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The Children's Crusade
“I’ve just read Marcel Schwob’s The Children’s Crusade twice over, with deep admiration and reverence. I am profoundly moved: what a work! And to think I’d never heard the name of Marcel Schwob. Who is he?”—Rainer Maria Rilke
Marcel Schwob’s 1896 novella The Children’s Crusade retells the medieval legend of the exodus of some 30,000 children from all countries to the Holy Land, who traveled to the shores of the sea, which instead of parting to allow them to march on to Jerusalem, instead delivered them to merchants who sold them into slavery in Tunisia or to a watery death. It is a cruel and sorrowful story mingling history and legend, which Schwob recounts through the voices of eight different protagonists: a goliard, a leper, Pope Innocent III, a cleric, a qalandar, and Pope Gregory IX, as well as two of the marching children, whose naïve faith eventually turns into growing fear and anguish.
Though it is a tale drawn from the early thirteenth century, Schwob presents it through a modern framework of shifting subjectivity and fragmented coherency, and its subject matter and its succession of different narrative perspectives has been seen as an influence on and precursor to such diverse works as Alfred Jarry’s The Other Alcestis, Ryūnosuke Akutagawa’s “In a Grove,” William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, and Jerzy Andrzejewski’s The Gates of Paradise. It is a tale told by many yet understood by few, a mosaic surrounding a void, describing a world in which innocence must perish.
Marcel Schwob’s 1896 novella The Children’s Crusade retells the medieval legend of the exodus of some 30,000 children from all countries to the Holy Land, who traveled to the shores of the sea, which instead of parting to allow them to march on to Jerusalem, instead delivered them to merchants who sold them into slavery in Tunisia or to a watery death. It is a cruel and sorrowful story mingling history and legend, which Schwob recounts through the voices of eight different protagonists: a goliard, a leper, Pope Innocent III, a cleric, a qalandar, and Pope Gregory IX, as well as two of the marching children, whose naïve faith eventually turns into growing fear and anguish.
Though it is a tale drawn from the early thirteenth century, Schwob presents it through a modern framework of shifting subjectivity and fragmented coherency, and its subject matter and its succession of different narrative perspectives has been seen as an influence on and precursor to such diverse works as Alfred Jarry’s The Other Alcestis, Ryūnosuke Akutagawa’s “In a Grove,” William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, and Jerzy Andrzejewski’s The Gates of Paradise. It is a tale told by many yet understood by few, a mosaic surrounding a void, describing a world in which innocence must perish.
56 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1896
About the author
Marcel Schwob
185 books182 followersMarcel Schwob (1867-1905) was one of the key symbolist writers, standing in French literature alongside such names as Stephane Mallarme, Octave Mirbeau, Andre Gide, Leon Bloy, Jules Renard, Remy de Gourmont, and Alfred Jarry. His best-known works are Double Heart (1891), The King In The Gold Mask (1892), and Imaginary Lives (1896).
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 80 reviews
December 30, 2022
The Children’s Crusade was an enigmatic and sinister occurrence that has taken place in the dark ages…
The tale is recounted by accidental witnesses and innocent participants. And the children march forward as if they are led by the Pied Piper… And even the Pope makes a comment…
Marcel Schwob tells his story in the language of tenebrous poetry and with the powerful words of doom…
“But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 19:14
And children suffered…
All these children seem to me to have no names, yet it is quite certain that they have the favour of Our Lord Jesus. They filled all the highway like a swarm of white bees. I know not whence they came. They were all small pilgrims. They carried staffs of hazelwood and birch. They had crosses on their shoulders and these crosses were of many colours. I saw some green ones which must have been made of leaves sewn together. These children are wild and ignorant. They are headed for I know not where. They believe in Jerusalem.
The tale is recounted by accidental witnesses and innocent participants. And the children march forward as if they are led by the Pied Piper… And even the Pope makes a comment…
Lord, let me speak to you in the formulas of religion. This children’s crusade is no work of piety. It will never win the sepulchre for the Christians. It but adds to the number of vagabonds who are astray on the fringe of the true faith. Our priests cannot defend it. We are forced to believe that the Evil One has possession of these poor creatures. They flock towards the precipice as the swine ran towards the steep place. Lord, Thou knowest how gladly the Evil One takes possession of children. Once he assumed the guise of a ratcatcher and seduced with his flute-notes all the little children of Hamelin. Some say these unfortunates were drowned in the river Weser. Others say he shut them up in the side of a mountain. It is to be feared that Satan is leading all our children into the toils of those who have not our faith.
