A considerable time ago I bought a biography of Louis XI by Paul Murray Kendall at De Slegte. The back flap describes it as a “lively and scholarly biography”, and I bought it in the knowledge that it might not be great; however, I thought that even a badly written biography could contribute to my knowledge of the principal rival of Charles the Bold. I fear that I might soon be eating those badly chosen words, as a quick read of the prologue and first two chapters reveals, while the book might be lively, scholarly – by our modern standards – it certainly is not.
The sad fact is, that the late Murray Kendall was more a groupie of king Louis than a historian, and the start of the biography is riddled not only with historical errors and gross over-simplifications and generalisations, but also with a rather distressing romantic idealism on the part of the author, who appears to be one of those individuals that consider our present time (or, in his case, the 60’s-70’s) an awful place to live in, and would rather live in the past. I cannot withhold the audience a few quotes that capably illustrate this point:
“[…] Louis was much more accessible than an American president, was seen by a larger proportion of the people than ever today see the chiefs of their states, took a greater interest […] in his individual subjects, and knew by name a higher percentage of them […] than the modern prime minister […] has time or inclination to do.”
Despite this political idealism, he does not mention that was inevitable – as populations have grown, so a single ruler inevitably will know a smaller amount of the people personally than rulers in the Middle Ages. Not because medieval rulers were more concerned about their people, but because there were fewer people to deal with.
“If it was then more painful to be alive, it was less demanding – and richer of reward simply because few rewards were expected.”
An odd, semi-philosophical phrase, which appears to be an attempt to reduce the pain, but in reality is but a hollow sentence. He then goes on to increase the pain and fear of our current generation:
“We who have waged death and destruction far more effectively, horribly, and indiscriminately than any other human generation, who ride in seatbelted fear upon blood-spattered highways, who at night flee from the lurking terrors of our metropolises – we somehow take it for granted, such is the conditioning of “progress” and the comfort of the familiar, that the horrors of another time are worse than ours.”
And is that not actually the case?
All these examples, by the by, were picked from a single page. They reveal a lot about Paul Murray Kendall’s character, things that do not go well with the profession of historian. It is no surprise then, that historical errors or failed attempts at rationalising people’s actions are ever-present and unrelenting. To give but one example, where many more could have been made:
“Thus did a father pointedly snub a son to whom he had previously devoted, as far as the records show, almost no attention at all. Neither normal parental concern nor a king’s duty to cherish the welfare and dignity of his heir had been able to penetrate the passivity of Charles VII. It had been seemingly penetrated by something else, however: by something of an envy of boldness and vigor and assurance that he himself did not possess.”
Surely, if Charles VII spent no time with the dauphin Louis, he could never have noticed Louis’ character traits, and could not have fostered jealousy or envy? It is bold statements such as this that stand out; again, they say more about the author than the persons described – an author who, sadly, can see no more than caricatures for people.
As for historical errors, there are too many to list them in great depth here, even for just the first three chapters, but they include the assassination of John the Fearless (described as a “scuffle”), the Azincourt campaign (according to him, the Burgundians had promised help to the English – nicely ignoring the fact that both John the Fearless and his son Philip intended to join the French force, and that John’s brother and most important ally, Anthony of Brabant, died at Azincourt fighting for the French), the Hundred Years War in general (actually referred to as the “Hundred Years’ War” in the index), the almost verbatim copying of some of Huizinga’s ideas. The book is unscholarly in yet another respect, and that is the total lack of notes or reference (that is, there are notes, but these are merely anecdotes that wouldn’t fit in the narrative; the reader will have to make do with a small bibliography, and must guess what quotation comes from what source).
That he is no historian is further underlined by statements such as one where he mentions the dauphin Louis’ allowance was notable only for its small size, yet the size of the allowance is never mentioned; this would not only have been a simple addition, it would have given the reader the ability to judge the allowance for him or herself, as, after all, the allowances of contemporary heirs are well documented, and could easily be compared. But Murray Kendall prefers to be the judge himself, and provides the reader only with his personal judgement, which is a greater flaw than any.
Currently reading: Karl IV - Ein Kaiser in Europa, by Ferdinand Seibt
