The Chronicles of Enguerrand de Monstrelet, Vol. 03 [of 13] — Background and Themes

Rhetoric as Political Action

The ambassador's speech in Chapter XXII is a set-piece of late medieval oratory. He takes his text from Psalm 33: "Oculi mei semper ad Dominum" (My eyes are always turned to the Lord), then invokes Plato on the duty of princes to obey their sovereign for the public welfare. The argument proceeds through three reasons why the princes resemble eyes: they should be "well placed and formed alike" to avoid disgrace; they have a full view over the body, like watchmen (citing Ezekiel); and the eye's circular form and sensitivity make it weep when any member is hurt (citing Jeremiah). This is not mere decoration—it is a bid to frame the rebels as loyal members, not enemies. Monstrelet records that the ambassador "harangued well in clear and good French," signaling that style and clarity were themselves political tools. The chronicler's decision to include the full harangue, rather than summarize it, suggests he valued such speeches as evidence of intent and argument.

The Texture of Diplomacy

Beyond the set speech, the chronicle is dense with the mechanics of negotiation. The excerpt notes that ambassadors "returned from their embassy" on Wednesday, July 12, and that their answer was "soon after considered in council." The king then ordered the dukes of Berry and Burgundy to go to Pontoise, while the opposing princes came to Vernon and sent their own ambassadors. This back-and-forth—the shuttling of envoys, the careful staging of meetings at neutral towns—is the stuff of Monstrelet's narrative. He records names, titles, and itineraries with precision: the bishop of Tournay, the grand master of Rhodes, lords d'Offemont and de la Viefville, master Peter de Marigny. Such detail gives the reader a sense of the bureaucratic and personal networks that underlay high politics. The chronicler's voice is matter-of-fact, rarely editorializing, yet the accumulation of names and places creates a textured record of how power was exercised through travel, talk, and written messages.

Voice and Translation in Johnes's Version

Thomas Johnes's 1810 translation renders Monstrelet's Middle French into a formal, slightly archaic English that mirrors the original's gravity. Phrases like "my very redoubted lords" and "the substance of what he said was as follows" maintain a ceremonial tone. Johnes also preserves the Latin quotations from the Vulgate, embedding them in the English text without translation—a choice that assumes a learned reader. The translator's preface and footnotes (not in this excerpt) likely explain his methods, but the text itself shows a commitment to fidelity over fluency. For modern readers, this creates a double distance: we encounter 15th-century events through an 18th-century lens. Yet the core rhetorical strategies—the body politic metaphor, the appeal to scripture—remain legible. Johnes's work is itself a historical artifact, reflecting Enlightenment antiquarianism and the desire to make medieval sources accessible to a British audience.

Recurring Patterns: Sieges, Oaths, and Shifting Alliances

The table of contents for this volume lists a series of military actions: "The siege of Domfront. The battle of St Remy du Plain. The siege of Bellesme." But the excerpt shows that alongside violence, the chronicle is preoccupied with oaths, treaties, and embassies. The chapter headings speak of "letters from the king of England," "a treaty concluded," and "the king of France orders his edict." This pattern—action followed by negotiation, broken by further action—structures Monstrelet's narrative. The excerpt from Chapter XXII is entirely about talk, not fighting. The ambassador's speech is an attempt to avert war by redefining the rebels as loyal eyes of the body. Yet the chronicle's title promises "cruel civil wars," and the reader knows that such peace efforts often failed. Monstrelet's method is to let the documents and speeches speak for themselves, leaving the irony implicit. The modern reader must attend to what is said and what is left unsaid—the fragility of these verbal constructs against the reality of armed conflict.

Readers approaching this volume should attend to the interplay between action and rhetoric. Monstrelet does not simply list battles; he embeds them in a web of diplomatic exchanges, formal speeches, and legal documents. The chronicle rewards those who read slowly, noting who speaks, in what style, and with what authorities. The translator's choices also shape the experience: Johnes's English preserves the period's formality but may obscure nuances of the original French. Comparing this volume with Froissart, whose work it continues, reveals shifts in chronicle style toward greater documentary inclusion. For students of medieval political culture, this is a rich source of how power was performed in words.

I thought of that odd, grave portrait of William Rufus while reading Monstrelet’s allegory of the princes as the body’s eyes. There’s a similar loneliness in how power looks outward, never inward. Both books feel like old, half-lit rooms where ambition speaks softly. I kept returning to Chronicles of England, Scotland and Ireland (2 of 6): England (02 of 12) William Rufus — Story, Setting & Ideas for that same scent of damp stone and stubborn silence. A quiet echo, nothing more.