Marcel Schwob tells his story in the language of tenebrous poetry and with the powerful words of doom…
We three – Nicolas, who cannot talk, and Alain and Denis – we are on our way to Jerusalem. We have been walking a long time. White voices called out to us in the night. They were calling all little children. They were like the voices of birds who died in the winter time.
“But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 19:14
And children suffered…
January 25, 2020
Di acqua e di sale
Storia e leggenda, 1212. Due spedizioni di bambini da Francia e Germania verso la città santa, Gerusalemme, passando per Genova, Marsiglia e Ancona: per quei piccoli viaggiatori ("Lasciate i piccoli venire a me”, Luca 18, 16) gli annalisti scrissero le parole del cambiamento: iter, peregrinatio, motio, commotio, migratio, immagini di collettività, movimenti di venti, nuvole, animali. Non avvenne alcun miracolo; soltanto schiavitù e pestilenza. Si scrive in questo scritto erudito di Schwob che San Giovanni si nutrì di cavallette nel deserto, che il lebbroso prova vergogna per le cose che le sue mani toccano, che tutte le cose sono bianche, che donne ignude non proferiscono parola, che molti folli annunciano la rovina, che chi prega non sa niente, niente. Per i bambini tutte le strade sono amiche, alla fine del mare azzurro è la città, la fede di essere salvati, loro, esercito di conchiglie, di stelle di mare, di voci e corpi che cercano asilo. E il testo si rivela passaggio. Tutti avevano compassione di noi. E infatti, non sanno dove andiamo e non hanno udito le voci”. Borges chiosa che la passione di riscattare Gerusalemme dominò le nazioni d'Occidente, non senza sbalordire, la loro stessa ragione. Esse non fallirono, semplicemente cessarono.
“Le parti del mondo sono tutte colpevoli in eguale maniera, quando non seguono la via della bontà; perché tutte procedono da Lui. Ai suoi occhi non vi sono né pietre, né piante, né animali, né uomini, ma cose create. Vedo tutte queste creste schiumanti che balzano sopra le tue onde, e che si confondono nella tua acqua; per un istante solo scaturiscono sotto il sole, e tuttavia possono essere dannate o elette. L'estrema vecchiaia ammaestra l'orgoglio e illumina la religione. Ho uguale compassione per questa conchiglia di madreperla e per me. Ecco perché ti accuso, mare divoratore, che hai inghiottito i miei bambini”.
Storia e leggenda, 1212. Due spedizioni di bambini da Francia e Germania verso la città santa, Gerusalemme, passando per Genova, Marsiglia e Ancona: per quei piccoli viaggiatori ("Lasciate i piccoli venire a me”, Luca 18, 16) gli annalisti scrissero le parole del cambiamento: iter, peregrinatio, motio, commotio, migratio, immagini di collettività, movimenti di venti, nuvole, animali. Non avvenne alcun miracolo; soltanto schiavitù e pestilenza. Si scrive in questo scritto erudito di Schwob che San Giovanni si nutrì di cavallette nel deserto, che il lebbroso prova vergogna per le cose che le sue mani toccano, che tutte le cose sono bianche, che donne ignude non proferiscono parola, che molti folli annunciano la rovina, che chi prega non sa niente, niente. Per i bambini tutte le strade sono amiche, alla fine del mare azzurro è la città, la fede di essere salvati, loro, esercito di conchiglie, di stelle di mare, di voci e corpi che cercano asilo. E il testo si rivela passaggio. Tutti avevano compassione di noi. E infatti, non sanno dove andiamo e non hanno udito le voci”. Borges chiosa che la passione di riscattare Gerusalemme dominò le nazioni d'Occidente, non senza sbalordire, la loro stessa ragione. Esse non fallirono, semplicemente cessarono.
