their

desires. The exact nature of their desire, as seen through this thesis, is debatable.

In a sense, all writing is meant to satisfy a desire, even if satisfying desire is its own

paradox. Identity plays a crucial role in this because it assists in creation of the desire in

question. The servant and the Lady are a more focused example of this, as has been examined at

length throughout this thesis, because of their dependence on one another for those identities.

However, that does not mean the mirror stage is limited to courtly love. I began this thesis with a

statement about love at first sight because it is a trope that is still relevant in literature.

Fascination with it did not end with the poets who perpetuated the ideas of courtly love. As a

result, the framework that I created here is transferrable to other literary genres to better

understand how identity is constantly evolving. It should be noted, however, that I say genres

broadly rather than limiting it to romance. Although the goal of this thesis has been to examine it

Eikost 131

thusly, the mirror stage is about the assumption of images and how this impacts our identity.

These images are numerous, which has been hinted at through Lee Roy Beach and Terence R.

Mitchell’s examination of the impact that images have on the decision-making process. Images

are all around us, and every single one plays a role in how we identify, whether we realize it or

not.

As I became invested in the scholarly conversations surrounding this topic, one particular

quote began to plague me: “the work of the psychoanalyst is defined by one imperative: to

unmask the real” (Leclaire qtd. Labbie 15). I argue that this is the work of the literary theorist

and all literary criticism. Regardless of whether something is applicable to life outside of the

text, there is something to learn from every text that we can take into the reading of another. It

has been a guiding marker for me as I explored the need — or desire, if you will — to create a

framework that would allow for a deeper analysis of the why and how of the servant. However, it

is a goal that I think can never quite be finished. Because identity is always evolving, it stands to

reason that the servant’s is always in a state of flux. Sir Orfeo’s loss of Heurodis might showcase

this the clearest, but the death of Beatrice in the Vita Nuova does so as well. This constant state

of flux is also present within literature itself. There is always a gap between the writing, reading,

and understanding of a text. Much like the poet, the literary theorist must take on this challenge

of lack through their writing. It is only then that a glimpse of the real can be achieved.

Eikost 132

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