“Le parti del mondo sono tutte colpevoli in eguale maniera, quando non seguono la via della bontà; perché tutte procedono da Lui. Ai suoi occhi non vi sono né pietre, né piante, né animali, né uomini, ma cose create. Vedo tutte queste creste schiumanti che balzano sopra le tue onde, e che si confondono nella tua acqua; per un istante solo scaturiscono sotto il sole, e tuttavia possono essere dannate o elette. L'estrema vecchiaia ammaestra l'orgoglio e illumina la religione. Ho uguale compassione per questa conchiglia di madreperla e per me. Ecco perché ti accuso, mare divoratore, che hai inghiottito i miei bambini”.
July 7, 2018
"Oh Mediterraneo! Io ti perdono e ti assolvo.
(...) E tu mi restituirai i corpi dei miei bambini, mare innocente e consacrato; li porterai verso le rive dell'isola, e i prebendari li deporranno nelle cripte del tempio; vi accenderanno sopra dei lumi eterni in cui bruceranno oli sacri, e mostreranno ai viaggiatori pii tutte quelle ossicine bianche distese al buio."
(...) E tu mi restituirai i corpi dei miei bambini, mare innocente e consacrato; li porterai verso le rive dell'isola, e i prebendari li deporranno nelle cripte del tempio; vi accenderanno sopra dei lumi eterni in cui bruceranno oli sacri, e mostreranno ai viaggiatori pii tutte quelle ossicine bianche distese al buio."
July 9, 2022
I like that Schwob applies dread with a very light touch, and that his speakers - almost all are out of their minds, or rather profoundly withdrawn into them - tell their tales with such beautiful clarity. It’s all very spooky. What’s also really effective is that the hermits, lepers and mendicants whose paths cross that of the seven thousand children marching in a betranced pilgrimage to annihilation, are themselves absolutely delirious with loneliness, suffering, or sanctity, and no less eloquent. The book is an atmosphere of quiet frenzy, of deliberate dreaming, in which only the powerless Pope seems worried, and the only people willing to intervene are the shipowners and slave traders who “end the madness” by making it serve their own.
They told us we would meet ogres and werewolves in the woods. Those were lies. No one has scared us; no one has hurt us. The lonely and the sick come out to watch us, and old women light lamps for us. They ring church bells for us. Peasants rise from their furrows to observe us. The beasts, too, watch us and never flee. And ever since we have been walking, the sun has grown hotter, and we no longer gather the same flowers. But all stems can be tressed in like form, and our crosses are always fresh. And we feel a great hope. And soon we shall see the blue sea. And at the end of the blue sea stands Jerusalem. And the Lord will let all the little children come to his tomb. And the white voices will be joyful in the night.
They told us we would meet ogres and werewolves in the woods. Those were lies. No one has scared us; no one has hurt us. The lonely and the sick come out to watch us, and old women light lamps for us. They ring church bells for us. Peasants rise from their furrows to observe us. The beasts, too, watch us and never flee. And ever since we have been walking, the sun has grown hotter, and we no longer gather the same flowers. But all stems can be tressed in like form, and our crosses are always fresh. And we feel a great hope. And soon we shall see the blue sea. And at the end of the blue sea stands Jerusalem. And the Lord will let all the little children come to his tomb. And the white voices will be joyful in the night.
October 4, 2022
Αντλώντας από έναν μεσαιωνικό θρύλο και με γλώσσα λιτή που πατάει στους νοητικούς κώδικες του Μεσαίωνα ο Schwob κάνει ένα συγκλονιστικό σχόλιο πάνω στην εύθραυστη αθωότητα των παιδιών, πάνω στην σκοτεινή σκληρότητα του κόσμου που τα περιβάλλει. Η υποβόσκουσα ένταση της σύντομης ιστορίας αντηχεί στον αναγνώστη πολύ μετά το τέλος της ανάγνωσης και σε καλεί να ξαναδιαβάσεις το κείμενο. Η "σταυροφορία των παιδιών" λειτουργεί ως ένα ιερό μαρτυρολόγιο κάθε καινούργια ανάγνωση του οποίου ανακαλεί την αρχική μυστική εμπειρία.
Το δεύτερο αφήγημα της συλλογής, "το ξύλινο αστέρι", επιλέχθηκε σοφά από τις εκδόσεις Ερατώ ως συνοδευτικο κείμενο αφού κατά βάθος πραγματευέται την ίδια θεματική. Εδω η αφήγηση πατάει πάνω στην δομή του παραμυθιού. Η έντονα φορτωμένη γλώσσα όμως δυσχαίρανε την δική μου τουλάχιστον ανάγνωση ενώ η δραματική λύση άφησε μια αίσθηση βιασύνης.
Η έκδοση με το σκληρό εξώφυλλο και την κουβερτούρα είναι χάρμα αισθήσεων.
Το δεύτερο αφήγημα της συλλογής, "το ξύλινο αστέρι", επιλέχθηκε σοφά από τις εκδόσεις Ερατώ ως συνοδευτικο κείμενο αφού κατά βάθος πραγματευέται την ίδια θεματική. Εδω η αφήγηση πατάει πάνω στην δομή του παραμυθιού. Η έντονα φορτωμένη γλώσσα όμως δυσχαίρανε την δική μου τουλάχιστον ανάγνωση ενώ η δραματική λύση άφησε μια αίσθηση βιασύνης.
Η έκδοση με το σκληρό εξώφυλλο και την κουβερτούρα είναι χάρμα αισθήσεων.
July 5, 2022
An absolutely gorgeous monograph of an historical occurrence so singularly spectral that Schwob’s elliptical summonings is the only possible way inside. Getting back out is your responsibility; that or your white Jerusalem waiting with its white God across that parting sea. Onward, soldiers.
April 20, 2021
I speak at random, for I am full of joy. I laugh at the Spring and at what I saw. My mind is not very strong.
I am like a locust, for I hop hither and thither and I buzz, and at times I spread my colored wings, and my frail head is transparent and empty.
*
I am like a locust, for I hop hither and thither and I buzz, and at times I spread my colored wings, and my frail head is transparent and empty.
*
May 6, 2023
Schwob nos narra el episodio medieval de una forma onírica tal que casi parece un relato de fantasmas. Todo tiene un aire irreal pero a la vez anticipa la tragedia. Muy bueno (Y una traducción excelente)
June 3, 2021
Hay pocas imágenes que hagan sentir incómodas hasta a las mentes más abiertas y preparadas. Una de ellas afirmo sin dudas es la visión de infancias y adolescentes que no obedecen, que se han agrupado y son indiferentes a las advertencias o señalamientos de sus mayores, infancias que tienen metas propias y han decidido hacer lo que mejor les parezca, sin disculpas ni permisos, sí estoy diciendo que los adultos le tememos a un escenario así en el que somos más bien innecesarios. Tememos el poder de las infancias organizadas para ellas mismas.
Marcel Schwob nos presenta el enigmático relato a varias voces de un hecho fuera de lo común en el que un grupo de infancias marcha con rumbo a la Tierra Santa para poder reunirse con su Señor, con su deidad. Ese es el objetivo. Las infancias caminan y se enfrentan a la violencia de los adultos, el hambre y a las propias fuerzas de la naturaleza en un acto de pura fe, no avanzan irreflexivamente pues saben que es lo que desean y saben que aunque no lo consigan en su esfuerzo, el Dios los sabrá recompensar llevándolos a su lado en la eterna gracia. Es terrorífico al tiempo que es conmovedor, las razones se nos escapan desde lo adulto, el autor no nos da más detalles del pensamiento de las infancias por que es verdad que una elaborada explicación no nos haría mayor sentido tampoco, somos ajenos a su mundo, mientras avanza el relato se hace cada vez más y más patente este hecho, no es que no podamos, es que no queremos entenderles, ni en esta historia, ni en la vida cotidiana.
Enigmático de principio a fin por que en la familiaridad se encuentra lo extraño, Schwob nos cuenta el cuento de lo que no podemos entender aunque pareciera evidente. La cruzada de los niños se encuentra de historias como La Gravedad de las circunstancias (Marianne Fritz), Pedro Paramo (Juan Rulfo) y La metamorfosis (Kafka), en la que pareciera que se nos está revelando una gran verdad pero constantemente estamos perdiéndola frente a lo extraño de nuestra propia realidad reflejada en el relato. Imprescindible.
Marcel Schwob nos presenta el enigmático relato a varias voces de un hecho fuera de lo común en el que un grupo de infancias marcha con rumbo a la Tierra Santa para poder reunirse con su Señor, con su deidad. Ese es el objetivo. Las infancias caminan y se enfrentan a la violencia de los adultos, el hambre y a las propias fuerzas de la naturaleza en un acto de pura fe, no avanzan irreflexivamente pues saben que es lo que desean y saben que aunque no lo consigan en su esfuerzo, el Dios los sabrá recompensar llevándolos a su lado en la eterna gracia. Es terrorífico al tiempo que es conmovedor, las razones se nos escapan desde lo adulto, el autor no nos da más detalles del pensamiento de las infancias por que es verdad que una elaborada explicación no nos haría mayor sentido tampoco, somos ajenos a su mundo, mientras avanza el relato se hace cada vez más y más patente este hecho, no es que no podamos, es que no queremos entenderles, ni en esta historia, ni en la vida cotidiana.
Enigmático de principio a fin por que en la familiaridad se encuentra lo extraño, Schwob nos cuenta el cuento de lo que no podemos entender aunque pareciera evidente. La cruzada de los niños se encuentra de historias como La Gravedad de las circunstancias (Marianne Fritz), Pedro Paramo (Juan Rulfo) y La metamorfosis (Kafka), en la que pareciera que se nos está revelando una gran verdad pero constantemente estamos perdiéndola frente a lo extraño de nuestra propia realidad reflejada en el relato. Imprescindible.
July 1, 2011
Marcel Schwob was a turn-of-the-century Belgian symbolist and horror writer. Apparently a friend (or at least correspondent of Stevenson and inspiration to Borges' A Universal History of Iniquity, but... I just wasn't that into this ever-so-brief set of monologues concerning the medieval Children's Crusade, wherein 7000 european kids believed themselves inspired by god to conquer Jerusalem, with little or no idea of where, or even what, Jerusalem was. It's a potentially fascinating historical incident, yes, but Schwob's treatment is pretty slight, and his apparently unique command of language and description is pretty reduced here by the monologue format and need to stick to spiritually addled archaic voices. I guess it would be interesting in a collection of Schwob's fiction, but less so as an entire stand-alone not-even-novella.
Part of my annoyance isn't Schwob's fault: I foolishly bought this in a totally generic print-on-demand amazon copy, which actually omitted a key page due to bad scanning and lack of proof-reading. Don't bother with it. Instead just read it online for free (with all pages intact, even!). Note to self: check for scans of old books like this one first -- if amazon has lame print-on-demand copies, the source is probably public domain now anyway.
Part of my annoyance isn't Schwob's fault: I foolishly bought this in a totally generic print-on-demand amazon copy, which actually omitted a key page due to bad scanning and lack of proof-reading. Don't bother with it. Instead just read it online for free (with all pages intact, even!). Note to self: check for scans of old books like this one first -- if amazon has lame print-on-demand copies, the source is probably public domain now anyway.
August 31, 2024
I am much older than Innocent; I am the oldest of all the vicars whom the Lord has set here down below, and I only begin to understand. God does not manifest himself. Did he aid his son in the Garden of Olives? Did he not forsake him in his greatest agony? Oh, what childish madness to call on him for help! All evil and all trial dwell only in us. He has perfect trust in the work moulded by his own hands. And you have betrayed his trust.
Can well see how this influenced Faulkner, Borges and Bolaño.. A novella about innocence and guilt, sin and purity. These categories inevitably blur and coalesce and fall apart, and the children's crusade is the great unknowable blank in the centre that wreaks this symbolic havoc. A sinful march of innocent children unto death (or is it?, given The Calandar's conflicting testimony) - how can this possibly happen?
October 23, 2021
Apareció esta nueva edición del Fondo que es simplemente preciosa. Con ilustraciones de Eko y una traducción revisada, se tiraron chorromil ejemplares y cuestan como 20 pesos. Tuve ganas de comprar montones y regalar a todxs mis amigxs. En verdad no tiene precio, y 20 pesos es nada para tanta belleza.
October 24, 2019
A glittering dark density. Immaculate and terrible.
January 4, 2016
Το βιβλίο των εκδόσεων Ερατώ έχει δύο διηγήματα· την Σταυροφορία Των Παιδιών και το Ξύλινο Αστέρι. Η σταυροφορία είναι αρκετά ενδιαφέρουσα, κυρίως γιατί εξιστορείται από διαφορετικές προσωπικότητες, το αστέρι είναι βαρετό αλλά έχει ενδιαφέρον τέλος :) Δεν είναι παιδικά διηγήματα (δε νομίζω να το καταλάβαιναν παιδιά) και λίγο με κούρασαν όλα αυτά τα θρησκευτικά, αλλά είναι καλή η μετάφραση (ως προς το πως ρέει η γλώσσα εννοώ) και θεωρώ πως θα έπρεπε να είναι πιο γνωστό στο ευρύ κοινό.
July 8, 2020
"Novella" my ass, this is roughly a 10-15 page short story in a pretty little 50-page package, and it's completely unnecessary. It should be tacked on to some other volume of Schwob's writings. As for the merit of the contents of this wee $10 package, they strike me as an admirable beginning to something Schwob should have developed further. This can easily be read in 20 minutes, but you'd be better off doing almost anything else with that time unless you are a devoted fan of this writer.
July 4, 2018
A sister-book to Monelle in that it shares themes of godly children and a deliberate use of symbolic imagery as motif to end on a sweetly sad note.
Recommended, but The Book of Monelle still stands alone as his best.
Recommended, but The Book of Monelle still stands alone as his best.
November 6, 2022
I speak at random, for I am full of joy ....
I am like a locust, for I hop hither and thither and I buzz, and at times I spread my colored wings, and my frail head is transparent and empty.
Lord, teach me, for I do not know...
I am like a locust, for I hop hither and thither and I buzz, and at times I spread my colored wings, and my frail head is transparent and empty.
Lord, teach me, for I do not know...
January 2, 2023
Este estranho conto a várias vozes (8, de 2 papas a um leproso, incluindo algumas das crianças) relata passos da designada Cruzada das Crianças que terá tido lugar em 1212 e que consistiu num aglomerado de crianças da França que se dirigiu ao sul, a Nice, para aí apanhar um barco para a Terra Santa onde queriam reverenciar Jesus. Os vários narradores estão em locais e momentos diferentes e apresentam várias perspetivas desta história macabra. É um relato curto e elíptico, proporcionou-me uns momentos de pesquisa. A edição que li tem um comentário de J. L. Borges que analisa e enaltece a história.
August 5, 2023
How can a work so short manage to be so devastating? A testament to the world’s insatiable cruelty.
June 28, 2024
I am guilty, like you, of faults of which I know nothing
February 17, 2021
La Cruzada de los niños nos obliga a imaginar todo lo ocurrido, ocasionando que el lector se convierta en cada uno de los personajes y mirar los sucesos a través de sus ojos, así como también puedes sentir la inocencia y la fe de los niños, y la culpabilidad de los adultos por no haber hecho nada para detener su peregrinar a Jerusalén.
March 8, 2024
Schwob gets so much out of so little. You can read this in no time at all.
November 7, 2020
If you are unaware of the facts or legends behind the historic Children’s Crusade from around the 13 century, then you will probably not enjoy nor understand what is happening in this collection of short stories. An assumption is made by the author, that reader is educated on the subject, or has a basic working knowledge. Failing that, the very short stories - almost flash fiction- will be half gibberish or half obscure in context. That isn’t to say that stories by Marcel Schwob aren’t beautifully written and translated for they are. I simply found that refreshing my knowledge on this event added to my enjoyment of the book.
The traditional story is probably cobbled together from factual and legendary events. It begins with either a French or German boy having visions telling him to go to Jerusalem and peacefully convert Muslims in the Holy Land to Christianity. This started a popular movement of children heading to the Holy Land. Many children were tricked by merchants and sailed over to what they thought were the holy lands but, in reality, were slave markets. There seems to have been two such movements. One in Germany where around 7,000 people followed a fifteen year old shepherd. The second was in France where another shepherd, around 12 this time, collected a following of some 30,000 people to follow him. Both movements, as we know, ended in disaster.
This beautifully prose is written from the points of view of eight different characters commenting on various points in the Crusade’s journey. They are beautiful, majestically written, with prose that falls off the page and seeps into your soul. I’m kicking myself for not reading more of Schwob’s work earlier. Highly recommended to one of all, both for historical context and artistic endeavor.
The traditional story is probably cobbled together from factual and legendary events. It begins with either a French or German boy having visions telling him to go to Jerusalem and peacefully convert Muslims in the Holy Land to Christianity. This started a popular movement of children heading to the Holy Land. Many children were tricked by merchants and sailed over to what they thought were the holy lands but, in reality, were slave markets. There seems to have been two such movements. One in Germany where around 7,000 people followed a fifteen year old shepherd. The second was in France where another shepherd, around 12 this time, collected a following of some 30,000 people to follow him. Both movements, as we know, ended in disaster.
This beautifully prose is written from the points of view of eight different characters commenting on various points in the Crusade’s journey. They are beautiful, majestically written, with prose that falls off the page and seeps into your soul. I’m kicking myself for not reading more of Schwob’s work earlier. Highly recommended to one of all, both for historical context and artistic endeavor.
September 21, 2014
A partir de monólogos, más o menos fragmentarios, narrados por distintos protagonistas o espectadores periféricos, Marcel Schwob pinta, en tan sólo ocho pinceladas, el fresco definitivo sobre el curioso evento y alcanza, por su cadencia poética, uno de los momentos más logrados de toda su producción. Ediciones Reino de Cordelia recupera esta joya de la narrativa francesa en una cuidada traducción realizada por Luis Alberto de Cuenca. El volumen se ve embellecido por las ilustraciones del talentoso Jean Gabriel Daragnès.
November 16, 2015
Rara.
January 18, 2021
Leído en español
Club de lectura Lectores Insurgentes (enero 2021)
Club de lectura Lectores Insurgentes (enero 2021)
February 16, 2022
The translation I read was rough, but the beauty of the writing shone through nonetheless.
September 8, 2021
Ce bref volume rassemble deux contes de Marcel Schwob, qu’il lui est arrivé de publier ensemble et qui entretiennent des liens thématiques : tous deux parlent d’enfants voyageant à la poursuite d’un idéal ; et tous deux ont même une scène en commun : la découverte de la mer et spécifiquement des étoiles de mer. Il n’en faudra pas plus pour se dire que l’écriture de Marcel Schwob semble hantée de rêves, d’obsessions et de symboles ; et la lecture détaillée des deux récits achèvera d’en convaincre.
« La Croisade des enfants » évoque explicitement ce curieux épisode historique pas si bien connu que ça mais en évacue délibérément les événements et les personnages les mieux attestés pour lui conférer une aura légendaire et une fin qui n’est que possible.
Situé dans une sorte de Moyen Âge beaucoup plus vague et à peine marqué, « L’Étoile de bois » est en revanche un récit totalement imaginaire, dont le petit protagoniste découvre les étoiles à l’âge de dix ans, après qu’une tempête a fait quelques trous dans la futaie de la forêt qui le protège depuis son enfance.
« L’Étoile de bois �� est le plus classique des deux contes dans sa structure initiatique et sa narration surplombante. Il est porté par une prose poétique qui propose d’admirables descriptions, et fait notamment de la forêt (au début du récit) et des étoiles de véritables personnages ; je sais que c’est un cliché critique mais ici, à force de personnifications, elles deviennent de véritables entités qui interagissent avec le petit héros et favorisent ou contrarient sa quête. La fin, de plus, est d’une amère ironie tragique et incite à lire le tout comme une critique de l’idéalisme ; ici, dirait Borges, grand admirateur de Schwob, nous tombons un peu dans l’allégorie.
« La Croisade des enfants » ne justifierait aucune réserve de ce type. Ce récit s’inscrit dans la modernité littéraire de façon nettement plus évidente que l’autre, tout d’abord en raison de l’éclatement complet de la narration : Schwob juxtapose les récits de quelques pages, attribués chacun à un narrateur différent (dont pas moins de deux papes, mais physiquement distants de l’action, ce qui justifie ma remarque ci-dessus sur l’évacuation des personnages historiques principaux) ; il y a en même temps progression chronologique de sorte que l’histoire peut se reconstituer à travers les diverses facettes qui en sont présentées. Il est à noter qu’aucun des narrateurs retenus par Schwob n’est malveillant, même si certains sont étranges ou ambigus — on note d’ailleurs la proximité qui se crée par effet de montage entre les goliards occidentaux et les « kalandars » soufis ; ce qui en ressort est finalement une fascination pour la marginalité et l’indépendance : les deux papes sont fort mal dans leur peau et seul un clerc que Pascal qualifierait sans doute de demi-habile semble satisfait de lui-même. Même si Schwob propose des hypothèses crédibles sur le devenir des participants à la croisade des enfants historique, tout son récit organise en réalité le maintien d’un certain mystère autour de leurs motivations (lumineuses pour eux mais pas forcément orthodoxes) qu’il maintient sur un plan strictement mystique. Dans un magnifique exemple de symbolisme narratif, Schwob suggère un univers traversé d’incompréhensibles desseins et d’harmonies inexplicables. Je suis notamment fasciné par les notations colorées qui parcourent le récit : le rouge s’y oppose à un blanc qui occupe le premier plan et qui semble redoutablement polysémique, suggérant aussi bien la pureté et l’innocence que la mort et la malédiction, à moins qu’il ne s’agisse simplement d’un pur écho reliant les personnages et les situations et invitant à les considérer dans leurs fraternités et leurs ressemblances paradoxales. Cette « Croisade des enfants » est un bijou de quelques dizaines de pages.
« La Croisade des enfants » évoque explicitement ce curieux épisode historique pas si bien connu que ça mais en évacue délibérément les événements et les personnages les mieux attestés pour lui conférer une aura légendaire et une fin qui n’est que possible.
Situé dans une sorte de Moyen Âge beaucoup plus vague et à peine marqué, « L’Étoile de bois » est en revanche un récit totalement imaginaire, dont le petit protagoniste découvre les étoiles à l’âge de dix ans, après qu’une tempête a fait quelques trous dans la futaie de la forêt qui le protège depuis son enfance.
« L’Étoile de bois �� est le plus classique des deux contes dans sa structure initiatique et sa narration surplombante. Il est porté par une prose poétique qui propose d’admirables descriptions, et fait notamment de la forêt (au début du récit) et des étoiles de véritables personnages ; je sais que c’est un cliché critique mais ici, à force de personnifications, elles deviennent de véritables entités qui interagissent avec le petit héros et favorisent ou contrarient sa quête. La fin, de plus, est d’une amère ironie tragique et incite à lire le tout comme une critique de l’idéalisme ; ici, dirait Borges, grand admirateur de Schwob, nous tombons un peu dans l’allégorie.
« La Croisade des enfants » ne justifierait aucune réserve de ce type. Ce récit s’inscrit dans la modernité littéraire de façon nettement plus évidente que l’autre, tout d’abord en raison de l’éclatement complet de la narration : Schwob juxtapose les récits de quelques pages, attribués chacun à un narrateur différent (dont pas moins de deux papes, mais physiquement distants de l’action, ce qui justifie ma remarque ci-dessus sur l’évacuation des personnages historiques principaux) ; il y a en même temps progression chronologique de sorte que l’histoire peut se reconstituer à travers les diverses facettes qui en sont présentées. Il est à noter qu’aucun des narrateurs retenus par Schwob n’est malveillant, même si certains sont étranges ou ambigus — on note d’ailleurs la proximité qui se crée par effet de montage entre les goliards occidentaux et les « kalandars » soufis ; ce qui en ressort est finalement une fascination pour la marginalité et l’indépendance : les deux papes sont fort mal dans leur peau et seul un clerc que Pascal qualifierait sans doute de demi-habile semble satisfait de lui-même. Même si Schwob propose des hypothèses crédibles sur le devenir des participants à la croisade des enfants historique, tout son récit organise en réalité le maintien d’un certain mystère autour de leurs motivations (lumineuses pour eux mais pas forcément orthodoxes) qu’il maintient sur un plan strictement mystique. Dans un magnifique exemple de symbolisme narratif, Schwob suggère un univers traversé d’incompréhensibles desseins et d’harmonies inexplicables. Je suis notamment fasciné par les notations colorées qui parcourent le récit : le rouge s’y oppose à un blanc qui occupe le premier plan et qui semble redoutablement polysémique, suggérant aussi bien la pureté et l’innocence que la mort et la malédiction, à moins qu’il ne s’agisse simplement d’un pur écho reliant les personnages et les situations et invitant à les considérer dans leurs fraternités et leurs ressemblances paradoxales. Cette « Croisade des enfants » est un bijou de quelques dizaines de pages.
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